Random Callers Are The Best

Over the past week I have been getting phone calls on my cell phone, no big deal since it is the only way you are going to talk to me unless we are face to face. Not only is it my “home phone” number but it is also my work contact phone number. Needless to say, I get allot of phone calls from numbers I don’t know personally, and since it is used for work I usually answer all calls. In the rare occasion I choose to ignore your call then it is for one of two reasons, either I’m busy or you have an out of state number. Typically I’m not hiding from phone calls, you know, like bill collectors, in that regard I seem to have lucked out. Anyway, usually, unless you are my employer, and you don’t leave me a voicemail, I’m not going to return your call. You called me, leave a fucking message about what you were calling for or I consider it not too damn important. I’m just saying. 99% of the time people call, don’t leave a message, but then text me, which is even better. So, this Houston number keeps calling, so finally last night answered it, my gift since in the 11 times they called me they left no message, well I say no message, they would let it go to voicemail just long enough for them to hang up after silence, giving me a voicemail icon to go check only to hear NOTHING. When I answered the call I also recorded the call, the following is a transcribed text version of what was said.

Me: Hello

Caller: (crickets)

Me: Hello

Caller: (more crickets)

Me: HELLO MOTHERFUCKERS HELLO!

Caller: Excuse me?

Me: Look motherfucker, you keep calling me, what’s on your mind?

Caller: Please wait…….. (places me on hold)

Me: Really? Call me, put me on hold, and make me listen to Kenny G? You fucking suck balls!

Me: (2 minutes into it) Hello?

Caller: (after I was on hold 6 minute) Is this Mr. Scorpion? (used my real name)

Me: Yes. Why?

Caller: Can you verify your mailing address?

Me: No. Why?

Caller: We need to verify who you are. Address please?

Me: No, I need to verify who you are. What company are you calling from?

Caller: Sir, before we can continue this conversation we need to verify your identity. Can we proceed with your address, street number first?

Me: No, we cannot. You tell me who you are and what you want or you can go fuck yourself.

Caller: Sir, we are trying to identify you are the person we have in our records.

Me: Well, what do your records say? If you get it right I will tell you, deal?

Caller: Sir, it doesn’t work this way. Address?

Me: Well, ok, thanks for calling, we’re fucking done here.

Caller: Please hold……..

Me: What the fuck! (I ended the call)

Within 30 seconds my phone is ringing once again, same number.

Me: What in the fuck do you want?

Caller: My name is Ann, I understand we are having problems identifying you so we can move forward.

Me: What in the fuck are you talking about? Who are you Ann?

Ann: I’m the manager here, you were speaking with Rebecca earlier, she mentioned there is a problem with you cooperating with the identification protocol and I have taken over to assist in the process.

Me: Why in the fuck are you calling me, repeatedly all week, twice a day, every day, never leaving a message? Can you tell me, is this part of your fucked up protocol?

Ann: Sir, look, we are a company hired by Ford Motor Company to gather information about the individuals purchasing experience.

Me: I didn’t buy anything from Ford.

Ann: Our records show you recently purchased a 2014 Ford Mustang, is that information correct?

Me: Yes, but I bought it from a Kia dealership, it is a used Mustang.

Ann: Yes sir, we understand that you didn’t purchase it directly from a Ford dealership, however your purchase records are forwarded to Ford for many purposes like factory warranty and statistical reasons.

Me: Ok, why all the cloak and dagger bullshit, why not identify yourselves first, then ask me questions?

Ann: If you would so kind to verify your address for me sir? We show you live at the following address (she tells it to me). Is this information correct?

Me: Yes, it is correct.

Ann: Your phone number is xxx-xxx-xxxx?

Me: Isn’t that the number y’all keep dialing?

Ann: Yes sir. (followed by a dramatic pause)

Me: Are we done?

Ann: No sir, we have been trying to talk with you to see how you are liking your new car.

Me: I like it fine. Anything else?

Ann: Is this your first Ford purchase?

Me: No

Ann: (after a long pause) If you don’t mind, would you like to share what other Fords you have purchased in the past?

Me: Look, I’m in the middle of cooking dinner for my family and myself, is this really necessary? Yes, guilty, I like Ford, Ford is great, if I was a woman then this Ford Mustang would make my pussy all dripping wet.

Ann: Sir?

Me: Ann?

Ann: Sir, you caught me a little off guard with your last comment. You are aware we record these conversations for training purposes, correct?

Me: Yes

Ann: If I told you that in our appreciation for speaking with us that I have a paid trip to offer to you, would you be pleased to here about it? All I need to finalize this package is to ask you a few more questions. Can we continue?

Me: So, Ann, the entire purpose to this phone call was to politely tell me that my information was given or sold to your marketing company for other purposes than to see if Ford makes me weak at the knees?

Ann: Sir, I assure you that we received your information legally.

Me: Buuuuuullllllllllllllshit Ann.

Ann: I would like to tell you about your complimentary trip now if that’s ok?

Me: Sure, why not, hurry up, dinner is almost done, you got about 7 minutes.

Ann: Las Vegas or Atlantic City?

Me: Vegas

Ann: I have two first class round trip airline tickets, a rental car voucher for the 7 days you and your spouse will be in Las Vegas, it is good for up to $150.00 per day. Included is a preloaded Visa with $1500.00 for gas and other expenses. You will be staying at the MGM Grand with two free meals for two each day of your stay. You and your spouse will each receive $200.00 in house chips for use in the casino. Any questions?

Me: Yes, I don’t fly.

Ann: Meaning?

Me: I’m not going to fly to Las Vegas. Period. I don’t fly.

Ann: I’m not following you.

Me: Skip the flight, I’ll drive. a rental will be cheaper on y’all any way.

Ann: Please hold…………

Me: Noooooo…….. Fuck……… Bitch……..

Ann: I have checked with the booking agency, those arrangements can be made for you to accommodate your needs. You’ll need to visit our office to pick up your package, the changes can be made at that time. When would you like to pick up your package so I can schedule your appointment?

Me: Saturday is fine.

Ann: Perfect, I will put you down for 8 am, will that work for you?

Me: Sure

Ann: Please be sure to bring two forms of ID for you and your wife to the appointment.

Me: Does my wife need to be present?

Ann: Yes sir.

Me: Can I get the address?

Ann: Actually, we are not allowed to give that information over the phone. Please provide me with your email address. I will send you the information described above, please print to bring with you, and the address to claim address will be included.

Me: Anything else I need to know?

Ann: No sir, we hope you enjoy your new Mustang and your trip to Las Vegas.

Me: So….. we’re done?

Ann: Yes sir, enjoy your dinner. (Call ended)

So, I did get the email as she discussed. But, and its a big fucking but, the address is at the corner of an open field and an abandoned business. First I googled it so I knew where I was going. Unsettled by what shows in google maps, I sent my future son-in-law there this morning on his way to work, he confirmed that there is nothing there except the building being torn down. When I called the number that had been calling me I got no answer, just rings and rings. I have called several times, nobody’s home. Hmmm, seems like the pile of bullshit just keeps getting deeper and deeper. The email came from donotreply@mailmixmail.net and when I emailed it back it just bounced with a server reply that the email is not valid. No shit Sherlock! I also contacted my cell service provider to put in a complaint of the number and I was told it isn’t even a valid number. Fuck it, block it anyway.

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What have we learned? Well, after wasting 18 minutes of my life that I will never get back, I have found this is another reason I dislike giving out my phone number or email address to anyone for any reason. Trust me, your information is being sold, traded, or given away whether you consent to it or not. Personally I don’t think it was the Kia dealership doing it on “purpose”, but records of the purchase with my personal information were only given at the dealership at the time of purchase. Who really knows any more, really. I can’t wait until these gigafucks call me back to inform me I missed my fucking “appointment” or to follow up with me. Then it will be time to have fun. I will assume they will not call, but that’s just my opinion. Any of y’all have any good phishing stories? I have a special place in my heart, which is black and cold, for telemarketers and professional phishers. Y’all suck you bunch of troubled fucks! Get a real job, like a third party bill collector or something respectable. With that, I’m done, think I’ll put up a sign “Gone Phishing” and take the weekend off.

Before You Try This At Home

Oh man, where do I even begin with this one. I say lets just jump the fuck in and see what happens by the time we get to the end. I must warn you, even though I’m not obligated to warn you, the contents of this post discuss sexual organs, sexual positions, sex, the human body, and some sexual history. Why do this post? I found the information to be both humorous and informative. So, I wanted to share, that’s how I am, I like to share with the people of the internet. Even though this is a sexual topic there will be no pictures of asexual manner, use your imagination or past experiences to fuel your needs for visual stimulation. Personally, the reverse cowgirl is my favorite position. To date, there has been zero injuries at my household and I intend to keep it that way thank you very much.

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Penile fractures are just as painful as they sound, and I mean that quite literally as one of the most distinguishable signs of the injury is an audible “crack.” A team of Brazilian researchers have dedicated months of their lives to recording instances of this traumatic injury in order to determine the sexual position most likely to cause it. In doing so, they discovered that the backward female on top, also known as the “reverse cowgirl,” triggered the majority of the injuries.

In a study now published in Advances in Urology, the Brazilian researchers reviewed the cause, symptoms, and self-report of erection for men who had experienced a penile fracture. These fractures occur when the lining of the penis ruptures, when a blood-engorged penis is suddenly and forcefully bent. Due to the nature of the injury, it’s most often sustained during sexual intercourse.

The data revealed some interesting correlations between sexual activity and likeness to experience this injury. For example, heterosexual intercourse was the most common cause, but the injury could also be self-inflicted via some sort of masturbation. As for sexual positions: “‘Woman on top’ was the potentially riskiest sexual position,” wrote the authors. This pose was credited with being responsible for roughly half of all instances of penile fractures, followed by “doggy style,” which accounted for 28 percent of cases. The remaining cases were described as having an “unclear” cause.

The review also revealed what some of the safer sex options may be. For example, homosexual intercourse was involved in only 12 percent of injuries. Interestingly, it seems that middle-aged Christian monks may have been onto something with backing the missionary position, as this pose was credited with the overall lowest incidence of penile injury. The authors wrote that with a man on top of the woman, as in the case with missionary, “he has better chances of stopping the penetration energy in response to the pain related to the penis harm, minimizing it.”

Perhaps the biggest discrepancy in the study was men’s unwillingness to disclose the nature of their injuries. Nearly a quarter of all patients questioned for this study refused to give any details as to how their fracture came about.

While sexual intercourse seemed to be the main cause of penile fracture in the West, in the Middle East, particularly in Iran, around half of all instances of penile fractures were caused by men trying to forcibly hide their erections. This may be due to the cultural practice of Taghaandan — Kurdish for “to click” — which encourages men to “break the Qholenj” by bending the tip of their erection until an audible click is heard. A separate study found the number of penile fractures in Iran caused by Taghaandan to be closer to 57 percent, explaining that a “direct blunt force or habitual clicking of the erect penis to achieve detumescence,[subsiding an erection]” was behind an overwhelming number of injuries in this part of the world.

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Pros: The position is a great variation from woman-on-top and gives the woman total control over the pace and rhythm and lets her set the agenda. She can also change the angles to see how to hit the sweet spot. Also the she has the option to rub her clitoris and get her man to hit the G-spot simultaneously which can give a very powerful orgasm!

Cons: Too much enthusiasm in this position can be hazardous for the male partner and he can suffer a penile fracture which is no laughing matter. It happens if the penis bends too much at the base which occurs either when the female partner comes down on the penis at the wrong angle or if she bends too forward or backward.  There actually was a case where a man sued his ex-girlfriend for reckless behaviour after suffering a penile fracture! Thankfully the court ruled in her favour deciding her behaviour was neither legally wanton (caused due to negligence) nor reckless.

Feel free to leave your stories below or the shy ones can email them to me. I like a good reverse cowgirl horror story every once in a while. Hey, did it happen on a Magic Weekend? Be sure to send in your pictures! Luckily for Sarah, proud member of The Scorpion Army, she was just passing on this information to me, she thought I just might get a kick out of it all by the time I was done reading. I know not where she got the information, we can all just assume she found it surfing the internet somewhere. The text contained here within in neither medical advice, nor sexual advice, or sexual counseling. What you take away from it is what you take, I offer no guarantee, warranty, or guided tours of expectations, I’m just here to have fun. I can only recommend y’all be safe in your adventures.

Why I Stepped Foot In Church

Normally I would not attempt the madness called church on my own, but this last time I went to church not to be preached at, but to enjoy the music of the church symphony orchestra which has a member who is like one of my own children. We go to all of her events, in school or in church. I enjoy the way she can make the cello talk to you, she’s finishing out her freshman year of high school, but listening to her play that cello one would never guess her young age. It may just be my opinion, but she is great. So, that’s what led me to church, I enjoy the way she plays, it makes everything in life, the problems and troubles, just fade into the background where they belong. But, that’s not why we are here today, today I’m going to discuss how my attire was not proper enough to be in a church. Clearly there is confusion, unless you are looking to be offended that I’m not in slacks, a nice shirt, a tie, a jacket, and shiny shoes with a belt to match, oh wait, you are. All I can ask is why? Especially since this wasn’t a “service”, it was a performance.

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I wore what I would wear pretty much anywhere, black Wrangler jeans (no holes, clean), black leather belt, 3 button shirt (black in color, no logo, clean), black gator skin cowboy boots (polished, clean), and a black Stetson with a simple silver band (Stetson is a name/brand/style of a cowboy hat). So, it wasn’t as if I showed up wearing surf shorts, tank top, flip flops, and a ball cap. This is my basic “dress up” clothes, also good for funerals, weddings, and graduations. In fact, after walking in, finding our seat in the main hall (we picked 5 out of the nearly 1300 chairs, its a big Baptist church), I removed my hat, placing it in the seat next to me on my right with my wife on the left. Clearly I’m not a member of this church, I’m here as a guest with invitation in hand, given to me by my other “daughter”. After the 2 hour performance which resulted in a standing ovation and constant applause for the 62 members of the symphony orchestra, it was time to stand in the walkways to hug, shake hands, and chat, all of which I did while standing there wearing my hat. Some would say I stand out above the crowd being I’m 6’8″ to begin with. But people focused on more, people focused on the fact that I was wearing jeans and I had a hat on in church.

The message I received loud and clear from mr. preacher man was that my attire was not proper and will not be welcome in the future, this was said in a snotty rude way, very derogatory and unappreciated by me. I was left with but one option, in my opinion, which was to lean in to him, getting my lips very close to his ear as I pulled him close by the shoulder to say “go fuck yourself”, then I kissed him on the cheek, shook his now trembling hand, and walked out. I never looked back, no need to look back. Shortly after I see my wife and kids following up in my footsteps, we get in the truck, and we left. My wife did not become aware that anything was even said until a few days later, when she spoke with the preachers wife, who she knows outside the church professionally. Of course she asked if it was true, of course I told her it was, and no more was said about it. That whole night does nothing but reinforce my dislike for organized religion, I did nothing wrong and his actions/words cannot be justified in my opinion. Since when do I need to be dressed a certain way to be inside a church, no matter what is going on? So, I got to thinking that I had some thoughts to discuss, and in a long drawn out way that is why everyone was invited here today. So lets begin.

The so-called worship wars of recent years may have produced a winner. Many congregations/denominations remain divided between traditional and contemporary styles of “church”, but in most places the contemporary appears to have gained the upper hand. Your worship services have become increasingly relaxed and informal affairs. You can see it in what people are wearing. Church for today’s worshipers is not a dress-up event. Whatever is clean and comfortable seems sufficient. When it comes to church, attire doesn’t much matter. Most people I have spoke with over the years understand there is nothing particularly spiritual about a dress or a coat and tie. I was even told by a Sunday school teacher of my son’s that God is scarcely impressed by such things as clothes. She quoted something to me that day, “People look at the outward appearance,” we are reminded, “but the Lord looks at the heart”.

I do not intend to wade into the broader debate over worship styles; that’s a different discussion. But I do wish to raise a question about this fucking outdated way of thinking that when it comes to public worship since my clothing matters so much. This common assumption, it seems to me, deserves more scrutiny than it typically receives. Over the last several generations, American attire in general has lurched dramatically toward the informal. A feature that quickly dates an old photograph, just look at a picture of your grandparents. The changes are part of a broad shift toward the convenient, comfortable, and individuality. It’s a shift we see on display everywhere we go each day. Ever been to Walmart?  It’s easy to imagine how one might look over-dressed there, but less easy, short of immodesty, to imagine being under-dressed. Jeans or shorts, tee shirts or tank tops, flip-flops or sandals: these draw scarcely any attention, while full dresses or a suit and tie appear strangely out of place. Relaxed, even rumpled informality is in; suiting up in your “Sunday best” is out.

Many seem convinced it’s a good thing, because, again, it’s the heart that counts. Yet precisely for this reason, because it’s the heart that counts, I want to suggest that what we wear in our public worship may matter more than we think. To grasp this connection, let us extract some helpful insights from daily communication we all see. Verbal behavior refers to all those ways we use language to communicate: speaking, writing, sign language, etc. Nonverbal behavior focuses on all those ways we communicate without words: facial expression, gesture, posture, eye behavior, vocal inflection, our use of space, or touch behavior. In our everyday relationships only a small percentage of what we communicate is conveyed via verbal channels. The rest is conveyed nonverbally.

The avenue of nonverbal communication I will call one’s physical appearance and dress shows more about a person than words, or does it?. Here are a handful of observations based on our human interactions.

The wearing of clothing is exclusively a human characteristic. We share many attributes with other creatures, but the inclination to clothe ourselves is not one of them. Where, if any, is there a moral or even a spiritual dimension to human clothing? Why is so much emphasis put on clothing? Our clothes serve a variety of practical, social, and cultural functions. Protection and modesty spring first to mind, but our clothes do far more. We sometimes dress to conceal or deceive. More often our clothes serve to reveal. We use clothing for decoration, for sexual attraction, for self-expression and self-assertion. By our attire we display our gender, our religion, our occupation, our social position, or causes with which we identify. Many dress to impress, while others choose the reverse: they express their rejection by intentionally flouting accepted clothing norms.

Our clothing is one of our most elemental forms of communication. Long before our voice is heard, our clothes are transmitting multiple messages. From our attire, others immediately read not only such things as our sex, age, national identity, socio-economic status, and social position, but also our mood, our attitudes, our personality, our interests, and our values. We constantly make judgments about one another on the basis of clothing. Common wisdom has it that you can’t judge a book by its cover. But this is only partly true; we regularly read one another’s covering. What’s more, we’re better at it than we think.  We spend our lives making judgments based on appearance and then testing those judgments in our subsequent relationships. In this way, we become rather adept at the process. Judgments based on appearance are rarely fucking accurate, of course, and we are wise to hold them tentatively. But it’s almost impossible to avoid making them in the first place.

Because our clothing is one of the fundamental ways we communicate with others, what we wear is never a purely personal matter. Our attire exerts a social influence on those around us. What we wear can shape patterns of communication around us, depending on what messages people are picking up. Consider, for example, the varied cues we send by the way we dress: “I want people to notice me.” “I’m very confident.” “I want to hide.” “I care only about comfort.” “I want to look seductive.” “I repudiate you and your expectations.”

How we dress not only affects us individually; it also affects those around us. How we feel and who we are influences the clothes we put on or leave off, and the clothes we put on in turn shape how we feel. Changes of clothes can generate a change of mood. As an example, I felt different in my Air Force uniform than I did in street clothes. In some settings our choice of clothing can make or break us. If we like the way we look for a job interview, for instance, it will tend to strengthen our confidence. We feel better about our chances, as reflected in improved posture, more fluent speech, more dynamic gestures. On the other hand, inappropriate dress can suck the fucking life out of our confidence. We have all experienced the uncomfortable effects of feeling under-dressed or over-dressed in a particular social setting.

Much of the social meaning of our clothing is contextual. The appropriateness of our clothing is often dictated by the situation. Dress that would send a given message in one setting might send a very different message in another. Times change, values change, situations change; what was proper ten years ago may not be proper today, or vice versa. All of the above is why we should not conclude too quickly that because God looks on the heart, what we wear to church doesn’t matter. Our internal and external states cannot be so easily disentangled. The fact is, when it comes to how we clothe ourselves, our external appearance is often an expression of our internal state.

What is worship, after all? It’s the act of acknowledging and praising God as God. Is that not a personal choice? According to my wife, “when worshipping, we come before God with awe and reverence, focusing on him in loving contemplation, celebrating him for who he is and what he has done. We willingly bow before him in surrender, delighting in the privilege of extolling his worthiness. In worship we join our small voices with the celestial choirs in a grand chorus magnifying the Creator and declaring his excellences, his purity, his power, his beauty, his grace, his mercy, and his love.” No, I do not agree, but we smile and agree that will do not agree. In reference to what she said, I ask, can’t that be done naked or in a suit of medieval armor? I think the term “stink-eye” covers the expression on her face the best, she was giving it to me.

According to the bible (yes, I’ve read the bible a time or three in my life), God called his people to public worship. It’s everywhere in the Bible. Your corporate worship of organized religion is supposed to please God? Everyone who has ever built a fire knows how quickly lone embers cool and die. But gather those embers and they create a furnace effect that burns hot. Corporate worship of organized religion is no different, its designed to generate that furnace effect in people. Where there is collective thought there is collective action, do as the crowd or the crowd will be undone, the absolute fear of the sheeple culture.

So what sort of clothing might benefit such an exalted occasion? Observers in the gallery of the United States Supreme Court are forbidden to wear hats. Out of respect for the importance of what’s taking place there, the Court’s firm rule for visitors is, “Inappropriate clothing may not be worn.” If this is so for a merely human institution, what might be suitable attire for God-honoring worship? Must there be a rule, must we give a shit, must it cause such an uprising within the walls of the churches of organized religion? Readers will be relieved that I have no dress code to be here at The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog. Read at will, however you are dressed, you will not be judged here in the House of Scorpion. But why don’t I care how you are dressed? Why do I not feel the need to judge how you dress when you are doing what you are doing? I reserve the right to judge you only at Walmart and Starbucks, y’all know who you are and why.

That which is special, that which is our best, that which is sacrificial: We may be tempted to think such standards made sense in the context of Israel’s ancient worship but have little to do with us in the modern world. After all, none of us shows up at church on Sunday morning bearing sacrifices now do you. Everyone has their own reasons for going to church, some go to worship, some to ask for forgiveness of their sins, and one of us went to hear the incredible musical talents of a young girl whom he adores as his own. If you ask me, which your not going to, so I’ll just say it now, I don’t think any of us belong in a church. Salvation isn’t found in church in words translated 10,000 times over by MEN who aren’t concerned about me and you. Think about it. Want a “relationship” with God? You want something/someone to believe in for the comfort of your soul? How do men give that to you? How do you really know what are looking for in the first place?

The question for all of you is this: When you gather for worship, does this sacred event generate within you any similar sense of “awe and reverence”? A perceptive observer of the contemporary church scene might be forgiven for scratching her head over such a question, wondering whether you have grown oblivious to the significance of your own gathering. How often, she might ask you, do you prepare for Sunday as if it mattered, guarding, for example, Saturday nights so as to be fresh and focused the next morning? How come your pre-service gathering so often sounds more like a bowling alley than a people meeting to offer themselves fresh to their God? How is it you are so susceptible to the lure of personality and entertainment up front, obscuring the God-centered purpose for which you have met? How prevalent is the notion that you can worship just as well at home, or on the golf course, or before a TV screen, or perhaps forfeit worship altogether due to inconvenient weather, the priority of other things, or who may be preaching that week?

Not just anything will do when you come before God. He is still honored by what is holy, what is our best, what is sacrificial. The kingdom to which you have come, says the writer to the Hebrews, requires us to “offer to God acceptable worship with reverence and awe,” because “our ‘God is a consuming fire” (Heb. 12:28–29). The casual attitude toward worship may indicate that you have failed to grasp this important point, a sign of your being more conformed to this world than so transformed in your minds that by testing you are able to discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. Don’t you know you are not allowed to make your own decisions? What of your church attire? You deceive yourselves when you breezily claim that God does not care what you wear to church. God cares about your hearts, and what you wear is often an expression of your hearts. So what does your relaxed worship attire say about you? What internal disposition are we revealing when we dress no differently for church than we do for a trip to the mall or hanging out with friends around a barbeque grill? Could it be that our casual dress, chosen merely for our own comfort and convenience is a reflection of an equally casual, can’t-be-bothered attitude toward worship itself? What about those around you? What message is your choice of clothing sending them as you gather for worship?

Can Christians who gather for worship afford to ignore what their church attire may be saying to those around them? Does your choice of clothing communicate to others that this gathering is an important occasion, thereby encouraging them to see it as important as well? Or does it send them in the opposite direction? Why is it that the wrong clothes can distract your fellow worshipers.In this way and others your choice of clothing can be sinful. But this does not render your everyday (“common”), come-as-you-are attire “spiritual” or “honest.” If you care for your fellow worshipers as you ought to, you will take them into consideration as you dress for worship. We will clothe ourselves in ways that edify them and strengthen their own worship. We will attempt to avoid the nonchalant attitude that says this event is entirely routine; that it merits nothing special from me; that my only consideration in what I choose to wear is what is easiest and most convenient. Such a self-centered attitude is corrosive to a true spirit of worship. Instead, the goal in our choice of clothing should be to express to the Lord and those around us that this event matters, that I view it as a holy occasion, one which deserves our highest regard. If the first audience for our nonverbal messages is God himself, and secondarily, our fellow worshipers, dress that best suits these first two audiences may also serve a third: outsiders who join your public worship.

Evangelistic gatherings can in many ways be designed to fit the unbelievers you are trying to reach. But this is harder to do with your corporate worship. The church must first shape its worship to honor God, a goal to which all else must be subordinate. But thankfully, watching believers do what they do can have its own evangelistic effect. Attire that genuinely reflects a God-honoring attitude toward worship may well contribute to a similar result. Can you take a wild guess at what that is? You can guess until you are blue in the gills but you will never truly have your own answer unless it is spoon fed to you, just my personal opinion of course.

None of anything I have said above leaves us with a dress code for being in church, no matter the reason. It certainly does not translate automatically into coats and ties for men and fancy dresses for women. Idealizing bygone eras won’t work here; the meaning of human clothing is too contextual for that. It varies too widely from place to place and time to time, and there are too many other variables to consider. We are left having to judge for ourselves what is appropriate for worship and what is not. Every denomination has their own dress code and rules, whether you want to admit it or not, they do. Want to know my rule? Fuck your dress code!

However, all of the above should at least warn you away from the glib assumption that God actually cares about what we wear to church; or that what I choose to wear in church matters. How I dress is a purely personal affair and that my own convenience and comfort are all that need concern me. The truth is, one of the ways we express ourselves as human beings is by the way we dress. Wittingly or unwittingly, our clothing gives us away. God certainly does not need this expression to know your hearts. But as for the rest of us, we do indeed look on the outward appearance, even when peering into our own mirrors. In this way the clothes we choose for church may have things to tell us about our hearts that God already knows, but that you need to hear from other people because you thrive on judgment of yourself as well as others.

You express this embodiment totality in the corporate worship of organized religion through your shared symbols, rites, and rituals; through your posture and gestures as you bow, kneel, or lift your hands; through your actions when you stand or sit in unison or pour out your hearts musically in congregational song. Just remember, your clothing belongs on this list. By it we express to God and those around us what the occasion of being in church means to you. This is why we are taught, brainwashed, when we come to church, our clothing matters.

Wow, that turned into something sermon like. Wait, all of you reading this will burn in hell unless you……. Unless what? I mentioned before, in the House of Scorpion you are free to do as you see fit how you see fit doing it. I have mentioned once, a long time ago, my own convictions and why I have them, so I will not repeat them now. I also mentioned, some of you may find it very fucking hard to believe tho, that in my youth it was my desire to become a Catholic priest. I wanted to be the one bringing the message to the people, I had many years of education for this purpose, many years I allowed myself to be brainwashed, many years of dismissing my own questions and answers, and ending in disappointment because I started to choke on the bullshit being fed me. Who is at fault for my misguidance? Why, me, of course. Something I corrected and haven’t looked back upon. Or have I? As years have passed, I continue in my reading about the commercialization of corporate organized religion, a term many Christians do not like hearing because they don’t like hearing that they are but a cog in a wheel that is just spinning in circles. But, as are most things written here, they are just my opinions on the world around me. I am not wishing to do battle with the “church” or religion or Christians, but I will not be treated as if my mere appearance is so non conformant that it tarnishes the grace of the church I stand in, to watch a symphony concert no less. Next time, yes there will be a next time, I will go in my slacks (dress pants), but I will be wearing flip-flops bitches!

What have we learned today? Not that I was teaching anything, but I’m curious if you have made the choice to look at what is actually important. What is more important, the message or the dress code? This is on my rather lengthy list of why I don’t attend church services. How can Christianity dismiss everything around us, science, evolution, dreams, and individual thought? I don’t want to be part of the “collective”, I prefer not to be in the herd of sheeple looking for salvation. Salvation from what? Damnation from what? One day we need to discuss corruption, greed, and our sinister needs to be one step ahead of our neighbor. I’m pretty sure we all want the same thing, just to live a happy life, a life we see fit, a life we are comfortable living. Until then, we struggle with our own happiness because that is what we are fucking taught to do after generations of brainwashing we don’t want it any other way. Why do we need to be led? Why do you desire being led? Why? Sorry, I can’t answer why, you must first look into the mirror and decide if you are comfortable in your our skin, then you can start asking fucking questions you might not like the answers to. We must all live with who we are individually to be happy, we can’t do that as sheeple, we can’t do that as a part of the collective thought. Who knew, right?

Until we speak again, I leave y’all with a final thought. I do care about my fellow humans, probably to a degree that few of y’all could ever understand. But, it’s hard to sit by idle and watch us destroy ourselves over stupid shit that doesn’t matter in the first place. Here’s an idea, find the person you cherish and live a happy life. The end my friends, the end. For fun, before y’all leave, get a better understanding of the sheeple by reading The Parable Of The Sheep found in the tabs above as well.

When We Breakdown To Make Changes

We all do it, maybe not everyday, but we all make changes we see fit to fill one need or another. This isn’t breaking news or anything, but I’ve found that each day I try to intentionally find things in my life I would like to change. Call it a mental bucket list of the things that would be better off changed in my opinion. Before one starts tossing things in the bucket of change one must first recognize the things that he/she has no control over to change. A good example of something I have no control of is the weather here in Houston or the fact that the mosquitos will always be here. One cannot change other people either, trust me I’ve tried, but we can change ourselves or adapt to keep the peace. Have y’all ever noticed that we spend so much time changing what we think or do because it is the easy thing to do? Its easy to change oneself and usually it is done in vain because its not noticed. Before I get too deep here, lets begin with the basics. First of all, if y’all haven’t noticed, this blog is merely a hobby of mine, and at one given time in history I spent allot of time trying to get my blog seen, usually in vain. I can write here that being seen doesn’t matter to me, for the most part its true, very true, but there is a part of me that likes to see my blog stats and see that I get over a thousands visitors, not just views, but over a thousand individual visitors each day. Trust me, I have reviewed my overall blog and I don’t get it either. People from all over the world, people of all ages, and people from all walks of life visit here each day, they read the current posts as well as look through all the past stuff. Sadly, since my blog bounces all over with a vast bit of topics its truly hard to say what people are drawn too. That’s not altogether true, I do know what y’all are looking at and what doesn’t get looked at, ever.

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In that regard, I take down some static features that over time have become outdated or the idea was bigger in my head than it really was. I also get a fair share of fan mail, telling me what they like, what they would like to see more of, and that the accidental stumbling onto my blog was well worth the time wasted here. I get allot of hate mail as well, and we know what I think about those people, you may have come here by mistake but it is also you who made the choice to continue exploring. I sell nothing here, I have no sponsors here, and I do all of this for free and for fun. So many of y’all want me to put your stories up and when I reply to you that I will not do it, y’all get pissed. Well, as much as I hate rules, I do have rules, simple ones. I will not post things which you are peddling anything, not even for non profit organizations. I will not post your politics or religion here either, both are personal choices a person makes and many people aren’t buying the shit y’all are slinging. I’m “anti” many things, very true, but in my own personal way, I try to stay off the band wagon because its generally to rough of a ride in my opinion. However, visitors here see that I post many different things, maybe not something for everyone, but that was never the point, I’m not here to make everyone happy or to piss off everyone either. Moving on, I do read all of my email, not skim, read, then I make a choice, dumpster or in the que. There is no easy answer to who or what makes it into the que, guess it just depends on my mood that day. I’m pretty laid back so its actually real hard to rub me the wrong way.

On the flip side of that, I don’t usually try to rub people the wrong way, but since we all have opinions, shit happens. There are things, places, and people I don’t like in the world. There are things, people, and places I avoid like some kind of unknown plague because I don’t want the bullshit in my life. Don’t even get me started on other people’s drama that the try to drag me into. Man, oh man, I try to live such a simple life. Unfortunately this blog is a double edged sword since I can openly discuss whatever in the fuck I want, how in the fuck I want, and when I want. But, there are others who don’t share my opinions, I get that, I don’t fault people for not having my opinion, in fact I fully applaud that people think on their own. Its the ones who have been fed bullshit for so long that they actually think all others should think that way as well. Those people can piss up a rope in a hurricane for all I care.

So, I made a choice that may or may not set well with others. I decided to take off the kiddie gloves and go bare fisted for a change. I’m taking this blog back to its roots, taking it way back, back to when I started with Blogger, who coincidently was not real receptive to my unadulterated opinions on the world. I used to piss on allot of parades, it got to the point where Google killed off my entire account because my blog, my words, my stories, and everything else offended the right people at the wrong time. I moved on, found me a new home, found that the same people are there, people look for the things they don’t like, they attack my improper use of grammar and the English language, the attack my lack of Christian faith and condemn me to their hell because I feel they are flaws in their organized religions. Its like they are oblivious to the world around them, or they can’t read, or they don’t watch the news, its as if they choose to stay uninformed. I get attacked because I’m not that into their particular politics, defending politicians as they do they faith. Lets not forget that I’m pro military and pro veteran, because its a part of my everyday life. Content here always seems to raise an eyebrow or three, and NO I didn’t know I could write or speak without using the word fuck. Is that even possible? I’m taking it back, my blog, and I’m doing things my way. Some of y’all will come along for the ride, others will fall off, soon forgotten, and I’m really ok with that.

Why do I feel I need to take time to explain all of this to all of y’all? Good question, but I don’t have an actual direct answer. I used to think I wanted to live in the internet world where all just get along, but we all know, as much as we want internet utopia so we can have internet euphoria that it is one thing we can honestly guarantee will not happen, at least not in my lifetime it won’t. Well, doing posts about fluffy kittens dancing with unicorns isn’t exactly my cup of tea, in fact tea isn’t my cup of tea either. Why not actually have posts which, because the topic made me think enough to write about, have posts that make others visiting think. I can tell you why, people don’t want to think for themselves, they want others to tell them what opinion to have. You know I’m right, I feel the wind from everyone nodding their heads at the same time. Hopefully this realization will not cause a butterfly effect. If you don’t know what the butterfly effect is then I highly recommend googling it or something, or none of what you’ll ever read here, past or present, will ever make any sense to you. Maybe that’s the problem, maybe I’m the problem, maybe when I made the choice to get out of the box to find my answers I created my own new set of problems, because not everybody followed me out of the box. It’s like people are in the think inside the box cult, fearing ideas that have been associated with being out of the box. What are we? Are we kittens or puppies they are giving away in the parking lot of Walmart? You are if that is where your comfort level is. I will give y’all a little teaser of my next post, I warn you it will be about church and people and a recent interaction I have had.

I have on my “I don’t give a flying fuck” hat right now, it feels good upon my head. From now on it will be my way here, fuck the highway, I don’t give two shits where people go. I had a long discussion with my oldest daughter, in regards to just deleting this black hole. She talked me out of it, she says I have decent reasoning, but doesn’t see me being the quitter, at least that is what she has learned from me as a father. Man, she pulled out the “daddy card” on me, then I had to rein in what I was thinking, which really made me sit back to see how to regroup. Dammit. She’s right. The easy, or as she put it, stupid, thing to do is to just hit delete and it all goes away. But, she reminded me I like challenges in life, and as much as I might bitch about things being out of control here, I wouldn’t be happy without my blog(s). She speaks of it as it as if it saves lives or something, well, it does, my own, it helps me balance my sanity. I never dreamed or aspired to be a writer, of any kind, but I do get a certain of satisfaction writing right here, about life, about people, about family, the good, the bad, and even the ugly. It’s like an extension of my favorite hobby, people watching, because I do enjoy people watching quite a bit. People are amazing in everything we do, usually until we open our mouths, then all fuck breaks loose, and then it’s a party. Well, I need to move on, I think I’ve said my piece, made my point, and explained just enough to confuse everyone. Yes I know I ramble, yes I know I can’t stay on topic, and no I don’t care, that’s the exact way I’m in real life. It freaks people out. Well, that and the fact that I just appear out of thin air, stealth like, then poof there I am. One cannot raise 3 kids and not know how to be sneaky. Except one thing, I was born this way, having children just improved my abilities.

I guess all I can ask is that as the “change” happens that you never look directly into the light, nothing good ever happens when we look directly into the light. I leave y’all with the favorite lie I hate hearing every time the vampires want a sample of my blood, “it’s a small needle, you will feel a little prick, at most, but you won’t feel a thing”. Lying cunt, I always feel it when the needle rips thru my skin, I always do, everyday, twice a day. Why lie? All I know is it is now open season on whatever I want to talk about. The times are over where I’m suppose to care or cater to each person is over, the clock is smashed into a million tiny pieces, and there is no time to write anything but what I want to write.

Trapped Inside Herself

She used to be trapped inside of herself, the past demons cornering her into the alley of darkness hidden deep in the perception of her psyche. She fought the demons, as they surrounded her trying to suppress her and destroy her with the false illusion of her past becoming her reality again. This is what she saw every time she looked in the mirror. She never looked at the girl in the reflection staring back at her. Her focus never seemed to pertain to the aspects of her mortal body. What her attention was zoned on was beyond the flesh and blood of the girl poised in the mirror. She was in her soul that is where she was every time the mirror forced her to look upon the eyes of her being. Perhaps this is where the origin of her new self stemmed from, beginning with the reflections of the soul, creating a raging storm between past demons and the heart deep within, ending with the rebirth of something new. It seemed her past was chasing her. The translucent ghosts of her life in the past had come to combine as a clay and been molded into an entity of “what once was.” She thought they would haunt her forever, stalking the thoughts in her mind, stealing any sense of peace her being may have had contained. These were her demons, taunting her with everything she had been, whispering lies of what she was becoming.
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They were grotesque, but she found them beautiful, as she often found many dark disturbing things. Their appearance was something derived from her own imagination. Something she maybe had found in her gruesome wonderland. Black rose vines wrapped around their bodies, skin crafted of the shadows that once clung to her soul and smothered her with her fears. Their teeth were formed of the sharp razors, glinting silver, as she had once used them to pierce her skin, releasing her pain in the scarlet streams flowing outward from beneath her flesh. Their eyes were glossy, cold, and burning red, holding every drop that has ever cascaded down her cheek, and every crimson tear she had ever set free from her flesh. From deep inside they made shrieks that of a banshee, every wave of sound woven together by threads of every scream ever to have escaped her mortal being. Oozing from their mouths was the maroon wine she spilled from her body during her past attempts of erasing herself from this dominion. All these features formed perfectly together and created the Demon Fey standing still like statues, blocking her path out of the grimy alley.

She studied them, ignoring their beastly appearance, focusing only on their internal characteristics. She stared deep into their soul-less eyes, seeing them for what the real purpose of their false existence in her consciousness was. They were shadow tinted mirrors, reflecting the sins, regrets, heartache, and pain of her past. Looking into the reflections, she knew she should’ve ran from them and fled into the fog of the future and the present. Instead, her body refused to obey the request of her logic and slowly moved toward the demons. The demons also seemed daring and invaded the space between them. Their movement was quite gracious, resembling that of a dance. Perhaps they were dancing, their bodies swaying with each step, matching the melody of her past.

Her soul maybe should have felt some sense of fear, but all it felt was welcomed by the demons. It drew her nearer to them, the attraction pulling them together like the gravity between two magnets. The gap between her and the demons grew less and less. Without permission her hand reached out towards them, lightly brushing the skin of the demon nearest to her. At that moment when they had touched, anger-wired adrenaline injected into her body like a syringe filled with heroine. It flowed throughout her being, infesting her psyche with the emotions and instincts of a deranged animal. The atmosphere grew dense with the mists of her hatred, clouding the thoughts flickering through her mind. She closed her eyes and breathed in the haze, letting herself slip into the intensity of her emotions stemming from the past.When she opened her eyes and exhaled it seemed as if her breath paralyzed the universe, stealing the reality of time. The viridian-amber shade once filling her irises with life and being, now painted over with the amaranthine shades of insanity, coloring her eyes hollow. No longer had her own spirit dwelt within her body. Something twisted and deadly was lurking in her being, infesting her veins with madness, devouring her core with a newfound bloodlust.She looks up at the demons, her lips being consumed by a sinister grin. Not only did the insanity possess her soul it, it also began transforming her physical aspects. Her original hair had been about medium length touching just above the middle of her back, the layers gave it volume, adding a seductive characteristic to it. The color was something of a light shade of chestnut intertwined with strands of white, silver, gold, and copper. It looked as if it had been stitched together using fabrics of the sand, stardust, moonlight, sunshine, and the gleam of precious gems. But now insanity had bleached it white and grown it down to her knees. Her face took shape of a more mature structure. Her light pink lips grew plumper and kissed with a hint of deep rouge. Her already pale skin lost most of its pigment and was now pale like the winter snow. Her slender body filled in with curves, bust and hips connected by a smaller waist, forming a body that of a goddess. Ebony raven wings materialized in the space between her shoulder blades, ripping the clothes of her body as they grew to more than 8 feet in height and width.Her new form, driven by insanity, positions itself into a battle stance, knowing they were going to attack. She reaches down to her sides and pulls two swords (fabricated of darkness) from their sheaths. The universe grew still and quiet, every sound and movement hushed out of existence. She stares down her foes, waiting in silence until they make their move.
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The demons break the silence, darting toward her with the intentions of a malicious origin. She spreads her wings and soars into the air, demons following close behind her. She stops and turns around, they lunge at her violently, hoping to rip through her flesh and taste the sweetness of her bodily wine. Without effort, she swings her blades, severing the heads of the first group of enemies. More attack, coming at her from all angles. Without fault she defends, her long silver hair syncing to the rhythm of her body as she dances with her blades. She flits through the sky, the light of the moon caressing her skin serves as a spotlight, shimmering over her stage of twilight and mauve. Her blades sing as they leave the demons in crimson ribbons and scarlet rain. Her raven wings flutter and fall, landing her safely on the asphalt. The blood and corpses of her defeated opponents fall to ground like snow. Insanity disappears from her eyes.
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She looks up and sees the stars gazing down upon her, sparkling with what seemed to be a hint of hope for her destiny. Without turning back, she walks away, skin flawless and untouched by battle. She smiles knowing her past is dead and that the fate of the stars is wagering in her favor. Running, she spreads her wings and takes flight. Serenity overwhelms her being as she soars away from what had once chained down her soul. Leaving the corpses behind, her past dissipates from her thoughts and her shadow self is swept away from existence. Tonight she is born anew. Today she rises out of the debris and ash of the past as a reborn angel of darkness.

The Shining Smiles

I woke to green light and purple shadows. The air was heavy and humid, wrapping around me like a blanket. A faint buzzing irritated my ears. Fear gripped me. They would be coming soon. Coming with their sharp silver instruments and whispered promises that they were “just trying to fix you. It’ll be over soon.” Ignoring my screams. Looking down on me with shining smiles. I close my hand around the glass shard. Not today motherfuckers, not today! They come on time, shining smiles bright red today. Their eyes flash, mine gleam and red drips down my face. Taking a life leaves me buzzing with adrenaline. I turn. I run. I am free. Years of imprisonment in my own mind, in my own body, cannot prepare me for the absolute bliss, the euphoria that comes with the stretching of my muscles, the lengthening of my breath. I am hypnotized by the pounding of my feet on the hard, black road. Alone in the room, I put everything I have into driving each step forward. Rushing air has dried the blood on my face, sticking my eyelashes together in clumps. At the top of the incline, I pause. Far, far behind me my prison is a speck between golden hills outlined by the rays of the rising sun. Red tendrils shoot up into the sky, banishing the inky black night. In flash of light, orange, pink and blue rip the sky in half. I am blinded for a moment. It is in that one, precious moment that a sound drifts up to me from the bowels of the valley that chills me to the bone. The wolves are howling!
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I am crashing through the thicket, branches and thorns tearing at me face, my hands, my hair, dragging me down as if I was running through knee high syrup. The beauty of the world is lost on me. I am consumed by one need and one need only: to get away, to escape. Suddenly, I am free, falling down, down into a ditch. Mud squelches between my fingers, soaks my clothing, sucking me in. Exhaustion presses me into the mud. I watch, fascinated, as my blood mixed with the brown muck. It is cool and strangely soothing to lie here. I turn to watch the sunrise. It is the last thing I see before the hounds swarm, like death itself, down the hill towards me. I await them with open arms, laughing as pain becomes the only existence I know.