There Seems To Be Some Confusion

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I’ve been getting many emails as of lately asking me what the fuck is going on with my blogs. It seems people still find me through a portal I created just over a year ago with a blogspot blog that points everyone here to my wordpress blog. Why the portal? I was compelled to create something that was connected to my Google account because I follow many blogspot (blogger) (Google) blogs to show people I relocated to a better neighborhood so people would know I wasn’t just some random “bot” following their blogs. Many, and I mean many, of my friends still are loyal to blogspot and the Google ways. So, anyway, about a year and a half after Google killed off my blogs I created the portal so people knew I actually had a blog, just not on blogspot.

Apparently it is now causing confusion as I have been overrun with emails with people wanting to know why there was two blogs. Of course, I ask them if they had read the statement at the top of the page which states it is a placeholder, a static page which will NOT be updated, and serves purpose only to find my new blog on wordpress. See for yourselves @ Portal To T.S.O.S.B. and y’all will see what I mean. I also point them to my opening post on wordpress called “I’m Back” which was written on 15 March 2013 and my second post called “R.I.P. 13 March 2013” written on 18 March 2013 to explain, somewhat, what happened. If y’all are new here or you never saw the posts, feel free to click the titles to look at them.

For future reference, the portal will remain active so people can find me. Sadly, the IYAAYAS Moderator is “dead” and no I don’t think I make any more references to the name after those posts since my blog became reborn here on wordpress. Which, this blog for some reason, has evolved and taken on a life of it’s own, and very easily stands on it’s own. People take on the assumptions that I’m new to blogging when in reality I’ve been doing this shit in one way or another since 2001. And yes, I’ve had a “few” blogs over the years, but one thing always remains the same, I’m consistent in my views and in my ways.

I don’t ask that people follow my blog, y’all follow it if y’all feel like it. Think of my blog(s) as the little shithole bar on the corner of your street, y’all stop in for a drink or three one day and maybe never return or you stop in and find yourselves hooked. It pleases me people visit here every day, roughly 2500 per day to be clearer, and I hope y’all enjoy your visit. Remember, I’m just an asshole from Houston Texas trying to write and post things I see every day, telling stories of my own, sharing the stories of others, and giving my general opinion. I’m not seeking fame and fortune through blogging because I’m just here to be here. My email is always open for questions or concerns or for sharing and I always welcome your comments, except for you fucking spamming bitches, y’all can suck a dirty asshole as far as I’m concerned.

With that mental image I leave y’all to your day. Hopefully y’all aren’t confused any longer. When in doubt, search my blog, categories, and tags, or just ask me. Remember boys and girls to eat it every day!

The Ghost Of Halloween’s Past

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When I was a kid around 7 or 8 I had a really great friend. As we got into our early teens we were very close, and now looking back I realize just how close. She was the person I talked to about anything and everything, I even talked to her about girls and she talked to me about the boys. We had that real close cousin type of friendship even though there was no blood relationship, but we were more than friends, our connection went deeper than that, much deeper than one can simply imagine. So, in “honor” of my great friend in life I would like to share some memories, I hope she wouldn’t mind.

The first time I met Gabby I was probably 7 or 8 years old, I was spying on the new girl on the block as she helped her parents unpack the moving truck and I was truly fascinated with everything about her. I was up high in the tree in our front yard, as quiet as a hawk searching for movement in the tall grass, as I watched her blonde hair whip around in the breeze. I got distracted for real and was watching two squirrels fighting over something at the end of the very branch I was laying on. Out of the blue I heard a quiet voice, the whispering voice of a girl asking me if I wanted to climb down so I could play with her. After I climbed down we walked back to the bayou where we caught and played with the crawdads that were everywhere. We didn’t talk much about anything, we just got muddy, laughed, and played. Later on we hear her dad calling out in the distance for Gabby to come home. With big eyes she stole a kiss on the cheek, told me thanks for playing with her, and she was gone into the wind. We would play like this, for hours at a time after school and on the weekends.

We went trick-or-treating together that first year she moved in and that became our “little tradition” for many years to come. We would do crazy shit all year long, pranks, jokes, and so on, always doing it together as much as time would allow. In our early teens our friendship took a turn to the best I think, I never heard her complain either, she noticeably was going from little girl to a young lady. As this happened, we played allot of show and tell and allot of spin the bottle and a fair share of truth or dare, always just us two, nobody else was allowed to participate. It’s just the way it was. Before long we knew more about one another than each other knew about themselves, inside and out. But this was all about to end, I was moving away the summer between 8th and 9th grade to live with my dad in another state. It was a surprise and crushing blow for all of us, family included, as everyone guessed us to start dating because we were inseparable at all times. That was a hard summer for me, I crashed an ultralight aircraft attempting to get my amateur aviation license which should have killed me, but it didn’t luckily. Unfortunately, on my final trip back home at the end of summer, to pack and say goodbye, I was given the terrible news that my dad had a fatal accident while participating in a exposition air show. I buried him a week later. All my plans died with him that day, but the only person I felt I could talk with or just sit with was my best friend Gabby.

High school started right on cue, we had unofficially started dating, meaning we did everything together but weren’t actually together, but everyone but us called it dating, we are just good friends. By our sophomore year the boys were really noticing her and time in our friendship was being stretched beyond control, something had to go, and that something just happened to be me. She dated many boys, I didn’t really have a serious relationship until 11th grade which made our friendship even stranger. In the beginning of that relationship Gabby played dirty, in my spare time she was there, flirting harder than ever, always naked around me when we were alone, always tempting me with the very thing I always thought I wanted, but it never happened, but according to her rumors we were together, we were fucking, and I was taken. A nice story that ended badly. We didn’t speak again until the night of our graduation, where she told me she was leaving soon to go to Air Force basic training, a place I was also going to be but got accepted into college so my enlistment was delayed 24 months. That was it, my first crush was leaving and I didn’t have the nuts to even tell her goodbye or I’m sorry or good luck, I just let her walk away.

I did attend college, I did get married to my high school sweetheart a year later, and did join the Air Force another year later. When all the dust settled and I land at my first base, I find out my sponsor just so happens to be little miss Gabby herself. I had four years to do in Japan, luckily she was leaving in a few months. We partied quite a bit before she left, a habit greatly practiced by ammo troops I soon found out. Yes, if hadn’t guessed, we had the same job, both making the choice we decided way back when in yesteryear. Soon enough she left, leaving me once again. I saw her again, sooner than I thought, as we both were deployed for Desert Storm and were stationed at the same base. It made 8 months fly by, having a friend from home with me. But soon enough we rotated out to our home bases and once again we were separated again. I would see her off and on for the next few years until we ended up in New Mexico together. She had gotten married to a true asshole, I say that because he thought it was okay to beat on her regularly. A disturbing fact that was brought out to my attention one early morning when she showed up in my doorstep with a bloody nose and bleeding lip. That night a few of my friends and I payed him a visit, never before had I tried to kill someone before, but I tried that night. He got the message and slipped away quietly one day soon after, leaving a note announcing he wants a divorce.

Life went on, I divorced my wife, got out the Air Force, and so forth. Meanwhile, Gabby was determined to make a career out of the Air Force, and carried on, gaining rank, ribbons, and accommodations. After two back to back tours in Afghanistan she decided she was done, she retired as a Senior Master Sergeant (E-8) which I had an invitation to the ceremony but had other obligations, so no, I did not attend. I got a phone call from Gabby a few weeks later, announcing she had moved back to Houston and wanted to get together with my family and I for dinner one night soon. My current wife knew very little of Gabby and our lifelong friendship, since I never had a need to talk about my past much, something I’ve been working on lately, and my wife is now realizing that I treat my relationships, friends or family, and with her, very seriously, and I will guard those relationships until the end. She gets it, I think.

Our dinner out was great, everyone including my wife and kids, had a great time talking and visiting. I think my wife looks at me differently now, she never has had anyone explain how my life in the Air Force was except for me, and I tend to not talk much about the details, just keep it short and sweet, the end, story over. That dinner was two years ago, on Halloween night, a night not unlike many before it, we said our goodbyes, made future plans, and we went our separate ways. After getting settled at home, about an hour and a half after leaving the restaurant, I got a phone call from the Constable’s office to inform me that an officer was heading my way to discuss an important matter with me. Soon enough we got the knock on the door, the officer was there to inform me of a fatal automobile accident a few hours ago. Seems I was listed as Gabby’s only next of kin and also the last person she spoke with according to her phone. He explained that a truck traveling the opposite direction hit a deer which resulted in the truck losing control and colliding head on with Gabby’s truck at what was estimated at at least 80 mph, resulting in both being killed at impact. The following day I was asked to formally identify her body and yes it was her. She had a closed casket funeral due to the facial and upper body damage. A very small funeral at the Veteran’s Cemetery here in Houston, most of the people attending were my family. Her flag was presented to me, probably the hardest thing I accepted in life with exception to being 15 and presented my father’s flag at his funeral.

I have bad news for my wife, who recommended I tell this story here today in my spare time, who thought it might make me feel better if I take the time to write about my great friend and our enduring friendship, who is wrong because I don’t feel better, but I did enjoy the trip down memory lane, sort of, but I think I should come clean to y’all, the story y’all read today is only about 1% of everything that ever happened. For now y’all can assume and presume, for now y’all can filter through it all, because for now I’m very done writing about it. In case you are curious, the picture is of Gabby, I took that picture in an undisclosed location in a desert in New Mexico many years ago, alongside a deserted road, she wanted to flash somebody so bad, but after hours just the scorpions, the buzzards, and I were the only ones enjoying the show. It’s a great picture and memory of her, she truly was a graceful and free spirit.

A Brief History Of Three Great Words

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As always, members of The Scorpion Army are up early finding things which normally would go unseen or unread. Today’s presentation briefly delves deep into the history of Fuck, Shit, and Cunt, three of my favorite four-letter words that have an intriguing and very fascinating history. Rather than being written in manuscripts by monks, we find them used by normal people and preserved in surprising places like place names, personal names, and animal names and they reveal more about our medieval past than just attitudes towards sex and body parts.

Fuck

Fuck isn’t thought to have existed in English before the fifteenth century and possibly arrived later from German or Dutch. In fact, the Oxford English Dictionary says it wasn’t used until 1500. Using place names though, we can trace it back a bit earlier.

Many early instances of fuck were actually used to mean “to strike” rather than being anything to do with actual fucking. The more common Middle English word for sex wasswive, which has developed nicely into the Modern English word swivel, as in: go swivel on it. Some of the earliest instances of fuck then, turn out to mean “hitting” or “striking,” such as Simon Fuckebotere (recorded in 1290), who was disappointingly probably in the milk industry, hitting butter rather than doing anything else with it, or Henry Fuckebeggar (1286/7) who may have, unfortunately, hit the poor.

The earliest examples of fuck in English appear in place names. The first is found near Sherwood in 1287: Ric Wyndfuk and Ric Wyndfuck de Wodehous. These both feature a kestrel known as the Windfucker which, we must assume, went at the wind. The next definite example comes from Bristol 1373 in Fockynggroue, which may have been named for a grove where couples went for some quiet alone time.

Shit

Like fuckshit has a rich history, being used across the Germanic and Scandinavian languages, making it one of our oldest words. It originally had a technical usage, meaning diarrhoea in cattle, and it crops up in lots of place names from a time when people were herding cattle and naming things, such as Schitebroc—now Skidbrook—which literally means “shit-stream,” found in the Domesday Book for Lincolnshire.

Shit did not just happen in the countryside though. Street-names, for example, reflect the grotty state of urban living in graphic detail. Schiteburne Lane—now Sherbourn Lane in London—means “shit-stream lane,” and Schiteburg Lane in Romford uses borough in the middle, meaning a fortress, to paint a vivid picture of a privy, standing proud as a mockery of a palace in the middle of town.

Cunt

This too is an old word, appearing across the Germanic and Scandinavian languages, although any connection to the Latin cunnusis unlikely, despite the apparent similarity. Originally, rather than being a taboo word, it was the general descriptive term for the vagina. Cunt is, etymologically, more feminist than vagina, which is dependent on the penis for its definition, coming from the Latin for “sword sheath.”

Records of cunt start comparatively early. There’s a runic inscription which reads ‘kunt,’ but that was probably a spelling mistake. Nearly all of the early evidence comes from place names and even personal names—pity, or perhaps applaud, Bele Wydecunthe in 1328, for example.

The most famous of the place names is Gropecunt Lane which at one point appeared in twenty places, generally describing—with pleasing matter-of-factness—a red light district. These have all since been lost, or have been changed to Grape Lane, but all are still easily traced.

But other place names are no less revealing.

Shavecuntewelle in Kent in 1275, for example, could describe a nearby valley with a narrow wooded area—a literal lady-garden, if you will—or it could be a site where women were punished. Cuntewellewang in Lincolnshire (1317) seems to describe a similar type of landscape.

And the thirteenth-century Hardecunt? Who knows, it’s just a great name.

Perhaps the most glorious example of cunt in a place name is Hungery Cunt, found in a 1750 military map of Kinross-shire, Scotland. Disappointingly, though, this is probably just a mistake: a misreading of Hungeremout.

These early instances of now heavily taboo words open up the world of normal people in medieval England and a different—and more vibrant—picture of the history of our language. They allow us to meet a very literal and pragmatic people with a healthy sense of humour about their bodies and their environment.

A Special Halloween Treat

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Over the years The Scorpion Army has grown significantly and continues to exceed my own imagination. The very first person to announce she was going to start a “fan club” for me is still my strongest supporter, sharing all kinds of things for me to use over the years. Typically, she sends me pictures she knows I won’t post because she likes to poke fun at my so-called PG rating I have tried to maintain here @ T.S.O.T.S.B. over the years. However, this year she changed her game up a bit and for the my favorite time of year she has finally sent me a picture I can post. Although, she does remind me, once again, “that a little naughty never killed anyone”. I suppose she’s right, so here y’all go, finally I can display a picture of her. Halloween is a time of year when a little sexy can be seen when you least expect it. I would like to thank her as well as all of The Scorpion Army for all of their fantastic hard work and every single contribution they share. Have a very Happy Halloween everyone and don’t be afraid to get a little naughty this year.

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You Might Be A Hipster If………..

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If you didn’t want to read anymore than the title because it pisses you off but can’t stop reading because you know it’s going to be pissing you off more.

If you get mad when people post videos or articles about played-out trends on your Facebook wall, because you actually still think things like the Harlem Shake are cool.

If you often find yourself resisting the overwhelming temptation to say “their older albums were better” when people ask you if you’ve heard a cool new song.

If you judge people for driving.

If when you read articles about things like gentrification, you get a little knot in your stomach because you know, on some level, it’s referring to you and your friends.

If the most exciting thing that’s happened to you in recent memory is a Trader Joe’s/Whole Foods opening up in your neighborhood, and you kind of don’t care how many row houses were evicted and demolished to put it up.

If several of your friends are bartenders at hole-in-the-wall bars, and at least one of them frequently says things along the lines of “Beer is the new wine.”

If you know what a barista jam is, and have possibly been to one/dated someone who went to one.

Of you get pissed at your local coffee shop for not knowing what a “flat white” is.

If you have gotten so into cycling that the majority of your disposable income now goes into buying new gear for your longer rides and parts for your bike.

If there is rarely a dinner conversation that goes by where you don’t mention the fact that your city does not have nearly enough combinations for cyclists, and how frustrated you are with the city council’s inactivity on the subject.

If you actively choose to wear glasses that you know don’t flatter your face just because they’re big and obnoxious.

If you’re a women, you wear crowns of flowers with your outfits as though that is somehow a thing normal human beings do.

If you get really into things like wine and tea even though you don’t really care about them, simply because you want to know a lot about it and be “the wine guy,” or “the tea guy.”

If you live in an awesome apartment that your parents pay for even though you have a job yourself, because using your own means to pay for it would mean downgrading.

If you are a part-time DJ.

If you constantly refer to bars and restaurants as being “too pedestrian” or “too full of tourists,” even if they are not at all a tourist spot.

If you have an iPhone, yet can’t afford basic groceries.

If you constantly bum cigarettes off of people while out drinking yet claim that you “don’t smoke.”

If you feel the need to reiterate how much you would not eat the junk food or fast food that someone else is eating while they’re eating it.

If you own a pair of pastel Doc Martens or leather clad Crocs.

If you participate in Movember year-round.

If your profile pictures look like they were shot and art directed by Terry Richardson.

If you own at least one coffee table book with vaguely pornographic art/photographs.

If no matter what is going in life, no matter what you’re facing, you always magically have money for drugs.

If you talk about how much you hate American Apparel, yet all your clothes look like they came from there.

If at least one your profile pictures is you smiling with a bunch of impoverished children in Africa/South America/Southeast Asia/America.

If you try to re-thrift your thrift shop clothes, and are rejected because they fall below Goodwill standards.

Obviously my friend who emailed me this great list is truly annoyed by the hipster lifestyle. She begged me to pollute my blog with this arrangement of traits because she knows I cannot resist a list. So, I dedicate this post to my friend Lauren, a self proclaimed hipster hater extraordinaire who is just trying to get the word out to the rest of us non-hipsters. Remember boys and girls, hipsters are people too, or they want to be people, but are pissed off people enjoyed this beautiful list. Now, don’t forget to eat “it” every day.

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