Fairytales: The Unfiltered Truth

We all grew up hearing all the fantastic fairy tales. Y’all know, the nice stories with fairies, nice dwarves, heroes and heroines. Little did we know that we were being fed the filtered, watered down version of these age old tales. In reality, most of these stories are laden with creepy and gory themes that were crafted to frighten children into the right behavior. Here are seven versions of fairy tales that you can tell a child if you really want to be a terrible person and scare the shit out of them.


Rumpelstiltskin: This story doesn’t even need any amending to be scary as all hell. The plot follows a miller’s daughter who is forced to try to spin straw into gold or be executed. When all hope seems lost, a little man appears to help the girl with her task. All she has to do is give him a few pieces of jewelry and her first-born child. Uh what? When the time comes for the dwarf to collect his prize, the girl evades being the worst mother ever by guessing the dwarf’s name: Rumplestiltskin; the dwarf responds by tearing himself in two. The moral of the story? Never trust a little man that appears in your house late at night.

Hansel and Gretel: For many kids, their biggest fear is being left behind by their parents and this story really plays into those fears. The brother and sister are left to fend for themselves in the woods by their wicked mother and their totally whipped father. You know the rest, they find a candy house inhabited by a witch. But not just any witch, a cannibalistic witch with a hankering for some kid meat. That right there is enough to scare most kids so bad they forget their potty training. Eventually the kids escape by tricking the witch into burning herself alive in her own stove. They eventually find their way back home to find that their wicked mother has passed away. They live happily ever after knowing that all their enemies have died. Adorable.

The Little Mermaid: You might be asking yourself “How could this tale be creepy? There were singing shellfish and they had charming Jamaican accents!” Wrong version. The original version reads a bit like a romantic tragedy. In that version, the mermaid gives up her fins to meet the prince of her dreams. There’s a few drawbacks though: not only is she mute, she also constantly feels like she is walking on knives. Yeah. In the end, the prince ends up marrying the neighboring princess anyway, breaking the poor mermaid’s heart. However, she is given a way out when she is given a magical knife that she is to kill the prince with, once that happens, she can become a mermaid again. Even after all that, she cannot bring herself to kill the prince, instead turning the knife on herself.

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs: Another epic rewrite by the good people at Disney. The original version had the evil Queen demanding Snow White’s heart as proof of her death. The hunter in a rare act of kindness lets Snow White go, and instead brings the Queen the heart of a deer. The story pretty much unfolds as everyone remembers it, Snow White hooks up with some dwarves who agree to house her, she eats the dreaded poison apple, a prince saves her and that’s the end of that. But what we don’t get to see in the Disney version is that the Queen is made to pay for her wicked deeds by wearing a heated pair of iron shoes that she is forced to dance in until she falls dead. Snow White is apparently no one to eff with.

The Robber Bridegroom: One of the lesser-known fairy tales in the Brothers Grimm catalog, The Robber Bridegroom is a story of an engagement gone horribly wrong. When the unsuspecting bride to be enters her husband’s house, she is quickly made aware that she is going to be eaten by her fiance and his pack of murdering cronies. She hides herself behind a barrel until she escapes, but not before witnessing the butchering of another unfortunate female. Before she escapes, she picks up the dead woman’s severed finger which she presents before her wedding party. Eventually the robber and his crew are put to death.

Little Red Riding Hood: This classic went through a few revisions before it became the staple of bedtime stories around the world. In the bloodiest version, there is no hunter that saves the day and the evil wolf is actually a werewolf (but not the type to fall in love with.) After killing and dressing himself up as grandmother, the werewolf feeds bits and pieces of the deceased to Red Riding Hood. Eventually she sees through the disguise and finds a way to escape. But it’s pretty safe to say that Red Riding Hood probably had some issues to deal with after that incident.

Cinderella: Will siblings ever get along? According to the original version of this tale, most likely not. In an older version, the wicked step-mother (we’re sensing an anti-stepmom trend here) demands that her daughters find a way to fit into the prince’s glass slipper. They oblige their mother by cutting off parts of their feet. This almost works until birds alert the prince of their wrongdoing. Eventually, Cinderella fits into the slipper and marries the prince. But wait, there’s more. As a wedding present, the birds saw it fit to peck out the eyes of the evil step-family and present them to Cinderella who lives happily in the castle while they live the rest of their miserable existence as blind beggars.

Why I Had To Play My Dad Card


Normally I try very hard to keep my “dad card” tucked away in my wallet. There are times, though, I have to raise the bullshit flag and call it the way I see it. I give allot of trust to my children still living at home because, in general, they give me no reasons not to trust them. Sometimes, when the line gets crossed, it gets worked out without too many hard feelings. But not this time, this time its different for some reason. So, let me start with the way it all started. My 17 y/o volunteered to drive my 12 y/o son to the mall so he could spend his money that he had been saving on a new game for the Xbox 360. Now, I wasn’t aware what game was purchased at the time and had not seen the game in question played until this past weekend. The only reason I saw it then is because they where in the living room since the Xbox 360 is connected to the 70″ HD television in there. Still, no problem, they play games there every day. Anyhow, I took a seat in my recliner looking to hopefully catch a nap but the very graphic images and very racially graphic language caught me a little off guard, prompting me to inquire what game it was that they were playing. Very nonchalantly my son replies by telling me it is Grand Theft Auto 5. I watched him play for about 5 more minutes and then I instructed him to turn it off, put the game in the case, and set it on the end table next to me.

In a very disgruntled way he complied with my request. Then we talked for a minute, and then he headed off to his room to get ready for bed. My daughter remains behind along with my wife, who decided that my actions needed to be questioned.  My daughter explained what she knew about the game from the times she spent playing it, some of the ins and outs, and the general just of the game. This prompted me to do some reading online and to me eventually playing the game with my daughters assistance. I was not and remain not impressed with the game. Now, readers here know I don’t have the cleanest language. The bad language on the game only started bothering me when I got to thinking about the age of my son and how I really didn’t want him repeating any of the racially charged comments in the company of any human being. He isn’t raised being a racist dumbass and I will prevent it from happening any way I can. I could get into the morality of the game, which is about lieing, cheating, killing, stealing, and of course, car jacking. In the end, the game is pretty influential in the overboard glorification of some very negative behaviors in our society. The game is rated M for Mature Audiences, not 12 year olds. Personally I don’t see the draw to the game in any regard.

The verdict? Well, since an open game cannot be returned to the retailer I gave my son what he paid for it. He was also given some stricter guidelines and was told the next time I will not be as generous. Don’t mistake me for some kind of purest prude, because I am not, but I am a father who wishes to help my kids become proactive individuals in our modern society. The damn internet and television do not raise my children nor are they my children’s babysitter. With that being said, I know they have good heads on their shoulders and I know they wouldn’t take the game too seriously, but don’t think it is an appropriate game for any age. Now I have this stupid game which I will NOT be putting for sale on eBay but will instead be using for target practice the next time I head out. My opinion? Fuck this game. Save your “the game is harmless” comments for someone else because I don’t want to read them.

Explaining My Three Fathers


Explaining my three fathers to my children has always been stories I enjoy telling. Sometimes it is like going down the wrong rabbit hole because it can be just a wee bit confusing. For those of y’all who just started playing along then I would guess y’all are at a bit of a loss. My recommendation is to search The Sting Of The Scorpion using the terms adoption, adopted, and biological. Then, perhaps y’all will be up to speed. Let me give a very brief review. I’m adopted, I’ve known my entire life. The fact that I was adopted was never the secret. In fact, until I turned 18 I never knew there was even a secret that people wished I never learned. In my case the records were sealed due to the circumstances of the pregnancy. Fortunately I was able to get them unsealed and have spent the better part of 25 years piecing together everyone’s dirty little secret, me.

On the backside of my property there lives an enormous oak tree. I find that when I’m in the presence of this oak tree that I tend to think of my family tree. My family tree is really twisted. If one was to look at it analytically I am actually the part of three family trees, if not more,  each in a separate way that leads into a different direction. Confused yet? We’ll get back to that. I have had “family”, specifically my biological family, on my mind recently since we (my wife & I) are planning to visit my oldest daughter (23) in Rapid City South Dakota over spring break this coming March 2014. Most of my biological family lives in the state of South Dakota, as well as my biological father and adopted father are both buried there also. For the purposes of explanation in this post the following will be the reference points when I discuss my three fathers, BF = Biological Father, AF = Adopted Father, SF = Step Father, my BM (biological mother/birth mother), and my AM (adopted mother/mother). Refer back to these abbreviations during this post if needed.

Everyone seems to want a piece of me when we go on the trip when all I really care to do is spend time with my daughter and my 2 y/o granddaughter whom we haven’t seen in some time now. Now, personally, my “agenda” will be to spend time with my wife, kids, and my granddaughter. Now, will that happen? Your guess is as good as mine. As my younger children get older they have began to have questions about family because my side of the family is kinda complicated. Recently I, for the second or third time now, tried to explain things to my son, who I finally now think gets it. Me being adopted is not what is in question. How this fits into my life as well as my kids life is what always seems to be confusing. And, when I explain it here I might go out-of-order and bounce around a bit so just try pay attention. Like I mentioned above, from this point further I will address my fathers by their relationship to me. I needed to explain all of this to my children because they have never met my BF (biological father) or my AF (adopted father), all three of them only know my SF (step father) and all three of my children will be meeting my biological family (many of them but probably not all of them) in March.

So lets see where to begin here. I was born 06 November 1968 in a little town in the southeast of South Dakota. I was placed with my adopted parents within days of my birth. My adopted parents were divorced by the time I was 6. I will get into that another time. By the time I was turning 7 my mother was re-married and we all moved to the southwest side of Houston Texas. My AF remained in South Dakota where I visited him every Christmas break and summer vacation until he died at the end of the summer in 1983. I remained being raised by my SF and still to this day consider him to be my dad. Anything y’all read around this blog about the current happenings with my parents is about my mother and step father, which he is never referred to in the real world. There was never any secret of me being adopted, I have always “known” because I was told early on. Why? I don’t know. Before I start the next part, let it be known that my SF and my mother (AM) have always loved me and raised me if I was their own blood son. Their loyalty to me as a son has never, nor will it ever, be in question.

Once I was out on my own, joined the United States Air Force, married, and had my first daughter I was asked about my family history so medical records for my daughter could be started. I was at a loss, I was actually crushed because here I brought a child into existence and I don’t even know if I passed something on to her genetically that had the potential of being bad. I struggled with this fact for a few months as I held my daughter in my arms wondering if there were going to be things about herself that she would never know. After a brief discussion with my wife and a long conversation with my mother (AM) the decision was made I was going to find out who I was. It was the thought at the time, it gave me hope for myself and my daughter. Since I was stationed in Japan in 1991 I had to do things the old-fashioned way, I had to write letters. I actually only wrote two different letters, form letters, which I used to inquire about my adoption records and my biological parents. I won’t lie, I hit allot of dead ends, I got wrapped up in allot of red tape, and I was at a point (after a year) where I was ready to give up because there didn’t seem to be any information to have. Then, out of the blue, when I was ready to quit, I received a letter from the office of the Judge that was over my case back in 1968. I was informed that they had the information I was seeking, but, since I was overseas I needed to provide all my personal information along with an affidavit from my commander confirming my identity.

I gathered everything I had, to include birth certificate and the letter from my commander, loaded it in an envelope and sent it on it’s way. For the first couple of weeks I waited very patiently, then a month rolled by and my patience was wearing thin. After 3 months I just gave up. Soon after I received another letter from the office of the judge informing me that he has reviewed my case and my request and is granting my request to have my adoption records unsealed. I was informed that they were ordered sealed due to the circumstances of the adoption and the biological mother as a request of her parents. I had no idea what all of that meant and was more confused than ever. The following day I received a package (large envelope) from the judge’s office that had a complete copy of everything that was filed in accordance with my adoption proceedings. It was worse than my worst nightmare, everything I wanted to know was blacked out like this was some kind of top secret document. All of the names, dates, places, agencies, and so forth were either removed or blacked out altogether. These documents read like a very well written mystery, with one exception, I never got to find out “who did it”. So, for now, the quest for information is dead.

I was divorced in 1998, we split everything up, she went one way, and my daughter and I remained. I put 90% of my stuff into storage where it sat for the next few years. In 2000 I was remarried, I welcomed with open arms my own step daughter (that will be the only time you ever hear me refer to her as a step anything) and finishing up the remaining time I had for active duty Air Force Guard. In 2001, after my son was born, we decided we wanted to raise our family in a house and not an apartment. I didn’t want just any house, I wanted a house we could grow into, grow old in, and not need to move any more, as I was tired of all the moving over the years being in the Air force, I was done moving. I spent the next 18 months designing our new house. My wife thought I was the obvious choice as the architect since that is what I have a degree in. So I did it, between working for my SF as a concrete contractor I spent the hours needed creating our dream home. Once we were happy with the design I submitted it to a Texas state licensed architect for the “stamp of approval” I needed to move forward. I found 10.4 acres in a large lot subdivision that we really fell in love with. For the next 18 months we watched our dream come true.

After we got moved in I announced I needed to make a trip to New Mexico to gather my belongings out of a storage unit there. So, my oldest daughter and I loaded up a trailer and made the road trip. It wasn’t much, mostly boxes full of records, pictures, and different things I had collected while I was in the Air Force bouncing around the world. When we got back home I went to unpack the boxes and noticed the one that had all of my adoption research in it. Not wanting to stop, I had my daughter just put the box in the master bedroom closet for later. After about a month of organizing I was at the computer paying some bills, checking the weather, and just when I was getting done my wife comes in and announces “we need to talk” with tears rolling down her face. (Fuck! What did I do?) I knew I have done nothing so that couldn’t be it, so what was it. I noticed in her hand a letter that I had written so many years before and she asked me when I was going to tell her. Tell her? I thought she knew I was adopted, I really thought this had come up in conversation before. It had, but my quest for information was never talked about. To tell you the truth the box was put in my closet to protect it from humidity damage, I had no intention of going through it because in my opinion the quest was dead and I had given up. I explained to her I had no interest in talking about it but she was free to read all of it if she wanted to.

A few days later I was piddling around in the garage putting some shelves up when my wife comes out to let me know I had a phone call. Weird because I didn’t even hear the phone ring which was mere feet from where I was working. My wife holds her hand over the mouth piece as she whispers that she loves me in my ear. After I said hello there was an extremely long dramatic pause, so I said hello again. This time a woman said hello back to me. She went on to explain that my wife contacted her the day before and asked if her and I could talk. Okay, lets talk. She informed me of who she was, she explained to me that she was my biological mother (BM). I was at a loss for words. She told me she would tell me anything I wanted to know. She said we are older now so it was time for the truth to be told. Okay. She gave me a name and claimed it to be the biological father’s name but never kept up with him after I was born so that is all she knew. She then needed to go, this was too emotional for her, so we hung up. I was dumbstruck to say the least. Seems my wife is pretty sneaky. She told me she had “friends” who knew what to do with the information I had and in less than 24 hours had a name and a current phone number. Really? Really.

We found a number for the name she gave me and gave it a call. The plot thickened because the person she had me call was my BF’s good friend from back in the day. He put his name as the father and so forth to protect his friend’s marriage. This lie came between them a few years later and the friendship was severed, so he didn’t see the harm in giving me his name, the real name this time and he even had the phone number. After hanging up with him I called the number and asked to speak with the named person I was given and I was informed at that time by the man on the other end that he has been deceased since 1996. The man I was talking to was my BF’s wife’s new husband. He gave me the name and phone number of their oldest son if I wanted to talk with him because he might have more information. When I called him I got the answering machine. I left a message for him to call me and my information. When he returned the call we spoke for many hours because I knew things that nobody outside of their immediate family should even know. We were able to fill in each others blank spaces so to say. I offered up a DNA test to prove who I was and I was told that it wasn’t necessary he knew that I had to be genuine. The puzzle was indeed coming together for me and I basically unraveled everything he had ever known to be true. A few days later, his mother called me, she said she felt obligated since her husband had died before I could “confront” him in person. Yea, him being dead really did throw a wrench in it all for me.

I kept in telephone contact with my BF’s side of the family for a couple of years before it came time to go to my oldest daughter’s graduation in Rapid City South Dakota. She decided to go live with her mom, who guilted her into believing that her life was just too damn lonely without her. Since we were going to South Dakota for her graduation I had the bright idea that this would be the perfect time to meet my biological family as well as visit my AF’s grave that I have not seen since the day I buried him. I also contacted my BM and told her I was willing to drive to northern Idaho to meet her while we were on our trip. She declined as well as asking me not to contact her or her two other sons ever again. I have honored her request. I visited my AF’s grave, which was hard, it was emotional, and left me drained. The following day I visited my BF’s grave. This was hard as well but something I felt I needed to do. Why? I felt he needed to “see” me and “hear” my voice, I needed him to hear me and see me. I met all of his children, 4 sons and 4 daughters, and a whole slough of grandbabies, nieces, and nephews who had zero idea who this strange man was that was at their grandma’s house. The accepted me, it was like I had been on a long trip or lived far away and was finally returning home. Was it bizarre? Absolutely bizarre. by the time these 3 days were over my brain was mush, I felt like the wash cloth that gets crumpled up and left to dry in the corner of the shower, I was just done. But I had a graduation to go to, I had to get back on the road to drive five hours away to get to the next town for my oldest daughter’s graduation.

I talked with my daughter quite a bit about what has been happening. It involved her as well because the people I just met were here “people” biologically as well. I don’t think she was prepared for these talks but I know she walked away feeling better because now she had a few more answers that I could never give her before. The graduation was awesome, we were so happy for her because we know what an accomplishment it is to graduate. We spent the next few days with my daughter, doing different things, just her and I, it had been a long time since we got to just sit and shoot the shit together. The day came that it was time to head home, it was time to head back to Texas. I was out of energy, I was drained, and borderline torn if I needed to extend my trip so I could go to Idaho. Then, after a heated debate with myself, we drove back to Texas.

To this day I am close to my father (SF). He is close with all of my children. Until just weeks ago my 17 y/o daughter and my 12 y/o son didn’t know he was my step father. I had to explain so much to say so little. My son is looking forward to the trip to South Dakota to visit with people and to see the grave which bears the name of his grandfather which he has never met but was named after. It should be an interesting trip. My whole family will be involved this time in meeting all the biologicals, I’m told it will be a family reunion of sorts. I hope my wife and kids are up for the journey which is ahead of us. I will let y’all know if I was up to it when we get back. Until then, I guess this story is on pause. It’s not over, but it’s over for right now. I wonder what other people do when they try to explain their own family tree(s) to their kids. I bet allot of people are glad their roots aren’t so complicated.

Not Even Traditions Are Safe From Hate

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Shortly, and I do mean shorty, like within 40 minutes shortly, after publishing Our Family Thanksgiving Tradition the meat eating hunter haters started their barrage of literal crap. I was a prepared because I know their are many people who A) don’t hunt, B) don’t eat meat, and C) think they are better than people who do eat meat and/or hunt or both. I have tried to understand the freakish nature of not hunting, I have explored that subject allot here and in real life as well. I have tried to understand why people who live a meat free life believe that everyone else is doing it wrong. I have tried to consider that when I write about hunting or meat in general that it will not appeal to everyone. I have come to a conclusion bitches, I don’t care what you do in your life, as pathetic as I might think your life is, it is still your life to live, not mine. I have been told by a few friends that by having a blog I open myself up to negative feedback, negative comments, and exposure to negative people. Well, they were right, eventhough I didn’t want to accept that some people are assholes just for the sole purpose of being an asshole. Now, I know my own personal intentions are not to offend people, but I do know that people will go out of their way to be offended because my lifestyle is not theirs. This fact used to concern me and I felt I needed to approach it all with soft gloves all around so everyone would be on an equal playing field. Well, fuck that, fuck it until it bleeds out because the gloves have come off, no more love taps, no more pulling back on my jabs, from this point forward I’m going straight for the juggler. If you don’t like what I say, what I do, how I write, or anything else, be prepared to be splattered all over my blog. Used to be, a big FUCK YOU would suffice. But you bitches are greedy and selfish, you want more, you need more, your over-indulgence has become overly-obvious, and now I plan on turning up the heat hoping you get burnt to a crisp.

One of the latest e-mailers (spammer tracks back to a virus infected website) stated that I needed to blog responsibly. The fucktard went on to explain the I have not been writing responsibly since I invite controversy with every word that is written here. I suppose the fucktard is correct, there are people who, in general, look to be offended. I often remind such fucktards that just because you are offended doesn’t make you right. It doesn’t mean you are wrong either, it just means that you let something I wrote offend you because you look for things to be offend by so you can justify your views. Well, here is my view. Since you made the choice to click the link, no matter where you saw it, and visit here. You might have seen it on WordPress, Blogcatalog, Pinterest, Facebook, or Google+. Those are the 5 places I place a link to updates on my blog. So, since I have to “belong” to each one of those websites and have an account I know I have “members”, “followers”, and “fans”. If you are getting my links then you too are a part of one or more of those five communities. If today, right now, all of my numbers dropped to dead zero I would not close my doors and blow away like dust in the wind. I would continue on, I would continue to do everything the exact same way. Why? Because I have no plans to cater to whiney sniveling crybaby bitches who have nothing better to do with their lives except be on the internet bitching about “content” on somebody’s blog. But, without you, without the grand ol’ fucktard, I would have just a little less to write about because I enjoy exploring the content of e-mails from ill-informed fucktards.


As I stated above, I had one meat-hater in particular try to explain to me that I was a terrible father for teaching my children barbaric traditions and skills. The fucktard goes on to explain that if we choose to eat meat why can’t we buy it at the store like normal people. So much to cover in those two small sentences. Readers here and people in my personal life know that we are hunters in my family. It has been these skills passed down generation after generation that keeps it alive in our family. My children have the choice, if they don’t want to hunt they do not have to. If they wish not to eat the meat provided by hunting, then they don’t have to. But, I doubt you will ever hear those words from my 3 children or my wife. We buy very little from the grocery store and annually we only buy about 5%-10% of our meat from the store. Why? 1) We don’t need to, 2) we have the means not to, 3) hunting to provide food for the year is the preferred way. One doesn’t get more “free-range” or “fresh” then putting an arrow in it yourself. I know the fucktards think all hunters are barbarians, and in a way, you are half right. We, as a family, are not special in any way, but we don’t trophy hunt, we don’t hunt just to kill something, we eat everything we kill. In my family we are bow hunters traditionally, a skill very few people still posses these days. But lets get back to the e-mail and how us killing our food is wrong. It’s wrong because this fucktards doesn’t agree with hunting or eating meat. I have never really understood, not that I’ve tried real hard, how a person doesn’t eat meat. I can see not hunting by people because most people are too big of a pussy to end the life of an animal. In fact, most people are too fucking lazy to hunt because their little life has consumed them in such a way that all other means besides the grocery stores seems to be a little out there in their opinion. Is that breeding? Is that the way they were raised? Is it because of where they live? Is it because they are comfortable in how ass backwards they live their life. Yes, I consider those who don’t hunt but bitch about hunting ass backwards. you wouldn’t be here if your ancestors were pussies and didn’t hunt to provide meat for their family, if they didn’t grow other food in the gardens, if they weren’t able to use an ax to chop wood, or if they didn’t have the balls to pull the trigger to defend the people and things they love and cherish. If they were all fucktards like we have today none of us would be here right now,

So what if we hunt. So what if we eat meat. So what that my children are well equipped to provide for themselves and others. So what that you are too fucking stupid to wipe the bullshit from your eyes so you can see that none of my life has diddlely dick to do with your life. The only way our paths cross is that you are too fucking stupid not to click the link to my blog. I challenge all the fucktards not to click my links, to un-friend me, to un-follow me, and to un-like me, and just move the fuck on. We will miss you, don’t get me wrong, but I want to help you onto the road to recovery. the first step is to admit you have a problem. Say it out-loud right now. I (state your full name) am a fucktard. I am addicted to being a fucktard. I can’t stop being a fucktard because (fill in the blank) and I am willing to take the first baby step right now to recovery so that one day when I reproduce I do not have fucktard offspring. Repeat that 100 times, look at yourself in the mirror while you repeat it over and over. After you have admitted you are a fucktard and you do have problems, then, and only then, can we move forward to help you shed the wool of being a contained sheeple. One day, one day you will want to hear the popping sound of your head coming out of your own ass. You will smell like shit but you will be happy once you stop looking thru your bullshit-o-vision glasses. Join us now, my brothers and sisters, let us take one another’s hand to have a moment in silent prayer. Whoops, that’s taking it a bit fucking far, their will be no fucking hand holding here. Now, do you feel better? No? Well, I can explain that to your simple simon little peanut fucked brain. That pain you feel in the back of your neck is your fucktard stupidity trying to get out, just let it out. When you see that little fucktard hit the floor then stomp on that fucker, smash it, grind it into the carpet, the wipe your shoes on your lilly white curtains and move the fuck on. Farewell fucktards, we are taking it all back. So, buckle up fucktards, hold on, shut, and get ready to be rode like the little bitches you  are!


So, while all of you freaks are enjoying a nice Tofurkey Just known my family will be feasting on a smoked turkey provided my son’s dead accurate shot. I don’t knock the vegans and the vegetarians, they are doing their own thing, which is what we do because that is how we live. Be assured, y’all have your own traditions and we have ours. Yes, they might be different, and yes our opinions may differ about the differences, but in the end, we are all here sharing the bounties of this great planet we live on.

The Possibility Of Designer Babies

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Being adopted I have often questioned my roots. I have always had the questions about my traits, which ones are genetic and which ones are unique. Since becoming a legal adult I have been on a couple national and international adoption listings. I get really weird mail and e-mail on occasion with different ways to look into my genetic paths of the past. I have always had two concerns with being adopted which are my own health questions with an unknown family history as we all those same questions for my children and grandchildren. Over the years I have spent countless (1000s and 1000s) hours doing records research, phone calls, letter writing, and door knocking, all with few or poor results. It was a challenge for me personally because I didn’t actually want to know who my biological family was, I just wanted to know family medical history for my own peace of mind. Due to the conditions of my adoption back in 1968, my adoption records were sealed only to be opened by my biological mother. It took much time and a fair amount of court costs to have that over-ruled and have my adoption records un-sealed. In the end it was actually a fruitless effort since 99% of the included information was indeed false. However, there was one vital piece of information that was included, and that was her social security number. I was able to use her social security number to track her down. I will leave it there as this is getting into another story for another day. So, the other day I get a letter from a company called 23andMe announcing an opportunity for myself to be genetically tested for multiple reasons. I called the provided phone number and had a chat with a very nice receptionist who explained that my name was drawn from a national seeking adoption information listing. I was told that the genetic information would provide me a genetic history which could be used to further map my existence. Want to talk about a “WOW” and “WTF” moment all rolled up tightly together, this was it.

After I hung up the phone I was still a little stunned and really didn’t know what to think. I began a conversation with my wife to review what we already knew about “me” and what more we could want to know. Starting with the simple things I knew we remembered that the date on my birth certificate had been altered to read the 7th of November when it was actually found to be the 6th of November. Why this was done has been a controversial question I have had for many years, but after receiving my original “original” from the hospital I was born in I let it rest. As far as genetic history I had found out that my heritage is “Viking” and can be traced back a good 900 years with some really cool family heirloom documents, crests, flags, and so forth. It has been interesting to find things related to these documents and symbols over the years. I was also able to produce some nice results from Ancestry.com which confirmed allot of what I was told as family “folklore” and so forth. It has always been an interesting ride when researching. It has been so interesting that all three of my children have done anything from family tree projects to full on heritage research essays over the years. Now, what does all of this has to do with anything at all? It’s simple, from my point of view, because the resources, as scarce as they may be, are out there if you know what you are looking for and sometimes even if you don’t know what you are looking for. My wife and I decided to explore what we could find out about 23andMe and what that company was all about. There have been many, and I mean many, articles, papers, reports, and stories written about this company. Most of what we read all ended up with them talking about the morality of what this company does for a living. Why? Recently the company received a patent on a product that could allow parents to calculate “traits” of their future offspring. It’s been called a Personalized Genomics Revolution by some since what it allows a person to do is unlike anything in the past. Now, I’m not going to do a run down on everything ever said or what others think about the company. What I want to do is explore what this patent, which the company says it will never use, has to say and/or do with our future as human beings.

The first question I would have is why patent a process that you promise will never ever be used? What’s the point? Is it solely a proprietary issue? Is it because the research and technology industry is so competitive? These are questions which I could not find the answers to. Had I not had contact with this company would I be asking these questions or would I have the questions at all? Good question. We here it in the news, read it in the papers, see the articles in magazines, here it from other people, and read it on the internet about the advancements in genetics and what is theorized to be able to be done. There are many claims being made by the scientists of the world and they have their critics as well as their fans. One thing I find interesting is that critics claim the scientists are “playing God” and screwing with mother nature in their research. I find that amusing on so many levels its unbelievable. First, what does “playing God” really mean? Aren’t we talking about science here? We are not talking theologies, theories, or myths so how can God even come into the equation. I’m not knocking people and their beliefs but I personally believe that God and science are two completely different topics altogether. Past my own opinions I think that genetic research has led to many great discoveries in the scientific and medical world. The human race has moved forward because of scientific discovery and will continue to improve ourselves as time goes by. But what is the cost? What do we lose in the process? Will we skip steps in human evolution that should take thousands to millions of years? One thing I do disagree with, and I’m pretty firm on this, is using science and medicine to alter how a baby is created. The mixing, splicing, and choosing the genes of a baby in a pre-pregnancy soup really bothers me. We do not want a generation of science experiment children which will spend their whole lives being examined and observed to verify if the scientists were right or not. But, wait. it’s already being done in the plant and animal kingdom isn’t it? We already ingest in one way, form, or fashion, the science behind our food and drinks already. Now, the line into human testing can be crossed. Is it ethical? Is it moral? Is it righteous? Is it needed?

So, what would happen if I purchased a “DIY Kit” and sent a sample of my DNA into to be tested, categorized, localized, and a genetic trail to be created? How would this benefit me? Would the information learned, if any, be beneficial to me? I think I will be passing on the opportunity. I think there are things about “ME” that might be better left unknown. I think I will pass so the off chance my DNA isn’t misused somehow by “accident”. I will leave it right there. Some other information I found interesting is that the past price for the kit was $299.00 and has been reduced to $99.00 in hopes to get more of the general public to participate. Something very interesting about Anne Wojcicki is she is the wife of the co-founder of Google, Sergey Brin, who recently gave an investment of $50M ($50,000,000.00). Coincidence? I wonder if it was a personal check or a Google company check because the press release doesn’t actually say. If it is a Google investment does that mean that Google will somehow play a role in the future of genetic tracking? Or is Sergey Brin just protecting his wife’s investment. Interesting sometimes to look where the money comes from and why. Except the “Why” rarely surfaces it’s ugly little head. Hey, I’m not knocking it, if one has the means the by all means do with your money what you please. But high profile people should expect that Joe Public just might a basic question or three.