Have You Explored The Archives?


Why do I ask? I see in my daily statistics that a very small percentage of daily visitors, about 2% of over 2500 people, take time to look at anything but the first five or six posts. Not that my posts are actually important or command attention, but with just shy of 2800 posts, one might actually be able to see things from the past, particularly important for new visitors, and maybe just fun review for the regulars. I post a wide variety of subjects, both popular and unpopular, to include miscalanious posts one never knows he or she is looking for. For everyone cruising through the archives, clicking on the terms in the tag cloud, and searching terms important to you, I give y’all my full salute, that takes balls, courage, and dedication. For everyone else, the shit you are looking for just might be here but you’ll never know unless you get to clicking. Anyway, y’all know I appreciate every single one of you motherfuckers for visiting! Keep that shit up!

I’m Still McFucking Hating It


Friends, family, haters, wannabes, and lollygaggers, do I have a special deal for y’all. Over the years I have given McDonald’s restaurants my fair share of shit for many different reason. Mostly because their shitty sludge they peddle off as food genuinely sucks the sweat from my nutsack. This blog entry is for those who think that bringing children or adults into McDonald’s is innocent fun. Sorry for those who don’t appreciate it, but in my opinion, people should not go to fucking McDonald’s for any reason, much less take children to consume that bullshit they pass off as consumable food. But to each his fucking own I guess.

But, enough about the disgustingly disturbing food, there is so much more that you just might not know when forking over your cold hard cash for their version of fast food. The seven worst facts about McFuckingDonald’s are as follows. They are not in a particular order even though they are numbered that way. Y’all be the judge.

1st. They want employees to work on holidays without paying overtime. McDonald’s has a long history of harmful labor practices, but this is especially greedy: the company maintains its franchises to be open on Thanksgiving Day (U.S. holiday) and Christmas Day. Worse, employees working these days do not get overtime, they do not get compensation, nor do they see anything fucking extra in their check. It has been publically stated for many years that when the stores are open on holidays, staff willingly offers to work at no extra pay. I call bullshit on that. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to be paid something extra for working holidays

In the not so distant past a company did some calculations and found that McDonald’s earned $36 million extra for staying open just on Thanksgiving Day. It’s bad enough that McDonald’s pays out shitty wages, but they cannot go further and pay extra for employees who give up their damn time off to earn the company millions of dollars. Now that’s some McGreedy motherfuckers!

2nd. Employees are not paid well in general. The fact that employees do not receive overtime for working on holidays is already bad, but that they barely earn much throughout the year and that is the reality for workers at McDonald’s worldwide. I can see why the term McJob has become synonymous with all that is wrong in poorly paid jobs in the service sector of the U.S. economy, because, no matter what job you have, it will be better than working in a fast food restaurant. And of course, McDonald’s is the largest existing fast-food chain on the fucking planet anyways.

Here is some fun math for yall. An ordinary employee of McDonald’s would have to work a million hours – or more than a century – to earn the same as a McDonalds CEO receives in a year (8.75 million dollars). The good news is that the employees in the fast food sector, including McDonald’s employees, recently began to organize to demand better wages and better treatment. However, what I see in the news is that isn’t working out real well for them.

3rd. Their marketing aimed at children is pretty fucking creepy and pedophilically predatory.  A few years ago the group, Center for Science in the Public Interest, announced its intention to sue McDonald’s for its “creepy and predatory” marketing aimed at children. In his letter, the CSPI compared McDonald’s to “that stranger in the playground offering candy to children” and said the company uses “unfair and deceptive marketing to attract young children.” “The ambiguous approach of targeted marketing to children by McDonald’s can be seen in a recent press release that says that the promotion company for the movie “Shrek” will encourage children to ‘deshrek’ their Happy Meals around the world with menu options such as fruits, vegetables, milk and juices.”  In reality, however, the main point of the Shrek promotion is to attract children to McDonald’s, where they end up making less healthy choices and eating caloric meals.” Of course, this is not the first time or the last damn time that McDonald’s is under fire for using Happy Meal toys to lure children as consumers, and as the company is the world’s number one distributor of toys, it certainly is not the last.

4th. It has a salad with more fat than a burger and fries and the least healthy granola on the planet. McDonald’s launched a Caesar salad more greasy than one of their fucked up burger and fries. The Daily Mailnoticiou reports that “with the seasoning and croutons, the salad contains 425 calories and 21.4 grams of fat compared with 253 calories and 7.7 grams of fat in a burger.” Adding a serving of fries to your burger, the calories still add up to 459, with less fat than the salad (16.7 g). Now that is one fucking impressive salad. More recently, the granola (which comes along with yogurt) – another “healthy” menu option – was criticized for being no good for you. The New York Times wrote that the company’s granola is not anything but “junk food”. It continues by stating: “a more accurate description than ‘100% natural whole grain , soft raisins, sweet cranberries and crisp fresh apples’ would be ‘oats, sugar, sweetened dried fruit, cream and 11 weird ingredients you would never have in your kitchen.” I wonder if there are any chemists out there who would be willing to guess what those 11 weird ingredients could be? Probably something toxic none of us can pronounce.

5th. The burgers do not decompose. Who can forget that there was a woman a couple of years ago who left a burger and fries from McDonald’s on a on her kitchen table for six months only to find that nine of it had decomposed? If you think this is a legend or record, a researcher found that McDonald’s hamburgers can actually ruin under certain circumstances, but in general they do not decompose on their own. According to him, “The burger does not spoil because their small size and relatively large surface area help to lose moisture. No moisture, no mold or bacterial growth.” Basically, the burger meat becomes dry before it cann decompose.

That is, there is a question of nasty chemicals that keep the burger intact, but it is still nothing but shit slop I wouldn’t feed my worst enemies. Well, with the exception of my ex-wife, she needs a triple dose. She is actually the reason I have the opinions I do, she ate that shit like it was going out of style, and that pathetic cunt would put that garbage in front of my daughter and I to eat. I said fuck it all those years ago and remain strong in my beliefs.

6th. McDonald’s used “pink slime” for years. Not long ago, we saw and we were horrified with the images of “pink slime”, which is a substance derived from mechanically separated chicken parts which for years was used to make the nuggets from McDonald’s, at least in the U.S. and the UK.  The substance is considered illegal for human consumption. Recently, thanks to activists, ‘pink slime’ was banned from U.S. school lunches. The good news is that, since the image began circulating, McDonald’s was forced to discontinue the use of pink slime. (The company ensures that the public outrage had nothing to do with the decision.) Buklshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. Fucking Bullshit.

7th. McDonald’s is everywhere. You can try, but you will never escape McDonald’s. In the U.S., the only place where you can be 100 miles from a McDonald’s is in the desert on the border of Oregon and Nevada. It is global and never, at the climbing rates, going the fuck away. Why? Because people won’t stop going, they continue to pay the McFucks to poison their entire family. Well, I do my part because I don’t allow it, ever. Want to see someone go balls to the wall ballistic? Just offer me a fry and see what happens. Every diabetic should stay as far from this fast food as humanly possible. So, remember me the next time you are shoving a Big Mac down your throat because I will be the one standing over your grave laughing at your ass.

 Oh, y’all are wondering what happened today to set me off? I was coming home from taking my wife her glasses she forget this morning and was held up for a while due to an accident. Accident? Seems that all the dumbasses trying to cram into the McDonald’s parking lot conflicted with other dumbasses trying to leave. Meanwhile, this has left 7 vehicles with different severities of damage blocking the road and the entrance/exit. You want funny? The poor bastard directing traffic only had one hand to hold and eat his fries because the other hand was busy waiving everyone through. That’s one diehard motherfucker right there. Nothing gets in the way if his fries being shoved into his face. Humanity is fucking doomed I swear.


Posted From Scorpion Sting’s Motorola Droid Maxx!

Disclaimer From Bartender: Untold Stories


Welcome to the section where I get to share stories about the great club I worked at in the not so distant past, the interesting industry that I worked in, the array of people I had the pleasure to  meet everyday, and of course being a bartender in a full nude strip bar. Just take a stool and enjoy the beverage of your choice while I share stories and tantalizing tales that have been shared with me and/or observed by me. Now y’all are ready to be “exposed” to the things I’ve heard and the things I’ve seen thru the eyes and ears of a real Texas Bartender while working in a real Texas strip club. One can search around The Sting Of The Scorpion and find a variety of stories directly or indirectly related to Bartender Stories, I encourage y’all to look to the links on the right and click “Scorpion Sting’s Bartender Stories” as this will help to narrow your search.

As a bartender in a full nude strip bar I was witness to many amazing sites, I got to meet many amazing people, and best of all I got to listen to the stories of many people. The incredible challenge I always had was knowing what to do with all of the information that had been offered to me. What do I do? Write a book? Write a movie? Neither, but I did write it all down. I took notes and wrote down triggers so that the stories would come back to me easy. Why do all that? Why bother? Good question, which the stories I will tell will hopefully relay and answer some of those, if not all, questions. In time gone by I had a separate blog dedicated solely to telling stories from my perspective from behind the bar based on my conversations and observations. And, unfortunately I fell victim to some culling of blogs and it became a deleted statistic I chalked up as a great loss. However, as y’all can see here, I have been trying to maintain the tradition of telling my stories. from this point forward I will warn you that the content will become adult oriented and the language as well as the descriptive picture will become a bit more colorful. I’m not the best story-teller, but I try to be a fair story re-teller.

The views and opinions expressed within the walls of this blog section are mine. However, the purpose of this blog section is to re-tell stories I have heard and to tell stories based on what I have seen, so some things will be borrowed to a point. All names have been changed or omitted. Quite possibly y’all might read things here written in a coarse or blunt manner. This will not be done to offend you, however it might be needed at times to relay the true and accurate message. Some of the images you will find in this blog section belong to ME because I took them. Others are assumed royalty free and found publically on the internet. When needed, or asked for, I will include where or who I got the photo from. Please contact me if you have any questions at all about anything you may find here. Please enjoy your stay, return soon and often. Don’t be surprised if the story I tell one day is about you or somebody you know.

Behind The Scenes Of Living In Misawa Japan

Originally Posted 06 September 2011
My earliest traveling after joining the United States Air Force was to Misawa AB Japan. Take a moment and locate that there on the northern tip of Japan. Misawa was nicknamed “The Tip Of The Spear” for some reason, probably due to extreme northern location. My wife (now ex) and I arrived here on 24 December 1989 at 8ish in the morning after a 15 hour flight. After some very quick processing at the terminal, we grabbed our bags, a taxi, and headed to billeting (dorms the military call transient rooms). The first thing we noticed was how freaking cold it was and the second thing how deserted this part of the base looked. Have I ever mentioned I am from Houston Texas? Where the day I left I was swimming in the back yard with a temperature of low 80’s, and now, here, in northern Japan, it was 8 degrees f.? We get to billeting and my sponsor (supervisor who was assigned to get us settled) was waiting to get us set up. We were rather tired, so we napped for a few hours and then walked across the street to Burger King for some dinner. After a delightful meal, we decided to get back to the room and get organized and whatnot.

The next morning, Christmas day, we woke to 41 inches of snow that fell over night in one of the heaviest snowstorms in 100 years. Vehicle movement on base was limited to emergency vehicles and snow removal equipment. No exploring today. However, the following day, my sponsor shows up at 7 am and greets us with some Burger King breakfast. We ate and then ventured out to find a car and a place to live. We found out, quickly, cash (Yen) is king in these parts. First, we got a car, a 2 y/o Honda Accord, $2000.00. Next, we went to a realtor and she rented us this cool 6 room condo style house for $800.00 a month. Both before noon, how cool was that. So, now life begins here at the tip of the spear, we got settled, and life was pretty good.

I was not aware of the vending machine population here. One can buy everything, yes everything, out of a vending machine. Anything from a drink to real estate and everything in between. Which was cool, I have a “bank” of vending machines 20 ft from my front door. Speaking of front doors, we had bowls just inside our front door where all your bills were paid. Couriers would leave a bill in one, you put your money out, and later he/she would come back to retrieve it. We never had to go anywhere to pay bills. Ok, we lived in a rafter large house for 2 people, we had a giant bathroom (1). But this bathroom had a tub about the size of a legal notepad, it was so small I never once attempted to get into it. At 6’8″, I need just a little leg room. At that point, I realized I was in the land of the little people. I say that in a very kind way and not meant to be a bash on them as a people, but the Japanese in general are very small people, not trying to be derogatory by no means.

When we first moved in this house, I had noticed this business that operated 24/7 that was directly behind our house. We would see people walking in robes and slippers as well as getting out of their cars the same way. I was surprised and happy to find out it was a public bath house. In simple terms, it is a place to bath, relax, and get a steam. Afterwards, one could get a snack also. These ranged from very basic to the styling of a major resort. I lived in the country, so this one was rather large, but on the simple functional side of things. There were also ones for women, ones for men, coed, and family. The one behind my house was a family style one. Which means that both sexes bathed together, as a family unit. People of all ages, from infant to the elderly would be here. Plus, it was very cheap, about 75 cents a visit. I would normally go to bathe twice a day, no different a habit than being back in Texas. At first it was a little weird, but then became “normal” and part of the everyday way.

Even tho gambling isn’t legal here, like many places, they found ways to get around all that. I stayed away from most of it, with the exception of pachinko parlors. The noisiest places on the face of the planet. Pachinko is an upright style pinball machine in the most basic of terms to describe it. Google it, then you will get it. Anyway, you put money in, and if you win, you get these steal bearings in return to collect. Collect for what? Prizes, cigarettes, coupons, food, and a whole slough of crap you don’t want. Or, after a few times going and they don’t think you are the law, you can make your way out back and give a code and the slot in the door opens. You give the guy your ticket, he gives you back a handful of cash. Always something to keep in mind.

There are many fine places to eat, even out here in the country. Being from the gulf coast, I really love seafood. I thought I had a grip on the whole seafood thing. Wrong, way wrong answer. I don’t know jack about seafood. When you want seafood here, its a little bit different. I will eat almost anything. I do, however, draw the line when my food is looking back at me, then blinks. I have heard of fresh, but never so fresh they kill it at your table right in front of you. As cool as that seems boys and girls, the first time always makes you a little squeamish. I ate more unidentifiable things while in Japan than I had ever even known imaginable, and I have a very vivid imagination. Sushi bars were my favorite. I tried to go to a different one at least three times a week. The food was cheap, they prepared it in front of me, and it tasted fantastic!

Out where we lived, as well as allover Japan, there were establishments called “Love Motels”. Not unlike the little motel on the edge of most towns where people thought they were getting away with something but the whole town knows, yea, that kind of place. A very popular destination for the married men of Japan. I don’t know if I would call it socially acceptable, but it was common for the men to have mistresses and these motels are their meeting places. They are very business like places, not unlike driving up to a drive thru at McDonald’s. There is a menu, mix and match, customize or go for the prepackaged deals, your choice. Select, pay, pull into your private stall/garage. My ex and I had to try it out, used the Texas room. In fact, my oldest daughter was conceived that very night. Do a little research on these for yourselves, to much to put right here, right now.

In Japan, we saw so many festivals that it would make some peoples head spin. There is a festival to celebrate just about any occasion you might be able to imagine. We went to so many festivals that they all started running together. I had my favorites that we would go to every year. Up north where I was, there are many local festivals. I will do a post or two another time with my favorites.

We had a great time in Japan. I saw so much that I never knew even knew existed, and now they are things I wish I could still be a part of today. Living in Japan is way different than being a tourist there. When one immerses oneself in the culture, we get to see the real side of where you really are. I highly recommend living in another country, it opens your eyes. I only touched on a few things here today, about 10% of what we actually did. Living there was cultural shock, but the shock helped us expand our minds and let us appreciate another culture.

Does God Need A Copyright For The Bible?

Originally Posted 01 September 2011
While doing some research with my daughter on copyright laws and copyright infringements, we came across something I found very interesting, the bible is copyrighted. Really? Why? Why does god need a copyright for something he gave to all mankind? Placing a copyright on such a historical text makes about as much sense as holding a patent on water and air.

Also pointed out to me was the bible is the best selling book of all-time, year after year. Which, now I can see why there is a copyright on the bible, it is for protection of the publishing business. Is the content of the bible that big of a commodity that it needs to be so closely guarded? Producing the bible is really about money? This might also explain why there is so many translations of the bible also. Just keep following the money. Christians have made these publishers very rich. You know, the bible was written as one complete book, but parts have been added and cut based on what was popular at that time, how convenient I would say. If the bible is the so-called word of god, wouldn’t that make the bible sacred and above man’s interpretations if it? If so, no-one should be allowed to re-write, paraphrase, alter, or insert their own interpretations. Yet, it happens every day, which brings it down to the level of the monthly magazine massed produced to fill up grocery check out lines.

I can fully understand that the world’s greatest and longest lasting science fiction story is a big seller and everyone wants to capitalize on it’s popularity, but where or when does it end? Is there an end in site? All humanity ever get back to the basics? Everything leads to the realization that there can be money made off of the bible since it is the ultimate way to control the masses of christians which flock to it and hang on it’s every word. What better way to get people to cling to an artifact that has been a tool of man controlling the masses in the past than to just keep reproducing it. One would think it’s value would decrease, not unlike the U.S. dollar, based on over production and flooding of the market.

To me, copyrighting the bible, all the related works, all the studies, and the use of the bible in general, is pure genius. If you have not read the bible, do it, read it from cover to cover, front to back, page by page, and see if you agree, disagree, or are left with more questions than answers. Anyone can quote the bible, but few, if anyone, actually know what the stories are supposed to be used for. Since christianity is a growing and successful business, and the word of god is a best seller, why would they change anything they are doing?

Go to death in ignorance by fearing your god or live your life for what it actually is…………………Life. Be a part of the life you have, the is nothing more, nothing less, and nothing after. Believe as you think you are driven to believe.

2012- The World Did Not End or Shift

Originally Posted 27 Febuary 2013

Guest Blogger: Neil Killion
Blog/website: http://lifecycles-by-neil-killion.blogspot.com
(Original Posted: Saturday, December 29, 2012)

2012-The World Did Not End Or Shift-Wake Up!

There is a scene in the first James Bond movie -Dr.No- where a character called Professor R. J. Dent opens Bond’s hotel door and pumps six bullets into what he believes is Bond’s sleeping body. Little did he know that Bond is waiting behind the door and with a perfect turn of sardonic phrase he says:- “That’s a Smith and Wesson and you’ve had your six!” Then the Professor is shot and killed. Well that’s what I want to do in this post about the hoo-ha surrounding the Mayan Hoax and the New Age belief in a positive global shift instead. There was never any proof, or even one shred of credible evidence, in either of them. Yet I see that an estimated 1 in 10 Americans were worried or concerned about the coming ‘end of the world’ and a smaller number celebrating a coming “new era”.

Let’s give them their six ill-timed shots and then shoot them down one-by-one shall we? After all, 2012 was the year of the big hoax. Bullet No.1 :- Astrology. This ancient culprit, with plenty of adherents, has never passed any attempt to prove ‘better than chance’ outcomes with personal readings, and a litany of disasters, when it comes to predictions. Don’t take my word for it. Check it out for yourselves on Google. It’s behind the Mayan calendar, Nostradamus, who had everyone scared in the 80’s, and the so-called ‘dawning of the Age of Aquarius’, with even less backing than its other flimsy concepts. Every time you see this in the future just shoot it down.

Bullet No.2 :- Numerology. This similarly doesn’t add up. Numbers aren’t, in and of themselves, magical. Personal readings can be quite ego-enhancing, but they have no foundation of proof. But once again don’t believe me, Just Google “numerology, sceptics view” or the Wiki article on it. It’s behind all these Bible Codes, hundreds of years worth of ‘we know the actual date the world ends’ etc. I actually Googled the “World will end November, 2012” and saw an article by Harold Camping (radical preacher and prophet of doom merchant) saying that the world had already ended in October, 2012. Yeah right. I was told the world would end in Nov. because of some numerology-based idea, and then that it would end on Dec. 23rd (no, not the 21st, that was the Mayans). This one was based on the ‘sacred nature of the number 19’. Give me a break! It’s endless and it’s insidious. Put a bullet in it. Shoot it down. Don’t be scared of your own shadow.

Bullet No. 3 :- Astronomical calamities. Collision with comets/hidden planets/reversal of the polar axes/solar storms etc. etc. Yes 2012 seemed to have had it all. Now I grant you, there is always some remote chance of these occurring. No-one knows when. NASA will tell you if there’s anything passing close to the earth and you should know, that although NASA considers polar reversals to be relatively commonplace over a 3 billion year period, that they happen currently about every 300,000 years and take hundreds and sometimes thousands of years to complete. So, was 2012 going to be to be the year of the big axis shift? I think not. There was also a recorded solar storm event in the 1850’s, that caused interruption of worldwide telegraphy services, and 2012 was the end of an 11 year solar cycle, but the leading astrophysicist in this area, says such events are expected about every 500 years or so. So, no big solar storm in 2012 either. Are you getting the picture. Put a bullet in this one too.

Bullet No. 4 :- Alien Invasion. Now I grant you there have been many unexplained sightings, including one that I saw personally over 30 years ago, but so far we don’t know if they’re unmanned (if that’s the right word for it) probes or what. Are aliens living with us? Do they want to invade and destroy us? Here’s where it starts to get silly. I think a response given to a Chinese mass sighting in 2012 about sums it up :- “there’s nothing to tell us that there isn’t extraterrestrial life, but so far there’s nothing to tell us there is.” The aliens haven’t made themselves known, despite apparently being sighted for thousands of years. Will they come and destroy us in 2012? No more so than they might have done in all of recorded history. No, fascinating as it is, give it a bullet.

Bullet No. 5 :- Natural disasters. Mega-tsunamis/massive volcanic eruptions/violent storms/earthquakes etc. Of course these can and will periodically happen. We can do little to stop them. But they will not follow a predictable timetable. I’m afraid I simply can’t lose sleep over them. Yes, there may be a landslide in the Canary Islands, that sends a mega-tsunami to the entire East Coast USA, but there’s way more chance that it might not happen in my lifetime. That’s just how it is. If someone tries to tell you they know when, don’t believe them. Put a bullet in their ideas as well.

Bullet No. 6 :- World will become a better place in 2012/new astrological age/cosmic shift/higher vibrations etc. etc. Look, admittedly this is designed to be a force for good, so it may seem a bit unfair to shoot it down. But honestly, do you think a relatively small group of people, dancing till dawn around the campfire at the Mayan temple, or anywhere else, is suddenly going to make everyone a better person and the world a better place? Will it solve our economic woes, our wars, our crimes, our poverty etc., overnight? It may make for an enjoyable night for the participants, but in the morning, we’ll all have to get on with adapting to our current circumstances, as best we can. No, unfortunately put your final bullet in this one too. However, make it a round-edged dum-dum bullet.

Wait a minute I can hear some voices saying :- “Isn’t your ‘Life Cycles’ theory part of all this? Isn’t this just numerology, astrology, or some other pseudo-scientific New Age twaddle?” The answer is a resounding “NO!” I only study certain years in people’s lives, to see if they correlate with important change and that’s it. I only have the biographical facts to work with. I don’t predict the future in ordinary terms. I don’t know why this happens and I know it isn’t exactly science, because “correlation does not equal causality” (although I don’t deal in causality) and it contains some subjective elements. However it is startlingly better than mere chance occurrence. Billions of times actually, if you only look at my many case histories. It’s also brand new. There is nothing new about the so-called New Age. It’s as old as the hills. I’m the newest voice you’ll ever hear and I intend to create a peaceful and modest revolution in how you think of your life. Is it important? Oh yes, it’s important alright, but I accept that it’ll take some time before people catch up to me. Till next month :- “may the cycles always bring you good fortune”.

We Hate Needles

Originally Posted 22 Febuary 2013


One thing my son and I completely share and agree upon is our utter hate and fear of needles. We just avoid them at all costs. Being diabetic it is hard for me to avoid needles since I self inject twice a day and test 3 times a day. Those things for me are unavoidable at this time in my life. My son is still young, 11, and only typically needs immunizations to get thru life. When I was a kid I used to go into absolute panic attacks when approached by a needle for any reason, I have grown out of that and can control it know. I know to accept the terms and press forward. My son, however, has not learned to process his hatred and phobia of needles just yet. I see now what I used to put my mother through when I was younger because to an outsider looking in they see an extremely unruly child, not one who is scared to death being in the mere presence of a single needle of any sorts. I have found commending him on his braveness and a trip to get ice cream usually helps him realize he does not hate me and I am not the meanest dad on the planet. What does this have to do with the price of tea in China? Well, a few days ago my son had an accident with a pair of extremely sharp scissors.


Wednesday morning I am at work in my normal routine when I get an unexpected call from the nurse at the school my son attends. The short version of the story is that my son has had his hand impaled by a pair of scissors and no amount of pressure or bandages is stopping the bleeding. As I don’t work too far from his school, I informed my supervision that I had an emergency and I will be leaving immediately. When I get to the nurses office at the middle school I see he has his hand held high above his head which had a bandage on it, the nurse holding pressure on it, and there was still blood dripping down his arm. I was a bit shocked because I did not know what to expect exactly since the nurse just said it was a deep wound. I didn’t bother looking at the wound since it was obvious he was going to need some stitches. I could see my little man had been crying since his eyes were very red and I could tell he was pretty confused as to what was going on and the severity of this situation. We leave the school to go get into the truck and the only thing my son seems to be concerned with is getting blood on the seats. I let him know if it happens………it happens. I called his mom real quick to let her know I was on my way to the minor emergency room if she wanted to meet us there. We began to drive while I held pressure on his wound. He laid his head on my shoulder, looked up to me, and told me that everything will be okay, please stop looking so scared. I was scared. I didn’t know what to expect. Nobody wants to see their baby bleeding and in pain.


We arrived at the minor emergency room pretty quick. His mom was waiting for us as she works right across the street form it. We go in, the nurse sees the the bleeding and escorts my son and I back to the exam room. They held my wife back to do the paperwork. Immediately the doctor unwrapped his hand to asses the injury. He pointed out that nothing important had been struck and it will be a simple fix. Talk about being relieved. So, while they prepped to do stitches they set out a container with betadine for his to soak his hand in for a bit. Its time to start. I knew what was coming. We were fixing to be very unhappy campers. My son laid back and I positioned myself over his chest where I could block his view and hold down his hand and arm. At this point I had realized how strong he has become, this had the potential to not be easy. I knew the instant the first shot to deaden the area had happened because I saw the sheer terror in his eyes. I watched as shot number 2 and shot number 3 were injected directly into the wound. It was extremely hard to watch but it was better than seeing my sons face, something I could not bear to watch. As the doctor began his first stitch I turned my attention to my son, his head cradled in my open arm, I continued to talk to him as I stroked the top of his head. The procedure took about 10 minutes, a time which does not compute in the mind of my son who said it felt like days long, mot minutes long. As soon as it all wrapped up my wife finally made it in. She got there just in time to hear the doctor tell us care instructions and a stitch removal date, which is seven days. When we left to head home and my wife to work I detoured, of course, to stop for ice cream to soothe the trauma my son just experienced.


So, by now you are probably wondering what happened to wound his hand. Its a funny story, actually, and so simple that it still bewilders me how such a wound could happen. My son was in science class, working on a partnered project of sorts. He reached for his scissors without looking while at the same exact moment his partner was reaching for them. Both both had a grip on the scissors when his partner realized what was happening and let go. That force from letting go resulted in the scissors impaling my sons hand. When the scissors where removed the blood began squirting, resulting in a swift trip to the nurses office, and resulting in the phone call I received.  See, simple. Now, my son believes he is joining my club, the club of scarred boys. A club where he will one day be able to tell his stories about his scar to anyone who chooses to listen. I, of course, got a big laugh from this as I didn’t know I actually belonged to a club. I do have scars, 19 visible scars, which have been explained many times to him over the years. He says I have most of my scars to remind me of how I cheated death one day, I chuckle at that also. Maybe he will be lucky, maybe he will only get this, his second surgical scar. But, like I always say, life happens in unpredictable ways which we can’t always control. I can’t express how proud I am of my son, he faced his worst needle experience to date with little fuss or muss.

Waking Up

Originally Posted 18 Febuary 2013
Early last week my wife noticed I was not awake, in fact I had overslept about 30 minutes before she decided to wake me up. She thought I was sick, she said I was pale in color, cold skin, but covered in my own sweat. After a few minutes, she realized I was unresponsive to any degree. Soon enough she was able to get me awake for the most part. I told her my chest was on fire, I had extreme chest pains and a severe headache. While I sat on the edge of my bed she got my sugar meter and pricked my finger. My count was 43. She mentioned I was hypoglycemic (insulin shock) while she helped me get dressed. We were going to the emergency room. Her assumption was correct, although I slept thru the beginning of it. The doctor told her if she had not noticed me when she did that I very well might have died in my sleep. I don’t recall most of this, I was pretty out of it to say the least. By the end of the 2nd day I became responsive to the medication, taken out of the I.C.U., and put in a regular room to be monitored. The following morning I was released as if nothing ever happened.I went back to work the following day since the doctor had released me to do so. That afternoon I began to experience the same symptoms so I called my wife. She came and got me and we went to the emergency room once again, where I was admitted once again, and I started the whole process all over. But this time, after allot of blood test, a reason was determined to why this was happening. In simple terms, for some reason my blood pressure medication was interacting adversely with my diabetes medication. The funny thing is that I have been taking everything the same way for a long time now and never had anything like this happen. So why now. Nobody seems to know. So, my blood pressure medication, the one that has been working beautifully for the past 8 years, has been changed. I will just have to see how that actually works now. I am not a big fan of change, especially when something isn’t broken. So, hopefully the new “plan” works with grand success because I really hate hospitals.

Pretty much everything I have written here today was told and/or explained to me as I don’t remember much about being in the hospital either time. I do know that I am in no hurry to go back. On the flipside of that, I am very glad my wife knows what she knows because without her quick response that morning who knows what would have happened. Even though she stayed the nights with me, she had to go to work during the days, but checked on me when time permitted. Unfortunately they would not let my kids in to see me in the I.C.U. for a variety of reasons. Which is good, I doubt seriously I was in any condition I wanted them to see me in. In the end, I look at it like this, it obviously was not my time to go. I never thought that having diabetes would be so challenging. Proof that doing the right thing doesn’t always have the right results.

My son expressed his happiness that I didn’t die. This cut me to my very core. I answered with humor as I didn’t exactly know how to answer him. I explained that I will die one day and so far this was a good day because it didn’t happen today. Its hard to say who is more afraid, he or I. For the last 2 nights he has slept on the floor on my side of the bed to help “keep an eye on me”. It brings tears to my eyes knowing that my son worries about his dear old man the way he does. Whereas my wife and daughters “ignore” the situation and as my daughters explained, “it can’t happen to our dad so there isn’t anything to be worried about”. How can a dad reply to that other than I told them I love y’all too.

Our Dog Is Brilliant Enough To Act Dumb

Originally Posted 05 Febuary 2013
Guest Blogger: 

I could complain for this entire post about my still not trained chocolate lab who is brilliant enough to act stupid when it suits him. However I will limit myself to two antidotes and then I will astound you with his gardening skills.

We adopted Duke (Marmaduke) when he was nine months and he stubbornly clung to several bad habits that were just too much fun for him but a pain in the neck for us. For example, he constantly leaps up literally in my face, to engage in some sort of mock fighting. Since he is only 14 pounds lighter than I am but all muscle, he is the definite victor in these contests of strength. After one frustrating encounter, I harshly commanded Duke to stay “down” and to “sit” about ten times. I finally threw up my hands and said,

“Oh, why don’t you just go get a toy instead of attacking me?”

Duke suddenly stopped in his tracks, his ears perked up , he looked at me with wide opened eyes and then quickly put his nose to the ground and began to search for his hidden toys! Duke shocked all of us, especially since it now works every time.

Another secret weapon that halts mock fighting is an invitation .

“Come on up and cuddle instead of attacking me.”

These words instantly transform Duke into a passive lap dog. After a couple of hours, of sharing a crowded couch with a monstrosity of a dog,, one of my daughters pushed Duke off the Chesterfield when he refused to move. The intelligent dog’s reprisal? He purposefully stuck his tongue in her coffee while maintaining eye to eye contact, slurped and then turned right around and stalked out of the room.

Way too smart for a beast!

No wonder People train labs to be finely tuned, obedient guide dogs.

For all his faults, Duke is an excellent gardener. I know that this seems to be an absurd statement but trust me. I speak the truth!

This last fall I was pulling out old grape vines around our property. Duke pushed me out of the way as I struggled to dig up roots and he proceeded to dig furiously with his front paws. Very impressive.

As I pruned over head branches, often I only managed to cut half way through the branch. I’d tug and pull but it was Duke’s who deserves all the credit for finishing the pruning. He’d leap incredibly high, grasp the errant branch with his teeth and then hang his whole ninety pounds on the branch. that dog saved me hours of work.

Now if we could only become smarter than our dog, all would be well.

A Day In The Life Of John

Originally Posted 05 Febuary 2013
Guest Blogger: John “Agit8r” Fisher
A Day In The Life Of John…………..
I once had a job that was literally shitty. I worked for a relatively small cleaning contractor that cleaned the courthouse complex, and county jail in Spokane. During that time, they took over the decontamination of jail cells that had previously been done by a well-known service that uses bright green vehicles. Though the work was somewhat sporadic, it did pay pretty well for semi-skilled labor, enough so that I continued to do it on the side as an emergency-call person after I stopped working for the company in other capacities.
The first cell-clean we performed involved an inmate who had stuffed a few days worth of meals down the toilet, shit in it numerous times, and then flushed it, thereby flooding his cell with fecal matter, rotten bologna and fermenting oranges. We were somewhat unprepared logistically, probably due to the emphasis on needing to kill MRSA (a factor in the account being up for bid in the first place, apparently) and only secondary concern given to the prospect of large-scale shit removal.
As we doused the cell, floor to ceiling, with a disinfectant (mixed to the concentration that the packaging label directed for disinfecting cadavers) from the doorway, my co-worker (a burly Ukrainian immigrant named Eduard) said to me “in Ukraine we call this monkey room.” Then we opened our bio-hazard kits, which contained rubber gloves, a doctors mask and a disposable full-body suit with a hood. Most importantly (it would turn out) it came packaged in a lunch-box-sized clam-shell case. After suiting up, putting on goggles and rubber boots, we waded through the cell, while applying more disinfectant. Then we wiped down the walls, the sink, and the bed, while we waited for the layer covering the floor to soften up.
Then we got to the toilet. I looked over at my supervisor, who was observing the process along with our project manager… from several feet away… behind an unenclosed curtain wall… while holding their noses. “How do we get this stuff out of here?” I asked as I began to understand what the bright green, unfamiliar looking piece of machinery that was sitting in the property room, waiting for the previous company to come and retrieve it, must have been used for.
“Did you try the dustpan?” came the reply.
“It won’t fit past the seat. It’s all one piece of metal.”
“We’ll have to get you guys a scoop for next time.”
They would later provide a plastic soup ladle, which ended up being pretty useless anyway. But in the meantime, I would have to try to put my problem solving ability to work. I went to the door, pausing to kick whatever I could off of my boots before exiting the cell. I scanned the cart, while my coworker began shoveling the refuse from the floor into a red plastic bag, by using the dustpan.
As I looked over the cart, I noticed the plastic clam-shell case from our bio-hazard kit. I opened it up, and then broke it in two at the hinges. Then with half of it, I began scooping the composting sludge out of the toilet, until it could be flushed. After seemingly forever, we finally got the rest of the crap off of the floor with the dustpan, the half clam-shell case, and finally, a ridiculous number of paper towels (they would later get a wet-vac), we got the stainless steel fixtures nice a clean for the next “guest,” we painstakingly picked the few bits of stuff out of the painted cinder-block wall’s pores, and at last wiped up the foot tracks from my trip to the cart, and spritzed everything with a final coat of cadaver-cleaner.
Though some of the hiccups got cleared up before future visits, there were things that would confound us still. There was the time that one of the showers had a sizable amount of clotting blood covering about half the floor, which really put my resolve not to vomit to the test. There was second floor, where the wet-vac couldn’t be plugged in, because none of the plug-ins worked (which really would have been handy the time that there was a massive quantity of what appeared to be vomited-up semen in a cell there.
There was the lack of a pressure washer, which never got resolved, but was occasionally necessary for instances like the time when one inmate wrote “FUCK PIGS” on one wall, and on the wall above his bed wrote “I LOVE YOU TAMMY” …in poop. Or when a guy filled in his air vent holes with toothpaste. Or when another guy used toothpaste to glue pictures of scantily clad women cut out of magazines to the bottom of his shelf-desk. Or when a fellow fashioned himself a curtain for his door-window …with poop. And then there was one guy who was both a painter and a sculptor… but I won’t bore the reader with that.
I’d like to end on a lighter note, from this one time when Eduard and I had to clean a cell in the Intake area, on a rather chaotic night. The place was crowded and we had to wait while they got the prisoner out of the holding-cell that we had to clean, as guards and prisoners, on their way to being booked, moved back and forth around us, and some prisoners were yelling drunkenly from their holding cells, and others were talking loudly to one another to be heard over the yelling. And I was pretty jived up because after we got the call, I had kinda chugged my large coffee (because it would be cold after we got done, of course). Then, one of the prisoners began banging …some part(?) of his/her body into a metal part of his/her cell, and kept this up until it became something of a rhythmic clanging. And probably partly because of my coffee buzz, and partly because it was generally good to show the prisoners’ that their craziness couldn’t phase you, I began moving my shoulders and hips side to side in a dancing motion to rhythm of the clanging, to which Eduard shook his head at me, as he said in his thick accent “Jamming out…”