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Just a quick update for myself. I didn't like my previous counter because it added a count every time I had a page view. I put the site meter counter today. That is all.

Carry On My Wayward Son

Well, I don't think that last update was as funny as I wanted it to be. It was a little too serious for my liking. When I began writing the update, I intended it to be over the top hilarious. It didn't turn out that way, although I think it had its moments. Maybe I should just quit while I'm ahead with this post, pack it in, and call it a night. I guess not.

Okay, you've all heard of the expression "don't shoot until you see the whites of their eyes." It goes back to the American Revolution, and possibly before that. Picture this though. Imagine if we used the expression in World War II against the Japanese. We'd all be speaking German right now. The Japanese would have destroyed us, single-handedly, if we employed that expression during WWII. It's a good thing the expression loose lips sink ships came along. That was probably our savior. I'd like to update the expression though, to fit a more modern time. Loose lips big tits. With that in mind, I'd like to update the former expression as well. Don't shoot until you see the bites of her thighs. I'll leave it up to you to interpret those two expressions for yourself. I think that both of these expressions fit the 21st century very well. You should start dropping them during your daily conversations, maybe it'll catch on.

I had an idea for a board game the other day. It's called Staircases and Batters, with a subtitle of Spousal Abuse. Basically, it's an offshoot of Chutes and Ladders. The premise of the game is this. Instead of having child-shaped game pieces, you have mom-shaped game pieces. The object of the game is to be the first mom to divorce court, which is located at the top of the board. You start out at the bottom of the board, in the area that is called "Dad's Doghouse." You flick the spinner and you move that many spaces up. If you land on a square that says "Back Talk to Husband," you get pushed down the stairs. If you land on a square that says "Forgot to Make Dinner," you get hit with a baseball bat to the next level up. As I said, the first mom to divorce court wins. I think this game teaches children the risks of talking back and the importance of having a good meal prepared the right way. It also teaches children to take turns and count, so that is an added bonus. It is important to note that this game has small parts and is therefore a choking hazard. It is not intended for children under 3 years, which is really a shame because that age range can learn a lot from this game.

Speaking of small parts, if I was going to get a tattoo, I think that's what I'd get tattooed on my penis. "Warning: small parts (choking hazard)" or something to that effect. Yes, I know this is getting a little personal, but hey, if you can't make fun of yourself you must have a really big ego.

Okay, you've all heard, by now, about the sexual tactics used by some of Americans female interrogators. If you haven't, check out this article. If you don't feel like reading it, here is the pertinent excerpt that you should read:

"Female interrogators tried to break Muslim detainees at the U.S. prison camp at Guantánamo Bay by sexual touching, wearing a miniskirt and thong underwear and in one case smearing a Saudi man's face with fake menstrual blood, according to an insider's written account."

I would just like to say, first and foremost, those tactics would never work on me. Well, except maybe the menstrual tactic, that is a bit sick. In any event, you usually have to pay 20 dollars for that kind of action. I would love to be interrogated in that way, aside from the menstrual thing. "I'll tell you anything you want, just take off you shirt!" I'd be saying. Ah, those crazy Muslims. Further proof that every religion is whacked in some regard.

And I'm spent. I hope you enjoyed the post. And if I offened you...well let's just say there's plently more where that came from.

Complaints and Grievances

Yeah, I know I borrowed the title from George Carlin, but he is a good person to borrow things from. Over the past month, a lot of things have been bothering me about the world.

For starts, as you may or may not know, my sister got fired from her job. She worked at 7-11, with me, and she got fired about a month ago. It was around St. Patrick's day and she was fired for selling alcohol to a minor. It was a sting operation performed by the wonderful organization known as the Liquor Control Commission (LCC). Basically, our tax dollars at work. Michigan has an LCC, and I'm sure every state has one. I'm not sure how they do this internationally, but I'm almost positive that other countries aren't nearly as obsessed with preventing the so called crime of selling alcohol to a minor. Now don't get me wrong, there should be a legal drinking age here in the States, but it shouldn't be 21. 19 sounds good to me, like Canada. In any event, my sister got fired for selling alcohol to a person who was under 21. I'm not sure how old this person was, but that isn't the point. The point is that people in the age bracket of 18-21, and even younger, drink all the time. Not every 18-21 year old does, but it is a fairly common occurrence. Why then is this such a big deal?

At 18 we are considered adults, for the most part. We can get drafted, go to war, and die for our country. Why can't we crack open a beer if we feel like it? I don't drink, but I'm just saying, why is this such a hot button issue? Why do we have to have a commission that is dedicated to performing a sting operation on a 7-11 and costing someone their job? Again, don't get me wrong, my sister should have been more careful. It is, after all, the law. But my main point in all of this is that certain things in this state, and certain things in this country, don't make any sense. The drinking age needs to be lowered, at the very least, to 19. I think it would solve a lot of problems because it would take away the taboo of drinking. Some people drink like fiends until they are 21, and once they are of age, it's like all the magic is gone. I'm generalizing here, but alls I'm trying to say is that once it is no longer considered illegal, it isn't as big as a rush or whatever for some people. I'm done complaining about that though.

I ended up writing a piece of propaganda for my sister, trying to solicit funds for her, because she has to pay a very hefty fine soon. I basically wrote this as a joke, but I ended up giving it to her to show to some people at a St. Patrick's Day party that she was going to. She didn't get many donations, although a lot of people liked it. Anyways, here is the piece:

Why you should donate to Ashley’s “I Fucked up and Sold to a Minor” Fund

By Kenny Schweigel

In a perfect society, this fund would be unnecessary. The legal drinking age should really be 18. If you can be sent into war and potentially die for your country, you should be able to legally crack open a beer. I would even settle for the drinking age to be set at 19, like Canada, but that is neither here nor there. What I really want to do with this speech is try to persuade you to donate. I will give you a few reasons; I will try to appeal to you sensibilities, and hopefully, you will find it in your heart to donate to this fund.

Reason number one. I am sure everyone in this room has had an alcoholic beverage or two (or three or four…) while they were underage. You might not have tried to purchase alcohol while underage, you might have, but, the fact of the matter is, you probably didn’t get caught doing either of those two things. Ashley got caught selling alcohol to a minor. You, yourself, have probably participated in underage drinking in your youth, and you might have been one of the more ballsy few who tried to purchase alcohol as a minor. What am I trying to get at here? I’m trying to say that you owe the karma gods big time. You probably had a few alcoholic beverages in your underage days, and you might have purchased alcohol in your underage days, so you owe the karma gods in a major way. This is your chance to repay them. If you don’t believe in karma, that’s fine. Donate anyway.

Reason number two. Ashley is looking at a $500 fine here, possibly more. She barely makes 200 bucks a week, has bills to pay, and she just lost her job. Now, I know that everyone has bills to pay, and I know that everyone’s money is valuable to them. She’s not asking for much though. If she gets just one dollar from each of you, she will be grateful. If she can get one dollar from 500 people, that will be her $500 dollars right there. It is probably an unrealistic goal, but she is going to try. She sees no other way. She is feeling down right now, so please, lift up her spirits and donate to this fund.

Reason number three. It was an honest mistake. I worked with Ashley that night, and I could have been the one who made that mistake. Ashley isn’t the brightest crayon in the box, and I’d even go as far as to say that she’s the black crayon, but there is no reason why she should have to pay this fine by herself. As I said before, in a perfect society, this fund wouldn’t be necessary. Sure, she did sell to a minor and that is wrong. It was her first offence though, and she didn’t do it intentionally. She should have received a warning, at the very least. Instead, she will have to pay a $500 dollar fine (possibly more) and she has lost her job. Is this justice? When you think of justice, is this what you think of? Please, look deep into your consciousness and donate to this fund.

Well, I can’t think of any more reasons right now, so I’m done trying to persuade you. I’m sure there are many more reasons, so this isn’t definitive by any means. I would just like to thank you for taking the time to read this and Ashley thanks you, from the bottom of her heart, for donating to this fund. Before we part ways though, remember that everyone makes mistakes. Nobody is perfect. Ashley wasn’t blessed with many brain cells, but, I think you’ll agree with me here, she makes up for it with her beauty and her charm. With that in mind, how can you say no to that face?

And there it is.

Moving on. Compassionate Conservatives. You hear this term all the time. Bush is a compassionate conservative. But really, if these conservatives are so compassionate, then why do they need the additional adjective in front of their ideology? If they are so compassionate, why do they need the word compassionate in front of their belief? Do liberals do that? No. Now I'm not saying that no conservatives are compassioante, nor am I saying that all liberals are comassionate. I'm just saying that those who call themselves compassionate conservatives are not at all compassionate. That would be like me calling myself Big Dick Ken. It would be like me adding that extra phrase in front of my name. In fact, I might just do that. Here is how it would go down:

Random Person: Hey Big Dick Ken, how's it going?
Me: Pretty good. Just trying to keep my big dick in my pants. And for all the ladies out there, there is a reason why I have big dick in front of my name. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.

Maybe if I start calling myself that, I'll have a better chance with the ladies. Maybe not.... At any rate, you know what they say. If you say something often enough, people will start to believe it. It might work for me, it might not. It sure as hell is working for the conservatives though.

Okay, one last thing. Who the hell decided it was a good idea to put words on the back of little girl's shorts. This little girl walked into 7-11 the other day and she had those shorts with a word stitched on the back. You know the ones I'm talking about. I understand the reasoning behind, pardon the pun, stitching a word on the back of women's shorts, it draws attention to the ass. But really, little girls? Do you really want people looking at a little girl's ass? Does any attention need to be drawn to that area of a little girl? This new line of clothing is just giving a pedophile an excuse to look at the ass of a little girl. And hell, I'm not even a pedophile and I was drawn to the ass. It was mildly disturbing, morally wrong, and it made me feel weird inside. So, to whoever decided it was a good idea to stitch words on the back of little girl's shorts, what the hell were you thinking?

Well, that's all I got for you tonight. You stay classy, San Diego.

Bowling Banquet

Had my bowling banquet tonight. I won about 250 bucks, which isn't too bad. I also wrote a poem for the occassion. No one will get it, but I'm going to post it any way. Just a little background though. Our bowling team consists of Matt, Donnie, Paul, me (Kenny) and Kirby. Kirby is a middle-aged man, we are all 20 somethings. So it pretty much goes without saying that Kirby is the team drunk. He isn't really a drunk, but compared to the rest of us he is. Let's just say he enjoys a few beers here and there. This poem is a modification of the story of Goldie Locks and the Three Bears. The title is Kirby Locks and the Three Beers. Notice the two different spellings. Bears and Beers. Here is the poem:

Kirby Locks and the Three Beers
Also Known As the Epic of Kirby
Also Known as the Little Kirby that Could

Once upon a time, there was a drunkard named Kirby
As you might have guessed, he drank till he was topsy-turvy
On one fine day, he wandered through the woods
He came upon a brewery, and said, this is good
I’ll go in, he said
And pump the place full of lead
I’ll kill them all, he exclaimed
And then I’ll drink until it rains

But as he approached the door
He fell flat on his face to the floor
Kirby, as you can plainly see, was already drunk as could be
And although he didn’t flee, I think he might have broke a knee
No matter to Kirby though
He got up using both elbows
He stood up and reordered himself
And then he laughed like a little elf

After that, he tried to walk into the place
But he forget to turn the knob and hit his face
He laughed again, you know the laugh
He must have split his gut in half
He kicked the door with all his might
And there was a sound like dynamite
No bother though, it was only gas
It was coming out of Kirby’s ass

Kirby finally entered the complex
Looking like a drunken T-Rex
Kirby went strolling through the halls
Proudly playing with both his balls
However, Kirby found no one inside
He wondered where they were, did they hide
He was elated though, he took a pill
Now he didn’t have to kill

Kirby searched and searched for alcohol
Playing now with just one ball
He finally found some in the back
And then he did a line of crack
How he did that, I do not know
He moved around to-and-fro (like a giant Eskimo)
He took a sip of the first beer, too sweet
It also smelled just like his feet

Kirby shouted, is this all you’ve got
He grew tired and fell asleep on a cot
On his own vomit, he didn’t choke
What a miracle, he awoke
He gathered enough courage to go looking for more
But then he met a dreadful disgusting dirty whore
He had his way with her and he asked her not to stray
She said, no way, you’re a terrible lay, have a nice day

Heartbroken, Kirby ran far far away
But in the brewery he did stay
He looked and looked for some beer
He pranced around like a giant queer
He finally found more, he cracked it open
From the bong, he was tokin’
He took a swig of the second beer, too sour
He must have cried for about an hour

Woe is me, woe is me, he lamented
He looked at his penis, he had bent it
That dirty whore, he then said
He looked around for a great big bed
He found one and went to lie down
But under the covers, there was a mound
Another whore, he jumped for joy
He got in to play with his new toy

Poor old Kirby, the same reaction
Although, he did get some action
The whore got up and ran away
Much to halfhearted Kirby’s dismay
Kirby had to press on though, he came too far
He didn’t want to spend the night at a bar
He continued his quest with no luck
He was just about to say oh fuck…

He finally found the third beer and drank it, just right
Not like those two-bit whores, they weren’t tight
After the case of beer was through
Kirby decided to sniff some glue
After that, he had himself some fun
He found another whore with sticky buns
He took her to a hammock, what a blunder
And gave her his three inches of thunder

And so they lived happily ever after
Oh what joy, oh what rapture
The two of them, they had four kids
And it’s really a shame that they did
One is named Paul, one is named Matt
Both of them are clueless ass hats
The other two, as you can clearly see
Have the names of Kenny and Donnie

And that’s the epic of a man named Kirby
He’ll be on the next episode of Maury
Discussing all the venereal disease he got
On the hammock, on the bed, on the cot
And as for his kids, if you can’t tell
All four of them are doing well
Except for Paul, he’s quite dumb
That retarded asshole cut off his thumb

And that's it. I also forget to mention that I wrote this poem to inspire our team to change its name to Kirby's Kids. We are currently Kirby's Heroes, because we all wear Superhero shirts. Those bastards didn't want to change the name, so I pretty much wrote the poem for nothing. Anyways the hilarity of the poem is probably lost on all of you because you don't know Kirby. If you did know him, you'd be laughing you ass off right about now. That's the reaction I got out of everyone who read it and knows him. Well, that's all I got tonight. You stay classy, San Diego.

When The Levee Breaks

Yeah, I'm back. I decided to update tonight. Partly because I'm bored, and partly because I haven't updated in quite some time. Nothing new to report. I have been thinking a lot about this blog lately. I don't really post much, and my life isn't that interesting, so I am thinking about turning it into one of two things. I am either going to turn it into a parking lot, because there is no parking on my street, or I am going to turn it into a comedy blog. I'm sure the former would be more productive, seeing as how I'm probably not that funny, but I have been feeling the comedy itch lately. Usually when I have an itch, I put some anti-itch cream on, but this time that didn't work.

I am currently in a discussion with my buddy Rich about the merits of going to a titty bar. I think that it degrads woman. However, I have no problem watching pornography, which is equally degrading to woman. As you can tell, I'm in a bit of a quagmire here. And I'm not talking about Quagmire from Family Guy, although he is great and that is a fantastic show. Speaking of Family Guy, new episodes on May 1st. May is going to be a great month. New Family Guy episodes, the conclusion to the Star Wars trilogy, and my 21st birthday. I also get out of school. May is looking up, but I still gotta make it through April. You know what they say though, golden showers, she's deflowered.

Well, that is a nice segue into my next topic. I listen to Loveline, as you may or may not know. It's a nationally syndicated radio program and it is great. Adam Carolla stated on a previous show that a lot of sayings that we use today need to be updated to fit the 21st century. For example, pull yourself up by your bootstraps. Kids aren't dropping this saying, and sayings like it, anymore. Instead of that saying though, he came up with, pull yourself up by your thong back. I am now on a quest to come up with a few more of my own. Look for that in the future.

And now for something completely different. I remember, from my philosphy class last semester, that Descartes came up with a proof for the existence of God. I have come up with something similiar.

Ken's Proof for the Existence of a Black God
1. God made man in his form
2. Man has a penis
3. God is not the lesser to man in any aspect

If these three principles hold true, and if there is a God, God must have an enormous penis. Since white men typically have small penises (I really think peni should be the plural of penis, but I could have used penes), the only logical conclusion one can make is that God is black.

While, I have committed enough heresies for one night. Good night, and I'll see you all in hell!