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Story for you guys from nearly 15 years ago.

I had just proposed to Her Doublewideness not too long previous, and in preparation for the Wedding To End All Weddings™, I had moved into a nice little one-bedroom apartment in the Sleepy Little Town™ of Rockwall, TX.  (Steffi, of course, had a key.  That’s foreshadowing.  Remember it.)

At the time, I was working two jobs – an eight-to-fiver in an office, and a dispatching job on the weekends for the courier company I’d worked days for previously.

As fate would have it, my graveyard relief at the dispatching job this one Sunday night phoned in sick.  And, as fate would also have it, no replacement was available.  Ergo, I would have to work a double shift.  And also ergo (grin), I would be forced to work my eight-to-fiver on zero sleep.

Not a lot of fun.

Anyway, I phoned my then-fiancee, let her know the situation, and kindly asked her if she could come from Sulphur Springs, grab a change of clothes out of the apartment, and come to dispatch to drop them off.  (At the time, I was in a t-shirt & jeans, my apartment was thirty minutes away, and an hour to my eight-to-fiver from there.  No way could I have made it there and back – hence, the call for help to the fiancee. This is also foreshadowing. Remember it.)

Fiancee hemmed & hawed, but eventually agreed that yes, she could do this for the guy she was ultimately going to spend the rest of her life with.  This was 1430 hours.

Fast forward to 1800 hours.  I received a call from Fiancee Unit™, ostensibly apologetic, whereupon she said that she had to go to “church”, and couldn’t come down.

Long story short, I subsequently had to call my eight-to-fiver, report in “sick”, and went home after work to sleep until afternoon.  Didn’t hurt my standing there, but Mondays were a hellaciously busy day at that particular company, and it didn’t help my cause any.

Now, at the time of Doublewide Fiancee’s refusal, I figured “okay, one-off, no biggie, not a hill I want to die on”, and ignored the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.  Had I realized at the time that this was a Huge Honkin’ Red Flag O’ Doom™ as to her general dependability, I’d have never married the bitch.  I’d have told her the minute she failed to come through for me, “Okay, sweetie, just drop off the key next time you see me, and have a nice life”.

Should’ve taught me not to ignore the sickening feeling.  But hell – what do I know, hm?

I tell you this story, Denizens, to compare & contrast something that happened to me in San Diego last year at the mum-in-law’s funeral.  Friday was the day of the service, and we started off for the chapel not having had time for a proper breakfast.  So we grabbed a couple hot dogs each on the way.

After the funeral was the reception, whereupon there was fried chicken, pizza, mac ‘n cheese, Chinese, etc, etc, ad infinitum, ad nauseam.  Particular emphasis on the ad nauseam – I posted a pic that I’m sure a couple of you saw.  (Yes, that’s exactly how I was feeling at the time.)

Get back to our lodging for the week, and I’m…well, let’s just say I’ve had better days, mkay?

So here I am in the can.  Doubled over in pain, and without going into TMI mode, Pepto’s not going to be of any help.

I’m still in my Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, and I’m overheating.  I need to get into a t-shirt & shorts pretty quickly, but I’m not in any condition to venture out from the can at that moment in time.  So I send a text to Mrs. Venomous – “Honey, I need you to get me a t-shirt & my shorts, okay?”

Five minutes go by.  Ten.  Fifteen.

I’m starting to wonder just where the hell she is, when a thought from the Lord (and He’s the only one who could have put this thought there at the time) comes, unbidden, into my head.

“Have faith in your wife”.

Not three seconds later comes a knock on the door – “Honey???”

She slides the clothing under the door, I’m in t-shirt & shorts not too long thereafter, and all turns out well; the day is officially saved.

The point of all this:  I have a pretty damned hellacious wife.  She’s got my back.


Mrs. Venomous – I love you.


Realm™ Headquarters to Southern Command – come in, please.

Southern Command, do you copy?


Good for her!

Read about it here.

This may not be a particularly “vicarly” thought, but if the Dubai government tries to sweep this under the carpet, this sailor’s shipmates need to have a severe “blanket party” with the bus driver. Those of you who have military service will know what I am speaking of.


[SCENE:  Deep space.  His Rudeness, Lord Darth Venomous is on his way back from a (ahem) personal errand…]

VENOMOUS:  I don’t think I like the tone of your “voice”, Narrator.

[And just what were you doing out of pocket for so long, (sarc) my liege????? (/sarc) (As if we didn’t…gakkkkk…akkkkk)]

VENOMOUS:  Comprehension & cognizant thinking aren’t your strong suits, are they, dickweed?  (looks offstage, as the Narrator drops to the floor with a very  hollow sound)  Awright, Understudy, your turn.

[…from a personal errand, and is traveling in his personal courier, the Scorpion-class Excelsior.

A blinking console light catches the Admiral’s attention.  He opens a channel.]

VENOMOUSExcelsior, Venomous.

KORRIOTH (over speaker):  Korriorh, Admiral.  Stellar cartography update for you, sir.

VENOMOUS:  Very good, Kor, shoot it through.

[He touches a few more switches and opens a separate channel to receive the download.  After five minutes, the download completes and the software channel closes.

At that very moment, everything goes dark as Excelsior  loses power & drops out of warp.

Lord Venomous sits there, non-plussed.]

VENOMOUS:  No, Narrator, just wondering what to do when I get back.

[Get back, m'lord?]

VENOMOUS:  Whether to Force-choke the p’tahk, or use my lightsaber to cut out one of his hearts.

Ever had an Ubuntu kernel update hose your system, Denizens?

That’s three days I’ll never get back.



From Bruins-Sabres last night.  This was the first sporting event since the bombs went off at the Boston Marathon the other day.

Somehow, it’s gotten a little dusty in here, y’know?


Denizens, as you probably know by now, there were two explosions near the finish line at the Boston Marathon today.  Latest count is three dead, 30 injured.  (*UPDATE*:  Now 12 dead, 50 injured two dead, 22 injured, according to Ace.)

This came from the Facebook page of one Nikki Kristof a few minutes ago:

Most inspiring glimpse here of the Boston marathon: runners who reportedly finished the 26 miles and then ran over to Mass General Hospital to donate blood.

And the least  inspiring would have to be this bastard Kristof…blaming the explosions on Republicans.

The @nytimes is advertising its “free” coverage on mobile phones, hoping to use the tragedy to gin up marketshare; meanwhile, Nick Kristof springs into action, blaming the explosion on the GOP:

explosion is a reminder that ATF needs a director. Shame on Senate Republicans for blocking apptment articles.washingtonpost.com/2013-02-01/wor… — Nicholas Kristof (@NickKristof) April 15, 2013

Kristof, you cowardly little pussy, it’s a Damn Good Thing™ you are where you are, and that I am where I am.

Because if I were anywhere near you, you’d be getting your syphillis-infested, skanky, swishy ass handed to you on a platter RightAboutNow™.

Little doucherifles like you, Nikki, need to taken out back and put out of our  misery.  And one of these days, you’re gonna say the wrong thing to someone’s face, and he’s gonna rearrange it to where you need to take your meals through a straw.

And when that happens…I’ll stand that patriot to a beer.

Pansy-assed little chickenshit… 

(Oh, and as to the title of the post…Hey, Nikki, you little cuntmuffin – if you can do it, so can I, you asswipe.)

UPDATE the 2nd:  Well, looks like the pusstard recanted.

People jumping on me for criticizing Sen Repubs for blocking ATF appointments. ok, that was low blow. i take it back

And that’s it.  No apology, no mea culpa.  Just “i take it back”.

What was it they said about toothpaste?


Not far from Realm™ Headquarters, at Texas Motor Speedway in FNFW (Far North Fort Worth), they just completed a night-day NASCAR double-header, capped off by the NRA 500.  Kyle Busch took both ends of the twin-bill.

Now comes word that NASCAR is about to commit financial suicide.

NASCAR plans to become more involved in race-sponsorship decisions by speedways in light of the continuing controversy surrounding the National Rifle Association’s sponsorship of the Sprint Cup race Saturday at Texas Motor Speedway.

“The NRA’s sponsorship of the event at Texas Motor Speedway fit within existing parameters that NASCAR affords tracks in securing partnerships,” said NASCAR spokesman David Higdon. “However, this situation has made it clear that we need to take a closer look at our approval process moving forward, as current circumstances need to be factored in when making decisions.”

The “situation”?  The “current circumstances”?  Why, the whining, kvetching & sniveling du jour  from the Lame-assed Limp-wristed Leftards™, of course!

In some respects, this weekend at TMS has become more about politics than racing for the NRA 500, as the sponsorship coincides with the current national gun control debate to become the prevailing storyline.

Democratic Sen. Chris Murphy of Connecticut wrote to News Corp. chief Rupert Murdoch asking the Fox network not broadcast Saturday night’s race because of the NRA sponsorship.

“Eez a vaddy nize tellyvizhan netvork you have zere, Meezter Ayyyyllllllzzzzz. A zhame, no, eef somfzink vere to happen  to eeet…?”

Sources confirmed Friday that two drivers were advised by their public relations directors not to do interviews in the TMS media center so they could avoid having the NRA logo behind them.

Y’know, Denizens, I think now would be a damned good time to remind NASCAR that a goodly portion of their fan base…um, how to put this diplomatically?…happen to also be NRA members.

And if you backhand them, NASCAR, by backhanding the NRA…well, it’s been said that you’re doing this because of “backlash”?

Trust me, dumbasses:  You haven’t seen  “backlash” yet.

Tell 98% of your fan base to go fuck themselves…wow.  Just.  Wow.

I wanna be a fly on the wall for that.


Fuck the law.

Fuck Roe v. Wade.

Fuck 7-2

In fact, fuck those seven bastards who voted for abortion baby-butchering on demand.

Fuck NARAL.  (Fuck NOW, for that matter.)

Fuck every last feminist who defends this barbaric practice.  From Betty Friedan & Kate Michelman all the fucking way down to Gloria Steinem & Andrea Marcotte.

To Hell – literally – with every fucking last one of them.

This son-of-a-crack-whore-bitch is deserving of the most painful, agonizing death imaginable.

Period.  End.  Stop.

And don’t get me started on the @#$%(!!! media – you know, the one that won’t cover any of it?

Infant beheadings. Severed baby feet in jars. A child screaming after it was delivered alive during an abortion procedure. Haven’t heard about these sickening accusations?

It’s not your fault. Since the murder trial of Pennsylvania abortion doctor Kermit Gosnell began March 18, there has been precious little coverage of the case that should be on every news show and front page.

But it isn’t.  And we know why, don’t we?

Fuck ‘em.  Fuck ‘em all.  With a rusty, steel-wire-wrapped, razor-embedded baseball bat.  For starters.

God’s judgement can’t come soon enough on this country, if you ask me. 


The Realm™ is in mourning today as we learn of the passing of the Iron Lady.  Former United Kingdom Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher is dead at the age of 87.

She was a trailblazer who at first believed trailblazing impossible: Thatcher told the Liverpool Daily Post in 1974 that she did not think a woman would serve as party leader or prime minister during her lifetime.

But once in power, she never showed an ounce of doubt.

Thatcher could be intimidating to those working for her:

British diplomats sighed with relief on her first official visit to Washington D.C. as prime minister to find that she was relaxed enough to enjoy a glass of whiskey and a half-glass of wine during an embassy lunch, according to official documents.

Like her close friend and political ally Ronald Reagan, Thatcher seemed motivated by an unshakable belief that free markets would build a better country than reliance on a strong, central government. Another thing she shared with the American president: a tendency to reduce problems to their basics, choose a path, and follow it to the end, no matter what the opposition.

She formed a deep attachment to the man she called “Ronnie” — some spoke of it as a schoolgirl crush. Still, she would not back down when she disagreed with him on important matters, even though the United States was the richer and vastly stronger partner in the so-called “special relationship.”

You had a special relationship with the American people too, Maggie.  We miss you terribly already.

Godspeed, Lady Thatcher.


The outrageous thing about this bitch is that she’s still wasting our oxygen.

Narrating a new MSNBC “Lean Forward” spot, the Tulane professor laments that we in America “haven’t had a very collective notion that these are our children.” “[W]e have to break through our kind of private idea that kids belong to their parents or kids belong to their families, and recognize that kids belong to their communities,” Harris-Perry argued.

Get near my  boy, you cowardly cunt, and – parental rights or not – it’ll be the last  thing you ever do.

Children belong to the parents – not you, the “community” or  the State.  And as much as I dislike Her Doublewide Bitchiness, I’d still trust her with my son more than I would you.

So don’t even think  it, bitch.  Unless you have a death wish.


Is it actually possible I am getting old? I spoke to a young lady just a short while ago who had never heard of a party line. Wow! My guess is that she is young enough that she cannot remember a time without cell phones.


Ever notice that the heterophobic assholes who are doing their damndest to shove homosexual marriage down our throats…were (and are) the same bigoted anti-Christian bastards who squeam about us attempting to “impose our morals” on everyone else?

(Yeah, I know it’s stating the obvious.  I’m just sayin’.)


Suppose North Korea develops a full blown case of cranial rectal insertion, and launches an attack against the South. What would be the proper course of action for the USA to take? This assumes of course, that our own leadership is competent.



Easter Sunday Sermon, 31 March 2013

Aw, come on! Is that all you got?! >



This  is why I fucking follow football.

The best Triple-A team in the major leagues just handed an 8-2 crushing to a franchise that was supposed  to maybe – just maybe! – contend for the World Series this year.

You would think  that, after last year’s pathetic-assed chokejob, general manager/El Grande Presidente  Jon Daniels, boy wunderkind, would get up off his ass and actually, y’know improve the ballclub.

Aw, but hell no!  This supposed genius  did nothing but lose several front line players (granted one of them was Josh “Quitter” Hamilton, but still), sign two aging, probably-done veterans, and do exactly fuckin’ dick  in upgrading the pitching staff.

And then little Ronnie Warshington (yeah, I called him Warshington – don’t like it, come tell me to my face, pussies) ONCE AGAIN  shows his ass in trying to, y’know, manage  the fucking thing.

It’s a damned good thing there was an NCIS marathon going opposite on USA, else this rant would be a lot  more vitrolic.

The only other good thing about this is that I can at least ignore competition sports for the next five months or so, until football comes back.

Fucking bastard-assed excuse-for-a-baseball-franchise… 


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(KORRIOTH:  Oh, great.  More wormholes.)

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