The Fortress of Turpitude

And You Shall Know Them by Their Fruits

2005-10-19T13:43:00.000-07:00

Re: Dr. Dino

Dr. Hovind:

Every "proof" you claim ultimately depends upon your own belief in the infallibility of the Bible. What evidence can you present that proves - as Christianity claims - that the Bible is the unerring word of God?

It took the Catholic church approximately three hundred fifty years before they sheepishly admitted that Galileo was right about that whole Earth orbiting the Sun idea. Why did the church so vehemently oppose this idea? Why did the church repeatedly kill people for asking questions and finding answers that disagreed with their precious Bible?

Tellingly, creationists ask - regarding evolutionists - "What are they afraid of?" History shows, however, that it is the church that is afraid of facts that contradict the Bible. Common sense and an understanding of human nature tells you that a man will reject ideas which threaten his philosophical foundation because, he reasons, if my foundation was wrong about this, what falls next? The problem here is that you have allowed the Bible itself to become a false idol. You have focused your puny thoughts so intently upon a document that has been translated, altered, redacted and edited by men to the point that this document has become your god. And now, you must protect this document to the point where you will invent fantastic stories and ignore Occam's sage advice simply in order to remain blindly obediant to a book.

I suggest you have lost your way and rather than flapping your jaws incessantly, you might consider some quiet contemplation. No book, no other people, no civilisation, just you and the gaping night sky. I hear deserts are really excellent for this sort of thing.

Also tellingly, you claim that supporters of evolution must have some sort of agenda. Well, when you attempt to refute the broad field of radiometric dating by tackling the Carbon-14 straw-man without ever mentioning the other radioactive isotopes used in radiometric dating, I have to stop and ask myself, "Is this Dr. Hovind stupid or dishonest for allowing this sort of spin on his website?"

Possibly there is some other reason why you would withhold additional information. Possibly this dishonesty is why you must lament the 80% to 90% of what you call "backsliders." Possibly you are afraid that your foundation of blind faith cannot survive any more truth. Perhaps you would like to hasten the day when we enter the next dark ages because the Bible replaced math and science text books and people with mental illness will once again be exorcised at the stake. Perhaps you take offense at the fact that someone gave us all a brain. Perhaps it is you who has the agenda.

I certainly can't read your mind, but I know you by your fruits.

Sincerely,
Chris Judge

Crazy Girls

2005-06-26T11:38:00.000-07:00

The voices of all my past girlfriends are whispering, "don't date any crazy chicks, she'll just fuck with your head, run the opposite direction, etc."

"Why don't you all just chill," I reply, "if I'd followed your advice, I wouldn't have dated any of you. And on top of that, I'm the one arguing with the voices in my head."

They all look at each other in silence. I think they are conferring telepathically and that creeps me out 'cause I didn't know they could do that. Paula steps forward; she often serves as spokesperson. I think it's because she was the first so she has some sort of seniority though I think it should be the other way around where the most recent chica gets to carry the torch. "We think it would be a mistake for you to involve yourself with a self-proclaimed crazy girl." Paula is wearing a Hello-Kitty straight-jacket as she says this. "We feel that you should ..."

"We don't need another crazy-ass puta bitch in here!" Dena interrupts. She waves a gun menacingly and begins pulling the trigger. There's a brief period of mayhem and violence with girls running around screaming, catfighting, Jessica and Amy are making out, Wendy is throwing giant dildos at anyone who comes near her, Pam purrs in my ear and grinds against me. Eventually, Dena puts the gun in her mouth and does her own special Michelangelo on the ceiling.

None of them can really die in here. I leave the room, close the door behind me. Next time I visit, all traces of this most recent episode will be gone. I never know what the scenery will be like. They may all be lounging around a pool, oiling each other. They may be sitting in a dive bar, playing pool and arm wrestling each other. One time I walked in and they were in an eighteenth century sugery theater watching some surgeon dissect a cadaver.

My stomach growls, I walk down the hallway to the kitchen. I should put a lock on that door.

Random stuff and vodka

2005-06-26T00:46:00.000-07:00

Thank Blog that my browser remembers passwords, because I sure as Hell don't.

Before I die, I want to get a word in a dictionary. Not being quite the madman (q.v.: Professor and the Madman), yet, I figure this is my best venue for recording my word. And it's such a useless word too: philotendril.

When you're hanging out with friends discussing the odd philosophical topic and the conversation branches off to unimportant - and distracting - side topics, that's a philotendril. Maybe only geeks such as myself encounter this problem. It would be so refreshing, in a way, to only be concerned with chicks and their various delicious bits, but my mind continually returns to the useless realms of invention.

I need a woman who spans the gamut - physical to cerebral - because, otherwise, I get bored.

Yard Work

2005-03-20T11:37:00.000-08:00

I realized yesterday that I spend too much time behind a desk and between the pages of books. The sun was shining, birds were improvising and weeds were overrunning my back yard. It was time for yardwork.

My plan:

1. find something to kill the evil weeds

2. investigate fertilizer

3. investigate and purchase some sort of perennials that won't mind if I forget to water them

4. purchase soil - who'da thunk it, buying and selling dirt?

As an afterthought, I decided to take the box of clothes I left on my porch for Big Brothers, Big Sisters to Goodwill. BBBS didn't pick them up on their designated day nor on the day they said they would after I called them. Regardless, it was a fortuitous afterthought: on my way from Goodwill to Home Depot, I passed a small, local nursery. I'd much rather support a local business, but in my initial plan, I had simply assumed I would go to Home Depot.

In epidemiology, there's a term for the first person who brings a disease into an area. I no longer recall this term, but I didn't want to be the horticultural equivalent by bringing my weed into a nursery so I put a sample in a ziplock bag. Precautions in place, I nevertheless pretended I was a secret agent sneaking a biological agent into enemy territory. I did have to fight my way past a crack team flower arrangers and a forest of spinning, twirly thingies - ostensibly "decorations" - that are undoubtedly laced with some sort of poison or nasty, pointy, sharp edges. I checked my precious weed sample to make sure the nasty, pointsy things had not injued it. My precious.

At the counter, the clerk just stared at me when I flashed the ziplock baggy. I prompted him further by saying, "the moon is high above the mountain." Nothing. I tried, "Der Fisch springt auf dem Wasser." Still nothing. Clearly, this clerk was not my contact and would have to be eliminated. To throw him off my trail, I apologised and said I was in town for SXSW and that I am a high-ranking official in the Nigerian Ministry of Horticulture. I explained to him that we were in need of assistance and that this nursery was known the world over as the pre-eminant source for weed control advice. "We are willing to pay you $25 million, but I need your bank account and social security number before we can proceed." This didn't sit too well with Mr. Clerk and he told me I needed to talk to Hank.

Hank, apparently, is the owner of Howard Nursery. What happened to Howard one can only guess, but Hank didn't strike me as the Yakusa-type so I decided to trust him. He said my weed is called "spurge." I'm thinking, that's a great new word meaning an urge followed on the spur of the moment. Example:

Person #1: Why did you buy the gasoline-powered cat-shaving system?

Person #2: I don't know, it was a spurge.

Some might argue that "impulse buy" already serves that purpose, but I now prefer "spurge."

Hank hooked me up with a sprayer and some Green Light Wipe-Out(R), a desert topping made from delicious and wholesome ingredients like 2,4-dichlorophenoxyacetic acid and 2-2(2-methyl-4-chlorophenoxy) proprionic acid. There's a sticker on the bottle that tells me not to use this product on Floratam St. Augustine grass in Florida. I was relieved to know that Floratam St. Augustine grass in Texas is not as sissy as that in Florida.

Item one on my plan was accomplished. In my exuberance, I completely forgot about item 2 and moved right on to item 3.

After staring dumbly at the rows upon rows of green things, I realized I was out of my element. A helpful employee - I'll call him Lennie, I think he spent too much time working in the Green Light Wipe-Out(R) section - approached and asked if I needed any help and if I would be his friend. We spent an hour pasting macaroni on cigar boxes while Lennie told me of his dream of raising rabbits at a place of his own. Eventually, I got him to recommend a few perennials that would survive in the shade of a pecan tree.

Item 3 was accomplished. I celebrated by eating some macaroni and Lennie danced with a dead mouse he pulled from his pocket.

Not knowing if Lennie was aware of the fact that the mouse was dead, I said, "Dude, I think you hugged it and squeezed it a little too hard."

Lennie replied, "That's what George always told me. George is my friend."

This seemed to upset Lennie, so we spent another hour gluing sparkles on paper. Afterward, while Lennie was explaining the relative merits of different bags of dirt I couldn't help noticing that there were sparkles all over his tongue.

Item 4 accomplished.

Total purchase price for dessert topping, sprayer, plants and dirt: $144.93.

An afternoon of international intrigue, kindergarten, Steinbeck, digging in the dirt and blisters on my hands, priceless.

My Pirate Name

2005-02-15T10:31:00.000-08:00

My pirate name is:

Black William Flint

Like anyone confronted with the harshness of robbery on the high seas, you can be pessimistic at times. Like the rock flint, you're hard and sharp. But, also like flint, you're easily chipped, and sparky. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from fidius.org.

Fun With Microwaves

2005-02-03T18:02:00.000-08:00

I absolutely love this stuff.

Peace.

DSCN0178

2005-01-27T21:41:00.000-08:00

DSCN0178
Originally uploaded by The Judge.

My least favorite.

DSCN0177

2005-01-27T21:40:00.000-08:00

DSCN0177
Originally uploaded by The Judge.

Paint!

DSCN0186

2005-01-27T21:34:00.000-08:00

DSCN0186
Originally uploaded by The Judge.

I'm playing with paint!

Journal entry - 5-16-1994

2005-01-27T21:06:00.000-08:00

There was a boy who could visit angels.

His method is not important here, only the fact that he stopped visiting them. At first, he visited as often as possible because they were so beautiful. His cheeks ran with tears of joy. Eventually, he stopped visiting them because he always had to return to the world of pain and ugliness and he found it was less painful and less ugly when there was no fresh, bright memory of angels shining in his mind.

So the boy told himself that he must face reality and learn to live in the world of pain and ugliness even though he knew that a better world existed.

And now the angels cried and Darkness burped a sigh of contentment as the boy pissed on the embers of his dreams and settled himself to the empty role of a rat who only shits when told and flies nevermore.

-------------

That was a dark time in my life.

Crush Rush!

2005-01-21T13:33:00.000-08:00

I read recently how a station in Brattleboro, VT dumped Rush and replaced it with Air America and even some ClearChannel stations will soon be doing this.

Travis County - location of wonderful Austin, TX. - is a blue county. Why is Rush on the air here on KLBJ 590 AM?

We can change this. Here's how:

1. Write an email to KLBJ and ask them to Crush Rush and pick up Air America.

2. Write a letter to the Editor of the Chronicle
and urge readers to contact KLBJ (include contact info
from the KLBJ link, above). Make sure to read the Chronicle's instructions. You have to include your address and phone number in your message. If your letter is published, you can edit what will be revealed.

3. Write a litter to the Editor of the Statesman and
urge readers to contact KLBJ (include contact info
from the KLBJ link, above).

3. Forward this message to all your liberal and
progressive friends.

4. We could print up some stickers and plaster the city with a "Crush Rush" message.

Austin - as the Texas Capitol - would be a huge symbolic win for Air America.

Updates:

Jerry Springer touts Liberal Talk

Spread the message with a t-shirt!

Acapulco Rove

2004-12-12T11:29:00.000-08:00

July 12, 2006

The Department of Domestic Tranquility was offically created today when President George Bush signed the Omnibus Drug and Labor Reform Bill of 2006. The media have not yet picked up on it, but the blogs have been buzzing for weeks: it is widely suspected that the feds will compell everyone to smoke pot.

Back in January, a federally funded clinical study determined that smoking or eating marijuana boosts the immune response in general and can prevent and reverse the damage of human variant Creutzfeldt-Jakob's disease. Many of us were suspect seeing as how the Labor Statistics Board had only two weeks earlier reported that 1.3 million jobs had been outsourced to foreign markets during the previous year and that 200,000 American had died from CJD in 2005. Classic Rove, rather than admit that the Department of Agriculture had been hiding the real prevelance of Mad Cow disease, they come out with a new cure that has the added benefit of being an excellent opiate for the masses.

Don't try to grow your own weed, though, rumor has it that ADM has locked into a no-bid contract to supply us with a genetically modified version of our government mandated weed. Anyone caught growing their own will be subject to mandatory sentencing of to 20-to-life variety.

The term "drug test" will take on a whole new meaning also. You'll recall that the 2005 Goverment Overcoming Death Act made it mandatory for us all to attend church on Sundays and have the Health Chip implanted so that our cholesterol, blood pressure, etc. could automatically be downloaded weekly into the data collection points installed at all the churches. Turns out the Health Chip can be flash upgraded so next time you go to church, your chip will be programmed to also monitor THC levels in your blood. If your THC level isn't high enough, you will be permitted extra tranquility breaks during your work day in order to consume more marijuana.

The latest rumor is that it may start showing up as an ingredient in most products - much like high fructose corn syrup - to ensure domestic tranquility.

Well, I'm gonna go watch the tube now. Maybe eat some Doritos.

Covered in Jiz

2004-11-18T08:02:00.000-08:00

Why do these things appear in my inbox? Granted, my ISP has a (mostly effective) spam filter so they show up in a Spam folder, but it makes me wonder what parents with kids do.

Spam wouldn't be a problem if you bastards - that's a term of endearment - didn't respond to it. And 99% of it is fraudulent. Incidentally, 87.3% of statistics are completely fabricated. Jeremy Jaynes was recently sentenced to nine years for his spam "business." He was pulling in up to $750,000 per month.

Per month, people!

Even if his average was ONLY $500,000 per month, that's SIX MILLION dollars per year for selling lies. I hear you can get a bionic arm, leg, penis and eye for about six million dollars. Second incidental comment: the test aircraft that crashes in the opening sequence of the Six Million Dollar Man is the Northrop M2-F2.

Tell everyone you know:

if it sounds to good to be true, it's probably not true

it only takes 1 in 30,000 retards to provide Jeremy Jaynes with a $6,000,000 per year income

do not respond to spam

you may, however, fold, spindle or mutilate spam

Spam may also be sliced, fried and placed on bread to make a hearty Spamwich.

Peace.

The Truth Shall Set You Free

2004-10-29T07:06:00.000-07:00

If Bush's supporters were not blinded by faith, they might read some facts and vote accordingly.

Waging the Wrong War

2004-10-19T15:08:00.000-07:00

Yes, securing the American people from terrorist threats is important.

Yes, what happened on 9/11/2001 was a tragedy.

Politicians claim that we are fighting a war to make the world a safer place.

Because approximately 3,000 innocent people died, we are waging a war that is costing us billions of dollars, over 1,000 additional American deaths and more than 10,000 civilian deaths in Iraq.

If this war is simply about making American safer, then why don't we spend a few paltry millions to make sure that we have enough flu vaccines every year? The Centers for Disease Control recently upgraded their flu mortality estimates (the number of Americans who die from the flu) from 20,000 to 36,000 per year.

So when 3,000 Americans die, we spend billions and send young Americans to war.

When 36,000 die, we do nothing assuming that the private sector will handle it.

Maybe going to war in Iraq is not about American safety. Maybe, the people who stand to make billions in profit have an ulterior motive.

I certainly don't know the details, but that only heightens my anger at the media for not digging and exposing the truth.

I'm tired of the pabulum that pours through my television from "news" sources like Fox and CNN and I'm afraid that it won't change as long as corporations who's only goal is to make more money continue to control the airwaves.

Software Project Management

2004-09-07T11:42:00.000-07:00

AKA: A Bunch of Boring Crap That I Hope I Never Have to Do.

Apparently, when the Project Management lobes (of the brain) were being handed out, I was sitting in a corner watching a bug crawl across the floor and wondering what the world would look like from that perspective. When They called my name a second time, I was working out the connections between Pascal's triangle and prime numbers. Finally, when they called my name a third time, I was staring into the sky, looking at clouds and wondering how much they weigh.

Schedules and plans just don't fit into my brain. I suppose I'm glad that there are people out there who are good at it - maybe some of them even enjoy it - but everything I enjoy in this world is antithetical to plans, schedules, deadlines.

Notice how the word "dead" figures prominently in "deadline?"

Miracles of Modern Medicine

2004-09-01T08:32:00.000-07:00

I had my first ever visit to an emergency room Monday evening. Sunday morning, what I thought was a varicose vein in my groin had swelled to about the size of a pecan. During the most important meeting of the year at work on Monday, I finally had to call my boss aside and let him know that I had to go to the hospital. Turns out the varicose vein is an abscess.

Here's where the squeamish should stop reading.

As I said, I thought it was a varicose vein because it had swelled slightly in the past after a hard weekend of booze and meat and cheese. What do these three things have in common? Constipation. And constipation can cause things like hemorrhoids, varicose veins and abscesses. This is why I recently switched to a predominantly vegetarian diet.

Let this be a warning to all of you meat-eating drinkers out there.

Back to the emergency room...

When I arrived, I had a fever of 102 and walking was only comfortable if I walked like a cowboy. It was a pleasant experience, I assure you. After waiting for about an hour and a half, a doctor came into my curtained "room" and while prodding the swollen lump on my "taint," asked me if I had used any foreign objects. It took me a while to realize what he was asking otherwise I would have said, "Other than the family of badgers, no." Instead, I answered in a formal, medical way, "No, I think it's from constipation, but I've switched to a mostly vegetarian diet."

Mind you, the doctor is still prodding during this exchange.

They run some blood tests and everything is normal so he prescribes antibiotics and painkillers. If I wasn't on painkillers, do you think I would write this?

At some point, I will have to go back so that they can lance it.

The silver lining on this dark cloud is that my cholesterol and blood pressure are "excellent." Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go sit in hot water for half an hour.

nonsense

2004-08-27T23:57:00.000-07:00

I wonder sometimes if I should dredge up some old journal entries to pad the blog. It's not for a lack of material, but rather a lack of inspiration. Events that might be interesting fodder, become blasé and one begins to second guess one's self.

Here's a sample:

You make me feel like I belong in this world.
You understand what I'm saying when words don't suffice.
You are warmth in the cold,
Light in the dark.
Rain in the desert of my heart.

Here's another:

The Unknown sheds light upon the Known.
Thus, to seek the Known, one must also seek the Unknowable.

Cheesy eh? Here's another:

This morning I awoke
and cursed the Sun.
For in waking me
it took away my dreams of you.

More disturbingly:

The world is not right.
I am not right.
I want to scream and scream and scream until I drive it all away.
I want to understand someone.
I want someone to understand me.

And then the indecipherable:

Spit coffee.
Not for the faint of heart
Nor for the dry of mouth.

What the hell?

I won't subject anyone to the countless pages of philosophical drivel or the random encounters with ensuing pregnancy scares. Well, maybe some day. Some of them are funny.

Pets

2004-08-23T22:32:00.000-07:00

I miss my kitty. When I hear random noises, my first thought is that he's at the front door wanting to come in.

Chairman Soggy von Uniball

2004-08-22T15:00:00.000-07:00

My kitty died last night. He had feline heart murmur and was three years old.

I Smell Like a Bar

2004-08-21T02:16:00.000-07:00

It's these wonderful moments when we come home from a stinky bar and we don't have anyone to take a shower with that really make life fantabulous. (That would be the royal "We" and I'm being sarcastic about the fantabulousness of this situation.)

I have this disease that makes me want to whisper pleasantries to attractive women while I trace random shapes across their beautiful skin - perhaps with a finger, perhaps with my lips, perhaps with a sharpie. I like the idea that a woman could go about her daily chores while, unbeknownst to everyone, she has a semi-permanent, bucolic scene with flowers and butterflies on her ass - a private art show known only to me and the inside of her jeans.

Beyond the sometimes-frenzied fun of fucking, skin touching skin in all its forms - a hug, a handshake, lips against a neck, hands on a waist, etc. - is the overarching umbrella of physical intimacy.

This is what happens when one writes at 3:00 am.

The Awesomeness That Is Me

2004-08-02T14:39:00.000-07:00

This week's survey:

In a completely unbiased survey this weekend, I asked my mom who the greatest person on Earth might be. Imagine my suprise and humble acceptance when she told me that I was not only the greatest person on Earth, but also the smartest and most handsome.

She then had the audacity to ask the greatest person on Earth when she was going to get additional grandchildren. "Begone mortal!" I answered and hung up the phone.

Be sure to check next week's results when I ask my cat, "If my name is Meow, who is your God?"
-----------

A beautiful woman I was conversing with recently had the "I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan..." song running through her head and asked, "What was that advertising: cigarettes, bacon-flavored lube, what?"

My answer:

In early 1972, The grocery store chain, Piggly Wiggly produced a bacon-flavored lube named Slippery-Pig. The earlier "Pork-A-Lot" name was abandoned when farmers came in looking for a place to store their pigs. Anyway, it turns out that the stuff was not very slippery, it smelled more like perfume and their slogan - "It's chock full of bacony goodness!" - wasn't testing well with their target demographic, so they renamed it "Enjolie" and sold it as perfume.

Strangely enough, she seems to have found this story entertaining. Maybe I had found the right woman after all these years of bad choices.

Maybe I should go back to drunk scribblings.

Alcohol

2004-07-29T00:18:00.000-07:00

One finds, while drunk, that proper grammer, though useful, is often an impediment. If you have not read any Bukowski, do yourself the favor. I will suggest Ham on Rye.

My new favorite bar is experiencing an upheaval. Owners are pulling in opposite directions and the cool owner is at wit's end. The cool owner, we'll call him Chuck built this place and made it what it is. The asshole owner, we'll call him Asshole, is now trying to step in and change things. Aside from the soap-opera like qualities of the situation, there is my personal tragedy of losing the perfect neighborhood bar. Clearly, this is the greater tragedy and my legions of faithful sheep, uh, readers will send me money and/or women. Else my wrath will be upon thee like a fly on poo!

Grrrr.

Aside: If any employees of said bar were to read this, you know that I am taking dramatic license in claiming that it is my tragedy. I know that it is YOUR tragedy.

I am sad and frustrated. I have made new friends amongst the staff and I don't want to see them leave.

OK, Hemingway and Bukowski are probably exceptions, don't try to write while overly drunk.

The Class Reunion that Wasn't

2004-07-24T09:28:00.000-07:00

Woke up Friday with a bourbon-induced hangover and a looming sense of dread: "I have to drive to Dallas today to go to that ridiculous class reunion."

I had already paid the seventy-five bucks for the pop-tarts and coolaid or whatever it is they serve you at these things and I had told my mom that I would be in Dallas. I never visit home - not for Christmas, not for Thanksgiving. Never. Yet inexplicably, I am my mom's favorite child and she is a master of the guilt-trip.

So I'm laying in bed 'till noon weighing the pros and cons of killing myself vs. going to Dallas when I realize, I don't have to go. I'm an adult! I can eat an entire bag of Oreo cookies without asking for permission! I can walk around the house naked but for strategically placed peanut butter! I make my own decisions, fraught with error though they may be.

The clouds parted, the sun tousled my hair and bunny rabbits and fawns leaped through the gently blowing grass.

I wonder if I can get my $75 back.

Politicians

2004-07-24T09:17:00.000-07:00

Read this: Secret Cabin to be Destroyed

Just when I start to believe that I'm the one who's insane, something like this comes along to remind me that it's those Other People who are freaking nuts and wouldn't know beauty if it farted flowers in their face.

OK, maybe I am insane.

Regardless, we all make a big deal about which pompous asshole will "lead our country" when it's the local assholes who generally impact our lives more directly. Did I write "asshole?" I meant to write "politician."

Experimenting on Former Classmates

2004-07-22T18:39:00.000-07:00

Twenty-year class reunion. Until I got the notice in the mail, I thought it had all happened about five years ago. Maybe six.

Interestingly, this six year period had somehow contained the ten-year reunion. I had no desire to go to that one, but after twenty years, I might actually enjoy seeing a few of these people again. Naturally, the rest of them will be carted off to my bio-fungineering lab where I'm figuring out just how much fun is too much for the human psyche to endure. I always enjoy the trips to the bio-fungineering lab. The laughter is so infectious - literally - and they always give me a lolly-pop when I leave.

I have to make sure someone comes to feed Chairman Soggy von Uni-ball.

Vodka beckons and I must obey.

blogito ergo sum

2004-07-21T15:23:00.000-07:00

Not yet, the fire-ball is still in the sky.