(This archived content from a previous blog is being added for posterity, 25Jan2011. Ed.)

Well, I’m sitting here at work. All the marketing muppets are off planning the next disaster, my motivation for the year is officially spent and I am left to look back at the last year and wonder if it can possibly get any worse?

Professionally, I stagnated this year because I was continually marginalized by people who lack real world experience as a 365 day pissing match ensued over who really gets to run things. Despite their best efforts, I still ‘won’, but it was a Pyrrhic victory. I got to keep my best in class platform and we’ll be revising it’s implementation to get it performing as it should. I did not get to choose the vendor I wished for, but my current vendor stepped up and started taking responsibility and making positive strides. I continue to be viewed as a black box, typical for technology professionals who have to deal with business folk who have no idea what we do, only that we need to be doing it. It bothers me to have spent over a decade honing the multidisciplinary skills necessary to work in eCommerce only to have a handful of nitwits barely old enough to even remember life before the internet take all the credit for work they could not have even begun to accomplish had I sat on my hands.

Daily, I am sickened more and more at the state of my nation and it’s inhabitants. Sloth, greed and avarice are combining ignorance & apathy to create a nation of simpering, self-important weaklings who think they somehow deserve anything they want without effort or cost. Even the tough-guys are candy-asses, experts at the physical beat-down because mommy didn’t love them enough as a child so as to teach them that strength and compassion are not incompatible. Drug industry and fast food combine to make a nation of sickos incapable of moderately taking care of themselves without dozens of prescriptions. I give greater credence to living abroad with each creature I pass on their way to the mall.

And yet, despite my angst, I still have much to be thankful for. A very beautiful and loving wife. A family I adore and look forward to holding each and every day when I arrive home from work. Friends I enjoy spending time with and hobbies which engage me and which I possess all the faculties, if not all of the time I wish, to participate to the fullest in. I’m broke, but not so broke that I don’t have a roof over my head and tasty victuals on my table.

I hope for so much in 2010, but so long as my wife is by my side it won’t matter how it turns out. We’ll be there to see it through, together. Of course, if I could knock a few muppets on the head and keep a few extra bucks in the bank account, I wouldn’t argue with such largess. Farewell 2009, it has been… interesting.


(This archived content from a previous blog is being added for posterity, 25Jan2011. Ed.)

Well, well, well. I have to be honest, in all of my years spent in liberal study, (history, political science, cultural anthropology, philosophy), I wanted to see a day like today happen, but I was afraid I might never see it in my lifetime. A majority female and a minority male ran competing campaigns for the president of the United States. Amazing in and of itself. As we all know now, President Barrack Obama, the first African-American/black/minority/whatever you want to call it, (I despise political correctness for it’s emasculation of the language and the manner in which it hides the truth of what people believe), has just been sworn in to office. It is a great and historic day. I should be proud and exhilarated.

From the break room at work I watched former president G.W. Bush walk away towards his waiting helicopter and end his time in our nation’s highest office. At this moment, I am simply happy to be employed. My wife is rumoured to be getting a pay cut. Many of my friends have already been cut 10%, but again should be thankful they even have jobs. In 8 years, the man who could barely form a coherent sentence has utterly and irrevocably ruined this nation. We have what was once the finest military mired in desert brush fire engagements where they do not belong, (and no, I’m no sappy liberal there. I believe in military service and it’s proper application). Our once powerful economy, (admittedly it was falsely powerful as it grew in ways it never should have), lays shattered and at the mercy of the worlds economic equivalent of hyenas and other carrion eaters. Education and the environment seem to have been set back twice as far as the two terms of office we have had to endure. I want to believe that there may be some hope for the future, but I look at my fellow Americans in shame and disgust as their waistlines grow, their intellects shrink and it becomes obvious that they are bereft of all notions of civic duty and common courtesy to the last.

While it is difficult to blame the woes of the world on a single person or group of people, it is still satisfying to have a scapegoat. While I hope that there is strength enough to pull this once proud nation and people back from the precipice of the abyss, I am at least happy in the knowledge that the Bush Crime Syndicate, that vile group of thugs & warmongers who extorted and raped the American people, economy and the very Constitution itself, is on it’s way out. In many ways, I am surprised. I almost thought they might find a way to increase the term limits or even make a bid to simply seize power like the fascists that they are. I suppose it should be said that for once losing popularity served a real purpose.

So, on that note, I just want to say one more thing.

Goodbye and good riddance George Bush. May you rot in whatever hell you think you believe in you piece of shit. Fuck off.


Fizzgig beaing cute

Fizzgig being cute

(This archived content from a previous blog is being added for posterity, 25Jan2011. Ed.)

Email from my wife, Sister Moon, to our friends & family

I’m sorry to have to deliver this news on my husband’s birthday, a day that should be about celebrating. Fizzi passed away this morning. We last saw her at about 1 a.m. before we went to bed; the whole family had gathered in the kitchen for the new ritual of giving Fizzi her meds, which she absolutely did not enjoy. Brother Wolf (BW) found her this morning curled up in one of her favorite spots: on the green pillows beneath our tea table.

Fizzi had been sick for going on four weeks now. She had stopped eating and drinking and was becoming increasingly grouchy. We took her to the vet on Jan. 25, and he gave us antibiotics to treat what he believed was a stomach virus. We had done this with her before successfully. This time was different. She continued her hunger strike after a full week of taking meds. She would eat erratically, but never very much.

We took her to the vet a second time on Feb. 4th. They had to administer a brief whiff of anesthesia so they could run some tests. The conclusion was that Fizzi had a mild inflammation of the liver and a backup of bile in her bloodstream. They gave us three new drugs to try (one of which was an appetite stimulant) and gave her an electrolyte bubble to hydrate her. The Dr. said this was not a dire situation. We should try the drugs for 30 days, and if things did not improve, we should bring her in to contemplate a gall bladder operation.

So my dear husband and I would wrangle with her in the evenings, administering medicine via a plastic syringe. Because she was neither eating nor drinking, and the meds were apparently horrific tasting, Fizzi would foam at the mouth, spouting white froth everywhere. This was quite the adventure. But BW managed to find a ritual that worked for her, wrapping her in a towel like a burrito and crooning her into submission.

Yesterday morning, when I went downstairs for breakfast, I found her sitting by the back patio doors observing the birds outside—one of her favorite pastimes. I felt hopeful. I got her to drink two small saucers of milk and eat several small pieces of ham. She purred and seemed to be enjoying herself. I was very excited.

Last night, we gave her meds as usual. She did not like it, of course; but BW and I believed the medicine was beginning to work. This morning when I woke, I saw my birthday boy was extremely upset, and he delivered the terrible news of what he had discovered downstairs. Fizzi was gone.

I got Fizzgig from the pound when I first moved to Arizona in 1995. (Her name comes from a furry, obnoxious character in the movie “The Dark Crystal,” by the way.) I got her in November; she was nine weeks old and weighed only 1.9 pounds! I chose Fizz from all the other kitties because every time I walked by her cage, she would run to the front and meow at me. When they opened the cage for me, she jumped into my arms and climbed up to the top of my head! She was always quite a pistol that girl. She and I lived alone together, a bitchy little duo of women, for many years. Until my love came along, that is. ;) She didn’t like BW at first; she grew very, very attached to him indeed.

I know Fizzi was not the sweetest cat. To most of you, she was cranky, cantankerous and even a little “evil.” ;) But she was our baby, and we love her, and she was a very loving cat when she wanted to be. We’re very sad that she is no longer with us. And I just hope that wherever she may be, there are pouches of wet food in all of her favorite flavors and cushions of every color for her to lounge on.

Most of you have animals in your own family … when you get home tonight, give them an extra hug and kiss and tell them that you love them. My last words to Fizzi were “You are a mess, child.” Of course, I believed there would be plenty of time for “I love you, boo boo” later. But you just never know. So love your babies a whole lot while you can.

We sure do miss our “crotchety old hag,” our bathtub girl, our magazine hog. Our Fizzi.


(This archived content from a previous blog is being added for posterity, 25Jan2011. Ed.)

This one goes out specifically to the bald-headed fucker in the queer-ass, champagne-colored, late-model Toyota Tacoma pickup who cut me off on the I-10/40th St freeway exit at approx 9:00am on September 13th, 2007. Yeah you, ya fucker! I’ll give you credit, at least you had the balls to stick you head out of the window and TRY to offer me an excuse before you told me to fuck off. Most of the whiny, in-bred, minivan drivers just hide behind their tinted windows and act they they didn’t do anything wrong and pretend that I’m not there calling them a cock sucker.

No, I have a hunch you didn’t like the fact that I called you a hillbilly, what with your bullshit straw cowboy hat so prominently displayed in the back window and what I SWEAR was a camo t-shirt on. Oh yea, lots of cattle to rustle and buck to hunt down here in Phoenix. Hoo-boy! I know exactly what you did because EVERY ONE OF YOU ASSHOLES IN A CAR does the same damn thing. 2 lanes available to a right turn and, if you remember from your drivers test YOU STAY IN THE ASSOCIATED LANE. Right-most lane and middle lane. NOT THE LANE TO THE LEFT BECAUSE YOU ARE SPEEDING AND HOPING TO MAKE THE LIGHT! That lane you so blithely drifted into was MINE and you did it because you were probably late for work and driving like a dumb-ass. My favorite part was the “I didn’t see you”, comment. YOU WERE BEHIND ME! How the fuck do you miss a 215lbs man with a long, dark pony tail in a black shirt on a dark bike in broad daylight? I’ll tell you how…


Fuck you, you fuckin’ bald fuck! And fuck all of you cage driving pieces of shit, blissfully ignorant of the wide world around you. The kid making the left turn at that same light this morning may have had the right attitute. The back of his helmet had a sticker stating the obvious, “Cars Suck”.


(This archived content from a previous blog is being added for posterity, 25Jan2011. Ed.)

This topic came up recently. It started innocently enough when someone plucked a CD from my monstrous rack of CD’s which contained the modern renditions of various pirate limericks and sea chantey’s. At the time, we were all preparing to go out for my wife’s birthday, so it wasn’t convenient to put the CD in and give it a whirl. Still, I hated the fact that I couldn’t share the vulgar lyrics of one of my favorites straight away.

My personal favorite, having been a dirty old sea dog in a former life, (not to mention one in my alternate life every year at Renaissance Faire), goes by the title, “Good Ship Venus”. Transcribed below are the lyrics as sung in the version I have by <a href=”http://www.last.fm/music/Loudon+Wainwright+III/_/Good+Ship+Venus”>Louden Wainwirght III</a> on the CD <a href=”http://www.amazon.com/Rogues-Gallery-Pirate-Ballads-Chanteys/dp/B000GGSMD0/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/103-1590560-5319866?ie=UTF8&s=music&qid=1179090288&sr=1-1″>Rogue’s Gallery</a>.

<em>’Twas on the good ship Venus,
By Christ you should have seen us;
The figurehead
Was a whore in bed
Sucking a dead man’s penis.

The captain’s name was Lugger.
By Christ he was a bugger.
He wasn’t fit
To shovel shit
From one ship to another.

The second mate was Andy,
By Christ he had a dandy,
Till they crushed his cock
On a jagged rock
For coming in the brandy.

The third mate’s name was Morgan,
By god he was a gorgon,
From half past eight
he played till late,
Upon the captain’s organ.

The captain’s wife was Mabel,
And by God was she able
To give the crew
Their daily screw
Upon the galley table.

The captain’s daughter Charlotte,
Was born and bred a harlot,
Her thighs at night
were lily white,
By morning they were scarlet.

The cabin boy was Kipper,
By Christ he was a nipper.
He stuffed his ass
with broken glass
And circumcised the skipper.

The captain’s lovely daughter
Liked swimming in the water.
Delighted squeals
Came when some eels
Found her sexual quarters.

The cook his name was Freeman,
He was a dirty demon,
He fed the crew
On menstrual stew
And hymens fried in semen.

The ship’s dog’s was called Rover,
We turned that poor thing over,
And ground and ground
that faithful hound
From Tenerife to Dover.

And when we reached our station,
Through skillful navigation,
The ship got sunk
in a wave of spunk,
From too much fornication.

On the good ship Venus,
By Christ you should have seen us;
The figurehead
Was a whore in bed
Sucking a dead man’s penis. </em>

Honestly, it doesn’t get any better than that. A quick search through <a href=”http://www.google.com/search?q=good+ship+venus&rls=com.microsoft:en-us:IE-SearchBox&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&sourceid=ie7&rlz=1I7SUNA”>Google</a> will net a host of alternate versions, alternate verses and probably a few folk plying their trade in naughty verse at RenFaires around the globe.

So tip a flagon o’ grog and get yer pirate on!

© 2012 Brother Wolf & Sister Moon Suffusion theme by Sayontan Sinha