JamesSavik

Thanks to the wonders of YouTube, I can explore some tunes I haven't listened to in decades. Oh... you don't like Billy Joel. Yeah sure, I doubt you've heard much of it. Try it. You'll like it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDgjBl86vq8 Turn it up.

My pain had a name. I knew where it came from and the day I found out Nicky shot himself something snapped inside. I laid my plan with military precision like I had been taught to take on anything important. It was a classic ambush and egress. Just like out of the textbooks at West Point or Annapolis. Places where I would never be allowed to go. The rifle: a Browning bolt action 30-06. It would pop the target's head like a water melon. The truck: an old Ford with a cab cover and a big assed engine for pulling a boat. The place: a valley where the target lived. A road 200 meters to the west about dusk. He would never see it coming. The target was no longer human to me. I saw what he did to five kids and I watched them all fall apart slowly. He no longer had a name. He was simply the target. When the sun started going down, I took my position and waited. Took the windage but it was negligible. I could make a shot like that in my sleep. It was a spring afternoon but it had been raining and was overcast and cold. The steely gray skies matched my mood: calm and cold. I didn't have long to wait for my target. He rolled up in his big four-door car. He got out and walked to his mail box and I clicked off the safety. One squeeze and I'd rid the world of one huge, flaming asshole and my most hated enemy. At just that moment his youngest son popped out the passengers side door. Steven was a cute little pup at nine years old. He ran right up to his Dad and then they turned and walked back to the house. I could read his lips through the scope when he said daddy. My target will never know that his little boy- the one he ignored for the most part, saved his life that day. Despite my rage I just wasn't the sort to blow a man's brains out in front of a little kid. No. I didn't forgive that sack of shit. Blowing his brains out would have made all sorts of sense. The moment came and passed and I couldn't do it. On sleepless nights I revisit that moment. Only I know how close a thing it was.

I'm going to invent anti-social networking. Instead of friending people, you flip them off. Instead of "poking" people, you key their car or egg their house. You don't have a list of friends. You have a list of punk-bitches that you can trade for cigarettes, tats or sex. You don't join groups. If a group interests you, you have to call one of them out and beat his ass. Then you have to pass their initiation. If you survive, you have to wear their colors and tats. Then you get to run their rackets: drugs, porn, prostitution. If you are good at it you move up. If you don't, the gang will bump you off. If you don't want to join a group, you can be an independent contractor or you can be a serial killer and take out random people. Anti-social networking: an idea whose time has come. Moving from the streets to a PC near you.

Tell us about your school days...

Happy birth day to my favorite person in Uruguay!

Oh come now. I don't need the force to sense BS. No one here has ever slept with someone that they weren't in love with? I don't freakin' think so. How many shirts do you try on before you are satisfied with the fit? You would select your lovers with less care?

All Along the Watchtower lyrics by Bob Dylan There must be some way out of here Said the joker to the thief There's too much confusion here I can't get no relief Businessmen they drink my wine Plowmen dig my earth None of them know along the line What any of this is worth No reason to get excited The thief, he kindly spoke There are many here among us Who think that life is but a joke But you and I, we've been through that And that is not our fate So let us not talk falsely now Because the hour is getting late All along the watchtower Princes kept the view While horsemen came and went Barefoot servants too All I got is a red guitar Three chords And the truth All I got is a red guitar The rest is up to you There's no reason to get excited The thief, he kindly spoke There are some among us here Say that life is just a joke You and I, we've been through that And that is not our fate (at least today) So let us not talk falsely now Because the hour is getting late Late... Bob Dylan Jimi Hendrix version U2's version Niel Young and Perl Jam

For me it's all about the great sex I have with my thousands of fans. Once we shake the paparazzi, it's off to the beach house and Woo-Hoo!

Some people who have been burned over and over again would rather not know who they are f**king. They opt for sex without the drama, strings or consequences of having an openly gay relationship. This is especially true of closeted individuals. This can come about from being repeatedly punished or intimidated because or about the individuals sexuality. In the United States we see a lot of this in people who were raised in fundamentalist or Mormon homes. It leads to a great irony: openly gay people are very rarely part of the "gay" cruising scene.

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? -Yeats from the Second Coming _______________________________________________________________________ What is it about Apocalyptic fiction that turns people on? From Cormac McCarthy's The Road to Richard Matheson's I am Legend, tales of the downfall of civilization and the near extinction of mankind are very popular. In fact there are several small publishing houses that focus exclusively on Apocalyptic Fiction. Even Hollywood has stepped in to capitalize on its popularity and has made movie adaptations out of numerous books and short stories. What is it about the end of all things that seems to captivate readers? The potential for drama exists in the extremes. Put people in extreme conditions, put them in jeopardy and things are bound to happen. What could be more extreme than a civilization ending asteroid strike, a horrific pandemic, nuclear war, technology gone wrong or the dead rising from the grave to bitch-slap the living? When you look at the landscape of fiction, readers and writers are thinking about the end. Some of the biggest books and movies of the last few decades have been about some catastrophe that has fundamentally changed the world. It begs a lot of questions and I'm to curious to fail to ask them. After generations of living under the specter of nuclear war (and its ugly cousins chemical and biological war) do people expect it? As civilization has become more complex and knowledge and expertise more specialized, if it falls can it ever get back up? Every culture has a myth or a legend about the end of the world. Does this genre tap into that mythology? Traditional horror focuses on monsters and myth. Is Apocalyptic fiction scarier because it could come true?

Rambo as a little kitty Rambo's first snow this past February Rambo attempting to use his cat hypnosis on me.

Red beans & rice with the required Crystal hot sauce!

I don't change avatars very often. In fact I've only had two since I arrived in 2003. I want to make sure that I've got just the right one. Here is a history of my avatars: The original Beast avatar, cirica 2003. The new improved X-Men 3 Beast from ~2006 The new annoying drunk avatar... ...from the classic Lolcat cartoon. Which just goes to show you that some people can be an annoying drunk stone cold sober.

I'm thinking red and white with a lion on it.

don't have to go face to face... and I'll say no more.

Information is gold. And we need lots of gold these days. Tax exempt church organizations are dumping tons of money into fighting any and all progress made on behalf of GLBT people everywhere. One of the worst of these is the Family Research Council. My mission: penetrate the FRC, steal their plans and pass them on to the resistance. I wasn't sure if I could do it. It took everything I had not to snap their chicken necks or barf at their stupid rhetoric but I managed to get inside. I'm now on the "President's email list" and am forwarding everything to a journalist that's in a position to expose these asswipes for the bigots they really are. It's really nauseating to hear these people talk when they think they are among friends. All of their studied rhetoric about "the homosexual and his agenda" becomes "those faggots". I don't care if they know that they have a leak. They are too stupid to plug it and since I'm a native of the bible belt, I know all the right buttons to push. To bad the mission is to read their mail and not to do a little wet-work. That used to bother me but I don't think I'd have a problem with it in this case.

Mine always seemed to have a mind of its own.

I want to skip the pampers & Parkinson's years. That's why I haven't quit smoking.

Happy birthday Wishing you a happy birthday and the best extracurricular activity of your choice!

I would survive a year. Afterwards I would be running it.

He can't be THE Sodomite. He may be pretty good but I bet I can give him a run for his money.