Remember that scene from Ghostbusters?

Dr. Peter Venkman: This city is headed for a disaster of biblical proportions.
Mayor: What do you mean, “biblical”?
Dr Ray Stantz: What he means is Old Testament, Mr. Mayor, real wrath of God type stuff.
Dr. Peter Venkman: Exactly.
Dr Ray Stantz: Fire and brimstone coming down from the skies! Rivers and seas boiling!
Dr. Egon Spengler: Forty years of darkness! Earthquakes, volcanoes…
Winston Zeddemore: The dead rising from the grave!
Dr. Peter Venkman: Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together… mass hysteria!

Maybe it’s bravado, but strangely enough just like Venkman, I seem to be relatively ok with the fact that we’re all going to die.  No, really.  Because if this crisis is truly meant to be the beginning of we’re-all-royally-screwed-end-times judgment on America for its many sins, then I can’t think of a better way to ensure our complete and total destruction than to elect a Christ denying (yet Christ imitating) dillweed who thinks he can neutralize the threat of a nuke building Iran and a nuke ready Russia with his charm.  Really, what better way to tell God just how ridiculously irredeemable we’ve become than to elect a guy who claims to be a Christian and yet thinks a good Muslim could still make it to the pearly gates as long as he keeps the bombing of civilians to a minimum?  Hey, we’re all good people here, really(!), even if we do think having a baby is tantamount to a punishment, and if we don’t seem to be too bothered at the thought of leaving those that survived failed abortions out to die.  Not that Big-O would ever intentionally do such a thing, he just doesn’t think they merit protection of course, at least not until the kind of offensive language that dares to remotely suggest a fetus is a living thing is completely stripped from such a bill of protection.  Because you know, God forbid we should toss those whacky pro-life freaks a bone that even NARAL wouldn’t have had a problem with.  We do need to be principled here, after all.

No, I just don’t see why God would want to rain fire and brimstone on us darling cherubs of light… except for possibly giving our rich folks far too many tax breaks.

When I think about it, it’s not even Obama that I can’t stand so much.  I don’t even hate on the heathens for supporting him either, since such a godless sort devoid of any sense of morality will obviously go for the Barry-O show.  I can respect that.

No, it’s the self professing Christians who hang on every word he speaks, and who teach their children to sing musical praises of Hopey-O-Change that make me want to stomp their faces in with something rusty and spiky.

It’s no secret that I intensely dislike what passes for American Christianity today, whether we’re dealing with dimwits sipping Starbucks while they fawn over girlie boy Rick Warren’s latest perfume scented books, or Calvinist snotheads who think knowing two words in Greek makes them the most brilliant scholars in recorded history, or charismatics who scream and flail their arms in revival meetings because they think they’re “on fire” and they’re about ready to projectile vomit out a stomach’s worth of 24 karat gold.

Yet nothing makes me want to go out and start bouncing people’s heads off the cement more than those ever devout Christians drooling puppy love over that Obamanation of nature otherwise known as Barack Hussein Obama.  I am absolutely convinced that this very same flock of fluffy sheep will also someday jump at the chance to stand in line for an opportunity to lick the hairy hindquarters of the Antichrist, thinking it will taste just like rainbows.

These to me represent the most darkened, clueless minds in all of creation, and because of their depraved stupidity I may end up witnessing the one thing I never wanted to see in my lifetime: the death of my country.  Thank you so, SO much for that, my brothers and sisters in the Lord.

I don’t get it.  I really don’t.  You hate Bush?  Fine.  You think he’s a war mongering, oil happy, half brained cowboy who caters to the rich?  Fine.  I can understand that.  I even dig the pacifism thing.

Explain the abortion thing to me then.  Explain to me how the violence involved in ripping fetuses to shreds doesn’t somehow repulse your pacifist side the way “Bush’s war” does.  Because when I see people looking to extend human rights to red assed baboons or wail whenever a dolphin is caught in a net, but scream at the top of their lungs for the right to twirl up a fetus into itty bitty bits that would have otherwise become a full fledged human being, then I see only the kind of deranged, twisted up minds that no medicine on earth could ever possibly cure.

And yet somehow, you’re all ok with it.  You can relate to a guy who can’t even get the basic tenets of Christianity right, (though I admit, it would have been more palatable to me if you merely agreed with him on some points and decided only to vote for him while holding your nose at the polls.)  But no, your attitude is one of complete adoration for a morally compromised Chicago politician as if he had come from the very throne of heaven itself.  It exhibits the same kind of mentality that the Antichrist will no doubt someday feed on: unabashed adoration and unquestionable loyalty, despite the transparent seedy and evil character of your so called hero.

It almost makes me want to see the Obamanation become President, if for no other reason than to see the collective look of your ashen faces when you realize with horror that “the one” turned out to be the second coming of JC after all: JC as in Jimmy Carter that is.  Mr. Malaise has finally come back to finish the job.

You know what really frosts my Chips Ahoy cookies about all this though?  It’s the fact that I’ll have to endure the travesty that will soon come upon us, alone.  There will be no honey bunny snuggles to share my misery with while we watch our beloved country commit suicide.  No cuddly bunchikins to hold and share a sweet, tender moment with while our cities riot and burn.  Every dark day that lies ahead of me I will have to face completely and utterly alone, all because not a single one of you hateful, despicable, vile women could manage to find it in your hearts to wubs me.

Fine then.  Don’t come crying to me when the world ends and you desperately need a manly shoulder to cry on.   I won’t be there.

Well maybe I will.  I am desperate and all so who knows, perhaps I can learn to forgive and forget. 

Last Christmas I received a lovely miniature Christmas tree to hang my decorations on, and I decided then and there that my wittle tree would also be known as the Tree of Hope:

…I thought to myself, “I will continue to take care of this tree until I meet the girl of my dreams, and perhaps even beyond.  This will be our future, special tree.”  So as long as the tree lives on, my hope lives on…

Well…

Suffice it to say, I don’t think yellow is a good color for an evergreen tree to have.  I watered it, gave it plant food, made sure it always had enough light, but the fricking thing was determined to die on me, almost like it had heard me when I declared it to be the Tree of Hope my future honey snuggles would someday hang ornaments on, so it decided to spite my ass by committing suicide.

Though it’s not like it really needed the help.  With each failed attempt to connect with the opposite gender since that time I could tell my tree was getting a little browner.  The depths of evil to which evil women go (because they’re evil) was simply too much for my wittle Tree of Hope to handle.

Eventually I decided to take it to work hoping the nuclear powered fluorescent lights over my desk would breathe some life into my poor, wittle tree.  For all I know it could have, but the air here was probably more toxic than I’d care to admit, because now it was starting to turn yellow.

Finally I gave up and planted what was left of the Tree of Hope outside in a small garden area.  After I finished planting it I threw my hands up and said, “Well Lord, I tried.  Now it’s all up to You.”

My guess is that it’ll be torn out by the maintenance crew and dumped into the trash by week’s end, which is pretty much how I think I’ll be going too when it’s my time to check out. 

Ah well.  It was nice to dream for a while. 

“Let me just update this one file here….”

Sigh.

I had to go update a plugin last night because of a security hole, but unfortunately that update caused another plugin to break, so I had to go upgrade that plugin as well, which of course caused yet another plugin to break, so I went to upgrade that too, and before I knew it my spam blocker goes down in flames, I can’t preview comments anymore, my images no longer show up, my sidebars suddenly disappears, and then finally my entire blog goes up in smoke, the only thing left in its place being some cryptic error message telling me what an idiot I am and hahaha I suck.

Mother*&^% technology.

Things seem to be ok now, but my goodness, I was up till 4AM last night and had to work through the better part of today before things finally calmed down.

You know what, I think it’s time I gear up for a major revamp. I was gonna just say screw it and have a professional designer do it, but I think it’ll probably be better to set up a test blog closed from the public so I can play around with the latest blogging toys without tearing my hair out and spitting at people, and then when it’s stable enough I can release it for prime time with little fuss. That should also keep me busy enough so I don’t waste my time pining for a girl to love me since that’s never gonna happen because women all suck the ass of a hairy moose and should die in some horrible nuclear explosion bunch of monkey-faced harlot whores they be.

*ahem* Except my beloved womenly readers of course, who are all the very essence of perfection, virtue, and beauty.

See how I suck up to you guys so you’ll continue to love me and read my blog despite my crazy wild women-hating rants? I am so awesome.

I have no idea when this crap aired, but evidently there was a show highlighting the dating woes of 30-something women, which somehow devolved into how Islam is great and we should all go ass up 5 times a day and change our names to Ahmed Akalahu Mukababah Habib Al Mulla Wulla (or some such 50 syllable name that’s guaranteed not to fit on a standard criminal rap sheet form.)

Before it did though, I managed to glean some interesting quotes:

Like many single women in America, Julie is no stranger to the dating scene — but finding dates isn’t always the problem. “It’s not that there are no men to date. It’s that I’m not meeting anyone that I’m attracted to. Nobody that I think is quality and worthy of me and what I have to offer and what I want to do.”

Evidently chiseled, flawless men programmed to hand over their balls and debit cards seem to be in low supply these days. Remember what I said about women looking for sperm donation rather than men? Well now:

Now Julie thinks marriage may not even be what she wants. Instead of waiting around for a husband, she’s considering having a child on her own. “I’m probably going to investigate an anonymous donor and do it artificially … I want it to be my own biological child,” she says.

Funny how that works. For these type of women, marriage is merely a means to an end, and once their REAL objective has been realized, the husband is promptly forgotten and expected to fade into obscurity. The very notion that he might still expect a little bit of companionship and affection after children enter the picture seems to completely baffle them. “I gave you children, isn’t that enough?!? Go away you pathetic sissy!”

Yeah, just can’t imagine why they’d have trouble finding a guy who’d go for a deal like this.

Then there’s the divorced Mommies:

Amy also realizes that a woman with kids isn’t what every guy is
looking for. “I don’t consider children baggage. I think they’re the
bonus piece to the set, but there are a lot of men who don’t see it
that way,” she says.

Mainly because some of us would prefer not to be the new Daddy to your little bastard children. Not that I have anything against the turdlings, it’s just that I grew up in an environment where everyone around me had “step” in front of their names, and the experience hasn’t exactly warmed me to the idea of taking on someone else’s kids. But that’s just me.

I have to tell you though, reading crap like this isn’t exactly filling me with hope here. I know I’m not much of a catch, but I’d need to have the engine of the space shuttle installed up my junky jongs just to reach the friggingly ridiculous high bar these whiny donkey hos set for us men. But that’s ok, in the spirit of equitable exchange they will be perfectly willing to give us… well… nothing.

And they say romance is dead.

Every now and then I’m reminded that I don’t have the suckiest life in existence, and there are worst things in this world than being a virginal weenie tot who can’t get a girl to pay attention to him for more than .25 seconds.

The latest reminder came when a friend of mine told me about an old buddy of his who was currently going through a rough patch. Apparently the dude was a few years younger than me, had a wife in her late twenties and a 12 month old kid. In her unmitigated brilliance, the wife decided that a 45 year old hairy ape of a man (unemployed by the way) was somehow more appealing to her than a stable, loyal husband, so she ups and runs away with him.

Naturally, the husband’s a little upset about this. He works in a leadership position at a church, and eventually confided in his senior pastor about his embarrassing marital problem. The pastor (along with the church) did what any loving, caring, modern day Christian church would do when presented with a brother in Christ who was clearly in a lot of pain and grief.

They fired him.

After all, having somebody wailing in the pews like that is just bad publicity for the church, which no doubt needed to maintain its seeker sensitive image of sunshine and happiness and lollipop happy dappy joy joy joyness, lest they should start to lose members (and their tithes.)

It’s nothing personal you know, just business.

By the time my friend caught up with him he was drowning his sorrows in a pool of alcohol at some local bar.

Ahhhh, women and churches. Two of the greatest evils to ever bedevil the days of man. Yeah yeah, I know I’m painting with a widey ass brush there, but dammit, it’s what I do, sugar bear.

On a somewhat more sobering note though, there’s a verse in Scripture I keep getting reminded of whenever I ponder over the misery of my nonexistent dating life (and the plight of the churches today):

“Because iniquity shall abound, the love of many will wax cold.” - Matthew 24:12

Even though I’ve been fixated on the appalling lack of charity women have demonstrated towards me (except the beloved readers of my blog, how I wubs you all), this a disease I think that has really permeated all of society, especially in places where the notion and practice of true love should have been most evident (like say, a church.)

It also explains why I’ve always believed the odds of finding my honey bunny snuggly snookum wugs wouldn’t notably improve if I started attending church again. They are just as cold within as they are without, so really, what would be the point? Hugging a crate full of frozen fish would give me more warmth than these churches do.

Meh, that’s a topic for another day though. In the meantime, suffice it to say, as much as I might express bitterness and vile acidic venom towards all things Christian and womenly, once you dig past that rough, wounded exterior of mine, you’ll find I really am… all about love, baby.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, yeaaaah….

You’re my first, the last, my everything,

My kind of wonderful, that’s what you are!

I can’t get no, satisfaction,

I CAN’T GET NO!!

***************************

While I was surfing online and bopping to a Rolling Stones tune, an icon popped up on my screen notifying me that Girl-Who-Blew-Me-Off had just signed on (actually, that describes every girl I’ve ever wanted to get involved with since Reagan was President, so let’s call her Lying-Introvert instead.) I debated whether to just ignore her, or send her an IM in the hopes that maybe I could get some answers as to why she blew me off. I can’t stand having questions that forever go unanswered, so of course I caved:

Me: Hey, I can see you!

Surprisingly, she answered right away.

Her: yeah it’s a rarity cuz too many people im me at once when i am visible

Hmm, an introvert is so popular she has to stay invisible or she’ll get bombarded with IMs? Well, whatever. I decide to hit her point blank.

Me: Hey, can I ask you something?

Her: sure

Me: You didn’t like my pictures did you. Be honest now

Her: well the pics were pretty much what i expected, not diff from your profile photo…..but what u have to understand is, i have been talking to a few diff people from that site…..

Translation: She thought I was ugly, didn’t want to cap to it, and I was already a foregone conclusion in her mind since she was checking out other prospects, and she was probably wondering why the hell I wouldn’t just take the hint and go away.

Her: also my “social life” has been quite busy lately, i had an interesting weekend to say the least and i’ve been caught up with those things that have been happeneing

Translation: She’d been a-whoring around town going out on other dates, and is now head over heels in love with a tatooed up biker named Butch.

After that, she pretty much disappeared on me again. Don’t ask me how I’m doing, don’t ask me how my day was. Nothing. Boy all that Christian love really comes gushing out when you meet a fellow brother in Christ, huh, sis?

F*%$ing Bitch.

And you know what, that’s not even what frosted my cookies so much. It was the fact that despite us having so many things in common, it all meant absolutely nothing to her. We were both Italian, we both loved 80s music, we both particularly loved Italian food, we were both Christians who had bad experiences in church and currently weren’t attending one, heck even our mothers had once been Catholic but became Protestant shortly after we were both born. The similarities kept going on and on from there.

But the big thing was her mentioning how she much of an introvert she was, and she felt nobody understood her because of it and how she felt so out of place in the world. It really touched me because that’s how I felt too and I thought for the first time in a long time, I might have finally found a kindred spirit here.

And then I learn this “introvert” has a social life that’s only slightly less busier than say, Scarlet Johannson’s. For someone who claims to be an introvert, she sure seemed pretty damned extroverted to me. Except in my case of course. Maybe that’s what she meant.

But, whatever. I deleted her off my IM list, putting this experience down as a hard lesson that I think has finally been learned. Most women don’t care about romance or friendship or companionship. They care about three things only: your looks, your wallet, and your personal sperm bank.

*Sigh* Back to the Rolling Stones…

I CAN’T GET NO!!