Yay! More Drugs!!! Yeah, right.   The last thing I need is drugs.   Note: I added my own fucking page to Stumble. Wah. Gimme a thumbs down if you want. I don't care.   Weird opening: This angry, pissed off woman writes a blog that you should look at. Is she really all that pissed off? Sure. I would say that it is safe to say that any chick that slashes her OWN fucking tires to piss off people behind her at the ATM is angry. Duh. Besides, how can can anyone possibly not love a site called www.violentacres.com. I seldom endorse other sites, hell look at my links page. I got one fucking link. That's it. Well, two, now... The idea is that I might get a reciprocal link if I create a catchphrase for her to use on her site. Fuck that. Use what works. This is a frankemsley.com standard...   Here's mine: Therapeutic verbal bitchslapping starts here.   What the hell should I write about?   A weird thing happened while deleting shit from this page, I ran a spellcheck and remember why never do them. I don't do spellchecks because I damn-near die laughing at the substitutions that the spellchecker suggests. It wouldn't be so bad but the ranting nature of the things I write have almost no basis in the English language and leave the poor program with nothing to go on. I have decided to show some of the entries of the spellchecker just for the hell of it. I did the spellcheck before deleting the crappiest entry but now I feel obligated to leave the crappy and nearly incomplete entry in so that you, dear reader, will have some idea what the fuck I was writing about.   Here are some of the screenshots from my spellchecker...   A staple, of course, is "fuck" and all of it's derivatives. Thank god for the "Ignore All" button, otherwise I'd be doing this shit all day. One of these days, I'm gonna go off about the no good, mother tucking, tuck faces trying to tuck up everything I do. Yay for spellcheckers.   What the funk?   What are you bucking thinking?   And, the old standby... You mother bucker.   Some other random madness...   I suppose that this word is not used enough to rate a spellchecker entry.   Ok, fine, divide the words, I don't care.   What the hell kind of dicitonary doesn't have the word "homo?"   Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.   I swear that I saw this word in the constitution or something. I think it's one of our basic rights.   I don't know why, but these next few make me laugh...   No suggestions.   Again, no suggestions.   What the fucking hell kind of drugs are you on? EVERYone uses THIS word!     Oh, yeah... On to the crappy entry that caused most of my spell checking problems...   Grand Junction   Yay! GJ...   If there is ever a place I have hated with all of my heart, it is Grand Junction, CO. If someone nuked that piddly-assed fucking piece of shit today, I'd be complaining because they didn't do it YESTERDAY!!! Jesus H. Gonzales, I really do hate that place.   I'm sure that you are asking yourself, "Why is he so hostile? What is his problem? Why is my foot so itchy? Where is that twenty-nine cents that I lost in 1976?"   Yeah. Well, here we go...   I moved to GJ in 1974 and I have hated that place pretty much since my first day there. My first contact was with a borderline retard that was considered to be the local genius. Our conversation went something like this...   LOCAL GENIUS: Uhhhh, I just crapped myself...   ME: Really?   LOCAL GENIUS: Yes. And I just peed myself, too. Wanna look?   ME: Uh, no...   And that is it. That pretty much sums up my time in GJ. The entire time I lived there I was avoiding having to look at the messes that the locals made in their pants. The whole sister-chasing population was nothing but an argument for abortion. Fuck.   One of the weird things about Junction is that it was, at some point (and may still be today), the highest per-capita rated area for youth violence in the state of Colorado. I can attest to the level of violence that the Grand Junction Goat Porkers Association (GJGPA, AKA most residents of GJ) was capable of in the 1970s and 1980 because I received most of it myself during that time. The amazing part of this is that I was able to figure out what the criteria was that the average Junction-ite used to determine who their next pummeling victim would be.   GJGPA Pummeling Standards of 1981   Any or all the below conditions are deemed suitable for potential beatings of homo-faggot-butt-fucking-commies found wandering the streets of our God fearing town.   A beating is justified if...   1. The potential recipient of beating is a one-legged, unconscious kitten entertaining ideas of faggot - homo related activities.   2. The potential recipient of beating is a sleeping baby entertaining ideas of faggot - homo - fag related activities.   3. The potential recipient of beating is a wheelchair-bound quadriplegic queer-fucker entertaining ideas of faggot - homo - fag - cocksucker related activities.   4. The potential recipient of beating is a dead, homeless, faggoty rump - ranger entertaining ideas of faggot - homo - fag - cocksucker - queerbait related activities.   5. The potential recipient of beating is a passed-out, gay, homeless, faggoty rump - ranger/homofuck entertaining ideas of faggot - homo - fag - cocksucker - queerbait - fruity - pie related homo - fag activities.   I was always amazed that the two mandatory criteria for beating the fuck out of someone was that the potential victims were 1. gay, and 2. utterly unable to defend themselves. These are the hallmarks of the average Grand Junction punk. Grand Junction punks are simply homophobic puppy stompers.   Not only must the potential victim have the self-defense capabilities of Christopher Reeve, but they must be ganged up on beaten by the biggest bastards on the planet.   GJ World Travelers   Another weird thing about Junction is the jaded world travelers that live in the area. Some of the folks have gone as far as the COUNTY LINE!!! Some have even HEARD of, and hold on to your shorts here... DENVER!!! Most admit that they think that the whole Denver thing is just a myth, though. I have been regaled numerous times about how someone got drunk and found themselves "...all the way out on G Road and 32 5/12 Road" or some such damned thing.   NOTE: Some roads in GJ are named after the number of miles they are away from the Utah border. 32 Road is, yes, you guessed it, thirty two miles away from Utah. Roads running perpendicular to numbered roads are named after, you're never gonna guess this... LETTERS! All of these roads are one mile apart and any in-between roads are named after the fractions of miles in between roads. It is definitely possible to find yourself at the intersection of H 1/2 ("H and a half") and 4 5/8 ("Four and Five Eighths") roads. Yay.   Random conversation with a GJ world traveler (GJWT)....   GJWT: Well, hell, just got back from vacation. What a trip!   ME: Where did you go?   GJWT: Well, I went all the way to Q Road and spent a couple of days out there. Damn near froze to death, too!   ME: Dude, it's July, how did you almost freeze to death?   GJWT: Are you kidding? That's up there near the R-Dick circle! They got polar bears and all of that shit hanging around up there!   ME: R-Dick circle? What the hell is that?   GJWT: R-Dick, what. you stupid or something?   ME: Yeah, I guess so. So what were you doing up at the, oh, I get it, Arctic circle? Q Road is almost at the north pole? And it's still in Colorado? Jesus fucking Christ...   GJWT: Ark-Tick? What the fuck? I'm talking about Q-Road here. You ain't nothing but one of them there homo - fag - commie - fuck - fag - asshole - fags, ain't you? You is one of them there Republican - asshole - jerkfuck - homo - fag - commie - fuck - fag - asshole - fags and I hates you! I bet you ain't NEVER been to Q road you stupid fucking local faggotty - faggot - fucker!   ME: Hey. See this? (PRODUCES GUN)   GJWT: That's one of them there fag - ray guns! You're gonna try to turn me into one of them there homo - fag...   ME: (SHOOTS WORTHLESS ASSHOLE IN THE HEAD) Fuck this, this dialogue is going exactly nowhere....   Enough is enough, I could go on for fifteen more pages about how I hate Grand Junction but it simply is not worth the energy....   On to the topic of the day.   The "Great for Butt Sex!!!" Sticker Attack.   I like the idea of intellectual terrorism.   SIDEBAR MODE: ON   I think that Al Qeada, All Kada, El Quaido, whatever the fuck they call themselves, are going the wrong direction when it comes to terrorizing the American masses. The thought of crashing planes into elementary schools or dog kennels or giant sandboxes or whatever is one that no longer bothers the American people. I am personally waiting for the next big attack so that I have an excuse to put on some camouflage underwear and hunt down and publicly disembowel every freak that had something to do with injuring American citizens on their home turf. I think a lot of Americans are thinking this way as well.   I firmly believe that another 9-11 will result in the overthrow of our own shiftless government, that the U.S. citizens will kill every politician in Washington and take over the country from the ultimate grass roots level and take matters into their own hands. While this may be appealing to the idiots that will have started the next revolution, they have no idea what is in store for them. After we're done with our own losers, we will go after every single SOB that ever THOUGHT of fucking with this country. This will not be pretty.   Dead babies and all of that...   Fuck 'em.   SIDEBAR MODE: OFF   This leads me to the current topic: Intellectual Terrorism or IT for short. (I will not go after the obvious connotations that this has with assholes that work in IT, no matter how appropriate it may be.)   Since physical terrorism will result in the ultimate demise of any group foolhardy enough to pursue it, the only real option is to engage in, duh, intellectual terrorism.   The idea of IT is to make everyone so crazy that they will be afraid to leave their homes to complete even the most mundane of tasks. Attacks on sanity would be hard to fend off since people cannot shut their brains off at will. The idea: Infect peoples' brains with ideas that they can't get away from... Like "Great for Butt Sex!!!" stickers.   Here's how it works...   The Muslim, Moslem, Meeslem, What-The-Fuck-Ever-slem terrorist makes hundreds of bright stickers that say "Great for Butt Sex!!!" and then goes to various businesses and puts them on random objects throughout the store. The idea that a tube of Ben-Gay may be "Great for Butt Sex!!!" is one that should make any sane person pucker so hard that they will taste shit for the next thirty-seven years.   While pasting the stickers on certain items may be funny in the short term (baseball bats, drills, etc.), the real terrorism comes when the stickers are applied to truly bizarre items...   A short list:   Baby diapers. Lawn mowers. Rolls of fiberglass insulation. Socks. Frozen French fries. Bags of grass seed. Tires. Bleach. Chicken livers. Hamburger buns. Dog food. Documentaries. Thumbtacks.   The beauty of this is not so much the immediate shock as it is the after-effects...   Part 1: An awful part of this is that the human brain will "look" at the sticker on the package of fifty bungee cords and ask the question, "HOW would this be 'Great for Butt Sex!!!' ?" After reeling off eighty fucktillion possible ways to use a package of bungee cords for butt sex, the observer will never be able to look at bungee cords again without thinking of butt sex.   Part 2: After being repeatedly blasted with this idea, the general populace will not be able to get this idea out of their heads for any reason at all. Everything that people will look at will pass through the "Would this item be great for butt sex?" filter and drive them insane.   A Survivor's Tale: A Day In The Life After the "Great for Butt Sex!!!" Sticker Attack.   "So I was walking down the street and tripped over a roll of barb wire... Would this be great for butt sex? HOW would this be great for butt sex? Ow, that was painful. I really hate those terrorists... As I lay there on the sidewalk after my fall, I see an ant crawl by pulling a small rock... The questions popped up again. Ants with rocks used for butt sex. What the hell? Hey... I bet butt sex with your aunt would rock! Ha, ha, ha, hahahahakldskdsif r... Holy shit, what the hell was that? Fuck, I hate my brain. Jesus, that was weird. So I get up and dust off, I see a dumptruck hauling off garbage... Same old questions. Christ, I need a drink. My shoes are dirty. God, what the hell would you do with a pair of dirty sneakers? What end would go in first? What would you do with the shoe strings? How would you lube up? Peanut butter? Oh, God, what the hell would they look like when you finished? And what if you stepped in a bucket of fishhooks before using them for butt sex? Goddammit! Make it go away! AAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"   Blam!   Sorry, I'm OK now...   Dog Food   Yeah.   So.   A pet food company was recently running a "Send us your endorsement of our great dog food campaign." It involved writing a blurb about how one feeds his or her dog the "Super Energy Plus Formula (or whatever)" and how it has changed the dog's life. I was going to actually write a thing for it and post it on their site but I've been too busy watching the History Channel to care.   Here's my potential entry.....   Hi,   Before my dog, Slug, had been introduced to the Super Energy Plus Formula (or whatever), he was lethargic. He seldom moved and the vet had told me on two or three occasions that she thought that Slug was likely dead. Slug would frequently stew in his own feces in the middle of the porch because he simply did not have the energy to move after he soiled himself. Numerous beatings did little good and the even effect of the stun gun wore off after a while. Then I heard about the Super Energy Plus Formula (or whatever) and decided to give it a try.   At first, the only effect of the new food was insanely explosive diarrhea. Slug would literally scoot two feet across the yard from the all - too - frequent, jet - like blast of stinky, brown liquid from Slug's ass. After a while the diarrhea settled down to an occasional high velocity soft-serve shot that often wound up plastered across one wall or another. Not pretty, but better than before. At least Slug moved every once in a while.   The next thing we noticed was the permanent raging boner that Slug sported through the day. He didn't seem to want to do anything with it other than kick it every once in a while with one of his his back legs. He was moving around more and seemed to be doing better except for the perma-rod that seemed to do nothing else except seriously interfere with his gait.   He was doing well and I was pretty happy with the way things were turning out. Then, after about two weeks, Slug went insane. I woke up one morning and found Slug trying to impregnate my computer. The disc drive was ruined and my hard drive took months to get un-gummed-up. After that, a suitcase, two cats, a stereo, my left leg, and a number of other things around the house were Christened by Slug and his newfound, omnipresent, perma - squirting friend.   One morning, after having a wildly horrible nightmare about non-stop, insanely intense toothbrushing, I had to put Slug down.   While the end result wasn't what I was looking for, I will say that, for a while at least, Slug was a pretty energetic pup.   Sincerely,   Frank Emsley.   Yeah, well, time to go to bed.   Later...   Copyright 2009 by Frank Emsley