Getting The Chair

I hate the dentist. I freaking hate going to see the dentist. Can I be more clear? There are a precious few things that make me cringe in life. I don't like large expanses of open water [the kind that cover horizon to horizon], I'm not overly fond of the summer heat and humidity, but I flippin hate the dentist. There isn't much middle ground for me and that chair. Why? Why not! That scraping feeling, where it feels like each tooth is coming out for sure during their "delicate cleaning" process makes me cringe. I hate the sound the implements make. I hate the feel of your gums being burnt as they polish and apply fluoride paste. I detest the minuscule chunks of plaque and garbage they fling in the air, that inevitably lands in your eyes. I hate it when they say "sorry, that looks like your in pain." I hate the dentist.

When I go to see the doctor, I meet with a nurse first; who takes my information and has me sit and wait for the doctor. When I go to see the dentist, they snarl at me with perfectly bleached fangs, and scowl at the dingy chairs and 3rd rate magazine rack, as if I didn't know what my fate was. At the doctors office; I hear pleasant music. Sometimes Bach, maybe even Schubert, and on a rare Friday afternoon, maybe some talk radio. At the dentist, Axis Sally still calls out units thanking them to die, and welcoming fresh young teeth to wait their torture. My medical doctor leaves nice booklets about the place, modern health trends, Men's Health, Midwest Vacation Magazine, and that lone issue of Golf Digest. Its decorated in pleasant end tables, with lamps! And on the wall is some quaint [as I think of it] Nantucket house on the edge of the sea. Herr Dentist has framed pictures of Stage 4 Periodontal Disease over the exit door to dissuade any escape attempts. Tommy the Tooth leans on his brush, like the butcher leans on a meat grinder. His face is the cheeriest in the room, as I gaze over my copy of Tooth Cracker Illustrated. The waiting room at my physician has a slight hint of gauze and powdered rubber gloves, but is a fresh breath of sterile for the most part. The fetid fumes of the tooth puller are saturated in pain and sweat.

The doctor calls me by name, smiles, and comes out to shake my hand. Dr. Anderson doesn't see me much, but knows when he does something isn't right. He does his best medically, and personally to make me comfortable again. In the Evil Empire of Enamel, I only hear "NEXT," where I open the door my self, half expecting a rifle to be pointed out of it, to walk and find my fate. The screams of drills, and the garbled cries of my fellow man are all around me. I'm as hopeless now, as they are.

The doctor waits till I sit, then has the PA come in to take my history, and my basic vitals. She smiles, makes small talk, and reminds me about my weight. We laugh. I shrug, and say I try my best and some day it should show. Then she departs, reminding me that the doctor will be right in. I stand in the hallway of the [tooth]death camp, looking about me, as if i could, to find a brick I could pull away and crawl behind. But I'm spotted, and gestured to the room. And to The Chair. The last sharp voice I hear orders me to stop with soda, sugar, and all manners of things I love to eat; or else my teeth will rot right through my skull. After that, I hear the snap of a glove, and the whine of the drill. I black out. The pain is still there. But I try to separate myself in two. To peel back a layer of my psyche as they probe and scrape.

The doctor sees me, checks my symptoms. He knows I have drug allergies, and prescribes me a healthy dosage for my ailment. He knows this is the best treatment, but reminds me to call if a side affect materializes, or to set a follow up appointment in a week it my symptoms aren't diminished. He smiles, shakes my hand, and walks me out to the door. But by now, The Dentist, has yet to see me. He lets his underlings have their way with me first. To tire me out. To break my mind, and split my body, then let his healing touch flow around me. I'm scared. The minutes are hours... and after the first hour, I've lost track of what day it really was. Its painful. Its mental more than anything. They continue their wicked ways with out mercy. Until He arrives. He says nothing to me, but speaks in gibberish to a lackey. He identifies me only by my dental records. "Twisted 9." I can't speak. "20 mm over bite." More fingers get shoved in my mouth. Then he stands over me, shoving the light into my eyes, as if it could bring me more discomfort. "I still want to do that Endo on 17." I don't want what he wants, but its futile. "No cavities. ... This time. Schedule a follow up for the Endo, and a six month in February for him. Mark to watch Twisted 9." Then he leaves. My jaws ache from the abuse, but its my mind thats battered most.

Thats why I hate the dentist.

Because every time it feels like this. Every time my teeth hurt down through the roots, my jaws ache to the point of numbness, and I swear I can feel the places where they've burnt streaks into my teeth with the drills and instruments. I've been through 7 dentists in my life. Every single one is a vile as the last. I have a gag reflex now, that I never had. Its the freaking putrid smell of the dentist office and a finger in my mouth, and I'm ready to choke. I hate going to the dentist. I hate it more than most things in life. But I went. And yes, they really want to do a root canal on me, for a tooth that brings me no pain, and very limited sensitivity to cold. It made my routine check up, seem like a tool to shake me down for more money and more pain. I hate dentists. They only seem to have appointments for me at 8:15am, on my only day off in 2 weeks. Do I need more reasons? I think not. Did I mention, I still at 27 have never had a cavity? I rest my case.

400 Is Just A Number

Post 400 is coming up very fast. 4-freaking-hundred. I'm not so sure that I ever planned on keeping this thing going that long, but here it is. I also like to sit back and think about all the others I've left in the dust in the past 6 years or so. I can hardly remember how many of my friends used to have blogs and let them die. Trouble is, many of them still read this one. WHy? I've wondered late at night about what is so compelling to people to read what I write with such regularity. Its flattering. I enjoy it. Hell, some days I even cater to it. But it behooves me to understand it. Just as much so as the reasons why people refuse to read it any more. So many people, so many reasons. So to get that out of the way, I appreciate the ZERO blog birthday wishes I received last week. My six-year old self and I thought about a lot of things over a boring car ride this weekend. Here is how it all started:

"" Tuesday, July 23, 2002

POST NUMERO UNO!

Yep.. Im here. Its really funny, i used to do something like this on my old website [back when xoom.com was alive... god rest ye soul~!]; it was a pain in the ass to keep updating everything in a txt file to do it... im glad technology finally caught up to me once again.

Anywho. post numero uno should be a joyous one.. so ill talk about myself in another entry. As you can tell, if your cool, the title of this blog was ripped from my two of my favorite Guns n Roses songs... Estranged and Its So Easy... GnFnR for life! yeah.. first post is going well.. im glad i have such a great audience here tonight. ill get into more concrete things later... just getting her set up.....

THIS BLOG WAS BORN ON JULY 23, 2002 at 1:53am CST.

ain't it fun~
s. ""


More of a whimper than a bang, thats how this whole mess started out it into the world. What ever the antonym of "impressive," is, we should apply it. Maybe not as much as the void that should have been filled by an "impressive" entry would seem more apt. Fear not, by the second post I was assailing the DMCA, something that can still get me worked up years later. Ho-hum. I'll blow out my candles now.


S.

Some new news for your fix.


Stippers and Vaginaplasty. Mmmm.. Tasty.

Yes, indeed, nude dancing an art in Iowa, judge rules

Available: QCOnline / Moline Dispatch [www.qconline.com]

DES MOINES, Iowa (AP) _ Nude dancing remains an art in Iowa.

A Fremont County judge ruled Friday in favor of a nude dancing club owner charged with violating Iowa's indecent exposure law.

Judge Timothy O'Grady said prosecutors failed to prove that the club wasn't a theater and protected under an Iowa law that allows nudity at such venues devoted to the arts or theatrical performances.

The county attorney had charged former club owner Clarence Judy after a 17-year-old girl climbed up on stage at Shotgun Geniez in Hamburg and stripped off her clothing.

'I think it's a little scary,' Fremont County attorney Margaret Johnson said. 'This person was a minor by just a few months, but what do you do if it's a younger minor? At what point do you say 'This is not appropriate.''

Johnson said she'll provide a copy of the ruling to the state attorney general's office, which will decide whether to appeal the case. Johnson said she hopes to meet with state prosecutors next week about the matter.

If the case is appealed to a higher court, it could affirm the rights of dozens of strip clubs in Iowa or deem them in violation of state law.

A 1998 case in Davenport also found nude dancing is a form of art. Given that, the new owner of the Hamburg club expressed confidence nude dancing would remain legal in Iowa.

'It would be pretty tough to try to appeal it to the Supreme Court,' said Terry Rutledge, who bought the club on Monday. 'In all actuality, you don't have be a theater hall, concert hall or anything. You can be a strip club that has nude dance, which the state of Iowa for the second time has recognized that it is art.'

Arguments in the Hamburg case were made during a one-day trial on July 17. Johnson said the intent of the law is to allow movies in a theater where there's brief nudity or for an art gallery displaying paintings of nudes.

Rutledge, who owned the establishment from 2001 to 2005, said he plans to establish an Iowa Nude Art Center Association. The proposed group would bind Iowa nude dancing clubs together to help establishments that may face similar challenges in the future.

'It's just art and I didn't want to see it die,' Rutledge said about buying the club. 'I didn't want to see somebody give up on it.'

/////////////////////////////////////////////



Australian doctors warn against 'designer vagina' craze


Available: Breitbart News Agency [www.breitbart.com]



Australian doctors have raised concerns about clinics offering vaginal cosmetic surgery, warning the trend towards so-called "designer vaginas" may be exploiting vulnerable women.

The Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists said procedures being offered included "vaginal rejuvenation, revirgination, designer vaginoplasty and G-spot amplification".

"What is involved in these procedures is often unclear since recognised clinical nomenclature is not being used," it said in a position paper released this week.

The college labelled the procedures dangerous, expensive and unwarranted, and said it strongly discouraged surgery that was not backed by scientific evidence or clinical trials.

"The real risks of potential complications such as scarring, permanent disfigurement, infection, dyspareunia and altered sexual sensations should be discussed in detail with women seeking such treatments," it said.

The college said women should understand that there were a large number of variations in the appearance of normal female genitalia.

"The college is particularly concerned that such surgery may exploit vulnerable women," it said.

Ted Weaver, chairman of the college's women's health committee, said most of the operations cost at least 10,000 dollars (9,500 US), which he described as an "extraordinary amount of money".

"We feel these operations might prey on people with insecurities and fears who actually need psychological help," he told Australian Associated Press.

"They are also not very anatomically-based and have the potential to cause serious harm."

Doctors in the United States and Britain have raised similar concerns about the surgery.

///////////////////////

Maybe I should start thinking of tramp stamps, as fashion labels? No? Just think of the poor, exploited children of the world... laboring all day for 30 cents per hour to hand craft designer vag's in sweatshops. What a cruel world!!!!

With A Compass, I Still Don't Know Where I Am

Its a skill I doubt many have anymore. Reading maps is for loser's I suppose, just throw a pretty color screen in and call it GPS and people for get things like maps.... topography... and how to use a compass. Its ironic that a single instrument, save maybe for the pen/pencil/writing utensil, would have such a great impact on the societies of the world, but could vanish so quickly. Sure, the pen too is dead in most respects, but the compass is alone, blanketed in a lime bath at the bottom of the great hole. A compass gives direction. A compass is a needle to give you a margin of truth in a vast wilderness. A compass guides ships across the seas so wide that the horizon for days is nothing but seas. A compass is a singular truth, made by man, that is reliable, sturdy, and effective. Sure, I own two GPS units [one of ridiculous color touch screen variety; but as my friends in Chicago and Texas would agree, the interstate highway system at peak rush is not fond of map readers], but in a prized place in The Jeep sits my glass compass and sighting guide. When I'm on foot out in places I'm not sure of, there is a place right on my gear for it. Yet, with an electronic compass on The Jeep's navigation screen, plus my fancy color doo-dad, and the roll of charts under the seat; why carry it? Because, literally, it helps my find my way, even amidst a figurative dissertation. I am lost.

I'm lost because I'm confused. Its not that I don't know what direction to take. Its not that I don't know what direction I have come. I know both of those answers. Without those, even with a compass a map is useless. But I know them. I know that at nearly thirty now, I don't have a lot to show for anything. I'm sitting in the basement of my parent's house. I work a job that really is meant for people who didn't go through college. I've managed to stay single for nearly four years. Just as I know where I have been, I know too the direction to go. At least where it is that I want to go. It just doesn't do me much good looking around in the wilderness, compass in hand. I still find myself just wandering around. It bugs me to know that with the knowledge in my head, the pain in my gut, I still wander. I realize that there isn't a lot of things I can do myself, but something should be better than nothing. I like to say that progress, is progress. But stumbling around is not progress. A compass is useless without the will to move in a direction I suppose.

I calm myself some nights, with the logic that we can not have it all. The sky is never within our grasp any more than the earth belongs to any one person. However, we all push forward with some desire for something. Something gives us our passion to peruse in life. Pursuit is a natural state. Chasing, clutching, clawing for a shred of something to covet all to ourselves. In the end the scrap we hold means as much or less to us, as the path to seize it. So I tell my self that on some nights. The desires of the dream amount to as little as it may, provided the path to it is worthy. So, figuratively I keep a compass, and I keep up my skill. Other nights I argue with my own damned logic.

I suppose I could whine and lament about things longer. But then that little voice would creep up; begging me to think about how fortunate I am. Fortunate for the things I own [even those color screened doo-dads], fortunate to have my health as good as it is, for the clothes on my back, and for the chance to get an education. Which I am. I can't say for once I ever argued that I was not. I picked out my own doo-dads, I beat the shit out of myself, but am wholly responsible for the mess, and even if people laugh at the clothes I wear, I know that all of that too, is as good as the school I picked to attend. So I figure its more of anxiety. Its more like the boredom of sitting around purgatory waiting on my sentence. But its the darker side of it all. Its mainly self induced. I know I don't have the kind of job I want because I wasn't a good student. If I was a good student, I wouldn't need a state education. But I'm not. I'm a terrible student in structured courses, because I only learn what fascinates me. I know that sitting around with my friends at night, or mending some disastrous program, did not earn me a letter to law school. I hope that somewhere someone enjoyed my company, or got some program off the ground that got to someone. I know that if I was healthy enough, I'd have taken that offer so long ago for the Army. I know that if that happened, my ass would be getting thrown out of airplanes over Afghanistan. But my knees wouldn't hold out on those 12 mile runs. My arms just gave out before I could hit 80 push ups and 40 curls. Had I been not so Scott like; I could have made one relationship work. Maybe it wouldn't last for ever and ever, but better than it did. I also realize that if I looked like Brad Pitt, it wouldn't have been so hard to make it work. Or at least I could have had other offers to pick from. But nothing happened like that. Instead I just walk around as lost as everyone else it, even though I know where I want to go. How long do I want to sit around.

Another Day...

I'd say I have had worse days. And I wouldn't really be lying about it. But considering how short this one was; it could have been much worse. That however, doesn't change much.

Overnight there was a storm that raged through the area [errrrr Illinois side of the river, as hardly any of Iowa seemed to have problems]. It knocked down a lot of brush and trees, and some trailers, and brought some wind driven rain. Anyway, most of the Illinois side of the river has no power. Including Menards. But they opened the store anyhow. 6:30 am, and people were screaming about it. But even after we ran out of chainsaws, gas cans, gasoline generators, and all types of lanterns [and most flashlights and D cell batteries], we stayed open. Don't ask me why. I had to ask myself. With two registers open, run off of a generator we opened up, we stayed open until 7pm. All the while letting idiots in the store in the dark, to purchase twizzlers, door knobs, wall paper, plungers, and hornet/wasp spray. All the essentials of a power outage, right? I bit my lip for most of it. But I did draw the line at special orders and people who flat out told me "we just want to look." They, I escorted out. Of course they were pissy. But after getting home, I found out stores were closed all over; most roads are shut down to get there, and the stores that were open limited sales. Best Buy wouldn't allow customers into the store at all--- and would only sell essential items [batteries, back up power supplies, and anything else Best Buy thinks are essentials].

We let all the clowns in. And chased them around in the dark with flashlights. People looking at tile. People purchasing toilets. Old people playing with grab bars. All of them. For what? No breaks. No leaving. No running water or bathrooms [not due to the city, but due to our ridiculous set up that requires an electric pressure booster to split water to the sprinkler systems]. What a wonderful day to be alive in a Menards. Probably the best part of it all though, is how extensive, yet localized the damage is. Again, 5 miles away, across the Mississippi River, really was unaffected... sporadic power outages... but nothing major. The way the clientèle talked today; the world stopped spinning. Just goes to show you how lovely the general public is. I think we did more than most stores did today, effort-wise; but I'm sure the bottom line doesn't show it, but I just can't get past how ungrateful the people were today. Again, its not like this was a war zone, or a hurricane. It rained. Trees blew over. Power went out. Even at Menards.

What gets me the most is how incompetent most of the employees are. Most of them acted as if they had never been in a power outage. True, none of them probably worked through one, but they could have tried a bit harder to make it work. Most bitched about how hot it was. Or how they were crippled without a computer. Some complained that it wasn't possible to figure out pricing for people. Its all very d0-able. Most really just thought it was a game. Many laughed about my rigged up flashlight around my neck; but quit laughing when they were elbow deep in fittings in the dark finding parts for people. No one seemed to understand why I carried a parts catalog and carbon invoices in my pocket all day, but not after I didn't have to wander around to find items, or transcribe skus to people at the registers. Further more, certain departments were crippled because they rely too heavily on the computers to obtain inventory and pricing. Most of mine is memorized; sure its not exact, but I know how deep I am on product, the pricing within a few pennies to a quarter, and I know my skus by memory---they always have laughed at me for that. To me, I made it work better than anyone else, and seemed as little bothered by it as anyone. Store managers were sweating and freaking out, departments were shut down. But my only obstacle were the the people themselves. Not the ones needing things.... but the ones just stomping around.

And the employees who were worthless.... No one seemed to understand the importance of bringing food and water to work. Mine was cold, in a cooler with ice, in the back of the jeep. I thought one girl was going to cry when she realized the power tools were dead and she couldn't scrap a printer for parts. I had the manual versions on my hip. And I could tell her the parts she needed by number and description [thanks in part to my previous lives!] In short, I hope a real disaster never happens around here. These are the people that die of starvation at the grocery store. These were the people that couldn't really rig a day of sales together at the store known for being the king of "rigging" things.

Van Halen - Jump

so what is more 80's than clear acrylic drum kits? a denim vest with a sweat band? maybe spandex so tight it should cause a vasectomy? So... Get your back off that record machine!!! Lace up your Ultimate Warrior leg bands, and get your best leopard print shirt on.... 'cuz... we MIGHT AS WELL JUMP!

Bon Jovi - Living on a Prayer

I'm loopy from the hair spray... maybe some leather and fringe will bring me back... ooooooooooooooooooh we're half way there!!!!!!!!! oooooooOHHHHHH LIVIN ON A PRAYER!!!!

Twisted Sister - I Wanna Rock

and because the hit parade can not continue without it...

Twisted fuckin Sister!

STAND UP AND TELL THE CLASS WHAT YOU WANT TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE!!!!!!!

Damn Yankees - High Enough

can anyone else on earth, wear THAT outfit as successfully as Ted Nugent does?

On second thought; where would this song even be without Uncle Ted.

Wolds best sunglasses ever!!!!!

Night Ranger - Don't Tell Me You Love Me

we need some 80's hits... STAT!!!!

Getting Read RULES!!!!

Mark down the date; JUNE 26 2008

Today was the day, my first time getting read on the Jim Rome show!

My text made it in at about 1:55 under the UUU text contest...

" UUU Sponsor: the dreaded bathroom uni-towel hand dryer. Scott in Flooded Iowa"


BAM! and there it went!

It made Rome cringe; and run into a quick rant about how much he hates them. As do I. With some comment about, "rather using the floor to dry my hands" it was over, and on to the next text. But I made it in! In almost 5 years, I get my first one read while sitting on the couch doing nothing.

FAT!


GOOD NIGHT NOW!


S. [In Flooded Iowa]

Poop On My Bail Money, Don't Mind If I Do...Do !

Goddammit it happened in Davenport. Here goes! [with mugshot goodness]

Man tries to pay court in dirty pennies, sent to jail

QCTimes.net [QC Times available: June 26 2008]

Article by: Ann McGlynn
A man accused of driving with a defective tire is spending seven days in jail after he attempted to pay a bond in dirty pennies and crumpled-up dollar bills, court records show.

James R. Ward, 60, of Center Junction, Iowa, was sent to Scott County Jail on Thursday by Associate Court Judge Christine Dalton, records show.

Ward was arrested on May 12 for driving a tractor trailer on Interstate Highway 280 with a defective tire. The proposed fine and court costs totaled $68.20.

However, Ward decided he wanted a jury trial. In order to do so, Dalton required he post a $100 bond. She set trial for Monday morning.

Ward brought the $100 bond to the clerk of court Thursday. The money consisted of a box of pennies covered with some sort of unknown substance and several crumpled dollar bills, records show.

Documents do not indicate how much of each he brought. Signs posted in the clerk’s office say they will not accept more than $3 in pennies for payment.

----------////-----------------

Rumor going around is; that substance looks like mud, smells worse and comes from your butt. Way to go crack-y. First off, wearing overalls in your mugshot did bring a smile to my face, but it can't crack the best parts of your act. Secondly; what kind of redneck drives a tractor on the highways... gets caught, then honestly thinks its a GOOD idea to ask for a trial? That and; what the hell is a defective tire? Any how. Back out on the farm, this wouldn't be news unless someone shits in a box; so he had to improvise. Congrads Cletus.

The Mexican .... Navy?

Whats the Navy good for? I mean really. We used to look around for pirates, sink shit, or maybe run through international blockades with a navy. We used to shoot 50 pound chunks of lead at thinks made of balsa and cotton swabs with our navy. We still can float around more air craft than Cambodia, Laos, Lithuania, Morocco, Cameroon, Chad, Niger, Latvia, East Polynesia, and Equatorial Guinea combined have ever seen in their lives. But what good is a navy? Hell most of the jobs you can think of, we dump off on the Coast Guard. But Mexico... she uses her navy to hunt for sharks. ENJOY!

Mexico Navy hunts for sharks after attacks

Reuters News Service [available: Reuters Online]
By Noel Randewich

MEXICO CITY (Reuters) - The Mexican Navy searched for sharks in the ocean near Pacific surfing beaches on Monday, after two bathers were killed and another maimed in a rare spate of shark attacks.

Three boats and a helicopter patrolled the sea while Navy and rescue officials scanned the horizon with binoculars from popular beaches around the southwestern Mexican resort of Ixtapa-Zihuatanejo. They warned surfers not to go far out.

"We've been monitoring the beaches; we've done reconnaissance flights," Rear Adm. Arturo Bernal said, adding that no big shark had been detected yet in the area.

Surfer Bruce Grimes from Texas was bitten on the arm on Saturday off nearby Playa Linda beach, making him the third target of a shark attack in the area in a month.

Two attacks in April and May killed a Mexican and an American -- the first shark deaths off Mexico's Pacific coast in 30 years, according to official records.

Grimes, 49, said he paddled madly toward shore on his board after feeling the unmistakable sandy skin of a shark glide across the bottom of his feet as he straddled his surfboard.

"Then it bumped me really hard. I thought, 'That's definitely a big shark.' I took about three more strokes and he grabbed my arm," said Grimes, who pulled himself free and made it to the beach. He managed to drive himself to a hospital, where he received 100 stitches.

On Friday, Mexican surfer Osvaldo Mata, 21, died after a 6-foot-long (2-m-long) shark seized him, bit off one of his hands and chomped on his thigh. That followed the death in late April of a 24-year-old American who was mauled while surfing nearby.

The Ixtapa-Zihuatanejo government is consulting with experts to determine what could be causing the attacks.

(Editing by Catherine Bremer and Cynthia Osterman)

Iverson Practice!

because two people asked me, what my comments meant on my last post... it means... practice.. practice man. we talkin about practice. not a game! not a game! we talkin about practice.

Dennis Green Flips

One of my favorites....

a slow Me day, busy news day

not a lot else to say about me. im still around. ive graduated from therapy. so... no more hot therapy chick time. hopefully just one more medical appointment before im totally released. so far they have upped my weight limit to 40 pounds; which for most people would be normal. not me. anyhow.. some interesting news.

Burro jailed in Mexico for biting, kicking people

Quad City Times [available: QcTimes.net]

TUXTLA GUTIERREZ, Mexico — A donkey is doing time in southern Mexico for assault and battery.

The animal was locked up at a local jail that normally holds people for public drunkenness and other disturbances after it bit and kicked two men near a ranch in Chiapas state, police said Monday.

Officer Sinar Gomez said the donkey will remain behind bars until its owner agrees to pay the men's medical bills.

``Around here, if someone commits a crime they are jailed,'' Gomez said — ``no matter who they are.''

The owner, Mauro Gutierrez, told The Associated Press he would try to reach a friendly arrangement to pay the men's bills, estimated at US$420 (euro270).

The victims said the donkey bit Genaro Vazquez, 63, in the chest on Sunday and then kicked 52-year-old Andres Hernandez as he tried to come to the rescue, fracturing his ankle.

``All of a sudden, the animal was on top of us like it was rabid,'' Hernandez said.

Police said it took a half-dozen men to control the enraged burro.

Chiapas police have thrown animals in the slammer before, including a bull that devoured corn crops and destroyed two wooden vending stands in March.

In 2006, a dog was locked up for 12 days after biting someone. His owners were fined US$18.

-------------------------------- leave it to mexico.... what are we talking about? a donkey. a donkey. we're talking about a donkeys. not the horse that i ride in the country, not the black bear that kills and maims... but a donkey. we talkin' bout a donkey. i know, i know, im supposed to be a role model, and im supposed to do all that, but we talking about a donkey.

Davenport murder victim a loner, mom says

Quad City Times [available: QcTimes.net]

On the day Victoria Jones buried her murdered son Dane Howard in 2000, her oldest son was arrested for sexually abusing a teenager.

That son, Hano Bailey, always kept to himself, was a loner, she said. That is why it is hard for her to believe that he, too, was shot to death late Thursday in what police are describing as a targeted attack.

Bailey had been out of prison on that sex abuse charge for just a couple of months.

“I couldn't understand when they said someone jumped out of a car and sprayed all those bullets,” Jones said. “The only thing he’s been doing is going to work and coming home. Any of my other sons, I would expect something like that to happen.”

Bailey was shot while walking into his job as a dishwasher at the IHOP on 53rd Street about 11 p.m. He died in surgery early Friday morning at Genesis Medical Center, East Rusholme Street, Davenport.

Bailey, a registered sex offender who was released from the Anamosa State Penitentiary March 5, was shot several times by an assailant who got out of a dark-colored car driven up near the front door of the restaurant. The gunman shot the victim, returned to the car and fled.

Investigators are interviewing witnesses, including customers and employees, said Capt. David Struckman of the Davenport Police Department. They also are reviewing video surveillance from IHOP and surrounding businesses.

The IHOP is far from the central-city area now targeted by police because of increased violence. Bailey’s most recent address at 1125 Iowa Ave., however, is in that targeted area.

The restaurant was open Friday morning, with fluorescent green spray paint marking the driveway.

Bailey has a criminal record that stretches back several years. He was convicted of third-degree sex abuse in 2001 and sentenced to 15 years in prison. He was charged after having sex with a 15-year-old girl at his apartment. He was 33 years old at the time.

Bailey also has convictions for assault, theft and eluding.

His most recent arrest was on May 9 on a drug possession charge. He was at a convenience store at 12th and Brady streets about 10:30 p.m. that night when he was approached by police officers. He threw a plastic bag containing approximately 2½ grams of marijuana to the sidewalk.

The convenience store is a block away from where one of his cousins, Vincelina Howard, 19, lost her life in August 2006, during a drive-by shooting.

Bailey is the son of Jones and the late Hano Bailey III, who died in 2001 at the East Moline Correctional Center while serving a 15-year sentence for criminal sexual assault out of Adams County.

His half-brother, Dane Howard, 17, was shot and killed in October 2000. Two other brothers, Quinton Howard and Dennis Bailey, are in prison on drug charges.

Bailey’s shooting was the fourth in Davenport in a week.

One week ago, Jeremy Booth, 22, was shot in the leg in the 300 block of East 14th Street. Phillip Bogan was charged with interference with official acts; Travis Rush, 17, of Davenport is the accused gunman and is charged with willful injury with serious injury; and Kelsey Reitz, 19, of Davenport is charged with felony eluding.

On Sunday, Kevin Bogan, 18, was shot in back in the 800 block of East 15th Street. He is Phillip Bogan's brother. Lewis Lonedale Lee, 20, of Davenport, is charged with going armed with intent and willful injury with serious injury. Roylee Richardson, 17, is wanted for willful injury with serious injury.

On Monday, several shots were fired just north of Central High School about 4:30 p.m. Officers found evidence of the shooting in the form of spent shell casings and damage to two cars. One of the cars belongs to a Central teacher. It had five bullet holes in it, police said. A second car, which was going east on 12th, also sustained damage, according to police.

There were no injuries in the incident, which Mayor Bill Gluba characterized as three people “emptying” a .40-caliber pistol on a targeted victim.

Services for Bailey are pending.

////

Stay classy Quad Cities!

Eye of the [Fat] Tiger

well today was my first day of rehab. it was.... not what i expected it to be. i kinda figured it would be more massage type things at this stage, and more simple flexibility/ agility tests than it was. no. it was... [drum roll] paperwork! yes, not only is this an insurance gimmick, but somehow im supposed to self ascribe my own plan of rehab. they "consult" with that. the nutritionist person asked me a bunch of questions; then gave me some paper work, then tried that "consultive" horse shit with me. don't horse shit a horse i say. my plan? "i think i should eat more fatty meats... maybe even salt cured meats. i think with some prosciutto in my veins, and 3 kg's of roast beef and cheese three times per day; i will be the model of American fitness." she was so pissed she didn't even laugh. pity. i was reminded that with my height and weight, given my age, i am a minimum of 50 pounds over weight. she let that sit before i came up with something else smart to say. she also hammered me some more on my limited physical activity and agility scores. however; does anyone who has ever met me, confuse me with a marathon runner? i reminded her that with a surgically repaired knee, with birth defected foot and gait impairment, and a disdain of sweating in public; i was about a good as it gets. although, we did talk about how much better shape i had been in at different points in my life. regardless, 50 pounds is a lot. that stung a bit. im not real sure about whats going to happen with that. they went on and on lecturing me about swimming as a zero-impact method to exercise; i reminded them of my morbid phobia of being in open water. they mentioned biking, i mentioned uncomfortable seats and gay helmets. they went with working me to jogging and jump rope activities; i said i shouldn't turn into Rocky III's training sequence. after that it was quiet, and the gate keeper let me pass. and like moses at the top of mount nebo, i saw the greener pastures of the land of milk and honey. it was tan, it was mostly fit what i was concerned, and it was blonde. we call her emily. and she made me stop and pay attention. not the kind i should have. see, she gets the unfortunate distinction of me, as a patient. one whom she has to demonstrate odd body posture exercises to; and one who has to get touchy feely with the man of fat and anger himself. im sure tonight, she questions the wisdom of being licensed in pt, or rejects the manipulative hands of god to force her here. i tried really hard not to smile. i tried really hard not to get too excited. if you know what i mean. i tried and failed to certain degrees. what i can say is it was quite clear she had no interest in me removing any clothing, that much was clear. i think i even saw it on her face how degrading it must feel to make like a table dancer for me; knowing i enjoyed it. in all honesty though; she was ... quite beautiful. i really did try my best to not to make her uncomfortable about it. me, being the one on drugs, with back pain, was working overtime making sure someone else was not uncomfortable. i was a bit off too. she took my history, which i expected, for the third time in the day, but also slipped in a few questions i hadn't anticipated.... what high school i went to, where i was from, if i went to college, and if i was married, or dating anyone. the last one really caught me off guard. im sure there is a sound medical reason why. thinking back to my cyst time of fun; they did ask me that as well... it was to see if anyone could repack my dressing for me. [of course not, and what fun that was to do by myself, behind my back]. but i didn't capitalize on it. i should have. all the smart shit comments i had made to that point in the day, i sat pretty quiet and looked straight ahead. and gave her a plain, "no. there isn't anyone like that." she did make a mild amount of eye contact. i found that interesting too. some people are like that. but she did lock right on me when i gave her the drugs and dosages im on, both branded and generics; and could name most of the muscle groups she was targeting in the stretching exercises we did later. enough so that she stopped me at one point and clarified where i worked and what i did for a living. she got the stock answer. "i sell toilet seats to people in trailer parks." she didnt ask me any more questions then. but thats how glamorous i am. i have no life outside of this shitty job. i get diseases, and tear out muscles working it. and now, im accused of being morbidly obese per my BMI score. i am a prize to be had, aren't i? maybe going the way of Rocky III wouldn't be so bad. i do know that heart disease runs on my fathers side of the family. i really not sure about it. for now though, i have 3 more rehab sessions before im released back to the wild. but day 1 is in the can.

... Hitting The Medicine Cabinet Again

well it seems like it lately, but generally i find it pretty easy to avoid the doctor's office. as i learned today, it had been slightly more than 10 years since i had seen my GP. so why this joyous occasion? it has to do with a certain propensity of 'blue to dump ass loads of freight in places they don't belong. in short, i pretty much threw my lower back out lifting heavy shit that was left on the floor. from the floor, picked up, walked up a ladder, then put on a shelf above head height. x 50. thats probably what did me in. anyhow. i went from numbness, to discomfort, to grid lock in about 6 hours. thinking that it was just general soreness; i went to bed. shoes on my feet! [because i cant bend over to untie them] to wake up WORSE than i was. somehow sleep aggravated my condition. quite plainly; it took 20 minutes for me to sit up in bed this morning. i just couldn't move my back. when i did, it was like ramming a steak knife in my hip. charming. after tears of pain, and enough frustration; i called into work. this is a big deal. keep in mind; i didn't call in when i had pneumonia. i didn't call in when i dislocated my knee. and i didn't call in when i thought i had broken my fingers. i called in to say id be late. "NO YOU WONT, NOT WITHOUT A DOCTORS NOTICE" then the inevitable ..click.. so i started calling around two hours later. my best choice was to wait around at the doctors office to see if they could fit me in--- all appointments are full for the day. so i sat there for two hours, in moderate discomfort watching the elderly fart past me, and the hypochondriacs get their fillls in for the week. here i sat, mostly able bodied, wanting to work, but not allowed until Moses and his wife cleared out first. eventually they saw me, took my history, then came back to tell me that any workplace injuries had to be seen by the employer's insured facility. so back in the car, limping and stiff walked i go; i drive across town. to find [of course] the facility has moved. another 20 minutes later, after my parents found out where over the phone for me, i was on my way. to sit in another lobby for an hour before i could be seen. where i also was lucky enough to get a female doctor, who had a sense of humor. the first thing she said was, "why dont you go ahead and strip down for me so we can get a look here" i laughed and told her that was the first time in 4 or 5 years a woman said that to me. she didnt laugh at first. i knew i was dealing with a tough crowd. to spare us the rest of the details; without getting an MRI [is that some new STD they came up with Doc?], they couldn't tell if its a muscle strain or partial tear. no matter. Old Blue will probably just pay for the duct tape to patch it over, or the bullet to end it all; with our insurance. so they offered me some wonderful candies i have not yet sampled before today. [a parting gift, but i thought i solved the puzzle Doc]. add naproxen and metaxalone to the list of drugs ive been on; for those keeping score at home. its some kind of higher grade Aleve and "moderate to strong" muscle relaxant. 5 hours later, im 3 and 3 pills in; and i think i was better off with ice packs and that old tube of Flexall i still had. oh well. the drugs were free. and isnt that what its about; doping us up to infinity with out paying out of pocket! cheers fuckers! and sorry if that saw blade now costs .13 cents more; its because of my new drugs! and the epilogue to my tale of sadness; i also am privileged to receive a follow up visit as well as three therapy sessions before im released to normal duties. because that wont be like pulling teeth to get to. as it was, i went unpaid for the day to day to go through all of this. just another day at the fun farm.

Hamburglar clears the air a bit here; mainly due to my infatuation with him, I thought I could work this bit in too.

Perspective: I’ve Taken Your Clown-Faced Burger Bullshit for Long Enough

[available: The MQ Online Volume 10 Issue 6]

The Hamburgler

Ronald McDonald? More like Ronald McFuckerson. You and your lame-ass clown suit can eat my burger-eating ass. I have two delinquents and a wife in the streets and I never get respect. Now it’s “me” time: Hamburgling time. I have taken your clown-faced burger bullshit for long enough.

For 34 years, I have slaved behind your fake smile. You done me wrong, Ron, and that ain’t right. “All the kids love me!” That’s what you told us. You took all the cred and left us all in the darkness. I know now that was a ray-croc of shit, you never cared about me. All I want to do right now is choke you to death with my red tie with hamburgers on it.

When I got out of the McPrison for stealing those Fish Filets, Mayor McCheese was there. Officer Big Mac still supported me. Even Buzz fucking Lightyear hooked this brother up. But you? Nothing. You were off getting high with that Jack-in-the-Box corporate whore. Learn to respect the little people, asshat.

I looked up to you, man. When I was young, you brought us all in as equals. Little did I know you’d turn out to be such a pube-bucket. All we wanted was recognition of our hard work, but no, you needed the statuses of yourself AND the Ronald McDonald playhouse. You couldn’t get enough of yourself, and now I’m going to quarter-pound your face in with a shit-burger.

Remember that 1990’s “Beanie Baby” craze? Do you remember the night before when, while we were drunk in your basement, I told you my idea to market them? Do you remember my disgusted face as you trampled me on your way to the top? That’s right, dong-captain, you stole my ideas. But never burgle a burglar, bitch. I’m coming after you and your size 23 feet, and I am gonna bust a McCap in your lame-ass yellow jumpsuit.

Dear Lord.... This Article Title Says It All....


PENIS THEFT PANIC HITS CITY!!!

[available: Reuters News Service - April 23rd, 2008]

By Joe Bavier

KINSHASA (Reuters) - Police in Congo have arrested 13 suspected sorcerers accused of using black magic to steal or shrink men's penises after a wave of panic and attempted lynchings triggered by the alleged witchcraft.

Reports of so-called penis snatching are not uncommon in West Africa, where belief in traditional religions and witchcraft remains widespread, and where ritual killings to obtain blood or body parts still occur.

Rumors of penis theft began circulating last week in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo's sprawling capital of some 8 million inhabitants. They quickly dominated radio call-in shows, with listeners advised to beware of fellow passengers in communal taxis wearing gold rings.

Purported victims, 14 of whom were also detained by police, claimed that sorcerers simply touched them to make their genitals shrink or disappear, in what some residents said was an attempt to extort cash with the promise of a cure.

"You just have to be accused of that, and people come after you. We've had a number of attempted lynchings. ... You see them covered in marks after being beaten," Kinshasa's police chief, Jean-Dieudonne Oleko, told Reuters on Tuesday.

Police arrested the accused sorcerers and their victims in an effort to avoid the sort of bloodshed seen in Ghana a decade ago, when 12 suspected penis snatchers were beaten to death by angry mobs. The 27 men have since been released.

"I'm tempted to say it's one huge joke," Oleko said.

"But when you try to tell the victims that their penises are still there, they tell you that it's become tiny or that they've become impotent. To that I tell them, 'How do you know if you haven't gone home and tried it'," he said.

Some Kinshasa residents accuse a separatist sect from nearby Bas-Congo province of being behind the witchcraft in revenge for a recent government crackdown on its members.

"It's real. Just yesterday here, there was a man who was a victim. We saw. What was left was tiny," said 29-year-old Alain Kalala, who sells phone credits near a

Kinshasa police station.

(Editing by Nick Tattersall and Mary Gabriel)

------------/////--------------------

Yeah. I've had this happen. When certain people touch me, my penis has disappeared! WTF. It happens to everyone. In much the same way that Jenna Jameson, and Hootie McBoob at the local slut parlor..errrrrrrrrr strip club; must be some kind of penis sorceresses. Because EVERY time they touch me, they can make my penis grow.