Sometimes, when you reach the end of a nice long day it feels good to just sit back and reflect on all of the things that have happened in the last few days. For instance:

The other day we were at Magic Mountain. Well... things turned around and around... things happen... and let's just say that keys were lost and transportation home became somewhat of a problem. Now, I view myself as a good person... and I think that my family is pretty good all the way around. So I'm forced to ask myself, "Why do bad things happen to good people."

Why does God allow these things to happen. I just feel so confused sometimes... like... when we were going to the lost and found, a tall associate said, "If there is a God, our keys will be in there." Unfortunately, the keys were not found... I found myself thinking, "If there is a God, where is he? And what has he done with our keys?" I think, maybe our keys got lost because He's in Rome, and that's like 6000 miles away. But to cut a long story short, we found our way home and ate at In-and-Out... so obviously God can move at an incredibly fast rate enabling him to be everywhere at once... kinda like Superman... only better, or else he's not really in Rome at all... come on... think about it, where would you rather be... in Rome or in California ?

While in the midst of trouble and difficulty, it in some cases becomes paramount that we invest in ourselves. I find that through the journeys of life, thick and thin, there is always some dark cloud over-hanging all that is beautiful, all that is esteemed as "good." Trudging through the deep snows of apathy, drifts upon drifts of meloncholy, heaping in an insermountable pile of shlock. We, as human beings have the right, yeah, even the responsibility to stand up and say... "The world... is Shlock!." Scream it at the top of your lungs, at that dark, taunting, mid-night sky. "I own you world, your pitiful Shlock can't have me!" As emphasized in the ever so classic Beatles song we must shout out, "I am the Eggman. We are the Walrus. Gook-Gook-Ga-Chew, Gook-Gook-Ga-Chew!" While a catch phraseto to the untrained American ear, to a native Brit it means... "I'm here world. I've got your number. Shlock is what you are, and Shlock is what you'll be... And one of these days this Shlock is gonna walk all over you!" ...Advise you say? In a world full of Shlock, advise comes bountifully, but benificial advise is where the shlock adjust and becomes a useful, hard-working, loyal citizen... and this is the advise he(the hard working, loyal, citizen) would give you... "Don't let your genious become Shlock. Shlock it, and let your genious become you."

Being 1/4 Jew... I can't help but feel that there is a very strong anti-semetic feeling drifting around the nation of late. What have the Jews ever done to you? We were just poor lonely farmers and herders searching to please our God (the Only Living and True God, you bunch of slack-jawed heathens). So why this ill feeling? Why is there the slang, "Man, that's jewish?" What does a mans ethnicity have to do with anything? I believe in a land of the free... a land of the brave... where a mans decendants are not detramental to their future. Although shrewd business-men, we are still people. If you prick us do we not bleed? Do we not have feelings? Come on man, have some heart! Have some heart... toss you long-nosed neighbors a freakin' bone every once and a while. I mean... we're loads better than the french... and remember... Jesus was a Jew. And I think that pretty much settles this subject. I will be expecting apologies from each and every person in the world... there is a comment box below... if you please... I will look forward to the apologies in the hope that it will quell the Only Living and True God from exercising his wrath, biblical style, upon you heathen dogs.

Not trying to indulge in any homoerotic fantasys of any sort. But the beach has got to be a great haven for men of the homosexual orientation. For example, today we we down and chilled at the beach... the male to female ratio was 3:1. Now, judging that all 3 men and the 1 female are all straight... the chances of the males getting a female are 1/3. While the female odds are great... it just ain't doing much for the males. So my idea... now stay with me every one: What if 2 of the males ended up being gay? That would bring the ratios around perfectly. Also... we would be perfectly "politically correct." We would have our token "woman," and our token "gay" man. I know what you are thinking... who's gonna be gay... whos gonna be stright. But just with any good plan... it's gonna require sacrafice. Hard work, diligence, and sacrifice.

Saddam's offspring being killed is what brings this new blog to life. We all know that the Treaty of Versilxzqle (gay french spelling disables my brain) made after WW1 made assassinations officially... "bad." Making it a war crime... yada yada yada... We all know that everybody is still doing it everywhere... but they have to do it in secret... kinda like the silent helecopters in the movie Conspiracy Theory. But anyways, what is the difference between strategically dropping a bomb on someone to kill him, and sending some dude into shoot someone. I'm not catching a real difference. I haven't had the opportunity to read the treaty but maybe it has to do with the size of the projectile. It's not legal to snipe someone because the bullet is to small... doesn't do enough damage. But if you shoot a 100 ft long bullet from 1000 miles away it is completely applicable because it's big. I figure it's all about sport really. I mean, what chance would saddam have against a really small projectile that you can't even see... he doesn't even have a sporting chance. Now if a cruise missile is coming right for you... your chances are still slightly less than that of a deer, but... heck... at least you got a sporting chance. "Besides, they're more like guidelines anyways." And I'm glad they're dead...

Dude? What's the deal with naked men?

I made a change to my blog title today. I changed it to "Super #1 Blog in the Entire World" as and opening to my newest entry. And that is: Asian Resturant Names:

Have you ever noticed that Chinesse Food places have some of the most ridiculously absurd names ever. For example: We had a Hogi Yogi (a sandwich chain found on the west coast) which decided that the white-trash market found in Yucaipa just wasn't their style. They move out and and asian couple move in and buy the place. The change the name to Hogi-dough (because like all asians think: "Who doesn't like doughnuts?") I don't know... perhaps it just bugs me. Their was this resturant out in Virginia whos name was "Super Number 1 Chinesse Food Resturant" (I can't remeber if they actually spelled out the word "number" or used a "#"). Now, with a title that long, you better have some freakin' good food. Otherwise thats an obstruction of public well-being. And I'm not about that. Ironically, in the same town there is another resturant titled, "Best Chinesse Food." Now, fellow readers, how is it possible that these two could exist simultaneously? If what they claim is true, i believe the universe would skism, collapse on itself, and create a giant lump of dried poison with which i would choke on. Fortunately, I had the opportunity to visit both of these resturants. "Super Number 1 Chinesse Food" in actuality isn't very super. The prices were crappy (i only get the buffet), lacked selection, and just over-all sucked. Meanwhile the other had very good food at a reasonable rate. Plus... they had a Mongolian BBQ (a sweeping fade in the east). However, I'm not quite sure how the mongols would feel being lumped in with the Chinesse, the Khans are probably rolling over in their ever-so-shallow graves at the smell of their fresh beef, chicken, lamb, pork, fresh vegetables, and special sauces permiating the air of some chinesse resturant like some Boxer Rebellion gone sour. Which leads me to the conclusion that I like Mongolians more than Chinesse, doughnuts are a Chinesse conspiracy, and the length of something doesn't necessarily make it better (which is good when it comes to me and some things *wink *wink).

Remember Return the the Jedi? Remember Jabba? I would just like to call these things to your memory before I begin to expound upon my next Blod entry... and let the Blog commence.:

My Cousins name is Jenea. She's a leader over the Beehives in the Yuc. 3rd Ward. And as such, she is responsible for activities... and on this specific occasion the activity was a hike in the San Jacinto Mts. A 3.8 mile hike to the peak of a mountain where they have a fire look out station (fantastic view). Having a lack of suitable priesthood holders, me and my brother William were invited to attend. Stage set... now to the event:

Me, Jenea, William, and 4, 12 - 13 year old girls begin the assent. 12-15 steps (no exageration) into the climb, one of the girls (remember Jabba) say "Oh... this is sooo steep, is the whole climb going to be like this?" At this point, I knew there was going to be trouble. The other 3 girls are journeying along, having fun, enjoying nature. They are a little bit annoying, but it's cool... they are 12 - 13 yrs old. We stop to take breaks, working at a ridiculously slow pace. Eventually, it gets so ridiculous that i take the 3 other girls and go ahead, while William and Jenea take care of Amber, or the Beast (as we come to call her).So we go ahead on the trail and do our little thing. Its a pretty tough hike. 3.8 miles uphill. Jabba complains the whole time. Ridiculous complaining, like "My arms numb... not pain... but i just cant feel it" or "I cant walk" or "I want to go home" or "The slime from my Jabba-like head is forming a hollow shell around my eyes... I can't see!."

Finally, we get to the top, just about 1/4, or less, miles to the tower. It had taken us 3+ hours to reach this point. We all start walking up as a group. Suddenly... Jabba starts to freak out. Complaining, complaining, complaining... finally... she falls down... big dramatic fall if you can imagine that... Everyone but Jenea goes up to the watchtower to see the view while Jenea and Jabba start back down.

Now... there are 2 ways to the tower. One is a dirt road which the fire people take, and another is the trail which we came up. The road was the back-up plan because Jenea said that it was easier and shorter. So they begin to go down this road... assuming that we can catch up to them with ease seeing as Jabbas mass would be unable to slither down the slope and any rate faster than a 3-toed sloth.

We make it to the tower... great view... the volunteers are great and show us all the cool things. I ask them about the road we are going back down. We pull out a map and come to find out... the road is 6 miles long, and that puts you out on the highway (not by the trail head), and it's another 5 miles up the highway to the trail head. So we figure that we will go down the trail we came up, the 3.8 mile way at an accelerated pace (seeing as we dont have Jabba), get to the car, drive up the road and meet them there... and we do just that.

But... as Jenea was coming down the mountain (this is back when we are still at the tower), Jabba freaks out... falls to the ground... and refuses to move. Jenea, seeing the bast alternative is to leave her there by herself to wait the couple minutes until we come down, while she gets a head start down what she supposes is a 3 mile or so road to the cars (actually an 11 mile road). Then when she got the car, she would come back up to us, reunited with Jabba, and slowly meandering down the road. Good plan... and would have worked except for Jabba moves from the assigned intersection spot so we do not meet, and we assume that she is with Jenea, while she assumes she is with us.

I would like to interject in the story and point out that I have learned today that it is never a good idea to leave a fat, retard alone in the woods. Don't mix. And now... Blog returns:

Jeana makes it to the bottom of the road and there is a fire truck there. The fire-man asks her if she knows anything about a dehydrated girl. She say, "No, there were a couple of guys up there, they might know something, I'm going to pick up my car real quick... the rest of my group is coming down, and there is 4 girls with them... but i'm going to get my car." Well... when EMS gets a call they have to respond... so they go up.

Meanwhile... we arrive at the cars. William gets in and goes up the road, while i stay and watch the rest of them... real responsible-like and whatnot. Next thing i know... they are flying back... but no Jabba. So we pile into the 2 cars and speed back there... we pass EMS, Fire truck... the works on the way. We go up the dirt road, it takes about 25 minutes, get to the end, and find Jabba in an ambulance. She looks like crap. Evidently she had gone 1.5 miles down the road where she vomitted all over herself and layed down on the road, not unconsciece, mind you, but just laying there. Some ranger spots her on the way down and calls 911. Everytime they try to give her an IV, to give her some fluid, she says "Ouch... no... my leg hurts. Ouch, my leg hurts." Keeping in mind that IVs go in your arm. They cant give her an IV. The EMS dudes are asking us if she lives in a group home... is insane... yada yada yada. Finally, they just decide to take her to the ER and get her checked out (they have to do that to cover their A's from a lawsuit). Jenea hops into the ambulance, i drive her car, and we follow the ambulance down...

Come to find out. The girls on 3 different types of medication for bi-polar disorder and shes had a history of seizures. Not to mention, one of the medications a side-effect of making you extremely dehydrated. All of which information would have been useful BEFORE THE HIKE!

So... go down... give her a blessing. Her mom turns out to be a freak too... we leave as she is getting a CAT Scan and is getting transfered to another hospital. Come home and take a shower. And eat a nice meal from Wendy's. Amen.

I enjoy a good movie every once in a while... something to... pass the time if you will. But everyday, movie madness. I no longer live in the realm of the mortals. TV land is my paradise and my prison. I remember once thinking, "If I can get to the point where I can sleep 12 hours a day, I will only have to live half as long." I had a good point... but my juvenille skills in mathematics did not take into account that the average person may sleep 7-8 hours... so, in fact, I am only living approx. 1/3 less than that of the populous. But the populous is a mass of freaking idiots so what does McIntosh care of "social pressure." Have they not molded me... have they not tempered, sculpted my pretty round little head to match the mold. And is not this freakish, redneck, town good for what its cracked up to be. I'm just bitter... depressed, melodramatic...

Speaking of which... what is up with the drama kids in school (its been a while since High School but come on!). I can still remember there freakish faces staring at me from the the 7th level of hell... yes... thank you Mr. Dante', I'll be in Purgatory.

Now that is a place that describes my current predicament. Yucaipa, awaiting my eternal punishment or reward. Maybe I can go to Hawaii. That was the original plan, the masterpiece, if you will. But we all see what time does to art. Look at the freakin Mona Lisa... Ugly as sin. And its because she's old. Swavy?