Author: RantingSam

Inanimate Objects

The other day I bought a little wireless mouse for my lap top. I get home, excited about not having to use that touch pad thingie anymore, and I can’t for the life of me, open the package. It’s one of those sealed all around the edges, hard plastic packages. I started muttering expletives at whoever the idiot was that designed these things. Flipping it over several times, I decide the only way to do this without cutting myself is with scissors. I can’t find the scissors. Apparently the flashlight and the scissors are hanging out somewhere because I can never find it either. In the midst of this debacle, I’m thinking I wasn’t meant to exist in the physical world. Somewhere along life’s path I chose an intellectual course over the physical one. Me thinking that is probably a self preservation trick, I’m sure. The kind the body produces to stop trauma. Still, it exasperates me. I seem to be constantly engaged in an endless war with inanimate objects. I am in total awe of pilots, skateboarders, circus acrobats and people who can rub their belly with one hand and pat their head with the other. How does that skateboard follow its owner’s feet into the air without the aid of velcro or rubber bands? It’s in utter contempt of gravity. Gravity rules me, why not them? And...

Read More

Men vs. Women

Why is it that God has seen fit to make women and men so different? Besides the obvious differences, genitalia, femininity, child bearing and menstrual cycles, there are a thousand diametrical contradictions between us. It’s because of his sense of humor, that’s why. He had just finished building the earth, heavens and eternity and when Sunday rolled around it was Miller time or something. He made Adam, borrowed a rib and then came Eve. THAT is where things got messed up right there. I bet the first thing Adam had to do was take out the trash, sore ribs and all. She didn’t care that God hadn’t created light yet. She was perfectly happy bitchin’ in the dark. I’ve heard it said a million times that men will never understand women. I beg to differ. We DO understand women, we just don’t frickin believe it that’s all. Argue, argue, argue, bitch, bitch, bitch. Man. All the time. They say never go to bed mad at each other. Really? What does that even mean? Stay up and fight? Women know stuff that men don’t and it’s not fair. They have long memories too. Why is it that in the midst of a heated argument, they will bring up something that happened five years ago that has nothing to do with what we’re arguing about? Nothing. In shock, we stand there...

Read More

A Day in Sam’s Life…

So I went to the pharmacy to pick up some Super Spike styling gel. I was milling around the back of the store pondering over the vast assortment of hair styling products. All of a sudden a blonde cashier from the front raced past me and alerted another staffer that a woman was trying to make off with some stolen goods. One of the pharmacist’s, another blonde, slightly older, left her station and followed the action toward the front of the store. My curiosity, like always, was rampant and the Super Spike could wait. I assumed a stealth mode and followed behind them. The thief, a medium sized woman, knew the jig was up. She was shuffling down the aisle in quick small steps. An obvious attempt to dodge her pursuers. The posse now included a balding store manager and two apprehensive blonde clerks. Watching from behind the Max Factor display, I noticed the alleged thief wore no brassiere or shoes. She was dressed in a skimpy light brown top and black stretch pants. She did have on socks, and her breasts were swaying uncontrollably. I immediately felt sorry for her. I was trying desperately to telepathically inform her to drop the stuff, they can’t get you if it’s still in the store. It was like, an automobile accident unfolding in front of you and instinctively you slam on...

Read More

Growing Old…

At 59, I think I’ve noticed that deterioration has not only become foreseeable but inevitable. I feel like one of those public statues that attract pigeons. I’ve crossed the half-century mark, and already sense the whoosh of angel wings around my shoulders. I find it shocking, and scary, that I’m now closer to eighty than twenty, closer to ninety than ten. I swear it was only yesterday that I was throwing baseballs over our house and screaming “Annie Over”. Now I have little hairs sprouting from various parts of my nose and ears. The barber’s scissors have become a nuisance in only reminding me of the march of time. My ten-year-old inner self still grimaces at the reading glasses that lay on virtually every table at my house. The flecks of white in the eyebrows and beard, the wrinkles that seem to grow everyday. As an analogy, I think life is a lot like a toaster. You go in soft, pliable, and out pops a dried up old person. I guess that beats not popping out at all. Over the coming years I can look forward to liver spots, failing memory, calcified arteries, digestive miseries, prostate and bladder complaints, faulty hearing, sadistic joints and those damn free radicals overtaking every cell in my body. I’ve already shrunk half an inch from my once proud six-foot three inch stature. It...

Read More

Low Riders

Today I saw a kid, who couldn’t have been no more than 12. His pants were down over his hips and just above his penis. I am sure this appendage was the only thing keeping his pants from falling off completely. He would take three steps and pull them up, take three steps and pull them up. Without realizing, his taste in fashion, or lack thereof, is leading to a compulsive disorder that could possibly stay with him into adulthood. What is up with kids these days? Maybe his family lineage has a long line of plumbers. Maybe it’s really not butt crack just rear cleavage. Maybe his gene pool needs some chlorine. Is it a tough boy thing? Showing your crack builds street cred’s or something. There are probably degrees of street credits. Like, no belt, you’re cool, but a novice, 1 credit. No belt, small shoestring around two belt loops, add a slight droop 2 street cred’s and you can hang out behind the gym with the rest of the fashion challenged. Sagger’s, low riders, what do you call them? There is legislation in some states that actually prohibit this style of dress with fines and jail sentences for non-conformists. I guess it’s good that the government has stepped in to help the rest of us respectable citizens with real class. I just hope they don’t make...

Read More
  • 1
  • 2


Via BuzzFeed

Random Quote

Do you know the difference between a hamburger and a blow job? [No!] D’ya wanna do lunch?

Dating Personals - Visit Joedate.com North America's fastest growing 100% FREE online dating community!
YouDate.net: Free Online Dating