Confusing Equation

We all know what happens when you put add 1 + 1. You get 2. That's a simple math equation. You learn that at a very young age. I would venture to say that nearly every 4 year old knows that 1 + 1 = 2.

Later in life we learn to add logic into an equation. For instance. Red is to apple, as banana is to __________. Of course, logic fills you in on this obvious answer - Yellow.

Again this is just the very basics in logic and deductive reasoning. Over time this develops and you can logically piece together a tremendous amount of equations. Sometimes you might not even realize that you are even doing so as it grows to become natural.

However there is one equation that has always baffled me in my 25 years of life. Now, here's the interesting part. Much like how I know 1 + 1 = 2, I also know why 1 + 1 = 2. Even in terms of the fruit, I can easily learn why an apple is red and a banana is yellow.,

However for this equation, even though I see the answer. I'm just baffled as to who the equation fit together. It's not the answer itself that is the puzzler. But rather the companents of the equation themselves. And here's the part that will totally throw you off. The equation can bring about multiple answers. Ain't that wild?

The best way is to just tell you the equation. See if you first can solve it. What do you get when you combine:

+

See the confusion now. It's apparent that this is a man and a woman. That's the obvious part. However, here's the confusing part. The woman is the typical working woman who is moving up the career ladder. She's both German and Russian. Religion has always been on the better side of her life.

The man is a hardened sociopath. You name the crime and he's committed it. Selling drugs, pimping and pandering, conspiracy to murder, kidnapping, assault & battery, and the list goes on. It's insane when you think of how such a man is even allowed to walk the streets.

Some how these two worlds collided and intertwined together for over 3 years back in the late 70's. How and why that came to pass is a mystery that will never be known to man. And in the September of 1978, this peculiar pair concieved the first of what would be two products. And on June 9, 1979 all the Earth fell to silence for a split second to hear the first cry of what was the first of two answers to this equation.

That product grew over the next 25 years to become this man:



Who's this man you might ask? This here is a man that faced all odds that were against him and rose to become quite an astonishing individual. With a combination of good looks, confidence, and brains, he is destined to do something great in his lifetime.

Who is this man you ask again? Well you're reading the news in his mind right now. That's who this man is. Do you see the confusion now?

The answer is fine. It's the components of the equation that are simply baffling.

South Korea Did It Right

Well it looks like those terrorists are at it again with their lastest trend in slaughter - beheading. They just captured a South Korean who's scheduled to have his head taken off sometime today if the South Koreans do not withdraw their troops from Iraq and make no further efforts to bring in more troops.

How does South Korea respond? They pretty much told the terrorists, "Yeah, yeah, expect another 1000 troops to be arriving safely."

Now many would protest that the government has no heart for it's people. And many in South Korea are in fact doing that. So I'm sure you're thinking, "Why the hell is Shawn supporting such heartless government antics?"

The reason I simple. I believe that's the way to handle these terrorists. They think they can bully countries around by kidnapping someone and cutting off their heads. That's not the case at all. However, when government heads start issuing apologizes and prayers of sorrow for the innocent captured, they were feeding into the desires of the terrorists. It's essentially feeding them as they are getting the response that they are wanting. So what did South Korea do? They acted like they gave to squats about who the terrorists capture. It makes no difference in the fact that 1000 more troops are on their way.

Now think of it this way. These terrorists want foreign opposition out of the Middle East. And in attempting to make that happen they have been beheading folks. However, what if the opposite were to happen. And for every head that gets cut off another 1000 troops enter the Middle East.

You see my point? The beheadings effectively become useless as it's only creating more of a problem for them. And the more opposition they have to face, the greater likely they will be hunted down and either killed or jailed in some undisclosed location somewhere in the world.

So to all your terrorists out there. Go ahead and do your worse. In the end it's only building up the inevitable destruction of your pathetic forces.

For cripes sakes, the majority of those that have already committed the previous beheadings dating back to Daniel Pearle have already been jailed or killed.

Better luck next time. Maybe you should retread and do what Saddamm did in his last pitiful efforts - Challenge Bush to a formal duel.

Safety Rendered Uncool

Summers out. Girls wear less, people exercise more. And nearly all of the 80% of Wisconsin's population that represents the overweight eat one less cheeseburger a day in hops to look good for the summer. Of course it's time to bring out the toys as well. Boats hit the lakes, fast cars hit the streets, and motorcycles zig zag all around town with their modified exhaust systems guaranteeing your fractional ear damage as they whiz by.

Seeing that Wisconsin hosts the city that gave birth to Harley Davidson, it's only fitting that I see dozens of them any given day. More so now that I live in a blue collar town where you ain't a man unless you got a hog and a hot chick to roll around with it. Though in Janesville, they got it a little backwards. It looks more like the chick is the hog and the hottest thing is the bike itself.

But anyways, on to the topic at hand. I would easily venture to guess that 1 in 100 Harley Riders wear safety helmets. I personally value my life, so I am not concerned with any "cool" factor that might threaten my very existance.

Initially I at first thought it was just the fact that they didn't want to be seen as a dweeb for wearing a helmet. However, I think it goes beyond that. I think it goes more along the fact that these tools want to get recognized on their bikes. That's apparent by the pseudo-bad ass mug they sport that probably took them hours of practicing in front of a mirror.

But what fricken difference does it make? I can't recall a time in my life where I saw a guy in the grocery store and quickly tapped Krista on the shoulder saying, "Look...that's the guy....that guy we saw the other day on the highway."

Gimme a million breaks already.

The fact that you have the cash to drop on a $30,000 Harley so you can drive on the 2 days of summer Wisconsin has is impressive enough for me. Does it really matter if one sees your face or not? I don't ever recall a case hearing someone say, "Man why is he wearing a helmet? I can't even see him. What's the point of having a motorcycle if I can't see him?"

Get real bikers. Wear a helmet, cause the face you don't want recognized is the one the forensics team will need to peel off the asphalt after you bust your junk on your bike.

Conversations Under Construction

Why is it that some people are totally clueless in conversations? Wait, let me step back a second. My focus isn't on the conversation itself. Rather it's for those people that talk when they have no clue that there's an ear that is either listening, an ear that doesn't want to listen, or an ear that needs to put its attention on something else.

It's no secret that as I am one of the .000000000126% Weight Watcher members that happens to be a guy. By the looks of my class, and I've gone on different days, at different times, that the median member is 40ish, causasian, and obviously overweight. So naturally me being a young male mulatto, I stand out like Michael Jackson at a Million Man March. I'm over exaggerating really. They actually like seeing guys who are "man" enough to come in and dare to lose weight at Weight Watchers.

But back to the topic at hand. There was a lady there that wanted to make a comment at the beginning of the class. She wanted to let everyone know of some 12 dollar exercise program going on at the YMCA. And that's fine and dandy and all, but good gracious, she wouldn't shut the fuck up. She just kept going and going and going and it was apparent by the crowd that they wouldn't to get back to the class. Even the leader was dropping hints to get back on track. But nothing was stopping this woman from talking. If life was a cartoon, no doubt an ACME anvil would have flattened her like a pancake. But alas this is real life.....

So what needs to be done to stop such people?

For whatever reason it's apparent that these people are laking the social skill of realizing when it's time to shut up. Most of us have this ability. Have you ever talked to someone and you can just see their eyes glaze over with disinterest? Or perhaps they turn there heads and have their focus on something else while they just nod away and say, "uh huh, uh huh" over and again? Well I for one know when to shut up and move on.

In soccer if a player gets out of line, the official throws out a colored card indicated what type of violation occured. Well I think to help these people out we need a similar system for them to visually understand that they need to zip the lip. Because apparently verbal subtleties and body language isn't enough for them.

So we should all start carrying these cards around. And the next time Chatty Cathy and Gabby Gabe continue to run their vocals in contexts that just need to end, you show them your bright yellow card with the such bold print titles as:

"You're Boring Me."

"No One is Listening."

or

"Shut the Fuck Up"

Of course in the case of the "Shut the Fuck Up" card it is possible you might offend them. However that can be easily remedied by flipping over the back where it reads....."Please".

The Passing of Truth

Here's a very short story I wrote once for a writing contest. I wish I could have told you I won, but I didn't. However, everyone that has read it, considers it to be a terrific read. Of course, I'm inclined to agree with them as many of the things I write, I enjoy.

What's interesting about my writing style is that I don't plan things that far out in advance, if any at all. I tend to write off the top of my head and somehow my brain always figures out a way to not only tie things together, but it dares to try something that I haven't done before.

I introduce to you:

The Passing of Truth

By S. Michael Cannon



She looked behind her once again before she pushed open the door. She knew she only had moments to search the office. In this time of conflict, a woman’s presence in this room would only douse oil on the existing fires of hell. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a handwritten note resting on the middle of the desk. It was the writing of her husband and it read, “For all things will be brought into judgment, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil. Today the World loses Truth. I, so falsely great, stand to let things pass.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she read the pain that was expressed by the man that kept her heart. Such a burden had been cast on him. He is only but a man, but in the presence of the people he was required to hold the face of a god. Such responsibility took a toll on him, and it was only she that saw his tears at night.

The shouting of the crowds in the courtroom were rising as more people came to witness the trial. The people have already made their decision. As were the ways of the law, they awaited the final condemning word of her husband, the presiding jurisdiction of this trial. She knew that she could not stand to allow such judgment to pass. There had to be something that could be done. Her husband was already seated at the judge’s seat overhearing the numerous accusations that were being thrown about. She believed all of them to be false. Her husband would have given her a concerning ear. But now that he was in the courtroom, it would be difficult seeing him. However, she knew of a way to send a message, thus her reason for being in this room.

Leaning over the desk she inscribed a note. Clutching the message of hope close to her chest, she hurried out the office. The hallway was completely empty as everyone was in the courtroom watching and participating in the trial. The sounds of the crowd intensified as her husband was heard defending the accused. The tension could be felt throughout the entire building. It was apparent that if the people did not get their demands met, a destructive insurrection would follow. Even in the face of many, one must maintain integrity. She saw the agony in her husband over the years as he slowly lost his soul to the people. Today it was going too far. She needed to help her husband win himself back to his own morality.

Turning the corner, she saw the side entrance of the courtroom. There were two armed guards standing in front of the doors. They stood motionless as they saw the woman stop before them.

In an elevated voice to be heard over the roaring masses she made her request, “Please make way as I have to deliver something to the Procurator.”

The two guards remained as statues as they stood their post.

“This is a matter of immediate importance,” she continued. “Please make way.”

She could hear her husband’s voice as he addressed the crowd with his opinions of the trial. He spoke with such outward confidence, but she knew him all to well. He was trembling on the inside. By the uproar of the crowd it was apparent that they detested his opinion of the matter.

She looked up at the guards with an attempted look of command in her eyes. “Do you not realize I am Claudia Procula? I command you to step aside and make way.”

One of the guards glanced down at her, and with a quick blink of the eye, he maintained his composure and continued to stare straight ahead. With her eyes now drown with tears; she collapsed to the floor in a manner unfitting for a woman of her stature. She clutched the legs of the guard, and as a natural reflex his hand moved towards his sheathed weapon.

“Listen to those crowds,” she cried. “They have gone mad. The consequences of their demands have not been thought out. I beg of you. Please see the morality within you. Understand what is about to take place on this hour. If I am not allowed in there, then please take this message to the Procurator.”

She rose and placed her written note in the hands of the guard. Once again his eyes looked down into hers, but this time he maintained eye contact. On the opposite side of the door, the words of the judge gave the crowd an ultimatum. A thunder rang through the crowd as they repetitively chanted their demands in opposition of the judge’s overt desires.

“Cannot you see?” she pleaded. “Now is the time. Enough people have already died. Please tell me what I need to tell you so that you may understand what has to be done.”

As if it was by a miracle from above, the guard slightly nodded. He motioned with his hand for her to remain where she stood. Turning about, he pushed open the door and the roars from the crowd escaped and overwhelmed Claudia. She trembled with the realization of what it was her husband was facing. As the door closed shut she dropped to her knees in prayer that the message would reach him in time.

The crowd demanded a final verdict to be rendered by the Procurator. All fell silent as they anxiously waited to hear what had to be said. “I am innocent of this man’s blood”, she heard her husband declare. “It is your responsibility. I surrender this man to your will.”

The crowd exploded with a mixture of cheers and jeers. At last they were given control of the situation, but however they found disfavor with a judge who could not take responsibility of his own. The doors in front of Claudia opened and Pontius Pilate stood before her. He was holding her message in his hands. The guards promptly closed the door after him. Rising from her prayer, she grasped her dear love and he buried his head into her shoulder to keep his face hidden while he wept. The message fell from his hands and onto the floor. It had read, “Don’t have anything to do with that innocent man, for I have suffered a great deal today in a dream because of him.”

The crowds outside content with the decision that had been made dragged Jesus the Christ away and crucified him.

Can You Believe This Shit?

We live in a world where everyone is afraid of something. Fear is a tremendous force that affects countless things. I just did a google search on "Fear drives" and it came with about 797,000 webpages. I also ran searches for "fear creates" and "fear causes" and came up with yet another 3 million or so pages.

I couldn't find a complete list of all known phobias, as I imagine there's thousands of new phobias that are being added every year. There's even a fear of fear itself.

But anyways, back to the topic at hand as foreshadowed by the title of this post. About ten minutes ago I took a shit. I know, I know...too much information. But whatever. It's my mind, if you don't like it, get out.

And as usual, I grunted at this annoying bodily function. So I initially set out to search on the internet to find a cure for shitting. Of course, I didn't find one. No big surprise there.

But I did stumble across soemthing that I found to be quite interesting. I literally said, "I don't believe this shit."

Defacaloesiophobia

Don't bother even asking me how to pronounce that one. I have no friggin' clue. Of course, now you're wondering what Defacaloesiophobia is. Well it's the fear of taking a painful shit. We all have those days when it feels like we crapping out our insides, and not one of us can ever say we enjoy it. But I had no idea people walked around in their lives scared to take a dump due to the possible agony that it might cause.

This phobia can get so bad that there is actually medication that can be prescribed to lossen up this crappy fear. If you thought I had a screw or to lose, then it's apparent you have never met a whacko stricken with Defacaloesiophobia.

If you just so happen to be a Defacaloesiophobiac, then have no fear. There is a cure for you. You can either:

• Kill yourself for being such a loon
  or
  
• Sign up for some online service that claims to rid you of this fear.

Hopefully you're not a Kathisophobiac. But if so, no need to worry just stay standing while you opt for the latter of the two options. I'm assuming of course you would pick the latter, especially if you're a Thanatophobia. However if you're a Cyberphobia, you're pretty much screwed. Well...not necessarily, you could always have a friend or relative sign you up then. Hopefully in this case you're a Chrometophobiac, cause then they might be more inclined to spend their money instead.

Happy Crapping!!

Unspoken Truth of a Deaf Mind

There's one thing that has been frustrating me. And three times it happened today. Western culture is overly sensitive and it limits one's ability to say what needs to be said. The interesting thing is that in some cases many words are spoken through body language and tone. Though some of us aren't in tuned as others, human nature as a whole is constantly trying to read what the other person actually is saying without saying. And dammit, I'm tired of it.

Today at Chi-chi's we had a horrible waitress. Allow me to address her:

It's not that you did anything extremely wrong, but what you were attempting to do right you just did it horribly. How often do I need to be asked if everything's okay? I don't mind being asked that once, maybe twice, but don't ask me everytime you step past my booth. And most certainly don't interrupt my current conversation to ask me without using common sense interjections such as, "Excuse me" or "Pardon". And of all things, don't ask me while you're in transit for the sake of asking. Cause even if I had something to say you would be long gone before I uttered my first word.

And after you give us the check, you suddenly cease the five minute check ups and disappear for 15 minutes with us waiting for you to pick up the credit card to pay. I just don't get it.

I wanted to tell you, "Look, you performed horribly as a waitress today and we were only one of two tables for you. I am inclined to not live you a tip whatsoever. Next time, pay attention to the circumstances. Don't interrupt so often. And don't ask me how I'm doing everytime I take a bite to eat or a sip to drink. Frankly, that's rude."

But what stopped me from telling her? Cause I know she would have been offended by it. No one can take critism constructively anymore. True enough, I don't know for sure how she would have reacted, but based on the idea I got of her persona I think she would of. Regardless, due to the oversensitivity of Americans as a whole, I was inclined to bite my tongue.

Just again this happened to me again when I was talking to my upline in financial management network I'm in. Now there's nothing wrong with the company and he shows no reflection to the company itself, but I don't think I can trust this guy. Why? Because of his attitude change towards me with no explanation and because of the fact that I think he was tempted to personally sponsor a lead of mine.

Now here's the bullshit of it. It's a bitch to call someone out on something when it's so easy to deny. Yet the tone of voice never lies. It never does. And truthfully speaking I wouldn't have thought anything of the matter if he first didn't mention that he had no intention of stealing a downline.

My mind jumped to the obvious question, "Why the heck would he say that outta the blue after telling me how he talked with my lead and is going to personally meet her."

And it wasn't the words, it was how he said it. And the fact he repeated it more than once.

But gosh darn I wish I could just speak my mind and say:

[Upline's name], I don't trust you. And I don't want to be in your direct organization anymore. I want to leave an join another group and I don't want you to think anything more of it than what it is. Something's fishy, and whatever reason you're clamped on the matter. Have a good day, just no where near me. Thank you.

One day. One day I'll say whatever it is that's on my mind. I just need to learn to avoid the typical bullshit social charade that so commonly goes along with it.

Bogus Boca

It's not a secret that I'm trying to eat healthier to knock off some of this excess fat that decided to call my body home. In doing so, my fiancee and I started buying these vegeterian burgers and other types of phony meat.

By itself, they don't taste that great, but when dressed up with all the typical burger fixings, the stuff isn't that half bad. So I suppose the vegans aren't suffering all that bad after all.

However, an idea struck me that was kinda interesting. Why ulimately deny yourself meat if it's what you crave? I mean that's why they have these artificial meat substitutes right? They acknowledge the fact they want and desire meat, but they are held up on the idea that they don't need to fully satisfy their own desires.

If you want to make a statement, why not just omit it all together. I mean I kinda relate it to swearing and censorship. What's the difference between saying, "God damn fucking asshole!" and "Gosh darn friggin a-hole!" Either way the same idea was conveyed. Your swearing while pretending that you're not swearing.

So isn't it the same with these phony burger eating vegans? Whether they are eating phony meat or real meat, aren't they saying it's okay to eat meat?

They do exist

There's the Easter Bunny.

And you have Santa Clause.

Of course, we can't forget the Tooth Fairy, or even that lovable flying baby Cupid.

But there's one mythical creature that I always thought to be just a figment of man's warped mentality. However I was recently proven wrong. And the thought that such a thing exists even baffles me as to how it can be in existance.

I'm sure you're sitting at the edge of your seat burning with desire as to what I could be referring to. Well, certainly you can't expect me to just come out and say it, can you?

If you have ever seen the movie, "Super Troopers", then you have heard of such a beast. It was in no reference to the actual existance of this vile animal, but rather it was used in the form of a prank.

The result of this prank led to one of the funniest quotes in the movie.

"License and registration, Chickenfucker!"

Chickenfucker. I know what you're thinking. I thought the same too. Can such a thing actually exist?

I searched everywhere from the crust of the Internet to it's meaty center, and my curiosity was caught off guard when I discovered........That they do exist.

• VALPARAISO -- After chicken feathers and blood were found all over a room at Valparaiso Motel on Monday, Valparaiso police were called to investigate. The room was found to have been rented Sunday night to Michael Bessigano, a 30-year-old Valparaiso man with a history of harming and having sex with animals. Police questioned Bessigano on Tuesday, and police said he admitted he had sex with a chicken.
  
  Bessigano was booked into Porter County Jail on a felony animal cruelty charge. Because this is the third crime against animals he's been charged with, he also is being charged as a habitual offender, said Chief Deputy Prosecutor Brian Gensel.
  
  He faces up to 7 1/2 years in prison if convicted of both charges.
  
  "He's got problems and hopefully he will be getting some help," said Valparaiso Detective Lt. Mike Brickner. "He has these urges that need to be addressed."
  
  Brickner said Bessigano stole a chicken Sunday from a chicken farm along Ind. 2, south of Valparaiso. He took the chicken to his motel room on U.S. 30, which he'd just rented that one night, and plucked its feathers so he could have sex with it, Brickner said.
  
  Bessigano then had sex with the animal and it died, Brickner said.
  
  Although Bessigano has been out of jail since January, police said this is his first run-in with the law this year.
  
  "There's no indication he's done this (animal abuse) recently prior to that night," Brickner said.
  
  The owner of the motel told police he had no idea Bessigano was a convicted animal abuser. Motel officials discovered the blood and feathers when they went to clean the room.
  
  Bessigano's animal abuse dates back to 1991 when he was arrested twice, once after being accused of breaking a rooster's neck and once after he was found in a neighbor's goose pen apparently attempting to molest the geese.
  
  He was also accused of having sex with and killing a Rottweiler dog at a rural Crown Point ranch in 1992. He was convicted of theft and cruelty to an animal, and was imprisoned until 1994.
  
  A month after his release, he was arrested in connection with the attempted theft of a German shepherd from some property in St. John Township. He was returned to prison, then was transferred to prison psychiatric care. He spent time behind bars after he was charged with biting a health care provider at Logansport's psychiatric unit in 1999.
  
  He was released on probation in January and had been living with a family member in Valparaiso.
  
  Bessigano has said he slept with dead animals, including a raccoon, when he was a child. While in jail, he would sleep under his cot, paint cat-like stripes on his body and make drawings referring to himself as "master of cats."
  
  
• LUSAKA (Reuters) - A 50-year-old Zambian man has hanged himself after his wife found him having sex with a hen, police said Friday.
  The woman caught him in the act when she rushed into their house to investigate a noise.
  
  "He attempted to kill her but she managed to escape," a police spokesman said.
  
  The man from the town of Chongwe, about 50 km (30 miles) east of Lusaka, killed himself after being admonished by other villagers.
  
  The hen was slaughtered after the incident.

Okay, I know, that was all gross. But heck, I don't make the news, I just report it. And in this case, I drop to my knees and thank the good Lord that I'm not making this news.

However, there are those that have actually made a legitmate business out of chicken fucking. I know, it sounds goofy right off the bat, but it truly is a legitimate enterprise.

• One of the world's most specialised careers would have to be chicken sexing. Melbourne man, Bob Martin, has spent sixty years studying and practising vent-sexing. His book, The Specialist Chicken Sexer is a fascinating documentation of this obscure but vital quest for technical accuracy.
  
  His book explains how poultry owners once waited until chicks were five to six weeks old before differentiating male from female. This became visible when adult feathers started appearing and cockerels (males) developed different feathers from pullets (hens). But for commercial egg producers it's important to keep the females and not feed males unnecessarily.
  
  In 1924 three Japanese scientists developed a technique for determining the sex of hatchlings investigating the chick's vent (rear end). In 1934 the first Japanese chicken sexers arrived in Australia to train locals in the new technique. Some Australians were trained but World War II intervened and the Japanese chicken sexers went home.
  
  Mr Martin's book describes the technique which involves close examination of the chicken's cloaca, which is a common external opening for the digestive, urinary and reproductive tract. The sexer looks for a degenerate penis which marks all males but also 15% females. The skill comes in determining the sex of this 15%. It sounds simple, but in fact requires great concentration, accuracy, long hours of training and practice examination.
  
  Two of Australia's top chicken sexers, Mr Harley Hall, one of the original chicken sexers trained by the Japanese in the early 1930s, and Mr Frank Evans, considered one of Australia's all-time top sexers, and able to sex 800 chicks an hour with 99% accuracy.
  
  The value to the industry and the skill required is recognised and Mr Martin said top sexers may earn $400-$700 a day plus expenses. A fair day's work could see 5000-7000 chicks sexed.

And to think, I used to say that promiscuous people fucked liked rabbits. I stand corrected.