OK, Some Ground Rules (For The Simpletons)

I've spent the last couple of days sort of simmering about this--that is, my feeling that this blog is the victim of a fucking hijacking, for no good reason at all.

I still can't bear to delete the comments of dman and hippie and freakin' beardking, as offensive as they are to me. So if you're dman or hippie or beardking, know that I value your input, no matter how insane it is, and I'm not small minded enough to just delete your shit. Although I should.

That said, let me remind you that this isn't a John Birch Society Chat Room. It's not anyone's chat room, really. The whole reason I put comments on this motherfucker to begin with is so that I can gather input on what I write...so a three or four post comment on whatever it is that you want to talk about doesn't, uh, please me.

So, you've got the right to your opinions, and I'll do my best to avoid deleting them (as much as you raise my blood pressure by writing that, um, those words)...but if you want to post a thousand word screed on anything, start your own freakin' blog and link to it. I'm an eclectic son of a bitch--if you take an interest in the crap I write, I'll link to you, especially if you want to rant about my shit.

But really, kids. Eating up my comment space defending yourself, no matter how justified a defense you might think it is, is indefensible. It's just not an appropriate forum. Period. When I boil it down to remove all the hair and other extraneous bullshit, it comes out looking like this:

Get Your Own Blog

I can't say that I love you, kids. At least some of you. I can't say that I care too much about you, either--not because I feel like I'm some sort of blogstar or whatever, but just because I've emptied out my compassion and patience reservoirs over the last few months, for good and bad reasons...but really, sirs and ladies, what the fucking holy Jesus Christ on a stick do I owe any of you, at least w/r/t this blog? Not a damn thing, other than my own self imposed madness concerning telling you stories about my own life.

So, to get to the specifics, fuck you. Fuck you, you idiots that can't imagine anything beyond your next paycheck. Fuck you, you bitches who can't understand anything beyond the driving of an SUV from work, to Wal Mart, and home. Fuck you, you dipshits who don't understand that it's only yours inasmuch as you bought it and there are more important ties in the real world than a goddamn bill of sale, or treaty. There are things that supersede pens and paper and the agreements that treacherous bastards in Washington think are best. It's nothing==The feel of earth in your hands, the feeling of having dirt on your hands, and knowing it's your soil, your land, your life....

The IRA. Steinbeck, and anarchists and labor organizers and the motherfuckerst that truly understand what it takes to live a life on this planet, a life without getting kicked in the face by The Man, a life without getting bled dry by some asshole on welfare...

OK, I can ramble for days about what is good....but I've got someone already here to help load, and I've got another surprise visitor who doesn't know he's being suckered into helping load, so I must go and snaggle my snares. Extra good, since I've now found a second G and T that needed to be made.

Apologies to some of you for the bombast...but, remember, I've made rules:

1) no comment shall exceed one post in length. Period. Not hard, unless you have an agenda, which I'm not about. This is MY agenda, after all.

2) I continue to reserve the right to delete comments (although I haven't) that raise my blood pressure. For better or worse, I'm good at ignoring things, so I'll let this last...er...bit of ugliness....slide through the cracks..

Further digestion of the rules:

1) and only 1) no posting above one comment's worth. Period. I delete above that.

Selah.