On Exotic Dancing, Nazi’s, Small Arms and Manhood:

Thought for the Day:
I cannot call to mind a single instance where I have ever been irreverent, except toward the things which were sacred to other people. Mark Twain, "Is Shakespeare Dead?"



(Only ten shopping days until St. Patrick’s Day and yes I do accept gift cards)

News from Homefront:

My Loving and ever so svelte wife informed me this morning that she would not be home at her appointed time. She has to entertain a group of boy scouts at the “57th Annual Father-Son Smoker and Casino Night”.

I would guess that’s why she shaved her legs, since it’s not the 3rd Monday of the month and all. She assures me that every lad and dad will be earning their merit badges, provided they are fans of the performing arts and have folding money.


I was raised not to trust the cub scouts or the boy scouts. As some of you know my wise and loving parents considered them fascist organizations. Organizations whose only purpose was to indoctrinate tender young minds into worker bees for use of the leadership cabal of the military industrial complex. Why else would they force the little “wolf-packs/dens” into wearing uniforms and reciting oaths.


While my childhood peers were earning badges in knot tying and canoeing, I was under the tutelage of my father the slightly eccentric Vietnam Vet, learning skills such as how to make a shank, common household cleaning items that when combined form high explosives and my favorite "101 Ways to Kill a Man" (Parts both A and B). While I have found those skills learned in youth useful at times, I doubt that I will teach them to my child should I be so blessed.


The skills I would like to impart on my son would be things more useful, such as how to make the perfect Mint Julep, Gin and Tonic and Bloody Mary. How to order in French, even if it is McDonalds, how to think for himself, tie a tie, pack a good bowl of tobacco in a fine pipe and how to both take a punch and give one. Skills that I have found most useful.

Today’s Bill:
SONNET 2
When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

Quote of the Day:
The surest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently.
Friedrich Nietzsche, The Dawn, Sec. 297

I remain, the prettiest boy in the whole class:

JQP esq.