The Trouble with Boys

The title of this post also happens to be the title of a very good book by journalist Peg Tyre. To save all of you busy people out there the trouble of reading this book, I will write a comparatively short synopsis.

Essentially, the book describes how the women's rights movement has made it so that schools teach girl friendly curriculum. Before I go any further, let me just say that I have no problem with women's rights activists. Being a minority myself, I understand their struggle to get fair and equal education in school for their daughters.

Now that I'm through with that little sidebar, I will continue. I'm sure that all of my readers have seen the graphs detailing how girls are enrolling more in college than boys. If not, here is a graph detailing this trend.

Please, feminists, hold up your attacks for a minute. Some of you out there must have sons in school and this must worry you at least a little bit. If it doesn't, then you're horrible f*cking parents and don't deserve to have little boys under your command. For those of you who are worried, you are worried with good cause, and you're not the only ones. Ms. Tyre is worried with you.

The main question of the book is, "How can we fix this problem without upsetting all of the feminists who worked so hard to get our dauthers equality in schools, who worked so hard to make sure that more than 50% of girls enrolled in college?"

The answer is not so simple. The book first of all points out that boys and girls learn differently. OK, we can live with that. Boys are usually more active and enjoy and get more out of hands-on learning. Girls, however, learn more with book-learning, and are less active. The book says that even if girls are bored with a particular lesson, they are more likely than a boy to just sit there and force themselves to absorb it. This is true.

And Ms. Tyre believes that schools send a negative message to boys about reading. "Boys predominantly choose books that are funny and vulgar. They think The Adventures of Captain Underpants is the funniest thing on earth. They don't want to read Little House on the Prairie! But if they bring Captain Underpants or Captain Marvel to school, many teachers will tell them those aren't classroom books. So they learn that what they like to read isn't acceptable at school. That's a negative message that sets a lot of boys back.The same goes for writing. Boys tend to write for other boys—things that are dark, funny, and gory—whereas girls tend to write for the teacher. Boys don't want to write personal narratives; they want to write about Star Wars, and teachers might not approve of that, so we're creating nonreaders and nonwriters."

About early education she says, "Over the last 10 years, parents have bought into this idea that children are receptive to academic learning at a very young age. But there's good research that says that's really bad for a lot of boys, who aren't developmentally ready yet—their fine motor skills and vocabulary develop later than girls', and they have a harder time sitting still. We think if we give them French and violin lessons early, we can plant the seeds of genius. But it doesn't work that way."

Now, can we change this uneven academic playing field, which, for the first time in hundreds of years, is slanted in the favor of girls? To quote Barack Obama, "Yes we can."

But how should we approach this problem without disenfranchising the millions of girls who have had their mothers, grandmothers, sisters, aunts, cousins and sometimes male relatives, work so hard to get them to this spot? First of all, the book says that we can instill a love of learning in boys just by hiring male teachers, or having male role models come into school and show the boys the value of education. This doesn't hurt girls, and it will get boys to see education as a valuable tool to become a police officer or a fire fighter or whatever.

If this should fail, then Ms. Tyre also advocates single sex schools. She tells the story of an all boys school in New York, which, among other problems, had a crew of feminists attacking it for being sexually discriminatory. The school was assaulted with discrimination lawsuits and shut down within five years.

She then tells the story of an all-girls school where the principal, an ardent feminist, sued the City of New York and got a verdict that allowed the school to remain open as long as the facilities remained equal. This prompted a New York branch of the 100 Black Men organization to open an all boys school of their own. The boys at this school are well dressed, well spoken and getting a college preparatory education. However, these boys have problems that carry over from their elementary and middle schools. Many of them are averse to learning, believing that being educated is a sign of weakness. Due to this belief, many of them are below grade level in reading, but the organization will not give up on this school.

So, what shall we do, then? What is the proper course of action to make sure that our sons can go to college so that they will have a fighting chance in the corporate world? What steps can we take to ensure that our daughters do not fall behind in this mad rush to narrow the gender gap?

Because the last thing we need is to hinder the progress of our daughters to bring it to an equal level with our sons and call it "success."

Congratuations, Barack Obama

First things first.
Well, Barack, here is your belated congratuations from myself. I know that this race was hard for you and I am very glad that you've won. But now, everything will get harder. You are the President Elect of the United States of America, (as if you didn't know that already) and come January 20, the real work begins.

You are taking control of a country that has lost a lot. It has lost much of the respect of many other countries. It has lost many young lives in a pointless and seemingly endless war, and it has lost many jobs due to outsourcing by companies that only care about the bottom line. This country, while it still may be the "greatest country in the world," is for the first time in fifty years facing competion for that highly coveted position.

You ran on a platform of change, Change We Can Believe In, was your slogan. We have no doubt that you will change things. But is it drastic change or subtle change? Is it change for the better or change for the worse? We will soon find out.

You have won the highest office in the land, Mr. Obama. You are, as they say, the leader of the free world. So what how will you use your power? Will you be a great and memorable President, like FDR or Lincoln? Will you be a forgetable President, like Buchanon, or Taylor? Will you be a scapegoat President, like Hoover, or a truly horrible President, like Johnson. It's all up to you. You have a great legacy to live up to and very big shoes to fill. Let's hope you're up to the challenge.

W: A Movie About Our 43rd President

On Saturday, I went to see the movie W. by Oliver Stone. Som2e people probably think that it's way too soon to make a movie about the possibly most, for lack of a better word, disliked man in modern times, but I think that it came out at the perfet time, with the elections coming up on Tuesday. (Does anybody else feel like just yesterday it was just Super Tuesday?) So, anyway, the movie was really good. It depicted Bush as a guy who was just trying to enjoy himself and live up to the expectations of his father. I mean, it really made you pity him. (And I pitied the bastard already, because during his administration, the world pretty much went to sh*t through no fault of his own. Then it got f*cked even harder because he made sh*tty decisions.)

So, anyway, all of you should go and see the movie. If you hate the *sshole, then go see it, because hate ain't good. If you love him, then go see it, because you were probably going to see it anyway. And if you care neither one way nor the other, then go see that sh*t right f*cking now. It gives you some insight into why the world is sh*t and why the issues that Obama and McCain are arguing over are important. And on Tuesday, the next four years will be decided, so you should give a damn about what's going on. See the movie. It can't hurt. And if it does, it's not my fault.

Letter to the Presidential Candidates

Candidates;

First of all, congratulations to both of you for getting this far. I applaud your audacity and perseverance.

Now, you both market yourselves as agents of change, and yet, I have noticed a lot of old politic, such as fingerpointing and saying, "I will do such-and-such. Look at his record. He did this bad thing and earmarked and voted to raise taxes."

Look, you guys are saying pretty much the same thing. And I'm looking at your websites right now and they look almost exactly alike, although Barack's looks cooler with the lighter shade of blue. But that's not the point I wanted to make.

Your jobs are to help the American people, to represent their views and wants and needs. I watched the debate last night and you two talking about your policies. (by the way you should both apologize to Tom Brokaw. The poor man was just trying to do his job and you talked over him and ignored his cues to stop, just so you could press your own agendas, which I'll get back to. You spent at least five minutes on questions ANY OTHER HUMAN BEING ON THE PLANET could have answered in one.) Your views were so similar, just blame the other guy. Barack even took up John's free tax credit spiel. This campaign is no longer about the issues, it's about personality. Who is more likable, more cool, more electable.

I mean, yes, personality plays a part, as does reputation, but no one should want to have a reputation as the guy who slings mud until there is no more mud to sling, at which point, he slings rocks and trash. If someone tells the press that you have cheated on your wife, take a lesson from Grover Cleveland and David Paterson: Tell the truth. Mark Twain said it best:
"If you tell the truth, then you don't have to remember anything." Lies will catch up with you. They will trip you up and make you stumble and have you falling and getting your stories mixed up. Tell the truth about your records. If you voted a certain way, say, "Yes, I did vote for that bill," instead of lying or ignoring the question. The voters will respect you more in the long run.

Candidates, what I am saying here is common sense. It's not that hard to understand or comprehend. Try to take my advice. It will be better for the country, and for your reputations if you do.

-Solomon

Deal with it

OK, I know that I have been gone a while, and I know that usually, after an absence of this caliber, I would write a soppy post apologizing for my absence. However, I've decided to stop. I have a f*cking life. I am doing this because I f*cking want to. (Also, nobody reads this, but that's something else.) If I don't post for a week, or a month,or a f*cking YEAR, it's my own f*cking business. Besides, anyone out there who reads this does not complain, so I don't care. Yeah, take that.

The Political Process

OK, first of all, does anyone really understand the electoral college? Wikipedia, one of my three main sources of information, did not simplify it for me, but instead, made it harder for me to understand.

I realize that in the times of our forefathers, however they voted, it was impractical to record who all of the colonists may have voted for, but in this age of technology, we should be able to count who may have voted for whom. Then, everyone's vote will really count. I mean, more than it does now, where everyone's votes are counted by district or whatever. I don't get it. Please, please, explain this dumb sh*t to me.

And before you say anything, I know about the popular vote. And that's what I'm saying, election winners and losers should be picked by the popular vote, as opposed to the thing that they have now, which I do not understand.

Concerning my Repeated Absences as well as the Candidacy of Barack Obama

Once again, I must apologize for my absence. I have been very busy this past month, what with moving, my family reunion and my job starting again. However, I know I've said it before but this time I will really try to blog regularly.

Now, I have been thinking about what I should blog about, and since I have already criticized the Bible for being out of touch and contradictory, I should write about the 2008 Presidential election.

Hmmm...

The Bible and John McCain have a lot in common. Is that by design or accident?

Anyway, John McCain is running against Barack Obama, as you should know unless you've been hiding under a rock for the past 19 months, and Barack's amazing lead, where everybody in America seemed to be for him has whittled down to him being a few points ahead by most estimates. However, the Democrats think that they can beat McCain by 50 or so electoral points. It's so nice that they can remain upbeat, despite their having lost the majority of the last few elections. However, this view of things fails to take into account 1 thing.

Most Americans have neighbors who would not vote for Barack Obama. "Yes, of course, we're progressive, we'll vote for him, we want to see an end to Republicans in the White House. It's just that, well, Mr. and Mrs. Jones over there, they might not want to. Why? Well, it's because, (and mind you, I'm only voicing their opinion, I'm 120% for him, raised funds and everything) it's because, well, I guess it might POSSIBLY have something to do with the fact that he's . . . black." This is of course followed by a nod, a wink and then both people chuckle at racist old Mr. and Mrs. Jones. How could they be racist? This is the 21st century, for heaven's sake!

But this isn't just one isolated incident. This kind of thing is happening everywhere. And guess what happens when everyone's neighbors go off and vote for the white guy? The black guy loses.

But don't think that I'm not for Barack Obama because I don't expect him to win. I'll vote for him, my whole family will! It's just that, well, my neighbors . . .

Ashamed

So here I am, on my computer every single day, for at least an hour, my blog is fourth on my list of startup tabs and every single day I log on my computer, look at my blog and say, "I'm going to post something. It's not like I have a lack of material to post. Oh no! I just read some of "Lies my Teacher Told Me" and in one chapter I found a whole lot of sh*t I could write about. Boomers! Remember this picture? And this one? Yeah, these were in there. So I could write about these, but I won't.


And so TODAY I open the tab and I say to myself, "Look, you've been NEGLECTING your blog for a week." But I don't post yet. I check out some of the blogs that I like and I see that THEY'VE been posting pretty frequently. So now I gotta live up to them in my mind and post some sh*t.

. . .



I am such a bad blogger.



HOWEVER, I am now back! I will f*cking post like crazy for as long as possible until I become otherwise engaged.

Why Going Organinc is Ultimately Bad for the Environment (Hint: Not Everyone Will Do It)

People tell me almost every single f*cking day how they either went green and organic and feel so much better and healthier and longer-livingish, or how I should go green and eat only organic sh*t because you need to offset your f*cking carbon footprint and live for the next seven generations. (In case you didn't catch that, that was a blatant product placement for Seventh Generation sprays and soaps and all their sh*t. They work really f*cking well and smell good.) Now I'm all for the next seven generations, but I could care less about eating organic sh*t and going green and all that sh*t and let me tell you why. (Just in case after this introduction you thought I was going to start talking about my non-existant pets)

First of all, it appears to me like the people that give the biggest sh*t about going green are rich, yuppie, white people. I'm not white so I have every right to say this. Those yuppie upper-middle class white folks are all like, "Oh Sharon, oh Maurice, let's go plant a f*cking garden with our money that we got by our politically correct scamming of those poor negroe hos. We say 'negroe' with an 'e' so it's all right. Then let's go turn on our fluorescent lightbulbs so we can read our recycled paper books by Al Gore in our environmentally friendly sitting room. Then we can go to Whole Foods and buy their really f*cking expensive produce and poultry but no beef because it sits in our stomach. Then lets go home and cook on our environmentally friendly stove in our kitchen. Then we'll go to sleep in our 100% recycled cotton bed that we got from Russia on our rowboat trip their. We went by rowboat to save gas!" How many people have the time, inclination and resources to live such a life? Certainly not most of the people in the world. Yeah, maybe some guy out there, like those rich Indian dudes and Bill Gates, but certainly not most of the people in the world. Not everybody has the resources to install pressurized air faucets to save water. (But if we could . . .)

So, anyway, because the richer people are not buying from PathMark and ShopRite and Costco and all those other places, those places are forced to drive their prices UP. Because of this, the regular folks have to drive farther and farther away to get a bargain so they can stay below budget. Because the distance they drive increases, they use more gas, forcing them to buy more, limiting the food portion of their budget, forcing them to really hunt for bargains. We all know gas is bad for the environment as well, that goes without saying. Oh yes, and because plants absorb carbon dioxide and replace it with oxygen, slowly reversing global warming, as Carlos Mencia said, "You people are eating the solution!!!" Oh, and I almost forgot. Where do bicycles come from? Most likely, your bike came from some coal smoke spewing factory in Malaysia or China, was tranported here by an ancient steamer, crossed the country by a diesel tractor trailer and took the longest way possible to get here. Suck on THAT, you environmentalist, "I'm so hot because I bike every-f*cking-where!!!" dicks!!!!!

BTW, I could put some sh*t about how hybrids hurt too, but I don't want to crush your spirits TOO badly. I want you to SQUIRM.

So, in summation, rich vegans and vegetarians are BAD for the f*cking environment. Just eat meat and drive cars like the rest of us, you F*CKING B*ST*RDS!!!

Badadadadah, I'm playin' it!

OK, I was surfing the internet one day and on a whim, I typed in "mcdonalds game." I clicked on this link and found this game. In it you play some sort of McDonald's demigod (Alert: If you see the words "game" and "god" in the same sentence, it does not mean that you will be able to throw random people around and end their lives). So I began to play it and it is really freaking HARD! I have not lasted 10 years on it yet. And I am now hopelessly addicted to it. Play at your own risk.

101 Books I Think Everybody Should Read! Cut off at 32

This is a list I've been working on, of all the books I think everyone should read. My goal is to reach 100 books, and possibly make the list into a book, at which point, I will add the title of the book to the list, ostensibly making it 101 books I think everyone should read. If there is a book you think should go on here that isn't here, comment with the title and author, or send me an e-mail. Books will not be put on the list if they have no underlying message or theme (such as Moby Dick, whose theme is obsession.) Also, please don't just send titles of books just because you like them. If that was all that was needed for inclusion, then I'd have a list of 1001 books I really, really love.

But that's enough of my idiosyncratic jabber. Without further ado, I give you: 100 (& 1) Books I Think Everyone Should Read! (cut off at 32).

1. Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand
2. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
3. 1984 by George Orwell
4. The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster
5. The Bible by God
6. The Torah by Yahweh
7. The Koran by Allah
8. Moby Dick by Herman Melville
9. As You Like It by William Shakespeare
10. All’s Well That Ends Well by William Shakespeare
11. The Killing Joke by Alan Moore, Brian Bolland and John Higgins
12. Infinite Crisis by Geoff Johns and Phil Jimenez
13. Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
14. Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi
15. The Alchemist by Paolo Coehlo
16. Everything Bad is Good for You by Steven Johnson
17. Freakonomics by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner
18. Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
19. Webster’s Dictionary
20. Roget’s Thesaurus
21. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams
22. Mein Kampf by Adolf Hitler
23. Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe
24. War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells
25. The Last Safe Place on Earth
26. A Tale of Two Cities Charles Dickens
27. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson
28. Dante’s Inferno by Dante
29. Your Computer Manual by Your Computer Company
30. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
31. White Fang by Jack London
32. A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess

Part 5 of the Sixth Degree

Previously on the Sixth Degree:
David Schultz-Lancaster was called to his doctor's appointment by an attractive married nurse. Not very important detail. Daniela Martinez turned on her computer and drummed her fingers impatiently as she waited for it to warm up. Maybe I should buy a new computer, she thought as she ruefully eyed her six year-old desktop. ’Course, the kids gotta come first, as the sound of three year-old playing tag wafted in through the open window of her study. It wasn’t really a study, more of a closet, down to the shelf a foot above her head. And the window wasn’t really a window, more of a hole cut in the wall with a hacksaw by an ex-boyfriend, coerced into doing it by the act that had produced the three kids playing outside.
The computer booted up and Daniela wasted no time in going onto the long-distance schooling website, where she logged in and started her math lesson. I know it’s not the best way to get an education, she thought, but it’s all I got.
The door of her study banged open. Her oldest son, Samson, stood in the entrance. The thirteen year old boy had always been the child that had given her the most grief, and now she was afraid that he would get caught up in this nonsense with the Bloods and the Crips.
“Moms, I’m goin’ out.”
“Where?”
“To Mr. Houston’s house. I still have that job mowing his lawn for the rest of the month.”
Daniela glanced at the clock on her computer. “Okay, but you gotta be back by five.”
“A’ight. See ya.”
He left the door open on the way out.


“Oh, David.”
The nurse gasped as he went up the back of her shirt and began to unfasten her bra. She hooked her right leg around his left and he bumped against a mop as she writhed in his arms.
Having undone the bra, he flung it away put the hand in her hair. Then he began to unbutton her shirt with his other hand.
“David.” The nurse moaned again, and he heard footsteps in the hall outside. He shushed her and waited for the footsteps to pass. They did not. As they neared the closet where David and the nurse were, they slowed and stopped outside.
David began to worry. Maybe the person the footsteps belonged to was just lost and trying to find his way, or maybe he had received a call and was digging in his pocket for his phone, or – Maybe not. The door swung open and slammed into the wall with enough force to rattle the various bottles of cleaning fluid strewn around the cramped space. In the open doorway was a stocky, red-faced man who seemed to take some offense at David being with the nurse.

The Funniest List I Have Ever Read. (Ever).

OK, I was surfing the internet and I found a list of what villains should never, EVER do. Here it is:

This Evil Overlord List is Copyright 1996-1997 by Peter Anspach. If you enjoy it, feel free to pass it along or post it anywhere, provided that (1) it is not altered in any way, and (2) this copyright notice is attached.

Being an Evil Overlord seems to be a good career choice. It pays well, there are all sorts of perks and you can set your own hours. However every Evil Overlord I've read about in books or seen in movies invariably gets overthrown and destroyed in the end. I've noticed that no matter whether they are barbarian lords, deranged wizards, mad scientists or alien invaders, they always seem to make the same basic mistakes every single time. With that in mind, allow me to present...
The Top 100 Things I'd Do If I Ever Became An Evil Overlord
My Legions of Terror will have helmets with clear plexiglass visors, not face-concealing ones.
My ventilation ducts will be too small to crawl through.
My noble half-brother whose throne I usurped will be killed, not kept anonymously imprisoned in a forgotten cell of my dungeon.
Shooting is not too good for my enemies.
The artifact which is the source of my power will not be kept on the Mountain of Despair beyond the River of Fire guarded by the Dragons of Eternity. It will be in my safe-deposit box. The same applies to the object which is my one weakness.
I will not gloat over my enemies' predicament before killing them.
When I've captured my adversary and he says, "Look, before you kill me, will you at least tell me what this is all about?" I'll say, "No." and shoot him. No, on second thought I'll shoot him then say "No."
After I kidnap the beautiful princess, we will be married immediately in a quiet civil ceremony, not a lavish spectacle in three weeks' time during which the final phase of my plan will be carried out.
I will not include a self-destruct mechanism unless absolutely necessary. If it is necessary, it will not be a large red button labelled "Danger: Do Not Push". The big red button marked "Do Not Push" will instead trigger a spray of bullets on anyone stupid enough to disregard it. Similarly, the ON/OFF switch will not clearly be labelled as such.
I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum -- a small hotel well outside my borders will work just as well.
I will be secure in my superiority. Therefore, I will feel no need to prove it by leaving clues in the form of riddles or leaving my weaker enemies alive to show they pose no threat.
One of my advisors will be an average five-year-old child. Any flaws in my plan that he is able to spot will be corrected before implementation.
All slain enemies will be cremated, or at least have several rounds of ammunition emptied into them, not left for dead at the bottom of the cliff. The announcement of their deaths, as well as any accompanying celebration, will be deferred until after the aforementioned disposal.
The hero is not entitled to a last kiss, a last cigarette, or any other form of last request.
I will never employ any device with a digital countdown. If I find that such a device is absolutely unavoidable, I will set it to activate when the counter reaches 117 and the hero is just putting his plan into operation.
I will never utter the sentence "But before I kill you, there's just one thing I want to know."
When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice.
I will not have a son. Although his laughably under-planned attempt to usurp power would easily fail, it would provide a fatal distraction at a crucial point in time.
I will not have a daughter. She would be as beautiful as she was evil, but one look at the hero's rugged countenance and she'd betray her own father.
Despite its proven stress-relieving effect, I will not indulge in maniacal laughter. When so occupied, it's too easy to miss unexpected developments that a more attentive individual could adjust to accordingly.
I will hire a talented fashion designer to create original uniforms for my Legions of Terror, as opposed to some cheap knock-offs that make them look like Nazi stormtroopers, Roman footsoldiers, or savage Mongol hordes. All were eventually defeated and I want my troops to have a more positive mind-set.
No matter how tempted I am with the prospect of unlimited power, I will not consume any energy field bigger than my head.
I will keep a special cache of low-tech weapons and train my troops in their use. That way -- even if the heroes manage to neutralize my power generator and/or render the standard-issue energy weapons useless -- my troops will not be overrun by a handful of savages armed with spears and rocks.
I will maintain a realistic assessment of my strengths and weaknesses. Even though this takes some of the fun out of the job, at least I will never utter the line "No, this cannot be! I AM INVINCIBLE!!!" (After that, death is usually instantaneous.)
No matter how well it would perform, I will never construct any sort of machinery which is completely indestructible except for one small and virtually inaccessible vulnerable spot.
No matter how attractive certain members of the rebellion are, there is probably someone just as attractive who is not desperate to kill me. Therefore, I will think twice before ordering a prisoner sent to my bedchamber.
I will never build only one of anything important. All important systems will have redundant control panels and power supplies. For the same reason I will always carry at least two fully loaded weapons at all times.
My pet monster will be kept in a secure cage from which it cannot escape and into which I could not accidentally stumble.
I will dress in bright and cheery colors, and so throw my enemies into confusion.
All bumbling conjurers, clumsy squires, no-talent bards, and cowardly thieves in the land will be preemptively put to death. My foes will surely give up and abandon their quest if they have no source of comic relief.
All naive, busty tavern wenches in my realm will be replaced with surly, world-weary waitresses who will provide no unexpected reinforcement and/or romantic subplot for the hero or his sidekick.
I will not fly into a rage and kill a messenger who brings me bad news just to illustrate how evil I really am. Good messengers are hard to come by.
I won't require high-ranking female members of my organization to wear a stainless-steel bustier. Morale is better with a more casual dress-code. Similarly, outfits made entirely from black leather will be reserved for formal occasions.
I will not turn into a snake. It never helps.
I will not grow a goatee. In the old days they made you look diabolic. Now they just make you look like a disaffected member of Generation X.
I will not imprison members of the same party in the same cell block, let alone the same cell. If they are important prisoners, I will keep the only key to the cell door on my person instead of handing out copies to every bottom-rung guard in the prison.
If my trusted lieutenant tells me my Legions of Terror are losing a battle, I will believe him. After all, he's my trusted lieutenant.
If an enemy I have just killed has a younger sibling or offspring anywhere, I will find them and have them killed immediately, instead of waiting for them to grow up harboring feelings of vengeance towards me in my old age.
If I absolutely must ride into battle, I will certainly not ride at the forefront of my Legions of Terror, nor will I seek out my opposite number among his army.
I will be neither chivalrous nor sporting. If I have an unstoppable superweapon, I will use it as early and as often as possible instead of keeping it in reserve.
Once my power is secure, I will destroy all those pesky time-travel devices.
When I capture the hero, I will make sure I also get his dog, monkey, ferret, or whatever sickeningly cute little animal capable of untying ropes and filching keys happens to follow him around.
I will maintain a healthy amount of skepticism when I capture the beautiful rebel and she claims she is attracted to my power and good looks and will gladly betray her companions if I just let her in on my plans.
I will only employ bounty hunters who work for money. Those who work for the pleasure of the hunt tend to do dumb things like even the odds to give the other guy a sporting chance.
I will make sure I have a clear understanding of who is responsible for what in my organization. For example, if my general screws up I will not draw my weapon, point it at him, say "And here is the price for failure," then suddenly turn and kill some random underling.
If an advisor says to me "My liege, he is but one man. What can one man possibly do?", I will reply "This." and kill the advisor.
If I learn that a callow youth has begun a quest to destroy me, I will slay him while he is still a callow youth instead of waiting for him to mature.
I will treat any beast which I control through magic or technology with respect and kindness. Thus if the control is ever broken, it will not immediately come after me for revenge.
If I learn the whereabouts of the one artifact which can destroy me, I will not send all my troops out to seize it. Instead I will send them out to seize something else and quietly put a Want-Ad in the local paper.
My main computers will have their own special operating system that will be completely incompatible with standard IBM and Macintosh powerbooks.
If one of my dungeon guards begins expressing concern over the conditions in the beautiful princess' cell, I will immediately transfer him to a less people-oriented position.
I will hire a team of board-certified architects and surveyors to examine my castle and inform me of any secret passages and abandoned tunnels that I might not know about.
If the beautiful princess that I capture says "I'll never marry you! Never, do you hear me, NEVER!!!", I will say "Oh well" and kill her.
I will not strike a bargain with a demonic being then attempt to double-cross it simply because I feel like being contrary.
The deformed mutants and odd-ball psychotics will have their place in my Legions of Terror. However before I send them out on important covert missions that require tact and subtlety, I will first see if there is anyone else equally qualified who would attract less attention.
My Legions of Terror will be trained in basic marksmanship. Any who cannot learn to hit a man-sized target at 10 meters will be used for target practice.
Before employing any captured artifacts or machinery, I will carefully read the owner's manual.
If it becomes necessary to escape, I will never stop to pose dramatically and toss off a one-liner.
I will never build a sentient computer smarter than I am.
My five-year-old child advisor will also be asked to decipher any code I am thinking of using. If he breaks the code in under 30 seconds, it will not be used. Note: this also applies to passwords.
If my advisors ask "Why are you risking everything on such a mad scheme?", I will not proceed until I have a response that satisfies them.
I will design fortress hallways with no alcoves or protruding structural supports which intruders could use for cover in a firefight.
Bulk trash will be disposed of in incinerators, not compactors. And they will be kept hot, with none of that nonsense about flames going through accessible tunnels at predictable intervals.
I will see a competent psychiatrist and get cured of all extremely unusual phobias and bizarre compulsive habits which could prove to be a disadvantage.
If I must have computer systems with publically available terminals, the maps they display of my complex will have a room clearly marked as the Main Control Room. That room will be the Execution Chamber. The actual main control room will be marked as Sewage Overflow Containment.
My security keypad will actually be a fingerprint scanner. Anyone who watches someone press a sequence of buttons or dusts the pad for fingerprints then subsequently tries to enter by repeating that sequence will trigger the alarm system.
No matter how many shorts we have in the system, my guards will be instructed to treat every surveillance camera malfunction as a full-scale emergency.
I will spare someone who saved my life sometime in the past. This is only reasonable as it encourages others to do so. However, the offer is good one time only. If they want me to spare them again, they'd better save my life again.
All midwives will be banned from the realm. All babies will be delivered at state-approved hospitals. Orphans will be placed in foster-homes, not abandoned in the woods to be raised by creatures of the wild.
When my guards split up to search for intruders, they will always travel in groups of at least two. They will be trained so that if one of them disappears mysteriously while on patrol, the other will immediately initiate an alert and call for backup, instead of quizzically peering around a corner.
If I decide to test a lieutenant's loyalty and see if he/she should be made a trusted lieutenant, I will have a crack squad of marksmen standing by in case the answer is no.
If all the heroes are standing together around a strange device and begin to taunt me, I will pull out a conventional weapon instead of using my unstoppable superweapon on them.
I will not agree to let the heroes go free if they win a rigged contest, even though my advisors assure me it is impossible for them to win.
When I create a multimedia presentation of my plan designed so that my five-year-old advisor can easily understand the details, I will not label the disk "Project Overlord" and leave it lying on top of my desk.
I will instruct my Legions of Terror to attack the hero en masse, instead of standing around waiting while members break off and attack one or two at a time.
If the hero runs up to my roof, I will not run up after him and struggle with him in an attempt to push him over the edge. I will also not engage him at the edge of a cliff. (In the middle of a rope-bridge over a river of molten lava is not even worth considering.)
If I have a fit of temporary insanity and decide to give the hero the chance to reject a job as my trusted lieutentant, I will retain enough sanity to wait until my current trusted lieutenant is out of earshot before making the offer.
I will not tell my Legions of Terror "And he must be taken alive!" The command will be "And try to take him alive if it is reasonably practical."
If my doomsday device happens to come with a reverse switch, as soon as it has been employed it will be melted down and made into limited-edition commemorative coins.
If my weakest troops fail to eliminate a hero, I will send out my best troops instead of wasting time with progressively stronger ones as he gets closer and closer to my fortress.
If I am fighting with the hero atop a moving platform, have disarmed him, and am about to finish him off and he glances behind me and drops flat, I too will drop flat instead of quizzically turning around to find out what he saw.
I will not shoot at any of my enemies if they are standing in front of the crucial support beam to a heavy, dangerous, unbalanced structure.
If I'm eating dinner with the hero, put poison in his goblet, then have to leave the table for any reason, I will order new drinks for both of us instead of trying to decide whether or not to switch with him.
I will not have captives of one sex guarded by members of the opposite sex.
I will not use any plan in which the final step is horribly complicated, e.g. "Align the 12 Stones of Power on the sacred altar then activate the medallion at the moment of total eclipse." Instead it will be more along the lines of "Push the button."
I will make sure that my doomsday device is up to code and properly grounded.
My vats of hazardous chemicals will be covered when not in use. Also, I will not construct walkways above them.
If a group of henchmen fail miserably at a task, I will not berate them for incompetence then send the same group out to try the task again.
After I captures the hero's superweapon, I will not immediately disband my legions and relax my guard because I believe whoever holds the weapon is unstoppable. After all, the hero held the weapon and I took it from him.
I will not design my Main Control Room so that every workstation is facing away from the door.
I will not ignore the messenger that stumbles in exhausted and obviously agitated until my personal grooming or current entertainment is finished. It might actually be important.
If I ever talk to the hero on the phone, I will not taunt him. Instead I will say this his dogged perseverance has given me new insight on the futility of my evil ways and that if he leaves me alone for a few months of quiet contemplation I will likely return to the path of righteousness. (Heroes are incredibly gullible in this regard.)
If I decide to hold a double execution of the hero and an underling who failed or betrayed me, I will see to it that the hero is scheduled to go first.
When arresting prisoners, my guards will not allow them to stop and grab a useless trinket of purely sentimental value.
My dungeon will have its own qualified medical staff complete with bodyguards. That way if a prisoner becomes sick and his cellmate tells the guard it's an emergency, the guard will fetch a trauma team instead of opening up the cell for a look.
My door mechanisms will be designed so that blasting the control panel on the outside seals the door and blasting the control panel on the inside opens the door, not vice versa.
My dungeon cells will not be furnished with objects that contain reflective surfaces or anything that can be unravelled.
If an attractive young couple enters my realm, I will carefully monitor their activities. If I find they are happy and affectionate, I will ignore them. However if circumstance have forced them together against their will and they spend all their time bickering and criticizing each other except during the intermittent occasions when they are saving each others' lives at which point there are hints of sexual tension, I will immediately order their execution.
Any data file of crucial importance will be padded to 1.45Mb in size.
Finally, to keep my subjects permanently locked in a mindless trance, I will provide each of them with free unlimited Internet access.

Props to Mr. Anspach for this list, which can be found on http://www.eviloverlord.com/lists/overlord.html

Gap

My sincerest apologies for the gap between posts. It's just that I have had other obligations to fill. But, to make up for this, I have created a quiz for my hopefully loyal readers to take. Please, check this out.

Money

Everyone goes nuts if you drop a buck on the floor. If someone
saw this -> pile of money on the floor, he/she would probably start foaming at the mouth and fling herself on top of it, like that lottery commercial where the money falls from the sky and everyone rushes for it. I mean, yeah, it pays the bills, but still, there's no need to start acting like you're a penniless orphan who's never seen a dollar bill before. I think that's part of the reason that reality shows are so popular, because you get to see the extent people are willing to go to for money, even though you'd do the same thing.


But why? Why are we so obsessed with little green pieces of paper, or rather, really f*cking thin cloth? Why do we risk bodily harm for the aforementioned little pieces of paper? Because, since birth, we have been brainwashed with the idea that those little green pieces of cloth are the most important things in the world, and they are, because everyone believes they are. And when every single person in the world believes something, then that thing becomes a fact and try as one might, one cannot change it.

But is this the best way? Couldn't life operate on bartering for services, "I pull your tooth, you fix my roof?" No, we couldn't. Services have different values and unless one has tried his or her hand at both services involved, one usually thinks that his or her trade is the more difficult and thus worth more. So the bartering could extend until the need has passed or become so severe that it has exceeded the capabilities of the original parties and requires specialists.

Money is quite an integral part of our society and will be for the forseeable future, although why it must be so all-consuming is beyond me. So then, a return to the classic sign-off, and a suggestion: Think about it.

Part 4 of The Sixth Degree

Part 4 of THE SIXTH DEGREE

Dr. Nia Shoreheart nudged her tightly braided dreadlocks out of her eyes and focused on her client. This was her last case of the day before she went back home and shoved Edy’s low-fat chocolate ice cream into her mouth like an unattractive pig. “Lean back, Mr. Houston. This will all be over soon.”

The old man leaned back in the paisley dentist’s chair. “Now open,” ordered Dr. Shoreheart.
The man shoved his long beard out of the way and quickly complied. Dr. Shoreheart hefted a wicked-looking tooth drill and headed for the mouth.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

The screaming was audible in the waiting room next door, where David Schultz-Lancaster was reading an old coffee table book. He looked up in mild surprise. What manner of creature could make a noise like that? He contemplated a moment, then shrugged and resumed his reading, while trying to find a way to appease his wife after their latest fight. She liked tulips, didn’t she? He honestly couldn’t remember, but resolved to get her some anyway, on the way back home. Tulips were flowers, and flowers were always good.

“Mr. Schultz-Lancaster?”

The nurse’s small voice barely reached the contemplative man, but he looked up. He shed the book, and eyed the woman. She was a bit short, but he could manage. David stood and flashed the petite nurse a dazzling smile. She smiled back, uncertain, and as she turned to lead him through the lavender doors, he caught sight of a wedding band shining on her finger. His grin dimmed a bit, and he followed the nurse deeper into the recesses of the building.

I have nothing to say

Guess what happens when you give an introverted single guy who thinks he's the best person in the universe unlimited access to an audience willing to read his work, with the single stipulation that he write at least a paragraph a month? Yes, you're right, it has happened again: I am f*cking out of ideas. My friends say that writer's block is sh*t or it's all in your head. Yeah, like they know. And actually, to clarify, I'm not out of ideas, I have one more, a rant against pop culture, but I figure Lewis Black has that covered pretty well. So, for all intents and purposes, I am out of ideas for the time being.
F*ck, this is a total pain in the a**, having, or rather, wanting to write sh*t and post sh*t but not being able to think of sh*t. I mean, I have another few installments of THE SIXTH DEGREE, but I don't want to post them in case I get writer's block on that sh*t too.

I just read what I've written so far and it sounds like a coherent blog post, so I'm going to post it. Too bad for me, almost no one will ever read what I have written because I have not yet established a prominent spot in the blogosphere. I think one day, I will post total bullsh*t nonsense and THAT will be the day someone comes and reads my blog and they'll see this BS post and think, This guy's an *sshole. I shouldn't give a sh*t about what he thinks. Then they WON'T tell their friends about my insightful clever, mind-opening, and truly witty blog and I will go back to the bottomless pit of the Internet, confined to the anonymity of an electronic Sargasso Sea. (See? I said I was mind-opening. Now, odds are that you will have to look up the Sargasso Sea. I'll wait.) Ah, well. Fame isn't all it's cracked up to be. (So they tell me) I guess I can go without being famous, because then I get to write the sh*t that makes my blog insightful, clever, mind-opening, witty and truly unique. So there, big publisher people. I took writer's block and did something with it. F*ck you. Oh, and normal reader? Think about all the other stuff I said, before I started to insult publishing companies.

Guess What?

OK, so I took this piece of sh*t quiz called "Are you stupid?" and I guess I got my answer right there, because I'm wondering whether I'm f*cking stupid in the first place. So here is a
Question: Who wonders if they are stupid?
Answer: Myself, mentally challenged and the village idiot (George W. Bush)

I have just been notified by the CIA, FBI, and the NSA that GWB is not an idiot. I apologize Mr. Bush, but I will not remove the reference because of the 1st Amendement. (3 Words of Advice: Learn Your Rights. If you ever go to jail or somewhere equally unpleasant but fully law abiding [unlike Guantanamo Bay & Abu Ghraib], you need to know them) Sh*t, I feel like a textual copy of Stephen Colbert, without snarky writers (I have all the snark!). BTW . . . sh*t again, I forgot what I was going to write and both my Backspace and Delete keys are broken right now.

Anyway, away from the World's Longest Digression, which would not be out of place at the 1904 World's Fair (why is "World" capitalized there anyway?), I got a badge for completing the quiz, which is here by the way, if anyone out there wants to take it and HTML works here, but I lost the badge and don't care much about it.

Luckily for all of you out there who wonder about my intellectual capabilities, you Platos of the world, (not capped!) I took an I.Q. test and here is the badge for that! 144! Take that! I am smarter than our current president! (Whose I.Q. is 120-something, if anyone wants to know) And I have a tendency to boast! (Insert Nelson-esque "ha-ha" here) I also am addicted to random tidbits of info I'll never need to know and I ramble! I'm trying to stop myself, but I can't! Must hit 'Publish' button!

The Return/Part 3 of The Sixth Degree

Sol-o-mon's back and I'm better than ev-er! I couldn't resist. I wrote "I'm back," and the Hess Truck song popped into my head, so . . .
Anyway . . . part three of THE SIXTH DEGREE!!

Yolanda Martinez turned on her computer and drummed her fingers impatiently as she waited for it to warm up. Maybe I should buy a new computer, she thought as she ruefully eyed her six year-old desktop. ’Course, the kids gotta come first, as the sound of three year-old playing tag wafted in through the open window of her study. It wasn’t really a study, more of a closet, down to the shelf a foot above her head. And the window wasn’t really a window, more of a hole cut in the wall with a hacksaw by an ex-boyfriend, coerced into doing it by the act that had produced the three kids playing outside.
The computer booted up and Yolanda wasted no time in going onto the long-distance schooling website, where she logged in and started her math lesson. I know it’s not the best way to get an education, she thought, but it’s all I got.
The door of her study banged open. Her oldest son, Samson, stood in the entrance. The thirteen year old boy had always been the child that had given her the most grief, and now she was afraid that he would get caught up in this nonsense with the Bloods and the Crips.
“Moms, I’m goin’ out.”
“Where?”
“To Mr. Houston’s house. I still have that job mowing his lawn for the rest of the month.”
Yolanda glanced at the clock on her computer. “Okay, but you gotta be back by five.”
“A’ight. See ya.”
He left the door open on the way out.

The Sixth Degree (Part 2)

Note to Readers:

Certain sections of this serial, THE SIXTH DEGREE, can be read in any order. When you (the reader) need to have read a previous section, I (Solomon, the author of THE SIXTH DEGREE) will put in one of those sections that say "Previously on THE SIXTH DEGREE . . ." and then everybody will be happy, and if you're not, then go to hell, you f*cker.

Charlie Kingston gripped the baseball and slowly pulled it out of his mitt. He eyed the man at bat, his best friend, Glen MacDougal, and lifted his right leg slowly, the way his idol, Randy Johnson did it on TV. He drew back his left arm and held it there for second, then whipped it forward and let the ball escape his grasp. The red-stitched ball flew through the air and was met by the aluminum bat as Glen hacked forward and hit the ball, more by luck than anything else.
The ball quickly sailed high into the air, over the fence marking the boys’ baseball field and landed in the lake, startling a placid fisherman, who quickly recovered and began yelling obscenities to the boys, much to their enjoyment.
Charlie looked over at Glen and saw that instead of running the bases frantically, or laughing at the fisher’s displeasure, as the other boys were doing, he was instead looking at the fence. Charlie looked and soon understood Glen’s fascination: Daniela Cortez was standing there, with her girlfriends, watching the game. But as Charlie turned to look, she about-faced and began to leave the field.
Charlie jogged over, abandoning the fallen apart game, and patted his friend on the back. “Come on, dude. You’ve been after her since summer started, but you haven’t said a word to her.”
“Yeah, but what could I say?” Glen sighed. “We ain’t got nothing in common, ’cept the fact that we’re both minorities, an’ so is everybody else. You’re the only white kid here.”
Charlie looked around. “Well, you both . . . like . . . to . . . .” He trailed off.
Glen bent down to tie his shoe. “C, give it up. You know I ain’t got no chance with her.” He stood up. “You’d have a better chance askin’ her out than me, even though you sweat like a dog when you talk to a girl.” He pushed up his glasses. “I’m outta here.”
Charlie watched him go, his friend’s muscular frame noticeable as he pushed through the smaller kids, watched him pass an old, scruffy man as he went through the gate on his way home, watched until he turned a corner and was out of sight.