The story goes like this.  Her and I dated some time ago.  Somehow, we ended up by a secluded spot by a river and I got out of the car.  She would not get out of the car because she was afraid I would kill her.  I am a dangerous and unstable individual.

     Yet another bunch of ridiculous accusations.

     So why do they matter? 

     Well…

     Because not a word of it’s true, and I haven’t seen or spoken to this Debbie Hughes Maxwell in eleven years.

     I wonder, why, if there was any such incident and issue, that getting out of the car would matter at all?  Seriously, confined space, limited mobility?  That’s a perfect place to commit a brutal, or even a non-brutal, murder!  And with this magnificent, secluded spot by the river, being “secluded,” no one would hear her scream, right?
     Who drove there?  Me?  Her?  I guess we can assume that she drove away, since she claims to have stayed in the car.  So how did I get home?  I certainly didn’t live within any easy walking distance to any secluded spots by rivers…
     Come on, give me some answers to these relevant questions!

     Character Assassinations shouldn’t be that easy these days, but apparently some people enjoy using whatever reaction you make to crazy bullshit like this against you in order to prove their point.  That’s why I like to take the wind out of their sails by being the first to bring crap like this to serious light where it can be dissected and made fun of when it’s not true.

     The fact is, I never dated this woman.  I did not have any sexual relationship with this woman.  I haven’t seen or spoken to her in eleven years, so why all this crap now?

     It must be because she saw my name mentioned somewhere, or read a blog and figured she could inject herself into the “news” again because she just can’t let go of that rejection eleven years ago!  What actually happened, eleven years ago, is that she called me late one night with important news that could not wait.
     “I’ll be right there!” she said frantically on the phone.
     When I opened my door, she was standing there out of breath from running up the stairs.
     “I have to tell you something really important!”
     “What?  What’s up?”
     “Hang on, let me come in and catch my breath,” she said, forcing her way inside and standing near the door.  “Mark,” she said, exasperated.  “I’m in love with you.”
     “What the Hell are you talking about?” I asked, confused.
     “Well, I’m getting older, and my biological clock is ticking.  I need a baby.  And I want to do that with you.”
     “Uhh,” I stammered.  “I just don’t even know what to say, but, why don’t you try having a baby with your husband?  Because not only can I not have kids, I don’t need to practice, either…”
     “Fuck you, you asshole!  God you’re a fucking piece of shit!  This was a fucking mistake!”
     “Yeah, kinda…”
     “I hope we can still be friends…”
     “Yeah, I think you just kinda ruined that…”
     I slammed the door, locked it, and sat stunned on the couch for quite a while.  I even sat through the frantic knocking several minutes later, and ignored the subsequent telephone calls.  I refused any and all contact with her.
     And I never heard from her again.

     She’d been a friend of friends of mine, friends I haven’t spoken to since back then.  Outside of the group, I was only even around her a couple times.  Once, we cooked some Indian stuff, because I do enjoy cooking.  She rode along on a three hour trip when I had to go to Atlanta to sort out some things with a distributor I had down there at the time.
     Lastly, she drove me home and crashed at my place once when I was fully well intent on drinking a bottle of Crown Royal and thought getting a DUI was a bad idea.  As she stated to other friends at the time, she slept in my bed.
     Apparently, the detail that I slept on the couch was unimportant.

     Eleven years is a long time… I remember it like it was yesterday.  How can my memory be so sharp about it?  Because it’s pretty damned shocking when a married woman, ten years older, taller, and larger than you are comes onto you without solicitation asking you to help her make a baby because her life sucks…
     Stuff like that doesn’t happen every day.  It sticks in your mind in a permanent, “What the fuck was that?” kinda way.  Even after eleven years. 😉

     But I wonder.  Did this incident she keeps lying about happen before or after I cut off all contact with her?

     Enquiring minds wanna know!  Good God, woman!  Take that shit to Maury!  I’m *ALL* up for a LIE detector test up in here!  And maybe I can break a few chairs!

     Of course, you know I’ll end this with the requisite punchline.  In this case, it’s rather obvious…

     Where is this secluded spot and by what river?

     Because I tell ya, it really sounds like a cool place to take chicks…

     Despondent, I decided to play poker.  There was an ad.  Win something.

     Considering that I’ve already made my tournament entry and that I’ve previously blogged about my disdain for the Sony Playstation 3, I sure am glad it’s not one of those.

     Yes, I make plenty of typographical errors.  But if I was going to put up an ad, a billboard, a t-shirt or a business card, it’d just have to be Typo Free.

On December 24th, 2009 a Nigerian national tried to detonate his underwear over Detroit.

As of December 30th, 7AM Pacific, we have still not bombed the shit out of anyone.

This smacks of the Bombing of the USS Cole, and the lack of a strong response by the Clinton Administration, leading to the bombing of The Towers in New York.

If the current administration doesn’t do something soon, in 2012 we’ll see a strong reemergence of the Republican Party.

And so the pendulum swings.

     I’ve wanted one thing for the last three Christmas’s in a row.  The only reason I didn’t want it for the Christmas’s prior was because, well, I didn’t know it existed.

     In the spirit of Christmas — and drinking — I refuse to put Bob & Doug MacKenzie’s Twelve Days of Christmas on this blog because it’s just too cliche.  Instead, I’d have you all enjoy this alternative Bob & Doug MacKenzie bit.

     So Merry Christmas, boys and girls.  And may all your beer be mouse-free.

The smellier the fumes the smaller the load?

Ponderance:  I’ve had a user account on this site for what feels to be like EONS and I now realize that I’ve only really blogged about poo, jiz, asshats, random destruction, and other rants regarding mundane bullshit.  Why hasn’t anyone revoked my rights?  What does this say about the administrator?  Why are we here?  Why do we have to listen to the likes of Barry Manilow?  And most importantly, who is Tom Cruise?