Guy in a Bear Suit

happy birthday, hudson

lots of birthdays around here.

our monster turned one today.  it's a bit of an understatement, but this past year has been challenging.  it's a good thing he's so cute.

pics over on the left.

pimp that ho

everyone knows about this girl by now.  she's the high-end whore that was fucking the ny governor.  incredible body, but i don't think i'd pay $80k to partake.  this girl left jersey to pursue her music career in nyc.  i saw coyote ugly and it ended with leann rimes singing the girl's songs, not with the governor being brought down because he liked paying for hummers from an aspiring songstress.  maybe she should have danced on a bar and left it at that.

my question for today is, why is prostitution illegal?  it truly is a victimless crime, in the cases where the whore is doing it willingly.  and don't tell me that the wife is a victim, yadda, yadda, yadda.  that aspect is no different than plain old adultury, and as far as i know, we're not prosecuting cheaters yet.  the money should play no part in the debate, as i'm positive that anyone cheating on their wife is no doubt paying in one way or another. 

let's say i sit down in a bar next to a woman.  she tells me, 'if you buy me three drinks and make me laugh and charm me for half an hour, i'll go back to your place and have sex with you'.  i pay the bartender for the drinks and uphold my end and we have sex.  currently, that is legal. 

but what if we bypass the middle man and i just pay her?  suddenly we're both criminals.  still her body, my body, and my money.  but america's morality police now have an interest because the money is not passing through a 3rd party.  what's the fucking difference?

if we make prostitution legal, we can (1) regulate the whores, with regular testing and other oversight, and (2) tax the living shit out of it.  tax the act itself and tax the income of the skanks.  everyone knows how economics work with things that are illegal; they cost 20 times what they should.  that's why whiskey in the 1920's was so expensive and it is (relatively) cheap now.  plus, there would be no pimps getting rich off of it.  how many high roller beer dealers do you know?  none, because you can walk into 7-11 and get it without having to pay the premium for someone breaking the law to provide it.  obviously, the women are still going to demand and men are going to supply a certain price for their services, so the overall price would remain the same.  but now, rather than a cut going to a service or a pimp, the sluts get to keep more and the rest will go to the goverment as a whore tax.

i'm still not going pussy shopping either way, so this isn't personal.  likewise, i don't think the legality of the issue is stopping anyone.  it is a moral issue, and i will argue to the death that we shouldn't be legislating morality because my morals are different from yours, and the next person's, and so on.  people who like to fuck prostitutes will continue to do so and those who are against it will continue to be against it.  the government has no place in anyone's bedroom.

with our new sex tax and the similar weed tax, we should be able to lower income taxes by 10%. 

if you agree, be sure and sign my petition when i run for president in 2012.  in the meantime, if you are a public servant, don't get caught with your dick in the $80K nookie jar.

happy birthday, mom

i've always wanted to write something here about how special my mom is to me, so i figure now is a good time because today is her 60th birthday. 

i'm not really sure where to start, so i'll just go at this chronologically.  i think i've mentioned here before that my parents split up in 1981, when i was six or seven.  my mom would have been the same age that i am now (thirty three). 

my mom was a typical 70s & 80s housewife, in that she had little work experience at the time, outside of raising three children.  i can't imagine the terror she must have felt after the divorce, knowing that apart from a small amount of child support, she was fully responsible for making sure we got fed, clothed, etc. 

i think her first job at that time was as a telemarketer.  if i remember correctly, she worked a job where she got off work around 8 pm or something.  knowing how devoted she was to my sisters and me, it makes me really sad to think about that situation and how she must have felt being away from us so much.  but as those jobs tend to go, it didn't last long and she eventually got a job with a more typical 9 to 5 schedule.

we certainly didn't grow up with a lot of luxuries, but my mom did everything she could to ensure that we never noticed how tight the times were.  i don't want to overstate this too much because it's not like i was oliver twist or anything; my dad did make a pretty good living, but at the same time, when an appliance broke in our house, it was catastrophic. 

no matter how things were going or how tired she was from those awful minimum wage jobs she worked, she always had time to read to us or shuttle us around or basically just be run ragged by her bratty kids.  and we were bratty.  she swears that we weren't too bad, but i still feel guilt over having done things that typical kids do, like being embarrassed by her, talking back, etc.  i remember her actually trying to play catch with us or other sporting things like that.  things of that nature were hard for her, because other than my wife, my mom probably has the worst hand-eye coordination of anyone i've ever seen.  but she still did it, and got black and blue for her trouble.  for all the sacrifices that i know she made for her children, there are probably ten times that many that i'll never know about.

i think we've all turned out mostly ok and it is in no small part to the job she did raising us.  she is without a doubt the most sensitive and selfless person i know.  she didn't do very well in school, as she'll openly admit, but she has an intuition about people and an empathy that i admire.  she also retains an incredible amount of entertainment trivia, something which constantly reminds me that i am her son.

and i'm proud to be her son.  and thankful.  and happy when i'm able to do things to help her out because she did so, so much to help me when i was a little boy and a jerk teenager.

i love you mom.  happy birthday. 

Crash! but not starring Don Cheadle or Matt Dillon

some fuckstick crashed into my car while i was driving home from the gym friday night.  he had an unprotected left turn (green light, but no arrow) and i had a green light going straight from the opposite direction. 

i entered the intersection before he did and instead of, you know, fucking stopping, he just kept coming and coming and BAM, ruined my weekend.  i got out of the car like a wild animal, screaming and cursing at the top of my lungs.  i'm sure passers by thought there was going to be bloodshed. 

he was a 19 year-old kid in a truck (on his mom's insurance) and actually seemed like a decent enough dude, albeit a dude with his head up his ass.  he came over and apologized immediately and also accepted fault.  some john q. bystander told him not to admit anything and i told the guy to shut his fucking pie hole, but in much less aggressive terms.

while we waited for the cops and then again while we waited for the report to be written up, the kid, who was shaking from nerves, tried to chit-chat.  i told him i wasn't really in the mood to talk, but i did try to calm him down by assuring him that it wasn't that big of a deal and that i knew he didn't do it on purpose, blah, blah, blah.  i eventually felt sorry for him when he said that his parents would be extra mad because his older brother "never did anything like this".

i can't drive the car today because it is raining and the back driver's side door is ajar by a few inches and won't shut.  i have yet to get the insurance person to call me back about making her report so i can get a rental car on their dime.

anyway, it's a huge pain in the balls, but no one was hurt.  here is a visual reprentation of the wreck and the aftermath.  the silver shape is me.  the brown shape is him.