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Chaos In Theory Volume 15…

August 15, 2012

Well, I am back from the beach.  A little rested, a lot fatter, and much tanner.  Well, it’s actually kind of a Rorschach drawing of tan and blotchy red spots, mainly because I apply suntan lotion like a palsy in an earthquake.  I know the site has been a little neglected as a whole this summer, but it’s kind of tough staying on top of it while competing with prolonged daylight hours, overactive kids with extended bedtime, day trips and extended getaways.  However, we are back and more depraved and venomous as ever, so let’s strap in, sit back, and get started…

First, our musical selection:

 

For some reason, this song reminds me of cruising around in my Wrangler during any random summer in my early twenties.  Not sure why…

 

–  As most of you know, I am a humanist.  I spend my days searching out ways to make life a little easier for my fellow-man.  It is in this vein that I have an idea I would like to share with you.

While sitting on the beach on my hiatus, I was appalled at the amount of times I  found myself staring at some girls ass, only to have her turn around and reveal that she may be 16, at best.  (First of all, are you parents really letting your tweener walk around in that bikini?)  It makes for some awkward moments and a whole shitload of self-loathing.  I want to spare my fellow-man this unintended pedophilia, so I have new legislation to propose:  From now on, all bikinis must have the wearers age printed, in large, readable text, on the ass-section of the bikini bottoms (And yes, I’d be surpirsed if it was actually known as the ass-section, but I am a pioneer.)  This way, I know full well if that ass I’m pretending not to stare at is attached to the president of the Justin Bieber fan club, or the all-time winningest bingo player at the local American Legion.

Now, I understand that this is logistically impossible for any young lady good enough to wear a thong and  I certainly do not want to discourage that practice, so that would be handled with a permanent sharpie marker applied directly to the butt cheeks. Hell, I would even be willing to volunteer as often as possible as the transcriber.  I will even provide my own sharpie.

P.S. Ladies:  Staring at asses at the beach is like checking out porn on the internet:  Every guy does it, even yours, but few readily admit it…

–  From now on, I decree that Kloe Kardashian be referred to only as “Fat Clemenza”.  That is all…

–  Yannow, you don’t  realize how hard it is to refrain from taking a piss in the shower until you are standing in a semi-exposed outdoor beach stall…

–  So I have continued to obsessively obsess (What?) over the gun-control issue I wrote about a few weeks ago. See, this is what I do.  I compulsively contemplate a particular issue until the horse is not only dead, but left shredded on the ground looking like unidentifiable hot dog meat. Anyway, after weeks of thought, I have hit upon one hurdle to my anti-gun viewpoint that I cannot seem to overcome.  Alcohol.  See, if you have spent anytime reading the self-masturbatory narcissism that is this blog, you know that I am real big on personal responsibility.  So I would be outraged if after every child was killed by a drunk driver, we, as a society, blamed the alcohol, instead of the driver.  I don’t hold Jack Daniels responsible in that case, so why hold the gun industry responsible for a shooting?  Whats the difference?  So I cannot really advocate an outright weapons ban unless I am ready to support a ban on all alcohol.  Which I would never, ever, ever, fucking EVER do.  In fact, you can confiscate my seven and seven when you pry it from my drunken, drooling, overly affectionate hands.  I will now throw the question from the original post back at gun control advocates.  Explain to me the difference between a loaded gun and a speeding car being driven by Jason Kidd after a party in the Hamptons?

(Also, many of you provided some great commentary after my last post regarding the gun issue, so hat-tip to you.  That is really what this site is supposed to be about:  Honest dialogue.  Well, that and the world being introduced to my sarcastic awesomeness.)

– One last deep philosophical question:  I can answer Jeopardy questions with Rain Man like efficiency, so why is it I am incapable of scrambling an egg without destroying the stove, the cookware, and my wife’s respect for me?  Ponder that.  I’ll be back soon…

2 Comments
  1. tuscanitunr permalink

    ” Explain to me the difference between a loaded gun and a speeding car being driven by Jason Kidd after a party in the Hamptons?”

    My wife says:

    There is no difference between the two. You should assume they’re both loaded.

    lol…fuckin’ Texas women…crazy….hellllpppppp!!!…haha

  2. Lauren permalink

    LOVE LOVE the age on the butt of the bikini. I have a 3 year old daughter and someday she’s going to grow up, sneak to the mall with her friends that are too old for her and buy a bikini I’ll never see and wear it on the beach for spring break all while I’m sitting at home thinking about what an angel I’ve raised. It would be freaking awesome to know that some 20 year old looking for ass would think twice about talking to her for fear of going to jail. Ahhhh, life would be so much simpler if girls couldn’t lie about their age. And it would hopefully cut down on the “40 year old man looking at 16 year old ass” situations. At least, if they have daughters of their own it would. You’re never going to get a freak to stop looking. Does this mean you have to get a new bathing suit every year with a new age or would you get a one-year grace period? Those things are expensive!

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