HOW RELIJUN MAKES UR KIDS DUM

If you wish to proudly tell me; “Haha, you misspelled “dumb”, congratulations. Your religious.

If you didn’t see anything wrong with that last sentence, then… ditto. PS: Possessive “your” just isn’t the same thing, is it?

HERE IT IS:

Religion makes your kids dumb. Or, at least, not as smart as they could be. Why? Because questions = thought. Knowledge comes from questions. Faith = “believe it because I said so.”. There’s an invisible silent man in the sky. All these contradictory books say so. No questions, please.

Why are you teaching your kids NOT to ask questions? Think about a two-year-old. When a kids are two, what do they do? Bingo. Ask QUESTIONS.

“Why do flies fly?”

“Why are oranges orange?”

“What’s the difference between general & special relativity?”

Ideally, what should kids do? Yes. LEARN. If asking questions is a natural process in human development, and IT IS, then what happens when you discourage your kids from asking QUESTIONS, with the “miracle of faith”?

You’re right.

They won’t be as smart as my kids.

Think about it.

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If you disagree, leave a comment. I reserve the right to be wrong. About everything.

INCREDIBLOG, DAY 2

Completed:

Another evening in my CaRV(TM). Another Walmart sunrise. The mobile homeless dot the parking lot. Their engines begin to rattle to life as their owners return from the restrooms in the bowels of Sam Walton’s useful abomination. Sam Walton was a shadow agent, leading the insurgency for Chairman Mao. Like a skilled Judo master redirecting the force of his opponent’s punch, Sam set the plan in motion, using the weight of capitalism to destroy itself. Dog-loving, pickup-truck-driving bastard.

Lapping the aisles 10 times for my morning workout & watching the tragically overweight, disability-funded Need-A-Bathletes, searching for the latest As-Seen-On-TV neccessity (to live the good life)… I can’t stop myself from thinking of languid, indolent cattle, grazing in the fields. No effort. Everything they’ll ever need, right in front of them. Oblivious to their impending slaughter. These shoppers shop like it’s their job. Not a care in the world. No thoughts deeper than the mist of perspiration dampening their 3rd chins.

Without adversity, there is no progress. There’s just no need.

With my fractured brain, I make out my daily to-do list in my head. Meanwhile, oblivious to their roles as pawns in the insurgency, the shoppers continue shopping.

I am one of them.

IN THE ROAD

Tonight, I sleep in a parking lot. Today, I proved, beyond a phantom of a doubt, that I don’t exist. I can’t. In fact, it’s impossible for me to have ever been born. More on that later. Potentially. For now, I’ll kick-start this blog.

Here it is:

All my teachers told me that, one day, I’d grow up to be a great writer. Maybe the best. Never happened. I suppose it might have, had I written something. But the sky is blue.

At any rate, as an homage to Kerouac… and, in light of the fork my life has taken… right in the eyeball, I’ll call this blog “In The Road”. I’ll do it because;

A) I think it’s funny

…and…

B) It is.

From this post forward, until I die, I’ll write every day.

Hi, Mom. <3 U.

Everyone else: Follow me.

Seven Days

“Seven days”, I thought, as Danrather and I passed the neighbors’ house. The one with the goat on the roof.

I’m leaving in seven days. Better hurry up & finish my new home by then. My motorhome. It’s 40 years old. I bought it from the ex-leader of an outlaw motorcycle gang from Texas; the “Heaven’s Devils”. He moved to Tennessee, to take care of his mother.

Oak Ridge, Tennessee. That’s where we refined the Uranium for The Manhattan Project. Just before we detonated a nuclear bomb.

In seven days, my motorhome isn’t coming with me. Mom just wants me to start it up… & get it TF out of her yard. I’m a grown man who lives with his mother.

Seven days? Should be enough. Then, I’ll drive my VW Noob Eetle…

…to Kansas City, where I’ve hired a guy to rip the engine out. And drop it in a race car; the “Cody Coyote”, from “Hardcastle & McCormick”:

I bought it from a nuclear engineer, who’s also a former surfing champion. He lives in Belize. And Hawaii. And Kansas City, sometimes.

In a perfect world, the VW diesel engine would put the “Noob Coyote” closer to the goal. Which is 100 MPG. Which, most likely, will make it the SLOWEST RACE CAR EVER.

But I left my heart in San Francisco. And my car. The other one.

So I’ll head back that way to retrieve it… so i can resume my 6-month, cross-country road-trip… which IDEALLY, will not end with a coma.

Like last time.

I’m excited about seeing Area 51, Roswell & The Trinity Site, where the 1st nuclear bomb was detonated, at the conclusion of the Manhattan Project.

But, so far, my time in Oregon was the highlight.

The last time I was in Oregon, I shattered my spine. This time, I had the pleasure of spending time with the EMTs, who happened along, last time, when I crashed my electric motorcycle. And lay dying, on the side of the road.

I took them out for a kickass steak dinner & a bottle of Dom, at the Mark V Grille, which is kind of funny, because…

It’s not every day you get to buy dinner for the 2 guys who SAVED YOUR LIFE… at a restaurant that was reccommended to you by the girl who almost ended it.

But, she didn’t mean to do it.

Sometimes, shit happens.

So, Anyway

I meant to start writing this blog 2 years ago, but good intentions don’t always make it to the top of your to-do list. Shit happens, too.

So, anyway, I was sitting on the front porch of a log cabin restaurant in No.Cal., talking it up with an elderly couple about the Redwoods, Airstreams, Area 51 & the price of tea in China, when, suddenly, without warning, they started asking me questions about my life.

Now, I’m not one to talk about myself, but they were asking, so I obliged. Otherwise, it would have been rude, right?

So, anyway, I went on & on… & on… 100MPG cars, comas, outlaw motorcycle gangs, Sasquatch grenades, hand-built castles, grizzly bear spray, and… you know… etcetera. They were fascinated. I’m certain of it. And, after several hours, it occurred to me that I really couldn’t make up a lie that sounded less believable than the truth. And I’m REALLY GOOD at lying.

See? That was a lie, right there.

So was that.

Or was it?

Anyway, It’s almost time for me to hit the road. I have to drive to San Diego, so a girl who shattered my spine can buy me a hamburger.

Hello?

My dog is a robot from the future