Man, under-destruction?

 When I was in high school, I remember one particular teacher rather fondly. Memhir Gebreyesus , a.k.a. Koborta (to my peeps from Den Den, some of y'all know who I'm talking about). Memhir meaning "Teacher", his nickname meaning blanket (which I still have no idea what that's about) and the second part being his name, which means..........well, part of it is a popular pronunciation of Jesus. He taught high school geography, but I remember him for his short stature, thick glasses, doctor's coat (a symbolic uniform of the teachers back then) and constantly uneven facial hair, which, when I think about it today, sorta gave him the image of a mad scientist-meets-black hobbit. A particular session that stood out is when he spoke about volcanoes and the destructive power they had, especially how it could suddenly erupt without warning. He later proceeded to prove his point when he "disciplined" a student for talking, rather loudly, in class. Once again, an

 When I was eight-years-old, I believed in superheros. Sure, we all did. But, I was unique in the sense that I believed any idiot could become one. I remember one day when my father asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up and I told him I wanted to be a superhero. I remember the look he gave me afterwards. It was the look of a man who didn't know if he was supposed to encourage my youthful curiosity, clear up my confusion or euthanize me for my misguided belief. I even believed that I simply needed the right set of circumstances to gain superpowers. I won't get into the specifics, but I will admit that my older brother, as my "Extraordinary Ability Acquisition Consultant" (E.A.A.C), shares the blunt of the blame, although some people might believe that child services should have been informed.....but let's not go there. Point is, you can imagine my disappointment when the only reward for my effort was numerous injuries and humiliating spills with no thrills. T

 I have the utmost respect for Wile E. Coyote. Sure, he's a bumbling, accident prone, over-ambitious, theoretically-careless mammal, but you gotta admit, he's got spunk. Although, after having seen my umpteenth roadrunner cartoon, "rooting for the underdog" suddenly loses its appeal. But, even this poor, pathetic fool has bits to teach. No, not that explosives are dangerous, nor that he shouldn't keep buying them from the same manufactures, considering that their products "redefine" the term "faulty and dangerous". No, he teaches that despite the risk, one must always be willing to take chances, through which their persistence can and shall be rewarded. It was an epiphany I had. Epiphanies are interesting. Not just the fact that you have them, but that you can have them anywhere. I had mine very recently, while dangling by my ankles, like a fish on a hook, 275 feet above a raging river ( no, I don't owe anybody money nor was this a cruel an

 I'll never understand why the place that I currently call "home" has such a dislike for contemporary RnB, though they find some solace in country. Granted, I wouldn't mind some Charlie Pride (thankyou dad for that), it is essentially the same thing. No, I'm not comparing the use of a rural fiddle with a jazz guitar, nor would I place in the same class a harmonica and a string of violins, but the comparision still remains. They are two genres that speak of love, yearning, but most of all, heartbreak.  I had an eventful evening. A friend of mine, who I would classify as a local, recently found himself at my door step after another one of of his "disagreements" with his significant other. So naturally, I invited him in, partly for the sake of company, but mostly because I feared for what he might do in the event that he was left to his own devices. At first, we found ourselves talking, where he tentatively opened up to me about the inner dynamics of his

Warning: the opening paragraphs of the following note contains rather graphic elements of an overt sexual theme, which in all fairness, is being used as a ramp for an entirely different topic all together. Therefore, I urge anyone who is "sensitive" to stop reading and get out of here right now..............are you still here.......*sigh, fine, but don't say I didn't warn ya...... Among his "many accolades", Adolf Hitler was also a monumentally perverted sexual deviant. Now, I make this claim based soley, and rather regretablly, on an article that I had once read in FHM magazine, many many moons ago. I should point out that this article had also listed quite a few other "names" from history, such as Catherine the Great (who, according to popular yet unsubstantiated myth, was crushed by a horse she had order to be lowered on top of her), Caligula ( who supposedly forced a primitive gender reassignment procedure on a slave whom he was "involve

 After over a year of living in my current town, I've come to one conclussion.....hell's real. Granted, this spot is not as bad as some of the other places I've been, but it's in a league of its own sometimes. And yet, there have been certain saving graces for it. One of them being Shay. If I were to attempt to describe her, she'd be "the guy's girl". The female with plenty of insight into the male psyche, but enough femininity to still be sought after for a "midnight tryst", though I'm sure she would refer to it as a "wham-bam-thankyou-ma'am". Plus, she embraces my use of obscinities......which is just precious to me, for reasons that I'll take to my grave.   I've always found a certain charm in the use of profanity. Sure, its hardly a medium of spoken word befitting certain "demographic regions of society", but I refuse to believe it doesn't have a place. Now, when I say profanity, I don't mean