I met this certain young lady who makes me feel kinda funny - in the crotchel region; is that bad?

That is such a great word: crotchel. Did I spell it correctly?

From Simon. For Ben.

As I was leaving my house I stuffed my Glock 10mm "man gun" Mexican-style in my pants. My backup is a fully customized 1911 with all the IPSC add-on options in my $500.00 leather pancake holster custom made by Belgian Monks who have devoted their lives to silence and holster making. These are the ones used by SEAL Team 6, which I used to be a part of but all records of my activities were destroyed in a fire "accident".

I put on my Royal Robbins photographer vest to match my pants while wearing a T-Shirt underneath reading "from my cold dead hands." That way, nobody can see what I'm packing. I had my Centennial .38 Special in my ankle holster, just like the gun rag guys carry. Lastly I had my "Covert Sniper" I.D. Card in my wallet with my "Concealed Weapons Permit Badge". I was ready for anything.

I drove my "bug-out truck" to the 7-11 for some beer, 'cause you never know. It is a performance-styled Subaru BRAT with 4 cylinders of ground pounding fury.

I pull up to the 7-11 store and notice a nefarious looking girl scout eyeballing me from the back of her mother's SUV. A likely cover.

The mother returned to the truck and went for the keys in her purse, but I knew from my years of combat-honed instincts that she was actually making a furtive movement for an offensive weapon.

I attempted a tactical shoulder roll, but fell flat on my face, kind of flopping on the pavement to avoid any incoming rounds and to make it look like I meant to do that. The store owner called 911 which is good, because I then did a roll and attempted to draw my Glock. Unfortunately, since I did not have a holster, the gun "went off" and the bullet creased my weener. But I was prepared for that and bit down on a 9mm casing to take my mind off the pain as I dove for the garbage barrel. That's when I noticed the girl scout shouting something to her mother who began to take cover. I knew they were closing on me so I drew my trusty custom 1911 Wilson COMBAT....I knew that they would be impressed with that. I then duck walked to the front of her SUV but my gut kinda got in the way and I fell on my ass, which caused me to swallow my 9mm casing.

I then tried to roll to my right, but didn't want to scuff my holster, so I just threw myself into a telephone pole, but I landed on my right side anyway. So I fired one shot towards the woman's SUV to pin them down as I recovered my wind.

Before the mother knew what was happening, I charged her and I threw my groin into her knee. I knew that as I vomited on the ground in front of her that I had interrupted her OODA loop, and I had the advantage now. As she ran screaming for the girl scout (I knew she was going for backup) I made for my super-charged BRAT tactical truck. I jumped into the driver seat, forgetting that I had left my rare Israeli contract AR 15 Bayonet on the seat (honed to a razors edge). I could handle it though, half my ass is an implant from war wounds. As I attempted to start my truck, police and paramedics arrived on the scene. My truck would not start and instead backfired once and caused the police to taze me. At this point, I tactically soiled myself while in convulsions. My custom 1911 then fell out the window, but I still had my Centennial .38. I knew then that I had to take out the woman with the purse.

So I aimed my revolver at her, at which point the first police officer fired once striking me in the chest. Fortunately, I was wearing my level 3A body armor. I didn't want to hurt the cops, they had obviously been duped by the evil temptress who was now embracing her partner in crime and crying to the police in the background - I knew it was a ruse.

I pulled out my concealed weapons permit badge and showed it to the officer who shot me and yelled out "I'm one of you guys!!!" He continued to cover me,and ordered me to drop my .38 so I laid it down. After all, I still had my bayonet attached to my ass. The cop walked toward me, and upon reading the badge maced me right in the eyes. Fortunately, my Oakley shooting glasses stopped most of the spray and I was able to rip free of the Taser cords easily. It only cost me one nipple...easily replaced. I dove for the passenger side of my truck and began to run zig zag for a ditch. Unfortunately, the bayonet sticking out of my ass slowed me down. I knew it would have to be hand-to-hand now. I knew the cop couldn't take me when I saw he merely carried a Glock 17, not a man's gun So I immediately threw my eye into his right hook, followed by a knee into his mag light. As I lay thrashing on the ground, I took the heel of my Bates enforcer boot and kicked at the cops ankle. I knew from my classified experiences in Tajikistan that once I broke his ankle, the cop would fall down and I could "stun kick" him in the head, knocking him out but not hurting him.

Apparently the cop had also been to Tajikistan, because he side stepped me and struck me in the back with his ASP baton, but my trauma plate absorbed it. I then drew my Benchmade auto knife and was promptly tased again, but I was ready for it this time and only wet myself a little bit.

Next thing those cops knew, I was unconscious.
That'll teach 'em

Now, for the first time at RancidKoolaid.com, you morons can post comments. I know some have already figured it out, but for those too slow to comprehend the implied "point and click", this is for you. If you want to say something (like if Adam wants to say I've mischaracterized his liberal ideologies), simply use your mouse to click the "add comment" button located after each and ever entry. Say (or rather type) what you wish, then click "Post" and your words will magically appear in cyberspace - a near-permanent record of your capacity to use simple a computer. For the first time ever, your words and thoughts matter – though to a much smaller extent than mine, but still they matter.

So I’m sitting at my desk doing some work and my wife brings me the day’s mail. At the bottom of the stack, a flier for the greatest product ever made. There, in vibrant color, is the secret to the physique of which all we men dream – or so the brochure says.

ThermoGain is the secret to building shredded muscle and building it faster. Through a special offer (made only to me) I can use my free trial of ThermoGain and, if I like it, can buy more to move me further down the path of being huge-er, badder-ass, and more – big. If I’m reading this thing right; in a few short months, with the right diet and exercise, this wonder-product will transform me into a huge, shiny, bald, black guy.

This guy is on the front and the message is clear: if I use this product, I too will be a huge shiny black guy who can get chicks like the blond bimbo hanging off him. As I sat at my desk, eating my fried chicken, and thinking of how I could use this new physique to better my life, I decided against the life-enhancing pills. I like my fried chicken, I guarantee I could outrun this musclehead, and until his huge pectoral muscles can stop a knife or a bullet – they have little value, in my opinion. After all, I already have a hot woman, and she married me so I can be a fat, bald, white guy and she’ll still love me. To thine own self be true!
But don’t let me dissuade you. If you would like to be a huge shiny black guy, having your picture taken with slutty blonds, this is definitely the product for you. You can have my free trial, for a price.

As the first politically oriented writing of my new year, I am reminded of my resolutions: use small words, don’t condescend to the stupid, and make points that appeal to a broader audience.

Well, to that end, I sought an article, written by a genuine liberal, presenting points with which I agree. And I found this article.

I could not agree more with the proposition of arming ourselves to defend against a tyrannical government; with that I agree. Now, on to the rest of the article. Here are a few key assertions with which I disagree.

This election was stolen –again- by them! That statement is true, if by “them” you mean the American voter, and if by “stolen” you mean “won.” Bush won the popular vote (by a sizable majority) and won the Electoral College. For this slightly liberal-leaning writer to say our nation is becoming a dictatorship is a stretch since this is the first Presidential election in many years where the winner won a majority, the popular vote, and the EC. His case might better be stated as, “Conservatives won almost everything in 2004 and that really pisses me off.”

Further down in his tirade, Southwell christens this administration as the “most rightwing government we have ever had in the US…” Again, either the writer cannot accurately define “rightwing” or he was smoking crack when he made that statement. More accurate: “This is the most rightwing government since the 1980s.”

The remainder of the article is a call to arms for the liberals among us to buy guns, get concealed carry permits, and prepare to take back the nation by force. The obvious question becomes from whom will you be taking the nation back? The current administration was voted in by a majority; our democracy is intact. He seems to be endorsing a Civil War for the purpose of subverting the democratic process and putting in its place a government system presided over by Bill Clinton and the French.

I find it amusing that the guy constantly uses verbiage to insinuate use of force, he seems to have found the old literary trick of CAPITOLIZATION TO MAKE A POINT: “REAL THREAT”, “ARMED”, “REVOLUTIONARY WAR.” I thought the left stood for peace and love and compassion and freedom, he obviously wants to sweep away that old stereotype and replace it with one of contempt, hatred, violence, and repression.

It is official; he has just formally endorsed Islam. (And I agree that this nation’s citizens, regardless of political ideology, should be armed. An armed society is a polite society.)

And for those who don’t like Bush, I give you this . When I have a bad day, I sit back, listen to a little Frank Sinatra, and give thanks that I didn’t live back then – when the music sucked so bad this guy was the best they could find.