Because

The Musings of

Something full of magic, religion, bullsh*t.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

It's something Carson Daly came up with.

As my previous post amply demonstrates, my writing skills aren't good enough to write a check, much less a blog I have a flimsy grasp on mores (pronounced "mor-ays") and tact (pronounced "Centinel is a conceited prick"). Which is why I'm always amused by the things that kick start the angel on my shoulder.

For example, yesterday I ran across this t-shirt and thought it quite amusing (although a friend of my suggested it would be funnier without the "the"). I gave some serious thought to buying the damn thing, but I couldn't get over the whole "blasphemy" thing. Do I really want to risk eternal damnation just to give Yankees fans the business? I'll admit it's a close call. It's probably my old school Southern Baptist upbringing shining through, that had me wussing out. Of course, it didn't stop me at lunch today from replying to a girl who told me she had 12 bridesmaids, "What, did you marry Jesus?" My best guess is that my conscience just didn't get the joke. (I just realized that "Losing My religion" by R.E.M. (duh) was playing in the background as I was typing this. Heh.)

Another moral quandary I'm in concerns my site counter of all things. I took some "me" time away from the blog in December, and when I came back I discovered that my hit counts were WAY up -- like quintupled. It turns out that I had linked to a pic of Johnny Cash giving the one-finger salute some time before I took my sabbatical, and evidently everyone seeking Johnny Cash is bumping up my hits. I actually feel like I'm being dishonest. Like I should either punt the pic link or explain to both my readers that they are a more elite group than my counter would indicate. What's up with that?

I also am curious as to why I'm willing to say words like "retard" and "gimp," but I have a big problem with N-bombs and such. Perhaps that's because I'm a Southerner and we have become particularly aware of the evils of racist speech. At least, those of us from states where teeth outnumber eyes do.

While we're on the subject, why is it that if you decline an alcoholic drink the person either assumes you are a raging alcoholic or deeply religious? Or both, God help you? I know, it seems like this would be something I would have NO experience with, whatsoever -- at least from the point of view of the offeree -- but believe it or not, for several years I did not have a drink (yeah, and those years were called my "toddler" years). It wasn't for religious, moral -- it was just that it was easier to score with drunk chicks when I was sober.

On the flip side, it's probably the only reason I still have a functioning liver. Anyway, it always bothered me that people I didn't know assumed I was some sort of sot or prig instead of just a big pussy. I did always find it amusing how much it bothered people that I wouldn't drink with/around them. As soon as I'd decline, they'd begin working on me by going the "oh, one won't hurt" route or heading for the unoriginal "don't be a little girl" path ("That's something chicks do. You're not a chick are you? Ok. Good talk."). It was almost like they were doing something bad and didn't trust me because I was a big goody-goody. Freaks.

All this to say, I'm beginning to think that it may be time to re-evaluate my moral laxity -- maybe set some standards, raise some bars. Yes, My Name is Earl has got me thinking about karmic import of my sinful ways. Actually, I always thought karma was just some attempt to get me to do good by appealing to the best in me, my self-interest. Brilliant, really. However, recent events have got me thinking.

I was at a bar recently (how many of my stories begin this way?), when I ran into a friend, Sarah. Sarah is an attractive wildchild who just graduated college -- and a week later took a position at a prestigious corporation, Hooters. Anywho, Sarah grabs me and points out another female across the bar, "See that girl," she says, "she drank my piss." OK, you've got my attention. "How?" sez I. "Well," she continues, "I was on the back of the bar and I dropped my pants and pissed in a shot glass while she was in the bathroom. When she came back, I told her the piss was a shot I'd bought for her and she drank it!!!" "What'd she do?" I query. "Nothing!" she says, "I asked her if the shot was good and the drunk bitch said 'yeah!'"

So, a week later I'm talking to another friend of mine, Laura, who is out with her new boyfriend. He looks at me and says, "You want to hear something funny?" "OK," I bit. "I got hammered last night and went home with Laura. In the middle of the night I got up and had to piss. I'm walking down the hallway, and instead of going into the bathroom, I walk into Laura's roommate's room. She's laying in bed, so I walk over and just piss on her. She wakes up freaking out, and I just went back to Laura's room and went to sleep."

Yep, Laura's roommate was none other than Sarah. Instant karma, man.
 
Centinel 2:00 PM #

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