DR. OZ MUST DIE!!!

My wife is addicted to Dr. Oz. I’ve offered to pay for her to go to a rehab clinic in Tahiti but she’s not interested in getting better. We have 128 episodes of Dr. Oz on the DVR and if I wander out of the living room for even a second and forget to hide the remote, when I come back his perfect teeth and thick wavy hair are staring at me from the TV.  

What is it about Dr. Oz that makes middle aged women act like 12 year old girls at a Justin Bieber concert? They giggle, they sweat, they absent-mindedly touch themselves in ways that are inappropriate on national television. Sure, he’s a multi-millionaire. Sure, he’s a cardiothoracic surgeon. Sure, he has a jaw line that makes him look like the bizzare love child of Brad Pitt and Jay Leno, but can he belch the alphabet? I THINK NOT! 

Out of good taste I’ll refrain from mentioning that you could launch an aircraft carrier off of those ears.  

My main problem with Dr. Oz is that he cares way too much about what I eat and how much I poop. I have survived for 53 years quite nicely on a Mt. Dew and Twinkie diet, thank you very much, and I don’t need anybody messing with something that is working perfectly well. Not only that but Dr. Oz wants me to walk. Dr. Oz wants me to eat lots of vegetables and lay off caffeine. Dr. Oz wants me to go get a colonoscopy. Dr. Oz wants me to be regular. In fact, he is simply WAY too concerned about what goes in and out of my rectum.  

The main problem with Dr. Oz is that he gives my wife ideas; ideas that don’t gel with me vegging out on the couch with a gallon of Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla ice cream and a guart of Hershey’s chocolate syrup. I can ignore Dr. Oz, but I can only ignore my wife for so long before I find myself sleeping on the porch.  

Therefore, on behalf of all men everywhere, I’m announcing that Dr. Oz must die. 

Unfortunately, he’s so friggin healthy he’ll probably live to be 120. 

Bastard. 

So…. 

I’ve been in Vegas most of this week for a major trade show. I just got back to my hotel room after a “company dinner” and I feel that I should state for the record that there is a HIGH probability that I’m EXTREMELY intoxicated while typing this (1). 

My company’s corporate offices are in Las Vegas so I come here several times a year. However, I live in Oklahoma and I am so naive that bringing me to Vegas is like taking Barney the Dinosaur to the Chicken Ranch (2). Therefore, I tend to make comments that reveal to my Vegas coworkers that every stereotype they have heard about about how stupid midwesterners are is completely accurate.   

For example, I made a comment earlier today about how many fat, bald, middle aged men I had seen strolling through the casinos with stunningly beautiful young women on their arms. I said something like; “all the bright lighting must impair these women’s vision.” My coworkers patted me sympathetically on the head and then, speaking to me the way you would while trying to explain calculus to a dog, explained to me the monetary arrangement behind these “less-than-conventional” couples. Although they claimed no personal experience, they went on to explain (in vivid detail) the pricing structure involved in this monetary arrangement. All I can say is that after as many rum and cokes as I’ve had tonight, I can pee on myself for a lot less than $2,000.00, thank you very much (not that I’m into that sort of thing.)

My naivete has also left me baffled by a couple of things. First; a couple of nights ago a manufacturer took four of us from my company to dinner at the “Tao” restaurant at the Venetian. This is an absurdly overpriced restaurant that serves Wagyu beef at $85.00 an ounce. I don’t know what the final tab was but I’m pretty sure we could all have had a “less-than-conventional date” for a lot less money. While we were waiting to be seated, a young woman walked in wearing a white mini dress that came just a fraction of an inch below the point at which we all would have know whether she dyed her hair or not (if you catch my drift). After standing around for a few minutes she went over to sit down directly across from us. For no other reason than wishing to observe the gymnastics that she was going to have to perform to sit down in that dress, we watched the young woman take a seat. In case you’re wondering, the mystery was solved…she was not a natural blond. 

WHY WOULD A WOMAN GO OUT IN PUBLIC LIKE THAT?!?!?! (3) 

Based on the group she was with, this girl did not appear to be for rent. I guess I should look no farther than the infamous photos of Britney Spears getting out of that car a couple of years ago. Apparently, you simply reach a point that you’ve spent so much money on the dress that you simply can’t afford underwear. So you’ll be happy to know that being the altruistic group of guys that we were, we took up a collection for her. I still don’t understand why she slapped us when we were told her what the money was for.  

The second thing I don’t understand is breast implants that are large enough to have a label on the side of them that says “in the event of a water landing, these babies can be used as a flotation device.” They are EVERYWHERE out here. I realize that I’m in the male minority when I say this, but if you are 5’ 2” tall and weigh 90 lbs, 36” triple-D boobs look a tad out of place. This does not occur in nature unless, perhaps, you were exposed to high radiation levels at Chernobyl. Mutant cyborg breasts look stupid ladies…stop it (4). 

I called it a night pretty early this evening so I could get back to the hotel and try and sleep this off before I get on a plane in the morning. I just hope that in my current condition I don’t do something stupid like try and blog. I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself (5). 

1. Friends don’t let friends drink and blog
2. “I love you, you love me, damn this hooker’s butt ugly.”
3. Please note this is a hypothetical question. I don’t really want to know. 
4. 36” double-D’s are plenty big enough. 
5. Yes, I know. That ship sailed a LONG time ago. 

It’s true. I watch The Bachelor and The Bachelorette. I realize that there is no excuse for this behavior. I also understand what it is doing to me cognitively.  

I took the tests and became a Mensa member in my 30’s but after two seasons of watching the Bachelor and Bachelorette I had to turn my membership card back in. After an additional two seasons I was unable to form thoughts more complex than “when will the hot tub scene be on?” After only two more seasons I was unable to wipe the drool off my chin or change my own diaper. By the time that Emily gives out the final rose at the end of this season I may actually be voting Republican.  

I am transfixed by the sheer stupidity of these shows. I love the ridiculously contrived contestants; “Hi, I’m Derrick, I’m a nuclear physicist during the week but my real love is quiet walks on the beach and rescuing baby seals. Now, for no apparent reason, I’m going to remove my shirt so you can ogle my chiseled abs.”  

I love the over-the-top dates. I know that when my wife and I were dating I routinely drove her in my Maserati to the airport so that we could hop on my private jet and take a quick flight over to Greenland to have a picnic on a glacier (Ok, that’s not entirely true. When I was I was dating my wife, and I really wanted to splurge on a date, I let her have her own order of fries at McDonalds.)  

I love the carefully scripted drama, the cat fights, the bunny-boiling psycho chicks, and the one phrase that is uttered at least 100 times every season; “I don’t think that guy is here for the right reasons.” Dude, who the fuck cares? Every man in America that watches this show is here for one, and one reason only… 

…25 beautiful twenty-something women in dental floss bikinis (and you can watch it with your wife’s permission!!!) 

I’ve heard people say that they should have a reality dating show about people my age but I’m not sure that would make for very good television. All of the dates would be at Piccadilly Cafeteria and would be over by 7:00 p.m. The deep discussions between potential romantic matches would revolve around pictures of the grandchildren and comparing medications. And no one wants to see 40 extra pounds of wrinkled pasty cottage-cheese-flesh, oiled and squeezed into a one piece bathing suit (and I’m talking about the male contestants here.) 

I do try and redeem myself. Last night I did watch two episodes of the PBS documentary “Monarchy: The Royal Family at Work.” It was very informative. I’m excited about tonight’s installment. 

The teaser shows the queen in a hot tub. 

For many years of my life I was staunchly pro-life. As a young youth minister I taught the teenagers in my church that abortion was a black and white issue…always wrong…end of story. Then two sets of events slowly changed my perspective.  

For two years in the early 80’s I was on staff at a church in a small town in the very southwest corner of Oklahoma. It was an ultra-conservative farming community and it was hours away from any big city. There were two 16 year old girls in my youth group who both became pregnant about the same time. In this community, an unplanned pregnancy would have been the ultimate family humiliation. There was no avenue in that town at that point in time for an abortion. Before either family knew their daughters were pregnant the girls took desperate measures. One girl attempted to abort herself with a coat hanger and almost bled to death. The other girl attempted suicide by drinking Drano and had to wear a colostomy bag for years. Suddenly my black and white world didn’t seem so black and white anymore.  

Even though my beliefs were shaken I clung to them to them tightly and later decided to do something that might have provided a way out for those two girls. Years later I took a job as a house-father at a home for unwed pregnant teenagers. I wanted to be part of a ministry that provided a positive alternative to abortion and a nurturing atmosphere for girls who were going through a difficult situation. 

I was a house-father at that home for just over 3 years. During that period 76 girls came through our home. The youngest was 11 and the oldest was a mentally impaired girl who was 22. Many of their stories would rip the heart right out of your chest. 

The number of girls that chose to keep their child and the number of girls who chose to give their child up for adoption was almost evenly split. Over the course of that three years I noticed something about that decision process that really began to bother me. In almost all of the cases in which the girl understood that her maturity level and lack of support made it a wiser decision for her to give up her baby were the ones that I would have chosen to have had the best chance of being a good parent. Conversely, the girls who had no clue about what lay ahead of them and chose to keep their babies are the ones I desperately hoped would give their child up for adoption. 

I knew the situations that the girls who chose to keep their babies were walking back into. Not all of them were bad, but many were. I had met their drug addicted friends and their abusive boyfriends, and I had seen the poverty that many of them came from. Having grown up in an abusive environment myself, I new full well what lay ahead for many of those babies and it made me physically ill when I saw them walk out of the door.  

Is it my place to say that it would have been best if those babies had never been born? Of course not. Am I glad my mother chose not to abort me? Of course I am. I understand the biblical principles behind being opposed to abortion but as those years went by, my world became grayer and grayer.  

I’m proud of the three years that I worked there. I think the Christian organizations that provide this kind of service are on the right track and I applaud them. I certainly would rather see a child being given up for adoption than being aborted. 

But I also understand that the bible is not the basis for everyone’s beliefs and it’s not my place to try and legislate the morality of others. It may be a black and white issue for many, but it’s not a black and white issue for everyone.  

While I believe that the Government needs to stay the hell out of our bedrooms and that a woman has a right to choose, for me it’s about more than just those political talking points. It’s about real people, dealing with real issues, and seeing the bigger picture rather than just a tiny slice of it. (For a great take on this issue you really need to read my friend Miss Order’s “Greater Considerations.”)

We can debate abortion forever and no one is going to convince anyone else of their position. So instead of doing that I want to extend a challenge to Christians. If you’re a Christian and you believe that abortion is murder under any circumstance then I understand that you need to fight against it. But rather than trying to force your beliefs on others why don’t you do something substantial to provide an alternative. I’m not talking about about giving 10 dollars a year to some pro-life counseling service that advertises on a billboard. I’m talking about really giving a big chunk of your life. I gave three and a half years, what are you going to give? 

So there’s my challenge: Put up or shut up. 

I’ve discovered many “Christians” here on Xanga who actively promote a doctrine of hate. Of course they don’t come out and use that word. They dress up their hate in words like “reason” and “civility” and “natural order,” but it’s hate nonetheless, and it’s poisonous.  

Obviously these people are not restricted to Xanga. Hate in the name of religion has plagued mankind for all of recorded history, but I didn’t really understand it until I entered the ministry full-time in 1980.   

(cue wavy “going back in time” special effect.)  

I was 22 and had graduated from college that spring with a degree in Church Music. A month later I was called as the “Minister of Music and Youth” at the largest church in a very tiny town. I should have guessed that something was up at this church when the pastor refused to call me by my name and instead spent my entire tenure there referring to me as “college boy.” I discovered later that he had dropped out of school in Jr. High. I certainly didn’t care, but it was clear that he did. Proud of my newly acquired moniker, I jumped into my responsibilities like the zealot that I was. 

The rule among protestant churches in the south at the time was that Youth Ministers were to host an event after every home high school football game and that event was to be called a “Fifth Quarter.” I did not make up this rule, but I followed it religiously (rim shot). For homecoming week I decided to combine the Fifth Quarter with an equally revered institution called a “Lock-In.” For the uninitiated, a lock-in is an all night party in which the teenagers are locked inside the church building in much the same way the clinically insane are locked inside an asylum. 

I was determined that my first lock-in would be the greatest lock-in in all of recorded Youth Minister history and I began planning accordingly. I rented the high school cafeteria to hold the event in. I hired a Christian Rock-Band and a Christian Magician (In case you’re wondering, a Christian magician still pulls rabbits out of a hat, but the rabbits have been baptized.) I had arranged for movies and tons of food and I put out the word and hoped kids would show up, and show up they did. 

Perhaps it’s only because there was nothing else going on in this one stoplight town but pretty much the entire high school showed up. We had 176 teenagers spend the night in the high school cafeteria. That may not sound like a large number for many churches but that was significantly more than the average Sunday morning attendance at the church. 

The town had a large African-American population. I had been told when I was hired that there was some racial tension but I had not seen any real indication of it. The mix that night was about 50/50 between black and white students. The event ended the next morning with me thinking I was a cross between Billy Graham and Martin Luther King Jr. I had not only planned and hosted the highest attended event in our churches history, but I had single handedly healed any racial divide in our community. 

The kids left at 7:00 a.m. and after cleaning up, I stumbled home and into bed about 9:30 a.m. At 10:00 a.m. I was awakened by a phone call from the chairman of the youth committee. He said the committee had called an emergency meeting and that I was to be there at 11:00 a.m. I went to the meeting thinking that they were going to give me a medal for being the greatest Youth Minister in the history of the congregation, but that’s not exactly what happened. 

I walked into the living room of the chairman’s house and sat down in the only vacant chair in a pre-arranged circle. After an awkward silence the chairman finally spoke: “We’ve asked you here because we’ve decided that we can’t allow you to have any more activities like the one you had last night.” I was dumbfounded. “Why?” I asked. “We just don’t think it’s the direction our youth ministry needs to be heading.” “Why?” I asked. “Well, it’s just not what we think is in the best interest of our church.” “Why? I asked. (Even at 22, I knew when I was listening to bull shit and I thought if I asked the same question enough times I might finally get a real answer.) Finally a woman in the group, who also happened to be the church secretary, spoke up: “We don’t want them black kids thinking they can come to our church.” Finally, the truth had been spoken. (In reality, her English was probably better than that but I like to attribute bad grammar to her because it helps me continue to vilify her in my memory.) 

My soul died a little that day, and that was probably the beginning of my bizarre love/hate relationship with the ministry and organized religion in general.   

32 years have gone by but every time I read a comment or a post from a Christian here on Xanga that is nothing but hate wrapped in dogma I feel like I’m sitting back in that living room listening to bigots trying to justify their bigotry.  

You know who you are and you should be ashamed, but I know you’re not, and I know you never will be.  

Listen to what this pastor has to say about Gay Rights. I think you’ll be surprised. Preach it brother….

Do you remember the famous Star Trek episode “The Trouble with Tribbles” in which tiny mutant hairballs multiply rapidly until they almost appear to become one giant mutant hairball, kind of like Donald Trump? If you don’t remember it, the tribbles infest the entire Starship Enterprise and begin eating away at everything they see which would take all of the fun out of being one of the guys in the red shirts that always dies in every episode. I’ve encountered something similar lately with the troll population here on Xanga.  

I’ve been an Xanga member since 2004. I took a break in 2009 and then decided to reappear about three weeks ago. I did literally hundreds of posts during those first five years and never encountered a single troll. Then I made a huge tactical error… 

Have any of you gone over to the Revelife site? It’s a Christian blogging community that accepts reader submissions. One day I got a crazy idea; “I wonder if they would publish a post of mine?” Due to my rather bizarre love/hate relationship with organized religion I figured there was about as much chance of them publishing something I wrote as Michele Bachmann’s husband not actually being gay. But lo and behold they published this post in which I actually used the phrase “fucked up.”  

I was impressed. 

Then the trolls came, and for the life of me I don’t why I was surprised they would show up on a Christian website.  

Our dear friends over at Wikipedia define an internet troll as “Someone who posts inflammatory, extraneous, or off-topic messages in an online community, such as an online discussion forum, chat room, or blog, with the primary intent of provoking readers into an emotional response or of otherwise disrupting normal on-topic discussion.” 

Holy shitballs there are a bunch of these folks trolling around Xanga and NONE of them have a sense of humor! 

There were many well meaning people who were truly concerned about my impending date with hell fire and eternal damnation, but then I ran across people who appeared to be dicks for the sole purpose of being dicks. Please note that there is a difference between being a dick and actually having a dick. Some of the trolls were women and the male trolls are probably being dicks because of the microscopic size of their actual dick. However, to be fair, this is the same reason I’m in my 50’s and drive a sports car.  

There is one troll in particular that I’ve learned has a long and inglorious history here on Xanga. From what I’ve learned, he trolls under a name until he gets kicked off Xanga and then re-emerges as a new personality. I wont reveal his actual current Xanga incarnation here but it sort of rhymes with “the advisor of doves.” or maybe “the wearer of gloves,” or even “douche bag we want to shove.” 

I won’t glorify his antics here other to say that he must be a very unhappy person and he really, REALLY, needs to get back on his meds.  

In don’t understand trolling. Why would someone spend so much time and effort running all over Xanga leaving condescending, hateful, belligerent, and sometimes downright crazy comments on the posts of anyone they disagree with? Oh yeah…It must be because the are very unhappy people who really, REALLY, need to get back on their meds.  

I will admit that I have allowed him to get under my skin and when that happens he wins. So I’m going to follow sage advice and I’m going to stop feeding the trolls.  

Maybe if we all stop feeding the trolls they will wind up like the guys in the red shirts on Star Trek.