Sperm Murder

Currently in Oregon, there's a measure (43) on the ballot that, if passed, will legally require doctors to send out parental notification letters if a minor comes to them for an abortion. The seriously fucked up part is that if a father rapes his daughter, he'll get a nice little letter in the mail informing him of his daughter's abortion of their child...hmm, and this isn't a set up for further rape, physical abuse, or infanticide/murder? There is no clause for incest and rape exlusions if this measure passes.
Well, apparently in the state of Oregon, anyone can plop down $500 and get their own space in the voter's pamphlet to write whatever the hell they want in the Arguments in Favor or Opposition sections. This one was so great, I'm including it in it's entirety. It is an argument in "Favor."

At the moment of fertilization, cells begin to divide and multiply. Every cell contains our DNA--three billion pieces of genetic information. Every cell is sacred!
The 80 trillion cells in our body are dividing and multiplying all the time. And tragically, some cells die and are replaced. Why, God kills off several hundred billion of your red blood cells every day! But "Thou shalt not kill." Only God may kill your cells.
Every cell is sacred--sperm, egg, embryo, fetus, heart, hair, fingernail. Jesus said, "Even the hairs of your head are all numbered" (Matthew 10:30). Every cell is God's holy creation.
Although the Bible clearly indicates that the cells of the fetus have no soul separate from its mother (see previous argument), abortion nonetheless murders precious living cells.
According to Leviticus, a menstruating woman is unclean. She has wasted an unborn egg that could become a human life. The law should require parental notification of impending unborn uncleanliness.
Every act of masturbation kills up to 500 million unborn lives. Every sperm is sacred! Just like abortion, masturbation murders soulless cells. There should be parental notification prior to masturbation.
According to the Bible, beard shaving (Leviticus 19:27) is every bit as immoral as homosexuality! Just like abortion scrapes away life in the uterus, shaving violently scrapes away and murders millions of living skin cells. Barbershops should be required to give parental notification before committing shaving sin.
Did you know that slaughtering a sacred appendix causes it to feel pain?
The Bible says that children who fail to honor their parents should be stoned to death (Exodus 21:17). Implementing biblical law as Oregon public policy could effectively eliminate teenage abortion, appendectomy, shaving and sperm-murder.
Every cell is sacred. Every cell--from soulless fetus to fingernail--is a precious life that must not be killed.

Big Block Hippies

So last night I'm standing in line at the Aladdin Theater after just purchasing a last minute scalped ticket to see the tenth and final Night of the Murder Ballad...suddenly I hear my name being called, "OOOldie!" I turn, and there's Jeff standing up through a sun roof, stopped at a red light with some co-workers. The light turns green and I run after them, chasing them through the intersection doing some Riverdance kick moves and just basically looking like an asshole. And Jeff doesn't stop, despite the risk of my soul being captured by God as I dodged oncoming traffic...I found out later the guyser was on his way to go ghost-hunting at some cemeteries in Beaverton (Wow, cool...look at that ghost getting a manicure and beating her immigrant workers).
The murder ballads were great, performed by Stumptown notables like Dirty Martini, Heroes & Villains, Lil' Sue, and a bunch of others I'm not hip enough to remember...some great Nick Cage songs ("Where the Wild Roses Grow" among others), some nice originals, a few touching old timey tunes, and some lively covers of pop death dirges like "Jaynie's Got a Gun" along with two from the Blue Oyster Cult and the Violent Femmes that I can't recall the names of. Unfortunately it lasted close to four hours, and I felt myself nodding off despite the chorus of carnage on-state...
To fend off the feeling of getting old, I called up Jeff and we waxed our eyebrows, plucked our backhair, applied Rogaine, pulled on our lime-green Spandex and did some Xtreme BMXing.
Kidding...though I secretly wish I wasn't.
Instead we decided to bump some belligerent Bay Area gangsta rap Jeff bought earlier in the day, and drive by the Hawthorne Theater where some reggae concert was taking place...I screamed "Big Block, bitches!" and screeched off...then parked half a block down the street and we went inside to give a listen. The singer was a black-version of my stepdad with balding dreadlocks. It was a pretty sweet vision. The stink was overwhelming though, and I had a grand mal seizure just reminiscing about Arcata (Jeff and I went to school there, at Humboldt), so we bounced for a gin & tonic at Mulligan's a few blocks away. The bar had no character, but two things saved the experience...the first was a back room with the names of all the counties in Ireland carved into the plaster walls, the second being the three songs that played while we were briefly there were some Outkast, Goodie Mob, and Mos Def. Their old stuff. None too shabby.
Hungry, we stopped off at No Fish, Go Fish but were immediately shooed away by a gang of nekkid folks inside...we didn't want to cause a scene (can you imagine getting into a fight with a bunch of flaccidly floozy forty year olds?...I can't either) so we headed home for some leftover pizza I had from a previous night's trip with Kes to Blind Onion where she and I had filled out our ballots for the upcoming election (Oregon is a mail-in only state...there are no polling booths).
On the way back to the flophouse, I decided to take a detour under the freeway to this massive storage complex I had been eyeballing for over a year as a potential foty (that's 40oz., nugget) spot. It was like a miniature city, and we drove around until hitting a dead end dirt path...I put the car in reverse and looked in the rearview and HOLY FUCKING SHIT. There were goddamn LIBYANS behind us in a VW bus, homeboy standing through the sun roof with a fucking rocket launcher. Then I saw Doc get his chest liquefied with an AK-47, and we went apeshit trying to save him, but man, he was ghost.
So we went home and watched a library rental foreign film about a dad and his son taking a road trip from Paris to Mecca. Jeff fell asleep within 20 minutes, as always.
I cursed the terrorists, and wept for Doc.
Like my man Guru says, "Word is born, he was a good man."

Like herpes flare-ups...

...weeee're baaaack.

Excuses are in order.
Jeff was in Europe for the past 2 months and didn't feel that he had to contribute to the blog during his absense...his rationale? "'Cause I like to party."
Great, bud.
Me, myself...well, I purchased a demonic little despot named Frisco. She's a terror of a tiger. Nothing like rescuing a kitten from emminent murder (got her from the Humane Society) and being rewarded with hands that look like maggot-filled meatloaf, absolutely no sleep ("Hey human slave, wake the fuck up, it's 3am, I'm hungry, feed me, you biiotch."), and shit-scented apartment air. I've never been much attached to material goods, but that was always easy when I never really had good shit. However, I recently bought a new couch, and the thing already looks like a raggedy chew toy. Thanks, Frisco. Fortunately, I love the hell out of the little critter, and we've been spending most of our free time with her, teaching her how to kill things and...well, enjoying her preciousness.
Anyway, these two factors have lead us to attempt a change in format for our Portland chronicles...we'll now be attempting to write more frequent, less lengthy entries.
Wish us luck, homebwoyns.