Hit the reset button.

I'm baaack! Been a little stretch there, sometimes inspiration comes in bunches, sometimes not at all. And sometimes in a bottle of Patron. Brooding young teens not really brooding much these days. The squirrels are too busy stuffing their little furry bodies with every edible niblet in my backyard to bother with. And geez, I've actually kinda been sedate in the car lately. A good drive up to WI should do the trick. I guess that leaves me only one thing to grouse about. Illinois.

When something is so broke it is beyond fixing, what do you do? You throw it out. Can we do that? We are so messed up right now, priorities, debt, corruption, laws, I don't even know where to begin. But I think I have a solution. It's called the reset button. Wouldn't it be nice if we the people, could rise above our evil government overlords and have a special election where there would be one issue to vote on. Do you favor kicking out every single elected official, from the governor, to the congressmen and state senators, and especially the judges, and starting over from scratch? I mean, what could it harm?

Think about it for a second. No Michael Madigan for our politicians to cower to. No incompetent judges returned to the bench by ignorant voters who couldn't tell the difference between a judge on the bench and Judge Reinhold.

No Jesse Jackass Jr. or Derrick Smith getting re-elected despite the blatantly obvious corruption running through their veins like beer to Homer Simpson. No spineless career politicians in Springfield where every vote is made in their own self-serving interests. One vote to cast them all out and start over.

"Oh, but Mr. Guitarman sir, is it really that bad? Are they all, that bad?" Well you tell me. Second worst bond rating in the nation, recently downgraded and heading for another round. Unfunded pension liabilities that threaten not our children's retirement, but ours. Worst budget deficit in the nation somewhere in the neighborhood of $43 billion. Governor's (plural) in jail. A steady stream of corrupted officials with their hands so deep in the cookie jar their elbows get stuck. Judges getting re-elected that are so bad that the local bar associations rate them as "Not Recommended". An arcane concealed carry law making us as the laughing stock of the nation as we are the only one of 50 states where you can't protect yourself. Failing schools. Undermanned police in Chicago. Gang wars that take the life of innocent children, every single day.

I could keep typing until my fingers stiffen from arthritis. But what about a solution. What can we do? I asked the question on Facebook, and one friend suggested "educate the voters." Is that even possible in the current climate we face ourselves in? Let me dwell on one of my favorite rants, Triple J. You must know the story of his fall from grace. But in the last election, he won with 63% of the vote without even campaigning. And he had the backing of fellow politicians, namely one Ald. Carrie Austin, who are now upset, no furious, that he duped them. Well maybe if Ms. Austin was a little more worried about her constituents, and not protecting one of her own, if maybe she had seen what all of us had seen, that a lying, cheating, corrupt piece of crap like JJJ was faking all of this bi-polar BS and really hiding under a rock so he wouldn't have to deal with his day of reckoning, maybe things would be different. To educate voters, they need to hear from honest people they respect. When those same politicians don't respect them back, and feed them lies to sway their vote, then there is no hope for voter education.

Enter the reset button. Or in our case, a recall election. Recall them all. Every last ego driven alderman, senator, judge, mayor, board president and governor. Would we be kicking out a few good ones? Of course. But like the old saying goes, one bad apple can spoil the whole batch. But what if there is only one good apple in the whole bad batch? We have to start over. Of course it is a fantasy driven pipe dream, namely to seat myself as the supreme Ayatollah of Illinois. But think for one second about that. It would be epic, no? And quite honestly, I don't see how it would be possible for us to be in worse shape then we are now.

This is personal.

There are, at last count, millions of cars on the road. Billions? How the heck is someone supposed to stand out? Snazzy paint job? Check. Rear spoiler? Double check. Rims and tires that cost more than the rest of the car combined? Got it. I mean, I 've seen it all. Seconds after turning sixteen, I proudly showed my mom all of the spoilers and sun shades and louvers I was willing to spend my own money on to turn her boring red 1978 Toyota Celica into a lean, mean, driving machine. I think it went something like this:

Mom: What do you want to do to my car?
16 yr. old GM: You mean our car?
Mom: Did you pay for it?
16 yr. old GM: I was only 15 when you bought it. Now I have a job and want to make up for it.
Mom: Well I won't be seen driving around looking like that!
16 yr. old GM: Like what?
Mom: Like some 16 year old from the ghetto!
16 yr. old GM: Mom the cars in the ghetto don't look this good.

And on it went. Suffice it to say, the Celica remained boring, and mom didn't have to look like a jackass driving her own car. But there is one dubious bit of personalizing done out there that sometimes makes you laugh, sometimes makes you angry, and sometimes makes you say WTF? I am talking about vanity license plates.

I used to have one, actually. Back in my young and stupid and playing ultimate frisbee all the time days, I thought the name of our beloved team, the Flying Spuds, should be immortalized on my 1986 Chevy Camaro. But Flying Spuds exceeds the 7 letter limit in Illinois, so I settled on FL SPUD 1. I got it. My friends got it. But everyone else asked me if I was a potato farmer from Florida. That's when I realized that I looked dumb out there on the roads, as no one in their right mind would ever believe there were potato farms in Florida.

Today, in a social experiment, kind of, I wrote down every personalized plate I saw. So in no particular order, they were: GUAPO, MY BENZ 1, M OR W, ARISTOS, JSCNU, ECRA 1, M 16, PHILOS 4, KINOLA 6, ATS I, WTSOX, AVERY 9, SANDIAS, DNITA 67, IM MD 3, REAL LS 1, GRR ARGH (I shit you not), BKM 89, OSCAR 79, J STEW 2, SIGNSN 3, INTRNT, and MY UHOH 1. Now taken as a whole, most of these fall into the category of huh? Obviously they are personal to that person, but I haven't a clue. A few are clear cut, like M 16. He also had some sort of gun sticker, and he had veterans plates. So yea, don't mess with that guy. And the MY BENZ 1. On a Mercedes. Really? Your flippin' car that says "Mercedes" everywhere, and has the little unmistakable Mercedes logos all over it? Thanks for clearing that up. You spend an extra $100 a year to tell us what you already spent $75,000 on: that you're loaded. One guy is a Chicago White Sox fan (figure it out). And one woman is always pissed off. When I passed GRR ARGH, I looked at her and she did look pissed.

But a few plates beg a few questions. Like the lady hunched over the steering wheel like a 90 year granny in a spankin' new Camaro. Guess which one...her plate read, MY UHOH 1. UHOH as in "Watch out road, here I come in this rocket ship with wheels and I really suck at driving?" Or UHOH as in "I'll be paying this car off for a decade?" Or what about the INTRNT guy? Are you telling us that A. you invented the internet or B. you use the internet? If it's A, then you are more full of shit than Al Gore. If it's B, then congratu-freakin-lations. Welcome to the real world Neo.

I can't end without mentioning the 3 most memorable plates I have ever seen. The first was 1. That's it, just the number 1. It was an old Checker Limo, the second in a 2 car motorcade, and as I passed, I saw then Governor Jim Thompson. "Kewl," I thought. The other was one that pissed me off a little. It read, U ENVY ME. Umm, I do? And who the f$%k are you? I looked over as I passed, and she was a hot blond with a smug look on her little face, and I thought, "What an egotistical thing to do." Should I cut her off, run her into the ditch, so her car catches on fire, and as I run up to the window as she reaches out of the burning auto crying for help I can say, "Now who envies who bitch?" Well, I didn't. I should have, but didn't. Then a few weeks went by and I went to a friends barbecue and guess what car was sitting in the driveway? Well it wasn't my friends car, but his next door neighbors. I asked him about it and he responded that yea, she basically walked around like her shit didn't stink. Now her shit may or may not have stunk, but I'm sure glad I didn't run her off the road.

And the third? This is no joke. A neighbor, whose name was Jay, gave his wife a loaded Cadillac Escalade, or Chevy Urbantank, or something ridiculous like that, and had put on vanity plates. She was Jay's girl, and he wanted the world to know it. Nothing wrong with that. Except, in the confines of the 7 letter limit, JAYS GIRL missed by one. Personally, I would have gone with JAYS GRL. Everyone would get it. But he opted for this: JZ GIRL. Um, when I read it, I see something totally else entirely. Like a girl who is in love with, hmmm how to put this delicately? In love with a certain male fluid that spurts out of the, um, well you get it. Now driving down the road, everyone doesn't look at her plates and know to whom she belongs, they look at her and think she is a porn star. And I never had the guts to say a word to her.

Don't let me down.

Huh? What was this person thinking? Ok, so they weren't. It never ceases to amaze the Guitarman that the little things he takes for granted, like common sense, are lost on a good percentage of the general public. Like not smoking pot in my car in front of a cops house, or not writing a book on your sexual exploits while being a high school coach of a girls sports team. Or even re-electing a politician while half the federal government is investigating every aspect of his life. Today kiddies is a special addition of 5 on 5, dedicated to stupid.

Up in flames: Juggling can be fun to watch. Especially when the said items being juggled are flaming. Ooooh!! Aaahhh! But here is word of advise to all would be flaming jugglers out there: move the can of fuel away from you before you practice your craft. Seems that was lost on one Aaron Rossetti as he promptly lost his flaming bowling pin to the picnic table where his open can of camping fuel was sitting, which of course was right next his props, which of course also burst into flame and melted into the pavement. Try using chain saws next time buddy, and we won't feel sorry for you because you were momentarily afflicted with stupid disease. You'll be dead.

Fido vs. Goliath: Take a quick look a this picture and look away.

Ok, what was the picture of? If you said a Starbucks sign like me, then you were fooled as I was. Look again. Yes Andrea McCarthy-Grzybek decided it was a clever idea to name her doggie daycare business as a take-off of the worlds largest barista shop. Not only does "Starbarks" invoke the name of the coffee megalith, but her sign looks just like a Starbucks sign, complete with the little stars, and of course the green logo. And of course Starbucks is suing, and of course McCarthy-Grzybek can't figure out why. I know why. Stupid covertly crept it's ugly little head into her brain and demanded to be heard. You don't steal one of the most recognizable logos from a giant corporation and walk off, leash in hand, into the sunset.

I'm really a good guy: That's what Bryan Craig wants you to believe. That's what 99% of his friends would say about him, he says. Well I want talk with the other 1%. He is the guy who was a high school girls varsity basketball coach, and student counselor, who thought it was a smart idea to write and publish his own book on female sexuality called "It's Her Fault." Where he talks about targeting women for sex with low self esteem. And the differences in the vaginas of women from different races. He is suing for being fired from his job where he was around young women all day, for writing a book on how to get into their pants. Says his right to free speech is being violated. Hey dumb ass, nobody is stomping on your right to talk about what a callous womanizing loser you are. They are stomping on your right to use a high school full of young woman as your personal grazing field.

Up in smoke: Now we all know being 18 goes hand in hand with being stupid. Sometimes. We often write off our own less than Freudian moments of clarity when we were teens as being young and stupid. But here's simple little hint for all the would be pot smokers out there: don't sit in your car in front of a cops house getting high. Just ask Maximilian G. Salling. Hint number one, pot is still illegal almost everywhere. Hint number two, cops generally will bust you for breaking the law. It's what they do.

Triple J: Now my regular reader of this blog can attest to the fact that yes, I do like to pick on certain people, and in this case, the less than honorable Jesse Jackson Jr. But putting him in the "stupid" column today is not what I am doing here. Yes, using campaign money to fly your concubine to Chicago is less than smart. Yes, thinking that no one would notice that you were trying to buy your way into the US senate ranks up there in the halls of stupidity. But not today. Today I am calling out people of Illinois's 2nd Congressional District. All of you. It seems that polls indicate a clear path to re-election for Triple J despite the above stated poor decisions. Not to mention being locked in your house and the Mayo Clinic with bi-polar depression for the last six months. He hasn't campaigned. He hasn't addressed the media once. He denies the sworn testimony of his fund-raiser that he offered Blago over a million bucks for the US senate seat. He cheated on his wife. And he used campaign funds on less than campaign matters. So, all of you in the Illinois's 2nd Congressional District, I have just one question for you. Are you stupid or what?

I have said it before, I will say it again, and I will put it on my tombstone. If you give people a chance to do something stupid, they will never let you down.

What's in a number anyway?

Numbers are fun. Age, after all, is just a number. Will it mean anything on The Guitarman's next birthday that the prefix of that number will jump from a 4 to a 5? Maybe only in my head. The big number that is being celebrated today in the paper is 7.8. That is the percentage of Americans still out of work. Not including of course those that have given up looking, tradesmen working 20 hour weeks instead of 40, stay at home moms who only do so because the food stamps they get allow them to eat for free on the governments dime, and those once proud salaried workers now making $10 an hour at Starbucks or Menards. But when you look at the number and not the facts, it's easier to swallow. But the number that has me all gaga today is 10,000.

That is supposedly the number of readers that decided they could waste 5 minutes of their day reading the rambling, narcissistic grandstanding that is passed off as prose on this page. Can I get a woot-woot? Clearly tooting my own horn. But what, if anything, does it really mean? Are they actually reading? Or just stumbling along in search engines for something else altogether?

Ever go looking for something on the internet? Of course you have. But usually you get 10 items that have nothing to do with what you are looking for for every one that is. Example? A piece I wrote a year and a half ago still gets regular hits. 'Wow, I must really have struck a chord that day,' I used to think. Until I looked closer and saw that all of the traffic came from google images. It was about life as a kid growing up in our neighborhood, and watching Saturday morning cartoons. And so I included a little picture of one of my favorite old cartoons, the Road Runner. So when it seemed that someone in Australia had an interest in the childhood of an average American suburbanite, it was actually some kid looking for an image of Wile E. Coyote.

The one article that has gotten the most hits of any though, was one about a study that suggested that the government should tackle the country's obesity problem by regulating sugar. Flashing back to my childhood was a bugs bunny cartoon where Bugs Bunny would always ask Pete Puma, "One lump or two?" in reference to the amount of sugar in his tea. And Pete would respond in that twangy southern drawl, "Oh three of four..." So of course I included a photo of Pete, and of course there are more people looking for images of old cartoons than there are curious readers who want the demented opinion of an obscure blogger from Illinois.

So like I said, a number is is just a number. You can skew it every which way but loose, look at it from different angles, and come up with any number of conclusions. So when the number of people completely looking for something else readers in my little corner of heaven topped the big 10,000 mark, I was momentarily proud of actually accomplishing something. Until the moment had passed, and I looked behind the number, and realized it was probably closer to old Pete's proclamation. So if someone ever asks me how many readers I have had, I will respond with the same twangy southern drawl, "Oh, three or four."

An Oscar it is not.

In the world of movie making, most of us choose to only watch the cream of the crop. Those films that make it to the cinemas across the nation, where we drop some heavy coin to get in, drink 2 gallons of sugary soda, and bury our heads in a $7 bucket of butter soaked popcorn. (Do you think the native Americans of yore could have envisioned the truckloads of popcorn that a single movie theater can crank out?) And those films are (usually) worthy of our hard earned money. Then there is the second tier of films, that abolish all hopes of giant screen greatness and go straight to DVD. You've seen them. Well, maybe not actually seen any of the films per se, but you've seen them. In the vast bins of Wal-Mart and Walgeens, and all of the other Wal -like stores out there. $5.99. $3.99. Get one free with the purchase of a carton of cigarettes. They are generally bad. Bad acting, bad script, bad effects. But if you think any film you have ever wasted money on was bad, be it a box office bomb, or a cellophane wrapped straight-to-DVD waste of space, then you ain't seen nuthin' yet if you haven't seen clips of the now famous "Anti-Islam" film that is sparking world unrest.

Now when you hear the word "unrest", you think of the struggles of the demoralized masses, rising up against oppression in their own countries. Plenty of that to go around. But we have Americans dying, being assassinated for just being American, all because of a movie some anarchistic dumb shit decided to release. And when I call it a movie, that is like calling a go-cart a luxury automobile. It's like calling moonshine a fine wine. It's like saying Keanu Reeves a good actor. You get my drift? The film is bad.

I decided this morning that it was time The Guitarman took a look at what all the ruckus was about. YouTube provides us with instant 24 hour access to anything some goof with a camera decides is web worthy. And the guy that made "Innocence of Muslims" is definitely the king of all goofs with a camera. The industry standard for bad acting has previously been bestowed upon those actors that let their anatomy do the talking. You know what I am saying. One does not watch a porn movie for the acting. But the monotonal hacks actors that appear in the Islam film are to acting what hungry lions are to eating. The special effects require us to rethink the word "special". The script must have been written on bar napkins. In a word, the entire film, or at least the few snippets I found on YouTube, are laughable. No, they are ridiculously insulting to anyone who has ever watched a movie.

But from the actors, to the director, to the make-up artists, and to the grips, none of it matters to the entire Muslim world. The only thing that matters to them is the message. Rising up across the globe, in a feel good million Muslim march, American flags are being burned, embassies are being over-run, American soldiers and diplomats are being murdered, all in the name of religion. You insulted our God, therefore we our within our rights to murder you. What kind of fucked up religion is that? Granted, the message that the film sends, that of a womanizing, blood lusting Mohammed rising to power to kill all infidels, ie. all people that don't worship him, is not the kind of thing the peace loving Muslims of the world want to hear. The idiot that made this film, excuse me, this piece of propoganda, must have known the outrage it would create. Outrage not only from the Al-Qaeda and Taliban fanatics out there, but from the rest of the Muslim world as well.

Listen, killing someone in the name of your God is downright barbaric. It's wrong. It's evil. It's freaking insane! But there are parts of the world that still seem to live in the biblical age. You know, where stoning and beheading are acceptable norms. Guys with flowing robes and ZZTop beards tending to herds of goats in the desert. Where no one, and I mean no one has a sense of humor. Was this film meant as a joke? To me, I was laughing. Not at Mohammed, but at the film itself. It is laughable in a sense that I could take an iPhone in my back yard and make something that would seem more plausible than what this goofball did.

Maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe we, have it all wrong. Maybe the swarming locust-like masses aren't out there getting their mob on in defense of their prophet. Maybe they are just really angry that they wasted money on a really bad movie. Without the popcorn. But angry they are, over something that someone half a world away decided to bestow upon society. I once had a neighbor from hell. Everything she did pissed me off. When she breathed, she was stealing my air. Then she moved half a world away. Well, at least half a state away, but I let her live her life, and I got to live mine, without interference from each other. Her dogs got to shit all over her new neighborhood and it didn't bother me in the least. Get what I am driving at?

Gotta quote one of my favorite lines from an actual movie, uttered by the infamous Sgt. Hulka. Lighten up Francis. Maybe that's the ticket. Send copies of Stripes to the American hating lunatics of the world in hopes that one day they may develop a sense of humor.

Throw 'em out with the bathwater.

30 years. What have you done for the last 30 years? How many different jobs did you have? How many different bands have you been in? How many offspring did you eject from your loins? 13, 9, and 2. I'm real sure about the 2. Less so about the 9. And the 13. But it was a lot. I've been busy, okay? Probably more than most of you with the band thing. And with only 2 kids? I know a lot of you are saying, PPfff! Only 2? But in fact the average number of children in the US in homes with children is 1.86. Even less so at .9 when you throw in the couples with no kids. So there is a slight percentage that I am over you in that one too. But where I am going with this? Its the jobs one. For the last 30 years I have seen my share of different employers, but there's at least one guy out there who has been at his helm of Illinois politics as the whole time.

Michel Madigan, Speaker of the House. There I said it. Phhlleeww! Sorry, just hacked something up. Way back when, just after dinosaurs roamed the earth, the thought of being in politics was to serve your civic duty, give up a small chunk of your career for the good of your nation, or your community, and when you served your time, you went back to your crops, or your store, or whatever you did back then. Career and politician are two words that should never go together. The only thing that drives these people are their own inflated egos. Well, that and their Mercedes', and Audi's, and so on.

The state is in massive debt, our credit rating was recently downgraded (and could be again), there is a strike coming in Chicago at CPS (yes a Chicago problem, but if the state didn't default on it's payments to Illinois schools, then teachers don't get laid off, programs don't get cancelled, and maybe there isn't a strike), it's well known that we are the most corrupt state in the nation, and only a fool doesn't believe that Madigan is buying his votes with appropriations and appointments and favors and fantasies and pots of gold and whatever else it takes to stay in office at all costs! His constituents are too unconcerned with their own well being, while his co-workers are afraid of ever voting against him for fear of their own political skin. Hell, even the Governor, the man that should be the most powerful man in the state, can't get anything done when Madigan wants his way. And they're in the same damn party!!

Okay, deep breath, one, two, three, that's it, breath again, Hulk impulse fading, fading, faaa...it's gone.

Seriously, it's high time we throw this bum out of office. He's had 30 years to right the ship, and baby we're the Titanic. There isn't a sports manager alive that would keep his job if his organization was in the dire straits that we Illinoisans are in. The Cubs flip 'em every two years regardless. Why can't we give someone else a chance? Someone that won't have his minions cowering at his feet. Maybe, just maybe, the grid-lock might ease if the movers and shakers down state could actually move and shake to their own beat. But Mike Madigan beats the drums, and the people keep dancing. It ain't gettin' any better my friends, in fact, it keeps getting worse. Vote the bum out. And every other ego driven career politician who doesn't have the integrity to try and make our great state of Illinois better, his own "career" be damned.

Fire Madigan. Please?

Random thoughts...

What do the former striking workers from Caterpillar, Jesse Jackson Jr, Michael Madigan, Obama, Romney, and Drew Peterson all have in common? They all sleep in Toy Story PJ's? They all brush their teeth using baking soda? They all stir their Nestles Quik counter clockwise? Nope, nope, and again, nope. It was a trick question, they have nothing in common. Which is why they are separated in five quick little ditties in today's rant. What, you think I got time to actually put together a thought?

Cat's meow: 780 striking workers at Caterpillar caved in last week. They couldn't go another 6 months without that luxury some people call money. They were holding out for the American dream. You know, a pot of gold in their basement, ie: preserving decent wages, a pension, and low health care costs. Well good luck with all of that. Where do you think you live, America or something? So they settled for a one time 3% raise for only workers hired after 2005, and a one time 3 grand bonus. After all, car payments and mortgages don't go away if you ignore them. In return they get to work, they get to double their health care premiums, and they get their pensions frozen. In the mean time, the CEO made $17 million last year. Let me ask a question here. Do you think the CEO could get by for one year making only a million bucks? What sacrifices would he have to make to do that? Send his kids to, gasp, public school? Drive a Chevy instead of a Mercedes? Eat at Denny's once a week? Because if he took that extra $16 million and split it amongst his workers, they would each get over $20,000. What could you do with an extra $20,000?

Poor Jesse: He's got bi-polar disorder. He's depressed. His body is revolting after his Duodenal Switch. Cry me a freaking river okay? He is a professional ego-maniac, driven to perfection over his name. He has a tough billing to live up to with that name. After all, daddy ran for president one time. Daddy's name is known all over the world. Daddy has reached as far as he could, but it wasn't quite far enough. So the legacy needs to climb the mountain and reach the top. Step one, get out of Illinois. Hmm, how to do that. Let's start by buying that senate seat that our famous ex-governor was selling. Step 2, ascend to the white house. But a funny thing happened between those 2 steps. Busted!! Something inside tells me that the minute he steps out of the Mayo clinic, someone is going to be waiting with an indictment or 2. Yea, I'd be sick with worry too.

King of the Hill Illinois pension mess is a self created nightmare that isn't going away any time soon. Everyone wants to blame our lame ass governor. But it isn't the name Quinn that instills fear into the far reaches of the minds of our state legislators. The name they utter with trembling lips as they go to sleep at night is Beelzebub Madigan. If you think triple J has an ego problem, then meet double M. No one, and I mean not a single crooked politician in the history of the most corrupt state in the US, has held sway the way Madigan does. The ground trembles when he walks. Gods and mortals alike fall to their knees in devoted worship. Babies spit out their pacifiers at the mere mention of his name. You want to fix the pension mess in Illinois? Then throw this bum out of office. Somewhere along the line, the words "public servant" lost their meaning to him.

The Great Race For the first time in my life, I have no idea who I am voting for this election. Obama wants to ruin the country, and Romney wants to ruin us. Obama is sane in his social policies, Romney is not. Romney is sane in his fiscal policies, Obama is not. But the one factor that has me really scratching my head is how it seems that abortion has somehow crept it's ugly head into this debate. If abortion becomes a central issue of this campaign, then there is something seriously wrong with us. People are still out of work, we are in massive debt, Iran is going atomic, we still have nut-jobs around the world killing American soldiers, blah, blah blah. And we are still debating the abortion issue? Didn't we settle this a long time ago? I believe in a woman's right to choose, but I can't possible let that be any kind of determining factor in my decision, when we have much more pressing matters to overcome. Can I just write in Ross Perot and be done with it? Ahh, no Ross this year. The day we can take a serious look at a candidate with no Republican or Democratic albatross hanging around their neck is the day this country take's huge step forward.

Poor Drew: What is up with this crackpot of a judge in the Drew Peterson trial? He lets one guy retell of some hearsay testimony, but not another guy who heard the exact same thing. We are allowed to hear that Drew offered a guy money to kill his ex-wife, but not allowed to hear how one night, dressed in all black and carrying a bag of woman's clothes, he told soon to be murdered Stacy to lie to cover his ass. Proper court room decorum and laws leave us with the 3 ring circus we are watching. Common sense tells us to throw Drew into a boiling cauldron of oil and be done with it. If he walks free, I guess there is one hope that we can cling to: that someone out there will walk up to the guy and give him what he deserves. A bullet in the head.

Did something dumb? That's just plain stupid.

What is the dumbest thing you ever did? Think hard now. Did it result in a loss of money? Were you embarrassed? Were you injured? Did it kill you? If the answer to the last one is yes, then please tell me how are you reading this and is there a heaven? Is it Iowa? And does God really look like George Burns? But back to being dumb. Oh yes, I am not immune to the charms of doing something really stupid.

There was the time back in my CLC days (that is the College of Lake County for all of you non-northern Illinois burbers, or the College of Last Chance as it is more affectionately known), when I had made friends with a guy I saw in the lunch room all the time. We ate together, played video games together, lent each other quarters, bought each other sodas....yea, we were almost tight. Then the semester ended, and it was time to buy books for the next semester. I was in a long line, and he was way up ahead of me. He waved me over, and in a moment of sheer generosity, offered to buy my books when he got inside, thereby saving me 45 minutes of mind-numbing boredom. I gave him the list of books, gave him a blank check to pay for them, and then never saw him again. Yep, he was a con artist, and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Pretty damn stupid of me.

Oh and then there were some lighter moments, like the time I was mixing a batch of wall patch. Non unlike mixing some cake batter or the like, I was day-dreaming of making a cake as I took the spatula, and promptly licked it, thinking for that one split second it was actually sweet, gooey batter. I think I scrubbed my tongue with an S.O.S. pad.

So go ahead laugh at my misgivings. I deserve it. But some folks don't, when a brain fart takes over, and in the end, pay for it with their lives. Like the article I read years back about the guy working the chipper (you know those massive machines where you throw a tree branch in one end and mulch flies out the other) when the offending branch got stuck, and yes, he decided one swift kick would dislodge it, which it did, taking his foot, leg, torso, and life with it. Absolute true story.

But the most recent case, the one that prompted my whole "Well I may have been temporarily afflicted with the stupid gene, but at least I am not dead," thing, can be attributed to "Being stupid because I got too drunk for my own good." The place, Palmer House Hilton, Chicago. The occasion, their annual Halloween Ball. The incident, a drunk party-goer can't resist sling down this staircase rail.

Who could resist? It's mother of all staircase rails, and yes, I have in my time, slid down a few of them. But some poor woman, in a moment of alcohol induced stupidity, had to let her inner child out, and went for a slide. And died.

Why do I bring it up? Tragic, yes, but the article made my blood boil. You see, I do imbibe from time to time, I am not immune to the charms of nice Pinot Noir, a Summer Shandy, or my good fried Mr. Jose Cuervo. But 2 years later, the still grieving parents of the dead woman feel the need to ease their pain by convincing themselves, and hopefully a judge or jury, that somehow it was the hotels fault. That it was "due to the negligence of the hotel and the companies who hosted the party" claiming that "the hotel and event hosts allowed people at the ball to 'consume unlimited amounts of alcoholic beverages' after they paid for a ticket and failed to provide security to protect the patrons of the ball." Protect them from who, themselves? If these people get one dime from the hotel, it is a miscarriage of justice. Why does someone else have to take the blame for another persons lack of common sense? If you can't control yourself when you are drunk, then, I dunno, maybe don't drink so much?

You can't teach stupid. It's in all of us, waiting to poke it's little head out at the most in-opportune times. I want to grab stupid by the ears, and bitch slap it's punk ass back into the bowels of my brain. I want to relegate it to obscurity, hoping to never see it's ugly face again. But at least I am alive to ward off its' advances in the future, a future that I am pretty sure won't include a wood chipper, or the staircase at the Palmer House in Chicago.

What's mine is mine, and what's yours is mine too.

Sometimes, it boggles the mind. Sometimes you just have to shake your head and say WTF? I am talking about the human spirit, and the way one person can have an effect on so many others. I am not a philosopher, but a mere blogger, whose prose is more in line with The Three Stooges than The Three Wise men. But I have a weapon at my disposal, that those wisest of men from biblical times did not have. It's called the morning paper. Still flung across my driveway every morning at 6am, give or take a day or two. And yes, you guessed it, with personal inspiration fleeting as I clean up from brooding young teens bonfire last night, it's time for 5 in 5.

Seven: Every see that movie with Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman? A little dark, a little gross, but highly entertaining, and disturbing. The basic premise is of a sick twisted mind that comes up with seven dead bodies killed in the name of the seven deadly sins. There is one particularly nasty scene where they find a rotting corpse that has wasted away, chained to a bed, filled with bed sores and the like, so sick that you have to say that someone in real life could not be so evil. Except it's not a corpse, the dude's still alive. Enter Joseph S. Duffy, who's wife Mary Jane Duffy weighed only 56 pounds, her body covered with bedsores more than 4 inches wide, her toenails long and dirty, her skin severely bruised, her bones fractured and teeth missing, blind, and in the last stages of dementia. The guy basically put his wife in a bed and left her to die. But she didn't. He apparently did not let her go to a facility because he "would lose money." Guess he forgot the part where he said "in sickness and in health."

No such thing as a free lunch: In Chicago, that bastion of integrity and goodwill, twenty-six Chicago Public School employees are accused of lying on federal school lunch forms, allowing their total of 45 children to receive free or reduced-price lunches at 40 schools across the district. Everyone cheats, right? Handouts everywhere, where's mine? The average CPS teacher isn't exactly getting rich in the system, so a little dipping into the pot here or there won't be missed. Except for one couple — a principal married to an assistant principal — together making more than $230,000, who also are accused of living in the suburbs in violation of the district’s city residency policy while sending their children for free to Chicago Public schools. They make nearly a quarter of a million bucks together. And they have to rip off the cash strapped CPS for $2.25 a day. $2.25? Are you kidding me? You can't even walk out of McDonald's for $2,25. Greed sometimes knows no boundries.

Charity starts at home: In a little reported side story the other day, in the south suburb of Robbins, in the middle of this nasty heat wave, a thief slipped in under the cover of night and stole their libraries AC unit. From on top of the building. With unemployment hitting the town hard, and people unable to pay the tax bill, which in part pays for the libraries existence, they had to turn to NBA star Dwayne Wade for a $25,000 cash donation just to keep the doors open. But more than just the comfort of a little cool air, they also conduct summer kids’ programs, adult literacy and computer programs, and serve as a cooling center for the elderly. But one scumbag in search of crack money put misery back on the front burner. Here's hoping that one human spirit can trump another. Here's hoping someone out there can cough up the $10,000 needed to replace the AC unit, someone who will miss the money like like a dog misses his fleas. Someone, I dunno, like maybe D Rose? After all, you can't let D Wade keep getting the better of you, on and off the court.

Greed 101: I used to work, in an affiliate group, for MF Global. I owned MF Global stock. Bought it really low in the crisis, and was hoping they would return to their former glory as one of the worlds largest holder of futures traded accounts. But then they gambled and lost on their customers accounts, and, well, the rest was history. Some of those former MF employees, the honest, hardworking ones, moved on with PFG Financial, in hopes of a company with integrity would help them move on. But, greed trumped integrity when CEO and firm founder Russell Wasendorf Sr. explained in a suicide note, from his failed attempt to take the cowards easy out of his self-created hell, that yep, his ego would not let him fail. So he stole $100 million. From his own company. As CEO of a multi-million (billion?) dollar company, the scraps you earn ain't putting food on the table? What I wouldn't give to make his salary for one year. And now the company is down in flames, along with the careers of those who have now had to withstand two separate scandals. How's that going to look on their resumes?

Bad mood: I can't let this opportunity of headline resuscitation pass me by without chiming in on Jesse Jackson Jr. He's been AWOL lately from congress, and until recently has been very coy with the media on why is is in a treatment facility outside Illinois. But we can all rest now, he has finally disclosed that he has, drum roll please....a mood disorder. Is that what you call it when you are known adulterer, you have your top fundraiser fly your illicit squeeze here with campaign funds for a quick little tryst, the very same top fundraiser sings to the feds and is now in prison for an, ahem, unrelated offense, and you're being investigated by the feds for trying to buy your way into the senate with Barack Obamas vacant seat? Is that what you call it? I rather call it what it is. A chicken shit escape from your family and responsibilities as you ponder the next 10 years of your life in prison.

Did you catch my subtle hint at today's common theme? If you haven't, it's because my Three Stooges writing style hasn't grabbed you hard enough where it hurts. It's greed. From the guy who let his wife waste away, to the CPS couple, to the A-hole who stole the AC unit, to Russell Wasendorf and Jesse Jackson, they all were greedy SOB's who didn't give a damn about who they hurt in the process. Ahh the human spirit. The good ones are out there, but unfortunately it's the bad ones who get all of the press.

An open letter Chicago's sports GM's.

Every Chicago sports fan from downstate to Zion has an opinion on how to run the Bears, Bulls, Cubs, Sox, and Blackhawks. Only one problem: they ain't getting paid to do it. It is up to the likes of Theo and Gar and Phil and Kenny and Stan to pull off collective miracles and reach the unreachable. To dream the impossible dream. To lasso the moon and pull it down to Chicago, where we will all wrap our arms around them and kiss their feet for bringing the Holy Grail to Chicago. Every man that has ever graced the office of GM for their team has always said they have one goal in mind. To sell tickets and make money bring home a championship. As a matter of fact, or fiction, the phrase "easier said than done" was actually coined as a euphemism for doing just that. So here's hoping that somehow the powers that be somehow find their way to my little corner of heaven, 'cuz I have the answers to make it all happen.

Dear Theo,
Don't do it. I know right now the urge is to sell all of the horses while the ponies are still learning the ropes. I have to admit, I am slightly swayed by the current winning "streak". Does winning 7 of 9 make a streak? But c'mon. Ryan Dempster is at the peak of his career. He and Roberto Garza are 2 proven quality veterans would could anchor the rotation for the next 3-5 years, not to mention mentoring young developing talent on the way. What are you gonna trade them for, prospects? We are loaded with prospects. And guess what? Don't look now, but the Cubs might actually be good next year. Good being a relative term of course compared to the first half of this season. But good pitching wins championships, and I never did get the mentality that you trade away all of your vets for prospects in rebuilding mode. So please, give us something to rally around for the near future.

Dear Gar-
Tough year I know. Even tougher than the loss of DRose and Noah to season ending injuries was watching King James finally buy his championship. The product on the floor the last couple of years has been great, but not great enough. In the real world, that could have been enough to go all the way, but DWade, the King, and Bosh have basically showed us that we don't live in the real world. Cry-babys will take their talents to South Beach, or any other franchise that lures them with enough talent and cash to go all the way. So what to do, what to do... Its as easy as 1, 2, 3. 1. Say goodbye to Boozer. Plays too soft for his position, plus we will have the added bonus of not having to hear the "HEY!" every time he is under the basket and misses or gets fouled. 2. Hate to do this, but move Taj into starting line-up and trade Luol Deng and some draft picks to the Magic for Howard. There ain't a team in the league, Heat included, that could touch us with a 10' pole. 3. Sign everybody else out there. It's the NBA way. Put 2 superstars on your team, and the rest of the vets in the league will line up at your door for a chance to play with them.

Dear Kenny-
Go do what you like because I don't give a crap about the Sox.

Dear Stan-
The aura of the Championship is long gone, and you have some great core players, regardless of how many shirtless, drunken, party photos appear on Facebook. But the NHL is one unique animal in sports. It seems the only way to win is to get the best team money can buy, future be damned. Look at the Wild. They just signed two of the top free agents out there and probably aren't done. I will totally admit as fan loyalty goes, you are number 4 on my Chicago big 5 list. I don't live and breath hockey like I do Bears and Bulls, but there is one thing I do know. You have to break the bank and overspend, because if you play by the rules, you will never get anywhere. I still say to this day, that if we had somehow found a way to keep Byfuglien after the Stanley Cup, the next 2 seasons would have had a much more fortuitous outcome. Spend the money.

Dear Phil-
Nice job this off-season. Signed some key players that should make an immediate impact, and the sqaure-peg-in-a-round-hole mentality of Matrz is being replaced by the shove-it-down-their-throat style of Tice. BUT. And this is one big but, it ain't enough. Your hall of fame middle linebacker is on his last legs. Believe it or not, he is the difference every opposing team worries about. Unless you have some rabbit in your hat to replace him, you should bet the farm on this year. Fill every question mark with the best money can buy. Sign Forte already. Cutler is "re-united and it feels so good" with his old friends. We are poised and ready to strike. So get some Cobras with some toxic venom in their veins and take the NFL by storm. Don't wait 'til next year because there is no such thing.

Ahh, it all sounds so simple don't it? Maybe I missed my calling in life. I coulda been somebody, I coulda been a contenda. But I'm not, I'm just a bum. With a blog. And a bunch of opinions.