Sharing some FU!

I used to think that no one really understood my relationship with my ex-wife. Wow, was I wrong, cause this verbose soul pegged it pretty damned close...

You swine. You vulgar little maggot. You worthless bag of filth. As we say in Texas, you couldn't pour water out of a boot with instructions printed on the heel. You are a canker, an open wound. I would rather kiss a lawyer than be seen with you. You took your last vacation in the Islets of Langerhans.
You're a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. You are a spineless littleworm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are a jerk, a cad, and a weasel. I take that back; you are a festering pustule on aweasel's rump. Your life is a monument to stupidity. You are a stench, a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon.
I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same species as you. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformity. I barf at the very thought of you. You have all the appeal of a paper cut. Lepers avoid you. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You area weed, a fungus, the dregs of this earth. You are a technicolor yawn. And did I mention that you smell?
You are a squeaking rat, a mistake of nature and a heavy-metal bagpipeplayer. You were not born. You were hatched into an unwilling world that rejects the likes of you. You didn't crawl out of a normal egg, either, but rather a mutant maggot egg rejected by an evil scientist as being below his low standards. Your alleged parents abandoned you at birth and then died of shame in recognition of what they had done to an unsuspecting world. They were a bit late.
Try to edit your responses of unnecessary material before attemptingto impress us with your insight. The evidence that you are a nincompoop will still be available to readers, but they will be able to access it ever so much more rapidly. If cluelessness were crudeoil, your scalp would be crawling with caribou.
You are a thick-headed trog. I have seen skeet with more sense than you have. You are a few bricks short of a full load, a few cards short of a full deck, a few bytes short of a full core dump, and a fewc hromosomes short of a full human. Worse than that, you top-post. God created houseflies, cockroaches, maggots, mosquitos, fleas, ticks, slugs, leeches, and intestinal parasites, then he lowered his standards and made you. I take it back; God didn't make you. You are Satan's spawn. You are Evil beyond comprehension, half-living in the slough of despair. You are the entropy which will claim us all. Youare a green-nostriled, crossed eyed, hairy-livered inbred trout-defiler. You make Ebola look good.
You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. You are grimy, squalid,nasty and profane. You are foul and disgusting. You're a fool, an ignoramus. Monkeys look down on you. Even sheep won't have sex with you. You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in a land that reality forgot. You are not ANSI compliant and your markup doesn't validate. You have a couple of address lines shorted together.You should be promoted to Engineering Manager.
Do you really expect your delusional and incoherent ramblings to be read? Everyone plonked you long ago. Do you fantasize that your tantrums and conniption fits could possibly be worth the $0.000000001 worth of electricity used to send them? Your life is one big W.O.M.B.A.T. and your future doesn't look promising either. We need to trace your bloodline and terminate all siblings and cousins in order to cleanse humanity of your polluted genes.
You are a waste of flesh. You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a loathsome disease, a drooling inbred cross-eyed toesucker. You make Quakers shout and strike Pentecostals silent. You have a version 1.0 mind in a version 6.12 world. Your mother had to tie a pork chop around your neck just to get your dog to play with you. You think that HTTP://WWW.GUYMACON.COM/FUN/INSULT/INDEX.HTM is the name of a rock band. You believe that P.D.Q. Bach is the greatest composer whoever lived. You prefer L. Ron Hubbard to Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle. Hee-Haw is too deep for you. You would watch test patterns all day if the other inmates would let you.
On a good day you're a half-wit. You remind me of drool. You are deficient in all that lends character. You have the personality ofwallpaper. You are dank and filthy. You are asinine and benighted. Spammers look down on you. Phone sex operators hang up on you. Telemarketers refuse to be seen in public with you. You are the source of all unpleasantness. You spread misery and sorrow wherever you go. May you choke on your own foolish opinions. You are a Pusillanimous galactophage and you wear your sister's training bra. Don't bother opening the door when you leave - you should be able to slime your way out underneath. I hope that when you get home your mother runs out from under the porch and bites you.
You smarmy lagerlout git. You bloody woofter sod. Bugger off, pillock.You grotty wanking oik artless base-court apple-john. You cloutedboggish foot-licking half-twit. You dankish clack-dish plonker. Yougormless crook-pated tosser. You bloody churlish boil-brained clotpoleponce. You craven dewberry pisshead cockup pratting naff. You cockeredbum-bailey poofter. You gob-kissing gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb. Youdread-bolted fobbing beef-witted clapper-clawed flirt-gill. May your spouse be blessed with many bastards.
You are so clueless that if you dressed in a clue skin, doused yourself in clue musk, and did the clue dance in the middle of a field of horny clues at the height of clue mating season, you still would not have a clue. If you were a movie you would be a double feature;_Battlefield_Earth_ and _Moron_Movies_II_. You would be out of focus.
You are a fiend and a sniveling coward, and you have bad breath. You are the unholy spawn of a bandy-legged hobo and a syphilitic camel.You wear strangely mismatched clothing with oddly placed stains. You are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just knowing that you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go away. You are jetsam who dreams of becoming flotsam. You won't make it. I beg for sweet death to come and remove me from a world which became unbearable when you crawled out of a harpy's lair.
It is hard to believe how incredibly stupid you are. Stupid as a stone that the other stones make fun of. So stupid that you have traveledf ar beyond stupid as we know it and into a new dimension of stupid. Meta-stupid. Stupid cubed. Trans-stupid stupid. Stupid collapsed to a singularity where even the stupons have collapsed into stuponium. Stupid so dense that no intelligence can escape. Singularity stupid. Blazing hot summer day on Mercury stupid. You emit more stupid in one minute than our entire galaxy emits in a year. Quasar stupid. It cannot be possible that anything in our universe can really be this stupid. This is a primordial fragment from the original big stupid bang. A pure extract of stupid with absolute stupid purity. Stupid beyond the laws of nature. I must apologize. I can't go on. This is my epiphany of stupid. After this experience, you may not hear from me for a while.I don't think that I can summon the strength left to mock your moronic opinions and malformed comments about boring trivia or your other drivel.

And those were our wedding vows... Formerly Living.

A Bird in the Hand...

Even though fresh new storms are preparing to tee off outside, things look a little brighter from where I sit this morning.

Child #1 came to the house on Friday. First time Child #1 has come to visit since we moved in. One step at a time...

My brother from another mother came up with a brilliant idea for a multi-media book, a series of books really, involving photographic images, original music scores, and some of my scribbling to fill page space. I have been collecting some of my better images, and brother-man sent me some of his pics this morning. The series of books will be called Audible Images, and will be thematic on all three planes.

Spring has always been the best time for... Formerly Living.

Living a Dream in 4 Hours or Less

Last weekend, I had an impromptu opportunity to visit the nation's capital for a day or so. For the reasons why, feel free to visit this blog's prettier sister.

Saturday night, having finished the day's work, and having been sated with 12 year old scotch and some fine cuisine, I remembered that I had parked beneath the Ronald Reagan Building of Important Events. Killer the K-9 had sniffed my crotch while government security agents took their sweet time sweeping my rental vehicle for any signs of contraband circus porn. Towing, so I was informed, begins precisely at 3 a.m.

As I headed south towards the parking garage, I realized that I was a mere half block from the White House. Even though it was raining, and dark, I decided to walk down to see the White House. That gawd-awful Nor'easter was supposed to blow in the next day, and I wasn't sure if I would get to sight see or not.

Finally clearing the Treasury Building, the White House came into view. It was both over-whelming and under-whelming all at the same time. Under-whelming because, after a lifetime of pictures, movies and sundry images, and now living in the digital age of go go go its already outdated... the main structure was smaller than the homes that most of my business clients have, and very simply and plainly adorned.

Then that temporary source of disappointment was replaced by a sudden surge of emotion that I still cannot fully understand. My child hood friends might all tell you that I was destined for a life in politics, and perhaps this was the belated homecoming for a man with deeply rooted, unrealized dreams. Or maybe it was just, as I get older, my appreciation for the struggles and history of this nation and all of its people were anchored in the building sitting quietly in front of me. Maybe it was just the image of a lonely looking home, in the middle of a dark rainy night.

I fear it was more a sense of distinct sadness and disappointment in the people, the organizations, the secret deals that have brought so much shame, vitriol and distrust in the last 40 years. Arguably, the worst of it has taken place in the last 15 years. Every day, maybe a million different times a day, I find myself straddling some emotional and psychological fence between the people who pay me to help them get the most out of beneficial laws, and wanting to cry out to those people going on about their lives almost completely unaware of the forces that shape and control their lives. Sitting at my step daughter's softball game yesterday, I could only stay in the stands for a few innings. I could not bear to look at the people around me, neighbors and friends, who have ceded nearly complete control of their day to today existence, largely by ignorance and acquiescence.

Home at last... Formerly Living.

"Go back in there and chill them nigga's out, I'm on the mutha f'cka"

Same damn thing I been saying since 1992...

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/17997788/site/newsweek/

Jeez you guys Crack Me UP!

Aside from the 2 founding members of the Official Formerly Living fan club, and my cousin who down-braided me recently for never dropping a note, the vast majority of traffic to this little project have been the results of Google searches of words or phrases that somehow bring people to our humble abode. Someday, scientists will study you, and your little searches.

In the spirit of service and benevolence that long long-time readers have grown to expect from the staff at Formerly Living, I have decided to satisfy some of those intriguing, unanswered search queries...

For some reason, large segments of academia seem intrigued by the phrase "Everybody Funny, Now you Funny Too." This was the title to a post a couple of months ago, and has drawn in a lot of tire kickers. So far as I know, the earliest published form of the phrase was in a John Lee Hooker song, "House Rent Blues". Middle class white America may have been exposed to the phrase through the likes of George Thorogood and the Destroyers. Lord how we miss John Lee.

Upon learning of the Jeep Gladiator concept, nearly a full year after it had been rolled out at an auto show, I decided I was officially the "least wired" most behind the times victim of technology poverty. For all I knew, the damn thing was already rolling off of some factory line in Mexico. Jeep toyed with us, and lete us think it would be in this year's line up of new products. I think I read somewhere that Jeep decided against making it a production model, in part, because it wanted to focus on its great new line up. Right. Other than the Unlimited, its new lineup looks like the offspring between the involuntary mating of a first generation Saturn SUV and a 1995 vanilla flavored Cavalier. It saddens me that Chrysler, the only domestic source of original auto design in the US in the last decade, would allow such cheesy-ass designs to be unleashed on the public. I hope Kerkorian buys the whole damn lot of you, and installs me as the new CEO. We are gonna shake some shit up. In the mean time, there is an aftermarket source for a version of the Gladiator, called the Brute, from American Expedition Vehicles. Supposedly a bolt on, paint it and fire it up kit. I sent an email a couple of weeks ago to technical support, haven't heard back. Maybe they knew my next question was a "loaner" version...

Somebody stopped by here looking for video of Don Garlits' blowover at the Summernationals. Jeez, I wish. I started my own search trying to help you out, and did come across Quarter Milestones Photography. These folks knew how to take drag racing pictures, not like the some of the sad sack images that get recycled with the NHRA sanctioned photogs these days. Garlits sells a video through his gift store, and I am certain that the last video offered on the video page must contain the footage you are looking for. Yeah, I know... it is the information age, and who wants to pay for something like that? It is getting harder and harder to find cool pics and videos of "Dragsters Gone Wild" without incurring the wrath of the NHRA's Intellectual Property attorneys or the "No right Click for you" copyright warning. I digress, Garlits also has a poster of his car at complete vertical during the 1986 blowover. Nothing to do with the Garlits blowover, but here is an interesting Popular Science article spawned by a 700 h.p. trip in a Frank Hawley trainer.

Somebody did a search about allegations that someone in Irving Texas was impersonating investigators from Child Protectice Services (CPS). I had an experience with CPS as late as Good Friday that reminds me how absolutely useless CPS is in the State of Texas. The institutional goal of "reunification" reportedly led to the violent death of over 200 children last year in the state of Texas. I fail to see how an impersonator could be any damned worse than the real thing. Let's talk about CPS when I have been back on my meds for an appropriate period of time.

Somebody dropped in trying to figure out the average annual billables for an insurance defense attorney in South Florida. A partner would probably say that 2300-2500 would be about right for what attorneys are paid, associates would tell you that anything over 1800 is slave labor, given how difficult it can be to bill 8 hours in a 10 hour day. On 9/11 I billed 5.4 hours. The year of my divorce, I billed 1600 hours. Two years ago I billed 2800, all I got to show for it was pneumonia. If South Florida pays well, gimme a call....

Somebody from Colorado was nosing around for information on Ft Worth BACA (Bikers Against Child Abuse). I don't know what information they were looking for, but I can tell you a couple of things about BACA. No church, no bar association, no other group that I have ever belonged to takes care of its members the way BACA does. When someone is sick, needs help moving, whatever, BACA gets it done. And that is just the behind the scenes stuff they do for each other. In case you missed earlier posts, BACA's mission is to create a safer environment for abused children and to empower them in the face of courts, CPS and other predators.

Recently, many have stopped by here looking for more information on the raging debate about what caused Eric Medlen's death, and all of the many reasons that NHRA needs to slow cars/shorten races/remove aero/build NASCAR safe wall. Wish I had more information. Like everyone else, I have my own opinions, but I seem to be in the minority. I fear that the doves will kill drag-racing in my life time.

Finally, there is that sick contingent that somehow finds me, and I don't know if I am more concerned that you actually find me, or that I have written something that brings you here. Of the group, the clown who Googled "MILF librarians", man that is just wrong.

Waiting patiently for the Google search, originating from Viking Resorts, that reads "Hot woman ready to leave the industry, looking for short, balding, married man to rescue me from this high-roller hell. Cook, clean, mix martinis, promise never to fight with your wife." #1 Google hit...Formerly Living.

Thank you Eric Medlen, and Goodbye

Fans have lost a brilliantly lit star, and the world has lost a friend. I just don't have the words.

NHRA coverage of services.

Eric Medlen - Nitro Angel

NITRO ANGEL

Each week we watched you
As you climbed into your 8,000 h.p. earthbound rocket.
Your smile and your glow
Made us feel we were on that quarter-mile trek with you.

As fans we loved to watch
Blasts down the groove, win or lose.
As parents we swelled with pride
When our children felt your strength, whether victorious or “also ran”.

For all that you shared with each of us
We could not know how you shaped the lives and fed the spirits
Of our other racing heroes.

Your determination and your drive
This example has been your final gift to us.
Your spirit will live on
Long after the earthly burnout is done.

Into God’s hands
We entrust our Nitro Angel.
With a tear, and a smile,
As you make that final pass.

One last run
Alone, this time we cannot come.
Driving into that burning light,
No turn off we see from the shutdown this time.

Still, your smile warms us
As we empty the stands, and leave into the night.

Burnouts are Allowed in Heaven...

Eric Medlen, one of the NHRA's most popular drivers, died last week as a result of injuries received during a crash in testing at Gainsville. Medlen made his living by strapping himself into an earthbound 8,000 h.p. rocket, in itself a dangerous proposition. Despite the danger and the hard word, Medlen was known for his sincere smile and his unlimited energy. He loved what he did, and made the most out of his short 33 years. His impact will be felt long after he makes his last turn off from the shut-down area of this life. We will miss him as he teaches the angels a thing or two about drag racing.




Godspeed Eric.

Uh, Houston, we have a Problem

February Update in 60 seconds...

Wife does not have cervical cancer. Am relieved, and beginning to see light at the end of the tunnel. Two weeks later Gov. Perry orders that all girls in the state in a particular age range get the HPV vaccination, which is believed to sharply reduce the chances of cervical cancer. Parents emerge from WalMart, put their Whopper Size Slurpees down long enough to complain because HPV is a "sexually-transmitted" disease, and schools may as well give out condoms along with the vaccinations. Tell that crap to your daughter 15 years down the road when her life is cut short because she didnt get the vaccination. Every time I ask my ex-wife about the vaccination for our children, she says, " Oh, you mean HPV, that sexually transmitted disease?" No dumbass, I mean that nasty thing that causes cervical cancer, and it doesnt matter if it comes from HPV, from the stork, or from french-kissing the tailpipe with the engine running and the garage door closed...

I am in mourning for the loss of Anna Nicole Smith. As soon as I can scrape together enough money, I am going to go see the crying judge and prove that the child is mine.

Valentine's day came and went. Child number one seemed overjoyed at the gift, and sent me a thank you note and a birthday card and a picture of aforementioned Child Number one. Child Number one called me on the phone, talked for an hour and a half. Yesterday, Child number one shunned 4 year old step brother and told us to buzz off. 2 steps forward and one step back.

This week, I did a good thing. I did a really good thing for people I hardly know. I used my law license and knowledge as a keeper of the bloodmoney to do that really good thing. I might be able to stick with this lawyering stuff for a while after all.

I am gonna buy my wife a parrot with a potty mouth and a really bad attitude, so that she will have someone to talk to while I am work. Gonna name that damn bird...Formerly Living!

National Multiple Sclerosis Society is on the Move...

As much as I love Squiggy and Neil Cavuto, the National MS Society has finally found an ambassador I can really get behind, I mean this person is someone I can really get on board with...




I sometimes tend to forget the long-term effects of this disease. For someone who has MS, I have been pretty damned lucky, because my symptoms are on the lighter side compared to a lot of folks that I know. I used to tell people that, in many ways, MS was one of the best things that ever happened to me. Since then, having MS has demonstrated how shameless I might still be.

I made the mistake last year of making the point with my lovely wife that it was important to me to stay healthy for her sake, so that I am not in a wheel-chair, drooling all over myself, and waiting for her to change my pee bag. I am taking daily shots of Copaxone, which is a great drug, but a shitty way to start the morning. From time to time, I fall out of the daily routine of sticking myself. Kinda did that during the holidays, for a longer period than I care to admit.

Woke up about 3 a.m. on Christmas Eve, and had that old familiar tingly, Vienna sausages for fingers kind of sensation. I immediately started kicking myself in the buttocks, for fear of what lovely wife would do to me when she found out the cause of the new flare up. The real emotional impact hit me when I realized that I had lost strength and control of my clutch hand. Tard boy couldn't ride his motorcycle for awhile...haven't missed a shot since then.

Watch Victoria's Secret and BeatMS! This intimate moment brought to you by the Council of Hotchicks My Wife Lets Me Look At and...Formerly Living.

Everybody funny, now you funny too...

This week I discovered that everything our society believes about lawyers is wrong! It is possible to be a successful, accomplished attorney and also be a decent, lovable person. It turns out that, hidden in the growing village of Farmer's Market are the offices of one Mr. William Brotherton, Esq. Within 5 minutes of meeting Mr. Brotherton it was clear that his clients trust him because he is immensely intelligent, but they hire him because he has enough humor and personality to fill his rather sizable visage. He is definitely someone that you can sit and drink a beer with, assuming he doesn't have you laughing too hard.

But that was only a bonus for me. Brotherton, a former railroader, shit-shoveler, one-time movie star, and jack-of-all trades, is a published author. His book, "Burlington Northern Adventures: Railroading in the Days of the Caboose" is a collection of short stories based on his time with the railroad. Damned good book. Buy two copies because you will want to read it twice.

Funny is the theme of the week, although on somewhat opposing ends of the spectrum. One of the few comedians doing standup today, who actually has the capacity to understand the world around them, is Lewis Black. Black, who unlike the eternal frat-boy "Jackass" wannabe Dane Cook (and, in case you were wondering Boyd Coddington is still a dick) who couldn't think his way out a paper bag, utilizes his intellect and his insight into humans and beings alike, is a true master of his craft. But, the brother also gotta make a living, so make sure to check out his website to sample some of his humor, then go to Comedy Central and vote for him as your mostest favoritist comedian.




One final funny. Last week, after finally succumbing to this season's mind numbing, sinus hardening brain infection, I ordered a balaclava from J&P Cycles so that my pretty little face would stay warm while two-wheeling through the now-frozen tundra known as the DFW Metroplex. In a bit of a narcissistic display, I ordered a full face skull pattern, the one that glows in the dark. (I couldn't help myself this close to the opening of the movie Ghost Rider. The thought of that skull glowing out from behind my face shield was just more temptation than I could handle). Anyway, the skull head arrives at the house last week. In order to prove that she has too much time on her hands, my lovely wife dons the mask, puts a black bandanna over her head, and goes hunting for small children.

The smallest members of the tribe were both in their bedroom, with the door closed. Skeletor the she-ghoul gets down on all fours in front of the door, and knocks softly at the door. The oldest of the two knee-biters opened the door, to greet a growling skull in the darkened hallway. Knee-biter #1 starts jumping and screaming and looking for the softest spot in the sheet rock to create an emergency exit. The skull begins to laugh uncontrollably, about the same time that Knee Biter decides to take matters in his own hands by delivering a round house to the skull's jaw. Even though She-Ra the retarded falls onto the floor, still laughing uncontrollably, Knee-Biter reportedly continued to hop around like a 7 year old girl trying not to wet herself over Justin Timberlake's recently announced split from Cameron Diaz. At this rate, it is only a matter of time before I come home to find wife's body on the floor, a tragic victim of one of her cruel pranks against the children gone horribly wrong. Soon as I can figure out a way to make it look like I have hung myself (without actually hanging my stupid ass), I am gonna make her wet herself.

Laughing until milk dribbles out of my nose... Formerly Living.