TIME TO CELEBRATE WITH GREEN BEER AND NUDITY

SHOW ME YOUR TITS My first night in Madrid we went to a Mardi Gras party. Every time a guy bought a drink they would give him a set of beads. Girls had to try to get as many beads from the guys as possible. At the end of the night, the girl with the most beads won prizes. Sound familiar? Like every other Mardi Gras celebration you've heard of? Not exactly. There is one fundamental of any Mardi Gras celebration that was severely lacking. That's right, you guessed it, tits. There's one reason the guys walking around with the beads decide to give them to a girl. It's not because she asks nicely, it's not because she's pretty, it's because she lifts up her shirt, and flashes the goods. Period. Now, truth be told, there are some girls I would give beads to if it would make them keep their shirt on, but they generally aren't the ones flashing people anyway. The girls in Madrid obviously weren't aware that in order to get beads, they have to bear boobs. Too bad for the guys there. Last night, while sitting on my couch in Philadelphia, I saw a story on the evening news about a bar in West Chester, PA that was being investigated because there had been complaints about girls flashing their tits at a Mardi Gras party a few weeks ago. Pictures of the Fat Tuesday party, had shown up on the internet. I immediately had two thoughts. I knew I could count on American girls to earn their beads, and what the hell is wrong with these people who are complaining about it? I'll make it easy. There are 365 bar nights per year. On Fat Tuesday, don't go to a bar with a Mardi Gras celebration if you're offended by a little female topless nudity. Drink a beer at home, go to another bar, or just spend one night at home sober reading your bible. Why not let the rest of us (heterosexual males, lesbians, and anyone else who isn't offended by a little skin) enjoy ourselves and exercise our right to see some nudity? I know this country was founded by prudes who fled from Europe because all the sex that was going on was just too much for them to handle, but I don't think one day a year is asking too much. You guys that are against this kind of thing disgust me. When did you stop being MEN and start being christian moralists? Yes, that's right, you can't be both. You either love tits or you don't. If you love jesus more than a hot, topless, drunk girl, you are no longer a man. I can hear your balls shrinking from here. For you girls who are offended by it, leave your shirts on. No problem. But don't make those drunk girls who want to get topless and dance on tables do the same. Those of you out there who are most offended by nudity, could probably use it the most. It's Mardi Gras, lose the bra. KISS ME, I'M IRISH Actually I'm not Irish at all, but why should the Irish get all the kisses? They already get their own holiday. You don't really need to be Irish to enjoy St. Patrick's Day. As long as you like to drink Guinness or green colored beer in large amounts, you can have a grand time. I drank plenty on Friday and enjoyed myself quite a bit (the parts I can remember anyway). My friend and I spent all day in a sports bar, watching college basketball (go Villanova!), followed by an evening of drinking green alcohol (has anyone seen the green fairy?) and hopping from bar to bar, meeting many, many drunk Irish people (including those who are only Irish one day a year). Binge drinking and St. Patrick's Day go hand in hand. Coincidence? I think not. Do the Irish like to drink? You bet they do. Are ALL Irish people drunks? Of course not. These days it seems that people are so busy focusing on equality, that they don't take the time to remember that there are aspects of different cultures that separate us. That's not to say any one culture is better than another, just that there are differences. Those differences should not get lost in the push for equal rights. I don't always disagree with stereotyping. Sometimes it is bad, but you have to remember that some stereotypes are based firmly in reality. Are all Irish people alcoholics? Of course not. But some are. Do all Jews have big noses? No. But I know many who do. Can all black people out run and out jump white folks? Not all of them. But who's the last white guy to win the gold metal in the 100 meter dash? And how many white guys have won the NBA dunk contest? A college football coach was ripped in the media this past season for saying his team was too slow and they should get a few more black athletes. He was called racist. I don't see this as being racist, just a cultural difference. The fact is, we are not all the same. And I wouldn't want us to be. I like that there are many different cultures and types of people. The United States has always been called a melting pot. I don't like that analogy. In a melting pot, everything gets melted down and eventually, all becomes the same. How about a mixed salad instead? A salad can have many different ingredients and they all go well together but each bite holds something different. When we are no longer allowed to recognize the differences that make each culture different, without being called racist, then we all lose our identity. It's like someone saying that the winter is cold, and I immediately jump down their throat and call them a "seasonist" because there was an 80 degree day this week and a few others in the 70's. Not EVERY day of the winter is cold, but you can't always view everything on a case by case basis. We should be celebrating the things that make each culture different, not pretending they don't exist. I understand that some stereotypes are dangerous. Not all Jews are cheap. Not all blacks are gang bangers. Not all Italians are Mobsters. Not all Mexicans are lazy. These stereotypes are unfair. But where do you draw the line? If you have 100 people in a room, how many have to be ugly to say it's a room FULL of ugly people? All 100? 90? 80? To say that drinking is not a part of this big Irish holiday is just untrue. It doesn't mean that all Irish people are alcoholics as many people say. It's just an aspect of the celebration. MY BRAIN RECOVERS That's all for today folks. I need another day or so for my brain to fully recover from a long weekend before diving back into the humor and politics you've all come to love. Do not worry, the Spoon, Full of Truth will be back in full force by week's end. I hope you enjoyed my stories of celebration. Spoon, out.

DUBYA, FEAR FACTOR, AND MULLETS...OH MY!

LOVE THY PRESIDENT I got a recent email here at Spoon, Full of Truth that suggested that I am too hard on George Bush and that he's done good things and there is some good in every person. It really got me thinking and I decided that maybe I have been too hard on him. I sat down and thought about the ten things I really love the most about Dubya. Here they are. THE TOP 10 REASONS THAT I LOVE BUSH: 10. He loves freedom, who doesn't love freedom? 9. my IQ scores look really impressive when compared to the President's. 8. He went to Yale which made me realize I could buy my kid an Ivy League education if I have enough money, regardless of his intelligence. 7. He's always inventing new words for me to learn. 6. He taught me that the popular vote is meaningless. 5. He cares about the children (and always makes sure that they IS learning) 4. I own stock in Duct Tape. 3. Who wants to go to a beautiful place like Cuba anyway? 2. His cabinet appealed to my childish sense of humor (Bush, Dick, and Colon...you can't make stuff like this up) 1. He constantly gives me new fodder for this blog. So to all you readers out there that though I was being too hard on President Bush, I hope this helps you to realize that I really can see the good in him (the proverbial needle in the haystack). REAL REALITY TELEVISION Fear factor makes me sick. It shouldn't be called Fear Factor. It should be called "Shame Factor". How much money is it going to take for you to eat maggots, or cow penis on television? I'm not afraid of eating cow penis, I just think it's disgusting. It won't kill you. I'm afraid of someone forcing me to eat it, but that isn't the case on the show. They always have a choice. If they want to combine real fear with a dose of reality, here are some good ideas. How about hunting with Dick Cheney? Every fifteen minutes they all take another shot of whiskey. And these people aren't even his friends. Or how about riding out a Hurricane in New Orleans with George Bush as President? They could have a whole Real World style house, full of people, and hurricane season lasts a full six months or so. Who will make it the longest before they flee? This week, on FOX, we take 10 American contestants without health insurance and give them all severe illnesses. Whomever lives the longest gets a million dollars and health insurance for the rest of their life. Will they be able to cover the obscenely high costs of their treatment and medications? Tune in to find out. I would also tune in to watch a show about Cowboys and Giants fans who come cheer for their team in sports bars in South Philadelphia when they are playing the Eagles. Last one to get beat up wins season tickets to their team. You want fear? How about taking ten Jewish contestants and ten gay contestants and making them all move to small towns in the bible belt? Jesus saves? I wouldn't bet on it. All of those shows would put fear into the contestants. Giving someone the option to eat brains, testicles, or bugs for money isn't an issue of fear, it's an issue of buying their dignity. ICE HOCKEY VS. MADRID: BATTLE FOR MULLET SUPREMACY A mullet by any other name is still a mullet. You know the haircut right? Short top, long back. The hockey player haircut. The yup-nope ("little off the top?" "Yup" "little off the back?" "nope"). It's almost like halfway through their haircut these guys noticed a sign that says "haircuts $10" and realized they only had a five. In the states, this haircut is consider something of a white-trash style. No one rocks the mullet and is proud of it unless they also rock Nascar T-shirts and drink 40's of Bud and are proud of those traits as well. In Canada, hockey players, and wannabe hockey players, rock the mullet, but for them it's accepted. Being good at hockey in Canada will allows you to get away with any number of other shortcomings (like fashion sense). Citizens of Madrid however, take the mullet to a whole new level. My brother and my friend Alex had warned me about the mullet scene in Madrid, but I still wasn't prepared for what I saw in my time there. These guys had well groomed fashion mullets. Now when I say fashion, I mean in the sense that they put in work on their hair despite their hairstyle. These guys obviously paid to have their hair cut that way because they like it, not because they lacked the funds for a proper haircut. They also applied a good deal of hair products to their mullets. They were gelled, spiked, teased, and dyed. They were groomed mullets. The chicks over there seemed to dig the mullet on their men as well. In the states, if you see a good looking girl dating a guy with a mullet, it's a safe bet that they are cousins. Not so in Madrid. I don't know what is worse. Having a mullet and not caring. Or having a mullet because you DO care about your appearance. At least here, when I get sick of looking at bad hair, I can just concentrate on the goal scoring and hard checking of hockey. UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN That's the end of the line for today folks. The Spoon is still looking for guest writers so please contact me if interested. Until next time, rock the archives, share the link, and spread the truth.

HOLA! THE SPOON IS BACK!

GET READY FOR A SMORGASBORD OF TRUTH, THE SPOON IS BACK After two weeks of vacation the Spoon, Full of Truth is back! Sorry it's taken me so long to post but it just wasn't feasible from Madrid. Expect many new posts (and stories from Spain) in the coming weeks. Let's get to it. YOUR MOMMA'S SO OLD, SHE COUGHS DUST I hate long flights. The cramped space, the crappy service, the horrible food; it's enough to make you want to step out into mid-air at 30,000 feet. I got to the airport in Madrid three hours before my flight home to Philadelphia and checked my baggage. I proceeded to my terminal to do a little last second Duty-free shopping and to grab a bite to eat. After sitting around for about 2 hours, I was able to board the plane for my ten hour flight home. Right away, I knew I was in for a treat. The plane was a 2-3-2 format. Two seats, an aisle, three seats, another aisle, and finally, two more seats. I was seated in the window seat with an open seat next to me. A couple, easily in their seventies if not older, sat in the two seats in front of me. The woman, seated directly in front of me, began coughing as soon as she sat down. Big, dry, hacking coughs, the kind I suspect only old people are capable of. Maybe she just had a dry throat and needed a drink. Maybe not. She coughed as we pulled away from the gate. She coughed as we taxied across the runway. She coughed as we took off. The plane was pretty full. There was an empty seat here and there, but most of them were in the middle of the three seaters, which is the worst seat on the plane. Or so I thought. After about twenty minutes in the air, and forty or so more coughs, the old man got up, gathered his things, kissed his wife, and moved to another seat. Obviously she was wearing on his nerves as well. For the next five hours I listened to this old bag cough and cough and cough. Never once did she consider covering her mouth. Some old ladies give you candy, some give you germs. I tried to ignore it, I really did. I watched the crappy movie, I ate the crappy food, I watched a second crappy movie. Then, it hit me. I was starting to get congested. My eyes itched. I was getting warm. This bitch's illness was invading my body. From that point on I just couldn't let it go. Every cough brought either a dry remark, "it must be hard when you're so old that you can't even move your hand to cover your mouth when you cough", or a light kick to the back of her seat. She was not persuaded to stop. When the flight finally landed at the gate, I collected my things and my newly acquired germs, flashed her and her husband some less than friendly looks, and de-boarded. The worst was over. Wrong again. USAIR-HEADS After about fifteen minutes at the baggage carousel, the luggage from Madrid began to arrive. I had checked two bags through. A small red suitcase, and a large hiking backpack. After a minute or two, the suitcase arrived. I waited for the backpack. More and more bags came, and as they did, less and less people remained at the carousel. Finally, I was standing their alone. The screen claimed that the bags were done unloading. My backpack had not arrived. I talked to a lady in a blue blazer with some official looking badges and she told me she was very sorry and I could fill out a form online when I got home. When I finally arrived home, I filled out the form and went to sleep. The next morning around 8:30 AM, my phone rang. I awoke, congested and sick, and answered it. "Can I please speak with Mr. D. Miller?" the voice requested. I informed him that he already was. "Mr. Miller, this is USAIR, are you missing anything?" "Yes, a backpack of mine was lost on my flight back from Madrid yesterday" "I see," he replied. "Could you explain to us then what it was doing located outside of the American Airlines terminal?". I didn't appreciate his line of questioning."Um, could you explain to ME, what my bag was doing outside of the American Airlines terminal?" "Mr. Miller it is against airport regulations to leave bags, unattended, outside of the terminals". "I guess you're going to have to fire someone then, that's too bad". He paused, and then continued with his questions, "What did you do when your bag didn't arrive, Mr. Miller?" "I informed an official looking woman that my bag was missing and she told me that I should fill out something online when I got home," I told him. "That is not proper USAIR procedure and we have no record of you filing a report online. Could you tell me what the woman looked like?" Losing my bag and then questioning where it was found evidently wasn't good enough, now he had to question my word. "Is it proper USAIR procedure to lose luggage? I was a little more concerned with my lost bag then with the appearance of your staff. She was wearing a blazer, it had some badges of some sort on them, I think she had blonde hair," I paused. "Did I mention YOU lost my bag? I'm sure I did. Did I mention that it had my house keys in it and I was forced to break into my own apartment when I got home...do you want to question me about that too? It might not have been proper apartment building procedure." He finally began to see that we were going to get nowhere if he continued to accuse me of anything other than being more than patient with USAIR. "So you have my bag now?" I asked him. "Yes that is correct Mr. Miller". "Do you think I could get it back now?" He confirmed with me my address and phone number (and even managed to get the phone number wrong despite the fact that he had called me) and told me it would be delivered to me later that afternoon. He asked if there was anything else I needed. I was tempted to tell him that I was an avid collector of idiot's signatures, and if he could please send me his, it would instantly become my most treasured one, but I let it go. It was obvious that early on in his career he had checked his people skills through to this job, and they had never arrived. LET THE MADNESS BEGIN With the NCAA tournament set to kick off this Thursday, I would just like to send out some well wishes to the Villanova Wildcats in their attempt to bring home a second NCAA title. This is a special Wildcat's team and I have no doubt that if they play the same style of basketball that they have played all season, that they can beat any team in the country. V for Villanova! V for Victory! DO YOUR PART Share this link and the Spoon, Full of Truth with everyone you know. Read (and even re-read) the posts in the archives. Your friends will thank you and I'll sing your praises. Until next time...

PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS: OUR BREAD LINES?

YOU CAN PICK YOUR NOSE, YOU CAN EVEN PICK YOUR FRIEND'S NOSE, BUT CAN YOU PICK YOUR PRESIDENT? Will the American people really pick the next U.S. President? Or will the President be picked for us? It seems to me that the trend in this country is to have the President chosen for us. I love going to the supermarket to do my food shopping. I like the option of choosing my own food. If I want steak, I can have steak. If I want chicken, I can have chicken. If I want fish, they have that too. There is a whole isle of cereals to choose from, and many, many different kinds of fruit. Variety is what makes it great. I have so many choices and I can pick the one I really want. I remember being a kid a seeing pictures of the bread lines in Russia. People standing in line for hours and hours just hoping to get whatever food was available when they finally got to the front. That's how I feel when I go to the polls. I stand in line, and when I finally get to the booth, it's slim pickings. Do I take the stale bread? Or the spoiled milk? I don't really get to choose the one I think would be the best (like having steak for dinner), I get to choose from the crap that is available. It would be like doing away with supermarkets altogether have having someone else just choose what I was able to eat. "You can have ham, or you can have potato salad, that's it." Well I don't like ham. And I don't like potato salad. But I'd rather eat one of them than starve to death. So I'd pick one. That's how I feel on election day. Why should we only have two candidates to choose from? I don't wanna hear any rhetoric about the primaries. It's the same thing. You get a few bad choices, and you have to pick one. Instead of waiting for nominees to declare that they are throwing their name into the very small hat for President, I urge people to start checking out people they would like to see run for the office now and create a buzz about them. Don't wait until christmas eve to do your shopping. I know there are people out there who would make a decent commander in chief. Men, women, gay, straight, any religion, any race, it doesn't matter. It's time we picked our next president instead of our next president picking us. In a perfect world, anyone could run for the office. This world is far from perfect but if we act now, maybe we can choose even one more option. And the more choices we have, the more likely it is that we can select one we want, and not just one we're given. I'm sick of stale bread. Let's have some English muffins. GIVE ME A BREAK, GIVE ME A BREAK When I was in Toronto this past October, I fell in love. Sure, I was there with my wonderful wife to have our second wedding in her hometown, but sometimes passion cannot be controlled. That was the case when I first laid eyes on Banana Kit-Kat. Even as I write about her now, I can feel myself beginning to salivate. The folks at Nestle had finally concocted my dream candy. I love bananas, I love things flavored like banana, and boy do I love chocolate. When I first laid eyes upon the bright yellow wrapper, it was love at first sight. Knowing that just one Kit-Kat would never be enough (it certainly never is if you're with four or more friends), I bought several packs. By morning, they were gone. Figuring I could purchase them at another store later in the week in her hometown of Meaford, Ontario, I did not return to the 7-11 where I had bought them the night before. BIG mistake. I would only see my dream candy once more after that fateful night, when my thoughtful new Canadian friend Erin (thank you E-Mac!) happened upon four packs of them and gave them to me for christmas. Oh banana Kit-Kat how I miss you. Come back to me baby. I never want us to be apart again. Thankfully, I had the good sense to save one of the wrappers. I am looking at it right now. On the back is contact information. http://www.nestle.ca/ I urge all of you to contact them and suggest, no, demand that they begin to carry these gifts to the human taste bud in every store in Canada, as well as here in the States. Kindly point out to the folks at Nestle that I have given them free advertising here and the least they could do is comply with my request. I'm not asking for a handout. I'll buy them. Give me a break. Just make them available Nestle. Stop toying with my emotions. Get your hands on some Banana Kit-Kat's people. Your life will change for the better. Mine has. HOW DO YOU SAY SPOON IN SPANISH? I will be departing for Madrid, Spain this evening loyal (and first-time) readers and I will be taking the Spoon with me. Expect fewer posts in the next week or so but I, D. Jacob Miller will be back at full strength by late next week, bringing you all the truth you have come to depend on. I am going to do my best to bring you at least one installment from overseas. The truth cannot be contained to just North America. I must seek it out wherever I go. If you really get a jones for some serious truth in the meantime, I urge you to go back and reread (or check out for the first time) all the old posts in the archives. There may just be a sliver of truth you neglected to pick up before. I wish you all well in the coming days, and look forward to sharing my adventures abroad with you when I return, one big Spoon, Full of Truth, at a time. Adios

READ THIS POST, OR THE TERRORISTS WIN

WHAT'S THE MATTER COLONEL SANDERS? CHICKEN? We all remember the 9/11 attacks. A bunch of self righteous, suicidal guys from the middle east flew planes into some buildings and killed a few thousand people. It was awful. What has happened since then is far worse. Our own government has used this tragedy to control Americans through fear. Everyone gets scared. I'm scared right now. I'm scared that the majority of this country is filled with idiots. About six months before Bush was up for reelection, the terror alert was suddenly raised from yellow to orange. It was announced that it would stay that way until after the elections. Was this because Americans really should have been worried about another terror attack? Or was it because Dubya was scared he wouldn't win the election? That's all that terror alert scale is. The higher the alert, the more Bush feels his grip on the public is fading. Nothing more. Orange doesn't mean we're going to be attacked by terrorists. It means we are being attacked by our own government. Their weapon of choice? Fear. We always run the risk of being attacked, because we attack other people (both physically and financially). Freedom comes when you are given information and can make your own choices based on that information. It is not being scared into making a decision or acting a certain way. That's coercion. Our government likes to throw the word terrorist around a lot. What is a terrorist? Someone who doesn't agree with them? In almost any other part of the world George Bush is called a terrorist. I am in NO way condoning what the 9/11 attackers did, but they did it because in their minds, they were also fighting a war on terror and we were the terrorists. Much like we did when we attacked Iraq to topple Saddam and killed thousands and thousands of innocent Iraqi's in the process. Of course that never makes the evening news here. Only that we are spreading freedom. If freedom is forcing people to live in the way that someone else thinks is best, then we are spreading freedom. The same kind of freedom we have here. Big brother knows best. Don't think for yourself, you have a government to think for you. What's next from the Bush regime on the fear front? Stunning new information provided by Fox news? "It was reported today that anyone voting democrat is 73% more likely to catch anthrax in the event of a terrorist attack" or "Terrorists are three times more likely to attack us again if we don't all use as much gasoline and duct tape as possible." Ben Franklin once said, "They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." He was right. If we give up our freedoms because we were attacked, we do not deserve to have freedom. Furthermore, if we give up our freedom because George Bush and the other playground bullies try to scare us into thinking we are better off without it, maybe we shouldn't have had it in the first place. CORPORATE AMERICA AND FEAR SITTING IN A TREE, F-U-C-K YOU AND ME The Bush regime aren't the only ones who want to control us through fear. At some point selling people things they need was no longer enough. Next came selling people things they want. Then came the time of telling people what they want. Now? Scaring people into thinking they need it. "Cool people wear these clothes, if you don't wear them, you aren't cool" "You don't love a woman if you don't lavish her with diamonds, don't you love your wife?" Why not take it a step further? "Sophisticated beer experts have concluded a study that shows that men who drink Bud are 78% more likely to have a small penis than those who drink Miller. What does your beer say about you?" I bet you wouldn't see too many guys at the bar sucking down bottles of Bud. The commercials might not be real, but the stigma attached to men who drink Bud would be. Do you think a bunch of men would order a round of Bud from the sexy bartender? Think about the message it would send. "Me and my three friends over there would all like a cold Bud to help us forget about our small dicks." Message received, loud and clear. There is nothing more likely to make a person buy something than the fear that they will be any more fat, any less hip, or any more unattractive if they don't buy it. Consequently I should let you all know that you are much more likely to succumb to ignorance if you don't read this blog on a regular basis. It's 100% guaranteed (not guaranteed). Ever notice how many products are offered "for a limited time only"? That's just to scare people into thinking that if they don't rush right out and buy it, that they will miss their chance. How many times have you bought something because it's trendy and you don't want to seem uncool? How many stupid guys buy Axe body spray because they think it'll actually help them attract women? They'd be better off spending that four dollars to buy a clue. How about diet pills? They all claim to help you lose weight. Then, in the fine print, it says both, "Results not typical" and "in conjunction with proper diet and exercise." Of course it works with proper diet and exercise. Proper diet and exercise would go a long way for an overweight American without the stupid pill. Invent a pill that makes me lose weight while I'm sitting on the couch, watching TV, and eating Cheetos. That I'd buy. We are all controlled through fear. From who we vote for, to what we buy. And somewhere in a corporate board room, some bigwigs are laughing and wiping their asses with our hard earned money. Those guys are scared too. They are scared of love. They are scared of tolerance. They are scared of acceptance. Why? Because in a society where people accept, tolerate, and love each other, people cannot be scared into having their decisions made for them. In a world like that there would not be a fear of making the wrong or unpopular decision. And that is what these corporations fear the most. PORT OF NO RETURN When I was a little kid I used to push my parents limits just to see what I could get away with. If I dropped a little piece of cake on the floor and it didn't bother them, I next dropped a little more, and eventually the entire cake. I think that's what Dubya is up to with this port scandal. So far none of his astounding blunders have brought him any consequences. Why not push a little further? Sure, let's hand our ports over to the same people we claim to be fighting against. I guess it's along the lines of "keep your friends close and your enemies closer." We might as well turn our airports over to Iran. Handing U.S. ports over to the U.A.E. is like asking Rush Limbaugh to keep an eye on your pain medication or making David Duke the head of the NAACP. Doesn't seem like the smartest decision. The U.A.E. was proven to have had a hand in the 9/11 attacks. Maybe we should give them the contract to rebuild the World Trade Centers too. Bush claimed that he didn't know about the sale of the security firm until only days ago, that his administration approved it without him. And why bother to tell Congress about it? They've got his back. Congress knows what's best for America right? And Bush knows what's best for Congress. It all works out. You could always run the risk that someone in Congress might disagree with him though, and then he'd have to be bothered vetoing silly bills that would stop the sale. It's clear that this is all just a game to Bush. Clinton beat George Sr. in 1992. Then Clinton got impeached for a blow job. Dubya is just trying to show Clinton who's boss. "You got impeached for a blow job? I can get away with anything. Watch this. I'll hand our ports over to the same people I claim to be fighting and no one will do shit to stop me. Suck on that Clinton." Dubya doesn't care who he hurts in the process as long as he proves his point. He's president. He can do whatever he wants to do. And he's right, unless the public, Congress, and the media finally make a stand and give him his comeupance. If not, he'll keep trying to one up himself. Don't be surprised if his next move is to replace George Washington on the one dollar bill with Osama Bin Laden. At least then we'd all know where he is. AMERICAN IDOL: WHO DO YOU HATE? I've been watching American Idol along with tens of millions of other people. I can't say I was surprised by any of the people who were voted off. None of them were going to win anyway. I shouldn't say they were voted off, they just weren't voted on to the next round. The show would be a lot more fun for me if, instead of voting for your favorites, you could vote off the people you didn't like. I hate Ace. He's a pretty boy and I don't appreciate the way he tries to eye-fuck everyone through the TV. Your magic doesn't work on me Ace. If you could vote against people, I'd call in a few hundred times to vote against him. Especially because I know that no women would be voting against him. Even my wife wanted to re-watch his performance of George Michael's father figure. George Michael is gay sweetheart. He didn't want to be your father figure. He wanted to be mine. Luckily, I already have a father. I also can't stand Gideon. He looks like David Allen Greer doing a skit about someone singing on In Living Color. Stop smiling all the time, it's annoying. I'd be happy to phone in a few times to vote him off as well. And Sway? I think he sucks too. Who's he think he is? The Latin Usher? For the last time, Michael Jackson is not a genre of music. And let's not forget the ladies. There's that basketball chick who looks like a dude. I'd vote her off. Brenna can go too. She's annoying and always making stupid faces because she thinks she looks good. She doesn't. The really fat chick can stay though, at least she can sing. I also think people give Simon too hard a time. At least he's honest. Paula and Randy shouldn't interrupt him so often to tell him he's wrong. He doesn't do that to them. And honestly, most of the people Simon criticizes, deserve it. Next season, I think they should move to the "vote off the people you hate" format. They can give me credit for it when they do. THE WEEKEND COMES BUT ONCE A WEEK Sounds like something George Bush would say, doesn't it? It's almost the weekend again. Time to kick up your feet and relax. Time for a big time college match up between Villanova and Uconn this Sunday. Villanova beat Uconn less than two weeks ago and that was considered an upset. This time, when Villanova wins again, it will prove they are the better team. I plan on spending a nice weekend with the wife, catching up on some movies I rented, packing for my trip to Madrid on Tuesday, and doing a little last second shopping. See you all next week for another Spoon Full of Truth

ALCOHOL AND TOILET WATER, HOLD THE ICE

PARTY ON WAYNE, AND PARTY ON GARTH Your first night of college is supposed to be the start of the four best years of your life. A time for kids to find out who they really are and party their asses off at the same time. Me? I spent mine in the hospital. My decision to attend UMASS was a spur of the moment thing. It was the beginning of winter. I was no longer happy living in Philadelphia. My girlfriend (at the time) was depressed and unwilling to get help. I was living at home again after a year in my own apartment and a summer living at the shore. It was time for a change. I had visited a friend of mine at UMASS several times and decided I would like to go there myself. I registered for some classes, found an apartment (online), and made my plans to move to Amherst. I was taking over a lease from a grad student who had suddenly relocated to Boston (almost two hours away) and had made plans weeks in advance to meet him in Amherst to sign over his lease to me. The morning I was supposed to drive up to meet him, I awoke as sick as could be. Knowing that if I didn't make it to Amherst that day, I might lose the apartment, I enlisted my mother to drive me to Massachusetts. I had a fever, a sore throat, and a terrible headache and was in no condition to drive. By the time we made it to Amherst, I was so sick I could hardly move. The old tenant was still in the process of removing the last of his belongings. When my mother saw that his bed was still in the apartment, she paid him one hundred dollars for it so I would have a place to lay down. When he was done removing his things, we signed over the lease, and headed for the hospital. The diagnosis? Strep throat and a case of pneumonia. I spent a few days in the hospital before returning to my new residence. I had survived my first night of sickness in Amherst. It would be far from my last. IF YOU'RE GONNA SPEW, SPEW INTO THIS Remembering the first time I got really sick from drinking, and I mean really remembering it, the events that led up to it, the sick feelings, and the day after, were enough to keep me from ever becoming a serious drinker. Maybe it's because my first night of heavy drinking happened to coincide with the first time I got really sick from it. I'm sure lots of other people get several nights of solid drinking under their belts before spending that one night, spread out on the bathroom floor, clutching the toilet bowl like a prized possession, but not me. I'd had a drink or two before that night, but that was about all. My doctors had warned me of the dangers of drinking for diabetics that don't know how to properly regulate their blood sugar to account for the alcohol, and it had done the trick. Further, they didn't properly teach me how to regulate my blood sugar for alcohol until I went away to college at UMASS. I managed just fine for years without alcohol (thank you marijuana) but when I finally learned how to drink without putting my health in risk, I decided it was time to give it a try. At the time I was living alone in a one-bedroom apartment in a development called Puffton Village in Amherst, Massachusetts. It was my first time living alone (without roommates). I invited the girl I was dating and my good friend over for a night. One of them brought along a bottle of Black Haus (80 proof blackberry schnapps) and we decided to drink. I lined up some shot glasses on the counter in the kitchen, filled them with booze, and downed a few. It was pretty harsh, but nothing I couldn't deal with. Maybe I'd blown this whole drinking this out of proportion. Ten minutes, and eight shots later, I was feelin' A-O-K. This is where I feel that the advice of one of my two companions (both much more seasoned drinkers than myself) would have been helpful. Perhaps one of them could have said, "hey, just so you know, you probably don't want to lay down on the bed and close your eyes if you feel dizzy at all." But they didn't say that. And I did feel dizzy, and the bed was right there. It only took me a few short moments to figure out for myself that I had just made a mistake. The room began to spin, slowly at first, but quickly became disorienting. Having seen many friends make a beeline for the bathroom while drinking in the past, I followed suit. Wasn't it just my luck, the bathroom was spinning too. In fact, the hallway leading to the bathroom had been spinning as well. My stomach soon joined in. With everything spinning out of control it was time to grab the base of the toilet, and hold on for dear life. Strange how it took 8 shots for the liquor to go down, and far less for it to come back up. Within seconds I was well on my way to emptying the contents of my stomach into the bowl. I soon began how to wonder how I could throw up everything I had eaten that night, that day, and that morning, yet it seemed to just keep on coming. When it finally stopped, I crawled into bed, weak, pale, and with a resolve to never feel that way again. Over my next few years at UMASS my resolve would be tested time and time again. The following is a list of places I can remembering throwing up while in college, after proclaiming I would never again become ill from drinking: my car, outside of a bar, outside of a pool hall, on the walkway to my apartment, on the front door of my apartment building, on the front door of my apartment, in a friend's car (out the window, luckily), on my roommate, on my girlfriend, in the bathroom, on the bathroom floor, on a friend's bathroom floor, on a friend's futon, at a keg party, in the hospital, in a sorority house, outside of a Chinese restaurant (scorpion bowls are the devil), and on my shoes. If anyone ever questions why I don't drink these days the answer is simple. Go drink eight shots of fruit flavored schnapps in ten minutes, lay down in a dark room for a while, and ask me again in the morning. TOILET WATER: AT LAST, YOU AND YOUR DOG CAN SHARE EVERYTHING Last week I talked about McDonald's (and other fast food chains) and their ability to slowly kill people with their fatty, chemical laden food. As it turns out, drinking a soft drink (even a diet one) from any restaurant might kill you even more quickly. A recent study concluded that at several restaurants (in Florida), the ice used in soft drinks contained more dirt and bacteria than the toilet water in their restrooms. This probably explains why you often have free access to the ice machine, but need a key for the restroom (that's where they are keeping the good stuff evidently). This means that patrons who want a nice cold drink to wash down their burger and fries would be better off going to the bathroom and filling their cup with water from the toilet, than they would if they ordered a soft drink with ice. The ice was actually found to contain E. coli bacteria in many cases (the source of which is human waste). Drinking from the toilet and defecating in the ice machine, that just isn't right. Everyone says not to drink the water when you go to Mexico, yet every year millions of vacationers suck down drink after drink containing Mexican ice. This just in: ice is made from water. Take a minute to let that sink in. No one ever said it was safe to drink out of Mexican toilets though. There is a simple solution (aside from drinking toilet water) which is to order drinks with no ice. However, if the ice is full of human waste, can the drinking cups really be that far behind? I've worked in several restaurants (stories for another time) and I know that if cleanliness is next to godliness, then food service workers are all atheists. If people knew what went on in their favorite restaurants they would probably throw up on the spot. Maybe they should just start making the ice out of toilet water. Until the problem is fixed, (and don't hold your breath) I will certainly chuckle every time I see someone take a sip of a cold, ice filled drink, and exclaim, "This tastes like shit." You can check out the article on the ice study at: http://articles.news.aol.com/news/article.adp?id=20060220232209990007&ncid=NWS00010000000001 WHAT IS A HUMAN LIFE WORTH? One million dollars? One hundred dollars? Enough toilet paper to wipe your ass? Ding! Ding! Ding! It might be okay to drink the toilet water in Florida, but for god's sake, if you use the last of the toilet paper, replace it! Over the weekend in Moss Bluff, Florida, a 56 year old man beat his 58 year old roommate (also a man) to death because there was no toilet paper in their home. In fact, the man was beaten so severely that he had to be identified by his finger prints. It's kind of hard to replace the toilet paper when you're dead. Maybe just a good beating would have taught him a lesson. If I was going to kill my roommate (or anyone) over something so trivial, I would at least lie about it, "Yeah officer, I killed the guy, it's because he said all cops are power-hungry assholes and I just couldn't stand him bad mouthing law enforcement like that." People get killed every day over something trivial. A crack head needed five bucks, someone wanted their moped, someone scorned a lover, they went hunting with Dick Cheney, and so on. Those killings at least serve the murderer in some way. They get some money (no matter how small the amount), they get a new ride, they get revenge, but why kill someone over lack of toilet paper? Why not at least make them go get some more toilet paper and then kill them when they get home? If you kill them first, sure you made your point, but you did it with a dirty ass. That's never the best way to make big decisions. Wipe first, think later. I'm sure he'll have plenty of time to think about his decision to kill his roommate while in prison, where I'm sure his new boyfriend and cell mate Bubba, will not tolerate his ass being dirty any more than he does. You can check out the article at: http://news.aol.com/topnews/articles?id=n20060221062009990012&cid=936 THE GROOVE IS IN THE HEART And the Truth is in the Spoon. See you all soon.

GUEST COLUMN OF THE WEEK

THE FOLLOWING IS THE FIRST INSTALLMENT IN MY GUEST COLUMN SEGMENT. THE VIEWS ARE THOSE OF THE WRITER AND NOT THOSE OF D. JACOB MILLER OR SPOON FULL OF TRUTH. PLEASE ENJOY! CHECK BACK THIS WEEK FOR ANOTHER OFFICIAL SPOON FULL OF TRUTH POST. I AIN’T NO POLITICO

Hi ho, RBZ here, your friendly Spoon Full of Truth guest columnist. I’m really not one for politics; I don’t even like The Daily Show (gasp!) I often find politics totally boring, not unlike many Americans in their twenties. Big announcement here, hold on to your hats: I didn’t vote in the last election. Why? Why bother. Do you really think Kerry is so different than Bush? Maybe he’d get us out of Iraq, and boy do I believe we need to, but I’m certain he’d replace it with a whole new bag o’ problems. Cronyism has always found its way into Washington, whether your name is Bush, Reagan, or even the dear Saint Clinton. Anyone remember when Clinton pardoned Marc Rich right before he left office (and I mean right before, like the luggage is packed and by the door, ready to roll to that dee-lux apartment in the Harlem sky)? Anyone remember Marc Rich, the dude who’d been a fugitive since 1983, fleeing to Switzerland just before he was indicted in the United States for allegedly evading more than $48 million in taxes, committing fraud and participating in illegal oil deals with Iran (and later Iraq)? And Clinton let him off the hook, all courtesy of former wife Denise Rich’s pocketbook, with a $1,000,000 check made straight to the DNC, and another hefty check with Mrs. Hilary Rodham Clinton’s Senate campaign’s name on it. And now Marc Rich is free, and we’re bearing the brunt of his foibles with Iran, and we should definitely be worrying about Iran right about now, ladies n’ gents. Hey, thanks for handing over loads of cash to Iran during the US hostage situation, probably helping to fund their future nuclear capabilities, Marc! Thanks for being part of Iraq’s Oil for Food scandal, Marc! (PS – If you need anymore convincing of his corruption – Marc Rich’s lawyer = Scooter Libby). And now they’ve unleashed former wife Denise Rich, free to get as much plastic surgery as her face can support and make crappy Grammy-award winning music (since the Grammy’s these days are certainly no measure of good music. U2? Come on!!!) That’s almost as troubling as our troubles with Iran.

So, you may be wondering, if I don’t really like politics, and claim not to follow them, and don’t even watch The Daily Show, how do I know all this stuff? Pretty simple answer here: I’m not an idiot. And neither are the other apathetic twenty-something Americans who don’t vote. We see snippets of the news shows in that filler time right before “Robot Chicken” starts (damn 15 minute Cartoon Network shows). We read the newspaper over that bag lady’s shoulder on the train on the way to work in the morning. We scan the front page of CNN.com before heading over to the gossip section to read about Pete Doherty’s latest drug fiasco. But we don’t like what we see. Right now, Social Security is nothing more to me than some annoying deduction taken out of my astonishingly low bi-weekly paycheck. Iraq is some far-off imaginary place where no one I know is fighting. Osama is some dude I know we will never catch because if they do, who will they make fun of on Saturday Night Live?

Not since the “Boxers or Briefs” era has anyone made an attempt to speak to me. I’m me, I care about me, I care about others who care about me, so it makes sense that I would want to care about someone who cares about me in the political realm too, right? Unfortunately, I’m too broke to pay for someone to care about me in Washington, DC, and that’s what it takes these days.

If we want real reform to take place, we need to have a president who will speak to the young folks of America. I mean, government cheese and Section 8 housing exists for the poor of America, right? What about the young people of America who work 50-60 hour weeks on so-called “professional” occupations, but still have to live with their parents because they can’t afford to live on their own? This is a growing trend in our country, and though I continually work 50+ hour weeks (not including the 2 hour daily commute because I can’t afford to live anywhere near the multi-million dollar real estate surrounding my Manhattan office), I can’t afford to live on my own, either. Thank God, I don’t live with my folks, but I can’t live without their handouts. I know I’m not even close to the only one out there embroiled in this scenario. We’re not eligible for public assistance because we make too much money. We can’t afford proper health care (and often go without it), we can barely feed, clothe, and put roofs over our heads. We don’t get tax breaks, we don’t get help, so what do we get? We get screwed.

So why should I vote for you? Why should I give you an hour of my very precious free time to pull a lever for you? All I get from you, Democrats, Republicans, Libertarians, and Independents alike is a chance to be bent over and rammed from behind. Great. Just what I always wanted.

Now you see why I am apolitical. I’d rather spend my time on things I care about, like my friends, my family (including my newborn baby niece Eden Bella who is the most beautiful creature in the world), my music. Speaking of which, if you had a chuckle here today, check out my blog, all about music, ‘cause that’s what I know: http://thegeekery.blogspot.com/. You’ll like it, ‘cause I said so, and also, you’ll find some good tunes. Who can argue with that? Well I could probably argue with that. Shuddup.
Props to my boy D. Jacob Miller. All opinions contained herein belong to RBZ and not D. Jacob Miller. If you got beef, leave him out of it, or I’ll cap gun yo’azz. RBZ, out.