My God! It's A Blog!. Hurry While it Still Has A Pulse!

I'm back. So sorry for the delay/abandonment of my blog. But really, was I missed?

Lets be honest. I write my thoughts down, mostly for myself, which is fortunate, since I am the only one who frequents this place... ;)

But hey, enough about me. So much has happened since I last took pen to paper, digitally speaking. The world is moving fast and even I've evolved. All that stuff before, consider it the old testaments of Jason.

This new testament stuff may be relevant to my older ideas and blogs to a greater or lesser degree, and many of my ideas are unchanged, but just you wait. I've got a whole new flavor for you, hopefully with less rant. We'll see. You never know what might come out of my mind....

One thing is for sure, however. I'm not sure about anything anymore. My convictions are a little more fluid these days. But I find uncertainty a little more fun anyway.

Keep up. It's dangerous out there.

An Interesting Tidbit From The Pop Culture Archives

I recently saw this on Boing Boing and felt like it was just interesting and odd enough to pass on to the masses. What your looking at is candy. For kids. The candy itself consists of multi-colored pellets, reminiscent of "uppers" and "downers", and the delivery method is a plastic syringe. Hey kids, make sure you pick up a few packs of candy cigarettes while your at it. You know, just to keep your shit together and your mind right.

The enlightened generation that thought that this product might be a good idea for kids, and the happy hippy psychedelic sub-culture pioneers that spawned such a clever drug themed delicacy, as well as free love, "natural' odors, and granola, are now running our schools, our industry & our country.

Peace, Love & Joy comrades. Now go take a shower.

Hippy Sippy - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Grab Your Ankles; Click it or Ticket, Part 2

(fade in) ".... anyway, since that day, I've been wearing my seat belt religiously. No one seems to care, but at least I'm saving lives. Right? I'll be taking this one to court. Perhaps the judge will be even more understanding than Dick, if that's even possible. I'd be more than happy to provide stool samples if necessary. You know. Whatever it takes to keep the streets safe. I mean, this couldn't be just about money. Could it?"

I've been to court on this now. I plead my case. It was a bittersweet experience. It was a learning experience. It was a watershed moment in my continuing education on the nuances of state sanctioned hustling. It began like any other day in court....

My docket was called and I quietly moved to the front of the courtroom. I had decided to approach this with high expectations and a positive outlook. I was sure that, after hearing my version of events, any right minded judge would happily dismiss my ticket. I mean, after all, we've all had a Maalox moment from time to time.

And guess what. I'm happy to report that I was right. The Honorable Whateverhisnamewas agreed that my situation was indeed an exception to the rule, and furthermore, he would happily defer my fine for 12 months time. If, within 12 months time, I did not return to his court for a similar traffic infraction, my citation would be expunged. Yay for me.

But wait. There's more.

Just as the final syllable dropped from the Honorable Whateverhisnamewas's lips, two things happened simultaneously. One; I shifted my weight imperceptibly towards the exit of the courtroom, and Two; I detected a subtle hint of regret in the judges tone as he voiced my reprieve. Translation; I'm outa' here but the Judge is clearly disappointed. The quarry has escaped. What to do?

"Mr. Backus," I heard through the angelic song of victory playing in my head, "before you leave, let's just have a quick look at your traffic record." Clicky sounds as Whateverhisnamewas brings up my record on his computer screen. "It seems you were here 2 years ago for following too close. Whatever happened there?" he asks. I'm stuck now. The weight is no longer shifting.

"I can't remember at the moment," I responded. Alarm. Danger. Trap. Here comes the shell game...

"Well," he continues, "It seems that we deferred that citation for 12 months as well." "Ok?" I respond. A couple of questions that dare not speak their name begin to bubble to the surface of my mind. For instance, A: Who gives a shit, and B: If that was deferred 24 months ago, it should have been expunged 12 months ago, and that being the case, it shouldn't even exist as a record and anyway, C: What does that have to do with this?

Well let me tell you what. But first a little background information ...

It turns out that when you receive a summons to traffic court, at least in Grant County, you are given the option of Contesting the Citation, Admitting Guilt and sending in the MONEY without further ado, or requesting a Mitigation Hearing.

My experiences and observations have led me to the following conclusions:

If you Contest, your screwed. You will stand before a rabid bulldog Judge and you are automatically guilty unless you can prove without a shadow of a doubt that you are innocent. Your fine will NOT be reduced, and you will leave the courtroom feeling like a post-spanking 6 year old. But with half his ass chewed off for good measure. Don't fuck with the system. Pay up. I have a story about this, but it will wait for another time...

If you admit guilt, and send in your money, no problems. The system has separated you from some of your MONEY and all is well in the universe. No embarrassment, no bulldogs. Nope, you have played by their rules and have not questioned anyone's authority or agenda. Excellent work Comrade! Work Shall Set You Free.

Finally, If you request a mitigation hearing, it turns out that you ARE GUILTY. No if's and's or but's. But you do get to beg for leniency before the court. You may even convince the Judge that your circumstances were exceptional and you may be awarded a deferment, but guess what. Your still GUILTY. That's right.

So with that being said, here is the rest of the story...

..."Well," he continues, "It seems that we deferred that citation for 12 months as well." "Ok?" I respond.

The Judge, peering down on me from his judgment seat above, delivers the coup de grace, "That being the case, I'm still going to defer the current citation, but I'm going to charge you..."(ALERT! MONEY MUST EXCHANGE HANDS!)"...a $75 administrative fee."

Now, I'm aware that it could have been worse, but follow me on this. I could have had to pay $101 for not wearing my seatbelt. I could have had this citation end up affecting my insurance. Could have, could have. But let's be clear. Whatever could have happened to me, it was the County that found a way to collect some of my money. No matter what they call it; a fine, an administrative fee, a down payment on a new judicial penis pump, whatever, the fact remains that when Whateverhisnamewas determined that I was right and Officer Dick should have let me be on my way, old Whateverhisnamewas still found a way to get some of my cash.

Now that's dedication, and that's what I love about our legal system. It looks out for the little guy. You know, by allowing a visibly ill individual to continue home so that he may void his bowels in the most horrific fashion, by following him home and waiting in his driveway with lights flashing, by letting the "criminals" children and neighbors watch the entire spectacle, by issuing a citation AFTER the degenerate seatbelt non-wearer limps back out of his house, by essentially admitting that the citizen was incorrectly cited, and finally, by taking some of his FUCKING CASH ANYWAY!

You assholes. Best hope you never need a favor from me.

Click it or Ticket?

I left the meeting in a fast hurry that afternoon, sliding into the drivers seat, turning the key and putting the car in drive all in one fluid motion. I needed to get home. Now. Was it food poisoning? A sudden stomach flu? Who knows. But it was not going to wait. I'd held on through the meeting, sweat breaking out on my forehead as wave after wave of colonic cramps shattered my focus. The contents of my nether regions were about to rebel, bursting forth from their intestinal confines in an explosive rush of liquid revolution. But I had made it to my car and I was on the move! "Bear down man," I groaned to myself, "You can make it home." The volatile plasma in my lower intestines screamed back their dissension. "Maybe not."

As my skin glistened with a sick sweaty film, I was sharply focused. My very being was dedicated to two inviolable commandments now.

1 - Thou shalt get home. Quickly.
2 - Thou shalt not relinquish control of your sphincter.

Time blurred. Somehow I managed to maintain a legal driving speed and soon, through sweat stung eyes, I found myself rounding the last corner and climbing the hill to my home. Relief was in site and I had not broken any laws getting here. Or so I thought.

Just as I was nearing the hilltop, within a stones throw of my glorious bathroom, some Pavlovian reaction caused my sphincter to spasm violently in anticipation. I had only seconds now. I was going to have to use "the maneuver."

In case your unfamiliar, the maneuver is a technique that is employed in just such a situation as my own, i.e. it's on its way and it won't be delayed. In one fluid motion, you rip your pants and underwear down to knee level as you quickly swing your ass around to a position approximately over the bowl and let go of your cares. When done properly, it can shave precious microseconds. And this was my dire situation, 100 yards from my door, visualizing the maneuver in my head to insure success, sweat literally dripping from my brow & running down my neck, intestines heaving like a cable bridge in an earthquake, when the lights and sirens came on behind me. Yes. I was being pulled over.

And thank god, too. As it became clear when the Police Officer began to speak, I had forgotten, in my rush, to wear my seatbelt. The horror.

Now. Normally, I'm an upright law abiding citizen with a healthy respect for law enforcement. My seatbelt is usually clipped nicely across my lap, like all good comrades. And sitting in my hot car waiting for the impending burst of diarrhea to change my relationship with my car forever, suddenly on the wrong side of the law, well, lets just say that my feelings for this particular sergeant in the Moses Lake, WA Police Department who drives an unmarked grey cruiser and who will remain un-named but for convenience sake will henceforth be referred to as Dick, well, lets just say my feelings for him went beyond words.

"Can you tell my why you are driving without a seatbelt sir?" he asked. Words escaped me. The gravity of the situation was apparent to both of us. I mean, there I was. Without a seatbelt. The humanity.

As I looked up at Dick though a haze of pain and sweat, I literally mumbled a dazed "I... I don't know officer." Now these guys, they are highly trained in human observation. They know how to discern if you've been drinking or are on drugs, etc., so with his heightened skills of perception and keen insight into human behavior, this wonderful intelligent law enforcement officer took the opportunity to fulfill his lifelong dream of protecting and serving. "Its illegal to drive without a seatbelt you know," Dick said dispassionately as I writhed in pain, "Can I see your license and registration?" At this point, I'm a white hot point of agony in a universe of shit. I'm sure there is leakage and if not, the seal is going to be permanently damaged. I mumbled something incoherent as I handed him my drivers license. Or my wallet. I'm not sure which.

As I turned to my glove box to retrieve my registration, I finally lost my humanity; the ability to over-ride the ape was gone. I was now reduced to basic primal needs; I had to shit. Parts of me were already practicing the moves. Prison would have been welcome if there was a toilet there.

With paperwork and cassette tapes dribbling from my shaking hands, I weakly turned back to my protector, Dick, and said, "Sir, I'm really feeling sick. If I don't get to my bathroom NOW, I'm going to shit myself." That's a quote. That's right, I said it. Right to Dicks face.

Dick, being an understanding and intelligent law enforcement officer, merely nodded. "Mmm-hmmm. And where is home, exactly?" he asked, always the care giver. "Right around the corner sir. I'm going there. Now," I stated as I put my car in drive. I didn't care that he had my drivers license. Nothing mattered now except that cool white porcelain. I could hear it calling in an angelic voice. "Come to me Jason," a seraphim singing, "Come shit in my cool white bowl. I'll give you comfort...." Or maybe I was delirious. Not sure.

Anyway, and here is the crux of the story, Dick replied' "Go ahead. I'll follow." And he did. My car was already rolling when he took his first step back to his BIG UNMARKED GREY CRUISER but he was soon again on my tail. Not a good place to be at this point, but I digress. To make a long story short, I made it home without any leakage, performed "the maneuver" successfully, and all was right with the universe once again.

My children got the opportunity to stand in my front door and watch police lights flash in my drive while I did my business. So did my neighbors. Thanks Dick, that was awesome. In fact, Dick is such a kind and understanding human, not to mention dedicated protector of our streets, that after I managed to stumble weakly past my wide eyed children and back out to my car to finally locate my registration, Dick was there for me. "Feeling any better?" he asked as he handed me a $101.00 traffic ticket. For failure to wear a seatbelt.

Ha ha, very funny Dick. I'll feel better when everyone reads this and learns what your really made of. What an honor & blessing it must be to protect and serve your community, to grow up and fulfill your dream of one day handing out tickets to obviously sick people for not buckling up, even in emergent situations, people who are so obviously ill that you agree to follow them home, sit in their driveway with lights flashing and wait to give them that ticket while they are inside heaving their guts inside-out. Yeah, because the screaming flaming diarrhea wasn't enough, so thanks again Dick. There's one more ticket for your quota. Plus, you've taken the opportunity to make at least one law abiding citizen feel more safe and welcome on the streets of Moses Lake. As I'm sure was the goal.

Anyway, since that day, I've been wearing my seat belt religiously. No one seems to care, but at least I'm saving lives. Right? I'll be taking this one to court. Perhaps the judge will be even more understanding than Dick, if that's even possible. I'd be more than happy to provide stool samples if necessary. You know. Whatever it takes to keep the streets safe. I mean, this couldn't be just about money. Could it?

The Christmas Movie as a Source of Confusion.

I have some questions/thoughts elicited by a classic holiday film I saw recently.

1) Do you remember “The Christmas Movie” starring Ralphie, the little boy who wants nothing more than a Red Rider BB gun for Christmas, but everyone tells him that he’ll only shoot his eye out? Well, he didn’t give up on his dream, and even went so far as to suffer rejection by the head honcho, Santa Clause, and still his wish would not die. He persevered and in the end, he finally got his Red Rider BB Gun. Of course, he immediately followed this victory by nearly shooting his eye out… What does this mean? Is there some great cosmic truth here? I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud, but it seems like something is there. It’s too close to the holidays to think (my 12 days of Christmas have already started. Soon to be followed by some kind of 12 step program I think.) And in truth, my face still hurts a little. I’m aware enough to sense great truth, but not enough to care very much right now.

2) Have you ever noticed that licking something extremely cold is very similar to licking something extremely hot? I hadn’t either, but think about it. I’ll wait until the image of Angelina Jolie has passed from your mind.

Cold: You stick to it, it’s very painful, you probably lose some flesh, and your friends all laugh at you and call you Einstein.

Hot: You stick to it, it’s very painful, you probably lose some flesh, and you smell cooking meat.

I don’t know what this means either, on a cosmic scale, but I can tell you for sure that all other things being equal, I would rather smell meat cooking than have my friends laugh at me. Or, you could just renounce the licking of all things extreme, probably a good policy in any situation. Up to you.

3) Leg shaped lamps are only useful if you want to shed some light and kick some ass at the same time.

4) Never wear more clothes than you can bend your elbows in. Unless your extremely fat. That would look funny.

5) Get rid of those ugly damn birth-control glasses dude. Roy Orbison is dead, you’re a loser, and not even Santa likes you anymore, you simpering little nerd. Did I say that out loud?


6) If Santa EVER kicked me from his lap & down a slide in front of a store full of people, I’d find me a LARGE leg shaped lamp and shed some light on his situation. Ho-ho-ho bitch. Hard to sit on a lampshade, ain’t it?

I’m Out.