- Thread starter
- #61
WARNING!
The following posts make some fantastic claims.
If you are not convinced by my stories and explanations,
I truly hope you enjoy the fiction.
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Good Times!
- Thread starter AVG-JOE
- Start date
The following posts make some fantastic claims.
If you are not convinced by my stories and explanations,
I truly hope you enjoy the fiction.
- Thread starter
- #62
More Monkeys have been killed in our never-ending war against a life-form on this planet known as 'The Microbes' than have died committing and responding to Monkey-on-Monkey war over religion and profit COMBINED.
True story.
True story.
- Thread starter
- #63
There are three major killers of Monkeys throughout our short history.
> Monkey-on-Monkey war for survival, wealth and profit.
> Monkey on Monkey war over differences of opinions and beliefs.
> And Disease caused by Microbes.
Also a true story.
> Monkey-on-Monkey war for survival, wealth and profit.
> Monkey on Monkey war over differences of opinions and beliefs.
> And Disease caused by Microbes.
Also a true story.
- Thread starter
- #64
Monkeys get a 'kudos' from this average Joe on our collective battle against disease caused by microbes that attack the body. History may show those little bastards pushing Monkeys to the brink of extinction on more than one occasion, but History also shows plenty of evidence of resources, both personal and collective, being successfully committed to this righteous war.
__________
Monkey on Monkey warfare over differences of opinions and beliefs runs deep. Beliefs, Love and Imagination fusing with animal Lusts and Needs, all dancing with a growing spark of Sentience to become a new 'thing' in the mix, not yet honed by 100,000 years of Time and evolution. Life becoming aware.
Humanity, a.k.a. the Sentient Monkeys, came to be, however we came to be, on a violent world... I imagine that the first religious question ever was something similar to, "Was that an 'angry god', picking on me, who just threw that fucking lightning-bolt and fried my kid?!?"
Don't you wanna just
the snake who first said, "Why yes, as a matter of unprovable fact... it is an angry God." "And He just so happened to have told ME what He wants."
Does this mean that there is no God?
I mean it. No fucking clue.
This average Joe hopes for the possibility of God, and, ass-u-me-ing She exists, does not believe that the last word on Him has been written.
"God" appears to be a decision that we each get to make in the privacy of our own, semi-Sentient minds.
____________
The commission of war for survival, profits and wealth is not always among the more stupid reasons for Monkeys to commit war. In a survival of the most fit economy, greed is a trait that breeds almost as well as the fading animal trait for power that surely ruled our evolution before the spark of Sentience. If Mankinds early existence is any indicator of where we come from, survival of the most fit evolution continues to fit the evidence.
Brutal indeed is our checked history.
_______________
It's getting better though. As bad as the stories can be about the life of any given Monkey, born to share Planet Earth at any given moment on The TimeLine, being a living member of this Sentient TimeLine is getting better for the Average Monkey from Earth.
Rule of law is an idea that's growing in popularity and, believe it or not, Monkeys are even doing better with regards to justice being meted out according to the control of resources, at least from a big-picture point of view. Monkeys are also learning that harvesting resources as quickly and efficiently as possible is not always the best way to manage those resources. Sometimes we even remember to consider Monkey Spawn.
One of these days, Momma's little Bastards might even reach the stars.
Good Times!
Monkey on Monkey warfare over differences of opinions and beliefs runs deep. Beliefs, Love and Imagination fusing with animal Lusts and Needs, all dancing with a growing spark of Sentience to become a new 'thing' in the mix, not yet honed by 100,000 years of Time and evolution. Life becoming aware.
Humanity, a.k.a. the Sentient Monkeys, came to be, however we came to be, on a violent world... I imagine that the first religious question ever was something similar to, "Was that an 'angry god', picking on me, who just threw that fucking lightning-bolt and fried my kid?!?"
Don't you wanna just
the snake who first said, "Why yes, as a matter of unprovable fact... it is an angry God." "And He just so happened to have told ME what He wants." Does this mean that there is no God?
This average Joe hopes for the possibility of God, and, ass-u-me-ing She exists, does not believe that the last word on Him has been written.
"God" appears to be a decision that we each get to make in the privacy of our own, semi-Sentient minds.
____________
The commission of war for survival, profits and wealth is not always among the more stupid reasons for Monkeys to commit war. In a survival of the most fit economy, greed is a trait that breeds almost as well as the fading animal trait for power that surely ruled our evolution before the spark of Sentience. If Mankinds early existence is any indicator of where we come from, survival of the most fit evolution continues to fit the evidence.
Brutal indeed is our checked history.
_______________
It's getting better though. As bad as the stories can be about the life of any given Monkey, born to share Planet Earth at any given moment on The TimeLine, being a living member of this Sentient TimeLine is getting better for the Average Monkey from Earth.
Rule of law is an idea that's growing in popularity and, believe it or not, Monkeys are even doing better with regards to justice being meted out according to the control of resources, at least from a big-picture point of view. Monkeys are also learning that harvesting resources as quickly and efficiently as possible is not always the best way to manage those resources. Sometimes we even remember to consider Monkey Spawn.
One of these days, Momma's little Bastards might even reach the stars.
Good Times!
- Thread starter
- #65
Be nice when you get there, eh?
Try to remember the 10,000 to 50,000 year old tribes of Human hunter-gatherers who were living in balance with Mom and were exterminated during the Conquests of Technology. Think about what a treasure it would be today if some had survived.
Brutal times.
*sigh*
But at least Monkeys learned a li’l somethin’-somethin’ along the way, and we’re treating each other better.
Better is better on a TimeLine such as ours…
I can’t help but think that better is better.
Try to remember the 10,000 to 50,000 year old tribes of Human hunter-gatherers who were living in balance with Mom and were exterminated during the Conquests of Technology. Think about what a treasure it would be today if some had survived.
Brutal times.
*sigh*
But at least Monkeys learned a li’l somethin’-somethin’ along the way, and we’re treating each other better.
Better is better on a TimeLine such as ours…
I can’t help but think that better is better.
Good Times!
- Thread starter
- #66
O.k. then.... Having shot the Soapbox load.....
** cracks knuckles **
More stories!
- Thread starter
- #67
Eighteen months or so before the Day in September that changed our world, I was an average American Joe with an average job, average car, mortgage, kids, problems, joys, finances... well, you get the picture. I may have been racking up the best earnings record of my average life in a job that I found moderately fulfilling, but as Americans at the dawn of the 21st Century go, I was exceedingly average, which included being a cigarette smoking statistic waiting to happen. The second best decision of my life was to change that particular reflection of my average life.
Three years after I quit smoking and dragged my soft, pasty ass in to a gym in the hopes of avoiding an all too common remission to the addiction, I was up late one night with a busy remote in one hand, firing pointless instructions at the t.v. to be less boring, and a well earned brew in the other. I was just winding down after a satisfying work-out. Just about the time my clicker was gettin' itchy to move on, I saw the name of the small city where I lived in flash on the screen alongside a picture of a beautiful, fully loaded, big red firetruck. It was an advertisement of sorts, encouraging interested residents of the town to apply to become volunteer firefighters, and it gave a date for, and description of, the physical fitness test that wanna-bees would be required to pass if they wanted join up.
I thought about that test a LOT for the next five weeks.
I had no intention of switching careers... as I said, I was racking up the best years of my earnings record at the time, just as a forty-something year old average American dude should. I didn't go looking for a job when I showed up on the appointed Saturday morning.... I just wanted to see if I could pass the physical.
The test consisted of a timed run through several stations, each involving some variation of toting that barge and/or lifting that bail. It started off with candidates tasked in dragging a fully charged fire hose fifty feet... A daunting mission that requires a bit of skill working alongside the muscle that we were gathered there to assess. Fortunately, the test came with plenty of instructions and tips from the professionals and the volunteers who were already on the team, and who were there help keep things organized, as well as to check out the fresh meat. With forty plus candles already firmly fading in my rear-view mirror, I wasn't exactly fresh, but I wasn't the oldest probie wanna be either. One guy was older. It was a good thing that I was only there to see I I could pass the audition.
It turns out that the trick to dragging a charged fire hose fifty feet across the ground is to take advantage of the stiffness that all that pent-up water under pressure creates in the hose, and to position it on your shoulder with as much hose sticking up in the air and out in front of you as you can keep balanced. I'll admit to having a bit of a what-the-fuck moment while balancing that hose on my shoulder, tensing every muscle and waiting for the kid in the dark blue t-shirt to click the button on the shiny new silver stop-watch in his hand and holler "Go!".
"Dig with your feet!" "Pump those knees!" "Push with your arms and run to catch up!"
Once I got that fucker sliding on the asphalt, momentum helped me push my tag over the goal line, where I promptly dropped the hose, and turned to run as fast as I could across twenty yards of asphalt to a two story concrete and steel training tower, accented with paper windows. It was game on.
The assignment was to carry a dead-weight duffel up two flights of steel stairs and then lower it back to the ground from the second story window using a rope. The two criteria were to see to it that the bag didn't crash at the bottom, and the rope didn't slip in my hands. The recommendation to bring gloves was a good tip, for all of the five or six stages to perform on, some hand protection was a good idea.
The grand finale was to individually run five different pieces of equipment, each weighing ten to fifteen pounds, back-and-forth across probably thirty yards of parking lot and line them up in order on the painted lines. I can still see in my minds eye the flashing silver stop-watch ticking away in the hand of the fella in the dark blue t-shirt, steadily and forever dismissing what little Time I had left to finish. They were very clear that it was a timed test. As I was hauling the last thing back to the spot where I had found it, the first thing I noticed was that nobody had yelled '"Time!". I finished with seconds to spare. Literally... I needed all but two seconds of my allotted time. It turns out that it was good that I forgot to breathe a couple of times. Standing in that parking lot with my hands dug in to my thighs just above the knees, experiencing my heart pounding with more force than I ever thought possible, I considered just finishing on time a win.
Now we all know how men can be boys about competition, and an actual winner of that race was destined to be named. The winner turned out to be a young pup, who would later go on to die in a mountain-climbing tragedy. He finished his timed test with ninety seconds still on the clock, solidly ahead of his closest rival. After the timed test, the only thing left to prove was that we could climb about fifty feet up a big-ass hydraulic ladder that was mounted to a big-ass truck. The test was to do it without crying, falling or puking.
Long story short when it comes to paperwork, not only did I pass the physical fitness test, I was offered a position in the next training class, which I decided to take.
The fast young pup and this adequate old dog were to be the youngest and the oldest members of that years volunteer firefighter class.
Good Times!
Three years after I quit smoking and dragged my soft, pasty ass in to a gym in the hopes of avoiding an all too common remission to the addiction, I was up late one night with a busy remote in one hand, firing pointless instructions at the t.v. to be less boring, and a well earned brew in the other. I was just winding down after a satisfying work-out. Just about the time my clicker was gettin' itchy to move on, I saw the name of the small city where I lived in flash on the screen alongside a picture of a beautiful, fully loaded, big red firetruck. It was an advertisement of sorts, encouraging interested residents of the town to apply to become volunteer firefighters, and it gave a date for, and description of, the physical fitness test that wanna-bees would be required to pass if they wanted join up.
I thought about that test a LOT for the next five weeks.
I had no intention of switching careers... as I said, I was racking up the best years of my earnings record at the time, just as a forty-something year old average American dude should. I didn't go looking for a job when I showed up on the appointed Saturday morning.... I just wanted to see if I could pass the physical.
The test consisted of a timed run through several stations, each involving some variation of toting that barge and/or lifting that bail. It started off with candidates tasked in dragging a fully charged fire hose fifty feet... A daunting mission that requires a bit of skill working alongside the muscle that we were gathered there to assess. Fortunately, the test came with plenty of instructions and tips from the professionals and the volunteers who were already on the team, and who were there help keep things organized, as well as to check out the fresh meat. With forty plus candles already firmly fading in my rear-view mirror, I wasn't exactly fresh, but I wasn't the oldest probie wanna be either. One guy was older. It was a good thing that I was only there to see I I could pass the audition.
It turns out that the trick to dragging a charged fire hose fifty feet across the ground is to take advantage of the stiffness that all that pent-up water under pressure creates in the hose, and to position it on your shoulder with as much hose sticking up in the air and out in front of you as you can keep balanced. I'll admit to having a bit of a what-the-fuck moment while balancing that hose on my shoulder, tensing every muscle and waiting for the kid in the dark blue t-shirt to click the button on the shiny new silver stop-watch in his hand and holler "Go!".
"Dig with your feet!" "Pump those knees!" "Push with your arms and run to catch up!"
Once I got that fucker sliding on the asphalt, momentum helped me push my tag over the goal line, where I promptly dropped the hose, and turned to run as fast as I could across twenty yards of asphalt to a two story concrete and steel training tower, accented with paper windows. It was game on.
The assignment was to carry a dead-weight duffel up two flights of steel stairs and then lower it back to the ground from the second story window using a rope. The two criteria were to see to it that the bag didn't crash at the bottom, and the rope didn't slip in my hands. The recommendation to bring gloves was a good tip, for all of the five or six stages to perform on, some hand protection was a good idea.
The grand finale was to individually run five different pieces of equipment, each weighing ten to fifteen pounds, back-and-forth across probably thirty yards of parking lot and line them up in order on the painted lines. I can still see in my minds eye the flashing silver stop-watch ticking away in the hand of the fella in the dark blue t-shirt, steadily and forever dismissing what little Time I had left to finish. They were very clear that it was a timed test. As I was hauling the last thing back to the spot where I had found it, the first thing I noticed was that nobody had yelled '"Time!". I finished with seconds to spare. Literally... I needed all but two seconds of my allotted time. It turns out that it was good that I forgot to breathe a couple of times. Standing in that parking lot with my hands dug in to my thighs just above the knees, experiencing my heart pounding with more force than I ever thought possible, I considered just finishing on time a win.
Now we all know how men can be boys about competition, and an actual winner of that race was destined to be named. The winner turned out to be a young pup, who would later go on to die in a mountain-climbing tragedy. He finished his timed test with ninety seconds still on the clock, solidly ahead of his closest rival. After the timed test, the only thing left to prove was that we could climb about fifty feet up a big-ass hydraulic ladder that was mounted to a big-ass truck. The test was to do it without crying, falling or puking.
Long story short when it comes to paperwork, not only did I pass the physical fitness test, I was offered a position in the next training class, which I decided to take.
The fast young pup and this adequate old dog were to be the youngest and the oldest members of that years volunteer firefighter class.
Good Times!
- Thread starter
- #69
Pinocchio.
I'm so full of shit my eyes are brown.
Just ask KosherGirl
I'm so full of shit my eyes are brown.
Just ask KosherGirl
Ahhhh yes. Here's to Good Times! I have had many of them. Watching the sunrise from the top of Ayers Rock, looking at Halley's Comet from Mt. Whitney, identifying a long unknown dinosaur type from the Morrison Formation in Utah, snuggling with the wife at the edge of Muley Point 1100 feet above Monument Valley with a full moon for light, but the best time of all was watching my daughter be born.
Good Times indeed!
Good Times indeed!
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