Bumpkin the Impaler

Godspeed Flopsy; you'll be missed

I have sad news: very sad news indeed.   Bumpkin officially earned the moniker "Bumpkin the Impaler" when she impaled Flopsy the bunny with a sharpened stick.  Poor Flopsy.  Bumpkin only did it so she could write her name on the sidewalk using Flopsy's blood.  This could have been avoided if I had followed Bumpkin's order to write her name in blood.  But I would have had to spill the blood of another to do that, so it was a no-win situation for me.  But guess what?  Bumpkin forgot to dot the "i" in her name!  She nagged me about it; then she forgot to do it herself.  Oh well, she's just a baby groundhog; I suppose I should cut her some slack.  But only as far as misspelling goes, not impalings!  Impalings are wrong!  Bad Bumpkin!
Come to think of it, I better sneak out tonight and dot the "i" with some ketchup.  I'm worried that, once she notices her gaffe, she'll kill again just for the blood to dot the "i."
By the way, it's been confirmed.  It's my fault.  It happened just as I had suspected.  When I chose the perfect name for a baby groundhog, it opened a hole in the ground that allowed the netherworld to bestow Bumpkin with all the evil powers she would ever need.  As I feared, whenever you attach a perfectly cute name to a perfectly cute baby groundhog, there's a chance that you've created a perfectly powerful monster.
I know I should try to end Bumpkin's reign of terror before it goes any further, but I don't think I can do that.  Sure, I created her, well, I didn't create her, her mama, Sheila, and I think the scrawny groundhog created her via conception, but I am responsible for the evil superpowers she possesses.  I know Gregory Peck tried to take his own son out in The Omen, but that was just a movie.  That wasn't real.  Besides, I don't stand a chance against Bumpkin; she'd eat me for breakfast.  I couldn't hurt something that cute anyway.  And that's exactly why she'll succeed in her evil ways.  Her cuteness will allow her to get away with anything and everything.  

Curse of Bumpkin

Is Bumpkin evil?

Beware thee the Curse of Bumpkin, for tis a powerful one!  Damn you!  Damn you, cursed brain, for coming up with the perfect name for a baby groundhog: Bumpkin.  The pursuit of perfection sometimes leads to madness.  I named her so innocently.  I knew not what I was doing.  I created a monster!  I named her then went about my business.  I was watching a DVD when "Bumpkin" popped into my head.  Yes, it's a cute name for a baby groundhog; now let's get back to the DVD.  However, a few minutes later, Bumpkin popped into my head again.  Yes, I know, Bumpkin: wonderful, great, now let's move on.  But I couldn't move on.  I can 't go five minutes without thinking of Bumpkin!  She's in my head, and she's controlling my thoughts!
Whatever you do, never, never, never, even if a gun is pointed at your head (even if a baby groundhog is wielding the gun), name a baby groundhog Bumpkin.  Don't make the same mistake I did.  If you do, you will surely live to regret it.  I know, because I have sowed the wind, and now I am reaping the whirlwind.  When you can't go five minutes without Bumpkin in your brain, you are a step away from complete, unadulterated madness!
No, Bumpkin!  I will not shed blood for you!  You don't need blood!  You eat grass.  No Bumpkin!  I will not write your name on the sidewalk in spilled blood!  And I won't forget to dot the "i."  Wait a second!  I won't dot the "i," because I'm not doing it at all!  I'll do no such thing!  You don't need that!  I know it was me who named you!  What does that have to do with writing your name using the blood of an innocent, pray tell?  You are completely out of control, Bumpkin.  Remember the days when you were content to be cute, eat grass, and play with your sisters?  Please, I beg you, return to your carefree, innocent ways.  I can't take the pressure anymore!  Please get out of my head!  No!  You do not need blood!  Please free me, Bumpkin!  Please free me from your magic baby groundhog spell!    

More Baby Groundhogs

You gotta love 'em.

I can't get enough of the baby groundhogs; they are shining stars in the universe in which I dwell.  If the strongest super powers were doled out to the cutest, then these would be very powerful baby groundhogs indeed.  They are charming the world.  I believe strongly that, the three of them together, are ready to rule Earth in its entirety: including all of its inhabitants.  I'd compare them to the Kennedys, but the thought of any of them being assassinated is one that I cannot bear.
As the baby groundhogs wait to come into power, they continue to be cute.  The three of them seem to have a favorite bush.  They stand on their hindquarters and reach for its branches.  Perhaps the leaves of the bush are very tasty, or maybe, instead of being cat nip, they are some sort of groundhog nip.  Two of them played near this bush.  They played just like puppies would.  They sniffed each other, pawed playfully at each other, and showed off their bellies while lying on their backs.  This bush is located right in front of an apartment building.  At least one of the baby groundhogs seems to want her own apartment.  She climbs the steps to the door, frequently pausing on the first one with her rear paws on the sidewalk and her front paws on the step.  Once she gets to the door, it looks like she's trying to figure out a way to get inside.
At least one of the baby groundhogs is aware of my presence.  I was walking to my building when I saw one out in the open: munching on grass.  She saw me and ran toward some bushes as I said, "Hi baby groundhog."  Perhaps that is the same baby groundhog who seemed to notice me as I was staring at them from one of my windows while only wearing a pair of boxer briefs.  I waved to her, and it seemed like she reacted to that.  Therefore, I decided to dance a little, in an effort to entertain her.  She promptly ran behind the bush.  Perhaps she wasn't quite ready to see me dancing in my underwear.    
I heard a bird chirping away near my bedroom window, so I went over there to chirp back at her.  She didn't seem to mind my chirping, so I clapped my hands together a few times.  She left the windowsill.  She wasn't the only one startled by my clapping.  I caught a glimpse of three groundhog butts as they made their way into the cover that the vegetation would provide.
The baby groundhogs are very curious and playful.  They like to explore their neighborhood.  One of them scurried to her mommy, who rewarded her with a sweet nuzzle.  One of them tried to climb a yellow fire hydrant.  When climbing didn't work, she jumped: trying to catch the ledge.  She missed and fell on her butt.  She recovered immediately, so she didn't seem to be hurt at all.  After all, she's not Michael Jordan; she didn't jump very far.  That groundhog will conquer that fire hydrant, and once she does, even the sky would dare not limit her.  She, and her siblings, will be able to do anything they set their minds to.  She's not afraid of heights; perhaps she'll be the first groundhog astronaut. 

Baby Groundhogs

What a cutie!  I think that's grass in her mouth.

I'm lucky enough to be living right next to a hole where a mother groundhog lives with her three babies.  They are all very cute.  A wild-eyed rabbit approached a baby groundhog curiously, a little too close for the baby groundhog evidently.  The baby groundhog sprinted at the rabbit: scaring her off.  That's a pretty tough baby groundhog.  I was in a band called Baby Groundhog; we sucked. 
I think that the scrawny groundhog around here impregnated the zaftig mother, she had the babies, then she was done with him.  I saw her chase him away.  She might have been saying, "Don't eat this grass!  This is for my baby groundhogs!"
The babies are afraid of everything: with good reason.  I think I saw the mother chase one of her babies.  Perhaps she went out without her mother's permission.  The mother knows which sights and sounds to fear from experience that the baby groundhogs do not have yet.  So many a sound will cause a baby groundhog to run toward the comfort of the hole where she's being raised.
Speaking of holes, I recall the first time I realized where the mother groundhog lived.  I surprised her by emerging from an area where not very many people walk around.  She sprinted, like her life depended on it, toward the building in which I live.  Where is she going, I was thinking.  She dove into a hole; then her head popped out of it.  She was so cute that I couldn't help smiling and waving at her, but I don't think she liked that.  I think she wanted to be invisible to me, because the giants frighten her.
Groundhogs are beautiful animals, and, as far as I can tell, and I 'm no Jacques Cousteau, they seem to be very quiet too.  Not like the birds they share grazing duty with.  Even though noise is noise, I prefer loud birds to loud humans.
By the way, I've been listening to Paul Davis, and he is awesome.  What a syrupy-smooth voice.  Now I'm listening to Gloria Estefan's greatest hits.  I'm being assaulted by the Conga.  This music would be better if she was dancing to it right in front of me.  Wootay!
What else can I say about groundhogs?  They're a credit to the community.  They are rising property values.  They should get into politics; they've got my vote.  The least-qualified groundhog would still do a better job than G.W. Bush did.  But what if he turned out to be a Hitler Groundhog?  That's a scary thought.  I guess it's best to take it slow.  Animals don't yet have the right to vote, and maybe they don't need it.
I have achieved many involuntary erections as a result of petting dogs.  They were completely involuntary; I want to stress that emphatically.  I have never touched the sex organs of an animal intentionally.  I have accidentally during innocent petting.  I also have never rubbed my sex organs on an animal.  Innocent petting can cause an erection, I believe, just cause it feels good to pet something soft and furry.  Perhaps the sexual subconscious recognizes that the body is in close proximity to another sexual being in the sexual world.
But the question that must be asked is Would petting a groundhog give me a boner?

Birds Are Driving Me Crazy! (Part Deux)

Little bird make big noise

This is one hell of a noisy world.  In my home, I'm either hearing people making noise, or animals, or both at the same time.  Sometimes I'm hearing several people and animals making noise simultaneously.  I never thought this would be true, but birds are worse than people when it comes to making noise that bothers me.  They really don't seem to mind being annoying.  I'll admit that some of them sing sweetly.  However, even when they do, they tend to be very repetitive with their singing: like a human singer who sings the same line over and over again.
Chirping is much worse than singing.  Typically, I'm hearing one or more birds making the same exact sound repeatedly.  It seems like some of them have no plans to stop.  They're usually pretty loud too.  I suspect that these are juvenile birds who are saying, "feed me," and it's clear that their hunger never dies.  Unfortunately, birds don't seem to sleep very much.  At a certain time of night, they finally quiet down.  However, they've woken me up around 5:00 a.m. several times.
I believe that people have committed suicide because birds have driven them to do it.  Many, many people have committed suicide for many different reasons.  Every 17 minutes of every hour of every day, someone commits suicide in the United States.  I suppose I should get out more and go to places where there are less birds, or the birds are quieter.  
We humans believe that this is our world, and everyone else is a squirrel trying to get a nut.  I'm not so sure.  Ever imagine how many sparrows are currently living in this world, let alone the total amount of birds?  They can fly, and we can't.  They are thriving.  They are driving me insane.  They're not letting me forget about them.  They're reminding me that they're there nearly every one of my waking moments.
I'm not going to hurt any birds.  Sometimes I can hear a bird chirping on my bedroom windowsill.  I usually march right over there and say, "chirp!  chirp!  naughty birdie!"  The sparrow looks at me, jumps off the windowsill, and usually flutters down to the ground.  Sometimes she has nest-building materials in her beak.  This is preferable, because she isn't as loud when she's got stuff in her beak.
I love all animals.  I just love the quiet ones more.  

Danny Rolling

This is not Danny Rolling; this is Bumpkin.

Like many people, I am fascinated with serial killers.  I recently read Helter Skelter and a book about the BTK strangler.  I plan to read at least two more books about serial killers after I'm done with what I'm reading now: a book about suicide.
The serial killer who I find to be most interesting is Danny Rolling.  In 1990, over the course of a few days, five of his victims were found.  Four of these victims were women.  As far as I know, most serial killers who kill women target prostitutes.  They're easier to kill, because you can find yourself alone with one shortly after meeting her.  Also, sadly, they are less likely to be missed.  This is why serial killers, like Gary Ridgway (The Green River Killer), are able to kill so many.  It's obvious that, throughout history, many prostitutes have been murdered.  This is part of what makes Rolling unique.  He killed five college students in Gainesville, Florida.  Students attending college in the area, their parents, and people living in and around Gainesville were terrified.  This wasn't supposed to be happening there, and it wasn't supposed to be happening to people like that.  Since Rolling was killing college students, the public undoubtedly put more pressure on the police to catch him.  Danny Rolling wasn't in it for the long haul.  
Rolling raped his female victims, then killed and mutilated them with a large hunting knife.  He posed their bodies to shock those who found them.  He decapitated one of his victims and put her head on a shelf.  According to what I read about the murders, he let his victims know what he was going to do to them before he did it.  As far as the male college student he killed, that seemed to be a wrong place at the wrong time sort of situation.  He was well over 6 feet tall, weighed over 200 pounds, and it was clear that, from all the defensive wounds he had sustained, he had fought hard for his life.
Rolling, in addition to being a killer, also expressed himself artistically.  On a TV show I watched about him, I briefly heard part of a song he wrote and performed; it sounded pretty good.  These were the lyrics I heard: "Mystery rider, what's your name?  You're a killer, a drifter gone insane."  If memory serves, he also wrote some poetry: "I'm everyone's worst nightmare come to life: a maniac with a knife."  Additionally, I've seen some of his drawings on the Internet: pretty good (creepy too).
Also on TV, I saw an interview with Rolling.  He was talking about when he got caught.  While smiling, he said, "great googly moogly."  Great googly moogly!  He was talking about getting caught for committing 5 incredibly brutal murders.  When I saw and heard that, I had one thought: sociopath.  Predictably, a woman fell in love with him after he was arrested.  That was another incredible moment: when he suddenly began to sing to her in court.
I don't like serial killers; I'm not a fan of theirs.  I just think they're interesting.  They're just another product of this sick society of ours.  Rolling, and his brother and mother, were beaten many times by his sick, abusive father.  Obviously, this is what can happen when people who have no business being parents become parents anyway.  They create monsters.              

I Hate Taking Care of My Teeth

One of my valued neighbors: Flopsy

I wish I didn't care if they all rotted right out of my big bald head.  But I do care, that's the problem.  I start by brushing my teeth after eating breakfast.  Then I gargle with mouthwash.  Then I gargle with a fluoride rinse.  After eating again, I brush my teeth again.  Then I floss.  Then I chew a couple of xylitol mints, which are supposedly good for oral health.  After eating for the third, and final, time of the day, I brush again.  Then I chew a couple more of the xylitol mints.  Approximately 12 hours after gargling with mouthwash for the first time that day, I do it again, followed by 2 more xylitol mints.
The worst part is flossing.  I hate flossing so much.  It's such a pain in the ass and a pain in the gums.  Since I have OCD, it makes it flossing even more of a pain in the ass.  That little annoying voice in my head is always ready to pipe up.  Did you floss between those teeth or not?  I think I did, but I'm not 100% sure, so I better make sure.
A dentist once recommended that I avoid sugar completely.  I have a lot of discipline when it comes to eating (I'm a vegan and I don't eat as much as I'd like to because I want to be slim.), but I'm not even close to being ready to avoid sugar altogether.  I don't know if I'll ever be able to do that.  Failing that, the dentist recommended flossing after eating or drinking anything that had sugar in it, which, I'm pretty sure, includes naturally sweet foods like bananas and strawberries, even though they contain no added sugar.  That means that I won't consume anything with sugar in it after I've flossed, and I usually floss in the morning.  I'd allow myself to eat or drink something with sugar in it if I were to floss again, but that's the point.  I don't want to floss again!  Once a day is my limit.  
I waste so much time taking care of my teeth.  And, of course, it's boring as hell.   To be or not to be, that is the question.  To take care of your teeth or not take care of your teeth, that's another question.  I might be better off just letting them rot.

Gasland

We need to protect the environment: for us and the animals.

Gasland is the name of a documentary I saw recently.  I had an idea of what it was about, but watching it was an eye-opening experience.  It's about hydrofracking, which is called fracking for short.  It's unbelievable that this process is allowed to happen.  Apparently, during George W. Bush's administration, natural gas companies were exempted from having to pay attention to things like the clean water act or the clean air act.  This meant they were allowed to frack.
Fracking is a method that involves pumping a lot of water, that has been contaminated with hundreds of chemicals, some of them known carcinogens, into the ground for the purpose of getting to the natural gas. Unfortunately, it seems like they frequently don't clean up after themselves very well.  Fracking has led to a lot of pollution here in the states.  People who live near fracking sites are very unlucky.  Many of them have to deal with their water supply being completely contaminated with dangerous chemicals and natural gas.  Some of these people are able to hold a flame up to their faucets, turn on the tap, and literally light the water on fire.  It seems like plenty of these people can't use their tap water for anything: definitely not drinking.  They have to go out and buy all their water; some have huge tanks. 
There were also reports of workers dumping one of the results of fracking, toxic waste water, into streams.  It was very sad to see a few streams that were obviously heavily polluted.  Someone said that all the fish died in at least one of these streams.  Additionally, animals died because they drank the polluted water.
Many people who live near these fracking sites have become very sick.  One of the guys thinks that it gave him cancer.  That's what we can expect when companies are allowed to pump carcinogens into the ground that can get into the water supply.  It's a shame that, for some people, money is more important than life.  They don't care what they do to other people, animals, and the environment.  None of that matters to them as much as cash does.     

I Love Animals

Bumpkin with her mama, Sheila (standing)

I really do.  I like animals more than people.  An animal has never insulted me.  An animal has never taken my job away from me.  An animal has never treated me in a condescending way.  I have had problems with depression, but it always cheers me up to look out my window and see a groundhog.  It's hard to feel like shit when I'm looking at a chubby little groundhog nibbling on grass.  Today I looked out my window, and right in front of me, a robin, who was perched on a telephone wire, took a dump.  "Thanks," I said.  "Right before I eat breakfast."
I like them all.  Mice are cute.  So are birds.  I love to look out my window and see rabbits.  It's very sad that someone would look at a rabbit and want to hurt or kill her.  I can only assume that such a person is evil.  The other day, I watched a rabbit approach a particularly bushy clump of grass.  Then she pawed at it with her front legs.  She moved both of them in a circular motion.  I have no idea why she did that, but it was very cute.
I like watching robins too.  They stand with their head up high, then they duck down, walk briskly for several steps and stop.  The head will pop back up again, and it will all be repeated. 
The love I feel for all animals is so strong.  I don't understand why so many people don't feel the same way.

Birds Are Driving Me Crazy!

Please keep it down!

I have dealt with birds living in the space behind my kitchen fan before.  They probably discovered it and thought, wow, what a great place to live!  What a great place to raise some babies!  It all began with a bird who tweeted in the morning.  Sometimes, he woke me up.  I knew that the time adjustment for daylight savings time was approaching, and I hoped that it would improve the situation.  If he began tweeting at the usual time (for him) after the clocks had been moved forward an hour, he'd now start an hour later (as far as the clocks and I were concerned).  That's pretty much how it turned out.
However, today, things have exploded!  It seems like the loudest bird family in the world moved in to the space behind my kitchen fan.  They have been chirping and tweeting loudly all day long.  They've been making all sorts of weird noises. I kept telling myself, they have just as much right to be here as you do (even though they're not paying rent and I am).  I wanted to yell at them to shut up, but I resisted the urge.  I didn't want to scare the bird shit out of them.  I love animals.  How can a bird, who's chirping constantly, realize that he's being annoying?  I resisted the urge for so long.  I finally said, "that's it."  I marched over the the kitchen fan and said, toward it, "quiet please!"  I showed some restraint.  I didn't yell.  I just said it clearly and sternly.  I don't think it had much of an effect.  I tried it again.  I've said it a total of three times so far.
Currently, finally, it is silent behind my kitchen fan.  But how long will it last?  For how long must I endure this chirping Armageddon?    

I Love Metal

One of my favorite Black Sabbath albums: Sabbath Bloody Sabbath

I'm referring to the music: not steel or aluminum.  I own many CDs, but against all common sense, I'm in the midst of shopping for even more, because there is a big sale going on at a website that sells metal CDs.  I really, and I mean really, shouldn't buy any more, but sometimes I can't help myself.
Ever since I was a kid, I've listened to hard-rock bands like AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, and Van Halen.  I was one of the last to switch from cassettes to CDs.  Similarly, I still listen to CDs, and I don't have an MP3 player.  I also don't own a cell phone, so I'm always at least a step behind.  Although, I don't own a cell phone because I hate them.  When it came time to buy my first CD, I chose a greatest hits album by Black Sabbath, because I had always liked Paranoid and Iron Man.  I wasn't very familiar with them beyond those two songs.  I was blown away by the CD I bought.  I now have 16 Sabbath albums.  I also had remembered liking a couple of Iron Maiden songs when I was younger.  So I bought their album Number of the Beast.  Again, I was blown away.  Now I have 12 of their albums.  There are many metal bands, and quite a few very different-sounding styles among them.  But, in my opinion, Sabbath and Maiden are the Beatles and the Stones of metal; they're the best.
It's a shame that people stereotype metal and their fans.  It's as wrong to stereotype a metal fan as it is to stereotype someone because of their race, creed, ethnicity, gender, or sexual orientation.  Some people assume that all metal bands and their fans are satanists.  That's ridiculous.  In my collection, there are satanic bands and christian bands.  It doesn't matter to me; all I care about is the music.  And I believe in neither God nor Satan.  Although, if I found out that a band went so far as to sacrifice humans or animals, then of course I would not buy their albums.
Metal is a worldwide phenomenon.  Metal fans exist in nearly every nation: even in countries where they might cut your hands off if they caught you playing metal.
Why do I like it so much?  I didn't really choose it; it chose me.  I love the energy and the power of it.  Even when I buy a metal album and it turns out that I don't like it very much, at least I can usually exercise to it.  I also find a lot of truth in metal.  Much of it is dark: just like life.  So many people happily bring people into this world, gleefully ignoring the fact that EVERYONE is going to die.  There is a whole sub-genre of metal called death metal, so, obviously, this sort of music isn't sweeping death under the carpet, which is something that so many people try to do.
Since I'm a vegan, this sometimes clashes with my tastes in metal.  For instance, I like Judas Priest.  They're a great band.  I just wish they hadn't fetishized leather as much as they have.  There's nothing cool or sexy about leather; it's just dead innocent animal skin.  At least the guys in Judas Priest admit that they are a metal band.  I've read that Ozzy Osbourne was irritated at the suggestion that he was a metal artist, claiming that he was "rock and roll."  If that's true, then he should be ashamed of himself.  Metal fans have made him a very rich man.  I won't buy anymore of his albums, because he has bitten the head off a dove and killed a bunch of cats, among other cruel things he's done to animals.  Of course, he was probably out of his mind on drugs when he did these things, but that's no excuse, and, even worse, he seems to think these things he did are funny; he doesn't seem to be apologetic about it at all.  In my opinion, Ozzy is the luckiest man in the history of metal. Right from the beginning, he's been surrounded by great musicians.  He, of course, established his name with Black Sabbath, which I think is a situation where the music clearly overshadowed his vocals.
I was watching TV one day, and they were talking about the video for Faith No More's "Epic," which ends with a fish out of water flopping around.  Then they mentioned that PETA had complained about that.  Scott Ian, of Anthrax, appeared on the show.  His response to all of that, to the best of my memory, was f--- the fish and f--- PETA.  My immediate thought was f--- Anthrax.  At that point, I already had an Anthrax greatest hits album, so not buying any more of their albums was a very easy thing for me to do.
I love metal, but I don't care how great you are, if you f--- with animals, I won't buy your records.