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Current mood: rockin

But can't talk--rockin'.

Currently playing : Guitar Hero Aerosmith Release date: 2008-06-29

10:06 PM - 10 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

FW: Please pass this on to all your contacts
Category: News and Politics

I should have written this a while back but I was busy procrastinating. Anyway, it ran in Kentucky, and they still have to vote next week. --JB

Barack Obama is probably not the Antichrist.

You might have gotten an e-mail suggesting the opposite, but my guess is he's just a normal dude.

Also, he's not part of a terrorist conspiracy to take over our country from the inside, he wasn't sworn into the Senate on the Koran, and he actually does hold his hand to his heart during the pledge of allegiance.

Turns out, you can't trust everything you read in anonymous e-mail forwards.

Obama isn't the first presidential candidate to be targeted by behind-the-back whispers, or even the only one in this race. Heck, John McCain is still shadowed by things George Bush fans made up in 2000 about his daughter's parentage.

But when I googled each of the candidates, Obama's name popped up the most, and the Antichrist suggestions seemed the most over the top. The Internet helps them spread faster to more people more anonymouser. No harm done when you're passing on good-luck prayers, but chain letters aren't the best source of information when choosing the Leader of the Free World.

So, before you vote next week, please reconsider some of the things that popped into your inbox, between the joke about how beer turns men into women and those wacky lolcats.

I can has cheezburger?

Some points about candidates in e-mail letters check out, but many of the most damaging don't.

For example, John McCain is not an illegal immigrant.

And you might be shocked to learn Obama's campaign wasn't funded by the KKK.

And Hillary Clinton actually is a very good tipper.

Despite what you might have heard on "Saturday Night Live" in 1993, Hillary was never indicted on a variety of charges ranging from shredding of evidence to first-degree murder to grand theft auto, and she wasn't shot by federal authorities while trying to escape.

As much as you'd like to find something juicy here, that's all there is to it!

(I can't believe I just spent more than an hour searching online for that sketch.)

The truth is, there are plenty of reasons to vote for—or to not vote for—each of the people still running. Nobody's perfect. Most people aren't all bad.

The least we can do, when confronted by a nasty rumor about a candidate, is google the issue and look for a reputable source. Other times, sites like snopes.com or truthorfiction.com will shed light on a rumor.

Nobody's gotten AIDS from a needle at a gas pump. That plane wasn't really in the background in the picture of the guy on top of the World Trade Center. That Nigerian prince is going to take more money than he's going to give.

So it's OK to not pass chain e-mails on to everyone you know in the next three minutes.

Your family won't die. You won't miss out on Bill Gates' riches. Your account won't be deleted.

Seriously, nothing will happen either way.

Look it up if you don't believe me.

When columnist Jacob Bennett said before that he was king of forwards, you gotta understand that he doesn't come up with this stuff. It comes to him at jacobmbennett@hotmail.com, and he just forwards it along. You wouldn't arrest a guy who's just delivering drugs from one guy to another.

10:35 AM - 21 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

eaRtHqUakE!!!
Category: News and Politics

Just woken up by shaking so bad I thought my plumbing was exploding or there were children running in my attic.

Turns out it was an earthquake.

It lasted a loooong time.

My dog tried to attack it.

I wish it had happened a little later in the day...now it's time to get up.

3:04 AM - 37 Comments - 22 Kudos - Add Comment

It was a dark and stormy night
Category: Writing and Poetry

By Jacob Bennett

I should have gone into dentistry.

Not that I would be any better at tooth care than I am at writing, but I couldn’t be any worse.

I’m like an actor who can’t act, a teacher who can’t teach, a landscaper who can’t landscape, a stripper who can’t take off his parka.

A lawyer who can’t lawy.

See? That series had, like, five things in it, and every good writer knows that lists work best in threes.

I can’t spell. I can’t punctuate-- I gag on grammar. I’m as good at diagramming sentences as I was at mapping the female reproductive system in ninth grade biology.

I don’t even fit in with literary types. I think transcendentalism is just a bunch of naked guys running around in the woods.

I decided to be a writer when I was a kid so I could be a millionaire and work from home in my Funpals and Underoos.

Guess which of those things I’m doing now.

Looks like I may never do the other.

I’m still looking for the written-word equivalent of a James Brown wail.

But, heck, I can’t even finish one book. I haven’t had a chance to be rejected yet.

Instead I sit around and watch as some of my friends get book deals, a couple of which might be huge.

I wish them nothing but ill will. Toilet seat herpes, at least.

I know it doesn’t matter if I’m rich and famous. I can afford my Underoos, and, really, that’s all that matters.

My goal was immortality, but only Shakespeare and a few of those guys are remembered when they’re gone. And they make more enemies than friends every year when they’re forced upon students in English class.

I want more enemies.

So I peer over my beer belly at my laptop screen and clack away, each sentence worse than the last, hoping inspiration will strike.

I know I’ve only written one less good book than Harper Lee.

And it’s too late for dental school.

And columnist Jacob Bennett is tired of living in this hotel, snow and rain fallin’ through the sheets. In fact he’s tired of 23rd Street, strung out like some Christmas lights at jacobmbennett@hotmail.com.

6:29 AM - 41 Comments - 26 Kudos - Add Comment

New "New Deal" should send recession to recess
Category: News and Politics

No offense, Uncle Bert, but Uncle Sam is my new favorite.

He's giving me and a bunch of lower-class taxpayers $600. Times are tough, and people all over the country are losing their homes, and he wants us not to worry about it.

That $600 should do the trick.

With $600, my little brother could pay his family's health insurance for a whole month.

My buddy could take half a college class so he doesn't have to work hard labor anymore.

My aunt could finally afford that operation.

Uncle Sam really didn't have to give $600 to each taxpayer who makes $75,000 or less, or double that to each couple that makes less than $150,000. He'd already done enough. I mean, he kept a real good eye on all those banks that were giving desperate people shady loans all willy nilly.

And he'd already given a $278 million subsidy to keep my student loan company afloat so I could go to college. Golly, they sure did need that subsidy: I've been paying them back for six years, and I still haven't dented the principle.

And Uncle Sam already cut taxes once to keep bread on people's tables—the last time, he gave a $58,000 average annual break to families making about $1.25 million per year.

I bet they had as hard a time deciding where to spend that as I will with my $600.

So many choices: I could pay off the home mortgage that eats up a paycheck each month.

I could buy my wife a new car since her old transmission is out.

Or, I could invest wisely and put it in the stock market to turn my $600 into $500.

But I'll probably spend it on something stupid. The DVD of the entire series of "Brisco County Jr."

Or tickets to the "Hannah Montana" show starring Miley Ray Cyrus.

Or the timing belt I put on my wife's car three days before it died.

Either way, it's time to pay the fiddler.

And you can take that to the bank.

Unless it closes.

The last time columnist Jacob Bennett freaked out he just kept lookin' down. He st-st-stuttered when you asked him what he's thinkin' 'bout. Felt like he couldn't breathe, you asked what's wrong with him. His best friend Leslie said, "Oh, he's just bein' Miley." Whoa, whoa, he can't wait to see you again at jacobmbennett@hotmail.com.

5:21 PM - 31 Comments - 20 Kudos - Add Comment

Rub me like a lamp, dude
Current mood: aroused
Category: Romance and Relationships

I'm thinking about letting a dude give me a massage at work.

Don't worry, I won't get in trouble; the company hires a guy to come in and rub the workers for at least 10 minutes.

As general rules, I'd rather not get massaged at work, and I'd really rather not get a mansage at work.

I prefer to save those for Interstate rest stops. Just sayin'.

But I was walking down the hall the other day and I saw this man mountain going to town on some chick I work with. I admit, it looked pretty relaxing.

I would prefer a Swedish blonde named Ingrid, possibly Ursula, but Mattias there looked like he could really knead some dough.

I might get in line next time. I've had a hard time sleeping the last few weeks. I'm getting used to a new position at work and I've worked more in the last three weeks than I did in the last three years.

But anyway, that shift in responsibilities is a big reason why I almost never write anything for The Messenger anymore.

I've started three or four that I wasn't able to finish. One of them was too personal and one of them I couldn't get the tone quite right.

And I couldn't even think of ways to write about traveling to L.A., San Diego or Tijuana, even though in L.A. I dined just a few tables down from the stars. But I don't want to drop names.

Niecy Nash.

The stress is causing me to make mistakes at work: I misspelled some kids' names, and I incorrectly reported that the president resigned (don't worry, we ran a correction on page 2).

I'm mad at myself because at my high school reunion I forgot to bring up how my old job consisted mainly of going to concerts and interviewing famous people, and now I can't bring it up anymore. And I don't want to drop names.

Ted Nugent. David Copperfield. Dog the Bounty Hunter.

Uh-oh, apparently if I interview you, you're going to say or do something that gets you in trouble. Look out, bearded guy from the Oak Ridge Boys.

No, the other one.

I realize you don't want to hear complaints about a workplace where you can get a massage.  I'm sure they don't bring in a masseuse to my brother's bus garage, or my cousin's construction sites.

My work also brings nurses in to give us flu shots, but for my first 27 years, I never took them up on it. And then last year the law of averages caught up to me and I got the flu. Of course everyone said smugly, "You should have gotten a flu shot."

So I got one this year, and now I've got a cold.

But maybe my story has a happy ending.

I'm sure my troubles are nothing Mattias can't fix with his magic hands.

When he's playing pat-a-cake on my back, I'll tell him to put some stank on it.
And the man at the back said, "Everyone attack" and it turned into a ballroom blitz. And the girl in the corner said, "Boy, I wanna warn ya, it'll turn into a ballroom blitz. Ballroom blitz," at jacobmbennett@hotmail.com.

7:32 PM - 27 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

We can put a man on the moon, but we can’t go back to space?
Category: Travel and Places

From the Evansville Courier & Press and the Meade County Messenger

By Jacob Bennett

I'd like to say my story begins with me locked in a three-way steel cage death match with Mr. T and a lumberjack.

But that's not the truth. It really starts with me zoned out for a couple of hours at my office cubicle, reading a New York Times article about the future of space flight, where I found this sentence:

"Government-financed space travel could stall in the face of America's growing aversion to risk."

Wait, what? We're afraid of risk? In America? The home of the brave?

No way. We've all seen some pretty bad space tragedies, but America is the greatest country in the world, and you can't be great if you don't take risks.

We wouldn't even have the America we know if a bunch of religious fanatics had said, "I might get seasick; I can't get on that boat."

We wouldn't have electricity if Ben Franklin had said, "I might get shocked; I can't fly this kite."

We wouldn't have "Hysteria" if the drummer for Def Leppard had said, "I've only got one arm; I can't rock."

So we can't say, "Our ship might break; we can't go to space."

For one thing, we learn new stuff in space—NASA helped improve eyeglasses, cancer research and even NFL Sunday Ticket. And the space program does cost billions of dollars, but compared to the rest of the budget, it's really only Stanley Nickels and Schrute Bucks.

We should keep going to space for the same reason we climbed Mount Everest, built bases on Antarctica and jumped Snake River Canyon on a motorcycle--it stretches the limits of humanity.

That's the whole point of space travel—you blast off in a space shuttle that's shaped like a middle finger and point it at the laws of nature.

We didn't let the Russkies beat us to the moon, but we haven't done anything that jaw-dropping in decades. Our buildings are no longer the tallest, our basketball teams are no longer the dreamiest, people can see our stealth bombers.

My greatest recent accomplishment was hitting 300 straight notes of "Freebird" on "Guitar Hero II." And even that wan't a huge deal—those 300 notes were at the beginning of the song, and the solo starts right about note 301.

Meanwhile, the Chinese might beat us to Mars.

We can't let that happen. Granted, blind patriotism doesn't always end well—Manifest Destiny and the Trail of Tears come to mind. But Americans—both natives and immigrants like Albert Einstein who knew this was the place to be—have done a bunch of rootin' tootin' stuff.

Off the top of my head, there's the light bulb, the airplane and the American version of "The Office."

You're welcome.

But the toppermost of the poppermost was when we put a man on the freakin' moon. It was a giant leap for mankind. But we could go farther.

I bet even all the astronauts who died in tragedies would have wanted it that way.

I'm gonna go pick a fight.

Columnist Jacob Bennett can take you thru the center of the dark. You're gonna fly on a collision course to crash into his heart. He will be your, he will be your, he'll be your rocket, yeah, satellite of love, at jacobmbennett@hotmail.com.

7:13 AM - 29 Comments - 28 Kudos - Add Comment

Good advice would have come in handy
Category: Life

This article first appeared in the Evansville Courier & Press.

By Jacob Bennett

I should have listened to my dad.

All those years, growing up on the farm, he tried to tell me.

He showed me how to change my oil, how to fix leaky pipes, how to grow my own vegetables so I didn't have to run to Wal-Mart every time I needed a taco tomato.

But, as he liked to say, he might as well have been talking to that fence post.

All those things he tried to teach me, and I didn't retain a lick of it.

If you ranked me on a usefulness scale, from Paris Hilton to Bob Vila, I'd probably come in about a Pauly Shore. I wouldn't be much use on a deserted island, but if you owned a comedy club, you might let me sweep up.

So now here I am, owner of $157 worth of a house (the credit union owns the rest), and already I've got a long list of honey-dos without any clue.

Dad fixed fighter jets, tinkered on tanks and grew his own cows. He built most of the second floor of our house by himself.

I can barely put together a little living room table.

I looked at the online do-it-yourself instructions for ceiling fan installation, and I might as well have been looking at blueprints for an atomic bomb.

Just persuading my weed eater to start is as hard as picking up girls in college, and I can't give my weed eater alcohol.

This, of course, isn't the first time I found out the hard way Dad was right. He always told me to study hard in school, that my future depended on it. Who knew (besides Dad) I'd spend a decade paying, in the form of monthly college loan payments, for not doing my eighth-grade algebra homework.

My little brother's tuition is paid for at Western Kentucky. And there's no way he's smarter than me. Except he knows good advice when he sees it.

I always thought people in Meade County only drove big trucks because it was the cool thing to do; I'm quickly learning my Cavalier is about as useful as I am. I actually considered buying a small truck when I bought that car, but the lot only had manual transmissions, and I was of the opinion that if manual transmissions were so great, they wouldn't have invented automatics.

So I never let Dad teach me to drive a stick.

Yes, sir, guess I'll pay that delivery fee. And I'll pay you to change my oil. And to grow me vegetables.

Eventually I'm going to have to fix a furnace, patch a roof and maybe put in some new tiles.

I saw Dad put in some new tiles once.

It didn't look so hard when he did it.

Columnist Jacob Bennett is ok, 'cause you have that affect on him. He needs you desperately; you know he needs you desperately at jacobmbennett@hotmail.com

6:47 AM - 33 Comments - 23 Kudos - Add Comment

You sunk my battleship! And with it, my diploma
Current mood: cranky
Category: School, College, Greek

From the College Heights Herald, Western Kentucky University, spring 2001

By Jacob Bennett

Trenches gut the countryside. The lines are drawn.

All's quiet on the Western front.

Stalemate.

The two sides size each other up and down with the ol' evil eye, and that is that.

My teachers want me working hard, I want me hardly working, that's where it's at.

We both know we're facing heavy casualties—my grades are sinking like PT-109, and the teachers are gonna have to read boring, half-hearted papers with their precious time.

Bout how do you beat an opponent who has nothing to lose?

My teachers know I know they couldn't care less if I graduate. My teachers also know I know that I couldn't care more if I graduate.

Whether or not I turn in that research paper, they're still gonna spend their summer writing dissertations and drinking daiquiris.

They're circling my wagons, and I'm looking to make a run for it.

All I can do is climb aboard Lao Che airlines and hope for the best. But there's no more parachutes.

This is no time for love, Dr. Jones. This is no time for anything except studying, or more accurately, whining about needing to study and finally turning something in at the last minute.

I used to crusade for a Holy Grail-perfect GPA. I read every assigned chapter not once but twice—and actually came to class sober.

Now, I'm satisfied with simply passing.

I figure "degree" starts with a D for a reason.

Finals are kinda like rats in the cellar. I know they're there—I can hear 'em scurrying—but I don't want to see 'em.

So, as fate would have it, I'm waging guerilla warfare on the last two weeks of school. I've been up for 24 hours ambushing my final projects, and I probably won't sleep for another day or so.

It wasn't over when the Germans bombed Pear Harbor, and it's not over now.

Forget it, I'm rollin'.

'Cause when the going gets tough…um, the tough get going!

So who's with me? I'm gonna attack the weak links in my teachers' defenses (i.e., the assignments that don't take long to do), and hopefully rack up enough points to live to fight another semester.

I'm distributing these cyanide capsules just in case.

Columnist Jacob Bennett, former tight end for the Kansas City Chiefs, is outfitted with various whips, chains and a sexual appetite that will knock your socks off! Big Jake has satisfied women throughout the world, has an e-mail address at jacobmbennett@hotmail.com, and the capital of the Nebraska is Lincoln!

Currently watching : The Office - Season Three Release date: 04 September, 2007

6:08 AM - 18 Comments - 20 Kudos - Add Comment

Dream On
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

You know what sucks?

When you're having a dream that you won the Pulitzer Prize, and you wake up.

Also, Will Smith was helping me pick out clothes.

Currently listening : He’s the DJ, I’m the Rapper By DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince Release date: 25 October, 1990

8:23 AM - 22 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment