A heavy dose of truth, humor, and political activism.

Location: Phila, Pennsylvania, United States

Tuesday, February 28, 2006


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

Friday, February 24, 2006


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

Wednesday, February 22, 2006


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.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006



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.

Thursday, February 16, 2006


DON'T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT CORPORATE AMERICA, YOU'RE NOT MY FATHER Excedrin has a current television commercial where this girl tells you Excedrin works in 30 minutes and if you have migraines you know how quick that is. Yeah, I have migraines, and when you have migraines, you already know Excedrin works. Stop fucking with me. Excedrin, it works, you know it works, we know that you know it works, so we're gonna patronize you because we can, and we know you'll still buy it. You know what? We're raising the price too, and if you have migraines you know how much that sucks. The patronizing didn't stop there. Lowe's has a commercial where the announcer says "we have a kitchen to fit your budget." Really? my budget? What exactly does a kitchen that fits MY budget look like? What are you going to sell me? A hot plate? If I pay you $20 you'll let me come cook on one of the floor models in the store after closing? I guess you never said you had a kitchen that fit my budget that I could use in my own home. Maybe I misunderstood. Haines has this big TV ad featuring celebrities. "Look who we've got our Haines on now," they say. Ok great. Michael Jordan wears your T-shirts and briefs because you pay him to. It doesn't mean they are comfortable or well made. I'm sure some white trash guy in some trailer park in Florida is wearing a Haines T-shirt with yellow arm pits and briefs riddled with holes and skid marks right now. I don't care who you've got your Haines on. If you want to get them on me, try telling me something about them and not just who you paid to wear them. BILL DIDN'T INHALE, BUT MAYBE HILARY DID We all remember Bill Clinton's famous line that he smoked pot, he just didn't inhale. First of all, I don't care if he did inhale. He was the best president we'll ever see in my life time. The guy can smoke whatever he wants. Bush wants to put people on the Supreme Court to overturn Roe vs. Wade. I want someone who will overturn the ruling that Clinton can only serve two terms. I say, put a crown on the guy's head and call him King of America. With that unlikely to happen, we turn to the next logical Clinton, Bill's wife, Hilary. Would Hilary make a good president? Maybe. She certainly wouldn't be any worse than the clown we have in office now. I'm sure she'd choose a better VP than Cheney. I don't think she'd shoot anyone in the face (we all saw what happened to Bill when he shot his load into someone's face, evidently only Republican's can get away with that). There is one thing about Hilary that worries me though. In her book, she claims that she never knew that Bill was cheating on her. She never knew? Really? What was she smoking at the time? I know blind and deaf people that knew Bill was cheating on her. If you can add one and one together, you knew. But Hilary didn't? That means one of two things. Either, A) she's a liar and she knew all along (which I hope is the case), or B) she is so oblivious to her surroundings that she's either high on something, or retarded. I can handle a liar as my next president. I have been well groomed for such a thing over the course of my life. They've all lied to some degree. I'm over it. But a retarded or completely oblivious president? Is that really a good idea? Dubya is the worst President for America, but he's not retarded like everyone says he is. He knows what he's doing. He's putting the good of his friends and family before the good of the country and the American public. The man has no soul. Yeah he lies about it, but if you have half a brain you can see right through him. Hilary, you wanna run for President? You want my vote? You got it. But don't patronize me and tell me you didn't know Bill was cheating. Or, if you do, don't be surprised when I claim I didn't know I was supposed abide by laws or pay taxes. SPEAKING OF MY TAX DOLLARS Dubya has been putting all of our tax dollars to great use hasn't he? Forget planning for the future, let's just spend all the money we can right now. Billions for a war? No problem. Billions more to send probes into outer space? No problem. Educating the nation's youth? Eh, Bush obviously wasn't educated and look how far he made it. Health care? We don't need to spend on health care. Everyone just agree to do something patriotic for your country and don't ever get sick or injured ok? An ounce of prevention goes a long way. And what about all the homeless people we have in the U.S.? That's easy. With the thousands and thousands of people we're letting just stroll over the border from Mexico, there must be some dwellings that they left behind in Mexico. Why not just let our homeless live there? I guess as long as we're just letting in all the people who want to steal our jobs, and not blow them up, Bush sees it as a victory. Well done George. And just to clear things up, when Bush says "defense budget" he doesn't mean defense from silly things like category 4 hurricanes, he means defense from people who hate him. Hey, here's a good idea for the defense budget, pay one of those illegal Mexican guys five dollars to take Cheney's shotgun away from him. I feel safer already. It also might be wise if we spent sometime focusing on the countries who have nuclear weapons, and not just wandering around in the desert looking for "nuke-u-ler" ones. At least Bush didn't patronize me there. He said we were going looking for "nuke-u-ler" weapons. Who knows, maybe he found some in Iraq. KILLING ME SWIFTLY There are laws against committing suicide. Of course, if you succeed in doing it, they really can't hold you accountable. If you don't succeed, they lock you up and try to run your life for you. But the law really doesn't say people can't kill themselves. It says people can't kill themselves in a timely manner. You can't swallow a handful of pills. You can't blow your brains out. But the government has no problem with people killing themselves over time. Smoking cigarettes kills people. Eating McDonald's kills people. And we all know it. As I walked around the city today I saw many people slowly killing themselves one drag at a time. I watched people lining up at McDonald's to clog their arteries one bite at a time. What I didn't see was a bunch of orderlies with straight jackets lining up to take them away to the psych ward when they finished eating. So why is our government okay with slow, drawn out death? Does it have something to do with our lack of a healthcare system? If we had universal health care, a slow death would cost our government a hell of a lot more money than a quick one. Where do you draw the line? Who decides what methods are acceptable for a person ending their own life and which aren't? Why can Dick Cheney shoot someone in the head and it's ok, but a person who puts a gun to their own head and pulls the trigger is committing a crime? I WON THE GOLD MEDAL IN APATHY Who cares about the Olympics anymore? I certainly don't. Personally, I don't care if the U.S. wins every gold medal or none of them. Half the fun of sports competition (especially to those not competing) is trash talking. Who am I supposed to talk trash to when some guy from the U.S. wins the gold in speed skating? All the people I know from Russia, China, or Sweden? Oh that's right, I don't know any. Maybe we should start allowing the medal winners to wipe their asses with the flags from the losing countries during the medal ceremony. That would spice things up a bit. Let's say for a minute that the U.S. did win every gold medal. Then what? I'm supposed to have a strong sense of American pride. To anyone who doesn't support President Cheney, excuse me, Bush, U.S. pride is about as rare these days as Michael Jackson appearances at the Playboy mansion. We beat every other country in downhill skiing so we must be a great country. Forget all that unjust war crap. Forget the suffering of millions of Americans here at home. We've got a medal that says we're the best. Isn't that the true American way? How about instead of competing in meaningless events like figure skating, all the countries in the world can compete to see who can eradicate the most poverty. I'd actually be proud if we won that. These athletes act like it's a great honor to be able to represent the U.S. in the Olympics. I don't think it's an honor in any way to represent this country anymore. Last time I went to Europe I even told people I was Canadian. Why? Because the rest of the world views us as a bunch of pompous assholes. A president doesn't just help run a country, he is the face of that country. The face of our country? One bush, one dick, and until he resigned, a colon. I'd say that when it comes to looking like a bunch of dicks to the rest of world, we've already won the gold. PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT You've all gotten quite good at reading my blog but isn't it time to work on you sharing skills? It only takes a minute to forward this blog to someone else. They might not thank you, I might not thank you (directly), but you'll feel better about yourself and that's what's really important. Please, share the truth. See you all soon. As always, suggestions or ideas can be sent to: spoonfulloftruth@aol.com

Tuesday, February 14, 2006


IT'S OFFICIAL, WE'RE GUESSING We had a large snow storm in Philadelphia over the weekend. Being somewhat of a snow fanatic, I watch as many weather reports as I can. I like to see what station is calling for the most snow, then I decide they must be right. They never are. While watching one weather report on Saturday evening, the reporter said that as of midnight, the "official estimate" was one inch of snow at Philly International airport. What the hell is an official estimate? An estimate is a guess. So what makes a guess official? Because the news organization is willing to stand behind it? It's still a guess. If they are right, great. If they are wrong, oh well. If it wasn't an official estimate, would their guess be any less accurate? The Spoon Full of Truth official estimate is that these morons have less brain cells than the inch of snow that fell at the airport. A guess is a guess. No need to make it official. Once you state that you're guessing, that's official enough. Why don't you spend a little more time getting the weather report right, and a little less time making your guesses sound like something else? I guess official estimate is the new word for guess. It does have a nice ring to it. After all, janitors are now called custodial engineers, used cars are now called certified preowned, domestic spying is now called terrorist intelligence gathering, and a criminal with a shotgun is now called Vice President. DICK, GEORGE, AND DAN: THE QUAIL SAGA What is it about Bush run white houses and stupid mistakes involving quail? The first President Bush thought so much of quail that he chose one as his Vice President. You all remember him right? The guy who couldn't spell potato? The guy who is responsible for such gems as, "One word sums up probably the responsibility of any vice president, and that one word is, 'to be prepared'" It was a nice thought. Too bad Dan Quayle couldn't count higher than one. The current president Bush, not wanting to be outdone by his daddy, chose a VP who likes to shoot quail. Too bad he can't aim. You mean the old guy in the bright orange vest isn't a quail? Could have fooled Dick. Anyone care to make an official estimation as to how many drinks Dick had before he went hunting? Or how many people it took to cover it up until the alcohol was out of his system? Harry Wittington (the man shot) said he wasn't going to give a statement out of respect for Dick Cheney. Respect for what? His on-the-level business dealings at Halliburton? The way he stood up for his own lesbian daughter when his boss fought against gay rights? Or respect for the fact that he doesn't want to be shot in the face again? That one sounds about right. You'd think maybe that out of respect, Cheney wouldn't have shot his friend in the face. That would be giving him too much credit. Maybe this will be the thing that bring liberals and conservatives together. Dick and Ted. Buck shot and Chappaquiddick. Maybe the Bush white house will just get another free pass. My guess? Cheney shot him in the face on purpose. WHEN THE SMOKE (AND MIRRORS) CLEAR Why do I think Cheney shot him in the face? Because he was trying to cover up his bigger blunders with a smaller, more widely publicized one. On the same day last week when the news broke that Scooter Libby testified that it was Dick Cheney himself who told Scooter Libby to leak information about CIA agent Valerie Plame, Dubya tried to cover it up. He released a phony story to the media about a thwarted attack on a tall building in Los Angeles. That came as surprising news to many people including the mayor of Los Angeles, members of the CIA and FBI, and the former head of Homeland Security, Tom Ridge. And why had none of them heard of this alleged attack before? Simple. Because no such attack was ever planned, nor thwarted. When Dubya's daddy got him a clown and a magician to perform at his 40th birthday party, it gave him an idea. He could use magic to fix his mistakes. Once he found out that magic was little more than sleight of hand, he cried himself to sleep, and awoke with a new resolve to use smoke and mirror tactics himself. Since then, he has put it to much use. He may not have a wand or a rabbit in his hat (although these items probably do reside in his game room), but he has mastered the art of the less-than-truthful press release. Like any great magician, Dubya needs assistants. Good thing he has the media working hard on his side. Bush says it, the news organizations run it, the masses believe it to be the truth. But this time, it didn't work so well. It was quickly reported that there had been no such terrorist attack planned for Los Angeles. He would have to work harder. How to cover up the CIA leak? Easy. Shoot your friend Harry in the face, then ask him, out of respect for you, not to comment on it. I'm sure Mr. Wittington won't comment on the heart attack he suffered today due to a buck shot pellet lodged in his heart, that would just be disrespectful. The wildlife department issued a report Monday that found the main factor contributing to the accident was a "hunter's judgment factor." No other secondary factors were found to have played a role. I get it. If you're a member of the Bush regime, any crimes you commit can be written off as bad judgment and nothing else. Maybe we can write off everyone who voted for Bush as "voters judgment factor." PRESIDENT'S JUDGMENT FACTOR Maybe I've been too hard on Dubya. Maybe all the astounding blunders he has made since taking office can just be written off as the President's judgment factor. Sure he used cocaine, was arrested for drunk driving in New England, dodged the draft, started an unjust war, gave his friends the very lucrative war contracts, spied on American citizens without proper court approval, completely mismanaged the Katrina disaster (leading to many deaths), lied to the entire world, bashed gays, took over the FCC and used it for his personal christian agenda, and tried to drill the Alaskan wilderness. So what? President's judgment factor. 'Nuff said. Don't you think a more accurate term would be the President's LACK of judgment factor? Is this in the vein of "official estimation?" Do we now call crimes committed by Presidents and VPs "political judgment factors?" If I shot my friend in the face, they'd call it attempted murder. If I let people I was supposed to care for sit on a roof top and starve, they'd call it abuse. Why should it be any different for these two clowns? It's time we start using our "citizen's judgment factor" to hold these cowboys (not the gay ones, just the reckless ones) accountable. Just pretend your mother was Valerie Plame and Cheney had put her life in danger. Wouldn't you want to defend her? Or what if it was your father that he shot in the face? Wouldn't you want to see him tried for that crime. If we continue to allow these men to get away with anything, it won't be long until one of us has a heart full of buckshot. If he'll shoot his friend out of lack of judgment, what do you think he will do to the rest of us if he continues to go unchecked? 300 MILLION DOLLARS, ONE SNOW BALL'S CHANCE IN HELL Have you caught power ball fever yet? I sure have. You spend one dollar on a ticket, spend all day dreaming about how you'd spend it, watch the drawing, and lose. It's great fun. The odds of winning power ball are somewhere in the neighborhood of 1 in 146,000,000. So you're telling me there's a chance? I read ya. Of course if you don't buy a ticket, the chance that you won't win is 1 out of 1. Those are much better odds. I'm a dreamer though. I like to buy my ticket and think about how I'd spend all of that money. Lots of people say they'd give 10% to their church. Not me. Fuck the church. You don't see them giving me 10% of what they make. Lots of people say they'd donate money to charity. I might to that, but don't hold your breath. I'm not sure how far $300,000,000 goes these days, but I'd like to own my own island. Of course I would be the ruling government body. Did I say government? I meant King. I'd be the King. If an island was a little out of my price range, I'd buy an entire town somewhere. Holland would be nice. I'd move all of my friends and family into nice big houses so they could be my neighbors. I wouldn't mind being a minority owner in the Philadelphia Eagles too, complete with my own luxury box at every game. Also the players would have to do what I say. And I say, WIN. My wife works very hard and deserves a break from time to time. If I had $300,000,000 dollars, I could hire her a few stunt doubles. Don't want to make dinner tonight honey? That's ok, call in the stunt double. No sex tonight? You've got a headache? No problem. Call in 3 of the stunt doubles. I would also take out a full page ad in every newspaper in America telling all the people I dislike to go fuck themselves. Now that's advertising. I'd still write this blog though. No amount of money can keep me from sharing the truth. If you don't believe me, make me an offer. WEATHER REPORT! It's been snowing bullshit since Bush took office. It's time to dig out. Together we can do it, one Spoon Full of Truth at a time. Check back soon, the truth will be waiting for you.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006


FIVE MINUTES FOR GLOATING Hockey is back. Sort of. New rules, less fans, a new deal to show games on OLN (the Outdoor Life Network....aren't NHL games playing INdoors?), and the return of the shoot out. The players and owners were greedy. They missed an entire year of hockey, as did the fans. Normally I would have just kissed the NHL good-bye. However, last year's NHL strike also coincided with my first year of marriage to a Canadian (complete with a full set of Canadian in-laws and friends). Hockey is to Canadian's like being over weight is to Americans: a way of life. It was a sad sight to watch Sportscenter (Sportscentre to Canucks) in Canada during the NHL strike. They had nothing to fill the time with and continued to talk about any and all hockey that was still being played. That's all in the past now. My new family and friends to the North can once again bask in the warming glow of one-timers, kick saves, and fighting. Along with the return of the NHL comes one more great tradition, Lord Stanley's Cup. Unlike the championship trophies in other major American sports, the Stanley Cup takes a greater role in celebrating the winning team's accomplishment. The cup actually celebrates with each and every one of them. Taking a ride in a parade like the Lombardi Trophy just did through Pittsburgh is nice, but spending some quality time with each and every member of the team really brings new meaning to "Bringing home a championship." Some of the players just take it to their house for the day, prop it up on the couch, and take pictures with it. Some take it to a baseball game, buy it a seat, rest a hot-dog and a beer on it, and really show it a good time. Whatever each player decides to do with the cup on their day is up to them. It got me thinking, what would I do with Lord Stanley's Cup if I had it for a day? I came up with a few ideas. I could take The Cup to a strip club. Every player who wins the cup gets their name put on it. When the cup fills up with names, they just add new layers to it. Why not give it a chance to see how exciting it can be when layers are removed? I'm sure Lord Stanley liked a little topless entertainment as much as the rest of us. Besides, the cup will be locked up for the majority of the year, it might as well live a little. I'd just tuck a few dollar bills on The Cup and let the dancers find ways to remove them (no hands ladies). I could also take The Cup to the movies. It would be a pretty cheap date and is a lot cooler than going to the movies alone. I'd be happy to pay for a ticket so it could sit next to me but I'm sure it doesn't eat much, saving me money on the popcorn and soda. Also, if it had seen the movie already, it would probably not spoil the ending for me like some other people I know. It might be fun to drive The Cup down to Atlantic City in the trunk of my car just to mess with some compulsive gamblers. I could pull up next to the casinos and wait for people to come out. When they did, I could say "Hey, I bet you $50 I have the Stanley Cup in the trunk of my car." All it would take is one out of five people to take me up on it and I'd make a killing. I like those odds. Finally I'd take The Cup to Canada and gloat to all of my Canadian friends and family about it. Then I'd dress it up in an American flag, surround it with guns, and drink Miller beer out of it. Then, and only then, I'd let them all take pictures with it. That's what I call a Kodak moment, eh? Just kidding Canada, I love you. THERE'S NO CURE FOR WHAT I'VE GOT When I was fourteen I discovered I had diabetes. While diabetes has no cure (yet) it is manageable. Every time I mention to someone that I have the disease, they immediately respond with a story about their aunt, grandmother, or distant family member that shares my condition. Millions of American's (and millions more around the world) share this affliction with me. But there is another condition, a condition to which there is only one known cure, that links me to millions of others people as well. I contracted this condition from my mother while in the womb in the late 1970s. I am talking of course, about Disco Fever. I'm sure my mother didn't mean to pass it on. For children of the late 70's, there was little protection from the illness. It wasn't until the early 80's that children started to show signs of immunity from the fever. The cure had come too late for me. I learned to live with Disco Fever at a young age. Although originally discouraged by the inability to control my behind from shaking whenever catchy music was played, I soon embraced it. I realized that a steady dose of ass-shaking was the cure for what ailed me. It could be administered one funky record at a time. As I got older, I began to try to bring relief to those like me. I trained to work as a DJ, a great way to share my love of funky and disco house music with the world. Sadly, my mixing skills never got up to par with my track selection. Now, as a blogger, I feel I can once again try to share my knowledge with the world. Children of the 70's, you are not alone. That feeling you get to shake your butt whenever you hear a song by Parliament or hot house track by Miguel Migs is normal. While you cannot control the shaking of your behind, you can take solace in the fact that somewhere, at that same moment, other behinds are shaking right along with yours. There is always safety in numbers, together, (like the Bee-Gees said) we'll keep stayin' alive. HOMOSEXUALITY: NOT JUST FOR HAIR DRESSERS ANYMORE This just in! Cowboys are not only strong and rugged, can wrangle cattle, and work the land, but love sex too...with each other. That's right folks. Despite the best efforts of christianity, homosexuality is spreading. It's not just for your hair dresser uncle or friend who likes show tunes these days. I've said it before and I'll say it again, love is nothing to be afraid of. Two men or two women in love with each other threaten nothing but an environment of hate. Two cowboys having sex doesn't effect the flavor of the juicy steak that comes from their cattle. Even if they have sex right on top of the cow. In fact, early relations in this country might have been a lot better if, instead of shooting Indians and stealing their land, cowboys had shown them how to pluck their eyebrows and coordinate their head dresses with their moccasins. Ever since the release of Brokeback Mountain, I have heard a few people talk about how "cowboys are pretty gay these days." Because of one movie? If I make one movie about two football players being gay, will that taint all the rest of them? Will guys no longer wear football jerseys to support their favorite players? Will commentators take a longer look at those frequent pats on the ass between teammates that have long been overlooked? Some people are still so afraid of homosexuality I wouldn't be surprised. Will "Brokeback" forever become a term tied to homosexuality? Will it become the new term FOR homosexuality? It just might. "What do you mean you use skin care products? You're a guy! Quit actin' so brokeback." Or "Where'd you get those gay shoes? The Brokeback outlet?" In the meantime people need to stop hating on cowboys. There are gay cowboys. There are gay football players, miners, autoworkers, firemen, and soldiers. Gay workers are probably working right now at any number of "manly" jobs. I think that's great. Less work for me. BROKEBACK BUSH I haven't seen any photos of Dubya in his cowboy hat recently. Could it be, that while studying his kids meal place mat at Denny's, he finally realized Connecticut is not in Texas? Maybe. Could it be that he was tired of dressing up like a cowboy, a fighter pilot, and baseball player and demanded new costumes from his daddy? Perhaps. Or could it be that he's part of the christian right and scared to death of anything remotely homosexual? Ding! Ding! Ding! George hasn't seen Brokeback Mountain. He made that clear when asked about it in an interview. But I'm sure the main points made it past the layers of cocaine and bong resin in his brain and actually registered. Cowboy = Gay. Gay = Bad. End result? No more cowboy hat. No more Connecticut cowboy. So what's next for the President's wardrobe? Maybe he could wear one of those hats that the police use. Maybe we could give him a football helmet to wear. Maybe we could just shave jesus on the cross into the back of his hair. Whatever it is, we know one thing. He will start unjust wars, he will leave U.S. citizen's (at least African Americans) on roof tops for weeks at a time without any help, he will destroy our environment, he will break our laws, he will hire his friends for positions for which they are not qualified, he will make up words and pass off lies as truth. But, under no conditions, will he wear any sort of hat that a gay man might wear. That would just be silly. FORGET FRIDAY AND SATURDAY, GIVE ME SUNDAE NIGHT. In the summer, when I was younger, my parents used to take me to sundae night at Candy Kitchen. Candy Kitchen is like heaven in Delaware. It's a candy store that has all sorts of candy, fudge, ice cream, and toys. They had a clown who would come on sundae night and make balloon animals. Her name was Sunshine. One time she made me a balloon octopus and then turned the octopus into a hat I could wear. That's talent. But that was only the beginning of sundae night. What could be better than eating a big sundae covered in gooey toppings? Making it yourself! Each kid would get a plastic baseball helmet filled with a scoop of their favorite ice cream. Then, the real fun began. In the middle of the store was a toppings station. You could cover your ice cream in chocolate candy, gummy candy, and crunchy candy. You could use rainbow jimmies (you might call them sprinkles), or chocolate jimmies. You could pump on fudge, marshmallow, caramel, or strawberry goo. There was whipped cream, bananas, nuts, and cherries. Making the sundae became more exciting than eating it. It was a challenge to see how many different combinations of toppings you could cram into your bowl. A few times I even skipped the scoop of ice cream and just filled the bowl with toppings until it started to overflow. You could never really finish one of these sugary works of art. Just taking a few bites to appreciate the flavors was good enough. Eventually they stopped sundae night, and retired Sunshine and the toppings bar. But those childhood memories will live on forever in my adult stomach. COMING SOON TO A BLOG NEAR YOU Coming soon to Spoon Full Of Truth: movie and music reviews. Not only will you be able to still depend on Spoon Full Of Truth to keep you informed about world events, politics, and to make you laugh, you will soon be able to read the truth (my version of it anyway) about upcoming movies and music before they are released to the general public. These reviews will begin to appear at the end of Wednesday's guest column in a section titled something like "I'm Selling Out." More news to follow. In the meantime, please continue to spread the truth by sharing it with others. As always, suggestions to the format of this blog are welcomed at spoonfulloftruth@aol.com.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006


EXPLOIT ME That's just what it should say on one of those little Necco candy hearts. Exploit me: I'm a married man on Valentine's Day. It doesn't just stop at us married guys. The fiances are exploited, the serious boyfriends are exploited, even the dudes just trying to get some and still seem sweet about it get exploited. Let me start off by saying that women need to be spoiled sometimes to feel special. If you're a guy, and what I've just said is news to you, you've got a week to turn it around. Here's my problem with Valentine's Day. A woman should be surprised and spoiled spontaneously. How romantic is it to give someone roses that aren't nearly as much a sign of love, as a societal obligation. Think about it. Women, how many of you would feel unloved if your guy didn't recognize Valentine's Day at all? He might say "Happy Valentine's Day" but that'd be the end of it. You'd be pissed. Because society says that if you don't buy something for your woman on Valentine's Day, you don't love her. When I want to show my wife that I love her, I bring her flowers home just because I wanted to surprise her or just make her feel extra special that day (or occasionally because I've pissed her off). I take her to a surprise dinner at a good Restaurant. Sometimes, if I'm home, I even clean up the whole apt before she gets home from work (and if you knew me you'd realize that's quite a feat). But what's it really prove if I buy my wife roses or chocolates or even a bear on a day where the hidden purpose isn't to show her how much I really love her, but to keep her from thinking I don't. It's the difference between "You really love me" like a swelling of pride versus "oh, you do love me" as in a show of relief that she really does matter (at least enough to severely over pay for something that will be dead in a week). I'm gonna get my wife something for Valentine's Day. Why? Because I'm smart enough to know that even though I'm onto their scheme to exploit my wife's love, they are still exploiting it. But, I did bring her roses home this past weekend, and why? Just because I love her. Next Tuesday I'll give her roses again, why this time? So she can brag to her friends about how thoughtful I am for Valentine's Day. CUPID, WE NEED LOVIN TOO Cupid has been so busy with all this Valentine's Day madness that he forgot to do something for us men. Valentine's Day is about men getting stuff for women. If a guy gets nothing for Valentine's Day, it isn't front page news to all of his friends. If a woman doesn't get something, she tells all of her women friends about it. Then her friends will start to convince her that you're a dead beat, and at that point, it's almost not worth the energy to try to prove them wrong. There's a lot of fish in the sea. But getting back to Cupid and his lack of respect for the male side of love. Men love things too. We don't need candy, or roses, or a big stuffed bear, for us to know you really care. But a big juicy steak, medium rare. We don't need poems or songs about love. Just buy some tight lingerie, that fits like a glove. Diamonds and jewelry are kind of insane, all us guys need, is some old fashioned brain. So as you can probably tell by my rhyming, I'm all for a holiday, a week before Valentine's Day, where women have to prove to men that they love them with sexy outfits, tasty steak dinners, and a hummer for the ages. Then the Valentine's Day roses and candy won't be so much an obligation, as a thank you. DEAR GOD, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW? Just when I thought it was safe to put it in my mouth, swish it around, and swallow it down, Diet Pepsi had to go and screw it all up for themselves. Big time. Diet Pepsi, you've had your moments. Diet Crystal Pepsi, the novelty wore off as quickly as my urge to drink the stuff. Kona Pepsi? The "Coffee Flavored" Pepsi. Coffee's good. So is Diet Pepsi. Dogs are good and so is sex. But not together. Just when Diet Pepsi had made it's way into my soda selection rotation (and trust me, I consume a whole hell of a lot of diet soda) it went and did this. I was watching the Super Bowl on Sunday night and like anyone else who watches, enjoyed many of the commercials. Many, but not all. Diet Pepsi unveiled their new slogan: "Brown and Bubbly". The brain can not help but associate brown in some way, with shit. UPS put brown on the map. Brown is okay for shipping packages. Got a little brown on my package? It got there on time? No problem. But when it comes to drinking something down for a little refreshment, bubbly does it for me, but brown does not. I'm no drink racist, but if it's brown, most likely, I'm not drinking it down. No thanks. More for the rest of you. What was Diet Pepsi thinking? What happened to pushing refreshment? Great taste? Now you're trying to sell it as an alternative to Coca-Cola because it's brown and bubbly? Coca-Cola might also BE brown and bubbly, but at least they don't remind us of it. Slim Jim's taste good but I don't wanna know what's in it. So, Diet Pepsi, until your next ad slogan which is so great that it may have a chance to redeem you, I'll drink something else. I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE Something has been bothering me for quite some time now and I am still seeking the answer which continues to elude me. What is the first decade of a century called? The second decade is the teens, the third is the thirties. The forth is the forties, and so on. But what's the first decade called officially? No one seems to be able to tell me. The one's? That sounds dumb. I've been wanting to know this ever since 1998 and while I have never done any actual research aside from asking other people I meet, I would still like to know. If you have the answer, please respond with a comment to this post. It would be much appreciated and please include your name so everyone knows how smart you are (you might even get laid, brains are the new Braun). I MAKE A COMEBACK Sorry about the lack of blogs last week people. It was a bit of a rough week but I hope to be back more in the coming weeks to keep you all entertained and informed. I am also in the process of starting a once weekly guest column. A lot of you out there have something to say, and now is your chance to be heard. You can send in submissions to spoonfulloftruth@aol.com. Each Wednesday, starting soon, Spoon Full Of Truth will feature a guest column from a writer of my choosing. I promise to read all submissions although I cannot promise all submissions will make the final cut. In case your work is published, make sure to include the name you would like me to credit for the piece. I'll be clear though, if it's GOP Right-wing garbage you're spewing, it won't get any play here. You have enough other outlets. This blog is the voice of the silent minority. Silent because our leaders will not stand up for us. But we can stand up for ourselves. One Spoon Full Of Truth at a time. Please share this site with others, share the truth.