From the Vaults of the Drunken Rogue: Who the Hell is the Drunken Rogue?

As the New Year approaches, I've decided to highlight some of my earlier pieces in a series I'm calling "From the Vaults of the Drunken Rogue." Today however it occurs to me that the piece I wanted to repost today is not very good. So forget that.

In early March of 2006 A.D. (for those that worried about what epoch I was referring to), I embarked on a new experiment. The result of that experiment is this blog (and the makings of a book as well). The first post was what I intended to give you today, but as mentioned earlier it's just not good. So instead I contemplated what I would write as an introduction to the blog if I was just starting today. Taking into account all I've learned over the last year, my viewpoint, execution and punctuation are all vastly improved. So here now, for the first time ever:

Who the Hell is the Drunken Rogue?

The path of the Drunken Rogue is one that I didn’t embark on lightly. It was only after a significant period of self-reflection and ingestion of various purative agents that I decided to take on the mantle of “Drunken Rogue.” I had previously held the title (or nom de plume as the Germans would have it) “The Inebriated Scallywag.” It was definitely a promotion for me, but was I selling out?

Eventually my pride (and the persistence of my creditors) pushed me to pursue a higher position and more consistent (ie. existent) compensation. So it was with a heavy heart (and an empty pocket) that I took on the persona of “The Drunken Rogue”.

If I had remembered that my three year contract as the “Inebriated Scallywag” was not yet expired, I might have thought better of it. I owed some three hundred dollars and change as an early termination penalty. Damn fine print. It will be sometime in my third year as “The Drunken Rogue” when I finally break even.

I said all that to say this, I’m glad to be here and look forward to an interesting (and possibly enlightening) journey. As a reader you have a million different places to seek entertainment, education, and environmentally friendly dissertations. But nowhere else on this great digital page called the internet will you find those things from me. As a writer I’ve only got this one place that will print my stuff. Now we both know why we are here, that makes things a lot clearer. Ah, the introductions:

Who is the Drunken Rogue?

The Drunken Rogue is more than a man, it’s an idea. Realistically, I have no idea what difference it makes but poetically that sounds better.

But who are you?

The aforementioned Drunken Rogue, a humble servant of the words. But on a personal level, I’m a writer who moonlights (or would that be daylights) as a DJ. I’m married (and ridiculously in love with) a beautiful woman, and am contemplating a retreat to Europe (I hear that’s where the history comes from).

Why do we care what you have to say?

Sure, there are others with more experience, expertise, foresight, afterthought, imagination, ability and, without a doubt, talent. But those people are only pretenders. You are a discerning reader, one who can cut through the surface levels of nonsense and see the true uselessness that lies within. That, my friends, has brought us together. Because doubtlessly, no one oozes uselessness like me.

What are you going to write about?

My articles (or exposés as the Koreans refer to them) will deal with a broad range of the most intellectual stimulating subjects. From the events of the day, to modern and classical politics. From ancient history and philosophical discussions of the origin, purpose and meaning of life to treatise on the symbology of American football. Mostly I’ll write humor pieces.

How can I get more of your writing?

That’s the problem with true genius. Once you’ve tasted it, a habit is likely to form. Fear not, the Drunken Rogue has foreseen this problem and has decided to write for a full year before ever publishing this letter of introduction. Now you’re so far behind on reading his brand of wisdom that you’ll no doubt never completely catch up. That means that, for you, there is always something new to read. Kind of me isn’t it. You can thank me later for now leave me some kudos.

From the Vaults of the Drunken Rogue: Have You Seen this HDTV Thing?

Ah, old blogs are like looking at your old yearbooks. Sure the nostalgia is there, but you keep wondering why no one told you that shirt was horrendous. Alas, I promised you the Best of 2006 and this is a pretty good place to start. I'm using an interesting (and not foolproof) method for choosing which blogs to edit and repost. I'm trying to find blogs from the first few months of my blogging (before my readership skyrocketed) the idea being that most of you won't have read these before. Also I am making sure to pick blogs that were not highly commented on the first time around.

To answer your unasked question, yes, I heard that Gerald Ford died. I even thought about making a mock-interview blog like I did yesterday for James Brown. While President Ford is certainly ripe for lampooning (maybe even more so than Brown), it just didn't seem right to make fun of a former President on the day he dies. Sorry, you'll have to wait a week or two for that one. Without further ado:

Have You Seen this HDTV Thing?


Well, if you haven't you should check it out. And I don't mean at Wal-mart. Seriously not at Wal-Mart...or Best Buy...or Circuit City...alright on second thought, you guys just come over and we'll go to my brother-in-law's house.

I'll start rambling about the glories of HD in a minute but first let me say my peace about the above named retailers. I love Wal-Mart. I do. Anytime one of my well-meaning hippy friends starts in with a rant about the evils of Big Box retailers destroying local economies and raping and pillaging every fair burg across this great nation, I'm the guy that stands up and goes, "Yeah, but they sell that stuff really cheap."

Let's face it, Wal-Mart is not a lovable entity. They are the number one retailer of anything and everything in the world. Countless suits have been brought against them by every minority about harassment and exclusion, and besides, blue frocks don't look good on anybody.

"Yeah, but they sell that stuff really cheap."

You're damn straight they do. What are you trying to buy? Cd's? Camo Undies? Cereal? Starter Logs for your Chimenea? Diapers for the kiddies? I guarantee there's not a shop in forty miles of your house that will have any of that crap cheaper than Wal-Mart. So...

Fact #1 Wal-Mart Sells Crap Cheap

I like stuff, a lot. More importantly I like a lot of stuff. I have a limited budget. Very limited. And so I arrive at...

Fact #2 I need to bargain shop

I am not alone in this, by the way, as it seems all of America and most of the world (the part that isn't trying to escape genocide or figure out how NOT to catch AIDS) loves stuff, too. So surprise, surprise a store that sells the crap WE want at a price that allows us to buy that other crap WE want is IMMENSELY successful. I said that, to say this:

When will Wal-Mart and the other above mentioned retailers figure out how the hell to hook up an HDTV properly?

The USA Today ran a story about two months ago about how more than half of consumers with a High Definition Television were completely surprised to find out that just because they bought it and plugged it into the wall, they didn't ACTUALLY have HDTV. Now, Joe and Jane Q Public are not that bright, I understand. I would expect that such new technology, requiring so many wires and extra steps would take some time to get used to. I mean, you read the story about the little girl who started a "set the clock on your VCRs for a fee" business, right? Consumers I get, but why is it that with one or two exceptions I've yet to see an HDTV set in a store that was properly hooked up and tuned. "Wally World" is not the only one at fault. My favorite place to go for DVD shopping, Best Buy, is likewise lacking. What's worse is that their employees pretend to have knowledge about the latest technology. Not only that, but they volunteer their lies. One recent trip to Best Buy's Television section went like this:

BB Employee: They look great don't they?
Drunken Rogue: Well actually the aspect ratio is off. You don't have these TVs calibrated right.
BB: That's just your eyes playing tricks, it takes a while to get used to the Widescreen image.
DR: I have a widescreen tv.
BB: Then you know what I'm talking about.
DR: No, man this image is stretched out. Halle Berry looks like Oprah.
(Blank Stare)
BB: Well, holler if you need anything alright.

I have heard more half truths and downright fictions from the mouths of Best Buy and Circuit City employees than out of the entire Clinton administration. Everything from "this tv automatically makes all broadcasts widescreen" (Not true), to "This tv set is HDTV ready so you just plug in the cable and you're ready to go" (straight back to standard definition broadcasts), to "All the tv stations have already switched to HD so you'll get all the local channels in HD as soon as you get this puppy home. (That's true if you live in New York...City)

I feel much better now...really. Other than me starting my own school and holding hostage the CEO's of those retailers forcing any electronics salespeople to attend, I can't think of a way to stop this nonsense. So I yelled at you guys about it. Thanks.

Now seriously if you haven't seen real HD, do yourself a favor and find a friend's wealthy uncle, or some such and just sit and bask in the glory that is 720p (that little p stands for progressive). I watched about an hour of some documentary on jellyfish Saturday night at Ella's brother's house. There was other stuff on, but the jellyfish were HD. We could have watched "The Office" but the jellyfish were in HD. Anyone who tells you is doesn't make that big a difference, is LYING. So let's all pinch our pennies, save up and wait for 2009, when Uncle Sam kicks standard definition tv in the ass, and throws us headlong into the twenty-first century.

The Godfather is Dead, Long Live the Godfather

Yes, we had scheduled some reposts celebrating the "Best of 2006" for this post-holiday pre-holiday week. But fate has intervened. The Godfather of Soul, James Brown passed away Christmas morning of heart failure. An iconic musician and artist who is responsible for the birth (or at least the popularity) of Soul, R&B, Funk, and to an extent Rap and Hip Hop, James Brown left a legacy that will be remembered for centuries to come.

It was my good fortune only weeks before his death to interview the Godfather of Soul. As a tribute to his memory, and as one last Christmas present for my readers, the Drunken Rogue presents

James Brown: The Interview

The Drunken Rogue: Good morning, James. Thank you so much for joining me. You're one of my personal musical heroes, and this is, for me, the opportunity of a lifetime. How are you doing?

James Brown: Yeah! Believe I'll scream! Can I scream, brother?

DR: Ummm. I'm not sure what you mean.

JB: Gotta scream! Good God, gotta scream, now! I gotta scream, now! I gotta scream, now! I gotta scream, now!

DR: Alright, well let it out James!

JB: (screaming) Good God, ain't it funky now?

DR: Yes, I suppose it is. Now James, you've had one of the most successful careers in music history but recently have fallen on hard times.

JB: Mercy on me. C'mon now, Brother, put it, put it where it's at now! Aww! Let him have it.

DR: Let who have it, James?

JB: Uh! Awww!

DR: (Awkward silence) So, the trouble seems to have really started with your run-ins with the IRS for back-taxes.

JB: You better watch the man. You know, I believe I'll get down right about here.

James leaves his chair and immediately breaks out into a dance number complete with backup singers, Bootsy Collins on guitar and a star-spangled cape. I have no idea where he was hiding Bootsy and the backup singers. The cape came from under his jacket.

DR: (Once the particularly rousing version of "The Payback" is over) James, do you think we could get back to the interview?

JB: Yeah, all right. You're right. Yeah. Yeah. Coming from some funny places. What you say, bruh?

DR: I didn't say anything, James.

JB: Say it loud, I'm black and I'm proud!

DR: I'm not black, James...I'm proud. I'm proud you're black, should I say that?

JB: We demand a chance to do things for ourserlf!

DR: Alright, you can say it!

JB: Hit me band, one more again!

Bootsy and the singers leap out of their hiding places again, but I shut it down before they can "get on the scene."

DR: James, maybe now is a bad time. Maybe we should reschedule. Is there anything you'd like to tell our listeners before we go?

JB: I want to say, this is better than cushions.

DR: I don't think I could have summed that up better myself, James. Thank you for your time.

**Lawyer's Note** While the Drunken Rogue may find it humorous to poke fun at recently deceased musical legends, we disagree heartily. We at Catchem, Hookem and Skinem would like to point out that the "interview" presented in this blog is nothing more than a (somewhat) skillful pairing of Mr. James Brown's lyrics with questions to make them look silly. We had nothing to do with this, and would like to impart on a personal note (and for the record) that we at the Firm of Catchem, Hookem, and Skinem have been longtime fans of Mr. Brown's. Shame on you, Mr. Drunken Rogue. Shame. **End of Lawyer's Note**

All kidding aside, I'm a huge James Brown fan. While his personal life was one of the biggest messes imaginable, as an influence and artist he is unparalleled. He will be missed. Now, get up with the get down and get on the badfoot.

Merry Christmas to Me!

On March 3rd, 2006 I signed up for the original "Blogger" (which has just recently been replaced by the much cooler "Blogger"). I had heard so much about this new (well, it was new to me anyway) form of writing that allowed anyone to put their opinions out their in cyberspace. It was only a couple of days later that I created my MySpace page (only after discovering my buddy Richard had joined the MySpace masses).

I still love my Blogger page (especially the new redesign) but I have found myself focusing more and more on MySpace. Why is that? First and foremost, it's easier to promote myself there. My friends (and their friends) are already logging onto MySpace just about everyday, it is very simple to direct them over to my latest post. Also there is something about MySpace that truly does invoke the feeling of a personal "space" on the web. Blogger (as of now) does not give this same feeling (not that it is necessarily trying). Until I open drunkenrogue.com, MySpace is the closest thing I have to a home on the net. Welcome to my house.

It's been just over nine months since I first logged on to MySpace. I logged on this afternoon and this is what my Blog stat tracker looked like:

Joel

	Today	Week	Total
Posts	0	2	146
Comments	6	16	1210
Views	44	251	10004
Kudos	3	9	476

For the graph-challenged, that says that in my nine months of blogging I have written 146 blogs (not counting this one), those blogs have been read a total of 10,004 times (not counting the dozens of times I read my own, unfortunately I can't give myself stats). Those 146 blogs have received 1,210 comments and almost 500 kudos (tsk, tsk, you gotta kudo with your comment). I can't say thank you enough.

I never thought that I'd get this sort of response when I started blogging. My goal was to inspire myself to write more. I wanted a consistent deadline and some immediate feedback. I got that and much much more. To those of you that have been reading from the very beginning (Mom, Ella, Ellie, Nicholas) you started this as much as I did. It was you mentioning my blogs to friends and family that has given me such a large audience so quickly. Kudos to you. To the strong supporters that jumped in a little later (Deanne, Bro. Nick, Fox, Allison) you guys rock. Thanks for all the votes in what was a silly (but exciting) competition. To Jena, my beloved sister, thanks for always "forgetting" the kudos. You force me to reach extra hard for the funny, in hopes that I'll pry that praise right out of your clinched little hand.

Now, since it is the holiday season I thought I'd give you my wish list this Christmas (I promise this one has nothing to do with the Wii!

1. A new job. -- No, I'm not trying to run out on my current one, or even implying that I'm currently unhappy. Ella is approaching graduation, we are contemplating a move somewhere new, and I wish with all my might that I will find gainful employment. It would be great if someone would hire me to write (anybody looking for a writer?), but all I really require is a safe work environment, health benefits, and a fair salary. Santa are you listening?

2. A house with a dishwasher. -- For those of you that have visited the Rogue home, you know in a lot of ways it's awesome. Ella and I like so many things about our house, but the lack of modern conveniences as they relate to dish de-dirtification is completely unacceptable. The next one (in that mysterious somewhere new place) will hopefully remedy this problem.

3. Time with my family. -- I'm really excited about the upcoming Christmas weekend, and only partly because I'm gonna get some new stuff. I love giving and receiving presents but the real fun of the holidays is playing cards with your loved ones, watching football and basketball with my Dad and Aunt, going for coffee and beignets with D and Merrit, and sure the bonus Christmas cash from Gran and Gramps doesn't hurt my Christmas spirit!

4. Affordable plane tickets. -- Mrs. Rogue and I are taking this show on the road, as we've already told you. We're currently planning a trip to Europe in May to visit Richard and Allie and see all that old stuff that they keep in Europe. Here's a big holiday wish for cheap flights there and back. The cheaper the plane ride the more wine and cheese Mrs. Rogue can buy while we're there.

5. A book deal. -- Most of my other wishes are sort of touchy feely (or at least not really selfish) so I thought I'd throw in one just for me. Sometime in the next three to four months my first novel will be finished (the first draft, anyway). After a few edits, I'm gonna start pimping it out with a vengeance. It would be nice if this time next year, someone else was actually posting my Christmas wishes because I was too busy with a book signing or some such. What can I say I'm an optimist.

Merry Christmas to all of you. Wherever you are and wherever you spend the holidays I hope your Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa or just plain Monday, is as merry as I intend to make mine.

Coming next week: From the Vaults of the Drunken Rogue: The Best of 2006 'cause if you haven't read it, it's new to you!

Hussein, We Have a Problem

Ummm, did no one see this coming? Where we the Democratic handlers when little Barack was born. They could have immediately seen the problem that his father's name would cause and kept his future Presidential hopes alive by opting for a less controversial nom de plume, maybe William Jefferson Obama.

I'm sorry, are you completely lost? Maybe you have no idea what I'm talking about. I'll catch you up. The Democrats, fresh off their big win in the midterm election and basking in the ever lower poll numbers for the sitting Republican President (George Walker Bush, now THAT'S a name) are looking forward to finally taking the big prize home in 2008. It would seem that their best hope lies in Hillary Rodham Clinton. The wife of one of the most beloved (and hated) former Presidents, with a huge fund raising machine, and one of the top four most recognized faces and names in all of world politics, should have a clear shot to the Democratic nomination. There are those that doubt Mrs. Clinton's (I bet she loves being called that) chances in the general election, especially against a strong moderate like John McCain. Enter the would-be savior of the Democratic party, Barack Hussein Obama. That's right, his middle name is Hussein.

Never mind that a black man has never been elected President, never mind that the last Senator to be elected President straight from the Senate was JFK (all three of the front-runners share that historical complication), never mind that candidates with "Muslim" sounding names are having difficulty getting elected in even the most open-minded places, let's just discuss the fact that Barack shares a name with the recently deposed dictator of Iraq. You think anybody will have a problem with that?

So what does this mean for Barack's Presidential hopes? What about the Democratic party? Does the very future of the free world hang upon this quirk of culture and heritage? Probably not. But it sure does make great fodder for the Conservative talk shows. It also has to put a smile on Hillary's face. Her possible opponent (the only one with a considerable chance of success) in the upcoming Democratic primaries has one of the only names that is more reviled by Conservatives than her own. Surely the Democrats, who have a hard time painting themselves as tough on terrorism anyway, can't afford to nominate a man that shares Saddam's name (and let's not forget what rhymes with Obama).

"What's in a name...a rose by any other name would smell as sweet" the Bard makes a good point, but I still find it hard to imagine Hussein '08 t-shirts being very popular items.

By Dawn's Early Light: What Old Age Does to the All-Nighter

Richard (my hetero-lifemate and bestest friend, no offense Amanda) was in town this weekend with his wife which led to three things: most of the beer in the greater Lincoln Parish area was consumed, friends that I haven't seen in several months (in some cases years) showed up to visit with them (and us, theoretically), and we (Ella, Richard, me and the guests) slept very little.

My college days are far behind me (when you've only lived 25 years, the two and a half years that stand between you and graduation are a long time), and while I'm still a "wild and crazy guy" (I am the Drunken Rogue after all) my all-nighters are few and far between. I'll hit the highlights for you between an all-nighter at 21 and an all-nighter at 25.

5. The "All-Nighter" doesn't end with vomit and unconsciousness. -- At 21 you're guzzling the adult beverages at a pace that simply cannot be maintained. This generally results in most of the people at the party ending their evening (or early morning as it were) with their heads in the toilet. At 25 the beer is not only used for it's intoxicating effects but also 'cause it tastes so darn good. Sure you get drunk, but it's at four thirty or five A.M. just as things are winding down. No vomit is a good thing.

4. The thing pushing you through those last few hours is significantly less sexy. -- At 21 when the yawns start to sink in at 3am you keep partying because the redhead is giving you the eye, and you're sure with a couple more hours of drinks and flirtation, it could be your lucky night...morning...whatever. At 25 you think seriously about going to bed at 3, but then decide against it, because you are only two hours away from McDonald's Breakfast. Hmmmm, sausage McBiscuit!

3. The "Walk of Shame" takes on a whole new meaning. -- No longer are you ashamed because of your bed partner (I did marry her after all) but now the end of an all-nighter is accompanied by the shocking realization that it is embarrassing to stand around with your friends the next morning knowing you smell like a pirate.

2. That "fall anywhere" attitude is replaced with a...more conservative approach. -- Sure the 21 year old is happy to party 'till sunrise because he knows that when sleep finally does catch him, he'll enjoy it just as much on the floor of the bathroom, or curled up into that lawn chair as in his own bed. The 25 year old is still willing to make comfort sacrifices for the sake of the party, but also knows that his back will be screaming at him for sleeping on the pull-out sofa for at least a week.

1. The clean-up crew for the all-nighter is significantly larger. -- At 21 clean up crew consists of the people who live in the house, who don't have to be at work the next day, and couldn't think of some excuse. This is generally a very small number (often as small as .00001% of the party's attendees). At 25 the party is generally not over until the party goers have at least loaded all the empty bottles and plastic plates and cups into the trash can. You might even be lucky enough to get some help loading the dishwasher. 21 year old's come running for a keg, but run screaming from a vacuum.

And there's one thing that definitely hasn't changed from those 21 year old all-nighters:

At 5 am there is nothing more fun than going someplace where you're not supposed to be, at 21 it was driving around stealing road signs (no STOP signs, I promise) at 25 it's the local (and very rural) airport to climb the beacon tower. The good news is in the those four years it has become apparent that you should always have a designated driver. Woohoo for safety!

Sure, it was long, a little painful and ridiculously exhausting, but it was also about the most fun thing I've done in years. Christmas is right around the corner folks, and the Drunken Rogue is feeling pretty freakin' jolly.

Merry Christmas from Corporate: The Office Christmas Party

As long as there has been Christmas and corporations there have been office Christmas parties. The first official office Christmas parties were held by members of the Roman army shortly after Constantine accepted Christianity and therefore made Rome a Christian nation. These guys were willing to follow their Emperor into a new religion, but they had lived their whole lives as pagans, they were not about to forget the fun they had had during the festival of the Sun (Winter Solstice for those not in the know). So Constantine (being the slick mover and shaker he was) decreed that the official celebration of our Savior's birth would just happen to coincide with the old tradition of the festival of the Sun. This pleased the Roman soldiers greatly. They could get loaded on mead and wine, hit on the cute girls from the stone chiseling office and still feel like they were good Christians since they were doing it all in the name of Christmas (Nobody said that the Romans made GOOD Christians).

The next heyday for office Christmas parties was during England's Imperial period. Companies like the East India Trading Company ruled England with money and they were quickly buying up the entire undeveloped world. They also threw a hell of an office party. While their Hallow's Eve party was quickly discontinued (due to fear of burning for practice of witchcraft), their Christmas parties are recalled in such classic literary works as "Bombed Out of Thy Mind" by the hero of Jamestown, John Smith, and "Rendevous with the Secretary 'Neath the Mistletoe" by the explorer Sir Francis Drake. It's a little difficult to cut through the middle English and get to the really juicy parts, but if you dig Shakespeare and keg stands these books are for you.

The office Christmas party has continued as a hallowed (and horrible) tradition until this very day. Last night the popular NBC program "The Office" (aptly titled don't you think?) had it's second "Christmas party episode" in three seasons. If you've never been to an office Christmas party (which probably means you don't have a job, you slacker!), then this show would have served as an adequate primer in what you can expect to find at one. Alcoholic drinks, finger foods, cheesy decorations, people who drink too much, people who do not drink enough, awkward flirtation between one of the male employees and one of the female employees, and likely somebody will cry. Maybe they'll cry because they've had too much to drink. Maybe they'll cry because they've just been dumped and it's sad to be alone on the holidays. Maybe, they'll cry because they've just been fired for xeroxing their butt. All of these are acceptable (and quite possible) reasons to cry.

I will be attending my own office Christmas party tonight. It is likely to be my last Christmas party at this particular job (Mrs. Rogue is graduating and we're planning a move, remember?). Since I'm married (and they're are only two girls below forty that work at the station anyway) it is highly unlikely that I (or anyone else for that matter) will get into the awkward flirting. There will be real food (we're traveling to a nice restaurant instead of bringing finger foods) so someone is likely to significantly overeat. It's also very likely that someone will get too drunk and make a fool of themselves. I've got my fingers crossed that's not me, although if I was going to do it, this year would be the time to do it. I AM on my way out anyway.

For those of you that are not lazy slackers, I hope you enjoy your office Christmas party. Drink, but don't drink too much. Flirt, but don't be weird about it. And no matter what your friends tell you, it is not a good idea to xerox your butt. Don't ask me how I know, but butt prints are just as identifiable as fingerprints. And besides, that glass top on the xerox machine will NOT hold very much weight. Merry Christmas, from me and mine to you and yours.

5 Reasons Not to Dress Up Your Dog...Not even for Christmas

I could just as easily have titled this blog, "1,000 Reasons Not to Dress Up Your Dog...Not Ever" or even "1,000,000 Reasons Not to Dress Up Your Dog...Lest You Tempt the Anger of God" but I figured 5 reasons would probably get the point across.

I love animals. Love 'em. Mrs. Rogue and I have two cats and a large dog by the name of Otis. Otis is a junkyard dog. He's Catahoula Cur and Pit Bull mix, weighs in excess of 65 pounds and has a bent stub of a tail from where his previous owner tried to clip it. He would just look silly (and probably pissed) in a doggy costume.

It's a little disconcerting because every year I forget that this is even a problem and then Halloween comes and the aisles at the local superstore are filled with little doggy devils and pooch princesses. Then I am reminded that not only are we the only species on earth that shames and belittles others like us, but we also visit that same ridicule on the species we have subjugated.

Let's just make a new rule: If the animal isn't big enough to put a saddle on then you shouldn't decorate them in other ways, deal?

5. The cat will make fun of him. -- Let's face it, cats are a lot smarter than dogs. Dogs are our unquestioning partners and loyal followers, but cats only live with us in as much as it helps them. Why further add to the disdain your cat shows your dog by making him (or her) wear a reminder of their subjugation? Let's just skip the pageantry and paint "Slave" across the dog's side.

4. It's so much harder for him to lick the really tasty body parts. -- For dog lovers, you already know that one of the main joys a dog has in life is licking his unmentionables. Why would you make it difficult for him to reach those nether regions by putting a big clown nose on his snout or tying him up with a cape? If you could lick yourself (and assuming it was socially acceptable) wouldn't it piss you off if someone put a costume in your way?

3. It will make him think he's not your ideal pet. -- The Dog is a noble creature, domesticated by early man to aid in the hunt and to provide security and companionship for his family. Do we really need to dress him up like a Reindeer? Everybody loves Rudolph, but I've got news for you. Reindeer are notoriously gassy, and that glowing nose would get on any body's nerves after a while. Why mock the centuries of service your dog and his ancestors have provided by hinting (even as a joke) that you'd rather have a pet reindeer?

2. It is NOT the way to spend your limited holiday budget. -- Sure, you may think those Christmas cards with Spot wearing antlers are hilarious, and will brighten your friends day. You know what would really brighten their day? A better Christmas present. Take the forty bucks you spent getting Spot groomed, the fifteen dollars you spent on his costume and the sixty bucks you spent on the photography session and BUY BETTER GIFTS! Nobody cares about Christmas cards (except your Grandmother and her next door neighbor, and they are going to be very suspicious of your hairy new significant other) so save the dough and get what they really want, gift cards.

1. They may hold it against us. -- A millennia from now when evolved dogs and cats are our imperial overlords do you want to add "Made us wear silly costumes" to their laundry list of grievances with the human race? I know sitting here in the early part of the twenty-first century this idea seems ludicrous but so did traveling to the moon a hundred years ago. Even if you accept that it is possible that bipedal canines and felines might one day rule us "Planet of the Apes" style, you may still think it's not our problem as we will all be long dead. But I beg you, think of the children, and put DOWN the doggy Santa suit!

The World Premier of ...The Drunken Rogue: The Novel

I've kept you on pins and needles, I know. It was more than a month ago that I first mentioned I was working on a novel. Well, working may be too strong a word. I was batting around a novel, how about that? I'm still hard at work on my opus and plan to have a first draft finished sometime before March (my first anniversary of blogging, by the way). Since not much (other than Lindsey Lohan's professed sobriety) is happening in the past few days, I thought I'd drop the Prologue of the novel (that's the chapter before the novel really starts) on my readers. I don't have a title (not for sure anyway), and the plot is fluid to say the least. I hope you enjoy it, and I would definitely appreciate your thoughts, comments, criticisms or suggestions. But not your taunting or your parfaits, I just don't like parfait.

Prologue

Beer and Cheerios is never a good idea. So I left the Cheerios. It had been a long weekend and a short night that led me to the kitchen in such an agitated state. I was tired, I was hungry, I was thirsty, but mostly I wanted a beer.

The need for beer and the feeling of thirst are often confused. Not by me. They are two separate, and equally strong desires. Occasionally one beats out the other, sometimes both can be satisfied simultaneously, but most often they arise separately. That morning, desire for beer beat the crap out of thirst.

I took my frosty beverage and made my way to the inner sanctum, the TV room. Some people have living rooms, others have conversation areas, I have a TV room. It’s made for one thing and there’s no reason lying about it. I believe in calling things what they are, so this was (and is) the TV room. I had at least two hours before “The Price is Right” started so I settled on Nick Jr.

Why was I up at 8 o’clock? I can promise you this; it had nothing to do with responsibility and working hard. Those are qualities I never possessed. It did have quite a lot to do with the fact that I was busy, mostly with drinking. I’m a writer, I have an image to maintain. Halfway through the first beer it occurred to me that the cartoon I was watching was in Spanish, which was a relief, because for a while I thought I had lost the ability to understand the English language. It’s frightening to think that your average kid is more intelligent than I am, at least linguistically speaking.

I finished the beer and decided I’d go for those Cheerios after all, oats in both solid and liquid form, nice. There’s something about Cheerios that makes you feel very young and innocent. That’s one of the reasons I still buy them. It’s also the reason I refuse to eat them with beer. Even I hold some things sacred. Cheerios, “The Price is Right,” and Robin Hood. No, not the Kevin Costner film. The cartoon version from Disney. Yes, the one with the foxes.

Drinking wasn’t the only thing on the day’s agenda. I was supposed to meet my editor and I had a novel to work on. That’s right. When I said I was a writer, I didn’t mean in the esoteric, “We all write the novel of our lives,” way, I meant I write books, and some people (albeit not many) pay for said books. But I hadn’t written one in a while, and no one had bought one in longer, and the man with the money (the above mentioned editor) was getting nervous. I had a deadline for my latest opus, and he was meeting me to see how it was coming.

It was not coming. I had written four novels so far, one science fiction, one very bad western, and two romance novels. We’re not talking about classy, period romance novels either. Jane Austen I am not. Bodice-rippers, I believe, is the phrase normally applied to this kind of book. I like to call them porno-lite. You may be thinking, “What self-respecting artist would sacrifice their dignity to write cheap filth?” I would say this:

1. Nobody said I was self-respecting

2. Housewives need their porno-lite, it may as well be me that gives it to them

3. It may be filth, but it is by no means cheap. Well, not in price anyway. Quality, yes.

Those bodice-rippers had paid off my student loans, bought me a house, and purchase a lot of beer over the last two years. The problem was, romance readers need new material constantly. It seems literary sex doesn’t age quite like the classics, and very rarely warrants a repeat reading. So, my editor was demanding new work. Work I hadn’t even started. I figured I had plenty of time though. The manuscript wasn’t due until the thirtieth of November. This being the first of November I had almost a month. Plenty of time for “The Price is Right.”

Living to Work: The Most Mind-Boggling Phrase in the English Language

I know that there are people who, "live to work." I know this because Hollywood makes movies about them, and how they find the true meaning of their lives, and stop being idiots. I know that these people exist because Oprah has them on with Dr. Phil and they cry on national television about how their daddies didn't love them so they work hard to make themselves feel good, while they ignore their loved ones and their own wellbeing. I know these people exist because without them fast food joints and big box retailers wouldn't be open on holidays. I know they exist, but it doesn't make any sense to me.

Anyone that knows me (or anyone that has read a couple of these blogs) probably knows that I do not, "live to work." It is often questioned whether I work enough to live. I do, in case you were wondering. I work hard (when I'm at work), I take pride in my job and enjoy pleasing my employer. It ain't what I live for though.

I live for Saturdays. I live for Sunday afternoon watching the Saints with my feet propped up on the coffee table and a beer in my hand. I live for those couple of hours at night when Mrs Rogue and I can snuggle on the couch watching some TV or sneak off mid-week to get dinner and a movie. I live for Christmas day with my family (by marriage or birth) playing cards, opening presents and laughing with each other. I live for my friends, visiting at our favorite local bar or smack-talking over a video game. I live for life. I work to make that all possible.

How can this not be what everybody else does? At what point do you surrender yourself to being a workaholic? How can that ever take the place of all the fun things you were earning the money to do? I guess I'm asking these questions in vain, because let's face it, the people who could answer them probably don't spend a lot of time reading blogs. Too bad, their loss.

I was going to write an "Ode to the Paycheck" today, but in truth it's not the paycheck that I want to celebrate, it's the freedom that the paycheck affords. I work for a living. I enjoy my job, and do my best at it. Some day this talent I have for stringing words together in interesting and often humorous ways is going to start paying my bills and then I won't have a boss, but I will have a lot of fun.

The Sneakiest of Holidays: The Day of the Ninja

There. In the bushes. You see nothing, and yet the hair on the back of your neck stands up. An undeniable sense of fear rolls over you. Even if you can't see it, your body senses it. The Day of the Ninja is upon us.

Yes, it is true that the evil Pirate has co-opted his own day. In the typical "pirate" style they have advertised its existence and even promoted its practice amongst commoners. Today their latest film is released on the masses. That is why today makes the perfect day for the Ninja to reveal himself. Who would expect the appearance of the ninja in the pirates greatest moment of triumph? The element of surprise has always been the Ninja's greatest weapon...after the kitana, I suppose.

How might one celebrate The Day of the Ninja? Quietly, contemplatively, and discreetly. Unlike the brash Pirate, the Ninja does not reveal himself to others by his accent. If you would follow the path of the Ninja, you must shroud yourself in mystery, conceal yourself in darkness and get a big sword. It also helps if you wear ballet slippers 'cause sneakers are squeaky, and the Ninja does not squeak.

You can honor the Day of the Ninja by concealing yourself in places where you won't be expected like a closet or chest of drawers (make sure there are air holes, suffocation is very un-Ninja) and surprise your roommates or loved ones. You could perch in a tree and tackle unsuspecting elementary students as they leave school in the afternoon. Or, for the serious Ninja, you could replace all copies of "Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest" in your local Wal-Mart with "American Ninja" or "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze." Watching the despair on those pitiful pirate-lovers faces would be joyful indeed, but alas, the Ninja's life is not a joyful one. Besides, no one could see the smile behind your mask, it's really pointless.

Things to remember on The Day of the Ninja:

1. Wear black. -- Not shiny black, not gray, not navy blue. The Ninja wears black. Cover your entire body in black cloth so as to better conceal yourself from your enemies. Do not forget your mask, but also remember not to cover your eyes. This way your enemies can see your fearlessness...also you won't fall down.

2. Pirates are the sworn enemy of the Ninja. -- Traditionally a Pirate would never expose himself on The Day of the Ninja, but in the past few years his resurging popularity has emboldened him. It is quite possible that you could come across an entire ship full of pirates while celebrating today. If they have the chance, they will kill you. Slowly, clumsily, probably by feeding you to a shark. You must not give them that chance. To aid you in your conquest of the Pirate, we hereby reveal his biggest weaknesses, rum, scantily clad women, and mirrors. Go forth and conquer, young Ninja.

3. Law enforcement will not appreciate your Ninja ways. -- While The Day of the Ninja is a recognized holiday in Asia, Africa, parts of Australia and Eastern Europe (our lobbyists are working in London even now) North America has had a long history of intolerance towards the Ninja. It is likely if the authorities were to discover you in full Ninja garb stalking evildoers or little children, especially if you managed to find a katana, they will arrest you (or try to arrest you, depending upon your Ninja skill). This is another good reason to hide, as it is impossible to follow the path of the Ninja while incarcerated (there are really no good hiding places in the clink, and besides orange jumpsuits are easy to spot).

Welcome to the path of the Ninja. Many will try, many will fail, some will be arrested or killed by pirates, but the few who achieve the status of Ninja will become masters of their fate...also there is a discount at buffets with your membership card. That's sweet.

My Boyfriend's Back: A Man, A Soldier and a Love that Wouldn't Die

Some would argue that I spend most of my time in these blogs making myself look girly, but I disagree. I think, generally, I'm a bit nerdy but plenty masculine. I like football, hamburgers, video games, arguing, and pretty girls (see Mrs. Rogue's profile pic if you doubt that last one). But today ladies and gentlemen, I'm letting the cat out of the bag (so to speak). I've got a huge man-crush and I don't care who knows about it.

As detailed in "The Life and Times of the Drunken Rogue" series, I've had a lot of good friends over the years. From Ellie that lived next door, to Darren in junior high and high school, Amanda in college, to Bro. Nick and Andrei at "Blue Jacket." I've been surrounded by a long list of positive, fun people in my life. Right at the top of that list has got to be, Richard. Richard and I met during my first senior year (I enjoyed two), and quickly built a friendship over our love of fast food (he's a Taco Bell fan), mindless video games (countless hours of "Super Monkey Ball"), and fantastic films (I still don't understand Kubrick, Richard).

In a lot of ways we are polar opposites (I'm pretty conservative, he's a commie pinko; I don't eat wet foods, he doesn't eat anything that's crispy), but deep down we have similar souls. We both come from similar places (it's amazing how much rural Mississippi and rural Louisiana are alike) and have similar families (I've got a teacher for a mother and a music minister for a father, his parents were both in education and are both musical). Of all of the friends I've made over the years, Richard is the one I can most see myself living near in 20 years. We've got backyard barbecues and peewee football games in our future (alright, maybe not peewee football, but some organized activity for our theoretical children).

It didn't hurt our chances at future friendship when I met (and luckily married) a woman that adores Richard almost as much as I do. In fact, Ella and Richard actually knew each other before he and I did (and don't think she's ever going to let me forget it). It's not imperative that your friends be friends with your wife, but it sure makes things easier.

To add to this pile of wonderfulness, Richard also managed to wrangle a wonderful woman. Allie and I have been friends since my second year in college. She's outgoing, friendly, funny, and just a couple of ticks on this side of crazy. Pretty much like me and Ella. Allie and I get along well, Ella and Allie get along well, and besides their names are so much fun to say together. What more could you ask for?

So why am I not yucking it up currently with the Richard/Allie combo? Well, my man-crush decided it would be a good idea to join the Army. At the time it probably was a great idea. He wanted (and perhaps needed) the structure when he went in, he and Allie are going to be in a great position financially when he gets out, and they've spent the last year in Germany. He's gotten to experience some amazing things during the past year (hello, Robert Plant in Berlin!), and they will have some great memories to look back on for the rest of their lives. That's all well and good, but I haven't had my buddy to hang out with in a long time. All that is about to change.

They (the Richard/Allie Combo) are making a state-side excursion for the Christmas Holiday and they are coming to Ruston! So, any of you reading this that are Richard and Allie fans, send me a message for the details of their visit and when you can get your "Welcome Home, Dickie!" t-shirts (in sizes S-XXL). I am literally so excited about this visit that I'm giddy. Especially now that Mrs. Rogue and I are preparing for our inevitable move out of Ruston, a visit from two of our best friends from our time here seems a fitting way to celebrate. There will be big times in the old town again.

My boyfriend's back (or...well... on his way at least), and I can't wait to have a beer with him.