“I’m left handed and I’m offended. If something offends me, it was designed to be offensive. You should be ashamed of yourself for making fun of southpaws. When you joked about gingers and fake boobs I laughed with you, but this time you’ve gone too far. I’m going to rally all of my lefty friends to boycott your lemonade, even though it is great. I’m also going to contact the news and tell them how insensitive you are.”

To let you know a bit about The Lemonade Stand, their demographic is all over the place. No matter the day job, age, race, gender, sexual orientation, or religion, the customers all have something in common; an open minded sense of humor. If something isn’t meant to be taken seriously, it’s not. The stand knows and embraces this. Their tongue in cheek online persona provides updates about lemonade flavors, specials, fresh cookies, and stand locations interspersed with jokes and silly facts. The audience loves it.

Millions of people are left handed. It’s not a death sentence. So, why would someone be so cheesed? Do they just have to be angry about something? Maybe, being a left hander, the person is having trouble dealing with the uncertainty of things like: “Will they have lefty scissors? Why do people call us southpaws?” and “Is this person wondering if I washed my hands properly after the last time did number two?”

To show my support for The Lemonade Stand, I posted something positive about their use of social media and lighthearted status updates. Wouldn’t you know it, one of the left handed person’s friends brought their hate speak to my post. And then another, and another, and another. They called me names and insulted me…all without provocation.

To these people and anyone who is happiest when they’re angry I say these things:

Just because something offends doesn’t make it offensive. If you’re not comfortable enough with something to laugh at it, maybe you’re afraid of it.

Have something to say or add? Leave a comment or get in touch on Facebook or Twitter.

A little back story – last summer my family went to Disney World. I did so before I got a prescription for the aforementioned medication. There are people everywhere at Disney World, and sometimes the lines cross back on themselves there’s nothing to be seen but people. Standing in line for my son to meet Mickey and Minnie Mouse felt like the entire room was closing in on me. About halfway through the line, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to leave Beth, my son, and the rest of our group inside. Everyone in there was breathing and I was certain there wasn’t enough air for them and me. Did I mention I hate crowds?

I’ve been having headaches. They linger in the top of my head for days. Sometimes dull, sometimes sharp, but always present. I mentioned in my last post that I’ve had a lot of stuff on my mind lately, so Beth and I thought maybe the headaches are because of stress and/or tension. She suggested, and I agreed, going out for Gallery Night might do me well. After a long bit of texting with friends and trying to find someone to hang out with while stumbling the streets, I ended up alone. “Fuck it. I’m doing this.” I said to myself.

I got downtown, went to my office to get our growler, and headed to Hopjacks to get it filled with a really good craft beer. Then I remembered I was doing this on a tight, tight budget and opted for Pabst Blue Ribbon. Growler filled, I set out to hear what I could see. There was good music everywhere, but it was kind of overwhelming. It wasn’t long before I was in my office, warming my hands and contemplating going home. It was just past 10:00. I put the rest of the growler in the fridge and went downstairs to cash out my tab.

James Adkins

When I got downstairs I heard James Adkins playing. That dude’s got a lot of heart, soul, and energy. Just him, a guitar, and a broad repertoire of music…I decided to stay a little longer. I ordered a Pensacola Bay Brewery Sawgrass and made my way through the crowd to the other end of the restaurant near the stage.

While standing there, listening to James play, a man came up to me and said “You’re out late.” I told him I’d gotten the go-ahead to hang out. He smiled and offered to buy my next beer. A few songs later, it was time for that beer. When he came back, he handed it to me and toasted “It’s good to see you after dark.” There was something special in his smile and words. I felt connected and appreciated. I felt good. Relaxed. I stood and chatted with him and his girlfriend for an hour or more.  We talked about music, people, advertising, and moonshine.

Eventually, the couple disappeared. I stayed until the end of James’ set. How did 1:30 am find me? I didn’t care. I’d been having great conversation, listening to good music, and drinking good beer. It was late. The time had come to head home. Though I’d considered leaving early, it had turned out to be a great and relaxing evening. The only way it could have been any better would be if my best friend, Beth, had been with me. Maybe next time.

(I only had 4 beers over several hours, I wasn’t drunk. Don’t drink and drive, kids.)

Out there in social media land, I censor what I say. You’ll be hard-pressed to find a curse word in any of my posts on Facebook, Twitter, or Google+. I’m a strange cat, with a strange sense of humor, but that rarely gets conveyed for fear of offending people…out there. In here, folks have to seek me out, so I’m just gonna hit you with whatever I can find in the most fucked up recesses of my mind…and kittens.

I have had a lot of different thoughts lately. They’ve all been hiding under headaches and behind dark, weary eyes. I’ve been struggling with personal demons. They put me in the bed at 8:00. They make my thoughts distant and hard to wrangle. They confuse the hell out of me and don’t let me know why I torture myself. Sometimes I want to just lie down, wherever I am, and give up for a while. That spot in the corner of the room looks like it might be comfy, or the part of the driveway where oil leaked from my old convertible, maybe the mulch in the backyard where the dog likes to shit would be comfy…she seems to like it there. It could be 2 minutes, 2 hours, or longer, but I just want to stop everything. I want what feels like the weight of all my life and the troubles of everyone I love to cover me like a thousand ton blanket and keep me warm while I hide from whatever it is that scares me.

Isn’t that ridiculous?

The thing is, most of the time I don’t know what’s eating at me. It’s almost constant though. And, while I’m surrounded by people who I love and who love me, I still feel weak, unaccomplished, and a failure. Sometimes I talk about it with my wife, but it’s hard to explain without getting upset and lashing out for no reason. I’m so laid back – on the outside – but when it gets to be more than I can contain, I have 30 second bursts of asshole. Actually, sometimes it seems like she thinks I have 30 second bursts of nice guy and long sessions of asshole. Maybe I’m such a dick that I don’t realize how dickish I’m being. I don’t know. What I do know is I’ve been rambling for 500 words and I haven’t even gotten to a topic that resembles what I sat down to write about.

This thing, the thing I’m about to write about, is something that’s been bothering me for a while and I can’t come to terms with it. Faith. Have you ever considered your faith? I hadn’t. I took it blindly. Then I realized there are contradictions, plot holes, and rules that can’t possibly have been given by a loving god. This book, the Holy Bible, is one of many that has started wars, stirred the pot of hate, and been the source of pain and suffering for millions. Sure, it’s full of good stories with morals and consequences, but it’s also full of death in the name of righteousness. “Thou shalt not kill” only applies in cases where there hasn’t been some kind of offense to warrant stoning to death, crucifixion, or decapitation. You know, stuff like asking questions, disobeying parents, or being gay.

We’re all born sinners, and the only way to salvation is through accepting Jesus Christ as our savior and having our boarding pass punched by him. He is, after all, the way, the truth, and the light. I’m a little fuzzy on the details here, but does this mean that anyone who dies without knowing about and accepting Jesus to be the messiah is doomed to suffer in Hell? Are babies, children, the developmentally disabled, and people in cultures unaware of Christianity packing the corners of Hell by the thousands? I probably couldn’t even find a place to lie down. Maybe Hell was in the train cars on the way to Auschwitz. I think it probably was.

A little farther back, in the Garden of Eden, after God’s laborious week of creation, we were perfect. We didn’t know shame or sin. God gave us free will, and that’s where evil began, with Adam and Eve. The only two people in existence…but, what about that evil serpent who tempted Eve? Why didn’t God just kill that fucker before it even had a chance to screw up his utopian creation. I mean, I had a guy come out and kill all the termites so they wouldn’t destroy my house. Hell, why did He even create the serpent in the first place? I don’t know, but it certainly seems like there’s been evil as long as there’s been anything at all, not just since God gave us the freedom to make our own decisions.

According to the bible, as I understand it, Jesus is the son of God, but he was also God incarnate. God’s experiment so that He could suffer the human condition firsthand. Only by doing this could He tell us to piss off when we say life’s too tough. Jesus lived a life of torture and persecution. All he wanted to do was to be nice and tell folks about his dad and the kingdom that could be waiting for them if they believe.

Then, there’s the Holy Ghost. I have no idea what this part of the trinity is about.

But, I was raised Christian. I went to Baptist church on Sunday morning and Pentecostal church on Sunday night and sometimes on Wednesday. Today, I’m still Christian, but not in a way most other Christians would accept me as one of their own. I’ve learned a lot of stuff since the first time I sang “This Little Light of Mine”. I’ve pretty much tossed out the bulk of the Bible. What I have not learned, and likely never will, is that God doesn’t exist and Jesus is not the way to salvation. There are a lot of different religions, but there’s never going to be a definitive answer as to which one is right, so I’ll stick with being nice and believing in the God of the bible. I mean, even if I were to renounce Christianity I’d still believe there was something bigger than, and in existence before, the big bang.

If I’ve blasphemed here and doomed myself to Hell, well, I guess that’s on me. What do you think? Am I completely wrong?

Rain stung his face and skin while he ran, as fast as if hundreds of lives were in his care. Sharp edges of stones and thorns tore at his feet. With every extended stride, the savior of souls sprinted down the twenty-five mile mountainous path to the first relay point. He knew he was pushing his body beyond its limit; to the limit of his will. Everyone he’d ever known, or knew existed, was lying peacefully in Athon.

His chest heaved and rattled.

His eyes turned red.

The fire of forged steel burned his muscles and he felt weak.

When he reached the home of Procla Eem, the watchman collapsed – never to rise agiain. But not before passing along brief details of the horror he’d seen. Eem was able to warn all of the villagers and an evacuation was quickly executed. They all had lived because of the determination of Maer of Athon. The villagers never saw what threatened them, but the Athoners knew they were alive because of him.

Every year, from that day forward, a race was held along the path of Maer. It is held in his honor.

Fast-forward a few thousand years and we’re still running marathon races. Interesting side note; Maer actually had been suffering from a prolonged exposure to toxic black mold. His mountaintop lookout post was the home of a dank, rotten mold orgy. Stachybotris chartarum had caused delusions, hallucinations, breathing problems, weakness, and the agonizing death of Maer of Athon. He died because he protected them, not to protect them. Neat.

That’s what this original manuscript says, right?

ancient text

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Santa Claus developed a taste for peppermint discs when he was just a little boy. One day, while working outside his workshop, the jolly elf dropped a peppermint disc in the snow. He noticed it’d gotten dirty when it fell, so he opened another and left the dirty candy to be picked up later. Soon after, one of the elves came outside to tell Santa Mrs. Claus needed his help. He hurriedly went inside to see what was the matter. Santa had forgotten the peppermint disc.

A couple of days went by before Santa remembered the dropped candy. He went outside to retrieve his sweet debris but, to his surprise, the peppermint disc was gone. In its place was a small candy cane, growing from the snow. Santa picked the candy cane. What he found was the candy cane growing out of his dropped peppermint disc.

“Ho, ho, ho! Peppermint discs are candy cane seeds?” exclaimed Santa. “This is wonderful. The children will be so excited!”

Santa gathered a few elves to help him plant rows and rows of peppermint discs. He was starting a candy cane garden, right beside his workshop. The children will be excited, indeed. It only took a few weeks for old jelly belly to learn the ins and outs of candy cane gardening. It takes four days to grow a peppermint disc into a small candy cane, seven to grow it into a full-size candy cane, and a whole two weeks to grow it into a giant candy cane.

Santa also discovered that he, the elves, his reindeer, and the children weren’t the only ones who loved the sweet, minty treat. The snowbirds love candy canes too!

Santa thought “What will I do to protect the striped treats?”

Then, it came to him. Santa gathered his gardening helper elves and they began making snowballs. Whenever a snowbird came in to steal the candy canes, the elves would scare the birds away by throwing a snowball.

It didn’t take long for Santa to realize this was far too time consuming, and a waste of valuable elf resources. He noticed, when the snowballs hit the side of a hill, they would roll down and get bigger along the way. That’s when the light went off above his head. His idea was brighter than Rudolph’s nose!

Once again, Santa gathered his gardening helper elves, and again they made snowballs. This time, however, they rolled the snowballs in the snow to make them big. When Santa was satisfied they’d made enough snowballs in varying sizes he began to stack them.

“We’ll make them three balls tall!” he told the elves.

Then, with coal, buttons, and twigs, he gave the snowmen faces and arms. “A few of these should do the job nicely.” he said to himself. With the

elves help, he arranged the snowmen, every few yards apart, around the garden. When the snowbirds came back to steal the candy canes, they

saw the snowmen and, afraid the snowmen would throw snowballs, they flew away; without candy.

And, that’s how the first snowmen were made. At least, that’s the way I heard it.

My name is Dan Fugate. I write copy, blog, do graphic design, and occasionally make a fool of myself at a downtown Pensacola, FL advertising agency.

One of the coolest things about being a copy writer is having multiple outlets, allowing nearly endless available topics. I get to write (and do other creative stuff), for other people, for money. Those pieces are proofed, critiqued, and modified. Before anyone outside my office sees them they’ve been cleaned.

This blog is where you get my brain, straight from the tap. I don’t have folks proofread my stuff and I don’t generally discuss a topic before I write about it. The personal, opinion based, one-sided, pointless, and dirty call this their domain.

If you want to comment, comment. If you want more, I’m on Twitter and Google+.

My Dad (2007)

My dad was a good dad. He taught me everything he thought a man should know. We hunted and fished, but never wasted. We went to church…most of the time, but knew we had to work for what we wanted. We love spending time with our family, but know it’s important to make time for golf and drinks with friends. He never spent much time worrying about things he couldn’t change, and I never learned how to not worry about something.

Even when he was in the hospital, I looked for his guidance and approval. I’ve sought his help, since he died, on numerous occasions. Sometimes I feel like he’s with me, but he’s never answered my questions. And, come to think of it, I don’t remember him talking to any dead relatives when he was alive.

It’s time to trust that the things he taught me were right. I know he’s with me in moments of pride and conquest, but he can’t tell me how he’d handle an unruly kid or when he thinks I should have important “talks”. I don’t need to spend any more time asking Dad what he thinks. He’s done all he can to help me be a good dad and person.

My son will soon have a baby brother. “Baby Boy Fugate, Volume Two” hits the crib in mid-late September. Pick up your copy here, this fall.* I am going to teach these boys how important it is to be part of the food chain, and appreciate that we’re not just patrons with forks. I’m going to teach them to be thankful to God for the beauty around us, but to also know without close friends and family we may as well be blind (no offense to blind and ultra religious people).

It's Me

I have become my dad. I look like him, act like him, and believe like him (mostly, I’m more socially liberal). This isn’t a bad thing. He did the best he could for me and I intend to do the same for my boys. All moral and ethical questions will be directed to me@dad.com, even my own. I no longer have anyone to turn to for things I don’t know and I must be able to answer my boys’ questions as they arise, with confidence.

So, what are the two things I learned? One – My dad is gone and I need to stop asking him questions. Two – I have to stop doubting myself.

Have you lost someone close to you? If so, how long did you continue talking to that person, or do you still do it? Leave a comment here, or find me on Facebook, Twitter, or Google+. Thanks for reading.

*There is no book or e-book.

Dear Angry Atheists,

In your quest to keep religion away from you and your children, you’re managing to keep it away from our families and children too. Effectively, what you’ve done is force your religion on us. Your lawsuits to keep displays faith in a higher power confined to churches, mosques, and synagogues are crippling this country. I can understand not wanting to be forced to pray, but by not allowing people who do pray to do so, you’re basically making them pray to your no-god.

I know many of you feel superior to people of faith. You think by casting off religion, you’ve proven to the world that you’re smarter because you don’t believe in invisible spirits and hocus pocus. It’s sad, really, that you don’t have anything to believe in aside from yourselves. What I want to know is, why don’t you just shut up and let everyone be? Here’s my thinking…

Most people of faith, any faith, believe when they die there will be some kind of reward for their trust in the higher power. Whether this is Heaven, nirvana, a good reincarnation, or some other joining of the spirits isn’t important. What is important is that these people must follow the teachings of their faith in order to achieve the afterlife their religion believes in. Most people who subscribe to any religion don’t try to force it upon others, rather they pray for free will, inspiration, and education to bring people to the light.

Conversely, atheists don’t believe in God, or any god for that matter. You believe when you die it’s the end. There is no afterlife and no great reward. That’s fine. Believe how you will. But consider this, if we’re wrong, when it’s time for lights out there is no penalty or punishment. If you’re right, we’ll all just be dead and there’s nothing more to it. If you’re wrong, there’s probably not a very good afterlife waiting for you. Additionally, your vehement attacks on believers and public displays of religion – and our legal system’s inability to put you in your place – are breaking down faith in America. Fewer opportunities to pray or thank God for things are resulting in less praying and thanking God for life.

My point is, where’s the harm in just letting people who believe in something pray to that something? You who don’t want to pray don’t have to, you just need to respect that there are people praying…the same as you expect people to respect your decision not to pray. Is it too much to ask that we treat one another with caring, dignity, and equality?

Sincerely,
Dan

If this post has made you mad, made you think, or made you call me an idiot, leave a comment and let me know.

Tempting as it may sometimes be
to fold and walk away
I know you’ll be with me
So, I’ll check my bet and stay

Just like tomorrow’s yesterday
is still caught up in today
something new is upon us
we can’t let it get away
Open it up and take it in
I feel a change will happen
Time to be new again
in colorful gift wrapping

I packed up my travelin’ bags
and flung ‘em in the back
Livin’ life from rags to rags prayin’
God, please cut me some slack

Now I’m moving down the highway
with passengers and precious cargo
and I know my yesterday’s
Got nothin’ on tomorrow

Hey, Mom and Dad, look at me, look where your boy is now
I’ve done things to make you smile and things to make you proud
Hey, to my sweet honey and my precious baby boys
I want to do my best for you, and share in all your joys

Just like tomorrow’s yesterday
is still caught up in today
Something new is upon us
we can’t let it get away
Open it up and take it in
I feel a change will happen
Time to be new again
in colorful gift wrapping