Monday, October 29, 2018

Bad Hair Day

Acrimonious confrontations increase as more of the population confirm their allegiances.  Before, it was all talk for the most part without the action.  Now people are dying and have been since the man of loud hair and diminutive penis fooled the flag wearing loud and proud he was their guy.

His drooling minions shout "Wait a sec.  What about you lowlife progressives accosting our idols while they break bread in public?  Awfully unChristian, dontcha think?

Progressives and others not under the spell of this new Satan scratch their heads trying get their minds around the false equivalency of killing folks and ruining meals.

Meanwhile, standing under the wing of one of his planes, the Oramge Man with the diminutive penis gives a news conference in the rain.  Later when expected to offer up deep and concerned words of sympathy and hope regarding another mass killing on his watch, he speaks of his bad hair day.  Then he reaches for the letter of condolence one of his stooges wrote.

Only in America.

Later ........................................

Sunday, October 28, 2018

Will You Be My Friend

Lost deep inside the social morass for weeks, our intrepid hero finally emerges from the oppressive shade the crowd had created there.  He takes a deep breath and realizes that for the last two weeks he has been holding his breath as he scampered here, there, and everywhere searching for someone to connect with.  Oh sure, he had friends and has had friends for years, but there's nothing like a new friend, especially a new friend on Facebook.

Our world traveler takes a few moments to make sense of his recent trip.  He would alternate grins for grimaces as he replayed the previous few weeks in his mind.  But mostly, memory of that time forced a grimace at the many embarrassments and stupid questions he had asked and then regretted.

He smiled.  "You know what?  Fuckem,  I'd do it again, but maybe next time pace myself."

Our man reacquaints himself with the real world.  He puts away clean dishes, pours water in the dog bowl, and opens the refrigerator to see if anything inside strikes his fancy.  He knows he should be hungry, but he's not.  He's an old fart now and knows hunger is on a new schedule not tuned to the biorhythms of his past.

He pulls a Tupperware bowl out and pops the top. He lifts it to his nose.  Damn! That tidbit from a meal long ago ain't passing the sniff Test.  Our hero opens the garbage can and taps the ingredients of the bowl out, then tosses the bowl into the sink.

It occurs to him around the fifth spoiled leftover bowl, he has lost some time and more importantly, lost some of his connection to the here and now right in front of him when he finally opens his eyes.  This realization shakes him to his core.  Reality was what he had worked so hard over the years to avoid.

Now he was back and so far it wasn't so bad he guessed.  After spending a couple of weeks prowling other neighborhoods, he realized no one out there in the Internet ether has any better clue than he does.  We are, as it turns out, all just Bozos on this bus.

He came away from his brief interlude between Life and whatever else is out there feeling much better about himself even after so many detours over the years from his straight and narrow plan thought up while drinking shots of Tequila with a beautiful young lady on the dunes of Mission Bay 40 years ago.

(Hold your breath and read the previous sentence.  That  is what I call long winded.)

Keep it 'tween the ditches ........................................................

Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Stupid History

I am constantly reminded of the circular nature of History, especially Stupid History, and our species' ingrained blind spot to it.  Reality is Reality and nothing we humans can do will alter it.  But we do have fun messing with its interpretation.

We often ignore reality,, choosing instead to live in a fool's paradise.  We change our perception of it to fit a conceptual notion of what it should be.  Then we teach it to our children and they grow up and either find the truth or perpetuate the myths.

It would appear that this is just human nature.  Bullshit.  The smart people know what they are doing.  Controlling the actions of the peons is always the end goal.  Altering facts and issuing empty promises has worked for millenniums.  As a group, we are nummer than a bag of pounded thumbs.  We are just lucky every other critter on the planet is not equipped to do it better.

So, down in our bones, we know that history repeats itself.  Time is an 8 track loop and though the clothes and idioms may change, we seem determined to repeat the same stupid shit time and time again.  The crap we keep dredging up seems to rise to the surface of the cesspool of stupid causes every 100 years or so.

Take Evolution.  It was roughly 80 to 100 years or so ago it kicked Genesis to the bench and became the star player in American schools.  Without the rise of science in our schools, we would not be the economic and scientific juggernaut of today.  Without science our upcoming fall from grace would have happened years ago.

Now, Genesis and the other silly notions in the Bible are making a comeback as "alternative" theories of Evolution.   Stupidity is on the rise as evidenced by the current political leadership.  Rather than making progress on all of the dangers facing us, they would rather regress and place their faith in a book that has let the Human race down for centuries.

No matter what, we will deserve what we get.  God will have nothing to do with it.

Later ................................................

Friday, October 05, 2018

Nothing to Discuss

In my absence there has been much to discuss, much to consider, and much to just shake my head and walk away from.  I chose walking away. 

There's nothing to discuss really and very little to consider regarding the fools we fools put in charge.  Folks have their minds made up.  I know I sure do. Not much benefit to be had from preaching up my own choir.  We have all settled in around our tribal campfires and are enthusiastically whipping each other up into a lather.

I'm tired of it.  Yet, like an accident I might pass by, I just have to look at the chaos left in its wake.  Not writing I thought would help me rein myself in some.  When agitated as much as I have been over this national clown show, my agitation is all I write about.

Unfortunately, not writing is leaving a hole inside.  Combine this with trying to remain calm in the face of multilateral stupidity and what I am left in is shut down mode.  Shut down mode sucks.

So I leave you with a few words regarding that which I am trying hard to not write about.  Seems I was almost successful. ........ At least I touched base.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ..................................................................

Tuesday, September 25, 2018

Tampa, Florida

I originally wrote this in November of 2008.  I have bumped it up to today because, well, I can.  It is my blog.  So there.

What follows is a memory written as accurately as I can with dialog added to keep the tale from getting dry.  Hence the label "fictional truth".  I did not use anyone's real name except Mountain Boy and mine.


"Mike, where ya been? We have a real cluster fuck going on here."

"I've been hassling with the boneheads at the hotel and the cops. I guess that vending machine I destroyed last night is a bigger deal than I thought it would be. You know it's gonna cost me $1500 to straighten it out."

"Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. You should have never knocked it over in the first place you idiot. You know how crazed everyone was. And why in Hell did you tell them you did it?"

I looked at Masher. He was dressed in his normal Showco Tee and the same jeans he wore everyday. I always wondered if he had more than one pair of jeans. Or just four or five identical pairs torn and frayed in the same places. His face showed real concern. That was not like him. If anyone kept his cool usually, it was The Masher. I was going to fill him in on the idea of guilt and what it did to some of us. Share my experience learned the hard way that a pre-emptive confession always seemed to result in punishment less severe. But I could tell he was not on the same page anymore. I skipped it and got to the point.

"So, what's up? After the hotel raped me, they got all nicey nice and told me I had a message. A message from you. By the way, that coke machine stole my money."

"Look out at the crowd. They just got word the concert's been canceled. By the governor no less. We need all hands on deck. I think the whackos are going to rush the stage."

I walked onto the stage and gazed out toward the stadium. That high falutin custom built portable security wall set in place to keep back the crazies at outdoor gigs looked like a black wave. One end would lift and then fall. The next section would rise and then fall. So on down the line like a black snake wiggling in front of the stage. The sound of the people in the crowd was an ugly sound. 50,000 fans not happy that they would not see Led Zeppelin this day. Many had become a mob intent on getting revenge. The rest just seemed to hang out as if they had nowhere else to go. A bottle landed near me and exploded into thousand pieces covering my Chuck Taylors with what I hoped was beer or pale wine. Jumping back I tripped on the bull dick cable taped down on the stage floor and fell on my ass.

Still seated, I turned and looked over to Masher. "So why was the concert cancelled?" More objects began to rain onto the stage. Bottles, cans, even someone's hash pipe. I scrambled back out of the way.

"Look up." Masher's eyes drifted skyward and he pointed to the fabric canopy hung over the stage. "We had a screamer of a thunder storm an hour or so ago. The fire Marshall came through and said if we couldn't get rid of the water, the show was done. He was not impressed with the scaffolding fix we came up with. And then he called his guys who then called their guys and now the damn governor is involved. We need to start loading everything up before the crowd breaks through and starts destroying stuff. Get your truck backed in ASAP. And then get back here to help Security keep the crowd back."

Above me the canopy erected to keep the hot Florida sun off the pasty faces of the band was filled with water. It looked like a swimming pool's worth of water. And to be fair to the Fire Marshall, I was not impressed with that scaffolding fix either. Water dripped down at a steady pace right where the monitor board would normally be. The monitor board had been yanked as had everything else on the stage. Just the lights, a couple of lonely looking mic stands and speaker stacks remained. Water dripped on a bare stage and pooled under the dead cables that connected nothing anymore.

I had not been hired to be a head breaker. I was a truck driver. I didn't mess with sound. I didn't do lights. I drove trucks. Busting on poor drunken or drugged slobs definitely did not fit into my perception of my job description.

I began to run all this concern by Masher, when Bob, the head engineer on the tour came over and roared, "Get your fuckin truck and back it in. Let's move!"

I beat a hasty retreat. No one argued with Bob. He was lead engineer for a reason.

Outside behind the stadium, I was impressed with the calm compared to the anarchy I had just left. No irate fans, no tense roadies or security guys. All there was to indicate pandemonium inside the stadium was the roar of thousands of voices as if cheering a continuous touchdown or never ending home run. The trouble was inside not out here in the real World. Outside the Sun was shining, cars drove by and seagulls stood on the dumpsters next to a chain link fence near my truck.

Backing up to the gate, I did not have to get out to find someone to open it. It opened as if by remote by two security guys wearing their standard black security Tee shirts. I backed in until Masher popped out in front of the mirror and jerked his hand in a halt kind of way. Before I even had a chance to get out and unlatch my ramp, it had been removed and I saw two roadies running with it towards the rear of my trailer. By the time I had walked back my doors were open, the ramp was down and the first piece of equipment was almost on the trailer.

I stood there considering the tense vibes all around me. My musing lasted but a moment when Dave, the new driver with the biker attitude, walked over and handed me a mic stand. "Let's kick some ass."

I stood holding this mic stand and looked at him. He was enjoying this. I don't know who made me more nervous, the out of control crowd or this maniac waiting with bated breath to lay into someone. But I kept quiet and followed him over to stage left.

Just then the barricade broke. The crowd had finally found a weak spot and quickly threw it to the side. A sea of long haired fans streamed through the opening. They jumped on the stage. Several were more intent on the victory of the breach than paying attention to the defense mounted against them. A few danced in circles with arms raised. Dave laid into the closest one with his mic stand. Caught the poor bastard right in the kidneys. He went down and Dave moved onto engage his next unlucky target.

I looked over to stage right and two security guys were having their way with another fan. It was mayhem. Violent and instant mayhem. All I could do was stand there, mic stand in hand, and watch.

"Where were the cops", I wondered? "And why were our guys so damn violent?" It just did not make sense to me. Any of it. It was then something solid sailed right at me. I turned but not quick enough. I felt the blow but adrenalin had kicked in. I turned back and looked for the source. All I saw were people in various states of grappling violence. Anger came in a flash. Tossing down the mic stand, I ran to Dave's rescue. I pulled two guys off him and kicked another one hard. Dave extricated himself and all he said was, "I had it under control bud." And he was off again rushing another fan who had violated our space.

I threw up my hands in retreat and backed up to where a group of roadies and stage hands had gathered just outside the circle of pandemonium. If I had to guess, I would say we all stood there with the same thing on our minds. How crazy was this? Just look at those guys. They are beating people because they like it. What the fuck?

Wanting nothing more to do with this stupidity, I retreated towards the Green Room. On the way, one of the light roadies popped out of the bathroom and walked by me. "Hey Mike, there's some chick in the men's room giving everyone head. Get in line."

I shook my head and continued to where I knew food and hopefully some quiet place could be found for me to escape this day that had started so wrong for me. Finding the the Green Room I quickly filled a paper plate with leftovers and plopped into one of the over stuffed chairs. All the while the noise outside the door continued unabated.

At some point I noticed it was not as loud as it had been. I figured the worst was over and I left the Green Room's false security. Back behind the stage I saw cops streaming by and people in handcuffs with bloody parts trickling blood being led away. A whiff of Tear Gas lingered. The crowd had been controlled. The security barrier lay in ruins in front of the stage. And the bulging canopy continued it's steady drip drip drip of water. Out in the stadium, riot cops were busy clearing the fans determined to hang out. There was no hitting, just determined lines of uniforms moving everyone towards the exits.

Masher found me. "I had Mountain Boy pull your truck out. Are you okay? I saw that shot you took. I don't blame you for leaving. Find the ambulance, they'll fix you up."

"What shot?" I looked at Masher. I had no clue what he was talking about.

"Feel the back of your head Mike." He turned and left.

I reached back and felt my head. A large bump had formed. My hand came away red. I found the ambulance. They cleaned me up and cut me loose.

I sat in my truck numb. I tried to digest and come to grips with what I had just witnessed. What I had just been part of. All I could do was think about that damn roadie coming out of the bathroom and informing me some chick was giving everyone head. And I started to laugh. Deep chuckles that started at my asshole and purged all the anger and fear built up over the last 30 minutes. In all the chaos, hate and discontent, Life still moved in predictable ways. The flow of what was normal, SSDD, always found a way to coexist with any upheaval placed in it's way. No matter what madness existed, people still ate, people still got head. Some parts of Life just happened naturally paying no mind to whatever else was going on. It was then I realized this business of rock n roll was going to be one of the most memorable times of my life.

Sunday, September 16, 2018

The Traitor Revisited

 "an unfortunate Man, bore down by popular prejudice."

In December of 2011, I did some research on my ancestral beginnings here in the New World.  I found a lot of information, but none of it complete.  Seems trying to retrace steps made by others 200 plus years ago is not that easy.  At least for this dimwit anyway.

I forged ahead and collected quite a bit of history on my great, great, great Grandfather, John Roberts lll, previously of Lower Merion, Pennsylvania. On November 4, 1778 he was hanged for high treason by the then provisional government set up by the Colonists in Pennsylvania.

As it turned out, his execution was more about personal vendetta than treason.  The US government agreed later and returned some seized property and also provided an annual pension to his widow.

Anyway, I recently attempted another search on the Mill that bore his name.  I was rewarded with even more information and images from the archives of the Lower Merion Historical Society.

The letter at the left is one of the finds.  It is a letter penned by my forebear sometime before he was hanged.  I am having trouble reading it, but from what I can gather he was facing up to his fate with backbone and acceptance.

The quote at the top from this letter pretty much sums up his sad end.

If anyone would care to know more based on my previous posts:

The Traitor

The Traitor or "Republica v. John Roberts - a different perspective

The Haunted House

The site I got the letter from - Lower Merion Historical Society

So I actually posted something not angry and with no mention of ....................

Keep it 'tween the ditches ............

Thursday, September 13, 2018

Dana Loesch, a Woman Any Real White Man Would Love

Apparently, the only person to read racist overtones in the recent addition of "Nia" from Kenya to that children's programming mainstay, "Thomas & Friends" was Dana Loesch, conservative host of NRA TV.   Yes, it appears Thomas and friends are updating the content to include simple notions of diversity.  Loesch completely runs off the rails with her implication disguised as a question, Is Thomas and Friends a racist show and are they now trying to overcome their racist notions?

Darling conservative whore Dana, you are the one who put the KKK hoods on the trains, not Thomas and Friends.  All they did was introduce a train from Kenya.  It had the same gray face all the other trains had.  So stop the bullshit Dana, you just wanted an excuse to push your own brand of white power by trying to use a children's program to do it.

What a fuckin loser.

Later ...................................................

Saturday, August 25, 2018

Fuck the G.O.P.

I have no problem with someone having conservative views.

What I have a problem with is a political party that has lost any notion or clue of their ethical or moral base by supporting a leadership so evil, sleazy,self interested and traitorous , they are causing real damage to the institutions of our government.  The USA is taking some severe hits because of the G.O.fuckin  P.

The spineless GOP honchos have no problem with sucking up to a foreign power who once said they would destroy us.  To them invasion of our cyber borders is not traitorous behavior just like Iran/Contra was not treason either.

They think the criminal residing in the White House is okay, Their idea of bipartisan is to fall in line, its their way or the highway, while they do everything they can to undermine any perceived threat to their majority status.

All the while they insist they are closer to God's ear than anyone else and know what real patriotism is because they wear a flag pin and bitch about people exercising their kneeling rights when listening to the national anthem.

The G.O.P. has no clue what a good citizen is or the stewardship they were elected to practice.  The Leadership should be ashamed to show their faces in public, let alone open their mouths.

And while I am at it, ......................... The slack jawed drooling minions who voted them in can hop on the go get fucked wagon also.

Later .................................................

Friday, August 03, 2018


So, I just put a batch of pot brownies on a cooling rack and set it on top of the refrigerator.  This is the third batch I have made since October, 2017 when my wife discovered she had breast cancer.

At first, she was eating only a 10 gram chunk to help her sleep. That first batch lasted her until about six weeks ago.  I made the second batch and then she began Chemotherapy. Chemo has been such a fun time, her brownie consumption has tripled. ........ Yeah, Chemo has been quite a party. ......................... Hmm

It isn't that she has no AMA approved prescriptions to deal with the deep down in her bones pain during those first few days after a session.  Among the countless new bottles of cancer associated drugs she has collected, there is the obligatory to any self respecting collection of man made drugs, a bottle of opiate based pain pills waiting to not curtail the pain, rather just create a "I don't give a shit" attitude.  And you still wake up with severe debilitating constipation.

The bottle sits unopened to this point.  We have decided to attack the pain, sleeplessness, and general bad attitude with Pot.  And so far it seems to be working as well as anything to come out of a lab.  Upping her intake of brownies as needed with a little help from Tylenol seems to have made this journey tolerable for her.

A heated debate from just a few years ago is now beginning to simmer down as Cannabis claims rightful presence in the cornucopia of acceptable white folk medicines.  I hazard a guess that the benefits found once serious eyes hover over serious microscopes will be awesome and cause many tight ass ministers in the AMA some serious embarrassment.  And even though government will never apologize for ruining people's lives for years because of their use of what will turn out to be a major source of j\healing wonders, well, godammit, they should, fuckin assholes.

And yeah, I use anecdotal evidence to support my use of Cannabis.  It isn't second hand evidence. All the evidence I need is what I have personally witnessed after 20 plus years of helping folks score and use pot to help with cancer, Parkinson's, and severe back pain.  The factt that it is a hoot to use is but a side benefit.

Spark one up.  Life is too short to criticize something you might not understand.

Embrace the Doob. ............................................................................

Wednesday, August 01, 2018

Summer 1963


The State Theater was located on the north side of College Avenue between Monroe and Adams Streets in Tallahassee, Florida.  I remember it well. It was just four blocks down from the Travelodge motel my father managed in the immediate years after he retired from the US Air Force.

Being from a military family who moved at the drop of a hat, exploration was always first on my agenda.  Knowing the layout of the land was an imperative first step in acclimating to new surroundings.  Having a movie theater just down the street seemed a good place to begin.  I would start there. 

The family's military lifestyle did not prepare me for the  nastier aspects of the world I would now exist in.  My parents and I had become used to the protective bubble a military life offered.  There was no such thing as segregation in my world up to that time.

I stepped up to the ticket window and bought a ticket. I remember the black woman inside the ticket booth asking me not once, but twice if I was sure I wanted to go into the theater.  I was adamant.  I was 12.  It was Saturday and I was burning daylight while the matinee was well into its first serial.  She handed me a ticket.  I went in, bought some popcorn and a coke and went into the theater.  Not long after I had settled into my seat, I sensed a presence settle into the seat behind me.  The presence leaned over the back of the seat next to me and whispered, "Boy, are you sure you are in the right theater?"  

I turned and there was a very unfriendly looking black man staring at me hard.  I remember being frozen and slack jawed, unable to respond.  I was scared shitless but did manage to tell him yes, I was in the right theater.  I lived just down the street at the Travelodge and my name was Mike.  I ended with, "We just moved here."

"Son," his voice had become friendlier, "you really are in the wrong theater. ....  You need to leave.  We don't want any trouble here."

I stood up and looked around.  It finally dawned on me there was not one white face there other than mine.  And it seemed to me all eyes were focused on me and not the screen.

I left and walked the four blocks back to the Travelodge.  When I got home, I told my dad I had been kicked out of the theater by a very scary black guy.  He looked at me.  He did not ask what I might have done to deserve getting the boot.  He just sighed and told me to blow it off, we would talk later.  I think he knew but had forgotten how the real world worked.

Thus began my exposure to the very real and ugly world of segregation in the US South in the early 1960's.  That summer I witnessed white people beating on black people while white police leaned on their cruisers sucking on toothpicks.  I was shamed by a public librarian for drinking out of the wrong fountain.  I was told in no uncertain terms that my kind was not allowed to sit in the back of the bus.  And at a nearby rib joint, I was refused service again because I was white. It was an eye opening coming of age summer.  One I have never forgotten.

Sunday, July 22, 2018

A Few Degrees Shy of Tipping Over

You might think this is just another "Godammit I'm getting old" post.  And you would be right.  It is sort of.

30 years ago I vowed to quit smoking tobacco.  Sometime around this past Christmas I finally succeeded.  Unfortunate timing maybe, but I also developed some debilitating health issues  around the same time.  I became so weak, just standing up gave me better rushes than a hit of killer weed.  Walking the dog became brief moments outback only a few steps away from the door.  My best days were spent but a few degrees shy of tipping over.

This went on until, uh, ... I guess I turned a corner a couple of weeks ago. 

I'm actually walking the dog over to Mary's Park across Sam Page Road now. I'm not tearing it up but I am feeling better for sure now having bagged three consecutive 1/2 mile loops.  Ten days ago, I could not walk 100 yards without stopping. 

I'd say I am back, but well, now days, I need to be careful how much I promise myself.  I guess I am just grateful for how much I have bounced back now.  I will keep pushing even though it is so easy to give in.  This is a painful comeback, as painful as anything I have ever experienced.

The true silver lining though is it has been approximately seven months since I rolled a cigarette.

Keep it 'tween the ditches .......................................

Tuesday, June 19, 2018

Welcome to Summer Camp Kids

Chain link walls inside tin buildings are not cages the Presidential advocate says.  What they are is not really spelled out clearly.  But rest assured, the chain link rooms are not cages.

Another pipes in that what has been erected are more akin to Summer Camps, inferring a population of happy children and even happier parents who have successfully found someone to take their little ones off their hands for a brief while. The crying you might hear are cries of joy.

In the meantime, higher up the Right Wing food chain, presidential representatives claim the separation of the illegal kids from their illegal families is the Democrats' fault.  Besides, the separations are Biblically sanctioned actions, so calm down, God says its okay.

All in all, the half baked explanations and mealy mouthed excuses seem reasonable given the group they are coming from.  We should expect no less from such an upstanding group of leaders sporting such high moral principles.  Keep up the good work. I am sure the children will one day understand that the Wall was more important than their humanity.  They will then remember you fondly.

Later .....................................................

Sunday, June 17, 2018

Ancient History

It appears what I thought I knew about Father's Day was well, absolutely nothing.  Yes, it is sad but true that I haven't a clue why, where, or when Dad's Day came into existence.  Being that I wanted to refrain from political commentary, yet still keep up with a daily post of some kind, I was going to have to find something else to satisfy my most recent writing jones.

After at least thirty seconds of intense consideration, I zeroed in on Father's Day.  I dutifully followed up this serious inquiry with 5 tortuous minutes rifling through Google choices before settling on a website devoted to Father's Day.  If anyone would have the skinny about why Dad has his own day, I was sure it would be them.  After all the site is called "Father's".

What I found out was eye opening.  It appears Father's Day is much older than anyone thought.  Experts have found in the ruins of a Babylon town, a clay tablet upon which one young man named Elmesu, carved out loving sentiments to his father, owner of a nearby sheep operation.

Sadly though, Elmesu's fondness faded when he found out Dad was going to give the sheep farm to Alrus, second son in the line.  Elmesu was beside himself because of his father's betrayal.  So he took the clay Father's Day tablet he had labored over for three days and three nights, and he bludgeoned his father to death with it in front of the cook fire in the kitchen.

Life was tough back in the day.  Ascension within many family lines depended on bloody takeovers carried out by one generation over the next.  Transition was not always pretty.


Post Script and BTW - Now that it is currently acceptable to use lies instead of facts to support one's take, I have some questions about lines and when they are crossed.  If using Fake News as support, does the Fake News have to be completely fake?  Or is it still Fake News if only part of it is?   I mean, is a half truth, or say a quarter truth any better than a flat out lie?  If so, where is the line?  I am only asking this because it may have some relevance to the above post.

Happy Father's Day - Keep an eye on the sheep.

Image from this site

Friday, June 15, 2018


I wish over hauling the homestead was as easy as giving the ole blog a going over and new look.  I guess it could be if my pockets were deep enough or my ambition was thirty years younger.

I don't think I have done anything to my blog in five or six years.  Some of my links stopped working about that time.  Yeah, the links on the sidebar were sure to lead many people to dead ends.  I weeded out the derelicts, up dated the ones still breathing and then opened up the "Theme" page on the blog dashboard.  That's where I found my last set-up.

Wow.  Quite a few new choices over what I remember from my last time.  Eleven new styles to pick from with each style having a variety of suggestions to pick from. 

I began thumbing through the choices and dammit, I was overwhelmed by too many choices.  I kept telling myself to pick one, but then I'd notice another style I had maybe not given enough attention to and well, ...... T\this could have gone on forever.  So I picked one first for BoZone ll, my fiction blog and set it up.

As I have more time than brains, I thought I would look into personalizing, or as Google calls it, customizing my blog.  I hit the "Customize" button and voila, a door I had never opened before led me to a land of color, dimensional mania, and backgrounds with intravenous fillings.  It was a world I imagined a computer nerd on acid would come up with.

After I fiddled around with the main settings (Layout, Background, width adlustments, I came to the button "Advanced".  Okay, serious pause here.

Over the years I have learned to approach any icon that says "advanced" with an idea that there is a fifty-fifty chance that button is an evil computer genius' idea of a joke, and if I punch it, all Hell will break loose.

I needn't have worried.  As usual, Google foresaw and made accommodations for the computer challenged among us.  As long as one can read, their "Advanced" world is one this flounder could figure out.

Thank You Google, I was able to increase the font size so my posts did not seem like reading the small print on a "terms of agreement" web page.

Once I had a new BoZone ll page, I tore this page a new asshole and what you see is the result.  Still some gadgets and links to clean up, but the page is how I want it for now. 

Anyway, remember to vote for anyone BUT a Republican this fall.  We want to move forward, not back.

Keep it 'tween the ditches .........................................................


Image from this site

Thursday, June 14, 2018

As It Turns Out ......

..... I am not paranoid, delusional, a few bricks shy of a load.  No, I am as normal as any life long stoner can be after 50 years of finding the Man right behind him whenever he turned around.  They are always there lurking in the shadows, taking notes and reporting back to their bosses who sport big scars on their cheeks and pencil thin mustaches.  You know, John Waters type mustaches.

Okay, okay, I may be light a few bricks and on occasion I have been known to fraternize with special friends no one else can see.  But I am not paranoid.

As proof, I offer up the Internet.  No better spy exists than the ga-jillion electronic devices hooked into a huge network of wires and computers, many of which are housed deep inside outward appearing non threatening locations like the local laundromat.  Just why have those washers along the back wall been "out of order" for the last 5 years.  Yeah, out of order my ass.

I usually keep my paranoid concerns to myself.  Those of us who know do not feel the need to share our paranoia because that is what leads to real time delusion of the type currently out of control on the Right side of the aisle.  No, the day opened up in predictable ways.  Constitutionals, pet feeding, coffee making.

And then I opened my phone.  And right there in the string of teasers on the outside screen, "Google Photos.  Here's what you missed."  The bastards had invaded my phone and hijacked a personal Kodak Moment.

Since this particular Lady's Slipper had "disappeared" the day after I snapped its picture, my first rational thought was, "I get it.  This is proof of life and there will be a ransom demand written in those irritating random Google letters that will tell me what bridge to drop the money off of."  I quickly tamped down the irrational thoughts that were beginning to boil over by refusing to run around the house closing blinds and locking doors. 

I am sure Google will inform me, should I bother to ask them, that I am hallucinating and it is just a grand coincidence the plant disappeared just as its image appeared in one of their emails.

I wish I was hallucinating.  That would make all this "Deep State" bullshit easier to deal with.

Don't turn around ..................................................

Wednesday, June 13, 2018

Not About Trump

Yesterday I had nothing to write about other than another Trump post.  I claimed I would be attempting to rein in my bizarre fascination with the man and not post about him.  Well, its another day, and like Trump, I don't have to live up to my promises.  I don't have to keep a civil fucking tongue in my head because well, Trump doesn't.

Hmm .................

This post is not about Trump.  Rather, it was to be about my total disgust with America first and the whole species second.  I was going to lay into our lazy complacent culture and eviscerate everyone from the deep pocket puppet masters to the blue collar good ole Joe who thinks his coal mining job can be saved.  What a planet of morons, ...............

But no.  Another choice for discussion fluttered around the edges like a kid in class who knew the answer and butt hopped in their seat while trying to reach the ceiling.  That kind of fluttering.  The teacher was having none of it and looked to pick on the kid passed out with his head on the desk.

I decided that what was important this morning was Pot.  Marijuana.  Doob.  Because if I can't fight the nationwide apathy, I might as well join it.  Isn't there a well worn saying about that?

So of course if I am going to waste bandwidth on cannabis, I should get in the right frame of mind.  Hold on a sec. .............................

Ah yes .......... There ya go.  Now I'm going with the flow.  Mr Natural like.  And if I was 19 again, this is all I would want.  A nice morning buzz to go with a solid cup of coffee.

Seems it works pretty good at age 66 also.  Some days it is just impossible not to smile.

Later ....................................................


Image from this site

Tuesday, June 12, 2018

Fuck Trump

I have decided to try and write every day, either here or over to "BoZone ll", my fiction blog.  Now that I have lapsed and come back more than a few times, I find it easier to write when I am doing it regularly.  Long layoffs are not good for my brain.

The glitch is like "Pipe Tobacco" mentioned a few days ago on his blog, Trump's presence has really cramped my style.  Each time I sit down to write, most of the time my brain is not cleared of Trump stupidity and it is hard to think of something other than Trump to write about.

So, as Robert De niro said at the podium of the Tony Awards the other night, "Fuck Trump."

I will do my best to keep any mention of Trump to a minimum.  It will be difficult, but I think I can do it.

Later ......................................................................

Hopefully this is the video of De niro at the Tony Awards.  I never assume my cut and paste skills are up to the task at hand.  We will see.

Monday, June 11, 2018


My wife had breast cancer surgery last week.  The prognosis is good, her spirits are good, and Life looks to be back to some sort of normalcy in a year or so, once all the chemo and radiation regimens are done.  That is as long as her recovery goes as smoothly as the diagnosis and pre-surgical period went.

Her particular type of cancer is invasive lobular carcinoma.  Basically it is cancer that has escaped the lobules in the breast and settled elsewhere, usually attacking the lymph nodes to begin with.  She had a partial mastectomy and 5 lymph nodes removed. 

Just the word cancer coming out of a doctor's mouth made me feel like I had swallowed a brick.  There is no worse feeling I have had in memory.  But the medical folks we had were so professional and upbeat, our initial feeling that Life is over only lasted long enough to get us wrapped up into the new battle we were to face.  And I say we, because well, I may not be suffering from the cancer and have no idea how bad it can be, I am tagging along with someone who is experiencing the Big C first hand.  I know what it is like to be married to it.  That ain't no cake walk either.

It looks to be a smother trail from now on compared to the pre-surgery period.  From the original diagnosis in October 2017 right up to surgery day last Thursday, uncertainty and fear of the unknown permeated our outlooks.

Now at least, something has been done proactively.  I won't say we (especially my wife) have relaxed.  Our anxiety level however has dropped much of the fear and settled us into cope mode. 

Jeez, it boggles my mind that I can talk so casually about it, but well, it is what is happening in my life at the moment and I felt the need to share. 

90% of the positive in all this is my wife's attitude.  To her this is nothing but a pain in her ass.  It is getting in the way of her business and she is not happy.  Her outlook is let's deal with it and move on.  What a bad ass she is.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ....................................


Image from Health & Symptoms

Friday, June 08, 2018

Age of My First Clue

We can argue back and forth about whether calling Ivanka a "feckless cunt" was a step over the decency line.  It may have been during Pre-Trump days.  But now that Trump and his merry band of vaud-villains  have lowered the bar so low that fart jokes are now high humor, I find any argument nothing but a distraction. You want to blame someone, blame Trump and the class act he has following him everywhere.

But this post is not about Trump, Ivanka, or ....... anything important like saving the World from assholes and dimwits. 

Totally unconnected events in my life have conspired over time to make me relive moments from my past with a new clarity or just a different twist to add to the quiver of explanations I might have about that event or events.

I was finally old enough to be drawn into conversations about sex with buddies and their older brothers. It was an awakening of sorts, even if I came out of it still more than a tad unclear about how the docking of man and woman really worked.  Call it the age of my first clue.  Regardless, I learned some important words, "Fuck" being the most important and influential one. I would carry and use it with pride forever.  Some situations just cry out for its use.  Best adjective, verb, oh Hell, best word for almost every situation ..... Uh, sorry, gettin off track here.

Remember, I was maybe seven or eight when this life changing word entered my world. At the time though, "Fuck" was a word I was, serious look me in the eye warned to never use in front of an adult.  Even if they used it before I had.  Adults and their lookalikes, parents, might pull out the belt, the soap, or point you to a corner if they caught you using that word.

So forewarned being forearmed and all that, I went home and kept my secret new words secret.  I would whisper them occasionally and giggle, but never out loud in front of strangers.  These words were to be shared with the guys and no one else.

My fascination with the new secret words was just the point of the spear representing my growing interests in words generally. My parents had begun directing me to the nearest dictionary ( always at least one in every room ) when I asked them the meaning of a word they said or I had read.  They were not going to carry me anymore.

I remember frustration and anger.  But I also remember that along with this torrent of new words, a period of enlightenment began.  Life was not just Mom, Dad, and the backyard anymore.  New words pointed me in new directions.  I began to fall in love with words.

One morning I walked into the kitchen.  My dad was talking to my mom. In the course of the conversation, I heard him say "Fuckless".  I was shocked speechless.  Mom looks at me and asks me what my problem was.  I guess my face was also shocked, not just my brain.

"Uh, well Dad just said the "F" word.  My mom looked at me with deadpan eyes for a moment.  She turned back to my dad .  They stared at each other for an eternity and then burst out laughing.   So much laughing, it led to eye wiping and my mom leaving the kitchen.

Dad calmed down and considered me with a happy face.  "The word was not "Fuckless", it was "Feckless".  .......FECK-  less."

Of course my next question resulted in me going to the dictionary.

So, when I read what Samantha Bee said of Ivanka, I immediately changed her words in my mind to "Fuckless cunt" and then considered how that might also be appropriate in a Trumpian sort of way.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ...........................................

Thursday, June 07, 2018

The Most Dangerous Country on Earth

Earlier in the A.M. today, Morning Joe called North Korea the most dangerous country on Earth.

Hmm ...................

Seems to me he is not even close.  North Korea has only threatened to blow people up.  Surely it is a scary thing, making threats like that.  But what about the one country that has blown people up conventionally many times, and on at least two occasions, with nuclear weapons.

And now that the USA is under the control of a sleazy accumulation of spineless losers and lead by an amoral idiot, I would have to say the World should consider the USA the most dangerous country in the World.  Our track record warrants it.

Leaders throughout the World will always put their own self interests first.  In that pursuit, they will exploit every weakness they perceive another country has.  That is Geo -politics.

But every time one of our feckless leaders gets up on their high horse and preaches about how righteous the United States is, I want to retch.  Their self righteous ego inflating rhetoric would be amusing if the stakes were not so high.  And with nationalism currently riding a wave of popularity, dangerous consequences are a distinct possibility.

Fortunately over the years a set of rules, spoken and unspoken, have developed that keep the inter continental tussles to mostly battles of words, not weapons.  The one major consistent exception has been the USA.  But we only pick one fight at a time usually and we are well versed in the etiquette of browbeating diplomacy when we decide to use it.  No one can blow up the dress of a country like the USA can..

Now that the awesome and scary weaponry of the US is under the control of a mad man who thinks Canada burned the White House in 1812, the rest of the planet is right to worry.

Later ......................................

Image courtesy of Anselm Yew Art

Wednesday, June 06, 2018

Saving Us From Ourselves

Back in the 1990's when I was buying Internet time by the minute, I was so sure this new planet wide electronic community would save us from ourselves.

Hmm ...............................

I look around the electronic byways and highways now and wonder just what was I thinking or drinking that I did not see the cluster fuck that social media and the Internet has become.  Yeah, the World became smaller, communication between strangers more accessible, and in the perfect world, we'd all be sitting around the electronic camp fire singing cum-by-yah while we hold hands and smile mindlessly at one another as the melted chocolate from our Smores drips down our group chin.

But there's that "perfect world' scenario again, building up our hopes while the "Real World" works overtime to dash any chance of perfection being more than the passing fancy of a deluded or drugged out of their brain Internet visitor.

Trolls soon took over the ether and began gnaw at the fabric of civility and decency.  What we have now is so sad compared to what the possible could have been.  The Internet has given voice to people who would have been better allowed to continue to simmer in their ignorant pools of stupidity.

But now that the powers that run things have discovered how easy it is to get a lot of stupid people to believe any kind of shit the powers that be want to make up, I am thinking we are all lost. Or, if nothing else, completely off the rails for the foreseeable future.

The only way I can see to begin a healing process is to punish the group I hold most responsible for what we call a society here in the States.  While both the Right and the Left have both contributed to the stupidity affecting all of us, I hold the Right mostly responsible for the hate filled division that permeates our nation.  The Right has been quicker to make shit up, quicker to condemn, quicker to troll anything they feel did not originate on their side.  Hell, the basic model for the ACA was created by Republicans back during Clinton's presidency.  And now, they not only disown original authorship, they have convinced their drooling minions it was the Democrats who thought it up.

Anyway, I just spent more words than I wanted to to offer up some advice to any voter out there who is actually thinking about their vote and not just party line voting.  Consider showing the Republicans the door and kick every single one of them out on their ass.  From Dogcatchers to Presidents, vote for anyone except a Republican.  Vote Independent, Libertarian, Commie or the Horse Shoe Party  ....... Just vote for anyone other than a Republican.

Once we have them on the ropes, then we work on the Democrats.

Later ...............................................

Monday, June 04, 2018

Double Standards Too

A white college kid dies while pledging some fraternity in the South and the media gets all pumped up with outrage over how senseless it is and someone ought to do something.  Meanwhile in hoods throughout the nation black children die everyday by gun violence, not just once in awhile.

What does that tell us?  Some might think that white kids are not supposed to die and black kids, well that sucks, but what are you gonna do?  Read page 6 below the fold for more details.

I will admit to being a white guy who thinks he is not racist.  And in actuality as an individual, I really do not think I am.  But the culture and political system I exist in is racist and I am just now beginning to understand my part in it and how much of my life as a white guy has benefited.

I have no doubt the various minor brushes with the law I experienced when younger and nummer would have had different outcomes had I been a black.  I am sure some of those slaps on the wrist would have seen me in jail for some attitude adjustment had I been a brother.

I consider my white skin a lucky turn of fate.  And that is wrong on so many levels.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ......................................................

Sunday, June 03, 2018

Double Standards

 After setting the bar so low for themselves three years ago, the slack jawed Trump minions and their boy punk leaders are crying foul now that some on the opposition are sinking to the same depths.  I figure it is about a year and a half too late.  The cumulative IQ of the Trump mob dictates that taking the high road while they own the low road is an exercise in stupidity.  They have some balls even uttering the words "Double Standards".  Of course, I am now fairly certain that most Trumpoids don't know what it means to have a double standard.  Their poor excuse for a leader certainly doesn't seem to understand the concept.  But then he doesn't seem to understand much.

Regardless, I am feeling certain that no matter what, as long as we have idiots like the ones in the image living here in the States, Trump will have us all by our mutual short hairs.

Later ...................................................

Sunday, May 27, 2018

Long Weekend

Well, here we are celebrating another Memorial Day weekend.

This is the weekend that kicks off the summer season in the US. All the hub bub and stress of plans well laid months ago will play out this weekend. Planes will be full.  Highways will be full.  And if everything goes as planned, stomachs will be filled with food fresh off barbecues coast to coast.

Yes, another happy break from all the drudgery and everyday lives we all deal with most of the year.

Tomorrow, parades will break out.  Moms and Pops will corral their broods and line Main Streets  everywhere. They will watch high school bands and old men stuffed into old uniforms doing their best to walk upright. They will witness America celebrating remembering those who have given their lives in defense of our country.

In the meantime, Arlington Cemetery is running out of room.

Sunday, May 20, 2018

Mansions in Heaven

The Pew Warmer
For someone who scoffs at the notion there is actually a God who gives a shit about us and our petty lives, I sure think about religious stuff more often than one would think.  My feet are firmly planted on the maybe there is a God and maybe there is not fence. Why?  Well, this God has not introduced themself to me in person and basing my loyalty on faith is a crap shoot at best.

The Bible is the Lord's word written down by humans setting up a framework that neatly explains, excuses, and condemns every last one of us to the role of slack jawed minion to one of two masters.  I won't belabor the point, but I think organized religion is bullshit.  Done more damage over the ages than it has helped.

But that does not mean there is no Creator.

Regardless, the notion of Rapture has popped up it's silly head recently.  I checked my favorite Rapture website for the latest and well..................

Apparently, moving the US embassy to Jerusalem is another sign the End is just around the corner.

Add to that now we can expect China to invade the Middle East in our near futures with a 200 million man army, while Israel will ally itself with Russia to , well, I guess I am not really sure, but you can bet they are gonna whip someone's ass.

 Oh yeah, and Bill Gates is responsible for the latest Ebola outbreak in Africa.  This site has its fingers on the pulse of ........ hmm, not sure whose pulse or what pulse, or is it they just like to make shit up.  Anyway, the site is a hoot.

I spent some time on "Rapture Ready"  .  After all, it might behoove me to prepare myself some.  I won't need to bring clean underwear I guess.  All that will be provided when I step up to the allotment counter just inside Heaven's Gate.  That is where all Christians find out what neighborhood they will be living in.  The site's page, "Mansions in Heaven" set forth the type of home one can expect based on their level of piety and subservience to the Creator.

The Quitter's Mansion
Unfortunately I do not rate even the "Quitter's Mansion".  Apparently this is the heavenly home of those who  ......  was a believer in name only. Angels began to build him a mansion, but they stopped work when it was clear the client had no intention of fulfilling his commitment.

Sadly, based on the choices available to me and the time I have left to maybe get in God's good graces,  it looks like it will be a cardboard box under an overpass for me.  And that is if I am lucky.  Most likely scenario has me deported south of Heaven's border where Satan knows how to deal with heathens like me.

And I do believe in Satan.  I have not met him yet, but I have seen him on TV.  He has orange hair and is the greatest president in like forever.

Later ...........................................................

Friday, May 18, 2018

What is there to Say?

What is there to say?

When I have the urge to write lately, all I want to do is dislodge the lump of disgust I have caught in my craw regarding what my country is going through.  Venting my anger at least used to make me feel better, if only for a moment.  Now, I know that venting will only fire me up even more to the point that even a second doober won't bring back a smile.  Because of this, I have refrained from blogging.

It is not even about Trump anymore or the morally / ethically challenged Right and their spineless  ways.  I have grown used to the "fuck the country, we want what we want for us first bull shit" Right Wing policies and two faced rhetoric from so called conservative mouthpieces.

And to be fair, I am even more than a little disgusted with the Democrats.  Now is their chance to take away the message from the Right and they are sitting on their side of the aisle, wringing their hands  and mumbling among each other like a bevy of grandmas hard into a group quilting bee..  And in the meantime, the Right is still able to control the narrative. 

Yeah, seems gutless is the one recurring theme on both sides.

I had a conversation with a friend who is a registered Republican, but who is actually closer to a Bernie Democrat.  Hates Trump and most of the madness playing out on the Right.  He thinks the biggest problem is polarization.  Neither side willing to give an inch.  Yet, he feels the Democrats need to be more willing to compromise just to get the bipartisan train into gear.

I said, "Fuck that."

"Well, the Republicans do have the majority, ... uh maybe the Democrats should...."  His face told me he was reaching for any straw in sight.  " ...... aw, fuggit,  yeah fuggit."  My friend never said "fuck".  It was always "fug" and all the derivatives he could turn. 

Again I said, "Fuck that. ..... And fuck the Republicans. .........  Ever since Newt Gingrich and his "Contract with America" cronies in the 1990s, the party most likely to compromise has been the Democrats.  Maybe the Republicans need to step up and moderate or , here's an idea, drop their "my way or the highway" attitudes.  That the Right cannot get anything done is more about their inability to govern than anything the Democrats have done...............  The two of them have served this country poorly for years now."

As I filtered this conversation through my undependable memory banks, the answer for it all again stood out just as it always does.  Not just one answer but a multitude of answers that need to be recognized by the largest group in this shit fest. 

As long as the American Public prefers to walk around clueless to the manipulations carried out  to control them, we will always have sleazy leaders who have no morals or have no ethics other than their own self interest.  Our leaders are but reflections of ourselves.  ..........  We buy into the fear our favorite blowhards regurgitate instead of recognizing the real threat that is buying into over the top imagined worst case futures.  But it is easier to be afraid than show any composure at all.

Suck on that America, you bunch of chicken-shit apathetic hateful jerkwads.

Later ..........................................................

Monday, March 12, 2018

I Hate Vending Machines - Revisited

I hate vending machines. They are nothing but physical manifestations of the greed and wanton disrespect corporate America has for the consuming public. You have no choice as to what is offered and no complaint if what you picked does not come out. And then you have maybe an even chance of not receiving your money back. 

I have always hated these box like clerks who stand there woodenly, silent, with suspicious brightness and cheery demeanor. Their cover tempts us with visions of Palm Trees and bottles with droplets dripping seductively, giving the impression that once we have punched in the $1.25, 12ozs of thirst busting pleasure will envelop our taste buds. And what pops out, a warm coke that got dented on the way out and then explodes as you break the seal and raise it too your lips. There's your thirst busting pleasure fella. Right there in your face. Enjoy!

The above is an edited repeat of one of my first blog posts from 2004, which was my grand entrance into the World of Blogs and the wacky folk who live there.

I only bring it up now, because of a recent run in with yet another electronic vendor.  I put in my 2 bucks and watched the mechanical screw move the bottle to the drop box where any second now my mouth would be wallowing in expected sugary fizz.  ...................

Instead of dropping dutifully, that bottle rebelled and became hung up just behind the glass.  It mocked me as only a rebellious bottle of soda can. And no matter how I tried, my hand would not reach it. So close, yet so far.

My hatred of coin operated anything goes back to my childhood.  I learned early to never trust a box with pull handles or buttons.  They are a pox on our civilization.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ........................................

Sunday, March 11, 2018

Man in the Tree - Too

One of the positive takeaways from my Acid Days was learning to look past the first impression of an image and find those smaller images that lurk just beyond the outer surface.

It was mine and two others first trip in 1967.  We swallowed some microdot Strawberry Fields.  I sat and watched an ant hill for maybe a couple of hours.  Maybe more, Time takes a back seat when under the influence of LSD. I was so focused with my eyes but a couple of inches from the ground, the ants loomed large as they went about their scavenging.

In retrospective, that might give appearance I was just another drug befuddled and bewildered teenager with nary a whisper of a clue whatsoever.  I mean, who in their right mind would think watching an ant hill for a couple of hours was a normal activity.

Well Duh People, ...... I wasn't in my right mind.  I was tripping fer chrisakes.  My experiences on LSD became much wackier over time. LSD definitely twisted my normal take on the existence around me.

So anyway ......... those years tripping the light fantastic were not a complete waste.  I learned some patience and better appreciation of the beauty around me.  LSD always intensified every situation I was in, whether it be dancing in the pucker or cooling my heels in a local lock up.  Not always pleasant, but always interesting in retrospect. Each were experienced outside what would be considered my normal sanity center point.  Since I was convinced perception is the key ingredient needed for Reality to exist, then it was not me who was trippin, it was the World beyond my eyelashes that was.  ............... LSD only helped me see the world for what it really was ...............  Nothing but a Fig Newton of my imagination.

I derived the above image out of this rather pedestrian Kodak moment in my dooryard.  I snapped a picture of the weeping cherry that has graced the front of my house for the last 50 years.  It has been on Death's Door for at least the last 20 years.  Yet each year, it tosses out new growth.  I think it comes back every year because there is a creature living inside it just below its outer surface.

He has yet to introduce himself.

Later ................................................

Saturday, March 10, 2018

The Rock

A deliberate rock follows its predictable routine established so many eons ago.  Its groove in the Universe well worn by now.  From all appearances, a gentle chunk of rock doing what civil rocks do in this part of the heavens.

Yet, on its surface, an over crowded and chaotic population is doing what it can to destroy the Rock.  They scorch it here, dig at it there, and pave the rest so their machines running on the remains of long dead animals can make it from here to there and back.

Blind to the damage their active lifestyles have done, they throw another rack of ribs on the barbie, park their asses in a lounge chair and sip on drinks festooned with celery or the occasional umbrella.  They may light a big fat cigar or a huge blunt.  Sinking deep into that lawn chair, they will be satisfied with their place in space.  Life can't get any better, right?

Oh sure, many of the inhabitants are aware of their parasitic behavior.  Figuring what they have, will have, or might have won't make a difference in the big scheme. Let someone else sacrifice. Besides, chosen leaders have ensured them, there is nothing to fear about melting glaciers, rising seas, and those chemicals that have enslaved them.

Consuming is good for All their chosen honchos say.  Spinning the natural into permanent trash is how its done.  Facing any future bogeymen, well, we will face them when it is too late.  Okay?

Meantime, the Rock shrugs, travels its well established path and waits patiently for these assholes to die off.

Written while listening to Sprung Monkey.

Sunday, January 21, 2018


I have been straight out in the last week helping to write a minority report for the seven member Acton Commercial Marijuana Committee, forever to be known inside my brain and out as the ACMC.  It wasn't like the three of us were really out numbered.  But we were definitely out gunned. 

The handpicked chairman, a retired state legislator, comes off as a genial old man who encourages all viewpoints. It took me two meetings to realize this guy was a shark. He could twist the discussion in the direction he preferred.  His laid back demeanor hide the tightly wound unbending, not willing to change his mind no matter what, Republican mentality.

His partner in crime is a Price Waterhouse Coopers employee who has had 35 years in the trenches of big business acquisition.  He carries himself in a professional way, always speaking softly with just a slight bit of condescension. His original stated opinion was that he was open to commercial marijuana if it would make money for the town of Acton.  His true colors came out on the first meeting after our first conference call to some town in Colorado.  The other two folks holding up the majority have been barely involved, but have proven their haste in rubber stamping anything their big gun buddies want.

In the beginning, I was a lone voice tilting at this well constructed windmill.  It was apparent I was a novice.  I made many minor mistakes for which I was slapped down for.  But having grown up in the political bear pit that were family dinners in my youth, I stood up well and kept up my nuisance attacks.

This went on for a couple of months.  More conference calls and massive trolling of the Inter webs later, Mr. Price Waterhouse released his first draft of our report, a report I was supposed to fall in line with like a good little soldier.  I began my usual resistance when suddenly the two members who had been usually quiet jumped all over that report.  I was smart enough to let them go for it.  In less than ten minutes, the normally calm Chairman had lost his composure and was pounding on the table, "We have to ban marijuana.  We have to ban marijuana."  I looked to my left and what I saw made my day.  The big guns were sporting bulging eyes and red faces. 

That was when I knew some power had exchanged hands.  Since then, the three of us have turned that report from one with a serious bias to one that is closer to the objective report we thought we were tasked with coming up with.

It has been a real education. ....................................

Saturday, January 13, 2018

Its Official I Guess

Okay ........ Hmm ....... So I guess I cannot say I am not retired anymore.  A year without a paycheck is either being out of work or retirement. I have had no interest in pursuing gainful employment since my bike shop sold, and saying "unemployed" offers a promise that I might be looking for work.  I certainly do not want to give the wrong impression. So "retired" it is.

So what have I done to fill my days for the last year?  While some nagging honey do chores have been addressed, the additions to the list I made a year ago with the best of intentions, created an even longer list.  The list will never be broken.  I need to come to terms with this and be grateful I have so much more to avoid than I used to.

One of my regular blog visitors, Pipe Tobacco, commented in my last post about Trump. He was surprised I hadn't focused my attention and ire more on our fearless leader.   Well, I guess it is a case of being over exposed to the asshole.  I can't watch or listen to a broadcast without Dimwit in Chief being thrown in my face.  Frankly I am tired of him, tired of the Republicans, tired the spineless whiners on the Left, and absolutely have had it with the media enabling all those assholes.

I am just fucking fed up with the noise.

Instead of bitching about his Royal Highness, I decided to throw my energy in a new direction - Local Politics.

If you do not want to be frustrated and bored at the same time, don't just go to weekly selectman meetings or committee meetings.  What you need to do is join a committee.  Do that and you can be frustrated, bored, and occasionally pissed off.

I joined the newly formed marijuana committee set up last September.  Seven members tasked with providing information to the selectmen and citizens regarding the commercial and retail side of legal marijuana in town.  Myself and two others represent the Pot smokers and the rest want to bring back the 1950's.  It has been a very contentious experience.  Tempers have flared, feelings hurt, and you know what?  I fucking love it.

Keep it 'tween the ditches .........................................

New Flash Fiction over to BoZone Too

Saturday, January 06, 2018

Being, Like, Really Smart

...... Actually, throughout my life, my two greatest assets have been mental stability and being, like, really smart. Crooked Hillary Clinton also played these cards very hard, as everyone knows, went down in flames.  I went from VERY successful businessman, to top TV Star. .......

I have up to this moment, been able to resist commenting on the latest dumb ass tweet from the Donald.  There have been so many pointing out his inadequacies so far, why now do I bring it up? Maybe I have had it up to here, or I just couldn't resist the irony of this particular tweet. ........ If he wasn't so dangerous, I might enjoy this clown's buffoonery.

Keep it 'tween the ditches .....................................