Saturday, May 19, 2018



May 2018

Oh, twiddle-dee-twat. Some third generation droppings from Oswald Mosley is wedding his childhood pederast fantasy while looming in the saddle, looking for all the world as if he wants to say to his bride, "Oh, rather, dear. Dont me whiskers make you want to ride the pogo stick of joy?" To which she replies, "'Ow mooch ya reckon we could geet for this horse?"

Give or take accessibility to weapons, is it possible that the pressures on students these days are too much for some folks to handle? In my day, you just spiked the aggressor's coffee or punched him out and would probably be friends with the dude by day's end. I was reading an FBI report from 2001 recently and that report claimed that 25% of all high school students fit the profile for potential school shooters (disaffected 17 year old white males with behavioral issues, lousy home lives, etc). Statistics in this regard are kind of pointless, I suppose. But what is not pointless is that this problem is not going away. I was talking with a guy attending a high-end college prep academy this week and he went on about not having any friends here and how snotty everyone was. All I could think to tell him was that nothing that happens in high school will matter a year after graduation, that he should just try to ride it out, which was pretty lame on my part. But damned if I have any answers.

I live in the city, where cars zoom and roar all the time, where buildings go up and roads get crumpled and all that jazz. But every morning a bunch of birds sing in the tree right outside my front door. Every morning Cody sticks his wet nose against my back. Lolo mews/meows for food. Gilligan and Blue bang on their cages. The urn on the mantle stares back at me. I smile and a new day flickers into life. Good morning, y'all!

In this ahistorical land of idiocy, certain words no longer have any meaning at all. Such words include "deposit," "sports bar" and "loft." A deposit, by definition, is something you get back minus any damages that are your fault. You will never ever get back a deposit so forget it and dont call it that. Call it a "moving in penalty." There is likewise no such thing as a sports bar. Your bar has alcohol, at least one patron who likes sports and at least one TV. All bars have these things and no argument. Therefore, all bars are sports bars. As to "loft," this used to mean an elevated apartment with open space and few walls. Today it means an apartment, probably one that used to be used to shoot heroin before the slumlords realized that most people will believe anything and just get all oozy inside when they hear the word "loft." If you have a root cellar, call it a loft and rent it to junkies for $1350 per month. Tack on a deposit. Tell the renters it used to be a sports bar.

I'd like to say thank you to Corporate America for quickly devolving into a gangster class similar to that of the 1920s. We already have the New Warren Harding in office. We have men in Italian suits strutting and flexing. We have a Hearst-like media empire that sensationalizes the corruption while pretending to condemn it. We have an economy based on illegal drug use (rather than alcohol). We have a massive chunk of wealth possessed by a vicious elite. And we have a glaringly vacuous social culture. I thank you today because--having seen this movie before--we know that your days are winding down.

Along with the rest of the universe, I have no idea who Bethany Kennedy is and her manifest insignificance on this oblivious planet would not concern anyone were it not for her inclinations towards censorship. She has reported a post I made on Nextdoor and wishes to have it removed. You see, I chased away a guy who was looking to break in to a neighbor's house and thought it might be wise to alert the neighborhood on Nextdoor. In the course of describing the culprit, I referred to him as "mulatto" because I have always felt stupid saying "Swirly." Ms Kennedy argued that my use of the word was racist. She is wrong. Just because some people choose to interpret the word incorrectly does not make the word a bad one. I could have said "A man who is the obvious result of generational miscegenation" but that would have been an unnecessary distraction in a post about a possible break-in. I could have said "a light-skinned black," but that might have been inaccurate. I could have said "A man of color influenced by Indo-European imperialism" but I would not have known what that meant. So I said "mulatto." Nextdoor is now reviewing the post at Bethany Kennedy's request to see if it violates their terms of service, which I assure you I have never read and never shall. I have my own terms of service which include trying to protect the people of this neighborhood from unwanted intrusions from the money-grubbing industrialists as well as the homeless drug addicts, both of which groups prey on a struggling inner city population. So Bethany Kennedy may drop her panties and piss on that if she likes. In the long run, no one will remember her for being anything but an idiot. BTW, here is the top definition from the Urban Dictionary: Nick for a person of mixed heritage..namely of black and white...can be construed as a racist term but its not nearly as racist as the insecure fuckheads who try to force people of mixed heritage to identify as one or the other...as if our society is really that "black and white", so to speak.

Several people took me to task for my recent comments about the local walkout. The tasking took the form of unfriending and the occasional PM calling me, among other things, a counter-revolutionary tool of the elites and a Trotsky-ite pig. Hey, I was impressed they even knew who Trotsky was, so I couldnt take that much offense. Here is my point. This is Facebook, the least reliable of all social media, upon which I voiced some contradictory opinions in the least constructive manner imaginable. While I am pleased that anyone would value my opinions enough to become upset by them, I am nonetheless concerned that anyone took my remarks with that much seriousness. I say this with no humility, I assure you. I am writing now to urge each of you to please for God's sake remember what a wise man (probably the Philharmonic Orchestra) once said: The medium is the message. Nothing that happens on Facebook is inherently real. It might be accurate, it might be baloney. But under no circumstance should you assume that it de facto reflects reality no matter who is posting.
To come to the point, at long last: I believed then as I do now that the recent teacher walk-out lacked many factors of a legitimate job action. I further implied that many of my youthful experiences with educators left me dissatisfied. So what? Who cares what a disgruntled oldster says about such things on FB? If anyone believes I have been unnerved by the messages I received, I will quote Bugs Bunny: "They dont know me too well, do they?"

I didnt have much use for babysitter/thought police (teachers) when I was a kid and nothing much has changed. Here are the reasons you will lose, even if you think you win.
1. No integrity: Blocking people's driveways, parking in small business parking lots so real customers can't, throwing your trash in people's yards? Fuck you.
2. No guts: You wont call it a strike because you might get in trouble? You are supposed to be teachers. Read a history book. Better people than you struck for their rights. But those people had dignity, which brings me to point #3.
3. No fashion sense:Your shirts are ugly and honking a horn is not political commitment.You think this action is about being seen. Put down your fucking phone for five seconds (that's called alliteration) and do some looking of your own.
4. No brains: One of your group called me an idiot yesterday because I suggested you go to the governor's house instead of the capitol. Hey, teach! Read a book instead of twitter.

April 2018

Tale from the Crib: Walking Cody in greenbelt I spied a woman minutes ago pleasuring a man in an oral capacity. Not wanting Cody to ask me about it, I hurried him inside and called the police dispatcher. With some delicacy, I explained the woman was fellating the man. "She's hitting him?" No, she is fellating him. "I dont understand." OK, I said, she is polishing his knob, sharpening his pencil, ensuring a happy ending, kissing his crotch, using her head without a license--in short, she is giving him a blow job! "Oh! I see. Can I get a description?" Yes, she is the one with the head bobbing and he is the one lying on his back! "We'll send an officer right out."

The next time you order something from Amazon, you should talk to someone who packs the boxes. She will tell you how she worries about keeping up with the pace, how her back hurts, how bored she is. The next time you order a venti sugar-free non-fat vanilla soy double shot decaf no foam extra hot Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha with light whip and extra syrup from Starbucks, take a second to ask yourself what kind of shit that guy has put up with today so you can feel superior. The next time you fast forward through movie credits so you dont have to be bothered acknowledging the craftspeople who worked their brains out so you could yuk it up at some moronic romantic comedy (then bitch about the cost of the popcorn), dont forget to fuck yourself. Some day the people you delight in ignoring may find your middle class lifestyle vaguely offensive and take it from you without permission. Or you could try to be a human being, if it's not too much trouble. These people are some of my friends and they are smarter and one hell of a lot nicer than I am (most people are, of course). All I am asking is that you consider the real, often hidden cost of CheapFastEasy.

Tomorrow morning I shall be happy to take the idiot urban bicycle someone left in my yard and hurl it through the window of the nearest Dutch Bros coffee shop while screaming the word "Diversity" with rich sarcasm. Anything that claims to make your life easier is messing with you. Life is not easy. Life is crawling naked up a saguaro cactus in a hail storm with bombs going off all around you. It may be interesting, but it is never easy, except for idiots who make bikes to be left in my yard, which, as I say, is a matter I will make "not easy" for some poor schlep first thing in the morning.

March 2018

Here is a lesson in safe logic. I picked up a young woman at a Safeway today. She was going less than one-tenth mile and had no groceries. Because I had driven 20 minutes to reach her, I was a bit curious. Then I saw she was going to the Planned Parenthood offices and I noticed this because of the protesters outside the office. I said to the woman, "You wanted a bodyguard, didn't you?" She didnt say anything, but she did try to smile. So I opened the car door for her and was escorting her to the front door when some young guy with pamphlets tried to talk to her. I put myself between them and when he kept talking at her I popped him in the nose. No serious damage was done but the woman was able to get into the building without further harassment.

Here is my point: The rights of the demonstrators dont mean shit to me. Laws passed by elitist thugs mean even less. If you think this woman deserved to be hassled by total strangers while she was getting information (or whatever) about a very hard decision (again, she was ALONE), then we cannot be friends any more. We have no rights that we are not prepared to defend. Her right to control her own reproductive system outweighs the indefensible rights of a bunch of anti-social sanctimonious hypocrites who want her to birth a child they themselves will later resent.

So pacifism took a holiday this morning. Now, to be fair and to avoid looking like too much of a do-gooder myself, the guy I punched was a puny little runt and his nose bleed stopped before I even got back in the car. But it did feel satisfying to place the needs of one of society's less fortunate members over the "rights" of people unable to mind their own damned business.

Judas H Priest, what a day. You want a fun-filled story? Here it comes. Took some poor bastard from uptown America all the way to Gilbert this aft. Silly fool kept making suggestions which riled me a bit (take this route, turn down the A/C, gimme HOV, etc), but I didn't press the EJECT button. We arrive at his Gilbert home and as he is getting out, a graying biker roars up and gets nose to nose with my guy. I so hate helping people I dont like, but I did tell Biker Man to back off. Son of a bitch! He got back on his wheels and amscrayed outta there. Musta been part of a sissy club. Then! Then! Then! Feeling like a hot shot mofo myself, I started blaring the J Geils version of the song "Land of 1,000 Dances" at max vol and while at a red light I was shouting right along with it when this Gilbert cop pulls up beside me and tells me that this is Gilbert and to turn it down. So I turned it down so he could hear me do my best Brando impression and I said (from "Mutiny on the Bounty") "Go home and pray to whatever pig you pray to!" The light changed, he was committed to a left turn and I got the hell out of there. Why am I not in jail? Why have I not been locked away? Clearly, someone is not paying heed to my dirty deeds--done dirt cheap.

After my evening meal of grapefruit with a side of blueberry yogurt, I was ready to listen to Cody's oral presentation of his book report (the book was Why I Love Cats by Professor Herman Meow), when my dog stopped in the middle of it all and made such a keen observation that I must share it with all of you. Cody said, "You are pushing sixty, Master. Has it occurred to you that from this point forward, your life is analogous to riding a bicycle backwards? There is always the chance that you might get to where you are going, but you are more likely than not to go flying ass over tea kettle, you bloody wretched human."
I pondered this a moment and finally sent the cur to bed with the admonition that if I caught him staring at the cat pictures with a flashlight under his blanket that I would set fire to the book. He snarled contemptuously and exited the room, leaving me to dwell on his bicycle theory.
I may have reached the point where I am riding backwards on a metaphoric two-wheeler with an eye more on where I have been than on where I am going. But I am still moving forward, even if I have my back facing it.

Dec 2015

I suspect that very good music can save your soul in ways that neither politics nor religion can do. For me, it's rock n roll. For you perhaps it's some mutation of acoustic hip hop electronica bong blowing. It doesn't matter. If the songs are played with passion, abandon and maybe a minor amount of skill (the least important ingredient), then you can be liberated from the tortures of banality, duplicity, betrayal and apathy.

We had a very unpleasant girl fight in the neighbs this evening. Four girls beating on one girl, the whole scene ugly and stupid. Many calls to 911 brought the popos while Lisa Ann and some other neighbors broke it up, likely saving the victim's life. Very proud of Lisa Ann Goodrich Terzo. I went chasing after two of the girls and one of them turned to me and said, "You want some too?" Fourteen year old girl! I could hardly believe it. Cars stopped along the road so people could watch. The cops body slammed the girl who asked me that, cuffed her and threw her in the cop mobile. What a repulsive incident.

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