Tale Of The Tapes (Fly on the wall tells all)


I…Sticky Lips Sink Ships

I swear sometimes its like they don’t even know I exist. Well that’s fine with me because my Dad always told me its better to keep your mandibles shut and be considered a fool than to make some buzzing noise and remove all doubt. Besides, with those new fangled fly swatters and bug zappers my species has been taking a huge hit in the census reports. I prefer to just sit on the wall and quietly listen to these humans ramble on about all their petty nonsense. Interesting surroundings here I must say, much too clean for this flies taste with not even a crumb or juice spill for me nibble on, but I am in The White House and this is The Oval Office so its only a matter of time until I come across a big pile of bullshit.
I’m not exactly sure how I ended up being a fly on the wall in the Oval Office but the last thing I do remember was sleeping at a bar in a hotel nice and warm all snug in the hidden hairs region of a women that picked me up in a bar. Destiny was her name and my destiny was to find a comfy place to sleep in her warm vulvic pubic bed. I had just flown in from Boston and boy were my wings tired! Destiny had been drinking when some dude started hitting on her. “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing alone in a bar like this?” Phhhhtt. Real original! I started dozing off because I had a feeling this clown wasn’t getting anywhere with my soft hair snuggle mattress . He said his name was George and he claimed he was a powerful man in DC. Oh yea, and a Scorpio. I fell asleep when he started asking Destiny what her sign was assuming Georgie boy wasn’t getting any honey tonight, at least not from Destiny. I got the feeling the asshole was married and Destiny would no doubt pick up on that too so I felt safe and sound curled up in her warm curlies. But great God Brundle-fly was I ever wrong. I never woke up from any of the tussling and troddling but damn if when I finally did wake up if I didn’t find myself here in the Oval Office stuck not in destiny’s coochie cot but in a thick and sticky mustache belonging to George, who it turns out is better known in Washington circles as G. Gordon Liddy.
G. Gordon was a real son of a bitch, even by fly standards. Let me just say that I had no trouble throwing up on his smelly-ass liprug to dissolve some of Destiny’s leftover love juice for my breakfast. He makes puking easy. Apparently he was some kind of bigwig in the FBI and has been screwing people over for a living for some time. He was a personal friend of the other asshole in the office, Richard Nixon. Well listen to my tale as I play the taped conversation and you’ll get what I mean.
“George, did you read what those Godless bastards at the Times wrote about me last night?” George started rubbing his lip which is what caused me to relocate to the west wall. “Dick, I’m telling you, some sonava bitch is leaking stories to those damn reporters and they want to print whatever they can to discredit The Whitehouse. What you need is an experienced, um, plumber, a plumber like me to find the leaks and eliminate them.” Nixon was clearly angry and interested, “Your right George, those pricks are out to destroy me, to take me down. Every chance they get The post, The Times, those pricks Severid and Reasoner, they’re all trying to screw Richard Nixon. Let me tell you George Richard Nixon will not be taken down by some liberal atheist commie shithead. What’d you have in mind?” George shuffled a little as Richard stared out the window. “Look, I have a source who tells me the Pentagon Papers were released by someone working for General McNamara. I have a name. The sonova bitch copied classified files and now wants to leak them for his own agenda. There’s something I want to try. This asshole goes to a psychiatrist and I’m going to liberate the files of this ratfink bastard from the shrinks office for proof. Then we’ll nail his communist ass to the fucking wall! No one will believe a word he says. Listen, I know a few guys from the organization I can still trust, and with me as their chief I’ll find him and any other scumbag commie leaker and get rid of them all. You’ll never be implicated in anything, It’ll be my operation and I’ll run it. Of course I’ll keep you informed but this will give you plausible deniability.” Nixon smiled, “Plausible deniability? I love it George, okay lets go with that. You head up my group, the Whitehouse plumbers.” George was one of those control freaks who need to assert his dominance and replied, “Operation Odessa Mr. President, in here we can be called the plumbers but officially we’re Odessa, part of the Committee To Reelect the President. I’m gonna get my guys together and I’ll report to you in two days. I already have my lead and he’ll be the first sonava bitch to go.” Nixon shook Georges hand and said, “No names George, not yet. These prick liberals are trying to ruin me, ya know? They want to bring own America, become commies and make it normal for our kids to be homos. I don’t think they even believe in God. You bring me some results and I’ll make sure you get rewarded.” George shook Dicks hand, “My reward will be serving you Mr. President, just leave things to me. I have the way to deal with the unpatriotic hippies. I’ll get rid of all your problems Dick.” George left and Dick opened a drawer of his desk picked up a microphone and softly spoke, “G. Gordon Liddy and President Richard Milhous Nixon, June 18th 1971.” and closed the drawer. Hmmm, odd these humans, they seem to secretly tape record conversations. I wonder why?
To Be Continued

How To Start A Universe


(A guide to cosmic gardening)


Where should I begin? In the beginning God created the heaven and earth? I think that one is taken but why are we here? Some say in the beginning there was a vast empty space, a nothing vacuum in nowhere until a bunch of atoms spontaneously appeared and took to flying around everywhere (or nowhere depending on your view) when suddenly two overly aggressive atoms collided causing a huge explosion. Spontaneous combustion. The Big Bang! Yea, right! First nothing and nowhere then all of a sudden a Universe so huge it has no end. Wait, hold on, even better, first there was nothing and then the one and only god created shit to keep him from being bored. Spent six days building it then chilled for a few million years. A massive universe with one teeny weenie little speck where he created the supreme lifeforce, human beings that looked just like him, to rule over everything. First nothing then one man, one women, an apple and a snake. Now that’s even funnier! As a matter of fact both of these stories are a source of great humor and hilarity and the butt of many jokes at The Board of Co-operative Gods and Goddesses out in District seven. At any decent cosmic cocktail party you’ll hear no less than a hundred jokes about various theories of how life came to be in any of the life gardens but the Earth stories are by far the most numerous. The “monkey trials” keep gods and goddesses laughing for hours on end at inter-galactic get togethers. There’s not a god worth his sodium chloride that hasn’t heard of Darwin, Moses, Jesus, Mohamed, Elijah. Or the Talmud, Koran, The Bible or even The Upanishads. Stories of a pure evil horned devil with blood dripping from its hands and fear bolts being shot from its eyes keep them rolling in the anti-matter with tears of laughter. Satan, Lucifer, Serpent of Evil, Beelzebub, so many knee slapping names for the antichrist. Oh yes, the earthlings grown by Cosmo are a source of great amusement to all the gods. All the gods? Am I saying there really are many gods? Does a pope defecate in the woods? Is a Polar Bear catholic? Can white bears jump? Of course there are many gods, and many galaxies supporting forms of life. Did you really think you were the only living beings in the entire universe? Jeez, and I thought Wookies were dumb. Well sit back you Vader naysayer and let me tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Well maybe a fabrication or two along the way because YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!
In the beginning, Once upon a time, at the outset, none of these phrases apply because life is a cycle with no beginning and no end. There has just always been many gods and goddesses with varying responsibilities. Gods an goddesses perform certain tasks or serve a particular purpose. Some create wind and motion to make global gardens spin, some enforce the law of gravity, some create laws of physics to apply differently in different area‘s, and the brightest gods ponder deeply the laws of the universe and how they should be applied. These are the most intelligent gods and goddesses and they held court to make decisions about everything. It is still known today as The Board of Co-operative Gods and Goddesses. (BOCGG) They made the decisions that effected the farmer gods who were expected to grow and experiment with the various galaxies across the universe. Each galaxy was tended to by its own god. There was great and clever Simon in the Tolkien Galaxy, Mychrighton in the Andromeda Strain Galaxy, The red haired beauty Lucille who watched over the Bobaloo Galaxy, Luke-ass who presided over The infamous Jedi Galaxy that was far far away, and so on. Here in our Milky Way galaxy, the farmer was and is the god Cosmo. Such a good farmer is Cosmo that they named the entirety of space after him. The vast space of the universe came to be known as “The Cosmos”. Travel was known as Cosmic travel, knowledge as cosmic knowledge and any left out odds and ends in space became known as Cosmic debris. Hey there brother, I’m not jiving you bout that Cosmic debris! Cosmo is indeed an accomplished cosmic gardener, in fact he is somewhat of a legend among the other gods. In Solar system 728KJ he had cultivated nine grooving spinning garden orbs he called planets. From the tiny and excruciatingly hot mercury, to the equally tiny but totally frozen Neptune he tended to all nine magnificently. Like the giant Jupiter (which for some reason had red eye in all the family photo’s) with an assortment of moons, and the ill advised named Uranus (No need to tell you the jokes at The District with this one) . He put some cool looking bangle bracelets around the lovely and mysterious Saturn, and named two of the planets after his own Mom and Dad. The entire universe was touched at the naming of Venus and Mars. Yes Cosmo had really taken pride in that particular solar system. But his pride and joy and claim to fame is most assuredly for his work done on one particular planet, known throughout cosmos as garden earth. Garden earth is a rather insignificant looking planet in solar system 728KJ. It is the third planet from Sun 728, and has the benefit of the perfect amount of sunshine. Earth also has a considerable amount of water on it which is the other essential ingredient in growing things. Sun and Water in abundance makes for a smashing garden. Cosmo wants to make planet earth, in solar system 728KJ the most prolific and successful garden in all the universe. With a vast ocean to create clouds which would in turn drop water back into the garden a system of synergetic energy is created. Cosmic irrigation! Garden earth is a thriving ever-growing populace world. A wide variety of vegetation and many roaming creatures inhabit the garden.
But what you see on garden earth today is not how it was at the beginning so put on your seat belt as we travel back in time to see how this all came to be The Planet Earth. Catastrophic is the best way to describe his first attempt. Maybe he wasn’t mature enough or maybe like a fool he just rushed in but either way it’s a story that is told and retold as far away as Gabor40904 which is about eight billion gazillion gamma light years away. To you that would be a mere two point five septillion miles give or take. At any rate here is what happened in Cosmo’s first attempt.

Out Of The Blue And Into The Black, Corporate Greed Rears Its Ugly Head


Corporations are people, my friend. It was good for a laugh, a talking point that assisted in the self destruction of a campaign but was Romney really wrong. Maybe not. In a somewhat esoteric sense today Corporations have evolved much the same as animals and people. Maybe Romney had something, perhaps corporations do possess life. Matter of fact its my belief that corporations are the new black. Black plague that is, and it has become a growing entity. In CDC terms corporate greed would be classified as an emerging parasitic pathogen, an organism that can only thrive existing off a host, and that host is us. A pathogen is defined as a living organism that can cause disease and there is little doubt that the current financial state of America has become infected with disease caused by greed but what is in dispute is if big business is truly a living entity.
While they may not be living and breathing like humans or animals they have evolved much the same way as bacterial life forms. Business didn’t start out as a living entity, in fact to the best of my knowledge it’s the only non biological entity to undergo such a fascinating evolution, but make no mistake corporations are alive and they are dangerous. They will continue to grow and feed off of consumers while devouring smaller businesses until they rule the world, using a handful of corporate executives to carry out the genocide of humanity.
I can dig it, that sounded like the delusions of a hippie freak who did one too many tabs, or lost his way and joined a conspiracy theory cult, or maybe is still doing drugs and talking through his paranoid freaked out ass. But I’m not talking about some amoeba growing in a lab or some Steve McQueen Blob sort of entity but ya gotta admit corporations are becoming huge and eating up everything in sight. Giant Depots have all but annihilated the local hardware stores, small drug stores struggle to compete with huge corporations for their little slice of the business market pie. Even supermarkets have small pharmacies. And those food grocers better watch out before they fall victims to a bulls eye or a mart of Walls that’s attempting to make our lives a one stop shop extravaganza. Pick up whatever home improvements you need, clothes for the kids, your entertainment needs and even your weekly groceries in one living breathing pathogen. You can even grab some fresh made pizza on the way out.
Mom and Pop stores are disintegrating, even small restaurants are prey to companies that are so focused on profits they never even notice those they destroy in the process. Its not enough to have a successful business anymore, if a small company makes a unique product the big companies will have a cheaper version of it hours after they hear about it. There are over forty people who have more than one billion dollars that didn’t even make Forbes top 400 richest! So if companies profits are stretching into the billions where the hell is all the money going? You’ll never know because the way many people get rich is by finding ways to hide the rich peoples wealth and avoid paying taxes. They scream about giving handouts to the poor and want welfare recipients to take drug and alcohol tests. Maybe not such a bad idea, if the rich are also forced to take blood tests to get tax breaks. Why should they get the benefit of not paying tax dollars if they end up blowing it on designer drugs or over priced premium alcohol?
The gap between rich and poor has become way too wide because greed has gone corporate. Profits over people and if the laws prevent them from making more money then they’ll be able to spend in three lifetimes they can just buy the laws, the lawmakers, and the law enforcers. But sooner or later that system will implode leaving only rich who can afford their products and that’s when corporations will rise from Wall Street and humans will become the next dinosaurs. Destroyed by an asteroid of capitalism driven by executives that lost their way and chose power over life. IDK, maybe I did one too many joints watching the Twilight Zone but I’m afraid the new book called “How Your Business Can Best Serve Man” is really a cookbook!

Punny You Should Say That (An Owed To Joy)


I heard someone say that puns are the slowest form of humor yet it takes a remarkably quick wit. Actually I think I may have heard slowest wrong but after being stalked by corny jokes for so long my ears hear colonel when its really kernel. I get it, they really said it’s the lowest form of humor but I’m still in limbo as to how low to set that bar. At any rate, puns are a play on words that can make a kid kid another kid or make a grown man groan so I want to pay my respect. I normally write in my boxers but I’ll try to keep this in brief.
When I was all of six years old I discovered the power of a pun. We had a gas station named Citgo and one day in the car, with Dad driving, Mom in the front, my little sister between them in babyseat and me squished in between my four older brothers and I made a bold statement. I said “Hmmm, Citgo, where you can sit and go.” Meaning getting gas I raised my arms to pantomime driving. Apparently my driving imitation looked more like someone moving their bowels and the family roared with laughter. That’s when I realized I could use English language to get noticed by pretending to have irritable vowel syndrome if I really pumped up the the puns I could keep them giggling consonantly. I had discovered the lowest form of humor and it lifted me up.
If puns are low its because they are the foundation of clever of humor. They’re black and white and read all over, they’re the reason the chicken crossed the road having its intentions come into question, It’s why it takes three pole dancers to erect a light bulb, and the basis of the omnipresent schoolyard knock knock jokes. All great comedians are pun practioners and are adept at sailing double entendres at triple warped mind speed leaving us land lubbers rolling in the Isles. Whether it’s a three act play on words, a homophone, which as it turns out is not a gay cellular device, or just a simple unmarried Miss direction puns take sharp and fast tongues to verbalize a stream of consciousness quick as a lick. Many punsters, myself included become almost obsessed, trying to twist everything they hear. Someone introduces me to Isabelle and I hear is a bell and feel combelled to chime in with a ringing endorsement about jingle jangling word association. A Pavlonian response that has me salivating at the a peal of making someone smile. If there is a low form of puns it cums from the perverse endless sexual innuendo punster. Those who chuckle and plan at the mention of such easy target words like woody, erect, hole, or the mention of Master Bates. It’s a favorite of that uncle who continues to play pull my finger well past its age appropriateness. For me sexual in your endo jokes are just too easy, like your mom was last night. But it will always have a place in punditry because like splinter religions, sects sells. A truly great pun takes an extraordinary amount of cleverness and thought using one ability to instantly see verbal connections where others see mere words and plugging the pun in before it sinks in. Great puns are like hand grenades because you pull the pin and wait for it to blow up. That’s why I pay homage. That and the fact that I still owe Homage a lot of money. I’m a self proclaimed lover of all things punny. Puns are a part of everyone’s daily life these days and no news story is complete without slinging some puntastic zingers.. Here’s a somewhat exaggerated example:
This just in from Know News is Good noose:
A cereal killer is believed on the loose in General Mills campgrounds and campers experiencing in tents fear. Police canvassing their tented community in search of the frosted wheat whacker who is making the campers snap, crackle, and pop. They believe the perp is Cuckoo for Cocoa puffs so The Cap’n is putting the crunch on by running background Chex on all adults using hare brained tricks because every bunny knows that Trix are for kids….

But news stations really do use puns to make their point as in headlines such as “Chickens Cry Fowl” or “Locksmith Plays Key Roll In Bakery Break In.” Another area often engaging in punnery is just about every TV show and movie ever made. The best bantering between actors are scripted with artistic puns. It takes an artist to draw laughs from sketches. Without puns the artist draws a blank but looking around in a room packed with punsters the artist can draw a crowd. So much for a low form, it takes a highly evolved mind to come up with such clever comedy. Dimwitted humor pales in comparison. Slap stick falls flat, bathroom humor smells, and I suck at self deprecation. Sarcasm can be a little bitter, but not much better.

Today puns are significantly more evolved than the early days. I grew up with lines like “Take my wife. Please!” or “I just flew in from Baltimore and boy are my arms tired.” Today it takes much deeper thought because once jokes are use they become less funny. Ten years ago we had Bob Hope, Johnny Cash, Eddie Money, and Steve Jobs, and today all we have this worn out and tired old joke format. Take my wife is now I married Miss right, but I didn’t know at the time her first name was always, and flying in from Baltimore gets morphed to I can’t leave because I was on the third floor of the airport with someone else’s stuff and came down with something. There are a lot of people in the airport so I hope its not terminal or the only thing flying out of here will be rumors. Anyway, IMHO, like rock and roll the puns colors are true so punnery will never dye.
Thanks for taking the time to read this pun praising piece. This thoroughly enjoyable (for me) excursion was inspired by a high school English teacher of mine whom I have had the fortune of reconnecting with on social media. Professor Jim Zeitler shares my profound love of the English Language and our abilities to twist, invert, dissect, misdirect, turn inside out or upside down the words that make up our language to make others smile, laugh, or most important, to think. Jim sent me a book by John Pollack called “The Pun Also Rises” which delves into the history of puns and its impressive how deep and rich the history of witty wordplay is and how long it has been an art form. I dedicate this post to him because while my high school daze are way behind me his dedication to instructing and constructing minds is still going strong and I assume he will forever teach many of us new things. He has once again taught me things dispelling the age old cliché “You can’t teach and old dog new tricks.” And trust me, this old hound dog learned things he can sink his canines in and I’m not peeling the bark off the wrong tree. Okay no more, I’ll stop, I’m bushed anyway! Thank you Jim Zeitler, your wit an wisdom continues to reach out and inspire minds both young and old. … PEACE

Arch Of knowledge


I recently baked an array of cupcakes for a wedding, in which one of the husbands to be is a writer and the other an avid reader. The mother of one of the lucky couple built this arch for them for their ceremony made out of books from the family bookcase, something that if done many years from now may well be an arch made from kindles and Nooks. But it’s a marvelous statement on reading and writing and hopefully will serve as an inspiration for authors to continue their quests to reach out and express. I love this arch because like our lives, it more stories than the Empire State Building. I truly hope their stories for the future are filled with happiness and wonder. Reading is FUNdamental Write on!!!!!

Be a good Girl an Shake your Pom Poms, leave the real games to the boys

Girls soccer team, the Lumberton Wildcats, playing soccer

No Athletic supporters for girls

A sure sign of autumn is a field of young aspiring athletes in full football gear banging helmets and shoulder pads, while being protected by shin pads and that ever present gonad guarder the jockstrap, or as its referred to in mixed company, the athletic supporter. The boys need to protect the area that houses the swimming team of aspiring sperm cells hoping to be the future generation. So on with the sumo wrestler looking undergarment with that little cup offering assurance that if they play their cards right, someday they will be watching their own little boys wearing a protective supporter. But that’s not the support the boys get that is so overwhelming to me, it’s the support of the Moms and Dads, brothers and sisters that make a social event out of football practice. Lawn chairs, camera’s on tripods, and cheering families are in full force at the sport field in my area. The young lads perform admirably for their audience who are yelling and cheering, running up to get snacks at the concessions stand, and exhibiting their support for the boys. And that was just a practice! I witnessed this as I attempted to take my daily walk with my wife around the track that circles the fields.
The time comes in life when you decide its time to take your health serious, and I am hoping its not too little too late, but eating right and exercise have become more of a priority. When weather permits we go to a track a block and a half away which until recently was used by softball teams with a modicum of supporting casts. A beautiful new track that encircles a huge field, enough for two baseball games or a football and soccer game simultaneously. The track is about one third a mile so six spins gives us a two mile trek an great workout. Every once in a while we need to pass some slower people, or get passed by runners, and occasionally a child watching the game gets in the way, but its rare and a peaceful unobscured walk for the most part. That is until football started.
The first day of football practice we arrived at the track all stretched out and ready to hoof it for a two mile power walk. The level of noise on the way down to the track betrayed the fact that a lot of people were there, but not sure in what capacity. To our dismay when we arrived it was way more than just a lot, it was an over abundance. Two football teams, pee wee and teens, and two cheerleader squad practices were on the field and scattered all around the track were family members and what seemed like every relative of every child in town. It wasn’t a football practice it was a suburban social gathering of ginourmous proportions, way bigger than a PTO or town hall meeting combined. At first it was sorta uplifting, to see such a family oriented gathering watching their youngsters ready to compete in a sporting capacity. And it would have been awesome if only the families had a smidgen of consideration for other people. Unmovable congregations of not bratty teens, but moronic grown ups acting like teens. Bad enough they wouldn’t even consider moving in the slightest to allow others easy passage, but the moronic parents were seemingly unaware of what their kids were up to. Toddlers to pre teens running wildly, on scooters and skateboards not looking at anything, bouncing off other spectators like silver pinballs in the pinball machine. The walk around the track had turned into an obstacle course. No les then three kids blindly ran right into me and when I turned to tell their parent I couldn’t find them. The kids were totally unattended. Hello people, its not babysitting its parenting, and while I appreciate your proud that your chip off the old block makes you proud pounding the shit out of other players, you have other kids too. But then I looked closer, and half (liberally) of the males weren’t watching neither the kids nor the practice. What were they watching? Guess. No I don’t mean you should guess, I mean they were watching a woman wearing a tight Guess tee shirt, anmd they weren’t looking up at her eyes. This bullshit went on for three evenings straight, until Saturday. So what happened Saturday?

The girls took the field the Saturday to begin their season of women soccer. I have no doubt they wear some type of physical supporter, perhaps to protect their mammary glands for a similar reason as the jocks, and hopefully something that also offers them some protection from collisions on the field. What was glaringly absent was the support the boys experienced from the families. No family gatherings with Grandma an Grandpa in tow, no picture taking, no cougars hunting or tongue tied wolf Dads, no screaming and shouting, not much of anything. But let me tell you the girls played with every bit as much heart and determination even without a cheering section, or even a section. The praise, anger, or assurances of their coach was all they received.
I recently saw Billie Jean King in an in interview and apparently PBS made American Masters of her life and accomplishments. In case you don’t know who she is, she played tennis back in 1973 and has quite a resume of winning awards, but what she was most notable for back in the day was her competition against Bobby Riggs, a male tennis player who whether for show or for real acted the quintessential male chauvinist pig. He trash talked her into a showdown billed as “The Battle of The Sexes” and drew incredible attention. She beat Riggs decisively and struck a major blow against misogyny and for women’s rights including equal pay for men and women’s tennis tournaments. But deeper than that, she opened up the eyes and minds of a huge amount of males and helped make many male converts for the Women’s Lib movement. Maybe it should be required viewing in school because it seems our society needs a slap upside the head as a reminder that women are as important as men in all walks of life, including the male dominated genre sports.
Every time I find a young man or woman that are exceptional thinkers I feel like humanity is headed in the right direction. But too often it seems more like a huge step back into Neanderthal mentality with way more people working out to build their muscles in gym, and way too few building the most important muscle in the library. Too much emphasis is put on how we look and not nearly enough on how we think and that’s depressing enough, but if we are going to place so much emphasis on sports lets at least keep it on a level playing field. Truth told this existentialist would be happy without any sporting events because the fans are just too out of control but that’s a rant for another day. Today’s rant is about giving the ladies the same amount of support on and off the field as we do our boys. They play their hearts out, they work hard and they don’t quit. I get it, football is somehow more impressive and brings in money so its smart to spend money protecting their futures with a strap and a cup, but when it comes to making the effort merely to cheer the girls the families fall way short of athletic supporters.

Transcendental Medication, episode 2…Nothing From Nothing Leaves Nothing


Previously on Transcendental Medication:

Nothing is the absence of anything. Anything is something so nothing must be something if its anything. Wait, how can there be nothing if anything can be nothing making nothing something? If its something then there can be no true nothing because the minute you name it nothing it becomes something. Man this shit is so confusing.

Brimming with optimistic vibes I went to see Dr. Khandro, a Tibetan acupuncturist at The Shambala Clinic in the basement of his Tibetan Holistic Center, or THC as its known around town. Dr. Khandro was a rather short man dressed more like a monk than a doctor, but he was Buddhist after all so I assumed that was the norm.

I gently pulled at the opening and it separated easy allowing my entire hand, then my arm into this ether realm. The feeling was nothing I had ever felt before. I just knew something special was here in this bizarre minimalist space. I looked through the hole which by now had grown much larger. In that other realm was smoke, but not a noxious smoke, more like an almost friendly and enticing smoke. The thought of sticking my entire head through the hole pulled at me. Then Kha’s voice spoke, “Come in JT, you have found nothing.”

I thought about what I had just heard, that I had found nothing and was confused. Not even sure if this is real or if I’m in some altered state but this nothing sure feels like something. Was I subjected to sensory depravation without my consent? I stepped inside cautiously wondering if my mind was playing some elaborate trick on me as payback for all the years of brain bending drug and alcohol abuses I leveled at it. I decided to test him warily, “So you say this is nothing Dr Kha? But once I acknowledge nothing doesn’t it become something. How can this be nothing if it is something? I know what nothing is, its what poor people have and rich people need.” I looked up and Kha smiled at me in a near condescending way but I took it as more of his acting the teacher. His voice was steady and even, “That funny JT, heard it before. Yes, and if you eat it for too long you dead. Nothing funny about that, haha. JT you search too hard for nothing as thing but nothing is concept, not thing. Suppose I tell you nobody get here before you JT? By your logic if nobody get here first then nobody must be somebody, because nobody was here. So I speak of nothing in philosophic term. Nothing is a void or vacuum where everything come from. But in science nothing cannot exist because we are always surrounded by matter. Perhaps in black hole nothing exists, perhaps everything exist, impossible to know. So how get something from nothing? Listen JT, the first organism of life was one singular cell which split into two, and that continue until mutations occur. Over millions of years those mutations become an abundance of life forms each with its own story. But it all come from nothing, just as the universe has. But let me speak in language that universal and absolute. I speak of mathematic language, same everywhere. What nothing? In math nothing represented with zero. Zero represent nothing because many year ago human use round chip as money. They count money in and but when all money gone nothing left but big O’s in sand” He took out a piece of paper and drew a big ole goose egg on it. “So this 0 here represent zero. Zero equal nothing. Now if I tear apart 0 it would be split much like the organism I mentioned and nothing become two something.” He ripped the paper in half to make his point. He scribbled a simple equation on one half of the paper, (1) + (-1) = 0. He smiled at me almost triumphantly and said, “Split evenly JT nothing equal two something, a positive one and a negative one. Same thing happen when universe created out of nothing. First there nothing, zero, then zero split into two portions, positive one, what you know as Universe, and negative one, the one we are in now, alternate Universe. Newton figure concept out but never appry to creation. For every action there is equal but opposite re-action. This alternate universe you are in now is the opposite and equal re-action to your big bang universe you just leave. This Universe equal to your universe onwny opposite. The laws of physic opposite. Here there no gravity. Pranets push off each other like opposing magnets. The suns don’t give energy they extract it. Time very different here go backward not future. Here future is pat and past is future, but much beauty and wonder as universe you know. Alternate universe as real as your universe but it take some getting used to if you want to be here. And nothing is what make this second world possible. That enough for one day JT, you come back in two days if you want learn more.” With that Kha disappeared as I slipped back from behind the bi-universal curtain returning to my cot in my real world and closed my eyes.
I could still smell smoldering Santal incense and the music was still on only now it was soft drum beatings mixed with some sort of whirling organ sound softly playing repetitive chords. A young woman entered the room wearing a nurse uniform. I began to wonder if this has all been one crazy hallucination, maybe a flashback or something so I gave her a closer look. She was very attractive with piercing hazel green eyes and long straight black hair tied up neatly in a swinging ponytail but allowing perfectly cut bangs to cover her forehead. Her eyes were as stunning as a Montana sky and just as vast. I sensed both intense pain and intense pleasure in the depth of her retinas and I melted into her glance. Mesmerized I heard a soothing throaty voice saying, “You’re finished for today Mr. Hilltop, will you be coming back for another visit?” Her bright red lips barely moved as she spoke making it hard for me to concentrate. She caught me staring at her eyes and I have little doubt my leer was bordering on creepy but I couldn’t look away. I was held hostage by her deep beauty, hypnotized with delight. I tried to look away but was drawn back to her face. The rosy red high cheekbones, full pouty lips and flawless silken skin were so warm an inviting. I imagined the sirens sweet song dominating the entire essence of Ulysses. I began clumsily shaking my head and muttered a weak “yes, I would like that.” Sensing my awkwardness she smiled warmly, took my hand and sat me up. It was then I noticed the pricks were all gone. “When would you like to come back for a session?” I was feeling disoriented and only barely able to reply “In two days” The nurse put her soft full lips close to my ear whispering, “Come back Friday at seven JT. We have much to teach you. Remember JT, nothing ventured, nothing gained.” The warmth of her breath and moist spray of her tongue inside my ear sent shivers up and down my spine and gathered in an area which I feared had become obvious. Butterflies had left my stomach and created a chrysalis caravan traveling through my digestive tract straight towards my reproductive organs. It was complicated even more profoundly her sensual and suggestive tone echoing through my soul in a tease frenzy. I looked up to sneak look at her in the hope of affirming my imagined connection but she was gone. Maybe she wasn’t even there to begin with, the line that separated reality from non-reality had become wafer thin.

Obama Plays Just The Tip


Media stations all over the country are suffering from a bad case of blue reels. Reels and reels of potential video tape footage filled with dreams of screwing Obama. Yes POTUS has gotten his missile standing straight up ready to enter deep into Syria’s labial regions and give news media outfits everywhere a giant orgasm. Fox, CNN, MSNBC, and countless other news organizations that ironically don’t count had shaved their legs and shined them up with sexy graphics of “Obama sends the big one into Syria”
Doe Obama oblige and thrust with all his might into the depths of the middle east causing massive an explosive orgasms? Hell no, Obama plays just the tip, entering enough to get the media outlets wet and moaning in anticipation of a full strike only to leave them hornier than ever and completely unsatisfied never reaching their big story climax.
You would think the news would be happy that a peaceful solution may be found and unnecessary and unwanted death and destruction avoided, but they have a ba case of blue reel now and want someone to screw and they don’t really care at this point who shoves a story up their news alley and frankly they don’t care who they get it from. They don’t want any more foreplay, what they want is a long and hard story that will tickle their libido. Hope they all get the Shaft!

Thunder Road Trip


Man I still remember my first motorcycle and the years my life was lived on two wheels. When I got my first Harley Sporster I had so much to learn. Life on a motorcycle is a different lifestyle, not merely a choice of ride. In the years that went by I learned how to shop light so I didn’t have to much shit to tie down with bungee chords, how to approach a red light without stopping completely, and how to dress for the particular ride of the day. Like if its getting to get cold, or if rain is in the forecast. But on my first bike trip I found my self unprepared in many ways. Being unprepared was mandatory for my naïve stoned ass back then so I planned my trip the way any self respecting weed smoking hippie would. Procrastinating. And procrastinating was something I was an expert in. If they gave an award for procrastinating I would win and send someone else to pick it up in a few weeks, I’m that good. So it was just me, a backpack of clothes, my “Motorcycle Mama” a road map, and a notion that set out on a Friday afternoon for a run up into the mountains for a weekend of two wheeled nirvana.
We began that trip from Long Island which was a great placer for riding. Jump on your scoot and head out east where traffic is sparse and other bikers are plentiful and it was motorcycle mania. Many a day spent just cruising from Massapequa to Montauk and back just for the ride. But I wanted to go on a mountain road trip. I’d been to the Catskill mountains by car many times but now that I am a two wheeled menace I wanted to think bigger. Hell I was a baddass in a leather jacket and motorcycle boots, not some wimp ass hippie in a Volkswagen anymore. Catskills? Childs play dude, I was heading up into the Adirondack Mountains. A friend told me about a place up past Amsterdam New York where there was a giant mound of earth called Jiminy Mountain in a town by the name of Castlerock not too far from Plattsburg. The mountain is uninhabited by humans and often people camp out there. True campers, with tents and shit. I wasn’t planning on roughing it that much, there’s a motel close to Castlerock and that’s where we would be staying. Then we could make a full day trip up the mountain the next morning, stopping off at the halfway point to a place called Cricket Falls. Normally the ride took about five and a half hours and I was stoked.
I’ve heard it said that getting there is half the fun and on this point I must disagree. It started out quite awesome, circumventing traffic jams in between lanes. Not a tactic I would recommend now that I am a seasoned rider, but when I saw the long line of cars all with the same notion, to get the fuck out of town for the weekend, it was just far too tempting. I slowly crossed the Throggs Neck Bridge in illegal but effective fashion, and once past all the tri city congestion the real adventure begins. With my girlfriend on back we breezed across the Tappan Zee Bridge and were on our way up to the country. As we crossed over into Rockland County the first bad omen appeared on the horizon. The sky was darkening up ahead and not because the sun was going down. It looked as though there may be a storm up ahead and the darkness had an evil grin. We continued up The New York State Thru-way an that’s when it began. It was a mere drizzle but it made me realize something quite important to a motorcycle rider. I had no raingear, no windsheild, and my backpack was unprotected from the oncoming onslaught of raindrops.
Raindrops can be so romantic, Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head, I saw her sitting in the rain, raindrops falling on her, Oh it must be raindrops, so many raindrops, sweet romantic raindrops. If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops. Cute little innocent raindrops. But when you’re traveling at 65plus MPH out in the open those raindrops band together like a soggy convention of bullies and while some slap the shit out of your face, hands, and torso, the others form aquatic conspiracies and loiter wherever they can because they’re bent on soaking one right trough to the bone. The rain was fast, wet, and hard because in a matter of seconds we were both drenched and uncomfortable. As if that weren’t bad enough many of the raindrops that missed the all out assault on us directly gathered on the road in front of us to extract as much traction as possible from the two tires. Lesson, riding in the rain is dangerous, and always pack raingear. Too late for that I had to get creative.
We stopped at the first rest stop available. “Two cups of hot coffee and two large garbage bags please.” The waitress looked confused at first but as soon as she saw the puddles forming under our soaked bodies she got it. We sat down sipped our coffee and began to dry off. After five minutes the waitress came back with two large plastic garbage bags meant for the jumbo trash cans in the kitchen, “Here ya go honey, this aughta keep ya dry for a bit. How far ya headed?” I took the bags and thanked her, “We’re headin’ up to Jiminy Mountain in Castlerock.” She gave us a worried glance, “This ain’t gonna be near enough honey, lemme see if I can talk the chef into two more bags for ya’s”. She disappeared and as we finished our coffees she returned with two more bags, “Here ya go Hon, good luck now.” and with a wink she left earning herself a five dollar tip for two cups of coffee.
“Why did you leave her five dollars JT? And what are we gonna do pick up garbage along the way? You were flirting with her weren‘t you?” Note to self, never travel with a jealous girlfriend. “I wasn’t flirting with her I was thanking her, she gave us some protection from the rain. We can cut holes in the bags and wear them like raincoats.” Satisfied but still suspicious of me flirting she relented and we put the plastic bag raincoats on before gassing up and headed back out to the thru-way. Driving on the wet road is dangerous enough, but with the big eighteen wheelers kicking the rain off their tires its twice as dangerous and ten times as annoying. I was passing them and they didn’t like it, and before long I found myself in a game of cat and mouse, one truck passing me and getting right in front of me, me passing it only to find myself challenged by another asshole in an eighteen wheeler. I envisioned them on their fuckin’ CB radios, “Hey big buddy, we got us a wise ass biker looking to play hide and seek.” “Back atcha big buddy, lets fuck this two wheel shit to pieces, mon back. Big ten four buddy, eyeballin’ the little bastards now, taking them to the curb.”
At first it was just a pain in the ass but it rapidly escaladed to road war. I was getting more and more pissed by the minute but not much I could do, it was still raining and our garbage bags were shredding. I pulled ahead of all three of the asshole truckers and snuck into the next rest stop to top off the gas tank, have another coffee, and let the three amigos find someone else to terrorize.
Fully caffeinated, slightly rested, still soaked but freshly bagged we set back out on the road. It was a matter of minutes before another trucker started playing games with us. Joined by one other big rig I wondered if they laid in wait for us but that wasn’t possible, this was two new assholes, maybe heard the other trucks talking about us on their CB’. Now I was getting real pissed but they kept playing their game, boxing us in then taking turns passing and cutting us off. I could see them smiling as I passed them which only inflamed my already heated temper. I had enough and decided I was just gonna blow past them. The rain had slowed down and I felt like we could make a get-away. As I was passing the lead truck the dickhead driver broke the camels back. The asshole rolled down his window and flicked a cigar but at us just as we were passing. The stogie struck my breast and the red ambers scattered both sides behind me. I was livid now, and in the spirit of Easy Rider, just like in the last scene, I drove up along side his cab, waited until he turned his fat redneck face at me and stuck my middle finger out as clear as I possibly could. I didn’t want to leave any doubt that I was saying “This Fuck You is all yours!”
I felt vindicated, I felt euphoric, I felt free, free and wild like Billy in Easy Rider telling him and every other trucker fucker what I thought of them. I also felt petrified, because as I remembered the last scene Billy was shot and his bike was spread across the highway. I was petrified because I now realized that my cigar flinging nemesis would be so indignant from my salute he would be on the CB in touch with every trucker fucker for a hundred miles, telling them about some long hair hippie and his biker babe messin’ with all truckers. The stakes of this stupid game had just gotten too high. I rode as fast as I could avoiding as many trucks as possible until we reached the next rest stop, about thirty miles from Castlerock where I parked the bike in the back. We sat down and ate and drank coffee for two hours waiting for everything to blow over, the rain, the truckers, and my angry Mama.
When we finally did get back on the road, we filled the tank, talked another waitress into two more garbage bags, and set out for the last of the run. 25 miles of highway and 6 mile of local side road left, we were both exhausted and in dire need of sleep. We planned to go straight to Motel Jiminy Cricket, where they also leave the lights on, and hit up into the mountains after a good nights sleep. The rain had stopped and the ride on the highway was much safer and uneventful. The last part of our run was a six mile winding road down Osh Kosh Avenue, of Buttfuck boulevard , or lost canyon New York, where hicks are raised ala Appalachia. Not much around but nature and lots of space. We didn’t see another vehicle the entire six miles and the monotony was lulling us into complacency. I felt my girlfriends head get heavy on my back and knew she was falling asleep. On the back of a moving motorcycle!!! I tried to shake her awake twice, but then suddenly my headlight went out and my engine stalled. I popped the clutch and it started back up, but for two seconds that acted more like five minutes I had no headlight on a windy and very dark road, my Mama asleep with her head digging into my back, and a feeling like I never wanted to ride again. We got to the motel both of us awake, drenched, and exhausted. I took out the battery which was soaked and shorting out, and got a room for us and the battery where we dried out overnight.
The rest of the excursion was phenomenal, riding trails meant only for bikers and hikers and saw a huge pond at the very top of mount Jiminy, a sight only a handful of other human has ever has the pleasure to behold. We rested in a natural rock tub atop a waterfall at Cricket Creek watching the fierce water arc outward and onward into the rapids, and enhanced the enchanted excursion by convening with as well as smoking Mother Nature. Sights and sounds so remarkable and spectacular the trials and tribulations of getting here dissolved in the wind. I continued to ride for another ten years having to end my riding tenure because of injuries and responsibilities and I look back fondly on the years I rode. One year my beat up VW was shot and I rode my two wheel wonder through a difficult and harsh New York winter, complete with an ice storm and two blizzards, but I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything. As far as the first mountain road trip I admit I was shitting pickles after the cigar stogie middle finger incident, but I gotta tell ya looking back it was one of the most liberating and proud moments of my life when if only for a few short minutes I stood up to a convoy of testosterone laden asshole truckers and said, FUCK YOU!

Shock and Blow Me (up)


The images of humans burning from chemical waepons is disturbing to say the least. Being a man who’s core ethics were forged as a youth watching napalm burning children on TV in a war that I may one day have to either engage in, go to jail, or move to Canada its doubley disturbing. The horrors of the made for TV News war in Viet Nam left indelible impresions on all of us and hopefully from the brutality and inhumanity some very difficult lessons learned. As a colective force many youths joined in the hippie movement and voiced distain for violence and brutality and vowed to declare peace where others chose to declare war. The hippies have grown up and are now the “establishment” making decisions concerning the lives and deaths of other people. Are we facing yet another “conflict” of death and destruction in another country?
Where are we as a society now? We have warred in Kuwait, Kosovo, Iraq, and Afganistan and now face the decision whether or not to bomb another country, Syria. It sure would pad our resume pretty well and once again prove that we have the biggest dicks in the world. To be clear, those dicks are the ones who gleefully joined in protests against militaristic intervention when they were young, but have had a change of heart as they realize that war is a business. The leaders of the youth movements of the 60’s have largely become grumpy old bastards who can’t believe that kids today think they know everything. Kinda like their own Dads. And these dicks are now in charge of making decisions with potentially global implications. Unfortunately too many of the youths supporting peace movements and equality have become an old man and women network of haters of liberal pinko fags. Archie Bunker once a caricature of what was wrong with the older generation is now their role model.

Many Americans are against another war but the irony seems to evade a lot of them. George Carlin said “bombing for peace is like fucking for virginity.” (I think it was George) Past members of the SDS, weathermen, of just hippie protesters are now weighing if the right thing to do to a bully is to be a bigger bully. Certainly I would like to see some humanitarian groups take on this disgusting act of violence but the bigger guy beating up on the little bully isn’t what we were taught. Where is the UN in this and why aren’t they extremely vocal and building up support? If not keeping world peace then WTF is the purpose of the UN? Something needs to be done to assure other countries that this or any form of genocide should be condemned and any nation practicing it shunned but intentionally shifting the power structure of a civil war through a very destructive action which will surely result in numerous deaths is jut wrong. War is wrong!
War it seems to me is a matter of inches on a tape measure. Our Fathers must be awfully proud of how big our dicks have gotten. We have pulled out the measuring tape no less than four times since the Viet Nam war and each time we have proven that our dicks tower over the dicks of small countries. But as always we are a little afraid to measure our dicks against Russian dicks, or Chinese dicks (tiny chopstick jokes not withstanding) . I mean shit, what if some small country got some nuclear dick enhancer off the email offers and really added inches to their penises. I guess we could always bomb their dicks back own to size. If you think about it our dicks didn’t compare in any way shape form or size to dinosaur dicks an look where they ended up. Buried in the desert! Declare Peace…