Asking Fellow Writers For Help


Fellow bloggers and writers I am requesting your input and advice. It has taken me many years to work up the courage to really share my ramblings and musings but I have reached a point where I want to reach out and share my twisted view of life through storytelling. I am ready to attempt to publish some short stories in either in magazines or on e-readers or any other medium but have no clue where to even begin. Writing has always been more of a hobby for me shared with only close friends, and growing up prior to the information explosion I have limited mastery of electronics and cyber worlds. I am asking anyone willing to check out this excerpt below and offer any serious and honest critiquing and any assistance on how I may go about publishing some work. Either way thank you and keep on writing….PEACE

(A guide to cosmic gardening)


In the beginning there was a vast empty space with atoms flying around in chaos everywhere when suddenly two overly aggressive atoms collided and caused a huge explosion. Out of this explosion came a vast network of stars and debris spinning in an ever-expanding vortex we call the universe. The Big Bang, the singularity, the beginning. Right! First vast empty space then all of a sudden a Universe so huge it has no end. Wait, even better, first there was nothing and then the one and only god created shit to keep him busy. A massive universe with one teeny little speck where he created human beings to be just like him. Now that’s even funnier! As a matter of fact both of these theories are a source of great humor and hilarity and the butt of many jokes at The Board of Co-operative Gods and Goddesses in District seven. At a cosmic cocktail party you will hear no less than one hundred jokes about various theories of how life came to be, but the Earth stories are by far the most popular. The “monkey trials” keep the gods laughing for hours on end at inter-galactic get togethers. There is not a god worth his sodium that hasn’t heard of Darwin, Moses, 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, all such knee slapping names. 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 there were many gods and goddesses with varying responsibilities an each god had a particular purpose.Some Gods to make the planets spin, some to make and enforce laws such as gravity, gods to create properties of physics, gods to ponder deeply the laws and needs of the universe’s to determine how they should be applied. These were the most intelligent gods 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. 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 eight grooving spinning garden orbs called planets. From the tiny and excruciatingly hot mercury, to the equally tiny but totally frozen Neptune he held them together with a tight asteroid belt and tended to all eight magnificently. He had the giant Jupiter (which for some reason has red eye in all the family photo’s), 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 this garden. But what you see on garden earth today is not how it was at the beginning so put on your asteroid 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 was not mature enough or maybe he just rushed it, but either way it’s a story that is told and retold as far away as Gabor40904 which is about eight billion 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. When a god reaches a certain age he or she is given a Galactic Farming Starter Kit. In the starter kit comes a package of sea monkeys which gods use to populate in any gathering of H2O. These sea monkeys would eventually grow into all sorts of different weird looking creatures. Some even had 8 legs! But, that’s way in the future as evolution thrives underwater. The problem was that no one could see the assortment of single cell creatures swimming beneath the surface of the Sea of Earth. Cosmo wanted more on his special planet. He wanted some things that he could watch and toy with and keep as pets. So with the BOCGG approval Cosmo sent away for the “Advanced” farmer kit which comes with both vegetative seeds and life seeds capable of growing multi-organism land dwelling entities.
Cosmo surveyed his round global garden and noticed a huge land mass which he had named Pangea after his sister Pangela. It was enormous but completely unadorned and surrounded in its entirety by water. Cosmo’s first brilliant concept was born. Large edible vegetation. He developed gargantuan trees and tall full shrubs which would absorb energy from the sun and convert it into oxygen. Now he could create some creatures and they would have food and be able to breath. Brilliance had come to Cosmo in a dream. He was being chased by a creature with a long neck and large mouth with sharp teeth. This would be his first creature. What should he name this creature? Jar Jar Brinks? No, that’s stupid. He thought out loud. “Lets see, the creature was chasing me and my buddy Steggo and when it got near it bit Steggo’s ass. Steggo yelled out damn man, now my ass is sore and.” He stopped in mid sentence. “That’s it! I’ll call him sore ass! No, not sore ass, Steggo’s sore ass. To avoid any divine libel law suits it was suggested he make it one word. It sounded smart and sophisticated as stegosaurus so he went with that. Now for some other creatures for stegosaurus to play with.
So Cosmo created an assortment of giant creatures. Long necks, smaller faster creatures, a few with wings, and one really scary one. He made up weird names for them like Stegosaurus, brontosaurus, Pterodactyl (He also invented the silent letter which would cause all sorts of shit in years to come), and his personal favorite, the frightening one, Tyrannosaurus Rex. For weeks the great god Cosmo played with his new dinosaurs. He started to get a little worried when he saw them chewing on the tops of all his beautiful vegetation, but realized that they needed to eat something. My creator almighty they have appetites bigger than their damn bodies. Seems the more they ate the more they expelled from there butts. Some of it a horrible almost violent smelling gas which was a bit of an embarrassment to Cosmo when other gods came to view his garden. But the solid stuff actually deteriorated and made the trees and shrubs grow even better. It seemed like a perfect system. Everything depended on everything else to survive. The sun gave everything energy and sucked up water to make clouds, the clouds returned water to cool things off in the garden and help grow the vegetation. The vegetation gave air and food for the creatures , and the creatures pooped out food to feed the vegetation. A cycle was created which Cosmo referred to as “The cycle of life.” A theme that would forever define his garden no matter what thrived in the garden beds.

The Needle And The Damage Done


I couldn’t help but fixate on my conversation, or maybe slurversation with Artie last night and the China white heroin. Horse, the big H, dope. Heroin took the starring role in most of the PSA movies we were force-fed in high school as the ultimate villain. The Damien of drugs that was where all roads end and would surely be the death of us all. What worried me mot was that it didn’t worry me at all. My life was slinking along the gutter and rapidly evolving into rotted sewage. Carrie cheated on me and my best Ken is gone giving credence to my “JT is a jinx” theory. Everyone I care about either moves, dies, or gets pushed away by me as I wallow in my self loathing. No doubt just more of my self full-filling prophecy of dying a lonely young man. Just everything in my life sucks right now so what do I have to lose? It was like the angel and devil on each shoulder, one whispering “fuck it JT, just go for it” while the other was telling me to stop and think. What do you have to lose? You can handle it, you can handle any drug. The devil was much more convincing and eventually even the angel agreed I should go for it. The downward spiral was set in motion.
I gave Art a call hoping he remembered me even being there last night. “Here there little man, what’s on yer mind?” I took a breath and proceeded cautiously because drug users have built in paranoia and are always worried about cops listening in on phone. “Ah, I was like thinking about what we talked about last night, ya know, that uh, Chinese thing ya know? Well I think I’d like to try it.” There was a short pause before he understood my idiotic cryptic message. “Oh yea, of course little man, I can hook it up, come over tonight and we can get high. I’m partying with Penny and Pam man that’ll be perfect.” I bubbled with an extra air of excitement.
Penny and Pam, the twins, partying with me and Artie? Jesus shit that was unbelievable. Penny and Pam were identical twins, both with long straight black hair and high cheekbones. Either on could pas for Cher with a body to match. Such long legs an such a high tiny waist. Definitely out of my league but drugs are a fantastic equalizer. It was amazing to see them together, they not only looked the same but sounded exactly alike too. They even finished each others sentences. They were two years older so I would need to put on some extra charm. There was a rumor that Pam had a birthmark just above the hair line of her groin and if I had the chance to find out for sure my life would be back on track. Or was it penny that had the mark? Either way, if I had a chance to be with either of them I would be all over it. I would just need to dance the fine line between experimenting with dope and being a full fledged junkie. This could make me a social outcast or an instant legend depending how it goes! I took extra care in blow drying my hair that evening as if it would matter.
When I finally got to Arties I was nervous. The twins were already there and one of them winked at me. They loved to play with peoples heads and pretend to be each other so I have no clue which one winked but it was exciting either way. Artie handed me a glass of vodka while I pulled out a joint, lit it and passed it around. “Hey little man, go put on a record.” I wish he hadn’t call me little man at that point but on the other hand it showed a special connection between me and Artie which enhanced my coolness status. But pressure was on, which album? I chose a Santana album, Abraxas which would set a great mood and took note that Artie had the “Eat A Peach” album by the Allman Brothers. With any luck that will come in handy later because it had a tune called “Mountain Jam” which was an entire side and was the best tune ever to make love too. Gotta remain optimistic, I need a good vibe.
We laughed and partied for forty five minutes during which it seemed like Artie was deciding which twin he wanted to be with, because it was almost a given he had his choice. He’s ultra cool and the man with drugs so he gets special considerations from most everyone, especially the ladies. “Well my little dumplings, I think the time has come. Lets get high.” They both visibly perked up and began getting prepared. Obviously they’d done this before. “ladies this is JT’s first flight so lets help him out here.” They both smiled huge smiles at me and I was ready. One of them grabbed my arm as Artie began pouring some powder into a spoon and lit a candle.” Roll up your sleeve JT honey an lets have a look at your veins.” She inspected my arm, “Cool Artie, he’s got some big veins here, this one should be easy. I’m gonna tie him off.” Artie acknowledged as Penny or Pam looked at me slyly, “You want me to hit you Hon? I never gave anyone their first before.” I gulped a bit harder than I wanted to hoping she didn’t sense my apprehension. “Sure, I’d really like that but which one are you? I mean like for my record.” They both laughed lightly, “Dose it matter? I’m Pam and that’s Penny but we both answer to either so you choose.” She tied an old necktie around my bicep and tightened it then looked at my forearm and slapped it. “Okay, Pam sounds good, their both sexy names.” I felt like an asshole as they both giggled but Pam looked me straight in the eye, “Listen JT, I’m getting your veins to come up and then I’ll choose one. I’m gonna put the spike in your arm and show you how its done. Next time your gonna want hit yourself.” She smiled and instead of thinking about what was happening I found myself thinking about how pretty she is. Artie had put the spoon with the powder and a little water over the candle flame until it boiled lightly, “I’m cooking it up now JT. Soon as it boils I’m gonna draw the liquid up into the syringe. The spike. Pam’s gonna stick you, then pull back to make sure she hit a vein. When you see a touch of red in the spike it means she’s in and then she’ll pull back slightly then push and pull back and forth slowly. Its called booting. Once you start hitting yourself you decide how much you like to boot but for now Pam will choose. In about ten seconds you’ll feel the most intense high you’ve ever fucking had man so just sit back and enjoy it. Don’t try to talk, just dig on it little Bro.” He ripped off a small piece of a unused cigarette filter, put it in the liquid and drew in the liquid, handing the spike to Pam.
“Ready babe?” Pam snapped a finger at the syringe an pushed up until a tiny spurt of water shot out. “I’m making sure there’s no air in the needle, you don’t want air shooting into your heart. As soon as I get a vein I’m gonna release the tie and start booting.” Pam grabbed my arm and studied it locating the perfect spot then she injected the needle. I did my best not to shake. I wasn’t actually scared but I was nervous not knowing what to expect. Pam smiled at me, “here we go baby, enjoy.” I saw her pull back on the plunger, a dab of red liquid mixed in with the dope infused water as she undid the tie around my bicep. She plunged about half of the liquid into my arm and that’s when I took off.
I watched the plunger as Pam went in and out with it about six times, the last time plunging it all the way and then removing the spike. Immediately a warm sensation traveled across my shoulders into my back. I smiled involuntarily and all I could manage to make come out of my mouth was a long airy “Whoooaaaa!” In an instant every ugly, sad, and shitty thing in the world disappeared. Not one thing mattered. Nothing! A faint buzz sound filled my ears blocking everything else out and making me want to just smile. I never felt so good in my entire life and it felt like minutes before I remembered where I was. The first thing I saw was Pam smiling warmly holding my hand. “How ya feeling JT? You okay?” It was spoken in an even easy tone and Jesus shit I was beyond okay. I looked back at her, smiled, and softly and slowly said, “Holy shit Pam, that, thats incredible. I think my head is numb.” Pam laughed then reached her face over and kissed me tenderly on the cheek, “Its my turn baby, you wanna watch? Watching is sexy as hell” I just shook my head unable to form any rational sentences and rocked slowly back and forth. I looked on as she prepared her own batch of China white. Penny and Artie were gone and I assumed shooting up somewhere else. Everything was beautiful, every minute negative anything from the world was gone entirely. Nothing existed but me, Pam, the highest feeling ever, and China white.
There’s something special about getting someone high for their first time JT. Now your gonna share my high with me.” She dumped a packet of heroin into the spoon and filled an eyedropper with water. Pam had a remarkable sparkle in her eye when she gazed at me and said, “I think this is sexy. Watch what I do and maybe next time you can hit me. Pam instructed me on the proper way to use heroin as she got her hit set up. “I’m ready. I have great veins so I don’t even tie off, I hit a vein every time” She smiled and I thought it was the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. It took everything I had not to blurt that thought out loud and look like a dork. I just smiled back as she rubbed her arm where she was gonna inject. I was still numb, and don’t know how else to describe the feeling. I have never felt so good. In mere seconds I had been transported from a loser seeking asylum in drugs to King of the world with a beautiful woman sharing my moment. I watched as Pam skillfully hit a vein and pulled back revealing the swish of blood, then began booting the dope into her arm smiling the whole time. She put down the spike and looked my way. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her lips parted sensuously allowing a long drawn out “ohhhh” to fill the air with an almost pornographic feel. We began making out and everything after that became somewhat foggy.
I woke up naked with my body wrapped around Pam’s. I didn’t even remember falling asleep but I do remember having the best sex of my life and how for one night every aspect of my life was beautiful. I didn’t want to go back to reality, I just wanted to stay high forever. It never dawned on me what a destructive omen that was because last night was the single most awesome night of my life. We had partied a few hours, smoked more weed and hit each other up one more time before we made it to the floor and made passionate love while listening to “Eat A Peach” I had an opportunity to inspect Pam’s naked body and no birthmark but I had no plan of sharing that bit of trivia with anyone. She began to stir and then woke up. “Hey babe, how was your first flight?” I wasn’t sure how to answer, everything happened so fast I was afraid I was falling in love again but this was much to soon. I was beginning to worry that I fell in love with any female that acknowledged my existence so I didn’t want to sound over enthusiastic “Holy Jesus shit Pam it was amazing.” I was about to blubber “And you were the most amazing chick I‘ve ever known” but Pam interjected, “Well its best we don’t mention this to anyone, I don’t want my boyfriend to find out.” Two shots of heroin followed by a shot of reality. A sure sign of danger ahead.

The Nutcracker Not So Sweet


Life’s A Beach

Another typical Friday night in Huntington Village where things have been hopping all night. Bar hopping that is, one of our favorite sports back in 73. From Canterbury Ales to Chelsea Square Pub to Sportmans pub in the bowling alley. I think we hit just about every bar, even the “old man” bars and it was no longer Friday night, but early Saturday morning. What better way to finish all the revelry than by walking into straight into the Lions Cage. The one on New York Avenue that is where they make the best Harvey Wallbangers in town and may offer our last shot at “scoring“. Truth is I knew I wouldn’t be picking up anything but my tab and I was feeling pretty buzzed. Missed opportunities aside we were on a roll anyway when we heard that all too familiar phrase which effectively stalled our rambling conversations. “Last call for alcohol!”
“Damn, last call already?” It was the same thing Shadow said every time we heard that “time to get your ass home” two minute warning but tonight, I mean this morning, Shadow was seriously not ready to call it quits. “Guys, lets grab a bite at Colonial Diner then pick up a few brewski’s and head out to The Hampton’s.” The five of us looked at each other and knew in an instant what a bad idea that was. “I’m game.” “Me too, I’ll go”. Okay, maybe not all of us because so far Shadow, Mario, and T-Bone were ready to go for it and it was up to me and Willie to avoid the poor decision. “Far out let’s go. You in JT?” My lone voice of reason was all that was standing between five idiots driving out to The Hampton’s and making the rational decision to go home and avoid what would more than likely be a huge mistake. “Hell yea I’m in man, lets go for it.” Holy shit was that me that said that?
To late the bad judgment call was made so we ate, stopped off at 7/11 to fill up our cooler, swung by our homes to sneak out our bathing trunks and a towel, and headed for a weekend in The Hampton’s. Mario was behind the wheel of my car because he was a good driver an the least impaired. Actually that’s why we called him Mario, after Mario Andretti the racing car driver. Mario hung those curves like a damn surgeon even when he was, lets just call it impaired. Once we breezed past the Walt Whitman Mall I knew there was no turning back. Of course knowing better now we would have never even considered such a ride but back in those days bad decisions were all the rage.
We had a half baked plan to head out towards The Hampton Bays and find a discrete place to park so we could sneak off into the dunes to have a quick nightcap and grab a snooze. In the morning we would scour the beach for a party because The Hamptons was one big ass party on the beach. Each of us had a favorite place to go at night and sometime to night we would be on our mission to hit them all. Mario was a big fan of The Cave, probably for the ladies dancing in the cages. Willie loved the Barge which wa boring and made no sense to me but to each his own and of course Shadow was all about alcohol so we had to go to OBI East for the “Long Island Iced Tea’s.” T-Bone met this killer hot chick at The Mad Hatter last summer so he wants to go there hoping he’ll find her again. Me? My favorite place was Cat Ballou with the deck out back but to be honest The Mad Hatter was a close second. It was wall to wall bikinis in that place. We would try and hit them all in the hopes of seeing The Good Rats or Otter Creek. Both bands play the Hampton’s a lot so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. Truth told the real reason any of us go there is for love and maybe a little sex. Okay mostly in the hope of sex but we were strapping young boys.
We cruised own the highway with Jim Cameron of WLIR radio promising some Santana and Canned Heat coming up next. “Hey man, crank it up when Canned heat comes on bro” I sat shotgun because it was my friggen car, and I would be more than happy to honor Willies request. “You got it Willie boy” Then I added a chorus of “Little Willie Willie wont,….go home” just cuz it pissed him off. I looke over at Mario who seemed almost sober as he got us to Sunrise Highway staring intensely ahead. The great thing about the overnight trip is so little traffic.Of course going home would be different, 495 would be on the Sunday evening Hampton evacuation crawl as so many tired and sun burnt people left weekend paradise to return back to their nine to five worlds in shades of mediocrity. Be we were almost there as the signs for East Quahog and The Hampton Bays faded behind us. Time to go local and find a place to stash the car.
It took about another twenty minutes but we finally found and old gas station, a run down Esso where Mario parked the car in the back among a bunch of other cars most of which were in even worse shape than my half dilapidated Simca. Willie was our resident analytic so he would have the street names committed to memory as we headed out with cooler in tow. We quietly negotiated the residential roads to find our sandy sanctuary while the beautiful early morning sound of waves tickling the shoreline set a placid tone. Once secure in the dunes we each had one beer then slipped off to sleep all snug in our sandy beds while visions of bikini clad ladies danced in our heads.
It was a beautiful Long Island summer morning and the sun had shaken off the last of the evenings darkness. I woke up hearing the commotion of people migrating towards the shore in search of their perfect spot to set up their blankets and chairs. But something else brought me rapidly alert. Something, or more accurately a bunch of something’s were biting my legs, arms and face. Horseflies! Holy shit there must have been a thousand of those bloodsucking flesh ripping winged pests nipping at my body with their murderous mandibles. I began a very spastic interpretive dance designed to quickly rid me of the parasitic miniature beasts. The boys also woke up to the annoying flies the size of bats. Okay, baby bats, but the suckers were big. And mean! I had brought a towel which had now become a weapon, Willie had tears in his eyes as he cried “Ow ow, ow.” I looked at Shadow’s interpretive dance just realizing how graceful he could be but when I saw T-Bone I nearly fainted. His bathing suit was a bit tight and was showing way too much for my virginal eyes. I pointed to his crotch and said, “T-Bone, either put that thing away or cover it up” T-Bone stared at me through groggy all night drinking confused eyes. Once he saw my finger he followed the trajectory to the image I was attempting to wash away and let out a blood curdling scream. He reached his down into his shorts and yanked out a live squirming snake which he sent airborne.
Instinctively the four of us grabbed our crotches and immediately began inspecting our trunks for any unwanted creepy crawlers. The wonderful sound of the Atlantic ocean waves crashing on the shore became overshadowed by loud giggles and some out and out laughter. I looked over still confused to the beach which was filled with those bikini clad images all pointing and laughing at five boys peppered with horsefly bites and each openly ravaging his own crotch. The blood shot up to my face accentuating the fly bites and coloring so deep red my embarrassment couldn’t possibly be mistaken for sunburn.
We enjoyed our day at the beach, some Frisbee and swimming, but it was hard to get past all the pointing and smiling as the story of the five clowns from Huntington circulated no doubt getting embellished at each retelling. Each of us had lost our dignity but we were in The Hamptons so who really cares. We did go out to some of the clubs, No Good Rats or Otter Creek, none of us scored but we all five had a great time anyway. At one point I was involved in a nice conversation with a gorgeous redhaired foxy babe and it was going pretty well until a friend of hers whispered in her ear and she politely told me she had to leave.
Oh well there always next time and next time we’ll be a lot wiser. Not smarter, more Budweiser because we are perfectionists o we keep repeating our mistakes until we get them perfect. None of us drink and drive now and if the weekend taught us anything its to be careful where you sleep and how you wake up because humiliation seldom results in sex. That there is much truth to the proverb you don’t get a second chance to make a first impression. Next time We’ll be prepared.

Is That A Rabid Rat On The Sidewalk Or Are You Just Ready To Attack Me


The Answer My Friend, Is Blowin’ In The Wind

I was living and working in New York City as a line cook at a Midtown restaurant. It was a hot summer night an after busting my ass all night I was ready to get fired up at a happening club on the lower east side around the corner from CGBG’s. All night long I had been slicing, dicing, chopping, sautéing and frying while engaging in screaming matches with the expeditor who being French had the advantage of cursing me out with words I didn’t understand. I was some sort of “petty rast decayed-a-rrrrayso contingawn de merrrda” or some weird shit with cool “R” tongue rolls which a co-worker tells me means I am a sort of gay syphilis encrusted piece of shit. Those French, so descriptive, gotta love em for making insults sound so nice.. To be honest his French words flowed so sweetly to me like he was yelling “you sweet American hunk of a man your chopped onions could make a French women cry,” but it is what it is. Anyway, I was tired and ready to get amped up and find a lover that won’t drive me crazy. Unless of course that lover drives me crazy in bed.
At any rate, I left the 43rd street restaurant and since I didn’t make a ton of money slinging sauté pans for a living I chose to travel by foot. Besides, it was a nice summer night and I had some time to kill with not much happening in the city till around midnight. I walked the way most New Yorkers do, transverseing the streets. That is to say we walk in the path of least resistance negotiating the traffic. When cars prevent me from continuing south I head east a block or two until its clear again. This oddly normal way of walking led me directly into the path of Herald Square, a tiny little park where 6thAve and Broadway converge around 34th street. Herald Square is more of a triangle (an obtuse one for you math nerds) and I was prepared to go through this small triangular park when something caught me eye. Underneath the unoccupied benches played a bastion of rats all running and jumping right out there in the open, not afraid of a thing. At first the hippie in me thought “How cute, little rodents playing red rover or something” until a jolt of restaurant reality hit me. Rats are mortal enemies of both mice and men, especially when they choose to dine in the restaurant you work in.
That said, I decided I would ignore their usual enemy combatant status and indulge in a little herbal enhancement. This way I could amuse myself by watching them play for a little while. They just seemed like they were having so much fun and like I said, time to kill. Looking around like I was casing the street for a robbery attempt I carefully scanned the area for any blue suited “peoples friend” law enforcement officers who for whatever reason believed catching someone committing the heinous crime of getting high was keeping the rest of the world safe. The last thing the world should fear is a mellow stoned hippie and this weed was so good I would be stoned and mellow just lighting up. Not seeing any cops around I fired up a joint and enjoyed the Big Apple Rat Circus for a few minutes. They were quite agile, jumping over each other in games of leap-rat, or tag, or whatever rat games they play. I thought I may have even seen a few of them smiling, but like I said, it was primo weed. After I had taken three hits my memory bank played a rather unnecessary trick on me and withdrew the memory of the movie “Willard” which caused a shiver to reverberate from my prized Frye boots up to my red, white, and blue bandana. Suddenly the playful little rats once again became the ruthless menaces attempting to take over Manhattan one sewer at a time that I knew they were. Freaked out a tad and effected with PTSD (Pot Tokers Stress Disorder) I chose to walk the long way around Herald Square.
Around the park and on to the far side of 6th avenue I ventured avoiding those nasty disease carrying bastards. Now the memory of their game playing freaked me out, but what a gorgeous evening it was. Perfect summer weather, people out and about everywhere, and with the ratscapades now forgotten I put a big smile on my face as I continued on my journey to the hip new club. Up ahead about a city block away I saw something moving in the center of the sidewalk but couldn’t make out exactly what it was. As I got closer it became apparent that it was a sick animal and it may even be a rat. My stoned memory bank was still open so I made another withdrawal this time from much further back. Many years ago when I lived with my parents on Long Island I came home drunk one night only to find a rabid raccoon hissing and threatening me as I tried to sneak in the back door. Frightened and high I was not about to engage in battle with this masked bandit of a rodent that was foaming at the mouth. Begrudgingly I had to knock on the front door and wake my parents up because, well because the fucking thing was rabid! So I was busted for coming home not only late, but three, maybe even four or five sheets to the wind whatever the hell that means.
I digress, suffice is to say the memory of a very sick and dangerous Rocky Raccoon hissing and trying to scratch my eyes out or kill me weighed heavy on my mind as I sized up the sick animal ahead. I was convinced now that directly in my path ahead it was a rabid rat looking for something to attack. The moment of truth was approaching.
Time to summon up some composure. I looked around quick and there were a number of people on the East side of 6th avenue strolling casually totally unaware I was about to be confronted by this sick menace. I reckon I could have just crossed the street and warn people of the dangerous vermin but I didn’t want to look like a wuss. I’m not a whiney suburban boy anymore, I’m living and working in the big city. I am a New Yorker now God dammit and we fear nothing! I took a deep breath and headed straight towards the viscous killer preparing to kick that little fucker all the way across the sidewalk . I was fully aware of the other people around milling about and I was certain most of them could see me. Not willing to have them think I am anything less a fearless New Yorker I forged ahead ready willing and able to defend myself from King Rabid Rat. The very second he was at my feet a slight wind picked up as I reached my right foot back ready to put the full weight of my Frye boot into this sick rodents body it lunged at me. With full force I unleashed a Bruce Lee style kick and made a direct hit. Unfortunately as I looked down to watch the rat fly across the pavement I realized I had just kicked the shit out of a plastic bag that was blowing in an updraft from the subway grate. Oh yea, I put everything I had into kicking that bag and it made an obscenely loud whoosh which I was certain had caught the ear eye and attention of everyone within a three or four block radius.
Being a New Yorker now of course I had to save face. I had nearly lost my balance so I used that to my advantage and spun around, jumped up and did a two and a half spin, came down snapping my finger giving two arm twirls, did an about face move right into a strut/walk the rest of the way down the block repeating “We bad, we bad” like Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder.
I had done my best to save myself from a potentially embarrassing situation yet I heard some chuckles in the distance. When I think back I gotta admit it must have looked funny as Hell. Thing is, I’m not sure if they were laughing at the ridiculous attempt at a dance move from a stoned hippie, a stoned hippie freak on his way to Bellevue for a psychiatric assessment, or the fact that some stoned hippie just got busted for kicking the shit out of a defenseless plastic bag.

The Man Behind The Curtain, Unraveling The Emerald City Mystery


I’ll See You On The Dark Side Of Oz

The wonderful wizard of Oz. If ever oh ever a wiz there was the Wizard of Oz is one because…If you can’t finish that in a capella then you need to check your pulse. Wizard Of Oz is not just a story or movie its an American institution. Nay, a global treasure. To many of us who grew up before the age of instant information and entertainment on demand viewing The Wizard of Oz was a ritual. Originally airing on Sunday evenings it was a movie so powerful it pre-empted such great shows as Lassie, Gunsmoke, and The Gale Storm Show. We had to wait to find out what happened to Timmy, if Hoss was able to save Little Joe, and what new mischief My Little Margie got into. Why? Because watching The Wizard Of Oz was a family night obligation where we all sat around the television set with buckets of popcorn and cuploads of soda. On Monday once we returned to grammar school our elementary minds engaged in deep discussions over the twisted tale and many a young boy could be seen doing his spot on imitation of the lollipop guild, or young lass showing off her Lullaby League ballerina skills.
The movie mesmerized and hypnotized us with some parts scaring the shit out of us, but helping each one of us to exercise our imaginations and dreams. As children we were intrigued and believed in the story in a somewhat literal sense. While it was a fantasy, it revolved around real lives. And to boot it left us with a beautiful message when it ended. We learned that its okay to dream but we need to face our fears head on if we want those reams to become real. We learned its best to fight as a team and rely on each other because each person has something to offer. We learned that evil is wrong and good will always win out in the end. We learned that “the grass always seems greener on the other side” but in the end “there’s no place like home.”
As a child I absorbed these and other not so clear messages from movies like a subliminal sponge. Absorbing all sorts of life lessons from movies, TV shows, books, fairy tales and children songs. But as I got older and more cynical I took on more of a culture of “nothing is ever really what it seems.” I began to read into and interpret things in search of truth. I wanted to know what was underneath so I interpreted underlying meanings in movies, stories, poems, and songs. A personal fascination for me was the underlying meaning in rock lyrics.
So before taking our journy into the more profound messages in Trhe Wizard Of Oz I want to explore some rock lyrics. Rock and roll is the beating rhythm of many a generation. I view the world through abstract eyes and as a writer I report what I see. But rock song lyrics more than anything get deconstructed by my jagged mind and then placed back in an order that might tell an entirely different story. Sometimes songs were written with a hidden meaning on purpose and that offered a challenge as in the case of Don McLean’s “American Pie.” As teens my friends and I spent hours digging in to the layers of lyrics in an attempt to extract the inner meaning of that tune. Even when I hear it played today I still think of all the symbolic references and allusions to various celebrities both famous an infamous. To rock events like The Beatles playing Shea or The Stones at Altamont, McLean had deftly hidden all sorts of innuendo and culturally iconic references and brilliantly he had masked the clues leaving it up to us to interpret. To me that was a stroke of genius, similar to the musings of the lyrical concepts of Bob Dylan, The Beatles and The Stones. Those young talents had intuitive understanding of life far beyond their years and successfully conveyed those ideas into words. Some lyrics are crystal clear, some seem to make no sense, and many are written so abstract its difficult to see through into the artists vision at all.
With many songwriting perhaps even the author doesn’t fully understand the complex structure of their own words. Maybe sub conscious or maybe totally unaware of what the brain is trying to express from them in such an abstract way they deny its very true underlying theme. I lay on you as an example the song “Space Oddity” written by the one and only David Bowie. Bowie himself claims it’s a song he wrote about space after seeing the movie “2001, A Space Odyssey” while he was stoned (I believe he called it out of his gourd) Both that movie and the moon landing were popular events at the time and he claims that was his inspiration. He even wrote a follow up or sequel to the tune called “Ashes To Ashes” in which his purported Major Tom reconnects with earth. I don’t buy it for a second. I look deeper into the embedded subliminal inspirations and I believe whether intentional or subliminal this song is about David’s very own struggle with his sexuality. Its pretty well known he went through what has been described as an androgynous stage and the song reeks of innuendo surrounding the freeing of ones sexual inhibitions. In a phrase it was David coming out of the closet and exploring his own sexual desires. Let me explore for, dare I call it, a deeper meaning.
Ground control to Major Tom, take your protein pills and put your helmet on. Okay, relatively obvious, semen and protein almost synonymous and a condom is the helmet to protect from disease. A common practice back at the time was to bolster the system with protein to increase a males sexual prowess and stamina. (Pre Viagra practice when ED was the name of a talking horse on TV) Ground control is his mind, and major Tom is, well lets just call him Major Woody. The papers want to know who’s shirt you wear or which team are you on. Are you with the hetero’s or the non hetero’s? Maybe he’s not sure himself! Now its time to leave the capsule if you dare. Here then is that closet I mentioned David leaving. As he steps through that door he is walking in a “most peculiar way“, two derogatory comments used at the time to describe a gay man. He walks funny, like a girl, and he is queer or peculiar. No wonder the stars look very different today! Planet earth is blue and there’s nothing he can do. Back at that time porn was described as “blue movies”, to him the world is obsessed with sex and there is not a thing he can do about these new feelings. Or is there? He’s past one hundred thousand miles (around the block with women) he’s feeling very still (no zip to his ship). But not to worry, his spaceship knows which way to go. His compass points to experimentations with the North Pole! Tell his wife he loves her very much, she knows(love is not just sexual). He is feeling sorry and a tad guilty for going off on a sexual excursion. She already knows because you can’t hide your real self forever and your partner will likely be the first to sense it. Now the circuits dead there’s something wrong. He has no sexual electricity any longer for his woman and he can’t understand why. So that’s my offbeat take on the tune. Or maybe its about an astronaut that was lost in space and cut off from Huston. Floating in a very peculiar way without gravity around. I merely offer an alternative view like the one I will give on the Wiz.
That’s what I do, I listen to words then try to make sense of what I hear in the more abstract fashion. I reconstruct words in search of the true meaning beneath the surface. I also enjoy using the same mental exercise in cinema and this interpretation is my reconstructive take on my all time favorite tale, The Wizard of Oz. The Wizard of Oz is not just a tale of young girl on an adventure but the story of finding your inner strength, learning that what truly matters is not how much gold and glitter you acquire but how much love you acquire. “A heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.” The underlying messages in the tale are important and a dynamic learning tool for children but there lies underneath it all a message intended for adults as well. At least I believe there is so that’s why I am looking deep into the story of Oz to find out what meaning it can have for us as presumed adults. Join me down the twisted path of an existential quirky mind to explore the underbelly of a time honored traditional story. If nothing else, you will have an opportunity to exercise your eyes and hopefully your imagination, and perhaps achieve a smile or two as well.

Samsung And Da-liar, episode 4..Rated IA (Immature Adult) Not recommened for ignorant prudes


just a little off the top please
Da-Liar was at one time a true dominatrix with men she walked around on leashes, drinking vodka from bowls, and very often licking her boots. Samsung was different though, Samsung was the only man who had ever returned sexual pleasure to her without complete direction and much work. It was like he had a magic flute that played beautiful love tunes in her labia. His touch on her skin was so enticing her body fluids boiled over and stained the walls. Now however she was in a difficult position, in a pickle over his pickle. If she extracted the secret of his success he would be taken prisoner by King Davey and she would lose the most ardently skilled lover she had known. She had more orgasms from him in one night then she had previously gotten from anyone in fourscore. Although there was that one time when she was in a va-jay-jay jamboree with Trixie and Crystal, but that was one of her darker secrets. On the other hand, if she doesn’t break her stallion and turn him over she not only loses all the promised bounty but the non trustworthy king would surely take his anger out on her.
The constantly copulating couple had found a bed of bliss in Da-Liars bedroom and if the stained walls could talk they would blush as they described the explicit events which occurred within them. The walls woul be barely able to contain themselves. Samsung was not quite at the boot licking stage but he did feel the grip of the vulva wrench when she tightened her velvet glove on his one eyed monster and could be willing to give away trade secrets in the heat of heated moments. Reluctantly Da-Liar began using her never fail coital confession inducing tricks on the big guy. She spent a lot of time on dressing just right. Jet black strappy pumps with stiletto heels, an excruciatingly tight teddy that revealed every curve and muscle in her body, a heavy dose of eye make up and burning bright red lipstick. Samsungs gonads went ga-ga at the sight of her sexiness.
As if that wasn’t enough, in her hand was a bottle of very expensive champagne an two glasses. She walked up to Samsung gently allowing their groins to touch, peered up at him teasingly and asked him if he would like some champagne in bed. At the height of arousal his hardened giant redwood pointed the way in affirmation.
The moment they arrived at the love cushions she began to polish the purple helmet bringing Samsung to near vein popping ecstasy. “Slow down Da-Liar, I feel like I’m already about to explode.” Knowing she needed to stretch it out she let his muscle rest while she paid attention to other parts of his body. As soon as she had him at the breaking point again the bedroom talk began. “Oh my god Samsung, you are so big and strong, and wow what a lover. How is it you are so much stronger than any other man?” Samsung flipped her over and got ontop of her, “Oh I have been given a special steroid from God himself that gives me my strength.” Wham Bam thank you maam the jack hammering began and Da-Liar had difficulty staying on point. The harder he thrust the more she gave in to him and finally it was she who could take it no longer as she came to a screaming orgasm. Da-Liar collapsed in exhaustion both of their bodies throbbing, heaving, and pulsating. She knew she would have to continue her quest manually.
After regaining the ability to breath normally the two lovers finished the first bottle of champagne, then the next and one more after that. Sufficiently drunk Da-Liar began phase two of her sexual extraction. She skillfully reached down under the sheet and Samsung responded quickly. Not thirty seconds had passed and his soldier was once again at attention awaiting command. Da-Liar positioned herself so they could enjoy mutual exploration and as soon as she felt his pulse raise to the right point, and his breathing to increase to the right speed she made her move. Samsung laid in anticipation as Da-Liar used first her feet and next her hands bringing him once again to the breaking point. “Tell me Honey, someone told me you have another secret about your strength, that there is one way you can lose it. Is that true?” Her fingertips began working overtime and she placed her mouth close enough to his unit that he could feel her warm breath on his muscle sending goosebumps through his loins. Promise her anything but give her……ANYTHING!! Da-Liar kept the teasing to an all time Guinness record until Samsung couldn’t hold out any longer and as she finished him off he blurted out “Its my hair. My Mom said I can never cut my hair or I’ll lose my strengths!” Even though her lips were locked onto his throbbing phallus he still didn’t feel her lips curl up into a giant smile.
Unaware he had been infiltrated during infiltration Samsung returned the favor with an equally skilled hand and mouth combo until the couple once again collapsed wrapped together in a love embrace. When they had recuperated they finished off three more bottles of champagne, laughing, chatting, and what would one day be called drunk texting. They simultaneously either fell asleep or passed out from the excessive amount of alcohol and sex. Hours went by the walls hearing nothing but snoring now and Samsung slept so heavy he didn’t notice Da-Liar getting out of bed. It would be anther two hours before he woke up from his champagne and shag induced sleep.
When he did wake up he was feeling sick and hung-over. He reached to his nightstand in search of some aspirins and steroids but the steroids were missing. Frantically he jumped up and headed toward the bathroom not noticing the locks of curly hair strewn about. He made a bee line straight for the bathroom to look for the pills and the image in the mirror caught his eye. He stared at it curiously at first, then in confusion and mystification which descended rapidly into anger. It was at that point he realized the unfamiliar figure in the mirror he was looking at was his own image. “What the? Did she? What? That’s me? No! How could she? I can’t believe this……… she cut my hair into a mullet!! That bitch cut my beautiful golden locks into a God damn mullet! I’ll fucking kill her. Her and every fucking Philly-Steen I see. They’re dead! All of them! DEAD!!”
Never before had Samsung felt so much anger and rage. Betrayed twice by sexy beauties of the same family. That slutty Semedar and the God damn greedy Da-Liar. Samsung thought back to the lion he had slain and decided that was what he would be the fate of the entire Philly-Steen nation. But first he had to do something about the hideous haircut.

What Not To Wear….At My Funeral


No Shoes No Shirt No Problem., But Keep Your Suit For The War
Full Disclosure. I’m a tree hugging, peace love-a-dovin’, free lovin’ hippie freak. I was there at peace rally’s, sit ins, and assorted forms of demonstrations involving what they call “civil disobedience” We may have been a bit too disobedient but the authorities were far from civil. But that’s buried in the past and it’s a brave new world today. I am still a hopeful idealist and believe we have a chance, but I also believe its our species that is destroying the planet and totally fucking up nature an disrupting the survival strategies of other species. That said, old age is angrily and mercilessly creeping up and forcing me into considering issues younger people believe to be too far in the future.
Two things can happen as you reach those misnamed golden years. Nothing gold about them, its more like the weak porous bone years, but I remember when my father turned 80 he went the direction I see many go in. Pops found the religion that had mysteriously avoided him in the old days. He didn’t go to church too often, in fact if I saw him there 10 times as a kid that’s a lot. Of course he had no problem making sure his kids attended mass and sang and prayed but he spent that time in the firehouse across the street from the church. But at 80 he found religion and I’m guessing it was a way of hedging his bets. If they’re wrong and there is no heaven, no harm no foul. But on the other hand, if they’re right he wanted to make damn sure he prayed himself a ticket to the up escalator. He crammed and studied and before long was quoting scriptures previously foreign to him. But I’m not going that way. If I’m right I didn’t waste any time praying, and worshiping something that never even existed, along with Santa, the tooth fairy, the Easter bunny, and my imaginary friend who caused all the mischief and mayhem I was blamed for. And if I’m wrong, and I head down to the caves of hell at least I’ll have some good company, like drug dealers, hookers, and other ambiguous sinners. I’ll just have to make do with what’s there.
The other thing us old farts begin to think about is the event before traveling out as billions of particles into the cosmos, or up or down that religious elevator to determine our eternal fate. Death. Not a happy subject, and we don’t really like talking about it, at least about ours, but it is a reality that inches a little closer everyday. Once my ride of life ends its over and I’ll get off and let others take their turn, but I do want to make sure I am honored in death in the appropriate way.
Of course I want a party with lots of booze and singing an dancing, but I do have one very serious request. Like I aid, I have lived most of my life as a peace loving hippie and as such I wouldn’t want anyone at my funeral wearing a uniform of brutality. I’m not talking about assault weapon carrying military fatigue wearing soldiers, I mean the silent soldiers of war, the soldiers of fortune. They come in an assortment of uniforms, but most are something like collared shirts and ties, a jacket with matching slacks, and polished shoes. They try to appear different but they all dance to the beat of the same doldrums in bored rooms. (not a typo, those board meeting could make an insomniac snore in a matter of minutes) The weapons they carry into battle are briefcases filled with documents and battle plans. They use money as their motive and they wave flags of corporate logo’s. They sneak silently into our lives and disrupt them under our noses and we may not even know they’re there until they foreclose on our home, or audit our taxes, or just remove our ability to feed, clothe, and raise our families by annihilating our savings. And they do it with a smile, often even a smirk. They may not all be out to destroy our financial institutions but suits have become a symbol of corporate greed in the war against humanity and I don’t want anyone like that at my funeral. So if you’re coming to my funeral keep in mind it’s a celebration of my life and put on a tee shirt, a pair of jeans, shorts if its hot enough, let your hair sown, sing and dance and drink and indulge in whatever makes you happy, but leave your suits at home, there are no battles to be waged at a celebration of life…. PEACE

Samsung and Da-Liar (episode 3) Parental Advisory, rated IA Immature Adult


Sexual Healing (Afternoon Delight)
Da-Liar was a manipulative and underhanded bitch to put it as nicely as possible. Her love of sex was outdone only by her love of money and power. Her specialty was spinning men’s heads (both!) rendering them senseless wrapped around her sensuous fingertips. Da-Liar enjoyed using her uncanny ability of teasing the male libido to heights previously unexplored. She employed near torturous techniques of bring them to the very brink of orgasmic explosion only to slow it down and tease some more. When the moment arrived when they could hold on longer they’d be willing to anything at all for her in exchange for sexual release. Da-Liar had men do things to various parts of her body they would have flatly refused of any other woman. Her skill level at sexual pleasing was legendary and any man or women foolish enough to get caught in her vaginal web hadn’t a prayer of escape and would most certainly hand over all their worldly goods and most of their unworldly. Trophies she had many, golden chariots, designer cloths, jewelry, gold coins, nearly anything she desired she could extract easily. Great Goddess Madonna she was living in a material world and she was the material Girl.
Da-Liar had her eye on Samsung from that very first meeting when her sister gave her ten dollars to go away. She pocketed the cash and spied on the two lovers who snuck off into the woods. Da-Liar stared at that beautiful hunk of an Israelite as he pumped away on top of her sister. When she caught a glimpse of his eye popping ginormous erection she even blushed. “My god almighty the things I could do with that maypole.” She wished it were her underneath the muscular sex machine and she touched herself ever so sensuously when he started doing his slo-motion push ups that had Semedar singing that loud lovers tune “Fuck Me Hard Samsung.” Da-Liar watched everything very intently taking special note of how mesmerized and vulnerable Samsung became when her sister filled her mouth and continued the tune in a harmonic humming chourus.
She also took notice of his long and luxurious blond locks. Maybe he was born with it, maybe it was Maybeline but either way his hair was fucking gorgeous. Da-Liar watched the bulging arms caress his sister and she knew one day her chance would come. And it had, even better than he expected. Not only had she planted the seeds of desire with her catty antics and feigning trustworthiness, but those antics had banned her sister slyly removing her from Samsung. On top of that she would soon be approached by King Davy’s team with even more motivation. The promise of flat screen TVs, top of the line chariots, jewelry and bags of gold to make her wealthy beyond her dreams would that would prove too hard to resist. It wasn’t long before the band of Philly-Steens approached her.
Opportunity was at hand (and foot, mouth, and every other anatomically correct body part). Semedar had been exiled in shame and the burly sex machine with his ripped muscles were lonely, hurt, and vulnerable. Semedar had shredded his gears and Da-Liar was the one who knew just what to do to crank them back up.
Da-Liar was approached by three henchmen of the infuriated King Davy Jones. Mickey, Mike, and Peter jumped the last train to Clarksville to meet with Da-Liar. The Philly-Steen Kingdom had strong tenets and they questioned whether or not she was a believer. “Oh I’m a believer all right, I believe in silver, gold, and diamonds. Exactly what is it you want from me?” Mickey spoke up, “There is much talk of this Samsung coming up with revolutionary concepts that will destroy our kingdom. He has already murdered many of our people and we need to stop him. There is a rumor that he has a secret weakness and we will pay handsomely for the information.” Da-Liar considered her options and believed she already knew his weakness but she decided the challenge would be exciting. “Oh I shall surely find your secret for you I’ll start investigating in the morning” Look out,….Here comes tomorrow.
Da-Liar made good on her promise when finding Samsung alone in the woods where they first met. She knew he went there when he needed to be alone and she would make sure to put a smile on both their faces. “Samsung, I hoped you would be here. I feel so horrible about what happened to you. Are you okay? Maybe I can help” She took his hands and peered tenderly into his sad eyes as he weakly replied, “I don’t think there is anything you can do Da-Liar. It just hurts me so much. How could Semedar do this to me?” Not skipping a beat Da-Liar reached down to his not yet bulging loincloth and went right to work on the horny hunk. In an instant she got his eyes to light up and the blood to rush to his heads by adjusting his pistons in just the right position. Da-Liar lowered her voice to her sexiest best as she glanced alluringly into his eyes, “Oh I am certain I can help you Samsung, if you just give me a chance.” With that she bent down and showed Samsung how much better she was at satisfying than her sister was. Samsung was speechless but made many unintelligible sounds. True to her calling Da-Liar successfully entranced the passion charged curly haired hunk by the curly hairs and captured his heart and soul luring him once again from his home to hers. I’m sure glad it wasn’t me who had to tell Mother Raven he was leaving the nest once again into the bed of the sultry Philly-Steen.

Searching For The Lost Ark


Lost? Are you kidding me, the bitches stole that Ark
Raiders of the lost ark, the ark of the covenant. A piece of religious artifact so important and so powerful I sit in awe wondering how the fuck do you even lose something so precious? Did someone put it down somewhere and forget where they left it? Perhaps it was placed in someone else’s chariot by mistake? Did someone actually grab the wrong ark, one that looked similar. What if we look in the cusions of a very large couch? Or was that shit stolen? Its not the lost ark of the covenant it’s the stolen ark, and its nowhere to be seen because lets face it….Where the hell do you fence something like the ten commandments etched in stone and Torah scrolls? That’s one big ass haul but who can you sell it to?
So I’ve been mistaken for many years because as it turns out the lost ark isn’t Noah’s animal filled floating zoo but some kind of a box filled with religious stuff. My guess is that maybe it was an early Christian suggestion box or something. I expect it’d be filled with papers asking for shit like cushioned pews, refreshments in the confessionals, maybe some cool pictures in the bible, hymns with a better rock beat, and red vodka to replace the cheap wine at communion. That’s the sort of suggestions I’d make anyway. But back to this “lost” artifact. The story goes that the ark is a like a treasure chest filled with the actual stone tablets which the 10 commandments were etched in. It also contains Aarons rod, which it turns out is not Moses brothers porno flick but an actual walking rod owned by his brother said to have miraculous powers, a jar of Manna (an edible food kinda like an Israelite Slim Jim), and the first Torah scroll. Aside from the Slim Jim things these sound pretty important. You’d think exceptional care would be taken with this chest.
Of course that’s not the case, the Ark of the Covenant was either lost or stolen but the prudent thing to do is retrace its steps. The Israelites carried the ark around as they “Wandered about” for some forty odd years trying to locate the Promised Land. No GPS back then but still, lost for forty years? Maybe they should’ve stopped and asked for directions but guess who was in charge of driving? A man of course! When they did finally get it to Jericho they paraded the Ark around the city for seven days like they were rubbing it in the faces of the Jerichonians. However, when Benjamin defeated the Israelites he took the Ark from them. Here’s when things get a little dodgy. The Ark apparently exchanged hands between the Philistines and the Israelites a few times both claiming ownership at one time or another. And as if that shit wasn’t complicated enough some knock off Arks began showing up which looked remarkably similar to the original and were sold on the Lower Eat Side of the Fertile Crescent.
The last known authentic sighting of the Ark was in Solomon’s Temple atop ole Mount Zion. But Nebuchadnezzar came to town and wise old Solly got his ass kicked by the Babylonians who took over ownership. That’s where we completely lose track of it for ages.
Now of course something so intriguing would lead to much speculation. Like the modern UFO sighting craze the ark even has its own Area 51 and assorted plausible locations boasting of its existence. It may be buried in a cave at Mount Nebo as the Jordanians claim, or hidden away in Ethiopia being guarded by ganga crazed Rastafarians, or it could be in the Dubhe mountains in Zimbabwe where the locals call the chest “The Voice Of God.”
Even Europe gets into the act claiming it was taken and protected by The Knights Templar and resides now at an undisclosed location in the south of France, or in Rome at the basilica of St. John. Maybe the freemasons or the Illuminati have it stashed away inside The Dan Brown library or some pyramid with a giant all seeing eye in it. Even Britain, Scotland and Ireland lay claims of ark sightings answering to the ornate chests description stashed away in the mountains of the UK. But we know where it really is, in a Hollywood lot along with hundreds of other arks.
Videotape evidence is indisputable and they had no security cameras back in the ancient times. In fact they had no cameras at all and had to rely on sketch artists who were mediocre at best. I have seen with my own eyes footage of Indy Jones finding the original hiding place in Cairo, surrounded by snakes. Clearly the most plausible explanation is this. Nebuchadnezzar kicked ass and took names, and in the confusion the ark of the covenant was taken back to Babylon. It seems Nebby had his ass kicked a few years earlier in Egypt, where he lost a lot of Babylon’s wealth and the respect of most of his followers. In an effort to regain his peoples admiration he destroyed the temple of Solomon then forged a deal with Pharaoh Hophra who took possession of the ark in exchange for all the shit he stole when he kicked Nebby‘s butt a few years back. The Pharaoh hid the ark in a sort of tomb overrun with mean poisonous snakes (yea, I hate them too) and a strange set of rituals combined with perfect timing of the sun as a code to reveal its resting place.
Fast forward to 1936 when Indiana Jones begins a quest to find the ark before the Nazi’s get their hands on it. Suffice to say when the Ark is finally opened its revealed that the stone tablets and the scroll have turned to sand (its been a long time and even the Slim Jims didn’t make it) What remnants were leftover were cleverly edited to became some great footage of really cool special effects. Long story short there was nothing left inside that miraculous chest but the sand but at least Adolf doesn’t have it and we think we know where it is. In the final scene of the Raiders of The Lost Ark the ark is placed in a warehouse, or more accurately a Hollywood studio lot along with crates and crates of knock offs. So that’s where The Ark Of The Covenant resides today thanks to the efforts of Steven Spielberg and Paramount studios. In the end it was never really lost , just misplaced for a few thousand years…..PEACE


Searching For Uncle Goatleg


A Goat Bt Any Other Name
My first brush with the law, and my Dad has to come pick me up . Funny thing is my old man looks more like a criminal than I do. I’m being raised by a hippie tree hugging father and a step Mom who’s not quite so liberal. Dad used to ride Harleys, smoke pot, and was as he puts it, “a bit of a rouge” Tonight my rebel Dad comes to pick me up from the cop station in a beat up VW. Plus I have a feeling he was no stranger to cop stations back in his day.
Once we were out of the precinct parking lot he asked me in his calm voice what happened. I explained it all, how we were smoking a joint before the dance at the High school and the cops came running over. Not finding anything they searched us all and I was holding rolling papers so they took me to the precinct for possessing drug paraphernalia on school property. Straight away he gave me the like it or not its still illegal lecture, and the not ever on or near school property thing. We drove in silence after the lecture for two minutes until he said, “Paraphernalia? Rolling papers? Are they fucking kidding? “ The two of us laughed and my old man ran off some of his cop jokes, like someone stole the toilet from the cop station and they have nothing to go on, or he points to the back seat and says he picked up a dozen donuts in case I was in serious trouble. He always admitted he felt pot should be legal like alcohol even though he doesn’t smoke it anymore. That is he says he doesn’t smoke but I have my suspicions, every once in a while I feel like my stash is light a few bowls. Either way my old man wasn’t a big fan of cops busting kids for having fun.
When we got a block away from home and he said, “I’m gonna have to act all mad at home cuz I gotta at least pretend to be a responsible adult and Jenny will be expecting me to ground you. I’ll need to issue some form of punishment your step Mom will think that’s important but I mean fucking A, rolling papers is a fucking crime now? Look I get it Ian, it seems unfair. In fact is unfair, but that’s how the games of the establishment are played little cool man, you don’t try to beat the law, you wrangle around it. You gotta fool them at their own game. Give them enough of what they want and let them think they have the upper hand. If you fight them they just use stronger punishment, that’s their warped mentality, to punish you harshly until you break. So here’s what I’m gonna do. I am gonna tell Jenny that you just made a small mistake because you were unaware of the consequences of smoking marijuana. You haven’t committed any bad crime and no one got hurt and education will work better than punishment. So you will write me a four page report, two pages on the physiological consequences, and two pages on the consequences marijuana can have on society. That way you will learn the err of your ways!” That man was a fucking genius!
We drove home and I went straight to my room. Dad explained to Jenny what was up and downplayed the incident. She apparently agreed that the report would be the best punishment and so it was set. He used that report when he and I had to go in front of the town board and they were so impressed they dropped the charge and expunged my record completely. Man I really adored that man. He could spin a story like nobody’s business. So I knew that night when he came into my room to talk about the whole situation it was a perfect time to distract him by asking him about his youth. He loves talking about his younger days in the “turbulent sixties.“ One character in particular I had always wanted to know more about was his best friend. I only met him a few times when I was young but Pops tells me he came over all the time when I was a baby. I didn’t remember that and I don’t even know his real name. My big sister and I just called him “Uncle Goatleg”. That alone had to be a good story.
“Hey Pops, I know this was a stupid thing I did. You’ve always been so honest with me and I know you smoked back in your day, but whenever I think about what it must have been like for you growing up the one name that keeps coming to my mind is Uncle Goatleg. All I remember about him is this really nice guy with long hair and a very long beard. I remember you were always happy when he was around and I figure you call him Goatleg because of his limp. I assume it was caused by a motorcycle accident or something cause I vaguely remember you and him having motorcycles and giving me and Molly rides wearing football helmets. What was his real name and what was he like?” I could see a huge smile on my dads face as he reminisced. Uncle Goatleg was as tall as my dad, and just as muscular. Maybe even a little more. He had very thick curly reddish brown hair that danced over his shoulders. My dad always had a short beard, but Goatlegs chinstrap was quite long. The full rust colored hair sprouted from his chin and went clear down to the middle of his chest. The hair on his face was so thick I can’t say for sure if he even had lips. Santa would have been jealous at how beautiful that beard was. Like I said, he has a bit of a limp, and he walked with the assistance of the coolest walking stick I’d ever seen. A dark red hardwood cane. Around the cane was carved the most magnificent black and yellow cobra snake with the head right at the handle so he could hold his hand inside the snakes mouth. I recall the detail of the snake as almost mesmerizing, the tiny scales, the flared head and sharp teeth were kind of menacing and I’m sure I stared at it every time he came over. Without really ever knowing Uncle Goatleg I admired him greatly and wished he had come around more often.
“Oh wow, uncle Goatleg. I’m surprised you remember him. His biker name was Redbeard but his real name was Kevin. He injured his leg in a motorcycle accident. Yeah, he and I rode together a few years before I had to sell my bike. Kev had a gorgeous tricked out Harley shovelhead. What a beautiful bike. Me and Kevin go all the way back to kindergarten where we got into a fistfight over a toy truck. It was the first fight for both of us and we got sent to the principals office. While waiting, we glared each other down still pissed, and then Kevin says “I hear the principal looks like a grasshopper. A fat bald grasshopper.” I broke out laughing and we both making cricket noises and acted the fools. Became best friends instantly an learned we only lived three blocks away. Stayed best friends until he left. We did everything together rode bicycles, went to the beach, dances, girls, rock concerts, everything. We were together all the time just about all the way through school. We even learned to drive in the same car, your Uncle Jack’s Barracuda. When the time came we went to buy our first motorcycles at the same place.” I wasn’t sure what I wanted to hear more, the story of their friendship or the story of why Uncle Goatleg left but I opted for the latter. “When did he leave and where did he go? Why did he go? Did he ride away on his bike? Do you know where he is now?” Pops chuckled, “Slow down son, it’s a bit of a story. Let me get us something to drink.” As he got up he smiled and his chuckling voice trailed off, “Always with a million questions Ian.”
When he came back a few minutes later he had a large mug of beer for himself and a soda for me. “Hey, can I have a beer?” I got the you know better than that look as he smiled. “Not this time Ian, but someday soon we’ll share a few. Right now I’m gonna tell you about your Uncle Goatleg. Actually you gave him that name.” I perked up instantly. “Me?? How did I do that?” Dad took a long swig of his beer, “One time he came over and you were like two and a half years old. You were full of questions even back then. You asked him over and over what happened to his leg, why does he limp, was it from the motorcycle, non stop questions. Kevin laughed and rolled up his pant leg to show you his disfigured and scarred leg. You said ’Ew gross, it looks like a goats foot.’ We laughed our asses off and then he roared, ‘Yea Ian, Uncle Goatleg, that’s my name. I’m your Uncle Goatleg.’ Every time he came over we called him Uncle Goatleg. You and your sister are the only two people in the world he’s let call him that. He got a real kick out of that. Anyway, as I was saying, Kevin and I rode bikes together for a while but he was much more serious about biking and eventually took to hanging out at bars that outlaw bikers went to. The Heathens Motorcycle Club which is the second biggest MC group on the east coast. The main rivals of The hells Angels. Eventually Kevin was asked to become a member and he jumped at the chance. I went with him a few times to the Heathens bar and it was very scary. They got into fights over things like ’you breathed on me‘, or ‘you looked at my beer.’ Dangerous crowd they were very violent. Being an outsider I was a target so I told him I couldn’t come around anymore. He understood but that was the life he wanted and he lived it. We saw less and less of each other, Goatleg always with his MC gang. I had to sell my bike and wasn’t interested in hanging out with The Heathens. I’m a lover not a fighter. I would read stories in the papers of major brawls between them and rival clubs and he would stop by from time to time and give me the inside scoop. Then one night in 86 or so, he stops by the restaurant I was working at and tells me he has a huge problem and needs help. He has to get out of town and disappear forever. I was stunned and we went outside to talk. He lifted up his leather jacket and shirt to show me his right side. It was one giant black, blue, and red bruise and I was like holy shit Kev, what the Hell; happened? Well in typical Kevin style, he made the big mistake of banging one of the other bikers mama’s. But not just any bikers babe, he nailed the mama of the president of his chapter. He was beaten by near everyone in the club with fists and pool sticks and thrown out of the bar. Everyone took shots at him except the president. Seems he wants Kevin either dead or really suffering and was gonna take care of business himself. So Kev was a marked man. After work I went to an ATM, took out as much cash as I could and made him promise to let me know where he is. He said ‘can’t do that bro, it will put you in danger. And your kids. Can’t do that to Ian and Molly.’ These fuckers mean business and they’ll fuck over anyone what knows me. Just gotta split man, that’s all.’ They won’t rest until they kill him so he left and went underground. I moved shortly after that and neither of us has any idea where the other ended up. I think about him all the time.”
I gotta tell ya, I was pretty blown away. As I absorbed the story I had one last question, “so you have no idea where he went? Not even a clue? Or a name he might use? You know we can find out a lot of shit on the internet, maybe we could do a search?” (So maybe it was more than one question, that’s my nature) Pops smiled at me, “Sometimes Ian, things are left behind because they are supposed to stay in the past. As much as I miss Kevin I am not sure finding him would be the best thing for him.” I was taken aback. “Him? What about you Dad? Don’t you think you deserve at least a thanks? Or a hello? A postcard, or I don’t know,….something!?” I hated when he seemed like King fucking Solomon but he gave me his Zen smile and in his voice of reason explained. “Any contact could put us all in danger Ian. My brother needed my help and needed it without question or condition. Maybe its forgotten and maybe not, but when you love someone there are times when you must sacrifice your own personal feelings for the good of the one you love. And I love your Uncle Goatleg, we’re blood brothers forever, we pinky swore in blood and everything. Forever connected even if its in memory only. I know how much he appreciated what I did for him and he would have done the same for me in a heartbeat. The truth is I have heard bits and pieces of Kevin’s life but over the years I’ve learned that sometimes things from the past should just stay there. Life isn’t always easy son.” That wasn’t good enough for me, “What exactly have you heard about Uncle Goatleg?” Dad shook his head in mock frustration, “ I hear tell he headed down to Florida and is living a happy quiet life somewhere near a town called Palm Coast. I hope he is and I hope he‘s happy and we should just leave it at that.”
The wheels began spinning in my brain. My best friend Eugene has an aunt who lives in Flagler Beach, which as it turns out is only about ten miles from Palm Coast. I was graduating high school in June, and me and Huge were going on a short one month vacation somewhere. We weren’t sure where we wanted to go but we knew we needed to get away. Now I knew exactly where we would spend our vacation. Flagler Beach and Palm Coast here we come!