Tag: humor

Punny You Should Say That (An Owed To Joy)

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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:
FRUIT LOOPY
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

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

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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

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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

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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

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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!

Transcenental Medication

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anada

Philosophy? I Got Nuthin

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. That makes it impossible to be nothing right? Then what in the hell is nothing? The search for nothing is how I began my journey of ultimate discovery to answer the ultimate philosophic conundrum, why is there something instead of nothing. This is where the scientific wedge splits apart the theory of creationists and the creationist concept argues how everything began. Both sides of the discussion agree that at first there was nothing but one side believes God created the world, and the other side claims an explosion occurred creating a ripple in the fabric of time creating matter. Phew, glad that’s cleared up! But wait, if there was nothing, where the hell did god come from or what caused the explosion. Where did the two colliding atoms come from? That only brings us back to nothing. Everyone agrees that before the universe existed there was…..nothing. Nothing is so powerful Jerry Seinfeld made a successful TV show about it. Sometimes nothing is everything. But I have nothing to hide, nothing to fear, and nothing to show for it so off I went on a spiritual journey to find nothing.
I think Socrates summed it up pretty good, “The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing” So for me to be truly wise that’s what I need to know. Nothing. Lots of people have nothing to say and say it all day long but I don’t want to get into politics here I want to concentrate on nothing. Some people spend years on such spiritual journeys and others find what they are looking for on a quick puddle jumper. My journey began with a needle. Many needles actually, it was during an intense session of meditation while receiving acupuncture that nothing first became clear. A clarification here, this wasn’t an actual journey, I never set out on a search of nothing but nothing has always been on my mind. In truth I believe the journey began with my first chemically induced trip. An LSD trip that is, the drug that enabled me to pursue practices such as astral projection and dimension diving. I don’t recommend LSD to anyone that would be unwise but it certainly did open my eyes and mind to things previously unseen. I learned many things during my years of hallucinogen experimentation, the most valuable being an ability to enter into a deep trancelike meditative state.
While under the influence of this mind bending drug I entered into meditations in which I successfully separated my mind from my physical being. I never astral projected to ethereal other worlds or experienced any alien abductions but I did find alternate states of my own self which sort of put my brain on hold as it rebooted leaving the cortex clear of bullshit clutter and effectively giving my occipital a lobe job, if only for a short time. I was a line cook at Windows On The World where orders came in as fast as a bumble bee’s in-flight sexual experience so meditating was extremely helpful, and I always “tranced out” a half hour before service helping me to reduce and often eliminate clutter leaving less room for mistakes in my orders. A very powerful tool meditating, and a practice I continued long after I stopped taking tabs of mind expanders.
It was very effective but restaurant work pace was so brutal it left me with many physical discomforts. So after a life of hard work in high pressure fast paced restaurants I developed a common condition amongst chefs, chronic back ache. I tried physical therapy, chiropractors, pain management therapy and an old favorite, opiates, self medication, and alcohol therapy but everything managed the pain only briefly. After years of frustrating attempt’s to control the pain I opted to go for acupuncture. My theory was the combination of pins, needles, and meditation would have a long lasting effect.
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. When I addressed him as doctor he put up his hand, “In here I no doctor Khandro, I Kha. It is essential we break down any barrier set by title. For purpose of effective session we are equal in room here, onry Kha and JT. Prease, put on gown and come back in room with open mind.” I was given a full length smock to put on which was remarkably comfortable. I felt like I was living a chapter of the book Siddhartha but I did as I was told and returned with an open mind.
I sat in a chair awaiting Kha‘s return. With shaved head and beaming smile he walked back into the room and asked me to lay down on a table covered with a thin mattress. “You haff come to seek separation from your pain. I no eriminate pain, I separate pain from body and mind. It is important to have not only proper treatment with puncture but to have serene surrounding to make sure mind is clear.” He called to someone I had not yet met, “Shodra prease light some Santal incense and play some music for JT.” He placed his hands which were bigger than I expected over my head and squeezed lightly. “Mr. JT I canna feel much stress inside yaw head now. I prace punctures in pressure points and you lay back and relax” With that he began inserting small needles at different points on my head. First on the top of my cranium, then a colony of little pricks entered my temples. Each one gave a tiny pinch and after five minutes my head, forehead, and ears had morphed into reverse porcupine features. He continues pricking me on my shoulders, then put about a dozen in the bottom of each foot. I had never seen so many pricks in one place before. Strangely though, the pricks relaxed me. “Now JT, you lay back relax. Let your mind free you from pain. I will return to remove pricks when ready.”
Kha left the room and I felt sure that when he returned my pain would have been separated from my mind and body. All I had to do now was to relax completely and just make sure I don’t roll over and force the damn pricks deeper into my body. The Santal incense smelled awesome and filled the room with a pleasant light smoke, the lights were dim, and the music was like George Harrison or Ravi Shankar. Maybe both. I closed my eyes and began my regimen of meditation. There are many styles and methods of meditating and I damn near perfected mine. I concentrated on each part of my body beginning at the bottom of my feet moving upwards to each new part as soon as I felt it relax completely. It was about 20 minutes before I finally had every portion of my physical being relaxed and entered into total trance. Everything was soothing.
As I meditated I was separated from my physical self and transported into a stark white room with nothing in it at all. The floor, the ceiling, and three walls of blank, the fourth wall being a water-like curtain. I noticed the smallest blank spot in the center of the streaming curtain and proceeded to get up to inspect it. I was very curious what was on the other side and I tried to peek through. I could see nothing at all so I placed two fingers inside the blank spot and the feeling I got almost knocked me over. Not a physical feeling, but a sort of spiritual feeling. I was certain my fingers had just entered into another world or better yet another realm. 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.”
TBC

PRIMORDIAL BRAIN STEW

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Space-Oddity

Thoughts On The Evolution Of Revolution The Leading Cause Of Sleep Pollution

Not sure where I’m going with this yet cuz it’s a work in progress but there’s a new thought bouncing around this cauldron of a disjointed and sometimes warped thought container that prevents me from indulging my desire to enter my nocturnal trance. My insomnia is also a work in progress defined as “a chronic sleep disorder characterized by inability to suspend consciousness allowing the mind and body to restore.” Wow, sounds so much worse when I read it back. Whatever. I define it as having mind numbing bullshit stuck in my head that keeps me from sleeping at night. What sort of devious subject matter can force me into mentally pacing the floor while dredging up uneeded concerns with global implications? War.
War is a fact of life. It even precedes the tribes of Cro-Magnon beings raiding other tribes for food. (and of course sex). For humans however, since those bloody disagreements wars have been fought for a variety of reasons. Arbitrary and imaginary lines of property ownership, imaginary kingdoms or beings (gods), or someone’s greed, jealousy, and/or revenge. Why do we war? A primordial power struggle to determine the alpha male? An architectural power struggle to dermine who has the largest erection. A states desire to improve its citizens lifestyles by dominating and owning someone else’s? Are we pre-destined to war just to establish dominance, to have dominion over all others? It does seem that way with the military of various countries engaging in penis waving contests. Wave a flag, wave a penis, same thing. An attempt to prove that our cannons are bigger than their cannons and our missiles stand higher than their puny little projectiles. Many believe war determines who best to control the world while others believe its is necessary to control population and economic stability.
This existentialist believes that our innate need for war isn’t just about insecure governments in pissing contests but that it’ a necessary facet for the survival and natural progression of our species. A necessity of evolution. Part of the evolutionary cycle which forces us into a new environment giving us reason to blaze trails of the seemingly impossible. To boldly go where no species has gone before. Just like when our water dwelling ancestors left the security of the ocean to brave a new existence on land so long ago. Those brave gill breathing creatures that first ventured out and evolved fins into legs an arms, and gills into lungs. Not some cheesy mutation like the Creature From The Black Lagoon but much more spectacular creature that would evolve into millions of other land dwellers.
In the beginning there was just a bare ocean begging for life but over time a combination of coincidences happened forming an organism. Out of the primordial stew life was born. A single cell organism which duplicated itself over and over. Natures first cloning experiment. Somewhere along the line one organism broke out of the code of duplicate single cell life-forms and mutated. The result was a two celled organism just itching to mutate some more. Variety, the splice of life. More mutations occurred and suddenly, well not suddenly more like over the course of millions of years, the ocean was filled with all kinds of mutated multi-celled organisms of various size and shape all vying for their chance to rule the water-world. What do these organisms need to survive? Water, food, and procreation. So the mutations adapted in glorious and phenomenal ways to reach the main goal, survival of the species. Some evolved into faster and larger organisms, and developed appendages for better hunting abilities. The rule of life was born, survival of the fittest The smaller organisms became prey and were forced into shallow water where they were safer. The oversized large fuckers couldn’t get that close to shore so the shorelines became a haven for the small and disenfranchised. Unfortunately the shallow waters soon got over run with runts with tiny fins and dorsal envy so food became scarce. Then the very first organism bravely left the water in search of a better life. More and more species adapted to breathing air and the appendages became used for locomotion. New survival strategies were forged as these species evolved in their brave new world. All kinds of strategies for hunting, hiding, defenses, and protecting the propagation of their species. Strategies of ensuring the survival of their young became a challenge so land strategies were formed from laying hundreds of eggs, to burying eggs, all the way up to having eggs hatch in utero when the species had only one or two offspring and needed to protect it from predators until gestation. All sorts of adaptations were formed in attempt to continue living.
Fast forward to dinosaurs who were too big and clumsy and just fucked up all the vegetation. A random asteroid knocked the shit out of everything and newer and smaller species survived and evolved from slug, to monkey, to human. Now the earth is once again becoming overrun and our natural resources are in danger of disappearing. What better way for the self proclaimed owners of earth to thin the crowd than to legally kill off a lot of weaker humans. So war kills off the poor and the weak leaving more food and room for those fucking alpha’s. Don’t hold your breath waiting for the meek to inherit this shit, they don’t want it.
That’s the kind of shit that keeps me up at night. Pondering deep questions like war and evolution. It also leads to some shit dreams, not the cool one that leave you all “What in the fuck was that all about” in the morning. Instead I lay awake troubled whether or not wars and overpopulation are tools of evolution designed to force us out of this comfort zone called earth and on to other planets.
The conclusion I arrived at after a number of sleepless nights is war is necessary and natural. Not to worry I’m still a hippie pacifist and I’m against war, I merely view it differently these days. If we are going to continue as a species we need to get off our asses and go to infinity and beyond! That’s the true and practical purpose war serves, thinning out the population sure, but it will force us to expand our explorations with great abandon to have a suitable planet on which to survive. Someday all those weapons of mass destruction will be fuel sources of mass migration and our lungs may evolve to breath carbon dioxide, our bodies to function free from gravitational requirement. That would be heavy! The explosive nature of our inventions will be used to propel us into space instead of into oblivion. Man I wish I would be around to see that day. And as always its science that will lead the way. It was my love of science that brought me to this conclusions. The science of microbiology.
So what’s been keeping me awake many nights is something that can’t even be seen with the naked eye. Not even the scantily clad eye can catch a glimpse of these micro-organisms. Sometimes its the tiniest of things can be the deadliest and bring down the most powerful of giants. A war is waged from the moment you are born and will continue long after you die right inside your body on a battlefield you need a microscope to view. You have a fully staffed army of billions and billions of anti-body troops poised to engage in war to protect you from microbial massacre. And those microbes are just as determined to end your reign of existence and become food for them to feed their starving families. Damn man, as if knowing tiny spiders crawl in my mouth while I snore isn’t bad enough, now I lose sleep knowing those diminutive demons may be a vehicle for something even smaller, more deadly and after viewing what bacteria look like under a microscope, by far much creepier than the meek arachnids…..Sleep well

Don’t Forget To Wipe Your Opinion When You’re Finished

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opinion

PSA on DICKS awareness
Opinions are like religions, everybody has one. Actually, religions are opinions and that’s why we hate the holy piety pushers as much as the opinionated asses. Imagine if someone came knocking at your door to tell you if you vote for gun control you will burn in hell? But some people feel an obligation to spread, even threaten everlasting damnation in the name of their faith, or let everyone else know how wrong and ignorant they are on political issues. In the end religion can’t be proven so its an opinion. Is Jesus is the son of God, did Moses lead your people from Egypt, or has Allah spoken to Mohammed. Vishnu, Krishna, Siddhartha, whoever the god of the moment its only an opinion. I suppose that’s why religion is as hotly debated as right and left wing politics.
Religion and opinions can be of value when used properly. For many people religion is the only hope they have and a good political debate can shine a light on both sides of an emotional coin. But forcing your opinion or religion on someone else makes one a condescending arrogant asshole. But studies have shown that this may not be their fault, they may have little to no control over how they air their opinions or religious beliefs in either public or on the internet. Someone who suffers from this may be actually have an obscure disease called Delusional Idiots and Conceited Know-it-all Syndrome (DICKS), in which they have a compulsion to inject their faith and/or opinion into every forum. Very often they feel compelled to force their political opinions or core faith values in every social media post. Here’s some examples:

I) Post- “Had a wonderful trip down memory lane visiting my old hometown.” Mostly lots of happy replies, but one suffering DICKS may add, “It used to be a great before all those lazy illegal’s moved in.” or “Too many shootings there these days, but if they want to shoot each other they will find guns anyway so don‘t take away my guns, a law won‘t change anything.” Delete that shit.
2) Post- “Just got back from the hospital and feeling much better.” Most responses are supportive, but someone with DICKS may say “You wouldn’t feel so bad if it wasn’t for Obamacare, he’s ruining the nation with his socialism” Delete that shit
3) Post- “Had a great time at Busch Gardens.” DICKS.. “Garden my ass, Bush knew about the attacks all along and did nothing. The worst president ever!! Delete that shit
4) Post “I am so happy for my son, he is now able to legally marry the man he loves” Friends will join in a celebration without judgment but a DICKS challenged person will say “The bible says a man can not lie with another man as he would a woman. Homosexuality is an abomination”, conviently leaving out the parts of the bible about killing one who does, loving each other, or all children being gods children. Delete that blasphemes shit
5) Post-“Wahooo…just won ten thousand bucks in the lottery!” Normal folks happy but DICKS “Well God must have wanted you to win for some reason. Why he chose a sinner like you is beyond me, you’re going straight to hell. Unless of course you convert, you can start by donating to my church“…Delete that shit.

Anyway, you get the idea, and I’m sure you know someone who feels compelled to blame the worlds problems on a Liberal Socialist trying to ruin our country, or an out of touch Conservative who wants to go back to the fifties. Or you know someone who praises god every time fortune blows its fate their way but curses the lousy horoscope of the day.
I love a debate, but a true debate involves open minded people expressing views on a particular subject in a civil manner. But these poor afflicted individuals enter into debates uninvited and unaware that their minds have already been made up and no further discussion is needed. Doctors advise that you not engage these misguided assholes, but do your best to ignore them. They won’t go away, but you can have fun watching them get really pissed off when no one cares, listens, or responds. Here are some of the warning signs of early onset of DICKS:

1. People afflicted with DICKS believe that the universe exists only for their enjoyment
2. DICKS is often accompanied by a compulsion to watch opinion based TV shows disguised as All News Networks
3. People suffering with DICKS give out free advice but are incapable off following any.
4. Often acting as judge jury and executioner the poor schmuck with DICKS feels there is never justice.
5. People with DICKS very often begin their statements with line like, “I’m not a racist but…or Wake up! If you really knew what was going on…”

These are a few of the warning signs but in general doctors recommend avoiding people that have a tendency towards narcissism or project an over inflated ego. The best way to keep DICKS out of your life is to avoid them at all costs and not engage them. Chronic sufferers should be unfriended or at the very least hidden so as not to infect your real friends who are not DICKS and enjoy your time on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or any other medium these sick individuals tend to frequent. Remember, these individuals are ill and the disease causes them to stalk the internet in search of arguments, and if they can‘t find one will turn an innocent thread into a political or religious statement. They may friend you, your friends, or other people or groups just to have an opportunity to debase others so beware. Finally be patient, and as hard as it may be do not, I repeat DO NOT use sarcasm. They seldom understand it, it seems to go over their heads, and it only frustrates them inflaming their condition causing them to become even bigger DICKS than they already are. Don’t let this obscure disease ruin your good times. IGNORE, UNFRIEND, and continue to live a good life without them. Peace….

American Idle

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alex

Video Killed The Civil Rights Dream

I was raised to believe that hard work and determination will reward me with success. Bullshit! Those days are long gone, the rules have changed. The workplace isn’t the arena for making big bucks nowadays unless you can wrestle up a sexual harassment suit from HR. Legal manipulation is the easiest path to the top today. Anything but hard work man, that shits for suckers.
Think you got what it takes to make it in music? Don’t bust your ass playing in low income gigs and performing all week long. Get yourself on a competition game show. Can you whistle happy birthday through your nose? Fuck yea baby, that’s good enough to get you on a talent challenge. Fuck the winning prize money what you want is to get noticed. Be an asshole or a bitch and they’ll come looking to sign you up for or a new show. All you need do today is be a character and sell your shitty self absorbed personality. We’ll pay for it because Barnum was wrong, there isn’t a sucker born every minute suckers multiply by the second when they watch reality TV. Just check out the prime time TV listings and choose where you fit in. A backwoods idiot, white trash toddler, a catty rich housewife or mob or rap star wife, bad girl, crazy masochist boy, Jersey Shore loser, the list goes on. Apparently our lives are so boring we’ve become desperate to peek in on the lives of losers who live in constant drama or are such assholes they command our attention.
I don’t know, maybe we just want to know that there are bigger assholes in this world than us. I must admit when I’m driving I’m often guilty of this. If the person in front of me pulls an asshole move I feel compelled to stare inside their car as I pass. Almost as if I need to see exactly what an asshole driver looks like so I can avoid looking like one myself. Or perhaps I need to be able to recognize the facial features of idiot driver o I can avoid them off the road as well.
But whatever it is the American television viewing public seems transfixed on other peoples lives whether its watching them get drunk and act stupid, have a meltdown in public, trash talk their BFF’s, or just be out of place billionaires like the ones that made their fortune making duck calls. I watched that one for five minutes and I’ve had a recurring nightmare of being chased in a swamp by living chia pet people. But that’s what the people want, so that’s what the networks give them
As for me I have more than enough stress and drama in my own life to want to see someone else go through theirs. I‘m much more comfortable with serial killers, crooked cops, and horny doctors and interns. But creative stories with actual professional actors is more costly and a lot more work so the networks are more than happy to bring you bullshit competitions and real life drama they insist are unscripted.
Sit com? Here’s an idea for a new sitcom, a stereotype of an idiot male, a stereotype of a suburban wife, a gay family member, a minority thrown in for laughs, and a precocious little kid. Put them in situations so bizarre it couldn’t happen in anyone lifetime, allow some mispronunciation of words, let the male do something stupid while the female get pissed. In the end the buffoon of a husband can do something that makes everyone go “awwwww” because for a dope its so thoughtful, and you have a sit com. Maybe not original but it works. In comedy these days its one size fits all, no room for intelligent comedies anymore, moronic is what sells.
The funny thing is all the while the same viewers are constantly complaining about how much coverage celebrities get when they fuck up. Look at Lindsay Lohan, more well know from her antics in public than any of her movies. Amanda Bynes, Kardashians, Charlie Sheen, anyone who screws up in real life gets away with all kinds of shit. Whenever they get the coverage people seem outraged that they make news. Hello!! It wouldn’t be news if people didn’t pay attention so stop paying attention.
When I was a kid the TV was called an idiot box, or boob tube because watching for hours drained us of our capacity for critical thinking or cognitive thought. Now the kids that were transfixed by the pixilated screen are the ones creating this boring and irrelevant television. The boob part of boob tube is how much boob showing they can get away with the deterioration of the programming in general is idiotic. I truly hope the up and coming generation can somehow get away from the bullshit that has become modern TV, and pay attention to what the fuck is going on in the world, because its their world. When people talk about my era, the 60’s, it consistent with drugs, and riots, war, and dissonance. What’s forgotten is the cosmic language we all spoke back then, the language of hope. It wasn’t only King who has a dream, we all did, and if anything I seriously hope the young generation watches the stories surrounding the 50th anniversary of the single most important moment in civil rights history and learn…..PEACE

Has Anyone Seen My Tab Of LSD? Dad? OMFG!!

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imagesCAN03VWJ

A Trip Around The Yard

Alan was feeling a little bit guilty about violating his son‘s trust. He respected Ian’s right to privacy but his suspicions were so deep he felt he had to infringe. He didn’t want his son smoking that evil devils weed or worse. As a devout Jesuit he was responsible to raise his son to be a follower of The Society of Christ and if he found Ian straying he could use that to send his son into a Jesuit school, maybe even go to Loyola someday. His wife Sadie was catholic and had opted not to upset the forbidden apple cart by converting and as long as Ian was swathed in the blanket of Jesus they could compromise. The compromise was a typical agreement between husband and wife in the 50‘s, Sadie agreed not to cut Alan off forcing Alan to agree to just about anything. In truth that was the single bone of contention between them, Sadie insisted on Ian remaining a “Good catholic” and not a Jesuit so Alan gave in “for now“. That was the one and only time she aired dissidence.
All Alan needed to convince her being a Jesuit would be in Ian’s best interests was to catch him in a sin. He was relatively certain his son was smoking pot and he wanted to find some evidence of wrongdoing that would give him the upper hand and release the vaginal wrench Sadie clenched on his desires. Alan was the man of the house and as such he should in theory have final say in major decisions, but in practice he opted for bedroom bliss over being boss on this one. He looked over his shoulder nervously and began opening the desk drawer as silently as possible. After rifling through the entire desk he was disappointed to not find any evidence but relieved his son seemed to be keeping his head on his shoulders. He wasn’t thinking about anything in particular when he placed the life saver in his mouth, it was more of a reflex. He had no way of knowing he had just unwittingly ingested a tasty tab of Orange Sunshine LSD. In fact it would be almost an hour until he even began to feel any effect, much too long of a time lapse to connect the two together even if he had suspected something. The rest of the covert search also turned up nothing so he left his son’s room and went to his secret haven, his escape room to relax before mowing the lawn. He locked the door behind him and sat down in his lounge chair at his sacred sanctuary.
It had always seemed funny to Ian that his Dad spent so much money on a Cadillac but turned the room meant to keep that expensive car into a fortress of escape with no room for the car. A small fridge filled with beers, a lounger, a small TV and radio all surrounded by his tools. But that’s where you could find Alan whenever the stresses of suburban life got to him. He called it his palace. Alan needed to relax because he always stressed out at the thought of performing his most despised suburban chore. Lawn maintenance. People here in Hamilton New Jersey were judged harshly by the state of their lawns. A well kept lawn was the ultimate status in town and would make the homeowner a well respected man about town, but an unkempt lawn was a ticket to the lowest rung of suburban development and a surefire way to have yourself snubbed and ostracized.
But the yard had to be manicured and Alan dutifully mowed and trimmed his sacred acre of green pride with an unusual joviality which at times made him actually laugh to no one in particular. When Alan finished his dreaded chore he smiled having found it mildly amusing and uncharacteristically pleasant. When he performed the finishing touch of edging it was oddly funny for some reason. He had also done some very deep thinking while tackling this normally mundane chore and surprised himself having come up with some new concepts and theories about life. His life to be exact. He put away his lawnmower and edger and then sat back in his recliner to close his eyes and consider the implications of his newly gained perspective. Besides it was a hot one out there today and he was tired so a cold beer and a short nap would fit his bill. As he laid back and relaxed a sense of serenity settled across his body and mind. Alan was meditating without even realizing. After fifteen minutes his cheek muscles began to move involuntarily forcing a rather large smile onto his face. His eyes were closed yet bustling with activity as they entered the rapid eye movement state even though he was far away from sleeping. He found himself inexplicably listening closely to all the sounds around him, the leaves gently tickling the ground a they danced acros the cement floor, the wings of some kind of bug flapping melodically, a cricket scratching a tune on its hind legs. Sounds that were always around but never noticed, at least not is such a grand way. Alan was smiling and humming and the visions in his minds eye were churning up childhood memories. Cartoon characters. He saw Popeye and Olive Oyl, Mighty Mouse, Huckleberry Hound, Top Cat, and many more cherished cartoon characters all involved in some bizarre collective cartoon specifically portrayed for his entertainment. As if he had taken hallucinogens before he rolled with it not for a second letting the images upset or confuse him. He was smiling a huge involuntary smile and he knew it. He felt it! He felt the muscles of his cheeks pulling upwards pressing up against his eye sockets, the corners of his mouth contract inwardly, and his jaw line stretch halfway around his head. He chuckled to himself understanding he was rising to a new conscientiousness.
For quite a while Alan merely sat back and enjoyed his trip as he contemplated his life and what it was all about. His smile began to desert him as he realized what a rut he’d found himself in. “What the hell am I doing? The same thing day in and day out, go to work, come home, have dinner, watch TV, and go to bed. What am I doing this all for?” He continued feeling morose and sorry for himself for living what others had convinced themselves was “The American Dream”. But what the hell kind of dream is this drudgery of existence? Why was he just going through the motions, why wasn’t he an international spy, or an astronaut or something exciting? Anything more exciting than a carbon copy of every other shit middle class robot in town. His mood was taking a dangerous turn from comedy to tragedy in mere seconds.
Alan clasped his head between his hands attempting to squeeze the bad thoughts from his mind. Bugs seemed to be buzzing around e3verywhere but one bug in particular was just outside his ear and singing a song to him. Not a song he recognized, more nonsense singing in a weird bug voice like “eyy ya ya dadada dadeedadee, dadada…..get outta my ear!” Wait, was the bug trying to tell him some profound truth? Could this be where he finds true meaning? Alan contemplated intensely what message this omen bug was showing him when he laughed out loud, “Get out of my ear? Hahaha, did some bug just fly in my ear and say get out of my ear?” He laughed some more, not startled or confused but back in a state of control, of understanding, as though tripping on LSD was his true calling and not some foreign experience impossible to understand. He opened his eyes and continued talking to himself, “Holy shit, I feel so strange. I’m not sure what in the Hell is going on but I think I like it. I feel like I‘m in some bizarre 3D movie or one of those optical illusion pictures” The bug continued to sing the same song over and over in his ear and much to his delight he was neither concerned nor puzzled, he was comfortable with it. Suddenly startled Alan thought he saw movement from the corner of his eye as he jumped up from his chair.
“Is someone here? Come on now I know someone else is here, I can hear you and I know you’re in here. Who is it?” Alan was still chuckling lightly but beginning to feel uneasy. The bug stopped singing and in a much deeper and human voice it said to him, “Its me Alan, Franco. You remember me don‘t you? Saint Francis from the days back at the room. I sure as hell remember you, all of you. You guys all laughed and called me Franco. Then you did those things to me, those horrible things. I can still feel the pain.” Alan sat back down now suddenly frightened and uncertain of what was happening. An old buried memory he was unaware of was being stirred up and settling in his head. He was remembering, the room, the lights, the loud noises, and….and “Franco? This can’t be, it wasn’t real. But maybe it was. Oh my God, I remember now Franco. They told us no one would get hurt, we never meant to”….. A knock on the door sent a shiver of paranoia erasing the memory and replacing it with profound worry. “Dad? Its me, Ian. Can I come in? I think we nee to talk.”