Tag: sarcasm

Sodomy and Go More-ahhhh (A Sick Bastard Bible Story)

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SG

It’s a tale of two cities so revered yet mysterious it gets mentioned many times in the Bible, the Torah, and the Quran. The events go so deep it even makes a few appearances in the new testament. What is it that makes these two cities so popular in religious documents? SEX. Sex sells, and the added stories of Sodomy an Gomorrahhh sold the hell, pardon the irony, out of the bible. It’s a mystery where exactly are these cities were located. Much like the infamous G spot men have been unable to locate the exact area that filled its occupants with so much passionate and decadent joy. But the where isn’t important we can be guided to the spot with a skillful partner so today I focus on the what. How does The Sick Bastards interpret the sexually charged scriptures of orgies and try-sexuality of the legendary iconic bible selling segment of the scriptures? Twisted of course, like this:

God was uncharacteristically sitting on his laurels after his highly successful pairing of Adam and Eve thanks to Christian mingle.com. The whole Cain and Abel thing while troubling worked itself out in the end and he assumed that his flood had eradicated sinning altogether. But you know what happens when you assume, even if the me part of the equation is god himself. Stories were circulating about two cities plagued with sin. To the North in Go More-ahhh, Mayor Ford ran his city allowing copious amounts of drugs and alcohol to flow freely in the streets. Why the mayor himself was constantly drunk and messed up on whatever drug he could get his hands on. He flew into drunken rages lashing out at anyone and everyone but people were so messed up and horny it had zero effect. The streets of this maple tree lined city were filled with stoned out naked couples pawing at each others sex organs right out in the open. A little birdie told God that it was like one giant orgy so the big guy sent Abraham out to investigate. Abe, being the almighty’s chief of staff and right hand man did a hands on investigation. Well actually pretty much every body part on investigation.

He stopped first in Sodomy where instead of finding the dudes ravaging young maidens he was molested by a bunch of horny and well hung gay men that really stuck it to him. At first he was repulsed but the moment he turned the other cheek he was converted. And inverted! He turned to the church for help but ended up shagging the entire priesthood. The whole lot of them ass well as Lott himself. In sodomy the sex was all mano a mano or bumper to bumper, which is to say they all donned their gay apparel if you catch my drift. After waking up after an all nighter with a pounding headache and a throbless knob Abraham had enough. Time to report back to the big guy, but first a parting blow from his favorite dude, Vegas. Abraham was not worried about the need for discretion because what happened in Vegas…. well you get it.

Ever aware of his responsibility Abe told the lustless lord all about the sinning ways of Sodomy and Go More- ahhh, leaving out the part about his parts. The G-man knew what had to be done. Destroy the getting some tail of two cities. Of course, being a drama queen, Mrs. God wanted him to come up with a devious plan, so he scheduled a new show, The Real Housewives of the Fertile Crescent. He sent an angel disguised as a man to punk Lot and expose the homo erectus of Sodomy. When the angel came Lot was required by law to protect his guest who was such a hunk even straight dudes took notice. Hungry homo’s surrounded the house which scared the crap out of Lot. Not literally, just really scared him. He offered his two virgin daughters instead which only pissed everyone off, especially Lot’s wife and kids. Jut like in a future fairy tale the crowd of multi-sexual revelers huffed and puffed and blew the house down. The angel flipped out and struck all the rioters blind telling Lot and his family to leave town pronto and never look back because it was being destroyed.

As they left they could hear the acid rain coming down and knew the city was getting sulphurized. They could hear the cries of agony as the community of sexual sinners burned alive. Lots wife couldn’t help herself, she needed to take a quick photo for instagram, but as she turned around the high and mighty converted her into salt which he later used to season the lip of his margarita glass. Lot and his still virgin girls continued on never looked back. After the brimstoning of Sodomy and Go More-ahhh, no one ever doubted the man upstairs again. Repent or burn was his new catchphrase.

That’s all The Sick Bastard was able to glean from the confusing passages about the story of the twin sin cities but if you have more info that has not yet been released please contact me so I can update the Sick Bastards Bible. Thank you, and please, repent before its to late. You never know when an all loving and caring god can have a bad hair day and turn on us with vengeance. An if you are a sinner, next time it rains run and don’t look back… Peace

I’m Coming Home I’ve Done My Time

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free

“Yo turnkey! Hey oh, today is day 30, I’m supposed to be getting out of here!” My words echoed off the jail cell bars so I tried again. “Hey! I did my time I want to get out of here!” Maybe yelling louder will help. “HELLO!! I WANT TO GO HOME!” But no guards came by and even if they did they would probably just stare at me with utter disgust and distain, the one thing they’re real good at. It was beginning to feel hopeless, like I was destined to be Lifetime TV movie about a young dude who gets locked up in a South Carolina prison for thirty days then ends up doing a life sentence in a prison run inbred cops. The other prisoners, most of which have never even seen me but traded insults with me all the time, had a sudden change of heart and supported my cause. When the cops fuck with one of us they fuck with all of us. Nothing like a little injustice from authorities to break down barriers creating a bond between the oppressed. Someone else started yelling on my behalf, “Yo, let Yankee boy out.” Another voice repeated the phrase and then another. Before long it was an out and out chant of a brotherhood of wrongly ain’t gonna incarcerated inmates enjoying any opportunity to piss of the guards. An ear shattering chorus of “Let the Yankee go!! Let the Yankee go!!” now shook the iron bars.
A loud clanging of a billyclub on prison bars brought a momentary silence, long enough for a guard to raise his voice. “HEY! Alla y’all better shut the hell up right now! I ain’t hearin no shit from y’all today the Braves is playin’. Y’all bess shut up right here and right now! Whicha Y’all started this mess and done ruined my game?” Just my luck, my old pal Billy boy, always ready to rumble with a man in handcuffs and a big fan of kicking Yankee ass. Fuck it come hell or high water I’m getin outta this shithole, “Me, I started it officer Billy. Your favorite long hair Yankee. I done finished my time and I want outta here now!” Billy walked up to do what he does best. He stared me down for a few seconds then spoke in his own special bran of condescend, “Now listen here Yankee boy, if’n its time to kick yaw stinkin’ long haired ass out this jail I be happier an a pig in a New Yoke City shit puddle but I ain’t no judge or no record keeper boy. So you bess shut your mouth now an let me get back at mah game. I’ll check with the warden bout your claim. Tell ya what though, if’n you done ruin my baseball game fir no reason I’m likely ta kick yaw ass sideways to hell boy! So yawl bettern be right son.” His dissertation contained the usual amount of greasy spit that accompanies his attempts at using the English language. I wiped my face, “Listen here turnkey, I beena counting every day here and the judge done give me thirty day and its been thirty day. Great day in the morning how much longer I needa stay here? I wanna git outta here.” Jesus shit, I’m starting to talk like them now!
I stood at the bars waiting patiently for Billy boy to return but he didn’t come back for over an hour. He walked up to me smiling, “Seems ain’t no one here today can look up to check yer story son. Now lookie here boy, heres what we gonna do, yew done gun shut yer trap an get on back to yer little home there and we’ll check it out first thing come morning.” To make sure I understood he put one end of the billy club between the bars pointed at my chest and slammed it right into my diaphragm causing me to gasp. The pain was a not so gentle reminder of how mean an sadistic he could be, especially with people in no position to fight back. He smiled triumphantly, gave me a sarcastic “Y’all have a nice day” and walked away loudly lecturing the lot of us on keeping quiet so he could enjoy the game. The rest of the inmates now stared calling the guards names and offering words of comfort to me. I’d gone from dumb shit dirty Yankee asshole to a prison guard whipping boy martyr and it wasn‘t comforting.
I paced my cell as the time passed slower than any of the past horrible thirty had. Dinner came and then lights out all my protesting in vain. I was here until tomorrow. Our living quarters were six tiny cells with a hallway so we could talk but not see each other. We amused ourselves many a time by “fishing” which was throwing cigarettes, or matches, or a candy bar in the hall and everyone else whipping their bed sheet from the little food hole at the bottom of the cell. The first to snare or fish the prize wins. Most nights I would sing a song by Taj Mahal, and old bluesy number about “I’m going fishin‘, yes I’m going fishin’ and my baby go in fishin’ too” It was stupid but our entertainment was kinda limited and my cell mates thought the song funny. I didn’t fish or sing that night as my mates tried unsuccessfully to cheer me up. They finally tired, offered words of support but I was already falling asleep.
First thing that wakes you up in prison is a breakfast, or a reasonable facsimile of a breakfast passed under the door. I wasted no time in letting the breakfast deliverer know I wanted out but he explained he was just a “trustee” a prisoner who kissed enough guard ass to get special privileges and easy work details. He had a rolled up magazine in one hand and he passed it under with my cold eggs, cold grits, and embarrassed toast “Here Yankee, its an EZ Rider magazine. Its contraband so if you get caught you on your own. Cain’t get ya outta here but leastwise y’all have something to pass the time. Errybody here is pullin fer ya boy, ain’t no one wanna spend no more time here’n they should.” It was small consolation.
When the cells opened into the common area my hopes were renewed. I called to every guard within earshot that I was supposed to get out but they absolutely did not care. This went on for two more days until I finally got a guard to listen in the afternoon. A young Christian man came to my aid in a twist of irony. “Jesus loves you boy. Whats yer name, I’ll check it out fer ya?” I gave him my info and as he walked away I wondered why he took this job. Maybe it was a family thing because he sure didn’t fit the mold of the rest of the turnkeys in jail. No matter, at least someone was listening, maybe my nightmare will end.
About an hour and a half later Jimbo, another law approved sadist came to our block. “Hilltop, Justin! Step forward.” It was here, it was over, I was getting out. Time to pretend to be a rehabilitated member of society. “That’s me officer.” He shot me an angry glare, “I know who you is Yankee boy! Get yer stuff, we gowin see da warden.” What? Warden? Did he say warden? I swallowed hard hoping this was only a formality, it’s not like I have a lot of experience being freed from a jail. I went to my cell, rolled up my excuse for a mattress, and said my good byes to my mates. Oddly bittersweet.
I sat in the wardens office with his secretary, or maybe grandmother, but Warden never showe up. After another 2 hours of processing the old woman finished my paperwork then handed me a big manila envelope. “There y’all go Mr. Hilltop, this is everything you done come in with.“ Inside they had stuffed all my worldly possessions, my wallet, an Oakland Raiders cap, and …..an that’s it? “UM, excuse me maam, where’s the rest of my stuff?” I was missing my sneakers plus about thirty dollars and change. Aunt Bea stared with deadpan eyes, “Cordin tar records Mr. Hilltop, this is allya come in with. Course if y’all like ta stay awhile an tawk at the warden bout it yer more’n welcome.” Sarcasm from Hooterville, the last thing I need. “yea, ah, I get it. How do I get the hell outta here?” Aunt Bea pointed to a hallway, “Ain’t no need fer cussin son, jess foller that hallway to the exit.”
It was seven PM, sun was going down, I was in the middle of Mayberry with no clue which way to go. Where the Hell is the scarecrow when you need to decide this way or that way in a strange world? I opted to go right, figuring it wouldn’t matter because either way there’s nothing but one long ass road anyway. Not even a street sign. Well, hope New York is this way, its away from here anyway. Even with the sun down it was hot. I crossed a small bridge and heard running water. I stopped to collect myself. Its getting dark, I have no idea where I am or which direction I’m heading. I have nowhere to sleep or eat. I am lost in Deliverance, South Carolina looking out over a stream and watching…OMFG.. Alligators! Can it get any worse? On cue, a cop car pulled up.
My mind was racing. Alligators below me, cops coming up to me, and jail not more than an hours walk behind me. Oh well, maybe They’ll put me up another night, better than being eaten by a gator. To my surprise it wasn’t cops, but cop, singular. The bigger surprise is it was the one who helped me get out. “You look lost son, whatch dewin here fer?” Not sure what he wanted, I answered politely, “Truth is officer, I had difficulty getting out and I have no money, no shoes, and I’m not sure if I’m heading in the right direction to get back home to New York. The cop chuckled, but not a mean chuckle, a friendly chuckle. “Well on if ya keep onna headed this away Y’all be in Georgia in bout an hour. But I tell ya what son, you want to git outta Carolina, we sure don’t need no New Yokers here, so Ima give Y’all a ride to the border, to Augusta Georgia an I’ll drop you off at the Salvation Army there. They likely to put y’all up fur the night an you can head on back to New Yoke tomorrow from Georgia, not South Carolina.” I stared at him contemplating the fact I had no other option. “Look son, y’all don’t look like a bad guy, and I’m a man of Jesus. I heard they let ya go late an it ain’t right, so the Christian thing to do is to hep my fellow man. Git on in the car and take my offer.” What could I say. A long way to home, starving and tired, much like the gators, and clean out of options “Yessir.” What new adventures am in store for now? I guess hitch hiking back to the city it is.
TBC

Two Teachers, From Sir With Love

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two teach

How did I end up here? So many years spend meandering through paths ,so many detours, and now I sit with a handful of accomplishments that have long ago worn out there welcome and a plethora of stories to tell. Not much else. True every once in a while I get another flicker of brilliance, a new recipe here, a great idea for a short story there, but overall nothing lasting. Now instead of looking to see what’s up ahead in the path I find myself peeking backward noting where I may have chosen a path better to have avoided, or another better to have taken. That’s the lament of aging, reflecting on where we’ve been and where we may have gone, and how we ended up where we are now.
The times I do look in my rearview mirror the most inspiring image I see is two teachers who attempted to direct me along a path they believed not only was I suited for, but a path that was suited for me. During my hours of reflections of my life I often pause and take some time to consider these two women, two adults during my formative years, that were perhaps the only ones who truly believed in me back then. I don’t dwell on what may have been but I do often regret I hadn’t given them as much consideration as they gave me. I can’t go back, no redo, but what I can do is seize the opportunity to give props to two extraordinary teachers. Mrs. Kirshenbaum, and Ms. Kitty Lindsey, though I never showed it you were both a major inspiration to me. This then is for you, with much love from me.
While in the sixth grade my teacher, Mrs. K., told me I had a creative ability and I should consider pursuing a career in writing. But it was sixth grade, I had recently discovered that not only do girls not have cooties, but kissing them was pretty awesome. I had my first steady girlfriend and career was the farthest thing from my mind. Not to be stifled Mrs. K published an essay I wrote in the school paper, The School Bell. The Bell was a four to six sheet newspaper that went to every household. Mrs K. asked the class to write an essay on what we expect of the move from elementary school to junior high school. I titled my essay “Great Expectations”. I hadn’t read the book but saw it in the library and I dug the title. Although filled with misspellings and grammatical miscues it was an intense view of what I expected when we left the confines of elementary school and braved the new world of junior high (middle school to you younger readers) Nothing about Mrs. Habersham, no Pip, that would become required reading much later, but in my Great Expectations I explored the benefits and dangers of going from the comfort of a single classroom to the unknown experiences of numerous teachers in numerous rooms, in a huge school with way too many dark nooks and cranny’s. Not to mention big kids! Mrs. K was blown away, the principal agreed, even Mom liked it, but no one other than Mrs. K mentioned anything about a future associated with writing.
When seventh grade came it was even more of a challenge than I expected and I learned even more about girls which became an obsessive distraction. My writing career was quickly forgotten and remembering locker combinations and girls names became far more important. Halfway into the year I was introduced to another distraction, marijuana. I had been drinking the occasional beer, hanging outside a store until someone of age could be finagled into buying some for beer or Ripple wine for us, but weed opened up a whole new culture. New skills had to be acquired, cleaning the pot, rolling it into joints, getting the red out of our eyes, self control when something seemed so funny I wanted to burst, and maintaining in class. That meant putting my best face forward to look as straight as possible so nary a soul could tell I had smoked weed. Now I had two major forces in my life, girls and weed. Not to brag but I was getting pretty good at both. The school itself performed its expected task, to prepare me for the world I would be thrown into after school is over. They hired guidance counselors to talk to us in 9th grade that would help take our recently shaped minds and steer them towards the area that we were best suited for in “real life”. Good theory, but in practice they met with our parents to discuss where they wanted our fertile minds steered. “He seems to be pretty good in math, maybe a career in the stock market” “Maybe he should take business math, lots of work for accountants.” After tossing around a few ideas they finally asked me what I wanted. By this point I had been smoking weed and was no longer a virgin. I was obsessed with rock and roll, as well as its subculture of Hippiedom. At first I mistakenly believed my parents cared about what I wanted, “Well…..I think joining the Peace Corps would be cool”. The counselor stared blankly, Dad glared angrily, but dear ole Mom was in denial, “Oh he’s just kidding, aren’t you honey? Tell us which of the careers we chose you like the most.” The time had come, “What I want is to choose my own path, not have you guys tell me which way to go. I want to help people, I like being with people and the Peace Corps does great things and helps lots and lots of people. That’s what I want to do. I’ll keep a diary of my travels and maybe someday write a book about it.”
This was the first of a long string of awkward silences I would share with my parents. Finally my Mom laughed, “Oh JT, stop now! That’s not what you really want.” Dad weighed in quickly, “Don’t be a fool JT, there’s no money in the peace corps, just a bunch of dirty hippies, Mr. Gunther has given you some great ideas of what you can do and you’re going to listen to him and decide which one you want!” It was clear I wasn’t needed in the conversation anymore so I just sat there and listened. They proceeded to shape my life for me as I daydreamed, wishing I had a joint in my pocket. When the meeting was over they were all feeling very positive of my future and I had been instructed to read the stock market pages of the newspaper each day. I went back to class discouraged.
For me Senior High started in tenth grade. After three years of building schoolyard creds and being king shits, we were thrown back at the bottom to be tortured and humiliated by the juniors and seniors. Even the janitors picked on us. I learned quickly that my skill of acquiring weed was a fantastic equalizer, and within a month I was accepted into the fold of the older kids who bought weed from me. Also in tenth grade I met the one teacher who, had I allowed her, would have hand led me down a path of writing. In her English class she had us write a short story without boundaries, whatever turned us on. I had two idea’s I wanted to do so I handed both stories to her. The first was a kind of science fantasy, in which the biggest traffic jam in history caused a dome of carbon monoxide killing near everyone. A post apocalyptic before I had a clue what that meant. The second was a tragic love story, kind of my hip version of Bonnie and Clyde that starts out with a young couple in love waking up after a night of heavy LSD tripping outside a stolen cop car. They wake up confused and still stoned at a reservoir that supplies the town below with water and planned a scheme to fill it with liquid LSD. I then went into a few households and described the effects of tripping It was crudely written with not much finesse but jam packed full of twisted imagination. I had drawn on my recent experiments with LSD which at that time had amounted to a half dozen trips. I wrote it in a somewhat rebellious attitude. Mrs. Lindsey, or “Kitty” as she had her students call her asked me to stay behind after reading it.
My original fear was she would chastise me or turn me in for writing about drugs, but to my pleasant surprise she praised the concept and creative spirit and implored me to sign up for her creative writing course. The second influential person in my life assured me I had a talent. I was pretty blown away, I have a warped imagination, but that’s not a talent, that’s a personality trait. Regardless, Kitty felt if I was given instruction I could write, all I needed was to learn sentence structure and grammar, and for someone to unleash my creativity. I thought it was worth a shot so I promised to sign up. Writing was the one thing I had always enjoyed. I had a spiral notebook of poems, observations, and story concepts I titled “Ramblings.” I never let anyone read the notebook because I had the self esteem of an earthworm. Still, I couldn’t wait to get home and give Mom and Dad the good news.
One persons good news is another’s persons complete waste of time. “What the Hell do you mean become a writer? Writing isn’t a real job, you want a real job.” “Dad, you have no idea what I want because you never listen to me. I hate the godamn stock market, I hate business, and I am never going to be an accountant, that’s not what I want.” Mom just cried but Dad wasn’t finished, “I know exactly what you want JT, you want to sit around on your lazy ass all day and watch TV. You think anyone will pay you to do that? No! I’m telling you what you’re gonna be and you will listen young man. You WILL read the stock market everyday, and you Will take business math. I don’t care what this teacher of yours says you do not have any talent and even if you did you’ll never make a living from it. You can tell this Mrs. Lindsey of yours you won’t be in creative writing you’ll be in business math. Kitty! What the hell is this teacher doing having her student call her by a nickname anyway, what the hell are we paying taxes for, for your teacher to be your friend? You will take business math and get this writing crap out of your head now!” That discussion would define my relationship with my father for the next 30 years. After that day I didn’t miss any opportunity to piss him off. I grew my hair, I wore an American flag bandana, I bought red whit and blue sneakers, I spoke of protests and rallies, signed petitions, attended sit ins, and let him know where I was during those anti American moments. I read very profound books, Aldous Huxley, Herman Hesse, Ayn Raynd, Kurt Vonnegut. I read political and hip books by Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin, Jack Kerouk, Tom Robbins. I defiantly took creative writing and went to class high.
A little too high, with an imagination that did not connect with any of my classmates. I was too “out there” for them, they wanted to be serious writers, Steinbecks or Dickens, and resented me an everything I stood for. I was in a class loaded with hitters, or straits, kids who followed every rule, seldom took a chance, and only saw the principals office on official business, never for disciplinary action which was what I went there for on a weekly basis. I was alienated and withdrawn in class, then started cutting. First a day here or there, then a few in a row, until I stopped attending altogether.
From there I took a myriad of path turns, none of which involved writing. I went from pot sink suds buster extraordinaire at a local restaurant, to line cook at Windows On The World, worked my way up to a B level chef in NYC, then ultimately a chef/owner. I left my dreams of writing packed away in an obscure box gathering dust in the attics of my youth. Until now! I have literally turned a page and gone head first into writing, a blog here, a published story there, an hopefully before my flame of creative energy gets to too dim will have a collection of short stories or perhaps that great American novel that has been hiding out for so long. Never give up on a dream, don’t let other people define your limits. Your imagination never rests and loves exercise, so exercise it daily. No matter what you enjoy pursue it before it passes by you. I work every day now on writing something, an I truly believe I have at least one good novel in me to finish. If I do, I know exactly who will be in the dedication, my two teachers.

Nuthin Could Be Finer Than A Beatdown In Carolina….

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car

Busted, Disgusted,and Can’t Be Trusted.

“ I am gonna sentence you thirty days for each infraction to be served concurrently, you unnerstand that boy?.” Wait! What? Did he just ay thirty days? “Um, I think so your honor, but I’ve already been here three days and I haven’t done anything wrong. I” Jimbo supercop who was standing alongside me squeezed my arm and whispered to me. “You bess shut up son, least you fine yersef here longer’n that.” The judge pouned his gavel, Look here boy, you gigttin one days credit for time served, so you bout to be our guest for the next twenty nine days and if y‘all know whats good fir ya y‘all just take it like a man. You lucky Ize inna generous mood, we on’t take kinly to y’all coming down to our fine State and causin’ uss all kins a trouble. And when you finish your time I suggest you high tail it out of South Carolina cuz if I ever see you agin I promose you I will not be so generous.” He banged his gavel on the desk again and with a dismal lack of enthusiasm, and yelled “Next case.” My two friends Jimbo and Billy-boy each grabbed an arm as the led me out of the courtroom. “Boy, youse one lucky mutha. Only thirty days!” Jimbo seemed almost sad. Maybe he was beginning to like me and wanted to hang out with me some more. It would only be a matter of minutes until I realized that my sarcastic thought, like apparently everything else in this shit state was so very far from any truth.
My jailor friends walked me down one corridor where I noticed a cigarette machine, with a paperback book on top of it. Thinking I may need some reading material over the next twenty nine days I grabbed the book as we went passed without the goon squad noticing. We had made a few turns just confuse about where I was until we stopped at a door that said “Interrogation Room” If I was confused before, I was completely perplexed now. Jimbo opened the door and they led me inside. It was a relatively empty room, they are big on minimalism in South Carolina prisons. Four chairs, three on one side of a table, and one lonely chair on the other. It was apparent which one was mine and Jimbo led me right over to it and signaled for me to sit down. Nervously, I sat. It was Billy who spoke. “Boy, we need to git an unnerstandin’ tween us here. Firstly, I don ever wanna here ya call any of us turn-key again. Got that?” I was in a very precarious position and was weighing my best options. I sheepishly let out a soft yessir. I was taken aback at how wimpy it sounded echoing around the room. Jimbo lifted up his foot and kicked me hard with his “County issue” hard leather boot. He had reached up higher than I would have thought he could manage with his roly poly body and landed the soul of that boot directly in the muscle portion of my left bicep. Both me and the chair caught off guard (pun intended) went sailing across the floor in search of the wall. My head hit it first so I knew I had found it.The chair followed behind me awkwardly. Jimbo walked over to my shaking body and got so close to me I could smell his stale coffee and tobacco stinkbreath. “He asked you if you got that boy?” He really didn’t need to say it so loud, what with me being a half inch away and all, but he felt a need to cover my ear in spit as he yelled. Now I was at a horrible disadvantage and needed to react quick to win these guys over and get out of here. I looked him in the eye and said clearly “Yes sir, I got it. I will not call you turn-key ever again.” Billy was picking me up and Jimbo got the chair. “Now that’s much better boy” Billy was now speaking with an air of superiority that he enjoyed immensely. “Sit back down now boy, we don’t want you falling off your chair agin.” Big bad Jimbo leaned down to my dry ear and began to talk in a half whisper. “Let me tell ya how this is gonna go here yankee boy. We dun like no strangers comin roun here causin no trouble. We don like you, but y’all gonna be here a while so you need to git the rules straight. Theys pretty simple. Rule one, we is your owners now and you nevah nevah talk back to yore owner. Hear?” I was nodding my head in agreement, but before I could get a word out, Billy Boy had whacked my right calf with his baton so hard it burnt like it was on fire before going numb. My calf was throbbing when Jimbo saw the book I had found. He picked it up and said “What the Hell is this? Looka here Billy, this long hair he girl stole him a book. Now ya see boy, this is the kind of thing we wants to avoid. He placed the book up to my temple, and used his baton to hit the book. A pain shot through my head like I had never experienced before. The chair and I both fell to the ground again this time much more uniformly. Billy walked over to where I had fallen, and stepped hard on my calf. “Is this the spot where you hurt yaseff boy?” Pain was throbbing all over, in my leg, my head, and now in my stomach. When I looked up Jimbo was standing over me with his baton by his side and a sadistic smile on his face. I was having trouble breathing which is when I realized I had just been whacked in the stomach with his baton. My head was spinning, my eyes teared up, and I everything looked violet and blurry from blood trickling from my head. Jimbo picked me up and locked my arms behind me. Billy took the book I had found, and placed on my temple again, and whacked the book harder than the last time. With sadistic grins they moved the book to various places on my face and continued the beatings. “Seenow boy, you done us a favor with this here book y’all stole. Ain’t gonna be no marks on yer face, but I bet its gonna hurt for a long time comin’.” Jimbo sat me down in the chair, or should I say threw me into the chair where I collapsed in pain and exhaustion. I could hardly breathe, and barely speak. I looked up through the tears in my eyes and watched them parading around with ugly satisfied looks on both of their faces. The beatings continued for what seemed like an hour, but was more likely only five or ten minutes. They applied the book and baton combination to various body parts, mostly concentrating on my arms. My entire body was throbbing and aching, and Billy got right in my face again. “So I think we have us an unnerstandin’ here, right boy?” He pointed the baton to my face and smacked it with his other hand. The hard wood made a direct hit to my nose and I could immediately feel blood flowing. It took every ounce of strength to just nod yes. Satisfied, Billy stood up and smiled at Jimbo. “I think he unnerstans Jimbo. Maybe we should get this nice young law breaker something to drink, he looks like he has a mighty thirst.” They both laughed. Billy left the room and Jimbo picked up the paperback and handed it to me. “Now don’t y’all go nowhere ya hear me son?” I looked up at him but everything was still blurry. I knew he was very close because I could smell his stale smoke breath. He grabbed my pony tail and lifted me off the chair, put a fore arm to my chest and flung me as hard as he could into the wall. I collapsed and just laid on the floor, not sure if I couldn’t move or just didn’t want to. He threw what I hope was a clean hankercheif at me and told me to clean myself up. I heard the door close and sensed I was alone. I cried as the blood from my nose thinned out the tears.
C’mon boy, it’s time to take you home.” Billy walked in with a bottle of water, handed it to me and they each got on one side of me and led me out of the interrogation room and back down some more corridors until we reached the general population of the jail. They walked me to my cell removed my unnecessary handcuffs and plopped me down on my paper thin mattress. I laid there and started to re-live the beating reflecting on the pain. My face was swollen and my spirit broken. I was barely conscience of my surroundings, but I heard noises all around me. After about a half hour, I fell asleep and dreamed. I had one of the most vivid dreams of my life. I dreamed I was going to a big mansion in the sky, and wondered if I was dying. The song “Spirit in the Sky” played over and over in my head. I was in and out of lucidity for the rest of the day and night. Tomorrow would be another day.

Fast Times At Mount Sanai High

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weed

The Ten Suggestions
Moses tied his long hair in a ponytail as he walked some of his father in laws sheep up the mountain to his “spot” where he often went to chiillax with some weed . On this particular day he had stopped off at his best friends hut for a joint. “Oy Sammy, its me Moses, you got a spare joint dude?” Samuel opened the door, “Aye Mo, wassup my main shepherd friend, come on in I got just the thing for you Bro.” Moses knew he could count on Samuel, he always seemed to have the best weed. Claims he gets it from some dude named “The Lion,” or the artist previously known as Snoop Canine. “Check this out Mo, its some killer chronic. I painted the Zig Zag paper with hash oil before rolling it up so its got some real ballz Buddy.” He handed Moses the doob, “Oh snap Sammy, this gonna be fine my man, just what I need today. Wife’s been on my case all day and I need to dee-stress pronto baby.” Moses headed out the door filled with an attitude of gratitude and a slamming joint in his robe pocket. “Catch ya on the morrow Bro, thanks so much.”
Moses wandered up a mountain path with his sheep until he came across his favorite get high rock where he stopped and lit the J. Toking, coughing, toking some more he could actually feel the stress leaving his head. About three quarters of the way down the blunt there was a big seed that Samuel must have missed when he cleaned the herb and it popped loudly. An ember jumped up from the doob and landed in a small bush by Moses feet. At first he didn’t think anything of it although after a while the bush began smoldering. Moses was way to high to do anything. “Hey Moses….Moses its me, The Man.” Moses looked around but not seeing anyone he anwered, “That you Sammy? Holy crap Sam you were right about the chronic man.” Moses took off his sandal and pounded it on his head, “Hear that man? That’s my skull…. I’m sooo wasted!!” Moses looked again, still no one around. “No Moses, its not Samuel, its me God. You know the father of everyone. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, everyone. I’m the lord God, the supreme one.” Moses stared at the smoldering bush, “Come on Sammy cut the shit man, you’re scaring me Bro. How the fuck do you do that voice?” The bush burst into flame and began to crackle, “Its not Samuel and stop cursing. I hear you cursing all the time and it has to stop. I also know what you think when you look at Sarah. She’s not your wife, you shouldn’t think about her that way!” Moses was still leery thinking he was just too high, “What? Sarah’s friggen hot Man, I can’t help it. Have you seen those jugs? And she has hot legs too. Damn man, anyone that wouldn’t want to get between those…..Hey wait, you’re who? Did you say you’re my father? That ain’t funny Sammy, you know my old man died last year.” The bush began shaking, “Not your father, everyones father you jerk, the Lord God, creator of the world. The supreme being. And I told you to stop cursing. Matter of fact that’s one of the things I came here to talk to you about.” Moses walked closer to the bush, “So you saying I’m talking to God and you have some other shi….. Ah, stuff to talk to me about? Man this chronic is stronger than anything I ever had.” Moses took one more toke then tossed the roach aside, “So if you really god, the what’d you call it, supreme being, where’s your sour cream?” Although it was merely a bush Moses could sense its frustration as the flames flickered. The voice got really loud, “I’m not a friggen burrito supreme you idiot, I am the supreme ruler of all men, the lord god almighty himself and I’m here to give you instructions on what I expect from you. I hope to Jehovah I picked the right one. There aren’t any other Mosses’ in town are there?” The bush was shaking again, “Nah G, ain’t no Moses but me. But I could do it man, just tell me what you need.”
God went on to explain to Moses all the tasks that lay ahead. “Go to the elders of Israel and tell them that I have appeared to you and told you I have watched over them and know what went down in Egypt. Tell them I have promised to relieve their people of the misery by the Nile into the land of Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, and the Pez eating Pezanites. You will lead them into the promised land, the land of milk and honey.” Moses was a bit uncertain and felt that a deal of just milk and honey wasn’t enough so he negotiated to receive Manishcewitz wine, Knishes, and a Halvah candy bar along with the milk and honey. That would cure his munchies. Both sides walked away satisfied yet apprehensive, but the deal was done. Moses was to free the Jews from Egypt and bring them back here to Mount Sinus.
It was quite an undertaking because quite frankly the elders thought Moses was tripping, due to his reputation as a “prolific pot puffer” from his days as a bachelor. Moses complained to God who gave him a few tricks to perform. Hadeus, one of the meanest of the elders mocked Moses. “Check this out boys, young Moses over here claims that God has spoken to him. Hey Mo, what’d God have for breakfast this morning? Hahaha, you know what a man with a fourteen inch erection has for breakfast?” Hadeus dropped his drawers revealing a eleven inch erection laughed loud and said, “Well this morning I had four pancakes, two eggs over, and toast.” All the elders erupted in laughter so Moses seized the opportunity. “First of all Hadeus, its plain to see you are embellishing a bit about your endowment, that looks like ten inches at most, and behold, its not an erection, it’s a tiny garter snake.” With the power God bestowed him Moses turned Hadeus’s anaconda erection into a flaccid garter snake. The room fell silent as all stared in horror at the now even more impressive appendage hanging, or rather squirming between Hadeus’ legs. Hadeus screamed and as he ran away he cut his new one eyes snake on the door hinge and it began bleeding. Hadeus jumped into the lake which immediately morphed into blood. The elders no longer doubted and placed all their faith in Moses. No one wanted to suffer the E-reptile dysfunction of Hadeus.
Convincing the elders was one thing, but swaying the Pharaoh’s mind into freeing his people would prove much more difficult. The Pharaoh had a bevy of snake charmers leaving the snake trick to assume the position of a parlor trick. Moses spoke to God, “God, I told him to let my people go but the Pharaoh just laughed in my face. He was totally unimpressed with the snake trick. I told him you would do some really bad shit to Egypt if he doesn’t free them so….um, whatta ya got?” God raised his voice, “What did I tell you about cursing? What do you mean you told him I would do something? What do you expect me to do?” Moses put on his puppy dog eyes, “Well G, I was kinda hoping we could do something with some frogs, insects, and like some ice balls and shi…..stuff.” Gods voice chilled a few octaves, “Okay, okay, I’ll think of something, but why frogs?” Moses smiled, “My Mom used to tell me a story about an evil witch that turned a prince into a frog, and I just thought that would be fitting since the pharaoh was once a prince.” Moses couldn’t see God but he felt the wind suggesting God was shaking his head, “You are incorrigible young Moses. Okay, give me a week and then go back and get our people the heck out of Egypt!”
The very next day Egypt was inundated with frogs crawling and hopping out of every corner giving the Egyptian people warts and boils. The next day it was lice and gnats, the following day flies.Two days later and ice storm followed by a rash of locusts. Moses chuckled at the thought of the Pharaoh covered in warts, insect bites, and lumps from hail balls pleading for it to stop. He confronted him to find him near insane. “I’ll say it one more time, let my people go. God said he will kill the firstborn of every Egyptian family until my people are free.” The Pharaoh handed Moses the key ring with shaking hands, “Here, go. All of you get the fuck out of here, I never want to see any of you again!” Moses took the keyring to unlock the prisoners but gave the Pharaoh one last demand, “And stop the cursing!”
Well M-Dog was real proud of himelf, he was leading all the jews out of Egypt and had scored some killer black hash and a few grams of some whack Lebanese red cocaine in Cairo, so off they went into the desert. The trip was wracked with misfortune because Moses was stoned much of the time and kept making wrong turns. He put a young dude named Joshua in charge who fared a little better, but it was difficult traveling with armies chasing them all the time. Joshua made a huge misjudgment and suddenly Mosses and his people found themselves trapped at a river. Once surrounded Moses was prepared to give up when he heard God talk to him, “Moses, I saw you buying drugs in Cairo and you know how I feel about that, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Use those drugs to get across the sea.” Moses was perplexed, “How the fu…er how the fudge can I use drugs to save us?” But Gods voice didn’t answer so Moses set out a plan of his own. He asked for a private meeting with the soldiers in charge, “Well boys, you got us. Before you kill us its customary back in my hometown to smoke a few bowls with your captors.” He lit up the hash and passed the pipe getting the soldiers high as kites. He then went to his people and pulled out the Lebanese red cocaine, “Everybody take two quick hits up the nose then we swim like mother, er melon farmers across the river.” Joshua was a bit concerned, “What is that Moses?” Moses smiled, some red “C” I purchased at a caravan in Cairo. Quick, snort it up and lets get the heck out of here!”
After snorting the Lebanese Red “C” they all swam across the river like it was an Olympic event leaving the Egyptian soldiers too stoned to chase them. Now they would have safe passage to Mount Sinus. A bit late perhaps, but be there they will! His people laughed at the stunned soldiers who were wondering what just happened as the group safely headed towards the promised land of milk, honey, wine, knishes, and Halvah bars. Without GPS it took a while but they made it to the foot of Mount Sinus. It was time. Moses headed up the mountain telling his people he’s be back shortly with a message from God. “Listen up guys, this shouldn’t take too long, Ima bust up the mountain to see God, you guys just hang and wait. And please, stay out of trouble. Josh, your in charge dude.
Moses trekked up the familiar mountain looking for his get high rock. Still a huge smile on his face Moses checked every bush around but none were burning. Not even smoking! Suddenly a tall dude with long wavy silver hair and a smoking silver ZZ Top beard walked towards Moses, “Where the heck have you been Moses?” Moses looked up sheepishly, “Oh, um, we got lost God, sorry. Wasn’t my fault the friggen soldiers kept chasing us, I made a wrong turn, Joshua got confused and before we knew it we were running in circles. Anyway, I’m here, your people are at the bottom of the mountain waiting, and its time to lay it on us big guy.” God was holding two tablets in his hands, marked RORER 714. Moses eyes got bugged, “Man, I ain’t see Quaaludes like that in years God. Are they for me?” God passed the tablets to Moses warning him to jut take one at a time. ZZ Top chinhair strap then lit up an enormous rolled joint and the two got high. Moses took both tablets. The two smoked a bit too much and passed out for forty days. When they came to, God had his ten suggestion ready. “Bring this list of ten habits to our people an tell them they need to follow this like law if they want to enter heaven.” Moses looked over the list, “Whoa, God, you gotta go over this shi…..stuff for me first, let take them one at a time. I‘ll paraphrase and write them down so we get it right”
Suggestion 1.….Remember that God is the lord, who freed you from Egypt, and invented weed
Suggestion 2.….Don’t worship before any other gods, wait until after
Suggestion 3.….Don’t put anything in your veins then say “God damn that feels good”
Suggestion 4.….Remember that on Sunday you should play Black Sabbath (or any solo Ozzie efforts)
Suggestion 5.….Be with your Father and especially your mother. Be on her and off her all night
Suggestion 6.….Don’t kill anyone with kindness.
Suggestion 7.….Do not commit to being an adult
Suggestion 8.….Do not steal. Shoplifting is okay, but stealing is a no no.
Suggestion 9.….Do not witness bears doing it with your neighbors.
Suggestion 10.…Do not cover your neighbors wife. (you’ll wanna see everything)

Moses wrote all the stuff down and headed back down the mountain to share his newfound knowledge. As he got close he dropped the paper he has written out. Standing in shock Mosses became infuriated. All of the people he had saved were drunk and having sex, some with a blowup doll. The doll was oddly attractive with large breasts, full thighs, and amazingly realistic calf’s painted gold. The golden calves! He ran around like a madman because he was mad man. “You fools, worshiping a sex toy? Are you fucking kidding me?” Gods voice rang out, “Moses! What have I told you about cursing?” Moses acted as though he hadn’t heard as he ran up and pulled the plug on the sex doll, screaming at the revelers. As the air went out it made a loud sucking noise, and the one who had his rod inserted into the dolls staff let out an “Oh My God” as he reached a feverish orgasm. Mosses turned disappointed, “Of all, people Fellatio, I never expected this from you.” Moses was so crimson red and angry no one noticed that he grabbed at his chest. Moses suffered a heart attack leaving Joshua in charge of the rest of the journey. God had to rewrite the Ten Suggestions this time with corrections. The reworked list still stands today, as does fellatio’s rod.
The End

DUCK!!! The big buck dynasty has hit the fan

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duck

Duck Dynasty, big in the news lately sparking debates about tolerance, free speech, and an over sensitivity to political correctness. Duck Dynasty has over six, count them six million viewers. And without any embarrassment and with glowing pride I am proud to admit I am not amongst that number. Two weeks ago if you asked me if I watched duck dynasty I would have guessed it to be a NatGeo show on generations of mallard ducks, or some sort of prime time soap opera about a duck farmer that struck oil in Knots Landing. As it turns out even my wild imagination could not have guessed it to be a show about a family of living Chia pets in the swamplands of Louisiana who made their fortune from something that was once a toy prize in a Cracker Jacks box. But hell, who am I to begrudge anyone from making a ton of money for being themselves on a television show. A ton of money.
I would love to say this is a story of compassion and human integrity, a big company that took a stand against hatred because an employee spoke in “coarse” language defaming other human beings. But as always it about money. Of course what was spoken in the GQ interview was not really hatred, he was just quoting from the bible. For instance, in Leviticus 6:66, “Thou shalt find vagina’s much more desirable than a mans anus“ or Deuteronomy 7:14, He who layeth with another man shall surely have intercourse with animal next“. Seriously though, nothing for a slave to sing the blues about. But he did say some mean things and of course social media and public opinion wasted no time creating a shitstorm of a political debate about rights and the act of Christian bashing, which apparently is the new “black“.
Some context here. Free speech first. True, we do have the right to free speech but we are also responsible if our words cause us to lose our jobs. You have every right to call your bosses wife a creepy slut who has slept with just about every male employee, but don’t be outraged or perplexed when your boss fires you. The bottom line here is free speech is a right, but when misused there are potential consequences, and that’s on the speaker.
That said, A&E were also well within their right to suspend him because they have to answer to their sponsors. I don’t remember who said this but this quote is a quote that businesses should share with their employees, “We don’t pay you, our customers pay you. We just handle the money.” So Mr. Duck Dynasty i responsible to A&E, who in turn are responsible to their advertisers, who are then responsible to us, because after all we are the consumers, they all just handle our money. After they take out disproportionately huge cuts of course. So A&E had to act swiftly so the shit doesn’t pile up on them. Unfortunately they acted by playing middle management and imposed punishment immediately so their bosses would see that they are taking control. The problem for A&E is they acted before any duck dust settled. No hearing his side, no waiting to see how outraged the public would be, and most importantly, how much toleration their sponsors would have for a family that brings in crazy good ratings. A&E took a stand, The Ducksters got behind their favorite hirsute millionaire family, Christians screamed defamation of the Bible. Political correctness gone wild they whined, all he did was speak the lords truth about the despicable excuses for a children of god because of their sexual orientation. Its christian bashing plain and simple, part of a war on Christianity. Of course that doesn’t fall under the category of too sensitive because its only political correctness gone wild when someone else bashes you.. It became a FOX fake news vrs. Lamestream communist news event sparking enough hatred to breath flames into sagging ratings of hate fueled political pundit TV shows. Oh the postings an responses on social media were off the hook. Gay life style is destroying all that’s good in humanity, like allowing any asshole to have the ability to arrange for an arsenal of guns in their homes. Provided of course they aren’t gay, then it would require a new law. But I digress, I don’t want to fan the flames, there is plenty of hatred from this injustice. And this time its NOT IN FLORIDA!!!
This is how I would like the story to go, both sides squaring off, the entire duck dynasty threatening to leave A&E, a face book page threatening to boycott A&E, and A&E showing their backbone by insisting on an apology to all the offended people assuring us that they will always take a stand against hatred. I can‘t because their real response was how much viewer money do we stand to lose we lose? No, it was time for some damage control from both sides. So in the true American battlefield, the big business boardroom, a strategy was worked out. A&E would rescind the suspensions and the double D television show will offer an insincere apology for using coarse language. Not apologizing to African Americans for belittling slavery, or defaming the LGBT community for its role in bestiality, but for using coarse language that may have upset anyone. It may not have the integrity we hoped for, it may not discredit hate speak, and it may not taste like victory, but at least everyone is happy and came out smelling like swampy roses. And by everybody of course I mean the Duck Dynasty staff, A&E, and all the advertisers who didn’t even have to admit their role in allowing big bucks to once again rule the day. We are a society of ADHD celebrity gossip lovers who love it when the paparazzi uses them as toys to play with so until the duck shit hits the fan again somewhere, this one is ov….Oh wait, Brittany is shaving her head again. Gotta go this is gonna be huge!……PEACE

Resolution For The Hell Of It

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bucket

If you’re old enough you may remember Abbie Hoffman, counter culture activist who wrote “Revolution for the Hell of It” as a follow up to his “Steal This book” novel, then like me you have broken so many New years resolutions the only sensible resolution is to never make another one. For me that’s been a long running resolution, I haven’t broken it for six years now. But like records resolutions are made to be broken so this year I will break that one to make room for some new ones. The prudent and easy thing to do would be to just take my bucket list and turn it into my resolution list. There’s two problems with that, first what fun would that be, and second and most important is I have never made a bucket list. In fact until I saw the movie I believed a bucket list to be all legs and thighs from KFC. Either that or a list of available buckets from Home Depot when it comes time to kick it.
On the brighter side, it already gives me my first resolution. I resolve to have an honest bucket list by the time 2014 comes to an end. Relatively easy so far, what’s next? I checked with Google to see what the top resolutions have been so I have a reference point. It seems the top resolutions are losing weight, quitting bad habits, exercising more, eating healthier, drinking less, learning more, and vacationing more. Then I looked at Google for a list of the top broken resolutions, and yup, same list! Well that sucks, I guess I better throw out that list and get creative.
Holy crap, that means I’m already up to three resolutions. 1, make a bucket list, 2 throw out the other resolutions, and 3 get creative. Having been out of the resolution racket for so long I’m not really sure how many resolutions are typical, what’s the norm? Back to Google. Not much help, I got lists of ten, forty, and fifty top new years resolutions. Best to just pick out the most meaningful and go with that, lose weight, exercise, and eat healthy, which realistically is one resolution. Lose weight by eating right and exercising. Now I have four, I think one more will make it five and that sounds like a sensible and fairly attainnable number.
I have always loved to read so to make it an even more achievable resolution list I added read more books, specifically ones I loved when I was younger, one that helped to shape my young mind. A few I already have and others I can buy with the Nook gift cards I received for Christmas.
I believe I am now ready to make my list. I will make a bucket list, throw out unachievable resolutions like less drinking or quitting bad habits because lets face it, if I am serious about a bucket list it gonna be jam packed full with bad habits and alcohol driven antics. I’ll keep on writing which will help me become more creative, I will moderately change my eating habits and walk more, and last but not least reread some of the books that were so important to me in my youth. This is a much more fun list to make, the books I’m going to reread. Siddhartha, A Clockwork Orange, The Teaching of Don Juan (Carlos Castaneda), The Stranger, The Prophet, Brave New World, Breakfast Of Champions, Even Cowgirls Get The Blues, One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, Electric Kool Aid Acid Test, Steal This Book, and Revolution For The Hell Of It.
I looked over the list, felt it was relatively comprehensive then began reminiscing on how each of these books changed my life. Before reading these important works I was a naïve follower who like water always took the path of least resistance. I never objected to anything, I conformed to everything, allowed my opinions to be forged by my Mom and Dad, and basically offered no resistance to any aspect of life. But with each book I became more and more aware of myself, and how screwed up the authorities around me were. I became a rebellious long haired draft card burning member of the counter culture, growing my hair and adopting a hippie fashion style to piss off my parents, attending peace rallies, workshops for yoga, meditations and astral projection. I smoke the devils weed and danced with danger. I ingested liquid courage and chemical mind expanders. Drugs and rock and roll took my soul through eminent domain. Because of those magnificent works of literature I turned on and tuned in. Those books taught me well. So well in fact, that I’m saying fuck this resolution bullshit, I refuse to conform to mundane practices of the mainstream that are meaningless in the end. I’m gonna do whatever the fuck I want to do without any stupid lists pushing me to be someone I‘m not. So that’s it, nor resolution lists, one resolution and one only. Do whatever makes me happy. I’m having a resolution for the hell of it…I bet Abbie would be proud….PEACE

Watch This Now

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aaaaaaaa

If corporate America had its way this is how we would watch TV, like my good droogie Alex here, eyes forced open and head pointed squarely at the TV set. Drops of some drug in our eyes so we will absorb every message they want to impart in our brains. At least during the commercials because right now for a limited time we are in the viewer empowerment age of Television. We are not obligated to warch their commercials anymore thanks to DVR’s. The Golden age of TV was cool, a lot of fun and experimentation, variety shows, soaps, comedies, and the only price we had to pay was being subjected to advertising, subliminal or otherwise. A half hour show was about 19 minutes programming and 11 minutes of advertisement. They even snuck their slogans or catchphrases into our cultural vernacular. Taste great, less filling, a little dab will do ya, choo choo Charlie was an engineer, always after me Lucky Charms, sorry Charlie, Trix Are for kids, I can’t believe I ate the whole thing. They appealed to our grandparent love, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up, where’s the beef, and they even had us singing tongue twisting jingles, two all beef patties special sauce lettuce cheese pickles on an sesame seed bun. But now most of us record the shows and fast forward through the commercials. I haven’t seen a full series of TV commercials in over a year! I am empowered now, I watch the shows I like without that commercial interruption so its up to the stations to take full advantage of this by entertaining me with quality television programs. They have the opportunity to showcase some real creative shows and we aren’t forced to have our intelligence insulted by little men sailing boats in toilet bowls, women ecstatically happy during their menstrual cycle, or the reforming of the old high school rock band to sing about erectile dysfunction. What’s the best they offer? Shows about ridiculous people just being themselves, a number of updated versions of Ted Macks Amateur Hour, or dancing with the has beens.
I was raised to believe that hard work and determination would reward me with success but that’s 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 and most prolific path to the top today. Unless of course your idea of success is not just money, but fame. For many people its all about being on TV. Get yourself on one of the hundreds of talent competition shows. Do you have what it takes to make it in music? Don’t bust your ass playing at low income gigs and performing all week long dedicating yourself to your art,. get your ass on an idol X Factor Voice show. You can practice for your big moment at karaoke night at your fave pub. Hell, you don’t even have to be a good singer if you can whistle happy birthday through your nose or anything else ridiculous. Hell yea, that’s good enough to get you a talent challenge on any network. Fuck the winning prize money for coming in first all you really need is to get noticed. Be an asshole or a bitch and own that fact and maybe they’ll come looking to sign you up for or a show of your own. All you need do today is be a pompous ass 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 and 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 give us self confidence because we aren‘t THAT bad.
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 a dumb ass move I feel compelled extend my middle finger then stare inside their car as I pass. 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 an idiot so I can avoid them off the road as well. 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 friends and family, or just be out of place millionaires. We need to know how other people act in real life. Why?
As for me I have more than enough stress and drama in my own life to want to see someone else going through their real life problems, give me fantasy. I‘m much more comfortable watching serial killers, lawyers and cops, crime scene investigators, and horny doctors and interns. When I relax and vegetate on the couch I want escape from my world, not look at other people living theirs, but fantasy, a life as far removed from my own as possible. That’s why I never watch the Food Channel. I’m around food constantly in my job, why on earth would I want to see more of it in my free time? Unfortunately creative stories with actual professional actors is more costly and a lot more work so the networks are more than happy to fill prime time with bullshit competitions and real life drama they insist are unscripted.
Sit com? Here’s an idea for a new sitcom no one has, an idiot male for a husband, a suburban wife who wonders why she puts up with him, a smart mouthed kid, a gay family member (uncle or whatever), a minority marrying into the family thrown in for some mispronunciation of English laughs, and one brainiac precocious little kid. Um, actually it looks eerily similar to every sit com around today. never mind!
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 B&I television. Not business and industry, boring and irrelevant. The idiot part is obvious (even to an idiot) but the boob part of boob tube today has become how much boob they can show and get away with under the guise of wardrobe malfunction. Young boys tune in hoping for a nip slip, teen girls hoping for some tight spandex. I love edgy stuff and I enjoy pushing every envelope passed my way but it pains me to see gratuitousness in television. I’m not a supporter of censorship but its sad to me that the artistic integrity of stretching our boundaries and placing us outside our comfort zone is slipping away. Especially because its only a matter of time before the sponsors figure out a way to get their sell, sell, sell, message into our brains. Perhaps they will team up with the NSA…….PEACE

Rudolf the Drunken Santa

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

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You know Dasher, Pole Dancer was Prancing with Vixen,
Used Comet on Cupid cuz Donner was Blitzed some,
But so you recall,
The sloppiest drunkard of all?

Rudolf the red nose drunkard,
Talked in a very slurry way
And if you could even hear him
You’d say the fuck d’he say

Oh how the other drinkers
Use to laugh an watch him drool
They never let poor Rudolf
Sit with them on a barstool

Then on last call Christmas eve
The bartender came to say
Rudolf with your ass so drunk
Help me get a dead bodies in the trunk
Oh how the other drinkers
Started slurring out with glee
Rudolf look at your own your leg
You should first have stopped to pee

The All Time Favoreite Classic Festivus Poem

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn Uncategorized2 Comments

night before

A Festivus visit
J.T. Hilltop

T’was the night before Festivus
When all through the house
The computer was not working
I couldn’t find the mouse

The stalkers were hung by their necks with such care
In the hopes that the end of their peeping was near
The children ate Nestles they snuck in their beds
And bounced wall to wall, banging their heads

Mom in sexy teddy straddling my lap
Had just bound my hands with a Festivus strap
When down in the kids room there arose such a clatter
I had to get dressed, see what was the matter

Away to the window I flew like a dash
Dropped my full baggie losing my stash
It fell on the breast of the new fallen snow
I watched as my reefer was falling below

When what to my bloodshot eyes should appear
A hallucination of eight tiny reindeer
With a leprechaun in red so lively and quick
I knew in a moment my eyes played a trick

A rainbow of eagles his coursers they came
He yelled at all eight and he called them by name
Yo Bashful yo Sleepy yo Doc and yo Sneezey
Hey Dopey and Grumpy and Happy and Sleezy

Hidden in the dresser where Mom keeps her thong
Now dash away dash away while I get my bong
Then in a twinkling they climbed on the roof
A dancing red leprechaun this must be a goof

As I drew in a hit and was turning around
I opened my hand the bong dropped to the ground
The dude dressed in fur from his head to his foot
Was laughing so hard and he was covered in soot

Bundles of herb buds there on top of his back
Just like a drug peddler carrying a sack
His eyes how they twinkled, and dimples they sank
His cheeks red as roses but his stare was so blank

His droll little mouth drawn up like a joke
His beard on his chin was snow white from some coke
The stump of a chamber pipe he clenched in his teeth
Second hand smoke circled my head like a wreath

He had a broad face and a little round belly
I aired my first grievance and said he was smelly
He was also too chubby and a right fat old elf
And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself

With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head
He rolled a sweet fatty he bought from a dread
He spoke not a word but played his big role
In the middle of the room placed an aluminum pole

With a feat of strength placed a finger to his nose
An sniffed up more coke through a dollar bill hose
His grievances he aired till his team blew the whistle
And feats of great strength had broken the thistle
But I heard him exclaim the aluminum pole out of sight
Happy Festivus to all, and to all a good night

Enjoy whatever holiday you celebrate and take time to laugh
PEACE