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“Do you like green eggs and ham?
I do not like them, Sam-I-am.
I do not like green eggs and ham!
Would you like them here or there?
I would not like them here or there.
I would not like them anywhere.
I do so like green eggs and ham!
Thank you! Thank you,

Dr. Seuss
Green Eggs And Ham

I went to the public library today. I know that this is earth shattering news to some of you. Me going to the library and all. I was pretty stunned myself actually. The reason why is simply this: They had amnesty this week. I am not altogether sure if it had something to do as a precursor to Obama’s impending thing on illegals or if it was simply to get asses in the seats, as it were.

It was painless enough. I walked in and told them I was a wanted man and that I was there to turn myself in. They asked for my address as I stood holding out my hands so they could cuff me and process me. I just dropped that dime on myself. Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time type thingy. They looked at me like I was an idiot,….which, of course, I am.

The Librarian pulled up my rap sheet and read the charges: $11.00 in fines. I began to fidget. I began to sweat. $11.00 is a heavy rap, man. That’s almost a felony in library speak. (I just wished I had counsel at that point.)

She cheerfully told me that I was the lightest pardon of the day. She had processed over $2,000 in fines in the previous four hours. I breathed a sigh of relief. She wiped my bill clean. I was a free man.

I told her that I lost my library card about three years ago and would really like one back. She was more than happy to issue me a new one. She even pulled out a bunch of templates that I could choose from. There was one that looked like a Starbucks card. It had emblazoned on it: “Borrow, Return, Repeat”.

I told her I would take that one because it had commands on it instead of fallow suggestions. I need to be reminded,….because I’m a fugitive from justice…..”right now!”

(Gil Garcetti. L.A. District attorney during the OJ flight from justice.)

I paid my meager dollar for the new card and went in search of items that I could brazenly “just take”. I felt like I was wilding. I was on the hunt,…and woe to anyone who was in my way whilst I did it.

I found a CD entitled, “Neil Diamond’s Greatest Hits” and a DVD entitled, “The Smothers Brothers: Season Three”! I can’t believe all those idiots who were just sittin’ there on the “free” internet just missed these gems! What a bunch of three-toed sloths.


I grabbed my stash and headed for the self checkout! I checked my items out, got a printed receipt and just walked out the door,….un-molested. Not a word was spoken as I brazenly just walked out. Babies.

The library is like Neville Chamberlain. If you hold their head in the toilet long enough, they will cave.

Appeasement, my ass.

I think the next course of action is to order up a bunch of “Project: Runway” and just not pick it up when it comes in…..



“I’m all lost in the supermarket,
I can no longer shop happily,
I came in here for that special offer,
A guaranteed personality…”

The Clash
Lost In The Supermarket

Hell has indeed frozen over.

Lebron James returned to Cleveland, Tommy Ramone died…and I found myself standing in a “Whole Foods” outlet.


Yes, my friends, hell has frozen over.

Whole Foods is this place where you go when you want to pay expensive prices for food that tastes rather bland. That’s not a knock on the store. I think the tragedy at play here is that I was actually in it without really needing to be.

Given a choice between a Big Mac and some Arthur Treacher’s fried fish and chips (with hushpuppies), I would enthusiastically take them both and think it absolutely normal to do so.

Let’s face it. I was in there under duress, OK? There. I said it. Someone made me go there with them.


Here’s the thing I want to underscore here. What you have in there are millennial hippies. They work there. They are patrons of the place. Some of the guys that work there have that Amish beard thing goin’ on. They wear the color tan. Do you know what I’m talking about? Sometimes they wear polo shirts with striped colors,….but the strange thing about that? The colors of the stripes seem amazingly dull. They have pierced ears and semi long hair. They no doubt ride their vintage Schwinn’s to work when the weather is conducive to it.

My question is simply this:

Is this what the millennial hippies of 2014 aspire to in their walk of life? To sell and buy over-priced bland food?


If it is, that’s not necessarily a bad goal to to have. I am totally down if they are happy at their vocation. I really am. Not too many people find the work that they want to do these days. (If they can find work at all)

The thing is, they looked happy. Probably more happy than I look at my job. So, in essence, I was a bit jealous of them.

That’s alright. I don’t eat healthy as a habit. Being a Teamster, eating healthy is somewhat akin to a cat taking a bath. I would rather die than do it and you will get the same ear-splitting histrionics out of me as you would a cat with an impending water bath. Ugliness afoot all around.

It was just a dashed odd observation, that’s all.

They had everything there however. I’ll give them that. They even had,…what is it?….organic beer there?


It was then that I felt as if I was in a museum. I looked in awe, studied it and knew it was well out of my price range,…so I better not touch it. But it sure was interesting to look at,….knowing I could never have it….by choice and by pocketbook.


It was an odd day, to say the least.

Right before we went in there, we had just dined at a place that served us something called a “crab-stack” and “Creme cilantro chicken with red-skinned potatoes with roasted corn and cheese”.


There’s the old adage: “Don’t go shopping hungry. You spend less if you eat first.”

This is the one exception to the rule. Even if I was hungry, I wouldn’t have bought anything in the place.

My other half, however,….did.

With extreme predjudice.


“Got no woman,
or a steady job.
Feeling like a cowboy
and looking like a slob….”

The Rutles
Living In Hope

Hey. What’s goin’ on?

When it comes to my job, I thought that I had seen it all…but no.

This was a classic.

The other day when I was rushing’ around to go to work, I hastily packed a lunch. It was three baby back ribs from Aldi’s. They were leftover from the weekend. They were pretty good ribs considering that I only paid 6 bucks for an entire slab of ’em. They were pre-cooked and bathed in BBQ sauce and were just the thing to hit the spot at 8 pm on a summer evening.

I had made 5 ribs the night before for my midnight meal and these three were the leftovers from that dinner.

Anyway, as I was searching the cupboards to find a container, I ran into a small snag. I couldn’t put it in my pink tupperware bowl because the ribs themselves were too large to fit in this particular round container. I moved on to a disposable Ziploc container that I had bought at Aldi’s… one of those clear things with the blue lid….this proved to be too large and would take up too much real estate in my backpack.

I then found a smaller Ziploc container and this proved to be too small as well. (But the ribs would “go” into the container-with a little force-so this was to be the container that I would use.)

I shoved the ribs into it, got the lid on it, threw it into my backpack and headed off to work.

I went into work, put my lunch into the fridge and set about my day.

At 8 pm, (which is our union sanctioned lunchbreak) I went to get the ribs. As I was walking over to the microwave I couldn’t help but notice that the container seemed a tad light.

That was weird.

I opened the container and was distressed to find that there were only two ribs in it. I stood there looking at it for a minute or two…because my brain was desperately trying to process what had taken place between the hours of 3:30 and 8…

That someone actually stole one rib from my lunch.

Paul (the guy I eat my lunch with) came over to stare into my twisted container with me after he noticed my facial distress from afar. I told him that somebody actually ate one of the ribs out of the container. He started laughing and when I didn’t start laughing with him, he really began to believe that I was actually serious.

I said, “Dude,…I put three bones in this thing at three o’clock and now there’s two”.

He looked at the container, which was all bent and and kind of twisted from me trying to get the three bones in there, and he even deduced that it looked like it held somethin’ more than the two bones that currently resided.

We stood there looking at each other as to try and make sense of the current critical situation.

Is it possible that I was mistaken?


I transferred three bones into three different containers before I left the house! There was no question that there were three bones in there!

And now there was two!

Now, since the thought that someone pawed over my lunch was just too un-appetizing for me to comprehend, I took the remaining bones and threw them out and sat and pouted while Paul ate his boloney and ketchup sandwich.

Not much was said during our lunch break…but the latent underlying issue was still there.

Who…would actually go into someone else’s lunch…and eat just one spare-rib?

I knew it wasn’t Paul because…well…it’s Paul.

Paul doesn’t go in the fridge cause it’s a dark and scary place. I don’t like to go in the fridge because it’s a dark and scary place…but since meat has this “thing” about being refrigerated, I have to put my lunch in there.

I really don’t think this was a personal affront because my name wasn’t on the container and no one saw me put it in there. I think this was just someone who was hungry and decided to rummage aound in the fridge to see what there was to gnosh.

Isn’t that a bit scary?

How many times have I put something in there that I DIDN’T know was pawed over before lunchtime? If I brought spaghetti, how would I know that someone didn’t stand there eating it with his or her own bare hands?

Is this an isolated incident or is this something that is running rampant?

You can’t tell management about something like this either. They would just look at you like you were crazy…or laugh…or quickly dismiss it out of hand because they actually KNOW who did it and are working hard at trying to protect the guilty party. Trying to protect one of their own, as it were.

Paul speculated that it might be the president of the company.

I dismissed it because the president of the company, on that particular day, was wearing a powder blue shirt and no one in their right mind would eat BBQ spareribs while wearing a powder blue shirt. Too much room for error.

He agreed.

No, I think this was someone “on the floor”, as it were. Someone who knew the inner-machinations and the dietary habits of the people and their environs. Someone who has access to the fridge and could go in there unfettered. Someone who could pretend like they’re looking for his or her own lunch when, in reality, they’re actually just standing there pawing over and eating other people’s food.

This is a guy who could blend into the background. A guy who would say “Sup” as you walked by. A guy who can strike and disappear.

I walked around the plant looking in the various garbage cans placed hither and yon…to see if I could find a discarded rib-bone perched majestically upon a mound a refuse…but it was to no avail.

This kind of put a damper on the rest of the night…for Paulie as well. He went over to the bulletin board and pulled down a memo from the president. It was about some stolen material and what they’re going do when they get their hands on the guilty party.

He xeroxed it and, on the copy, crossed out the part where it says “stolen copper braiding” and wrote in “stolen rib-bone”.

Even though I laughed, I was still kind of depressed about it.


I just feel so violated.


“As I walk through,
This wicked world,
Searchin’ for light in the darkness of insanity,
I ask myself,
Is all hope lost?,
Is there only pain and hatred and misery?”

Elvis Costello
(Whats so funny ’bout) Peace Love and Understanding


I find it truly disconcerting that after fifty-three years of life on this planet, there actually is someone who could call cole slaw,”cold slaw”,…without a hint of self-consciousness or shame. When I hear this type of bombastic banter, I don’t correct, cajole or even laugh. I let it pass with the silence of a sparrow.

It’s not the fact that the person doesn’t know better. I think it’s more the fact that, to him at least, it sounds more pleasing to the indiscriminate ear. Not withstanding, of course, my own ears, which happen to be more discriminate than the next set of fifty-year-old ears.

Cole slaw is, indeed, cold. It is not, however, called “cold” slaw for that reason.

Whatever the reason is,…(of which, I do not know, because the origins of the cole slaw escapes me at the present moment)….as to why it’s not denoted with the “cold” prefix,…instead of the regular ol’ “cole”…remains a mystery for the ages.

I would be remiss to not say that I don’t think it makes a lot of sense NOT to call it cold slaw, as the verbal pronunciation could remain as a reminder to us that this particular dish requires refrigeration, but the simple fact remains that our fathers, and their fathers before them, called this scrumptious cabbage delight, “cole slaw”.

Therefore, we must adapt ourselves accordingly. We must continue on in the tradition that was taught to us as young children. We must adhere to the bindings of this verbal usage.

I do not, however, look down upon those who make the innocent mistake of calling this gastronomic delight, “cold slaw”. It simply doesn’t make sense for me to point out the fact that their butchery of this innocuous title is something that they should feel inferior about.

I am, simply put, not that ‘mean of spirit’ as it were.

Some would argue to the contrary. Some would say, that by simply writing this essay, I am, indeed, that mean of spirit.

I say bullocks to that.

There is nothing more distracting than to hear someone call cole slaw, “cold slaw”. The articulation of the term “cold slaw” is increasingly demonstrative of the fact that we are, indeed, a TV nation who depend more upon the mistakenly heard word than the written word.

It is a sorry reflection upon the collective, “we”. I do not wish to be lumped into the masses who call cole slaw, “cold slaw”. To do so would be a mistake.

However, if,…when ordering food from a Jewish deli,…I am in the company of a person who uses the word, “cold” immediately prior to the word “slaw”, I am in danger, by my simple silence, of being in agreement with the incorrect term, of which, I am most decidedly, NOT.

This, of course, creates a pickle.

I am left with the awkward task of having to use the correct term. I am the one who, by using the correct verbiage, is made out to be the villain in this scenario, when all I wanna do is simply order a fatty corned beef sandwich with cole slaw and baked beans.

Let us not pretend to be something that we are not. Let us not pretend that the incorrect use of the word ‘cold’ does not bother us. Should we, as caring brothers of our fellow-man, stand mute when this verbal faux pas transpires in our presence? I answer that with a resounding NO!…but we should do it anyway.

Stand mute, that is, if only to (perish the thought) save others from the embarrassment that is tantamount to the soiling of one’s own pants in a very public forum. If we are the strongest nation on the face of the planet, then we must not appear as dolts when referring to our finely chopped cabbage friend as “cold”,….Yes?…but we do because we are afraid to correct our other, less learned friends,….aren’t we?

Let’s all get on board and present a unified spirit to the rest of the world.

Let’s drop the l d in favor of the correct l e,…o k?

E and D are only one letter apart….but they can do a lot of damage when in the wrong hands.

…and,…while we’re at it….as we tarry forth into the great unknown of the new century, I find it amazing that a person,….who has been on this planet for 46 years,….actually refers to the hats that I wear as “berets”…..

They’re “newsboy” hats.

What other foods are like that? Where the name is butchered to actually represent something in the name?


“Breathe,…breathe in the air,
Don’t be afraid to care,
Leave, but don’t leave me,
Look around, choose your own ground…”

Pink Floyd

We have now gotten ourselves into a sticky situation. I’m speaking, of course, about the current and dangerous trend that we find with the present state of candy production. It seems that the faceless denizens of corporate America have decided that another check-mate should be incorporated against the sheeple.

Hershey Candy has just perpetuated one of the biggest conspiracies in the history of candy production. The aerated chocolate bar.

They say they invented it, in spite of the fact that aerated chocolate already accounts for $500 million in confectionary sales worldwide. That doesn’t matter when a conspiracy is afoot. It’s what you see at the moment. You believe it because the TV tells you it’s true.

Let’s be blunt and to the point. They are pumping free air into your candy and you are paying for less chocolate that is replaced by a somewhat chocolate flavored air bubble.

It’s the same with White Castle hamburgers. They give you a tiny hamburger and then,…hold the phone here,…poke holes into that tiny hamburger and call them “flavor holes”. These flavor holes are filled with the same air that they fill the Aerated Hershey bar with. And that air is free, people. You are paying for something that is free. The annual profits on free air could possibly reach upwards to the equivalent of 12% of our national defense fund.

We see more air in our food all the time. So much so that we become blind to it after a while. A half-gallon of ice cream is no longer a half-gallon. It’s smaller than a half-gallon, isn’t it? But you still pay the half-gallon price. Why is that?

When a small potato chip bag gets opened, it’s filled 1/4 the way with potato chips,…the other 3/4 the way with,…you guessed it! Air. Free air. Free Air that you are paying for, once again, with you hard earned farthings.

The last time I checked, air was free. It’s all around me until, say, someone crop-dusts me in a Best-Buy or a low-level liquor store and/or elevator.

To put this rare commodity (known as air) into your tires, you have to pay for that. You pay 75 cents for all the free air that you can aerate your tires with in your three minute allotted time. The problem with tires, of course, is that you don’t eat them but they need to be aerated nonetheless. It’s air and it’s channeled,…but it’s still air. It’s still air and air is free. You are now paying the owner of the property for that free air!

(It says so right on the sign: Air-75cents.)

Branching out into other directions of our God-given free air, there is another commodity that is worth mentioning here. Water. Water is free. Water is all around us. We need water to live. Water is another commodity that we now pay for.

Let’s hearken back to the aerated candy bar for a second. They put it in your candy and you pay for it and get less. The same with water. They put frozen water in your drink and you pay a tariff for that. They tell you it’s free,…while automatically charging you for it.

How, you say? By the real estate in your glass. You get less Sangria when they fill it with free ice (frozen water) than if there was no frozen water in the equation. Sans ice, you get blotto’d. With ice, you get a slight buzz. If you got the ice, you just got ripped off because a good Sangria should really level you out. It’s their contention that it is desirable for your glass to sweat with coolness.

This is the propaganda that is put forth. Wine with lime and orange tastes exactly the same after two sips whether it be iced (frozen watered) or not.

People, we need to be proactive on this dumbing down situation that we currently find ourselves in. We need to stand up and take control of our free, God-given elements that we need to survive. The Reichstag burned in a day. The government leaders are doing this to us subtly. We now pay for air and water in consumables.

This tyranny will not stand!


“And the sign said “Long-haired freaky people need not apply,”
So I tucked my hair up under my hat and I went in to ask him why,
He said, “You look like a fine upstanding young man, I think you’ll do,”
So I took off my hat, I said “Imagine that. Huh! Me workin’ for you!”

I was toiling at my job today when the song, “Signs”, scrolled across the ol’ pod. It has been a standard for the counter-culture for as long as I can remember. The song has spanned generations and still gets radio play with great frequency.

Some things birthed by The Five Man Electrical Band are just born to stay, I guess.

Not a bad song, on the whole, but during the 3 or so minutes of the song, it actually gives a black eye to the counter-culture movement rather than praise it…as it was originally intended to do.

The irony of it all is really quite sobering if you think about it.

My witness to the song is neither to the right or the left. I actually, truth be told, swing to the conservative end of the spectrum whilst doing my best to look like a lefty of the old guard. I guess what I mean is that I look like a hippy, yet tend to vote non-Democrat….and it hasn’t always been that way either. There was a time I was truly a Democrat. I understand where they’re comin’ from, man.

The thing about this song is found in it’s human-ness. It’s just the typical selfish attitude of, “I want what I want when I want it”. We all fall victim to that once in a while,…but when it’s enhanced and condensed into a three minute song, there’s just something about those lyrics that can truly grate on a person’s nerves.

Here’s what I mean.

We take this first set of lyrics:

“And the sign said “Long-haired freaky people need not apply,”
So, I tucked my hair up under my hat and I went in to ask him why,
He said, “You look like a fine upstanding young man, I think you’ll do,”
So I took off my hat, I said “Imagine that. Huh! Me workin’ for you!”

Granted, this young man is angry for some reason. Since the song starts there, we do not know the cause of his anger. You can even hear it in his voice when he starts singing. He already has a chip on his shoulder.

We can garner, due to his piqued fury, that the sign he read may have been paraphrased due to his anger. But we don’t know this, do we? It could have very well said, “Clean-cut gentlemen wanted for food preparation. Must wear hair-net. Interested applicants please apply inside. Thank You.”

If he were to truly put up a sign that said, “Long-haired freaky people need not apply,”, he would probably have a law suit levied against him by the ACLU,….which could be pretty pricey when it comes to court costs. Small business owners tend to know when to pick their battles in cases of possible legal interjection and potential legal injunctions.

Be that as it may, because of his attitude, he felt he had to play some shenanigans with the shop owner or restauranteur who kindly complimented him on his appearance and offered him a job so he could EARN some money….but then the young man decided hat the best course was to deride and ridicule the person who was offering him gainful employment.

Moving on….

“And the sign said anybody caught trespassin’ would be shot on sight,
So I jumped on the fence and-a yelled at the house,
“Hey! What gives you the right?,
To put up a fence to keep me out or to keep mother nature in,
If God was here he’d tell you to your face, Man, you’re some kinda sinner!….”

Now, here our hero decides that it’s a dashed good idea to provoke home-owners by testing the limits as to how far he can go before the owner of the property actually pulls a gun and shoots him because he feels threatened by him. It becomes a wanton disregard to his own safety to do this because the right to bear arms is very clear in matters of self-defense. People have a right to protect themselves from unstable people who tread onto and into their property uninvited. There are trespassing laws, young man. They are on the books and have been for a very, very long time. Even in 2014, people can own property,…and have the right to protect that property and the souls that dwell on that property.

As a side note, the declaration about whether or not God is here shows a true lack of theological knowledge. To say “if” means you’re not too sure. If you invoke the name of God and brazenly presume to know what He would say in this particular given instance, then that means you have a simple, cursory understanding of who He is,…and your presumption that you can actually anticipate what He would say truly makes you seemingly above God….or greater than. That is called, “Mania” my friend. They have medication for that now.

Moving on,…

“Now, hey you, mister, can’t you read?
You’ve got to have a shirt and tie to get a seat,
You can’t even watch, no you can’t eat,
You ain’t supposed to be here,
The sign said you got to have a membership card to get inside….

Here we get into your philosophy, young man. In those five lines uttered, you have turned the looking glass upon yourself. In your reckless abandon of fury, you have decided that any and all rules and regulations are simply fallow and unjust because it doesn’t include your unblemished and regimented train of thought. Some places, if you don’t have a tie, they give you one free of charge! As far as membership cards go, I can’t go to the local BJ’s because I never applied for a card. If I were to take the time to do so, I would be admitted. I just don’t know what I would do with that much Ramen or spaghetti sauce, that’s all. I choose not to get a card,…but I can if I so desire. It takes all of five minutes. You have much more than five minutes available,….you just turned down a job….

Moving on,…

“And the sign said, “Everybody welcome. Come in, kneel down and pray,”
But when they passed around the plate at the end of it all,
I didn’t have a penny to pay,
So I got me a pen and a paper and I made up my own little sign,
I said, “Thank you, Lord, for thinkin’ ’bout me. I’m alive and doin’ fine.”

And here is where we come full circle, my job-less friend. Need I remind you that not more than 2 minutes ago, you were offered gainful employment which you turned down with no chance of another interview. That’s why you didn’t have a penny to pay,….which, theologically speaking, you are not paying anything. You are tithing. That is supposed to be 10% of your total income. Now, say, if you found ten dollars in the street, you would be obliged to “tithe” one dollar,….and your actions in that would then be multiplied. It is the only area in which God says we can “test” Him. But you already know that since you know what God is gonna say before He says it, correct?

So,…you see, my loud-mouthed friend,…..that commie crap only goes so far. We are not communist yet,…..close, but not yet. My advice to you is to go back to school, get a degree and become a part of society. The way you live is way too hard and way too in the dark. I applaud you for your determination to stick to your principals, but they are doing you more harm than good.

You can still be a rebel. There’s no problem there. You can smart off to the boss when you have seniority. Just focus a bit. Gain some footing,…but this moving around ten times in a three minute song just ain’t gonna pay off, man. Tom Hayden and Abbie Hoffman had to pay their dues to become credible.

You should too.


“Sometimes it’s hard to believe,
That you’re never coming back to me.
I’ve had this dream that you’d always be by my side.
Oh, I could have died.

But now I see that you’re so happy.
And ooh, it just sets me free.
And I’d like to see,
Us as good of friends,
As we used to be,….”

Wilson Phillips
You’re In Love

I had to make the move today. It had to be done. I hate starting over but it’s a fact of life. It happens to the best of us, I guess.

I had to change the pass-codes on all of my devices today. I couldn’t bear typing in that same four-digit number again. Today was the day that it had to end.

I might miss 7734 in the future. I don’t know. The number has served me well since it’s been with me. It’s nothing against the number itself, of course. It’s just that the chemistry between us has grown stagnant in recent days. It was always there for me when I needed it….like when I would be standing in a checkout and there would be someone taking their good sweet time in front of me. 7734 was always there to help open up the wonders of electronic connectivity to the world that was just beyond where I currently stood.

It’s not 7734. It’s me and my selfishness that is to blame. I know this. But it’s better to have been served by 7734 than not at all! I would’ve missed so much of the world had it not been for 7734

I loved 7734.


There were also those great instances in which 7734 would actually let me by-pass itself. It gave me the freedom to soar without choking me with inane legalities. If I ever wanted to use the calculator or the camera on the fly, 7734 was always fine with that. If I had to check under the hood on a rainy night, 7734 was there with the flashlight. That number always knew what was important and what wasn’t.

7734 always knew what was best for me.

If I wanted to access my personal information, it made sure I had it’s proper sequence before I did….and that’s ok. I trusted 7734 to always look out for my best interests all the time. 7734 always made damn sure I had it’s number before it would let me flit Higgledy-Piggledy onto Facebook, YouTube and even this blog you’re now currently reading….providing that you even got this far into this post.

(Which, by now, is pretty much a miracle in and of itself…..T’a’int it?)

I loved 7734….but I had to move on. Our relationship had become somewhat trite and banal. It was time for a change. I’m the bad guy in this scenario. I don’t deny it. I just had to walk away. Some of you may call me a coward,…I suppose I deserve that.


“The grocery store’s the super mart,
uh huh
Little girls still break their hearts,
uh huh
And men still keep on marching off to war,
Electrically they keep a baseball score,…”

The Beat Goes On
Sonny And Cher

‘Tis the ending of another banal 7 day week. Nothing portends evil like the waking moment of a clammy and cold October Monday morning,…but, alas, that is a mere two days away and I have less on my plate tonight then I did when I started this odyssey in the early afternoon hours of this particular day.

I had to run to the bank and was forced to tarry there (far longer than I wanted to) due to the fact that it took four tellers to attend to the man that was parked outside in the drive-through,….no doubt attending to multiple (and possibly questionable) transactions from the comfort and safety of his own vehicle.

I was patently ignored. The man who actually got out of his vehicle and took the time to walk into said bank,…was, indeed, put on hold in favor of the ne’er-do-well who thought it perfectly ok to not leave his vehicle whilst conducting MULTIPLE transactions.

After my business there was complete, I motored over to my other bank so as to withdraw some farthings that might be needed during the course of this fine autumnal evening.

I withdrew the 20 bucks from the ATM and went on my way.

Has my life really sunk to this? Go to the bank, pay bills, go get a 20 spot that I can’t afford and then get a cheap sandwich to lunch upon while I work my increasingly boring job?

That’s all fine and good. I don’t care. I pay the bills and keep food on the table. I should be grateful for that,…not being in the red and all,…it’s just the dashed balmy-ness of it all.

I will do something crazy here and just take a random picture of something. How’s that?


My Paul McCartney bass laying on dirty socks and underwear near the dresser in my room. That was pretty exciting, wasn’t it? (I actually left it there because I will be recording a soundtrack for a movie on Sunday during the Steelers/Browns game.)

I did a list of ailments this week. (I bet you’re glad your reading this post, aren’t you?) I have determined that my left forefinger hurts sometimes and that my jaw pops. The jaw has never done that before. The finger comes and goes,…but the jaw has never done that before. It only pops at work. Not when I get home. I have to wonder if it’s stress or something. It kinda hurts when it does that….I don’t know.

I think the root of the problem is that I miss the 1970s. I am not old. I’m just nostalgic. I love nostalgia…but that’s for another post, I suppose.

Nothing like that Farrah Fawcett poster though.


Beyonce has nothing on her. Beyonce struts her ass all over the stage and then lights up the word “Feminist”.





Yeah, right. Really?

Gwenyth Paltrow just cooed to Obama that he was “so handsome that she can’t speak properly”.


Ok. Now how many of you think I’m a boring old fart because I miss the 70’s?


So on we go,…
His welfare is of my concern.
No burden is he to bear,
We’ll get there.

For I know,
He would not encumber me.
He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother….”

The Hollies
He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother

Rep. Steve Stockman (R-Texas) announced on Thursday that he has filed a resolution directing the House sergeant-at-arms to “arrest Lois Lerner for contempt of Congress” over the IRS targeting scandal.

Stockman said in a statement that asking the U.S. Department of Justice to prosecute Lerner for “admittedly illegal activity” is a “joke.” Instead, the Republican said it is up to the U.S. House to “uphold the rule of law and hold accountable those who illegally targeted American citizens for simply having different ideas than the President.”

Under the proposed resolution, Lerner would be held in a Washington, D.C., jail and would be given access to an attorney and all her constitutional rights.

All her Constitutional rights. She has access to all her Constitutional rights. How patently ironic it is, isn’t it? The same document that she wants to destroy is the one that she needs to hide behind. I would love to be a fly on that wall when they come to take her. (Which they probably never will, of course. To arrest means to charge. To charge means to pardon and that’s what she will undoubtedly get from the Obama administration.)

But!….on the flip side of that? I would love to see her in handcuffs and sitting in the back of a police car just once! That would be the ultimate photo-op for the up coming mid-term TV commercials.

But that’s not what I wanted to talk about here. I really wanted to talk about Lois in a more serious and refined manner. The fact of the matter is that Lois has more pressing problems than simply being arrested by Congress for targeting the tea-party. This revelation delves into absolute madness, my friends.

The thing I want to talk about is the Lerner doppleganger factor. This can potentially have a damaging effect on her future career choices if it ever comes to light….if she ever sees the light of day again and in the highly improbable chance that she may ever have a career again.

I am speaking, of course, about the Golem factor.

The year? 1920! The country? Germany! The star? Paul Wegener! The Movie? The GOLEM!!!

(I have to point out that the comparisons are not for the faint of heart.)

It can also be said that the Golem was actually a good guy….unlike Lerner who,…umm,….how shall I say this?


Be that as it may, let’s just take a look at this incredible doppelganger freak of nature, shall we?

Lois Lerner (left) The Golem (right)

The hairstyle is almost exactly the same, isn’t it, kids? Freaky, to say the least. The golem looks a little more approachable however.

Moving on….

The Golem,…I mean Lois Lerner (left) The Golem (right)

They both carry purses in their left hands. That means they both must be left handed! Dopplegangers who have the same primary hand! What are the odds of that?!!…and they wear the same jacket!!!

Lois Lerner (left) The Golem (right)

They both have a look of defiance on their face here. Lois’s defiance is at Congress,…like a petulant spoiled child….The Golem’s look says, “You want to get it on, you stupid democrats? I’ll smack the taste outta your mouth. Bring it on you punks!”

Geez. You can hardly tell the two apart. They’re brothers from different mothers.


“So take the photographs, and still-frames in your mind.
Hang it on the shelf of good health and good time.
Tattoo’s of memories and dead skin on trial.
For what it’s worth, it was worth all the while.
It’s something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right,
I hope you had the time of your life….”

Green Day
Good Riddance (The Time Of Your Life)


Know what I miss?

Motorcycle cops. They just don’t exist anymore, do they? They’d pull up next to you at a stoplight and then they would look to the right or left and then give you one of those silent, almost imperceptible nods as if to say, “Hey. What’s goin’ on, man?”…..from behind mirrored sunglasses and from behind a mustache. I miss that.


Now, our police are militarized. They drive tanks and Humvees. They need them to carry stun guns and AR-15s and that kinda shit…..They’re not as personable when they drive those. They still look to the right and to the left,…it’s just that,…umm,…you don’t.


Know what I miss?

Carburetors. That finely designed and fragile fuel-injection artifact that could take all sorts of heavy-duty abuse. Nothing could be better on a frigid winter morning than to walk out of your house with a freakin’ can of ether in one hand and a freakin’ “Goody” comb in the other. You pop the hood to your Chevelle, take off the BIG, ROUND AIR CLEANER, pop that rocker back and spray that ether into your carb. You stick the ass end of the “Goody” comb in to hold the rocker in place, jump into your car and fire it up, replace the air filter and you’re on your way, baby. (This action, btw, would take 15 seconds.)


Now, we have the E-checks. There’s a computer in your car that you are REGULATED to have checked (at certain intervals) to see if there is any hi-jinks going on in the car when the EPA isn’t looking. This organization’s sole purpose is to be a watch dog over your automobile. If they detect ether, you don’t get your stickers, Mister!! And you will pay a mechanic dearly as penance.


Know what I miss? T.V’s (Television’s)”The Flying Nun”. Sally Field was so great as that tiny troublemaking nun that could fly when she lifted up her little nun,…habit,…hat…thing. I miss that. She would be shooting marbles with dirty little orphans and, at a moment’s notice, she would be flying through mountains to get to the scene of some untowardly actions so she can single-handedly take down a Peruvian drug lord. I miss that. I miss “The Flying Nun”.


Now we have The Little Kardashian Sisters Of The Poor doing sex on the internet with Vegas taking odds on how long one or two of the marriages would last along with battles in court to keep “The Flying Nun” off the air in re-runs because the atheists are supposedly “offended” by her presence on THEIR air waves.


Know what I miss?

The Clash. The only band that mattered and who sweated onstage to make a living and a change. These guys played Bonds in NYC for two weeks straight because the promotor “oversold” all of the shows. They wanted to honor every last ticket sold so they stayed until every last fan was played to. (1982)


Now we have Justin Bieber and Miley Cyrus “who just don’t like going to work”,….as said so very appropriately by Sir Paul McCartney. They were chastised by him! Chastised, I say! Chastised by Sir Paul himself!!


Know what I miss?

I miss the days when you could actually buy vinyl. The art work on the album cover was always second to none. Hell, I miss the days when you could actually buy a cassette tape. Hell, I even miss the days when you could buy a CD!


Now we have downloadable music that can’t be burned to a CD and can only be listened to on certain “devices” that you have to prove you own before you can do it.

Know what I miss?