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Monthly Archives: February 2014

“It’s poetry in motion,
When she turned her eyes to me,
As deep as any ocean,
Sweet as any harmony,
She blinded me with science….”

Thomas Dolby
She Blinded Me With Science

Robert Blake.

Little Rascal.



So, I was toiling at work tonight with a hypodermic needle and a fiber optic camera (as sometimes my vocation calls for that,) and I had my ipod on with all these various TV (television) commercials from the past.

One of the commercials was for the old 70’s TV (television) shows in which they were expounding upon the suspense-fullness of an up-coming episode of the smash TV (television) show, Baretta!

Of course, it made me think of Robert Blake. How can you not think of Robert Blake when you hear the Baretta! theme song?

You knooow,…Robert Blake. That guy that was in the Little Rascals. He played Mickey. (see below)

(wait a minute. That’s not him. See below again)


Robert Blake played Mickey in the original Little Rascals. He was like a featured player with them. Kinda like Guido Sarducci or Al Franken was on Saturday Night Live. He wasn’t in every episode like Spanky or Alfalfa or Darla, but was seen enough to be recognizable.

Well, little Bobby grew up a few more years and ended up getting a gig with Humphrey Bogart in the movie, “The Treasure Of The Sierra Madre”. He was only in the movie for a minute or two before Bogart chases the scamp out of the bodega.

(see below: Left to right, Humphrey Bogart, Robert Blake)


Now, this is where the six degrees comes in…

Robert Blake was in this movie for no more than 2 minutes tops, right? Now, here’s the dealio:

Robert Blake is in this movie. According to the book, “In Cold Blood” by Truman Capote, this film was the main character’s favorite film of all time. Perry Edward Smith was the main character in Capote’s non-fiction novel and Tour-De-Force. He was an actual human being.

(see below: From left to right, Perry Smith, Truman Capote)


Perry Smith (along with Dick Hickok) were the down and out ex-cons who killed the Clutter family on November 15th, 1959 in Holcomb, Kansas.

In their effort to put justice and milage between the law and themselves, they went to Mexico to hunt for gold, patterned after the Bogart character in “Treasure Of The Sierra Madre”. That was their escape plan. To go mining for gold in Mexico.

Unfortunately, hookers and booze ended up robbing them of the opportunity to do so….so they came back to the States and were caught in Las Vegas…ironically, right after they picked up a box they mailed to themselves from Mexico. The box contained the boots that left the footprints at the Clutter house. The boots that ultimately put the noose around their necks.

In any event, after the executions, a movie was made of “In Cold Blood”. Robert Blake was chosen to play the character of Perry Edward Smith in the big screen dramatization.

(From left: Robert Blake, Scott Wilson and Truman Capote)

So, the guy who watched Robert Blake in his favorite movie was actually gonna be played by a guy in his favorite movie. How creepy and serendipitous is that?

In addition to all that,….the actual characters from Holcomb played themselves and the house that was in the movie was really the house. So that means that Robert Blake actually trodden the same steps that Perry Edward Smith did. One to do the actual killing, the other to act it out.

That’s like six degrees screwed up, man.

But it gets better.

Robert Blake goes onto bigger and better things on TV (television) and becomes Baretta! A total smash hit on TV (television) at the time. He had that cool theme song and that crazy bird with him all the time, as hell, man.


Then he gets cancelled. (Why? I don’t know. Stupid networks. Always lookin’ at ratings and crap. I still wear his type of hat from that show. I call it my Baretta Hat….or a newsboy hat. Either/or. What-ev)

So, like, then,…Blake disappears, right? Nothing is to be heard from him for years.

Then! All of a sudden! He’s arrested for the murder of his wife, Bonnie Lee Bakley!…or should I say, Bonnie Lee Broke-me!

The deed goes down in front of an Italian restaurant in Studio City, man!

He says he took her to the car but realized he forgot his gun in the eatery,…then when he came back out, she was dead in his car and bleeding all over his nice Corinthian leather in his Cordoba.

So, now he goes on trial for murder,….just like Perry Edward Smith did!!!

That’s totally screwed up, man!

He even did the last mile,…even though he wasn’t found guilty. It was on Piers Morgan. Rough interview. I believe that was his public execution. (see below)



“Woke up, fell out of bed,
Dragged a comb across my head,
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup,
And looking up I noticed I was late,
Found my coat and grabbed my hat,
Made the bus in seconds flat,
Found my way upstairs and had a smoke,
And somebody spoke and I went into a dream,…”

The Beatles
A Day In The Life

So, I was at this upscale dollar store a few weeks ago, right? As I was perusing the fine merchandise to be had there, I came across this rather large, hardbound book about the Fab Four. Being the Beatles fan that I am, I’m always looking to find somethin’ new about them.

This book was all of 5 bucks out the door. It’s simply called, “The Beatles”…with their ever-so recognizable faces emblazoned on the front cover, just under the title.

I purchased this book,…in addition to an Ipod charger cable, a big box of Good and Plenty’s,…and a refrigerator magnet that had George Costanza on it. I thought the day was a success.

I tarried silently and alone over this frozen tundra to my domicile where I was going to embark upon the making of some hot supper with tea,…and, as I ate, I was going to crack the book open to see what new wonders the Beatles still hold 50 years down the line.

I was so excited about what lay ahead! (A fine night, indeed!)

So, I get home and promptly got knocked down by the dogs. The dogs are not big, mind you, they just get tremendously underfoot, as it were. What, with the bags I had and three of them running furiously between my feet,…but all was well. I was home and in from the cold.

I set about making my dinner with the Beatle book waiting patiently upon the table.

I made a garlic-peppercorn Beef Filet (served with A-1 sauce and grilled mushrooms), a baked potato that was greased with red pepper infused olive oil. (served with butter and sour cream) and a “Scabies Salad”. Tomatoes, blue cheese and desiccated hard-boiled eggs and Vadalia Onions. (served with a house vinaigrette). The tea was a mixture of Sleepy-time Extra and Jammin’ Lemon Ginger. (served with a !snap! of sugar and honey)

As I sat down to eat, I pulled the book closer to my plate and began to flip through the book to determine if there were any new pictures that I hadn’t seen before.

And then I saw it. It was on page 44. Chapter 4: Please, Please Me-1963

It wasn’t the words written in the chapter,…and it wasn’t the picture on that particular page. It was the description of the picture!!

It was written:

Right: The Beatles perform at the Empire Theater, Sunderland, on February 7, 1963. (Left to right, Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr, George Harrison, and John Lennon)

Don’tcha see it?! It’s right freakin’ there, man!!

In a panic, I began to rifle through the rest of the book to see if there were any other anomalies such as this. There were. The entire book was infected with them! THE ENTIRE BOOK WAS INFECTED!!!

I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was too much to take in, man. I lost my appetite and shoved the book and the plate across the table and put my head down in defeat.


What I am talking about, of course, is very simple. Throughout this so-called “book”, in every picture description, the author has the audacity to write,….in conjunction with the picture it denotes,…..

(From left to right, Ringo Starr, John Lennon, Paul McCartney and George Harrison.)

With all variations that the said picture pictures.

Blasphemy!! Death to the tyrant who thought so bold as to assume that the masses didn’t know who the Fab Four were by simply looking at their pictures and discerning who was who!

This is the freakin’ Beatles, man! We know who they are! We know who they are just by looking at them! The guy playing the left-handed violin bass is Paul. The guy in the middle is George. The guy on drums is Ringo and the guy with the Rickenbacker guitar is John.

Everybody knows who the Beatles are,….by face and guitar recognition alone!

(This has to be a government plot to demoralize the masses so we give up our guns and crap!)

Yeah,….they were around 50 years ago and stuff….but, for heaven’s sake, McCartney and Starr were just at the 2014 Grammys singin’, “With A Little Help From My Friends”!

Would anyone dare to write a picture description like this?:


Miley Cyrus (Center)

This is just too disheartening. We could play the devil’s advocate,….sure. We could say that the author was just trying to get “the younger folk” to experience The Beatles and this may be a helpful guide to help them recognize the Fab Four we all know and love. It just might make them buy their records,…I mean, cassettes,…I mean, Cd’s,….I mean, MP3 files…I mean, Brain-Implanted-Memory-Chip-Instant-Recall-Implant-albums.

(Wait a minute,…that’s not here yet, is it?)

We could say that,….but that’s predicated on the assumption that the younger generation are complete dolts who, in all reality, CAN identify them because they DO listen to them STILL!!! I have never met a teenager who couldn’t look at a picture of The Beatles and not go,


It’s a fallacy. It’s a bogus argument, man!


I just did what any real Beatles fan would do.

I took a black Sharpie,….and took it to the bathroom. I took the book,….and took it to the bathroom. And I am systematically blacking out all references to (from left to right….)

Five or ten minutes at a time.

This madness has to stop.


(from left to right, Dirk, Stig, Nasty and Barry Wom)


“…and you ain’t got to touch a man,
to make a man bleed,…”

Ian Hunter
Just Another Night


Here are the top ten things I learned this week:

10. If I drink three Red-Bulls in quick succession, the world takes on a euphoric, taurine-fueled hue that will last for about three hours. After that comes the uncontrollable and emotional outbursts directed at people minding their own business.

9. In a snowstorm, when I go to start my car and turn the windshield wipers on, I have found that the passenger side will squirt the blue juice while the driver’s side will refrain from doing so.

8. I bought a bottle of syrup this week simply because it was called, “Blood Orange”.

7. If I drink three Red-Bulls in quick succession, I have found that I get the uncontrollable giggles for a while. This is bad….especially when the boss is talking to me and is trying to convey something of a serious nature.

7.v.1.1.1. I take in Peeks from rescues until they find their “Forever Home”. I learned that this one kinda grew on me, so I made a film of him:

6. Little Debbie Nutty Bars are the world’s most perfect food. It’s what we’ll be eating on our starships in the not too distant future. (Unless the talking apes become our masters before then.)

5. I have found that it’s really weird to drive down the road while looking at the screen of my dash cam for navigation purposes. It’s like it’s the ultimate middle-man who is gyppin’ you out of the big picture.

4. I have come to the stunning realization that the music of Paul Simon is total garbage. He really, really needs Garfunkel to be any good. It’s like meatloaf and gravy. Under no circumstances should they be consumed separate.

3. I had heard that Mickey Rooney was still alive this week. That, of course, begged the question: Why?

2. I have found that I open myself to ridicule from my co-workers if I order a sandwich that has avocado as the main ingredient. (This also applies to vegetable pizza.)

1. I had to answer a security question while banking online this week. It gave me a multiple choice question of an address that I lived at in my past. I got the question right,…and the year was 1984,…but my name was never on the lease nor did I get my mail delivered there.

Kinda makes you think, don’t it?


“Yeah, I know I ain’t nobody’s bargain,
But, hell, a little touch up and a little paint…”

Bruce Springsteen
Human touch

Here are the top ten things I learned this week…

10. If you work for a company for forty years and come to work the day your mother dies, you will not even get so much as an acknowledgment on the company bulletin board in the event of your own un-timely death.

9. If you go to the bank to get singles for a twenty dollar bill so you have change for the vending machines, if the teller is female, chances are she will automatically jump to the conclusion that you are going to a strip club….and she will declare that to you,….in front of her co-workers and waiting customers, no less.

8. When your boss asks you what you are working on, the correct answer is anything but, “this Zag-Nut and that Carmel Macchiato.”

7. When you think you’re alone at work, the second you start dancin’ and singin’ to ABBA’s, “Waterloo”,….somebody will magically appear to catch you doing so.

6. When a woman at work begins to regale you with a tale of her trip to the OB/GYN…(complete with descriptions about scopes, lights, probes and fingers),…I have found that there really is nothing that can be added to the conversation. There are no polite rejoinders or questions that can be contributed to the dialogue,…because they are all wrong.

5. A two-litre bottle of “Faygo Red Pop” has amazing accuracy when thrown like a football. (A quick side-note on that? A kidney is an amazingly resilient organ.)

4. If you fall asleep while eating a Dove chocolate, the simple act of waking up takes on a richer hue.

3. Vinyl Records still sound better than tape, disc or mp3 files. The problem with Vinyl records is that you can’t go snowboarding while listening to them.

2. Candy bars, if strategically and carefully hidden in your underwear drawer, will be found by your woman in relatively short order.

1. The Monkees were never the Beatles,….even though they outsold both The Beatles and The Rolling Stones in the year 1967. Rest assured, friends,….they were never the Beatles.

A bonus:

This may be the worst song ever written and played…..Ever.

What’s your top ten?


“I knew a man, his brains s’small,
He couldn’t think of nothin’ a’tall.
He’s not the same as you and me,
He doesn’t dig poetry.
He’s so unhip that
When you say “Dylan”,….he thinks you’re talkin’ ’bout Dylan Thomas,…
(whoever he was)…
The Man ain’t got no culcha.
But it’s awright, Ma!
Everybody must get stoned”

Simon And Garfunkel
A Simple Desultory Philippic


The only thing I can’t find is my identity, man.

Were all the same. We all have the same house, the same problems, the same dogs.

It’s as if I am in Devo. Antiseptic, cold and faceless,…devoid of human feelings.

The blackness of night holding back the light of the day in this brave new Orwellian world.

We traverse the night fantastic with the emotional make-up of the stouted, dancing midget. Our senses stripped of the out-dated human-ness that our ancestors found so endearing. The swirling black hole gobbles up the tenderness that once made us what we are,…what we aspire to be,…what we cleaved to.

The violent world of H.G. Welles comes to wretched fruition,…in all it’s obscene glory. A murderous lot of thugs walk the “Clockwork Orange” streets in an effort to satisfy their ravenous hunger,….yet, there is no fear. There is no apprehension,…only apathy,….and emptiness.

I look to the sky and wonder if I am alone in this mass of human wreckage that cries out in the night…in which no spoken word is ever heard.

Reason escapes me. Hunger rules me….and the clock on the wall continues to mock and tick,….tick, tock, tick, tock…with the rabid insanity of the tell-tale heart.

The cold night betrays us as the soulless spirit mocks our every waking mo….


(wait a minute….the timer just went off,….my pizza rolls are done!!)

Gotta Git!!



“Maybe you and me were never meant to be,
just maybe think of me once in a while,
I’m at WKRP in Cincinnati….”

WKRP In Cincinnati
Theme Song

This snow’s a bitch, ain’t it?

Geez. We’re getting pummeled where I am at. I thought it was a fluke this year. I thought it would fake us out. Nope. The weather is playin’ the blitz play and there’s no gettin’ off this train until it stops, man. Full speed ahead until the end of March and then possibly gettin’ hit one more time in mid-April.

You would almost think the government is behind it.

I know one thing that’s NOT behind it and that’s my freakin’ car, man. I got a stupid little Honda Civic. Great car in the summer,…but it’s crap in the winter. I haven’t gotten stuck yet. That’s a good thing. This front wheel drive stinks,…but the car moves like a panther in more conducive climate….so it has it’s shares of gives and takes….but in winter it’s just slides and shakes.

I don’t know about you, but I’m one of those people who does that whole preventative thing in October. I make sure I have jumper cables. I make sure I have a bottle of anti-freeze in the trunk along with some tools that you don’t think you need but you really do. Like a portable air-compressor (due to tires running dangerously low air pressure the colder it gets. The sensor will say that you are low, but air,….I dunno,….contracts….because of the cold. It expands when it gets warmer. Make any sense? I have seen my tire air pressure read low in the cold and when it warms up, the light on the dash will go off.)

In spite of all my preparations, I still can’t get past the dreaded summit debacle that ensues every night about this time. The parking lot where I work is accessed by a rather steep hill that is enclosed by a chain-link fence,…which makes your point of entry and your escape rather harrowing in the winter months.

It’s like a winter olympic bobsleigh race. Picture, if you will, a little black bobsleigh trying to go up a hill,…and that’s where you see me behind the wheel of my Honda. It looks cool as hell going down it, but goin’ up it, I look like and idiot. Goin’ down it, I look like Gene Hackman in the French Connection.

Writing about it, I sound like an idiot.

Oh,…yeah,….and it doesn’t help that our municipality plays this poverty game every winter.

“We don’t have enough money to buy salt and pay our plow-drivers because you all voted the speed cameras out. If we had THAT revenue, we could buy salt,…so you did it to yourselves.”

Then the cops,….you know what they do? They lay in wait for you to come slip-slidin’ down the street and then pull you over for “failure to control.” I seen it happen, man. So bogus. You’re sliding down the street and shit and they pull you over an say you’re not controlling your vehicle properly.

“Report to the city and pay the fine!”

Ya know,….this cabin fever is total bullshit.

Came home to make some stuffed cabbages, but was so late, I had to settle for a Bob Evan’s breakfast bowl instead. (nothin’ like rubbery, microwaved eggs….)

Now all that’s left is to crawl under the covers and turn on “Terror By Night”….starring Basil Rathbone, Nigel Bruce and Skelton Knaggs.

(I swear,…Skelton Knaggs had to be a creep in real life. He gives me the chills just watchin’ him, man. Dude is bogus. Just hearin’ him talk sends my ass into a pucker.)


Nothing moor than,
Trying 2 4-get those,
Pheelings ov luuuuuvvvv…”

Moris Alburt

Made a few stupid mis-steps this past week.

I know it’s not a big deal to the average person,…but I actually spelled the word “equipped” with a “t”.

It was in an email written in a fit of fury.

(You know,…one of those emails that you write somewhat haphazardly and fire off without runnin’ a spell check,..or without thinkin’,…or without choosing your words carefully. One of those emails.)

I know this shouldn’t be a big deal,…but it is.

Why would I think there was a t in the word “equipped”? I never used a t in it before. Why would I, at this stage of the game, start writing the word equipped with a t?

I tried not to let it ruin my day. I tried to shrug it off but,…I dunno,..sometimes things like that can get the best of you. It can occupy your mind and then you begin to do stupid things as a result of it.

I did not send a follow-up email that said I knew that I spelled the word equipped wrong. I thought maybe I should,…but I also kidded myself into believing that my social faux-pas would go unnoticed.

I weighed the options about that. There might be a possibility that nobody would notice the word equipped spelled with a t. I thought that, maybe, in a worst case scenario, the recipients would think that this may be the new avant-garde way of spelling equipped,…like everyone would pick up the cudgel and start spelling the word equipped with a t.

Sometimes that happens, ya know.

The pop star formerly known as Prince used to spell words wrong on purpose. Instead of writing the words “are you”, he would actually write “r u”.

I don’t think anyone pointed out that he was spelling those words wrong,…I mean, not if they valued their job or anything.

If we, as a society, would all just get on board with me, then there would be no more problems as far as the “correctness” of the phonetic spelling of the word equipped.

If I was boss, we would all be spelling the word equipped with a t. There would be no more double p’s.

It’s only write,…write?

(I’m gonna run a spell check on this thing before I post it….)