OK, BETTER LATE THAN NEVER...

Dear Mr. Claus,

I know that this letter is a bit late which is why I am sending it email.  I just assume that you have wi-fi and at the very least can get this expedited through Amazon.  I hear that they are gonna stay open late tonight.

I have been a very good boy this year.  For the most part.  Well, unless you are counting that thing with the cat.  It really wasn't my fault and besides, she has most of her bandages off now.  Dad says she should be out of Intensive Care before New Year's.  Again, it was not my fault.  I honestly didn't know that lighter fluid was flammable.  But I do now.  And I feel bad.

OK, here is my list.  I would like a baseball glove (left handed), a midget pony (brown), that really, really, really big box of Lego's that my Dad said was too expensive (he cussed, so don't bring him anything), a pachinko machine, another midget pony (white) to keep the brown one company, a submarine,  a bagpipe or an accordion (whichever is in stock), a Red Rider repeater rifle (the one with the cross hairs on the barrel and the compass on the stock, so I don't get lost), a real Mystery Van from "Scooby Doo",  some erasers for the end of my pencils that are shaped like sharks or bears  and a one off sequined gown from Bob Mackey (off the shoulder).  I like dinosaurs too.

I will be leaving you a plate of cookies and milk by the tree.  Mom said that she made them herself but I'm pretty sure that they are just Oreo's.  Don't bring her anything either.  She can't be trusted.

I hope that you, Mrs. Claus and all of the reindeer are doing good.  Especially Olive because she is my favorite.

Thank you,

Donn

P.S.  If you don't want to eat the "homemade" cookies I will understand.  Just leave them because I know dad will eat them once he finds out that you have not left him anything.

LORD, I DO LOVE ME SOME "PURKLE"!!!

Yes, indeed, this is my favorite color.  I make no excuses... it's just too good of a color.

I am color blind on more levels than I care to explain.  Yeah, it's bad.  I am a hazard at traffic lights in the Western world.  In China, I am a nightmare.  Yes,  in China they reverse the colors.  Fuck.

I have dressed weirdly since the time I was born.  Please, no surprise.  To me, a pumpkin, a tomato and an apple are the same color.  So is most of my clothing.  And my car.  Shit, I'm screwed...

Color blindness is odd.  Strange.  OK, bottom line it just pisses the shit out of you.  TRUST ME!!!  I am a strange cross between  blue-yellow and red-green.  Yeah, and just to you straight guys out there,  80% of all males are color blind to some degree.  Think about it, we can't see colors that females do..  And they see ones that we can't even imagine.  Such is life...

I embrace my "disability" with open arms.  And eyes.  When Sea Squirt and I first met he asked me what my favorite color was.  I answered with a flavor.  Hibiscus.  He didn't have clue.  And then we went to Mexico.  I showed him hibiscus, in it's many hues.  As well as limon, lemon,  bougainvillea, azule and cobalt.  To me they were all flavors that I could see.  And then I showed him aubergine. He had never heard that word before.  But then I showed it to him, with a smile on my face.  It's a fucking magnificent color.  It's purple.  Sort of.  A distinctly reddish purple.  A very distinctly reddish purple.  It makes my bloody heart sing!!!  Yeah, it's that good of a color. Aubergine is a color I would gladly go to war for.  Yep, that good...  Trust me, as a person who is color blind I see it in ways that you just cannot imagine.  I have pity for you.

I love the tropics if for no other reason than the colors.  Reds so deep and vibrant you can sink your finger into them up to your knuckle.  Yellows so amazing that you have to wear sun glasses to look at them.  Blues so saturated that they almost appear black.  And greens, lord, don't even get me started on verdes...  Yes, I dance my way through the tropics for no other reason than the visual overload of colors.  That you can't see.  They are the ones that I can actually "see".  They just fucking pop to me.  Yes, now you know why I dress sort of strange...

Aubergine.  OMG!!!  For me, that color literally glows in the dark like it was in a black light.  It's a color that I can see across a football field and smile when I spot it.  Hell, I could probably see a square yard of that stuff on the moon from my back porch.  Yes, I am indeed an aubergine whore.  Thankfully and gladly.  Aubergine is up there with chocolate in my book and you know how I feel about chocolate!!!

I have a faux niece.  She is all of 9 years old.  Blond haired, blue eyed and so full of life it makes my head spin.  I love her with all of my heart and she makes my soul dance.  She has learned the word "purkle" from me.  And she knows what I mean by "purkle".  Lord love her!!!

Tonight, aubergine...  I toast you!!!

HADDY, HADDY BURPDAY!!!

Yeah, my little Sea Squirt turns 59 today.  He is old, short (shrinking!!!) and greying.  Actually, pretty much grey at this point.   As am I.

But he is a much welcomed warm body to snuggle up to beneath the sheets.  Nothing could be finer!!!

HADDY BURPDAY!!!

JAYNE MANSFIELD...

Yeah, this was my kind of lady.  Bigger than life.  And when you think about it, isn't that always the right size?

When I was a child she fascinated me.  She was blond, buxom and breathy.  And I didn't even know what that stuff meant back then but lord, I loved it.  She was an odd mix of Marilyn Monroe, Mamie Van Duran and Mae West.  Put those three ingredients in a blender and you just never know what is gonna come splashing out.  And splash out they did...

Most of us remember her as a ditsy blond with big tits that she loved to show off.  And lord, she loved to show off those things.  She did it famously.  Just ask Sophia Loren.  The pictures are amazing.  Thank god for Google.

She was taken away too soon.  But when you die at the age of 34 then you will always be young.  And ageless.  I couldn't ask for a better fate.  Forever young.  From Hollywood to Broadway to television, she pretty much did it all.  Her career was actually pretty short but what it was bloody magnificent.   On her way "out the door" she reinvented herself several times.  If she could get a gig, she took it.  Hell, she'd call a news conference for a fart.  Open a new grocery store?  Hell yes!!!  Do a performance at a supper club?  Hell yes!!!  Sign autographs at a gas station???  Hell, yeah!!!  She was Jayne Mansfield and just trying to keep herself out there.  And support four kids.  Yep, my kind of lady...

Her death was horrendous.  She, her manager and her driver when killed late at night on an unlit Louisiana highway when they impacted the back of a semi trailer at a high speed and literally drove under the back of the trailer shearing off the top of the car.  The three in the front seat were killed instantly.  Her three youngest children, asleep in the back seat survived with little injury because they were laying down asleep and just thrown down into the floorboard.  Today, her youngest daughter, Mariska Hargitay is the highest paid actress on television.  Yeah, gene's don't die easy.

Here's some trivia on Jayne...

Amazingly intelligent.  IQ of about 165.  Proven.

Spoke 6 languages fluently.

Played piano, violin and viola like a virtuoso.

Couldn't see more than ten feet in front of herself with out "coke bottle" glasses.

Yeah, this was my kind of lady...

ELEVEN YEARS AGO AN AMAZING WOMAN AND I CROSSED PATHS....

Nothing could have been more magical or miraculous. I was in Mexico.  Yeah, no surprise.  I looked in her eyes and I was smitten.  I knew immediately  that she was better than chocolate.  And as you all know, I don't sell chocolate short!!!

She has opened my eyes and my heart.  She has made me see the world in ways I didn't even know were there.  Yes, she has bitch slapped me on a veranda surrounded in palm trees with a smile on her face.  Yeah, I guess I needed it!  This woman is capable of looking you in the eye, dead on and cutting you off at the knees. I love that!!!

Given the chance she can cuss like a longshoreman.   Again, I love that.  Yet, she can throw her arms around you and give you a hug that is mind boggling.  For both of those things I am happy.  Yeah, she's that good!!!  And I'm happy to have her in my life.  Every so often the Fates deal you a royal flush and this woman is one of them.  Yeah, I've been blessed...

She has taught me well.  Nothing is more important than a street corner.  I know what that means now.  And I am happy for that knowledge.  Very, very happy.

Dear, sweet anonymous woman (sorry, no names here but you know who you are!!!) I bow to you and I wish you the most profound Feliz Cumpleanos!!!  Yeah, it's a week early but who gives a rats ass???  Screw birthDAYS, let's talk birthMONTHS!!!  'Lupe loves you, as do I.  May your cobble stones always be dry.  Or at least passable enough to tap dance on.  And you know how much I like to tap dance...

Dear sweet lady, you make me smile!!!

Bueno!!!

SOMEBODY'S GONNA HAVE A BIRTHDAY!!!

Personally, I don't pay much attention to birthdays (or the passing of the eons as I like to call them) but our household has another one approaching pretty quickly.  Yes, Sea Squirt is careening wildly, peddle to the metal into another one.  A week from today he hits 59.  I crunched the numbers.  If he were a dog he'd be dead.  As would his great-great-great-great grand puppies.  I would love to be 59 again.  As they say, you're only as old as who you feel up.  Or something like that...

I'm not quite sure how he feels about this yet.  He's the quiet one of us.  Hell, he wouldn't say anything even if he was on fire.  A couple of months ago I embraced 60 with a vengeance.  Drunk on what is left of my ass, dressed up funny and happily playing with fire.  Hey, what can I say, I just ain't subtle.  Yes indeed, Sea Squirt and I are complete bi-polar opposites.  When he says "tomato" I say "112".  When he says "potato" I say "112".  Yes, I'm nuts but at least I'm consistent.  He does not adapt to change well but I will do my best to help ease him into this new milestone.  I have my foam clown nose at the ready and am fully prepared to start juggling eels if that's what it takes.  Yeah, I love the little guy that much!!!

And it gets even better.  Sea Squirt comes from of those odd multi generational families.  The spread of years between his oldest sibling and his youngest sibling is 20 years!  As an only child myself I just can't imagine that.  Lord, how horny were his parents???  When he and I first met he was already a great-uncle.  Which automatically made me great-aunt Donn.  I abused the title at every possible opportunity.  So, last night he gets an email and finds out that one of his great niece's has finally given birth.  Can you say great-great uncle Sea Squirt???  How about great-great aunt Donn???  Wait...  Hold on a second here.  I'm sleeping with someones great-great uncle???  EWW!!!  That's kind of creepy.

At any rate, Sea Squirt is about to hit the last year of his "5's" whether he likes it or not.  And yes, I will be there by his side.  Steadying his walker...

THE SECOND STAR TO THE RIGHT...

Yes, it was a simpler time.  And I was so much younger.  Way younger.  Lord, so much younger...

It was Northern Wisconsin.  Summer.  Up at the cottage.  Why the hell we called a 3 bedroom, 2 and a half bath ranch style house with a double car garage and lake frontage a "cottage" still amazes me to this day.  But there I was, splayed out on my back on the dock staring up at the night sky.  Happy as hell.  I not only watched the moon change shape, I watched it as it floated across the sky.  I heard fish jump out of the water.  I watched meteorite showers.  I saw the Aurora Borealis dance before my eyes as waves gently splashed beneath me and the boat rocked up against the dock as I dangled my feet in the water.

Shit, I miss that little guy.  And he misses those nights.  That moon was amazing.  And the air was cool, warm, moist, amazing, wondrously weird and full of bugs.  And fireflies.  Lots and lots of fireflies.  Or as I like to call them lightenin' bugs...  I remember catching mayonnaise jars full of those things and then letting them loose in grandma's house for no other reason than that I thought they were cool.  Yeah, I was not an easy child...

But to lay on that dock and stare at the night sky.  Eyes open.  Mouth agape.  Just gazing up at the beauty of it.  Covered in bugs.  On a good night, I go back there in my dreams and hear water splashing underneath me.  The green light on the dock on the other side of the lake.  The smell of fresh water.  Lots of it.  And the feel of somewhat slimy wood on my back.

Yeah, that was heaven. And I still always try to find the second star to the right...

WHEN THE FUCK DID WE TURN INTO HYENA'S???

OK, this whole Black Friday thing pisses me off so badly that it hurts.  How fucking greedy has our society become?  And how fucking stupid are we to just keep sucking up to it???  When the hell did the last Thursday of November turn into a useless, mindless shopping frenzy???

Black Friday (which by the sounds like a public execution and stoning event) is totally unacceptable to me.  Fuck the "sales".  Fuck the "discounts".  Fuck the "Door Buster" shit.  As a retailer, if you haven't made your bottom line by the end of November then you just don't really need to be in business anymore.  You're pretty much boned by then.

Black Friday has now become Black Thursday.  Who in there right mind makes employees work on Thanksgiving???  Just so idiots can start shopping at midnight???  I don't care if those employees "volunteer" to work those shifts they just couldn't pay me enough to put up with that shit.

Black Thursday/ Friday is a freaking nightmare.  People show up armed.  Heavily.  Shootings happen on a regular basis.  Yeah, blood shed in parking lots over parking spaces.  Fuck the $59 television, you left your house with a loaded hand gun???  To go Christmas shopping???  What am I missing here???  If you can get gunned down while you're still in the parking lot then you are pretty much boned.

When did we start sucking up to this shit this badly???  And why are we still doing it???  My great-grandmother used to knit me socks.  Or a blanket of amazing colors and patterns.  I still have them.  And I treasure them all.  All of them handmade.  With love.  And way too many hours sitting in the rocking chair. under a florescent light bulb hot enough to tan by.

Fuck, I want a simpler, more civilized time back...

I AM SO FUCKING ANGRY RIGHT NOW...

How the bloody fucking hell could you have done this???  Good lord.  NO!!!  And you had the balls to do it sort of  "live" on television.  You bastards!!!  You fucking bastards!!!  You motherfucking bastards!!!  How dare you do this!!!

His name was Brian.  He was a white Labrador Retriever.  He was an essential part of the Griffin family on the animated series "Family Guy".  He loved a good dry martini.  And cigars.  Hell, he chain smoked them like crazy.  One of his litter mates was gay.  REALLY gay.  Brian had insight.  Hell, he was about the only one in that family with sanity.  He could quote Shakespeare.  And Dante.  He could drive a car.  Hell, he had credit cards.  At one point he was engaged to a woman with the biggest tits you can possibly imagine.  Yes, such was Brian.

This week, they killed him off.  Run over by a car.  Mangled beneath the wheels.  Fuck...

Not only did we watch him get run over we watched him flat-line at the vet's office as he said good bye to his family.

OMG, what were you thinking???  What you did to this character was so fucking horrid it just leaves me without words to curse you enough.  Have none of you ever stood over an exam table and watched a loyal and loving pet die???  You bastards!!!

Yes, Brian was just an animated cartoon dog but he was an inspiration to me.  His insight was wonderful and his sense of humor just wickedly truthful.  He could look you right in the eyes and just cut you off at the knees.  He made me laugh.  He made me blush.  He made me smile.

Who in there right mind kills off a cartoon character???

Cartoon character be damned, you just killed off one of my single most favorite things on the planet.  You killed a dog.  You bastards!!!  Fuck you.

YOUTH... WHAT A WASTE OF TIME!!!

Trust me on this one, I know what I'm talking about.  Did I have a good time when I was young?  Hell, yes!!!  Did I party my ass off?  Hell, yes!!!  Did I enjoy it?  Hell, yes!!!  Did I do it right?  Hell, no!!!  I took my youth and pissed it away like there was no tomorrow.  Which, apparently, is what you're actually supposed to do with it.  And lord knows, I did it with wild abandon.  Hell, we don't think that we're ever going to get old.  Guess what?  We do.  But that is when the fun really gets good.

Before I hit my 30's I was an idiot.  A big one.  But I sure did have a good time being an idiot.  I had a pension for stealing (borrowing?) cars and homemade explosives.  It's amazing what you can cook up with some sugar, salt peter and a small metal container.  Hey, I was an only child with way too much time on my hands.  On one fateful night those two things just happened to come together.  Yes, a 1966 Chevrolet Biscaine, a garage, most of the adjoining side porch and pretty much every window for about a block and a half.  None of them ours...  Oh lord.  Don't ask...  The fire ball was just mind boggling!!!  Yes, I was a danger at a really young age...

Yes, in my youth I managed to do some silly ass shit.  The fact that I did not become a serial killer, a cannibal or the Uni-Bomber amazes me.  In retrospect, I wasted all of those years (and that wonderful limberness) doing dumb shit that made no sense.  Today, I am old.  I make noises when I move.  Hell, I make noises even when I don't move.  The snap, crackle and pop of "age" just sucks ass!!!  But since I finally grew up (about 35) I've done me some stuff.  I have tap-danced on the Great Wall of China, (and yes, I do know how to tap dance, and I do it damned well!!!),  I have pissed in the Indian Ocean, seen concerts at the Sydney Opera House, sailed through the Panama Canal, regained consciousness totally naked in the tropics on more than one occasion, ridden camels at the pyramids and crossed the International Dateline and the Equator more times than I can remember.  If memory serves me right, I am a frequent flier on 3 different airlines. Some of which will still let me get on board if I'm lucky.

I am now 60.  I have learned to be tolerant and well behaved.  Well... not really.  Oh, hell, not by any stretch of the imagination!!!  I am ornery.  I am way too outspoken for my own safety.  I now have the right to cuss like a longshoreman, in elevators, at babies.  I love that.  I get to flip you the bird.  I get to tell you to go fuck yourself if you get in my way while I'm grocery shopping.  I get to pee without having to be at the toilet.  THANK YOU "DEPENDS"!!!  I get to talk to myself.  In public.  In the third person.  I get to roll down the windows, open the sunroof, crank the stereo up and sit at a stoplight singing along to Meatloaf just to piss you off.  I love that!!!

Am I a danger to myself?  More than likely.  Hell, just look at my track record.  Or my wrap-sheet.  Access the Freedom of Information Act, the FBI has some interesting stuff on me.  I'm particularly fond of the things about unlawful assembly and attempting to incite a riot.  (BTW, I was 15.)  But through it all I somehow managed to turn out normal.  Stop laughing!  If you are my friend then I am at your back 110%.  I will shove you to the ground for your own safety.  Push come to shove I would probably willingly take the bullet myself.  And I honestly don't have a toothpicks worth of tinker toys of sense of where that comes from but I'm damned glad that it's a part of me.  Yeah, strangely enough, you are indeed safe with me.  Odd concept, huh???

The first half of my life is a somewhat remember able blur with little rainbows around everything.  The people from that time are either dead or have simply wandered away.  I miss them all with all of my heart.  But the last half of my life has been bloody amazing.  When you can invite friends that you have known for 3 decades over to dinner then you are indeed truly blessed.  Nothing is more delicious than a house full of fellow crazies that make you smile.  My head is held high, my shoulders are squared upright and I am on my 4th passport.  I would not trade the snap, crackle and pop of age for anything in the world.  Life's damned good!

Sea Squirt just looks at me and shakes his head in bemusement.  I know the look on that face.  It's like a dog when they see you having sex.  Very confused and sort of scared.  Pretty unsettling.  It's somewhat judgemental and a bit confused.  I know in my heart he's going "What the bloody hell was I thinking???". Especially when he finds me lip synching to Cher in the kitchen with my trousers down around my ankles....  OMG, that poor man, he has me, of all things.  Not even in my worst  nightmares can I imagine that...  Oh, crap...  Oh, that poor, sweet dear man.  I just can't apologise enough.

Smile on my face and a giggle in my heart...

TODAY, MY HEART SINGS!!!

Yes, the Culver's in Platteville is toast.  A smoldering wreckage.  An icon is gone but apparently never to be forgotten.  And it WILL be rebuilt.

The owner of this franchise was wonderfully insured.  Not just for his own pocket book but for his employees as well.  For the next 60 days his employees will continue to receive their wages, in full.  Happy Holiday!  Other Culver's owners in the area have opened their arms and offered his employees a job to fill the void.  Yes, such is Culver's.

Apparently, the fire was just one of those shitty things that happens, something electrical in the middle of the night.  He has promised to rebuild, bigger and better.  Yeah, there just isn't anything better than a bigger and better Culver's.  If you have never been to a Culver's you just don't know how incredibly wonderful that is.

Those of us formally of Platteville are already planning on being there for opening day.  With a smile on our faces, a song in our hearts and a tap dance across the parking lot.  Yeah, Culver's is THAT good.  But more than anything, this particular venue holds too many memories for all of us.  Too many Buttterburgers, too many sundaes, too much frozen custard and WAY too many Lemon-Ices.  And the memory of a crazy Basset Hound who loved onion rings as much as we did. (Is that actually possible???)

To all of you caramel-cashew nut loving whores in Platteville, I say, hang on, the good times will be coming back.  And a bunch of crazies will be there to join you!!!

OH, CRAP!!!

Twenty years and hand full of months ago I moved to 'sconsin.  Platteville to be precise.  Oh, just stop laughing. 195 Virgin Avenue to be exact.  Again, just stop laughing.  My backyard connected to an alley that led down to the highway, one of the main drags in town.  If you turned right at the highway you hit one of the two stoplights that the town had.  If you crossed the highway you pulled into the Culver's parking lot.

Aah, Culver's.  Back then they were a 'sconsin-based fast food chain.  Today they are national.  I had never heard of them until I moved here.  I was soon to be amazed.  This place blew me away.  My new next door neighbors turned me on to it.  I became addicted within seconds of walking in the door.  We're talking MAJOR burger joint here!  And frozen custard desserts of an amazing assortment that changed on a daily basis.  The first time I tried the caramel cashew nut sundae I was hooked.  Yeah, I knew this was my kind of place.  Their butter-burgers are to die for.  As are their onion rings.

Over the last 20 years they have grown to national status and range.  And with good reason.  They really are that good.  They actually publish a calendar that lets you know what sundae they will be featuring on a daily basis.  I love that.  Yes, I am a frozen custard whore.  Hey, it's 'sconsin.  And I love that too.

I fondly remember playing croquet in the back yard and knocking balls down the alley just so we could get closer to Culver's.  I remember chasing one of the dumbest Basset Hounds I have ever owned down the same alley as he "galloped" towards the highway leading us to Culver's.  Lord, that dog sure did love a butter burger.  And frozen custard.  Yeah, my kind of dog...

Over the last 20 years I have frequented Culver's.  I have shared, been subjected to and been slammed with the best and worst of news there.  I found out that one of my best friends was pregnant.  I watched the O.J. Simpson low speed chase.  And I have even watched the breaking news coverage of a tsunami.  Yes indeed, I hold this place dear to my heart.  Ain't nothing better than some tv screens and a butter burger...

Last night the Culver's in Platteville caught fire and pretty much burnt to the ground.  This pretty much took out the intersection of Virgin Avenue and Highway 151.  I can not imagine something more sad.  In the last 18 years I have only been back to Platteville a handful of times, just to do some banking stuff but I have always stopped at that Culver's for lunch.  Yeah, traditions die hard.  As do the memories of a galloping Basset Hound that didn't have the good sense that god gave a toothpick.  And good friends that taught me what frozen custard was all about.  And croquet in a large back yard in a small town.

I have truly been blessed.  With good friends, amazingly dumb dogs, alleys, butter burgers and frozen custard.  Yet, a small town has been robbed of an icon.  I can not imagine the loss.  My heart sinks...

With all of my soul I hope that they rebuild, bigger and better than ever.  And with an extra onion ring or two in every order just for good measure.

Aah, Culver's....  Yeah...

OH, IN THE NAME OF MUTHA-FUCKIN' MEATLOAF!!!!

I am basically a normal and stable kind of person.  Stop laughing, I can hear you.  But you know what I mean.  I am reliable.  I am trustworthy.  I WILL be accountable to my promises. Push come to shove (sorry, that is an American English thing) I will grab a shovel and dig you out from the ruin, the wreckage and the rubble.  It's just who I am.  A hand has come down into my deep dark well and pulled me out more than once.  I am thankful for that.  And I pay it forward.  Thank god for a hand in the darkness because it's better than chocolate.  And there just isn't anything better than chocolate.

My better half, Sea Squirt as I like to call him, is up to his tits in the job from Hell.  He has a boss that I can only describe as Hitler.  Yes, I actually said that.  Hitler.  And you know that I don't use that name lightly.  I wouldn't work for that shithead for more than half a nano-second before someone was required to speed dial 911. Sea Squirt's work environment is nightmarish.  To see him come home after work, broken and battered just crushes my soul.

I grew up in a family that owned and ran their own businesses.  Many of them.  I ran my own businesses.  Hell, I used to be a corporate suit for a major retailer.  I learned a long time ago that you are only as good as the people that are underneath you.  They are indeed the ones who keep your inflatable life raft afloat.  Without them you just ain't got a snowballs chance in hell.  To keep your employees battered and bruised is so fucking unacceptable to me it hurts in ways I can't even describe.  Even in my worst corporate meltdowns I never turned on those who worked under me.  We were always a team.  Yes, a team.  I defended them. And I willingly stood in the cross-hairs and took the hit myself.  Yes, I am indeed a team player.  And I can still hold my head high and look at myself in the mirror.  And I thank the Fates for that privilege on a daily basis.

As a boss I was never an asshole.  Demanding?  Yes.  Get it done?  Yes.  I want it yesterday?  Yes.  But I was always more than willing to roll up my sleeves and jump into the deep end to help get it done.  If my crew worked late then so did I.  And when we finally pulled it off then we all got credit for it.  I made sure of that.

When the hell did corporate America sink to this level?  When did employees become no more than chattel?   When did the concept of respect get tossed out of the sun-roof?  And when the bloody hell did the powers that be give an employer the right to treat workers like something less than shit and openly rage at them???  And get away with it!!!

I am angry.  I have a knife.  Your raft is inflatable.  Not a good match...

BEAVER BUTTS???

As god is my witness, even She wouldn't let me make this shit up!!!

Yes, beaver butts.  We are happily eating the damned things with reckless abandon apparently.  Yeah, beaver butts.  I kid you not.

OK, beavers.  I actually like the little critters.  The real ones.  Not the "Brazilian" ones.  Those sort of scare me.  Hey, I'm gay...  But, again, I like beavers.  Oh just stop laughing, I can hear you and I know where most of you live.  Beavers have things called anal glands (lord, I just don't like the sound of that in any way, shape or form!!!) which they apparently use to mark their territories.  Sort of like a dog leaving skid marks on the carpeting (again, I don't like that either).  Think of a skunk pointing its ass at you and spraying you.  Yeah, pretty...

Only in America could the idiots from DuPont, Monsanto and Kraft come up with a use for the aforementioned beaver butt glands.  I am still at a loss to figure out if they "harvest" the excretions (milking a beaver butt?). And just how does one milk a beaver butt???, Tie them down and drain them or advertise for donors.  Is Craig's List more nefarious than I had previously thought???  Which makes me wonder, how many beavers actually have access to wi-fi???  And just how the hell do they get to that beaver butt "plasma center" donation site???  Taxi?  Bus?  Hitchhike?

At any who, beaver butts.  It seems that those anal glands produce something called castoreum.  Yeah, sort of sounds like something out of Imperial Rome, doesn't it?  Well, trust me, it's even worse than that.  It comes out of a beaver's butt.  I'm gagging as I type...  You will not believe what this stuff is used for.  Can you say raspberry "flavored" candies???  Can you say vanilla "flavored" ANYTHING???  Can you say anything even remotely strawberry "flavored"???  Gummi Bears???  Ju-Ju-B's???  Dum-Dum's???  Gum Drops??? Ice cream??? Soft drinks???  I AM FUCKING APPALLED!!!

I will never go to the freaking concession stand again.  Hot dogs were bad enough, but beaver butts???  Hell no!!!

This is enough to make me friends with hummus!!!  And I HATE hummus!!!

Tonight America, I wish you good times and good luck.  Just don't suck up to beaver butt.

EWWWW!!!!!!

HURRAY FOR LAWYERS!!!

I never thought I would ever hear myself say that.  Usually when I think about lawyers I automatically start hearing the theme music for "Jaws".  And my blood usually starts running about 5-degrees colder.  I have even been known to wet myself a bit...

This afternoon that all changed.  Let me give you a little background.  Several years ago due to some unforeseen financial problems I missed a couple of months of payments on one of my credit cards.  CitiBank sold me off to a collection agency in a heartbeat, like a lamb to slaughter.  Then my phone started ringing and my mailbox was filled with "hate mail".  The first collection agency sold me off to another one which in turn sold me off to yet another one.  By that point I was not only totally fed up with threatening phone calls I honestly wasn't sure who owned the debt anymore.  Then I got the letter from 5 great whites with an LLC behind their name.  Yes, an alleged "law firm" from Milwaukee who decided to play hardball.  When the hell did actual lawyers decide it was a good idea to form their own collection agency?  What, you all graduate bottom of your class?  Well, they took me to court and got a judgement against me.  Then they found out that I was disabled, on Social Security and didn't own anything of real "feeding frenzy" value.  They were not amused.  I tapped danced out of the court house.

This last Sunday night we had a knock on the door and I was served a summons.  They were going to go after me again.  Only this time they were gonna play really dirty.  Since they couldn't get anything out of me or access my Social Security benefits they had decided to go for a Garnishment award on my checking account so they could freeze it.  Basically, if they couldn't touch my Social Security they certainly weren't willing to let me touch it either.  PANIC!!!  BLIND PANIC!!!  Then I went, hey, I'm disabled.  I have access to free lawyers.

Early Monday morning I'm on the phone and talking to a lawyer.  Her name is Miri and she is a charmer.  Young and fiesty.  I like that.  Anyway, I meetwith her today.  It took less than 30 minutes and I was on my way back home.  She was quite impressed that I showed up with a manila folder full of paperwork for her to work with.  An hour after I left her office she gave me a call.  She had eaten her way through several of the sharks in Milwaukee and they were preparing the paperwork to stop the Garnishment as we spoke.  The cell phone fell out of my hand.  I had fought with those bastards for 2 years to no avail and she gets them to stand down and scatter in less than an hour.  With a single phone call.  She is now my lawyer of choice.

Miri, here's to you!!!

I HAVE A WEEKEND FULL OF FUN IN FRONT OF ME!!!

OK, as you probably know by now, my favorite American holiday is Halloween.  Nothing is more fun than Halloween.  It's the one day of the year that I am legally allowed to be "myself".  Yes, I use that term VERY loosely.  I have spent way too many thousands of dollars putting costumes together for just a couple of hours of fun.  I have been a pack of cigarettes (Marlboro's), a bottle of Clorox bleach, a vampire pancake, Amelia Earhart, the 102'd dalmation (totally special needs), Frieda Kalo (not pretty), a cinder block, a bottle of ketchup, a computer mouse, several different state cops and last year, Mount St. Helen.  Hey, I spend at least half a year getting these things right.  What can I say, money is no object.  You just gotta do what you gotta do.  Tomorrow I will be Medea.  I just can't figure out which children to eat or what cliff I should throw myself off of after I set myself on fire.  Yes, I dearly love Halloween!!!

But it's the next two days that really float my boat.  Dia de los Muertes.  This is where I really shine.  This celebration makes me smile.  You get to honor those who, how shall I say this, have gone "beyond".  You get to build alters.  You get to eat more skull shaped marzipan goodies than you can shake a chupacraba at.  You get to party all night in a cemetery, eating and drinking your brains out at grandma's grave.  With a boom box blaring.  After you have spent the better part of a week cleaning it up and festooning it with marigolds and paper flowers not found in nature.  I love that!!!

But the best part is that I get to raid every Mexican bakery in town for a trunk full of pan de muertos.  Con azucar.  This stuff just rocks and I am addicted to it.  I vacuum seal it and freeze it so I can savor it over the winter.  It is a bread so heavenly.  It is sweet.  It is flavored with orange blossom oil and a hint of anise.  It will make you smile, think of grandma and do a whole-hearted "grito".  Yeah, it's that good!!!

Several years ago in Mexico a opossum broke into our house during a rainstorm and violated the pan de muertos that I had stupidly left laying on the kitchen counter.  I was not happy.  I sat out bear traps for that little motherfucker.  Do NOT mess with my pan de muertos!!!

On Friday and Saturday I will be indulging (overindulging???) in homemade bittersweet hot chocolate from Mexico and happily dunking large chunks of pan de muerto in it while the excess runs down my face and ruins yet another one of my polo shirts.  What can I say, I have "food shirts" and the ones that I can still wear in public without being too embarrassed by the stains of my latest feeding frenzy.  Yep, I'm kind of a sloppy eater.

My blood sugar is going to shoot through the roof.  I will be covered in crumbs.  My mustache will have sugar-cycles trailing off of it and my eyes will be sort of glazed over.  Well, actually VERY glazed over.  Life is SO good!!!

HER NAME IS CAROLINE...

She is my upstairs neighbor.  She is from Puerto Rico,   She can cuss like a sailor in several languages, as can I, and we swap recipes like there is no tomorrow.  She knows how to do things with platanos I could never imagine and I ply her with peanut butter cookies.  She makes me smile.  If I spoke Spanish as well as she speaks English I would be doing a happy dance naked.  Sorry, not a pretty picture...

This July she damned near died.  Her heart gave out.  A triple bypass, a couple of new heart valves and an aortal transplant.  In the middle of the fucking night.  Holy fucking shit!!!  When she finally got out of the hospital she knocked on my door as she was going upstairs, held up by two of her children, opened her robe and showed me the incision scar.  I sank to my knees.  Yep, I've seen her tits.  As I tell her, "Cupcake, they opened you up like they were gutting a deer".

She is an incredibly feisty woman and I love those kind of women.  Yeah, she's one of those women who could eat through you like chain saw.  She is my friend.  Thank god, I'd hate to be her enemy.  I would surrender immediately.  She can make a hurricane look like a walk in the park with a purse dog pale in comparison.  I love that!!!  Lord knows, I love a woman with some stones...

This afternoon we sat down with some of her Puerto Rican coffee and a bag of my homemade cookies.  She does coffee as good as I do cookies.  I knocked on her door wearing a red foam clown nose and google-eye glasses and she welcomed me in.  Hey, life just don't get no better than that.

Sometimes life deals you Aces and Eights, sometimes it just gives you a couple of  Deuce's but if you're very lucky sometimes it gives you a wonderful lady from Puerto Rico with a soul so large it just makes you smile.  I am blessed and dancing naked at the moment....

IT WAS A FRIDAY...

I remember it all too well.  Everyone alive at that time does.  November 22, 1963.  I was in 5th grade and we were in the middle of our math lesson.  Twenty minutes away from lunch break.  We all could smell what what was being prepared down in the cafeteria.  And then all hell broke loose....

The principal came running into the room, hysterical.  Screaming.  The President had been shot.  She was maniacal.  She and my teacher went hysterical.  We all sat there, confused.  They both broke into tears while we sat there, confused even more.  What the hell had just happened???  Over the next  20 minutes even more hell broke loose.  Our nation had just been shattered.  Much like our Presidents head.

I was way too young to understand the true damage of this but I knew something was terribly, terribly wrong.  WAY terribly wrong.  For shit's sake, I was in 5th grade and I watched my world go to hell in a hand basket.  By the time that I got home we had a new president.  And my world, our world and your world had changed.  Irreparably.  Even as a child I was stunned.  But I wasn't really sure why.

It was "simpler" time back then.  Today this would have caused a total lock down.  EVERYWHERE.  Back then it was different.  We just got sent home.  With no lunch.  I was still confused as I walked in the front door.  The television was on and my mother was on her knees, hunched over the coffee table in front of our big Curtis-Mathis.  In tears. Listening to Walter Cronkite who was also in tears.  What had just happened?  Something was so horridly wrong and I was too young to understand the depths of it.  It would only get worse...

School was canceled.  Regular broadcast television was canceled.  It was nothing but news broadcasts.  And they were all ugly and desperately looking for absolution.  And then a couple of days later all hell broke loose again.  I was setting at the snack bar in our kitchen, my mother and I sharing a couple of fried egg sandwiches and watching the news over a 16-inch portable television when we both witnessed the live assassination of Lee Harvey Oswald by Jack Ruby.  The sandwich fell out of my hand and onto the floor.  Our English Bulldog dived on it in a second.  In grainy black and white, on a small screen, with some aluminum foil on one of the rabbit ears I had just witnessed a murder.  Live.  I was 10 years old.  And once again, without lunch.  A murder on live television.  Over lunch.   It took me almost 30 years to regain the courage to even consider a fried egg sandwich on toast again. To this day, I can only finish about half of it.

Thru the decades that followed I acquired some understanding.  Some insight into those happenings.  And doubts and questions as well.  I have witnessed the death of his two youngest brothers, his wife and his youngest son, all tragically.   By bullets, disease and accidents that make no sense whatsoever.  And once again, I sit here with half of a sandwich in front of me, made way to salty by way too many tears...








 




























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HANG ON, WAIT A SECOND, SOMEONE'S KNOCKING ON MY DOOR. I WONDER WHO THAT COULD BE...

Oh, shit, it's the NSA!!!

C'mon in guys, I'm totally safe and completely unarmed.

heh, heh, heh....

WHAT THE HELL HAS JUST HAPPENED IN D.C.???

I am at a loss right now.  I don't know whether I should be appalled, relieved, disgusted or just plain confused.

Depending upon which "report" that you read on line you get the most fucking convoluted "reporting" imaginable.  I went to college through the Journalism Department.  There was ONE HARD FAST RULE:  Who, What, When, Where and Why.  You did NOT deviate from that.  You reported NOTHING until you had the facts.  Yes, the facts.  The "coverage" of this story has sickened me.  Apparently, no one has the fucking facts yet but they still insist on "reporting" what they think they "know".  This story changes by the minute.  How fucking sad is that???

OK, I'll give you my spin on this.  A woman from Connecticut, driving a black Infiniti sedan with a child in the back seat hits a security barrier wall out side of the White House.  She is then forced into a high speed chase by WAY to many police cruisers.  She ends up on the circle drive around the Capitol Building, again under siege by many cop cars.  She is finally trapped, surrounded and held at gun point by screaming "security forces".  What do they do?  Knee-jerk like any well trained, paranoid and over-processed officials of law enforcement would do.  Start screaming at her and then open fire.  What kind of idiots are these idiots???  Can you not see a baby in a car seat in the back seat.???

Did she make a wrong turn.  Probably.  Did she panic?  Probably.  Was she lost?  More than likely.  Did we (and I use that term VERY loosely) take the opportunity to overreact?  Yep.  Who started the gun fire that shut the nations capitol down?  That would be the cops.  Who killed this woman?  That would be the cops.  In force.  Violent force, with possibly no reason whatsoever.  Until they can prove that the Infiniti she was driving with her child was packed full of explosives, chemical weapons or nuclear waste (with her child in the back seat) then I want to hear some serious groveling and a whole lot of apologies.  Probably not going to happen though.  National Security, don't you know.

I am so FUCKING tired of this kind of shit.  When did we (as in, the People) just let our rights, freedoms and everything that we are supposed to be holding dear just disappear in the name of "freedom and security"???

I hope that this woman is proven to be an innocent.  Cut down for no reason other than paranoia, small dicks with guns and a warrant to use them against an enemy that has yet to be clearly defined.  When the bloody hell did "we" become the enemy???  Stop this fucking insanity!!!

And yes, I know fully well that "they" are watching "me".  Fuck you, you do not scare me...

TO BORROW A PHRASE FROM A 1960'S MOTOWN HIT, "I BEEN DOWN ONE TIME, I BEEN DOWN TWO TIMES"...

OK, my last rant was about that shit head president of Barilla Pasta.  I still hold fast and true to what I said.

I wrote them a rather scathing little email about my feelings and today I got a response.  I am now angrier than ever.  They sent me the most meticulously crafted form letter imaginable.  I have never seen this generic a form of  "damage control" in my life!!!

To paraphrase my email:  The president of your company is a jerk.  I have liberated my pantry of all of your products.  I will never buy them again.  You have lost a very loyal customer.  I am considering knocking your products off of the shelves the next time I go grocery shopping and start clog dancing on them.  Security cameras be damned!!!  I did not swear (very surprising) and I did not promise bodily harm or the threat to hunt someone done like the dog that he is (again, VERY surprising!).  Just your general complaint letter of anger.

Wanna hear the response that I got today?

"Dear Donn,

At Barilla, we consider it our mission to treat our customers and partners as our neighbors-with love and respect- and to deliver the very best products possible.  We take this responsibility  seriously and consider it a core part of who we are as a family-owned company.

We are working hard to learn from this experience and appreciate you taking the time to share your comments and valuable feed back.

Sincerely,

Barilla

(And now, the best part...)

Case # 264,837"

I just don't know which I love more, a company backtracking like an elephant in a landslide or that they had gotten over a quarter of a million complaints in less than 24 hours.  Yeah, I used to be a corporate drone myself and I know all too well how they handle this kind of thing.  Get generic as hell, admit to nothing and try to keep the bottom from falling out from underneath you.  I didn't like it 20 years ago and I like it even less now.  In the name of meat loaf, when you fuck up royal own up to it!!!  Do a little groveling!!!  Hell, do a lot of groveling!!!  You just got slammed with complaints.  You just lost a large customer base.  Are you deaf, dumb AND blind???

I am going to the grocery store tomorrow.  Not to go shopping.  I'm going to go all "River Dance" in the pasta aisle.  I will more than likely be arrested.  Yes, I am pissed off over pasta.  Very, very pissed off...

OK, FASTEN YOUR SEAT BELTS, I'M GONNA GET ANGRY!!!

I am a pasta eating kind of guy.  If you put some pasta in a pot of boiling water, I am THERE.  How can you not love pasta.???  Especially with my homemade sauce???  Meatballs.  Home grown oregano.  Sauteed onions.  Garlic on homemade bread.  This is the stuff of life.  It just doesn't get any better than this...

And then yesterday happened.  The president of Barillo Pasta, the largest producer of pasta in the world (and btw, my favorite pasta of choice) came out REALLY anti-gay.  According to his recent statement not only are us gay folks not acceptable to his companies "ideals", women are just a bunch of kitchen help that make him dinner.  OK, that is paraphrasing it a bit but it comes down to pissing me off and reducing his mother, his wife and his daughters to crap.  Bottom line, I shouldn't be using it because as he says, they just don't "accept or agree" with us and women should just be cooking it.  For him and all of his other male counter parts.

You have got to be kidding me!!!  You sexist, homophobic bastard!!!  Are you out of your mind???

Today I raided my pantry.  About 5 pounds of dry pasta and several jars of your pasta and sauce got tossed out.  Yes, you were my pasta of choice.  No longer is that true.  I boycotted orange juice because of Anita Bryant.  I will toss your products off of store shelves and crush them in public and on security cameras.  As god is my witness I will buy Creamettes (sorry, can't find a spell check for that one) pasta from this day forward.  Hell, I'll even buy the generic shit that taste like crap just to stop your sales.  I will do everything in my power to help your numbers drop!!!

YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!  I don't care how  much you apologized for that fuck up today it just ain't gonna work for me.  Damage control be damned, I just ain't gonna shop on your shelves any more.  You have lost a loyal customer and I hope that you have lost millions of more.  What part of being a prick were you missing???

I will boycott you tooth and nail.  Trust me, I am not a pretty predator...

WE THE PEOPLE...

I just don't know where to go with this one...

I am an old fart.  60.  Yeah, that old.

I am an American.  That alone gives me the right to scream against things that I feel are unjust and wrong.  And lord knows, I do.  Repeatedly.  I love that.  This county's founding father's gave me that right and I am thankful for that.  It has served me well and I have used it to my advantage numerous times.  I can protest, I can raise hell but most importantly I can vote.  Yes, I can vote!!!  If I don't like you then your ass is SO out of here.  Yeah, we the people...

Damned near 240 years ago we stood up to the most powerful empire in history and we kicked their ass.  A rag-tag group of  "revolutionary's" took a stand and said "NO!".  And we succeeded.  And then we founded a new country and wrote some of the most brilliant things imaginable.  Our Declaration of Independence, our Preamble and our Constitution are fucking amazing.  What is in those things are the most amazing things imaginable.  "Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness."  THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS???".  That is the most freakish break from reality that I have ever heard.  Yes, we are the only Constitution on the face of the planet that claims the pursuit of happiness as an unalienable right.  Yes, not only do I get the right to bitch, I get the right to be happy.  Really, really happy.  Mostly from being able to vote your sorry ass out of office.  Yes, whoosh away you Republican turd...

I came of age in the middle of Camelot, the Civil Rights Movement, the Sexual Revolution and
Gay Rights.  I remember the Freedom Riders and integration.  George Wallace.  Stonewall.  And way too many assassinations.  And let's not forget about Viet Nam.  I grew up with my heels dug in and standing my ground.  And got smacked down to that same ground just as many times but I managed to pick myself back up, bail myself out of jail, dust myself off and go back out there.  And go back out there again, even angrier than I was in the first place.  Why?  Because my Constitution not only told me that I could, it told me that I had to.  It wasn't so much a right as it was a duty.  It gave all of us the right to change things if we didn't like it.  Shake things up, as it were.

I have been given the delicious opportunity to live freely, bitch, vote and speak my mind openly without fear of retribution, imprisonment or torture..  For that I am unbelievably thankful.  Is this country perfect?  HELL NO!!!  The lessor of all evils?  Probably.  But at least we get to bitch about it openly.

We, the people...

CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL. 2.0

Today, the Cosmos aligned.  And I was at the center of it.  There is a smile on my face, a lilt in my step (and I just LOVE that!!!),  a crock-pot the size of a bathtub and knives and cutting boards of immense proportion. And I gutted my available legumes and root vegetables with abandon.  Let's just say, come hell or high water, I was gonna make some SERIOUSLY ASS good chicken soup today. 

Yeah, trust me, nothing is better than chicken soup.  And my chicken soup rocks!!!  What can I say, Jews just know how to do this...  I went at this thing with a vengeance, as I always do.  Let's just say the crock pot was totally overpowered in about 4 minutes.  Then the Nesco turkey roaster got yanked out to take up the slack.  Holy shit, I was up to my tits in this stuff.  Thank you, Nesco.!!!  Let's just say 8 hours later I was up to my motherfucking tits in chicken soup.  Which, if you think about it is NOT a bad thing.  Lord, I do truly understand chicken soup for the soul.  It's not just a phrase, it's a way of life...  How can you not love home made chicken soup.  Especially, mine...  OK, that may sound a bit pissy, but hey, I give really good soup.  Among other things...

Several gallons of home made chicken and vegetable soup were spread around this apartment complex this evening.  Along with an appropriate amount of fresh bolillos and some spoons.  And life is good.

Yes, I am an crusty old fart.  Angry by some definitions.  But friendly enough to reach a hand down a dark well and help you back up.  Trust me, I've been there and done it.  I love the hand up.  It's called paying it forward.  Or, at least, from a wizened  woman in Mexico, known as just changing a street corner.

Just leave it better than what you came into.

I have the utmost respect for that.

It does indeed leave it better...

To her, I bow.  Who knew soup could be this good???

AYY, MATEY, IT'S TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY!!!

Yes, only in America can you find a holiday this silly.  Yep, it's "Talk Like A Pirate Day"!!!

ARRGH!!!  Yes, today we got to talk like pirates.  To whoever would listen.  And even to those that would not.  I got to scamper around the grocery store in an eye patch and a crusty bandana of mysterious origin.  I was scabardless and without other means of destruction, unless of course you count the shopping cart.  Which by the way, serves as a damned good battering ram, especially the way I was heaving her into the wind.  The paper aisle was mine in a second or two, the ethnic aisle fell before me with little resistance and the coffee and tea aisle was mine with just a few short volleys below the water line.  I blew the balls off of frozen foods in seconds and just left the wreckage of the organic aisle in my wake.  ARRGH!!!   Leave them to the sharks!!!

Booty was mine today.  Take no prisoners as I like to say...  They only want some of my booty and I do NOT give my booty up freely.  OK, that may not be completely true but then I would have to answer to a dead mans chest which kind of freaks the shit out of me in more ways than one.  And just what the hell does he have in that locker, anyway???

Today, I pillaged, I plundered and cannons thundered.  Aah, life is good!

AARGH!!!!

IN THE DEFENSE OF CLOWNS.

OK, have you heard about this yet?  A small village in England is apparently being terrorized by a clown.  Yes, "terrorized".  By a clown.  In the name of meat loaf, how under medicated is this village?  Or, perhaps, how OVER medicated is this village???  And it's not like the clown is doing anything weird.  He's just walking around town, holding a bunch of balloons and greeting visitors.  It's not like he's wielding chainsaws or publicly masturbating.  Which by the way is now legal to do in Sweden.  Masturbating that is, not the chain saw thing.  What is Sweden smoking???

He, she or it (we're not sure yet) is just a clown.  A clown, for christ's sake.  It greets visitors.  It welcomes tourists.  That is not a threat, it's a fucking clown!  Nothing is more fun than a silly costume, a strange wig of  a color not found in nature, some polka dots, shoes the size of water skis and a seltzer bottle.  Hell, throw in a bunch of balloons and you've got a party in my opinion.  Yes, I may be a bit biased.  If you've read this blog long enough then you know that I almost became a clown myself.  I was nano-seconds away from a full scholarship at Ringling Brothers Clown College  Aah, yes, that seltzer bottle could have been mine.  Along with three midgets dressed up as pigs in a baby stroller.  To this day I still have red foam clown nose sitting on the dresser in the bed room.  Some dreams just don't die easily...  And the sex can be truly fun.

Did you know that there is actually a medically recognized phobia of a fear of clowns???  Yes!!!  It's called  coulrophopia.  I'm not shitting you.  This amazes me.  How the bloody hell can you be afraid of clowns?  Let alone have a diagnosable disorder about them???  What, until we have a cure all we have is hope???  Fuck that shit, it's a clown!!!  Deliciously enough, I actually know someone who has that disorder.  (Oh, lord, I love that word...."disorder".)  He's about the size of a grizzly bear and as big as a house.  And just scared shitless of clowns.  Well, of course I use this to my advantage.  Hell, who wouldn't?  I have brought him to his knees on numerous occasion with just the threat of a bucket full of confetti.  Ahh, yes, such is the power of confetti...

I am bemused, bedazzled and bewildered that anyone can be afraid of clowns.  We are a kind and gentle people.  Unless we bite you on the neck, suck all of your blood out and bring you over to the dark side...

Heh, heh, heh....

I WANT TO BITCH SLAP KENTUCKY SO BAD IT HURTS!!!

Yes, there I've said it.  Hell, let me say it again (refer to title above).  As a Southerner myself (born in Arkansas) I can get away with this.  Grab a map.  Arkansas is located more southern than Kentucky which would make Kentucky sort of "northern" in my opinion.  And, yes, I can hear them rankling in their single wides as I type this.  Yeah, well, screw you!!!  You don't like that???  Well, then get that car "parked" in front of your trailer off of the cinder blocks that it's been setting on for the better part of a decade, try to get it started and do your damnedest to try to catch me.  Good luck, my car actually has tires on it.  And is currently licensed and road worthy.

Why am I pissed?  Several school districts in Kentucky (lord, I use that term loosely) have decided to come out not only vocally but viciously against the First Lady of The United States.  Why?  Nutrition.  Yes, nutrition.  Apparently in Kentucky that translates as something akin to "grub" which I am getting the impression doesn't have a whole hell of a lot to do with nutrition.  Or food.  Unless you count scavenged road kill.  Or squirrels.

Anyway...  Mrs. Obama has taken it upon herself to make healthy eating, good nutrition and exercise her calling.  I admire her for that.  Hell, do you realize that the average weight of the typical American is over 200 lbs???  Yeah, we're pretty much boat anchors that thrive on drive up windows, deep fryers and chips.  We are so bloated that we have actually down-sized sizes in clothing just to make ourselves feel better about the size of shadows that we cast on the rare occasions that we actually stand up and manage to get out side.

For the first time in lord knows how long there is actually a vegetable garden at the White House.  Yes, a vegetable garden.  That actually grows food, as in edible stuff that is good for you.  Things that you can eat raw.  Or steam.  As opposed to beer batter and deep fry into oblivion, which Kentucky appears to happily do to their now WAY gone waist lines!!!

Kentucky:  leave this woman alone!!!  And eat a real vegetable every couple of months or so...

THIS SUMMER I WENT BACK TO A MUCH SIMPLER TIME...

Ahhh, yes, watermelons.  Well, melons of any sort.  But watermelons.  Holy shit, they're like a narcotic to me  Can you say Oxycontin???

As you all know by now, I am a Southern boy by birth and nothing says the South like the annual family reunion at grandma and grandpa's house.  Aunts and uncles, cousins and way too many people with way too little teeth or way too little ability to walk upright.  The garden would be raided, chickens would have their heads rung off, oil would be heated up to temps that rivaled the sun and a banquet would be presented.  But the best part was always dessert.  Watermelons that grandma would let the youngest of us go drag up from the garden that my uncles would ice down in the shade for the entire day.  Those things were heavenly.

For those of you born after the early 1970's you really don't know what a watermelon truly is.  They were huge!!!  You didn't even think about picking them until they were at least 3 feet long.  They barely fit under your arm and they were damned near too big to carry without a wheel barrow.  Grandma taught me well.  "Thumping" a watermelon was just stupid, you had to turn it over.  If it was yellow on the bottom it was ripe.  I was 4 years old.  Trust me, I learned really early how to find the ripe ones.  If you stuck a knife in that thing and it cracked completely open then that sucker was ready to go.  Hey, who's got the salt shaker?  Yeah, the salt shaker...  Grandma, I thank you for your lessons.

By the end of the 1970's I had given up on watermelons.  They had gotten a bit weird for me.  They had gotten seedless.  What the hell is up with that???  That takes all the fun out of it.  C'mon, half the fun of a watermelon was the seed spitting contest from grandma's front porch glider.  Then there was yellow ones.  Huh?  What???  Then there was those totally strange Japanese square ones.  WTF???  Then today we have those "personal" watermelons.  I just don't get it, like I'm going to cut a hole in it and "stchuup" it???  Trust me, I'm gay but I'm not THAT gay!!!  god gave me opposable thumbs for a reason!!!  Just give me damned watermelon the size of my uncle's Pontiac and let me go face down in it!!!  Hey, my needs are simple...

This year for some reason I developed a craving for watermelon again.  Big time.  WAY big time.  I have eaten more watermelons in the last two months than I have eaten in the last 4 decades.  I have been drawn to them like a crack-whore in heat.  Yep, Sea Squirt has found me in the kitchen at the sink just devouring half a watermelon with seeds in my ears and rinds in my hands and a smile on my face.  I have made watermelon margarita's, watermelon salsa, watermelon salads, you name it and I have been making it.  Yes, watermelon has once again made me its bitch.

Life is SO good!!!  If I only still had grandma's recipe for pickled watermelon rind it would be even better!

OH CRAP!!!!

Sorry folks, but I just managed to delete my last post about Charlie Manson.  Sorry, my bad.  Someone please spank me.  Please???

AHHH... LATE SUMMER IN 'sCONSIN. IT'S A DELICIOUS TREAT!!!

This place amazes the hell out of me.  My time in this state goes back to the 1960's.  My family used to spend summers here.  I went to college here.  And then, twenty years ago I had the good sense to move back here and just park my butt.  Yes, the weather here is a ball buster.  Between February and July you can find yourself stuck to the sidewalk in white-out conditions because of blizzards or collapsing on that same sidewalk in triple digit temps and humidity that would kill palm trees and iguanas.  Yes, such is southern 'sconsin.

For twenty years I have immersed myself in this hearty group of sojourners and have happily dived into the deep end.  Naked on several (many???) occasions.  With a smile on my face.  Trust me on this one, if you haven't been to 'sconsin, especially southern 'sconsin you are missing one hell of a whomping good time.  We are a state of immigrants going back generations.  We are indeed from everywhere.  We have more ethnic festivals here than you can shake a kielbasa at.  If you can boil it, bread it, grill it in the back yard, deep fry it or drink it we got it going on.  Yep, this is a friendly, slightly bemused state.  (Of mind???).  Oh, hell, think about it, we know how to polka!!!  And trust me again, we most certainly do NOT dress "up" for the State Fair.  I have never lived in a more deliciously dizzy state of mind than I have in 'sconsin.  Smile on my face!!!

Our State Bird is the mosquito.  Shit, those things have a wing span that rivals the Andean Condor.  We actually have an official State Soil, it is Antigo Silt Loam.  That stuff is truly magical..  It is the richest, blackest and most fertile soil on the face of the planet.  I swear, you could toss a shoe into a field of this stuff and it would grow into a strip mall with a gas station.  Over the years I have been here, I have stuck single seeds into the ground and have ended up with truck loads of stuff.  Literally.  Squash, melons you name it, I have done so many drive-by drop-offs of produce that my friends actually threatened to report me to animal control.  Aah, yes, it can indeed get green here...

And then there is Madison, the city where I live.  Hmmmm....  we are a small BLUE marble surrounded by a mass of RED.  For those of you not in the know, Blue equals Democrat, Red equals Republican.  Just think Liberal versus Conservative.  Yes, there is a very good reason why our city motto is "77 square miles surrounded by reality."  This city is proud of it's eccentricities.  And lord knows, we got a lot of them.  What can I say, we just like to have a damned good time here.  It doesn't matter whether we are freezing our asses off or sweating our tits off, we just wanna have fun.  And eat.  And drink.  Especially drink.  If you can't spend at least 60% of your dinner tab on cocktails then you're just not doing a Friday night fish fry right!!!  If you actually have to ask for extra tartar sauce, honey, you are in the wrong restaurant!!!  We say "hi" to strangers here without even thinking about it.  If we have known you more than 30 seconds we give you a hug.  We will happily give you our seat on the bus and ask about your kids.  Yeah, damned friendly bunch of folks here.  And I'm glad to be one of them.

Next Friday  (FISH FRY!!!) a group of us will be gathering for yet another birthday celebration at one of our favorite local dives to welcome a dear friend into 57.  Yes, 57.  OK, to me that seems like days of future past but to him it will be a whole new door to open.  This restaurant staff is used to us by now, we have celebrated way too many (WAY too many!!!)  birthdays there and they know just exactly what we are capable of.  Lots of cocktails, rainbow colored wigs, red foam clown noses, strange glasses and a squirt gun or two.  Or three...  And perhaps a whoopee cushion.  Or two.  Oh, how I love tradition...  And a wait staff that knows how to deal with us.  Yes, we can certainly be entertaining here.  And we know how to tip.  And that's important.  Trust me.  It means that they'll let you back in the next time that you show up.

Never in my life have I felt so comfortable while not in the tropics.  Good friends, good beer, good food and just a good time in general.  Again, a smile on my face...  Where else in the world can you put on a hat shaped like a wedge of cheddar cheese, paint your mostly naked body green and gold (GO PACKERS!!!) and get on public transportation and not get a single glance of "WTF???"  Yes, this is my kind of State Of Mind!!!

BTW, "Birthday Boy", we got a few surprises up our sleeves.  Duck and cover...

THERE ARE TIMES YOU JUST GOTTA DO WHAT YOU GOTTA DO...

August is one one those times.  My time.  Yes, it is watermelon time.  Can you say, "someone is in heaven???".  I make no excuses.  I am a child of The South.  A true hillbilly by birth.  I've got watermelon written all over me.  And running down the front of me as well.  Trust me, the shallow end of my gene pool is full of watermelon rinds...

Melons and yours truly have a long history.  A REALLY long history.  I come from a long line of farmers.  Crazy ones at the very least.  But they had the good sense to plant melons.  Mmmmmm!!!   Cantaloupes.  (Very good!)   Muskmelons.  (Even better!!!)   And then there was the field of watermelons.  OMg!!!  Watermelons!!!  Aah, yes, watermelons...  Holy shit, those things were bigger than me!!!

I've known how to spot a ripe watermelon from 50 feet away since I was 4 years old.  Screw that thumping it with your finger, I just had to roll it over and take a look at it.  Mmmmm.... watermelon.   Grandma taught me well.   Yes, a melon of any sort is a thing a beauty, but,  a watermelon.  Now that is a whole different animal.  I grew up with a whole shitload of melons.  Cantaloupes get pepper.  So does Muskmelon.  Especially Muskmelon!!!  To die for!!!  But a Watermelon.  Hmmmm...  That's a whole different exit.  I have been known to sit down and eat an entire watermelon by myself in one sitting with a salt shaker in hand. And stab one of my more stupid cousins with the fork when they made the bad decision  to get too close to me while I was "feeding".  Grandma always seemed to know how to settle the fight and bandage us back up.  Or, at the very least, separate us somehow...  Yeah, somehow that dear woman knew that watermelon was sacred to me.  Yep, it was and still is, something that I do not give up easily.

Today, I search out melons with a vengeance.  Of all kinds.  I have gone berserk in grocery stores all over the world when I see a new melon.  I have stalked melons of all sorts in all 4 hemispheres and way too many time zones.  Show me a melon and I AM there!!!  Show me what you can do with it?  I AM THERE!!!   I ain't met a melon that I have not wanted to marry.  But...

Watermelon.  OMg!!!  Those things are like a weird chemical abuse thing with me.  If I could actually figure out a way to dice them up with a razor blade and inhale them through a rolled up dollar bill I'd be a candidate for the Betty Ford Clinic right about now.  Yes, it's that bad.

Unfortunately, today, a watermelon just isn't what it used to be.  What the bloody hell is up with these "personal" watermelons???  The yellow ones???  (Yellow???  Really???)   And this whole seedless thing is just an enormous pain in the ass.  Yes, there, I have said it.  PAIN IN THE ASS!!!   WTF fun is a watermelon if you can't have a seed spitting contest on the front porch???   I would sell secrets to the former Soviet Union for one of those wonderful, 3 foot long, 50 pound, striped monsters that I had to haul out of grandma's garden in my Radio Flier Wagon because it was so big.  Now, those were watermelons.

Grandma, I don't know what I miss more.  You or your garden...  But thank you for the taste of life on both counts!!!  I remember spitting watermelon seed from your "glider" on your front porch before we ever heard the word "Sputnik".

Yeah...  watermelons.

OK, MY BAD...

To my loyal readers around the world, I beg your mercy.  I have just dug my own hole with my own hands.  Oh, fuck...

In my last entry I raged about that "Weeeeeeeeeeener" idiot.  Yes, I was justified in my outrage.  And my disgust of that slime ball.  Today, I was humbled.  By SeaSquirt.  He saw me go totally deer in headlights.  I literally got knocked to my knees.

That MF'ing slime ball is a Democrat!!!  Now, I'm taking it personal.  The Kennedy "indiscretions" be damned, dude, you have gone so off of my radar it hurts.  And I've done some damn crazy ass shit myself but you take the cake!!!  At least the Kennedy boys were hot.  You ain't...

Again my readers, I apologize for not knowing that this twit was supposedly one of my own.  Yes, a Democrat.  I am truly ashamed.

Aaaahhhhhhh....  Wait, what is that???   Hmmmm....  Oh!  My!  It's a noise from the back of the cave!!!

OMG!!! WHAT KIND OF A FUCKING IDIOT ARE YOU???

Oh, my...  What the fuck???  I am so god damned embarrassed to be an American right now that I could spit copper!!!  Out of my ass!!!  Yet, I am laughing my ass off at this disaster.   Oh, lord, I love it when the mighty fall,  not once, but twice.  Dude, what in the hell were you thinking???

For those of you not in the know...  just Google Anthony Wiener.  Yeah, it's actually pronounced  "Weeeeeener".  OK, I've tossed in a couple of more "e's" but it's still pronounced "Weeeeeeener".  He used to be a member of our House of Representatives.  That is, until pictures that he took of himself naked at the gym surfaced on the Web.  He resigned.  Thank god.  In any other civilized nation that would have been the end of him.  But no, this is America.  We don't have the good sense that god gave a toothpick.  This idiot decides to run for the Governor of New York State.  WTF???

Guess what?  Yeah, some new pictures bubbled to the surface.  Again, more of Wiener's wiener.  Dude, put that thing away!!!  Did having to resign from the House of  Representatives teach you nothing???  That's a pretty high branch to fall from.  Yet you decide to run for the Governorship of the State of New York while still feeling the need to post shots of your "junk" on the Web.  Dude, it's the Web!?!?  The Web!!!  You fucking idiot, it's the Web!!!!!!!  Yeah, once you put your pee- pee out there you're pretty much toast...

Who in their right mind signed your ballet petition???  How many crack-addicted, single wide WalMart shoppers did your evil minions corral to get you enough signatures to be on the ballot to run for the Governor of New York???  What the hell were you thinking???  Oh,wait, you weren't thinking, were you???

You scum-ball!!!  You make me ashamed.  As if America doesn't have enough hypocrites already we are forced to endure you and your kind.  You have got to be FUCKING kidding me!!!

Yes, I am a Democrat, a "Liberal" as it were and I am able to accept some really weird shit but you are genuinely out of my range.  I will give you three letters.  "MNT".  That stands for Mind Numbing Turd.  You appall  me in ways that I have not been horked off in since the Viet Nam War.  Yeah, it's noise from the back of the cave time here right now.  And anyone who has heard me make that noise knows what I'm talking about.  It has been known to make young children run away in panic and tears.  You fucking dirtbag!!!

At least I can sleep at night with a clear conscience...  How about you???  And your wife???

TONIGHT I DANCED IN THE RAIN...

I am  a handful of hours away from being 60.   And 'sconsin is getting pelted with a thunderstorm of an  amazing proportion.

I went out and danced in it.  I came back in soaked.  With a smile on my face.

Yes, a warm summer rain.  I opened my mouth and drank it in.  Heavenly...  just heavenly...

Aah, yes, 'tis good to have these kinds of perks...  and to have someone as silly as you to meet you at the door with a towel to sort of dry you off when you're this happy...   And being silly while you do it.

hmmm...  I guess it just doesn't get any better.........

Aah, yes to dance in the rain.  Sorry, but I'm giggling at the moment...

YOU JUST GOTTA KNOW WHEN TO HOLD 'EM...

Who are these people?  Why do I know them?  Better yet, why do I trust them???  Hell, why do they trust me???  Can you say U-Haul trailer full of nitrogen fertilizer soaked in kerosene???  Yeah, that is my kind of party...  Who better to hand your keys and wallet to than someone as equally as messed up as you are???  And then after a "fist-bump" you head over to the edge of the cliff to do something INCREDIBLY stupid with a large rubber band tied around your ankles...  Sorry, I'm giggling...  Smile...

I have been blessed by the Fates with a lifetime full of loonies.  Sorry, I'm still giggling.  Heh, heh, heh...  Nothing is more fun than a house full of crazies.  Unless, of course, it's a house full of wonderfully "medicated" (enhanced???) crazies.  In costume.  Bearing gifts for yours truly.  Trust me on this one, if you decide to be nuts dive into the deep end of the pool.  It's mucho, moi, mas more fun down there!  Really, it is!

Aah, yes....  60.   Last night I began the "official" launch of my really long weekend nose dive into the BIG 6-Ouch.  My hostesses, two of my favorite lesbians, were gullible enough to open their home and throw me a white trash bash.  This fiasco involved lots of shots, way too many dogs, deliciously scary costumes, crock pots, damned near half a pig, a few more shots and the most amazingly mobile home park side dishes you can imagine.  At one point I actually managed to set the grill on fire.  No, not in that good way that you want to "fire-up" a grill.  I actually managed to set a gas grill on fire.  Yes, there is such a thing as too much chicken, I guess...  FIRE IN THE HOLE!!!

I was tsunami'd from all sides by prison 'tats,  tank tops, flip-flops and wife-beaters.  (FYI:  I was wearing some of those things myself...).  I was toasted and roasted.  I would have it no other way!!!  I happily shared my big day with a 9-year old that owns my soul whose birthday I missed last month.  She was thrilled by the 6-pack of jumbo black olives that I gave her.  She anointed me with yellow balloons, recycled glitter and Girl Scout cookies.  What can I say, she's my kind of lady...

Somewhere over the course of the evening I managed to misplace my watermelon.  Yes, really, I lost a watermelon.  I don't know how.  C'mon, think about it, how the hell do you "misplace" a watermelon???  They're kind of obvious...  Shit!!!  I spent half an hour picking out that water melon!!!  And now it's probably just moldering away in the back of a lesbian refrigerator.  Unseen.  Unnoticed.  Ripe.  Overripe, actually...  Like I said, half an hour...

Somewhere, in the middle of this I vaguely remember trying to explain what "while on the brown acid" meant to a 15 year old.  With his wonderfully crazy mother backing me up.  Hon, I LOVE ya!!!  It went from Woodstock, to giggles, to snorts and then on to glazed eyes.  His, NOT ours.  Heh, heh, heh...   Lord, I do love laughing like the dEVIL!!!  What can I say, you just gotta love a fellow stoner....  Cupcake, you got some stones.  I love thar!!!

At some point throughout  the debacle several people suffered moderately severe second degree burns due to the "S'more"s Effect" as we called it.  Well, not so much a S'more's thing as much as we were all messed up enough to try to make S'more's out of roasted "Peep's".  And had the drunken mishap of putting a 9-year old in charge of it.  (Thank gOD I'm not a parent...)  Pretty much everyone between 9 and 46 got some sort of injury requiring  varying degrees of ice.

Around about midnight I poured myself out of the back seat of a pick-em-up truck that my DD was driving and into the parking lot of my apartment complex.  Along with the better part of half a case of assorted tequilas, a bed pan (thank you, I think...), a shirt pocket full of bacon and super glue, a cabbage and a couple of pink flamingos.  Oh, yeah, and some Paula Dean DVD's before she was "THE" Paula Dean.  Can you say re-gifting???

Aah, shit...

As I type there is a smile on my face, a silly lilt in my step, an ABBA song I just can't seem to get out of my head and a twinkle in a pair of green eyes.  In the words of a dear friend, " 'tis good to be the king.".

Aah, yes, my friend, 'tis good to be the king...

HERE'S TO WEIRD SHIT...

Oh, lord...  Why does it take this long to get this crazy??

Trust me on this one, I've done some of the dumbest shit imaginable.  Horrendous mistakes???  Yeah, my name is all over that one!!!  And I embrace every single one of them.  With a smile on my face.  Uh,  hmmm,  I actually am that stupid.  But without those "mistakes" I would not be the person I am today.  I just can't figure out why I'm not on Death Row right now...

I am not just a danger to myself  (yes, it's true).  I am a danger to anything within 35 miles in every direction. Maybe more...  Can you say improbable and grotesque  mischief???  From my experience, unlike Las Vegas, what happens below the equator or the other side of the International Dateline does not necessarily always stay there.  That probably means no more vacations...

Let's talk about my wrap sheet for a bit.  It started when I was 16.  Something about trying to incite a riot.  Trust me, my parents were NOT pleased.  Little did they know that I had stolen a couple of cars prior to that just to go on joy rides.  Sorry mom, but yeah, I was the one who trashed your 1968 Imperial.  OK, my bad...  That was a trait that would follow me into college.  OK, in my mind I did not STEAL cars as much as I just BORROWED them.  Heh, heh, heh...  There's a couple of drug busts.  A DUI.  Or two...  I have been blind drunk on the docks of Sydney, Australia at 2 AM.  In the arms of a long shore man.  I have been a dumpster-diver in Hong Kong in the middle of the night.  Oh, hell, I've had a camel spit on me.  I once unknowingly drove the getaway car after a gas station hold up. What can I say, I just can't make this shit up.  And of course, the car was packed full of "illegal smiles.".  Again, a smile on my face...  Yes, I am a train wreck.  But at least I am a happy one.  I am the little engine that could.  And did...  Repeatedly...

I have pee'd in the Indian Ocean.  I have walked on the Great Wall of China.  Hell, I've actually tap danced
on that bitch.  Yet, you people still give me your children.  What are you thinking???  Holy shit, I've dealt enough grass to buy Miami!!!  What in the name of chocolate makes me look safe???  I wouldn't give me a centavos worth of nickles and yet you still give me your children.  WTF???

I have been self medicating since I was 12.  I started with my parents medicine cabinet.  Oh my, really good stuff in there.  Mom was into barbiturates and dad was into stimulants.  I was in heaven.  I was my own personal Judy Garland.  By the age of fourteen I had discovered the "streets".   It was 1967.  Oh, yeah, I was having me some fun.  It was all legal back then.  Well, except for the pot.  Which apparently is a "gate-way" drug.  I can't imagine how.  Notice the smile on my face...  Heh, heh, heh...

Yeah, I've done me some stuff.  Holy shit, have I done me some stuff....

I am now cascading like a crashing airliner at SFO into 60.   Oh, my...

Yet, there is a song in my heart, a lilt in my step and a tap dance move or two not yet witnessed.  Trust me on this one, I WILL NOT go silently into that great dark night.  Hell, have any of you ever heard me do ANYTHING silently???  Yeah, too late to start now... 


















 






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MUGSHOTS...

Aah, yes, mugshots.  I love them.  They are the lowest common denominator of humanity.  They put us in our place and let us know in NO uncertain terms that we are about as evolved as mold.  I love looking at those things.  Especially mine.  BTW, I have four.  Or is it five?  I can't remember them all.  Hey, what can I say, I started young...  My first mugshot was at the ripe old age of 16.  Something about unlawful assembly and attempting to incite a riot.  It was the '60's, what can I say?

In the words of Maria Von Trapp, whenever I'm feeling blue I simply remember (Google???) my favorite things.  Yes, mugshots.  Trust me on this, just Google "mugshots" and what will appear before you will scare the skin off of you.  I don't know what fascinates me more about these things, the image or the question of just what they did to get that fucked up looking.  There just isn't such a thing as a "good" mugshot.  Mugshots make your driver's license picture look like a formal setting from Olin Mills.  Broken noses.  Blood.  Black eyes.  Split lips.  More blood.  Missing teeth.  Really bad tattoos.  REALLY BAD TATTOOS!!!  Hair "don'ts" of amazing peculiarity.  And, of course, a smile.  Who the hell smiles during a mugshot???  Oh, wait, that's right...  really fucked up people do that kind of strange shit.

Now, I just love a mugshot of someone that I don't know.  Y'know, what I mean, the "common man".  Aaron Copeland is spinning in a coffin somewhere right now.  I look at some of those things and wonder why they never came completely out of the trees.  Down to the ground.  Where they could have had their ancestors consumed by carnivorous mega fauna.  Life today would be so much simpler.  And WalMart would not exist.  I like that thought.  But my true joy (shall we say AMAZING body rush?) is when I see a celebrity's mugshot.  Holy shit!!!  Nick Nolte's mugshot is permanently burnt into my frontal lobes.  Dude, just how fucked up were you???  What, no mirrors in your house???  There is a wonderful device called a comb.  Try using it once in awhile.  Then there's Lindsey Lohan.  Enough said on that because there's just way too many to pick from.  Paris Hilton...  more money than the Treasury Department and less sense than god gave a toothpick.  OK, I don't like her but any mugshot that includes over $500,000 worth of designer jewelry just floats my boat.  O.J. Simpson...  first off, he literally gets away with murder.  Then he decides to follow it up with pistol whipping some guy in a hotel room in Las Vegas.  Stupidity does indeed warrant multiple mugshots.  I am holding my breath for a mugshot of the Queen of England after a bar fight.  And you know that she is going to be charged with using that purse as a weapon.  This kind of shit makes me feel so damned normal it hurts.  And that alone should scare you...

There is, however, one mugshot I hold close to my heart.  Jane Fonda's.  Damned good mugshot!!!  It was back in the '60's and she was in her "Klute" stage.  Yeah, really bad hairstyle but she looked fabulous.  It's amazing what a $10,000 an hour stylist can do to make you look "revolutionary".  How the hell they let her throw up a "strike fist" amazes me.  "Hanoi Jane" be damned, I was one of the crazies that stood at her back.  Sometimes you just have to do what you have to do.  You may apologize for it later but if it made sense at the time you just have to jump naked into the deep end.  Jane, I bow to you.  DAMNED GOOD MUGSHOT!!!

I HONESTLY DIDN'T KNOW WHO TO SLAP FIRST...

OK, as you all know, I am a shopaholic.  Put me behind a cart in a store and I go completely crack whore.  Hey, what can I say, it's a calling.  And I always pick up the phone...

Today was, well... something else.  OK, it was like Dante's 27th gate of hell.  In all honesty I did not know who to bitch slap first, the mother or her demon seed from hell.  They were both monstrous in their own ways.  I've never been this torn in my life.

So, I'm at the Dollar Tree (great store, I love it!!!) happily running through my shopping list when I first heard the commotion start.  Yeah, that high C over middle C that only a three year old can manage to do.  I swear to god, dogs for two miles in every direction were probably knocked to the ground.  It was amazing.  Oh, hell, it was annoying at the very least.  Then it quickly got totally unacceptable.  BIG TIME!!!  I turned into the Health & Beauty aisle because I needed some shampoo.  Big mistake on my part.  I quickly found myself face to face with the Devil.  And his mother.  Again, I did not know who to slap first.

The "creature" could not have been more than 3 years of age.  And he was off leash.  His mother was in her mid 40's and up to her eyeballs in designer clothes.  Yeah, at the dollar store.  WTF???  The "child" was making a face not unlike a hyena about to attack and once again gifting me with that high C over middle C thing.  I curdled. I panicked.  I did everything in my power to just duck and cover.  And then it lunged.  HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!  This little monster went into total fucking bat-shit crazy meltdown.  I damned near jumped into my cart just to protect myself.  He launched himself down the aisle, arms open and knocking everything off of the shelves he could touch.  On both sides.  All the while, tearing stuff open and stomping on it.  While screaming.  Loudly.  LOUDLY!!!  I all too quickly found myself trapped in an aisle of collateral damage.  No shit, I was up to my knees in shampoo, soap, conditioner, tooth paste, mouth wash, bath wash, cotton balls, tweezers,  nail polish remover, gunk, goo, sticky stuff and an out of control proto-human like thing..  Who has now decided to take on the next aisle over.  Oh, my stars...  It was Housewares.  There's a lot of glass in that aisle.  Well, actually, there WAS a lot of glass in that aisle.  That little monster went nuts.  I could hear the damage he was doing as I sat in the safety of my cart as the passion fruit scented goo began to seep up over the top of the wheels.  The other lone shopper in the aisle ran for her life as store employees began descending from all directions.

"Mother" (I use that term VERY loosely) seems to be totally unaffected by this display and casually calls across to the other aisle, "Timmy, use your inside voice."  I damned near cold cocked her right there!!!  "Timmy, use your inside voice."  ???  WOMAN, ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MOTHERFUCKING MIND???  Had I even considered something 1/100th of this at this monsters age I would have immediately been dragged out of that store and locked in the trunk of the car.  For those of you my age, you know what I mean...

In less than two minutes I watched thousands of dollars worth of damage be done to a dollar store.  Not an easy feat when you think about it.  By a 3 year old.  Who may or may not of had rabies.

"Timmy, use your inside voice."...

Again, I did not know who to bitch slap, drop kick or sucker punch first...

Luckily, I am a calm sort of person.  Oh, just stop laughing, I can hear you!!!

MY DEAR MADIBA...

In case you are not aware of that word, it's the tribal birth name of the man we now know as Mr. Nelson Mandela.  He is a victim of birth, a victim of skin color, a victim of an apartheid government that put him through hell for 30 years for no damned good reason.  And he is now revered as the Father of his country.  He was the first truly generally elected President of a newly free South Africa.  And we are now in the process of losing him to time.

He did nothing more than speak out about the inequalities that the vast majority of his fellow people were being subjected to by a the ruling class.  He was tired of being treated like a 3rd class citizen.  Oh, wait, that's right...  he wasn't even considered to be a citizen.  Yeah, not a single freaking right or privilege.   Of course, he got arrested.  And was given a "trial".  I didn't even know kangaroos had trials.  They put him in a former military prison.  On an island.  Within sight of his homeland.  And for 30 motherfucking years they tried to break him.  And the spirits of everyone like him.  And they failed.  He beat them.  He won!!!

When that nightmare of apartheid finally collapsed he was freed.  And he came back with a vengeance that just makes me salivate.  The world stood up and took notice.  And they applauded.   Mr. President...  Oh, yeah, that had to taste SO good!!!

He came out of 30 years of HELL a kind, gentle, humanitarian with a sense of humor that could melt dry ice.  And a smile.  Oh my stars, what a smile...  And a drive to make his country better.  To make his country a player on the world stage and to raise it up to where it should be..

He won the Noble Peace Prize.  Ain't nothing like that to let you know that you actually have "arrived".  The world embraces and respects him.  Hell, how can you not???   This mans struggles make gay-bashing look like a walk in the park!!!

He is now 94, in failing health and in a hospital on life support.  We are in the process of losing a treasure.  Someone who had the stones to stand up and say "I don't think so!!!".  Someone who stood by those convictions during a conviction of hell-and-high-water and yet still emerged victorious.  With a smile on his face, his hand reached out, a lilt in his step and incredible words of wisdom and guidance.  And the Presidency.

You, my dear sweet man, make me smile...