FUZZY MATH or WHEN DO WE GET THERE?

My average number of posts per day for September:
1.133333333333
I even had 3 good ones, if we count this one.

Thats more than Barbara, a chronic daily poster.

It doesn't come close to Unremitting Failure who actually did his 10,000 post two weeks ago and is the most out of control SOB in the business. His average is beyond your wildest dreams and classified.

Hold the pressess! Did I say "Out of Control"? Did you see who, whom, or what, is back?
Not just back, but back again?
And as a Red Dirt Mule!


Moving right along....


100 miles to Wichita, I can feel the power,
Put the needle at 100; I’ll be there in an hour?
6 minutes later it’s 90 miles to Wichita
Put the needle at 90; I’ll be there in an hour?..
7 minutes later it’s 80 miles to WichitaPut the needle at 80;
I ’ll be there in an hour?..
8 minutes later it’s 70 miles to Wichita
Put the needle at 70, I’ll be there in an hour?..
9 minutes later it’s 60 miles to Wichita
Put the needle at 60, I’ll be there in an hour?..
10 minutes later it’s 50 miles to Wichita
Put the needle at 50, I’ll be there in an hour?..
12 minutes later it’s 40 miles to Wichita
Put the needle at 40, I’ll be there in an hour?..
15 minutes later it’s 30 miles to Wichita
Put the needle at 30, I’ll be there in an hour?..
I’LL BE THERE IN AN HOUR!
billy jonas

MIE FYNILEYE FIGGUERED OOT WHYE MIE TYPIENG TEH WEY MIE DOE

Gosh and begorrah, I'm Gaelic.


But "mo chuisle mo chroí" is real Gaelic, not idiot Gaelic like my title and me.

Don't look for a translation, just go get the movie 'Million Dollar Baby" this weekend. Stars the physically fit ponytailed Hillary Swank and perfect performances by Clint Eastwood and Morgan Freeman.
Flawless movie.

GREAT LINES FROM THE MOVIES

HOMBRE'

Its not the best movie Paul Newman ever did, and its likely you have not seen or heard of it, which is all the more reason to feature it here and now. Written by Elmore Leonard.

Its a good movie, with Newman playing a white man, John Russell, raised by Apaches . He has seen and suffered the injustices inflicted upon his adopted tribal family. He is totally immersed in the Apache culture, wants no part of the White Man, and then finds himself in the position of having to protect white people from other white people.

The vallain is played very well by Richard Boone, aka "Paladin" from "Have gun Will Travel".

I especially enjoy the role of Jessie, played by a relatively unknown actress named Diane Cilento, a fiery no-nonsense Redhead that goads the reluctant Newman into being a Hero.

I think she's pretty foxy. So did Sean Connery, her second husband.

I like the exchanges between Jessie and Russell (Newman)

Jessie: And we got him a marble headstone. It had his name on it, and underneath, we had them put, "In the Fullness of His Years." Is that all right with you?

John Russell: I'll settle for that. I'm not on the slab.

Jessie: Well, what do you figure yours is going to read?

John Russell: "Shot Dead," probably.

Jessie: Don't people take to you, Mr. Russell?

John Russell: It only takes one who doesn't.

Then a little later, Jessie inquires about his "Love life"

Jessie: How 'bout you Mr. Russell? You have a woman somewhere?

Russell: You askin' for a demonstration?

Jessie: I think I'm askin' for trouble.

Paul Newman, a good 'un.

PARADIGM

“Spending” is when you buy your kids a Monopoly Game.
“Investment” is teaching them to put Houses on Boardwalk and Park Place.
“Economics” is watching them learn they can sell the $200 house for $100 so they can ‘Stay in the Game”.

MY FIRST DEBATE Part 1

FURTIVE GLANCES

Bulletholes, Christmas 1974, glancing furtivley toward the photographers lovely daughter

I had a Navy Blue sports coat and the Worlds Biggest tie.

My partner wore a Marigold miniskirt and White Stockings with a seam up the back. The type stockings that make the legs look kind of blue on the edges, a sort of Doppler effect.

Her name was Kathy, with a K, and she wore a blouse with Peaches on it. Like most Kathy's, with a K, , she had great breasts, and when she wore that blouse there were these two really well placed Peaches, and when I was stoned I always had to ask myself if the designer had done that on purpose.

I wonder that to this day.

Kathy was my partner on the Debate Team.

We had two shoeboxes filled with index cards that we carried with us into our first debate. One held cards with quotations and information about our case, otherwise known as "The Affirmative", which was our answer to "The Resolution":

"Resolved: The United States of America should significantly change the method of selecting and electing Presidential and Vice-presidential Candidates"...

Resolved being the topic adopted by the UIL for High Schools throughout America for the 74/75 season, it was part of the aftermath of impeaching Nixon. It also was the most Scholarly thing I have ever attempted to do.

The second shoebox was filled with index cards for the Negative. That is, after our opponents presented their Affirmative case on what to do about the scumbags in Washington, we were to pull index cards with quotations, facts and figures in order to rebut, destroy and make nonsense of the affirmatives case. As I was to find out, this is a difficult, pressure filled thing to do.

Sometimes I wrtite posts that would indicate I am a master of snappy comebacks and light on my feet in a verbal exchange, like Jack Kennedy or Don Rickles or something. I assure you I am not and am almost out of stories where I come out on top.

Sitting behind the table at the front of the classroom on the day of our first Debate, I took note of my suroundings. There was the Chalkboard with Eisteinian equations, there was a Periodic Chart of the Elements, a poster of Madam Curie or Ethel Merman in some Movie, I couldn't quite tell. There was a chart of the 10 rules for Chemlab.
There was a machine my math teacher had brought to my own classroom one day called a "computer" that you fed "Data". I had gotten sent to the office for asking if his newborn son had learned to say 'Data" yet, while predicting the ultimate failure of this "piece of ca-ca*"
It was a Math and Chemistry Room and I flunked both of those classes.
When you say "let x=y" I can't comprehend it. It strikes me as being most unfair, and to both of them. But I do believe in Alchemy. Thats part of why I flunked Chemistry twice, but thats another story.

And then the were the three judges siitng in front of me. The first was a dust dry little old lady with those CatGlasses, attached with a chain that ran around her neck that allowed them to rest on her bosom until she put them back on to take a long critical look at me. I nodded and gave my best Eddie Haskel smile to her, but she took them off with a disdainful look, seemed to shiver a bit and went back to chewing her gums** and reading "The Grape Gaspy" or something She wore support stockings amd Army Boots...no....Granny Shoes and I imagine she had a really bad case of varicose veins.

Yes, she had blue helmet hair.

Do you even have to ask?

The second judge was a studious looking middle aged man and completely unremarkable. Sometimes the most you can say about someone is that they are unremarkable. Bald or with hair, necktie or no, bearded, cleanshaven or in blackface, this guy would not get your attention even if he were barebeamed and buck naked. He looked like the kind of guy that kept a diary of every nonevent that occurred during his livelong day. Cut out articles from the Student Newspaper and latest hobby would be "Paint by Numbers".

But the third judge, well....

He was young, cool looking and dressed smartly. The shirt was solid colored, Deep Purple I believe, , except for the collars and cuffs, which were white. On the corners of the collar, was a tiny little embroided Carrot, and the Green top of the Carrot fairly resembled a stylized Marijuana leaf. He had hair longer than mine, and droopy eyelids, but his eyes flashed a certain brilliance that I was sure went brain deep. He had on Brown corduroy pants, and they were tucked into Buckshin knee boots . around his neck was a leather strap holding a little leather Medicine bag. He looked like a cross between Zonker and Mingo.
I looked at him and he gave me me a backwards nod, you know, not one where he dips his head towards you, but rather tosses his head back a touch.

Then he went back to looking at his copy of 'Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail" while stealing furtive glances ay Kathy's Peaches.

I had an ally.

*ca-ca:

spanish noun

colloquial (excremento) poop
(defecto) defect, error:

also: crap, junk

**gums...

Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English gome, from Old English gōma palate; akin to Old High German guomo palate, and perhaps to Greek chaos abyss
Date: before 12th century : the tissue that surrounds the necks of teeth and covers the alveolar parts of the jaws ; broadly : the alveolar portion of a jaw with its enveloping soft tissues







to be continued...

"DON'T DO ME THIS TANYA"

or "I've learned to...wear nice pants to protect the dignity of others"


My last post I referred to a letter I keep from a Volunteer in New Orleans.
It was posted over at Charm School two years ago.
There is a lot here.

"Hurricanes and typhoons have always struck me as expert dancers do. I admire them from afar and tremble violently when their beauty and passion brush up inches from my face. Living as we are in a nation that kills many a passion, it's only reasonable that we remember the times when the ferocity of a Category 5 Passion lays us low. It's only fair that we give them names.

But this, if nothing else, needs to be understood. I did not come to New Orleans because of Hurricane Katrina.

I came here because of something very un-beautiful--something so cruel and vicious that, when unleashed, snapped all our bodies in half on August 29, 2005.

As you might guess, such a monstrous thing is simply too difficult for God or nature or the winds to pull off successfully.

I came, like many, repentant. You can only apologize to a point—for the people you and your ancestors elected and protected and pampered and blindly followed and falsely trusted, for the levees they didn’t build right and the money that wasn’t there to get them right, for the incompetence of Emergency Managers, for the folks like Barbara Bush who believe that the hundreds of thousands of evacuees are better off displaced than in their 'underprivileged’ lives back home.

After that, you get on your knees.

You pray.

You hurt.

You think it's better for your eyes to be just a little farther from the harsh sunlight. You want to bend your nose to the earth to taste the moldy debris, the taste of rotting death. Maybe once you understand, you will begin to appreciate, and mourn more openly.

Well, that’s pipe dreams for ya. Almost a year in this city now and I feel even further from understanding, even though during that same year I have grown and evolved and learned more than I fully realize. I’ve learned what it means to have a home and a family and a love for them, a place to be proud of because you helped build it. I’ve learned all the dreary yet fascinating details of the medical world, of running a nonprofit, of engaging in anti-racist work, of basic neighborhood planning. I’ve learned how to say ‘etouffee’ correctly, end my
conversations with "Alrightyallhaveablestdaynow,” wear nice pants to respect the dignity of others.

More exactly I’ve witnessed the consequences of a man-made disaster, the successful outcome of centuries-old racist and capitalist policies that were all too painfully predictable and unsurprising to the residents here. I’ve seen politics at its ugliest, from photo ops to FEMA to cops to vigilantes to Bring New Orleans Back By Turning Black Neighborhoods Into Golf Courses. I’ve participated in hundreds of meetings, a segment of my life I sometimes wish I could rescue from the abyss.

I’ve marveled at how people use insanity (Mardi Gras) and blasting noises (brass bands and second line parades) as means of revival after a hit that many are STILL mourning each passing day. I’ve fallen in love with a city and its people, so financially and developmentally poor, so spiritually and culturally and creatively rich, and I’ve doubted often whether those less-trumpeted riches are enough to get us through. I’ve been swallowed by a large relief organization and its many arms that entice me and revolt me, make me question everything I’ve ever believed about ‘relief’ and‘solidarity’ and ‘radicalism’ and ‘THE WORK.’ I’ve criticized less the Other Enemies and more our own (power, privilege,sexism, racism, unaccountability), took a lot of heat, discovered what it really means to be strong. I’ve focused on patience, patience for a slow rebuilding; yet
there is urgency, urgency to get people back home while they still can. I’ve wondered whether, for the betterment of everyone, I shouldn’t be here at all.

All this, and I am still annoyed at how infantile I feel, how little I know. It will take me years in this place before I start getting it. But I don’t have the resilience of these people, some who’ve lived through the great floods of 1927 and 1965 AND this one too. You can’t cultivate that will-do spirit overnight. Some days I stare at this crazy mess and just want release from it. Like, give us a break, dammit.

I mistakenly offered my phone to a man at a bus stop who ‘needed to
call his girl, except it was his ex-girl, and most of the ensuing 30-minute conversation was him begging her for forgiveness. He wanted a bus ticket to go back to her home (only she had the money for it). He wanted to start again fresh. He wanted to marry her. He just wanted her. She wasn’t having none of it. Eventually he got stuck on repeating one desperate line—“Don’t do me this Tanya!” Over and over. It’s amazing how much you can say “Don’t do me this!” while you’re sobbing. I felt sorry for him, then I just thought he was pretty pathetic. Come on man, try harder. Say something different. Win back her trust.

Now, one year later, this city has made so little headway it’s embarrassing. Everyone’s getting hit while they’re down. Rent goes up, gas goes up, trailers aren’t available, eviction notice gets posted, friends and parents die, cousins go to Jail and definitely don’t pass Go. The hits keep coming, unrelentingly, and you’d laugh at how ridiculously bad it is if you weren’t so pissed off. Don’t do me this Tanya. Please. Don’t do me this.

I’m looking back at all I’ve just written and I’m frustrated. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say here. It totally shows. This is not quite a lecture, nor is it an apology. This is not a recruitment drive for the Movement to Rebuild New Orleans (if there is, or ever was, one). This is not a request for funds or volunteers. (It’s not that simple anymore.) This could be interpreted as just trying to impress people with my mediocre writing skills, which I would concur with if I wasn’t so desperate to reach you all through the computer screen, grab you by the shoulders and not let go. Maybe this is me trying to
paint a picture, but words, alive as they are, are not colors, and this picture is for my eyes only. I’ve long since given up trying to imprint this image on the minds of others.

I think, in the end, I am asking for some recognition. Not necessarily the precise date. Recognition of this place, of these
people, of these atrocities and hopes, of what happened here a year ago, on a Monday morning. I think most of you have already done that. You’ve probably found the same struggles and experiences in everything you do, in who you are. We’re all trying to understand and there’s no reason for making Katrina a Bigger Daddy than it already is. There’s just been a devastating war in Lebanon, for gosh sakes. And the number of poor in the US keeps growing. And people keep organizing
and resistance keeps getting stifled and timelessness and changes and so on. All, all must be recognized and appreciated. And in some cases mourned.

And, I am asking you to keep such energies and memories alive by teaching them. Tell the stories, tell what we’ve learned and what we don’t know, inspire others to avoid the same old mistakes, to denounce the injustices. We’re never too young (or too old) to begin. I have a 2-year-old niece. I chat every day with an 82-year-old man just down the block. I can start
with them. And I will keep my ears attuned to what they teach me."

"TOO DIFFICULT FOR GOD"

Ahab, from Chapter 36 of Moby Dick.
"All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event – in the living act, the undoubted deed – there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through the mask!"

I keep a letter written from a volunteer that went to New Orleans after Katrina, and discovered that the real problem was deeper than hurricane force winds and storm surges.
Just like Ahab, the writer was loathe to describe the insidious nature of what the real problem was:
"I came here because of something very unbeautiful--something so cruel and vicious that, when unleashed, snapped all our bodies in half on August 29, 2005. As you might guess, such a monstrous thing is simply too difficult for God or nature or the winds to pull off successfully."
I'll post that entire letter tomorrow.
Its long, but I urge you to read it

Two years ago I did a post about a neighborhood destroyed to build a Strip Mall, and I described my brothers reaction to seeing the last house with its picket fence, sandbox, swingset and BBQ Grill, completely surrounded by the ubiquitous business esatblishments deemed more important than a 40 house neighborhood.
I showed that house to my brother, a retired colonel, while the homeowner was still holding out.
my brother just had one word for it:
"OUTSTANDING!"

The guy that held out finally sold that house for 2 million dollars.Over the next ten years, the nature of the business in that spot went downhill and according to my blog two years ago:
" They erected a Gateway Computer on the spot which was quickly replaced by CD Warehouse then a Tattoo Parlor or something."
I wanted to make a prediction when I wrote that, but I could not have outdone the facts.
The Gateway Computer eventually became a Pawnshop.
"Outstanding".

I passed that Strip mall last week. Out of the 40 businesses that were there at the start...
THERE ARE ONLY THREE LEFT!
A more stunning example of riches to rags I have yet to see, though I do feel it coming.
Barnes and Noble, Fridays, Chase Bank, Best Buy, Bennigans, Ultra Beauty, Mattress Giant...all gone. Everything but three, gone.
And that man's house that was a Gateway computer, then a CD Warehouse, Tattoo Parlor and Pawn Shop?
It is taken over by the local street urchins, skateboarders and kids that are just plain bored. There are broken windows, and likely needles in the gutter.

But there is hope.
I saw yesterday the Orange and Black banner indicating that it is going to be a Halloween Haunted House.
"Outstanding."
Its more than a metaphor for the current economic crisis.
Its just like Katrina.
It is but a pasteboard mask.

Again...
"All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event – in the living act, the undoubted deed – there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through the mask!"

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY

bULLET hOLES iN tHE mAIL bOX iS 2 yRS! oLD nOw!!!
gOT dANGF'N THAT STCKY DUMb cAPS LoCK KEY.
rILLUY, i'M BEEN A GUd LiDDLWE mSpeller, shes Jus" thATTa
Me TIPING Sux. Bad.
I'm fast thougfghj...wathch this..
iqjwd9-u86'QW.DLK XDSDKL;Seevsasdfghjkl;'qweryuiop[Zxcvnm,./

That says "In this world there are two types of people, those with keys and those with buttons"
I am the former.

Heres my password: qwertyuiop
It only takes me one millimeter to type it. SomeTIMES (oPPS) they want me to use a capital Letter and thats when I run into trouble.
You have to be smarter than the Caps Key.
But my password...
Its the top row of the key things, the ones with letters.
(putting index finger to lips) Shhh...don't tell no body, no one, no ow, no McCain.

Heres my first post I ever done. Kind of. Its really a dream.

"My job has required me to learn to use the Computer and develop some typing skills. This process has yielded some very interesting dreams, none better than the following-
I HAD ONE OF MY PSYCHO DREAMS LAST NIGHT-
I WAS HAVING DIFFICULTY W/ SHIP LOG, THE BOSS CAME IN AND OBSERVED MY METHOD OF OPERATION (M.O.) AND CONCLUDED THAT I NEEDED TO STRIKE THE KEYS HARDER……
"LIKE THIS" HE WOULD SAY, AND, BAM!!!,
HIT THE KEYBOARD HARD.
SO I WOULD TRY TO HIT IT HARDER BUT BEFORE TOO LONG I WOULD GET HUNG UP AGAIN AND BOSS WOULD COME IN AND ….
.BAM!!!...
AND THE DATA WOULD DIS-TRUNCATE AND THE INFO WOULD ALL BE THERE.
I WOULD BEGIN AGAIN TO ENTER DATA AND BEFORE LONG -YUP, BOSS WOULD COME BACK IN AND HIT THE KEYBORD AND TELL ME
"YOU GOTTA HIT IT HARDER"!


I BEGAN TO HIT THE KEYBOARD REALLY HARD BUT IT WOULD NOT WORK FOR ME.
Don't you just hate that?
FINALLY, I HIT IT REAL HARD AND WHOOPS!
SOME THING THAT SOUNDS LIKE An ATOMIC CAR ALARM GOES OFF AND A "JACK IN THE BOX" JOKER POPPS OUT OF THE TOP OF THE MONITOR, bouncing up and down and to and fro, AND THOSE BELLS ON HIS FUNNYHAT ARE RINGJINGLIN' AND HES HOLDING A SIGN THAT READS...............
"TOO HARD"!

SPRINGS AND MECHANICAL PARTS AND CANDY WRAPPERS AND ALLSORTS OF JUNK FLY OUT OF A GAPING HOLE IN THE KEYBOARD . I GRABBED THE KEYBOARD, YANKED THE CORD OUT OF THE BACK OF THE COMPUTER, AND MARCHED INTO THE BOSSMANS OFFICE , THREW THE KEYBOARD ONTO HIS DESK AND SAID "YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE TO ORDER ME ANOTHER ONE OF THESE"!

LIED LIKE A RUG

They told me one time that drinking wouldn’t help…I believed them.
Then one night I got drunk and you know what?
They lied.

SILENCE OF THE LAMBS?

I HAVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR 15 YEARS....

Theres a shadow on the land
And the silence that surrounds it
Its the silence of the lamb
When it knows the Wolf has found it
And it freezes in its tracks
And it never makes a motion
"Take the others don't take me"
Is its prayer and its devotion.

And the lambs are all afraid
That their world has been betrayed
And a Covenant was made
By their Silence

So we look the other way
And pretend that we don't notice
That the flock has gone astray
They don't need the wolf to know this
They want image over truth
They want style over substance
just more campaign 'Read my lips"
Just more money over justice

Don't we all know wrong from right
and no matter what they tell us
We know the shadow from the light
We know the lies they try to tell us
We pretend they care for us
We pretend they were elected
We pretend they tell the truth
We pretend...."its complicated"

Ridin' RedEyed on the rail
I had a dream we all united
And a wave swept through the land
From the fire that it ignited
Everybody on their feet
To raise their fist and raise their voices
They took their leaders to the streets
to take the heat for their owen choices


I have been working on this for 15 years. I started to post it and let you think I wrote it, just to get your attention. But I did not write this and I don't know who did. Its a cool song, the music part is good, and here in 2008 it seems fairly current.
I used to tape music from the local PBS station. PBS changed the music I listened to and the way I listened to it. I lost friends over the music I listen to.
This song is on one of those tapes (I have about 300 hours worth) but I have never found who the Artist is that wrote these lyrics and recorded the song. At first it sounded like Eric Clapton, but this is not Claptons style. From PBS I became enchanted with all sorts of little known Artists and Songwriters, but I have still never identified this particular piece.
I have Googled it every way but loose.

I am hoping someone out there can help me.

PRECIOUS METALS

Blogger #1- 'So whats up with that Bulletholes guy?'
Blogger #2- "Oh , he's just talking about chicks that like dirty talk, and works of Fine Art, whores and Dick Gregory, and how you can OD on Wool and stuff.
Blogger #1- "I guess I've heard worse shit. Lets go drink some Goldschlaeger."
Blogger #2- "Good idea...last time I had that stuff I was pissin' Platinum for a week."

Both at once- "We'll be high-aye-aye-high!"

KEEP ME OUT OF POLITICS

When I was 20, I had a girlfriend for a while that was much older than I. Her name was Billie and she was very sexy and always wanted me to talk dirty to her. I could never pull it off because I cracked myself up too bad.
Years later she had Cancer and was about to die and she called my mother to find out where I was. My mother wouldn't tell her. Mom said it waas because she didn't like the way Billie sounded. I knew what mom was talking about because Billie had a really sexy voice.
I did talk to Billie before she died, but she didn't want me to see her. She said she looked very bad.

Years before, Billie had given me a book of Poetry by a man I had never heard of.
I loved it and its sticky wet bare-naked style, and one of the poems was brought back to my memory yesterday in an exchage Barbara and I had.
Probably the reason I remember this one, and its the only one I can recite, is because I was a Chef.
I don't know the name of it, or even if I have it exactly right as I have long since given the book away.

Play
Play with me
Play with me a while
Keep me
Keep me heard
Keep me hard
keep me in the Kitchen
Keep me out of Politics

leonard cohen, the energy of slaves

700,000,000,000 SHOCKS OF WHEAT

FRANCOIS MILLET, THE GLEANERS
"In this depiction of the rural life of nineteenth century France, we see three female figures gathering the leftovers after the harvest. This practice – known as gleaning – was traditionally part of the natural cycle of the agricultural calendar undertaken by the poor, and was regarded as a right to unwanted leftovers. Although the practice of agricultural gleaning has gradually died away due to a number of historical factors (including industrialisation and the organisation of social welfare for the poor), there are nonetheless still people in the present day that we might understand to be gleaners."

I have this painting in my Dining Area (someday, I hope to have a table to put in my Dining Area), passed down from my Grandfather.
What strikes me about it is the that the faces are faceless, without detail and the shoes have an almost homemade, worn and uncomfortable look. In fact, the trees, roadway, and buildings in the background are more detailed than the three peasants.
They are the few, the many.

In 1857 when it was painted, a critic said it was a representation of the 3 Fates of Poverty. With the current Economic Crisis, I can't help but wonder will there be anything left to glean?

Now, I have a feeling I am about to go on a major rant, but before I do need to introduce and recognize a few new friends....

First there is The Minx, who I actually added a few weeks ago. She's smart. She's wanton. Her Colonial hat is straw. She gets more comments than most of the folks I visit.

Then there is Leslie, an Artist I remember from a long time ago because she showed tender mercy on a fox down in Austin. She's cool. She believes in Magic.

Then we have the Banquet Manager. He's a relatively new blogger, but I can tell he is a real pro @ the Foodservice task and you won't find people any more fun than his kind of people.

Then there is Pietra with the longest name I've ever heard, and
"She's 5 foot ten and she carries a Monkey Wrench
She weighs more by the foot than she does by the inch"
She throws Dylan verses at me. We hit them back and forth like Ping Pong balls. Its like we are blonde on blonde.

HERE A WHORE, THERE A WHORE, EVERY WHERE A WHORE-WHORE

"Nixon wasn't so bad...he got us out of Vietnam ...and kept us out of Ireland."
DICK GREGORY

From a long time ago... but we are in election season and with the Economy, the Mae-Mac Twins, and AIG going down the shitter, who is to say that FDIC isn't the next thing to go. I am going to the Bank, withdraw my $29.15 and tape it behind my Millet painting, "The Gleaners" I believe it is. If you are going to rip me off, please leave the Millet.

I have been seeing a tag that has been circulating as of late which concerns books we have read. The first question is the book that has beeen most influential in our life. There were two that came to mind very quickly.
After further thought., however, I came to believe that there were two others that were probably better candidates.Both were written by Mr. Dick Gregory( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dick_Gregory) and I read them in the 10th Grade.

It was a time when there was much to protest. Abby Hoffman, Ken Kesey, Kurt Vonnegut, Hunter Thompson and Timothy Leary were all in the headlines.
I spent a few lazy summer stoney days watching Judge Scirrica and the Watergate Investigation unfold.
I cannot tell you what drew me to Mr. Gregory. Perhaps it was my childhood in Detroit during the riots that was thirsty for a Black perspective on what was happening. Maybe I just wanted to be different from my fellow 16 year olds and WASP upbringing.
The first book of his books I read was "Nigger".
The second was "No More Lies; The Myth and Rhetoric of American History".
I don't think either of these would have appeared on a recomended reading list.

I had had my Drivers licsense for only a week when I saw that Mr. Gregory would be at the local College for a lecture. I talked a friend of mine into going with me. I don't know that I was anymore enlightened than any other 16 year old, but I would bet Dollars to Doughnuts that I was the only 16 year old there.
My friend thought I was nuts.

It was a time when I was too young to be a real hippie/protester but too old to not have an understanding of what had happened and was still happening to the country. It was from Mr. Gregory that I heard the story of "The Chicago Seven' and illuminated what the song "Chicago" was about.
I read "Bury my Heart at Wounded Knee", "I will Fight No More, Forever" "The Strawberry Statement" and "Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail".
It was Dick that sent me.
The next year, while I was barely passing most of my classes, I was making A's in Government, Philosophy and Speech.
It was Dick that sent me.
I was making Speeches that could tear your heart out. Men openly wept.
I joined the Debate club when I was a Senior. The Affirmative that year was:
"Resolved; The United States should significantly change the method for selecting and electing Presidential and Vice Presidential candidates"

My partner Kathy and I actually won a Debate tournament when I used Gregory's analogy comparing the two party system to choosing a whore.
"After all, no matter how many candidates are running, or whores you have to choose from," Mr Gregory had pointed out to me 2 years prior "They are still all whores".
My partner, Kathy, nearly fainted!
It came to be known in our club as "Steve's Great Whore Case".
Sweet!

So today I am waiting to see which one of these whores that have been nominated is going to fall apart.
Will it be the old boring one, or can his dynamic mate save him?
Or will it be the new shiny one whose campaign is based less on the Affirmative, and more on the rebuttal.
I am getting pummelled (an overstatement) by people to make up my mind, but we have yet to have a single Debate between these whores.
Not that it matters that much...but we shall see.

THREE BAGS FULL

Last Month the Houston Police managed to lose $50,000 worth of Sex Toys.
Now the Fort Worth Police Department has lost a vial of 100% pure Angolan wool.
Just "up and disappeared".
Valued at over 25,000 it was the largest seizure of wool since the DEA declared it a controlled substance.
"It was pure Angolan Alpacuna Mohair, absolutely no Vacuna cut, and if that stuff hits the streets there will be some serious itching going on" said Sue Baker, Spokeperson.



"It was here just a second ago"

A KISS IS JUST A KISS

I went to a bar Friday night and saw an old Kissin' Friend.
I asked for a kiss and she kissed me, but not like she used to do. Its more of a token kiss these days.
A minute later her husband came by and asked had I seen his wife.
I asked him "Which one?” because I know both his wives and I felt like being smart.
He managed a laugh, and he used to be my very best friend, so I said:
“She just kissed me and went that-a-way” and pointed the direction.
and he managed another chuckle and went looking for Lisa.

Well, the girl I kissed, Lisa, she was my kissin’ girlfriend all the way back to High School. Her boyfriend moved up from Houston while she and I were kissin' friends, and we were supposed to stop, but I would do stuff like pull her into another room and lay one on her without him knowing. Sometimes though, he would catch me and it became quite a game.
It infuriated him and delighted me.
i like to think we did that a lot, but probably it was only a few times.

Some 6 years later my girlfriend Kristi and I were in line at a sandwich shop.
I turned and there was Lisa with some Dude.
Lisa!
It had been years since I had seen her...I did a quick double take and I saw her silently mouth my name. I did not hesitate….I grabbed her into my lovin’ arms and we began a slow-slurpin' liplock, tongues dancin’ and everything that lasted at least 10 seconds while our respective partners looked on in total shock.
It was really quite passionate!
Well, actually, it was not as passionate as I make it sound. ith Lisa and I it was probably 90% fun and 10 % novelty.
And that was about twenty-five years ago, and the heartache of divorces amongst friends did not leave us unaffected. In fact she and I can hardly stand to talk to each other, and may have left the two of us more affected than any involved.
But still, anytime we see each other we give up a kiss.

I see this as a pesky little habit, and overly sentimental too, but I also see it as a positive sign, full of hope tht somewhere down the line a lot of us old freiends will be able to get over events that happened in the very middle of lifelong friendships.

That is the way I see it.

Anyway, to make a long story longer, at the bar Friday night, Lisa comes to me and says
"You wiggle like a girl when you dance" referring to the way I move my shoulders sometimes.
'Yeah, but I jiggle like a man too" was my reply.
'No, really, it looks good" she says "And I think its great that you are in touch with your feminine side"

What she's doing here is trying to stick it to me, so I say:
"Damn right I'm in touch with my feminine side...its the only action I get" and she laughs.
I pull her a little closer in and whisper in her ear, like I'm telling her a secret, and say
"But Lisa, my Feminine side tells me its not "Wiggle"...its "Shimmy"...I just thought you might want to know that, girl to girl".

Maybe thats why she don't kiss me like she used to.

THAT BOY OF MINE...

That boy of mine, the Rip, came home the other night with Pink Feathers glued to his scalp.
I do mean glued as they are still there, though trimmed down.
He looks like something that escaped from a Petting Zoo.

He said he let some little gal do that to him.
I think she used a whole thing of Superglue.


I told him I did something stupid like that one time.
I let two girls, Willie and Wendy, paint my toenails.
I asked him:
"Was it worth it boy, lettin' that gal do that to you?"
"No Dad, not really" came his sheepish reply
"Now ask me was it worth it to let those gals paint my toenails"
He looks up, sees me grinnin' like a butchers dog...
"Was it worth it Dad?"
OH YEAH...ABSO-FUCKIN-LUTELY!"

URBAN LEGEND

Down here we had the Womacks, all big trouble and notoriously violent, with the eldest of the three brothers, Joe, being the most badass'd. One night Little Panama comes running into the local Foosers Hut and hollers that Fightin' Joe Womack has barricaded himself in the old abandoned Boys Ranch House for Orphans and that anyone going in there gets thrown out the second floor window.

Of Course the place empties out, and a caravan forms up to journey down Devils Backbone, a twisting turning roller coaster road that dead ends into the Boys Ranch where a crowd has gathered in the dark outside of the dilapidated two story wood structure.

Its pure Hugo without the hunchback, unless you want to count Cross Eyed Myra, who seemed to be everywhere all the time, just lookin' for a little lovin'.

Big Panama goes rumnning into the darkness of the ranchhouse and in like 20 seconds you hear a scream and *WHOOSH* here he comes flying out the second story window. Same thing happens to Zigger-zoo, Cherokee, Tubby and the Strackman. Then Truck-Bob hollers "torch the place" and someone comes up with a gallon of gas, its once for the Devil and once for the Christ, and the next thing you know this weatherbeaten old Ranchhouse is in flames, lighting up the hot August night. The crowd went wild!

No one ever saw Fighting Joe again, but the next morning his Saint Christopher medal was sifted from the ashes, still glowing red hot like Shelley's Heart and did not cool until it were dunked, hissing and steaming into the Boys Ranch Pond.

Today it is the site of the nicest little park and community center you would ever want to see. Its been deemed a State Historical Site because of the Old Boys Ranch for Orphans. But there is not one whit in tribute to the night that Fightin' Joe went down in a blaze of glory. The legend is that he still wanders the Park and surrounding neighborhoods, looking for his old girlfriend Mi-Mi.

When the wind is out of the southwest, breathing its way down Devils Backbone and blowing through the willows by the waters edge, you can hear ol' Fightin Joe howling for his lost love.

See also The Scariest House, The Continuing Chronicles of Fighting Joe, and Purcell's Treehouse, for more of this story. It remains largely unfinished, I guess.

SHE LOOKS LIKE A YOUNG GIRL

Guess who I met live and in person this weekend?
Mother of Invention and her husband David!!!
They were in Dallas for a weddding and I met them out at the Airport.

We stood at talked for "aboot" an hour.

Hear I am giving them a big Texas Tag Team bear hug.

I started to wear like a big foam Cowboy hat, or get a big Cow outfit and a friend to get in it with me or make myself up to look like a Chinese tourist but I thought "I'll just play this one straight"

Reading her blog the last 3 years, and the comments she leaves I knew that they just had to be the sweetest kindest people you would ever want to meet.
What really struck me was how youthful they were. I knew mom was playful, and all the interaction she has had with kids has kept her heart young, but I had no idea they would look so young.

Also, David was really cool, and though I only know him as Mom's husband, there seemed to be a quick familiarity between us.

These folks seemed like just a couple of crazy kids ready for any lark that might pass their way!
I hear they get it from her father.
They even sounded like Texans except when they said "aboot". (about)

It was a real pleasure meeting them.

On a really bizarre note, it seems that Hurricane Ike beat them home to Canada Sunday and when they arrived the power was out for the whole town!

From the Bulletholes archives:

Of course Mother of Invention is hopelessly the sweetest thing in Oz, probably Kansas too, because she combines The Woodsman with Auntie Em rather well, doncha think? Her heart is huge and it doesnt take more than a parargraph of hers to find this. The goodwill and compassion pours, "Spills out" from her site.I don't recall as well the first posts of hers that attracted me so much, but they are all flavored Red and served in Heart-Shaped cups. If ever she has had a cloudy day, we would hard catch but a hint of it. I can also see her as the Wizard, ruling Oz with a Mothers-loving touch and Music nightly in the Atrium of the Emerald City. Her heart is every bit as big as Barbaras.

THE KING OF THE BOYS

My Daughter, the Waterbaby, was about 5 when we let her watch "Dirty Dancing" with Patrick Swayze as Johnny Castle.. It became her favorite movie, and she would watch it regularly.
One Saturday afternoon, having watched it through with her, she turned to her mother and asked:
"Mommy, is Johnny like the King of the Boys"
Her mother, delighted, just grinned and said
"Oh yes honey, he certainly is the King of the Boys"
I took this oppoortunity to flex my arm muscles while doing a little dance move and claimed to the two leading ladies in my life:
"But I thought I was King of the Boys".
They just looked at each other and laughed.
"Oh, daddy, your'e so silly" says the Baby.
"I thought you were supposed to be mowing the yard" says her mother.
"Who wants to try doing a lift" was all I could think to say.

I asked the Waterbaby a few weeks ago if it were wrong for us to let her watch "Dirty Dancing"
at such a young age. She is all grown up now, almost 20.
"No, daddy, 'Dirty Dancing" was Okay, but you might not shoulda let me watch "Roadhouse".

MY 9/11 STORY

Everyone has their 9/11 Story:if you want to know mine you will have to go here to see it.
If you have one of your own, feel free to leave it in my comments...I'll be pleased to hear it.


My new pal Banquet Manager says:
"Hey Bullet-My story is this:
On that fateful day, I was working at 38th street and Madison Avenue in NYC setting up a banquet event for the next day. One of my houseman was late and I went to find out where he was. I walked downstairs to the lobby to find him, and everybody else from the hotel, huddled around the big screen TV in our lounge.
I watched both towers fall as millions of others did.
The site I will not forget is watching thousands of people walking in the middle of the street covered head to toe in soot, dirt, and blood.
No one said a word.
They just walked from downtown to midtown to get away from the mayhem. I got the last train out of NYC (to my area) around 3pm and made it home safe. Many were not as lucky.
The rest is history.

The always lovely and empatico Kissyface says:

Poor baby - how many years came off your life from that particular worry?
I know someone who was quite near to the Oklahoma City bombing, but heard none of it as they were preparing bread for a nearby restaurant. I guess the bldg was too thick.
Fortunately for us, it has not become common, though I think some folks might really make use of us perceiving it that way.
I suppose I should post my 9/11 story, but it will come off even more name-droppy than I usually am, so maybe I'll just tell YOU.
I will say this: I had friends flying in and out of NY that day.

IN A PIGS EYE

Today in the fish eye lens that seems to have become my life, where mice in the attic sound like Elephants stomping, and the Vanilla Malt from Sonic seems to warrant writing about, and the lyrics to 'Fly like an Eagle" seem to offer a real solution to world peace I find myself compelled to study the Pig.

They say that a pig can be used to dispose of a body, and not so much as a DNA sample will be left behind. Hannibal Lecter was almost eaten by pigs, but its tough to beat Hannibal Lecter and he ended up feeding his attackers to pigs instead. Then he fed Gary Oldham to an Eel, then he and Julianne Moore ate Ray Liottas Brain which is pretty good work if you can get it but we are here to talk about pigs.

In a fight between a Pig and a Pit Bull, I'd have to go with the Pig.

I have a friend who collected pigs for years. She now has 9,647 pigs and people keep sending her more because they know she collects them. The thing is she stopped collecting them 3 years ago.
She hates pigs now, but what are you gonna do?

We used to call Policemen Pigs.
There are lots of names for policemen.
Now they call them the Po-Po.
That's seems to be the newest name for police, but its not new at all because that's what I called them when I was learning to talk

I know two quotations about Pigs.
One of them went "Its the Pigs caught in the fence that squeals" and just might turn out to be really prophetic if things keep going the way they are going.
I don't know who said it, but i expect to be hearing it again any day now.
Don't forget you heard it here first.

The next one is 'There are too many pigs for the Tits" and I know who said this one.
It was Abraham Lincoln and its a good thing he's not around to say something like that today or else he'd be in as much trouble as I usually am.
I wish he were still around.

I have been hearing a third one the last few days about a pig wearing lipstick.
Thats some real hardball stuff there.
In the fish eye lens that has become my life I find it pretty innocuous, lame and less offensive than a Hockey Mom.

This is not the first election to feature a pig for a candidate. Anyone remember Pigasus, from 1968?

Of course one of the most revealing things I ever heard about Pigs was in a Beatles Song. In the 6th Grade this song was stunning, it was shocking and the Harpsichord blew my stoned little piggy mind:


PIGGIES
Have you seen the little piggies
Crawling in the dirt
And for all the little piggies
Life is getting worse
Always having dirt to play around in.

Have you seen the bigger piggies
In their starched white shirts
You will find the bigger piggies
Stirring up the dirt
Always have clean shirts to play around in.

In their sties with all their backing
They don't care what goes on around
In their eyes there's something lacking
What they need's a damn good whacking.

Everywhere there's lots of piggies
Living piggy lives
You can see them out for dinner
With their piggy wives
Clutching forks and knives to eat their bacon.

THE WONDER OF NATURE

I been watching watching a lot of movies lately, and I looked at Gewels list and tried "Out of Africa.

I really liked this movie and could see that what Gewels liked about it was all the great clothes that Meryl Streep wore while she "had a farm in Africa at the foot of the Ngong Hills".

I watched it several times.

I imagined Gewels wearing the big Charcoal Blue wool scarf pinned stylishly to her Paisley Turkish Tunic with a HUGE Diamond Brooch while I saved her from Lions and Crocodiles and horny Rhesus Monkeys and stuff with my big Double-barreled Heat-Seeking shotgun, then sitting around the campfire in the African night sipping Chivas Regal while I tell her:

"Animals are more honest than humans. They don't spend all day trying to win and impress a lover...they just say "I like you, you like me, lets get to it"

Then I remove her riding boots and rub her feet.

Man, that Robert Redford really has a way.

DOUBLE POST DOO-DAH DAY

DAVY, I GOT TUMBLEWEED FEVER

I pulled a movie off Daves list and watched it last night.

Conagher!

It was great and

I’m going to watch it again tonight

because I want to learn to

talk like Conagher,

walk like Conagher,

ride and love and fight like Conagher and

grow a moustache just like Conagher.

Damn Straight!

I'd like to be able to drift where he drifts and

drop myself off the same cliff,

with an upper lip just as stiff, sippin' whiskey while Karen Ross

posts love notes to dried Sage Brush

tumbling wild and free through

the Great Bucolic Beefalo Herds

across the lone prairie .

Whoo-Dogie!

I want to punch some me some 'dogies

in a land where the sky is clear-blue and

the rocks are harder than Platte River water

with my jumbo-large chaps flappin'

in the cedar breeze, and my tweezers gleaming

in the moonlight night

and the stars shining

like little...Bulletholes... in a Big 'ol #10 can of beans

while I sing 'Movin' to Montana".

Yee-Haw!

Davy, I liked this movie....you would like one called "Hombre" with Paul Newman.

Good stuff.

I'll mend my wounds and wait out the winter...

j. mcmurtry

I WAS MOVING THE XMRS. Bulletholes, Yvette, last weekend.
She and her present day husband, sometimes referred to as the New and Improved Future XMrBulletholes have been separated since last Christmas.
Yvette had actually rented an apartment 4 doors down from me.
We really are good friends, and I was looking forward to having her as a neighbor and hopefully being invited for dinner several times a week, not because I imagine candlelight, wine and roses, but simply because while I may be a world class Chef, my cooking lately really stinks.
I am thoroughly disgusted with my own cooking.
I have eaten everything that I know how to cook.
I have been reduced to making Quesadillas on my Combination George Foreman Grill and Laundry Press.
But as bad luck would have it, when she went to get the key for the apartment and took a look inside, she found more than three roaches, which constitutes a swarm, and she went to the office and ripped her lease to shreds.
She will not abide no Roach, no sirree..
I wasn't just disappointed…I was terrified!...
...that with no place to move her to that I might be having her as a houseguest for some amount of time.
We are not that good of friends.
She made arrangements to move her stuff to storage and she will stay with her friend Tara.
She was unable to conjure up any friends or family to help with this move, so I helped her for the next 8 hours, and we finished up about 2A.M. in the morning.

It was during the move that I remembered back to a day 12 years ago that was one of the worst days I ever had.
She was moving her stuff from our house. “Her stuff” meant whatever she wanted of “Our stuff”.
If that were not bad enough, she had about 25 people helping her do it, mostly her family and a few of our friends.
I was not allowed to help that day.
So I sat in front of my Stereo and played really sad songs for her Uncle Chuck.
I think they probably paidhim extra for that.
As I watched I knew that in a few months I would be moving what was left, but that I would probably be doing it alone.
The only bright spot was when they told me some chick showed up that had the hots for me and caused a real scene.
I can't even remember her name, and besides that I wasn’t even there at the time.
But thats a whole 'nother show.

THE WAR OF THE CAKE PANS

Its been a while since I talked much about Yvette, also known as The X-Mrs. Bulletholes.
I did not realize it had been close to a year since I last wrote of her.

Most of you that have been around for long probably have been able to infer that she and I get along pretty well as far as X's go. Actually we get along REAL well as far as X's go.
Our divorced friends kids have always asked our kids "why it is that your Mom and Dad get along" while their parents have injunctions and restraining orders and running battles that have gone on for years.
None of us really knows the answer to that, but it is something we are proud about.

Yvette and I were married for 13 years and for the first 7 we ne'er had a cross word for each other.
The first fight we had was over Wallpaper. We had differing opinions on where it should be cut.
I cut it where I was sure it should be cut, against her advice, and
BIG SURPRISE
she had been right all along.
Do not do wall paper with your love, it can only lead to disaster.

The second fight was what is now referred to as "The War of the Cake Pans".
We had moved into my mothers house after she died and discovered that we now had 3 times as many of everything more than anyone would ever need.
If that sentence is hard to read, you should try to live it.
We had 3 Washers and 3 Driers.
We had 4 and a half Refrigerators.
We had 14 years worth of phone books.
The combined households yeilded the equivalent of 8 jumbo large junk drawers.
The year was 1987 and we had coupons from 1972.
There was a can of Dietic Pie filling that I remember Mom buying at Krogers in 1966.
We had two Rotary Dial and 6 Push Button telephones.
We had a path that led through the boxes and appliances from the garage door to the patio and into the house. Once in the house the path split in two, through and past more boxes and furniture (we had 4 Couches, 5 EZBoy Recliners, 6 cocktail tables, you get the picture) towards either the kitchen or the Bedroom. We were 1 couple, with three bedrooms and 5 beds.
My god, we had two Pianos.
The Living Room had a single path through it as well
My regret to this day is that we did not take pictures.

While clearing the Kitchen one day, I found that we had 11 Cake pans. I threw 6 away, the 6 that were , in my opinion , pretty beat up.
Of course they were not in the trash more than a moment before Yvette materializes in the Kitchen.
"What are you doing" she asks.
"Just trying to clear enough room to set up one of our 4 toasters"
"What are these?' and she rescues 6 beat-up cake pans from the trash.
"Oh, those are trash" I responded "we have five more" and open a cabinet to show her 5 shiny cake pans.
"No they aren't" she says "I want to keep them."

Do I need to tell you that it went downhill from there?
See, for all those years of getting along, we had never learned something that is terribly important.
We never learned how to argue.
Especially me.
The way I resolved it was to drop a cake pan to the ground and step on it.
She would start to argue, and I would drop another to the ground and step on it.
She tried to grab the pans out of my hand, and I dropped TWO to the ground and stepped on them both.

For all this and more, I am truly sorry.

Kissyface wrote a pretty post a few days ago that reminded me of the only argument I can remember that really seemed to go well.

We had been arguing over... hell...I don't remember what it was about, but it was obvious I wasn't going to win.
I told her
"I can't do any good here...I'm going to go lay down in the middle of the road and hope a car runs me over"
and I stormed out the front door and lay myself down in the middle of the road.
It was nighttime.
After a moment she stuck her head out the door and asked
"What, no traffic tonight?"
'None" I said "Just my luck"
as though I really wanted to be run over.
'That's OK" She says "I'll call you up a couple taxicabs for down the street"
We laughed and I went back inside.
I think that was the argument I came closest to winning.

MY FAVORITE BAD GUY

Jack Elam

He hada lazy off center left eye giving him that roughshod look that helped define the flawed outlaw character.

He was the perfect Villain. most of my favorite westerns include Jack Elam like "Rancho Notoriosos" "Roi Lobo" "The Commancheros" and 'The Man from Laramie" When I was a kid I remember him on "Sugarfoot".

Though he was mostly known for Westerns, he plays an old codger in a Twilight Zone called "Will the real Martian please stand up" that is just hilarious.

According to Jack this is the progression of the five stages of an actor's career:

1. "Who's Jack Elam?"

2. "Get me somebody like Jack Elam."

3. "Get me JACK ELAM."

4, "Get me a young Jack Elam."

5. "Who's Jack Elam?"

Go see Pietra Michele and her little lagniappe of a story and vote for Jack!

Remember...a vote for Jack is a vote for me.

FOR THE MUNCHKIN

I have a "friend" that stops in from time to time.
She calls herself Munchkin or Lollipop and says she has been reading Bulletholes since day one.
Do not hold that against her because she has shown good form by showing up at Barbara's and at Grizzbabe's places.
She also has taken on the daunting task of homeschooling two youngsters.
I found a site a while back that she and several of you may enjoy.
It is called "MORNING EARTH" and there are daily poems along with extensive information and teaching tools about our wonderful planet and the Muchkins that inhabit.
Most of the poems appear to be by John Caddy and are as informative as they are entertaining.
Reminds me of the mother of Invention. HI MOM!
Here's one from August Archives I like real well, with the accompanying photograph.

A huge insect zooms into the car
and discovers the windshield is solid air.
I think at first a dragonfly, but wings wrong,
eyes are split, legs too strong.
Its hairs are stiff, uncouth, abdomen soft:
Two wings. A Fly. This size?
A Robber Fly!
Bold predator of any prey who dares fly,
takes huge dragonflies,
slams in like a falcon on a dove.
Has a sharp beak
between its eyes to paralyze and liquefy.
I pull over.
I’ll scare it away.
It stays

CLOUD OF THE MONTH

I found a cool little site over at Words that Flow (our good friend Annelisa; ya'll remember her, she has been taking care of her mother who has Alzheimers. We all love Annelisa, especially me)

called

The Cloud Appreciation Society.

I "nicked"it.

They not only have cool pictures of Clouds, but categorize them and tell you all about how they are formed and how rare they might be and stuff.

This months Cloud of the Month is rated PG-13 and called a Mammatus, which is Latin for "udder".

I've never touched any this big.

NOW IF I CAN JUST FIND THAT DARN ANNELISA!

RESTRICTIONS

Dad and I were in Arkansas for vacation.
I kept seeing all these great maountains.
Naturally I decided I wanted to go mountain climbing.

I guess I was about 8.

Dad took me to a State Park, and we started walking up a hill.

I asked dad where the mountain was. He looked down at me while breathing very hard and gasped "This is it. This is a mountain"
I said, "No, Dad, this is a hill... I want to climb a mountain"

and pointed to a sheer rock face you could see a few miles away.

Dad just kind of chuckled and said I couldn't climb one of those mountains.

I never did like him much after that.

No, thats not true, but I was really disappointed as he explained that we would need ropes and carabiners and stuff to climb that sort of Mountain.

Then we went and got Ice Cream.

I had forgotten all about this until I got an EMail from Davy showing the river levels in Arkansas. He keeps up with this as part of his new hobby, kayaking.

They even have pictures so that you know what you are getting into.

Heres a picture of Rattlesnake Creek.

he's not going to like it but I'll say it anyway

"You be careful Davy"

WHY

is not an issue if you don't think too much.

the subdudes

are a real gem out of New Orleans.
Three albums in the early and mid '90's that are magnificent, and play well from start to finish.

I don't know why artists like these don't make a bigger splash, although the 'dudes carved out an almost cultish fanbase.
And they are still doin' it.
Its a simple, clean sound. Note the drumkit is stripped down about as far as they could get it.
But lets give a listen, shall we?
This is from their 1994 release titled "Annunciation".
Dare, no, Double Dog Dare you not to like it.



The Subdudes - Why Cant I Forget About You via Noolmusic.com

DEATH-RAY USED ON PROTESTER

BY ALIEN DISGUISED AS A COP

WHAT DO THE WOMEN DO?

I just read that the statistics show men more likely to drown in boating accidents than women.
Its because men are pissing over the side of the boat.
They fall in and drown, which the author calls "tragic and perverse".
I call it incompetent.
The article claims that 50% of all male drowning victims are found with their fly unzipped.

What a way to go.