“Dry Martini”

George: "I wish to God Jerry had put me out with the rest of ‘em. What’s the good of coming through for this sort of thing? What’ll you have?”
Wimsey: “Dry Martini” Cheer up. All this Remembrance-day business gets on your nerves, don’t it? It’s my belief most of us would only be too pleased to chuck these community hysterics if the beastly newspapers didn’t run it for all it’s worth. However, it won’t do to say so. . . .How are things going for you?
George: “Oh rotten as usual. Tummy all wrong and no money. What’s the damn good of it, Wimsey? A man goes and fights for his country, gets his inside gassed out, and loses his job, and all they give him is the privilege of marching past the Cenotaph once a year and paying four shillings in the pound income-tax.”

This Isn't Happiness

Veterans Day

Avignon France, September of 1944.
Staff Sargeant Jack Rippy Renfro; 79th Fighter Group Army Air Force; attached to Patton from Egypt to Italy; then on to France.
Hey Pop.

If I just knew what you thought of all this.

COWBOYS

Letters from Jail

"My current lask of communication with the free world is devastating"

SCARECROW

Since 1982 I have been Scarecrow every year for halloween. it completely suits me. Here is this years, the 28th incarnation of Scarecrow.

VICTORIAN HYSTERIA

I can still remember my Health Class back at LD Bell. It was taught by Coach Downs, a strong Christian man perfectly suited for being a Coach, or maybe a History teacher, but for whatever reason he was relegated to teach Health.And I guess he was OK at it, and pleased to do it. We covered diet, nutrition, and exercise, (his forte), I suppose we probably talked about Diseases and First Aid. Coach Downs was extremely comfortable and eloquent on those subjects.But then came the day (or week) when we had to talk about sexual matters. Things like Gonorrhea, crab lice, the importance of abstaining from sex until marriage (which few of us saw as anything remotely close to being an option, in fact, the driving force behind most of my endeavors was to get laid, and failing that, at least to do a lot of making out, which Coach Downs seemed to be dead set against), what a condom was and how it was used, male and female "genaltia"....I'll never forget the big *GULP* that Coach Downs would make before he said words like genaltia, syphilis, and vagina. Normally a slow talker with a West Texas accent, every time he had to say "Vagina" he would look at the ceiling, clear his throat, fidget from one foot to the next and spit it out so quick it sounded like one syllable.

"VGYNA"....maybe he was part Russian. I think poor Coach Downs would rather go winless an entire season than to have to be up there, talking Sex to us kids, mumbling out the horrid words:
"The (cough) penis goes in the (fidget) vgyna and we call (turning away from the class) that intercourse."
If we really wanted to torture him, all we had to do was start asking questions.
"The penis goes in what, Coach?"
So, to my idiot homophobic Facebook friends, when you are so concerned about a Safe School Czar that is going to, as the articles you cite suggest, include fisting for teens, male to male blowjobs for fifth graders, the art of lesbian love and how to go down on your Den Mother for third graders, the upside of Pedophilia and the Man/Boy relationship as part of the curricula of our Public Schools, I think it’s a bit of a stretch, dude.
Who are you going to get to teach all that?

THE LORDS TRUMP

The loudest place in the world...
Was the burned out trailer I lived in out in the middle of nowhere. You might think that out in the middle of nowhere would have been peaceful and quiet, but you might be wrong.
The one neighbor had three German Shepherds and a Chow, and all it took was a cat crossing the road 100 yards down the way to set them to barkin' and howlin' like it was the End of the World.
Then, right across the Railroad tracks there was a concrete plant. In the morning trucks would line up to get their fill and between the low rumble of the motors, you could hear the sledging slurping sound of concrete spilling down from a hopper and into the spinning back of the truck. Later that day the plant would go into production, and gravel would be crushed in some giant machine. It was like the sound of marbles being dropped on a tin roof and amplified enough to make you ears bleed.
So when the dogs got to barking, and the gravel got to crushing, you really couldn't quite hear the train that was coming down the tracks till it was almost on you. But as the burned out trailer began to shake from the vibration of 100 cars filled with coal gliding down the Double-E of the tracks, if I timed it just right I could holler out "There goes that son-of-a-Bitch" at the top of my lungs, only you wouldn't be able to hear the word "Bitch" because the engineer had commenced to blowing his whistle.
It was loud, but when timed right, it was beautiful!
But that's not all.
Since this place was "out in the middle of nowhere" it made it the perfect place for someone to put up a Dynamite plant a half mile away. And at various times of the day, starting at 6:00 in the morning, they would test the dynamite and there would be a big boom go off and the shock wave (which could snuff out a candle) would rattle your windows and of course, set three German Shepherds and a Chow to barking their fool heads off. A friend of mine, Demetrious, the only black person of Greek descent I have ever known, came to see me one day. We were standing by his car when someone torched off a stick off Dynamite. You could hear and even feel the shock wave, and poor Demetrious hit the dirt, just as he was trained to do 40 years ago in the 'Nam.
He never came back to see me.
But that's not all.
There was one thing that could drown out the dogs, the concrete, the train and the dynamite. On Friday and Saturday nights, one, or all three racetracks in Kennedale would start their engines. I was stuck right between all three and you couldn't hear a thing.
When those racetracks started up, I might have missed Gabriel blow the Lords Trump.


I almost forgot...
THE OTHER NEIGHBORS

BLESSED ARE THE PEACEKEEPERS

For three years running, every morning in the Main Kitchen at the Hyatt, Maybelline the Employee Cafeteria lady would limp up to Panola, the Salad lady and say
'Could you get me some lettuce, please, Panola?"
and Panola would say
"Cain't you get it yo'self?"
and Maybelline would say
"My back is kinda hurtin' me this mo'nin' and I cain't bend over"
and Panola, exasperated, would go in the Walk-in and fill Maybelline's little Lexan with some cut lettuce and hand it back to her.
And as Maybelline limped back down to the Employee's Cafeteria, Panola would announce to the entire Kitchen staff:
"I CAIN"T STANDS NO-BODY THAT'S SORRRRRRY"
Every day.
Three years.
But never once did Panola refuse Maybelline.
And never once did Maybelline fire back in any manner at all.
I don't know which of those ladies I loved the most.

SECRETS, MOSTLY

It might interest and disgust you to know that I had a bout with bedbugs last year. I woke one morning to find my left leg had been almost chewed to the bone. I think I got them from my ex-wife, who was so appalled that she had them that she made me swear an oath for no one to know, and oath I've kept till just now, mostly.
It reminds me of the year of my own separation and the morning I went to jail for driving with a suspended license. I had been cruising my estranged soon-to-be-ex-wife's house in the middle of the night, looking for signs that my soon-to-be-ex-best friend might have been there. The cops pulled me over and took me to jail.
They had impounded my car, and informed me that since I had no money, I would be in jail for at least two weeks. That would add up to a considerable sum in storage fees for my piece of shit van.
So I called the ex from jail to see if she could get my van out for me. I did not expect she might post my bail. In fact, I was certain she would not.
Bear with me here....
In jail they will not let me keep my glasses for fear that I may make a shiv out of them or something. So as I looked out the little window later that day, I see the desk sergeant booking some gal wearing a bright purple blouse with an international Orange skirt and white fishnets. She looked like she might be a redhead, but it was all just a purplish orange bozo dreamsickle lookin' blob so I turned to my celly (That's what you call your room-mate in jail) and said
"THAT LOOKS LIKE MY DAMN WIFE!"
And then the desk Sergeant led her into the cell right across from mine and slammed the door shut. She was looking out her little window right at me, but I still couldn't tell for sure that it was her because I can't see shit without my glasses.
But when a blurry little hand came into her window and appeared to be waving at me while she looked at me, well, I turned to my celly and said
'THAT IS MY DAMN WIFE"
They threw her in jail for warrants when she came up to get the release for my van. Of course, my soon to be ex-best friend came and bailed her out PDQ.
She made me swear an oath to never tell anybody about that either.
I guess the cats are out of the bag now.
And those Bedbugs?
Things got better.
All I have are roaches now, mostly.

Tobasco

COWBOY BUTTON

I went Cowboy dancin' last night. I was leavin' out the door, puttin' on my one shirt that might qualify as a cowboy shirt based on the fact that it was long sleeved, checked, and had too much starch, when I noticed it had a button missing.
I looked down at the missing spot and thought to myself that since it was in the very center, no one might notice. But as I locked the door I decided that it wouldn't hurt to take a look in the mirror and see how stupid it might look, especially since I was supposed to be picking up a girl, and it was going to be like our first date.
And there really was no time to spare, if I was going to be on time.
So I unlock the door and run into the bathroom and look in the mirror...
Crap!
Dead center. And not only do I look like some kind of huckleberry hobo, every time I inhale you can see my belly!
Not attractive.
My mind is racing. I look in a drawer and its my lucky day! A needle and thread!
And down at the bottom of the shirt there is a spare button. Standing in front of the bathroom sink with a pair of scissors I clip the spare button free.
But damn the luck, the button flies away, hits the mirror, bounces off a bottle of Hai Karate after shave, clatters into the sink, rolls around twice like a ball on a Gamblin' Wheel and disappears in slow motion down the drain.
Aaargh!
Now I'm down under the sink, taking the drain apart in order to rescue my fuckin’ button. I have four minutes to sew it on or face the stigma of being late for my first date with a girl I have been infatuated with since the early days of the world . There was not even time to remove my shirt; I would have to do this with my shirt still on.
I bring all my tailoring skills to bear. I jab the needle through the cloth, and sink it a full quarter inch into my thumb. It hurts like hell, but I repeat the process enough times to secure the button to my Cowboy Shirt.
What a man won’t do for love, won’t get done.
It was then that I noticed I had managed to stitch my shirt to my belly. I’ been pricking my thumb so hard, I never felt a thing.
I was on time for my date, but it looked like I'd had a C-Section!

"GOT MY ATTENTION WHEN SHE COMES TO TOWN"

"She's laughing at birds

'Cause birds are funny

She's got her daddy

Calling her honey pie

Her smile could stop a train

She could be standin' in the rain

Or sliding down the hill in her kimono gown

But there ain't no doubt, she's got

My attention when she comes to town"

subdudes

PICTURES

I went for about 10 years without many pictures taken of me. Here are some from my daughters Wedding last month, and some of her as well; you may know her as Water Baby....



I caught the Bouquet. Both of them.

Water Baby and Ex Mrs. Bulletholes

Champagne Toast and Kids Too Young To Get Married

Sobbing. Not as bad as at the Rehearsal, where we had to stop for five minutes while I came completely unstrung.

"Everything is already OK"

Me and Dave, CEO of Gibberish Solutions

The Groomscake, a Croquembouche', assembled by Davy and I.

She is my hearts delight.

YES, I'M HAPPY

"We’ve got ninety-nine per cent the same genes as any other person. We’ve got ninety per cent the same as a chimpanzee. We’ve got thirty percent the same as a lettuce. Does that cheer you up at all? I love about the lettuce. It makes me feel I belong.” — CARYL CHURCHILL

Mark Twain

“Do not tell fish stories where the people know you; but particularly, don’t tell them where they know the fish.”

TWO MINUTES OF INFAMY

AUGUST HEAT

DRAWING BY MY PAL LARRY ALLEN, ca 1978

two nights before my 72nd birthday
by Charles Bukowski
sitting here on a boiling hot night while
drinking a bottle of cabernet sauvignon
after winning $232 at the track
there's not much I can tell you except
if it weren't for my bad right leg
I don't feel much different than I did
30 or 40 years ago
(except that now I have more money and should be able
to afford a decentburial).
also, I drive better automobiles and have
stopped carrying a switchblade.
I am still looking for a hero, a role model,
but can't find one.
I am no more tolerant of Humanity
than I ever was.
I am not bored with myself and find
that I am the only one I can
turn to in time of
crisis.
I've been ready to die for decades and
I've been practicing, polishing up
for that end
but it's very
hot tonight
and I can think of little but
this fine cabernet,
that's gift enough for me.
sometimes I can't
believe I've come this far,
this has to be some kind of goddamned
miracle!
just another old guy
blinking at the forces,
smiling a little,
as the cities tremble and the left
hand rises,
clutching
something
real.

I have a variation of Larry's drawing on my wall. It had always reminded me of a story I read in the Seventh Grade called "August Heat", written by William Harvey. This I have told Larry for almost as many years as his drawing has been in existence.

But I saw this poem today and I matched it to Larry's portrait. I think it fits quite well.
Now, I am going to provide you with a link to Harveys story.
CLICK HERE
I don't expect you to read it all, though it is a great short story, but I would love for you to take note of the date on the letterhead that begins the story and tell yourself that synchronicity does not abound today.
This August Heat.
Man.
Its givin' me chills

TRY NOT TO CRY

WEDDING SCHEDULE
Thursday pick up Tux @ 5:00, go to store to buy Exotic Fruits from Faraway Lands and Special Imported Cheeses like you never heard of to use for the Reception. Buy every Cream Puff in the county to make Groomscake. Try not to cry.
Friday morning @8:00 set up tables with fancy frilly ribbons and bows and elegant centerpieces. Slice cheeses into unusual shapes and carve fruits into interesting bite sized pieces that look like they would be fun to eat and in order to create stunning, one of a kind display. Try not to cry.
Get ready for Rehearsal, learn to dance, prepare and memorize speech, practice walking down the aisle, we're walking, we're walking, walkin' the aisle. Go to Rehearsal Dinner, forget speech, toasting, toasting, toasting, Cannolis! Try not to cry.
Saturday morning, get up get dressed get blessed try to be a success, go to Church, coffee, coffee,sweat shake, praying to Jesus, dipping Cream Puffs in carmelized sugar and making huge pyramid called a Croquembouche for the Grooms cake. Set up Fantastik display of Fruits and Cheeses, breads and table-water crackers, more style than Lady Gaga. Try not to cry.
Leaving Church, hungry, no can eat, go home coldshower, dry hair, hairspray, hairspray, hairspray. Praying to Jesus again, faith and gas in truck back to church for Wedding photos. She's beautiful, yes,yes, yes, click, snap, flash, smiling and praying to Jesus.
Holding her hand, walkin' the aisle, try not to cry, walkin' the aisle, praying to Jesus,walkin' the aisle. Try not to cry.
Givin' away the Bride.
Cry. Cry Cry.
Reception, whirling dizzy, shaking the hands, huggin' the mother, pattin' the back, shakin' the hands, forgot how to dance. Try not to cry.
Cry.

HAIRY

I had a dream last night. In the dream I met an old friend I had not seen in a long time. I said:"I'm so glad to see you! Its been so long!" and she said:"No, it hasn't been that long at all. I saw you in your previuos dream as well"And I thought about it for a minute and yes, she was right! So I said:'Yes, but you've changed your hair."

It was a very strange, hairy dream indeed.

FORMULA 4 LOVE

"You sat in front of me and one row over in my Reading class in the Seventh Grade. You were a smart girl, I could tell that right away. So in my notebook , I scrawled a very scientific looking formula down, with numbers and integers, some in parenthesis, some to the power of ten ; others with multiplication symbols, interspersed throughout with letters from the Periodic Chart of the Elements ; the symbols for Square Roots, Pi, Ohms, Infinity and Beyond. I did my best to make it look very scientific and completely valid.
At the very bottom of the page I would write, in very large dramatic letters, these words:"

"EQUALS ONE HELL OF AN EXPLOSION"

"Then, as stealthily as possible, I would let this piece of notebook paper fall off my desk and float towards yours, hopefully landing at your feet, where you would notice it, pick it up and see all the Mathematical Equations I had generated and think that I was a Scientist and Scholar of the highest degree, worthy of your consideration.
I thought if you could see how smart I was, you might like me.
It didn't work.
You never once looked at my formula , but just politely handed my paper back to me.
The great and wonderful part of this whole story is how we got to be such good friends anyway."