50 Year Old Man In The Mirror

One of the first real jobs I ever had was bar backing at a little bar called Minx. It was a popular spot for drinkers and carousers. It was the eighties and nobody gave a shit.
The drinks would flow, the Human League was blasting over the speakers, and cocaine was considered one of the four food groups. Needless to say, sometimes things got a little out of hand. I mean, it’s not as if people were doing lines of cocaine off of the tables or anything. Okay, once in a while an occasional person would do an occasional line of cocaine off of one of tables and then go back to work behind the bar . . . occasionally.
One night, we were all gathered around a television watching a tribute to Mowtown Records on CBS. Michael Jackson was scheduled to appear. I was always a fan of the Jackson Five and still am, but never really into Michael Jackson as a solo act.
People used to like to talk to each other back then. This was long before texting. Add loud voices to loud music and a bar can become a very loud place. But, when Michael Jackson took that stage and the opening bars of Billie Jean kicked in, save for the volume on the TV set, the place went completely silent. All eyes were transfixed on Jackson. He busted out the “moonwalk” and everyone in the place went crazy. Grown men wept. Women screamed. Children were born. Neil Armstrong actually walked on the fucking moon and this was somehow ten times cooler! One small step for man . . . one giant leap to boogie! Watch her get down watch her get down!
All of America witnessed a moment in entertainment history. And they knew it. That was all anybody talked about for weeks. I have to admit that even I was moved by his performance. It was truly unbelievable. The Prince of Pop was born.
Then came the litany of crazy shit. Pretend marriages, buying giraffes, those thirty-three rhinoplastys and last but not least, allegations of sexually abusing children. I don’t care how well you can dance, when a grown man is in a bed with a little boy . . . the whole world has to answer right now just to tell you once again . . . who’s bad?
When I read that Michael Jackson had turned fifty years old, I could hardly believe it. It was one of those “what the fuck did that just say” moments. It was like finding out that Peter Pan has lupus! Did you hear about Ronald McDonald? He’s got McParkinson’s! Somebody left the back gate open again. The good news is Scooby Doo is fine . . . the bad news is Scrappy Doo got hit by a car!
Whether you believe he is crazy or not, you cannot deny that his career has suffered as a result of his indiscretions with minors. And that’s fine with me. For those who are interested, Michael Jackson is available for children’s parties. Unfortunately he’s more readily available to party with children.

All You Can Cheat Lunch Special

In the film Magnum Force, Inspector Harry Callahan proclaims, "A man’s got to know his limitations." I like to think that I know mine but when in doubt, I listen to the guy holding the gun. The Chinese government not only know their limitations (boundless apparently) but they also know ours.
The 2008 Olympics were held in China this time around. I’m not sure why. I guess they just wanted to hold the gun for a while. Their aim was to feature themselves in a positive light and show the world how different they are from North Korea. I’ll believe that the day they find Bigfoot!
China is an anomaly to me. The country is, and always has been, run by psychos. Yet, it’s people, the ones I’ve met at least, are wonderful. Mind you, as wonderful as you can be from the other side of the sneeze shield at the Hunan Garden buffet table. I’m kidding! I kid . . China, ca’mon!
The Chinese are honest for the most part. The Great Wall of China, is indeed, a great wall. No bullshit. It’s the greatest wall in the world. When you order fried wanton at a Chinese restaurant, they take wanton and they fry it. They’re not fucking around. I have nary a clue as to what wanton is, but they’re not liars! And they’re trustworthy. That ancient Chinese laundry secret has for all intents and purposes, remained a secret. In my lifetime anyway. Okay, I’m pretty sure it’s Biz detergent, but you didn’t get that from me.
Why then China, would you cheat in the Olympics? Why? Those little gymnast girls weren’t sixteen years old! We had their photos examined closely by our nation’s top pedophiles and they all concurred that there is no way those girls were over nine or ten years old. By the way, the photos won’t be returned. It’s in everybody’s best interest.
Those little gymnast girls in China have it rough right from the start. They’re separated from their families at an early age, some as young as three years old. They are then forcefully threatened to enjoy gymnastics. The parents I mean, the kids love it! Early in our ill-fated relationship, my ex-girlfriend used to make me "enjoy" Will and Grace so, I can certainly relate.
While we’re on the subject, the children of Tibet have it pretty rough as well. They’re separated from their dying families at an early age by the Chinese government and forcefully threatened to enjoy dying. Given the choice of the two, gymnastics must look like a free Bruce Lee film festival to those Tibetan kids. And now that we’re on the subject of free . . . FREE TIBET! Ca’mon!
I’m not trying to say that America is better than China (It sounds like I’m coughing right now but I’m actually saying, "even though we are"), or should I say the People’s Republic of Cheating! Two things do however, leap to mind. We eventually learned our lesson about ethnic cleansing and we don’t cheat at the Olympics.
Oh sure, some of the track and field team dopes up . . . youthful exuberance, nothing more. Plus, they always get caught anyway . . . so . . . that doesn’t count. None of the weight lifters count either. And by that, I mean that they don’t add or subtract and absolutely refuse to multiply and divide.
Technically we don’t cheat in the actual events . . . most of the events . . . okay, most of the internationally televised events. I say that with some degree of confidence knowing two things, all of the drug test results haven’t come back yet and the Mafia hasn’t figured out a way to "fix" the games. Until then . . . how dare you China!

Garanimal Farm

George Orwell has started a blog site. Posthumously, of course. Orwell’s blogs (excerpts from his diary actually) describe his life in the late thirties and forties. I also do a little blogging from time to time. I describe the events that shape my life in this new millennium and will continue to do so until the Ministry of Truth assassinates me. As far as I can tell, I’m alive, and he’s not. Somehow, I still get the impression more people will read his blogs. I felt a comparison was in order, so I took the liberty.

The following was taken from George Orwell’s personal diary and new blog site:

Saturday August 9, 1938
Woke up, got out of bed
Dragged a comb across my head

Found my way downstairs and drank a cup

And looking up, I noticed I was late

Found my coat and grabbed my hat
Made the bus in seconds flat

Found my way upstairs and had a smoke
Somebody spoke and I went into a dream Ah . . .

Here’s what I do:

Saturday August 9, 2008
Bernie Mac died today and Steve Harvey did not. Obviously the scales of comedic justice are slightly skewed. While one was extremely hilarious the other has a black nerf football attached to his fucking head.

Here’s what you can expect from both of us heretofore:

Wednesday October 13, 1938
Blame it all on my roots.
I showed up in boots and ruined your black tie affair.
The last one to know. The last one to show.
I was the one you thought you’d see there.

Recently, this never before seen passage was discovered:

I didn't mean to cause a big scene
Just wait til I finish this glass

Then sweet little lady

I'll get back to the bar

And you can kiss my ass!!

Wednesday October 13, 2008
After a four hour standoff with authorities, presidential hopeful John McCain, released his family and surrendered his weapons. When asked if campaign pressure was what set him off, he replied," They warned me not to watch Platoon on blu-ray disc, but I didn’t listen".

Wednesday November 5, 1938
Now listen here folks, ain’t no joke
We got to do something or we’re all gonna croak
Can’t get a job, we’ve all been robbed
We’ve got no money and the corn’s all cobbed
We’ve nothing but blues.
Them bread line blues

Wednesday November 5, 2008
I’m not sure if the election results came first or the asteroid. It all happened so fast. I was watching Fox News Channel and then BOOM! Two thirds of the world’s population wiped out. Much to my surprise, living in the "Bible belt" may have made all of the difference. This may be my last blog, the cannibals are getting closer. I can hear the screams. I still can’t get used to the screams. So tired . . . so very tired . . .

Tuesday January 1, 1940
All is quiet on New Year's Day,
A world in white gets underway,
And I want to be with you,be with you night and day,
Nothing changes on New Year's Day


Tuesday January 1, 2010
I spend my days drinking gin in the Chestnut Tree pub and listening eagerly to the announcements from the telescreens. Just now I am very concerned over the war in which Eurasia is once again the enemy. Eurasia had always been the enemy; any contrary memories were merely mental aberrations. The last lesson has been learned.
I do love Big Brother.

Anne Thrax Of Green Gables

One hundred years ago, Lucy Maud Montgomery wrote a book called, "Anne of Green Gables". It was an instant success. It sold nineteen thousand copies in its first five months. Mind you, this was 1908, some of the copies were written on tree bark.

It was a touching story about an orphan girl, Anne Shirley, who comes to the quiet town of Avonlea, in Prince Edward Island, Canada, to live with an old pair of siblings called Mathew and Marilla Cuthbert. The brother and sister live together (what’s that all about?) on their ancestral farm, Green Gables. Fearing that they are too old to run the family farm, these two sexual deviants send off for an orphan boy to help them. Do you think Elton John knows that you can do that? When little Anne Shirley shows up instead, red of hair and freckled of face, they take to her instantly and decide to keep her. Little do they know this kid is ten pounds of trouble in a five-pound bag! A host of wacky mishaps and risible misfortunes ensue. We’ll get back to Anne in a moment.

The year is 1990. The U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases Laboratory at Ft. Detrick, Maryland, puts out an ad in the local newspaper for a red haired orphan to help them develop anthrax spores for use as biological weaponry. When Bruce Ivins shows up by mistake, psychotic by nature and completely insane, they take to him instantly and decide to keep him. Little do they know, a host of seriously fucked up shit is about to hit their government issued fan.

Back in Avonlea, Anne Shirley has grown up and become more responsible and a lot less funny. She focuses on academics and with the help of her beloved teacher, Miss Stacy, Anne gets accepted into the prestigious Queens Academy, run by Professor Freddie Mercury. For other reasons, he was also referred to as "head Master". Because everything seems to be going her way, while at Queen’s Academy, she wins the prestigious Avery Scholarship. This affords her a four-year run at college the next fall.

When Anne returns to Green Gables with the good news, Mathew Cuthbert has a heart attack and dies. Son of a . . . His sister Marilla starts to go blind. What the . . . All of Anne’s hopes and dreams come crashing down. She passes up the scholarship and gets a job teaching kids bitterness and remorse in Avonlea so that she can stay close to home and help the nice blind lady. Anne of Green Gables sees a glass not half-empty, but rather, half full . . . of shit.

The year is 2001. A brutal and vicious attack on the citizens of New York City is orchestrated by a group of cowards known as Al Quaeda. The World Trade Center comes crashing down on the dreams and hopes of thousands of people. The Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia and the Whitehouse in Washington D.C. are also targeted. The Pentagon suffers extensive damage. The Whitehouse is spared as per the efforts of a group of brave Americans. Silly terrorists, nothing ever happens at the Whitehouse! The entire country is affected by the attack. A sense of pride in unity and togetherness overcomes America. The glass is half full.

"Now," says Bruce Ivins, "is the perfect time for me to unleash an anthrax virus." He proceeds to send out letters through the U.S. mail containing anthrax spores. What the . . . Five people die and seventeen others are infected. Son of a . . . Because it took place in America, the crime went unsolved for seven years.

This year, 2008, a bend in the road. The trail of clues uncovered by a massive FBI investigation led to mad scientist, Bruce Ivins. Sensing the feds closing in on him, on July 29th, Bruce Ivins overdosed on Tylenol laced with codeine. I guess he was all out of anthrax.

Anne's horizons had closed in since the night she had sat there after coming home from Queen's; but if the path set before her feet was to be narrow she knew that flowers of quiet happiness would bloom along it. The joy of sincere work and worthy aspiration and congenial friendship were to be hers; nothing could rob her of her birthright of fancy or her ideal world of dreams. And there was always the bend in the road!
"'God's in his heaven, all's right with the world,'" whispered Anne softly

It's Only Teenage Waistband

I am not from your time period. I’m from a generation long ago and far away. Long before the Internet and I phones. Before DVD’s and even, believe it or don’t, before CD’s. A time when "body art" was only on people fresh from military prison. A time when your skateboard and comic books were in the closet right next to the other shit you stopped needing when you turned twelve. Back in a time when we pulled our pants all the way up past our ass. Past our ass with pride! It was called the"late seventies/early eighties".

Looked upon as a waste of a decade by everyone during the eighties, the seventies were pretty uneventful. Not much was really going on back then.

President Jimmy Carter, of all people, had the keys to the White House in his pocket. That’s right, he was a president long before he was an asshole! He was the second worst president in political history. I’m pretty certain the winner of the "Name the Worst Commander in Chief" contest will be announced in January of ’09.

The seventies, was the decade of the shortages. There were loads of them. There was a fuel shortage, a beef shortage, an energy shortage, and a shortage of jobs. There was an overabundance of nothing, save bad fashion. The two biggest names in fashion design back then, were Poly and Ester.

There were no homeless in the seventies. Back then they were called hobos. You could kick them and they didn’t seem to mind. An early form of anger management, if you will. Lose your job? Kick a hobo! Car breaks down . . . fix your car, drive to a train yard, and then kick a hobo! It was a simple life for good simple folk (unless you were a hobo . . . the kicking, obviously).

There was a shrill and wicked sound coming over what was then known as a radio. It was called "Disco" music and for all intents and purposes, it sucked. The disco era did however, have one redeeming value . . . it ended. Well, it ended for heterosexuals, anyway.

Fast forward to about '78, and that's where I step into the picture.

I’m paraphrasing Don McClean here, "the three things I admire most, the father, son, and the Holy Ghost, well they caught the last train for the coast" . . . because the seventies were all about sex, drugs, and rock and fucking roll! Blam! I said it!

It was a great time to be alive. Everybody’s stuff was getting done, man! There were no condoms, no discretion, and "aids" was just a delicious, chocolate covered, dietary supplement!

And don’t get me started on the drugs! There was something called a Quaalude, and . . . that . . . is all I can really remember.

And as for music, rock and roll was king. Bands such as Led Zeppelin, The Who, The Rolling Stones (who were all still in their early fifties at the time) were cranking out great music, like nobody’s business, and still doing it today! Except for the dead ones, these guys show no signs of Alzheimer’s and still have all of their hair. Long live rock!

There were southern rock bands like Lynard Skynard (pronounced lynard skynard) and The Allman Brothers Band. And don’t forget the Eagles! Okay, upon further review, you can for get the Eagles. Rock came at us from all directions, not just southerly. There were bands like Rush, and Frank Marino and Mahogany Rush (apparently Frank Marino really loved furniture). The punk rock phenomenon began, and much like a Quaalude, that’s all I can remember there. I do actually remember the time I went to see the Ramones. They were in Dallas and they were consciously aware that they were in Dallas. It was great!

Unfortunately for me, Jack Daniels proved to be a more than worthy adversary that night. I was the kling klang king of the rim ram room, I don’t mind telling you. But one thing for certain, and don’t you be mistaken for one moment, as I lay there on the floor in the men’s room at the Ramones concert, face down in my own disgust, and self loathing, my pants, my Levi’s’ 501 bell bottom jeans, were pulled all the way up to the top of my ass, the way pants should be worn. Who's with me? Ca'mon!

Michael Jackson's Driller

Back in the eighties, two things were popular, Michael Jackson and the prospect of drilling for oil in the United States. America at the time, did not realize there was no need for either. Back then the area best suited to destroy was an unwanted region in Alaska. After several rounds of "Pin the Tail on the Eskimo", all discussions came to a halt when no one could say for certain which region in Alaska was wanted.
Since then, not much has changed. Michael Jackson continues to molest children and we as a nation still want to put huge holes in our landscape. One thing has changed however, with the continued rising prices, a gallon of gas is now called "Jesus Juice".
Now in the 2000's, the term "off shore drilling" is being tossed about like pizza dough at Pappa John's!. As if to imply that ripping up our nation will go undetected if . . . it's off in the distance. And furthermore, the idea that this will somehow solve the gas price crunch that we face today, is as likely as a black man becoming president.
What can we do as a nation to solve the seemingly unyielding rise of the price of fuel? Use less of it. Next question. It's Ockham's razor. Sometimes the simplest solution is the solution. Americans, however, hate simple solutions. We like to complicate things. Take the Civil War for example, slavery was wrong and eventually everybody recognized that fact. By American standards, "eventually" meant the loss of hundreds of thousands of lives, but hey, that's how we roll.
I like that we get our oil from the middle east, it gives that region a sense of purpose to me. Let's face it, if it wasn't for the oil, we could just rope the area off and use it for nuclear weapons testing. I'd like to add that if they don't stop fucking about down there, maybe that option should be on the table.
If you were to describe me as some one who loves America and hates the middle east. you would be right. I cannot embrace that culture. It's something about strapping a bomb to your ass and blowing up innocent women and children that, I don't know, just sort of puts me off. Once during a heated discussion with a Muslim, he brought up the point that not all Muslims are religious extremists. He said,"I didn't have anything to do with 911." I replied, "I didn't have anything to with slavery, but I still have to hear about it in line at the check cashing place". Welcome to the party, pal!
I'm completely against drilling for oil in America. To those who are in favor of un-ambering our waves of grain while simultaneously unfruiting our fruited plains, I offer this, the bicycle. Get on a bicycle and ride around any neighborhood in your town. As you cruise along you'll notice the crack dealers, the whores, the street gangs and the homeless. And, if you're like me, you'll ask, "Why would anyone want to fuck this up?"

Mid Year Round Up

Well, 2008 is past it's half life and on the home stretch heading toward where ever old years go to die. My guess is Martin Short's house or his comedic negative, Martin Lawrence.

It's been an interesting year so far, to say the least. The Mars rover discovered ice in the polar region of the planet. The fascinating part of the story is that it was a package of Dentyne Ice. Well worth the 360 trillion dollars it took away from feeding the poor or un-AIDS-ing the AIDS ridden.

Our planet seems a little sick of our shit this year. In a matter of days, we went from cyclones to earthquakes. The cyclone in Myranmar killed almost a hundred thousand people. A lot of which might have been spared if they hadn't have been outside arguing. Cyclone my Burhmese ass! That's a Texas tornado!
The earth certainly quaked in China this year that's for sure! A hundred thousand more were affected by that tragedy. One hundred thousand Chinese people, that's literally one city block's worth of carnage!

This year it seems that show hosts from the news networks have decided to go on the road. For reasons beyond my comprehension, I saw that Bill O'Reilly is is taking his "one man" show all across the country. Ticket scalpers probably don't have a lot of nightmares, but this has to be a recurring one. Second only to the one where you chased around by members of the group Pearl Jam. Glen Beck is also taking his act on the road. Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers open, and then Glen comes out and closes the show. Surprisingly, the two hour discussion entitled, "What the Fuck Do you Call That Shit" just flies by. If you get a chance check it out.

Barack Obama.

As it turns out, weddings are for fags. I've been saying that for years, but now it's legal. Yes, gays and lesbians can now be joined in holy matrimony. Finally, wedding planners can plan their own weddings. And, I'm pretty sure they have lots of cool ideas left. I can't imagine what a gay man's bachelor party would be like. I guess when the cop shows up to strip, it's the guy from the Village People. I once went to a lesbian wedding. Sadly I was nowhere near being the best man. An alarming number of those dykes do it a lot better that I ever could!

Saving the world, one fad at a time. Everybody's going green this year. Who knew changing a few light bulbs and disconnecting your phone charger could save an entire planet! It occurs to me that corn powered vehicles could have saved the planet Krypton from extinction. It probably occurred to Clark Kent when he landed in middle of George and Martha Kent's cornfield. Superman's first word's on Earth might have been, "Hee fuckin' haw!"

Barack Obama. Sorry about that. It's a reflex.

Starbucks announced the closing of nearly 600 hundred stores in the U.S. this year. You know what that means, if you want Starbucks coffee now, you're going to have to go all the way across the street. On a similar note, Dunkin' Doughnuts has it's line of coffee on the market. I don't know if I should disclose the secret ingredient . . . oh, what the hell . . . it's crystal meth!

The housing industry is in the crapper. Both Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae are bailing out on loans and screwing everybody. On the bright side, one guy is making it through all this loan foreclosure bullshit just fine. I didn't realize that black people knew so much about finance. Well, run and tell dat to Mr. T. Rowe Price! He's black, right?

Like the rest of you, I'm looking forward to the Olympics. The opportunity for our young men and women to go over to a foreign country and kick some ass! Wait a minute . . . isn't that how the Iraq conflict started? Oh Christ, the rest of 2008 is going to suck.