What (for) the Hell not? How many Goats and boats are: "out there" anyway?
Fool follows folly...
Listening to "Mars Hotel" right now. Phil sings! (Unbroken Chain). I like the truncated progression.
Life around The Ranch is less than bucolic. Arguments, Cops, Guard Dogs, Electric Fences... All that shit. Fuck 'em. I own nice headphones and bought beer. But, I could only hear The Preacher and the baying of his Hounds....
I am not a reactionary or "confrontative" sort of Guy. I tend to let All Things Pass and assume the role of "Observer." I disdain "Drama" and discord. Some people seem to mistake that as a "weakness.' I consider it to be a Strength.
William S. Burroughs once said: "Never interfere in a Boy and Girl fight." He was right.
Recently, there has been a lot of Silly Drama around my place. I just Get The Hell Out Of The Way and put the headphones on.
I've never understood people that kick the Hornet's Nest just to see: "who gets stung." I've already experienced what that feels like and don't want a second helping.
Sometimes, the people that deliver your packages are lacking in Social Graces. They were either: Raised by Voles, had to hack it out on their own and figure life (and all manners) out, a' solo. Neither of those two (or more) methodologies seem to have worked out well for them. The other day, I ran in with one of those Savages. Webster defines a Savage in an unkind and inhumane manner. The French are less kind, as are many other Cultures. Americans seem to accept the behavior with a grain of salt and acceptance. I do not and usually become surly or sarcastic. I suspect "being raised by Voles" to be either uncomfortable, unpleasant or both. The smell alone must be awful, I would guess.
The other day, I had a guy that had a "Scent of Vole Familial" about himself. Months back, I was passing a couple of guys that were pouring a cement Driveway. The "Lead Man" asked asked if: "I was the guy that had been sen to help he and his Co-Worker?" He said: The Boss said he was going to send some guy: "In a Stupid Looking Hat." (I was wearing my Jerry Garcia Ballcap. (I doubt he knew what the cap was) The Signature Orange Hand Print on a Blue Cap.) Rather than "react," I simply replied: "...Wrong Stupid Looking Hat, I guess.." He didn't seem to know what to say.
Stupid/Mean/Obnoxious/Offensive People don't seem to have much in the way of thoughtful or well considered replies and/or statements. I'm fairly sure that their initial response is: "confusion." (Or, it's' a good guess,' anyway.)
As he was delivering my package, (Un-Professionally), A Birthday Gift from my Brother, his question to me was:"I bet you've waiting around for this all day, huh?" A sarcastic tone in his voice was noted. I recognized his voice and tone as: The Rabid Vole-Guy From The Cement Pour.
Lucky for me, it was a very nice Parcel and I was pleased to have received it. Much better than being treated like: "A Guy In A Stupid Looking Hat." What was in the Parcel?
Better to make Short Work of Mister Rabid Vole and open the package, huh?
I got that: "I've done time in Prison/Daddy Locked Me In The Woodshed" vibe from the guy.
I got to go to "Gladiator School' when I was a Kid. Much better to get it out of the way, early. I've "gotten over it." Glad it didn't turn me into a Sociopath.
Being Considerate of, Kind to Others is: "Its' Own Reward." Being Aggressively Rude to people would be the obverse. I simply "dismiss" the latter and move on.
Every time Jerry's Birthday comes around, I am reminded of my own Mortality. I shook hands with the guy, made a bit of Chit Chat with him, fed his Crew, Lit his stages and have been Ape-ing his style for decades, on occasion.
ALL ICONS WILL FALL. It's a truth that becomes us all, regardless of whether you believe in "this or that." Trust me, you will DIE. NO WAY OUT. Pleasant regards to McMurphy and Nurse Ratchet. Don't blame me. Ken wrote that shit. Yea, I shook his hand, too...and made nice with short, blasphemy and negligible conversation.
I will not attempt to find words worthy of The Old Man. He speaks well for himself:
One of these days, I'm going to find myself staring at my Pal, Michael Hanley's, (U.S.M.C. Pvt. 1st Class, Viet Nam) Veteran's Cemetery Headstone. Again. I had to/got to Be The Guy With The Short Straw, 5+ years ago and get him Properly Buried. Had to Duke It Out with The Coroner's Office and a Funeral Home as well. Shit like that Fucks With A Guy for a couple months. More, apparently. I had some help from some cool Real Human Beings (And Michael's 105 pound Canadian Labrador Retriever until I found her a New Family with some acreage with a "Ceement Pond," along the way.
I will: "Endeavor To Persevere" to not cry. I will fail. I'm "A Crier." Thanks, Gramps. Gramps was "A Crier," too. Genetics being thicker than Cola Cola and twice as sweet, all that. I will also "Try not to forget to bring a rock in my pocket to leave atop his Headstone." Probably one of the ones that I picked up on a Klamath River "Fishing Trip." In "quotes" because, there were NO FISH IN THAT RIVER, save the one pathetic Trout Fry I landed and turned into "food" for other fish. It's pretty hard to get a Salmon Hook out of a Trout Fry, without completely mutilating the Little Guy or Gal. Bummer. I put my River Rig back in the truck and went looking for Bear Scat. It was more interesting than: "Fishing w/o fish." One of the reasons they call it: "Fishing" instead of: "Catching" by the way.
I knew better than to try and fish that river with its' Pearloid (That "Mother Of Toilet Seat" stuff they cover Drum Sets with) Carpet Of Algae all over the top of the riffles, like Snot Frosting on a Dog Shit Cake. I had to keep reminding: "I'm not from Northern California, Mike," that his dog, Gracie, should NOT be in that water. There were signs posted, even. All I needed was a quick glance at the Green Shit in the water. GREEN SHIT does not belong in Any River. Unless it's Saint Patrick's Day in Chicago. I'm not even sure that's such a good idea, either. I bet that not even those Asian Carp that Jack In The Box out of Rivers in The Midwest like it. Chalk it all up to some Kafka-esque Dumb-Shittery and move on...
I DID take a big swig out of a beer with a Yellow Jacket in the can. It had drowned, already, Thank God. That was the big excitement for the whole trip, besides watching Mister Know It All getting his "Heavy Duty 4X4 Ford" stuck in river bar gravel up to the axles, for which, I got to go to The Country Store in Somes Bar, hitchhiking in the middle of Redneck Central, to call a Tow Truck. Next time, have a Come-Along in the truck, Hanley. Or, know that: "Let The Air Out Of The Tires" trick. Either would have worked. He wanted a Tow Truck, so, he got one. $200.00 and two hours, waiting at The Somes Bar General Store, for me. I sat outside The Store and drank good, ice cold beer, (I rarely drink beer "ice cold." Another of my Grandfather's Habits popping up.) while waiting for him to be jerked out of the mess he'd got himself in. Found a Dental Bridge some Drunk had left on a Picnic Table at The Store and took it into the clerk, in a napkin, so they might find their way back to the person that forgot 'em. Lotta' Drunks around The Country Store that day, for some reason. They may "always be there," I don't know. Haven't been back there, since.
Final Score: Yellow Jackets, Truck Axles, Trout Fry, Beers At Store, Dentures: 1 apiece. Fish: 0. Unless you want to count the Fry as an: "Actual Fish." I don't. If it doesn't put up a fight and look good in a Creek-side Frying Pan, It's: "Something Else." A Worm-With-Fins kinda' thing.
Yellow Jackets. I HATE YELLOW JACKETS! Cannibalistic/Carnivorous Little Bastards. I was about 16 years old when my Childhood Friend, Larry, his Dad and I went hiking up to Sawtooth Ridge/Peak, above Visalia, California. Larry and I packed up a hill with a sandwich or four, more to smoke a joint away from Baptist Dad than eat the sandwiches, when I noticed that there were: "things crawling up my legs and beginning to sting me." Then, THE WORLD EXPLODED INTO PSYCHEDELIC, PSYCHOTIC, YELLOW JACKETS! They were: "EVERYWHERE" it seemed. Trying to sting my face, up under my very long hair, in my shirt, trying to get at my NUTS, in my nose, ears and asshole...You get the picture. 100+ stings. Apparently, I had, unwittingly, stepped on a Ground Hive where Those Little Fuckers like to live in the Sierra's. Cannibals Be Damned. I've never met anyone that had anything "good" to say about Cannibals. Wasn't around for the Love Fest @ Donner Summit so...
I still haven't evened the score. I figure the Body Count to be around 50 or so, presently. Every Single Time one of them gets near me, I: "Know That Tune." The hair on the back of my neck stands up and I am "On Point" for a Location and Kill. I've learned to "roll them out of my cupped hand" and onto the ground, in one seamless motion. It knocks them out and then, THE BOOT GRIND. "51. It's a good start/middle/end to the hike." My Mountain Climbing Days are over. My Yellow Jacket Days are still inching along to their Ultimate Goal. 110 and "done." 10 more, just because sitting in a creek, picking Yellow Jackets off your dick, BLOWS DEAD BEARS. The Kindly Forest Service Ranger is handing you a Primatine Inhaler and using a Work Gloved hand to assist you in removal of said Nasties, after having cut your Bell Bottomed, 1970's Corduroy's off with a Buck Knife. This "fun procedure" also comes with an overnight plus two day ration of Calamine Lotion and some Benedryl, in case you're wondering. The best part was: "Being high while getting stung that many times." It may have "helped" or made it worse, I don't remember. I don't WANT TO remember. The next day, I was "Fine," except that I looked like a cross between a Warthog and a Rotting Pinata and my Butt Itched under my Pack's Waistband. We summited Sawtooth Peak, elevation 12k+', the next morning. Those bugs weren't fucking up MY hike. The next day, I looked vaguely Human again.
Today is a Tom Waits kind of day. I've been listening to him since I woke up and still have hours of material to swim through. "Swordfish Trombone" is on right now. Good shit, Maynard.
Anecdote Time: My "Wife" (quotes because, although "I felt married," she didn't.) married a guy named Maynard Krebs (whether or not his middle initial was "G.", I don't know) after my nuts grew back. Fucking Bob Denver's Character's Honorary Namesake from The Dobie Gillis Show. I almost laughed out my False Teeth when she informed me of her Ex's name. Poor Guy. His Nuts May Or May Not Have: "Grown Back." Never met the guy. Another "Drive-By Marriage" Gone South With Geese. At the very least, his Parents must have had a sense of humor. I just got a Regular Type Name. Gypped again...
Tom Waits. Perfect Muse for a yarn like this. Thanks, Pal.
The other day, I needed to go to my local Social Security Administration (sic) Office to file some paperwork, ask some questions and just enjoy their lovely, uncomfortable plastic chairs. There is usually One Nut in the room, when one goes there. "The Other Day" was no exception. I usually just suck it up and ride out the storm. This Little Meth-Head got my attention when he started making comments like: "I HATE the U.S. Military and all of their "Service Brats. All those Punk Ass Bitches that were born with a Silver Spoon up their asses and got all the stuff that WE never did, etc., etc.."
I have a fairly unnerving "thousand yard stare" in my bag of tricks. It comes from knowing guys that have That Stare, FOR REAL. Mine's an act. Mostly. I only haul it out in lieu of cleaning someone's clock. This Kid's clock needed a good cleaning. An Asphalt Sandwich. An Ass-whipping. To be taught some common "manners." At one point the Kid asked me: "Why are you staring at me?" I replied: "Because I am a Military Brat and you're REALLY beginning to annoy me." I made sure the two Guards, with sidearms strapped, heard me. They told him to stop annoying the others in the Office. He continued on with the most "entitled" line of drivel I've heard in a long time. "Well, I'm Disabled and I have to TALK LOUD because I can't hear! It's MY DISABILITY!" For the purpose of listening to the shrill ring of your own voice, I would assume. I had "Had enough" and moved from the section of the room that was his Stage as did a couple of other people. We KNEW there was going to be trouble.
Eventually, The Kid was thrown out of the Office, after calling one of the guards an Asshole. The line in the sand had been breached and he was shown the door. I was still angry, for awhile. At least my hands weren't shaking. As I exited the Office and walked toward the bus stop, there was The Kid. I decided that I really didn't want to "Eat His Liver With Some Fava Beans And A Nice Chianti" after all and and went into The Mall to get a Hamburger and cool off, stopping to speak a bit of German with my Pal, Christof, who owns a Head Shop sort of place in that Mall. When I came out, after wandering around and letting 5mg's of Valium hit me, I went over to the bus stop again. The Kid was gone. No Liver Eating. Groovy. Stopped again down the road and did a bit of light shopping before walking home. Talked Baseball (Old Pacific Coast League Stuff) with a Nice Gal on the bus.
Sociopaths, especially those hopped up on "Mexican Bathtub Espresso" really bug me. I avoid them, like The Plague. I have very little in the way of patience for people that DEMAND that their delusional reality be heard. Mono-Syllabic-ally and with venomous spittle in the corners of their ugly little mouths. It brings out the Amateur Dentist in me.
Yes, I was a Military Brat. No, I was NOT born with a silver spoon up my ass. (Maybe Brass, though) We never "wanted" for anything, as Children but, our lives were not "easy" or "delightful." We moved allot. I had very few Friends that I'd known for more than a couple of years, growing up. I learned to "not get too close" to people because I knew we'd be "leaving again." I am a Social Chameleon. I can be anybody you want me to, out of necessity. I learned to "shift gears and smile when I didn't want to" from an early age. I've lost allot of that schtick in my Older Years and DO have Friends that I've known for 40 years now. Life is good. Enjoy it. Hold onto what you "have." ("Ownership of The Intangible" is a myth, by the way.) It will "go away" or "be re-billeted to Subic Bay, Philippines" or something, too.
"You might as well be diggin' it while it's happening because, It Just Might Be A One Shot Deal."
-Frank Zappa
I am a "Recreational Player." I don't like "Performing" and I don't take requests. I play because I enjoy it. That said, what I require Amps and Guitars to "do" is simple; Reproduce sound, authentically. I recently bought a Kustom 2x12", 100w, DFX Series amp for $100.00. (A Steal) It is a nice "Workingman's Amp." It does what I want it to and is Louder Than Hell. It was made in about 2003. It is WAY TOO LOUD for my 500 sq. ft. apartment. It has some "fairly crappy" on board effects that I couldn't care less about, since I own a Roland Workstation and condition sound with that unit. I only use one other sound modifier, a Boss PS-3 Stomp Box. The best box Boss ever made, as far as I care. Boss ended up splitting "what that box does" into about 5 other boxes. They make more money. The PS-3 was just "too good." Allot of guys would eat a mile of shit to get me to sell that box to them. It ain't gonna' happen, at any price.
Kustom 100 Quad DFX:
Roland VS-840
Boss PS-3 Stomp Box:
1996 Korean Made Epiphone Custom Shop '57 Les Paul Jr. Re-Issue:
1959 Magnatone Varsity Lap Steel:
My Magnatone is Dark Green (Emerald) M.O.T.S. "Pearloid."
I have another Magnatone Dickinson Lap Steel but, it's a "project. It's a late 1940's guitar. Balls for days. I need to have it routed out and new electronic connections installed at some point. I also own a Crate "practice amp," 15w, 1x8" speaker, no frills, a Fender Bassman Cabinet, also a project and some other junk in various stages of repair... "Creatively Wasting Time."
The one thing I dislike about the 4th of July is all the Booger Eatin' Morons that think it's perfectly "fine" for them to blow shit up until 01:00. I should probably find a nice beach to hang out on, where no fireworks are allowed. I like the visual part of fireworks but not the "who can make the biggest boom?"stuff. My Neighborhood falls into the latter category. people that make really large black powder "bombs" to set off should probably lose a finger or three and see how they like that shit.
July Fourth, for me, is not about: "blowing up the neighborhood." If it were, it would look something like this:
Vendors of all kinds: Guarantee Satisfaction. Usually there is some kind of small print at the page bottom that opts one in for Dissatisfaction. "Roll Over, Play Dead. Wash Your hands Three Times Per day..." It's a Devo thing.
This will be a short post I am "waiting" for Satisfaction. I am currently NOT receiving that.
Yesterday, I included a story from an Idaho News Source about The Chinese Guy That Left The Boardwalk To Get Some Hot Water at Yellowstone National Park. He was issued a ticket by a Park Ranger for $1,000.00 in commission of said act. Not that Yellowstone National Park nor The United States will ever see one penny of that fine money...
I made a "comment" at the TV Station's Facebook Page and continued on to tell one of my own National Park Fuck Up's Stories. The Rotund, Out Of Shape, Gent From Texas and His Coke Can Over The Rim @ Grand Canyon NRA (National Recreational Area) yarn. It's a true story. I also once "spooked" a "Shave Tail" in a Mule Train, nearly sending an entire group of riders and their Wrangler over the edge but, that's a different story... I did exactly what I was supposed to do: Move to the low side of the trail and stand still. The Shave Tail got a severe whacking, which was warranted. Wranglers have little patience for animals behaving badly.
I have worked "just outside of" a few National Parks. That's where: "All the money is" by the way. If you happen to be either a Waiter or Bartender. I was a Waiter. Near Yellowstone, I worked at Flagg Ranch, a "Guest Ranch" owned by some Dimestore Cowboys from Arizona. Awful people. Don't ever work there. One season, I worked Breakfast Shift in the small, old Restaurant, before The Big Fire. I'm NOT a Breakfast Waiter and both "quit and got fired" in the same instant. I went back, as a sort of necessity, a few years later. Management had changed and there were no records of me ever having worked there previously. I got fired that time, too. I ran The Employee Dining Facility and got stuck in Jackson Hole and was late getting back to The Ranch. Not really my fault but, I didn't care either. It got me away from the Asshole I went there with and back to Salt Lake City, where I walked right back into my Old Job as a Pro Fundraiser for Conservation and Social/Political Action Groups. Flagg Ranch/The Asshole Gypped me out of a good bit of my last paycheck, due to the fact that my Uniform Shirts never made it back to the Company and neither had my bedding. I think that The Asshole simply "appropriated" them all. I never saw the guy again, so, it was worth it.
In Grand Canyon National Recreational Area, I worked for the "old" Tusayan Steakhouse and Social Club. Jim, the owner, was a delightful drunk, whom I had the highest regard for. He was The Salt Of The Earth and would almost literally: "Give you the shirt from his back." His Wife (whom was in the process of taking him to The Cleaners in a divorce) was a different story. I HATED THAT WOMAN. Next to the word "Bitch" in Webster's, (to be cliche') there is a photo of her. The "new" Tusayan Steakhouse is a garbage dump of a restaurant and I would NEVER send my Worst Enemy to eat there. I have not been back to G.C.N.R.A. since my tenure in 1985, nor do I have any plans to go back again. It's a Whole New Place, in general. I would be depressed to see Tusayan, a little "town" about 6 or 7 miles south of the South Entrance to The Park. I HAVE, however, "heard the horror stories" from reliable sources and have zero interest in returning. To either Tusayan or G.C.N.R.A.. I've hiked over 1,000 miles in The Canyon in my spare time and seen everything that I ever wanted to in the area. Burnt the T-Shirt.
Anyway... People seem to think of National Parks as their Personal No Penalty Fuck Up Zone. They are the same people that go to Hawai'i and begin speaking to everybody in BAD Pidgin English and flashing "Shaka" signs everywhere they go. They usually end up either being "taxed" ("robbed") by The Locals or being shunned by all except their own ilk. NOBODY wants to hang out with some drunk Asshole from L.A. (or "wherever") in Hawai'i. I didn't. Actually, I was VERY lucky to have fallen in with some really nice Locals and people I worked with through Maui Public Schools. I worked for a Project that was funded by Rockwell International and The National Science Foundation. The Project involved having students design and/or follow Basic Scientific Formulae, instead of reading a book and taking tests. My job involved rewriting all of the Teachers' and Students' Classroom Manuals and making sense of "what had been sent to us by people on The Mainland" that knew absolutely nothing about Hawai'i or Hawai'ians. I was basically "chained to both a desk and a really nice Canon 5 Color Copier," to make Editing and mass quantities of Instructional Materials for schools around the Island of Maui. I got to do a Photoshoot that depicted: "People In Our Neighborhood" as a plus. The Butcher, Baker, Fireman, Cop and Surfboard Shaper. You get the idea.
National Parks. They are, in a few words: "Sanctuaries of Nature and a slice of What This Place Was Like Before White People Fucked It All Up and built Burger King's and Starbuck's EVERYWHERE." I am pretty "White." Mostly Bavarian. I am also part Souix Indian and Ashkenazim." I'd look pretty good, dressed up like a Hollywood Indian. If it's a Mel Brooks Movie. Mel Brooks purposely cast Jewish Guys as Indians because of their noses. It, of course, was hilarious. I always see the character "Fish" (Abe Vigoda) when I look at Hollywood Indians. I don't look like Abe Vigoda, or Mel Brooks. I'm one of those guys that people say: "Really? Funny, you don't 'look' Jewish," about. I don't look Native American, either. Central Casting wold make me a wood chopper on the Von Trask Property. As a child, I "absolutely refused" to go see: "The Sound Of Music." I hated Julie Andrews for years after that. I had also recently discovered that my Stepfather wasn't my REAL Father and didn't want to go on "Visitation Days" with the other kids. But, that's definitely: "another story."
When you visit Our National Parks, please try to be on your best behavior. For the sake of others and your own sake, if not simply out of respect for "where you currently are." National Parks are NOT "Party Places" or "Penalty Free Fuck Up Zones." You are be offered a privilege. Treat your stay as such. Don't throw trash around, try to be a bit quiet (you might actually learn something) and attempt to act Civilized and Respectful. I know "what that means to me" but, you can make up your own version. In your heart of hearts, you KNOW what it means. Listen to that "Little Voice" and turn off your internal dialog for awhile. You will thank me for this, later.
Go For A Walk. Try Not To Puke,
-Doc
Do NOT Do THIS:
I Love Les Claypool and Primus but, I wouldn't want to have someone camping next to me in a National Park, playing their music for days on end. Homicide would intervene, I am sure.
My "NEW" Computer still does not work. The Tech spent four hours with it yesterday. The machine is F.U.B.A.R.. It seems there is some Flash Code Imprint Information that is "missing" from the Motherboard. That means that the serial numbers that activate the UVID (Universal Virtual Identification Number) cannot be entered. Which, in turn, means that the OS cannot be installed. I am losing my patience. I, still, own a $250.00 Paper Weight. FUCK.
The BIG QUESTION is: "How much money does the Manufacturer want to spend sending Tech's to my house before they cave in and send me a working machine?" $1,000.00 on Tech's for a $250.00 machine? What kind of business plan is THAT? How do these Fuckers stay in Business?
Up at my usual insane hour of 04:00, writing, reading, drinking Earl Grey, listening to music, doing that which Human beings are "best at": Wasting Time and Farting Around. Again, I borrow from Kurt Vonnegut. I believe the quote to be: "We are here to Fart Around. It's what we are best at." Kurt also said: "Babies, I will tell you One Thing: You've GOT TO BE KIND." I've never met a Kurt Vonnegut quote that I didn't like.
Today, I am pondering "what" to do with the $8.00 I have in my pocket. I'm thinking: "Peanut butter, bread, Top Ramen and maybe some sugar." I DO have food around here but, it's All The Little Things that make the difference.
Today's "project" is to fix the LED light strip to the underside of my kitchen cabinets. So I can actually "see what I'm doing with my dishwashing." The adhesive on the light strip doesn't "stick" so, I'm thinking: "Staple it to the underside of the cupboard." At least the staples could be pulled later to repaint, etc. and I have my lights. I DO NOT want to drive a brad through the light strip. It could screw up the wiring or something. It's fragile stuff. Structural Integrity is key. "Lighting" is one of those things I know a fair amount about. If I can stage light an A List Rock Band, I can do this tiny project. Ya' know? It's not Rocket Surgery.
Suzie, The Rocket Vacuum Cleaner (God Bless Her Dust Bag), might not agree but...
Suzie was NOT an Electrolux, she was a Sears Roebuck but, this is the general idea. I affixed some "Home Made Rockets" to her exterior frame and lit them off. She flew pretty good, for awhile. As previously stated: "We were Young, Bored and Had A Few Beers In Us" when we launched her into the desert. Early 1970's.
R.I.P., Rocket Suzie. It was a Good Death. In The Name Of Science and Fun.
I'd like to Rocket Launch this Computer (The broken one, not this older backup machine I'm currently typing on) right about now but, I think I will let the Manufacturer do that deed.
Peace, Love and Amatuer Vacuum Cleaner Rocketry,
-Doc
..All watched over by Loving Grace, of course, I borrow from The Master.
I am not a big fan of machines that don't work. When I instruct my computer to: "Take a flying fuck off of the Golden Gate Bridge," I expect it to: "snap to ATTENTION," salute me while saying: "Yes SIR!" and ask how quickly said task should be executed. Then I patiently await the "splash" or, hopefully, "THUD," as it lands on the deck of some Japanese Tramp Freighter. Injuring The Fur Trapper... You get the idea.
I have even less patience for automated phone call systems and "follow-up calls" from syrup-y accented Corporate drones that can't pronounce either my name or the pronunciation of the town I live in. I recently explained to my Dear Mother that I: "Used to talk on the telephone for 5 hours per night, 5 nights per week." I was a Professional Fundraiser for Conservation and Social/Political Action Organizations. The whole Alphabet Soup, thereof. DO NOT ARGUE WITH ME ON THE PHONE. Especially if you're "wrong." I am the personified BANE of any and ALL Telemarketers. Same goes for "Technical Support Personnel" in places like Mumbai and Delhi, Managua or Manilla. They ALL have names like: "Johnny" or "Suzie." I had a Pet Vacuum Cleaner named Suzie, once. Poor Gal, she's in some state of deconstruction/destruction between Anza Borrego and Arizona now. We made a "missile" out of her one weekend. Fuck it. We were bored and had imbibed a few. You get the idea...
I hope that the Lenovo Technician coming to visit me, AGAIN, today likes Frank Zappa. I intend to be playing Frank the entire time he's here. The ReAlLy WeIrD sHiT. Actually, he's pretty nice and has to drive 170 miles just to get to my Bachelor Pad From Hell to fix my machine so, I'll probably be taking "requests."
I have a couple of REALLY AWFUL neighbors. I will, at some, undisclosed, anonymous, in Devilishly spiteful fashion, exact some form of heinous revenge upon them. I have considered a few of my "favorites" recently. I list them now, as pure entertainment and fanciful Tom Foolery. A nod is as good as a wink, to a Blind Horse.
1. Obtain a 10 gallon bucket of rancid fish offal. Guts, lips, foreskins, anuses, all the stinky parts. Let the bucket sit in a nice warm, preferably sunny, place until God Him/Her/It Self wouldn't go anywhere near that smell. Upon full maturation, pour said mixture into the grate at the rear of their car's hood, behind the actual hood and windshield wipers. In the middle of the night, of course. The smell NEVER goes away. I know. I was a Commercial Fisherman.
2. Place House Members on NUMEROUS Communist/Hate Group/KKK/Anti-Government Militia/Flag Burning/ Devil Worshipping, etc., mailing lists. Sit back and wait for the FBI to show up.
3. Frozen paint balls, lots of compressed air in the tank, to the ass. Use your imagination. Note: They REALLY HURT!
4. Pour a "skunk stripe" of Acetone down the dead center of their new car. It will NEVER fully go away. 4(b). Tar and Feather whole New Car. 4(c) Superglue dildoes to entire exterior of New Car.
5. A full gallon of liquid bleach or drain cleaner into a full load of their laundry. Or, a dead skunk...
6. Pay a couple of Out-Of-Town Mean Teenage Girls to beat them both into bloody pulps and roll said new car off a cliff. (This one is clearly a Last Resort kind of move)
7. Nail dead animals to their front door. Or, place animals of hood of New Car, repeatedly. Road Kill, of course.
8. Blow Dart them with a tranquilizer, administer a POWERFUL HALLUCINOGEN, throw them both into a small closet with a whole bunch of REALLY PISSED OFF HORNETS in there and wait for the Psych Unit to come get them.
9. Play Nazi Speed Metal for ten seconds at a time, REALLY LOUD numerous times during the night, from a car parked in their driveway and then simply drive away. Or just get a scrapped car, install a really shitty LOUD stereo and leave the car, locked, next to their house. In the middle of the night.
10. Put "I HATE COPS" bumper stickers on their New Car. Also in the Dead Of Night. (Kids will do this one, for free, or for a candy bar.)
Now, I know what you're thinking here: "Man, this is some pretty Chicken Shit Stuff." My answer is: "Yes. It is. These are a couple of: REALLY CHICKEN SHIT PEOPLE." They deserve much worse. Most of which would send the Average Joe to Prison for quite awhile. I'm not that guy but, I am vindictive and petty, mean when provoked and rotten when rotten is deserved. I can think of ALLOT of worse things to do to these people. Trust me. I have a very active imagination.
My Uncle, "H.G. Shook, Colonel, USAAC/USAF, (ret.)" was a P-47 Pilot, a Base Commander, my Mom's Older Bother and My Uncle. He still is all of those things.
Hal was one of the first wave of Fighter Pilots, from his Squadron in Winkton, U.K., flying from England into Normandy. He is also a "Tough Old Bird," a wonderful Uncle, Son, Big Brother and Human Being. He will not only show you proper respect, if deserved, but will be a Perfect Gentleman should you choose to return that respect. It would be advisable. He earned every bit you can muster. Be generous. Your courtesy will be returned.
I honor all those fine Military Personnel that served on this terrible day. You have earned every bit of the respect I can muster. You have earned it, in triplicate.
Thank you. Only tears will express my gratitude to a greater extent.
..That you don't like something, someplace, someone, etc., along comes Jones...
https://youtu.be/eFyr49TwuiI
I said that: "I don't like Zoos anymore." I lied. Actually, I like watching the Kids that go to Zoos with Mom and Dad. I grew up right up the Avenue from the San Francisco Zoo. How could I "not like Zoo's?" Frankie The Pig wasn't bad either. He needed a shave and a haircut though. Ugliest pig I ever saw in my life. Gnarly set of fangs. I wouldn't want to meet him behind a dumpster.
It was a good 10-12 mile walk. Every so often, I get a wild hair up my ass to go walk ten+ miles. Just to find out how much it hurts when I'm done. I feel "O.K." so far. I'll sleep like a stoned to death, banana leaf wrapped, scorched, Ulua Pig tonight though.
Kids and Zoos naturally "go together." Animals are curious, for the most part. Kids certainly are. I certainly was. All except for that one Chimpanzee that was fond of hucking crap at Tourists. As mentioned, we knew better than to stand in that front row. It was fun to watch the Noobs catch a load.
No such danger here though. All fairly tame animals. "Pet-able goats" and the like. No Lions or Polar Bears. Darn it. I actually enjoy animals that would just as soon eat me kick me to death, etc., as look at me, when going to Zoos. "Danger" is part of the show. Kind of like a Led Zeppelin Show in the early 70's. Ot "Leo" the lion turning Blue Haired Ladies' Hair White during his rush to the haunch at feeding time. (It was a fine spectacle.)
My Birthday is August 6th, which makes me a Leo, by the way.
Anyway. Tired. I'll sleep well tonight. Having not seen Lions or whatever.
I tend to become "upset" when Companies assume that they can "wear me out" and/or ignore my complaints regarding products sold to me that don't work.
About 4 months ago, I purchased a computer from Lenovo. Last month, it died. They sent me a technician what replace the Hard Drive and gave me an OS "rescue thumb drive." It didn't work and I still have a 250.00+ "Paper Weight." Most of my communications with the Company, have been greeted with "double talk and inaction." NOT the way it's "supposed to be." "The Customer is ALWAYS RIGHT," etc.. I would also be writing to Bill gates regarding the purchase. I know people that have worked for Microsoft. programmers, R&D Guys, etc..
There is a part of me that wants to literally, burn this machine into the dirt and mail it back to them. I'd be "out" $250.00 but, would also derive an immense amount of satisfaction from said destructive action. I would then go purchase another machine, from a different Company, after penning a VERY nasty letter to this business. Suggestions of the performance of auto-fellatio and consummation of dog excrement inclusive. I'm a NICE GUY and all that crap but, NOT when I'm treated like "I DON'T MATTER." I DO matter. EVERYBODY matters. You have my money? I want "what I paid for."
My favorite part of this procedure has been when some Technician in India gave me a WATTS # for Dell Computer. I suppose he thought that was humorous. I, did not.
Long story short, "I will NEVER buy another computer that was manufactured in China." Dear China: "Fuck you and the duck you rode in upon." Dear Lenovo: "Hang it in your ass." You have no idea what a Jerk I can be. "Grab your ankles and hold onto the edge of the desk, this is going to hurt."
I like Jerry. In slept in his basement with Jim (Radish Head) Bone once. Jim was on his way to a Try-Out. I was on my way to a ship in Ballard, bound for Alaska.
