Obviously, this is not my father,
but what I thought of him as a child.
Oh no, there goes Tokyo!
Obviously, this is not my father,
but what I thought of him as a child.
Oh no, there goes Tokyo!
Today as I blogged I listened to Warren Zevon’s “Mr Bad Example” from 1991
My father’s coming for a visit on Monday & Tuesday. Our relationship may be broken down as if an archeologist’s dig.
Birth to 12: No relationship at all beyond Nascar. He ignored me. I did all of the stupid things that kids do but felt overly berated & ignored.
12 to 17: Shooting & hunting only shared interest. I told him I thought hunting was mighty boring but I liked to shoot.
17 to 21: Told me not to get married. He was entirely correct.
21 to 30: My brother Rob killed in motorcycle accident. My father goes through cathartic reevaluation of how he treats his children as now he’s down to three. He talks about common interests & always closes with “I love you”. A sorrowful turnabout.
30 to 50: I’ve fathered a couple of great children. Well mannered. Open emotionally. But, the drag is that I’m dying. I hope that I can count on my parents to some degree help Franny & to be there for my children.
Rick & I watched the dynamic at grandma & grandpa’s house. We were hip to the reason back then. That man still needs therapy!
When Thomas Edison died in 1941, Henry Ford captured his last breath in a bottle and then proceeded to scrawl a “Ford” logo on his forehead with a Sharpee while feeling Tom’s moobs.
Franny has forsaken our bed upstairs & now camps on the couch across from my hospital bed. She’s crazy but says less worry will allow her to sleep better.
Here he is. Mitt & Dumbass get out of the way!
Corporandia’s great white hope!
As I blogged today I listened to Warren Zevon’s 1978 masterwork “Excitable Boy”
I wrote this as a script for Jack’s movie but as usual it as it exposed itself it grew to be too weird for use for his tender age.
My father is dying from A.L.S. after years of secret government work & commercial printing sales. He also has top secret knowledge regarding alien life forms, Florida Presidential Elections & the Bush family. Actually, he says all of these lines of thought converge within the forehead of ex Florida Governor Jeb Bush.
John Ellis “Jeb” Pierce Bush was born as a second son to a second son which carries absolutely no power in the human black arts. But in the civilization of his true birth, Corporandia, it manifests in him incredible powers of reading minds, home farming & individual flight. Jeb, the forgotten Bush, lays in wait for his future day of reckoning; the day when he, as his big brother & father did before him, will claim the throne of King of Earth.
Since the people of Florida ousted Jeb into the bitter cold January of Tallahassee, he has has been taking care of Bush family business & inter-dimensionally traveling to Corporandia to improve important Corp. skills such as small animal beating, berating the poor & splashing in the upper-decker in public lavatories. Jeb excels at animal beating & flight. As soon as Jeb matured, he took a mate & began to make Jeblets. Not via a love relation as among humans on earth, but through the cold hard & dry mechanics of Corporandia. To fertilize the seed, which resembles a can of peas behind a steel door in the abdomen of the mate, the aggressor (man) must think of money for 10 minutes & then begin to massage his forehead vigorously. A small separation will appear at the very precipice of the face, out of which a steely single hinged & pointed appendage would eventually protrude. The male grabs his mate by the shoulders & plunges his love knife directly into the center of her chest. Like dogs they cannot separate immediately so they dance the Corporandian Waltz for the remaining 20 to 30 seconds & then they abruptly part & insult the nearest wait staff. If there are none about they may substitute by referring to each other loudly & in unison as “browneye”. The gestation period on Corporandia in one quarter of one earth year.
Required dress on Corporandia is anything available at Walmart or Jos. A. Banks for men & Talbot’s or Chico’s for the breeding stock (women). On both planets the women are expected to smile, look attractive & rear the children. Although they look exquisite physically, as humans we should never attempt to make any sort of love to these beings as they are different in every way. What we would perceive as normal genitalia from the outside is just on the outside. Soft & pliant it may be but it is bereft of moisture & there is no entrance. Their entire bodies are without water. If you see them smiling & enjoying drinks & mini-wiener snacks at a party or reception, it’s just a ruse. They will offload at their earliest convenience at a restroom or Walmart garbage receptacle.
The male of the species is king of Coporandia. The woman is only a working & breeding vessel. How can this model be replicating itself religion by religion, planet after planet (2 anyway), and KFC after Walmart. It’s certainly not that way at the Leisure Man compound. Franny runs the show on Edwards Lane. And, we don’t shop at Walmart.
It’s old what’s his name?
Today as I blogged I listened to ZZ Top’s first album
You’re sitting in a well lit classroom from above & streaming in naturally from the windows on a group of men & women numbering about 15. Out in the hallway you were talking to this beautiful young woman. Not garishly pretty. All natural, not a bit of filler. This test determines whether you’re going to make $2,000 or $20,000 per annum for the Hearst Corporation. There hasn’t been that kind of money around since the crash. You ladled on the charm rather thickly & she still didn’t seem to catch up with the fact that you were a man & not a boy. Ladies of her caliber just didn’t mess with men like you. You’re not stupid, far from it, just a born liar. Seats were designated by alphabetics & you even lied about your name.
“So, Tom, if that’s what your first name really is. What’s your surname cause it can’t be Beauchamp sitting in that seat?”
“My real name is John Dillinger. I always change it because of it’s notoriety.”
“Well Tom or John, we’ve got that nailed down. But your last name has to Pillinger for you to occupy that seat!”
“Well, you got me detective. My name is John Pfohl & I like to change it because it’s so confusing.”
“And it rhymes with hole which comes in handy when people meet you.”
The proctor started handing out the tests. “There is consideration as to how quickly you finish the test as well so as soon as you’re done bring it up to me.”
“Good luck Mr. Dillinger” she spun sarcastically.
“Thanks Debbie. I’ll do my best!”
The test was multiple guess & you filled in the little football shapes with a number 2 pencil. He looked over at the way Debby’s ass swelled where contacting the chair.
He had finished the test in 11 minutes. He got up to return it to the proctor. The others looked up like he must be lying. Debbie let a lung-full of air out to match her scorn.
The proctor laid the answer key over it & it was 100% correct.
As he walked to the door he pulled a 45 auto out of the back of his trousers. From the door he shot everyone but saved Debby for last. She got up to cower by the filing cabinets. She didn’t look so good with a piss stain down the front of her jeans.
He shot her in the belly to let her suffer for awhile.
Fiction of course
Suffering a bump on the devil head after being cast out. Poor satan. Better start looking for that nutty buddy.
As I blog today I’m listening bright & happy music cause I don’t want to slip away!
Like Styx “Eqninox”
Sorry about my last blog entry. I didn’t realize that it was as cold as it came out. Obviously, I didn’t die. I felt like shit, that much I’ll intimate. I still looked pretty good, though. The rest of this blog entry is strictly hyperbole, so stay off the ledge if that’s your plan.
When you’re laying about in your pajamas or even worse, a hospital gown where everyone can see the back of your bag minimum, you’re much easier to harvest. Boots jeans, button down shirt & leather jacket is hard to run the scythe through. There’s nothing better than turning around & seeing satan pissed off. He literally fumes & head goes afire kind of like “Ghost Rider” but not as cool as he has no chain, strictly scythe. One would have to figure that CG gets better in the movies every year, so you would think that the Devil would snatch up a couple of the best & redesign his package. I’ve seen a couple “you fucked up, you’re going down below” & the people aren’t terrified. They’re more upset about fucking up.
I fear the devil even with his circa 1930 floor show. Once you get there, it’s hot & it’s a long time. The other folks are upset. When you see a celebrity with a thousand paparazzi in tow the cameras don’t work in this heat & nobody has a Sharpie! When he pokes you in the ass with that trident for the next 666 days these little fire tornados fire through your wound & the devil always aims for rectum. It’s like offloading 3,300 dozen of the hottest wings you’ve ever had, over & over again. Party up Bud; are they hot? Naaah, but they go right though ya! Well, get at it bro you only have 39,599 to go! Can I get some celery or blue cheese dressing? Think of the logistics? Where would we keep it? If we could do that we could hand out nutty buddies to the kiss-ass overachievers!
Slowly, I will have to get used to my expiration. It’s been a little over 2 years since my diagnosis and the many flat exams at clinic. I don’t think I’m dying next week but if you have something you’d like to say to me don’t put it off until next year. Rachel & John our brother & sister, always expeditious came over & expressed their feelings. If you thought you were going to be the first, you’re fucked.