As they say “It takes all kind of critters to make Farmer Vincent’s Fritters”. I wonder if they have any Samoan flavor?
As they say “It takes all kind of critters to make Farmer Vincent’s Fritters”. I wonder if they have any Samoan flavor?
In this what I fear may be my final blog, I was listening to a lot of single songs,like Free ” Wishing Well” & Foghat’s”Feel so bad” & the Faces “Stay with Me”
Who knows ? When was the last time you died? No faking to get an estranged loved one back. The real deal. Systems looking shitty. Unable to sleep. Hospice refers to it as monkey brain. You just cannot shut it down without pharmacological assistance. In hospice you know it’s real when comes the last bodily insult. The Phenobarb Suppository coupled with the Samoan Wrestler sitting on you face. You will see a light and it’s the flash from his championship belt as his large cocoa buttocks descend toward your face. You will see Jesus to boot as he shakes his head at the lengths some agencies will go to attract his attention. When the Samoan climbs off you’re certainly not of this world & you & Jesus are taking the long walk toward the non-Samoan light. Jesus may bring up some humorous anecdotes that you did when a kid or teen. When you get up the light, Jesus peels away as he’s plenty of souls to guide every day. In big days like a natural disaster Jesus may send one of your relatives to pick you up. I hope that my brother Rob comes to get me. I don’t want to bother the main man.
Over the past 3 days I have been suffering. Sunday night barely any sleep & extremely uncomfortable. Anxiety, mind racing. Bad thoughts. Couldn’t breathe. Bed of nails. They kept giving me drugs to knock me out but then I’d awaken 2 to 3 hours later & I’d think it was the next day. Finally, yesterday they hammered me & I slept 15 hours. Now that’s sleeping. Today, I’m planning on directing myself to sleep by 7 or 8 & then through to approx. 10:00am or thereabouts.
Then I hope to get painting putting hair on Christ & crown of thorns. Time’s a waisting with all of these sick days. Good thing I’m not in the Union.
I coulda put a worse one up. Imagine what that looked like by 4:30am.
This was a little ditty that I wrote just before heading over to the Kellys for St.Patrick’s Day mixed with a dash of basketball. St. Patrick loved the game & there used to be tournaments among the clergy. They’d all get really gassed & then stuff a sheep’s bladder with live snakes. Impossible to dribble, they would throw it at each other until somebody tossed it into an empty Jameson’s carton.
I apologize for the invalid show that I put on as I made my way to my seat. I was really beat yesterday & said I would come over so come I did.
Hello everyone & happy St. Patrick’s Day. God bless all here.
And God bless Franny’s mom, Cinda,as today was her birthday.
I have always loved the irish even though I am almost three quarters english. The women are better looking & they make beautiful children. Now lets talk about making children. An Irish woman is held so dear because they’re held less often. The reason they’re held less often is because they’re so feckin busy. Working & bringing in more wages than a gypsy or traveler. Keeping the house neat, doing the laundry, mowing, raking. By the time they lay down they certainly don’t want the bulk of a man laying on top of them. So, if you want to make beautiful children you’ll need to hire a housekeeper & maid. Then you have chance.
What is it about irish women that I find so captivating? They generally have a good strong hold when you’re dating them. They’re eager to please you & keep up with your drinking. Then they’ll want their carnal reward afterwards. Not always once, often two to three times. As soon as the beautiful children show up this is an act that comes but once per quarter year & only if the feckin beautiful children are not within earshot of the house.
Now the man who’s drank his fill & more is tasked with the proposition he’s been waiting for. They darken the room & strip down to what God made them. They peel back the covers & climb into the marital bed. Facing each other they profess the love they have for each other. They embrace with a good strong hug & hold in that position for a while. When they awake they look to each other & wonder if anything happened? As it’s a brand new day the man gets ready & rushes off to work.
The mother rings the bell for the maid.
This stack of 3 beautiful waffles maintain their eligibility to play in the NCAA Tournament by hitching a ride in Dion Waiters small intestine. They have also learned to speak English in the past two years & they have no police record for savaging their waffle girlfriend’s car radio
As I blogged this early Friday morning I listened to Oingo Boingo’s “Nothing to Fear” release from 1982 & Earth, Wind & Fire’s 1975 release “That’s the Way of the World”
Leisure Man loves the March Madness! Leisure Man loves his hometown Syracuse Orange as well. Leisure Man loves waffles too & can see a waffle dimly in his future. Fresh homemade waffles not the cardboard frozen types. That ought to do it. To dream into my blog usually results things real via Franny.
I saw the tip off for the Murray State game which to me was the beginning of the NCAA Tournament. Then I was in & out games for the next 11 hours finishing with another disappointing Big East team, Connecticut. I was especially anticipating what ended up a 3:27pm tip for the Orange vs NC Asheville. The Orange always start out slow so it was no surprise to Mr Kelly & me as they sleepwalked through the first half setting a record of which not to be proud. A “16 seed led a 1 seed at the half” causing Mr Kelly to turn his well formed head to me stating “I hate watching Syracuse” which led to my incomprehensible retort “I don’t blame you” which led, surprisingly to his understanding my special gibberish that sounded like “I ba bame ya”. Mr Kelly has sat across the table of many a hammerhead while taking a statement in his capacity as a State Investigator. He looks into their heads to determine if they’ve done wrong etc. which is how he deciphered my utterance.
I ask any Orange fans out there: what has happened to Kris Joseph? He’s gone leader to peter in the last 3 or so games. He’s become the chief somnambular. Ever since a supposed thumb jam at MSG, the only way he can generate offense is not showering or going into the paint to be fouled. No outside threat.
When I heard that Fabrizio Melo had graded off the team I was not surprised.
Mr Kelly climbed onto a chair & looked into those Brazilian eyes & detected that there is absolutely no one home. Melo was a hammerhead of the sixth magnitude & we’re good to be rid of him. Sure, it’s good to have a 7 foot threat & he had developed into a semi-player during the off season. I have total faith in Mr Christmas. He & Mr Keita need to layer on some muscle. Christmas is aggressive and I would say 75% of Melo. I would think that the other gents could make up that other 25% through their athleticism (overused) or by trying harder or having a cup of coffee.
We beat NC Asheville like a 14 seed & squeaked another out. Next up is 8 seed Kansas State on Saturday shortly after noon. I would suggest a rich dark cup of Kenyan & a stack of waffles draped with CNY amber maple syrup.
Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow at the Paramount in Wilkes-Barre, PA with the touring personnel. Paul also reminded me that AC/DC was the support act. The singer was Bon Scott who would die in the coming months after being overserved & then aspirate vomit which is a drag if your lucid. I think Bon slid into the next without a worry or a burp.
This morning as I blogged I listened to Tom Waits in a special compilation from Bruce Hickey at Canfield & Tack.
I have a great friend whom I have had for over 30 years. The glue that truly binds us together besides a common humor, is a love of music & shows we’ve seen together. We were able to squeeze in a Tubes show with my son Jack last year. I wish he lived around the corner but he lives on the other side of Hartford, CT so consequently I don’t get to see him & his wife Karen enough.
One thing we have in common that is local to Syracuse is an instance that happened in August of 1977. A group of us made the trip from Sayre, PA to the ‘Cuse to see Queen’s Day at the Races Tour with support act Thin Lizzy. Ed DeFrahn (RIP) drove the family station wagon with Paul, Shoshu (Charlie Garrison RIP) & me. I may be missing someone & for that I apologize. I was a true fan of Lizzy & this was all of the original members except Brian Robertson who had injured is hand in a brawl, supposedly. We were right up front & this handsome but extremely vertically deficient girl behind us was having trouble seeing over me. I think we let her squeeze in for a better angle. She was a Queen freak & had actually met Mercury. I’m not sure how it exactly happened but some time later Paul ran into that same girl, Karen & they began to date & subsequently married. I picked up girls at church & Paul “the Dude” was scoring at concerts.
Well, anyway the above pictures I received from Paul today. They refer to the Elf & Ronnie James Dio entries below. There you have it. I hope to paint this afternoon after I attend a webinar on A.L.S. & how this research going on now will cure Lou Gehrig’s Disease in 20 to 25 years, long after it’ll be of any use to me.
Oh well. That’s way it goes, first your money then your clothes.
I’m usually good for sarcasm or some other form of smartassery in these captions but this bed quiets me in it’s comfort & will someday be the witness to my overthrow!
Tonight as I unexpectedly blogged I listened to Mark Knopfler’s “The Ragpicker’s Dream” from 2002
When the bed showed up & took up the exact footage as my desk when I was a man, I cried for a bit & could not stop. In the past late summer & fall, I was still working, still the shared head of our household. Now, I finally wear the mark of the invalid. The bed does everything that the latest beds do. It has a mattress that circulates air to stall the growth of bed sores. It bends into any comfortable position. It’s like a Thai sex basket for crying out loud. But under the color coordinated to the curtains comforter, there is a threadworn paper thin top sheet of separation filled with difficult questions already answered that bely limitless tomorrows.
After much discussion with my love Franny we arrived at a play out sequence that we both didn’t like. We’re down to as long as my hands & arms work & I can still paint I’ll expect a kiss every morning. The disease has been clever, almost caring in the sequence it’s taking my life. Breathlessness like somebody clamping a nitrogen cooled set of vise-grips on my scrotum. Left hand weakness first but still a fairly strong grip. Now I can see the atrophy beginning in my right hand. Left leg weakness but I can still walk. Another end factor is any toiletting issues where there’s more than me & my bowels alone in the room is a deal breaker as well. I’m using a walker called “Dolomite” usually because I can stack stuff on the seat. Still using my cane for short jaunts. Franny is afraid if I fall I’ll break my hip because that’s what they’re trained to believe. My hips are 4 ply. It’d take a sledgehammer & sizable man wielding it, to smash mine. Or 5 or 6 more trips down the stairs. I painted today and plan to tomorrow. I am not actively dying!
Thankfully I am in my home so the bed is overpowered by an houseload of possessions familiar. When my legs start to go I’m going to have my brother Rick hold me up standing on this future killing (but oh so comfortable) bed & start pissing all over the rug & walls. By Rick holding me up I’m talking torso only. I’ll handle my watering leg by having Franny tie a string that will go from there north to my teeth. Be careful not to call my name. The odor of the nursing homes I have cheated will signal my departure.
Those at a distance may hear a little pfft.