the dumbest guy on the planet(?) or the o j dilemma pt 2

Posted on

can anyone be more bizarre than o j simpson?  ok, sure there’s a number of folks i could mention but they didn’t kill their ex’s and some poor soul who just happened to be there at that moment of supreme insanity.  yahoo reports the feebs knew about his weird action in vegas.  of course, they did nothing about the deal or so that’s the report.  what the fuck?  yeah, well, it’s yahoo after all and the news as well.  pass me the salt shaker.

ok.  so like what does this whole weirdness in vegas  have to do with the abc greatest college football top 25 dudes?  or something.  i mean they still have weeks to go and mr o j was one of the best, ever, college football guys.  do his current troubles with the man in vegas have bad juju behind it with the abc pollsters?  unless i was passed out, i don’t recall seeing his name mentioned as yet.

i mean you have to include him someplace on the freaking list.  right?  yeah.  the dude could flat out run with the rock.  might not have been anyone better.  jim brown?  no, sorry as it may be, he was not in the juice’s foot loose and fancy free try and catch me league.  marcus allen?  bo dickerson?  see what i’m talking about?           

guess the bottom damn line is, the dumb ass stupid shit wife and waiter killing stupid dumb fuck murdering asshole is still one of the greatest ever college running backs.  period.  semi-colon.  semi-fore.  whatever.  guess the numb nutted dumb fuck can take it to prison with him.  finally.  or what?

well, of course, he needs to get through the stupid system first.  egg counting not with standing.  been there done that.  although johnnie cochran is dead.  doubt the other guys in the first go round are going to go for the gusto this time.  my money is on they are still waiting for theirs.  the l.a. pd ain’t involved.  yes, they take a ton of crap and at times it’s warranted but none of the cops in the first fiasco framed mr simpson.  count on it. 

this time it’s the vegas cops.  issues there as well.  l.a. and vegas city cops and the mob.  stuff like that doesn’t go away.  some sharp syhster can convolute some dumb fuck jury with that action.  count on it.  ask the dead johnnie c.         

slam dunks only count in basketball and wilt chamberlain was my man for that.  does o j slide again in court?  can the man or some underpaid d a screw the whole nut up again?  jesus, the mind reels at the stupidity of the whole sad demented saga of mr o j.


44 years ago this month

Posted on

it’s a bit early in the month for this but i was thinking about it and, well, you know how that goes.  yeah,  it’s amazing, 44 years ago.  kind of like 3 or 4 lifetimes ago for some of us.  i’ll bet a vast number of you out there weren’t even born when the sad sick deal went down.  or were too young to realize or remember much of what happened.   at any rate, we’ve all seen several films of the insanity, a thousand times or more.  maybe even read a book or 300 on the subject.  to me, it still seems like yesterday.  it started out like any other normal day, i was as a sophmore in high school eating lunch with a friend when it hit the fan. literally and figuratively.  the nation and maybe the world changed that day.  sure he was no saint and maybe not even that great a leader but we are all the worse for it.  maybe things would have changed regardless.  changed in some other manner but the point being, things changed.   on that day a wacked out sick fuck who thought of himself as a cop/spy and super marxist hero, capped king jack.  alone.  all by himself.  sure, he was probably goaded or pushed into it but it probably didn’t take much.  the mob guys know what buttons to push.  certain other folks as well.  we are the worse for it.  ruby?  another sicko who did his job for himself and his lost jewish faith.  pure happen stance the junior mobster offed oswald.  us?  we still mourn, wonder, and conspiracy theory ourselves into making anybody with a theory on the deal some money.  save your money.  it’s all crap.


dog soldiers

Posted on Updated on

dog soldiers.  gi’s.  dog faces.  grunts.  jar heads.  swabbies.  airdales.  it all amounts to the same thing.  we don’t have enough of them for the coming war with iran.  of course the whole thing is crazy.  when were the politicos ever sane?  not in my lifetime.  it seems that more people are talking about this war here and elsewhere every day.  the drums of war, a rumor of war, the dogs of war, all a very fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, again, stanley.

if this war comes about and the fools let it happen all the cruise missiles and stealth bombers along with the aged b-52’s can thump and bomb the mullahs back to the stone age visions of gen curtis lemay.  turn iran into one big pockmark sorta like nam was.  the thing is all the techno bullshit will only get you so far.  to go further and actually hold the pockmarks, or hamburger hills, or heartbreak ridges, or bastsognes you need the ground pounders.  lots of them. 

of course the generals wax and wane on this matter.  buy the company or government line and say whatever it takes to keep their job.  guess we’ve all been there a time or two.  we are spread too thin now.  if the insanity of war breaks out with iran, where are the troopees coming from?  they will come from your living room, your local high school senior class, your church and anywhere else you call home.  yeah, it will mean a draft.   there are really no two ways about it.  it would be that or make every person already in the service an indentured servant and keep them in until all the cows come home to roost sometime in the next century.  that won’t happen.  or maybe it will and spare everyone out there the heartbreak of receiving a letter from your government that begins with, ‘greetings’.  just leaving even more heartbreak for those already in the service and their families.

the really scary thing is all of us old vets might not escape either.  sorta like my semi recurring ptsd dream which i’ve blogged about here.  i’m back in the army and i can’t get out.  and something my friend, dfr, has been saying for years, if things get too out of hand we will end up like germany at the close of ww2.  junior high school age draftees and 60 year old ww1 vets out on the front lines.  yeah, it’s a possibility.  it’s also a possibility your daughter will be there as well. 

israel has already made a strike at syria.  iran is just making things worse with their trip to the un and that bizarre speech.  then a trip down south to visit chavez to see what that old commie can bring to the table.  the ruskies are flying their really really old bombers near alaska again after not doing so for many years.  putin wants to be made prime minister.  no election just do it.  seems like shit is being stock piled very close at hand in order to make it easier for tossing into the fan blades of life.  if that happens we will all get splattered.   

it’s as if things just move along on their own.  breathing a life into what ever is necessary to let the power brokers and their brethren do what ever the hell it is they think they should be doing.  for whatever convoluted reasons.  ain’t nothing we can do about it.  never has been.  you are delusional to think otherwise.  you think lady machill is going to change things?  think again.  you think anyone is going to change things?  think again.  will china sit idle twiddling their thumbs and let us take over the oil in iran?  for that matter india as well.  oil drives the world’s economy.  plain and simple.  you may not like that but if half the population suddenly turned into, ed begley jr, things wouldn’t change.

the driver less steamroller rolls on.  it’s getting to that place in the road where the road starts to go downhill.  if it gets to that point, the steamroller becomes the oil tanker in spielberg’s first movie, ‘duel’, a mad driver less oil tanker from hell.  hell bent on killing us all.  one dog soldier at a time.



of mice and men (with apologies to steinbeck)

Posted on Updated on

it didn’t look like it was going to be one of those days but it turned out to be anyway.  just another day for the best laid plans of mice and men.

the whole thing got rolling at breakfast.  g/f was home taking a vacation day.  what do you want to eat for breakfast?  um, egg rolls, but not fried.  we’ll nuke em first then put them in the toaster oven.  yeah, ok, sounds good.  i’ll get them going.  the toaster oven, however, wasn’t cooperating.  the fucker was only working half way.  time for a new one.

i tossed the old one out and g/f says since we are going out for the toaster oven i want some new toilet seats for the toilets.  fine, ok.  i’m thinking the damn things are fairly new but from years of experience i sorta know not to argue.  sometimes. 

we figure this will be just a one stop shopping trip plus a quick stop for a few groceries.  we know what size toaster oven we need.  it can only be so big or it won’t fit where it’s been for like ever.  i’m even bringing along the tape measure just to make sure it all works out.  it’s 9am and off we go.

of course the toilet seat deal is a bust but we find a nice toaster oven and the measurements seem to be just right.  cool.  well, we stop at another half dozen places looking at toilet seats.  none of which suit the g/f for a variety of reasons.  by this time it’s almost noon so we decide to give up on the seat search and go home.

the new toaster oven is a very nice stainless steel model with all of the new bells and whistles.  only thing is the new toaster oven is too fucking big for it’s spot.  just a quarter of an inch or less to fucking big.  oh, we could have shoved the damn thing into it’s spot but it would just mean trouble in the long run.  we take it back and get our money back then hit the road again looking for another toaster oven. 

we go back to the same stores we had already been to looking for the seats but this time we are looking for a toaster oven, again.  none of the damn things is the right size.  g/f is like maybe we should just go back and get the same model from the first store and just jam it in place.  i say no to that deal.  i’m not walking back in that store to buy the same fucking toaster oven i originally bought, then returned, then go back and buy it again.  jesus, if i were the store i’d call the mental health cops and the real ones as well.

when we finally got home yesterday afternoon around 3pm we still didn’t have a toaster oven.  they are all too damn large.  now the plan is to rearrange shit in the kitchen in order to make room for the larger size.  thankfully, we found 3 possibilities at a store just down the street.  at least no driving all over town again.  or that’s my hope.

the toilet seats? g/f went on line after dinner last night and found just what she was looking for.  she’s buying 3.  one for each throne.  if only the rest of the day had been so easy.


time to go (from the vault)

Posted on Updated on


a re-post from sept of 2007.  it fits the current life i’m leading.  or something.

this one came up yesterday at some point or another between some friends and myself.  to begin with i rarely take my own advice so maybe you shouldn’t either though in this case it might be worth considering.

so how do you know if your girlfriend is a psycho or your boyfriend, ladies, for that matter?  other than them slicing your throat on a moonless night in june in brentwood or gunning you down on the street in brooklyn, it’s more or less a sorta crap shoot.  when is it time to pull the pin on a relationship?  after the restraining order is filed and approved?  ah, probably a bit too late plus the cops have other shit to do.  the dog soldiers in your town are too over worked to baby sit.   

one postulated it was time to leave when she started to babble.  yeah, that’s a good sign.  time to pull up stakes and move on.  my advice was leave after the first, ‘that’s fucked up’, thought crosses through your fried mind.  meaning, if you say that to yourself about your girlfriend in response to something she has done or said, it’s time to bail out.  forget about how great the sex is or she’s a wonderful mother or cook or what the fuck ever.  it’s over.  it’s only going to get worse.  the magic is gone.  as my long dead italian grandmother used to tell me there are plenty of fish in the sea. 

yeah, simple enough words from a simple peasant lady from the old country.  something worthy of consideration.  why let things progress to the point of violence or restraining orders or whatever other insanity you can come up with?  it ain’t worth it.  leave.  go.  bail out.  ditch the plane in the ocean.  find some other sucker, er ah, person.

people do weird shit.  or stay in weird shit.  for the shittiest of reasons.  it makes no sense.  though i suppose to them it makes some sort of bizarre sense.  but bottom line some piece of paper with a judge’s signature on it is not kryptonite to a psycho.  far from it.  it only seems to fan the fire of insanity to greater heights of lunacy and mayhem.

my readers are probably going he’s the wacko.  why leave after one, ‘that’s fucked up’, crosses your mind?  why indeed.  why?  because things will never ever be the same in that relationship.  period.  count on it.  past experience from just another old fuck who’s been kicked around by every she bat in this town…i’m a monkey…man.  tangents and i don’t mean to make light of this.  sorry.

there’s a dead young lady in brooklyn this morning who’s child watched her die on a dirty sidewalk while her mother held her in her dying arms.  sadly, there’s probably a few dozen more all over the country and planet this morning as well, all with similar circumstances and tragic stories.   there’s plenty more fish in the sea.  get out before it’s too late.  when that simple thought, ‘that’s fucked up’, passes through your mind it’s time.  simple enough.  i guess it’s just too hard to do.  too hard or we are just too kind hearted or…


baby, i can still dig you a hole

Posted on

yes, the saga continues.  it was dig a hole for a plant again time today.  it was either today or g/f would have been up at 6am outside fucking digging and doing shit and waking up the neighbors.  of course, they do shit and wake us up at all hours but then i wasn’t raised to be like, um, elvis.  big time drifting. 

one of the original holes i had dug needed to be dug out larger so another try at hydrangea growing could be attempted by my g/f.  the original crop lasted about a month before they were off to met their plant god and the local landfill vishnu.

it was another of those ‘you don’t have to do anything’ deals.  i’ll do it.  i’m like, no, it’s ok, i’ll help or do it.  your knee is bothering you and if you do it, it will take days.  no, no, i can do it.  yeah, whatever. 

so it’s off to wally’s mart for some ‘good soil’ and other shit.  i’m like the prisoner of zenda on these trips.  stuck in some tiger cage while g/f wanders around looking at everything we vaguely might need.  oh, by the way, early shoppers, wally’s mart has their christmas stuff out already.  what the fuck is up with that? 

so we finally make it to the garden area and she wants a 3 cubic ft bag of this soil stuff.  i’m like, ok, it might be too much.  she’s like, that’s ok IF it is i can use it.  the damn bag weighs a good 50 pounds.  plus, it’s nice and awkward and i almost dump the shopping cart while putting the bag on it.  g/f is perplexed that they don’t have hydrangeas.  i tell her that in a month or so they are gonna go dormant.  maybe this isn’t the time of year to plant them.  there’s mumblings about going to the only large nursery left in these parts to score a big hydrangea and it’s over in san gabriel. 

we get back and i start the hole.  for new readers i can dig a hole.  no crappy cone shaped pieces of shit but a nice clean proper hole with straight sides.  i don’t fuck around.  holes are not something to be trifled with, no sir.  of course for this go round there are more tree roots because this hole must be bigger and there’s a tree a foot away from the damn hole.  i’m digging and she’s taking the spoils and dumping them willy nilly around some other bushes.  the hole is not big enough is the word from her.  so i make it bigger.  i finally talk her into accepting the size of the hole that i’ve excavated. 

the hole is so damn big the 3 cu ft bag of soil is not enough to fill the fucker up.  nope.  so now we have to bring some of the ‘crappy’ soil back to mix with the ‘non crappy’ soil just so the hole will be filled in or up, as the case may be.  yeah, well, of course, let’s do shit twice.  plus the added bonus of no rocks.  period.  allowed in the hole.  sweet mother of buddha, grant me peace.  i’m working like a madman and g/f says she’s tired and wanders off after she says put the bricks  for the border like this. 

i start on that and find i need the limb loppers to cut a root.  i turn around and all the tools are gone save for the pick i’ve been using.  she’s picked everything up and has gone inside for a nice iced drink of cranberry juice.  i get the loppers and tell her we aren’t done yet and come back outside.  i know the brick border thingy will need to pass inspection.  if it isn’t right i want to fix it now rather than say, 7pm this evening when she wanders outside and sees that it isn’t what she wants. 

everything passed inspection.  thankfully.  even though i’m very good at it i’m really tired of digging holes.  it’s just not fun anymore.  sadly, even the old zen like hole digging trance didn’t kick in today.  guess i’m getting old or something. 


forget me not(?) pt 2

Posted on

these are some photos a friend sent me after my first blog of this title.  i thought i’d just stick them up here for everyone to see and maybe think about the endless




 that aren’t ever going away and the wars to come.  

it’s just one of those life deals we are all stuck with.  you can piss bitch and moan all you want.  there’s one thing though, shit ain’t gonna change, ever.

count on it.



This picture, taken at a Memorial Day ceremony, reflects the changing faces of American's veterans. (L to R) John Finn served in the Civil  War; John Raeulin was a veteran of the Spanish-American War; and William Giering was a veteran of World War I.

This picture, taken at a Memorial Day ceremony, reflects the changing 
faces of  American veterans. (L to R) John Finn served in the Civil 
War; John Raeulin was a veteran of the Spanish-American War; and 
William Giering was a veteran of World War I.

         the above photo, if i’m not mistaken, is of some civil war vets, a crusty bunch of guys for sure.  i think it’s a great photo.




forget me not(?)

Posted on

not sure where this one is going today.  i had an idea for something or another about lost love and stuff that i’d been thinking about since i read another person’s blog yesterday but today is 9/11 day and i got this disturbing email from a friend about cnn.com and they were saying today we should all just forget about 9/11 and get on with things or words to that effect.  the cnn thing is probably true.  it wouldn’t surprise me.  yes, there’s one hell of a run on sentence up there but i’m not fixing it.

how does one forget the past?  like the saying goes if we forget the past we are more or less condemned to repeat the whole deal over and over.  can we ever forget some old love?  how can one forget some old love that was lost during some past event in our collective history?  say, someone who was killed during 9/11.  someone you loved.  it would be absurd to ask that person to just forget 9/11 and that lost love and just get on with it.  it might not be a bad idea but everyone is different despite being the same. 

to ask or tell someone to get over something traumatic is being callus or cruel.  just my opinion.  i’ve known relatives and friends that have lost children.  it’s something they never get over.  perhaps they should get some professional help in dealing with the loss but that’s up to them not you or me.  i doubt it would help any way.  just another opinion.   yes, gracie jane, i know.  

my parents aren’t going to forget 12/7, ever.  not gonna happen.  i’m not either.  it has been so en grained into my being since childhood.  i don’t want to forget that ‘day of infamy’.  was mrs. crockett supposed to forget davey and the alamo?  even if she remarried i’m very certain she never forgot either of them. 

i’m never going to forget my first true love.  how can i ever forget a hot summer evening or cold winter night locked in youths lustful embrace while the car radio played herman’s hermits ‘there’s a kind of a hush’?  ain’t gonna happen.  i certainly don’t want it to happen.  at times i also imagine if i had not set her free we might still be together.  doubtful but not impossible.  how can i forget pretty much any past girlfriend?  i can’t.

how can i forget my ex-wife?  i can’t.  i haven’t seen or heard from her in at least 25 years.  hell, she might even be dead.  i still think fondly of her at odd various times.  that whole marriage debacle was all my fault.  pure and simple. i can’t forget it.  

i can’t forget vietnam either.  i don’t want to.  just like my father can’t forget ww2.  he doesn’t want to and can’t as well. 

most of us move on in our lives after whatever hardships get tossed in our face.  the spouse that leaves.  the child that dies.  the mother or father that die.  the husband or wife that die horribly in some catastrophic national nightmare, disaster, or some accident caused by some fool on the road.  or being a part of one of the seemingly endless wars.  we move on but we won’t ever forget.  some move on better than others.  you may not like that but it’s what it is.  some people handle shit better.

you can not stand on some soapbox and tell us to move on and get past 9/11.  it might be your right to say whatever you please about 9/11 but thankfully forgetting about it isn’t going to happen.   it’s pretentious drivel to even bring it up.  you may not like it’s aftermath and yet another endless war. however, forgetting about 9/11 won’t change anything.

remember the alamo. 


magnetic overdrive(?)

Posted on

it happened again this morning.  the usual shit of my usual daily life these days.  i went to starbucks to grab a cup of joe for my drive into the dreaded inland empire this morning.  a planned quick trip in order to slip into the slip stream of morning bound west traffic for my ride back here in hopes of missing the mad crush of commuters.  amazingly that deal sorta worked out.  but that’s not the fucking point.  or why i’m here.

the fucking point is, starbucks.  well, not them so much, but the dim witted assholes who just go in the place, or any other place for that matter, to clog shit up.  they stand there in line hemming and hawing then finally want some damn thing or another that juan valdez never dreamed of even in a peruvian flake, with a bottle of mescal added, induced nightmare.  some one sent me george carlin’s new rules for the 21st century or something, several months back.  the douch bags in a coffee line are right up there on top of the list.  it’s a coffee shop for crying out loud.  order a fucking cup of joe and get the fuck out of the damn way.  yes, maybe i drink too much of the stuff but what the fuck?  i don’t know.  that’s another drift for another time.

there’s always one of the line cloggers there doing what they do best.  clogging stuff up.  this morning’s version was the gold standard of line clogging.  two young, fairly good looking, well dressed,  but borderline gross fat mexican babes.  they may have even been sisters.  i don’t know.  they looked related.  they are yammering away enjoying being off in the neverland of line clogging like they were the only assholes in the store.  it takes several minutes for them to decide just what sort of concoction they want.  one asks the other if she wants something to eat.  amazingly she says, no.  then a few seconds later it dawns on her she may starve to death today so she wanders over to look at the food selection.  she finally finds something she wants after picking everything up in the refrigerated display area.  all the while the line is getting longer and cloggier.  at this point the other one, who is paying for the stuff, realizes she left her purse in the car.  sweet mother of god, girl, how in buddha’s name did you make it this far in life without someone strangling you?   of course that really throws the time warp continuum into a dither of mind boggling line clogging.  the starbucks guy can’t open the other register to at least move the line along while ms fatone is off looking for her wallet.  i’m the next person in line.  the dude looks at me and says, ‘sorry, it’s going to be a few more minutes.’  my reply was, ‘fuck this.’  then i left.

i didn’t get my extra jolt of joe this morning.  maybe i should just make more here instead of going out and putting up with the vapid line cloggers.  doesn’t matter though.  whenever i do go out i’m always in the wrong line or the wrong some damn thing or another.  it always seems to be just another asshole magnet day.