Nickels...and what the mean to me.

AH! SUMMER! it's here. Now. It's official. We on the eastern seaboard, have been suffering from a long hard Winter that was followed by a cold Spring. A big tease of a Spring with a couple of glorious warm days followed by a BUSHEL of freaking cold dark days. Ugh. (with the tongue out for emphasis.) I hated it. It was terrible.

Then something wonderful happened. A heat wave. A humid and sticky, super hot, heat wave. This was something WONDERFUL. Wonderful, that is, If you do what I do when Summer breaks. I girl watch. I ogle. I stare. But not the creepy, WHO-IS-THIS-LOSER! Stare, more like...OH-GOD!-SOMEONE-CALLA-COP-OH-NEVERMIND-I-HAVE-MY-TASER, kind of stare. Surprised? Have you been reading this thing? At all? Ever?

What did you think I was going to say? Garden? OH my flowers! Help them from this cold, unfeeling and dark Spring! Yah. Um..I don't do that. Sorry. I Lear. Yep. That's me. Call me King.

So. Back to the Heat wave. It was HOT. CAPITAL H, O and T. MAN! I was drenched from head to foot in sweat. I was finding it hard to breathe. The humidity was like God's finger on my head, pushing it down. down. Down to the ground. So oppressive. Daring me to walk, talk, lift my hands. Anything that involved movement. When I did move. OH! The sweat! I leaked liked a like a frat party after the 3rd keg.

The Sun was all about trying to break me, like a twig over it's knee. It even called me Twiggy! But was I bowed? Was I broken? I was smiling, because they had been released. They had emerged... Escaped!

They? They Who? Who They? Do I know them? Of course you do, Friend! Why, the "THEY" I speak about are Breasts, of course. It was hot and they had had enough of the tyranny of the clothes that binded them, held them down and hid them deep within. They wanted out and they got it. They where out and about. In the tank tops, with the spaghetti straps, the halters, the baby dolls with the lace trim, sometimes even tube tops, who brought those back cause I want to give that person kiss on the mouth. They sprang forth, fully molded and springy, with words slapped across them, with thin and satiny materials straining against them, staring at you in the face. Letting you know, exclaiming to the heavens; TITS ROCK!


Then reality set in and my beautiful and altogether far-too-sexy-for-the-room wife smacked me in the back of the head. "Dude... Stop looking at that. They will catch you staring. Instead, look at the ones on the blonde by the kiosk! She's rocking it for two!"

And she was right. The Blonde had a pair and a half. Kind of like to monkeys fighting over a banana under her top. "Thanks, babe!" I said, "I owe you a nickel."

We have come a long way BABY! That's where the nickel thing comes from.
And here is how it works. When you see a chick ( woman, mama, female, whatever you and the friend you're with call the ladies) walk by with a nice set, (rack, melons, cassabas, fun bags, v2's, u2's, fun pillows, wahevah!) you say to the person with you, "You owe me a nickel." Why? Oh the why's, so many.

Why do we do anything? If I were to tell you that it's not for anything else than to acknowledge that a nice bunch of rack of rack went by without pissing anyone off or making it extremely obvious that you are a couple of stinking pigs, would that be enough. I mean you are a bunch of stinking man pigs...But why do you have to out yourself in public and all?

Also, clarification time. For all you people that are just all MAN-THIS-GUY-WHAT'S-HIS-PROBLEM-WOMEN-AREN'T-OBJECTS-BLAHH-BLAHHH-BLAHHHHHHH!

Yah well you're wrong. Women are objects. Objects of beauty. Just like you Women like to stare a nice bunch of abs or a sterling pair of liquid blue eyes that you can swim in or a great big round set of biceps, so do men except replace all that with breasts.

It's not a size thing either....Damn you! Size queens! YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE! They don't have be big to be the stars of that show. Just, and I cant stress this enough, In a word, wonderful! And you ladies know what I'm talking about. Full, pert, round, happy fellows that make a point. Actually, usually two points. Depending on how cold it is. HOORAY FOR AIR CONDITIONING! I gotta kiss that inventor too.

So rock them! Rock them hard! You have so little time to show your amazing wares. Faunt them, and let them fly in the face of the public eye! Let us bask in the glow of those golden yabbos, press those chocolate marshmallows against the slight and flimsy fabric of conformity, let those butterscotch bon-bons flare proudly and boldly! It's okay! We can take it!

OH YEAH! SUMMER! IT'S HERE AND IT WONT BE IGNORED! Neither will those Nickels....

CURSES! BASEBALL AGAIN!

This is a Baseball thing that i have been working on and off on for a while. I know it's weeks away from Pitchers and Catchers but what the hell, I might have a Football one ready in May.

You know what's great about Baseball, I mean what's really the best?
It's not the stats or the plays! WHO CARES! what makes Baseball the best sport is the CURSES!

OH MY GOD! THE CURSES!

Curses make the game. Curses make the terribly god awful boringest game in the word, bareable. because somewhere in the back of your mind your wondering, "Hey, is today one of those days when the CURSE is in play?"

'Cause the CURSE must be in play. It's not on all the time, just when its important.

Like the Boston Red Sox. THE BOSOX if you will, they couldn't EVER win ANYTHING, EVER. Why? Could it be, THE CURSE! The Red socks have a good one. It's called the Curse of the Bambino or the Babe's Curse. The "Babe" in this instance is Babe Ruth. Some would call him the greatest Baseball player that ever lived. The Babe was a pitcher for the Boston Red Sox when he was traded to the Yankees. This happened way back, when Baseball, was BASEBALL and there was no TV.

The New York Yankees, who where pissing me off then too and I wasn't even born yet, decieded that Babe, if that was his real name, might make a better hitter. I don't know, I know it sounds crazy, lets give it try. HERE BABE HIT THIS FAST BALL! WOW, its outta the park! Wait till the guys in BOSTON here about this!

But they already did... cause BABE said they sucked for trading him and he cursed those bums never to win an world series and they haven't SINCE!

IT'S A CURSE! THEY ARE CURSED! Well they where. Some curses can be broken, in our lifetimes even.

Sure, some are broken, and some, some circle around like a Great White, waiting for a chance to tear a season's leg off and drag it down into the deep dark waters.

The Cubs play great all year long. Last month of the season. It's like every player has turned into a GOAT or something! What's that about? THEY HAVE IT IN THE BAG! ALL YEAR LONG... TERRIFIC. The infield is catching outfiled fly balls cause they can FLY! Pitchers are stopping the ball in midair and moving them with there minds. TELEKINITIC STRIKE OUTS! PEOPLE! WITH THIER MINDS!

Then playoff season is around the bend and it all goes to hell! Why?

IT'S THE CURSE! THEY ARE CURSED!

Cub fans know who the Goat is, thats right, THE GOAT. That's the Cub Curse. The Goat. It goes something like this, Man goes into Wrigley Field with his Goat friend. He is then proceeded to be thrown out on his ass, Goat and all. There is a strict "No Goat, Dammit" policy. "Won't let me have a pleasant afternoon out with my Goat, will they?", thought the Man." I shall show them!" Not to embelish, but there might have been a hand gesture, and the Man then Cursed the Cubs.

The Goat thing is something that I find hilarious because its the 21st Century. I know, still no Flying cars, that is disapointing. Yet, technology has advanced to the point where you can make a call from the airport and schedule pizza to be delivered to the Hotel that you will be staying at before your plane leaves the tarmack!

BEFORE THE PLANE LEAVES THE TARMACK! Don't argue with me... I have done it.

So in this day and age of wonderment and instant pizza delivery, superstition still plays a huge roll, IN BASEBALL!

'Cause the CURSE is REAL and everyone plays it up! COME ON!

Sports annoncers in their booths, all about the taunting of THE CURSE. Egging it on with a simple drop of the, ought to be completely harmless, "You know Bob, player X is doing great tonight! He caught that last fly ball with is teeth, while giving that heart attack victim mouth to mouth. I guess that CURSE is getting a run for its MONEY!"

WRONG! As well we know You never SPEAK ITS NAME! It's like calling a Dog to Dinner! A DEVIL DOG FROM HELL! HERE CURSE! COME AND GET IT! HERE CURSE! and then slapping it in the face with the bloody steak. This is when the Dog tears off your arm and laughs at you while eating it. That's Right! Laughing and eating of your flesh, while laughing.

The announcers always come back from a break with something like this, " Well, Jack, I think you spoke to soon. 'cause the Cubbies just struck out and and the men on 1 and 3 exploded. That's gotta hurt!"

Or even better... THE METS WIN THE WORLD SERIES! Yah i know...It's unbelivable, I think they might be CURSED!

.

INTELLIGENT DESIGN INTELLIGENTSIA

I am completely fine with Religions of any kind. I don't care what you believe in, that being said; Intelligent Design is a complete joke, stop ramming it down my kids throats. Keep Religion out of schools, unless it's a Bible College, ( which is a misnomer by the way! BIBLE COLLEGE? PEOPLE!) Catholic School,Yeshiva or Seminary.

Did you notice that all the schools I mentioned had something in common. Yeah, they were private schools. Not PUBLIC SCHOOLS. PUBLIC SCHOOLS, are for the public, run by localities which use the communities taxed monies to FUND said SCHOOL. GET IT! Therefore, due to the fact that I am a citizen of this great nation that has in it's Constitution, (does anyone remember that? It's the law of the land), a law that says that CHURCH and STATE must be separate, you cannot push JESUS or any other god on my kids in a PUBLIC SCHOOL!

PEOPLE! THE SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE. ITS IN THE CONSTITUTION. WHAT THE HELL!

The Constitution doesn't say. "Oh, you know. That JESUS and his Dad's teachings, they're okay! Let's get the word out!" It also doesn't say. "BUDDHA, BUDDHA, he's our man! If he can't do it NO ONE CAN!"

It says actually, smoking a pipe, like an great clear headed thinking man, that puts his shoes after his pants, one after the other. "If we can learn anything from History, it's that absolute power corrupts absolutely and since Religion was used as a weapon in the past, when connected to any form of government, best to keep that Religion stuff where it belongs in the citizenry homes and places of worship."

So that means, Keep year Jesus to yourself. Please. Thank you. Cause he comes in many different flavors and you might not like my flavor of Jesus, it has coconut as well as the blood of the lamb.

But, Hell...If you want to teach creationism... Sorry! INTELLIGENT DESIGN, then don't stop there, creepy Republican, I mean SIR or Madam, let's teach them all! God's jumping out of heads and the world on a Turtle's back and world sized ovens, and wolves nursing twins and God spitting into a bowl. All of them, I mean one myth is as good as another right?

It's all theories, anyway isn't it? Darwin and his Evolution and Natural Selection, TISH TOSH! Who does he think he is Copernicus? They both have as much proof as the guys that have decided with brows clenched, "Wow, Nature, is SO complex. NO way that it could just HAPPEN... It's Like IMPOSSIBLE. Dude (long pause, air sucking sound in the background.) I think it was GOD. Hear me OUT, BRAH! (coughing, more coughing) He's Adding up the numbers with his giant God calculator. Computing the differences and creating the giant MySQL Database in the heavens from which we are all COMPLIED MAN! C'mon, give me another hit! Don't bogart the doob, I'm communing!"

And before you Damn me to Hell, remember Bob Marley was a frequent communer.

MEET THE NEW BOSS....

Right before Frank Sinatra died, I read or heard a thing on him somewhere, that talked about how he was, for a long time, one of the voices, if not The Voice of an era, and how at the end, when he finally died; When Frank finally kicked that bucket and bought that farm, it would be the end of something that made us, here in the USA, what we are.

I know that sounds kind of dated and old school, in that kind of Greatest Generation talky talk stuff that we, Gen-xer's ( for the love of mike!) have gotten our noses rubbed in for years. But it's kind of true. And It brings me to this thing that I really want to tell you about.

Yah, I am part of that "demo" for which that heinous term was coined. Generation-X. I grew up on the Brady Bunch, I Love Lucy and The Honeymooner's on re-runs and the Six million Dollar Man, Three's Company and MASH in first-run. I watched the Dukes of Hazzard, ALOT. Even thought I thought it was silly Hillbilly crap, and i listened to ALOT of freaking ROCK AND ROLL.

I grew up on Classic Rock, that's what they call it now. Pink Floyd, Led Zep, Kansas, Queen. That stuff. I looked forward to the Rolling Stones going on tour cause that would mean that a new album was coming. I loved the Beatles and was sad when john was killed.

The funny thing was, that even thought I loved that stuff, I was sheltered from the rest of it. I didn't know about the "NEW WAVE" until after it had been hitting for a while and when someone turned me on to "PUNK", I was almost offended, but got over it pretty quickly after the third time I heard anything by the Sex Pistols, and they were broken up and parts of them where dead by then. The Hair Bands came and went and when Alternative hit, I think i lost a tooth and then it was gone, and now although, there are still some solid acts out there, that's it, some solid acts. But no real future. Unless you think Bowling for Soup has a future.

Walking home, about a week ago, I caught sight of something terrible. it hit me like shot to the gut, it was kid. He was just coming out of that awkward, bad facial hair, arms-to-long-for-torso, part of adolescence. He need a hair cut and he was wearing a t-shirt that said, in big letters, ROCK IS DEAD. LONG LIVE THE RAPPER AND THE DJ.

Now, this is some mighty bold talk. I mean ROCK? DEAD? WHA? What is this kid wanting an ass kicking? Or at least a shaving? How can anyone, ever, say that, or at least put it on a T-shirt? I mean, how pedestrian. Except. Kid's right.

ROCK N' ROLL, the Juggernaught that challenged the way we think of everything ever in America. From Elvis' swaying hips to Jim Morrison's hog exposure to Neil Young Rocking the Free World. Rock, that was the Voice of a Generation. and again in capital letters. WAS. Rock is OLD SCHOOL now. It's an old sound, it's that old song... again. Can anyone hear the laughter?

I can hear you rallying around that flag and yelling FOR THOSE ABOUT TO ROCK! but that army, she just ain't what she used to be. Rock, was fueled by rebellion, hate, anger, lust and apathy, all the things that young people live on cause they got nothing else. Well, it's fueled by money, now. I don't want to see the Stones tour anymore, cause that means there's a new album coming.

But the New Boss! He's the same as the OLD BOSS! MAN! Yah he is. Rap is run on money, but I knows it. It relishes it and it's fed by rebellion, hate, anger, lust, and apathy as well, but it doesn't wear that "Ha-Ha Jokes on the kids" smugness that Rock wears today. The Stones are in the same boat as their fan's. We can make the MICK IS OLD joke as much as we'd like but guess what? Joke's on you cause you are getting old too, and what's more, you gotta see them one last time, like when we were kids. How does that feel? Well, let me tell you how it feels. like it's the end of something... something that made us what we were, here in the USA.

WHY ADVICE COLUMNS ARE GREAT...

There are people out there that are completely lost. Adrift in a black sea, clutching a the shrinking inner tube of their own delusions while the dark sharks cut the water, swimming ever closer, big teeth of doubt and insecurity flashing in the waxy moonlight.

Scary...I know! Almost as disturbing as the last few seconds of any episode of "LOST" or "Will and Grace". But there is hope for these poor tortured souls. There's a beam of light that cracks that darkness open. A tether-line striking out of the mist and pulling them in to a safe, bright, calm harbor. Who are these guardsmen? Why are they alone willing to dredge the Dark Sea of Doubt and risk life, limb and maybe carpal-tunnel syndrome in this all out dangerous gambit to help their fellow man?

WHO? WHY? WHEN? You ask a lot of questions, man! Yeshhhh! I thought I was a curious! But cower not in the cold, wet darkness of your own ignorance. Come out and behold this place of enlightenment and learn of where you and every dumb, sad, silly paly of yourn can get their answers to questions that can break the strongest of souls. Yes! In the distance. On that rock. Over to your right! No, your other right...YES! There they are! Our intrepid super-friends, THE ADVICE COLUMNISTS!

Okay stop choking. That's where I was always headed. Yah, of course I mean it. And this is why. When the average Joe or Jolean has a problem with their Mother-In law, Lover, Postman, Neighbor, Dog-walker, Cleaners, Automobile and or Mechanic, Hardware store ETC. First they ask what to do from their best-friends.

Well, you know what happens. They don't know, anything. EVER. Cause they are as stupidly bumbling as the person asking the question. So thwarted, plan B is broached. And after asking a couple of people that are considered friends, although not in the "best" category, the same question and getting the same blank-look and/or headshake followed by the same wide-eyed wonder you get from a primate at the zoo when you tie your shoe, it's time to go to the experts.

It's time to fire up the Word Processor or whateveah-berry or java enabled webphone or brick-though-a-window-withanoteonit device, whatever it is that you people use to send electronic mail now-a-days and shoot that missive to the people with the answers.

The only people in the world that will not only give a answer to why you suck...But what to do about the sucking and how to make sure you never suck again!

Amazing! Wondrous! The non-sucking. Oh the joy, how it pops and oozes from every pore.

Wait a minute! I'm not a loser! I can answer my own questions! I have been known to fix my own problems on my own. Damn it. I have a lawn mower, A LAWN MOWER! I change my own damn oil, My lover has sighed with fabulous exhaustion, I have been know to talk to my and my neighbor's in-laws in a very civil tongue and know a hammer from a haircut. Also I pay my bills on-line and matched up my Dog-walker and Postman, and they have been together for 11 weeks. 11 bliss filled weeks! So there. Tongue out and fungus exposed.

Okay. I got it handsome. Sure, that fungus isn't eating everything in your mouth and lying eggs in your stomach and there are people like you that are human hatcheries for space viruses and can figure out when to use the rotary saw and when to use the vibrator and there are people out there that have to ask questions like...

Will wearing a Male chastity belt often...A lot...More than you can ever think.. Hurt my chances for future erections?

When at a wedding, is it polite to fight with the groom and or various groom's men and the father of the bride to make a point about a recent sporting event. I wasn't drunk, not by a long shot, but my lawyer says I should say I was.

When turning left at intersection where only right turns are permitted...Should I signal?

At the neighbors daughter's graduation party, Is it advisable to hit on lady of the house, then later, the honored daughter and then proposition both, commenting that the hot tub isn't the only thing hot around here. Woof Woof? ( that barking sound is included.)

Could a person be considered Gay while not IN LOVE,(unrequited as it is) so to speak with a friend of the same sex, wouldn't mind jumping headlong into said friends pants for a well earned week of R and R? Yah his girlfriend could watch. BUT NO TOUCHING. THAT MANWICH IS MINE!


Yah! I know all of you have asked anyone of these questions. And the last one maybe twice by some of you. Advice columnist have the tools, forged in the very heart of heaven to smash the answers down on those pesky questions. Crushing them, bringing them low.

So put your pants on. Get outta that bathroom and off the phone. Those friends of yours, they cant help you. They are dumb, just like you. Some...Dumber. Finally write that letter to Dear Abby, Ann Landers, Dan Savage, Elvis Presley, Bob Ubanks, and Axel Rose. Ask them that question, on that thing that stops you from being the best thing since sliced bread. Get your answers! You deserve it.

VALENTINE'S DAY AND HAND RENTAL

So, Valentine's Day has come and gone, and that means that NOVELITY STORES (read adult book stores) have made a killing, mostly on things that partners would never buy each other over the course of the time they're together. EVER. Because these NOVELITIES (read dildos and what not) are too embarrassing to give to a loved one. I mean. What would they think of you? Oh my, A 9 inch pink dildo? A fuzzy pair of handcuffs? Ben Wah balls? What the hell is she going to do with those? Hey, I know what it says on the box and she doesn’t like me to use words like "carefully" and "insert" in the same sentence, and "lubricate" is right out.

Valentine's Day frees one from the worry of being considered too freaky. Everyone is game on V-DAY. Everyone is wild and more explorative than Cortez in Florida. Cause that double-headed 18-inch black dildo is going to be used. At least once. I mean there are two of us aren't there? HELL! Everyone is game on Valentine's Day! Saint Valentine's Day. It's named for a Saint. Your putting that Dildo where the sun don't shine on a Day named for a Saint. Think about that for a minute. Yah. Wash those hands boys and girls.

This is to laugh. I think people should embrace those darker parts of they’re psyche. The parts that make them want to wear the short skirt, fishnets and heels while the girlfriend is in the sailor suit on shore leave and about to ship out for 6 months. Why? Dress-up was fun when you were a kid and now, with the optional, (but always expected) happy ending, its just plain killer! Kink is entertaining, ‘cause variety is the spice of life. Life is too short, you have it and then it's gone, and as long as no one gets hurt the paddle should be used, she’s been a bad girl. SHE SO HAS!

This bring's to an Idea that I have been kickin' around for a while. HAND RENTAL. Hand Rental, you say, eyebrow perked up, Spock pose. No. Not Hand Rental. HAND RENTAL. I RENT HANDS. MINE. HAVE HANDS WILL TRAVEL. For what? What's the purpose? Most people have hands, why do they need yours?

Well some hands are willing to do things that other hands wouldn't care to do. Some hands are willing to get dirty. Down and Dirty. That's right. With BIG Double D's. I'm talking about able bodied, hard working hands. Sometimes with TOOLS, sometimes without. I have my own tools but will be happy to rock and sock it with yours, clean sets only please. Hands willing to get the job done. Ready to get Medieval on some ASS. And when I say ASS, I mean behinds. Butts, the BUDONOCKADONK, you catch my wave playa?

That's right. I'm laying the spankth down! 'Cause that's my thing. I'm bringing the (moderate) Pain to a behind near you. The rates? Modest. The time? Adjusted to your schedule. The pleasure? All mine, baby. You should give me call. We will talk. Ladies only need apply. OH YEAH....

Yep. Hope you had a happy one, 'till next time.

Next up - Advise Columns

IN THE BEGINNING...

This Blog was going to be called "Musings by the tumtum tree". Yah, that was taken.

Instead we will go with the frustrated shout of DAMN THE BANDERSNATCH! Why not? It's as Lewis Carroll as it can get. Or is that Lewis Carrollish.. deadauthor_like? I, of course, digress.

Deadauthor_like, I think that will be my new email name. Anyway... Well, the problem doctor is... It's like this, I muse. I muse alot. I muse. I joke. I jest. I cojole. I talk a great deal, mostly outloud. and mostly as loud as my petite frame ( HA!) would bare. There I have an expounding problem. There I said it. Now on to the first of the twelve steps.

After years of hearing about blogs and bloggers hearing the call to blog, and realizing that the last big MEGA TREND that I could thnk of involved people putting on special shoes and running or as they called it in the 70's, JOGGING. See the amazing Irony yet? Similar sounding trends. One about motion and a expression of physicallty and the other a sedimentary study in stillness, except of course for the typing. OH KAY! WIth me now. Follow. Because we are the FATTEST NATION in the world. FATTER than you can imagine. You know that Guy at the amusement park that is so fat you can't believe that they could make a car big enough to bring him there and feel sorry for the person who sat next to him on the bus, in the ninety degree weather, if there wasn't. And then you find out that he was the guy in the Mini...with the person that could be his Mother but might be his Girlfriend...THAT GUY! That is AMERICA, and everyone else waiting for the BATMAN RIDE is the rest of the world. Just to help put it in perspective. The non-movement is one of the things that everyone is doing and Boy! is it Hot! Finger to my butt making the expected shusshing sounds though the teeth. Always through the teeth, people!

Anyway. I though i should try my hand at it. I'm a frustrated writer. But I want to write. About stuff. This isn't a journal or a political rant, althought there are times it might turn into both. I'm just going to tell ya stuff. Open the floodgates of the mind, if you will.

With that said. Lets take a trip and see where it goes.

Next up. Hand Rental and Advice Columns