The things you do

God, it's me, praying...

Dear Lord Sweet Jesus,

Hi, it's me again. I know I usually only bother you when I am getting STD tests, but this time it's something really important. See god, as I am sure you and Santa are very aware, Barack Obama is a terrible president, well over 100 percent of the people who watch Fox News hate him, so he has to be unelected or something. Now, if you are not busy killing people with plagues and stuff, maybe you have noticed that the republicans have decided to run a bunch of idiots, slackers and retards to possibly get the chance to run in an election against a sitting president. No, lord sweet jesus god, none of the republicans could even beat the great satan fron Kenya. So I am asking you Lord, please hear my prayer, and view the video below with being snarky, grab Saint Sarah by the super sexy ear and whisper ever so quietly, "run Sarah, Run..."

A very tough day

My good friend Dominatrix Becky stopped over this morning.

We had coffee.

She is elegant in a very subtle way.

The dark circles under her eyes suggested a troubled night.

I asked how things were at home.

She talked about a hockey game.

As I sipped my coffee she glared at me with an intensity that was astonishing.

Yes? I said.

I Like these cups she responded.

Yes, I said, they are nice.

Then she punched me upside the head.

As I fell to the side, she kicked me in the balls.

She refilled her cup of coffee and left.

Painting reminder - as if

For a while, at some point, I worked in public radio, excuse me, Public Radio.

I learned many things, but the most important thing I learned was never drink out of Linda Wertheimers coffee cup, that bitch is a stone cold alcoholic and her coffee is way spiked.

That may not have been the most important thing I learned. During pledge drives, those monotonous weekly money grubbing fests where everyone was required to beg for money, we all had to learn how to beg. It was fun. That was what I learned. If you loved what you were doing, begging was not begging, it was fun.

So I am trying to sell some paintings to fun some important projects. These are almost all new works, there are some older paintings that are holding up well mixed in. If you click here you can check them out. I will keep posting these links and messages, because if there were two things I learned from public radio, drink your own coffee and don't be afraid to ask people to support you if you are doing good things.

Another one bites the dust

Herman and the bimbos

Dear Herman Cain,

Stop it. Just stop it now.

Look, I will give you a little bit of advice, although I am a big supporter of Jasper Flem (current leader of all republican candidates running for president) but if Cain has any chance of staying in the race (he does not) then he has to man up.

Herman, here is my advice to you, admit everything. Americans really like men who like women. You know that sexy smile you used in that strange online commercial you made? Show us that smile and say, "damn right I had some sex with that bimbo, and that one and that one too. Might even sex up that one right over there, no not that one, the one next to her, oh hell, both of them are starting to look pretty damn good."

See how easy that was Herman? Guess what? You start telling the truth, Americans will start supporting you, because Americans do not like the truth, don't get me wrong, Americans like men who like to have sex with lots of women, well, that too is not true, what Americans like is politicians who have had sex with lots and lots of women. That much is true, we love our politicians and Supreme Court justices who have sex with a variety of women. It's part of our moral fabric.

Even now, every day another 90 year old woman comes forward and describes in detail how she had sex with John F. Kennedy (I am still not sure what the F stands for) and every time one of these old women comes forward, Kennedy jumps just a little bit higher in the esteem of Americans. I am not sure why, because quite honestly this is a country completely freaked out about sex. We use sex to sell everything from beer to software, thank you very much Wet Panties Microsoft, but when it comes to actual sexy times, we freak the fuck out and hate people who are actually sexual humans doing sexual things. Speaking of which, I was recently diagnosed with the new STD so I am being treated for a Kardashian on my Letterman, but it should heal.

You know who else is kind of a popular former president? Blow job Bill Clinton. Strange right? I can't even remember the president before the current president, although I think his name was a euphemism for female pubic hair, but the former president I do remember is the one who engaged in sexual relations with "that" woman. Why is that I wonder. Does not matter, except that if Herman Cain wants to be known for anything more than a pizza salesman with a lust for heavy set homely women, he may want to step out of the closet and admit it.

Free advice is usually worth about as much as you pay for it Herman. Good luck. Flem, 2012.

Tupelo Becky

I just came across a pair of panties that I am sure do not belong to me, since I do not wear women's panties, ever. Seriously, I do not ever wear women's panties. That much I know.

Recently my friend Tupelo Becky had been staying with me. She has a background in both dance and drinking, so these very well could be her panties, because when she is around and the whiskey is flowing, as it was, her panties seem to take on a life of their own. Finding Tupelo Becky's panties got me thinking, there are a lot of things that are around this house that seem to have been left behind, things that have a history, but it is a history that is as foreign to me as these panties of unknown origin.

In a drawer in the desk in my studio is a cache of letters written by men I have never met, to a drunk I no longer know. They are angry letters, letters of deep betrayal, sad letters, heartbreak and tears. I threw them away this morning as I did this cleansing of things left behind, but it made me think, why have people left these tokens from their life to become part of mine? I wonder what I have left in my wake in the lives of others. I guess I could make some phone calls, but I imagine my call to people would be as welcome as the calls I would receive from people like the long lost drunk, although a call from Tupelo Becky is always welcome.

Me: Hello.

Becky: What time is it?

Me: Depends, where are you?

Becky: Tupelo.

Me: Probably around noon.

Becky: You're wakin' me up.

Me: I'd imagine.

Becky: And you are callin' me cause?

Me: Did you leave your undies in my room?

Becky: Do they look like mine?

Me: Probably.

Becky: Then they're probably mine. You can keep 'em, I have more.

Me: I'd imagine you do.

Becky: That's not why you called.

Me: Is too.

Then she hung up. Which is probably for the best.

I am not going to call the other people who have left things for me to remove and distribute to thrift stores and recycling bins. I do wonder, do the people who leave letters and art work and books and clothing, do they miss these things? Do they wonder what became of their high school yearbook and they tax returns? Do they ever go in search of some trinket or watch or concert ticket and wonder whatever became of it. Maybe in their drugged out life, these things, like everything else, just slipped away, like friendships and relationships and the book of matches they took from the casino in Reno they picked up while driving cross country in 1997. Maybe nothing mattered to the people who leave the tokens from their life to be thrown away. I don't know, and I am not sure I care. Certainly they did not, or I would not be throwing their memories into the trash bin.
.

Cyber Monday

It is just a tiny bit ironic that I have been reading up on Opportunistic Infections this morning all the while my phone keeps alerting me to new messages. I keep avoiding them because the Opportunistic Infections are far more important, I am sure you understand, but I just took a bit of a break to work out and I checked my email and there were about 12 new messages reminding me of all these great deals out there, just waiting for me, because today is, as no surprise to you, Cyber Monday and there is a slew of deals to be had.

Opportunistic Infections, in another form I take it.

Frankly my dear

Lisping and prancing to the end, Bostons Barney Frank is calling it quits and I for one am as happy as anyone can be.

Frank is an embarrassment to all mankind. I say this as both a human and a voter in America. My dislike for the soon to be former congressman from Massachusetts has nothing to do with what Frank does to his boyfriend, it has everything to do with his politics and his inability to be honest. Frank is a disgusting politician in the most disgusting definition of that word. Not too mention that while I was working on a film on the decline of the American economy, Barney Frank avoided my camera like my lesbian dog avoids a bath, which she does quite well thank you very much.

Everything that is wrong with politics in Washington is viewable on Franks face. He has been in congress for 30 years, not because he is a leader, not because he is wise, not because he passes great laws, no because he is able to bring his friends great gifts, which is why the country is sinking, fast. Frank was a leader in the mortgage mess that may end up bankrupting this country. He was instrumental leading to policies that helped people get home mortgages without so much as a credit check.

Soon to be former Congressman Frank will prance off the public stage soon enough and people will quickly forget about him. Good enough, because his days of fixing parking tickets for his former escort lover, his days of lisping press conferences and his long list of strange and hard to understand television interviews will be thrown away like old issues of Esquire Magazine.

Good Day congressman, you will not be missed.

Porn

More headlines that just freak me out. That, and it makes me wonder, are they actually paying people to write these headlines? It seems like this might be the best job ever.

Clergy, Too, Battle Porn Addiction -- Often Alone

Wedding vows

Strangely enough, I have been spending the afternoon writing my wedding vows and a friend sent me this lovely video. Enjoy.

Jealous much?

We accidentally had a bunch of people join us for thanksgiving yesterday, actually that is not true. Plus, we broke some American rules so today we have been sitting here pretending to clean our guns, but in all actuality we are preparing for a visit from the Feds. That is what happens when you do not serve Turkey on thanksgiving. It does, I've seen it on the news.

Anyway, let me get to the key thing for todays post, because I am exhausted from staying out all night, I slept at Best Buy so I could buy me a giant screen TV set. For the past 50 years we have had the same TV set, a small black and white with no picture and very little sound. It only works on Tuesday afternoons and sometimes not even then.

So we had an early dinner, sometime around 11 AM and my daughter and I set our motorhome in front of the entrance at Corn-o-Copia, a store that only sells items made from butter, which makes the name of the store a little misleading and for that, I believe it will soon go out of business. That said, we did not feel guilty parking in front of the stores doors. We recently purchased this 85 foot motorhome on Ebay for 17 dollars from an out of work union worker in Detroit. People are always complaining about the terrible times in Detroit, but you really have to look at the bright side of all things and soon enough, you too will have a brand new 85 foot motorhome all to yourself.

Before we get to the adventure that is America on Black Friday, let me tell you about our dinner. See, this year, unlike last year, it was just me and this girl. Last year it was me and a pilot and some girls. Oh my, that sounds like a porn movie. Last year it was anything but a porn movie, but it did involve a super sexy pilot and some girls and a turkey. This year, a roasted chicken and my youngest daughter, who for the sake of this story we will call Beth. The key aspect of this story, and I am almost done, so put your syringe down for just a second, we made mashed potatoes.

You are thinking, mashed potatoes? Seems like I have had mashed potatoes myself. That may be true, blog reader, but you have never had mashed potatoes this good, because yesterday Beth and I made the best mashed potatoes in the history of mankind. Accidentally.

Here is what happened. I put the roasting chicken in the pot, surrounded it with some pepper and potatoes and sausage and onion. Slid it into the over and every 15 minutes I brushed it with a mixture of butter and garlic. After a couple of hours the chicken was cooked, the potatoes were soft and we pulled the entire mess from the oven. In the meantime, Beth had boiled some potatoes as a way to make her own version of mashed potatoes. While removing the chicken from the roaster, I tasted one of the potatoes that had cooked in the broth of the chicken and it was what I would imagine a coke head tastes the first time they get that first high from cocaine. I believe I screamed out, "Beth, or whatever I am calling you today, put aside those potatoes, I have created something devine."

I had too, by accident. The garlic butter, the onion, the sausage and the potatoes has somehow mixed in perfect harmony into something so perfect, so utterly amazing that we immediately threw away the chicken, the salad, the pork loin and the gold bricks and sat on the floor of the kitchen and ate like starving pigs all the mashed potatoes we could muster. It was sublime.

It was in a series of idiotic words, the best thanksgiving in the history of all thanksgivings.

We left the mess on the floor, drove our outrageously large motorhome to the Corn-o-copia parking lot and parked. Then we fell asleep and woke up about 15 minutes ago, missing all opportunity to purchase any sort of electronic device, from TV sets to yapping battery operated dogs.

Still, we ate what can only be considered the best mashed potatoes in the history of all mankind, something you and all your friends can not say.

Guest blog

Marshmellows - Resa Alboher

There was usually a feeling of lack on Thanksgiving. Being an only child growing up in the San Fernando Valley, with all our relatives back east or in the mid west, Thanksgiving was always just my father, mother and myself. Sometimes a stray friend of my parents would come by—usually immigrant adult students of my father from his English classes whom he would then befriend. At my elementary school, I would listen to my classmates talk about the impending holiday ---we are having 20 people and are getting a 20-pound bird. That’s no biggie at all. We are having 40 people and two 20 pound turkeys and a pheasant too that my dad shot hunting. Abundance and dead birds. I felt lonely at our tiny table with our 7-pound turkey. My mother hated turkey, but would make one for me so I would feel like it was a real Thanksgiving, though she would have preferred to have roast chicken. She would also get a pumpkin pie from Gelson’s market and the jellied cranberry sauce in a can, and melt marshmallows on mashed sweet potatoes. I loved the marshmallows, which reminded me of toasted marshmallows and ghost stories from summer camp. Thanksgiving is a goyisha holiday—my mother didn’t make us a turkey until I was in my teens, my mom would tell me year after year. She told me this story again this morning from her hospital bed I have set up for her in her apartment here in LA where she is suffering the effects of metastatic cancer and small strokes, and for the moment is too weak to get out of bed. But this morning she had good energy, and we drank hot cocoa and watched Thanksgiving news on the television and talked. My mother got the turkey from Mrs. Hecht’s deli downstairs. They were selling them for the first time to the Jews in the neighborhood in Brooklyn. I don’t know what to do with this bird, your grandma Yetta said, but then being such a good cook, she found a way and we ate it. I don’t like turkey though. I really hate it, Resa. So today John and I are roasting a chicken in the oven for her---she loves John’s roasted chicken, stuffed with oranges and lemons. I was a vegetarian for years and still feel weird about holidays centered around dead birds roasting in ovens across America, but anyway, aside from the suffering birds, it is a holiday of gratitude and I am grateful to have this Thanksgiving with my mother. The marshmallows are ready to melt on the mashed sweet potatoes and I am about to go out and pick up a pumpkin pie from Gelsons market like my mother did those years ago, which brings us full circle to my childhood Thanksgivings. My father is gone, but John is here and a wonderful caregiver from the Philippines named Shirley just like my mom. And so it will be yet another small Thanksgiving –just the four of us. I can hear the voices from my classmates of the past---only four people and a five-pound chicken? Well, we have 20 people and many roasting birds. This could be the makings of a ghost story, these children’s voices still in my head after so many decades of weird Thanksgivings living in Russia, but I will save the ghost story for when the marshmallows are sufficiently melted on the sweet potatoes and right now head out to Gelson’s to get that nostalgic pumpkin pie.

Shocking poll

A new Fox News/Libitard Press poll finds Jasper Flem is the new Republican leader for the nomination for president.

"About time," Jasper Flem said while eating a slice of Godfather Pizza and drinking a shot of Vodka. Flem, who made billions polluting the rural lands of Tennessee with toxic chemicals long before the EPA was created by Richard M. Nixon, threw his cowboy hat into the ring many months ago, deciding that if Michelle Bachmann could be considered a serious candidate, then anyone could.

Flem has put out another one of his blistering press releases. That is here.

In other Fox News/Libitard Poll results, the Earth remains flat, God remains good and Obama is a Mooslin.

The start of thanksgiving in Pascovillia

The 1996 war for the long term defeat of communism in the Northwestern Hemisphere of the Southern District of Western Uzebeckyistan where the allied troops soundly defeated the rag tag group of drunks and sodomites who had formed an allegiance bent on the destruction of both capitalism and various college alumni associations.

As history has recorded, the uncivil and moronic people of Uzebeckyistan had held a bozo election. They called it a Bozo election because every 7 years they elected the prime minister, or Bozo of Uzebeckyistan, and the last Bozo election had been declared extremely silly by both the United Nations and Fox News.

With so much at stake, from the vast gold fields of the Fingerbut region, to the diamond headed trout lakes to the south, it seemed when a new Bozo was elected in Uzebeckyistan, the world was watching, at least this time. Then again, with Dancing with the Almost Stars the only other programming available, even TV watching morons were tuning in to the election results from Uzebeckyistan.

Then again when Bozo Bennedict took power in his ruthless ways, no one seemed to care. First, after his wife Ruth had died in a terrible plane crash (she had never piloted a plane before, so the crash was not really a surprise to anyone), he seemed to be much less angry. Then, the night of the annual beheadings, he was watching the world cup in the presidential split level. It was the first time in recent memory that the annual beheading ceremony had been completely unattended.

There are many customs that people find unusual in Pascovillia. At the start of every summer, the men dress is short skirts with nothing underneath and parade around the city streets, drinking cheap vodka and telling sorry stories about their childhood spent on republic farms. Many of the stories involve goats, arugula and cheaply made Chinese shoes. History seems to indicate that the formation of the game of basketball came about from this time, but no one is quite sure how or why.

When the war came, most of the people were worried it might upset the television show, Today in Uzebeckyistan. On that show, a blonde woman once gave birth to a small human-like child. Things like this were now the expected programing and any war would have to be scheduled around the show. Last week the show determined that the only thing people would be willing to watch was a monkey eating lit cigarettes. While this was sublimely entertaining, at some point the chimp itself caught fire, ran to the cameraman, who also caught fire and within 5 minutes the entire studio burned to the ground, leading to the cancellation of the show. No one noticed.

The fact was related to the NATO general in charge of both the invasion and the cleanup. A lot of people do not realize that many invading forces do not factor the cost of cleaning up when they plan a war. That can get very expensive. In fact, one United Nations report suggested that the cost of war could be completely saved if a large plane filled with thousand dollar bills was just crashed into the invading countries capitol. This act alone could save the world billions.

Arugula, cheap shoes and a pound of butter is exactly what people kept adding to the burning thousand dollar bills and they called what the created Meat Loaf. Such is the creative spirit of the people of Pasovillia.

The perfect gift

I did rush the painting website up and running to give people a unique gift idea for the holidays, although on occasion I bitch and complain about holidays. Go figure. I would suggest though, that if you do have someone you love and want to gift with something special and unique, one of these paintings would be kind of fun. Then again, I have a bias.

Click here and check those paintings. There is a link there for emailing questions or payments or something else.

Guest blog - Thanksgiving

What was first established as a holiday celebrating the peace between two

conflicting groups, has now become a day where people look back at all they have to be

thankful for. Everyone has a different tradition but I believe it is safe to say that the

majority of us celebrate this special day with our close, loved ones. It was during a

regular thanksgiving celebration that I really realized the importance of being grateful.

After a week of normal thanksgiving-theme school work, it was the typical

holiday atmosphere that everyone acknowledges but most don’t take the time to reflect

on the real meaning. My father had told us weeks ahead of time that we were going to be

having our thanksgiving dinner with his friends at his café on the infamous Capital Hill.

Everyone showed up on time and soon enough the nostalgic smells and noise of a

festivity were upon us. After saying our prayer of thanks and helping ourselves to a

bountiful dinner, we all sat at the massive table and told small stories that always ended

with someone embarrassed and everyone else laughing. It was during that cheerful time

my sister had noticed a visibly homeless man stumbling up the hill outside of the café.

He sat down on the bench outside, and within minutes he was sleeping. My dad gave

each of us kids the task of collecting portions of the leftover food and putting it in a take

out box. We all gathered around the windows as my dad took the man the box and came

back inside. He quickly woke up and was surprised to find a warm, homemade meal in

front of him. And as he sat alone, eating his thanksgiving meal on that bench, my dad

hugged us and for the first time I truly felt grateful. Grateful to have a loving family,

grateful for all of our close friends, and grateful to have someone to share the holiday with.

The happiest time of the year

A complete stranger stopped me yesterday and said "what's your plan for Turkey Day?"

I must have looked at him like he was speaking Russian, because he repeated it, except he exchanged turkey day with Thanksgiving and all was well. I explained that my tiny little babies have all flown the coop, except one, and she hates me with such passion that we have decided to follow the judges orders and spend all holidays apart.

"Thanksgiving? Is that this week?" I responded to the stranger, because quite honestly, I had no clue. Really, who cares about this holiday anymore? I have been camping out in front of Best Buy for a week now, my internet connect comes via the Starbucks a block away and when there are more than three caffeine heads (that's what me and the other Occupy BestBuy protesters call them, using the WiFi and then we have no service, which is why I have been unable to post incisive and important blog posts for over a month now, that and I broke three of my typing fingers when I was surfing in Southern Malaysia last month while searching for the Loch Ness Monster, found it by the way, not nearly the "monster" everyone talked about. Tasty though.

Where was I? Yes, thanksgiving. Let me tell you this, as a confirmed Native American, and that is true, my ancestors came to America by way of Kansas, so we go way back, and I can tell you, we hold those abuses by the "whiter" men close to our collective hearts. That is why we do not celebrate thanksgiving, it is the white mans holiday. It is the holiday where the white man came and took away our gold, or something like that. That and Valentines Day, god do I hate valentines day. Valentines day, Thanksgiving, Christmas (do not get me started on Christmas). All of these fake holidays, most started by Amazon.Com sometime back in the early 90's to increase sales of Beastie Boy albums back them people sold Albums like cheap bags of weed, speaking of cheap bags of weed, the only way the Occupy BestBuy protesters seem to be able to make money is selling these cheap bags of weed, but because they do not have actual weed, they have been selling some sort of fish food they have been buying in bulk from the Holiday Fish Mart that is next to Best Buy. I have not said anything because they are sharing their profits. In fact, now that I have internet access via the Starbucks machine, and now that I am wired via the Starbucks coffee, I can tell you this, I hate most made up consumerist holidays mostly because they are made up consumerist holidays.

It would not be so bad if this country was not in a giant cesspool of debt and deceit right now. Oh, did you miss the lame attempt by the Super Important Congressional Committee of Incompetent Idiots (SHITHEADS) who were supposed to find ways to cut the debt? Yes, they met for months and at the very last minute, they did what all members of congress are able to do on deadline, nothing. Well, I think they agreed not to burn any flags, which is always good.

This remains a great time to be alive, mostly because the other choices are not so great, death. But look at it this way, my great great grandfather, who was a Native American from Kansas and made his way from the great plains to the west coast via wagon train and could only use dial up to get on the internet never dreamed of flying to the state of Palestine, or even imagined a state of Palestine for that matter and if he did, he would have wondered where the Jews were living, he was that kind of guy, then again, he only had dial up, because he was in a wagon train for gods sake. Now, he is long gone, as are most of my Native American family members, which is why I am spending Thanksgiving with my lesbian lawyer, doing exactly what we did last year, completing a tunnel into the federal reserve and stealing this countries supply of gold bricks. It's the American Way.

This is funny

I can not stop laughing at this headline.

Study Finds - Fox News Viewers Know Less Than People Who Don't Watch Any News

Thanks

I do get asked, via email thank god, how can I view and possibly purchase one or more of the new paintings. Click on the Mergatroid Films logo on the right side of this page and Whammo, you are right there.

Of course, the other email I seem to get quite frequently (twice) is when will the other pages be added. For that response I will allow my attorney Beth Libitard to answer.

"At this time, with what is going on in Syria and the bloody clamp down by the Assad regime, it is both premature and uncomfortable to give details on the future of the Syrian people and the possibilities of a democratic Syria."

I am not sure Attorney Libitard heard the question.

That said, Thanksgiving related guest posts would be fun. If you have something to share, send it along to MADFACTS@YAHOO.COM and it will quite possibly end up here, where the people who comment will comment and demand pics.

The first guest post is right this very moment being edited. That is, in reality, not true. It's actually right over there.

Guest blog?

Have you ever read this blog, or almost any other blog, and thought to yourself, I could do that, with my hands tied behind my back and my brain tied to the floor.

Well, here is what I am thinking.

I have had some fairly interesting Thanksgiving experiences in my life and I started to think I should write about them and then I thought, there are quite a few people who read this blog and my fingers are sore, my memory is faltering, my stories are old and boring, why don't you tell me yours? So guest blog all you want. The subject, Thanksgiving related, that's it. No other regulations, and even that one is not set in stone.


If you want to write something, anything, send it to MADFACTS@YAHOO.COM and I will clean it up, remove anything that will get me sued and publish it right here, next to the naked pictures of my dog and the advertisements for pimple cream.

Tomorrow, already, a guest blog from this girl I know.

Updates

Because I find myself on the road and without any of the photos that are currently for sale, I am posting the one above as a reminded that you can not purchase it, but there are some beautiful paintings that you could be purchasing if you click on the Mergatroid Films logo on the right of this page. Do that now, I can wait.

I hardly ever read the comments, but sometimes other people do and then they tell me about what they read. Two things, if you want to "donate" money to this blog and do not want, or can not afford, a painting, click the donate tab on the right and donate any amount you wish and thank you in advance. That money goes to keeping every aspect of this blog alive, from Beth the obnoxious lawyer to Kitty Enterprises, a completely ilegal operation of slave ships that sails on the hour, every day, 263 days a year.

Comments, as I said, I hardly ever read them, much less comment on them. That said, a few of you bothered to track down and post links to some sketchy sites, and while that was swell and all, it was kind of gross. Let's try to be a little more adult, because if I have to start reading comments, I will probably just get lazy and shut down the whole comment thing.

Carrot cake recipes. This week my only daughter and I made the worlds best carrot cake, I believe I bragged about it somewhere, here, there, somewhere and at some point someone asked me about the recipe. I don't have a recipe. So there.

Now, comment at will.

Not quite Jasper Flem

'RON PAUL' - A Bad Lip Reading SoundBite - watch more funny videos

Henchmen in love

I have enemies, I am not proud to say it.

Recently a henchman from the West Coast, the town of Turbuculosis I believe, or somewhere close, caught my attention at a coffee roaster outside of Seattle. I was there on business, he was there to do me bodily harm. Lucky for me there have been people who hate me for a very long time and many of these people have tried, in a variety of creative ways, to do me harm. So over the years, I have seen many try and even more fail, to beat me, kick me, punch me, shoot me and one, inject me with some sort of evil syrum. A couple have been successful, most have failed miserably and now one has fallen in love with me.

So, there I was in this Seattle coffee roaster shop, getting pissed off because they did not serve tea. I gave up coffee when professor TMI warned me that a man of my age could get prostate cancer from the amount of caffeine I ingest on a daily basis. It is true, from my morning pots of coffee, to the Red Bulls in the mid-morning, to the 5 hour energy drinks that I consumer on the hour, I take in way too much caffeine for a fairly healthy 28 year old man. Which is even made stranger by the fact that I have not been 28 for decades.

I was about to punch the illegal immigrant working behind the counter in the face for not bringing me a tea when I noticed Hector Valenzeula dart into the women's restroom. Hector has tried to beat and or kill me well over 7 times in the last 12 years. One time he pushed me off a slow moving train in India. Another, he stabbed me with a green banana in Bangladesh. When I saw Hector instinctively my left hand reached behind my back, into my belt, looking for my handgun, which of course I did not have with me, since I was traveling and ever since Obama got elected you can no longer carry hand guns onto planes, so there I was, standing in a coffee shop in the outskirts of Seattle, defenseless, with Hector Valenseula less than 37 feet away, in the women's restroom no less.

Which was just starting to dawn on me. Instead of punching the illegal I told him that another illegal had just dashed into the women's restroom and I think he was a known "serial rapist". The frightened clerk grabbed the phone, dialed 9-11 and mouthed the words, "are you sure?" I nodded knowingly, which is one the few things I mastered in my master acting class I took while living in Los Angeles in the mid-90s while living with a stripper named Feliz Unger.

I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat at a table and waited. In about 7 minutes three police cruisers were infront of the building and Hector Valenzeula was in the back seat of one of them, scowling at me like I had hurt his feelings or something. I was actually kind of proud of myself when a petite Latin man with no body hair sat down in the chair opposite from me and looked directly at my face, his smoldering eyes burning right into my very soul. "You must be very proud of yourself right about now," he seemed to whisper is a sultry and seductive tone. He pulled his chair closer to the table and leaned in. "I like the way you handle yourself." He stared at me for an uncomfortable moment. I did not say anything and allowed our eyes to remain enraptured. I am like that, what the hell I think to myself, what's the worse that could happen?

He broke off the stare to look over at the slight woman sitting at the next table, she was reading some fashion magazine and talking on her cellphone. "Scuse me miss, but I am having trouble concertrating while you keep talking." He actually said the word concertrate, which I was pretty sure was on purpose, but she got this tart look on her face, like she was sucking on a lemon, stood up, clutched the magazine to her breast and walked to the opposite side of the shop, all the while continuing her cell conversation.

"I was hired to kill you," he said to me, matter of factly, as a way of introduction.

"Yeah?"

"It's true."

"You and what army?"

"Oh, you a comedian?"

"No. Well, yeah, I guess."

"Seriously?"

"No, I was joking."

"Well, here is my dilema. I had a cousin, Salvador Pinto Salamdifference, he was shot in the finger and he dies. You know who does that to him? You got an idea? Hector Fucking Valenzuela. So, I was standing over there in the corner, thinking about sliding into the backseat of your car and slitting your throat when you come out after you have some coffee, and then I see Hector and all I can think about was how he killed my cousin, I can't think about you no more. See, now all I can do to not kill Hector is knowing there is a video camera above the counter over there, that's why I was gonna kill you in your car, see? So, I can't kill Hector now, but I see him, and then I see him jump in the girls room. Then the police come and you and he, what, you wave to him? And then you blow him a kiss and he all cuffed and shit, and he was spitting and shit? You and Hector, you got a history?"

"No, not really, he's an evil henchman, been hired a couple times to beat me up."

"How come people hire henchmen to beat you up?"

"How come someone hired you to kill me?"

"Oh, yeah, well, I was hired cause you piss someone off."

"Right, see, somehow, innocently enough on my part, I end up pissing people off, or owing the wrong people money, or neglecting to pay a parking ticket, and all of a sudden there are evil henchmen, laying in wait."

"Must be tough."

"You have no idea."

"I can see it in your eyes. Let's get out of here, let me buy you lunch."

"You're not going to kill me?"

"How could I?"

We drove to the wine country of Yakima County and shared a wonderful bottle of Merlot and some great basil and fresh tomato sandwiches. My new friend Antonio ended up dropping me at the airport and wishing me well. Strange how those things work out. Now, at the oddest times, I get these wonderful text messages, wishing me good health and updating me on the trial status of one Hector Valenzeula, apparently facing numerous felony charges in a court on the outskirts of Seattle.

Gun show

I happened into a gun show this weekend, a first for me. As much as I adore and love weapons of all types, I have never spent a lot of time at gun shows because I don't really like the people who love and cherish weapons.

Then again, I had been judging the book by its cover all these years, because this past weekend, there I was, wandering among the gun nuts and the regular plain old zealots and I noticed that they really were not that different from you or I when it came right down to it. I was feckless and zombielike, because for me, this many men in coveralls and faux baseball caps, chewing tobacco and doing their best to be excessively macho? Kinda screamed super gay to me, which is why I developed a new game at the gun show. Mostly because, after a few minutes admiring other mens well oiled guns, I was bored.

Really, when at a gun show, there is not much to do if you are not madly in love with all things big and hard and explosive. Which is why I developed my new game, which I called, "get people at the gun show to say gay things."

I was looking at an older shot gun and this heavy set gentleman with a large belly and an unkempt beard was explaining the virtues of a quick release and a hairpin trigger. I told him I did not understand how the mechanism worked to make the bullet shoot (pretending to be an idiot, I was) and he said I needed to "cock it back." That was enough for me, and I was off to another table.

A nice young man in a Emile Zarchio T-Shirt and custom Zelini shorts was selling people pistol cleaning equipment and he had a little headset on and a small speaker at the edge of his table. I stood right in front of the table and was almost smiling as he said, "so the key is to put a dab of lube on the end of the brush and swirl it as you stick it in the pistols cylinder."

Exactly.

A fat man in a leather jacket asked me if I was interested in a hand gun. What sort of hand gun I asked back and he opened up a brief case. There were three in there, all a little more lethal than the next. I started to put my hand into the briefcase and he pulled away and said, "no touching the merchandise, these jewels are only for serious professionals."

I think I left the gun show a lot happier than when I went in. In fact, I think a lot of people did, but I'd imagine, we all found our happiness from different places.

On the streets in Italy

As many of you know, my dear friend and corrupt sex feind Silvio Berlusconi has quit the Italian people. I know, it shocked me too. This has been a touch year for me. First, my dads favorite poker playing, beer drinking dictator Fidel Castro died, then Egyptian Strongman and my brothers God Father Ho Ho Hosni Mubarak walked away from a lucrative career as both blood thirsty power hungry prick and used car salesman, but also as leader of Egypt, all in about a weeks time and finally, my sisters first boyfriend Mohamar K (da K is for kissing you) Quadaffi up and go himself sodomized and killed.

All in all, I think you can say it's been a bad year for friends of my family.

That said, my daughter has been "studying" in Italy for a few hours and I was able to master some technology and I Skyped her earlier today.

Me: Hey.

Her: Hey.

Me: So I understand the ship of state is rudderless.

Her: Always with the metaphors?

Me: It's early here.

Her: It is, what is it, 4 AM?

Me: Yes it is.

Her: Why are you up so early?

Me: I have not gone to sleep.

Her: Why is that?

Me: I am worried about Silvio.

Her: Seriously? He will be fine.

Me: Not sure about that. Have you seen his glued on hair piece?

Her: I have.

Me: Can you imagine what the mean guys in prison would do to that?

Her: I can.

Me: Well?

Her: What? You want me to share my imagination of what the mean guys in prison would do with the prime ministers hair piece?

Me: I worry about Silvio. All he knows is how to be a leader among men.

Her: Well, he knows the Bunga Bunga too.

Me: That's true. So you think he will land on his feet?

Her: He is like a retarded George Bush on steroids, he has ruined the countries economy that Bush and Cheney could have only dreamed of doing.

Me: Wow. I had no idea. Good for him. Is there a black man he will be able to hand everything to and blame it on?

Her: He will not be so lucky. No, some intellectual economist has taken over, an elder fellow, who will totally mess up with all his talk of markets and balance and debt forgiveness. He'll be run out of Rome in a few weeks time.

He: Will Silvio get his job back?

Her: Doubtful.

Me: Sad really. Silvio is a lot of fun.

Her: So I hear. So I hear.

With that the internet went dead. On my end, not hers, because even while the Italian economy is in shambles and the entire European pie seems to be falling into pieces, on this side of the world, a bird lands on a wire and you lose your internet. Funny how that works.

Linkage

Here is the link to the site for new paintings that are for sale. Right here.


Recently I was talking to a writer friend of mine and she said something about how sometimes she is overwhelmed by the idea that somehow she is so egotistical to think that her thoughts and her words are so important that they need to be put down on paper. Maybe so. Then again, I like the way she writes, so I told her that I like the way she writes.

Many years ago I accidentally sold a couple of paintings out of the back of my car while I was not trying to. I had stopped for groceries and when I came out of the store someone was peering into the back of my station wagon, where I had thrown some new paintings that I wanted to show a friend. The peering person ended up buying a couple of the paintings on the spot. If one thing leads to another, it was right then and there I realized that maybe I could sell some of these paintings. Soon after I set up a website and marketed the hell out it for all I was worth.

It's been along time since I have sold paintings on the internet. Last night I viewed a short film I shot in 2003 with my children as we did a road trip that summer down the coast from Seattle to Southern California. We were driving a beater old VW Bus and we spray painted the name of my website on the side and whenever we stopped we would buy a couple of cans of spray paint and add to the buses design and by the end of the trip the van was a wild moveable feast of colorful delight, and it still worked as an ad for the website. We ended up with hundreds of thousands of visitors and sales of a lot of original art.

What this link brings you to is an attempt to sell this series of paintings to raise the funds of a summer project. We've put together a small little crew to ride across the country next year on bicycles. There is a deeper message that the ride will carry. Over the past few years it seems like the world itself has been in flux, from economic entanglements to massive changes in governments to continued religious fighting. These massive world wide changes seem to swirl above us, sometimes impacting our lives with job losses, or upheaval on governmental levels, and sometimes we are a witness from a distance, but understanding that the change in Egypt is only a few thousand miles away and the freedoms and possibilities demanded by those protesters are the same that are demanded by the people on Wall Street today.

The world is in flux, but so are many in our own worlds. On an individual level I have seen friends and families suffer from both external forces and unfortunate choices and if there is one thing this bicycle ride is going to focus on, it is that search for a healthier life. I June of this year I had one of those moments in a doctors office that leaves you staring at a wall and wondering if you may have pissed off the wrong god. It is a moment like that where you step back for just a second and think to yourself, am I doing the things that matter.

There are other pages under development on the paintings site, pages that describe the ride, pages that detail the filming plan and the motivation, and pages that would allow individuals and groups to join in on a daily basis and ride along as we cross the country in the summer of 2012, an election year in America, a strange time in history and a good time to be on the road.

Paintings

If you glance around on this blog you can see some of the paintings that are now for sale, and if you click the Mergatroid Films logo right there on the right side of this blog you will go to the page and buy yourself one of the paintings.

Tomorrow anyone can, so run, run now and do it.

The funds generated from the sale of these paintings will be used to fund a cycle ride across America in 2012 and a film documenting the ride and the people we meet along the way.

Check the site. Heck you could click the logo on the right and check it and not buy a painting, but what fun it that?

Different/Same

Tomorrow I will begin selling paintings in an effort to raise the funds to pay for a ride across America in the summer of 2012 and film that ride. It will be nothing like the film above, but something like the film above. While I am not an athlete like the people picture above and I am an ailing, unlike the people pictured above, I think the timing is just about perfect to make this jump.

Paintings

The fundraising effort begins Monday, with the plan to sell paintings to raise money to fund a film and a ride across America.

Paintings

Monday the link for purchasing paintings will be live. I know, I too can feel the excitement. I woke this morning to an email, asking more questions that I was able to answer. So here is an attempt.

Selling the paintings is in part a fundraiser to pay for a cycle ride across America in the summer of 2012 to raise awareness to all sorts of health related initiatives that will be linked to the ride, from obesity to traumatic brain injury to safe sex.
There will be a small crew filming the ride and the interaction with people, interviewing and gathering all sorts of amazing interactions.
There will be a site available for other cyclists to sign up and join for one day "join the ride" events along the trip.
This is not part of a larger cause.

This will all be explained in the larger context of the ride/fundraising effort, but starting Monday the paintings themselves kick off the start of the cycle2012 plan. Check back then.

The NewYorkTimes is disgusting me

These are the headlines from this mornings New York Times online. After this morning, I may stop reading the online version.

The Boy Who Became Judy Garland
Blow: Friend With Benefits
After an Early Meltdown, Gingrich Gets a Bump
Guess What It's Time For!
At Penn State, the Institutional Pass
Against the Wall
Power Broker Savors a Victory in San Francisco

Paintings for sale

Monday I will finally be able to share a link to a page of new paintings I will be selling.

This is all part of this bigger health related summer project. In short, raise money selling paintings to fund the summer project.

So please, if you are not a regular blog reading person, come back next week and check the paintings.

Preparing for winter

I found these almost industrial sized clippers in the basement this morning. I find all sorts of interesting things in the basement and this morning I found these clippers. They must be about 24 inches long, with wooden handles and about 8 inch long blades designed for cutting small branches off of shrubs and other small foliage. There are two large bushes that are beginning to grow a bit out of control in the front of our house, so it was happenstance that I happened to find these clippers. I put on a jacket because it is cold and I stepped out the front door, down the worn out stair case, over to the first bush and started clipping away at the over grown branches. "What the fuck are you doing?"

I looked around.

"Seriously, do you know what you are doing? Have you ever trimmed a bush before?"

"I have," I answered, "I worked as a landscaper in Southern California many years ago, I trimmed bushes often."

"Hah. Trimmed bushes in Southern California. That sounds like a title to a porn movie."

"Look, it's cold out here, I just need to hack some of this over grown shit off these bushes and get back inside."

"See, you don't hack at a living thing you fucking moron. You have no clue what you're doing. Go back inside and Google "bush care," and skip the first page because those are all porn links."

"OK, but I'm coming back and I'm going to cut a lot of the excess branches."

"This is a negotiation."

"Whatever." I walked into the warm house, set the clippers on the floor, poured a cup of coffee and Googled bush care. One of the first listings was tips on care of shrubs and bushes. I clicked and it had some very helpful tips on proper trimming techniques for the bush that was overgrowing in my very own front yard. Plus, it was a bush that was kind of back talking me with an attitude. A talking bush, with an attitude. That was even hard for me to accept.

I put a cap on, my jacket, grabbed the clippers and walked outside with purpose. I stepped back to the original bush and started clipping, furiously, taking branches down to the core. The voice, I could hear was yammering, but my clipping was snapping small branches with such belligerence that all I could hear was some sort of white noise. Then again, I am a weak man and I could only keep up the pace for about 20 seconds and I began to slow. Soon enough I could hear the voice, it became very clear.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing? You're a fat idiot in a cheap, badly made parka. Get the fuck outta here. Right now, you get your cheap shoe wearing ass right outta here, right now. You have no clue, now what are you doing with those clippers? Hey now, look here, what the fuck? Hey, you get those mother fucking...Ouch, hey! Stop that right now. My lord, what the hell are you doing with those god danmed clippers? Do you have any idea what you are doing? I swear to god, you are the stupidest human I have ever seen, and let me tell you, I have seen some stupid mother fucking human beings. Will you please, with you please - stop that, oh wait, right there, yeah, do that, yes, right there, what is that, some old stuff? Yeah, right in there, yeah, get up in there, oh yeah, my lord, oh yeah, what is that you keep doing that, clip right up in there, oh momma. Yes. That would be good right there. Yeah."

There was one more cup of coffee in the pot, still hot. I sat at the small table in the kitchen, took a sip, it was some gourmet stuff I picked up at Whole Foods last week. I was just trying to figure out the meaning of the New Yorker cartoon when a wind blew one of the bushes shorn branches right up over the porch and into one of the front windows, breaking the glass, leaving shards of broken mayhem all over the living room floor. Weird.

Hero dog and Stupid cat

I am sure most of you have heard about the dog, since she is now a war hero and everything and she has been featured on PBS. That's right, that was my dog that was on 60 minutes this past weekend. Blown to bits last week in Afghanistan, sniffing a road side bomb, a little too much sniffing if you ask me, but who am I? Now of course, she is a hero. A war hero no less. Sure I'm bitter. I raised her all by myself. Took her out of the pound right on the last day before they were going to have her put to sleep. Let me tell you something about that whole "put them to sleep" thing, they don't really put them to sleep, I asked. No, because I really didn't want her the day I picked her up, I was actually leaving for a trip to Peru, not the South American country, but the small Southern California town that is home to a vast majority of Mexicans and dangerous, drug addicted hookers.


Want the rest of this story?

The Many Deaths of Beth - available on Amazon - early 2012.

New paintings

Slowly, the series of new paintings is being added to the slowly building site. Jesus, I can't write.

I am building a site so you can view and purchase new paintings. The one above may be one, maybe not. There are a bunch and some are nice. They should be available this weekend. They will be affordable and if you are looking for unique holiday gifts, these are the choices. Yes? Yes.

Hang tight. They are coming.

By the way, there is a story about the paintings and the sale of the paintings and funding some sort of film and bike ride and life enriching drama. That too should be coming too.

Really, what time is it?

Pedophiles in coaches clothing

Well well well. Another day, another scandal involving a priest who likes little boys. Oh, wait, not a priest this time. Thank god, let me go back and read the news.

I live in Pennsylvania and the big news is that a former assistant coach of the Penn State University football team apparently abused a bunch of young boys while he was an assistant coach and a volunteer at a summer camp during the 90's amd 2000's while coaching under the reign of Joe Paterno, arguably one of the greatest coaches in the history of college football.

Which is kind of like saying that some priests molested children while Pope Jone Paul was in charge of the church, a great Pope, who turned a blind eye to his priests lusting ways.

So the story out of state college goes something like this. About a decade ago a grad student happened to see an old assistant coach raping a young boy in the football teams showers. He told the head coach, Joe Paterno, who is a saint in State College. Joe told the athletic director, who told someone, who may have told someone else, but that is about it. The rapist continued to host football camps for young boys and probably continued to rape, or at least have access to young boys. Joe Paterno had to have been aware of his assistant coaches lustful ways and apparently did nothing to stop it.

So, last night the board of trustees fired old Joe and the schools presidents. Good bye, have a nice retirement. Joe is 85, he should have been gone a long time ago. In fact, just yesterday old Joe had promised to retire at the end of the year and had even said something to the effect of, "the trustees should go about their business and forget about me, I will retire at the end of the year." The trustees, acting for the first time in a long time like responsible adults, said, fuck you Joe, leave.

See, it's one thing to be a sick pedophile, we all hate sick pedophiles and we all think they should be locked up and left there, that part is simple. What do we do with the enablers of the pedophiles? Well, we fire them. That's the least we do. Chances are the parents of the children will sue the school, the pedophile and the former coach, which is fine by me. See, really, this is not some sort of Shakespearean tragedy, although the retarded students at Penn State who rioted last night in protest of poor old Joe being fired would like you to believe that, no it is not a tragedy, unless you a 10 year old boy who was anally raped by an old man in a public shower, then that is a tragedy. No, this is what I believe the police call a crime.

It is a crime to rape a child. It is also a crime to know about a man raping a child and not report it. Shame on Joe Paterno.

I am pretty sure there could be a deeper meaning here, something about repressed sexuality in a society focused on shopping and reality TV and shit like that, but I am too stupid for that sort of thinking. What I know from personal experience is that sometimes old men like to touch young boys for whatever reason, and those old men are flawed and need to be put away, hopefully with other old men who touch young boys, so they can spend the rest of their days touching one another in ways only they can comprehend. I am not sure the death penalty if a deterrent or if it makes victims families rest easier, but I do know it seems to stop the criminals from ever doing the same crimes again. With pedophiles, they seem driven by these inner demons that they have no control over. Locking them up and throwing away the key seems like a nice way to deal with them, but if that is not an option, putting them down like the rabid dogs they have become does seem to be all that we have left. You can not allow grown men to abuse young boys and girls and ever walk around free again.

In this case and cases like it, I would say the same is true for the people who knew of the criminal and did nothing to stop him or turn him in. I know, we throw out Nazi Germany whenever it fits or seems to fit, but this time, it fits. How many times do we turn this blind eye to evil? How many times are we going to allow this sort of evil to exist and the witnesses who could have done something decades ago to have done nothing and just shrug their shoulders and walk free? No, Joe Paterno had a pedophile working for him, over a decade ago he knew he had a child rapist in his locker room with innocent 10 year old boys. He allowed him access. He is as guilty as the pedophile for not shutting that down. Joe Paterno has been the Pope of Penn State, and in this case, like that one, the abuse has to stop and the people who allow abuse need to be held accountable, not by god, but by a court and a judge.

Fools debate

Oh, I almost forgot, the Republican presidential candidates held another in a series of completely meaningless debates last night. This one was held on the moon of all places, and all the candidates did hits of acid and had to appear naked. It was much fun.

This is the first one I have actually been able to sit down and watch completely without trying to blog about it, or pet the cat, or do something equally important and time consuming. I was expecting a lot more out of this crowd. I am a lifelong republican, not a robot, but I generally vote for the best candidate and generally that is a republican in my book. I do not like Obama, although I am happy that someone was president when Bin Laden was killed. Well, let me be more clear on the whole dislike of Obama. See, I like the way he talked when he was running for office, and then for about 3 years, this other guy took over, this college professor guy, who was smart and cute and sweet, but he was a sissy man and the republicans rolled him like he was a cheap car at a Tuesday bake off.
At a time of economic uncertainty the country wants a president who looks at a republican with a fake tan and says, "hey, fuck you and your tea party hypocrites, you sit your ass down here and we will work out a fair and balanced god damned budget, or we will shut this mother fucking government down and I will walk out to that crowd of blod thirsty fat headed reporters and I will tell them that the reason the goverment is shut down is because Mr. Fake Tan and Professor Dumbledor could not get off their lazy fat asses and work out a deal. Is that what you want you pathetic excuse for a leader? Huh?" Instead, we get this bullshit gridlock, where nothing is getting done, no negotiations between adults who happened to live in the same country. It's not like we are Poland and Germany for Gods sake. In the end, this is America and these stupid fat heads can not see fit to do one god damned thing that might be good for this country. No, one side can't wait to tax the hell out the wealthiest people in this country and the other side can't imagine ever taxing the wealthiest people in this country, end of story.
All that said, if the republicans think that one of the people at tonights debate will beat Obama in 2012 they are probably wrong.
My impressions; Mitt Romney is not real, quite possibly some sort of robot, we all know it, he is not conservative enough, he is Bush light, and Bush was no real conservative, because no real conservative would have lied us into Iraq. Romney would be OK if he was not so boring. Look, we get it, he is a mormon and you have to walk this fine line between being a religious nutball and not wanting anyone to accuse you of being a religious nutball. Look, everyone accused Obama of being a religious nutball because he went to a church led by a racist religious nutball. George Bush was a confirmed religious nutball and he got elected twice. We like religious nutballs, we just like them to have some personality, and Mr. Romney, you fail when it comes to anything more than a bland smile.
Herman Cain should not even be allowed in the debate. Who is he? Why is he being taken seriously? This is reverse discrimination, if he was an old white guy with no government experience at all, never having been elected anything, and has a bunch of old women running around claiming he put his finger in their panties, he would be gone already. He should be, he speaks like an idiot. Seriously, listen to what Cain says, my grandfather was in the late stages of dementia and he could still sing songs from the 30's better than Cain can describe domestic economic policy. Seriously, he is some sort of walking talking public art project, right? Let us all in on the joke.
Ricky Perry? Come now. He is an idiot. Did you see him tonight? My lord that man is a fool. Obama would chew him up in a debate, it would be embarrassing. Below is a clip of Perry from tonight. Watch it and think to yourself, can this country afford four minutes of this moron as our leader?
Newt Gingrich is too much of a hypocrite. Bachmann might be insane, Santorum is insane (not too mention his Google issue), and congressman crazy pants or whateverhisname is. I like him, he reminds me of the crazy man who lives in my basement. While I like the crazy man who lives in my basement and the crazy man who lives in my basement has plenty of good ideas that I think could save this once great country, I am not sure a man who lives in my basement should be president.
Bottom line, none of these bozos stands a chance of winning against Obama.

Even more political

Live Funny Or Die in 2012 from Darrell Hammond

Sexy grandpa

I don't know about you, but when I hear of an older man checking out women of a certain age, I think to myself, if I ever get to be his age, I sure hope I have the cajones (look it up) to be all sexy times with women who may or may not sue me. Or something like that, usually I am kind of drunk when I think those things and that's probably Herman "that man" Cains problem too. Look, he is not really running for president, so calm down people. He never was, never will and so calm down. Mit Romney is going to lose this election, you know it, I know it, Romney knows it, it is his destiny and he accepts that. Herman Cain has come from his planet of beautiful elder men to bring hope to all of us men getting on in age who wonder if a time will come when we are no longer interested in maybe asking a person we happen upon if they might want an upgrade to a larger room, if you catch my drift. See, what people are missing is Mr. Cains message of hope. It's almost biblical, a Cain and Able type of story if you will, if his name is Cain, damn right he is able. Yee haa, now buy me a drink and tell me what room you are in.

Yay white people

It's about time that some old white people made a video in support of old white people values. Let the people of Minnesota, who have elected gay married Michelle Bachmann, vote on a law that would define marriage as between a Man and a Woman. How swell is that? I'm like you. I think people in love should marry who they are in love with, right? So, here is a video of some white people, it is always white people, demanding that the rights stay just the way they are, because rights should never ever change, ever. Marriage and all those tax benefits and insurance benefits and inheritance benefits should never ever change.

Blog issues?

There seems to be some issues with this here blog. Imagine my surprise. Oh well. It's not as if there was anything going on. Or anything. Or maybe someone hacked it, that would be exciting.

Power in a union

If these shorts could talk

A few weeks ago I was sitting in the kitchen of a friend of mine in Seattle who has been a close witness for over two decades. A witness of numerous bike crashes, an instigator of at least two, maybe more, some of them are still being litigated.

We were laughing at the time we crashed on second avenue. Well, I was laughing, because I think that was the one I caused. At this point it does not matter. All of them rush together, none of them matter that much, we survived. The thing about bike crashes is that there is hardly anything between body and crash site. Unlike a car, when you crash a bike, your body hits a solid surface without an airbag or anything else to slow down the impending impact. Sometimes, if you are going fast enough, that impact can hurt. A lot.

Which brings me to this moment right now. I am preparing for a nice easy Saturday morning ride. It is cool outside, I may stay in and ride in my studio, I have an indoor bike set up there for winter training. It is my old Klein, its only duty now is indoor training. This bike has probably over twenty thousand road miles on it, all of them mine. It also has some crashes on it, also all of them mine.

As I was stretching I grabbed a pair of old riding shorts that have been with me for many years and I pulled them on and as I glanced in the mirror I could see a couple of ripped spots on the left hip. These were the shorts I was wearing when I crashed a few years ago and slid sideways down a hill, breaking a couple of ribs and road rashing my hip and upper left leg. As I was analyzing the shorts and realizing the permanence that the slide did to the material of the short I could see my skin underneath the rips and not a scar was there, nothing. I realized how nice it is to be able to heal and move on and walk away from all that damage. The shorts on the other hand, they will never recover.

Timing is everything

I continue to work on the release of new paintings that will be linked to this site. I had hoped to have them up and for sale, but this is much more complex than I had imagined. Something about patience, but I forgot what that saying was.

Evil Becky has breast cancer

I was lounging on the floor a couple of days ago, just me and my lawyer, enjoying the last rays of sun on an especially cold day and the phone rang. I answered without looking, which is always a mistake, but one I seem to make each and every time. It was one of my arch enemies, Sultana Carbonerra. Had I viewed the caller ID I would not have answered.

We have what most people would call a checkered past. Sultana and I met a few years ago at an NA meeting. She was addicted to coke and meth and I was addicted to NA meetings, it was a match. We would get high on caffeine and go out for sushi after hearing the sob stories. Sultana was, at first, a woman of deep mystery. Then she stole my wallet, helped her thieving boyfriend Boris steal my identity and for about 6 months they portrayed me on the internet on a variety of websites, from Amazon.com to a couple of pay for gay websites, where apparently some provocative pictures of someone pretending to be a younger version of me exist to this day.

Boris was busted and served 16 hours in lock up, I think he learned his lesson. Sultana and I became lovers, then she punched me in the face, got arrested, served 45 days in the clink, and that was the last I saw of her. Until I saw her again 4 months later at an NA meeting in Salt Lake City.

Sultana; Hey, long time.

Me; It's been nice, not hearing your voice.

Sultana; I miss you too buttercup.

Me; And how is Boris?

Sultana: He dead.

Me; He dead?

Sultana; He dead.

Me; My heart aches.

Sultana; You sarcastic.

Me: That true.

Sultana; He get crushed by fallen timber at Mel Gibson house in Chicago.

Me; I heard about that.

Sultana; You did?

Me; Well, I heard that someone had been killed by falling timber at Mel Gibsons house in Chicago, I did not know it was Boris. Now, that is kind of sad.

Sultana; I no longer love him.

Me; So you moved on? That's good.

Sultana; It had been years since I last laid eyes on Boris.

Me; I can honestly say the same.

Sultana; Yes, I imagine that is true.

Me; And you called because you wanted to tell me about the shoddy craftsman work at Mel Gibsons Chicago home?

Sultana; Evil Becky has breast cancer.

Stop right there.

See, now we got all sorts of explaining to do. Evil Becky hates me like no other woman hates me, and right off the top of my head, I can think of at least five women who hate me so much that if you gave them a gun and a license to kill, they would just need my address, but none of them hate me like Evil Becky. Her hatred is deep and it is pure.

I was in 8th grade and I was a verbal bully. I did not know better, in that way, I was kind of innocent. Evil Betty was an awkward girl, a bit too big in every way, taller than most of the boys and broader too. I think I called her Lurch. "Hey Lurch, could you kill me some varmints and make me me some vittals?" It would humiliate her, but she was strong and she would turn and smile and say sure and she would walk away. One day for our PE class we were playing touch football on a warm afternoon and out of the blue Evil Betty found her fist connecting to my face, I believe she told everyone she was trying to knock the ball from my hand, and I believe we all believed her. She tried to knock the ball from my hand about 5 times, all by punching my face.

A few years later in my high school senior year book, completely out of the blue, Evil Becky signed, "I wished I would have killed you when I was beating your face to a pulp in 8th grade. If I ever get the chance to do it again, I won't stop."

Me; So, Evil Becky has breast cancer.

Sultana; Yes.

Me; I suppose it would be a good idea to visit.

Sultana; When was the last time you saw her?

Me; I think when I asked her to sign my yearbook.

Republican polls

Oh my.

As most of you are aware, a new Time Magazine and Fox News Poll shows that the Republican nomination for president is now being led by Jasper Flem, the industrialist from the South. Flem, who was quoted this morning as saying "if elected I will personally send Ranger Team 6 into Los Angeles and kill Justin Bieber" will no doubt be elected in a landslide.

Flem announced his serious candidacy earlier this year, after a torrid affair with airhead Sarah Palin. Flem realized that if a house plant like Palin could be a candidate for president, so could he.

Flem believes in smaller government, promising to delete social security, medicare, the departments of education, defense and commerce. When asked outside the law offices of Libitard, Karhasian and Flem this morning if he could balance the budget by cutting 90 percent of the government, Flem said, "my goal is to cut so much of the government that the rich end up owning serfs and we return to a time where people are traded on an open market, like ducks and small water craft."

Flem leads all other republican contenders by 85 percent of probable voters.

The man from Nantucket

When I purchased this old house I did so via the internet, it was the way people used to purchase houses, trust me. Back then, we would log onto the internet, check a city we might like to move to, purchase a house and a flight and in a week we would be signing paperwork in an office building in that very same city, it was all very romantic and modern. Oh, those were the days.

Then I drove from the law offices to the ghetto, where the door to my new home was barely hanging open, on a hinge, and I thought I may have made a mistake in my investment. I drove my rental car to Lowes, where I met Dave Lowe, who worked there. He is not part of the Lowes family, although, in that new corporate America family way, he is part of the Lowes family because he wears a blue vest with his name in the corner and a smile on his face. He said "can I help you?" and I smiled and leered at him and said, "my lord, you have no idea."

Dave did not have any idea. By the time I was roaming the halls of Lowes, I had already created a list of things I would need to secure my new house. Locks, window glass, hinges, flash lights, some initial sorts of electrical testing equipment and the list continued. The house was a shambles and would need all sorts of work, but then again, I paid less than a person would pay for a used car. Dave helped me find many of the things from my list and offered advice of securing the front door, apparently there had been a recent series of people repairing doors. Imagine that.

I spent the weekend running between the new house and Lowes, and it seemed that any time the doors opened Dave and his infectious smile would greet me and he would walk with me as I would search for circuit breakers, replacement parts for broken pipes and windows. Always windows.

I was at Lowes this week because the light switch on the second floor really needed to be a motion sensor. Magically enough, there in the electrical section was Dave and he smiled as I approached. We shook hands, it's been months since I have been at Lowes and at least that long since I may have run into Dave. He found the right motion detection switch I would need, told me it would fit into the second floor landing switch, he knew which one I was talking about and even knew which sort of box was installed into the plaster. He was right too. Then he told me he had married Nancy and that this was his last week at Lowes, they were moving back to Nantucket.

I said goodbye and drove home and installed the sensor and now whenever I go up or down the stairs, the light comes on.

A tease

Not quite done with all the new images that will be for sale. I know, there were promises made, and as is often the case, promises get stretched.

Soon enough all sorts of paintings will be added, for sale, to raise capital for projects that could indeed cause a ruckus and then that's when things will slow down and stop.

Until then, there is going to be this picture from the studio this morning.