Joey Jordison RIP(?)

Drummer Joey Jordison passed-away completely unexpectedly (to most people I guess) three days ago. If there's an afterlife, I wonder how Joey is doing in it. Usually I try not to think about "Rock Stars'" souls when they die, but for some reason Joey is on my mind. If there is an afterlife then I wouldn't want to be Joey Jordison's soul right now. 

 I don't know what's different about this time, but it's almost like I can feel this one. I can't explain it or know why he's on my mind. We always say "RIP" or "They're in a better place now." Is Mr. Jordison resting in peace? Is he in a better place? Maybe, but I get the feeling that that's not the case this time. It was his choice.

 I certainly wasn't a big Slipknot fan, but in terms of sheer drumming ability, speed and technical prowess, Joey was a monster, and by default I'd have to at least appreciate him, if not necessarily be a big fan of his vibe. As I've said plenty of times. I've always tried to separate an artist's "politics" from their music. I don't give a shit what drugs they do or don't do, or whom they're banging or what deities they may worship, but in some cases it's tough. 

 Take Gary Glitter. He had it all, and with the gig he had and the way he dressed and performed, he could've gone on to a massive career in Vegas, almost like another Elvis, and right now he'd be playing five nights a week at the Sands or on a cruise ship somewhere, but the problem was he was a pedo, and from his point of view it sucked because he got caught and rightly-punished. I hate to say it but I watched a few videos of interviews with him and read a few statements he made while his shit was going on. I never caught a word of remorse or concern for the children, just ME ME ME...I'm innocent...fucking blah-blah-blah. It was pathetic.

 There's NEVER any concern for the children...they're forgotten because we're paying all the attention to these piece-of-shit pedos, because they're "STARS," and we worship stars. Still Mr. Glitter doesn't come close to being the most vile, sick, evil pedo, who happened to be a musician, to come out of the UK- that title belongs to Ian Watkins. If I were you and I didn't already know about him, the shit he did is so heinous and sickening that I wouldn't even look into it if I were you. You've been warned. The thing is Gary Glitter wrote one of the most famous Rock anthems of all time, "History of Rock and Roll, Part 2" I think it was called, and I couldn't hate that song if I tried. BTW I don't hate Gary Glitter or even Ian Watkins, but I damn-sure hate what they did. 

 Speaking of worship, I wonder whom Joey J worshipped? Do you think he worshipped the one he mocked? I don't. Let's face it...ALL these people worship Satan, and they tell us to our faces. If you're one of those people who say it's all just a publicity stunt, and granted sometimes it is, then maybe you should check out some of their interviews. They're TRUE Satanists, and they make no skull-and-bones about it. They're proud of it, mostly. It's one thing if you don't believe in God or Satan, which renders thoughts like this moot point, but let's just hope you're right. 

 A few years ago I became fascinated by the way that drumming seemed to jump to another level. I was saying well-over a decade ago that drumming was becoming like a sport, with people competing to see who could do the fastest single-stroke rolls of whatever, as if that's musical. It wasn't that long ago in music history that we thought that drummers had literally reached the limits of what the human body could do, sort of like the Four-Minute Mile, but that notion was shattered, and contests arose to see who the fastest drummer was. I still crack-up at the "Drumometer," a device that measures the amount of strokes you could do in one minute. Then it got even more intense. 

 About a decade ago some drum-programmers who were programming "drum tracks" for Pop and R&B/Hip Hop stuff, and they were putting in drum rolls that sounded like a machine gun. Some people didn't like it because they said that no human drummer could play that fast (basically they said that they weren't necessarily trying to emulate a drummer, and it was a different thing altogether, which is true), but they were wrong. Within a few years drummers were playing faster with their feet than many drummers could play with their hands. I'm not sure myself how they got to that point, but I think maybe they had a little help from an "outside source." 

 Don't get me wrong...I don't want to see anyone go to Hell, if it exists, including myself. If there's an afterlife, and a "God" and a "Devil," then there will be judgement, and I'll have to face it too. I'm damn-sure no saint, and I'm not judging anyone myself. That's God's gig. I fear that I'll be one of those "lukewarm 'Christians'" the Good Book talks about, and when my name is called Up Yonder, Jesus will say "I never knew you." There are no words in the Universe that could kill me like those. 

 Joey wasn't lukewarm about his beliefs. If you mock Christ, your beliefs are known. Not long ago I found another interesting drummer. He played Metal, and he was super-fast and crazy-tight. In addition to the Metal stuff he also played some Prog, and he took a few things like ancient Jazz standards or dorky Pop tunes or whatever, and did cool drum arrangements. He's a great showman too...in the middle of playing all that complex shit he was twirling and tossing his sticks ten different ways. If I could ever learn to play drums I might learn to spin sticks, but it's really not my thing. It's cool to watch though.

 I was starting to like this guy, and I was thinking that just maybe he wasn't a Devil-worshipper, but of course I was wrong. I had a few of his vids queued-up, and just as I thought that, another video came on. For no apparent reason it started out with him sitting in the middle of a "Magic Circle" with a pentagram in the middle. There was no explanation or tie-in to the vid; he was just sitting there smiling, and showing his allegiance. They have to. I guess that answered my question. ALL those guys are into Satan. 

 When I became interested in these drummers and their superhuman abilities, Joey was one of the first I checked-out. Still I don't know why he's been on my mind, but what I'm feeling about it isn't good. Maybe there's no afterlife...no reward and no punishment, and when we die that's it- no soul to continue on for all of eternity. Actually that'd be fine with me, and I bet it'd be fine with Joey too. They say that the one "unpardonable sin" isn't killing, or doinking thy neighbor's wife; it's rejecting God. Did Joey commit the unpardonable sin? He wore a crown of thorns. You tell me. 

 Maybe Hell is just one giant party, as many of these people have convinced themselves, and the true Satanists who do all the horrid things that they must do, think that since they served Lucifer during their time on Earth, they'll be rewarded in Hell, but I don't see it that way. Some say their punishment will be even worse and I believe that, and did no one ever tell these people that Satan is the father of lies? I guess not. If there's an afterlife, how's that mocking-Christ thing working out for you Joey? 

 

This Bud's Not for You

[ED. NOTE: I can't bring myself to read this post even once to proofread it, so if there's a bunch of typos or whatever, fuck it. Have a nice day.] I've said a million times that I should know not to get my hopes up about something, but I done went and done it again. For the last two or three months I've been tremendously excited over the possibility of a Bud Greene band reunion. 

 

 That's when, out of the blue, our guitarist called me one day and said he was back in town for good. The wheels started turning in  my mind right away. He'd been the only thing standing in the way, seeing as how he lived about 1,000 miles away, but I had the idea to book a reunion and use some of the door to pay for a flight for him. 

 When he called to say he was in town, in my mind it was on. I immediately called Doug, and of course we were thrilled. We'd discussed it several times just in passing anyway, and it looked like it was actually going to happen. Out of the four of us left (our percussionist Matt died unexpectedly some years ago), only O' had yet to give his approval, and even though he was an asshole and screwed us all over in several ways including financial, destroyed the band, along with the new bass player, by drinking themselves into oblivion and making the whole band look bad, we'd decided to forgive and forget, or at least call a truce, for the sake of the music, and we figured surely he'd do it, if nothing else for the money alone. 

 O' and I played phone-tag for three days and then he went out of town for three weeks and we didn't talk directly. He and Greg messaged each other though, and he was totally on-board with it, but only under one condition- that we leave the past in the past. In other words he wanted us to let him slide on all the shit he did, and logically that's the only possible was we could do it, and we agreed. We figured it was on.

 Greg and I got together a few times and we had a blast. He and I got to be really close, but not until near the end of the band, especially when the heavy drinking and drugging began. We had to team-up just to try to combat the image those other guys were giving the band- things like 25 (easily) empty scotch glasses, running in a line all the way across the top of the Hammond up onto the bass amp, visible to everyone, and throwing-up on stage and shit like that. It was pathetic. 

 Greg and I kept in touch over the years since, and gained a deep love and appreciation for each other that will continue always. He and Doug buddied-up and got together a few times. That was fantastic, and made even better because they didn't always see eye-to-eye in the band days. We started getting the old song list together and dusting off the cobwebs. It was discussed that we'd get together and hammer-out some tunes while O' was gone so that when he came back he'd see that we were serious about it, but it didn't happen. 

 Then something happened that was for me anyway a huge score. I can't play drum kit any more because of my back, so I wanted to get another drummer, and I'd play percussion, since it's not as painful to play standing up. That's the setup we had before anyway, and it'd free me up to maybe sing a little better and such, without having to be there for every single beat, which I don't mind obviously, but can compromise singing. My first and only choice was my pal John Scalici. I didn't really think he'd be interested or have the time, although there's a handful of drummers in town who'd kill for this gig, but to my great delight he said yes. 

 Scalici and I have done several different drum things over the years, and as they say we play well together. The fact that I wanted him though had nothing to do with his drumming skills. I wanted him for his heart. He's good people. He gives of his time freely to work with special-needs kids, teaching them drumming, which has been shown scientifically time and time again to be therapeutic in many, many ways. I did a few things at nursing homes with him, like my mom did for 35 years. We'd do a drum thing and everyone would enjoy it, and then we'd do it again and anyone who wanted to grab something and join-in was welcome. It was a trip to see an 85-year-old lady playing a Djembe. 

 It was that loving, giving spirit that I wanted in the band, and like I told him, I didn't care if he broke an arm and a leg, I'd still want him to be the guy. That flipped him out. I knew that he'd been doing hand-percussion only for almost a decade and hadn't touched his drum kit, but it didn't matter. I didn't tell the other guys that but I knew he'd be fine. I could picture us playing, and he fit perfectly. With all due respect and love to Matt, I know Scalici and  I would have an even better hookup. I know things that as a drummer I'd want to hear from the percussionist, so I wanted to be that percussionist.

 

 About three weeks ago John called me and asked if I wanted to get together a few times with just he and I, to get our groove on as it were. The fam was going out of town at the end of the month so we could play all night and not bother anyone. I was thrilled because I didn't think he'd have time and I really wanted to do that, if for no other reason than to be able to get out and stretch my legs and do what I love most...playing music. I was literally counting the days. Well, all I can say is that originally I was supposed to be there tonight and at least one night this weekend, yet here I sit. I should be playing drums right this minute. 

 All these synchronicities started popping up, and they weren't only noticed by me. That told me that we were doing something right. One day a strong image of Scalici playing his drum kit with headphones on popped into my head. Greg and I had gone over there a week or so earlier. He'd started setting up his kit but was only halfway done. About three hours later he called me all excited, and said "Hey man, guess what I've been doing?" "Tell me bro." "I've been playing drums! I warmed-up on some Steely Dan! I'm LOVIN' it dude!" "Good man! It's fun, huh?" I said. What a coinkidink. 

 I'd be dialing Greg just as he was dialing me, and it wouldn't ring but we'd both just be on the line. That happens, but it happened at least twice. Or he'd call me to talk about something pretty specific, and at that moment I'd be texting him about the same thing. We did an obscure Steely Dan tune in the band. I'm a Dan FREAK from way back, and Greg liked the tune but he really hadn't listened to much of then and wasn't a big fan, but he saw the light since then.

 I was emailing him with links to a couple of Dan tunes I thought would be good for us to do, and I ended up deleting it because just then I got a text from him asking how I felt about doing a couple more Steely Dan songs. I was like "Dude, is that a trick question?" That was another cosmik-coinkidink, and I had no idear he'd become a Dan fan.

 About a month or so ago I was wanting to get together with Doug and Greg to knock out some tunes, but Greg said that he and Doug wanted to get together a few times first, to work through some things first, and then get drums going. I didn't want to wait but all I could do was say okay, but then of course it never happened. So far no more than two of us have gotten together. You can't run a reunion like that. One thing I've learned is that there's a slight difference between talking about doing something and actually doing it. 

 One thing I tried to convey to the guys was a bit of a sense of urgency. I believe that we've been given a window to act, and I believe it'll be closing soon. More lockdowns and mask bullshit are coming. Clubs may be open again for a bit, but I don't see them staying open much past the Fall. I hope I'm wrong but I kinda doubt it. Lockdowns are already starting. Whenever I mentioned it they guys said they needed time to rehearse, which I was all about, and wanted to as much as we possibly could, but those guys think there's no time-limit, and that things are going to go back to normal. They're not. 

 Plus we've had two months or so now to practice, but we don't have a single tune in the can. Even if we'd only rehearsed once a week we'd have eight rehearsals under out belt by now and we'd be well on our way.  It was like I was trying to rush the guys along a bit, which I was, but I didn't mean for us to be unprepared, I just wanted us to GET GOING. We could've had two sets of material by now. WTF happened? 

 What was thrilling to me, besides Scalici accepting my offer, was that instead of just rehashing the old tunes and calling it a reunion, like most bands do and we could too, we were going to learn some new tunes, and some good ones. Greg said he wanted to do "Why Can't We Be Friends" by War, again a surprise. I've been wanting to do that song in a band for about 100 years, and doing that one tune would make the whole think worth it to me. It would mean a lot to our old fans that we went the extra mile, and didn't just rest on our laurels. The thought that we'd be an even better band than before pleased me beyond belief, but at this point even just learning the old songs would've at least been progress. 

 Scalici and I would've had SO much fun. We could've swapped-out on a few songs and I play drums and he percussion. We were going to try to play as one- a drummer with four hands if you will, and it would've been spectacular. Again, I should be playing drums with John again tonight, but as usual I'll be sitting on my ass. It's a fucking shame. 

 So now Scalici has gotten tired of waiting on us to get our shit together and has moved on to other things, and I can't blame him. I want to cry right now. We had a GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY to play music again, and WE BLEW IT. Well, I guess if they still want to do it they can find another drummer, and I'll be left in the cold. Tough shit I guess. 

 It isn't all bad. Greg and I got closer and that's cool. I was over the Moon that John had agreed to play drums. He loved me and trusted me enough to take the gig without even knowing the rest of the guys, and that meant the world to me. It meant a lot to him too, that I wanted him alone, above several guys who could've stepped right in and already knew most of the tunes and could do the gig without even rehearsing. It also got him playing the drum kit again, and he's having a blast with it. He'll probably be playing tonight...without me. 

 All we had to do was go for it, and quit talking about it, but we couldn't do that, and I'm out a gig. We let ourselves down big-time. I'd have expected better of us. We deserved it. I deserved it. Too bad. We should be ashamed. I know I am. Talk is cheap. Apparently we didn't get the memo. What a pity. 

 

 
 

Orbs

What are "orbs?" There are thousands of images and videos of so-called "orbs" doing all sorts of crazy shit, and some are certainly more compelling than others. Of course many people will say that it's all the camera flash reflecting off of dust particles, and the vast majority definitely are that, but I don't believe they all are, and not all the videos and images are filmed with the flash on.

 I've caught a couple on film, and both times they were going against the air currents, which would seem to rule out things that ride the wind. Some also appear to have a bit of color and even patterns sometimes, which I know could be a camera artifact, but again I don't think that's always the case. You can fake anything these days, but why fake something that most people will say is dust particles? 

 Some years back, and apparently before I started posting vids on my YouTube channel, dang it, I was patting our cat Sam. He was so beautiful and sweet, and there was a Christmas tree behind him, which made for a beautiful photo-op. I snapped a frame or two and then something told me to take a video. As soon as I turned it on an "orb" appeared to cross the room and head straight for Sam. He saw it too. It got right up to his nose and disappeared, like he'd inhaled it. At that very instant he shook his head violently, hissed and spat and took off like lightning and ran under the bed. He never did that before or since. I'd think it'd be difficult for even the most diehard skeptic to see that and not at least scratch their head. 

 I played several times at an historic place here in town called Sloss Furnace. Behind the stage there's an area of red-clay dirt, and a low wall maybe 150' behind that. One night we were taking a break and I saw the gnarliest "orb" I've ever seen. It wasn't a speck of dust. It was red, about the size of a grapefruit and it seemed to be glowing on its own. Naturally at first I thought it was one of the lighting guys fooling around with a spotlight but I ruled that out in a hurry. There's no ordinary lighting technology I know of that can project a round, three-dimensional ball of light that moves from near to far and isn't being projected onto anything. 

 It lasted about 45 seconds. It moved from the stage toward the wall, about 3' off the ground. As it got close to the wall it moved from left to right in front of it (not projected onto it), as if it were restricted by it, and finally disappeared off to the right. I was standing by myself but I pointed it out to some people standing nearby, and they caught a glimpse of it. That was enough for one girl. She freaked-out and left. She certainly knew it wasn't a spotlight. The other people stood around and we talked about it for a bit. They were familiar with stories about how Sloss is supposedly haunted. It freaked them out too but they weren't as surprised as they might have been. 

 Of course with any old, dark place like that people are going to say it's haunted, but lots of people think that Sloss Furnace is legit, and who am I to disagree?  Apparently a few skeptics have changed their minds to some degree after a visit. I decided to take a walk on the next break. Around one of the buildings is a concrete drainage channel that's always full of water, and some fish live in it. It's like a free public aquarium, although there's only one type of fish and it's pretty unornamental, but to me it's cool and I wanted to see them at night. Plus I just wanted to take a walk and have a look around, and see if maybe the "orb" or something else would show up.

 I passed by a small, narrow building or shed. It went back about 10' or so into a hill. I felt my hair stand up for some reason as I got close to it, and when I stopped and looked in I'd swear I saw something move, like a shadow or a shape but I couldn't be sure. It was pretty dark inside. I can say for sure that my walk came to an end pretty soon after that. It was time to jam again anyway. 

 Understandably some people would say I was tripping on acid or whatever, but I was dead-sober. Maybe two or three times of the 500 or so gigs we played during the life of the band did I have so much as a beer either the day of or on the gig. After the gig could be a different story, and I might go apeshit and be hammered an hour later, but I'd learned my lesson long ago about musicians, and drummers too, thinking that they're somehow magically-immune to the effects of ten shots of Jägermeister or whatever it is (Hey Spellcheck, thanks for the Umlaut!), and more than that I wanted the "Muse" to be the buzz. 

 And if it sounds like baseless bullshit, Ghost Hunters did an episode there a few years later, and I'm pretty sure did a follow-up show a year or so later. For what it's worth they'd done hundreds of shows all over the world by then, and they said that the Sloss Furnace provided the most "evidence" they'd collected, and was pretty much agreed-upon as the most "haunted" place they'd visited to date. Interestingly they showed the exact same view of the building I was looking into. It's almost as if you can't help it, like you're drawn to it. It's an interesting little structure with an odd shape to begin with, but it's almost like there's more to it than that. 

 They filmed what looked like a random shape or a shadow moving, which is exactly what I thought I saw. Small world. I'm sure you can find the episode(s) on YouTube or somewhere. I watched the first one and it was very interesting, and cool to see them film the exact same thing that also caught my attention. You can say it's just a coincidence but if so it's a damn good one. Whatever they thought they saw, and filmed, in that building was what I thought I saw in person.

 It flipped them out as it did me, and whether or not it's a camera glitch or whatever, they caught movement on the film. Plus they had a dozen people probably, but I was alone. Hey, who you gonna call? Ghostbusters? Back then I didn't have a phone or I'd have filmed it too. Maybe I'll go back one night. Hmm...I might want to take a buddy this time. I'm going to watch that episode again, and the next one, if my memory is correct. It's interesting to watch whether you believe in "ghosts" or not. 

 I think there's something to it. Too many people have had similar experiences, and statistically they can't all be insane. I've seen a few things I can't explain to save my life. Technically I believe in "ghosts," but what I think they are is quite different from most people's views on what they are. I think that if you catch a whiff of dearly-departed Aunt Betty's perfume, and a box falls off a shelf or whatever, I don't think it's the actual ghost of Aunt Betty...trapped between two worlds or allowed to come back for a visit once in a while or whatever.

 I think it's something pretending to be the ghost of Aunt Betty, although I experienced something intense one night at my sis and bro-in-law's house that blew my mind and would almost make me think otherwise. I told the story years ago but I don't know if I published it or not. I should tell it again. It was nuts. Anyway demons are very intelligent, and if they can masquerade as an "angel of light," pretending to be Aunt Betty would be a cakewalk. It's just my personal opinion. 

 But WTF are "orbs?" Among people who have an opinion besides that it's all dust specks, most think that they're "spirits." Some think they're all demonic spirits, and some think they're both angelic and demonic, which is my opinion at this time. Was the "orb" I saw at Sloss angelic or demonic, if applicable? I don't know. Although it was very weird and very fascinating I didn't feel frightened, but the vibe I had when I looked in that building was anything but angelic, and the "orb" or whatever it was was certainly no dust speck. Most "orbs" don't appear until a video is viewed, but not this one.

There will always be people who could watch a million videos and still say that it's just dust specks and there's nothing to it. That's fine, but I'd have to disagree, and I'm pretty sure Sammy would too.

 

 

 

Quote of the Day (repost)

"The money's in the basement." - Karen Carpenter, on why she often sang in a low register
 

eddie/Lotion, STAT/Jaded Old F*ck

One of my girls came on Friday night with a livestream on YouTube. She's an absolute trip. She's hilarious, and like I've said a million times, truly-funny women are a turn-on. It indicates intelligence, and intelligent she is. She's fully-awake (NOT "woke") and not baffled by the bullshit.

 She's a "Christian," for lack of a better word, and very kind and caring, and somewhat proper in that she doesn't use a lot of foul language and such, but she's by no means a prude. By day she's a "Truther," and on the weekends she cuts loose with what she calls "Movie Noight." Oh, and she's also smoking-hot, for what it's worth.

 Usually she shows mostly 80s, trippy, cheeseball classics, and this time she outdid herself.  She showed some fucked-up movie about some frat boys and sorority sisters who broke into a bowling alley to steal a trophy for prank week, and they knock over a big trophy, freeing a demon/imp who'd been trapped inside for thirty years. It was mayhem as you can imagine.

 She also showed a really fucked-up short, called "eddie." Apparently it's a cult classic, but a needless one in my book. It's fucked-up from the very first minute, and goes on for an agonizing 13 minutes or so. This is Eddie. Usually I don't watch shit like this and I'd have turned it off except that the people in her chat, maybe 70% women, were absolutely hilarious, so I stuck around. I didn't feel like talking so I just "lurked" and marveled at how truly funny they were being. As a result I also had to look at Eddie. With all the bizarre shit going on in real life I was barely fazed. When I first saw Eddie all I could think about was "Man, that poor fuck REALLY needs some of my lotion." I thought it was funny anyway. 
 

Fun Facts

Like numbers? I do. Here's some. As I said, as of two or three weeks ago when this study came out, only about 40% of doctors had taken the stick. That's less than the general public. Why? It's probably because around 85% of them reported hearing of "serious reactions" from some of their patients, and apparently enough of them to cause concern. I find it interesting, and who'd know best about side-effects? That's right...doctors. 

 Maybe it could also have something to do with the fact that for the time it's been on the market, it's still an experimental drug, no matter what "emergency" legislation they passed. Giving it a name doesn't change the facts.

Ever heard of side-effects? The average medication probably has half a dozen at least, and those drugs went through YEARS  of testing before they were approved, and people don't think it could happen with something that was rushed into production, not properly tested, etc. etc., just because they say it's safe? 

 Of course they're going to say it's safe. That's what they do. Usually we'd get 1-800-BAD-DRUG. You won't be able to do that should problems arise down the road. Six months before they came out with the first dose they'd already gotten legislation passed, protecting them from ALL FUTURE LIABILITY. That should tell us something. You can't call 1-800-BAD-VAXX.  It'll never exist. Too bad. 

 So just remember, when you buy into the bullshit that people who don't want the stick don't love people, or are the ONLY possible cause of stuck people getting sick (and then you have to ask if it's even as effective as they say, if you get sick for ANY reason), when they've told us that the bug is EVERYWHERE, on surfaces, in the air (except for the magical 6' distance) and already having mutated easily dozens of times and passed into animals, and that it'll be here "FOREVER" as we're told, and worse, unstuck people are killers, just remember that among those people you'll hate are our DOCTORS. 
 

Superstitious?

Several times in live chats on YouTube I've been called "superstitious" because I believe in God. I just have to laugh because obviously these people don't know me from Adam, understandably so, but anyone who does know me knows that I'm the least-superstitious person you could ever meet. In fact I fuck with people who're superstitious. Maybe that's a bit mean, but logically it shouldn't be.

 If a black cat crosses my path I'll try to pat it. Give me a ladder and I'll walk under it. I have to say here that I've done it a few times for people who can't believe I'd do it, and from the look in their eyes I can tell that they really do think that I'm crazy. I don't get it. Nothing ever happened to me, knock on wood, ha-ha, except that I got a kick out of fucking with superstitious people.

 I'd walk under a ladder and they'd literally start looking around...I guess for the Jinx Monster, almost automatically covering their heads and waiting for something bad to happen, and probably deciding to never speak to me again because I was a lunatic. It was like being in a bad play or something. They were certainly a bit more superstitious than some, but it was very real to them, and it's amazing how many people aren't far off from that. "Why would you tempt fate?" I've been asked. Huh?

 I know someone who'll drop what they're doing, get a weird look on their face and get up and find a piece of wood to knock on if you say "Knock on wood," and that look won't go away until they find some wood to knock on. It's a bit spooky actually, especially considering that they claim not to believe in anything they can't see, hear or touch. Uh-huh. Obviously there's an exception for the Jinx Monster. Here's a clue to life in general: it's one of the rare times you'll ever see a narcissist drop their "mask," when superstition kicks-in. 

 Sometimes at the crazy restaurant I'd "accidentally" spill some salt around people I knew who were really superstitious. I'd go about my business while they'd stop cold and look at me, with a look of deep concern on their faces. I'd just keep doing what I was doing and let it drag on in silence, until finally they'd say "Aren't you going to throw a pinch over your shoulder?" "Nah, not this time" I'd say, or something like that. They'd look at me like I had three eyes, and be on pins and needles for the next two hours. 

 Was I being a mean asshole? Well, I can be mean I'm sorry to say, and I can most definitely be an asshole, but in general I'm not a mean person at all. I was hoping maybe they'd think about what it was they were so curiously afraid of, but again all it did was make them think there was something wrong with me. All I can say is that the fear wasn't in my eyes (that would be levity). And that's exactly what it is- fear. 

 I got to pondering on the root of the word and where it came from. "Super" basically means "above," "over" or "extree," but I couldn't figure out "stitious." It sounded like "stitches," like maybe it meant "wrapped up in stitches of bullshit," but I kinda figured that wasn't it. Turns out Wiki wasn't sure either. Here's an excerpt:

 While the formation of the Latin word is clear, from the verb super-stare, "to stand over, stand upon; survive", its original intended sense is less clear. It can be interpreted as "‘standing over a thing in amazement or awe",^[15] but other possibilities have been suggested, e.g. the sense of excess, i.e. over scrupulousness or over-ceremoniousness in the performing of religious rites, or else the survival of old, irrational religious habits.^[16][17]

The earliest known use as a noun is found in Plautus, Ennius and later by Pliny, with the meaning of art of divination.^[18] From its use in the Classical Latin of Livy and Ovid, it is used in the pejorative sense that it holds today, of an excessive fear of the gods or unreasonable religious belief; as opposed to religio, the proper, reasonable awe of the gods. Cicero derived the term from superstitiosi, lit. those who are "left over", i.e. "survivors", "descendants", connecting it with excessive anxiety of parents in hoping that their children would survive them to perform their necessary funerary rites.^[19]

According to Michael David Bailey, it was with Pliny's usage word Magic came close to superstition; and charge of being superstitious were first leveled by Roman authorities on its Christian subjects, in turn early Christian writers pronounced all Roman and Pagan cults to be superstitious worshiping false Gods, fallen angels and demons and it is with Christian usage almost all forms of magic started being described as forms of superstition.^[20]

 Since most people think Wiki is the Gospel Truth 100% of the time, I used their definition. As I read about "irrational and unreasonable religious beliefs," sure enough I saw the tie to religion, although I see no reason to have ever assigned religious beliefs to it, or some deity, except of course for the Almighty Jinx Monster. The excerpt went on to say that the meaning did come to encompass a little more of what my definition is, kinda-sorta. It mentioned Fallen Angels (Bingo). 

 Cicero's definition about the "left over" thing is quite interesting, but I find the first known use (as a noun), "Art of divination" much more interesting. It really is almost like some sort of spell is on these people. The look of confusion and fear on their faces is very real, and to me it's unnatural. It's different than being afraid of something real. Is it fear of the Boogeyman? So the basic definition that's mostly agreed-upon is "Standing over a thing in amazement or awe." I can sorta see that definition I guess, but mine is: "Being afraid of stupid bullshit that isn't even real." Pliny, Cacero, Palutus and the rest of y'all...eat your hearts out. And BTW...special mega-bonus points go out to the term "super stare." What a great name for an Emo band. I might have to use it. "Dibbs," lol.

 So, yes, I believe in God, and Satan too. You can call me stupid, crazy, uneducated, misguided and even a "hater," but you damn sure can't call me superstitious. Just show me a ladder and I'll prove it. Have a nice day. 

How Sick Can It Get?

In yet another example of how sick we've become as a society, recently this man, who "identifies" as a woman, went to a spa and used the women's section. He proceeded to strip and walk around naked in front of women and even little girls. Just a few years ago, no matter who or what he "identified" as, if he'd tried to pull this nasty shit he'd have been thrown in jail, WHERE HE BELONGS. Instead, the management actually defended him and he was allowed to walk around dangling his dick out in front of little kids. Folks, the word for this, besides "sick," is "abomination." This is an abomination. Say it with me one time y'all..."ABOMINATION." 

 In this video the place was very crowded, but not a single one of these "men" around him dared to say a word. No one had the balls to speak out for decency. "Hey, man...please put some clothes on. There's KIDS here." Nobody said that, so whether they actually do or not, these cowards were showing their support for this sicko and this sick shit. Granted these days they'd probably be arrested for assault or some shit, while the perv was allowed to dangle his dongle in front of little kids, but if no one stands up to this sick-ass shit, then IT WILL BECOME THE NORM! Pay attention folks. This is serious. Again...KIDS. Remember them? 

 So, let me get this straight, as it were...how a person "identifies" outweighs things like, oh, I don't know...say Public Lewdness charges?  Endangerment of a minor? Did they just take those off the books? I'm serious...did they? Or does it only apply to straight people now? It supersedes protecting our KIDS from perverts like this? Are you fucking kidding? And BTW...a "man" just walks in and flops his dick around because he decides he's going to "identify" as a woman that day (so I guess his dick didn't matter that particular day), and everyone just treats him as if he's completely normal? REALLY?

 How the fuck is this normal? Is it okay to expose yourself to little kids just because of how you "identify?" I guess so. What if he'd "identified" as a man that day...would it still be okay to expose himself to little girls? Guess what...IT'S THE SAME THING. Can you see how the bullshit works? It's the same damn thing. Exposing yourself is exposing yourself. These people make their own laws. That we defend this is insanity. 

 One woman, the only person who had enough decency, sanity and BALLS to speak up, went up to complain to the management. She'd been there with her little girl and was infuriated about what she'd just seen, and rightly so, but a woman (I think) behind the counter told her that since he "identified" as a female, there was nothing they could do. Who says? And as I've said before, how can "rules" that only apply to a very small (but rapidly-growing) group of people, maybe 5% to be very generous, apply to ALL of us? That's not how things work, or at least worked. Now a grown man, who ought to know better and care, no matter what he "identifies" as, can just walk into a women's changing area and just wave his dick around in front of little girls, and it's totally cool? Bottom line...we're defending PERVERSION. 

 Wake the fuck up. That this guy is walking (and hanging) free should truly tell you how sick things are, and maybe like some of us, want to do something about it, if only to expose it, as it were. This is SICK. If you support this shit you're just as guilty as this sick piece of shit. It's true. Whatever bullshit terms, pronouns, explanations or ANY way they try to spin it, it's WRONG. Have we lost all decency? PLEASE stand up for the KIDS at least, if not all of society. It's degenerating. We can stop this shit. Oh, and to anyone who'd sidestep the REAL issue and call this "hate speech," you're a fucking fool. And a liar.

Shots Fired 5

Well, no sooner than I put up a post about some gunfire that happened a few weeks ago, here comes another round. This time I'll blog it sooner. In fact it's now the next day. It was really loud and really close, but I couldn't tell what direction the shots came from. 

There were 13 rapid-fire pops, maybe from a .45 semi or something. Whatever it was it was high-caliber. They were all perfectly even and shot with purpose, if that makes sense. It was like someone sending a message, because usually you don't need 13 shots unless you're up against a crowd. 

 I expected to see blood and guts this morning but I've heard nothing. Much to my amazement the place wasn't swarming with cops. I saw one unit pull in and I saw a flashlight beam a couple of times but it didn't seem like it was that big of a deal. It was to me. I've watched enough cop shows to know that when someone fires off that many shots in a row, either they're totally insane and wasteful or they have an agenda, and usually it's the latter. Whatever the case may be, even one shot is too many, but 13...that's overkill. 

 After a minute or two I went out onto the deck to see if I could see anything. I'd been outside most of the evening already but had gone inside and was just about to walk back out when I heard the shots. They weren't leftover fireworks BTW. Believe me I've shot plenty of both and I know the dif. Even my mom noticed and she's 94, and had the TV cranked, to a Western, with John Wayne and James Arness. How's that for irony, not to mention the ability to tell real gunfire from TV gunfire? I was amazed, but she's still sharp. 

  Even the dog could tell. I wouldn't let him out with me when I first went to look around, ha, or to "Blickum" as they apparently say, in German. He was wanting to go out badly, and from time to time he'd give a low growl, and that's his "Something's up, and it's not another dog" growl. It means "stray human." I can see clearly well over a block away even at night, and I saw nothing. There's a stand of trees and a drainage crick behind the place that not only helps preserve what's left of my sanity but also forms a formidable barrier at night, from the other direction, but there's a lawn area in between, and someone could get to it from this side and hide behind a tree. You just never know, and when guns are involved all bets are off. 

 So somebody going "POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW" barely raises an eyebrow these days, huh? I didn't even notice any of the neighbors' lights come on. Maybe they were all hiding under the covers. That's one good thing I have- I don't live in fear. If I'd lived in fear all my life I certainly wouldn't have gotten into a tenth of the wild shit I did get into, and even a crazed gunman isn't going to change that, although granted it straight-up sucks. You can keep this urban-jungle bullshit. Fuck me, man...maybe I'll do a Rap song. Gotta laugh. Have a safe day. 
 

Where Did All the Fireworks Go?

This is still one of my favorite photos (click to enlarge), and Photo of the Year for 2020 in my book, now that it's over. It still makes me lol. It happened roughly a year or so ago, give or take a few-hundred "peaceful protests." It shows a guy who's clearly out of his league when it comes to basic fireworks knowledge, and the same thing happened to a whole bunch of other numbnuts all over the country. 

 This stupid fuck didn't adhere to the Golden Rule of Fireworks, especially the second part, which is printed on every single package of fireworks and has been printed on every pack sold in modern times, the Class-C ones anyway, which says "Light fuse...get away." They don't put that warning on there just to practice their English. In fact it's one of the earliest printed warnings of all time. 

 As I've said I once got hold of some fireworks marked "Class-A, Special Fireworks." they weren't meant for the general public at all, and was what we see at a professional fireworks display, where they just explode once in the air just for the BOOM effect. They were loud as fuck. When I set one off on my street, the lift-charge alone was loud enough to bring every single neighbor on the block out onto their front porches to see what it was, and the charge in the air was much louder. Oops. Like this dumbass here I underestimated the power of the firework, but at least I knew which way to point it. 

It's also funny if you crop it like this. It looks like he's about to enter a portal, like in the movie Stargate. But if you look at the big picture, as it were, you'll see that the more likely situation is that there was around a 50-50 chance he blew his balls off. The article said that he was "slightly injured" but didn't elaborate. Either way it's funny as fuck, and t-shirt-worthy, but I'll stick with the bigger picture. Portals are a different story altogether. 

 What happened of course is that the guy didn't have any idea what he was setting off so close to his balls, not to mention you're supposed to set it pointing UP, instead of just lighting it and tossing it like a firecracker, like this dumbass did. The energy was directed downward, and the "stars" that make the colors and all and are meant to go off way up in the sky were bounced off the ground. The guy was lucky as hell if he didn't scorch his balls or blow them clean off, and the stars scatter with the force of a shotgun blast at least, and his balls were an easy target. 

 This photo was captured at the perfect moment.  He's just started to react, and he doesn't know whether to cover his eyes or his balls, and he only has two hands. He's lucky if he got his eyes closed in time. He's wearing shorts, and trust me, stray fireworks have a bad habit of occasionally finding their way up to your nuts, even with long pants on, and with those shorts he has on I'd be surprised if he didn't cook his pecker to some degree. The passerby is thinking "Oh, shit...he just blew his balls off." Thanks bro...you really made my day.

 So as we know, last 4th of July was basically cancelled, including most traditional fireworks displays. A month or so later it hit me that there was a shitload of un-shot fireworks, all over the place, and I wondered what would happen to them. Although they don't have an expiration date, and some last longer than others, due to better quality and packaging and such, fireworks eventually go bad. 

 As anyone who's shot fireworks knows, a "dud" doesn't do what it's intended to do. It can either fizzle-out, like your goober did with your last girlfriend, or more-concerningly can behave in an entirely unpredictable way, ha-ha, also like your goober with your last girlfriend. If a dud can be dangerous in good ol' Class-C fireworks, think what could happen with pro fireworks, which have a MUCH bigger boom. And BTW, those Class-A 'works I got as a kid didn't have the usual warning. I guess they figured that if you'd made it to the Class-As, however you did it, then you probably knew the deal. 

 I'd bet my Three-Finger-Frank's Fireworks t-shirt that they can't use professional fireworks too long after the time intended, and maybe not at all, especially if they've already been wired together and have to be dismantled. So last year around this time I got to thinking..."What happened to all those fireworks? Where did all the fireworks go?" 

One  fine day a song popped into my head. It was sung to the tune of "Where Have All the Flowers Gone?" by Peter, Paul and Mary. I'll try to approximate it...it's been a while. If you want to song along to the original melody (lol), click: HERE. 

Where Have All the Fireworks Gone? 

Where have all the fireworks gone? 

They are not the Class of C

To common folks like us they went

All across this land

Where have all the fireworks gone? 

Light the fuse and get away

Some heedeth not the simple rule

And blew their balls away

Where have all the fireworks gone? 

That were meant for 4th July

They exploded on the ground

Instead of in the sky

They weren't meant for you and me

They weren't meant for fireworks shops

But it caused hilarity

And amazing photo-ops  

They weren't made to go off low

They were made to go up high

But his balls instead, he found

Flew way up in the sky

I could go on but that's enough of that. Check this photo of the skies over Los Angeles this past Forth. You can watch amazing videos of just massive and endless amounts of fireworks going off, and mostly not Class-Cs, that were shot from news choppers. It looks like every neighborhood hired the Zambellis or something. 

 Most of the articles, videos and news broadcasts mentioned that the fireworks were "illegal," but failed to answer the screaming questions...What made them illegal, and more-importantly where did they come from? The Dark Web? Maybe a few but most of those people probably don't even know about the Dark Web. A friend in the biz? It's very unlikely, unless they didn't have a problem facing potential felony charges. A fire sale at the Wang Chung Fireworks Factory in Macau? It's doubtful. 

 I can tell you where they came from, although I'm sure you've guessed by now, and I can say this from eyewitness testimony. Since they don't usually give away free fireworks, they could've only come from one place- last year's fireworks displays that didn't happen. These "illegal" fireworks...unless you're a licensed Pyrotechnician you're not supposed to be in possession of them, much less shoot them off. It's an EXTREMELY tightly-controlled business, and the fact that these fireworks mads it into the hands of ordinary citizens who were blowing their balls off, to me indicates just another piece of the puzzle...it was by design.

 I'd bet my vintage Black Cat t-shirt that they have protocol to follow when it comes to fireworks that aren't used. I don't know for sure but I'd say they have to douse them and dispose of them in a certain manner. I could be wrong but I doubt it, and this is the first time anything like this has ever happened. I realize there were lots of cancelled displays and leftover fireworks, but shows have been cancelled before, and none of the fireworks ever made it into circulation. It shouldn't happen, yet it did. 

 The eyewitness? My cousin moved from one of the most beautiful and peaceful areas of the state, down on the coast, to a big city up north of here, where some of the worst "peaceful protests" took place. I'm pretty sure he moved because of his company, but he said he wanted to be as close as possible to the city so that he could "witness" to people, and he knew he had to be near where the action is. He found a place for the fam with a really nice house and a huge lot, and it looks like he's still out in the Boonies but he's actually pretty close to the mean streets.

 He's been into the city quite a few times, especially during the riots...umm...I mean the "peaceful protests." Several times he had to dodge fireworks, and he said that the first time he went when they were shooting fireworks he could tell just from the booms that they weren't Class-C stuff, so he asked a few people where they came from. They said that plain vans would pull up and quickly hand them out by the box to anyone who wanted them, for free. Heck even I couldn't have said no to that deal. 

 They kept the motor running and only stayed a minute or two, and never said a word. Isn't that interesting? Free fireworks, professional-grade no less, brought into specific areas where people were gathering, let's say, and just handed into the people's hot little hands by the boxful? I don't buy that it happened by chance. It's just like the "brick" incidents last year, where piles of bricks randomly appeared out of nowhere overnight, and at precisely the spots where the peaceful protests would take place later in the evening. 

 Coincidence? You tell me. All the sites trying to debunk it and saying that they were near construction sites were simply full of shit. It happened at least a couple-dozen times, mostly on two or three occasions, and in at least one case it happened on the exact same day in at least a dozen cities across the US. Man that can't be coincidence. Most people will just keep believing the "official explanation" for everything out there, and it's largely because the bad guys know that certain things known as "triggers" will stir an emotional response, and usually preclude any chance of a logical, adult-level discussion. 

 About a year ago I commented on it on Facebook. I said something like I wished that the next time I wanted to build a new barbecue pit I'd love it if a pile of bricks appeared on MY street corner." A dear friend whom I've known and loved for many years came back with a terse reply. It really saddened me, and showed me someone who in the past would've used critical thinking, but has now changed her tune and like many people just attacks people with different views. It hurt to see, and I'd have been way more surprised if it wasn't "coincidentally" foretold in the Good Book. 

 She said "Not magic. They were near construction sites." It was short and sweet, and I could absolutely feel her anger, and she never had a bit of that all her life, until recently. That was deeply-troubling too. God, NOOOoooo...she's fallen victim to the bullshit, aka the Beast System. It's all bullshit and yet we believe it willingly, even though it's 100% WRONG, and this is living proof. Think about what she's saying for a moment. She sure wasn't thinking about it before she said it. 

 Did you notice anything that doesn't make sense about her reply? If you need minute I'll wait... ... ...okay, I'll tell you. If I'm just a fucking Feeb, and every damn thing I've ever said in my blogs is bullshit, there's one thing I know for sure, and that's that you don't put bricks near a construction site, you put them in a construction site. How can ANYONE  really believe that bullshit? Seriously, how? 

 Suppose several stacks of 50lb bags appeared on street corners in the morning...would people say "Oh, it's nothing. They're near a bakery?" You wouldn't think so, but I guess you could get the sheep to fall for that one too. You can't really do too much damage with flour except to have a huge food-fight, but bricks are a different story. Bricks have been a very valuable commodity since they were first fired, and they're useful for other things besides smashing store windows and other mayhem. 

 I'm sorry sister but that's Reality 101. You do NOT leave bricks NEAR a construction site...never, ever. How my girl can fall for the bullshit is troubling but just a sign o' the times. Do YOU fall for that bullshit? Hint: disregard the "debunking" sites and go to the many videos, if they haven't been scrubbed that is, and hear it from the people who were there filming it in real-time, saying things like "Y'all need to wake up. This is what's going on " You can also check out the hundreds if not thousands of 911 calls, police reports (credible witnesses) and such, and it's a matter of record. NEAR a construction...people will believe anything I guess. 

 Back to the fireworks. I so wish my cousin could've filmed at least one of the conversations he had about the fireworks, but they didn't want to be filmed, and understandably-so.  Who was piloting the vans? I'll give you another hint: it was one of those organizations that formed in 2020, and the name sounds like you're saying "Aunt Iffa." Free bricks for the tossin' and free fireworks for the shootin'. What more could you want? 

 So where did all the fireworks go? They went into the hands of "peaceful protestors" who had no clue what they were. At least the van guys could've given out flyers with the boxes of fireworks, saying that they shouldn't just be lit and tossed ten feet in front of you like a Ladyfinger, but I guess that was part of the fun. So what if some people blow their balls off or get blinded by shrapnel. At least they were free. 

 Well, that's the story on where all the fireworks did go. Speaking of, I suppose these same gullible people would also believe that fireworks get delivered near fireworks stands. "Hey, Atomic Al's? This is the driver. Okay if I drop-off these pallets of fireworks near your store?" "Sure." It's the same with bricks. Do people like my girl actually believe that at least half a dozen trucks, on the same day and almost to the hour, really leave loads of bricks near construction sites. So they tell us. 

 What, did they all just happen to run out of gas a few blocks shy of the construction sites? Did they radio the foreman and ask if they could drop them off three blocks away, and did he say "Sure, no problem. We'll grab them later" or whatever? It couldn't happen even once, much less half a dozen times in one day, and yet my once-cognizant friend actually believes it. It's like a thought is trying to be fully-formed but as it approaches the "logic center" of the brain it gets detoured by a wall of emotion, and never reaches its conclusion. I don't get it at all, and the only thing that makes any sense at all is something else the Good Book says- that many will fall prey to a "Great Deception," Makes one think. 

 My friend has always been progressive, and her mind is as beautiful as she is, but it's no longer open, or in my opinion fully-functioning, to believe such a ridiculous story, much less display anger to an old friend, which never once happened before., for opinions or anything else. People like her should wake up and smell the gunpowder, and at least pretend to show respect for other people's opinions, friends or not. I'd bet dollars-to-donuts that she's worn a mask about a thousand more times than I have and she's had both Jabberinis, and probably even believes that six feet somehow magically forms a "germ-free" zone around everybody. It's a joke. Wake up. There's some fireworks left I'm sure, so it may be an interesting New Year's too. Stay safe, have a nice day and watch out for idiots shooting Class-A 'works.

 

 

 

Shots Fired 4

The first three times I heard gunfire close-by to us, too close I might add, I hopped right on and blogged about it. One of the main functions of my blogs has been to keep track of things like this. For a country boy to hear gunfire nearby is a tad unsettling, but I guess I must be getting a bit jaded, because the latest incident happened a good while ago and I'm just now logging it. That's sad.

 It was a single shot and it was loud as fuck. There's a breezeway that echoes and amplifies and makes a dog bark sound like a shotgun blast, so a real gun sounded like a stick of dynamite. It sounded like it was right outside the door.

 I looked through the looker, waited a minute and then cautiously opened the door. I didn't hear anything so I peered around the corner and down the breezeway and didn't see anything. I walked to the end of the breezeway and looked around the parking lot but it was quiet. I didn't see anything but I did find what must've been the casing, because it hadn't been there earlier in the evening. It was still warm. Good stuff. Of course I kept it as a souvenir. I love things like that. Fuck, I could make it into a necklace, with drain-stopper chain, and be all 'Hood. 

 The cops only showed up two of the times. Maybe they're a bit jaded too. The last shot was so loud that I'm surprised none of the neighbors called them but I suppose they're jaded also, and probably way more than I am. They came when I heard the shot that either came from downstairs or right out back, although they didn't get closer than half a block from where it was and they didn't get out of their car. The time I heard an obvious shootout, two different-caliber guns, that happened less than two blocks away, they swarmed the place, but the other times they didn't even send one car. I guess gunfire is old news before it happens around here. 

 Now I can't even remember if it happened two weeks ago or a month ago. In three years I've gotten used to gunfire, sort of. So many people would laugh and say I've lived a sheltered life and that may be true, but when it comes to gunfire, especially within 150' of me, I say "Gimme shelter." Fuck this. 

 

 

 
 

Repurposing

For about a quarter-century my buddy Rusty and I exchanged Christmas gifts. One of my things has always been to try to get people thoughtful gifts, and to that end I've spent a considerable amount of time, effort and resources over the years, and Rusty was certainly no exception. Every year I'd get him something really nice, and every year he'd give me some bullshit gift that he'd been given the year before and didn't want, and was obviously a thing I had no damn use for, but he did it anyway. 

 Some of the things he gave me were hilarious, and I need to put my Thinking Cap on and go back and try to remember what all the gifts were, but one year he gave me a beard trimmer, when I'd never grown a wisp of facial hair in my life. It was a joke, and I guess I kept hoping he'd at least give me something actually related to my life in any way just once, but doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result is the basic definition of insanity.

 What makes it crazier is that for most of that time he was already a millionaire because of his father's business, and would become a multimillionaire down the road, and knew it, but that's how some of them roll, and his father was even worse than that. A penny saved, I guess, but the obvious difference when we opened "presents" was so glaring you'd think it'd be embarrassing, but technically he did give me a gift. Don't get me wrong...Rusty is a unique individual and I love him to death and we've been friends for a very long time, and he can be very generous in other ways, but not in gift-giving. Ho-Ho-Hum. 

 One year he have me a portable computer-keyboard vacuum. It was similar to this one but obviously a very early model. It looked like a flashlight, with gizmos attached. It was round, to fit the two D batteries, and it had a hard plastic hose with a bend near the end, with brush attachments and a mesh bag attached to a small tube coming out of the side. Now this was within a year of the first mainstream PC- the Apple Computer, or Apple 1. It cost $666.66 BTW. Besides the cool number, we didn't have the equivalent of over 3K in today's bucks to drop on a computer. Point being I had no use for a computer vac. 

 But then inspiration struck, and the Autotoker was born. The end of the suck-tube was about the size of a cigarette and the out-tube made a perfect mouthpiece without the vacuum-bag. I took the brush off the end and I either put a metal ring over the end or lined the edge and part of the inside with foil, so it wouldn't burn the plastic, and it made a mouthpiece that held a joint perfectly. It had different suck-speeds, so you could get a small hit, like Rusty liked, a normal hit on medium, and on full-crunk you could get a massive, "pre-concert" hit. It was impressive. 

 You'd hold it an inch or two in front of your mouth and it would deliver a "shotgun," like someone taking a lit joint, turning it backward, putting it in their mouth and blowing, and all you have to do is inhale at your own pace. It was pretty smooth, and there was no chance of getting your lips burned form the hotrock at the end of the joint, when it gets down to "roach" territory. It didn't save weed or get you higher or revolutionize pot-smoking or anything, it was just cool. 

 Before then there weren't any commercially-available motorized tokers, although they did come out with some a few years later. I'm sure I wasn't the only one to think of it but it wasn't something common, and we had a blast with it. It certainly wasn't discrete, unlike some of the products on the market, for when you were trying to mitigate the telltale signs of pot-smoking...like clouds of pot smoke, so we generally didn't drive around with it or take it out into the public too often. 

 There was the "Sneak-a-Toke," a smokeless-toker. It had a plastic mouthpiece like a cigarette holder, and an aluminum chamber that was a tube that flanged-down to a very narrow opening. You'd put the stuff in, replace the screen and screw it back together. A flame would pass through the small hole but almost no smoke would come out. It was effective, and it also cut down on product going up in smoke, as with a regular pipe. I'm sure it's still made. 

 Then there was a thing I forget the name of. It was made to resemble an early plastic water bottle. It had a normal-looking spout as the mouthpiece, and a hole with a rubber grommet on the side, to let it fill with air again quickly, after a toke. The spout led to a tube that went inside the bottle. You'd light a joint as normal, place it in the tube, stick it down inside the bottle and screw the cap back on and you were good to go. You'd cover the hole and squeeze it and you'd get a shotgun hit. 

 Back in high school when we were in the bicycle club, my buddy Tommy and I both put an extra clip on our bikes- one for a water bottle and one for the toker, and they looked just the same. We told everybody that we were extra-thirsty. When we'd take rides along the river, we'd lag behind the others, fire-up the toker and casually toss it back and forth as we rode. It was beautiful. 

 Special mention has to to go what we called the "Frisbowl" but which went by several names, including "Toss-a-Toke" or the "Flip-a-Toke" or something, and a couple others I can't recall at the moment. It was a great idea, considering that tossing a Frisbee or other flying disc and smoking pot went hand-in-hand. In the distant past and before smart-screens and shit that's what people did. The Whammo company didn't actually enter into the "flying paraphernalia" scene and make a Frisbee model, although we modified a few. 

 It was always an off-brand of disc, which for some unknown and magical reason almost never flew quite as well as a Frisbee, but that was beside the point. They had a brass bowl mounted top and center, with a screw-on lid with a small hole, to let in flame but not let the contents spill due to an errant throw. It was brilliant. On the underside of the disc two lengths of thin, flexible tubing, basically aquarium tubing, went to holes on opposite sides of the disc, in a gentle S-curve. They were friction-fitted and glued. The reason for having two lengths was for balance, but I suppose if you were tossing with someone you didn't really know or trust, you could mark your toke-hole, and each have your own. Maybe the "Frisbowl" should make a comeback. In this day and age it'd be perfect for people who'd still like to share a bowl, but not lips.

 The Autotoker was a hoot, for about a year. The motor finally got so choked with resin that it overheated one day, and gave up the ghost with a final wisp of extremely-aromatic smoke. RIP, prototype Autotoker. You were an original. Actually it may have really been an original, and I could be mistaken about seeing other similar things, but I don't think so, although the closest thing I could find in a search just now was something called the Megatoker. It has rechargeable batteries and an internal bowl. You load it one toke over the line...um, I mean one toke at a time, and you have to empty it and reload for each hit. 

 It sounds like a rather needless thing, especially at its price of $199, but it heats the product at a much lower temperature than lighting a pipe with a flame, and that preserves more of the active ingredient as well as vaporizing less tar, so if you have the money to spend and aren't in a big hurry to get stoned it'd absolutely be a great way to smoke- healthier, more economical and more buzz-producing. The Autotoker didn't do that but you could smoke a whole J at once without having to reload for each toke. Plus Megatoker doesn't have a motor to blow the smoke out, but only heats it. 

 My Autotoker was about $199 cheaper than the Megatoker, and it had also been free to Rusty, and for all I know several people before him, sort of like a "chain gift." Back in the day when most of us kids didn't have $666.66 to spend on a computer, and not much use for a computer vac (although I did use it to clean my turntable and a few other electronics before I turned it into the Autotoker), at least I managed to find a use for it, when most probably got "recycled" into the trash, and Rusty got a huge kick out of seeing me actually finally find a use for one of his bullshit gifts. Hmm...Autotoker vs. Megatoker...it sounds a bit like an old Japanese Sci-Fi B-movie. 

 Dang, with all this germ shit going on, I really think that it's a good time to bring back the Autoker, the water-bottle toker and the Frisbowl. "Contact-free" toking...it's the order of the day, and these things are begging to be re-released. With a few tools I could easily come up with some prototypes. Man I really could use an agent. I could just think-up crazy shit and let someone else promote it. I should start a company. I could call it LIPSA, for Lip-Independent Paraphernalia & Smoking Accessories. Right on.

 

 

Fools

Okay, this is where we really need to draw the line. Did you hear that they want to start screening our personal texts? That's right. How does that make you feel? Unsettled? God I hope so. Ostensibly it's to combat so-called "misinformation" about the veeros, yet again taking away our privacy under the guise of "protection." What was it ol' Benny Franklin said...oh yeah- if we trade liberty for "safety," we deserve and will get NEITHER. True that, Ben. 

 Go read some interviews with people who survived a certain period of world history, who at first followed a madman with a little square moustache, and see how that worked out for them. They'll back up every word Ben Franklin said, I guarantee. They'd also warn us as sternly as they knew how, not to let this kind of thing happen, but they're all gone. Another famous person once said something about how if we don't learn from history then we'll be doomed to repeat it. How can people not see that this is EXACTLY where we're about to be headed...AGAIN? It's the same EXACT people in power, and calling the shots (in this case, as it were) or more-specifically their descendants, and we need to get that through our thick-ass heads. They're GLOBALITS. 

 The insane thing is that more people than you might think actually SUPPORT  this numbskull idea. They don't have a problem with someone (at first an algorithm and then a human, once a text is flagged) reading their personal texts for so-called "medical misinformation." Are they REALLY  that completely fucking stupid? Apparently so. By the by, what about "sexting?" They'll be seeing all that too, in case people haven't thought of that, and of course they haven't.

 Sending your girlfriend (if applicable) a photo of your dick? Better be careful...it could wind up going public. Did you hear about the good folks at the M1 (the British CIA), who put together a full-color, glossy coffee-table book that featured the "greatest hits" of naked women, from text messages? Look it up. It took place a few years back, and if we don't do anything about this bullshit, then get ready for Volume 2. 

 I can't imagine what these fools must be thinking, because thank God my brain doesn't work that way, but I guess it's something like " Oh, PLEASE save us from these awful people spreading 'medical misinformation!' We're too stupid and scared shitless to think for ourselves, so we need to be TOLD what to think. Please, oh please save us from this horrible disease, which has a mortality rate of around .03%, mostly elderly people who actually died from other causes, but tested positive for the bug and so that was listed as the 'cause of death.' Even if you read our personal texts, we don't care. Just save us from this horrible thing!" It's pathetic.

 I can picture a typical text I might send..."Hey, have you read the label on a box of M-90 masks? It says that they don't protect from veerosees and the See-Nineteener specifically." The textee: "No I haven't." "Hang on and I'll send you a photo." But then I get flagged, and either they add a page from EB or Wiki saying it's bullshit, at best, or they delete or edit the text, and don't allow the photo to go through. Fuck that I say. I'll quit texting and stick to e-mailing, and when they start censoring e-mails I'll resort to a megaphone or tin cans with string or learn smoke signals.  

If you support this incredible invasion of what privacy we have, then say hello to your new friends- all the other fools. And BTW...do you think they'll stop at "medical misinformation?" You'd better think twice. One we let them do that then ANY topic is fair game. That ANYONE with half a brain can support this in utter insanity, and whether or not these fools can see it or not now, they'll see the results of idiocy soon enough. But do have a nice day, while you can. It could be subject to change. 
 

T-Shirt of the Day

At first I thought this was some sort of "puffy" t-shirt or something, like maybe they'd sewed part of the cat's face onto the shirt, and filled it with batting. Aside from being on a spaceship and way out in East Buttfuck, Orion Nebula or wherever they were, and the HR Geiger aspect and the blood and guts, it kinda reminds me of the classic scene in Alien where the creature pops right out of that poor bastard's stomach, only it's a cat. It looked like it was genuinely-3D in the thumbnail, and there was one with a dog that looked even more 3D, like it was running straight out of the shirt. 

 There's talk of getting the band back together, and if we can make it happen before we get locked-down again, and if I'm able to do it, I'd have to say that while I normally wouldn't want to attract as much attention as this would get, it'd be worth it just to fuck with people's perception, and it'd look badass from the stage. We'll see. Damn, that's freaky-ass real. 
 

Post to Facebook...LOL

I've been blogging now for I guess around 15 years or more, and I'd have to go look but I've been on this one for almost ten years I think. I just like to write, and I never gave a fuck about trying to promote my blogs in any way.

 In fact I use the "labels" function not to use keywords so that people can find my posts in a search, but as a tail-end to the post...a denouement or an epilog if you will. If I used it normally, tons of people would find this blog, but that's not what I want. 

 It's pretty personal anyway, and in lieu of paying for a therapist, seeing your words in print adds something to the deal...I don't really know what but it's really good therapy. I can talk to myself and get away with it. That's a joke BTW. 

 I've sent links to a very few people over the years if I did a particular post I thought they might enjoy, or that mentioned them or might give them a laugh or whatever, but I doubt I've done that more than a dozen times. I repeat myself repeat myself a lot, and retell stories just to keep them fresh and see how they compare, but a lot of the shit I talk about makes me sound like I'm insane to most people, and I get it. 

 I was about to edit a post and fix something that my friend Spellcheck missed, and I noticed the share options next to the pencil icon, and saw the ubiquitous Facebook logo. It really hit my Funny Bone. I thought, "Share to Facebook...ha-ha. Ha...HAAAA-ha. HAAA-HAAA-HAAAAAAAAA-ha-ha. Ha-ha-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-ha. Ha-ha-ha-HAAAAA-ha-HAAAAAAAAAAAA-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha!" Sorry, man...in my head I was totally cracking-up. Ha-ha...share to Facebook...ha-ha.  That's funny. 
 

What's This, Then?

Here's another illustration from one of the thousands of ads for the latest and greatest new pharmaceutical. You know the ads...the first ten seconds is all sunshine, rainbows and singing birds, and the medicated person is smiling like a lunatic and riding a bicycle through the heather or whatever, and then the next fifty seconds describe all the side-effects. You know the ones. The next step in the process is "1-800-BAD-DRUG." In other words they knew all along the shit was toxic but they approved it anyway (follow the money, honey), but that's another story.

 I was just curious as to what this person is. Is it a happy female, with no breasts and a chin shadow, or is it a super-effeminate dude with a neck beard? These days...well, who gives a fuck, right? Long as they're taking their meds. Have a nice day. Fuck me, man.
 

I Started Waking Up in High School: Barbershop Quartet vs. Bazooka Boogies (rewritten, plus bonus beach story)

I've told this story before but it's actually very powerful, and it helped me wake up sooner than many people. It involved the Elites, the TRUE ruling class, and it was a microcosm of the entire global system, shown to hundreds of people at once. However I wonder how many pf those who saw it go down right in front of their faces ever took it to heart or applied it to the bigger picture. I did, and it fit perfectly. 

 In high school I was in the Key Club. We did a lot of stuff for the school and the community but being in it also allowed my buddy, and president Tommy and me to get away with murder, including things like being able to leave school any time we wanted and go down to the river for a swim and a bowl or whatever we wanted to do, but that's another story. Every year there was a statewide convention in Mobile, with I guess a thousand people or so from all over the state and beyond. I've also mentioned that that first real gig for a huge audience cured me of what stage-fright I may have had, if any, for life. 

 They had a talent show so we decided to put together a band. I know there's photos of us around somewhere but it'd take some serious digging. We looked so outrageous in the costumes our moms had helped us make, and we had the music to match. I remember I had on black bellbottoms, white patent-leather boots (that's correct), a gold polyester shirt with pointed collars that were 4" long, and a green satin sash. That was the only time I ever dressed like a Rock Star in my life, and I have to admit it was kinda fun. Cheeseball but fun. Cheese is perfectly okay, if you can back it up. 

  The band was my former neighbor and friend (still) Billy Steiner on guitar, Alan Hunter, who was one of the original Veejays on MTV when they first started, on piano, and me on drums. We came up with all these insane originals, including a little ditty called "Chewing Gum (is So Much Fun)" that was nuts. It had a dramatic breakdown in the middle, where chewing too much gum led to an horrific mishap. The protagonist blew a gigantic bubble while he was driving. It was bigger than his head and when it popped it blinded him. His girlfriend happened to be crossing the street when it happened, and tragically he ran over her. I'll never forget the last part..."I blew a big bubble...I got into trouble...the bubble popped...I couldn't stop...I ran my baby down...right in the middle of town." Too much. 

 I haven't told the whole story of that weekend in this blog, and I'll have to tell it again soon. Except for the time our church group rented a chalet in Gatlinburg, my first time playin in a band in Florida and a few choice weekends it was one of the wildest times I could've ever imagined or planned for, and it's fitting to go along with this story. Anyway we had to get there by Friday afternoon to register our Key Club Sweetheart in time, so we got a hotel room for the weekend. That night there was an informal rehearsal in the auditorium for anybody who wanted to go through their acts, so we decided to go for it. 

 Back then there wasn't a million kids starting bands in high school like there is now, and we were a big deal just for that, and before we played a note. There were the typical acts...girls who'd sing tender love songs, juggling, comedy routines and the like, but as it turned out our main competition was a barbershop quartet, although we'd have never though so, and found out in an interesting way. The atmosphere was very relaxed and fun and casual, all but for four people anyway. Everybody who wanted to went through their routines, and everybody else clapped and cheered and it was a very supportive situation. There were some talented people. 

 I can't remember if we played before the barbershop guys or if they went first although we went on very near the end of the night, but when we finished our thing people went nuts and were slapping us on the back and high-fiving, and when they finished their routine, and they were very good, the response was...let's just say it was a bit milder...a little stiff and almost "called-for," if that makes sense. I mean, a Rock band versus a barbershop quartet? Come on. We reckoned we'd take the grand prize the next night. A crowd response is one thing, but a response from our peers as it were, where it's personal, to me told the tale, and we should take it no problem, but it wasn't meant to be. In fact it was never meant to be, nor any other situation like it. 

 I can still picture the scene when we finished, and you couldn't have scripted a movie any better. Everyone had gathered around us and was telling us how much they enjoyed it. Everyone but the barbershop guys that is. They were huddled in a corner, talking amongst themselves (I love that phrase). It was absolutely textbook. My first thought was " Sorry guys, great harmony and nice suits and all, but y'all are goin' down." We figured out that it was the general consensus, including, reluctantly, the quartet. 

 It was totally a friendly deal, at least with almost everyone. We didn't go down there to try and smoke the rest of the Key Club talent in the whole state of Alabama but we figured we'd score pretty high. We did have an unfair advantage to begin with, if nothing else for dressing up like insane Disco-clown poofters, but we put a lot of rehearsal into it. Those songs had insane time-changes, tempo shifts, kicks and stops, and we could turn on a dime. To this day that was one of the tightest bands I've ever played in. Now that I think about it, it was really bordering on "Prog." If the music hadn't been good (and quite different) we'd have never thought about dressing up like that, and we'd have had acoustic guitars, brushes on the snare and jeans and t-shirts.

 Everybody besides four guys was in a good mood, and we stayed at least an hour after we finished. A girl and a couple of guys came up and started talking to me, while Alan and Billy were talking to all the Sweethearts or whatever. They seemed a bit more "Grateful-Dead-ish" if you will, than most of the other kids there, with all due respect, and I think they sensed that in me. They were cool. We shot the shite for a few minutes, and then to my surprise, and the beginning of another chapter in my "waking up," the girl basically said "BTW, I really hate to tell you this, but y'all aren't going to win tomorrow night. They are." She nodded toward the barbershop guys. I thought she was joking, except for the look on her face. I was baffled.

 "What are you talking about? We smoked those guys" I said. "I know," she said, "but they're going to win, and that's the truth." I was incredulous, as they say. I asked her to please explain, so she and I went over to a table and sat down, while the two dudes went somewhere else. I clearly remember the story she told me, as it yanked me into another level of learning what REALLY goes on behind the scenes. Interestingly this was what people today would call "conspiracy theory," but we saw it firsthand, and so did several-hundred other people. That sister was ahead of her time, and had I known I'd have kept in touch with her. Instead, what she was calmly and casually telling, with an even, storytelling tone and with no sign of deception, was news to my naïve ass. 

 "We're mostly old-money here" she said, "and they control things. They call the shots. It's not the mayor or the city council. It's them." "Who is 'them?'" I asked. "The super-rich, basically" she said, "but it's more than that. This is just a small part of the system, but it's like this all the way to the top." "What 'top?'" I asked. "As 'top' as you can get...this city, this state, this country...and the whole world" she replied. "But the barbershop guys?" I asked. "How the..." "Even the barbershop guys" she said. "It's just part of the deal. They're going to win, and everyone's known it all year. 

 I could see that maybe, but then again, all that year they'd never had to go up against a Rock band, much less the Bazooka Boogies. I thought we'd surely pull off an upset. She went on to explain that the barbershop guys were the richest of the rich, and they'd already won the past two years, and that since this was their senior year they were going to go out in a blaze of glory, and it was preordained and not even the Bazooka Boogies could stand in their way. 

 I just sat there trying to take it in. She sat patiently, letting me do so. "I know it sounds crazy" she said. "Yeah, it does" I said. "It's how it is, and it's been this way forever. They're going to win. You'll see. I'm sorry" she said. She sat calmly and we talked a bit more. Like most people I could spot an obvious liar by them, but somehow I believed what she was saying, although at the same time I couldn't believe it...my head was spinning. It was a "truth tornado." I saw truth in her eyes. Maybe we'll meet again sister...you never know...but we were meant to meet, and my eternal thanks and love go out to you. 

 I went back to mess with my drums or whatever and told the other guys what she'd said, and naturally they were in disbelief. "She sounded pretty serious" I said. "She's messing with you man" one of them said. "Probably ballin' one of the barbershop boys." We laughed, and I was in disbelief too, but I said "I don't think so. She thinks they're as dorky as we do, and we should absolutely win, but it was basically a setup." The two guys who were with her walked back by and heard me quietly telling them, talking amongst ourselves, and nodded their heads. We were looking at each other bug-eyed and with tilted heads. 

 We discussed it a bit more and I think I believed her maybe more than they did, but nobody ruled it out. Still we all thought that Saturday night, when the crowd and the judges were in place, and it wasn't about who was supposed to win but who kicked the most ass, we'd win. Had it been a fair competition we'd have already won, hands-down. We were a little freaked for sure but we shrugged it off. Alan and Billy went back to the hotel and wisely got some rest, while Bobby, Tommy and I drove in my VW Squareback (RIP, girl) to Dauphin Island. 

 I'll give a sneak peak of the story of the whole weekend, and I'll tell it because we got into a very ponderous mood, and we talked a lot about what we'd just witnessed. We were still a couple years shy of legal, but back then it wasn't too tough to get liquor, as I'm sure it is now. We had a quart of 151. We stopped at a store to buy mixer. We got a nice big bag of Mai-Tai mix, cups and a shaker, and for good measure a can of Coke. What we forgot to get was water to mix the Mai-Tais. Oops. We went out onto the beach and we were ready to party. We pulled everything out of the bag, but no water. "Oh, SHIIIIIT!" we said in unison. 

 We were in a pickle. It wouldn't do to use seawater, or advisable to pour the drink mix powder down the gullet like Pixie Stix and chase it with 151, although we probably considered it. By then the Coke had even gotten warm.  I remember hoisting a bottle of 151 in one hand and a Coke in the other. We were cussing but we had to laugh. We each had a whopping 10oz of 151, and 4oz of warm Coca-Cola. Ready...GO! 

 We did it lunatic-style, turning up the bottle of fucking 151 and taking a big swig of booze followed by a tiny sip of Coke. It wasn't much of a chaser and it was pretty brutal, but we made it through the bottle. We properly-disposed of the bottle and saved the Coke can as a souvenir, We properly-disposed of a good bit of our brain cells too, and were buzzed as buzzards, at least until the next afternoon. 

 As if nearly 11oz of 75% alcohol wasn't enough, we had some of, as Steely Dan would say, "The fine Colombian" too. I don't remember if it was the Gold or Red variety but I'm gonna say Red, but either way it was the Top o' Line stuff...the expensive, "special-occasion" stuff. The further icing on the cake was that there was a big storm way out in the Gulf, and we were getting sustained winds of at least 40 knots or more, with gusts higher. Windy conditions aren't conducive to trying to light a pipe, and that's what we had. 

 Fortunately it was my trusty Proto-Pipe, my first (of several) that George from California gave me when I stepped off the plane in San Francisco. It had a special feature that was illustrated on the booklet that came with the first edition or two, and which is probably worth a fortune on eBay, if you can find one (they're asking $150 and way up for originals now. The original price was $9.99. It was carved out of a solid billet of brass that was shaped like a "U" and about 5/8" thick (later models were nearly an inck thick, with a swivel lid). You could take a book of matches and open it and curl it perfectly around the bowl, with about half an inch of the matchbook flap above the edge of the bowl, which acted as a windscreen. We'd never tested it out in winds like that but it worked.

 The tradeoff was that you'd get a "sulfur hit" because you'd have to light the bowl while the flame was blazing if it was really windy, and since it was still burning the compound you'd taste it big-time, and especially with grass as tasty as Colombian, it was a bummer, but of course it didn't stop us. As our buzz increased so did the wind. Although we wanted to get the 151 out of the way just because it was so gnarly, we had sense enough to take a few puffs before we started drinking, rather than the other way around. If you get wasted on booze first, and then smoke weed, a condition known as the "Twirlies" will invariably result. Unless it's a mild case, and you're able to "surf" it, which can really be fun, in most cases it can make people so dizzy that they throw-up. Normally you don't want the Twirlies. 

 Still we got buzzed out of our gourds on the 151 alone, and we'd saved most of the tokin' for after. I was concerned about Bobby because he'd never smoked pot in his life until the drive down to Mobile earlier that same day, but even though he got extremely stoned his first time he enjoyed it, and amazingly he had no problems. We didn't let him smoke nearly as much as we did and he didn't drink quite as much, but he had a buzz like he'd never thought about having. 

 After several pulls of 151 and tiny sips of Coke we were getting a little wobbly. The wind gusts didn't help, and in the case of being mixed with alcohol, neither did the Colombian. Nobody fell down, but it became a team-effort not to, and also to light the bowl in gale-force winds. There was a discarded wooden pallet on the beach, and we crammed together and stood on it, half holding each other up and half shielding from the wind. Bobby and I grew up in the same church, and his dad was a long-time minister there. I'd known Bobby's brother for a long time but I didn't know him very well. He was a year younger. 

 Imagine...you're standing on a beautiful, empty beach at around midnight, only you're standing about ten inches apart from two other guys, including a new guy, on a 3' X 3' pallet that sits three inches above the sand but seems like three feet. The wind is howling, you're drinking fire-ass liquor like a lunatic, and smoking the best weed known to mankind, and still imho. And in Bobby's case, here he was with two guys he hardly knew...me he knew a bit but not Tommy...smoking pot for the second time in his life and getting as high as the balls on a giraffe, hoping that all the 151 fumes didn't create a giant fireball and blow up in his face when he was lighting the bowl. 

 On top of that he'd just met a guy (me) who'd driven like a racecar driver along with the teacher driving the lead car, since we had to have our sweetheart there by a certain time to register and we were late as hell because of her doing her hair or something, so we had to royally-exceed the speed limit, reaching speeds of 110mph in a VW, smoking weed in a 3' bamboo bong, not to mention the driver is tripping his everloving balls off on some really good acid, and this is a long sentence.

 I can only imagine what he was thinking. He was a very mellow guy, but I remember the first time I smoked the really good Colombian, and I can't imagine mixing any alcohol at all with that intense, otherworldly-but-earthy buzz, much less adding the equivalent of about 15 or more shots of regular 80-proof liquor. He handled it fine. Bobby's the best. 

 He definitely passed the "pallet test," and he's someone I really love and respect. He's one of those people I admire, who not only have a sense of humor that's off the charts funny, but also a bit quirky and/or twisted, and preferably a little of both. The term "unique" is overused, but Bobby's sense of humor was way up there. He cracked us up all night. I can't remember how long we were out there but it was several hours, and most of that time crammed together on a pallet, in the middle of a huge beach, by the ocean, with the wind and surf high and getting higher, and, ha-ha so were we. 

 There were clouds rolling in but the sky was still mostly-clear, and we saw quite a few meteors. We eased-up on the laughing eventually and got into a more contemplative mood. We were so smashed that we'd forgotten all about what happened earlier, but it all came back to us at the same time, and we were like "What was they talking about? Could it really be true? Those goobers are going to beat out the Boogies, and it's already a done-deal? And the whole thing is part of a bigger thing? What the hell?" It was a very sobering thought, only we were well-beyond being able to sober-up at that point. We were three sheets to the gale-force wind. 

 The night of the show we walked in proudly and headed toward the stage area to change into our loud,  polyester, Acid/Disco outfits. On the way in I noticed the judges, and they noticed us too. The judges were the principal, a woman art or music teacher and a local celeb I think. Something felt really wrong, and the judges looked nervous. I knew something was up, and the only thing that made any sense, if what I was feeling was going to happen did, was that what the girl had told me the night before was true. That was not a fun thought. 

 Again I can't remember who went on first but the quartet and the Bazooka Boogies were the last two acts. We outdid ourselves, and probably put on one of the most entertaining shows of our musical careers. I'd crammed as much Bazooka Bubble Gum as I could into my mouth, and when the part of the song came up where he blew a giant bubble, so did I. As in the tune it was bigger than my head, and when Alan sang "The bubble popped" and we did the stop that went with it, I popped the bubble with a drum stick. 

 I hadn't told anybody I was going to do it, so it was a surprise for them too. True also to the song, when it popped it covered my face, and it occurred to me that I was glad I was playing a drum kit rather than driving a car. I had long hair and it took half an hour to get all the gum out of it but it was worth it, and I had help from a couple of young ladies who liked the band and liked my hair. Come to think of it I guess they were my first groupies, although nothing else happened. Ah, the Rock & Roll lifestyle...chicks picking bubble gum out of your hair. 

 The principal got up to make a little speech and announce the winner of the talent competition and the sweetheart contest.  He started in with something like "Welcome, friends! On behalf of the Key Club of Alabama...blah-blah...we'd like to thank you for all your hard work...blah-blah..." and then announced the acts one by one. The idea was to go by crowd-response. Everyone got a good hand. Finally he got to the barbershop guys. "So-and-so Barbershop Quartet!" he cheerfully announced. YAY...clap-clap-clap, YAY, clap-clap." There were a few cheers and whistles, and some very loud clapping, but honestly now, you'd look pretty stupid going apeshit over a barbershop quartet, even an Elite barbershop quartet. 

 "Bazooka Boogies" he announced, and the place did go apeshit. All doubt as to whether we'd won vanished, for a moment anyway. People were cheering and yelling, even the adults, which were half the crowd. The other two judges were sitting quietly behind their little desks on the stage. When the cacophony died-down they were curiously quiet, and glancing nervously at each other. Obviously they hadn't expected anything like the Bazooka Boogies, and we'd thrown a wrench into their machinery. It was truly amazing to watch. The crowd was squirming in their seats (as were the judges), waiting for the principal to announce the winner, which was obvious to all. 

 Instead, the principal fumbled his way through something unbelievable...he walked over and whispered to the other judges. They didn't look pleased at all. Their faces were blank, or maybe sad, when by all means they should've been happy and smiling. It was unnatural, and everyone in the whole place knew it. It was the Twilight Zone in real life. It was completely weird, but on with the show, you know? Let us know, yo. 

 He walked back to the podium and announced something to the effect that they "weren't sure" who'd gotten the best response, and that they were going to call our names and do it again. There was a collective "Huh?" from the crowd. I remember the first thought in my head when he said that, and at exactly the same instant some gentleman shouted it from the crowd- "You need to clean your EARS!"  That got applause. It was classic. 

 "Okay...Barbershop Quartet!" YAY! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP, etc.  They'd managed to ramp it up a good bit...conjuring-up every bit of evil energy they could. There were a few WOO-HOOs and a few people gave them a standing-O, but when he announced us, they just cheered even louder. But then, just as the girl had said, the principal very unceremoniously awarded first place to the barbershop quartet. There was a collective gasp from the audience, and an "OHHHhhh..." in unison. It was just like a TV show soundtrack. 

 Billy and Alan and I just looked at each other like "Damn...she was right." You can believe we were bummed, but we were big about it, quite unlike the barbershop guys, who seriously were jumping up and down and frankly acting a little like sissies or Miss Americas, like they'd actually won ANYTHING except the right to keep the system, and their bullshit, self-delusional lies, intact. It was incredible, but we damn sure learned a lesson that day. It was very tough to learn but boy did it stick with me, and shoved me a good chunk further down the road of trying to learn what it was all about. 

 After the show there was a little party, with a nice spread of finger-foods and things, since nobody had had dinner. It was pretty festive, but the "judges" got the fuck out of Dodge, and I don't blame them. They totally threw that contest in front of God (and Satan) and everybody. They should've been ashamed, but their system has no shame. For those keeping score that would be the Beast System. I still remember making direct eye contact with the woman "judge." I was thinking "You evil, lying bitch! You're TEACHING us!" It's true. 

 I spotted the girl and we went outside for a chat, and perhaps a bowl too, but I don't remember. "You were right" I said. "I'm really sorry" she said. "Please, don't be sorry. You blew my mind but you told the truth." "Yes" she said. "You're not part of that thing" I said. "No, I'm not" she said. "I can't be. I know where they get their power." "I think I know too" I said. "I sure did see it" "Uh-huh. Everybody knows who really won" she said. "So it's just the deal, huh? Here, there and everywhere else?" "Yep" she said. "They're the only ones who really matter." "Damn" I probably said. 

 It was a paradigm shift and life-changing, and I had to basically smash to shit my former assumptions (what we'd been taught, that is) about those in power, and in fact WHOM was in power. That train of thought really took off that night, and it's still on the tracks today, gainin' steam the whole way. If I hadn't met that girl maybe I'd have been as baffled as some of the crowd was, although a good number of them were obviously in on it. They acted like something completely abnormal and backward was perfectly normal, and they did it in front of hundreds of people. 

 Sometimes I wonder what became of the barbershop boys. I'd bet dollars to donuts they're all Freemasons, and probably went into the family business, and were groomed to be rich, narcissistic assholes. In their minds they actually won that talent show all those years ago. They truly think that. In their twisted world lies are truth, and I know that from firsthand experience. Luckily I believed that girl, and when they announced the "winner" I was able to just let it go. Not so much Billy and Alan, but at least we'd had a heads-up, unbelievable as it was, and weren't as shocked as we would've been. Still it was beyond surreal. 

 It's not like a half-century resentment about losing a talent show in high school, or the barbershop guys themselves, it's the situation, and the lesson, not to mention the total shock to the system. Bookended by a weekend that was unbelievably fun and insane, I learned something heavy. I mean, we get bits and pieces of it all the way back to Scrooge McDuck as kids, but it doesn't really sink in consciously that that's how it really is, for many of us anyway. 

 What's funny is that the crazy-sounding story the girl told me went from being what we'd call a "conspiracy theory" today to being proven absolute fact in less than 24 hours, and it almost never happens like that. It usually takes a little bit (and I do mean only a little bit) of time and a little bit of research, but without a TRULY open mind, and not just one people SAY is open, it's pointless. I wanted to believe that that sister was just making up some crazy story just to mess with us or that she was tripping or something, but oddly enough she never once came off as anything but sincere, and danged if she wasn't right. 

 Meeting that girl was no accident. I hope she's doing well, and I wish she could know how far she scooted me along in my journey to find out what the story was, aka the truth, to the best of my abilities and no matter if it's what I believe or wish were true. Maybe she does know. She's wise beyond her years...I can say that. She nailed it. As for the barbershop boys, it could've been the Acme Bowling Team for all it mattered, but the fact that it was a barbershop quartet really adds to the absurdity and humor of the story.

 Again, imagine...it's just another talent show, when out of nowhere comes this crazy-ass band, dressed like fools but with these insane but accessible tunes about blowing giant bubbles that make you wreck your car and stuff like that, and pulling it off with showmanship and being tight as a miniskirt, getting smoked by a barbershop quartet. It could never happen on this planet or any other. 

 So there you have it, finally. Sorry, I can digress and ramble and I could've told this story in three paragraphs but I didn't, but who gives a fuck anyway 'cause I'm the only fool who reads this blog, and that's no problem. But if they did they might think about it, because it can't be denied. It goes WAY beyond just super-rich people getting preferential treatment. It goes beyond fairness, because we all know that life isn't always fair, but something that blatant on such a scale and in front of so many people...it's not normal. It should never have happened by any stretch of the imagination and yet it did. 

 Technically that sister was a "Pre-Conspiracy Theorist," although the term was first coined by the CIA (that's right) to discredit people who didn't believe the Warren Report and the "official explanation" of the JFK thing. By the by...do you still subscribe to the "lone gunman" theory? She opened my eyes as gently as she could, and I'll never forget her. As for the barbershop boys, well...y'all won, kinda. Enjoy your trophies, boys, and keep on singin' up a storm, while you can. Ain't no barbershop quartets in Hell.