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Michael the Vick

August 14, 2009 Leave a comment

AS predicted, jocksniffer radio hosts, listener calls, emails, texts, et al are myopically fixed on Michael Vick’s return to the NFL. The Philadelphia Eagles officially announced the signing of Vick, the man who served hard time for crossing state lines to engage in illegal dog fights. The animal abuse, cruelty, torture & execution, were just incidental to going from Virginia to Georgia to do it. Though a case could be made for just going back to Virginia once you made it to Georgia, which I’ve done myself.

At the Eagles press conference Vick, whose criminal acts fit the FBI profile for serial killer, apparently memorized a list of cliches. Learned behavior is something a sociopath is very good at doing. He is being mentored by Tony Dungy, a former NFL coach & born again Bible scholar, who has his own tragic history. The etymology of both their names aside, I have never enjoyed puppet shows after age 5. The debate over whether or not Vick deserves a return to the NFL took up 99% of ESPN program content today ( August 14 ), running the gamut from the inane to the insane. Best of British luck, ya’ll. . ..

AND 99% of those people discussing Vick are not only ill equipped to do so, they can barely articulate the real issue– has he rehabilitated himself ( ty Arlo )? So, as he goes over to sit on the Group W Eagles bench, I’d like to pose a question the great unwashed can all have an opinion on, and even more to the point, it’s at their level of intellect. Here goes—

Do you think the Eagles will cut Vick if he dogs it?

Stay tuned.

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Parallaxatively 4th Street

March 31, 2009 Leave a comment

My life has always been lived in parallel lines. The geometrical manifestation of that which runs side by side, destined to never meet. Here’s an example or two.

When I was 20, I was a teacher aide in an inner city school, troubled by a lack of student discipline, due to drug use. Mostly marijuana, some of it heroin. This was before crack was cool & ecstasy was only a dream of getting Susie Q to third base in the back seat of the Ford.

Having just failed ( then )as an entrepreneur in the burgeoning head shop business, due to a personal ethos that dictated never selling drug paraphernalia, I got the aide gig. That was my first cosmic/ironic clue I’d have troubles making ends meet ( see parallel lines above ). But even by age 20, I’d had experience in spotting a doper. After all, most of my so called friends were—they required it, they told me, so they could be better musicians.

Eventually, after having my heart broken by girls and the music business, I succumbed one party night to trying some mushrooms, or organic mescaline, as approved by Castaneda’s Don Juan. Administered by the drummer. What fun! I almost got busted first time out of the gate. Not content with a good beer high or even a doobie buzz, I went straight—OK wrong word—directly to tripping.

It was yet another portent— I saw God—(who looked remarkably like a much older version of me!), seemed like a good guy. At the time. . .. Then, with my antennae, abnormally sensitive on a regular day, way up high, I heard the inner voice say—look out the window dude. I saw a blinking red light in the dark street, coming from next door, in the suburb we were partying.

A devotee of Sherlock Holmes, I instantly deduced — police. Ran up stairs, announcing it room to room. Much flushing took place & on cue, the door bell rang. One officer, very polite, told the kid whose parents were out of town for the Memorial Day weekend (natch), there had been a complaint about drums. Yes, he had been playing them loud + long, earlier, but he promised the cop, he was done for the night.

As he was a clean cut young man, and the back windows had been open, the cloud of cannabis was wafting points due west, away from the officer’s nose. Case closed. Me, still trippin’, I dodged bullet one. Much praise from the rest. Sadly, with one exception, they were male, the lone girl, was taken. No grateful girl to, well, you know, for saving her ass. Oh well. I did get to meet God. By the way, God told me I was going to be all right. Still waiting. . ..

Back to school. So, I knew a drugged out kid when I saw one. But after having been threatened ” I’ll cut you up Mod Squad! ” by a sister ( possibly Tyler Perry’s ) with a nail file, whose smacked out boyfriend told her–“he’s cool” I started rethinking the gig. About the same time I learned one of the students (girl) was having sex with a teacher (male). Now, I was not a teacher, I was a 20 year old aide. The reason I found out about those two though, was because I had formed a Platonic palship with the bff of the girl in question. If you knew me, you’d know when I say Platonic (paltonic?*), I mean it.

I was more flex then. Not to mention, active. I was into being monogamous and sincerely wanted just one good chick. In retrospect or in a time machine, I’d likely moderate that position. A lot. Using the Kama Sutra as a primer. Any way, when a work/study girl propositioned me in the hall one day, I closed my eyes and thought of England. It was a What Would John (Lennon) Do moment. Yeah, yeah, yeah. And I still remember all their names too.

What I really wanted to say though is, any given school day I ‘d be sashaying down the hall. One conversation I’m criticized for using “college” words. The next, I’d go off in a blue cloud about junkies with sharp implements and get the worn out “using profanity is the sign of a small vocabulary,” lecture. Well, I was pissed off at the fucker who. . .oh, never mind.

It’s always been that way. I’d walk down the street in a small town and one person would comment—“you look so much better now you’ve shaved off your beard.” The very next would say ” grow your beard back.” What was most disconcerting is the former observer was male, the latter a female. Have I mentioned I’m a devout heterosexual? Well, unless the only way to get a threesome with Bridget Regan & Abbie Cornish is to go through Hugh Jackman. Tina Fey & Katrina Bowden? Sigh.

This special edition is brought to you by Norfolk-Southern Railroad. Here in Bubbadoon, I live a mile from the railroad track (more parallel lines). When I first moved here, the people in the community immediately adjacent to the tracks, voted to ban train whistles from midnight to 6 AM. The train suits ( standard issue fat white guys ) had much more clout and were able to have the legal voice of the people vote overturned. That’s why I am awake and filing this, two train whistles, 10 minutes apart at 2:30AM.

I bet there are more deaf drivers at 3:10 AM then say, BLIND ones. There are with certitude a greater amount of people sleeping than drivers crossing those fucking tracks. Why can’t these assholes just employ a few more flashing red lights. Shit, those warn even humans who might be tripping for the first time. AND that’s why I hate the South.

*©2009 Jukeofurl Prod LTD.

There’s November like November – part ll

October 30, 2008 Leave a comment

” We love our god and our guns. . ..” this a direct quote from a political ad, approved by John McCain, running on a local radio station here in the New River Valley of Virginia. A political statement meant to exhort Virginians to vote against Barack Obama, because he apparently doesn’t love their god or their guns. Love means cleaning, oiling & fondling your grandaddy’s 30 aught 6.

They love guns here all right. They love to sell them too. That’s how a mental patient, who slipped through a loophole in the VA TECH student psych screening process, bought two guns here in Virginia. Then took them to school for Show & Kill. Who is their god? Glock? or the twin deities, Smith & Wesson?

Not too far from here, about 10 miles as the Jim Crow flies, there still stands the site of slave cabins. No doubt my own house is built above the unmarked graves of somebody who caught a free cruise to the land of the free. This area rarely has a sunny start to a day.* Often, it’s more a mist, I call it gray-light. Maybe it’s the angry gun god, all smoke and bitter ash for dirty deeds. Or possibly the arsenal also, just down the road apiece. . ..

I have said previously, the President of the United States is a spokes model. He/she(?) walks point for the daily patrol-an important job, yes. But the chief exec leads the team out front. There are those no longer so deep in the shadows, who run things. Those guys have no gods. This, because they think they are them. What they do best is send out people to do things for them, destabilize a Third World country or prop up a druglord in a slag heap ending with -stan. Then they trot the Pres out to meet the press for an atta boy and a tutorial in spin doctoring.

Doing that needs lots of guns and money. No doubt Mr. Obama would prefer to use what’s left of the American economy to keep us strong at home. Roofs over our heads and a chicken in every pot and/or microwave. But that kind of thing upsets the ‘ foreign policy ‘ of the power brokers who work behind the curtains of the Oval Office.

Hollywood has remade a classic flick, The Day the Earth Stood Still. The premise of which is, extraterrestrial is sent to Earth to terminate it. Mainly due to our warlike ways. Naturally this is greeted with loads of firepower, which makes the alien think it’s actually on Mars, named after the god of war. Right after the shameful name of the NFL franchise in our nation’s capitol is changed, I’m petitioning the new administration to switch from Earth to Mars. Or at least the Dirty 3rth. Hey, yo I’m street, dogg!

When a political party’s endgame endorsement has god & guns as the slam dunk argument for its candidate, you know it’s in trouble. If McCain really heard that ad and approved it, it’s troublesome. If a lackey rubber stamped it for him, it’s even more so. I knew we were backwards here, but this is straight out of the Johnny Reb Handbook. The South will rise again? well not before my dinner does.

So, while I continue to live in Bubbadoon,* where it’s always 1808 with football & cell phones—their god approves of some new fangled things! I get out my pork rinds & moonshine, ready to watch the election returns. Who will win—Hatfield or McCoy? er, um I mean Obama or McCain. Actually, I thought Obama was an Irish name- what? you never heard of the Black Irish!

* not to mention 24ºF on October 31—sunny south my @#%&*! ass

There’s November Like November. . ..

October 2, 2008 Leave a comment

Presidential TV debates are not really debates. They are more like those Apple v. Windows commercials. Only without the dude from the late great ED show. It’s speechifying, packaged oratorial ping pong, with enough spin to make Sandy Koufax green with envy.

So, imagine my opinion of Vice Presidential debates. They are showcases for the stand-ins. The shadow pols. Them who would be veep. They are bullshit. Certainly not cool enough to preempt 30 ROCK. Even if Sarah Palin & Tina Fey are total sisters in MILFness.

OK here’s what I want them to talk about. Joe Biden can explain his plagiarized speech from whenever that was, a decade ago. AND Palin can tell us all about why teen pregnancy in Alaska is God’s will. Riveting. In much the same way, actual riveting would be, with admittedly not the same decibels, but likely more grating.

The one thing I am excited about is, there is finally an American candidate for an executive office who won’t be togged out in a stupid suit & tie. Or will she? I don’t know. Wouldn’t put it past some ahole to tell her she’d look more Presidential. Wanna bet somebody floated the idea?

I nominally worked for a few campaigns in my misguided youth. NO happy endings there. Unless you count The Oval Office escapade with the blue dress. The one thing I took from my Presidential campaign trail experiences was I learned how to use a coffeemaker. A skill, I continue to employ, so it was worth something after all!

I can’t personally run for office. Well, I can run. But my dodgy ( lol ) past would be exposed immediately and that would be that for the once & future king. I might have a shot at Pope. If a former Hitlerjugend can make it, the field is wide open. Odd how they send up smoke to announce a new Pope. Hmmmm wonder if he had a flashback.

Anyone with the urge to get elected is suspect from my POV. It’s rife with deals within deals. Maybe I could get longer than a week on the stump, considering how they seem to miss vital details. Intriguing how the home team often misses them, leaving the loyal opposition to amazingly find out Mayoral hopeful John Doughboy, was once in a cult that dressed as nuns and ate human flesh. It was only that one time at Cannibal Camp, but once in this case. . ..

Anyone compos mentis over the age of seven, who thinks the President is more than a spokesmodel, needs to read a book. Doesn’t matter which book, just try one. Then take a look between the lines. See it? no? go on, keep looking. You will.

In related news. . . Yankee Stadium will be razed soon and next season there will be a new ballpark in the South Bronx, my old hometown. My biggest memory of the place is going there for the first time and as we walked across River Avenue, my dad said- ‘see that big building over there? that’s the Bronx Borough Court House. I got in trouble as a kid and had to go there once. Don’t let that happen to you.’

I’m pleased to say, I’ve yet to set foot in there. Though, you never know. Meanwhile, I can’t wait to see who will be President, Apple or Windows. Either way, I’ll still have this @#%&*! dial up and phone lines installed by the CSA. Now there was a president, Jefferson Davis. I’d give anything to know what he’d say about the 2008 Election. I’d bump 30 Rock for that, and I ain’t just whistlin’ Dixie y’all!

What kind of twee would they be?

Barbara Walters has confessed to having an affair with a US Senator. Hold on, I need to drink some Red Bull.

Ahhh, that’s better. I almost yawned myself to death writing about Barbara Walters. She is so far past the expiration date, the FDA should issue an alert. Walters suggests had it been known, this illicit liaison could’ve ruined her career. My suggestion would be, does anybody have a time machine? I’d gladly give up going back in time to pay more personal attention to a young Anna Quindlen in HS, just to make sure Barbara never had a career. Oddly, it might serve to further my own journalistic pursuits. Hmmmmm

Meanwhile, lots of stuff has happened during my hiatus. Most of it is the s.o.s., so don’t worry, in 6-9 months it will all circle around. Again. My favorite though, me being a dude who blogs globally but bitches locally, was the gun dealer who spoke at Virginia Tech.

In case you missed it, yes, he’s the !@#&*%er, who sold 2 weapons to that piece of shit psycho. Of course his main argument was how could he know. After all, this is the USA and everyone has a right to make a living (?) and to bear arms. Somebody has to sell guns to wackos, so, why shouldn’t it be him. However, for the sake of Karmically balancing that idiot, the universe immediately killed off Charlton Heston.

OK. He’s correct. It’s not his fault that monster slipped through the PC psych vetting for students. Or that the Commonwealth of Virginia permits weapons to be sold. Virginia is more concerned with busting people who don’t wear seat belts & taxing citizens who buy frivolous luxury items, for example, like FOOD! Just a guess, more people drive cars to buy food than guns in the course of any given day.

I chose not to read much about this campus visit. Does me no good to get even more irate. I would like to know why the police can’t sell the guns. Wouldn’t they be better able to investigate and evaluate a customer? might even catch a few of them without their seat belts buckled too.

Heads up to any potential gun buyers, if you’re bringing donuts to grease the wheels with the cops, VA doubles the tax on any donuts you buy, if they are packaged by the store ( prepared food tax lol ). Get you enraged? have you ever considered visiting a TV show live? You know what would be a good one? The View. Just a thought.

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Happy Birthday to Captain America in Norfolk VA — do you ever miss your Shields?

An Early Xmas Present [part 1]

December 14, 2007 1 comment

What a week for the self righteous. And for the type who think showing up late to a party, makes you sophisticated. Not to mention me, a person with more than one dimension, all of which are worn out by the same old shit. Michael Vick gets sentenced. Then MLB does a mea culpa for use of performance enhancing drugs ( PED ) and famous pretentious windbag Oprah Winfrey, throwing her considerable weight ( it yoyos ) behind Barack Obama.

First, Vick. Jock thug gets busted for an illegal ‘ sport.’ Apparently making millions of dollars doing his questionably legal sport, football didn’t meet his needs. Sadly, he has supporters, who say things such as—it’s only dogs-or-dogfights are part of the culture he was raised in-or-he’s a moron, what do you expect! OK, I said the last one. To date, my suggestion to take all his earnings & use them to help animals, seems to be ignored. The Atlanta Falcons, his former team, is more concerned with recovering the monies they’ve paid him. This isn’t just because they’re justifiably disappointed, but so they can remove this huge amount from their payroll and open up room in the salary cap, the proscribed $ limit they can spend for player salaries per season.

Another aspect of the Vick conviction, is what happens after he successfully serves his time, 23 months. Theoretically, since many spend jail time in the gym, Vick will still be young and fit enough to make a football comeback. I can say what I want about his lack of intellect, the guy has mad athletic skills. My opinion is: if he can play again in the NFL, I say let him. Take half of his pay and use it to help animals. Yes, I am dogged with my suggestions, like hmmm a pitbull! Oh yeah, and create a restraining order involving him & dogs. . ..

Bud Selig, former used car salesman and owner of the Milwaukee Brewers baseball team & current commissioner of baseball, finally noticed some players had fatheads. This wasn’t just from a disproportionate sense of self worth. Nope, it was from anabolic steroid abusage, which rhymes with dope. Selig hired former Senator George Mitchell, once on the board of directors for the Boston Red Sox, to head an investigation into the use of PED in professional baseball. Gee, maybe they should start by ridding their sport of conflicts of interest first. Our sitting President, G.W. Bush, was once the owner of a MLB team. He & Congress would like nothing better than to really get in on this ( they did previously in 2005 ). Can you say: Major League Distraction?

The report came out yesterday December 13 and several names of alleged users are provocative. This fuels the jock talk in the media. For me, it’s excellent. It bumps time from the sick radio & TV network obsession with football. It won’t last, but it’s something.The lords of baseball are like dads who finally figure out the reason their kid is burning incense isn’t because the kid has embraced Buddhism. Now daddy is pissed—no kid of mine is gonna be a hophead— kind of thing. Sigh. Yes, some of these drugs are now illegal. Yes, they could cause future health risks to the user: at least one athlete has died from steroid use, Lyle Alzado, a football player. That this fact is a throw away AND that it occurred well over 10 years ago, shows the continued cupidity, if not culpability of sports suits and their ancillaries, sports writers, reporters, fans etc. Did I mention football?

It remains to be seen what these buttoned down boardroom blowhards will do to rid the baseball world of dopers. A world they encourage & enable by demanding performance, which due to expansion has diluted & spread thin the premiere performers & allowed many to linger on at older ages and/or make major league rosters, who once would’ve been career minor leaguers. Some of the use was to speed up the healing from injury, to simply return to performing, as opposed to unfairly enhancing it. But illegal is illegal. Now. Hey, daddy needs to bring home the bacon. But this and the Vick situation raises the dilemma of authority favoring curative versus preventative solutions. See how well the war on the rest of the drugs has gone! Not. I bet the sales numbers on Kentucky whiskey & cigars goes way up. Though not Cuban cigars. Those are still illegal. Unless you have a source.

Root cause(s) need to be addressed. Oh, I don’t advocate letting off a rapist, child molester, mass murderer because they had early childhood trauma. It’s not easy or effective yet, accurately predicting who will grow up to be a Manson or a Mother Theresa. Or even if we could, what to do about it. I sure hope that’s where the real effort must be. Better prisons or smarter lawyers ain’t gonna do it. So, good luck.

Now as for Oprah’s endorsement of Mr. Obama. I bet she wrestled long and hard. Hillary or Barack? Over and over. I’d say maybe two commercial breaks worth. Obvious which way she’d go. Hey! he’s from her home state of Illinois. I so wanted to use a black & white( meaning obvious ) decision. My third choice was slam dunk, but everybody knows white women can’t jump.

I would like to take this opportunity to endorse Mr. Obama too. This does not bode well for him, based on my political track record. As much as I’d like to see a woman in the Ovule, errrr Oval Office*, Mrs. Clinton has way too much baggage on so many levels, including the problem of what to call the first Presidential male partner**, who just also happens to be a former President! The First Man? too anthropological. First Husband? technically accurate on 2 counts. First ex-Pres and guy in US history in this situation? shorten it to Expotus, sounds Greek, a foreshadowing of the theatrics sure to follow. I like that one best. BTW there is no prize for observing how many capital O’s were necessary to create these two paragraphs.

Wasn’t that fun. I need a long Winter’s nap.

* serving as President and not servicing one

** in a legalized heterosexual union they call marriage

Johnny Cum Laudely

August 30, 2007 Leave a comment

The kings & queens of hindsight are speaking. The media is all lathered up. Suddenly all the information is available about the twisted soul who murdered 32 people at Virginia Tech. Seems as if he wasn’t suited for campus life, especially at such a large university. Seems as if he had socialization & communication problems. Oh, and those who vetted his admission, ‘ misinterpreted ‘ rules about an individual’s medical privacy.

In much the way the events of September 11, opened the door for more stringent laws regarding homeland security, I can see trouble ahead in dorm life. All twitchy Gen X-boxers, better keep their Wiis-wiis in their pants, or face the consequences of not making it past level 1. Here we go again, classic WASP misdirection. David Copperfield got nothin’ on them dudes.

I’m not a fan of VA Tech. I think they also dropped the ball, literally and figuratively with the Vick brothers. Coach Bubba & alums can dissemble & get as huffy as they like, but they dragged these individuals out of their rough surroundings because of their athletic skills. Now both are nothing short of criminals; talk about being asocial! What thought was given to that while recruiting them? they didn’t really fit anywhere but a football field, and Marcus not so much. Sure, Michael Vick got his NFL payday and we’ve seen the results. Add his recent woes to his lousy pass completion stats & Falcon brass are not all that weepy. . ..

The state of Virginia btw, gets no pass from me, in the case of the VA Tech tragedy. They sold a dangerous person a gun. Oh wait, make that 2, though they did make him wait another 30 days. This bullshit about warning the campus is also a huge ‘ what if. ‘ Yes, I think it would’ve been prudent. No doubt many of the deceased would not be. However, the perpetrator of such venomous intent, might well have escalated into unimagined realms. The chances to change the outcome, was long before that day. Long before.

The cliche ‘ only human ‘ applies here exponentially. All involved were, and are, only human. I admire the spirit of the Tech student body & wish them all the best forever. But the state & their institute of high learning, needs to address many things, rather than say, sucking revenue from unfastened seat belts & rabid football fans. I don’t advocate jailing any kid who carries around a copy of The Anarchist’s Handbook. But if anyone sees him around campus with floor plans, pointing at buildings, while making cartoonish ‘splodey sounds & laughing like DeNiro in Cape Fear, show some %$*#! sense. Focus his mad subterranean gaming skills & send him spelunking with some new high-tech weaponry in the ‘stans. . ..