Saturday, May 31, 2008

I've Been Told

Streets of Heaven Are Lined With Gold

We ain't got nuthin' to say, or dream, or reflect lately. We just eat and shit. My only pet is a pink Tyco pig. I'm told it's name is Soybean. It might have looked like a Ralph or a Gertie to me, but I have to believe what I've been told. My niece wouldn't lie about stuff like that!

BRING ON THE CHOCOLATE PIGS! Trot out the dinosaur flags! Or, to quote David Niven's book, "Bring on the Empty Horses!"

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Last Thoughts About Woody Guthrie

Spoken Words By Bob Dylan

The most important seven minutes you'll ever waste. (I've done it at least three times.)

I think it's sad that so little comment was engendered by this post. There was a better day when I would have gotten more than one decent comment, but I guess it's been so long since I was very thought-provoking that this IS as good as it gets!

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

The Score?

Be quail, be quiet,
She quelled and wet herself
Almost more quickly than I did.
Her tortoise shell torn, my trauma fixed,
She rose above like a Queen of Canasta
And melded all there was to see--oh, Dolly!
There was, it seemed, a lot of Jack to pay!

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Lucky One?

Can't Talk About Nuthin' But Stroke

It is still hard--the stroke I had March 26, I mean, not my member.

It's hard to do small things, worse than before when I felt that diabetes and anemia were close enough to stealing all my energy, personality, and soul, for any tasks at all! I would GET dizzy sometimes, but I think now I'm only occasionally NOT dizzy. That sucks--but, there again, not my member, which would be delightful (if you follow). If you've gotten lost, I just made another typical nasty remark. And if you're mad about that, the evidence is dead certain that you have mistaken me for some other bloke and have badly mistaken this blog. For what, I'm uncertain. How fucked up can you be, when in fact you're a straight arrow who never veered? That isn't me, but it might be you. If so, I advise you to kill yourself soon, somewhere out of the way of busy foot traffic, cars, and trucks... I detest a mess, so don't blow yourself up here, either. Just hang on until you can get home, okay? Then you can ignite yourself.

At any rate, I got through my stroke less injured that many others do, so I was a Lucky One. My concentration is like a tire with a partial flat, but language skills have remained nearly normal and I didn't get any paralysis. I consider those the two big ones. They would have made me a slob in front of friends and strangers alike! God bless those who've been cursed with real problems from their stroke, but I dodged the bullet, by sheer luck or accident. It's hard to know how to celebrate the fact that one's brain didn't blow up and that one still has the blessing of clear speech (and/or writing)!!

I used to use a cane as a casual aid, and now I use one out of dire need. Sometimes I use two for difficult terrain (high steps or rough ground) because walkers suck. I used a walker a little at first, in rehab and when I first got home--but those things make you have to walk sideways into bathrooms or other narrow doorways, and that's an accident waiting to happen. Late at night when I get out of bed to visit the toilet, I don't want those damn walker legs sliding along and stomping on my feet I'd have to be watching carefully or the neuropathy in my feet wouldn't even allow me to feel it at first! I'm horribly weak, but I am getting stronger. Pretty weird, isn't it? I caution you all to slow down in shopping malls and other public places--don't run over any apparent disabled persons, old or otherwise, because they may think like me and whack your kidney with a cane or crutch as you execute some skillful maneuver that puts your detestable young ass underfoot and that you consider very cool!


"Swoosh!" goes the cane! And another young punk bites the dust.

Saturday, May 17, 2008

Klever Klutz

I hate anything professional about anything, about any of you, without restriction. unless you're good-looking and sitting right here.

Friday, May 16, 2008

I Have A Car-wreck In My Back!

Today I shovelled some dirt and ash out out of the wheelbarrow, the purpose being that I needed the wheelbarrow for picking up tree limbs and branches. But the first part, shovelling the dirt and all into garbage bags wore me out completely> Now I don't care any more. I had to quit and forget abut the tree debris. My energy level is SO low and my endurance just as bad. I feel beat-up by very little these days. (That was a few days ago.)

A couple of days later, the sticks got burned. Now all is ash and I'm back to where I started, if I want to see it that way. Too bad one can't burn up the ash! Could I wash it down the drain? It's probably illegal. So is murder, but I'd be glad to kill somebody for just a tiny bit more comfort! Meanwhile I still have a car-wreck in my back. Why does everything have to hurt so bad?

Monday, May 12, 2008

A Different Sound Of Elegance

Maria Callas (NOT the fat lady!) singing opera: "Mon coeur s'ouvre a ta voix "

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Some Things Are Just So Elegant

Emmylou Harris - For No One

What's The Point?

adj. jaun·ti·er, jaun·ti·est
1. Having a buoyant or self-confident air; brisk.
2. Crisp and dapper in appearance; natty.
3. Archaic
a. Stylish.
b. Genteel.

Many will fail to see what that all has to do with me!

Friday, May 09, 2008

Bad Dog!

Bad Who?

I don't know why, but I bite at every hand that gets near. It's only the friendly ones that are moving slow enough to get caught by my teeth, so I don't know why I do it at all. All I can do is desperately hope that I don't bite them all at once! How many enemies can an unpopular man stand to have at one time? (I think I've asked that question before.)

Some of you have bad dogs that you won't restrain, hush, or curb, so what can I do about me?

Thursday, May 08, 2008

What Does Byron Know?

Classifying The Other Guy's Stuff

clap·trap n.
Pretentious, insincere, or empty language: "I hate ... that air/Of claptrap, which your recent poets prize" Byron.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

Begging To Give Blowjobs in Myanmar

Why should we or anyone in the international community of humanitarian aid have to beg Myanmar to allow aid to come into their devastated country? Shouldn't they be begging us to come in? I hate to say "to hell with them", but I don't see why that isn't a perfectly sensible reaction. Unless these groups were strong enough to just say "Fuck you" to the military crazies who run that conntry and force their way in with aid, I can't see any reason for any more dicking around. The military leadership probably likes to be begged, but they probably also would like it if American senators would beg to give them blowjobs.

Hey, I don't know about the senators, but it ain't that important to me. I don't say "Nuke 'Em!" But I do say "Let 'em be."

I guess I couldn't run the world very well if it was left to me. I'd just take my football and all my snacks and go home. The rest of you could eat one another.

It's a pity that this topic is rightly placed in the category Politics when it should be categorized as Skullduggery or as Self-castration or as Brain Damage.

This seems to me the perfect way to make it impossible for those military leaders to "grow" their pitiful army any further. We'll just let the population die, then there won't be many left to draft or shanghai, howeve they get new soldiers there.

Rapacious Pre-history Pre-schoolers

"You eat all your eggs and I'll eat mine," grinned one teenage dinosaur to another "There is no wrong or right--not yet, anyway."

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

More Daily Swill

I don't even know what Facebook is, that's how far out of the Internet swim I've gotten. I glanced at it, but it didn't seem attractve to me. Maybe there was nobody attractive on it? Educate me if I'm insulting you...

My Bad!

My one future-dated post didn't ever publish yesterday, so that new feature is either a piece of crap or I can't follow directions. Both are possible, so I have to restudy the matter. Pisses me off, though. I already make enough mistakes. Lousy Blogger.

Oops! I get it. I forgot to click Publish Post after I'd set the future date on the "Rapacious" post. If you do that, it then shows a sign that says, "Your post will be automatically published on x date at x time." So I've redated "Rapacious to be published tomorrow at 8 AM and expect that it will be published then as it should. Otherwise, I'll shoot myself in the back!

Don't mind me, I'm just another blog idiot.

Monday, May 05, 2008

When Whut Hits The Fan?

To test the new feature, I created a future-dated post to be auto-published on the 5th (today), but nothing's happened so far. Perhaps it is also waiting for the late hour that I had previously saved to that post. So I still have some hope that it will work. You'll know it when you see it--that post title has the word "Rapacious" in it, and not many of my posts use that word at all. If all does not work in the end, you can be sure that I will heap shit on Blogger until their head disappears, until they disappear into even the most mountainous landscape. It's not a pretty sight.

What Me Worry?

If Not Larry King, Let's Kill Email

I never used to be able to notice that my Spam or Junk Mail had gotten even as large as 50 or 100 messages without JUST HAVING to delete them all. I guess I'm getting "better" or just more patient. I've noticed lately that I can stare at accumulated emails in the hundreds (just now, 400) and yet I can leave them alone for The System to destroy later.

Is this when you know that you've stopped being a Worry-Wart? Or do I have to worry that I'll start kicking dogs in the absense of being able to exterminate junk mail by the ton? Hell if I know! What am I, a mind-reader?!

Sunday, May 04, 2008

Except When Drunk (Maybe)

A. A. Milne: "One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries."

Think She Knew She Wasn't First To Say It?

Edith Wharton:
"Another unsettling element in modern art is that common symptom of immaturity, the dread of doing what has been done before."

Saturday, May 03, 2008

All Reporters are Twerps

Why Not Kill One?

What fuckheads all these reporters and interviewers of the famous are--they all conclude these days that the most important thing about any famous-person interview is the part when they (the dumb fucking unfamous interviewers) show that they think the best part of any interview is when they (the interviewer) begin responding, pontificating, or interpreting. They talk while Presidential candidates are shown in the background picking their teeth. Worse than that, they show themselves picking teeth while the candidates are shown in the background still clearly speaking! It's obvious that TV people think the best part is when they (the chuckleheads) steal the air time. What goddamn fucking fools they all are, and they will not stop it, while alive. So let's kill one, dammit!

You hear me, Charlie Rose? You hear me, CNN twerps?! I don't care if wolverines eat your babies, but here you come again like God's gift to America and I wonder, why will no one being interviewed ever just pull out a pistol and shoot this ignoramus lamebrain Larry King?! Maybe just bust his kneecaps real bad with a bullet each? It's not as if it would be WRONG to do it, you know!!!

It would be one of the most moral televised murders in the history of the world. I would certainly enjoy seeing it!

Mark David Chapman

I would deny his request to have sex with a cantaloupe, but then I'm not a kind man.

Friday, May 02, 2008

Unkind Saint

John Lennon

You know, it's remarkable to me how many people still don't get it that it was meant to be a good thing when John Lennon sang about "imagine there is no religion". I always thought that it and the other things in the song were great ideas--not that anyone had to BELIEVE all of it, but just IMAGINE IT and see how much you and the world would be freed of so much baggage if we'd give up the things that we kill for.! I think Lennon was a sort of Unkind Philosopher Saint and that twit who killed him was--well, just a twit. I wish they'd quit talking about letting him go home to his Mommy and Daddy, though. That degree of kindness is beyond me. If the ghost of John Lennon came back and told us to release him, I'd still feel the same. I could go on at greater length about this, but I'd just become obnoxious


Imagine there's no Heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

Did You Ever Have A Yen For Spam?

Yam Yam

I yam what I yam, and yam ain't' spam! It ain't even meatloaf.
See, I'm already getting back to Normal.

Thursday, May 01, 2008

Incidental Damage From The Stroke

Comic Sidebar

One of the incidentals of my stroke was a comic one (so it turns out), though it has kept me pissed off for 10 days or so. After I returned home from the hospital and the rehab, it took a day or so before I noticed that the small remote control for my bedroom stereo (radio/cd player) was missing. I began to think it had fallen through one of those rabbit holes that they keep in Alice's wonderland while I was falling down or pawing around on the floor after my stroke. Unable to get my ass down on the floor for a really good look, I've supposed that it was under the bed or some other piece of furniture in the bedroom. Every day I thought about it, searching a little each time. I was saving the big dresser for last because it was so damn heavy--even if I unloaded the drawers, it was going to seem heavy to me! I didn't want to attempt that task without co-workers! But this morning, all became clear.

I hadn't worn my silver-grey sneakers since coming home and as soon as I got them on my feet and tried to stand, something was hurting my left foot. Was it a rock, a sharp object, or just a double crease in my sock? With neuropathy, one's feet do not lack all feeling, but neither are they "sensitive". Anyway, I didn't guess until I pulled the shoe off that I'd been standing on top of that prized but missing remote control! Well, it was nice to find it, but unpleasant to find I'd just been standing on it! I felt like a triple ass! I wondered if I'd broken it, but apparently not. I wonder how many things world-wide have disappeared, seemingly forever, into a seldom-worn old pair of shoes? The next time you need to play Sherlock Holmes in your bedroom, keep it in mind! The next time I'm wondering what "hole" something could have fallen into, I'm going to recall the "hole" in that goddamn shoe!