Saint James In The City

Christmas Car Talk

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 17:08:00 +0000

Driving up the GW parkway the other night, watching the snow covered trees flash by, triggered a rush of memories: I thought for a moment of 1975 when my friend Kevin and I used to hang out with Rachel and Janice in their apartment above a bakery on 7 mile and Van Dyke. I can still smell the bread baking while we sat on the floor and drank Lambrusco and smoked Newports and Kools... Rachel was a titty dancer at the Grand Duchess (though she had really small tits), I was into Janice who was dark eyed and swayed just so... One time she sang a song she wrote which was stupid (and she knew it) but I still remember after all these years: " The rain is falling from the sky, falling from the clouds, falling from my eyes...” dumb lyrics but it was a sweet moment that she shared... later that year she invited me up north to see her and her new boyfriend on his 'ranch' somewhere way the fuck up near Mackinaw. I was young and dumb enough to think "why not?' and so I drove my Chevy up there in January.rolling past snow covered pines for hours... till I got there and promtly put my Nova in a ditch on the 'ranch' driveway. Anyhow I remember Janice, her boyfriend (who kept saying to her: "God Damn woman it's 1975!), and I dropped mescaline and played pool at the local bar with the rednecks. I was quite a sight in those days, a super skinny kid with red hair down to his ass, and a fancy leather jacket with zippers all over it. Some how I managed not to get my self killed by the redneck locals or the cowboy boyfriend... and I can still picture the ride back to the ranch that night in his van... no heat, Janice in the passenger seat, cowboy driving, me hanging on to her armrest sitting on the cold floor, pines and snow banks flashing by at 80 MPH, the three of us tripping our brains out.... seeing her breath in the air...and a sadness in her eyes that she'd ended up with this guy, knowing I'd never see her again, and hearing his refrain... "God damn woman, it's 1975..."

Driving along I got another flash of a Christmas eve car ride when I was about 7 or 8... my dad had a 1961 Comet , and I can remember sitting in the back seat watching the big lit up yellow pages sign along side the freeway as we drove home from my grandpa's house, old spice and whiskey smells in the cold dark car, mixed with a hint of exhaust (the Comet was a real piece of shit) ... my mother huddled as close as she could get to the passenger door, her lips pursed....unhappy with my fathers drinking... her face lit by the glow from the dash and the streetlights.... for some reason this image is often the one I recall when I think of our family. I guess it sums it up.

That image flashed forward to Nicki in the front seat of my 200SX... we were driving on a wet and dark Telegraph road one Holiday in the '80s and someone cut me off. I had the reflex somehow to make just the right lane change at high speed. And she looked at me and said: "nice job"... I felt like John Wayne... and I remember her hair was so black her flecks of purple highlights shone like diamonds in the light from passing cars....

I remembered a time I was driving home from Toledo up I-75 in the crappy used Mazda I bought when Casey was back in England and "Tasha and I were living at the lake in Howell... some douche bag did a 3 lane dash for his exit right in front of me. This time either my reflex wasn't so fast or the tires couldn’t hold, but I spun 4 times at 70MPH before sliding into the shoulder grass.... all the while seeing Tasha's face wondering what would become of her...

Of course enough Christmas's have passed that I can tell how the story turned out... my folks are long dead, Nicki’s long in England, Janice and Rachael and Kevin are just ghosts of memory,Tasha remains safe at home with Casey and I, but sometimes.... when the headlights play off the snowdrifts just right... I hear a voice singing: "The rain is falling from the sky......

The View From The 39th Floor

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 12:23:00 +0000

New York is full of German tourists

They're marching around the Empire state

There's a woman on TV from Brooklyn

Drinking soup in the wind

(I guess that's news, though no one mentions the Germans)

Macy's is full of knifes and red ribbons

And the old women bitch in the basement about the service

I look out my window to the statue in the south

And see two holes in the sky

New York is full of ghosts ascending

Though no one notices, not even the Germans.

Swept Away

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 19:50:00 +0000

This time of year night falls like a razor

Landing each afternoon like the Mason Dixon line

Dividing north from south and blue from grey

As the colors fade into Christmas.

This time of year night falls and renders asunder

that which was joined

that which was promised

by elfin children,

who grow to be shadows

long now in the weak winter light.

This time of year the choirs sing the songs of Vietnamese barbers

Gloria Gloria snip snip buzz

While the walkers search the seaside for bargains

And the hunters long for love to fall

Like a razor

Like a shadow

Like a lock of golden hair

swept away at twilight.

Clean Up On Aisle Three, Cut Price Salvation, and Thar' Blows Joe (Reprise)

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 22:18:00 +0000

The other day we were at K-MART for some 'high end' shopping, and right smack doodley dab in the front aisle was a life size Jason robot with a plastic swing blade swinging up and down in his right hand. As I stood in line waiting to buy my Jacyln Smith authentic rubberized door mat* I noticed several ADULTS stop by the Jason display to touch the plastic knife blade... checking to see if it was real. What in the name of Holy Jumping Fucking Jesus were these dumb shits thinking: " Hmm I wonder if K-MART uses real knifes in the Halloween display.. that would be kind of cool...". Yuh think so Sparky?? I imagine the K-MART lawyer making a call something like this: " You what? A real fucking knife...?? Five amputations??? Did you at least put up a warning sign: Caution crazy as shit store manager thought it would be fun to use real razor sharps knifes in the display??? Argggggggggg!"
The whole thing served as yet another reminder that we have some seriously dumb motherfuckers walking around.

Elsewhere in the store I noticed an entire clearance rack of votive style candles with pictures of Jesus on sale for a buck each. Now I have not seriously thought Jesus would save my soul since I was about 17, but it sure is nice to see the Lord can save a feller some money. I had to wonder though: does this sale rack of discount saviors mean a certain lack of ..err fervor has crept into our fine Christian zip code? If sales of Jesus Style Scented Holiday Family Aroma Therapy (made in China) Stop The God-Damn Gays From Marrying Candles are down....... does this not mean that evil is on the rise? Are we praying hard enough, is there too much interweb butt based sex type stuff going on in our towns nether regions? I believe I have spotted what we scientists** like to call a 'leading indicator' of moral decline. So friends let me warn you... that we have trouble, right here in G -Burg city.. with a capital 'T' and that rhymes with 'C' and that stands for candles. So be a sport: stop looking at your favorite interknob site: " "Big Ass Lesbo NAZI Cheerleaders In Jail" and spend a buck. You might just be staving off Armageddon.

Speaking of NAZI whores, when in the fuck is somebody gonna give that mumbling stuttering prick Joe
Lieberman the parliamentary slap down he deserves. The latest from this senile fuck is that he thinks he will vote with the R's to prevent an up or down vote on heath care reform in the Senate. Really Joe? I'm surprised you were able to take the big Insurance Company dick out of your mouth long enough to call Harry Reid with the news. And this guy is still the Chairman of the Homeland Security Committee? Holy Fucking Double Dong Douche Bag Batman! I think it's high time we reassign Ol'Joe to a committee more in keeping with his... err skills. How about 'The Senate Select Sub Committee On Reach Under Handjobs... ..what?... Oh Larry Craig's got that one .. Joint Committee on Silly Fucks In Diapers with Hookers... huh? Dandy Dave Vitters got it you say... ..Hmmm ... Wait wait ..I know: Maybe Harry can send Joe on a fact finding mission somewhere.... like checking into the safety of in store Halloween displays.. ....

(*) Kind of a bring down... in the 70's boys used to er..picture Ms Smith while they umm er.. prepared for bed, now we just use her products to wipe our shoes...

(**) I drove past a Holiday Inn Express..which makes me closer to Big Al Einstein than any of those morons on cable Tee Vee expounding on their ideas about how men and dinosaurs co- existed, thus making the Flintstones the first doc-u-drama.

With A Rebel Yell, Evening Falls (So Hard), And Major Ali Explains Things

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 17:30:00 +0000

Doing a day shift at the Tee Vee machine the other day I rode the 3:50pm train home from Union Station. The conductor is a guy named Frank, and his speciality is his boarding call at each station. Most conductors these days just use their radio walkie talkie to tell the choo choo driver it's ok to go, but Frank is serious old school. At each stop he leans out the door and gives a long loud ' alllaboooooooooooooooard....." fol owed by the most blood chilling 100% aged in the south ' yeeeeeeee hawwwwwwwww!' you ever did hear in your cotton picking life. I've ridden this train with Frank dozens of times, and until now never really considered how a black person might react to all the yee-hawing. Franks is a huge bear of a man, and I have no earthly idea if he has ever had a racist thought. Still.. given the history of race relations in this country, and given the fact that this train runs right past Antietam on it's way up to Martins burg .. I wonder. Of course if some of our Republican friends ran the railroad I suspect that all the conductors would be Johhny Reb yelling (and wearing pointy hoods).

In my nightstand I keep a report I received years ago from the adoption agency that placed me when I was very young The report reads like a blacked out highly redacted CIA document, but gives the only background information I have ever had about my birth parents. Every now and then I'm drawn to open the drawer and re-read the section about my birth mother. She is described as working as an usherette at the time of my birth, and being a 'sullen somewhat sad person'. The document offers no real clues as to her identity, and I've never tried to find her or my father. I doubt if they are alive still, but sometimes, when the evening falls just so, and the night is made of velvet ... sometimes I wonder about her. Was it as hard as I imagine to give up a child? Or did she steel herself, not let herself feel it.. never looking back? Was she pretty? What did her laugh sound like..or did she not have much reason for laughing. Sometimes, when the evening falls so hard....I take these coffee stained papers... and read them again.... Always before the morning, I fold them and place them carefully back in the drawer.

Last week my great CERT volunteers and I had a chance to participate in some cool training with a combination of Fire Rescue, Military, and Federal Secret Squirrel types for two days in Virginia. The military folks were absolutely wonderful to work with: patient, kind, funny, and competent as hell.I had the pleasure of working with combat vet named Major Ali, who swapped stories with me about stupid media types we have known. He told me a bout a dumb shit reporter who asked the Major how a battle was going one day in Sadar City as bullets whizzed over their heads pinning down our guys. Being a decent sort the Major just laughed at him and said: " What do you think Sparky?". I would have said: " I dunno, how's about you pop yer head up and take a look see...." I'm glad we have men like Major Ali serving our country, and it's probably a good thing I'm not the media liaison for anything. One time at a fire I was standing with my EMS crew watching flames shoot 50 feet into the air from the roof of an unoccupied townhouse, while our wagon and truck boys and girls worked to get a knock on the fire. A civilian tapped me on the shoulder and asked: "You guys got it under control yet...?" Stupid is as stupid does whether in Baghdad or Rockville I suppose.

The World Is Full Of Gods

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 22:14:00 +0000

Everything is made of water, and the world is full of Gods

Born in tears we vanish in smoke

The scientists say there's a ribbon of light half way to the stars

(they can make us remember things that never were)

We are all made of the same stuff, we begin and end in the same place

Heads full of vague memories

of Gods and ribbons

The scientists say that music is mathematics

the world is held together by notes, and strings, and harmonies

The lovers remember the melody

The children recall the rhythm

The dogs and dreamers remember the world as it was

as it really is

full of Gods slowly drowning.

Robert De Niro's Waiting ( Talking Italian), None Dare Call It Treason ( But I Will)

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 17:22:00 +0000

Okay ..here's what I think the 'O' man needs in this so called heatlh care 'debate': a bit more of the stick and a lot less of the carrot. This is what I would like to see:

As Senator Max Bacus makes his way to the door of the hearing room, he is intercepted by a smiling Don Rickles: " Excuse me Senator..can I just have a word with you.. on behalf of big pharma we'd just like to let you count your cash in private.. you know what I mean .. right this way". As Rickles guides Bacus through the double doors to the service corridor we see President Obama waiting with a hammer in his hand... " What's it gonna be Senator? The Public Option or the hammer?"

Speaking of dropping the hammer... the inter webs are a-buzz about the NewsMax editorial calling for ( or was it predicting) a military coup in this country against President Obama. Well Sparky..from where I sit, that there is treason pure and simple.... I didn't vote for Geo W Bush..( or his daddy, or Reagan , or Nixon..etc) but I didn't call for a coup. ( I suspect Dubbya would assume that a coup is a two seat sports car as in little deuce...). On a similar note, let me make one thing very clear: Glen Beck is just a top 40 Morning Zoo jock run amok who is in it for the money. They all are. None of those guys, Beck, Hannity, Limbaugh.. really believes most of the shit they say. Let put it another way: they mean what they say in the same way I meant it when I used to say that Pink Floyd was my favorite band. Yeah right... we are all just Ho's for the money... the only difference being that I never incited violence, racial hatred, or preached treason... (of course if I had maybe I'd be rich and on Tee Vee right now). I used to think I didn't have TV looks.. after all TV guys are just DJ's with better hair.. but after taking a look at the Glenster... well hell this guy has the wild eyed look of a chronic masturbator and Iborgaine addict.... It seems that the rant is all that counts these days. I actually watched about 10 minutes of Herr Beckenfurher the other night. He was railing on about Communism, socialism, and social justice.... and I thought: "Errr? social justice?? He's against it??" Well yes indeedy fuckie do my little snow fakes... in the Alice in Wunderland bizzaro universe of these jack booted jerk offs... up is down, black is white, and social justice is bad, bad, bad. The whirring sound you hear is Thomas Aquinas in his grave on spin dry. What the fuck is wrong with these people? Say what you will about Tail Gunner Joe, or Father Charlie... one was a drunk, and one a power mad true believer..... neither of them got into 'the biz' just for cheap blow jobs and free concert tickets. Hey Glen... come over here for a second... Don Rickles wants to see you..........

Big Daddy Boom Boom and The Children Of Light ( With Footnotes)

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 02:10:00 +0000

There is a fireworks store down the road from our condo in Myrtle Beach called "Big Daddy Boom Boom". I think that would make a great name for a swing band, and is the name I use for the old school God of the Yah-boobs. First a bit of background on our beloved home away from home in South Carolina. My wife and I were there for Christmas, and I noted that the only things open for business on Christmas day were: Pancake Joints, The Sex Toy & DVD shop, and Ammunition stores. I don't know about you friend, but nothing helps me celebrate our dear saviors birth like trying out a brand new pocket pussy while watching 'Super Shiny Butts Volume 12", eating a double stack with blueberry syrup, and firing my AK-47 at all the 'good parts' of the movie. Hoo wee buddy... hell yes... Bam Bam ! "Honey pass me some more lube and another pancake please..."(*) (**).

Anyway. here is my point: we live in country where at least a third of the people think we should base our common destiny on the 'information' they 'receive' from their imaginary invisible friend who seems to spend most of his time making lists and checking them twice. Years ago I read a book called "Your God Is Too Small" which talked about how most people have a childish conception of the divine that varies between a cosmic Santa ( he sees you when you're sleeping so get your hand out of your jammies!) and a Big Daddy Boom Boom who gets his rocks off smiting people. To believe in a 'God" who would punish folks who won't say the 'right' magic words, or get squiggly in the 'right' Jesus panties(***), or wear the 'right' special hat while facing in the 'right' direction..... to believe in such a 'God" is to reduce the almighty to the level of a cosmic Eichman: forever busy figuring train schedules for the damned. Any theology that says: "I'm in and you're out" by definition makes a Nazi out of the divine. A Big Daddy who spends eternity making people go 'boom' just because they fell in love with the wrong person(****), or had the poor taste not to be born in America.... isn't worthy of belief, let alone worship, or serving as the basis for a public agenda. The sad reality is that millions of Americans are in thrall to this ersatz version of 'Christianity' , are somehow convinced that God only speaks to Republicans.

It's easy enough to take shots at other peoples beliefs, so perhaps the time has come to put my money down and make my confession, Here is my credo:

I believe in a God who loves like a good father, who makes all that is seen and unseen.. the mother holding her sick child, the old man dying alone, the lonely and forgotten, all unseen, all dressed in 'rags of light', all his children gathered from east to west and age to age ... offering song in the morning, and blood on a Memphis balcony at evening time... I believe in a poor mans son who brings justice to workers, and eyesight to the blind. I believe in bread and wine like Melchizedek did, I believe in friends for the long road. and mercy in the small hours of the night...I believe in a Lord who is our brother and meets us in the cool of the garden at dawn.

And I believe that it will be a cold day at the beach when Jimmy Dobson, or any of those oily white boy George Wallace wanna-be's understand a word of the preceding paragraph. Perhaps one day they will, and then we can all go down to the river with sparklers and fireworks to sing a chorus of Boom Boom Hallelujah. I'm not holding my breath waiting for that day. Now if you'll excuse me.. I'm getting low on ammo and pancakes.

(*) Boom Boom: Why do all these porno movies have multiple volumes, i.e. " Big Swedish Titties Volume 16" Are there that many plot lines to explore? Does anybody ever say: " Yeah volumes 1-15 were crap, but Holy Jumpin' Jizz Rag Batman. volume 16 is the bomb!"

(**) Bang Bang: I used to hang out with a jeweler named Bobby who liked to lay around his big old house outside Detroit and snort smack while shooting a 357 into the ceiling. Take away lesson: never live upstairs from a junkie jeweler who packs heat.

(***) Wham Bam: Some Mormons wear 'special garments' as underwear, colloquially referred to as "Jesus Jamies". When I was in Salt Lake I heard the story of how some of the 'upstanding' men of the Church would wear their garments to certain types of 'entertainment venues', resulting in 'special stains".

(***) Poof!Poof!

Explaining September

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 18:01:00 +0000

They say we fall in love with the season of our birth

Maybe that explains September

Or maybe it’s something about the light, or the tress in the lane

Maybe it's about the slow release of summer... a dying kiss...a whisper

Perhaps September is about a vision of winter

Waiting over the horizon.... far off like a distant range... blue and shimmering in the long haze

Maybe September explains me, my distances, my sadness, my beautiful aches

Or maybe September is just for the tasting, the embrace, the memories,

Maybe just for the joy.

Longer Boats, Blue Jag Jag Off, and Knights in White Satin

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 19:10:00 +0000

I spent last weekend once again in the belly of the beast at my condo in South Carolina . We had a great weekend, perfect weather, empty beaches, and I was starting to think I wouldn't have anything to write about even though we were once again in the heart of Jesusland. Oh me of little faith; lo and behold on the last night of our stay we came home from dinner to find a 130 foot super luxury yacht moored at the fuel dock in our marina. Holy nautical overkill Batman! This thing was fucking huge, and incredibly beautiful. My best guess is that some scumbag banker made enough from our tax bailout to drop a cool 20 million or so on this bad boy. I noticed the ship was registered in Bikini Marshall Islands, which is an off shore flag of convenience registry for a boat built in Florida. It is also worth noting that the Bikini Atoll is where we ( or was it the French ) used to test H- Bombs. Maybe it would be fitting if we made these rich pricks actually live there for a year before they could register their super duper-look at the size of my dick- floating fuck pads there. I figure after about a year in the hot zone their balls will glow in the dark enough to help them find their way to the 'poop deck' during those dark nights at sea.

As my neighbors and I stood on the dock and admired this beautiful yacht, we were suddenly joined by a good 'ole boy in a blue Jag XK, who zoomed up and strode over to us. He loudly informed us that this gigantic personal cruise ship in front of us wasn't big enough for his tastes, he was looking for a 140 footer: and by the way he owns a fuel company, a port in Charleston, and a P-51 airplane One could only surmise he was also the proud owner of a tiny, tiny penis.The 'gent' in question then explained how he doesn't pay a "48 percent Obama tax". keeps his money offshore in the Virgin Islands, hates blacks and women drivers, and thinks we are all chumps, He snorted, said we could all kiss his ass,climbed back in his Jag and left. I turned to my friends and said: "I think we just met Joe Wilson's chief fundraiser...".

This man was full of hate, rage, and my guess would be plenty of 12 year old single malt. I felt that I was standing inches away from the angry red white and blue eyed face of the Republican Party circa 2009. Put a sheet on this rich twats head and you got yourself a Grand Cyclops..... except I believe that gig is already taken by a certain J. Wilson of Colombia S.C. Oh well, I suppose one could always start a chapter overseas... say somewhere in the Marshall Islands....... I'm sure there are plenty of extra sheets on board the yacht.

Gypsy Dreams

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 15:37:00 +0000

She said the pills make her dream of gypsies

I said, I must be getting old.... I dream of building a fire and painting by the water

I said, the summer is gone
Let's go to Carolina

Let's walk through gardens
Let's touch the waves from Africa
Let's remember music

Let us dream of gypsies

Stairway To Heaven, Jesus in The Parking Lot,and The Seven Hundred Thousand Dollar Umbrage Machine..

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 13:56:00 +0000

We ran a call last Friday night helping a woman who had her toes amputated get up her stairs. The lady was a true southern charmer, you could hear the honey in her voice, and you could see that once upon a time she had the men lining up for a taste. Her home was filled with beautiful feminine antiques, a piano with ivory inlays, a beaux arts desk, everywhere summer hats and frilly scarves... all a bit faded in the waning summer light. It seemed that she, like her home, was.. fading.. slipping away, yet still beautiful. She thanked us deeply for carrying her up the stairs to her bed, and promised us that when she got better we'd all be invited for a grand party. I knew, and I think she knew, there would be no getting better. It was a sad sweet moment, and I wondered if we all one day get to a tipping point like that; a point where we know we won't ever feel young again, a day when one notices the shadows growing longer, a day when you feel the first shiver of winter.

Speaking of shivers, I couldn't help but notice the full parking lot as I drove past the local Mega First Baptist Church Of Wall Mart or whatever the fuck they call the local yahboob palace last Sunday. I got to wondering how is it that these places can be so full, and produce people with such cold hearts. I'm pretty sure most if not all of your Glen Beck Tea Bag Anti Obama Fuck the Poor We Don't Need No God Damn Health Care type screamers attends one of these mega moron joints. And If not, I'll wager you a crisp hundred that 98% of them would describe themselves as 'Christian'. I guess the question I have for these folks is the existential Christian question posed by Jesus himself: "who do you say I am?". Define your Christ folks,,,is he not seen in the poor? In the broken? In the sick? In the immigrant? And if he isn't, then where do you find him? Whom is it you claim to worship? I'd love an answer, but I don't expect I'll get one.

When I was in college we used to joke that the 'professional' Tee Vee guys had such great equipment that they probably had a special $700,000 'glitch' machine just to make stuff look crappy when they wanted to simulate amateur video. (Our stuff looked crappy for free). I thought of the glitch machine while reading the inane comments of the Palinistas complaining about Obamas speech to the kiddies today. God forbid the president should speak to school kids... why..why he might put socialized pluralistic communistic fluoridated type scientific ideas in their tiny little head spaces, and the very next thing you know they will be smoking Ecstasy and running a death panel while playing video games. So the good folks at the Family Research Christian Family American Anti Commie Family Jesus Center just press a button and crank up the magic umbrage machine..and before you can say "Holy Shit Birds Batman", the airwaves are flooded with sweaty jerk offs whining about the latest "assault' and 'insult'. These people are every bit as crazy as the Muslim nuts who riot every time someone draws a cartoon of Mohamed smoking hash in Amsterdam. Hmm I wonder if old Osama Bin Fuckwad has anything besides a dialysis machine in that cave of his... maybe something worth about ..oh 700 grand or so......

The Derby Gets Rained Out, Lyndon Explains It All, And I Try The Methodist Diet

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Sun, 23 Aug 2009 19:16:00 +0000

The last couple of days at the fair consisted of dust bowl like heat conditions followed by biblical monsoons and Woodstock anniversary mud puddles. Sweltering in the heat I realized that some genius in the "planing" department ( these guys are to the concept of 'planing' as the Detroit Lions are to the concept of 'winning') decided that the nice shady part of our worksite would be the perfect place to put the air-conditioned 'command' trailer; while the open front tents for doing public outreach could sit directly exposed to the mid day sun and heat. Bosses sit in the air-conditioned shade while workers and the taxpayers sweat their corn dog swollen sweaty balls off. Where's Karl Marx when you need him?

Friday night the skies opened just as the Demolition Derby was getting underway... causing several thousand 'sports fans' ( the Demo Derby is a 'sport' just like Thomas Kincade is an 'artist') to run for their lives and seek cover under the bleachers. Some of these die hards waited a couple of hours in the rain hoping to see some crash for clunkers before heading back home to their trailer parks. If I seem to have an attitude about "Derby Fans" ... .maybe it's because I've seen these people up close. Three hundred pounds, bad teeth, mullets, Skynrd tee shirts, and a 249 ounce big gulp (and that' just grandma). Let me put it this way: Demolition Derby fans make NASCAR aficionados look like an opening night crowd at the Bolshoi..... Yikes.....

My neighbor Lyndon explained all this to me the other day : " We just don't have no good Monster Trucks around here... you gotta go to the midwest to see that. Them folks know what's what with a big ass loud monster fucking truck.." The man has a point... my home-state of Michigan may have the economic outlook of a Kosher Deli in Kandahar.... but we sure as holy jumping fucking Jesus can make a pickup truck that's 35 feet tall and loud enough to make the Virgin Mary herself shit her drawers every-time that bad boy steps on the gas. Whoo wee!

Speaking of gastrointestinal disorders... I've spent the last nine days eating hot dogs and cole slaw from the Bethesda Methodist 'pavilion' . This seems to be pretty much a low rent version of the Hollywood Detox diets... I don't think it's done me any good from a heath stand point ... but at least I've had a chance to see that most endangered of species up close: The Bethesda Methodist. They can normally be identified in the field by their pink Izod golf shirts, and exceedingly dour expressions. In over a week of dealing with the same guy at the counter.....his entire conversation with me consisted of: " Here's your dog... (grunt)". Good PR Meth-Ohs.... I bet you'll get a lot of sign ups..... maybe even as many as the Strobe Light Wankers down the midway. Now if you'll excuse me, I feel an urgent need to shop for an Izod golf shirt.

Oh Baby Just You Shut You Mouth (Continued)

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 11:46:00 +0000

They are back again. The whacky Church Of The Holy Strobe Light boys and girls at the county fair. Once again they are set up in a tent across from our 'Safety Village" with their China Girl pantomime of whips and matrix costumes, and poses to the tune of Mission Impossible. I think it"s more like "Comprehension Impossible" ...but maybe that's just me. They have a sign that says something about the battle between God and Satan. Kind of like "Paradise Lost' if Milton had been a Chinese teenager who liked to jack off to black and white pictures of Barbara Bain.

Anyway.... they were back at it with endless repeats of the same weird skit..... until today; when the whole troupe of 20 - 30 of them made their way en masse over to our Moon Bounce, only to be disappointed that this 'ride' is only for little kids....not sexy China Dolls involved in heavy spiritual warfare on behalf of the IMF team. I was kinda hoping to see 'em bounce if you know what I mean.. although I'm sure this thought was planted in my brain by Satan.

Later on I wandered down to the food stand (next to the "Goat Barn") to get a hot dog. It turns out that the stand is run by some Methodists from Bethesda, whose idea of customer service consisted of refusing to give my friend her receipt, and insisting that her small coke was in fact a large one. I asked if they expected her to multiply the loaves and colas..but they didn't seem to find that funny at all. Bethesda Methodists are not generally known for their sense of humor. Next time I'm hungry I think I'll just follow the boys and girls from the Hanky Spanky Matrix Church. I don't know if I'll find a good hot dog, but I bet they know where to get some great pics of Barbara Bain.......

Maybe The Yellow Moon

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 15:22:00 +0000

I wake often

In the blue before dawn

Visited by the tender mercies, the sorrowful passions, the glorious mysteries

I see my daughter bent at the dishes... in the summer evening .... grown now

I add up the dead and remember the dying

Then I count the futures that got away.. or maybe still remain

in another place, seen in another light,

Maybe I live in London

Maybe New York

surrounded by children and magic

Maybe I live in California ..

and drink red wine with a blond haired woman each sundown

Maybe there are a thousand lives being lived under my name

under the morning sky,

under the setting sun,

Maybe under the yellow moon.

No Tears In Aisle Three

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 15:21:00 +0000

Back from Detroit over the weekend with random observations, thoughts, and a question or two:

I heard stories everywhere of the economic devastation. Michigan is not just in a recession..it's real damn close to a depression: A Target store cashier breaks into tears and tells my friend that she just got laid off from her full time job and now all she has left is the part time gig that won't make the nut... a woman told me that last week was the slowest week ever at the pool hall/ bar she owns, and when drinking and shooting pool are down in Detroit.. well that's like finding out folks stopped jerking off in San Francisco.... Holy Leading Indicator Batman...

I also noticed far less traffic on the roads than I remember..my friend explained that " people don't have any money to go anywhere...." but almost no cars on 12 mile road on a Saturday night was straight up spooky.....

And then I watch the Tee Vee machine to see a trash mob lady holding a bible up screaming how she doesn't want health care reform... which makes about as much sense as holding up Das Capital by Marx while screaming that you don't like commies...... God these people are extra crunchy stupid ( not to mention irony free). I suspect most of these folks also don't believe in evolution, the scientific method, separation of church and state, and multi-syllabic words.......

Last thing we did was go to a very well attended Moody Blues show... (otherwise known as an AARP rally) ... I sensed a real nostalgia in the crowd not just for the harmonies and great songs of our youth... but for the sense that we could change the world...that we were going to be different somehow, that we would balance our ideals with our ambitions.....yet somehow we ended up with the TV mob people shouting down compassion... isn't life strange indeed

Hate Speech

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Sun, 02 Aug 2009 14:17:00 +0000

Thanks to the crack investigative work by our friends in tin hats on the right, we can now sum up what we know about 'President' Obama:

He is NOT an American. He was in fact born on a small planet in the Farakan star system and secretly smuggled in to Kenya where he forged his birth certificate from Hawaii in 1961 at the age of 3 months.

He hates America, and has quietly given the launch codes to Michael Moore, Demi Moore, and Dandy Don. Since our last best hope Sarah Palin quit..this means we are pretty much fucked and Putin will be in Denver by spring.

His 'Health Care' plan is really a a version of old Joe Stalins 1939 plan to kill old people and turn them into Soylent Green style meat patties. McDonalds is already building a huge plant outside Tulsa. Really. You can check it out.

He hates Christians and has a plan to force all of them into slave labor camps in Mexico working for Sonya Sotomayor making frilly underwear for 'wise Latina's".

He plans to tax us all at the rate of 120% and give the money to his homosexual robot overlords.

He hates white people,, White Castle, the White Sox, Barry White, White Rice, White Bread, and Snow White and at least six of her dwarfs.

He is a demon, a devil, an evil doer, and the antichrist. He is WORSE than Bill Clinton, and only Sean, Glen, Rush, and Dick Cheney stand between us and the eternal abyss.

If you believe any of the above, please call me immediately to discuss an exciting real estate opportunity in South Florida......

DC Confidential ( Scene One)

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Sat, 18 Jul 2009 17:30:00 +0000

Interior Daytime. Sam is seated at a desk in a 1940's stlye office with file cabinets, a leather couch, ..the late afternoon sun slants through the venitian blinds as smoke curls from a ciggarette Sam lights with a silver zippo. A trenchcoat and fedora hang on a coat rack in the corner, and as the camera pans we can see the lettering on the glass door " Sam Spade. Capitol Hill Private Eye"

Sam VO: It was a slow Wednesday afternoon here in the city of broken dreams... the usual collection of bums, cheaters, and two time losers had paraded through by four o'clock.. by now they were all back in their Senate offices. I was about to reach for the bottle of liquid solace I kept in the top desk drawer like I did every day about this time when she came though my door. I smelled trouble the minute she sat down and crossed those beautiful gams.

The 'Woman In Red' enters. She is about 30, blonde and buxom with a tight red dress, high heels, long gloves, ruby lips and a sway when she walks...

Woman: " Are you Mr Spade?"

Sam: " Like it says on the door sweetheart..."

Woman: " Well Mr Spade I was hoping you could help me with a missing persons case..."

Sam: " Missing person huh ... Who might the person be?'

Woman " It's my husband Mr Spade... My husband the governor.. I think he's in Argentina"

Sam VO; So that was how it started..... before this case was through she'd have me chasing half way around the hemisphere.... not your run of mill missing governor case, they usually turn up at the Mayflower with a hooker or two. No this one was different..

Woman: " I'm sure my husband is with another woman..he just hasn't been himself ever since he fell into that C street crowd, and started hanging around with that awful Mr Kyl........"

To Be Continued............

DIY Republican Press Conference Mad Libs

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 14:43:00 +0000

Good Morning / Afternoon / Evenning / Whatever the fuck time it is....

I would like to ______________ ( 1. apologize, 2. deny, 3. insist ) that I ___________ ( 1. never was, 2. always was, 3. stopped) having ___________ ( 1. sex with, 2. anal sex with, 3. money transferred to ) my __________ (1. mistress, 2. girlfriends mothers next door neighbor, 3. pastors wife).

It has never been my policy or practice to _______________ ( 1. cum on someone’s clothing, waste taxpayer money on weak booze and bad drugs, 3. admit to criminal wrong doing).

I intend to____________ (1. fight these charges, 2. flee the country, 3. attempt to remove the evidence with dry cleaning fluid.).

My accusers are __________ (1. members of the elite media, 2. Drunk assholes, 3. a bunch of know it all motherfuckers who can kiss my dick).

Thank you and may God bless America.

Top Ten AWOL Excuses Gov Sanford Could Have Tried

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 13:58:00 +0000

10. I was holed up in a Howard Johnson's Motel in Trenton with a bad case of jock itch.

9. I was on a secret NASA mission to Uranus.

8. I was with Dorothy and the Tin man in Oz.

7. I was in line at the DMV.

6. I have no idea where I've been, last thing I remember is doing shots at the airport bar with a hooker named Trixie.

5. I was here all the time, damn it must be that new invisible suit I was wearing...

4. I was detained by the CIA at an undisclosed location.

3. I was banging the shit out of my girlfriend in Argentina... nah just kidding .... Psych!

2. Missing? What do you mean? What day is it? Oh shit where did this blood come from?

1. I was in the bathroom.

Rock & Roll High School ( With Sirens). Joe Jumps Up, Back To The Bolshoi

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 00:10:00 +0000

I went back to duty Friday night after about 4 months off.. and was once again struck by how many young volunteers we have. 17, 18 , 19 year old kids riding fire trucks and ambulances, and most of them doing a damn good job. In a lot of ways the fire house is like hanging out in the parking lot after school...smoking cigarettes, telling bullshit stories, flirting, just acting cool...the difference between these kids and my High School friends is this: we just went home, theses kids hop on trucks and fly down the street with sirens blaring. (All I had that blared was the radio in my '68 Dodge Dart.) All in all a good bunch of kids, and I'm glad to be back.

Saturday night my friend Joe's band was playing down the block so we all went to sit out at the Tiki bar and listen to them play 70's funk and oldies. Sitting with us ( on two seat cushions he brought in a shopping bag) was Joe's 80 something year old Dad. He and I had a nice chat about the Big band era while we watched his sons band play.. In the middle of a song Joe did a little Rod Stewart style leg kick thing and then his dad got a huge grin on his face and said: "Oh look, Joe jumped up". You could tell it was the same pride he had when Joe was a boy and did something right. A sweet moment, and it made me miss my dad. A fathers pride is a wonderful thing.

Sunday we were back at the Kennedy Center for the Bolshoi ballet. I have seen a fair number of companies over the years but no one can touch the Bolshoi for sheer perfection and beauty. Iam more convinced than ever that one can glorify the divine on pointed toe as well as bended knee. Magnificent!

Rock& Roll Whoppers

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 11:32:00 +0000

More Rock & Roll Stories: It was great running into my old pal Steve Kostan in the Dee last week. I haven't seen Steve for years, but seeing him triggered a couple of memories: Once we were driving to a charity basketball gig in some out of the way place when we were both jocking at the old WABX. We were pretty lost and pretty late so we pulled into a 7-11 to ask for directions. As we walked through the door we saw a long line waiting at the counter. Since time was of the essence, Steve immediately announced in a loud voice: " We are DJ's and we need directions". .." He may as well have said " We are from the planet Zontar and we are here to give free rectal probes" if one were to judge based on the puzzled looks we got. We teach junior rescue rangers in the fire department how to use a 'command voice' in an emergency, but nobody has ever done a better job of getting a room to shut the fuck up than Steve did that night.

I met Steve in college at WMU in Kalamazoo, where for a time we both lived off campus in a house with 9 other guys. Steve had a room upstairs, I had a cot next to the washing machine in the basement...and neither of us had any money, so we had to get creative when it came to the pursuit of women. I marvel to this day at the pure genius of the stratagem that Steve came up with: We would go up to the Burger King about 1:30 in the morning when the girls were stopping for a bite after drinking all night in the bars. This was brilliant for three main reasons:

1. The ladies were already drunk.
2. We didn't have to buy them anything more expensive than an order of fries.
3. If we didn't get laid we at least got something to eat.

A year or two later Steve helped me get my first gig at 'ABX, and my very first night on the air a woman named PJ that was totally out of my league and a stone cold drop dead stunner, just dropped by the studio to " hang out". I realized real quick that station 'X' was a thousand times better than Burger King, and being a radio star had a more powerful effect than springing for a Cheese Whopper. Thanks twice Steve, and it was good to see you again.

Flock Of Dingbats : I Ran.... I Ran So Far Away...."

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 11:25:00 +0000

Amazing events in Iran... these folks are very brave, and they remind me that we had two stolen elections in a row in this country and no one took to the streets... most Americans never even noticed. Anyway, in the interest of moving the story forward, here is a brief primer on Iranian politics:

Iran's election is between two main candidates:

The incumbent Mr. Imadinnerjacket best known for dressing like a parking lot attendant and acting like a complete fucking nutbag.

Other dude with a beard who smiles a lot. Iranians seem to think his wife is hot. Americans would only think so if they had not seen a woman for 26 years.

Supreme Leader, Grand Poobah, HAIC ( Head Ayatollah In Charge) : Whacky 'black hatter' with ZZ top beard and big nerd glasses. Think crazy grandpa with nukes.

Council Of Experts: Picks the supreme leader. Membership unclear, but rumored to include Paula Abdul.

Lesser know players:

The Commissioner: Person you must obtain express written permission from.

Council of Wankers: In charge of NHL playoff schedule.

Ayatollah of Rock & Rollah: The potted plant of the flower power generation. Dr. Rockenstien. Big Daddy... Whoops I'm sorry I thought I was back at WRIF.....

Department Of Official Slogans: Responsible for coming up with 'Death To_______" slogan of the day.

Rovian Advice

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 12:31:00 +0000

I have a friend who lives in a small town in a state that I should not identify, but it rhymes with Oh My Oh. My friend is reticent about taking my advice or allowing me to run his campaign for mayor of the small town (which rhymes with Sell More). My friend ( whose name rhymes with Bernie) has "moral scruples". Sigh.... It's not easy being Karl Rove. None the less, I have taken the time to list below some simple Nixonian ideas/statements/tactics that should result in an easy win:

1. " My advisers don't want me to talk about communists, but I'm gonna tell the people the truth.."

2. Campaign sign: " What about the slush fund Mr Mayor?"

3. " I don't care if I win or lose this election, I just want to do Gods will..... so tell me Mr Mayor, why do you hate the baby Jesus?"

4. " My opponent once practiced nepotism with his sister! He Has an uncle who is a registered sexagenarian. His mother was a thespian in high school!"

5. Campaign sign held by a crying pregnant woman outside the mayors office: " Why Mr Mayor? Why?".

6. Campaign sign held by crying cub scout outside mayors office: "Why Mr Mayor? Why?".

7. My opponent tries to hide his diaphoresis on a daily basis.

8. "Is Mayor X a secret muslim? Well of course he will deny it, but these rumors have been around for years and it makes you wonder."

9. Billboard: "Stop The Socialists. Restore American Values :Bernie For Mayor"

10. " God told me to run for mayor..."

Not What We Mean By Lending A Hand

noreply@blogger.com (GSJ) — Sun, 24 May 2009 13:36:00 +0000

BEIJING — Chen Fuchao, a man heavily in debt, had been contemplating suicide on a bridge in southern China for hours when a passer-by came up, shook his hand _ and pushed him off the ledge.

Chen fell 26 feet (8 meters) onto a partially inflated emergency air cushion laid out by authorities and survived, suffering spine and elbow injuries, the official Xinhua News Agency said Saturday.

The passer-by, 66-year-old Lai Jiansheng, had been fed up with what he called Chen's "selfish activity," Xinhua said. Traffic around the Haizhu bridge in the city of Guangzhou had been backed up for five hours and police had cordoned off the area.

"I pushed him off because jumpers like Chen are very selfish. Their action violates a lot of public interest," Lai was quoted as saying by Xinhua. "They do not really dare to kill themselves. Instead, they just want to raise the relevant government authorities' attention to their appeals."

Xinhua said Lai was "taken away by police" but did not elaborate.

A police officer who answered the telephone Saturday at a station close to the bridge confirmed the incident and said it was under investigation. He refused to give any other details and hung up.

According to Xinhua, Chen wanted to kill himself because he had accrued 2 million yuan ($290,000) in debt from a failed construction project.

On Thursday, he made his way to the Haizhu bridge, where 11 other people have tried to take their lives since April.

Lai volunteered to talk Chen down but was turned away by police, Xinhua said. Lai then broke through the cordon, climbed to where Chen sat, greeted him with a handshake, then pushed.

Photos in the Beijing Morning Post showed Lai, shoeless and in a T-shirt, saluting after Chen fell