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

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)

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

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

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

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..

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......