Quite a Day

Quite a day, what with a super derecho ripping up the Midwest to the East Coast. Powerful winds and torrential rains shut 'er down. Power outages, knocking off compressors, when the ambient temperatures are pushing cento aren't funny. Old people heat up and can't sweat to cool down. Like dogs and Cadillacs. Old people not sweating is a cruel irony. Even when they sex, aridity and dessiccation  rule. Seniors merely dry out! No sweat! Check your elderly neighbors and relatives during a heatwave is a mantra with merit. Slurp...

Quite a day, what with Alec Baldwin marrying Hilaria Thomas. What the frig... Hilaria? She's 28, he must be duecento anni. With a track record to support his pluckiness, the outspoken Mr. Baldwin is deeply in love (just like he was the last few times.) He has been t-w-e-e-t-i-n-g* poetic drivel. Men are such a spigot of spew when they are in heat. Likely, but sad, the yoga-ic Hilaria and thespian-ic Alec will be untying oggi's  knot in six years and two kids from now. Hmmm, Kim Basinger was so much hotter, ohhhh.  Life - Slurp...

Quite a day, what with the Scientologist almond Tom Cruise getting blindsided by Katie Holmes. Fo' sho' he had no idea she was gonna file for divorce. The word in the Bixby Nailery is that she was afraid that Tom was going to inculcate their daughter, Suri, in the ways of the S-o-gists. But everybody getting their foot calluses filed down kinda agreed that he could not pipe her anymore. Well, at least in the manner that a 33 year old woman demands. Yeah, women don't willy-nilly dump men who earn and who can white eye them. Especially if those guys have good hair - Slurp...

33 is a number which should send chills to Christians, but not Scientologists. Oooh. Presumed to be the age Jesus Christ died, 33 represents a milestone of some import. Of course back then, 2012 years ago, life expectancy was 37 years, give or take. Oddly, 33 is the age that all 3 of the Cruise wives divorced him. Is 33 a vile joke on the non-Christian TomKat? Or is it because when women turn 33 they have demands of a sexual nature, which must be requited? Slurp - Tom what's up with you? Weenie...?

kim

Nobody says life is easy, but everybody tries to bang out a little pleasure. Too bad most folks come up weeks late and thousands of dollars short. Yeah, the old people and Hilaria, Alec, Katie and Tom are all on the hunt for what Ozzie and Harriet proselytized back when TV's came only in black and white and in 3 channels. Pipe dreams and getting piped are related by more than a "p" or 2 or 3. In fact, getting piped day-in and day-out, year-after-year is a pipe dream. Yeah, if only the overheated old people and the marrieds and divorceds understood that, they might not get themselves into such a sweat-eroo as la noia sets in.

Quite a day tomorrow will be, what with cleaning up all the dead tree stuff before it hits 96 Fahrenheit. That oughta happen by 11 AM. In some ways, domani is the start of the rest of the lives of all of the people existant. Yup... so listen to Bon Iver, slam down a Johnny Walker Blue and get it on - Slurp... Pipe him or her or both!! Hump-Hump! Where the frig did your eyes go?

Alla Fine

* But now abideth faith, hope, love, these three; and the greatest of these is love.


'T was a long parting, but the time For interview had come; Before the judgment-seat of God, The last and second time


These fleshless lovers met, A heaven in a gaze, A heaven of heavens, the privilege Of one another's eyes.


No lifetime set on them, Apparelled as the new Unborn, except they had beheld, Born everlasting now.


Was bridal e'er like this? A paradise, the host, And cherubim and seraphim The most familiar guest.

Alec tweet pixed his hand!!

Sperm Pump DSK is Out

No matter how it can be squared, Nafissatou Diallo has managed to bring DSK down, down, down. Naf was a chambermaid at the NYC Sofitel Hotel, where she entangled with Dominique Strauss-Kahn. What exactly went on is unclear, but what is front and center is that seed was spilled, her lips and his frenulum (uncut?) met and there were allegations of coercion and rape.

Indeed that was a little over a year ago. It was a circus back then with DSK being treated like a common miscreant of a man. Thrown into Rikers after a well publicized and imaged up perp walk, the avuncular imp was belittled by one and all. That all includes the rich Michael Bloomberg, who is not only drip off sweat wealthy but he is the Mayor of the City. Back then, Mike told anyone, who would listen, that DSK shouldn't have done the deed if he didn't want to do the walk. In Europe, where DSK is from, handcuffs are not publicly flashed against people accused of crimes.


Just a year plus ago, Dominique was as cool and smooth as a baby's derriere. Derriere sounds like a French word so it's in here to pay homage to Monsieur Strauss-Kahn, a French European. He was then the President of the International Monetary Fund and a serious candidate to run for the President of France. Once he was Dialloed, though, his life came to a screeching halt.

In that hour of despair, DSK had few friends. He had been, was and is a philanderer of the first order. After all, he is French. Out of the fog of that ignominy came his wife, Anne Sinclair. Flying hastily across the Pond from Paris, she bailed him out, set up digs to accomodate his house arrest and she stood by him like a mother lioness. Sinclair is lovely, rich and smart. Famous, too.

So impressive was she that she deserved a blog... http://www.pplume-blog.com/2011/05/anne-and-maria-women-scorned.html And so it comes as a minimal shock that Anne has thrown the paunchy Strauss-Kahn out of their Paris digs. Perhaps it wasn't Diallo alone. The sex hound has had many other liaisons and he is currently being investigated for alleged illegalities regarding a prostitution ring. The exact breaking point for Anne is not well defined only because there are so many potential flash points.

Oh, it is easy to say how bad, how evil and how whorish DSK has behaved. Most people have. Too bad for him, he lost his power base. With no jobs and marketability, the now old mannish loser is without his patina, swagger and his Anne. But wait...

Perhaps Dominique was merely being the man all men are... Perhaps men have no choice but to lust on continuously, daily, hourly, minutely, secondly. Like whistling construction workers, men are sperm pumps dressed up and sent out to the world to make a living. But no matter their vocations, in some lowest common denominator way, DSK and his ilk are all the same. Sperm pumps!

Diallo, as it turns out is not credible. So slimy is she that Bloomberg's City could not proceed with a criminal case against the Frenchman. In retrospect, the little ding-master was set up like a bowling pin. Maybe that was just for blackmail cash money or maybe more intriguing political bad intentions were at play. Old news and relatively meaningless now, the devastation so scarred the fallen Lothario, it rendered him beyond hope and usefulness in the work-a-day world. DSK, sadly, has nothing left in his ammo box.

Surely this is a case of diddling gone viral. The old saws about not being able to keep it in one's pants and thinking with the wrong head are fodder for trivial repetition. Hard pressed would be DSK in trying to find someone to take his side. Doubtless true, now that even his most loyal wife, Anne, has given him the heave-ho. Gotta wonder if a suicide watch is in order?

Oh yeah, the irrepressible Nafissatou has a civil case pending against Dominique. As disgusting as she might seem, the American legal system is Diallo's pitch and her friend. With a variety of different avenues of attack available to her, the divining rod of riches has prompted her and her lawyers to press on for the jackpot. Hmmm... is it possible Anne (who has all of the money) is dumping the D-man to avoid legal responsibility for his liabilities?

No there is no truth to the rumor Mike Bloomberg will appear as a witness against DSK at the civil trial. Oh sure, hizzoner did make a patoot of himself in the initial rush of accusatory blather. Oh sure, a civil conviction would make Bloomie and the City seem less impetuous and less foolish. Oh sure, oh sure, oh sure... Try these opening lyrics of Surprise, Surprise by Brett Dennen ->

Dark clouds gather in the afternoon

Come together just to cry

Seagulls struggling against the wind

Falling out of the sky...

Indeed, indeed Mr. DSK!
Vous êtes une mouette.
(You are a seagull.)

Priests Lose Villa St Joe, Aw

Aw, they could be heard singing like frat boys, around the dinner table. Ma' sho'... Retired priests just got the word. The Archidocese of Philadelphia is selling its vacation house* down the shore. The singing is about to stop. Aw...

Two rows of wicker chairs stand
outside Villa St. Joseph by the Sea.

For the last forty plus years the clerics would schedule vacations, reserving a room at the beachside villa on Princeton Avenue in Ventnor NJ. Assessed at a shade over $6 million, local barracudas say the property will sell in the range of $5 million. It will likely be developed into single family plots. The clergini have been told that their present in-place reservations will be cancelled.

Aw, the sight of worn faith meisters has become part of the local lore and culture. White teed, kahki shorted and sandaled or velcro sneakered, the seasoned men could be seen on the boardwalk, the side streets and sitting on the balconies reposed in the peace and solitude gained only by flocking. A pity, truly, the havoc heaped on the Catholic Church as a result of its randy homophilic hearkeners. It is reported that the Archdiocese is some $17 million in the red, $11 million attributable directly to debauchery. Aw.

They called it, Villa St. Joseph by the Sea. What a name, sounds like an impressionistic painting by Rambo, Arthur Rambo? "Hey Aloysius, what week did you get?", is no longer going to be refrained in the Philly parish rectories and rest homes. No-no! Where are the Papa Pablums going get their doses of salt air in the future? Motel room rentals seem so cheap, so tawdry, so moldy... Aw.

What if collections could be jacked up? Yeah, if the faithful would dig in, all would be saved. You gotta wonder why some Francis X does not come forward and write a check. Would such a donation be tax deductible? Perhaps it is too late. Big Bishop Cholly J. Chaput (pronounced herein as Kaput) has already made the decision. The Villa is history. Aw. It is closing and will soon be on the block! Up in smoke...

19 rooms and 21,000 plus square feet of living space might seem excessive... but this is the Church. Opulence has never been an issue as long as those felt lined baskets would re-swell weekly. But the crimes of little boy abuses and their consequent covers have taken their toll. Aw. Just as molesters sit at the bottom rung of prisoner hierarchy, theses priest crimes and their putrid cover-ups have cellared the esteem the sheep feel for their Church. Revenues have fallen...

Things like this are always gut wrenching. Change is difficult, yet it is life's only constant. Perhaps the concept of the celibate priest is too unworkable? Or has the priesthood become a repository for men prone to society shaking desires? Is their an underlying homosexual anxiety fueling herein? Is it true 3.6% of priests are Chesters? Aw... Who knows?

Headed out now, gonna round trip the boards by Trek. About ten miles to the Revel and back to the wooden-way's termination at the Ventnor-Margate border. Gonna leave a space for some soon to be added snaps... gonna pass by the Villa twice. Bet you wanna see those ascetics at rest. Darn, they are prolly already reclining in their new digs on the Black Horse Pike in West Atlantic City.

Non piu belli...

*The property...was acquired by then-Archbishop John Krol in 1963 from Hannah G. Hogan, a real estate investor and owner of a plumbing supply company. Hogan wanted the home used for elderly and ill priests in memory of her brother, the Rev. Edward Hogan.


Though the property - which Hogan bought for $55,000 in 1961 - was said to have been donated to the archdiocese, its June 2, 1963, deed shows tax stamps indicating a sale price of $100,000, according to the Atlantic County Clerk's Office. It is now one of the highest-assessed homes in Ventnor. http://articles.philly.com/2012-06-27/news/32442035_1_archdiocese-property-tax-priests

The Supremes and Forza Azzurri

6-28-2012

Supremes have ruled Obama Health Care Plan is Constitutional!!!
Game later today...

6-28-2-12

Forza Azzurri triumphed over Germany 2-1!

Off to the Finals...

Humidity is the heat, not the temperature. So they say, at least in Arizona. But, truth be told, here in New Jersey, the wet air can make it hard to feel comfortable. And so it is in the wee hours of Monday of - Supreme Week. To kick off this momentous event, try this...

Yes, indeed, a great (maybe the greatest) girl group ever. Not that Ask Any Girl has any relevance to the nine Supremes (other than the fact that the three females may have the controlling votes on the Court.) This august group is in the position to unleash havoc on the USA and maybe the world. The world is a jumpy place these days. You see, the judicial branch is ready to rule that President Obama's Affordable Health Care Act is unconstitutional, in toto or in pars.

In so doing, their decision will rock Mr. Cool good. Mitt Romney couldn't hope for a better holiday gift, as if the Mormon Christmas is a June-fest. Yuppers, likely that prickly individual mandate is about to be jettisoned. How can the federal government force folks to buy health insurance? Oh cars, they are different... state laws and cars need insurance more than people...

The Kid (slow version above) next door is going for ball surgery in three hours. His left nut is twice the size of his right one. People here in Margate City think it's because he wanks three times a day, but that is not the case (not the wanking!) Rather a hydrocele is a fluid cyst, which is affecting del ragazzo. By tonight del testicolo will be fixed nice. Kid is 25 and is still on his Papa Joe's health plan. Grisby's Boat  Works provides a sweet United Health Plan for its employees.

A laze-a-bed is Kid. Without health insurance, he would have to stem the nut fixing health care providers. So what? The providers, doctors and hospitals, are rich. Some say too rich. You see, it was only under OBAMACARE that children 26 years old and younger can stay on their parents health plans. Perhaps this provision is a good one, maybe not... No matter, lucky thing the fix is in for today. Tomorrow or next Thursday might be too late. The word is that the Supremes will release their mandate on Thursday the 28th.

Using the term OBAMACARE in its most pejorative form is socialized medicine run amok. Like Medicare? Oh no! Medicare is not socialized medicine because if it were the Supremes would have already struck that down as unconstitutional. Besides Medicare (and its cousin Medicaid) are for old and poor people, not people like Kid.

Americans cannot be forced to pay dollars for health care! Plain and simple... Luckily the money for Medicare is quietly taken out of a citizen's paycheck and ever so keenly extorted from employers from Maine to California. Under the cover of a Medicare tax, these dollar assessments cannot be viewed the same as shelling out cold cash. To analogize, the differences in Medicare funding and the funding ala the mandate is like being killed by a slow virus versus being gun shot waiting to buy arugula at the supermercato.

Nine jurists and their thirty-six clerks have been MUM on this one. No surprise, the Court is always tight lipped. Mr. Obama is doing a quake on this wait. Understandable, inasmuch as this decision surely will impact the legitimacy of his four years and color his chances for four more. From here in Jersey it's a five to four as if that matters. Nine to zip would be the same. A loss is a loss. Ask England... Forza Azzurri won in a shoot out in Euro 2012 yesterday! A shoot out after 120 minutes of play.

So that's it. Let's call Supreme Week a shoot out with live ammo! Somebody is likely to get killed. Access to medical care is like that, without it folks can die. And paying for it, people can be driven to death. Yet people like Kid, the lazy no-good-niks, are gaming the system. And why should the people, who go to work on muggy Monday mornings, freight the bill? But shouldn't Kid have the right and freedom not to be coerced to buy something he does not want? Yabba-dabba!

Boy this stuff can get complicated. In some ways that's why the Supremes need to be so smart. Dumb people need not apply to be a Supreme. And so as the soupy morning air envelopes the old Jeep (why doesn't this air conditioner work?) the day will ultimately brighten and life will go on. Off to work here, a ball shaving there and Thursday is coming up to give everybody a hoot. Forza Azzurri takes on the Germans at 2:45 EDT!

Andare Azzurri 

(Go Blue)

Color Sandusky Brown

For as long as Sadlowski can remember, he always thought brown was a weak color. Brownnnnn... His first recollection was an outfit his mother Sadie Kesselman Sadlowski bought him to go to a seventh grade cellar party at Cannie Ambrose's house on Crestmont Avenue. Yeah, seventh grade and spin the bottle and the cellar party still rejoin in his 64 year old echo chamber. If he closes his eyes he can still hear Wild One by Bobby Rydell...

Back then folks still shopped in town at department stores. Back then that was Arnold Constable. Aaron Arnold, who hailed from the Isle of Wright, started that chain in 1825 and by 1975 the company was kaput. Good run. By the time Sadlowski went to the Trenton branch, the company was what might be considered on the decline. Yet, Arnold Constable was a big kahuna in T-town. Anything that originated in NYC was big crap in Trenton.

With a green shirt, which Sadie said made his eyes look green, matched to a pair of brown slacks the 13 year old trudged the hill up to Cannie's. It was a cool October Friday night, leaves plummeting to their final death, when he felt the crumminess of wearing brown. Up until that moment he had no opinion about either the pants he was wearing nor the color brown in general. What triggered his lifelong aversion at that point remains a mystery. A premonition...?

Surely it was not that party, itself, which queered him on brown. Indeed no! He remembers other kids there, cutting up and all, but those dim kid memories are nothing compared to his coming out. Yup, spin the bottle... Nervous at first, he sat the circle hoping the old seven ounce glass, wasp waisted Coke bottle wouldn't point his way. One spin, then two and then three... bam... Elaine Martinelli got HIM. The kiss, his first out of spring training, was a peck without lip. She smelled like cotton candy.

Being fifth in the line-up, Sadlowski spun the bottle with the deftness of a shortstop (which in fact he was back then.) Hoping, hoping... yeah... he got Cannie. Nervous as he stood to meet her, his armpits were wet. Hers too, but he didn't know that then. In distinction to Elaine, Cannie went right at his lips. In distinction to Elaine, Cannie smelled pheromonic, a smell he didn't get straight out. Full and moist, she electrified him as if she had stuck a live wire down his throat. Youthful exuberance is unexplainable.

Blurred from that time on, the party whizzed into seeing Cannie before he left. Again another of life's moments went down. A second kiss, full lips this time, but no tongue. French kissing was looked upon with a degree of saltiness back then, which thirteen year old kids didn't jump to readily. Ha! Times do change. He could feel himself pushing those brown pants right at her as she pressed him in the mouth. With her sweat and his sweat and her breasts and his erection, damn, damn, damn.

When he got home he found that he had wet himself. Not understanding the power of secretion and sexual stimulation, he thought that maybe he had peed. Naivete can be a funny thing. It was the next day when Sadie espyed those brown pants. Stained with the crusty, crunchy whiteness of dessicated manhood, the slacks were "rats." You would have to understand the thinking of a 1960 mom to get why she made Sadlowski feel guilty, evil and dirty. As he stood before her staring at himself in the crotch of those brown pants, the slight nausea about brown of the night before turned into projectile emesis. Figuratively.

Through his life, Sadlowski never, ever owned anything brown. Khaki was as close to brown that he ever went and indeed that was not often. Once his brother-in-law offered him a free F-150 truck. Jinks Culpepper ran a lawn service and he had all of his equipment painted brown. Sadlowski turned down Jinks' offer simply based on color. Brown... what the hell color is that to use for a lawn service anyways? Don't plants turn brown when they die? Sadlowski always though Jinks was stupid. Unbeknownst to him, the man was hung. H-u-n-g, which explains everything about him.

And so it should come as no surprise that the image of Jerry Sanduski arriving and leaving the Centre County (PA) courthouse last night in a merde brown sports jacket riled Sadlowski beyond the obvious predatory pedophilic revulsion. The hapless Sanduski, who must believe that he did not molest anyone, looked brown pathetic getting into the patrol car. Handcuffed and drawn, he was headed to the county prison until he gets sentenced in 90 or so days. Up against 45 convictions and up to 442 years in the hoosegow, the former pig-skinner has no hope. No doubt, Sandusky will be as humiliated as Sadlowski was so many years ago. But way worse. The guys Jerry is going to meet shortly will in no way resemble the rounded Mama Sadie... For Jerry, bad intentions will become not only a noun but a verb. Child molesters are the bottom of a prison's hierarchy.

It's PM 11:30, the news has run dry. Sadlowski YouTubes Bobby Rydell. Wild One... he listens once then twice, then thrice... By then he kicks back and oddly that Cannie armpit smell takes him over as if a brain tumor has taken over his control panel. Ahhh... he knows it now. Powerful, it fills him with desire. Pushing against his blue shorts, he deftly (he is deft) reaches down to find himself. Ready! Boom-Pow... Oh nooooooo..... Sadie, it's not what you think!

Ciao

Fo-pah Sandusky

Guilty on 45 Counts!!

442 years in prison!

Ignominy.

Doin' good is one of those things that can get washed out in a second. A lifetime of excellence can be erased by what might be called a fo-pah. Or would that be fuck-pa? Just ask any fallen hero... Hey Anthony Weiner! Hey John Edwards! Hey there but for the grace of God go you!

Jerry Sandusky is the fo-pah of the day. His defense team just wrapped up yesterday. Closing arguments are slated later today. Doubtless the big lug helped lots of kids and other people in his lifetime. Sadly, he has messed himself up pretty badly. Even notwithstanding all of the allegations, some folks can't get passed the soapy showers. Fo-pahs!

Coaches, in the main, have an obligation to make nonpaid athletes better for the experience of playing on their teams. Any kid, who is made to feel not a part of the goings-on, is short changed. Moreover, a child-player SHOULD NEVER be abused. Unfortunately, for every player with a positive sports engagement there are five others less fortunate in the team hierarchy, but few are ever subjected to fo-pahs..

Sandusky used his coaching patina as a way to bring in kids for what seemed like a noble cause. Disadvantaged children are just that and anyone like Jerry, who offers an opportunity, should be praised. To consider that he had such humanity to reach out to this group is of itself worthy of admiration. Damn!

One wonders how lawyers like Joe Amendola can defend the likes of Mr. Sandusky. Sex with kids is a horrible allegation. But in America, it's innocence until proven guilty... Hey Casey! Hey Juice! So kudos Amendola, that is for taking on what amounts to one dirty job. Hmmm... Forget the dollars and notoriety.

Penn State has been forever tattoed with a black stripe. Yikes. PSU was an institution of excellence, but it is less so now. The contagion of Sandusky ruined not only the Nittany reputation, but also Joe Paterno. His memory is forever besmirched. Ha! Another example of a lifetime of good washed away in a second. How cruel... fired and cancer dead within a few months. Scotch and ciggies and Sandusky, ewww... The triple threat led to Jo-Pa's fo-pah.

And so another day dawns. Hot damn, goin' be 97 here in the Northeast today. Goin' be hotter in Pennylvania, there where Jerry will sweat it out. Gotta wonder whether he will be found not guilty? Gotta wonder whether the prosecution carried the burder on proof beyond a reasonable doubt? Gotta wonder how the world can be so fo-pah-ed up? Fuck!!

CIAO

Flame

Flame has become mainstream. Too bad really, spy viruses are much more effective when they are covert. Nonetheless, this mega-baby is being used mostly in the Middle East to gather data and to control activities. It is widely believed that the Iranian crazy centrifuge incident, where test tubes acted like drunken sailors, was the work of Flame.

Known also as Skywiper and Flamer, this sophisticated chunk of malware is the product of a collaboration between Israel and the USA. Similar, but bigger than Stuxnet and DuQu, Flame is characterized as...

• may have already been active for up to 8 years
• 5 file formats
• 3 compression techniques
• activated by keystrokes
• can turn on microphones
• can copy screen shots
• uses Bluetooth (new) to send and receive
• may strike through use shared printers
• uses Windows vulnerability
• 20 megabytes of code (large!)

Indeed the Flame-flam is the first documented sustained use of cyber sabotage. Poor Iran... Likely, however, is the possibility that there is much more going on than what is being reported. Also, as any observer senses, exposed covert activity loses its flavor in a second. Consequently, Flame is now old news.

Other computer viruses such as Stuxnet and DuQu continue to be soldiers in cyber warfare. They, as well as Flame, will continue to have a role in what has become the way the world wars. Since computers now rule, virtual methodology is logical, useful and effective. Frightening, though, is a 2001 Space Odyssey scenario, wherein the computers morph into the controlling forces and run wild.

In the old days, brawn was king. Big muscles and big bombs made a superpower. But the era of the nerd has arrived. Smart, clever and savvy hackers and programmers and their ilk now hold the juice. Imagine controlling the production of fissionable material in Iran from a room somewhere in Iowa. Imagine the New York transit system run amok by a stroker in Kiev. Imagine money transfers from the Bundesbank to your checking account ordered by you!

There is no doubt that only the surface of cyber-spasm has been scratched. In some ways, the future is hard to conjure up, but the reality is nothing short of astonishing. Surely any sober reflection on Flame and its applications is both humbling and exhilarating. Wheeeeee....

Do these malware denizens infect Apples. No, of course not, worms infect Apples. Worms...

Ciao

Yes Dear or Gracie Glam

In six minutes, only six minutes things can change. Oh not like important stuff, that could take a lifetime. But mood, a 'tude, a bounce, yeah, these kinds of things can turn on a dime. That is if the timing is right and the stimulus is right and the stars and moon are aligned to gravity pull an inch where it counts...

Sitting there taking a yap-a-dap from the dutiful about carpets and the kids, the numbed Laddie McLaughlin mushroomed, as if he had taken a lidocaine shot right to the cerebrum. Numbbbbbb, numbskull, stonato, he the man from Mott Street. Yeah. Mott Street is darkened and salty now. Back when he met her there, she looked like Gracie Glam. And then, too, he had a resemblance to Tom Selleck, when Tom was Magnum PI. But he was a half of a foot shorter...

Buzz... Buzz... Buzz... Buzz...

• four rooms for the price of three
• free upgraded padding
• no interest financing
• ecru gets so dirty
• no shoes in the house!!!!
• D in algebra
• running with the hell raisers down the block
• too much computer
• sheets were stained
• getting a smart mouth
• still owe for last year's summer camp
• .........

Buzz... Buzz... Buzz... Buzz...


As he heard Buzz...  the vibrator in his left pocket, so close to his left nut that he tip tingled, signaled one long then one short blast. T-E-X-T time! Deftly he pulled out the iPhone and he saw...

Ah... He checked the message and before he could pull it up, several more followed. Sequentially, over those six fateful minutes, Laddie checked each in turn as Rosie Strega droned on. Glam, a 21 year old porn star and student of design, was active. "Bless her", he thought. She was a great tweeter, fun and upbeat, she frequently posted pixx of herself. Damn, who could blame her... with looks like that!

As Strega-donna continued her diatribe, he looked in sequence... at... https://twitter.com/#!/GracieGlam

Damn Sam and damn Laddie too. Like a vision Gracie imaged. In her own way, Gracie froze his brain. He off to the races with the possibilities, which danced in front of him. Lad hardly noticed that he had yessed Strega three times and grunted her twice as much. After all, he had to maintain hubby interest while otherwise engrossed.

By the time he came to his senses Rosie had sidled up to him rubbing her left hip up to his face. Frisky like, she smiled and danced her tongue between her teeth, just a little. Only later did he realize that his afternoon delight preceded by lusting GG was not so much the result of good fortune as it was to agreeing to a $7500 rug job. Sua moglie (his wife) had him by the third Yes!

It was only the next day did he begin to think he was set up. One time, when he used to read, he perused an article in Reader's Digest about the wiles of women. Although he knew Glam could not have known that her tweets cost him dearly, he couldn't help feel a little taken. Just then, he heard Rose yelling...

"Lad, where are you?"


"Here, here, in the kitchen."


"Hurry up, move the furniture out of the living room. Stan's Carpets charges more if the installers have to move the furnishings."

Oh fuck, thought he. "Yes Dear."

Ciao

Father's Doo

Father's Day is a money maker, but in no way a generator like Mother's. Fuckers they are, Hallmark and their kindred ilk. But America is as vacuous as a set of balloon tit implants, which 6.8% or so of women here are sporting. Plastic surgeons, who do this kind of surgery, should fill the bags with helium so that the ladies could float to the ceiling during balls and festivals. But the digression stops here.

Days like these Days are in the main bullshit. They almost always come up lame... because...

• money or the lack thereof is apparent
• shortcomings take center stage
• the older people are always older than remembered
• the younger people are burdened with the need to carry the load
• the kids are rambunctious and attitudinal without video
• the roads are more crowded
• restaurants and other public amusements are expensive and gouging
• often many of the celebrants are dead or dying, casting a pall of gloom
• alcohol is more abundant, loosening tongues
• people fuck less as a result of the Day's distractions and stresses
• incontinence is problematic

The two bits of news hitting the wires (the wires?) today are the Portland Oregon riots and the Redding California Costco slay. Since both events involve MEN, well dad-you! In OPortand, two incidents have occurred where groups of youth (all males?) have attacked "innocents" and beat them up. Imagine in a nice park like Laurelhurst besieged by such shenanigans. These kinds of things would never happen in MPortland, which is a more genteel place.

The police or as they are named in other places, the gendarmes or the pigs or the law, are closing down the Park at 10 PM (scusi, the Park normally closes at 10:30.) Patrols are going to be increased and pensions will swell consequent to the overtime. Alcohol is being blamed as the etiology of this west coast mayhem. High testosterone levels coupled with boredom and lack of responsibility might be things Mainers might cite as contributing factors. Maine is a buttoned up place. Harumph!

Costco is a discount come-on mega store offering fools the opportunity to buy mass quantities of shit on sale. Funny how folks will make purchases for stuff they really don't need if it is perceived as a bargain. But without this kind of tomfoolery where would garage sales get inventory?  And Costco is the site of the Mix Murder. That is this Day's other story of shame.

Mix

Robert Mix, 81, whose name could have been Bucky, was found dazed and down on the Redding CA Costco tarmac after he had a physical altercation with 70 year old Gerry Carpenter. Just to be thorough, the respective middle names of these combatants are Leonard and Eugene. These are monikers which must have made the fathers of these modern day gladiators proud. And, after all, this is Father's Day.

Mix-master was sitting in his pickup waiting for a parking space to be vacated. He was clogging up the flow of traffic as others circled like sharks to make a kill in the mouth agape shopping whore store. Carps brushed the arm of the awaiting octogenarian, prompting him to move on. One thing led to another (Mix's cane was a factor which should mitigate the murder charge) and a fatal head injury was meted out by the younger man. Were these fight-to-the-death men Dads? Yikes.

This is America. At this point, the echoes of America the Beautiful should be resignating (sic) between the ears of anyone who would have bothered to read this blog. Indeed it is Father's Day. Not a day to live in infamy, but rather a day of resplendent joy, a day to frame the notion of sperm run amok. Amok is the operative word.

Both tales are amok-ish. It is hard to imagine events such as these happening HERE. Mogudishu yes, the USA noooooo... But the truth is the talisman of reality. And so on this Day of reflection of daddy values, a step back is in order. Be careful, the dog just dumped (doo) behind you...

He-He

Gift 4 Dad...???