Sunday, December 30, 2012

Say Hello to My Little Friend.

Hello. My name is Peter. I''m short of stature and am graying at the edges. I have a friend, Richie, who is my opposite. Tall and robust, but completely bald.

Together, we make quite a pair. You remember that comic strip, 'Mutt and Jeff?' No? Then you're too young to be reading this blog. Or, you're not well-rounded. And don't we all want to be well-rounded?

You see, I've been trying to see eye to eye with Richie all of my life. He tells tall tales, I tell short stories. He elaborates with his smoothe talk and I stutter and stumble over the hairiest of details. Certainly, you have a friend with whom you have similar contrasts? No? Oh yeah.

I've been crazy, a bit nutty, as long as I can remember or my name isn't Peter. I've extended my love and acceptance to many in my short, yet full lifetime. Yet, it seems that I always fall short. I've banged my head on so many walls after failing to hit my goals that my helmet is dented and I have a black eye.

Yet Richie, he is always successful. Always reaching the mark and eliciting smiles no matter how trite the task or how little the effort. Sure, it's easy for him to stretch himself to the limits in order to garner those smiles. But, can he put himself aside for a few moments and allow words from the lips to attain the same results? I think not.

I remember once when I was strictly confined. My head was aching as a result and I was bursting to be set free from my prison. My two closest friends felt my pain and hatched a plan. That's what true friends do, they hatch plans. They dangle ideas in front of you, hoping someone will bite and follow your lead.
Nearby, Richie was also feeling confined. Yet Richie was never able to restrain himself so he broke free without reservation. Let's just say that the door swung open but Richie couldn't read the signs and entered a situation in which he'll always remember as one in which restraints no longer apply.

That's ok though. Richie is still doing well. He has a dark tan and has his own hair once again.

Me? I'll always be short and robust, but I'm secure with myself. My two closest friends never leave my side. They hang back a few steps on most days, occasionally jumping up to greet me after a hard day. I never go anywhere without them and check on their well-being daily. Meanwhile, I still need a helmet due to my over-eager mentality, but at least my flashlight works.

Saturday, December 29, 2012

Yelps from the Closet: Green Paper, The Cliff and Buffalo Nickels

Yelps from the Closet: Green Paper, The Cliff and Buffalo Nickels: Hello world, meet Cliff. No, no, no, that didn't come out just right. Now, imagine a young Sean Connery, donned in a tuxedo, slyly glancing ...

Green Paper, The Cliff and Buffalo Nickels

Hello world, meet Cliff. No, no, no, that didn't come out just right. Now, imagine a young Sean Connery, donned in a tuxedo, slyly glancing at you while casually with coolness lighting a cigarette and saying, 'The name is Cliff, Fiscal Cliff.'

That's about the only way that I can imagine hearing those words any longer. I'm so very fatigued from hearing and reading about this so-called Mayan death of America and, thus, the world, that I could shoot thumbtacks from my sphincter and pin a Farrah Fawcett poster to the wall from seventy-five yards.

Yet, the entire partisan, political spectacle known as FC (as I now refer to it) is nothing more than a sad commentary on humankind's millenia of fascination with money. Moolah, greenbacks, dough, whatever you choose to call it, money is again at the center of everything. In the words of the late, great Richard Pryor, 'How long will this bullshit go on?"
It seems that we, humanity, have lost our shit over money. Again.

Now, I realize that money is important. Without it, bank executives would freeze to death. Starter logs are a bitch to light and money burns fast and bright. Politicians would never be elected without it. Christianity, nay, all organized religions in our time would come to a screeching halt without hope of resurrection. And, by golly, how would we ever know what car, tampon or dating site to buy into without advertising?
Pass the plate and hand me a biscuit. If I had a nickel for everytime I've said that.....

Now, as we pass from the devastation that arrived on 12/21/12 into the year 2013, we are poised to jump into the abyss of extinction as political parties grab each other's crotches, squeeze tight and enjoy either the pain of giving or the pleasure of grabbing an opponent's balls. What's funny about that image isn't the whole ball-grabbing thing but the idea that there are opponents... opponents bent on doing what's right. However, in the middle of doing what is right there is a big-assed S with either one or two vertical lines. For the layman, $.

Maybe the Maya were right. Hell, they had the same discussions about who can live comfortably and who should suffer monetarily. The only difference is that their fiscal cliff (FC) was detailed in skull carvings and ours is broadcast by talking skulls on FOX News.

I know, I know. This argument has happened throughout time. However, I'm not making an argument, I'm making a statement. Money sucks. Money Divides and Money has a forked, and pierced, tongue. Why pierced? Because every good whore knows that a piered tongue adds zest to a blowjob. That's just what money does to people, licks, sticks and ultimately makes us pricks.

Ask yourself this question.... if we jump off that cliff in a few days and your taxes go up, will it matter? And, before you say, "Yes! I can barely afford my Red Box late fees as it is!" think about this... What are you gonna take with you when you leave this big 'ol planet filled with universal excrement? Nothing. Nada. You're going to go out with the exact same thing you came in with. Money? I'm fairly certain that your god, my god, or whatever source of energy you subscribe to won't give two shits and a bag of wooden nickels that you were taxed too high or too low, drove a Mazda, a Ferrari or lived financially one day at a time as opposed to owning your financial future like a submissive slave in a BDSM flick.

Wake up. Maybe the cliff we should be talking about is a place where we throw our self-absorbed selves from and look within for what is truly valuable.

Cliff. Fiscal Cliff.

Mr. Cliff - "Do you expect me to talk?"
GoldDinger - "No, Mr. Cliff. I expect you to die."

Art does imitate life, eh? And yeah, I'd like rocket launchers on my Aston Martin.



Monday, December 17, 2012

Sins of the Father

Monday, December 17th, 2012.

I preface this blog entry with a date for a reason. You see, for six straight days, I've held my emotions in check. No one has seen what I've been feeling.

I made it nearly seven days. Yeah, that sounds almost like a line from 'Cheeseburger in Paradise', I know. Nearly. But, in emotions and anger reminiscent of manic days when I'd repeatedly punch brick walls until my knuckles were bloody, beaten, bruised or broken, I've faltered.

One is strong in one's own mind until the unthinkable or unexpected happens. For me, that was the unexpected death of my father, my dad... six days ago. And, being the way I am with a mind such as I possess, I felt the need to be 'strong', 'resilient', a pillar of strength. Ha! I pity the fool!

Then, on the heels of my own unthinkable personal loss, the senseless murder and loss of elementary school children in Connecticut.

Oh wait, lest I forget, add to that the total stupidity, inane mentality and inbred fucktardedness of the Westboro Baptist Church and their satanic minions as they plan to protest at the funerals of toddlers killed by a mentally-unstable person. Talk about the ultimate irony.

You might ask, "Jeff, how will you combine your unresolved anger, grieving for the loss of your father, the loss of toddlers and utter disdain (I'm being kind right now) for the Westboro Baptist Church and their love of hatred, not to mention the misunderstanding of those of us who are not mentally stable (whatever that means) at every moment into a single blog entry?" Good question. And I'll just say that I make this shit up as I go along, my fingers pecking as my mind leads them to keys on the keyboard.

But, there is a connection. And, it's not anger. Yeah, I'll admit that if I lived in the vicinity of Fast-Five Freddy Phelps and his coglomerate of hatemongers I'd gladly pay four dollars per gallon of gas to burn him and his minions in effigy. After all, according to their 'loving god', that's what's gonna happen to each and every one of those lemmings and their blind, hate-filled leader anyway. Hell, I'd listen to a sermon espoused by Mussolini and Hitler and give it more credence than what I'd give Freddy's words of 'salvation' as he and his limp-dicked followers proclaim to be truth.

Sure, there's anger in my words due to my dad having passed. Yet, my dad would be no less a target for the hypocites of WBC than the innocent children that were murdered, or the soldiers killed in the field of battle, or Elizabeth Edwards, or your family member, friend, co-worker.... and at that thought, I want to go Popeye Doyle or Charles Bronson and just eliminate the source of unnecessary bigotry and hurt impressed upon people already hurting as a result of life's absurdities.

Am I calling for violence against Freddy and his ilk? Surely not. That would make me as inhuman and soul-less as they are. Karma's a bitch, though. I do call for a protest for their having been born. Sort of a reversal of what they do. The whole '666' thing, in a way. Maybe we, as a single source of positive energy, can become the 'Anti-Freddy.' I'm down with that. I'll even make bumper stickers.

I don't want to diminish the hurt I feel at having unexpectedly lost my father to a massive coronary. I'm finding that stifling emotions can do damage to one's own heart and lead to harsh words and actions towards those who are just as vulnerable. Geez, I'm growing up and I don't like it.

Therefore, I'll end with something I wrote a while ago which resounds with me, and hopefully with you, in these difficult, unfriendly and senseless times....

The Fred Phelps/Jesus Wikileaks Transcripts

(The following has been edited)

Okie doke. The following is an unofficial transcript obtained by WikiLeaks that details a conversation between Fred Phelps and his leader, Jesus, son of Tammy and Travis. The Westboro Jesus who was born in a mangy trailer, covered in swaddling sheets, complete with hood and a copy of 'Mein Kampf' and damns those who swill Jim Beam in favor of Jack Daniels and will save everyone who believes that he is the Savior of Dale Earnhardt's soul.

... and we begin ...

Fred: "God? Jesus? You there? I need to speak at ya ... this whore wife of an adulterer died today. Thank you. Can you give me a sign that you snuffed her? I mean, I know that you hate those who stand by sinners, whoremongers, liars and fans of Jeff Gordon. Woot woot."

.. and then, silence.

Fred: "Hey, Jeez ... it's me, Fred. I'm thinkin' that after dinner at the Sizzler, my flock might do a video that shows Liz Edwards as a sinner in Hell ... maybe to the tune by Bow Wow Wow ... you know, "I Want Candy" except we'll spin it into, "I Want Cancer" ... I know you like parody."

..silence.

Freddy: "Jesus, Jesus ... I always do what you tell me to do. You say 'hate', I hate. You say, 'antagonize', I antagonize. You say, "blow an altar boy', I say I'm not Catholic but I'll finger a schoolgirl ... I'm always here for ya, J-man. But, what are we gonna do about this evil, evil woman that died? I mean, Hell-fire, you sent her death and suffering and damnation, afterall. So, how can I, we, my church, further extol your message of love and acceptance by denouncing her self-perceived strength of spirit?"

... "ahem":... silence...

And then, as if a breeze was blown from the sphincter of God, a voice emerged from behind chords of a banjo ... and the voice said unto Fred the Divine ...

Voice: "Fred, Can ya hear me? It's me, Bob. I like the name 'Bob' because you can say it backwards or forwards and it still says 'Bob'.

Fred: "Jesus? God? Hallelujah! You have shown yourself and affirmed that your church, THE church, here in Kentucky, is right in protesting the death of a life of one who died in trying to live as she proclaimed false hope knowing that she was going to die which in effect is a lie and as such condemns her to damnation and hellfire."

Voice: It's 'Bob'.

Fred: "Oh, Bob. My utmost apologies. I should thrust myself upon a sword or stone myself. But, If I were to do that then who would lead the flock to the promised land of polygamy, judgementalism and paradise?... the paradise in which women without makeup or hair care products are desireable,.. the paradise that has St. Peter at the gates of Heaven, tearing in trackside tickets complete with an eternal pit pass and handing each of us entering a bucket of chicken wings and a cooler of holy beverages? J-Man, you and I are equal ... Let me bow my head for a moment as you nod to St. Earnhardt ..."

Voice: "Fred ... Fred, Fred, Fred ... first of all, just so ya know ... Dale is downstairs. Yeah, he rubbed too many cars the wrong way. Secondly, Liz ... Miss Edwards ... well, she's written quite an appeal on her own behalf as a result of your damning condemnation. I gotta tell ya Freddy, you might need to hire an attorney ... I hear Lindsay Lohan's and Mel Gibson's counsel might be available ... I might be the judge, jury and executioner but I'm willing to give you your day in court ..."

Fred: "Wait a minute ... Is this you Jesus? I know that sometimes there are people that try to impersonate you... Hold on, wait a second, I have a call from FOX News ... can you hold?"

Voice: "Suuure ... hehe ... (little does Freddy know that I made the call and I own FOX News) ...

....... moments later ....

Fred: "Uhhhh ... sorry 'bout that bro ... Beck wanted to know the details of the protest and bought four tickets. By the way, all monies received for protesting the death and life of those who died while exhibiting unholy faith and strength goes towards the new Family Life center and annual Chicken Pie dinner for the unsaved and unworthy. It's a good thing, trust me. All I personally get from it is a blurb on network news and possibly a blowjob from a parishoner which I know you'll forgive because I'm doing the work of...well, you."

Voice: "I most certainly have a nice spot in mind for your life in eternity, Freddy. Your actions really do accentuate my teachings in a way you'd never fathom. "Fathom" ... there's a word you might want to explore.
"Liz!" "Liz!" ... Hold on a sec, Freddy ....

Voice: "Hey, Liz ... would you reach over St. John and pass me that red Sharpie? yeah... that one ... and if you don't mind, I need that sheet of poster board ... I have an idea for a sign that is gonna make headlines at an upcoming protest ....I'm thinkin' you should be there to speak for me ..."

Voice: "Hey, Freddy? Here's where I want you to go next ... Oops... My bad. You're gonna be there already. Oops again, I just spoiled your surprise ... you're the guest of honor, so to speak. By the way, did you know that Westboro, Kentucky is now the galactic center of the universe and a spiraling black hole rests underneath the altar of your sanctuary? *wink wink* ... Just trying to clue you in ... "

Fred: "I KNEW that I was your chosen one! Can I have your chair at the right hand of God? I mean, Hell...oops, Heck ... You might have raised the dead but I condemned 'em ... so, move over...."

..... And so it is .. so let it be written, so let it be done ... please.
 
Amen and Holy Shit.


Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Yelps from the Closet: Been Awhile. Back With A Vengeance.

Yelps from the Closet: Been Awhile. Back With A Vengeance.: Hello world. It's nice to be back... sorta. My life as a seemingly normal individual has been at the forefront while I shove the dark side a...

Been Awhile. Back With A Vengeance.

Hello world. It's nice to be back... sorta. My life as a seemingly normal individual has been at the forefront while I shove the dark side aside, or behind, as I attempt to live life as a moralized, humanized, domesticated human being.

.... and the crowd went silent.....

The crowd is composed of the noises, voices and thoughts that bombard my mind. Then, I relay those voices as thoughts, both good and bad, verbally to those I feel are within earshot and worthy of either humbling or praise. Hey, I'm not judgemental, what can I say. If I wanted my voices to be judgemental I'd have named them after parishioners of the Westboro Baptist Church.

Yet, I'm here again. I've been purposely not writing. Yeah, purposely. Ask me why.... "Why? Jeff, oh why?..." you ask...

Well, a couple of reasons. A). I've been a good boy. and 2). I'm only writing when I feel the inspiration to write. Picture yourself after a big breakfast of eggs, bacon, grits and black coffee... suddenly, *KaBlam* mr. tummy provides inspiration to run from the table and, well, provide a sacrifice. That's how I write, except I haven't had much bacon and eggs lately. Mostly tofu and Triscuits.

In any case, there is a point to this posting. A point that surely will upset those looking for a rant from me. Hell, I don't rant anyway, I 'express'. Like anal glands during a rectal exam, I express... get the stank out.... But this isn't an expression.

I'm happy. Yeah, fuck you too. I said 'Happy'. I know, I know, 'happy' isn't the same as 'joy'. I've had Joy since I met my soulmate but happiness has been elusive. And there's many reasons I'm happy. Let me expound... if I bore you, read on...

One, I'm happy with myself. I'm finally in a place of self-acceptance despite my flaws. That's fuckin' tough for me so if you call me a wimp for getting to this point, well, fuck you and try to ive through my last five years.

B). Although my daughter still hates me, she did send me an abusive email telling me why she hates me.

3). I hugged my son for the first time in five years.

4). I recognize that I'm needed by those who aren't connected to me by DNA, marriage vows or my ability to spout random trivia.

D). I have underwear with holes in places that now qualify them as sexual fetish wear.

11). I'm with a woman who not only loves and accepts me as I am but also wants me to stay crazy.

Ok, so one of the aforementioned is a little nuts. I'll leave it to you, the reader, to discern which is which. I guarantee that no one will agree with me as to which brings me the most happiness.

But hey, does that really matter? I'm just as nuckin' futs as you are and vice versa. I just accept it and am proud of who I am. it's taken a long, long time to be able to do that. I've blamed everyone from my ex to myself to the Loudoun County Sheriff's Department to my kids.... there is no one to blame, only those to offer my hand to shake and say, 'Mucho Grassyass'... 'You made me who I am and I've done something positive for you as well (except for the sheriff's department. That' wasn't mutually life-enhancing).

It feels good to write again. I'm ready to finish my book, tell my story and help others. Yeah, you heard that right. The ranter wants to help. And I know that I can help. Because, like you, I have a story that most haven't heard with situations that most haven't encountered and outcomes that most can't comprehend.

That's why I write.
That's why I'm Back.

That, and I just can't sleep without Klonopin.