Wishful Thinking

Just five hours ago I was going to write that I felt almost cured.   Even though it is not hot, I guess the 80% humidity got the best of me at 4A.M.  I tried the acetaminophen trick.  It inexplicably helps some people with this sort of weirdo skin sensations.  I feel like it helped me the last few days.
Definitely not a cure-all.

I'm still wondering if it is a placebo effect of some kind.  I do not think so.  For some reason that particular drug does something to ease the skin attacks.  However it was a foreigner on the aquagenic pruritis forum who claimed ot was working for him.

And can we be sure to trust foreigners?  Especially if they talk English english? I'm sure you share my tendency to be skeptical of such people.

It looks like I will not be writing that I feel so good, maybe I am almost cured.  Maybe next time.

In other news, I think the fiddler is quitting our project.  The Sande(pronounced Sand ee.) project.   He wants to do more of his own material and he doesn't like being rebuked when he commandeers a microphone, mine for example, when Sande retunes her guitar, and starts playing MC, and semi-front man.

He's a good entertainer, but sometimes doesn't know he is stepping on toes.  I let him know how I felt about it.   Mostly how it is done more than what is done.  I turn around to switch harps and when I turn back he is just in front of me yakking on my mic.  The sound man re-qadjusted it because he talked so much.  Then I went to play and it was like an explosion as ear drums in the room burst.

You do that, you have to accept that someone might say don't do that.

It is the front man compulsion.  Some people can front when it is called for, then happily go back to being a supporting player when that makes sense, with no qualms.  He likes to be the front.  But as talented as he is, I do not think his original material,  at least what I've heard is the kind that grabs you and stands apart.  But he wants to work on his own stuff and says he is not growing.

I guess I saw it coming, but I kind of thought he'd more be finding a way to get me out, since I am not sure he valued the unique blend as much as I, as well as others, did.

I am not that pleased with this turn of events.  I thought his contribution to the sound was really important.  So, now she'll replace him.  There is only one violin I would go for but I'm alone in that.  She'll go for another guy who will be happy to be there, but I doubt I can work well with, so I expect I'll get booted.  Maybe not.  There is a young lady who plays violin, on occasion, with people I know, and she is pure magic to me.  Like a siren of sorts.

Her tone is like honey, and she is subtle and plays what I would play were I to play that instrument.

For now, I don't know.  I will just work it out.

Today we find out what this visit is about.  More accurately, bone scan and mutant test results will be revealed.   If he pulled me in six weeks earlier than planned for nothing, I will not like that.  Dracula is not the type to do a lot of stupid things, I don't think.

Also, I get to play for the Lutherans tonight will Kev and Lauren.  I'm singing harmony on the song as much as playing on it.  Crazy.  But I didn't want the Lutherans to forget me.  I am after all the official harmonica player for the Lutherans and Mormons.  Moreso the Lutherans these days.

My own church, the order of everlasting fertility rites, has turned their back on me.

Best Laid Plans ; part mmxv

For reasons beyond our control, the Hard Rock Cafe gig for this evening was canceled.  Had nothing to do with my bad behavior, fear of our noise, etc.  Details are unimportant and I would be making them up anyway.  I know it was canceled and that it had to do with things other than us.

Not like it was a show at Shea stadium, or even Qualcomm.

Last night was OK.  The stage has bright lights everywhere and the ceiling is super low throughout the place.  Lower on stage because it is raised and the ceiling is the same all through the place.

The lights are hot, and my usual spot on stage was hot with no air circulation whatsoever.  There is a four inch square in the ceiling on the opposite side which shoots cold air straight down. No louvers or any sort of grill.

I had to position myself over there,  I could feel the itch attack wanting to come on and that was my only hope if I was to be able to play even one set.  Maybe one song.  So, we worked it out.  It made me almost irrational in my frustration.  I was so mad I had to have the special spot. It is becoming harder and harder to cope with any warm temp or high humidity.  Lately I'm way too sensitive to all of it.

I hope they keep over-booking the house.  That way I just do a few things in between guests and go home.  The new manager does not know I have issues going on.  I will have to tell him soon.  I need to find a back up worker, but people either have transportation issues or they just aren't geared to handle it, or something.  If you understand how it works, it is a cushy job with a halfway decent wage.

I just want back up, not to lose the job if I don't have to.  I'm concerned we are headed that direction unless I find a better way to contain the attacks. Any more--for ages now--I cannot wear a short sleeved shirt or it will start in my exposed forearms.  It's nuts, but unfortunately, I do not think it is psychosomatic.  It would be interesting to see if hypnosis could play a role in negating the discomfort.

It is an overall thing besides the specific problem areas.  You can feel your face get hot and that sort of thing. Part of the program.

So, it was an OK show.  I was angry and humiliated at the same time for requiring the spot under the vent.  My playing was mediocre. At best.  Overall not our best and far from our worst.

I am not fond of bars.  Last night was Navajo Live, a bar.  Nice in a way, but too much of a bar in a way.  Even as a drunk I did not like bars.  I spent a lot of time in them, but I recall saying to friends while there, "$%^& Bars suck!!!  You know, if they didn't serve alcohol, no way I'd hang around a bar!!"   Profound.  That was the peak of my reasoning power back then.  I quit.

And I certainly never missed the bar.  Bars are not me.  They suit some people.  No thanks.

But, a nice bunch of people came out to see us and support us.  Mockingbird showed up, Tara and Diego.  I think Mockingbird is a terrific name, myself.  And they are a delight. Really.  They are some of the cool kids of the Americana scene.  I call it that.  Chuck calls it that, and he knows this stuff.

We don't know and neither does anyone else.  I csall it Americana fusion.  Friend Vicki calls it Root Rock, but after hearing root used in the Australian way, I thought it a little bit too X.  Still, that does have its charm.

Call things whatever.  I'd say it is the least over-produced, over-amped and aesthetically affected genre of semi popular music.  Most people just like to play it and that is all.  Plus very few are drunks and reprobates.

The blues crowd around SD is nice enough but largely dominated by people putting on affectations; just the right look.  The look that says, "Look at me.  I look like a badass, so maybe you'll think I'm a badass."  Must be lots of peer pressure because their are room fulls of players who have the same hat, the same facial hair, the same harmonica licks, same songs.

I thought I was blues for many years.  I see now that I am far from it.  I'm more like Manheim steamroller on a diatonic harmonica.  But that is a new thing.  Even a year ago I wasn't playing this style.  It serves many purposes.  One of which is that it allows me to exert less while laying down big platform for the violin to just run.  I do my solo when needed, but not like I might.  This is working out.  It must not be as easy as I think because I met a seasoned player who told me that, though I play a different style from him, he can't even do half the stuff I do with apparent ease.  Big compliment I thought.  He had no idea how nice it was to hear that at the time.

Now I forget our next gig.  Outdoor festival in May.  How I will handle that I am not sure, although I will find a way.

It seems like we may have something on the 29th of this month.

Too bad about Hard Rock; I was shocked at the number of people who said they planned to go.  Downtown, 5pm.  Rush hour.  Nice place though.  I hope our small group of fans doesn't give up on us.

I ought to be writing profound thoughts.  What if I kick soon and have only whining and bitching left in print?   I can just hear Joel now giving me the Charlie Brown authority figure talk.  You know what I mean.  Authority figures in Charlie Brown always sound like muted trumpets  No offense Joel, but I ignore it when people bitch about stuff I can't change.

More people have tried to change me over the years than should have.  I rarely try to change anyone.  I try not to because I do not know what their best path is and I am not their owner.  They are the owners of their lives so it is up to them to handle it how they see fit.  Then again, maybe I am so manipulative that I trick even myself, while not realizing I am trying to change people.  I do that well, actually.

I'll probably be around too long to piss off survivors, anyway.  By the time I kick they'll probably substitute targeted tickling of specific parts of the brain for reading or movies or plays, any of that.  I'll refuse to get the tickle device installed and I'll die a 120 year old freedom fighter.  It will be an honorable exit.  Full of valor, purpose, drama, and rebellion.  OK.

Something to look forward to.  All the in between is just roadside sightseeing.

But here's the deal.  If Joel lived in SD county, he could handle backing me up on this job and wind up with independent projects for himself along the way.  If he could maintain a flexible mind and outlook.  I worry about rigidity there.  I tried to teach the kid all I know, but you never can be sure they listen well enough to pick it up.

One can only hope.

That would solve my work issue and someone I trust would be in the loop.  Got no place for him to live or I'd send a post paid box and suggest he mail himself out here to help me keep the job with the people who made Barry what he is today.

I'm not in any spot to be host or even gracious.  This heat is not helping.  For me in the seventies is hot, and in the sixties is almost too warm.
Except for the times when that is suddenly, temporarily not the case.  Those times last up to an hour, on a good day.

I feel like a faker.  I'm trying to make the band thing work but I feel as if I can't be sure I can do it on any given day.  Same with work.  I could not strip and sand and finish a large item of teak right now.  Only if I have ample time with no witnesses. This sucks. And the family, highly toxic, dysfunctional family of the housekeeper, whom she has managed to get on the pay as her "sometimes helpers" seems out for my job.  Her son is a psychopath, I'm pretty sure.  I won't go into all of it.

Suffice to say what was a great co-worker thing became strained as soon as they realized I may be sick and having troubles.  I will still kick them into next week if ever there is a safe opportunity (free of law enforcement) to do so.
The housekeeper, herself, is kind of turning a blind eye to the rest of the crew's antics, but she will tiptoe around her son forever.  Matters not how out of line he is.  Maybe the manager figured out that they padded hours like crazy during the management change.  So blatant.  Pure theft.

I've never seen a work situation in which going to the boss about colleagues being bad people ever worked out.  It doesn't matter what they did.  You lose.  You let the boss come to you, and then you let him form his own view.  Or you implant the view into his mind, all the while managing to let him think it is his idea.  I'm thinking in terms of current manager,  He.

Those opportunities are hard to find.  Hoping to be ready when opportunity knocks is all I can do.
I can't go much longer without cluing him in on what is happening.

I never realized how much there is to like about life.  But the part of how it works when you have zero money can be a challenge.  There are people who live out in the woods without much money.  But the woods probably doesn't bring on uncomfortable, or intolerable whatnot.
So, there you have it!

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If You Are Lucky Enough to Live Out Here

..then you may be lucky enough.

The music situation is remarkable.  Very good players who just like to play and have a good time.  Many have some kind of impressive history, but that is not worn like a badge.  They like to play, that is all.

And it is the best thing for me, so I did well landing here.  I knew I did.   If only I had not allowed a mess to develop.  How did that ever happen?

I Really Want A Smoke

My imagination and google searches are going wild.  Except I only use google when I have to or when I am tricked.  They are too intrusive.  It is crazy.  I use other search engines like bing or startpage.

Anyway, I was reviewing the pathologist's little editorial and it almost shook me a bit. But only after I searched each term.  So, what is the lesson here?

I'll tell you what the lesson is.  Unless you will find the answers which are the ones you want, do not ask the question.  Is that so hard to remember?  Apparently, if you are I, or I am you, then OK, yes I don't know it. I forget this thing.

See how that goes?  This is what happens when you've been around the block and all you want is to get a handle on the mess and clutter and shameful lack of household care.  That is it, pretty much.  That is the hardest of my goals.   You may think, "Oh, your goals must be really easy.", but you'd be wrong.  My Kryptonite is the household normal cleaning and straightening neatness.  I freeze and am rendered helpless when confronted with domestic clutter and chaos.

The end result was that I wanted a cigarette as if I smoke them regularly and smoking is clearly the best response to everything that doesn't fall under my direct and immediate control.   But now I no longer want one.  I do not smoke any more.  One year and over three months.  A record for me, if you don't count the eighteen or nineteen years I was smoke free.  Those first 18 or 19 years.

I have to avoid any sort of giving in.  That is why playing with Sande and the group is so good.  It forces me to do more than I am sure I can do.  That is the best thing.  No way I want to think I am too whatever to play.

You can keep the smoke that I was going to borrow.

Just a Personal Pet Peeve

Pet peeve.  Right, like I'm going to be responsible for feeding and caring for a peeve; take it for walks, send it to school to learn to shut up and not be a nuisance, etc.

That being said, I find it highly annoying when comedy and variety shows invite politicians on for fun, phony, self serving banter.  The government holds the power over broadcasters so they have to kiss ass.  Obama wants on the show, OK.  Makes them feel safe with fcc and all that, while the pres gets to push his party and campaign for whatever bs he's peddling today.

Same goes for all of them. Huckabee, you name it.  Stay off of regular programs.  If it isn't designed for the thug, bully, political class, then the thug bullies ought to stay off the show.  Who is going to refuse and want the wrath of the IRS or whatever to come bother them?  It is extorted publicity in a way.

It is also cronyism.  They've been doing it for awhile with increasing regularity and boldness.  Such bull.  But it works.  Dolts and dumbasses, who have that inborn affinity for royalty will watch and say, "See?  They're just regular people like us.  Just a little smarter and better dressed. But he wakes up every day asking himself, 'How can I make the lives of the wretched little people better today'.  Yep, he's got my vote."

I do not like authority any more now than I did when I was a kid.  Less than I did then, actually.  They told me my views would change the opposite direction.  In some ways, though, I have more empathy and less judgement.  I judge philosophy and ideas more than make judgements on  personal matters that have no effect on me.

Maybe they aren't dumbasses.  Maybe they just either hate people or they enjoy the dynamics of cults of personality so much that they will suspend disbelief and adherence to reality as much as it takes to keep the king in place and looking good.  Make excuses, don't demand accountability.  Hating the "haters" can become addictive so  it is important to create events to bring out the battle.  I think people just do not grasp the idea that being owned is not how it ought to be.

They are perfectly willing to put the state on the title in exchange for some financial perks and 3rd world quality medical care.  Sometimes better.  But if you are 100% on the state's dime, the insurance is like playing Russian Roulette.  Primary care then referrals then bs.
Some people do OK and some probably give up or fall through the cracks.

If I'd had that sort of thing, I bet I'd have given up on them.  

Anyway, be careful because you have no idea what is at play with strangers, and often, with friends.  Ever look around while driving on the freeway and hope those people are not feeling as wiped out and restless as you are?   I do.  I think "this is no fun.  Feeling low."  Then I think "satay awake and alert so you can get home.  You can do this."  Fighting the sudden wave of sleepy exhaustion.  Almost dozed at stop lights and even driving.

Cannot let that happen.  I don't care who you are, if you sleep drive you are screwed.  Few things are more guaranteed to queer the deal.

Roughing It In No Part Harmony

Arachnophobia  is a fear of either spiders or archeologists, I'm pretty sure.  No need to look it up. I am probably right.  I like to remain as in touch and informed as our Dear Leaders.

I know all I need to know about events in states many miles away.  Trayvon in Florida?  Uh huh, mmm, hmmm, we know what's what.  No need to be there to know how it goes down.

Same with Ferguson and any other situation in which bestowing victimhood, deserved or not, upon a person or group simply for a predetermined condition of birth, can further one's popularity, career, and get votes.  Creating enemies of "the people", condoning violent mobs and calling them peaceful demonstrators, or even protestors, is a crafty power maneuver which uses any lie that will work.

What would be a fear of one's own nerves, for whatever reason, attacking one at the exact wrong time; like during gig time.  I did have that happen right before the Ramona gig, months ago.  My first outing with Enter the Blue Sky.  I had to hunker over someone's icy Toyota Sienna A/C for about 45 minutes, with fan running full blast.  It mitigated the discomfort and finally the episode passed. It felt like the wave of relief when a migraine leaves.

It wasn't in any memos I can find, but I thought the attacks had become permanently more subdued.  I was mistaken.

Last night it came on during a drive to town.  By the time I was driving home I had to scrunch over just to deal with it.  I could not wait for the full hot water shower.  That took awhile and I have a fear of it happening again.

Perhaps there is a name for it.  I am trying to think of something that would fit.  Pruritiocarcinophobic.   Also can be interpreted to include a fear of pilgrims.  There is a longer name for fear of pilgrim dolls and for pilgrim clowns.

I think you saw about as many pilgrim clowns on the Mayflower as there are jihadists clowns with water squirting flowers in a mosque, pbuh.  Oh I guess mosque can be said without pbuh. That is only when matters of profit, pbuh, come into the act.  Gross minus net, pbuh.

Sunday at Navajo live. Big stage, lights, etc.  Nice sound set up.  But their sound dudes, so far, appear to not only be deaf, but dumb, and not in the sense of inability to speak.  In the sense of making everything at least twice as loud as it should be, and spreading the balance between instruments in a random and unpleasant fashion.  Warren and I may force him to show us our channels, then educate him on what to do.

The last guy was a bit arrogant.  Guitar player of some kind. Diseased, so he can't fathom the fact that he does not know it all, and that the object of the effort is a nice blend; classy instruments with vocal on top.  Not an assault upon listeners, passers by, and humanity in general.

It is not that damned hard.  I'm often astounded by the sheer size of their bubble of obliviousness.

Then Monday, it is Hard Rock.  Our own sound stuff for that.  And that is not always good.    Often when playing out our PA has feedback issues and is not putting her on top, much of the time.  Yet in practice it is fine.

Different configuration of people placement when we are out must influence the PA performance.

Wait a minute, maybe Hard Rock is one with their own sound system.  They have nice people so we may get it right there.


We had to get a portable air conditioner at work.  Only one in town, and I found it.  Who knew Home depot and the rest thought San Diego had seasons?  They won't stock the portable a/c for another couple of weeks.

It is hot now.  I'm thinking it will end up in my house before too long.  It is becoming a health necessity to stave off much discomfort.  Heat and humidity are the real culprits.

I've seen posts on the aquagenic pruritus forum from people who have had the condition for over a decade.  Some do not have blood issues.  Some do.  But ten or fifteen years?  And they have twenty minutes or so of madness after every shower.  I'm not sure all of them have tried the near-scalding shower trick.  It is so counter-intuitive that I may have not considered it on my own.  I read about the hot shower solution,  and the theory of why it would work, both in the same forum post.

The theory on the forum coincides with what all the dermatologists concluded, though few, if any, of them had heard of this trick.  We think it causes the mast cells, which release histamines, to deplete themselves while the hot water numbs the area being affected by the histamines.  So it runs its course under the hot water stream.  Getting it hot enough is the trick.

Seriously, that trick is useful for people who may need it. It has saved me untold hours of near agony. When sweating or getting on the verge of it cause intractable itching, and humidity increase can also set it off, something is not working right.  At least in my case I know it is a by product of some iffy hydraulic fluid.  If a car was built by the same people who brought you humans, there would only be one fluid used for everything.

That is how blood is.  It is hydraulic fluid for the fun stuff, and like a fuel carrier, O2, for other stuff.  It's one of those items in the inventory of the garden variety human body which would leave a noticeable void were it to be removed.

On nights like this, I wonder how I can possibly manage to make all the gigs and do well.  I think it is important to set that as a goal.  Even if I feel out of it and not remembering to do the right things at the right times.  I have a long way to go before it is riddled with wrong notes and such.  But there is a difference in ad libbing accents and such, and working out what seems the best direction which works to be a consistent arrangement.  We do that, but I can forget, lately.

I've had people describe symptoms similar to these attacks as a side effect of chemo.  Something wrong with that approach, and really wrong that the art of targeting and destroying the enemy without killing our friends or ourselves has not advanced further than it has.  I knew a guy who was into such research and developed equipment to help.  He suggested the corporate-government-charity-pharmaceutical complex was corrupt, despicable and far more in love with treatment than cure, and only treatment that costs big money.   I tend to agree.  You kill the whole damned village to get rid of a street gang?  That is no good.

Oh, we did pass that audition so we'll be playing the Coyote festival at a local college on May 2.  Outdoor, afternoon thing.  I rarely ask for much, but I do want to be able to handle these shows without the need to run off for a scalding shower or stand under a very cold blast from freezers or a/c.

Think positive, but don't expect that to do anything but keep you working on tricks to make it happen.
amen
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The 2:00 A.M. Call

2:00AM seems to be a recurring theme in a couple of Sande songs.  Apparently that is when she gets the call that something is amiss; friend arrested or dead, etc.

So, I was slated for a bit of time off from medico land.  Then I get a call today.  Dracula wants to schedule an appointment sooner by six weeks almost, to discuss the latest imaging and lab results.  That kind of sounds like the 2:00 A.M. call.  Probably not going to say "yippee, it was a hookworm all along and we can fix it in a jiffy!"

Well if it is for one test, then that means a mutated gene. The other, well, I don't know.  That could be a real pain because the cure is possibly not very helpful.  I'm not sure if I have to still wait a week or two because that is as soon as he is available or he's out of town or what.

So, let's do our best to avoid letting the imagination run amok between now and the 25th.  Not the ides of March.  E tu Bucco?   I believe best case would be the mutant thing.  The other would be highly bone marrow specific, and uglier, so far as I know.

It may yet be a year of blowing through remainder of savings and getting the hang gliding or ultra lite action going.   I really want to be a proficient parasail person--easier to transport.

Eeeyikes.  What if I have to deal with the psycho lady who holds the information desk and any information contained there hostage?  She was trouble.

Maybe I'll end up running a harmonica therapy program for mopey ass doomed people dealing with the same general nature of malady.  Of course mine is rarer, since I am picky.

Now I get what most people go through.  I have had it so easy in many ways.  And I should.  I'm not cut out for pointless hardship.  Believe it or not some people are. They seek it.  And they play martyr on a mission while they do that.

Strangest Band Ever; that is a good thing

So, we have this group fronted by a woman old enough to be some people's mother.  And some people would be already out of the casa.
And we have a fiddle player of the same age who has intermittent kidney stone issues, then we have me who is even older, and I'm probably dying of some soap opera disease. They always find cool deadly stuff.
The drummer is losing the grip of his hand sometimes, hence plenty of sticks nearby in case he drops one out of the blue.  Bass player is younger and non committal.

A very unlikely bunch.  But the sound is beginning to shape into what we've been after.  And it actually does kick ass, and we actually are developing a following.  I am playing a far different style of harmonica than ever before.  I'm not sure I've heard exactly this anywhere, any time.

Some compliments are interesting.  There are those people who say they hear extra voices when we play, and some of those attribute this to an angel phenomenon of some kind.  Makes sense since one or two of us have a foot in the grave.

Another musician around town complained, good naturedly, that Sande had snagged the best musicians for her group, and how did she pull that off.  I'll tell you.  She has hours of great original music, she is pure energy and we all have fun.  Maybe it is keeping me and the drummer from keeling over in our misguided mortality.  This is the sort of thing I do best; blend and work with other instruments.  That is my pick when there is room.

There are times that the sound gives me chills.  Quite unique and remarkable.  Distinctive and original and it is working.   Capturing it, and learning to make it gel all the time, is not easy, but we are getting to it.

It still amazes me that people ask me to be a part of such projects.  I suppose I do have something to offer, to those who can see it, or allow it. You just can't play with everyone.  Or not do it and feel like it works.

But unlike a lot of people around, we don't put on airs and pretend to be younger,  or do that "Oh gosh, aren't we old. "Look at those spunky seniors jamming in slo mo".  Whoever started this seniors talk is evil.  Ever here those patronizing news stories in news person voices?  Barf city.  "Are our seniors getting the care they deserve?"  Gimme a break.

It seems to interest a wide range of ages.  Other than that I refuse to do age or gender studies.  I will not that this seems to get the attention of women and that is good.

If I can stay afloat and not queer the deal, this project could take off.  I want to drive a tour bus and have adventures.  Not likely to happen, but, we have two house of blues gigs, so maybe it is possible. Sande is the new thing.  Baby boomers are a large chunk of population and they will dig this stuff.  Maybe they can get on to something new and quit with the same Neil Young songs over and over, and pining for the old days, that sort of thing.

I'm always astounded to see the group who gave parents such a bad time, and who screwed the country up when they could, complain about the lack of discipline and common sense among younger generations.   It boggles the mind.  The generation that set the bar for bratty, phony and hypocritical.  What nerve to start in on, "When I was a kid, blablabla..."

Thirty somethings are clueless when it comes to how wealth got created in this country, and the dangers of too much official power, etc., but at living life, and doing it well, they may be the best of all.  Less fickle than my peers.  And they seem to enjoy life. The know how to do that in ways I do not.

They were still able to get outside some since there was no internet in their early childhood, and the culture was a tad less paranoid.  People forget or don't know that violent crimes and threats to children are probably lower now that twenty or thirty years ago.  Yet we in effect imprison our youth as if keeping people safe in a cage is kinder and better than letting them risk the hazards of the free range, so to speak.

You want your damned egg producing chickens to be free range and not dosed with antibiotics and hormones, but your kids are monitored 24/7 and dosed with whatever satisfies the school and shuts the little urchin up.  Ritalin, cocaine, whatever.  Why do people puch for happy chickens but only "safe" children.  Overly safe is a complete drag for anyone and not the nature of life, living, passion or motivation.

Of course if you watch the news, listen to Obama type sound bites or crazy ass preacher-politicians long enough, you think you are crazy if you question all the garbage.  I'm telling you, the status quo is what is totally off base, insane, and destructive.

Political figures in our age try to have that same mystique a priest might have.  They are priests with a gun to your head.  People do not stand up to this stuff because they are afraid, insecure, unsure, and suckers for itty bitty bribes in the form of free government things and unearned power over others.

Anyway, this group is not so typical of baby boomers or anyone else except people who can live without the approval of all the pop culture conformity police.


'

Maybe I'm Pregnant

I've got this crazy craving for ice cream and ate a ton of Klondikes.
the end

What This Pig Needs

...is more grease.  Grease that baby up!  If it stays where it is, squirming like that, it'll be tomorrow's breakfast bacon.  Or maybe next week's.

No question the creature has the moves, but I just don't think she's able to slip through the gauntlet without serious injury, eventually giving up.

We shall see.

Mark my words---three words, maybe four: Po ca hon tas.

Don't say I didn't warn you.  Misfits, run for your lives!!