Daily Life in Third World America

TRUMP: “We have become a third world country, folks.” Sept. 26th, 2016 Presidential debate.

The struggle is real folks. I didn’t realize how we had fallen so far. It’s time to let the secret out to the rest of the world. We have went from Superpower to Third-World under Obama.

9:15 am-ish. I wake up to a cold apartment. I have an old thermostat so it’s hard to regulate the heat.
I need coffee. I see I am out of coffee. So I make due and WALK 50 yards just to have to wait in line to buy my coffee at a gas station. A GAS STATION!

Not only was the coffee in the back, very far away from the checkout counter, but when I pull out the lids, two come out. I ONLY WANTED ONE!. I couldn’t find the creamer or sugar. Good thing I take my coffee black.cup-of-coffee

9:30 am: I sit down in front of my computer. Yes I work and use the same computer to do other tasks and for entertainment. I need a new one but I don’t have the money right now. This computer is three years old. I have to live with this shame. But in a Third World I’m lucky to even have this.

10:30 am: I read the news on my ancient outdated computer. It’s how I have to do it since I don’t own a TV or buy newspapers. God? Why do you let these things happen to good people? I should ask my old school mate (even though she is young) Aimee. She’s smart. She lives in England for most of the year. But talking to her over video chat in real time across the globe, just isn’t the same.

11:00 am: I need medication. My 2010 Ford Fusion started (thankfully) and I began my five mile trek to the pharmacy/grocery store called Safeway. The pharmacy is also in the back. They make me wait behind a line before they dispense my meds. My Third World insurance covered it. No charge. Finally things are looking up. My only complaint was having to walk by all the food in the isles. I hugged a worker there and expressed my sorrow at him working for only a living wage. I’m liberal. It’s what I do.safeway-1384087897

12:00 pm:I get home and I can’t find my phone. I WALK across the whole wide room and have to have my computer dial my phone so I can find it. The screen is cracked. It makes it tough to see texts, the weather, what time the pharmacy opens, photos, videos, the guitar tuner, YouTube, email, Instagram, Twitter, the Stock Market and my entire music library. Luckily It will give me audible directions. Lord I wish I had a map!

12:20 pm: I have to drive into the city. I talk to my  phone and pull up Spotify. Yes I can listen to all my favorite songs but since I don’t pay $9.99 a month I have to listen on shuffle mode. It’s 2016. I’m an American, and sure, I can listen to any album I want, anytime I want to, but not in the original order? I guess luxury comes with a price. Only the top 1% ever get to skip the ads.

1:30 pm: I finally get into the city. The fear of the tunnel collapsing and the state of the left lane for two miles was atrocious. Probably because men are busting up that lane with jack hammers and back loaders. Merging into one lane isn’t the America Grandpa grew up in. All he had to worry about was Polio.

2:00 pm: The comic book shop was closed today. CLOSED! They must be rationing comic books. I will try again tomorrow. comic-book-club-ray-gootz-970x545

I notice all the homeless people wandering the tourist district with nothing but digital cameras bowling shirts and sun dresses. They are forced to carry their bags with “I  Love Monterey” T shirts and refrigerator magnets. They look longingly at the Pacific. They are wishing for a better life, like in South America, or Africa. Who can blame them?

I decide to eat at a Vietnamese restaurant. I have to ask for water, and they make me eat with sticks. You read it right. STICKS! And the portions were too big. So I eat half of it, and stiff the waiter for making me eat with a stick.

4:00 pm: My afternoon nap is taken on the futon in my studio. Not even a couch. A room with  no air conditioning. I like my studio to be a constant 45 degrees. But it’s impossible with the window open and the saltwater air blowing the 70 degree heat through here. I can’t sweat, and my feet are dirty from wearing only sandals every day. Not even real shoes. Dirty toes are common here. They are known as ‘Valley Feet.’

5:30 pm: Back to grinding out logos and webpages. Illustrating and animating. I’ll never get used to it. My elbows are calloused from leaning on the desk, My coffee is now luke warm.

The immigrants and illegals have taken all the jobs here. I walked miles and miles of fields and can’t find a single strawberry or stalk of broccoli to pick. They have looted the fields here and taken all the strawberry picking jobs that Americans want. Want in one hand and put strawberries in the other, see who’s hand is holding the strawberries. Mexican hands.


Migrant farm workers in strawberry fields. (Mark Miller/Getty Images)

I can hear them laughing in the trailer park. The comradery among THOSE people is overwhelming. You’ll never find a white man like me being invited to live with a dozen Mexicans in that trailer. Racism. The Hispanics are living it up and I have to deal with a cracked phone.

6:30 pm: I trek across the parking lot to order from Kathy’s Little Kitchen. Mexican food. Sure they take my order in English but they speak in Spanish to each other. Possibly about murdering and raping me. I get my burrito and hurry out the door. I run back to the apartment looking over my shoulder. I consider calling Homeland Security and turning Kathy’s in. Kathy isn’t even a Hispanic name. What are they hiding?

7:00 pm: The only way I have contact with my family is over Facebook, or a text. Possibly call or Skype. Being so far away in a Third-World country means being cut off. My only options to see my mother are either driving the interstate or getting on an airplane. It’s a 4 hour flight to see my dear Mother. Home just a dream.

8:00 pm: Netflix is not showing the movie that I have been skipping for two months. I guess I’ll have to read the book. Maybe I’ll just watch ‘Family Guy’ even though it’s all reruns. But I really wanted to watch the live action ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’. I can’t win *Sigh*

ef34f5566ebbd6237e0b844d674366fa9:00 pm. I’m a so hungry… I go around the whole wide corner to buy the fresh fruit. My debit card now has a chip in it and I have to put the card in to pay for my bananas. What ever happened to swiping? Just one more inconvenience other countries don’t have to live with. In California many people even carry their own bags. Why should the local wildlife get the perks? Why am I carrying my bananas in my hand just because a seal is swimming around with a Safeway bag in his colon? I should have more rights than a seal. If only a bananas were wrapped in some sort of package. Dirty banana peels caused the Red Death that wiped out 1/3 of Europe a few years ago.

9:15 pm. I take my shower. The conditioner is almost out and I have to put a little water in the bottle to get the last bit. I could use a new razor, but they are in my medicine cabinet so I reuse my old one. After only 45 minutes the hot water is running out. No hot water.

10:00 pm: I start my work for the day. I’m uninspired from being beat down by a system set up to keep me down.

10:05 pm: I’m watching ‘Family Guy” on Netflix. Tweet my thoughts, and hop on Facebook to tell other people why they are obviously wrong.

Walk a mile in my shoes! Even though I haven’t walked a mile in them. But I have probably a dozen pair of shoes. So you taking my shoes doesn’t bother me that bad. Probably a Mexican took them.

I call 911 and five minutes later the cops finally show up. I explain the stolen shoes and wanted to make sure I had an airtight alibi in case my shoes were used in a rape or a murder. I was assured I was white and this would not be the case.

philly-good-guy-with-gunI then quickly whipped out a pistol that I owned and was rather proud of, to show the officer. He admired the gun, told me that it was a good thing I had the loaded pistol on me. After all when a Mexican is raping you, what are you going to do? Call the police? We both laughed.

11:00 pm: I’m STARVING!! I am forced to forage for food at the convenience store. If I don’t eat I will surely die from malnutrition and starvation. Funyuns.

12:00 am: I grab a blanket and curl up in the corner. I have my gun in one hand and used copy of “Tuesdays with Morrie” in the other. I check the gun one more time to make sure there is a round in the chamber and I pee a little bit thinking about shooting a Mexican rapist through my door.

tuesdays-with-morrie-06-07-web-image12:01 am “Tuesdays with Morrie” sucks. I think I’ll watch ‘Family Guy’

4:00 am: I go to bed. I am saddened at the fact that I can’t look up and see the stars. The roof blocks the view. I cry myself to sleep hoping I can hang on. The salt in my tears rust my gun under my pillow.

I don’t see any end to this cycle of having to wait for 30 seconds when I want it NOW!

I am an American and I deserve more than this! Why do I have to spend more than $25 dollars to get free shipping from Amazon? Why does the government  have to be all up in my face fixing roads, making sure my meat is suitable to eat and the water drinkable. I’m a slave to the electric company!I am an indentured servant. If I want anything I can think of , it all comes with a price.

That’s a lot of strawberries


My great friend and amazing musician JB Faires has recently started his blog. I’ve spent many a smokey evening discussing music and the ways of the world. He is truly inspirational

Help me out and give me a like and a share. I will personally write you an email thanking you. I have nothing else to offer.

Inspiring speech. Not dated in the least. I salute you Joe Friday!


Will Donald and Hillary please report to the Principal’s Office

Political rant: When I was in school Dr. Pat Smith, the grade school principal, could make you piss yourself with just the sound of his voice. That baratone voice over the intercom would leave you shaking in your cowboy boots. The last pair I have ever owned.
I was called into the Principal’s office for name calling between myself and another kid. We were told that he wasn’t going to put up with crap like that in his school and if he hears it again there will be a couple of red asses going back to my 3rd grade classroom.

Baldy, Cripple, and Commie.


Those same traits that Dr. Smith squashed would have labeled me as immature, but not a liar. I told him I did do it. This can be blown off for being 10 years old. But even as a ten year old, I knew it was wrong. I had a Mom who taught us manners and respect.

So does grade school immaturity instill confidence in any leader? Especially one wanting to run the free world? Things that would get you detention should be taken care of before you are considered for office. I don’t vote for 3rd grade kids either.

Lets try something new. We are a great nation. We do have problems. Nothing is perfect. But why not show some integrity and instead of stooping to others, why not accept the fact that we live in a hell of a nice place and use our policies to bring Washington up to our level and accepting nothing less.


Vote for me! I have what it takes to be your leader!

Pretend you are in a hotel and the air conditioner doesn’t work. Do you hit FB? Makeup memes? Point at the owner and say he’s anti gay? No we ask for a better room, and it’s expected and they give it to you. But we don’t demand ‘Customer Service’ from our soon to be and former leaders.
Later in life Dr. Smith became a friend and morning coffee buddy. He made fun of my liberal ways daily. He would have never stood for this shit. Why should we? Dr. Smith You’ve pissed me off, you raised your voice when I would contradict you, and I miss it. I hope you have your feet up on the desk of whatever Heaven means to you. Amazing what maturity does. From intimidated child to drinking black coffee with a frenemy. 
If Trump takes a stupid tweet, tweet back “Just stop it” If Hillary takes to Facebook, she needs to be told to “Stop right now.” They have treated us like children long enough. We have fallen for it and I’m stopping.  Take them apples Mr. Poopy Pants

Help a brother out and give this a  “like” and a “share” Your mom would be proud of your good deed.


You can’t hold a job, and you have erectile dysfunction, and you beat your Wife!

I’ve become obsessed with Automata. It’s the art of engineering and making machines that move either by a motor or a hand crank. A Cuckoo Clock is Automata.  So is a toaster.

I have a macabre image of building a found art Automata of a circus freak show. My first project will be a man hammering a nail into his skull. Yep. I’m going to go through a huge learning curve of gears, ratios, cogs, and a lot of frustration to make a piece of art (shit) that I won’t tell my Shrink about.

My lady, Lisa has twin girls and a little boy all within a year apart; roughly the same ages, in fact two of them are exactly the same ages. She asked me last night “Why don’t you make something I’d let my kids look at?”

I said, “What? Like Santa?”


67207a8d5c58ecee46f202ae5edf010cI could do that. I might do that. Make it an angel. My Mom collects angels and I’m broke so I have to give her homemade gifts (which are the best.)

But you know what would be cooler to make? A machine that makes a lady turn into a gorilla before your very eyes. Which would you rather see? Santa, or gorilla woman? I thought so.

I’m 100% American in loving to see someone suffer. We live for this as a nation. We are closet sadists in La-Z-Boy Recliners. Let’s flip on the tube and watch the new season of the Voice/American Idol/America’s Got Talent. It’s the new season and I want to see people who think they have talent be shamed in front of the world.

If I’ve heard it once I’ve heard it a million times. “You should be on American Idol”

Here is how AI works.

  • Open casting call. Come on down.
  • Wait in line for your turn to meet the first people who will judge you. Mainly on looks and some sort of hook, like single crack baby mother who found Jesus. Then you sing and they either blackball you for any number of reasons, talent being a very small part or move you on to the next judges…and on and on.
  • By the time you are standing in front of three has been Celebrities, they know your story, they know ahead of time if you suck. In fact, you have been passed on simply because you are suck! Earlier that day they have sent Aretha Franklin home because she’s too black and too fat.
  • If you succeed then they put you on a multi million dollar stage with the best equipment and the best band you’ll find. Then we sit and wait for your amateur voice to crack in front of the Nation, and tweet each other as we watch their dreams get crushed.

I like to see that kind of shit too. Cracks me up. The nastier the better.
I know this gal, well I don’t KNOW her but I know a lot about her. She was 22. She fell in love with her boss. Her boss was married. The wife didn’t know a thing about it.


Judas being a prick.

Her ‘Friend’ set her up like the Judas she was. She claimed to be her friend but never was or ever intended to be. She gained her trust, talked about it on the phone nightly. Everything was spilled. She didn’t hold back while confiding in her friend.

The ‘Friend’ came out one day and explained proudly, how she had set this young girl up. She told everyone each and every sordid detail of the affair. She had records and recordings that she had made. Her friend RECORDED their heart to heart conversations to use against her.

The husband deserted her. Threw her under the bus. Claimed he didn’t know shit.
She was eventually to become the butt of every joke in town. And sixteen years later she’s being shamed again. For the sins of almost two decades ago when she was at an age where she couldn’t even rent a car. She’s in her freakin’ 40’s now! Only the petty wouldn’t drop it.  Like any old joke, it wasn’t that funny to begin with. If you don’t know who I’m talking about I’ll spill the entire beans at the end of the article.

I can’t throw stones. I’d be willing to bet neither can you. Have you been ,or do you currently know of a moral crime that would crush someone if they knew about it? Do you tell them as a  concerned citizen?. A friend, a spouse, a girlfriend or boyfriend, a boss, a co-worker. I’d also be willing to bet that we all have done something to be ashamed of. Most of it while we were young. Before we really knew any better.

There is a kid just north of me who raped a passed out girl behind a dumpster until two guys came along and stopped him. He was given a sentence of six months because the Judge felt like the boy had way too much going for him that he didn’t want to ruin this boy’s life by giving him 20 years. He got out in three months. The father had written a letter to the judge stating that the boy was so depressed he couldn’t even eat his steak. And he loves steak.


Daddy’s Letter

That sentence and the Judge and Father’s re-victimization of this raped girl was nothing but the Justice System failing.

We love suffering. But not like this. I don’t know anyone who would ever even think “Well she was asking for it by over drinking, or the way she was dressed” That would be the most heartless thing you can say to this woman.

Of course she wasn’t asking for it! She was the victim of a horrible crime.

I don’t get political in these posts. I’m not going to right now. I have seen signs and memes for over a year that say something like “HILLARY SUCKS, BUT NOT AS MUCH AS MONICA!”

132firSo we are blaming Hillary for her husband’s infidelity now? Isn’t this re-victimizing the victim?

Vote how you want but show some empathy if you can’t muster up the class.

Monica Lewinsky did a TED talk (ugh) on shame.  She based it on the quote from Dr. Brene’ Brown. “Shame can’t survive empathy.”

20 years ago a girl fell in love with her boss and we feel like we have a right to never forgive. Hop on our high horse and gallop from the Oval Office to your living room. It’s just someone with blood, a heart,and a beret. It’s ok because we hid the many hats we wear everyday in the back of the closet. Some place where no one will see. After all it’s our business and we don’t want to become the butt of the joke.

But she’s a slut!

And you can’t hold a job, and you have erectile dysfunction, and you beat your wife, You like midget porn, you are a bully, you killed someone with your car, and you were arrested for shoplifting, you are a bad mother, You smoked pot in college, You lied to your boss,  You are on welfare, You are a heartless cold SON-OF-A-BITCH!

Print it on a T-shirt for all to see, but no fair mentioning anything else.Things like, I was a kid, I was stupid, I didn’t know any better, I didn’t know till it was too late, I don’t know what I was thinking, I chickened out, I was scared, I’m ashamed or I was a prick. Just the facts.

America loves blood and it seems like sometimes our thirst for it can’t quenched. Hooray for us.


Help a brother out and ‘Like’ and “Share” this piece of drivel.  Leave a comment. I’ll pretty much discuss anything. What I don’t know I’ll make up.



Chicken Sh*t Bingo Parlor to Open In Carmel Valley

“The meanest thing God ever put on this Earth is an old woman with a shopping cart” L. Eagleson

Boy howdy. I’m driving a back road this morning and come to a one lane bridge, with another car about to cross on the other side. This is a test of character. A way to read a man’s true soul.

My home town of Greenup is built on the National Trail. A section of highway that isn’t as famous as Rt66. In fact it’s Highway 40. It’ll take you from Washington DC to Utah. There is a section of the old road called “Old 40” as opposed to the highway. It runs right next to the Fairgrounds and just as fast as taking 40.

We have a one lane bridge just past the Fairgrounds. It is Cumberland County’s Historic


EST 1990

Covered Bridge. A true piece of Cumberland County history. I know! I remember when they built it in the 1990’s. Before that was a one lane cement bridge.  It blew up real good!


When two people met at the bridge, one had to pull off to the side signaling to the person across the bridge that you saw them and were letting them go first. After all if you were in a hurry you would take the interstate.

It would about come to blows over who allows who to go first. Two people sitting off to the side of the road waving at each other to go first. The words “Go asshole” behind each of their respective smiles. Finally after either an exaggerated wave that says “YOU MUST GO BECAUSE I’M NOT MOVING UNTIL YOU ACCEPT MY HOSPITALITY!” or after each person waves twice does one of them say “Okay…” and crosses. Then you wave politely to the person sitting on the side who in turn waves back. Good morning. I have done my good deed for the day.

Then you have the guy who doesn’t slow down because he wants to get his toilet paper and Copenhagen 15 seconds earlier. No one minds. You were going to give him the right of way anyhow. He just skipped the ceremony.  You wave a polite wave as he crosses. You are Brother’s in Arms when it comes to a one lane road. 99% of the time he will wave back.

Maybe this is a show of dominance, but it usually is some young kid with his sleeves cut off, a hat that advertises DeKalb fertilizer, and Steve Miller blasting in mono at full volume from a pick-up truck with a dog kennel in the back and a coffee can wired around6086bb645d38871e87a7e221878da284 the hole in his exhaust pipe. His folks taught him better. He’s a kid. Don’t cage him yet. The world will pound him into submission soon enough. Drive free boy! Turn that 88’ Silverado into wings and fly!

The guy this morning got to the one lane bridge down in Moneyville and took off across it. You really have to go slow over it. So I waved with my hand sitting on top of the steering wheel. The man looked right at me with a nonplussed  expression. Both hands still on the wheel. A snub.

This calls for inner-country boy to come out. So I waved REAL BIG! The kind of wave you do when you see an old friend across the street that you haven’t seen in years. Nothing…

This is a serious breach of protocol. I plan on getting up early tomorrow and waiting at the bridge. I’ll block it with my car sideways like the State Cops (CHiPS). Then I will run up and pull him out of his car, and I will wrestle him into submission using my non-existent MMA skills for giving me the virtual F*** YOU from yesterday.” With his head firmly between


“Didn’t your Mama teach you any better???”

my crossed legs and his arm an inch from being broken because of my arm bar hold, I will teach him lessons I learned. Complete with local down home flavor.


Things like “That dog don’t hunt!” “Shit fire” & “Boy! You bit off more than you can chew.” Interspersed with various swear words and uncorroborated observations about his mother.

These are the things I’m holding onto.

  • “Somebody’s not stirring the Kool Aid” – Story does not add up
  • “I think you are telling me a western” – A lie
  • “Sum Bitch” A greeting or a sign of frustration or great amusement.
  • “Who is f***’n this chicken anyhow?” – I’d like to know who is in charge of this project? [edit] I mistakenly used an incorrect description. This actually is to be used as “I am in charge.” it is meant to end any discussion on a project.
  • “Sheeeeeeeiiiiiiittttttt! – means nothing, just a great way to break the ice.
  • “I’d rather have a Mother in the whorehouse than have a Republican as a Brother-In Law.” – I adamantly disagree with the Republican Party .
  • “It’s colder than a well digger’s ass” – The temperature outside is frigid.

I think I told my friend Lisa a whole story about a night out in High School without using a single intelligible phrase. About the time I got to the part where I was with Aaron as he was “cuttin’ cats asses” in the school yard; she stopped me.  I assured her no cats were harmed and it was simply Aaron and a scared shitless Sam doing donuts with his Mom’s station wagon in front of the school.

Yeah, I pronounce ‘tire’ as ‘tarr’ and ‘oil’ as ‘oral’ and if you have a hound with you I’ll probably tell you what a good lookin ‘dough-g’ ya got there. But I’m gonna wave you through a 4 way stop, or let you go over the bridge first (unless you are driving a little blue smart car of some sort)91-exl

I think I joined a band yesterday. My first California band. I’m in it with a guy from Maine and a dude from Oregon.

Maine cowboys. Great guys. It’s tear in your beer country but what the hell, I’m not looking for a date anyway.


I’m going to link Matt Poss’s song’ Three Bricks Shy’ here. He wrote it in college after explaining mushroom hunting to his roommates from Chicago. “What do you hunt them with? A knife?” Matt grew up 20 miles from me. This is home.

If you have a good country saying, post it in the comments below. Also Like and Share. How am I going to make a living if you don’t like and share???

I’m considering putting up a Chicken Shit Bingo parlor in Carmel Valley Village. Nothing says classy like having a permanent Chicken Shit Bingo cage in your establishment.


Gene Simmons, left, and Paul Stanley of KISS rock out to over 8,000 fans at the Halifax Metro Centre on Thursday night. See for a slideshow of pictures from the concert. (Jeff Harper/Metro)

Famous, Irrelevant, Oldies Band cry “Rock is Dead!”

Blues folklore tells the tale of Robert Johnson, a man who in 1928 sells his soul in return for riches and fame as a guitar player.

There are various reasons why this is a bad idea, namely going to Hell, but when you make a deal with the Devil; usually the odds are in favor of the house.

Johnson ultimately had his fame while living. He had a hit song with ‘Terraplane Blues’, He was good looking’ and the ladies loved him. The hellhounds on his trail finally caught up with him one night in a Mississippi. He was hitting on the right woman, at the right time, in the wrong place. Her husband, the bartender, poisoned Robert. He died in a back room, writhing in pain and foaming at the mouth. They buried his body in a plotters field behind a church. The suite has been lost.9684bac7a0c1cf3ef7b952360466ff76

He died a legend.

He was great not just because of his music, but the idea of the music that he had yet to write. Hendrix, Janis, Cobain, Morrison, John Lennon, Led Zeppelin, Christopher Cross and a few more. The music they left wasn’t good enough, Nooooooo… We want more! They also didn’t live through the Disco Era. Jim Morrison wasn’t too good to sing a pop song. Don’t fool yourselves.

It’s because they died at the height of their influence. They didn’t stick around to become irrelevant. It’s the price musicians pay for selling their soul to the Devil.

Gene Simmons was the first I heard say ‘Rock is dead.’ He peaked in 1977. KISS didn’t do anything but put on the show and stick the chorus of the song right in your face! Something Steely Dan wasn’t doing at the time. They changed what a concert was! Leaders of the pack in that niche



“Flea ruined an entire generation of bass players” ~I. Edwards

Flea is saying the same thing.

He peaked in the 90’s. The Red Hot Chili Peppers came out funk punk rappin’, making the 80’s hair bands look silly and the more people who saw them realized they were awesome and they sold a heap of records. He changed the game on 80’s Headbangers.

Metallica created their masterpiece in 86’(Okay… 91 *eye roll*). The band the made ‘Master of Puppets’ isn’t the band selling out stadiums today. They lived to play fast and loud. They sure as hell weren’t making a film that shows their sensitive side. Jesus people! You are rock stars. Start acting like one. Who wants to see Metallica work out THEIR ANGER ISSUES???? A bit hypocritical Thrash Metal Kings??$$??

The record industry and these bands became very, very, rich. The game was set up that way. The game changed, not rock music.
This is how the record industry works.

A band gets pretty good. They have a song that a lot of people will like. So they save up their money and borrow from friends and relatives and record a ‘demo’ tape so they can make it big and make a million dollars!


Record Industry Big Shot

Record Industry ‘Big Shot’ (the Devil) hears the demo and thinks he can sell their product. The Band is now The Product. The product he is selling is your soul.
The Devil offers a fortune to the Product. The Product have been living on Taco Bell for years now and they agree! He hands them bags of gold to make their product. Just sign on the dotted line. In blood. This is their big chance to make a million dollars!

With the Devil’s help, a lot of lawyers, and a producer to make the product easier to sell by changing the Product so that it fits nicely in a box. New and Improved Product. Everyone loves the Product and they send the Product on tour for a year.

The wager pays off and the band sells their soul to the tune of a million –dollars. Just like the Devil promised. But give the Devil his due.

The Devil takes the lion’s share of the riches after all he IS a Big Shot. Then Scratch opens up the gates of hell as it pukes and belches out accountants and lawyers, and bills for hotel rooms for the guy who brings you a towel after the show.

They grab at the pile of gold, taking from the riches what you have spent on limos, prostitutes, and your drugs PLUS the original bag of gold they gave you… with interest. They haul out the cost of the tour and all the hotel rooms the towel man stayed in over the past 365 days.

After all of the fire and brimstone die down, the Devil lays 3% at the Product’s feet. $30,000 to be split among the five members of the Product

Soul=$6000 million-dollars-cash


The Devil then demands you produce another product immediately.

You spent your entire life making the first Product, now you have a few weeks to come up with new Product. After all you can’t live on the money you made on the Old Product. But you will make more on this Product since Beelzebub was so happy with the last one. He promises.

People don’t like the Brand New Product as much as the Old Product and the Devil spent all the promotion money on a really BIG Product like Bruce Springsteen, who he knows will make millions on the first day. The Devil says “Sorry but you can’t play these songs. We own the Product. Plus, you owe us for the last Product you gave me and didn’t sell.”

“Do not play until you pay me back or I will come get you with a demon spawn of lawyers. Do not pass go, and do not call us, we’ll call you.”

The Product turns into a band again and as they walk out the Exit, they see a line at the Entrance.

Welcome to the Digital Age.

Now a kid with a guitar can record his product in his home with higher quality recording equipment than anything the Beatles ever had.


Success at last!

He can upload his song to CD Baby who license it to all the digital and streaming music companies; ITunes, Amazon, etc… reaching listeners, buyers, and fans. A kid in Zimbabwe can buy your song.

You can have it printed into CD’s and make seven or eight dollars off of each CD. You don’t have to sell a million copies to make a living. Selling 30,000 albums would be a windfall. You have total control of your product.

Soul is non-negotiable.

Stagger Lee got so mad
He threw the Devil clean off his throne.
On your knees old Satan
I’m gonna rule Hell on my own.
–Stagger Lee (somewhat creative commons)

Rock is alive and well. As long as there are kids with angst, drums and guitars, there is going to be rock music. I’ve been listening to Blackberry Smoke lately. They are awe-inspiring. There is nothing country about them. They were always good to me…way too good.

Take a second and switch channels on the satellite radio. You might find that rock has changed its name to Alt. Country. That’s where I hear loud rowdy guitars and riffs. You might find it on another station? It’s there. It’s online, and no one is bitching about not playing at the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame.

Thoughts on the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame.

I went on a date there once. It was great seeing the Pink Floyd inflatable Teacher, stage gear, guitars from every hero I ever had.5956572f0f8952207a1020109283de69

KISS refused to play together during their admission to the RRHOF. Deep Purple wouldn’t let the guy play who wrote the song that put them in the Hall of Fame. John Fogerty wouldn’t play with CCR. Don’t fool yourself boys I didn’t come here to listen to your new album. I came here to hear you play ‘Rock n Roll All Night”. You know it and I know it. As much as you charge for a concert ticket, you better fuckin’ play it.

You know who I don’t see bitching? Rock music pioneers.

The O’Jays, My friends; Dale Hawkins (RIP), The Shirelles, Danny and the Jr’s, the Tokens, Gene Chandler… Elvis’ first band, Scotty Moore and Bill Black (RIP), Howling Wolf, War, Aretha Franklin, the Staple Singers and all those artists who broke the fuckin’ ground you walk on in your platform soles. The ones who made no money, the ones who are still busting ass on the road. The RRHOF is there to honor THEM! Show some God damn respect. Suck it up and play the three minute song that got you here. You stole from the very people in that room. Quit being an ungrateful bunch of bastards

There is a genuine beef about how artists are chosen but don’t dare disrespect those who paved your way. Christopher died on the Cross for you (see what I did there?)

You are lucky to even stand on the stage that Little Richard built ya.


* Christopher Cross is alive and well and probably playing corporate gigs and state fairs and stuff like that. He also rips one hell of a solo at about 3:30. 


green weenies

No Green Weenies

In 1982 Cumberland Unit #77’s High School student body collectively rioted and demanded action. Cumberland Unit #77, surrendered in two days.

Due to the efforts of the sadistic Lunch Ladies, a series of events caused the students to take drastic action. Utilizing every bit of know-how at their disposal, (A civics textbook) they fought the school’s establishment, armed with nothing but a Plat Map, the Student Handbook, and a poster board sign reading “NO GREEN WEENIES!”

green weenies

Cumberland Students march against the frequency and color of their weenies

These are the facts

  1. Students could not leave the school grounds for lunch.
  2. For one week the students were fed corn dogs each day.
  3. The next week they were given hot dogs that had a green tint to it.
  4. The students revolted…

I don’t know the complete story with names and dates, but I know how it went.

Sun Tzu says in the Art of War “Energy may be likened to the bending of a crossbow; decision, to the releasing of a trigger.” 

It probably started out as a joke, then an idea, then a strategy. Hushed meetings in the library between Mrs. Ettlebrick’s piercing ‘SHhhh!” Someone says something to another student between classes. Notes are passed, rumors of a coup d’état have started.

The scheme was planned like the JFK Assassination. No one knows who put in the order, deniable plausibility. The entire student body knows their part. Everyone had to be in for the plot to work. Nerds, jocks, stoners and Prom Queens joined together in unity. There could be no dissention if the scheme were to be effective…

Sun Tzu says in the Art of War “If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.ript_samuraiwars

Each morning after attendance was taken in homeroom, the teacher would ask how many were eating school lunch. They would then send this number to the office and the kitchen workers would prepare food for at least that many students. The campus was closed so the students ate what they were given, brought their own lunch, or went hungry.

Sun Tzu says in the Art of War “Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.” 
The morning of the conspiracy, each student in every class raised their hand. They were ALL eating in the cafeteria that day. The die had been cast. There was no turning back.


Hands raised in the classroom. The Conspiracy has started

When the lunch bell rang, the Lunch Ladies, (as they became known) with their ladles, hair nets, and their cowboy cake, stood ready to shovel the daily swill onto virtually indentured students who had no choice but to take their mocking smiles as they shoveled mystery meat at them.

The Lunch Ladies waited, and waited, and waited… Not a single student ate their swill that day. They cursed the students, they screamed “FOUL!”, with cigarettes dangling from the corners of their mouths. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??? What will we do with all this swill?”


What will we do with all this swill?

The students had drawn first blood. The teaching staff and Principal were in a panic. “These punks won’t strong arm us! WE are in control!

Sun Tzu says in the Art of War “he who knows when he can fight and when he cannot, will be victorious.” 

“You will not raise your hand during attendance if you are not eating” growled the Principal, teeth clinched veins bulging as his fist crushed the school intercom mic. “There will be hell to pay!” as he throws the mic against the wall.

The students stood steadfast as 350 green hot dogs went cold. There would be no ‘Cowboy Cake” that day.

Students were called in and interrogated. Parents were called. Detention was cancelled due to overcrowding. Reports of beatings, sleep deprivation, and threats about a “Permanent Record” were being thrown around. The due dates on essays of “Moby Dick” were moved up a week.

The students were prepared with water, nourishment and a stack of Cliff Notes for Moby Dick. They laid low and kept the momentum of their first victory to themselves. The war was far from over

Sun Tzu says in the Art of War “You can ensure the safety of your defense if you only hold positions that cannot be attacked.”  bag

Part two of the battle plan involved the Plat Map and the civics book…probably.

While the students couldn’t picket on school property, they discovered that there was nothing the School could do if you stood along the highway on the opposite side of the road. It is owned by the state.

Sun Tzu says in the Art of War “the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.” 

“Who gives a damn about those ungrateful bastards? Who cares about a group of  kids holding a  poster board sign that said ‘NO GREEN WEENIES’?

WTHI TV Channel 10 out of Terre Haute Indiana. Serving the Wabash Valley with news and information; that’s who cared. photo

A masked spokesman for the group explained to the entire Wabash Valley about the school’s weenie policy. Terre Haute was outraged! Letters were written and phone calls were made. Politicians gave speeches. It was a turkey shoot. No one was left unscathed. War is hell. A lone child stepped forward and sang “99 Luft Ballons” tears fell and hugs were exchanged. The weenie word was out. The students could stand down.

Sun Tzu says in the Art of War “One need not destroy one’s enemy. One need only destroy his willingness to engage.”



Battled scarred and weary, Cumberland Unit #77 gave in to the student’s demands and nary a green weenie is seen in Cumberland County Illinois ever since. The Principal hung his head in disgrace. He later left teaching altogether to join the carnival. He runs that machine where you spray the water in the clown’s mouth.

The lunch Ladies simply disappeared. It’s rumored they are buried under the 50 Yard Line at the field where the Fighting Pirates played football.

And there isn’t even a fuckin’ plaque.

*The events are true even if I have taken liberty by filling in the blanks. 

On a side note, I graduated from Cumberland and the Kitchen Staff, Administration, and Teachers were always wonderful. Forgive me if I have put you in a bad light.

Dedicated to

Ciara Jade Faires

  In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond

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Inner Beauty…Everyone Will See it if You Lose Weight

Passion. Motivation. Inspiration. Sacrifice.

We see these words and what pops into your mind? Blue tinted glitchy films of athletes drenched in sweat while their faces scream of agony as they cross the finish line, or lift an unimaginable set of weights over their head.
I’ve read recently about a wave of body acceptance crossing the nation. Gas Station food, sitting on your ass, not getting enough exercise. I should be ashamed of the extra weight I have put on since my depression has subsided a bit. There is no secret to losing it. Eat less, move more.



Exercise has never been my favorite thing to do. The thought of walking out the front door in 100 degree heat and running never crosses my mind. The thought of lifting something heavy over my head doesn’t seem like a priority. I don’t want the athletes to think that I don’t respect what they do. I do want them to realize there are other ways to sacrifice that are just as hard, take just as much dedication and don’t give you shin splints or constant surgeries to get there.

I’ve heard it for years and to this very day it’s brought up. “I thought you’d get in shape with me! You never want to do anything.”Inner-Beauty-Best-Demotivational-Posters

Not exactly true. They don’t see that I don’t like the gut. They don’t see me cringe when I have to buy clothes. They don’t see me taking a brisk walk or skipping the snack that I’m craving. They don’t know the ache I feel in my lungs and heart from my smoking addiction which I have avoided through will power and an electronic cigarette. Right now I’d love to light up and read what I have written.

I was married to an Ironman triathlete. She could swim 2.4 miles, hop out and ride her bike 112, and then run a full marathon, 26.2 miles. We have no love left between us but I’d never take that achievement away. I saw it; I was always in awe of her and the ability to do such an insane race. I was at the finish line every time. A few times she even appreciated it.

She had the passion, motivation, and inspiration. She sacrificed time with her family, with her kids, ballgames, proms, birthdays (yes she went to London UK over her daughter’s birthday, and she forgot mine totally on a race trip.) Is it sacrifice or selfishness that guided her? She didn’t feel like she sacrificed anything. Who cares who you neglect as long as it doesn’t inconvenience you? THAT is the reason no love is lost between us. Narcissism and selfishness. Life went on while she was sweating; just she wasn’t a part of it. She chose not to sit on her ass over the needs of everything and everybody else. The sacrifice was given by her family, not her.



She couldn’t tell you the name of a single one of her “best friend’s” children, but she would work any conversation back to herself and her abilities. Which were being a damn good singer and an Ironman. It sure didn’t make up for character and honesty let alone respect.

Why do passion, motivation, inspiration and sacrifice only apply to athletes and upper management? Could it be that possibly my passion has nothing to do with being an athlete?

I’m passionate about art, learning new artistic abilities and programs, activism, reading, writing, songwriting, guitar playing, great movies, mentoring, and fighting for the rights of children, far out thoughts that lead to skills that I’d like to try. New things, new experiences, fresh ideas, wrongs that need corrected. Bad behavior that needs corrected. Documentaries about subjects I know very little about but want to know more. I have a passion for learning and exploring. I want to know how Ravens use tools, and why the laws of nature break down at the quantum level. I want to know how Robert Crumb thinks and what his process is when creating a comic.KK-254Who'sAfraidT.jpg

I’m motivated because I want to please myself. I’m curious. Recently I have tried and failed twice at sculpting and mold making. I know two ways NOT to make a mold. I know why and will solve the problem or realize I know how to solve the problem now and I might just move on to the next project.

I’m inspired by artists, writers, dreamers, good music, great songwriting, great animation, original ideas, and seeing an artistic medium that I’d like to try. I might not be the best at any of these things but I strive for them.

Sacrifice? Through the years I’ve sacrificed everything I’ve had at one point or another. I sacrifice my time to listen and laugh and cry with friends. I’ve sacrificed things that I love and moments of joy to do what someone else wants to. No one sees that.

I’m a guitarist and a bass player. I sacrificed every party, event, and good time to go out and entertain. I’ve sacrificed money and time to charities. I’ve sacrificed relationships and left myself open to ridicule by people I love. I’ve sacrificed time doing what I love because I have this built-in guilt that I’m supposed to be hiking backed up by society and friends who love to hike. I think hiking is ok, putting me down for not wanting to seems like a reasonable solution for not loving it though.

I write a new song. Record it and I can’t get anyone to listen to it. I recorded a whole album and even my best friends didn’t buy it. I’m giving it away now. Ask and you can have it. It took a year to make. It took a lifetime of heartbreaks and good times to find the words to write. Isn’t that dedication? I opened my veins and bled for you openly showing what goes on behind these tattoos. Maybe I should run along the highway with a sign advertizing my little collection of songs and a peek inside of me. If I show a little sweat maybe the songs will have some value.

v1_7Passion? I sat in my room as a kid learning to play a guitar. I still practice for the love of playing. Not for you but for me. No one saw it. No one heard the out of tune guitar trying to smoothly play Crazy Train. I worked for every note that comes from my guitar. Then through motivation I started working my way up the musical ladder until I was standing on a huge stage, or playing nose to nose with a guitar god and holding my own. You get to hear the results and never think about the dedication it took. Mainly because you don’t see the sweat dripping off a kid when he finally can play the opening lick from Layla.

My passions don’t involve a sport but unless they do, society, some friends, and strangers looks down their nose because I have a Buddha belly. I’ll finish with a true story.

I belong to a Facebook group of internet *Trolls. They gathered together to make fun of the Militia occupation of a bird sanctuary/gift shop in a Federal Park. Thousands of random people from all walks of life joined this group. No one trolls each other. They are just a group of clever, witty, sarcastic do-gooders. Many are activists and have been for decades. I have trolled hate groups for years. No regrets. These folks troll for good, not evil.

A young early 20’s gal hopped on the message board one day and started body shaming other ladies about fat asses, smoking, lack of will power, and no motivation. She’s a distance runner. She knows pain, she knows sacrifice, she knows dedication.

I came to the ladies aid and replied to her; “These people have been helping others since before you were born. From civil rights, to Save the Whales. Years of writing congressmen, marches, spreading the word and making the world a better place. Personally I researched and implemented a program that would help locate missing children after a tragedy in my old home town. I told them I wanted NO recognition. It was my duty as a citizen of the world.”
“What was it you say you do? Run really far? That’s nice.”


Am I off base in thinking this way? Leave me a comment. Tell me what you think. You may get a discussion but you won’t be met with hostility.

Be sure to Follow, Like and Subscribe. I have low self esteem and could use the extra bump!

*Troll- (noun) In Internet slang, a troll is a person who sows discord on the Internet by starting arguments or upsetting people, by posting inflammatory,[1] extraneous, or off-topic messages in an online community (such as a newsgroup, forum, chat room, or blog) with the deliberate intent of provoking readers into an emotional response or of otherwise disrupting normal on-topic discussion, often for their own amusement.