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Trumped at My Own Game. A Trolling Gone Very Wrong

What is trolling in social media?

A social media troll, by definition, is someone who creates conflict on sites like Twitter, Facebook and Reddit by posting messages that are particularly controversial or inflammatory with the sole intent of provoking an emotional (read: angry) response from other users.

I was taught to troll by a Master Troller who we’ll call ‘John’. This is not his real name. His real name is Jon.

ed7d63c3fd343f10b22d2c26f9d051800ad902b5a9eb3a564c398273c8ca724bWe troll groups that deserve a trolling. Hate groups mainly. We do it for fun, a hobby, a time waster, make each other laugh, and to try and top the last troll the other guy did. It is a form of cyberbullying, but it’s like cyber bullying the Westboro Baptist Church. That OK. No innocent people are harmed in White Hat Trollling.

John successfully disrupted a group of snooty self-impressed acoustic guitarists back when this was all done on a forum. He taught me to troll with intent. Use my own intellect, talents and Google to make these people miserable while manipulating the group. Give them enough rope and haters will turn on themselves.

I have trolled everything from Anti-LGBT sites to Gene Simmon’s fans. I never had one blow up on me like this…

screenshot-2017-01-13-19-07-10I found a group of Donald Trump fans who were calling Michelle Obama’s MOTHER the worst names you can call a black person while feeling this false sense of pride like Trump himself was watching them. The group was called “The Basket of Deplorables” an obvious play on what Hillary Clinton had called Trump supporters. The group was not even hiding the fact that they were a hate group. Screaming racial epithets at any shade of brown darker than a paper bag, hailing fake news as real and real news as fake. 

lindaThey would ask questions like “Should I be able to fly an American Flag on my property any time I want?” followed by HUNDREDS of “Hell Yeahs” and “Libtards better try and stop me” This is not a debatable group. No discussions under any of the threads, just “Hell Yeah” and “God Bless Donald Trump.” No lie. Not big thinkers but there were 43,000 of them, so they had numbers.

I made the fake Facebook account. DontTred Fred. Disabled, big Elvis fan, Trump supporter. A few image grabs uploaded and memes posted on my page and I was off. I posted fake stories I asked stupid questions and I hit ‘like’ on every redneck, hate spewing post. I was in.

The Best way to troll is to stay just close enough to find their weak spot and jab it. Play along, so to speak.”Obama started ISIS!!!!!”

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This group was a cesspool of ugliness and ignorance. I couldn’t take this much stupidity and hate for long. I told John I was outing myself on Friday.

I would tell them all how I made up the stories and how they are assholes and bigots and puppy kickers. I told them I was going to send those racist posts to their places of work. That I had more fake profiles to spy on them in the group. I would point out their hypocrisy and they would all feel like fools and then I would waste their time as I sat back and let the hatred of 43,000 Trump supporters massage my feet and those of my high horse.

That is exactly what I did. John joined the group to send me updates when they tossed me from the group. It was time, Tora, Tora, Tora, I wrote John. DontTred Fred posted my Big Meme explaining how I had made them fools. I posted it with the words “Don’t fuck with the King.”. Then I waited. kirk-cameron

One guy popped up and said “dumbass.”

I replied “lame. Is that the best you got nimrod?”  Goading the Basket of Deplorables group do their best. Come and kill me in my apartment in Terre Haute Indiana.

Then they started coming in.

“Libtard”
“Trump is still the winner”
“Amazing what the left will do”
“Obummer… 

John hopped in to help get the trolling rolling. He started mirroring them, but as a Trump supporter. IN ALLCAPS RUN ON SENTNCES AND MISPELLED WURDS!!!!!1!!

captureWhere was the burst of hate? Could they see my post? I finally told John in a private message that I was confused. Maybe ten people commented and one of them BUSTED JOHN OUT as a fake.

Slowly I came upon the realization that this simple bunch didn’t know I was trolling them. I called them out and they thought it was about someone else. My plan failed due to incoherence on THEIR part. GUYS! GET MAD!  I THINK YOU SUCK AND ARE IDIOTS! Crickets…

I have had my ass handed to me in a debate, I have been caught as a troll, I convinced a death metal band to change their name, but I have never been outwitted by sheer stupidity and obliviousness. AS I WAS TELLING THEM I WAS DOING IT! 

I’m still in the group. Head down. The troll was slain with slow wit and obliviousness. Well played Trump supporters….Well played.

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Donttred Fred. The name is a family name. It’s French/Cajun

Someone turned DontTred Fred into the Facebook Police. They disabled my page until I could provide them proof of my identity. No lie. They wanted a copy of my ID. With Photoshop in hand, my Troll came back to life. Reenergized and ready to jump back into the business of fuckery!

You simple bastards got me this time, but DontTred Fred will be back. Don’t fuck with the King.

Hey, you can have a copy of my last album if you click on the button on the side. Hope you enjoy.

It’s a new Year, I miss my friends especially bad. But it is sunny and my window is open. I hear they are getting an ice storm back home. I love you guys. You know who you are.

Like Follow and all that other stuff. Comment. Do Something for God’s sake!

–Sammy

#deplorables # Trumpsupporters #goldenshowers 

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Factcheck.org… A Liberal Rag. My Views on the Woefully Uninformed

The title of this post comes from a discussion I had earlier this week. It’s a Trump world where his supporters are somehow emboldened to say what they want no matter how little they have investigated. Where does this false sense of pride in a grown man’s ignorance come from? Why does he feel he can get personal with my life? It is because his mentality has become mainstream. If Trump can grab a woman’s pussy, then by all means psychoanalyze me.

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                         Poor Parenting

My choice to move wasn’t so that I could pee with other liberals. It wasn’t because I’m embarrassed where I come from. It was a mixture of many things.

 

I’ve never hidden my depression and at times it became debilitating. It was chink in the armor the man used. The problem was, it removes the question of his character also. He has none. But his leader can find fault with someone suffering from Muscular Dystrophy then he feels like it’s fair game. Well score one for you.

Somehow this man feels superior in his ignorance and child-like name calling and keyboard warrior-like threats of physical violence. ( A sure sign you are winning an argument). He has no idea how petty I am. You never want to mess with a man who possesses graphic artist skills like mine. Not only could I make a picture of him singing “Lime in the Coconut” while dressed as a penis… I could have it seen by thousands of people…Not wise. Kind of like in the music business, never argue with the soundman. He’s holding a serious hand; you better hope he has mercy.

I use my friends to test out new projects. Thank You Doug. You Da Man!


This guy forgot, or maybe never considered that the town I love and the people I see and also love, became a constant reminder of dark days. Not their fault at all. A trifecta of heart breaks leaving me numb to any sort of love in my heart for years. That my one constant, music, had become something I dreaded due to burnout and lack of inspiration. I stub my toe on the ACME Anvil that is in the form of a half-finished album. I just don’t have the words. Here is a demo I have had in the can for two years.

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                  This is what I see when I go to a concert.

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   These people made me a better musician and have all been great friends.

For 25 years I have been in the smile business. I sell smiles. Here, have one on me. Looks good on you. Have another. I did it with a guitar and some of the most talented and grooviest people in the world. Some people get their smiles from riding a Harley, or mudding in a Jeep. They get it in a sport. They let it loose as a fan. What happens when that smile is missing from your own life? I worried a lot of people over the years and felt the resentment. I decided I could get by, or get going.

 

My cat Milton and I packed in an hour. And as I gassed up the car I said goodbye to the lady at the Casey’s General Store. I hit St. Louis and took a right. I drove as far as I could without drowning. Like the Joad Family, promises of new starts, new chances, high paying work in my field.

I weighed the two options. I decided to leave it all and go. The  adventure of a lifetime. Going with nowhere to land. Scariest and most exhilarating experience I have ever had.

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                            I’m out of here

I know a few people here that are quickly becoming friends of mine. I opened my windows on Christmas Day, and I drove ten minutes down to the Pacific and watched the Sea Otters playing in the kelp. I’m living simply but I am living again. I have guitars, recording equipment, and blank paper. I’ll be using them all.

Not with a smile but with a brazen grin. Because I’m up to no good.483df5cc296b94a34e329291b0125109

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

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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

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“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.

-A.

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.

 

Even the President has to Stand Naked.

Three upscale society ladies were having brunch at the Russian Tea Room in Manhattan.

Much to their chagrin, a Southern woman asks to sit with them as she is from out-of-town and alone.

The Southern woman asks “Where ya’ll from?”

One of the upscale ladies places her cup back into her saucer and without looking up replies “We are from a place where we don’t end our sentences in prepositions.”  Her friends smugly smiling into their tea.

The Southern woman took a sip of her tea and placed it on her saucer and replied, “Please forgive me. Let me restate my question. Where ya’ll from bitch?”


The culture shock hasn’t gone unnoticed. The weekends are filled with day trippers. Ladies in carefully thought out “oh, this old thing” light spring dresses complete with matching jacket and shawl, walk casually down the street.  They walk through the village and stop in the wine tasting rooms and admiring the quaint ambiance of an artist colony full of purple-footed grape mashers.b3557

I don’t think I’m fitting in. In Greenup, I am very liberal. Here I see where rules that I thought were universal are not. Such as respect.

“Don’t say ‘Hon’ to the fem-nazi’s here. That lady looked kind of pissed.”

My answer? Fuck her.’Hon’ is a benign term of endearment given when I don’t know your name and if you are a woman. It’s what words like ‘buddy’ and ‘My Man!’ are meant when dealing with a stranger who I don’t know who happens to be a guy. I refuse to believe in pointless outrage.

Show me proof of someone actually pissed because you told them Merry Christmas and I’ll show you someone with a stick so far up their ass they could be a scarecrow. You are out voted! Saying nice things to one another should be the freest of free speech. I say it and I’m an atheist. Beats a poke in the eye any day.

Vigilante justice, or the gold ‘ole ass kicking. It’s like they have never heard of using violence to solve your problems??!! The fear of being called on your buillshit should be real.

When someone is speaking out of turn, they expect not to be confronted with a conflicting point of view. Like a two black eyes, because I had to tell ya twice, kind of justice. Nothing like the fear of being hurt to make you think about your choice of words.

Attitude adjustment. Equalizers “If he’s too big, get a bat!” The throwdown. How will we know the line in the sand without two guys puffing their chests like peacock feathers. A bro-down.

They used to have ‘Bro-Downs’ all the time in Robinson IL. Two farm boys would stand outside in the parking lot of the club.Each are being ‘held back’ by a gal who weighs a buck-o-five. Played that joint for twenty years. Never saw a punch thrown. I miss it though. If you are ever through there, stop in the Main St. Pub and say hi to Sherry for me. Don’t worry, you are safe from violence there.

There is a lot to learn. I’m not a fan of wine. I never expected to be in California, let alone here. Maybe I can summon the spirit of Steinbeck. I think I’ll write Of Mice and Men. I snow-bunnyremember pretty much how that story goes. I won’t ruin it for you, but I remember there is a guy who keeps Vaseline in his glove so his hand is soft for the ladies. That with the “I’ll love him and squeeze him and call him George…” from the Bugs Bunny cartoons I watched in my youth, toss in an action scene or two. We got ourselves a humdinger of a story.

I listen weekly to the songs the songs I need to finish but just can find the words. I’m still blocked. In the interim I heard the master tapes to my close friend Tommy Dunn and Ike Edwards new album. Once again, great songwriting and performance. Check out their stuff. Mustache. This is the best kept secret in the world. I really mean that. These guys could stand toe to toe with any band and hold their heads high.

Tommy said something that I can totally relate to. He said he played and the most he could hope for was to impress his peers. Me being one of them. I’m honestly honored that he thought that much of me to even mention it.

I am just like Tommy. No matter what I have done, the shows I’ve played, the people I’ve played them with, It was the guys I looked to that I always wanted the respects from. The Three G’s, Greg, George and Garrie. I’ve stood nose to nose with George Lynch (guitar god from the 80’s) held my own and the dude I wanted to impress most is my neighbor and my buddies Rod and Doug. They are the ones who answered my questions and let me pester them into showing me something until I could start figuring it out myself.  Every note I have ever played came through them. Like shit through a goose.

Prince died this week. Every band on YouTube was playing Purple Rain. Iconic song, I played it for years myself.  I would have played Darling Nikki, I Want to B UR Lover, or Computer Blue. That’s how you solo brother!

Prince had a strange fame. He took all the best parts of Little Richard, Sly Stone, James Brown, Jimi Hendrix, Kung Fu, Shaft and Super Fly, and unapologetically put them together and invented a five foot funk machine, His Royal Badness, the former-artist-formally- known-as Prince.

He’s the one guy who, throughout his entire career, it was OK to like. Sure, you had your Ted Nugent dudes who don’t know the difference between a good guitar player and an Susanna-Hoffs-with-The-Bangles-550x310amazing musician. But he was cool, because he was boinking all the stars you wish you were boinking. Like Suzanna Hoffs from the Bangles…Ok so you can’t argue that. He puts on an amazing show, complete with great songs.  Ya got me there…

He has the majesty of a Las Vegas show in his pants. Canned heat in his heels and oh yeah, he can blow you away on the guitar. This is when it hits you that there are people better than you in this world. And I’m not talking about guitars. He is simply better than everyone.

His daily life is better than any vacation you will ever have. And we’re Ok with that. He’s transcended the American Dream and now lives the life of luxury in a palace of his own making. Too bad it’s in God for sakin’ Minnesota.  No one said he didn’t deserve it. He was the Willie Wonka of music. He produced the most wonderful flavors.

When you didn’t hear from him in awhile, you assumed he was off somewhere making purple music while wearing a smoking jacket, and a bevy of white women at his feet. Somewhere between Dante`s Inferno and the Care Bears Christmas. Both having their own foot in Hell.

There was a lot to being “Prince” but there are something’s that your assistant can’t do for you. At some point Prince sat down and dialed in the sounds he recorded. He was sitting on the floor with his pedal board. He was tuning that guitar and cutting the solo to Lets Go Crazy. The dude sitting alone and writing with a pad of paper and an acoustic guitar. “Even the President has to stand naked.”~ Bob Dylan

There could be a far out parable about Of Mice and Men’s main characters George, who has the burden of the simple minded Lennie to deal with. Prince let us pet it and love it and squeeze it and then a bullet to your head.

Prince is gone. Purple bunnies are chasing him. They are coming to dig him.

  • Robert Duvall and Prince have a separation of #3.

Christian Rockers are Some Sick Mother F***r’s

Listen up sports fans! I’m dying a slow death. Suicide by still life. This is an artist community of people who paint nothing but bowls and pitchers with avocados or apples. The brave will throw some grapes in there.

I had to draw these in art class when I was in high school. I hated it then and I hate them now. Some of these guys can paint them with such realism that you could make a good bet it was a photo. Which brings up the point of painting it in the first place when you could have just taken a picture and not spent a year getting the colors to blend just right on a freakin apple.

There was an art show this weekend. They tossed some heavy dough into a big tent, people organizing and judging, setting up displays, and then they hung 100’s of still life paintings throughout the tent. Some of them had ribbons. Big blue ribbons. They said “Your picture of this bottle/avocado theme is the best bottle/random fruit in this category!” There must have been only two categories. Amateur bottle/random fruit painters and Professional bottle /and random fruit painters.

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This picture inspires me to bust the bottle and cut someone with it while eating an apple.

I assume there was no cash award, making the amateur a professional by definition.

The music. I have been trying to meet some musicians so I’ll have someone to buy pot from since I got here. I answered an ad on craigslist for a guitarist. When they replied the choice of material was obscure and benign. If ever a town needed a pair of jeans, a chain drive wallet, a pair of Chuck Taylors, and a three-chord-shit-kickin’ band busting out Travelin’ Band like they were playing it as if their life depended on it, this is the place.

Where is the passion? The beauty of simplicity, the beauty of painting outside the lines? Like a child. There are no rules. Will my lowbrow style even be considered art here? What if it’s not? I won’t be offended, mine will seethe with sweat, anger, danger and humor. Art without passion is Still Life, music without it is Christian Rock.

What if I told you I was going to start a band, but were only going to sing about ducks. A whole album about me following a duck, or simply saying what a great duck it is. People eat duck so I could sing about various ways to eat duck. It’s a myth that ducks don’t make an echo… After that I’m out of ideas. Maybe I could write a song or two about a duck when the mood hits me, and then write about a cow, or other bovine.

I’ll never understand Christian Rock. I helped out my Mom’s church by playing in a one time band playing three songs. All mid-tempo, extreme graphic violent accounts for the entire lyric and the chorus guilts us into buying a CD because my grandson likes Rock and Roll music. It’s not the music. It’s Christian Rock listeners. Are you kidding me? Hillsong? Casting Crowns? No one smiles. Not the band, Not the audience just the road manager counting the receipts back stage.

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Christian Rock. Not a smile in the creepy-ass crowd

Nothing creeps me out more than the hand raising. It’s way too “Hitler Youth” for me to swallow. Put your hands down and put them together. Maybe Hillsong will crack a smile as they describe Jesus being nailed to a tree. Metallica wrote a song about being trapped under ice on the Ride the Lightning album plus the title song, which I suppose is another description of death. Neither coming close to the description of the Passion. Christian rockers are some sick mother fuckers. A musical snuff film. I have news for you. You can love God and AC/DC.

Longtime AC/DC frontman, Brian Johnson has lost his hearing mid-tour. As the replacement for the late Bon Scott.  Brian could hit the notes and snarled out a comeback album like Back in Black. Due to Brian’s hearing problems the band just let him go. They will be finishing the tour with the dreaded Axl Rose singing lead.

I can only hope they are hiring Axl on to finish the tour, give the fans something special and all of it being a tip of the hat to B. Johnson. If he’s filling in to finish the tour, then Axl will be a hero. If he feels he’s replacing Brian then he will be the villain. I kind of like the idea. Beats trying to buy a ticket for an oldies act from the 80’s with one amazing album under their belt.

AC/DC fans are having a ball. For those about to rock...

AC/DC fans are having a ball. For those about to rock…

GnR back together, doesn’t thrill me and I LOVE the original version of the group. Appetite was on my turntable when it came out. IN 1987! Kids today weren’t even born then. Guys you have been a day late and a dollar short since you became superstars. It’ll be a big-time grossing tour, but it’ll also be playing the oldies, a picture of a once great band. A snapshot of the past. A still life.

Ever notice Axl sound like Ethel Merman? Knock, knock, knockin on heaven’s dow-wow… juxtaposed with There’s NO business like SHOW business….

Ethel Merman was in It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World with and actor named Tyler McVey. McVey was in the movie Captain Newman, M.D. with The Great Santini himself, Robert Duvall.

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Listen up hog!

 I’m 100% immersed into John Steinbeck country. The places I’ve read about in some of my favorite books are right here. I went to the Steinbeck Center the other day. It was pretty stiff. I did get to see his camper from the non-fiction travelogue Travels with Charley and his handwriting and typewriter. All for twelve bucks.

“It ain’t much of a crime, whackin’ a surly bartender.” ~ Captain Augustus McCrae (Robert Duvall)

~Arlo

 

 

We were just outside of Barstow when the drugs started kicking in…

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas was made into a movie that stars Johnny Depp. JD was in Don Juan Demarco with Marlon Brando. Marlon Brando is the Godfather and his consigliere, Tom Hagen was played by Robert Duvall who was in the Great Santini, which is possibly the best movie ever made. Right up there with Lonesome Dove.

What the hell does that have to do with me? Col. Bull Meechem liked to hit the road before sun up. Me too.

Traffic is light, the music sounds clearer, you smell like coffee, cigarettes 12901459_180644418993331_5627199759655942339_oand traveling. Cat traveling. Traveling with Milton the cat couldn’t have gone smoother, it was like menthol. Cool and nice.

The first time I ever crossed any farther west than St. Louis MO I was 21. I loved the open road. Steel belts on asphalt. The next cheezy landmark. “the Buford Pusser Museam is only and hour and a half out of our way??? Lets go!” and “Pull off here, There is a guy who puts on a christian parrot act!”

The town I lived in had signs for “Merrimac Caverns 200 miles away” painted on the roof of barns up and down Rt40.

I thraveled (sic) west with two books that time. “The Mother Road Rt66” and “Roadside America” a listing of all the giant balls of twine, white squirrels (Yes Olney Illinois, You were there) and Michillan Man statues that used to pepper the American landscape like ticks on a dog.

Doug and I took pictures of the things we had seen only in one of these books.He keeps everything. I keep nothing.

The billboards promised us authentic hillbilly carved nut bowls. The radio was selling autographed copies of the Last Supper. I could get a free 72 ounce steak if I could eat it. It was just about a days drive to get it. The yellow Jack Rabbit Trading Post signs counted down the miles when Doug wasn’t. Television started speaking a little Spanish. The grass was gone. There were the buttes and the mountains I had only seen in movies. That’s some pretty cool shit when you have never seen it.13015552_204074199983686_7090931735159582288_n

The Highway Beautification Act. It stopped the signs that littered our ribbon of highway and replaced is with Subway NEXT EXIT. No shit. There is always a Subway next exit. Here I am, having a nostalgic moment about nostalgia.

I’m no Tom Joad, no matter what ever romantic fantasize run through my clouded noggin. I have an accent here. I don’t understand. A man guessed Louisiana.

It’s blues music. I have always felt that American guitarists are better blues players by far than the British. Yeah, I know they rediscovered the music and gave it back. We appreciate it my fog-breathing friends. Let me buy you a beer.Migrants_car_Lange_1936_dbloc_crop

I’m a white kid from the rural midwest. We were also not far from the path traveled by, Muddy Waters, Howlin Wolf, Willie Dixon, etc… During the northern migration of poor blacks in the south. I have known men with thick southern accents. I have seen cotton, I have seen delta, I have seen the McDonald’s on the Crossroads where Robert Johnson sold his soul to the Leg-Buh.

As liberal as I am, I find the midwest and my friends and culture taking over. I’m living in an artist community. They know me as Arlo. I know Claudia at Kathy’s Diner. Bana from the middle east. Gay Stephen. I don’t really know them. I know their names. Gay Stephen and I even had a moment.

GS was the guy at the Verizon Store. He’s saying a fact about something, and it related to a fact I knew about guitar strings and without blinking an eye he said “Super Slink-ayyys!” We fist bumped as brothers of the guitar. Though I use Fender nickle wound on my Tele.

There is “soul” inherated by simply being there. chicken, cornbread, black coffee. I’m the only one who says “Hello pretty lady.” or “Fine. How are you?” They look and sound shocked. These people are fuckin’ rich around here. Not the “one night the band ate in the corner with other rich people.” These guys are 24/7/365 and a 1/4 days a year! I’m in way over my head.

When we saw a rodeo ad on TV she said “That is so cruel” I’m thinking “How else are those guys supposed to brand those calves?”

I want a bar. One that smells of cigarettes and stale beer, desperation and alcoholism. I miss my friends. I miss some of the women I have known that I probably won’t ever see again. I gave my heart to each and every one and though we will still talk I doubt I’ll feel their hugs, smell their hair and listen as I tell them I love them. It was never a lie. You know who I’m talking to, because I never said anything but I love you. I would have done anything for you. We didn’t breach the subject much, just in jokes and passing but I would have traded my life for yours.

Clint Eastwood lives here.

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P.S. I Love You

This movie sucks and I’m walking out.

I’ve walked out of dozens of movies. I have seen thousands of movies I would have walked out on had I had the chance to. I love movies and haven’t seen a good one in years.

I’ve never went to a movie just so I could walk out about 30 or 40 minutes in. I do it in a heartbeat. Do something, even if it is wrong. Beats sitting for an hour or so knowing it’s going to suck. I’ll take my chances.

Toward the blissful twilight of my doomed marriage, Becca made me go see a creepy chick flick called “P.S. I Love You” It’s about this couple. A handsome couple. The guy dies, but before he does he leaves all these cryptic posthumous letters and gifts seemingly from the grave. The movie is the Notebook, Night of the Living Dead and the Davinci Code in a ps_i_love_you-1poignant, paint-by-the-numbers and heartwarming package. The only saving grace I had, were three middle-aged women setting directly behind me giving a play by play in their speaking voices. I still remember one of them saying “Oh my God! Ireland!”

Fact 1. That movie sucked. I don’t need every movie to be the Road Warrior but come on, at least some gratuitous nudity.

Fact 2. My wife was probably screwing around on me at the the time.

Fact 3. THAT guy should have had to set through that piece of shit movie.

Fuck that.

I’m out of here…

~Arlo