One Cosmos At Sea

Nail Call

2012-01-25T10:07:00.000-08:00

After a record breaking snow storm, followed by ice and high winds (which have continued) and repeated power outages it was time for me to make a Walmart run.

As I pulled into Wallys I mentally growled.

"Grr..."

Skully, my faithful sidekick raised his head and looked at me quizzically.

"Just thinking out loud boy," I said, looking for a parking place that was closer than Tim Tebow's 80 yard touchdown pass that defeated the Steelers in OT (ha!).

Not that I'm agin walkin' you understand, but the peripheral neuropathy in my feet has reached a milestone in pain and sustained pain categories and walking seems to aggravate it.
Plus, I like pulling within range of the cameras (close enough for store security to act) in case anyone tries to steal Skully who would probably go quietly if any potential thieves offered a quality meat product or a burger from McDonalds.

Thankfully, I didn't have long to look as someone pulled out just as I was trying another lane near the store.

After assuring Skully that I would, indeed return and wasn't abandoning him I hobbled to the store tryin' not to wince at the melee happenning in my feet between two gangs of cats...with flamethrowers.

"Awooooooo!" Skully lamented in his sadest howl yet.

Don't turn around, you'll just encourage him, I thought.

"Awooaaaaaaa!"

Did I mention that Skully has abandonment issues despite the fact that I never have abandoned him? Yet.

"Woowoowahooeeeoohee!"

Skully has the amazing ability to change up his howls which can sound quite comical at times and yet, still forlorn at the same time.
Incidently, this is yet another reason I try to find a fairly close parking space.

As I entered the store I growled again under my breath, "grr."

It looked like the day after Thansgiving/Christmas sale crowd but worse.
Nothin' like power outages to get folks into Walmart for some panic shoppin'.
I wasn't here for any emergency supplies, being prepared and all. Just low on a few things that we didn't really need and nails.

What? Nails? I read the list again. Nails- One and 1/4 inch- Brad.

Who the hell is Brad? Oh she must mean the brand. Some guy named Brad does fake nails? I wondered. Whatever.

I decided to get the nails first, since it was in the section of the store I really try to avoid at all costs.
The female section. One of the female sections to be more precise.
The sooner I got it over with the better.

It took me awhile but I finally found the fake nail section. There were nails everywhere.
Too many nails. French nails (wheres the damn American nails?), couture nails, designer nails, toe nails (ugh), goth nails (I don't get it).
The nails went on forever it seemed.

Okay, take a deep breath, time to regroup, I thought. I'll simply narrow the search down by looking for one and 1/4 inch...which seems rather long, and Brad.

Several minutes later...

This is taking forever. Why do they print everything so small on these things? I wondered, taking my glasses off (I opted not to take the bi focals (not that there's anything wrong with that).

Now I'm in my furtive glancing mode. Because I don't belong here. No man belong here.

Fine, I'll just look for Brad first, I thought.

Longest minutes later...no Brad.

Okay, one and 1/4 inch then.

This is odd, I don't recal Patti ever having nails that long. And she has never asked me to look for fake nails before.
The female unmentionables yes (what a nightmare!), but not nails. She never wore them except for a few times that I recall in our 30 plus years of marriage.

Maybe it's a metaphor, I pondered. But a metaphor for what? Getting her claws out? Was that it? Is she sending me a message? Have I pissed her off lately?
Eh, maybe it's nothin'.

Or maybe it's not.

This is stupid, I thought, dialing Patti on my cell phone.

One ringy dingy...busy signal. I try again. One ringy dingy...busy signal.

"Grr!" I hate Sprint! I shouted, hopefully in my mind.

I walked around and tried again, repeatedly, with the same results.

Stupid, no good, #^%$&**@ phone!

Then my phone rang. It was Patti.

"Hello?" I answered in my best Inspector Clouseau voice.

"Hey handsome, you at Walmart yet?"

"Aye. Got here awhile ago. About the..." I replied.

"Can you add chex mix to the list, the blue bag, and see if they have any sun dried tomatoes and..." Patti said.

"Roger wilco. About those..."

"Oh, and let me know when you get near the yarn section because I want you to find, just a minute that's my sister calling. Call me back when you get there," she said.

"Wait! Don't hang up! The nails!" I answered, but it was too late.

Crap. And they say men don't listen.

I tried my luck again at the nail section hoping I would stumble upon the ones she wanted.

Why does she always include something that's hard to find? I wondered, not for the first time. Why?

I waited five minutes and called Patti back.

One ringy dingy...busy signal. "Arrgh!" I said.

Oh crap, did I say that out loud? Women were staring at me. Or at least it seemed like they were staring at me, with a look that said "you don't belong here."

I tried to look like I wasn't shopping for nails for me and I wouldn't be here if my wife hadn't sent me. Really. But that's difficult to say with a look.

Every lady I saw seemed to express outrage and disdain at my unwanted presence in the nail section so I left. I abandoned my search.

I tried Patti again as I walked towards the chex mix section.

One ringy dingy...two ringy dingy! (yay! It's working! Three ringy dingy...busy signal.

I hate you Sprint. Assholes.

Then my phone rang. Patti!

"Hey Babe!" I replied.

"Why didn't you call me back?" Patti asked.

"I tried! Several times!" I replied.

"Well, my phone didn't ring," she said.

"It's Sprint's fault!" I replied defensively.

"I never have a problem with reception," Patti said.

"Maybe they like you," I answered cooly.

"Well, sometimes I do I suppose. Are you near the yarn?" She asked.

"Wait! About the nails!" I replied.

"Yes?"

"I can't find the Brad brand. And are you sure you want one and 1/4 inch?" I asked.

"Yes, I wrote it down on the list. That brand was there last time I got nails," Patti said.

I took a deep breath.

"They ain't here now," I replied through clenched gums (I'm supposed to get teeth in a few months so I'll be able to clench them. Hurray!).

"See if you can find someone to help you," Patti offered.

Yeah right, in this crowd? I thought.

"Okay, I'm looking," I replied.

"Call me back when you..." Patti began.

"No! Don't hang up! I might not reach you again. Stay on the line! Are you there? Hello?" I replied, panicky.

"I'm here," Patti said, laughing.

Yeah, real funny. Hardy har har, I thought.

"look, I don't see a Wally employee anywhere. Let me go back to the nail section and I'll give you some brand names and stuff," I replied.

"Okay, but no longer than one and 1/4 inches because I don't want to crack the frames," Patti said.

What? What's she talking about? I wondered as I made my way to the nail section.
They have nails longer than one and a quarter inches?

"Alright," I replied, intent on getting to the nail section through the thick crowd.

Thicker than Denoson's chili, I mused. With beans.

"Also, don't get any nails with a big head. Only the small heads," Patti continued.

I froze and almost got kneed by a little old lady driving one of those go cart carts.
She glared at me like I was an idiot as she swerved around me.

"Ha ha ha ha!" I laughed.

"What's so funny?" Patti asked.

"Ha ha! You mean nail nails, right? The kind you hammer? Ha ha haaa hee hee haw!" I replied, trying to talk over my laughing.

The crowd avoided me, no doubt concluding I was insane.

"Yes! Nail nails, ha ha ha! You thought I meant fake nails? Ha ha!" Patti answered.

"Yeah. I can't believe I didn't make the connection earlier, ha ha!"

"I never get fake nails," Patti said.

"I know. I thought that was odd. Do they even make them that long?" I asked.

"Maybe," Patti replied, snickering. "You're like Clouseau. Something weird always happens to you, ha ha!"

"Yeah, tell me about it. It would be odd if nothin' did happen out of the ordinary," I said.

"That's because you're an extraordinary guy," Patti said.

"Aw shucks," I replied. It felt like my face was turning red.

"Are you blushing?" Patti asked.

"No. I don't know, there's no mirrors around here," I quipped.

"You're a funny guy," she said.

"Can I forgo the yarn section then?" I asked.

Eventually, I got everything, and thankfully, I only spent around 15 minutes in line.
As I approached our van I could see Skully jumping up and down excitedly.

"Good to see you too boy," I said as I opened the door.
"Let's get the hell outta here! What do you say? Wanna listen to some Molly Hatchet?"

Skully likes Molly Hatchet. He has good taste in music.

Merry Christmas! Imopup style.

2011-12-24T05:03:00.000-08:00

I-mo-pup...I-mo-pup...I-mo-pup...

As Imopup gathers her undead, dachsi mummy army and trys to take over the world (or get free snacks (preferably made of meat) anytime she wants...which is all the time (hey, did you notice the parenthesis within the parentheses? Imopup made me do it)) I hope you all have a blessed Christmas and a healthy New Year!

I made a resolution not to make resolutions but to do them...quietly...without braggin'. Assuming I actually do them. You know how that is. But I intend to. It's just that, if I actually do the resolutions I can't tell you guys.

So you will hafta ask. Hmm, I think I found a resolution and humblebillity loophole here.
But first, I hope Santa got you what you wanted this Christmas. If not, don't be so subtle next year.
Remember, Santa likes go getters. But he doesn't like assouls so don't be an assoul about it.

I want a Mossberg 590 (holds 8 rounds plus 1 in the chamber)! But I'll be happy with grog. Meanin' I'll settle...if I have to.

BTW, one of my resolutions may be to get a mossberg 590. May be. Not sayin' it is or nothin'.
I'm assuming I ain't gettin' the 590 this Christmas because none of the gifts are big enough (although one is big enough for shotgun shells...but it's not so fun without the shotgun. However, remember that Lone Ranger episode where he had bullets but no gun and he used some rocks to fire a bullet off and get the bad guy)?

So maybe shotgun shells are fun without the gun. I dunno. I'll have Skully give it a whirl if I do get the shells. He likes doing stuff like that. Especially after eggnog.

I know it will be a good Christmas, even without the 590. Because I got a beautiful wife and great kids (who can't make it here this year but that's what phones are for)...and, of course, Imopup and her minion, Skully (her brother) who are busy taking over the world as we speak.

In the meantime, don't panic, enjoy your eggnog or hot buttered rums or whathaveyou and enjoy the show.
Besides, we all know that Imopup is mucho better than the current cur that pretends to be a leader taking yet another exhausting vacation.

So elect Imopup for President and get a complimentary milkbone (all the minions are getting one)! Just tell the store clerks Imopup sent ya (offer may not be applicable to every store so ask your loco store clek today).

Oh, and thanks you guys for reading my pulp non-fiction drivel. I hope to write much more (which may or may not be a resolution, I can't say) in the future.
There's still a few stories left in this ol' geezers repetoire just itchin' to set sail on the high seas and I aim to bring as many as possible to this blog. Exclusively!

Merry Christmas!

Jukebox Jive

2011-11-25T12:50:00.000-08:00

The Dive was my home away from home, home bein' the USS Duluth (LPD-6).
Home was at Todd Shipyards, Long Beach, for refurbishing, circa 1980.
It smelled like haze gray paint dust, the acrid burnin' of welding, and B.O. to name a few of the more fascinating odors.

Hey, I'm not one of those putzes that think my shit don't stink 'cause it does.
It's just that I tend to lose my fascination for these specific fascinating odors rather quickly.
It's not personal or nothin'. Just somethin' that crews in the yards hafta put up with.

Needless to say I spent all my off time at a Dive located at the Pike, which had seen better days.
I picked this particular dive because they had a jukebox with decent tunes and a pool table or two.

The Dive had an interesting clientel. Sailors, cowboys, kickers, bikers and shipyard workers.
Heh. Like I said, it was very interesting and not a nice place for the faint of heart.
Although there was at least one fight a night it was, all things considered, relatively peaceful there.
I mean, there were some unwritten but strongly enforced rules.

Anyone brandishing a knife, brass knuckles, a club, etc., could expect a baseball bat over the head by the owner of The Dive.
That is, if the concerned citizens in the immediate area didn't beat the shit out of the perp first.

The owner preferred anyone wantin' to fight to take it outside, and many did.
But sometimes there was a spontaneous fight and it was usually over before anyone could say "take it outside."

I'm not sure why I felt sort of at home there. Or as much as I could feel at home.
Hell, 31 years later I still don't feel completely at home at home, but I do have more of a peace of mind than I used to.

Anyways, there was some odd quirks about The Dive and the nice folks that hung out there.
One of those quirks was a singalong.

Okay, no one dared call it that out loud, but it was true...when some songs, not many, played on the jukebox. A jukebox chock full of a mixture of country, rock, country rock, hard rock, easy rock, blues, etc.. And virtually all of them were good songs. Whoever picked them out (probably the owner) had a good ear.

Two that immediately spring to mind were David Allan Coe songs.

Now, Coe was considered (and still is) the most outlawy singer outlaw there was/is.
He's an ex-con, he's never been accused of bein' politically correct, and he's wrote some purty controversial songs (to put it mildly).
Some have called him a racist, but it's a weak accusation considering he got in several fights in prison for having a black friend not to mention his drummer is black.

Anyone that thinks Coe is a racist would hafta call most rap singers and black comedians racist too for using the same words.
I think those who call him racist miss the forest for the trees and are too caught up on certain blacklisted words (words he grew up with), and blaclisted only if a white guy uses them.
Context is important. What is Coe actually sayin' in his controversial songs?

I bet those who accuse him of racism have no idea, 'cause after seeing that one word they are blind to everything else.
Why don't they accuse black artists of racism for sayin' cracker or cracka?
Ain't those non pc words? Bunch of hypocrites is why.
Be that as it may, I don't feel oppressed or insulted if someone calls me a cracker and I even laugh at some of the context it's performed in.

In response to the racist accusations Coe said: "anyone who listens to my songs and thinks I'm a racist is full of shit."

These two songs ain't what I would call controversial. At least not by any true sense of the word. Although they may hurt the delicate sensibilities of the pc gustapos.
Here they are:

Whatever you might think about Coe he could definitely write some good tunes...tunes that a lot of folks will sing along to.

Surprisingly, most of my fellow beer tastin' patrons could carry a tune.
Those who couldn't were...ahem, "encouraged" to whisper the words.
Those who couldn't take the not so subtle hints to not sing along got there ass kicked in an orderly fashion.
The system worked and everyone enjoyed the singalongs.

Long Haired Redneck

Country deejays knows that I'm an outlaw
They'd never come to see me in this dive
Where bikers stare at cowboys who are laughing at the hippies
Who are praying they'll get outta here alive

The loud mouth in the corner's gettin' to me
Talking 'bout my earrings and my hair
I guess he ain't read the signs that say I been to prison
Someone ought to warn him 'fore I knock him off his chair

'Cause my longhair just can't cover up my red neck
I've won every fight, I've ever fought
Hey, I don't need some turkey telling me that I ain't country
And sayin' I ain't worth the damned ol' ticket that he bought

'Cause I can sing all them songs about Texas
And I still do all the sad ones that I know
They tell me, I look like Merle Haggard
And sound a lot like David Allan Coe

And the bar maid in the last town that we played in
Knew the words to every song I'd wrote
She said, Jimmy Rabbit turned her on to my last album
Just about the time the jukebox broke

Yeah, Johny Cash helped me get out of prison
Long before Rodriguez stole that goat
I've been the Rhinestone Cowboy for so long, I can't remember
And I can do you every song, Hank Williams ever wrote

And I can sing all them songs about Texas
And I still do all the sad ones that I know
I can't help it, I look like Merle Haggard
And I sound a lot like David Allan Coe

But the country deejays, all think I'm an outlaw
And they'd never come to see me in this dive
Where bikers stare at cowboys who are laughing at the hippies
Who are praying they'll get out of here alive

The loud mouth in the corner's gettin' to me
Talking 'bout my earrings and my hair...

You Never Even Called Me By My Name

It was all that I could do to keep from cryin'
Sometimes it seems so useless to remain
You don't have to call me darlin', darlin'
You never even call me by my name.

You don't have to call me Waylon Jennings
And you don't have to call me Charlie Pride.
You don't have to call me Merle Haggard, anymore.
Even though your on my fightin' side.

And I'll hang around as long as you will let me
And I never minded standin' in the rain.
You don't have to call me darlin', darlin'
You never even call me by my name.

I've heard my name a few times in your phone book
I've seen it on signs where I've laid
But the only time I know, I'll hear David Allan Coe
Is when Jesus has his final judgement day.

Well, a friend of mine named Steve Goodman wrote that song
and he told me it was the perfect country and western song
I wrote him back a letter and told him it was NOT the perfect
country and western song because he hadn't said anything about
Momma, or trains, or trucks, or prison, or gettin' drunk.
Well, he sat down and wrote another verse to the song and he sent
it to me and after reading it, I realized that my friend had written
the perfect country and western song. And I felt obliged to include it
on this album. The last verse goes like this here:

Well, I was drunk the day my Mom got outta prison.
And I went to pick her up in the rain.
But, before I could get to the station in my pickup truck
She got runned over by a damned old train.

So I'll hang around as long as you will let me
And I never minded standin' in the rain. No,
You don't have to call me darlin', darlin'
You never even call me, I wonder why you don't call me
Why don't you ever call me by my name.

Come to think of it, these singalongs that no one would ever call singalongs in The Dive made it a fun place to drink.
If it weren't for the songs on that jukebox there would've be a helluva lot more fights.

Of Lies, Cons, Conspiracies And Bringin' The Stupid

2011-11-17T09:13:00.000-08:00

Okay, I can't say I was surprised when I read this:
Obama Afraid To Humiliate Osama

But I still can't help but think WTF OVER?!
You didn't wanna humiliate Bin Laden? Obama is afraid it will somehow incite more violence from Al Qaeda who has already declared war on us, murdered 3,000 civilians in cold blood, murdered countless muslim children and women to create fear and chaos?
That Al Qaeda? Really?

Don't wanna piss off a bunch of psychotic mass serial killers who are hellbent on destroying the United States, Israel and all our allies now do we?

Excuse me while I whip out my salty language...FUCK THAT SHIT!
Humiliate the hell outta those barbaric bastards!
Then, when these goddamn demon possessed swine come out of the woodwork shoot the shit outta them with extreme prejudice!

When life gives you goddamned demon possessed swine you make bacon bits outta them. And trust me, virtually all Americans like bacon and I'm sure our Jewish brothers and sisters will take no offense.

You know, it's moronic, stupid fuckin' shit like this that fuels all the conspiracy theories out there.
Let's face it, we already know we can't trust anything that comes out of the ObaMao administration.
When Bin Laden was taken out, by real heroes, the first thing Obama did was let all his hollywood pals know about it before he told us peon Americans.

Then there were several variations of the story. I still don't know what the hell really happened. There were so many different accounts. What is the "official" story now and why should we believe it? Oh, and to the Obama council of morons: wipe that stupid fucking grin off your face and show the fucking pictures...right...fucking now.

We wanna see Bin Laden's stinkin' ass corpse. It's part of what justice is.

So this was bound to happen:
SpecOps Command Calls SEAL Raid Book A Lie
And there'll be more until the dolts at the White House come clean.

Here's a few excerpts if you don't wanna go to the link (it is short so please go read the whole thing):

The U.S. military is denouncing a former Navy SEAL's book that claims to describe the "real" version of the raid that killed Osama bin Laden.

"It's just not true," U.S. Special Operations Command spokesman Col. Tim Nye said. "It's not how it happened."

Okay, back the fucking stupid truck up! First of all, the military never used to get into this type of shitting contest with individual authors.
Which makes sense because this only lends credence to the book and more people will read it.
Plus, I'm sure there are better things for the Commanding Officer of Special Ops to do than to reply to every book written about the military, or is he just replying to this one?
My take is he was ordered to make these statements.

Another excerpt:
"This is a fabrication," (Col) Nye (PR guy for SpecOps) countered, issuing an on-the-record denial on behalf of Navy SEAL Adm. Bill McRaven, who took command of all special operations this summer.

In his previous role, McRaven executed the raid in May as head of the military's elite Joint Special Operations Command. Nye said McRaven was concerned the book would lead Americans to doubt the administration's version of events."

WHICH FUCKIN' VERSION? Yeah this'll convince folks.

"He also disputed Pfarrer's portrayal of friction between the CIA and the military special operations forces who carried out the raid."

Alright, I don't know if there was friction between the SEAL's and the CIA over this particular operation, but c'mon. It's no secret that specops guys have a long running legitimate beef with the CIA and much prefer their own human intel over CIA intel.

That's not to say CIA field operators don't do a good job because they do, however, the CIA is bloated with a plethora of bureaurats and they cause all sorts of major shit to go down...usually on the specops guys.

I have no idea why Col. Nye would even mention this particular passage.

Anyhow, I'm fairly certain that most of the book is fiction although how much I can't say for sure.
But for SpecOps Command to reply to the books allegations...I gotta say I think they were ordered to do so because this is unprecedented, as far as I know.

Obama has thin skin and he's sensitive to all the criticisms out there, poor baby.
So he throws a tantrum, a hissy fit if you will over stuff like this. Bad for his highly inflated ego and self assteem.
Show some fuckin' class for once you commie bastard! Talk about historic, it's historic this goddamn spoiled brat can't stop himself from responding to criticism in a childish, 'I'll throw a fit if you don't take that back' way.
This Administration brought this on themselves.

I don't expect Col. Nye (is he a science guy?) to respond to my blog but if he does:

I salute you sir! Won't you be glad when Barry ignoranus is no longer your CINC?

Welcome To The Doh!jo

2011-10-29T06:47:00.000-07:00

What do you do when yer computer crashes? Well, I spend more time on my hobbies (yeah, as if I had a choice).
Hey, when life gives you lemons you break out the tequila. Or was that limes. No matter, both work sufficiently.

"My computer is dead Love," I said, shaking my head.

"Let me see," Patti replied grabbing my keyboard.

Hours later...

"Yep, it's dead alright. I'll try a few other things..." Patti said.

Days later...

"Why won't it go to the restore point?" Patti asked.

I didn't answer 'cause I knew this was a rhetorical question. Any attempt at humor at this point would only bring...The Glare! So I kept my trap shut.

After trying everything she knew, Patti talked to several tech people over the days to no avail. The last tech guy suggested trying to download stuff via a disc he was mailing since dial-up is too slow for a lot of big stuff.

To while away the time I became depressed. Not because I couldn't get the net (okay, maybe a little because of that) but due to something else...something that has been building up in a crescendo...a crescendo of pain.

I believe I may have mentioned I have periperal neuropathy in my feet and lower legs (sometimes in my hands now too).
Anyways, the pain I get from it has gotten a helluva lot worse. I mean, I got pain before but never at this level for such a sustained amount of time.
Almost feels like shingles sometimes but deeper and without the itching (in which I'm extremely grateful for!).

However, besides the burning I also get stabbing sensations which always makes me check to see if I stepped on a fork or got bit by a giant tarantula or funnel web spider. Yeah, I know we ain't got 'em here in Washington state (that I know of) but hey, it is remotely possible they escaped from some exotic animal collector and found their way to my house to bite my feet.
Actually, come to think of it, scorpions or rattlers would be more likely but still a remote possibility.

The funny thing is, this is most likely caused by the drugs I take to fend off AIDS (although it could also be caused by AIDS too, there's no way to know for sure).
If I stop taking the drugs worse crap awaits so that's not an option. Although I irrationally consider it sometimes. But still not an option.

I also get this charlie horse kind of pain too. It's so odd that there's so many types of pain associated with peripheral neuropathy but nerves are funny that way. If you have it you're in on the joke but that's one joke I hope you never experience.

Here's where some (hollywood cliched movies) would say "I wouldn't wish it on my greatest enemies." but I can't honestly say that. Because I do wish it on those jihadist bastards and rapists. And child molesters. And people that torture animals. And politicians that love tyranny over liberty.
Wow. Come to think of it, there's a lot of people I wish this on. I guess I'm not as "high" minded as most hollywood types are. You can probably tell how broken up I am about that. :^)

Where was I? Oh yeah, well I've been taking morphine and neurotin which does help take the edge off but never completely.
So I get all depressed which really sucks because depression ain't my thing and I get into this funk (not the good kind).
Malaise. Gloomy Gus. Woe is me. Yada yadda yadda, break out the violins.

So even after Patti gets "the disc" and gets my computer working again I'm too busy bein' depressed to do more than check out my favorite blogs when I could.
And feel bad for not taking the time to write a quick note. Depression is so paralyzing I reckon.

Thankfully, I got tired of bein' depressed. Besides, it's very overrated. What helped me break through The Fog was a film called The Rite.
When I watched it I thought it was just another exorcist kind of film, but it's based on true events and the director was purty much faithful to the book: The Making Of A Modern Day Exorcist (I found this out later).
Whether you believe in demon possession or not I highly recommend The Rite which delves into so much more than the usual hollywood style exorcism flicks.

You see, I wasn't just physically and mentally depressed, I had become spiritually depressed.
I was vaguely aware of it, but I jest couldn't bring myself to do what needed to be done.
Sure, I prayed. Really short prayers that got shorter. But that was it.
I felt like I was stranded in the desert and being attacked by giant tarantulas and funnel web spiders (and scorpions and rattlers).
It was no longer a remote possibility. It was happening. For real!

Actually, it would've been more interesting if I was possessed, I suppose, but mysteriously enough the film I mentioned wasn't so much about exorcism as it was about regaining faith.

Somehow, I had lost a plethora of faith. I had forgotten who I am in I Am. The third Aye, so to speak.
Once I was aware of what I already knew the depression...vanished.

I can't tell you how good it is to be back to my jovial self. But I know you guys gno how good it is so I don't have to. :^)

So I have decided to pursue my hobby of crime fighting as well as blog n' comment on your blogs more frequently.
Aye! Chehalis has a new guardian to mete out justice, so criminals: tremble and beware!

Of course I need a name but that's harder than it appears. Good superhero names don't just grow on trees.
Lessee, Chess Man? You know, because I got knight vision. No, Chess Mon. Yeah that should strike fear in the hearts of criminals (that still have hearts to strike fear into).

Okay, so why have a name anyway? "The guardian with no name" sounds more mysterious doncha think? Any suggestions? Periperal Noropathy Man (with peripheral vision)?
Cap'n Crackle?

Oh, and I need a suit but I absolutely refuse to wear tights. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I should also hide my identity. Okay...bit too late for that I guess. Heh. Oh well, at least I don't hafta wear a mask. But the location of my The Guardian With No Name Cave is still a secret. Little help here guys? That sounds lame.
I know, The Doh!jo of Cap'n Chin Fu Doh! Yeah, that kinda fits...on so many levels.

PS- So far I haven't detected any criminal activity but I will keep you posted.

PPS- I think I'll take a break a brew some tasty Costa Rican. Here's to Kath (Ximeze) who introduced me to this outstanding joe.

Keep Your Grimy Hands Off Our Economy Obama!

2011-08-05T02:12:00.000-07:00

Skully has a new nickname for Obama:

The Grim Reapo.

What the headlines for the NY Slimes should read today:

Read It And Reap Mr. President.

Well, at least it's "historic" and "unexpected."

Look at our economy. Go ahead, I'll wait...

Finished? Good. Now, Obama said he was only about halfway done with it. Let's make sure he doesn't finish the job.

Speakin' of which, let's get a new law passed. The President and Congress hafta handle their own personal finances like they handle our national one.
Okay, maybe that's a bad idea. We know the donks are crazy enough to try it as well as some republicans that flunked first grade math (hint: minus signs don't mean the same as plus signs).

Don't get me wrong, I don't give a fig if they ruin their own finances but they would just pass a law requiring us to bail them out.

Son Lights You

2011-05-28T10:56:00.000-07:00

Turn around, look what's happened one more time
Somethin's wrong, I can't find a reason or a rhyme
But if you find out, don't try to tell me cause I can't feel anything at all
Sun lights you, ya gotta shine on through so I can have it all

If you find, lots of other reasons to keep me near
Don't tell me, I think I've had it all way up to here
Yeah but if ya find out, don't try to tell me cause I can't feel anything at all
Sun lights you, ya gotta shine on through so I can have it all
But I...

Got to find a reason, to feel the way I do
I'm gettin' kinda tired of pleasin' them, but I want you here beside me yes I do

So turn around, and take a good long look at what they're tryin' to do to me
No matter how hard I look you know I just can't seem to see... but ya know I
Got to find a reason, to feel the way I do
I'm gettin' kinda tired of pleasin' them, but I want you here beside me yes I do

Angel #9
Pure Prairie League

Thankfully, there's no expiration date for good music. :^)

One Ring To Bind Them

2011-03-17T01:55:00.000-07:00

"I can probably get it on...maybe...but I wouldn't be able to get it off without stripping the flesh off my finger, or cutting it off (the ring, not the finger...although I could cut the finger off I would prefer not to, since I'm attached to it (the finger not the ring)(of course, symbolically I'm attached to the symbol of the ring n' what it represents) (not to mention, cuttin' my finger off would purty much defeat the purpose)," I said.

Okay, I'm gettin' ahead of myself here. Sorry 'bout that. You see, the meds I take and/or the disease I have make my fingers (and knuckles) swell up somethin' fierce.
This presents a problem when I wear my wedding ring since the ring doesn't also swell up.
Therefore, I can't wear my wedding ring most times or for very long without possiblly severely (digital) consequences.

Yes, I know I can wear my ring on a necklace, but that's too easy. Apparently.
Patti is determined to find a way for me to wear the ring on my finger...permanently.
I assume she wants this to happen without anything bad happenning to my finger (hey, I ain't gonna ask her).

So I suggested getting a tattoo of a ring on my wedding finger. Afterall, Patti has mentioned I never got a tattoo and has suggested I get a Navy themed one since it's customary (or used to be) for sailors to do so.
But I never have had the desire. Too expensive. Never saw one I wanted until I die. Take your pick.
But I can go with a ring tattoo. It's practical and it probably still costs more than a real gold or silver (or both) (basically, anything that don't turn my skin green) ring.

She weren't too keen on that idea. I have no idea why (suggestions are welcome).

So I suggested those "adjustable" type of rings...there's several kinds...but Patti is worried about the sanitation of those kind of rings and how they would be kept clean of germs.

"Well, that's easy," I sez. "Just dip it in some whiskey every once in awhile."

I could tell that Patti was not amused...nor was she taking my excellent idea seriously.

"Okay, I can use wood grain alcohol," I sez (although whiskey would be prefferable, I didn't sez) (see, I'm willin' to negotiate).

That idea fell flatter than a tater pancake without taters.

So now she's lookin' for a ring that's big enough to go over my swollen finger (and kuckles).

"But what about when it's too big?" I asked.

"Then put it on your middle finger," she advised.

...

...

...

Is she serious? I wondered. And she thinks my tattoo idea or adjustable ring ideas are dumb?

"Okay...okay, I got a really good idea!" I said, filled chock full of inspiration.

It was almost like an epiphany so cool was this new idea of mine.

"If I hafta wear the ring on my middle finger then I can simply draw an arrow pointing to my ring finger!" I concluded, amazed at how easily I had solved this dillemma (again).

Surely, Patti will be impressed with my cleverness and wit...surely...she's...not.

Woman, what do you want from me? Tap tap tap...is this marriage on? Hello?

ShadoWar

2011-02-27T11:41:00.000-08:00

Pixels? We don't need no steenkin' pixels.

My shadow don't take kindly to fools, as you can see. I don't think it likes me all that much either. There may or may not be a connection there. At night, what appears so obvious during the day is not so cut n' dry.

Fast Times At Zombie High

2010-12-21T02:22:00.000-08:00

"We're not gonna make it!" I said, as we hurled towards the chasm at seventy miles per hour.

The rest of the story after this important message:

In light of the recent posts at One Cosmos, where Bob is talkin' about sleep, death, life, and dreams n' stuff (very fascinating, btw), I figured I would post a dream I had a few nights ago.
A dream with a special guest, our very own Rick! Why was Rick in my dream? Well, I dunno, but I'm glad he was, 'cause we were fightin' zombies and tryin' not to be their next meal. Always nice to have help in that regard, although it's nice to have a friend like Rick visit any time, not just during zombie outbreaks.

Let's show a scene so you can get a better idea, shall we?

Jest kiddin', it wasn't like that.

"It better not be," I can hear Patti sayin'.

Good advice. You sure don't need any, um...distractions when yer fightin' zombies (or anything else for that matter).

Okay, this is closer to what we saw, minus the signs. Yeah, as if ZomGorians are any real threat to our survival...well, come to think of it they actually are, but that's not the zombies we saw.

That's about as close as I can find given the time restrictions I have. Yes, it was during the day, the dream setting that is, although I was dreamin' at night.

Now, to complete the dreamslack production as best I can so that you get O more fuller sense of what I'm talkin' about, there was a cool soundtrack running during the dream. Not loud and blaring, but if you listened you could definitely hear it, and yet Rick and I could still talk and hear each other without yelling.

In a place you only dream of, where your soul is always free
Silver stages, golden curtains, filled my head plain as could be
As a rainbow grew around the sun, all the stars I've loved, who died
Came from somewhere beyond the scene you see, these lovely people played just for me

Now if I let you see this place where stories all ring true
Then will you let me past your face to see what's really you?
It's not for me I ask this question as though I were a king
For you have to love, believe and feel, before the burst of tambourines take you there

Green grass and high tides forever
Castles of stone, soul and glory
Lost faces say we adore you
As kings and queens bow and play for you

Those who don't believe me, find your souls and set them free
Those who do, believe and know that time will be your key
Time and time again I've thanked them for a peace of mind
That helped me find myself amongst the music and the rhyme that enchants you there

Green grass and high tides forever
Castles of stone, soul and glory
Lost faces say we adore you
As kings and queens bow and play for you

Ah, The Outlaws. Is that significant? Well, they are one of the most underrated bands I ever heard, and it's significant to me, including the lyrics.
Anyhow, let's get to the dream, shall we?

They're everywhere, I thought, as I brought down two more zombies in quick sucession with my Winchester.

I had waited until they shambled close enough so I could easily make the head shots.
After shooting them I ran. Fortunately, I was faster than the zombies, but there was so many of them all around me, closing in...slowly...but surely.
I quickly reloaded my winchester, and realized I was gettin' low on ammo. I had a .45 for back-up with a few extra clips, but even if every shot I made was a head shot I wouldn't have enough ammo to stop all the zombies, and I was gettin' tired.

Will I hafta consider the unthinkable? I wondered, looking around for a way out of my predicament.

I had a few minutes 'tll the zombies got close enough. The sun was high overhead but it wasn't unduly hot. Sure, I was sweatin' but more from exertion than heat.
My eyes lingered on some dark clouds on the horizon to the west, travelling east from the Pacific.
Rain would be welcome, if I could survive that long.

Guess I'll go in the direction of the fewest zombies, I thought, heading southwest.
Actually, it looked like there was only a few hundred in that direction, but like the rest they were all converging on me.
They either saw or heard me. Or both. Hell, maybe they smelled me. I was, after all, on the top of their menu.

The city I was in looked familiar but I couldn't quite place it. It felt like I had been here before, a long time ago, before the zombies.

Man, I hate cities. I looked around for any additional weapons I could use as I got closer to the zombies. I passed a few fresh skeletons, their mouths open in apparent terror. Perhaps they were yesterday's menu, I thought, swatting at all the flies in their vicinity.

There was no buildings between me and the zombies. Well, none that weren't obviously overrun. As I got closer I began picking them off, taking careful but quick aim, and making every bullet count. Damn! I missed one. Shake it off. Breathe. Aim...got it. Lever in another round. Aim...shoot. Lever. Aim...shoot.

Not looking good, I thought, shouldering my rifles and pulling my Colt .45. I wasn't doin' too bad, but I missed a helluva lot more heads with the .45. Shootin' a moving target in the head ain't easy under the best of conditions. Add to that: adrenaline, fatigue, and the slow and slight but unpredictable jerking of the zombies as they shambled towards me and I was actually surprised I was hittin' approximately 60% of my intended targets.
The percentage went up as the zombies got closer but that wasn't reassuring.

"Damnit!" I shouted, releasing my first clip and slapping in another.

Fifteen feet...10 feet...getting too close. I backed up slowly, still firing and fighting the urge to panic. I could use my rifle as a club, I thought, but for how long? The zombies weren't abnormally, or even normally strong, but they would still overwhelm me from the sides and rear...soon.

Honk! Hoooonk! Hoooonk!

I jumped at the sound and the zombies hesitated. It was a car! I realized, replacing another clip and quickly looking around. To my right...not a car, a jeep, headed my way full bore. I popped off another few zombies and ran towards it as fast as I could.

Thank you Jesus, I thought, as I ran. The driver screeched to a halt and stood up, firing at the zombies following me.

"Come with me if you wanna live," he said.

"Rick! Good line!" I exclaimed, trying to laugh and breath at the same time. I opened the passenger door and hopped in as Rick did a u-turn and headed back the way he came, towards the ocean.

"Been busy I see," Rick said, smiling grimly.

"What took you so long?" I quipped, smiling back.

"I thought I was a goner. Not sure if I could've..." I continued, leaving the last part unsaid. There was no reason to say it.

"Yeah. I know," Rick said. "Got some water and jerky in the back if you want some."

"What, no cold beer?" I asked, finding a canteen and quenching my thirst.

"Well, we could stop for some if you really want..."

"No, no! Water is good enough. Maybe later we can..."

"Hold on, it's gonna be a bumpy ride!" Rick said.

Up ahead were some more zombies headed our way. Rick ran over a few, avoiding most of them and zig zagged through, hitting one every now and then but not slowing down.

I decided to put my seatbelt on.

"I'm not that bad of a driver," Rick said, as he mowed down a few more zombies.

"It's not you, it's the other drivers I'm worried about," I said.

"Yeah, but the pedestrians are murder," Rick replied.

"Bad side of town," I said.

A few more zombie speed bumps later, we were through the worst of them, but we could still see zombies scattered about, and they headed in our direction once they noticed we were there. The way was now relatively clear though, so Rick hit the accelerator and I let out a sigh of relief.

I hadn't relaxed in Lord knows how long. The breeze felt good and I could smell the ocean. Things were lookin' up. Now if only we could find beer.

Then I saw it. It was a wide chasm in the road. Perhaps 50 feet across. I didn't notice it 'til we were right up on it. No way from the angle we could make it across in the jeep.

"We're not gonna make it!" I shouted, as we hurled towards the chasm at seventy miles per hour.

"Jump!" Rick shouted back, flooring it.

I unhooked my seatbelt and then we were airborn. I stood up, holding onto the roll bars as we sailed through the air. As the jeep began to drop I jumped...

TBC...

I Thank You

2010-11-25T11:21:00.000-08:00

I rise at the break of day--your smile sets me on my way
I need you...

See the light shinin' in your eyes--see the hopes that I realize
For you...

I am alone...my odds are long...s'all I can do...
I need you...

Take the road where the eagle flies--man follows where his fortune lies
I leave you...

Shadows fall and the day is done--the curtain calls but more than anyone
I need you

When I feel low...my amps they blow...when I feel blue
I need you...

And I forget all my sorrow, I forget all my pain
I relinquish my doubts at the sound of your name
I can feel your desire when I walk through that door
I believe in the power that can even the score!

Never knew it could take so long--never knew it could feel so wrong without you
They say a woman knows the reasons why--no man ain't supposed to cry
I need you...

When after all...my tears they fall...when I pull through...
I need you...

I love you...

I thank you...

Grati-tude...

I considered grati-Dude but tude won out since it most fits the point-ed

For those who don't know ed, he's me-ed

I'm thankful for so much: God, my family, our United States, and you, my friends, brothers n' sisters under the pelt.

Thank you for your prayers, charity, encouragement, wisdom, knowledge, and humor.
I am truly honored to have the opportunity to know you guys a bit and...I truly do need you.

You know, I have heard it said a man (or woman) is known by the friends they keep.
I hope that's true, 'cause that's a whole lot better than myself. You guys have given me a hand UP, in more ways than one and that ain't no figure of speech neither. You have literally reached out to pull me up many times when I didn't wanna go...

"Hey! Let's camp here a bit longer. I'm tired guys, I hurt, I...not buyin' it eh? Yeah, those are lame excuses I reckon. Aww Ok, fine, I'll go. I sure don't feel like it though. Just so's you know.
Wow! look at that view! It's more than worth the trouble n' pain to get here! I'm honored to sail with you all! Thanks for sneakin' me onboard!"

Yeah, there are times I definitely don't wanna continue my journey of transcendence toward Truth, Goodness n' Beauty, and there are times I can't wait to get to the next port.
I reckon that lately I've been really draggin' my heels, but you guys help remind me of that which I can't forget, and time is indeed short...so...hey, I'm sorry for laggin' behind and not visiting with you as much as I used to.
There really ain't no good excuses, especially in view of what many of the saints went through and the martyrs...their self sacrifice is truly humbling.

I hope n' pray that if I'm ever given the opportunity to sacrifice my life for others (in a material and/or spiritual sense) that I choose to do so without regard for my own life.

Thanks guys! Happy Thansgiving! Now where's the beer?

This post brought to you by Skippy, the best peanut butter in the world. It hasta be if the late, great Charlton Heston ate it.

I need you (revised a bit-ed)

Beware The Phantom!

2010-11-10T00:01:00.000-08:00

"Did you make coffee this morning?" Patti asked.

"No, not yet," I replied.

"Darn, I thought I smelled coffee brewing. I must have dreamed it," she said, obviously disappointed.

"Well, go back to sleep and have a cup while I make some," I quipped.

This went down better than our last conversation the previous night:

"I have one of those imaginary toothaches," Patti said, rubbing her jaw.

I knew she meant "phantom" toothache, but...I couldn't resist.

"I got an imaginary headache," I replied.

Well, it seemed funny at the time. Certainly I didn't intend to sound insensitive to her phantom (and material) sensitivities. Okay, I'm not sure what I was thinking. Perhaps I was imaginary thinking...yeah, that's it.

Needless to say, Patti got the last word.

"Yeah, to go along with your imaginary brain."

She jest don't get me sometimes, but she's not alone. I also jest don't get me sometimes.

Stay tuned for the next chapter where I'll be investigating the scene of a crime.
Literally.
Make sure you bring yer detective hats, 'cause there is bound to be mythstery gah!-lore!

BTW, I'm sure glad most American voters are fed up with the direction our neo-commie democrats have been taking our country. There's a long laundry list of stuff folks are fed up with, but the two things most folks are most angry about, at least around here, is the historic assault on our liberties and unprecedented out-of-control spending smug politicians (including the RINO's) that makes the mafia (of all nationalities), yakuza, triad, drug cartels, etc., green with envy.

I mean, really, most folks simply don't like the audacity of class envy pushed by crooked politicians who attempt to legalize stealin' our freedoms and our property (and our children and grandchildren's property).

Not to mention the racism of many of these same scoundrels. They sought to divide us n' conquer us by propaganda n' force (hope n' change they call it).
Instead, they awoke a sleeping giant, the American patriot, and we united to put a stop to this BS!
'Cause nobody, I mean nobody! messes with our Constitution, no matter what they call it and gets away with it.

So, in celebration of our victory (and hopefully many more, 'cause this war of ideas ain't over but we won this battle) I offer this excellent image to drink in and appreciate:

Good dog!

And a bonus!

Yes, we can!

Shinglelarity

2010-08-23T01:33:00.000-07:00

What's more fun than gettin' shingles on the weekend? Why, gettin' more shingles than ever before and spreading them out, so most body parts don't feel left out.
Feet, legs, waist, trunk, arms and...ears? And rather than the mostly asymetrical shingle population explosion, these are mostly symetrical.

That means, you guessed it, I got commie shingles. Damn red bastards are everywhere! I reckon some might call it viral justice. You know, "justice," in the vein of the socialcom code word the socialcoms use to "justify" socialcommie BS.
Viruses of the world unite!

Actually, socialcommies are viruses in a literal sense since they attack their host and, without proper treatment, could make their host very sick, even killing it. Plus, they are...pathological...liars. Ha ha. Sorry, I couldn't resist.
The green strain of socialcoms are flush-eating bacteria. Badumdum! Cue cymbal.

Ahem. Okay, I won't give up my day job if I had one.

Personally, I'm more of a fan of justice justice, or, what patriots like to call justice.
I mean, seriously, do socialcoms really believe that stealin' our liberty n' property and giving most of it to bureaurats, thieves n' deadbeats (but I repeat myself), and a very small amount goin' to maybe a few folks who really need it (and are best served by true charity in the form of a hand up rather than a handout) equals some kind of "justice?"

Well, maybe they really do believe that, and maybe they really do have "good" intentions, but they are still dead wrong.
Regardless, I'll save my goodwill n' sympathies for the folks these well-meaning viruses are makin' sick, and yes, killin'.

Yep, when it comes to socialcoms, my pity meter is busted. The best I can muster is to offer some self evident truth's and a dose of reality. But in the end you can't force folks to believe that life, liberty and property and the freedom and creativity that promotes is better than livin' in a hive mentality collective of statist fascism.
A wise man said you can't fix stupid and another wise man said you can't fix a fool (although neither is necesarily exclusivee other).
All you can do is clarify the choices and the consequences.

To paraphrase Sylvester Stallone in Cobra: Socialcoms are the disease. We patriots are the cure.

Yikes, I went off on another tangent. This can happen in the shinglelarity which causes the event verizon to do all sorts of sci-fie crap to blog posts. I don't know what that means but it sounds cool.

I reckon tomorrow or soon I may hafta go check into the VA for some inpatient inpatienting and anti-biotics. Hopefully not. Last time I got shingles this bad I spent three weeks there. But this time I don't got it in my eye, so it should be a breeze. An itchy, burny (hurts like hell!) breeze without beer but still a breeze.
Could be worse (I know. You think I would stop sayin' that, but I'm feelin' up to a good challenge. Or bad challenge with good results? I dunno).

Stay tuned. :^)

The Good, The Bad And The Ugly...

2010-07-30T02:20:00.000-07:00

And the Beautiful, the Lie, and the Truth.

There are times I'm gung WhOle, and times I ask myself "what's your major malfunction?" With all the pain and frustration I can't possibly convey with words, even while I know the answer.

You gno what I mean, I'm sure. Everyone that grows, or has grown...transcends...gnos that.

It's no coincidence that the moment we stop transcending is the moment we are no longer gung WhOle.

Anyone who has realized their True purpose (or purposes) knows that finding...or to be more accurate, receiving your purpose is an
O-piphiny. Truly a life altering event.

How do I know? Because it resonates throughout my entire being: spirit, soul, mind n' body.
You feel it, but it's infinitely more than a feeling.

It's a passion...connected to The Passion. And, if I may be so bold, it's not limited to those of the Christian faith.

There was a time I would've cringed at sayin' that, but God is God, which is to say anyone who earnestly seeks Truth, Goodness and Beauty will find it, be they Jew, Hindu, or undecided.
If a good Samaritan can be good and noteworthy to Christ, who am I to say he ain't doin' good?

We will lose Truth, Goodness, n' Beauty if we stop seeking, hearing, seeing, knocking, climbing, struggling...yes, well, again, I'm sure you gno.

For Truth, Goodness and Beauty ain't just confined to the mind n' body. It literally can't be. For it is Eternal.

If there is no spirit (and no Spirit)...and no soul, what's the freakin' point? For you can only go so far until you see the end of your journey with your mind n' body.

The Truth sets us free, right? I mean FREE! Eternal Liberty free! NOT licentiousness, narcissist, anarchy, nihilist "free."
True liberty means there is responsibility, accountability, and a concious desire to Honor the Truth.

The Left view those boundaries as constricting and stifling but it's truly free.
Like a good song, there must be boundaries or it sounds like mere noise.
The boundaries actually make us MORE free because the Goodness of those boundaries help us look within, esoterically. Past our mind n' body. And while our mind, body and physical universe are finite, our soul n' spirit ain't.

Sure, mind n' body seeking truth is better than the socialist/commie useful idiot sheeple way of slavery, but it is still finite. It's still constrained by material boundaries and time.
Afterall, your mind n' body can only go so far and that's the end.

Liberty, Love, Truth, Goodness, Beauty and Faith are infinitely bigger than that.

BTW, I'm definitely not sayin' New Agers are Truth seekers, 'cause they don't believe in absolute Truth, which MUST be for there to be such a thing as truth to begin with.
The relative truther's in the New Age movement are merely embracing spiritual anarchy or at least spiritual idiocy which doesn't transcend...it regresses.

Sorry, I kinda went off on a tangent here. Back to my point: Your purpose, and your own journey ain't no walk in the park. It's hard! It's trying. You will be tested. And speakin' for myself, there are, sadly, many failures.

There are times I not only stop growing and become static, but actually regress.
Thankfully, I have a concience, and it bugs the hell outta me when that happens.
I fervently pray I never regress so far that I sear my own concience and very soul, for that way lies death beyond that of my body, and that would truly suck.

That don't mean it's okay to wallow in guilt n' shame but for me to repent, or turn around and continue on my journey towards Truth, Goodness n' Beauty and everything that entails, such as True Liberty, Love, Hope, Faith, Honor, etc..

To be willing to be molded by our Creator, our Father is often not a pleasure cruise and can be quite painful at times.
The pain is from stuff I wanna cling to bein' burned away. And I have clinged to some of that crap for a long time. Those desires of lust, greed, sloth, gluttony...well, in a word: sin.
Chains.

I gno I can't begin to grow if I'm bein' held down by chains.
Thankfully, my desire...my passion to journey onwards is greater than my desire for all the unfullfilling crap that ultimately leaves me feeling hollow and crappy.

And hey, this journey can be, and has been, very joyous at times. There's lotsa humor to be experienced and realized if you take the time to look n' listen.

The best part about humor is it helps keep me from becoming a spiritual prig.
Spiritual prigs are devoid of humor n' joy, and like New Agers they are bound by chains. Chains that bring you down, man.

I used to ask myself "why did it take a terminal disease and a world of pain for me to realize this and choose this journey?"
Then I would beat myself up and go (and stay) at the regretaday inn.
Who needs excuses when you can flog yourself over n' over?
Hey look at me! I'm really sorry!

"Yes bartender, poor me another shot of guilt n' shame. I'm an idiot. Stupid! Why couldn't I see? Why, after seeing, did I forsake Reality?"

"What's my major malfunction?"

Now I know the answer. No, not just know. I realize it so much it's now a part of me.
It took all that to get me to STFU and listen and be Thankfull!

Why doesn't matter anymore. What? Do I think my sins can't be forgiven? That God ain't big enough? That His Grace ain't powerful enough? Must I read Job again? Sure can't hurt...much.

Hello! What matters is what I choose to do now not what I shoulda done. Trawlin' the past ain't gonna catch me nothin' but needless pain and there ain't no redemption in that foolish bullhocky.
Nothin' of value at all except as a reminder to anyone that'll listen of what fool thing NOT to do.

I gotta hold fast to my purpose and not allow it to slip outta my grasp with distractions, past or present.
Second guessin' ain't no substitute for revealation.

It took a horrible disease and lots of pain to help me choose to be free and embrace the Truth. For that I'm thankfull more than I can express.
I can honestly say that I would experience it all over again if the end result is the same. :^)

Close Call

2010-07-24T14:52:00.000-07:00

Last night I gave our dogs a dog treat. It was chicken jerky which they have both had before. After a few minutes I noticed that Skully was having trouble swallowing a bite.

I went over and patted him on the back but he got worse and started panicking. The piece of jerky was stuck in his throat!
I shouted to Patti that he was in trouble and suggested the heimlich maneuver which works on dogs as well as humans.

Then I recalled my Navy first aid training. The first thing you do in an emergency is check and try to clear the airway. It was called ABC: Airway, Breathing, and Circulation (bleeding).
So while Patti held Skully I opened his mouth and could see the piece of jerky lodged in his throat.

Skully was struggling to breath at this point, shaking and pawing his head, gagging and his eyes reflected his fear. Poor little guy! He was also snapping his teeth, tryin' to dislodge the jerky.

I knew there was a good probability of getting bit if I put my fingers in Skully's mouth, Not intentionally, but bit is bit nevertheless.

However, there was no time to find pliers or tongs to do the job.
So I plunged my fingers in Skully's mouth. Not being nearly as dexterous as I was when I was younger I hoped and prayed I could quickly grab the jerky and get it out.

Thankfully, I managed to do just that. If it wasn't for the first aid training I had in the Navy, as well as working as a security guard/janitor at a hospital and the ER (amazing how much you can pick up if you watch and listen), I would've been at a loss.

There is no doubt in my mind that Skully wouldn't have survived a trip to the nearest 24 hour veterinary hospital which is a good 40 minute drive away. and I was unsure if I could properly perform a tracheo procedure, although Patti might have, but she hasn't been a paramedic for over 30 years.

My point is, we should all ask ourselves what would we do if one of our loved ones, a beloved pet, or even a stranger needs emergency medical care?
Basic first aid is easy to learn, especially with the internet, and anyone can save a life or mitigate damage with this knowledge.

It's also good to practice in a mock up situation. This includes ANY emergency. The more you practice, the less chance there will be that you will panic during an emergency.
Time is of the essence in any emergency and you simply don't have time to look stuff up on the internet during one.

The more prepared and trained you are, the better. You don't hafta be a doctor or nurse to save a life. And you never know when you might hafta put your training to the test.
Do yourself a favor and learn first aid. At least you'll know you did everything possible if you are ever in a situation to save a life. That's much better than having regrets afterwards: "if only I had known first aid..."

We are very thankful it all worked out and Skully is in howlin' good health.

We thank God, the Navy Corpsmen that taught me first aid, all the doc's, nurses and paramedics I have known, and the doc's, nurses and paramedics that share their valuable knowledge on the internet and in classes. Thanks. You all make a huge difference. :^)

After last night I will no longer give our dogs jerky or chew bones. We knew about the danger of rawhide chew bones but not the danger of jerky. Instead, they'll get small milkbones or small pieces of meat.

BTW, the milkbones really do keep your dog's teeth clean. We just took our pooches to the vet for their yearly check-up and shots last week. The vet was impressed with how clean their teeth was and askjed if we had been brushing them (yeah right. Good luck with that).
We give them a milkbone (broken up) right before they go to sleep, and perhaps one at mid day. Works great!

Salt Mind

2010-07-09T09:17:00.000-07:00

When I dream, I usually know I'm dreamin'. However, that doesn't mean my dreams are any less...real.

Suddenly, I felt weary. Tired. I just wanted to sleep...sweet, blissfull, sleeep.

"Tell me about this war of yours and how you have survived for so long," the old man said, "and I'll give you this salt," he concluded, rotating the salt shaker through his fingers.

Normally, I would oblige, but somethin' deep down...an intuition or hunch, told me not to play this guy's game. I didn't know why, but I did know I oughtta listen to my hunches. Experience is a great teacher, or it can be.

"Why are you so concerned about it?" I asked, taking a drag from my smoke and blowin' it in the old man's face.

I couldn't say precisely why, but I didn't like this old man. Somethin' about him riled me up, especially now that I was focused on him.
He also looked...famliar. Hell, everyone in the bar looked familiar, now that I thought about it. Even Annie.

"Boy...you don't know who you're messin' with," the old man said, gettin' off the stool and squarin' off agin me. He was wearing two six shooters of his own and I had no doubt he knew how to use them.

I got off my stool and got ready to slap leather.

"Look, I only wanna hear your story. What's the harm in that? I don't wanna kill you," he said, his eyes flashin' and betrayin' his real intentions.

"Loose lips sink ships," I replied, grinning.

"Very funny," the old man said, smiling. "But I don't see no ships. No back-up. No, you're all alone ain'tcha?"

In my periphery vision I could see and hear the young burly guys gathering around me. My eyes stayed glued to the old man, but I was suddenly aware there were more young burly guys than I had seen earlier.

Call me a cynic, but I had the feelin' they weren't just gatherin' around to watch the drama between me and the old man. No, they were gonna help him!
Swell, I thought. Well, the bar is called Pain, I mused wryly.

"why can't we be friends?" The old man asked, tryin' his best to look like a friendly old man, his hands out in a gesture of supplication. "There's no need for us to fight. Here, take the salt," he said, sliding the shaker down the bar to me.

"I was just bustin' yer balls is all," he said, grinnin'.

I could hear the burly young guys stirring but one look from the old man amd they reluctantly went back to their pool game while the rest took their seats.

The old man sat down and raised his drink to me.

I relaxed a bit and salted my margarita, or what the bar tender called a miseryta. Funny guy, I thought, taking a drink...which I immediately spit out!

"It's even more bitter!" I exclaimed feelin' woozy. "That's...that's not salt," I said, tryin' to keep my balance.

There was somethin' in that fake salt, I thought. Poison. I mentally slapped myself for bein' such an idiot.

I looked at the old man who smiled that crooked smile. Then it dawned on me: I KNEW this old man.

He was...me, and now he's tryin' to be me again.
I aimed to be my self the best I Am able. That left no room for the old man. Besides, he was nothin' but trouble. I unsteadily faced him down again, and again the young burly guys gathered around me.

"How many times do I gotta put you down"? I asked with a bravado I didn't feel.

The juke box started playin' a well known song:

Hey now, the well run dry
Pages of your book on fire
Read the writing
On the wall

Strange, I thought. It was like a soundtrack to a movie, except I was starring in this flick, but it wasn't acting, it was real.
On the wall behind the old man I saw some writing and I tried to focus to see what it said: You need salt.

Huh? Who wrote that? I wondered. It just appeared. What a strange message. I already knew I needed salt.

Hoe down, it's a show-down
Ev'rywhere you look, we're fighting
Hear the call

"You can't kill who ya are, sonny," the old man said.

"No...I ain't you anymore," I said. "You have no place in my life!" I exclaimed.

"Oh...riiight. You're a 'new man' now. You got the Christ. HE is your hero now...your God," he said with disgust.

And you know it's gettin' stronger
I can't last very much longer
Turn to stone

Damn it! I'm in no condition to fight, I thought.

"Woulda been easier for ya if'n you hadn't spit out the poison. Yer just prolonging this unnecessary fight you know. Now yer just gonna suffer needlessly," the old man said, but he didn't look broken up over it.

"Yeah, well you know me...I don't do easy none to well," I replied, smiling.

"And how's that workin' for ya boy? How are ya feelin', huh? Unbearable pain? No energy? No end in sight? Sick and f"*ckin' tired of fightin'? You yearn for peace, right? And you think I'M the bad guy? Haven't you more than paid your dues? Years and years of nothin' but hurt, and for what? To be abandoned? Tortured?" The old man snorted.

Well there's a change in the wind
You know the signs don't lie
Such a strange feelin'
And I don't know why it's takin'
Such a long time

Backyard people
And they work all day
Tired of the speeches and the way
That the reasons keep changin'
Just to make the words rhyme

"I can bring you fun. PASSION!" He exclaimed.
"I can make you feel alive again! You deserve that and more! You deserve to enjoy yourself...cut loose and replace all that pain with ecstacy! Pleasure! I can give you all that!"

And you know it's gettin' stronger
Can't make 'em run much longer
Turn to stone

I flashed back to the last phone call I had with my Grandpa, 11 years ago.

"I gotta have my leg cut off, Ben. They tell me it has to go or I'll die," Grandpa said, his voice so frail and weak.

It hurt like hell to hear him like that.

"I'm tired, Ben. I'm ready to go home...to be with Jessie again," he said, his voice breakin'.

"Grandpa, I..." My voice breakin' too.

Grief and a sense of loss was breakin' my heart, so much I was strugglin' to breath as white hot tears streamed down my cheeks.

"Ben...I've been on this earth 93 years. It's time, Ben. My time. I'll...We, will be waitin' for you Ben. Remember this, the Good Lord ain't done with you yet. He has plans for you Ben." Grandpa said.

"Grandpa...I love you," was all I could get out.

"I love you too, Ben. You're a man now and I'm damn proud of you!" Grandpa said, his voice sounding strong again.
"Always do the right thing."

"I will, Grandpa." I replied.

"Ben, don't forget the Man upstars," Grandpa said, his voice steeped in wisdom.

"I won't, Grandpa," I said.

"I gotta go, Ben. I won't say goodbye, I'll just say so long," he said, his voice fading. Grandpa always said 'so long' instead of goodbye.

"So long, Grandpa," I said, my eyes welling with tears.

I knew this would be the last time I would talk to Grandpa while he was on earth.

They say "blood is thicker than water." I say bullsh*t! Grandpa and my Nana adopted my mother when she was three. Her mother was dyin' and her father was reportedly of Mexican heritage and had fought in World War Two for the United States. He had left soon after my mother was born, never to be heard from again.
My mother's mom had asked Nana to take care of her and my Nana, and Grandpa raised her as their own.

I couldn't be closer to Nana and Grandpa if they were blood related.
So I learned at a young age that blood didn't mean sh*t. Perhaps it's more accurate to say that the love of my grandparents SURPASSED blood! I KNEW that first hand.

Grandpa was the father I never had. He was a man's man. Much like a cross between John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart, with a heavy dash of Lionel Barrymore. And yet...unique in his own way.
I can still hear his words of wisdom and his deep, genuine and earthy laugh which I heard often, for Grandpa had a great sense of humor.

I fondly recall my Nana's motherly wisdom, and her food...oh man! You ain't lived until you ate food made with the love that wonderfull lady put into it!
She had enough love for the entire family. Nana was truly a saint.

Grandpa and Nana were master storytellers. I was always so deeply engrossed when they told their stories. Stories that sprang to life when they told 'em! Stories I never tired of hearin'!
I can't think of any tv show or movie or any recreational activity I would rather experience than the stories my grandparents told.
Nothin'....nothin' compared to the sheer joy that accompanied their stories.

After the doctors cut off Grandpa's leg, he went HOme. I wasn't surprised when I got the call.
Oh, I was in immense grief and I mourned. I cried uncontrollably in Patti's arms. But I knew...I KNEW Grandpa was finally HOme, with Nana...with our Father. And he was happy.
My tears were mournfully joyous.

As I faced off against the old man I heard Grandpa say: "Do the right thing, Ben."

"I ain't alone you know! I got me some help this time," the old man said, fear tinging his voice.

Why's he so afraid? I wondered, tryin' to shake the effects of the poison.

"You see all them young strappin' men? I teamed up with them to put a stop to yer madness. Yeah. Yer "demons," yer 'mind parasites' as you call them now," he said, smiling cruelly.
"So give it up already and I swear we won't torture you...much."

"I'm all shill shocked over here," I replied, with more confidence than I had.
"So bring it on. Bring your shock n' audacity. I really don't care, 'cause I'll never, ever give up!" I shouted.

"No! Don't hurt him!" Annie cried as the burly young mind parasites moved in.

All hell broke loose. And the juke box increased in volume:

She cried to the southern wind
About a love that was sure to end
Every dream in her heart was gone
Headin' for a Showdown

I turned around and tackled Annie so she would be out of the line of fire.

"You smell nice," I said, smiling. "Stay under that table, okay?"

Bad dreamer, what's your name
Looks like we're ridin' on the same train
Looks as through there'll be more pain
There's gonna be a Showdown

A mind parasite grabbed me by my collar and picked me up with one arm, slammin' it's ham fist into my gut.
I tried to say 'ow' but I couldn't speak at that moment.

I reckon the battlefield mirth will hafta wait, I thought, kickin' the bohemoth in his nether region.

And it's rainin' all over the world
It's raining all over the world
Tonight, the longest night

The parasite dropped me as it dropped to it's knees. I heard, and felt the whoosh! of bullets barely missin' my head.
I drew my weapons and concentrated on the mind parasites first since they were closer.

I took out three of them before they were on me, knockin' my guns outta my hands. The remaining parasites, three of them, proceeded to unleash blow after blow on my face and it was startin' to look purty grim for yours truly.
The beating went on for what seemed like hours, although it couldn't have been more than a few minutes.
I tried to strike back but my blows were too weak. between the poison and the beatdown it looked very bleak.
The old man and the mind parasites cackled with glee.

"Assholes," I muttered.

She came to me like a friend
She blew in on a southern wind
Now my heart is turned to stone again
There's gonna be a Showdown

Save me, oh save me
It's unreal, the suffering
There's gonna be a Showdown

And it's rainin' all over the world
It's raining all over the world
Tonight, the longest night

I heard gun shots and suddenly I fell to the floor like a sack of flour.

"Leave! Him! Alone!" Annie shouted, emptying the gun she picked up on the mind parasites.

She's beautiful! I thought, lookin' up at her still shooting the gun. "Click. Click. Click."

"Annie," I said weakly.

She dropped the gun and knelt down beside me, cradling my head in her ample bosom.

"Are you okay?" She asked, lightly touching my face.

Now I recognized Annie. She is my wife, I thought. Her middle name is Ann. Ann, Annie. God, she is beautiful!

"I am now," I said, smiling. "Thanks hon."

"Here, I need to stop the bleeding," she said, ripping a piece of her dress hem off to wipe the blood off my face.

My eyes were still glued on her dress hem when she bent down to kiss me.

One shot rang out and a look of shock appeared on Annie's face. She tried to talk but nothing came out. Then she fell in my arms as I scrambled to get to my feet. I made it to my knees before I caught her.

"No! Annie!" I shouted, brushing the hair from her eyes.

Blood and tears burned my eyes as I quickly surveyed the damage. There was a bullet hole near the center of her chest and blood was bubbling out.
I immediately put my hands over the wound to staunch the bleeding.

"Now you'll die," the old man said, cackling.

I didn't turn to look. I kept working on Annie. I felt her hand poking me weakly. She mouthed the word: 'gun', and I looked down. She had managed to grab my other gun off the deck.

I slowly reached for it with one blood soaked hand.

So much blood! I thought, tryin' not to panic.

"Turn around and look at me, the old man said. "I'm gonna enjoy makin' you suffer! Ha ha ha ha!"

Please, I prayed. Give me speed.

I whirled as fast as I could, dropping to the deck on my back, my six gun blazing away at the old man.

I saw his gun blaze a look of surprise on his face a bullet hit my left shoulder, ripping through the flesh and hitting bone. I ignored the searing pain and kept on shooting until I emptied my gun.

The old man fell backwards and dropped his gun before crashing to the deck.
I scrambled to grab his gun and aimed it at his head.

"Damn you!" He spit. "Go ahead, finish me off. But I'll be back, as many times as it takes. Then I'll be the one killin' you. I'll be the head honcho, numero un...!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Shut up," I said, quickly turning back to Annie.

My shoulder burned in protest but I wouldn't let that stop me.

"You're hurt," Annie said as I worked to stop her bleeding.

"It's nothin'," I said, fightin' through the pain.

Please! Please don't let her die God! I prayed.
So much blood...

Annie's breathing became labored, and she couldn't seem to catch her breath or get enough air.
Her lung! I thought. She has a sucking chest wound.

I fumbled for my cigarettes.

"Those things will kill you, y'know?" Patti managed to say before coughing, her gasps growing louder.

Fear etched her face as she rwalized she could no longer breath. Then a peace seemed to enter her eyes as she gazed into mine.
She even...smiled. And she melted my heart...again.

I quickly got the cellophne wrapper off my pack of smokes and placed it firmly over her chest wound. Nothin' seemed to happen.

"C'mon! Breath! Breath, Annie!" I shouted in a loud whisper.

Annie took in a loud breath and coughed up some blood but she was breathing again. Tears welled in her eyes and she smiled again.
She tried to hug me but she was too weak.

"Bartender! Bartender! We need some help!" I shouted.

Annie will be fine," he said. suddenly there, kneeling down to touch her forehead.

"Hey, that's my job," another man said.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist," Bartender said.

"You always did have a flare for the dramatic," the stranger said.

Where did he come from? I wondered. Who is he?

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Why, I'm Annie's Guardian," he replied, looking offended that I had asked.

"Guardian?" I repeated.

"Yeah, Guardian. You know, as in Guardian Angel. Sheesh! Don't you read your Bible?" He asked.

"Seriously? That's so cool!" I replied. "That means you..." I began to say to bartender.

"Yep. I'm your Guardian. And I gotta say, you keep me very busy. Raziel, at your service," he said.

"Haniel...at HER service," the other angel said, smiling.

"Angels? I love angels," Annie said, sitting up and smiling.
"Thank you," Annie said.

"You're welcome dear one," Haniel said in a gentle voice.

"Are you going to heal Ben?" Annie aske, seeing that I was in pain.

"Nope," Raziel replied. "And please, don't ask me why. We haven't got much time. Ben, you must find the salt mind."

"Salt mine?" I asked, puzzled.

"Mind! Although you do gotta mine in a mine within your mind," Raziel said.

"Won't you be mine?" Sang Annie.

Huh? I wondered, not for the last time.

"What is this, a musical?" I asked.

Haniel and Annie laughed. Raziel tried to smile, finally finding success on his third try.

"So...since you can't heal me can you at least get me somethin' to get all this blood off my hands?" I asked.

"Of course," Raziel said, throwing me a hand towel.

"Thanks," I said. "Salt mind eh? What do you mean, Raziel?"

Raziel stood up. I didn't realize before how tall he was! He towered over me and was a formidable sight to behold!

"Here! In here!" Raziel said, poking my forehead. "That is where the salt mind lies. You must find it before you can go any further."

"Okay, but can't you give me a hint or somethin'?" I asked.

"I just did!" Raziel replied, somewhat exasperated, it seemed to me.

I guess If I was my Guardian Angel I would be exasperated too, I thought. To say the least.

"If salt loses it's flavor what is it good for?" Haniel asked.

"Good line," Raziel said, glancing a Haniel.

"Wait, you're talkin' about spiritual salt, right?" I asked, feelin' I was onto something.

"No we're talking about Morton salt. Of course we are talking about spiritual salt. Are you paying attention? No. Don't answer that," Raziel said, composing himself.

"Why are you so upset mister Raziel?" Annie asked.

"Because of that," Haniel said, pointing to the old man and mind parasites. "You let them gain power over you. You created them. And there's more. This is why you must go to your salt mind."

I bowed my head in shame. He was right. I have a lot of work to do, I thought.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I know I put you through a lot of grief, Raziel."

"Ahh, it's nothing. Don't let it happen again," Raziel said gruffly.

Wasting Away Again In Miserytaville

2010-07-09T04:29:00.000-07:00

I don't know how long I wandered, lost in the fog, or at least a fog of battle.
A battle for my sanity. A battle that felt like the hordes of hell itself had pitted itself agin me.

The enemy was coming, wave after wave, and I was scramblin' to find some more ammo. My body was writin' checks my adrenaline could no longer cash.
Mostly because I was plumb outta arenaline. I passed battle weary so long ago I could no longer remember with any degree of clarity what it was like to not be attacked.

Back to a time of blissful peace, whence I had no idea that the endless (or seemingly endless, as I'm sure there is an end, although I can't yet see it) ranks of pain n' misery were amassing just beyond my horrorizon, all with one goal in mind...MY mind: destroy Ben at any cost.

No, they ain't defeated me yet, but I have no idea how long I can endure this onslaught.
Each step is torturous, every movement burns as my muscles protest loudly, "hell no, we won't go!"
I make 'em go anyway, 'cause I know I can't afford to lose this battle. But even my will is gettin' weary.

Pain n' misery are patient. They know I'm slowin' down, and like a pack of hyenas they prowl my perimeter, sendin' in their lackey's to use up what little energy I have left and no doubt tellin' their commanders, despair n' hopelessness, the battle is almost won.

I curse under my breath at those hyenas from hell, and at the same time I pray for grace...His grace.
Where are my reinforcements Father?

Over there...I see a fifty caliber machine gun, all set up and ready to go. I run for it, my six guns blazin'.
Before I get there a heavy fog closes in, until visibilty is zero.

Damnit! What now?

As quietly as I can I reload my six guns. I can hear the enemy searchin' for me. Growlin'. Sniffin'.

Up ahead in the distance I see...a sign? What the hell?

Now there's somethin' you don't see everyday. Wel hell, might as well check it out.

I entered the bar, more like a dive, really. It was dark n' smoky inside. There was a few burly customers sittin' at the bar, an old man, and a few younger fellas playin' pool at the lone pool table.

I sat down on the bar stool. Man it feels good to take a load off!

"What'll it be?" The bartender asked.

Hmm, he looks familiar, but I can't place his face to a name.

"Somethin' cold n' wet," I replied.

"I have just the thing," he said, laughin'.

Why is he laughin'? I wondered.

The laughter wasn't malicious at all, but it felt...out of place.

"That's a...." I began to say.

"Yep. A miseryta," Mister Bartender said, smilin'.

"Doncha mean a margarita?" I asked.

"Nope. Ya see, it seems someone lost the shaker of salt," he said.

"I...see," I replied, not really seeing at all.

I tasted the frozen concoction and it was a bit on the bitter side.
Not too bad, but it definitely needed some salt.
All of a sudden I realized I needed some salt in a bad way. My body cried out for it and my taste buds demanded it!

"So, where was the salt last seen?" I asked.

"Hell...if I know," the Bartender replied, snickering.

"What, so you don't know?" I asked, puzzled.

The bartender smiled and shrugged.

Great, I thought, lightin' up a smoke.

"Those will kill you," the burly guy to my right said.

"When?" I asked.

The bartender and Old Man laughed. The other customers simply stared at me.

"You look like you been in a war," the Bartender said, gazing at me.

"Yeah. The war that time forgot," I replied.

"Poetic," he said, nodding.

"Funny," the Old Man said.

"Weird," the burly guy to my right said.

"Yeah," I said, takin' a drag from my smoke.

A restroom door opened and a gorgeous dame entered the dive. Everyone, includin' me stared at her as she walked slowly to the bar, hips swayin', long dark hair flowin'.
She was wearin' a black dress...short, but not too short. Short enough I mused, pryin' my eyes away from her alabaster legs (and her chest, and her face...actually, her entire body).

Don't be rude, I thought, lookin' down at my drink.

"May I sit here?"

I practically jumped outta my seat as she whispered in my ear and touched my arm!
Her touch and her voice was like a bolt of lightnin', but not the hurtin' kind.

"Huh? Wha?" I sputtered, quickly rising to my feet.

"No, no. Please, don't get up on my account. I just want to know if this seat is taken," she said, again, lightly touching my arm.

"Um...a...yeah, yes, of course!" I exclaimed, forgetting how to talk.

I attempted to pull the bar stool back until it dawned on me it was attached to the deck.
I could feel my face turnin' red as I took a few steps back.

"Thank you," she said, extending her delicate right hand in a very feminine way. "Mister?"

"Oh, um, Ben. I'm Ben," I said, taking her hand and shaking it slightly.

"I like that name. I'm Annie," she replied.

Reluctantly I let her hand go, but she held on a noticeable second longer and smiled.

"Annie is a good name," I said.

I can get lost in that smile, I thought.

"Look, here it is," the old man to my left said, joltin' me out of my trance, holdin' up a shaker of salt.

"Thanks," I said, getting up to go get it.

Out of the corner of my eye the bartender shook his head. What's his problem?

"Whoa whoa!" The old man exclaimed, pullin' the shaker back as if to protect it. "What'll you give me for it?"

"What?" I answered.

"What's it worth to you sonny?" The old man asked, grinnin' from ear to ear.

"You want me to pay for it?" I asked, tryin' to make sense of the guy.

"Boy, you catch on fast, doncha?" The old man said, his eyes flashin'.

"Okay, what do you want for it?" I asked, playin' along.

"You think I'm playing?" The old man asked, his smile turnin' into a snarl. "'Cause I ain't playin'!"

"Oookaayy," I said, slowly, confused. What's this guy's angle?

"Tell me about the war that time forgot...tell me the details, and then we can talk salt," the Old Man said dramatically.

"Why don't you leave him alone!" Annie shouted, walking over next to me.

"It's up to him," the Bartender said, waving a finger at Annie.

"But he doesn't know," Annie replied.

"Don't matter," the Bartender said shaking his head. "Do not overstep your bounds," he warned.

Annie started to say something but stopped herself, then she closed her eyes.

What in the world? I wondered, looking at her.

Time stood still, as everyone waited for my answer. All eyes were on me. Except for Annie's which were closed.

"Some people claim that there's a woman to blame, but I know, it's my own damn fault."

The juke box blared.

Fitting song, I thought, as I searched my soul.

The Edge Of An Edge

2010-06-21T03:15:00.000-07:00

Anytime I stop taking pain meds it goes without sayin' the pain gets worse.
So why am I sayin' it? Well, I needed a place to start and this is a good lead-in to where I'm goin' (as far as I know, that is).

The funny thing is, everytime I begin to take pain meds again I always think it will work better at reducing pain than it does.
It's as if there is some sort of memory lapse in that regard which strikes me as odd.

No pain med takes all the pain away. Okay, there was one period for about two weeks, back when I was on my death bed under hospice care whence, as far as medical science goes, I was expected to die.
Shoot, I expected to die also.
However, contrary to medical science and all appearances to myself and anyone who saw me not only did I not die but I also got better.

Anyhow, when death was imminent I got to take a drug called oxycontin. THAT stuff took all the pain away. Unfortunately, you hafta be goin' through that door from life to death to even have a remote chance of gettin' any of the good stuff from the VA because oxycontin is highly addictive.

Yeah, I know. Doc and I used to laugh about that idiotic policy.
I mean, here I am, terminally ill and Big Brother is worried about me gettin addicted to a pain med that actually works without makin' me drowsy or nauseated.
I didn't even feel high off of it, but I did feel good 'cause there was no pain.
Nope. Can't have that. Apparently, Big Brother feels better knowing I'm in excruciating pain because at least there's no chance I'll get addicted to oxycontin.

Well, as you guys all know, I got better and better, thank God. And very soon after the hospice care ended (and a complaint was filed by a grimmer than normal Grim Reaper) the VA admin pukes told my Doc to stop the oxycontin.

Subsequently, it didn't matter that I didn't go throught any DT's or have any adverse reaction (other than the aforementioned excrutiating pain), proving I wasn't addicted to oxycontin, Big Brother had spoken (thus let it be written, thus let it be done...idiots).

Nor did my past behavior regarding pain meds matter. More often than not I haven't (and don't) take them for any long periods, and only as needed, often stopping for weeks, months, even as much as a few years as a time. Hardly the behavior of a narcotics addict.

But even if I (or anyone else who is terminable) did get addicted to the point where the harm exceeded the benefits, it wouldn't take long for Doc (or any competent doctor) to notice.

The folks who have been clamoring for Obamacare can expect the same (or worse) type of "care."

One thing about govt. bureaurats you can usually count on: they can care less about how much pain you are in, and for the few that do empathise with you they are bound by red tape. And for the even fewer govt. workers who ignore the red tape? You can bet they won't last long.
Besides, how many decent folks do you know who are career bureaurats? They are almost as rare as conservative democrats which are now extinct.

However, there is some good news regardless of (or in spite of) idiotic govt. regulations decided by people who don't give a fig about me or you let alone actually serving us (public service? More like public unions in service of themselves at our expense).

Those thugs can't decide what sort of attitude I'll have. They can't force me to be bitter (like most of them are).
They can't regulate my heart or my spirit. They can never stop me from being thankful for my life, liberty and joy (no matter how much they try to control and diminish it). And they certainly can't prevent me from seeking (and telling) the truth (although they will definitely try).

Lately, I have been taking morphine, and as I mentioned, it doesn't take all my pain away. Not much at all at the low dose I take.
But it does take the edge off, and that's the edge I need.

Be that as it may, EVEN if some political puke (usually of the donkey or ass pursuasion) decides morphine, vicodin, or any other pain med is "too addictive" for me (who can't sue the VA anyhow) I'll still have the edge I need!

Much to their dismay they'll never be able to regulate that edge.
It's as sharp as it's ever been and it'll cut me as quick and as deep as it cuts the scum that try to dull that edge or outlaw it.

Thing is, I seek those cuts, because they make me whole, and they heal, whereas those cuts are like holy water to a vampire for bloodsucking leftists.

Aye, the edge I'm talkin' about is the edge of the Sword of Truth (which has two edges for double the fun). :^)

Monitor Bruhaha

2010-06-12T09:33:00.000-07:00

There I was a few weeks ago, preparing to do what I do when:

Suddenly...I'm not half the man I uused to beee...there's a shadow hangin' ooover meee...

Okay, not really. My monitor started blinkin'. Seriously. Off, on, off, on, off..on..off...on, off....until it blinked it's last blink and kaputed. Monitored for a jest cause.

A moment of silence please.

Ahem. Yes, monitor's untimely death was sad, tragic even. After a time of mourning accompanied by colorful adjectives and an unsuccessful attempt at CPR, "live dammit! Liiive!," but my superhuman efforts to revive monitor were in vain so my lovely wife Patti pronounced the TOD (time of death).

Wow! She looked beautiful, radiant and, well, hot!
I imagined what she would look like in a nurses uniform or doctor smock. This mitigated my grief considerably.

"You want me to wear what?"

Unfortunately, Patti didn't share my desire to mitigate my grief further at that time which added to my grief.

Woe, woe is me. Gonna sing the blues...in silence.

However, Patti did order a new monitor and it arrived today. And it actually works!

Ohhh, what a lucky man he iis.

Jest not THAT lucky. But don't get me wrong, I'm grateful. Thank God we could spring for a new monitor. It's very nice, and I like it.

I'm back in the proverbal saddle again.

Incidently, does anyone know how to photoshop pics? Hypothetically speaking, with a nurses uniform? Hypothetically.

Never Negotiate Our Liberty Away

2010-05-31T04:57:00.000-07:00

"Instead of being a party of 'no' the Republicans should negotiate with the Democrats."

"I just want to see all of our representatives, both democrats and republicans working together and doing their jobs."

"What the people really want to see is republicans and democrats hammering out their differences, negotiating and getting bills passed. That's what Congress is supposed to do."

I hear a lot of that kind of talk from pundits, the MSM (in general), politicians (mostly democrats but a few republicans as well), activists, some CEO's and even the occasional "man on the street" interview.

Sounds almost noble gettin' stuff done and all. But what kind of "stuff" would that be?
The stuff nightmares are made of that's what.

Stuff that runs on envy and causes divisions among us as a result.
Stuff that erodes and outright takes away our liberties, pursuit of happiness (property), and yes, even life.

Stuff that steals a persons livelyhood with the blessings of the State.

Stuff that coerces and forces Americans to do what the State tells them to do based on crank "science" or just plain in your face nannyism (fascism, totalitarianism, socialism, Obamunism, etc.) be it "green" energy, government bailouts (takeovers) or Obama"care" to name just a few.

Stuff that creates and gives more power to more 'rats (FCC, Czars, Comittees, etc.). The power to tell us Americans (and American businesses) what we can and cannot say, or do without representation.

Stuff that ignores our rights and our Constitution.

Stuff that uses our public schools and our great military as places to conduct social experiments that are detrimental to the mission of each.

Stuff that increases taxes often disguised by using other words such as various fees, "value" added tax, etc.

Stuff that increases prices by forcing businesses to incorporate draconian regulations overseen by (you guessed it) more 'rats.

Stuff that hurts and decreases jobs in the private sector.

Stuff that elevates "empathatic" judges over judges who seek justice.

Stuff that weakens national security and endangers our men and women in the military not to mention every American citizen at broad or here at home.

Stuff designed to help the Obamorg collective and hurt individual liberty.

Stuff designed to transform America from a bastion of liberty, a shining city on the hill to a dark ghetto of chain gangs.
And no matter what gang you may choose (if you decide to embrace these "burgeois ideals" democrats love so much) make no mistake, you will be wearing chains on that plantation.

I could go on and on with all the stuff these slimy politicians wanna "negotiate" over, but this covers the worst of it.

Do most Americans really want our representatives (and a growing army of non-representatives) negotiating for all this stuff?

Afterall, any sucessful negotiation only helps the democrats fulfill their agenda to do all this stuff to us, rather it be in little chunks or big chunks.

Should we thank politicians who negotiated for less oppression?
Ain't it still oppression?
Don't matter to me if it's to a lesser degree, BS is still BS regardless of the size of the pile our politicians want us to step in.
No thanks, either grow a pair and stand against anything that destroys our liberties or get the hell out.

This is why I want a GOP that not only is a party of "no" but a party of "hell no!"
Ideally I want the Democrats to do that too, but so far the mythical "Blue Dogs" appear to be extinct or retired (where are the Zell Millers?).

Anyway, let's take that further, I want my representatives to go one step further than "no" and also repeal all this crap the demorats have managed to force on us.
Every. Last. Turd!

Forget mad scientists, these politicians who wanna negotiate for this "stuff" are far more mad and far more scary because they wanna take what makes the United States of America unique away from us, and drive us into the bog of eternal stench. Slavery of every stripe stinks to high heaven and that's what this "stuff" is, the chains of slavery.

Oh that may not be their intent, but regardless of how good their intentions are that will be the result if they succeed. Even a novice of history like me can see that clearly.

The democrat agenda (ie the stuff they wanna do to us) is a cancer, a tumor inside our country. A Demotumor.
The bad news is it's growing and without treatment it's terminal.

My friends and fellow patriots, our United States is in great need of Demotherapy.

Yeah, it will hurt but it won't kill us like the Demotumor will, and we'll all feel much better after the treatments are over.
Thing is, it takes all of us to make the treatments work because this Demotumor is a particulary nasty strain.
The truth is like an antidieotic to this evil virus and we must all get innoculated with the truth.

At it's heart the Demotumor is envy. It produces a virulent bitterness in those it infects and a deep, dark hatred for anyone who loves liberty or who has more than they do.

It produces the same jealous mindset Cain had, and we all know how that turned out.

Thankfully, unlike Abel, we can see Cain coming, so we can prepare ourselves accordingly and prevent that ambush.

Our Soldiers, Sailors, Marines, Airmen, and Coast Guard is doin' their jobs, above and beyond the call of duty, to protect and defend our lives, liberties and property from outside cancers such as terrorists and a resurgent communism.

We can honor their sacrifices by having their backs and fightin' the enemies of life n' liberty here at home so that they have a home to come back to.
Certainly that's the very least we can do for our Heroes.

Our men and women of honor don't negotiate with their enemies and neither should we.

Let's all raise a glass in honor of those brave Heroes who loved us and our country so much they died for us and everything America represents.
It need not be alcoholic, it's the thought that counts. Skully can drink enough for all of us combined.

And let's say a prayer for their loved one's, their families and friends and ask God's blessings on them, and on our men and women risking their lives everyday so that we may enjoy life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

May we all work to keep America great and exceptional, humbly holding self evident truth's in our hearts and boldly proclaiming the ideals and principles of liberty our Founding Fathers fought and died for, and that our military men and women have fought and died for ever since.

May we honor them and their memories this Memorial Day and every day.

Have a blessed Memorial Day.

You Shout And No One Seems To Hear

2010-05-09T03:57:00.000-07:00

Grueling. It's been a grueling week for me.

I have loaded and unloaded our van twice, taking stuff we no longer need to Visiting Nurses. There was a LOT of yarn since patti can no longer crochet or knit due to carpal tunnel in both hands and arthritis.
I feel bad for her 'cause she really enjoyed makin' baby clothes n' stuff. Unfortunately, surgery to fix the carpal tunnel is at least two or three years away (welcome to socialized healthcare).

Speakin' of healthcare, I got some morphine a few weeks ago. I rarely take pain pills, but sometimes I gotta if I wanna do anything other than lie down in agony and try to focus on good stuff rather than pain, or, if I'm feelin' adventurous, exploring the metaphysics of pain, but that's a post for another time.

Only, there was a slight problem. I failed to count the pills at the VA and soon discovered there was only a weeks supply. Since I signed for them there is no way to prove it.
Agony was delighted to see me after the pills were gone.

This made the past week much more...interesting.

You might say i have been in a state where I let out a "silent scream" but no one hears that scream.
No one but Him, of course.

But what do I say to Him? "Please God, don't hurt me no more?"

Well, it ain't God hurtin' me, I know that much, but I laughed my ass off at the phrase when I read it a long time ago. I dunno where I read it but it stuck with me as funny stuff tends to do.

Lessee, what else did I do? Oh yeah, I helped Patti take all the food off the shelves and move them, followed by cleaning up under and behind them (it wasn't purty I tell you what), and then restocked the shelves minus a few cans of stuff that expired a long time ago.

While I was cleaning I wondered how easy it is to catch hantavirus from mouse turds. It's not the first time I wondered that very question.
Now, I have cleaned up mouse turds before, including several dead mice caught in our mouse traps.
Country livin' practically guarantees you'll get mice unless you live in a hermetically sealed house.

All you can do is try to keep up and kill as many of the little rat bastards as you can. I often think of the slimy politicians we have while performing this task, particularly the scum that our raise taxes and take my liberties away.
Incidently, they love Skippy's peanut butter. The mice, although politicians prolly do too. A dab will do ya.

I also had some garbage to take to the dump, and more this following week since Patti is on a spring cleanin' roll.

Personally, I think spring cleanin' is overrated.
I mean, I don't feel better havin' done all this. Not physically anyway, and I admit that clouds my judgement somewhat.
Yeah. It does.

Sheesh! So what am I blatherin' about?

I'm tryin' to 'splain what I'm talkin' about through my last post and the next. This one too, I reckon, but the last post and next one involves my dreams and my unconcious mind (at least the part I have been in touch with).

Hey, I know I ain't alone and I also know that you guys do hear, and prolly have had yer own silent screams runnin' around in yer noggin's.

I hear ya.

BTW, the movie: Silent Rage, starring Chuck Norris and the late Ron Silver is one of my favorite flicks. If you get a chance you won't be disappointed.
It's a deep but very emtertaining flick IMO and perhaps the best movie Chuck Norris ever starred in.

Update:
Every muscle, every nerve I got, it seems, has been screamin'.
Pain is an cruel mistress.
I often reach a point where I think "ENOUGH! I can't take any more!"

I'm certain y'all know what I'm talkin' about here. That's a lonely place to be and quite frankly, it sucks.

But those points can be THE POINT! The point in time where you do a gut check and...hopefully, choose to FIGHT!!!
That's a place beyond endurance, beyond strength, and beyond all that you think you can be.

A place where you BEcome mOre than you are!!!

Victim Of Lust? Part 3

2010-04-21T05:13:00.000-07:00

I always would laugh at Wile E. Coyote when he would run off a cliff while chasing the Roadrunner. The Coyote would be suspended in mid air, defying gravity, until he realized where he was, often raising a sign that said something like "help" before gravity would suddenly work again, punctuated by a little "poof!" in a donut shaped cloud of dust when he came crashing to the ground.

I always thought that was impossible but it was fun to watch, especially since the Coyote never died. Personally, I always liked the cut of Coyotes jib.
I mean, he never quit tryin', no matter how many times he failed, which was every time.
Usually, he failed due to lack of insight, i.e. not thinkin' about the possible consequences of his seemingly brilliant plans.

Much like those stinkin' hippies who prefer Socialism over Liberty, I thought. Except Wile E. didn't try to force everyone else to try his plans.

Other times it was equipment failure, or a malfunction, which made me wonder why the Coyote kept ordering stuff from Acme.

Yeah, I often find that there's a shipload of wisdom in Looney Tunes if you know where to look. Looney Tunes philosophy I reckon you could call it.
If anything it was a helluva lot more entertaining than Sesame Street or some other crappy politically correct show tryin' to brainwash kids with useless dreck, or worse, harmful dreck.

I was thinkin' of this when my sweaty arm slipped from Rick's grasp after a gust of wind threw him off balance, it felt like I was suspended in mid air. Just like the Coyote! Except I didn't have a sign sayin' "oh sh*t!" to hold up. And I was purty sure there wasn't gonna be a humorous "poof!" donut cloud to accentuate this particular scene.

This is gonna hurt, I thought, as the wind furiously swirled and dug at me, it's roar hurting my ears.

F*ck you, I thought in defiance of the wind that, at that moment, seemed to embody the very essence of evil I had always hated.

I thought of God. God, please help me, I muttered. I didn't expect His help but I asked anyway. I was ashamed to ask, but I didn't hesitate to do so.
Almost at the same time I asked for His forgiveness.
Probably just coverin' my bases but I did wanna be sincere.

I flailed my arms tryin' to find somethin' to grab ahold of, but so far all I could grab was a wholelotta nothin'.
I was completely helpless. The thing I most feared. Not fallin', not even bein' blind, but bein' completely helpless.

Now I could finally feel gravity pullin' on me...beckoning me to my decktiny. Cold, hard, steel!

Whatcha gonna do now, tough guy? You can't fight this. I wasn't sure if that was my thoughts, 'cause I was determined to die tryin' to live!
Perhaps I was just kiddin' myself and it meant absolutely nothin', but I didn't care. It was better than giving in to complete helplessness and utter despair.

Call me a fool but I hadta believe there was a Hope that meant infinitely more than whether I lived or died.
Somehow that was reassuring, even though it made little sense.

I found myself, amazed that I could think of all this in what must've been a fraction of a second. I was more amazed I could feel with certainty a living Hope, alive! within me.

As the wind roared in victory, mocking me, I felt a tremendous tug. Suddenly, I was moving horizontally! Was the wind tryin' to bash me into the mast for good measure? I wondered.

Then I landed. But instead of cold, hard, steel I landed on somethin' much softer.

What the hell? I wondered.

"Oof!!" I heard Rick say, feeling his breath on my face.

I could barely make out Rick's face, and I realized I was on top of him.

"Rick!" I shouted. A laugh escaping my lips.

"Rick!" I shouted again.

"Hey pal," Rick said weakly, tryin' to catch his breath.

Rick was a bit on the pudgy side, and always called himself fat, but he was only around 20 pounds over weight, and much stronger and faster than he appeared. He was also an adept martial artist, although he was too humble to ever brag about it.

"Oh man! I thought I had a one way ticket to steelville!" I exclaimed. "Thanks Rick!"

"Yeah, no sweat," Rick grunted weakly. "How's your eyes?"

I rubbed my eyes with my hands and began to see better, although not yet in focus.

"Much better. Still some haze gray and rust in 'em, but I can see well enough," I said.

"Good. Good. Do you think you can get off me now?" Rick asked, tryin' to breathe.

"Hey! What are you guys doing up there?" I heard someone shouting.

I looked down but I couldn't quite make out who it was. I could tell he was wearin' khaki's, and then I could place his voice.

"Sh*t! It's Lt. Goebbel, I think," I whispered to Rick.

"Great," Rick said. "That's just great."

I grabbed the mast and slowly stood up on precarious footing, since there was only a few inches of platform to stand on. My eyes were still too blurry to see where to clasp my safety line from the harness so I just clung onto the mast.

"Sorry Rick, I can't see well enough to go any farther," I said.

"Okay, don't move," Rick replied, dragging himself away from me so he could stand up and reclasp his safety line.

Soon he reached me and reclasped my line.

"How did you save me, Rick?" I asked, ignoring the LT's shouts for the moment.

"When your arm slipped out I grabbed your belt and fell backwards,"
Rick replied. "Actually, I think I tripped," he added.

"Let's go with the first version," I said, laughing.

"Sounds good to me," Rick said, laughing.

"Be there in a minute, sir!" Rick shouted to Lt. Goebbel.

"Can you see well enough to get down?" Rick asked.

"No, but if you can bring me some water I think I can get more of this crap outta my eyes," I replied.

Now that the excitement was fading, my eyes burned like hell and my tears were gushing out.

"Okay, be back in a jiff. Don't move, okay?" Rick said.

"Trust me, i ain't goin' anywhere," I said, rubbing my eyes again.

"Rick?" I asked as he was about to descend.

"Yeah?" Rick replied.

"Thanks, I...I...th-thanks," I said, tryin' not to choke but failing miserably.

"Anytime, Ben. You would do the same for me," Rick said, patting me on the back.

"I'm waiting for an explanation!" Lt. Goebbel shouted.

"What a dick!" Rick said.

"F*ckin' a!" I replied. "What are you gonna tell him?" I asked, composing myself.

"That we're in love," Rick said, laughing.

I laughed for a long time at that.

Later, Rick returned with some water. By this time, most of the paint was out of my eyes, which had turned blood red from all the irritation.

"Damn, you look creepy with those bloody eyes," Rick said. "It's kind of cool though."

"Thanks, unfortunately I got nothin' that goes with them," I replied, smiling. "Can I borrow your cape?"

"Sure thing, and you'll need some fangs," Rick replied, laughing.

"I'm sure Lt. Goebbel has an extra pair," I said, laughing.

"I bet!" Rick said, laughing. "You know, I told him the wind knocked us down but I don't think he believed me," he added.

"Hey! Ben! Rick!" Someone shouted.

I looked down and most of the blurriness was gone. It was Tom. Tom worked with us in the same division, but he was an OS3, a petty officer third class, so he didn't do as much of the dirty work as we did.

"What!?" Rick shouted back.

"Chief wants to see you guys!" Tom shouted. "He said, yesterday!"

"Sh*t!" I said, at the same time Rick did.

"Okay! We're on our way!" Rick shouted.

"F*ckin' Goebbel," I grumbled.

"He's got some serious issues," Rick said.

We hustled to Combat and found Chief sittin' at his desk. We both approached and stood on the opposite side of his desk.
There was five other guys from our division in Combat at the time and they all watched us intently, hoping to catch some juicy scuttlebutt.

"Have a seat," Chief said. "Alright, everybody out!" Chief ordered.

The other guys left, a look of disappointment etched on their faces.
Of course, this only heightened the suspense. Those guys knew somethin' was up and I knew Rick and me would be bombarded with questions later.

"Good Lord! What happened to you Conrad?" Chief asked, gettin' up and lookin' at my eyes.

"Seagull attack, Chief," I muttered.

Rick choked back a laugh, and turned beet red.

"Okay wiseguy, what really happened," Chief said, smiling.

"I was chippin' paint and the wind changed direction and blew it into my eyes," I replied.

"Did it occur to you that maybe, just maybe there is a reason you were issued goggles?" Chief asked.

"It does now," I replied.

Rick choked again and I almost lost it. Chief's face twitched but he maintained his composure.

"Okay, listen up you clowns, Lt. Goebbel tells me he saw you both in a..," Chief paused, shaking his head side to side, pondering what word to use. "Compromising position."

"We can explain!" Rick exclaimed.

"Please do," Chief replied, sitting back and lighting a cigar.

"The wind kicked up really hard and knocked us down," I said.

Rick nodded in agreement.

Chief puffed on his cigar and blew a few smoke rings, and stared straight into my eyes, then he stared at Rick.

"You," Chief said, pointing at Rick, "are not telling me everything. And you," Chief said, pointing at me, "well, I don't know. Your eyes are too f*ckin' red and you look ridiculous," Chief said, smiling.

"Now," Chief said, after a long, uncomfortable pause, "I'm certain you guys are not...playing for the other team, but don't bullsh*t me!" Chief shouted.

"Sorry Chief!" We both replied at the same time.

"I can explain, Chief," I said, looking at his cigar.

"I'm all ears," Chief replied. "And yes, you can smoke."

Rick and me nervously lit up a cigarette. After a long drag I decided to play it straight. In a manner of speaking.

I told Chief the whole story and how Rick saved my life.

"Rick deserves a medal, Chief," I added.

"I just did what anyone would do," Rick said. Chief, I told Lt. Goebbel the wind blew us down."

Chief looked at us both and blew more smoke rings. Then he drank some coffee from his mug and scowled.

"Damn it! What do I gotta do to get some decent java around here? Conrad, from now on you make the coffee. This ain't very good coffee by a longshot but at least you know how to make it."

"Aye aye, Chief!" I replied.

"Here," Chief said, handing us both a cigar. "Looks like you both can use one. Don't worry about the Lt. I'll handle him and nip this in the bud real quick."

"Thanks Chief!" Rick said.

"Thanks Chief!" I echoed.

"Now, please, after you finish those cigars get back to work and try not to act like the Three Stooges, okay?" Chief asked.
"Conrad, first go get those eyes checked out by the doc. That's not a request," Chief added.

"Can I finish the cigar first?" I asked.

"Why I oughtta...!" Chief exclaimed, shaking a fist and smiling.

After I Rick and I finished our cigars I went to sickbay and waited in line.

"What the hell happened to you?" A seaman in front of me asked.

I didn't know him but I recognized his face. He was one of the cooks.

"Seagull attack," I said matter of factly.

"No way! Really?" He asked.

"I sh*t you not. Seagull attacks are well documented," I said, ominously.

They attack women.

They have even been known to attack baseball players.

Seagulls are evil. EVIL!

"You see, I was workin' on the mast when it happened," I began.

Hey, what can I say? It was fun to start some scuttlebutt.

After a half hour wait I saw Doc, a first class corpsman.

"You the guy who was attacked by seagulls?" Doc asked, laughin'.

"Yep! It was hell!" I replied, as he shined a light into both my eyes.

"I told Peppers it was true," Doc said, still laughin'. "You should've seen his eyes."

"Thanks Doc," I said, laughing.

"What really happened?" Doc asked.

"I was workin' on the mast and the wind changed direction," I replied.

"Betcha wear goggles now," Doc said.

"And you'll win that bet," I replied.

"Let me flush out those eyes and you should be good to go," Doc said, flushing my eyes out.

"Try not to rub them, and use these drops," Doc said, handing me a bottle.

"Much obliged, Doc," I said.

"Do you want a light duty chit?" Doc asked.

"No. Why?" I asked.

"Glad to see you aren't a hypochondriac. Your eyes are going to burn, itch, and get blurry sometimes, so just be careful. Get back here if you have any problems at all. I mean it, don't mess around and put it off. I do want to see you in two days regardless, just to make sure everything is kosher," Doc said. "and watch out for those seagulls," he said, laughing.

After work I took a shower and got ready to hit my rack. I was beat.

As I was putting things away Carl showed up.

"Hurry up, man, we got a party to go to!" Carl exclaimed.

Sh*t, I thought. I had forgotten about it. I was about to tell Carl I wasn't up to it but he spoke first.

"Free beer and drinks," Carl said, perhaps sensing what I was gonna say.

"You had me at free beer," I said, quickly getting dressed.

This may sound like sacrilege, but sometimes free beer ain't worth it. This was one of them times.

Innermission

2010-04-19T00:22:00.000-07:00

Hi guys!

Sorry about the delay but I've been busy and I feel like this:

Which is frustratin' to say the least:

But if your gonna put a gun to my head:

Then I should have more free time the next few days, which means I can take a muscle relaxer and get some anything-but-serious storytellin' done.

Thank you for yer patience n' patronage. Skully will now pass out...well, not literally pass out...yet...but pass out as in give y'all a complimentary virtual grog. The good stuff! :^)

Victim Of Lust? Part Two

2010-04-12T02:33:00.000-07:00

I didn't see Carl for a few days after confiding in him. He had duty the following day and I had duty the day after that so I was kind of relieved.

Maybe, just maybe he was too drunk to remember what I told him, I thought.
The fact that no one was laughin' at me was a good sign, whether Carl remembered or not, I reasoned, tryin' to shake the feelin' of dread that had grown within me since that night.

I couldn't put my finger on why I had this feelin'. If Carl told everyone I was a virgin I was certain I would never hear the end of it. I would be the butt of every joke, ridiculed beyond comprehension, humiliated past all endurance.

So why the feelin' of dread? I wondered. Maybe I'm just gettin' paranoid, I thought, tryin to sweep this feelin' off the grid.
Unfortunately, it didn't budge. It mocked me, daring me to just try to compartmentalize it and forget about it.

Damn! I thought. It wasn't like me to get all worked up over speculations based on a feelin'. There was no evidence that Carl ratted me out. Besides, I'm purty sure he don't want me spillin' the Navy beans about him havin' only one ball.

Maybe it's somethin' else I'm uptight about, I mused. Maybe I'm just blamin' this feelin' on the only thing I could associate it with at the moment.
Whatever it was that was buggin' me, be it dread, impending doom, or all four horsemen of the apocalypse, I had to carry on. I couldn't ignore this, but at the same time I couldn't allow it to paralyze me.

I muttered a quick prayer, somethin' I seemed to be doin' a lot less of than I used to do. Guilt soon followed that thought.
I couldn't exactly articulate why I was prayin' less than I used to, or why my faith in God seemed to be dwindling.
However, I was acutely aware of it.

I had often pondered why this was. Nothin' seemed to be goin' my way. I couldn't catch a break. I couldn't do the job I was trained for. Instead, it was an endless stream of grinding and chipping paint and rust, and repainting. Cleaning the ship several times a day.
Every day, twelve hours a day, with a duty day every third day.

And duty days meant more, much more than just twelve hours of work. It also meant a four hour quarterdeck watch, and probably a four hour firewatch, and drills thrown in for good measure.

It all seemed unfair to me. Yeah, welcome to the real world, I thought, sarcastically. Where's God in all this? I wondered for the upteenth time. I'm sorry. It's not your fault.

I used to get angry at God, but that anger quickly turned inward.
Then I had a dark realization, or at least it seemed real at the time.
I didn't deserve God's love. Somehow, that made sense and I was no longer angry at Him. It explained why I could no longer feel His presence, and it explained all the unanswered prayers.
No, I was alone. I deserved to be alone. Hell, even I didn't like me.

After awhile I just tried to forget about it...about God...avoid thinkin' about spiritual stuff at all costs. It hurt too damn much. So I partied. I drank, then I drank some more. I worked hard and I played hard.
No, that's not it, I worked hard so I could play harder. That's what I lived for. Like that song Against The Wind: I was livin' to run and runnin' to live...never worried about pain...

Ah, f*ck it, I thought. I always get depressed when I think about this sh*t. All serious and meloncholy. F*ck that. Too much thinkin' just brings me down. Time to party!

And yet, even in this sorry state of mind (mindlessness actually) I somehow managed to keep my sense of humor. Which is a good thing because it kept me from falling off the edge, so to speak.
Good thing, too, because soon, I was gonna need all that humor and then some.

"Hey Ben! Whassup?"

"Hi Carl," I replied, gettin' ready to climb the mast for another grueling session of chipping paint and sanding...by hand.

More fun than a barrel of rabid monkeys, I thought.

"Not much. Thought I would climb the mast and hang around up there for awhile. There's a nice breeze up there," I repled.
"What are you up to?" I asked.

"Gotta repaint the signal bridge, if Bernie ever gets back with the paint. Hey, a friend of mine is having a party tonight, wanna go?" Carl asked.

"I dunno. I was thinkin' of shootin' some pool," I said.

Besides, I don't even know his friend, I thought, or where the nearest bus stop is or the times it runs.

"There'll be free beer," Carl said, with a gleam in his eyes.

"Okay you twisted my arm," I replied, laughin' as I took the bait, hook, line and sinker.

"Cool! I'll meet you in the compartment after work then," Carl said, sporting a mischievious smile.

I was about to ask Carl what he wasn't tellin' me when I spied our division officer headin' my way.

"I'll be there," I said. "I better get to climbing. Lt. Goebal is headin' this way. See ya later, Carl."

"Right on," Carl said with that sh*t eatin' grin still plastered on his ugly puss.

Somethin' was definitely up, I thought. Oh well, as long as there's free beer it didn't matter all that much.

I quickly climbed the mast until I got to the top. Then I got to the very edge of the wooden platform that was temporarily put in place and hooked up my safety harness.
My friend Rick was up there on the other side. We were both in the same division.

"Hiya Ben!" Rick said, a bit louder than usual because of the wind.

"'Sup Rick?" I replied.

"We are," Rick said, lookin' down. Rick wasn't a big fan of heights. He wasn't terrified, he just didn't like it.

As a kid I was always climbing trees, particularly douglas fir trees and I always climbed to the top. I loved heights. I had some close calls via broken branches too, but that didn't deter me from climbing.

When a branch did break I somehow I always caught another branch to keep me from decorating the forest floor with my remains.
I didn't look for that to happen. I mean, I wasn't some adrenaline junkie who purposely sought to fall for the thrill of it.
It scared the hell outta me whenever it happened. Just not enough to give up climbing.

But there was no branches here. If I had a mistep when the safety harness wasn't attached they would be scraping whatever would be left of me off a steel deck.

"This sure would be a bad time to have an earthquake," I said.

"Don't even say that!" Rick shouted over the wind which had gotten more blustery.

"Okay, I won't say it," I replied, laughing.

After awhile I noticed there was some areas of the mast I couldn't reach without unhooking my safety harness. I unhooked it, grabbed the arm and leaned out to chip the paint and rust.

"What the hell are you doin'?" Rick shouted.

"Chippin' paint!" I shouted back, the wind gusting so hard the paint chips flew right into my eyes.

"Damn it!" I shouted, virtually blind. "I can't see!"

"Don't even think about messing with me right now," Rick said.

The wind gusted again and I almost lost my grip.

"F*ck!" I shouted, tryin' to control the overwhelming sense of panic I felt rising up within me.

I gritted my teeth and tried to pull myself back but my grip was precarious so I stopped.

"Is there anyone down there Rick?" I asked, the wind ripping the words from my mouth before they could escape.

"What? Sh*t, you're serious! Hang on, Ben, I'm on my way!" Rick shouted.

"I said, is there anyone down there?!" I shouted as loud as I could.

"What? No! No one's there!" Rick shouted.

I dropped my hammer, freeing up that hand. But my position was so precarious it didn't help much. I felt for where I had been chipping, and found the arm. I gripped it as tight as I could stabilizing myself somewhat.

"Hold on Ben!" Rick shouted, getting closer.

"Good advice," I muttered, tryin' to wipe my eyes on my shoulder as the wind roared about me.

It seemed to take an hour for Rick to get near me, but it was only a few minutes.

"How are you holding up, Ben?" Rick asked.

"You ever notice these harnesses ride up yer ass?" I asked.

"Huh? Oh, yeah! Drives me nuts!" Rick replied, laughing.
"Crap! I can't reach you without unhooking my harness!" Rick said.

"Don't try it, Rick. Go get some help. I'll wait," I said.

"That won't make a difference. Someone still has to go out there to help you," Rick said.

I heard a click and I knew Rick had unhooked himself.

"Dammit Rick! Don't put yourself at risk!" I hollered, worried about him.
"I know! Go get one of those long hook thingy's the Bos'n Mates use."

I felt Rick's hand as he grabbed my arm in an iron grip.

"Okay, I gotcha," Rick said.

I thought about what to do next. If I simply let go I might throw Rick off balance.

"Okayyy...you can let go now!" Rick shouted. "Honest! Just relax. Don't pull or try to help me."

"I might throw you off balance," I said.

"I said I gotcha!" Rick replied. "Now let the f*ck go!"

"On three?" I asked.

"Good idea, on three. One! Two! Three!" Rick said.

It was really hard to let go when I couldn't see anything but I trusted Rick. He had never lied to me about anything.
I let go the hand that Rick had and pushed with the other hand and felt myself bein' pulled by Rick.

Then the wind decided to gust again. I sensed animosity from this wind. Like it was some kind of evil entity seeking to destroy me. I lost what little orientation I had and I heard Rick cursing.

"Damn it!" Rick shouted.

Now ain't this a kicker, I thought, lost in space.

Victim Of Lust? Part One

2010-03-31T03:13:00.000-07:00

Lust (no bun intended) will certainly cause pain but not the good kind. Not only can it be a major pain in the...um...ass (speakin' metaphorically of course, butt that's not to say this can't be a literal pain in the ass) butt it can have far reaching consequences in other areas, such as oh, say the mind (makin' you...or me, actually, a butthead) and spiritually speakin' (in my case it was both, but I wasn't immediately aware of the spiritual ramifications. Or maybe I was and I simply didn't recognize it at the time, attributing all the problems I had to the butthead variety. Yeah, that would be a more apt Benservation).

Butt seriously, before we go too far into that psycho-spiritual (a)hole, let's first get into the appropriate back story to get ya up to speed. Then you will be better equipped to judge if this is a timeless story full of drama with surprising plot twists and a cautionary tale chock full of wisdom for the unwary (and affirmation for those who have long ago passed the unwary stage in this regard), or whether I'm jest speakin' outta my ass. Although I should point out that one doesn't necessarily preclude the other.
Sea stories (and see stories) are kinda like that sometimes. So without further a doo (that's french for BS, I think) it is with great anticipation (tempered by a great trepidation) I present the backstory (and inevitable frontstory) you, my valued readers (well, Sal anyway) demanded. Because here at OCAS we aim to please or you get double your money back. You can bank on it, but hurry up, before all the banks are Obamatized.

Note to my lovely wife Patti, should she happen to read this: This occurred several several months before we met.

Linda and I took a taxi to her apartment and it didn't take long before my stuttering problem vanished. Then again, for the rest of the night there wasn't much talkin' to be done.

The next morning I found that I could now talk more easily to Linda. For the most part.
She was no longer so scary and I could relax.

"Wow, you sure have a lot of energy! Must have been awhile, huh?" Linda asked as we showered.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," I replied, laughing.

Actually, I had only slept with one other woman before meeting Linda and that was a one night stand. Not because I didn't wanna see the lady again, but because she was, unbeknownst to me at the time, already in a relationship, although at the time her boyfriend was enroute from a westpac cruise. He arrived a few days later, according to a mutual "friend."

I was kinda shocked, but not devastated by the news. We were both drunk, having met at a party through our mutual "friend" (which is another story), and I had to work the following day, so we didn't really develop any bond, other than a physical one, and I never saw her again after that.

Still, I didn't appreciate the deception. Had I known about her boyfriend I would like to think I would've avoided that situation. However, wheneer I was three sheets to the wind I can't say for sure what I woulda done had I found out.

The other story? You really wanna know? C'mon, it's a sordid tale of a broken and idiotic trust. Kinda embarrassing too. Don't look at me like thatwith those puppy dog eyes. Aww, alright, but you asked for it! Fortunately it's a short story so we won't get too far off track.

You see, I had a painful secret, and it wasn't the kind of secret you just blurt out to anyone.
I joined the Navy at the ripe age of seventeen, and by the time eighteen had rolled around I was still...cough cough...a virgin. Hey, wipe that grin offa yer faces, happy hour is over (except for Skully, who seems to think it's always happy hour).

You can imagine how tightlipped I was about it at that time. If that got out in those days my life woulda been over! History! Kaput! Finisio del endo! Or so I imagined.

Sad to say I wasn't a virgin by choice waitin' for the right lady, although I was lookin' for the right lady, in all the wrong places. Nor for religious reasons, although it was easy to think so by default, but I realized I was foolin' myself with that kind of thinkin' before I joined the Navy.
It made for some dramatic angst through deep conflictions, that's for sure.

So why was I still a virgin? That's an easy one. I was very shy n' introverted. Especially around women folk. Dames scared the hell outta me and at the same time were so compelling I couldn't stop thinkin' about them.
I fell (literally!) for more than a few ladies during my teen years only to have my heart dashed to smithereens and any possible hope of romance crushed beyond recognition.

Yeah, my love life was like some kinda bleak, apocalyptic wrecking yard with a sign that said "abandon hope all ye who enter." But bein' the genius I am I ignored the sign time and time again, tryin' to impose my will on reality.
Because, afterall, THIS time I would kick that ball before Lucy pulled it outta the way. Poor little fool. Oh yeah. That was me.

I was the kind of guy dames liked to see as a protective brother, or at least the ones that didn't think I was a complete imbecile and would actually talk to me long enough to get past the stuttering and uncomfortable silences I was prone to have.
You know, I was the nice guy. So no chicks dug me as a boyfriend.

I avoided talkin' about dames with my shipmates, unless I was cornered, then I would lie, which wasn't too difficult since I had read a few playboy's in my time (I wasn't a total ignoranus).
I never liked talkin' about dames, at least not sexually...as objects. Not because I was a virgin, 'cause I still don't and won't. It's a respect thing. Chilvalry and all that. If it's lightheated I can tolerate it, I mean, I'm not a prude, I do notice female beauty, soul, mind n' body, but there is a line or boundary to that sort of talk and sometimes some guys cross it.

Personally, I think most guys who talk about that stuff mainly do it to be accepted, or to appear more manly or somethin' so it's not like they are total heels, although there are a few that are and actually enjoy taking that sort of talk to the gutters.
You know the type. The jerks who go that extra mile to degrade ladies.
Jerks like that really pissed me off and still do. Why there seemed to be so many dames enamored by punks like that is beyond me..

Anyhow, it was difficult to keep such a horrendous secret like this and it never occured to me to tell the Chaplain. Besides, what would I say?

"Um, hi Chaplain, how's it goin'?"

"Good, good, how are you Ben?" The Chaplain might reply (Chaplains like to be informal, I reckon because they would lose business if they insisted on strict, military protocal all the time).

"Well...I'm still a virgin, Father."

"I...see. It's good to save yourself for marriage to the right woman," Chaplain replies, smiling.

"Yeah, about that...the thing is I don't really wanna save myself. I mean, if the right woman appears that's great, but there seems to be a shortage."

"A shortage of right women? It may seem that way but how can you know?" Chaplain asks, a perplexed look forming on his face.

"Oh, I know, Father. I know," I reply with the certainty of a fool. A poor little fool.

"Yes, but perhaps it isn't the right time. You can't simply make love happen on your timetable. It's difficult to wait for the right woman, but it is worth it. The Lord knows your heart. Patience is a virtue and good things come to those who wait," Chaplain says.

The Lord knows my heart? Crap. I'm in deep kimchee!

"Um thanks Chaplain."

"Leaving already? We can talk more if you like," Chaplain says. "I got some books here that may help."

"Well I gotta get back to work..." I say, lookin' for a way out.

"Okay, I see. You are always welcome, of course. Anytime," Chaplain says.

This is awkward. What was I thinkin'?

"Thanks, Chaplain," I say, shaking hands and retreating at flank speed.

"May God watch over you," Chaplain says.

Great. Now I gotta get rid of that playboy, I think, feelin' guilty and lookin' up...nervously.

No, the Chaplain was outta the question. Plus I didn't know him. I met him when I first came aboard and I was sure he was a nice guy, but how could I explain all this to him? I wondered. Without dyin' of shame? Or a bolt of lightnin'?

So I decide to tell a friend. A drinkin' buddy called Carl. Carl was a Signalman. He worked in a different division than mine, but we were in the same department and I did see him occasionally since the Signal Bridge wasn't far from Combat (CIC, Combat Information Center) where I worked.

Of course, I was slightly inebriated when I did tell him, but Carl appeared to be a stand up kinda guy. He seemed to be trustworthy.
Carl was also inebriated. We were at the Enlisted Club and the timing just seemed right.

"Can you keep a secret?" Carl asked, takin' a swig of beer.

"My lips are sealed," I said, lighting up a smoke.

"I'm serious man, you can't tell anyone," Carl said, looking me straight in the eyes and leaning over the table.

"Seriously, my lips are sealed," I replied.

"I only got one ball," Carl said.

"What?" I replied, tryin' to make sense outta what I heard.

"Yeah, when I was eight my brother and me was playing with my dad's axe trying to chop some wood. I was sitting down watching my brother who is a year older than me, when he slipped. The axe lopped off one of my balls," Carl said. "I kid you not. Here, I'll show you," Carl said, gettin' ready to undo his pants.

"No!" I replied, loudly. "No, I believe you. Must've hurt like hell. Damn!"

"No sh*t it hurt like hell. Anyway, everything still works okay. You're the only one I ever told that to," Carl said.

"Well, thanks for trustin' me," I said.

I was unsure how to reply, actually. What could I say?

"Hey, you got any secrets Ben?" Carl asked. "You owe me one secret."

"Huh?" I replied, taken aback at the question.

I owe him a secret? What's that mean? I wondered.

"You know. I told you a secret now you recip...respit...respitrocate," Carl said, beginning to have problems with big words.

"Okaay..." I replied. "But you must not...ever...EVER repeat this. EVER!"

"Never!" Carl said. "Ever."

"I'm still a virgin," I said, barely audible.

"What?" Carl asked in disbelief.

"I'm NOT repeating it," I said.

"For real? You...you? Your a..." Carl replied.

"Yes!" I hissed, cutting him off and looking around to see if anyone heard.

I was beginning to think this was a bad idea.

I was right.

Did I say short story? Sorry! To be continued...

Northern Dog

2010-03-26T02:35:00.000-07:00

Hey guys, let's give a hearty welcome to the newest and very welcome addition to the RaccoonO'sphere:
Northern Dog, by Wolf

Wolf, as some of you guys might know, knew/knows our beloved Ximeze who has gone on ahead to that great den in Heaven we are all lookin' forward to.

Wolf is very creative and it's easy to see why Ximeze loves him. He's also our point Raccoon in Alaska, which is a purty big state to cover.

Welcome aboard Wolf! We're honored to have you in the den! :^)
Say hello to Beaky, Simon and the crew for us.

Rerridiculous Redux

2010-03-26T00:33:00.000-07:00

Damn. Jest when I thought it was safe to go back into the water...

Okay, here's the thing: Netzero was workin' good, and then...they committed bussinesside.

See, they decided to add hidden fees, effectively more than tripling the cost of their services.
And to add insult to thievery they charge $1.99 per minute to talk to their support staff. WTH?

Really? Youse guys think I'm just gonna accept that? It's like they were tryin' every which way they could to piss me off. Well, mission accomplished you insufferable twits!

So now what? My support staff (my lovely wife Patti) switched back to MSN, and encountered the same problems with McCaffee (ie couldn't get it to work on dial-up).
I told her as much, and dammit, I'm not hapy to be right about it.

This after many hours of fruitless downloading, phone calls to MSN hell, and every trick she could think of.

So now what? When faced with the proverbial catch-22 she did an end-around. IOW's she dropped McCaffee like God dropped Cain, did a bit of research and sent me to our local WalMart to buy another security app called AVG.
Costed $40.00 for two years of service for the disc.
Downloaded in about one hour...SUCCESSFULLY!!! And subsequent downloads of updates took about 4 hours.

Miraculously, it WORKS! And it's efficent! A complete computer scan on McCaffe took anywhere from 2-3 hours. AVG takes about 8 minutes...on dial-up. Downloads are fast. Even disc defrags are quick.
Seems AVG yakes customer service seriously, and best of all they do what they advertise! Now there's a concept any business that wants to grow and be successful should take to heart.
It's not a new concept, but, unfortunately, there are businesses out there like McCaffee and Netzero who decide not to implement this bit of valuable wisdom.

My apologies to MSN for mistakenly concluding that they were the problem.
That's not to say MSN ain't without problems, but as far as connecting and maintaining an internet connection, they are good enough.

Thank God we still got a semblance of competition in our economy, or I wouldn't be bloggin' right now or even be on the 'net.

So, I got a new e-mail addy. It's usnben@msn.com (also on my sidebar). It's good to be back my friends!
For awhile there I thought it was curtains for OCAS and the Benster commentin' on all yer magnificent sites.
I was depressed as hell, but hope sprang eternal as it always does and I passed through the dark night of the "so, you ain't got no connection to the innernet eh?"

Ridiculous? You bet (just like Obamaoscare). But I'm back, baby. I'm back. And I got an itchy typin' finger so don't you piss me off you envious n' bitter lefties.
Too late.

You know what gets under a lefties skin? Tell 'em their envious n' bitter and tell 'em why.
Ask them why they wanna steal your hard-earned money and God given liberty...and tell 'em why.

Hell, 9 times outta ten you won't get through to them 'cause they ain't ready to hear the truth.
Some are never ready to hear the truth, sadly.
But you can plant a seed and hope n' pray that some of them wake up and see how f*cked up they really are.

And despite the considerable damage Obamao and his lecherous cronies cause (and will attempt to add to) HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL!!!

As long as WE THE PEOPLE...WE THE PATRIOTS ARE STILL STANDIN'...there ain't no way in hell these punks are gonna get away with takin' our liberty and our children and grandchildrens liberty away.
Fight them with every ounce of energy you have and never give up!!!

Standby for mo' stories n' rants. Petty Officer Ben, over n' out. :^)

BTW, I heart AVG,

Paindemic

2010-02-22T21:01:00.000-08:00

It took me awhile, but I figured out the reason I have been sleeping so much is due to pain.
To say I have been in pain constantly for several years now is an understatement. It does nothing to convey how much pain that is, for one thing, let alone how relentless it feels.

I should note that it's not so much pain itself that causes me to wanna sleep more (if possible) but the energy it consumes.
Pain literally sucks your energy away, and that can be very debilitating and depressing.

Even though I am presently relatively healthy, the pain coursing through my veins is relentless.
Like a bad case of tinnitus it NEVER stops.
This ain't just physical, either, for there is no small degree of psychic pain that boils forth as a result.

I do realize, and have written about in the past, the benefits of pain; how it leads to revelations if you let it, and if you choose not to take the wide n' easy path of victimhood n' bitterness steeped in envy.

Indeed, those who choose the path of victimhood n' bitterness wouldn't have any idea what I mean when I say we should be grateful to God no matter how much pain we may endure.
Or how we can use our pain to help us realize, actualize and transcend on our quest for Truth, Beauty n' Goodness.

No, victimhood n' bitterness will allow dissent (or descent) but never ascent. It may garner pity but it will never permit joy. And what in the hell is pity good for? Absolutely nothin'.

And tell me, who looks forward to hangin' out with bitter folks? I avoid them like the plague if at all possible.
I sincerely hope n' pray that if I EVER begin to get bitter that you all slap me upside the head n' knock some sense back into me. I literally and figuratively mean that (so get yer seebats ready).

It's funny but there was a time, back in my prime, where I knew I was virtually invincible.
And a few times I was knock knock knockin' on Heaven's door (or purgatory).
Vibrant, full of life to an almost lifeless shell. And yet, at my most energetic I was often engaged in a war for my very soul in the depths of despair, while at my closest to death I found myself full of the highest Hope, and the gnoledge that my soul is in Good hands.

Aye. It's good to remember that there are far worse things than mere death, and there is nothin' much better than Life properly ealized (in regards to our Destiny), and all that it brings (Hope, Faith, Love, Truth, Nobility, Honor, Goodness, eauty, etc.)

In that light, I'm sorry to say it's still a bit depressing when I try to imagine what it was like to be pain free and have abundant energy. And it's not a little bit selfish, I reckon.
It wears on me to the point where it's very difficult to function. Good thing we have dogs to walk, or most days I would never get outta bed.

I can hear a voice sayin' "quit your bellyachin' and man up, dammit! Be grateful for what you can do, and be thankful in all things. Trust in your Father. He knows precisely what you feel so you are never alone."

And another voice smoothly sayin' "you ARE a victim. Why won't your God take that pain away? Doesn't He love you? Look at how UNFAIR it all is. You deserve better!"

So you see that although I have decided to never accept victimhood n' bitterness, the choice always remains. Of course, I gno I can't live with the choice of bitterness. I'm just sayin' all this so I don't get coicky or nothin'.

Ha! I forgot what my point is now. Perhaps I jest needed to write this to remind myself why I'm fightin' to begin with. Yeah. I need these reminders sometimes.
Thanks guys for all your prayers and...for bein' you. The best friends a guy could possible ever want. :^)

Today On "As The VA Turns"

2010-02-20T20:14:00.000-08:00

Saw Doc yesterday and after a blood test he determined I don't have any major problems with my pancreas, and also ruled out ulcers. I was supposed to get an x-ray too but I thought Doc meant later and not yesterday. Turns out I'll most likely not be needing them anyways.
I'll get more tests if it happens again, but it looks like these symptoms were probably some rare side effects of the meds I take.

Although it's nice to know exactly why this happened, I have learned to deal with not knowing a lot of exactly why's irt my life in general and this disease in particular. Needless to say, I got the point and it was a good draw.
I reckon can live with that...ha ha!

Thanks for your prayers, guys! I do know this: they are of more help than I can ever fully realize! God bless you all! :^)

The Lone Voice: Another stealth tax on the pubs: SWP machines & Amusement Machine Licence Duty (AMLD)

2010-02-18T21:47:00.000-08:00

The Lone Voice: Another stealth tax on the pubs: SWP machines & Amusement Machine Licence Duty (AMLD)

Anti-Real, Or, Just Plain Idiotic

2010-02-18T20:22:00.000-08:00

"The fact is, any variety of philosophical materialism is not just an attack on religion, but on real science as well. And it is anti-science because it simply isn't true. If science is more than just an impersonal method for putting nature on the rack and getting her to talk, then this sort of naive reductionism must be abandoned."

And keeping with that fantastic quote from Gagdad Bob, I would like to redirect your attention to socialized healthcare and the anti-liberty sheeple who are tryin' to make it happen.
I contend that socialized healthcare (or "free" as some would put it, and by "free" they really mean at the price of your liberty and health) IS anti-science and anti-religion, not to mention anti-American, and anti-liberty.

Case in point, and this is butt one among many many:

This excerpt is taken from my last few comments of the previous post:

Hey guys, I was wondering if you could include me in your prayers.
I think I may have ulcers (and hopefully not something worse).

At least it appears that way based on my symptoms the last three days.
Heck, it could be a lot of different things, so I'm just guessin'.
(Skully is layin' out the odds and taking bets if you're so inclined). :^)

Plus, it's kinda painful...okay, it hurts like the dickens, and it's really cramping my style and cuttin' into my slack.

I'll know more after I see Doc.
Thanks! :^)

February 18, 2010 2:20 AM

USS Ben USN (Ret) said...
I got an e-mail from Doc, and he can fit me in at noon tomorrow.
The reason it is so soon? Because, and Doc didn't tell me this, he's seeing me during his lunch time.

THIS is what socialized healthcare FORCES good Doc's to do.
And it pisses me off, because he is forced to give up his lunch hour to help me.

All because Congress won't support the VA with what it needs. Something the private, free enterprise sector can do much more efficiently than govt. could ever do.

I hope someday that happens. In the meantime, I can't thank folks like Doc enough for the sacrifices they make to help our warriors by any means they possibly can.

For the misguided sheeple who want "free" healthcare I can only say they are not only clueless, they are committing cluelesside. (HT: Gagdad Bob for that superbly accurate terminology).

When idiots talk about how great socialized healthcare is, I can only surmise they never talked to a veteran or their family who need to use it.

The ONLY reason it works to any extent is because of patriots like Doc who sacrifice their own time (and meals).
And they shouldn't have to.

But these idiots won't let reality cloud their views."

Indeed, they sure won't. And this is butt one reason among more than I can count of why it's bullsh*t to think that any leftist really supports our troops, because if they believe this BS, and they MUST if they are leftists, then it's impossible to really support our troops, because bein' anti-reality is inherently anti-Hero!!!

And for any leftists who might argue against that reality, don't effin talk to me about nuance or gray area's, because if you doo, yer jest talkin' outta yer ass, which defines you, precisely.

You lefties are free to call me a liar, of course, butt you don't live with this sh*t, so please, next time you feel righteous or like you are some kinda moral authority, please! Stuff it up yer very large a-hole...sideways. With my compliments!

'Cause you know what? Yer credibility, as if you ever had it, is shot to hell, so STFU n' get a clue. It just might save yer miserable life, and thank God for that!
What? Too proud to humble yerself? Butt don't you pride yerself on yer (allegedly) empathy?

I sense a short circuit comin' on among some of the more honest lefties. Embrace it...embrace Reality...then we can talk. 'Cause then I'll gno you really are beginnin' to begin some empathy for our warriors...you gno...those guys n' gals who actually defend our liberties...yer liberties.

Let me tell ya, it ain't free, bub. So wake up n' smell the posers. We are quick to forgive and welcome all true patriots.

Lost In Lust

2010-02-15T03:00:00.000-08:00

So love blossomed (or so I thought) between Linda, the barmaid and young Ben the sailor man.
I was happier than I could recall bein'. "Singin' in the rain" kinda happy (or singin' in a torrential downpour kinda delusion, to be more precise).
Truth be told it was a saccharin-like, sickly sweet happiness that's too sweet for it's own good. Hey, I got nothin' against genuine happiness with natural (or supernatural) sweetener, but that artificial stuff just don't cut it, you know?

By the way, have you ever thought you knew what love was only to find out you only knew one more thing love ain't (as in a dagger in the heart kinda ain't)?

But let's not get ahead of the story here, because afterall, getting there (or here) is half the fun. Or whatever percentage it happens to be. Hey, I'm not gonna do the math, okay?

Anyhow, so love was blossoming...yadda, yadda, yadda...and everything appeared to be copasetic, at least to me. To my friends, not so much.

"You're what?" Rick asked, in disbelief.

I could tell everyone else wanted to ask the same thing, but Rick had beat them to it so they simply shook their heads in agreement with Rick's disbelief.

"Gee thanks guys. It's not like I formed a suicide pact with Lucifer. I thought you guys would be, oh, I dunno, maybe just a wee bit happy for me. What was I thinkin'?" I replied, with no small amount of sarcasm.

"Hey Ben, it's not like that. You hardly know her. We just don't wanna see you have any regrets," Rick said, again to a lot of nodding heads.

"What, you think love at fist sight ain't possible? You think I'm an idiot?" I retorted.

"Not in so many words," Eric muttered, but there wasn't unanimous agreement with that. Some of the guys were thinkin' about it.

"No, I ain't saying that," Rick said, shooting a glaring glance at Eric. "Look, all I'm saying is you might wanna slow down. Marriage is a huge step. I mean, what's the rush?"

"Well, we are moving down to San Diego after sea trials," I said, "and it's not like I can jsut take a bus up here everyday after work.. "Besides, I just know she's the one, okay?" I answered, more irritated than angry.

"Can I throw the bachelor party?" Jeff asked. "I throw a killer bachelor party."

"They haven't set a date yet, stupid," Mark said.

"You guys aren't helping," Rick said.

"Well thanks for your concern. I am touched," I said, sarcastically. "now if you'll excuse me, I got work to do," I continued, before making a hasty retreat.

"He's touched alright," I heard someone, probably Eric say as the door swung shut.

I'll prove them wrong, I thought. Sh*t, what's wrong with those guys? It's not like I'm joining a monastary or something.

Later in the day Chief motioned me over to his desk.

"What's this about you getting married?" Chief asked.

Great. I tell all my friends, many having security clearances, but can they keep their mouth's shut? Of course they can't.

"Where did you hear that, Chief?" I asked.

"I hear things. Is it true?" He asked.

"Well, yeah," I replied, preparing for a lecture.

"Okay, make sure you fill out a request chit," Chief said, smiling.

"Request chit?" I asked, dumbfounded. "Are you serious?"

"Yes I am. Personnel needs to know for your records, and when you make OS3 you'll get money to help with housing. Don't worry, I have never seen one disapproved. Congratulations! And good luck," Chief said putting his hand out.

"Um...thanks Chief," I replied, shaking his hand. "So...that's it?" I asked.

"Unless you have any questions," Chief replied.

"No, I'm good to go," I lied.

Actually, I had lots of questions, but I was far to proud to ask them at this point.
I was actually somewhat disappointed that Chief didn't lecture me, though.

Maybe that comes after I fill out the request chit, I thought. At any rate, the "singing in the rain" feelin' I was feelin' was gone by this time.
Later that evening it was back, however and I was once again flyin' first class on "singing in the rain" errlines.

Unfortunately, there was no stewardess to show me where the emergency exits were located in the event of a crash landing...

Bad Love Three

2010-01-31T17:22:00.000-08:00

So what is the best way to get out of a bad position? A position where you have very little leverage? A position where you are gettin' yer ass kicked?

Well, let's begin by sayin' you shouldn't allow yerself to get into that type of position.
I was embarassed 'cause that's exactly what I facilitated due to not bein' focused, centered and alert.
Ladies n' gentlemen, distractions can literally kill you, or lead to a lot of unecessary pain.
Distractions are not yer friend.
I was acutely aware of this as biker punk pummeled my mug. I was also acutely aware that he DID have leverage, and he wasn't deterred by any distractions.

See, it don't matter that my distraction was noble or of good intent. Did I really have concern for this scumbag's wellbeing? Nice thoughts perhaps but very bad timing. And as we all know, there's a time and place for everything; balance, moderation, a season tosow n' a season to reap, yadda yadda.

The cold hard reality was that biker bully (like all bullies) didn't give a sh*t about MY wellbeing. In fact, he was intensely focused on makin' sure I was in a world of pain, and he was off to a good start.
If I ended up crippled or dead I'm quite certain that biker bully would have no remorse whatsoever. Not that remorse or empathy really matters at that point.
The point is I got the point the hard way, and I was gonna make it a point not to get distracted ever again...if I survived my current situation that is.

The blows punky was hittin' me with stung, but they didn't really hurt all that bad...yet. I noticed bully boy had huge rings on most his fingers (rings now covered with my blood) and that was doin' most the damage.

So this situation...a situation I should never have gotten into (unintended consequences were now clearly punchuated in my psyche)...required unconventional tactics born of desperation.
Bein' pissed off helped me make this choice without any remorse I might add.

I never once expected Luca to help me, although I knew if I asked he probably would, with a stern lecture to follow.
Hell no! This was my fight and I wasn't about to stoop to beggin' for help.
Was it pride? probably, to some extent. It's also about bein' a man. Standin' on yer own feet and standin' up to bullies. So yeah, pride is part of that, but is that a bad thing?
I don't believe it is. Not where honor is concerned, and by honor I'm talkin' about the literal meanin', not the corrupt meanin' idiots, terrorists n' psychopaths try to attach to it.

With all this streamin' through my mind I did what I hadta do...I grabbed bully boy's family jewels and commenced to apply pressure.
Needless to say this got his attention so much that he stopped pummelin' me and let out a scream....like a little girl.
He screamed like a little girl so much I almost felt embarassed for him. Almost.

Punky made a feeble attempt to hit me again and I squeezed harder. He froze in terror and begged me to let him go, tears gushin' from his eyes.

"C'mon man...ahhh! I'm sorry! Take it easy...ahh! Oh please!"

Pretty pathetic, really. I guided biker bully off of me and sat up on the table, keepin' my grip on his marbles.
Then I landed a haymaker square to his nose as I let go. I was mad but I wasn't gonna rip off his nuts. So I guess I still had a tiny bit of compassion in me even for this idiot.

Blood spurted from bully boy's nose as he fell to the deck. I got to my feet and got a few kicks in as bully boy tried to get up. He got the message and stayed down, assuming the fetal position.

Just like that it was over. I resisted the urge to keep kickin' girly bully. Adrenalyn was still coursin' through my veins, big time.
I walked slowly to my chair and took a long drink from my mug, then I lit a smoke.
My hands were shakin' and I tried to hide it.
Why the hell were they shaking? What was wrong with me?

Bully boy's friends went to help him and they threatened me with a few weak insults.
I was somewhat relieved they weren't lookin' for a fight but I just tried to look cool. Then I smiled, 'cause I realized I was tryin' to be someone else again instead of myself.

F*ck it, I thought. I reckon I'm stuck with me so I better get used to it.

"You got off to a shaky start but your still standin'," Luca said, smiling.

"Yeah. Fightin' is a bad time to think too much," I said, grinnin'.

"Are you okay? Your bleeding," one of the barmaids said.

Her name was Linda, I recalled, and I was smitten with her good looks. I tried to think of what to say and only managed to get out a feeble "yeah. Um...yeah."

Linda brought over a rag and wiped the blood off my face. My face tingled more than it hurt, and the touch of her hands caught my attention, imprisoned it and threw away the key.

"Hey I'll see ya later Ben. Bring him a pitcher of beer...on me," Luca said, placing a five dollar bill on the bar, pattin' me on the back and leavin'.

"Thanks Luca," I said. Luca gave me a thumbs up before he left without turnin' around.

"You might need a few stitches," Linda said, recapturin' my attention as she dabbed my face some more.

"Really?" I replied, wanting to hear her talk some more.

"You should get some peroxide or something to disinfect the wounds," she said.

"Good idea," I replied. "May I have a shot of whiskey?" I asked.

"Wait, you're going to use whiskey to disinfect?" She asked trepidly. "That's going to burn, you know."

"Not if you apply it," I repled. "If you don't mind bein' my nurse," I added, feeling my face turn red.

"Flattery wiill get you everywhere," Linda said coyly, batting her eyelashes at me.

Oh man, I thought. I'm in trouble now.

I forced myself not to wince as she dipped a clean cloth in the whiskey and disinfected my wounds.
She smiled and often looked into my eyes as she gently wiped my face.

"Oh no! You got glass in your arm!" She exclaimed grabbing my right arm and picking out glass shards.

I do? I thought, lookin' at my arm. Damn, I had not noticed. It looked worse than it was.

"I...uh...guess I'll need more um, your nursing," I said, stuttering again.

Damn! I hated when I did that. Some tough guy I am, I thought.

"Yes you do," Linda said, smiling. "I get off in an hour and I got some proper bandages at my apartment so...you better come with me," she whispered.

"A...um...yeah! Sure," I said, tryin' to speak coherently.

Linda kindly ignored my selected speech impediment and smiled again.

"Wow. It was so cool how you handled Dagger!" She said, her eyes lighting up. "He's bad news but you...you took him out fast. I was so worried for you at first."

"Well...I can't stand bullies," I muttered, taking another drink.

"There's a new sheriff in town," Linda said, giggling.

I chuckled at that and shook my head.

"Flattery will get ya everywhere," I said.

She giggled again before reluctantly waiting on other customers.

Yep, I was in trouble alright. And I was drunk with happiness at the thought.

Little did I know how much trouble...

Bad Love Two

2010-01-29T17:51:00.000-08:00

Whenever I have entered this attitude, or state of mind I felt liberated from fear, in a sense.
In another sense, I felt a different type of fear. The fear of crippling or killing my opponent, the bully.

Now, don't get me wrong, I wanted to open up a serious can O'whuppass on this punk, 'cause that's usually the only way to deal with them, other than running away, if that's possible.
Of course, in this case running away simply wasn't an option to me. If the bar was full of like minded bikers I probably would've considered running.

I never wanted to fight, but sometimes you just don't have a choice in the matter.
At the time I didn't see the connection that the dive and the clientel that frequented it made the likelyhood of a fight or fights much more probable.
Not as bad as a "pure" biker or redneck bar, but the elements were all there nonetheless.

And nonetheless, it occured to me that there was a possibility for serious injuries to happen or even death.
Problem is, there are times you can't hold back in a fight, or you might be the one seriously injured or killed.

I was thinking of all this at a bad time, and it was affecting my focus causing my reflexes to be a bit off.
My initial plan was to use biker dude's charge against him, executing a nice judo throw, but the guy was faster than I anticipated, and the distraction of thinking about not hurting this punk too bad came with very tangible consequences.

His tackle was successful and I was pushed back away from the bar and driven into a fixed table which had a pitcher of beer on it and a few mugs.
I could hear the two guys sittin' there cuss up a stprm as they jumped outta the way.

I landed on the table hard with bully boy landing on top of me. I heard glass breaking and felt cold beer all over my back. I also felt a flash of pain and bully boy added to that by landing a heavy right hook to my jaw.

Stuff like that has a way of cutting through all your doubts or concern for some punk's well being.

Terrific, I thought. Damnit! Such a rookie mistake. This jerk means to hurt me bad. I kept looking for a dagger or somethin'. This punk wasn't called "dagger" for nothin'. At least I didn't think so. Okay, time to stop thinkin' so much and get down n' gritty, I thought. Along with a bunch of cussin' and some additional anger at the embarassment of getting clobbered from the get go.

I grabbed biker boy by the collar and brought my knees up as hard as I could, pulling on his collar at the same time.
My intent was to throw him off of me and the table head first. The result left much to be desired.
Instead of throwing him head first onto the deck I had only shook him momentarily, 'cause he grabed the table to avoid flying off.

Damn it! Can't I get nothin' right? I thought, frustrated and embarassed.

Bully boy straighted himself up, still on top of me and an evil grin spread across his demented face like a bad case of VD from a hooker that just don't care no more(not that this has ever happened to yers truly).
He let out a hideous laugh and I knew he meant to hurt me as bad as he could and he was gonna enjoy it.
I could hear his pals cheering him on and giving him suggestions as to how he could hurt me real bad.

"Bust him up real good, Dagger!"

"Gouge out his g*ddamn eyes!"

"Rip his f*uckin' ears off!"

"Break all his fingers, too!"

"Make sure to break that f*cking big-ass nose baby!"

That last comment by his ho. Such a sweet lady, I thought.

However, my pathetic attempt to throw bully boy across the room did stop him from hittin' me for a few seconds which bought me some time to try something unconventional. Somethin' I wouldn't normally think of ever doin', but I didn't have time to get too creative. If this didn't work, I was in for a severe beating...or worse.
At least I was in the right frame of mind now. No doubts to fog up my mind. I was good and mad a hell! It was do or die time, and I was outta time to do.

Bad Love

2010-01-26T20:01:00.000-08:00

Previously on 24-6...which would be 18...but 18 by itself would not convey the meaning of 24 (-6) that the author is tryin' to get across. Of course, if you never heard of "24" you won't get the refrence so I'm kinda banking that you have at least heard of it.
If you haven't, here's the alternate reference: Previously on Noirth By Noirthwest (but actually taking place in the southwest):

Young Ben decides to become a "bad" boy. Prompted by the observation that ladies prefer the "bad," mysterious, strong n' tough guys who also happen to break the rules.
Of course, young Ben hadn't seen all that many ladies, and the ones he had happened to be in the same dive's he was in, but overall, his Benservation was (and is) generally true among many (not all) young women. Even those who don't go to biker/sailor/cowboy/redneck/trucker/sh*tkicker/longshoremen/yardworker dive's.

Ben is off to a good start, having befriended Luca, the toughest guy he knew.
Luca proceeds to instruct Ben in the fine art of brawling, evading thrown beer bottles, chairs (and anything else not nailed down) tough talk (Bronxish), and all things tough, such as how not to dress.
That's right, badass 101 with the matching attitude. So without further adoo...

Just how bad do I wanna be? I pondered. Bad enough, without bein' an actual criminal should be alright. There's still some lines I won't cross, I mused, smiling grimly at the unintended pun.

Tough guys always smile grimly. Squint my eyes a bit...not too much. God, I look like a f*ckin' idiot! I thought, looking at my facial expressions in the mirror.

I don't even have any crinkles around my eyes, no weather-beaten face, and only a slight hint at five o'clock shadow, from two days ago. At least I got calluses on my hands. But my face is in direct opposition to anything resembling bad, bad Leroy Ben, I thought, disgusted with myself.

I worked more on my expressions. Anger came across pretty good, but I definitely didn't look scary. I could do joy okay. How about mysterious? Arrcchh! What is that? It's like my face wasn't built with "bad" in mind, I thought, feelin' more like one of the Three Stooges than a tough guy.

Damn it! How did John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart, Edward G. Robinson, Humphry Bogart, Clint Eastwood, Lee Van Cleef, etc., do it? I wondered. Okay, try to feel pissed off, I coached myself. Silent but deadly look...c'mon!

"What the hell are ya doin'?" A deep gravelly voice asked behind me, before laughin' out loud.

Oh sh*t! I thought, whirling around to see Luca. He must've seen me.

"Ha ha," I said, barely audible. "Just messin' around."

"You sure looked funny! F*ck! You looked like Red Skelton!" Luca managed to say, doubled over laughin'.

I could feel my face turnin' red with embarassment. Stupid, I thought. There's no privacy in a ship's head. How long had he been standing there?

"So you don't look mean n' bad, hell yer still a kid," Luca said, slapping my back with his ham-sized hand. I nearly lost my balance.

"But look at it this way, you can use that. It's better for you if no one knows how tough you are. And if they're laughin' they'll be ripe fer the pickin'," he concluded, chuckling.

"I...see your point," I said hesitantly.

"Yeah, you'll get...whatchamacallit...underestimatated," Luca said.

I smiled, avoiding the urge to laugh. I wasn't gonna take the risk of embarassing Luca over his butcherin' of the word. I saw a poor sap do that...once. It wasn't pretty.
It was common for Luca to mispronounce big words, or add to them. It wasn't intentional as far as I could tell.
Sometimes he would also try to use a big word he thought he knew the meaning of when it meant somethin' else entirely.

"Ya hear what I'm sayin'? Hell, they'll be sittin' ducks 'cause theys won't takes ya seriously," Luca said.

"I hear ya," I replied.

I hadn't considered that. Luca was right, but I still wanted to look tough. Maybe in a few years, I hoped. Some scars would help. But gettin' scars would hurt, so I'll try to avoid that avenue.

"Ya ready to do some serious drinkin'?" Luca asked.

"Damn straight," I replied, smilin'.

Around eight beers later Luca fell silent and had that far away look. That look that said "shut the f*ck up." Unfortunately, I had too many beers to care so I kept talkin' bullsh*t. I was on a roll...I thought.

"Shut yer f*ckin' pie hole!" Luca boomed.

That caught my attention and I zipped it fast. Sh*t! I know better, I thought. Luca got that way sometimes when he was buzzed, and until now I had the good sense to shut up when this mood hit Luca.

I nervously lit a smoke and took a long gulp of brew. The minutes ticked slowly by.

"Just f*ckin' be yerself, man. I mean sh*t, you don' hafta impress me with that BS. We're pals ain't we? Well ain't we?" Luca asked.

"Yeah...we're pals," I replied, my voice cracking. I sound like a f*ckin' moron, I thought.

"Hey, that's all I'm sayin'. Just be yerself, Ben," Luca said, returnin' from that dark pplace that he would sometimes be drawn into.

Problem was I didn't like myself all that much.

"Hey ain't you too young to be pretending to be a man?" A biker dude said as he brushed me aside, lookin' straight at me.
"That's my f*ckin' stool, boy. Go home to your mama," he said, laughing.

I looked at Luca on the other side of me, but he said nothin'. I was on my own. Terrific, I thought. Well, I did wana be a tough guy. I felt anthing but tough at tha moment.

"Hey I'm talkin' to you...boy!" The biker dude said, poking a big finger in my chest.

Some of his buddies further down laughed. My blood began to boil...in direct conflict to the palpable fear I felt grippin' my rapidly beatin' heart.
He was a big guy. Notmuch taller than me but a lot wider and with at least 50 more pounds of muscle!

"Kick his ass, Dagger!" One of his friends yelled.

Dagger? DAGGER? Somehow that nickname wasn't comforting to me. It didn't take much imagination to figure out how he got it.

"Hell, I could kick his ass," a tatooed biker girl said. They all erupted in raucous laughter.

Damn! What do I do? I thought. I...I...can't back down. Memories of past bullies were suddenly vivid in my mind. I...hated...bullies!
Then I...transformed. An attitude I rarely had known rose within me carryin' many years of anger, rage and frustration. It overwhelmed the fear I had felt and blocked it out.

Ben the boy was gone, replaced by Ben the warrior!

"No," I said, my voice cracking. Stupid f*ckin' voice! I thought.

"What did you say to me you little punk?" Biker dude said, moving closer.

I could smell his rancid breath and it felt like it was chokin' me. I needed air!

"I said no, asshole!" I boomed, standin' up and shovin' biker dude harder than I intended.

Biker dude's foot got caught in the stool next to me and he fell to the deck, spillin' his beer. The guy sittin' there quickly got up and moved outta the way. He wanted no part of this.

For what seemed like a long time it got deadly quiet. Except for the song playin' on the jukebox. Double Trouble by Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Apt song, I thought, my attention focused on biker dude.
Finally, the look of surprise left his face and was replaced by blind rage!

"You gonna pay for that, boy! I'm gonna bust you up!" He shouted, gettin' to his feet.

"F*ck you, bitch!" I replied.

I didn't think biker dude could get any madder but that seemed to do it. He was so mad I couldn't make out what he said, or rather spitted out, but whatever it was it sounded homicidal.

I waited, my fists clenched. Why didn't I kick him when he was down? I wondered. Oh well, I'll haftaknock him down again, I thought, grinning.

Biker dude let out a roar and charged me, his big fists ready to rearrange my face.

"No! Run!" I heard one of the bar maids scream.

MS No Mas

2010-01-24T14:38:00.000-08:00

Well now, lessee. After many hours talkin' to MSN techs, we discovered, Patti n' me, with the help of the Dell tech we talked to (a very nice Indian guy who speaks perfect Queen's english) that there ain't nothin' wrong with my modem.

Hence the problem of connecting and stayin' connected to the net was MSN's fault.
We coonfirmed this by switchin' to Netzero, where I have no problems whatsoever, I'm happy to report.

Which means I'm back in biznez! And man O man, do I have a lot of stories jest waitin' to be shared.

Thanks for stickin' around, my friends. I hope to make up fer lost time and write like the wind (preferrably not broken wind).
Or like a breeze anyways.

But first, I'm gonna make coontac with y'all and see what yer up to at yer blogs. Gosh, I sure miss you gals n' guys! :^)
It's great to be back!

Pee-es: My new e-mail is on the side bar. ben62 at netzero.net

Modem Hoopla

2010-01-11T15:11:00.002-08:00

Hi guys!

So. Here I am, borrowing my wench's 'puter, 'cause my modem is mangled, inoperandi, kaput, gone baby gone. In other words, it just don't work no more.

So. What the? Oh man! C'mon! I mean damn! Is that all? Anything else?

"Don't worry dear, I ordered a new one, and it should be here on the 29th," Patti said.

Oh I'm not worried, I thought. Pissed off maybe, but not worried.

"Thanks Babe," I replied, afraid to ask what it cost.

I know, let's spend our way outta debt! Works for the guvmint. At least temporarily.
No...it ain't gonna break us. Step away from the negative thoughts. Calm down...
Don't tell me to calm down! Aw, shaddup!

What about the dreams? Tell them about the dreams.

Dammit! I don't have time! But I will...I will, on the 29th. Or someone is gonna pay!

Yeah, I'm gonna pay, I thought, smiling.
Man, these are some freaky dreams. Pretty cool though. Slacktastic, you might say.

I will return.

Hasta La Vista Baby!

2009-12-28T21:39:00.000-08:00

When I realized my 'puter was fried (yea, verily!) I wasn't as bummed out as I would expect. Could be the Vista program on the dead 'puter has been a major pain in the asshola, or perhaps I have matured to the point where this kinda thing is like water off a ducks back.
I'm leanin' towards the major pain in the asshola.

I found myself smiling. A genuine smile. Hmm.

"Hasta la Vista you pice of s**t! And good riddance," I muttered, calmly.
So what now? I wondered.

"We can probably afford another one in February", Patti said.

"Not before we get your toothache taken care of. Luxury takes a back seat to your teeth," I replied.

I was serious. I mean, sure a new 'puter (IF it works better than Vista) would be nice, but like a cell phone it ain't a necessity.
Health is. Especially Patti's health. It's a priority! My wife comes first!

Besides...If.She.Hurts...I.Hurt. If you catch my drift. So yeah, maybe there is some self interest at work here, but I really don't like to see her in pain, even if I'm spared the, um, side effects (collateral damage) of that pain, which is most unpleasant.

"I have an idea but it might not work," Patti said. "Why not try the old Windows XP computer?"

"We still got that?" I asked.

Yeah, we do. Patti sets stuff on it, like a table for other electronic stuff.

"Yeah, we do," Patti said.

"Okay, I'll give it a whirl," I said.

"It will probably take a long time to update...if it works", Patti said, tepidly.

"Hey I'm not gettin' my hopes up. If it works, then great. If not, I'm not gonna get my panties in a bunch over it," I said. "If I had panties, that is," I quickly added.

"You're a loon," Patti replied.

A Coon loon, I would've said had I thought about it at the time.

So I hooked up the older 'puter, and replaced Patti's little "table thingy" with the Vista piece.

"Damn!" I grunted.

"What?" Patti asked.

"This XP hard drive is a lot heavier than the Vista one. Not that that's a problem. Just sayin'," I said.

Why in the hell don't they put handles on these things? I wondered. Would I get rich if I patented handles for hard drives and other stuff that don't have handles but should?
Nah! Too much paperwork, I concluded.

But this thought has caused an all out debate between my self and the rest of me.
Visions of endless rivers of grog dance through my head. That's hard to argue with. Anyone wanna help me get a patent on this idea? I'll cut you in on a piece of the action. This could be bigger than the handles on can openers idea (say, why did that take so long?)!

Where was I? Oh, right. As you can see, the XP relic actually works...so far. Don't mind me, I ain't really bein' cynical...much. Jest realistic. Main thing is it works now. I like it a helluva lot better than Vista, too.

See ya in the funny papers, my friends. :^)

In Your Face

2009-11-05T20:30:00.000-08:00

This post is dedicated to Kath (Ximeze), who passed away last week at 53, to be with the Lord.

What to write? Well, despite contemplating what to write for days, it only feels right to go with improvisation...from my heart...with one boundary: in your face Truth, which Kath is well gnown for.
But not just that. In your heart.

Ximeze (her pen name) is authentic. She never put on airs or some front full of politically correct platitudes. She isn't an actor striving desperately to be liked.
As an off-road seeker of Truth and a Raccoon in Good standing she was...is...Real.

Ximeze loves Liberty, which is a requirement, if one is seriously slackfull in their pursuit of Truth. Afterall, without Liberty you can't even begin your journey to gno Truth, Beaty, Goodness and Love.
Without Liberty you can't begin to gno God. You need a lot more than just Love to sail that course.

Ximeze knew that well, as her comments at One Cosmos Under God...
One Cosmos
Clearly showed. As did her e-mails, to those of us blessed enough to have called her friend.

Ximeze is generous and never hesitated to help my wife and me after we went through a flood and other trials. She helped us materially, sent some of the best coffee I ever drank (Costa Rican) and gave me some Good advice, which I'll always cherish, during some very trying times. Thanks, Kath!

Ximeze showed us all how best to handle trolls, with some of the very best insultainment you can find. She also knew which trolls were really seeking Truth (even when they didn't know they were seeking), and was happy to pass on what she had learned and Realized.
And she knew when to ignore some of the more insidious trolls.

When I spoke with Kath I knew...Gnu! she understood me. For she knows what pain is and how it can transform one to become a seeker of Truth; a True believer, that welcomes the Holy fire that developes our character.

She gnu that the alternative to becoming a joyfull seeker of Truth is bitterness rather than joy, and what bitterness leads to which is slavery, not liberty.
Indeed, bitterness is a cancer that leads to envy, and Ximeze despised envy in all it's prideful rebellion, which leads to thievery and murder for those who embrace those evil desires.
Envy is the enemy of Good as bitterness is the enemy of Joy. It's clear what it leads to for anyone paying attention to the results of bitterness and envy, on the personal level as well as the political, cultural and religious levels.

That's why Ximeze loved One Cosmos, Dr. Sanity, and American Thinker, to name just a few blogs that cherish the Truth above petty bitterness n' envy.
If you peruse her comments at One Cosmos you'll also find good book recommendations as well as many outstanding articles by Thomas Sowell, Victor Davis Hansen and Mark Steyn, again, to name just a few.

It is among the greatest honor to have gotten the opportunity to know Kath a bit, and I look forward to seeing her when my time comes. I love you Kath. Thanks again for giving me a hand up and not a handout. :^)

Please pray for Kath, her beloved family and her pets...for the Peace of God to ease their grief and temporary loss. Thanks. God bless you all.

I'll miss her love, wisdom, wit, knowledge and humor. And much more. And yet, she is still with me in my heart which is comforting...until we meet again. :^)

Here you'll find some outstanding tributes honoring Kath (please let me know if anyone else wrote a tribute honoring Kath so I can add them):

one-raccoon-passes-on-into-one-cosmos

up-to-bismarck

cosmic-symphony

In memoriam

Thanks to Todd for the beautiful photos of Kath.

Hostel Hostility

2009-10-10T13:11:00.000-07:00

My wife says I spend too much time on the internet. She says "it's the internet highway, not the internet hotel (hostel if yer european).

"What about Motel Zero?" I retorted. "That ain't no hostel."

"What are you talking about?" Patti replied.

Sigh. Therein lies the crux of the problem methinks.
The thing is, she's serious. So she recommends (ie suggests, ie lays down the law) a few changes.

Firstly, no more stayin' up late at night (ie we gotta be on the same schedule).
Now, I find it extemely difficult if not impossible to blog during the daytime. There's just too many distractions (IYKWIMAITYD).

Also, we are droppin' MSN dial-up services to save a few bucks which means we hafta use Wildblue, and I wrote about how fascist they are concerning the time they allow one to use the internet without imposing draconian penalties (re: mo' money). I hope they go outta business or at least get some competition out here. Freakin' internet nazi's!

Which leads to secondly, I can only be on the internet highway Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday for a few hours (say what?!). Aye, that makes bloggin' nigh impossible, so is this the end of One Cosmos At Sea? Kinda looks that way, I'm sorry to say.
I mean, it's virtually impossible for me to read One Cosmos in just a few hours, let alone comment or read all the other blogs I love, many of them yours, dear friends.

This has led to a honeydo list on scareroids. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's not that scary, really, just not preferable, but there'sots of things in reality that ain't preferable.

Change indeed. This following a virus I contracted on my e-mail which caused Patti to change it to usnr_ben at (@) msn.com. That sucked. Put me offline for awhile, such as it is.

Personally, I'm not partial to these changes, but I do admit I oughtta spend more time with my wench, and that's partially why my wench decided to (ahem!) recommend these (cough cough!) changes.

I will do my best to read faster n' type faster in the event I actually have time to comment. Please excuse me while I sing the blues. It has been said the blues can be helpful during times like this. Or at least some songs to commiserate with, while I count my blessings. Man, that's hard to type right now. Okay, I'm thankful I can read n' write again, but I wish I could do it at the speed I used to.

I know, I know. As Skully keeps remindin' me, "you can wish in one hand and sh*t in the other and see which one fills up first."
Actually, I think he's quoting the late, great Burgess Meredith with that quote but it still holds true.
I'll be seeing you guys. More in my dreams than online lately, so it seems my unconcious part of my mind (such as it is) is feelin' the love. :^)

Where's My BIB?

2009-09-20T23:47:00.000-07:00

Hey, it's not like I gotta lotta stuff, but...I do have enough stuff so that when I go lookin' for somethin', like oh, let's say my e-mail address book, it's virtually impossible to find.

Okay, let's jump into my nifty time machine and go backwards in time to the past, circa: a few days ago.
Here I was (or there I was) doin' computer stuff when voila! I noticed all my e-mail addresses had vanished into...thin err!
WTH? How did...? Patti?! (Patti is my personal computer tech., who techses my 'puter when this sort of thing happens).

After 'splainin' to patti what the deal was, she shrugged her shoulders and said "What did you do?"

As if it was MY fault. I retained my composure and the last shred of dignity I put away for a rainy day and said, "Nothin'...REALLY!"

Blink. Blink. Actually we both blinked. It was a Mexican blink off. I was prepared to blink for hours if necessary, 'cause I know I didn't do nothin' to erase no
e-mail addresses. Purty sure, anyway.

"Well, you'll just have to re-enter them," Patti said, goin' back to doin' whatever it was she was doin' before I interupted her.

Ha! I won! I thought. She broke the Mexican blink off! Somehow, the victory seemed hollow though.

But not to worry, 'cause I wrote them down in my trusty BIB (Black Internet-Address Book) (BIAB sounds really moronic, so I shortened it to BIB). I woulda gotten a green one but GIB don't make no sense as an acronym. Sounds stupid, so black it was.

I was purty sure I put it somewhere close by, for situations just like this. But the more I searched, the more I questioneed the state of mind I was in (or lack thereof) when I prepared for this emergency.

How can I be so stupid? I wondered, feverishly searchin' all the logical places I would put the BIB. Maybe Patti moved it, I thought. Yeah, that must've been what happened.

"Patti, have you seen my BIB?" I asked.

"Your WHAT?" She replied, puzzled.

"You know, my BIB, the Black Internet-Address Book," I answered.

"Shouldn't it be be BIAB?" She asked, grinning.

"I...I...shortened it, so it wouldn't sound like I'm an idiot," I replied, testily.
Too late, the voice in the back of my mind said.

As I throttled the voice in the back of my mind it occured to me that it might possibly be right...maybe. But it felt good to throttle the voice in the back of my mind, because it's always right, dammit!

"Are you okay?" Patti asked, with an amused puzzled look.

"Yes, I'm fine!" I said a bit too loudly.
Stupid voice! I thought.

"Where did you put your...BIB?" Patti asked, tryin' not to laugh.

"I don't know," I answered, feelin' my face turn red.

"Then how would I know if I moved it?" Patti asked, doin' a remarkable job keeping some semblance of her composure.

How would she know? I wondered.

"Because it's black, and about this big," I gestured with my hands, gettin' frustrated.

"Well, there is lots of black books that big around the house," Patti replied.

You're enjoying this, ain't you? I thought, losing my patience.

"Did you move ANY BIB's in the room?" I asked.

"Hmm, I'm not sure. When are we talking about?" Patti asked.

"When? WHEN? I don't know!" I replied, exasperated.

"When did you make your...BIB?" Patti asked, beginning to lose it.

"I dunno, a few years ago? What difference does that make?" I countered.

"When did you last see your BIB?" Patti asked.

"How would I know?" I replied. "Look, have you seen it or not?"

"No, I don't think I have seen your BIB," Patti replied, now openly laughing.

Maybe I shoulda got the gray one, I thought, hastily retreating as dignified as I could...which is to say without any dignity whatsoever.

Yeah, GIB woulda sounded MUCH better, the voice quipped.

Shut up! I thought, as I resumed my search.

So anyways, I'm still lookin'. When I find my BIB, I'll definitely put it in a logical place this time, you can be assured of that. However, in the meantime, may I impose on your good will my friends?
Would you please send me an e-mail. ANY e-mail will do. It don't hafta be fancy or nothin'. In fact, you can just type one letter and send it. It'll be quick, easy, and painless that way.

I thank you all in advance for your boundless charity.
Heh. It dawned on me I didn't supply my e-mail address, and what if? I thought, what if some of youse guys also lost yer e-mail addresses? So here it is:
ussben AT (meanin' @) msn.com
No spaces or parentheses. I learnt to write it that way to trick all the spammers spammin' my blog. 'Cause I don't like spam. I like REAL ham. So if ya wanna ham me, that's okay (I prefer spiral ham, but any ham will do...and bacon is also more than acceptable, if yer a baconer). Just keep the spam away. It's bad enough my 'puter tech likes that stuff.
Actually, I think my e-mail address is on my sidebar but I'm too lazy to look.

BTW, since the spam people are called spammers why ain't the ham people called hammers?

One Cʘsmos: Mapping the 4-Dimensional Soul Space of Politics

2009-09-16T00:58:00.000-07:00

Now this, by far:

One Cʘsmos: Mapping the 4-Dimensional Soul Space of Politics

Is the best explanation and graph I have ever seen, regarding not only politics but moral and spiritual progress.

Some excerpts from Gagdad Bob:

"I wanted to establish this notion that there are two general types of men, the worldly and the spiritual. However, this is not strictly an either-or proposition; rather, this duality exists on a vertical continuum. Let's call this the y-axis.

With this in mind, we need to immediately amend our definition, since there exist "infrahuman" states that are spiritual in the negative sense. As such, the saint would be situated at the top of the y-axis, whereas the common man would be at the zero point. The real evildoers are situated in the minus space below the horizontal axis. More on which later.

Now, later in the day I was reading The Road to Serfdom, which is all about... well, about the left-wing collectivist road to serfdom. I don't think there's any need to rehearse all of his arguments here, because if you don't already understand them, you probably never will.

At the time Road to Serdom was published, it was still thought that fascism and socialism were somehow opposites rather than two forms of the same underlying assumptions. To place these on the horizontal continuum is pure nonsense -- as if fascism is somehow an extension of the classical liberalism of the free market!

No. The only logical way to understand the horizontal continuum -- and to chart "progress" -- is to place "collectivism" and "individualism" on the x-axis; conveniently, collectivism (and serfdom) is to the left, while individualism (and liberty) is to the right."

Please check out the link to see the graph, I couldn't copy it for some resason.

The graph represents three dimensions, incorporating the horizontal (secular) and vertical (spiritual). Indeed, all of Bob's posts revolve around the horizontal and vertical, and can get quite esoteric, but I can find few examples of folks that can write about esoterism in such a way as to make it more
understandable. Not that I understand everything Bob writes about, but I can say every post is worth reading. Often, I'll understand and realize something Bob wrote a few years ago, when I'm "ready" to know it. When I see it. So, if you are ready, you will see the graph not as it appears on Bob's blog, but as it really is, beyond two dimensions and within your self.

What I like most about Gagdad Bob's excellent post (and virtually every post he writes) is the clarity in which he writes. In this post he clarifies and explains how fascism is a leftist creation. When you think about it, it must be because leftists are collectivists (slavery) while those on the right are individualists (liberty), to paraphrase Bob. Therefore, a conservative, or classic liberal would never be attracted to collectivism (fascism, Communism, Socialism).

I know that really pisses off those on the left, but it's true. They can't see it, or if they do they won't admit it. That's why it's useless to "debate" leftists. It's like trying to describe colors to a blind man. So better to simply clarify, rather than argue with them, as Dennis Prager suggests.
When you clarify a leftist position, more often than not it's looks silly. Besides, when a leftist of any degree see's clearly what they really believe it can be far more compelling than debating them.

One Cʘsmos: About Those Right Wing Fascists

2009-09-15T23:39:00.000-07:00

Gagdad Bob has an outstanding post up about the left's conniption fits over some of the signs at the Tea Party's at:

One Cʘsmos: About Those Right Wing Fascists

Here's some excerpts:

"There are not too many things that really bother me about politics, politics being what it is. But one thing that does is when people condemn one side for doing exactly what the other side does. This is why you will never see me get excited by a commonplace political scandal. Of course politicians are corrupt. That's why I am a conservative. I want fewer of them, with less power over me."

"I've read any number of mainstream analyses of the tea party movement, and not one of them dispassionately discusses the substance of the arguments, i.e., out of control government spending, socialized medicine, legislation to forbid the climate from changing, etc.

Now, back to those "crazies" who think that Obama is a fascist. First of all, you have to understand that genocide is not intrinsic to fascism. In a way, Hitler spoiled a perfectly useful word by forever associating it with the Holocaust. So now we have no name for a certain enduring political phenomenon, just because the name for it has been tainted."

Good analysis. How often do people misinterpret what you are sayin' because they don't know what you mean? It happens a lot. A word like "fascist" is loaded, and most folks will associate the word with the Holocaust if you use it, ignoring the true meaning of the word.

Of course there are plenty of other words that are also loaded with all sorts of "nuance," no thanks to the left. Which is ironic, because when you look at the true meanings of words, the left is basically the oposite of some of their favorite self-descriptions.

The left ain't liberal, they are illiberal. They certainly ain't progressive they are regressive. And does anyone really believe, besides leftists that is, that they are the "reality community?"
I mean, these are people that believe they can bring about a manmade utopia by killing the golden goose (and geese) that produce the golden eggs that can only hatch in a free market.
So not only do they wanna kill the golden geese, they wanna fry up and scramble all the eggs until it's extinct.

We all have seen the results of that ideology, at l;east those of us that have even a basic knowledge of history.
Hell, you can see the results of socialism right now. Who wants to move to Cuba, North Korea or Venezuela?

No one does, not even the leftists that don't realize their utopian plans will destroy our economy and freedoms. And they call themselves the reality community?
More like batsh*t insane. But leftists wanna change reality without understanding what the reality actually is, to paraphrase Gagdad Bob.

And when it won't work they'll just keep askin' for more money until the golden geese are extinct. Then what? Blame President Bush again? Yeah, that'll work. Better to blame a scapegoat rather than admit your fascist ideology destroys everything it touches. Reality can be so annoying, huh? Idiots.

Dad Is Proud!!!

2009-09-13T02:43:00.000-07:00

I recently talked to our youngest daughter, A., and have some good news to report: she has been accepted to med school with a full scholarship, and the university of Ohio pursued her, based on her previous high grades (straight A's) as she worked damn hard to become a psychologist!

A. left home to join the Army and requested to go to Iraq or Afghanistan, but instead the Army kept her at Fort Bragg during the duration of her service.
While serving her country in the 81st Airborne, she took night classes to become a psychologist, and after her tour of duty she continued to pay her own way to get her degree. Then she worked at Fort Bragg after becoming a psychologist and entered grad. Awhile later she got the offer from the university of Ohio and decided to take it.

She still has to pay for her tuition the first year and books, and has quickly found herself poor again, but she's okay with that.
She was gonna get a job to help cover the costs which are still considerable, even
with a full scholarship, but the school advised against getting a job, but said if she must to only work twenty hours a week, which she is seeking to do.
Even workin' part time she will be extremely busy.
She never asked, but we're gonna send what we can so she can at least eat after payin' rent, car payment, etc..

She told me about all the folks tryin' to talk her outta goin' to med school because it is so difficult and demanding. She got suggestions to become a physicians assistant or something equivalent instead.
She was even told she couldn't do it. Heh. Wrong thing to say to A!

You see, A. never quits, and she never surrenders, no matter what the circumstances, no matter what the obstacle! Becoming a psychologist, goin' to school and workin' to serve our country was no easy task.
Heck, the Army was no easy task. Workin' and goin' to junior college immediately following high school graduation and gettin' straight A's was no easy task and wth very little help from mom n' dad as far as money goes.

No, A. is a fighter, and fighters never. Ever. Give up. She simply works and fights that much harder when the goin' gets tough.

"I will accept nothing less than an M.D. after my name, Dad," she said. "I want to be a trauma surgeon."

She said something else to me on the phone and it really struck my heart, and Patti's too:

"Dad, I always remember what you and mom taught me. That I can be whatever I want if I work hard enough and truly want it. That nothing can stop me when I set a goal. To get right back up if reality knocks me down and keep on fighting no matter how many times it takes or how long I must endure. I think I got your fighting genes, Dad," she said.

Well...it was very hard to talk after that 'cause i got all choked up and tears of pride in my daughter welled up in my eyes. In fact, they are again, just writin' about it. Excuse me...

Ahem. Yeah. You know, it ain't just pride but love, and knowin' I did at least one thing right by A. all those times I talked to her about fightin' through tough times and refusin' to be a victim.
Hey, it's damn hard to explain this to anyone let alone a child, a teenager, and a young woman, but Patti and I did our best, often until our daughters eyes would glaze over.

As Gagdad Bob often tells us at his blog, One Cosmos a person can know stuff but until they actually realize it, experience it, and actualize the wisdom (nous) until it lierally becomes a part of them that is REAL, they really don't gno it.
And when we go from knowing to gnoing we transcend our self and get closer to our true Self, or the self we are destined to be, and every time we transcend we fullfill our Purpose.
Thanks Bob! :^)
A. gnos it. She gets it, and as a result she is far more mature than most folks several decades older than her.

I'm as proud as I can be, with A. and with C., our oldest daughter who also get it!
I'm beaming, if you know what I mean (no, not Jim Beaming)!
C. has also worked hard raising our grandaughter, G, and was recently promoted at Geek Squad where she works! She's doin' a fine job as a mom, which is as hard to do as any job out there, much harder than most and as hard as the hardest!
C. had a good role model in her Mom, Patti, and I'm happy as an unsteamed clam she picked up on what Patti taught her about Momhood!

Thank you, C. and A. for listenin' to Mom n' Dad and never giving up when times get rough and the whole world seems to be crashin' down upon you!

PS- Our pup, Little Miss loves blackberries and she likes to jump around like a rabbit or a roo. She also like to try n' catch moths (or anything that flies) and eat 'em, like a cat.
I keep tellin' her she's a dog. Sometimes she gets it. Like the great dane in that movie The Ugly Daschund, she has little moments when she'll proudly stand as good as any dachsi dog show champion, her head up, eyes forward, back straight, tail up at full mast, radiatin' dachsi pride!
Then she'll go back to hoppin' around, eating blackberries and catchin' moth's.
Oh. And she likes to sit on Skully's shoulder when he's sittin' down. I kid you not! Skully just goes with it and says "Arrhhh!" As if he's sportin' a parrot.

Military Commissaries: Et Tu?

2009-08-24T21:24:00.000-07:00

I signed up to receive the Commissary newsletters a few months ago, in order to see the latest news and to see which products I could save the most on with promotionals and the like.

So anyway I saw this in the september issue and it made my blood boil!

DeCA (defense Commisary Association) renews efforts to hire employees
with targeted disabilities.
The Defense Commissary Agency recently announced its goal to hire at least 189 people with targeted disabilities in the next two to three years.

Targeted disabilities include severe hearing or vision impairments, missing extremities, and partial or complete paralysis. They also include serious medical conditions such as convulsions, mental retardation, mental or emotional illness, and severe distortion of the limbs or spine.

This hiring effort is part of an overall goal, mandated by the Department of Defense, to have 2 percent of the entire DoD workforce consist of people with targeted disabilities. DeCA presently employs 126 such individuals, so an additional 189 would bring the agency's total to 315; that is 2 percent of the agency's 15,714 civilian employees who are not contract workers or local nationals working at overseas stores.

http://www.commissaries.com/press_room/press_release/2009/DeCA_78_09.cfm

(The link won't go in for some reason, so you hafta cut n' paste it).

Oh great. Now the commissary is employing affirmative action irt folks with disabilities.

Okay, I'm all for hiring people with disabilities, IF they can do the jobs they apply for. And most can. As a disabled vet, I have no problem with that.

But doing it by affirmative action does a great injustice to the disabled.
This is just as bad as affirmative action for any targetted group, be it blacks, hispanics, Tongans, or any other group.

It's divisive folks, plain and simple! DeCA should hire folks based on their ability to do the job they applied for. Period. Hire the most qualified. Get rid of this "we must cater to people who have a victim mentality" mentality to show how morally superior we are.

I call Bullshit! If I could work I would never want special treatment, and I wouldn't want someone else more qualified to lose out on a job they applied for simply because I'm disabled.
Hire people on their merits (look it up in the dictionary, 'cause apparently, you DeCA people who came up with this piece of crap policy don't know the meaning of the word).

Now, if they hire a disabled person that ain't as fast or strong as a person that don't have a disablity, but has a can do attitude and a super work ethic to do their best at all times, then I won't argue with that.
There's certainly more to an employee than speed and strength, but that must be balanced out on a case by case basis. Thee's many factors to consider, say for instance: a disabled person applies for the job of cashier and they are full of joy with a good work ethic.
Yeah, they might be slower but they spread their joy to others while doin' their best. I'd hire that person based on those merits.

If I'm competing for a job with someone not disabled and who has the same work ethics I do, I would expect that person to be hired over me, if the manager doin' the hiring has any brains.

And guess what DeCA? I won't be envious or bitter if you pick the most qualified person for the job. I want our vets to get the BEST SERVICE POSSIBLE!
Only an idiot steeped in Leftist PC groupthink wouldn't understand that. What's right is right. Get with the program and stop bein' so damn condenscending! Because that IS offensive you bureaurat pukes!

The vast majority of veterans, active duty and retired are Conservative/Classic Liberals (for obvious reasons).
Unfortunately, the burearats are mostly made up of Leftist morons or at least are tilting in that direction. These are the idiots that make life much harder for our veterans.
They deserve our scorn and should leave our vets alone! Go find yer victim groups someplace else, 'cause we don't want you...punks!

Psych Out

2009-08-23T17:49:00.000-07:00

We the people, who treasure and try our best to preserve the concepts of Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness, can never rest because there are those people among us who will try their best to tear down everything we love.

The Left does indeed try to destroy everything we hold dear, and in the end it really don't matter whether it's with the best intentions or not. It's a given they can't see the results of their good intentions, despite the fact that there is more than ample evidence throughout history and presently that Leftist ideas don't work, and, in fact destroy all that is Good, True and beautiful.

The Left has taken over, for the most part, education and turned it into indoctrination.
They have taken over the news organizations, not to report information objectively but to spew Leftist propaganda subjectively.
They have taken over, again, for the most part, the entertainment industry, which also puts out a steady stream of Leftist propaganda. Which is why movies and art tend to suck and be ugly.

The Left even has a foothold in religion of nearly all denominations, producing lukewarm churches that hardly no one likes to go to, and for good reason, because even many Leftists don't like to hear the latest religous-political-social experimentation indoctrination crap.
And of course the Left is very visible in politics. They are a major force in all parts of our government, and easy to spot. For whatever cities, counties, states or federal agencies they are a majority in, you will see massive debt, higher crime, more unemployment, higher taxes, loss of liberties, and a slew of other symptoms of the disease that is Leftism.

This is all a given. We all know this. But there is another area that Leftists have a major foothold, and that is mental health. The majority of psychologists, psychiatrists and therapists are Leftists.

What kind of damage do they cause? Well, for one, they often cater to the victim mentality, which makes it worse, encouraging envy and bitterness.
They push idiotic ideas that Leftists love, such as higher than high self esteem(pride: the bad kind), and the ridiculous idea that all emotions are valid, or justified in every circumstance.
For instance, there is such a thing as unjustified anger, and envy is never a good thing. Neither is all the derangemewnt syndromes out there that the Leftist psyche docs participate in.

In short, Leftist mental health "academics", like their Leftist comrades in other fields, are at war with reality. They are a big part of the problem, not the solution (except perhaps the final solution) in regards to mental healthcare.

For how can a Leftist psychologist treat the root causes of a patient mental illness if they have the same disease?
Oh sure, they can be of some help in the short term, and perhaps with some mental illnesses, but when it gets down to the nitty gritty they just increase the medication or punt.

In the long term, Leftist mental health types hurt not only individual patients but our collective mental health as well, even when most of their own studies (if done with at least an iota of honesty) repeatedly prove their own theories wrong.

So what can we the people, the patriots do about it?
Well, there has been an effort by many patriots to get back into all these jobs that Leftists have infiltrated and taken over, be it education, entertainment, journalism, politics, etc.. This is good news, and I hope we see more.

I hope as well we see more conservatives/classical liberals getting into the mental health field. We really need more Gagdad Bob's, Dr. Sanity's, Bob Newharts, Shrinkwrappeds, Dr. Fraser's, Dennis Pragers, and others out there.
Doctors who care so much they are willing to take considerable heat to do what's right for their patients and for the ideals of Life and Liberty.
They seek Truth and they try to help as many of us that will listen to also seek Truth in our lives, both individually and collectively.

I'm not sure why there ain't more patriots willing to become psychologists , psychiatrists and therapists, but it's crucial to the health of our nation we get more.
Having said that, I'm extremely thankful for the ones we have. Thanks Doc's! You are on the cutting edge in our efforts to open eyes n' ears to Reality.

Dignity Is A Fickle Mistress

2009-08-12T15:04:00.001-07:00

For you guys that have reader this post (and subsequent older posts I'm putting back in the blog after they were wiped out) will appear as if new, but they are just oldies.
I did Benitorialize and add to this one though, in case you wanna read it again. I also found a much easier way to locate my lost posts, so this process of replacing my old posts back onto OCAS should proceed at a much faster pace.

Okay, due to high demand and to be fair to any of you guys who don't use reader, I'll combine some of the old stories (with new material!)
and post them for all to see (meaning: if you don't use reader you don't hafta go searchin' through the archives for the refurbished posts).

Securing for sea isn’t difficult, but it’s time consuming.
The law of gravity is complicated out at sea. Not only can stuff fall down, but the sea can make stuff go sideways…and indeed, every which way it can possibly go. Even up!

“Cut me about three feet of that line,” said the Chief, pointing to the roll of white, quarter inch wide line.

I took the new buck knife I bought the day before from its brand new leather sheath and unfolded the blade until it locked open with a metallic snap.
I sliced cleanly through the line, in one easy motion.

“Damn! Think you got that buck sharp enough?” The Chief said, obviously impressed.

“My Grandpa taught me years ago how to use a whetstone,” I said.

“Hell! Most newbies don’t even know what a whetstone is for, let alone how to use one,” said Chief, tying off some Navy pubs (publications) so they wouldn't fall out (or fly) from their shelves which were bolted to the bulkhead in the wardroom.

It was a busy day for everyone, with Reservists checking in all morning for the training mission, and the crew getting the ship ready for sea.

“Alright, you got the idea,” Chief said. “I have to check on things in the main galley and mess decks, so yer on yer own,” he added.

“Aye aye, Chief!” I said, cutting another length of line.
At 1330 the ’sea and anchor detail’ was called over the ship’s 1MC (loudspeaker).

1400- “Underway. Shift colors,” was announced. The Ensign was simultaneously lowered on the stern, and hoisted on the mast.

The line handlers on the pier freed the mooring lines, and the Bos'n Mates hauled them in as fast as they could, to avoid getting them wet.
Wet mooring lines weighed alot more than dry ones.

I was on the 01 weather deck, watching the show.
I wanted to go to the bridge but it was too crowded, and only essential personnel were allowed.

In Combat, short for Combat Information Center (CIC) where I would normally be working, they were keeping an electronic eye on surface vessels with RADAR, performing RADAR Navigation, manning radios, logs and status boards, and making shipping and navigational recommendations to the bridge.

I stopped by CIC earlier, but it was crowded too, so I opted for the scenic view from the uncrowded weatherdeck.
Soon we entered the shipping lane, and proceeded at 5 knots (nautical miles per hour). A nautical mile is 2,000 yards or 6,000 feet, so it's a bit longer than a standard mile.

A few minutes later I noticed a small, green boat heading towards the Henderson from our starboard beam, about 300 yards out.
As they got closer, I could hear some guy on a megaphone yelling something about nuclear power and whales.

There were 8 people aboard the small craft, holding cardboard signs that said “Give Peace a chance”, “Save the Planut”, “Whales have rights!”, “Nucler power kils!” and “USN=Sea nazis.”

Must be protesters, I was thinking. Bad spellers, too.
When they got within 20 feet or so, they dropped their signs and picked up…
Water balloons? What the hey? I watched them intently as the Captain warned them to give way over the ship's loudspeakers after honking the loud horn. We had the right of way, but it was apparent the Captain didn't wanna sink the small boat if he could help it.

The hippy pukes were chanting “no more nukes!”

Thing is, the Henderson wasn't a nuke. Even a newbie like me could see the two boiler stacks the Henderson sported. Either these idiots didn't know we were a conventional ship, or they couldn't find a nuclear ship to harass. At any rate, it wasn't as if the officers and crew of the henderson were gonna suddenly start singin' kumbaya with these greenpeace morons.

I wondered also why they thought we were killin' whales. I sure hadn't heard about it, and could see no reason why we would ever kill whales, even if we wanted to.
We were kinda busy doin' other stuff, like keeping the sea lanes open, fightin' a cold war, training, and...well, you get the picture.

All the greenpeacers stood up and hurled the water balloons at our ship.
Splat! Sploosh! Splat! Only 3 managed to throw far enough to hit the Henderson’s hull.

That ain't water! That’s paint! I thought. Yellow, red, and green paint! These scumbags were vandalizing our ship!
The driver of their dingy turned and paralleled our course and speed.
The protesters picked up more paint balloons, with hate etched on their faces. They ought to change their name to greenhate, I thought. Or greenimbeciles.
They threw the balloons at our ship. Assholes! Fortunately they threw like little girls with lazy eyes.

I heard a ruckus on the main deck, and looked down. Someone was seriously pissed!

“No, Kilwaski! You’ll end up in the brig!” Yelled BM2 Sanchez, with his arms around a big guy waving a spanner wrench.
Must be Kilwaski, I deducted.

“I won’t hurt them, dammit! I just put hole in their boat!” Yelled Kilwaski.

“Then they’ll sue your ass, ‘Ski,” said Sanchez, struggling to hold the big man back.
"And you will get into trouble."

“We spent hours painting hull! They pay!” Kilwaski shouted, dragging Sanchez behind him as he moved towards the rail.

“Those scumbags aint worth it ‘Ski! Now give me that wrench!” Ordered Sanchez, breathing hard.

“Okay,” said ‘Ski, looking down and giving up the wrench. 'Ski glared down at the greenpeace bozos, who were pointing up and laughing at him as he shook his fist at them.

“Alright, big man. Don’t let them get to you buddy,” said Sanchez, leading Kilwaski away from the rail and into the ship. “C’mon, I’ll buy you some coffee.”

“But coffee free,” I heard Kilwaski say as the hatch closed.

I could feel the Henderson speeding up. According to the charts I saw earlier, we should be going 10 knots now, or perhaps 15 since visibility was good.
Now the wake our ship was making was bigger, and the small protest boat was skipping up and down, trying to stay close.
As one protester began to throw her paint balloon, their boat jumped and she fell in the water.

I heard loud applause and laughing from the fantail and foc’sle, where many sailors had gathered, to practice hand signals on the protester scumbags.
I joined in the festivities. The look on her face as she realized she was gonna be swimmin' in Long Beach harbor was priceless.

And it only got better. The small boat turned around and went to pick up their angry comrade.
The applause and laughter picked up as we could see port security closing in to make their bust. Bye bye scumbags! I thought, grinning. It felt good to see a bit of karmic justice administered to those vile hippies.

Later, I could feel the ship hitting the breakers as we left the harbor and entered the Pacific ocean.
The weather was fair, with only a few clouds in the sky, and the winds were nearly non-existent.
I could feel a new sensation as the ship rose up and came down in rythm with the swells.
I later learned this is called pitch, while the side to side rocking movement was called roll.

I could’ve spent hours watching the sea, but it was time to get back to work. So, reluctantly, I returned to the galley.
Chief was there talking with a reservist.

“If you have any problems, just ask Conrad,” Chief said. “I gotta run. Duty calls,” he said.

I heard a “brraaaappp!” sound and Chief laughing as he left the galley.
Gas attack!
Unfortunately there were no mark V gas masks immediately available.

“Chief! You really should get that checked out!” I called after him.

“What died?!,” said the reservist, with his arm over his nose and eyes watering.

I saw no stripes on his left arm sleeve, so I knew he was a Seaman or lower.

“Must’ve been the corned beef and cabbage,” I said, trying to wave the smell out of the galley with a towel.
“Whatever you do, don’t light a match,” I warned, chuckling.

“Good advice. He reminds me of my uncle Lenny,” said the reservist. “Uncle Lenny lived to ask us kids to pull his finger. It was a good way to get us to play outside. He wasn’t popular at Thanksgiving,” he said, grinning.

"I can see why," I replied, laughing. “I’m Ben,” I said holding out my hand.

“Mac,” the reservist said shaking my hand. “I’m actually an MS3, but I couldn’t find my old uniforms,” Mac said. “My wife…ex-wife, probably burned them. She’s so vindictive,” he continued, shrugging.
“I would appreciate it if you kept this on the QT,” he said. “The Chief already knows."

“No problemo,” I said. "My lips are sealed."

“Cool,” said Mac. “Do you mind if I start the dinner?” Mac asked.

“By all means,” I replied, glad to get some help since the last cook decided to go UA (unauthorized absence). After 30 days he would be AWOL, which was a much more serious offense.

After the meal, we went to the fantail to have a smoke break.

“How long have you been in, Mac?” I asked.

“About five years. Two of those in the active reserves after three years regular Navy,” he said. “You?”

“Going on an entire eight months now,” I said, laughing.
It seemed like longer somehow.

“We all got to start somewhere,” Mac said.
“You must be a good cook, to be promoted to the Captains cook so soon."

“I’m not a cook!” I laughed. “I’m an OS. The cook went UA,” I said. “You see, the Captain liked my coffee, and the Chief is short of cooks, so I got elected,” I said.

“That’s weird,” said Mac grinning. “You aren’t BSing me are you?”, he asked, suspiciously.

“No, I can hardly believe myself,” I said, shaking my head. "Believe me, I would rather be doing the job I was trained for."

“Welcome to the Navy!” Mac said, laughing.
“Hey, the Chief said tomorrow, at 0900, they are having small arms quals.. Are you going?” Mac asked.

“Sure! Sounds like fun,” I said, wondering how they did that at sea.

Later, as I was lying in my rack, I listened to all the ambient noise. The humming of the ships engines, pipes shaking and sometimes making the oddest sounds, the water slamming against the hull, and the steady, low roar of the sea, with an occasional crash on the bottom or sides of the ship!
The sea made me feel small and humble. I hoped the hull would stand up to the pressure. The Henderson was commisioned in 1945.

There were straps on the rack, and I asked about them on my first day. I was told they were to hold you in during heavy seas and storms.
I looked around and nobody else was using them. So I decided not to. Not the wisest choice I ever made.

I woke up with a strange sensation of weightlessness.
Then I realized I was falling, and it wasn’t a dream!
I was wrapped in my blanket and sheet, and I couldn’t get my arms or legs free!
Boom! I hit the cold, hard deck, landing on my back!

"Oof!" Was the sound of the air leaving my lungs.

I struggled to breathe, because the landing knocked the air out of me.
Short breaths, oww! That hurts! But I couldn't even say "ow" until I could catch my breath.

“You alright man?,” I heard someone say, from far away.

I struggled to free myself from the tangled blanket, hurting everywhere it seemed. Nothing appeared to be broken though. I still couldn't talk so I kept on focusing on taking short breaths.
When I was a kid we spent a few years in Hollywood, Florida. Some of the bullies there liked to punch me in the gut, so I learned even at that age how best to breath again. Tryin' to breath deep at this point would hurt a lot worse, hence the short breaths.

“I said, are you Ok?” The voice was closer this time.

“Yeah, I think,” I croaked, as I slowly got up.

“You really should wear the safety straps,” said the voice.
Haze Gray And Underway

That’s good advice, I thought. A bit late, and now I know, but thanks anyway.

“Yeah,” I said feeling something wet on the back of my head.

What? Did I fall in a puddle? Puddles of water are constantly forming on ship decks, from leaky pipes. Especially in older ships. It felt warm.

“Oh man! You’re bleeding...really bad! Don't move, I’ll get the Doc!” The voice said.

"Don't hold nothin' back," I muttered, amused at the panic I had heard in his voice.

I still couldn't see who the voice belonged to but I heard it run away. I felt somewhat giddy now, like I was drunk, or well on my way to getting that way.
For some reason I thought it was hilarious to hear a voice run!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Polkaboarding

Obviously, whoever belonged to the voice, didn’t pay attention during first aid training, I thought.

Apply direct pressure to the wound, as I recalled.
I got up unsteadily and grabbed a towel that had been drying at the foot of my rack, and pressed it on the back of my head.

The compartment was spinning, so I sat back down on the deck, where it continued to spin, only slower.

My head felt numb, but began pulsing with pain. My vision was blurry.
I felt… detached… like I was watching myself in a surreal setting. Maybe this is a dream, I mused.

The lights turned from a dim red to a bright white.
Too bright! I thought, squinting my eyes. It actually hurt! Do not go into the light, I warned myself, as I covered my eyes with my hand.

“What the hell?!” I heard a voice say.

“It’s f#ckin’ 0315! Turn the mother#8%$^@ lights off!” Yelled another voice.

Apparently no one else likes the bright light either, I thought.

“Shut your yaps and go back to sleep!” Said a closer voice.
“Conrad? Conrad! Look at me! How many fingers am I holding up?” Said a very close voice.

“What? I can't even see you," I said. “Turn the light off, I wanna sleep,” I continued, suddenly very tired.

“Sorry pal, no can do! You have to stay awake, do you hear me?” Said the voice as it grabbed my arm.
“Give me a hand and help me get him to the infirmary,” said the annoying voice.

Someone grabbed my other arm and I resisted. I had heard the annoying voice but I couldn't make sense of what it said.

“Leave me alone!” I warned.

“Conrad!” Shouted someone close.

"Geez, will you hold it down?" I asked, well past annoyed and irritated. "I gotta headache."

I saw a blurry face appear, but I couldn’t make it out. It hurt to try so I stopped trying. It was difficult, keeping my eyes open, and it was impossible to focus my vision and my thoughts.

“I’m petty officer Mendoza. I’m a Hospital Corpsman, and you will follow orders! Is that clear?” Said the blurry face with authority.

"No, it's not clear," I muttered. Why would a Corpsman order me around? I wondered.

“Anderson and Smitty will help you get to the infirmary, and you will cooperate!” blurry Doc said.

“Ok, but I’m not sure if I can help you, Doc,” I said, feeling groggy. I was certain he could find someone in better shape to cooperate with him.

“I’m counting on you Conrad, so stay awake!” He said.

Well, if you put it that way, I thought, curious as to exactly what the Corpsman was counting on me for.

“You can count on me, Doc!” I slurred, straightening up. Ugh. I felt a wave of nausea.

“Good! Now follow me,” he said.

I started to walk towards the blur, and lost my balance. Fortunately Smitty and Anderson were there to catch me, and lift me back to my feet.

The damn deck won't stop moving! I thought. What in tarnation is going on around here?
Several bruises later I finally made it to the infirmary.

“Thanks guys, I can handle it from here,” said the Doc.
“Conrad, what day is it?,” he asked.

“Saturday?” I ventured.

“Who is the President?” Doc asked.

“You don’t know?” I countered. This guy is dense, I thought.

“Just answer my questions,” he said, sounding annoyed.

“President Reagan,” I said. “He used to be an actor,” I added.

“Good. Can you see how many fingers I’m holding up now?” Doc asked.

“Two…no, three?” I guessed, trying to squint through the haze. Truth be told I couldn't even see any fingers.

Just then, I recoiled in pain as the doc flicked on a searing bright light...right into my eyes!
I tried to cover my eyes with my arm, but Doc yelled at me again. It would've been helpful if he had given a warning, I thought.
I endured the searing light torture without talking, and then my interrogater moved on to plan b.

“Alright, lower the towel so I can see the wound,” Doc said.
“Damn, you gashed it good. That’ll take six or seven stitches at least,” he said.

I didn’t gash it! I thought. The deck did.

“I’m going to clean the wound so it may hurt, a little,” said Doc.

I felt something cold and wet, and a burning sensation, as the Doc cleaned the wound.
At that moment, I started feeling cold, then I realized that all I had on was underwear. Needless to say I didnt exactly feel dignified.
This is embarassing, I thought.

“This may sting a bit,” said Doc, holding a long-ass blurry needle and moving it towards my head!

“Where are you poking that thing?” I asked, apprehensibly.

“I have to numb your wound, so I can stitch it up,” Doc explained.

Now, I was never afraid of shots but I couldn't help noticing, blurry as it was that the needle was huge! It looked like a marlin spike!

Small ships don’t have doctors, most of the time, but they do have Navy Corpsmen.

“Ow!” I said. “A little sting my ass!" I winced as he poked the marlin spike into my head in several places.

“Sorry, but it should be numb soon,” Doc said.

Indeed, it was. A strange experience, to say the least.

“Now I need you to hold still, and not move,” the Doc instructed.

“Um, may I get my pants?” I asked, feeling self concious in my skivvies...and cold.

“Sure. Right after I finish stitching you up,” the Doc said.

Seven stitches later, the Doc handed me a light blue hospital gown with ties on the back.

“I’d really rather wear my pants,” I said, indignantly.

“Sorry, but I can’t take the chance you might fall down again,” said Doc.

He didn’t look sorry, I noted.

“You will have to stay here until you can see clearly, and maintain your balance,” he said.

Is this guy serious? I wondered, trying to get the stupid gown to cover my butt, so I could somehow tie it behind my back.

“Here, let me get that,” said Doc, tying my gown too tight.

I laid back on the cold, stainless steel examination table. Brrr.

“No! I told you Conrad, you can’t go to sleep!” Doc firmly said.

“Who can sleep on this thing?” I asked. “I’m just resting.”

“Sit up anyway,” the Doc ordered, folding his arms.

“Can I at least have a cup of coffee?” I asked, with the best pitiful look I could muster.

“We’ll see. Maybe in awhile,” Doc said.

We’ll see? Of course we will! I thought. I just wanted a yes or no answer.

“I got work to do, so I’ll be right over here at my desk, if you need anything,” the Doc said, sitting down.

He turned on what looked like a stereo.
Oh great! Music! I thought, feeling more upbeat.
My jaw dropped. What is that? Polka? No way!
Yep, it was polka alright. Was this a joke? A cruel twisted joke?

An hour later, I concluded it wasn’t a joke. This was torture!

“Uhh…excuse me,” I said, trying to get Doc’s attention.
No response.
“Excuse me, Doc?!” I shouted, over the mind-destroying, never-ending polka.

“Eh? What?” he said, turning the ‘music’ down.

“How about that coffee?” I asked, hopefully.

“Yeah, ok. You wait here and I’ll be right back. Don’t move!” He stressed.
“Sugar? Cream?” He asked.

“No thanks. No frills,” I said.

“Gotcha! Now remember, don’t move,” Doc said, pointing his finger at me.

I was able to see more clearly now. My eyes settled on the boom box.
It crossed my mind more than once, to damage Doc’s stereo, or smash the polka tapes to smithereens. Was it possible to make it look like an accident?
Somehow, I resisted the temptation, but it wasn't easy.
Doc returned a few minutes later, and handed me my coffee.

“Thanks Doc,” I said, gratefully.

“Your welcome. How do you feel now?” Doc asked, grabbing the bright light thingy to fry my retina’s with.

"I see better, but I have a pounding headache,” I said, not adding that it was the polka that started it.

“Here, take this aspirin,” he said.

Somehow, I didn’t think that aspirin would be enough as Doc put in another polka tape. I looked on in horror. The second torture session had begun.

“This band is my favorite!” Doc shouted.

Sounds the same as the last band, I thought. How could anyone tell the difference?
Dear Lord, I prayed in desperation. Please smite Doc’s stereo!
I’m begging you Lord God!

Finally, at 0600, Doc turned the evil polka music off.
My mind was oatmeal. Or perhaps more like fried grits. I had undergone a polkabotomy.
I felt like drooling.

Doc checked me out again, making me walk a straight line, while touching my nose…basically a sobriety test.
I almost cried when he said I could go, giving directions to see him tomorrow, and if my vision got blurry, or dizziness returned, to see him ASAP.
Fat chance of that! I thought.
Free at last, free at last! Thank God Almighty, I’m free at last!

But my freedom was fleeting.
I was just about to hit my rack when Eltee showed up, looking for me.
Gee, I wonder why? I panned, to myself.
Too late to hide, I thought. He already saw me.

“Conrad! Are you Ok?” Asked Eltee.
“You fell out of your rack? That must have hurt!”
“Look, I know the Doc excused you from work, today, but that reservist guy is sick as a dog! Can you tough out breakfast?” Eltee asked, followed by a “Please?”

Oh hell, I thought. Better grab some more java.

“Aye aye, Sir, but do I have to shave?” I asked.

“No time! We have to move!” Said the Supply Officer, looking distressed.

“Then let’s move Sir!” I said, with more gusto than I felt, which was -5 on a scale of 1-10.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Assault At Sea

Have you ever cooked omelettes on a flat grill, when the ship you’re on is rockin’ and rollin’ really good?
It’s like playing Pong(TM), and Food Fight(TM), with runny eggs.
Some of the omelettes were really weird looking.

Pancakes were also rather bizarre.
Eggs easy?
Not really.

Somehow, I made it through breakfast, but it felt like the entire Marine Corps was making an amphibious landing, on my brain.
I felt light-headed again, but that could’ve been the sea. It was getting rougher, too.
At least I wasn’t getting seasick, I thought.

After a cursory cleaning of the galley (i.e. the basics only), I hurried down to the berthing compartment to catch a few z’s.
I had just gotten undressed, and was about to collapse, when an alarm went off.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
It didn't brighten my sunny disposition.

“General quarters, general quarters! All hands man your battle stations,” said the ship’s 1MC.

“Damn it!” I said, jumping down from my rack and getting dressed as fast as I could.
“Ow! Dammit!”

Note to self: do not attempt to put pants on while ship is rolling withoutfirst bracing yourself or sitting down!
The exclamation of the note to self warning was the cold, hard deck.
The recipient was my ass.

I decided to stay down, so I could get my pants on without falling again.
I had just gotten said pants on, when I heard somethig sliding towards me, from behind. What the?
I turned around… just in time to see an unsecured chair sliding...into my face!

“Ow! #@^%&*!” I said, as my nose started bleeding.

I grabbed a towel, dripping blood all over, then I tried to get my boots on while holding the towel, which wasn't easy.
The chair, unfazed, went sliding off somewhere. I got a good look at it, though, so I could identify it later in a line-up.
I finally managed to get my boots on, and I made a dash for the ladder.

Meanwhile, out of a dark alley between bunks, the homicidal chair struck again, targetting my legs! This was definitely a hit job.
What are the odds? I wondered.

I tried to jump, but it was too late. The killer chair seemed to laugh maniacally as it entangled between my legs. I noticed the deck was rushing up to meet me as I fell.
I hit hard…and slid...into a steel pole (they use them for wiring).
Good thing my shoulder took the brunt, I thought, trying to get up. My shoulder protested loudly. It didn't think it was a good thing.
That chair is toast...later, after general quarters! I thought. I'm gonna deepsix it.

I tried to find my bloody towel, dripping blood all over.
I slowly got up, hurting too much to curse this time, and, making sure that chair wasn’t close by, I limped toward the ladder, all traces of dignity I thought I had was now in shambles.
Dignity is a fickle mistress.

During General Quarters, you have to move fast, before they dog (close) all the hatches and scuttles (to prevent any possible flooding or fires from spreading).
Watertight integrity only works if the hatches and scuttles are dogged.

If you're too slow you get dogged in. Then you hafta call the bridge and explain why you got dogged in and ask for permission to break the dogs temporarily so you can get your sorry ass to your battle station.
It doesn't make a good impression on the Captain or XO, or anyone for that matter.
Besides, who would believe I was assaulted by a commie chair...twice?

I made it up the first ladder before it was dogged down, but I had to get to CIC, where my assigned battle station was located.
I limped quickly down the passage taking the next ladder I saw up another level, barely getting through it before it was closed off.

I finally made it to the door of Combat, pressed the combo keys in the right order, and limped inside.

Combat was dark, as usual, and I made my way slowly across the room, to the Surface Summary status board. I picked up the headphones and put them on, quickly putting the towel back over my nose.

“Sh*t! What happened to you?” Asked OSSN Brown, stationed next to me, at the Air Summary status board.

“Long story,” I said, my voice muffled through the bloody towel.

“Surface summary, phone check,” said the voice in my sound-powered phone headset.

“This is Surf., loud and clear,” I said.

“Finally! Ok, are you ready? I have 8 contacts,” said the surface RADAR operator.

I grabbed the white grease pencil saying, “Ready.”

“Standby to mark at 0804,” said the DRT operator.

“Mark!” He said, at 0804.

“Skunk Alpha, bearing 165, 22,300 yards. Skunk Bravo, bearing 329, 16,100.
Skunk Charlie, bearing 034, 9,700. USS Ranger, bearing 198, 5,200.
Skunk Delta, …”

I wrote them down as fast as possible, backwards, so it could be read from the other side.

“CPA for Skunk Charlie is 133, 1,200 yards. Time of CPA is 0823,” said the Maneuvering Board operator, OS3 Montoya.

“I concur,” said OS3 Harrington, on the SPS-10 surface RADAR.

“Looks good to me,” said OSSN Humphrey, on the DRT.
And so it went, every 3 minutes.

“How close do you want Charlie to pass, Chief?”, asked OS3 Montoya.

“Compute a course at this speed, 18 knots, to avoid Charlie by 2,000 and keep an eye on the Ranger”, the OSC said.

“Recommend turning port to 331 at 18 to avoid Charlie by 2,000 on our starboard quarter,” said Montoya, 15 seconds later.

“Roger, mark the Ranger every minute, they’re at flight ops,” said the Chief.

“Roger, standby to mark at 0806,” said Harrington.

And so it went, for 2 and a half hours, with a Man Overboard drill, and a simulated gas attack (where we wear MK V gas masks) thrown in for good measure. Fortunately, my nose had stopped bleeding by then.

After GQ I went down to the compartment to wash up, avoiding all the questions everyone was asking as to why my nose was swollen and what the bloody towel was for.
As it was I would never live this down once word got out, and it always does on a small ship.

“Conrad! Are you down here?!” I heard Eltee shouting.

“In here Sir!” I called, from the sink.

“Good God, man! What happened to you?” Eltee asked.

I had a good shiner going as well as the swollen nose.

“Killer chair sir. I think it’s a commie spy,” I said, wryly.

“Damn,” said Eltee, with a puzzled look.

“My sentiments exactly, sir,” I said, sounding like Rocky Balboa.
“Adrian!” I shouted.

The Lieutenant laughed.
“At least you still got your sense of humor,” he said.

Yeah. That and a quarter will get me a cup of coffee, I thought.

“Mac is still sick, so uh…can you do lunch?” Eltee asked.

“I don’t know, sir,” I said, not having to act pathetic.

“C’mon Rock! You can do it!” Said Eltee, trying to imitate Burgess Merideth as Mickey.

“Aye sir,” I said, wearily.

“That’s the spirit, Rock!” Said Eltee, punching my shoulder…the same shoulder I damn near seperated on a steel pole earlier, when I was attacked by the commie ninja chair.

“AAhhh!” I yelled, in white hot pain.

“I’m sorry! Are you Ok?” Eltee asked, backing up.

“Hurt…shoulder…earlier,” I managed to get out, through clenched teeth..

“Uhh, maybe you should get that checked out…after lunch,” Eltee said.

“Not…a chance!” I said, too loud.

“Right. Um. Ok, then. See you soon,” the Eltee said, leaving abruptly.

I slowly made my way up to the wardroom galley, checking the menu again.

“We need some more coffee,” said LTJG Spaz, sticking his head into the galley.

“Aye sir,” I said, leaving the galley and entering the wardroom.

I picked up the pot, and pain shot through my shoulder again.

“What happened to you?” Asked LTJG Spaz.

“Long story, sir,” I replied, in no mood to think about my losing battles with gravity, moving seas and the commie chair.

“You didn’t get into a fight did you?” Asked LTJG Spaz, suspiciously.

“No…sir,” I said leaving the wardroom and entering the galley.

I filled the pot with water, and put the filter and coffee in.
As I lifted the Coffee pot, my shoulder rebelled, and I dropped it on the galley deck.

Crash!

“Sh*t!” I yelled in pain and frustration.

LTJG Spaz opened the galley door. “What happened?” He asked, looking at the mess.

“Bum shoulder…sir,” I said, holding it gingerly.

“Well, hurry up and get this cleaned up,” he ordered.

If looks could kill…
LTJG Spaz noted my look, and decided to take issue.

“You have something else to say?” Asked Spaz, crossing arms the color of a fishes belly.

“Yes! Sir! Please get out of my galley!” I shouted. “I have work to do,” I finished.

“Are you trying to tell me what to do?!” Spaz shouted back.

“What’s going on here?” Said Eltee, walking up beside Spaz and surveying the mess.

“He’s trying to…,” began Spaz.

“Shut up, I didn’t ask you!” Said Eltee firmly, cutting Spaz off in mid-sentence.
Spaz turned beet red, which was quite a feat for someone so pale.

“But he…fine!” Said Spaz, stomping off.

“Shoulder,” I said. “Couldn’t carry… the coffee pot,” I managed to get out.

“No worries, I’ll get it,” Eltee said, picking up the pot and rinsing it off.

Eltee made the coffee and even swabbed up the mess, while I prepared lunch.
After Eltee finished he said, “I want you to go see Doc as soon as lunch is finished. That’s an order,” he said leaving.

“Aye Aye, Captain Blythe,” I said, hoping Doc wasn’t open.

“Good thing I didn’t hear that,” said Eltee, closing the door. "Why are you so reticent to go to sickbay?" He asked.

"Polka," I rasped. "Doc likes...polka."

"Seriously?" Eltee asked, smiling.

"It's horrible, sir," I said.

"Well, I don't particularly like polka myself, but you need to get seen," Eltee said, stifling a laugh.

"I suffered through hours of that devil music," I replied. "I deserve a purple heart for that, Eltee."

"I'll be sure to put you in for one," Eltee replied, about to pat me on the shoulder and stopping himself.

After lunch, I made my way to the infirmary.
Unfortunately, it was open.

There was 5 sailors waiting outside, in a line.
All of them had plastic bags, and one was filling his, as I approached.

I slowly sat down on the deck, at the end of the line, with my back aganst the bulkhead.

“What happened to you, man?” Asked the Sailor ahead of me.

“Chief Cook lost his cool,” I replied.

“Really? He kicked your ass? Why?” He asked.

“I said something bad about his cooking, and he heard me,” I said, wincing.

“Dammnnn. That’s messed up homes,” said the good samaritan.

“Yeah, and get this,” I said, whispering, “the last sailor to piss him off disappeared out at sea. Without a trace.”

“No sh*t?” He said, eyes widening.

“I sh*t you not,” I said, seriously. “He’s crazy, man,” I said, looking scared.
“Watch what you say on the mess decks,” I said, looking around.

“Thanks for the warning, homey,” he said, looking at my face.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I said, knowing he would.

After about 30 minutes, Doc had seen all the patients.

“Next,” he said.

I slowly got to my feet, and walked in.

“Conrad? Is it true that the Chief Cook beat the crap out of you?” Asked the Doc, looking at my face.

“No, of course not,” I said, “who told you that?”

“My last patient. He said you told him,” Doc said.

“He’s probably messing with you Doc,” I said, smiling.

“Yeah. So what really happened to you?” Doc asked.

I explained about the chair.

Doc laughed for a long while. Then he stopped, looked at me, and broke out laughing again.

“Sorry…ha ha…really that’s…ha ha…alright, lets take a look at you,” he said, grabbing his favorite torture device and shining it in my eyes.
“Does your head hurt?” He asked.

“It does now,” I replied, feeling snarky.

“Oh! The light! Hurts eh?” Doc asked.

“Only when you click it on,” I said.

“How many fingers am I holding up,” he asked.

Not again! I thought.

“Four!” I said, immediately.

“Right!” He said, too cheerfully.
“Now let’s check out this shoulder. Does ths hu…,” he began to say, before my scream cut him off.

“I’ll take that as a yes. How about when I move it th…,” he didn’t finish, before I yelled again.

“Hmmm,” he said.

“What?” I asked, trying not to pass out.

“It’s dislocated, I think,” Doc continued.

“Are you sure?” I asked, skeptically.

“Well, probably…I’m not 100% positive, but it looks like it,” he said, obviously unsure.

“So what now?” I asked.

“Hmm? Uh, sit tight for a minute,” he said walking into his adjacent office and grabbing a thick book.

He leafed through the front pages, and opened it up to the page he wanted, and began to read.

He better not start another polkafest, I thought.
Ten minutes later he slapped the book closed, and came back over.
He must have found out what to do, I thought.

“You better lie down for this,” he said, frowning.

“Why?” I asked, suspiciously.

“Because I need to…,” he began, “just do as I say,” Doc ordered, looking nervous.

I laid back on the table, resting my head on the pillow.

“Now…turn your head away from me, and close your eyes,” said Doc, grabbing my arm.
"Your'e going to feel some...pressure."

“But Doc,” I began, before he cut me off.

“That’s an order!” He said.

“That’s the wrong arm!” I said, quickly.

“Oh. Heh heh. I knew that,” Doc said, turning red, and moving over to my other arm.
“Now turn your head…,”

“I know, I know,” I said, before he could finish.

I closed my eyes as he grabbed my arm.
I was so tired, I started to doze off.

“I’m going to place my foot on your chest wall for countertraction, so don’t move,” Doc said.

Right, I thought, drifting off, countertraction.
It was at that point that Doc pulled my arm and…

For those familiar with dislocated shoulders, I don’t need to explain the intense, bone-wrenching pain that came next.
For those that aren’t, let me say that you will survive if this happens to you.
Oh! And ask for morphine! A lot of morphine!

It was soon over, and I wished I could’ve passed out, but I didn’t.
My eyes filled with tears of pain.

“Here is some pain medication,” Doc said, handing me a packet of pills.
“They are strong, so take no more than 1 every 4-6 hours,” he said.
“Continue to use that arm, but don’t do anything really strenous. When we return to port I’ll send you over to Balboa Naval Hospital for some X-rays, and to see an orthapedic doctor,” said Doc.
“Come back to see me if you need more pain meds,” Doc continued.

“Okay,” I whispered in a hoarse voice. "Thanks."

I took a pill as soon as I left, chewing the bitter tablet to get it to work faster.

“Ugh!” I said, hating the taste. "That was dumb."

It was around 1330 when I got to my bunk.
How was I going to get up there? I wondered.
Better go get some coffee until this pain med kicks in, I decided.

Fishcist Dicktaters

2009-08-06T02:45:00.000-07:00

Seems like everyday this White House administration looks for new ways to stifle n' destroy life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

Lately, Obamuh and his minions have asked all of their fellow narkissists to "report" any "fishy" e-mails, videos, letters, etc., that have "disinformation" (translation: the truth) about Obamascare in all it's 1,000 plus page infamy (and in several bills).

As you all know, Obama doesn't take dissent in any form lightly. Indeed, what he once considered patriotic he now considers nearly treasonous, because he is calling us (and anyone who disagrees with his attempted government takeover of healthcare) "mobs" (the only mob I see is the Congress and the White House administration led by the godlessfather hisself, Barack "the Weasel" Obama)(and those angry mobs we saw during the Bush administration who actually behaved like mobs), "faux angry plants," "angry mobs" (waitaminnit, I thought we were faux angry?) and other insulting and demonizing words and phrases (not that I mind demonizing phrases, but they must be true).

According to him and his commie pals we are sent by the BIG Insurance companies and the GOP to "disrupt" townhalls held by demorats, and to spread scary lies about the wonderful guvmint healthscare he wants control of.
BTW, where's my BIG Insurance, BIG Oil and GOP paychecks, anyone see them? Oh wait, BIG Oil is only for me to disrupt meetings about global warming...or climate change...or global cooling...or somethin' like that. It's hard to keep up since they keep changing the name of the current faux climate crisis.

Somehow, although no one can explain how (and never will, since it's impossible), Obamascare will work BETTER than guvmint run Medicare, Military and VA healthcare AND help the economy! Pardon me for wanting to verify the how (not to mention everything else) BEFORE they pass this monstrous attack on our lives, liberties and pursuit of happinesses. Also, pardon me for laughin' my ass off!

Now, the VA and Military healthcare (I'm talking primarily for retirees and disabled vets and their dependents) is supposed to be the very best healthcare available for those who served their country. Purty good intentions, right? And the vets certainly deserve it. No arguement here. However...

Is it the best? Hell no! There's all sorts of problems: long waits, depending on increasingly scarce resources and availability of doctors and other healthcare professionals (hey, they make much more in the private sector), red tape out the wazoo (you gotta jump through so many hoops you feel like you're in a circus of double jointed acrobatic freaks, not that there's anything wrong with double jointed acrobatic freaks), standards and procedures decided by bureaucrats (taking more authority from the docs and giving it to some schmuck who can care less about you, having never met you), a referral for each and every malady you might have REGARDLESS whether your doc can do it himself or not, increasingly higher co-pays for meds and for the Military health insurance run by Tricare, little to no reimbursement for emergency care at a private health facility or hospital (depends on some schmuck bureaurats mood when the hospital sends off the paperwork), you can't pick your own primary care doctor, and I could go on and on. (Note: not that there ain't good schmuck bureaucrats out there, 'cause there are, but they are few n' far between in my experience.

You probably all heard from relatives on Medicare or Medicaid, or read some of the headlines lately concerning a VA not sterilizing colonoscopy equipment properly...for years. These are features of socialized health "care," not rare occurances. This ain't to say there aren't well run VA's because there are, and I consider the one I go to for care to be one of the best, but it still don't compare to a well run private hospital because of the bureaucracy, low pay, perpetual funding problems, etc..
In fact, it would be far better if the government simply paid for veterans to receive private care, and probably cheaper if done right, but that's neither here nor there.

So, we're supposed to believe the guvmint can now do healthcare better than they have been...for many tens of millions MORE people (not counting all the illegal aliens)? What have they been smokin', snortin' eatin' and/or injectin'? Those must be some powerful hallucinogens of some kind that are out of this world (literally), man, if they expect us to believe that.
Okay, not ALL the illegal aliens. I'm sure the cartel bigwigs and bigtime drug dealers and hitmen (and hitwomen) that work for them can afford private healthcare.

Anyways, I read this interesting article about snitch central and their narkissist program here:

I thought I would send the link to the dimwit idiots who thought I would be intimidated by their Chicago style scare tactics. Thing is, those dirty tactics don't work so well in most of America. In fact, I bet it's prompting massive "reporting" of fishy tales of all varieties.
There's a helluva lot of disinformation (and outright lies) out there, mostly from the democrats themselves, led by Don Barack "Superlie" Obama. You know, this could be fun.

Here's my letter:

Dear Minister of Propaganda Czar (or Chairman Obama, or whoever reads these snitch reports),

Can you believe that even democrats are spreading disinformation?
http://blog.heritage.org/2009/08/05/morning-bell-the-people-spreading-disinformation-about-obamacare/

Look, I know you're just doing your job in your efforts to stifle free speech, so I get where you're coming from.

Unfortunately for you, most Americans still love their liberties and freedoms. Yeah, I know, the carefully crafted research groups and special polls you put together and studiously worked on told you different, but apparently they were wrong.

Perhaps if you ban films such as "John Adams" and put Rush Limbaugh in prison (to start with) you will have a better chance of meeting your goals. Oh, and arrest all of these conservative/classical liberal/libertarian/independent community organizers...I mean agitators, that are trying to, well, agitate people into actually asking hard questions of our representatives, who, like the President, don't know much about any of the proposed "health" (wink wink) "plan" (snicker) bills numbering over a thousand pages, but are rip roaring to get it passed ASAP.

And if I may, it looks bad when democrats refuse to see their constituents and/or refuse to conduct townhall meetings in order to avoid the tough questions they don't know the answers to (or rather, they do know but realize it would be most unhelpful to tell the truth at this point). So you might want to give them a bone (such as giving them permission to say "we are going to carefully read and debate all the healthcare proposals and then get you, our constituents to provide input, before we pass anything, because we are here to serve and represent you") if you want them to have a snoballs chance in h.e.doublehockeysticks of getting reelected, however, I do hear the President does have some major contacts there, if you know what I mean and I think you do (wink wink).

But even they and (dare I say it?) B. E. Ezlebub can't work miracles (hey, I reckon I do dare!).

Here's some more free advice (if I may be so bold?):

The next time the Messia...I mean, the President says he will run a transparent and accountable administration then run a transparent and accountable administration (that means "to tell the truth and be responsible and accountable" and stuff). Better yet, don't say it anymore, because clearly the President is incapable of telling the truth most the time (Well lookee here, I suppose am bold. Sorry, I know you aren't used to that in your circles).

You know, this would all run much more smoothly if the President actually honored his oath to uphold the Constitution of the United States of America (I included US of A because it seems quite obvious that the One, I mean the President, made his oath to some other country's Constitution. That, or he doesn't know what our Constitution says). What? What's that? You say he is a Constitutional law professor? Oops, my bad. So the President does know what our Constitution says (I take it that Harvard at least required Mr. Obama to read it before making him a professor, right? Or is that optional now?). Hmmm...then that means he doesn't care what it says, so he will try to change it, or circumvent it, or ignore it.

Oh. I get it. The President never intended to honor his oath. Well, that clears that up. I can see why you're having problems with that transparency thing.

Wow. Looks like your boss painted himself in a corner on the whole truth thing. But, to be fair (I know you leftists love that word), it is virtually impossible to tell the truth while wresting more government control over American lives and businesses in your quest to institute socialism, so I can at least see why you would think it's okay to lie, omit the truth, deceive, misdirect, indoctrinate and to use all those (shall we say) despicable tactics (yes we shall!) to obtain your socialistic goals and more power, or is it verse vice-a?

In light of the truth none of the advice I gave you will help you in your quest to destroy our liberties and our freedoms. I do hope (get it? Hope!) it does change (Change!) you enough to realize that liberty is too precious to take away, for Liberty is what makes America so special, and Liberty is what a multitude of heroes sacrificed life and limb to protect (yes they did! And still are). Even your liberty.

Think about that before you attempt to destroy it in some misguided attempt to make life fair (and miserable) for all Americans.

And really! You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking anyone who will do your bidding to report fellow Americans for anything they say that disagrees with President Obama or his fellow narkissists. This is unAmerican to say the least. Is that your point? If it is (and even if it's not) it's just plain wrong and fishcist. Don't go down that road of fishcism.

If you read this far there just might be hope for you yet.

Ben Conrad, USN (Ret)

P.S. I don't owe any back taxes. Just sayin'.

Some Like It Hot

2009-07-31T09:40:00.000-07:00

Some like it hot, but not me. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good challenge, I just don't enjoy the bad ones. Of course, after prevailing through a bad challenge, there is much to enjoy and be thankful for, not to mention a gigantic relief.

I reckon the most difficult part of bad challenges is bein' thankful DURING the bad part(s). I'm a work in progress in that department, but I am aware of it, so I give it the old college try (not to be confused with the new college try; I'm talkin' effort here, folks) (also, not meant to denigrate those that actually do get a real education, rather than indoctrination at most liberal, or to be more accurate, leftist colleges, natch).

Anyhow, to make a long story a bit shorter (too late!) there was a confluence of bad challenges to deal with this past week or so.

The first one was a bunch of bad headaches, everyday (of course they are bad, there are no good headaches-Ed).
You see, I rarely get headaches, and if I do they are usually mild and quickly dealt with afeter a few aspirin. But these headaches didn't go away, and they weren't mild. I tried drinking more (iced tea, not grog, although Skully insisted that more grog might be preferrable when they didn't stop, but alas, we are currently out of that medicinal wonder product until payday).

Needless to say, reading was practically out of the question, as was excessive noise. Headaches suck, but I tried to be thankful my head didn't explode.

Secondly, we had a helluva heat wave type of weather system that came crashin' through from California (thanks guys!), and we reached triple digits for three days, topping out at 106.
Yeah, I hear QP, Sal, Julie and Joan laughin', 'cause that's almost normal for them in the summer, but up here in Washington that's torture. Hard to believe I used to work in weather like that. I guess I have grown soft, 'cause that heat almost sucked my will to do much of anything. It was mighty hard to be thankful, but I actually was because we cordoned off the living room with plastic tarp stuff and it got no hotter that 85 in there. Walkin' the dogs was no fun, and stayin' in the same room with Patti for several days 24/7 was, um...interesting, but we didn't kill each other so I'm thankful for that.

Thirdly, we lost Cammilu, our terrier mix dog. She was only 9 years old, and it was unexpected and, well, sad. But I'm thankful she is runnin' around in Heaven now with Oscar eatin' Heavenly pork chops n' steaks and bacon! Hopefully, she ain't barkin' at the Angels. Cammilu barked at purty much everything. We miss you girl.

Forthly, I made the grave error of downloading IE 8 (internet explorer 8). I know most of you guys use Macs, but for those of you that do use pc's, DO NOT download
IE 8. It sucks. Bigtime.
So Patti, my tech support wench, takes off her clothes...ha ha. Just kiddin' (unfortunately). She takes off IE 8 and puts IE 7 back on. Hurray! Sort of. Everything is workin' fine again, except my mail...all my mail disappeared! WTH?
And nothin' is comin' in. Say what? Okay, not really say what, unless you want. So Patti says she will get to that today, maybe.
At any rate, I didn't find anything to be thankful for with IE 8, other than I'm thankful we could get rid of it and may it die a thousand deaths and experience all of the Chinese hells (the Chinese got a lotta hells).

Which brings me to today. It'll be relatively cool, I got a lovely wench, the dogs are as fun n' cute as ever, I got plenty of good friends on the innernet (thanks guys), my health is still good, and I could list a brazillion things I'm thankful for! It's a great day to be alive, but even if it wasn't, I hope I can always manage to be thankful, 'cause it can always be worse, and we got a bunch of good stuff to look forward to as we continue on our journey towards Truth.
Bein' thankful is just one of those truth's that might be kinda hard to fully realize sometimes, but we know it works.

Besides, we know precisely what bitterness n' envy does to a person. Ain't never goin' there. I might be cynical at times, but I ain't sinical, if you catch my drift, and I know you guys ain't. :^)
Now to catch up on my readin'. See you guys in the funny pages.

In the Wilderness

2009-07-21T04:01:00.000-07:00

It's difficult to say exactly why I went down the road of self destruction. It seems, lookin' back, it was a plethora of things that I used at the time to "justify" my behavior and cynical attitude.

Certainly the Navy wasn't what I expected it to be. It appeared as if all of my hard work was noticed no more than the work (or lack thereof) of those who did everything they could to get out of work.
I mean, what was the use in puttin' out 100%?
I wasn't advancing any faster than anyone else. There was no meritorious advancement in my future, no special medals for service above and beyond.
Where in the hell was the glory?

Hey, don't get me wrong, I was no braggert, even at that young age of 18, but if this was a movie I would've been standin' out, maybe gettin' more respect and an opportunity to lead.
Afterall, I had been in the Navy an entire year already!

At any rate it didn't happen overnight, and the short answer as to why? 'Cause I wanted to. Besides, the girls like the bad boys, right? Right? At least, that was my observation at the time...in the dives I frequented.
Yeah. Same as high school.

Why am I so depressed, so pissed off and so...sad? Was it because dad divorced mom and left when I was five, never to visit, call, write or even provide child support again? What had gone wrong? We had such a great time before that, fishing, goin' to the races, playing football. Everything a dad and son did. I only hd fond memories of dad up to that point...the point when I told him about what his friend had done to me.
Soon after that, everything fell apart. Actually, I learned later that everything was falling apart before that happened, but that was several years later.
But damn! Why didn't dad do sdad or mom do something about that guy? I still don't know the answer to that question.

Who could know that a friend had raped their child and do...nothing? I expected dad to beat the crap outta the scumbag, like Popeye puttin' a serious beatin' on Bluto (which is what the pervert looked like. Bluto, that is).
But neither my dad nor my mom bothered to even call the police.

Ugh. Yeah, I have daddy issues, I thought, disgusted with myself. well, f*ck that! I'm over it now. Who needs this sh*t? I had been usin' my altered military ID, compliments of a pal in Personnel. Okay, not really a pal because he charged me fifty bucks. Highway robbery, but where else was I gonna get one at?

I was riding the bus to Long Beach, down to the "Pike" which used to be a hoppin' place, kinda like a small Coney Island I had heard, but was now run down. Only some scattered dives remained among the abandoned businesses that used to light up the place like a gigantic carnival.
Dives with a unique mix of customers such as longshoremen, bikers, shipyard workers, rednecks, and sailors.

It felt good to get off the ship, especially after a long day of grinding, chipping and sanding rust and paint off the weather deck. That wasn't my "normal" job, but when a ship is in the yards for an overhaul no one except maybe the Bos'n mates do their "normal" jobs.
Besides that, virtually everyone had several other jobs to do, such as security alerts (real or drills), fightin' fires (which happened quite a few times in the yards), fire drills, flooding drills, sweepin' and swabbin' the decks, cleanin' the heads, taking out the garbage, cleaning the spaces, maintenance on the WTD's (watertight doors and hatches), maintenance on the electronic equipment we used, updating charts and a gaggle of publications, working parties to resupply the ship's stores and galley, standing watches, duty days, inspections, mooring detail for other ships coming or going, mess detail, general training, and many other duties.

Not to mention the ship was dusty and smelled of paint, paint thinner, turpentine, oil, fuel, sweat, BO, wax, various cleaning agents, grease, the acrid smell of welding and cutting torches, and a long list of other smells depending on where you were at on the ship.
Despite all the cleaning that was done the ship was never really clean in the yards.

Then there was the noise. Sanders, grinders, pneumatic tools, chipping hammers, petty officers and chief's shouting orders, sailors cussin', an occasional junior officer asking questions or tryin' to pretend they knew what to do, slowing work down in the process, sailors arguing, sailors askin' to borrow the tools you were using (there never was enough tools to go around, and if you weren't fast enough to snag the best tools you ended up having to use sand paper and elbow grease), and more sailors swearin'.

The first day I reported to the USS Duluth (LPD-6) I saw, heard and smelled all of this. My first thought at the time? WTF? Oh sh*t! I'm screwed!
Not really what you would call a cheery environment. This only added to the bad attitude I had developed since reporting onboard.

I walked into my favorite dive and ordered a beer. I had onlty been here a few times, but I liked the place. It had a jukebox with classic rock and country on it. There were a few pool tables and I liked to play, although I was inconsistent. Sometimes I made evry shot I wanted, and other imes I couldn't sink anything. There was also a very small dance floor but it was seldom used.
The bar was a horseshoe shape, and there was ten tables or so with chairs. I preferred the barstools.

I looked around and surveyed the bar. It was close to 1900 so the bar was beginning to fill up. I sat down where I could see the two entrances and still keep my eye on the rest on the area. The last time I was here there was a fight between two bikers. I don't know why, but one biker simply walked up and clobbered another biker who proceeded to clobber back. The fight didn't last long before one of them was out cold. A biker chick had smashed a beer bottle over the back of his head. The remaining biker beat feet, bloody nose and all, his drunk girlfriend staggering behind him and cussin' at the unconcious biker.
Needless to say I wanted no one behind me.

"Here ya go," Mitch said, sliding me a frosty mug of budweiser.

"Thanks Mitch," I said.

Mitch owned the place and he had three or four bar maids workin' for him at any one time. I was faily certain Mitch knew I wasn't twentyone by the way he looked at me after checkin' my ID, but he just grinned. He wasn't gonna turn me in.

Three beers later Luca walked in and sat down next to me. I didn't know him very well since he was a Bos'n Mate, but everyone respected him. I had heard he had been in twelve years. Currently he was a petty officer third class, having been busted in rank for fightin' and being UA (unauthorized absence) from the ship due to bein' jailed. Scuttlebutt had it that Luca would've been a chief by now, but he loved to drink and fight, so he got busted a lot.

I only met Luca once when he was in charge of the tool locker, but I saw his hulking form frequently, shoutin' orders at the other bos'n mates and sometimes laughing loudly. He asked me where I was from and I told him California, florida and Oregon, but mostly Oregon. He laughed at that.

"I'm from the Bronx," he had said.

And he sounded like it. He asked for my name and shook my hand, welcoming me aboard the ship.

"Work hard and you'll be okay," Luca said, shaking my hand.

I winced from the vise-like grip of his massive, heavily calloused hand, but I didn't show it. I squeezed back as hard as I could. Luca looked me in the eyes and laughed again.

"You're alright for a RADAR guy," he said, chuckling, finally releasing his grip. "Hey, if you ever have problems with any of my guys when you're gettin' tools just tell 'em Luca sent ya," he concluded, slapping me on the back and almost knocking me down.

Geez, that guy is strong! I had thought, rubbing my right hand. I could tell, just lookin' at him he was a badass, and someone I never wanted to piss off. I could also tell he knew his job well.

"Hey Luca!" I said, raising my mug.

"Ben, right?" Luca replied, holding up two fingers to Mitch.

"Aye," I said, surprised he remembered my name.

Mitch brought a mug of beer and a shot glass of what looked like whiskey. Luca downed the whiskey in one gulp and drained half his mug.

"Ahh! That hits the spot!" He exclaimed. "Nothin' like a good boilermaker, eh? Have you tried one yet?" He asked.

"Not yet," I replied.

"Whattya waitin' for? Mitch, two more shots," Luca said.

Mitch brought another shgot glass and filled both Luca's and mine with whiskey, an amused look on his face.

"To the Duluth!" Luca bellowed, raising his shot glass.

I raised my glass and repeated the toast. I didn't really want any whiskey with my beer but I wasn't gonna tell Luca that. I downed the whiskey and did my best not to cough. I had drank whiskey before with my Grandpa, but only small amounts, and small sips. I never got drunk and neither did Grandpa, but I enjoyed those times, even though I never liked whiskey all that much. At least not as a teenager.

"Now you drink some beer," Luca said, grinning.

"Right," I managed to rasp, drinking a few big gulps of beer.

The beer helped ease the harshness of the whiskey. This whiskey tastes a lot worse than Grandpa's Canadian Mist, I thought.

We had a few more boilermakers and Luca told me some sea stories. After the third one I was getting pretty wasted. Not bad, I thought, but my stomach wasn't too happy with me. At this point I didn't much care.

"Damn it!" Luca exclaimed opening up his wallet. I only gotta fiver left. Would you spot me a twenty?" Luca asked.

I didn't have much money, bein' a seaman and all, but I did have forty bucks left. I gave Luca a twenty, wondering if he would remember borrowing it.

"Thanks Ben," Luca said. "You're a lifesaver, pal!"

"Glad to help," I said, lighting up a smoke.

"What are you looking at, assh*le?!" A guy on the other side of the bar shouted.

It seemed like he was looking at me, but I wasn't sure. I took another drink of beer and continued listening to Luca. None of my business, I thought.

"Hey! I'm talking to you, f*ckface!" The guy shouted.

"Knock it off," Mitch said.

"That guy is eyeballing me!" They guy said, standing up and walking around the bar in my direction.

Another man who had been sitting beside him followed. I watched them both and they were definitely looking at me. Oh sh*t! I thought. When they got close I stood up.

"Hey I don't want any trouble," I said.

"Nobody eyeballs me, boy!" The man in the lead said.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

The other man was beside him now and both looked dead set on kicking my ass. They appeared to be longshoremen or yard workers. They also both appeared wasted and mean as hell. They wre both bigger than me as well. I knew I should run, but I refused to do so. I quit runnin' from bullies in junior high school, and I wasn't about to start now. I got ready to strike, tryin' to formulate a plan.

When you're outnumbered the best thing to do is look for equalizers. The only equalizer nearby was my mug, so I grabbed it.
That's when I noticed the guy who had been yellin' at me had a knife.

Crap. This just keeps gettin' better and better, I thought.

The guy with the knife lunged and I took a step back as he slashed at me, missing.
Then I saw a chair from one of the tables smash him on the side of the head. He went down like a brick, and I saw it was Luca swinging the chair.
Next he kicked the other guy in the knee and I heard a crack as that guy fell to the floor holding his knee and screamin' in pain. The Luca hit his in the jaw with a haymaker and he was out like a light.

It all happened so fast that neither one of those guys could react. I could barely keep up with what Luca had done. Damn! I thought. Luca is more than a badass!

"Thanks Luca! Man, you really kicked the sh*t outta those guys!" I exclaimed.

"Holy sh*t, Luca! Way to go!" Mitch said, putting his baseball bat away.

"No sweat," Luca said. "F*ckin' pr*cks!" Luca said, kickin' the guy who had the knife in the ribs.

Luca picked up the knife and examined it. It looked like a switchblade. He gave it to Mitch, and sat back down as if nothin' happened. A lot of guys shouted praise or gave a thumbs up, but Luca was nonchalant about it.

"They were p*ssies," Luca said, lighting a smoke and taking a drag.

"That deserves a couple of free drinks," Mitch said, refilling Luca's shot glass and bringing another beer.

"Refill Ben's too," Luca said.

"Sure thing," Mitch replied.

"Listen Ben, don't ever hesitate. Guys like that you gotta take 'em down fast n' hard, y'know?" Luca instructed.

"Thanks Luca. I could use some pointers," I replied, nodding my head.

Luca gave me fighting tips the rest of the night and more sea stories, of course.

On the jukebox I heard one of my favorite songs playing.

Man In The Wilderness, by Styx

Another year has passed me by
Still I look a myself and cry
What kind of man have I become?
All of the years I've spent in search of myself
And I'm still in the dark
'Cause I can't seem to find the light alone

Sometimes I feel like a man in the wilderness
I'm a lonely sailor off to war
Sent away to die - never quite knowing why
Sometimes it makes no sense at all

Ten Thousand people look my way
But they can't see the way that I feel
Nobody even cares to try
I spend my life and sell my soul on the road
And I'm still in the dark
'Cause I can't seem to find the light alone

Sometimes I feel like a man in the wilderness
I'm a lonely sailor lost at sea
Drifting with the tide
Never quite knowing why
Sometimes it makes no sense at all

(I'm alive)
Looking for love I'm a man with emotion
(And my heart's on fire)
I'm dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean
I'm alive

Sometimes I feel like a man in the wilderness
I'm a lonely sailor off to war
Sent away to die - never quite knowing why
Sometimes it makes no sense at all

The song seemed appropiate for my own life at the time. Would I see the light? I thought I did years before but now it didn't seem real.
Would anything ever make sense? I felt a loss I couldn't explain and a sorrow beneath the armor of my humor, riding a wave of cynicism that was growing stronger by the day.

It was glad to have a new friend, but loneliness was always creeping at the edge of my thoughts, often intruding when I allowed myself to think.
I tried to pray but I was beginning to think that God might not exist or...I didn't deserve His attention. Nonetheless, I needed answers, or a few more beers.

Indurance

2009-07-10T21:37:00.000-07:00

It's funny how much work a pup and teenage dachsi can be. The effort required has certainly surpassed my expectations.
For one thing, dachsunds have small bladders, so you really hafta watch 'em and take them outside often, normally every two hours, but sometimes more, and rarely, less.

Secondly, neither Patti nor I have ever had a young puppy. The youngest pup I recall having was six months old, and already housebroken.
So I searched the innernet and got plenty of info.

Only take them out for five or ten minutes, and once they do their thing, praise them and bring 'em right back inside.

Yeah, right. This may very well work with most breeds but not these dachsi's. They go when they are ready.

Put them in a kennel type carrier when they sleep, or when you can't watch them, because they won't go where they sleep at, is more advice.

Hyeah. Please. Now, with Skully that wasn't a problem, but Little Miss? Well, after you get over the incessant whining, and you never do, and the crying makes you feel guilty..."I'm a monster! Free the puppy! Poor thing. Awww, it's alright. Don't do that. Oh c'mon, it's only temporary."
And then she does indeed pee n' poop in the carrier. Strike that idea.

When Little Miss whines it can mean several things:
She has to go.
She's hungry and/or thirsty.
She's tricking you so she can play outside, then she'll pee or poop when she gets back in. Argh!
She's tired and needs a nap.

I've never had a dog that fights sleep like she does, but our youngest daughter was like that. Sigh. Our youngest daughter is now grown up and is workin' as a psychologist at Fort Bragg, where she served four years as a Soldier in the 81st Airborne while goin' to school at night to get her degree. So she wasn't adversely affected by the fightin' sleep syndrome.
Come to think of it, I often fought sleep so I could read books as a kid, by moonlight sometimes, or the small amount of light coming under the door, or a borrowed flashlight under the covers. But I digress.

What I have found works best for the pup is to sit her on my lap and pet her, turning off all the lights I can, and grabbin' her every time she tries to escape to attack Skully or Cammilu (she loves to wrestle/play fight). Sigh. As Caesar, the Dog Whisperer says: "be calm and assertive." And that works with most other dogs, but not Little Miss. No, she's a rebel, an outlaw who laughs at the rules. However, persistance is rewarded, after many long battles.

A few days ago I was about to go to the store and Skully, who is always well behaved darts out like black lightnin'! I immediately followed, callin' his name. At first I walked fast, tryin' not to scare him, but he just kept runnin' down an old, unused road that's mostly getting overgrown now.
So I ran faster to keep him in visual range, soon going into an outright sprint.

Now, I haven't ran like that for ages, but I couldn't let Skully get ate by coyotes, or a bear or cougar. Yeah, as most of you know we live in the boonies, and I did see a black bear once, and a cougar, as well as plenty of tracks. But coyotes are the biggest danger to small dogs and cats.

Skully sped up and so did I. I briefly wondered how long I could keep this up. As most of you guys know, it wasn't too long ago I was at death's door under the care of hospice nurses and my wife, Patti, unable to walk or talk, or even read without goin' into a seizure.
I have made great strides since then, but I still have very little physical energy or endurance.

I pushed the thought out of my mind. I refused to stop, although my muscles were screamin. Oddly, I wasn't huffin' and puffin' for breath, I remember thinkin'. Even when I was extremely fit, during my Navy days, I would be breathin' purty hard at this point.
I have a mission, I thought, and I would. Not. Stop. Until I had Skully securely in my arms. Period. I ran faster and felt my adrenaline kick in. The minutes went by, and I was sure I had passed a mile, but I could still see Skully, about fifty feet ahead.

Earlier, he wanted to walk down that old road, and we walk it often. He loves it, having been born and kept in a barn for two years before we got him. So this was all new and fascinating to him.
One thing I have learned with dachsi's and terriers is that they can become obsessed with something, be it a rabbit or a mole or a smell, or whatever. They don't forget it, and it will stay on their mind sometimes for days.
For Skully it's this old road, and wild rabbits.

The road turned into a trail, and then barely a trail. Soon we were runnin' through brush and a lot of branches from the logging the owner of the property did a few years ago. Amazing how fast the cleared out land became overgrown with more small trees and brush.

Fortunately, this slowed Skully down a bit, but it also increased the danger of a sprain ankle for me. I looked ahead and saw woods about two hundred yards ahead.
At one point I was close enough to tackle Skully, but I didn't wanna hurt him.
He surged ahead, outdistancing me. Damn! Maybe I should've tackled him while I had a chance, I berated myself.

I forced myself to keep going, runnin' ever faster. My legs burned, and felt like they were about to spaz out. You see, I have peripheral neuropathy in my feet and legs, and sometimes the muscles will knot up into a herd of charlie horses, not too mention burn like hell which happens most the time. That sucks, of course, but I'm thank God I can walk again, and even run when necessary.
But if my muscles spaz out no amount of willpower would enable me to walk, let alone sprint.

No, I thought. Don't go there. I steeled myself and stopped thinkin' about it, as sweat drenched by face and burned my eyes. I poured it on, ignoring the pain. I gotta catch Skully, I was thinkin'. I just gotta.
The woods edged ever closer, but so did Skully. An idea popped into my head. What if I yell "No!" very loudly? It could make Skully stop or it could make him run faster.

When we got Skully, a few months ago, he would often cringe when we would bend down to pet him or pick him up. That's usually a sign a dog wasn't well treated or perhaps he was ignored.
Cammilu, our terrier would also do that when we got her, but now she trusts us. We would never hit our pets, except with a newspaper in extreme cases, or, I found a squirt bottle with water works purty good whe they misbehave. Especially when they dislike getting water on them. At any rate, nothin' to hurt them but rather get their attention.

I realized time was runnin' out. I had to try somethin' before my legs gave out or before Skully got into the woods, where I would probably lose him. I hoped this would work.

"No!" I bellowed. Skully stopped and cringed. Yes! I thought, quickly closing the gap.
I got ten feet away when I steeped on a branch. It snapped loudly and Skully got up, ready to bolt as he usually does at loud sounds.

"No!" I yelled again, launchin' myself towards Skully and grabbing him as he began to run.
I picked him up, balancing myself on the branches that littered the ground.

"It's okay, boy," I said calmly, cradling him in one arm and petting him. He wagged his tail tentatively, and eventually realized I wasn't gonna hit him.

"Yeah, it's okay," I said, as I slowly walked back to our home.

Halfway back I saw Patti who was lookin' for us. She smiled when she spied Skully.
I knew she would be out soon to help me find Skully. It took awhile for her to find where we had gone, but she did. She always has my back, God bless her!

I felt good, although my legs were killin' me.
I can still do more than I think I can do, I thought. Not that I wanna run like that again, but simply knowin' I can feels good. Getting stronger...yeah, that feels great, but as I told Julie this mornin', replying to her e-mail, it feels like I'm in bootcamp at the end of the day, and I can barely keep my eyes open as I fight sleep, the pup finally asleep on my lap and Skully sleepin' beside me.
I'm exhausted but I'm gettin' stronger.

I sure do miss you guys. I'll try to blog n' comment at your blogs more often, as I get stronger, as once again I realize I can do more than I think I can.
That feels Good!

Puppy Pandemonium

2009-07-01T01:56:00.000-07:00

I like my pork rinds straight n' neat, I said. Hold the rocks. But that dame bitch slipped me a mickey. Wow, maybe I should quit watchin' those really ancient flicks that Dad likes to see. Besides, the music can be scary and don't get me started on all those shadows n' stuff. I love pork rinds.

Nothin' like some leftover chew bone to start the mornin'. Too bad Skully or Cammilu ain't around, then I could get them to soften it up for me, before I borrow it from them. Guess I should've thought of that last night. Oh wait, I did think of that last night, ha ha! Boy, were they mad!

Time to sit up, I guess. Where is everyone? Sleepin' in again?

Gotta do my yogi exercises that Dad taught me. Yeah...that feels so much better. Now I am in touch with my inner therewolf. I wonder what a therewolf is? That guy with the weird eyes said somethin' about it on that movie we watched last night...Young Frank n' stein. 'Cept he didn't look very young to me.

Lookin' good in my seadog outfit that big Skully gave me. I wonder what a pigme is? He said they were really short like me.

Time to kill the tiger! Little Miss thought.

Can't be too careful around these things.

"Hi Mom and Dad! What's for breakfast? Look, I killed the tiger...again," Little Miss said.

Cool! Giant lips! Skully thought.

I really hope no one saw that.

If I'm vewy vewy quiet, I can ambush Skully again, thought Little Miss.

Geez, not again, Skully thought. Doesn't she ever stop?

"Dangit! I got babysittin' duty again!" Cammilu said. "I'm a terrier, not a collie."

Little Miss takin' a nap, no doubt dreamin'...dreamin' to take over the world!

"Don't make me beg! Okay, okay I'll beg," Skully said.

"Hey, let me outta here! I didn't do it I tell ya," Skully said.

Skully takin' a leisurely stroll while I sit in the command chair, surveyin' the tactical situation. The work of a cap'n is never done.

Here's Little Miss runnin' so fast she's just a blur. In fact, so am I. Could be that the grog I drank, along with her superdog speed has thrown the entire space/time continuum out of whack.

Skully n' Little Miss n' me sleepin'. I'm the one wearin' red. I think.

There's that blur again. Is this what a wormhole feels like?

"I'm down with that," Little Miss dreamed. "Hey! Are those flyin' pigs?"

"That is the best doggone smellin' underarm I ever smelt!" Exclaimed Skully.

Skully n' Little Miss sleepin'. They look so cute, but don't let that fool you. I mean, they are cute, so don't get me wrong, but that's a distraction, designed to...distract you. You see, they're rechargin', in order to wreak more havoc and let loose the dogs of war! Or somethin'.

Shingle Me This!

2009-06-13T16:48:00.000-07:00

I interrupt this broad cast for this important message:

Sung to the tune of "Basketball Jones" by Cheech-

Shingle toe woes,
I gotta shingle toe woes,
I gotta shingle toe woes oh baby,
ooo-ooo-ooo! (Or is that ooh ooh ooh?-Ed).

Yes OCAS fans, I now consider myself a battle hardened veteran when it comes to everybody's favorite chicken pox on steroids past time: shingles (kinda like tingles but with hellfire and insane itching).
This bein' my fourth incounter with the pox and all.

Not that I'm complainin', mind you. This is just my left foot. I can soitenly think of worse places it could be, so I'm happy it's not a repeat performance of the last three poxes (poxi?-Ed). :^)

Skully, always willin' to help (as long as he don't actually hafta do much) recommends: Aye! You guessed it, copious amounts of grog, with rum chasers. Or was that copious amounts of rum with grog chasers? Aw hell, I'll try both!
And for once, I'm in total agreement with Skully. Fight fire with fire! Blow those damn shingles to kingdom come!

For a few days now, I have seen the puppy with a kleenex tissue, running around like it's a trophy or something.
Where in the world did he get that? I wondered, since I throw kleenex away after using it. And I'm not prone to dropping them around the house.

So I go take away the kleenex, but not without heavy resistance and a rigorous chase that finally resulted in the recovery of several pieces of kleenex. But I won, by george! I won! Yeahhh! Take that, Little Miss! I'm da man! A bit out of breath but still da man, regardless.

A few minutes later Little Miss runs by with another kleenex, and was quite happy to see the look on my face. The next day, the games continued, three more times. Where is she gettin' the damn kleenex? I wondered again.

As the sweat rolled off my face, I threw the pieces of the latest "kill" away, and I notice a black flash to my right, down by the floor. Little Miss was pulling the kleenexes from the box next to me. Very convenient for pups and people alike. Why you little...!

What's this? Now Skully has mixed together, usin' his coveted shipboard alchemy skills, somethin' he calls "torpedo juice."
Now I've heard of torpedo juice while I was in the Navy, but I never had the chance to try some. For those not familiar with the term, it's basically a form of moonshine. Although Skully says it puts moonshine to shame, so perhaps that's an unfair comparison.
I'll just taste test it and tell you first hand what it's like...gulp.

...?!

...!! "Ack!"

...!!!

Er...hi there, shipmates! Skully here. Cap'n Ben is...well you might say he's takin' a "power" nap. Yeah, that's the ticket. But don't you worry none, Cap'n Ben will be up and about in no time. My torpedo juice will speed up the healin', see. It gathers all those imoon cells and they go after those nasty ol' shingo cells. Sorta like "repel borders!"

Those imoon cells get little shotguns (pump action, of course) and .45's. Others get M-14's, M-16's, (or whatever the hell they're usin' these days) and naturally we got some mannin' the .50 cals. Then they go space to space, deck to deck throughout the ship (or body) and blast those scumsuckers all to hell!
You might've heard of my famous battle cry:

"Damn, where's the torpedo juice? All ahead flank!" Or somethin' like that. I dunno, there's so many variashuns I fergot the actual words, but that's purty close.
"Fire!" Is another one you mighta heard. I'm fairly certain that one is verbatum.

"C'mere, pup! Wanna kleenex?" Those pups really like kleenexes for some reason.
"Here, a bit of sardine oil will make it taste better."

The Return Of Sea Stories

2009-06-04T01:40:00.000-07:00

Know what? I really hate that stupid escape button! Here I almost finished a fairly decent (for me) post, and I accidently hit the Esc button only to find my entry blank. Arrgghh!
Hey, as slow as I type, this is a substantial loss! Okay, whining time is over (grumble, grumble).

Okay, to make a long story short: After the last and probably final act of my foray into fiction, I'm returnin' to the true blue sea stories that almost made me in-famous, or somethin'.
Youse guys never did hear the story of how I almost self-destructed, and how a few, very painful...well, don't wanna ruin the story now, do we?

Of course, my longtime readers n' friends know the ending, as of now that is, but this was a very crucial time in my life. Consider it a pre-seaquel. A time where I was in a freefall into the abyss. Naturally, there was still a lot of comedy to go along with the tragedy, so it won't be a long slog through downer after downer.

And once again, please aceept my apologies for not stoppin' by your blogs as often as I would like. If only I could speed read again. However, I am thankful I can read again. :^)

Also, as most of you know, I lost most of my stories from my blog going a few years back last fall, and the backup site I was savin' everything to went belly-up as well. What are the odds? No, don't tell me. Anyways, I may be able to recover some of it through microsoft outlook, so I'll be doin' that as much as I can.

And in between writing I'll soitenly be visitin' your excellent blogs. :^)

Skully Redux and Little Miss Now With Photos

2009-05-23T15:11:00.000-07:00

I'm rarely surprised when it comes to Patti. Afterall, our anniversary is next month and it will be our 28th. So we know each other purty well, which keeps any major surprises to a mininum.

So imagine how surprised I was to wake up a few days ago to see a puppy!

A baby mimi-dachshund, to be exact.

Same colors as Oscar was. And imagine how much more surprised I was to see a second mini-dachsund!! This one was older.

The pup is a female and Patti has named her Little Miss. The other is a two year old male, who I christened "Skully." Apparently, the pup was on sale and Skully was thrown in (not literally!) for free, since he's older and very skittish. He lived in a barn and was used for breeding, but had very little human contact. He's already getting over the skittish part, however, and both dogs are already learning to be house-broken.

While they are learning, (Skully hasn't had any accidents for a day) Patti and I have honed our dung-fu skills. We limber up with tai-pee, before unleashing our awesome abilities on the newspaper covered battleground.

We're still lookin' for our camera, but hope to post some pics soon. Incidently, puppies are much more exhausting than I recall. Do they ever sleep more than an hour at a time? You know how cats can get on catnip? Well, picture the puppy reacting the same way (looney-tunes, man!). Is there such a thing as dog nip? Or is Skully sr. feedin' it grog?

Oh, and we don't want Cammilu to feel left out. Pay no attention to that bum she found.

InnermissioNoir Fu

2009-05-14T03:00:00.000-07:00

Act 18: Changes

"I must examine you, Mack," Hanna said, unbuttoning Mack's shirt.

"Okay," Mack replied.

"Get me a flashlight, please," Hanna ordered.

"Here," Akira said, handing Hanna a flashlight.

"It is...it is healed! All you have left is a scar!" Hanna exclaimed, shining the light on Mack's chest.

"Yes," Mack said.

"Wow! How did that happen so fast?" Annie asked.

"Maybe it was that stuff Gramps used?" Hanna replied, touching the scar.

Annie touched the scar as well, in awe. This...was impossible, and yet the proof was at her fingertips.

Whoo! A police siren sounded and pulled up. Mack tensed, as if to run.

"It's okay, Mack," Annie said, holding Mack's hand.

Mack calmed down as the two police officers got out and approached, hands on their guns. They both shined their flashlights on the group. Jim intercepted them and flashed his badge.

"What's going on here Jim?" The older officer asked, looking at Mack who had his shirt unbuttoned.

Mack tensed up again at the sound of the officers voice.

"I can't tell you that at the moment, Johnson," Jim replied. ""I'm working on a case, and they have information I need. That's all I can say."

"Well, sorry Jim, but I think there's several people that will be interested to talk to him," Johnson said, drawing his gun and pointing it at Mack.

The other officer reluctantly pulled his weapon too, unsure of what he was supposed to do, he pointed his gat at Mack also.

"You mind explaining why you drew your weapon, sir?" He asked.

"Of course, O'Brian. You see, that guy over there is Mack Westphal. He's supposed to be dead, but nevertheless he is wanted as a suspect of multiple murders. Go handcuff him, and be careful," Johnson said, smiling.

"I don't recall a BOLA put out on him," the other officer said.

"Because he's supposed to be dead! Now cuff him!" Johnson ordered.

"Belay that!" Jim ordered. "And holster your weapon. Now!"

"No can do, Captain. In fact, I'm arresting you as well," Johnson said, still smiling.

"For what?" Jim asked, visibly getting angry.

"For aiding and abetting this murderer," Johnson said. "Radio for back-up," Johnson continued. "I got the feeling they aren't going to cooperate."

"Listen to me son," Jim said, don't blow our cover. I outrank Johnson so do as I say. Stand down, Johnson!" Jim ordered.

"Radio for back-up," Johnson ordered.

"He-he's right, sir," O'Brian said, putting his gun back in his holster. "He does outrank you. I'm sure we can get this cleared up at HQ."

Blam! Johnson shot O'Brian in the head. O'Brian fell, a look of shock on his face.

"Fine, I'll do it myself," Johnson said, sighing.

"What the hell?" Jim exclaimed, going for his gat.

Johnson swung around to shoot Jim, so Jim dived behind the car fender, cursing.

"I always figured you were a traitor but I never thought you would sink this low," Jim said, finally getting his gat out.

Johnson tried to grab Hanna, but before he could take one step Mack was on him. Mack grabbed Johnson's arms and squeezed so hard everyone could hear bones cracking.

"Aaahhh!" Johnson screamed, dropping his gun. "No! How? No! No one's that fast!"

"I know who you are," Mack said, his eyes flashing as they bore into Johnson's soul.
"You helped get my family murdered."

"N-no, you got it all wrong! Mack, y-you know me, we're pals, right? Okay, okay! I'm s-sorry, okay? I thought he was just going to scare you, you know? I didn't know he was going to k-kill your family. Please! You got to believe me! P-please! I had no choice. D-don't kill me, I beg you! Look, I tell you what, I-I'll make a deal with you, Mack. Y-yeah! I-I got money...lots of moolah! More than you can dream of. Y-you can have it! Yeah! All of it!" Johnson shouted, his face twisted with pain and fear. Sweat poured profusely down his face.

Mack stared at Johnson so intensely that Johnson began to shake in fear.

"Did the Grandmaster have help?" Jim asked.

"Y-yes. His go to guy was there, and so was Yukio, but the Grandmaster did all the
k-killing," Johnson replied.

"Murder. It was...murder," Mack said, his eyes watering up.

"R-right. M-murder," Johnson said. "I would have told you, Mack, but they would've killed me. I-I'm sorry! I r-really am. Please...have m-mercy."

"who else?" Mack asked.

"H-huh? What d-do you mean?" Johnson replied.

"Who! Else?!" Mack said forcibly, still unable to shout.

"I-I...I told you, Mack," Johnson replied.

"Who the f*ck else, Johnson?" Jim repeated. "You better talk now. I won't be able to stop Mack if he gets...upset."

Johnson's eyes darted around nervously and he licked his dry lips, as more sweat streamed down his face. Mack let out a gutteral growl and Johnson looked at him. Something in Mack's eyes told him he better come clean. Mack would kill him and do it slowly. Johnson saw hell in those eyes. His hell. And he could already feel the flames hungrily licking his soul.

"Okay, okay okay!" Johnson exclaimed shutting his eyes tightly, so he could avoid Mack's gaze. "It was the Ch-chief, okay? Please...let m-me go. I hurt s-so bad," he whined.

"You don't deserve an honorable death," Mack rasped in disgust, dropping Johnson like a sack of potatoes and slowly walking away.

"The Chief? Chief Brody?" Jim asked in disbelief, shaking his head.

"N-no, not him. Th-this was when mack was detective," Johnson said, holding his wrists to his body and wincing. "He's mayor now."

"Good God!" Jim exclaimed. "Of course! It all makes sense now. All the misdirections, and dead ends and mandela...he set mack up to be fired. But why?" Jim asked. "Why Mack's family? And why didn't they go after Mack?"

Johnson immediately went for his heater. He could still move his left hand. He didn't usually fire his weapon with his left hand but he had practiced for situations like this. Besides, at this range he was certain to hit Mack.
Johnson brought his heater up, a crazed laugh escapinfg his lips.

"Go to hell!" Johnson screamed, as he aimed at Mack's back and laughed hysterically.

Boom! Boom! Boom! One bullet hit Johnson dead center and hit his vest, knocking him back. The other two bullets hit him right between the eyes. Jim advanced, still pointing his weapon at Johnson. He kicked Johnson's weapon aside and checked for a pulse. There wasn't one.

"No," Jim said, "you go to hell, Johnson."

"I recommend we leave. Now," Akira said.

"Mack, I'm sorry you had to hear that," Jim said, putting his hand on Mack's shoulder.

"Good shot, Jim," Mack answered, smiling tightly. "Thanks."

"We're going to get them, Mack. The Grandmaster, and the Mayor. It's reckoning time," Jim said, determination etching his features.

"Aye aye," Mack replied, patting Jim on the back.

Annie grabbed Mack's hand and led him to the car. Mika screamed when she saw Mack's face more clearly.

"He will not hurt you, Mika," Akira said, as she got out of the car and clung to him.
"Mika...this is Mack. Mack, this is Mika."

"A pleasure," Mack said, bowing deeply. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"H-he's not human!" Mika shouted in Japanese.

"Yes he is, Mika. And he is our friend!" Akira berated her in Japanese. "Come, sit with me in the front."

Mack sat in the back, with Annie and Hanna on each side of him.

"Let's get that shirt buttoned," Annie said, buttoning Mack's shirt.

"I bet you never thought you would be buttoning Mack's shirt," Hanna said, laughing.

"What are you trying to say?" Annie replied, blushing. "Are you thirsty or hungry, Mack?" She asked.

"Yes," Mack replied.

"You are in luck, we have a bar," Hanna said. "What do you want?"

"Drink?" Mack shrugged.

"I know that, silly. What do you want to drink?" Hanna asked.

Mack shrugged again.

"How about the whiskey, Hanna?" Annie said.

"Right. Mack likes whiskey," Hanna said, pouring Mack a tumbler of whiskey and handing it to him.

Mack downed the whiskey and coughed. After coughing for a few seconds he said, "You're right, I do like it."

"Here Mack, we have peanuts, pretzels, sunflower seeds, candy bars and potato chips," Annie said, piling bags onto Mack's lap.

"Good thing the nuts are shelled," Hanna quipped. "I still cannot believe you ate that egg, shell and all."

"That was funny," Annie said, laughing.

Mack picked up a bag of peanuts and looked it over.

"Here, I'll get that," Annie and Hanna said at the same time, reaching for the bag.

"I got it," Annie said, smiling.

"Right. I will get him more to drink," Hanna said, smiling back.

"Go easy on the booze back there," Jim said.

"Alright, that is probably a good idea, Jim. Here Mack, try this," Hanna said, pouring perrier into Mack's tumbler.

"What is it?" Mack asked, sniffing it.

"Water with bubbles in it," Annie said, as Mack drank it down without stopping.

Mack looked at Annie and then at Hanna, and back at Annie before burping loudly. Everyone laughed. Even Mika, although she tried to hide it.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

Everyone heard the song Good Vibrations by the Beach Boys playing and looked around for the source of the music.

"Good song," Mack said.

"It is Sensei!" Akira exclaimed as he scrambled to find his cell phone.

"Akira, it is Sensei. Can you hear me now?" Sensei asked.

"Sensei! Mack is alive!" Akira exclaimed.

"Yes, I know," Sensei said. "The cave I left him in has been empty since the funeral."

"That medicine you used worked!" Akira said. "Wait! You knew?"

"First time that ever happened," Sensei answered. "Although I suspect it was far more than the medicine I used. Yes, I suspected, but I wanted to be sure."

"Why did you not tell us?" Akira asked.

"Why get your hopes up? As I mentioned, this never happened before. How does he seem?" Sensei asked.

"He seems fine, except for some memory loss. Plus a sore throat, or some kind of problem talking like he used to," Akira replied.

"Hmm," Sensei mused. "well, he has been dead for three days. I am certainly not an expert on this, but he should regain his full memory."

"It is not just that, Sensei, he is...different. He has...changed," Akira said, whispering.

"Of course he has changed!" Sensei replied. "Who would not? Where are you?"

"We are heading to Long Beach to stop the Grandmaster," Akira said.

"Very well. I will meet you there," Sensei said. "What is the exact location? Yes. Okay, good. See you in a few hours or so," Sensei finished, hanging up.

"I changed?" Mack asked.

"Yes, in a good way, Mack-san," Akira replied turning red and glad it was dark.

"How?" Mack asked.

"Well, you have better hearing for one," Akira replied.

"You're a helluva lot faster too," Jim said.

"And you're more handsome," Annie said, squeezing mack's hand and smiling.

"You are also healthier overall," Hanna said.

"Thanks," Mack said.

"M-Mack-san?" Mika asked, barely audible. "Please excuse. Why were you laughing when you k-killed Yukio?"

Mack furrowed his brow. "I knew. While I was...away, I saw things. I heard...what Yukio had...planned for Annie. When he...offered money, power, I knew. So pitiful...he was. And...Yukio thought...he could trick me. Funny. But not fun. I saw with...clarity. I'm...sorry," Mack said with difficulty.

"Thank you, Mack-san," Mika said.

"Do you remember Mack, your time away?" Annie asked.

"A little. There was...no time. A man...an angel took me to a...place. There was another man...not an angel. I saw...my family in...the distance. I was...given a choice to stay...or return," Mack said.

"Why did you choose to return?" Hanna asked.

"I...because...you, Annie," Mack replied, turning to look at Annie's dim face.

"Oh Mack," Annie said, hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry. I thought I was losing my mind," she wept.

"No. I wanted to...be...with you," Mack said, gently wiping the tears from Annie's face.

"You came back for me?" Annie asked, overwhelmed by love. Mack nodded.

Annie hesitantly kissed Mack, and Mack followed through with a kiss of his own. A very long kiss.

"Apparently, he has not forgotten how to kiss," Hanna quipped, smiling.

"Hey, get a room you two," Jim said, laughing as he glanced in the rearview mirror.

"Yes," Mack said, after the long kiss. "now you're...stuck with me."

Akira heard Mika sobbing softly, although she tried to hide it.

"Mika, what is the matter?" Akira whispered.

"The love they have, Akira-san. I am moved," she replied. "Please excuse."

"No need to excuse you for that," Akira said softly.

To Akira's surprise, Mika wept more and hugged him. Akira hugged her back, gently stroking her hair.

"What is this, an epidemic?" Hanna asked, laughing playfully.

Hanna was happy for Mack and Annie, and she hoped that her dad and Mika would fall in love. Hanna sighed wistfully, as she began to mentally make wedding plans for both couples. Someday, my prince will come too, she thought, without a trace of envy.