Saturday, November 17, 2012


Governor Sparkle, aka Scott - I would hire whoever Photo Shopped this, 'cause he looks like an actual       bi-ped here. Just sayin'. 

Well, after the events, alleged felonies, misdemeanors and crimes around here, and let’s face it, the rest of the world, I thought it might be time for a bit of reflection about What It All Means. Balls. It means what it always means. We can put as much meaning or as little import into the Signs and Wonders of the world as our current states of hearts and minds allow.

When someone starts waxing about the divine or Man’s Original Sin or as I saw last night, although in jest, how the “Mayan Calendar called it, because Twinks are Toast,” or something of the sort, I smell the same end-of-the-world bullshit that has been floating around since the world began. I believe the Mayans don’t actually come out and say we’ll all become a floating cinder, they have some other lingo. Until I see some actual terminology like, “melting earth,” or “3rd planet from the sun is incinerated, on December 21, 2012 at 10:12 A.D.” I’m going to continue on in my own little orbit of whatever this is.

“This” can be whatever I want it to be. I designate it so. If that sounds batshit, so be it. It’ my “this.” You can go get your own “this,” whatever your “this” is. Eventually, if I keep this up, which is different than “this,” I am going to become well nigh unreadable, and I will lose my record high 15 followers. I hope not. I plan to start re-posting from my truly “Homeless” days, and expand on that craziness. Now that we have celebrity bank robbers, in our midst and who knows what else; but I digress.

This post is truly going nowhere. I was starting out with some observations, and this is an example of that. Firstly, my writing prowess exceeds my material at present; rather like Richard Strauss’ “Simfonia Domestica,” which, I mentioned to our conductor Kenneth Jean in Detroit, at the time; I compared Strauss’ tone poem to “taking your cat shit to the dump in your Rolls Royce.” Ken thought that a fine metaphor. “Simfonia Domestica” is a shitty programmatic piece of music, but beautifully written. I’m full of puffery like that. Observation one and one-and-a-half.

Observation two. How is it that as we tear along into the 21st century that it seems all really is not fine and dandy? Or not getting finer and dandier? I make a shit-ton of jokes about how it’s déjà-vu all over again and I rather wondered for a while, where the rage of the 60s went. However, I think it is still there and I believe that its vectors have just changed. Rather than surging through the streets and closing universities and bombing federal buildings, the rage is being felt and expressed through the internet. 

I realize  that this is not a spectacularly original thought. However, with the immediacy of the internet and without having to deal with the logistics of moving people, materiél and supplies, cyber-rallies, cyber-demonstrations, cyber-vandalism and cyber-attacks can be planned and executed very quickly. It will also be easier and quicker to find allies, cutouts, back doors and sabotage big systems. Yipes. I just scared myself.

However, none of this will make a bit of difference if I can’t figure out how in the HELL I am supposed to open ANYTHING. This is where I channel YumaBev and all the rest of the Parkies I haunt. A plus, I do have my very own Parkie-Pedia! Check out I swore to God I wasn’t gonna even mention them today; honest Injun. I sound like I’m stalking the Parkinson’s Disease people. Jim and his darling wife, Penny Adams. Maybe I need an intervention. Swell. Come and intervene. Please. Be my guest. I want to invite them all to my next grocery shopping trip. Everyone's invited!

This is the most hysterical thing since, I don’t know what. The 1 Stooge. I almost took out the wine aisle with my cart the other day. I jigged and the cart jagged. There was a couple sitting at the place where you take your high blood pressure. He was taking his. I bet it was eleventy billion over seven jillion, when I got through with them. They saw me bearing down on them with a cart full of shit.

I had about 3 X more shit, plus cat food, and no Rolls Royce!

I had to have had 300 pounds of groceries in that sucker. I’d been to the Dollar Store and had canned goods and a garbage can along with all my groceries. I weigh about 100 pounds, but I’m strong. I try to move fast in between the shake, rattle, and roll. So, here comes the Death Locomotive and it’s Blind, dead at them. I kissed that wine aisle, missed them and at the last minute, I executed a 90 ° left turn, and hollered out, “This is why Mary don’t drive!” And went clattering off to the Pharmacy, dragging Whackamole in my wake. They’re probably still praying.

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