This is a tale of two blogs. Or perhaps a blog of two tales. Or perhaps…
“More matter with less art” may be apropos here.
(This post will surely go ‘viral’. Which by my standards simply means, ‘Six will read it. Three will ‘like’ it, and one will comment on it. Yep. ‘Viral’)
So without further ado, here we go:
My English Girl Friend asked me to mow her yard (years ago). As I was dusting off the old mower she remarked,
“I like it stripey.”
“You know: ‘stripey’, like a golf course.”
So I’m thinking, ‘Stripey. Do you see a fucking candy cane on my shirt woman?”
Now of course I did not verbalize my musings. Oh hell no! I have learned a thing or two about women in my time. (Well certainly not near enough, but enough to keep my balls away from them late at night when they, just maybe, have had that one-too-many-glass-of-wine and have been ferreting about in the utensil drawer, coming out with a steak knife and a Lorena Bobbitt frame of reference.)
I know some shit about women.
Anyway, hoping to scare up some Karma and justification for a ‘Beer Run’, today I mowed the yard and by damn! I made it ‘Stripey’, and it cost me, by my estimation, an extra beer and a half in sweat. You see, it ain’t easy mowing greens.
The next bit involves Real Drinkers (Yeah, but Y’all probably knew that already)
I lived with a woman once.
Okay, more than once and more than one woman.
“Round Round, Get Around” I got around!
(Stop it Lance!)
I lived with a woman once…
She was / is (probably still) my best friend.
We had a rather platonic ‘lationship. We were more or less (generally more) ‘Drinking Buddies’. (Please remind me sometime to tell you of the time we drove her new Jaguar through a brick wall)
While I was working in Iraq I would fly her to Europe when I took my R&R’s. I let her plan all the trips. (I could not be bothered you see? I was too busy trying to keep a relationship with my ass and trying not to walk over an IED, and other such things which tend to keep one’s mind occupied. No. Travel Plans and Itinerant Itineraries did not fall into my Top Ten Things I Need To Do Today.)
Once I found myself between gigs, as it were (And I had escaped my fourth marriage), I ended up at her house.
She had a huge, and yes, Texan-Huge, yard(s). She force-labored me (and herself, to be fair) to slave away in the yardI(s) until “Wine Time” Which was at precisely 1600hrs. Believe me: I was watching my watch all day, hoping Einstein would make an exception and speed up his Time/Space Continuum. Just for me.
I wanted that fucking ‘Wine Time’ and by Jove! I wanted it Now!
So, the two of us would shake (and rattle and prattle and roll) until ‘Wine Time’.
Who were we kidding?
I finally secured a new Gig in Afghanistan and escaped
And not one moment too soon.
The daily anticipation of ‘Wine Time’ almost did me in.
These two posts were inspired by my sometime muse, Mark.
Now, Mark has a blog site (you probably could have guessed that)
Well, Mark’s site always seems to inspire me to write some reeeely stupid shit. And yes, I use ‘stupid shit’ as a term of Endearment, when referring to Mark’s Blog (and his column in ‘The Syracuse New Times’)
But, using Mark in this shamless fashion often gets me in Trouble with My Real Muse. Let’s call her Maggie, as that is her name. (shhhh! Don’t tell, but if you get ‘stuck’ with Writer’s Block head on over to Mr. Mark’s Page. You will depart with a month’s worth of shit to write about… Please don’t quote me. I have to live with my muse, and sometimes, well… She just ain’t amused)
She has been with me for some years (many years and beers).
Well, today, as I was laughing my ass off at something Mark posted, she woke up from her nap.
“Hiya Maggie. How was your nap?”
“I had a horrible dream,” she said.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” I said back. “What was your dream?”
“I dreamt you were cheating on me.”
“Nonsense!” I said with not enough sincerity.
“Yes! And I am a fucking Muse, and I know about these things. Back when I was working for Will, he used to cheat on me with that bitch Viola. I dumped his ass and he never wrote another play worth a shit or a cup of warm spit.”
(Opps! Nothing worse than a woman scorned for fury. Note to self: “hide the steak knives.”)
And just in case Y’all don’t yet think I have gone completely insane, I leave you with this:
Vid Credit: PsychoDad1860
I’ll edit this later…
But for now I gotta go see a goat about a man. Be right back…
I woke up.
I woke up happy.
This has not happened in some years.
Why? Why now? Why today?
Well shit! I have no fucking clue, but I do know this:
It was a welcome change. I woke up Happy!
And ’till now, I have maintained it.
And I am gonna embrace it ’till it leaves.
Now I had planned a very verbose post about my theories of depression but then I said,
“Naw! There are others who dedicate their lives to depression. They live for this shit.”
Who am I? I just went passing through…
“Just passing,” Thank You,
“Mind the gap.”
(You probably have to be British to appreciate that last bit)
Here’s to “Happy Days Are Here Again!”
(I’ll take them)
Y’all should too.
well we will marry and tarry
Here is a happy song to get you ‘in the mood’:
The moodiness of happiness:
“The Line Forms to the Right”
Just choose Happy
Since it is “Frivolous Friday”
I am going to link here below the beginning of a post most of you ‘newbies’ have not yet read.
Anyhow, find it here below. And after the ‘initial’, if you dare, follow the Yellow Brick Road: “Lance, You Lie.”
Now, some of Y’all may ask yourselves, “Why is Lance crazy? Why does he tempt fate? What-so-ever is wrong with Lance?”
Well, I will tell Y’all:
Nothing but the plain and simple fact that… well, Y’all go ‘head on and figger that one out for yer own selfs.
Anyway, and without further much ado ’bout nothin’, here is yer Daily Lenny:
I do sincerely hope for your enjoyment.
Oh, and more Lenny (and Sarah) here below:
and in case you got lost in the uptake, here it is once again:
Oh and Goddamn!
I almost forgot the Sarah! Here she is (my bad):
And I just throw in the below as a shameless promotion:
It is a vain post. Read at your own annoyance.
…Writing Spam for a penny-a-page!
“I promise! I’ll be good!” (Starting first thing tomorrow)
Now… I am not vain enough to even think for an instant that I am the only one who gets great spam. However, I just feel compelled to show off my own ‘Private Idaho’ favorite one (a recurring one, alas).
But this is wonderful, mighty writing, and I beg you to read it, for the more I read it, the more I laugh and marvel at how great it is. Truly! (And for some sake of brevity, I did not even post the entire bit).
So abstract. So poetic. I just fucking love this guy/gal. I wanna make a poster and post it in Real Life, on my wall, My “I love me wall”: just for negative inspiration.
I do sincerely wish I could write this way, and with such piercing eloquence: And hey!~ Y’all! Y’all really need to go there, jes sayin’
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Kinda takes your breath away, don’t it?
I do sincerely hope you have enjoyed this.
Whenever I am feeling blue, I read this and say to myself,
“Lance, someday, someday, you will end up like this”
Then I pour myself a scotch, and open a Can-O’-Spam, forcing Life to digress… for just One-More-Day.
‘Tis a happy prospect, eh?
And here is the video version:
Now! That was a bit of a joke, but Y’all know I am always looking for any opportunity to slip in my favorite videos.
(And, Yes! I am infatuated with Felicia Pearson. There are worse to be had. Trust me on this one, yo! And if you have never seen “The Wire” well, Y’all need to check it out, unless of course it may not be Y’all’s cup O’ tea, just sayin’)
And those who frequent these pages… should surely know this.
As for the rest of you,
Well, I merrily suggest you
dive delve? into The Archives.
–Lance, Y’all’s Humble Servant
This was originally posted 02 FEB entitled Letter from a Southpark Jail. I decided to re-post it as a series of ‘Chapters’ in the hope of making it a more manageable read.
Chapter One: PAX Terminal, Camp Dwyer
The following is a transcribed letter I wrote to a Significant Other while cooling my heels in Kandahar, trying to get my CAC renewed (Common Access Card: An ID card for Civilians working with the U.S. Military). ‘Southpark’ is, for lack of a better term, A Holding Facility ‘soullessly owned and operated’ by DynCorp International for transients, itinerants, sycophants, miscreants, and other sad and lonely temporarily homeless people just trying to travel through, hoping to land somewhere else and the sooner the better… Southpark is understaffed, under-financed, under-achieving, and sometimes underwater. It is also overpopulated, misconceiving, deceiving and just plain infuriating. Southpark will depress you, repress you, digress you, digest you, and shit you out (if you allow it). Writing saved me from insanity there.
Saturday 28 July 2012, Camp Dwyer PAX Terminal, Afghanistan 1218hrs
I’m sitting in the PAX terminal. We boarded the plane, (Sixties-Era, prop job) a couple of hours ago, but they were just kidding. After sitting on the tarmac for about forty five minutes they brought us back here. Seems someone forgot to feed the hamsters which are actually responsible for propelling the plane and hence, they died. We were told not to worry; they are flying in some fresh, well-fed hamsters from KAF (Kandahar Air Field) and once they get those settled into the plane’s power plant, we will be good to go: wheels up around 1430hrs.
So here I sit, thinking of you, Dubai, and Hamster Avionics.
This PAX terminal isn’t too bad, as these places go. (I have seen worse—and better). Like every other facility on Dwyer, it is a tent, but it is a rather enormous tent and they have provided the weary travelers with bottled water and MRE’s. So I am sated, as far as it goes. You see, I really am low maintenance.
Not being inclined to ignore any opportunity to ‘talk’ to you, I am using the tools (pen and paper) I thoughtfully provided myself in the event such opportunity did manifest itself. So here I sit, happily communicating to you using Nineteenth Century Technology. I do hope you are properly impressed.
“And what lovely penmanship!” She exclaimed.
“Thank you,” he said.
Looking about the terminal, I have pronounced us a motley crew: About a dozen or so Indians & Sri Lankans, some Filipinos, a smattering of American Expats, couple of Brits, and a few bored Marines behind the counter, whose job it is to search the TCN’s. The counter has a sign which reads: “TCN Search Area.” TCN: ‘Third Country Nationals.’ in case you didn’t know.
“What did you do in The War, Daddy?”
“Son, I put my hands all over aromatic TCN’s.”
“What’s a TCN Daddy?’
“Uh…That’s a very sophisticated weapons system Son.”
1310hrs: PAX Terminal, Dwyer
Ok, for amusement, I took an inventory of the MRE’s stacked on pallets here in the terminal:
56 cases of MRE’s per pallet
12 MRE’s per case
Total MRE’s: 10,080 (assuming my arithmetic is correct; a rather liberal assumption)
Posted on each pallet are four signs which read:
DO NOT EAT!
MRE stands for “Meal, Ready to Eat,” in case you didn’t know, or in this case, Meal, Not Ready to Eat. (“We done been eatin’ ‘em anyways. Hope we don’t die of ptomaine before the hamsters do, causing our Turbo Prop to morph into a glider…”)
1441hrs: Still in PAX terminal
Announcement: “Listen up! We couldn’t get the hamsters here, but we’ve drafted a couple of gerbils and they’re fit for duty.” (‘Now there’s some happy news,’ I mused.) He continued, “For all those going to KAF, this means now you’re flying non-stop,” (Guess gerbils are not certified for multi-destination air duty.) and your luggage is already back on the plane. As soon as we warm up the gerbils, you fly. Those of you who are going to FOB Shindan, you will follow me now.”
Someone pipes up, “Are we walking?”
There’s one in every crowd…
Having a few minutes to kill while the gerbils are doing their warm up exercises, I return to the MRE pile and rat-fuck a couple of the boxes. ‘Rat Fuck’ is a technical term which simply means, “To open several bags of MRE’s and take only the premium items, leaving the not premium items for the next schmuck attempting to do same.” An example of this would be taking all the Reece’s Pieces and chocolate chip cookies, leaving only the cardboard crackers and synthetic peanut butter.
Wheels up and airborne and the gerbils gerbilling their little asses off. Time to destination: thirty minutes.
1613hrs: Flying High (I wish)
I am seated in a window seat. Normally I would take the aisle, but I wanted to describe the spectacular view and with all the beautiful details of this rarified vista below:
Perusing the in-flight movie list (from the one inside my head), I select Lawrence of Arabia (with subtitles in Pashtun). I estimate getting about half-way through the opening credits before we touch down. I listen to the wonderful Academy Award winning musical score. The scenes of the burning desert are so real inside my head that I actually break a sweat. This Special Effect is helped along quite nicely by the fact that the air-conditioning on this aircraft is non-functional. I suppose one of the collateral duties of the deceased hamsters was operating the A/C unit.
1638hrs: Wheels Down
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Beautiful Kandahar.” (I do not doubt his sincerity, but I did detect a bit of sarcasm in his voice.) “For safety, you are required”, he continued, “to wear your full body armor with your helmet when exiting the aircraft. There really is no danger, but we want you to sweat just that much more. Thank you for flying Gryphon Airlines today and once again, we apologize for the teeny tiny delay we had in leaving Camp Dwyer and we do hope you will… uh, be flying with us again soon.” (As if we will have a choice)