Don’t RUST On My Parade*

“Petty Officer Marcom! Your Fifty Cals are Rusty!”

50 Cal NavyA

U.S. Navy photo by Photographer’s Mate Third Class Daniel J. Mark. Cleared for release by ALBG PAO, LCDR Jeff Bender.

Lance Sailor

Marco The Sailorman

I had to  admit. Yes they were. I had tried so hard to keep ahead of the rust, but here I found myself on the leeward side of the second half of a six-month, ‘round-the-whurl-West Pacific Deployment’, and somewhere just off the coast of Somalia.

Yes, rust was my enemy, certainly never my friend—the machine guns were always mounted while we (The USS Callaghan DDG 994, full cast and crew) were Haze-Gray and Underway.

Yes, always mounted and underway:

Haze-Graying, even then

And rusty

My Guns were always supposed to be… somewhere upon the sea… this is what they were purchased for…

And subject to rust. Rust Relentless. Relentless She Be: That Sea. That Salt of the Fucking Sea

Rust.

My Moby Dick-lessness! How could I not keep Rust off my guns?

Freud certainly would have had fun with me

(Sadly, now I know why)

************

My professional life was to be found somewhere rusting in those machine guns.

And that rust you see, that rust occupied a great deal of my daily routine.

The Navy had a solution though. She had provided canvas covers to cover those guns and make them safe from rust. Alas, those canvas covers had seen better days, probably back when Pearl Harbor was just an ordinary Naval Base that no one had ever heard of.

But rust is relentless and timeless.

While scrubbing the Indian Ocean rust off’n my fifty-cals one morning I hatched a plan. Knowing full well we were soon to pull into Mombasa Kenya, after so many month at sea, I conspired to save my money:

Once in Mombasa, I would smuggle one of the moth infected, salt- digested, jig saw’d, Swiss Cheese, ‘holy’ canvas shards off the ship. I would rent a taxi, find me a young child, show him my smuggled ‘prize’, ask him to direct me somewhere, where I could find and nickel and dime (I did not have much money then, not un-life-like now) find a leather shop in Mombasa, present to the leather-maker my Holy Canvas, My Shroud,  My Naval Career, and demand, (for US Dollars), that he make me four such more yet new and brand new.

And functional.

And This is exactly what I did, and to the amazement and astonishment of my Master Chief Petty Officer and my Department Head (almost a Navy Commander… he kind of looked like JFK, now that I think on it. I  did not like particularly like him, but I respected him. Hell, he reminded me of all the things I could have been if I had joined the Nav when I was twelve instead of twenty-eight (Different story. Sorry)

The next time they inspected my Fifty Cals, they were pristine! (They did not take notice nor time to notice that the canvas covers were not exactly Haze-Gray-Naval Gray. No, more like Third-World-Rustic, with just a tiny bit of water buffalo…left over…but Goddamn sure water and sea salt proof.   

And I was so desirous that they did NOT notice, but my Master Chief did notice, yet, never ever noticing nor voicing his ‘inner thoughts’ in front of what he referred to as “Shit Birds” — ‘Officers’ — Never let on.

Master Chief never, ever let out his truth thoughts in front of Shit – Birds. This was his genius. 

And I should have been cognizant of this, yet I was so somewhat giddy after my .50 Cals had finally passed inspection, that I did not stop to think on that anyone. “Not even Master Chief had seen through my ruse” Yeah, Rite!

 I was drunk with my own cleverness and lying back on my back in my rack, curtain drawn,  congratulating me.

(Now, you must realize how the Military Mind works. I was my Ship’s Armor All–Armorer– IN Charge of All The Ship’s Small Arms! .225 Cal to .50 Cal. If it took two men to lift, wasn’t mine. But one-man-band? Yep!  I was the shit!  I was a Gunner’s Mate 3rd Class! Freshly rocked out of SEAL Training (twice now, but who counts these sorts of thing? I suppose I do) and trying to retain what little was left of my  pride and my so-fifty-caliber-called-life.)

And I loved and Respected My Master Chief. Did not ever want to become an embarrassment to him, nor to my Fellow Gunner’s Mates who worked on the “Big Guns”. (Those ones what ‘bullets’ took two and a half-men to lift)

And even more important, (anyone who has ever ‘Served’ will know this), the Military is Run On Fear:

“Oh God, Please Don’t Let Me Fuck UP!”

That kind of fear.

Well, as I was lying on my back in my middle rack right before Taps with my little blue ‘privacy’ curtain drawn back when someone jerked that sucker back.

Along with my reverie.

Yep.

Master Chief Anderson!

MY MASTER CHIEF

“Son, tell me where you found those brand new gun covers.”

Trying to lie on my side and find an elbow to lean to, I half-coughed out, feigning sleepy-eyed ignorance,

“Master Chief, I had them made while we were in Mombasa.”

(There are people one may lie to in life, but, A Master Chief Petty Officer in the US Navy is not one found amongst those people. Not if one wishes life beyond that moment of sweet deception)

“I see”, was all he said, as he yanked my curtain back shut, thus leaving me alone with my various and sundry.

I did not sleep that night. For you see, I knew I had broken Naval Regs by doing something not-in-the Naval-Seaman’s-Bible–The Blue Book–The book, inches thick as a brick,  “The Book” I had been made to almost memorize while at Recruit Training Command, i.e. boot camp.

41XgCzuhSdL._AC_UL320_SR214,320_

I had broken the rule.

In the Nav, there is a sea sailor preamble, most requisite when one wants to recount a story of ‘when ships were made of wood and men were made of iron’… “When Moses was a pup” This validates and is a ritual never broken. In other words, one never breaks the rule.

Sometime mid-morning the next day, I was summoned to the berth/office of  The Department Head of my Division, Lt. Commander ‘Kennedy’.

Shitting bricks is too trite.

I was nervous.

I gave a hearty rap on the bulkhead door as I was trained to do in boot camp…

“Enter!”

“Petty Officer 3rd Class Marcom Sir!”

“I know who you are Lance; sit down.”

(What??? Lance??? Sit Down???)

Mouth agape I sat down, speechless

“Son, Master Chief Anderson tells me you went out on your own, designed, commissioned, smuggled off a prototype, and paid for, with your own money, those .50 Cal Gun Covers. Is this true?”

“Yes, uh, yessir,” I stammered.

“Well, that shows some fine initiative. How much did you pay Son?”

“Un Sir. Doesn’t matter…. I just, well, the .50 Cals, you know SIR,  cost ten-thousand dollars each, and I thought…rust….an…”

“How much did you pay?!”

“250 Dollars Sir.”

Without saying a word he opened a little three-lock-box (OK; I made that up. It was only a one-lock-box) that he had in a drawer, carefully opened it, and proceeded to hand me two-hundred and fifty bucks.

American

I sat there, dumb founded,  a moment too long, still in shock, looking at the bills in my hand…

“Petty Officer Marcom! “

“Huh…Uh, Huh… Sir?”

“You’re dismissed!”

Jumping up, knocking my chair over,  some tears welling in my eyes,

“Yessir!”

As I saluted him and abruptly left his quarters, quite in haste.

And thus I had survived yet another day in MY  Beloved Navy.

And Just As a Reminder Kids:

Don’t Rain on my Parade: I have enuff Rain for All

 

*And this just once more a rough draft, full of error, so be kind. Trust me: there is no harsher critic of me than me. I sweat commas. 

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

I Just Want To Meet Jackie

The point of this post, if there is one, is that I have applied for no less than ten jobs in Saudi Arab today.

Some nine or so in various other shit holes, err, developing countries, just looking for my next war zone to make me famous, not unlike Hemmingway. At this point in life, I must admit: prolly ain’t gonna happen. All I can hope for is some good monies and some decent health insurance (and maybe some ESOP), but Hell! At this point, I’ll work for room and board…but never bored.

Me? Bored? Never.

Again, when do I get to get outraged? Ppl in Ferguson get to be outraged. I share their outrage, but I just want a small piece of that pie. I have more than one decade experience working in dangerous desolate places, yet, I find it so very difficult to find a job in same. I am feeling some outrage here! I should be entitled. I did my time. Hell! I served my country.

To quote some not so famous line from the movie, “The Right Stuff,” “Where is my parade with Jackie? I wanna meet Jackie. They owe me!” I want to meet Jackie. Or at the very least I want a window… into my golden years. End of Rant…

-Lance

And of course, as y’all know, this was all ‘tongue-in-cheek’

“Hook ’em Horns!”

(That’s ‘Texan’ for ‘Suck it up and move that ball on down the field.’   Boys.)

Or, even better, to quote Dan Jenkins: “Y’all knew it was gonna be semi-tough, eh?”

And this “trailer” is semi-tough to watch, but it was as advertised: semi tough, as we were growing up in The Seventies.

And of course, as usual, this last link is the important one.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-qEmmpGYvA Video Credit: Erik Gloor

“Don’t Shoot Me; I’m Only The Piano Player”

I used to shoot small birds

Yes, back in the day, I pleasured me by shooting to death… sparrows.

download

(not pretty, is it?)

Not proud of it. And as Texan-Rightly, not ashamed of it neither. (What we did then, back in the day…)

“Just Texan Kids havin’ fun,” they would say. (‘They’, generally being Grandmothers—maternal grandmothers)

“They looked aside.”

Looking back now, I am ashamed of all the sparrow lives I so easily and callously took.  Tis a small thing in the big scheme of things, yes I Know. But, it bothers me still. As I am certain the memory of dead kittens haunts my ‘maternal’ grandfather over all those ‘Damn-we-got-too-many-cats-he’ah-on-this-place.” (As he shot them to death in front of my young, sensitive, later to become, my mother)

Mental scars

Many.

****

Don’t shoot sparrows

And don’t shoot kittens.

They will haunt you.

For some many years.

I suppose this is the point of this post.

‘Don’t shoot.’ (unless the sparrow is trying to kill you, that is…)

-Lance

“And Now My Watch Has Ended.”

About an hour ago I ended ‘My Watch’ of all four seasons and all episodes of “Game of Thrones”—Took me all of three days to get through it, soup to nuts, but I really had nothing better to do anyhow.

Certainly there are quite a lot of rabid fans out there belonging to “Game of Thrones” and this I do not deny, and I may even count myself among their numbers now, but…

And my intent here is certainly not to rain upon anyone’s parade. However I must admit that a few years ago I was curious to understand “Why all the hype?”, so I went to my Amazon dot com and purchased the first Season.

And I Tried, Ever So Hard, to get “Into” it.

Fail.

Major Fail.

Got bored pretty much instantly with the show.

I am no prude (and anyone who has read even ten percent of my blog posts should know this), but what turned me off almost immediately was all the HBO gratuitous sex and violence. I don’t need to see people fucking every ten minutes to understand the dynamics of ‘intimate’ relationships. And even though all the fight scenes were Oh So most ‘tastefully’ done, and pretty much well-choreographed,  every once in a while, I would rather just hear the severed head hit the ground, rather than have to see it.

“Trust me HBO”: These kinds of graphics do not interest me, even though upon occasion we, as audience, might need to see them… but for the most part we do not. If I want pornography and / or snuff films, I can certainly find them outside the realm of ‘Serious Drama.’ In other words, when I want porn, I want porn; when I want good literature or drama, I want good lit or drama. Not to say that the two are mutually exclusive, but a preponderance of one over the other is a waste of time. Just a waste of time (and film).

If you would like to explore a decent contemporary, well-done balance, take a look at Polanski’s “Macbeth” for a start,

then perhaps, even Zefferilli’s Hamlet:

 

 

(if you want to get into all that Oedipus and incestuous sex and violence stuff).

The thing that never rang true for me in “Game of Thrones” was the silly justification that “For One Thousand Years, The Men of “Lannis-Sister” Always Had Sex with Their sisters.”

Or Whatever…

In short, I have just now finished, as I did preamble, the Entire Series up-to-date. And, I would be less than honest if I said I could have easily stopped watching. There are some intriguing characters to be certain, and some plot twists, or at least some of those, “Of my fucking God! I did not see that one coming!” moments.

After watching all four seasons however, there are only two characters I take away and hold dear to my heart and interest. And even truly care about.

It will probably be extremely easy for y’all to tell me which ones they are…

That is, if y’all know me at all.

(Or, at least, if I follow that typical male, raised-on-video-games cliché)

Now That, That above is a joke. I hope you know that.

Let me know what you think / thought of “Game of Thrones.” I would be very interested to hear. (And Yes. I know: I am so very late to the party)

Story of my life…

Cheers,

Lance

P.S. And if you can guess my two most favorite characters, I will send you two Dinars.

Silver.

And, if you are a fan of the series, I would be most interested to hear which two characters you favor above the others…

To Be Continued…

-L

Great Songs for a Rainy Day

“Here in Savannah  Memphis it’s pourin’ rain
“Palm trees in the porch light like slick black cellophane.

“Will you still love me when I get back to town?”

vid credit: Christian T. Davies

Not really melancholy, but if I were, this song just might push me further that way, in that direction.

Peace,

-Lance

Real sorry, but I am now officially delirious with tooth pain. This tooth is some kind of bitch, let me tell ya.

Obviously sleep is not an option.

(The pain is just too overwhelming)

So… I just sit here and post stupid shit to take my mind away.

“Calgone! Take me Away!’

“I am as constant as a Northern Star.”

Vid credit: novaultrano1

“Constantly in the darkness? Where’s that at? If you want me, I’ll be in the bar.”

I guess it’s just a Joni kind of day…

“Laughin’ an’ cryin’. You know it’s the same release.

“I told you when I met you, I was crazy.”

Vid credit: Christian T. Davies

OK, last one and then I’m done (I really need to find something else to do with my hands)

“Diving down to pick up on every shiny thing.”

Video credit: JoniJourney

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Y’all Wanna Know The Worst Tactile Sensation Ever?

Shitter.png

 

Of course you do.

It is when you go to flush the toilet and that handle snarls back at you, rather limp-wrist’d, as if to say,

“Not tonight Asshole. Go back to sleep.”

(Now, in some truth, I could probably improve this post. For example: I should not have referenced ‘limp wrists”. In truth, y’all know how it is when you go to flush that toilet and there just ain’t no resistance. “Limp Wrists’ was just about all I could manage at the time of publishing…. (Isn’t that funny? Like I am a fucking news paper?) Dead-lines!

Some one shoot me!

(Make it quake! Head Shot! Right thru the mouth–or better…the mouse.)

God and some foll’ers will thank  you.

Foretelling  ‘Foreboding’ (See? I tend to edit as as I go… My father once tole me, “Lance! Enuff! Enough! It takes an editor to be smart; that is why we make more monies.”) some deep sea-toilet trolling (trolling?)  diving to fix.

Yeah…

Really?

Don’t think so.

Maybe tomorrow…

(There are three (other) toilets in this ‘Mouse-House’)

“So, fuck off.”

(My toilet did not reply)

Yes,  I talk to my toilet… don’t we all?

“Take your hand off that mouse Mister! Don’t make me come over there.”

“Yessir! Please don’t shoot me; I’m just the piano-player.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me. What do you think, Jim?”

“Yeah. Bullshit. Shoot him.”

“OK.”

Bang! Bang!

“He gone.”

(Sorry, Si Robertson; some of this … this is probably out-of-context)

Then again…

Maybe not.

We will not even begin to speak about your brother.

Damnit! I miss Christopher Hitchens!

 

Even more embarrassing:

You know the toilet is broke dick dog.

Yet…

You still try to ‘visit.’

And it takes three tries to get into the door.

(Yet, it is a really small door–just sayin’– and not so easily navigated, drunk nor sober)

Only to be so disappointed (yet again) over the the whole toilet experience.

OK.

Fine!

Resist?

Naw!

Below, please discover Lenny’s take on toilet-training.

(and of course: entertaining, or reasonable facsimile)

 

“Calgon, Take Me Away!”

For some of y’all out there who may have wondered where the hell I’ve been lately…

Well, I have been endeavoring with gusto and, actually, extreme prejudice, to ‘reinvent’ me. You see, I want to be a ‘happier, gentler, kinder’ kind of blogger. I no longer want to post rants, though I do love to RANT.

*alas*

Below please find some Rant Links from My Past. I believe they are representative:

https://texantales.com/category/rants/

Anyhow, the frontal lobotomy and the Prozac, and the small furry kitten to pet, and the re-education classes (particularly loved Those!), have all done wonders for my mental frame-of-reference. Oh! And to whomever sent me that ‘Care-Package’ of Calgon-Bath-Oil-Beads… Gee thanks.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MVLzkTuVmrw

They took me away. But too late, for ‘They’ had already taken me away… Nice try. I loved the sentiment anyhow.

If you happened to read my last post, you will have discovered that I have taken on some menial labor. Now: This is no disrespect to those who perform such. Au contraire! It is just a fact. And I did mention with accolades, how very much I enjoy it (menial labor).

The thing is, is, I am just in a slump—between gigs—gigs that ‘Take Me Away’ from all this, this, this 24 hour news cycle which always gets it wrong. (Yes: CNN, Fox, American BBC, American Al Jazeera: I am talking about you—and all the other ‘News Networks.’ Ad nauseam.)

I belong in War Zones; that is the only kind of Gainful Employment Venue I am well-suited for.

More to come…

Cheers.

I Am Walking About Piss’d Off Lately

Where to begin?

Dunno.

Folks: I have not been ‘here’. (There is an obvious statement). I have NOT been here.

OKAY! We got that!

Lance!?

Yes?

OK: I am not here. Not really here. I want to be somewhere else. Yep. I wanna be some’whar else.

Why? You ask.

Simply because I need to be somewhere else.

I think I will start with Sierra Leon…

Or Ethiopia (for Joni)

Because, I need.

Cheers,

Lancers

Y’all

Now, let us ‘deconstruct’ “Y’all”

Why not?

In the English Oxford Dictionary, ‘you’

“Used to refer to the person or people that the speaker is addressing”

See?

Plural.

Simple.

Yeah, not so fast.

Southerners having none of that.

See? English English breaks down right there.

We (us southerners) need more.

Southerners need ‘Y’all’

Now ever’one needs “Y’all”

Sometimes… we need “All Y’all.”

(just to make certain there is no ambiguity)

Jes’ sayin’…

And P.S. My good friend, Pain,  over at http://exileonpainstreet.com/

 once said, and I try to quote:

“If I see too many posts in My Reader… I get ‘overload’ and delete them all.”

He said that.

I admire that: his truthfulness.

I too, try and usually fail, to read… ever’one.

But..

But… I never delete.

I just try to catch up.

That’s all.

Y’all.

 

Perusin’ For a Brusin’

I was perusing my recent posts (Yes I do that, mostly to make sure I did not fail to comply, to reply to any and all comments—my ‘House’ Policy: ‘Reply, Upon Pain of Death, To All Comments’–That is how WE Roll.)

In some truth, I do this because I am just that vain.

Well now, with that little bit of TMI outta the way, Here is the pointless point to this ‘pre-post.’

“A ‘Pre-Post?’ some may ask.

“Yep. A Pre-Post.”

“Whatever could he mean?”

“Just this:”

Often ideas for ‘posts’ come from music (duh).

As I was driving to the Beer / Copenhagen Store, my Favorite Radio Station (read: the only one whut is worth a shit here in this Elvis’ City of Music by the Mississippi), was playing this song:

Vid Cretion (sp): 

It, the song, reminded me of my first Stripper/Madonna/Whore/Single-mother/mutha/ethnic sexual love of my life.

Yes.

I was, if memory serves, 10 years old at the time, yet I never ever forgot her name:

ROXANNE

And she ruined me for all the ‘other’ women to come, or not to come, in my life.

Thanks Hun…

Stay tuned…

P.S. And of course there is some ‘back-story’ to this “Pre-Post”

Hell! There always is and generally accompanied by a ‘link’.

If not, well then… then you would not be here at TT&H.

Now would you?

Then

Here is the ‘Back Door’ Policy.

And whoever said the Eighties were devoid of good music??

Hell! I love(d) them. Grew into Manhood in Them…

Some May Call This as a Call… To Y’all

But, I call it…. Nope!

Yer call!

“The cannons don’t thunder; there’s nothin’ to plunder…”

Y’all know…

Here is an opinion y’all did not see coming: This is a Stupid Fantasy Song. A Texan said that! Nay! I am (he said, “A Comanche!” 

Now, that is funny…

Guess so… 

Not to put too fine a point upon it, but, I have a finite time left. Once upon a time, I stepped on a dime and it was promised to me, you see… I never contemplated ‘finite’, as you see, everything was infinite to me… And in my unsung mind, that was how it should be. Unshining dime.

No mas

No more.

Certainly no less.

No

Anyway, as ‘brevity is the soul of wit…’ I find me witness, er,  wireless, sycophant.

I got ROBBED by Thesim And some other is ‘ISM’s!!!!

(Yes! I am looking for a fight. A fight with all you Hyper-Christians. Yep)

And yes! YES! We can be as radical as you!

I Had to go to Egypt. Egypt! Egypt! 

To sate… me.

Fuck!

Upon sober reflection, I decided to ‘edit’ that bit out.

Why?

“Why, Oh Why Lance, do you edit yourself?”

“Because I can Grasshopper. Because I can.”

You!

 And, NO! This ain’t no suicide! Note: This is a preamble, to the gamble… I lost.

Lost? You ask?

Yes! Lost!

Lost!

The curve!

That curve!

That, “Hey Lance! Let’s run dope! Lance! No,”..Lance, let us not ‘run’ thru mis…Miss Mis. No!”

I made me. I did that. I worked hard. I was honour. I was. It was never enuff to make the money. Was it?

There was never enough!

Was There!!

Apparently not.

 

AND YOU KNOW WHAT??

I laugh at my own hyperbole.

I do.

 I really do …

fade back into the shadows; I Am no World Leader…

But I screwed the pooch…

and then I begged forgiveness from my father.

Guess what?

He gave.

I denied. For you see? 

That did not matter anymore.

Now, this is a test.

Why?

Because I am bored. I have severed my country… 

I Just wanna see…how good… is the NSA.

(and… I am a bit of a ‘rebel’ all in all…)

And when the U. S. A. Understands that, then that… will fix…

And vex… us all.

****

End of Rant (ain’t ya glad?)

-Lance (The Nice One)

Peace.

 “Just takes a while!”

I feeel like I’ve drown’d’

Gonna he’d up town…

 meanwhile back at the ranch…

Da Plane! Da Plane!

And I Thought…

Once upon a time…

I thought That These would be Good “remember when, ‘Feel Good'”  posts/songs.

“The Good Ole Days… eh?”

Now, I know…

What the fuck was I thinking?

Video Credit: Carly Simon

Video Credit: adamtrng

Video Credit: MegaSanjul

I am very sorry, but I do not know, nor can I find where I got this video. Cheers to whoever posted it!

Vid Credit: Kanal von bluearmyfr111

Video Credit: Concordbeltcreation2

Again, I don’t recall where I got this one either… Sorry.

(Please go HERE for some (more sober) enlightenment and back-story about “Leroy Rastus–Rocky Raccoon–Coon.” And if you are ‘into’ exotic pet stories, well go here and here…)

Point is, I Wasn’t…  Thinking.

Some guy said once, “You can never go home again…”

He was a smart man, that man, that man who said those words…

I embrace those words.

Now.

–Good Night.

“…and all they wanted was to gaze into your eyes…”

(Yeah. I have a lost love; don’t we all?)

 

Running in Soft Sand: Part Three

Ed. Note: 29 Aug:

It has been brought to my attention (by my anti-virus software, of which I do not squander money on—that one of these links is, well, poluted. So, please don’t follow  any links (the other shit is safe). I apologize for giving you Ebola (if I did)

Breaking NEWS! 2017  All the links are now safe! Surf ON!

Cheers,

Lance

***

Or…

Alternate Titles:

‘Lance’s Ramblings from his 115th Dream Stream’ (Sorry Bob)

“Call me if they die.”

‘Semi Conscientious Streams of Conscientiousness’

‘Raining upon My Hit Parade’

‘Nights in White Satin’ – that one makes no sense. That is why I put it in.

Or, last and least perhaps: “I have become my Grandfather, or How I became Andy Rooney in One Thousand Words or Less, an essay.”

Gentle Readers, it has not escaped my undying attention that I tend to lean heavily toward the overly-dramatic. The ‘trauma drama’ effect even. Call it a ‘crutch’ if you will.

Yep. Call it that.

This I do know. Therefore, I have (Through my magical powers derived from watching old re-runs of ‘Dragnet’—“Just the facts Ma’am. Just the facts.”—decided to ‘come on back down to Earth, Son’.

–Boz Scaggs: Lowdown)

My (solely appreciated) goal here is to present just ‘them’—just them facts.

I hope I am successful. For y’all’s sake.

When last we left our hero, he was leading his class to their first BUD/s workout. Well, you cannot really call it such: more like a medieval (‘I’m gonna get medieval on your ass’) torture session.

Whatever

Even at zero five (‘Zero Dark Thirty?), The Grinder was a hot, miserable place to be, especially NOT designed for yoga or even step-up aerobics, and / or certainly not Pilates. (Gay Pirates?) No. ‘Twas Wasn’t. There is a reason they (Navy) call it ‘The Grinder.” You go ahead and figure out the obvious.

But this day I do not wanna write about Those Lazy Crazy Hazy Days of Summer…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AoLogdbVS3U

I want to write about this:

I think. I think I am. Therefore I am… I think.

–Moody Blues, With apologies to René Descartes

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WTHoKEd-Gjo

***

Now Y’all, much of that I wrote late last night. (Under Some Influence)

Didn’t publish. (Thank Baby Hey Zeus). But I woke up this morning

(Praise be to Allah—Ah Ha!) And you, yes you! (My Human Friends) were on my mind:

To MORE BAD News Stories. I shall list them below so that you may share in ‘The Misery’ That is OUR ‘New World’ (You may thank me later. Send cards and letters…)

  1. The Middle East is still throwing gasoline upon their (and our) raging fire
  2. There will probably never be closure nor justice for Michael Brown or his family
  3. Ebola is raging strong (But only in Africa: So, who cares, right? The WHO, that’s who)
  4. ISIS is our new (never heard of till yesterday) National Crisis & Clear and Present Danger (or new best friend for our Military Industrial Complex, off of which I tend to make MY living)—Much hand-wringing and soul searching over that one. NOT! Damn! Put me in Coach! I live for this shit!
  5. My dog has fleas… Fuckin’ fleas. Dogs!
  6. My British GF finds me… well, of late, she don’t (find me)
  7. I dreamt late last night about my favorite dead cat (Her name was Lucia and she was ‘The Cat From Hell’ and I miss her still—probably the only ‘real’ relationship I have ever had with ‘pussy.’)
  8. My blood pressure remains off the chart and I think I may have given myself diabetes: Type Duh
  9. I have been remiss in visiting and commenting on the blogs of my good friends
  10. Maybe I will just go and eat worms. Maybe I like to eat worms…

Now, Don’t let it bring you down, but that is how I woke up. (And I was happy to have woken up… for just-one-more-day…stay?)

And hey!

Don't stay here

Photo taken in Iraq (or Afghanistan) I honestly don’t remember…

There really is no point to this post. Let us just call it “Unconscious Stream of Consciousness”.

And I will most likely, delete it (and y’all know, I am quick on the mouse trigger when it comes to deletion: I see it as a form of… birth control. So read fast!)

So There.

Now to the ‘Meat of the Matter’:

I want to write about ‘The Age of Innocence’: The Seventies.

Yep. I tend to live in the glory that was Roaming… You may bail out here. Here, in fact here is your parachute. Be certain to locate the RIP Cord before you exit the plane: Just a word to some wise and hey!

Bon Voyage!

***

For those of y’all who still remain, I want to write about Karen Carpenter. Not ‘The’ Karen Carpenter, but the Karen Carpenter that symbolized how I felt about the Seventies. Yeah, that one. Her.

***

I woke up with Karen Carpenter on my mind (and yes: I have posted about her recently, but I wanted to try to explain why now)

I woke up with Karen and sadly not in my bed, but in my mind.

Why?

Because… of the ‘Age of Innocents.’ I call her one. The first casualty of the sickness that guides us: This American Dream of having to be some other person. A person, in the spotlight who is …. Drumroll: PERFECT!

No one is perfect and certainly not me (though I am pretty close). Yet, no one is perfection. We cannot be. There is no God and if you believe that there is, you are about as far removed from ‘Perfection’ as a Human…

I should delete that sentence, as it is not Germane, nor German, to my point. Let me think on it…

Back to The Seventies: The Age of Innocents (I was innocent; were you? Probab’ly not.)…

I am running on empty now/here.

“I don’t know where I’m runnin’ now; I’m just runnin’ on…

The Seventies.

I would like some thoughts on that/those. From you! And then, having received same, I will continue. Maybe.

Your choice.

Shalom

Salaam

Namaste

Hook ‘em Horns

Peace,

–Lancers

And P.S. I am sorry for stealing all the vid clips. I will (I promise) accolade y’all later–more later–but later)

And: to any readers I have left:

I am in some form of cryxis: I will be, as Shakespeare once wrote, “King Richard is himself again.” once be.

Stay tuned…
Or not: Yer choice.

Peach,

Lanced

Oh! And by the way… Jackson Browne was/is an asshole

Read it here

Bye now…

Hey! Did You Happen to See?

There was a brief moment back in the very early Seventies when we all (most of us) took a brief break from being ‘so cool’ and ‘so hip’ and ‘just so many assholes.’ All the ‘Beautiful’ people fell head over heels in-love with a really geeky girl. And we were all so much the better for having done so. 

This (for those who would admit it), was our favorite song.

For about a week…

Then we rapidly returned to our regularly scheduled ‘ass-hole-ed-ness.’ And never missed a step. Nor did we even look back.

But there was that one moment… one summer… and of course it could never last… (what a shame)

Cheers and Happy Manic Monday,  Uh… ‘Tuesday’ (Somehow I lost a day. Again. Shit!)

Lance

Video Credit: willie1two

Video Credit: mamitaluisita

Escape Velocity

Now that is a good term from the Cold War, i.e., ‘Le Space Race.’
However, it still rings true today; rings true as something, almost… unattainable, yet so very much coveted.
“Escape Velocity”
Cal Gone! Take me away! (sic) Yeah: sick.
Point is, I have spent the better part of my life ‘playing’ computer games. Some might be tempted to label them ‘video’ games.
(They are NOT video games, Love: they are ways I increase my mental, mental…”)
Old Story warning here:
That guy. That guy, who used to write about distance running, what was his name” Oh Yeah! Joe Henderson; I read all of his books… Oh yeah! He died of a heart-attack… Just details…
He wrote a bit:
His bit went something like this:
He was ‘runnin’ down a road. Some kid says, “Hey, Hi! Mister Jogger!”
He replied, “Hey Kid! I am not a jogger; I am a runner! A ‘Runner!’ Get it right!”
The kid replied, “Well then, why are you jogging?”
I had to laugh; been there, et etcetera…
This is the part where I get pissed. (And when I get pissed… well, you would not like me)
The worst thing one (amongst the uninitiated) is to say, proclaim:
“Are you still playin’ that damn stupid video game?!!”
Perfect retort:
“Yes Madame. I am.”
“Oh. Well, be a good boy and don’t go downtown, protesting’ and such…”
“Yessum. I won’t”
“Good boy there then…”
“Yes, Ma’am.” (“Now Fuck Off” This is what I did truly think)

But,  she I did have a point, but my ‘point’ swerved into something else, which I really do not wanna talk about.
My point it thus: Kids that played computer games in the Eighties are now in charge of your world.
And to loosely quote Forrest Gump:
“That is all I am gonna say about that.”

Some thoughts?

And P.S., Yes! I have of late, been spending some quality time with some of my ‘computer’ games. They know me there, and I don’t have to be too creative (actually, I do, but most….) Well…

My blogging experience is failing me of late. Not to say that I do not appreciate The Community. Just to say… that I am between gigs and this is beginning to weigh upon me.

Certainly, I will be about, but please do not chastise me for not visiting your respective blogs on a respective basis. (My intent is to intentionally do so, albeit, tomorrow), yet… I am real tired.

And my health is no good.

I will catch up…

mañana,

I Promise.

“For Love or Money”

And yeah! In case you missed my ‘subliminal’ bullshit: I still miss Shonnie.

’tis a curse: A curse of a good woman.

*******

Tuesday Ed. Note: This Post Makes Absolutely NO SENSE

Hahahahaha

I Fell in love with Her

But, it was just a summer thing.

I got over it.

Well, not really.

I ‘like’ Jane Fonda too… (Shhhhh! Don’t tell anyone)

Vid Credit? You know who you are. Have your people call my people: We’ll do lunch.

In keeping with my ‘Newly Re-Invented’ Self, there is something subliminal working here.

Just sayin’…

Had a happy Sunday, Y’all.

Peace,

Lance

Oh, and by the way, This Evening is Over:

And just in case y’all think I have grown (groan?) soft on women and am starting to trust them…

Go Here for historical perspective.

Then here for fun:

Vid Credit: Carlos

 

 

 

Today

Today (Sunday)

Is all about you (Y’all)

I generally spend a lot of time reading (and commenting) on the posts of my friends.

I have been  remiss of late in this.

I would apologize, but one of my favorite blogger-friends advised me that if I ‘apologize’ I may seem less than a man.

Therefore, I will not apologize. (not that I value advice from a twenty-three-year-old pundit, but that I am forced, now, to reevaluate… some things…) I will just remark that tomorrow (now today) I will visit all y’all’s sites and try to contribute…

Thanks,

Lancer

And of course, I have a ‘plug’.

HERE

And of course, don’t ever be a….

schumck

Happy

Silly Sunday

I am very happy happy happy today: Sunday!

Why? Don’t know exactly, just Happy. (Never look a gift of Happiness in the mouth!) Happiness is definitely NOT Lubbock in my rear-view mirror… But happiness is as happiness does. (Sorry Forrest)

Happy? Yeah. My English girlfriend just came home. Bearing gifts. Rib-eye steaks ($20—can you wrap some mind around that?—twenty quid for two steaks! Out-fucking-rageous!)

Ed. Note:  GF just corrected me: “Thirty dollars!” Ouch! (Gonna have ’em bronzed)

Back to the happy: I am happy because I am alive Just-one-more-day. (No drama there, just musing)

I am happy because I have folks who follow my blog. I am happy because some actually read my blog. I am happy because some actually comment on my blog.

Yep. I am happy.

Hoping you are too. At least for today. Run with it. I am.

Cheers, Beers, and Happiness to all Y ‘all!

-Lance, The Happy, Hippie, Erstwhile Sailor, Texan.

Video Credit:

John Richnow’s Channel

Just Who Do You Think You Are?–A Re-Post

I swerved into this while revisiting and  exploring my own writings. (I do this occasionally. Not out of vanity, but out of a need to understand how my blogging ‘style’ may have changed or hopefully matured) At any rate, I do think this one adds some small value to my recently completed “Shonnie, The Biker’s Wife of Bath” story.

And whilst swerving, I swerved into this: (If you watch it, I will send you a Mickey Mouse Pencil Sharpener and a box of Gin) Trust me: it still ‘fits’ my Shonnie Story. Ya see? The Earth is a smaller globe now. (redundant?)

 Vid Credit: DJ Bayonic

“Win your medals. Fuck your strangers. Don’t it leave you on the empty side?”

Any and all comments (and advice) regarding the tenor of this TT&H Blog will be greatly appreciated. So, take the time, drop a dime…

Call-Ment Me!

***

This below was inspired by a post from a blogger I much admire: Abby of Abby Has Issues fame: writer, published author, blogger, self-described sarcastic (and inspiring–my words) wench.

Thank you Abby

****

“Who am I?”

This should be a very provocative question for all. Some ancient guy once said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.”

I am rapidly approaching my sixth decade on this earth and have been (painfully) taking stock of all that I could call My Life.” What good have I accomplished? What are the bad things I have done? How many ‘friends’ do I have? How many bridges have I nuked? (I generally do not ‘burn’ bridges; I have a tendency to shock and awe ‘em—obliterate ‘em) I have put my boots on the ground on every continent except South America. What has this taught me? A lot. Did I always use this knowledge gleaned? Most definitely not.

“Who am I?”

More and more I have come to the stark realization that I must sum me up with one word:

‘Asshole’

I am an asshole. I don’t want to be an asshole, pompous ass, arrogant ass, the smartest ass in the room, (which I obviously am… maybe once in ten or twenty tries 😉 ) I do not want to be any kind of ass, but that is my reality. I have made some friendships during my life which should have lasted forever, but didn’t: Mostly from my neglect. I have had some wonderfully loving relations with women, and actually married four of them. Each one of those relationships should have been a lasting euphoria, but I did not, could not, allow that.

Wanderlust always took me away, eventually needing to ‘get outta town’, but with no malice, just gotta go…  ‘This is the part where the cowboy rides away’–find some elusive spot half-way across the globe where I could ‘find’ ME, unencumbered by people who ‘love’ me and think they can help me.

Not sure if I have found me yet. And this is disconcerting, ‘cause I do fear the time for that is growing short. Writing helps, but I continue to struggle with:

“Who am I?”

I still don’t know.

As Abby broached the subject:

“How would you answer the question?”

Run with it, and drop in to read Abby (and tell her I sent ya–I sure could use the publicity)

Cheers Y’all and Happy Monday.

This One From My Heart

Back in the day, when I was young, I told myself that I would go places, experience shit, and write about it. Easy. Simple. Good plan, eh?

Nope. Why not?

Because I always got caught up in the ‘shit’ and never found the time to actually ‘write’ about it. And then, there is that ‘laziness thing’ too. Anyhow, if any younger than me writers are out there (That would be about ninety percent of y’all), here is some advice: Just write it now. Don’t go searching for some rainbow, or some muse. You have it in you now. Write it. Do not make the same mistakes I have made. Write it now, and sort the details later. Read a book if need be.

I woke up in Iraq one day, looked about and realized I had been spending too much time ‘gathering fodder’. Do not make that same mistake. It really ain’t worth a life. Go out and play golf. Go to a BBQ. Read. It is almost as good as being there. (And no one, I mean, no one will know either way.)

Cheers,

Lance

And I like to talk about stuff.

Do you?

The Best ‘Blaxploitation’ Film of All Time

It’s just memory lane y’all.

“I’m just talkin’ ’bout Shaft.”

“Right on!”

Enjoy.

John Hernandez vid credit

I Need Some Help (“Yes, We Know Lance.”)

Okay, not help with ‘That’.

But help with my Blog. More than one person has offered some constructive criticisms on my Layout:

“Too Busy Home Page”

“Impossible to read on a mobile device” (I have no ‘mobile devices’. Unless you count a throw-away $49 Walmart Phone and a bicycle.)

“Poorly indexed”

“Very difficult to search for ANYThing”

“Hard on the eyes”

“Disorganized”

“Frustrating”

“Too Leftist and too much Lenny”

(Okay: I threw that last bit in just for fun.)

“Never finishes a serial post”

(Okay! Busted! But for those of you following my Series On “Biker’s Wife of Bath,” I will finish it… or at least continue it)  mañana

And some others.

My request, for when y’all have time: Please tell me your thoughts/opinions/suggestions to improve the ease of Navigation and any other suggestions you may have. And… They do not all have to be constructive. What I mean, is that if my Blog Layout frustrates you, here is the venue to vent.

I will take all rants / vents / suggestions in good humour and will work to rectify, because we all have time valuable, and do not need to waste it searching for something which should take just one mouse click to find, yet sometimes doesn’t.

Thank You All in advance for any help you may offer. (I really have not been doing this Blog Thing for very long, and although I do pride myself in my ‘Communication Skills’, the delivery system is obviously flawed.) And no! I do not subscribe to the notion:

“If you build it, they will come.”

That has always been bullshit and,

I am not that vain.

To recap:

I am asking for your help.

‘Tis a message in a bottle; Pick it up and uncork it.

Cheers,

Lance

Love isn’t free. It cost plenty. “Worn and torn love”

Just Had to Reblog…
Read, Read, Read!

I wish to comment on John’s writing style:

It moves me.

Add your own comments below; won’t cost you nothing.

johncoyote

ps_2010_12_08___12_07_03

Worn and torn love

A Poem by Coyote Poetry

"

Some memories leave permanent scars.

"

Warning
This Poem is rated Mature and may contain material unsuitable for readers under 18.

Worn and torn love
Written on 8 April 1985

(For Angela. A lost and confused young lady.
I tries to pick her up and show her life was OK.
I hope she found peace?)

She never allowed me to understand her pain.
Pretending to be someone else.

Acting out parts like a woman in a cheap porno movie.

I’m sorry if she were abused.
Unable to untangle the disorder in her
heart and mind.

My life wasn’t always so organized and demented.

Finding joy and pleasure in the consumption and
digesting of new young woman flesh.

Her brown eyes.
Looks into my eyes.
Tries to find one reason to stay.

I wrote a simple poem for her.

“Sweet Angela
So beautiful.

View original post 215 more words

Ode’ to Facebook…

My Beautiful Sister, Ann Marie Vancas,

Ann Marie

wrote this and posted it on Facebook.

So naturally I had no qualms about stealing it. (I did ask her permission however) 

Seeing and reading into pieces of people’s lives….the musicians..the actors…artists…housewives…doctors…famous and the not so famous…
The memes…the themes…the lives and the lies..
People crying..and people dying…
Beach trips…road trips..acid trips…
I have met many people and lost them on this site…
The fights… the flights…the makeups and the breakups…
A reality show with thousands of channels…
Windows into people’s lives…sometimes what is really there and sometimes…only what they want you to see..
The Liberals…the Conservatives..the Middle of the Roaders…
The comfort and the chastisements from strangers and friends alike..
The all over the place posters…and the take it to the private messagers…
The celebrations..and the tears….
But before all of this…
The beach trips..the road trips…
Long talks under and over …
the bridges of the bayous…
Late nite cigarettes on the trunk of my old chevy…
Long talks that never…ever got heavy…
The loves and the heartbreaks…
the blood sisters and the pinky shakes…
Sun tans on the roof…
And always…
always…
feeling Bullet Proof…
My best friend…who always knew…
I was never much good….
At saying Good-Bye…

“I like it Stripey” or if you will, “Chardonnay! Take me Away!”

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.

Indeed Gertrude!

(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.”

“Huh?”

“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.

Stripey

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!)

OK

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

 

Today, a magical thing happened to me.

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!

Fucking 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)

Evey’ one.

Y’all should too.

well we will marry and tarry

There

Here is a happy song to get you ‘in the mood’:

The moodiness of happiness:

“The Line Forms to the Right”

Just choose Happy

 

Spam I Am: “Oh God! Please Never Leave Me Come To This!”

…Writing Spam for a penny-a-page! 

“I promise! I’ll be good!” (Starting first thing tomorrow)

spam

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.

Peace, and

‘exhilarating truthfully’,

–Lance, Y’all’s Humble Servant

 

Yes, I know: It Ain’t Thursday

But I swerved into this long-forgotten post, I posted while shall we say, I was ‘discombobulated?’

Incredible to me now, how this one survived the sober editing floor, and yet here it remains, sucking up Bandwidth. So now, I share my shameful pain with those who have never experienced this wonder…

And certainly comments are welcome. Especially if they be mocking, for self-deprecation is my forte. (and my compass)

(What the fuck was I thinking???)

Oh, and by the way: Please do not follow the links: For that way lies madness.

*************

“Generally, I do Not Like to Step on My Dick”

(Would love to, but he  has left the building)

However,

I will make an exception (in this case)

I love Blondie (Debbie Harry)

Yep

Do

Now… this post will knock my previous posts off your hit parade.

I know this

And I care not

(‘actuarily’ I do)

But who cares?

Watch the video, and take a trip back to the Eighties

Why not?

Call me:

lancemarcom781@hotmail.com

(I lied: it is GMail)

And… if you figg3r that out… Here’s to Texas!

P.S.

I Heart 🙂 Madonna too:

“Last night I dreamt of some bagels

Go Figure

 

“Goin’ To The Chapel…”

“And We’re Gonna Get Married”

My first wife and I got married in Jaffa Israel, an ancient Phoenician Seaport just south of Tel Aviv. The ceremony was performed by a Baptist Minister from Oklahoma in a Presbyterian Church which was maintained by Catholic Missionaries from Sweden.

(Now that right there shoulda told us we were testing Providence)

There were but two witnesses. (Co-workers of ours from Sinai Field Mission who just happened to be in town)

Twenty minutes before the ceremony, my soon to-be-bride and I were hitting all the jewelry stores on Dizengoff Street shopping for wedding rings. Could not find any that suited us or fit.

The clerks always had the same response:

“No problem; I can have it resized and you may pick it up tomorrow.”

We anxiously explained, “But we are getting married in just a few minutes.”

Jewish weddings are a great big hairy deal; so naturally, we were met with gasps of shocked amazement when we announced our time constraint. We tried to explain we weren’t Jewish, but that took just too much time, so we ran from shop to shop.

We finally, and at the very last minute, settled on two plain gold bands (which did not fit), purchased from the jewelry shop in the hotel where we were to rendezvous with the rest of the ‘Wedding Party’.

We all proceeded to Jaffa. My bride was wearing a black dress and I was in blue jeans. My woman and I tied the knot, (loosely, as it turned out). I gave the Okie preacher fifty bucks and we split.

The marriage didn’t stick, but we remain friends to this day.

My next wedding took place in Las Vegas.

My Bride and I got hitched in a venue called ‘The Chapel of Love’.

An Elvis impersonator performed the rites for two hundred bucks. (My woman was an Elvis fan, so what the hell). For fifty bucks more, he would sing ‘Love Me Tender’ A cappella. My girl, ever so frugal, suggested we pass on that.

If she had known that within just a few short hours I would be tossing black chips onto a craps table, she might have seriously considered his offer of serenade.

Next wedding was performed by a Justice of the Peace, who showed up two hours late due to some inescapable last-minute JP business which could not wait. By the time she arrived the Wedding Party (and I do mean ‘Party’) were all hopelessly drunk on Champagne. We did the deed and then all got hopelessly drunker. Several expensive champagne flûtes bit the dust that night, if memory serves… Was a great wedding, as those things go.

Last wedding took place in Arkansas and was just lovely.

None of these weddings took firm hold, I am sorry to say.

Apparently marriage to me is not much more binding than a hand-shake.

Now… Y’all. I am of course not making light of marriage. I do believe in its sanctity. (For other people) It just doesn’t appear to be right for This Cowboy.

Video Credit: patricia du prée

Thanks for your visit and thanks to Mark for putting this post in my head, sorta like an ear worm.

Cheers to you Mark! My Friend.

“Put Your Money On The Table And Drive It Off The Lot”

Uh…

Just to kick this off, Please listen to this bit to get y’all in the mood:

Here is a ‘novel’ approach (Well not really for me)

However maybe for Y’all:

This is a ‘work-in-progress’. Most writers polish, polish, polish, then anguish, anguish, anguish, and then… finally… publish. I subscribe to a slightly different philosophy tenet philosophy: “Just throw it out there and fix it later.” Probably not wise, but what the hell?

Anyway. Yup. This is a ‘work in progress’ (process?) and yes, I do have (buried somewhere in the dank, dark, dank, deep, nether depths of my addled mind) a purpose for this post. And yes, I hope to coax  lure hoist it up to the surface and board  beach land it, still flopping about, right here on this page.

Might be entertaining (or not) to watch the process. And in this vain vein, I am going to keep all the edits here, just as an experiment. A way to look into the my writing/editing process. (“Now damnit, I do hope I can come up with a valid subject to go along with this ‘wonderful’ prose.”)

To (obviously) be continued…Please don’t change touch that dial!

(And, as usual: nothing works if you don’t click the video/sound bite below)

***

Yes.

Moody Blues?

Dare I say?

Genius?

Naw!

Just kids havin’ fun

(We are entitled to fun, eh?)

“Who put those idea’s  ideas in your head?”

And…

“The Pursuit of Happiness”

(I read that somewhere)

“Come on back down to Earth Son!”

P.S. Yes my mind is a terrible thing. And if you have not clicked all the audio, you will lose Karma. Just sayin’…

Here was my mantra during those six months I spent languishing away in Amman Jordan between Iraq gigs:

 

This is Directed Toward All My Minority Friends Out There in Radio Land

And No: I am not talking ‘race’ here.

Hell! I don’t even own a Ferrari.

I am talking booze. Talking to the Juicers out there.

Here is my query:

Do you often (more often than not) catch yourself scratching notes?

Dear God

I mean, you have a great idea for a post, but are too inebriated to write it, and too afraid to sleep on it, lest you forget it: Lose it?

So… ya just ‘make a note’.

No matter that you won’t be able to read the note the next day sober, as it only makes sense when you are drunk–now therein lies that ‘Catch-22’, but at least you made the effort.

Right?

Right?

Talk to me Peeps!

(I really do not wanna be alone with this one.)

Cheers,

Lance

P.S.

Yes, I am a Socialist, Humanist, and All-Around Nice-Guy. i.e.,

I won’t let my dog shit on your driveway.

And Hey!

Thanks for stopping by.

We do hope you have enjoyed your time here.

tex flag

 

Y’all Know…

I read something recently on one of my favorite blogs:

http://aussalorens.com/2014/05/16/in-the-dark-we-can-barely-see-the-outline-of-a-lion/

“Hard to believe, but apparently this is my 100th post. 100 times I have hit “Publish” and felt that “oh my gosh… they’re going to think I’m a total weirdy” sort of feeling. 100 times I have hit “Publish” and then immediately seen a typo and been like “No, wait, go back! Flux capacitor, back!”

Now, Y’all know I have fawned over Aussa’s site before. (And of course, as long as I have breath in my body, I will continue to do so, ’cause she is just that good.)

But, Y’all know: this ain’t my point this eve.

My point is, I think I have posted more than Two Hunnerd Fifty Posts since end-of-january.

No Brag; Just Fact.

And of course, most were mere bullshit.

In studying Aussa’s site, I am beginning to realize…  You really do not have to post sumthin’ ever’day to keep readers.

You just have to ensure what you post is worth reading.

Boils down to one (two) paralyzed fact(s):

“Post Quality, not Quantity”

Or, if you will: “Don’t Shit Where You Eat.”

i.e., “Post Quality Lance! Do it! Do it for the Children!”

Okay: That may have been ‘three’

Take Yer pick.

Thank You Aussa.

P.S. That was not near enough approaching the piercing eloquence I wanted to convey, but ‘Twill serve–I hope.

 

Ah Shit! It is Now Officially ‘Throw Back Thursday’

Trust Me:

You do not wanna see this one.

Cheers!

di·lem·ma

 noun də-ˈle-mə also dī-

: a situation in which you have to make a difficult choice

horns-of-a-dilemma

If you stare at this long enough, the clouds start to move. Go ahead, try it. (You know you want to)

http://www.merriam-webster.com/

Facing the Horns of One.

I really want to quit posting for today and I really want to visit all my friend’s blogs and I really want to make some really witty and cool statements so that they will really love me…and yet… I cannot shut the fuck up.

Really.

Why?

Because I am really, well really…

Because I am really really vain.

And strange

Really strange

My friends may forgive me.

Those new here, will not.

(Not really)

But I always tell me, I say, “Hey! Me! You can make new friends out there!”

I say, “But I love the friends I have already made.”

“Fuck ’em! The other me says.”

I grow some balls and kick my ‘other me to the curb.”

Why? Because a friend lost, hurts me.

Honestly

(You thought I was gonna say ‘really’ didn’t ya?)

Especially, if it comes from my vanity and my stupid forgetful lazy neglect. That hurts the worst.

Deeply.

Because, that one… should be preventable.

Therefore I leave you with this
(Yes. I did have a point)

How many out there feel or felt upon one time, that you were just a “Doll Part?”

(Yeah, that sounds gay)

And NO Offense to any of my gay friends out there: it is just an expression. (I think–if it offends–let  me know)

(Really–now you just knew–I had to slip that last one in, under some covers)

Then…

Get over it.

Answer the question and move on.

*End of Rant*

Below is a visual aid:

Ed. Note: Lance is one stupid son of a bitch.

This video below is significant to many of my friends who have suffered domestic violence. In the dark recesses of my feeble fucking mind, I knew this, yet I put the video in anyway.

Why? Because I love Love (Courtney)

That is no excuse. I need some sensitivity training. I am going to leave the video in this post, but now for different reasons: People Need To Wake Up To The Fact that here in this country and all over the world, there are women being abused.

Right NOW. Something has to be done. To quote Christopher Hitchens:

“The quickest way to end poverty is to empower women. Empower woman. Give them control of their reproductive bodies. Give them education. Let them have jobs.”

That is a paraphrase. But you can Google it, or I will do it for you. Next time I edit this stupid, thoughtless, insensitive post.

New Ed. Note: As promised hours ago…

And here we go with….Lenny!

427px-Lenny_Bruce_arrest

And Yes! I am going to continue to post shit that is on my mind. Ad nausea!

Because this is my blog.

I mean no offense, but if you ever get offended here, well, I did warn you. (didn’t I?)

Okay, maybe I did not, but I am goddamn certain from day one, I never promised a floral garden.

Now did I?

(Sometimes, often, I out-type my brain–sorry)

Moving on…I guess this is a rant. (searching for a way to categorize this post)

Don’t worry: I will make up a new one if I havta. (and you real bloggers out there know what the fuck I am talking about. Doncha?)

And Fuck Yeah!

I think Courtney Love is fucking brilliant.

Wanna sue me?

The line forms to the right.

(Gotcha!)

And Hell Yeah! “I wanna be the girl with the most cake!”

Don’t we all?

I mean,

Really?

*End*

Just Noise.

Brilliant!
“And that is all I am gonna say about that.”
Take a read.

happierheathen

I like to joke that I have woken up on a strange planet that is essentially an analogue of my home planet and one that even goes by the same name, Earth, where the inhabitants are apparently homo sapiens, but of a somewhat less intelligent subspecies. Homo sapiens doofoidus, perhaps. I have spent most of my life playing down my own supposed intelligence in order to gain some very limited social acceptance, which is why I say things like “I figger” and ain’t, and curse at a level rivaling that of the entire trucking industry combined. An earnest member of MENSA once interviewed me for some purpose that was never explained to me, and in passing mentioned that I might consider applying for membership of that august organization. I was so very honored that I exclaimed, “You have got to be fucking shitting me!”… And he said that…

View original post 611 more words

“I dreamt a dream tonight” –Queen Mab, or What You Will, Will

“I dreamt a dream tonight.”

“And so did I.”

“Well, what was yours?”

“That dreamer’s often lie.”

“…In bed asleep while they do dream things true!”

“Oh! Then I see Queen Mab hath been with you!”

–R&J: Romeo and Mercutio,

Queen Mab:

Ya’ll gotta watch the video “or it all just falls apart” Just saying… (Yes! I feign Texan; it is my wont.)

After a night of hard blogging and writing of drafts, and becoming somewhat disillusioned and more than daft, I perished toward my bed, reaching out for the Arms of Morpheus.

Within moments, I slipped into that nether sleep, that sleep between sleeps, that semi-conscious state of affairs. Sleep, but Not Sleep.

Then I began to dream things that should have been true. But were not true, yet so true.

Wonderful words words words! Words to sate my unnourished prose.

Words swirl’d about in my mind like so many fireflies on a summer’s eve:

““Words, words, words!. Once, I had the gift. I could make love out of words as a potter makes cups of clay. Love that overthrows empires. Love that binds two hearts together, come hellfire & brimstone.”

— “Will Shakespeare in Love”

I had it (them, those) words… goin’ on. Brilliant words. Beautiful, poignant words! All right there! Right there In My Mind. I reached out my finger to tap the “Publish” Mouse.

My finger was frozen.

It would not move.

How hard I did try!

It would not comply!

I lay there in my nether sleep, commanding.

The hand, the one digit, just the finger! Demanding!

Just move the damn finger!

Would not.

Could not.

Then I realized:

I am with Dante now.

You Just Know It’s a Bad Sign When…

There are NO, None, Nada, Zero shopping carts available when you walk into Kroger’s.

But, since I am a ‘New’ Man, full of patience (and some remorse), I took a deep breath and decided that it is all good. I really did not need to be in a hurry. Hell! What a wonderful opportunity to ‘People Watch’

So I ‘patiently’ waited for a cart, then went on ‘bout my business, even exchanging smiles and conversation with some of my fellow Kroger-ites. Then I went even further: I had a CONVERSATION with the Check-Out Lady (Whom I discovered was from Ukraine.) Could have talked to her for hours. What a wonderfully articulate Lady she was. (and pretty too) But, alas there were people behind me needing to check out as well…

Maybe next time.

It is (Still) Morning (Mourning?) in America!

“Oh shit!” ‘Sorry Ronnie Toopac… Nancy’Melania!

It is ‘SundayTuesday  Wednesday in Amerika!

“Let us watch ‘The Golf’ read my tweets!”

agusta

“Huge vivla la diff’ eh’?”

“Oh Me ah me! What ever do you mean?” (Said Nancy Melania)

“Ah shit Nancy! Melania! I mean it is morning in Amerka! Didn’t I say that?!”

“No, you are a Commie if you did!”

Nancy! Melania! I am soooo Sorry! I lost my place! Here was I, back in the Eighties! Working for law and land! Money, lust, and US!

I even enlisted! I served my Country! What did I get? Bupkis!” What did I get? Rich!

“Butt… We (Ronnie and I—don’t he look cute—riding that horsey? Honey?—Now…what were you saying? You middle class? Oh Yeah! Something  about entitlements?”)

“Uh! Ya know what? Nancy? Mel? Never mind. We got ours. And ya know what? We got that Commie Bastard!—That Gorbo-chov!  That Puttie… God Bless America!”

“But… where is the money?”

“for America?”

For us?

Where is our prosperity?

I thought we won the war?

Where? Where are the fruits?

They just evaporated.

Didn’t they?

“I made enuff money to buy Miami, but I pissed it away so fast…”

–Jimmy Buffett

“Just say no,” “Make US Great”  was all she said, as she walked away.

(The conversation is ambiguous, waxes and wanes, for a reason: we are all to blame)

“You let ’em come home…” America.

We all should be allowed to come home. After all: it is the only place that stays open–all night.

We all should be allowed to come home. After all: it is the only place that stays open–all night.

We all should be allowed to come home. After all: it is the only place that stays open–all night.

We all should be allowed to come home. After all: it is the only place that stays open–all night.

We all should be allowed to come home. After all: it is the only place that stays open–all night.

We all should be allowed to come home. After all: it is the only place that stays open–all night.

The US of US is the only place that stays open all night. For All. We sort em out, once they (manage) to get here.

The US of US is the only place that stays open all night. For All. We sort em out, once they (manage) to get here.

For All.

In The Texan, I Caint Make This Shit Up… Beep Beep Beep, Updated for 2017

Watch the vid.

Please

Nuff said

We love You Molly!

“If you could see me now….”

We need you now more than ever Molly.

You Texan Bitch!

“There’ a lot to like there”

Related: Kinky Friedman