I know Carole is Gay… Ask me how Many Fuks I Give. Septembers Are Always Very Hard On Me. Because They Remind Me… Brings Back Insanity… They Break Me! I’d Just as Soon as to fore-get. But, I cannot! I just Cannot!

Maddy?

Why Did You Die On Me???!!!

Yu Fukin’ Cunt!

(OF Course, I NEVER Call’d You”Maddy”)

That would’ve just pissed You off!,

So I always just call’d You ‘

Madelyn’…

*****

Re-Whines Me Of…

Of A Sad Anniversary I’d Just As Soon As Try To Forget. But I Can’t. Won’t. For I Made A Promise You See. One Promise I Hold Near & Dear And Shall Always Keep. Until That Day I Die Too.

“Cowards Die Many Times Before Their Deaths;

The Valiant Never Taste of Death but Once.”

–W. Shakespeare

In 1971 when my step-sister Madelyn and I were fourteen and thirteen respectively, my parents would often go out of town on the weekends. My father and stepmother seemed to always have some magic convention or gathering to attend in Dallas, Houston, Kansas City, or any number of other venues.

So She and I ‘fended!’

Oh Good Gawd!

Oh! How we Fended!

And We Broke  a lot  of  fending fences along-the-way,

Left them in the dust, to rust.

****

My father knew all the local high school kids from his directing of the senior plays every year. Two of the former graduatesGood Gawd! Hded’ Oh , Ronnie and Doug, then about twenty years old, remained very good friends of my father and particularly Ronnie, (who was Peanut’s Uncle). My father decided that Madelyn and I needed a ‘baby-sitter’ while he and Gloria were off on their long weekends, so they paid Doug and Ronnie to look after us.

Now mind you, Madelyn and I were both pretty certain we were over-mature for our age and could easily fend for ourselves, but we loved having two “big brothers” to help us throw the greatest parties in the history of Honey Grove while under their tutelage.

We used Marcom Manor as our venue of course and were always in a rush to get the house back into some semblance of order before the folks returned, usually on a Sunday, but occasionally on a Monday or Tuesday.

During Labor Day Weekend of 1971 my parents were off to a big convention in Houston and we had a great party planned for Sunday the Fifth of September.

We were to have ‘The Mother of All Parties’ out at Lake Coffeemill, north of Honey Grove. (The party was going to serve double duty for me, as my fourteenth birthday was just five days away.)  Right up until the night before, I had no date lined up for this all-day Blow-Out, and I was in a panic.

Continue reading

Lo Siento Mi Vida. Do NOT Look At This! Let Alone READ It! This Post Is All Fukked Up! Half The Thumb-Nails Don’t Even Show Up!

“TRIGGER WARNING!

This Post is Obnoxious & Insulting,

But It Accurately Depicts My Frame of Reference

At The Time I Wrote it.

I NEVER Lie to Y’all. –Updated! Had to Add Some Linda at The End–Cannot Believe I Forgot! This Post is all Fucked UP. Guess What? I No Longer Dare to CArE! Don’t GIvE A sHiT! fUcK IT! “Hearts are like AssHoles; eVer’one gOts one!”

Wasted Time

I Honestly Don’t Know Why I Waste My Finite Time. I Pull Together All Kinds of Poignant Videos. No One Watches.

God Forbid Someone Comments!

Takes Some Time

Drops a Thin Dime

Says

“Thank You! You Made Me Laugh!”

Oh Hell NO! Cannot Be Bothered To Spend A Fuckin’ Mouse Clik!

Fuck All Y’all!

And I Sincerely Mean That!

“All The Y’alls, Y’all”

Vid Share Cred: Chris Spags

Content Creator: K Ryan Jones (I think)

And of Course The Mesmerizin’

Connie Britton

George Don’t Give A Shit

He is My Spirit Animal

George Ref’ d The Magic Words!

He SAID

“Bobby Darin”

“Mack the Knife”

Anyone who reads me, knows most of my shit is bullshit about women! is about women–my relationships with women. I love women. This is well-documented.

I have broken lots of hearts.

Lots of good woman hearts.

My heart, my one one, my only one, has been broken too.

I should take better care of it.

Try to Look out for it.

More.

More earnestly.

More diligently.

Less carelessly.

Heart Broke.

More times than I wish to recount.

But.

I always manage

to sailor on.

And I will.

Continue.

For

Ever.

This is cruel.

And

BRILLIANT

Billie Holiday

A National Treasure

Tragic Ophilia

Cred for Vid: jakuerika

Billie H is the broad singing; but you knew that already….

*********

And crude.

But it is how I choose to survive.

I honestly have no choice in the matter.

Yeah! I’m An Asshole!

Streetcar My Desire

*********

If you do not get my sense of humor, you are in the wrong place.

And you need to leave.

Now.

Right Now.

Right Fuckin’ Now

And In Haste

Hasta La Vista!

Lo Siento Mi Vida

Linda!

In My Humble Opinion, This is One Of The Most Beautiful, Wonderful Songs Ever Performed and Performed By The Most Beautiful, Talented Woman in the World

(Sorry Joni–Forgive me later–I’ll buy you lunch–I Promise.)

I need…. Never F&cking Look down! You May Drown

Lo Siento Mi Vida

Some Self-Sorrow Bull-Shite

I’m Sorry For My Life

And All My Ex-Wifes

This Post is Bull-Shite

But It Accurately Depicts My Mood At The Time I Wrote it. I NEVER Lie to Y’all. –Updated! Had to Add Some Linda at The End–

Cannot Believe I Forgot! This Post is all Fucked UP. Guess What? I No Longer Dare to CArE!

Don’t GIvE A sHiT! fUcK IT! “Hearts are like AssHoles; eVer’one gOts one!”

Wasted Time

I Honestly Don’t Know Why I Waste My Finite Time. I Pull Together All Kinds of Poignant Videos. No One Watches.

God Forbid Someone Comments!

Takes Some Time

Drops a Thin Dime

Says

“Thank You! You Made Me Laugh!”

Oh Hell NO! Cannot Be Bothered To Spend A F^ckin’ Mouse Clik!

Vid Share Cred: Chris Spags

Content Creator: K Ryan Jones (I think)

And of Course The Mesmerizin’

Connie Britton

George Don’t Give A Shit

He is My Spirit Animal

it’s Important in life to not give a shit”

George Ref’ d The Magic Words!

He SAID

“Bobby Darin”

“Mack the Knife”

Anyone who reads me, knows most of my shit is bullshit about women! is about women–my relationships with women. I love women. This is well-documented.

I have broken lots of hearts.

Lots of good woman hearts.

My heart, my one one, my only one, has been broken too.

I should take better care of it.

Try to Look out for it.

More.

More earnestly.

More diligently.

Less carelessly.

Heart Broke.

More times than I wish to recount.

But.

I always manage

to sailor on.

And I will.

Continue.

For

Ever.

This is cruel.

And

BRILLIANT

Billie Holiday

A National Treasure

Tragic Ophilia

Cred for Vid: jakuerika

Billie H is the broad singing; but you knew that already….

*********

And crude.

But it is how I choose to survive.

I honestly have no choice in the matter.

Yeah! I’m An Asshole!

Streetcar My Desire

*********

If you do not get my sense of humor, you are in the wrong place.

And you need to leave.

Now.

Right Now.

Right Fuckin’ Now

And In Haste

Hasta La Vista!

Lo Siento Mi Vida

Linda!

In My Humble Opinion, This is One Of The Most Beautiful, Wonderful Songs Ever Performed and Performed By The Most Beautiful, Talented Woman in the World

(Sorry Joni–Forgive me later–I’ll buy you lunch–I Promise.)

And Scre U If U Caint Take a Joke–It Actually Happened. I Must Re-Post This Because It Makes Me sad & And I Love My Pity-Parties.

“Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once.”–W. Shakespeare (this is really long–please try to slog thru it)

In 1971 when my step-sister Madelyn and I were fourteen and thirteen respectively, my parents would often go out of town on the weekends. My father and stepmother seemed to always have some magic convention or gathering to attend in Dallas, Houston, Kansas City, or any number of other venues.

My father knew all the local high school kids from his directing of the senior plays every year. Two of the former graduates, Ronnie and Doug, then about twenty years old, remained very good friends of my father and particularly Ronnie, (who was Peanut’s Uncle). My father decided that Madelyn and I needed a ‘baby-sitter’ while he and Gloria were off on their long weekends, so they paid Doug and Ronnie to look after us.

Now mind you, Madelyn and I were both pretty certain we were over-mature for our age and could easily fend for ourselves, but we loved having two “big brothers” to help us throw the greatest parties in the history of Honey Grove while under their tutelage.

We used Marcom Manor as our venue of course and were always in a rush to get the house back into some semblance of order before the folks returned, usually on a Sunday, but occasionally on a Monday or Tuesday.

During Labor Day Weekend of 1971 my parents were off to a big convention in Houston and we had a great party planned for Sunday the Fifth of September. We were to have ‘The Mother of All Parties’ out at Lake Coffeemill, north of Honey Grove. (The party was going to serve double duty for me, as my fourteenth birthday was just five days away.)  Right up until the night before, I had no date lined up for this all-day Blow-Out, and I was in a panic.

Continue reading

“The Cowards Never Started and the Weak Died Along the Way”

And Yet One More Post From the email Archives:

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

Please tell me all about your therapy session today once it is done. I know a little about back trouble as I went through some during my Navy SEAL training. I know there is nothing worse than that for pain. There were several days during that training whereby I thought it would be better to be dead than run/swim yet another step. Somehow we always managed just one more step. “The only easy day was yesterday” was our mantra and that had been passed down over the years to all BUD/s classes.

There was one guy in my first class (Class 140) who actually broke his femur during a fun little evolution called “Rock Portage.” For two days he remained in training after that.

His roommates would walk him about every morning until his leg got numb. Obviously he couldn’t keep up on any of the evolutions and the SEAL instructors kicked him out.

No one knew his leg was broken. Once he was drummed out and had gone to Balboa Naval Hospital they told him he had a broken femur. Imagine his surprise!

Rock-portage1

Rock Portage

Hahahah!  A footnote: Seems his father was a retired SEAL. Well when daddy found out how his son had been kicked out of training for having a broken leg, yet still “putting out” to use the vernacular, he was, shall we say, livid.

Needless to say, the kid in question was apologized to (ad nauseam) and invited to return once healed so that he would have an opportunity to break the other leg. I talked to him about this and he told me he’d had enough, but then I ran into him a few weeks later and he told me he would be coming back.

It takes a special kind of idiot to go through that. I know, as I was just such an idiot. Twice. I suppose that’s why they call it “Special Forces.”

We had a guy in my second BUD/s class (158) whose name was Lundtmark. One day while we were running the obstacle course he got to the very top of the cargo net (roughly 60 feet above the beach) and fell off.

cargo net1

Whoosh!

Bam!

Boom!

He survived, but from that day forward Lundtmark was reborn and known as “Sand-Dart.”

Some of the funniest moments I recall were during “Drown Proofing.” Drown-proofing is quite simple: one’s ankles are tied up and one’s wrists tied together behind one’s back.

Then the “wog” (Short for pollywog, a neophyte, wanna-be SEAL) must simply swim 100 meters in 12 foot deep water. Once that is accomplished, the wog must do some acrobatic maneuvers underwater while still tied up and then somehow get to the bottom and pick up a scuba mask with his teeth and bring it to the edge of the pool where the instructors await to pull him out and beach him.

All great fun.

I never had any apprehension with this evolution since I am very relaxed in water. Others had slightly more trouble. One idiot after being cast into the water did nothing but bob up and down screaming,

“I’m drowning! I’m drowning! Save me!”

As he would get close to the edge of the pool the instructors would push him back toward the middle using long poles while yelling,

“You idiot! If you were drowning, you wouldn’t be able to say you’re drowning!”

It was all great fun, but I suspect you’d have had to actually been there at that precise moment to fully appreciate it.

drownproofing

Drownproofing

Another idiot didn’t even make it into the water. His name was “Feather.” (His name really was Feather and he was a body-builder which made him a target of opportunity for the instructors’ “special attention.”)

Well, seems Feather had second thoughts about BUD/s and his desire to “Kill some Commie Bastards” when it came time for drown-proofing. As soon as we were told to start getting tied up, Feather bolted. He actually ran away! Just like a little bitch.

Never saw him again.

He’s probably still running…

Fuk FeatheR!

And That Dumb-Ass

Naf he 

Road

In

Upon!

I Must Re-Post This Because It Makes Me sad & And I Love My Pity-Parties. “Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once.”–W. Shakespeare (this is really long–please try to slog thru it)

In 1971 when my step-sister Madelyn and I were fourteen and thirteen respectively, my parents would often go out of town on the weekends. My father and stepmother seemed to always have some magic convention or gathering to attend in Dallas, Houston, Kansas City, or any number of other venues.

My father knew all the local high school kids from his directing of the senior plays every year. Two of the former graduates, Ronnie and Doug, then about twenty years old, remained very good friends of my father and particularly Ronnie, (who was Peanut’s Uncle).

My father decided that Madelyn and I needed a ‘baby-sitter’ while he and Gloria were off on their long weekends, so they paid Doug and Ronnie to look after us.

Now mind you, Madelyn and I were both pretty certain we were over-mature for our age and could easily fend for ourselves, but we loved having two “big brothers” to help us throw the greatest parties in the history of Honey Grove while under their tutelage.

We used Marcom Manor as our venue of course and were always in a rush to get the house back into some semblance of order before the folks returned, usually on a Sunday, but occasionally on a Monday or Tuesday.

During Labor Day Weekend of 1971 my parents were off to a big convention in Houston and we had a great party planned for Sunday the Fifth of September.

We were to have ‘The Mother of All Parties’ out at Lake Coffeemill, north of Honey Grove. (The party was going to serve double duty for me, as my fourteenth birthday was just five days away.)  Right up until the night before, I had no date lined up for this all-day Blow-Out, and I was in a panic.

Continue reading