Townie Guy

There is a Townie Guy that occasionally walks past my house. He has long blondish hair and a little facial hair un-purposefully grown. He walks kinda diminished, like the Japanese, he keeps his head bent slightly forward, and his arms don’t swing. I’m guessing  him to be in his late thirties, early forties.

He was walking past while I was scooping dog crap with a tiny shovel and I greeted him. “Howya doin’?”

“I don’t know.”

I paused for maybe 5 seconds…… I think I believe him.

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Pondering Older Men (warning, dark and a bit disturbing)

Please don’t read this post. It is going into the Tales of Darkness series. It came to me out of the blue. I clicked the ‘write’ button and this story developed itself and after reading it a couple times I didn’t see any glaring errors so I hit ‘publish’ and it was off.

The thing is though, as the evening wore on I was drawn back to re-read it. Suddenly I realized; I am feeling a bit disturbed. It’s really quite an ugly story. I dunno, maybe you’ll like it. Whatever, You’ve been warned.

The light is filtered through dirty glass about 15 feet away, on the other side of the steel bars of my cage. There’s nothing to see but I climb as high as I can anyway. There is a small fenced courtyard with a basketball hoop. The buildings are placed as to offer no view.

A few days before, the keys clanged and the door opened, “OK, listen up. Grab your blanket, pillow, and mattress and follow me.” Six of us from maximum security shuffled down a bright hallway to a part of the facility I’d never seen. We passed a threshold with double fire doors and time went backwards 50 years. Gone were the bright yellows and oranges replaced with clear coated concrete and light or dark grey institution paint. One person per cage, 24-7 lock down with one hour exercise per day starting after 3 days. I found out it is what they all called the ‘Old Jail’.

I glanced at my good friend Gary who is an aging criminal defense attorney from California way. We are having coffee and donuts in the office common area. He was just telling me that if 10 people are randomly pulled from the street and accused of murder, 8 will go to prison for the murder. “Don’t they get pissed going to prison for something they didn’t do?” I asked, curious where this was going. He looked at me like I was stupid. “You gotta get over it. It’s better to go to prison for something you didn’t do than for something you did do. At least that way you’re innocent.”

It didn’t sit well but I could relate.

My mind went back to the good old days. 18 years old, mid summer was in full swing, and the fair was opening tonight! I got all dressed up and was wheeling past the Tastee Freeze toward the country music concert at the fair when my way was suddenly blocked by two Sheriff cars and another came up from behind. The terrified policeman went through his routine and I found myself in a detective’s car headed for the city. These two clowns were high fiving each other for solving the crime. “What crime Goddammit!?” The driver sneered and told me I’d find out when we got to the station.

There’s no way to express all the crazy shit that goes on in your head for the first six weeks or so. Every form of fear, overwhelming self pity, crying while visiting with the folks on the other side of security glass and wiping dry before returning to the cage.

The thing is, there’s nothing you can do. If you yell at the guards they smile while they beat you and keep asking if there is anything else you wanted to say. The other prisoners don’t want to hear it on account of their own problems. You get a few friends that visit then disappear. Then is the day when the guards laugh hysterically as they read out loud the ‘Dear John’ letter and then stuff it back in the envelope and push it through the bars. “You really fucked up getting the Sheriff’s daughter pregnant!” We had dated but hadn’t done it!

Lots of photos and interviews, visits with the public defender, and a criminal psychologist that keeps touching my leg and asking if I like older men.

“So what do these guys do?” I asked Gary. ‘Plead guilty” he said. “They will get 20 years if they lose in the trial or 2 years if they plead guilty”. “Happens all the time.” he said. “Some guys take their chances in court and sometimes they win. The trial will likely take longer than the 2 years of prison so it’s usually worth it. The system is criminal.”

I knew what he was talking about but I listened, acting amazed and horrified that such a thing could possibly be true here in the good ole USA.

I made the decision in a dinky attorney/prisoner room with a flickering florescent. I didn’t trust the dainty man who had been assigned to be my defense but I had no known options. “If we fight it we will most likely lose and you are looking at 14 years in State Prison. If you plead guilty, I think we can get you out of here in 3 months.” “Is there any guarantee? I mean what if they give me 14 years anyway?” “Well kid, sometime you gotta take your chances.”

A few more weeks went by……. I anguished. I didn’t do it… More self pity.. I was circling the drain. I finally made up my mind and called the public defender.

“OK. Lets do it.” My heart was pounding. I’d been in a cage for over 6 months now. I wanted this shit over. “You sure? Once we do this there isn’t any turning back.” “Yeah, let’s do it.” I took several deep breaths. I hoped to GOD that this defense attorney could make this happen. “Oh, just one more thing……” “What?” He fidgeted a bit. “We are going to need an excellent evaluation from the criminal psychologist. He wants to see you three times.” His eyes bored into me. “What?” I was trying to understand his sudden change in mannerism. “You are going to need an excellent evaluation.” He continued to look directly into my eyes. “Do…. you….. un-der-stand?”            He wasn’t blinking.

Oh shit, this can’t be real! Yes, it was starting to sink in.

“Yes. Yes, I understand.”

Make sure you do. He is a powerful man and you don’t want to mess this up.”

“Will anyone know?” I couldn’t swallow right. My throat was lumping. He looked at me directly for a few more seconds and then looked down. “I sorry.”

He shuffled some papers and pressed a buzzer button and his slight form was replaced by a guard.

Desperate days….  He needed and had 5 meetings rather than 3.

Some weeks after the guilty plea I waited for sentencing and no one would tell me anything. The judge asked questions of all involved and lectured me of the severity of the crime how irregular it is that such a minor sentence was requested. He locked eyes with the psychologist and continued.

“TIME SERVED PLUS 45 DAYS!” He banged his gavel.

The psychologist glanced my way and winked. I looked back at the judge and he spoke directly into my soul. “YOUNG MAN, I DON’T EVER WANT TO SEE YOU IN MY COURTROOM AGAIN!” I disappeared for 45 days.

A few months later I was visiting with an old girlfriend. She was caring for her new baby. It was a baby boy with a flat, broad nose that was a remarkable match to the man sitting next to her. We had both been dating her. He was a proud daddy!

The future shortened and the past grew and ancient men enjoy coffee and donuts.

As Gary talked, I remembered back to the day when I had used micro-phish to look up old news articles and had read in the court and legal section the day after sentencing. There was my mug-shot and a quarter page rant about an armed robber getting 45 days county jail and how unfair it was that I had gotten off so lightly.

So Gary headed off to do a plea bargain in court and I walked in the smokey sunshine back to my office. Though I will never know the experience of robbing someone at gunpoint, maybe Gary is right. Maybe it is better to be in jail for something you didn’t do than to be in jail for something you did. But….. There might be a third option…..

Do you like older men?

 

man hating

This is the last thoughtful entry for awhile. It may make you squirm a bit and probably not hurt you badly. I’ll understand if you choose not to read it.

A few years ago my youngest was turning 18. He mentioned to me that he was a bit scared because once he turns 18 everything becomes his fault. And he was right. I assured him that he has broad shoulders to carry the weight of the world. He will be fine. Frankly, he is fine. He carries the ‘manly’ responsibilities of his group and they often resent and hate him for it.

He told me one day, “Dad, I’m sorry I hated you for being a man and dealing with life. I knew you had to do it but I hated you for it.” “It’s OK kid. I am a man and that’s just the way it is.” “I know Dad but now that I’m a man people always hate me but I have to do what it takes to make sure everything works and they blame me for all their problems but they won’t do what it takes to deal with it and when I do take care of it they are a bunch of assholes about it.” “Yeah, it sucks. I can’t change it but I would wish for you to not rot your soul with anger and resentment like I did.” I know Dad, I just get so pissed but I don’t want to be mad my whole life.” It went on from there and I went home.

I got to thinking……

When is the right time to start hating men? Is it an age? Is it the first time you find yourself attracted to a man or afraid of him?

I never did hate men. Some nut-ball psych student tried to convince me one time to hate my Dad. It almost worked for a couple weeks. But wait….. Every success I’ve ever had can be traced back to my dad. Drill Seargents were like college girls with stinky fingers compared to my Dad. Tough bosses were like an annoying older brother but they can’t hold a candle to Dad.

Snips and snails was fun.

Was called dirty at 10.

Military training that ‘NO MEANS NO’ (even if she had been saying yes) was good to know.

I must have been in late 20’s to early 30’s before I began to realize the steady stream of hatred offered me for the sake of gender only. Almost EVERY movie offers ball kicking at some point. Even cartoons and children’s shows have cannons, tree branches, baseballs and on and on take a crack at the male genitalia. Why is all entertainment so fixated on destruction of men?

Having not been involved with the gay movement I gradually decided that being gay was an excellent alternative to being a man. Every man is hateable unless… He is gay, trans, disabled, or of any race except white. Just to be fair, NO woman can be hated or mocked unless she is blonde or a conservative although it has been at least 18 months since I have heard a blonde joke. It’s still OK to hate conservative women.

But it’s not OK to hate children. Um… A male child is NOT hateable but how do people know when, during the maturation process, to start hating the male child-turning-adult? It would be wrong to state how stupid a male child is but just try to watch a laundry soap commercial without clear statement of adult-male-stupidity.

Hmm. Adult-Male-Stupidity Syndrome. It is probably in a diagnostic manual somewhere.

Let’s use the soap commercial. “My husband is so stupid that he can’t even figure out how to put soap in the machine.”

OK, So your husband is a dummy. Fine. No axe to grind here. But for just a minute,  please examine the other men.

Men invented the soap, the manufacturing process, the box it is shipped in, the shipping company, built the plant as well and the trucks, built the roads the trucks drive on to deliver the soap, mined the ore and processed it into steel to make the wash machines.  Men invented the wash machine itself, built the home the machine is in and invented the wiring process to run the machine and the hydroelectric dams and power plants to provide the electricity and developed the power grid to assure the home can even use the wash machine.

I can observe that men are obviously NOT stupid.

Even the retarded Oprah-type shows showing how men can’t handle domestic work by dumping the Man of the House with a mess and laughing while he tries to deal with it. For the first 4 or 5 days he would struggle while the audience would mock him. By the end of 2 weeks he would have a system and by 3 weeks the social experiment was over because the man had it absolutely NAILED.

Same way as using body harness to take a normal man and instantly make him 8 1/2 months pregnant to PROVE how a man can’t handle it. Of course no account was taken of the fact that 8 1/2 month pregnancy snuck up on the woman over, well, 8 1/2 months.

For the first few days the guy was clumsy trying to get used to the extra 55 pounds but again, within 3 weeks the guy is playing football with his kids in fine form.

So, since ALL social proof that men are stupid, horrible, and incapable is foolish and ridiculous, How is a person desiring to know the RIGHT reason to hate men supposed to get on track?

Please inform. Until then, I love the men in my life.

Approximate quote from some movie, “I love myself and by golly, people love me too!”

Answers to (Some of) the Interesting Questions

I don’t know why people ask me these questions and assume they ask other people the same questions. Either way, I decided to answer some of the interesting ones here.

Kids DO say the darnedest things but it’s usually in answer to questions that adults ask. All questioners will be considered anonymous. All answers are to considered entertainment unless life experience dictates otherwise. But then, if life dictates, you already knew the answer, didn’t you.

Q: What should I do with my life.

A: How the hell should I know. It’s hard enough living my own. Do you really not know? Let’s assume you are serious. Here is my answer. If you want to kill people: Join the military. If you don’t want to kill people: Join the Mormons. Either will tell you what to do with your life for four or more years until you have the clarity to run your own life.

Q: I’m thinking about killing myself. What should I do? 

A: This is a tough one based on inexperience. So here goes.

You want to be careful in life-or-death actions. This long answer will assume Space Aliens do not exist. It also assumes that you don’t want to fuck up a perfectly well-intended suicide. Oh, And it assumes reincarnation.

Find at least 3 people who have successfully done it. All else is theory. Life-and-death, including suicide is NOT a time for trial and error unless you have VERY WELL-FOUNDED research by experts who have your best interest at heart as well as the best interest of a dream bigger than themselves, such as Deep Space and Deep Water.

The practical application of theory is mostly for the nonsense you experience in college, especially as you approach your P.H.D. Not for the beginning Self Killer.

So…. Find at least 3 people who have successfully committed suicide in a fully satisfying way and interview them. Put together a comprehensive plan. 

Wait, wait. Don’t ask someone who TRIED and failed. What do they know. No one wants to deal with the humiliation of failure in this endeavor so get your shit together.

Now, you might have to wait until you die to meet people who have succeeded in killing themselves and then in your next life, assuming you still want to die, you can execute your well planned objective.

 

Q: If you are religious, what religion do you prefer?

A: Ooooh.. This is a hard one. I love the Catholics because they are so devout. They have the answer to everything and are well established. Too much guilt for me though.

The Jews have the best stories. I love the way a Rabbi can answer ANY question with a story. Again, too much guilt for me.

The Adventist are very reverent. I like that. They need to stop lying about money, stop their compulsive gambling with the money people give them and REALLY need to clean out the pedophile population in their organization. Also, too much guilt for me.

Jehovah Witness are probably OK. I know a few and they are really nice. I don’t care for the quality of their pamphlets. Kinda grainy.

Hindu and Buddhist are GREAT! Too complicated though. Plus, who wants to glue a red button to their forehead every morning?

Mormon. I think I would be Mormon because they will help you move. Plus they have  this thing about forgiving people. I can piss them off and they have to forgive me.

****I grouped these. *****

Q: Are you psychic? Do you believe in psychics? Why does it seem like you can read my mind? How do you always seem to know what I’m about to do? How come when I ask you a question, you answer a different one and it makes me mad until a few weeks later I realize what you had said was what I was trying to learn; how do you do that?

A: First, get a hold of Scott. He will get you started.

Here is the thing though. You are not your mind or body. Nor are you your personality. So considering that we speak the same language, go to the same schools, drive on the same side of the street, and on and on, we have very similar patterns of life. Cause and effect is predictable in much of life.

Add to the above that if I listen to you, I will hear you. The phrase “Pat is pregnant” tells me a LOT about Pat.

For instance: Pat is a female, is of age, active, starting to look like she ate a baby, seeing the doctor regularly,  she will fart every time she stands up starting about 7 months, she rubs her tummy, starts obsessing about baby names, and on and on.

So if that simple phrase tells me that much, how much will I hear if you tell me about your new kitten.

So no. I’m not psychic. I just pay attention.

Also, I spent about 6 years watching as much Netflix type movie channels to learn about other ways of life, expression, and opinions to fill in the blanks from not having enough lifetimes to live it myself.

At some point it all boils down to life patterns. If Pat is pregnant then these other patterns will likely follow. So if you do or tell me something, then you are also telling me your life patterns as well and confirming my own. If you lie or try to evade, you will likely do it the same way everyone else does so it will expose even more truth and at much deeper levels. So frankly, the more dishonest you are the better I will understand you.

The only tricky part about humanity is honesty. It is so rare and unexpected that it is hard to isolate and study. Even the best documentaries about truth spend the whole time discussing dishonesty. So like that saying goes: If you want to deceive someone, Tell the truth.

Q:I’ve seen photos or heard of you being in the oddest places. What’s that about?

A:It’s a Forrest Gump thing. I just kind of end up places and meeting people and doing things. It just happens.

If you have read about the eneagram, not sure I spelled that right, you might remember reading about the personality that is referred to as a 3. That is a clear examination of my basic uncontrolled personality. Those not a 3 tend to consciously despise the 3 but when not thinking about it will tend to love the 3.

Think about magical shape-shifters. That is my natural, unmodified personality, warts and all. It raises the chances that I will be in expected and unexpected places and situations. 

 

Q: I’m always so sure I have to suffer to get results in my life until you make me laugh about it and then it just starts happening without the pain. How does that keep happening?

A: Pain is more of a fetish than a problem. People will get a boo boo and bitch for 3 weeks about it but will pay $1000 extra for pain when they hire an escort. I don’t get it.

Life will consistently deliver small doses of discomfort to assure that even the most comfortable have something to complain about. We don’t need to plan that into out schedule.

Plan a life of pleasure and Pay Extra for Pain.

 

Q: I saw a picture of someone who looks like you driving a politician some years back. He was a young guy. Was that you?

A: Very possible. Forrest Gump thing.

 

I have 62 more on the list but I have company coming.

Did You Ever See a Snake Smile?

My head was spinning as I got on the bus. My first REAL kiss. Oh, I’d kissed before but only stilted, trying to not fuck it up kisses. This one was different, totally unexpected, and mind blowing.

We, some friends from school and myself had jumped the bus from Chadron, NE to a small town some 60 miles South to Alliance, NE to go roller skating. This happened on an irregular basis as bus fair was a factor.

I had a car that my sister-in-law was in the process of blowing the motor but that was 300 miles away, but that didn’t stop us. Back then all a kid needed for travel was a Greyhound bus ticket and the patience of the Saints. No one batted an eye to see a 14 year old cutting cross country. I understand even little tykes would travel by train alone back in the War Days to stay with Grand Parents. At the time of this story I was 16 and used to the process.

We had 2 gypsies in our school, one who went by the name Montana and the other, I don’t remember. A quick side story here: One time a kid from our school didn’t show up for breakfast so a quick search party was formed and by noon the place was crawling with professionals and volunteers. Montana was the last person the kid was seen with. They were seen down by the edge of the forest just at dusk and no one believes a one-eyed gypsy that says he doesn’t know what happened to the missing kid and he didn’t do it. By the end of the second day they had Montana on lock down and the State Police weren’t messing around. On the third day the kid’s Grandma called the school and said her Grandson had just showed up. He had hitch-hiked home and didn’t even know anyone cared. He simply hadn’t told anyone he was leaving. Well, you can bet your ass that Montana cared. He was a bit different after 2 days of interrogation.

Anyway, it was the other one that was skating this eventful evening. I was a bit pissed at the gypsy kid because I had all my rules and regulations about how life ought to work and this kid didn’t give a FUCK. If what he did bothered you, he would do more of it. What pissed me off so bad was that he was so merry about it.

So this little chicky-poo was a-flirtin’ with me and this gypsy kid kept getting in the mix making my insecure life worse than it had to be and the evening closed at 11:pm, just in time for the bus heading North.

I was on the bus licking the wounds of my injured pride when a bit of commotion got me looking out the window and there she was! She was a cutie! Nice brown hair, short and bouncy and just enough tummy to let me know she wasn’t starving to death. I dashed to the door and down the steps.

“I had fun skating with you tonight. Are you guys coming back next weekend?” “I dunno know. I’m gonna try.” There was no way I could come back next weekend. I just didn’t have the money.

Suddenly she leaned in and pulled me forward with her hand on the back of my neck. She had beer on her breath. It was fantastic! I had had beer before and I hated it. Its NASTY!!!

Mmmm. Not this time. So unexpected, so raw, so sexy.

I climbed back onto the bus in a confused bliss. I couldn’t stop sucking on my lips reliving the last two minutes. Even now typing this I can still smell her breath and taste the beer.

One week later I spied her. She waved and skated my way. “I knew you’d come!”

Yes, yes I did.

She dumped me for the Gypsy that night but it was OK because the following weekend I was in Rapid City, SD at a Heart concert when the (back then) skinny blonde was playing a guitar solo. She bent down while playing and looked me straight in the eyes while I looked down the front of her shirt. She smiled and shimmied and I SAW MY FIRST TITS!

Beer Breath AND Tits!

To Quote My Grandfather 1917-2013: “Did you ever see a snake smile?”

On Human Weakness

……. And God, help me in my times of weakness… Those moments when I am distracted and fall into my traps of SKKKKRRRREEETCH.. silence… What the FUCK was THAT???

Weakness??? Are you for real? Humans aren’t weak. Where in Sam Hill did the delusion that humans are weak come from??

“But mister… I AM weak. Look, I’m not living to my full potential.” Well, OK, if you insist. For the rest of humanity though, I have an argument.

How about a Massy Fergusson Tractor. It’s parked along side the barn. Is it weak? No. Is it operating at its full potential? Also no.

The main thing is that operating at full potential is not sustainable so get over it.

During the overwhelming majority of your life that you are parked next to the barn you are still consuming tons of breakfast cereal followed by train cars worth of toilet paper. Just keep consuming while you think about life while watching TV and the entire economy will stay in operation until that day when a bumble bee flies up your skirt and you will be off and running at FULL POTENTIAL.

Go on that trip, sing at church, cook at the soup kitchen and show the world what full potential looks like and create another group that will pray for strength in times of weakness. Then park your fanny next to the shed AS A PERSON OF STRENGTH and wait for the next bee.

Maybe I’m wrong. I thought that once but was mistaken. But I have never seen a weak or unmotivated person after stepping on a hornet’s nest or had a spider crawl on their face while watching TV.

I just ain’t convinced that any human is weak.