A rose, if by any other color...

Yesterday, in High Ridge Missouri (Emphasis on the word "high"), a woman named Kelly Ramey had a serious case of the munchies when she noticed she damn near chowed down on Jesus.

This is reminiscent of the time I saw a miniature John the Baptist in my Crystal burger. In any event, the story continues....










A couple of years ago, a Youth Director for a Methodist Church in Texas named Steve Cragg spotted Jesus giving his sermon on the mount (next image). His youth group nicknamed him "Cheezus".

Personally, I kinda think number two looks like this guy, pictured below. "Cheezuz, Mary and Joseph, the Rise of the Silver Carpenter", is going to be released by Touchstone Pictures in early December.

...and then there is the other thing.

There are several categories of lies, each with their own level of deceit and appropriate punishment. For the purposes of this post, we will not be covering lies that are of a felonious nature. We'll skip the obvious ones like whether or not you killed your ex-wife and a waiter, as well as the $118,000.00 ransom note that mom couldn't seem to get past the handwriting analysts. Yeah, yeah, yeah....DNA or whatever. She shit the bed on the handwriting analysis...plain and simple. In any event, those lies carry grave consequences, and we don't need to discuss them. What I'm talking about are the following:

The Self-Preservation Lie: This is when your kid tells you he doesn't know how the $3000 plasma TV got that hole in it...even though you can clearly see the baseball embedded. "Honest to goodness officer, my cruise control was set precisely on 55 mph". Or even, "Yes I smoked it...but I never inhaled it." The Self-Preservation Lie.

The Pin-Prick Lie: This is the lie that stings for a short while, but goes away quickly and causes no harm. "Read my lips: No new Taxes". "If elected, I will create 4 million new jobs a year and balance the budget". "Did I see a $20 bill on the counter? Nope, sure didn't honey." The Pin-Prick Lie.

The Character Flaw Lie: This is the bad one. This is the lie that forever makes everyone around you distrustful and sometimes even despised. These lies are galactically stupid as well, for in today's day and age, a few keystrokes on a PC, and you can find out anything to prove or disprove a spoken or written statement. I once had a friend for years who told me he played football at Penn State. Later on, I discovered he didn't even go to Penn State, and that he played intramural flag football at a pip-squeak college in Georgia.

I was in the Army for 21 years. Fact. I was in combat. Fact. I won the Medal of Honor. Ummmm, no. By telling a Medal Of Honor lie, not only would it be easily refuted through the Internet, I also would have degraded every single person who ever gave their all (and most are awarded posthumously, for the record) to win that award. In other words, I would have told you a character flaw lie, one in which if caught, I could never live down or be looked at by you in the same light again. Ever again. Ever. Thus, The Character Flaw Lie.

Do with the following what you may...I'm just the presenter. The following statements were publicly made by a certain Presidential candidate, all easily proven. All Character Flaw Lies.

"My father was a goat herder." Lie. His father was a well educated man, from a well-to-do family, who worked for the Kenyan Government.

"My Uncle participated in the U.S. liberation of Auschwitz Death Camp." Lie. Auschwitz is in Poland, and US troops never entered Poland. The Russians liberated Auschwitz.

"My grandmother has always been a Christian." Lie. His grandmother - through her own newspaper interviews, said 'I am a strong believer in the Islamic faith.' Not to mention the fact that she was one of 14 wives his father had...which I do believe Christianity frowns upon. I could be wrong though. They might be totally into orgies and shit like that.

"My name is African Swahili." Lie. Barack is Arabic, as is Hussein and Obama.

"I never practiced Islam." Debatable, but when he was in the Islamic school, he damn sure had to fake it at the very least. Still has lie written all over it.

"My school in Indonesia was Christian." Lie. It was a Muslim school, he was registered in the school as a Muslim, and he got into trouble during Koran studies for making faces. The source of this? His own book.

"Because I lived in Indonesia, I have foreign experience." Ahem! We are looking for adult foreign experience, not the memories of ages 6-10. Not a lie, but certainly some serious bullshit.

"An Ebony article moved me to run for office." Lie. Sources at Ebony have not yet been able to identify the article of which he speaks...because it doesn't exist.

"A Life magazine article changed my life." Again, same story...different magazine. Lie. Life (Time/Life publishing) cannot confirm the legitimacy of this statement either. Why? They know not of the article of which he speaks. (Is there a magazine patern here? I'm just askin')

"I was a professor of Law." Lie. He was a senior (grade level) editor and lecturer of the Harvard Law Review, not a full professor.

"Without me, there would be no ethics bill." Lie. He never chaired, participated in, presented, edited, or influenced change, in the Ethics Bill.

"The July 2008 Banking bill was passed by my committee." Lie. It wasn't HIS committee. As a matter of fact, he wasn't even on the banking committee.

"I have released my state records for public review." Lie. As of July 2008, his record of voting in Illinois has not been released publicly or privately.

"My economics bill will change America." Lie. He wrote an economics bill that had 111 provisions in it, and it was voted down 99-0. He voted against it as well. That's right. I didn't mis-type. He voted against his own bill. I have no idea. Why don't you ask him?

"I am not acting as President, yet. Lie. See 'European tour'.

"I didn't visit the wounded soldiers in Germany because I thought it inappropriate to do so." (My call on this one, and I say LIE). You don't like, respect, or even look at soldiers as anything but beneath you, and you know that's the damn truth too.

"I want all the votes to count." Lie. You wanted the delegates votes, not the people's votes. That's how you beat Senator Clinton. She actually kicked your ass, but you got it handed to you by the 'Super-Delegates.'

"I passed 900 bills in the Illinois State Senate." Lie. He passed 26, 19 of which were handed down to him by a fellow Senator. He wrote but 7 himself.

"My campaign never took root in MySpace." Lie. MySpace had a disclaimer against your ads for nearly 4 months.

"I never said the surge wouldn't work. I merely stated that I doubted it." Lie. He said - directly and pointedly - the surge will not work.

"It's true I sat nearly every Sunday for 20 years in that church, but I had no idea the Reverend was as anti-white, anti-Jew, and anti-American as he seems to be." Lie. Nothing further needed.

There are many, many, more character flaw lies, but my shoulders are screaming at me right now to stop typing. I can handle a little bullshit. I can handle a slight increase in taxes - even when promised it won't happen. I can even handle being a white male and therefore somehow personally responsible for every fucked up thing done to people of color and women in the last 250 years.

But I can't trust a character flaw liar. And neither should you, but do as you must. I certainly can't stop you.

Character Flaw. Flawed Character.

Danger Will Robinson....danger.

Dolly

Illegal immigrant Ana Domingo Lopez Maria Sanchez Consuela Ochoa and her illegal immigrant husband Fernando Valenzuela wade through knee deep water in the town of Los Lostos in southern Texas after hurricane Dolly said hello on 23 July 2008. Both were heading to City Hall to claim their $2000.00 governmental debit cards and sign for their trailer. Upon arrival, they were disappointed in the fact that these perks were not offered this time around. In a transcript from a National T.V. interview, Wolfen Blitzed spoke with Mrs. Ochoa.

Wolfen: "Hi, Wolfen Blitzed CNN."

Ochoa: "INS? No...no INS."

Wolfen: "No ma'am, I'm with CNN."

Ochoa: "No talk INS. You go!"

Wolfen: "I just wanted to know if you liked Barack Obama as much as I do."

Ochoa: "No speaka dee englee."

In a related story, Carlos Domingo Sanchez Vicarrio loads his truck with the "Stop/One Way" sign that was successfully removed from the Weather Channel's Jim Cantore in a 5 hour surgical proceedure last night. Cantore was standing on Corpus Christi beach in 164 MPH winds when the sign suddenly slammed upward and into his arse, forcing his brains through his small intestine, while finally finishing in his head. Hospital spokesman Kelly Olbermann said Cantore can expect a full recovery, and stated she did not feel this will damage in any way his secondary career as Chris Matthews' personal tingling leg massage therapist.

What??? Oh... BITE ME, okay?

Uhhhh ....Uhhhhhh

Is it uhhhhhhhhhh....just me...or uhhhhhhh.....has anyone......uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...else noticed that uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....Senator.....uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Barack.......uhhhhhhh...Obama......stumbles and .............uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....says "uhhhhh" a lot when he is uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....not in...uhhhhhhhhhhhh.....a controlled....uhhhh......environ...uhhhhhhhhhh...ment....uhhhhhhhh

It seems to me that he...uhhhhhhhhhhh...seems lost without a .... uuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhh teleprompter.....or..........a.........uhhhhhhhhhhhhh......... prepared..... uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..... speach...... and.......... uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh if he uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...... were Dan.......... uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......... Quayle then they ........... uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh would .....uhhhhhhhhh be all over......... uuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh him about ...uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh this....


When he said..........uhhhhhhhhhhh.......that...........uhhhhhhhhhhh......Israel is.....uhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....all for cooperation with the.........Uhhhhhhhhhhhh....Israeli's.........no one..........uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.......at MSLSD......seemed to............uhhhhhhh....notice his.............uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....gaffe..........when......uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......actually...........uhhhhhhhhhhhhh...he seems to be...............uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..............the king of..........uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..........gaffe's................uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh........don't ya think?

Don't you.......uhhhhhhhhhhhhh think?

Ooooops. My bad.

So there I was, innocently minding my own business while having a nice conversation with a co-worker. She was a woman lady female of the opposite sex, and I committed what turned out to be the most unpardonable of sins. As the radio played that incessantly stupid John Mayer song, "Say"... You know the one. He says "Say what you need to say" 40 times, and your brain is so warped by the repetition, you can't even begin to know the rest of the lyrics. Actually, there may not even be any other lyrics. In any event, as I reached for the radio to change the station, I uttered the obviously blasphemous phrase, "Oh my God, John Mayer sucks worse than diarrhea on a camping trip."

Apparently, I had mouthed an affront to every woman on the face of the Earth.

"Oh my God, John Mayer sucks?", said she. "Oh my God, John Mayer sucks?", she said again. I learned several decades ago, when a woman is sending your statements right back at you in a questioning format, you are in deep shit, mister John Mayer hater. Really deep shit.

Look, if the truth be told...he does suck. C'mon now, this guy is a self-proclaimed "rock performer", and he has such sappy shit in his resume as "Fathers don't murder your daughters" or whatever that lame tune is. Each and every song he sings is some lap-dog ballad directly targeting YOU - the American Woman. Now don't get me wrong here, I like a good ballad and I can sing along with plenty of love songs, but for the love of Pete, does EVERY song by this guy have to be that? Evidently, I guess it does. Chris Isaac, step aside.

So in an effort to extricate myself from the hole I had inadvertently gotten myself into, all I proceeded to do was dig deeper...and without a shovel. When I likened Mayer to a 2008 version of Kenny G. and Michael Bolton, I could feel the laser eyes burning an oozing crevice in my neck. Admittedly, I may have gone too far with the John Denver analogy, but she had me cornered and I had conceded that I didn't even want the cheese; I just wanted out of the trap. But that wasn't to be.

So, she said what she needed to say...
said what she needed to say...
said what she needed to say...
said what she needed to say...
said what she needed to say...
said what she needed to say...

In any event, the song finally - mercifully - ended, and I looked at her and said, "Okay, okay. I guess he's not that bad. At least he isn't Seal.

"What the hell is wrong with Seal?", she said.

Ray Charles;Billy Joel - Baby Grand

If you don't think it gets any better than this, then you and I will never see eye to eye.

It's that simple. My God, when Ray sings any part of this song, especially "But only songs like these, played in minor keys...keep those memories holdin' on".

If there was a talent and a voice ever sent from Heaven, I have no doubt it is Ray's. No shit. Or do you have another nominee?

JL4

USA For Africa - We Are The World

1985

Reagan was president.
Lionel Ritchie was still singing.
Stevie Wonder was still blind.
Paul had left Art.
Kenny Rogers was a gambler.
Tina was whacky.
Billy Joel was sober.
Michael Jackson was still black.
Diana Ross was still MJ's friend.
Dionne Warwick had yet to meet her psychic friends.
Willie had the best herb.
Springsteen was definitely "The Boss"
Kenny Loggins lived at Pooh Corner
Steve Perry had awesome pipes.
As did Daryll Hall.
Huey brought us the news.
Cindy was - well - Cindy.
Kim Carnes fell in love with a dreamer.
Bob Dylan was muuuaaking chuuuuoices.

And then there is Ray...

"ALRIGHT, LEMME HERE YA"

"TELL 'EM WE ARE THE CHILDREN"

I miss you Ray. I miss 1985 too.

196 Feet is waaaaaaay too close

I paced it off tonight. 196 feet.

That's how far my home is from the lightning strike you will see in the video below. More people are killed or injured by lightning in Florida than any other state in the country. By a wide margin, as a matter of fact.

In one nano-second...one blinding flash of light followed by the deafening crack of the charge...a 75 foot tall, 4.5 feet wide...yes 4.5 feet wide...live oak was disintegrated instantly by the bolt. As the electricity surged instantaneously, 5 homes sustained MAJOR structural damage, and 2 others minor damage. Some minor human injuries also happened.

Snap your fingers. Did you do it? Ok. That took 45 times longer than this lightning strike took to inflict nearly a million dollars damage, and nearly killed a shit-load of unknowing people..

196 feet. Too damn close, don't ya think?

http://www.wesh.com/video/16896581/index.html

Blues Traveler - The Mountains Win Again

One more for the road. Off to work now.

Adios.

Blues Traveler - Hook

Sometimes ya just feel like playing some John Popper, and sometimes ya don't.

The politics of bad taste

Each of these politically inspired images or cartoons is in terrible taste, there is no disputing that.

Moveon.org did the one on General Petraeus before he even took over as the top commander in Iraq.

The disgusting image of Senator McCain in black garb in the corner of his Hanoi cell was done by a South Carolina group known as "Vietnam veterans against John McCain."

The equally disgusting last cartoon was done this week by New Yorker magazine, portraying Senator Obama as a Muslim and his wife Michelle as a counter-revolutionary terrorist bent on keeping "Whitey" at bay, while the flag burns in the fireplace.

A Statement and a Question:

Statement: Sadly, there are groups of people in this country - large groups on both sides - who think one or more of these are funny, which they are not. People who admire this sort of thing make me ashamed that they reside under the same blankets of freedom that my family, my friends, and I myself, for that matter. No matter what your persuasion or beliefs, there is absolutely no need for indecent sophomoric nonsense like this, especially when these things come from sources that claim to be "above the norm" socially and intellectually.

Question: Which one of these do you think is getting - and presumably will continue to get - the most attention? You don't have to answer that.

They're all pieces of shit as far as I'm concerned, and I'm not talking about the images...I'm talking about those who perpetrated and approved of them.

Peace...unless otherwise necessary.
JL4

Part IV.

This is part IV of a posted series that began 3 posts ago.

Jamaal is dead.

He showed up in class one day at age 15, now 40 lbs heavier, facial hair, menacingly mean expression seemingly cemented onto his face. No one knows exactly what happened. Facts are hard to come by in a community distrustful of all authority, while simultaneously bound by an unwritten code that talking to "The Man" can get you as dead as Jamaal is. Did it have something to do with being on a street where he was not welcome, or perhaps he failed to come through with his end of a deal? Who knows? Maybe he became so big the lure of wanting his action was too hard to resist. In any event, it was dark, as was the car that sped by. In a moment of time too small to calculate, six or seven inexplicably loud bangs and six or seven muzzle flashes later, Jamaal lay at the foot of his turf. The street corner of 3rd and Pine was his kingdom as well as his final resting place.

Shaniqua hasn't been to school in months. Pregnant with her second child in less than two years, Shaniqua has no need for school any more. She's receiving enough aid to get her by for now, and soon her children will be of school age, where she can then have them evaluated to see if they too can be declared EMH or whatever. The circle has now closed for Shaniqua. She has begat what she beheld. In some strange way, so has Jamaal.

As Gay strolls down the street heading for school that morning, she thinks of Jamaal. She saw that his funeral was to be this morning, but she wouldn't go. She couldn't go. School and the students she mentors are a built in excuse to miss the funeral, but the truth is Gay just can't do it any more. She can't go there and watch the carefully choreographed dramatization by the mother crying out loudly about her "baby" being dead, while she falls arms spread over the casket. She couldn't listen to the friends who wanted to blame all the ills on the evils of racism and anything else they could come up with. Gay is a fine woman, Christian in intent and action at all times. And she just couldn't. Not now. Not ever again.

As she entered the school she whispered a small prayer offering to God in Jamaal's name, then walked up to a student and asked him to empty his pockets of whatever was bulging from them.

Another long day had begun.

In a few hours of talking to Gay, I learned of these things that are happening right now...today...as we speak. I wish Gay and all like Gay the power of faith, conviction, and strength as they pursue their search for the one...just the one...who will listen to and absorb the message.

The end.

Teen and pre-teen

Part III of a series of posts that begins 2 posts earlier.

Jamaal is thirteen, Shaniqua 12. Both have been attending the special school for 5 years now, although if the truth were to be told, their grade levels have only progressed marginally. Socially however, both have come a long way.

Shaniqua has discovered that her biological standing as a female is an effective tool for getting whatever she wants. She lost her virginity a year and a half ago in one of the bathrooms near the teacher lounge in the school, a place common to sexual adventures and misadventures, and also a great place to get high or even get dead from an overdose. Gay feels the pain of a loss from an overdose to an 11 year old, while others feel the financial loss.

Gay tries her best to cover topics such as safe, condom controlled sex, but Shaniqua lost interest in condoms when she was arrested for misdemeanor theft of a pack of Trojans, so it's better to just have unprotected sex than it is to be part of the Juvy Justice system. That's the mind-set, and it is virtually impossible to change that.

Jamaal is also quite familiar with Juvy Justice system. He's developed and continues to develop a resume that has him on a first name basis with the entire Orange County Sheriff's Department and Orlando City Police. They know of Jamaal's systematic rise in the social system...of his entrepreneurial spirit, his sources, and his clients.

Gay knows it's now or never for Jamaal. It's now or never for all the Jamaals of Gay's school and every other school like it. Both Jamaal and Shaniqua are old enough now that the know about the $500 a month deal, and that knowledge wails as clearly as a smoke detector going off in your home. They now know their value to the home based entities known as mom's or cousins. Gay knows the utter futility of trying to infuse Jamaal with the virtues of graduating from high shcool, then starting at the bottom and moving up in life. To Jamaal, the thought of working at a McDonalds or a Burger King is laughable, especially when he knows given growth and expansion, in 3 years he can have enough "stacks" to buy several McDonalds franchises in cash, the only downside being those three years are spent on an extremely slippery slope, one in which the fall is often times the last thing the Jamaal's of this world will do.

But that is never a thought. BMW's, serious gold chains, and fast women attract the attention of Jamaal. He does things at the school to be sent home as often as he can. School is costing him time, and time is money. BIG money.

Shaniqua, although only 12, is on her 10th boyfriend, and that doesn't count encounters clocked in minutes or perhaps the occasional hour or two. Shaniqua has learned how to use her sexuality, and she is viscious and brutal with it as well. There was the boy who once was her boyfriend...but he went missing one day after Shaniqua saw him hitting on another girl. During the search, police questioned Shaniqua as to his disappearance, but her act was by this time well refined, and she not only claimed ignorance to whatever the facts happened to be, she did so in a manner so cool and devoid of emotion, even hardened veteran officers were unable to detect even the slightest variation in her story. Shaniqua had learned all of her lessons well, unfortunately, none of them were the lesson's taught by Gay.

At this time Gay, although still committed to the Jamaal's and Shaniqua's, had turned her attention again to the newest generations to enter her classroom. More 7 and 8 year olds that needed her guidance and her desperate pleas for their ear. If only one of them will listen, Gay can sleep comfortably at night.

Only one. "Please God," she prays each night. "Let there be at least one."

Gay

This is part II of a post that begins just below this one.

Gay is 51 years old. She graduated from a local HS in 1974, 2 years after the mouse came to town. She has two daughters all grown up, and she has been working at the "Special School" for 32 years, or the better part of her life, if you will. She works as a low level security officer in her non-school hours, and is one of the sweetest, soundest human beings you'll ever want to meet. Gay has used public funding for the less financially privileged properly...using the rules and regulations to help her not only purchase - but significantly upgrade - her home in the middle of "Urbancrimeville". Gay believes in God, sincerely loves and cares for the kids in the school, and is totally at a loss to explain how this African-American society she lives in has crumbled to the depths that it has. She has a few ideas though, and none of them take the shape of the "Katrina did this and Katrina did that, and the government doesn't care about black people" syndrome.

Gay knows damn well that many if not all of her neighborhood's wounds are self-inflicted.

The day Jamaal and Shaniqua entered her classroom at the special school is as clear in her mind as 5 minutes ago. Both of them came to her rebellious and slow. Neither could do mathematics, read, or communicate properly on the grade level they were in. Gay had seen this before, and she knew her charge: Do what she could with them...provide social guidance....and advise both of them that the end of the road seldom comes decades later for these kids. Somehow she has to get through to Jamaal and Shaniqua before there is another teen funeral. Gay had been to over 25 teen funerals in the last 30 years, 12 of whom were her former students. The wall was high, and increasingly in the last decade, instead of simply teaching the children how to climb it, both Gay and her students were being blocked from even attempting to scale it.

$500 checks per kid provides a substantial stumbling block to progress, as does the lure of cash - BIG TIME cash - on the street. Ecstacy, crack, and pot are a booming business in Urbancrimeville, and you don't have to be 16 to hold a job. You can open up a thriving business before you even reach the "een" years.

If you reach it at all.

Jamaal and Shaniqua were 100% representative of their age and grade level. Poorly managed at home. Foul mouthed. Renegade and recalcitrant. But still with a faint sliver of hope still hanging in there. Remember, the E in EMH stands for "Educable", which implies hope in and of itself. Gay knew however, that she had limited time to affect a change, and this clock ticked very, very, fast. Jamaal and Shaniqua were mischievous at this point. The next steps were fraught with danger.

Gay could not bring any personal effects into her classroom. For you and I, the thought of stealing a piece of bubblegum at age 8 brought every emotion into play. Should I? Will God punish me? What happens if I'm caught? The mere notion of taking that one 2 cent piece of double-bubble gum from the local store brought out the highest levels of consideration. We thought about it, and worried over it.

Not here though. It isn't even stealing in their minds. If Miss Gay brought in a sandwich and a bag of chips for lunch - then turned her back to write on the blackboard? Goodbye Doritos. Goodbye pens, pencils, white-out, paper, erasers, anything and everything. And don't even THINK of anything of value, like a cell phone. Stealing aside, miss Gay could be physically harmed - even killed - over a cell phone.

The children are forbidden to bring more than $20 cash into the classroom, yet every day, someone comes in with a "stack". A stack is a huge roll of 20's and higher, a symbol of toughness and "respect", the absolutely highest calibre word in Urbancrimeville. Everything is about "respect", warranted or not. And the ultimate in respect is cash or bling, and there is only one or two ways a 12 year old in Urbancrimeville can have huge amounts of cash or bling, and neither of them are good. There is a small garbage can outside of Gay's classroom, and every day it fills up with brass knuckles, pen knives, even the occasional firearm. The kids all wear big belt buckles, even though their 3 sizes too big pants are hanging down to mid-thigh. You can hot glue a lot of Ecstacy pills, small plastic bags of crack, and pot joints (called "Blunts) behind a big belt buckle. School or not, many still have their business to run, and the store is open 24/7. In this special school, they don't want parental involvement, because they know in 99.9% of the cases, the parents started the circle of despair to begin with.

Call it the "Anti-PTA". Call it whatever you like, Gay and the school administrators had learned from years of experience what works and what does not.

Next post: Jamaal and Shaniqua get a little older.

Jamaal & Shaniqua

Jamaal was 9 years old when he first showed up at the special school. He lived off of 3rd street, a section of town that demands a walker or a driver's undivided attention at all times...and that's during daylight hours. There is no intelligible need to go down 3rd street after dark. Only those who rule the night walk the streets in and around Jamaal's house.

Jamaal's house was built 53 years ago at a time where this particular neighborhood was just another sleepy burb in a small, mostly forgotten town. The "mouse" had yet to arrive, and oranges, lemons, and other citrus products were the sole life and welfare of sleepyville. Soon the mouse arrived and the city exploded upward and outward, bringing with it the decay of what was once good on the inward portion. Jamaal's house hasn't had a new roof since inception, and it leaks constantly during the rainy summer months. The house only has 4 rooms total, is mostly rotted out and fetid smelling, and there is no air conditioning to ward off the stifling heat of a central Florida summer, which only adds to the futility and anguish of impoverishment.

Dad? There is no dad, and never has been. Jamaal has 4 sisters, at least three of whom have different fathers as well. The oldest in the family is none other than Jamaal. Mom? She's unemployed and 24. That's correct. Do the math. Jamaal was the first and he's 9. Four more girls followed between age 16 and 23.

Jamaal has been in and out of "Home School" since age 5. "Home School" down here is not where mom or dad teaches...home school is inner city slang for being allowed into public school, with "home" being a child's so-called guiding light. Jamaal is only allowed so many discretionary mistakes in home school, most of them disciplinary. He has been to several exceptional learning specialists, and he has been deemed EMH (Educable Mentally Handicapped), ESC, or ESL. This is a very important designation for Mom. You see, Mom gets a check from the government for 3 of her 5 children who have been deemed EMH, ESC, or ESL. She's working on getting the other two designated as well.

The checks are no less than $500 a month per child. In Jamaal's mom's case, this is $1,500 a month...every month...as long as the kids do not achieve to a point where they lose their designation. The system is so upside down and corrupted, Mom will kick, scream, threaten race discrimination, violence, whatever...to keep Jamaal and his sisters "designated". The incentive for a parent...especially a parent in biological circumstances alone...is not there to teach values, character, and the quest for individual achievement.

"Designated" is money, and keeping the children stupid is the goal of the Mom.

Shaniqua lives two blocks away, and is a year younger than Jamaal. Shaniqua lives with her 5 cousins, 2 Uncle's and 6 brothers and sisters in her 3 room shack with no windows. At the tender age of 8, Shaniqua has a fantastic vocabulary, consisting of such words as "motherfucker," "bitch," "Ho," and other delightful phrases that we all want our young children to know. Uncle Charles is beginning to teach her the proper way to cut and prep coke to make "Crack". It's only fair, since Shaniqua has been delivering it to houses in the neighborhood for as long as she can remember, most times in the dark. It hasn't been so bad, she'll tell you. Every once in a while a nice man with let Shaniqua into his room, and for 5 minutes or so of hand and arm work, he'll give her a towel to clean up and then give her a dollar. A dollar to a 5 or 6 year old is big stuff, and all she had to to was make Mr. Jackson smile a little.

Shaniqua finds herself in consistent trouble in her 3rd trip through 1st grade, and one day she ends up with Jamaal in the "special school."

More to follow.

The Lesson

Today I spent two and a half hours speaking with an educator in the inner-city school system where I live. This is a woman who works in the urban sector, decidedly different from the sub-urban section that I live in and have sent my kids to school.

Urban. Less than 18 miles as the crow flies from my home in a town called "Gatedcommunitad", but 300 interplanetary light years from "Urbancrimeville".

"She" works in a "special" school for kids of all ages and grade levels. In this school, they do not differentiate between gender, age, or skill-level. All the kids are thrown in together. This is the story of two ficticious children named Jamaal and Shaniqua, and a woman named "Gay". Gay is the "she," and is definitely NOT ficticious.

What I will tell you tomorrow, July 12th, will chill you; embarrass you; and enrage you. It's a very important story though, so come on back on Saturday.

Sleep well...

JL4

Dear Passport Office - author unknown

Dear Sir,

I'm in the process of renewing my passport, and still cannot believe this. How is it that Radio Shack has my address and telephone number and knows that I bought a TV cable from them back in 1997, and yet, the Federal Government is still asking me where I was born and on what date?

For Christ sakes, do you guys do this by hand? My birth date you have on my social security card, and it is on all the income tax forms I've filed for the past 30 years. It is on my health insurance card, my driver's license, on the last eight goddamn passports I've had, on all those stupid customs declaration forms I've had to fill out before being allowed off the planes over the last 30 years, and all those insufferable census forms that are done at election times. While I'm at it, would somebody please take note, once and for all, that my mother's name is Maryanne, my father's name is Robert and I'd be absolutely astounded if that ever changed between now and when I die!!!!!! SHIT!

Sorry. I apologize; I'm really pissed off this morning. Between you and me, I've had enough of this bullshit! You send the application to my house, then you ask me for my fucking address. What is going on? Do you have a gang of Neanderthal assholes working there? Look at my damn picture. Do I look like Bin Laden? I don't want to dig up Yasser Arafat, for shit sakes. I just want to go and park my ass on a sandy beach. And would someone please tell me, why would you give a shit whether I plan on visiting a farm in the next 15 days? If I ever got the urge to do something weird to a chicken or a goat, believe you me, I'd sure as hell not want to tell anyone, least of all, you!

Well, I have to go now, because I have to go to the other end of the city and get another fucking copy of my birth certificate, to the tune of $60. Would it be so complicated to have all the services in the same spot to assist in the issuance of a new passport the same day?? Nooooo, that'd be too damn easy and maybe makes sense. You'd rather have us running all over the friggin' place like chickens with our heads cut off, then find some asshole to confirm that it's really me on the goddamn picture - you know, the one where we're not allowed to smile!?! (Morons)

Oh, by the way maybe you could pay for all the gottdammed gas at $4.20 a gallon I use for doing all this fucking running around for you in this computer age? Noooo, I guess you wouldn't do that. Remember what I said above about the picture and getting someone to confirm that it's me? Well, my family has been in this country since 1776; I have served in the military for something over 30 years and have had security clearances up the yingyang. However, I have to get someone 'important' to verify who I am - and it turns out to be my family physician - who was born in Al Quaeda hiding Pakistan!

Hey, you know what? I just figured out why we can't smile in our photos. We're totally pissed off!

Signed - An Irate Fucked Citizen

P.S. Have a nice day and a happy, healthy 4th of July!

Stolen from another blog.

Are you spoiled? Below is a long series of situations. If you can check 40 or more, allegedly you're spoiled. Place an X inside the () if you have.



Have you..?



(x) your own cell phone

(x) a television in your bedroom

() an iPod

() a photo printer

() your own non-business phone line

(x) TiVo or a generic digital video recorder

(x) high-speed internet access (i.e., not dialup)

()a surround sound system in bedroom

(x) DVD player in bedroom.

() at least a hundred DVDs

(x) a child-free bathroom

() your own in-house office

() a pool

() a guest house

(x) a game room

(x) a queen-size bed.

() a stocked bar

(x) a working dishwasher

(x) an ice-maker

(x) a working washer and dryer

() more than 20 pairs of shoes

() at least ten things from a designer store

() expensive sunglasses

(x) framed original art

() Egyptian cotton sheets or towels

() a multi-speed bike

() a gym membership

() Membership to a private golf or tennis club

(x) large exercise equipment at home

(x) a pool table

()a tennis court

() local access to a lake, large pond, or the sea

() ski resort annual membership

() enough camping gear for a weekend trip in an isolated area

() a boat

() a jet ski

(x) a neighborhood committee membership, forced or otherwise

() a beach house or a vacation house/cabin

() wealthy family members

(x) two or more family cars

(x) a walk-in closet or pantry

(x) a yard

() a hammock

() a personal trainer

() extremely expensive jewelry

() a designer bag that required being on a waiting list to get

() at least $100 cash in your possession right now

(x) more than two credit cards bearing your name

() a stock portfolio

(x) a passport

() a horse

() a trust fund (either for you or created by you)

() private medical insurance

(x) no outstanding student loans



Do you:



() shop for non-needed items for yourself (like clothes, jewelry, electronics) at least once a week

() do your regular grocery shopping at high-end or specialty stores

() pay someone else to clean your house, do dishes, or launder your clothes (not counting dry-cleaning)

(x) go on weekend mini-vacations

() send dinners back with every flaw

() wear perfume or cologne (not body spray)

() regularly get your hair styled or nails done in a salon

() have a job but don't need the money

() stay at home with little financial sacrifice

() pay someone else to cook your meals

() pay someone else to watch your children or walk your dogs

() regularly pay someone else to drive you

() expect a gift after you fight with your partner



Are you:



() an only child

() married/partnered to a wealthy person

() baffled/surprised when you don't get your way



Have you:



() been on more than 5 cruises

(x) traveled out of the country

() traveled to meet a celebrity (non sports)

(x) been to the Caribbean

() vacationed to Europe

(x) been to Hawaii

(x) been to New York

() eaten at the space needle in Seattle

() been to the Mall of America

() been on the Eiffel tower in Paris

() been on the Statue of Liberty in New York

() moved more than three times because you wanted to

() dined with local political figures

(x) been to both the Atlantic coast and the Pacific coast



Did you:



() go to another country for your honeymoon

() hire a professional photographer for your wedding or party

() take riding or swimming lessons as a child

() attend private school

() have a Sweet 16 birthday party thrown for you



Okay...add 'em up. I know some of these are sketchy for declaring if you're spoiled. But 99% of this stuff DOES legitimately fit into the category of non-necessary pleasures. Regardless of how hard you work(ed), if you have more than 40 X's, you're spoiled. Yes you are.



Yes...

you...

are.

I don't like you very much...

1. Cold, raw, veggies.

2. Anything that's been "flavored" to taste like something else. If I want to eat a Hazelnut (if such a thing actually exists), I will. Please don't ask me to drink it in my coffee.

3. People who look at an ATM machine - or anything similar - as if the instructions are written is Sanskrit.

4. Red light runners. Slow the hell down, assholes.

5. Local TV stations that seem to think we all want to watch a full weather forecast every 5 minutes. We don't. Really.

6. Any medium that mentions Paris Hilton, Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Anniston, or any of a cast of dozens of people I could care less about. Tell me when and how they die, and I'll be good with that.

7. Reality TV. The idiot that originated this crap should die by lethal injection. On regular T.V. CBS could call the show, "UNsurvivor."

8. The phrase "Red State" or "Blue State". Shuddup already!

9. Corona beer ads that are filmed in Tahiti. Show some drunken slob sleeping in his own vomit in front of the 5th street pub. More realistic.

10. Sports analogies like "Battle" and "It's a war out there." No, no, no, no, no. It's a war in the Middle East and Afghanistan. It's a GAME in the the Metrodome or Pro Player stadium. Just a game.

11. Staying with sports cliche's...can we take away "What he brings to the table" as well?

12. Flying. Actually...crashing.

13. The fact that anyone can charge any price for gas. I'm a small government guy, but some things need higher and larger supervision. 87 octane in the city shouldn't be $1 more than in the suburbs. It just shouldn't.

14. Nancy Pelosi.

15. Nancy Pelosi commissioning 43 "Focus studies" in 17 months on how to reduce the price of fuel. 43 friggin studies!!!!

16. Buzzwords, especially the buzzword: "Buzzword".

17. Chocolate. Admittedly, I'm male. Sorry ladies.

18. $1.59 for a can of Campbell's soup.

19. Those nuts that have the red shell. I can't remember what they are called, so I shall refer to them as they taste. Yes, I'm talking about those red-shelled "shit nuts."

20. All current "styles" of men's footwear. Who wants to wear clown shoes? Go back to loafers, please.

21. The addition of "gate" to a word. Watergate, Spygate. How about: "Kissmyassgate?"

22. Weather people who stand on the beach during a hurricane. I pray for one stop sign - just one - to become a permanent earring for the guy in the red slicker. That'll stop that nonsense.

23. Radio DJ's or advertising voice overs who use phony semi-slurred and dragged on voices.

24. Billions spent annually on pills that give you a better erection, while kids still fight off Type 1 Diabetes, Leukemia, and brain diseases.

25. Those ear things that are cell phone extensions, or whatever. The next time I see a person at the mall speaking out loud to no one in particular, I'm going to start talking to them. For example: I'm in Sears, and some woman walks by me and says into her blue ear thingy, "How about 4 o'clock?". I'm going to say, "I have a meeting with my probation officer at 3:30. Can we shoot for 5?"

Peace...

100 things

I've read this on several blogs, most recently http://www.karenskastle.blogspot.com/. 100 things, huh? Ok, I'll go for it. I guess the idea is to tell things no one else knows about me.


1. I have an aversion to snakes.
2. I have never used cocaine or LSD.
3. I've been to Syria.
4. I was very liberal in my early 20's (who wasn't?)
5. I was raised Catholic.
6. My favorite thing used to be getting lost in a great novel. The strokes did that in.
7. I've been married twice.
8. My daughter is from that 1st marriage, and I love her as much today as the day she was born.
9. I've been to Kuwait.
10. I've parachuted.
11. I have a flag that was flown over Baghdad in 2007.
12. I've been inside the Great Pyramid of Khufu in Giza Egypt.
13. The great pyramid is difficult to breathe in; especially in the tomb section at the bottom center.
14. There was a sharpie marking in the tomb that said: "John from Milwaukee was here, 12/6/1988". And some people still wonder where the phrase "Ugly American" comes from.
15. I played the crown prince in "The King and I".
16. I rescued an unknown soldier from getting robbed by a Bedouin at the Sphinx. Long story...some other time.
17. Wow. 100 things is a lot.
18. I've been to 6 European countries.
19. I was once stranded in a broken down vehicle in Germany in February, 1986.
20. The temperature reached -4 degrees.
21. I was there for 2 days before the ice storm relented and I received help.
22. I was frostbitten on 2 toes and 3 fingers.
23. When I was warming up, soldiers were talking about something I had no idea about. The Challenger apparently exploded.
24. I have trouble handling excessive heat, but cold makes the frostbitten fingers and toes very painful once again.
25. I'm only 25% done.
26. I can't seem to shave near the corners of my mouth without nicking myself.
27. I joined a frat in college, and survived "Hell Night".
28. Fraternities cost money, and I had none while in school.
29. They tossed me for failure to pay dues.
30. The only thing I hate more than the Yankees is....ummmm...ummmm...
31. I practiced sports so much in my youth, my mom used to say I was going to marry my 3-wood.
32. When I finish shaving and look into the mirror, I always have a chunk of shaving cream behind each ear lobe.
33. Nope. I don't know why, either.
34. I'm very stingy in handing out my friendship. If I talk to you regularly, you must have impressed me or touched me in some special way.
35. Thank you for that.
36. I used to care if anyone read this blog.
37. Used to.
38. I used to misspell the word equipment, e-q-u-i-p-E-m-e-n-t.
39. Being in the Army 21 years, you use the word "equipment" a lot.
40. And still I screwed it up.
41. Every time.
42. I don't have the slightest idea what HTML means.
43. Same thing with URL.
43. And MACRO.
44. I've been to 44 states.
45. I've lived in 5 of them.
46. I once had a run of blackjack in Vegas where I won 9 straight hands...letting the amount ride each time.
47. The original bet was $5. I walked away with $2960.00 in chips.
48. It was the last time I ever did something like that.
49. I know I'll never be that lucky again.
50. My biological age - because of the strokes - is higher than my actual age.
51. Jeeezzzz. Only half way.
52. I wear glasses.
53. Have since I was 14.
54. Can't wear contacts...something about the shape of my eyes.
55. I had my right wrist rebuilt in 1996.
56. Doctors speculated I hit too many golf balls over time.
57. I won a lot of golf tournaments in my life. Over 50 for sure.
58. Big tournaments. Great players.
59. My last win was in 1998 in a professional event.
60. I was still an amateur.
61. I stopped playing after my kids grew up and started playing sports themselves.
62. Their turn. Only fair.
63. My two boys are exceptionally talented soccer players.
64. I played soccer through high school, but I didn't like running all the time.
65. Eventually, I joined the Army.
66. Where they run.
67. Constantly.
68. I hated surprise inspections, and as a leader, never once held one.
69. The Army loves people to act like they are miserable all the time.
70. I acted happy all the time, mostly because I was.
71. But partly because I thought acting tough was stupid. Tough is a belief, not an expression on your face.
72. I'm not scared of much.
73. I'm scared for my kids and granddaughter. It's an Effed up world, and I worry for their safety.
74. I have never eaten spinach.
75. Steamed Clams - a staple of New England summer bar-b-que's - are gross.
75. I pick at fruit cocktail for the things I want.
76. And leave the rest.
77. My mom used to give us kids the "You know people in other countries are starving" speech.
78. My internal voice used to say, "Then send them my spinach, cuz I'm not eating it."
79. Same for the boiled chicken.
80. Fried chicken is awesome.
81. Baked chicken is awesome.
82. My mom was the last person I ever heard use the word, "Goulash".
83. If beer added brain cells, I would have been a genius in my 20's.
84. I cry often.
85. Privately.
86. Not in a schitzo way. In a tender, healthy way.
87. I believe in the power of tears.
88. More so than even - laughter.
89. My youngest son idolizes me.
90. This is a burden of representation at the highest level.
91. I simultaneously like it, and I'm afraid of it.
92. My oldest son would never admit to liking me.
93. But he does.
94. I'm finally getting there.
95. 5 to go.
96. I totally endorse you crying too.
97. Try it.
98. Every day.
99. I don't say "I love you" often enough.
100. But I do. I love. A lot.

Warning: Screaming at the top of your lungs in the main library is strictly forbidden. Violators will be shushed...and then shot.

Ever been in a place where decorum is not only expected...it is demanded of you, and yet you find yourself inexplicably acting in the exact opposite of what is asked of you?

I have. And I shall explain.

Once I was at a funeral of a quite loved woman whom I had known for at least 10 years. The church was packed side to side, end to end. Dozens were standing wherever they could get a foothold. I was there - wearing my dress blue's uniform, white gloves, bow tie, and sword - sitting about half way back. The woman's husband was sobbing uncontrollably and loudly, and soon the people broke out into Amazing Grace. As a matter of fact, they sang three painstakingly sad versions of the song, tears flowing freely and without shame. As they ended the third verse, it happened to me. My mind quickly raced and came up with:

"One more time."

Yes, it was stupid and childish, but it happened to me nonetheless. As the giggling grew and grew towards a full-throated outburst, I quickly stood and made my way down a crowded side aisle, using "the bathroom" as my excuse. In any event, I nearly failed to get there before the hysterics reached their zenith, but luckily for me - conspicuous enough in my Army attire - I made it to the bathroom, or as it was known to me back then: The Latrine.

Nearly a year ago, as the real estate market was collapsing and my decade long employment in jeopardy, I went job finding to ward off any possible, "We can't afford you any more" scenario's. I applied to a security firm, taking a battery of written tests, and showing up one Saturday morning in a psychiatrist's office to take my psych profile. I was pretty sure it was going to be written, but it in fact turned out to be a face-to-face interview. The person sitting behind the desk looked to me to be the illegitimate love-child of Saturday Night Live's "Pat" the androgynous man and Jenet Reno. You get the idea. He (she?)...whatever...explained to me the possible answers to his (her?)...whatever...questions was either: YES, or NO. No expounding or hesitating. What soon came into my head though - much to my shock and horror - was my inner voice. My external voice answered the questions properly, while my internal voice was torturing me. By the end of the half hour session, I had to fight the urge to look at her (his?)...whatever...chair to check for stains where I quite possibly had pissed my pants trying to hold back the laughter.

To this day, if he (she?)...whatever...was any good at psychiatry at all, he (she?)...whatever...would have picked up on the fact that something was amiss with this person seated in front of his (her?)...whatever...desk.

Psy: "If you could, would you like to be a florist?"
Ext Voice: "No."
Inter Voice: "Hmmmm. I'm not gay. But my boyfriend is."

Psy: "Do you love your spouse?"
Ext: "Yes"
Inter: "What day is it? Tuesday? Ummmm...not so much after the dinner I had last night."

Psy: "Have you often played with dolls?"
Ext: "No."
Inter: "Define often"

Psy: "Do you often feel others are beneath you intellectually?"
Ext: "No"
Inter: "Hell yes, you fucking stupid ass."

Psy: "Have you ever stolen anything, just for fun?"
Ext: "No"
Inter: "Not just for fun. For profit"

Psy: "Is anyone chasing you?"
Ext: "No"
Inter: "You mean like, right now?"

Psy: "Do you ever hear voices when you're alone?"
Ext: "No"
Inter: "Just the messages from my dog telling me to kill all the neighbors. Do those kinds of voices count?"

Psy: "Do you often hate others for being more successful than you?"
Ext: "No"
Inter: "Are you kidding me? I just love it when I see a man who's in the NBA and he can't put three words together correctly, but he makes $12 Million a year. I absolutely adore that aspect of fairness in our society."

Psy: "Have you ever thought your mind was being controlled through hypnosis?"
Ext: "No"
Inter: "But I am getting veeeery sleeepy"

Psy: "Yes/No session over. Is there anything you want to tell me before we end our visit?"
Ext: "No, thank you."
Inter: "Yeah. They actually pay you to ask if I have sex dreams and think of my mom as an object of desire? And you're trying to see if I might be a perv? A mirror lady....or is it sir?... look in the mirror the next time you ask if the house cat wants to make love to you."

Somehow the job was tendered to me, in spite of the look I just had to have on my face the entire time. So remember the sage old advice:

You don't tug on Superman's cape.
You don't spit into the wind.
You don't laugh at serious things like funerals,
And you don't mess around with him.

Or was it, her?

America The Beautiful

Dear Rene Marie (Whomever the hell you are),

I do believe Ray Charles is a black american as well, but I don't hear him substituting the words to some other song.

You jerk.

Sincerely,
The United States of America.

Happy 4th of July.

"WELL NOW WHAT A MINUTE. I'M TALKIN' ABOUT...AMERICA. SWEET AMERICA."

Sing it Ray...belt it out baby!

Twenty Years Ago

Sure was.

Money? Who needs money?

In a recent article, the listing of the top ten cities in the United States with the least and most amount of debt was released. Try to tell me the one concurrent theme that is the State in which these cities listed is all about. It's not a 100% science, nor is it 100% black and white, and you can use that as a clue.

C'mon...work with me here. What is the connection that the cities in or not in economic trouble have with each other.

In Deep Debt:

Phoenix AZ, Modesto CA, Denver CO, Riverside CA, Jacksonville FL, Detroit MI, Sacramento CA, Atlanta GA, Aurora CO, San Francisco CA.

In Great Financial Shape:

Wichita KS, Yonkers NY, Bangor ME, Charleston WV, Lincoln NE, Fargo ND, Honolulu HI, Madison WI, Sioux Falls SD, Billings MT.

One more clue: Denver on one list, and Yonkers and Bangor on the other, are the exceptions to the commonality. This has nothing to do with personal wealth - or the lack thereof - because as you can see 4 of the top 10 economic implosions are California cities, and California is ranked 13th in wealth in the US, while West Virginia is listed 50th...last...the loser in the money race. And yet, Charleston is one of the top 10 financially healthy cities in the nation.

So tell me, oh wise ones out there. What is the shared issue that makes one successful, while others fail? Like I said, it's not an exact science. Just an observation.