Well, they did it again. (It was 1992 last time they were there.) Washington Capitals can say, they own the cup. Well done, Alex. Retire now, from on top!

But seriously, folks. It occurred to me the other day from one of those, hash tag, heavily fwd-ed, "vital"? Emails…# pound sign. You know, they’re still on the phone keyboards. And they still say, dial pound two fifty, before saying, what ever. I SERIOUSLY DOUBT YOU WANT ME TO "pound" you as well.

Hit Somebody is a Hockey song. Shouted out by David Letterman, and sung by Warren Zevon. Are these guys in the movement as well? Hope not.

Maybe it will be the beginning of that "Kinder Gentler" nation or world that the Bush speech writers came up with as a vision.

Vision? First let’s get rid of the guns….Right.

Here, Here. Beat something into ploughshares and not people into submission.

But, keep in mind, what Germany of the late 20th century did as part parcel their campaign, cause, and slogan. They first got rid of the guns from the people.

Look what happened to them. They have the Richest woman in the world as their leader, next to rags to riches Miss Mississippi, Queen Oprah. She should fund Condoleezza Rice. But that is another story for a different blog.

Think before you go viral. Pound. It’s a note in the U.K., where they ditched the Union Jack for the red cross on white. Hmmm. Ok. Uhh. Dunno.

It seems the clams or lambs or sheeple are very willing in many respects, quite acquiesced to the Oligarchy here. Yes Ma’am Yes Ma’am. 3 bags full. From the old nursery rhyme. Baa Baa Black Sheep, Have You any Wool?, my NEW version, of course.

I’m going down the lane now, and give that ‘Master’ a piece of my mind.

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AT PRESENT cool jazz pops out hidden omnipresent speakers…just so. Perfect. One girl looks at herself in her mirror phone, you see this over her shoulder, her back to you. Her boyfriend opposite.

On your left a girl with pale jean jacket on a stool facing the windows outside to the blank walls of the no stores new mall across the way. On her back, left shoulder, a small, stitched black and white patch. In English it reads: "I AM BUSY!" and below that in the same bubble cartoon balloon: "CALL LATER".

Perfect, no? Yes. Indeed. Off to the side another girl has a fine striped white horizontal lined long sleeved close fitting top. It’s blue and white. Thin white lines between say 1/2" dark Navy blue lines. With me. 9 people on this beautiful overcast late afternoon in Buena Park, where we’ve all just hauled in a load of Skin Supplies from KPop moon scoop or something it said on the outside…but the receipt says Kpop. And, Aritaum, respectively.

1 more day left. It’s awful. All going to end after the day of [not after] tomorrow. I have the work week off today and tomorrow. The next 2 days after, my weekend, I still have off, but so what? How much can I do in 2 days? How much rest can a person get from what normally they have off? I’m going to have to do what I normally do then. It’s all about food prep lunch sack set, wash, gas up car, etc. And it’s to be done just so, or I’m not comfortable/ready. There’s not much time left to enjoy. I had to drive and map myself on unfamiliar streets getting here, and had to do a couple of turn arounds, and now here, almost home, I’m trying to relax. I did some earlier, even in the car, I was mindful enough to remind myself, enjoy, enjoy. Here’s this, there’s that. Places to go and try next time. Oh, I could…but no, I’ve bills to pay tomorrow, and that’s fine. It was fine then as well. All very good. No post cards written, but it’s okay too. It’s been PERFECT weather. Usually it would be sunny and super hot. And so, yeah, neither. Perfectly Comfortable. At ease. Now time perhaps to slide on down to the coast and look at your writing on the notebook. You can do that here as well. But…well, dunno. Maybe you should go, clean off your bathroom counter. Not have to have that which you won’t clean even on weekends off of work. Incidentally, June 1st is The First Date for Vacation submissions for December January next, or, upcoming, right? Right. Let’s get on the road again. Find some other way back first…don’t just Beach it, Highway 39….home. Look at something from a different perspective, eh?

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Pendulous Pedant Petals Penis Pendulum

See what I did there? Got it right out of the way, front and centre.

Boy, I figured it’d be done by now. But, nnnnnnoooooooooohhh!

How many more can it be?

We’re outnumbered, 8 to 1. What more do you require?

Or, what kind of hellish oligarchy move is it? You know, the “shooters” in control, of what “they” want you noticing, paying attention to, and being all bent out of shape about.

Shakespeare said, first let’s kill all the lawyers. This thing is a warlock hunt. Fine. Dandy. Great. We’ll give you Morgan Freeman too.

Really? Morgan Freeman? Aww, Mama. Can this really be the end? What the hell?

When, as they say, those who do, and, still, in public, thank goodness, some are still around, and able, and do indeed speak of, the pendulum, and of its swinging, eventually, into the “other” direction. Not pendulous things, hanging or drooping…those are for hanging off the back bumpers, I guess. But you know what I mean. Front and centre. Pay attention, petals, the penis or penumbra may have been reached. And Pandora’s box, may even get shut down. This not a warning. I don’t know a damn thing. And I am sure my closet, as full of empty shipping boxes as it is with bags and clothes, may indeed have a few ‘skeletons’, as they say. So I’m not really casting aspersions with intent to kill or even harm. I’m just indulging, (and probably foolishly on my part,) further voicing, on the idea, the “ides”, will come marching in again, and it may not be pretty. Ouch. Just saying.

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Thursday Is My Friday

It’s Thursday, my Friday, and here we are again, working, working, working.

Some day we won’t be able or even have to work.

That some day will be when we’re long dead and gone.

I like life. Life likes me. It’s an impossibility. Perfect in its meaninglessnesses.

You should be happy too, dear, knowing this, tired, sad truth, the dirty low down.

Take it away, Boz Scaggs….

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Ah Oh Ugly

My goodness! The sore throat pain! Feeling awful. Unable to recover, it seems, from the onslaught of sneezing and body ache. Keeps recurring. I get out and it returns. Oy vey. Dios mio. Fuck! Stop it already!!!


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No. No Time.

No, I’ve no time. I’m not a political author. I’m not a polyglot pan sexual or ethnic bound nor cause hound bent on bashing one and all with my religious enquiry either. I just don’t care.

My beef or concern or cause is fabric of reality. Time. Psychology. Philosophy. Science. Sociology…the why in fuck do people or does humanity not evolve? Why can’t it get out of its own damn way and get and do and be better? How long will it be for people who get sick and tired of all the mess, to really, stop doing wrong or bad things to each other and make sense, better decisions, and have it FOREVER work and work right for the most part for all, in due course? How long?

AND I am especially adverse to reading books by or for or advertised as books by self same type, “types”. Even though, now days, you pretty much are required to be that to sell well. Or, write nasty, shocking, descriptive things, to provoke arch responses …

Happy Passover, day one, eh? Have a ‘good friday’ everyone.

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I Want Everything To Work

Is it so much to ask for? Apparently so. Not as if invariably everything will go wrong, possibly or otherwise, it’s just that more things must work for more people for longer than they are or have been, it seems in order for more people to be genuinely “HAPPY”.

FOLKS don’t shoot others. Nations don’t threaten attempt or even do the annihilation of other nations. Nor do they wipe out their own, advertently or inadvertently. OK? Couple of no brainer ones right out of the PROSTATE right there, hmm? Simple.

But in this world where at least on 1 continent, the phrase ‘common sense’ is bandied about still, it’s UNCONSCIONABLE! This doesn’t exist. There is no common sense.

There are bumper snickers which read Freedom Aint Free. No shit, Watson. Freedom doesn’t exist either. It is PRECISELY this idiocy, elementary in its odor which fouls the airplane on every flight.

People don’t care enough to take care of one another for how would you feel if…If then, you wouldn’t do so, then, DON’T DO IT!

Outlawing the law abiding won’t cure the criminals from doing what they do. There IS an APP for that. A hack will be. The work-a-round will come. You are falling into a great abyss if you think otherwise. The solution might be in how we are raised and cared for and all of us act in public in unison all along the way. (Maybe).

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