Colors Of My Life

I remember the first time I saw an airplane.

It was shiny in a blue sky.

I remember the first time I saw a school bus.

It was yellow on a dirt road.

I remember the first time I saw a deer.

It was brown in the woods.

I remember the first time a bee stung me.

It was red and flashing.

I remember the first time I saw a tornado.

It was going round and round….in greenish-yellow clouds.

I remember the time I saw my first child born.

It was glowing pink.

That’s all I could make out thru the tears and laughs….

It could have been diamonds, I guess…

I remember the first time I made love.

It was yellow, red, blue, black, white, and golden; with sparkles and heartbeats.

I remember the first time my Dad hit me.

It was black and purple mixed with red stripes.

I remember when my wife told me she wanted a divorce.

It was a dark blue….very, very dark.

It could have been hell, I guess.

I lived there for a while.

I remember the first time I went to Disney World.

It was gold and magical silver; loud with fireworks and screaming.

I remember the first time I saw John Wayne in real life….

He was as tall as the sky and walked funny.

I remember the first time I saw a dead person.

They were pale and the car was red.

It was also the first time I seen what “still” really was….

I remember the first time I saw a musical, it was “Carousel” I believe…

There were lots of colors and sounds, jumping and fighting and one guy had a knife…

I remember the knife more than anything else…and the look in his eyes.

The knife was silver and flashed this way and that…

His eyes had blue murder in them….

Pretend murder; but I think he has done it before….It looked soo real.

I remember the first time I saw a movie.

It was Old Yeller.

Old Yeller and a wolf got into a fight!

Mothers screamed! Dad’s cursed! Children wailed!

I jumped up! The wolf has rabies!!!

Nooo! Get away you egg stealin’ dog!

Ruunnn!!!

The audience shrieked when Old Yeller got bit.

Nooo!

I cried when Travis had to shoot him.

Noooo!

I cried again after I read the damn book.

I didn’t know then that sometimes a movie can be like the book.

Sunzabitches….

I remember the first time I saw a real mountain, the kind with clouds and ice on it.

Wow…

I remember the first time I saw Texas.

I kept an eye out for red Injuns and tan Mexican bandits….

I remember the first time I went snow skiing.

The world was white, the clouds were light blue and the trees were blurry green; and got too close, too fast.

I remember the first time I went scuba diving.

Fish are very curious and they like to bite the hair on your arms and legs….

They follow you around like a piece of glistening silver toilet paper stuck to your foot.

I remember the first time I went to Starbucks and willingly paid $8 for a cup of Java.

Not coffee, mind you…they said it was called “Java”.

I told them that I thought Java was a computer programming language that is concurrent, class-based, object oriented, and specifically designed to have as few implementation dependencies as possible….

The blank stare told me that I was misinformed, evidently.

I could have made the same coffee for a $1 at the truck stop, but Starbucks has cool stuff and their coffee has groovy yuppie names, so….

What the hell, you only live once, right?

I remember the first time I wrote a story.

It was about a vengeful, ghost Indian that was protecting the Kolomoki burial mounds that are in my hometown.

I got a C….

Look at me now, Mrs. Salter….I’m a famous blogger!

I remember the first time I saw a Comet.

It was bluish-white in a purple sky with little stars everywhere….

Hale Bop…1997

I don’t know why it kinda frightened me.

They say the ancient Egyptians seen it first, but I don’t believe a damn thing from anyone that worshipped cats…

I have seen time pass…

As of this moment I have seen 50 years, 1 month and 13 days…

Seems more like 26359200 minutes to me….and counting.

I remember the first time I saw a teacher burst into the classroom and say “President Reagan just got shot!”

Most of my classmates cheered.

I didn’t…

The teachers face was white and my face was ash gray…

We both knew that the pinko Commie bastards would be coming soon…

I just wanted to share with y’all some colors, sounds and texture of my life.

I am sitting here in my truck waiting for the sun to come up.

I hope it is golden; that the sky is blue, the grass is green, the cows are fat and the cats don’t make it across the highway….

But, since I am in Los Angeles I’ll just hope that the smog is a lighter brown and doesn’t taste as bad as Trenton, NJ smells.

Thank you for your patronage…

It was golden.

October 18, 2014 4

There Be Smoke

So….

Lewis and Clark stood on a plateau that over-looked the vast open plains somewhere in what is now Wyoming.

The valley was immense, forever.

These 2 trail-blazers that had been commissioned by then President Jefferson to undergo this expedition could not have envisioned the grandeur of this wild country even if it had come to them in a dream.

The men had been on their quest for almost a year now, with several successes and tragedies.

The many tribes of Indians that they had encountered thus far had began calling them “dog eaters” for obvious reasons.

That was to be expected, Lewis thought to himself. An untamed country was just that…untamed.

Like a young stallion that had to be broken, it could still kill if you underestimated its desire to stay wild.

Their company of fellow explorers had been setting up camp on the plateau for over 2 hours.

It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky.

Lewis was not concerned about a storm popping up so much as worrying about renegade tribes appearing.

It was very windy though and Clark had sent the French trapper Charbonneau across the valley to try and meet with Charbonneau’s wife’s people and parlay for supplies and guides.

Charbonneau’s wife, a Lakota Sioux, was called Sacagawea or “Cutie” for short.

Her father and tribe were expecting to be contacted by the travelers on the return route of the expedition, to trade and guide the troupe back to the Arkansas River Delta region that fed into the great Missouri River tributaries.

But now they were at a fork in the river and had to make a directional decision.

The Lakota guides had almost given up trying to use smoke signals to alert their tribesmen on the other side of the valley to their location.

“What’s the problem?” asked Lewis looking over at Cutie.

“Wind much too big” replied Cutie.

Cutie was a priceless addition to the expedition…Clark had come to rely on her, but Lewis was indifferent, always referring to or calling her a “Squar”.

“Pompous ass” thought Clark.

Cutie and the guides had noticed that the smoke signals from their kinsmen across the valley were dissipating quickly in the brisk wind, and the echoes of the signal drums were reverberating and fading over the slow rolling grasslands, lost in the numerous valleys and flats.

“Frustrating” thought Lewis. “What are the drums saying?” asked Lewis, growing more impatient.

Taking his eye from the spyglass that he was using to try and read what broken signals he could, he could see that it would be dark soon and they had to get an idea of how far they would have to travel on the morrow before then..

Cutie replied “They have stopped now”.

She pointed her hand over the valley and waved it in a sweeping motion over the plains, she said “They cannot see our smoke no hear drums…must move”.

Across the valley, the time it took for Charbonneau to move the others into a better position the wind had picked up making it impossible to control any type of smoke pattern, much less trying to keep from starting a wildfire on the flat, grassy prairie.

“Damn” thought Lewis.

He gave Clark a questioning look.

Clark knew what he was thinking.

Clark said to Cutie, trying to sound calm, but direct…. “This needs to be done by tonight”, he returned his cupped hands to his ears.

He couldn’t quite make out the sounds or the messages but he could tell when they started up again.

The expedition depended on Cutie for the interpretations and replies.

Over the next 2 hrs the drums could be heard, then fade.

The sounds came in bits and pieces…never long enough to make out a complete message though.

The Lakota guides were getting anxious as dusk began to fall darker and Lewis could tell that Cutie was becoming frustrated herself.

They all knew it wasn’t good to be isolated and separated from the others out in the open…

Especially at night.

“Pray” whispered Clark.

“Let’s get a little higher up on this hill and try again” ordered Lewis, moving up a slight rise on the plateau.

“Thirty more minutes… ” Lewis said as he raised the spyglass to his eye.

“Then we’ll have to stay here until morning” He said.

The guides and travelers did not like this idea and began to mutter amongst themselves..

Once at the higher elevation Lewis and Clark had stood with both their hands cupped over their ears, straining to hear anything.

Cutie stood quietly in front of them, listening intently …her eyes closed.

The drums began to finally come thru the wind clearer and remain steady for about a minute and then stop.

Then, in about 3 heartbeats the drums repeated the same sequence of beats again.

Cutie smiled. She looked satisfied that she had understood the message.

“Well?” asked Lewis. “What did they say Squar?”

Clark shot Lewis a sharp glance.

Lewis changed tact. “…Cutie…” he started over again “What are the drums saying please?”

Cutie looked over her shoulder at the 2 travelers and said “The ‘Kota had to move several times, and Charbonneau my husband has found a good spot now. Drums are clearer” She turned away…still listening as the drumming continued once again.

“Well?”…it was Clark’s turn to be impatient this time.

He glanced at Cutie, the question in his eyes.

“What are they saying?”

“They say…Can you hear me now?”

Get it?

April 30, 2014 4

A Day In The Lifeless

It’s cold in Salt Lake City during the last vestiges of winter in March…

They woke us all up at 5 am each morning at the homeless shelter.

This morning is ‘cold breakfast’ morning.

Cold breakfast is pretty self explanatory, but in a homeless shelter it’s a whole different animal.

Homeless shelters depend on donations.

Donations depend on charity.

Charity depends on people.

People are…..not to be counted on sometimes.

This particular morning we are getting Special K cereal™, Borden’s Powdered Milk™, doughnuts of different types, bananas and coffee.

The cereal box is 2 years old.

The Borden’s ‘Dry’ Milk is water thin and warm.

The doughnuts are stale, hard and tasteless.

The bananas are over-ripe and the coffee is as thin as the milk, but cooler than the milk…

We get one serving of each…..

One.

Most of the people in here are men. There are a couple of women, but they seem to be matched with some of the guys.

Except for Trish….

She argues with herself over trivial matters.

This morning it sounds like she is not happy with one of her “selves” and is berating and cussing “them” about losing her toothpaste.

She stands up, flailing at invisible people, and runs straight into the opposite wall, knocking herself out.

She lays sprawled out on the floor with her hospital wrist band, from her release 2 days ago, still on her wrist.

The library card hanging on a piece of ribbon around her neck looks strange next to stained bandages around her throat from where she went after herself with a curling iron that had been dropped off at the shelters Donation store.

“I’m glad I’m not crazy….” I think to myself.

We are all walking different directions to begin our day as the ambulance pulls up to the shelter.

No lights….No siren.

“It’s only Trish….again” says the cop.

“Maybe she’ll do us all a favor and die this time” laughs the guy paramedic.

“They should have never let her out to walk the streets, where’s she gonna go!?” says the girl cop.

“She comes here” said Mr. Larry, the shelter director and “20 year sober drunk” he’d say with a grin and a cutting gesture across his throat.

We are turned out from the shelter at 6 am on the dot.

It is dark and cold…There is no traffic and the buses don’t begin the route by the shelter until 7 am.

We walk the 1 1/2 miles just for something to do, plus not freeze to death.

The daily evicted walk down the sidewalks, through the vacant lots full of trash and weeds, under the fence surrounding the Union Pacific rail yard and some are lucky enough to have money or a free token from the churches for a bus to SLCity.

I guess that’s a polite way to say “We want your soul to be saved, but don’t come back until after dark”

I take the bus.

I am a college student in my early 40’s.

I am a highly functioning alcoholic.

I’m going to beat it this time, but first I have to be at the plasma center before 8 am so I can get in and out early and get my “Special Starbucks” before the shaking and panic starts so I can concentrate in class.

We say “But first….” a lot.

Some men head for the railroad yard to catch a ride….somewhere.

“Anywhere but here” they’d say.

They’ve probably been saying that for years, and every where they’ve ever been.

“I don’t want to be…..” is a better way to say it.

“I can’t stay here”

We don’t know why….

We just can’t stay here…..or there.

We have to get away….from something…..Everything.

There are rules for shelter admission at 6 pm Monday-Thursday and 5 pm on weekends.

1) No drinking of alcohol

We are all given breathalyzers as we sign in.

No one has alcohol on their breath except a few new people that also have grass in their hair and smell like cow shit and urine.

But they don’t frisk the “regulars”

The one’s they know they can trust….

I usually had a ½”diameter, 12ft piece of surgical tube that I stole from the Biology lab where I worked in the college, wrapped around my waist under my shirt.

It is full of Vodka or another clear libation, if I have to have something cheap between student/employee paydays and the 3 Plasma donation visits I’m allowed every other week…

After we all pass the breath test, we poor beggars head to the chapel and wait for the preacher of the day to show up.

We have to do this every night in order to get dinner, a shower and breakfast.

It lasts for an hour.

It could be considered torture and inhumane treatment at times.

My favorite ‘preacher’ was a 14 year old boy that came along with his preacher dad to save our “treacherous, ungodly souls!” “Can I get an AMEN!!!?”

Amen…

When the boy is through skipping across the pulpit, throwing himself to the ground, jumping up and down and waving his arms so hard I think he’s gonna pop a joint out of place, I feel really glad that I’m not a Jew, a Mormon, a “damned rag head Muslim”, a Fag or a Queer.

Amen….

We all feel better now that we have all been brought to Jesus by an alternate route for the 3^rd time this week as we head to the lunchroom.

There is no talking.

There is only a shuffling, clinking, sliding plastic tray sound followed by a rhythmic “glopping” noise.

Most nights it is a ‘stew’ or ‘goulash’ of some type, a piece of bread and a vegetable to be named later.

The ‘stew’ is heavy on the carrots and potatoes with little eyes looking at you…

There’s also a kind of shiny petroleum broth film covering it, undoubtedly from the ‘cooks’ not knowing that they should drain the oil from the cans of Spam™ before they add the ‘meat’ to our fare.

The Kool-Aid™ or drink mix is always thin and has a slight chlorinated after-taste, but it’s cool to the throat.

We did’t need ice….or sugar.

Beggars CAN be choosy after all.

Don’t bitch Trey…. Jeez, some people would complain about getting hung with an old rope!

But…Most of us think it is the best thing we have ever had to eat.

We’re just glad that we don’t have to dig through the Pizza Hut™ and Albertsons™ dumpsters tonight….
I was always grateful for the shelter.

You see….I know it could be worse.

Did you know that restaurants, convenience stores and fast food joints won’t or should I say, can’t donate left-over foods to shelters?

It’s because they’re afraid to get sued if some poor homeless schmuck gets sick.

Sadly they were probably right, the fact is that someone would have tried to sue them most likely.

Desperate people and all that jazz….

The showers were full of…..men?

It was full of the old and young, wrinkled and pale, bent and straight…..But all broken in one way or another.

The shower was full of tattoos and scars from the Korean War, Vietnam and Desert Storm.

No one spoke in the shower.

All you could hear was the water and men coughing under the Luke-warm spray.

I didn’t take showers at the shelter.

I took showers at the college gym.

I didn’t have to sleep in dumpsters anymore or build a snow cave in the city park.

I had gotten my student loan somehow.

I honestly can’t remember NOW, how I even did that then.

I kept what little clothes I had in a locker at the gym.

I could fit everything I owned in a back-pack….

I washed clothes in the Biology lab “scrubs” room.

I worked as a lab tech prepping slides and cultures for the Biology department.

I worked as a Lab tech in the Computer Science lab

I worked as an assistant instructor with gifted students and I was a tutor in calculus and statistics.

Now I can’t remember shit…..

But that night, like so many nights after and before, I lay in the dark, on my back in a quietly buzzing homeless dorm on the top bunk and feeling my hands start to tremble as I unfurl the tubing full of Vodka from around my body.

The tube held a pint of Vodka.

As I placed my lips around the end of the tube and feel the welcome first sip hit my throat and gut, I am thinking:

“I’m gonna beat it this time. Only 3 more months and I’ll have enough saved up to get a real job and an apartment”

In less than a week, I was found drunk and unconscious in the park of my college…..In the snow.

I could have died then….

I spent 28 days in Rehab….Wearing blue footies.

I got a DUI the day I got out of Rehab.

I spent a week in jail then got arrested that SAME night for public intoxication and disturbing the peace after I called the cops on myself and begged them to shoot me.

I begged for death in an alley behind a bar….

My forearms and knees were in piss, vomit, syringes, used condoms and stale beer.

My hands were tugging at their pants legs….”Please….please…..stop me….”

And Jesus wept….So did I.

I lost my college loans and my student jobs.

My kids were not happy. Dad was still fucking up.

When I was released from my court ordered 72 hour detox session at the mental health ward, I remember asking a fellow shelter buddy on the bus back “home”:

“Is tomorrow hot breakfast day?”

I’m amazed I’m still alive.

I’m thankful that those 2 cops didn’t help me out, back in that alley.

Sometimes I curse them…..

But I know one thing for sure….

IT COULD HAVE BEEN A LOT WORSE.

I could have died…..and not known it.

You see…?

Heaven has a special place for alcoholics….

It’s called “Hell on earth”

The good part is that we can leave anytime we want to….

We want to be anywhere but here…..

But it’s just so far away.

February 12, 2014 6

Struggling?

How do you start your day?
How do you feel about your life?

“When I hear someone sigh, ‘Life is hard’ I am always tempted to ask ‘Compared to what? ”
– Sidney J Harris

I say,” When in doubt, fight your way out”

Have a great day and….

“Stay thirsty my friends”

Hmm… That’s kinda weird for an alcoholic to say.

But, you know what I mean.

Posted from WordPress by my Android by Treyzguy

February 1, 2014 7

Gloomy in Nawlins’

Looking out from the Port of New Orleans.
They say that there’s another cold front coming in and measurable snow.
If this keeps up, I see a resurgence in Voodoo worship and human sacrifice.

Posted from WordPress by my Android by Treyzguy

January 27, 2014 2

In A Flash (for the Newbies)

The I.E.D that killed Private Lykes on an isolated dirt road outside of Fallujah was so powerful that his physical body left this earth as a fine red mist mixed with fire and steel.

The other 6 troops followed him into eternity at the exact same moment.

Different lives…different mists….same color.

They never knew what hit them…but still…..

There was a back-up in the line at Saint Peter’s gate that morning.

There were more everyday…There was also a delay in the phone call to 221 Edgrum Farm Road Bristol, Nebraska.

Private Lykes’ childhood home.

He walked up to his front door 5 minutes after he died.

The door opened for him.

Private Lykes stomped his feet on the Cornhuskers welcome mat. He grinned a little when he saw that he was in clean gear.

All the boys that had reported to the Gate after the blast this morning had no idea what had happened to them.

They had all been upset and angry about not knowing that they had been killed.

There is no truth in the fact that there is no anger, hate, and bitterness in heaven. Especially outside the Gate…

Private Lykes wiped his arm across his face. He could still smell the cordite, steel and blood, although his gear did not show it.

He was grateful though.

Not everyone got an opportunity to say goodbye.

The man that had met them at the gate had taken pity on the small group of Nebraska National Guard troops.

You see…they had just got off the plane outside of Fallujah.They had never fired a shot…never actually set foot on enemy soil.They had been on their way to a staging center when the tiny man with crazy eyes and sweating brow killed them with a mortar shell and a Trac Fone.

None of the troops were over 24 years of age.

Private Lykes was 18….and still a virgin.

He walked into his house. He had just been here 3 weeks ago. His mom would probably think he had either forgotten something or went AWOL before actually getting on that plane.

Private Lykes heard dishes clattering…water running…laughing.

He looked down at his dusty boots.

Maybe his mom wouldn’t freak out if he walked across the carpet.

He moved silently to the kitchen door. He looked in at his parents; their backs were turned to him.

His mother was washing the dishes, his dad was rinsing this time.

Private Lykes smiled to himself, wondering why his dad was in trouble this time…

“Hey” Private Lykes said to his parents backs.

His dad turned first, a look of surprise crossing his face. His mother turned with a more questioning look, guarded….you know how mom’s look at their kids when trying to decipher mischief or mayhem?

That look….

“Michael…?” his mom said wiping her hands on his dad’s shirt-sleeve.

His dad pulled his wet arm from his wife’s grasp laughing, saying “Woman…!”

His mom started to ask him “What are you…?”

She stopped when she saw tears in her son’s eyes. His dad looked at him, searching “What’s wrong Mike, did something happen?” “Why aren’t you…?

The Man called Jesus stepped around the corner of the kitchen door.

They both knew The Man.

Jesus placed his hand on Private Lykes shoulder.

Mike’s dad didn’t mind anymore that his wife’s wet hands were digging into his arm now.“No” his mom hissed…”No…No…” she started to cry.

Mike’s dad was pale…quiet.

Jesus squeezed Michael Joseph Lykes Jr’s shoulder and told him “Go say goodbye for now Mike, go say goodbye to your Mom and Dad.”

Mike didn’t look back at Jesus.

He walked to his parents, running the last 3 steps, crashing into their arms.

The arms that held him when he had learned to walk, the arms of the mother that had taught him to dance in the living room so he wouldn’t embarrass himself at the prom. The arms of his hero…his Dad, the dad that had taught him to play football in the cornfield behind the house, the arms that had held him high above the crowd to see their Cornhuskers “Fight Fight Big Red!!” they had all shouted at the tops of their voices…

They all stood there together…trembling, holding on to each other.

Private Lykes’ mother slowly pulled her wet face from her son’s chest. She looked up into his eyes…

”Did he suffer?” she was looking into her sons eyes, but directed her question to The Man.

“No” Christ said.

“Why not ask me…?” Private Lykes’ grinned a little at his mother, acting hurt.

“Because he wouldn’t lie to me” she replied as she wiped her son’s wet eyes, smoothing the tears from his cheek…

She was staring at her hand that was resting over her son’s heart.

Michael’s dad was holding his sons hand as the young soldier began to fade away.“I just wanted to come by….and tell you goodbye mom…..dad”

His dad winked at him, giving his son’s hand a hearty, hearty handshake.

Jesus walked over and put his arm around Michael’s shoulders.

The Man said “He’ll see you on the other side”

“You promise…?” his mother asked the Man, grasping at The Man’s arm.

“I always have” replied the Man, squeezing her hand in his.

“Bye Mom…Bye Dad” Private Lykes said quietly, giving his dad a half-hearted mock salute.

The phone ringing drew the eyes of the parents to it.

The moment interrupted.

They turned back to say goodbye to their son.

He was gone.

There was a glowing new rainbow magnet on the fridge.

Mr. Lykes looked at it closely, giving a small, quick sob.

Mrs. Lykes put her fingers to her lips and asked “What…?”

Afraid to know…almost.

“I Promise…” he replied. “It says…I promise”.

January 12, 2014 0

Travels With Moses

“That’s it…I’m done!”

I sat down heavily on a rock, pulling off my sandals and clapping them together to get this freaking sand off of them!

It’s like walking on F’n sandpaper! (Get it?)

I was a little annoyed and to be honest, at my wits end.

You see…Last Tuesday was my birthday. I turned 49 years old, and I have been following this dude I know called Moses thru this F’n desert since I was 9 years old !!

Lately I’ve been stewing over the fact that for 40 years me and my bunch have been traipsing thru this wilderness… following this guy.

Where we were going was anybody’s guess!

Hell… We just keep following and following him…worse than the F’n sheep!

At least they had the sense to wander off or throw themselves into the jaws of a carnivore or something!

Hell…¾ of the people that started out on this F’n “safari” were dead!!

But Noooo…we had to keep moving around. Had to keep looking for this” better” neighborhood…or what did Moses call it…”The promised land?”

Like I had said earlier, I have been simmering over this for a least 20 something years or so.

But, as soon as I realized I was now only a year from my 50th birthday…it seemed stupid.

I thought to myself…“I’ve known Moses since before all this mess. I knew him when he was a F’n brick-layer!” And…I’ve been following him around for…40…YEARS!

What the hell man?!!

My wife was on my ass…my kids were on my ass, hell! I’ve got 30 kids I know of!

You don’t have much to do in the desert when all you do is walk…chase birds…eat manna off the floor…look for water….

I figure I’ve probably got 2 or 3 kids I don’t even know about since the night we all went to that golden calf thing.

Now that…was a party.

Anyways…

I was tired of walking. I just wanted to find a nice little mirage or oasis somewhere. Soak my treads, eat some dates…drink a little wine.

Not much to ask for someone who is now…my age.

I shaded my eyes from the F’n sun and started looking for Moses.

There was a bunch of us Hebrews…Jordanians, Philistines and Vikings out here now.

Quick note:

We had run into these Vikings over by Sodom. They were camped out by the biggest damn bonfire I had ever seen. Some were drinking tequila and licking a statue.

Hey…whatever floats your boat. But, they were cool.

I finally saw Moses over by his brother Aaron. They were looking at something in Moses hand.

I slipped my F’n sandals back on and stood up to walk over and ask Moses…for the 1000th time…

”Dude, are we there yet?” I smiled.

That always pissed him off. I felt like doing that right now.

My wife whispered “Where are you going!” I looked back over my shoulder, closing an eye to block that F’n sun!

I just stood there. She looked at me. I gave my head a couple of quick jerks in Moses direction. She followed my gaze. Her face tightened. Looking back at me, she sat down and took off her sandals.

“About mother sucking time” she grunted.

My wife has a dirty mouth.

I walked up to the 2 brothers. They were still looking at the thingee in Moses hand.

I strode over.

Moses and Aaron noticed me at their sides. “..sup!” said Aaron…,”..sup! said Moses. “…sup” said I.

Aaron huffed out, “I think there’s something wrong with our “thingee” that the “Angel” (he made quote marks with his fingers) this Angel gave us to find this damn land Moses keeps babbling about”

“Eat me” Moses shot back… gravely inspecting the “thingee”

“I’ve had this thing for almost 20 years now…and I’m starting to think it’s broken” Moses whined.

“How do you mean?”…I was getting concerned now.

Aaron jerked a thumb at his brother…looking at me Aaron said “NOW he thinks it’s broke” he laughed mockingly.

Moses snipped…”Hey, you talk to a burning bush and see if you don’t get a little religious!”

“Well…?I mused, breaking up the bitch fest, returning my gaze to the thingee…”What is it NOT doing?”

Moses said “The angel told me that if it acted up to take this little stick and poke it in this hole in the back”…he demonstrated this.

“Then, I wait for 10 seconds, I push this thingee here…” he demonstrated this too. “Now we wait for a second”…we waited for 10.

All of a sudden the little thingee spoke!

I almost shit my pants!

Maybe Moses wasn’t jacked up on peyote!

It said “In 100 miles…take left turn…onto road to…Jericho…then…in 900’…make left onto…Rome highway…”

“That’s all it’s been saying for 20 years!” bitched Aaron.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…” I was dumbstruck.
Moses just stood there. He handed me the thingee.

“I’m gonna go talk to the bush” he said.
He left.

I stood there…beyond words.

What in the HELL was I gonna tell the old lady? She’d be PISSED!!

All these 40 years I had been following this cat. And now I find out…that our one means of direction is on the fritz!

F’n great!

My wife is gonna kick my ass!

I dropped down onto the sand. I needed some Viking tequila all of a sudden.

Aaron took the thingee from my hand and threw it on the ground.

He cursed…he stomped…he spit…he pissed on it!

I hollered…”Aaron…enough! If you get everyone else worked up, there’ll be a freaking blood-bath!”

He stood there panting. Looking down at the thingee that lie at his feet…imbedded in the sand.

With a sigh, I stood up and walked over to him.

He was crushed. Poor guy, I know how he felt.

I bent over and picked up the thingee. I started to brush it off…it spoke…I dropped it in alarm.

“You have reached…your destination…please look for…your destination…on the right”

Me and Aaron stood there… Speechless.

I looked around.

I saw a sign about 100 yards from us that had been hidden behind a grove of palms.

I tapped Aaron on the arm and jerked my head toward the sign and started walking toward it. He followed.

We stood at the bottom of the sign and looked up at it. We couldn’t read it. Couldn’t even tell if it was words or writing.

“Where the hell are we?” I asked.

The Viking king Eric the Red wobbled up…he was drunker than shit!

He looked at us. We looked at him. He swayed. He farted and scratched his nards. We wrinkled our noses.

Squinting up at the sign thru his bloodshot eye, the Viking king looked up at the sign.

He swallowed then burped again and said…”Vegas…10 miles”

We had made it!!!

HALLELUJAH!!

January 7, 2014 3

Do Drop Inn

This is my house.

Her name is Bertha.

I live in this house.

I drive this house around the United States and Canada.

I drive on average 550-700 miles a day, 2200-3500 miles a week, 10-14,000 miles a month, 40-50,000 miles a year.

Plus or minus.

I make .40 a mile = About $60 – $70,000 dollars a year which comes to about $12.83 after taxes.

This is me in my office/writer’s nook 10 minutes ago….

Handsome fella….

This is my High-Tech gear that feeds me load info, directions and my voyages to the Land of WordPressia….

Where all my friends live.

The next set of pix is of my seat organizer that holds all of my dope. RuRu, Cullman and Guy ride shotgun there.

I forgot about the Cheetos….

I love Cheetos….

This is my cupboard…

[Note] I’m out of mustard….

This is my closet that holds my Chia Seed Stash….No…I know it looks like pot and I have Cheetos in the truck, but it’s not Marijuana.

I’m paranoid enough….

I know it looks a little messy, but…you can kiss my butt.

This is my messy bed space….

I know it looks a little tossed, but I was trying to find my phone again. Yes, I checked the refrigerator.

Once again….kiss my butt.

This is also my storage area, top bunk space.

It smells like dirty clothes for some reason. My guitar is up there somewhere….

Okay, now you know me a little better.

I feel assured that you are aware that clutter is an indication of an organized and calm mind.

If that is true then I am a freaking brilliant Buddhist.

Oh, I forgot to show you my good luck charms….

My Navajo Dream Catcher and Choctaw Medicine Bag.

I can’t tell you what’s in the medicine bag. That would steal the magic…..

I think my Dream Catcher is broke….

Say Hi to Mary….

I’m not even Catholic, but I like Mrs Mary and her son’s kinda cool….for a hippie.

Here’s her son…

I hate it when he stares at me.

I also have a microwave….

An Xbox 360…Madden 2013, Black Op’s and Halo 4….

A 23″ HD Flat screen TV with built in Digital antenna….

And my newest cooking sensation!

As Seen On TV….

A NuWave cooking thingee!

This thingee is AWESOME!!

I am comfy….

Now when you read one of my posts you can picture my big handsome personage slaving away through traffic trying to think of a story to tell….

Oh, I’m glad you dropped in and went through all of my stuff, but next time….

Call first.

Oh….and kiss my butt.

I love you all!

December 16, 2013 29

The Man of Many Faces

December 10, 2013 5

Spread My Filth!!!

Like this:

Spread My Filth!!!

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Spread My Filth!!!

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Spread My Filth!!!

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Spread My Filth!!!

Like this:

Spread My Filth!!!

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Spread My Filth!!!

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Spread My Filth!!!

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