Dude Looks Like A Lady

wpid-business-man-blank-sign-11-vector-104ggur52892-picsay.jpegThere is a man/woman, “transgender person” I guess they call this type of human, sitting here in the breakroom at my company HQs.

With very much disappointment in myself, I am realizing that I have a looonnggg way to go to become a truly righteous man.

I also realize that I am MOST certainly prejudiced about this and feel wholly uncomfortable to be in the same room with this person.

I do not know why….

I’m disgusted that I am a hypocrite.
Gosh, I HATE hypocrites!!!

I am not a mean person, I am not a cruel person, I like people and generally, people like me. At least I think so, I haven’t been maced or tazed in years…

I am not shocked by that much, I am an American after-all and have a Facebook account loaded with crazy relatives, and I firmly believe in letting people live their own lives how they wish; thus, is the secret to happiness.

We really don’t have a choice here in this country anymore…

The new motto of the USA…..”DEAL WITH IT!!”

I do not know this dude that looks like a lady.

I have never met this lady that is really a dude, before.

He/she could be a wonderful caring person….IDK

But, do I care? Should I care? Why do I care? Does anybody really care?

I’m sure I do, because I’m a sensitive, caring guy, DAMMIT!!!

But that doesn’t have anything to do with the “creepy crawlies” I’m experiencing right now.

I don’t know why I’m like this or should I say, reacting like this.

So why, oh why am I disturbed by this person sitting at the table across from me?

I am very, very uncomfortable right now.

I feel like I am in a pit with sheer walls, a venomous serpent is also there, with no way out while I’m overdosing on caffiene….

Know what I mean?

The back of my neck is hot

My forehead feels hot

My pulse is beating in my ears.

I think I’m sweating on my laptop.

I feel like I’m getting physically ill….

I can’t stop grabbing furtive glances of this person, it’s kinda like looking at a terrible car wreck or accidently catching a glance of my naked grandma…

I can’t believe how uncomfortable I am!!!

I don’t like being this way!

Am I actually frightened….SCARED OF A……well, a person!?

Why am I this way?priest

Why does it bother me so much?

Is it an instinctual reaction to something that is not natural? Am I being an animal!?

This dude, that looks like a chick, is talking to me now. I am listening (and still typing this) but, I can’t look at….it? Him/her…AC/DC?

Victor/Victoria is less than 3 feet away from me and talking to me and I am actively trying to avoid eye contact.

I don’t feel contempt, I don’t feel anger or hate….I just feel….dirty.

I know that’s wrong…..I know it’s bad….I know it’s not Christian love and I haven’t investigated what my churches stance is on the subject. I know what they stand for and they won’t change on the basic tenants of some things.

I will have to ponder on this a while longer….

I just don’t understand why people can be so weird…..IS IT WEIRD?

I know Tootsie has to have some balls, figuratively or no….

It would take some HUGE JUEVOS to dress like that in a truck company, IN ARKANSAS!


Especially in those shoes…

Good. At least I can laugh at myself for being a dink and use my blog to explore my thoughts and feelings and work thru them.

It is excellent therapy…..almost as good as fasting and praying.

Hey, thanx for listening guys….and gals…or guy/gals.

It helped a lot.

I am trying, you know?

I’ll put more on my blog…when I  am confronted with more personal bigotry and intolerance.

Tomorrow good for y’all….say about….6-ish?images (3)


***Matthew 22: 36-40

You Are Not Me, and that’s OK.

I will tolerate you, if you’ll tolerate me.

I’ll accept your opinion, if you’ll accept mine.

I’ll judge you like you’ll judge me….

Fair enough?


What if, what was applied to you, was applied to me?

Let’s swap opinions and really act like they’re our actual ones, just to see what happens.

“Man, you’ve done a complete 360…” They’ll say “I had no idea you felt that way”

“I changed my mind” you’ll say, extending the farce.

But then you get to reflecting on the whole mad experiment of swapping the opinions.

To make it believable you had to argue the point, to defend your stance.

To make it believable you had to convince the other people that you are right and you are justified in your opinion!

Try the experiment, even if you put it on paper.

Take out your diary or your journal….or do like me and start a world renowned blog; now, take a subject, any subject…say, along the lines of anything you have a strong opinion against.

As for one example, I don’t agree with gay marriage.

I have friends that are gay so I don’t voice my opinion, which is only an opinion, out of love for them.

If they wanna throw their lives away by getting joined in a ritual that has absolutely no meaning anymore, except on paper and be legally bound to another, go for it.

Ill bet some of the poor sots will be sucking wind when they realize that the divorce, IS legal….and binding…

I don’t see the big deal.

Go in the woods, prick your fingers, mingle blood, dance around a tree and say “I marry you” 3 times.

Poof! You’re married!

If you actually love each other you won’t need any paper saying your hitched and if you actually love each other you don’t have to worry about being financially secure later in life.

You’ll have it all planned out, just like millions of straight, unwed couples all over the world!

Marriage is in the heart and soul.

Sorry, got side tracked;
As I was saying, earlier.

Swap your opinion with someone else’s, then defend it as if you own it.

Defend it faithfully and honestly and you will start to see something….odd; from your usual perspective.

I’m not gonna give it away but, it’s like this:
You might not change your mind about your “real” opinion, or even entertained the possibility but, you’ll actually think to yourself “What’s the big deal? I can actually see where they’re coming from, kinda; why was I getting so upset about that crap!?”

That’s a new idea for posting ideas for my blog, at least.

I will be 2 people.

I will be me. I will be thee; meaning you as my differing opinion.

I will give my opinion to thee, then I’ll give “thee” opinion to me.


I will argue
I will defend
I will feign ignorance
I will feign arrogance
I will tell thee that you’re full of crap!
Thee will punch me in the mouth!

Then, we will calm down, hash things out, come to the decision to “agree to disagree” but still love one another.

I will cure myself a little more with each argument.

Argue a point that isn’t yours and see the point of it.

If I wanna be a better person to my fellow man, without compromising my own values, I gotta try anything!

That’s only my opinion.

Happening Now

Here comes winter storm, Octavia.20150215_093552[1]

Your humble reporter (that’s me) is currently sitting in the tiny town of Oak Grove, Louisiana; that’s in the northeastern corner of the Pelican State for those of you that don’t quite know where bum fuck Egypt is.

It’s down the road apiece, say 5 or 6 miles….

I am perched at my kitchen table with a cup of luke warm Java, a half eaten fried egg (always sunny-side up, mind you) a piece of wheat toast with sugar free jam and a fuzzy white teddy bear that I got on V-day from the coven of witches that reside in my house.

It’s just sitting there staring at me….

It’s collar says it loves me.

I doubt it….we hardly know each other.

Besides, I don’t trust anyone that wears a polka dot tie and has no pants on and a come hither glint in it’s beady eye…

So evil…

I’ll give it to our damn dog and see how cocky the stuffed bastard is after a few minutes of rough fore-play and doggy style sex.

No…I couldn’t do that. Even to an inanimate bear.

No….I’ll get drunk later and give it to the dog.

That’s a good dog….(as I turn my head away in disgust and repulsion at the evils that drink have led me to and the consequent inebriated admiration of watching a good Viking rape and pillage)

Back to our weather report….

The sun is shining through high wispy clouds.

The ground and trees are a smattering of differing shades of brown and tan with a pinch of optimistic green spots that actually had the temerity to believe that winter ain’t so bad down here….

The wind is picking up and howling around the corners of my house; well, not howling exactly, more like a deep throaty groaning, kinda like…

Hold on…

The dogs got the damn teddy bear in the living room.

God, I’m glad my grandmother can’t see this.

I have rescued the teddy bear.

Vicious Beast

I should have never threw it at the dog.

I wonder if the priest will come over and bless the house, later.

I should inform him of the sinful wanton nature of our devil dog and what heresy and depravity just transpired in my house.

The last thing we need is a priest bursting into flames in my living-room, consumed by the fires of hell!

Can I get an amen!?

Say, Hallelujah!

Is it priests or vampires that have to be invited in?

I can’t remember….


I am looking out of my window and there are people riding horses past my house.

Poor truck…

The wind is howling now. I can see the mudflaps on my truck stirring….

I wonder what the horses think about being out in this oncoming winter blast.

The riders are all wearing big coats and wooly hats….Hmm, I didn’t know Cosaks lived here.

Dr. Doolittle would probably blush if he heard what those poor horsies are saying to each other.

1st Horsie: “First chance we get, head for the barn. If the fat bastards can’t hold on, screw ’em!”

2nd Horsie: “But what if they say Whoa or Sttooopppp!!!!”

3rd Horsie: “No comprhende, Englaze”

I just went and checked on the wife.

She hasn’t been found.

I found a foot and tickled it but all it did was retreat back under the covers and call me an asshole.

Honey Biscuit go nite nite.

Funny that….

I didn’t know her feet could talk. I figured those big, ogre toenails would’ve gotten in the way.

She’s under those covers somewhere….

Well, I’ll just leave her be for the time being.

Old people need their rest.

Why is Lacy on the couch?

She has her own room and an expensive air mattress to sleep on.

Smelling feet…OMG!



Oh crap! She’s got my dang Sponge Bob pillow!

Now I’m gonna have to get the damned thing dry cleaned, or whatever they do with pillow soaked in teen-aged slobber and excretions on ’em!

Good lord….

I think the dog is dead….

I see it sleeping on the same damn couch down by Lacy’s feet, I guess that’s the end where her feet are. The snores and grunts seem like they’re at the end closest to me.

Poor dog…

Alas, Lacy has her mothers feet.

I wouldn’t want to go out like that.

Wow, this wind is really picking up…

20131116_102624I gotta drive north in my big rig in this crap, later on, too!

It’s not suppose to get ice and snow down here!

Wait, I just thought of something….

“I can’t make it to work! The ice is too thick and the roads are too slippery! It’s not SAFE!!”

I’m sorry that I’m fussing so much about the weather down here when all of my fellow citizens in the Northeast US are getting pounded with winter weather.

I should be more sympathetic.

Well, that’s what y’all get for being Yankee scum!

Post Violation….Unholy Crime Scene

Poor teddy bear….left unconscious in the middle of the kitchen floor after the damned dog had it’s way with it.

I tried not too watch the appaling display of lust and anger unfolding 3 feet from my table and I tried to concentrate on my weather report for y’all but, I am like everyone else, I guess…..Demented and forgiven by Jesus.

It’s like watching the National Geographic Channel for real….

Oh. I’m gonna make home-made beanie weenies for lunch today.

Kinda excited about that.

My house is kinda messy this morning, but I prefer to call it “lived in”

Houses always get messy when it’s too cold to go outside.

I wonder what it was like when there was no indoor plumbing and it was too cold to go out and take care of business.

Where the magic happens…

I guess that’s why they had dirt floors for so long.

Man, it’s really howling now.

I can feel the coolness coming from the window next to my leg.

Ooops, I just saw Lacy move.

Good, I thought she was dead.

I’ll have the priest bless her to…or an exorcism. I’ll let him judge on what’s best to do after he meets her.

I’m thinking exorcism or straight to the pyre.

Well, I gotta go…I let my egg get cold, AND my coffee.

My wifes phone is ringing, i don’t know how to answer it. She’s got all this Valentines day app crap on it! I can’t tell what is what! Justa buncha hearts for everything.

20150215_093911Oh well….it was probably her boyfriend checking to see if i was still here….

Alright, I’ll let y’all go for now.

I’m gonna make a new egg, some new toast and fresh coffee and read some WordPress stuff.

Y’all have a good day and keep the shiny side up.

A Tad Distracted, Or Am I?

What a terrible world…images (40)

What a beautiful planet…

What a rotten day…

What a golden moment…

What a disaster…

What a wonderful life…

What’s the use?

What am I doing here and who are all these strange people?

I wish you’d make up my mind, for me.

I can’t decide if I like it or not…

Walk with me and I will show you the sky

Walk with me and I will lead the way

Walk with me.

Walk with me because I hate to be alone….

Paper or plastic…

Have you ever really felt the sun on your face, I mean, felt it poke into each pore, make you eyebrows burn, make your eyelids turn pink and your mouth to turn up at the corners?

Have you everapostate picked a flower and committed murder?

Didn’t the roots look like fingers trying to reach and keep hold to the earth as you tore the flower child from mother…?

I heard a flower scream, once….in a dream.

Salt or pepper?

Have you ever shaken your fist at the sky because someone told you, a long time ago, that that’s where God lived…?

Did God see you?

Of course he did, you silly goose.

God see’s everything….

You just can’t see him….until you die….or if you’re a good person, definitely if you’re bad….or when you look into the eyes of your child.

PhotoFunia-Wooden_SignThat’s where God lives….

That’s where innocence lives…

Chocolate chip or oatmeal?

Now….just add a dash of a terrible world a pinch of human interaction, and….VOILA!!

A little monster….

Get outta your head, man!

I’m gonna stand up and dance a little jig that I just made up.

I’m dancing because I want to change my attitude.

Don’t dance in the flowers, please.

You’ll kill ‘em.

I wonder if God thinks we’re flowers?

I mean…

We need water, sunshine lots of bullshit for fertilizer, lots of room to spread and occasionally be burned to the ground or harvested…

Hmmp…I guess we are chaff to be spread into the wind, after all…Now that I think about it in a biblical way.

My feet stink…..need some odor eaters.

Are we flowers?

Are we weeds?

Are we bacteria or virus?DSCF0687a

Are we doomed by apathy or neglect?

Are we promised an eternal life by the invisible guy that lives in a mansion in the sky?

Or, is he gonna push us into a burning lake after we are found guilty of saying “God-dammit” once when we saw that one thing that was jacked up and would have even made God say “Holy Shit…!”

How come we’re amazed at card tricks but never ponder a fish?

Why are we here?

What purpose does our existence serve?

There’s got to be a purpose to everything, right…..?

Well, you just go on believing that…

I “believe” there is a “purpose”….

See it…?

wpid-20141212_140144.jpgMan, this eczema itches like CRAZY!!!

If I water this flower, it will grow and give oxygen and food. That is the purpose….

If I believe in God, live justly and humbly…and with charity and love for my fellow man; I will live forever. That is MY purpose…

Who says so?

That guy in the sky?

Fear tactics.

But, what if I believe in God and want to live angrily and selfishly?

According to the “Book” I will still live forever; only it’ll be in fire and brimstone; according to “the book”.

I just thought of something….

What if “the book” had this in it…

“No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher.” 

I guess that’s how we know God wanted us to have “the book” at no price, other than our eternal salvation or damnation, I mean…

Man would’ve never let royalties get wasted.

What if God had stamped that disclaimer on Adam and Eve….

Was the Tree of knowledge a loop hole and the serpent, a lawyer?imagesblock3


I love coffee and everything it stands for…

That’s something to think about over your morning cup o joe….

That’s how you change your attitude and level of stress….

Think about crazy shit…

Think about, “Why do some flowers smell good and others stink?”

Defense mechanisms?


Kinda like people, huh?


Just think about how good your coffee is, where it was grown, how many burro’s hauled it down the mountain, did the coffee farmer trip over a root and shout “God, I hate growing coffee!”


Think about why God likes you so much but, still wants you to be nice to other people even when you haven’t had your coffee yet….

Man…growing coffee is an important job.


I made you think of something other than your life for a moment…

“This guy is nuttier than a squirrel turd”

You’re welcome….

Now go out there into the big wide world, shake your fist at the sky and say…

“Let’s do this thing!”

God likes to kick ass….



My blog stats suck.

I can’t write everyday because my need for food and shelter is still supplied by my calloused hands.

I wish I could write all of the time.

I enjoy it and it helps me discover things about myself.

But does a writer write only for themselves?

A writer needs readers.

A writer needs praise or penalty.

A writer needs interest and wonder.

I am not a writer.

I don’t know enough big words, catchy phrases or secret writer thingees to be a good writer.

I do not have the necessary DNA to be a real writer

Inability to focus, non-committal, short attention span, spurts and bursts of creativity; nothing consistent or reliable.
Oh, I have fun and treasure my writing blackout episodes very much.

But, I am only a hack.

I don’t even consider myself a blogger, yet..

I just….. Type thoughts, then spell check them and hit publish.

I wish I could read everybody’s blogs that look interesting but, it is impossible.

Often, I am too exhausted daily to even read a good intention.

The only time I can is probably 2-3 times a month.

I like it when people like my stories.

I wish I could speak like I write.

I don’t know anything about promoting my blog!

Besides, I’m usually too tired to mess with it.

I just wanna say thanks to all of the followers and readers that have taken a small part of their life and spent it with something that I enjoyed creating for them… And myself.

I have a hard time reading everyone’s stuff but, trust me when I say that I really really try to!

I don’t say thanks to y’all as much as I should.

In this day and age where everything is “right now” For y’all to spend 5 minutes on my blog is a big deal to me.

I know it’s tough, I really do.

Thanks again, y’all.

Homicidal Maniac !

I woke up this morning and the sun was goneImage

I turned on some music to start my day

I realized I haven’t hooked up my XM satellite yet

And I became angry……

I needed some coffee.

I wanted some Intense Energy Colombian Sumatran with a dash of Hawaiian coffee, 32 packets of artificial sweetener, a squirt of French Vanilla and 4 serving thingees of Hazelnut creamer stuff.

The only thing standing in my way was 50 yards of big rig parking lot, a Wendy’s drive thru, 20 more yards of 4 wheeler parking lot, a front door and morning people….

Still in my Zombie mode, I proceed to the truck stop store.

[Zombie walking in your mind’s eye]

I got half way across the big rig lot, said a dirty word that would make my granny get religion, turned around…..went back to my truck to get my wallet and mug.

I got my mug.

I looked for my wallet for 10 minutes.

There was no telling where I put the damn thing.

I have just moved into my new truck and my stuff is still scattered and unorganized to my specification, superstitions and/or just wanting to know where my shit is….

My wallet was in my front pants pocket…..The ones I was wearing.

I don’t want to talk about that.

I got back out of my truck, and patted myself down to make sure I had everything….

Wallet: Check

Glasses: Check

Ear infection: Check


Son of a bitch!


I got the mug and made it thru the rain puddles, fuel spills and parking lots with no injury.

Have you ever noticed that when the wind blows into your ear while it’s infected it sounds like a sea shell with Tourettes?

I am fully aware that when I walk into a public place at 4 am that I tend to catch some people by surprise.

You see…I don’t look my best, and I could care less.Image

My hair is poking up, I am wearing my lucky BYU nite nite shirt, my lime green sweat pants (eat me) and my Navajo trading post water-proof moccasins that don’t really water-proof…..But they’re comfy and they look cool….

Besides the fact I don’t have to tie them…..

I think they’re girl moccasins now that I look at them closer….

Anyways….as I said, they’re comfy….and I like the beads.

As I said….eat me.

I mosey up to the coffee making area and begin the mixing of my desired ingredients for the ultimate Java download with extreme prejudice…

I am not fully conscious during this minute or two.Image

It’s all muscle memory….

I raise the mug to my lips….

“Good morning” says the truck stop barista woman.

The mug stops…..

My right eye twitches like Clint Eastwood in that one movie….

I blink…..

I lower the mug back onto the counter and said “What did you say?”

“How are you this morning?’ she says with a smile.

“Too early to tell” says I, looking around to see if anyone is watching us.

“I hear that!” she laughs.

She doesn’t know that I hate laughing in the morning before coffee.

She doesn’t know that before coffee and sweetener that I am a homicidal maniac.imagespsycho

But…..it is what it is.

She must die…..All morning happy people must die…..


With the speed of a mongoose on steroids I karate chop her in the throat.

She gags…

I head butt her in the face at the same time I kick her in the balls…

She reels from my violent onslaught, a silent scream trapped in her crushed windpipe

I spin thru the air with a Chuck Norris round-house kick, separating her laughing ass head from her body.Image

As her laughing ass head flies thru the air I give it a soccer style bicycle kick, sending it spinning and twirling, bending it like Beckham into the trash can by the coffee bar.


I whip out my 44 magnum revolver with the 7” barrel, the most powerful handgun in the world according to Clint Eastwood in that one movie, and start pumping rounds into the trash can!


I can still hear her laughing ass head in the trash can….harry

I begin to reload….

I blink…..

I take a sip from my mug.

“Good morning” says I.

That was weird….

R.I.P Kyrie Jacobsen


I was a Deputy Sheriff at one time.

For a short time I must admit.

My dad told me that I would never make it in that occupation because I am too trusting, had too big of a heart and believed that no one was ever evil.

That’s probably why I have such a hard time with life too….

I’d like to tell you the story of why I quit my police career.

It may disturb some of you….

But this actually happened.

I had only been a police officer at this particular department for about 6 months.

I had been a correctional officer before this, working in the city jail.

I can tell you that there are some bad people out there…and IN there.

Very, very bad people.

Trust me when I say that jails are a necessity. There are people out there that will hurt you just for something to do….

I was reassigned to the patrol division because my evaluation report said that I did not have the temperament or comportment for a successful career as a correctional officer.

The Chief Deputy at the jail told me that I was too trusting and that I would end up hurt or dead.

He told me that I treated the inmates like people, not inmates.

He told me that they would prey on this and take advantage of me.

So, they put me on patrol duty.

I got a call from dispatch “13F6, meet Sergeant Carpenter at so and so address for a baby crying”

“10-4, on route” I answered.

I pulled up in front of the address just after I saw Sarge pull in to the driveway of the home.

I looked at him as we got out of our cars, and he just shrugged his shoulders at me.

We had not been told of any threats to anyone or noticed anything weird as we walked up the driveway, so we didn’t have the usual tension that a disturbance call normally would warrant.

It was a chilly, gray morning in a Northern Utah town. It was a Sunday….quiet….peaceful.

Peaceful…except for the baby crying behind the door of the house.

A neighbor lady walked up to us as we reached the steps of the house.

“I can’t get anyone to answer the door” she said with a hint of frustration and a worried look in her eyes.

Sarge asked her “Are they home, there’s a car in the drive way?”

“It’s only Sadie” she answered, then added “….And her baby”

He knocked on the door, the babies cry intensified…hoarse and scratchy…broken.

“Is anyone home?” I yelled through the door “It’s the police” I said.

No one answered our entreaties…..only the baby could be heard.

“I hope nothing is wrong” whispered the lady, wringing her hands.

Sarge looked at me as I looked at him.

 He asked her with a hint of wariness “What do you mean, has there been trouble here before?”

“Oh no no, nothing like that” she said “I just haven’t seen her all weekend”

“Do you know if she has a medical condition?”

“No…I don’t think so or at least she’s never told me of one”

“Has anyone been over here this weekend that you recognized, seen anyone go in or out”

“No, it’s been kind of dead really”

She realized what she had said.

She paled suddenly and bit her bottom lip.

Sarge looked at me and held up his hand and made a circling motion in the air.

I walked around the house one way, he went the other…listening and trying to look in windows.

Snatching glances at curtain cracks like suspicious cats in case someone was inside waiting for a face to shoot off.

It’s happened….

We made it back to the front door…the neighbor lady pressed against it, her ear to it, continuing the plea for anyone to answer.

No one answered her pleas.

Sarge pulled her back from the door, a “Good job but thanks” smile across his face.

We didn’t tell her that someone might shoot her thru the door.

You never know….

That’s why it’s hard to be a cop. You never know….

“Punt it” Sarge said to me, taking a step back from the door and drawing his weapon.

I had never drawn my weapon before in real life, or on duty.

It was about to get fucking serious, really fucking fast.

That’s why it’s hard to be a cop. You never know….

He had his weapon close to his leg; he looked at me and nodded his head toward my gun hand.

I drew my weapon.

My vision became keener. I could see the grains in the wood of the door. I could hear the birds fly over. I could smell the aromas of thousands of fireplaces in the air.

The baby’s cries were deafening now

I kicked the door so hard that it completely tore from the hinges and casing, slamming onto a sofa just inside the room and crashing across a coffee table before settling to the floor.

The baby cried louder, the sound had obviously alerted it to our presence…or just scared the poor kid to death.

We swept thru the house, our weapons ready, working our way toward the cries of the baby, and making sure that no one was there that might shoot us in the back while using the baby as bait.

A cop trap.

That’s why it’s hard to be a cop. You never know….

But you have to consider it….in seconds.

We found the baby in a back bedroom, bound at one ankle with that orange kind of nylon rope you find at Home Depot…for tying packages together. She was tied to the corner a bed.

She looked as if though she were only 18-24 months old.

Her face was beet red. She had snot all over her face. She had been crying for so long and so hard that capillaries in her eyes had burst. I think she only had about 4 teeth.

Give me a second to calm down, I’m typing too fast now and I …I…I can still see her….sitting on the floor…in piss and shit, bloody ankle, Cheerios and Froot Loops scattered on the floor and stuck to her body. A bowl nailed to the floor that had held the cereal.

There was also a coffee can nailed to the floor with a screw that had a rubber washer around the head of it so that the water wouldn’t leak out when it was screwed down to the floor.

It didn’t work.

My daughter Stephanie was about this baby girl’s age!

Sarge was already trying to holler into his radio for an ambulance and whatever else he could think of.

He is good man…a moral man….a devout Mormon.

But even Super Hero’s can’t talk when they cry.

I dropped to the floor beside the baby….she was still crying.

She…she…held her arms up to me.

Fuck me I’m starting to cry over this shit again!!!


And I can still feel her little fingers dig into my skin and pull at me!

“I’m gonna kill these mother fuckers” screamed the moral man!

I did what all parents do, when they smell a stinky baby.   I checked her diaper.

With her holding on to me, trying to climb up my bent knees and crawl up my chest, I looked.

There were maggots in her diaper.  It takes 48 hours for maggots to gestate I heard somewhere later….

I threw up. Sarge threw up.

The baby held me tighter as Sarges trembling fingers cut the nylon cord from her bloody ankle.

The moral man kept muttering “Mother fuckers…mother fuckers….”

Sarge had 6 kids. He was a scout master. He was a frequent instructor at the elementary and Jr. High Schools. He was a high priest in his LDS ward…..

And he was gonna kill “Those mother fuckers…those mother fuckers”

I would help him hide the bodies if he did. Plant a weapon on them. Cut off fingers, head’s, pull their teeth!

No one would ever find these “mother fuckers!”

These mother fuckers were gonna die….

Case Report:

1)      The mother couldn’t find a baby-sitter for 17 month old “Kyrie Jacobsen” while she went on an ATV trip over the week-end with some new friends. One new friend was a recently returned ImageMormon Missionary that she thought was cute.

2)      The missionary had only been home for a week after serving a 2 year mission in El Salvador. He was still on fire with his calling. The missionary had not known she had a child. He broke down in tears and basically lost his mind, a mind that was trying to absorb what he had helped do, albeit without his knowledge. But in his heightened religious fervor, he snapped.

3)      The mother of the child was charged with Child Endangerment, Child Abuse, Child neglect and a whole bunch of bad sounding things concerned with hurting a kid.

4)      Her bail was $250,000. Her family paid it. You see, her dad was rich. A pillar in the community. He was devastated by what his daughter had done to his grandbaby, but he couldn’t handle the fact his baby was going to be in jail with dope dealers and junkies.

5)      She did not ask her family to watch the baby because she didn’t want her dad to know she was going off with friends, and have to sleep in a tent with other girls and single guys. He would have gave her “A hard time about it”

6)      She was released on bail and went home with her parents.

7)      3 days after her release we responded to a disturbance at her parent’s house.

8)      The missionary was sitting on the front steps….holding a baseball bat…covered in blood, brains and pieces of pink skull.

You see….he had snapped, felt responsible for her actions…the harm to the child. He felt consuming agony over what he believed he had caused.

He had come to her house where he found her there…her parents were out at the moment.

She had said she was sorry for dragging him into it.

He had found the bat leaning in a corner of the house when she had gone into the kitchen to get him a drink of water…he looked distressed and had obviously been crying.

He had beaten her with the bat so badly and for so long that the coroners had to pick the body up by her clothes.

They said it was like trying to lift a garbage bag full of jell-o.

The young man has been in a psychiatric hospital in Evanston, Wyoming for over 20 years now.

The reports I last heard said that he prayed every day….all day.

That’s why it’s hard to be a cop. You never know….

I quit being a cop one week later.

I’d seen enough horror for one life time.

Oh………Kyrie died from blood poisoning.

I pray too…..every day….that Kyrie is with God, and has no more reasons to cry.

Sun Flyer


I looked at the gun in my hand….

It was black and heavy.

It felt like a gun.

An object that wielded instant death with a ¼ oz trigger pull.

My gun is a dark travel agent with 6 one way tickets….Destination unknown, with a long layover in purgatory.

I was at the end of my rope, not the one with 13 knots, although I considered that route also.

I considered a neck tie around the ceiling fan, but I wasn’t doing this for shock value.

I didn’t want to hurt anybody else. I wasn’t angry at anyone.

I didn’t relish the fact that a child might find me whirling around beneath the fan as if though I were sitting on the edge of an evil merry-go-round. My eyes wide, my arms outstretched, my legs swinging, a silent scream on my blue tongue and white lips.

I don’t want to make nightmares, just quit living one.

But I was angry enough at myself to kill me.

There were pills on the small table beside me, and a bottle of vodka.

They were pills for what ailed you. To make you feel better.

I had almost decided to take the whole bottle to make SURE I was healed….and feel nothing.

I didn’t want to be found after 3 days, bloated and green.

I didn’t want to puke all over myself as I tried to fight my body, who was trying to save my life against my will.

I didn’t want to mess up my brother’s bed.

I thought about a nice hot bath, with a razor and hair-dryer.

But, I didn’t want to start a fire or mess up my sister’s tub.

I’m in a nice quiet hotel now. I only paid for one night.

“No luggage” the clerk had asked.

“Only a gun and pills” I thought.

“No…” I said. “I won’t be here long”

“Check out time is at 11 am” the clerk continued.

“At least until you hear the gunshot, I was hoping more like an hour from now” I thought.

“Thanks” I said.

You should be thankful they say, in all things.

Thanks for nothing…..

I didn’t feel thanks….I didn’t feel hope…I didn’t feel anything really.

Except for the gun in my hand….the barrel in my mouth.

The hardness of the barrel clicked against my teeth. My tongue drew back from the bore as if though it were hot.

But it wasn’t.

It was cold, so very…very cold.

I tasted the oil on the gun. I tasted the old cordite.

I stuck my tongue into the barrel, and wondered if it would hurt…

Ha! If it would hurt…I though you didn’t care anymore. I thought you just wanted out!

I could feel the gun trembling from excitement.

No…just my hand shaking.

The gun was all business. It knew its job….

I could see the hungry brass eyes of the hollow points staring at me.

“Let’s get on with this” they said to me.

I heard a commotion outside of the hotel window.

I laid the gun down on the table, knocking over the pills.

The taste of the gun oil made my lips dry.

I went to the window. I couldn’t blow my brains out with people right outside my room. The gunshot will scare them.

Maybe give them nightmares….

I couldn’t do that to strangers.

I looked out the window and saw a man removing luggage from a car. A woman had a child in her arms, swinging her around like a little top.Image

They were laughing.

They were breathless.

They were alive and standing less than 10’ from a man that lived to die.

They all began to do the dumbest, goofiest little dance just outside my window, singing badly “Going to Disney World!”

The man picked up the future Mousketeer and threw her high in the air.

She squealed as she disappeared into the sun.

The mother jumping with fear and delight that her baby could fly so high!

I had to laugh at them!

They were so silly….

I laughed some more….

The gun oil was no longer on my lips. The coldness of the barrel was gone.

There was only the taste of salty tears, and hope.

I flushed the bullets and the pills. I hid the gun in a trash bag like a dirty book.

I opened the door and looked at the shiny people dancing in the sun.

They didn’t notice me, their happiness a contagion.

I danced with them in my broken heart.

I too would try to fly once more I hoped.

I hoped….

Even if it be on tattered wings.

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