Wow....it's alive!!

I'm supposed to be painting my bathroom.

Yea the tide has crested, the dams they have burst

I tried.  I really really tried.

I tried to not care about politics, to not fume and snicker and foment internal dissent and watch with ghoulish fascination at the parade of freaks and mutants that are drawn to the offices of the land.  After you people, (if you are one of the you I am referring to shame on you...go paddle your bottom), broke my heart and crushed my hope in there being even the dimmest flicker of cognitive activity in the collective brain of America by re-electing George Waterhead Bush so he could continue us on his fool's march to destruction I slowly faded away.  It was too frustrating to care and frankly I did a pretty good job at toning down my interest in such silliness, (at least outwardly).  

I was kind of surprised that I didn't feel the urge to comment on the 2008 elections.  Sarah Palin was easy pickings for dusting off the rust and John McCain....well...he's John McCain.  If I could write about Dick Cheney having S&M policy trysts with Barbara Bush and canned peaches surely I could snarkle a bit about John McCain.  But no.....I guess I was busy trying to figure out my life or was just lazy or falling into walls around town...whatever....I didn't write.

And that carried over to the musica as well.  I let the Pharmacy Prophets just fade away which in retrospect was sad, we should have done some sort of wing-ding of a farewell show if for nothing else so I could have had my picture taken a bunch of times.  But we didn't.  I wrote one song in three years.......that made things kind of boring.   

And then, like Santa and Jesus and the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny all dressed up as a gaggle of mildly disguised racist idiots in terrible clothes the 2012 Republican candidates trickled forth from the primordial ooze and goddamn it baby, they flicked my switch!  If I can't find something to say about a guy that is running for the most powerful office in the world calling himself "Black Walnut" I might as well just shrivel up and die.  Rick Perry?  Seriously?  Rick Perry is like playing T-Ball.  His big square head just sitting there, still as can be, waiting to have the shit smacked out of it.  Michelle Bachmann in and of herself is more than enough, but have you seen her husband?  Good lord.  I just don't know where to begin.  I feel like Violet Beauregarde after she ate the forbidden fruit, (you know what I mean), and got herself all blowed up.  I'm positively floating with material.

Needless to say Newt Gingrich and his Jonathan Swiftian plans to redo the nation's janitorial crew give me plenty to think about.  What a fucking maniac...not to mention a prick....not to mention a fool...not to mention...ahh, screw it.  It's too late to even get started on that one.              

So as has happily happened with the music stuff I'm going to really get back to writing around here.  As always if you like it or don't that's your business.  Say something if you feel like it, or don't.  If you get offended good for you.  We should all get a little offended from time to time, maybe if we found some of these mental patients offensive a little more often we wouldn't be in such a bizarre state of affairs.

I have other stuff in my life of course and will write about other things as they come to mind.   

God speed Black Walnut.....we hardly knew ye.

Oh my my my

So I was sitting and thinking "OK, I will finally get off my ass after the extended authorial vacation and start writing again." I figure if Phil Rossi can write seven novels and produce 237 podcasts, (and knock out a couple of babies along the way), every five days at least I can post something about something on my long neglected blog. I fired up the computer and dramatically cracked my knuckles, (always a strong way to kick things off), and stared at the blank canvas, (ok, laptop screen), in front of me, and stared at it.......and looked some more.......and after some more interminable staring just said screw it and started typing whatever the fingers decided to produce. The following is finally what I wrote. Upon review and edit I think I need to get back into therapy.

.............................................................................................

David Bowie was surveying the parcel of land that seemed to stretch to nowhere. There was a chill wind in the air which was strange for that time of year, stranger still that there was any wind at all on the moon, as the moon has no atmosphere, which makes the whole wind thing highly unlikely. So it was a strange day indeed.

Anyhoo.......

"Semmthin taint right heah" muttered Bowie as he mopped his glittery brow....."I smell trouble." His companion grunted in affirmation, the steadfast pistolero was a llama of few words but you could read his black moods clearly in the way he spit or shivered his hindquarters and at this moment spit was spittling and hindquarters were shivering quicker than a 1970's motel room bed that had just been fed a fistful of quarters.

Trouble was nigh.

Bowie and the llama moved slowly ahead on the backs of their large space seahorses looking for what they didn't know, they just knew that whatever it was, it was coming and soon. Bowie turned as he heard a rock clatter behind him and there before him was what he half expected to find and dreaded more than having to eat Mama Bowie's cream of mushroom and sweet potato quesadilla sopapilla surprise. "The guddum monkey...........I knew it", he muttered. "State your business monkey and clear off willingly or get cleared by me and the llama. You know if I was willing to do the China Girl video I ain't skeered or too proud to do you in like I did all my Ziggy Stardust era credibility."

The monkey laughed the laugh of a thousand Full House live studio audiences full of demons and shouted from his perch "CHINA GIRL WAS AWESOME COMPARED TO THE PANTS....HEY YOU KNOW BOWIE WHAT PANTS YES BOWIE YOU KNOW TELL ME BOWIE WHAT'S UP WITH THOSE PANTS YOU WORE IN THAT DANCING IN THE STREET VIDEO WITH MICK JAGGER BOWIE HAH?!!? WERE YOU HIGH AS HELL ON GLUE OR SOMETHING BOWIE TO WEAR PANTS LIKE THAT BOWIE? DID IMAN KNOW YOU WERE GOING TO WEAR THOSE PANTS BOWIE??!?!? WHAT DID JAGGER SAY BOWIE??!?!?! C'MON BOWIE TELL ME ABOUT THE PANTS TELL ME WHAT YOU WERE THINKING BOWIE ABOUT THE DANCING PANTS BOWIE?!?!?!"

Bowie pulled his 45. and took five clean shots at the monkey who suddenly evaporated into a cloud of fairy dust, gone for the moment but sure to return. He had regretted the pants for decades. He kept a bellyful of resentment and blame that he would foist on Jagger, on the bottle, on Nipsy Russell, on MTV and "Triple J", J.J. Jackson, (and to a lesser degree Martha Quinn with who he had fathered four carnival freaks), but deep down he knew he had only himself to blame for falling prey to the allure of those captivating billowing trousers. He was resigned to the fact that he alone would carry the curse of the weird Dancing in the Street pants and the monkey that came with it across the moon for the rest of his days, or at least until his lawyers could get a copyright injunction against YouTube and take down the videos.

As he glumly began the long ride back to his moon ranch and the waiting arms of Iman he noticed the llama staring at him quizically. "Wuts on yer mind llama?" he queried. The llama simply said, "dude go back to rehab. You're talking to a moon llama."

And so he did.

The end.

Funny

I've been thinking a lot about dead friends lately, two in particular. One named Jimmie, one named John, and how they were quite the same at certain points in their lives until the fork in the road came up and one went thisaway and the other went thataway.

I'm trying to go thataway.

If this sounds morbid it really is not, the subject just happens to be relevant to much of the mumbo and the jumbo floating round and round the noggin.

On a wholly positive note my fish in the yard pond had babies, (lots of them.....my fish is like the octomom only smarter), and three of my tadpoles grew into hopping bopping cool little green frogs. I just tell them that I'm God and they should pray to me for I created their world. 99% sure the message is getting through.

BOINK!!!!

Oh hi!

Is this thing on?

I gotta gotta get back to it.

So much to say......

So much to do.....

Beepdeedooboo!

Words, (nerds?)

I've been archiving shit off this blog, editing and revamping and whatnot to use in the great, nay greatest, American novel for some time now.

It's weird to go back over it sometimes, like a time capsule of how different my life was not so very long ago. Some of it is bad but most of it is good to read. For a long time when revisited some of the more chuckle inducing stuff I wondered if I would get that sense of humor back. I think it has found me again, I have been amusing myself pretty well and I think the stuff in the book to be is pretty good.

OK, you know me....I think it's great. Still.......

I don't know if I will ever really fire this thing up to what it was, with the frequency of posts and all'a that. I'm busy as hell these days and have a lot more creative outlets, but I'll try.

For you, my lovely public.

A piece of advice....don't ever eat at Checker's. Ever. Like, not once in your entire life even out of dumb curiosity. Trust me, I have taken that bullet for all of us. While most of my internal organs have the tenacity of a wolverine and the tensile strength of worm silk my stomach got a white trash fall off the porch style beating worthy of a hall of fame episode of Cops within ten minutes of ingesting that swill.

The chili dog, it was tasty, to be honest.

Doesn't Sarah Palin just seem like the most obnoxious bitch you would ever have to sit next to at a back to school night or soccer game or something of the like? She makes me want to throw appliances at the TV set when I see her. I think it's that weird speedbump thing on the back of her head that sets me off, either that or her insane position on things and completely retarded ascendancy to something larger than the Vice Presidency of a home owner's association, (or a position of similar meaningless stature).

My cat is insane.

Jimmy

My friend Jimmy died on Friday.  What a waste.  Rest well big man, and thanks for the laughter, the friendship, and all the years we had.    You'll be missed by many, and certainly by me.