Zonkboard highlights from me on the rw ... bs

One of our most popular features over on the rw ... bs is our zonkboard.
In the last two years there have been slightly more than 90,000 comments.
The following is a sampling of my comments from the last twenty four hours.

boz: this bedwetting chat has really struck a chord with Jonnie, I have a feeling we are about to hear some suppressed memory stories in a minute or two

boz: I bought some Faygo Fruit Punch last week, I drank so much it made me sick

boz: next time I'll mix it with blood so it won't be as sweet

boz: I'll have to order some more "blood of innocents"

boz: I think I am going to start spiking my hair

boz: I wish I had some dippity do

boz: Jonnie, do you want to open an adult store on Ebay with belle and me?

boz: both urine and blood soaked sheets

boz: belle is all pissed off because she could be making a fortune off the stuff she donated to Goodwill

boz: Jonnie I think your Pirate Salute pics would be a hit with the gay community

boz: you are making no sense

boz: no, wait, I'm making no sense

boz: belle takes a vacuum cleaner to all her interviews

boz: and a bazooka

boz: I feel like vacuuming

boz: Will they let Sandra bring her vacuum with her?

boz: Jonnie, have you ever had sex with a vacuum cleaner?

boz: never put unusual strain on your back trying to reach your penis with your mouth. It's not worth the risk!

boz: plus it gives you more free time to masturbate

A prayer to the gods to quit haunting my soul

I just want to wash my shirts.
I just want to match my socks.
I just want to tap dance on the head of a pin.
I just want to make you shake your head and smile a bit as you walk away.
Go ahead and empty out my bags.
There really isn't nothing there.

Today Ole!!!

I just woke up, and I'm cranky, and I don't feel like wearing my glasses, and all I feel like doing is eating tin foil wrapped chocolate easter eggs right out of the freezer, and then throwing the tin foil on the floor.
Or maybe I'll just start eating the chocolate easter eggs right out of the freezer with the tin foil still on, yeah, what the fuck do you think about that?
Yeah, that's what I thought.
No spell check for you!!!

Third year is a charm

Ok, so I set up an appointment to see the neuro-surgeon for Saturday the 20th, and what kind of doctor has appointments on Saturday ...
Anyway, I had lost his office number so I had to check the online yellow pages for Saginaw, and in his little yellow page ad it said that he had over 50 years of experience ...
Over 50 years of experience would make him 80 something, and do I really want someone who is 80 something operating on my spine. I mean MB is 80 something and I don't even let her answer the phone.
So yeah, he is supposed to be one of the best there is. So I guess I'll go see him on the 20th, because he told me last year that the new procedure that he wants to do, the replacing of the 2 damaged disks with artificial disks is supposed to be approved by the FDA by July of 2006, but then again, I don't know, because I've been checking online and no one says anything about cervical spine replacement surgery being approved in the US by July ...
So yeah, I don't know.
Maybe I'll just get my spine removed and become
Boz, the Jelly Man!!!

Book Chat

I'm half asleep, and I've been reading a book I got off the for sale shelf at the library, and I actually did stick a dollar in the donation box this time, because people were looking and I'm only a creep when I can get away with it.
Anyway, the book, a novel, is titled The Long Ranger and Tonto Fist Fight In Heaven, and it was written by a Native American author named Sherman Something Or Other, well, Something Or Other wasn't his last name, it's not one of those Native American Talks To The Wind type of last name, I just can't remember what Sherman's last name is. Ok, I just looked, his name is Sherman Alexie, and don't you just love how politically correct I am, and that also has to do with me only being a creep when I can get away with it.
So, the book is titled The Long Ranger and Tonto Fist Fight In Heaven and it is written by Sherman Talks To The Wind, ha, I made a joke, I do that once in awhile. The book is titled The Long Ranger and Tonto Fist Fight In Heaven by Sherman Alexie, and that's a name a person of any race, color, or creed can be proud of, isn't it.
The book, the book, the book, yeah the book, is about a guy named Victor who ...
Ok, I just started reading the back cover of the book, and it really isn't a novel, it's a collection of loosely related short stories about a guy named Victor who ...
Hold on a second, let me read the rest of the back cover.
Hey, this loosely related collection of short stories titled The Long Ranger and Tonto Fist Fight In Heaven and written by Alexie Sherman, make that Sherman Alexie was the basis for the film Smoke Signals. I saw Smoke Signals, I don't remember a lot about it, but I did see it. It was about this guy named Victor who ...
Read the book, rent the movie, whatever.
I did say I was half asleep, didn't I?
It's seriously good, seriously.
I wonder if it would be ok if I started referring to Native Americans as NatAms?
It would make it so much easier for me.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch

I'm going to let my hair grow until it gets in my way.



Or until David Crosby gets the flu at Christmas.

My blue period

Mars Needs Women

I'm procrastinating a bit today.
Today is the day I am going to mow the lawn.
Yeah, big deal, right?
Well, yeah, it is, because I haven't mowed the lawn in two years.
Yeah, the back problem, the two deteriorating discs in my neck.
I'm a little bit scared, and I'm a whole lot nervous, and that's why I'm procrastinating, I don't know if I can do it.
No, it's not a big a deal as waiting to see if you've been accepted to grad school, or if you got the new job, but it is a big deal to me.
I don't particularly like mowing the lawn, but it is sort of emasculating knowing that you can't. It's just something that you have to prove to yourself that you can do, and then you can slough it off and hire the kid next door to do it if you want.
It's a lot like the old guy who has to sit in the passenger seat while his wife wheels the Crown Vic around town. Have you ever noticed the look in his eyes? It looks like he's had his balls cut off.
But anyway, yeah, that's how I feel about that.

Short and Screeeeeeeeech

This is one of those days where it seems like it's Friday, except that I know that it's Thursday, but it's actually Wednesday.

It must be post burn stress syndrome.

The kid next door, who mowed my lawn last year, just knocked at the door, I'm assuming he was going to ask me if I wanted him to mow my lawn again this year. I'm only assuming that he was going to ask me if I wanted him to mow my lawn again this year because I didn't answer the door, and I didn't answer the door, because I didn't want to crush his hopes and dreams of financial prosperity by telling him that I was going to try to mow my lawn myself this year.
In many respects I really am a sensitive person.

burnt boz

I am in great pain

2nd degree burns on my thumb and first two fingers.





A word of advice. If you are heating something up on the stove and one of the burner grill thingies slips out of place and is about to fall on the floor. Do not try to catch it. Let it fall.

I'm the guy who got kicked out of the movies for refusing to stand up during the playing of the national anthem

I just retired the american flag that has been on continuous display in my front yard since 9-11. I knew it was in bad shape, but I really couldn't tell how ripped and frayed it was until I took a real close look at it.
I guess when I go to the city hall today to pay my water bill I'll just take the flag along with me and put it in the drop box sponsored by the VFW and let them dispose of it in the proper manner. It's the least I can do.
I don't think I'll be putting another flag up either, and no, I'm no super patriot, or staunch conservative, or jaded liberal, so don't go looking for any hidden political message in any of my actions.

Who are those guys?

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, since I've had the blues, about what the blues actually are.
I'm not really sad, or unhappy, or depressed.
No, like I said, I've been thinking, and I think the blues are mostly just feeling sorry for yourself.
Listen to any blues song and tell me you don't agree.
Yeah, I'm sure that's it.

I was watching Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid just a few minutes ago, and of course I was reminded of the first time I saw it back when I was 19 and going to Tech School in the Air Force down in Mississippi, and a couple of the guys asked me to go see it with them at one of the base theaters. I guess it was just a spur of the moment thing. It was always a spur of the moment thing where I was concerned back in Mississippi. If I were around it was, hey Boz let's go to the show, or go to town, or whatever. I was never included if it was planned, You know, if they planned to go to the show, or to town, or whatever ...
I guess what I am trying to say is I was always included if they couldn't get anyone else to go, or if plans fell through, you know a last second thing, a last resort.
It's always been that way with me, as a kid, as an adult, with friends, with family, with anyone.
I'm convenient!!!
Yeah, I'm convenient!!!
Damn, it's like a light bulb just went off in my head.
I'm convenient!!!
Convenient!!!
I still am.
Convenient.

The blues? Yep, still got 'em

I think the best way to describe the blues I have is:
You know when you watch a really bad movie and say to yourself, well, that's two hours of my life that I'll never get back?
I guess that's how I feel when I wake up in the morning.
Well, that's another day in my life that I'll never get back.

Hello, I'm Hervé Villechaize for Fantasy Brand Condoms

Nothing's illegal if you got the blues

So I was surfing around this morning. Checking out some of those orphan blogs and message boards, you know the ones I mean, the blogs and boards that are there one day and gone the next. The kind of blogs and boards that offer sort of ehhhhh illegal music downloads, and I found a board this morning that had a Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young bootleg concert performance, now I'm not a big CSNY fan, but hey, Neil Young is god, and further hey, did I ever tell you that I saw Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young in concert back when I was home on leave from the Air Force in November and December of 1969?
So anyway, I see the link for the CSNY concert bootleg, and I click on it.
So, it's Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young in concert,
December 14, 1969, the Masonic Auditorium, Detroit, Michigan ...
December 14, 1969, the Masonic Auditorium, Detroit, Michigan ...
December 14, 1969, the Masonic Auditorium, Detroit, Michigan ...
December 14, 1969, the Masonic Auditorium, Detroit, Michigan ...
Hmmmmmmmmm, huhhhhhhhhhhh, what????
That's me, that's my concert, yeah, the one I saw, Air Force, leave, home, December, 1969, yep, I was freakin' there!!!
Oh man, could I tell you stories about that concert, and some of them would even be true!!!
So, yeah, I downloaded it, because you know, I've had the blues lately, and ...
Well anyway, it took a few minutes for the file to download, and yeah, I'm getting excited, because, well you know, the memories, and the stories, and ahhhhh, I started getting goosebumps in anticipation.
Soooo, the file downloads, and I open it, and blah blah blah, a couple of songs, a lot of random guitar tuning, a lot of lame and inane I'm cooler than you banter between Crosby, and Stills, and Nash, and I'm about to write this off to experience, when all of a sudden ...
Neil Young cuts through all the bullshit and starts singing
On The Way Home
And there I am.
Nineteen years old, in a concert hall in Detroit, home on leave, just a week before I was heading overseas, not knowing what was in store ...
And Neil Young just sums it all up in a three minute and fifteen second song, and I guess that's why Neil Young is God.
I'm sort of gashlumpting all up right now, so I guess I'll leave it at that.

Even Davy Crockett gets the blues

Oh man.
I woke up this morning about six o'clock and turned on the History Channel and there was a program on about Davy Crockett, Davy Fuckin' Crockett. When I was about 5 years old Davy F Crockett was the biggest thing in the world, thanks to TV and Uncle Walt Disney.
F Crockett was bigger than Elvis, he was bigger than the Beatles, he was bigger than god ... Davy Fuckin' Crockett was god!!!
I had Davy Crockett underpants, which I would show to anyone interested at the drop of a hat.
I had a Davy Crockett coonskin cap, not the bogus one with the short tail, but the genuine one with the long tail.
I had the little orange and yellow Davy Crockett phonograph records that you could buy at the supermarket for about a quarter each.
I had a Davy Crockett rifle ... Old Betsy, yeah, Old Betsy, yeah, he named his fuckin' gun, wanna make something of it???
I had a complete set of Davy Crockett peanut butter glasses, and yeah, I still have one of them, and maybe if you're lucky I'll take a picture of it and post it in here.
I had a Davy Crockett pocket knife that I got for my fifth birthday, a real goddamn pocket knife that my parents took away when I tried to eviscerate my sister after she failed to show Davy the proper respect.
Yeah, Davy Fuckin' Crockett was a "guy thing" but even the girls tried to horn in on it. My little down the street girlfriend, who really wasn't my girlfriend, but my mother and her mother thought we looked adorable together, so I guess she was my girlfriend, even my down the street girlfriend had a white coonskin cap which supposedly Davy Fuckin' Crockett's wife Molly Fuckin' Crockett wore, but it never would have worked out between us, and when I say us I don't mean Molly Crockett and me I mean my little down the street girlfriend and me, because I was five and she was four, and the age difference was just too great, and she started hanging around with the guys in a rock band, and then she got mono in college, and how can you spend your life with a girl who gets mono in college, and I bet she doesn't still have her coonskin cap anyway.
Yeah, and where's Davy Crockett now that we need him, huh?
The hunter hero.
The common man.
The dreamer.
The adventurer.
Yeah, right.
I bet he didn't even like peanut butter.

Alright, who stole my Davy Crockett glass?

No Way VIII

I told you I had the blues.

No Way VII

It's seven a.m,
And I've got them again,
The early morning,
They strike without warning,
My ennui is showing,
Negativity growing,
Harmonica blowing,
Good lord, I've got them again ... blues

Take meds - check
Make coffee - check
Turn on tv - check
AMC - check
TCM - check
FUC - check
KME - check
Ponder life - check
Forehead slap - check
Sneeze, again, again, again, again, again, again ... again - check
Tap out a melodic tune with my fingers - check
Swivel back and forth, back and forth, back and forth - check
Stifle a yawn - check
Suppress a fart - check
Clear my throat - check
Cut the deck - check
Ummmm - check
Hey look, the Three Stooges are on - check
It's a Curly - check
N'yuk, n'yuk, n'yuk - check
But I like Shemp too - check
Ehhhh - check
I'm going back to bed - check

No Way VI

What could be causing these blues of mine?
1. Lack of cheese, and when I say cheese I mean sex?
2. Too much 60s dirge like music?
3. Fat guy pants?
4. My act is no longer an act?
5. The one step away from being retarded woman who always tries to talk to me at the Burger King?
6. The fact that they automatically give me the Over 55 discount without even asking?
7. The crap I used to post is 100 times better than the crap I post now?
8. Bruiser Boz Detweiler's lack of impact?
9. Realizing that none of you will read down this far?
10. My blog title becoming a self fulfilling prophecy?

No Way V

Me: I'm going to the supermarket do you want anything?
MB: I can't think of anything.
Me: How about some cranberry juice?
MB: Cucumbers???
Me: No, cranberry juice!!!
MB: Hamburgers???
Me: No, CRANBERRY JUICE.
MB: Garage floor cleaner???
Me: No, CRANBERRY ... ah, forget it.
MB: Oh, cranberry juice.
Me: Doh!!!
MB: You should write down all these mistakes I make, I bet you could
make a book out of them.

And still I have the blues.

No Way IV

Ok, so I still have the blues, and I also have a bad back and a draining sinus, and to top it all off there are gale force winds blowing outside, and Gail, or Gayle, or yeah even Gale was a pretty popular girls name when I was growing up. You couldn't fling a dead cat without it landing at the saddle shoed clad feet of some chick named Gayle/Gail/Gale, and yeah, there really was a very popular actress who starred in a couple of 50s sitcoms who was named Gale Storm, and she always played this petite, perky, plucky career girl who, along with her older best friend usually played by Zasu Pitts, would spend the whole thirty minutes trying to snag a man, well, Gale would try to snag a man, because even back in the 50s it was pretty obvious even to a wee lad like myself that the only person Zasu was interested in snagging was Gale Storm, if you get my drift, yeah, so Gale would spend the whole thirty minutes trying to snag a man, usually a rich handsome one, or at least a handsome one who would one day be rich ... but still I have the blues.
And ...
Gail was also a pretty popular guys name if you lived in the south, and I think that whole girl name for a guy is pretty much limited to parts of the south where cousins married cousins or sheep.

Perky, plucky and petite Gale Storm

No Way III

Still got the blues
Da dah da dun
Bib overall blues
Da dah da dun
Oh yeah

No way II

It's two thirty in the morning and I'm listening to the Jefferson Airplane.
Oobie doobie doo.
Nah, I've changed my mind, I'm not posting.
I've got the blues.

No way

I've got the blues.

Yourself you'd touch, but not too much

This song is one of the reasons that I am glad I am not young, or a girl, or blue.
Young Girl Blues by Donovan

Doo Doo Doo Looking Out My Front Door

Ok, my front window, but maybe ever wrote a song about looking through windows, well, except Look Through Any Window by the Hollies, but that's looking in not out, and this is looking out not in.
Anyway, I woke up and there they were the dreaded East Tawas Killer Deer.

Floppy Diskette Pics

While rooting around looking for something else I found five floppy diskettes with a bunch of pictures from way back before the digital days.

My soon to be Aunt Rachel, my Uncle Danny, and a not quite 13 year old Boz.



They were like my two favorite adult people at the time. My Uncle Danny had always been more like a big brother to me, and Rachel was the first adult who treated me like a person and not a kid.

Rach and Danny had met when they were about 13 years old when Rachel came up from Kentucky to spend the summer with her brother and his wife who were neighbors of my grandparents.
Years later she told me that she knew from the first time she saw my Uncle Danny that he was the guy she was going to marry, unless Elvis somehow became available.
It's been six years since my Uncle Dan passed away and my Aunt Rachel still hasn't gotten over it.

The Detweiler Brothers

Check out the Detweiler Brothers, a homage to 70's style midwest independant wrestling promotions maintained by Rebel Leady Boy and myself.

Talk like Samuel L. Jackson Weekend, Part II

Samuel L. Jackson reads the Gettysburg Address.

Samuel L. Jackson's version

Four score and seven years ago a bunch of pasty skinned white ass mother fuckers got together to see how they could keep my black mother fuckin' ass down.

Now what we got here is a bunch of crazy ass white mother fuckers busting caps in each others ass. A bunch of white mother fucking gang bangers if you will, trying to prove to each other that their mother fuckin' white ass dick is bigger than his mother fuckin' white ass dick, and my mother fuckin' black ass dick just ain't gonna buy it. Puh-lease mother fucker.

It don't matter what those crazy white ass mother fuckers are trying do, it ain't up to their mother fuckin' white asses or my mother fuckin' black ass to preach no mother fuckin' words about what went down in this mother of all mother fuckin' drive by shootings. We'll just have to leave that to the mother fuckin' brother upstairs. Dig.

Abraham Lincoln's version

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Touched for the very first time

So, Boz, how are you?

Crap, I feel like crap.

Oh, this isn't a good time. Should I just go?

'Sup to you.

Wait a second. It's one in the afternoon and you still aren't dressed, and your hair's a mess, and I bet if you were to breathe on me ... well, just don't even try to breathe on me.

Fuck you. I'm in pain. I think I have two broken toes, and everything hurts. Nobody knows the pain that is Boz.

C'mon Bozzie. Up, up, up and at 'em.

Maybe you should just go away. Did I tell you my vocal chords hurt too?

Say, Bozzie, why don't you wash up, get dressed, have a nice HAM sandwich and go out to the Dollar Store. Everyone knows you love the Dollar Store ... and HAM!!!

Hmmmmm, I do sort of hear the siren song of the Dollar Store beckoning me.
Hey ... I told you I like ham, I don't love ham, I just like ham, ok, it's not that I need ham, or obsess about ham, or dream about ham, or have a freezer full of ham and ham by products, I just like ham, ok.

Fine, yeah, so anyway, what you been doing lately Bozzerino?

I'm re-inventing myself ... holy shit, did you see that???

What???

Oh never mind, it was nothing, nothing, nothing, forget I even brought it up. I think it was another Faux Vietnam Flashback, I've been having a lot of those since I stopped taking the zoloft a month ago.

Re-inventing yourself, explain.

I'd rather not go into it right now. I'd rather be totally re-invented before I speak about my re-invention. But, it's not one of those Madonna like re-inventions, well, not a LOT like one of those Madonna re-inventions. I am adding dancers ... but I've already said too much.
Do you have any cough drops, I'd kill for a cough drop, or a gun, I mean some gum, yeah, do you have any cough drops or a gun ... GUM, GUM, I mean GUM!!!
GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM.

Ahhh, ok Bozley, I'm going to run now. They're having a Kurosawa retrospective down at the Theater of the Tragically Hip this weekend, and I promised some friends that I'd do the organic popcorn. Toodles.*

GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM.


*And as always the voice of Boz's conscience was played by the bastard love child of Frank Sinatra and Gracie Slick, Hieronymus Glick Flick Slick Sinatra Love.

Only Sixteen Hours To Go

Hey, mother fuckers it's only sixteen hours till Talk Like Samuel L. Jackson Weekend officially kicks off.



Don't pull any punk ass shit on me now or I might have to bust a cap in your mother fuckin' ass.

I have become Bruiser Boz Detweiler!

I am Bruiser Boz Detweiler, and along with my brother Jonnie Hardcore Detweiler we will be defending our tag team belts against all comers on the tri state indie circuit this spring and summer.


Jonnie Hardcore Detweiler


Bruiser Boz Detweiler ... Fear the claw!!!

Talk like Samuel L. Jackson Weekend

From Friday 4PM EDT till Monday 2AM EDT it will be talk like Samuel L. Jackson Weekend.



Don't any of you jive-ass mother fuckers let me down.

Easter is now officially over

Easter 1961 - First roll of color film.

Happy Easter - The Ham Manifesto

No boz, is good boz

At the corner of Utica Road and Twelve Mile

So anyway, I had a dream about you the other night.
I was at home, but not the home I am living at now, I was at home in the home I used to live in before I moved up here, I was at the home I lived in when I used to live in Detroit, well, I didn't actually live in Detroit, but when you are from Detroit you refer to Detroit and all the surrounding area as Detroit, of course we drew the line at actually paying Detroit city taxes because that would have been just wrong, and stupid.
So anyway, I was at home, and I was expecting you, I mean your visit had been planned weeks, no, months in advance, and I was expecting you, and all of a sudden there you were looking in the window, and I must say that you were looking really hot, with your long hair, and bangs, and you were thinner than what I had expected, and I was all nervous and everything, so I went into the bedroom acting like I had to make the bed or something, and then you knocked at the door, and MB, yeah, MB was in the dream too, and, no it doesn't get real weird or anything, she was just in the dream, and MB answered the door, and you came in the house, and you were looking really really really hot, I mean even hotter than I acutally thought you were, if that is possible, and I sort of snuck a look at you from your reflection in the wall mirror that I didn't know I had, and you were wearing sort of red and black and white checked pants, and some kind of layered looked top all in red and black and greys, and all sorts of spangly jangly necklaces and bracelets, and a vest, yeah, you were wearing a vest, a leather vest, and MB said:
Oh look ........ is here
And I tried being all cool and witty and said something totally lame, and as soon as I said it I knew it was totally lame, and I wanted to hide under the bed, or disappear.
And then you started talking to MB, and you told her how you had been dying to meet her for years and years and years.
And you and MB just started becoming the fastest of friends.
And I was standing in the bedroom, thinking ...
Well what about me???
And you and MB were talking and laughing.
And I was getting all neurotic, and psychotic, and weirded out.
And then I guess I woke up because the dream was over.
And really, I don't even think of you like that.
You know, in that way.
It's just the dream, you know.
It was weird.
And you must never tell anyone that it was you that I dreamt about, because that would be really awkward and uncomfortable for both of us, and yeah, probably ten times more awkward and uncomfortable for you, but still, you know, okay.

Fuck it boz, quit editing and re-editing the post and just put it to bed!!!

Frank and Mike pretending they are Mike and Frank, respectively

I was actually channel surfing one evening back in, oh, I don't know, late 1967, or early 1968, when I stumbled across this little add on at the end of the Monkee's television show, and channel surfing was a lot easier back then because there were only four VHF channels and two UHF channels, and one of the UHF channels was Educational TV which is what they called PBS before it was called PBS, and I was going to say I never watched it, but I did, I did really watch it, because they had all sorts of good shows like Pete Seeger singing folksongs with Cisco Houston, and Joan Baez, and Dave Von Ronk, and a bunch of other folk singing type guys and gals.
But back to the Monkees ...
I think this was either at the peak of their popularity or just after and all the guys forced NBC to let them do little end of show vignettes to show how creative they were.
Ummm, and Mickey had Tim Buckley on the show to show just how relevant and folky he was, and Davy had some guy who wrote show tunes on to show just how Broadway he was, and Mike had Frank on because he wanted to show everybody he was more than just a stupid hat and sideburns, Mike, not Frank.
So, yeah.

Just another shot in the dark

I'm sort of tap dancing in quicksand blog wise, aren't I?
Not doing much of anything.
Just passing time.
Treading water.
Positioning myself.
Lurking in the shadows.
Hiding in the weeds.
Doing whatever consenting adults used to do in the bulrushes during biblical times, huh.

self

Jackie's in his corset, Janie's in her vest, me, I'm in a rock and roll band ... ha

Velvet Underground reunion 1993

You're number thirty-seven, have a look

Nico, Lou Reed and John Cale

Sighhhhhhhhhhhh

Lucinda Williams

And I'm gettin' old ...

Gott in Himmel, it's the Beat Boys!!!

Is that Sandra's mother in the audience???
Ok, when the Beatles first came out I read somewhere that it was hard to say the Beatles in German, so they called them the Beat Boys.

The pump don't work 'cause the vandals took the handle

Tomorrow

I wasn't going to mention this, but yesterday, April 12th, was my sister's birthday. She would have been 62. Out of all the people that I have known that have passed away she is the one who sometimes tricks my mind into believing that she is still around, and maybe I should give her a call or something.

Bedroom at midnight in black and white

Go man go

Dribble, dribble, dribble, the brain matter seeps through my pores.
Something, something, something ending up with whores.
Trying to come off as a psychotic beat just doesn't work for me.
Scootley boot doot, later.

Yo, Vinny!

I rented Brown Bunny today, and yeah the bj looked real, but the movie was more than a bj, it was actually pretty good in a desperate, aimless, downward spiraling, life is hell, next step breakdown city, lonely sort of way.

Please excuse my babbling if you've heard it before

Ok, so if you look at the time stamp you'll see that it's very early in the morning and that will probably make you wonder what's that crazy old boz doing up, let alone making a grammatically puzzling post, now.
Well excuse me for breathing, or better yet, excuse me for not breathing, which is pretty much precisely what I am not doing, breathing that is.
Yeah, I woke up and my nose was completely stuffed, stuffed as in major loss of oxygen to the brain which could lead to brain damage stuffed, that stuffed.
So, instead of breathing through my mouth, which I normally do 95% of the time, I panic and try even harder to breathe through my nose, and if your nose has ever been really stuffed up, you'll know just how much that hurts. So instead of breathing through my mouth I continue trying to breathe through my nose while frantically running around the house looking for nasal spray, and as bad as my sinus are you'd think I'd keep a bottle of nasal spray in the drawer of my night stand at all times, if I had a night stand that is, and I think I'm going to make a run to the St Vinny's thrift store and see if they have a suitable night stand in which I would most definitely keep a bottle of nasal spray at all times as I flail away at trying to end this sentence, there.
Yeah, I did find the nasal spray, it was in the top drawer of the dresser located where the night stand I don't have would be located if I had one, so I guess I really don't have to make a thrift store run after all, I mean, all I really have to do is self hypnotise myself into believing that the dresser is actually a night stand, and then count to three and clap, and hopefully I won't start barking like a dog and sniffing everybody's crotch like I did the last time I was hypnotized, and then everything will be alright.
And it is alright now, except for the fact that I can't shake this belief that I have deep down in my gut that the lacrosse team from Duke is some how involved in the disappearance of Natalee Holloway and that Greta Van Sustern is the scariest looking woman in the world.
Other than that, everything is all hunky dory from where I am sitting, which would be right here, in front of my computer, pouring out my thoughts, and hopes, and dreams to you in my hour of need, and yet still wondering where it all went wrong for poor Lester Jenkins.
Amen

The Giant V shaped indentation in my forehead

MB says it has been there since I was a baby and it's not a result of the satantic cult that my parents embraced during the 50s, and that it is only a coincidence that my middle name is Vance, which is short for Vance, Spawn of the Devil.

Chrissakes, could you at least knock!

What's Up Tiger Lily
A movie review, sort of.
Have you ever seen the movie What's Up Tiger Lily?
It was originally a Japanese spy flick, ala James Bond, released in the mid 60's.
Well, Woody Allen, yeah that Woody Allen, the Woody Allen who married his adopted step daughter once removed by marriage, the Woody Allen whose flicks really haven't been relevant since about 1977, yeah, that's the Woody Allen I mean, and you know Woody is kind of an odd name for a guy who probably hasn't sported any since about, yeah, since about 1977.

I'm sorry, but the demise of Woody into a sleazy comic punchline is just too much for me to take.

Did I ever tell you that when I was sixteen years old I ripped the Woody Allen Playboy Interview out of my brother-in-law's Playboy magazine and hid it in my secret hiding place and whenever I felt sad, or lonely, or misunderstood, I would whip it out ... the article, not my ummm, member, and ....
My favorite Woody joke from the interview was when he was asked about the sexual revolution he said something about sporadic guerilla warfare, and I wish I could remember some other really funny things he said in the interview, but hey, I was hopped up on speed and bennies during most of the sixties, nah ...
I just don't remember anything else.

Anyway, that interview appeared in the May 1967 issue of Playboy and yeah, here is the centerfold for that month, featuring the hauntingly air brushed, and minimally puffified Anne Randall, and yeah, this would probably be the part where I talked about Anne Randall and my member, and fuck, I was only sixteen, and unlike Woody I was sporting it almost 24/7, but I wasn't very popular, and I was extremely shy, so how else was I supposed to, you know, right, you know, ummm, quell the urge.





Oh, yeah, What's Up Tiger Lily was a really funny movie dubbed into English by Woody Allen about the top secret recipe for the world's best egg salad being stolen, and other stuff too boring to go into.
Thank you.

I'm running out of ways to appear winsome

Do you see a trend developing here?

Photo Op

A day in the life of me

So, I was driving north on US 23 today between East Tawain and Oscola when a guy crossed the highway to check his mail.
Another mile up US 23 the same guy was crossing back over with a handful of mail.
MY LIFE IS TURNING INTO A BAD STEPHEN KING SHORT STORY!!!

In other news:
MB said she needed my help today.
My god, she's fallen, she's bleeding, she's broken her hip, she needs to be rushed to the hospital.
Nah, she just asked if I would mine making a pan of cornbread for her.
Hey, as long as I don't have to eat it ... why not?
So I did, and it came out golden brown and after it cooled it popped right out of the pan, and according to MB it was delicious, but of course she could be playing me like she did was the laundry, and the time she asked me to wash her ... nevermind.
Is it considered making it from scratch if you use cornmeal?
I am a cooking god!

Lucinda Williams, Cactus Jack, Raising Arizona, and Me

Well, sometimes I get the menstrual cramps real hard.

Weird Dream #1493

I had a dream last night.
I was a contestant on some kind of dating show.
The premise of the show was that a woman picked four finalists out of a group of about twenty guys.
In the three times I was on the show I had made the final four all three times, which totally amazed everyone, including me.
The other three guys were always these good looking smart and loaded with personality type guys, and I was always the Bozzie that you see in here.
Also I was never around when the female contestant made her final four choices. I was always in the restroom, or asleep, or out grabbing a smoke and when I came back into the studio, without my shoes, someone would come up to me all surprised and everything and tell me that I had made the final four.
And on the outside I was all nonchalant, and blase, and oh really la di dah, la di fucking dah about it, but on the inside I was all YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!
And I would always sit apart from the other three finalists and crack jokes with the non-finalists.
And I was like probably in my thirties, because I don't think I am ever old in my dreams.
And whenever I was introduced as one of the finalists the studio audience would always roll their eyes, and laugh, and then finally applaud.
I don't remember if I won the first two times, but that really didn't seem to be important, just making it to the final four was the big thing.
Then on the third show the female contestant came up to the other three finalists one at a time and sat on their laps and asked each of them a few questions, and then when she started walking towards me I woke up with a hard on.
The End

Random Play Randomness

Vashti Bunyan - Window Over the Bay (I don't have the slightest idea who she is, but she has a great name, and maybe someone will be impressed that I so casually bandy her name about and give me love, sweet gypsy love.)
Donovan - First There is a Mountain (You aren't fooling anyone Ken, you're nothing but a suede-o hippie.)
Neil Young - Prairie Wind (Prairie is a very difficult word to spell.)
Cream - World of Pain
Del Shannon - Keep Searchin'
The Mavericks - Here Comes the Rain (Here comes the NEXT button)
Beau Brummels - Cry Some
The Beatles - Glass Onion (The walrus was Paul ... I knew it!)
Neil Young - Birds
The Kinks - Waterloo Sunset
Louvin Brothers - The Christian Life (My buddies shun me since I've turned to Jesus, but I still love them, they burden my heart, I'll try to lead them to walk in the light because I like the Christian life.)
Beau Brummels - Ain't That Lovin' You Baby
Manfred Mann - Pretty Flamingo
Dvl - Santa Baby (Stick with me toots, and I'll make you a star.)
Doc Watson and Andy Griffith - Crawdad Hole
Julie Driscoll and the Brian Auger Trinity - Season of the Witch (Oh man, I had such a crush on Julie Driscoll. I think she was after Grace Slick and before Buffy Sainte Marie.)
Lonnie Donegan - I Wanna Go Home aka The Sloop John B (Dammit, why isn't Lonnie Donegan in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? You think I'm kidding, but I'm not.)
The Move - Fire Brigade
The Moody Blues - Timothy Leary's Dead (Hey, Ken, that song's about drugs, no shit Ken, really.)
Rilo Kiley - More Adventurous (Man, I love chick singers with a little twang in their voice and a harmonica wailing in the background.)
Richard Hell and the Voidoids - Love Comes in Spurts (Well, ch'yeah.)

G'night.

Video Bozzio

The Dance of the Baby Hippo.

I'm good, what about you?

Ok, I've been off zoloft for a little over a week now, and everything is going very well ... except for one little emotional episode which is really kind of embarrassing to write about, but what the hell.

On Friday the same L. Cohen album was in the car CD player from my drive home on Thursday, and the song The Old Revolution came on.
And yeah, it's one of my favorite songs from the album, so I always listen a little more intently when it comes on.
And I'm fine, and I'm singing along with L. Cohen in my best nasal L. Cohen voice.
And L. Cohen and I are singing:

I finally broke into the prison,
I found my place in the chain.
Even damnation is poisoned with rainbows,
all the brave young men
they're waiting now to see a signal
which some killer will be lighting for pay.

Into this furnace I ask you now to venture,
you whom I cannot betray.

I fought in the old revolution
on the side of the ghost and the King ...

And L. Cohen and I are both into it.
And then we get to the next line:

Of course I was very young
and I thought that we were winning;
I can't pretend, I still feel very much like singing
as they carry the bodies away.

And I ...
I can't sing because I'm starting to tear up.
I mean, yeah tearing up to the point where I think I'm going to have to pull over to the side of the road, because I'm about to start bawling my eyes out.
I didn't understand it.
I mean, yeah, but ...
I don't know.
Just that song, just those lyrics, just touching some chord.
Lost youth.
Lost innocence.
Lost marbles.
It's odd, isn't it?


Into this furnace I ask you now to venture,
you whom I cannot betray.

Lately you've started to stutter
as though you had nothing to say.
To all of my architects let me be traitor.
Now let me say I myself gave the order
to sleep and to search and to destroy.

Into this furnace I ask you now to venture,
you whom I cannot betray.

Yes, you who are broken by power,
you who are absent all day,
you who are kings for the sake of your children's story,
the hand of your beggar is burdened down with money,
the hand of your lover is clay.

Into this furnace I ask you now to venture,
you whom I cannot betray.

Personality Crisis

Boz's Johari Window

Use a fake name, so I won't know who you are.

The darker side
Boz's Nohari Window

We were very young and we thought that we were winning

I was listening to Leonard Cohen's Songs From A Room on the drive home last night and it flashed me back to when I was going to tech school at Keesler AFB, down in Mississippi, back in 1969.
I had a cheap record player, and a bunk on the second floor, right next to the fire escape.
And on Friday nights Thornberg, Johnson and I, and whoever else happened to be around, would congregate on the fire escape after lights out.
And we'd drink a little 3/2 beer.
Or if were lucky, somebody knew somebody, who know somebody, and there'd be a bottle of whiskey to pass around.
And we'd chain smoke Marlboros.
And we'd talk.
And we'd laugh.
And we'd rag on each other.
And then someone would put on an album.
And we'd listen to ...
Songs From A Room
Nashville Skyline
Abbey Road
The Band
Crosby Stills and Nash
And I don't know.
It just seemed so right.
It just seemed that we were the only people on earth who understood.
You know, really understood.
But it was probably just the smoke clouding our vision.
Or the booze clouding our minds.
Or maybe it was just the fact that were nineteen years old and were stuck out in the middle of Bum Fuck Mississippi, and we had to believe something just to make it through another Friday night.

This Weeks One Dollar VHS Purchase and kind of review

This week's One Dollar VHS tape from the Dollar Aisle at Sav-A-Lot is
Casa de los Babys directed by John Sayles.



This weeks selection was a hard choice. I was considering two other movies, one was Indian Runner directed by Sean Penn and based on the song State Trooper or Highway Patrolman by Bruce Springsteen, and now that I've thought about it I'm pretty sure it was Highway Patrolman, but really, what does it matter, I didn't get that one, but maybe next week, but ehhh, maybe not, because I've seen parts of it and it wasn't all that good.
And ahhhh, I can't remember what the other movie I was considering was, but it to doesn't really matter because I didn't choose it either.
So Yeah...
Casa de los Babys directed by John Sayles
And yeah, John Sayles is one of my favorite directors with such indie films as ...
fuck it, just read his bio at IMDB.
Casa de los Babys, as is typical in Sayles films, follows several story lines.
All of them pretty good and all centered around a mythical Latin American country whose chief export is babies.
Ok, I'm starting to get tired and confused.
Let me just say, that yeah, this is a pretty good movie and I think everyone should see it, and it's not just a chick flick even though it's mostly about women and babies, but still, yeah, it's still pretty good.
Did you see that Marcia GAY Harden is one of the stars?
I mean what kind of name is GAY, I mean she isn't GAY, but she is a bitch, well, not in real life, but in the movie she is, but no, she isn't GAY, but I'm pretty sure that Lili Taylor's character is GAY, and that Maggie Gylenhalleaictrid's character is rich, and that Darryl Hannah's character is New Age Freaky, and the other Mom Wannabe who I can't remember the name of is Irish, oh yeah, that would probably be Susan Lynch, and funny that doesn't sound Irish, does it, and yeah, I left out Mary Steenbergen, but she is just annoying, and she married a Whoopi Goldberg reject, so I mean, what the fuck!
I think I'm going to listen to that Springsteen song.
Seriously, I haven't been feeling all too well lately, and no it has nothing to do with the zoloft withdrawal, but maybe if I puked or something I might feel a little better.
Oh, I just remembered what the other movie was. It was the 1967 release How I Won The War, directed by Richard Lester, and starring that guy who played in Phantom of the Opera on Broadway, and John Lennon was in it too, and so were a lot of other English guys, and I think the reason I didn't buy it was because I had seen part of it before and the British accents were pretty thick, and it was arty pretentious like a lot of British films were in the 60s. The novel on the other hand was fucking hilarious, it least I thought it was hilarious when I was 18.

Buddy, can you spare me a dime?

Hey, what is up with you people?
I've been checking you out, and yeah, I know, I don't leave a lot of comments anymore, but still, I've been checking you out, and yeah, I've noticed I've been demoted from the exalted upper status of your links list to links list hell, yeah, that's right, you've got me listed under Google Search.
I am a fucking blog god, an icon, a legend, an innovator, I AM BOZ, fucking 4, fucking 8, fucking 7, fucking 3, fucking 0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0.
And now I am less than Google Search.
Thanks, yeah, thanks a lot.
Hey, I didn't know you could personalize Google!!!
Cool.

He's the kind of artist rents a groovy little attic and discovers that he can't grow a beard

Don't bother me, leave me alone.
I'm caught in the 60's ... again.
Fred Neil
Richard and Mimi Farina
Leonard Cohen
I mean they're all here with me right now as I type.
Country Joe and the Fish
The Jefferson Airplane
The Stones
It's A Beautiful Day
The Young Rascals and the Rascals ... one group, two names, all grown up, it had to be the 60's.
Spirit
Captain Beefheart
Procul Harum
The Pretty Things - ok, I've never actually listened to the Pretty Things, but I've seen pictures, and trust me, they aren't pretty, but it's the 60's, dammit, the 60's!!!
John Mayall
Cream
The Small Faces ... the Fuckin' Small Faces, they's some crazy fuckers.
The Kinks, the Kinks, the Kinks, the forgotten gods of rock!!!!!!!!!!
The Byrds
Vanilla Fudge
Arlo "What'd ya get kid? I didn't get nuthin, and I had to pick up all the garbage." Guthrie
C'mon, admit, you wish you had the 60's floating around somewhere in your Medula Oblongata
The Paul Butterfield Blues Band
Jeff Beck
And ...
And ....
And .....
And ......
Fuck it, nevermind

I know who you are, and I know where you live

No time to post, no time to post, no time to post!!!
I've got to get my sort of brand new car up to the dealership because the fuel gauge is not functioning properly ... huh, the car is like six weeks old.
So yeah, and did I mention that my head has felt like it is on the verge of exploding all weekend, and it still feels like it, and the tylenol I just took gave me an upset stomach, and I had to buy a fat man belt this weekend too, but in other news there isn't any blood oozing out of any my orifices, so yeah, I've got to run.

A parody of a parody

Not Ready For Real World ... Blogger Style



The Real World ... Blogger Style

Let's do lunch, and then KILL KILL KILL

I think I'm going blind.
I think I'm going mad.
I think I'm going to be sick.
I think I'll sever the nerve just there in the back of my neck and maybe the pain will go away.
Seriously, I think I'll stick a finger down my throat and puke up the bile of 55 years of my wretched horrid life.
Or maybe I'll just have a popsicle.
Or maybe I'll just listen to some happy happy happy HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY DIE DIE DIE DIE music.
Jesus fucking christ, my head feels like it is about to explode!!!
I wonder if the SciFi channel is still running that Twilight Zone marathon.
Goodnight.

Pudding the an back in anarchy since 1971 ... mmmm pudding

I stumbled upon a group political blog just now at 5:46 in the morning.
So much hatred, so much hatred, so much hatred ... so ... much ... hatred.
Ok, I do not like political blogs which probably stems from my disdain for all things political, but it seems a lot of you people do, do like politics, or political blogs, I'm not sure, it's like 5:52 now and whatever sense I thought this post was going to make has gone the way of the Edsel, the Pinto, and the Santa Maria ...
Ok, yeah, a lot of you people are political, a lot of you people who I love and respect are political,
Or ...
A lot of you people who I have developed a certain asexual fondness for are political, and it's good that you hide this from me, but shouldn't you be required to put some kind of warning on these blogs ... huh???
WARNING: THE FOLLOWING BLOG MAY CONTAIN POLITICAL STUFF SO BOZ PLEASE KEEP OUT.
If you think it's easy being an idiot savant try walking a mile in my shoes one of these days when you aren't so busy with your politics and your political blogs, yeah!!!
Thanks, I feel better now.
Did somebody mention pudding?
I'm starved.

Don't get me started, but if you do make mine a Lone Star

Ok, so I saw the VHS version of Bubba Ho-Tep in the Dollar Section of the local supermarket the other day so I bought it. I'm not sure if it was new or used, but since the movie basically sucked the big red one it doesn't really matter.



Even the Velcro Monkey of Doom hated it, that's his hand in the corner trying to wave away the stink of the movie, and the VMD is a major Bruce Campbell fanmonkey from way back.
Actually, Bruce Campbell reminded me more of Kurt Russell as Elvis than he did of Elvis as Elvis, and we all know that ELVIS spelled inside out is LIVES, and if you throw in a superfluous R it spells LIVERS, and how many of you out there remember the message board called Superfluous Tube Socks, well, probably not many, because if you did it would still be around, and that's the first time that you people broke my heart, because I was the heart and soul behind Superfluous Tube Socks, and it still hurts, and I'll never forget it, and if Elvis were alive he wouldn't forget it either, because yeah, Elvis and me were close, yeah, closer than brother's, and no, those rumors about the two of us are totally untrue, in fact, I introduced him to Priscilla back in the day, I mean yeah, I was only eight at the time, but Priscilla was only 12, so it's possible I'm not totally full of bull shit, but yeah ...
Bubba Ho-Tep sucked.

Silly songs for 200

If you were to burn a CD that had to have songs with either the word
Georgia
or
Rain
or
Midnight
or
Train
in the title, what songs would you select?

Dazed and Confused

Ok, I got this great bargain today. A ten dollar pair of Led Zeppelin boxer shorts reduced to 85 cents. The only problem is they are a SMALL and I'm not.

So ...
If anyone would like a pair of MEN'S SMALL Led Zeppelin boxers let me know and they are yours. In case more than one person is interested I'll do a random drawing.
Absolutely no strings.



Front


Back

The little bird that could ...

Couldn't

Block

I'm having trouble with my short story Debbie Does Dallas, the Three Hundred Pound Samoan, and Me.
But I can tell you a little bit about it.
There's a 300 pound Samoan, obviously.
There's a teenage girl running down the street at two in the morning, wearing nothing but a hospital gown, being chased by a very angry nurse.
There's an alcoholic known as Shakey Jake.
There's two porno theaters located next door to each other.
There's a black guy with a secret.
There's a short Jewish guy with an illegal beard.
There's a Hispanic limo driver and part time pimp.
And, uh, there's me.
Oh yeah, and then there's Debbie ... and Dallas.

Buzznet Audio

I'm not pushing Buzznet or anything, but you can now upload mp3s to your account for all the world to hear.
Check out my tunes and try to tell me I don't have my finger on the pulse of America ... nay, the worlds' musical tastes.
Right here ...
Click on Launch Player, or something.

It's as if ...

I don't know what to think now.
I took the cover off the birds' cage at six thirty this morning, and there she was all scrunched up, sitting on the perch, in the corner, all by herself, staring me straight in the eye as if to say:
I'm not dead yet mother fucker.

Don't tell me I don't have any fucking empathy

Ok, this is getting pretty fucking freaky.
The dying bird, right.
So, I'm sitting here, not doing anything, minding my own business when I hear this one lone plaintive little chirp, the kind of chirp that just breaks your heart, and I'm thinking, well, it can't be long now. Then about a minute or so later, I hear another chirp, just as plaintive and heartbreaking as the last one, and I'm thinking, way to go bird, do not go gentle into that good night. Then another minute or so later, and another chirp, I mean, surely this one must be the death rattle, right, and I'm thinking how am I going to break this to MB, I mean she takes this kind of thing a lot harder than I do. Then, I don't know, a couple of minutes later, I hear another chirp, and I mean, I'm just about on the verge of tears here, the zoloft you know. So I decide I'm going to check on the birds, I mean, they're covered up for the night, but dammit, I mean, shit, nobody wants to die alone in the dark, do they? So, I'm in the living room trying to screw up enough courage to look in the cage, and then I hear another chirp ... and I look up ... and it's the fucking smoke detector and the weak fucking battery signal!
Yeah, it's the zoloft, the fucking zoloft!

Bereft of life

I am kind of bummed out tonight.
I had planned on starting a somewhat more ambitious writing project this weekend that I had hoped would lead to a short story that I could submit somewhere for publication.
I was going to call it Debbie Does Dallas, the Three Hundred Pound Samoan, and Me and it would have been a mostly true account about a week I spent in San Angelo Texas when I was in the Air Force back in the summer of 1971.
But like I said, I'm kind of bummed tonight.
I'm pretty sure that one of my two remaining birds is about to die. It's the same bird that I thought was about to die last summer, I mean, that's the trouble with this particular bird, she's such a keep to herself little bird that she always looks like she is about to die, but yeah, this time I think it is for real, yeah, if falling off the perch every ten minutes is any indication, I think it's for real.
I'm not bummed because this particular bird is dying, I mean it's just a bird, not a dog or a cat, or a second cousin, it's just a bird. I get bummed when anybody or anything is about to die ...
Colonel Blake from MASH
Charlotte from Charlotte's Web
Billy Joe McAllister from Ode to Billy Joe
Yeah, they all bummed me out, and of course ...
There's this whole zoloft thing.

Ok, I'll still write the short story, I'll just throw a dying bird into the mix.

Playing right field and batting clean-up for your Cleveland Indians

I think this zoloft withdrawal is starting to get to me.
I saw that guy again today. The guy with the empty gas can.
Only today he was in black face and wearing a Cleveland Indian's baseball cap.
Ok, it is Minstrels Eat For Half Price at the Holiday Inn today, but still ...

Even then, and then even more so

Oh
I can't get over the fact that it isn't Monday. I mean all day has been Monday to me, even after five minutes ago of just realizing that it's actually Thursday I'm back to thinking that it's Monday.
No, not last Monday, but next Monday. I talk about the past a lot, but I don't live in it, thank you very much.
I also feel like singing show tunes from some 50's Broadway musical, like I'm some kind of 21st century Howard Keel.
I hope this can all be explained away as zoloft withdrawal.

An exercise in writing at three thirty in the morning ... Part two

When I was in Burger King this afternoon a man walked in carrying an empty gas can.
He ordered a double cheeseburger and a carton of chocolate milk. He set the gas can down and nudged it along with his foot as he moved through the line. While he waited for his order he shared a joke with the teenage boy behind the counter and they both laughed. When his order was ready he picked up his gas can with one hand and his tray with the other and walked to a booth by the far exit. I didn't see him after that because I was facing in the opposite direction and I didn't want my curiosity to appear obvious. About five minutes later I got up to go get a refill on my coke and shot a glance his way, but he was already gone, along with his gas can, and his fumes.

Dr Hunter Douglas ... the College Years

Dear Penthouse Forum,
I never thought this would happen to me.
Last night I was at the college Laundromat all by myself when all of a
sudden Tiffany the head cheerleader walks in to do her laundry.
Tiffany looked at me and said hi, and I smiled and I answered back hi
too. After Tiffany loaded all of her cheerleader unmentionables in the
machine she realized that she didn't have any soap. So she came up to
me and asked if I had any soap. I told her that I did, that I
had lots of soap, and when I reached over to get my soap to give to
Tiffany I could sense that she was staring at my nine and a half
inches of throbbing manhood as it pressed against the thin material of
my sweatpants, and right then and there Tiffany fell down on her knees, and told me that I was hotter than Brad the college football quarterback.
Tiffany then pulled down my sweatpants and my maroon Fruit of the Loom boxer briefs and proceeded to orally pleasure me.
After what seemed like hours I shot my hot man juice and Tiffany proceeded to swallow every bit of it even though it must have been at least a quart load. We then went back to our laundry totally ignoring each other for the rest of the night.
Then while walking on campus this morning I spotted Tiffany with some of her cheerleader girl friends.
I could tell that Tiffany wanted to say hi to me, but when her cheerleader friends started pointing and laughing at me Tiffany had to pretend to ignore me.
All I know is that I can't wait until the next time I have to do laundry, and you can bet I will take lots of soap.
Yours Truly
Hunter ... College Student

The latest from Doctor Hunter Douglas ... Under Cover Spam Police

I received this email this morning:
Dear Hunter Douglas,

(May the Lord God be with you and your family amen). Thanks for your response. As I told you earlier, because of my illness, I am leaving the process of the transfer of this money from here to be handled by one of the trusted Doctors here in the hospital. I have told the doctor about you and the doctor requsted to talk to you on phone. Please let me have your telephone number so that the doctor will be able to speak with you. Please also remember that, your bank account will be needed for the transfer of the money, so please send your bank account informtion so that I will send it to the bank for the transfer procedures to continue.
I wait for your urgent response.
Yours,
Elizerbeth.

My reply:

My Dearest Elizerbeth,
Thank you for making your last letter so much shorter because
sometimes my attention span is too short to read really long letters.
Don't worry though, I read most of your earlier letters all the way
through, at least the parts that I understood.
Can this doctor man at the hospital be trusted? Because even though I
am myself a doctor I have a hard time trusting other doctors because
of this one time when I was going to doctor school a classmate of mine
who was also going to doctor school and who was named Dr Pepper kept
telling me that Nurse Beverly, she was the prettiest nurse at the
doctor school, anyway Dr Pepper kept telling me that Nurse Beverly
said she would like to have sex with me. I hope I don't offence you
when I say sex just like that, but this was before I was a borned
again Christian and there were many times where all I could think of
was having of the sex. Of course when I asked Nurse Beverly to have
sex with me she laughed in my face and told me if I ever bothered her
again she would tell her doctor boyfriend named Doctor Popeye about it
and he would hit me till I hurt real bad.
So this is why it is important that I know if your doctor friend can be trusted.
You also told me that you would like to send me a picture of yourself
and your now dead husband. I would really like this because I would
like to see what you looked like before you got so sick and before
your husband got so dead. If possible could you send me a picture of
the two of you at the beach, you know, wearing bathing costumes.
I am awaiting your further instructions
Jesus Loves Me, and I'm Pretty Sure He Loves You Too,
Hunter Douglas, Doctor of Lycanthropic Surgery, University of My Lady
of the Screaming Virgins

Read the rest of the thread here.

A tale of two tire irons

Okay, for the most part I think this is a pretty good post.
But, ahhh, it's been pointed out to me that the following line is a bit over the top.

As I stopped and rolled down my window the woman looked at me nervously, reached into the front seat of her car and pulled out a tire iron.

And, yeah, I'd have to agree with that assessment, so, I give you ...

Ten things she could have pulled out of the front seat instead of a tire iron.

1. She reached into the front seat and pulled out a copy of The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran.
2. She reached into the front seat and pulled out a reuben sandwich with sauerkraut.
3. She reached into the front seat and pulled out an Elvis impersonator who also happened to be a midget.
4. She reached into the front seat and pulled out ... this isn't going too well is it?
5. She reached into the front seat and pulled out ... I mean when I was driving back from the video store earlier tonight I couldn't stop laughing at the possibilities.
6. She reached into the front seat and pulled out ... but hey, if you're looking for something really good you should try the Dr Hunter Douglas Undercover Spam Police thread right here.
7. She reached into the front seat and pulled out ... so far so good on quitting zoloft, oh yeah, and I'd like to thank Grampa for his encouragement ... worse than heroin withdrawal, yeah, geez, thanks a lot.
8. She reached into the front seat and pulled out ... hey, have any of you heard of a group named Rilo Kiley, I kind of like them, I kind of like them a lot.
9. She reached into the front seat and pulled out ... I watched Family Guy for the first time ever last night, and you know the daughter, well, she'd be pretty cute for a cartoon chick in an emo type way if her boobs were a little bigger, and you know, if I were a teenage cartoon guy I think I could get my freak on for her.
10. She reached into the front seat and pulled out ... TWO HUGE FREAKING TIRE IRONS, AND A GUN, AND A KNIFE, AND SOME OF THOSE NINJA THINGS.

Dear Elizerbeth

Dr Hunter Douglas ... of the Undercover Spam Police replies to Mrs Elizerbeth Rajan.

Dear Elizerbeth,
May I call you Elizerbeth? It's such a pretty name.
I'm sorry to hear of your soon to be fatal illness. If you'll pardon my French, that must really suck.
Yes, yes, yes, I am the one to be entrusteded with your late husbands and your soon to be late hard earned money.
I agree it should be used for the poor orphaned children and that god stuff you mentioned too.
May I suggest that we make a substantial donation to the Jacko Jackson Home for Boys With No Parents and Cute Bottoms? It has always been one of my favorite charities.
You ask about my familybackgrand. I am sad to report to you that it was quite tragic. My original parents were killeded while doing missionary work in the small south sea island nation of St Boz on the Half Shell when they were mistaken for breakfast by a local indigenous tribe. After that I was raised by an older couple by the name of Mr and Mrs Carney Folk.
Alas, you are weak, and ill, and I am afraid my tales of woe can only weaken you more.
Tell me what you need of me, and please hurry, because you sound really really sick.
Yours in God and all Godlike things
Hunter Douglas, Doctor of Lycanthropic Surgery, University of My Lady
of the Screaming Virgins

Dr Hunter Douglas of the Undercover Spam Police is back in business

I sent this email in reply to an internet scam email I received the other day.

Dear Mrs Elizerbeth Rajan,
I am also a borned again Christian, and after thinking on your
propositon for two days without food nor drink, our God, the big man,
came to me in a visison and told me to put my trust in you Mrs
Elizerbeth Rajan.
Yours in Jesus and God,
Hunter Douglas, Doctor of Lycanthropic Surgery, University of My Lady
of the Screaming Virgins

I received her reply today.
See all the correspondence here.

Z is for zombies, and zoloft and z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z

So here's the thing.
I'm trying to streamline my life a little bit, cut out some of the excess baggage, get back to fighting trim, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, and the blah you rode in on.
So, when I had my annual check-up last week I asked my doctor if I could stop taking zoloft ...
Zeke ...
Ziggy Stardust ...
The big Z ...
Zetc, zetc, zetc ...
Ok, zoloft is mostly prescribed for depression, but it's also prescribed for anxiety, and yeah, anxiety, that's why I'm taking it.
And I don't want to hear any of your zoloft horror stories because it's taken me from the brink of insanity to the brink of sanity, and really what more can you ask for from your friendly neighborhood pharmaceutical???
So, yeah, the doctor said I could cut out the zoloft. Right now I'm taking 50 megs every other day for two weeks, and then after that I stop cold ...
Ummm, yeah, things could get strange for awhile, but stick with me, and if I get too whiggy you have my permission to take me aside and, you know, sort of give me a talking to.
Ha, I had to go back because I typed persimmon instead of permission.
Ummm, yeah, so it's been six years, and ummm, yeah, and zoloft has become sort of like the brother I never had, or never particularly wanted, and ummm, yeah, and when did my knuckles get so hairy???
I think I'd better go back to bed now, you know, to sleep, or ummm, sleep, yeah, that's what I need, a little sleep.
So, ummm, don't forget to unplug the coffee maker when you leave, ok.

It's like raisin bran without the raisins

What's it really like?

It's like that song by ABBA that always pops into my head as soon as I step into the shower.

It's like that dream where I get lost in the halls between classes in high school.

It's like that one time I smoked hash and saw Jesus, and Mao, and Che, and Malcolm X, and Lenny Bruce taking on the Harlem Globetrotters at the Garden in NYC.

It's like reading a book in a moving car and getting a headache that lasts a week.

It's like the time I ran head first into a tree while playing touch football and after assuring everyone I was alright I took two steps and passed out cold.

It's like the time I ate fruit cake because there was nothing else to eat.

It's like that time in 1971 when I was in the Dallas/Ft. Worth airport waiting for a connecting flight to Detroit and I couldn't take my eyes off that skinny girls ass who was wearing a way too short pair of cut-off jeans.

It's like sitting at the computer at two in the morning with my feet propped up listening to the wind howl, and the computer hum, and my ears ring, and, and, and, and, and ...

Yeah, it's just like that.

Today

I'm sitting here in this funky old shirt that my nephew, the male model, gave me about ten years ago. I think it was part of the wardrobe he wore in a modeling job he was on for either JC Penny, or Dillards, or maybe it was some kind of college magazine supplement he was involved in, who knows!
I used to make fun of him and call him Kyle the Male Model, which was odd because his name isn't Kyle, but you know, Kyle sounds like a good name for a male model, but he didn't like it, I guess male models are pretty thin skinned when it comes to their craft ...
So I don't know if he gave me this shirt as a present or as pay back. It doesn't matter though because I only wear it when I am desperate to make a post.

Me, in the funky old shirt busting a male model move that my nephew the male model taught me, the nephew that isn't named Kyle, and who has no sense of humor.

An exercise in writing at three thirty in the morning

As I was driving home last night just before dusk and before the fog had settled in I saw a car with it's hood up on the other side of the road. There was a little girl with a toy whistle in her hand leaning against the back bumper of the car. The girl was singing softly to herself while she nonchalantly kicked at the pebbles near her feet. Her mother was talking on a cell phone and gesturing frantically. As I stopped and rolled down my window the woman looked at me nervously, reached into the front seat of her car and pulled out a tire iron. The woman then called towards her daughter. The little girl looked up, then looked towards her mother, and then towards me. The little girl then dropped her whistle and ran for her mother. I rolled my window back up and drove away eyeing the car in my rear view mirror until it was out of sight.

The Three Penny Opera

So, I remember when I was a kid, a kid kid, you know about seven or eight years old, and cigarettes used to cost like twenty seven cents a pack, and if you bought them in a cigarette machine for thirty cents,
whoa, there used to be cigarette machines Uncle Boz,
well, yeah little Timmy of course there were, it was the 50's and anything was possible,
and if you bought them in a cigarette machine for thirty cents there would be three pennies taped to the pack of cigarettes, and if you were a cool teenage guy who had a car you would tape the pennies to the dashboard of your car until you had hundreds of dollars in pennies, which would probably make your dashboard more valuable than the rest of your car, unless of course you were the boyfriend of the cheerleader girl, radiant in her auburn haired ponytail and bobby sox, who lived down the street and you had a part time after school and all day Saturday job bagging groceries at the Wrigley's supermarket in the Eastgate Shopping Center, and you were able to afford a metallic baby blue 1958 Chevrolet Biscayne 2 door coupe that you took to the body shop and had the name Blue Tango three color detailed on the right rear quarter panel, a car which by the way I have still have dreams about, dreams which mostly include the cheerleader girl, radiant in her aurburn haired pony tail and bobby sox, who lived down the street, well then, that would be different.
But I digress.
Click.

(((CLICK)))

Last one out get the light.

Survey

I'm taking a little survey.
Please leave a comment if you stop by.

I don't know why I bother

MB went to get her hair done today, but she wants me to write the check when I go and pick her up.

Boz: How much does she usually charge and how much of a tip do you give her?

MB: She charges ten dollars and I give her a four dollar tip because I don't want to write a check with the number thirteen in it.

Gourmet 911

If you are dying for a Cherry Coke but all you have is regular Coke just add a couple of cherry cough drops, your mouth won't know the difference.
This only works if you have cherry cough drops though, so make sure to stock up on cherry cough drops, and while you're at you should probably stock up on Cherry Coke making this whole post quite a conundrum, or that thing that is something like a conundrum only different.

This just in ...

Reese Witherspoon hides her Oscar in her chin ...



And forgets to floss in like forever.

And it's only 10:30 in the morning

What a crappy day this is turning out to be.
I woke up at about six this morning and for no reason at all my lower back started hurting, ok, hurting probably isn't the right word. I woke up at about six this morning and my lower back felt like someone had stuck a knife in it and ripped out a kidney, or a spleen, or a liver, or whatever organ there happens to be in the lower back region.
So, I took a couple of tylenol and tried to go back to sleep.
I tossed and turned, every move like another twist of the knife and then about 7:55 I started to drift off ...
Fuck this long drawn out narrative......
My back is killing me.
I couldn't fall back asleep.
The power company shows up outside my bedroom window at eight o'clock and start playing the Hallelujah Chorus on a plethora of chain saws as they cut down what seems to be every tree in the free world.
So fine, I get up and turn on the television ... and the fucking power is out!!!
Why is the fucking power out???
Because the fucking power company turned it off ... the right bunch of bastards!!!!!!!
So, I'm laying in bed at nine thirty in the morning, half asleep, in terrible pain, listening to the guys from the power company just out side my window argue about where they should go to lunch this afternoon, and the house is getting cold ... because the fucking power is out, and maybe I should just get up and try to do something ... do what, the power is out you fucking moron!!!!!!!!!!!
So I just lay there and for lack of anything better to do I start obsessing about the drs appointment I have this afternoon. The drs appointment where I will be probed and groped, and generally violated physically, verbally, and emotionally all in the name of preventive medicine!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So anyway, the power is back on, but my back still hurts, and the house hasn't warmed up yet, and I'm still obsessing on my drs appointment for this afternoon, and wishing I had a woman doctor so the probing and groping, well you know ...