Bazooms

Back in the 50's and 60's all the Pin-up models had large natural breasts.



I think it was because of all the above ground nuclear testing going on out in the desert.

Even the squeal

A little poem about Ham

Ham is great
Ham is good
It comes from a pig
It's the perfect food

You can eat it thin
Or you can eat it thick
If you've got no bread
You can eat it on a stick

I like bacon
I don't care much for spam
Link sausage is pretty good
But I love ham

You can fry it in the morning
And have it cold at lunch
Bake it up in the evening
And smother it with brown mustard for an extra added punch

I won't listen to your warnings
Cause I don't give a damn
Let it be written on my tombstone
That ...
I LOVE HAM

When I dream sometimes it seems so real, and then there's this

I just had this dream where I was a young man and a folk singer
And it was night and I was walking down the back roads of this sleepy southern town called Fenton Louisiana.

Now as far as I know there is no Fenton Louisiana, but it has a nice ring to it, don't you think.

Like I said, I was walking down the back roads, and I was writing a song in my head, and bemoaning the fact that I didn't have pencil or paper handy to write it down properly.

Oh, the white folk hate the black folk
But the black folk just don't care
Cause there's violence, and poverty, and injustice everywhere

You see, I was a young man, and a folk singer, and that's the kind of songs we wrote back then.

Anyways, while I'm writing this tune in my head I get a message from a mutual friend who says that Bob Dylan is depressed and he could use my help.
And I said ...

Bob Dylan, what would I know that could possibly help him?
Besides, I don't even think that he knows who I am.

But I was assured that Dylan had asked for me, and my help would be greatly appreciated because, and as we all know, Dylan was a beacon for our generation and his light must never be dulled.

So I commenced to walking
Commenced to walking, that's a phrase you often hear folk singers use, it just means that they've started their quest.

So I commenced to walking down these dark lonely back roads not rightly knowing where I was going until I saw a light off in the distance.

When I reached the light, there was man all alone sitting in a toll booth, and when he looked up I asked him kind of sheepishly if he knew where I could find Bob Dylan.

He just grinned and pointed down the road to another light off in the distance and said that Dylan was drinkin' down at Ramblin' Jack Elliot's house.

So I walked on down the road, not rightly knowing what was the road and what wasn't, until I came to the house with a light in the window.

I knocked, and then I walked in, cause that just seemed like the thing to do,
And when I got inside there was Bob Dylan and Ramblin' Jack Elliot sitting at the bar, drinking beer and chain smoking unfiltered cigarettes.

I stopped for a second and then I said ...

Hey Bob, hey Jack, what's going on?

And Bob turned to me and through a shroud of smoke said ...

Nothing much, can I getcha a beer?

And I replied ...

Aw heck, I don't drink, and maybe that's why my songs always suck, but I would like a diet coke, if it's all the same to you.

Then I looked at Bob, and I looked at Jack, and I started to say something ...

[[[POOF]]]

And then I woke up.

The inner redneck vis a vis the common man

So there I was
Singing Springsteen
and Freddy Boom Boom Cannon
and Fraternity of Man songs
Off key, and in glorious black and white ... errrrrrrrr.
And smiling
And laughing
And sweating out loud
And feeling good
And conversing
And caring
And sniffling
And sneezing
And hosing down my monitor every twenty minutes or so
With the usual suspects
As we oozed down the highway in a gigantic pink twat.
Ah-ooooooooooooooh
Ah-ooooooooooooooh

So, yeah

I think ...
I think I'm about to sneeze.

I'm reading Henry Miller now.
I don't know if I am reading him because it is a challenge, or because it's something I want to do. I've read about 100 pages, and I find my mind slipping off the page every few paragraphs and thinking to myself ...
Hey, I'm reading fucking Henry Miller!

I think ...
I think I am about to sneeze again.
And again
And again
And again
And again
And again.

I think my whole body has morphed into some sort of other worldly life form
Like Chet
From Weird Science
After Lisa
The computer generated
Perfect woman
Turns him into a massive heap of snot and phlegm.
Which is rather Kafka-esque, don't you think.

Man, do I miss Gary and Wyatt.

Girls in hats with creamy skin

So, right at this very time I feel pretty good.
I got about an hour of sleep, but I didn't cough, or sneeze, or expectorate, or any of those other coldly things, and what the hell, I'll just sleep all day to make up for it, and everyone knows that when you're sick it's easier to sleep during the day than it is at night. I think it's one of those death comes at night maxims that makes it hard to sleep at night when you're sick, because despite what Blue Oyster Cult says you damn well better fear the reaper ... tra la la.

Yeah, I feel really nice. You know, I've got a little Nyquil with a Formula 44 chaser buzz going on here, and the ringing in my ears is more like a song, yeah, something from Forever Changes by Love, yeah, that's it ...

And if you'll see Andmoreagain
Then you will know Andmoreagain
For you can see you in her eyes
Then you feel your heart beating
Thrum-pum-pum-pum

Enough of this 60's psychedelica ...
Nooooo, you can never get enough 60's psychedelica ... never

Uhhh, where was I.
Oh yeah, goodnight.

Audio Nyquil Hallucinations

Shhhh, listen

Stop and smell the creosote

Man, am I bored.
Man, am I sick.
Man, am I tired of laying around all day.
Man, am I taking a lot of medications.

I crave salt, and ice cream, and a freshly made bed, and unclogged sinuseseseseseses, and the cool side of the pillow, and some raspberry jello with cool whip on top, and an end to the madness, and peace on earth, and a radio station that plays what I want to hear when I want to hear it, and fewer Ben Stiller movies, make that no Ben Stiller movies ...

And I've just lost the will to post, and wasn't Will Post the Attorney General under Calvin Coolidge?

Bring it on!!!

I'm ready.

Sick

Ok, I'm really dead on sick as a dog.
I'm sweating and I've got the chills and my head is stuffed up and my throat is raw, and a bunch of other stuff.
I just thought I'd tell you in case you were wondering.
I just finished watching House of 1000 Corpses and then I took some Tylenol Sinus, and now I'm watching Wrong Turn and I'm about to take some Nyquil.
Nothing goes with being sick as a dog as really bad slasher movies in the wee hours of the morning
I'll see you when I see you.
My fate is in your hands.
My ass in a sling.
Remember the good times, and always wear a condom.
Oh no, some teenagers are about to fuck, they'll be dead in five minutes.

When 40 turns to 60

I've been sleeping way too long and way too late lately.
So, I had a plan today.
I was going to get up fairly early, and I am too embarrassed to tell you what fairly early is for me so let's just leave it at fairly early.
Anyway, I got up fairly early with plans to drive down state, you know, a road trip, no plans really, enjoy the drive, hit a few stores, grab a bite to eat, but when I caught the weather report it said a sixty per cent chance of afternoon thunder storms, the further (farther) south you go the greater the chance.
So, I cancelled my plan and thought I'd just lay down for a few minutes and then run to the post office and the drug store when I got up.
An hour and a half later I woke up deeply ashamed and spiraling towards depression because of my lack of willpower.
But ... a voice inside me said
Boz, you can do it, get up, get ready, get out, and do things!
And I listened to that voice.
And I got up, and ready, and out, and I did things!
I went to the post office and mailed a package.
I went to Rite Aid and took advantage of their Anniversay Sale.
I bought 4 bottles of 2 liter pepsi for less than three bucks w/coupon.
I bought two tubes of Colgate 6.4 ounce Minty Cool, Minty Fresh, Minty Whitening w/Baking Soda and .... AND Peroxide for $2.99.
I bought a 128 bottle of, I dunno, some brand of laundry detergent for $1.88.
And ...
I bought two Hershey King Size candy bars for a dollar.
And then I came home.
My needs sated.
My urges quelled.
My ass sore.
So here I am, a half eaten Hershey bar on my desk and a sense of accomplishment welling up from deep inside me.

As always the voice from inside me was played by Frank Sinatra.

On turning three

Three years, a rebirth, a fork in the road, or just another point in time?
Three years of TGE and me, every day pounding something out.
Every day for three years pounding something out.
If a thousand monkeys typed on a thousand typewriters for a thousand years would they be satisfied if this was all they came up with?
If one Boz typed for three years at four differenet urls and this is was all he came up with would he be satisfied.
I suppose so, because this is what I've come up with.

Parallel Universes

Henry Miller and the Legion of Super Heroes.
Lord of the Flies and Archie Andrews.
Metropolis and Metropolis.

I've never been one of those guys who needed to remember and understand every word that I've ever read. I've always figured if I needed to remember it, if I needed to understand it, I would.
Because really, how much writing is just the writer verbally jacking off trying to fill up the page with wordy semen.
Seriously, I can't really be serious.

But anyway, I've started reading Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller, not to be confused with Arthur Miller, or Frank Miller, or Mitch Miller, but I can see the resemblance ...
Henry uses a lot of words. He like attacks you with words. He like rapes you with words. He like just keeps writing until you like catch his rhythm or like fall asleep as the book like hits the floor.
He also likes cunt, the word itself, and the pursuit thereof, and biting into clitorises and spitting out two franc pieces ...

Age, sex, location

So, I went to an adult chat room last night and ran into this woman named Janey who was into meat sex and lived in Switzerland.
It was really quite odd.
It seemed like I had known her for years.

If I sletp

I don't know what I am doing up at this hour of the mornuing,
It's kate, it's ealy, it's past the bewithcing hour but too early fopr breakfast,.
breakfast in the morning is nothing short of gl;oryu
But I made a pledtge, on the ledg ior my humanity thgat I would try this new fangekld thing , not drugs but you know the autotomatic writing tyope fio thiong where yuoui just start tyouing and follows where if leadss you to, too, 2 ...
So if I werer to ckloe my eyes and tyoe wuithg fioyr fubters abd ib e ibe gabd abd ibe fubger ib tge itger gbad wiykd tgat effect my sisnednsbiliteis>?

And for ten bonus piounts can, or will I be able to decipher this when the sumn breaks over the morning hahthahahahacga.
KLt qwas a noble expderiment that petered oujt somehwere between noble and experimentgood night.

You call that a haddock?

It's Friday morning, and this is not a post.



Do catholics still eat fish on Friday?
Has Stephen King written anything since his bicycle accident?
What will be the first thing I buy if I win the 250 million dollar lotto tonight?
Is Oregon jealous of Washington?
Will Chelsea Clinton be the first president who's (whose?) parents were both president?
Should I go back to bed?

Yeah.

Visionary

Melissa and I have started a weekly photo challenge blog.
Take a look, and if you're interested in joining let one of us know.

A duck walks into a bar

It's three thirty in the morning.
No time to sleep.
Too much time to think.
It's kind of neat watching my fingers type out words that a second ago weren't even in my brain.
There's a movie on right now about the early years of Che Guevara, the man who launched a thousand t-shirts and a couple of revolutions, but it has subtitles which I like, but not at three thirty in the morning, and isn't it funny how the idealists like Che and Trotsky, and I'm just pulling it out of my ass when I say that Trotsky was an idealist but stay with me because it helps to make my point ...
Isn't it funny how the idealists like Che and Trotsky die violent early deaths while Stalin and Castro seem to live forever, and yeah, I know Stalin is dead, but if you lived in the USSR at the time trust me it seemed like he lived forever.

I guess that's it, but damn, I'm really getting into watching my fingers type out words click, click, click, and maybe one of these days I should try automatic writing or maybe automatic thinking, or automatic pancakes, or this.

They named the high school after me

It's late.
I'm tired.
I don't want to go to bed.
I'm afraid I might miss something.
I'm afraid I might miss everything.
I'm afraid I might miss america.
Maybe I'm just afraid.

I watched the movie Blackboard Jungle starring Glenn Ford tonight.
Glenn Ford was a great actor. He always seemed to play a basically good man trying to fight off his inner demons.
Sort of like ... ME!!!!!
Just kidding, seriously.
I remember as a kid that my sister D used to say that junior high school was just like the movie Blackboard Jungle ... and I believed her.
I mean I was afraid to walk by the junior high school because I thought Vic Morrow was going to jump out and stick a shiv between my ribs.
What kind of horrible sister would tell her impressionable, and adorable, little brother such terrible lies?

The Horrible and the Adorable, circa 1957.

It looks like rain

I just had a great idea for a short story or a Lifetime Movie of the Week.

It's the middle of the day in a crowded department store. A guy walks into the restroom and when he comes out the store is deserted.

Speaking of bad television ...
How many of you remember the very very very bad American rip-off of John Cleese's Fawlty Towers starring John Larroquette, you know John Larroquette, the obnoxious lawyer from Night Court.