When there are enough cable channels everyone will be a celebrity

Ok, this going to sound vain and goofy, but coming from me it will sound half way believable.
I feel like a celebrity, yeah, I seriously, honestly, totally do.
I really can't talk too much about it now because I am expecting Ving Rhames, Shelly Hack, and what's his name, oh yeah, Mr Drummond, Conrad Bain, any minute and we are going to drink domestic champagne, eat Fig Newtons, and play Trivial Pursuit, The Cold War Years.
Um, yeah, gosh, the whole celebrity thing, me?
Hahahahaha.
Play along with me on this, ok.

I'm really quite tired at 7 in the morning, so I'm really quite going to bed.
Don't forget to catch my ...
Fuck it.
Sleep.
Baby.

Two Faces Have I - Lou Christie
The Lion Sleeps Tonight - The Tokens
Abagail Beecher Our History Teacher - Freddie "Boom Boom" Cannon
Hey Paula - Paul and Paula, and Paula, and Paula, and Paula, and Paula

Alex Trebek must die so the world can live.

My Little Mommie

M, my oldest sister is about nine years older than I am, and when we were kids a lot of the time I was M's responsibilty.

Because of this I called M my Little Mommie, a term I'm sure she loved.
Let's make no mistakes about it, I was a brat, I was the youngest child, the only boy, I was indulged, and I got away with murder.

A Funny thing happened to Little Mommie when she was 13, she grew boobs, big ones.
Little Mommie had the upstairs bedroom, and I don't know, I must have had some sort of kid's radar because I could sense whenever Little Mommie was upstairs undressing, and I would take off up the stairs, shrieking with glee, jump into her lap, take a boob in each hand and squeeze them as hard as I could while yelling
"HONK, HONK, HONK"
and convulsing in laughter.
Little Mommie would scream and try to push me off while yelling for Mommmmm, but the more she screamed, the more I twisted, and the louder I yelled
"HONK, HONK, HONK"
My mom would eventually get upstairs and pull me off, but not before I got in one more
"HONK, HONK, HONK".

I don't remember how long this went on, probably not long, I remember getting sat down and having it explained to me that this wasn't a nice thing to do, and not quite understanding why Little Mommie didn't enjoy it as much as I did.

And to this very day when I see a flock of geese flying overhead ...

Never talk to strangers or look at another guy's cock

Guys don't look at other guys cocks.
That's just how it is.

I lived in Air Force dormitories and used communal showers for over three years, and I know these things.
Oh, yeah, you could glance over there when you turned to wash your back, but you'd better be damned sure you had a bored, half asleep, look on your face when you did it.

Hey, what are you looking at?

Oh, I'm sorry, I was just admiring your cock, it's a fine specimen.

Why thank you, I couldn't help but notice yours too, you must really please the ladies.

Well, I've had no complaints. Say, you don't mind if I touch it ...

What???

In a manly sort of way, of course.

Ohhhhh, of course not then, go ahead, please do.

It's very firm, very thick, I can feel it coming to life in my hand, I can sense it's power, and your balls, well, all I can say is, you must win all the tea bagging contests ... HEY!!!

Ohhhhh man, I'm sorry, I'm a sucker for flattery, I got caught up in the moment, what can I say.

Hey, no problem, this is a shower, a little soap and a little water and it's all down the drain.

Hahahaha.

Hahahaha.

The above was a dramatization, nothing like that ever happened to me ... ever ... ever ... ever.
Seriously.

If your Uncle Jack was stuck on the top of a building ...

It's been a crazy day today, and I blame blogger.
I mean really.
Shit, I just deleted the lamest sentence comparing ideas to butterflies, so you might as well take me out and neuter me right the fuck now!
Oh man, I'll be plagarizing Rod McKuen next.

Rod McKuen by Henry Gibson
How ya doing
Rod McKuen.

Shit, I want to write about jacking-off but I just don't have the guts.
It would make pretty good reading though, I think.
It wouldn't be pretty, a guy jacking off isn't a pretty thing.
It is lust, and frustration, and anger, and need, and every time I do it, it feels so good that I promise that I will never do it again, because it isn't supposed to feel that good, nothing is supposed to feel that good, but it does feel that good, again and again and again.

And again.
Thank you.

Blogger is sucking big time today

so I am just going to throw this up and see if it sticks.

Sometimes sarcasm comes back to bite you on the ass.

Yesterday's phone call from my sister.

Me: Hello.
Her: Hi, how you doing?
Me: Eh, I hurt today.
Her: That reminds me. Let me know when you find out for sure about surgery and we'll plan our vacation around it so we can be up there to take you down to the hospital in Saginaw and look after Mom.
Me: Whoa ... yeah, ok, fine ... thanks! Ah, you wanna talk to Ma?
Her: Yeah, let me talk to her.

You are what you have for lunch

Oh man, I can't believe it. I have four choices of what I can have for lunch tomorrow.

1. I've got bologna, which by the way doesn't have a first name.
2. I've got left over grilled hot dogs from Friday that would taste just great with tons of mustard to hide the hot dog taste.
3. Then there's the baked ham, mmmmmmm ham, from dinner some time last week, that was frozen and then defrosted, and yeah, I had that today, and yeah, it was pretty bosa nova.
4. And then, and then, and then, there's the roast beef leftover from today's dinner, which would go really good with some sort of off beat mustard that I know I have stashed somewhere in the back of the fridge.

Harmonicas are haunting my soul

This could be my favortie pic of me ... ever



Or at least of the last two days

Truth is stranger than ... what the fuck

Oh man, I've got it tonight, this morninig, whenever.
I tried watching that Felinininini film again, you know The Dreamers, wait, that's not Felininininini, that's Bertolucicicicici, ANYWAY, IT LOOKS LIKE I JUST HIT THE CAP LOCKS BY MISTAKE ...
But the film, The Dreamers, yeah, 1968, Paris, all sorts of weird things going on in 1968, and not just in Paris.
Ahhhhhhhh, you know like sex, and did I just say sex???
I love writing crap at two in the morning, it makes me feel so ... Parisian, no, no, no, no, I mean so Post War on the North Shore, yeah, that's it, I think.
Jesus Christ, and I can say Jesus Christ because it is easter, small e ...
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, my right arm hurts almost enough to bring tears to my eyes, and everytime I turn my head it sounds like a shotgun blast in my brain in spain, but mainly kurt cobain.
So, I guess the question of the day, or the night, or the night of the day of the locust would be, shaved or natural, and I think I'm voting natural at least for the time being.
Oh yeah, the chick from The Dreamers, with the tremendously pendolously breasts
Eva Green, I think, or something like that.



The orgasms of my youth are a thing of the past.
Your serve.

Easter My Keister

The last thirty or so telephone conversations I've had with my sister, until last week.

Me: Hello
Her: Hi, how are you?
Me: Not bad, I've been having a lot of trouble with my back.
Her: Oh, Richard (her husband) has been having troubles with his back, blah, blah,
blah, Richard this, Richard that, blah, blah, blah ...
Me: Ahhhhh
Her: Blah, blah, blah, Richard, Richard, Richard, blah, blah, blah ...
Me: Ummmm
Her: Blah, blah, blah, and then Richard said this and then Richard said that, blah, blah, blah ...
Me: Sooooo, wanna talk to Ma?
Her: Blah, blah, blah .... Ma, yeah, ok.

Last week's conversation

Me: Hello
Her: Hi, how are you?
Me: Eh, not too good, I may need surgery on my back.
Her: You've got a bad back? When did that happen???
Me: Ahhhh, you wanna talk to Ma?

Taking it on the road

In ten minutes on Turner Classic Movies



Be there, or be square.

Liberals and peninsulas don't mix

Things that I know for a fact.

1. I am losing weight, yeah for me.
2. The snow that is still on the ground will be gone by my birthday.
3. My birthday is in June
4. I could have been a contender.
5. My bald spot resembles a map of Tierra Del Fuego.
6. My mother voted for Adlai Stevenson in 1956, I know this because I was in the voting booth with her.
7. Monday will be the 36th anniversary of me going into the air force, it will also be the 36th anniversary of the death of Dwight Eisenhower and my grandfather, talk about your trifecta.
8. Dogs can't talk.
9. Leon Redbone, remember him, did not have a sex change operation in 2001.
10. If you pick a hamster up by it's hind legs it's eyes will fall out.

I think we won

Is this okay?

Sitting and Waiting at 2:30 in the afternoon

I'm just sitting and waiting, and probably contemplating what to do next.

It's a fairly nice day, and I want to get out, maybe take MB out to eat, compliments of my brother in law who sent MB a take yourself out for dinner easter check, which was actually pretty nice of him, and even though we were never really close, I think it's very noble of him keeping in contact after my sister passed away.

Speaking of relatives. I mentioned my 15 year old grand niece and her blog a week or so ago. Ok, let me set up the scenario. Her blog is hosted by a site that caters to teenagers, and the site also hosts tons of webrings aimed at teens, you know the typical angsty teen things. Anyway, my g.niece is a member of one webring called Watching the Blood Run Down My Arm which to me signifies cutting, ok yeah, big deal, it could be just a morbid curiosity. Flash forward to late last week when she makes a post that includes the passage:
Has anyone wondered why I haven't worn a sleeveless top all this year, even on the hottest days?
Should I be worried?
Should I say anything.
Should I just stay out of it because this is more or less her personal online diary meant for her and a handful of her friends?

I guess I am being sort of rhetorical, because I already know that I am going to worry about it, but just a little, and of course I will not say anything about it.
I used to hear about this stuff back when I was teaching high school, but never knew of an actual case.
But yeah, what do you think?

Edit - Her parents don't know about her blog, and she doesn't know that I know about her blog.

Dentists and Depends

Ok, so I'm home.
I've been running around most of the day, well except for the nap I took after my dental check-up ... Look Ma, no cavities.
You should see all the free stuff they gave me, a toothbrush, some dental floss, a plastic bag, and I took one of the little free samples of Crest Pro-Health Rinse off the receptionists counter, and when she said the bill was 92 bucks, I swept the rest of the bottles of Crest Pro-Health Rinse into my plastic bag.
Ninety two bucks!!!
I blame the free dental care given to relatives for the high dental costs passed on to me, the consumer. Well the free dental care given to relatives that aren't named dvl or who aren't dvl's immediate family members ...
And if dvl and her immediate family members aren't getting free dental care, they should. I got your back on this one dvl, don't worry.

Then after the nap I hit the road again, I didn't want to hit the road, but MB has this problem that many older americans have, and she needed me to run out and buy some Depends, but let's keep that amongst ourselves, not that it matters to her, because she proudly pushes her Depends laden shopping cart around the store whenever she is out ...
Anyway I think I got off on a bit of a tangent, and enough with the Depends.

Oh yeah, I also bought a ham while I was out, and some bread and stuff, and bungee cords, you can never half enough bungee cords, or Depends either, you can never have enough bungee cords or Depends, and how come every time I type bungeee I want to add a third eeeeee at the end.
My head is spinning, so I guess I'm done, what do you think?

Tom Waits for no one

Tom Waits for no one.
Tom Waits for no one.
Tom Waits for no one.
Tom Waits for no one.
Tom Waits for no one.
Tom Waits for no one.
Maybe if I typed it a thousand more times it would make sense.

Never assume

Full size view.

Does Jerry Mathers Ever Get The Blues?

Things I don't know the answers to

1. Does Jerry Mathers ever get the blues?
2. If you die in a dream do you die in real life?
3. Why are Australia and Austria are allowed to have almost the same name?
4. Why do fools fall in love?
5. How come they stopped at 26 letters?
6. Why boz?
7. Why didn't any of the women I dreamt about last night trust me?
8. Why boz, why?
9. Why did I accidentally erase this awesome post that I wrote about the highs and lows of friendship last night?
10. If Mao Tse Tung and Ho Chi Minh had a foot race at the annual Dead Asian Communist Leader's barbecue and pot luck dinner, who would win?

Diet Coke and Sweet Tarts at one in the morning

It's pretty bad when this early on you already know that the title is going to be better than the post, but that's how it works out sometimes.

A friend of mine had a sex dream about me the other night, does that mean I have arrived?

I watched a movie on the Western Channel tonight. I do that every once in awhile when I get nostalgic. It takes me back to the days when we had one tv set and my dad ruled the airwaves, and he loved Westerns, all of them, every damn one of them.

Oh yeah, about the friend and the sex dream, I'm still waiting for her to get back to me on how it went.

Seriously, I blame all this introspective crap I've been writing about the last couple of weeks on my impending, but yet to be confirmed, spinal surgery.
I don't know, something about coming face to face with your own mortality.

Oh yeah, about the sex dream, again. I've never had a sex dream about any one of you, but yeah, I've dreamt about just about all of you at one time or another.

Maybe I should write my next Boz Family piece on my grandmother and the exact moment I quit liking her. If I do, I bet you'll take her side.

Ah, maybe there is something on television.

Later.

Happy Birthday

I'd like to wish a very happy 29th birthday to actress and mom Reese Witherspoon, and it must be very difficult to be both.



Pisser, do you brush then floss, or vice versa?
Kat, let's hold her down and stuff some Peeps down her throat.

Morning comes eventually

The buzz in my head drowning out everything.
I should just go to bed.
There is nothing.

There really is a simple beauty in nothing, it stretches to infinity.
I could just sit here, all night, eyes closed, and ride the wild ride of infinite nothingness.


No images, just electro shocks of color on a grey background.
Randomly repeating
Peaceful

I smile to myself
And drift off
As punctuation fades away
Leaving nothing but the buzz

Sisters and things

My sisters never really liked each other.
I was going to sugar coat that first sentence and say they never really got along with each other, but no, they never really liked each other.
I guess a lot of it had to do with the fact that they were complete opposites who had to share a bedroom.
M, my oldest sister, was a hard working over achiever, and being the oldest had a lot of extra responsibilities around the house, and with those responsibilities came extra perks.
D, my other sister, a middle child, was an antagonist. She went out of her way to stir things up. My mother was constantly on her case, and D relished it. I guess she figured as the middle child that was the only way she could get attention.
Whenever there was any trouble between my two sisters my parents always took M's side, it didn't matter what the problem was, M was the responsible one, so it had to be D's fault, and to be honest it usually was.
There fights were always minor.
But there was one fight, and yeah, it was D's fault, she went into M's closet and wore some of M's clothes without permission, and M was a neat freak, always hanging everything up, an D was a slob, everything was just thrown on the ground.
Yeah, there was that one fight, M just snapped, and beat the ever loving shit out of D.
I don't really remember the fight. I just know that there was a fight.
It took place in my their upstairs bedroom.
I don't know if my parents were home.
I don't know if my parents broke up the fight.
I don't know what the punishments were, or who was punished.
I just know it was the fight.

Even after my sister's grew up and had families, they were never really close. M married and moved out of state, D married and stayed local, and I guess that had something to do with it.
Plus, they were complete opposites.
And yeah, there was the fight.

About four years ago D drove up for a couple of days to visit our mother after our dad had passed away, and D came over to my house for a couple hours and we were just hanging around and talking about family and stuff, and then she mentioned it, the fight.
She told me she couldn't understand why M beat her up like that, they were sisters, and it was only clothes.

Any problems my parents had with D were quickly forgotten. D grew up, got married, had a couple of kids, and turned out to be a pretty typical suburban mom.

Any problems I had with D were just minor ones, and the older we got the closer we got.

D passed away a couple years ago, and I'll never forget her funeral.
There were tons of people. I guess I never really appreciated how well liked she was.

And there stood M looking completely out of place.

Who says brothers and sisters have to be friends?

Yeah, the fight.

Shoveling snow on the first day of spring

Since my back has really started giving me trouble, I mean real trouble, a couple of weeks ago, I have been pampering myself.
I have been extremely cautious concerning anything physical.
To tell the truth I have done nothing because, you know, I am afraid I will screw up my back even more.
It has become a very depressing situation.

It snowed last night, not much, maybe an inch, an inch of wet snow, and maybe a couple inches more at the foot of the driveway where the plows have gone by.
I don't like to shovel snow ... who does?
But do you know how emasculating it feels when you CAN'T shovel snow?

You've seen the old couples out in their cars, the wife is driving, and the man is sitting in the passenger seat looking all small, and miserable, and impotent.
That's what it feels like when you CAN'T go out and shovel your own goddamn driveway.

So fuck it.
It was only an inch or so today.
Yeah, I went out and I SHOVELED, goddamnit, and it felt good, real good.
The shovel, my shovel, was like some kind of penile extension, and the driveway was my woman, oh yeah, bend over baby, and let papa do what papa was meant to do.
And baby, I shoveled her.

Ok, I'm finished, I'm done, I'm still alive, I've shot my wad, so to speak, and instead of a cigarette I took a couple of extra strength tylenol.
What's on television?

A dream

I had a dream last night.
I dreamt I was the bottom in a D/s bondage scene.
I thought it would be interesting to see how the other half lived, and it might help my back.
It was very boring ... boring ... boring.
I thought it might have potential, but I anticipated every move, and about a quarter of the way through it was all I could do to keep from falling asleep, which would have been cool because, you know, I was already asleep.
Anyway, it was just a dream.
Remember, it was just a dream.
A dream.

In dreams

Tonight I feel like I am the only living person on earth.
Not depressed.
Not abandoned.
Not lonely.
Just the only living person on earth.
It's really rather peaceful.
You will be here in the morning though, won't you?
Good.

Shaken, not stirred

Happy Birthday Ursula Andress, the original Bond Girl, Honey Ryder from Dr. No.



I saw Dr. No and From Russia With Love with my parents on a double bill at the Eastwood Theatre in East Detroit back in 1964. I don't really remember much of either of them, but I do remember that Ursula Andress showed about as much skin as you could in a mainstream film way back then.
I really liked both flicks, and I also liked Goldfinger, I guess because of their newness, but after that eh ...
It got old, real old, and if you really want to make me uncomfortable, tie me down and make me watch a Bond film with Roger Moore as Bond.

As always, waiting for the snow to fall,
Me

Things to do today or what is left of today, ok, big deal, it's three thirty and all I've managed to do so far is wash and get dressed

1. Go eat.
2. Try to stay out at least two hours so I don't feel like a total recluse.
3. Buy Diet Coke.
4. Curse the price of gas, it was $2.26 a gallon yesterday.
5. Burn a Sam Cooke CD
6. Fold some clothes, but you know that great part of having unfolded clothes is that if you let them go unfolded long enough you won't have as much to fold, of course that is if you follow the Boz method of getting dressed which is unfolded before folded.
7. Try to stay awake.
8. Be a better American.
9. Be a bitter American.
10. Be a badass American.

Mr. Present meet Mr. Past, and hold the participles

The movie Last Tango in Paris is on in another hour or so.
I'd really like to see it again, but I know I would start fading in and out of reality before the movie was twenty minutes old.



Anyway, yeah, the chick, yeah that chick, the one right up there, she's Maria Schneider, yeah, Maria Schneider from the movie, yeah, the movie Last Tango in Paris, yeah, that's her zits and all, and god isn't she cute, and adorable, and young, with her Dylan t-shirt, and French cigarette.
Shit, that is so depressing.
I think I'll go do the Oedipus thing on my eyes because I've just realized that I'll never be twenty again, and neither will Maria, or the rest of our 70's gang, and that is a tragedy.

Friday 's child is full of crap

Ok, I think I've had enough introspection for awhile, the three fingers up the snatch pretty much signified that my soul searching phase was over.

Man, I am so bored. I wish someone would come online and chat with me.
I mean, hey, I'm a pretty glib guy, eh, whatever.
Maybe I'll just invent a phantom 3rd mystery friend, who sends me naked sex filled videos of herself, and then everyone would be jealous, and jealousy is good when it is you being jealous of me.

Whoa, a minute ago it felt like an electro shock going through my head.
Damn, there it goes again.
Ok, everything is cool now, but that was a little bit freaky.
Ok, not freaky like dreaming you're Ward Cleaver and the CIA has hired you to do a hit on Fidel Castro, but freaky nonetheless.

Anyway, Wally's out with Eddie, and the Beaver is spending the night at the Mondello's, and as soon as I find that pack of Trojans I bought this afternoon June's gonna lay a little reverse cowgirl on me, soooooo ...
I am outta here.

It's art, for pete's sake

The difference between porn and erotic art.
1. Porn is a close up color picture of a woman with three fingers stuffed up her snatch.
2. Erotic art is a black and white photograph of a woman's face whose expression suggests that she has three fingers stuffed up her snatch.

Black and white and the mysteries that haunt us all

Black and white really is cool.



Oh man, I have such a story that I'm dying to tell you about another mystery friend, who really isn't a mystery, and a certain mystery photograph, a certain mystery black and white photograph, a certain mystery black and white photograph that is so fucking hot, a certain mystery black and white photograph that is so fucking hot that happens to be of the certain mystery friend, but I am afraid that if I told the story I would mysteriously disappear.
Well, it's not so much a story, more like an anecdote, anyway, I am confused and I'm going to go watch the movie The Garden of the Finzi-Continis, and I think it might be a mystery ... nah.
Later

Cutting the family tree down to size

Not long after I was discharged from the air force in 1972 my father talked me into going to the hospital with him to see his older brother, my uncle, who had just been diagnosed with leukemia.
My dad had 13 brothers and sisters, eight full brothers and sisters, and five half brothers and sisters.
My Uncle Ernest, the uncle in the hospital, was the oldest of the second family, he was married and he and my aunt had one daughter but she had died a long time ago when she was just a child. My other uncle was Lawrence, he was the black sheep of the family, I don't know if he was ever legally married, and he might have had a few kids scattered around the country, but none of them would have had our name. Then there was my dad, married, three kids, two daughters, one son, that one son being me.
So there we were sitting in that hospital room in Royal Oak Michigan in the summer of 1972. None of us were talkers. I think we all probably thought of ourselves as the strong silent type, well, yeah, maybe, at least the silent part was right.
Anyway, there was conversation, in a manner of speaking, questions were asked, answers were given ... in as few words as possible.

How you feeling?
Not too bad.

How's work?
Slow.

How does it feel to be out of the air force?
Great.

We all asked our questions, and we all gave our answers, and after about 15 minutes there was silence broken only by the sound of the fluorescent lights overhead.

We sat there, looked at each other, smiled, and cleared our throats.
Oh, and about an hour, a half hour, 15 minutes later my dad and I decided to leave.
We said our goodbyes, cracked a few jokes, smiled at each other a lot, and then we left.
That was the last time I saw my Uncle Ernest, he died a month or so later.

So there you have it, my family tree. My uncle passed away some thirty years ago. My father passed away about five years. Finally, here I sit in front of my computer staring into the white glare of the monitor, the last of the line.
Spooky.

Explaining Blogging 101

This is the 4th incarnation of The Grand Ennui, oui.
I don't know what it is I'm doing, I'm not a writer, but I'm something.
There's a lot of us something's out here, out there, somewhere.
We write, write in the generic sense, and write and write and write.
We hope someone reads this, oh yeah, we want the attention, but ya know define attention.
There has to be more than the attention, doesn't there.
I think for me it's just turning on the computer, clicking a few clicks, and there it is ...
THE GRAND ENNUI
In living black and white, or grey, or whatever color scheme I'm scheming with.
And baby, let me tell you, that's a rush.
Oh yeah, The Grand Ennui, my god, what a title.
And yeah, I think that pretty much describes what I do.
I write about boredom out of boredom, and if that isn't the ultimate boredom, then mister you're a better man than I.

Ok, whatever adrenalin rush I was on has faded into oblivion, and so have I, so I'm going back to bed, and shouldn't I at least get some kind of special commendation for even attempting to write at six thirty in the morning?

And now for something completely the same

I used to date a girl named Sue May, ok we didn't really date, we were in 8th grade, and we just sort of hung out together at lunch and after school and stuff. Why I remember this is yesterday I was out in the garage looking for something and ran across the Monopoly game I got for Xmas in 1963, and saw that I had scrawled her name all over the box in red ink.
Sue May.
Susie May.
Susan May.
I mean just how 13 year old is that?

Did they have friendship rings when you were growing up?
Friendship rings were sterling silver rings you could buy from the drugstore for a dollar, a dollar four plus tax, and if you were going steady with a girl you were expected to buy her a friendship ring.
Considering that the average length of a going steady was about a week and a half, that could run into some serious cash, if you were some kind of juvenile Don Juan, which I wasn't, but still, it could run into some serious coin.
Anyway, I never bought Sue May a friendship ring, I don't know why, we must have went together a good month at least. What we did do was sit all moony eyed at lunch and draw friendship rings on each others friendship ring finger in blue ink.
Damn she was cute.
Sue May.
Susie May.
Susan May.

It's a pity kids aren't allowed to be thirteen years old anymore.

And god created skinny women too

The kind of woman Pisser flosses with.



And can you blame her?

Real Women Have Personality

Ok, to be perfectly honest with you ... I LOVE WOMEN!
No, not the bony assed ones I post pictures of. They're just window dressing, candy floss for the eyes.
I love woman, all kinds of women.
I love smart woman.
I love not so smart woman.
I love woman who make me laugh.
I love woman who let me make them laugh.
I love women in their twenties.
I love women in their thirties.
I love women in their forties, fifties, sixties, seventies, eighties, ...
I love opinionated women.
I love women who nod in agreement and smile.
I love single women.
I love married women.
I love fertile women.
I love barren women.
I love menstruating women.
I love pmsing women, ok, they try my patience a little bit, but I still love them.
I love ovulating women.
I love straight women.
I love lesbian women.
I love bi women.
I love bi curious women.
I love buy me a beer and a burger and I'll give you a blow job women.
I love every women who has ever read or will ever read the grand ennui no matter what shape or form the grand ennui happens to be in at the time.
I love women who mother me.
I love women who sister me.
I love women who daughter me.
I love women who beg me.
I love women who make me beg.
I love women who make my bed.
I love women who rips the sheets off in fits of fury
Arghhhhhhhhh ...

I
Love
Women.

Hey, I don't know what it is.

My dad worked afternoons when I was growing up and I only saw him on the weekends, but I had a mother and two older sisters that I saw 24/7, so you put two and two together and it comes out that, I LOVE WOMEN
And women are pretty damn good when it comes to having sex with, even if it's been awhile since I've had sex with one, but that's ok 'cause we'll always have Paris, and I should probably stop writing just about now, before I start telling you the really weird stuff that I like about women, oh yeah, I should stop right about now.

Hey baby, flash me a little bit of personality, I won't tell anyone.

And that's probably why I never got married, because ...
I LOVE ALL WOMEN.
Or maybe it's just my fear of commitment.

Ya dig.

About the other night

I got a lot of positive feedback on the post I wrote about my father, and I want to thank everyone for reading and commenting on it.
It was suggested that I write more posts like that, but let me tell you, it isn't that easy.
I've been wanting to write that post since I started blogging two and a half years ago, but it just never came out right, it was never the right time.
But the other night was.
It was three am, and I was half asleep, and my defense mechanisms were down, and it was time, and the words just flowed.
The only changes I made were typos and spelling errors. I let everything else stand as written.
Yeah, I liked it, it was a good post.
But geez, it was a tough one to write.

Wow

Singer Beth Orton is really skinny.



At least I think that singer Beth Orton is a singer, I mean singer Beth Orton might actually be actress Beth Orton or model Beth Orton, and for all I know singer Beth Orton may not actually be skinny.
Yeah, I don't have the slightest idea who Beth Orton is.

They came back different, if they came back at all

My father was wounded in April of 1945 just a few weeks before the war in Europe ended. He hid in an abandoned farmhouse for two days until he was found by American troops. While he was being evacuated his ambulance was strafed by enemy aircraft fire, while the ambulance was being strafed the driver and the medic jumped out of the ambulance and sought cover in a ditch, leaving my father alone in the ambulance while the enemy aircraft made a few more strafing passes.
My father spent some time in an army hospital in Europe before he was evacuated first by ship and then by train to an army hospital in Iowa.
My father recovered fairly quickly from his wounds, shrapnel wounds, and was released from the hospital and then medically discharged from the army.
This next part is the hard part to write.
My father was discharged from the hospital too soon. He was suffering from what was then called battle fatigue and what they now call post traumatic stress syndrome.
This all happened before I was born, so I can only tell you what happened by second hand accounts from my mother and other relatives, none of this was told to me by my father, he never talked about this, ever.
My father would wake up in the middle of the night and just get up and leave and he would wander the streets of Detroit in a daze until he was found, or until he made his way back home on his own.
The family doctor told my mother that my father should be admitted to an army psychiatric hospital for treatment, but my mother knew, and I think rightly so, that the shame this would have caused my father, and this was 1945 and there would have been shame, would have caused my father more harm than good.
My mother said that she never saw my father drunk before the war, this too changed. My father wasn't a good drunk, he couldn't hold his booze. After a couple of beers he was out of control. My father was a mean drunk, not physically but verbally. You couldn't talk to my father when he had been drinking. He would disagree with anything you said. If you said black, he'd say white. If you said up, he'd say down. That is just how he was.
As the years passed my father got better. The battle fatigue was a temporary thing, his drinking was a different matter. That was a lot harder demon for him to handle, but he did handle it. My father wasn't an alcoholic or a drunk, he was just a guy who had a few too many beers maybe ten times a year, and at these times he wasn't a very pleasant guy to be around. I remember when I was growing up if my father came home drunk you just never confronted him, you just went to your bedroom, or went out, and he would go to bed and sleep it off.
My father never learned to handle his booze, but as he got older his drinking became less and less of a problem, and I doubt if he had a drink the last twenty years of his life.
My father was a good man. He had a wife and three kids, and he worked hard all his life to provide for us.
My father was a good man who went to war, like so many of his generation, and when he came back he came back different. The horrors of war changed him, it changed all of them.
I think my father came back a flawed man, but a strong man, and I guess that's just what happens to men in war.
My father was a good man, a strong man, a hard working man, a loving man, and a humble man, and any good man-like traits that I have are directly attributable to him.

Welcome to the gene pool

My 15 year old grand niece has a blog that she doesn't know that I know about.
This is the post she made on Friday.

Today, I went to school late.
And checked out early.
Yeah, I didnt feel too great today.
And ever since I got home at about 1ish, Ive been sleeping but I just woke up from like a nightmare that I've already had, but it was continuing it. It was horrible.
But yeah, thats been my day.

Holy shit, she's stolen my brain, and has made it all girlish and 15ish.
I am so proud of her, I could .... cry.

You know 12:20 am is too early to be writing an early morning post

I was chatting with a friend earlier tonight.
My mystery friend.
Well, a mystery to you, but not to me, or her.
We talked about blogs, and comments, and links, and things.
She told me that I should get rid of my comments and to then I could really get surreal.
I told her, nah, I already am surreal, then quickly looked it up at dictionary dot come, just to make sure.
So anyway, we talked some more, and complimented each other on just how cool we thought the other person was, and for my part I really meant it, and I think she probably meant it too.
Then somehow we started chatting about photography and pictures and stuff, and how back in the old days I used to sneak a pic of #117 in every once in awhile, and she was intrigued.
One thing led to another, and another thing led to to exchanging pics, and it wasn't like either of us were angling to score pics, it was a natural progression and it just happened.
The pics were nude-ish, without being nude, well, sort of not being nude. I mean if you squinted, and the light was just right, yeah we were nude, well, not nude together, but yeah partly, or thereabouts nude.
Her nearly nude looked a lot better than my nearly nude ...
And no, I don't know where this is going but ...
I got a naked pic of a really hot chick, and I'm the only here who has it, so eat your heart out all you naked chick pic lovers, cause I got mine, and oh yeah, she is all that.
So anyway, sighhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Life is good.
Don't you just love a good mystery?

Wordless Wednesday

Will be on Friday this week.

Neil Young withdrawal at 7 in the morning

It's seven in the morning, the birds that mock me are mocking away in the next room.
I am really very tired, and I ache quite a bit.
Ah, but I digress.
Have I told you that:
I've lost about six pounds.
I see the neurosurgeon on the third of May.
I don't know what day Easter is on, well, I know it's on a Sunday, but other than that.
That my stomach is gurgling, and that can't be a good thing, can it?
My mind that is usually bursting with ideas and half baked plans is pretty much blank.
Holy shit, the gurgles in my stomach are starting to sound like Godzilla and Ghidorah are going at it in a fight to the finish in the skys over Tokyo.
Anyway that should bring you up to date on mine, and Claire Danes, so called lives, and can Claire really call a do over for Mod Squad?
Sleep is my next order of business.

Neil Young at 2 in the morning

I went to bed and fell asleep at about a quarter after twelve, so of course I woke up an hour later, and of course I came back online, and of course I was going to write a post about how none of my friends are online to humor me late at night anymore, so of course there was a friend online to humor me, but of course she was drunk and I was half asleep, so of course it was a kind of surreal exchange, but anyway ...
Neil Young is GOD, well at least he is at 2 in the morning, at least to me, and at least to all the drunk girls who have so much love to offer the world.
Harvest Moon, Sugar Mountain, The Needle and the Damage Done ... should I go on, or are you convinced ... the man, and when I say the man, I mean Neil Young ... the man is GOD!
Some get strong, some get strange, sooner or later it all gets real, walk on, walk on, walk on, walk on.
Hey, I couldn't have said it better myself. Way to go Neil, I mean, way to go GOD!!!
I'm sleepy, and I'm not getting strong, I'm just getting strange, so adios amigos, catch you on the flip side, which would be the morning side for all you on the east coast and the midwest, so ....
Goodnight, sleep tight, from me, and GOD, and all the drunk girls who have so much love to offer to the world.

Detective Hunter Douglas ... International Spam Police is on the job again

Kimmy the secretary to the richest man in Russia urgently requests the aid of the man she knows only as ...
Dr Hunter Douglas ... Male Psychiatrist.

Celebrity Bushday #118

Happy 47th Bushday to actress Sharon Stone.



So anyway, so nothing.
Ok, so anyway, I think I like her more now that she has become more lesbian-ish.

I totally freaked for a minute

I was sitting here dowloading ... stuff, when all of a sudden I thought I forgot how to breathe. I mean, really, I thought I forgot how to breathe. I kept saying to myself stay calm it will come to you, steady on, don't panic, you can do it, you can breathe.
Then it came to me, like flaming pizza from space, I hadn't forgotten how to breathe, no, my sinus were just stuffed up ... again.
So, I got out the Tylenol Sinus, generic brand, and proceeded to not be able to pop open the blister pack ... sighhhhhhhh.
Scissors, oh yeah baby, scissors, found them, cut open the blister pack, and took two with water.
Oh yeah, for safe measure I used a little of the prescription nasal spray that has been fermenting in a drawer unused for over a year.
And yeah, I'm good, my sinus are clearing up, well, unstuffing up some.
But I am good to go.
Sooooo, the next time you think you've forgotten how to breathe, stop, stay calm, steady on, don't panic, it will come to you, cause I mean you really have to be stupid to forget how to breathe, yeah, either stupid or dead.
Inhale
Gooooooood
Exhale
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Hands are cool

Even mine, in black and white.



Except they're really shades of grey.

My ten rules of blogging

1. If you write about the mundane you will never run out of material.
2. Screw politics, there is always someone else who can write about it better.
3. Do overs are allowed, and allowed, and allowed ... and allowed.
4. They've got spellcheck for a reason, but it's no big deal.
5. Always tell the truth, or something that is based on the truth no matter how vaguely.
6. You'll never be as good as you want to be.
7. But you might be as bad as you think you are.
8. Write like the world is hanging on your every word.
9. A picture is worth a thousand words, but you never know what the words are going to be.
10. Don't worry about what people think unless you are trying to impress them.


UPDATE
The jig is up for Pjillip as Detective Hunter Douglas ... International Spam Police swoops in for the kill. Round Six

Die, you rat bastard

Unhappy Birthday to my arch-enemy, former Monkees drummer Mickey Dolenz.



Trust me, you don't even want to ask.

UPDATE:
I believe I might have scared Pjillip away when I mistakenly emailed him a letter meant for the Penthouse Forum instead of the email reply meant for him.

The cable went down last night.

I have seen the darkside, and it is not a pretty thing.
A world without internet access.
I have seen the darkside, but that is a world I do not wish to live in.
Oh god of cable, I will never doubt your power again.

On a lighter note:
Pjillip has responded to my last email. See Round Five.
He does not like my friends, but he is willing to give me another chance.

Bored

Detective Hunter Douglas and myself are starting to get bored with Pjillip.
Does anyone have any suggestions on what we should do next?

Dr Hunter Douglas returns as ...

Detective Hunter Douglas ... Undercover Spam Police.
Join Dr Hunter Douglas as he gathers evidence against the Nigerian and non-Nigerian financial scammers, in Dr Hunter Douglas's never ending quest for
Truth ...
Justice ...
and the American Way!!!

Don't get me started on dreams

My last dream included:
1. Dentistry at one in the morning.
2. Holy war.
3. Handicapped men.
4. The movie On Golden Pond.
5. Greek women in fishnet stockings.
6. A small motel on the outskirts of town.
7. The ghost of Lorne Greene.
8. Clowns playing touch football.
9. An all Beatles, all the time, weekend
10. And Jerry Mathers as the Beaver.

All this plus an NC-17 rating.

Help Wanted

Wanted, someone to stop me from doing stupid things.
There isn't any pay, but it isn't a hard job.
I've got digital cable with 28 premium movie channels and 3 meg cable modem which I think is about 100 times faster than regular dial-up.
And all you have to do is, when you see me about to do something stupid, say like jumping in the car, driving a 100 miles, and then walking through about a dozen stores, just slap me in the head or something.
Experience not necessary, nudity a plus.
Leave your resumes and applications in the comment box.
Ummm.
I really hurt tonight, and you could have prevented this!

So Anyway

It's Saturday morning.
I have a headache.
I'm half asleep.
Did I mention I have a headache?
Oh yeah, so anyway, I have a cute little slice of life experience that I
ahhhhhh??????
experienced yesterday.
I walk into the city hall and stop at the cashiers.
The clerk looks up and I flash her my water bill along with my most charming smile.
She notices my water bill and nods and says:
Oh, it's that time of the month again.
Three second pause ...
I mean it's that time of month ... for the water bill!!!
Hey, it's Saturday morning, I'm half asleep, and I have a headache. What did you expect, Tolstoy?

Kiss me deadly

Lita Ford, Lita Ford, Lita Ford, Lita Ford, Lita Ford,



How's that for bare bones blogging?

You Decide

Pisser raised an interesting point.

Johhny Depp and Vanessa Paradis ... lovers, or the same person!!!



1. Johnny Depp becomes his character.
2. Johnny Depp played Ed Wood.
3. Ed Wood directed, starred in, and was Glen or Glenda.
4. Glen or Glenda tagline: He Loved Women So Much, He Dared To Dress Like One!
5. Johnny and Vanessa, or Johnny or Vanessa, you decide.

Women in men's clothing, take one

Vanessa Paradis, star of the movie I fell asleep watching late last night, or early this morning.



French girls have a way about them, but then again so do french fries.

Ten reasons why you should read my blog

1. Hey look at my pic over there, I'm adorable.
2. My scathing political commentary.
3. The odd chance that #117 will make a return.
4. To make my arch-rival, former Monkees drummer Mickey Dolenz, jealous.
5. To make sure I haven't died.
6. I have Zil Zheaton's private phone number.
7. I NEED VALIDATION!!!
8. I have all the latest lottery results.
9. Why not, you can always masturbate later.
10. I've got gum!!!

The Doctor

I just got home from my Doctor appointment and even though I knew the next step in my back treatment would be a visit to the neuro-surgeon, for some reason I am in a really pissed off mood.

There will still be pics

What can I say?

The Case of the Vanishing Links

Yeah, I got rid of the link list. I mean what the fuck, it wasn't a link list anymore it was a "hey look how many people I have linked, I must be really popular" list. So I got rid of the list and added a blogs I read folder to my favorites/bookmarks list. So yeah, I'll still be visiting you, if I ever actually did visit you, and yeah, you can delete me from your links list if you want, but still visit me ... OK, because I still need your validation.
Oh yeah, no more hit counter and no more of that other thing where you can trackback and see where all your visitors came from. I mean ... what the fuck, 80% of my hits were search engine requests for naked girls in men's underpants, and do I really want to know where those people came from?

What the heck

Let's audiopost.

Oh yeah

I'm starting to get into this already.
I feel so ...
so ...
so ...
ummmmm invigorated?
Yeah, that's the word.
Cool, huh!

I dunno

It just seemed like time for a change.
And you know, Ken is a pretty cool name too.

Yeah

No more Boz