The Bastards! They're Doing Away With FREE TV

A The Daily Growler Bulletin: Barack Obama who swore in his campaign that he would not tolerate lobbyists or take money from lobbyists, has just axhandled a good one to the heads of the just plain fed-up-with-things-as-they-are folks who elected him. So what does this dude do? He just announced that William Lynn will be deputy Sec'y of Defense under Bush's own Robert Gates who will be Obama's Sec'y of Defense, too. Keeping Robert Gates made no sense to us here at The Daily Growler--nor does Obama's picking this former Dept. of Defense deputy under, who else, Slick Willie Clinton, this William Lynn, who is currently a vice president at the very crooked, war-profiting Raytheon Corp. These birds have huge contracts with the Dept. of Defense--like they make Tomahawk missiles (great name; I'm sure the Native Americans love the Defense Dept. naming a missile after their tomahawks) for the Navy; plus they supply contractors to Iraq--why, we've recently had a Growler friend who was going to work for Raytheon in the Antarctic! Obama an Uncle Tom! Afraid of his own shadow? To make things worse, Obama has announced he's going to honor John McCain during his inauguration! Holy Jesus Blooddrinkers! Obama, please, man, you're looking so fucking foolish! And you had a chance to rule the fucking world--you had a chance to deny everything Bush set up, including his Sec'y of Defense--and why does John Brenner, a war criminal, so amuse you? And why are you trying to be a mediator like Jesus or Abe Lincoln--you ain't emancipating anybody by following the principles of unification--that's like trying to mix oil and water--why are you leaning over backward (a good term for it, too) at being extremely welcoming to the stupid-ass backwards-thinking Repugnicans to come across the aisle and join you in your changes (bullshit)?--these fools who just released "Barack the Magic Negro" consider you way beneath their hick asses. They think you should be shining their shoes and not president of the US of Racist A. You don't climb into bed with such whores, Barack. If you do, then you're caught on the hidden camera and you're ass is total grass. You've caved in to Old Massuh! Get used to saying, "Yassuh, boss, yassuh," and please oh please don't have an affair with a white woman--oh golly gee! And we thought Michelle Obama would have an influence on this guy but obviously not--she's too enamoured right now with all this Power Elite attention she and her cute saucy daughters are getting--and they are model little girls--and these people are smart but they are also system dumb, too. Sorry to report such depressing news--but that's what we are--reporters of depressing news. Can it get worse?
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The Old Wolf Man Just Figured It Out
Actually I found it out through a progressive blogger's site. This digital tv signal bullshit! I've questioned it from the first time several (government paid-for, by the way) PSAs started appearing on television by saying if we don't buy a new teevee or if we don't buy a special converter box and a high-priced digital-receiving antenna (they are still rabbit ears, just super-spaceage-looking, but still rabbit ears) by February 19th, we will no longer be able to receive any teevee signal, analog, digital, nanoseconded, via pigeon, whatever. No more teevee! Of course, our crooked government said they would give each family in the USA two $40 vouchers to apply to buying a whatever-priced (I've seen them advertised for as little as $80 on up to $150) converter box so you can simply hook it up to your analog set and there ya go, digital teevee. "Wow, look at that picture. Why, look, you can see the nosehairs in the nose of that pimply-faced weather girl we used to think was so pure and hot." Now we hear this teevee-voucher bullshit government agency is broke and they can't back up even the vouchers they've already sent out--what bullshit! This is the kind of bullshit I keep growling about. These bastards are Power Elite manipulators and nobody ordinary seems to understand what I'm preaching, bitching, growling, going for the throat after.

Why do Americans remain so smart yet so dumbass? I watch a lot of music on teevee, on vids, on DVDs, and I have to say, some young artists impress me with their sounds, their ears, their admiration for instruments that aren't usually related to popular music--of course, jazz did that years ago--Oscar Pettiford started plucking a cello rather than a bass in the 1940s--especially on Mercer Ellington's (Duke's son) Mercer record label in or around 1947. Of course, Stuff Smith had already brought the fiddle into jazz--also Joe Venuti, a white violinist, who was with Paul "The White King of Jazz" White Man--hah-hah-hah--but old Paul Whiteman was a weird strange dude who really appreciated black music though he couldn't perform it as jazz only as pop-swing-fox-trot white folks music--but very talented by-ear-playing musicians like Bix Beiderbecke. Or how about Art Van Dam? He played jazz on the accordion. Or how about Meade Lux Lewis playing the Celeste on a boogie track? Or how about Rahsaan Roland Kirk--my god, this genius son of a bitch could play up to eight instruments at the same time--the stritch (how many stritch players have you ever heard?), the manzello (how many manzello players have you ever heard?), the tenor sax, the flute, and the nose flute (how many nose flute players have you ever heard?)--he also played the castanets, the gong, and a siren--plus Rahsaan's music built into such a tumultuous ride and pitch and roll and stretching forth that by the time he'd decided to bring it to a conclusion, he was beating the living hell out of a fold-up chair and hollering outrageous blindman advice to those who see, like in his brilliant "Bright Moments" where he advises sight folks to see the bright moments in life instead of the dark moments--that even a blind man can tell when something's brightly brilliant and whether like a bird whose cage has been covered with a blackout hood--he still knows when it's dawn and the brightness of another day is upon us. Or how about "We Free Kings"?

Musicians today seem to know the music they play. They've learned how to use guitars as percussive instruments. Drummers today are pretty lousy--just tub bangers mostly--keyboard people are little bright guys who can play classical piano but who in popular bands are mostly responsible for weird loops and shit, background choral polyphony, or barely heard comping. Bass players are simply guitar players--strumming away--no solos, no virtuosity, just a respect for ensemble playing and singing harmonies, which the youngsters do quite well. However, most of these bands, and that includes what young jazz groups I've heard, too, are playing linked phrases--first they start off with cute little lines one of the guitar players has learned, like a daring Bach cadenza, except this ain't Bach it's r 'n r, and then the lead singer rips his shirt off, plays a smear on his guitar, and then it's volume wide open, strumming loudly coordinated, the drummer going wild as if playing trash cans, and the keyboard player sitting demurely in the background doing the loops and running the computerized portions--I'm sure all bands have Pro Tools and use it heavily--anyway, there doesn't seem to be any innovations in these musicians. Early rock 'n rollers, the best of them like Ike Turner and Chuck Berry, seemed able to use what instruments they could afford at their virtuosic best, like Chuck Berry's guitar playing, like his compositions, like his clever and witty lyrics. How can you not like "Havana Moon" or "Back in the USA" or even "Mabelene." The ultimate rock 'n roll song to me is Chuck's "Reelin' and a Rockin'"--and that to me is the rock 'n roll anthem.

With the young musicians--what do I find wrong with them? Wrong's a bad word. They aren't wrong. It's their world not mine. They interpret music through a new channel of information leaving me out in the cold standing naked with just a pencil and some music paper, my half-beat-up keyboard, with a 4-track tape deck for recording...you see what I mean?--musicians like me are now being left to choke to death in the dust of today's super-fast rising stars who seem more interested in their own look than they are with the kind of music they're committing to our memories. I know just about any song you play back at me up until the time the Beatles came to New York City in 1964--after that, well, to be quite honest, the tunes I remember best are the tunes that seem to remain faithful to the American way of making music from our earth on up toward the stars. I never wanted to be a star. I just wanted my music to be respected by other musicians, and so far the musicians I'm quite friendly with, and my very best friends are musicians, do respect my talents. I was sitting playing this guitar I found in the garbage last year the other day and a drummer friend was over. He watched me several minutes and then he said, "Are you playing by ear?" I said, "Yes." "That's amazing," he said. I said, "That's the way we used to learn things, by listening to records and memorizing the lines by playing along with them as we heard them on these recordings." Lester Young said all instrumentalists should know the complete tunes before they try and play them, even the lyrics, and Lester emphasized that. Like how do you know how a tune's supposed to really go if you can't fit the words to the melody line, which you never play note-for-note, according to the Prez--jazz is the improvisational approach to that melody line--like how many different variations of that melody line can you add onto in a matter or 3 or 4 minutes?

Concentration, I think, makes a person smart or dumb. The person who can block out all the rest of the world and concentrate on the infinitesimal lot that is what they have to work with and become so concentrated in their effort they soon develop into geniuses, those are the people who become the most observed in life, the most idolized, and it is about idols--idols inspire others to follow. Most thinkers, preachers, musicians, entertainers, etc., I see today, can concentrate, but only on their own image and how that image has been put together by a manufacturing team--it's a false concentration--it's more like Svengali than it is individual concentrated virtuosity.

Dumb and dumber rule, therefore. As long as they do it with decorum, as Thorstein Veblen would say.

So this digital teevee mess turns out to be an effort by the CABLE and satellite companies (and that includes satellite radio) to do away with FREE teevee (and, yes, free radio, too). Turns out, this is a G.W. Bush idea. Remember, the worst-ever commissioner of the FCC was Michael Powell (yep, the stupid son of our own great Colon's Pal (I still hear pundits saying Obama should have Colon's Pal in his cabinet--one guy said Colon's Pal should be head of the CIA! I say why not Mickey Mouse for head of the Mickey Mouse, stumble-bumble, viciously mean CIA?). It was Michael Powell who decided we needed digital teevee rather than the inexpensively produced analog system that has been working pretty god-damn well since teevee advancements were made by Sony with their Trinitron sets in the 60s. And now you know what's happening? It turns out nobody will be ready to convert to digital by Feb. 19th or whatever Feb. date it is. Plus, too, a digital signal doesn't travel as far as an analog signal. Therefore, for those of you who live in the sticks, like 30 to 50 miles from a digital broadcaster, a converter box won't do you much good--why, hell, owning an HD-ready teevee won't help either--neither one of them can receive a digital signal from that distance. Even in the city, the digital signal may not always be reliable. We've been scammed. We must pay for television now or be thrown out with the bathwater. I say, I'm going to try and live without teevee. There is no even-near actuality on teevee. Even the teevee reality shows are totally unreal. Teevee even controls the football games--have you noticed that? Football game time is controlled by the teevee broadcasters. The Fox Network even controls what time a sporting event they televise starts--and since sports teams make most of their big bucks off television monies, they go right along with letting Fox determine when a baseball game starts--and Fox does that with great frequency during baseball season.

Television sit-coms and dick shows are simply a repetition of what they say are ten basic plots teevee uses over and over again (I see Jackie Gleason "Honeymooner" plots rehashed all the time on teevee). Like these crime-lab shows that are as thick as hops on teevee right now. They are getting more and more unbelievable--like I saw a "CSI-Miami" show the other night where in one explosion about 10 people were blown to bits and a CSI gal was kidnapped and taken and tortured and threatened with rape and then, out of nowhere, comes the CSI Calvary--and in perfect television-scripted out-of-nowhere solution and all who deserve to be saved are saved and left to live another day--and thus another episode. And like I've said before, this plethora of actors and actresses are making millions of dollars a show--from acting school or drama class to the Power Elite--by looks and luck--all the babes on teevee shows are hot mommas--especially the big female CSI stars--especially I dig Emily Proctor--a fucking beautiful woman--except, in High Definition you notice Emily has skin problems. Poppy Montgomery is another actress I think is a god-damn good-looking babe, though here again, up close, her skin is pretty pimpled and pitted. You'll see a lot of actors and actresses suddenly leaving shows because their looks will be ruined in high-definition. James Woods, for instance, will have hell getting another teevee show his face is so pitted.

So it's a big plot to do away with Free teevee--what we call commercial teevee, which, of course, is not free at all--even PBS's shows's contents have to be approved by their donors and commercial sponsors. Teevee sponsors, by the bye, add on their advertising costs to their products's final price.

So, hey, I'm kind of excited. I've lived before without teevee; once for several years. So I may just live that kind of life again. I have my own digital-vid camera; I can film my own teevee shows and show them on my analog teevee set. I just today looked at the rushes I shot for my favorite Irish pub at Halloween and I was quite impressed--I'm editing it into about a 15-minute film and then I'll give it to the owner's son--he's featured in it a lot--good filming if I say so myself [languagehat recently had an interesting post about US taverns becoming Pubs all over, even in Ohio, now--L Hat doesn't watch teevee perhaps as much as I and therefore doesn't understand the influence of Brits and Irish on us these days--especially in terms of cooking shows and chefs and such--like that one Brit chef who has that show where he trashes restaurants and then goes in and makes them total successes--of course, teevee is all staged and propped and produced and managed and cut and edited--but anyway, that Brit fop recently mentioned that he was turning a Long Island restaurant into the first of this kind of new PUB on Long Island--I can't remember the name he used but he said there were already 12 of these new kind of PUBs in Manhattan alone]. I've got a good friend who threw all his teevees out the window when his daughter and only child came along and he didn't won't her spoiled dumb by allowing her to get her learning off teevee. His daughter, 5, is a little genius now--a self-designing artist already.

So I say FUCK TEEVEE! Let them have their fucking digital teevee--I don't think the Power Elite watch teevee and they seem to do fine--only us stupid people (the Power Elite calls us subservient laborers) who have to work for a living or we perish watch teevee.

A Working-on-Wall-Street 1929 Tale
This is from Vivian Perlis's great little book, Charles Ives Remembered, an Oral History (published in 1994 by the Da Capo Press), on people who knew Charles E. Ives, the great and innovative American classical composer and leading insurance man of the early 20th century--he was a partner in the Myrick & Ives insurance firm that was located in the New York Life building when it was on Wall Street. This excerpt is from p. 65, the Charles J. Buesing entry. Buesing was a young protege insurance salesman of Ives's at Myrick & Ives. Here's an interesting passage from young Mr. Buesing:

"During the Depression [the 1929 one and not today's] in the downtown Wall Street area we cast our eyes to the sidewalk, hoping to pick up a dime or a nickel, but we also cast our eyes skyward to avoid falling bodies. It was that desperate. I went home twice with the blood of suicides on my suit. Right on Cedar Street, while I was walking in the center of the street about two o'clock in the afternoon, a body came hurtling down from the top of 120 Broadway building and killed a very close friend of mine who was just seven feet away from me. Another time, one of our associates was restrained by me from going out the window into the courtyard from an office right next to Charlie Ives's. Charlie was not in his office at that time. We were on the sixth floor, and I kept yelling until the cashier heard me and we pulled the man back. The times were desperate. We had sixteen million unemployed and everybody was afraid of losing his job."

There was a footnote to this tale. The footnote sort of played down Charlie Buesing's looking skyward for jumpers on Wall Street during the time he's talking about. The footnote's justification for such downplay is based on dates and times Mr. Ives was in the office and Charlie seems to be talking about a time just before the Depression in terms of Myrick & Ives happenings. I, however, believe the good Charlie Buesing and I'm sure what he reports is the unexpurgated truth. Our current tabloids are telling us about two suicides over our Great Depression--which, by the way, using my prophetic skills, is going to be a Greater Depression than the Great one. It's so thrilling to think of some form of total Chaos taking us over. Chaos is heaven. Really it is. It's the next dimension--and virtual dimension. I sense that one day we will be able to create virtual clones of ourselves and then write a program that when activated will let us live all our life past over, you know, create situations where like for instance in my life: what if I hadn't have had my first marriage annulled and had tried to go on with the marriage? What would it have been like to be married to that woman, a woman who I totally admired for both her brains and her body?--she was a truly beautiful woman. I mean would we have partied ourselves into an early grave? We both loved fun. We both loved cocktails and conversation over cocktails. We both loved going to concerts. We both loved going to parties and making fun of all the guests. We both loved like ordering ham sandwiches at Phil's New York Deli in Dallas and then being served what Phil called his "Jewish ham," which was his finest pastrami with spicy brown kosher mustard on New York rye. We both liked going to different churches on Sundays...and to the synagogues on the Sabbath...and being cynical about the sermons and the guys delivering the sermons...though we did find women preachers in a couple of black churches we attended. We both loved riding all over Dallas in a Sunbeam Talbot sports car saying we were Dick and Liz--Richard Burton and Liz Taylor who were currently parading their vulgar asses around going in and out of fights, being drunk and stoned together--falling sloppy together on the floors of their fabulous mansions or the carpeted deck of some swanky hotel--both promoting their movie careers--poor souls. Liz lived through it but it killed poor old Richard Burton, the drunken Welshman, who'd a been a coal miner if he hadn't'a lucked out and gone to London and learned to fake Shakespeare--I used to love doing my fake Shakespeare act. It fooled a lot of people. I mean I could spout reams of Shakespeare and people would start asking themselves, dammit, that sounds like Shakespeare to me--most people in the USA know Shakespeare from high school--Julius Caesar, Hamlet, maybe McBeth, but I on the other hand had only scanned Shakespeare--yes, I learned some of the famous lines, like the ones everybody in the fucking world knows, "I come to bury Caesar not to praise him!" "To be or not to be, that is the question," "Oh, Romeo, oh, Romeo, whereforth art thou," or "Tis thee who must endure my pain; for tis thee who desired it in thy mind that it thus happened to me." There ya go. Did you pass over it or catch it? Yep, that last line is obviously my fake Shakespeare. I think I could write at least one act of a fake Shakespeare play if I had the time.

Anyway, I do truly believe we will one day be able to create our own virtual worlds--worlds where we can enter them for days at a time, for years perhaps at a time--where perhaps through the right interpretation of Chaos we can find the gate that will open with the secret password that will lead us to a virtual eternity, virtual eternal life.

Hot damn, couldn't I make a religion out of that idea? Like L. Ron Hubbard made out of his stupid Scientology. And this week we saw nutjob playactor Scientology preacher John Travolta being revered all week as a loving and caring father after his (was he autistic?) (what was wrong with his son?), anyway, the kid fell in the bathroom of John's fabby Bahamian vacation digs and cracked his skull open and then died--the Power Elite compound with its own landing strip for John's private jet right out back of the house--John's a hotty pilot, you know, a very respectful thing among the entertainment Power Elite. Ray Charles claimed he used to pilot his own jet. This was confirmed by Ray's pro pilot especially after Ray decided he could land the plane and he came in on a wing and a prayer and almost crashed the plane trying to land it by instinct and memory. I mean, I understand Ray's logic. Any dude who's blind but who can play the piano like that cat did is seeing something--he's seeing that keyboard just as plain as day. He's seeing the individual keys and knows just where to put his fingers on those keys to get the song he's got in his head out of his head and into that piano's insides--any dude who's blind and can do that can surely fly his own jet plane. Or remember John-John Kennedy--he thought he was a hot-shit pilot, too, and look what happened when he was playboy piloting his load of babes over to party time at the Kennedy Compound in Hyannis Port--the Kennedy's fort and castle facing the North Atlantic Ocean. I went by it once getting the hell off Cape Cod to get back to New York City to save my marriage. It looked like an extra-large Holiday Inn to me, but then I'm very disrespectful of the Kennedys both as individuals and as a family. You talk about a pure-dee Leisure Class (Power Elite) Family who have all the time in the world to do whatever they want to, whether it be to become jet pilots or perpetual politicians--they've got the leisure time to study whatever is their latest whim. Like Caroline Horseface suddenly desiring to be a state senator. They've got the leisure time and the family money to run for political office. Hillbilly Hillary is still out on the road begging up monies enough to pay off her failed run for president. Hillbilly's Power Elite status is that of a welcome-aboard member. She's in the Power Elite, yes, but at a lower-class level--like she's safe enough now with power to be forgiven her loss and going in debt in her campaign against Barack the Magic Negro. During Hill's leisure time she has to work, you see--whether it's pretending to be an author and lecturer, or whether it's pretending to be one of the Senator's from New York State, or whether it's pretending to be interested in bringing about change in this country--when we all know what Hillbilly Hillary meant by change was she wants everything changed back to when her dear, sweet, and faithful husband was president. That seems to be the same change Barack Obama meant in his campaign, too.

The Daily Howler is still intellectually defending the Clintons. He's also a strong defender of Al Gore and John Kerry. I like Bob the Comedian's way of thinking about the press and about our school system--Bob's an ex-teacher in the Beltway area--he's from Baltimore, I think, but sometimes he irritates me with his putting down of writers who put down the Clintons or Gore the Bore or John the Vietnam Vet Nutjob-Heinz Catchup inheritor Kerry. Any liberal, too, who doesn't think like The Howler (which can be a monkey, though Bob uses a sitting wolf as his gadget) is a "wrong" liberal--a phony liberal--and nearly everybody who doesn't think the Clintons represent the correct liberalism to Bob is a phony. Also, Bro (and I'm talking directly to this dude, you see), why do you keep watching these stupid teevee show clowns and expecting serious thinking out of them? They, too, are comedians, Bob; when they piss you off with their insane and inane twistings of the actual news, you surely know they are trying to entertain us and not inform us--they are trying to get a controversy that really isn't a controversy at all started at every break in their shows and reentries to the next segment of their shows--and all the while, the show's producer is looking at the running on-line Arbitrons and watching the show's various segments's ratings--but then, surely, Bob, you already know this.

I know, readers, Bob doesn't read The Daily Growler; in fact, I'll bet he looks down his nose at us if he has ever read the Growler--and you know with a name like The Daily Growler, somebody's clued him in to this blog--whether he's actually read any of our posts or not--you know what, I don't give a shit. I read The Daily Howler nearly everyday and some days I find him funny as hell and as right as rain in his criticisms and his showing where the facts don't meet the road--but then, on the other hand, my hand, why waste your time watching these stupid shows?--like Keith Olbermann--he's not so bright--I find a lot of his shit very stupid--and Rachel Maddow, too, while I'm on this--why is Rachel Maddow now so glorified since she's joined the enemy on CNN? Rachel Maddow when she was on Air America wasn't all that radical. Randy Rhodes was much more provoking in terms of her approach to the news and her guests and their views on the news. The most radical of all was Mike Malloy--and Air America quickly kicked his too-liberal ass off the air early in their several failed attempts to succeed. If Air America is still on the air, I wouldn't know, nor do I care.

thegrowlingwolf
for The "Good Ole" Daily Growler
The Voice of Contented Anarchy

Here's a YouTube where you can watch Rahsaan Roland Kirk play "Volunteer Slavery"--"stop bringin' me down"

www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqXYAcVPDD4

Mind Your Manners

Decorum
Thorstein Veblen wrote: "...decorum is a product and an exponent of leisure class [Power Elite] life and thrives in full measure only under a regime of status" [p. 48, The Theory of the Leisure Class, Mentor Book, 1953--original published in 1899]. He continues, "[Decorum--manners] are an expression of the relation of status--a symbolic pantomime of mastery on the one hand and of subservience on the other" [p. 48]. "There are few things that so touch us with instinctive revulsion as a breach of decorum. ...a breach of faith may be condoned, but a breach of decorum cannot. 'Manners make the man'" [p. 49].

When I was young I was considered crude. Especially my sister-in-law ( a woman's page editor on my hometown newspaper) thought I was so crude I needed help with my manners.

It was called deportment in kiddie school (grade school), and my grades were superb but my deportment marks were always "U"s (Unsatisfactory in my day)(they quit using A-B-C-D-E-Fs for grades in my "modern" grade school--written up in the newspapers when it was new as being one of the best-equipped schools in the USA. It opened originally as a boys military school called Peacock Military Academy--and, yes, there really was a man, I think he called himself Major, named Peacock, from San Antonio, the original home of Peacock Military Academy. The PMA had gone belly up after WWII started and the City of Dallas took over the school in the early 40s--they had just added on a new edition when the Little Wolf Boy started there, complete with a new auditorium where I saw my first movie ever--and my uncle was in the movie business, too, but I was never allowed to go to his movie houses--I was not allowed to go to "the movies"--but my mother let me go this one time because I was so rude about it, I guess. It was 10 years before I went to another movie--I saw them on teevee but that was different. That first movie I ever saw was San Francisco with Burl Ives and other big late-40s stars--a pretty rough movie for bright-eyed and bushy tailed kid with big eyes for masculine toughness and the softness of sweet girls--especially a girl named Janice who was the Baptist preacher's daughter and the church and her home were right across the street from the school--as a result of this early attachment to certain kinds of girls holding my sexual attentions longer than others I became enamored and desirous for "church" girls--especially the churchs's preachers's daughters--and that included several preachers's daughters until in the early '60s when I met and married my second wife, a Baptist preacher's daughter--the one I met in California--so of course I called her my Segundo wife--I don't expect anyone but Californians to catch that drift--but anyway, so, yes, my 2nd wife was a Baptist preacher's daughter and while her father was marrying us, you don't wanna know what I was thinking--it's for another day, but I'll tell you the truth, I couldn't stand her father and he made me doubly distrusting of any kind of preacher, though I was distrustful of preachers before I knew his crusty little backwards ass. That's why I liked preachers's daughters. When I was making love to them it was like I was doing Mother Mary--and a lot of preachers's daughters are named Mary, too. My 1st wife was just a Baptist and her family was big in the Southern Baptist Church though her father wasn't a preacher--I mean, she went to Baylor, the most Baptist university in the world--then when she annulled me and married my best friend later, they married in the biggest Baptist church in the world--he was an atheist and he thought it was hilarious marrying in a Baptist church--one hip clown thing he did was make me an usher--and I was so drunk--he had provided all the male participants in the wedding party with their own bottle of Ezra Beam and he even had a cool pitcher of branch water on a table and we took tons of slugs out of our bottles while we were dressing for the occasion--and I was in sartorial splendor that day--sporting a dark grey cutaway coat with tails and light-grey-striped tux pants and on my pedal extremities, Ballys "After Six" tux loafers. My job as usher was to light the candles up around the altar at the beginning of the service, which I did amazingly steadily, and then to extinguish them once the vows were read and the couple was ready to flee the scene and go consummate the marriage by performing the double-backed beast (I laughed to myself about that event)--but when I went to extinguish those candles, I was extra-lopsided, very wobbly, but I managed to douse most of those burning spears with first douse but then the last candle refused to go out no matter how I kept covering it with the brass bell at the end of this long rod I was using to put that candle out. A snuffer, I think it's called. I'd suffocate that flame, take the bell off it, and POP--up it would flame again. I retried snuffing the damn thing about three times. Finally I took off my cutaway coat and lept up in the air and tried to bushwhack the damn flame out by swatting at it with that snuffer bell like I swatted flies with a flyswatter. On my last swat, the son of a bitchin' top of the candle broke off and went flying toward the pulpit where the preacher was still standing. I hollered "FIRE!" My best friend and my 1st wife, they were about halfway up the aisle heading out of the church, turned around and saw what I'd done and they started laughing like hyennas and he hollered, "Hey, Wolfie, did your breath set the church on fire--Holy Smoke!"--other people were running like hell, a couple of women screaming as they took my cry of FIRE in a crowded place literally--they were running for their lives--it was only a tiny fire--like a weak-ass old-man Holy Spirit falling to earth with but a few licks of fire left to bring the Pentecostal down on us. [As an aside: one of my favorite minor league baseball teams as a kid was the Sweetwater Swatters of the Longhorn League--though their name had nothing to do with swatting flies but rather with swatting baseballs, I always thought of swatting flies when I thought of the term "swatters," though I knew "swat" was a baseball term for just that, the act of swatting at and then swatting through head-on to swat the baseballs, swinging with determined might at that tiny white pill-like ball that looks as tiny as a white fly as it flies towards you one-hundred-miles-per-hour as you stand with your swatting stick set to swat that god-damn white fly to kingdom come.... Babe Ruth was the last King of Swat--I haven't heard the term used much since Babe Ruth is no longer the ultimate baseball player--I did hear the late great Red Barber say one time while announcing a Yankees game in the 50s, "Boy howdy, he really swatted that ball. It's long-gone out'a heah!" Red Barber, by the way, was a native Alabaman, an open racist when he first started broadcasting MLB games back East--later when he was the Dodgers's announcer, he had had to apologize for his making fun of Jackie Robinson when Robinson first came into the pros with the Dodgers--and Red, like Southern-racist player Hugh Casey and Louisville-born Peewee Reese, had talked loud and Southern about not liking it that Knee-grow players were gonna be playin' alongside pure White boyz. Red later wrote in a book of essays how regretful he was for those comments he had made in those days and that since then he'd come to see Jackie Robinson and Willie Mays as the greatest baseball players he'd ever seen. Before the color-barrier, that was what the white baseball Power Elite called its rule for not allowing black players to play USA major league baseball, was busted wide open by Robinson in the National League and later Larry Doby in the American League (the most racist league for a long time), blacks were barred from playing in US pro baseball leagues in the late 1880s when everybody wanted to use black ball players except Cap Anson, player manager of the Chicago White Stockings, who first said he refused to play in any the game blacks were allowed to play in.

Here's the story:

The date was August 10, 1883. At the time, it was a common practice for Major League teams to schedule exhibition games against semipro teams as a way of earning more money. An exhibition had been scheduled between the Toledo team and Anson’s White Stockings. It would prove to be a fateful encounter.

Toledo’s roster included the young, black scholar-athlete Moses Fleetwood Walker, the team’s regular catcher. By all accounts, Walker was a gentlemanly [Mr. Ed: he had manners], educated player. On this day, Walker was injured (a common occurrence among catchers in the days before catcher’s mitts [or masks] were invented) and was told to take the day off by his manager Charlie Morton.

Unaware of the injury but full of his own prejudices, Anson announced to Morton that his team would not play with Walker on the field. This attitude infuriated Morton, who responded by putting Walker into his lineup at centerfield. The game was delayed for over an hour as the two managers argued. Finally, Morton declared that if Anson forfeited the game, he would also forfeit the gate receipts. It seems Anson’s racism ran only as deep as his wallet, as this argument convinced him to play the game. The game was played with Walker and further incidence was avoided.

As a side note, the Toledo Mudhens joined the American Association in 1884, and on May 1 of that year, Moses Fleetwood Walker and his brother Welday became the first African-Americans to play in the major leagues. The White Stockings did return to play Toledo in 1884, but this time Anson had an agreement in writing before signing the contract for the game that Walker or any other black would not play in the exhibition match.

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"'Leisure' doesn't refer to indolence or quiescence--what it connotes is nonproductive consumption of time" [p. 46, Theory of Leisure Class].

Baseball players, believe it or not, are members of the Power Elite, a lower eschelon, yes, but still in a position to have more power than the average "bear"--I mean, come on, the new New York Yankees baseball team with their two big free-agent purchases has a payroll of almost a billion dollars--C. C. Sabathia cost them 150 million and Mark Texiera got them for 180 million--those two players alone on the Yankees are wealthier than tons of Power Eliters, though they have their status from their high-rise and success as champions (trophy winners) in the sports field, which is Power Elite the same as the Entertainment business and actors and actresses and directors and producers are the same kind of champions and award winners--they, too, are concerned about getting HITS. [At first, Berry Gordy called Motown "Hitsville."] There is much DECORUM on USA baseball fields. The players are courteous to fans these days. They are supposed to show great comportment on the field, except now the true Power Elite of baseball, the owners, enjoy bench-clearing incidents--usually when a pitcher hits a batter--mostly in the head--an automatic warning, etc. These brawls look dangerous, but seldom has anybody been seriously hurt in a baseball bench-clearing brawl. They're just for effect. The rules say, though, that they can't punch each other out any more or throw spitballs at each other's heads or come sliding into second base with their razor-sharp spikes in the air and aimed at the face of the player covering second--or third, or home, too--spikes high aimed at the catcher's midsection--dangerous job hindcatching--nor can any baseball players or managers or coaches any longer get up in an umpire's face and "chew the fat" with him--like in the old days, the good old white days. And speaking of DECORUM, look at the manners Jackie Robinson had to maintain--Jackie couldn't, for instance, climb up in the face of a white umpire--and the umpires were solid white up until the 70s maybe, maybe later, when they starting using black umpires--even off the top of my head today, I don't think I know of seeing any black umpires the last two baseball seasons I've lived through. And Jackie Robinson and Roy Campanella put the Brooklyn Trolley Dodgers on the baseball map--made them bums the team they still are as the Los Angeles Trolley Dodgers--and L.A. once had street cars, too, the same as Brooklyn. In 1937, The PCC-type trolley car, the first "streamlined" trolley car, was introduced on the L.A. Street Railway system. PCC stood for "President's Conference Committee"--meaning it was picked for building by the design-committee of the Electric Railroad Association and it was designed to be way ahead of its time--the body was designed by the amazing American designer Raymond Loewy--he later designed the famous Pennsylvania RR's encowled streamliner steam engine and then the famous Pennsy Tuscan red electric locos called GG-1s; he also designed the famous or infamous torpedo-nose Studebaker automobile after WWII. Soon after the PCCs were introduced in L.A., General Motors set out first in the late 30s and all through WWII on up into the 60s (they destroyed the New Orleans streetcar system in 1964) to put an end to trolleys in the USA in order to introduce their buses (they had GM trolley buses in Los Angeles after GM tore up all the streetcar lines, too--trolley buses had a trolley pole on their tops just like streetcars--this way, trolley buses could use the old trolley electric overhead wires while the trolley buses acted like regular buses, their trolley poles long enough to allow them to pull over to regular curbside bus stops unlike the old trolleys which had to keep to the tracks in middle of the street--they made little noise, too, as they motivated on down the line) into city street transportation systems--GM destroyed the LA trolley system to the point that now you can't even see much evidence in L.A. that such an extensive street car and interurban railway system ever existed there--you have to know where to look to find what traces of evidence are left. There is a great video called Los Angeles: The Early Days out in the world somewhere that was brilliantly produced by an L.A. video editor and producer, David Rapka, that shows where all the old trolley routes and areas of L.A. in which they used to run were, where hills used to be, like Mount Lowe--the streetcars used to climb Mount Lowe in a circular motion all the way to its top; Mount Lowe also had a funicular-type tram that climbed it, too--the City of Los Angeles later in the 30s and 40s flattened hills like Mount Lowe when it built it's entanglement of highway systems that now worm like concrete spaghetti all over the L.A. metropolitan area. The L.A. street railway system was full of all kinds of trolleys but the pride of the fleet were its many PCC trolleys, on its Hollywood line and on its red car lines. Ironically, the first PCCs ever built to order (1936) were for the Brooklyn Street Railway System, though the very first PCC car, #100, was sold to the Pittsburgh Street Railway system.

Here's an air-conditioned PCC car, restored, still running in Philadelphia.
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The great Raymond Loewy [see photos of his designs below]
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My concerned sister-in-law one X-mas gave me a book called Mind Your Manners. It was supposedly written in terms I could dig, dig? I looked at the book and thought, what the hell is this? Manners--fuck manners. Manners was a butler on a teevee commercial to me. I knew about Emily Post, but she was a New York City socialite and even as a kid, I knew social graces were meant for phonies, the keiko-muckity-mucks, the Hoi Poloi, as the Three Stooges call them in a Three Stooges short that was called something like "Among the Hoi Poloi." It's the old "My Fair Lady" story, you know, the Bernard Shaw play where Professor Higgens decides to make a lady of great dignity and power out of a London flower selling gal, a Cockney gal with a terrible accent! British bullshit. And at an early age I shot the bird at anything British and still do. I was mortified to read lately that that piece of shit Ron Wood of the Rolling Stones (the Rolling Stoned, I call them) bought one of Jimi Hendrix's electric guitars--paying like 12,000 pounds for it--only to give it to his bimbo 22-year-old girlfriend--some Russian porn star or model or whatever the hell she's "famous" for--or could it be she's famous for fucking old dried up and withered Ron Wood. I can't tell you enough how I hate the Beatles and the Rolling Bones--to me, they made a mockery of the music I grew up with in my bones and my blood and then I had to endure those Brit assholes (however well meaning and sincere they were about "our" music) taking all the fame and glory away from the true and honest originators of rock 'n roll, the late Ike Turner, Chuck Berry, Little Richard Perriman, Jimi Hendrix, Larry Williams, Otis Redding--and Geezus Cristo, they took that swingin' music and mixed in Brit church mode and Indian raga bullshit into it and gave us today's nonmelodic (almost Gregorian Chant) bullshit guitar-strumming goofball bands that are weary, monotonous, copycat of each other and all have terrible white drummers--in the meantime, Ron Wood is a member of the big-time Power Elite, the entertainment branch, while the many American originators who they ripped off never even got to make it to the Power Elite of the music they invented--in fact, several Brit assholes made it to the Rock 'N Roll joke Hall of Fame (it's in Cleveland Fucking Ohio for god's bloody sake) before even the great Ray Charles or Aretha Franklin and certainly before Ike Turner, Chuck Berry, Richard Perriman--in fact, are those three in the R 'n R joke Hall of Fame to this day? I'll tell I used to really go for the throat of any Brit swell who came to this country and tried to tell me how to respect the music that I partially invented. Like that rip-off bastard Elvis Costello. God I hate his ass--especially now that he thinks he's an American jazz singer. How embarrassing for an American musician, unless you've got leisure class decorum and have your nose up Elvis's ass. I resent to this day seeing our current culture's music controlled by an unknown black guy, a has-been disco queen, and a true Brit fop--and, yes, music is now totally fabricated and no longer invented--and it really pisses me off when I hear that Simon Farce shithead on Rupert Murdoch's moneymaker, American Idol, talking about the various no-talent kids who scramble like maniacs just to get a losing role on the show. I mean look at the American Idol notalents who are now Power Eliters in the music world, like Carrie Underwear--er-ah, Underwood, sorry--please, what is so special about her? Bonnie Raitt's a better C&W singer and I can't stand privileged Bonnie--her father was John Raitt--and he sent Bonnie to Harvard where she decided she could play and sing the blues as well as any black woman--like Koko Taylor. Or this little fop Clay Aiken or the big fat Burger King-eatin' fool--that big fat black guy--or how 'bout the AmerAsian clown who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket--yet, he became world famous and got booked as an act all around the country--in fact, he's still on teevee occasionally, though not like he used to be. That's a disgrace to this country's at one-time totally unique and most-interesting music--our blues and jazz--and the classical music of Charles Ives--still holding its own against whatever's left of American classical music.

The phoniness is what bothers me about DECORUM. Barack Obama is using his decorum to keep his nose in the buttcracks of the Power Elite Dumbocrats. Like now I'm reading that Barack Obama doesn't like Dr. Howard Dean and that's why he's not letting Dean stay as head of the Dumbocratic Party. Plus, and I must mention this, Obama is still intent on keeping John Brenner on his advisory team--finding out that Congress would be totally against agreeing to him for a cabinet post--so Obama's putting this little jerk war criminal in a position that Congress doesn't have to approve. What's wrong with Obama? His white side seems to be controlling him--a la the character Frank Gorshin played on the famous Twilight Zone where Gorshin played a guy who was white on one side of his body and black on the other--you talk about schizophrenic conflict! Such a shame. What a chance to become a living legend; yet, like all politicians, he's in bondage to the Power Elite that got him elected, and that includes the snakelike Rahm Emanuel--what a snake in the grass that wily bastard is:

Frank Gorshin as the two-race character on Twilight Zone.

I rest my case and my brain, whatever both were dealing with today! It's time for me to tune in, turn on, and drop out.

thegrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler

Some Raymond Loewy Designs for your delectation:

Loewy designed the LS/MFT pack of Luckies--and he smoked 'em, too.

The Pennsylvania Railroad S-1 "Streamlined" Locomotive--designed in 1937. The streamline body of this train was called a "shroud" because it's like a hood set down over the actual steam locomotive that is under it. The first streamline train was on the Union Pacific, "The Route of the Streamliners"--it's cowling was totally different than this one Loewy designed for the Pennsy.

You've seen it hundreds/thousands of times maybe--it was designed by Raymond Loewy!

Raymond Loewy-designed pottery/china

Raymond Loewy's Studebaker Avanti--the supercar of the 1960s. The Avanti set a land speed record for a regular old automobile on the Bonneville, Utah, Salt Flats--going over 200 mph, if I'm not exaggerating.

Raymond Loewy's Super Chef--the world's first countertop oven or "microwave"-looking oven.

Raymond Loewy's Coca-Cola can.

Raymond Loewy's very famous Torpedo-nose Studebaker (1949-50)

Raymond Loewy's first Greyhound bus design--he also designed the famous Greyhound Scenic Cruiser.

The Raymond Loewy House in Arizona--designed by Raymond/architect was Alfred Frey.

For more, here's the official Raymond Loewy Website:

www.raymondloewy.com/

Power Playin' Snakes in the Grass

Serpents in Legends Equal Evil Which Equals SIN
According to the legend I grew up under out on the lone prairie, the reason snakes had no legs, the reason they slithered on the ground rather than walking upright, was because God due to Old Ned's tricking Sweet Eve into eating a no-no (verboten) tomato--said to be an aphrodisiac, I suppose, by God's Garden of Eden police force, cursed the snake, took away the poor soul's legs--made to crawl on his belly, the height of humility. So the Red Tailed One TEMPTED Sweet Eve by becoming male-cocky alluring to her in the guise of a wily serpent--a serpent walking upright mind you--get the picture? Wearing a tuxedo and a top hat I would imagine. The Devil certainly is a poet, isn't he? A drunken poet like Poe. A drunken poet like John Berryman. And this snake-in-the-grass got his ass cursed to lose his legs and have to slither around on the ground in order to survive in the Jungle. Thus, Old Ned as a serpent was a woe on the man Yahweh called Adam, his woe-unto-man being his tempted woman, Naked Eve, who allured old virginal Adam into bobbing for tomatoes in Eve's woman's grass--this Woeman that Yahweh created out of one of Adam's ribs (why Yahweh didn't create Eve at the same time he created Adam I never understood)--the missing rib in a man's rib cage--does the woman have an extra rib? I can't recall that half of the legend--all I know is, according to my instincts, I'd say this serpent, snake, or whatnot is something to FEAR. That's because a snake hides its evil well--like snakes are still in the early predator phase of snake society. If you are a man, you fear the snake because he corrupted your female possession, corrupted her--I mean, come on, this cute little naked symbol-of-the-flesh thing Yahweh named Eve--same as Ava as in Ava Gardner--and what a big snake charmer Ava Gardner was--she was the 1940s and 50s sexpot queen-type actress who men in those long-ago days followed around H-wood stomping their feet and wolf-whistling at or stomping their feet and howling at the moon over them. "Hey, toots, how 'bout a tumble in the hay with a true haymaker?" Artie Shaw told my brother Ava was hillbilly dumb when he first met her (she was from the mountains of North Carolina) while at the same time she was intellectually brilliant when it came to the art of fucking. Artie married Ava way back when she was a teenager--there's a great biography about her, Ava, a big book, written by Ava Gardner herself it was once rumored. Artie openly claimed he took hillbilly dumb Ava under his tutelage even on his wedding night and before they got unhitched he'd turned her into a multisubject genius--by then he had her reading physics textbooks and learning Latin and Greek and reading Shakespeare and reading psychology and sociology books and he had her reading Freud and Adler and Karen Horney--let's see, did Frankie Blue Eyes act the serpent and steal Ava from Artie?--or was it Orson Welles?--it might have been Mickey Rooney. The Mick married her in '42 or so when he was only 22. I was always jealous of little Mickey Rooney (Joe Yule, Jr., born in Brooklyn) when I was an upcoming ladies boy. He was married 5 or 6 times by the time I was a young getting-hornier-and-hornier-day-by-day boy and rumor was that Little Mickey had fucked just about every high-strung, top-box-office, hot babe in Jolly Hollywood, from Rita Hayworth to Ava Gardner who he married--though the Mick swore up and down even before he found Jesus back in the 1970s--that he never fucked Judy Garland--I never believed that though I've seen him swear to it three or four times on teevee--but boy how I envied Little Mickey Rooney in his heyday. I think the Mick is still alive--he was born in 1920 so he's 88 going on 89--he seems like he should be older than that. He lives over in the Poconos somewhere I think with his 8th wife. Mickey is the only actor to be #1 box office in Hollywood over three decades, the 30s, 40s, into the 50s. By the time the Mick was in his early twenties, he was earning the highest money in show biz.

From Mickey's Wikipedia entry:
So Mickey Tells Big White Lies, What Harm?
Rooney later claimed that, during his Mickey McGuire days, he met cartoonist Walt Disney at the Warner Brothers studio, and that Disney was inspired to name Mickey Mouse after him,^[3] although Disney always said that he had changed the name from "Mortimer Mouse" on the suggestion of his wife. Rooney also took credit for giving rising starlet Norma Jean Mortenson the stage name Marilyn Monroe, his co-star in the 1950 film The Fireball, although she had been so billed as early as 1947.

So Mickey Tells Little White Lies, Too, What Harm?
On December 31, 1961, he appeared on television's What's My Line and mentioned that he had already started enrolling students in the MRSE (Mickey Rooney School of Entertainment). His school venture never came to fruition, but for several years he was a spokesman/partner in Pennsylvania's Downingtown Inn, a country club and golf resort.

Why the Mick Turned Jesus Freak
In 1966, while Rooney was working on a film in the Philippines, his wife Barbara Ann Thomason (aka Tara Thomas, Carolyn Mitchell), a former pin-up model and aspiring actress who had won 17 straight beauty contests in Southern California, was found dead in their bed. Beside her was her lover, Milos Milos, an actor friend of Rooney's. Detectives ruled it murder-suicide, which was accomplished with Rooney's own gun. Milos was also a bodyguard and was connected to Stevan Markovic, bodyguard of French star Alain Delon. Markovic was also found dead in mysterious circumstances in Paris two years later.

Grief-stricken and not in his right frame of mind, Rooney quickly married Barbara's friend, Marge Lane.^{[citation needed]} The union lasted about one hundred days.

Joseph Yule, Jr. The Mick, Mickey Rooney. What are those medals?

The Mick's first wife, the barefoot hillbilly from North Carolina--Hollywood's Eve

The Mick's Wife, Barbara Ann. Mick came home one night and found this woman in bed with sometime bodyguard, sometime actor, and sometime stuntman, but full-time Mrs. Mickey Rooney lover, Milos Milos--also a friend of the Mick's. It was assumed that Milos Milos, after banging Barbara that one last time, took the Mick's pearl-handled pistol out of a nightstand drawer and then first he blew Barbara's brains out and then he turned the gun on himself and BLAMMO, there went his brains, too, all over the joint. True male emulation--"if I can't have her, then neither can you."
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Out where I was born on the lone prairie, there were snakes--from garter snakes up to serpents (the poisonous ones: the copperheads, the water moccasins (cottonmouths), the corals (little docile creatures that seldom bit anybody though they are the deadliest snake in the USA), and the most feared snake of all, the diamondback rattlesnake--or the prairie rattler--or the eastern diamondback--though also there are nonpoisonous snakes out there that would scare the hell out of a little kid brought up on the Adam & Eve tale, like bullsnakes.

Snakes were commonplace in my life from the time I was a true kid, around 8, until I moved to New York City--even though, believe it or not, I once lived with a friend and his girlfriend in a loft on Renwick Street in downtown Manhattan, and one morning I woke up at dawn and heard something like scratching on the concrete floor of my room--and it was so irritating I snapped wide awake and rose up like a jack-in-the-box on steroids and the first thing I saw slithering straight across the floor towards me was a god-damn snake. I immediately jumped out of bed and started chasing the slimey bastard--and I mean this snake was like whip snakes and racers from back home on the lone prairie, fast like greased lightnin'--and I was hollering at his wiggly-running ass--and my friend and his girl woke up and saw the snake headed his way and he whipped his girlfriend's nightgown off her and threw it over the snake, grabbed it up and made a bag out of that nightgown, twisted the top shut, put the whole booty in a cardboard box and then we all sat down and he said sure 'nuff he knew where the snake came from. There was a doctor living up on the floor above us who was doing research in breeding snakes in terms of different colors--something weird and off-the-wall New York City like that--and he kept 26 snakes in his apartment--and, yes, the Snake Doc said he'd lost this snake we'd caught over a year ago--so the snake had been living in the walls and ceilings or wherever around us for over a year.

Turned out the Doc was a snake in the grass. I had met this girl through an artist friend of mine while she was visiting him down from Bennington for a two-week holiday. She was half-Spanish/half-Texan, so hell yes I fell for her--her father was a US diplomat to a country in South America--and she was from San Antonio--and I took her to see Debbie Does Dallas, the old porn flick starring Bambi Woods--a nice Dallas girl--and because of that movie we had sex on the elevator going back up to my friend's loft where she was staying. We just shut the old elevator down and had marvelous sex. The next night we were together again at the Ear Inn, a downtown Manhattan "in" spot in the 1970s, and she was with a bunch of Bennington-girl friends of hers, one a chick I really dug who was wearing a leather motorcycle suit and said she'd ridden her motorcycle down from her family's estate in Chappaqua and she and I were getting along famously--she was offering me a ride on her motorcycle--but I stayed loyal to my new girl--who I'd banged on the elevator last night after just meeting her the afternoon before. But she said she loved me, too, later that second night when I took her back to my place and we stayed entangled the whole night and half the day into the next day. And the next day after that one I called her at noon and I said I had tickets to go to a concert at Town Hall would she like to go--and she said--fine--let me call you back--OK, babe, I'll be waitin' for your call. And I waited. I waited by the phone anticipating yet another day of love and night of good sex. I waited. No call came. I waited a long time. Still no call. Time for the concert came and went. I called my friend the artist where she was staying and he said she wasn't there--he thought she'd gone to meet me. I said to hell with it and went back to my loft on Renwick. Son of a bitch! I unlocked the big entrance door to the loft building and came into the foyer where the elevator was. Just as I turned to go into my loft, the elevator door opened. There was a couple kissing on the elevator. He was groping her ass like mad and she was pushing her body into his--they were dry humping, dammit. I made a noise and they broke apart. Son of a bitch! It was my Bennington/Texas girl with the god-damn Snake Doc! Her explanation in the middle of that lonely night on the phone: "I met him before I met you." "But, I met you the day you got to whackjob Eddie's. Your first day in town right?" "Yeah, but I met the Doctor earlier...at breakfast." I was too confused to argue. I propositioned her and she turned me down. So I asked her if the motorcycle girl from Chappaqua was there and she said yes and that's who I ended up with the rest of the Bennington girls's break-time down in New York City.

In Dallas, though we lived in a big two-story brick/stucco tudor-style house, it sat alone on a hill surrounded by fields that had once grown hays and grains for feeding the cattle that had once roamed around that area of Dallas back in the 19th century. The heartiest grass of them all, we called it Johnson grass, had survived from those original grasses, and it filled all the wide-open undeveloped fields that surrounded our "house on the hill." Before my mom and I moved to Dallas, my dad had lived in the house after he bought it to fix it up before mother and I and our belongings got there. The night we arrived I overheard pops telling mother how he'd just that day killed a big snake up in our upper room--our attic room. "It was a rat snake. I figured he had climbed that cedar tree and had come in through that bay window up there looking for rats and mice. I was scared hell of going up to that attic after that. Snakes were scary as hell to me. Not that I had even seen a snake at that time in my life. We moved to Dallas when I was 7--for four of those years in Enid, Oklahoma, where the only snakes I may have seen would have been in the Springs Park Zoo--but I don't ever remember seeing a snake live until one day in the backyard of that Dallas house.

My dad had been watering the back yard and then he had dragged the long hose around the house up the driveway toward the front yard. He hollered for me to go back to the back yard water hydrant and unscrew the hose from it and bring the hose around to the front yard.

I quickly ran back to the back yard and up to the water hydrant and I reached down and started unscrewing the hose from the tap when I noticed something move just beneath my hand. It was speckled. It was yellow, speckled yellow, and then it coiled up quickly and rose up hissing toward my face. I dropped that hose and went screaming terrifyingly around to the front yard where my parents were. My dad went running around to the back yard with his hoe and soon here he came back with that snake draped over the hoe head. It was a big snake. My dad said it was a chicken snake. Harmless. But god-damn it wasn't harmless to me.

We are currently being attacked by snakes in the grass. Our politicians are devil-snakes; that's what they are. Obama included. He's just another god-damn politician out for his own gains, gains which I don't deny him. He deserves to be president. The people young and old, black, white, Latino are behind him 100% for the moment. However, don't be disappointed when Obama turns out to be a snake in the grass. You don't surround yourself with the crooked likes of Rahm Emanuel, Larry Summers (he's already talking about privatizing Social Security--this limp-wristed bastard), Robert Rubin, Robert Gates, Admiral Blair (war criminals), and you don't make Hillary Clinton your Sec'y of State! It don't look too good right now, folks. These snakes look harmless maybe, but they're not. War now will move from Iraq to Afghanistan and Pakistan--we are building India up as our ally against the Pakis, the Taliban, the very elusive Osama Bin Laden-Bush, and the extraspecial omnipotent and seemingly invincible Al Queda.

I'm sorry, folks, but I've been around these slimy snakes since I was born right in the middle of Roosevelt deceiving Americans about the Japanese--

Have you realized yet that all the wars America has gotten involved in have been staged affairs?

thegrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler

Jots & Tittles N Ur Face

From Lake Flaccid, New York, Comes Barabas Munn-Dayne, the Jots & Tittles Man
I keep telling the editing horse to let it stay "Jots and Titties." Surely we'd get more hits if we keyworded "titties." Might educate the masturbators or even the perverts--titty perverts--aren't they just frustrated mamma's boys? I knew an Adirondack wildwoodsman up in Lake Flaccid, actually he tramped around over toward Keene Valley, who told me once while we were trout fishing up Randall's Brook, a large waterfally brook with occasional pools just packed with brook trout, that he'd been on his mother's breast until he was six! He further confessed how he loved looking at women's breasts, too. Around the campfire a night later, he brought out his collection of girly mags and showed me how he was more interested in scanning all the different women's different types of breasts in these magazines. One mag I recalled was Big Bazooms, another, if I remember correctly, was Big D Mamas. He cared nothing for what was between those naked ladies's legs--though he did confess to me that he loved noticing a lady's exposed vagina double-especially when these double D "cuties" (that was a popular designation for most of the young ladies in WW's mag collection) with the large lovable knockers were shown bent over with those lovelies swinging-hanging down so magnificently. He then showed me a couple of his extra-favorite babes that made me see his point--I mean, come on, I'm still a roving-eyed old bachelor who except for a strong willpower could easily wander off down a path of dirty old men, but, no, now I'm at an age where I've tasted most of the fruits of the forbidden garden and then I found my wife and I remained faithful to her (in society, not in my lusting mind, a la what happened to Jimmy Carter when he accidentally let fall one of those Playboy centerfolds one afternoon in the White House--what man doesn't "accidentally" lust after any good-looking woman he casts his hungry eyes on and his sexual appetite tells him he desires?--still, like I said, I was faithful to my wife during the entirety of our marriage of 23 years. My wife was found dead on the Appalachian Trail about 8 years ago now--the bears had eaten most of her when the forest rangers found her--in fact, now that I think of it, old WW was really the one who found her. Damn, coincidence. Or was it? I'll admit, I've had some "wonders" in the back of my mind." On that trout-fishing expedition I asked him just out of nowhere if he had ever seen my wife--the woman he found on the Appalachian Trail, and he said, he knew who my wife was but no, half-eaten was the only way he remembered her--but that's why he'd never married. He didn't know how to protect women; therefore, he preferred being alone with his own backwoods private fantasies. He was sort of married to his collection of girly magazines, I jested to myself--them and his right hand I continued with glee. We caught 25 trout those two days on that rushing brook that empties into Lake Flaccid, or "the lake that limps," as the Native Americans called it, though a local poet, Sir Herman Grace (he wasn't nobility of any kind, we called him "Sir" because that was one of his favorite corrections when a young kid spoke to him--"You call me Sir, young man, I'm your elder," so we called him Sir Herman. He contributed the name Flaccid to the The Lake That Limps back in 1934 in a poem about the lake in which he penned this line: "the flaccid waters of this shrinking lake"--based on that line in that poem, folks around here officially named The Lake That Limps, Lake Flaccid. History's my bent; though I was a Sociology major at New York University. Enough about me, let's jot and tittle:

--Israel's vicious attack on Gaza City night before last and then Israel's missiling the UN school yesterday (30 they now say were killed) has left the death toll in Palestine officially at over 550 (650 the Palestinians say)--125 were killed night before last when the Israeli Army ground forces invaded Palestine--those poor deserted ostracized human beings had no where to hide from DEATH, so they ran to the UN school and hid there from the overpowering Israeli (American-paid-for) Army--the Israelis being as ruthless as the law allows, which is the US law since Israel's Army is a branch of the U.S. Army, blew the hell out of that school killing 40 civilians. I've been reading thegrowlingwolf and his explanation of the Power Elite and how it rules any way it pleases all around the world and how that Power Elite really loves war and strives on war and depends on war for a whole lot of its wealth and it depends on continuing wars for the extension of its vast wealth--the only solution the Power Elite has in its Capitalist skull is more and more profits, more and more Capital gains, more and more capturing more and more of everything--profits are essential however gotten--we are ruled by this comparatively small band of White Men--and this includes the Power Elites of Africa who are the White owners of Africa's wealth--like the DeBeers in South Africa all the way over and under to the Power Elite of Indonesia--controlling through their oligarchies and Plutocratic clubs and foundations and think tanks but mainly controlling through their accumulation of as much of the world's wealth as they can get their hands on--especially the world's natural resources--the world's oil, gas, water--yes, even the world's water--these self-rewarding, self-centered, self-empowering men want to own all the water--what next, the air?--bottled air--tanks of air when the real air gets unbreathable? Ironically, four Israeli soldiers were killed in Gaza City night before last, too--but by friendly fire--that's right--the Israeli Army loses soldiers to its own kid-activated calculations and as a result of an artillery OOPS drops missiles on its own advanced troops--same as the US Army has killed its own troops in nearly all of its wars since it became a big-time nation with a big-time military. So Israel continues to follow the backwards logic of the Bush Family War Machine with search and destroy tactics--the original word used in Viet Nam for the same thing the "surge" tactics Bush is so proud of using, as he says, to win the War on the Terrorists of Iraq--he wiped out Al Queda from Iraq--"Mission Accomplished" once again.

--Barack Obama has shown once again he may be a follower of backwards logic this time by appointing to his cabinet and advisory staff several war criminals (just yesterday, Admiral Blair, who Obama just appointed to be head of National Security--an appointment that was a mulekick to the true-believer heads of progressives and his own people--Admiral Blair was in Indonesia during the Slick Willie years where he backslappingly encouraged the Indonesian Army to commit genocide in East Timor), numbskulls (like appointing Leon Panetta to be head of the CIA--whoooey, that was an ax-handle blow to progressives--Leon Panetta, Clinton's former Chief of Staff--Whooey, another Clintonista comes back to his Power-Elite slot in the Good Ole Boyz Club of the Democratic Party (again, just as thegrowlingwolf has been writing in his recent worship of Brother Mills's Power Elite theory of rule, whether ancient or contemporary, and the ruling families continue to gobble up wealth mostly as a result of the Power Elite's breeding among themselves and as a result of passed-down wealth through inheritance, estates, and foundations)), party hacks (Obama just appointed a Southern governor to head the Democratic Party, after yee-hawing Dr. Howard Dean steps down; why not Russ Feingold to head the Democratic Party? or Dennis Kucinich? Stupid questions to the Power Elite), and Clintonistas (Bill Richardson as Commerce Sec'y--that appointment has backfired on Obama). He did appoint some goodies, too, lest I be thought of as an Obama-slammer (I actually hope this guy is the smartest man to ever be president--he's calculating a unity that a white president would never ever consider)--Barack Obama appointed two women to the Justice Dept. who are said to be top lawyer types (Johnson and Kagen) and both are progressives--one has already said she would reverse the torturing policies set in place by Unka Dick Cheney. We shall see.

--the 700-million-dollar 140-acre American Embassy in Iraq has opened--this is the castle-like fort that has fast-food as well as 5-star restaurants, private schools, a Mercedes car dealership, an Olympic-size swimming pool, surely a golf course--a spa-like palace of a huge palatial American Mall as a fortress. Remember when we made fun of Saddam "Satan" Hussein's gaudy palaces?

--did you ever ask yourself why the US Army needs bases in 100 countries around the world? Shouldn't the US Army be in this country? Isn't the reason for an army in any country to protect the borders of that country from outside attack, a job at which our military failed totally when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in '41 as well as when the Saudi-Arabians and one Jordanian captured American airlines gas-tank-full jumbo jets using only their drunken, pilled up balls, and a bunch of rusty boxcutters (and remember, Clinton's rights-evaporating Patriot Act had already had us having to give two pieces of picture ID at airports and passing through metal detectors--how did 14 Saudi dudes go through those metal detectors carrying metal box cutters?), and brought down the World Trade Center in New York City--I mean, how all our national defense was overseas--still fighting wars like wars were fought in Imperial Europe times--pouring more and more troops into countries you wish to conquer and capture spoils and slaves from.

--have you heard about the dimming of the sun? A climatologist named Jerry Stanhill noticed while studying how to set up irrigations systems in Israel, that according to his calculations, there was a loss of sunlight over Israel during the several years he studied the situation. He published his findings in the '90s. His premise was that while studying sunlight in Israel he discovered a 22% drop in solar energy from the 1950s to the 1990s. He extended that localized study out to other sections of the world and his conclusion to his article he offered his phenomenon as "a decline in sunlight all over the world," which he gave categorization to calling his theory the Global Dimming theory--sunlight is dimming due to an encroaching on our atmosphere of toxic gases, toxic raindrops, sulpher clouds, smokestack emissions that act like giant mirrors--they do not allow the Sun's light to get to the earth's surface! It's being reflected back into outerspace by this atmospheric gaseous mirror--the Sun's energy is being reflected back into the Sun's own face. Here, from realclimate, is an article by Beate Liepert, a Berlin climatologist who wrote some early studies on pan evaporation and global dimming, followed by some interesting questions by commenters.

www.realclimate.org/index.php?p=110

--Pres. Bush called a ceasefire in the Israeli invasion of Palestine a "noble ambition," but said there was nothing noble about Hamas, that pack of demons, sailing its tin can missiles at the innocent people of Israel, a nation We the People of the USA through our political mouthpieces--those who control our money--are prepared to put an end to mankind if that's what it takes to make sure Israel survives as the God-given-rights occupiers of what was formerly Palestinian territory.

--Did you know there are approximately 200,000 homeless US Army veterans living in our streets? 17,000, they say, down in New York City.

--Is Gustav Klimt's portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer in which he used real gold and silver and other precious metals the world's most expensive painting? $300,000,000 bucks paid to the Bloch-Bauer family due to it being confiscated by the Nazis when they took over Mr. Bloch-Bauer's mansion in Vienna and his house in Czechoslovakia and it's being discovered finally and through a Supreme Court decision it was returned to the Bloch-Bauer family who gleaned 300 millions bucks off its sale.

From the New York Times:
"The gold painting was originally commissioned by Mr. Bloch-Bauer, an avid art collector, for his Vienna palace. Klimt spent three painstaking years on the canvas, making hundreds of sketches for his sensual vision of Adele, her pale face at the center, her hands twisted near her face in a vulnerable gesture. (A film accompanying the exhibition reveals that Adele often twisted her hands because one finger was deformed.) Most of the canvas is covered in undulating sections of gold paint: in geometric squares and circles, Egyptian-influenced eyes and, if one looks carefully, A's and B's in gold relief."
Sharon Waxman, The New York Times


I read an article saying the Klimt painting sold to the Neue Museum, a German-Austrian Museum in New York City dedicated to German and Austrian art and crafts before the Nazi era, for 103 million and change, at that time the record, but then a Jackson Pollack sold for 130 million thus toppling the Klimt's old record--however, the appraisal of this Klimt painting, I recently heard on a New York City local teevee program, was 300 million dollars, which would make it the world's most expensive piece of art.

--200 cubic kilometers of ice has melted off the Greenland Ice Sheet. If it continues to melt at this current rate, it should begin to affect sea levels around the world within the next decade. Worst-case scenario: if the seas rise 25 feet, that would be enough to put NYC and Wash. D.C. totally under water--why, it would put the whole state of Florida under water, too.

--companies I've never heard of before recently: how about the Jared Galleria of Jewelry? They advertised heavily in the NYC area all during the X-mas holidays.

--Charles Ives wrote: "Why try to trace any stream that flows through the garden of consciousness to its source only to be confronted by another problem of tracing this source to its source." From Essays Before a Sonata, by Charles Ives.

--a poem called "Who Am I?"

I want to go
but
a wall ascends
I want to rise
but
the moon won't set

Hey, there's not much to do up here living in a log cabin on the shores of Lake Flaccid up in Upstate New York--there's really nothing much to do anywhere in Upstate New York--I jest of course.

barabasmunn-daynethejots&tittlesman
for The Daily Growler

Addendum: from languagehat (L Hat), via wood s lot:

http://inspectorlohmann.blogspot.com/2009/01/vorocracy-final-historys-most-lethal.html

Here We Go Again

Auld Angst Zion
New Year's Eve? I was right up the street from Times Square. Fools, I snarled as I looked up that way when walking home, crossing Broadway at 10:30 after leaving my fav Irish pub where for several hours I flirted madly with the Peruvian lady manager and drank free drinks on the son of the owner, but as I crossed Broadway and snarled up at the whatever-the-population counts on the number of fools there gathered, I noticed it was cold as the deepest part of shivering Hell, 12 degrees, or 7 degrees I heard one person complaining as they struggled against the Arctic wind that was infernally slamming its way up and swirling around the Great White Way; in fact, and in reference to Disney's invasion and occupation of Times Square and Broadway these days, it was as cold as several white witches's teats--and that chain-links my mind into asking, did I ever tell anybody the derivation of my dad's being nicknamed "Tittin'"as a boy?

I had a clodhopping great uncle on my dad's side named Uncle Fats, and every time Uncle Fats saw my dad he called out, "Hey, Tittin', how y'all doin'?" Uncle Fats wheeled his way around my hometown riding high up in the buckboard seat of his huge old wooden-frame steel-girdered wagon that was carriaged on an iron-rigged underbody supported and motivated by four great-big iron wheels that left tracks in the asphalt of the city's streets every where old Uncle Fats and his horse-drawn wagon went as he went about town plow(Fats would have spelled it "plough" 'cept he couldn't spell for shit)ing or grading for folks, plowing yards and spreading fertilizer on them and then seeding them with grass, or plowing up and then grading the bed for a new driveway, or grading alleys for the city. That was Uncle Fats's occupation, though tales were told that he not only was a plowhand, he was also a blacksmith, a welder, a wood carver, a shade-tree veterinarian, and that he was the father of 21 children, and that his family all lived in a rehabbed chicken house, a big chicken run, out in a part of my hometown called Donkey Flats--way over east of town about 3 miles out toward the airport.

And Uncle Fats was a big man and he wore big blue overalls with a red undershirt in the summer and a plaid wool overcoat in the winter, and big black raw-looking mule-leather work boots and perpetually on his wild-haired head he wore a flying-saucer-size wide-winged black hat and riding high up on that high-up wagon seat as he came driving his clanging-clopping wagon up the street you couldn't miss him. And when we would be out driving around town, like coming home after church, sometimes we would hear Uncle Fats coming before we actually saw him and my mother would suddenly start whining, "Oh, Lycantropy, please don't stop and talk to him--roll your window up and make out like you don't see him." But my dad would always ignore my mother's pleading and when old Fats pulled up alongside our car then you'd hear, "Hey, Tittin', how y'all doin'?" He was family and my dad was very family proud, no matter the low condition in society of the relative.

So that's how I found out my dad's nickname was Tittin'. And I knew what it meant, too, especially after I heard my dad in the kitchen with mother one night sayin', "Ah, Mamma Wolf, let me have a little look and feel at those dinners!" "Go ahead, Tittin'." That's what my mother said. And I knew dinners was what my dad called my mother's breasts. And one night while on a date with my future bride, in the passion pit of an Anaheim, Calif., drive-in movie, I realized my nickname could have been Tittin', too, because seeing my future wife's beautiful dinners that night...well, you catch my vulgar drift.

And yesterday I was so pissed. I was growling my ass off about our fucking pompous little-man billionaire mayor and our Irish Shanty NYPD commissioner, Ray Kelly (what a crooked little smartass power-mad jerk he is), were in Israel! Showing their support of Israel as its American-paid-for Army sweeps into the Gaza Strip to wipe out as many Palestinian Arab dogs as they possibly can get away with killing--wiping out, whatever you want to call it. Israel has kept the Palestinian casualties at around 4oo and holding right now--saying most of those were Hamas terrorists--yeah, like the woman and her children who were sound asleep in their home last night when an Israel missile meant to hit a mosque hit her house instead, blowing her and her children to Holy bits! Israel is also saying that Palestinian reports of 650 dead and 20,000 injured are exaggerated. "As long as Hamas is firing its deadly coffee-can missiles at innocent and precious--God's chosen--Israelis (so far 4 Israelis have been killed by Hamas missiles and two of them were Arab-Israelis)--trying to wipe Israel off the face of the earth, something Israel has been whining about since 1946; yet, no Arab intervention or invasion army into Israel has ever been successful. Even Saddam Hussein's SCUD missiles never killed any Israelis back when Saddam was the Devil of the area. What nation could possibly wipe Israel off the face of the earth? The US certainly could--we have 200,000 or more nuclear weapons still in our arsenal--or Israel could be its own worst enemy and commit national suicide by dropping one of their nuclear bombs on themselves. And the Israeli Army is talking about how ruthless and wickedly perverse the evil Hamas terrorists are with missile retaliations--and this is the same Army that viciously bulldozed to death a young American Jewish girl who was trying to protect a Palestinian home by blocking this Israeli Army bulldozer from flattening that home --yeah, that's what the Israeli Humane God-chosen Army did one of the many other times they've invaded the Gaza Strip--bulldozing down homes was their specialty then--then they followed our advice and built a tacky high wall imprisoning the Palestinians--and today, even the other Palestinian leader, the good one, is in New York City pleading with the ineffective effete UN to bring about a ceasefire someway, though Israel is having too much of a Power Elite military ball bombing mosques and schools and hospitals and forbidding food and needed medicines from being sent into the rubbled area--cutting off their water and electricity--bombing their mosques--and even taking over their television station and running anti-Hamas cartoons repeatedly all yesterday and today--and New York City's fucking prick mayor and our cocky police commissioner and a Jewish Congressman, Gary Ackerman, who's usually a pretty fair politician except when it comes to Israel, are in Israel photo-opting all over the place, even faking a Hamas missile attack nearby while our mayor was on a stage making a speech and they rushed him off to one of those handy Israeli bomb shelters--and oh how serious he looked as he jumped like the coward he is when he thought his time had come. Why the hell he was putting himself in such a dangerous situation is beyond my understanding--what if Hamas had of missiled his little-man target ass, would Ray Kelly be mayor now?--or would the missle have wiped him out, too?--oh my Christian-Jewish God Who Art in Hebbin' what would we New York Citians have done without our brilliant rich mayor's leadership skills?--why, afterall, he's a successful businessman so he has to be correct no matter how wrong he is. Of course, this little squirt's Power-Elite-tripping adventure in this apartheid situation (blame it on Jimmy Carter) was captured on camera--yesterday and today all the NYC commercial pap teevee stations were showing it over and over. The most ignorant thing they kept showing was Mayor Hotshot banging his head into the Wailing Wall. I thought we separated religion from politics in this country! I know, I know; I jest; of course I know, please, don't point your finger at me.

Here's what this little prick Power-Elite blameless billionaire pompous-ass short-people mayor said in Israel (from Fox News):

"You should rest assured, if anyone in New York was being threatened, my instruction to the NYPD would be to use all the resources at their disposal to protect civilians," Bloomberg said.

[I still don't get what resources the New York City Police Department has against missile attacks, whether from Hamas or the National Guard of New Jersey--I question even what authority a mayor has in ordering his police to take military actions--police aren't supposed to even have military-type weapons--but I'm sure our Little Shanty Irish Commish has some weapon stashes under One Police Plaza, a virtual fort it's so well protected these days--it's surrounded by concrete barricades, barbed wire, towers with cameras on them, guards, gates--protecting our cops from who, I wonder: the citizens of New York City? Al Queda? the Iranians? or are they being protected from UFO attacks? Why do the police and the mayor, for instance, need a billion-dollar Hitler-style bunker to hide out in like Unka Dick hid out in his bunker when New York City was attacked not by Hamas missiles but by American airlines planes flown by a flock of mostly Saudi-Arabians whose IDs and photos the FBI and the CIA had in the next morning's newspapers they were so thorough at their investigation of the matter--I mean, they ID'd these guys and had mugshots of them the very next day--which brings to mind, this new book that says Pappy Bush (the old daddy) was in Dallas the day Kennedy was assassinated (Pappy was head of the CIA once--how quickly we forget) brought me to remember that coincidentally old G.W. H. Pappy Bush was having breakfast with Prince Bandar Bush on the morning of 9/11 [Prince Bandar Bush, remember him? You don't hear much about him at all anymore, do you? He's Osama Bin Laden's half-brother, remember?] and Pappy and the Prince watched 9/11 going on on teevee and they were laughing about it hah-hah-hah, the privileged assholes, and then Pappy was running to the phone and calling his coward son, still reading My Pet Goat to school kiddies down in safe-from-wrath-except-the-wrath-of-God Florida, and telling him to provide US Air Force planes to fly all the Bin Ladens in this country out of here and back to the safety of their Kingdom! And all criminally insane power brokers, these bastards, are still living a damn good life off their war profits and stolen monies and crooked investments--while We the People of the Good Ole USA are left holding a mere bag of shells--stupidly standing there with our jaws dropped open asking, "Where'd all our money go?" Obama said he was going to fix it all--but alas, dear ones, Obama is backpeddling like a true Dumbocrat off his campaign promises--backing down to the pressures of our Power Elite, which is white male and very wealthy--to these ruling dudes, Obama is nothing but a house boy! You all dig? Now back to New York City's stupid, little prick, billionaire, born-in-Boston mayor and his stupid asskissing up Israel's nastiest buttcrack]:

"I think as a New Yorker, we've been attacked twice by al-Qaida itself," the mayor added. "We've seen enormous devastation and courage and after that you sort of feel you have a bond, if you will, for those who live in a dangerous world and subject to someone trying to kill them."

How about the Iraqis, you stupid dick? How about the Afghanis we're killing daily? The Iraqis and Afghanis were not Al Queda. There was no Al Queda in Iraq until Commander-and-jerk G.W. Bush invaded Iraq and tried to occupy them and steal all their oil. When asked recently what he thought was something good he'd accomplished as faux-president, G.W. dumbassly replied that he was powerfully proud he'd wiped out Al Queda in Iraq! The interviewer said, but, Mr. Faux President, there were no Al Queda in Iraq until you invaded it and tried to occupy it! To which the brilliant Georgie Porgie Puddin' Pie replied, "OK, that's right...but so what?" That's a typical response from a member of the blameless Power Elite! Even their wrongs are justified simply because they have the power and privilege to deny, deny, deny, to lie, lie, lie, and bold-face steal money right out of We the People's back pockets or purses and say "So what?" when you catch 'em in the act.

And then, god-dammit, just as I was cooling out over my NYC mayor making an ass of himself in Israel--let me sidetrack, I got somethin' I've got to say, and it's this: I resent that billionaire bastard saying he represents the feelings of New Yorkers and is there to express New York Citians's bond with Israel. Fuck him. I don't bond with fucking Israel. I don't bond with the fucking Palestinians either. They all should be lined up in front of that Wailing Wall and..., but then that's the animal in me talkin'--and the animal in me is demanding I go for some throat I'm so fucking pissed off at politicians and the privileged bunch of filthy rich robbers who rule us with a down-their-fucking-noses attitude. This fucking mayor has gone from being the 65th richest motherfucker in the world (and little Mikey loves his old mother, too--you bet he does--she's a saint!) to now being the 5th richest man in the world--a rocket ride up the Fortune 500 just since he's been mayor of NYC! He should run an infomercial on how he managed to make himself so much richer so fast just by being the mayor of New York City--and he pompously tells us he doesn't take but $1.00 a year for his salary--and that's what the little fuck pays taxes on, too---the rest of his fortune is safely tied up in offshore banks or in T-bills, land, estates, foundations--what a little fop! I say let him stay in Israel and run for mayor of Jerusalem.

And that anti-Bloomberg tirade took me away from my coolin' out over this prick--and as I said, as I was coolin' out on growling about Bloomberg, Obama, that asshole, now is saying well his economic stimulus program has been put on a back burner for now--blah, blah, blah--in fact, he's now hinting, it may not even happen! What is this asshole doing? And then, Bill Richardson--and I called Bill Richardson a crook a couple of posts ago--and he is a crook--had to withdraw his name as Sec'y of Commerce because he's being investigated for taking payoffs for New Mexican privileges--oh Jesus F. Christ, Obama, why are you getting involved with the very assholes who've brought country to the brink of failure? George McGovern tried to democratize the Dumbocratic Party--run the rascals out, he said--and that was the Dumbocratic Convention that seated the Mississippi Freedom Party over the Mississippi Lynch Mob led by that old Cracker son of a bitch governor, Ross Barnett.

There he is, Ross Barnett, Gov. of Mississippi in the revolutionary 60s--he called blacks "Coons." It's appropriate that Ross Barnett Reservoir is on the Pearl River, the river in which Cheney, Goodman, and Schwerner were buried in a dirt dam after 3 or 4 good citizens of Mississippi, a couple of them law enforcement officers, beat them, shot them, cut them, to death, cut their nuts off, cut them up, burned their bodies, then buried them in a dirt dam on the Pearl River. "Mississippi...GOD-DAMN!" as Nina Simone sang!

Fanny Lou Hamer, a hero not a martyr, though they beat her brutally, spat on her, put cigarettes out on her breasts, stuck broomhandles up her vagina, but she "stayed the course," kept her hand on the plough and held on--fuck Ross Barnett, fuck the Mississippi Dumbocrat Racist Party! One of the great all-time American women.

And that pathetic Ronald Reagan, that big dumb asshole, went to Columbus, Mississippi, where Fanny Lou had been beaten to within and inch of her life and started off his 1980 election campaign--the campaign that most cynics believe he set up with the Iranian government at the time who had kidnapped several Americans--remember when Iran was the devil's country?--and Ayatollah Khomeini was the Devil himself?--anyway--it was also in the same county where Cheney, Goodman, and Schwerner were brutally murdered--why, it's even near where Emmett Till insulted a white bitch and was also murdered and dumped in the Pearl River. Uppity black bastards.

Oh how sick and scandalous most US politicians have been since the beginning of this White Man's so-called "democracy" where all white people are created equal--and blessed by the Christian God--and are righteous and giving and caring--oh yeah!

I keep waiting for the day Israel starts building some crematoriums behind that tacky wall and start offering Palestinians free showers--clean 'em up--and these Palestinians will just like those long-ago persecuted Jews--in what country was that?--went without a bitch to the showers to get cleaned up--hey, Palestinians cook just as well as Jews. The Final Solution!
And while we're at it, let's annihilate the Iranians, the Pakis, the Afghanis, the Iraqis, the Syrians, the Turks, the Kurds, the Turds--hell all of 'em, stuff 'em in some ovens and, alas, God has willed, that's the end of Arabs--and wild-eyed terrorist Islamics--except Bin Laden. We can't hurt him--remember, he's a member of the Saudi-Arabian Power Elite! He's privileged, folks, don't you think that's why they never brought him forth to be showered in an oven?

So Obama's not going to give us any incentive monies--and next we'll hear, well, he's probably not going to hire Americans to fix the infrastructure of this country either, nor will he likely upgrade our school systems, and he certainly won't give us National Healthcare--IN FACT, don't bank on Obama doing any changing at all--except changing his own lifestyle. Hell, he's the first black who can now say he's a top member of our Power Elite--he's more powerful even that that military asshole Colon's Pal--he may be the most powerful black man on earth now. Think of that. Think of the good he could do. Regret the good he will not do.

Sorry, folks, but the Dumbocratic Party has Obama by his nuts. No politician in this country at the moment, and that includes the unfunny, as far as I'm concerned, Al Franken (he's conservative as hell; defended the Iraq War when he was on Air America)--and the ineffective Barney Fife--er-ah, I mean Bernie Sanders as well.

Nothing will change except the name on the White (notice that's WHITE) House stationary.

Remember, I'm now officially a prophet!

theembitteredgrowlingwolf
for The Embittered Daily Growler