Letters to the Editor
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Doug Stanhope is right
This is the most boring dull pussified watered down generation in the history of people.
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I attended a memorial service of a black man.
Percy was 82-years old when he croaked. He played the sax, the wash board with thimbles, the spoons upon the knee, and a juice harp.
He knew he was gonna die so he taped a tape recorded message.
The voice of Percy filled the room with smiles, laughter, and many tears.
It echoed Joy.
It was a beautiful. He said his cheerful "Thanks" to everyone who came to pay him respects. He begged we all would gather later at a meal, and that we'd continue to be Alive, caring, and we'd promise to work and live in peace. He requested that we;d continue on and remain happy and true...He requested we toast a shot of Scotch he rarely could afford. We did. Cheers.
A young girl played a violin eulogy and then placed gently a whole bottle of expensive Scotch in his grave on the burial day. I've often wondered if Percy drank it later. I hope no grave robber GOPS dug the Scotch bottle up.
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Bebop you is in rare form this day
I admit to a moment of weakness because my mother is dead. No. I don't mind she's dead. I ache because I no longer can give her a hug. Some days I forget she's gone and I tell myself I need to call her when I get home. Then I realize I will never hear her voice again.
So OK. That's the last sharing of personal grief you'll get from me. Big bravado male cry too. But not like the crocodile. More like the sound of a sucking chest wound. Horrible. It takes so long to break a man down that when it finally comes, it comes in torrents and it's like all the tears that have ever been shed and all the sadness of this life come pouring out. And it keeps coming until it's just a dry heave of tear ducts.
But then it's over and the steel door slams shut for many more years. You know what it's like, you big softy. So don't go calling me out for being human.
My my, you are so full of rage today. Did the f-you lizard shit in your scrambled eggs with ham pieces lurrp rats? You got to eat it and beat it Bebop. G-3 says Charlie's heading your way in force. Put out those claymores on a "ring main" and hunker down. No smoking. No talking. Don't even scratch your ass.
Charlie is coming to give you his state of the Union. You'll know. The birds will stop singing. The clacking bugs will be silent. You sweat. You itch. You wait. Then you hear the sound of metal clanking and some Charlie talk far off. Everybody get their selector switch on rock 'n roll. Don't move. Those 60-gunners shift the weight of that big black death-stick one last time and then here comes Mr. Charlie around the bend. They can't be more than 15 years old. Wait for it sarge. You've got the clacker. You get to be God today and decide the moment of their death. You wait for Charlie pointman to pass. The kill box is full. You squeeze that clacker three times hard. And nothing happens. They see you. You're naked, floating above the ground. They raise their AKs and you are paralyzed. You can't move.
And you wake up sweating in your own bed. Your hand clenched into fist. What happened to the clacker? What happened to the jungle? What happened to your young fit body? You woke up old again damn it! And you've got a bum leg that tortures you when the wet weather is coming.
At least you are not a name on that black granite wall. That's one thing good. Or is it? Do you ever go down in that pit and press your fingers into a carved out name of someone you once knew. Do you ever tell him, "Gary, there are days when I feel like you were the lucky one"?
There's a lot to be angry about, Bebop. There is a lot to hold inside and be a macho man. I never cry much over that stuff, Bee. But I'll always be my mother's little boy. Let me at least have that without mocking me.
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I just texted my girlfriend
Opus has inspired me to do so. I am on the East Coast, temporarily, due to work. My girlfriend is on the West Coast. I miss her. While I do call her frequently, I also send (and receive) text messages along the lines of "I <3 You" or the other kind of nonsense that people send when they're in love. Is this "diminishing my humanity"? Give me a break. What, am I supposed to be sending letters written with a goose-quill pen on parchment?
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Get up Bebop, it's time for PT
See One Thirty Rollin' Down the Strip, Air-bone daddy gonna take a little trip, Stand up hook up shuffle to the door, jump right out and count to four, if my main don't open wide, I gots another one by my side, if that chute don't open too, lookout earth I'm comin' through! A-gimmie some, A-gimmie some, Up the hill, down the hill, through the hill, Air Bone!
You better take that damn penguin for some PT sarge. He's getting fat.
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Why does Opus have an erection?
Is there something freudian about this cartoon?
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Not Freudian
Looks like feet to me.
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Garry Owen
I've never been to war--can't meet you on that plane--but you can certainly be human in my book. Best to you.
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how can you say I love you to an answering machine
Is it okay to be a luddite? Thomas Pynchon says yes, and I'm inclined to agree. http://www.nytimes.com/books/97/05/18/reviews/pynchon-luddite.html?_r=3&oref=slogin&oref=slogin&oref=login
Don Delillo doesn't have an email address. I wonder why not, or remember in Kurt Vonnegut's last book his chapters about using the postal service. Old fogey's maybe, or maybe I, the opposite end, a 22 year old, just think technology is materialism, and all a blackberry does is make you be at work 24 hours a day. Then again I prefer writing on a computer and kinda want a mac air. But ludditism is not an assumed stance, the dominate culture suggests technology is okay and positive, to think against trends you have to "think". Scientific positivism is so ingrained in our heads, despite nuclear weapons and the spread of carcinogens, its hard to deny those bright futures sold in advertisements since the turn of the century. Am I happier when I aim people all the time and text message, (well sometimes its convienent true, we can't do away with it and it has those benefits) but do I think for so many people those things have become a bit too normal maybe, probably. Is there any going back, well no, we are a hundred percent in technoland to the point we judge economic and social standing based on a person's access to hitech computers and products. Its a part of fashion, really and truly, and the companies who made it that way through advertising have won a victory over the idea I still cling to, that real human progress and capitalism do not go hand in hand. Such a victory of the market over our lives, I can not see but as a tragedy of the human.