An Interview With Myself (Part Two)

Yes, this is the long awaited, highly anticipated sequel masterpiece widely known as PART TWO of INTERVIEW WITH MYSELF.  Note, I did not just say I was playing with myself.  I know how you could be confused by that.  Especially if you were retarded. Besides, if I were doing that, I would not be able to type because it takes a big man like yours truly in order to fully pleasure himself with TWO BIG HANDS.  My own, of course.  Not the three hundred pound guy in the apartment below me.  His forearms looks like he has muscled up by doing a lot of "wanking the weenie" all day and all night.  No wonder I hear so much grunting and coughing below me.  I think the guy smokes a couple cigs after he's done sapping his milk duds, and plays Lynryd Skynrd's "Freebird" when he finishes.

After one particular session, I thought I heard him say "Ta-Da!"

Personally, I've never been able to tolerate Lynryd Slynrd that much, no matter how much I stroke the skin flute.

Ah, well.

Here's the second part of the interview with myself.  Enjoy!

Inquisitor Kelly: Why did you pick the name "Psycho Carnival" for the name of your blog?

Honest Kelly: It seemed like the most appropriate name.  Really, Psycho Carnival started out as an underground newspaper.  Underground newspapers were little newspapers or pamphlets that were regarded as subversive, anti-establishment type reading, in some circles.  Some of these were artsy fartsy and/or loaded with hand drawn cartoons. Some had radical views to a majority of people.  Some just wanted to voice an honest opinion on today's society.  That's were I come in.

Here are some copies of the old Psycho Carnival.  Sold 'em for 2 bucks a pop at a few bookstores. I didn't create them from scratch for profit- but to get my own ideas out there- across the country.  Which I did.  It was fun and I felt fulfilled.

Enlarge the image to see all the nooks, crannies and various goodness.  Appreciate the awesome handmade artwork-  completely computer-free design, as your own personal deity intended it to be.. or something.

Btw, I started my paper, Psycho Carnival, long before there was a band by the same name.  But I didn't have the zine, as they were often called, copyrighted and frankly, I didn't care that they came up with the same name- whether it came from me or their own minds.  Whatever. 

Underground newspapers got their start in the 60's and 70's but were still semi-popular in the 80's and 90's. 

I started writing, drawing and creating (stapling and pasting) my own underground newspaper (Psycho Carnival) in May 1996, using paper, pen, pencil and a word processor, several years before personal computers became widely popular.  Computers were just starting to become a household item when I started my paper- but since I wasn't trendy, rich and didn't want my underground newspaper all fancy shmancy like those other candy-ass papers were, like some were in the 90's, I did my own thing, like I always have done.

This blog is an extension of that underground newspaper.  I started the blog, late in the year of 2007. 

On the back of each issue of old Psycho Carnival newspaper or zines, as they were called, which I continued to author for three years, would be a poem I wrote.  It was one of many I have written in my lifetime.  Check it out below my joyful artwork!

I drew this and included it in a special edition of my underground newspaper.  It is a scene of my often appearing character, Jeepo the Clown, entertaining a guest.  Please enlarge to completely enjoy the gentle nuances of my delicate, merry artwork.  

Enlarge, in case your peepers have trouble reading the delightful poem.  The smoking monkey, by the way, is symbolic of humankind's follies and bad habits.

Inquisitor Kelly: Do you write other stories, besides what some would call "naughty" tales?

Honest Kelly: Yeah, I do write in other genres but for some odd reason, people get hung up on or notice the stories of sexual situations more.  I have written mega-loads (don't get too excited when I say that) of stories that are science fiction, drama, humor and so much more.  I guess it's more of that sexual repression type stuff that only goes on in the minds, for the most part, of the American public.  In Europe,  they don't have much of a problem with this.

I gotta add that I think we're a country full of hypocrites that have their concerns and priorities misplaced.  Violence is considered okay and often celebrated by our culture.  Going to war on a country whose people we don't know or care enough to understand is as accepted as easily as Mom's apple pie and baseball here.  But sex elicits raised eyebrows, angry rants, silence and shame, instead.  How backwards is that?  Violence is a flag we proudly fly.  I consider the act of violence a hell of a lot more disgusting than the act of making love to someone.  Blowing someone you don't know or understand to bits, either up close and personal or by a military drone- now that is SICK. 

To me and quite a few people, the sex act is an act that is funny, itself, really... so I often add humor along with it.  The thought of two or three or a mob of people grunting and groaning and putting themselves in all sorts of positions to get their rocks off paints a silly scenario in my mind.  Don't get me wrong!  Sex can be romantic- but often times, it includes these animal type scenarios that emulate monkey hi-jinx, at times.

For the record, the "Toadie" series of stories, I've written for this blog in the past, aren't something I came up with because I enjoy making fun of mentally challenged people.  If people were to actually closely read those stories, they would note that the character, Toadie, who seems mentally challenged, isn't really that way and that he may be putting on an act, considering what he will say later on in an episode that reveals his true self.  Meanwhile, the people around him are easily duped.  That can come in quite handy for him.

Inquisitor Kelly: What would it take to get people in this world on the right track and not continuing it's seemingly downward spiral?

Honest Kelly: Understanding between people who might seem different than us until we get to know them.  Putting back bank regulations.  Stop communicating so much with electronic hand held devices (cell phones, IPads, IFux or whatever throwaway gadget they're called).  It's so sad that we are a "throwaway" society on pretty much anything that's bought.  Whenever a new "upgraded device" comes out, people will cheerfully buy it instead of, oh, I don't know, wasting it on someone who is hungry or homeless or some other positive purpose.

 Forget about distractions like reality shows and silly tabloids.  Cease being a conformist.  Stand up and take responsibility for your actions and for cryin' out loud, stop denying what's happening in the world.  Fairy tales are for children.  In fact, I think we should start preparing kids, when they are young with how things are so they don't get blasted in the face with reality when they get older.  Speak out against what is obviously wrong instead of waiting for someone else to do it.  Stop polluting this world as if we have some other planet to land on, inhabit and slowly or quickly destroy.  Opening one's mind.  Those are just a few things off the top of my head.  Thanks for asking.  That was, like, totally unexpected of you. 

    

Inquisitor Kelly: Describe yourself!

Honest Kelly: I think I'm a man that has many contradictory traits to his personality.  I don't think I'm bi-polar, by any means.  But I have strong opinions and strong passions for certain things that seem to contradict myself.  I'm not boasting when I say I'm complex, but it's the truth.  I'm still surprised by people who have known me since childhood.  One of the worst things you can do to me, personally, is make assumptions.  People have done that to me all of my life for idiotic reasons and, unfortunately, I do have to address some assumptions (lies)  and set the truth straight out there.  If I don't, it has led to more trouble than I care to talk about. 

Personally, I don't give a rat's ass, though. 

In all honesty, I think I lost a part of myself when my mother passed away.  I was a shadow of my former self for a very long time.  Still am, but not as much.  I attended therapy and was prescribed anti-anxiety and anti-depression pills that work for me now.  It took awhile to find the right ones that were a "good fit" for me.  It takes awhile for some people to find the suitable pills because they'll sometime have drastic side effects with these pills.  Anyway, I could confide in Mom with everything.  She would listen, non judgmentally and answer a question- only if I asked.  She loved me, unconditionally.  She passed away 7 years ago.  I miss her love, twisted humor and our talks about ANYTHING under the moon and the stars.  My Aunt Kay, sister and wife can sometimes fill in the deep void in my life but they, honestly, can't come as close as that.

With this comes the responsibility I share with my sister of taking care of Dad, who has vascular dementia and other maladies too long to list.  Even though he's in an assisted living place, he still has to be taken to doctor appointments and he still wants to be taken out to eat.  And he's still angry, verbally abusive, threatening and you can never just visit him without him wanting you to take him somewhere.  I recently put 200 miles on my odometer as we got lost three different times during the day.  He refused to be taken anywhere else but this one particular Cracker Barrel restaurant.  This is just a small sampling of what we have to go through. He also constantly loses his extra body parts, including, but not all mentioned: hearing aids, dentures, glasses, canes and so on.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to take care of my wife who has severe high blood pressure, arthritis and much much more.   My own malady list goes on forever and ever so I won't bother to start.  Besides, I've written all about it before.  Excuse me for a moment.  I have to shoot insulin into my belly.  Be right back.  :)

Though I still suffer from depression and disease time to time, I'm still able to find the humor and positive aspects of life, despite what I'll sometimes put on this blog or my Facebook wall.  I think people don't look closely enough at a person, in order to try to get to know them, at least, to some degree.  What a shame!  For me.  For others.  Everyone.   

Inquisitor Kelly: What's the weirdest thing that's happened to you, lately?

Honest Kelly: Well, for this scorchingly hot summer, there was a woman in her early forties, in a tank top and pair of shorts, sitting on her ten speed bicycle.  She would be sitting on her bicycle for hours and hours at the end of our road.  I would go to the store, for awhile or go to the park or wherever.  When I'd come back.  Sure enough, she would still be there.  I wanted to roll down my window and ask her if she was okay because she looked like she was going to cross out onto the side of road to ride her bike, even though when there wasn't any traffic, but she would just sit there, instead and quietly wait.  Every so often, she did a little circle ride at the end of our road but she wouldn't travel further.

I thought something was wrong with her, maybe mentally, but wasn't sure.  Maybe, I thought, she was just afraid to take her bike out and ride it along the side of the road.  I never asked. 

I come to find out from my wife, from the neighbors and what my wife witnessed herself, that this woman was a prostitute.  My wife caught her bobbing her head up a down on some guy in a car at what used to be a dentist's office nearby.  The dude had his head leaned back, in apparent ecstasy.  I guess he was giving the ol' girl some free toothpaste.  :)  I bet she could have used some real toothpaste, a pint of mouthwash and medical attention for any diseases she might carry.

The neighbors told us that guys would pull up along the side of her bike, talk to her a bit and then get out to put her bike in their trunk.  And then, away they went off to somewhere, for awhile, before returning her to the end of the road.  Then she did the "wait on a bike" routine again.

On several occasions, she was found to be wearing a sign around her neck during those skin blistering days.  The sign read, in big bold lettering: Pick me up!  I'll make you happy!

There was a smiley face next to the word "happy."  A couple neighbors in our apartment complex said she was mentally challenged.  No kidding, I thought.  The sitting out in nearly 100 degree weather with an obvious sign around her neck didn't give that detail away at all.

These days, I don't see her... anywhere.  Maybe the police finally picked her up.  Maybe she's in a mental institution.  Who knows?  In any case, she's off the end of our road and we still have a bunch of neighborhood kids who still, gleefully, carelessly, play out in the middle of the entire length of our road with their balls and bikes and toys, not giving a shit if they get ran over or not.  Btw, all of these kids have medium sized front and back lawns and big driveways.  The parents, of course, still put signs out near the road, declaring that we should all slow down for the sake of their children.

Yeah, and people still like to tell me that people are okay.  lol.  Take care, everyone!  I'll be taking a blog break for awhile.  Hopefully, I will blog yet again next month, sometime.  Btw, would you care to try my free toothpaste?  Just thought I'd ask because... as I've often said... I CARE A LOT.

An Interview With Myself (Part One)

During the last post, regarding newly given awards and "amazing predictions", I said was going to skip over the rule about naming the seven most important events in my life or some shit like that.  Since I, ahead of time, knew I would be doing this bit, I figured why bother.  It would be repetitious and with this present post, possibly a two parter, if I get too chatty or start rambling on about this or that, then posting up those seven amazing moments would make it seem I've got the ego the size of Donald Trump's or Mitt Romney's own ego.  And who wants to see that?  Gosh, certainly not magnificent lil' ol' me.

As the title suggests, I will be interviewing myself, revealing things I may have mentioned before here, some things I've never revealed, but also adding some clarification to misconceptions.  I'll also be adding some traces of sardonic or dry humor that some individuals may or may not perceive, successfully, depending on how sharp of mind that being is.  Not that I'm putting anyone down for having the intelligence quotient well below a snail's turd- but there have been times when I've read the comments on my blog or ones I've read on other's blogs and I've found it somewhat disconcerting to realize there's more than a few, uh, how should I put this in polite terms... mmm... dumbasses out there?

But, being the helluva guy I am, I'm throwing caution to the wind and going on with the show.  I want to inform you, my friends, entertain you and gently coddle you like tiny baby birds in a wasp's nest, keeping you feeling all warm and secure, inside and out.  No shocking diatribes, sarcasm and crude humor found in this humble abode of mine, I can assure you.  I certainly wouldn't do that to get an individual's attention to make one simple, friggin' point.

Ahh... there I go again with the friendly, idle chit chat.  On with the interview:

Inquisitor Kelly:  What's with the clowns?  Everyone believes you have this vested interest with clowns because of the heading on your page.  It's loaded with repeated images of clowns.  Are you afraid of clowns?  Do they arouse you, in some undetermined way?  A lot of folks, on and off this blog, have brought this "highly interesting' subject up time and time again and have this deep desire to know what's up with that.

Honest Kelly: I really don't care one way or another about clowns, actually.  When I conferred with the co-designer of the web page's layout, a couple years ago, she suggested that I keep the image of the clown from my old layout to use with this layout.    Her daughter even drew me up a jazzy, nifty looking clown and I have kept it on the blog ever since.  Why clowns?  I agreed for the sake of keeping with the theme of the blog.  Not because I like clowns or want to, hopefully, fuck one so hard in the ass one day that it's bright red colon explodes- but because of practical reasons. And to be truthful, I think every human being is a clown, just at different levels.  Some are more obvious than others.   Because of the clown question, it was, at one point, tiresome to read the same question over and over about it.  I didn't give a shit enough to give a reason for it.  Even now, I just don't care.  In fact, knowing that this insignificant image on my page supposedly frightens people, as I've heard it does with some freaks.. I mean... people... amuses me a tiny bit.

That goes for the black background on my site.  Some people say it's too hard to read my words on a post I'll put up.  To them I say, I like the black background.  Black matches the sometimes dark themes I bring up during my rants and stories on my charming blog.  I won't change it for anyone or for any reason.  Not for more followers.  Not for more hits on my pages.  In truth, the opinions of most people mean less than nothing to me.  This is because I'm too old, too wise and have had enough experience to imbue myself with the knowledge that people basically want things their way because they are selfish and narrow-minded.  Not to mention uptight and stupid.  Thanks for asking. 

Inquisitor Kelly: What was your childhood like?  Were you a normal kid?  Or were you a rowdy, screaming monkey child or what?

Honest Kelly: I grew up poor.  I lived in an old, four room, white-paneled house on farm land.  The cistern we drank out of, we found out later on, had quite a few dead and half-dead albino frogs in the water.  We didn't have a shower.  We poured buckets of water over our heads and washed with that water (which I think was from a creek up the hill) in a hand made metal stall my dad had built.

I had a swing and a tire on an apple tree I played on.  I also had a black and white cat named Pepsi, a German Shepherd named Happy and I often talked to an old large apple tree, out of loneliness, boredom and because I had a fertile imagination.  Finally, 6 years later, my sister was born.  I played with her toys, rode bikes with her and played with my own collection of Hot Wheels cars.  Each one of my Hot Wheels cars had his or her own personal name and military rank.  The President was in love with the Secretary.  Sometimes, I made them kiss.  The apple tree, outside, often told me to kill the useless weeds in the yard (they were the enemy).  So that I did, with pure, delightful abandon and with a large stick I'd whip around, cutting them down like a warrior.

Down the road, we had neighbor kids that enjoyed peeing into each other's mouths, for sport and dry humping the wiener dog.  They locked me in their spider-filled, completely dark old basement once, for hours.  They would make Kool-Aid, on hot summer days and their mom would serve it to us kids in unwashed, food-encrusted glasses.  I'm surprised, to this day, I'm still alive.  I'm not kidding about any of those details and I've talked about them a couple times on this blog.  When I was six, I had no idea what they were doing to their dog.  Later, I put it together and figured it out.  All I knew was that it's little doggy eyes rolled to the back of it's head while it lay on the slab of concrete while one of the brothers cheered on the human kid fucking it.

I found out later that Happy, my dog, was a bad doggy to a vet.  Dad said he had ran off one day.  No explanation was given.  I was shocked and saddened when I was told that as a kid.  When I was 16, Dad told me that he had to "put Happy down" because Happy suddenly bit a big meaty chunk out of a vet's arm during one of Happy's regular vet appointments.  The vet told Dad Happy had to be put down or he would make sure Happy was euthanized.  The way Dad described it, it took several shots to his big furry canine head before Happy finally died.  Hearing this story did not make me happy.  But I understood the reasoning a little later.  Happy could have killed me, at some point and that's what they were afraid of.  During our play time together, though, he was a really friendly and honestly happy dog. 

On a happier note: I really enjoyed the walks mom and I would take down the old gravel road that was named after us because Dad had done so much work on it, himself.

Every week, it seemed, we would pay a visit or visits to my grandma and grandpa's farm down the old country lane.  I was mostly a very shy, quiet kid.  I played with my Aunt Kay.  I remember one particular time when we set white milk stools together, down on their sides on the floor, in a line and sat in the open spaces.  We pretended that we were riding in a train and made "choo- choo' noises.  Those were fun times.  My Aunt Kay, who was more of a sister to me, now and then, says that she used to bully me.  I don't know about that.  Maybe it's repressed memories.

She would play tricks on me, of course.  She was a little jealous of sweet lil ol' me because I was the "new baby",so to speak, of the family.  It had been her for awhile.  One time, she blindfolded me and told me to take a big bite out of this juicy apple she had in her hand.  So I did as she directed, as trusting and innocent as a kid I was.  But no, it was a tomato, not an apple.  I shouted, "Yuck!"  I quickly took off the blindfold.  When I saw the mushy pulp and seeds of the tomato I wanted to puke, preparing my taste buds, beforehand, for a sweet, juicy apple.  To this day, I won't eat a tomato.  They repulse me.  I'd rather lick a cow's taint than eat a fucking tomato.

Pretty visual, eh? 

Because I was shy, I often got bullied on the buses, as I grew up.  I didn't know you could be thought of as being "stuck up", too, for being quiet but I heard it whispered that, that was another reason I was bullied so horribly.  Four to five bigger kids would gang up on me and smash their hard back school books on the back of my head on the school buses.  A few would punch my face.  The school bus driver would watch the action, in his rear view mirror and do nothing.  He was famous for this.  Anytime there was a fight or bullying, he did nothing and reported nothing.  I was too ashamed to tell my parents about it so they more or less didn't know about it.

I made a few friends in grades 1-8 in parochial school.  They were a couple of "misfits", as well, because they would not be picked out for team sports and were quiet and whatever else kids (and for that matter, adults) would use- as an excuse to pick on them and I.

Speaking of bullies, that's a subject that really pisses me off on many levels.  With all this texting and facebooking gossip shit going on between kids, telling lies and being cruel, kids these days are really having a hellish time with bullying these days.  They sometimes end up killing themselves, in fact, from what you read in the paper and on the Internet.  It makes me sick.  I hear and see crap about gangs of girls kicking the shit out of other girls and I wonder what the hell kind of values are their parents teaching them. Even my niece is getting bullied by school girls, calling her names and filling up her locker full of tampons, of all things.  My sister didn't put up with it, of course.  She went to the principal and told him to get something done about it or else.  Because of her being pro-active, it has stopped.

These days, there are more and more school departments or people you can go to if you're on the receiving end of bullying, but more, clearly needs to be done about it.  Kids shouldn't be killing themselves and feeling like they're not worthy of the respect they should be given during the time they're in school or out of it.   

I read a lot of books when I was young.  I also wrote a lot of stories, mostly about my parakeets, cats and my dog.  A lot of vivid imagination and descriptive wording (not so much that it was shocking and it was never vulgar) went into them and I was told I was a very creative writer by my English teacher.  I liked the compliment as they were few and far between.  Unfortunately, I had a teacher who thought I had too vivid an imagination.  I never wrote anything perverted, if that's what you're wondering.  I was just a kid.  The teacher's name was Mrs. Patterson.  She was one of two or three teachers who wasn't a nun at the school by the old church- but she did fancy herself as an amateur psychologist.  She really thought she knew a lot about psychology.  The bitch even tried to suggest to my parents that there was something wrong with me.  My parents were young and didn't know any better (I was their first kid) so they tried to convince me there was something wrong with me, too and that I should seek counseling.  I think I was like ten years old at the time.  It was around this time, I found out I was half-deaf, due to all the ear infections I had as a kid.

I had a fit, cried quite a bit and it really caused me to question adults and their fucked up motives.  Before that, I was questioning the motives of adults because of all the violent news of the Vietnam war that would be shown on TV.  Even at the ripe old age of ten, I knew it was wrong and I thought, quite often, what kind of mess of beings have I been thrown into, without permission.  These fuckers are nuts.  Well, I didn't think in exactly those words I just used, but it close enough.  I did think adults and kids were really messed up- not just because they bullied me but because they seemed to be preoccupied by violence- on TV and everywhere else.

This is me, when I was a kid ( had blonde hair until I was six), plus another pic of mom and I, when I was older and we were fishing at the time: 

Later, I went to high school, joined Drama Class, wrote articles for the school newspaper, continued to write serious and humorous stories, acted in plays, had a poem published, went to a lot of parties, got drunk and fried and really started opening up to people and getting pretty wild, in general.  My personality changed quite a bit in high school.  I was the one who started trends without even meaning to do that.  In reality, just as I do today, I just do whatever I feel like doing- within reason.  I'm not a serial killer.  And I don't sodomize animals on Tuesdays.

I've never tried to be rebellious or a non-conformist type of person.  One friend suggested that I was trying to be that way on purpose once.  That made me laugh and I replied, "If you know anything about me, you know I'm honest about what I say and about my own actions- to a fault."  And he said, "Yeah... you're right," after thinking it over for a little while and recalling the years of our twenty year friendship.  I just feel like doing whatever fits for me.  The need, as it did when I was kid, to fit in, doesn't work for me.  I'm my own person.  To each person, I believe, they should go his or her own way.  To the rest of those who blindly follow without questioning, fuck 'em. 

Inquisitor Kelly:  Would you say adults who were bullies or even adults who weren't bullies when they were children, but are now, don't understand what effect they have on people?  And perhaps, in fact, don't give a shit about what effect they have on people? 


      

Honest Kelly:  I think there are many people or groups of people who fall under the category of "Bullydom."  It's funny you should ask me this, Kelly.  But maybe it isn't so odd, since you are, in fact, me.  I wanted to do a blog post on bullies for a long time now.  And now... look!  I finally made it here.  Looks like the subject is being intertwined within this interview, after all.  Ha ha ha.  I'm laughing to myself, literally, I suppose.

There are, indeed, adults who are bullies.  Sometimes they are parents who really shouldn't be breeding, having children and shouldn't be brainwashing them with their own distorted viewpoints, neither should there be bosses who abuse their hiring/firing, pay raising/lowering power, police officers that abuse their authority and corporate entities that squeeze money out of the middle class and the poor for their own profits and gains.

Corporations can be the worst of all evils and of all bullies because they try to control and bully us in our short, precious lives here on Earth by pushing us into corners we have no escape from.  Sometime, you might feel a temporary escape by taking an anti-depressant (which makes your misery profitable for big pharmaceutical companies) or by doing cocaine, drinking booze or worse (which makes it profitable for drug cartels and, in turn, for the DEA and law officers- if you do your research).

Let's face it!  If we didn't outlaw drugs, there would be a lot of space in those jails and prisons and then where would the states and the government make their money?  Hell, we might have to actually put it into schools to educate kids, pay teachers what they deserve, hire and keep firefighters, fix roads or some other practical purpose.  God forbid!

I see, in the future, tobacco products becoming completely illegal within the next twenty years.  This will be great news for organized crime and others.  Just like it was when they made weed illegal.  Read that entire story here.  It will either disgust you or shock you or both.  Or maybe you just don't care.  A lot of people don't care about their privacy and personal freedom, either.  Look around!  There are sheeple, everywhere!  People have always had the (un)natural "talent" of being able to ignore being shit on or becoming obedient slaves to a centuries old man made system. 

Btw, marijuana, being made illegal, was great news and carefully planned by folks like our government and rich, white assholes such as Harry J. Aslinger and William Randolph Hearst.  Both had vested interests, for their careers, to make weed out to be an addictive drug, capable of killing and driving one insane.  Nonsense!!!  

The silly 1930's flick, Reefer Madness, was nothing more than a propaganda film, intended to scare the public.  Instead, it's watched today as if it is an absurd comedy movie. Good ol' propaganda!  Kind of like drawing people into a war with a country, in the name of patriotism, that we have no business in being in- except to drum up business for rich white people in corporate hierarchies.  They have what we want!  Let's wage war on them!  We'll set up our democracy there, afterwards, to keep the profits rolling in.

Well gang, I'm getting pretty tired.  I have just enough energy to do a quick re-read of what I've written, take a quick piss and hit the bed sheets with my exquisite self.  I think I will continue the second part of this interview another time.  Hope you enjoyed it.  I have more to say, since I'm a rambler, but it will have to wait.

Cool Air Has Inspired and Enthralled

The taint is dry.  My brow is sweat-free.  I can actually walk around in something besides my Cousin Eddie outfits.

Happy to report:  The main AC unit has been officially repaired and installed in the wall.  Before that, the temperatures ran around 80 degrees F. in the apartment.  When the area around us wasn't getting pounded by thunderstorms and 40-60 mph wind gusts and hailstones, the temperatures rose to record numbers this time of year.  Not even summer yet and it easily would get up to 85 degrees outside.  Most of the time, I walked around in my underwear or boxers and a pair of sandals or black slippers.  Nothing else.  My wife warned me not to go outside, saying that I might get raped in my seductive get up.  Somehow, I didn't believe her.

Watch Cousin Eddie, in action, below, in National Lampoon's Vegas Vacation.  This is likely my least favorite "Vacation" movie of the series but it had it's moments. Methinks Cousin Eddie may suffer some anxiety disorder, at times.  I can't fault him for being a moron, though.  He's the entertaining kind of moron.  God puts 'em on Earth for our entertainment, I think.

Beats being around a boring moron- one like most of us encounter each day, on several occasions. This clip below is not the "shitter was full" scene of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation- but I like this scene.  Everyone and their butt mole has got that one memorized and it has been shown to death.  Hell, it's tradition for us to watch the Christmas one each year.  I still get a boner when the girl in the red bathing suit is on the diving board of the fantasy pool.  My wife ruins my mood by saying that when she flips her suit up in the air with her foot, she is cutting a pussy fart at the same time.

I also slap myself on my head to recall things.

Now I can come into this room, play games, make witty as heck comments on blogs and entertain myself by spouting off words of wisdom.  By the way, I saw the mentally challenged man again at the park.  He was still mumbling, frequently waving his arms up and down and made quacking noises.  He paced back and forth, every so often shouting, "Gimbiddy Goobey Blaaarghh!"

The mother or caretaker of this person was looking at the picnic table she was sitting at, perhaps thinking of a creamy fudge bar or slitting her own throat.  I know it's hard for people to take care of people when they're mentally challenged.  I feel for them as much or more than the mentally retarded folks they take care of- they're like the unspoken heroes and people don't say enough good about them.

At least, he, the dude I was just yakkin' about, wasn't like this other asshole in the park.  This old guy, The Curmudgeon, I call him. He was all stretched out underneath a shelter, sweating profusely, red in the face, swiggin' out of his bottle of whatever like he was thirsty or something.  :)  Anyway, he, of course, makes one of his negative remarks about how the weather is.  He doesn't miss a chance, whenever we pass each other in the park, while walking, to say how crappy the weather is or if it is a nice day, he'll say, for example "Gee, it almost feels decent today."

After he says something that I don't really feel like fully absorbing in my brain because I know how his mind works, partially, I ask him, nicely, if he is okay.  No sarcasm to my tone, whatsoever.  He breathes in, sort of okay, but his breathing is a bit ragged.  Based on this and his appearance, I had asked if he was okay.  If he needed any assistance.  Ever since I've had earlier dramatic incidents, this year, of people collapsing in front of me or onto me, in my arms, I'm a little anxious.  I'm ready to call 911 on his crazy, obnoxious, old ass.

But he says that he's okay and I walk on my usual path.  Apparently, he was "okay" because I saw him walking again.  I tried to say hello to him and get him to stop, briefly, to ask how he was but he ignored me and made sure I knew he was doing it on purpose.

I thought he was being silly, vain and stupid.  So I laughed each time as distance separated us when we walked in opposite directions.  The next day, he must have known he looked like an ass because of his attitude because he immediately engaged me in a conversation about trips he and his wife have taken to Hawaii and other locations.  At least, he isn't a total turd.

When people start conveying personal info, it's usually easier for me and quite a few people, I notice, to warm up to them.  They seem more human.  That's the lesson I take from it during my experiences of these kind.  People play odd games.  I like the straightforward, honest approach.  Why be something you're not?  Don't fear!  Show yourself-- flaws, talents, interests and all.

By the way, my neighbor, across the street, has a dozen flags in his yard.  Big flagpoles with American flags in his small yard. I don't know why he has them there.  Memorial Day is quite a long time from now.  I took a picture of his front yard-in case he kills me later on.  He reminds me of the Bruce Dern character of the movie "The Burbs."  The neighbor across the road from us is always sitting in his lawn chair in his open garage, watching the movements of all in the neighborhood.

  

Barreling Through Christmas With Determination and Valium

So far, I haven't allowed my depression from not having Mom around get to me this year.  It's been 6 years since she's been gone and she was truly the glue, along with my grandpa, holding the family together.  Now the family is fragmented.  One won't attend a Christmas gathering because so and so will be there and another will make it impossible to reach because they don't care about getting together for one reason or another and on and on it goes.

You would think everyone could put aside their differences and petty hates to get along but nah... no such luck.

Still, I'm barreling through the four and possibly five different family Christmas gatherings that I have attended and possibly will attend- that is determined if we can ever reach him.  One of these gatherings is coming up Christmas day.  Unfortunately, we're hosting it.  It is exhausting so far, with the house cleaning part, decorating windows, food preparation and so on.  Nope, not my idea.  I'm doing all of this strictly for my significant other.

She deserves it, wants it and it will make her happy as long as I don't lose my temper, become frustrated and stick the tree up somebody's ass, completely obliterating their colon.  That last part, knowing the in-laws, could happen.  I can count on them to make things even more difficult and convoluted than they need to be.  An old story.

This never worked for me.  Not even with that toothless meth addicted midget I found in the alley.  Her oozing sores were a dark Christmas red and green.

I'm usually an old grouch, Grinch and sometimes, a full on bastard around the holidays.  I don't want to be but that's just how it is.  My depression, frustration with crowds, family, traffic and all things stressful, pushes me to the edge. I feel a tremendous amount of guilt for being a little less than festive- well, a lot less festive the last 6 years and I'm desperately trying to make up for it.  Yes, this time around, I am really trying to make things as good as they can be this Christmas- for the wifey and for lovable ol' me.

What a beautifully festive display.  Someone finally gets it right.

The positive approach is better than being negative.  No matter what obstacle has been thrown my way, I've tried to make the best of it.  Hell... why not?  And you should see all the nice gifts I got my Sweety this year.  Jewelry, even!  Gosh, I'm a hell of a guy.  And I haven't broken the bones in my hand with all of the patting myself on the back one bit.

What a happy-go-lucky elf I am.  Not at all driven to insanity with all this holiday cheer and shit.

Yesterday, it was raining for the 10th day in a row.  I hurriedly got in my truck, got my rain poncho out and came back inside, on the bottom floor.  I was bound and determined to go for a walk in the park.  Fuck the monsoon we were having around this goddamn area.  I didn't feel like going up the stairs to my apartment and putting it on.  Instead, I put the rain poncho on downstairs in front of the neighbor's door at the bottom of the stairs.  Sure enough, while my head was buried and I was scrambling to get this rain poncho on right, the neighbor woman below, with her baby in her arms, pops out her door, suddenly and scares the shit out of me.

"Goddamn!," yelled I.  I added, "Holy shit!"

The neighbor smiled and then asked a stupid question, "Is it raining?"

I was soaked from my head down to my boots.

I do so much love it when people do this.  When people ask me obvious questions, I immediately get a boner.  In fact, anytime someone does something ridiculous in front of me, I sport wood.  Fuck, I must be hard all the time, eh?  Pull out in front of me, suddenly, with your crappy little Smart car and I'll pitch a tent in my pants like no other.  Of course, I will run over your Tonka Toy piece-o-shit with my big V-8 pickup truck while doing so, but hey, isn't that showing some Christmas spirit?

Anyway, after ranting away about how dismal the weather has been in the area, I told the neighbor to have a Merry Christmas.  Maybe a little forcibly, in tone, though I didn't meant to say it like that.  She wished me the same, politely, and said she had to go to work.  I wondered how she was going to go to work with a baby in her arms, but, oh well.

Maybe I'll be give her a little Christmas cheer and let her have the close parking space next to the main apartment door below a couple times.  I'm a real giver this year.

Anyway, Merry Christmas, everyone.  Unfortunately, I'm gonna have to disrupt my blog posting challenge for the next few days because of the overwhelming upcoming events I'll be working on.  Family feasts and more.  That means I won't be able to post anything for the next two days, at least.  Believe me.  I would much rather do the blogging thing than- wait a minute- I gotta be positive no matter what.

Wish me luck!

A Praying Mantis by my door, waiting to ponce on me and bite my head off.  I did mate with her, after all, and that's how they do it in Praying Mantis World.  Begone, vile fucked up looking monster!  I will forever regret fucking you in the ass.  Especially now that my head has been bitten off.

The 7 Facts Award

Wouldn't you know it? The great and wonderful me has gotten another award thrust upon myself and I want to thank the just as great and wonderful, if not better, LilPixi, from It's A Lollipop World.

LilPixi has got a kick ass, wild and humorous blog that features delightful topics ranging from popping penis balloons to pleasant experiences like having your heart abruptly stop pumping while slippery shit dumplings suddenly pop out of your ass like a Jack-In-The Box as you're attacked by crazed, jacket-eating giraffes. I'm might have added a bit of color to that last description but, basically, it's true. Check out her zany, original blog to see what I mean by all this insanity.

As usual, there are the rules. As usual, I will break one or more of them. Here are the rules:

*Copy and paste this award to your blog

* Thank and link to the person that tagged you with it.
* List 7 facts about yourself
* Give the award to 5 other bloggers and tell them they have it.

I shall list 7 facts of myself, once again, like I did at the beginning of this month, because I know how much everyone is just dying to know more about sweet lil' ol' me. I'll try my damnedest to tell something about myself I haven't before on this site but I can't guarantee you'll be oddly fascinated or even erotically stimulated by the answers.

#1- I can hear, just at this moment, at one o' clock in the morning, some asshole loudly rummaging around in the large garbage bin, down below one of my apartment windows, slightly off to the right side of the building. No shit! This numb nuts is hunting for I-don't-know-what at this time of night but it is unnerving. I'm wondering what kind of info he might be finding out. Damn, I hope he doesn't find the messed up Barbie Dolls I threw in the trash that have my name stamped on their plastic asses. That might be embarrassing.

#2- TV shows I watch on a semi-regular basis would include: House, Family Guy, Nova, Bizarre Foods With Andrew Zimmern, 1000 Ways To Die, Tosh.O, National Geographic specials, Baggage, NCIS, The Daily Show, Minute To Win It, History Channel shows and more I can't think of at the moment because the douche bucket down below won't stop making a racket.

Perhaps he's collecting cans. I hear a lot of tink-tink-tinking going on. Perhaps I'll save him the trouble of making a few lousy bucks by collecting cans at one in the morning to drag to the recycle center later for money and throw a few dollars out the window at him so he'll go away. Fuck it! I'll just pull the window up and activate "my amazing sprinkler system" (also called My Bladder and Tubular Sex Organ) and give the guy a golden shower. Nah. Strike that! That freak might enjoy it.

Moving on...

#3- Is an omelet really an omelet without the cooked flesh of some dead animal and some cheese? I think not. I don't eat omelets without meat and if you try to force one, sans meat, upon me, I will be forced to declare war. It would be as bad as drinking decaffeinated coffee to me. What's the point?

#4- I was taught how to fish, set up a tent and camp, chop wood, enjoy a good strong cup of coffee, reap the benefits of what worlds books can open for you, draw, paint, cook and observe before you blindly jump into something all before the age of ten. Imagining and creating stories came naturally to me. So did the ability to be direct and honest. An ability some people in society annoyingly lack for the purposes of not wanting to "make waves" or be open.

#5- I like animals more than I like people. A real shock, isn't it? Hahaha..... Okay. I'll stop.

#6- I was once an elf for the Keebler Cookie Company. But instead of doing our work in a tree, we did it in a factory filled with huge hot ovens. I was driven further into the depths of madness with this fast paced, stressful job. It was my duty to watch, from 10 at night to 8 in the morning, literally millions of goddamn cookies go down the conveyor belt very, very quickly and check for minor imperfections of each friggin' cookie. If you found one or more unsightly cookies, you had to have the reflexes of Flash to grab it off the line before it got to the packagers' section. Chaos often ensued when there were more than a few at a time that were "bad".

In only seconds, I had to judge the quality of each cookie as they whizzed by. Does this one have enough chocolate chips? Is that one perfectly round? Does that one seem photogenically balanced and capable of pleasing a typical obese American? Gosh, I sure hoped so. My eyes watered and glazed over after a few hours of this relentless burden and my back was about to break. Eventually, the stress got to me with this job (slave labor) and I allowed a billion and one cookies to pile up on the factory floor one night. When blood comes out of your ears and drips on the perfectly shaped cookies, you know it's quitting time. Boy, you should have heard what those potty-mouthed elves had to say about that mess. Goodness gracious, I was appalled!

#7- I've met eight of the major players of The Big Red Machine. The Major League Baseball World Champions of 1975 and 1976 were gracious enough to give me and our small town's citizenry, free of charge, a signed autograph of themselves back then. It isn't too often that a big name professional athlete does anything like that- free of charge- these days. It's all about the money. That was an amazing day for a 12 year old boy or for anyone else, for that matter. Click the link above for the significance of these guys. They are legends.

As for any recipients to pass this award forward to, I'm going to give it to one blogger I've never mentioned before and whose blog has given me chuckles aplenty past and present. He may do whatever he wants with it. Let it be known, I have officially bestowed this award/survey upon him like a crown of golden dingleberries.

The proud recipient is Rico Swaff of the spectacular blog, The Chronicles of Rico. Hey dude, follow the rules above as much as you want. Take care, folks.

Great Affordable Christmas Gifts

I don't know if you've noticed or not but we're currently living and struggling in a recession. Well, at least 98% of us are. The other 2%, the Über-wealthy (those being careful not to be in direct contact with we, the peasantry) among us believe we are no longer in a recession... but they can go fuck their self-delusional selves, of course. Is this class envy, some of you may suspect? Nope. Just simple, clear minded observation of today's reality. Join me for a tiny taste of reasoning, won't you?

Anyway, I digress...

I have put just a whole lot of thought and consideration of the current holiday and over commercialized gift giving season and have come up with some delightful gifts that are simple to make or find for both friends or family. You can bet your sweet bippy that they'll enjoy these special presents for many years to come. And best of all, none of these items will ever go out of style.

Without further ado:

BAG

This simple item can be used to put your stuff in and is especially affordable during these hard times. Think of all the fun you can have with BAG and be sure to note the look of wonder and glee in your child's eyes once they open their gift box and see BAG for themselves. One of the most impressive qualities this item has is it's ability to be taken almost anywhere... except at the airport, where your courteous airport security personnel will happily treat you like a terrorist and give you a deep cavity search just for attempting to carry your average supermarket BAG on a plane. BAG can also be handy as a container for used facial or toilet tissue.

Other uses with BAG include but are not exclusive to: placing over an insidiously ugly citizen's face, placing over one's shoes so the individual can not only keep their footwear clean and dry but they can slip, fall and break their fucking neck and last, but certainly not least, BAG can handily function as a way for suffocating an insufferable, irritating douche bag any time of the year.

TURD

This particular item can be home made by eating enough food and being able to push it out of one's butt hole. It's the kind of gift that shows to loved ones, friends and family that you truly care because it is so personal. What's more, TURD may be used in conjunction with BAG so instead of the recipient getting only one gift under the Christmas tree this holiday season, they may receive two at one time. What a delightful bonus! If you should not want to go through the effort of producing TURD yourself, due to either constipation or pure laziness (as in "I don't give a shit"), feel free to go to your neighborhood park or back yard to find a fresh or not-so-fresh cat, dog, deer, fox or Sasquatch TURD.

What co worker, friend or family member wouldn't be instilled with feelings of endearment and joy this holiday season by finding this special stocking stuffer? Special considerate additions to TURD could be: incompletely digested corn, blood, a bit of hemorrhoid or a dollop of whipped cream on top. Go ahead! Make TURD special this Christmas!

ARTWORK

This gift has a multitude of possibilities and as a bonus, it serves as a way to express yourself, creatively, whether it's handmade and or something you bought cheaply from a very starving artist or took from an orphan child while it cried. ARTWORK can be something drawn on a piece of paper. Such as: A smiley-faced stick figure. Or... A peace sign. Or... A child's handmade drawing of his or her family soaked with well spent tears after you robbed them of it.

ARTWORK need not be categorized as something only painted, drawn or tattooed above one's buttocks. Indeed, ARTWORK can be something made or used out of any one of the following: clay, Popsicle sticks, paper mache, aluminum foil, wood (careful with that knife), hardened mucous "boogers" and of course, the ol' tried and true, TURD. You may want to use gloves with that last one. With 'boogers" there's no real need because you can simply lick your fingers after you're done. No mess, no fuss.

GLASS JAR

Some may argue that this invaluable present is a bit too much like BAG and that I may be repeating myself in some fashion but I disagree. GLASS JAR is a much sturdier gift and is much more efficient for holding liquids and jelly-like substances. No real chance for leakage, especially if you have the lid screwed on nice and tight. Well, now that I've said those two words, I have a substantial boner. Who would have thought? GLASS JAR can be also used for quickly flinging into a continuously disagreeable individual's face. You know, that special someone who delights in disagreeing with you on every single goddamn thing that you say just for the fucking sake of disagreeing with you.

But I digress...

Additionally, GLASS JAR can be used for containing homemade jellies and jams, moonshine, pee, a fart or two (however many you can fit in) or an imaginary sum of cash. For that last suggestion, I suggest you print the cash value of the imaginary amount of cash that is supposedly in GLASS JAR and tape it firmly on the side of GLASS JAR. Otherwise, this unique gift just won't have as much meaning and the recipient will not be able to appreciate the real value of his or her gift and will therefore be somewhat displeased.

Well, that's all I can or care to think of at the moment. I hope I've enhanced your holiday and gift giving experiences with these festive ideas. If you wish, you may thank me for these helpful suggestions by leaving a thoughtful comment in my comment box. In conclusion, I wish all of my readers (all three of them) a very merry, joy-filled, awkward family gathering Christmas this year.

Seasons Greetings, everyone!

Disturbing Neighbor and The Attention Needy

My neighbor that lives below us in our apartment complex is likely the worst one we've had in the ten to twelve years we've lived up here on the hill.

Not only is he annoying and disturbing, but he has that bad boy, punk ass, "gangsta" look about him. He has made it clear he is a bully and is possibly physically abusive to the woman and little girl who lives with him.

I'll get back to this douchebag in a minute but first I have to say....

It hurts me to utter or write the word "gangsta" because it's not a real word, but instead, something rappers and rap fans made up to make themselves sound tougher than they actually are. "Gangsta", which I'm guessing is supposed to mean gangster or some other similar tough guy nonsense, sounds silly to me.

In fact, anyone who tries that hard to impress me with their toughness or supposed uniqueness ends up making me shake my head. This especially goes for people who stick lots of metal jewelry into their skin or cover themselves with too many tattoos or black eye liner or wear their pants almost down to their knees.

I feel like saying, "Yeah, you're such an individual. How unique you must be. I get it." Or.... "Gee, what a statement you're attempting to make. I'm so impressed with your supposedly extreme, attention getting appearance, I'm clearly shaken by it all or, at the very least, popping a boner with excitement or whatever. Now, go away!"

At first, people like this made me laugh. Then I found them to be mildly entertaining. But as the years go by and I grow older, I find that they just bore the fuck out of me with their desperate need to get my attention or show that they are so much more different than the rest of us. Pure Silliness. Futility in action.

Hey, do you want to show me how unique you are, Numb Nuts? Talk to me and let me in on your thoughts or your true persona. Better yet, show me who you really are through your actions. No swaggering or over-the-top conduct, please. Just the real you.

There were real gangsters in the 1920's to 1940's in America. These were true criminals. Like Al Capone, for instance. Not that these true criminals have any more redeeming value than today's gangster wannabes in the rap industry, poverty-stricken districts and ghetto areas.

I guess you could call someone a gangster that belongs in a street gang. But that's really stretching it a bit for me. To me, they are just common street thugs, dealing drugs, involving themselves in petty crimes and sometimes committing violent acts. They have many excuses for needing to belong in these gangs and will usually acquire their money by doing anything but getting a real job and earning their money.

But getting back to my equally worthless neighbor....

He also wears the droopy pants, has tattoos all over his body and does the "tough" talk routine. Never before have we had someone (or something) like that living in our apartment complex in the years we've lived here.

More importantly, this gangster wannabe screams at the woman and little girl that lives below with him. He shouts at them in the parking lot, too, for all to see. I also hear a lot of thumping and banging down below. I can't say for sure if he's physically abusing the little girl but it wouldn't surprise me that much if I found out for certain.

My wife says the front door below, that sits below our stairwell, is broken at the top, where the metal arm thing was attached, because of him. My wife says she thought she saw him pushing his girlfriend so hard against the door one day, that the force of her shoved body caused the door to break free from the wooden frame above. Earlier that same day, she could hear what sounded like them arguing back and forth below us. The door is, indeed, unhinged at the top and I'll be calling our landlord soon to fix that.

This barely human turd also allows the little girl to drive her plastic tricycle all around the parking lot, not keeping a watchful eye on her half the time. With how busy our parking lot can be, this poses a real danger. On one occasion, I've seen him pull his car into the lot and the little girl looked like she was hanging halfway out of the passenger side of the car. At my angle of sight, I couldn't tell for sure if she was wearing a seat belt or not, but it still looked pretty wrong to me.

Whenever, I see the woman living below us, she is never friendly and, in fact, appears nervous, like she's hiding something. This is conjecture on my part, of course. There are also some unscrupulous looking types of people, "friends" of his who visit him time to time. Maybe they are decent people. I don't know for sure so I'm not going to assume -but all of these things put together make me a little nervous, myself.

Another bothersome activity this asshole likes to engage in, every so often, is thumping on our floor/his ceiling if we turn the volume up on our TV above the 25 mark. Not that loud, really, when you take into consideration that our TV goes all the way up to 100. We've had around five different neighbors living below us in the nearly dozen years we've lived up here and we've never had any complaints before -from neighbors or landlords.

Yes, I know. We should have called the landlord already for a variety of reasons. The couple of reasons I haven't done this so far are this:

1- I don't like to get people that live close to me in trouble. Usually, this will cause trouble for the complainer (me, in this case) and will sometimes result in having your car tires punctured or some other retaliation by the bothersome neighbor. Since I have a bad temper and am easily stressed out, I may do something even more stupid to him. I have my very weak and shaky emotional moments and then, on the other side of the coin, I have my super-motherfucker-I'm-going-to-fucking-kill-you kind of moments in these situations. I can be extreme, either way. And neither one of those ways is not good, I know.

2- Even though our most recent landlord is a cop, he's doesn't seem to care about when tenants complain about other tenants -even if it may concern a serious issue. One tenant, who talks to my wife, fairly frequently, alerted our cop landlord that she thought a person who had just moved into the apartment complex was a thief. He told her that he didn't care as long as he paid the rent on time. This tells me that he may not give a good shit when I tell him about the neighbor below us.

I don't know for sure what will happen next with this guy but I have a feeling I'm going to be forced to call the landlord and make a complaint or several complaints about him. I just hope it doesn't backfire -for our sake and if he pisses me off too much -for his sake. I don't want to go to jail over this gangster wannabe.

Besides, that would put a damper on my all-too-important cruise this summer. Ha ha. Good golly, I hate fuckin' bullies and other tough talking pieces of shit. How about you?