Hawaiian Adventure: Evening Sky and Oddities Found in Hawaii

Hey there, everyone!

Remember me?  Yeah, it's been awhile.  I was absent from the world of blogging because my wife and I were on a cruise in Hawaii from the 29th of September through October 6th.  I've been recuperating and getting things back in order ever since.

The first day and night was, during our adventure, September 28th, and all about flying for 10 hours on two different flights to Hawaii and staying at the Marriott Hotel in Honolulu.  Our first flight was from Cincinnati.  The flights going to Hawaii weren't as bad as I thought they were going to be.  I watched two and a half movies on the biggest plane that had seven seats going across each row (one of them was Prometheus- which I liked) while my wife read a book on Steven Tyler.  The 2nd plane, on our second flight we had to take, was in Utah.  The Salt Lake City airport is tiny compared to the airports in Honolulu and Cincinnati, where we joyously we ended up, with only a little turbulence, experienced, during the long flights.

The Marriott Hotel offered us some great views of Waikiki beach in Honolulu.  We stayed there our first day and night before boarding our cruise ship, Pride of America, the next day. Staying at this 4 star hotel on the 19th floor gave us a breather and a chance to look around Honolulu before we started our 7 day cruise, the next day.  There was an incredible 33 floors to this hotel.  It was pretty friggin' big but some buildings in Honolulu stood taller.

Honolulu is a very busy place with a lot to see.  Tattoo parlors, bars, malls, small mom and pop stores, crazy traffic, a melting pot of people, surfers carrying surfboards and a beach that makes you feel as if you're dreaming.  My wife and I loved it.

We took walks along Waikiki beach, enjoying the water and talking to people and being invigorated by the beautiful scenery.

We had an awesome, entertaining time on our cruise and on five different islands in Hawaii.  I will be doing a series of posts of our time spent in Hawaii and on our cruise ship.  Events and places I write about won't be in any particular order.  I'll just be talking about this or that.  I'll be mixing it up and going crazy with it.  Lol.

Note:  I spent my birthday in Hawaii, during our cruise and island time.  How cool and great is that for a gift?

I'd like to show you this poem.  I wrote this during our time spent at the airport, in Honolulu, before coming back home.  I was almost completely exhausted, beyond repair, when I wrote this, but I was inspired by a particular picture I took during our cruise.  I took it as I stood on our balcony, outside our stateroom cabin on the ship.  I felt at such magnificent peace.

This poem is called "Evening Sky"

EVENING SKY

Hello
Goodbye
I say to the evening sky
Tomorrow will come
With what it decides

Some will make what
Seems to be mistakes
While others will see and take lessons
That they might embrace

I see and feel the peace that affects anyone of us
The Hawaiian atmosphere offers locales, beauty and kind people
You can't help but feel blessed

Walk
Run
Or be still

Take in the nature
That surrounds you in joyous or troubled times
Embrace the peace that takes care of you
While you stand, walk, run or hide
For a time

Meanwhile, say hello and goodbye
To that unbiased night sky
Tomorrow still comes
As you let those thoughts fly

I took this shot while standing on the top deck of our cruise ship

Going over the mountains to land in Salt Lake City

Taken from our room at the Marriott hotel in Honolulu.  You can see the ocean and beach from where we stayed.

Waikiki beach, as evening comes

Oddity #1- While we were on one of the Hawaii islands, we found out that there were numerous locations where people were being overrun and annoyed by numerous random chickens and roosters and if you happened to run over one, you had to get out of your vehicle, pick up the chicken, barely alive or dead, to throw it away or eat it.  No joke.  We were told this by a native Hawaiian man.  It was a law or something.

Oddity #2- My wife and I, almost continuously, encountered an elderly couple, strangers, that actually lived a few small towns away from our own town, back home, in the mainland.  They were nice and we enjoyed talking to them.  We found it to be such a coincidence that we were staying at the same hotel, going on the same cruise and we had lived so close by to each other in our home state.  That's nearly 4,300 miles away.

Even on the last flight home, we bumped into them again.  His name was John and her name was Connie.  Sometimes we would help each other locate where we had to be or where we wanted to go on the island or on the cruise or at the hotel.  I think we gave each other a sense of comfort and a feeling of contentedness, knowing we were around, off and on, people that were from our home state.  They were likable, helpful, interesting, conversational neighbors during our entire adventure.

Oddity #3- We learned that a lot of their highways on the islands are made partially from lava rock that has been mixed with asphalt.  They make good use of any lava that erupts and pours from volcanoes to build roads, walls that separate the ocean at beaches or property of any kind.

The lava creates new land, in Hawaii, eventually, but it is also used to build roads and walls on many of the islands.

Oddity #4- The Hawaiian word, mahalo, means "thank you" in the English language.  a lot of people will say this word to you if they witness you doing something thoughtful or nice to them or for another reason.  If you mix up the letters of this word just a bit, you can get "malaho", which our native Hawaiian shuttle bus driver, said at one point, meant a male body part (a man's genitals).  I've tried looking this up on the internet, for the hell of it, but can't find it.  Maybe I don't have the exact spelling of it right but that's what he told us.

Probably just fucking around with the tourists that we all were- but it gave us a chuckle, anyway.  A lot of people laughed.  We found everyone, on any of the islands or on the cruise ship, itself, to be friendly.  We talked to people from all around the world.  There especially seemed to be a lot of folks from Australia, the UK or the continent of Asia.  We enjoyed conversing with them about almost anything and learning about their culture and what they were paying for gas for their cars these days.  :)

In conclusion, I don't know if the shuttle bus driver was yanking my 'malaho' or what- but he sternly warned us not to say that dirty word to anyone on the streets on any of the Hawaiian islands or you would get a dirty look.  And maybe even a punch to the nutsack or coochie.  He didn't say that last part but I thought I would, because I care about your safety if you should go to Hawaii for a visit.  :)

Say, "Mahalo, Kelly!"

I'll be continuing this series of blog posts about our time in Hawaii for a short time.  I have posted all the pictures I took (around 530 pics- yeah, I know- WOW, huh?) during our Hawaiian adventure on Facebook, if you're interested.  I will be posting, in the future, more Hawaiian pictures on this blog and on my photo blog, Pics for Kicks, when I have more time.

We're taking over this island.  If you wanna get past me, you're gonna have to kill me and eat my corpse, damn it!

I'll be checking out and commenting on your blogs when I get the time.  It seems my birthday of October 3rd is being celebrated, off and on, this month, with friends and family.  I'll also be spending time with the wife and I'm still trying to put things in order and working on getting things fixed that happened right before our trip. I couldn't do things before our trip because we were busy and financially strapped.  For one thing, we had to buy a new, used car.  The old car broke down for good.  That put a huge dent into our spending money for the trip.

Later, someone ran into the back of our newly purchased car two weeks later where my wife worked.  Nope... no one saw what happened and nope... there are no security cameras aimed at the employee parking lot (how convenient and stupid) and yes, our insurance company will pay for getting it worked on but we still have to pay a five hundred dollar deductible.  Please don't ask any questions about the damage to the "new" car.  I'd rather not talk about it.  It's a thorn in my side or in my mind, actually.

I have a lot of those, of course.  Most are caused by people.  God, I wish I was back in Hawaii, already.  :) I try to picture myself there, nowadays.

Well, guys, that's all I can stand to write- for now.  See ya later, folks!  More fun and craziness to come!

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.

Jokes I Just Thought Up Because I'm Drunk and Reportedly Speak A Foreign Language

While crossing the street, a nun is accidentally hit by a bus.  It doesn't look good.  Sister Ruby Goodshoes appears to be bleeding from every orifice of her body.   A crowd gathers round the nun and a few text their friends about the incident while others take photos with their camera phones.  The concern over the young woman is beginning to get overwhelming.  One man, in an expensive suit, even considers calling the number for medical emergencies but calls his stockbroker, instead.

Suddenly, a man of much heft, waddles forward through the throng of onlookers and texters.

"Stand back!" the surly man commands.

The elderly man, driving the bus, comes out, visibly shaking and asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

"I can handle this", says the fat, bald-headed man, with complete calm, "I'm a doctor."

With that said, he quickly rips open the nun's shirt, tears off her bra and then pulls down his pants and commences to masturbate, furiously.  In a matter of minutes, the fat man spews forth his jism upon the nun's shuddering chest.  After his last squirt, her heaving breasts become still.

"Huh," said one concerned female pedestrian, previously chewing a wad of gum, "I think she's, like dead, or somethin'."

The fat, bald-headed man threw his arms toward the sky and exclaimed, "Well, I CAME as fast as I could!"

---------

This is a bus.  It has wheels.  Every so often, the wheels go round and round... round and round.

Several cops are pepper spraying a group of activists, outside the building where the G8 meeting is taking place.  One of the activists, despite being blinded by the pepper spray, coughs profusely, yet still manages to shout, "Corporate interests are dominating what is reported and the world's governments and this forum of puppeteer-ed leaders is nothing but an insulting charade!"

Then the incapacitated man shakes and coughs, violently, before falling down and going into the fetal position.  The cops quickly come to his aid by merrily beating him with their clubs after one officer falsely accuses the man, through a megaphone, of carrying a gun.

After the cops are done beating him and handcuffing him, a corporate executive walks up, pats the cops on the back and says to the cops, "These dummies certainly don't know when to quit.  "

Bob, the policeman, replies, "Tell me about it.  Five minutes ago, one of them was telling me "Global Warming" is real.  After I laughed, I punched him in the belly and kicked him in the head and then I said, "You don't know what you're saying, friend.  We still get snow here, about a couple times a year, when years before, we had actual seasons, when the weather patterns were relatively normal."

After Bob said that, he looked to his fellow officer and the corporate executive, awaiting comments, concerning his little speech he had given the rotten punk.

The other cop says, "Yeah... and the city was only flooded a couple months, straight, in a row."

The businessman said, "Yeah... and the temperatures are well above average only 364 days a year, here."

Suddenly, an intelligent man came up to all of them and said, "I couldn't help but to overhear your conversation.  I just wanted to tell you people that you're just proving that the statements you've just made actually prove that victim's point- if you dare to think about it."

While laughing at the intelligent man, a bus abruptly jumps the curb and runs over everyone but him.  Luckily, a fat bald-headed man hurriedly ran up, said he was a doctor and quickly jacked off on them as they took their last few breaths of life.

-------

Q: What do you get when you cross a squirrel with a turtle?

A: A fat, bald-headed dude ejaculating on somebody.

On that note... Have a great weekend!  Oh, wait!  I just thought up my quote of the day: Sometimes absurdity presents itself on many different levels in many different ways during this time, in which we live.  One of the greatest qualities of the human race is that they are likely to progress through the absurdity, the tragic events we sometimes encounter.  We need to laugh, love each other and remember the good times and the good contributions that mankind has made.  


I think I need to go to bed.  Gooooooooodnight.

True Tales of Perfectly Normal Kelly

Disclaimer:  The following stories should be read as if they were written by someone completely sane, always politically correct and sensitive of others' feelings.  They, most importantly, were written by somebody with a sense of humor.  Scared?  Don't be!  I'm here to hold your hand as you take this special journey with me on my latest incidents of pure, wholesome normalcy.  I promise not to give you that special smile, while we walk, that says 'I won't bash your head in with this bronze statue of Zues fucking a dolphin while the dolphin is porking a young handjob-maiden', I have behind my back, when you turn head away, next.  You don't know how often you come across that common stylish item in those fancy antique stores, worldwide.  

 I farted.

But less importantly, I was taking my daily walk at the local park other day.  It was a beautiful day, full of sun and a plethora of blooming trees and there was no one there to possibly bother me.  Sure, I'm certainly a social butterfly that desperately needs adulation and continuous attention until I'm nauseous of the sticky slobbers of a googly-eyed stalker smooching on my ass because the stalker glorifies me... but sometimes, I just need some alone time.  Like about 80% of the time.

Actually... I don't know what these guys are and what they're thinking.  My  ambition to find out where they come from and so on has been replaced by sudden feelings of ambivalence.  Like, I don't know whether to bash this one dude's head in with a gargantuan frozen elephant turd or become inspired and secure, knowing that the human race will come together one day, not give a shit about material possessions and place honesty and understanding at the top of their priorities.   Again, I farted.

Note:  Googly-eyed fish will target and viciously attack your taint unless you have properly cleansed it to the point where it no longer carries the bouquet of aromas made up of shit, piss or pork.  Because, you know they say humans smell like pigs or whatever... especially while they're burning.  Look it up if you want to debate me about this most interesting of subjects while I busy myself with not being the least bit sarcastic.


Join Facebook!  See the attention craving, crack-like addicts who won't stop commenting about that same boring shit, day after day!  Watch people watch other people because they hear they are celebrities and that means something ridiculously important!  Ya ever see a dumbass follow a trend to be more popular?  Ya ever see a monkey picking a nit off another monkey in a zoo or while you're out on safari?  Ya ever witness the increasing lack of creativity and open mindedness of anyone or mass of "anyones?"  :)   People remind me of that stuff and more.  Think about it.  And yes, I already know why they, the monkeys, pick the nits.  But think about redundancy, for one thing.  Jesus Christ in a snack pudding offering soul-saving bargains!  Just think!

As I was taking my daily walk in the beautiful park, I cut a fart (go figure, huh?) and I squirt o' wee bit of shit in my underwear, of course.  I don't care.  As long as it's not running down my legs and causing a pond of chocolate delight around my feet, I continue onward to the bathroom.

I go in, clean the little bit of poop juice in my underwear, wipe the stuff from my asshole, place a small wad of toilet paper between the spots in the soiled fabric and my buttocks and when I get myself together again, shorts pulled up and so on, I wash my hands, thoroughly, go out the door and am automatically confronted with a large, six and a half foot tall guy, walking toward me, only a few feet away.  He's wearing about a 5X sized purple shirt, walking towards me like a zombie, arms stretched out, forward direction.

No kidding about any of this.

He makes sounds with his mouth.  I'm dazed by this sight, this giant monstrosity of flesh and insanity and my semi-severe anxiety disorder kicks in overdrive.  Momentarily, I cannot move.

It sounds like he's saying, "Arburgagog Goalpostical Blarrrrrrrgh!"  But I'm not sure.  I was frightened and in shock.  I just know he wasn't speaking English.  I also felt shit start to rumble in my colon again, threatening to erupt from ye ol' blow hole.  In other more sensitive wording. I figured I was about to have a repeat performance of the other fiasco I just endured.  This sudden attack, that would have probably scared the shit out of most anyone besides me, made my head spin, wondering what carnival freak show I suddenly happened upon.

 I saw a shirt this other day.  He might has well as worn this shirt:

      

I have since learned, by actually being curious enough to find out what Doma Arigato means, that one of it's meanings come from the language of the Japanese.  Domo Argato translates, in English as: Thank you very much. In his case, I suppose it could also mean "Thank you very much for giving me the opportunity of giving you a heart attack and instant bowel movement."

I quickly came to my senses, before he was a foot away and darted out the park bathroom door entrance.  While walking, quickly, on my pained feet and scrambling away as if I was being chased by Bigfoot's deranged uncle, I realized four things.  One, I was successful in commanding my buttocks to keep in any fecal matter.  Two, I think the boy/man was autistic and had a "solid wall of retard" for a body.  Shhh... My sensitivity and naturally instilled political correctness is leaking out again.  And three, about as most importantly, his caretaker or mother or whoever he was with, obviously, was a middle aged, unconcerned person who saw what occurred and sat on a bench seeming not to give a shit about anything.  That could be considered a mistake if the mentally-challenged behemoth was going towards somebody with violent tendencies who didn't scamper away, trying desperately to hold his gravy shits back.  Four, I hadn't taken my Valium that day, yet.

I'm thinking about making a custom made shirt for myself.  It will read:  I'm a sufferer from depression and anxiety disorders.  Please refrain from allowing your own craziness and your human keeping responsibilities "entities" (like mentally retarded youngsters and unbalanced young men and women) and whiny brats to come within a solid yard from me or I will freeze up and/or go on a killing spree.  Thanks!

That might be a little too long and I know most people generally have a low attention span.  I might just go with:  Fuck off!  You people bother me! 


I'm okay with stress when it's not of the sudden shocking kind.  For instance, the other night, my wife and I were riding home in a gusty-as-hell, lightening filled, bucket filling kind of thunderstorm the other night.  I was driving.  I knew I wouldn't panic because I could see, before getting back out onto the interstate highway for the 30 mile trek back home, it was going to be a doozy.  Instead, I calmly drove the truck home, hands firmly and courageously stable on the steering wheel and slowing moved around the ponds of water on the sides of the roads.

As long as I know what's coming, I'm alright.

Yesterday, we had another thunderstorm.  It knocked the electricity out for four hours.  I took a nap in the middle of the thunderstorm.  They had tornado "watches" for several neighboring counties on the TV before I took my nap.  Note:  Four weeks ago, we had a dozen tornadoes ravage our state and a couple nearby states.  I wrote a blog post about it.  When I got up, it was starting to get dark.  I lit a couple candles to see the toilet, furniture that I could stub my toe on and so on.  Then I put on some sweat pants and looked out on the balcony.  Even though it was getting dark, it was beginning to hail quarter sized hailstones, along with 60 mph wind gusts and rain.  And about an hour later the electricity came back on.

Quarter sized hail is nothing for me.  I lived during the "148 tornado and baseball-sized hail stone incident" in 1974.  There was a tornado in our back yard at one point.  I didn't have anxiety disorder back then so I quickly ran to the window, against my screaming parent's will, to check out the very real tornado.  A couple hours later, my younger sister and I started to go outside and collect hailstones like Easter eggs, from the grass, putting them in our Playmate coolers to later store them in the freezer.  Of course, finding no practical usage for them, we threw them back out on the ground after a week.

In hindsight, I should have kept them, went up the big tree in the yard and threw them at cars that passed by our house.  Oh well.

Even though it's fascinating to watch hail, quarter-sized or larger, come down for some people and even me, when I'm in the mood, I am more concerned about my vehicles.  I was hoping it wouldn't damage my truck this time.  Not only is that truck a "deer magnet", but I was thinking that the hailstones might dent the body or crack the glass.

Other than this stuff going on, including a non working AC unit in 87 degree weather and other smaller problems, things seem to be getting better for me.

That's all I got for now.  Have a great weekend!  I'm sure I'll stop by your blog, soon, to offer you a cordial comment full that's sure to be chock full of whimsy and wit.  Beats being chock full of shit, any day of the week, right?  Later!   

Rat Pageant and World Naked Bike Rides

Frustrated subway workers, in New York, are attempting to draw attention to what they say is a rat infestation and are offering a free monthly transport pass to anybody who's got the guts and/or stomach to snap o a good pic of one of these furry, razor-sharped teethed, underground doll babies.

Hairy Potter.  He'll wave his furry wand if you want him to strike a seductive pose for the contest.  Just ask him nicely.
   

Though the furry darlings of the vermin community have been known to bite riders, in the past, present, and most likely, future, folks are encouraged to snap pictures of their favorite rat buddy. They can be sent to ratfreesubways.com.  When I visited the site, I saw that they were showing a video of a rat carrying off a pizza.  I witnessed one take off with a goat once.

What's next?

Somebody making out with a rat?

Did I see a little tongue action going on?    Golly.

Speaking of drawing attention, as mentioned above, I thought of something else.  People will, of course, express themselves in ways that draw attention, with the intention of desperately wanting that attention- like these gals here...

Actually, she's a lawyer.  Who knows how many cases she's won?

Lady, it gets hot down there.  Sometimes we just have to let our hairy, beet-red nutsacks hang out every so often.  As men, we understand you gals have your "lady days" with your menstrual periods and such- where you temporarily go insane with mood swings so severe, we're afraid to sleep beside you at night for fear you'll secretly throw out our old favorite cassette tapes or cut out our testicles and use them as earrings.   Just let us guys have our day in the shade or right out in the open and let us expose our  man apples, proudly, for all to see and gaze upon.  If we should draw attention to thine eye, don't throw darts at our wrinkled bags of jizz whiz.  Instead, applaud our display of dignity and pride with great gusto!     

Sometime people just want attention because it's a pathetic cry for help.  Help that perhaps only a therapist or close friend or mate can provide.  Sometimes it's acted out, in various ways, for petty shock value.  And then we have people who draw attention to themselves for a very worthy cause.  Take, for instance, World Naked Bike Rides.  In summary, World Naked Bike Riding events take place all around the world.  People will show their causes, ideas and concerns about pollution, the effects and greed of big oil corporations and more, by riding naked through city streets around the world.

Now that's the kind of attention draw I can get behind.  But not too closely behind.  Some good folks don't know their "behinds" stink because of poor sense of smell.  Who will stand up, with optional gas mask and dare to create a charity or cause for those folks?

Here are a few pics from London's World Naked Bike Ride:

It's good to know the British  police are there to cover the attendees for security reasons.  

Everyone is welcome to engage in the jaunty, admirable event.

Here, we see supporters, riders and spectators in San Francisco's World Naked Bike Ride event.

"Look, Bobby!  A man with wild tiger disguise, not doing a very good job of concealing he has been blessed with the  conscious of a true animal lover, supporter and eco-friendly gentleperson."

  Either that or he's just your average naked dude, out for a pleasant Sunday afternoon bicycle ride.  Who knows?  Just don't grab that chopstick, guys and gals!

And thus, we, or rather, I, alone, at Psycho Carnival, conclude our informative, somewhat jocular, tongue-in-buttcheek posting.  Have a wonderfully expressive day!  And why not ride a bike, take pictures of beautiful subway rats, afterwards, and then paint your naked, sagging ass blue for a change of pace?

It may just make your time on Earth just go that much smoother and stuff.  Later, friends!

Strange Dolls For Freaks

Different pokes for different folks, I suppose.

I didn't expect to find Obama here.

Alien vagina mouth triple boobies doll. Who can resist her many charms?

For the frustrated Republican.

Quick! Someone throw this man a blow up doll!

The King Wants You!

I wonder if he's getting any money off of this item.

Creepy

Mother's Day For Me

Mother's Day means something different to all of us. The factors being your mother and you weren't close, are very close, were very close, she passed away, she's many miles away, she's living with you and so on. There's just too many and I wouldn't be able to name them all, adequately.

For me, it was/it is- a few of these things.

I've never done a Mother's Day post before because it always too painful for me to even start. Believe me, I wanted to, if for anything else, just to air out some feelings. But, as I'd try, I would eventually fail. The pain- being too great.

My Mom died nearly six years ago and I'm now able to come to grips with a lot of things having to do with that fact. We were very close, you see. She was my best friend. Mom was my confidante and the person who knew me the best. If I ever felt down, I turned to her. If I ever had good news, she was the first to know of it.

It took me years before I could do this. This is something I've wanted to do for a long time. I wanted to write about her, what she was like- on this blog.

Yeah, it takes me forever to get through emotional steps of whatever I'm going through. Whether it be grieve or forgiveness or making a friend or loving. I tend to take my good sweet time with all of these and more. I'm very passionate with the sensations that are rolling around in my soul. I think, but I'm not sure, this is why I have a hard time letting go of things. Once it's in there, in deeply embedded. Of course, being more apathetic than passionate may seem better to a few but I've never been that way and wouldn't know how to be like that if I wanted to. Personally, I think some people make better androids than humans.

In any case, I'm just going to stick with how I'm feeling. No soapbox diatribes on human nature today.

It's strange for me, in a way, to have Mom as a topic along with some of these odd stories, essays and pictures I've got on the blog. I hope Mom doesn't mind being a subject on my blog. Yeah, I do happen to believe in an afterlife. Any objectors or arguers of this idea will have to debate me another day. This isn't one of those type of posts where I want to hear debate of any kind so if you feel the need, save it for a another day. But getting back to how she might feel, wherever she is, I hope she doesn't give me a swat with the that ol' flyswatter she would use on me when I was bad kid when we all meet again. Ha ha. That would suck. :)

Just kidding. By the way, I've written about her before and the tough time I had with the guilt over her death and more but this post is something different.

Back to where I was....

Today I want to talk about and remember the good things about mom.

Mom and I would spend long late nights, into the early morning hours, playing Scrabble and talking about "meaning of life" type of stuff when we were both adults. Or just silly stuff. Mom was my personal advisor, a lot of times, when I'd need her most, too. I remember, as a kid, taking long walks with Mom down the gravel lane from where we lived in our four room house, when the family was dirt poor. We would walk down the lane, when I was kid, talking, holding hands and I would be looking up at her, at her eyes, as she answered any question a kid would have at that age. You know the kind. Those were pure, unforgettable times that I wouldn't trade anything for.

Later in life, Mom would watch me become distant as a teenager and later yet, succeed, fail, go on my first date, first prom, get a job, have problems, have good news and all that stuff that goes on in life and do it all-without directly judging me and instead, talk to me on a equal level that I deeply appreciated. I think she did that because she knew what all those things in life were like because she experienced them herself, along with the positive and negative aspects that is embedded within those episodes and so she empathized and showed her love by just speaking honestly and fairly.

I want to cry now as I think back on those particular great times we all had as a family. The trips to The Great Smoky Mountains, to Arizona, to out west and Florida and so on. I'm thinking about the fantastic fun times we had in the pool, throwing kickballs at each other and playing volleyball or the long, heart-to-heart talks we would have, while lounging around in the pool, about how are lives were going and what we were doing. All of our laugh-out-loud good times during our camping adventures. All of those funny moments around the campfire. These memories- I think of now and more.

Mom was incredibly demonstrative, too- Always giving hugs out to Dad and us kids, telling us how much she loved us and reassuring us and just being there when we needed her. She would celebrate our birthdays like they were the most important events in the world. Cakes, gifts, banners and streamers out the wazoo and then some. And Mom would produce big extravagant meals, full of comfort food and she would show off her considerable cooking talents with wonderfully unique meals, as well. She made sure no one left hungry at her house.

We were a very, very close knit family. We could talk about anything. Hardly any subject was off limits. Ask and ye shall receive. lol.

Shit. I was taught about the "birds and the bees" so early, openly and naturally that it would freak most uptight people out. They wouldn't be able to deal with it. But sex was something that was talked about with us like it was a natural act and it is, despite what some folks think. We would laugh at some aspects of sex, too.

I don't want to get into a debate here, but I think some folks are just little too backward and not progressive enough with this topic and more. It makes me laugh a little. Especially, in comparison with what knowledge I was given and how I was brought up. Complete honesty. Ya gotta love it. Either that or stick to being squeamish, sensitive or close-minded or whatever you want to call it.

Passing gas was funny, too. Like I said, hardly anything was off limits.

There I go again... getting off topic. I can't help myself. I have that wheel in my head that won't stop turning. Perhaps a little crazy man is turning the wheel. Who knows?

Mom and I shared the same warped sense of humor, as well. To be perfectly honest, though, my brand of humor was a little more warped.

One time, we pissed off my sister by laughing at the "beeping noises" a mentally handicapped man was making at a picnic table with his family while we were in the state park having our own family picnic not too far from his small brood.

"Beep!" The retarded man would make this noise. Mom and I would laugh. We weren't really laughing at him. Just the odd, abrupt, loud noise he would suddenly make every few minutes during the mostly quite picnic in the park.

"Beep!," he would shout out again.

Mom and I would try to hold back our laughter. We knew it wasn't right but we couldn't help it. The more he beeped and made other strange noises, the funnier it got. It's like the situation where you have a funny idea or picture in your mind at a funeral. The harder you try to control it, the more you want to let out your chuckles and guffaws. And then your body and/or mind finally betrays you and you burst from the seams, making a scene.

Oh well. My motto is: Who gives a rat's ass what people think.

The ironic thing also about this episode is that my mother worked as a nurse on the mental ward at a hospital. She was kind of used to this sort of thing but it would still make her laugh- again, not at the retarded person(s) just at the noises or outlandish actions. At the hospital, she acted, according to her, professionally- which I don't doubt because she was more than exceptional at turning her own personal laugh button off and on at really public places.

Suddenly, the retarded guy, probably about 30 years old or better, raised up his hand during the normally peaceful family picnic and yelled, "HI-YO!"

That's when we lost it, laughs busting from our guts and us, holding our mouths closed as best we could. My sister chastised us, telling us how inappropriate it was, of course. She's warped in her own right. Just not as much as me. Heh heh. And don't ask me why this memory of Mom popped in my mind. I could have thought of much better ones, I suppose. The little crazy man at the wheel in my brain does unpredictable things I feel like I can't be held accountable for.

Anyway, we didn't just laugh at the mentally handicapped shenanigans of some different folks. We shared a sense of humor about most anything you could or couldn't think of at this moment. But I think we shared more than that. I think we shared a way of looking at things in life- for better or worse- that really made of us that much closer.

I have to add that Mom was the glue, along with my Grandpa, that held the family together during inner family squabbles. Despite her depression and diabetes she suffered through, in life, she was incredibly strong and strong-willed. Mom was able to bring people together, no matter how much they didn't want to be around each other. And Mom was able to help mend our differences and hurt feelings with ease. Grandpa had this gift, too. Unfortunately, both of these much loved and much needed people are gone from our lives, passed on and now our family is fragmented in ways you would find hard to understand and I couldn't begin to even explain.

But listen to this!

When Mom passed away, I immediately learned this particular lesson, shortly after. It's a way of looking at things in your life, honestly. And because I learned this, I became instantly honest with myself, everyone else and completely accepted my flaws, my talents, my failures and my accomplishments and really... everything.

Here is the most significant insight I have and likely ever will have:

The most important part of your life isn't money, material things, status, proving who's best or who's not or who's right or who's wrong, the media, politics or religion. The most important part of your life are your loved ones. Everything, in comparison, is trivial.

Sometimes people won't learn or understand what I just said until a very close loved one has passed on. Sometimes they will understand it before it does come down to something that crucial or extreme.

That's it. That's my own personal insight. It's a doozy if you put any thought to it or if you have put any thought into it.

Being honest with yourself and accepting yourself is almost right up there with all of that. And to be painfully honest, as my Mom would sometimes say I could be, at times... I think both of those insights could be said to be intertwined if you think about it as I have.

Below are pictures of my immediate family that I put in a frame shortly after Mom passed away. I chose these pictures because of their meaning and because I like these images of Mom the best so far. I have dozens of family albums I haven't gone through since Mom died but I think I will do that, here, pretty soon.

On the upper left is Mom and Dad, a year before I was born. In the middle top, is Mom (that's Dad's arm around her). I had to cut Dad off in order to get the picture in the frame right. I have another copy with him completely there. :) On the upper right, is Mom and Dad at a state park. Both of my parents loved the great outdoors. A love and respect my sister and I shared with them, too and still do. The rest of the pics, at the bottom, are of me and the rest of the family. My Grandpa, who was a farmer, is in the second last picture- towards the right.

Well, my fellow bloggers and readers, this is my Mother's Day post. I consider this, in itself, a minor accomplishment, considering how long I put it off. Thanks for reading it and I welcome your thoughts and/or stories. Take care of each significant other in your own life and please don't forget what I said earlier, regarding my insight. Be well. Kelly. Out.

I See That You Have a Horn Growing Out Of Your Head

I've often wondered how it would be to visit any bloggers who I've had the pleasure of interacting with for awhile now. Though it sounds like a quaint idea, this could be a dangerous action to take with serious consequences in the end. I mean- What if you surprise me by throwing me a party? Or a parade, in my honor, even? Or drug me and take advantage of me in my slumber? Gosh, my humble and modest self wouldn't know what to do except blush and act all embarrassed and stuff.

And let me tell you, when I start feeling a little disconcerted, I tend to break a mighty wind and juggle my brightly colored balls. Yes, I carry them with me in my Suitcase O' Fun. I just so happened to buy these balls off of a circus accessories type website one day. What? You didn't think I was talking about my own cojones, did ya? Nah! The only time my jolly, friendly trouser bells are brightly colored is when I paint rainbows on them. Makes me feel all peppy, festive and stuff.

So... when should I come over?

And then there's always the chance I'd come over and I would get the surprise of my life by finding out that you have a horn growing out of your head. Talk about your awkward moments. I wouldn't be able to look away, either. I mean- you might have a unicorn horn growing out of your forehead or have a kooky looking horn like this woman down below.

You could be eating a baby's leg, too, while I'm standing there, attempting to make conversation. Then what am I supposed to do? Tear the other one off and gnaw on it so you don't feel awkward eating alone, in front of me?

You could be a religious psychopath, too, pushing your beliefs in the powers of the Almighty Bullwinkle on me.

Or you could pretend to be normal for awhile and we're sitting there, all cozy and shit, in your living room and you suddenly jump out of your refried bean bag chair and shout, "Holy Toledo! I forgot to introduce my cross eyed, drooling retarded cousin, Alfonso, to ya." At that moment, Alfonso peeks around the corner at me, widens his retarded eye at me and stumbles into the living room with a bloody meat cleaver in one hand and his festering pecker in the other.

Running out the door without so much as a goodbye may be an act of rudeness to you, the generous host, but I would likely be inclined to do it. After all, I don't wish to take the chance that Alfonso gets too close for comfort and allows his pus-oozing pecker to drip into the cup of freshly brewed coffee you made just for me.

I'm all about good manners, you know, but you have to draw the line somewhere in the landscape of picturesque penile disorders.

Seriously, who's to assume exactly what to expect when visiting a fellow blogger. Still, since I'm curious about such things and I wonder if they're just as funny, interesting (in a good way) or intelligent as they portray themselves in their blogs, I would take my chances and do it. If there should be some awkward silence between us, at any point during my stay, I could handle it. There's no need to have our mouths yapping about, in a constant state of vocalization. In fact, that kind of thing can be just as bothersome to me as the quiet times.

And if you're somewhat crazy, in a non lethal way, I would likely get along better with you. I find people who are slightly touched in the head to be interesting and humorous. People who are too humdrum or try too hard to act "normal" cause me to become frustrated around them. Unlike the slightly unusual folks, they don't interest me and, in fact, kinda annoy the shit of me because they're boring me. I'm never sure if it's on purpose or just because they severely lack in the personality department.

I've actually left people standing at parties or other public places while they're still jabbering away about the most mundane of topics. You can look at this gesture as being rude but I look at it as being rude that they're taking up my time by talking about something that any ol' flesh and blood, conformist droid could and will talk about. Those that engage in that type of conversation should consider themselves just peachy-keen lucky if I come up with an oh-so-incredible excuse for leaving you with your jaw dropped in mid-sentence, too. I might offer an "I have to leave now to take a shit" or something smooth like "Your face gives me a stomach ulcer from hell."

Signs that I may be bored with those things you call words that won't stop popping, incessantly, out of your mouth would be:

Fidgeting from foot to foot

Falling asleep

Watching the clouds in the sky

Choking the living shit out of you

But, chances are, that since we are either interacting with each other between our blogs, exchanging fascinating messages on Facebook, twittering our twitters or trading emails, I will most likely enjoy your company in person and you'll be able to keep my utmost attention. Gosh, good news for you, huh? I can feel the radiant, heart-warming glow of your excitement from all the way over here. Oh, that's just a belch you just burped from all that rancid unicorn meat you've been eating. Ah, well. Sometimes we get mixed signals from one another.

So, like I said before... when should I come over? Heh heh.