A long illness

That's what these Bush years have seemed like to me; a long illness. Now the matter is, will the patient recover or and spread the truth regarding his symptoms and how we might avoid the disease or will he die, leaving us in the dark to start over? Sure I stretch an analogy, but wouldn't it be cool if GW could just get with Obama and say, "Bud, this is where I really started to fuck up, you don't want to go there." Sort of like warning a guy not to eat something made with Sauce Mayonnaise that's been in the sun for a while, or not to take the brown acid. You know what I mean? I tell you something else.
Now I don't know about you, but I am pretty sensitive to the vibe. Like I was at that concert out in Altamont, CA where they had the troubles, and when things went bad, that vibe almost knocked me down. I certainly was not the only one, so it's probably fairly common. So I'm thinking, suppose you are GW Bush? You got to wonder if he can feel the vibe of the thousands who just don't like him. You just do. So this whole long illness riff really has to do with feelings. I know because I've hurt some good people's feelings and it makes me sick. The thing with me is, I don't think I'll be able to fix it and I fear that the outcome is destined to be bones in the road warning me to keep my distance and not try to go to that well again. Feeling bad is one thing but bad with a thirst is bad all the way.

Today we would like to send birthday props out to Sir. Winston Churchill who is 135 and also literary rascal Mark Twain (Sam Clemmons) who's a spry 173. Remember, as long as a name is mentioned a person never dies and those guys are mentioned a lot.

Well that's the way I think. You certainly don't have to think like me, just don't forget to keep in touch with what's going on and try not to get too hepped on that Jazz Music. OK? Fine.

Oh Hell, it's White Thursday!

Yá'át'ééh it's the old Indian. While most of you are enjoying the holiday of family togetherness, I am feeling mean spirited and loathsome. Sometimes people ask, "Hey Texino, why are you so mean spirited and loathsome?" I tell them the war did it. They accept that because I actually am a veteran, and a lot of us from the Vietnam era are crazy. Being loathsome is a by product of madness you see. It is getting hard to pull that veteran stuff lately because we now have a whole new mess of vets from the Iraq thing and they are not particularly loathsome at all. In fact, I would think long and hard about calling one of those guys or girls and "baby murderer" regardless of how many children he or she might have snuffed. Point being your modern GI is a professional soldier and not some confused high school kid who was snatched up like an alien abductee, given as little as two months training and then beamed down into a country full chittering little people who dress alike, talk alike, act alike-man, you could loose your mind. It really is a different situation now. Here is an example. Yesterday I actually opened an email newsletter from some vet site, and there was a piece of news about a former cook in the 82nd Airborne who, after being convicted of multiple rapes and murders and attempted murders, was going to be executed pretty soon. There was a picture of the Trooper obviously being led from the court martial which had taken place sometime before. The soldier was wearing his class A uniform, which is what you wear when you face any kind of military proceeding. OK? Fine. Well there was a space to leave a comment about the story and many had been left. What surprised , or maybe didn't really surprise, me was every person who had replied referred to the guy as something loathsome i.e. "This piece of dung" "Maggot" "slime" "human garbage" "sleaze ball" "P.O.S." "dirt bag"-well you get the picture. There were over 50 replies and every one used a dehumanizing modifier when referring to the suspect, not to mention what they thought should be done to him. If nothing else this article showed me that the mind set of the modern armed service has been molded into one where a human life can easily be relieved of it's value and I came away with little doubt that these soldiers would gladly kill anyone so long as someone classified that group as "dirt bags." It may or may not be of interest to you that this training modality is very popular at today's law enforcement academies. From personal experience during my time as an instructor at a technical college, I can attest that these schools are not focusing on prudent reasoning, but instead are taking the tack that the police must be an insular group because "everyone hates them" ergo, they should only hang out with other cops. This is not making for any "Sheriff Andy's" now, is it? So there you have it. It's Happy Thanksgiving and I truly hope you have one. I'll be hanging out in the studio traveling through some new loathsome identities like "Terminal Loser" "Bad Dog Breath" "Mid level Roach" and "Flea Circus Sideshow Freak" Such promise! Makes me want to live all over again.

Where were you?

I was working in the guidance counselor's office in high school, something I did during 5th period, and I felt this intense ill vibration run through the whole area. Then everyone sort of zombied up to the Principal's office where a radio was playing out the news. I slipped out and went to tell the librarian about it, because it seemed something she should know. I just eased up and asked her if she had heard the president had been shot. She said that it wasn't a funny joke and I was taken aback because it wasn't a joke and I had not set it up like one either. By the time my next class,US History, convened, everyone seemed to have gotten the word one way or another. Some kid kept saying "it was a grassy knoll" and someone else said there had been a big shoot out at a movie theater, while others said Johnson had died of a heat attack. I had nothing to add. Then, because the class was in a temporary building out by the student parking lot and the teacher had fled to the Office for more information, I decided to go on to the house, so I did. I watched and listened. Then on a cold clear day I stood on Memorial Bridge with thousands of others and watched as the cortege made it's way to Arlington Cemetery. I saw Emperor Hialie Selassie and Charles De Gaul and many other famous heads ride by in silent limousines. I keep thinking I saw Winston Churchill, but I don't believe he was there. Then I drove home and got there in time to hear the bugler bust a note playing Taps. Couldn't blame the guy. It was a very cold day for everyone.

Casey at the Bat

I used to enjoy Thanksgiving because either I would be throwing a dinner or friends would invite me over. Well that was another time. I can't afford to make a feast and I'm short on friends who set a heavy table. This can only lead to that incredible hole created by Earnest Thayer; Mudville. That's right the home of mighty Casey a person so overly certain of his gifts that what is really just a simple action, striking out in a baseball game, causes all the joy to slink out of town causing it's name, at onetime a silly aside, to swell up to the epitome of where nobody wants to be. What a piece of writing! Were I not in Mudville myself, I would review it for you further. I can't do that right now because it is so obvious that in so many somewheres things are really OK. There is just no joy in Mudville.

Closing Alice's Restaurant

Way back in the day, back when I was raising pigs in South Vietnam, a woman who I scarcely knew sent me a letter of news from back in the states. She said, "There is a real cool song called Alice's Restaurant out and you would like it."
Well, I thought it was a good title and I tied to create an idea how a song like that might go, since she didn't mention that it was a 23 min talking blues. Oh well, I wrote back to her off and on. She kept the letters. I know this because her husband called me up a couple of years ago and after determining that I was not some sort of maniac (Ha!) he allowed his wife to speak to me. I'd forgotten her name, but she wanted permission to publish my writing in some Vietnam thing where she taught school. I said sure. She said her husband told her I probably had a "trophy wife". I told her no, just a regular long term partner and no, I was not a successful writer or musician, just a guy who drove an ambulance. I gave her my email, but she didn't write. I had only met her once and taken her for a motorcycle ride. I think she fell for me at the time, but I don't think she loved me anymore. At's OK. I was just thinking about Alice's restaurant.

Dear Death, I hope you cut your fucking foot off

So there is a man I know, not well but better than I would, due to the sorrow of some mutual friends. Friends whose grief rose higher this week as this man came closer to solving the hideous mystery which lurks close by a person's final breath. A person dying from the injuries of brain lesions, a rather dressed up name for Cancer, will often take on a characteristic breathing pattern called Chayne-Stokes where the comatose patient will start breathing in a ragged rhythm which builds to a crescendo and stops cold, long enough to cause a few tired eyes to raise and then it starts again. Why is it we think on the subject of death for most of our life yet at the end so few want to pass? Indeed there is no line jumping in that final waiting room and I in my role as a medical handy man have seen no end of persons rise from varying periods of clinical death and try for another few hours; sometimes weeks or even a year or so. I've laid the electric on a stone dead man at a square dance only to have him try and rejoin the line, just like a car with a slightly low battery, he just needed a little jump. I've laid the car analogy on plenty of docs down the years and everyone has gotten all snooty on the subject. All the more reason you should stay away from most doctors, I'd say. Nope, people are so happy staying alive, the body has to make up some solid gold 50 caliber machine gun diseases that will not only take you out but make you wish you were already gone. And that brings me back around to my sort of friend Ed the banjo guy. He had had cancer for four years or more and finally the disease just bashed him with a big hammer to the brain. So Ed's on the other side now and if there is anything there worthwhile he knows it and we don't.
And as far as spooky skeleton in the picture is concerned, if he were to lose a foot due to misstep with that big cradle scythe we all might gain some good time. I'm all for a good time and I meant that pun about the scythe too. Now get out of here before someone else gets killed. OK? Fine

The big blowhard

This fellow whom I know fairly well, has abruptly lost his weekly radio show. It was an hour which he paid for by providing advertising and web service to the station. Easy for him, as he owns a successful Internet design and hosting business. I understand that he prefaced each broadcast by saying the content was his opinion and in no way represented the views of the station or it's advertisers. Pretty standard free speech fare. Along with the show the man also did some sports related thing with a local HS football team where he was a big booster. Well, he wants to know why he was chucked off the air. The station in question is a tiny AM that you can barely get in some parts of the county, however; with atmospheric skip it is often picked up in Norway and other points in the great Atlantic Ocean Sea.
After digging around a bit, I have come to the conclusion that the broadcaster in question was dumped for trying to emulate blowhard talk radio. You know that Rush Limbaugh thing. Now I would like to be 100% certain about this, but I have to admit to never tuning in his show. Here's why. When I was doing some much needed work for his company, he began to needle me a bit about being a "liberal musician" well I fired back that I was a damn war vet, and I could run down an impressive list of fire arms. The guy was a gun nut. I also took my brother in law, Cabbage, to see him and Cabbage knows more about guns than anyone, so there. Well that was before the elections got in gear, but once the did, everyone on the general employee list, and don't forget this is a design company with and African American male as head designer, everyone started getting the most egregious anti Clinton and Obanma "stuff". I mean all the time and the real crap, plus once the nomination went to Obama it was a constant stream of Obama's the leader of Arab terror and all that other scare crap that was prevalent here in the south. And this is going out to customers and friends and employees. More than a few did not care for it.

Now I said in a recent post that I though people were pretty much over that. Well my buddy Mr. X just didn't see it and while that two bit little station will broadcast other right wing stuff, they are doing it for green money, while the tangible dollar worth of Internet presence is definitely undergoing a reevaluation in these troubled times.

I guess it all comes down to the fact that if you want to push the limit of free speech in the name of the mean spirit, you are just going to have to blow a little less BS if you want to get on the air. Oh, I'm a free speech guy alright, but my ears are just tuned to a frequency of polite discussion at the moment. It's good to be an officer in the realm of reason.

The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down ( a new track)

Hi, I feel like ringing a bell and singing la la... You know how that song goes.
Well, it's a sad song and one written ease the blood up in a southerner until he or she gets julep-eyed and falls into that particular state of mind which exists in all white people born below The Line. "The Southern Thing" I admit to falling victim to The Southern Thing or "TST" many times. People down south make quite an issue about it; in fact there is even a tag line that goes; It's a Southern thing; "You wouldn't understand." that gets put on various things like coffee cups and T-shirts. They sell them right next to the logo of the rebel soldier with his flag and long beard who proclaims, "Forget? Hell!" This is convenient because that whole "Forget? Hell!" business is "A Southern thing,..." Get the picture?

OK? Fine. Now I am a Southerner, born a few blocks from where the very first shot of The War between The States was fired and around the corner from the doctor's house where they took the fellow to die. Shortly after this, my neighbors would have day tripped to Manassas to watch the US Army route the rebels and when that didn't happen, they soon found that living in that particular slice of The Commonwealth would separate them forever from the true antebellum south. Never the less, after living in NC and FL for many years, you may be certain "I understand." If fact I understand so much that when I figured out that Senators Clinton and Obama were to run for the Democratic nomination. I said, "God dammit , the party has a chance to sweep into office and they come up with a woman whom most people in the south can't stand and a colored guy." That's right; a "colored guy". And for the first time in my life, I thought I might just have to vote Republican and John McCain seemed like a presidential fellow. Well, that was a couple of years ago and I listened and realized that both Clinton and Obama were on the ball and I started liking Obama's message and the fact that he seemed cosmopolitan in a world that had to be getting tired of The US telling everyone how it was going to go. I became a supporter.

Last night, as I saw the results start to come in and the pundits with their complex math were saying Obama could win, all I saw was a whole line of the old south going for McCain, AL, MS, KY, AR, TN and Texas, and I felt the old racial thing stir in my gut. But wait! The Commonwealth of Virginia, a state who had not voted Democrat in 40 years went blue and then FL, the place where I live and have had to put up with all manner of racial crap, is blue too.
NC, still undecided but deadlocked with Obama showing the slight lead. Important, battleground, states coming through and driving old Dixie not necessarily "down" but in a different direction.

Now what. I am happy with the results, but at the same time a bit nervous due to a penchant this country has for letting good guys take a bullet. I would really like to have seen Texas and Alabama go blue because down there and here in FL as well, there live very rich reclusive old men who are the direct descendants of families who owned large numbers of slaves from Africa. These guys are quite serious on the subject of race and keeping the black person from breaking out. That the black person broke out a long time ago does not register in the within the bourbon colored paneled walls where old southern power seethes. I believe that these men killed the Kennedy's and Dr. King, and they did it simply because it embarrassed them and their political power base to have federal troops walking little children to school where grown men and women shouted the worst obscenities at a little girl with ribbons in her braids, and, it was on TV, in Black and White-like a war.
(well it's a southern thing, you wouldn't understand; Forget? Hell!) I bet you get it now.

So there. I want some peace and common sense to play over the land. I don't want to lose the possibility of a rebirth of the Good America in the cloudy conspiracy theory that would enfold us were President Obama to vanish by an assassins trick shot. We just can't allow that, for not only is Obama the person who might help our country rise to a level of a grand society, he is possibly the last president I will vote into office. When I came to be, this country was humming right along. There was a lot of hope. Unfortunately,
big issues of race and gender had to be hammered out and that took time. You were there, I'm sure. Then last night, one of the greatest obsticles between us and our ability to claim status as a truly great nation, just fell right over. No big thing as it turned out. It was just a matter of drawing a few lines with a felt tip pen and running it through a grade scanner like at school and enough people did that in hope that Mr. Obama can deliver the goods.

Hard times are ahead maybe the Republicans know this and that's why they did not field the very best horse (or moose) From where I sit, I can see the "GOP" doing just that. OK, but whatever they did, last night the people took the ball and seem ready to run, sing and ring those bells. Like I said, I'm on that wagon and I'm ready to make some noise.

Surprise her with a...

Britain's "Bonny" Prince Charley
appears stunned after Jappanese Fertility Priest, Akira "Kendo" Saki causes his penis to achieve "Royal" proportions during an impromptu demonstration of his power. The Prince and his companion, Mrs. Parker-Bowles, were visiting the site of a famous fertility festival held during the final week of October, when Saki, their offical host, grew irritated at a comment made by Charles condemming a procession of rice farmers carrying various fertitlity symbols as "The sort of backward rubbish that keeps the yellow man from acheiving parity with his betters." Saki (shown in the photo after slipping an ornimental bamboo cover over The Princes erection) scolded Charles for his rudeness and told him the "change" would last though the week after which the organ would return to normal proportion. While The Princedremained speechless, Mrs. Parker-Bowles, shown at right, seemed extremely interested in the whole incident.

Scoop Texino

OK, I guess you could call me a member of the press. I mean I have been reporting the news for quite some time and when I'm getting paid for it or writing under a by-line, I always give it my best shot. What I mean is, I do my level best to be sure
my readers are getting the straight dope in a clear, unclouded format. I've been doing this for a number of years, plus I know plenty of other
journalists, diarists and just plain note takers on the the general 411 and I'd like to say that not a single solitary one of them is guilty of non reportage. That's right, all that stuff you hear about writers not writing important stuff like that thing about the space people who encircle the earth holding the answers to all of our problems but can't make "First Contact" until the USAF promises not to shoot their shuttles down. Well we don't report that because it's not true. Simple as that. You see we writers really do have an important job and it is easy for anyone to do so long as he or she tells the truth.
What is the truth? I'm happy you asked. The truth is simply what you know to be factual or what your common sense of values suggest is the right path.
Here is an example of putting your mind to work in this manner. OK, story #1 is that the CIA is using secret locations to interrogate terror suspects and they might not be being very nice about it. Now story #2 has to do with the FBI supplying young children to certain members of Congress as well as the so-called "Illuminati" for the purpose of satanic rituals involving sex and cannibalism. Now while neither of these stories are the sort of thing I follow, it's pretty obvious that item #1 is verifiable to some extent while if you try to verify #2 you will find yourself being led down pathways of conspiracy that just become less believable at every turn. So while you have these tips of bizarre stories sticking up through the sea of information, a quick look will usually disqualify them while your articles of some worth tend to float around offering different angles of view making them much easier to capture and develop. Still, no matter what you do to explain your reasoning, someone will be trumpeting that the clear evidence of his or her matter is being over looked by the people who write the news. Well it's not. Why? Because of the millions of would be reporters like me with and electronic platform to lay out decent copy and a eye peeled for something, anything, to write . When you look at it that way, you can feel pretty safe that the skies are clear of saucers and Sen. Obama is just a man who wants to be president for the same reason anyone else might. Now sometimes I write strange stuff that is hard to believe. That's not reporting, it's just made up stories used to ease my mind during times of trouble. Just look at it like some kind of poetry and it will make more sense. I hope you will see the difference and keep reading what I have to say. Who knows? One day I might do something important.

Who's Next?

You know there is something extremely refreshing about knocking off ones enemies and dragging their cheating skin and bones to Miller's Cave. (God help the person who gets lost in there) I'm certainly am not the first person to get my kicks in this manner either, so there is quite a crowd of well preserved dead folk occupying the "Grotto of Ghouls" as it is known to the spelunking set. Well, I can promise that crowd will be getting some 5 star entertainment pretty damn soon, providing I can get my hands on the funny man pictured at left.
That's correct, the halls of horror will ring with ghostly mirth when none other than Jerry Lewis stumbles in for an extended stay. Now don't go saying Aw Texino, why you got to murder Jerry, he is so funny? I know what I'm doing, OK, and it is all for the best. The man is a junkie and I know about that from the inside out and can tell you that junkies are the worst of the earth should all be taken care of with extreme prejudice. You can ask, so how come you are still around Texino? Well, when you look at me, you can see that I am pretty much dead due to the fact that my addiction cost me my self respect and popularity. In other words things that meant the most. So there. Well Jerry Lewis, he still has popularity and quite a bit of respect of all types in Class A spots like France and Vegas. Same goes for another junkie, Mr Rush Limbaugh. So maybe you see why I feel the need to wipe these and a few other of their kind off the earth and into that cave. See, Miller's cave is one of those allegories, in this case, Hell. Something in the chemical makeup causes dead people to stay in very good biological shape given their clinically dead condition. i.e. they are aware, so I find it pleasant to think of these people having to endure the feeling of loss that I deal with every day. It's not like they had no chance to fess up to the public; they just wouldn't, so I get my kicks sending them to my version of hell. An allegory is just an idea you cook up to represent another idea, so what does it matter if I want to pretend I'm spreading the guilt around. It makes me feel better, OK? What's more, this blog is about true stuff and if I don't have any news or clever ideas to go with, I'll just write about how I feel. It may suck but it's not your fault, so you can just go away and then come back in a week and maybe I will have calmed down enough to write some worthy stuff. OK? Fine.

A small space

I live in small spaces now. I figure I need 1/3 of this bed, all of a bathroom and maybe the kitchen, since it is already small. That means I could really live in a space the size of this room. I wonder If I might sell off the rest of the house? I mean, I just stay in this room and write until a computer call comes in. Then I hit the road like an old fire horse, fix the problem, and come back here. I need to make some sort of adjustment because all my money goes into keeping the house, and, like I said, I don't need it.

Moving on the politics, I think that Obama might lose this election. He should not, but he still might. I would not care so much were it not for S. Palin the Republican VP nominee.

I heard an interesting observation on the radio and it was that the US might gain popularity amongst the Europeans should Sen. Obama get the vote. That made sense seeing that he is more open and urbane than his opponents, Joe six-pack and Betty Beauty parlor. When you think about it, this may not be the best time in history to hire a pair "Real" Americans to navigate the ship of state through the sea of global financial an political unrest. We need someone with a bit of style and not the typical "in your face, we're number 1-USA USA " type of chap.

I would like to point out that although Sen. McCain is trumpeted as a "War Hero" he actually spent the majority of the war in prison. That was probably not particularly nice duty, but compared to what we have learned about our own countries treatment of prisoners with extremely tenuous connections to a terror attack, McCain, who was without a doubt guilty of bombing civilians in their beds got off fairly lightly, in my opinion. Of course what is my opinion worth? Not much I guess, other than to say that secondary to suffering some sort of mental let down in the spring of '68, I was tossed into a prison for 6 months and left at the hands of truly sadistic keepers, who, believing I was crazy, set out to make me more so by "sentencing me to death" and showing up at my cell at midnight with pillowcase hoods and a hangman's noose. They had other games as well, but I won't waste your time other than to say that I may be a little more in tune with forced confinement and torture from a mental and physical standpoint than your average failed mandolinist. It could have something to do with my not needing a lot of space as well.

Well, I guess that's that for now. If you need me, I'll be here-unless they finger me for those canvasser killings. If they do, I'll just use the old Perry Mason "blurt it out in court" excuse: "I had to do it, they were ruining my life!" or the much cooler "I did it for kicks man, you know to get my name in the paper."

OK, perhaps I over reacted.

So, I went down to the voting house the other day and cast some votes. I was happy to do it because I knew what lay behind the various issues as well as which candidates would likely perform to suit the interests I support. Then I went home.
Everything was fine for 24 hours. Then bright and early Saturday morning,
a herd of Democrats disguised as joggers came trooping down my street.
They knocked on the door! My door! It must have been 3 AM (some place) and woke me from a dream where I had finally found a cure for cancer and was in the process of writing it down, but lost it in the transition to wakefulness, so I was not too happy when I stumbled to the door only to be addressed as someone else. I denied being that person, but that did not stop them. No they stood jogging in place and asked me if I planed to vote? I told them I had already done so and therefore we had nothing to talk about, goodbye. Well, it should have happened that way, but no. They wanted to know whom I voted for. I said, "my business" They got snotty like it was no big deal. It is a big deal. When I was married, my wife worried about my overreactions, so she had removed all the weapons from the house. Now that she is gone, I have gotten hold of some more, as is my right and since I felt that the Democratic jogging canvassers were violating my right to a secret ballot by inferring that being a registered member of that party I had voted the party line and going so far as to write it down in a book, I had no problem what so ever in gunning them down, one and all. Oh yeah, then I dragged their cheating skin and bones to Miller's Cave. You may note I've made some life style changes. Things are going pretty well for the time being. I mean I'm back at the house and not lost in millers cave . I'll try and keep writing but right now isn't a good time being alone and laying low. After the election things might ease up. If the republicans win, I hardly think they will notice a few missing democrat workers. I figure either way Ill be good to go.

Voting, do or die

I stopped at a friend's house a few days ago to check on a computer issue. Instead of finding her in her office in the back, she was on the door step being harangued by a canvasser for the Democrats who was loudly checking the family facts in aid of getting all the enfranchised members to the polls ASAP. The woman asked me if I was the Mr. but I muttered that I was not a citizen and she immediately disappeared me from her line of site and kicked me out of mind. I instantly regretted my lie and wished I had offered to sell her my vote instead. You know, just to see.

Now what I am about here is where I come from (a world of grace and good manners) One just doesn't go around asking you for whom did you vote? It's a secret you know. Like how much you earn. At least it is supposed to be. Now I'm getting pummeled to get out and vote right now and it's still October. Also the feeling is that if you do vote early you are voting for Obama. Now I don't mind Senator Obama winning, but I like a fair election and I am starting to think that if the News people start up with their exit poles on the early voting and it seems like Obama is winning is that going to keep some Democrats home on election day? It's simply a matter of class and race and racism. If the middle class white Democrats see what looks like mobs of Blacks and Hispanics being herded to the poles to give Obama the early push is there a danger that the Republican code word that he (Obama) is not like "Us" may start to ring true over a quiet glass of bourbon? I would worry a lot more if McCain had a stronger running mate. Still, I don't like people in my face and as a registered Democrat, I can vote for whomever I please and I'll get myself to the poles thank you. Lastly as a Southerner, I know there are a lot of people who do not believe that, Negros, Blacks or African Americans are capable. It is a sad situation, but it is true. I only hope the creepy monster, Racism, that killed the Kennedy's and King and scared LBJ out of the White house, has died enough generational deaths to become diluted to the point of impotency, so the measure of a man may be taken without his being burdened by the chains of irrational hatred. I wish for the very best, but still I fear the worst has equal footing. To that end, I think I'll vote early and then shun any media input until the election has passed. Perhaps this time we may employ a visionary who can lead us into the glow of respect which our country definitely needs in these dark times. I truly hope so because I do believe that "More of the same", and just a little bit
of it will put us in such a dreadful spin that I'll not live to see recovery. And there is the rub. We, the children of the high hopes brought by the Kennedy years were robbed blind and wouldn't it be swell if we could ride out of here
with a last breath of hope, that the future might hold some bright moments?

From the files of Doctor Texino!

Howdy folks, this is Doctor Texino and I'd like to tell you a true story about some decidedly non-Christian hi-jinks that caused a particular pastor a great deal of embarrassment. A situation made sweeter due to the pompous position he insisted on taking before he had the facts of the matter in hand.

This incident occurred at the JFK Memorial Hospital in Lake Worth, FL on a Friday afternoon in the spring of 1977. JFK was not particularly busy, being a small hospital. It did have a minor claim to fame though for being the very first memorial building named for the late president. Having been in the process of dedication at the moment in time he was gunned down, the City Fathers of the Palm Beach County town had jumped right on it, and that was that.

I was on duty in the ER when we received a ring down that an ambulance was in route and to contact them on the medical channel. A nurse did and the rescue said they were bringing 27 year old female complaining of abdominal discomfort and that she was stable. That was all they would say and when asked for a more detailed history they said they needed to relate it to the ER staff when they arrived. It seemed a little odd, but the medics were good and we didn't give it much thought. The unit arrived in a few minutes
and brought a woman in on their stretcher who was lying left lateral recumbent (on her left side) and had the sheet pulled over her head like a dead person. I snagged the lead medic and asked he what the hell this was all about. She answered that I should probably send one of the female nurses in because the woman was very embarrassed and upset secondary to having a foreign body in her rectum. Oh, I see. Well, I ordered a portable x-ray and sent the head nurse in the get the story. OK? Fine. Well, the film came back before the nurse and damn if this woman did not have one of those hollow plastic candy canes that come full of hard candies at Christmas-time and it was lodged to they "crook" up her butt. By this time, the nurse had returned with the history which was the lady had been masturbating and had inserted the object to simulate anal intercourse. She said that her husband was away but was returning that afternoon and she was extremely nervous that he would find out. Well, you learn not to be judgemental in a clinical situation, but this was certainly one for the books and I knew that X-Ray film would make it into the radiologists hall of fame. Another thing was this sort of foreign body situation was a surgical problem. In other words, you could not just pull it out because it had created a suction and even though that area of the body is fairly elastic, it is also extremely vascular and you don't want to be tearing anything. Chances were that a surgeon could get it without going to the OR, and protocol demanded one be consulted, so the call was put in.

After the patient had been reassured, all was quiet. Back in our office everyone had a little smile about it and brought up other cases for comparison. Suddenly however, a commotion was heard from the area of the admitting desk and a call for security followed. Well, of course, the whole ER staff ran out to see the matter and were confronted by a very self possessed fat man who was hurling demands at full speed. "Where was his wife?" "Why was she here and not at the fancy rich folks hospital?" "Produce her right away" "He was the Rev. X from (large conservative Baptist church) and he wanted to see the administrator etc. What a rude man! Well, I introduced my self and asked him to please calm down and we would discuss his wife. I really wanted to protect this poor lady but nothing would do, he was going to get to the bottom of this mess. At which time he pushed past me and burst into the exam room where we had put his wife for privacy. Silence.

Well when next we saw the raging preacher he had gone white as a sheet and seemed to have shrunk several sizes. He went to a waiting area and sat hiding his face until some fussy men and women came and hustled him away. I left JFK shortly afterwards to take a job in the Northwest, so I never found out if there were repercussions, though I do know the surgeon on call had been able to retrieve the objet d' butt with no trouble. I need not elaborate on that, but I guess I might mention one reason that the Preacher had been so troubled on finding out his young wife's difficulty. You see he was a local and noisy conservative with a TV show that mixed God with politics and, at the time, The JFK Memorial Hospital was owned by one of Lake Worth's largest employers. The National Enquirer.

Well folks, that's another case from the files of Dr. Texino. All these stories are true, however; for the sake of propriety, we don't mention any names.
(Unless, of course, there is the chance of making a buck) So until the next time. Adios.

He's Back.

He, in this instance, is somebody who has a connection to the home across the yard and behind the fence from me. Now ,the thing is, the house is quiet as a tomb all year long. They have a pool, but I hear no splashing. I have neither smelled smoke from their chimney nor seen the fire of a Bar B Que winking through the fence. But come football season, this maniac is turned loose and whenever a game is on television this guy bellows like a buffalo during every single play. In fact, it is almost as if he is rooting for both teams. Now this guy, we call him "Mr. Touchdown" is so loud that we have to close the windows when he's in action, and that's a shame, as this is the time of year when the wind blows a little coolness in and the AC shuts off and the power bill goes down. It can be very pleasant, however; when Mr. T. is on the scene everything goes to hell. Now, I'm not a cranky old man and I think a little team spirit is a good thing but when I think about Mr. Touchdown (I have never see his face) I imagine a person who may well be painted teal and gold or is wearing a large foam hand with the index pointing out that "We're No. 1" or both. The kind of person who would get with some other like minded creatures and paint some sort of word on their collective belly's and show it to the world by removing their shirts at some freezing stadium. I'm not certain there are any freezing stadia anymore because owing to some odd turn of my brain, I have lost my football interest. In fact I don't think I've seen a game in almost 10 years. It's funny because while I never had the enthusiasm of Mr. Touchdown, I used to get pretty worked up over my team The Washington Redskins. Actually, I'm more than a bit surprised that our football monster is back because during last years play offs, it certainly seemed as if he would die of apoplexy. I guess he didn't because he is breaking the night right now screaming Go! Go ! Go! Go! Go!/ the wind blew the french window closed and cut him off. If you will excuse me, I'm going to go and see what I can find about the old Redskin marching band. They still have a band I think, but I don't believe they march around in white fringed Indian costumes like they did when I was a kid. I'd like to find a picture of that.

Evidently, size can be an issue.

Hi Texino here, and I would like to comment about what seems, to me, to be a disturbing trend
on the internet. Every time I open a web site I am assailed by the off handed question "Do you want a bigger penis?" I will say that this query is totally out of context, since I am not visiting Porn sites or anything to do with anatomy for that matter. What's more, if I don't get this flashing inquiry, I tend to be shown a picture of a
wide-eyed young woman who, btw, looks a lot like my daughter, accompanied by the caption;
"Surprise her with a bigger penis!" Actually, to my mind, the girl's expression conveys the sort of surprise that would register if she were the one who suddenly was blessed with the appendage size not withstanding. All this nonsense has led me to investigate and come to the conclusion that there is an over the counter pill which is supposed to make your dick bigger and, in turn, put you in better stead in the love bed. Funny, I can't say that I have ever thought about size when it comes to sex. I mean what I have has proven sufficient at producing children who are handsome, do not use drugs, put themselves through college and then leave me alone. Other than procreational sex, I have put a good amount of work into the recreational variety and shared the sweet favors of more than a few women, each of whom I loved totally. Unfortunately many of these true love affairs ran concurrently and that led me into major difficulties trying to sustain long term relationships. But we talk of times long past, and that brings me back to the main point. Why in Hell are they trying to sell me dick pills now? I'm 61 years old for Gods sake and I'm not about to pop some OTC pill and hit the street hoping to surprise some poor woman with my new found secret. How's that supposed to work anyway? Do you go to some place where lonely hearts meet and tell some friendly lady about this amazing pill? Or maybe you sit around and shift positions saying "Excuse me, but my penis is growing as we speak; surprising isn't it?" Well, I just don't know. You can call me a dirty old geezer if you like, but I would direct you to the attached photo which shows bizarre geezer Pres. H. S. Truman showing a keen interest in a decidedly phallic display as former Nazi, DR. Werner Von Braun looks on. It is obvious that these two guys do not hold to the Texino Theory of crafty love making which employs all manner of tenderness and quasi legal technique and instead are going with the monster or "More is More" philosophy. The choice, of course, would lie with the individual. So maybe we should just view this as a public service message; you know like, Objects may be bigger than they first appear or something along that line. Mr. Texino says, Take care.

The Great Bus Metaphor

The Canadians would not play my podcast last week because I mentioned cannibalism. I think the context had to do with Zombies and how you really couldn't get a decent Zombie from someone if a cannibal had cracked their bones and this may have had something to do with a desire that someone might eat Sarah Palin to that extent. Anyway, it got me thinking about living an active life as opposed to waiting for a bus. I have waited for a few buses in my time but mostly I have spent my time in some sort of action. If you just met me, you might find this hard to believe, as I am sort of a slug today, but I'm sort of at the end of my active life now. Before I got here, however, I was definitely not a bus rider. I think that, compared to most people, I have had a rather exciting life. I worked hard at many different jobs and really enjoyed meeting the people I came in contact with. Everyone has a good story and I became good at getting them to tell it. It has been said that everyone has a book in them. In my opinion, being a good author is getting those stories from as many folks as you can and then finding out that everyone is a usable character somewhere down the line. I would have liked to make a good book for people to read, but by the time I understood how to go about it, I got too tired.

When I was a little boy, one of the old people who lived in my house used to sing an Irving Berlin song about a soldier who did not like to get up in the morning. At the end of the tune, the GI said that "someone was going to murder the bugler" and after that happened, he would spend the rest of his life in bed. Having been in the Army, I could understand that desire and after 25 some years of getting called out at all hours during my time in EMS, when it came time to retire, I found myself in bed. Now this had something to do with a glitch during heart surgery and also some bad luck which caused further brain troubles and to tell the truth, what with my laptop and library, bed's a nice place. Thing is, no matter what I read about, I've seen something worse in real life, so if I just lodge down in the covers and close my eyes I can usually make up a happy story and slip right off. I guess if I keep it in mind not to board any buses while in dreamland I may have a few more years of active rest right here. Only thing about that bus. They never shut if off and some nights you will hear it idling and wonder just how long you might have before they put it in gear. On the other hand, some of those buses are real palaces on the inside while others, you are lucky to find a seat. There is always got to be a fucking mystery behind this manner of thought. Hell, if you miss-time your boarding you might get run down in the road and eaten by scavengers who will most likely crack your bones. Then where are you?

Taking dope is risky business as evidenced by GWB

Hello, it is Tommy Texino and I want to talk to you about drugs. Specifically Cocaine. Have you ever taken cocaine? Hmm...Well I have taken it it more times than I can remember but I don't take it anymore because it is very expensive and the stuff around here really isn't that good. Besides all that, I've just grown out of wanting to drink and take dope, so I just don't, however; I think that G.W. Bush does. That's right. The voice that keeps whining from the radio saying we need to give 700 billion dollars to ourselves. That G.W. Bush, The President.

Why? Well, he has a history of alcohol and drug use and he never denies it or brags about being sober like a reformed drunk or 12 step person would. Now if you have ever taken really good cocaine you know that it makes you feel very positive about things, even things that are not such a good idea. I mean for every stupid move that The President has made, I can see why it might have made sense if you happened to be coked to the gills on some good flake and maybe some decent champagne or a good whiskey buzz. Really. Pushing that 700 Billion dollar mess? No big thing when you feel invincible. And that's the thing; blow makes you go! I'm talking the good stuff of course. That crap you get at the bar is totally half-assed. I imagine Sarah Palin gets her shit at some fisherman's joint. I doubt if Bush is sharing. In fact, I don't think I've seen W around the campaign all that much. Still, while we may ready for the last of Bush, we got to keep an eye out for Palin. I figure McCain is a dead man walking and it looks as though he can't reign Palin in and if that gal gets up with W. Bush and they "Party" Well figure it out. McCain kicks and Palin gets to be the president and W. is holding the dope. Who will really be the president? The answer is, whomever is really the president now and God only knows who that might be. Kind of makes me want to head down town, you now what I'm saying? The way this deal is playing out, I may just need a gram and a dram. Of course if Obama wins, I'll stay sober and hope we get the changes he's talked about.