PBS Continues To Suck

So the welfare babies at Public Broadcasting convinced the Republican House that they should not have their funding cut, and thus continue to suck at our collective teat.

It doesn't hurt so much as it irritates, this baby milking my system. Here is a fully grown tv network that throws tantrums whenever Mother suggests that it's time to give up the old bedroom and get your own place. PBS is the 40 year old teenager who refuses to get a job and take responsibility for her own actions.

Who wouldn't want to continue to live in the old room, what all with your Che' posters, Moby Grape collection, and bong? You know your Mother loves you, and even Dad, who thinks it's time for you to go, acquiesces because Mom starts to cry whenever the subject comes up.

PBS is a lazy bum. But she is really good looking. So there is no reason for her to continue to suckle at Mom and sit on Dad's lap and look sad everytime they suggest she be self supporting. She can go and get her own sugar daddy, and not force Mom and Dad, out of the guilt that she would "just simply die", to continue to support her. She won't die. Once out in the real world, PBS will find that she will instead bloom. And find within herself the power to spread her wings and fly.

I learned that shit on some PBS program.

The Funeral Party

The funeral yesterday was divided into two parts; the reverent, holy service by the graveside, where old friends meet and embrace, shoveling dirt into the hole, listening to the rabbi who leads us in prayer and exhorts God to allow this newly dead into his fatherly arms, and the remininces of the son, who will not allow a too accurate memory to disallow his father a chance before God. And the party, afterwards.

This is God's first hearing on the merits of the newly dead, and the ones who loved him are charged with petitioning for the mercy that we also desire for ourselves. And then we call on the awesome power of unconditional love and its ability to allay our fear of lying to God. And this is the way it should be.

And so, the son, who knew better, spoke only of the goodness of the man even as he alluded to the mortalness that should not keep him from God's good grace. So before God and friends, we heard the defense. There is no prosecution for death within death, only the love of a son, who explains how his father was human.

In Orthodox Judaism, the mourners are bound by traditions, which the rabbis believed would help the stricken through the period of grieving. Yesterday some of that structure was followed (the rending of garments which is to express grief rather than repress it...the covering of mirrors in the house of mourning so that mourners will avoid looking at themselves during the week of Shiva, and instead reflect upon the meaning of life and death) but the deep, introspective period that the Talmud asks, is mostly put away in the first days of mourning, in the modern home. Friends and lovers and acquaintances, and those who once were, most of whom will never be seen but at death's occasion, will pour in to comfort the afflicted. We will mourn our fathers the rest of our lives. We may never see these people again.

We gathered at the son's house, where laughter, tale-telling and regalements filled the air as even the sadness of the day was evident. But there would be time enough for sadness. When his sons and his wife continue to live and stop and think their thoughts, there will time enough for all of the tears that were held back today. Today is for the mighty will of memory, and the telling of the story of this life lived, sometimes well, sometimes not.

And to set sail this man's soul, who's life is now death, and although it seems impossible now, will too be forgotten.

When the world ends.

Father Of Old Friends Dies

The day before yesterday, the father of old friends died. And tomorrow they will bury him. They will sit shiva for a week and then go on, as life requires.

Soon, we will die too. And someone will bury us, sit shiva, and move on. And as the father of friends will be forgotten, so shall we.

The rules of God do not allow for the dead to actively participate in the life of the world. When they do, the correspondence of life with death is corrupted and this is not good. The dead rest, to begin again their own unique life with those we do not know.

When the preacher speaks tomorrow of the life of the father of my friends, he will push away the bad things and embrace the good ones. This is so that in our memories we will retain a loveliness of the man.

However, our memories will last only as long as our selves and when our selves pass away, only our children and their children will remember us.

And then they will die. And the world will cease to exist.

China Will Be Freer Than The United States One Day

The Supreme Court on Thursday ruled that local governments may seize people's homes and businesses -- even against their will -- for private economic development.

Pack it in, honey. Because now that the Supremes have repealed the 5th Amendment, the last sentence of which says "nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation" it is now official that we little'uns, who had thought that we lived in a nation where we could live and work and strive to make our lives better for our own sakes and our loved ones, better think again. What were you thinking! We live for the state, under the state, belonging to the state and at the mercy of the state, in every little thing we do. They own us.

And whether this affects you directly, right now or not, if you believed in the idea that living in America lent you a special status, where you live in the "land of the free and the home of the brave", you better disabuse yourself of that nonsense right now. Just get it. You are state property.

And whatever you do to make life bearable and livable and worth your while is as about as good as reading the Constitution of The United States and believing that those words retain some meaning. You live at the sufferance of the people who run the state. They run you.

Work hard, you dumb ass. Then buy a home for your family. Your dream home, where you return each day from the horrors of the world to revive and replenish your body and spirit, belongs to the government. And you reside there at their pleasure.

And when the day comes that some big deal developer convinces the city that your house would be better suited as a businessman's hotel or another greasy shopping center, AND that the city will make out beau coups with the increase in taxes, say goodbye to your little house, where you thought you were safe from the world and its monsters. We have met the enemy...

The Chinese are watching us. And out of the billion or so souls there, many are hanging on to the wild ride of free markets that is capturing that nation. As I have said in a previous post, they will get over the hump of limitations on free expression and other liberties we still hold dear, but no longer possess.

China will pass the United States, in this century, as a true capitalist powerhouse, with more individual freedom than we have here.

It would be easy to say this is the beginning of our nation's giving up, drip by drip, as in "Chinese Water Torture" of old. But this is not the beginning. This is about the end folks.

When you get locked out of your house, you'll know what I mean.

Joe Postove

COKE ZERO! REDUX!

This is a repeat of a post of about a week ago, and the reaction to it was nil, which in Yiddish means overwhelming. So I'm going to treat you to it again, up here at the top of the blog. This way you won't hurt your neck looking so far down. I hope you enjoy it...so, enjoy.

COKE ZERO

I was in the 7/11 this afternoon gathering my lunch bucket, when I noticed a new product. I'm not one to try many of the new products (I still have my original Thom McCann "Twist" shoes and my Nixon extra large emergency pee cup from the '68 campaign) so I'm not really up on what's hep.

But when I was about to fetch my Diet Pepsi, God took hold of my eyes, one at a time, and moved them 3/4 of an inch to the right, where I saw COKE ZERO for the first time. I'm glad I saw it now, because I was unaware that they were going to start numbering the Cokes, and I like being on the ground floor. But I'm not sure that zero is a number. Like I don't know if white is a color.

This could be problem for the Coke people, if they start numbering their products at zero and zero turns out not to be a number at all. What do they do then? Where will they go with their soft drink line? They would have to trash the whole concept and wiggle it back up to the drawing board for the the experts to reconsider.

Capitalism can be cutthroat. Oh. Coke Zero tastes exactly the same as Diet Coke. And Diet Pepsi, for that matter. But I don't think they were concerned with the taste as much as they were with getting the numbers right.

Good luck, Coca-Cola!

Joe Postove

Lassie

Everyone knows that Lassie had several husbands (Jeff and Timmy being the most notable) but how many of you knew she had three mothers?

Since (widow) Ellen Miller was her first mommie, starting with the premiere of the TV series, we'll assume that she was her natural mother. Her son was Jeff, who saw to it that Lassie was always in position to run for help whenever he and his friend Porky fucked up.

When "Gramps" died of a heart attack in Vegas in 1957 (well...maybe not in Vegas, but in the barn) Ellen and Jeff sold the farm as quickly as they could to a couple of rubes from out of town (they couldn't make a profit with rutabagas) and moved to Capital City where I'm sure Ellen became a waitress and Jeff met an early death, since as we now know they left Lassie on the farm with the rubes, and he probably got shot in a botched liquor store robbery.

This is where the inspiring story of Lassie becomes a little confused. But follow along. I promise a powerful climax (or you can x out this blog).

Before "Gramps" died, the family adopted Timmy, who was an orphan. When Ellen and Jeff left for Capital City, there wasn't room in the truck for Timmy AND Lassie, so they left quickly before anyone noticed. Ellen left a nice spread for Timmy in the ice box and some dog food for Lassie. Luckily the Martins were to arrive the next day.

When Ruth and Paul Martin got there they took Timmy and Lassie in. But these two people were aliens. They must have been, because these two "Martins" were not June Lockhart and Hugh Reilly like they were supposed to be, but CLORIS LEACHMAN and JON SHEPODD! If Lassie hadn't been a family show, I could have sworn I heard the narrator say "what the f..." when these two impostors showed up.

They moved in, ate the food, kept house, raised some crop that kept gas in the car and movie money in their pockets. They acted like they belonged there. I said to the TV, "no..no, watch out Lassie, these two are up to no good. They don't even look like country folk".

Well, Mr. and Mrs. Martin stayed on the farm for a year; raising Lassie and Timmy as their own and then on the first show of the 1958 season they disappear and June and Hugh show up, as if nothing had happened and take over the farm. They live there for several years until they get tired of Lassie and escape to Australia, and make up some story about "dog quarantine" that prevents them from taking her along. Timmy and the second Mr. and Mrs. Martin leave her with somebody who loses her and Lassie runs off and then and then...then, let's just say she saves the world and doesn't give a crap.

That's the story of Lassie's three mommies. I hope your children enjoy it.

The Cat Has Two Faces

Cats are untrustworthy. They'll eat your food, drink your milk, and then run over to someone else's house for more treats, where they'll act like this is their first meal of the day. If they had pockets, they would lie about money.

I don't hate cats. I rub their bellies, and allow them to set up shop outside my apartment door. But I don't trust them. I never have.

This week, in Glide Oregon, a cat with two faces was born. The faces are complete with all the works you would find on a normal oned face cat, and the two tongues will serve the bastard well as she greedily learns how to lap up the cream. I'll bet she gets fat and lazy before her owner even has a chance to make money from her at the carnival.

How do you look at a two faced cat? Cats don't trust us either, and if we can't figure which set of eyes to look into, she'll think we're trying to pull something on her. Which we probably are. But she's a cat and already knows that.

I guess there's nothing to do but to wish this cat good luck and hope that her owners have opened the cash spigot.

I don't see a long career here.

When The Moon Is In The Seventh House

I think the planets are aligning, getting really close together this summer. Enough exciting things are happening to cause me to believe that we are drugged up with that Fifth Dimension song.

The newspaper said today that chewing gum is America's favorite snack. This comes in the same week as the 40th anniversary of the Slurpie. Americans got guts. When it comes to the middle of the road, we drive a Hummer right down the center and take the whole thing for ourselves. We are radical moderates in this country.

We like our steak medium, our chicken fried, our politicians informally brain dead, and we prefer that our children be schooled, not educated.

Let's face it. We're the original white meat. We don't even have fun gangsters anymore. Ok, maybe it never cooked like the Godfather films, but at least we had a few Don Corleone wannabes. Now all the graft is in Washington or Wall Street and while that ain't small potatos, its like watching Merv Griffin moon the audience. One is enough.

I'm saying that we Americans are too provincial. But that doesn't bother most people. It sounds like you believe in good government. Or brushing your teeth after every meal.

What we need is a good thrashing, now and then. Not a terrorist attack, you idiot, but a creative cutting off at the knees, that would force us to take a look at ourselves and change.

Any country that chews gum as its favorite hobby and celebrates Slurpies 40th anniversary could use a comeuppance or two.

Joe Postove

Over 1700 Killed

And more to come. As our leaders grind our men and women in Iraq into food for maggots.

Here's the Universal Soldier (If you right click and then open in a separate window, you can follow the lyrics along as the it plays). A song by Buffy Sainte-Marie and sung here by Donovan, it is as relevent today as 40 years ago.

Lyrics:

He’s 5 foot 2 and he’s 6 feet 4

He fights with missiles and with spears

He’s all of 31 and he’s only 17.

He’s been a soldier for a thousand years

He’s a Catholic, a Hindu, an atheist, a Jane

A Buddist, and a Baptist and Jew.

And he knows he shouldn’t kill

And he knows he always will kill

You’ll for me my friend and me for you

And He’s fighting for Canada.

He’s fighting for France.

He’s fighting for the USA.

And he’s fighting for the Russians.

And he’s fighting for Japan

And he thinks we’ll put an end to war this way.

And He’s fighting for democracy,

He’s fighting for the reds

He says it’s for the peace of all.

He’s the one, who must decide,who’s to live and who’s to die.

And he never sees the writing on the wall.

But without him,how would Hitler have condemned him at Dachau?

Without him Caesar would have stood alone

He’s the one who gives his body as a weapon of the war.

And without him all this killing can’t go on

He’s the universal soldier

And he really is the blame

His orders comes from far away no more.

They come from him. And you and me.

And brothers can’t you see.

This is not the way we put an end to war

What Can You Do With A Bi-Sexual Crab?

If I just wanted to get you to read my post and went to the extent of juicing a headline, I would have done even better than that, like "Bush MRI Reveals Brain Fully Intact" or "Yoko Ono and Condi Rice Discovered in Love Nest", but this is a real deal here and as a hetero, I have to deal with my feelings about gay crabs (or transgender...I suppose like the headline says, some crabs go either way).

There was an article in this morning's paper about crabbers finding a rare species among their catch this week that has the attributes and qualities of both a male and female crab.

"Any good waterman knows that male crabs, called "jimmies," have blue claws. Female crabs, called "sooks," have red pinchers. Jimmies aren't common in this part of the Chesapeake Bay in June."

But that wasn't the most unusual thing about the crab Johnson caught off Gwynn's Island on May 21."

"There was one male claw and one female claw," Johnson said. In other words, one claw was blue and one claw was red."

Kind of like those dudes in prison who paint their toenails, but still life weights. Crabs are very different from gay men. They are much less political and they don't want to get eaten. But then, it's not really fair to call these crabs gay, as such. Transgender, perhaps. Trans, to be trendy.

Not only did the crab have reproductive organs of both genders, but its underside was shaped on one side like a female and on the other side like a male. That would be great if you were stranded on a deserted island, but among ordinary American crabs, it could be a problem.

It reminds me of the penultimate question every teenage boy asks himself when he knows enough to think of the question. If you have to ask, you don't want to know.

So...good luck to our gay crab brothers. May they be accepted into crab society without discrimination.

And check out the northern states, like Massachusetts or Vermont for understanding and forgiveness. Also I understand that the gay and trans city of San Francisco has asked the Feds for permission to break away from the central California governmant and form a new state. The state of Homosexual.

Be proud, young crab.


Joe

Rush Limbaugh and Terri Schiavo

I regularly post to the New York Radio Message Board (which discusses that and other radio oriented issues) and I asked the fellow posters why Rush Limbaugh cannot seem to bring his fat body around and admit when he may possibly be wrong.

Here is the post. And the link to the board.

" I do NOT want to start a thread on the merits of the two cases on Terri Schiavo, but I do have a question.

There was, perhaps no bigger talk radio topic several months ago with most conservative talkers taking the side of the parents and minimizing the states rights component of the issue when Congress interposed itself.

Perhaps a regular listener to Rush and Hannity can answer this question, but the opportunities I have had to listen to Rush today (maybe an hour total) there is no mention of the Terri Schiavo autopsy, which pretty much confirmed the husband's argument that she was essentially dead.

Is this a regular pattern for him (and the others) that when a serious, contentious issue does find some finality (very rare I know) the subject is totally ignored, not even a nod that one may have been on the wrong side.
Maybe he did mention it earlier. If so I missed it. No calls on it though. The show is heavily screened, though.

I mean, Limbaugh is talking about the weather now (2:30pm edt). C'mon.

It would say a lot about someone if he could just step up to the plate and say "hey, I got that one wrong".

Seems wimpy to me.
joe

And Michael Should......

If Letterman didn't have a top 10 list of things Michael Jackson should do now with his freedom, then he's too lazy for spit. I got it all, right here.

MJ will spend some time relaxing, then certainly some plastic surgery to correct the wrinkles caused by this latest flap, and then on to Paris to check out the French boys , and then right back home, where he'll need to sit down, be still, and take a real long look at his future. I have some suggestions:

1: Immediately cancel subscription to "Boy's Life".
2: From now on, when he sleeps with boys, he should sleep on his stomach.
3: Look elsewhere for gratification: Slurpies, pie, ping pong, different cheeses.
4:Let all the other boys he's holding prisoner in the dungeon go free.
5: Try girls. They have very nice things too.
6: Try not to act so gay. I mean it's ok with me. But at least cut back on the lipstick and rouge.
7: Don't blame Whitie so much. I'm white and I hate white people too. It's always been the white man who's held me down by his boot on my throat. But that's me. Maybe one day the embittered white males here will indeed embrace you. But be careful what you embrace.
8: Close the amusement park in your house. It brings around the wrong element. Young boys.
9: Like I said up there, ladies have so many fun things, that if you can cut that stuff out and learn to like women, you'll forget about all the good times you had with your boyfriends.
10: Try not to cry. It upsets me.

Now, Michael, I hope that in some small way, this list of 10 "to do's" will set you down the path of righteousness and good behavior and we can keep you out of trouble in the future.

Something tells me this is your last chance.

Joe

MICHAEL JACKSON FREE

Not guilty on all 10 counts. And a sign out front, held by one of the fans, said "Michael Jackson, On Behalf Of Humanity, We Apologize".

I held my breath here, dude. I think he might have done "something" wrong with the boy, but he was not on trial for "something". He had 10 serious counts connected with child abuse over his head, perhaps 20 years in prison (not to mention a proposed marriage to Charles Manson...see below) and the end of his career, plus a potential Jeffrey Dahmer signature to his life.

William Blackstone said "It is better that ten guilty escape than one innocent suffer". If Michael Jackson was guilty, the jury, who heard ALL of the evidence in this case, believed otherwise. And he was on trial for this...not that or that...or 12 years ago. It was about what happened here. And the 12 people charged with deciding his fate, have done just that. And this is good.

There is no doubt he would have died if found guilty. Either by his own hand, or by brutal rape/murder in prison. Whatever happened between Jackson and the youngster, it was not rape and it was not serious enough to reach the point of wrecking his life mentally and physically.

Thomas Sneddon, the Santa Barbara County, D.A. said he had no comment if whether or not his department would continue to pursue Jackson.

A fair trial. A fair outcome. But Michael, please stop with the sleep overs.

The circus is over.

COKE ZERO!

I was in the 7/11 this afternoon gathering my lunch bucket, when I noticed a new product. I'm not one to try many of the new products (I still have my original Thom McCann "Twist" shoes and my Nixon extra large emergency pee cup from the '68 campaign) so I'm not really up on what's hep.

But when I was about to fetch my Diet Pepsi, God took hold of my eyes, one at a time, and moved them 3/4 of an inch to the right, where I saw COKE ZERO for the first time. I'm glad I saw it now, because I was unaware that they were going to start numbering the Cokes, and I like being on the ground floor. But I'm not sure that zero is a number. Like I don't know if white is a color.

This could be problem for the Coke people, if they start numbering their products at zero and zero turns out not to be a number at all. What do they do then? Where will they go with their soft drink line? They would have to trash the whole concept and wiggle it back up to the drawing board for the the experts to reconsider.

Capitalism can be cutthroat. Oh. Coke Zero taste exactly the same as Diet Coke. And Diet Pepsi, for that matter. But I don't think they were concerned with the taste as much as they were with getting the numbers right.

Good luck, Coca-Cola!

Joe Postove

Michael Jackson And Charles Manson

If Michael Jackson goes to the can on the child abuse rap, there is a possibility he could be housed in the same prison sector reserved for only the most important cons...namely Charles Manson. Whatever one thinks of Jackson and this particular case, it will not serve justice, if some months down the road we see a newspaper story announcing pending nuptials between Manson and Mike.

First of all, Charlie is far too old for Michael. I realize there is the charm factor that we are all considering and one should take that into account. However, I don't think Charlie Manson is what Michael Jackson is looking for in a man. If he were looking for a man that is. Certainly Manson would be a nice companion and perhaps one should not negate the possibility of this being a very close friendship, before they tie the knot. But I dunno.

Look at me. Here I am trying to get Michael Jackson married off (something his Mom should have done a long time ago) and the jury hasn't even found him guilty of the charges. Of course he's been found guilty in the court of public opinion (of which I am the Chief Magistrate) and if Michael should go to Charlie Manson's prison, there will be plenty of time for dating and planning for long time relationships.

But you know...since that last sentence, I've had some time to think this whole mess over, and I feel very sorry for MJ. If he is innocent, I think we can all agree he is the most guilty looking person ever in the dock. And I think he regrets settling 20 million on the other little boy back in 1993. Where's a good 20 million when you need it these days? Not in Michael Jackson's bank account. As Issac Hayes would have said in song "MJ is a sick ...". And he is. If he squeezes out of this jam I doubt he'll even masterbate again (except that thing he does on stage).

So we'll see. The clock is ticking.....

Joe Postove

Africa Refinances

Yesterday, our financial ministers throughout the world decided to forgive the heavily indebted nations of Africa about 40 billion dollars owed to us rich countries.

That is the fair, compassionate thing to do, and besides; they weren't going to pay us back the money anyway. So why not look good to the world, have a little mercy on this poor, pitiful continent and let them have some breathing space. Allow them to make a fresh start and get from under.

Just when the United States is tightening up on bankruptcy law for us poor ones here, we loosen up on Africa and allow them to commit mass bankruptcy.

But why not? What were we going to do? Repossess their...all of the...Look; they don't have anything that we want other than the capacity to make us feel collectively really good about ourselves. So we give them a pass on the 40 bill that they've conned us out of over the last 45 years or so, since most of these nations cast off the yoke of colonialism. Say...that's a thought. Let's just call it reparations for the few hundred years of imperialism forced upon these people.

I just ask for two little things. Keep the money, but would you mind telling us what you did with the 40 billion? We have plenty more, and it's not a big problem, but tell the truth now. It was your liberators/dictators who squandered all that cool cash on milk baths, encrusted trinkets, nice houses and such. Would I be right about that? Oh...and is there any loose change that you guys peeled off from this here deal over the years sitting in Swiss bank accounts? If you saw the movie "Bugsy" you'll understand.

And just one other thing. Promise that any money that you "borrow" from us...starting now...will be paid back. Make that a solemn promise. Or we may have to take real action next time.

Like call a lawyer.

Joe Postove

Here Comes The Draft!

My tv said tonight that Pentagon officials continue to repeat that a military draft is not only unlikely, but not even being considered. Of course these are liers, but it is interesting to watch how this particular lie is going to play itself out, until old man selective service comes and takes your boy out to be shot.

Let us who are opposed to the war not be coy. BRING BACK THE DRAFT! That's the only way our somnambulant college stupids are going to wake up and fight the government and its plans for global domination. Nice and democratic global domination, as they say, of course, but still the kind that requires a few tens of thousands of young people to die for us to get it. Get it?

This is 1961 on college campus'. For the first couple of years of our invasion, with just the lamest of argument, you could get the average "dude" to goose step his way to Iraq, in his flip flops and shorts, just because our presidents say its cool.

Bring the draft back, and the current anti-war groups (too often lefty, but they'll do for now) will be able to gear up, point the college crowd towards a map of Iraq, and say "this is where you will die". Wanna help us fight the MAN? Finally? Please?

The world is a better place without Saddam Hussain. If I hear that bullshit sentence again, I will be forced to point out that the sound you hear coming from Iraq is not the hurrahs of liberty but rather the splat of arms, legs, heads and such, detached by the day bombers and making our clean up effort that much harder.

BRING BACK THE DRAFT MR. BUSH! Then, if this country hasn't gone as soft as it may seem, you'll have a real war on your hands.

Right in your own backyard. And we'll win this one, sir!

Joe Postove

7/11

They call it 7/11 because that is the current punishment for the murder of a 7/11 clerk, 7 to 11 years. I thought it was that you could expect to wait 7 to 11 minutes to purchase whatever it is you want, from a cupcake generously handled by the many grotesqueries who mourn their wasted lives there every morning, to a million of their damn slurpies paid for by kids who, if you should touch them, will stick to you, courtesy of previous food product.

But I like the murder clause better. Murder typically imprisons one for a whole bunch of time, certainly more than 7 to 11 years. But removing a 7/11 clerk is a lower standard of crime and thus the state has decided (with its warm, Christian wisdom) that the punishment here should certainly fit the crime.

It's not that the 7/11 clerks haven't had a chance. Year after year these people (all different every six months of course, but representing almost a class of moron not deserving of mercy) have mopped floors, made excess coffee, chewed their gum, changed shifts (God. There are only three shifts, but they seem to be changing them whenever I want to check out with my pitiful ice cream sandwich and Diet Coke) in an effort to do anything possible to delay waiting on me. Do they get paid extra for keeping me in the store longer? I'm not buying more than I want. They can force me to stare at the lottery tickets all day. They can't make me cry.

FINALLY, when I get to the check out, I always pick the wrong register. The girl behind the counter is always logged into the other one, which she seemingly must punch her security numbers into, each time a new zombie tries to escape with his Moon Pie and coffee.

Certainly I would never commit murder, but that 7 to 11 years is a mighty tempting rouser for someone who believes that 7/11 needs a total management revamping. But don't kill some poor 7/11 clerk while he lays on his mop or changes his shift in an attempt to move up regime change. The world is filled with potential 7/11 clerks to take their place.

I hear they're downsizing the DMV.

A CONSPIRACY OF SILENCE!

I ain't heard much about that lately.

John Lennon 24 1/2

It occurred to me today that it is the eight of June. Nothing ever happened on the eight of June, that's why they put it there. It's one of those obscurantic days I like to point out now and then.

Six months from today will be 25 years that John Lennon is dead. You know how long ago that is? 25 years before that, James Dean died, less than 20 before Lennon died he had his first hit (recording :>)) and 10 years before, the Beatles broke up. The only 2 times I cried about someone dying outside the family was when John Lennon died, and when he helped kill the Beatles.

Goddamnit. Life is supposed to be an orgy of freedom, happiness and peace. There's no point to it without those three things. John Lennon helped bring freedom and happiness to my world and move the rest of you closer to peace.

But he's dead. Jesus, dead before lots of others who would be better off dead. All, the way around. The bum didn't even kill him for a good reason.

Earth is still a pretty nice planet. It would be nicer with John Lennon in it.

I miss you Johnny.

Joe Postove

Anne Bancroft RIP

She was supremely beautiful. And if any young girl aspires to film, she should study Anne Bancroft.

Miss Bancroft did what an actor is supposed to do; play above the ordinariness of life, but not so large as to be unbelieveable. And even though she once said the secret to good acting is to be a lier, I believed every word of fiction that came out of her mouth.

Whether playing the teacher of one of the world's great women, or a suburban vixen, or a housewife whose crumbling marriage leads her to attempt suicide, Anne Bancroft crafted her way into our hearts and minds, always with a noble spirit and intelligent style.

She died Monday, at 73, of uterine cancer.

Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson.

Joe Postove

We Have Seen The Future...

It used to be said by some pundits that one need only look to Europe and its culture of cradle to grave government and you'll see the USA about ten years down the road.

Margaret Thatcher pretty much took England out of that equation, but now we have only to look here at home, at the troubles of General Motors, to see just how decrepit The United States could get in what was supposed to be our (21st) century.

GM Chairman and CEO, Charlie Wilson said in 1955, that what is good for General Motors is good for America. The workers there took that to mean lots of company gravy for the men and women who crafted GM's product.

As years went by, the corporate culture at General Motors resembled socialism as much as it did capitalism The employees worked and lived more in the nation of General Motors than they did in any sort of competitive marketplace.

They got lazy. And lazy tends to lead to stupid, and then only poverty is left. And GM, as much a health care concern as a lousy car company, with 2 1/2 workers for every 1 unworker, retired, who continue to benefit from his or her years with the firm, is teetering on the edge of insolvency.

Social Security....are you watching?

Modesty And Vanity

Modesty before Man
Is vanity before God

However,
God may not recognize your face

And your vanity
Will die with your faith

joe

My Retirement From Show Business

My first thought when deciding to announce my retirement from show business was....was, well not much of anything. Having through the years, done the best I can with the little I have to work with, I feel it is time to give other, similarly un or semi-talented people a chance to play on my computer.

Many of you will remember when I started this blog: August 14th, 1961, on the back of a matchbook advertising the "People's" brand of pay toilet. From there to billboards, skywriting, the back of cheese slices, and in 1988, when we blogged from Heaven during my short bout with death, this has indeed been a strange long trip.

After we received our license to blog on the internet back in 1992, and sat around a big table in the nude with Art Linkletter, Bob Barker, Ayn Rand, Steve McQueen, and Shirley Booth to decide just who would steer the car that would take us to the computing center where we blogged back then, we knew we were on to something very special.

Shirley Booth steered the car that day, but the rest of us decided that she was too fat to both steer and sit on Art Linkletter's lap, so I bought a home computer, where we have blogged ever since.

Why now, retirement say you? As I slip ever so nicely into my dotage, I feel the need for more down time. And I want to spend more time doing what I know best; laying in bed, snacks surrounding me in a clockwise setup for easier access, the tv always on, and drool running down my face, on either side, not discriminating as to cheeks.

So, so long, dear friends. We'll continue to do the blog of course, but as with any retirement, we won't be able to provide the amenities (picnic lunch, snik-snacks, beer, wine coolers, chin implants and such) that we have in the past.

So I hope you will continue to read our more mediocre blog, and remember; you may still love me all the money in the world...PLUS TAX!

joe

FLASHBACK!! MAY 10TH 2005...IHOP

A CLASSIC POST FROM THE PAST: MAY 10TH, 2005...ENJOY!

I had lunch at the local International House Of Pancakes today, and yet again, I did not see one even low level functionary of the littlest of countries. You would think (if you thought like me) that a truly "international" pancake house would have at least the King of Liechtenstein as a greeter or gladhander of some sort to reassure us that we were eating in a swanky place.No luck. So I sat down and had my usual, the Chef salad and onion rings. I know, of course that the real chef doesn't really make ALL of the "Chef salads" but rather operates in a supervisory manner to insure that the "Chef salad" is served in a uniform and reliable fashion. Don't doubt that those IHOP officials are on top of things and they want you to have a fine dining experience while you plotz in their restaurant.

There is a problem, however. I never order the pancakes when I eat at IHOP (I shouldn't say "never" "never", because I will order them when the waitress agrees to smother each pancake between the breasts of her décolletage. I ain't been too successful with that lately).The reason I rarely order the pancakes is that I read that the pancake guy lives in a little shack under the griddle, and that he has refused (on principle, I'll bet) to pay his toilet tax or to make good on the bill for his pay toilet that he has in his apartment.

Normally, when a man or woman refuses to pay the toilet fees incumbent upon us all, I turn my head and express my disgust away from the oncoming wind, but in this case, when the man directly responsible for cooking the pancakes at the IHOP is the miscreant, I defer from ordering what I would expect is their special.So I ate the salad. I spit one bite out to show my solidarity with those fighting the toilet tax and the onerousness of the pay toilet industry.

JOE

They Hate Us...So We Kill Them

The big mean parts of the world hate us. And the leftover parts of the world who do not, are at best ambivalent. They hate us too, but love and need our stuff so they kiss our ass, and hate us when we're not looking.

I'm not good enough to explain why this is so. So do me a favor; read Harry Browne's column this week on "Why The World Hates Us".

We already know they do. Would you care to open your mind and know why?

joe

small things

I get large enjoyment from small things. Eleven cent popsicles at the gas station across the street from my apartment, pennies on the ground, which I always pick up (except this past Tuesday, when in an experiment to see if I could change my luck, I DID NOT pick up the penny in the 7/11 to see if that was a better way...didn't take though) cheap pay toilets that stink nice, a summer's day doing as little as possible, Slurpies, a good sleep, and a nice awakening, where I don't feel paralyzed for a minute and freak.

And The Andy Griffith Show.

joe

So, I'm Thinking It Could Have Been More Exciting

Ok. So Mark Felt is Deep Throat. The biggest political secret of the last thirty years, perhaps the coolest part of the whole Watergate affair was "Who is Deep Throat"? It goes right up there with "Who is John Galt?" and "Who's Next".

But how do we explain to the children, our most precious resource, the future of our nation, that we grownups were transfixed and even a little pixilated about who gave up Nixon, which took our respect and reverence for our political leaders down a few notable notches (hopefully for good) and now we discover the man responsible was the #2 man at the FBI (BTW...what does the #2 man do, anyhow?).

Not that Mark Felt isn't a hero. Some say that as a law enforcement official, he should have taken what he knew to the proper people and through the proper channels. Yeah, right. The nation's chief law enforcement official (Nixon) is planning and hiding capers and money in the most outrageous political scandal ever, and Mark Felt should go to the police?

He did the right thing. And he is a hero. Thank you, Mark.....uh, Mark Felt!

But I still say Kissinger would have been sexier.

joe