As Long As You're Wishing...

After doing my route this morning, I stopped at the old 7/11 to pick up my goodies (unlike the phony barber at the circumcision place) for breakfast. I'd had a bootful of xanax last night, and I was feeling rather chummy, so when this clerk (who I don't think ever served time, but maybe had some mental work done) started talking about nothing, whatsoever, I talked back. Usually, as you know, I prefer to growl at my clerks, but prescription drugs are so uplifting.

So I stood there as he rattled off his subjects, then I started asking about the different lottery cards under the glass. The butts who run the lottery here in Virginia think they're pulling a fast one, raising the price on the cards, and lowering the winnings on the grand prize.

It used to be if you bought a 10 dollar ticket, the prize was usually a million or no less than half a million. Now they try to suck us in on these big 10 dollar tickets and pis out a 25 or 75 thousand dollar grand prize. They make all the smaller prizes a little easier to get, but if you're not too stupid, you don't play the 10 dollar cards to win a hundred or five thousand dollar booty. I want my million dollars!

The clerk told me he would give 1/3 to charity, 1/3 to his friends, and 1/3 to keep for himself. I said, as long as you're wishing such good fortune for his friends and his favorite humanitarian causes, why not just wish that they win the money directly, bypassing his loving altruism. I didn't put it exactly like that (he's a nice kid, but stupid) but I think he had a rather indistinct understanding of what I meant, as he gave out a nice belly laugh at my comment.

What I meant, of course, is that even so called "altruism" is a subset of selfishness, although held in a perverted and contorted belief system. Even the altruist, who believes that sacrifice for others is man's highest and noblest duty, wants the recognition and credit for his deeds. That HE is the one who wished you the million dollars and one should look to him for goodness. Didn't he, after all, make all your good things come true? It's all about him, not the recipient.

If the confirmed altruist really cared for the well being of others above his own power, he would prefer that all good things be a result of the achievement, or even luck, of that individual involved. But, no. The altruist is in on the deal for his own glory. At the expense of the free state of the other.

Isn't that too bad?

Joe Postove

Barbershop

I went for a haircut yesterday and walked into the Mohel's shop by accident. It wasn't my fault, those two bastards have the same type sign out front, a pole with dressing on it. A pole's a pole, right? So I went in and sat down and before I knew it, the barber (actually the Mohel) was taking down my pants and reaching for them. I thought, well maybe this is a gay barber shop and this is protocol. But even if it was, I wasn't having any of that. I don't mind my hair dressers being gay, but for pity's sake, they don't have to pull my pants down. They COULD ask!

It was then I realized I was in a Mohel's place, you know, a circumcision parlor. I told the guy I had already been done, years ago. But he was a nice man, and insisted on seeing what gives.

Well, long story, short, he was not impressed by the job done back when I was 8 days old and suggested I have a little more work done. Jimminy Cricket! I'll have my face lifted one day, and I keep my feet supple and smooth for any competitions down the line, but I thought I had had plenty of foreskin removed the first time. He measured me, soaked me in a special circumcision solution, wrapped me in some kind of sweet powder, and then said he would do me for $14.99

Now, I don't know what my first bris cost, but my Dad told me they did a good job, and since I looked like everyone else, I never complained about it. But I was already in the chair, so I let him. Look, everyone's got to make a buck, so what's a little extra minor circumcision?

That's adventure living! I had a haircut too, after that. But that wasn't as exciting


Joe

(Don't forget to watch for my post of New Year's predictions later today!)

Yoo Hoo! Mrs. Bloom! I Missed You!

I haven't been paying enough attention to blogging lately, because I've been rather sick. In the head, stomach, eyes, milk parts, meat parts, hiney, legs, armpits, tongue and some other more private areas that I wish to refrain from mentioning. OK...all my good stuff hasn't been feeling too well lately either.

But now I'm back, ready to start a new year (goddamn new years...stop with that already) and I'll be posting my new year's resolutions sometime between now and the end of time. What are you going to do about it? Their my resolutions. It hardly seems possible that 2005 is about over and 2006 will soon take its place in the annals of year history.

By the way, this (as of December 17th) is the last year of the first half of my centenary. So I might be at the drug store if you come by, getting a leg wax and a face lift. I might have my butt tugged up a little, as I hear that's the latest thing for good looking people to add on. Also another sign of getting a little tiny bit older, not so you would notice, but nevertheless, my feet are just starting to show the signs of looking like my Dad's feet. I put creams and pufferies and solutions and such to keep them nice and supple (in case I ever need them for something important, like a feet beauty contest) but there's not a lot I can do to keep them from the Dadaism that is their fate.

So happy new year, and let's make 2006 better for me, ok?

Joe Postove

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,
As the Christmas holidays come down upon us, and Jews such as myself hide out at potato pancake parties, I still expect some nice things when you make your secondary run for the Jewish children who proclaim a one day allegiance to Christianity.I would like a new bottle of milk to replace the one I broke over the gas station attendants head because he wouldn't redeem it, saying they only took pop bottles.

Also, I need 365 dimes to cover me for my pay toilet here in the apartment house that my landlord was so generous to provide. I may not use all of them. I promise to donate the unused ones to the "March Of Dimes" to help children around the world who sometimes have to walk nearly half a block to the nearest pay stall.

Please forgive me for writing a letter to Jesus this year. I certainly don't want the two of you fighting over me. But I figured that if he was going to return this year, maybe he could drop off the presents and save you a trip. Also, please don't think I want any Hanukkah junk. It's a neat holiday, full of history, symbolism and Jewish pride. But the presents (socks, chocolate coins, oranges, etc...) really stink. So could you shove an extra X-Box into your bag, and just drop it at my apartment, the one across from the gas station, with the new pay toilet. You don't even have to stop, I'll try my best to catch it.

My best to your wife and the elves. I don't have any cookies, but since you're just gonna drop the X-Box and not actually stop here, you wouldn't need them anyway. I'll send those extra dimes in your name (if I have any...I don't know what I'm going to eat this year, so I don't know how much time I'll be sitting on the WC).

Merry Christmas, and remember I love you with all my heart.

Little Joey Postove (8 years old)

Happy Birthday Jesus

Dear Jesus,
Allow me to be the first to wish you a very happy birthday, and many happy returns of the day. Well, at least one return, huh? That's what your folks are waiting for, aren't they? Take your shoes off. Y'all come back now, y'hear? That's from a tv show, the Beverly Hillbillies. I don't know what channel it comes on where you are.

I was going to write Santa Claus again this year with my list (even though I'm a Jew, like you, Santa continues to ignore me) but that's a waste. The man has become so commercial that he pretends the Jews don't even exist. Ha! If it wasn't for you, Fats wouldn't even have a job, one day a year that it is; the slob. See, Jesus, if you hadn't converted to Christianity (was it a girl?) there would be no "Christmas" and people the world around wouldn't get off on busting a gut for you. I'm just saying. You got the gig as Lord and Savior, and then turned your back on your own people. But you had to do what you had to do.

Look at it this way. If we Jews took a vote on whether or not to crucify you today, you would beat the rap big time. I don't even think it would be close. Of course, you would have to canvass in the Jewish neighborhoods, and that could be a bit sticky. My sister, who is Orthodox, thinks you're a sorcerer, and you would need to work to get the Orthodox vote. Conservatives would probably split down the middle, but you would beat being crucified again because you would clean up with the Reform Jews. It's not that they love you all that much, but they do need a standard-bearer, kind of a William Jennings Bryan type to go around convincing the other Jews that they should be treated with more respect. They are really tired of that "Reform doesn't count" business. So if you came back, don't worry about being crucified again.

Now about my toys. Since that fat slob, Santa, doesn't love me like you (kissee kissee :>) could you bring my stuff on Christmas day? I know, you're thinking that you should be the one to get presents on your own birthday, and you would have a point. But the tradition is so intact among the goyim and Jews like me who like Christmas, that we expect. And I won't have you do the indignity of sliding down my chimney to leave the gifts. My address is in the shul book, and just ring the bell. We'll talk, have a drink, maybe take in a club, and if you want, I know a few nice Jewish girls. I'm just thinking out loud. Keep your shirt on!

So, happy birthday, Mr. Jesus Christ. And may you have many more!


Joe Postove

Fat Ass New York Takes A Walk

So the New Yorkite's have to get off of their fat buns and walk a little this week, while the transit strike works itself out. Isn't that too damn bad? Poor fat wrecks who huff and puff at the mere sight of a sidewalk are gonna have to lay off the lobster pie, grenadine of beef supreme; chartreuse of vegetables in a puff pastry ring; puree of small celery and parsnip roots; biscuits; toffee pudding with ice cream; and demitasse cafe' and tea along with trays of chocolate-dipped ginger, candied fruit rinds, fresh strawberries, macaroons and truffles, for a regular lunch.

NYC'ers have been too fat too long, and this is a chance to slice some of their chunk off. I'm not supporting the transit "workers" mind you. Those guys who's job it is to drive the subways by holding on to the "deadman", don't really do much that a machine couldn't do. If they let go, then some dispatcher in midtown will make a call, and get it fixed up. NYC is too crowded anyway. The strikers are all fat too, and I hope they had a long walk home. That is those who don't drop dead from a heart attack on the way.

This is what happens anytime the government, at any level, local to feds, keeps the people subservient to any kind of monopoly. Well, the NYC subway monopoly decided to take a walk. And now the poor rich folks in Manhatten and the minor colonies will have to use those appendages down below formally used for kicking the little guy, to walk to work and back home again for a few days.

Isn't that just too damn bad!

Joe Postove

Leakings

That stuff you saw spilling from the president's ears this morning at his semi-annual news conference (our Christmas pie!) was shit. He really can't help it, since as he continues to fill up with the stuff, it has to have to some outlet. So, since he is so full of it, and continues to be, we can expect to see gravy stains down W.'s neck from time to time.

Every answer to EVERY question was an obfuscation. Asked about using the presidential power during wartime to continue to fight terrorism, he gives us a nice briefing on how well the feds are cleaning up New Orleans, and battling that reliable buggaboo...unemployment. You can always count on that as an answer to any question, when the President is ignoring you.

Make no mistake about this: When the Patriot Act expires, as I expect it to, George Bush will continue to use the secret "Batman" powers to do whatever the hell he pleases. He has less respect for our system of government and rule of law than that maniac who is tickling the nuke keys over in Iran.

Keep an eye on our man in the White House. After all, he's keeping a good eye on you.

Joe Postove

It's Clear To Me

The forth amendment to the U.S. Constitution is about a paragraph:

"The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized."

It is important to remember that without the security of one's houses, papers, and effects, none of the other bits and pieces of the constitution fit together too well. Without this protection, all the speechifying, newspapering, right to habeas corpus, and everything else the founding fathers loaded us up with to be as free of the fear of leviathan government as possible doesn't mean shit. If the government can tap your phone, cull your email, sniff your dog's ass for enemy combatants, and all of the other invasions our government has been well known for, for decades, and get away with it, then tear up your copy of the constitution. It means as much as the integrity of our criminal White House.

The President says this is consistent with the law. What law, or vague notion of unwritten law is he talking about? YOU CANNOT SPY ON PEOPLE WITHOUT A WARRENT.

But aren't we so much more safer now, than we were before, in the days following 9/11? George Bush says we are. Are you going to sit there and allow this man to shred the Bill OF Rights because he SAYS our goons have staved off their goons? And it could not have been possible without warrentless searches?

"Those who give up liberty for the sake of security deserve neither liberty nor security." Ben Franklin said that more than 200 years ago. Are we too busy with our X Boxes and gee gaws this Christmas to realize that we're not so far from calling firemen out to BURN books?

Unfortunately, we are stuck with the Democrats as the only viable opposition to the authoritarians who are "running" the government.

Will the last one with a website, please turn off the lights?

Joe Postove

Listing Forward...Backward

Today is the last year of the first half of my centenary
And it looked as bleak as any other morning does

Then I was stirred from my melancholia by my friend
With wishes for only good

I washed and wished away the black
And prepared for tomorrow

With a solid heart
Of destiny not yet manifest

joe

Bush "We Fucked Up" Tour Takes To The Road

As the BushHeads follow with scented candles, the President this week, who, like Jesus, is taking all of the sins of the world onto himself, we get to see just how cynical he his. "It is true that much of the intelligence turned out to be wrong," Bush said. "As president, I'm responsible for the decision to go into Iraq", the President says as if he were ordering eggs for breakfast. This device, to admit whatever needs to be admitted, whether or not he's guilty, is only for making W. seem more human, less contrary, and fess up, which Americans like their leaders to do.

It seems that if you come clean, and admit your mistakes, AND take responsibility for them, then you can move on, make more mistakes, leave whatever destruction you've wrought in your wake, make us like it, and be on your merry way.

This is the "We Fucked Up" tour and before he's through, Bush will probably take the weight of the world on his shoulders, and say he was wrong about that. This cannot pass. We cannot allow this man in the White House to admit he either lied by commission or omission about how we attacked Iraq. He's taking responsibility for the whole thing. Which means he may add an extra 15 minutes to his workout for punishment.

Over two thousand American soldiers are dead. The president himself said this week that thirty thousand Iraqi's, give or take, have died since the war started. Or was that ended? What's thirty thousand Iraqi's anyway? We got Saddam Hussein.

So enjoy this week of "I'm sorry about how we got into the war, but didn't it all turn out O.K. though" from George Bush. Don't expect to see too much more of this. This is for our benefit. And we are expected to choke it down, the same way we swallowed the hubris that was last week and will be back next week.

Joe Postove

When I'm Right...Well!

It is really a superb world when I blog about a needed resource in our community, and then the forces are marshaled and all my predictions come true.

A few months ago, I wrote about how the management of my apartment building was putting in new pay toilets for more categories of being. Besides the traditional men and women, we now have trans, gay, communist and "other" pay stalls, so that all can feel comfortable when they make. I commended the management for their liberalism and quite nice feelings for those in our society who felt out of place in a traditional pay toilet.

Well, looky here, sucker! A bill passed by the Nova Iguacu city council, in Brazil, on Tuesday would require night clubs, shopping malls, movie theaters and large restaurants to provide a third type of bathroom for transvestites. I have tried, here on my blog, to push progress all the way to the edge of what modern life will accept, and then hope everything doesn't fall apart after I die.

The transvestites in Nova Iguacu will now have their own toilets, with their own pufferies, perfumes, shoe shine boys, magazines, small buffet, and sympathetic psychiatrists, who with the assistance of writers from the "Police Gazette" will help our transvestite brothers (sisters) to decide how they wish to go to the bathroom.

This is a great day, indeed, for pay toiletry and for liberalism.

That will be ten cents please.

Joe

Cell Phone

I thought I was really hip. I have known how to google and email and blog and grab free music and use almost 10% of my computer's capacity for years now. I have been called "genius" by my older friends who are just now dipping their toes into the world of WWW.

I just bought a cell phone. One of the kind where you can load up minutes at your convenience, which is what I need, since I'm only using it for emergencies, like if the Muslim Brotherhood rapes me while I'm on my paper route (I don't know why they would though. I'd give them all a free paper), or if I fall down and go boom. If any of that should happen I would dial at random, wildly fingering numbers until someone answers and hears my pleas for help.

But man, when I got this thing today and had to set it up, I was so intimidated that I nearly plotzed. It was like 1999 all over again and I was learning how to find pornsites. I mean I was really freaking today. Then I called the "Virgin Mobile" customer service to set up the pay plan and get the phone working, and to my great relief, they did not cut off my balls or call me a pussy.

Look, it's nearly 2006 and I think it's about time I was able to talk to someone else in my car, besides me. After a while that gets old. And I'm out there at four in the morning, and a cell phone in my pocket would be easier than finding a phone booth in a whorehouse. My opinion only.

So, welcome me to the world of wireless talkie talk, and bless my way, as I come into my own, powerfully built to take on the 21st century, and beat it at it's own game.

Joe Postove

John John

The night was rich in red.
The blood of John.

That night, when he was dead
The world, unbelieving, waited.
Waited until the blood had run out,
And there was no more John.

We cried.
We shook with horror.
We refused to believe or understand.
And then we took it in,
Then numbness took our mind over

But he was dead.
Forever and ever and ever.

And we were dead too.
We would never be young again.

Joe Postove

The Tears

I was 24, almost 25, when John Lennon was murdered on December 8th, 1980. It was the suckerpunch felt around the world.

It was that day that I purchased a new record player and two albums (what the hell are those?) one of which was John's "Double Fantasy" with Yoko Ono. I got home about 11:30pm, after work, and turned on Monday Night Football to hear Howard Cosell talking about John being shot. And then within minutes came the confirmation that he was dead.

I looked directly at the television and said "fuck you"! Fuck you, you Goddamn bastard. It is impossible, unearthly, that John Lennon could be dead. I felt, for a moment, that I was dead too. That I might as well be dead, in a world without John Lennon.

I continued to watch, until the man on tv made it official. That John Lennon was dead of gunshot wounds. It was the only time I ever cried over the death of someone I didn't know. A world without John? A world without John? I believed that nothing would ever be the same, that everything would change and I was no longer young. I don't know what those feelings really meant. I just understood that I was mad, helpless, and heaving with grief. This thing, that had never entered my mind, that a Beatle could be assassinated, was true. It was true and the world was fucked.

Perhaps you've forgotten that John Lennon, besides being an authentic hero, a promoter for peace and love when all he really had to do was go to the mail box now and then to pick up royalty checks, was at last, a human being. And sometimes a real bastard. He could be bad, and he could be difficult. Ask his family. They knew the everyday man, who like us all, carries around the weight we all must. John was that.

When I was a kid, guys would ask; "who's your favorite group? Besides the Beatles?" The scales of eternal justice ride heavy on the side of John Lennon. His promotion of peace, of controversial causes, and peace, peace, peace, was not a good career move. But he understood that he was in a unique position to place the cause center square, to make enough noise and use his influence, that of a man who helped change the face of modern music, to work for peace, unceasingly, unstintingly, until it came.

But violence came to him first. And God Almightly, I miss you John. The world was thrown off it's moral axis, and there is no one like you today.

War Is Over; If You Want It.

Joe Postove

The Fattest Man in the World

I am the fattest man in the world. The last time I was taken down to the post office by my brother's wife for a weighing, I came in a just a pinch over 2000 pounds. I don't feel that fat. Like old people who say that they eternally feel 35, I have had the idea that my weight is about 1500 or perhaps 1600 pounds. Not the 2000 that the scale says. I live naked all the time, except when I must go out, and then I wear my nice sheet and neckerchief. Actually, when I'm out on the town, at a doctor's appointment or shopping, my sheet makes me look like a comfortable 1200 or 1300 pounds. It's always good to go with fashions that slim you.

As well, you might think I'm uncomfortable with my fat. I'm not, rather. I've incorporated my folds of flesh into my being much as a prostitute would be proud of her trick vagina. It's all the same anyhow. Trick vaginas' come and go, but really fat men are a specialty that need to be studied, loved, hankered after, buffered from the maddening crowd, held in high esteem and respected for his ability for carrying all that weight around. As the bible says; where goethe the fat man goes the weight of the world.

I don't know how to do anything. Not anything at all. I don't work. I don't socialize. I have no friends and I have no redeeming social qualities. I do have a small income from a trust my great grandfather set up many years ago from his pay toilet company. The company, long out of business, provides me with about twenty five hundred dollars a month. Out of that I pay for all my stuff and living expenses, always making sure to spend it all, because as a condition of the trust, what I don't spend goes back to the estate, and is forever lost to me.

It's not that I do nothing. I do wake up in the morning. But that is more because I have slept the previous fifteen hours and my eyes won't stay shut ay longer. I get up, eat my breakfast of six eggs scrambled, a pound of bacon, a loaf of toast, a box of cereal, a cookie, two muffins, a piece of fried chicken, orange juice, a popsicle, a diet coke, and a selection from my house buffet of ham, turkey, meat loaf, cheese dumplings, cakes, pies, and coffee. This works for me, and sets me up with enough energy to seize the day and make it a worthwhile one.

After breakfast I take a short nap, until lunchtime. The lifting, pushing, pulling, tasting, spitting out nasty foods and all the other activities one must participate in eating a fine breakfast are quite tiring, and with my weight problem, I have to be careful not to get overly fatigued. I sleep on my back, usually, since I do nap right after breakfast, and if there is still any food in still in my mouth, I want it to go down, rather than trickle out down my cheek and not mess the sheets. When I eat something I want it to be eaten and not wasted by spilling it on my bed, or engaging in projectile vomiting, which fortunately I do very infrequently.

Joe Postove

Black Women And Joy

I walked into the 7/11 this afternoon for a roll and coffee, and came upon something I rarely see, and don't know if I have ever really had. Three Black women were behind the counter (as opposed to the usual convicts and morons) and they were huddled together, like children conspiring to rule the world and loving each other. Joyously oblivious to the world that their happiness seems so odd, not only nowadays, but to me, always.

Odd, but beautiful. Something I can see and admire, and never possess. It is only inside their own African-American, even colored lady world, that is closed to all but those in the same skin. I have no idea what was up, but how I envy their so easy happiness. Their black delight comes to them, like darkness comes to me.

Clack, clack, is what it sounded like. But the laughter...The true sound of helpless, unrestricted love; for oneself, each other, and the life they live, was a weird noise, but unambiguously elegant . Even as they trudge through the clerkiness of 7/11's backwardness; they find the time for "girlfriend" love, even there.

I wish I could do that with my white skin.

Joe

88

Mom would be 88 today.
But she died last year
And reentered the life of her dreams.

Born again
To God's home for the rebirthed

Forever 12, and free
Loved by her grandmother
And open, entirely to the world.

I cannot wish for my own death for to join her.
That would be a sin and perhaps tether her soul
To the world she has outgrown.

I can only hold my hand out
With the hope that one day she will take it.