Storms A Comin'

I defy the Hurricane! But I will slink off to friends tomorrow. HIGHER GROUND! And food! I was right here during Isabel, in ought 3, in this place, but in a different chair. The old chair was losing some of its stuffing, so I moved it to the # 4 window, so if Irene sloshes through, it will get that chair first.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Isabel was not as powerful as Irene, but it took my power (not my superhuman powers, but rather, you know, the stuff that comes out of the plug) for 11 days. It was hot and nasty, and I was hungry and hor...and everything. So remember your tips...if the storm is coming your way, turn off the TV, and go to bed...under the covers where it is safe. Bye!

joey

I Ain't Gone Yet

I haven't bloged lately because my mojo was waived to the side of the road by a state cop. Also I haven't been feeling so well. As soon as I get enough light in this room, I'll start back blogging and making you love me as much as I love you.

Now, go about your regular duties.

With all of my goodies wrapped up and ready to go...goodnight all!

Joey

The Ladies

I think one is sinking deeper into middle age (I'm 39) when women, who in my prime (it was for about six months in the 70's) who once looked at you, then took another look, and then if you were lucky offered you a smoke and a beer (shows they just don't care) and you're off to a night of carnival pleasures not seen since John Barrymore died in "The House Of Mirrors", stop looking so much.

I was at the 7/11 today (they let me buy my stuff and leave without having me fill out a verbal requisition). I gathered up my goodies (goodies) and came here to the library to post so you people will know I'm still alive (completely, so far) and still have time later to look out my #4 window at the couple across the way doing something.

Back to the ladies. There were two today who looked at me, then as I looked at them, they just kept on moving (they were not that fat) and did not look again. I object to this. I miss the days when a girl who might be interested in you (not knowing what mysterious icckies your body held) looked the first time, and then looked again, and maybe even again, until you smiled.

I guess I could pay them.

Joey Postove

A Poem For The Peoples Of The World

The flickering of our charm inexorably descends into the darkness of our ridiculousness. And beauty in any form fashion, type or of the heart, remains mostly to torture the soul in our disappointment. Perhaps, we are...No, Strike that.... Perhaps I am walking the plank on devil's piers. Hello Gorgeous

Room Cleaning Day

I'm cleaning my room today. That is my bedroom, as I don't want to give you the impression I live in one room. I actually have two rooms, my bedroom AND my living room. But the bedroom is where I live, and the living room (where there is more stuff!) is my walk-through. Cleaning is both a cleansing and dirtying process. Cleansing in that I get a little workout and I find and throw away all my great junk I've often thought about, but never turned the mattress to look for. Who the hell turns mattress', anyway. Other than these spectacular cleaning fits I go on, the only time I turned my mattress was when I could no longer fit my butt around the coil that's been springing from it for the last few years. And dirtying, since I am such a slob, I foul myself with things I long ago forgot I lost. I found five spoons under my mattress. Since I don't eat under my mattress and the spoons can't eat without me, how they traversed from top to bottom will remain a mystery. Sure there are crumbs there. But that's part of the underbelly of mattress life. Crumbs migrating, I understand. Spoons, no. May God forgive me, but I found a bug. He was in a corner of the room I haven't visited lately, so what he was doing there (dead) is a question. There was nothing to eat. You'd think that if five spoons can get what must be five or six miles (in spoon measure) from the top of my mattress to the bottom, a once live bug could scarf out those same crumbs. Maybe he was just too stupid. He died for his dopiness. Too bad for him. Good for me. I really should give serious and careful thought to at some point in the future, after deliberating the subject, and considering the alternatives, to stop eating in my bedroom. It ain't such a good idea. And I've been lucky so far. I would hate to wake up one morning sharing my bed with a rat, who having been told of the good eats under Joe's bed, instead is contenting himself with suckling at my teat for nourishment. Well, back to cleaning! Joe

2010 WAS A BAD YEAR FOR NAPS

My legs hurt tonight. I think it may be a combination of age and falling down the stairs this morning while going downstairs. I think I’m not getting enough sleep these days and one of the reasons I don’t get enough sleep is that I didn’t get enough naps this past year. And I blame the government.

As a Libertarian I enjoy blaming the government for as much and as many things as possible. I would even blame the government for cutbacks in government, if that were to ever happen, perhaps in a bizzaro universe. I certainly blame them for falling down the stairs this morning and the now throbbing pain in my legs. If I lived in Canada, I’d go get me some National Health, but the government in this country doesn’t offer that, so I just laid in bed today, with a slurpie, and rubbed my legs with liniment, none of which came from the government. Damn government.

Why did I fall down the stairs? Because in 2010 I didn’t get nearly the amount of naps I am used to. As an example, in 2009, I got a good one hour nap every afternoon. Sometimes, if I didn’t wake up, I’d even get two hours or more. It all depended on when I woke. But this year, because the government was so busy, doing things and making noise, my naps were nearly cut in half. That’s no way to run a country. Any nation that can send a man to the moon, can assure me that I’ll be able to get my afternoon nap. I need it! I love my nap so much. I get all scrunched up in my little bed, my favorite pillow right under my head, take off all my clothes (before the scrunching, that is) and take a wondrous trip to dreamland for an hour or two. It’s always helped that I’ve had long periods of unemployment, as this makes nap time much more convenient. And that’s only part of it. After my nap, when I get up, I have a glass of Ovaltine and an Oreo cookie as a reward for yet another successful nap. Now the government has ruined it for me. How would the government like it if they couldn’t take their nap when they wanted to?

And who the hell are you, anyway?

Joey

My Pants Are Getting Smaller

First, I don't think it is any of you, here at the blog, who have been messing around with my pants. So, you're fine. Just don't touch my pants when they are near your house.

My number one pants (the pair I love and cherish, and wear over to the gas station across the street from my apartment) were hanging in my closet yesterday when I went for them, and I noticed that they were a little tight. I know I've been trying to save money by eating cheap eats at malt shops, gas stations, burger palaces, machines where you pull on a knob to get choco cookies and other convenient goodies. And perhaps I have put on a pound here and there, maybe more ass pounds than, say, hand or feet pounds, but I don't think my pants got that tight just from a little overeating on my part.

I had to use the ladies pay toilet downtown yesterday, because the men's was slippery, and Chester, the clean up dude, hadn't come in yet. Now, as most of you know, inside the ladies (this is the heterosexual ladies toilet, by the way) stall is a really good snack machine, with ice cream bars, extra crispy fried chicken, Yoo Hoo's, and lots of other fine chops to whet anyone's appetite while they're waiting to shit inside a heterosexual ladies toilet. Oh, yeah. The Lesbian toilet was also free, but I know what goes on inside there, and I was afraid. Gee, isn't that strange? I own the damn thing, and I'm afraid to use one of my own stalls. Weird world. The gay toilet was in use, as always, and I don't bother my gay brothers while they are doing what they do best. But I don't usually eat supper in my toilets, downtown. For a good, clean meal, try my family stalls at the beach.

Back to my pants. They are just too tight. Especially around the crotch, and tushy-meat. And, as you all know, those are my two most important areas, in or out of my pants. I did have a beer and some pizza while on the pot (you have to order out for pizza though. Maybe we should get an oven, huh?) and my pants were around my feet while I grunted just as hard as my tiny little voice could grunt. I grunted, and then grunted harder, and harder, and harder. Then a knock on the door came, and the pizza boy was here. Well, of course I was embarrassed, but what could I do? I unlocked the door and let him in. Naturally, I covered my personal goodies with a copy of the Ladies Home Companion.

As I sat there, half naked in my "Mrs. Toilet" (that's what we call the can for married ladies and where I was having a nice time just crapping away, without a care in the world) I contemplated my life. And hoped for better days. And used the phone to order some new pants.

I gave the pizza boy a slice of pizza and a drink of water, because I didn't have any change for a tip. What could I do? When a grown man doesn't have enough change for a decent tip for the delivery boy while sitting on the toilet, he does the best he can.

The end.


Joey

Japan And Me

I feel like a heel writing about my own good luck while listening to the radio and reading the papers about the catastrophe in Japan.

I went to the ear doctor yesterday, and he didn't torture me (made me pay...what is this socialism?). Unlike the emergency room attendant who put some kind of big long stick all the way down my ear and twisted and turned the thing like Chubby Checker fucking Miss America, the real doctor put a little suction tube into the really bad ear (my hearing was really wanting, and the pressure was, well, pressuriffic) and sucked (I hope) all of the wax out of my ear. I can hear. I SAID I CAN HEAR! Damn, you folks ain't paying all of the attention I need to get by. So get in my car, and just listen.

Now, in the day since the doctor righted me, I am just nervous about the wax coming back. Certainly I'll stay away from Johnson Wax stores and automatic wax machines, as well as Waxy Berstein, an old friend from school, who now, I will unfortunately have to drop. I am not taking any chances, you people who love and respect me (ok like me...this ain't Facebook).

But I am playing with myself. WHAT! Get that dirt out of your head Mommy, and think upright. I mean that I put a hand over one ear, then another hand (I have the two) over the other ear (two of them too) to test my hearing. I have a feeling I'm going to be alright, but I need to test things, to make sure.

Now...may God have love and mercy on Japan. Back to the radio!

Joe

Post To All Of My Readers!

As none of you have noticed, I haven't posted here (or peed in a 7/11 cup for that matter) for nearly a month. I have had some minor health issues; another skin cancer scare, it turned out that it is just the way it looks, and a loss of hearing presumably due to some extra ear wax I picked up from a prostitute in New Orleans. That's a lie, I have never been to New Orleans).

But the hearing loss is a real thing, sweety. The pressure and hearing loss got so bad last Monday that I went to the emergency room. The doctor there took the big hook that they use to decapitate patients to dig into my ear and get out lots of that dull waxy buildup we all so hate. Brace yourself....











MOTHERFUCKER! Yeewow! It was like an orgasm, except from the outside going in. I don't know what the ladies here would say about that, but that's how it felt. He twisted and turned that hook for about 15 minutes or so, and the pressure was alleviated and my hearing came back, some. MO...oh the hell, you know how I feel. Those of you men here who have had your dicks cut off in war or by accident in a slaughter-house know what I'm saying. They gave me some ear drops and referred me to an ENT. I thought they wanted me to go to the movies there for a minute until the sex nurse said that meant Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor. Gee, I hope you aren't required to have all three wrong to ENTer his office. I see him next week. That is if I don't go blind before then. Anyone know an eyes doctor? We used to have one at my pay toilet downtown, to help people see the pot better, and not pee all over the ground, but he retired to a little village called Titusville. He is now a tit doctor.

So that's why I have been so neglect in my duties to my blog. I have just felt like hell, nervous that I might have another skin tag (thank God it was just extra skin, which really, is all to the good, no?) and now I am not feeling all that (you know..."all that" like in the story books) and have just been going home after work to wax my ears.

I'll be around, honey, so please check in from time to time. If I ain't here. Check the men's room. It needs painting.

Love,

Joey

Fifty Years Ago

We were taught that the coming of the Kennedy administration was that of a new generation, a new way of looking at the world, and understanding differently history that was now cosigned to the ash heap. It was a new beginning, and despite the death of JFK we would go on to remake the world with a new face. And I was only six years old when John Kennedy was killed! It was quite a lot for me to take in.

But take it I did. It was all one world now, we were the greatest in that world, however, so we Americans were to keep the baton and see to it that the world didn't fuck things up. Apparently, that was our job.

JFK, in his inaugural address to this new world, let every person listening know; the United States would see to it that if they made a mess, we would clean it up. And that communism was another economic system, that if it would only join hands with Americanism, other worldly wonders, like peace and scientific advancement, and all the other good things governments could provide were only a handshake away. Collective cooperation was the secret to keeping peace between free and unfree worlds. He promoted freedom, as that was his duty as president. But he gave a nod and a wink to those who enslaved their people.

But what I wanted to get to was something, the ONLY thing most people remember from the speech in 1961. "And so my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you-ask what you can do for country".

Growing up and hearing those words made me kind of proud. Of what, I was sure that it was to be an American, to be selfless, and giving to the world. Growing up results (thankfully) in being grown up. And so many years ago, I read those words, tossed them around in my salad bowl of a head, now filled with newer ideas based on timeless philosophies, and wondered what the hell was he talking about. Don't ask anything of your country, but be sure to ask her what you can do for her. I mean, whaaaaa?

In the old years, we were never allowed to criticize JFK. OK. He was assassinated, a martyr, and then, of course a saint. Time usually takes most saints down enough notches so that we can examine just why we got talked into the saint thing anyway. And so it was with John Kennedy. After his fall from grace, most of us would never canonize a politician again (this is what is happening with President Obama and his ouster from his brief fling with sainthood).

Today, we who have tv will see JFK and those words repeated more than the thousand days he spent in office. And I will still need someone to explain them to me.

The Shooting

This week everyone is saying everything they can so that they can point all of their fingers at the political ideology who drove this guy to the event, helped him load the gun, and kill six people (including a nine year old girl and a retired conservative judge). It is as if the idiot pundits, particularly the left, but all of those trash talkers, wait for something like this to happen (or a terrorist event, or bombing a Federal building and such) so they can step up and say "told you"! I TOLD YOU! WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?
Listen to Rush Limbaugh, and go immediately to the front of the line to kill and maim. That's what the haters want, no?

I would from time to time have discussions with folks about libertarianism and Ayn Rand, just to name a couple of specifics. Time after time seemingly intelligent people would bray at the very mention of her name, and call her a fascist, Nazi, and all around bad girl. These same people, who mostly love government more than they could ever love another human being would take my beliefs about liberty and libertarianism, and how I would like to see them incorporated into a free world and twist my words into hate speak. I never spoke hate in my life.

The Tea Party, conservatives, libertarians, and assorted allies are in agreement about one thing above any disagreements on details they may have. They all want smaller government, less force and threats of violence, which is the only way the state gets what it wants and survives to live another day to get it some more. We, especially we libertarians, have philosophically renounced the use of force to achieve political goals. We participate in government, in the democratic process, as a compromise, to avoid anarchy, which does lead to true fascism.

Back to Ayn Rand. Fundamental to her philosophy of life was that the initiation of force was immoral. That force was only justified in response to its prior initiation and only in its proper proportion. So the next time you hear some nut go off about how the anti-government wackos are dangerous, remember we are the ones who believe in the constitutional limitation of government, maximization of freedom, and one day, not in my lifetime, I'm sure, bringing about a society that does not have as its core value the use of government as the Godhead of civil society.

Please remember. Only government has a monopoly on the legal use of the initiation of force and violence. That is what we want to diminish. We are the ones who want to lay down our guns, and bring about a truely free state of the people.

We want a government small enough so that we are not terrified by it.

Joe

New Congress Is Read Constitution...Flees In Horror!

Well, they didn't run for the hills, but it must have been very uncomfortable for so many of our Congress-people to hear of this unusual sounding document that actually puts a little crimp in their massive monopolistic powers (remember that government is the only institution in the world with a legal monopoly on the initiation of the use of force).

But they sat still and listened to the strange man up front reading them instructions on how to behave. Some Goddamn nerve, huh? The liberals were thinking "whatta we do now" now that they were "reminded" (learned for the first time...is better) that they had just taken an oath of office that enumerated their powers. What the F...! (Family blog...sorry you freaks who like it when I use the F word, but I'm gonna spread my liberty seed far and wide and broadcast it to the world of the little children awaiting the wondrous words of liberty). If I have time, that is. I just didn't feel like using F right now, ok?

Now, what is this mysterious oath that Congress takes before they are awarded the keys to the treasury by Bob Barker? Before they can "ask" the Federal Reserve to buy some more paper from China, print up some T Bills, and sell the same pieces of paper back to the Chinese? Pretty good con, yeah? Just ink up that paper with lots of zeros and the foreigners come a runnin'. We're the Fuckin' United States Of America, and our bonds, notes and bills are backed by the full faith and credit of the same said Fuckin' United States Of America. Sorry about the fuckin', kids, but Daddy felt it was too important and wanted to make his point clear.

The oath: "I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter: So help me God.

The originally oath taken by the first Congress was " I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support the Constitution of the United States". No promise to defend the government, or foment war and revolution ALL over the world. Nothing in there about anything, except defending a piece of paper that once was so clear in its intent to guarantee the rights of man that are awarded by God.

They were so confident back then that the men entering the first Congress understood the Constitution, that they didn't even feel the need of God to back them up on this one. He was in the wings in case Alexander Hamilton caused a fuss, but they went about their business in 1787 without the explicit word of God (Almighty). Could either one be more simple? I know that probably half the people we elect are as dimwitted as the people who elect them. But there are lots of us out here who do not consider the Constitution a Talmudic tractate, and is awfully clear in the enumerated powers of the government. Baby, you're on target here. It is THE GOVERNMENT that is restrained by the constitution. Not the people.

So...112th Congress, I salute you, pray that the Tea Party doesn't run out of old bags to keep the lid on the most explosive kettle of fish in the whole wide world; The United States Congress.

Now we must pray.

Joe

New Year...Oh Dear

I went to sleep at eight o'clock on New Year's eve last Friday night. I know all about this New Year's business. They get you to stay up late, watch Dick Clark drool out the count-down, then try to force feed you ham and eggs, notwithstanding whether or not you care for them. I happen to like them (notwithstanding my Judaism) and notwithstanding that I know I am annoying you with a certain little word that shall not go repeated.

I woke up the first day of the year, said to myself " big goddamn deal", and went back to sleep to have sex with this giant black woman who I have never seen before. God, man! What would you do? I may not respect the new year, but sex dreams come rarely, and I like my sexy dreamboats (is that guys? I am confused so much since I turned twenty). And sexy dreamboats is what I shall have.

Regrets? Yeah, I regret just about everything I've ever done, and they will soon walk me up the stairs to the gallows that they are now constructing outside my bedroom window. I believe they are for me and my many crimes, but they could be for my neighbor Herman, who has failed to pay his toilet tax two years running now. But my regrets are many. I regret that I failed miserably to get my fair share of women in the seventies when the worst thing you could get was...caught. And then in the eighties, even though I'm not Gay, Aids scared me off of the bosoms and purses of ladies for a while. Now, in my advanced state, wearing my skin cancer hat to hide from the sun and my greying hair simultaneously, I seem to be more invisible than ever. HA! If I ever was invisible, just think of the great and wondrous crimes I could commit with impunity. And I'm not even sure what impunity really means. But I would have to remember not to wear any clothes, as you're only invisible when you're naked; as everyone knows. The gallows shade grows larger. But so does the lotto pot.

Sleep well, my pretty thang.

Joey

New Year's

Saturday is New Year's, and so what? If I wanna celebrate New Year's on for God's sake July Fuckth, I'll do it. I play by my rules and the new year comes when I say, for me.

Those of you who keep up with this blog know that 2010 was not the best of years for me, but who am I to complain? I saw a naked woman, about 40ish, pushing a wheel burrow full of cement over by the gas works. I think they're putting in a new candy machine. I hope they have Heath Bars. For without Heath Bars, no candy machine can rightly call itself by thouest name, saith the Lord. Plus a Yoo-Hoo machine like the one the have over at the gas station across the street from my apartment. The one with the bell ropes.

I don't have a TV now, but if I did, I'd be there with all of you watching Dick Clark (The world's oldest man) gum in the new year from his wheel chair in Palm Springs. He's not able to count down all the way these days, since his stroke, so when they get to four, he'll hand it off to Brian Secrest (is he gay?) who will do 4, 3, 2, 1, and let go of the rope that holds the Times Square Ball up in the air, and let it crash into the crowd, killing thousands.

Probably not, at least not on TV. Maybe after everyone goes home, he'll drop it on Dick and his wife, and see how they make out.

Cancer, back problems, stinky job, smaller pee-pee, and some good stuff made up 2010. But I would rather do 1975 again. But this time without the acne.

So those of you who plan to make it the next two days to the new year, let me take this opportunity to wish you a yada yada yada. And God bless us all, every one.

See you in 2011. If I don't get my hand stuck in the candy machine at the gas station across the street from my house trying to steal a Heath Bar.

Stalls will be open on your big ass day. Just make sure if you need to use my facilities, that your big ass ain't too big for my nice fur seats.

Shalom, Dagwood.

Christmas

I'll be open for Christmas this year! Wide open like a prostitute on a warm summer's day. Open so lovely that Christian and Jew alike will swarm onto the downtown sector of Norfolk to see me open.

So I'm open. What do I have to prove now, big deal? I remember watching the "CBS Evening News" in the 1970's on a Christmas night and who should I see doing the news on this holy day, but Walter himself. Jesus Christ! I didn't see Him doing the news but old Walter was open to the public. He did have a nice Christmas, however. Leslie Stall (she was named after my toilet business) was underneath the desk playing with his journalistic integrity. And so it goes.

Christmas is, as you Christians know, is a nutty time for Jews. We have Hanukkah, and the Ladies Club Annual Daisy Chain, not to mention crucifying a member of our congregation, in honor of Christ, who belongs to us, even if we had to let him go on technicalities. Don't misunderstand me (I do that well enough myself) but Jesus had all of his Jewish bonifides, so we let him go cus he associated too much with gentiles. We can allow a lot of things, but we have to watch our tail when it comes to you people (I didn't mean you).

Also in December, I have my annual birthday celebration at the Vatican (the Pope ever so nicely took me by the hand last week and showed me the basement where they have the world's largest collection of porn. He tried to steer me towards the gay porn, but I pulled away before he could corner me, and I ran and ran and ran, until I could run no more. Boy was I tired. But I found the good stuff myself, and stuffed myself with candy bars and Yoo-Hoos from the snack machine in the Vatican basement. I did something else too. But I am so ashamed. And now I am blind. I hope God or Jesus will hold me in their arms and if they can't restore my sight, then at least array a host of snacks on my bed, back home, and let me eat all I want, or until I vomit.


No one can say I don't get all I can out of Christmas. I like a nice homo (whoops, I mean Homey) Christmas, and my friends, I do wish all of you who celebrate the holiday, A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS!

And those of you who don't, well, just close the blinds, turn out the lights, and for God's sake don't answer the door. It may be a Christian!

Joey

PS...This will be my last blog until after Christmas because the Library is closed, and while the toilets will be open, the phones are double the price during the holidays. I stick it to the heathens, tra la la la la, la la, la, la.

See you next week, I love you all so much!

SWAK

My Birthday Was Yesterday

Not to belabor the point, but yesterday I celebrated my entry into my 55th year on this planet. Oh God. I never meant to be this old. When I was 12, I thought 15 was ridiculous, when I was 25, 40 was disgusting. I mean really, really disgusting. The idea of making pup pup to a 40 year old woman would help me vomit. Which wasn't all bad of course. When I was 25 I ate some weird things. But a 40 year old woman? Aren't they supposed to be dead or something?

Now, when I do my pitiful little bit of grocery shopping at Cheapie's (it's next to my transgender pay toilet downtown) I find myself looking at 60 year old women (today's 60 is really 40...right) with verve. This is insanity, but I look at 60 year old bosoms as worthy of my mouth and hands. Indeed, I am outraged at me. In the past, I would have dismissed them as trash, and thrown not only the bosoms, but all of the lady's sex organs down the chute.

My own sex organs are not what they used to be (I have only the one...right?) In my wretched past, I could have walked down the street full of the sexual excitement I craved but rarely got. Now (I know you really don't want to hear this, so don't read it out loud, for goodness sake. Who am I, God?) I can go days and not even think about my most wonderous of buddies living in the prime real estate that was once between my legs. Now he just lives in semi-retirement, only knocking at my door once or twice a week to see if he can come out and play.

But turning 54 is not all about sex. One does think of his mortality, naturally. At 40 I thought I had the rest of my life before me. Now, I just think that I have the rest of my life before me. If a stroke, heart attack, cancer, city bus, choking, being beaten to death, shot in the head or gut, earthquake, and all of the other various assorted ways I'll may die don't get me, I may live to 94, still here writing my blog, checking my lottery tickets, and with my balls down to knees.

I need a drink.

Joey

The Horrible Wretched Cold...And My Birthday

I was driving through the tunnel to get to the next town over this morning on my appointed rounds, and I was so roughed up from the "feels like" eight degree cold and the nice warm van (I turned the heat all the way up...probably to 100) that I couldn't see straight. Sideways, I was alright. But straight seeing, I was all fouled up.

I want it to be warmer. Dear God, as we approach the birthday of your son, please consider Norfolk, Virginia as deserving of more heat, especially when I go to work, and also so that when I go through the tunnel I can see straight ahead, as sideways looking would only make me hit the wall, and the man in the tunnel that waves to me whenever I go through, would have to scrape me off of the sides, and this would make him unhappy.

Norfolk is a southern town, Lord. So when you are adjusting the universal thermostat, please have Jesus set us on 72 degrees. I realize that many of my fellow Jews are in Miami, but we little Jews in Norfolk need your Good and Godly help.

Say...Lord, is Moses still alive in Heaven? And when Santa flies right over my house again this year, please inform him, that Jews have feelings too.
If just a card, we would feel that the Christian fellows who run the world and universe haven't forgotten that good old Jesus was a Heeb.

God Bless.

My birthday is this Friday. I'll be 39 (Christ! My hands won't let me lie to God...OK, I'll be 54. But I look 39. Let's just say I'm 39, just for fun.) I would like a new computer, some cash (small bills), a new TV set, and a big block of cheese. Oh, how I love cheese. I could suck it right out of the cow, and shake it up inside me, and I'm a cheeseman! Also, peace on earth, and goodwill toward men (and girls between 18 and 60 with big tits).

I'll write Santa for my Christmas goodies. I hope you'll take care of my birthday list.

Thanks, Lord.

Joey In Norfolk

John

Tomorrow, the eighth of December is the 30th anniversary of the murder of John Lennon.

I had it in my mind to write something poignant, and long, with remembrances of what John was to me, and how the whole world changed after he died.

I can't do it. I miss him. And I love him. And like the world after John, I am entirely tired.

PEACE NOW

Joe

My Pants Are Getting Smaller

First, I don't think it is any of you, here at the blog, who have been messing around with my pants. So, you're fine. Just don't touch my pants when they are near your house.

My number one pants (the pair I love and cherish, and wear over to the gas station across the street from my apartment) were hanging in my closet yesterday when I went for them, and I noticed that they were a little tight. I know I've been trying to save money by eating cheap eats at malt shops, gas stations, burger palaces, machines where you pull on a knob to get choco cookies and other convenient goodies. And perhaps I have put on a pound here and there, maybe more ass pounds than, say, hand or feet pounds, but I don't think my pants got that tight just from a little overeating on my part.

I had to use the ladies pay toilet downtown yesterday, because the men's was slippery, and Chester, the clean up dude, hadn't come in yet. Now, as most of you know, inside the ladies (this is the heterosexual ladies toilet, by the way) stall is a really good snack machine, with ice cream bars, extra crispy fried chicken, Yoo Hoo's, and lots of other fine chops to whet anyone's appetite while they're waiting to shit inside a heterosexual ladies toilet. Oh, yeah. The Lesbian toilet was also free, but I know what goes on inside there, and I was afraid. Gee, isn't that strange? I own the damn thing, and I'm afraid to use one of my own stalls. Weird world. The gay toilet was in use, as always, and I don't bother my gay brothers while they are doing what they do best. But I don't usually eat supper in my toilets, downtown. For a good, clean meal, try my family stalls at the beach.

Back to my pants. They are just too tight. Especially around the crotch, and tushy-meat. And, as you all know, those are my two most important areas, in or out of my pants. I did have a beer and some pizza while on the pot (you have to order out for pizza though. Maybe we should get an oven, huh?) and my pants were around my feet while I grunted just as hard as my tiny little voice could grunt. I grunted, and then grunted harder, and harder, and harder. Then a knock on the door came, and the pizza boy was here. Well, of course I was embarrassed, but what could I do? I unlocked the door and let him in. Naturally, I covered my personal goodies with a copy of the Ladies Home Companion.

As I sat there, half naked in my "Mrs. Toilet" (that's what we call the can for married ladies and where I was having a nice time just crapping away, without a care in the world) I contemplated my life. And hoped for better days. And used the phone to order some new pants.

I gave the pizza boy a slice of pizza and a drink of water, because I didn't have any change for a tip. What could I do? When a grown man doesn't have enough change for a decent tip for the delivery boy while sitting on the toilet, he does the best he can.

The end.


Joey

Hurray For WikiLeaks

WikiLeaks is doing great work in finally, perhaps, having the government understand that we are the masters and the G-Men are the servants. For the entire history of this nation along with other mischievous states around the world, we have, under the cover of "national security", "executive privilege", "top secret clearance", and all of the other bullshit the government hides from the people who pays the bills, become detached from the original intent of our founders, to be in large part, a business model in this respect, for the non-interference in the affairs of other nations around the world, affairs which have no bearing on the business of the United States.

The opposition to the leakers say that lives, reputations, and the ability of our "diplomats" to keep secret the identities of informants is in great peril because now the people of this nation know much more about what CIA, State Department, and other rouge outfits in this country are doing under our signature. Men, everyday our nation puts in grave danger military around the world in and out of combat. That argument won't wash. The greatest threat to the safety of the people of this country is our leaders engaging shady characters to pull out information from their supposed allies, and give it to us. The idea that we are putting foreign agents at risk is bogus. If we could not engage the agents in the first place, if indeed they believed that their lives could be in danger, and talking to U.S. spies would be harmful to their health, then maybe we couldn't commit this country to operations we shouldn't be involved in, in the first place.

A fresh, free, flow of information would make the average Pakistani think twice before becoming allied with United States undercover operations. And maybe we could leave the rest of world to clean up their own garbage that we only make worse by spreading around the shit.

Vivi WikiLeaks.!

Happy Thanksgiving...In Jail!

So here we are again, kin. My most wonderful time of the year! If you're Andy Williams or a cool fart like him. But for us little 'un's and Jews who have to brace ourselves for the coming season of Christmas light and charity, I say get out of town while we can still hold onto our pupicks.

Its not that I don't like this winter season of faith and charity and goodwill to men. I just don't like the hypocrites who, like all of the white men who have advanced in this world by keeping their boot on my neck, treat us like the little shitties we may very well be. And then come the "holidays" and these very same guys who treat me like a free toilet (no respect for free toilets in this sector of Virginia) all year, suddenly turn into Christians, talk to me like I'm human, look interested in my thoughts and Judaism, and then, before you can piss into an empty beer can on New Years Eve, they knock a block our heads again to start the new year.

Fug 'em. Like Nixon would say about his enemies, just fug 'em. I'm going to spend my precious holiday with old man Swanson down by the microwave, then maybe go across the street to the gas station across the street from my house, have a banana Poopsicle, jump on the bell robes (I do so love that..the man comes out..and get this!...there's no car there!). I'll probably end the festivities with a full blown 10 center at my Pay Toilet Stalls in downtown Norfolk, where I'll stink up the world to my heart's content, and just fug 'em.

Fug 'em.

Happy holidays, bitch. In Jail!

Joe

Bananarama

The banana boat from Havana came into Norfolk yesterday. However, because the men who were supposed to come up from Haiti to peel the bananas for pudding did not show up we took the banana shipment, and sold them to our resident rectal man at my pay toilets downtown, Dr. Ass, to use, as he saw fit(s) for banana enemas and other assorted bathroom varieties.

As we all gather along the family home in anticipation of Thanksgiving, I realize the shortage of fruit and other Thanksgiving delights may make this a less than absolutely fantastic, upper GI tract, many mouths to feed, holiday. But we live with what we have. And if on your Thanksgiving table this week, you don't see fruit cup, don't come crying to me. I do have a case. But I have to save it for the big buffet we're having this Thursday at the stalls. Hermaphrodites get in for half. Or is that for double? I could never get that straight. Shoot, Lord, that's like getting a herme herself straight. It takes legislation for that.

So, let us shine in the reflected glory of our wonderful election win, hoping the Tea Party peeps do our thing up right.

And serve the gravy hot.

Joe

God And Drunk

I wish I had a taste for drink. I quit smoking, I ain't got a TV set, no Internet, and I think I saw a mouse in the kitchen. I would get sloshed every night if only I had a taste for tippling. But I do like the sex (I never got my fair share. I tried complaining to the Board Of Sex, but then I found out that it was just a board up on Church street where prosties lay out a board in the middle of the street and then work you. I don't need that.

I want a refrigerator filled with treats, lots of books, a radio, a girl to come in twice a week to clean the apartment, and a better attitude. And money. When I win the lotto, and all of my folks appear at my door for a "visit", I'll just pull a Jimmy Stewart on them and say "hey, listen, its not like the money is here. It's at the bank and in some stocks and bonds, and in Joe's house, and the Kennedy house. You've got it all wrong. Its not like its in the back in piles (it really would be...keep still). I love you all, and I want to share my most wonderful luck with all of you. Here's a number you can call to speak with the person who has the money right now. Call him, and see what's what? What What?

And in the meantime, I would have the biggest damn bed in Norfolk, free toilets all over the house, ice cream sandwiches, in a circle on my bed, and the book I'm reading now about the telegraph and telephone.

I don't need much anymore. Its been four years since my TV went to hell. Two years since my computer at home vomited and lost the Internet, and a year since I said bye to my home email. So now, just give me the money, ice cream, books, and a big bed with toilets all over the house. Wanna make me happy? I know all of you, all the world over, do. So leave me now. I got my dick stuck in a jar of pigs feet.

Don't ask.

Joey

Dyspepsia

I've had a little heartburn this week, which has kept me from my appointed rounds. Not really dyspepsia, which is stomach upset, so much as a burning in the upper digestive tract, and rolling a little towards the back. A coke clears it up. But sometimes, like when I'm in the car on the interstate going 80, I ain't near a Coke. Or a Pepsi. But they do clean me out.

When I say clean me out, I don't mean in the way that an enema would, but just that the carbonation offstinks the indigestion and I continue to live. I'll be 54 next month. My brain is 100, and my face and body are 35. So I averaged that out to a clean 54. I was listening to NPR yesterday, and there was a show about fancy enemas. Vanilla Phosphate, choco-cream cookie, bubble-gum, cheese and crackers, coffee, with cream, sugar and pis, and my favorite, the old fashioned cake enema. It is really great, they say, especially when it is festooned with a bride and groom on the top. I can see where that would make it a little tough going in, but I suppose if you leave them in there long enough, they would melt. Plus they come in all kinds of candied flavors. Its better than the thistle-thorn enema, which has been known to tear the anus to pieces.

But this is all conjecture. I haven't had one yet, and I suppose I should. I wouldn't want a homosexual doctor (I want my physicians to work at what they're doing, not play inside me). But my regular M.D. looks straight to me, so I would say DIG IN, MAN!

It could be embarrassing too. What if they found some weird stuff up there? Stuff that I never knew about, but maybe floated upstream when I was a kid. I would be mortified to find a toy boat, or a pair of ladies stockings. Gee, what if the doctor found a fetus? It would blow my mind. Blow it up, dude.

I wish I knew how much time they spent in my dark continent looking for shit (I know they'll find plenty of shit shit...I mean shit as in uncool shit). And when the thick steel rod is up my tushy-meat, and I woke up, all of a sudden, and squealed, would I be gay? There's got to be a better way.

Have a great weekend, ladles. There is a concert at my toilet tonight.

Joe

A New Beginning. Let Us Come Together.

The title says it all. I cribbed the last part from a Nixon campaign poster. We did quite well last night. Not the complete blowout I was hoping for. Harry Reid got reelected, and the Democrats keep the Senate. But we did get 60 more "R's" in the house for a nice majority. The buildup was so big, I was thinking way more. Like a thousand extra house seats, and maybe ten thousand Senate pickups, but it was not to be.

As our collectivist enemies like to say about their stuff, let me say; this is a good first step. I found it neat that 53% percent of those who voted (polled of course) had a negative attitude towards the Republican Party. AND, 53% of those polled had negative feelings towards the Democratic party. Sounds like like hot nuts for a real nice, strong third party if the GOP can't get down to business and obey the dictates of the Tea Party.

The GOP is rich now, and connected in cool ways. We have, basically, traditional conservative pinstripes, libertarian leaning philosophers, and Tea Partiers, who stride, com se com sa', the middle of the two. Forget about any Republican stragglers, who still think Jacob Javits was a comer. The party is now conservative-libertarian (oh, what about my precious Libertarian Party...where shall they go? What shall they do?) and can be poised, if it has the balls, to revolutionize government.

Do they got the balls, Manny? Nixon had balls. But he was a criminal. The next two years will tell the story. The Tea Party, I predict, will remain as active as they have been these last two years, pushing hard, standing in the GOP doorway to keep the scaredicats who promised us that they would take off the shakles and RADICALLY reform the mess they have created from escaping. We have to clean up this mess. We made it.

By the way, did you know that Virginia state law requires that all pay toilets have to close on election day? I was smelling fried chicken all day. Some lady before me at the voting stalls shit in her pants, and smeared it on the ballot. I guess she thought they would take her more seriously that way.

Remember. We are now in the "good first step" phase to reverse the tragic course of government over the last 80 or more years.

Let's move!

Joe Postove

Vote

I just voted. The polling stall is just down the block from the library, so I decided to vote first then do my Eric Sevareid bit afterwards.

There wasn't much of a crowd. It took about 10 minutes for me to get my ballot. And get this, my peeps, I did something today, that I haven't done in many many years. No, not that, I do that every day. The other thing. I voted straight Republican EVEN though there was a Libertarian on the ballot. WE call it Libertarianism And Things for a reason, and I probably broke a few hearts today. But here's why.

I've been convinced that the Tea Party, being a VERY VERY good influence on the old, me too, tired Republicanism, can turn this party around, give it a good push towards real liberty, and many libertarians will gather round, and perhaps coalition with a Tea Party dominated GOP. We must now pray.

Also, this is the last chance for the Republican Party. I will, and many of the important people in my coterie will forever and always leave the Republicans if they can't get it straight this time. This is the most important mid-term, perhaps the most important election, all said, in more than 30 years. The United States Of America will die a slow, meandering death, if the Party of Lincoln disappoints us again.

Anyone there? This is the last chance. Of course we can't do everything at once (believe me...I tried it once and I got my pushky all tied up with my kiddish). But with Tea Party-Libertarians with a significant presence in the party, we can immediately start to turn this once great nation back to the ethics of our founding fathers, and return us to the free nation we were meant to always be.

If you haven't voted yet, please go and do so now. But if you ain't going to vote properly, I hear there are scads of good TV shows on tonight. Stay home and grab some tube.

And so, tomorrow we'll know. May God have mercy on the freedom lovers, and have at it with the socialists.

FREEDOM WORKS. CAPITALISM IS THE ONLY MORAL "ISM".

Joe Postove

Election Time Is Coming!

A Week from today, many of us will go to the polls and take a dump. Please don't do that. I've got plenty of pay stalls at my toilet emporium in downtown Norfolk to serve everyone. I realize that those of us who feel compelled to make plop plops in the voting stall are making a political statement. But there is no need for that. Vote responsibly.

And voting responsibly means voting as close to Libertarian as you can. "Libertarian And Things", right? The Tea Party people are on the absolutely right track. But their method is to put the Republicans back in power, most of whom will be the conventional "me too" type. But this time, I pray thee, oh Lord, that the Republican Party sees that the Tea Party and conservatives and libertarians who make up this wave to wash away the scum is serious this time, now more than ever.

One more chance for the GOP. One more goddamndiddly chance, or they're out, and if the Libertarian Party cannot pick up the slack, than we'll form a third party that will make Ross Perot's couple of runs look like a tea party. But one where little girls sit around and talk about boys. If the Republicans win the House, and if providence provides, also wins the Senate, and goes back to playing footsie with the Barney Franks of the world (I don't even allow that in my own toilets) then there will be, mind you, folks, must be, a real revolution to reform the government of The United States into the constitutional institution it was meant to be.

Damn. Oh damn. I worry so about my beautiful nation becoming a third world and third rate nation, and watch countries like China beat the capitalist shit out of us. And then when capitalism, real live exciting free markets, like the ones that made our bones right here, make China a free, democratic, and most powerful country in the world, whatta we gonna do down here on the farm?

Wave bye bye, baby. Vote responsibly on election day. Make love to our country.

Joe Postove

Mr. C. And Mrs. Cleaver

The election is a'comin', but June Cleaver (Barbara Billingsley) and Mr. Cunningham (Tom Bosley) have died, and I want to pay tribute to them. The Beave's Mom and the head of the Cunningham clan, are right now, more important to me.

Though the beginning of "Happy Days" came just a little over ten years after the demise of "Leave It To Beaver" ("Beaver" died in September 1963..."Days" premiered in January 1974) they merged into my childhood-teenage boyhood, made the world a bit lighter, and interestingly enough, though they portrayed people of the same era (50's early 60's), the shows were opposites of each other.

I think I liked Mrs. Cleaver a little better, and the whole Beaver clan, because the show was from the 50's, but not of the 50's. Every week it televised the 50's as the 50's wanted to be seen, certainly not like it was. There were no hermaphrodites, pay toilets, don't ask blah blah, and real life, such as David Halberstam wrote in his epic book on the decade back in the 90's. "Leave It to Beaver" was what we wanted the 50's to be. And it was. For a half hour we could dream of the decade we desperately missed, or never experienced, and forget about the bomb, and Joe McCarthy, and civil rights, and the whole goddamn decade, as it really was. We could luxuriate in a pretend world of malt shops, football practice, double dates, and lovey dovey romance. The worst thing that ever happened on Beaver was when Eddie Haskell moved out to his own apartment. Maybe that wasn't so bad though. He moved back home in record time. In and out before the 30 minutes were up. And that was clocked. That was the 50's we wanted to return to, even if it never existed.

Happy Days was more complicated. It certainly did not have homosexuals, or poop pans, drug fiends, or shooting up the school on a Friday afternoon, like nowadays. But it was a more realistic portrayal of the decade, in that it, in it's own 70's sitcom fashion, confronted black people, sex(!), and poverty, among other things that really happened in the 50's. Mostly, however, Happy Days was malt shops, cars, high school, but with a little more honesty than the Beaver.

Is that what we wanted? No, but both shows satisfied a need, and Mrs. Cleaver, and Mr. C in their own way were a Mom and Dad that we respected, liked, and wanted our own to be more like.

I'd take the fake 50's over the real one. But we have to live with both.

RIP Baraba Billingsley and Tom Bosley.

Joe

Family Time

I have kin coming in this weekend, so you're going to have to find another pay toilet to pee and shit in. I know, I know, you have become used to my high quality stalls, and the alternatives (river, behind car doors, 7/11 cups, low quality pay toilets, like the ones made out of cigar boxes, and other assorted peepee and plop plop stations). I do sympathize with you and urine.

But I haven't seen my cousin in a couple of years, and if I had to man the toilets over the weekend, I wouldn't get to spend good times with family. And as you all know, I am a family man first. Except for those who are waiting for me to die and run off with my pay toilet empire. Girls, I have the biggest operation of dime pis, and fifteen cent plop stations in the southeastern quadrant of Virginia. And I can't give that up by letting some others watch them. Remember that old Haitian lady who collected the money before I perfected the change machine? Well, yeah, she ran off with over 100 million dollars. I made off of your human waste. What? You say that's no big shit? I say it's more like projectile sphincter vomiting. I try not to put too fine a point on these things, and be too gross out of respect for your family and the Godfather and his family and all of the crews who have been made by the mob, and those unfortunates who have not.

I'm not saying that my pay stalls, open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week have any mob connections. But you do have to be aware that they are out there, and they want their piece of the pie (fully digested, in my case).

So for those of youse (or you, depending on your good or bad English) who need to use the bathroom this weekend, please try and hold as much as you can inside. I realize there will be some leakage. But that's part of the business that we have chosen, I hope you realize this. There is always going to be a little leakage, whether or not I keep the stalls open or closed.

I am, again, very sorry for any inconvenience to anyone because of my family obligations. On Monday, if there is anyone who has crapped in his pants, or peed in bed or elsewhere, I promise a half price ride on the roller-toilet.

Joey

10/9/40

Let's speak today of pretty things. Of good, and peace, and love. It is John Lennon's 70th birthday after all. John could have spent a life in Key West with Yoko and Sean, and walked out to the mailbox every afternoon and picked up his royalty checks. I would have.

John risked everything, all the time, for an end to war (WAR IS OVER...IF YOU WANT IT) and a start to peace. He was willing to play the fool to some, if it meant gathering steam for a world based on a Lennon model rather than what all the rest of us expected, to throw up our hands, and just give into...war. He would do anything to focus our minds on peace. Too many of us grooved just on the music. Unless we listened to Professor Lennon talk.

Meeting the world from bed, taking up with that woman, fighting the United States government to stay in the country and winning was what John wanted to do in the 70's. And, boy, did we need a John Lennon. Music? Ok, the contract calls for this and that and "here it is...sorry its not the best it could be, but I was in bed for peace"!

The Beatles, of course changed everything, sometimes for the better (mostly) sometimes for the lesser (everything prior to 1964 suddenly disappeared). The four of them, as a group, were together less than eight years. And then they scattered to the edges of music and the world, never to be whole again.

John came out ok. It wasn't as good, but it was John Lennon. He put out a few great albums, a few stinkers, and lost his way, some, while away from Yoko. But his voice, not the yeah yeah yeah, but the "Give Peace A Chance" voice put him in the cross hairs of the Nixon Administration to"get this beatnik out of the country". But John kept a 'comin'. It was for peace, not the victory of the Viet-Cong, or Mao's Cultural Revolution (if you go carrin' pictures...) or war mongers on the left. John fought off the critics on the left and right and did whatever was required for an end to war. He was quite good at that. But war is stronger than one man. If only that one man, followed by us, his folks, could bring us closer to peace, then and only then is peace stronger than war. Peace CAN trump war. WAR IS OVER IF YOU WANT IT! Then John would go along, some, to get along. By 1980, he had fully grown up, and dismissed his flirtation with the left only as a means to whack war to peace.

He couldn't have done it all without the music. That gave him standing. But he didn't have to do it. He could have lost it all, and been as poor as Frank Zappa. Peace and Yoko were what he lived for. And today, October Ninth, 2010 I want to wish John Lennon A Happy Birthday. You will be alive in my heart as long as my heart continues to rock to the beat of the music and the beat of the peace.


I love you.

Joe

Eats

Congress failed to pass the Child Nutrition Bill last week, and once again we have saved our kids from the tyranny of the federal lunch lady. Learning to eat (which was not at all hard for me) is something Mom teaches you when you're a baby, and should monitor at least until you're six or seven, when you start trading your peanut butter sandwiches for Hostess' Ho's and Clark Bars. Can't we keep the federal government out of this most important aspects of growing up, filling your belly with goodies and getting fat. We all go through it, and the government should keep its hands off our jelly-bellies.

I was on a diet starting at the age of six until I could diet no more, sweety. Look at photos of me before I turned 6 and I was some gorgeous babe. Then at six, like right there when the buzzer went off in the kitchen (I had asked Mom to set the thing so I would know the exact time I turned half a dozen) I went into a diabetic slumber. Little did I know then, that I was born at 3:30 in the morning, the time I slid out of my Mom's birth canal and into the arms of the doctor, who beat the shit out of me. At least it felt like it at the time.

But at six years old, my Dad decided I should have my head almost completely shaved (maybe to ward off those Beatles) I started to gain weight, and Dr. Jerome put me on diet pills (I ate them with Jello..J-e-l-l-o) which made me insane. I was shaking my head like a dervish because the pills were too much for my fat little, sweet, boy body. And not long after that, I think when I was eight(!) I got braces, which I hung onto for five years. I was a mess. See how you get to be a mess at 53? Be a mess a six. It works out pretty nice.

But what about kids eating junk food at school. I'll make the NEA a deal, get the junk education out of the schools, and then maybe we can pull some of the chocolate cherries out of the vending machines.

Oh, boy! When I was in school, the vending machines were full of what every boy and girl should have to have a roundy body and every now and then diabetic comas. We had the cherries, peanut butter candy (what is that..it pulls your fillings out, Yoo-Hoo, M&M's, Chunkies, and candy and mess so good and sweet and godly that going to school wasn't so bad). Lots of us kids didn't eat a full breakfast of Count Chockula, and Tab, so that we could gorge on vending munching munch. And then after school, we would go to 7/11 and, well man, I'll tell you this, I thought, at the age of 10, I was getting high on the grease and good grub only a 7/11 has.

I miss those days. How about some Mary-Jane's. I'll send you some teeth.
Now, government, listen up. I want you out of the bedroom, lunchroom, tearoom, bathroom, carport, little plastic pools, my gallows, and anything else that impinges on the rights of me or my children (if God should ever figure a way to get me pregnant...and NOT LIKE THAT!

Joe

Toe Jam

I got my toe stuck in the damn jam jar again last night. I have no one to blame other than myself. I just can't help it. Whenever I get near the jar (which I keep on the floor near the refrigerator) I get so sexy, and suburban-like, that something comes over me, and before I know it, my little toe (the baby toe for you who aren't part of the in crowd) is swimming, luxuriously and proudly in the jar of jam.

I hang my head in shame. I know my relationship with jam (and the jar..I like the jars too) is not the best thing for my mental health. I try to wear my slippers until I'm neatly under the covers and on my way to Sleepytime Village, but I have a routine that invariably leads me to the kitchen and the damn jam jar. My Mother, who passed away almost six years ago tried to cure me of this by fluffing up my pillow ever so nicely before I went to sleep, and put extra 'Redi-Whip' on my Jello hoping this might get me out of the habit and help me lead a moral, Godly life, dedicated to sweets, tv, fried chicken, and fatty potato salad, and no, no, no, to any ideas of sticking my toe in a jam jar for delights. But it didn't work. After Mom tucked me in, I would sneak down to the kitchen (after saying goodnight to the folks at Sleepytime Village, telling them I would be back soon, to ride the white tiger to sleep) and get the jam out of the fridge, and just mess up my whole life slipping my baby toe in and out, in and out, in and out, of the glorious jar of jam that only a precious Lord could understand.

I really don't know what to do. I've tried melted butter in a glass, chicken fat pooped by a real chicken at one of my pay toilets, and many other remedies. None work. Oh, maybe what I do ain't so bad. I mean, I'm not hurting anyone (except me) and it's not like war or eating beets, or trying to flush a meatloaf down a pay toilet for a dime.

Maybe it's just me. And maybe I'm just alright.

Mmmmmmmmmmm. I feel like some jam!

Joey

Happy Birthday Mr. Twister!

Folks, I had written a nice long, bulbous, pretty, sweet paean, to my favorite Rock and Roller, Chubby Checker. But the God of taking away drafts to heaven, swiped my post, and I got nothin' here, girls. Ladies, I tried.

Let me say, however, that tomorrow is Chubby's 69th birthday. He was Rock and roll's first feminist. After the Twist, girls didn't need boys to lead them anymore.

Happy birthday you great man. And may youhave many more!

Joe

Extra Pies At All Pay Toilets

I woke up early this morning wondering about the traffic. I don't normally think that much about who's driving what where, when, since my commute is about five miles straight down Virginia Beach Blvd, until I get to my work at the death house. In case you did not know, I work where all of the zombies who are bosses above me seem to have the look of the dead in their eyes. Maybe they just have a poor bowel movement every morning. Morning plop plops can cause one to be really sick, unless you know what you're doing. Do you really know what the hell you're doing.

As I laid in bed, I thought that there were no cars on the interstate, but that there were thousands of stolen shopping carts. Stolen from K-Mart, Lowes, Wal-Mart, and lots of others so we can pick our items every morning to deliver to the degenerates who buy from us. Gee...if the cops ever bust a move, wide open into our warehouse, I think we're all going to the hoose-gow. I can see now, outside my cell window, the one with the little bars that look like Liberace's candles, the gallows being prepared for me, not only for stealing and using stolen shopping carts, but for all of my previous and various crimes. Well, gals, all good things gotta come to an end. Or is that beginning?

I got a letter from my Orthodox Jewish sister in Israel last week. I tried to convince her to come home to America, the land of really really cheap Pay toilets (they charge a dollar in Israel...that's the result of State Universal Coverage for Plops and pee). But she is committed to the State Of the Jews, even if it means meeting the President of Iran (his name is not spelled out because I forgot how) in a cage match at the Jerusalem Arena, which is on forth street, near this really bitchin' shul, where they let you praise Jesus, eat, pee in your pants, sit in the back if you're lonely and , well...you do the math, sell Poopsicles, make unleavened bread, and none of the ladies wear bras. My sis really does not approve of this synagogue, but the Israeli government told her if she wants to wrestle that guy from Iran, she'll have to wrestle the women champ of Jerusalem, Bertha Bloomstein.

Bertha is 57, and on the down end of her career, so Angie might have a chance to get her to submit, and then push her head into one of the state toilets. All good stuff.

I'm still worried that one day I'll wake up and the only thing on the road will be little bugs. I'll squash them.

Joe

Here Comes The Election!

The rats now running the White House (not the sleazy kind, but..well yeah, the sleazy kind) are thinking of converting to Quakerism because they hear the mighty mighty voice of God Almighty quaking and beseeching them ( I love to beseech...especially after a good meal, and flap jacks on the toilet) to leave us alone and return this country to the people who maintain it (for real) from the bureaucrats who have stolen it for their own Stalinist aims.

I wonder if even the Democrats who elected this guy think he was ready? Even for the dumb-ass socialism that Mr Obama and his crew have thrown against the wall to see how much will stick. Lots of it seems to be sticking, but, gee whiz, they have ruined a perfectly good wall. Twenty years ago, when the Berlin Wall came down, I really thought that Communism had lost and Capitalism had won. Well, the reds lost, but our people, the ones who couldn't run a pay toilet, but think they can move mountains of capital for the benifit of all have come as close as one of Mama's baked apples to ruining capitalism for the United States. God! And just last week, Castro (on his fifth or sixth death bed) said that the "Cuban Model" hasn't even worked for Cuba.

Meanwhile, back at Camp Barack, our government does everything it can to take a perfectly good economic system and pis it away in the sink, of all places. When we first opened our Pay Toilets in Downtown Norfolk, I didn't have the automation system up yet. So I had an old Hatian woman collect the nickles and dimes until we were totally up and ready to go. I would trust HER more with the government of the United States than I do him.

Now is our chance. Sure, we gave the Republicans the whole thing to play with in 1994. They had a contract, and PROMISED to lessen the amount of government in our lives. In every way possible. By all and any means possible (I don't think they would have firebombed the Capitol, however...why burn down your own neighborhood?)

Now they want another chance. But there's a catch. The Tea Partiers, or neo-libertarians, if you will, are holding their feet to the fire. A mighty awesome fire, that only God could put asunder (sometimes I get into my black preacher mood). The Tea Party, for the most part, thanks, is after one thing. Stop the growth of this behemoth, and then read the constitution to those remaining politicians who don't get it. And then move to reduce the size of the state.

Can this happen? I don't know. Once folks gets their goodies from the government (health care) even when they know the moral decadence and smell of what it is, they are often loath to give them up. I lived in Santa Monica, California, years ago when they established rent control. I went to rallies and meetings to try and avoid this blot on freedom. But we lost, and the "People's Republic Of Santa Monica" put a gun in the face of landlords, and said "this is how much we'll pay, and shudup yo face" Or words to that effect. And as much as I was opposed to this confiscation of property rights, poor little me breathed a sigh of relief. I could not afford where I was living then. Now maybe I could.

What a sad sick day it was for me. But, look, you little feller's here, once the president goes on a shopping spree and drops off whatever we need, truth be told, we ain't gonna give it back.

Stop them now. While we still have a chance to be proud of our nation.

Joe Postove

Day Of Atonement

Today for all of my Jewish brethren, it is Yom Kipper, or the day of sweating to the oldies. WE all go to shul, sit and stand, and then sit, but stand more than sit. And we pray God to allow us another year on Earth before he slams us like that Roadrunner did that coyote. That was one of the first cartoon parables. The Roadrunner was God, and Wylie Coyote was just another slob trying to get to heaven before the anvil got to him.

I'm not in shul today. I won't lie and say that my Orthodox synagogue installed personal computers alongside the tallis, and siddurs....know what I mean, goyim honey? I'm at the library with all of the non-Jews practicing web-surfing and trying to remember the dirty pictures. If you don't have a good memory, what good are they, huh?

Besides, and God forgive me, but there are time when I think this "Day Of Atonement" should at least apply to our heavenly father as much as it does to us. It was not we who brought forth unto us little'uns here Hurricane Katrina to New Orleans, or a tsunami to all those hapless folks in helpless land. Jesus (not for use on Yom Kipper) what do think God is thinking when he SEES you living on a speck in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. You're asking for some mighty smiting, no?

One day, and that day may never come, we may see the Lord walk into a synagogue on Yom Kipper and apologize. Not for everything, but for not allowing the powerful peeps of this wonderful world run it as we see fit, and only sticking his nose in to foment wars, pestilence, disease, and all of his others goods. Yes, I do realize that God created us, and the world. But he took a hike. But not far enough to let us run our affairs as we see fit. He was always around so that we could always count on some evil dude stuff. I love the Lord. He created me and everyone I love. And my planet. That's plenty.

We'll take it from here.

Joey