Fish Revenge III (Fish's Gifts)

Ok, where was I before I was interrupted by life…Hmmm seems that Fish, Fin and I were in Fish’s basement sucking down an illegally obtained Old Style and some unauthorized smokes after being chased by the Green Bay Police Department and one very irate owner of a really cool Trans Am who now had to replace his windshield.

An uncomfortable change came over us as our laughter was absorbed into the concrete walls of Fish’s basement and our “Devil may care attitude” was replaced with a bit of nervous tension. We were all thinking the same thing, who saw us? Does anyone know Fin threw the snowball? Will the cops be able to track us in the snow? Is our Christmas over? Are we going to jail? Then, Fish stood up, grabbed the empty beer can and said “Who wants to see my presents?” as he headed toward the stairs to the kitchen. Our worries about our future were quickly dispelled by that one simple question. Fin and I glanced over at each other grinned and raced to catch up to Fish.

We caught up to him at the top of the stairs and we waited impatiently as he crushed the beer can and stuck it in the recycling garbage bag that was under the sink which seemed to be overflowing onto the floor and mixing in with all the cleaning products his mother kept there. “Hey, Fish, we could get at least five bucks for that bag if we took it to the scrap yard on Broadway.” I said.

“Yeah and that would pay for some smokes and a six pack. I bet we could get some girls over for a nice party if we did that.” Fin chimed in.

“Nah guys, my mom keeps a real close eye on these cans and the aluminum foil. If we took it she would notice and it would be my ass.” Fish shot us down quickly. “Besides she uses that money to take us to the movies and get us popcorn. I aint gonna mess with that or my sisters being pissed at me for a month if we did take this bag.” He closed the door and stood up. “C’mon, let’s go in the garage.”

As we entered the garage from the chill of the evening hit us dead in the face, arms and any other exposed parts of our bodies. We had all left our coats, hats and sweaters in the warm, smoke filled basement below. As Fish fumbled for the light switch in the dark Fin asked “Is this gonna take long? It’s cold out here and my coat is downstairs?”

“We have to go into the rafters. So, yeah it is gonna be cold and it’s going to take a while so go get your coat and grab mine too. Skip and I will set up the ladder” Fish stated

“Grab mine too Fin.” I yelled as he disappeared down the steps.

By the time Fin got back with our coats Fish and I had gotten the ladder set up in the garage and Fish had pushed the access panel to the rafters aside. As Fin handed out our coats, Fish swore us to secrecy and reminded us that we were blood brothers and not allowed to rat each other out. Then he disappeared up into the rafters.

By the time Fin and I climbed up the ladder and crawled into the rafters Fish had managed to surround himself with several black trash bags of presents that seemed about to burst. Each bag had a piece of tape with a different name of one of the Minnow children on it.

Fish grabbed the bag with his name on it and started pulling out packages that had been wrapped in a multitude of Christmas paper. Some of the paper had Santa’s on it, some had snowmen and some even had Christmas lights. All the colors were stunning and amazing in the dimly lit rafters of the chilly garage. Fin and I could not take our eyes off of Fish as he slowly pulled the magically wrapped boxes from their hidden resting spot.

“C’mon Fish! Stop goofing off and show us what you got.” I demanded

“Yeah cat, get moving. What’s gonna happen if we get busted by your Mom or one of your sisters?” asked Fin.

“Relax guys, Mom is working and my sisters have already done this and if they say anything about me I will rat out them.” Was his reply.

Once he had all the wrapped packages out and piled in front of him he pulled out his pocket knife and carefully opened it. We all had the same knife a twin blade Buck and the only difference in them was that we had all used my wood burning iron to carve our initials into the wooden handles so we would not get them mixed up. Fish then grabbed a square box and started to gently slice the taped ends and slowly unfold the paper. Once he had gotten the tape sliced he showed us the box.

He held the box out in front of us, it was black with the words “Bell” and when he opened the box and pulled out the gift inside it was a Pith Motorcycle helmet with some custom flames painted on the top. The flames started at the spike that was on top of the helmet and worked their way down to the edges of the helmet. It was amazing. I wanted one!

“This is for when my dad and I go riding in the summer.” Fish explained “And, I will be able to use it when I ride the dirt bikes too.”

“I gotta get a motorcycle so I can get a helmet like that.” Fin cried out jealously.

“Man, your gonna have all the chicks screaming for you Fish.” I said.

“Yeah” he said “and the flames are custom too. I don’t know where my Pop found a Pith helmet but it is sweet.”

“What’s next?” I asked.

“Well most of the boxes are clothes but how bout I show you the BB gun?” he offered.

Fin and I nodded as Fish re-wrapped his new motorcycle helmet and tape the ends shut. Then he took a long thin box that had Christmas light wrapping paper on it and performed the surgery on the ends of the package. Then he pulled the paper away to reveal not just any BB gun but a Crossman Pumpmaster BB/Pellet gun! The one I had wanted but instead received a Daisy Lever Action Repeater which was a great gun but it did not have any control over the velocity or force of the BB’s like the Crossman Pumpmaster and the Pumpmaster also shot pellets, something the Daisy could NEVER DO! When Fin and I saw this beauty of American ingenuity we started to drool.

“That’s the one I asked my Mom for!” Fin cried.

I was speechless. I had nothing. I was so jealous I couldn’t say anything. I just stared and reached out my hand and slowly ran it over the box, caressing the picture of the gun on the cover that was being held by a kid with a huge grin on his face. A grin that said “Ha HA!! Don’t you wish you were me? Holding this weapon and taking aim at whatever comes into view?” I wanted to burn that kid on the box!

“Man” Fish said, “I can’t wait till we can all get together with our guns and go get shoot some rabbits or squirrels by the soccer fields.”

“I gotta get one first!” Fin exclaimed.

“Ok, put it away Fish before Fin or I steal it from you right now.” I said.

A few minutes later Fish had the gun re-wrapped, taped and stored back in the bag.

“Ok, this is the last one guys. The remote control cars and not any kind. These are wireless. No tether.” He said as he put his Buck to good use on the last box.

When he showed us the box we were not disappointed. The cars were a twin set of red and blue Corvette Stingrays. They operated on two “C” cell batteries each and the remotes operated on 9 volt batteries. The picture on the box had the cars racing through some miniature traffic cones with smoke coming off the wheels and skid marks on the tiled floor. The box SCREAMED coolness!

“I asked for remote control cars this year.” I said to no one in particular. “I hope I get something even half this nice.”

“I got mine for my birthday.” Fin stated. “But they weren’t’ ‘Vettes. Fish, you got lucky this year. Makes me wish Christmas was here now. Let’s make a pact. We all meet at my house Christmas afternoon and you bring your cars and gun, Skip will bring his and we will have a blast in my basement till the batteries die then we can go out into the fields and scare up some rabbits.”

“Sounds good to me. How bout you Fish?”

“If I can get out.”

Fish wrapped up the cars, placed the boxes back in his bag and we helped place the bags back where they belonged. Once back down in the garage we stored the ladder away and headed back to the basement to talk about what sort of races we were gonna have with the cars and what sort of animals we were gonna hunt once the weather got warmer.

On the walk home Fin and I talked about how lucky it was that Fish and his sisters had a Family with a full set of parents that loved them and were around when they needed them. We really didn’t talk about the presents that much, just about having a Dad to show you how to ride motorcycles, shoot guns and just hang out with. Looking back now a little over 30 years later, I believe that Fish’s greatest gift that Christmas was his Family.

For Wolf

Dylan Thomas wrote:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I read this poem in the 6^th grade and I memorized its verse and applied my own cadence to it and have said it to myself over the course of my 42 years. (Pay attention here, this is important) Go back and read that poem again.

You get it? Do you understand? DO YOU HEAR IT SPEAKING TO YOU? IS YOUR BLOOD BOILING?

If you don’t hear it, if you can’t understand it, if it DOES NOT speak to you, if your BLOOD IS NOT BOILING!!!!

You are dead.

I have raged all my life against anything and everything. I have raged against my family, my wife, my friends, my enemies, my closest confidants, my newest acquaintances, my co-workers and supervisors. I have raged against earth, Mother Nature, the devil and god. I have raged and ranted and I have tried to suck the marrow out of every day I have been fortunate enough to be here for.

Yes, I have had my down times where I was in locked in the unforgiving clutches of despair and have felt her icy cold fingers slowly clawing their way into my heart, my soul, my life. There was no solace to be found in my desert of emotional turmoil and loss of will to breath. And during those moments I could hear a whisper in an incorporeal soft voice…

Rage

Rage

Rage

I hear it when I need it. When my Muse or my Maniac get to feeling a little ignored, which can lead to trouble if not acted upon in a “Proper and Sane” manner.

Both got loose yesterday and today. I am to blame, I let ‘em out to play. They were trapped inside for too long. The Muse was pasty looking and frail and when I let her out she feasted upon all the glorious little nuggets of wisdom, energy, beauty, ugliness and the grizzly fleshy bits of daily life where you experience Love, Loss, Joy and Pain. She gorged herself on everything. She was everywhere, in the rafters dancing across the beams, in the kitchen sneaking tasty morsels of freshly roasted turkey, under the picnic bench admiring the curves of the human form, dancing in a wading pool with a 6 year old boy and catching imaginary alligators. She was a Glutton and she brought it all back for me to store in my memory banks, boy do I love her.

The Maniac…

Well, now he is a maniac and I am not going to apologize for him. He is raw, unfettered, uncensored, uncut and He is truly the one guy I know I can call upon when I need my Rage. The Maniac has been chained up to a brick wall in a straight jacket with his hair on fire screaming at me to get out and let go. To get more emotional. To stop holding things in. TO OPEN UP! TO STOP BEING HURT AND FUCK SOMETHING UP. He was a whole lot more fun to watch.

I watched as the Maniac tore through some cigars, make wise assed comments with no filter, grapple folks, yell, scream, laugh, cry, try to embarrass people, try to be embarrassed, try to get through my thick skull that it is OK for me to let my shit out. Which is what I am gonna do here. So things might get a bit long. Right now I just don’t care. I can’t care. I AM IN RAGE!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote:

A Psalm of Life

Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than today. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act, - act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o'erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sand of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solenm main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.

RAGE! I SAY!!! RAGE!!!

A man I admired, loved and respected took his life. I AM IN RAGE! NOT ENRAGED I AM IN RAGE!

He died with his bible in one hand, a gun in his other, the word of salvation on his lips, despair in his heart and a bullet in his head.

I want to burn heaven to ashes, I want to flood hell and I want to crush earth under the heel of my Chuck Taylors.

I want a do over. I want to stop this crazy ass ride and figure out what the fuck is going on.

I, I, I, this should not be about I. This is about Wolf.

He was the second man I met in my church. He understood my quiet observations, he understood why I was skeptical, he knew I had been disillusioned with religion. He knew, he understood. He did not pass judgment, he did not push a bible in my hand, he did not question my faith, my walk, my clothes my hair my life.

He was just there. He would open the door for you, get you a cup of coffee, a cookie, a donut, some cheese. He always seemed to know what it was you needed or wanted and how to get it quickly. When he smiled at you and waved to you his eyes had a spark in them that showed just how open he was and how much he understood you just by looking at you.

When time came for having a Super Bowl party, everyone went to see him. When you had a question that needed answering whether spiritually or secular you could always talk to Wolf. Wolf was not ordained at that time. He was just Wolf. He was there when you needed him.

But no one was there for him. He died in his backyard with his bible in one hand and a pistol in the other.

There was no one else there for him. No one knew his troubles, his demons, his moments of doubt and shame.

THAT PISSES ME OFF. He had our numbers. He had numbers to Pastors who would have gotten out of bed in the middle of the night, left their families and loved ones just to listen to him and help him. I would have. But I didn’t get that call. No one got that call.

No one talks anymore. Oh, sure we have 140 character tweets, short emails, Facebook status updates. But actual face to face, one on one conversation. Nope. It doesn’t happen. We’re too busy. PTA, Rec League Sports, Internet Blogs (Ooooo I went there.), Text messages.

Our days are packed. I know mine are and I know yours are.

Wolf had days like that. He spent almost 10 years doing volunteer work at our church, teaching, listening and learning. He got burned out. He took a vacation. But in truth it was not a vacation, it was a yearlong spiritual walkabout in the mountains of North Carolina leaving behind his wife and family. That took balls. But you know what? He grew and he started a new ministry for God. He was not seeking it out. It came to him. God sought him out and gave him a ministry and calling to help people in an isolated area where there was no light for the people who had pretty much been forgotten and lost by our modern society. He changed lives just by showing up.

Now he is dead.

Now I’m Pissed. I am ready to tear some shit apart, I am ready to take a flamethrower to the entire fucking system of religion and pressures it puts on people and I don’t feel that I am able to walk into my church with my head held high knowing that somewhere in our Faith system, in our Lives, our Friendships and our connections with one another where when one person is down and out, when they are at their worst and that they feel they can’t speak to someone. Can’t reach out and talk to someone. Can’t get any help from anyone.

I know I had no control over this incident. I am not responsible. I DID NOT DO ANYTHING TO MAKE THIS MAN DO WHAT HE DID. HE IS RESPONSIBLE FOR HIS OWN ACTIONS! I am however responsible for not letting him know how important he was to me. How he affected my life. How he influenced me. How he walked a path of Faith and Honor that I respected

Despair is a Bitch.

And the one place I find solace, the one inner calming mechanism I use to help me make sure that I have taken my time to ensure that I have the Peace in my soul so that I can function and that I have a love that I know I can never truly find on earth I can’t go to I can’t talk to. Because I am not ready to face him right now. I have been pissed off before at God. I have flipped him off. I have told him to fuck off and die, to stay out of my life and I will stay out of his. Rage. Different arrangements for a different man.

This should not be about me, this should be about Wolf but I keep coming back to my Soul and the pain I have there and the blood stains that are on it. Yes, my Soul is bleeding; I can see in my minds eye the slow trickle of blood as it stains the purity of my Earthly Ward. I am its caretaker and I feel I have failed. This should not be about me. But it is. I was in Wolf’s place. I was fortunate, I had a lifeline. I had a someone reach down in my pit and pull me out. Wolf had the same one. Wolf didn’t call. Now the world is a shittier place.

Rage.

I am gonna post this now dear reader and if you have stuck around this long I feel I need to tell you one last thing; This is not my original post. My original post was a much stronger worded and a bit more spicy. It was also written at 4 am in the middle of Pennsylvania at a meeting with people I like, love and respect. Maybe one day I will post it. Maybe one day…

RAGE!

Fish's Revenge (Part 2 of I don't know)

Fish, Fin and I had just got up from our 20 minute hiatus on a snow bank on Libel Street, Fish was still basking in his ability to play opossum and exact the type of revenge upon a friend that we all knew would elevate him to legendary status in our respective neighborhoods. We were all in good moods. Laughing, smiling, joking. Trying to perform round-house kicks and screaming like Shao-Lin warriors in the heat of battle. We were happy.

Then Fin did something stupid.

He made another snowball. A nice big, solid, well packed ball of ice. I can only assume he had been working on it since we had sat down after his face-wash by Fish. He was pretty proud of it too. "Look at this guys." he said. And we looked. We gathered up in a huddle and stared at the frozen ball of perfection. The ball was a little larger than a baseball and was packed so tight that when Fin placed it in my open hand I could feel its perfect weight pushing my hand down towards the ground. "This thing has some serious meat to it." I said.

Fish reached out with his hand "Let me get ahold of it Skip." and I handed it to him. "Wow, this thing is perfect Fin." he exclaimed. "Nice packing, not too big or small, smooth and round and the weight is unreal."

"Thanks." Fin stated. "Can I have it back?" as he reached out to grab his masterpiece of snowmanship.

Fish just stood there staring at Fin and holding the snowball in his right hand, cupped like a prize catch and then placed his left hand over the top of the snowball. I looked at Fin and then back at Fish. I felt like I was standing in the middle of one of the westerns we often got together to watch. You know, where the White hat and the Black hat meet for the first time and just sort of stare into each others eyes. Sizing each other up for future reference, usually 80 minutes or so later in celluloid terms.

"Sure Fin, here you go." Fish said and handed it back to Fin with a bit of reluctance in his voice and jealousy in his eyes. "Watcha gonna do with it?" he asked.

"Dunno." Fin replied "Maybe just keep it. Maybe save it for one of Skips sisters. I know Debbie sure has it coming to her after getting those 7th graders to pound me right before Thanksgiving."

"Hey Fin, you were telling everyone she stuffed her bra." I said half-heartedly and tried to defend my sister as best as I could. I really didn't want to because, well, to be honest with you, she didn't deserve it. She was always instigating things with me and my friends and when one of my buddies showed any interest in her she would then get some older guys from the neighborhood or at school to kick their ass. Mine too at times and became her MO almost all the way through High School. Well that is until I went to live with my father but that is a story for another time. (YES, I WILL WRITE ABOUT THAT IN THE FUTURE!)

"Why not? She deserves it. But don't worry, I would never waste a perfect snow-ball on her. She aint worth it." Fish retorted all of a sudden on Fin's side of things.

"Hey Cats, you both know I have to defend her, she is my sister after all and you're both right, she does deserve to be creamed for all the crap she puts us through but if we are gonna do something to her we have to go BIG. Not just a snow-ball even if it is the perfect snow-ball." I said.

Fish stood there nodding while the steam from his breath enveloped his head. Fin grumbled under his breath something about us not letting him have any fun and then said "Fish, you got any smokes left?"

"Sure man, I copped a whole pack from the old man's dresser. Shit, he has 4 open cartons in there so he wont miss anything." He said as he reached in his leather coat pocket and produced the red and white pack of Marlboro's and commenced to try and open the flip top box with his gloves.

"Hey Dipshit" Fin said while trying to stifle his laughter "you gotta take your gloves off. "

"Fuck you tampon breath." Fish retorted.

"Guys, stop yankin each others chain, cars are coming and I want a smoke." I said. Which was true. While we had been standing there several cars had come down Libel street. Slowing down when they saw us standing under the street lamp like the group of juvenile delinquents that we were. "I think one of 'em is a cop car." I warned.

"Ok, ok, here. Christ, cops aint gonna do nothin to us." Fish stated. "There's got to be at least 4 or 5 accidents they got to be at." We always listened to Fish when it came to the cops. Hi dad after all was a truck driver and knew how to talk CB language and also had the only Harley Davidson in either of our neighborhoods. It was sweet too. Candy apple red white custom hand painted pin stripes, side saddle bags, extra lights everywhere and more chrome than imaginable.

When Fish's dad drove her down the street you could hear her coming 4 blocks away and when you looked up to see the bike you were practically blinded by the reflecting sunlight off of almost all of her surfaces. Fish was always bragging how one day he would get the bike when his old man passed away or bought a new one. We secretly hated him when he started talking about that bike. But we were also jealous of him too. Especially when Fish's dad would bring Fish to school on the back of it.

All the kids on the playground or just coming off the bus would stop whatever it was they were doing when they heard that bike approaching. We would all stand around looking at this gleaming beast of a machine approach us at a speed that was most definitely not posted for safety. Old Man Minnow would pull up right next to the front doors of the school where NO ONE was allowed to pull up and as Fish would hop off the back of the coolest vehicle ever to come out of Milwaukee Iron Works with his leather coat, unzipped, flapping open. Fish would then pull off his helmet and attach it to the side of the bike on the helmet holder, say something to his old man and turn to us and we all wished we were him at that moment. Then, just as quick as he got there, Old Man Fish was gone in a thunderous rumble of twin cylinder glory that haunts me to this day.

Fish got his gloves off an handed out the cancer sticks we thought were so cool at the time. Then he pulled out a zippo and we all puffed up. A car honked at us as it passed and Fish flipped it off. "Screw you!" he yelled in false bravado as the car continued down the street.

Then Fin says "Next asshole that honks at us I am gonna toss this snowball at."

"You wont hit it." I said. "They go to fast. If you want to hit a car you have to throw the snow-ball at it before it gets to you. Sort of like a softball pitch."

"What do you know about it?" Fish inquired.

"Not much I guess, just what we learned in scouts about trajectories and hunting and stuff like that." I replied.

"So underhanded not overhanded and before the car gets to us?" Fin asked

"Yup."

HHHHHOOOOOONNNNKKKK HOOOOOONNNNKKK HOOONNNKKK

Opportunity knocks, well in this case honks and just about scared us stupid.

We turned an looked down Libel and we saw a set of headlight approaching fast. "I'm gonna do it!" Fin shouted "Wait for the right moment." Fish yelled. "Crap." was all I could say.

We could also hear the motor revving up, cranking up the rpm's and the driver started to lay on the horn some more as the car started to fishtail. The headlights lit us up and we stood there, frozen in place like a deer getting ready to be hit on a country road. I could tell it was a "muscle" car. Something with a super charged engine and mag rims. Something HOT!

As it approached Fish yells "NOW! FIN, NOW!" And Fin did, he tossed the perfect snowball in a gentle and amazingly perfect arc, the light of the street lamp and the headlamps of the car gleamed off of it and shot out flashes of light like lasers in all different directions. All three of us stood there watching this snowball fly gently threw the air with the car speeding towards the inevitable impact.

KATHWAAAAAM!!!!

It hit. It hit dead center on the windshield and blew apart like, well, like a snowball being plowed into by a speeding car. But that was not all. We all saw what was happening right after the snowball and car collided. The windshield started to crack and speckle in a million little pieces. The driver slammed on the brakes and the horn started blaring.

"Oh shit." Fin said.

"Fuck" Fish replied

"We're screwed." I stated.

That is just about the time that we all noticed the car proper. It was not just any car. It was "BANDIT'S" car. C'mon, you know the car, a candy black 1977 Pontiac Trans Am with gold pin striping, t-top roof, a gold Firebird painted on the hood with mag rims. Powerful, sexy, smooth and a total babe magnet! We had all seen Smokey and the Bandit, heck we all went to the theatre together and watched it. Ate too much popcorn and drank too much soda pop. Then when we got home afterwards we tried to learn all the CB talk we could. Which meant we bugged Fish's dad so much he threatened to not just disembowel us but also rip us limb from limb.

"YOU FUCKING LITTLE BASTARDS!!! IAMGONNAFUCKINGKILLYOU!!!!"

"RUN!!!!!!!" I think Fish yelled or it could have been me. We were panicked and I can't really recall but someone yelled it and I don't think it was Fin cause he was already setting out as fast as his snow boots could carry him. We lit out after him as fast as we could.

"COME BACK HERE YOU LITTLE SHITS! YOUR FUCKING DEAD!"

We ran, and ran and ran. When Fin turned left onto Memory Court we followed. As we approached the shortcut to the park behind the Court Fish and I had caught up to Fin and the Trans Am was barreling down toward us with its horn blaring loud and long. Lights from the houses around us were starting to turn on and people were starting to come out of their houses.

"We gotta split up." I yelled at my criminal partners.

"Fin, you head to the dugouts, I'll head towards the ice rink. Skip you head for the school." Fish ordered.

"Got it, meet you at your house soon." I yelled and headed for the school

Fin ran right and Fish turned left. I kept on straight. By the time I got up to the school I could see several of the people from the neighborhood out in the ball fields and hockey rinks with flashlights. An occasional incomprehensible shout or yell would drift up to me on the winds of the frigid Wisconsin breeze. When I got to the school I set out for Fish's house and on the way there I saw two of Green Bay's finest patrol cars rolling up and down the streets with their spotlights on and casting beams of light into neighbors yards, driveways and alleys. Every time I saw one of the cruisers I ducked behind a car, trash can or evergreen tree.

I made it to Fish's house and went right down to the basement. Fish and Fin were there smoking cigarettes and Fish had even been so bold as to pull out a can of Old Style beer from his folks refrigerator. Fin was sipping on it. "Bout time you showed up. We thought they caught you."

"Shut up dumbass and gimme a drink of that and a smoke." I retorted as I sat down and started to laugh.

Fish's Revenge

WARNING!!! This blog is a story of a part of a night from my youth. Some topics I have written in here may be a bit offensive to some folks. SO if you are easily offended or if you don't think you want to read this Blog then DON'T. You won't hurt my feelings nor will you offend me. Also, I have taken the liberty of changing some names and places (Just a Bit) to protect the Guilty or Innocent.

Two weeks before Christmas break in 1978 I found myself sitting in the basement of Jim Finnegan’s with Al Minnow and Jimmy. Respectively known as Fish and Fin, me? I was Skip. Always have been and always will be. It was a Friday night and we had just finished watching 7 Shao Lin monks defeat the entire Chinese Army with some round house kicks, slaps to the face and using “Bleeding Dragon, Crouching Mantis, Fisted Tiger and Hungry Llama techniques on a UHF station. C’mon, you know you remember UHF television. And if you don’t here is a quick note on UHF, you see before Cable TV and Satellite TV the only channels on the gigantic 19 inch color TV’s in your family room and basements you received were ABC, CBS and NBC all the other channels were on the UHF selector switch of the brain sucking device which has taken over our society and there were only usually 2 stations to choose from.

Now, on Friday nights and Saturday afternoons one of the 2 UHF stations always played Kung Fu movies, Science Fiction movies or old Westerns. We liked ‘em all. Didn’t matter if it were Monks, Aliens, Cowboys or Indians we always watched and then tried our best to impersonate what we had just seen in our own awkward Pre-Teen manner, sometimes those antics required stitches and band aids. That night was no different but seeing as it had snowed most of the day and we had not really had the opportunity to go outside and have a proper snow ball fight or even enjoy the almost pure, innocent natural wonder of the newfound magical world of whiteness we decided that it would be far more fun to try and kick each other in the heads with some soft, cushy snow to break our fall. So that is what we did.

I understand that some of you who live in the South don’t know much about snow so I will let you in on a little secret… you ready? Ok, here goes, NOT ALL SNOW IS THE SAME! I am serious; if you spend any time in the northern climates of the world you quickly discover this to be true. Now, Southerners when they experience a half an inch of snow pretty much shut down everything. No traffic in or out of the city, there is a run on food at all grocery stores, parents have to deal with their kids being home from school and no one under no exception goes to work. It’s true. I have seen it myself firsthand and it is quite amazing to see. ME? Being from the Great State of Wisconsin I find this baffling and confusing and quite humorous. But I go with the flow and chuckle at all the idiots who think the world is ending because of some “Dandruff” from the sky. I am used to going to school in Wisconsin after a night of 12 inches of white stuff hitting the ground while I sleep. Snow days up North are Rare and wonderful occurrences that we seldom had the chance to experience but always looked forward to.

The day in question when Fish, Fin and I set out after Kung Fu Theatre had not been a snow day. As a matter of fact we had been sitting in math class when the snow began to fall and this was no ordinary snow. This was LAKE EFFECT SNOW. Thick, wet, stick and heavy made up of flakes the size of your thumb nail. Perfect for snowballs, igloos and snow forts. The kind of snow parents hated shoveling and kids loved playing in. The kind of snow you see in movies and as a child you dream of during that long wait for a Fat Man in a Red Suit to come and give you all your hearts desires. It was that kind of snow and we wanted to be in it and on it and become the Kings of Memory Avenue.

So, we put on our two pairs of socks, sweatshirts, sweaters, vests and ski jackets, added out mittens and our stocking caps. Fish had a black sailors watch cap that I wanted so badly because it looked so bad ass on him along with his leather coat, Fin had Detroit Redwings knit hat that clashed with his orange hunting jacket and I had a homemade knit Green Bay Packer hat with a gold and green tassel on it and when I flipped up the sides of it read “GREEN BAY PACKER BACKER!” which match my Green Packer Ski Coat. We set out for fun and mayhem. We found it too.

We spent an hour or so behind Fin’s garage building a snow fort big enough for the 3 of us sit inside of Indian Style and once we were comfortably inside Fish broke out a pack of smokes and we blazed up talking about all the girls in school we had crushes on and what it would be like to go on a real date and kiss a girl. Then the talk got around what we thought we were gonna get for Christmas and all the presents we had asked for. Fish told us that he already knew what he was getting because he had found his parents stash of gifts and had opened them. Fin and I were stunned. NO WAY! FISH KNEW WHAT HE WAS GETTING!! He told us of the remote control cars, the “Aladdin” computer toy and a MOTORCYLCE HELMET! We didn’t believe him. We demanded proof! He said “Sure, let’s go to my house and I will show you.”

We set out again. Now Fish lived 7 blocks away and in the thick snow we were traipsing around in we knew it would take some time to get there but we didn’t care. We knew we had plenty of time to get there because Fish’s dad was an over the road truck driver and his mom worked as a waitress with Fin’s mom at a fish house downtown that did not close until 2 am. We headed up to Libel Street tossing the odd snowball or two at each other and marveling at all the Christmas decorations up and down the block. As we passed the Jamrog house we heard loud music coming from the basement and knew that all the Older Kids were partying down there. We could hear Molly Hatchet screaming from the Hi-Fi and you could smell the “Weed” smoke pouring out the back door. Fin made a comment about having the balls to actually smoke some weed. I told him I knew a guy who had some and he lived on the way to Fish’s house. We held a quick consensus and decided we needed to stop by my “Friends” house to score some “SMOKE”.

Once we got to Libel we turned left and headed for Brookridge Street to see Brian. Brian was a new kid in town and he had been trying to fit in with one of the many cliques in the neighborhood but it just hadn’t worked out for him. I had the honor of meeting him a few weeks before up at the ice skating rink while trying out for some Rec League hockey. I didn’t get in and neither did Brian. But we managed to pulverize each other with our sticks for about an hour and bond in a Neanderthal way that most boys do at that age. He invited me over to his house and that is when I discovered that his mother was divorced and worked at one of the many fine Gentlemen’s clubs and also supplemented her income by selling a bit of “Mary-Jane” on the side. He also showed me where she hid the stash and that if I ever needed any to let him know. I told Fish and Fin this quick history and they thought Brian would make a fine addition to our Juvenile Delinquent Gang.

As we approached Brookridge, Fin whipped a snowball right at the back of Fish’s head and scored a direct hit. Fish went down like a sack of bricks. He didn’t even let out a yell. He just fell down like there was no life left in his body. Fin and I were laughing. “Fish, get up ya big pansy.” Fin said. Fish didn’t move. “Fish” I said “C’mon man, get up. He didn’t hit you that hard.” Fish didn’t move.

I knelt down and shook him, “Fish? C’mon. Stop goofing off.” I looked up at Fin. “Man, I think you killed him.”

“Bullshit” Fin said. And knelt down next to Fish and started to roll him over. “Fish? Hey buddy, you ok?” Fin said in a panic. But Fish wasn’t moving. He was limp and in the glow street light he looked pale and sickly.

“What the hell did you hit him with?” I asked

“Just a snowball”

“Dude, did you put a rock in it again? Or roll it in some slush? C’mon Fin spill it. Was it one of your Special snowballs?” I asked in a panic. Because we all knew Fin would occasionally make a slush ball or put a rock in the center of a snowball just for that added jolt of pain and excitement. Sometimes it was funny, this time, not so funny.

“No man! I swear! It was just a plain old snowball!”

I stood up. “Dude, we gotta get someone to help him. He looks real bad.”

“Ugghh.” Was the only sound Fin could make.

I looked down at Fin kneeling next to Fish and Fin was looking at me. “Man, I don’t know what I am gonna do. He’s our friend. I didn’t mean to hurt him. It was all in fun. Right? You believe me don’t you Skip? He can’t be hurt.” Fin looked almost as bad as Fish did. I could see the tears welling up in his eyes and the desperation pouring off of him like foul smelling cancer was making me sick. I glanced over at Fish and then back to Fin. “He will be ok. We just have to get some help. I will run home and get one of my sisters and call an ambulance. You stay here with him.” I said and I turned to leave.

“AAAAAAAEEEIEIIIEIIEIIEIEIEIEIIEEEEEE!” I heard a scream.

I turned back around and I saw that Fish was sitting on top of Fin jamming fistfuls of snow into Fin’s face and screaming “FACEWASHTIME!!!! YOU GONNA GET CLEAN NOW!!!” Fish was laughing and Fin was trying to protect himself and trying to defend himself against the now clearly alive Fish.

“Get off of me you ASSHOLE!” Fin was screaming.

All I could do was laugh. I fell down in a snow bank I was laughing so hard. “Get Him! Wash his face GOOD!” I screamed.

Fin started bucking like a wild horse and eventually Fish rolled off of him laughing so hard he was crying. “FUCK YOU! FISH!” Fin yelled. “You scared the shit out of me. We thought you were dead.”

“That’ll teach you to pull a Jap move like that.” Fish said through tears of laughter.

Fin sat there in the snow bank with his knees up next to his chest and his arms wrapped around his knees. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckitty fuck fuck.” Was all he managed to say and then started to laugh again.

We sat there for another ten minutes laughing at each other and the prank that Fish had pulled. The clear night’s air and the crispness of our breath creating smoke tendrils that rose up into the night’s sky like ghosts of our laughter and companionship that we had created in those heated moments of youth. Soon, it started to snow again and we were getting cold and wet. We decided to forgo going to Brian’s house that night in favor of the promise to enjoy Fish’s new remote control cars and the warmth of his basement.

We had many adventures us three and eventually we did add Brian to our Gang of Miscreants but like all things from our youth they pass on into our vault banks of memories to be drawn up at times when you least expect them. Hopefully one day I will have the time to sit down and make another withdrawal of the times we spent together running the wild streets of Green Bay.

Hopefully.

Revenge of the Water Heater

Last week our water heater went out and I replaced the Thermo-Coupler and fixed it. Yay for me and my mechanical expertise.

Now, today our water heater is not working again. Ok, that is a slight exaggeration. It is sort of working. You see, while all of us were going about our daily lives, doing our jobs, tucking our kids in at night and kissing their foreheads and ensuring the safety and security of our prosperity, other folks were doing their jobs as well. In my case, the City of P-Town, not the place in Rhode Island, had decided it would be a good idea to replace all the light poles and power lines entering and departing my neighborhood. Which is good. It keeps the old ones from blowing down during a hurricane and taking out all the power in the old homestead all at once.

Unfortunately for me and my fellow citizens one of the light poles was right next to the main gas line that goes into our "Hood" and when the workers dug a hole as they have I am sure thousands of times before, they broke the line. Which basically meant all gas to my block and the surrounding blocks had their gas turned off. No stoves, no hot water and in some cases no heat or air conditioning. Hello 1930's America!!!

Now, when I got home there was a little yellow scrap of paper hanging on the door letting me know all this information. Given, it was a bit more abbreviated than what I just wrote but I am sure you understand my plight. Also, on this wonderfully informative slip of paper was a contact information and calming verbiage stating that all would be taken care of as soon as we called the 800 number on the bottom of the notice. Unfortunately one of the numbers of was missing and I had to do a bit more than just an Internet search to find the right series of digits to find a Live, Breathing, Talking, Sentient Human-Being. When I did I found the lady to be quite helpful and friendly. She informed me that a technician would be in my neighborhood most of the day and that he would be happy to turn my gas on and check for any leaks within the house that may have occurred during the shutdown.

Enter L.T., no not the running back from NFL fame, OK, sort of, this guy was more like the Original LT, you know the one who broke all sorts of NFL Line Backer records, not to mention one particular irritating quarterbacks leg. Now, I am not saying this guy was LT but he could have been his brother. Nice guy too. I hope that if any of you suffer a similar fate in the gas line supply system of your abode you get blessed with a affable technician like I did. He immediately got the gas back on and checked for leaks.

The stove and oven checked out just fine and dandy, the hot water heater on the other hand had some minor issues. What issues? Oh, nothing major, a minor gas leak which LT fixed quiet easily and with little effort. Then he discovered there was a an oxygen sensor malfunction that did not allow the gas flow to be regulated properly. Guess what I need a new burner unit. So I suppose it was not the Therm-Coupler after all. But who really is to say? Not me that's for sure. So, now I get to call another 800 number and hopefully I will get a real live human on the line to ship me out the proper part and I will have hot water indefinitely.

Yup, just another fun filled day in "Normal" life.

Family and Great Inventions

I used to say that the greatest invention of man was Air Conditioning and I still pretty much to this day believe that. (If you have ever lived in the South you will completely agree with me on this too.) I mean, seriously, who wants to actually live in 98 degree weather with a humidity rate of over 90 percent and not beg for some sort of relief. Oh sure, you can hop in a nice cool shower and remove all that dirt, sweat, stickiness and funk from the elegant curves and angles of your body but once you get out of that refreshing oasis of relief you’re right back to where you started. Nasty and not just any kind of nasty. We’re talking about Friday-night-been-on-a-bender-since- my-girl-just-dumped-me-for-Brad-Pitt-Bender! Aw, don’t deny it, you know what I mean.

Dang, sidetracked again.

Last week, on Monday night, I come home from an evening of working at my part time job. Which some of you may know about but for those of you who don’t I am a waiter part time and it aint easy in any sense of the word. (That word being EASY) The restaurant I work for is small and family owned and has been open for over 22 years, 10 of which I have been working there in my current capacity. Over the years I have transferred from my former full time position to my current one with the City in which I work for. The nice thing about the transfer? Grooming Standards. Yes, I got to finally grow my hair out. For which, on occasion I get harassed about. Mostly from guys who are in the early stages of baldness but that has no bearing on this tale other than affording me a cheap shot at all the folks out there in the world who have given me the old cliché “Get a haircut ya Hippy!” To which I reply, “Lose weight ya ugly Nazi!” Which has caused me on more than one occasion to get into either a verbal disagreement, fisticuffs and/or police escorts? Sometimes all three.

Sidetracked.

For the job as a waiter I have to keep my hair pulled back in a pony-tail and I usually use some type of glue to assist me in that endeavor, ok, it’s really hair gel but it feels like glue and once that stuff hardens it is like I am wearing a DOT certified motorcycle helmet. I’m serious, you could hit me in the head with a baseball bat and I would be protected. (WARNING: I DO HIT BACK!) I don’t like to wear this stuff but it is a necessary evil for my job and it keeps my hair from falling in my face and the patron’s food. This is a good thing because there is nothing quite as nasty as someone else’s hair in your food. (Unless you’re a Zombie, they seem to not be so particular about dining etiquette.) Now, when I get home I like to take a shower and remove all the gel and seafood nastiness smell from my body which means a nice HOT shower. By HOT I mean SCALDING HOT. I get that from my days in the Navy as do most former military personnel who have spent months and years taking cold showers with the barest trickle of water spitting forth from a handheld nozzle in a shoebox sized shower stall. We as a whole like our showers hot. How hot? Hot enough to cook a 20 pound Maine lobster in.

So, imagine my surprise when I get home and go upstairs for my nightly ritual only to discover that once I get into the shower there was no hot water. No big deal I say to myself. I have taken cold showers before and I am sure I will do so in the future so I deal with it and get cleaned up. No worries. I mean after all there are two other people in the house and I know they had taken showers before me so it only makes sense that I may need to suffer a bit. No big deal.

Afterwards, I come downstairs and sit down next to my betrothed and inform her of the lack of heated elegance in my life to which she replied; “Our daughter took a hot shower earlier.”

“Ok” I say “Please informs her in the morning to not take so long in there.”

The next morning guess what? No hot water. Great. I go down to our basement and check the water heater and it is stone cold. I try to ignite the gas burner but no luck. I am running late for work so I tell my family the bad news and let them know that I will look at it when I get home. Twenty minutes after I get to work I get a phone call from the wife that her father stopped by and lit off the heater. YAY! Problem solved.

Um, No.

That evening another cold shower. And not just for me. I got to share the cold water with the entire clan. Good news is that my water bill will be lower this month. I tried once again to light off the water heater and it refused to obey my ever increasing vocal coaxing and manual manipulations of the ignition switch. Unbeknownst to me, my wife had gone onto Facebook and posted on her site the issues we were having in the hopes that someone out there in the “Blue Nowhere” knew how to either fix the problem or at least be kind enough to send a tanker truck of hot water over to our house so we could have some sense of modern convince.

Nope, that did not happen. What happened was this.

Wednesday morning I receive a phone call from one of my 3 sisters, the second of four offspring of my Mother. Here is a transcript to the best of my recollection:

Me: Hiya Sis!

Sister #2: It’s the GOBBLDY GOOK!

Me: Uh? What?

Sister #2: That’s what’s wrong with your water heater. The Gobbldy Gook is broken.

Me: Uh, sis, I don’t think there is a part called “Gobbldy Gook” Sis. Actually, I am pretty sure of it.

Sister #2: Well we had a problem with our heater a couple years ago and my husband replaced the “Gobbldy Gook” and we have had hot water since.

Me: Ok, well I will look into it and see what I can find out. Thanks for the call. Love you.

Sister #2: Love you to Bro.

Later that day I received an email from my bride with a trouble shooting guide for a water heater. I looked at it. It did not make sense to me. Seriously, I think it was written by Carl Sagan or Albert Einstein and edited by Professor Oppenheimer himself. I tried my best to decipher it and I came to the conclusion after about 10 hours of reading and re-reading the guide that what I needed was a Flux-Capacitor and a 1982 DeLorean to properly fix the heater.

At work I fared just as well with all the advice, everyone had an opinion and advice. Simple stuff, like; “Just get a new one.” To “It’s a gas leak.” I did however have one person say; “It has to be the thermal detonator.” (Ok, you say Thermal-Detonator to anyone in their 40’s and they immediately think of “Return of the Jedi” where Princess Lei literally goes into Jabba’s palace and is carrying a “THERMAL DETONATOR”. I don’t know about you or about the engineers of the world but I don’t think they use thermal detonators to light off a gas heated water heater. Before I left for the day I informed my supervisor that I was going to be taking Thursday off to try and fix my water heater. She was surprised and even a bit encouraging to my future task.

I called Lowes on the way out the door and informed them of my water heater situation and the young lady informed me that usually in most cases like mine it comes down to a bad “Thermo-Coupler” element going bad and that she had them in stock for only 7 bucks. I just needed to make sure the make and model of the heater.

Thursday morning arrives with a quick trip to Lowes and a purchase of a Thermo-Coupler which if you have never seen one is just a simple piece of solid copper with a threaded end and a “Probe” end. That’s it. I took it home and commenced to disassembling the unit in the basement. I followed the instructions and within 20 minutes I was finished. Easy-Peasy-Lemon-Squeazy. Then I tried to light the thing off. Click, click, click. Just like the instructions said. Nothing happened. Waited and tried again. Nothing happened. Waited and tried again… same result. So I stopped. I am not insane and I knew the result.

Guess what. There is an 800 number on the side of the water tank and I called it. I told the lady on the phone what had occurred over the last few days and the repair I made. She said that maybe it was the “Thermal-Housing Unit” and gave me a number to call and even offered to warranty the part for me. Nice. I called. Guy on the phone said there was no part number for the one the lady gave me. Yay! He then informed me to call the company again. I did. This time a guy answered. I told him what I had been going through. He walked me through the “Light off procedure”. Nothing happened.

Until.

On the 5^th attempt I hit that little automatic igniter and the whole base of the hot water heater seemed to be engulfed in flames. KAAAAFFFFWWWWOOOOOOMMMMM!!!!

I now have hot water.

I posted on Facebook that we had hot water and I got a phone call from… you guessed it, Sister #2

Me: Hiya Sis.

Sister #2: I told you it was the Gobbldy Gook.

Me: Yeah Sis, your right. Gotta go. Love you.

I now know that not only is air conditioning the greatest invention but also hot water heaters are too. Oh, and if you want advice about water heaters, call the company.

Geppeto's Revenge

I am tired. I am even too tired to rant. I want to rant. I want to be mad and yell and scream and fight but I am just too tired. I wish I weren’t so worn out because I have a lot to be pissed off at. (I know, I know, you’re not supposed to end a sentence with a preposition but I just don’t care right now.)

Let’s see what I am tired of; I am tired of mid-level managers with an over-inflated sense of self importance. I am tired of high-level managers who refuse to find out the truth of incidents for themselves. I am tired of overpriced food cooked by mediocre chefs. I am tired of “reality” television being forced down my throat because it is “Dramatic”. I am tired of the pain I feel when I get out of bed in the morning and the pain I feel when I get into bed at the end of the day. I am tired of worrying whether or not someone at work is “Watching” me. I am tired of being the exception to the rule. I am tired of politicians with too much power and money telling “Regular” Americans how to run their lives and support their families. I am tired of bankers, yes, just bankers in general, corporate bankers loaning money to companies they have a stockholders interest in and then turning around and giving money to the politicians so they can do more underhanded, behind the scenes, dirty little schemes to bilk the unsuspecting American public.

Ok, side bar here, just a quick disclaimer so to speak, I am a fan of Capitalism and of earning money by either producing a good or service that is tangible for others to purchase. Especially if that good or service is for the betterment of the community as a whole. But, and this is a DOOZY, when GREED becomes the driving force and major factor in your earning potential and short cuts are made, people are hurt, killed or mentally destroyed then you my dear capitalist have warped the core meaning and value system this country was founded upon. WE THE PEOPLE have rights and WE THE PEOPLE are not supposed to be taken advantage of in what I can only view as a “Conspiracy of Greed”. Sure, go out and make money honestly and with hard work. You have my blessing but when you do it in the name of Capitalism and warp the principles of Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Addams, Mr. Henry and many, many more true Men of Standard that have come before you, then you are just as evil and as rotten as the murderers and rapists in prison. Because what you leave behind are victims that will never be able to cast an accusatory finger at you. They, the victims, will never see your face, see you in court, and see you pay for your crimes against them and many others like them. Nope, they are left out in the cold. Literally with no homes, no money, no future, no jobs and no way to explain to their children what happened. Simply because they themselves don’t know what transpired behind some closed door in some dark room, in some basement boiler room in some city here in the good ‘ol US of A. (Actually it most likely was a well lit room with drinks being served by illegal aliens who can’t speak a lick of English but that is a rant for another day.)

My point in all this? Simple, years ago, I don’t remember when, our Government and our Wall Street Bankers got together and decided to make some money by setting up the American people for failure through “Cheap, Affordable Loans” and, We The People got hosed. I don’t even think our grand-children are going to be able to dig us out of the hole that has been dug in the name of Capitalistic Greed. True, the Government only approved the change in law for the banking industry to give loans to people who really did not deserve them (They pointed to the spot where to dig the hole) and true the Loan Officers were only doing what they were told by their supervisors by approving loans to people who could not really afford them (They sold us the shovels) and True the Americans who were under-educated thought they could afford a nice home and live the American dream on minimum wage (We started digging in the name of Freedom and Dreams). Then, like all pyramid schemes, yes this is a pyramid scheme, Banking Officials at the top waving money at us folks on the bottom, Politicians in the middle telling “We The People” that we too can have as much pie as we want, and of course “We The People” at the bottom of the heap trying ever so hard to live out the dream that has been sold to us on silver painted platters made of cow manure.

Now? It is all falling apart, kind of like the kids song “London Bridge” only it’s the American Economy and the faith in the almighty American Dollar that is deteriorating at an alarming rate. I wish that there was an easy answer, you know like that commercial where the people are in grave danger and they just push a button and everything is back to normal? Yeah, one of those things. We need it now more than ever. We need it more than a drowning man needs oxygen or a starving man needs food. We need it but we aren’t demanding it. Sure, some congressmen are sitting in chairs in Washington D.C. yelling and screaming at the Chief Financial Officers of the Wall Street banking crowd but all I see when I look at them is a marionette show and the puppet master is not even in town. ( Hmm, Pinocchio Goes to Washington. I think I just found my title for this blog.) Who is this puppet master you may be asking yourself right now and me for that matter? I don’t know. I wish I did. I would rob him and then but a beat down on him the likes this world has never seen. But I don’t know and the people that do know the answer to that question don’t talk to folks like me or you and most likely they don’t talk to anyone you know.

So, back on point, yes, I am tired and when I say I am tired I mean that I am one Bone-Weary Sailor-Cowboy from Wisconsin now residing in Virginia. I am tired of all the rhetoric from the talking heads on T.V, I am tired of all the BS coming out of the politicians mouths, from the POTUS all the way down to the local City Councilmen and women. I am tired of busting my butt over 70 hours a week for the government to take my tax money and give it away to people who don’t even TRY to deserve it. I am tired of people abusing our FREE health care at the now De-regulated emergency rooms just because they have a cold or a splinter or a hang nail or a wart. I am tired of illegal immigrants taking starting jobs that our teenagers used to have and I am tired of adults taking teenagers jobs too. I was a paper boy, I was a yard boy and I even shoveled snow in the winter.

Now? All those things are done by either illegals or adults struggling for money while our youth are coddled and babied by their dotting parents. I can’t stand it. All this crap really burns me up inside and I am trying, really trying to not lose what little mind I have left. It aint’ working. We are broke and not just financially. We are broke emotionally, spiritually and worse yet, our Faith in America is broken. Our fighting men and women overseas who have stepped up in their faith and honor for service to a better America are to be commended for what they are doing and for the price they are paying at the orders of the heads of state who wouldn’t know an RPG from an IED.

Once again, I am off track; see I told you I was tired. Look faithful reader, I am going to try and sum this up quickly and succinctly, please, for the Love of Your Country and all that She has given you, TRY to see past all the crap that is being force fed into your senses by the media and the talking heads. Because the real puppet master, the wizard, he is hiding behind a curtain somewhere, pulling levers and strings. Making others dance and do his bidding and it just seems to be a gigantic joke played not just on us in the US of A but the world in general. And no I am not a conspiracy theorist or a madman with a keyboard. I am just an average workin- Joe living in the Heart of the South and trying my hardest to make my life just a little bit better.