Epstein Files:

 

The Epstein Files: The unwanted gift that keeps giving.  I don't want this to come off as a political post.  Rape and human trafficking are not political topics until a politician is implicated.  We've got to take politics off the table.  There are many crimes out there that are absolutely awful.  Rape, child molestation and human trafficking rank near the top.  I think we can all agree on that.

Survivors of crimes like these bear the scars for the rest of their lives.  Some can't live with the fact and take their own lives in order to avoid humiliation.  One young lady who mustered the strength to tell her story during the court case did just that.  She took her own life leaving behind 3 children and a husband in the aftermath.  

A lot of the talk surrounding this particular case suggests that there are a lot of "financially influential" people that could be on this list, as if that matters.  We've been told that releasing the files could be devastating for some and it should be!  It should cost them everything and they should be reminded on a daily basis what kind of a fucking creep they really are.

Does it matter that there could be political figures involved?  I guess that would depend on whom you ask.  Personally, politicians work for us.  They aren't the boss.  They do not get to hide behind their position.  They are not too important to not be punished.  They are not above the law.  Billionaires?  Same.  No amount of money changes this.  A creep is a creep and some are wealthier than others.

I believe that releasing the list in its entirety will cause an absolute shit storm, but I think its a storm we all can weather.  I think that we will find some really nefarious people in a lot of different "shot calling" positions and will open the door and expose more criminal activity related to this case.  One can only guess at this point, but I'd bet the farm on this looking even uglier once we dig into it.

First we were told that there is a list.  We were allowed to stew on that for a while.  It went away and it came back a few times.  Then we were assured that there was a list.  We were told by the AG herself that the list was on her desk and that we "needed to be prepared" for the release of the list, and then we were told that there is no list.  Does this not sound like a cover up to you?

"Pizza-gate" was an unfounded political attack.  The only thing I can think of that is even remotely as fucked up as being a perp in crimes like these is to be innocent but accused of these crimes.  "Pizza-gate" was a political assassination attempt.  All of the claims were unfounded, but I don't think anyone forgot about it.  I think the underlying reason for that is... "What if?"  What if prominent elected officials were implicated?  What if billionaires were implicated?  What if uber successful business people, scientists, sports figures or anyone else a person could admire were on that list?  Why would that make any difference?

One last paragraph that will mention politics.  I don't give a half of a hairy rats ass who is on that list.  Democrats, Republicans, Libertarians, scientists, sports figures, business men, it doesn't matter.  Let's get the list, publish the list in its entirety and get the judicial system to go to work like it is supposed to.  Prosecute the shit out of these people.  Make an example out of them.  Nobody is too big, too important to not be punished for this shit.

That leads me to this.  Our judicial system.  What a fucking garbage fire this organization is.  So many times we have dragged 18 year old kids into court for dating their high school sweetheart.  Something goes amiss with the relationship.  Mom and dad call the law, Kid is arrested... does time and gets to register for the rest of his (or in some circumstances her) life as a registered sex offender.  No matter where he/she goes in life, they have to register on the sex offenders list for life in some circumstances.

What were talking about here is remarkedly different.  Not even the same ball park.  Were talking about dirty ass old men having sex with children.  I don't care who they are or what they do.  I don't care what they've done for society.  Anyone who commits an act as heinous as this deserves to have the book thrown at them and be served shit soup for the rest of their existence.  And if they take the Epstein road out.... so be it.  If someone in the prison system helps them on their way, I would say that this is the cost of business.  

Unfortunately, I know too many people who have been affected by acts like this.  So many of them have gone through years of therapy to try to find a way through this.  Most of them have found a way to put on a brave face and trudge forward.  Others aren't as lucky.  Either way, this is with the survivors for the rest of their lives.  It not only affects them but their families, friends and other loved ones have to struggle to get through this.

So that leads me to this.  Where does the conversation stop and the action takes place?  We can talk about this shit all day and it leaves us in the same position without any action!  If we don't start here, where? When? What are we doing?  When is enough, enough?

What are we supposed to do?  Remaining quiet about this because of a political figure or otherwise is unacceptable.  Period, end of the discussion.

Back to a point I made earlier.  There are going to be people on this list that we wish were not on the list.  Will their families also be devastated?  More than likely, and that is unfortunate on another level.  Now these people will have to somehow find their way through the rest of their lives.  These are survivors of another sort often with the same ends.  Depression, crushing anxiety unfairly labeled and unfairly acted out against....  these people too will unrightfully suffer.

We can do better, folks.  We need to do better.  

For the record, I want this to be my last post about anything of this magnitude.  I'd rather try to be funny.  Humor has gotten me through a lot of shit in my days and although I can find shreds of humor in this attempted cover up and deflection, I'd rather this list just be released and have a real justice department go after and hold the bad people accountable.  Both sides have asked for accountability.  Both sides have asked for transparency.  We've had none of that.  Let now be the time.

Crash Test Dummy for the Sheriff's Office

 

Good morning everyone!  Happy July whatever day it is.  It's been about 2 months since I last wrote.  I hope everyone is safe and sane.  I bring up sanity for a reason.  I've been called "crazy" more than a few times.  I'm not crazy.  I've done some silly shit in my days and that is what this one is going to be about.

The title is not misleading.  It is not referring to my days of running in demolition derbies.  (That shit is an absolute blast though.  The Sheriff wouldn't trust me with one of their vehicles even though I have a stellar driving record.)  The Sheriff's Department needed a bad guy so they could practice some of their cool shit on.

At the time, I knew the Chief of Police and every officer on their staff.  I also knew the Sheriff, the Under Sheriff and everyone on their staff including dispatchers and jailers.  We were that small of a town, and I was employed in the bar business at the time.  Correspondence with these 2 departments was often.  I had a good report with them, was good friends with the leader of the SWAT team and they figured it would be fun for all of us to get together and they could kick the shit out of me.  

Naturally, I had to sign a waiver releasing them from any liability in the event that I would get injured.  I was assured that in most events, I would be issued state of the art safety equipment.  Face guards, throat guard, gloves, chest protector and a cup.  Apparently sometimes you might get hit, kicked or shot in the ding-ding.  Having played baseball for many years, I understood that a cup only kind of worked but somehow felt more secure with the other safety gear.

Now, I need to back track a little bit here.  My good buddy Tripp Wilson was the Armorer for the Sheriff's Department.  I was taking a couple of courses in order to obtain my concealed weapon permit.  Tripp got me into another class that was called "Less Lethal" and it was put on by the professionals at the S.O.

When you think "less lethal", think of hand to hand combat, tasers and bear spray.  I knew some really cool chokes and arm/wrist locks well before this class and I had been in my fair share of fist fights thanks to that old demon alcohol, which I was a willing purveyor of.

So during this class, we discussed these other "less lethal" options and their applications.  At the end of day 1, we got the opportunity to taste pepper spray.  Yeah, it's not great.  We were standing in a semi circle, another friend of mine was in charge of the can and let us know that he was going to discharge the OC gas in our faces.  About this time, he lets it fly.

Everyone starts gagging, coughing and bitching and moaning.  Me and this guy on the end are just standing there laughing.  I looked at him and said, "Did you get any of that?"  He laughed and replied, "Not a drop."  That was an awful thing to say.  Alan John stepped up to us and gave us an up-close introduction to bear spray.  All of a sudden we were coughing, laughing, bitching and moaning.  

The started escorting people to the decontamination facility and this other dude and I were last.  We got to "simmer" for a few minutes longer.  Afterwards we gathered for a conversation.  As you can imagine, bear spray sucks!  It's designed to stop a grizzly bear from eating your dumb ass.  General consensus... the shit works.  Get a can or two and hide them in your house.  

The nest day was hand to hand combat stuff.  More or less, it was a crash course on a few things you can do to protect yourself.  Some of the stuff I knew.  Some I didn't, so I stood in and let my deputy buddies crank on me.  That was fine and dandy.  Some of the stuff those guys knew was pretty nifty!

The 3rd day we were going to discuss tasers.  And by discuss, I mean that my buddy Tripp told the guy who was doing the taser demonstration that I was willing to donate my body to science.  Sgt. Adams pulled out his taser and began to describe how it works.  "You can do this, and then you can do this, and in emergencies you can do this and its pretty effective.  Does anyone want to volunteer?"  

Hell no, nobody wanted to volunteer so Ben wasted no time reintroducing me to the class and letting them know that I was "down to ride the lightning"!  Ben said, "You're wearing a nice button down.  If I shoot you with this, 2 fish hooks are going to pierce your shirt and I don't want to mess that up.  I can hook you up to the banana clips.  The downside there is, when I pull the trigger, you are more than likely to get 2 blisters burned into your back."  I chose blisters over ruining a shit.

As Ben's assistants were getting me prepared, Ben was going through what was going to happen.  Honestly, I didn't want to hear it.  And me being me, I thought for sure that I would either pee or shit my pants so I went to the bathroom.  When I came out, it was 'SHOWTIME"!

I don't know what most people do when they get tasered.  It seems like they just topple over and get compliant real fast.  Me?  Oh, I scream the F-Bomb for as long as the taser guy holds the trigger and then fall on my face.  Luckily I had a couple of nice deputies kindly place me on my face.  

Does the taser work?  You're damned right it does.  I don't recommend it.  Short circuiting your Fruit of the Looms is an awful idea.  Anyhow, after I got my big ass lit up, we had all kinds of takers.  Maybe this is just me, but I loved watching them get the business way more than I enjoyed the act performed on me.

I'm sure some of you more reasonable folks are thinking, "Probably time to quit hanging out with the cops.  They keep fucking you up!"  And they did, but the best thing in the world was about to happen to me next.  Simunition rounds....  Good news is, I was going to be able to actually shoot at cops with the highest power paint ball guns in the market.  The bad news is, those bastards were going to be shooting back!  Worse news... some of them are pretty good shots.

Anyhow, I show up and am outfitted with that state of the art protection gear.  The helmet and face guard barely fit because I have a giant head, but it fit.  Gloves, a size too small but they appeared to work.  Throat protector just kind of dangled from the face mask.  I held little confidence that it would be sufficient but I'll be damned if it didn't hold up!

The chest protector... Imagine Shrek wearing a child's catchers chest protector.  I looked like 10 pounds of shit in a 5 pound bag.  Love handles sticking out of the sides, shoulders totally exposed but this thing was a go and I couldn't puss out now!

As per usual, we went through a safety briefing.  I was then issued a .40 caliber., a couple of magazines and simunition rounds.  We double checked and triple checked everything at least 2 times.  As I sat there watching these guy load up, they were smiling.  .223 cop guns.... bastards had lights (this was at night), state of the art night time optics.  It was obvious that this was not going to be a fair gun fight.  

I sat there with my heavily used .40 Glock.  All I knew was that I was going to get a few off.  What in the world could be better than this.  Another safety check and everyone took their places.  I had no idea where these guys were going to come from, so that added a little excitement!

I was sitting there thinking about all of the cool shit I could say when I cut loose with the old smoke wagon.  In this first scenario, I was supposed to be armed and dangerous.  I was told to talk shit and raise hell to the cops.  (This thing kept getting better by the minute.  I was going to be talking mad shit at the cops and shooting at them???)  

Well, your boy starts running his mouth.  I am looking out windows trying to locate the good guys.  Im yelling shit like "Donut shop is closed fuckers!  Get your ass out of here."  I was being encourage by my buddy Tripp.  "No, let them have it!" he said.  I started calling them "Barney Fife" and "shit-iots" .  (That's just an idiot that starts with shit... its the best I could come up with regarding the circumstances.)

Then all hell broke loose.  Flash bang went off, I ran into a wall, got shot about 15 times.  Got cuffed and sat in a ant hill while they cleared the rest of the building.  I was telling this buddy of mine that he sat me in an ant hill.  He kept telling me to shut up because I was supposed to be dead.  Then he realized that I was indeed sitting in ants and not just messing with him.  He moved me.  They cleared the building and then we reconvened.  

I got shot about 9 times in the head/face, a couple in the chest protector and a couple of times in the hands.  None of it hurt.  I didn't have time to even squeeze one off.  We laughed, cleaned up and got ready for the next drill.

Tripp tells me, "I need you to get as rowdy as you can.  Try to rattle these guys.  I need to see how they do under pressure and you being a dick is going to add to that pressure.  Let them have it.  Let them have it all this time!  You ready?"  My answer, "Hell yeah, baby!"

And, I thought I was.  There was a lot more dialogue before the shooting started.  I was talking to the negotiator.  "Get these fucking cops out of here.  I see that asshole hiding in the boat.  Move his ass or I'll shoot."  Negotiator keeps after me.  I lay in with the "I smell pork" comment and added, "Call your girlfriends off, because if I come out of here, I am going to fuck em all up!"

I'm delighted with my commentary.  Talking shit to cops while your holding a gun.... and its legal?  Holy shit!  Negotiator comes back with something like, "Now, we don't want anyone to get hurt.  That isn't our job.  Lets continue our discussion and see if we can safely get this all figured out."  I holler back, "Fuck that!  I've had about enough of his shit." 

I walk out of the building with my pistol raised.  I say, "The first pig I see, I am going to shoot."  I saw movement and touched one off.  

I can't really explain what happened next.  All of the training I've ever had suggested that talking shit to cops isn't smart.  Shooting at cops was going to be way worse than that.

A hail of bullets came from every side.  I dumped my magazine at everything moving.  I think I hit one guy.  The key for them to quit shooting was for me to hit the ground.

I can't figure out why I stood there so long.  I got shot everywhere.  I got shot in the left nipple.... not man boob, but straight up nipple!  That fucker hurt.  I got hit in both love handles and those felt like they were raking my fat with concertina wire.  I got shot in the ass crack.  There isn't a protection device for any of these things.  Both hands got lit up.  I took too many to the head and way too many in the shins and torso.  Safe to say, had this been real life, I wasn't going to be limping home..

When the smoke cleared, we reconvened.  Those dicks were awful proud of their handy work.  Me, I was pretty impressed.  I wouldn't have waited for me to talk shit before I opened fire.  That's why they are cops and I ran a bar.

In the end, it was a ton of fun.  If I were 30, I'd do this again in a minute!  I ain't 30 anymore.  I have aches and pains all over the place and don't need "practice poke holes" in any part of my body.  I did enjoy helping those guys out and seeing what they are capable of.  If any of those guys are reading right now, if you want me, just come get me.  I ain't going for none of that cop shit again.  Just ask me to give up and I am in.

As I look back, I don't know what's wrong with me.  I'm sure this shit above didn't help matters much.  It was a hoot however. To all of the cops that participated that night....  bastards!!!!  You fuckers need a smaller target.  Quit shooting fat bastards.  

Hey, thanks for reading folks.  I am going to start putting more stuff out on a more regular basis.  I hope you guys have a great weekend. 

Shoulder Surgery Recovery

 

Oh man, it's been a while since I've been on this thing.  I hope everyone is doing well.  We've got a hell of a day on tap here!  Sun is shining, supposed to be around 70 degrees.  I'm not sur3e it can get much better around these parts.  So if you're up and around, get out and capture some of that Vitamin D!  I need me some of that!

So anyhow, I come to you today with an update of sorts.  I had my7 right shoulder repaired back on February 19th.  Complete rotator cuff repair, they also relocated my bicep tendon, got rid of some bone spurs and cleaned out all kinds of arthritis around the labrum.... whatever that shit means.

If you're in line for a shoulder surgery, I'd like to offer you a bit of advice.  First of all, the surgery isn't bad.  Why?  They knock your ass smooth out, and if you're a lucky sort like I was, they hit you with the bonus nerve block.  If they offer the nerve block, take it.  

The first couple of days are a real peach.  You'll be higher than a giraffe's ass and you are going to forget some shit.  Have a competent individual around to make sure you're taking your pain pills on schedule.  That shit is critical!  

Almost every  time the wife came out to administer more pain meds every 4 hours, I was awake.  You just can't really get comfortable.  Real sleep is almost impossible.  You get a lot of 1-2 hour naps and that kind of sucks.  So, one day, since I was sleeping, I didn't get my meds.  The doctor will tell you that "sleep is important".  Guess what?  Not as important as those pain pills!

I arose to this incredible pain.  I've never felt anything like it.  I sat there for about 10 minutes wondering what in the hell I did in my sleep to cause this.  I'm not going to say that I was contemplating ending it all, but if I would have died, I don't think I would have given a shit.  It was miserable.

Oh, speaking of shit, the pain pills they give you will likely plug you up.  I did my left shoulder in 2023.  Everything about that surgery was great!  Pain was totally under control.  I did not get constipated and when I did go #2, I could easily take care of business afterwards because I was right handed.  

This go around was a bit different.  As I mentioned, I am a "righty".  Everything I have ever done besides swing a baseball bat or caught a baseball has been done right handed.  Now, my right arm was in a sling, it had been a week since I dropped the kids off at the pool and all of a sudden, it was GO TIME!

After a week of not going, I knew this was going to be a work of art.  Half way through my bowel movement, it hit me.  "You've got to wipe your ass left handed."  I sat there looking at my left hand.  It clearly wasn't up to the task.  58 years on this planet and my left hand has been nowhere near my ass.  I thought, "How is this going to go down?"  

The answer to that is, poorly.  It went poorly.  Here's the thing about my left hand.  It has no depth perception.  Your off hand has no business messing around the under carriage.  None.  But, the deed was done and there was no way in hell that I was going to ask the wife for assistance.  I promise I will die before that happens.  So, there we are.  First attempt, I think I just wiped my back.  Not useful since I don't shit out of the middle of my back.  Second attempt I thought, "Holy shit!  This guy is aggressive!  I wish I had given myself a "roofie"."  Third attempt, I wasn't sure if I was actually trying to wipe my butt or taste the toilet paper by going in the long way!

I somehow eventually managed to get it done, but I was on the can so long that I put both of my legs to sleep.  As I tried to stand up, both legs at the same time said, "Not now, jackass" and I promptly fell forward on my knees with my head busting a hole in the drywall.  Now I have a broken wall, a concussion and a suspiciously semi-clean ass which didn't seem to important after breaking the wall with my head.

My next thought was, "Holy hell, I am going to have to do this again at some point.  We have a lot of room for improvement."  Thankfully things did improve.  I'm still not convinced that my left hand as gotten any depth perception.  I will say that perhaps ol' lefty is used to the new surroundings that it gets to frequent.  

Anyhow, I told you that in order to tell you this.  I'm 12-13 weeks Post Op.  Physical therapy is going good but I've got a way to go.  I have been told on a couple of occasions that complete recovery is often a year or longer, but the danged thing feels pretty good.  The shoulder, not may ass.  My ass is still on strike for the unfair labor practices of my left hand.  It should not be in charge of anything. ever, especially matters of this magnitude. 

The Power of Music:

 

Good Morning Everybody!

I hope everyone is off to a good start this morning.  I hope your coffee was hot and strong and your mug was full.  Me?  Hell, any time I can wake up and wiggle my toes seems like a set up for a good day.  I'm not so sure how to get around the start of this entry.  Probably ought to just get to the heart of it and start with the title.

Music...  Not sure I know anyone who doesn't like music.  How can you not like music?  There has to be a genre out there for you that means something or the sound just hits you right.  There has to be.  Maybe you have a favorite artist or maybe there is just a type of music that once you heard it, it just grabbed you and never let go.

A buddy of mine is a fan of Chamber Music.  Orchestral type stuff.  Although I find some of it absolutely beautiful, you won't find any of that stuff on my play lists.  It's just not for me.  I can appreciate it, but enjoy?  Probably no.  Mind you, I'm not repulsed by it.

One of my kids loves Dub-Step.  I think that's what it's called.  Do you know what I am talking about?  Its that type of music that sounds like it smells bad...  It sounds like throwing a handful of used parts and broken tools into your clothes dryer and turning it on.  That shit, and he LOVES IT!  I don't get it.  I don't listen to it.  I won't say it bothers me though.  It's just not for me.

My other kid loves K-Pop.  Apparently this is Korean Pop Music.  How he found that is beyond me.  His mother was in the music industry for decades.  Not once did she ever play any of that.  I don't even know if she can identify it.  Doesn't matter.  Not my style and I am not pissed it exists.  Apparently the shit is somewhat popular.  Who knew?

My wife is a hippy.  She loves all music, but mostly hippy shit like Blues Traveler.  Again, not for me.  Too damn squeaky or something.  Sounds like everyone in the band is playing a different song.  But with that said, she really does like all music types.  Between she and I, we introduced our kids to everything we listened too and school music turned them onto stuff they probably never would have heard around the house.

I'm a different duck in this family.  I once told my wife while I was drinking that there "is only 19 good songs".  At the time, I had an IPOD with 19 songs on it and they were all good.  She never forgot that and holds me accountable for saying it.  Looking back, it does sound ridiculous.  There are probably, maybe like 50 good songs out there and the other shit I listen to is only kind of good.

My favorite music is Rock and Roll!  Country, Blues, some Motown stuff.  Even some rap, especially old school.  Something with some emotion.  Something that means something.

So, I reckon I said all of that in order to get to this.  I was listening to the radio this morning while running an errand for work.  I was listening to the local country station.  I contend that country music isn't what it used to be.  I like some of the 90's country from when I was at the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar.  There were a lot of good songs from that era.  And harmony... these guys knew something about harmony.  Back then, if you didn't have harmony, you didn't have shit.

Nowadays, I think all new country sounds the same.  It almost doesn't matter who is singing.  Male, female... doesn't matter.  They all sound the same and they are all saying the same shit.  But, there is a guy.  He ain't new.  He's been around for a while, at least long enough to somehow get famous.  Before I go any further I have to say that this "new guy/who ain't new" took a coveted position from whom I thought was the worst of the fucking worst.

Kenny Chesney...  I hated that guy.  The tone of his voice made me want to throw groceries at old people.  I just don't get the guy.  Not sure there is even anything to get.

But the guy I am talking about is Jason Aldean.  I would go on a world tour with Kenny Chesney rather than have to listen to one of Aldean's attempts.  I was in the bar business for nearly 20 years, and in that time I was fortunate enough to meet dozens if not hundreds of really talented people out there giving them hell and trying to make a name for themselves in the industry.  Some of these people had incredible voices.  Some were fantastic song writers.  Some musically were absolutely unreal!  And out of nowhere, this jackoff Aldean shows up and everyone goes wild.  What in the fuck am I not getting???

Imagine if you will, stepping into a porn theater and accidentally putting your hand in a random wet spot.  That is Jason Aldean.  He is the auditory equivalent of accidentally putting your hand in a pile of homeless, degenerate man milk.  He's gross.  He serves no purpose but whenever I hear him, I think about checking the oil in my Jeep.  

Here's the kicker.  So many of the newer guys sound just like him.  They just don't suck as bad.  Dumb ass drum machines... talking about "dirt roads" and not doing certain shit in "his town", cut off jeans and some bow legged ass girl with her feet on your dash.  

I mean, there ain't any fiddle.  Ain't no steel guitar.  No dobro. No harmony. Ain't even a touch of "twang"! None of that!  Anything that ever made country music good is not available in a Jason Aldean song.  It ain't there. 

His lyrics... holy shit.  His songs are written by the same feller that writes songs for that dude who looks like Butthead.  What's his name?  Big ass forehead, receding hair line.... Luke Bryan!  Even Luke Bryan is a stretch better than Aldean!

If a peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich was made by a one eyed midget with a broken spork had a sound, it would be Jason Aldean. Jason Aldean is like ketchup on a perfectly cooked rib eye steak.  Gentlemen about my age, have you ever accidentally sat on one of your own balls?  The noise you make when you do is more melodic than Jason Aldean music.

I don't know.  Maybe he is a nice guy or something.  I don't want to shit on this guy, but I feel as if I have too.  To his fans, are you aware that there is other music out there?  I mean, you can go to any Motel 6 with a hot tub and find another soggy ass, puss crusted band aid floating around to try and listen to that.  

Have you ever had a colonoscopy?  Do you remember that first big ass fart you blew when you were coming out of anesthesia?  Pair that fart with a out of tune 3 string guitar and you just wrote an Aldean song.  

Like I said, maybe he's a nice guy.  I wouldn't know.  I don't want to know.  His music killed a part of me that I'll never get back.  This guy is a singing insurance seminar.  

If you like him, please don't tell me.  This is the one thing I cannot know about you.  I'll go as far as to say, liking his music is inexcusable.  If you want to hear something just as good, you can do that armpit fart thing.  At least that is almost amusing.

#399... the Grizzly Bear

 

I have to start off with an apology.  On social media the other day, I said I was going to make one last comment about the bear, what happened, and then put it away.  Unbeknownst to me, an anonymous "fan" called me a few unsavory things.  Not to worry, as I have been called worse things than this crayon using, bicycle seat sniffing, half a popcorn fart could ever come up with.  My feelings aren't hurt but I would like to rehash a few things on the subject.  So, I am sorry that I am at it again.  If anyone has any comments, I would love to address them in private.

Bear #399, a gri8zzly bear that lived most of its life within the friendly confines of Grand Teton National Park became "famous" as she habituated herself to humans.  The constant presence of humans around her allowed her (or them) to relax a little too much, if you ask me.  

What made this bear famous was her legacy.  She unfortunately died at the age of 28 years old, which is a pretty long time for a grizzly in the wild.  There are conflicting accounts of the amount of offspring she had but the numbers are between 18 and 22 according to a couple of different opinions.  She had many multiple births and one such multiple birth included 4 cubs!  Her last cub who was apparently with her at the time of her death had the pet name "Spirit".  Some wildlife managers said that the 1 year old cub stands a good chance of surviving.

Bear #399 made many trips outside of the park venturing many miles south with her cubs in tow, sometimes seen in the vicinity of where she was struck and killed by an automobile.  

Through the years, her popularity grew with the help of a few "famous" photographers, a few more wildlife guides and even a group named after her.  If you were in the park and saw a big group of people seemingly shooting pictures of the unknown with giant ass camera/lens combinations, all you had to do was pull over and ask the question, "What are you all looking at?"

So many times the answer was a resounding "#399 and her cubs".  The longer you stuck around, the better your chances were of seeing her.  By the time she was half famous, people from all over the nation or world for that matter were keen to this bear and her goings on.

Making her more popular were numerous articles, peoples first hand public accounts and even a few documentaries made about her existence.  People were coming to the park from everywhere, just for the opportunity to see her, just once.

Wildlife guides were especially keen to her whereabouts.  I cannot comment on the networking that went on within the competitive market of guiding, but if you saw one commercial outfit near this bear, you saw a dozen!  Every spring, these curious people did all they could to locate #399 and see how many cubs she came out of the den with after a long hibernation.  Then, they would spend the summer snapping photos (for sale) and chronicling this bears life.

It seems somewhat like a disservice to write a few paragraphs about a 28 year stretch.  Simply, this was one bear living amongst an estimated 965 other grizzlies in the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem.  Some of #399's offspring have become semi-famous as well.  These folks seem to know them.  They don't really, but they act like they do.  They will talk amongst themselves at one of the large gatherings mentioned above and sooner or later a Park Ranger or biologist will confirm which bear it is.

Photography and wildlife tourism is big money, folks.  BIG Money!  Taking tourists on trips to the park to see animals and the professional photographers selling their wares bring millions of dollars to the economies of Wyoming, Montana and Idaho.

As a reference, one of the more famous photographers in the region sells pictures of #399 ranging in price from $355-$895.... for a picture.... of a bear, that looks like every other sow grizzly in the ecosystem.  The kicker is, the name #399 and "her story' just makes these pictures that much more expensive.

Now, I guess I said all of that shit in order to get to this shit.  I feel differently about #399 or bears in general than the aforementioned individuals.  I was brought to up to respect all wildlife.  I was taught to witness from a distance, give plenty of room and not to mess with these wild animals.  The key word there was "wild".  These animals do not belong to a zoo.  They don't belong to anyone.  They, like you are just trying to squeak out a living in one of the harshest landscapes around.  

People have personified #399.  They made her a legend long before she passed, adding what would be considered positive human traits like "friendly" (If I'm not mistaken #399 jacked up a guy around Signal Mountain this summer), "loving mother" and other things equally irresponsible.  

These are animals that we are speaking about.  Bears only know how to be bears.  Bison only know how to be bison.  Neither could ever be human.  As this bear became more popular, there were specific businesses named after her.  I won't name them here in order to not find my big ass in court, but if you are from around here, you've seen them.  I think this is human behavior is dangerous and irresponsible.

Moving forward to the unfortunate accident that ended her life, I've seen comments like "This person should be jailed!"  "This person should be killed!"  'How could this happen in a National Park?"  There are dozens more but none more irresponsible than saying any human should die because of an animals death.  This thing was investigated by law enforcement.  It was found that the driver was driving the speed limit and there was no wrong doing...  That should be the end, but uneducated or otherwise ignorant people are still commenting on a subject that they really know nothing about, other than the bear's legacy and what lies between the veil of fantasy and reality.

We can do better.  I love animals.  I also hunt.  Nearly every one of the hunters I know do hunt ethically.  These people admire all wild animals.  They too were raised to admire from a distance, don't pester or molest wildlife and give them the room they deserve.  If you have a chance encounter with wildlife, remember those rules.  Be respectful and for the sake of all things, quit humanizing animals!  They are not our friends.  We don't know them but we do owe them a modicum of respect.  A bear or nearly any large animal you encounter in the Yellowstone ecosystem can delete you in an instant.  They don't care.  For them, its merely survival and far too often we find ourselves in their back yard.

I've had enough of your time.  If you're still with me here, thanks for reading.  I'll end with this.  I have watched this topic turn into a political conversation as well.  Yes, you heard me right.  Political and both sides have said some real stupid shit.  This in no stretch of the imagination should have included politics.  Politics is one thing and this is something different and should be viewed as such.  Trump couldn't have saved this bear and neither could Harris.  Walz might not know what a bear is, and Vance might have wanted to hump the fucking thing...  

More than 3,000 people a day use the Snake River Canyon where #399 was killed as their commute.  This does not include all of the commercial traffic and tourist traffic.  There are dozens of accidents in the canyon yearly.  A lot of them unfortunately include wildlife.  Bears, mountain lions, wolves, coyotes, beaver, badgers, marmots, ermine, skunks, martins, eagles, hawks, mountain goats, owls and more are hit and killed in that canyon and any of the other roads in the region!  Nobody knows their names.  It is an unfortunate and common thing to have happen in wildlife rich areas where humans also exist.  

Yes, there are plenty of shit drivers on the road but again, this accident was investigated and the driver found not guilty of any wrong doing.  I'm not going to pretend I know the individual that hit this bear, but imagine if it were you.  Imagine if you were the one on your nightly that accidentally hit and killed #399?  Imagine reading and hearing of all of the threats coming your way.  You've got to take emotions out of this.  There was no intent!  This person didn't drive off road and chase the bear down in order to kill it.  Me and my family have all hit animals in the canyon.  Each time it's cost us a lot of money, not to mention the fact that we killed another animal.

Be respectful of wild animals and be respectful to other people.  We are all we got, folks.  Something like this will eventually happen again, and I hope you aren't the person behind the wheel.  And if it does happen to you or you witness an accident like this, please have the wherewithal to know that this wasn't intentional.  Have a bit of compassion.  Offer to help.  

Like many other places in life, we can do better.   

What in the hell just happened to my Jeep?

 

How's everyone doing on this glorious Monday?  Hell, its chilly here but the sun in shining so if you are around these parts, get your ass outdoors and soak it up because the shit is going to hit the fan here real soon!  Remember, you don't have to shovel sunshine.  Let it soak in.

So anyhow, I started to write this last week.  I took my 2002 Jeep to a mechanic to have a bunch of shit done to it that I don't have the time or space to do the work myself.  Anything that leaked oil, they replaced the seals.  Other fluid leaks like the front differential and the power steering pump got some love as well and while they had half the damned thing tore apart, I asked them to change the front wheel bearings.

All in all, I spent a couple thousand bucks.  The old girl only has 153k on her.  My 2004 that I owned before this one I traded in when it had nearly 300k on it.  So yeah, it hurt a bit to part with that much dough, but I love this dumb Jeep and I think I can pull another 150k miles out of her.  We will see.

My Jeep isn't all customized.  Besides a couple inch lift, a winch and some bigger tires, I have done no modifications to it.  That's just not my style.  I am not going to Moab every weekend, but I do tend to put the old gal in some questionable predicaments.  

I've driven her to the top of rural dirt 2 tracks to the top of mountain passes.  I've bombed nearly every 2 track dirt road in the desert around here.  I've snatched small vehicles out of snowbanks with the winch.  I've gone mudding in her burying the poor thing over the tops of the wheels where even my winch couldn't pluck her out.  I've crossed streams, driven a few shitty washes in southern Nevada and ended up in California and or Arizona.  I've driven the worst logging roads in this part of Wyoming.  We did donuts with the kids in her.  Numerous fishing trips, a few hunting trips, a few more camping trips.  We were in that Jeep so often as a family that Buddha The Adventure Dog though he owned the son of a bitch!  Old boy had dog slobber all over the passenger door.  Big ass nose prints on the passenger window and nobody knows how many big ass dog farts erupted in the old girl.  It's a Jeep and this is what we do.  Tell me I can't get there from here is just another invitation for another adventure, and she's always been down for that.

Here's where the story takes a little turn.  I don't know if I can make it through this story without shedding a few tears.  If you are a Jeep guy, you probably ought to continue reading on your own in private and get the fucking tissues ready...

I go down to the mechanics shop in order for the 2 of us to be reunited.  The mechanic tells me the total damage and I hand him my card.  He runs the card, all is well and then tells me the keys are in it... just as I left it with him a few days prior.  I walk out to her... there she is in all of her glory, no longer leaking fluids and the front end tightened up a bit.  As per usual, she fires up on the first crank.  To me, this feels just like pulling on my favorite boots.  Just like the boots fit my feet, this Jeep fits me.  This is the best codependency in a relationship that ever existed.

I pull onto the highway and give her hell (as much as you can with a 4.0 liter straight 6) and she responds!  I pull into the liquor store to grab she and I a beer that we can share in the driveway as we listen to some AC/DC!  She's perfect!  We reminisce about all of the good times.  I swear, if I wasn't married to my wife, I'd marry my Jeep!

We get home and I am grinning from ear to ear.  The wife asks, "How's she run?".  "Better than ever, baby!  We've got to go put her through the paces somewhere we haven't been."  Truth be told, the wife loves that Jeep as much as I do and I know damn well she would marry the Jeep.  She gets far less shit out of the Jeep than she does me, so that would be a no brainer for her.

The next morning, I drove her to work.  Highway speeds the whole way with a little Black Label Society pumping through the shitty speakers and a hot cup of coffee in my hand.  I knew that this was going to be a good day!  Again, as per usual, the round trip of a 100 miles goes off without a hitch.  I get her home and marvel at her beauty.  I say to myself, "This is love..."

I can't remember why, but the wife wanted to borrow the Jeep the following day.  I let her because she is my wife and is also on the title.  I knew the wife would take good care of her.  When she came home that evening, I was busy in the yard doing chores.  I heard the stereo when they pulling in blasting some Blues Traveler or other obnoxious shit the Jeep doesn't like, but she was still moving, still looking pretty and doing her job as I expected she would.

"Man, she runs great" the wife exclaimed.  "You can tell they did some work on the front end too.  Maybe it was the new steering box they put in."  I just smiled as we were one big happy family again.  I helped the wife into the house with her bags and eventually fell into a peaceful slumber.  I woke up the next 3 mornings and drove the truck to work because its more comfortable.  But as we pulled out, I looked at her and said "I'll never let anything bad happen to you."

That afternoon when I arrived home, I had some chores to do.  I went in, changed clothes and came out to get things winterized around the ranch.  I mowed up all of the leaves, put all of the hoses away, put all of the yard tools in the shed and made my way to the Jeep to hook up to my home made pasture drag to drag the pasture.  As I approached, I could tell something was amiss.  She looked at me a little differently.  Normally it's like "Hell Yeah Buddy".  This time was like, "Oh geez, I'm not so sure about this... can we talk about this?"  

"No way, girl.  We have shit to do!  Were going to drag the pasture and then I am going to take you to the car wash, put a coat of wax on you and vacuum all of the dirt and rocks out of you!  You're the best."

I opened the door and what did I see.  Kombucha... a FUCKING KOMBUCHA  was sitting in the cup holder!  I screamed bloody murder!  The neighbor came out and said, "What's wrong?"  I said, "Someone tried to kill my Jeep!  There is a fucking Kombucha in the cup holder.  Everyone knows that the cup holder is for coffee, soda, maybe water and occasionally beer but never, ever, ever a Kombucha."

He scratched his head.  I said, "Can you come grab this shit?  I don't think I can do it!  I can't touch that hippy shit and then touch my Jeep!!!  She will explode!"  He turned around and walked away.  I fell to the ground unable to do anything but cry for about 10 minutes.  Somebody put hippy shit in my Jeep!  This was uncalled for, out of line and if I ever find the culprit... well, it wasn't going to end well.

I came to my senses and wiped the tears and snot on the sleeve of my favorite flannel shirt.  I apologized 20 times before I could muster the strength to grab that hippy juice from the confines of a man's cup holder and threw it in the driveway.  The bottle didn't even break.  This hippy love potion shit or whatever it is has super powers I don't want to fuck with!

I wiped the dash and asked her, "Who did this to you?  I have a set of skills that will allow me to make this person very uncomfortable for the rest of their lives, no matter how long or short that it may be."

I couldn't bring myself to making her drag the pasture.  Instead, I rolled down the windows to let her air out.  I had to get those hippy vibes out of the Jeep no matter what.  I grabbed Lysol, bleach, ammonia and 4 cans of brake cleaner and cleaned the ever loving shit out of every ever loving inch of her.... and then it hit me.

My wife, the woman of my dreams was the one to betray the Jeep and I!  How could she!  This senseless act could have been the end of the Jeep had I not caught it sooner.  That hippy juice was sitting there, further fermenting, casting unicorn dreams around the neighborhood.  I mean, this was unforgivable!  Nothing would ever be the same.  I gently closed the door to give her some time to be alone and free from the witchcraft bullshit my wife bestowed upon her.  And I waited.  Vengeance would be mine when I saw that woman!

An hour later, I caught my wife pulling into the drive in her little hippy wagon.  She had a big old smile on her face... life was wonderful for her, not knowing what she did to the rest of the household.  Even the dogs were pissed and if Buddha The Adventure Dog would have been there, he would have flat ass admonished her.  Nobody does that shit to Adventure Dog without repercussions.

"Wipe that smile from your face!" I demanded.  "Do you know what you've done?"  Before she could say anything, I pointed at the Kombucha bottle and said, "Someone tried to poison the Jeep!  I have a sneaky suspicion that it was YOU!  How dare you put hippy shit and hippy vibes in that Jeep... I was willing to let the Blues Traveler music slide but Kombucha is too much!"

She looks me dead in the eye, snatched the key out of my hand and walks to the Jeep.  She hops in, adjusts the seat, fires her up and says, "Nothing is wrong with the Jeep, you big pussy!  It's a Jeep!  She don't care!  She lives for this and all adventures" and off they went...  Yeah, leaving me standing there.

Not only did I not settle anything with her, she called me a pussy and stole the fucking Jeep.  Honestly, at this point, I started to question everything.  Was the Jeep and my relationship just a figment of my imagination?  Why did she turn so quick on me and try adjusting to a hippy lifestyle?  Everything I knew had changed in an instant.

With my head buried in my hands, I slowly made my way into the garage.  I suspected that the garage was going to turn on me too.  I fired up the boombox to a little song list that I call 'Fuck yeah" and sipped on a whiskey.  My life seemed so unfair at this moment in time.  Everything I knew to be true was just a lie.

The wife came back home eventually.  She glared at me.  She said, "I bought you a tall boy Busch Light and some grocery store sushi.  Will that help calm you down?"  I couldn't say yes.  That would allow her to think that she won.  I took the tallboy and sat it on the bench next to my glass of whiskey.  I stared at my tools, the Jeep and then the pictures I have of my kids.  I looked to see if my truck was still in the driveway.  No telling what kind of shit was going to happen next.

I walked in the house and tried to see if the house smelled of patchouli...  I knew it wouldn't because she hates that hippy shit as much as I do, but I wouldn't have put it past her.  She said in the warmest tone ever, "Honey, please have some sushi.  It's real good and you're going to love the wasabi.  It's super hot.  And, since you are so heart broken, I thought we could binge watch Hunting Bigfoot or Ghost Adventures."  She had me.  She had me like she always knew she did.

So here we sit, a week after this horrible event.  I guess I feel okay about things.  I swore I'd never forgive her.  I'm not sure the Jeep will.  Time will tell.

Thanks everyone for hanging in there with me.  This one was one of the top 10 most stressful things that has ever happened, IN THE WORLD!

Family

 

Good Morning!  I hope everyone is off to a powerful start on this beautiful Friday.  I hope your coffee is hot and your favorite mug stays full!  This is going to be a great weekend.  I'm going to have a little trigger time with a friend who just got a new 1911 and he wants a tune up and some pointers, so were going to load up a bunch of different noise makers and head out to the sticks!

So, let's get down to the topic this morning.  I'm not exactly sure what the topic is.  That shouldn't be too big of a surprise to most of you.  I was listening to a weird podcast and they were talking about "parenting styles".  

Like most of you, when the wife and I had kids, I didn't have any parenting skills.  I'm half assed sure that I don't have any now after raising a couple of people.  All I ever really wanted out of my children is for them to not grow up into assholes.  I figured that was my only real goal.  So far, this appears to be the case.  I'm proud of both of my boys.

The first one showed up when I was 27.  I went to lamaze classes with the wife.  Honestly, I didn't learn a thing.  When it came down to go time in the hospital, I screwed it all up.  I mean, the boy came out and everything was in the right place.  All of his fingers and toes were where they belonged.  I was worried though.  I had the same dream time and time again where my first born was just going to be born as a head.  Just a head.  No body, no feet, just a head.  (Kind of funny, right.)

The second one came around when I was 30.  I won't say I was an old pro at this time, but I was prepared, kind of.  I could change a diaper and I knew how to not lose or misplace your child, but that was about it.  And at the age of 30, I qualified as an adult but I still had so much stupid youth coursing through my veins.  My poor wife was raising 3 kids.  I think I can speak for her on this, we didn't have it all but we did have fun!

Humor was something I developed at a young age.  Humor is how I learned to deal with things.  Even if the worst shit in the world happened, I'd somehow find the humor in it.  Maybe it wasn't the most healthy thing in the world, but I'm still here, the wife is still here and both boys are still here.

So I said all of that to say this.  I was still in the bar business.  I'd get home often around 3-3:30am.  Unwind for a half an hour and hit the rack.  Typically the boys would be up a couple of hours later and depending on the day, these little fellers were my sole responsibility.  Other days, say the weekend, the wife and I would parent together.

On this particular morning, Roger was up first as this was not unusual.  Roger was old enough to be able to make himself a little breakfast all by himself.  I guess he was about 8-9 years old.  Shit, he was cooking his own eggs at this point, and as long as the house didn't burn down, everything was good.

Wade on the other hand.  This lunatic was completely capable of making a t-shirt his preferred type of boxer shorts and was going to put his pants on backwards just for the hell of it.  Best part was, he was convinced that this was okay.

So Roger is in the kitchen.  DeeDee and I hear him stirring around.  A couple minutes later, Wado-Tornado hits the scene.  First words out of Wade's mouth were "Bloooble loop".  Then he said it again, and again.  I looked at DeeDee and said, "What in the hell is that kid doing?"  Again, "Bloooble loop, blooble loop, blooble loop."

Roger says, "Wade! Stop!" Wade says, "Blooble loop, blooble loop, blooble loop."  Again Roger says in a bit more of an aggressive tone, "Wade stop!  Knock it off!".  Wade replies, "Blooble loop, blooble loop, blooble loop."  The kid can't help himself....  Roger again, even more aggressively says... in fact he yells "Wade!  Stop!".  Guess what came next?  "Blooble loop, blooble loop, blooble loop!"

The Roginator couldn't take it.  "Wade!  Stop it or I am going to punch you in the face."  

Let me stop right there.  If you know me and if you know my kids, you know nobody is going to stop anything.  We can't.  It's a Dudley gene.  There is some shit that we Dudley men cannot stop. 

DeeDee and I were getting up to break up the quarrel.  It had gotten to the point where the shit was going to hit the fan!  It was time for mom and dad to parent or at least try to adult.  I have to admit, part of me wanted to wait it out and see what was going to happen.  Roger fired the warning shot over Wade's bow.  Part of me wanted to see if he had it in him...

"Blooble loop, blooble loop, blooble loop" again, out of Wades mouth followed instantly by a sound of some child punching another child in the face.  "Crack!"  

I hop out of bed and open the door.  Old Wade, standing there with his hand over his eye, "Wooooo, hooo, hooo" crying his lights out.  I holler, "What in the hell is going on here?"  Wade said, "Roger punched me in the face!"  I replied, "Yeah, no shit.  He told you he was going to punch you in the face if you didn't knock it off!  And what did you do?  More of that blooble loop bullshit."

I look at Roger.  His eyes were as big as a hub cap.  He thought he was going to get it.  I just yelled, "You 2 knock this shit off.  You're brothers!  You have to look out for one another.  If one of you pisses the other off, I hope you punch the other guy in the face.  It's too early for this shit!  I haven't even had coffee yet."  That was it.  The crying stopped.  Roger kind of figured that he was out of trouble and my little buddy Wade probably didn't learn a fucking thing....

I walk back into the bedroom as DeeDee was still trying to put herself together and go give the boys an earful of momma logic.  We looked at each other and laughed.  DeeDee said, "Well, uhm... I think you handled that okay."  We laughed again.  I added, "Look, Roger said he was going to Wade in the face if he didn't quit pestering him.  He gave him a chance!  Old Wade caught a case of the "can't help its" and consequently got the business from Roger."

We somehow managed to gather our composure and walk out of our bedroom together.  Roger is sitting on one end of the couch eating a bologna sandwich or some shit and Wade is on the other end of the couch rubbing his freshly dotted eye.  I cracked up and headed back into the bedroom laughing hysterically.

DeeDee did her best to act like a responsible parent.  As she is making coffee she said, "You boys need to knock it off!  You're brothers and you love one another."  Wade says, "Yeah, but he punched me in the face."  DeeDee said, "He told you he was going to!"  She added, "He told you to knock it off at least 6 times before he hit you, and he told you that he was going to hit you. You could have knocked it off and this wouldn't have happened."  Wade says, ''Yeah, he told me to quit, but he could have politely asked me to quit."  

I absolutely lost it!  I laughed so hard that I couldn't breathe.  Both of these kids, my sole purpose at this point in my life were just like me!  My mom told me this would happen.  She convinced me that I even deserved it for the shit I pulled with my little sister.  As it turns out, she was right.  And you know what?  I wouldn't change it for the world!  I will remember this and at least 100 other stories until the day I die.

Now, to me... here comes the funny part.  We as a family have talked about this incident many times, even when the boys became adults.  We've laughed about it, because it is funny and it is real life shit!  I asked Wade, "Why didn't you just shup up?"  And just like his daddy, he said "I fucking couldn't.  I wanted to, but I just fucking couldn't."  

This was one of my proudest moments yet.  As adults, I knew they would probably be okay.  I was proud of Roger that early morning because he said he was going to do something about it and followed through.  Years later, I was proud of Wade regarding their morning rendezvous, because he admitted years later that he just couldn't help himself.  He took responsibility.  I like both sides.

I didn't put this out there for parental advice.  This is real life, no bullshit-but kind of bullshit.  Nobody really got hurt.  I'm half sure nobody in the family learned anything (another Dudley man trait).  But here we are.  20 years later, able to laugh about it.  

Parenting is hard, man.  Being a kid is hard.  Parents learning while the kids are learning.  Parents try to guide and kids try to see what they can get away with.  That is funny to me and I hope each of you has stories like this to share with one another or laugh with the family over.

We had 2 things, the Dudley family.  Lots of love and lots of laughter.  I am so grateful for every second I got to spend with these people.  I think we all learned together, some shit is serious and some shit is not, and in the end, if we can't laugh about it, well, it just wasn't worth it.  

To my boys Roger and Wade, I love you.  You'll never know how much.  And to my wife and life partner, I couldn't have any of this without you.  Thank you for being strong where I was not and thank you for having a sense of humor!  I love you.