Crank Calls

Crank calls aren't what they used to be.  Caller ID ruined what we used to do as kids.  Since I am a kid at heart, I do reverse crank calls.  This is when your target is whoever calls you.  

I just got a new truck.  Somehow, some way, I must have gotten on a list for numerous financial institutions.  I get 3 calls a day from them.  Some of these calls are automated.  I went through all of the steps in order to finally talk to someone and they normally hang up real quick.

Yesterday while in the shop, I got a call that interrupted some good old country music, so I answered.  I didn't give them the traditional "Hello" horseshit. 

Me: Thanks for calling back so quick, doctor!

Them:  This isn't the doctor.  This is in regards to your loan application.

Me.  Jesus, is this operation going to cost so much that I have to take out a loan?

Them:  Sir, we just need to ask you a couple of questions and then you can qualify for an immediate loan for up to $75,000.

Me:  A rash on my ass is going to cost $75,000?  That seems like a lot.  I figured you'd prescribe a salve.

Them:  Sir, did you apply for a loan?

Me:  No, I have an itchy anus.  I didn't know I could get a loan for an itchy ass.

Them:  Thank you for your time.

Me:  Hold on.  How did you get my number?

Them:  You recently filled out a loan application.

Me:  At the doctors office?

Them: Sir, it was a consumer loan application.

Me:  For ass salve?

Them:  Thank you.  I must end this call now.

Me.  Hold on.  I apologize.  I have too much going on.  Yes, I did fill out a loan application but I also have this ass problem.  I may have gotten the 2 confused.

Them:  So you are interested in a consumer loan?

Me:  Goodness yes.

Them:  Very well, we just need to ask you a couple of questions.

Me:  Okay. Are they going to be personal questions?  

Them:  No sir, these will be in reference to your income, your housing situation and things like that.

Me:  Oh, I get it.  Yes, please.  Lets continue.

Them:  Do you own or rent your house?

Me:  Yes

Them: Do you own or rent?

Me:  I do.

Them:  You do what?

Me: I rent or own my home.

Them:  Fuck you!  I am so sick of this bullshit.  I am going to hang up now.

Me:  That's hurtful.

Them:  Click....

That is my bench mark.  I have to keep the next person on the phone longer than this.  Normally they hang up quickly.  This shit gives me great joy!  I encourage you to give it a go.

Million Dollar Cowboy Bar book

 

I hope everyone's day is off to a fantastic start today and every day for that matter.  I think we all deserve that and should strive for that.  That isn't why I am writing.  I've made mention before that a lot of friends, former co-workers and former owners have urged me to write a book about my time at the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar.  I'd still like to, but what I want to avoid is any litigation.

I am not in a position where I can be sued.  I am also not so sure of my story telling skills and how some people may pick up what I am putting down.  Being sued is one of my hold ups.  The other hold up is, I would like for all of these stories that I remember to come about organically.  If I have to sit and think about them, the writing is much harder to do.  I don't know if that makes any sense to you or not.  I'd love to be able to drag you into all of the scenarios and make you feel as if you were there to witness the whole thing.  That's what I strive for, and if the story just comes to me from out of nowhere, I can do it more justice.

Okay, so... I told you that in order to tell you this.  One of my clients recently heard that I was a "bouncer'' at the Cowboy Bar for years.  I clarified that by saying that I liked to refer to myself as the "resident diplomat."  That was about the funniest thing he had ever heard.  

I further informed him that my official title there was "Manager" but I felt like it was my position to be able to do it all.  In fact, I have done it all at the Cowboy.  Many managers in joints all across the country come to realize that they will be required to wear many hats as a "manager", and I explained that I felt more comfortable leading by example rather than coaching from the side lines.  I wanted to set precedent with the doormen that we would strive to have a gentleman's conversation with individuals that would soon be leaving the place rather than just gorilla their ass out of the joint.  (However, we would keep the gorilla shit on the table.)

So, this client asked me to tell him one story in about 10 minutes.  I stumbled.  Whenever asked that question, I often have a hard time thinking about just one.  They come through in a soup of memories, if you will.  I can have one story in mind but it morphs into many stories.  Maybe that is just how my broken brain works.

This is that story:

2 big bastards were having an animated discussion.  I wasn't familiar with either of these characters but this was an opportunity for me to go introduce myself and explain the rules of the game.  Turns out, this was a family beef.  Both of these fellers were 6'4" to 6'5" and around 265 pounds, I'd guess.  

As I approached, I looked for my guys just so they knew I was wading in all by my lonesome.  I kind of had a rule that we would run interventions like this with 2 people, but the joint was packed so I ventured in solo.  I smiled when I made eye contact with one of the boys.  I nodded and waded in.  "Hey gentlemen, is everything okay?"  That seemed like a reasonable and friendly way into the conversation.

The old boy I made eye contact with was the first to respond.  "What in the fuck do you want?"  This wasn't the reply that I was looking for.  Now, both of these guys is looking down at me being 5'11" tall.  I said, "My name is Brice and I am the manager."  I held out my hand and said, "I didn't catch your names."  The other brother said, "Why don't you get out of here before you get hurt?"  

I figured that my evening was going to get entertaining, real quick.  I motioned for a waitress to go get me some help.  It looked as if I was going to need it.  She came back with one of my guys but before they arrived, I started to lay down the law.  "Ain't nobody going to get hurt in this son of a bitch tonight!  I run a real nice Christian joint here.  You can come in and have a little sin with your gin, but you have to do it like absolute gentlemen.  Shit starters and tough guys always end up outside or in jail so, do me a favor and listen up.  I don't give a shit what you guys are arguing over, but your too fucking big to be squaring up with one another, screaming and yelling at one another and interrupting everyone else's good time.  So, grab your shit boys.  You're done here."

Both of them looked at me.  They looked at each other.  This thing could have gone any direction at this point.  I look to see if my doorman was prepared.  He looked a bit concerned, but if we were going to do this, the first couple of minutes were going to be us versus them.  

The guy I first made contact with put his drink down.  (I thought he was going to smack one of us with the glass.)  He looked at his brother and said, "Every fucking time we go drinking, you start shit and get me thrown out of a bar."  He grabbed his coat and walked to the front door, escorted by the door man.  His brother stood there looking at me.

He started reading me the riot act, about how to not interfere with family business when I stopped him in his tracks.  I said, "Hey, unless you own this son of a bitch and I know you don't, all family business will be taken care of outside.  Grab your shit, its time to go."  I thought for sure I was going to be in the middle of an ass kicking contest here, real quick.

His eyes never left mine.  He squared up to me, nostrils flaring.  He bent over, grabbed his coat and walked with me to the door.  They left... just hit the road.  Obviously that was the preferred option.  Fighting cowboys can be a tall order.  Fighting big ass cowboys can be just what you don't want to happen, but it was over.  I wished them both a good night and headed back to my perch.

Now, you have to remember.  This was a night after the rodeo.  The joint was packed and every employee was firing on all cylinders.  Some noticed this altercation in the making but then got distracted by trying to sell more whiskey, which I appreciated.  

Someone had spilled a drink.  I walked into the employee room to get a bar mop so I could clean up the mess.  The door opened into the employee room inwards.  I tried to hold it open with my foot.  I grabbed a bar mop and turned around to get after the mess and walked right into the door edge.  Mashed my nose flat.  Didn't break it, but I had a gusher on my hands.  (The only bloody nose I ever got there.)  

I walked back into the employee room and put the bar mop on my bloody beak.  I started to laugh at myself.  I just talked 2 big bastards out of the bar without getting my nose broken, but damned if I didn't damn near break my own nose.  The barback said, "Shit boss!  Who hit ya?"  

I was laughing my ass off with that comment.  This bar back thought I had lost my mind.  "You good?" he asked me as I kept laughing.  I said, "Yep.  I'm good.  Nobody hit me.  I just walked into the door nose first."  He looked at me in disbelief. "You missed an opportunity for a hell of a story" and back to work he went.

So, a few more employees became aware of my bloody nose.  "Who hit BD?" they were asking.  AT the end of the night, with an after shift beer in my hand, I took everyone who had inquired about my pushed in snot locker over the employee room and demonstrated how I kicked my own ass in a no-punches-thrown fight.  

Not many men are capable of this act.  This guy right here, did it more than one time. 

So, my client laughed.  He said, I have questions but I have to go.  Kind of glad he did.  I'm sure the next time I see him, I'll either have to explain or tell another story that seems a little more "bouncer like".

Thanks for taking the time out for this.  I hope you enjoyed it.  I am a dumbass, completely capable of kicking my own ass and don't need help form anyone else.... 

Social Experiments:

 

Good morning, good night, good day, good week, good whatever.  Whatever it is, wherever you are, I just hope it's good.  Things here are going as well as a guy could hope for.  I'm just tickled to still be around to enjoy or endure this, whatever it is.

Let's get into this.  I am conducting some social experiments this month.  I'll tell you why.  Subtle changes.  There have been subtle changes in our every day verbiage, depending on the generation.  For instance, the words or phrase "thank you" has been replaced by the phrase, "no worries".  

I fucking hate that.  No worries?  None, whatsoever?  Come on, man.  There are some worries, aren't there?  At first, I took offense.  I was taught to say thank you when someone does something for you.  It seems appropriate.  "No worries" seems like the answer to another question that we haven't even gotten to yet!  "Do you have any worries?''  No worries.  "Thank you."  No worries.....  Did you even hear what I said?

Most likely, this is just a problem for me.  By no stretch of the imagination am I a wordsmith but I do like to try to figure out where words or phrases came from and well as why and when they are used.  This "no worries" shit just hits me wrong.

So, I took it upon myself to try a social experiment.  I am walking around with a loaf of French Bread.  When someone tells me "No worries", I bust them in the head with the loaf of bread.  It doesn't hurt them, but lets them know that there is indeed at least 1 worry. Some jack ass might whack me over the head with a loaf of bread.  There is a worry that you didn't even think about until just now.  

Imagine sitting down for dinner in a nice Italian joint.  The server greets you at the table, brings bread and mentions the specials.  You thank him.  He says "No worries."  You stand up and throw the bread at him.  This should be viewed as a learning experience.  A correction, if you will.

One thing that pisses me off more than "No worries" is the person who says nothing.  You hold the door open for someone and they just walk right past you and say nothing.  Are you kidding me?  At a bare minimum, you do that stupid little mouth click thing and point at the guy who held the door.  You don't do or say nothing.

I tried to figure out a way to help folks with this social injustice.  I figured, the best way to handle this situation is to trip people as they walk by.  You hold the door, they say nothing, you kick their feet out from underneath them!  

I gave it a go this morning.  I held the door open for a guy who said nothing, so I tripped his ass.  After stumbling for about 4 steps and being all of the way in the store, he hit the floor like a lead fart!  I looked at him as he tried to get up.  He said, "What the fuck?"  I pointed at the floor and did that little mouth click thing and walked away.  Now, this jack ass doesn't know for sure if I tripped him or if karma arrived with a prompt bitch slap!  Did this guy learn anything?  That is yet to be determined.  Was it funny and just?  Yes on both accounts.  

By the way, I have to find a new place to buy bread and the manager at the convenience store told me that I can't come back.  And in true form, I thanked him.  It wasn't hard.

Everything is a Potential Burrito

 

 Hey, what's up everybody?  I hope everyone is doing well.  We are limping through a pretty dry winter here.  Hardly any snow which is both good and bad.  Hardly any brutal cold temperatures which is always good.  Seriously, I have no complaints about the weather or anything else for that matter.  Life is good.  I'm patiently waiting for spring so I can cut the grass and get out fishing or looking for rocks!  

Oh, before I go any further, I just wanted to say thanks for taking time out of your day to read the content I try to put out.  I really do appreciate it.  I know that I am not the best writer but I enjoy telling stories and I love when I get feedback on the stuff I write.  Seriously, thank you!

So here's the deal.  What I am writing about today is 100% factual.  None of this shit is made up or just my opinion.  All of this has been tried in courts across the country and everybody knows it's true.  You are welcome to disagree if you'd like.  That just makes you WRONG!

Where are all of my Mexican friends?  You guys, holy shit!  Where would I be without you?  I love everything about you guys!  If I didn't marry my wife, I would have married a Mexican girl.  I love your accents.  I love your culture.  I love tequila and that makes mariachi music just a little better.  Most importantly, I love your cuisine!  Mexican food is the best and that isn't open for discussion!  Like I said, nothing but the facts, Jack.  

Vegas people, do you remember Macayo's?  I didn't think anything could be as good as bacon, but then I strapped into one of Macayo's kids bean burrito!  Holy shit!  Life changing.  Yeah, I know where just talking about a bean burrito, but Macayo's did something to me.  Simply put, this was just house-made refried beans and a flour tortilla.  Nothing else was better!

Yeah, I ate some Mexican food at Mexican friends houses.  That is how I also got introduced to Tamales which is the 2nd best option when eating Mexican food.  All of the authentic Mexican food I have tried is top notch.  I've even liked some Tex-Mex food from down around Texas.  It isn't the same.  It's gests a 2nd place trophy which still makes it pretty good.

Here's the thing.  You walk into a good Mexican place.  Somebody's Abuela is in the corner making fresh, hot tortillas.  They've got a little mariachi music going on.  The tequila is flowing.  Everybody is happy!  (I've never seen anyone mad at a Mexican joint.  Never!)  They typically give you too much food, but you don't give a shit if you're like me.  Nope, you eat and drink until you are on the brink of making yourself sick, and you LOVE IT!  You don't care what it costs.  

You walk around and subconsciously start doing "gringo" shit.  You start saying "gracias" with your shitty accent.  You start high fiving everybody!  I don't know what in the hell is going on, but this happens!  100% truth.

Okay, now fast forward to this past summer.  The wife and I were talking about one of our local Mexican spots.  And yep, even for Wyoming, we've got a couple spots that throw down some serious Mexican cuisine!  My wife looks at me and says, "I was talking with the girls the other day and one of their husbands said, "Anything can be a burrito?".  

I looked at her and nodded.  The man wasn't wrong!  Everything is a potential burrito, but I suggest you leave this to the professionals!  Of course the wife disagreed.  "No, only burritos are burritos" she said.  I chimed in with, "Oh yeah, then why can I make a peanut butter and jelly burrito?''  Her face wrinkled up and her head tilted left.  "How come I can make a hotdog burrito?  How come I can make a cheese burger burrito?  It's not the same as real Mexican food, but it's close."

I went on for about an hour accepting challenges to my burrito theory.  She says, "You can't make a burrito out of cereal?"  I laughed and said, "Las Vegas, May 13th 1979 at my mom's house.  It was a Saturday.  Mom had something to do that morning so I was on my own for breakfast that morning.  We had cereal but no milk.  I started looking around.  I grabbed a tortilla, 2 handfuls of Count Chocula and wrapped that bastard up Macayo's style and BAM!  Cereal burrito!"

Naturally she discounted my claim.  "It didn't have any sauce" she said.  My retort, "Your spit is the sauce on this bad boy.  A little saliva mixed with chocolate dust from the cereal...  You can't go wrong!  Cereal burrito, Baby!"

She said, "Would you make a burrito out of, say, spaghetti?"  I replied, "Been there and done that, Baby.  Probably 10 times by now.  If you have left over spaghetti and there is no garlic bread... but you find a tortilla???  Bam, you're in business kid!"

"What about egg or tuna salad" she asked.  "Honey, you aren't even trying me with this one.  A couple scoops of that stuff, a couple jalapenos and a sprinkle of extra onion, egg salad burrito!"  She really started to think.  She then hits me with "What about pizza?"  I said, "Pizza is damn near an Italian burrito.  It's just flat.  Roll that bastard up and bingo!  Pizza burrito!"  

By now, she had just about enough of my shit.  I could still see the gears turning in her head.  She wasn't convinced.  I walked out to the garage to fix the weed eater.  As soon as I was knee deep into that endeavor she opened the door and said, "Pancakes."  I didn't even look at her.  I said, "Sweet Pea, a pancake is a white guy tortilla.  You can wrap anything up in a pancake and call it a burrito.  Bacon, sausage, eggs, whatever.  I don't want to bore you with details but, put some peanut butter on a pancake and roll that rascal up.  Yep, you guessed it.  Burrito!"

She shut the door lost in between dejection and frustration.  I wasn't wrong.  Technically, everything I said was true about the burrito.  It is the worlds most perfect food.  I don't think she disagrees with that premise.  Burritos are perfect.  She just can't get on board with just anything being inside a burrito despite the evidence I provided for her.

Anyhow, I got the weed eater fixed and started to get the lawn mowed.  I was out there about an hour.  She came out with a cold beer and handed it to me.  Her next words were, "How about smoked oysters?"  I laughed.  "Easy peasy, Baby.  Open your can of smoked oysters, drain that shitty oil out and pat the oysters dry.  Get your tortilla and a bit of your favorite squeeze cheese and chuck those oysters in the mix!  You guessed it, smoked oyster burrito."  She shook her head and walked away.

I finished mowing the lawn and was cleaning up my gear.  She heard me back in the garage.  She opened the door and said, "I am through with the burrito conversation."  I said, "The hell you are.  I once made a burrito wrapped in another tortilla.  I made what may have been the first burrito/burrito.  You can't win this argument.  Everything is a potential burrito!"  As she walked away I said, "I have used General Tso's chicken in a burrito.  I have used sushi in a burrito.  I have used Caesar salad in a burrito.  Everything is a potential burrito!"

Since that day, she and I have shared dozens of meals.  And each time we eat, I look her dead in the eye and say, "This would make a killer burrito."  If she didn't love me, she would hate me.  I doubled down on everything with this discussion!  

Now that I think about it, I don't know why she was even arguing!  She loves Mexican food and she loves a damned burrito every now and again.  Her favorite Mexican food is a Chile Relleno.  I haven't had the heart to tell her how good that god damned burrito would be.  Maybe I'll save that one for the next time we go out for Mexican food.

Cuisine

Hey!  Happy New Years Eve!  I hope everyone has some kind of plans tonight. I have no plans, but that in and of itself is a plan.  I am going home, eating dinner and then going to bed probably between 9 and 9:30.  After 20 years in the bar business, that is my type of party.  

Anyhow, I come at you this morning with a weird story.  Just yesterday I heard from an old friend from my Las Vegas days.  I have been out of Vegas now for 38 years, so we are going back.  My friend tracked me down and apologized for something that I forgot even happened.

I went to Los Angeles to see this buddy of mine.  This was perhaps a little ill planned on my behalf.  I didn't tell this friend that I was coming down.  Not to worry though as I had everything else planned out.  He was recently married, so instead of staying with them I just booked a motel room.  I was going to spend a little time on the beach and just poke around Southern California for a couple of days.

This is where the whole thing goes awry.  After driving around L.A. for a few hours, I ended up finding my lodging accommodations.  It wasn't a name brand motel.  In fact, it was called the Mo'Tell and it wasn't exactly in L.A.  Let's say it was "L.A. adjacent".  

I tried to call my friend.  I got his answering machine so I left him a message.  "Hey dumbass!  I'm in L.A.  Come get me and show me around."  I also gave him the information about how to contact me and I then sat around and waited for his return call.

4 hours later, still no return call.  I was starting to get hungry.  I was thinking about going downtown.  I had a craving for some Asian food.  I sat around for another hour or so and decided that I was going to have to eat without my friend and his new bride.  I walked up to the Mo'Tell office and asked for the best Asian food in the area.  

This guy in the office (I don't think he even worked there) told me, "Asian, like Chinese or Japanese?"  I replied, "Yeah or maybe Indian."  He said, "Like Indian frybread?"  I said, "No, not really but frybread is kick ass.  I'm looking for maybe some noodles or perhaps some sushi."  He said, "Oh, yes.  You have to go to Maury Applebaum's World Famous Jewish Infused Asian Cuisine."  I just stared at him.  Right about the time I was going to ask if he were serious he nodded very convincingly.  "Yeah, go right out of the parking lot and travel about 2 miles.  You'll see 2 strip malls right next to each other.  You'll also see a building that looks like a sombrero.  That is the place."

I was 21 at the time.  I had been bullshitted a lot by that age and I'll be damned if this didn't smell the same way.  Again, he nodded and pointed to the right and said again, "2 miles, look for the 2 strip malls and the building that looks like a sombrero.  That's the place."

By this point, I am starving.  I figured that I would run into a burger joint or something on the way and that would have to be good enough.  Nope... 2 miles, no food joints anywhere!  Then I see the 2 strip malls.  I whip and and instinctively turn left and there she was...  "Maury Applebaum's World Famous Jewish Infused Asian Cuisine" all in a sombrero shaped building.  I couldn't help but laugh, but I figured the guys convincing head nod and dead on directions to the place just couldn't be wrong.

As I walked up to the front door a gentleman opened the door and invited me in.  The place smelled wonderful.  He said, "Would you like to dine with us this evening?"  I said, "Are you Maury?"  He stared at me.  I asked, "This is Maury Applebaum's World Famous Jewish Infused Asian Cuisine, isn't it?  He stared at me for what seemed like an eternity.  He said, "Right this way please."

I mean, I followed the guy.  I was hungry man and the food smelled great!  I was seated in the corner.  As I looked about, I noticed about every ethnicity I could think of represented within this places clientele.  The host told me, "Your waiter will be over in a minute."

I looked over the menu.  Some of this stuff I had never heard of.  "Motzo Dumplings"  "Gilfelte Sushi or Sushimi" were the first 2 offerings. I scratched my head as my waitress arrived.  The waitress said, "Have you made an erection?"  No, you read that right... "Have you made an erection?"  I said, "God no, lady.  I'm hungry and horny."  She started tapping on the menu and locked eyes with me while saying, "This one, erection.  This one, erection.  This one erection."

It then dawned on me that she was most likely asking if I made a selection.  I hadn't because I didn't know what any of this stuff was.  I looked around the room.  There was a family just to my left.  The gentleman was eating a big bowl of noodles.  I asked, "What is that?"  The waitress said, "That is Maury's Special."  I said, "Just give me that."

The food came out and it was FANTASTIC!  I don't know what it was that I was eating.  I don't know if it was Kosher.  It didn't matter.  I finished, payed my tab and headed back to the Mo'Tell.  When I got there, I found out that my room had been re-rented.  The owner thought I left.  He had my bag in the office.  I said, "Sir, there is someone in my room."  He said, "Did you go to Maury's?".  I answered, "Yeah, but what about my room?"  He pointed at a sign that said, "NO REFUNDS" and it was signed at the bottm.  "Maury Applebaum".  

He gave me my money back.  I found a Howard Johnson's on the way closer to the beach.  I stayed there 2 nights calling my friend.  He never got back to me.  That is what made him look me up most recently.  Apparently the Mo'Tell and Maury Applebaum's World Famous Jewish Infused Cuisine are long gone.  That, or as my friend said, "You got roofied".  

I probably got roofied.

The Secret to a Long and Successful Marriage:

A much younger man who recently got married came to me for marriage advice.  Yeah, I know.  Why in the hell would he do that?  To my credit (and certainly the credit deserves to be with my wife) I have been married for 33 years.  So saying that I have been married most of my life is not a stretch.

Now, about the advice.  I don't know what makes a marriage work.  Again, my wife deserves most of the credit.  Decades ago, she married a 25 year old kid....  yeah, I said kid.  I thought farts were funny.  (I still do.)  I worked hard and played hard.  Maybe that's what drew her attention to me.  I thought beer was one of the 4 essential food groups.  (I still do but can't drink the way I used to.)  I could party all night and still get up and go to work.  

I don't know what makes a marriage work.  I think I know what makes mine work.  Mutual tolerance.  I know good and well that I do things that drive her up the wall.  30 something years in, I do what I can to mitigate these things or at least keep them at a tolerable level.  I give her a kiss every morning and night before going to bed and I let her know how much I love and appreciate her.  If she's cooking dinner, I'll creep in and smack her on the butt.  I smack her on the butt often.  I think she kind of likes it....  I could be wrong, but she always has her butt around to smack, so I let it rip.  

We don't fight.  We just don't.  We have had maybe 3 fights.  One lasted a while.  I learned about "communication".  For a long time, I thought communication was just talking.  Neither she or I are ever short on words.  She's a good listener.  I am a good "hearer".  I had to learn that there is indeed a difference between "listening" and "hearing".  (I paid money to learn the damned difference and as per usual, I was wrong.)  

We do "fake fight".  I do this thing.  I have this fake voice that she knows is supposed to be her. I'll pretend to be her saying things she probably wouldn't say, at least without provocation. "Oh yeah buddy.  Nice job taking the trash out" when I forget to take the trash out.  She just stares at me.  I use the voice often.  She in return uses her voice of me, imitating her saying things she thinks I would say.  

Bed covers.  God damn.  We've been beefing over the bed covers since we met, I think.  It's never serious beef.  And sometimes I throw that stupid voice in, just to heat her up a little.  "Oh yeah buddy, nice job stealing all of the covers and then putting the lock down on the comforter with that python grip."  

See, what she doesn't know is, I am on to this shit.  Her beef isn't legit.  She will roll over in the night, bringing her covers with her.  After she sticks her ice cold ass in my ribs to warm up (while I am fast asleep, mind you).  After her ass gets warm in my ribs or arm pit, she rolls back over and just leaves the covers...  and that's my fault.  She leaves them and it's my fault.  

So we do that.  I figure we can continue and fake fight about it or I can get my ass kicked for it and move into the garage.  The garage is nice but I don't have anything to sleep on out there.  So, I suck it up, kiss a little ass and then promptly blame her.  This is about the point where she breaks out the fake voice or the VOICE OF AUTHORITY!  She tries to lay down the law knowing that she is somewhat culpable and tries to make me believe her.  

We fake fight over her purses and bags.  Holy shit.  She has purses and bags like nobodies business.  Amelda Marcos had fewer shoes than my wife does bags.  This is not a joke.  Call and make an appointment and I'll show you her collection.  She has a purse, coin purse, 'clutch (whatever in the hell that is)', leather bags, leather purses, cloth purses, cloth bags....  

We were discussing the bag dilemma one day.  She says, "I don't need another bag.  I have plenty."   I agree.  She has a lot.  Then we will be in a store.  Any store.  Shit, it could be Home Depot or Harbor Freight and she will find a bag to look at.  She'll drape it over her shoulder, feel what the bag is made of and say, "If I had this, it would go with my new coat and I could use it for....."  The I say something like, "I thought we agreed that you have enough bags?"  She will quickly reply with, "Oh, I do.  But, if I had this bag, this is what I would wear with it and this is what the bags purpose is for."  

I didn't realize this, but she is making a case for purchasing the bag even though she doesn't need it.  As I "listen", I will say, "Please just get the damned bag."  Again, "No, I have plenty but this one could look good with either that Coach purse or that Vera Bradly bag I have."  Me:  "Get it.  Throw it in the cart."  Her:  "No, seriously... I don't need another bag.

We go to the next isle and she will find shit that she can make a bag out of.  She sews.  She'll see some canvas.  Oh, and she has to touch everything.  Then she will hit me with, "Will my sewing machine sew through this stuff?"  I'll answer, "Good grief lady.  I don't know how to sew.  I don't know what your sewing machine can and can't do.  Just get it."  She never does.  She swears that she won't ever buy another bag.  She does have to touch them all though and dream about all of her wardrobe and what shirt would go with what bag.  

Sometimes, but its rare, I will find a bag that I know is right up her alley.  I'll point it out to her.  Same thing happens. "Oooh, that would look nice with that shirt and it would look real good with...."  That will keep her talking for an hour.  I just let her go.

I mentioned Harbor Freight above.  She has never found a bag in Harbor Freight that she loves.  Nope.  What she likes about Harbor Freight is, she follows me around and uses her impression voice of me, touch everything and say shit like, "Oh I have to have 32 of these because I keep losing tape measures, pencils, clamps, lights, saws, ladders..."  Again, I have learned to just let her go.  

Now that I said all of that shit, I don't know why my marriage works.  It just does.  She's the yin to my yang.  Her strengths cover my weaknesses and I am around to be a punching bag.

Look, this is the best advice I can give anyone who wants to achieve a long and happy marriage.  Choose your battles.  Is anything that serious?  Choose your words and battles carefully and when that doesn't work, smack her on the butt or go buy her the last damned purse she talked about.

Tell each other and show each other that you love, honor and respect each other, no matter how big of an idiot you or she is.  Thank them and do this often.  They can pack their shit whenever they want.  They don't have to hang around.  Keep doing silly shit.  Laugh as often and as loud as you can together and at one another.  Laughter is the best therapy and our house has been full of laughs.

I'm no counselor.  I don't know what works, but I do know that doing the work pays off.  Keep trying shit until you find something that sticks.  Then that thing becomes the new thing.  Keep searching for new things.  Do new things.  Say new things.  Cook new things.  Strive to do better, be better.  

I hope you either found some humor or knowledge in this post.  I also hope that you have a wonderful new year full of new experiences.  Take care!

 

 

"The Choppy-Choppy"

How is everyone doing?  Long time no talk.  I hope everyone is enjoying a wonderful fall.  We are careening towards the end of fall and the start of winter.  I used to actively hate winter.  I finally got over that and just focused on how beautiful all of the other seasons are.  Winter is beautiful too, it's just damn cold around these parts.

Anyhow, I come at you today with a story.  I was listening to a much younger person talk about his wife's pregnancy (the first) and the guy was asking for parenting advice.  I didn't offer anything up.  I just sat there and thought about the time my wife and I were having kids.

I'll be the first to tell you, I didn't know jack shit about raising children.  I asked my parents for some information, not knowing that they didn't know shit either.  Maybe that is obvious when you look at me.

So what I did relate to the party mentioned above is, "Take what your parents did.  Keep the good stuff and jettison the bad stuff.  Everything else, remain flexible."  I think that is totally reasonable advice, but perhaps a little vague.  Vague because every child birth, every child being raised has different things to consider.

Now, back to me and my attempt at raising children.  First of all, thank goodness for my bride and the mother of my children.  Without her, the group of us Dudley boys would have been a soup sandwich.  She reeled me in and always made sure that we were a unified force.  

I had to make this as simple as possible, for me.  Not her.  She had great maternal instinct and was a good momma bear.  I figured my spot in the equation was, support the family in every way possible.  It was crucial that I not ruin these little fellers and at the same time not raise a couple of turds.

Some of you know my kids.  Neither is a turd, but both possess turd like qualities at times.  After all, they are mine.  What did you expect?  I think both of my kids have too big of a heart for their own good, but I love that.  They are considerate of other people and try to be good people in their own right.

So, in preparation for having kids, I went to lamaze classes.  I didn't learn shit.  I heard what child birth could be like and I learned what was likely going to be necessary of me on those days.  The lamaze classes only went so far.  I had a buddy in the class at the same time we were in.  I did listen a little bit, but I wanted to make him laugh as well.  Both families, first child and everything came out right.  Kids were born happy and healthy.  My friend and his bride managed to figure it all out and so did the Dudleys.

Little Roger was born.  There are many stories about this day, June 2, 1994.  I can't get into all of them right now.  I don't have the time or the space in this blog.  My man Rog shows up.  We did such a great job with him at the point so we decided to have another.  October 10, 1996 my other son Wade was born.  Again, many stories about that day, we just aren't going to get into them now.

Both kids were a little different.  It was my job to be adaptable.  I sometimes had to adjust how I dealt with each child in different circumstances.  Something that works for one might not work for the other.  That was often the case around the Dudley ranch.  

The wife was way better than I was with this.  Way better.  All I kept thinking about was, "raise good people".  I wanted to be a fair dad.  Strict in most circumstances but fair at the same time.

Fast forward about 5 years.  Things are going great!  We are having challenges but are meeting them head on.  One way or another, I knew we could come out better on the other side. 

I had the day off.  Roger went to kindergarten that morning while Wade stayed home with me.  He had an ear infection or something.  (Ear infections were chronic with this kid.)  Naturally, the boy isn't feeling well, so he is in a bit of a mood.  He doesn't feel good.  And by the way, this is my "why' kid.

"Why" kids always have to ask "why".  Anything happens, he wants to know why.  Once this shit starts happening, it is a constant.  "Why" gets asked 100 times a day at a minimum.  Most of these "whys" were reasonable.  Others, not so much but I always tried to deliver an answer that made sense to them.

Anyhow, sick kid... he's in a mood.  It started off with breakfast.  "Hey buddy, what do you want for breakfast?"  He couldn't make up his mind, so I began to offer a litany of things that we had on hand.  "Would you like scrambled eggs and cheese?"  "No."  "Okay, would you like cinnamon toast and some milk?"  "No."  "How about pancakes?"  "No."  "What about oatmeal?'  Again, no.

He finally settled on something, but all day was going this way.  After breakfast I said, "Let's go get your dressed.  Do you want to wear jeans?" "No."  "Oh, do you want to wear your track suit?"  "No."  "All righty, what about some sweats and a hoodie?"  You guessed it, "No."

By this point in the day, I have been shut down on everything I offered and we only came to a compromise on breakfast.  My patients was beginning to wear short.  So, I decided to do what I always do in a pinch.  Try to be funny in order to defuse a situation.

"Do you want to wear a pile of old cat hair?"  "No."  "How about a couple of grocery bags?''  "No."  Keep in mind, I have chosen this route in an attempt to preserve my sanity.  I mean, I am out of options at this point and the kid just ain't biting.

"How about a pair of my underwear?"  "No."  "Well, were about out of options there, big guy.  You've got to choose something."  Silence....  "Do you want a knuckle sandwich?"  "What's that" he asks.  "Well, you can't really "wear"one but you can be issued one.  We aren't doing that."  "Why?'  "Good grief kid...  You have to get dressed!  We've got to go to the doctor and you cannot go in your underwear, Wade!"  He stands there looking at me.  

He starts towards his bedroom.  I cannot let him do this on his own.  This kid would have worn his parka for a pair of pants.  For the sake of family, I couldn't allow that.  Funny time is over.  I grab a shirt, a clean pair of underwear and a pair of pants.  His words to me, "I don't like that."

I sat there.  I didn't know what to say.  I didn't know what to do.  We haven't had this issue before.  Patience isn't my strong point, but I can't lose my shit on this 4 year old.  So out of the blue I say, "Do you want the Choppy-Choppy?'  He stared at me.  He didn't say a word.  He put on his underwear backwards.  I allowed it.  I thought the doctor could get a kick out of that.  He gets his pants on, shirt on, shoes on and we hit the door.  All of a sudden, I have this compliant child.  I wasn't even aware of what I said or did, but its working... (Do not mess this up!  Were on a roll!)

Here's the thing.  I don't know what the "Choppy-Choppy" is.  And at this point it doesn't matter.  He didn't want it either, but he was dressed.  We made the appointment.  Another round of antibiotics.  We get home and all is well.

Unbeknownst to me, Wade asked his mom what the "Choppy-Choppy" was.  DeeDee said, "Oh, daddy was just trying to get you ready for the doctors appointment.  The "Choppy-Choppy" doesn't exist."

For a week or two, I don't hear another thing about the old "Choppy-Choppy".  Then out of nowhere, we are having a crisis with the older boy, Roger.  He's being defiant and Wade isn't helping.  Brothers... they are working each other into some kind of toddler frenzy.  Wade chimes in, "Dad, are you going to give him the Choppy-Choppy".  I smiled and said, "Yeah, I might."

(Each one of my kids may have been spanked once at this point.  We never needed spankings.  We always worked shit out.)

I looked at Roger and said, "Well, keep messing around and you're going to get the Choppy-Choppy."  All Roger knew was, he didn't want that either so he went about doing whatever was necessary at the time, we got our collective shit together and salvaged what was left of the evening.

Through the years, I used the term "Choppy-Choppy" randomly.  Keep in mind, I don't know what the fuck the Choppy Choppy is.  All I know is, it produced results.  It was tried and true and it worked with both kids.  DeeDee went as far as to ask me what it was.  I had no answer.  I told her the story about where it came from.  "So nobody knows what the Choppy Choppy is" she asked?  "Naw, nobody and I made the shit up!"  Well, that was my thing.  Momma had ways to get the kids on board with whatever was happening.  She didn't need the Choppy.

At some point, the Choppy-Choppy became useless.  I think I got the term from "Chop-Chop", like "hurry up".  We go years and years without the Choppy Choppy.  In fact, I had forgotten all about the damned thing.  We had newer, better communication skills that we used with great effectiveness.  

Now, I said all of that shit to get to this point.  We have always had an open relationship with our kids.  We don't lie.  We don't have secrets.  We know that it is just best to tell the truth and try to be good little campers. The boys learned that some things are mom's to handle and some things are dad's to handle, and getting handled was momma and daddy Dudley's thing!

Wade was in college.  He came home for Christmas or something.  Somehow, some way, he brings up "Choppy-Choppy".  As a young adult, he still thought the Choppy-Choppy was a real thing.  (This is why you can't put that shit in a child's head.)  We ended up having a family laugh over the matter.  I explained the whole story of that day to Wade in hopes of him seeing my frustration during the heat of the moment...  He kind of did.  He admitted that he would have been frustrated too but insisted that the Choppy-Choppy was a real thing.

Now, I have to look my adult child in the face.  "Son, I am sorry for the Choppy-Choppy.  I don't even know what in the hell that is.  To your credit, it does sound scary and I apologize sincerely for that.  I had no idea that would have occupied that much room in your head for as long as it did.  I love you and I don't ever want anyone to get the Choppy-Choppy no matter what it is." 

We had a good laugh.  (Also keep in mind, these two children thought that the neighborhood owl was a guy in the yard hooting in an attempt to draw them out of the house while I was asleep and axe murder them.)

So... here it is.  My best advice for raising kids.  DO NOT OFFER THEM SHIT LIKE THE "CHOPPY-CHOPPY".  Everything else will fall into place.

Bar Story: Hiring a radical.

 

Years ago while still in the bar business, I was looking to hire a doorman.  We filled a lot of our positions with seasonal, transient help.  Sometimes they were here for a season and other times they would stay around for years.

My co-manager interviewed a guy briefly and asked him to come back and talk to me.  The co-manager briefed me on this individual.  Said he was ex-military, honorably discharged with the correct paperwork and seemed to be a guy we could work with.

A day or so later, this man walked in and introduced himself.  We sat and had a conversation and with the co-managers approval we decided to give this guy a go.

Initially, things went well!  This guy was on time and he showed up every day.  He kept to himself mostly, but on occasion would have an after shift and he and the co-manager would talk about the Army.  One day the co-manager said to me, "I think there is something up with this guy."  I asked what he meant and his answer was kind of vague.  "I don't know what it is.  I regard to the Army, he's been there and done that.  He knows a couple of the bases I was on, what happens there and the terrain around those bases.  But there is something there."  The only thing I added was, "He's a little less open than most of the people we hire."

About 2-2.5 months go by.  This guy had earned his spot but the co-manager and I kept an eye on him.  There was something there and we couldn't figure it out.  This would all change in the coming week.

A gentleman approached me at the front door.  This guy was wearing a suit.  He flashed a badge and asked if this particular guy worked for me or just frequented the place.  I said that he worked there and had been a good employee ever since hiring on.  The gentleman thanked me, said we would be back in touch and to do him a favor and not tell anyone about our brief meeting.  

I did tell the co-manager about this meeting.  Old John had a way of wrinkling his brow and rubbing his chin whiskers when he knew something was fishy.  "I knew there was something going on.  What else did the guy ask you?"  I told him, "The guy said he would be back in touch."  

A couple of days go by.  The weekend was upon us.  Our 2 busiest nights of the week.  It's best to have all hands on deck.  The gentleman in the suit came by.  He asked if the gentleman that he had inquired about days earlier was on.  I told him "No, but I expect him in within the hour."  Again the guy thanked me and walked out.  I glanced at John and pointed out the door.  He saw the man and again wrinkled his brow and rubbed his chin whiskers.

This guy comes in.  Walks right by me and says, "Hey Boss, I'll clock in and free you up on the door."  I thanked him and he was on his way to the time clock.  The man in the suit came in and posted up by me.  Another gentleman walked by us and towards the time clock.  2 uniformed officers that I knew came in and the suit guy walked towards the back of the building.  I asked what was up and the uniform guys told me, "You've got a bad egg in the bunch."

At about this point, the young man came up from down stairs.  The suit guy and the other guy met him at the top of the steps.  Another guy who had been in the bar walked over as well.  All of a sudden, they had my doorman cuffed and were walking out of the bar.  I asked my guy what was up and his parting words were, "Sorry, but these guys will have to explain it."

I walked over to John and said, "Well, we are looking for a new doorman, I guess."  I told him that I didn't have information but that the suit guy (FBI) would be back to debrief me/us.

Later that evening, the suit guy came back.  He informed me that this individual was part of an eco-terror group and he was personally responsible for personal injuries to people in logging crews, numerous counts of arson and potentially murder!  He had warrants out of Washington, Oregon and I believe Oregon.

Up to this point, I thought Old John and I were pretty good at vetting out the off color guys.  Yeah, we hired some bad eggs but nothing like this guy!  This guy, his demeanor and everything else had us fooled.  The law had been looking for this guy for some time and they somehow managed to trace hi9m to Jackson, Wyoming and then the Cowboy Bar.

The suit guy told me that, "The group was originally a eco-warrior group who mostly kept to themselves but would protest logging and maybe block roads into tracts of land that were to be legally logged.  Then they started "spiking" trees and committing arson, mostly burning equipment but then resorted to burning large tracts of land that were to be logged."

It all seemed so foreign to me.  Here was a guy who was as eco-friendly as you could get.  Why would he light the forest on fire when it was the forest and all of its critters that he was trying to protect?  The guy told me, "they don't want anyone to profit off of lumber sales, so they target lumber companies and the land that they intend to cut."

Well, that problem was out of my hands.  John and I talked about that for months.  One of the local cops came by and told me more about the group, that is original founders flew the coop once they became "radicalized".  He also mentioned the term "cult".

I think this is the first time I heard the term "radicalized cult" in the same sentence.  I wondered how groups like this found members.  I mean, this was a guy who went to work for Uncle Sam in the US Army and now he is out there ruining American lives and livelihoods.  

I hadn't thought of this in probably 25 years or more until the other day when a former friend asked me if I thought he was in a cult.  I hadn't done in-depth studies on cults and I also had not hung around this "friend" in many, many years.  I told him, "I don't know who you are running around with.  I don't know what you are doing.  If you exhibit certain behaviors on a consistent basis it could easily be assumed that you are in a cult."  My former friend called an end to the friendship right then and there.  No conversation, no explanation.  End of the friendship as I said, right then and there.

So I started thinking.  I know 3 people that were in cults.  The guy above who was lighting shit on fire and two other people who were in more of a "religious" cult.  I was much closer to one of the two individuals, so I spoke to that person about their time in the cult.  How they got recruited?  Where things went wrong... I mean these two people were "professional" people in good fields.  Smart people by every account and they too fell into this.  

Now, I need to know more.  The wife and I watched a documentary on a cult that was called "The Buddhafield".  I think it was on Netflix.  If you've got an hour and a half or so, I suggest watching it.  The story is so crazy!  I mean, "you can't make this shit up" kind of crazy and some very intelligent people fall into the cracks around these things.  It doesn't make sense to me.

Now, I am going to spend some time going down the rabbit hole of cultism and try to learn more.  I don't know where we go from here, but if you have information or personal stories about cults, I'd love to hear them.  You can catch me here easily, we can exchange email addresses and talk that way.

Please, be safe and be good to other people.  Hopefully we can all find comfortable land to stand on and do things together.

Hippy closing:  Peace! 

Times, they are a changing!

Howdy Fuckers!

I hope everyone is off to a great start today.  Things here at the ranch are about as good as they can be.  No fires in the immediate vicinity but I do have some tall pasture grass that I have to get knocked down this week before it catches fire.

I'm still trying to recover from shoulder surgery.  The good news is, my therapist did some awful PT witch craft shit to my arm, like nowhere near where the surgery took place and I'll be damned if the wing didn't have a positive reaction!  I'm tickled shitless.  This one has been a bitch of a recovery.  I'm probably getting a little cocky but I am going to ask Dr. Haas if I can get out and fish.

Anyhow, that ain't why I'm writing.  You never know when inspiration will strike.  Today it stuck me while looking at social media and checking emails.  I saw something that hit me a little different.

 

Look at this kid!  We don't even beat off like we used too back in the old days.  I mean, what in the hell went wrong with the old way.?  Good grief...  A little lubrication (or not if you're frisky and in a rush) and a little motivation and shazaam!  Way back in the day, the Sears Catalog was jerk fodder.

Not this guy.  Something went wrong way before he stuck his schnitzel in a god damned hornet hive!  This is not, nor can it be the normal progression of masturbation.  It just can't be!  Seriously, how do we go from regular masturbation to this?  No steps in between?  No barbed wire oven mitt with Crisco?  No hand full of crushed glass with hand sanitizer?  Straight to the hornet hive???  Come on, man.

Here's a guy so committed to his craft that he bypassed a partner.  Yeah, no having sex with a partner.  Straight to the hornet hive.  This act leads to a lot of questions.  Did you paint your pecker to look like a big bee?  Smear some honey on that thing?  Why a hornet hive and not an ant hill or something?

Look, man.  I believe we should all be allowed to do whatever we want in private as long as it doesn't harm anyone else.  I've never been an advocate for hornets.  I don't like them at all, but when I say "FUCK HORNETS",  this is not what I mean!

Here we are living in this crazy ass world.  As fucked up as it is, we laugh, joke or cry about our current state of affairs and this go getter comes up with "I'm going to hump a hornet hive."  It doesn't get any more fucked up or funny than that!  

So what's next for this kid?  No shit, where do you go from here?  You have to think that this kid has been through farm animals, midgets with a stutter, the dumpster at the truck stop.  

This kid is a minor.  His folks know about this.  His grandparents know about this.  His whole school, the whole town knows about this!  I don't think you come back from something like this.

Maybe the guy had a grudge against his genitals.  If you have male genitalia, take a quick look at it.  This is, without a doubt, one of the ugliest physical attributes on the planet.  You've got this messed up turkey neck accompanied by a couple of walnuts covered in chicken skin.  I don't like my genitals that much, but I don't hate them enough to stick them in a god damned hornet hive!  Can you dye your pubes or give it a perm?  For Christ's sake kid...  

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.