Unnoticed in Clever Worlds

The clearest description I have managed so far about my blog is that it is not about cats. In general, I find predators pretty predictable while prey on the other-hand, because they live in universes of anxiety, develop more textured personalities. I also have as a writer a deft hand when it comes to making matters worse, so of course , the already panicky are ready made for me. I will try to grow this blog into an assortment of laughs, because that is what my life has mostly taught me to do. I will use the famous people I have known to get your attention and then tell you small but many times wonderful things about them. I will never name the ones I say ugly things about but I hope you will guess who they are.

Month: June, 2014

Saving the planet is a luxury

I can understand leaving the Middle East. It is humiliating, but the exercise is over and we have lost. We have been at this for fifty years perhaps even since the very invention of the car.
In the end it was about oil, always only about oil. We figured, why not just use theirs, after all, the land is flat and the Arabs are stupid and greedy. So we paid a few Sultans and off we went. The people got poorer so they ran back to religion like people always do when they have nowhere else to turn.
What I don’t understand is why we are not now urgently gathering our own fuel. Why is it that our President is not protecting us? There is an oil pipeline from the North, there is fracking and there is nuclear.
There will be no environmentalists if our people become desperate. Saving the planet is a luxury, if we squander that, it really is over for the earth.

Democracies tilt away from common sense because voting evaporates the practical.

A Dagger in the Heart of Death

A child is the dagger you leave in the heart of death.

Girls and Tattoos

Tarrytown may vote to relieve an ordinance prohibiting the opening of a tattoo parlor near its Main Street. Because my daughter is safely in college, I have decided to come clean about tattoos and my experiences with them. Nellie wanted one very badly, and I refused to let her get it.
I had just fought a land war against her ear piercings that lasted two days longer than the resistance to Hitler’s blitzkrieg during The Battle of France in 1940. Both France and I left that struggle scarred and a little bewildered how we could have lost so quickly and utterly. Of course, in my defense, France lost its entire army and its sovereignty while I suffered the indignity of three holes in my daughter’s ears, but then again, I was a first-time father, and the French had been doing the same thing for centuries.
I also had my wife’s double-crossing treachery to deal with. She claimed to be in complete solidarity against these drillings, while at the same time shopping for earrings with my daughter at the Westchester Mall.
Nell’s crusade over a tattoo may have been just a high temperature, feverish misunderstanding. For all I really knew, she simply wanted a small, barely noticeable tattoo of “Dad” and that would have been difficult, ( although not improbable) to argue against. Nevertheless, from the first mention, I cast her request as a fifties remake of the movie “Godzilla,” where my daughter was played by a 75-foot Queequeg, the prophetically tattooed South Sea Islander from Moby Dick.
Being a dad is like being a boy with his girlfriend at an amusement park, he had better win that girl a stuffed animal if he wants true love. Saying to your child, “No,” is a show of strength she will understand, in time, as love. That her ears are drooping like a bloodhound’s from the weight of fake diamonds helps too.
I hope Tarrytown allows the tattoo parlor ( its owner is from Irvington, I think). Tattooing is an art, ( although I will never admit it publicly). A tattoo parlor kind of fits the Dodge City atmosphere of our neighbor in the wild northern frontiers. Few painters, ( except maybe portrait artists of royalty, who occasionally had their heads cut off) work under more pressure.
My wife is threatening to get one, a gold nugget and a shovel, here we go again.


I consider soccer flopping the Middle East Respiratory Syndrome (MERS) of sports. It is a spreading virus that is showing signs of entering my beloved NBA with its increase in 3 point shot falling down. I thought, wrongly it seems, that Black men were immune until very recently, (they being the last real men remaining on the planet),
This is a plague worse that Islamic terrorism. Although it may seem altogether too acid to suggest this early in the tournament but this flopping business actually began in Europe during the second world war. Certain unnamed countries , ( France etc) would quickly fall down and pretend to have been shot until the Nazis went away.Unknown

The Length of a Childhood

I guess the parents of the war protesters in the 1960”s, of which I was one, felt much the same way that I do now. I worry about what will come of my children’s country.
Vietnam taught most of us that government should not be trusted, but my aimless peers rushed into our universities as teachers with a different message, that America should be despised. Universities over the last forty years have prepared our children for very little, at a very high cost. They have become the playground of tenured, union controlled, self-inflated blowhards bent on stifling debate and protecting their negative indoctrinations. Our media and its journalistic failures are a direct outgrowth of this infection. The direction of our country and the weakness of our leaders is their fault.
We are nearly finished with two disastrous Presidencies, that will be 16 years, and it seems we are about to enter a third and perhaps a fourth with Mrs. Clinton. Mr. Bush and Mr. Obama simply did not deserve to hold this high office and neither does she. She is the least accomplished.
We did not need a Bush dynasty. That, in and of itself is a farce. We required a black President to help us get an awful taste out of our mouths left there by our own history, but his symbolism again, has come with a high price. He has been a very unsuccessful president.
It is absurd that a woman now has to be installed to make all women feel better. Women will feel better if their children are more secure and Hillary Clinton is simply not that woman. We will have had three unaccomplished two-term presidencies in a row if we are not more careful. That is 24 years, the length of a childhood.images (1)

A Peaceful Acquisition

I want this to be our century of peaceful acquisition. It is in the world’s best interest that America stretches itself uninterrupted from pole to pole. Humbled countries naturally want to be funded, like start-up companies, which need field capital to grow.
Immigrants coming from Mexico are visibly so distressed about where they live that we are morally obliged to seize their country for their protection. The paperwork to confiscate Mexican sovereignty would be half the size of the insurance forms required to have a routine colonoscopy.
If every country that spoke Spanish was instantly a part of us we could eliminate second language courses, as the newcomers would unsurprisingly teach us for free. Win, win I say. This is while not even mentioning the opportunity of sending our own over-educated jobless to Mexico to tend lawns and shrubbery.
None of the countries underneath us, until you run into Antarctica, are capable of even providing sufficient Wi-Fi hot spots to run their X Boxes so why do they need to have their own flags?
It may take until after the chaos and disgrace of the World Cup before Brazil, cheerfully sells itself to us for pennies on the dollar to be the seventy-fifth state. Not long afterwards, I expect all of South America will be clamoring to get their names on American stamps.
Hell, we won’t even bother telling the Canadians about the change, we can just issue a new currency and wait for the moose to fill them in. Naturally, they will blame it all on the French who will then, in terror, flee on mass to New York to offer poor service in exchange for great food.

Doomsday Eats FaceBook. Yipes!

I do not think many Americans are stupid. There are a few exceptions to this, like the people who pay by check in supermarket lines but otherwise our U.S. public is way savvier than is the remainder of the world. This is proven by any mimicry index you may choose to consult.
People are more susceptible to modern doomsday theories in the more aboriginal countries like Ghana and Great Britain because authentic terror worship is more the province of electrifying newspaper rags, Facebook and eating french fries wrapped in newspaper.
To be fair even in the U.S. the threat of a preemptive strike by an angry deity is present in a few people’s minds. Various Raptures, ending of days, eclipses and global warmings all have taken their toll on our panicky sweet spot, but the real difference between them and us is simple, we fashion that which frightens them because that is what we do, invent and create.

The Blinded eye

So a guy feels a lump between his eyes that starts getting larger every day. He heads over to his doctor and after a battery of tests the doctor calls him back to his office.
“ Well doc, what do you reckon is going on?” he asks.
The doctor answers, “ I am sorry to have to tell you this, but it seems you are growing a penis in the center of your forehead”.
The guy is overwhelmed by the terrible news and moans, ” Do you have any idea how big it will get? The doctor adds,” By its rate of growth I would guess about 10 inches long.”
The man cries when he hears this estimate, “How am I ever going to look at myself in a mirror again?”
The doctor pauses and says, “ Nothing to worry about on that account, the balls will probably cover your eyes”


Sympathy is our foulest trait

It takes gumption to show how happy you are. Standing toe to toe with some moaner who is demanding you feel wicked about the plight of some phantom sufferer, continents away and telling them to fuck off is a fantastic sensation.
I despise fake empathy. Most people don’t give a booger about the “convictions” they parade around with like dreary sermonizing, old drag queens.
American sympathy is our foulest trait. Our lives have become artificial performances put on day in and day out to verify our pointless compassions .
We have been made afraid to enjoy our lives.

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