Rock Accountant

Month: November, 2020

Wives and the Return to Bodice Ripping

My wife and I have substituted the daily relationships we had with our now college rooted children with a revivifying blend of Netflix, Amazon Prime, and a splash of HBO and Showtime.

We are revisiting our initial dating patterns from now long ago without any of the thoughtful incorporation of each other’s feelings. If viewed from a distance and with a cold eye, our marriage is now dependant on how rapidly a new season of our favorite programs come available.

As a fatalist, I constantly fret that Hollywood will not keep pace with our romantic hybrid. My ever-optimistic wife concerns herself only with “which” and never “if” new shows will come along,

By the time we had finished “Game of Thrones,” I had bought a long-handled, two-headed ax and had our dog scared shitless that I was coming for him. I had also knitted a flattering hair shirt. My wife had chained our cat in the basement for random and destructive fire-breathing , ( it incinerated the parakeet).

The twenty-three-year run of “Breaking Bad” provided three extensions to our house from the windfalls from my sale of bright blue methamphetamine to my now high strung neighbors.

This month we are watching “The Tudors”, so I am guessing it won’t be long before I take on a couple of new wives and spend my days ripping bodices.

Why We Still Call Them Bodice Rippers - Racked

Women masquerading as Steelers fan

The life of a woman consists of one adventure which can be multiplied by coupling with one or more men. This product, in and of itself remains essentially unvarying except for the occasional very unexceptional children or, perish the thought, dangerous ones.

All else is filled with chatter and worry. The life of the man is an continuous exploration for avenues to be competitive without killing or being killed prematurely each other.

This only applies to men who are Steeler fans. All other men are actually women.

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Ducks on LSD

Always that same LSD story, you’ve all seen it. ‘Young man on acid thought he could fly, jumped out of a building. What a tragedy.’ What a dick! Fuck him, he’s an idiot. If he thought he could fly, why didn’t he take off on the ground first? Check it out. You don’t see ducks lined up to catch elevators to fly south—they fly from the ground, ya moron, quit ruining it for everybody. He’s a moron, he’s dead—good, we lost a moron, fuckin’ celebrate. Wow, I just felt the world get lighter. We lost a moron! I don’t mean to sound cold, or cruel, or vicious, but I am, so that’s the way it comes out. Professional help is being sought. How about a positive LSD story? Wouldn’t that be news-worthy, just the once? To base your decision on information rather than scare tactics and superstition and lies? I think it would be news-worthy. ‘Today, a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration. That we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively. There is no such thing as death, life is only a dream and we’re the imagination of ourselves’ . . . ‘Here’s Tom with the weather.’”- Bill Hicks

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Rock’s Greatest Manager

Bill Curbishley, on the right, is the manager of The Who. If he had chosen to, he could have managed The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, and Lynyrd Skynyrd as well. He quietly changed the live music touring business, but what he enjoyed most was robbing deli’s with me on off days.

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From Out of a Box

How can a photograph be art when it is confined by randomness?

A song comes out of nothing. A painting is as much the hand on the brush as it is anything that is or has been ever “there”. Movies manipulate atmospheres and the medium simultaneously. But th

A camera’s image becomes art only when interpreted in the aftermath. Are photographers more critics than artists?Could it be that there are no artists at all, only reviewers?

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Taylor Swift and Pete Townshend

Taylor Swift savages boyfriends who cross her. There is a hazard to getting close to such a girl.
In vague comparison, if you fucked over Pete Townshend, it was time to renew your passport and run.
I listened to his music long before I knew him. When I was in college, I wouldn’t have been able to name the band individually. It just wasn’t something I was concerned with, and I don’t think this was at all uncommon. They were simply The Who and maybe my favorite band.
The hardest band to remember their names were Lynryd Skynyrd. I had to practice so much I got blocks. It is why I only got to know Ronnie well.

“Can I have a word?” Townshend says to me by the hotel phone around midday.
Like some rare birds, he was an uncommon sight until late afternoon at sound checks. It was not a settling experience to talk to him one on one before then. For me, at first, it was a reasonable cause for dread. He made me uneasy. It took years to work that shit out.
Bill, Jackie, and I were having a laugh in a hotel room working out a logo/poster for the upcoming Canadian leg of a Who tour when his call came.
Canada is big and mostly settled by moose. So far, because the shows started in Montreal, we had a drawing of a giant green frog, with a chunk of Canadian​ bacon in its​ mouth, hopping on each city they would play. The amphibian was wearing a Royal Canadian Mounted Police uniform, and he had a beaver under each arm. The bacon was my touch because I grew up eating it. I thought of it as an example of my favorite form of art, topical and bursting with ridicule.
But that phone call dampened me, so I headed down to his room.
He did not look well. He had his tea. He could remind me of a bloodhound waiting for a proctology examination. I expected the worse because I had passed his security guy in the hallway, and he barely recognized me.

” Did you give me money last night?” he said without really looking up. I got the feeling that if I lied, he would be pleased.”
Yes,” I said.
“How much?” He actually​ groaned when I told him.
“Fuck,” was all he said
“Who was here?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter. I must have passed out.” He seemed to sigh, but he might have been still gasping in shock.
“Want me to put Jim on it?” I said.
“No, it’s gone, thanks.”
And I left.

Joyster & Friends: Monika Schaefer – True North Strong & Free? (12-15-16) –  Renegade Broadcasting

My Career

My career incorporated moving each day from one bunch of people to another. The populations of these audiences ranged from 250 to 150,000 individuals. In each instance, almost all of them wished they were me. That never helped.

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Until just the other day

If I was a homosexual male, until just the other day, there was nowhere safe to go except into the Catholic Church. The one place where I was hated the most.

The God Squad: The Next Generation of Catholic Priests | Time

Scout Law: A Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent.

There was sexual abuse in The Boy Scouts. Let’s destroy the Boy Scouts.

There was sexual abuse in the Catholic Church. Let us destroy the Catholic Church.

There are sexual abuses by men in history. Let’s destroy even innocent men.

Everyone else is pure. So sayeth the liars.

Boy Scout Handbook: Boy Scouts of America: Amazon.com: Books

The Weather of my childhood

The weather of my childhood was sometimes a surprise.The news accompanied the weather and was, minus the forecast, twenty-nine minutes long. If you missed any of it, it would arrive anyway. No one felt ill-equipped to handle what came.The evening news was very serious. It was delivered by somber, just shaven guys who you suspected of bad cologne. They were not going to take any bullshit from the viewing audience. It was what you needed to know. They gave you the facts then pushed you out the door like they had other matters to attend to. It had to be done because the viewing audience were sheep that wandered inconsequentially.No one in my generation grew up with an opinion. We didn’t feel like we lacked one though. Maybe it was because ideas weren’t practical.It followed reasonably that if we did not care to view ourselves as indispensable to the national photograph, why fret about what the neighbors were thinking? Every person in America at that time thought their neighbors were stupid. Now we believe them dangerous.

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