Sunday, December 21, 2014

They Chanted For Dead Cops. They Got Dead Cops. Is This The New World?

Officer Wenjien Lu told his bride of just two months he would see her for dinner.  Office Rafael Ramos said good bye to his 13 year old son yesterday morning when he left for work.  Ismaaiyl Brinsley woke up in his apartment in Baltimore, shot his girlfriend and drove to Brooklyn to make history.  This would be the final morning for all three.

Per his post on Instagram, hashtagging Eric Garner and Michael Brown, Brinsley promised to put "wings on pigs today."  At 2:45 pm, this twisted muthafukka walked up to a cruiser in the Bedford-Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn and opened fire on Lu and Ramos, who were working overtime on a anti-terrorism drill , shooting them both in the head and killing them.  Because they were cops.  Because they were wearing the uniform.  This fukkin' coward then fled on foot and shot himself in the head on the subway platform as police closed in.


After the shootings, moments before taking his own life, he took the time to take a picture of his bloodied pants and sneakers and posted them on Instagram as well.  



Is this going to be the norm?  Are people going to take up their own fukkin' jihad against police like radical Muslim suicide bombers?  And do not tell me that Brinsley is not representative of a larger group, that he was a lone wolf attacker.  His Instagram post vowing to take down two cops got over 200 likes!  Take some time and read through Twitter, Facebook and the comment sections of legit news media sites covering this story.  Some dickhead rapper named The Game tweeted to the dead officers... "Guess y'all can't breather either."  If you really want to lose your lunch, read this:  Social media erupts in celebration of the dead officers.

I am big on personal responsibility.  So in the end, while the blame falls squarely on the asshole who dealt out his own twisted sense of justice yesterday, there are others who also shall shoulder responsibility for this tragedy. Al Sharpton, Eric Holder and the rest of the baiters who loudly made this a divisive race issue have played a role here.  And to the leaders of those protests (That's YOU Al Sharpton) last week in NYC who were chanting "What do we want?" "Dead Cops" - THIS IS ALSO ON YOU, you muthafukkas!  It is also on Sharpton, Holder, President Obama and NYC Mayor Bill de Basio who failed to publicly denounce those chants and rather fueled the racism fires.  Shit, Barry O and Michelle were on television last week telling their of their personal experiences with racism.  Um, Micky... if someone asks you to reach for something on a shelf at Target, it is not because you are black and should be doing things when told - it's because you are tall.  But you go right ahead and make it a story of personal tragedy and woe, you pompous bitch.

Oh... no worries.  These Johnny Come Latelys were talking yesterday.  Obama condemned the murders.  In his official statement, Holder called for "forging closer bonds between officers and the communities they serve."  He said, "Our nation must always honor the valor..."   Where the fuk was that sentiment when, instead of supporting the indisputable evidence in the Brown shooting, he launched a Justice Department investigation of unconstitutional policing patterns of the Ferguson Police Department.  Sharpton also issued a statement.  He said he has been in touch with the Brown and Garner families and, according to Reverend Fuckbag, "they are outraged" because Brinsley used their names to justify his act?  Really??  THEY are outraged??  Hey Al.. have you reached out to the Lu or Ramos family??

Al Sharpton has fueled this once perceived, now real, war between blacks and police.  He does not see facts... he only sees color.  But let's not make the mistake that yesterday's assassination was about race.  It was a culmination of weeks of national demonizing of police officers, violent protests and Al Sharpton bullshit.  Here's what Sharpton will ignore:

Over the past 15 years, crime data shows that 62% of people killed by police were white while 34% were black.  In 2012, police killed 426 people.  Of those 426 deaths, 267 were white (63%) and 128 (30%) were black.  These numbers are from the Uniform Crime Reporting Program at the University of Michigan.  They were compiled by Peter Moskos, an associate professor in the Dept. of Law at John Jay College of Criminal Justice and a former Baltimore police officer.  While the numbers show that police kill more white people than black people, the counter argument here uses race and population percentages.  Since the United States is 63% white and 12% black, it would seem that the numbers of blacks killed by police is not representative of the population and therefore, according to Sharpton and his flock, cops are killing too many blacks.

That would be true if the racial makeup of violent criminals was reflective of the racial makeup of the country.  However, FBI data shows that in 2012, there were 402,470 arrests made for violent crimes (murder, forcible rape, robbery, aggravated assault) in the United States.  Of those arrests, 236,394 (58%) were whites while 155,088 (38%) involved blacks.  It stands to reason that shootings involving law enforcement officers are directly related to violent crime incidents.  So when we look again at the 2012 numbers of people killed by police, the percentages ARE IN FACT REFLECTIVE of society and who is having violent run-ins with the police.  In 2012, 63% of people killed by police were white, aligning with the arrest numbers that say 58% of violent criminals were white.  Simply stated, police are not targeting color.  They are targeting criminals.  Which is kinda their job, FAHCHRISSAKE!!!

Heartfelt thoughts go out to the families of Officer Lu and Officer Ramos.  This is the Facebook post from Jaden Ramos, Officer Ramos' 13 year old son.


Sunday, July 6, 2014

The Supreme Court Assaults Women, Says Obama

On Monday, June 30th, the Supreme Court issued a decision that removed a woman's right to own a uterus, took away her right to breathe and told her to get back in the kitchen and make some gawdam pie.  Well, at least that's what the libbies will have you believe if you read anything on social media or listen to the Obama News Network.

In brief, the nation's highest court ruled on a case involving the, ahem, Affordable Care Act and its mandate that employers provide health insurance coverage for all 20 contraceptive methods currently approved by the FDA, at no cost to the employee.  4 of those 20 approved methods work by preventing an already fertilized egg from developing any further by inhibiting its attachment to the uterus (yep, I even did some studying of this shit).  Three closely held for-profit organizations, led by Hobby Lobby, Inc., appealed this mandate all the way to the Supreme Court, on the basis that these forms of contraception (i.e. the ones deemed to be life-terminating drugs such as Plan B, Ella and the IUD) are in stark contrast with their long standing, religious values and that it substantially burdened their religious beliefs, a violation of the Religious Freedom Restoration Act.  The black robes ruled in favor of Hobby Lobby, et al, and on the side of the Religious Freedome Restoration Act, by a 5-4 vote and sent the pro-choicers into a dither.

The liberals have gone to Twitter and Facebook attacking Hobby Lobby, the Supreme Court and probably George W. Bush.   Not surprisingly, these protesters have done zero research and have turned this decision into a strike against womens' rights.  The Huffington Post did their part in amping up the debate by running a story about how Hobby Lobby does cover Viagara and vasectomies.  HYPOCRITES, they yell!   Of course, they have not done any other reading and have no idea that Hobby Lobby covers the other 16 forms of contraception, including every commonly used birth control pill, at no cost to their employees.

Hobby Lobby is a family run organization, founded by David Green in his garage in Oklahoma and whose mission is forged in his family's love of God and strength of family.  The first line of their mission statement is "We are committed to honoring the Lord in all we do by operating the company in a manner consistent with biblical principles."   If you read this blog regularly, you know I am no Bible thumper and I am not even sure about the Lord.  So this is not about religion to me.  Hobby Lobby and the Green family also strive to nurture and strengthen families.  Their policies are perhaps some of the most family friendly policies of any company.  They are only open 66 hours a week and are closed on Sundays because they believe their employees need time to spend with their families.  Their full-time employees START at a pay rate 90% above federal minimum wage.  This company takes care of their employees.  So to jump ugly with Hobby Lobby because they are holding strong to their religious convictions is irresponsible and quite frankly, short sighted.

Can you imagine if our President and Congress wrote a law that mandates Muslim owned companies to provide for something that violates their Qur'an?  Like say, a sex change operation??  Or removes prayer from the work place??  Holy not a chance in hell!!  The double standard is alive and well... Christianity is the only religion that can safely be dumped on without fear of political backlash.  

And the anger around this decision is not just held for Hobby Lobby.  This particular image is making its way around the web...


I'm not sure exactly how the Plan B or Ella drug regulates a cycle, eases painful cramps or decreases risk of cancer.  Or how an IUD protects against anemia.  Pretty sure condoms go a long way in preventing sexually transmitted disease and unwanted pregnancies.  But I don't expect my boss to supply me with a case of Trojans.  Hell, Metamucil regulates my movements and Kentucky Fried Chicken makes me happy, but my boss won't pay for that either.

Senate Majority Dink, Harry Reid, said, "It's time that five men on the Supreme Court stop deciding what happens to women."  President Obama labeled the decision an "assault on women" and vowed to make it an issue in the November elections.  Make what an issue?

Then there's this girl:

She posed for this picture in front of a Hobby Lobby in her Pro Life shirt holding a Chik-Fil-A cup.  Obviously her goal was to take a shot at the lefties whining about the SCOTUS decision.  Sorry.. but kinda funny.  She posted it on her Instagram and her Twitter page and immediately started receiving hateful tweets and responses.  This is Holly Fisher.  She came to national spotlight when she tweeted in mid-June that she lost her baby's pediatric cardiologist because of Obamacare.  At that time, she endured crazy ass liberal attacks, including one tweet that said "Good.  One less conservative underling to worry about."

So now she's back and getting even more hate than before.  Responses to this latest picture:  "If I were there, I would've shoved that soda down her throat.  That's 1 life not needed"  and "How to make yourself look like a homophobic radical douche."   She is being called a fat bitch, a cunt, a whore.  The same people whining about the Supreme Court's alleged war on women are resorting to this kind of hate.  Awesome when a leopard shows his spots.


This week's Supreme Court decision does not take away any rights from women.  Women will ALWAYS and FOREVER have the right to leave a company that does not pay for what they want or even need and go work for a company that will.  Insurance companies are constantly expanding their lists of shit they will no longer cover.  But they are not violating our rights!  We either suck it up and pay the higher cost, get a cheaper generic drug or find another insurance plan that meets our needs.  If a cashier at Hobby Lobby wants to pop a pill after railing some dude in the back seat of her Camry, then she has to buy that shit herself.   Or she can also exercise her right to, oh I don't know, not have sex.   But something tells me that it's not the Holly Hobby employees (whose rights are allegedly being assaulted) who are complaining.  It's everyone else with a Pelosi in their pants for the ACA.

Friday, July 4, 2014

Making Sense of the Declaration of Independence

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. 

Those are the first few paragraphs of the Declaration of Independence, as written and signed by our founding fathers in Philadelphia some 238 years ago.  But there ain't no Shakespeares or Colonists amongst us, so I thought I would do my best to translate from the King's English into realspeak.  Here goes:

When, in the Course of the tea-sippers pissing us off, it becomes necessary to drop our pantaloons in the direction of King Georgie and tell him we are all fahkin' done with his taxes and tariffs and ugly queens, and it has become time for us to make our own kickass country with our own kind of football and without the stupid accent, because the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God say so.  And it is only a matter of respect that we write down the reasons we are kicking them to the curb and declare our independence on a piece of paper and get a bunch of drunks in powdered wigs to sign.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that, except for Tom Brady and Kenyans born in Hawaii, all men are created equal.  And while all men are CREATED equal, they do not STAY equal.  Because some men work their asses off, get bigger houses and hotter women while other men sit around on the stoop wanting someone else to do their shit for them.  And let's face it... some men don't even get created equally.  If ALL MEN were created equal, then how do you explain Lyle Lovett, fahchrissake?  That poor bastid was created with an ugly stick up his ass.  When he looks in the mirror, do you think he believes in self-evident truths?  But to his credit, he worked hard, became successful and spent a couple of years banging Julia Roberts.

That they are endowed with unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, bacon bits, squeezable cheese and the pursuit of cold beer and women in yoga pants.  -- That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, unless of course the President does not get his own way in which the consent of the governed be damned, ala King George.  -- That whenever any form of Government cannot get out of it's own fukkin way because they are a big collection of douche canoes, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, i.e. to vote those fukkers right out of office if ya have the balls to do it.

....Later on in the DofI, it reads:
 "But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security."

Take that as you will... but ya might apply that same sentence to, oh I don't know, a President who threatens to bypass Congress at any step and force his will upon our laws.  Ya know anyone like that?


Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Podunk's Last Will And Testicles....

They say that we should put our final intentions in writing.  And what is more legal and binding than a fukkin' Blogspot entry??   Huh??   Nuthing, that's what!  All that being said, and understanding that I am in better than perfect health and the only place I plan on going anytime soon is the far side of the bar at the Tilted Kilt for a frosty glass, here goes.......

I hereby revoke all wills and testamentary dispositions of every nature and kind whatsoever by me hereto before made.  Let it be known for hereto whatever and such bequesting bullshit that the following is pretty much how shit is gonna go down when the time comes.

Do NOT dress me up in a suit or lay my bald head on a fancy fukkin' pillow!  Do not surround me with flowers that smell like ass and do not roll me down the aisle of some brick building singing hymns that make people think of their grandparents.  As I like to say, "Fahk all that shit!"

Don't get me wrong... I wanna be laid out for all to see so that you bullshitters can stand around talking about how gawdam awesome I look dead.  Just don't be praying over me... I'm already friggin' gone fahchrisake, toes to the sky and stiffer than a morning boner.  By that time, I'll already be boot scuffin' in some purgatory honky tonk with Hank, Waylon and Johnny (and Kenny Rogers' original face), sippin' shine and tossing back shots of Jim.  Listen, when I'm dead, I'm doing some fukkin' shots!!

Walt Disney is frozen and Jesus says he's coming back.  Joe Diffie wants to be propped up by the jukebox.  Tanya Tucker wants to go to Texas and Bocephus wants to go to Dixie.  Tim Finnegan gets a barrel of whiskey at his feet and Willie Nelson wants to be rolled up and smoked.  Blood, Sweat and Tears said to bundle up the coffin cuz it's cold way down there.  Yeah, it's crazy cold way down there.  And Norman Greenbaum - that freak wants to go see some spirit in the sky.  Me?  Stretch my dead ass out on a picnic table in my backyard with my "Life Is Too Short To Ride With Ugly Chicks" t-shirt and a pair of Levis 560s slung just below the beer belly to show off the pleasure trail - that's right!  Don't you dare think about wrapping some prayin' beads around my hands either!!  Tuck my left hand in my jeans and extend my right index finger toward the crowd with a Pull This sign.  Hey, might as well see if it works when we're dead.  No kneeler by my body either.  I don't need people making any sign of the cross or touching my cold hands.  That's fukkin gross!  Nope, all I ask for ladies is a quick show of yer boobies as you pass by.  No worries if age has gotten the best of you and gravity forces them to drop and hit me in the nose.  I'll ride that motorboat right into wherever I am going.  And dudes... a Harley wave will do just fine, thank you.

Embalm me in sunscreen 50 cuz I hear it's hot down there.  Fill the washer machine with PBRs, fire up the deep fryer and have a gawdam cookout please!  Do NOT have a funeral in a church!  If you dare bring me into one of those empty stone buildings with rules on the wall, a bird bath at the entrance and a guy in a robe pretending to be closer to God than everyone else, I will haunt your asses until the end of time.  If ya feel better having some kinda funeral, then find an outdoor bar with cans of beer on ice and a band playing Copperhead Road.  Party your asses off, sing loud and dance like a white guy - ya know, no rhythm and biting your bottom lip while doing the Cupid Shuffle.  It's how I would want it.



And when the party is ovah... cremate the bejeezus out of me.  No need to spend any money on a 6 foot hole or a piece of marble that some dickhead teenagah drunk on Twisted Teas is just gonna kick ovah anyway.  Nope, cook me up on high and fill up three brown paper lunch bags with my ashes.  I want someone to take the first bag and bring it down to Garden City in South Carolina during spring bike week.  I want those ashes spread out along Atlantic Ave directly in front of the 10 state troopahs who are diddling their balls watching bikers party at the Causeway.  Bag #2 shall be taken up in a small prop plane over H-town and scattered all over the fukkin' place.  Cuz dead is the ONLY way I will ever go sky diving.  And lastly, Bag #3 shall be set aside for one year.  When the time is right, there will be a Friday night church service at the First Church of the Blessed Excrement, aka Holy Shit, I'm At Church, where I Ash Friday to be an annual ritual held in my honor.  That's where Sister Emma will use my ashes to draw a dick on your forehead.  Cuz a dickhead is always funny.

As far as what I'm leaving behind... don't touch my shit.  Redistribution of wealth, as little as it may be, is a Democrat trick.  And I ain't no jackass!

Y'all and yunz and yous guys got it?  Good!

Friday, June 20, 2014

Laconia 2014 - Is That A Blue Sky?

I love bike rallies.  It's enjoying good weather, pissa music, cold beer and meeting all kinds of people who have one thing in common... and that's a hahd on for two wheels.  The world's oldest motorcycle rally takes place pretty much in my backyard.  An hour up 93, along the scenic roads in and around Lake Winnapa I ain't spellin it, Laconia has been going on for 91 years.  But it has transformed from the Laconia Motorcycle Rally into the Laconia Better Find An ATM Rally, aka Money Week.


The Great Gypsy Tour has become nothing but price gouging bullshit with a hefty helping of po-po at every turn.  We popped into Laconia Harley Davidson on Saturday to check out Project Mess, a local band who had won a Facebook fan vote in New Hampshire's Battle of the Bands.  They were awesome as always.. but when the dopey chick with a muffin top spilling over her boy shorts told us $6 for a can of fukkin' beer, we knew we were at Laconia.  It's $5 to park your bike anywhere.  In years past, we could park our scoots at the Naswa free of chahge!  Not this year... fukkin' money grabbers took $5 a bike.  Add in afternoon cover charges at the Roadhouse, and $5 ATM fees at the machines set up throughout and you have just been nickeled and dimed up the poop hoop!!

If ya wanna stay in a 2 room condo 5 miles from the rally, that will run ya about $2200.  By contrast, we stay in a house in Garden City for the Myrtle Beach Bike Week, 50 yards from the beach and 1 mile either direction from the busiest rally spots.  The house sleeps 12 and provides for under cover parking of your bike.  And it costs $1200 for the week!!   Along with the $2 beers and forever free parking, Myrtle has it all over Laconia.

All that being said, yesterday was a perfect day at the Weirs!  And I mean perfect.  No rain this year.  And more bikers than I have seen in years.  Old friends and new friends and ice cold beers made for a fanfukkintastic day.  Spent an hour or two at the Roadhouse watching Hazzard County...  a country music party band that played all the dirt road tailgate cold beer painted on jeans songs that are huge on fake country radio.  And while I shit on that style of "country" - I cannot deny that it is fun fukkin' music when the sun is shining and the foots are stompin!!  HC just does it right!  Now if they can just play some Johnny Cash in their high energy, rockin' style, they'd be perfect!

 

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Happy Birthday Gecca!

20 YEARS!   Good Christ!  Her brother was 18 months old.  Her daddy had hair.  Satellite TV was one day old.  The engine in OJ's Bronco was still warm and nobody had ever heard of Kato Kaelin.  But here she came... with friggin' bells on and a pair of eyes that said, "Daddy, you gonna go grey way sooner than you thought."

Her brother tried to call her by name, but it only came out as "Gecca."  Her grandfather called her "Princess" and her aunt still calls her "the girl."  At different times in her life, she has been Matilda, Blondie and Jundies.  Oh, and many times she has been "JESSICA DIANE!"  To me, she is still "Baby Girl"...  9 parts awesomeness and 1 part pain in my gawdam ass!



In just 20 years, she's been a gymnast, a cheerleader, a skier, a runner, a basketball player and mostly a softball player.  She has never played soccer, thank God, and has never sold a single Girl Scout cookie.  From pig tails to Jamaican braids to pony tails, from earrings to navel rings, from face paint to side tattoos, Baby Girl is kinda all growed up now.


Her teenage years are in the books!  Her twenties are coming up.  Holy shit!!  Happy Birthday Baby Girl!!





Sunday, June 15, 2014

Happy Faahthahz Day, Ya Assholes!

The cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man on the moon.  

What the fuk was Harry Chapin talking about?  What is the fukkin' cat doing in the cradle with a silver spoon???  And what on earth does it have to do with fathers?  How about something that makes sense when not trippin' on happy shrooms... like, the kid's in the cradle and Dad's in a trance, awake all night with shit in his pants.     See how I leave you guessing... is it the kid or Dad who has shit in his pants?  Holy Jeezus...I'm like Burt fahkin' Bacharach.  

Just a big HEY NOW to the dads out there waking up to breakfast in bed or a 9 am tee time or a finger painted card that looks like a crayon box puked on some construction paper!  It's our day, boys!  So set yer hard workin' ass down, sip that coffee and give the nads a healthy scratch!  Today, you own the remote and the fridge.  Today, you are a Profile Pic and a George Strait song.  You are a hero and an inspiration.  Today, your kids thank you for the leather belt to the ass because it made them a better person.  Today, you are the shit!  Enjoy it... because tomorrow, you gotta go back to work and get pissed on by your boss.




Friday, June 6, 2014

June 6th, 1944: Nothing Less Than Full Victory



"Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force! You are about to embark upon a great crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty loving people everywhere march with you. In company with our brave Allies and brothers in arms on other fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free world. Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well equipped and battle hardened, he will fight savagely. 

But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great defeats, in open battle, man to man. Our air offensive has seriously reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on the ground. Our home fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority in weapons and munitions of war, and placed at our disposal great reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men of the world are marching together to victory! I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less than full victory! 

Good Luck! And let us all beseech the blessings of Almighty God upon this great and noble undertaking." 
-- Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower

Many of us have never served, have never given up our time and families and our way of life to defend our country and ensure our freedoms.  But we say we understand.  We know that the reason we lay our heads down at night under the blanket of freedom is because, from Lexington Green to the sands of Iraq, brave men and women have paid the ultimate price out of love for their country.  Many of us take the time to thank a soldier, a Marine, a sailor, an airman when we have the opportunity.  We put yellow ribbons on our cars.  We change our cover photos and profile pictures.  We give $5 to Wounded Warriors Project.  We cry during the National Anthem and we bang on the bar top during Toby Keith songs.

But do we understand??  Do you really understand??  Do you know that on this day, 70 years ago, 73,000 American men from Infantry and Airborne divisions landed along the coastline of France to fight the entrenched German Nazis.  13,000 men from the 82nd and 101st Airborne dropped in from airplanes inland from the beaches among machine gun fire from the ground.  23,250 Infantry landed on Utah Beach while 34,250 Infantry came ashore on Omaha Beach under heavy German fire from the cliffs above.  They did not turn and run.  They pushed!  They had an objective and they would achieve it, at all costs.  Most recent data shows that 2,499 Americans died that day.  Many of them would not have even been there had they not lied about their age just so that they could serve their country.

Today is not just about remembering one invasion.  It's about one invasion representing the level of bravery, courage and sacrifice our military men and women own each and every day.

Thursday, May 29, 2014

Aw Dammit! Now Where Did I Park That Bandwagon?

The Stanley Cup is still the best frikkin' show in professional sports, even sans Beez.  But alas, it is time to turn our attention to the turd pie that is the 2014 Red Sawx.  The bandwagon was last seen in Tampa, parked outside the Trop, up on blocks with Clay Buchholz' tampon hanging from the bumpah!  


But hold on... the boys have just taken three straight from the Braves.  The 2004 Idiots were at the ball yahd last night and John Muthafukkin Lackey is now the ace!!  Someone put the wheels back on that bandwagon and ship it up to Boston.  Cuz Lil Dusty has shaved his face and the boys are on a roll!  But let's leave the frontrunnin' bullshit for another day.  We gotta spend today celebrating the Idiots and dumpin' on the Ugly Duckling.

I've come to the point where I could give a bag of shit if Silly Putty Buchholz ever returns to the mound - just get da fuk outta here, girl!  This sumbitch is about the sorriest excuse for a professional athlete that I have seen.  The fukkin' guy pitched three in 84 degrees and lost SEVEN POUNDS???  He claimed he got winded running to first base after a single in the third inning and used THAT as an excuse for giving up 3 runs in the third and 3 more in the fourth before gettin' the hook.  He walked EIGHT batters in three innings.  And he blamed the heat.  This fukker grew up in Texas, fahchrissake!  The Lone Star State ought to revoke his fukkin' birth certificate and exile his bitch ass to the Isle of Vajayjay.  And now he's on the 15 day DL, which in Clay-speak means he may be back by the 2015 All Star break.  Whatevah... just stay away lady!  

On the opposite end of the pussy to manbeast scale from Buchholz sits Lackey with a set of balls that makes Clay's nads look like they should be hanging between a gnat's legs.  The dude is just friggin' bringing it every gawdam night and has done so since last summah!  Last night, JMFL hiked up his drawers, stared at the likes of Pedro and Schill and DLowe and dealed a pissa performance.  "Idiot this, bitches!"  In his 12 starts so far, JMFL has given up two runs or LESS in 8 of them.  

I missed the start of last night's game... kinda pissed that I forgot to tune in.  The Sawx welcomed back 30 members of the 2004 Idiots...  the team that dug up the damn Bambino and drilled him in the ass... to celebrate the 10th anniversary of that championship.  And fuk if we were not reminded that this was the most fun gawdam group of guys we had ever seen.  Shit, they make the beards look like child's play.  Long hair, bloody socks, bathroom breaks and shots of Jack... this team will forever be my favorite group of rose hosers.  And does anyone think that Kevin Millar has ever come down from that high?  I don't!  Loved his booth conversation with Pyscho and DO...  dude's just havin' a ball and callin' his buddies fat!  Awesome!!  And now it seems Manny has found God and Varitek has found the buffet.  And Papi is still raking!    

Monday, May 26, 2014

So Ya Wanna Make A Country Record? Better Get A Truck!

These days, if yer a dude and yer dream is to kiss those sellout asses on Music Row and open up for country music legends like Dirks Bentley or Carrie Underwood, then all ya gotta do is follow a certain formula.  It makes no difference if you rap, croon or twang - if ya sing about jacked up trucks, ice cold beer and painted on jeans, then you, my Rascal Flatts wannabe buddy, will be famous.  Don't forget the ballcap, wallet chain and the aviators too.....   fukkers.

Where is all the gawdam creativity?  The lonesome whipporwhills?  The cheatin' women?  The midnight trains?  The hell mama raised?  Is it all gone?  YUP!  Seems so.  It's not like it's a bad thing to sing about trucks, beers and fine country asses.  Don't get me wrong... the overall theme is pretty pissa!  Cuz there IS something about a truck in a field with girl in a red sundress with an ice cold beer to her lips beggin' for another kiss.  It's just that EVERY FUKKIN HIT in 2013 had the same fukkin' ingredients.  Dropped tailgates, dirt roads and moonlit skinny dippin'.  

I long for the days when country music was deep, poignant, meaningful.  Songs delivered messages like "never name your boy Sue" and "wooden Indians never get a kiss" and "hey good lookin', whatcha got cookin'?"   I'm talkin steel guitar, stand up bass, paint brush snare and lyrics that shaped a generation.  If it were not for country music, would we ever know that the only two things in life that make it worth living are guitars tuned good and firm feeling women?  And I don't think I ever would have heard of places like Butcher Holler or Wolverton Mountain or Folsom Prison.  

Country music critic Grady Smith took the time to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that every country music hit last year was exactly the same... one part truck, one part girl, 12 parts beer mixed together in a crick bed off a dirt road.   YAWN...

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Myrtle Beach Spring Rally, 2014: More Fukked Up Than A ... never mind.

Podunk, Bubba Squared, Cletus and Opie
Seafood Bob walked up to us outside the Causeway Grill and Raw Bar at about midnight on the last night of bike week and immediately recognized us as "yankees."  He said he was from Baltimore and started yakkin' on about muscle cars, sea scallops and flip phones.  We had no idea why he chose us or what the fuk he was talking about.  Ya see, Seafood Bob was kinda tall, loud and completely fukkin' shitfaced.  I knew this because of my unique knack for the obvious.  It was not only by the slur in his speech or the sway in his stance, but by the piss stain on his jeans, that, by the way, ol' Seafood insisted was Crown Royal his friend dumped all over his balls.  Ya see, that is the beauty of bike week, and the Spring Rally held south of Myrtle Beach every May in particular... ya meet the durndest of people.  And it's always fun.  Seafood Bob was not just a shadoobied biker with a lame phone and a weak bladder - naw, he was a wise man quick to offer insight like he was some kinda drunken Confucius - he enlightened this group of Granite Staters that choppers were like afros - First they're in, then they're out, then they're in and then they're out again.


The Spring Rally is alive and well, muthafukkas!  The crowds are returning to the numbers of years gone by.  The beers are still a couple o' bucks and the weather is still just about fahkin' perfect!  Laconia sucks balls compared to Myrtle Beach!  While every other day was sunny and 80, we did get pissed on for most of the day Thursday.  But the skies cleared in time for the Kentucky Headhunters to take the stage at Spokes and Bones later that night.  Not many places in this world can one stand under a tin roof at a free concert, drinking $2 beers while a Grammy award winning band plays Dumas Walker and a nearly nekkid blonde swings upside down from a hoop suspended from the roof, all the while Local Red & White shows up lookin' for some sorry ass who must have done somebody wrong!  I FUKKIN LOVE THIS WEEK!


The week stahted off with a 16 hour pull from the 603 southbound on 95 to South Cackalacky with Opie and me splittin' the drivin'/sleepin' doodies while fukkin' Cletus took a 2 hour plane ride the next day.  Yeah, we trailered.  I ain't ever gonna get one of them "I RODE MINE" stickers.  Cuz it turns out, ya don't really get extra credit at the rally for any of that bullshit.  Oooh, wow... real bikers ride theirs.  FUK THAT!  I'm riding when I get there.  I ain't spending the week dusting my cornhole with Gold Bond and nursing a sore back.  It's kinda like those moms who insist on natural child birth because it's something they can say that they did.  Good for you, ya dummies.  I say take the gawdam drugs!  It's not like you're gonna get a bonus when it's over or anything like that.  No gold seal certificate.  No nothing.  Just a wikkid sore cooch and a colicky baby, ya know, like all the other moms.  Oh, but you're special because you went all natural.  Whatevah!  Soooo, back to bidness at hand.....


First, there was the ridin' - logged about 800 miles in the Carolina sun, up and down 17, 31 and 501.  Up to North Caroline to stop in at Beach House Harley in Shalotte (pronounced Shah-Loat according to a local  and south to Charleston for some Guinness and Jameson at Molly Darcy's Irish Bar (thanks for the tip, K-Rae) where we had the fortune to shoot the shit with the owner, Tommy Snee, who was as welcoming as all get out and treated three Irish yankees to a round of Jameson shots.  One of our first stops of the week was to see a fellow MassHole at her new place on the intercoastal waterway:  K-Rae's Waterway Bar & Grille, located at ICW Channel Marker 57.  Kerri let us in before they opened like we were old friends and her place is fahkin' pissa!  She loves her New Englandahs and still holds MassHole Night every Wednesday of Bike Week.

And then there were the beer stops.  Let's see if I can remember them all....   K-Rae's, Suck Bang Blow, Little Beaver Bar, Big Beaver Bar, Rockin' Hard Saloon, Wildhorse Saloon, The Bowery, Spokes and Bones, Harley's Roadhouse, Neil and Pam's, Sundown Cafe, Milardos, Molly Darcy's, The Bar, Garden City Beach Bar, House of Blues, Ricky's Dockside -   Cletus, have I forgotten any?   We ate fukkin' shrimp burgers at Fibbers in Little River and pissa fried chicken at Hog Heaven in Pawley's Island (TWICE).  Country fried steak at Chelsea Jo's and 2 am pizzas at the Causeway.  Got screwed on price and portion at Bubba's Love Shak in the Inlet but then made up for it with a gi-fahkin'-normous stromboli at Milardos.  Had lunch at the Tilted Kilt where we got the only server NOT WEARING A FUKKIN KILT!!!  A lovely lady this Jo, 7 months pregnant in a long sleeve top with yoga pants pulled over the baby belly.  Listen up, Jo... if ya wanna run with the big dogs, ya gotta go hard all the time.  Lose the yoga pants... throw on that kilt and that push up bra.  Rock that belly!!!  Just don't hit me with that big ass belly button of yours.

But the best part of this rally is simply the people ya meet along the way.  There is Lisa at the Causeway who never slowed the fuk down but always was quick with the beers for us.  There were our neighbors who were in from Pittsburgh (sorry ass Penguin fans who were joined in misery a night later by sorry ass Bruin fans) who gladly shared a beer and a story with us whenever we darkened their party.  Of course, there was Ron and Deb, nightly regulars at Milardos.  Ron is a retired Jersey cop and just the nicest guy ya'd meet anywhere.  Chelsea and Missy at Milardos helped out these Bruins fans and turned their sports bar into Boston South for games 5, 6 and 7.  By the way, ya don't wanna fuk with Chelsea:  she's the 8 on her womens rugby team and will tackle your ass if you cross her.  And that's kinda hot, actually.  There was Fire Annie, Seafood Bob and Captain BillyBob who was parking cars at Suck Bang Blow.  Tim and Jim from Canada and Weasel Bob from Philly who retired to Garden City the bastid!


Seeya soon, Garden City!  Gotta go trade in my liver for a newer model.  But thanks for the memories!

Dude named Chris Adams has a Youtube page and he posted this video of one afternoon at Suck Bang Blow.   Thanks Chris, whoever the fuk you are!!   Awesome job!

 

Friday, May 9, 2014

Beez Recap: Matty Sportsgasm an Overtime Hero


Happy Paycheck Friday, ya assholes!!  Time for yours truly to make like a pair of old lady tits and head south.  Our annual pilgrimage to the Holy Mecca of $2 Beers, Bikes and Boobs begins this afternoon.... Grand Strand, here we fahkin' come!!!  But before I leave these offices empty for a week, I must talk about last night and Matt Thanks For The Sportsgasm Fraser!!!

After game 3, the media around this took turns washing Michel Therrien's balls because he fahkin' tweaked his 3rd and 4th lines, as if no coach in the Enn Aych Ell has ever tried such a, ahem, brilliant move.  Last night, it was Claude's turn to adjust his roster and skate off with a vicktwah.  Jordan "He Was Playing?" Caron was given the night off and Julien brought up some kid Matt Fraser from Providence for his playoff debut.  Fraser kicked the Canadiens square in the vagine at 1:20 of overtime and became an instant hero in Bostontown.  If the Beez go on to win this series, Fraser's game winnah will be looked at in Boston as the signature moment, much like Dave Roberts' steal off Maryann Rivera in 2004.

By many accounts, game 4 was boring.  Too much shit being bogged down between the blue lines and featured more icing than the face of a fat kid in a cake factory.  But I gotta tell you... I was not in the least bit bored.  What the Beez did was smother the speed of Montreal - pretty much what they have done all season.  And they finally hit again.  Not as much as they should, but much more than last game.  Iggy destroyed Max Paciofuckface in the first period with a clean hit against the glass and Big Zee was knocking Canadiens around like a bull in a china shop.  The third line was once again the best line for the Broonz with Sody, Loui and Fraser delivering high fukkin' energy and continuous possessions.  Tuukka and Price played even, so it all came down to who would get the break in OT.  And the hard work of that third line paid off heeyooge when Fraser just kept battlin' behind the net and found the puck.  BOOM, shut up Canadien fans!

On the neg side, Kraych and Marchy continue to completely suck balls.  These guys cannot get out of their own way, cannot keep the puck on the blade and cannot score in a women's prison.  These fukkers had better step up!!

I'll check back in after I get my tired motorcycle ridin' ass back from Myrtle Beach in a week to see how things went.  In the meantime, I owe you a victory dance...

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Beez Recrap! Fukkin' Subban!

The global readership of this blog requires that I nut up and face the music when things are not going well.  Hey, fuk you - this page has gotten hits in Indonesia and Malaysia this week (which really just means that boobs is a universal language).  Anyhooz, it's easy to brag about wins and put up videos of dancing bears and pictures of diving assholes.  The trick to reputable journalism (oh, fuk you again) is to own the bad shit too.  So here I am this morning, still a proud passengah on the black and gold bandwagon, to talk about that gawdam kick in the nutz last night, courtesy of les sacs le douche in blu, blanc e rouge and PK Subbitch in puhticulah!

Let's start with Tuukka, whose teammates treated him like wet jeans... hung out to fahkin' dry!  The Thin Fin had no chance on any of those three goals, all of which were the result of defensive breakdowns by his sleepy eyed mates.  What the fuk was Kevan Miller doing hip to hip with Boychuk on that first goal, leaving the back side completely exposed.  While Miller fell over himself trying to get back into position, Iggy just could not sag fast enough, giving Plekanic a rise in his CCMs and a wide open net.  The PK goal out of the penalty box can be attributed to bad timing... but I say that one's on the defense as well as the bench for not recognizing the time left on the penalty and not having anyone back.  Great fukkin' move by Subban, btw, that douche!  The third goal was the worst one, IMO.  I had just finished saying to a buddy that the Beez are coming alive and carrying the play completely.  They possessed the puck for an eternity in the Montreal zone before Mezsaros and Boychuk decided to ignore the basket hanging pussy Dale Weise.  Just like that, another breakaway on Tuukka and it was three fukkin' nothing!!  

The Broons are a physical bunch of sumbitches.  Always have been.  It's what separates them from the rest.  They took a lot of shit for taking stupid penalties in game 2 and that must have been a teaching point for Claude.  Because they couldn't hit a fukkin' stepchild with a belt last night.  Jeezus, was Boychuk the only one willing to deal the pain?  They only had one penalty the entire gawdam game and that was a bullshit goalie interference call on the One Eyed Swede.  Listen fellas... ya gotta knock the fukkin' stink off them.  If they embellish, that's fine.  Kill the penalty.  But last night, you were playing like the Sedins.  And ya remember how THAT turned out for them.  (By the way, P.K., you came up with your elbow.  You meant to do it.  It was a cheap shot attempt that happily dinged up your teammate instead.  Take your penalty like the bitch that you are.)


While I am talking about the lack of penalties called (each team only had one call go against them), can I also talk about the horseshit non-calls that burned our asses?  Like when Montreal iced the puck twice in the first period but were not called for unknown reasons.  Or when Desharnais (pronounced DayYarNay and French for I'm A Quebecian Asshole Who Also Thinks Roy is pronounced WAH) leg whipped Marchy at center ice.

But the biggest bone of contention was when that big fukkin' Subbitch knocked the net off in the closing seconds and no delay of game was called.  The refs attributed it to an accident.  Right... the same guy who dangled and deeked Rask in the first period and who can spin on a dime to avoid a hit (cuz he's a pussy) "accidentally" skated into the post with nobody near him and we are supposed to believe that?  Sorry... should have at least been a penalty and perhaps, I'm reading, even a penalty shot.  But that would never be called in the Belle Center and I don't blame the refs one bit for that.  Those assholes in Keybeck are fukkin' nuts!  They will burn their mother's tits if they thought she impacted the Canadiens negatively.

Bottom line is this... if the Beez want to make it to the next round, they had better come out of the locker room for the first period from here on out.

ASIDE:  Just cuz this has been bugging me since the Detroit series.... Can we stop putting Krejci on the face-off dot?  Last night, he only won 4 of 14 faceoffs.  Just put Looch there for the rest of the series.  Dude has not lost a face-off in the three games (he has won all 5 that he has taken).  Give the beast a chance!

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Happy 74th Birthday Dad!


I am the man I am because of the man he is.  Words could never be enough thanks for the memories, the lessons and the love my Dad showered upon a shy toehead in faded Toughskin corduroys and Jox sneakers who was happy just riding beside him in his Brox Bros milk truck on a cold Saturday morning getting free candy from the store owners in West Roxbury.

He taught me about sports and he taught me about music.  I was in the first or second grade when he showed me how to play a football card.  And I still remember the sign he hung on the fridge in our Keene Street kitchen that Tuesday morning, letting me know I had won $15 because the Steelers, our favorite team and the final game I had picked on the card, had won Monday night after I went to bed.

As you all know, I have a pretty obsessive fixation on REAL country music.  Not that shit Rascal Flatts pukes out all over their CDs.  I'm talking steel guitar, stand up bass and a little banjo and mandolin.  I thank my Dad for teaching me Hank Williams and Johnny Cash; for teaching me the Clancy Brothers and the Stanley Brothers; and for teaching me Dave Dudley and Red Sovine.  With Dad and Uncle Bill on the geetars and Uncle Mike pickin' the banjo in Grandma's basement of Milan Ave in Pittsburgh, I learned about Luke the Drifter and the Rank Stranger.  I look back fondly on those days riding around in the big blue Caprice, listening to trucking songs coming from the 8-track player.  From Give Me Forty Acres to Tombstone Every Mile to Hello, I'm A Truck, those songs were my childhood.  I wanted to be a truck driver, lookin' at the world through a windshield, livin' on Rolaids, Doan's Pills and Preparation H, for cryin' out loud!  And I especially remember sitting on a stool, chin high to the bar of The Oaks in Tewksbury where Dad tended bar, sipping a Coke with a cherry sitting atop the ice cubes, and hearing Walk The Line and I Saw The Light on the jukebox.  So yes, to those friends of mine now who have been force-fed Waylon Jennings and Charlie Daniels and Merle Haggard over the years, maybe now you understand.

I pretty much only remember two things as a semi-shitful ballplayer when I played on the Oaks of the Olivera Little League.  I remember the opening day parade down Gorham Street and I remember Dad taking the whole family out for subs after each game.  I loved those long trips to Pittsburgh, even when the muffler dropped off the Caprice on 290 in Worcester with 11 hours still to drive.  Not to mention, those bean suppers at the Salvation Army and visits to Camp Wonderland in Old Orchard Beach were wikkid pissa!  

I'm not going to bullshit everyone and say it is always gumdrops and sunshine growing up... I mean, he hates the Sawx and Pats with all of his might.  And he roots for those goofornuttin Penguins and truly believes Pittsburgh is blessed by the hands of God himself (yeah, you do).  Oh, and there was that time Jimmy and I pissed him off so much that he put his hand through our bedroom door on Fremont Street, surprised to learn that door was really painted glass that tends to tear your forearm to shreds when you bust through it!  Oh, then he was REALLY pissed.    

My dad wears his heart on his sleeve and there can never be any doubt what his family means to him.  Lots of you who know me well, also know that, hidden behind the Harley t-shirts and F-bombs, I am quite a crybaby.  Hey, crying is just what I do when something hits me close to home.  And I don't apologize one minute for it, nor will I ever hide from it.  I cried when Benji died and I when Radio lost his mother.  I cry at work when I get revved up for somebody whose rights are being ignored.  I cry when the families of fallen firefighters walk onto the green grass of Fenway Park.  And ya know where I get that?  I hate to rat out my Dad... but I'm sure he doesn't care either.  It's who he is.  He cried when we gave him a Hudson Bears football jacket 10 years ago, one that matched his grandson's jacket.  And cried again this year when he was given a framed family photo of his children and grandchildren.  

So happy 74th birthday, Dad!  I love you bunches and will talk with you later today!

Said perfectly, and with the steel guitar to boot.....   

Thursday, March 27, 2014

Two Heroes Did Not Come Home Last Night.


I want to fill my calling, to give the best in me
To guard my friend and neighbor and protect his property.


That's it... it's just what they do.  While we grab our valuables, our favorite pictures, our beloved pets, and flee to safety, they run willingly into an unknown battle against a deadly foe.  Their job... rescue everyone and put the fire out!  Then return to the firehouse, worn and tired, maybe grab a nap, and wait for the next call.  As we were reminded yesterday, that return is not always guaranteed.  Yet, these men and women in boots and helmets, in towns and cities all over this country, ALWAYS jump in that rig and join that battle.

And if according to Your will, I must answer death's call,
bless with your protecting hand, my family one and all.

Ladder 15 and Engine 33 of the Boston Fire Department were among the first apparatus to reach 298 Beacon Street in yesterday's wind swept afternoon, a quick ride from their Boylston Street Firehouse.  Lt. Ed Walsh of Engine 33 and FF Michael Kennedy of Ladder 15 raced into the basement with their brethren, where the fire was believed to have originated.  Within three minutes, the men inside issued a mayday call and were ordered out.  Walsh and Kennedy never made it out.  They were both found trapped in that basement.  Walsh, 43, leaves a wife and three children under the age of 10.  Kennedy, 33, was single and a United States Marine combat veteran.  In his off time, Kennedy volunteered with burn patients.  Sacrifice was his way of life since he stepped on the yellow footprints at Paris Island.

It seems cliche to say about firefighters that any day they leave for work could be their last.  Cliche, but true. That being said, regardless of the inherent risks, loved ones expect them to return.  They have always returned.  For the last 9 and a half years, Ed Walsh always came home.  Mike Kennedy always came home.  Last night, they did not.  Walsh and Kennedy gave their lives to make their city safer.  To them, and to the countless other men and women who don the helmet and boots and climb in the rig, we owe a debt of gratitude that can never be paid in full.  But we can do our part.

Heroes of the BFD say farewell to a fallen brother.
The next time your town ballot includes a referendum on increasing salaries for fire and police, vote yes!  Vote yes EVERY TIME that question appears in front of you behind that privacy curtain.  If you are worried about the extra $100 you might pay in property taxes, then skip your steak dinner at Buckleys.  Instead dropping a hundred bucks on a Patriots ticket and helping to pay Tom Brady's salary, give your firefighters a raise.  Do you have plans to go out this weekend, maybe catch a movie?  Try this... forget the movie.  Take that 20 bucks and click on http://www.thegreghillfoundation.org/ and give that money to the families of Ed Walsh and Mike Kennedy!