Thursday, February 24, 2005

Abigambi & Gonzo

My fellow bloggers, wannabe bloggers, new-be bloggers (such as myself) and the what–in-the-hell-is-a-blogger bloggers I am back from my trips to Roseburg and Grants Pass. I had a couple of assignments in southern Oregon. I couldn’t have planned better weather if I had a weather machine myself. Blue skies, crispy pre-autumn air, some smatterings of fog, and lots of trees made for a very relaxing trip. Jock had went along with me to keep me company and to tell me why at 17 he pretty much has the handle on all what is life.

Then after today I’ll be in Tacoma, Washington staying at the Sheraton. Way cool. There are times I hate this life as a traveling hit man but there are some perks that make it worth it. I'll be staying in amotel on the Puget Sound. This hit is only a small one so I planned a little relaxation for myself.

Last time I promised I would tell you about my friend Reverend Abigambi. When I was a young college Pirate I happened to live in an off-campus apartment complex where many Pirate training activities took place. I happened to have a small but eventful smattering of pirate friends. There was Lesby, Coon dog, Tony “Padre” Pope and Mr. Thomman, and Mr. Clark. Our jobs at the time were to rent as much beer as we possibly could and to liberate as many damsels as warranted. We had a grand time swashbuckling our ways through academia. Today those of us that aren't in prison are pillars in our communties. Okay, not pillars, but we do hold up things now and then.

Being an upper-classman at the time I had little to do with the dorm life. The only one person I knew at the dorm was my youngest brother, Deputy Dawg. One day Coon dog told me that he knew a guy that was moving into the apartment directly above mine. He told me the name and it sounded like some African name. I don’t mean an African-American name I mean an African name. Being a small town Oregon boy all I could think of was this would be interesting. I’ve never known anyone from Africa. The only foreigners I had ever met were Canadians and Californians.

Within a day or two of this news I was attending a get together, I mean a kegger at a house rented by a bunch dumbshit jocks. You know I love sports as much as the next guy and through the years as a Pirate I have over embellished many of my youthful athletic exploits, but if there is a group of obtuse dolts that have always tweaked my cuss its fuckhead college football players. I love football I am a major Ram fan. I’ll pour my heart for the Beavers and the Ducks, but I have little tolerance for steroidal primates taking up scholarship and grant money to achieve a 2.0 GPA when many people are denied the opportunity to a better education because they lack some athletic prowess. Don’t get me started. I can bitch about this later.

By now you’re probably asking what does this have to do with the Reverend. Was the Reverend a football player? No fortunately he was not. Though I believe he would have given his left nut to be a shortstop for the Cincinnati Reds. But at this particular party the place had went almost over the top. Enough to make Girl’s Gone Crazy look like a prayer meeting. As I was wandering around the house looking for something to pillage and plunder I came upon my young brother, Deputy Dawg. He was leaning his large drunken body against some guy he said was from his dorm that just moved to the apartment above mine. This guy couldn’t be any further from being an African. Holding up my youngest brother was this 5’8”-ish, blonde hair, blue-eyed, fair skinned farm boy from one of the many Willamette Valley Catholic/Aryan settled farm communities that pepper the valley, the kid looked like John Denver if he looked like anybody. Sporting a shit-eating grin and a good start on some MIP beverage was my first meeting with my spiritual guru; the ying to my yang.

The party eventually got out of hand. More white tank tops began being tossed around. More kegs were popped. The music was getting louder. And the hosts began to be total butt-licks pulling out guns and making fools out of themselves. Next thing you know my new found friend the Reverend Abigambi, Deputy Dawg and myself found ourselves in the bathroom where people leave some of their most volatile possessions; toothbrushes, tooth paste, shampoo.

I have to admit for the next couple of months when I would see one of the jock hosts in a class or on campus acting like some big shot all I could think of was pissy shampoo, toilet cleaning toothbrushes, and butt crack toothpaste. Being the evil Pirate I was turning into, I’d always make some off hand remark about their hygiene. They would smile and think I was a funny Pirate. Arrr. One of their many followers; a fan.

The Reverend over the next twenty years would become more of my counter balance. Always waiting for me to make a comment so he could right my ship. He has since out-lived John Denver and has become a semi-reputable citizen. If it weren’t for his lovely and gracious wife I am confident he would have ended up as a prom queen in Cellblock C in some prison in Arizona. He does have a pretty mouth.

You may see him pop up now and then with another moniker. Stir the shit and trying with his best to piss off the establishment, or what he perceives as the establishment. Lately you may have seen him masquerading around under the name Jeff Gannon.

On a final note it would make this world a better place if you’d all take a few moments and think about the recent passing of a great shit stirrer. Hunter S. Thompson chose to leave the cesspool for another dimension this last weekend. Though I rarely agreed with his assessments of people I surely loved his style of flicking shit and keeping the ruling class on notice. So pop one, twist one and shoot one for the Gonzo.

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

Reverend Abigambi Duda

In the near future I will tell you more about the Reverend Abigambi Duda aka Peacenik aka John Denver. Besides being one of the coolest he is also a mighty shit stirrer.


Just a heads up. The Pirate will be sailing for the next several days. I will be docking in Roseburg, Oregon and Grants Pass, Oregon for some old fashion rape, pillage and plunder. I will be taking Jock with me for a Pirate-dad and wannabe-Pirate discussion. A fork in the road talk with dad and Jock. I plan to show him what it is like to be an assassin Pirate.

I sneezed a little while ago and it must of jarred some memory blanks loose or revived some dead brain cells.

When I was a freshman in college Pirate in 1978 (you do the math). Several of us fired up and red-eyed freshmen boys had noticed that there was a seminar on adult sexuality being conducted at one of the auditoriums on campus that night. So we banded together and took our hormonal-ladden selves to the seminar, after we got our hats on first.

I do not remember a whole lot from the seminar other than two things that have stayed with me ever since. That was the first time I had ever heard of or ever knew of a tiny secret that would become my best friend forever. The clitoris. All sexual encounters up to that point were for my gratification only. I knew nothing else. Hell, I didn't know there was this tiny Pirate sailing the depths waiting for me to give him a hand. It wasn't all that long ago at that time I had gotten into a fight with another kid at school after he told me what "fucking" was. I had figured his family might be that sick but I was pretty damn confident my folks hadn't done anything like that in our house. So how in the heck was suppose to know about a clit nine years later?

The second tid bit of data that I got from the seminar was that physically when you have an orgasm your body is doing the same thing as when you sneeze. Blood is rushing to the surface. Surface of what I don't remember, but its rushing.

This has been very helpful data to know. Since I travel a lot I am never without a can of pepper. In fact, I can hardly wait for hay fever season. I love nothing more than to find a budding cottonwood tree sit my ass at its base and sneeze my head in. After a sneezing fit (often self induced) I reach for a Marlboro Light, lay back and take it all in.

I'll see you all later, happy sneezing.

My sister Kimber

I recently received news that has made me confused, pissed off, worried and maybe a little happy. The other day my mother called and told me about my sister's battle with cancer. She has just went through her second surgery to remove cancerous lumps from her. My family tends to be the type that live for ever if it weren't for wars and industrial accidents, I know of no one in my family who has ever died of cancer.

At 45 years old I still have four grandparents alive. So you can see why death is somewhat foreign to my family. I have a great-grandmother who is 101 years old, one grandmother who is 91 and another that is 81. My remaining grandfather is 86. I have always said that being a female in our family meant that you had a chance to hit triple digits.

What makes my sister's plight seem so crazy is she is also pregnant at the age of 41 years. Her family is mostly grown. The youngest child she is currently raising is 16 years old. She already has two grandchildren. My brothers all think she is nuts for having another child. Being the only girl in our family she had no chance but to be nuts. But I think the new baby is a sign of optimism.

Kimber is the perfect Irish lass. She has the beautiful long curly red hair and the Irish complextion along with her beautiful smile. She has always had the Irish ire to ward off most. She was an excellent horseperson when we were growing up. As a kid she barrell raced at rodeos and played basketball on a boy's high school team (we attended a very small high school and there were not enough girls to make a team, so the state's sport regulating agency allowed her to play on the boys team). She was hitting shots from the three point line prior to there being a three point line. she could moved the ball up and down the court regadless of her competition. As she did with horses and with basketball and three shitty marriages she has always came out on top and has been able to overcome any odds.

I'm asking that anyone that reads this please add Kimber in your prayers, wishes and or good thoughts.

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Grammy Review

I have a little secret about this Pirate that I have to divulge. I like award shows damn it. I know it doesn’t sound right. I have no doubt your saying, “What the fuck?” But it is true I love when artists are awarded for their work and I love the fact that these pompous asses like parading around on TV bragging about it. I certainly understand the conflict. Here is this guy that has traveled about destroying most of the beauty he encounters. I have raped, pillaged and plunder all over the west coast. Leaving nothing but despair and ashes in my wake. I have eaten babies, ran over dogs, bitten off the heads of rats. I have lived my life in the gutters no man or woman dare to venture, but I also like shows like the Grammy’s and the Oscars. Maybe there is a little bit of a light in me, but I doubt it.

This brings me to the fiasco last Sunday night that they called the Grammy Awards. What a bunch of crap. Aside from Queen Latifa who is always a class act, the tribute to Ray Charles and some of the country singers (hell all of the country singers) and John Mayer the rest of the show sucked.

The Black-Eyed Peas, Marc Anthony and Jennifer Lopez and Green Day along with Bono bored the absolute shit out of me. I am not trying to sound like some old fart that doesn’t appreciate other genres or music bent toward the youth. I understand that. I have three teen-agers at home. I have gone to a Green Day concert. I grew up on KISS and all of that era of music. I have listened to Punk and metal until I couldn’t stand up anymore. But at least I could appreciate the cutting edge of their stuff when it was happening. Now most of the stuff from Green Day and Black-Eyed Peas sounds so manufactured and disconnected. Bono sounds like he has gone completely over the top on himself I doubt if he can pass his reflection without stopping and admiring his own image. Nora Jones and Alicia Keys are very talented but their stuff is also passé.

When listening to today’s music the only genre that seems to be bending the norms, pushing the edge and bringing excitement to their genre is country. But the academy of music butt kissers only seems to want to rehash the anti-social genres and ignore the growth of country cross over. There are few pop artists, rap artist or rockers who are pushing the envelope like Montgomery Gentry, Tim McGraw or even old Loretta Lynn. Who can deny that there is ground breaking happening in country music when the coal miner’s daughter out there banging heads with Jack White? When Tim McGraw is hitting a range that Whitney would have a hard time attaining and no body is kicking ass as much as Gretchen Wilson and Montgomery Gentry and none of these people win, there is something terribly wrong. If anything Gretchen Wilson should have gotten an award for having the nicest ass.

Enough bitching already. I need to go kill something.

Monday, February 14, 2005

What up and what be happenin? (Or my Monday bitch session)

It’s nothing I planned but as a Pirate I am free to do whatever I want because I am not restrained by any rules or policies. I have decided, for now, that Monday posts will be social commentary. I do not want to waste every day of the week commenting on current events and providing my personal opinion on those events. So I have chosen Monday as the day to bitch or brag about the events of the day. I invite anyone to make their comments about my position, about the topic, or about anything that may trip their trigger. I have chosen Monday because I have had a weekend to think of where I am on a particular event and I have lain in bed Sunday morning watching most of the talking heads give lip service to their positions.

Of late the news seems to be focused on two people. One is the lovely and gracious Condalezza (Condi) Rice. The other hot topic is the professor from Colorado, Ward Churchill.

As for the new Secretary of State Condi Rice jet setting around Europe last week has made our country a better place and she has made me proud to be an American. I don’t give a flying rat’s ass if the lady is a Republican or if she should have been a clairvoyant where September 11, 2001 is concerned, her actual existence and the fact she is our Secretary of State makes the United States of America a country of the future. The very fact that an African American female is in the most important international position in the world says volumes about where this country has been, where it is now and where it is going.

For too long blacks in the USA have been crapped upon. I don’t want to venture down the path of blame because regardless of whose fault it was blacks have gotten the short end of the stick. In the black side of the tracks black women have taken a backseat themselves. Basically if this country was a land of social tiers (and it just may be) the black woman was on the lowest tier, the bottom rung of the ladder if you will.

Now, today a black woman represents our nation around the world. I don’t care who you voted for or against last November Ms. Rice is our international representative. She is our voice and face to the rest of the world. Condi in essence is us. And frankly as a mid-40s white guy I am damn proud of it. I am proud that we may have finally arrived at a place where you are promoted and heralded not because of what group you come from but rather because you are possibly the best for the job. I do not care what you may think about President Bush but it is obvious he has nothing but trust in Ms. Rice and he thinks she is the best for the job. A job that may be presently the most important job in the world. If she wasn’t I have no doubt someone else would be in that job. The Republicans have many minions in their coffers they could of and would of put in the position if they didn’t believe Ms. Rice was the best person for it.

Go Condi go. Show those old European and Arab butt-licking leaders and all the other leaders around the world that you mean business and that you will accept nothing but what is right. There may be a presidency in it for you in the next four to eight years. Who would have thought the first woman or first black president could be a Republican?

Ward Churchill should have his ass kicked in a royal fashion. I support his right to say whatever he wants and I do not think he should be fired for saying it. But he should get his ass thumped for saying what he said about those who were murdered on 911. To equate the innocence of those killed by the murderous terrorists with Adolph Eichmann of Nazi fame borders on true blasphemy. To gleefully tell a group of young minds of mush that the firemen, policemen, office workers, janitors, customers and everyone else deserved what they got on 911 is an ass kicking offense. To say with a straight face that people who stayed behind to ride it out with close friends, co-workers and strangers were responsible for what happened is down right sick. To equate the actions of the thugs who murdered over 3,000 of our fellow Americans with the likes of historical freedom fighters is a complete disconnect from reality. It may even border on evil rot itself.

I don’t care if Professor Churchill likes President Bush’s politics or not. It makes no difference what has happened in this country in the past, these innocent people did not deserve to lose their lives because of some rich Arabs grievances. There are several avenues those disgruntled with American policies could have pursued. To concoct such a diabolical plan of destruction only reveals the depths of evil that exist in this world. The only comparison I can see that appropriately exists in this scenario is Churchill with Eichmann and the Arab militant terrorists with the Nazis. The Arab militants are the ones bent on destroying innocence without provocation and Churchill is the propagandist who promotes their actions.

So when we are done kicking some Arab militant ass someone should be appointed to kick Churchill’s ass and then hang it on a bridge so the Arab world can see it.

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

Thursday, February 10, 2005

Charley's kiss

Charley had never before left with a man. Not from a bar anyway. She had always been able to peel away from any potential suitor. She had had plenty of advice from her three older sisters and from a couple of the older girls in the dorm. She had the usual advice of always go in parties of at least three, never take your eyes off your drink, always drink from a bottle, and most importantly always be nice but have a good excuse why you have to go home. You have a test in the morning; your folks are in town and you’re meeting them for breakfast; you’re a Mormon and aren’t supposed to drink and you sure and heck have no intentions of complicating matters by sleeping with a non-Mormon. Unless you know the guy well, never step out for air with him without telling one of your buds where you’re going and when you expect to be back.

Charley wasn’t afraid of guys and she certainly wasn’t a virgin but she was naïve and inexperienced. Most of her boy/girl encounters were with boys she had grown up with in her small rural community in Oregon. She had known every boy in her graduating class since she was five or six years old except Steve Cooper, who had moved to Falls City when she was a junior in high school. She had experienced puppy love with several of the boys in her class but she had never done anything more than hold their hands or kiss, until she had met Steve.

Steve had swooped her off her feet when he first moved to town the summer before they were in the eleventh grade. He had all the characteristics a high school girl wanted in a boy; he was tall, athletic, and cute, he had a car and was new in town. He spotted her before she had ever noticed there was a new kid in school. By the second football game of the year they were the hottest topic at school and they stayed that way until she left for college in the big city. When they both went off to school they promised to write and see each other during breaks. The promise was met until spring break their freshman year then the letters stopped and the going home for breaks rarely happened. They both had found their ways through early adulthood, new friends, new likes and new life styles.

Steve does call on the rare occasion after he has had too many beers with his frat buddies and after the newest girl has told him to take a flying hike. Their flame had long burned out.

Tonight was an exception. She had met Craig at Cooper’s Night Club and she melted instantly. She hadn’t had this feeling for a guy since she first met Steve. Craig had many of the same characteristics as Steve, tall, says he’s on the baseball team and without a doubt he was drop dead gorgeous. For extra measure he seemed sweet and humble. When the guys from his table joshed him about dancing with her she noticed behind his dimpled smile his face turning red and his eyes dropping to the floor. He told her he was from a small logging town in northern California and only went to college because he had promised his mother on her deathbed that he would.

He wasn’t a good dancer and he was too quiet to talk with in the noisy club but he was as gentlemanly as Charley could ask for. When she spoke he looked her straight in the eye and without hesitation in his face he listened to her intently.

Out of character and ever so slightly, she made the first move. She moved her chair closer to his as to hear him better. The closer she moved her chair the more their knees pushed against each other’s. As they talked and danced through the evening Charley kept thinking to herself that she may have finally found the right one. He wasn’t full of himself like most frat boys she had met her first two years at Willamette. His boyish small town charm had captured her from the beginning.

Each of their groups of friends had moved further on in their drinking then Charley and Craig. They eventually found themselves sitting alone together at a separate table then their friends. They told their friends they were moving to get away from the noise and the smoke.

The band got louder and the smoke thicker. Charley leaned close to Craig’s ear and asked if he’d like to step out and get some air. He sat back smiled and seemed reluctant to be too much alone with her. He was either playing hard to get or he was overwhelmingly shy. He finally said yes and the two of them grabbed their coats and stepped outside. Charley watched the table of her friends; none of the ladies seemed to notice the two leaving.

The street outside of Cooper’s was quiet with few cars driving by and a smattering of couples walking across the street. The two walked without saying a word for the first block or two before Charley told him she was cold. And like a gentlemen he took his coat off and wrapped it around her and then put his right arm around her shoulders. Charley laid her head on him and they walked and said little. They stopped in front of the Book Bin, a used bookstore and looked at the calendar displays in the window and talked about some of the books they had read either for assignments or for pleasure. Craig had few he had read for leisure. The usual guy books about sport legends and mystical stories.

When they began to walk back towards Cooper’s Craig ever so gently led her into an alley. They stopped only a few steps from the main street with plenty of lighting, but out of the way. He had obviously been too shy to face her where someone else could see them. They both stood looking into each other’s eyes smiling and silent.

He broke the silence by saying he’d have to kiss her if she kept smiling. She thought how corny but sweet his first line was. She knew she had Mr. Right, corny lines, shy to the fault, good listener and cute beyond cute. She naturally smiled.

Craig gently put his hands on the sides of Charley’s face and covered her lips with the warmest soft lips she had ever imagined. She melted, surrendering into him as they kissed she fell further into him. Soon her body was securely and happily pinned between Craig and the brick alley wall. Her arms moving up and down his warm strong back, up and down his front. His kisses took her further away. Somewhere she had never been, somewhere safe, comfortable, and exciting. Her body was surrendering, she wanted him, she wanted him to take her somewhere and fill her.

Their tongues began to greet each other; their caresses explored more. Their breathing had become more hurried, deeper. Craig had moved his lips from her mouth allowing her fresh air. He began to gently kiss her neck. Charley had never relaxed enough with anyone to allow them to kiss her behind the ear, on the shoulder on the neck. She began to moan; she thought she would lose herself in the alley with their clothes on. She was warm wet and wanting throughout her whole body. Craig continued being a gentleman, never exploring areas of temptation, but she wanted him to. She wanted him to take her now.

The kisses on the neck turned into small bites that first tingled then began to slightly hurt but she wanted them. Bite me she thought bite me. The bite seemed deeper, harder, more surrender poured from her. She felt his hand on her breast; he began to play with her right nipple, rolling it between his forefinger and thumb. His left hand firmly cupped her left butt cheek as he pulled her into him. She could feel his hardness throbbing through his jeans. He moved her wetness up and down and against his hardness with his powerful hand while his bite grew stronger.

“Fuck me here, please fuck me”, Charley quietly begged in his ear. She grew ever so weak ever so dark. “Please fuck me,” she whispered as she slowly slid down the wall to consume her last breath of air. Her last vision in life was Craig’s sated face, his eyes now dark and eternal his mouth dripping with the last pumped blood of Charley.

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Eat the Teacher?

When I was a young Pirate my father, Buck Inear, use to tease me about school and screwing off too much. He would say you know I buy you the books and send you to school and all I want to do is eat the teacher. All the swill drinking buddies of his would all laugh. And I would think what the hell is he talking about. What the hell is with the patch, the peg leg and the damn earring? Men don't wear earrings.

Now a week doesn't go by without a teacher somewhere in the US being arrested for jumping some 14 year old kid's bod. What really grabs me about this is they are all hot looking( the teachers not the damn kids) . The teacher is usually some mid-twenties blonde babe who looks like she shouldn't have a problem picking up another adult. I'm sure there are fat coaches and thumbless shop teachers looking to be bedded by a babe like one of these "preditors". Why the kids?

I'm dumbfounded. When I was a kid growing up in the 70s all my teachers were either men or old women. As horny as I was as I kid I never fathomed humping one of my teachers. Maybe the codger that cleaned the gym but never one of the teachers.

Then if I had had a hot babe for a teacher and she had let me touch and probe the beav I sure in hell would have never told anyone. I would have been greedy and wise enough to know if the word got out this feast would be over.

I'm torn here because my civil person, within me, says it is no different than a guy boinking a teeny-bopper. If my 13 year old daughter came home and said that Mr. Band Teacher touched her I'd gut the sumbitch. On the other hand if Slick or Jock came home and said they bumped uglies with Mrs. Hot Babe I think I'd introduce them to their first grail of swill.

Your saying to yourself this guy is a typical male, old Mr. Double Standard. Its okay for the boys to do it but when it comes to a girl. What did you expect? I'm a damn Pirate. I rape, plunder and pillage for a living. Of course rules of decency only apply when I want them to.

At least with all this teacher eating going on at schools today it should save us a lot in books.

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

Movie Review

If you haven't already you need to real soon, run out and see Clint Eastwood's new movie "Million Dollar Baby". Mrs. Pirate and myself treated ourselves this last weekend. This may be Clint's best and that says a hell of a lot. I don't mean it's his best Western (Unforegiven), or his best tough guy(Dirty Harry) cop flick, I mean his best story-telling effort on film.

Clint has been the master of the squint, for the wordless dialogue, for telling much without a single word and he does it again in the "Million Dollar Baby". Plus he incorporates playful dialogue between the characters adding flavor to the story.

From a story-teller's view this movie provides multiple relationships between the multiple and diverse characters with few tangents. Every aspect of the story is played out in true fashion then sewn back into the final conclusion. I did not notice any aspect of the story that was left floating after it was presented by any of the characters. You do not leave the movie house wondering what the hell was that or what was that suppose to mean and so on.

To make the story even better besides the tight construction of the story-telling the acting by Eastwood, Morgan Freeman and Hillary Swank is exceptional as is all the supporting characters. Clint has alway been able to tell much with his eyes, in this effort he tells as much in his usual way but he makes the character real by the use of his tone, his movement and his reluctance with hints of humor peppered throughout the story.

Morgan Freeman once again provides the poor man with a wealth of experience and wisdom to share. He has mastered the character that makes you want to listen to him. To be his student. To sit in some old coffee shop and listen to his tales of life, hoping an ounce of his wisdom wears off on to you.

What can be said about Hillary Swank? Besides being one the worlds most beautiful women her true humbleness emotes from the screen as well as any actor past or present. She to can say much with a twinkle in her eye, a smirk, a stance or a smile. Her performance makes me proud to be a father of two girls. She conveys a character that seems to not only to hurdle over culturally imposed gender limitations. Limitations that say a woman shouldn't do this or that because she is a woman. The overcoming of the limitations by Swanks character is seamless and difficult to observe by the audience. It just happens. Swank doesn't play the poster-child of a down-trodded group but rather a person with a dream and the motivation to attain the goal, no matter the goal's loftiness.

Be warned this is not your usual Hollywood movie that ends in a fanciful way with everyone living happily ever after. This story could have easily been a true biography becuase it seems so real with real conclusions.

Monday, February 07, 2005


Ever once in awhile current events make me discombobulated, confused, fucked up in the head. I throw this out with the hope that someone can tell me what the fuck is going on? Several months ago here in Oregon one of our former Governors, Neil Goldshmidt, admitted to having a long term relationship with a thirteen to fourteen year old girl while he was a mayor of Portland in the 1970s. He was in his mid-thirties with a family and a national spot light because of his young age as a mayor of a major city. He was young, viberant, Jewish and very liberal. He eventually got tapped as Jimmy Carter's Sec. of Transportation. Off he went to fame and fortune in Washington D.C. When he returned several years later he ran for Governor and won huge. But he bailed out of running for re-election four years later saying he needed time with his family. Shortly after he left office he was divorced. So it goes.

Then this last summer the press got news he had had a sexual relationship with a young teen when he was mayor. He finally came out and admitted to having "an affair for sometime with the girl". The legislature was embarrassed because he had been their favorite gov. So to show how mad they were they removed his portrait that was hanging in the capital and that was that.
Here is where my confusion comes into play. How does a man in his 30's have an affair with a teeny bopper? We're not talking 17 or 18. But rather 13 and 14.

If we are going to run perv priest up the rail for boinking young altar boys 20 plus years ago why not mayors? Is it because little girls are easier to buy into than boys?

In Salem Oregon a very popular music teacher has recently admitted to having sex with a 13 and 14 year old girl and the same town that once carried the mayor around town on their shoulders as a favorite son wants to fry this teacher, but if you bring up the ex-gov they all say that's different. How's it different?

This is the same state that called for US Senator Bob Packwood's ass for stealing kisses and butt pats after he had been drinking too much wine. Also in the 1970s apparently Packwood was messing around with adult women when he had too much of the grape and when it came to light in the mid-90's they ran the guy out of town. The state of Oregon, Barbara Boxer, Ted Kennedy and the Clinton administration heralded the US Solicitor General Kenneth Starr for going after Packwood and driving the leach from office. Yet a few years later the same people were pissed at Starr for daring to fuck with Clinton. I don't get it? It seems nuts to me.

I have no problem throwing someone in jail for messing with kids in any sexual fashion but why is it only applied to conservative-types or religous-types and not to the so called protectors of progress? Am I missing something here?

Friday, February 04, 2005

What to blog today?

Its not that I am speachless or having a blogging block or something. I just do not have a lot of time today to get into it. I have too much work to do before weekend. I definately do not want to take anything home for the weekend and try to watch the Super Bowl at the same time. I have decided to share with the blogosphere what I like.

1. I like watching Dennis Miller on CNBC when I get home from work

2. I like Black Butte Porter brewed by Deschuttes (sic)Brewery in Bend, Oregon.

3. I liked Laurie Partridge more than the snobby Marcia Brady.

4. My favorite NFL team is the Rams, since about 1970.

5. I like Coke over Pepsi. I can not stand RC

6. I'm a leg, eyes, butt and neck man.

7. I think cleft chins for a woman are hot and I don't like perfect teeth but they do have to be white.

8. I like Woody Allen movies and I could careless he ran off with his step daughter. Asian chicks are hot.

9. I think Billy Bob Thorton is a hero for most men. Hell he married Angilina Jolie didn't he?

10. I have read everything published of James Patterson, Stephen King, John Steinbeck, Jack London, and John Grisham. I read too much, about 50 to 60 books a year.

11. I like David Letterman over Jay Leno. Can't stand Conan O'Brian or Jon Stewart.

12. I watch anything with John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart, Alan Ladd, Al Pacino, Robert DeNiro, Gene Hackman, Clint Eastwood, Dustin Hoffman, and Jack Nicholson in it.

13. I like watching Law and Order, American Dream, According to Jim, and now Medium.

14. Jimmy Buffett, Willie Nelson, Tom Petty, Eric Clapton, Neil Young and Toby Keith are the best.

Thursday, February 03, 2005

Bathroom Humor

I have always told Mrs. Pirate when she never hears me laughing at bathroom humor to have me put out to sea. She is under strict orders to always account for my laugh if she hears a fart or a shit joke. I am like most men even if they are pirates, cowboys, firemen whatever most of us laugh at bathroom humor. But take heed bathroom humor can come back and bite you on the ass if you're not careful.

Several years ago when Jock (the 17 year old son) was two years old, Mrs. Pirate, the eldest daughter Blaze and myself were out to dinner at a upscale eatery. You know the white napkin, salad fork, pompous ass places where you spend a months wage on a steak and bland vegetables. I had just began a new business and I had the impression I was going places and so I better be prepared.

Anyway we were eating away when the little Jock annouces that he had to go pee. Now keep in mind there was a time this Pirate had done little in the nurturing department when it came to the kids. Don't get me wrong I had changed plenty of diapers and had gotten up in the middle of the night to feed and walk the kids but I had never taken my kids to a public restroom before. It wasn't out of defiance more like indifference.

I took the little fella by the hand and led him into the restroom. Keep in mind Jock has always been an easily excitable guy. Everything new he encounters, even to this day, is accompanied with absolute amazement and wonderment. All life is WAY COOL.

Now we are in the restroom and I'm doing the Pirate pissing business and he is just looking around the room. Asking all kinds of questions, Dad what dat? What's dat? He then asks me what I am doing. I tell him son I'm pissing in a urinal. "Can I piss in too dad"?

"Sure, bud"

He drops his drawers down around his ankles and turns around hoisting his arms in the air. I grab him and hold him up in front of the urinal and he gleefully pisses all the time laughing excitedly. Too much fun to contain himself I suppose.

After washing up we start back out to our table. Jock bolts ahead of me and stops at the entrance of the dining area and yells at the top of his lungs, "Mommie, Sissie, Mommie, Sissie Dad and I just pissed in the sink, Man Dad that was cool".

The place full of blue blood and blue bloods-in-training came to a complete halt. Not a sound could be heard other than Jock reloading and continuing to claim his new found discovery. The diners finally got wind back into their lungs and the whole place began to laugh.

I grabbed the little guy and we spent the rest of the dinner in the car.

My plan is to pay him back in ten fold when he reaches the stage where he needs to take of me in my old age.

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

Pirate makes it back from Yakima

Ahoy ye maties. It be good to moor up to me ol' winch after me plundering thee Yakima savages. It be eleven fortnight I had to moor in foggy Yakima. Mrs. Pirate will be wanting me to stay a sea longer after the gift of lust I did bring her. She thinks I either have a damsel hidden in me cabin or I got into the "Sea-Alyce". She thinks me mast has become sturdier for the fare she provided and I display a heartier hunger for her loins she claims. I insist it be my ever unwavering heart's fire I carry for her. I haven't the heart nor the balls to tell her that after eleven nights of Red Lion porn and Rosy Palm and her five sisters I'm zealed from deprevation.; i.e. hornier than hell.

Yakima was a very busy job with too damn much to do. My co-worker and I drug our sorry asses back to our motel rooms after long days and a long weekend. If it weren't for the on-line in-room porn you could watch and the "Still in Theaters" movies I would have gone completely over the edge.

I also took some herb to allow for proper elevation in the evening. Plus it was my birthday on the 26th so I had to celebrate the best way I know how. There was some problems with the means of celebration though. Apparently Red Lion motel chain has become politically correct and has banned smoking in all of their rooms. They posted a warning sign that they would charge you fifty bucks to smoke in the rooms. So I had to puff on the balcony. Standing on the balcony in my pirate underwear blowing smoke about the city of Yakima was my birthday celebration. Good thing for the folks of Yakima it was foggy.

Then on checkout morning I trudged to the front desk and told them I was checking out please give me my bill. I'm standing there as this early twentysomething damsel rings up my bill, wondering how many of these old farts like me checkout with a weeks of porn on their bill. About that time my co-worker walks up as this beautiful little girl tells me that she took some of the movies off my bill because I hadn't watched them long enough to charge me. With every fiber in my body hiding my public embarrassment I smiled and said in my best Jack Nicholson immitation, "Why thank you dear, my guests had arrived before I could finish", and walked away smiling at my co-worker.

I wasn't embarrassed because of the movies, I was embarrassed because I thought she may think I was a premature whacker: not a master of my own domain.