Pot Stirring

I have to admit the last post was a personal axe I wanted to grind. I have no intention of turning this particular blog into another political arena. God knows there are too many of those types of blogs already. I was just in one of those "fuck you" moods last Friday and I had had it with the bullshit from guys like Bill Maher and Michael "Super-size it" Moore. Then when I think about it who gives a flying fuck what those reprobates think? Hell, who gives a flying fuck about what I think? But itis fun to rile my close friend and confidant the much loved Rev. Dr. Abigambi.

I can see his blood red eyes right after seeing my post about the infamous "7 minutes". He blew out the remains of the stem-smoke, spit the resin that had collected on his lip, wiped the finger smears from his Lennon-glasses on his ever present dirty Hawaiian shirt and said, "That fucking Pirate. cough, who in the fuck does he think he is, coming to the aid of a silver spooned kid like Bush? cough! He sold us out. That bastard. I'm telling his Uncle Bob."

He hasn't been quit the same since Gonzo blew his fucking head off. Now he knows how I feel when Mike Ryko assumed room temperature. When a pot stirrer leaves the ranks of the breathing it takes awhile for the vacuum to be filled. And sometimes you see some comments in the wrong light before you can decipher what the hell the jerk at the keyboards is trying to say. Plus I'm just trying to find my sea legs and seeing if Gonzo can be replaced. Cough....

Notes to my fellow blog friends. Run right out if you don't already have one and get J.J. Cales 20th anniversary CD. And while your at it pick up John Prine's In Spite of Ourselves or his Common Sense CDs. These are excellent songwriters and not so bad singers who can spin a tale while you write. I listened to Cale all weekend while I worked on one of the novels I'm trying to complete. I don't know if the prose I was putting down did any good but I feel better anyway.

Mrs. Pirate and myself also had a great weekend as old farts. Little sister was off watching a softball tournament, Slick spent the weekend with friends and Jock had the prom. So we were left at home with our own devices. Chinese takeout, a couple microbrews and a Gary Cooper flick put us in the mood. The mood was as far as we got until she passed out. I won't tell you what happened after she passed out because I wouldn't want anyone to think I was your average low-life Pirate. No I respected her, hell she's the mother of three of my kids for Godsake. So I went up stairs and porked Rosie Palm and her five sisters and left the beautiful and gracious Mrs. Pirate asleep on the sofa. Besides Rosie doesn't care if I want to get up afterwards and watch more TV.

Until tomorrow....