Thursday, May 26, 2005

Busy busy busy

I don't have time to bitch or tell a tale I'm on my way home early today. Little Sister has a concert in the park and then a softball game afterwards. Busy parents me and Mrs. Pirate are for sure, for sure.

Things to think about I graduated from high school 27 years ago today.

My babe Paris is in the news again pissing off all the tight asses. Keep spreading them for your Daddy Paris. Because you're HOT.

I think we are about through with all the Season Finales aren't we?

I think Bo Bice was robbed. Carrie was cute but not nearly the talent Bo is. I also think these two finalist are better than any winners in the past.

Football (i mean real football not this soccer shit) starts in three months. Go Rams. Go Ducks.

I haven't watched one NBA playoff game this year. I use to live for the game. The thugs have taken it over and ruined what was once performance art on the hardwoods. Now its a fucking shoe commercial.

I like GW and I stand behind him, but I think its time to be thinking about bringing the troops home as soon as possible.

While I'm on the Middle East, can someone tell me that other than terrorism and oil what else does the Middle East bring to the world table? And what will they do when we develop electric SUVs?

Did I tell you I saw a real moose out in the woods when I was in Bonner's Ferry. No shit I did. For a Pirate that's cool. The only other one I ever saw was splattered all over the road in Wasilla, Alaska when I was 17. He had battled a semi-truck and lost.

I encourage all of you to go to your local used book store and buy a book by Howard Frank Mosher.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Bonner's Ferry II

My last two days in Bonner’s Ferry were more eventful. In Bonner’s Ferry the best place to stay or should I say the motel that is most livable for an extended visit is the Indian casino. Though I rarely gamble it was the only motel with a restaurant and lounge. The next to the last night there I decided that I would try the prime rib they had been boasting since I arrived. The restaurant was packed so I had to wait at the bar. As I worked my way through my second Fat Tire ale I noticed a very sparkly-eyed elderly woman eating while her surrounding dinner companions argued the Potato Famine of Ireland. I watched the table as the three companions of the woman debated the nutritional value of the tuber and gave little attention to her as she worked her food into bite size morsels then shoved them into her mouth.

I chuckled a time or two thinking of various scenarios for the dinner for four when I realized the elderly woman was choking. She began to turn red and saliva began pouring from her mouth. She began to try to fish out whatever was obstructing her airways with her fingers. The folks at her table paid no heed and continued their debate.

I began to wonder what the heck should I do? Should I sit here and just ignore the old lady until she keels over? Should I go tell them? I couldn’t take it anymore and she looked even more desperate. I ran over to her table and told the man seated next to her that it appeared that she was choking. He turned and asked his mother if she was all right. She shook her head no and he then bolted out of there. He ran from the table saying he was going to go call 911. I squatted down next to the woman and asked her if she was choking, she nodded her head that she was.

I put one hand up under her breasts and the other on her back and gave her a mighty squeeze. Plop, up came a broccoli stalk. At first I thought I had pushed her guts out. The two women sitting across the table from her could only say, “Oh, mother what are you doing?” Neither of the two got up from their seats.

Then another woman came running up to the table giving out instructions; she just happened to be a nurse who was having dinner at another table. We were able to get the elderly woman relaxed and breathing again. When her son returned, he was still in a frazzle telling us that he had just called for an ambulance. Then a calm came over the place and we all settled down.

I went back to the bar and finished my Fat Tire and ordered the prime rib. On the way out the elderly woman came by where I was sitting and asked to talk to me. Leaning against her walker she told me with a sparkle in her eyes and joy in her voice that she thought she was going to choke to death on her 91st birthday and I helped her have a good birthday after all. I gave her a Pirate hug and told her it was my pleasure and she should have a great birthday and forget about the lousy food.

As she left with her posse, I thought how weird it would have been to live that long and die choking to death on your own food while your family debated the nutritional value of the potato. I also thought how I had debated with myself prior to coming to the restaurant for dinner, instead of ordering room service.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Bonner's Ferry

ARRRRGH!!! I’m back. The Pirate has returned fro his time at sea and is ready to plunge into his plunder, to savor the fruits of his capture. And to catch up with all the crap that doesn’t get done when you’re out RP&Ping about from port to port. The Mrs. Pirate had kept the Pirate’s den in order as a good ward will but the crew in the damn office have let a few ends fall through the crack. Can O’Corn did well and should be awarded a new patch for not killing the other pukes we share the office cove with.

Where was the Pirate you ask? Northern Idaho I was appraising four little sawmills smattered about the panhandle. I was in Bonner’s Ferry, Moyie Springs, Laclede and Chilco, all little hamlets with few people and a lot of country to look at. I was especially taken by Bonner’s Ferry.

Nestled in Kootenai River valley with a population of 2,515 that call the village home, this small paradise bustles with little recognition from the outside world. The locals some Canadian gamblers, those on their way elsewhere and people like me know the place exists.

I arrived late on night last week after driving from Spokane and found a room at the local Indian casino. The slow pace of life there was instantly realized the next morning when I went to the local greasy spoon restaurant the following morning. The diner was called, Panhandle and looked like something right out of the 1950s. I strolled into the diner early and found that the local world savers were already armed with their cups of Joe, half eaten breakfasts and busy working on one current event after the other. I found a place at the counter as the well worn and matriarch waitress was chomping on the bit to fill me a cup of some gut burner coffee and turned 0on my eavesdropping ear to sense some of the local opinion. They were mostly busy talking about the two missing children Dylan and Shasta Groene from the Coeur D Alane area. A terrible story I must say even for a Pirate. I had to drive past the home that was shown on television on my way up and back and it tore my heart. Then I heard one of the best comments I have ever captured from my eavesdropping experiences.

There were five men dressed in the local attire of black and red plaid shirts, jeans and a ball cap with a patch from a variety of agriculture or timber industry logos on them. The men were talking about the upcoming school levy election coming up and the cost of schools these days and why they should or shouldn’t vote for the levy when one guy said, “Why did they condemn the school building anyway? When I went to school there it was just fine for us. Do these kids today think they are just too damn good for the old school?” Then all the other guys started piping in on how demanding kids are today and so on and so forth. Not one guy said anything about why the school may have really been condemned. I mean these guys were all in their late to early 60s and 70s. It may be because the damn building may be older than dirt and full of asbestos and poor wiring and just doesn’t meet today’s code for a public building. The discussion was priceless for a writer.

I found an excellent used bookstore there too. Has anyone read anything from a writer Howard Frank Mosher? If you have let me know how you liked it.

Monday, May 16, 2005

I'm late, I'm late for a very important date

I feel like the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. I don't have the time to properly blog today or for the last week for that matter. I'm on my way to Seattle for a court case ,then to northern Idaho to visit five seperate sawmills, and then to a few graduations.

Jock pulled his hamstring in the final at the district meet. He went into the 400m race with 51.6 time, second best in the league and came up lame in the final 100m. I was as proud of his effort as if he had won. He was down for a day and bounced back the next looking forward to his senior year next year. Good kid.

Slick's season came to abrupt end too. He personally told me he was glad it was over. He now is managing a band and wants to concentrate on being the next Colonel.

Little Sisters softball continues and will take Mrs. Pirate and myself into retirement if we aren't careful.

Blaze just got hired full time in Salem as a paramedic making us even more proud.

Alls well until the bills come in.

Friday, May 13, 2005

Another terrible joke

Three men were sitting in their favorite bar pounding some ale. When the ale got the best of them they began to brag. Brag and brag they did. Then the subject of who is tougher than who came up and the alcohol influenced discussion got serious; I mean real serious.

One fellow jumped from his chair and ran to the bar and slammed his finger down on the bar. “Bartender cut that sonofabitch off, will ya?”

The bartender asked him if he was serious and the man said damn straight. The bar tender took out a cleaver out from under the bar and SMACK; he chopped the finger clear off.

The second man not to be out done charged up to the bar and laid his whole hand on the bar and said, “Bartender cut that fucker off.”

Out came the cleaver and the man lost his hand.

The third man knew he had to get back some of his dignity so he walked to the bar, unzipped his trousers and flopped his nine-inch pecker on the bar. The other two new amputees ran to his side as the bartender approached him with cleaver in hand. “Do you want me to cut that off too?” asked the bartender.

“No’” said the man. “Just kiss it a couple of times, it’ll go off by itself.”

Monday, May 09, 2005

Sayings I like

Sayings I like to use. For many years I coached football and basketball for junior high boys. At their age the little guys like to always say, “I’m trying.” I guess if you can get the adult to buy off on fact that you’re “trying” no further effort is required.

I would always say, ”Steers try, bulls do”. I don’t think many of them understood what I was trying to convey. I know most of their mothers didn’t because I heard a mom or two over the years use the same saying after their kid went through a couple of seasons with me. It was always funny to hear some mother tell her whining kid “Steers try, bulls do”. One mother though pulled me aside and told me she knew what I meant by the saying and then smiled at me. That was it; she didn’t follow it up with anything other than a smile.

The other saying I love is when you have someone that has doubt about their potential or questions their ability to win, I always say, “Go eat their lunch and then hit them upside the head with the sack when your done.” I don’t really know what it means myself but it sounds good. It is encouraging to doubters.

When trying to describe how dumb someone is I like, “He couldn’t find his ass in a small room with both hands and a flashlight”. It’s another one that usually draws blanks, but it is funny too.

When you are discussing women with another man who likes to call woman, whores or sluts, I always ask them if they know the difference between the two. If they don’t, I tell them what my dad always said the difference was. A whore is a girl that has sex with all your friends and you and a slut is a girl that has sex with all your friends but you. Using that measuring stick over the years I think he was right, because I always sensed a slight tone of anger when the term slut is used.

Do you have any you like?

I will be taking a couple of days off to go watch Jock run in the district meets the next few days. He is rated number 4 in both the 200mm and 400mm for their league. The two relays he runs in 4X400mm and 4X100mm they should get third or second in both. A first or second in any of these four events would send him to state. Last week after a road meet a college coach approached him and wants to have him visit their campus. He was shocked. They were there to see the kid he was running against and apparently they were shocked that he won. Who knows maybe Mrs., Pirate and I may get some help in feeding this kid when he goes off to college.

Keep up the good fight and remember steers try, bulls do.

A Pirate's Lust

I guess its time I come clean. As a Pirate that blogs I can keep many secrets, especially from Mrs. Pirate and all that read. But now the burden has become too much to carry. I’m in lust with Paris Hilton.

I know many of you are probably saying why, oh why, Pirate man? Is it too tough to find someone better? Are you that hard up? Or are you some kind of perv? Many of you will instantly start tearing away at her for her droopy eye, or her lack luster life of a prom queen. Many will despise her because of the ever-present silver spoon hanging from her lip. Or dis her for carrying a Chihuahua around all the time. Then there is the sex video. The poor girl can’t even take the whole enchilada, but she sure gives it real good try.

The truth is I am a lowly piece of crap when it comes to lusting and I have never been too damn creative when I develop a lust for a celebrity. My first was Raquel Welch when I was first experimenting with uhm, life. Then the Bridget Bardot pictures in Playboy were keepers. Then I lusted for Lori Partridge and not Marsha Brady, sorry I like the hippie looking type. Then there were a variety of celebs throughout college. Mostly women that would bare their breast in any movie made my head turn. Or should I say, stand up and take notice. It didn’t take much then and it takes just a tad more today to peak my interest in celebrity lust.

A few years ago I was quietly lusting for the teen babe Britney Spears. As most women that I knew bitched about how the girl was fucking up all the little girls that were buying her records, I thought boy she has a nice belly button. The secret here is that Britney wasn’t created for the little teenybopper girls but rather for their bored and lusting fathers.

Today we have Paris Hilton. I lust her very much. Those eyes that look like she just got done smoking a bowl. Those lips, those lips, those lips, did I mention her lips? Pouty and full, lips just like any lustful perverted Pirate would appreciate many a nights sailing about. And her slow and slumbering movement, her lack of excitement, her inability to over react is much needed aboard a pirate ship. Then that little ass of hers is well, hot!.

Don’t be too upset please. Because I would kick that damn ankle biting snippy little hairless poodle to the curb as soon as I brought her into my nest. I would then go to work on her making her ship shape.

Paris when ever you are ready to sail the open seas and be ravaged day after day and become a kept little rich bitch, just call and I’ll come sailing. Imagine and I don’t really like the French.

Please give a thought about the Reverend Doctor Abigambi whenever you have free time. He recently had some medical work done to him so he could compete in the Tour de France. He now swings to one side. His doctor told him that they could replace it with a baby onion but he was afraid it might make his martini olive jealous. I spoke with him this morning and he sounded terrible. He claims it was the breathing tube. Yeah right bud.

If you really want to piss the guy off just add him to your prayers. There is nothing that makes a scoundrel like him more uncomfortable than dating a transvestite than people praying for his soggy ass. The good thing for the Rev. Dr. is no one can get DNA samples from him any more and that will cut down on what he always calls, false accusations.

Friday, May 06, 2005

Traffic Light

Spring of 1970 two days after hearing that my Uncle Timmy had been wounded in Viet Nam, it was to be the biggest day I could remember for our small town, Black Bear. The school was to be let out early, being let out early was always a big deal for a fifth grader, especially on a warm sunny day. The word was that everyone in town was going to be there. The school was to be let out and the local mill would operate on a skeleton crew to allow for the local to attend. The mayor, Lech “The Polock” Duda was to host the ceremony. People of various levels of importance within our community were to speak. Citizens of day’s past and current civil leaders were to chime in about the significance of this day.

Black Bear was getting its first traffic light. There’s no doubt that the rest of civilization would smirk if told of the big trappings being applied to such a small town affair, but from the view of our community a traffic light assured us that we were a part of modern day civilization; we were part of the world. Black Bear was moving into the 20th century. We were not going to deny progress. Not in Black Bear that’s for sure.

There hadn’t been this much excitement since the town council had voted to blacktop the main street, Cadillac Avenue. Prior to blacktop Cadillac Avenue was oiled every June to keep the dust down from the logging trucks. It was discovered years later that the substance they used to hold down the dust for the main street was cancerous but hell most of the adults of Black Bear drank and smoked anyway and if that didn’t kill them a jealous spouse or an industrial accident would.

At one o’clock the school was released and we were instructed to walk in groups to the town center and meet at the baseball diamond. Mr. Shenk made it clear that all of us were to sit on the south bleacher and not the north bleachers. That was the first time I realized there was a geographical difference between the bleachers. I had thought that one side was visitors and the other side was for the home team. At least the home bleachers were covered even though they were now to be known as the north bleachers. Mr. Shenk had a knack for being so precise and I think a little problem with control.

When the group of us kids arrived at the baseball diamond the home or north bleachers were filling up with adults and the visitors or south bleachers were filling up with students. Phil and I found our place on the top bleacher so we could get a better look at the traffic light that was to be unveiled by the mayor. We both could see what appeared to be the light hanging over the intersection of Mill Road and Cadillac Avenue covered with a green tarp that was connected to a long rope that lead to a stage and dais that had been erected for the mayor.

Mayor Duda was working the crowd of adults, clasping hands, patting backs, kissing old lady’s cheeks and telling the latest Polock jokes. After every joke his laugh would demand attention of others too far away to hear the joke. His laugh solicited more laughs without knowing what had been said. Phil and I looked at each other, rolled our eyes and chuckled at the mayor and the adults that all wanted to be seen with him.

I looked around and saw most of the people I knew except for my mother and father and my grandparents who had stayed home just in case they received a call about Uncle Timmy. I saw my first love that crushed my heart, Kandi; she was sitting prim and proper with her new boyfriend Steve. Steve was an older kid who was doing his second term as a sixth grader. I figured Kandi only went out with him because it made her feel superior to the guys in our class. Plus she had already broken the hearts of all the boys in our class except for Phil’s. Mr. Shenk stood stiff and erect with his arms crossed, his brow furrowed staring at Phil and I, as if he thought he was going to have to drag the two of us off for a good paddling. He always reminded me of a cat that was stalking a small animal, laying in wait, looking for the most opportune time to leap on it’s prey and bite the smaller animals neck until it died.

The mayor approached the podium, shook more hands, the owner of the mill, the owner and operator of the general store and several other old men that owned everything else in Black Bear. As Mayor Duda neared the dais the school band began to play which was followed by the town’s fire alarm. The fire alarm was donated to Black Bear when I was in the first grade. There hadn’t been such a celebration for its inauguration but the alarm still was seen as a vital part of our community. The alarm was sounded ever weekday at noon and at the curfew hour, ten o’clock every evening.

Once the alarm ebbed its whirling gravelling sound the band played the national anthem as both bleachers stood and saluted the American flag flapping proudly behind the cage that separated the home plate from the bleachers. Mayor Duda tapped the microphone and when he received the attention of those in attendance he told us the newest Polock joke. Something about bottle opening instructions being printed on the bottom of the coke bottles in Poland. I never really got the dumb jokes Mayor Duda prided, but it seemed to give him a lot of staying power.

“People of Black Bear thank you for attending this ceremony. Thank you for taking time out of your busy lives to be here today,” the mayor began. “Today it is my pleasure to present to you great folks, the key to modernization for Black Bear, Oregon. Our very own stop light.” He then tugged on the rope that was attached to the green tarp and the tarp fell to the ground revealing the 20th century. There hanging from two power lines that crossed each other above the intersection was a brand new traffic light. Then someone was given the signal and power was supplied to the light. Red, yellow and then green lights shown, the people of Black Bear laughed and cheered and greeted each other with glee. Elder men and women who had spent most of their lives in Black Bear seemed to be the most excited school kids like Phil and I had far less enthusiasm for such celebration.

Then the crowd fell quiet as the first car approached the light, it was my family’s car. My dad was driving, mom was sitting in the front seat with him and my grandparents sat in the back seat. My interest peaked; my family was going to be the first people to use the light. Dad slowly stopped at the red light as he approached the crosswalk on Cadillac Avenue. The crowd cheered and laughed and the mayor wore a broad smile as well. When the light turned green the crowd continued their excitement, dad eyed me drove through the light and pulled over next to the south bleachers.

My parents didn’t give the impression they were all that impressed with the historical significance they had just experienced. Dad wore the look on his face as if his molar tooth had been acting up again. Mom stared at something in her hand and my grandparents seemed to be crying. Dad got out of the car and approached the bleachers. He looked up to me with tears in his eyes and said, “Frankie you need to go home, son.”

I climbed down the bleachers and walked over to the car, “Dad you were the first to use the light, man that was cool.” I informed him with my new sense of local celebrity.

“Frankie, Uncle Timmy, we were just notified that um,” dad wiped a tear from his cheek and eyes, “Timmy died son.”

I felt like my heart was ripped from me, trying not to let those around us know there was despair I walked to my dad and he knelt down to hug me. “Son we have to go.” Dad led me to the car where mom, Grandma and Grandpa sat in pain.

We drove off toward home through the traffic light being the first and second people to use the traffic light. The crowd cheered again as we drove away. Black Bear had leaped into the 20th century traffic light or not.

Thursday, May 05, 2005

Another bad joke

Two young boys were sitting on a porch during a hot afternoon, drinking glasses of iced tea. Their hound dog sat between them on the porch floor, licking his old dangling hound balls.

One boy smacks his lips and looks down at the hound that was lost in his licking. “I wish I could do that,” the boy says to the other boy.

The other boy said,” you probably could, but I’d pet him first.”

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

What's in a Word

At one time in my life I worked for the state of Oregon and had to eventually leave because I couldn’t handle working with so many unethical and lazy ass people. Granted there were many good people there but they were usually kept in a cage for viewing. For a Pirate it was rough. Rarely did I go a whole week without pissing off someone either by having a different opinion or by something I said.

One example of going against the current there was the day I used the word “gal” in a harmless sentence. I wasn’t being derogatory or belittling in any way. It is a word that is used in an endearing way where I come from; Oregon.

I got a call from the boss and he wanted to see me in his office at once. So I go down there to see what the urgency was. He sat me down and started in on one of his, “beat around the bush” approaches of getting somewhere the long way. “I realize Pirate you grew up in a small logging community and you may not have had the experiences of you know, the social graces”. Which was short for you’re a dumb ass hick, boy. “Apparently you used a term in your presentation yesterday that many found very inappropriate and socially unacceptable.”

My mind was rushing about. “What did I say?” Did I say fuck, shit, what could I have said. Oh my god did I say the “N” word? I was replaying the whole presentation I had given the prior day in my head. Zip, Zip, (this is the tapes rewinding) man what. Then I asked him what did I say?

“Pirate you used the word, gal.” He told me standing above me looking down, over his glasses at me with inflamed indignation.

I looked at him and said, “You’re shittin’ me? That’s it?”

“Yes, that’s it. It’s a bad word in today’s society.”

“What society are you Californian immigrants living in? It sure and hell isn’t Oregon,” I told him. Now you can see why I was such a bad influence on my coworkers, I actually had a mind of my own.

“I have decided to send you to a ‘Diversity Class’ to allow you to save your job.” He informed me.

Off to “Diversity Class” I went. At least it’s an easy day for pay. I mean how difficult could it be? I have no problem accepting other people and their differences. I was taught to appreciate all people in my little backwoods village, regardless of their gender, race, age or religion. Even their sexual preference wasn’t my concern.

Man talk about a bunch of crack pots making a killing off the state. Here I was in an auditorium with nothing but men being told that we were all bigots and chauvinists and certainly not worthy of life. Hell some of us could very well have been Christians. These people were nuts. After a Hitler type ranting by the militant woman libber running facilitating the class she passed out a list of words that were deemed to be inappropriate and we were to be re-educated about them. I’m not kidding, this is true and your tax dollars were hard at work.

The list had words like gal, woman, broad, chick, dame and several inappropriate racial words as well. Finally I had to say something. I couldn’t sit there without some type of response. I said, “Madam, why is the word ‘woman’ on this list?” I don’t think Madam was good either. She looked at me with kill in her eyes. “Its because the word ‘woman’ is an acronym for wife of man”. She was serious; I could see her fantasizing about pinching my nuts off. She was furious that some lily-white honky mother fucking asshole from Hicksville had the audacity to ask her such a stupid question.

“Oh, I see, so now what is it an acronym for? Wife of mine?”

The place full of men erupted into laughter.

“And why is gal on here?” some guy in the back yelled out.

This I had to hear. She told us without batting an eye, “Its because in some places in the south white men refer to their chattel, like cows and slaves as ‘gals’”.

Then someone yelled out, “Why aren’t there any words here about men?”

“Because men don’t get upset about these types of things,” was her other stupid ass response.

That was all I could take I got up and left. As I was leaving I was asked what my name was and why I was leaving. I told her my name was Pirate and I had to go check on my gals at the farm.

This was not the only stupid ridiculous downright useless thing the state put me through in my 14-½ years with those socialist fascist pigs. It only got worse from there.

Sad day

The dark cloud will eventually fade away. There has been a gloom over all of us at our home and neighborhood the last couple of days. The other night was prom night for our local teens and one of our local boys was in an accident and his date was killed. The tragedy hit our neighborhood like a ton of bricks. Most of us found out about the accident on the evening news. I was the one that had to tell my boys. There response was a small bit indifferent and mostly shock. I could hardly get it out without welling up and my voice shaken.

The young man is this year Valedictorian of the graduating class. He aced the SAT test and was awarded a free ride to MIT. His date was heading for the same college this next year. They had their love and live ahead of them. Then a freak accident changed the direction of their lives.

The young man I know through my two sons. They ran cross-country with him and he is on the same track team with my boys. My eldest son and this boy have been building computers for others, which has inspired Jock to try starting his own business. Today there is a track meet and this young man has told his friends and teammates he plans to be there.

To make the incident even more eerie is my youngest brother was the police officer that went to the accident. Then he was interviewed in the paper about it. He told me that he was shaken as well. He said the little girl was so beautiful and her death is such a waste. The young man and his date were on their way to the prom and were the last people that you would think of being in such accident. Neither of the two have ever touched drugs or alcohol or pushed any of the limits that usually kill the inexperienced.

The cloud will lift most of us spectators that I am sure of I pray it lifts from the young man.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

In the News and Would you Marry this Pirate

The mystery of the runaway bride is over. And thank God it didn’t have a similar conclusion of the recent national dramas we have grown accustom watching on a weekly basis. Thank God there was no little girl snatched from her bed and to have their precious little bodies recovered later after some monster took their lives. Thank God it wasn’t another battle over what rights a spouse may have over life because at one time they said, “I do”. Thank God there is a conclusion that all can live with.

Now what to do with the flighty (pun intended) broad who couldn’t bring herself to marry Gomer Pyle when they were days from the matrimonial march down the aisle. Some are calling for her head, others are saying forget about it, and others (which I assume is the majority) think this was one funny event and we could care less.

Who in the hell has a wedding with 600 people there? Other than a Pirate who always has those who are sucking up to him, why would you want so many people there? Was it for the number of great gifts you could possibly receive? I mean how many toaster ovens can one couple use? You only need one clock per room for crying out loud. My guess is these two or maybe just he and that’s why she split, is a greedy fellow and wanted tons of gifts for his wedding.

I was watching Gomer on television last night as he was being interviewed and he was asked what did you do when you first saw her? His response took me by surprise. He said he gave her back her diamond ring as soon as he saw her and she put it back on her finger. I thought is there something here we’re not seeing? Why did he have her engagement ring already? Did she leave it behind? If she did, did he know she split the scene? Is there a possible money motive behind potential stage abduction? I don’t know call me skeptical but I just don’t think we’re getting the entire story. Another thing he said that made me wonder was his comments about how he feared the lie-detector test. If you didn’t do anything, why be fearful. I know there could be false test results but I don’t know if anyone has ever been convicted of a crime because of lie-detector test results. Their credibility may come into question but conviction I don’t know. Did he and his goofy bride-to-be stage a possible abduction then chicken out? Was this some kind of drama that they played for some monetary payoff? Are they being paid for their interviews? Do they have a possible book in the works?

Stay tuned and watch this one. I don’t know if it’s all we think it is, but at least she is safe. We also know who she thinks are the bad guys, those darn Hispanics. She originally said she was abducted by a Hispanic man and woman in a blue van, why not Arab dudes, or a couple of black dudes, or two or three Bubbas that looked like my hero, Larry the Cable Guy?

These are just things this Pirate guy wants to know.

This last weekend I went in and got a haircut. The young and I might add very attractive girl, named Chastity cutting, my Pirate locks asked me what I do. I said what do you mean? She said you know? What do you do? I told her I was a Pirate and I drink, rape, plunder and pillage. Then I asked her if she was interested in being ravaged by a Pirate? You should have seen her face. She giggled and hummed around back there. She was panicked but interested. I could see she was thinking what could happen to me if this 40 something Pirate shanghaied me off to some enchanted island and made me his belly-warming wench? Would he allow me to keep my pierced lip and nose? Will he make me clean up after him and his bullshit Pirate friends? Would he eventually put me up above his other minions and make me his personal property or would he share me with his brood?

I then tipped her a five and walked out. I thought I had pulled one real good RF on someone. I got home looked in the mirror and she had shaved a monk’s bald spot on the back of my head. My little daughter claims I already had the spot but I am not sure about that. I think my daughter may be working with my dog that is undercover for the FBI. Details at eleven….