Blogger be messin with me

I had blogged a joke that was suppose to be for today and it ended up on Thursday. If you want to read a funny joke check out Thursday's post.

Not much to Post

My laptop is on the outs and I have the flu. Jock and I have been laying around on the couches sick as crap. I am sure it avarian because we hadn't eaten any birds lately. I am borrowing my son's PC to let everyone know I just am too sick to blog yesterday or today.

Last week the Mrs. Pirate and the two younger pirates were sick and now I guess its Jock and my turn. Blaaaah...

I certainly liked the comments on the last post. Its Hillary for the Dems. And Condi or McCain for the Republicans. No room for a third party candidate? You know there are a lot of people in this country that are leaders and have little or no party affiliation. They tend to think moderately and don't owe their souls to any industry or special interest group. Personally I'd like to see someone with the raise their hand and say they'd do it. Someone with the wit of a Will Rodgers or Mark Twain, the brains of a Condi Rice or Newt Gingrich (I know you hate him but he is smart), the morals of Lincoln, ethics of my great grandmother Shaw (who will be 102 in two weeks), the compassion of a Mother Theresa, the humility of Ghandi and political personality of a Clinton or Reagan. Does anyone come to your mind? Until we find someone like this you know we will always get the same old crap.

Gotta go feeling punky right now.

Peace

Drinks for Everybody

Being under the weather and not having the creative muse at work today I went back and dug up one of my favorite jokes from March. Addict you can figure this is the Brick and Hoos maybe the oldPink Elephant out in Four Corners. The rest of you around the country consider this your favorite wateringhole.

The other day Mrs. Pirate and I were sitting in a bar in beautiful downtown Salem, Oregon enjoying a couple pints of Black Butte Porter when a gangly fellow staggered in. He staggered up to the bar looked the place over and yelled, “Drinks for everybody, even you Mr. Bartender”.

The place livened up and everyone held his or her empty up and said thank you. The bartender refilled everyone’s glass and slapped back one himself. As I licked the bottom of my glass the fellow yelled out again, “Drinks for everybody, even you Mr. Bartender”.

Hey, I was really taken by this guy. The bartender poured the house full again and slapped back another himself. My new friend continued his graciousness five or six more times. Then the bartender thanked him for being such a gent but told the fellow he couldn’t pour anymore until the good fellow paid his tab up. Then the bartender would be more than happy to continue.

My new friend straightened his back and in his best swaying and slurring attempt told the bartender he didn’t have any means to pay up the tab. Naturally the bartender was enraged. What do you mean you don’t have any money?” he screamed.

"I’m sorry I have no means to pay,” slurred my new friend.

The bartender leaped over the bar, grabbed the gracious fellow and hauled him to the alley. In the alley the bartender pounded our new friend to the ground. Punching, stomping and kicking the downed fellow the bartender figured he had reached his compensation in flesh for the six rounds of drinks.

The beaten fellow got to his feet and staggered away. The bartender returned to his charge.

After the commotion had ended and the patrons had gotten back to purchasing their own spirits the fellow staggered back in through the front door. Everyone turned and watched our new friend stagger towards the bar. When our beaten drunk friend got to the bar he turned and yelled, “Drinks for everyone, except you bartender. You get rowdy when you drink.”

Be Careful for What You Wish For

I had to laugh after a discussion I had with a friend last night. This friend is one of my best friends that loves to debate politics with me. Not discuss, DEBATE. We have been friends for many years and have agreed on many things but politics is not one of the areas of mutual agreement.

You see he hates, I mean HATES, Republicans, except for me of course. He despises Bush and Reagan was the anti-Christ as far as he is concerned. He has told me that the Bushes have been part of the international drug trade for decades and have played the facade as the ultimate American Family to the hilt when all along they are nothing butr mobsters. He spews this goofy diatribe as if he has proof and was part of some survalliance team that has followed the Bushes since the time of U.S. Senator Prescott Bush.

This friend will run on for ever talking about conspiracies and how this group was behind this and that. How the CIA or Nixon was behind the Kennedy assasination, how the Free Masons have been pulling the strings for ever and ever since the Crusades. He has even went as far to tell me that the Bush family was behind the attacks on 9/11.

Then he'll pooh pooh my assertions that there were more people to gain with the assisnation of Kennedy then Nixon or the CIA. He'll laugh at my theories of why Clinton married a daughter of a Teamster attorney and how the town he grew up in (not Hope, Arkansas) Hot Springs, Arkansas was the winter home of the Chicago mob and that Capone had a mansion in Hot Springs. He laughs when I mention that Clinton's mother spent most of her time at the track where the mob also spent a lot of their time. He even laughs when I tell him that Joseph Kennedy had mob connections from his days of youthful indescretion.

Now last night he was salivating over the fact that Cheney may be caught up in the leaking of a CIA agent's name to the press. He thinks that Cheney, who incidently may be Reagans replacement, is on his way to jail or at the very least have to resign as Vice President. I would have to say he is giddy about it. He is so sure that once Cheney is gone there will be no Republicans in the White House from 2008 to 2016. He thinks Hillary will ride in and save the day.

I then began to rain on his parade. I threw a little of his thinking back at him. I asked him if he thought maybe this was a ploy by the Great Mastermind who was behind the attacks on 9/11 to assure another eight years of Republican rule.

"No way! What do you mean?" he asked not sure if I was messing with him or not.

"Let me ask you, why do you think Hillary will win in 2008?"

He told me that because, "She has great name recognization, plenty of money (incidently raised the same way Tom Delay does it) and she has the backing of the liberal and slightly to the left in the country and if you haven't noticed she is a woman and she will get 75% of the woman votes."

"Do you think Condi Rice could beat Hillary?" I asked him.

"She doesn't have the experience that Hillary has had." was his retort.

"Well, let's see, she was the Provost at Stanford, she was an advisor to two presidents, she was the National Security Advisor, and now the Secretary of State" I figured that had to be atrump card there.

"She hasn't been in a position of power or a position of administration she has always been a flunky." Now he was confident he put my horse back in the stall.

"Do you think Vice President has a little more clout then First Lady or US Senator from New York?" was what I responded with. I then went in for the kill. " Let's see she is woman and she is Black. Using your line of thinking on Hillary, why wouldn't apply to her?"

"Because she isn't Vice President is why."

My final assault. "If Cheney resigns, who do you think Bush will select as his VP?"

I told him be really careful what you wish for...

Happy Bomb Day

Today my baby girl turned 14 years old. Man that seems to surreal to me. My oldest girl was only 2 years old a week ago. At least that is how it seems to me.

So about 5 am this morning I hear our bedroom door open ever so slowly. Then I hear Lil Sis's whisper ask Mrs. Pirate if it was okay for her to get up so early. And then she asked if we remembered what today was. When she marries one of these days remind me to warn the new husband that she takes her birthday as seriously as I do. She doesn't have a birthday it is more like a birthweek. We bought her a lot of name brand clothes because that is what that kid wants to wear. The oldest girl liked the raggy hand me downs and second hand market rags. The oldest boy wears whaever looks like he just came from PE, and the little brother, slick wears jeans and a goofy T-shirt. Lil Sis always name brands, Hmmm. Another note to future husband, make a lot of money.

When we got into the car this morning to drive them to school the birthday girl didn't have any of the new clothes on. She looked like she was dressing down for the day.

"Why aren't you wearing any of that cool stuff you got for your birthday?"

"Oh, because its bomb day," she repsonded ever so matter of frankly.

"Bomb Day" I asked ever so puzzled.

"Yes, our school was warned last week that we would all be killed at school today by a bomb." Answered without hesitation or one ounce of worry.

"That's what you and mom were talking about?" asked by a dad that listens with only one ear sometimes.

"Yep, probably someone messed up girl, left a message on the wall in the girl's bathroom last week. I figured it isn't real because she spelled bomb, b-o-m".

"So you guys are calling it bomb day?"

"Yep, and the teachers aren't so cool about that. They told us it is a serious matter and we shouldn't joke about it. We figure if its true there is nothing we can do about it, so we might as well haved fun with it. Besides they have checked the school out with policemen, dogs and all kinds of other people. I don't think there is a bomb. But if there is I don't want to ruin my new clothes"

Gotta love em. And I was worried about how they would handle this messed up world.

Two, Two Mints in One

My first impression of these lovely little girls was, "Look a new improved version of the Olsen Twins." Two cuties to start legal countdown on as many pervs did with the Olsen twins. Then I read the story. I thought this has to be a joke. No one could possibly do what they have done to these two girls.

You see these two are Lamb and Lynx, they are known as "Prussian Blue". A singing duo. They are home schooled and highly intelligent, cute, giggle at the thought of boys, have posters of the newest and hottest celebraties on their walls. They spend a lot of their time on the telephone, "just talking". They just love the stores at the mall like, Claire's, that sell all the bracletes, anklets, pins and buttons. They just recently started using minimal amounts of make up and try to be as fashionable as young ladies can. Oh, yeah I forgot they are also Nazis.

Their mother and themselves explain their vision of home schooling, as that of white people trying to stay white. One of the girls was quoted as saying, " I just want to stay white, I love being white and I don't want that to change."

Believe me sweetie it won't unless you make it big and go off your rocker like Michael Jackson did. White is the color God gave you and you will most likely live with it until your final days in a bunker.

Apparently they are a new singing duo that focuses their music on spreading hate. They have developed quit a following and now David Duke uses them to open his speeches at the local Sheet Conventions and to get the audiences stirred up. There seems to be an appeal for these girls from all over America. Thay have record sales and their popularity is growing outside of Nazi and KKK picnics.

Last week I went off on how I think that most racism is manufacturered, now I think it is being produced in recording studios. It won't be long when we see the two starring in their own movies and videos. Then the anorexic episodes and then who they are dating shots all over the tabloids. Man give me the Coors Twins any day.

I'm pooped

Sunday morning, thick clouds with no light shining through. Thank God, because I am one tired Pirate today.

I have never mentioned this in my blog before but I am a volunteer area coordinator for Salem's middle school basketball program. My job is to recruit as many boys and girls for 6th, 7th and 8th grades for the basketball program that represents the student's middle school. This last two weeks was the blitzkrieg for recruiting as many kids as possible then scheduling the evaluations Monday through Thursday and assigning coaches to each team. I ended up with over 90 kids and a load of coaches. It looks like I'll be coaching the 8th grade girls for my area.

I haven't coached girls all that much in the last 16 years of me coaching youth sports. So it will be a bit of a challenge. My observation is that the girls seem to be more intelligent then the boys at this age but they also seem far more dramatic. It should be a fun.

While I was coordinating all the recruiting and evaluations this week our high school Booster Club was in full gear for its annual sportsman auction. So while I've been recruiting and trying to get the basketball program going, I have been out soliciting local businesses for donations and participation for the local high school's sports programs. Mrs. Pirate, bless her heart has worked her little Pirate arse off and feeling she needed me near, volunteered me for the set up and clean up committees for the Auction. So I had a very late night, Friday and last night. The auction went wonderfully and it appears a lot of money was made for the sports programs. Watch out for those damn Vikings. Thus is the reason I have been running some of my old posts. No time to play.

Then my work has been demanding more of me as we gear up for two court cases one in Tacoma that is reaching the rebuttal stage and one in Tennessee that gets rolling Halloween. Fortunately I do not have to go to the Tennessee trial but I have preparation responsibilites and research to do.

Today I plan to look at my blog buddies and go up town to shop for Lil' Sister's birthday which is this Tuesday and lounge around the home office looking at dirty pictures on the web and pick my nose.

I haven't been able to get caught up on any of the important news or anything else for that matter but I am aware that Billy Bob Thornton was out bad mouthing Angelina Jolie. Apparently he is a little jealous of their break up several years ago and is having some trouble being nice. He was recently asked about their past love life and he told the reporter that making love to Angelina was like screwing a couch. Man, that must of been one good looking couch. Is he telling us he has some kind of fetish with furniture? He may be screwer then it appears he is.

100 things about the Pirate

1. I am Christian and have been as long as I remember. I pray every day and many times a day. I do not wear it on my sleeve.

2. I am a father of four great people who I have been blessed to have the opportunity to be their dad.

3. I have been married twice. The first for five years. The present 19 years.

4. The current Mrs. Pirate and I are good friends with my ex. Neither of us carry an axe to grind.

5. My parents were in high school when I was born.

6. I had 13 grandparents a live when I was born. I still have four alive today.

7. I married the first time because of she reminded me of Annie Hall.

8. I married the second time because she reminded me of Debra Winger.

9. I once stood on a corner in Winslow, Arizona.

10. I once smoked pot with the Bionic Woman.

11. I got Wilt chamberlain and Jerry West's autographs.

12. I love football, pro, college and high school.

13. Above all Earthly things I love the Rams. (Sorry other stuff).

14. I am an Industrial Appraiser and Valuation Consultant. All because I couldn't leave well enough alone.

15. I have a degree in Economics. Because they didn't give out degrees in beer drinking and pot smoking.

16. I am left handed. Or as the ancient Greeks would say, sinister.

17. There is actually a funny and long story behind me being "The Pirate".

18. I graduated from a high school class that only had ten kids in it. Joe Valsetz's sister was the smartest and best looking one in the class.

19. My parents divorced when I was 26.

20. I have two sons and two daughters, the girls are on the ends. 24 yrs, 18 yrs, 16 yrs and 14 yrs.

21. I constantly remind Mrs. Pirate that my name is on the top line of the checking account. She reminds me we use a debit card for most things and pay on line. So I can have the checking account reign if I want.

22. I have an endearment toward men like John Wayne, Wilford Brimly, Ben Johnson. Hey, for a Pirate I have a weakness for those type of men that remind me of my grandfathers.

23. I have tried to live my life as a dad like that of Atticus Finch.

24. I have taken my kids to school most of their lives.

25. When they were in elementry school I got a rise and a tear every morning watching them run across the school ground with their little backpacks on and assignments in hand heading for the front door of their school.

26. Today I drop them off and still kiss them or tell them I love them as they get out of the car in front of their friends. It embarrasses the hell out of them. Good. I always say something like, "Learn something today and gome home smarter then you were at breakfast."

27. We have two dogs and two cats.

28. I commute 100 miles round trip to work every day.

29. I avoid road rage by listening to classical music and scratching my nuts. Pretty sounds and self gratification tend to keep my blood pressure in check.

30. I read when I go number 2. Sometimes a whole section of the paper or a chapter or two of a novel.

31. My favorite songs are L.A. Women by the Doors, Freebird by Lynard Skynard and Greengrass and High Times by the Outlaws.

32. If I could have been anyone other then myself I would have been Jack London, or John Steinback or Jim Morrison.

33. I am a Republican Hippie. I have conservative views that are clouded by smoke.

34. I have never voted for a Democrat. I mean why in the hell would I vote for someone who inspires to be as hacked off as myself.

35. The Christian Right and the Lefty liberals each amuse me for their self exposing stupidity. I am just amazed how many people from each camp actual buy the shit they're peddling.

36. I am a victim of lust. I can't help myself when a beautiful woman crosses my vision.

37. The features that attract my attention are pretty eyes, mouths and pants seats (arses love, arses), and especially intelligence.

38. I have told Mrs. Pirate to bury me if I don't admire a lovely woman or laugh at a fart joke. Because I am already dead. She usually responds with her beautiful smile and a fart.

39. If and when I drink beer it is either a Corona, Coors or Black Butte Porter.

40. I prefer to have a conversation with someone who completly disagrees with me but is intelligent, then some idiot that totally agrees with me.

41. At times when I'm on the road I'll rent a porn flick instead of go to the lounge.

42. I swear a lot but you already know I'm a Pirate.

43. I can only see out of one eye. But I still have the ability to move the patch.

44. I like David Letterman better then Jay Leno but I watch Nightline anyway.

45. I do not believe in capital punishment. No matter who it is. I think killing Timothy McVeigh only made our society as low as he was.

46. I believe the war in Iraq is a necessary evil and a very unfortunate one. Sometimes in order to save the body from cancer a limb needs to be removed.

47. I only like about half of what GW Bush has done as President. Slightly more then that of Clinton.

48. I admired Ronald Reagan even though I didn't agree with him on a lot things.

49. I think the blog world was created for people like me. Thanks Al Gore.

50. I played football, basketball and ran track in high school.

51. I wrote the Christmas play for my sixth grade class. It was pretty good even if I have to say so myself.

52. I got at least one swat on the britches every year in school until the 8th grade.

53. I thank good they weren't pushing Ritilin when I was in school. I would have been the poster child for the drug back then.

54. I like Thanksgiving the best of all holidays.

55. I think my birthday, January 26th should be a national holiday. I share that birthday with Paul Newman, Eddie VanHalen, Wayne Gretsky, Anita Baker, the State of Michigan and Gene Siskel.

56. I am a Portland Trailblazer fan but their piss poor attitude the last few years has driven me away from watching pro basketball for the last four years.

57. I almost flunked out of college my first term. I got a .67. I never got less then 3.5 from then on. Lesson, you need to go to class, take notes, study, and leave the girls alone.

58. I had a full ride scholarship and quit after my first year. Then went back two years later on my own dime.

59. I won a national writing competition when I was in the sixth grade. I got a plastic globe, a certificate and a pat on the back. My school got money and a set of encyclopedias.

60. I volunteer for the middle school in our area as the basketball coordinator in a city-wide basketball program called, Skyball.

61. I have coached youth sports most of the last 16 years.

62. My wife volunteers us at the high schol all the time. Booster club, team parents.

63. If it wasn't for my wife I would have little to do with volunteering. Messes with my TV watching and my moments of self-adulation.

64. I read anywhere from 40 to 50 books a year.

65. I work for a prick.

66. I drive an old car to work with 125,000 miles, I bought for $1,800 three years ago and park among a bunch of new sports cars and SUVs and know damn well I make a helluva lot more then most of those with the pricy cars.

67. I carry an extra fifty pounds. i'm waiting for the Biggest Losers to call.

68. I have brown eyes.

69. Is my favorite number and appears three times in important ID numbers I have.

70. I always like Dennis Miller, on SNL, MNF and his own show on CNBC. If there ever was someone who articulated what I feel about most things or confirmed my beliefs it would be him.

71. I can name all fifty states and their capitals.

72. At one time I could name all the countires in the world and their capitals but Reagan and Gorbechav ruined that for me.

73. My favorite color is blue.

74. I think Asian women in general are the most beautiful.

75. I have never dated an Asian woman.

76. Steak is my favorite food.

78. I do 90% of all the cooking in our home.

79. I hate home repairs. I am the farthest thing from Bob Villa.

80. I am a history buff. I love to discuss politics with anyone and on any subject.

81. I love life.

82. I have always told people that when I die it will be from a gunshot in the back from a jealous husband when I am 96.

83. Bad taste is my forte. As John Belushi use to say is that comedy doesn't have to be classy or appropriate it only has to be funny.

84. I know a bunch of quotes by Mark Twain.

85. My first lust was Rachel Welch. I had a poster of her in "A million years BC" along side my poster of OJ in my room as a kid.

86. I shared a bedroom with my two brothers. I slept on the top bunk and once kicked my brother Kevin in the head while he was a sleep because the Dallas Cowboys had eliminated the Rams from the playoffs that morning.

87. I had only have one sister. A redheaded spitfire Irish Lass.

88. I grew up with my feet in the world of white trash and my head in the clouds.

89. I once ran a marathon. But I have ran that distance two more other times but they weren't during a scheduled run.

90. I grew up hunting with my dad and brothers but never liked killing. I will shoot birds and fish but will not hunt big game anymore.

91. I wish you could make a good living doing nothing.

92. I like to flirt. If no other reason other then to give my heart a burst and to allow my ego to hold shotgun over me.

93. I am more talk then action but you can't always count on that.

94. You can't always count on me. I've dropped the ball before and have an idea I'll do it again.

95. I make it a point to be as nice as I can at that particular moment. If you ever meet me and think I was an ass, you can guess what it was like being me at that moment.

96. When I was a kid I had long thick black curly hair. I looked like Peter Brady. The middle boy.

98. I've seen Peter Brady's reality show on MTV. I have aged better then him if you ask me.

99. I let the answering machine answer the phone when I'm home. Its not that I don't want to talk to you, its I'm either busy or too damn lazy to answer it.

100. I figure this January I have 50 more years of life.

Who is Blaze?

I have referred to her in many posts as Blaze. Who is she? She is my soon to be 24 year old daughter. One of my four pride and joys. Besides being one of the prettiest people to ever walk this Earth she is without question the sweetest. Since many of those who read my blog are relatively new to my Pirate musings I thought it would be a good idea to introduce you to my brood over the next few weeks. You have read where Jock embarrassed me while dining out by screaming to the other patrons that he and his father proudly pissed in the sink. This little story is why I think Blaze grew up to be a paramedic out trying to save the world.

When she was five, a friend of mine and I took her pheasant hunting. A typically smart thing for a Pirate to do, take a little girl who had rarely been around a gun thus far in her life and start killing things in front of her.

On our way out to our favorite hunting place, out in the middle of nowhere we came across two rooster pheasants graveling along side a cornfield. I pulled the truck over and Mike and I snuck up on the birds. POW! POW!

We had hit one of the birds. I mean to say I hit one of the birds, God only know what Mike was shooting at. The bird didn’t die right away it started flipping around and around. My daughter was standing on the seat in the truck screaming her head off. Daddy, help the birdie, please daddy help the birdie. I ran to the injured bird and rung its neck and then threw it into the bed of the truck, but it flipped around in the bed for some time after it finally died. By now Blaze was completely losing it. Crying, pleading and sobbing her little head off.

Mike and I looked at each other and tried everything to calm her. She wouldn’t have it. No way is she going to sanction her daddy to kill birdies. So Mike suggested we go back into town and see if we can get her something to sooth her. We drove back into little Warden, Washington and went to a small café to buy Blaze something good to eat like warm apple pie alamode and hot chocolate. After she got her fill, Mike and I decided to take Blaze home and we could just come back out later or maybe tomorrow. Leaving town I decide to go another direction home so I wouldn’t alarm Blaze anymore than I already had.

A few miles outside of Warden we came upon a pig farm. There were thousands of little piggies running around. Mike looked out at all the baby pigs and said, “Look Blaze, look at all those baby piggies.”

She immediately sat up in her seat and with the look of horror. She lunged at me and wrapped her arms around my neck and began to plead with me. “Please daddy, don’t kill the baby piggies, please, please!
I figure she has become a paramedic/firefighter in order to save the world from her Pirate daddy.

Something I Thought I'd Never See

You know George quit drinking but my guess is these two just took two hits from a bong full of Oregon pinot noir. Look at GW's eyes and you know Bono always wears shades. Who do you suppose they get their smoke from?

They're heading for the kitchen right now.

Charley's Kiss (Rerun)

I need literary feedback on this one. I have ran it before awhile back and have been working on a small book around the character, Craig.

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 closer 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 grasped her butt as he pulled her into him. She could feel his hardness throbbing through his jeans his bite grew stronger.

“Don't be shy, Craig. What ever you want”, Charley quietly whispered in his ear. She grew ever so weak ever so dark. “Please,” 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.

Manufactured Racism

I feel inspired by a few events that have happened of late that seem to be trying to stir the pot of racial strife. Events that have made me wonder what is behind this new cry of racism.

New Orleans floods after Katrina and all of sudden its all over the tube and hidden in all the messages, Americans are racists, especially the white Christian Republican types. Essentially the message is from the media, that America is racist because black Americans are in dire straits in New Orleans.

Then we had some kid named Kenya West (incidentlly I do like his music) spouting out that President Bush doesn't like blacks. Again, white Christian Republicans males are racists. I then see a couple of dumbshits that shave their heads and wear Nazi uniforms standing on a corner in Toledo, Ohio in what I would call cartoon form. Then the talking heads hit the airwaves claiming this type of stupidity is on the rise because people like George Bush are in the White House.

Then "Banana Boat" man and his cohorts are interviewed at some "down-with-the-man" rally claiming that Bush is racists and when it is pointed out to him that no Administration in the history of this country has ever appointed black Americans to such a high position in our land, "Banana Boat" man then responds with talk about the difference between field slaves and house slaves. And furthers his accussations of racism by calling Condelezza Rice, Colin Powell and all the other black Americans that are conservative, Uncle Toms.

Bill Cosby starts an effort around the states to empower people who have had a history of blaming their short comings on others. Then those who claim to be the rightful owners of empowerment allocation department start attacking Bill Cosby the messanger. Mr. Cosby simply says instead of spending $200 on a pair of basketball shoes why not spend $200 on "Hooked on Phonics". He simply is saying make the right investments in your kids that will actually benefit them by giving them opportunity instead of directing them toward avenues that will further their disappointment.

I personally think the racism that these poverty pimps like Jesse Jackson and his accomplices in the media are trying to say exists died some time ago. The racism that use to blight this nation with a "seperate but equal" mantra has long buried. There are small pockets of the Nazi types and the backwoods rednecks that still use the "N" word as a part of their everyday vocabulary but they are in the minority. A very small minority that rivals the "Flat Earth Society".

The racism we witness today I believe is "manufactured" racism. Created for commercial use only. Created and brought out whenever fund raising or political tension is needed for the left. It is a product to be used for extortion purposes and to threaten any open mindness in the black population.

No corporate leader or politcal leader wants to be labeled a racists. So if a politician ever starts to annoy the left, the media circulates charges of racism and they either abide or die politically. The extortionist are constantly eyeing corporate America looking for any weakness in their corporate armor. If it can be construed that a particular corporation has shortcomings in any area that can be deemed racially insufficient the likes of Reverand Sharpton of Jesse Jackson move in for the kill. Backroom talks commence and the extortion money is paid to keep the peace. Who do you think pockets the extorted funds?

This reminds me of a time when I worked for the state of Oregon. In the state agencies there is a monthly attempt to empower various groups within our society to celebrate their contributions to our society. But instead of empowering, I saw divisive activities that did little to squelch racism but rather promote it.

Every month in the atrium of the state building I worked there was always some cultural activity going on that celebrated the diversity in Oregon. One month could be black American month another would celebrate Pacific or Asian Americans or even a Native American month. There were at least 10 months of the year filled with a celebration of some group.

Each month the building would be decorated with various artifacts that represented whatever group was being celebrated that month. At the end of the month there would be a pot luck or a collection of tables with dishes from all the areas being celebrated. There would be cotumed participants doing dances or playing music from a particular region. In all it was a good time and very imformative. But exclusionary.

One day I was walking through the atrium with a friend of mine who just happened to be Palastinian and came to this country as a immigrant twenty years ago and he possessed a waning sense of humor. I told him I could hardly wait until they celebrated "white American" month. I'm thinking it should be July and we can have a bunch of guys neamed Bubba, bar-be-quing in one area and another called Joe, who could be teaching people about the outdoors. He could be tying flies, or skinning a buck and a guy named Steve over there teaching line dancing and....

This friend of mine became belligerant and started yelling at me calling me a bigot. He said I was a racists and started telling everyone that would listen that I was a closed minded redneck racist. He demanded that I apologize and threatened to have me written up.

I told him that I wasn't a racists in the sense he was accussing me of and that the only ones I knew that practiced racism was the state of Oregon for having these celebration based on nothing but race.

He told me I have problems with diversity and that I was the type of guy that was ruining this country. He went on to say that he thought it was great that several months a year were put aside to celebrate diversity even if the whites in the country didn't want it.

My response was that there was already a day to celebrate diversity in America and that day was July 4th.

Needless to say I was sent to a "Celebrating Diversity" class which is a whole other post in itself.

When they were young

I just returned from a cross country meet where the North Salem Boys and Girls won the invitational. It was great because the meet was in Dallas, Oregon where I was born and I use to hang out in Dallas when I was in high school. It was the closest large town with good looking girls.

I have copied an older post for some of you that have recently met me and give you a little taste of what Mrs. Pirate and myself have had to endur as we raised these little Pirates.

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

Thanks Dan

Yesterday or the other day whatever Dan had tagged me and made me go back and find a previous post and extract a line from it. Well I did and then today i decided to put the whole thing out there until I get home tonight and can post something else.

Gallager doesn't have anything on me. Besides smashing watermelons he asks questions that make us ponder. Silly, inane stuff like why did God make flying squirrels? So they can swoop down on unsuspecting acorns? Why do stores that claim to be open 24/7 have locks on their doors?

I have a couple that bother the hell out of me.How does a blind man know he is done wiping after a healthy dump?

How come a woman could be arrested for smoking pot in the parking lot of an abortion clinic an hour after going through with the procedure?

How come a cop on a motorcycle can pull me over while I'm driving my Suburban which is equipped with six air bags and give me ticket because my shoulder strap from my seat belt is not "properly" over my shoulder?

Why do we keep lighting up when we are already high?

Why do people want to deny the existance of God with such vigor? If you don't believe he is there why bother with the argument unless you believe he is there. And if you believe he is there he must be one kick butt dude, so why mess with him?

These are only a couple of things I ponder on my daily commute to work.

Dale has tagged me

Here are the rules to the tag. Delve into your blog archive. Find your 23rd post (or closest to). Find the fifth sentence (or closest to). Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions. Ponder it for meaning, subtext or hidden agendas.Tag five people to do the same.

"How does a blind man know he is done wiping after a healthy dump?"

Man you sure can tell I am a Pirate because only someone as vulger as a Pirate (or a 7th grade boy) would ever ponder such.

I must have been in one of those moods where I wanted to post but didn't have anything constructive to say.

only hidden agewnda I can possibly think of is I wanted to offend or stir the pot.

Its hard to tag because many have already been down this way and some of those I'd natural tag are too busy. So I tag, CANDI, Madge, Margaret, Hoss and Peach.

I've got an idea

Please read my other post if you are afraid of ideas. If not read this one too. I was thinking the other day how many of you are so darn talented and have found an outlet to express a lot of that talent. I thought why don't we as a group try to publish a book on a collection of short stories.

Nothing to big maybe 20 to 30 stories all approximately 2,500 words apiece. They can be of all sorts of topics, genres and lengths for that matter or pick a topic or genre and we all write something in that mode.

We have each others email addresses, we have each others blog addresses so we can develop a collection area and start banging out some good stuff. Who knows maybe we can all find a means to make a buck or two from our blogs. I mean O'Henry did this for decades and became the collector of all the annual winners of short stories. From these collections many a great writers evolved.

I need some feed back on this and any ideas you may have.

Running Man is back

Twelve years and fifty pounds ago I was a runner. I had run for five or six years steady. I use to run 40 to 60 miles a week. I would get up early in ther morning and run from my house to Bush Park that was two miles away. At the park I would run two or more laps around the trail that borders the park and then run home.

In the evening I would get home from work don my Nikes, shorts, shirt and bandana and run to Chapman Hill elementry school and home back near the fairgrounds. If ever I had to miss a run I would become irritable like a junkie missing his fix. I have ran in some great places and seen some excellent sights. My favorite was an early morning run at the base of MT. Hood along some wheat fields as a Bald Eagle flew above me waiting for me to kill over. I want to run in places like the one in the picture.

I was never any good at running and never took a watch with me. I wasn't interested in racing as much as I was interested in running. I surrounded myself with posters at work that looked similar to this one but they always had quotes at the bottom encouraging me to run. Then one day I stopped. Something like Forest Gump. I came to a screaching stop and never did it again.

At one time I decided to start running in these small "fun runs" like the Iris Festival Run, The Memorial Hospital 10K, Cascade Runoff, and eventually the Portland Marathon. I did it mostly for the shirt and for the event. Mrs. Pirate had done some running as well during this time like the Hood to Coast which is maybe the most popular run in Oregon. At one time running had consumed me, I was constantly looking up runs to participate in, I read Runner's World like a Bible, and I actually watched running events on ESPN. I was a running junkie. But like I said I stopped. Cold Turkey.

Now I want to start again. I am 45 and will be 46 in January and need to find a healthy hobby to go along with all the other hobbies I do that tear my body apart. And to accompany my blogging. So I went out and bought some new running shoes last night, I dug out my old running shorts and quickly realized I am too fat for them. I then found a couple of old bandanas and tonight I begin. Slow and easy. Maybe a walk and run type of deal. I'll probably go a mile or a little over. If I am going to start my business at the first of the year with all the stress that will come with it I'll need to run.

Wish me luck and pray I don't have a heart attack and assume room temperature. Hoss and Addict keep an eye on the Obits. If you see that Frank B. Wheeler has bit the big one I'll depend on you to get the word out.

Bad Santa has to go?

Well, Our friends on the other side of the pond are at it again. In London awhile back they had decided in their equivalent to our high schools to allow the students use the "F" word up to five times a day. Then punishment would be enacted if they exceeded the allotted "F" words.

Today I read the powers in charge are going to clamp down on Bad Santas. No not the Billy Bob Thornton type but any Santa that is deemed below standard. Standard being a jolly old plumb elf with grey hair, a round belly, blue eyes, pink cheeks and a grandfatherly smile accompanied with a bellowing laugh. Their goal is to rid London from the "fat slob" type of Santas.

I got to thinking do we need this much control? I know its London today but you know there is some "Goody-goody Gum-Drop" group out there, just waiting to carry the torch here to the great US of A. Of course they will have to change the name of the holiday first in order not to offend those who don't celebrate "The" holiday but rather celebrate "The" season.

What worries me is I kind of like the old Santas we use to patronize at the department stores when I was a kid. The smells of bourbon or peppermint-schnaups, with a trace of tabacco and bad Chinese food along with two week old body order well festered in the red get up, brings back wonderful memories for me. What did I care when I was a kid? As long as I got a crack at the "Big Guy" and was able to provide him with the most important data I had at the time with hopes he would pull through for me or at least get the message to my mom. As long as the "Big Guy" didn't have anything in his front pocket and he appeared awake I figured I had a chance.

Man, can't we leave well enough alone? Whose next the tooth fairy?

The Hill

This is a picture of the route to Valsetz. Among those trees is a sixteen and half mile gravel road that snakes its way from Falls City (base camp for flatlanders) and finally ends at the end of the Earth (Valsetz). This picture was taken from an area the locals called "Cold Springs" a place where a shoddy-made fountain was placed to divert cold spring water for drinking and to fill up overheated radiators.

This road was one of our best weapons for sports. When a visiting team arrived to our humble surroundings they most often looked like they had been put through hell. At the top or summit of the road you have to drive along a cliff that appears to have no bottom for three or four miles. Now you must understand these are not standard roads you find in the civilized parts of the world. These are roads you probably find in the "Outback" in Australia. So bumping along a narrow patch of road with pot-holes and washboard bumps with all your insides bouncing around and your imagination pushing you over the edge, you are not in the best condition to play football or basketball when you get to the end of the road. This road, or "The Hill" as the locals referred to it as, was always good for a touchdown or two and maybe ten extra points on the hardwoods.

The scary part today is to think that there are many of us Valsetzians or Cougars as we affectionatly call each other running around on our streets in Willamette Valley and we all learned to drive on "The Hill". This means we have little fear and love to cut corners.

When we were kids it was nothing to have a stranger pull up to you as we were walking the streets of Valsetz and ask if there was any other way out of the town, other then the road they just drove up on. We fashioned our responses depending on the type of car and the attitude the flatlander had. If they were uppity and driving lets say, a BMW or some other sporty Europeon car, we would say with a loving and welcoming smile, "Sure mister you can take the road along the river to the coast." We would spend the next five minutes drawing up imaginary maps to describe their route and with a thank you and flip of their attitude they would gleefully drive towards the coast.

Now let's be honest do you think there ever was a route to the coast that was flatlander friendly? As I already said "The Hill" was by far the best route to the end of the Earth.

Days like these

Slick, Number 2 son, donning the cool running shades. Before the JV race.














Jock, Number one son, slipping out of his jacket prior to the Varsity race.








I think days like today were created for me. I rolled over early this morning and had a rasslin' match with the Pirate wife and got caught by number two son, Slick. (Note to future always lock the bathroom door from our room no matter how early it is.) He played it cool though. He's fifteen so I hope I gave him something to look forward to. One big hairy-ass Pirate man with his head between... Well, you can get the picture from here. Maybe I scarred him for life. Naaa, he'll thank me some day and so will his future lovers. Point #1.

I then tried playing it real cool by getting up and making a bodacious breakfast, sausage, eggs, hashbrowns and toast. Filling the kitchen with the great smells of a country home accompanied by strong French roast. I have the Eagles playing on the stereo, the lovely and always beautiful Pirate wife is reading the paper and the boys come downstairs.

"What are you making dad?" they both inquire as they look into the cast iron skillet sizzling away with all that could be healthy. "We have a meet today, we can't eat that greasy stuff before a meet." So they ended up with carbs and juices. Mrs. Pirate and the pegged-legged buccaneer who put the smile on her face for the day had to eat all the greasy breakfast. Point #2.

"Dad we need to be up to the school by a quarter after 8". Out the door I run with the boys as Mrs. jumps into the shower. When I get home there has been an accident in the shower. Since it was just me and the bride and the two cats who could give a rat's ass and the two dogs who are busy smelling each other's tails, I was called into action. Apparently soap had been lost and my assistance was required to find it. Dive Pirate, dive. Point #3.

Cleaned and filling a little worn and knowing that going back to bed would not be prudent and could lead to a heart-attack we decided on running down town and pick up some fresh bread from Great Harvest for the team. We get down there and the place is full of its usual aromas, country white, Dakota, Nine grain, Apple Crisp and Pumpkin bread. We buy a couple loaves and eat our free slice accompanied with a strong 20 oz. cup of coffee. Point #4.

We arrive at the meet up the road from Salem twenty miles or so. The meet was being held at Champoeg Park. The real birthplace of Oregon. The place my ancestors first met each other. A park where my great-grandmother's picture hangs in the museum. A place where my Great Grandfather use to chop wood for the sternwheelers that use to travel up and down the Willamette River prior to the US Highway system. Autumn is in full bloom or death depending how you look at it. Leaves of all colors, a bit of chill in the air and a touch of morning fog embrassing the oaks along the river. Point #5.

The race was okay. North High neither won nor were there any personal bests for anyone. They had raced Wednesday night and had taken a second in Varsity and a first for JVs. But I suspect they were too tired and worn down from the race the other day. Big deal they still had fun and I got caught between two chatter boxes that adore the Pirate wife and myself and the two women yakked my ears off. Clear off I tell you. At one time I couldn't tell if I was being overwhelmed with a coffee buzz with an ever so silencing ring in my ears or if they had actually stolen my hearing. I sat there smile plastered on my face, nodding away as I could only make out their mouths moving. I have no idea what they were saying. Then another father came up to me and said he had caught two 30lbs. salmon at the coast yesterday and he is bringing one over tonight for me. Point #6.

We then drove home and the boys told us that their coach and his wife were having a get together for the team at their house tonight at 7 to 11. Then we both realized lil sis is spending the night at her friend's house, and we will be home by ourselves until a little after 11. Point#7. Game and match.....

Working from Home Today

This is from my hotel room. As you can see Tacoma resembles most cities. The road below is Broadway. It was full of museums and art shops and of course coffee shops.

The Glass Museum. The interesting thing is I had seen a special on PBS a week or so on this museum.

Some fat Pirate with little to do but wait for 5 o'clock for Corona hour. Note the bald spot on the back of the head. I think I'll change barbers. The last time I went in the girl got carried away back there and it appears she took too much. I know I wasn't bald prior to her scalping. The bottle of wine was from the courtesy bar. I don't think I drank it, but I ate all the munchies that were in the basket.

I am back from Tacoma

Well the Can-O-Corn and myself got to Tacoma late Monday evening. Checked into the Sheraton (different rooms of course). I got stuck up on the 20th floor, I guess that is where they stick those that smoke. When I am on the road I have to have some vice. At home the brood gives me such a rash of crap I can never smoke in peace. So when I'm on the road, puff, puff, cough, my Marlboro Lights. Plus they go good with Coronas.

The next morning Sir Von Ass-Wipe called my room at 5:30 am and told me he wanted to meet for breakfast at 7. He had called the night before but I had asked Can-O-Corn and the family to call me on my cell so if my room phone rang I knew it had to be him. Sure enough at breakfast he asked me why I didn't call him back. He wanted to hang out together the night before. Right Bucko!

He wanted to go out to some strip joints. Yes, that's the last thing this Pirate wants to do is ruin my bad reputation by hanging out with pretty naked girls, an abundance of adult beverages and have H. Ross Perot (Sir Von Ass-Wipe's clone) in tow. "Noooo, me little blossom he is not me sidekick. He grew from a pimple on me arse, he did. How's bout you and me working on the last shred of cloth me dear?" Sorry I slipped into my old ways there.

Well, we were informed by the Sir Von Ass-Wipe and the attorney, Ms. Spackel (to denote the method she uses to apply her face) that Can-O-Corn and I wouldn't be needed for trial until "maybe" Wednesday. So we were sent out to play. When in Tacoma and you have nothing to do you? Go to Hooters? No Opie, sober Pirates take out their cameras and make like a tourist.

Wednesday afternoon we were finally told that we probably wouldn't be needed until next week. So I have a sneaky feeling that I'll see even more of Tacoma and so will you.

Off to Tacoma, Again!

During one of my sunny afternoon drives I came across this sign out in the middle of nowhere. I affectionatly refer to it as, "Piss Stop".

I had mentioned to Cheryl of Hildebrandt Road fame that her recent comments about the eerie side of nature brought back some scary trips of mine and I was going to post one or two of them today. But I got lazy after setting up my home office I decided to take a vacation.

It rained all day here in the Willamette Valley. When I say rain it is more like someone in the clouds turned the faucet on high and let her pour. Some parts in the valley got 3.96 inches of rain in one day. I was in Costco this evening when one of the fierce down pours started. The metal roof of the store magnified the sound of the down pour. As I sat there eating my sausage and sipping my diet coke I watched the looks on all the people's faces. If my sensory skills are right I'm sensing there is a lot of fear just under the surface of most people. As the rain kept pounding the roof and the noise got louder and louder, I thought what would everyone do if the roof burst open and the water dropped on us like buckets? Would people run for cover? Would they leave loved ones behind? Would they loot the sausage stand? Blame Bush?

I then went home after my Stephen King moment at Costco and watched a little football, did my bills, drank all the grape juice and had to go back to the store for cat litter. Man I was bushed.

Then I got a call from Sir Von Asswipe. He informs me that Can-O-Corn and myself have to go to Tacoma for a week starting tomorrow afternoon. I guess the court case is still on and he knew Friday and forgot to tell us. He will be driving up in his own car because he has to come back Wednesday because his lovely and gracious wife, Peach has a major foot surgery Thursday.

Here's an idea you half-inch piece of labadore poop, why didn't you tell us Friday? What made you think I wanted you driving up there with me in the first place? And when did a bunyun removal become major surgery? You may help yourself out if you'd throw in a couple extra bucks for some lyposuction while the doctor has her sedated. I suggest you start with her head.

If this little pecker-wood didn't pay me so well and my wife wasn't so understanding I'd tell him to take a hike, or take a long walk on this Pirate's short plank. Besides tomorrow is the day he hands out the annual bonuses. We will just have to see how this all turns out by tomorrow at noon. No bucks, no Buck Rodgers.

I will be taking my laptop with me in order to work (blog). I've stayed at the Sheraton every time I go there and they have wireless access. Plus its fun to down several Coronas and piss out the twenty-fifth floor at the convention goers below.

Watch out for yellow rain.

Set up the office at home

Mrs. Pirate and myself stayed out of the rain-storm today and set up my new office in our downstair's family room. Sir Von Ass-Wipe and his lovely princess, Peach had given Can-O-Corn and the Pirate whatever furniture we wanted from one of the offices down the hall.

He is trying to retire and sell the business so he has been getting rid of a lot of the extra furniture. I took a desk, a credenza, an oak bookshelf and a wooden filing cabinet.

The self employed days are just around the corner. I'm guessing after the "Big" court case we are involved in up in Tacoma may be the last waltz with the great Sir Von Ass-Wipe. It should be over sometime in October. What a sport, to kick those to the curb who have made him, a richman with poor taste right, before the holidays. It leaves me split in mind and soul. Half of me wants the fight to continue because of the relationships developed. The other half knows I'll do much better without the dysfunctional bullshit I have endured since the day I took over the wheel.

Most of the future posts will be coming from this desk, The Captain's cabin aboard the Pirate ship, Valsetz.

The boys have been dressing up all week for the spirit week at their school. Actually only Slick has been doing it because Jock the Senior is too cool for such Sophmoric play. Unfortunately their spirit wasn't as much of a boost as they needed. Their school got whooped last night by their "Homecoming" foe, Sprague 27 to 0. Slick said he didn't really care because he was only going for the dance anyway.

Slick dressed up as Michael Corleon. I told him he was better looking then Al Pacino but I didn't think he looked much like a killer. He then looked at me and asked, "Michael Corleon killed somebody?". It was obvious he didn't even know who Al Pacino is. So where did he come up with the name? Your guess is as good as mine.

He told me all the Mormons and Mexicans told him he looked like Al Capone. I asked him how he knew someone was Mormon. He said he just knows.