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Cooking with a ACME pressure cooker.


Crazy law makers are proposing more craziness. Take for instance Diane Feinstein (D) from California, who has in her past legislative efforts made an attempt to normalize crazy with outrageous, insane, crazy redefined rhetoric. Gun control isn’t enough to insure public safety for her. Now we must control magazine capacity of pressure cooker from the 1.5 gallon size to ½ half gallon sizes. It is all about the crock pots complaint of the pressure cooker being favored by terrorists everywhere. Call it a redistribution of fairness standards, among crooks and cook ware everywhere.

In addition to some new capacity sizes, she is proposing purchase restrictions. All new purchases to be made through federally licensed broker dealers. She is also calling for re examining QVC and HSN licensing to see if they can remain the cook ware dealers of choice by cooks and novices everywhere with regards to their pressure cooker sales. She expressed, “Perhaps even a new license and regulatory category for pressurized cooking devices is needed.”

Among other regulations she is supporting, background checks of everyone who wants a pressure cooker, and before they could take position of it they must prove they have under gone extensive training on “How to Properly Use Your Pressure Cooker”.

Gifting a pressure cooker or acquiring one through an inheritance will require a broker dealer’s license to transfer ownership only to those who have the appropriate training and handler’s permits or licenses, and have under gone an extensive back ground check or have attained a collectors licenses for antique cookers. Selling pressure cookers at garage sales or swap meets is prohibited.

Under certain circumstances some states will also require a CCPCP (Conceal Carry Pressure Cooker Permit) for those traveling with their pressure cookers to social events. Approved stickers must be placed on the auto / truck that haul such cookers, they must also have proper warning sticker displayed– content under extreme pressure, may be explosive if the pressure exceeds manufactures preconditions, or is packed with unapproved iron fortified substances. Leaving a vehicle unattended with a cooker in it, could result in a forfeiture of said vehicle or fine and loss of license or all of the above.

Storing a pressure cooker in the home where a child may also live or have access to it. Will require a handle lock and an approved storage locker where the cooker is placed, locked-up in between uses. With any noncompliance in safety handling and storage of such cookers may result in actions taken against violators— such as reckless child endangerment charges.

The crock pot supporters, have thrown their support behind Diane Feinstein’s regulations, but couldn’t be reached for comment, they didn’t respond to our e-mail, or phone calls.

The pressure cooker coalition did respond to our requests and said. “We feel the crazy pressure, and will appeal any and all laws and regulations regarding pressure cookers, on the grounds of discrimination of cooking devices or food preparation containers. So far there isn’t anything to get steamed about, but the encroachment of regulations will cause a loss of efficiency, and worker productivity, hampering good eats everywhere. So such laws are just over kill to the food industry, and food lovers alike.”

When the coalition was asked about the cookers being used as bombs, or if they can explode with excessive pressure builds. They responded saying. “So can bottles of champagne.. can also explode as well, that is if not attended properly? The bottle can also be filed with gas, and a fuse can be added, in creation, or manufacture of a fire bomb? Yet we aren’t looking to out-law bottles, or are demanding people to drink boxed wine. We do condone misuse or abuse of our product or any other for any reason. But evil does exist? We don’t believe the legal use of our product needs to be restricted because there are a few people ready and able to misuse them at will. Restrictions only restrict the lawful, as for the lawless– they don’t care what rules, laws, or restrictions are in play! They aren’t following them to start with!”

So you see, these volatile issues will cause some pressures to build as citizens attempt to control the size of government, and as law-makers attempt to control evil passions within its citizenry, while supposing to control their own evil intent, motives, and passions to grab power, or accumulated it to a point of absolute power over all.

Feel free to weigh in on the subject matter with your opinions.

Ps. this posting does not imply support of cooking (legal or illegally) with pressure cookers. We don’t support any modifications of such cookers, or iron fortified anything! Food or otherwise! We do not also support more craziness from our government. But do support a smaller leaner, balanced, government. We do not believe that Diane Feinstein (D) from California is crazy or insane…. But a socialist, who has made her career in doing the same failed policies from the past over and over, expecting new results and success. So by that definition she is. We do not trust any governmental laws or regulations that originated from any politicians who in part have invested in the ACME co. of good political ideas. The ACME co. never came up with any good ideas for the coyote in the road runner movies, so why try them now? We stand firmly against cartoon politics or politicians! No crazy politicians were hurt in the efforts of writing this post. But we do acknowledge, the post may keep some pressure on crazy despite its best effort in avoiding it.

All the best.

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Screaming seagulls and writers block


Is writing as self-destructive for you all out there, as my criticism of what I have written seems to be? Not that criticism is bad, in fact, it can be quite good. But what happens when the criticism is all bad, piled onto more bad thoughts of not being good enough? At these times writing seems a bit over done–like, like when your new writing ideas resemble to closely to siting in a hot-tub holding a toaster just above the water, wondering in your mind whether this is a great idea or a great shoulder workout?

Second guessing shouldn’t be the game at all? In fact just write what ever, then close it up, and review later on; day’s, weeks, or even months later you may find out that you now have a better idea on how to finish it up, polish it, or just a new perspective, new insight, and then a humble reworking of the orignal ends up as being an improvement. Isn’t that the goal? To improve.

Often ideas come to me, but putting them down onto paper seems where the story falls flat. Kind of like that pick me up music, that seems to always be playing on a certain radio station, until you turn it on? Just for that feeling of being picked up. Turning a good mood into a supper good mood through music, that’s the idea at least? Music influences people kind of like that, it is indeed spiritual, therefore influential. Instead, now, the radio is playing getaway from me break up music. Country music is a lot like that for me. They always sing about losing their wife, truck, dogs, and jobs….ect. But damn that’s depressing! If your feeling down and need a pick up, mood wise? Isn’t it time to play those songs backwards–getting all of your stuff and writing mojo back too?

Or how about, while stroking those inner voices in your head to slow down a bit with their presentation of those great story your writing, or blogging about, but then, you hit that proverbial brick wall! You know? Stories are coming at you at the speed of thought, and your fingers are moving across the key board as if they are set in concrete. Suddenly you realize writers block sounds like screaming seagulls fighting over a hot dog bun! Distraction over load! Distracted by everything?

Is that why I in vision most writers sitting in their underwear, on the couch, writing at will? Just seems that these kind of people have less distraction, and fewer people in their lives to impress. Not having to make any dissections like what kind of clothes to wear, I suppose has some feelings of freedom, less distracted, but leaves one’s nature totally reclusive. They don’t have writers block. What they have is a mental block and a closed off front door. They may fear the outside world, hiding behind closed off doors, rewriting reality into an imaginary one. Choosing not to be social, so they can blog the hell out of a post, write great stories, and the likes they….. Not comparing here, just observing mentally?

Out of the thousand ideas that I have written, then after a while rereading them, then picking that one that moves me or rekindles my creative juices, sparking that subject matter within my mind, and freeing my fingers to once again kiss those key’s on the keyboard with just a tad bit more passion. Always, seems to surprise me in the end. Besides reading older posts, ideas, and stories that you have written, will give you that full view reflection of how much your writing skill, or talents have improved over time? That may just end that screaming seagulls worth of writers block?

All the best.

Social walls… moving into uncharted territory?


What exactly make for a boorish neighbor? Where is the solution? Alas, couldn’t a complaint just be an expression of dissatisfaction over some issue that could just as easily then be resolved as two adults? It seems we in modern society are just living a bit too closely to each other these days. Your life style, or mine, seems to be just rubbing people wrongly when the intention was never that. Or because we live too closely to each other we become aware of a neighbor who are a bit hypersensitive to often, or they’re real reason to live, is to become an Olympic champion complainer, complaining over little to nothing to you? Everyone has the right to live and let live, until that neighbor, who is happily willing to make an attempt to trample our rights, in the rigged exercise of their own.

Because our new modern homes are on postage stamp size lots that are close enough to lean out of our windows and be able to shake hands with each other. (Not a recommendation or an endorsement to make such an attempt) It can make for some neighborly challenges to say the least. Throwing into the mix of things an Olympic hypersensitive person, whose specialty is complaining, you may have just moved into uncharted territory?

When it comes to noise, what is a frivolous complaint, and what is legitimate? Isn’t loud noise loud noise—should it be blaring music, baying hounds, screaming kids, or screaming parents who scream loudly at their kids, those teen-aged drivers who rev their hot rods, or those old men with midlife crisis’s that now drive Harley Davison motorcycles, net alone rev them up late at night, or just an oversized flag snapping, crackling, those noises that one would make when the wind is whipping around? None of these are a laughing matters when one needs sleep!

At some point a reasonable grievance, expressed a bit too often, will bread resentments, creating a point where people may start building those social walls to protect themselves from the childish actions and reactions, to those noisy nuisances over just peacefully resolving them. One who causes extreme noise nuisance, the other who is perceived as a complaining noisy nuisance? All of these are nothing but intrusions on what the other person sees as being normal. When we are so close to the problem, it is hard to understand the problem, without also having an open mind to see it from the others point of view. So when is it a reasonable, making attempt to live within our own rights without seeing them trampled by those who are religiously rigged in exercising of their own at our expense?

A recent story had this person complaining, and wondering what to do?

“Our neighbor’s unusually large, illuminated American flag that makes so much noise on windy nights that we have to retreat to another bedroom to sleep? He refuses to take it down on even the most blustery nights, and it flaps loudly right outside our second-floor bedroom window. He has let us know that this is politically sensitive to him and I’m sure he would have no qualms about going to the local press if we were to formally complain. There’s apparently no town ordinance regarding this. What can we do?”

Your thinking, a loud, noisy, flapping, snapping whipping flag on breezy nights keeping tired, exhausted, physically spent people from their sleep, and a neighbor who is just got an attitude in resolving the issue? Really? It is true–but how would you all handle it? What is reasonable? What is the adult way of resolving it, or is there a resolution, or is the complaint just hypersensitive?

I heard a story once; where a kid kept kicking a football into a neighbor’s yard, then when screaming after it early mornings, most, if not every weekend mornings, just to repeat it all over again until parents got up to make breakfast. An annoying alarm clock to say the least. Over the course of a summer this was complained about, one neighbor to the other. These complaints were respectfully given, and ample time in resolving the nuisance was also given. The problem was those social walls as defensive actions were built one brick after the other, separating common sense from common decency. These neighbors hardly spoke with each other afterwards. The social walls, and how dar you talk about my kid that way, separated people for the most part in being able to get along with each other. I would hate to think if the roles would have been reversed, what the reactions would have been?

Slow to anger, these people didn’t wish to go to war with their neighbor, and true to form when the summer was over, it stopped! Until the next summer. A year older, and so much stronger, the boy kicked the ball onto the porch and added a loud thud to the screaming, that was also repeated several times each morning. Where was the neighborly respect for other people’s property? What would happen if the window would be broken by the ball? What to do, when each side sees the other as crazy?

Well, one day the boy left the ball on the front lawn. After dark the annoyed, went over and retrieved the ball. It would have been easy to keep the ball. But these parents would have just gotten another when the boy complained about not having a ball to kick around. These parents just allowed the boy to rule the roost. So (we will call the annoyed person Mr. X) Mr. X took the ball down into his basement and into his shop, and opened the ball up and filled it with rocks, closing it again careful to re-stitching the ball exactly as it was manufactured. Then he placed the ball back onto the lawn, exactly where it first was. Grandpaw…..excuse me….Mr. X never complained about losing sleep that night.

True to form the boy, ran out of the house on Sunday morning and hauled off and kicked the ball as hard as he could, as he had been doing all summer long. Instead of a thud of the ball crashing into the neighbor’s porch, it was ear-piercing screams of pain. Resulting from a broken foot.

From that time on Mr. X got a great night sleep, even on weekends. Problem solved.

Because this happened back in 1950 or so, the parents quietly just learned a lesson along with the boy, about treating your neighbors with some respect. Treating people in the same way as one would like to be treated. Is what people used to say when trying to instruct people on proper behaviours.

These days, people get litigious and sue! So what does one do now days with unreasonable neighbors, whether it is noisy balls being kicked early mornings, or those noisy patriotic flag flying neighbors that are allowing your sleep to be blown away in the wind?

Story at…   http://www.bankrate.com/finance/real-estate/flag-drives-nappers-mad.aspx?ec_id=cmctre_01_comm_RE_image_headline

Future of awesome, mingled with bovine victory!


Stories that are factions, are just a mixture of facts & fiction. Not that there is any intention to distort facts? But more of a blending of two different people’s stories into one. As children grow up, don’t we take on the characteristics of the people around us, or just bits and pieces, sprinkled with fictional fragments of others, of whom we once have rubbed up against in life, as the presentations of what we have become? What we will be? Or what drives us towards our own branded individualism?

In the end, everything that we may discover in life, the most valuable things, those memories and experiences are what makes life worth while.

Long before there were the electronic entertainments of video games, social media, text messaging, or even E-mail; back in the slower time of the past, way back to those semi-dark ages of times, when snail-mail was the fastest thing going—yea decades ago. Kids had to have mental toughness, along with well-developed imaginations. There were no such things as a text-messaging thumb! Whining about a power outages, or how that was so cruel to have to endure. Because computers, TV’s, video games, even cell phones need power. Back in the day, complaining about power outages just wasn’t excepted or allowed. After all it was an adventure, candle light indoor camping, with fire-place rosted marshmallows to boot! It was all good!

In these times, schools were places of higher learning, where bullies got one black-eye, if not two, because good people banded together on the principles, that good always won in the end. Why did those easier times of the past, give way to our litigious, laborious, over caffeinated, high-speed, and run like hell lives where we live in fear of everything, our modern progressive lives of today?

There are two ways in raising your heart rate; one is exercising, the other is getting pissed-off remembering those good times when you were a child, and realizing that your kids are never going to have those same experiences. I always ended up in the same spot that I started out in when I exercise. Within our modern lives it seems like the same thing. Thoughts and memories of the past while exercising made me weary and exhausted. I stop the treadmill and left the fitness center.

Trying to remember all of those summertime’s as a kid, as being the best. Far better than the deadlines, and stresses of our present existences. Not really wanting to except, that our lives have become that what we have built out of them. Where were those summertime’s of the past? Where relatives (for a kid this meant “cousins”) they would always come over to our house, or at time’s we went to theirs. Plenty of good food, caused us to concoct entertainments to burn off all of our energy. These were far better realities, then those lives of hell we find ourselves in today, having to run in place on a treadmill just to keep fit. Not liking any of it, yet complaining about all of it.

Where did our mental toughness go? Did we forget how to entertain ourselves within our own concoctions in order to relieve stress?

As kids we came up with annual family sporting events. We had Ping Pong tournaments if it was raining out. Living in the Northwest where we receive more liquid sunshine then actual sunshine, indoor events were part of it–no TV at all. When and if it was sunny we had football, basketball, tag, and night-time hide-and-go-seek. We would play in and around the trees in the yard, completely shaded during the heat of the day, and play with child-like ferocity the rest of the day into the night, only taking breaks to refuel/eat as fast as we could, and resume play till we collapsed.

Being that we were smaller kids we all played football. Smaller yards seemed so big then. Later on all grown by a few years, we thought of ourselves as giants and so basketball seemed the sport to play. But play we did. As we got older we drove ourselves to playing fields, Because those yards truly were too small to play in. At the park if there were other kids, we invited them to join in. The more the merrier.

If the park was too crowded to play, then at times we played in farm fields, sand dunes, oversized yards fenced off by barbed wire. Making the game of football more interesting, the barbed wire was the unnamed defensive player for both teams, which also played on both ends of the field as the goal. Nothing seems impossible when you’re young and invincible. So barbed wire goal lines and defenders were by nature small things to overcome. I remember only one time out of the many times that we played there, where a player got caught on the fence doing a diving leap for a touchdown pass. It turned out a play that is still talked about at reunions. The catch was made, the player was stuck on the top run of the wire, and needed every player to lift them off the wired fence, and I bare the scar to prove it all to be true.

On another day when energy levels were over the top. I remember one such fun-filled adventure, in between rainy days we found a field to play in, that to us was NFL great. Few rocks, grass everywhere, it looked NFL approved minus 60,000 screaming fans. In the heat of play we completely overlooked the facts that… where there are farms, open fields by water, there were also the remnants of animals.

Someone once said. “If you ever played football in a cow pasture, you know the meaning of “Watch your step.”

When one team started to pull away score wise, the game got more intensely played. Less attention was paid to the facts of what would become a small wrinkle to the game. Sprinkled throughout the field was the tangible evidence of the existence that cows lived here, slipping and falling was more of a tightrope style of play. Tackling the ball carrier that was rushing for a first down, or a goal, made the game of football into a quick step dance of bravado, within a mine-field. It wasn’t long before the question became more of a when, to the where, in how bad you want to win–over the slipping sliding, evidence of tackling, and the odor of sweat mingled with bovine victory.

Long past those distant memories of those games we played, we all seem to hang onto the facts that sports are a preparation for life. But we all seem to want to reduce the risks to a point of stopping play or even the limiting the competition? But then we create society that needs instantaneous success. We seem to forget those frequented environments of our past, the friends we enjoy, books we read, movies we watch, music we listen to, the media we allow ourselves to adsorbed through osmosis, causing those marks if not scars on / in us, all because… our forgotten pasts have led us to see the negatives before the good. Today there seems no good reasons for obstacles, net alone making an effort in overcoming them. We demand something of an unrealistic fantasy of our life, the fulfillment of our dreams to our expectations, and within out timelines. No wonder we live in a world as screwed up this one. We seem to have forgotten to look for the fun and exciting within a child like attitudes of making unequaled efforts in finding it. We therefore have a time in history, now, today, where we live on the fuel of unequaled personal dissatisfaction.

Now as present adults, we see all of the cow dung, and never seem to see the NFL approved green grass, leaving what fun there is behind, our heads hung low.

We shouldn’t forget child-like ability’s to make boring times into adventurous ones; the limitless ability’s to naturally want to promote positive outcomes to what seems impossible. That belief in principles of being noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious— that endless energy in trying to be the best we can be, not the work; the beautiful, not the ugly, promoting things to parse, not things to curse. Seeing everything with childlike-eye-sight through the acquired wisdom of experiencing all that we can while growing up. This alone should inspire to double down in our efforts to winning the game; for  life is a game, at times you may get crap, we may need to get our hands dirty and making the best of it all, with the knowledge that soap restores what once was.

Life is too short to get depressed over the fact we’re suffering a setback. It is a game of sorts after all. It’s okay to hate the game, but never the player! Fun is created when you try, never when it served to you on a plate, because we whined about it!

WINNERS WIN! NOT BECAUSE THEY AVOID GETTING ANY OF LIFE’S CRAP ON THEM! BUT BECAUSE THEY AREN’T AFRAID TO LOOK FOR FUN / SUCCESS IN THE CRAP, WHILE MIXING IT UP A BIT!! DOING SO WINNERS FIND THE FUTURE OF AWESOME!

All the best.

The cure for dumb luck??


Events that should not be mentioned are the hardest things to also write about. Because we shouldn’t mention them by name at the very least I guess? A request I may or may-not follow?  I have blogged about my love of caffeine/coffee’s and it’s delivery system and the overuse of coffee as well. I may have mentioned the bane of my existence as…. pain-killer medication? This one is not for me! Not that I love pain, in fact I run from when I can. So I qualify for a wimp award at the very least. That’s my story and I’m going to stick to it. You can choose your own excuses or just use mine?

Any who… everyone loves followers, or co-complainers of their wretched misfortune in life, or at times even with your great happiness; we love the co-party-goer quality, our friends that we barely know who will also buy us drinks, commiserating with us, but more of a personal reason to celebrate while saying “Glad you’re not me!”

The mix of pain-killers and caffeine, those complete opposite drug that affected the user very differently, seem to be my biggest problem of late. Surgery will do all of that for you though? It did for me. Not that I see myself with a problem either. I just don’t like the effects of them. So I will explain how I got here…..

It started last September, when I came home from work one Friday. The end of the work week and I was looking forward to some relaxing fun with my wife. I parked the truck in the driveway, swung the door open and slid out of the seat. My first step when my right foot hit the pavement had me crying inside like a baby. My outward appearance was like a pink flamingo of sorts, holding one knee in pain, and standing on one foot. A living but obnoxious yard decoration. I could only guess at the color of my face. I’m sure it was red. I was instantaneously sweating and sweat began pouring off my face. I tried to use one hand to wipe my brow; but that damn pain in the knee was like if someone was taking it off with a knife. While rubbing and massaging it I found a lump that also moved from the side of the leg to just under the inside of the knee-cap. That freaked me out all by itself.

Besides the pain, moving parts that moved when I wasn’t trying to move, and no recollection of injury, old or new, nothing out of the usual at work, and no outward wound. Left me just standing there, petrified, with an overabundance of freaky nuisance pain. To say it was an irritation is an understatement. But how long can I stand here on one leg, before falling down? Because I fear pain to no end, I stood there about 30 minutes. I’m sure the neighbors were looking at the strange display, and wondering themself’s, as I was?

Strang thing though, not one of them even bothered to ask me “what’s wrong, do you need help?” Guess I need to live in a better hood?

As sudden as the pain came— it went! In shock, I wondered into the house, up the stairs, and over to the couch. Attempting to sit down caused it again. I went 50 feet and upstairs, with nothing, no sensation of the slightest pain, but sitting down? Like a bad horror move the pain that wouldn’t die. It was out to do me in, like an out of control invisible knife cutting and slashing at my leg.

Stubborn, I didn’t want to go to the doctor either. Well that and the cost of it all— not having medical insurance, and the fact that the pain came and went so quickly. I saw the scene being played out.. I would go to the doctors and they would in turn, find nothing, charge me up the wazz-zu, only to arrive at home. Then cursing them out for resuming the position of standing on one leg with horrific pain again.

Of course doing nothing had little to no chance of a cure. I had the time bomb of pain in my knee, and I need supper man and his ex-ray vision as my doctor to figure it all out. Faster than a speeding bullet to me, the guy in pain seemed too slow.

By that Monday it was gone for 24 hours, convincing me of being healed. By that Wednesday the devil was back. Like a yo-yo swinging back and forth between cure and pain I decided to used a knee brace of my wife’s and well-la cured again for sure— till I took it off again and then…?

Feeling the moving piece of what ever was in my knee, just under the skin, convinced me I need surgery. This time I listened to the doctor… the voice that also plays doctor at times in my head, usually right after watching an episode of the TV show “HOUSE”. He cures weird stuff and this was defiantly qualified as being weird. But the doctor would also be expensive. Suffering through the next 6 months I raised the necessary funds, saved my business by positioning it so I could take a leave of absence. Then, and only then, I when to the doctor.

First one said. “ I can’t find it, don’t see it, nor do I feel it, and you don’t have any pain right now? We could take an ex-ray and see or maybe a MRI?” Just as I thought the first time. These doctors are…? I seemed to have lost conscientiousness for a moment. The dreaded MRI–at a cost to a non-insured individual like myself? Did I hear that right, an MRI? Might as well empty your pockets and then your bank account. I went with the ex-ray.

Much to my surprise the marble size lump showed up like stone just under my knee-cap. This doctor sent me to a surgeon. The surgeon said, “Well there is good news and bad. Good news is–you don’t need a MRI. The bad news is you need surgery.” Funny that is what House said too! “There is a bone somewhere just floating in your knee, and that will not fix itself. But if it doesn’t hurt you or bother, you can wait with surgery?” That TV show is good. Spot on with the diagnoses, now confirmed with my surgeons second opinion.

I elected to wait. I’m not the government that can just print money, or spend your tax money on my what looks like a pre-existing condition. With in my head there was an election brewing. This election lasted about one week. It was close with the votes, depending on the condition of…and the if and when the devil of pain returned. After surgery won a close election. It would take two more weeks till the surgery could take place, I continued to work limitedly up till two days before. Call me crazy! But I refuse to live by government hand out, till I can’t do anything for myself.

After surgery I was introduced to doctor feel good ( Pain-killers). Because even a small drink of alcohol gets me buzzed, and a life time of never taking even an aspirin; drugs and me don’t get along. They knock me out! I hate wakening up and finding out that I have slept for what seems like days of my life. It is my life an I hate to use it that way.

Who wants to have a lifetime worth of memories poked full of holes by drugs, legal or other wise, used properly or abused. NOT FOR ME! But at times one needs some pain-killers. When I get tired, I go for the caffeen, fully knowing it is a drug of sorts too. But I would bather have caffeen in coffee then something stronger turning me into a jellyfish. But that just me… you can decide for yourself.

Oh yea, the doctor said. “I broke my knee-cap on the inside of it. Just a strange fluke of dumb luck.” Remembering I didn’t fall, have an accident, or injury, past or present. I just stepped down onto my driveway at home, something I had done thousands of times in my 40 some years of life to this point.

I’M so through with dumb luck, and pain-killers. Broken bones too, being this was my first. I guess if your going to have some dumb luck in life, your also entitled to having some doctor feel-good drugs to recover from it.

If it wouldn’t be for dumb luck I wouldn’t have any at all. Providing that I’m not like that Bruce Willis move, “Man of Glass”, I should make a full recovery, and be running again.

Side note: I took doctor feel-good for only one day. But just siting around is killing me. I can’t wait to be able to walk again, and run again. I used to run a 7 minuet mile and held that pace for over an hour. Not being active is turning me into Pilsberry dough boy. Not that I’m complaining. Just drawing back the tapestry of my life and allowing you all a peek into it.

So what kind of dumb luck have you had?

All the best.

Ps. It has been now 13 days since surgery, 12 days ago I had my last pain-killers (When I think about that I guess I’m like Dexter on HBO… I killed those pills.) Picture me laughing right about now, it will giggle me for a while at least. But I went out today and just walked about 1/4 mile. I’m not going to say how long it took me. Point is… I’M back on my feet, and pain-free for the most part. But defiantly free from all (except coffee) drugs of any kind–even aspirin. Woop, it up. Cheers to me and all of you to.

White noise


Starring into the blank-hole of what is my blank computer screen, it seem I have writers block! It was just a moment ago— being under the influences of pain medication seem to make time fly by, what was a long time or so I thought, was only seconds of real-time. The clock on the wall seem to be mocking me. That invention of  ancient time keepers is just ticking away, tick-talk, tick-talk, tick-talk. Enough! I scream out from my desperation, trying to find something to fill the void, to cover the whiteness of the screen, to fill the bottomless pit of this blank-hole.

At times the ideas just flow out of me, the problem then is arranging them onto the page. Still other times the ideas come to a point of taking a rest but my mind is wanting to still go. The result of the driving force of caffeen–yet another drug. I know, mixing and allowing for the amateurish match making of drugs ( such as caffeen and pain-killers) should be left to the professionals of chemical love. But one creates a puddle of melted mush mindlessly bathing in the white light of the blank page. The other revs me up with caffeen over load, allowing ideas to just flow. Just a gentle push or a pull, a seesaw battle between the amateur, and professional.

Within this existence, the push and pull of new ideas, just end up as new-born posts unfinished. Then a new page is used for the next. Untill that idea is exhausted and it comes to a rest. After several half hatched ideas end their race car like race, on that oval lap around my mind, one comes to the for front, and crosses the finish line. This compleated post is then placed neatly into storage, untill a clear mind allows for the re-write.

But this time the blank hole of my computer screen, that great port-hole to the unknown, was giving me a type of new feeling, a worry of sorts. No new interpretations of some standard dream. Nothing! Just nothing. Where are those new great half-baked ideas? Where have they gone?

With blank pages of empty silence and white noise, and jumpy fingers with no keys on the key-board to strike. I stare into the white light of the blank-hole. Come on you have ideas? I conjure up courage, and slap myself a few times as if I was sleeping. Yet nothing rattled around my mind, nothing flowed into nerve impulses, activating creativity. Thus no renewed noise of key jumping, keeping time with the writers song and dance. Blocked, I look across the ha-ha towards my next idea, but yet so easily separated, worn down, fatigued and unable to cross over to where they hide.

But all I heard was…. tick-talk, tick-talk…….

Where was my ability’s to fill the empty sounds of this room with typing? Writing? Filling that white screen with new ideas, or some nonsense, a great story, a musing, points of views, expressions of feelings, or capturing the silence of what these tired eyes of mine have seen. Expressing those pictures with a few words…if not a few thousand? But this time…nothing! Drug induced constipation?

But now, before I begin. I lose!

Where have my ideas gone? Where are those great words I would choose?

Ideas consumed with the white-hot fires of the blank hole flame,

despite the smoke, I see nothing but that constant clock ticking, so I chose to blame.

Surly it’s not the caffeen and pain-killers romantic dance,

that glide over my mind, in their romantic drug induced romance.

That flow of the dress in the silent dancers twirl, those intoxicating tingling sensations that tangle those ideas into a strong tight bind.

their influences just mock and imprison my mind.

Tick-talk, tick-talk! Surely it is not love at first sight with these two odd couples of twisted desire, one that’s constant exhilaration, and the other whose a slowing constant brake!

Like two erasers those who chase each other along the pathway, this way, then that way, all across my mind make no mistake,

They erase everything into a chalky blur, into that white noise lake.

Is this what it is like to have writers block, drowned in this white noise lake or the computers blank page at best?

prehaps it is my caffeen zooming, now some 48 hours strong, that’s telling me…you need rest!

Best wishes with your writing. Hope you never have to have experiences like this? Hope when you look into the bright fire of that blank paged or screen, that white lightning port-hole, contrasted with some endless possibilities of dancing words that you all see. That person, that place , or those things of great wonder that you haven’t yet arranged? Despite each of our limitations, that blank page, that white hole can give us all unlimited places to go or to see; things to do, people to meet, even to a point of being totally out of this world? For you sitting there basking and bathing in the white holes glow, sit in your own writers dreams, in the front row.

All the best.

These dreams….Our first dreams


It is said when angle travel, heaven smiles.

What becomes of those sparks, that try to escape the gravitational pull of hells fire?

Life as well as in our dreams, seem to be an endless conveyor-belts worth of beginnings rushing towards us at will. A kids life is full of excitement, interest, intrigue, countless hands on experiences, seamless and endless in wonderment; from one moment to the next, from one dream to the next reality. Life is a wondrous mystery. Questions that are unasked as of yet, soon become all answers arranged according to truths. What can’t be held, examined, experienced, or even tasted, truly isn’t real, or really understood?

A new plaything? Or just a new thing? A new type of food, or something like candy— that isn’t food at all. At least according to parents? But still tastes good. Questions abound, and at times answers aren’t long waited for. There is no such things as information over-load, exploration exhaustion, and no such thing as patience either. To the childish explorer, who views the world as their jewelry-box, and every new thing in it as a treasured gem to explore, a thing to cherish, or something new to learn.

How do you think kids view dreams? Is their first one a good one? Or just some fantasy or misunderstood wonder? Dreams are full of endless possibility’s, a world separated from realty, a new world waiting to be embraced? Could their first experiences with dreams be one of scary fright? Something unrealized, and never experienced before that only seems to come at night? Can we as humans both young or old alike, be frightened over something we haven’t experienced yet? Or would we be… unsure, intrigued, puzzled, unsteady and cautiously curious, like a very young child that examines their first piece of hard candy before tasting it? But what if dreams aren’t all sweet?

That calm easy expression of sleep, where tiny eye-lids are pulled over the eyes like tiny blankets, were fiscal muscles are all relaxed. A vision or a beam of humanity’s light, fiscally expressed as a human angles sleepy face that catches our sight. Peace and quiet are the soft blankets to the soul, giving rest and security to the young and old. But what is the view from the minds vantage point, that dreamers traveling light? A slight tremor at first, building to rapid movements of the eyes. Those same angles eyes covered in delict little blankets, begin to toss and turn, move side to side real quick. Prehaps a tear droplet that slowly escapes like a droplet of wax escaping a hot wick. Breathing that becomes heavy, labored, or distorted like someone who is sick. These are the first indications of a quiet storm that’s soon to arise, erasing that peaceful sleep, that suddenly explodes into a raging storm expressed by half-open sleeping eyes.

Dreams manifest themself’s when we sleep, by the rapid eye movements accompanied with those clumsy unvoluntary twitches of their hands, legs, and feet. Do kids also embrace dreams with interest as adults do? That same kind of intrigue, or wonderment, warped-up and embraced in the same way’s as a child does in the pursuit of everyday life? Do they see the dreams and those dreamy environments as nothing but the same thing as real life, not recognizing their state of rest, a world different when fully alert and awake? Is there a difference in a childs thoughts and mind, when being bathed by a dreams mindset glow?

You have heard the expression: “Dream big or go home!” But what if your dreams are over powering, massive, bigger then life, bigger then your experiences? Bigger then the choices you can, or have ever made?

Can we then control this mystery thing we call “Dreams”? What about fear? Can it be controlled? If so how? How is it possible to control things of the night, imagined or real like monsters that hid out of sight? How is it that under beds or in closets, in that endless darkened night, blinded we only see the never experienced before fear of fright?

We humans are funny after all, we build things and make still other things in a managed way, we build our imagination, and we control them through the art of play? We build and mold something from nothing using our minds eye, we see involuntary visions of what could be and then we create it from pictures we only see. Is it all by our own power, or by the angles who would whisper in our ears while we sleep? Those authors of imaginary delights, who would fill our heads with fun-filled adventures, where the impossible is possible, where there is a land of laughter, smiles and delight, that feeling of weightlessness or of flight.

Who should then prompt us with those deep sounds of the night? Those more sinister and mysterious, those hollow bones or sounds of terrors fright. The cool breezy sensations of the devils wing, or of spiders webs against our skin? Who sends all manner of entanglements that obscure us from all enlightened sight. A blinding curtain to snare our imaginary consciousness. Twisting and turning our minds thoughts into a blenders whirl, life’s storms rages on, just beyond our awakened state. Where is our understanding of it all? Is it just out of reach, or does it hide on the other side of sleep?

Dreams; those times where we encounter the unknown. That angels gentle kiss as we drift off to restful bliss. Or that old angels kick! The cold sweat, the racing heart, twitching churning feeling within, that storm that rages beneath our blanketed eyes. Dreams are a world of raging fright, or balloons on weightless flight, bumping against that razors edge, exploding on impact of lighting strikes, truly there is a difference between day and night?

Because there are no mass-produced humans, no rules, or rule books, no instruction manuals to them all. Is there no way to know those secrets of our dreams? Is there no control over dreams or so it seems, no wisdom that lies just under the surface, no one to even ask? Just adventures yet undiscovered, some good, some bad, some so bold, they will be relived, dreamed again until we are old? Do our dreams really matter? With no tour guides, guiding us passed our lonely places within, or those treacherous places we haven’t yet been? Should we just causally consume them as if they would be our nightly entertainment? How is this best explained to our kids, after that visitation from the terror by night; that fear of an endless conveyor-belts worth of new beginnings, where happy ever after seems so far away as it is chased by night?

So easily we bandage a wound so it to can heal. So easily we kiss away tears of pain, all to reassure, to comfort, to calm the rapid betting heart. So eagerly our arms become blankets of reassurances. But with dreams where do we place the band-aid to heal? To be able to then explain to childs point of understanding? Can anyone really hold closely and examine this mystery of why some angels viciously kick us at night, through the power of fright? How do we hold a dream of terror, at arm’s length away, to learn and examine like with all other hands-on experiences, like those experiences or lessons at play?

How can we? When a dream is like catching the wind in the palm of our hands. A supper heroes efforts in build a hand-made prison. Desperately defending by the use of those desperate grasps, those clumsy unvoluntary twitching, from sleeping motioning hands. We reach for that dream… that terror by night! We grasp at it, like its our last effort to do away with fear while putting up a good fight. That devils kicking kiss that desperately squeezes past our fingers, escaping our desperate grasp. But then there is nothing to hold! Nothing to examine, not even a tickles worth, or a tickling kiss who’s tickle would last long after we loosen those clutching hands, checking with a gasp. Did we? Could we have? Can we then find a way of explaining or even understanding, our first dreams or those empty questions that abound?  Where is the childish satisfaction, that healing, with a properly placed band-aid to the wounds brought to us endless or so it seems on life’s conveyor-belts of new experiences in dreams? Where is the peaceful gift for traveling angles hidden? Where do hells angles travel when God is not around? What is allowed? What is forbidden?

The question still seems to remain…. Where do dreams come from?

All the best.

Featured image was a Facebook copy, copyright unknown if any. Would like to give credits where they are due though, when I can.

Blogging while under the influence.


Blogging while under the influence, happens to be common place for me of late. Not that I have chosen to abuse drugs, or medications ( wink, wink, those legal drugs or other wise) nor have I mixed alcoholic drinks with drugs, or medication. Unless water and coffee counts as a mixer? No! I happen to be under doctors orders and some such. Not that the doctor ordered me to also be blogging while using pain medication. It seem just to happen that way.

Surgery had its price to pay. Thus, drugs are and will be in part of my life, in the short run, as well as my life, my blogging life. So please bare with me. Some of my blogs will certainly make more sense as time goes on. But if you choose to follow along in my foot steps, in an attempt to making more sense of my ramblings? I prefer coffee and pain medication myself. I get the sleepiness with the medication, the zoom, zoom with caffeen, and the ultimate crash and burn when one over powers the other.

It kind of looks like this. The computer laptop in my lap, with my upper body slouched over it, and with every twitch of my fingers pressing another key on the key-board. A new blog post is born. Or like this…. The computer on my lap, me sleeping it off and the cat kneading at the key board with her paws.

I know it looks impressive when I wake up. Wow! Some 30,000 words or letter caricatures typed. Rubbing my eyes… allowing myself to wake-up and freeing myself from my cats typing. I realize that typing thoughts down while under the influence, even if it is under the care of a doctor… Isn’t advisable.

But sitting there, with nothing much to do, other than trying to decipher just how smart the cat really is? This should be a sign, that I may need to also have some realistic reevaluation of this situation. Drugs do funny things to the mind. Yes, the cats typing may get lucky now and again. Typing a few letters that also could be mistaken for words to humans. But this coincidence, and doesn’t make for an impressive new discovery? Or “The Worlds First Cat Blogger!” Unless her blog posts gets more followers or responses then my latest ones. I stand by my assumptions, and observations.

In your dreams kitty.. in your dreams!

Of course, I’m not telling her my dreams just yet. Being under the influence of medication, my dreams have the cat doing far more than that. So in keeping her well grounded, down to earth with her ego. Mum is the word.

Some other problems with being under the influence of medications, are just remembering when you have had your last dosage. Phantom pain, arrives, and mocks me into believing that I haven’t had any for such a long time…. in reality about 5 minuets. But when in battle with Phantom pain, 5 minuets is an eternity-of-time? Note to self ( this is probably why I wake-up with the cat typing on the computer? So turn off the computer first!) But then… it could also be, the cat is hungry and the medication is bitter to taste. I seem to be having some trouble with the last line. It’s not that I have given the cat some of my medication. It is when I have dropped a pill or two and the cat pounces on it with vigor, at least faster than I can respond under my condition. I’m sure she has tasted it? Just how I’m sure of that is? I see her rubbing up against the pill bottle with that kind of love in her eyes, as if to say…. ” I have two tickets to paradise, pack your bags and come catch a ride with me…” after all I have seen that kind of expression on her face, also in her writings. Oh, how she loves those bitter-sweet pills!

A nother dead give away is when, she is sleeping on her back. Paws stretched out, full extension into the air, and moving like she is running on the moon, or the ceiling at the very least. That lush! She seems to have a bigger problem then I do, and no doctors note to boot! Just saying kitty, Your cut off!

Well, well, here we are at that time where I have to take pills again. So I must shut-down the computer, for the obvious reasons. Because the cat will hog the key-board, or try to catch a lick or two of pill residue off my fingers when I’m passed out. Not a good combo. As I have already explained to you all. Untill next time. Enjoy your life as is. Being under the influence isn’t all that fun in deciding which experiences are indeed real and which are just drug induced remembrances, given to us by doctors orders.

All the best.

Living anniversary’s


What will I do when I grow up?

Anniversary’s are for the most part, some kind of mile stones in life. Some event, or at least some celebrations of events within a life, lived well. Just some of the quality’s of the all mighty anniversary. August happens to be exactly such an event for me. This month one year ago, marks the one year anniversary of my entering into the blogosphere world. Not that my ramblings are like any others. Other then they are indeed ramblings. Like a BB rattling around inside of a boxcar. Stories and ideas bounce off my cranium. The mind then commands the fingers to type out a new blog. My views of the world, or at least my corner of it, are expressed as it were. Being the self anointed ” King of the world ” allows any subject matter to be blogged about. As it is with everyone else in this writing world of ours. We make an attempt to express ourself’s in some way’s, just to give others the same views of events, places, stories, or dreams, or even unsolicited opinions. Wrapped up within 1000 words or so. If pictures are worth a 1000 words? Then these mental pictures within our minds view, are worth a few posts of several 1000 words each. Hopefully presented in an interesting and entertaining way. So in living life to the best of our ability’s. We really do live for the living anniversary don’t we?

Remembering all of the anniversary’s as we move along life’s conveyor-belt .Can be a challenge at times. The conveyor-belt just keeps on moving. But the minds memories at times stop short, dwelling over a special memory or two. Remembering your first date? First kiss? Isn’t an anniversary exactly. Having the next one of those is!  Only teens celebrate these kinds of things as anniversary’s though. One year marriage anniversary’s…. 5 year….10 year… 20? These are all mile stones of successes of sorts. Adult celebrations of the most popular anniversary’s out there. Special indeed! Specialized Anniversary’s with differences of degrees. When these days people seem to change marriage partners like changing underwear.

For my anniversary. First! Let me thank you all, for the following of this blog. If you do indeed follow? Thanks! I would rather have fellow followers then a numbered amount of stalkers. Causing me to nervously looking over my shoulders at night. Allowing my mind to play some mind games, with some unwanted second guessing, of all the people I meet. Indeed no one likes to eat at an empty restaurant, so having other people following you along the way through life, is some what comforting. Knowing that we all have somethings in common to share. Life experiences. So once again thank you all, for the follow.

Next I would like to thank all of the people who haven’t yet followed this blog. Yes, thanks to you for coming over to the ” Mind warped ” side of life. Just reading my ramblings on a regular basis is encouraging to me to keep on writing. After all, I do not write perfectly. As some of you must have noticed. I don’t write perfectly at times for the entertainment value. At other times I forget to hit the edit button, or I hit the publish button in an effort to save my draft by accident. But this imperfect expression gets you to laugh I’m sure. ( It does for me when I re-read my older posts / published drafts.) So in this way it is successful at the very least, at giving out some smiles. At times, unintended consequences ( verbal mistakes ) when they happen are the funniest, as well the easiest to remember, or to reenact.

I find if I set the bar really low it is easter to clam that instant success for myself. Unless you’re at a limbo party? Then success, is measured by how low you can go. Along with alcohol, this means your about one notch above passed-out, when you’re the most successful. But then all that this proves is that our standards are set low. In short success is easier if you have low standards. Nothing like instant success right?

My purpose for writing this blog from the beginning. Was to improve myself, along with my writing skills. A skill that for the most part can be improved upon, by those who are willing to practice at it. For myself it is somewhat harder to trick into doing the work of improvement, that it desperately needs most of the time. For just this kind of improvement, in writing, practice makes perfect. So I’ve been told. A total selfish reason of course. I know! But don’t we all just engage in the practices of self-interests? With everyone else, though to a smaller degree, the hell with them. It’s more like ME FIRST! Isn’t that self-interests?

Zigging and zagging my way through the writing world of expression has been therapeutic at times for me. Take some of the social commentary’s I read, and then feel I need to express myself on the same subject matter. After the traditional 20 minuets of swearing, and fighting myself from writing those thoughts down. I alow my blood pressure to come down a notch or two, and then find other words to express my over heated opinions. The result is less swearing. Not all that bad of a thing. In truth, it doesn’t take all that much thought to swear. But finding different words that also gets those pointed points across to who ever may read them. Is work! The magic that good writing is made of. Reading other people’s works is also helpful. Like reading the dictionary by Prentice Hall. Now that’s one hell of a writer! Short one word summary’s, that also mean so much more. Obviously the king of the shorts, in the writing world. Well not so fast with my delectation of some new kings. I did see an electrical contractors truck with the slogan written on the side of the van that said. ” Let us.. remove your shorts! ” Prehaps the king of electrical work, or a gigolo with tool belt, who does still make house calls? I guess the bar on the newly declared kings of the world needs to be raised up a notch or two?

Truth is, with our first written words, we have all had fantasy’s of being the greatest of writers out there. I have! But then I hit spell check… and realized that great wasn’t all that much of a goal to shoot for at my level. ( Note to self. Must raise the bar to a loftier level before ” Great ” can obviously be applied.) Wouldn’t you give anything to see the first ramblings of Steven King? A Steven King at five years old, probably thought he was great. But at 45 thinking the same thing? Seem like he would be stuck in a rut. If you achieve the status of king, what is next? The word great is like pizza. Hot or cold it is all good!

Being that its my birthday, just one year old as a writer, and an anniversary for my blog, at the same time. I have realized I have a lot of growing up to do. But I have time, and practice on my side. So improvements I’m sure will certainly follow soon? Who knows someday I will be the next hottest thing out there? Dream big or go home, I have always said. Or on the other side I could be one of the first people to be arrested by the thought police, for some of my political ramblings? Either way it successful writing, because people would have taken notice. Maybe the things that I wrote, have gotten them to think about the subjects a bit first. If emotions are somehow brought to the surface of someones personal thoughts after reading or thinking about what they have just read. Its sweet success! Not that my choice of words are better. But one mans garbage is another mans gold mine. Not that dumpster diving is all that lucrative. It is more like the government has taken all of the gold and left you the shaft. Don’t follow in my mistakes, or was that foot prints? Both will lead to the same place. Unless I’m making my way back from that wrong turn, two mistakes ago. Working my way back from humble town located in ” Mistakes Vill.” Using these examples, improvements must certainly be on the way. Just over the horizon, around the next corner….?

Well now that I have set the bar one notch higher for this next year. Look out world. Here I come! As for the last year these are the most read posts of mine by popular demand. The top ten by volume of readers, at least opening up the blog page and having a quick look inside.

Because we need them and so often forget we have them… or do we? 1 ) Social Filters  http://wp.me/p1MnB3-pf

To believe or not to believe some of the unbelievable. 2 ) Honestly… little white lies?  http://wp.me/p1MnB3-4Z

Animals can’t be trusted.  3 ) Rocky raccoon friend or foe?  http://wp.me/p1MnB3-1ul

Look before you leap!  4 ) janitorial terrorism… or just what? some sound advice.  http://wp.me/p1MnB3-Uk

Lets talk a bit truthfully.  5 ) Ruining conversation!  http://wp.me/p1MnB3-1iZ

Do I need to explain this one….?  6 ) I’ll get back in touch with you!  http://wp.me/p1MnB3-jZ

Because everyone needs one… and wonders why.  7 ) Birthday cards  http://wp.me/p1MnB3-1ye

An addicts confection.  8 ) I’ll be good, with the last drop!  http://wp.me/p1MnB3-10A

Love the player, hate the game.  9) The greatest baseball player http://wp.me/p1MnB32e

You are only 5 years old once. So make it a memorable one.  10 ) No! Not the hairy stuff!! I’m not going to eat that hairy stuff! http://wp.me/p1MnB3-46

Factions are next. Stories that have both fact and fiction that are shaken not stirred. Because sometimes we are just to young to remember every detail other than the punch lines…

From my life, true stories just like number 10. Some real bonus posts all for the same low price…… ?

Who doesn’t like to spend other people’s money and live to tell about it?  11 ) Ever spent $17 million dollars before the age 10?    http://wp.me/p1MnB3-7G

Remembering is more than a problem. But forgetting is an art form.  12 ) Falseheimer’s  http://wp.me/p1MnB3-EW

If your going to do the crime… be prepared to use an ALIAS!  13 ) Using an alias; AKA Lino-Lay-Um http://wp.me/p1MnB3-1pO

TRUTH IS !! I can not tell a lie! I have a need for speed…  14 ) The ride http://wp.me/p1MnB3-Gg

Because unemployment is so high now days. It doesn’t hurt to think outside of the box with marketing your skills for that 100 K plus job for the government. you heard it here first!   15 ) Beer czar! http://wp.me/p1MnB3-Sw

Thanks for making this experiment more than fun and feeling more like a kick in the junk at times. But really! Thanks so much for the follow, reading, or in general going through my dirty laundry.

This next year I’m setting the bar just above the dirty laundry. So Look out Steven King, and the writing world. The warped mind has arrived, we’re one years old now! What are you going to do when you grow up?

All the while remembering that if every day were filled with if’s and but’s, and cherries and nuts then everyday would be Christmas.

All the best.  Cheers!

Dear bill collectors.


Dear bill collectors.

It wasn’t my intentions, not to send in a timely fashion your payments this month. But the truth is the check isn’t in the mail. Losing my job, then my wife, kids, dog, and then my truck breaking down. Has left me a little cash strapped these days. Of course my one and only friend told me. ” That if you try to play your country music records backwards, this would alow all of my stuff to be returned in do time, in the order of losing them. “ Because this bad luck started with losing my pay check first of all. ( Well, really second but I will explain later.). My best guess is, that it will return  to me last-of-all. Of course this is providing that playing my country records backwards works? I have faith, because when I play my Zeppelin records backwards. ” I hear that words also have two meanings! ” So then please have a little patience, as this could take some more time.

It wasn’t my intentions to take a few steps backwards, back down the stairway to heaven. But someone took the sign down that said. “ Slippery when wet! ” I didn’t expect getting pissed on, but here we are! No need to complain though. I’m still climbing higher and higher, after I take a financial breather. Governmental slogans of ” Hope and change. ” Gives me a positive out look, as well a renewed effort to keep-on trying. While I count out my last jar of loose change.

My ramblings may be some what annoying to you?  But it is just an attempt at full disclosure. Nothing to hide here. I just wished your collections department would have been more interested in lessening to me though. Seem like they’re the only friends that call me up. But like some friends, they all ways want, or need something from me. This can get old! What happened to talking? Or just checking in and seeing how someone is doing? But what did I expect from someone half ways around the world. Their time is money as well. Just a lot less money, then their American counter parts. Yet! Would it have hurt, to hear some of my historical summary? After all my money has been? Your clams, of just being yours. Taking an interest to what is going on with your money, I mean mine money! Wouldn’t have hurt anyone! Have some interest at least, or act like it interests you please. Seem like that last one is always left out on the collections 101 for foreign exchange students classes you surely do give to your collections department. May want to up date that one!

I may on the other hand, take some of my free government hand outs that I’m receiving these days. To run! Not walk! To the store, getting some color ink for the laser printer. Running should show you all, that I’m serious about getting you, your money as soon as I can. I’m not trying to take the easy way out! But working hard! Nor, do I run just for anyone, and their requests that they are make of me. It is a privilege reserved just for you!

The way I see it. If the government can just print more money. More then we have, or can possibly collect in taxes! Then why not little old me? The money may be funny money? But then look at the value of the American dollar lately! I have been told, ” the market is never wrong. ” So look at how the market values the buck of late, or at least how other country’s view the value of it.

If you-all can find some compaction for my position in life at this time. Please could you also forgive the late charges on my accounts? I’m sure you have gotten more in raising my interest rates to something more in line with a loan shark’s rates. So I have paid my share  of your exorbitant profits, that I’m sure also have been reported to the government, and the  stock market quarterly reports. So your stock price will stay high, so your bonuses will still be paid to you on time. At least you could do is call me, from time to time, giving thank for that.

Please, can you help people out like myself, and the environment, with cutting down on sending threatening letters to me. Threatening letters don’t work. Didn’t your mothers say to you. ” You can catch more fly’s with sugar, then with vinegar? ” I have gotten the message, I’m putting you on the top of the list. This letter in e-mail from, should demonstrate these concerns I have, and I’m commitment to solving them along with your help. I also have one small request. Could we all save some trees by cutting down on these kinds of letters please. Just think of all the trees, you and I will be credited with saving by doing this. Just a small request, but no less important. I may not be able to pay you in full right now. But I sure like to breathe fresh air, from the oxygen all those saved trees  will produce. A kinder gentler world with less threats in it would be better than turning to drugs / alcohol. Don’t you think so?

If you have any openings for employment, I would like to offer my skills in helping you all out, doing the job of collecting your moneys for you. I truly understand the issues of the day, and do believe, I can collect from others, that also owe you with some compassion. This would also speed up the repayments of my bills to you. Truly a win, win for the both of us!

Because I have just received the notice of power cut-off to my house. This will put more pressure on my endeavors of getting my stuff back as soon as possible. The record-player runs off the power as I’m sure you know? If you feel it in your heart to give me a job, I would hope it will not upset the order of returning my things to me?

This wouldn’t have been a problem if president Obama wouldn’t have wasted all that money on green energy. Solindra went out of business before completing my solar power panels for my house. That’s right they took my money just before I lost my job. So yes that will come back to me right after I get my old job back. After all it should in theory come back in the order of loosing them as I have pointed out earlier. The state wind power plants stopped working. Do to the facts of their too expensive to run, and the hydro power is being sold to other states for higher profits. Leaving coal power plants to produced the power for the rest of us who need it in this state. But then I haven’t been able to pay, and the government doesn’t like the contamination from coal, so that will soon close too. Leaving us all in the dark.

Soon I will have to start burning all of my furnishings in the house. At least the stuff that my ex left me with. No big deal! Just some bad memories. Burning things just for heat isn’t so bad. Cooking, and BBQ’ing the stray cat, or dog over an open flame of fire is kind of like camping. Besides I hear the president said it was delicious, so I thought of giving it a try. Saving some more moneys, for not having to go to the store for food. Giving more income to send to you. When I run out of the wood furnishings to burn, I will start following the government inspired actions. Of what to do in an emergency. Burn through your money! With all of the steady payments from the government I figure I will be able to keep up with buying ink, for the printing of money.  Keeping pace with the governments printings of money. Some bills like yours will then also be again paid for on a regularly bases.

Since the government is the new economy’s inspirations. We all should follow their lead, shouldn’t we? How about raising my credit limits so I can pay some of my smaller bills with the new credits limit you would be providing. Because You have my plan of get out of this mess, and the fact is, it is much clearer then the governments plan. You should then recognize I’m good for it! People really do not like anything, or anyone to get bailed-out. But a credit limit, doesn’t really need to be limiting. ( Please reference the governments outlook on this issues. ) It really is truth, instead of a bunch of BS! Raising my limits will just help someone else out of this mess. Because I would just spend it I’m sure. Think of the limitless possibility’s, by raising my credit limits. Which in turn will provide income to someone else to pay your bills with.

Any who! I hope you now have the fool-proof plan of fools? providing me with that huge credit limit increase. All so that money can once again flow freely. Who knows! If I pay my power bills first, or my green energy orders do get delivered soon? I will be able to live on in to my future receiving your friendly E-mails, requesting my payments, using tree saving earth friendly power. Paying your bills are of the most importance to me. Besides paying my power bills and playing my country music backwards. Filling my heart with renewed hope and change of my future returning to the past. The way things were before. A little dryer. A few runs higher on the stairway to heaven. Will be a brighter future indeed for every one.

Sincerely tequila tears!

Ps.  If you out there are trying the backward music thing along with me, and if I ate your dog? Well He will never come back to you! Sorry! Just thought you should know. I hope that it will never come to that though. Keep the faith, and playing those records backwards. It is the new going forwards! So it seems.

All the best!

Piss. OOps. Just what is plural for  “PS”? This post is not an indorsement, for counterfeiting money. It was just an attempt at humor. Print at your own risk! Thanks.

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