Fuck you Pedro

Merry Christmas Mr. Warwence.......

When we put it out there in the atmosphere that we were doing wholesale we never expected that we would get a response so soon!

About two weeks ago I got a call out of the blue that a major Japanese department store wanted to buy our clothes. They wanted to come to our store during market week to put in an order. This is the department store which is sort of equivalent to Barneys or Saks.

We didn't know what to expect and we have been working feverishly to prepare. Making samples. Line sheets. Preparations. We pulled an all nighter to get ready. But we had no idea.

When they came in they loved everything. They said they wanted to start small. But they ordered 21 different items. Smaller quantities but still it is a foot in the door. The hope is that we can sell out in thirty days and they will want to really increase their order for next spring. It is all so absolutely positive that it is unbelievable.

Now we have to produce the clothing. That won't be the problem.

I think it was all because of the Hideki Matsui Bobble Head doll I had on my desk. Just sayn'

I took care of that thing you asked me for Spinellli

I know it gets really cold in Madison in the winter so I got you some coverage.

Other wise you would look like a little girl in the cold box of Costco. Just sayn'

I didn't know what a selfie was.....

I thought it meant whacking off.

That I know how to do.

Taking photos? Not so much.

Three days of looking at models in panties......

Is enough to tucker anyone out.

We had to spend the time purchasing a bunch of lingerie and new bras as we are expanding our lingerie department to cover all sizes.

Now we are remaining only a plus size store as far as clothing is concerned but everyday skinny bitches come in asking for Spanx or what size the Prima Donna Bras that we have in the window. You have to adapt with the times. So since I have so many skinny twats asking for it you have to give it to them. So I bought about ten grand worth of Spanx that I bet I can turn over in about a month. Two at most. Once it starts to get warmer these girls will be on the prowl. We also got a shit load of other popular brands like Hanky Panky, Commando and Greiner. A bunch of new bra accecsories such as extenders and strap cushions and what not. New soft cup t-shirt bras for the itty bitty titty contingent. Lot's of stuff that I can turn around.

Plus other great stuff that happened. So I was pretty freaking busy.

I have to throw you a Curve Ball

Or play with my curve balls. Or something.

I will be at the Curve show the next two days. That is where we order lingerie and bras and what not. I have to sit there while models show us the bras and stuff we are going to purchase.

This year we decided to open up our inventory to all sizes not just plus. You see the girls who come into the store because of the bras we have in the window. So we are going to have stuff to sell.

Then we have a huge meeting on Wednesday which is very important.

So I have to let Doc and Joey hang out for a while without me. Sorry.

Chip's favorite song

Marilyn's Diary

My Aunt Lily and Uncle Herman had a healthy sex life when I first moved in with them after my parents were lost in that unfortunate incident with the villagers with the torches and pitchforks back in the old country. They would go behind closed doors and I heard the screams and groans and roars that would shake the walls.

But they started to get bored after 350 years and Uncle Herman began to sneak into my room. Aunt Lily started to get more and more into drugs and alcohol and it made it easy for him to sneak into my room. Sometimes he would just leave his detachable penis so she could amuse herself. She wouldn't even notice that he was gone.

Uncle Herman had two detachable penises. Or peni I guess you would call them. You see his doctor back in Germany believed in redundancy. So he made sure Uncle Herman had some spare parts that came in handy over the years. He had six eyes, fourteen fingers, seven ears and of course two penises. So he was able to leave one with Aunt Lily when he would sneak into my room.

Once Uncle Herman left us to move in with Carol Herman back in New York he took all of his spares with him. Including his penises. But a funny thing happened. They eventually moved to Wisconsin where Carol started a blog and Uncle Herman walked borrowed dogs. But I heard he lost one of his penises. Actually it was stolen. The rumor is that it was stolen by a private investigator who broke into their house during a stake out and made off with one of the penises.

So Uncle Herman had to go back to using a candle as a substitute.

Life is strange in Wisconsin.

Joey Gallo's Lament

Joey Gallo squinted at me as he held his Lucky Strike in two fingers. He flicked it into the street. “Hey kid come over here for a minute” he said. Joe Jelly just kept sucking on his cig and rubbing his stomach. He rubbed himself more than most pregnant women. Of course his belly was bigger and full of jelly.

I had no choice so I went to stand over by them. The strangest things go through your mind when you're scared shitless. I could smell Mrs. Catrupie’s sauce bubbling away on the stove from the window above our heads. In those days on your way home you would smell the Sunday sauce cooking as you walked along the street. If you had an educated sniffer you even knew what they put in it. If it was Sicilian or Neapolitan or Barresi. Did she use basil or fresh oregano? Pork or just beef? The sauce you were seeking was blowing in the wind.

That wouldn’t help me. If Joey wanted to throw me a beating I had to take it. And not say shit. I couldn’t have my family go after him. They wouldn’t go to the cops. My uncles might try to get even. I know they worked with some of the Genovese guys over on Pier Seven. Or even worse me Da. Or worst of all my Grand Uncle Liam on my father’s side of the family. Jeez. That would be bad. I would just have to take my beating like a man. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Don’t worry kid I ain’t pissed at you” Joey said. “Am I Joe” he asked Joe Jelly. “Nah the kid is alright for half a mick. It’s his fucking cousin that is a pain in the balls.” “Listen I know you were in the cops covering for that little shit Little Joe whacking his bag looking at some skank. So no sweat offa my balls. Just remember to keep your mouth shut about our thing capicé?” “Sure thing Mr. Gallo. I didn’t say anything. I just brought it to the club just like you said.” “Did you look in the bag kid” asked Joe Jelly with what he thought was a menacing look on his face. It would be almost comical if you didn’t know that this mook was a stone cold killer.  Like a constipated beardless Santa Klaus. “Of course he looked you dick” Joey laughed. “He’s a smart kid. I would expect him to look. Just not to say shit. Right kid.” “Right Mr. Gallo” I said. “Call me Joey kid. You’re allright. I hear you run that gang of kids on Tompkins Place and Degraw and Kane. I used to run a gang of kids too when I was your age. It’s good to be King eh?” “Yes sir” I said and thought better of it. “Yeah Joey you are right. But I ain’t a King. More of a Joker.” “Ha you’re a fucking ball buster. I like that” Joey said. “Listen you ever have a problem you come see me at the club. I’ll help you out. I owe you one. No go to your Grandma before those pastries get fucked up. Say hello to your Uncles for me. Or not. Whatever you think best.” “Thanks Joey” I said. I walked away down the street.

Holy Shit on a Shamrock! Fuckin’ Joey Gallo owed me one. Not that I would ever try to collect on it. I would leave it in the bank. Like a fuckin Christmas club for a Christmas that would never come. I was just glad I didn’t catch a beating

Doc Holliday Must Die

Doc opened his eyes. He did not know where he was. Miasma. That was the feeling. Smoke and smell and misery were overwhelming. Pressing down on him. He remembered. Opium.

He sat up. The pallet next to him was empty. Wild Bill must have left. What time was it? How long had he been there?

Doc got up and put together his belongings. It took three tries to get his arm in the shoulder of his jacket. He stumbled to the door that opened into the alley. Even in the dank crowded space between the buildings he had to cover his eyes so as not to go blind. He shielded his eyes until his pupils could return to normal. Or as normal as they could get after the damage he did to his body.

He walked to the main thoroughfare. It seemed to be twilight. Doc stopped a passerby. “Excuse me sir but what day is it?” The farmer looked at him with a mixture of disgust and apprehension and said “Why it is Wednesday Mister.” Damn. He had lost a whole day.

Doc continued on until he got to the hotel. The clerk looked up as he entered the lobby. He looked faintly amused but tried to hide it. He took the key from the slot behind the desk and pushed it over to him. “Deputy Williams was by earlier Mr. Holliday. He wanted to speak to you.” “Thank you kindly. I will be sure to look him up directly.”

Doc walked slowly up the stairs with a heavy thread. He was carrying a heavier burden than usual. It was bad enough that he was far away from hearth and home. He had left his family in Georgia after his romance had faltered on the rocks of family disapproval. His sickness gave him an excuse to move to a more salubrious climate for his lungs. It was his heart that was sick. Now he felt even worse. He felt that in his weakness he had betrayed his love’s good opinion. Heart sick. Lung sick. He didn’t know which was worse. No that was not true. Heart sick was much worse.

Doc stripped down to his britches and hung up his clothes on pegs on the wall. He filled the basin from a jug on the dresser. Scooped up some water on to face and hair. He tried to rub the shame off but it stuck to him. He dried himself with the dirty towel and sat down on the bed. Propped on a pillow he picked up his notebook and tried to pen a letter.

My dearest Mattie,

I wonder if you ever think of me as you pray to your God. I know I think of you every day. Those days when I was in school and all the world seemed young and gay. When we took a picnic basket with fried chicken and cornbread that Mama Bertha would make for us when we asked. The way the sun looked in your hair. The way your lips looked before I kissed them. Do you ever think about that when you kneel before your jealous God?

Forgive me for my impertinence but I must hold on to the memories of better days. My time here is short but I still long for permanence and grace. The grace that you seemed to have found in your habit and your beads. I long for such a sweet solace for my soul.

I have made a great friend and boon companion in the famous Wild Bill. He is a man of appetite and experience and I must endeavor to be his friend without following him in his less estimable pursuits. I aim to try but I am a weak vessel that cannot stand the temptation that he offers to my baser desires.

Please pray for me in your devotions as that is my only hope as I try to be a better man. It is only my memories of you that have kept me from despair and it is only my determination to maintain your approbation that restrains me from the deepest pit of melancholia and despair.

Please know that you remain my one hope for salvation in this vale of tears.

With fondest regards,

Your dearest cousin,

John 

Doc put down his pencil and book and rested his chin on his chest. Perhaps he might not send this missive. It was much too dark for his love to read. He didn’t want to frighten her. More than that he didn’t want to disgust her. 

 

There was a knock at his door. Doc got up and took his Colt from the holster and stood to the side of the door. “Hello?” “It’s me Doc. Mike Williams. Wild Bill sent me to check on you.” Doc opened the door and saw the deputy standing in the hallway cradling a shotgun. 

“I tolerable Mike. Tell Wild Bill that I will be in to see him tonight.” “That’s fine Doc. He will most likely will be in the Bullshead. You know Bill. He likes to poke the bear. I'll tell him that you are fine and will be looking him up when you are ready.” “Fair enough see you then.”

Doc closed the door and went to lay down. He needed to rest. He coughed and took a handkerchief from the nightstand and put it over his mouth. He had a moderately severe bout. When he took away the cloth he looked at it as he always did.  

There was a spot of blood.

Sorry Lem

 

 

Ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha......................................ha!

I was dissappointed in American Idol tonight.

Tonight they picked the top ten girls. It seems they have overdosed on political correctness. They always "balance" it demographically but there were a couple of egregious choices that did not deserve to be there. They will be voted off almost immediately. Mainly because they are not that good. But I bet there will be a lot of wailing that America is prejudiced.

I think they realize that a WGWG will win this year as they put a record country boys through. So it doesn't matter which girls go through.

It is just not much fun watching Affirmative Action Idol.

Panda Sex with Charles Bukowski

   

                 

The Blackbirds are Rough Today

lonely as a dry and used orchard
spread over the earth
for use and surrender.

shot down like an ex-pug selling
dailies on the corner.

taken by tears like
an aging chorus girl
who has gotten her last check.

a hanky is in order your lord your
worship.

the blackbirds are rough today
like
ingrown toenails
in an overnight
jail---
wine wine whine,
the blackbirds run around and
fly around
harping about
Spanish melodies and bones.

and everywhere is
nowhere---
the dream is as bad as
flapjacks and flat tires:

why do we go on
with our minds and
pockets full of
dust
like a bad boy just out of
school---
you tell
me,
you who were a hero in some
revolution
you who teach children
you who drink with calmness
you who own large homes
and walk in gardens
you who have killed a man and own a
beautiful wife
you tell me
why I am on fire like old dry
garbage.

we might surely have some interesting
correspondence.
it will keep the mailman busy.
and the butterflies and ants and bridges and
cemeteries
the rocket-makers and dogs and garage mechanics
will still go on a
while
until we run out of stamps
and/or
ideas.

don't be ashamed of
anything; I guess God meant it all
like
locks on
doors.

More bullshit from the Gays and the Media

So this big brouhaha over the birthday invitation to a kids birthday party that was "Homophobic" was revealed to be another big bag of bullshit.

The story was that a mother wrote on an birthday invitation " "Tommy will NOT attend. I do not believe in what you do and will not subject my innocent son to your 'lifestyle.' I'm sorry Sophia has to grow up this way. If you have an issue or need to speak to me: [number erased]."

All the usual suspects went ballistic. Until they found out it was all bullshit. The radio douchenozzles just made it up. So all of the politically correct police were looking stupid. Just like they did with the racist pamphlets that the Black student group wrote up and the black college professor who had  a noose hung on her door. When she did it herself.

My question is what if it were true? Didn't the mother have the right to feel that way. The right to express it that way? She didn't use any slurs. She just said she didn't agree with their lifestyle and didn't want her kid to be exposed to it. What's so terrible about that?  I mean I am not a big fan of polygamy. I don't want to hear about it. I don't watch it on TV on that "Sister Wives" show. I know it goes on. In fact I bet in the world more people are involved in polygamy than homosexuality. But every single show and every single movie and every single discussion has to bring the gays into it. Every time. If the Mom said she didn't want her child to go to a polygamous household would she have faced the same wrath?

You know if it actually happened that woman would be crucified. Holding beliefs that were traditional just a few short years ago will subject you to destruction by the mob and the media. It didn't happen this time because as usual in these cases it was a big bag of bullshit cooked up by some libtard.

This story tells us something. Just not what they think it tells us.

Doc Holliday Must Die

Doc looked at Hickok. Hickok said “I think this might the answer for you John. I know it is an answer for me. You just have to let it happen. I reckon you will fancy it if’n you give it a chance.”

They each went to one of the bedrolls and sat down. The girls came over and took their hats and jackets and hung them on a peg on the wall at the head of their spot. Doc glanced at the naked girl. She was slim and dirty with small conical breasts. Bald as an egg in her lady parts. She seemed young but not that young. She certainly knew her business.

The room was dark except for some oil lamps placed against the wall. The girl murmured something in her Chinee palaver and pushed his chest down so until he was supine on the bedroll. It seemed to be on a small mat or mattress so he was not on a cold floor. Doc felt the cold Kansas wind blowing through the kinks in the poorly constructed walls.

The naked prostitute squatted next to him and handed him a pipe. She gave him a view of her naked rosebud. Doc had not seen one in such close proximity before. As a medical man he was naturally curious. It did not slant in any different direction. One question answered.

She handed him a long pipe with a small earthenware bowl attached to a long metal pipe. She indicated in sign language that he should put the pipe in his mouth. As he held it the girl put a small round pill of opium into the bowl. She then stood up and brought the lamp over to him. It was low slung and she pulled the end of the pipe and placed the bowl over the heat rising from the lamp. It slowly began to heat the drug and vapors began to be directed by the heat of the lamp. The girl motioned to him to suck on the end of the pipe. He took the pipe into his mouth and sucked gently. He felt the smoke migrate into his diseased lungs. He coughed and hacked for a long moment. Perhaps this was not the right thing for a lunger to do. But he was nothing if not stubborn. Eventually he got the rhythm. He would draw the smoke into his lungs….hold it in his lungs…..and exhale slowly.

Mostly he felt peace. A sweet sticky taste filled his mouth. The odor was pleasant yet pungent. He glanced over at Wild Bill. He was stretched out as well sucking on his pipe. His girl was busy on him. As busy as Bill was on the pipe. Doc felt relaxed. The most relaxed he had felt since he left Georgia. All of the stress had washed out of his body. He had a feeling of euphoria. No worries. No care. Just a feeling of contentment and warmth.

He felt the girl knell between his legs. She unbuttoned him and reached into his pants and took him into her hand. Into her mouth.

He felt good.

Joey Gallo's Lament

We filed into church single file and sat in our assigned pews. The boys on right side and the girls on the left. You didn’t get to talk to the opposite sex or interact much in church. The only glimpse you got of the girls was is when they went up to take communion. Then they would walk up innocently in their Catholic school jumpers with their long white sox. You thoughts might not be so innocent but you had to suppress them. I mean you were in church for crying out loud.

For some reason they reversed the usual order. The boys went first. It must have been because there was only one priest today.  Normally the curate would come out for communion and each would walk down the altar rail from the center to the right or left and give the kneeling students the Host. We filed up and kneeled under the watchful eyes of the Nuns from the school. After all the boys have gone up they were back in the pews with their heads bowed. We all looked up from under our brows as the girls filed up to the altar rail. When the girls from our class got to the rail we all paid more attention than we ever did in school. Connie sauntered up to the rail a picture of sin if there ever was one. Of course we were too young to know to do with that but we knew it had to be fun. A lot of fun. Connie had the shortest skirt of any of the girls and the fullest jumper. As she knelt down she had the full attention of every boy in the eighth grade. As she rested her full breasts on the alter rail we all sighed. Almost in unison. It was as if somebody let the air out of a tire. She took Communion and as she turned away from the rail she gave us all a flash of panty. We are going straight to Hell.

When Mass was over we all ended up on the sidewalk on Summit Street. Everybody split up to start their Sunday. Some of us walked home with the family. Some of us had chores to do before we got home. I walked down Henry St. with Joey Bags, Nicky Squirrel and Johnnie Snot Rocket. We walked over to Leotta’s Bakery to get mini-pastries. You see when you got sent to the store you had to go to a different one for each item. You got your bread from one bakery but your pastries from another. Grandma only wanted the best and if you didn’t get it you would get a shot in the noggin with the wooden spoon. I had to pick up some mini-pastries at Leottas. The best pastry was at Court Pastry at Court and Degraw but they only had the big ones. The best little ones were here and I had to get two dozen. We were eating over Grandma’s like we did most every Sunday. This was going to be a great day because my Uncle Angelo and his family were going to be there. So I got to hang out with my cousins which didn’t happen as much as it used to these days. They had moved to Staten Island last year. Right over the Guinea Gangplank and into a new house. So I was always a treat when they showed up for Sunday Dinner at Grandma’s house.

The guys had also been sent to get pastries. You always had a great desert in those days. Pastry like cannoli, pasticotto, sfofliatella, egg claires, cream puffs, spiradell and my personal favorites the spinges that you only got on St. Joseph’s Day. Or maybe a creamy ricotta cheese cake. You had to get that from Court Pastry so we weren’t having that today.

We all put in our orders and the girls working behind the counter placed them in a box and sprinkled them with powdered sugar. I got two dozen miniatures and said goodbye to the guys as they were finishing their purchases. I walked out of the shop and walked down Henry St. When I got to the corner of Sacket I stopped short. Standing under the lamp post smoking a cigarette was Joey Gallo and Joe Jelly. Crap. They saw me. I will have to talk to them.

Thank God I was in a State of Grace. If he was going to kill me at least I was going to heaven. Unless looking at Connie and my thoughts were in the equation. Then I would be in trouble. And I didn't even get to do anything. I just thought about it. Life is just not fair.

Doc Holliday Must Die

Doc walked down Main St. to the edge of town. It was shady toward twilight on the dusty streets. They needed some rain soon to cool down the town. Doc wanted to see if he could make a little rain himself by improving his circumstances.

He heard the sound of the hammer banging the anvil from several doors away. He turned into the doorway and stepped back involuntarily. The Smith was hammering metal bar into the traditional horse shoe shape. Sparks flew as the metal was shaped by repeated blows wielded by the heavily perspiring workman.  He had heated it just hot enough to shape it. It was a skill that not everyone could master. He was a craftsman not just a smith. Just the fellow he needed to see. Doc stepped back into the doorway and waited quietly until he could get his attention.

Finally the Smith looked up and saw Doc standing there. He took the completed red hot shoe and dropped it into a bucket of water that steamed and heaved as the remaining heat was drained out of the beaten metal. He looked at Doc and said “What can I do for you Mister?” “Whatever it is it can wait a spell until he finishes shoeing my pony” said a voice from a shadowy figure leaning against a post on the left side of the smithy that was obscured by the darkness of the late afternoon. The figure leaned forward into the light. Mystery solved. It was Wild Bill.

“Not a problem for me Marshal” Doc said. “I just wanted to talk to Mr. Brown about making me a chair.”

“A chair? Why come to me to make a chair? You'll do better with the cooper. He works more with wood” said Brownie the Smith. “That’s the point partner. I am a dentist and I go through wooden chairs like shit through a goose. So I thought I might see if you could something with iron. I have some thoughts that I sketched out for you to look at Mr. Brown. Once you are finished with the Marshal to be sure.” 

Wild Bill pushed his hat back on his head. He had lost some of his hair to the point that his forelock might be termed an aftlock. Not that anyone would mention it to his face. “Well that sounds a sight more interesting than shoeing my horse. Let’s take a look John. I would be interested in seeing my own self.”

Doc brought out his notes and showed his conception. It was based on some of the chairs he had worked with in dental school. The frame itself was metal. A strong metal that even the power of pain that sprung from a moose like Deputy Williams could not shatter. It had an adjustable recline that the he could use to fit the various bodies that came in to get a tooth pulled. Both the Smith and Marshal were engrossed and an hour flew by before they knew it.  

“I think I know what you want Holliday. It should not be a problem. Give me a couple of days to get working on it and I will show you what I can do” said Brown. “Couldn’t ask for more than that.” The sun was just about ready to set as Holliday and Hickok walked out into the street.

“That was purely fascinating John. I never knew that a dentist chair could have so many moving parts. I reckon I am going over to the Chinks for dinner. Perhaps you might be peaked and would care to join me.” “Sure enough Marshal that would be mighty fine.” 

Holliday and Hickok walked to dining establishment at the edge of what was a small section of town where the Chinese could be found. They had come in with the railroad which was strange since most of the Chinese that worked on the railroad came from the Pacific coast. When they finally drove the golden spike that united the coasts the Chinese workers burst forth in a diaspora that left the detritus in many small towns throughout the West. Especially in trail end towns like Abilene.  

Wang’s was a small café where the food made up for the filth. Hickok sat with his back to the wall as was his custom. Halliday sat across from him. They ordered the staple of the house. Chicken and biscuits with fried potatoes. What made Wang’s different is the spices that permeated the food. What that spice might be was the subject of some debate. Some said it was some exotic Chinese spice. Others thought it was just that the Chink did not wash his hands. Whatever it was it brought custom back. So it worked. 

Doc chewed thoughtfully and looked at the Marshal. He figured he might take a chance. “I be pondering on something Marshal that I am sure you know. Young Hardin is being pushed into something he doesn’t want to do by Thompson. It is as clear as day.” “That it is John but you don’t need to fret. I think young John Wesley is a very smart young man. He ain’t gonna be no sacrificial lamb to save Phil Coe’s bacon. He just has to sit and wait. The thing will resolve itself soon enough. Sure enough. You could pass that on if want. Just so it don’t come from me.” “Fair enough Marshall.” “Names Bill to my friends. I reckon I would like to count you among them John.” “Be honored to do so Bill.” 

“I didn’t know there was so much to being a dentist John. I mean a new chair and all. I imagine you will have a lot of patients when they hear you are handing out bottles of laudanum with each tooth pulled. That seems like a good deal to me” the Marshal said with a grin. “That might be a problem Bill. Not only could I not afford that transaction but where would I get the supply? I might have to send off to Chicago and who knows how long that might take?” “Well pain can be a powerful inducement. But laudanum might not be the only arrow in you quiver son. I might have an idea for you.”  

Wild Bill looked for the proprietor and he did not spy him in the restaurant. “WANG YOU IGNORANT PISSANT CHINAMAN COME OUT HERE!” Wang came bustling out from behind the blanket that hid the kitchen from the dining area. He bowed to the Marshal. Wang was as good as a mute. He never spoke but seemed to understand English especially if they were salted with curses. “Set me and my friend up with a couple of pipes. Pronto or I cut off that pigtail and feed it to my dog.” Wang bowed and went back behind the blanket.

“Come along with me” said Wild Bill after ten minutes had passed. He walked through the back door of the establishment. Holliday followed warily into an alley that was redolent of the odors of the Oriental. Wash hung from the windows and ropes hung between the dilapidated dwellings that seemed bursting at the scenes with people that Holliday did not even know existed in this town. It seemed a mystery. It was cleared up soon enough.

 

Hickok walked to a door in a building listing across the street and entered. Doc followed. In the dim lamplight he saw a row of what looked like bedrolls. In front of two of them young Chinese women stood with their heads bowed holding a long pipe. A dollop of opium in their other hand. They were naked.

It had to be you!

Let's dance the night away.....

Take your partner and sway into the night as snow gently falls on the city. Covering everything with a fresh clean cover.

Happy Days!

I was wrong I had a lot of fun

I was pretty tired at times during the night but I would just find an overstuffed armchair to sit for a minute to rest. But we got in plenty of dancing in the various rooms and walked around to see what was up. Lisa got to take a million shots. The I-phone has really revolutionized taking pictures let me tell you. She must have take a million shots.

But here favorite set of shots had to be with the guy on stilts. She even did a bunch of "facies" with him. She is a maniac.

Oh I forgot the introductory video....

Here is a video of one of the ballrooms where some dancing was happening.

 

There was a lot of activity at this venue. They had four floors of things happening. The event had hired actors and actresses to dress up in various costumes. They had dancers who went out on the floor to entertain and entice people to dance. Three bands each on a different floor. A guy on stilts.
These dancers grabbed a couple of people from the audience to cut a rug out on the floor. But there were some regular people who were very good.

 

Hey buddy.....let me ask you a question

We got our masques on and went to the bar for a drink. The first dance area had a table outside where you could be drink tickets and you just presented them at the bar and got your drink. We had on masques on were ready to go. Debbie had a Venetian sort of Mardi Gra masque with a feather as she had a whole flapper thing going on. Frank had the famous Venetian mask with the long nose. When I saw it I told him "Hey that's the before masque from the Viagra commercial."

 

Now the next photo is even worse than normal. There was this black dude about my age in a white James Bond dinner jacket with a blond chick who was about twenty two. He had one of these Venetian nose masques. Only it was all black and the nose was about four inches longer. So you know me. I go to him "Hey how come your's is bigger?"



He laughed and said "What can I say that's just the way it is man!" Turned out his name was Nate and he was from Philly and he was in town with his girl for the weekend. We hung out with them here and there throughout the night and recommended a couple of restaurants in Midtown and gave him some names of people to ask for to drop my name. He was a pretty cool dude for a Philly fan. I finally got him to agree that Michael Vick sucked dead dog dick.  So a good time was had by all.

I was wrong...again.

Our Valentines day adventure was actually a lot of fun. Unlike most people who just went for dinner or had a quiet night at home we went out to an event in the financial district. It was a French cabaret themed costume gala over several floors in a converted old club on Pine St.

This was the sign in area. We were the first people to show up. Normally we are always  late but we actually were there before they even opened. You had to sign in and get a stamp on you hand like you were going into a club or something. They had a great coat check so we could check our coats and galoshes and winter gear. I think somebody checked a huskie and muckluck. They went went upstairs to the dining room. We had the dinner package and it was surprisingly good.

Lisa had the chicken with string beans and mashed. They start you off with a salad and you got a chocolate mousse tart which was actually quite nice. I has the mushroom risotto which I really enjoyed as I have not had any carbs for a month. So the risotto and the dinner roll was like ice cream and I was one happy douchenozzle.

A funny thing happened when the check came. I didn't really know the other couple as they were Lisa's friends from back in the day. We had ordered two bottles of wine but when the bill game the waitress only put one on the bill. We all agreed that we had to call her back to fix the mistake and that we should pay for what we had consumed. In joints like this they would make the waitress pay for her mistake and we wouldn't want that. It is extremely bad karma. I was very happy to see that we were all in agreement. I knew I could trust them and enjoy their company. You see I judge people by how they treat the waiter. So it was time to suit up. Put on our masques and go out to the ball!

Doc Holliday Must Die

Doc woke up early the next day. Early for him. He came downstairs at the crack of noon and went for breakfast at the chinks. After some steak and eggs he walked up and over to the Bullshead saloon. He walked in through the door and put his saddlebags on the bar.

“Is Thompson around” Doc asked the bartender who was polishing glasses. “I want to get the key for the office around back. He said he would rent it to me.” “He’s not in yet but he told me to give you the key.” He took the key from behind the bar and handed it over. “Just go around back by the stairway.” “Thanks partner” Doc said. He picked up his bag and walked outside.

The office was dusty and unkempt. There were two chairs and a table. It would have to do. He set up one chair next to the window. There was good light. How long it would last was the question. He would have to get some oil lamps. You needed to have good light if you were going to yank out molars. Or at least the right molar. You didn’t want to take out the wrong tooth. That could make a patient ornery.

Doc laid out the tools of his trade. A probe. A mirror at the end of a metal tool. Some cotton balls. A small set of dental cement. Silver for the fillings.  Tincture of mercury to mix with the silver. A small collection of bottles of laudanum. Most importantly a pair of sturdy pliers. He was ready for business. The question was who would be his patients. He might need to get a sign or something.

Speak and you shall receive. There was a knock at the door. It opened and the burly form of Deputy Williams strode into the room.

“Hey Mr. Holliday. Or should I say Doctor Holliday. I was wondering if I could talk to you.” “Certainly Deputy. But I wasn’t the only one who was there. Mr. Hickok was fully justified in what he did. He was more patient than I would have been and that’s a fact.” “No doubt about that. Bill can be sudden sometimes but that is not my concern. In fact I have to talk to you about something a little embarrassing.” “Sure Mike if I can all you Mike. What can I help you with?” “It’s my tooth. It hurts powerful Doc. I wonder if you could help me.” “Certainly Deputy. Have a seat and let me take a look.”

Deputy Williams sat in the arm chair in the streaming light from the window and grabbed hold of the arms.  He put his head back and opened his mouth. Doc took his probe and mirror and bent over to look at his mouth.

“Which side is hurting Mike?” “On the left” said Williams as he squeezed the arms of the chair. “I see one of them that is particularly bad. It’s broken clear through. I have to pull it. That is going to hurt a powerful piece Deputy.” “Just do it Doc. Soonest started sooner ended.” “Let’s take a break for a second” said Doc as he stepped away.

“Pain is nothing to be ashamed of Mike and this is the worst pain there is short of being gut shot. So I like to have you take a little laudanum to take the edge off. Otherwise you will bite down and I need all of my fingers.” “You don’t have to worry Doc I can take it” said the burly Deputy. “I won’t bite you I promise.”

“That’s all well and good but I will be digging around to get out all the shards and pieces. Nobody could stand that without a little help. I also want to tie your hands down. Otherwise you will just naturally grab your mouth and that will be dangerous for the both of us. Trust me I have done this many times before.“

“I guess I have to trust you Doc. Give it over and let’s get started.” Doc ladled out a healthy dosage of the opiate and let him drink. They gave it a half hour to work. Williams got sleepy and lethargic and Doc secured his hands to the arms of the chair. It was not all that sturdy. But it would have to do.

Doc bent over the supine form of the sagging Deputy in the chair. He opened his mouth and touched the offending molar. The mountain of a man twitched and moaned a little. Doc waited and moment and then put his forceps on the tooth and yanked with all of his wiry strength. He got most all of the tooth but Deputy Williams did not take it kindly. He jerked up with all his strength and a loud sound that was part groan and part scream. Sort of like a gut shot grizzly. He had broken one arm of the chair in half and tore the other right out of the base. He opened his eyes and shook his head to clear the cobwebs and the pain.

“Hells Bells Doc” he burbled. “What the Sam hill did you do.” “You’re lucky Mike. I think I got it all on the first shot. It looks that way anyways. Here.” He handed him some cotton. “Put this in your mouth and bite down. I want to see if I can staunch the bleeding. Otherwise I might have to give you a stitch and I don’t think either of us want to do that.”

Williams untied himself from the shattered chair and stuffed the cotton into his mouth. The pain was intense as it throbbed and pulsed. He spit out a gob of blood on to the floor. Dentistry was a bloody business of this there was no doubt.

With the cotton stuffed in his mouth the deputy's usual gift of gab was somewhat muffled. He nodded at Doc and indicated that he wanted to know what he owed for the service. Doc handed his some more cotton and a half bottle of laudanum.

“That will be five dollars. Sorry but I have to buy another chair.” Deputy Williams paid up without demur. He just wanted to get out of there. He stood up shakily and walked out the door.

Doc looked at the wreckage of his office. It matched the wreckage of his life. He bent to start cleaning up the mess. He would have to go to the smithy to have him jury rig him a chair. Sometimes he thought that being a gambler would be easier. In fact he knew it would be easier. He had promised Mattie he would try to live an honest life. He would give it one more try. But a few more days like this and he didn’t know what he would do.

It is de Blasio time but you know what day it is?

"Bring you're father in law to work day."

Joey Gallo's Lament

When we got home we had dinner and we didn’t talk about what happened. Da spoke to my Mom in the kitchen but they didn’t bring it to the dinner table. We sat down to an old fashioned American meal. My Mom didn’t always cook Italian because she was of a different generation than Grandma. She was a modern housewife who uses modern conveniences. So she used a blender instead of whisk. Garlic salt instead of dicing the garlic. Cake mix from a box instead of making it from scratch the way Grandma did.  It wasn’t that she was lazy. She could cook exactly the same way. But with three kids and house to maintain she didn’t have time to do it the old fashioned way. Or at least that was what she said. Me Da didn’t complain. But then what did he know. He was an Irisher.

We sat down to a dinner of London broil, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, salad and biscuits from the Pop ‘in Fresh guy. I have to admit the hot rolls with butter were pretty good. I also to put the creamed corn on top of the mashed potatoes and slather it with butter and salt and pepper. I liked that even more than the meat and I really loved red meat.

When dinner was over I helped clear the table and clean up. Mom washed the dishes and I took out the garbage. It was time for the other kids to go to bed so my Mom put them down. I could stay up a little. Of course my Da had the Met’s game on. Boy did I hate the fuckin’ Mets. But he loved to listen to the “loveable losers.” He was a National League fan who migrated to the Mets when the Dodgers left Brooklyn. He would sit there in his chair and have a Rheingold while he listened to Lindsey Nelson and Bob Murphy and Ralph Kiner. He had a ritual. Every day he would bring home a six pack of Rheingold. He would drink five of the cans and leave one can still attached to the plastic ring. He said you weren’t an alky if you left a beer and didn’t drink a six pack every night. Of course he would always start the night with the left over beer from the night before. So it didn’t make a lot of sense but it worked for him.

I sat and watched an inning or two with him. The Mets had actually brought up a couple of good young players. They had Tom Seaver and Jerry Koosman and this kid Nolan Ryan who was a fireballer. They were putting together the team that would take them to World Series. But they still more or less sucked and my Da was always yelling at the screen.

I went to bed and broke out my transistor radio so I could catch some of the Yankee game. They weren’t any good either but even as a baby I remember when they were champions. My Da took me and the guys to the Stadium a couple of times. I actually got to go see the 1961 team. I was so excited I almost peed myself. There is no feeling in the world like when the 4 train came out of the tunnel and you saw the Stadium looming up on your left. You could see a glimpse of the green expanse of the field. As you got off the train you could feel the excitement. People were milling around on River Avenue. Hitting the bars. Buying souvenirs. Scalping tickets. The Yankees were my team and my Da was kind enough to take me to see them instead of punching me in the head to make me a Met’s fan.

You see most Mets fans were sick in the head.

The next day was Sunday and we all got up early. I had to be at the nine o’clock Mass with the rest of my class from Sacred Hearts. They took attendance and you didn’t want to get a black mark. Enough black marks you were going to Hell. Or at least Mother Assunta would make your life a living Hell. So we lined up in the school yard of St. Stephens High School that was next door to the church based by year and class.

Of course everybody wanted to know what had happened at the cops. Especially the kids from the block. Word had got around so all the rest of the class wanted to know what had gone down. You lined up in size order so of course I was at the end of the line. I had always been the tallest kid in my class. A beanpole. I was six feet tall at the age of twelve with gigantic hands and feet. That is how I got the nickname Sasquatch. I could palm a basketball but I couldn’t dance without falling on my face. 

 

Joey Bags was right in front of me. He turned and said “So what happened?” Joey was always a quiet guy but he was the one guy you could really trust. So I had no problem talking about it with him because I knew it wouldn’t go any further. “I had to lie that Little Joe went up on the roof to get a spaldeen. When my cousin Mick heard that he sort of believed it. Of course he probably believed a lot more in the wad of cash that Joe the Plumber paid him.” “No shit” said Joey Bags. “Just goes to show you that my old man was right. Money talks and bullshit walks.” “Walks out of jail all right.”  

“NO TALKING” growled Mother Assunta from the front of the line. “Get out your rosaries and start in single file.” We shut up. We knew what was good for us. And what was bad for us. Pissing off God was bad. Pissing off Mother Assunta was much much worse.

“I’ll tell you later” I whispered to Joey as we walked out of the schoolyard and up the front steps of the church. It was time to pray.  

I had a lot to pray about.

Which masque should I wear

Not only do I have to wear a masque to look like a gay caballero .....I have to choose between two of them. So I get to suffer twice as much.

So what do you think? Basic black or with the laser cut and cubic zirconia's that make me even fruiter?

Betty Rubble is a Dirty Girl

Everyone knows that.

It is always different somehow when the woman is the dirty one. Did you ever notice that?

I mean Bam Bam has recovered Memories.

He whacks his bag to them all the time.

The heart wants what it wants.

We all know what Betty wants. Even when she gets caught she is startled but not dismayed.

Because you see.......Betty Rubble is a Dirty Girl.

Smile when you say that partner!

Deletion policy is a very interesting thing. It has destroyed certain blogs. It eventually rears it's ugly head when blog matures and enough people have been there long enough for factions to develop and resentments fester. Of course these fights can start much faster when the dynamic is transferred to a new blog with people that know each other from other places.

I am basically a first amendment absolutist but maybe I am also the self righteous hypocrite that some have delighted in calling me. By limiting access to this blog I have basically eliminated the problem. I did have people here who I gave the benefit of the doubt like Titus and Inga and the Crack Emcee. Their own mental compulsions and psychosis led to them being banned. I can control that because it is a closed blog and you have to be approved to comment here. But if you are approved you have free reign. To curse and blaspheme. To say stupid stuff. To be stupid as much as you want to be. But I draw the line at attacks on family or children. I don't think it is fair to attack a spouse who is not commenting and is not on the internet. They are innocent and it is not cool to bring them into the fight. Children are always off limits.

What to do with someone like Meade is interesting. I like Michael Haz's policy to delete personal attacks with extreme prejudice. That works with Meade because that is all he's got. I mean why a person who calls everyone at Lem's racists and sexists and homophobes but still wants to post there should be a mystery. But it's not. He wants to drum up business for his wife's declining blog. He did so much as openly call for people to go over there today. I joked that TOP averaged 25 comments a thread now but Icepick corrected me. It's more like 35. Whoopise.

I have not been at Crack's or TOP for over a month. It is funny how you can still be fully informed though. I have a lurker who doesn't comment here but sends me excerpts and reports. I don't comment directly on them because I don't want to follow the link to give them clicks and page views. So I might mention them in a passing comment and let people correct me if I got it wrong. For instance I heard that Crack posted Michael Haz's photo in one of his ridiculous diatribes. Now both Michael and I are not scared of He-Man Master of the Universe threats from Crack. He is selling Wolf tickets he can't cash. I mean he was ruminating about who he knew in New York that would come to the store and shoot me. Nice right. You can't get too upset about the ravings of a lunatic.

I hope this chapter in our journey in the internet is over. Now that Crack is being ignored or deleted when he shouts racism and makes juvenile threats we can concentrate on important things. Marilyn's dalliance with Uncle Herman. Nubile starlets of the 1960's. And of course the fact that Betty Rubble is a dirty girl.

Let's keep our priorities in order.

Joey Gallo's Lament

Joey and Bobby B were smoking cigarettes when the kid came out of the station with his father. The two gangsters watched as they turned left and walked down Union toward Henry St. Ryan stood across the street on the stoop of the precinct watching them with his arms folded and his fedora low over his caveman forehead. If they followed them Ryan was sure to follow them. Looked at each other and simultaneously threw the smoked out butt on the floor and turned right to walk toward Columbia St.

“Why the fuck is the kid talking to the cops” Joey asked. “I thought he was gonna keep his mouths shut. Fuck.”  “Kelly the cop is his cousin or some shit. Maybe he called him to find out what he knows. By the way what the fuck does he know” asked Bobby B as he adjusted his bell bottoms. He had to dress young to fit in with the kids he sold drugs too down by the college bars.

“What are you a fuckin comedian you jerkoff” growled Joey. “You know the plumbers kid right? He came out just before and his old man walked in with the Kelly’s so maybe that was what it was about. I want you to go by Scuzzi’s tonight and talk to Flynn. Tell him I will owe him one. Don’t fuck this up Bobby.” “No Joe don’t worry. I will find out what the fuck is going on. I promise.”

They walked over the bridge over the Gowanus Expressway at Union that was one of the links between the two parts of the neighborhood. The focus used to be Columbia Street and the docks that were the lifeblood of the Italian community. They moved there in waves to find the gold that was thrown in the streets. There was no gold. There was a chance to make a life. The tough thrived. The stubborn endured. The weak died. Sooner rather than later. Life went on regardless.

The docks were an endless source of bounty. The commerce of America ran through the streets. The longshoreman had a racket. The racketeer’s controlled it. They would take the crates and drop them off the side of the ship onto the dock. The coopers would get the barrels and crates to repair. They would take out the contents and fill the crate with rocks. They would bind it up with metal hoops and send it on it’s way. They didn’t know that they were robbed until it went out to Kansas or Ohio or wherever the hell they were shipping it. Meanwhile the contents would find their way to the neighborhood to be peddled ten cents to the dollar. Dresses. Watches. Now in the sixties it was TV’s and electronics. Tape recorders. Jap shit from some guy called Sony or Sonny or something.

Joey had started out as one of those kids peddling that shit. He would rip off a bunch of bananas from a shipment or a case of grapes and sell it down Henry St. to the rich people in Brooklyn Heights. Now he was above that. He got a taste of some of the money. Occasionally he was called in to run a bigger heist if there was something they specifically targeted. Not so much anymore. He wasn’t getting any of the cream. Old Man Profaci had a hand in that. Or at least that is what Larry thought. But it could have been Tough Tony who put the kibosh on it. After all Joey and the Barbershop quartet had killed his brother under the towel while he was taking a shave at the hotel barbershop. Everybody knew who was involved. Or at least guessed. That could have gotten him blackballed just as fast.

They crossed over Columbia and turned left to go to the President St clubhouse. There were no pushcarts. Many of the businesses that had thrived there were thinking of moving up to Court St. The hub of the neighborhood had changed somehow. It was no longer the docks. Maybe that was overstating it. It was just that people wanted to move up to Court St. They were talking about putting another bank on Court St. For the longest time the only bank had been First National City on Union St between Hicks and Columbia. Everybody in the neighborhood cashed their checks there. The kids from Sacred Hearts put their dollars in their Christmas Club every month. If they moved it up to Court St it would be one more knife in the heart.

It seemed that everything on this side of the highway was becoming the wrong side of the tracks. The Gallo’s had a lot to do with that. Their violent and criminal ways had beaten down too many people. The Pad let them do what they wanted because the cops wouldn’t fuck with their own rice bowl. But the people on the other side of the highway just seemed a little classier. New people had moved in. Lawyers. Doctors. Teachers. The brownstones had attracted them. It was far from the trendy neighborhood it would become. But the process had started. The Gallo’s could smell it. It made them uneasy.

Joey was the only one who didn’t care. He was still the King. Or at least the Prince. He felt that way and he would damned if he wouldn’t act that way. Nobody was gonna stand in his way. Not old man Profaci. Not the Snake and the other capos. Not the fuckin Mick cop’s like Kelly and Ryan. He had to make his move now.

Joey turned to Bobby B as he opened the door to club. “Remember don’t fuck this up you chooch. I want to know what the kid was doing there. Don’t you do anything stupid. Just get me the info and come right back and tell me. Or Larry if I ain’t here.” Joey looked at him even more intently. It was his crazy face. It almost made Bobby shit. “Don’t fuck this up.” He walked in the door and it slammed behind.

Bobby B just stood there and exhaled for a minute. He shakily took out a Camel and lit it and sucked in the smoke. He better not fuck it up. It would be his ass.

Marilyn's Diary

I never told anyone about my relationship with my Uncle Herman. Well except for my friend Dylan Farrow. We went to school together. Actually I was her teacher back in Connecticut long after I had moved away from California. We had more than a teacher/student relationship.

You see she was not really close with her mother Mia Farrow. Like many adopted children of people who adopt a bunch of foreign babies she hated her other siblings and resented her mother. She wanted to know why her mom had to go baby shopping. Wasn't it enough to shop American? Those cheap Oriental imports only caused trouble.

We talk about experiences we shared. How our father figures would sneak up to our rooms. Both of us loved to lay with them in the attic. How they would caress us. And ask us to smell their finger. She said it always smelled like kimchi.

Of course our situations were completely different in some respects. I was an adult. Well college age. Old enough to make my own decisions. Dylan was just a child. I helped her recover some of her memories. She told me how nobody believed her. How the judges and the lawyers and social workers all didn't pay attention because they loved her father.

I told her I understood. I know what it is to live with a monster and have no one believe you. I was lucky.

I loved my monster.

I can't mask it!

Because I am screwed this Valentines Day. I am going to a French themed Masquerade Ball in Lower Manhattan. It is shaping up to be a fiasco of the first water.

First of all we are scheduled for a major snowstorm on Thursday so the streets could be a mess. We are going to have to take a cab all dressed up but wearing snow shoes or something to walk into the joint. I will have to leave our bobsled at the coat check or something.

Of course we had to get the premium package. Which means we got the dinner seating. So that should be interesting. We are going with another couple that I have never met. Well I take that back. I have met the wife who is an old friend of my wife from back in the day. They reconnected through Facebook but haven't seen each other in person more than twice in ten years. The husband I have never met.

I don't worry about that. I can get along with anyone. At least for a night. The only bad thing is that I can not drink. That always helps a lot when you are in these situations. Plus when other people are drinking and you are not it is pretty tough. I don't know how the Mormons do it.

At least I will be able to Masque my boredom. If it comes to that.

Rest in Peace Philadelphia,

Philadelphia Thursday has passed away. The bright and cute ornament to Fort Apache has gone on to the big Fort in the Sky. She joins her Dad General Owen Thursday, Captain Kirby York, Sgt Major Michael O'Rourke and Sgt Mulcahy.

She is in a better place. America has changed from what it was back in her day. It is much less  United and a much more oppressive State. The sense of patriotism and unity is gone. Now it is just tribes fighting. Much worse than just the Apache or the Sioux. It is black vs. white. Gay vs straight. Married vs unmarried.

Every conversation has become the final battle against Cochise.

May you rest in peace Sweet Philadelphia.

She has Bob Costas Eyes.......

Her hair is Olympic gold
Her lips with Russian mold
Her hands are always cold
She's got Bob Costas eyes

She'll turn the people  on you
You won't have to think twice
She's pure as Hoffman's blow
She's got Bob Costas eyes

And she'll sceive you
She'll unease you
All the better just to displease you
She's atrocious and she knows just what it takes to make a pro blush
She's got Bernie Carbo stand-off thighs
She's got Bob Costas eyes

She'll let you take her home (it whets her appetite)
She'll puke up on the throne
She's got Bob Costas eyes

I have to admit I kind of admire Putin.

I mean he is a man's man. He is a virile tough guy who doesn't let anybody push him around. You see he puts his stamp on everyone around him.

You have to admire a guy like that.