mind expanding nonsense

S.O.S.

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S.O.S.  The Same Old Shit.  One of the big dangers of being fully retired with no intention of ever working another day in your life is:  doing the same ol’ shit.  You know.  The same thing every day.  Kinda like going to work and having a career (long term doing the same ol’ shit): eating at the same time every day, watching the same shows every night (Dancing With The Stars is on tonight – Oh boy!).  Every afternoon puttering around in the garden, reading, making a salad for dinner, eating, having a little ‘medication’, listen to old records for two hours, followed by watching some more bullshit on TV, and then it’s off to bed.  Sounds like a full day to me [I never found working for a living that damned fulfilling].

black 004bWell, as groovy as doing the same thing everyday is – and don’t get me wrong, when you got your day finely dialed in with all your favorite activities included, life don’t get much better than that.  It’s pretty cool.  But sometimes…I start to loose interest.  How can that be?  I’m doing all my favorite things, all the time, (I’m a firm believer in ‘If a little is good, a lot is better’).  Things start to get boring.

That’s exactly what happened to my drawing.  I found myself drawing the same thing (old shit) over and over again.  So I stopped.  That’s one way to get rid of a stubborn nagging problem; just quit (or leave her).  The worst part was, it affected my blogging.  Although this is not an art blog, my drawings always feature prominently.   Not that they are necessarily related to the verbiage: drawing is drawing and writing is writing, and never the twain shall meet.  But now I make an exception.  Here’s something new…on black paper.  Trippy, don’t cha think?

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Drawing A Blank

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A lot of times when I don’t have anything to blog about, I blog about not having anything to blog about, and suddenly I have something to blog about.  Lately I’ve noticed that I’m forgetting things.  Not the stuff I’d like to forget once and for all – that comes back and haunts me on a daily basis.  It’s the little things, like getting up and going into the kitchen and immediately forgetting what I went in there for.  Another favorite is knowing that I’m becoming forgetful, I’ll write it down something down (for sure as shit I’ll forget).  Problem is, by the time I find where I’ve left my pen and paper, I’ve forgotten what was so damn important in the first place.

There’s others, but I’ve totally forgotten what they were.

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Black n White

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Sometimes I sure wish everything was in black and white.  Maybe that’s why I’m hooked on old TV shows from the fifties and sixties.  A lot of that stuff was only in black and white.  It wasn’t until the late fifties that things started showing up in color.  “W0w!  I saw color TV” was the big push for RCA color sets.  Early color TV was a little cheezie, not like the high definition, mega pixel flat screens of today which are so clear you can see the hairs growing outta peoples noses.  [That’s something I gotta stay on top of every now and then or else there’s a virtual rain forest of hanging vines cascading from my nostrils.  No hairs in my ears yet – a sure sign you’re a full fledged geezer].

I wish things were simple like in the old TV shows.  The ‘good guys’ always won, and the bad guys always lost (you tell them cause they always wore black).  Doing the right thing always prevailed, like in The Rifleman, and those who didn’t usually ate shit (they were the sleazie looking guys who constantly looked over their shoulders).  Choices were easy; either black or white.  It’s when I became an adult, that I realized everything is a shade of grey.  Not like in the movie by that name, which was all about kinky sex and perverted relationships and still so poorly made that most found it boring despite being loaded with all that good stuff.

Nope.  There’s no black or white issues. Everything is a matter of opinion, or has a ‘spin’ on it, except the above drawings, they’re  in black n white., and without spin.

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The title was really supposed to be Suppositories for your Mind, but I didn’t want to sound gross or suggest that anyone ingest my words anally, unless, you’re some kinda Tea Party nut-case that thinks my blog is blasphemous or a bunch of bleeding heart liberal communist bullshit; then I think you know where you can feel free to shove it.

divel-fipps 005Anyway, taking these little ‘mind stories’ rectally is a slow way to assimilate them.  Number one, your butt is pretty far from your brain.  And number two (snicker), it’s all up-stream, and who wants some tired, worn-out stimuli in their brain? [Some have solved this problem by magically placing their heads up their ass].  Taking these stories orally seems like a faster way, but anything that goes in your mouth has to go down first, and then make a big U-turn before it goes back up to your head.

I guess the best way to digest these stories is visually.  The back of your eyes have little cords running outta them which plug directly into your brain.  That’s why I always throw in a drawing or two.  Gives the eyes something to look at while your brain is trying to figure out what has been written.

 

Passing A Drug Test

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Back in the day when I was a probation officer [Oh no, another war story], I had to test some of my ‘clients’ who had drug terms as a part of their probation.  No drug use allowed.  That meant yours truly had to watch junkies, wife-beaters and other drug-usin’ crooks pee in a small jar that I would take from them with gloved hands and send off to the lab for analysis.  Ah yes, doing your favorite thing, and, getting paid for it; don’t get much better than that.  Sometimes when I was out in the field, I had little dip-sticks (for the dip-shits) that could give me an instant read on whether or not the were clean (drug free).  A lot of my clients couldn’t pass their test, and as a result, got in a lot of trouble

Wow.  As groovy as re-living the past is, this whole thing got me to thinkin’.  What if, in a parallel universe, the definition of passing a drug test had a different meaning.  When I was in school, I was tested on what was in my brain.  And in order to pass, I had to put down the answers they wanted.  Pass or fail.  Leaving something blank, or skipping a question often times guaranteed a fail.  So…In my alternative universe, passing a drug test means you have certain drugs in your system, and if ya didn’t, Sorry Charlie, you failed.

In this universe, being on drugs is a good thing.  Maybe cause Big Pharma has finally taken over, and they want you usin’ their product.  “If ya got an affliction, there’s no restriction” on a medication to make life more tolerable.  Mandatory drug testing would assure you were using the right stuff.

Well, we all know that will never happen.  Although they are pushing vaccinations on us (and rightly so..I had the measles and chicken pox; it was no picnic), and on TV, all ya see are ads for different drugs, many with a free 15 day trial offer.  Reminds me of what the local pusher used to say, “The first fix is always free.”

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“This Is Me”

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I don’t know about you, but every afternoon between 2 and 3 I get a lot of calls from people wanting to sell me solar panels or a kitchen re-model.  This often repeats itself between 5:30 and 6:30 in the evening.  I can always tell when I’m being hit, cause when I answer my phone with “Hello”, I get two seconds of silence, then a click or two, and finally some guy who’s still chewing his food, swallows and asks if Mr. Ne*#@^**d is there.

Here’s where it gets irritating: when they can’t even pronounce my name correctly, and when they get close, it’s pronounced like in a question – did I pronounce that right?   Well hell no!  Unless you’re calling from Norway (I’ve got a Norwegian last name).  I’ve tried to be nice in the past, but I’ve already got solar panes on my roof.  And if these fools even bothered to do a little research instead of cold calling anyone who breaths, they’d know I’ve had em since 2007.  [Yep…everything in Hansiland is fully solar and powered by the sun.  Wouldn’t it be cool if everything on earth were powered by the sun?].

The calls I hate the most are the automated ‘robo-calls’, gawd knows I got enough of those during the last election…some very famous people even called little ol’ me.  My favorite (the one that pisses me off the most) is the one that starts off with “Hello Seniors”.  That’s enough to piss-off any baby boomer.  But here’s the fun part.  When I hear that deep rich voice say “hello seniors”, I immediately reply with “Fuck You!”  If particularly grouchie, I often go on to spew forth every profanity I learned in the gutter, in potty-mouth overdrive.  Pretty cool.  Pretty cathartic!  I get to say all manner of inappropriate, politically incorrect filth without offending a real person (which is not nice).  It’s kinda like being a Socialist Hating Tea Partier without having to give up your Social Security, Medicare and subsidized housing benefits.

I’m now answering my phone, not with “hello”, but with “This is Me”.  I think there’s a machine placing endless calls, which is only switched over to an actual solicitor when it hears a “hello” reply.  Machines these days can speak English.  So, if I say “this is Me”, all my friends will know they’ve reached me (and not you).  If a solicitor does get through and asks for Mr. Ne*#@#*d, I get to have some fun and reply,  “this is me”, and we’re off to the races.  [I actually tried it.  They passed over my opening, went on with their spiel, until they asked if I were the homeowner.  “This is Me”, I replied.  There was silence, and finally they hung-up].

Wowie zowie.  Hansi: 1, solicitors: 0.  Sure hope they cross me off their list.

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Flying Yipple-fings

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When I draw yipple-fings, I prefer them flying.  I think everybody’s had fantasies about flying and being able to fly.  When I was a kid. I envied birds, how they were able to fly by just flapping their wings and soar in the sky.  I didn’t have any wings, but I sure thought a cape would do just as well.  Kinda like Superman and Batman. Although Batman never really flew by himself like Superman, he always had to use the Bat-copter or Bat-plane to go anywhere in the air.

Angels have wings, but I don’t know if they need them to fly.  They just show up, do their thing (like being our guardians) and disappear.  I bet their wings have atrophied and are more ornamental in nature. However, nobody would believe a wingless angel.  They might think it’s the devil, who was once an angel, but had his wings clipped and fell to earth.  So maybe they do need their wings, which are really anti-gravity devices.

It must have been a trip to see Jesus rise up into Heaven.  No wings.  Just straight up and outta sight.  If He did that today, it’d cause all manner of alarms and radar to go off, and He’d be swiftly met with a squadron of jet fighters armed to the teeth; America don’t mess around when it comes to unidentified flying objects (or in this case deities) intruding over our air space.  It would sure cause a shit-storm in Washington if President Obama allowed Him to fly over the States.  The Republicans would probably petition God, telling Him that right could be rescinded after Obama left office, and that Jesus better have a proper documentation or He’ll be deported.

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