mind expanding nonsense

Archive for January, 2011

Egypt


Boy. The shit has sure hit the old fan over there. Looks like it blew in from Tunisia, and could turn into a real sand storm which could effect Jordan and Saudi Arabia. Who would think that 30 years of the same old dictatorship and 25% unemployment could cause such a stir? Everybody (world leaders) are starting to freak out now cause, if the whole of the Middle eat goes berserk [again], what are we gonna do about our oil supplies and the lifestyle to which we have become accustomed?

This isn’t gonna be a Geo-political rant about the injustices suffered by the common people in the Arab world. Cause when I think about Egypt, I think about the Pyramids, the Sphinx, and…The Mummy. And not his latest incarnations, but the good old Boris Karloff and Lon Chaney Mummies. From Universal pictures. That was some scary-ass stuff as a kid. What I couldn’t quit understand though, is how anyone with two good feet could get caught by the Mummy. He was a cripple, with a bad leg he could only drag, and a left hand still wrapped to his chest after all these thousands of years… I always knew, “I”, could outrun that sucker, and if need be, just get a match, find a loose band aide he was wearing, and light his raggedy ass on fire. But thank god for clumsy female actresses who couldn’t take more than two steps before falling down screaming. They sure employed a lot of folks with disabilities at Universal.

But here’s the real part of this post, with a true story. Have you ever reflected on how fate, chance, or just plain dumb luck has save you from a world of hurt? Dig this: A fellow retiree buddy of mine decided to do an Egyptian tour when the climate over there is favorable: late January. So a few months ago he booked an Egyptian tour via an on-line travel service. I was excited for him, cause, I thought about an Egyptian tour a few years back when one first goes through the “let’s travel” phase of retirement.

Basically every tour is the Same. Cairo… up the Nile to Aswan, then back down by boat to Luxor. I wanted to do it, researched it on the net. Very doable; just click the ‘purchase’ button. But the thought of flying from LAX to Cairo, with probable stop at Heathrow, was more than my aging ass could take. We did New Zealand in 2006. 14 hours, LAX to Auckland..just a good sleeping pill away. I won’t mention the terror of immediately getting off the plane, and in somewhat of a drug haze, having to drive 200 kilometers on the Wrong Side Of The Road. I mean, you might as well have been driving backwards, it was so crazy. [did manage after a bit, and it wasn’t so bad drivin’ on the left hand side, it was just those turnabouts that got a little tricky.] So, 24 hours of traveling was not something I wanted to do, and it went no further.

Well, mid January rolls around and I call my friend, and Zoowie!!: They’re not going. What??? Seems like they discovered Trip Advisor, and started reading reviews of the company that operated their tour, and….you guessed it …Bad reviews. Horror stories about lousy service, bad food, flies, and leaking cruise vessels. Long story short. They canceled the tour, even speaking to the Company president, and got a full refund of their money. [unheard of] It appears that the Company was getting such consistent bad reviews, that they were willing to refund peoples money; their business depending mainly on word of mouth referrals.

In Retrospect, and here’s the karmic/fate part, they canceled themselves out of a shit-load of suffering. I called him last Wednesday morning when I first saw the rioting in Cairo on CNN News. “You lucky mother f…er.” We both laughed our ancient asses off, cause on that day of the riot, he and wifey would have been in Cairo, at the airport, and no doubt willing to pay anything to get on a plane, and get the hell out of there. Funny how emotions can run from, “we’re Getting Screwed on this trip” to relief and some regrets about not going, to “We could have Gotten Screwed by Taking This Trip”. It’s really strange how things play-out; all we gotta do, is go along for the emotional roller coaster.

Hope all works out well for the Egyptians. It certainly worked out well for my Bud.

Love It, Or Leave It


America… Love It or leave it

You gotta love America, and next to Germany it’s the strangest place on Earth, so I’m not gonna leave it (unless I take another trip to Germany). That was a popular phrase during the 60’s, when everything went to hell as the Vietnam war got underway. Good thing we learned our lesson about getting involved in un-winnable wars in distant lands.

We just got done celebrating Martin Luther King’s Birthday. America’s great Civil Rights Hero. We loved him so much he was assassinated. We also loved JFK (and his Brother Bobbie) to death also. Too bad there isn’t a John Lennon day here in the States. Just think, a three day weekend of “Love,love love” and giving peace a chance. Won’t happen; he was a Brit, but we still loved him to death. O K. Enough of the political rant. I don’t want anyone to think of me as being way out there in left wing la la land. When it comes to La La land, I want to be smack dab in the middle.

This whole thing is really about bumper stickers and how they attempt to sum-up complex political views into a nifty phrase, clearly visible from 50 feet away. America…Love It Or leave It was a big one in the 60’s, and implied that if you didn’t like how things were run, you better hit the bricks. A lot of my buddies back then were loving America so much, that they were leaving it for Vietnam. I preferred the sticker: “Draft Beer, Not Students”.

There were religious bumper stickers too. You gotta remember the one that said: “The Answer Is” then some garbled letters. You had to underline the script to find out that JESUS was the correct answer. I had great stoner fantasies about that one, pretending the Answer was: “Legalize Pot”, or “Everybody Get Naked and Screw”. My favorite religious one was the “I Found It” sticker.. Found WHAT? You guessed it; correct answer, Jesus. [Some would argue that the correct answer is always Jesus.] The Jews had a great come-back sticker: “We Never Lost It”. Mine would have been “I Had It Crammed Down My Throat Since Birth, And Am Now Breathing A Lot More Easier Since The Blockage Was Removed”.

So everybody’s driving around in America loving to share their views on everything , via car bumper-sticker. Some real inane stuff like “I (heart shape) My Dog”, or “Save The Whales”. Wow. Who could take issue with that. Even the Japanese want to save the whales…but just for desert. The best antidote for all the (heart-shaped) things drivers loved , was provided by the National Lampoon. For a modest fee, you could buy a roll of round adhesive stickers with a picture of a machine screw on it. The idea was, when you’ve just seen too much of what people (heart-shaped), you could peel one off and stick it over the heart shape. Sure changed the message folks wanted made public about themselves.

Anyway, this has gone on too far. What was your favorite bumper sticker?

The Gym

About four to five mornings a week, I drag myself out of bed, get on my bike, and go to the Gym. I love lifting weights and working out. When I was fighting crime, one had to stay in shape to keep up with the bad guys. You also had to have a lot of endurance to put up with the idiotic directives and endless cascade of bullshit coming down from ”Admin”. So, like the guys in prison, many of whom can thank me for being there, I felt I needed to keep up with the clientele.

Now I gotta clear up some things for all you folks that may think being a Probation Officer was in anyway exciting or interesting. When I told people what I did for a living, they’d say something like: “How interesting” or “You must like working with people,” No, I didn’t like working with people, I liked screwin’ with people or why would I be in a racket where all I did all day was tell folks what to do, and threaten them with jail if they didn’t?? AND, to set the record straight; because I hate the confusion of terms. Probation means supervision BEFORE prison: parole means supervision AFTER prison. Jail, is a county facility. Prison is a State Penitentiary, commonly know as “The Pen”, “Big House”, or my favorite, “The Joint”. I would always snicker at that term because it was ‘loaded’ with double meanings.

Back to the Gym. When people ask me if I workout; I usually say “Ain’t it obvious?” Well apparently it’s not, or they wouldn’t be asking. When they ask me “Where”, I reply “The Gym”. “The gym?”, they reply, and I tell them the name of my gym is The Gym. Pretty simple, but sometimes people can’t comprehend that and an Abbott and Costello “Who’s on First” routine ensues, and it’s down hill from here. If they’d over medicated themselves (which sometimes accidentally happens to me) a “Niagara Falls” routine would follow.

I started liftin’ weights when I was sixteen years old, and got myself a Health-Ways 110 lb barbell set. I did every exercise in the small training booklet that came with it. Just like the husky guy in the diagrams, I was bench pressing, doing the military press, and tons of curls: wanted them big ‘guns’. [I was unarmed as a P O]. Boy I sure had a lot of testosterone them days. Wonder how many other 60 year old guys rushed out to buy a weight set after getting sand kicked in their faces. That never happened to me after I started “lifting”. And just like the Ad in them matchbook covers….Now I was the sand kicker, not the kickee….Sorry guys.

I didn’t keep lifting throughout the years. I stopped in college after I first learned about the joint. Or else, I would have been massive, awesome like Arnold, and in really good shape. Now I’m like Arnold. No job, and physically deteriorating; I don’t die my hair. But I started liftin’ again, fifteen years ago, and am now still in my prime.
So I go to the GYM just about every morning and workout.

My/The Gym is not a meat-market like a lot of “fitness clubs”. But an older gym, with even older clientele. Which is good if ya just want to stay in shape and want to get more out of Social Security than you ever paid in. Most of the folks there are friendly and into just staying fit. There’s tons of doctors, lawyers, and even a judge working out there. Some of these guys you even get to know pretty well.

Take my Tea Party Buddie, Mick. I sure like to yank his chain with some progressive stuff like, “Old Sarah sure got her tits caught in a wringer with that blood libel shit”. Well having arrived at the Gym with a big dose of Rush Limbaugh already under his belt, he’s ready to rant and usually responds with “You liberals always……” and then goes on with the latest GOP talking points or O’Riley rant. He thinks I’m serious. I’m really just screwin’ with him ( old habits die hard), and pushing every conservative button I know to see him squirm. Although we actually share a lot of fiscally conservative views, when it comes to religion, the intercourse takes on new heights of delight. He accuses me of not believing in God. To which I respond, “Yes I do, I go to church and worship Her every Sunday”. Mick goes ballistic and is usually so shell-shocked, that he stops liftin’ and has to go right home and turn on Fox News…..Don’t exercise much when he’s around, but my funny bone sure gets a good work-out.

So, not only does The Gym, keep me physically awesome, but mentally as well. Some of my best rants get their start in The Gym.

Lutherans


Every other week I go to a meditation group where we sit for a half hour and practice Insight Meditation (Vipassana). Well I’ve found in some of the discussions after-wards, that a lot of the people attending were former Catholics, and still dealing with issues around that up-bringing. Our group could be sub-titled: a Catholic Recovery program.

I wasn’t brought up a Catholic. Nope…I was a Lutheran, which is kinda like Catholicism lite. You’ve probably heard a lot about us if you listen to Garrison Keeler and the Prairie Home Companion. Everything he says about Scandinavian Lutherans is true. I shit you not…My Dad was one of them, and from Wisconsin….Garrison’s got us nailed.

Without exploring the intricacies of Lutheranism, I think you can basically bring us down to two types: drinking, and non drinking Lutherans. You can tell the non-drinking Lutherans. They have a scowl on their faces and always look bitterly serious. They never seem to be having any fun, unless they’re all together in the church basement getting liquored up.

My side of the family were drinking Lutherans. And I found out how much when I attended a family reunion in Germany. Boy, they started early, and drank into the night. Even my 84 year old Aunt was nursing a glass of wine throughout the evening. The actual festivities started out by a waiter immediately taking drink orders, and after we all chugged one of those liter glasses of great German beer, things started livening up. And things picked up from there…They were getting bombed, (an expression that didn’t go over too well). My second cousin, Werner, who is on his second liver, had a glass of wine going all day and all night (discreetly keep full by an ever attentive waiter). Werner has a small fruit orchard. And what does he do with all excess fruit….He makes schnapps. Vhat else!

Half of Germany is filled with good Lutherans. It’s the state religion, and you gotta pay an annual fee whether you actually attend or not. [ I would prefer more of a user fee if I lived over there.] The others are good Catholics. Still there’s that same distinction between the two types.

Here’s a little horror story about non-drinking Lutherans. We visited Dresden while in Germany, and just had to see the Frauenkirche; literally… Church Of Our Lady (sounds pretty catholic-y to me). It’s a totally re-built and restored Lutheran Cathedral. [ FYI: Dresden was totally destroyed by fire bombs in WWII, and since, been restored to it’s former glory……Danke Schoen America]. We went inside and it was gorgeous; bright expansive, beautiful. People were starting to gather inside around noon; we thought for an organ recital. Wrong! It was for a church service. And although we were in the back of the church, we were trapped. The doors were shut, and guards (sober looking individuals) posted. The thought of sitting through another Lutheran service (in German) was not what I had in mind as the high-lite of our Dresden experience. How we gonna get outta here? Well the wife, having come from the non-drinking side, started coughing. Occasionally at first, and then growing in intensity, till she was about to have a luggie-hocking fit. We all fained concerned, and rushed her to the door. The twelve stepper manning the exit let us out, and pronto….we were free at last. Thank God we were free at last.!!!

The wife sure learned a lot in them church basements. And I sure learned a lot from her. So, in conclusion, I’d like to make a toast to my fellow Lutherans (Once a Lutheran…Always a Lutheran). “Prost!” , “Cheers”, “Drink up”. To the other half, “Chill-out”.

Extenze “Works for me.”

I Know… the Z should be capitalized. And how would you know? Got zee site bookmarked? Written checks payable to: ? Maybe I’m a little paranoid about being sued…and don’t want to take chances. Anyway, this is a hallucination, not an endorsement or condemnation of any product.

Furthermore, before you all turn into a choir of ex-wives, and start the chant: “Is that all you ever think about Hansi; is penises and sex?” This is actually a clever blogger trick to get more views on my web-site…. Back to what all I think about; the answer is NO. I’ve written posts on Farting, Germany, and Poontang, as found in its various forms. Hmmmmm….That gives me an idea. Look for my forthcoming semi-autobiographical post on German Poontang I’ve seen while Farting.

Now back to clever blogging. I was going over my Word press statistics for the month [as all good bloggers do…and tell ya about]; and I found that by a margin of three to one, my Tri Phoria ( the female vibrator) post had the most/consistent views. What can I say? A quick analysis reveals that there are either a lot of perverts out their on the Internet, or very shocked women who may have Google’d onto my site, and are saying, “What the Fock!”

So, I was up early again and watched the Extenze 30 minute program, not just the info-infomercial. It had a NASCAR theme featuring, and you won’t believe it, His and Hers Extenze race cars. It featured a sparsely clad woman in a faux race-car suit; except hers only had hot pants (but not fire retardant), and a zippered top revealing how racy she really was. See, they were pushing Extenze for women too! I couldn’t quit wrap my mind around that one (hadn’t taken my medication yet). But my logic was as follows: If the stuff for men makes em longer, the stuff for women has got to make them…..well you know? I figured the whole thing was ploy to get both sexes addicted to their product….Guys take the pills to extend themselves; Gals must take their pills to extend themselves in retaliation, or self defense. And so on. The vicious cycle of dependancy ‘deepens’ until everyone’s wangs are literally bent out of shape [ I’ll let your dirty mind fill in the details; the “Man from Trent” limerick works for me].

What’s cool though is that they have made silver-haired former Dallas Cowboys Coach Jimmy ‘what’s His name.’ the Extenze Spokesman. Yep, “Mr Long Yardage” and “Deep in the End-zone”, has found his calling. Jimmy says, “It works for Me”. What Jimbo didn’t say was, “I use it.” Of course Extenze works for you Jimmy. You’re getting paid a fortune to push this stuff and probably have it stipulated in your contract, that these spots not air on any Sports Channels or after 5 am.

What I do admire, is that the Extenze folks got their demographics right. Who else is gonna be up at 4:00 in the morning except us old guys who can’t go back to sleep after getting up for the third time that night to pee? It’s not young kids, they’re all asleep, and worn out from a night full of debauchery. Extenze also features testimonials from older people, and that’s a bit comforting. You know the last thing an old Dad wants to hear is a team of twenty-something tramps going on about how size is all that matters. Makes ya wonder if this is all your “little girl” wants out of life. I don’t want to even think about it!!

Well that’s the end of this crank full of bullshit. Guess I’m gonna have to file this one in the Bizarre But True category, and extend to you an offer to reply.

Political Poontang

If you don’t know what Poontang is, let me refresh your memory. [That was my favorite term for “I forgot” when I was a Probation Officer, and testifying in Court about why I was Violating some guy( had nothing to do with sex, although some of my clients really took it in the shorts), and had totally forgotten why, and needed to look in my case file to find out. I would have to ask the Judge if I could “refresh my memory” first before I could take a peek; which was not unlike trying to refresh an out-house.]

Anyway, back to Poontang, and, refreshing your memory without going into graphic details, is what Muddy Waters said, “makes ya feel so good when your baby put her night-dress on.” And, “It’s the same old thing that makes a preacher lay his Bible down”. Don’t ya just love those old Blues and R&B songs. Those guys sure had a way with words and were talkin’ about some really raunchy stuff that went way over the heads of us little white-boys who were buying their records. Take ‘Sixty Minute Man’ by Billy Ward and the Dominoes. I thought it was a song about some guy that had an hour to kill.

So now ya know about Poontang, and if ya mix that with Politics or Religion, you really get a toxic combination. The Reformation was all about poontang. Martin, the abstinent monk who wanted to get married, Luther, wanted a little so he started a whole new church. I even saw the church door where he nailed his 95 Theses when in Germany last Fall; I didn’t get to see where he nailed his new wife. Over in England, Henry VIII, got tired of the ‘same old thing”, and started the Church of England, so he could get a divorce and refresh his poontang. France and Italy were largely immune from the Reformation and stayed Catholic because they’d been ignoring all papal poontang decrees for years; figuring “ If you no playa the game, you no make-a the rules.”

Wars have been started, and empires waxed and waned because of political poontang. Taking the expression ‘getting a little’ to global extremes. Look at Napoleon. Small man, small dong, ravages Europe. Poor Bill Clinton sure got bit in the ass mixing politics with Monica Lewinsky-laden poontang.

My favorite form of political poontang, that I’m enjoy right now, is Sarah Palin, and how she got her tits caught in the wringer over this whole Blood Libel thing. I wasn’t familiar with the term, probably because offending Jewish people is not high on my list of priorities. But how can old Sarah be held responsible for saying something, when she had no clue as to its meaning. She didn’t know what she was talking about? Nice tits, evil wringer! Don’t get me wrong, I love Sarah. She’s an endless source of inspiration for my blog, and we both have something in common…….we both crank out bullshit all day. You go girl.

I enjoyed drawing Sarah so much that I did her twice, drawing that is. Below is a pencil drawing of her getting caught in the old wringer. How sweet it is.

The Blog-O-Spear part 2


If you haven’t read my first post on the blog-o-sphere, read it! All this crap will make more sense that way. You don’t go right to the end of the book when you first get it? Do you? OK then; in summary: we’ve been conditioned to crank out bullshit all day since grade school, and only find retirement satisfying if we’re cranking out bullshit.

So this blogging thing has turned into a whole new world, and my Hallucinations have been in included. Despite all the chaos in Blogistan, there does seem to be some method to all this madness (think Hatter, no angry). And that is: to get as many views or hits on your site as you can. Everybody is goin’ round commenting on other blogs, in the hopes that they’ll get people to see what they’ve cranked out. [Old Hansi will plead ‘no contest’ to that one.] I make a post. You make a comment; I respond to your comment. I check out your site, as you check mine. We all check out everybody else, and end up in one huge daisy-chain of people yakking their heads off in order to be herd.

Some sites are really good,like the Cantankerous Old Coots who certainly share a lot of my views ( pun intended). Others offer real help on dealing with retirement issues like what do you crank out, when you no longer crank out bullshit all day? [Seriously, that’s a big one for a lot of folks and a normal phase one goes through upon first retiring.]…….Back to the fun. So why all this trafficking in Yak? To increase readership. One would think ya wanted more than family and friends just reading your stuff and thinking you’re a pervert. Nope. You want to increase your readership so you can Cash In. Make Money…Get Rich….cranking out bullshit all day. How to do it is the hard part. Advertisers are not beating down my door to place their products in front of my twelve avid followers.

But here’s my scam business plan. And I’m focusing on the retiree market: (1) Send me your Social Security check….(2) I’ll spend it on a night of debauchery, and (3) give you full credit in the morning on my blog. On whatever Wednesday of the month you get your check, immediately sign it on the back, add Payable to Hansi, and send it off to me. I promise to spend most of it on a night of unbelievable passion, and the best bottle of Two Buck Chuck money can buy. Plus, You’ll get the actual Polaroid photos I take, in a handsome plain manila envelope, with a personal message from me; I’ll even wave the usual $8.99 shipping and handling fee. In addition, if you are not totally satisfied, and not basking in the vicarious glow of how much I embarrassed myself in your name, I’ll give you a 60 day money back guarantee; and refund your money after 60 days… [Escrow should have closed on my Mexican Villa by then.]….If you act now, I’ll even throw in the cork.

I’ll be waiting at my mailbox,

The Blog-O-Spear

I’m new to this whole Blogging thing, and have only been doing it for two months now. Basically I’m an analogue type of guy time-warped into a digital world. I’ don’t own a cell phone (too much like electronic monitoring for my tastes). I don’t have a Face Book page and don’t “Tweet” on Twitter. I always thought of a “tweet” as a fart that snuck out, and not an off-hand comment you hope someone will read. Maybe there are similarities.

So, next to Germany, the Blog-O-Sphere is the strangest place I’ve ever been. The Internet is full of people yakking their heads off, and people yakking back. Now, I too am yakking my head off; and diggin’ it!

It got me to thinking: What is with this Blog craze? And how did so many retiree’s get involved? The place is filled with Boomers talking about everything from their god-damned cats to financial advice.

Well if you’re 60 or older, you’ve had 50 years of behavioral conditioning taking place on your ass, without even knowing it. It started with the educational system, where perfect attendance was rewarded, and truancy or showing up late punished (sometimes with a Probation Officer on your case). From K to 12, you were trained to sit at a desk all day in school, and crank out bullshit [the only good parts were recess and lunch]. So….If ya did it really well you could go to college where the cranking out of bullshit took on a more compulsive tone. If ya did well in college, (but didn’t go on to graduate school where the cranking out of bullshit hit obsessive compulsive levels), you could get a “good job”, where you sat at a desk and cranked out bullshit all day.

That’s what I did. First in a Welfare Agency, and then with Probation. “But Hansi, weren’t you helping people?” Kinda. But I often had to crank out a lot of bullshit before I could do anything for them. Besides, helping people wasn’t really the mission of these public agencies, It was: every body, on three….^……^^…..^^^..Cranking Out Bullshit.

I wasn’t the only guy who did this all day. I was at the Gym talking to a guy working out and asked him what he did. He replied, “I crank out bullshit all day” “Wow” I said, “Are you a Probation Officer too?” “No”. He was a “educator”, but we were both in the same line of work.

So what does this have to do with the Bog-o-sphere? Classic Pavlovian conditioning! It seems that there’s hordes of retirees out there; and how are they finding fulfillment and meaning in retirement? By cranking out bullshit on their Blogs. That’s what I doing. I have an old bedroom that has been converted into an office/snoring refuge. Got a desk, office supplies, my papers organized….the whole nine yards. I do miss the clerical girls and donuts.

This is gonna have to be a two-parter. Cause I’m really into cranking it out today, but don’t want to challenge anyone’s attention span. Look for my next post, when I tell ya how I’m gonna cash in on all this bullshit.

To Be Continued…..

Super Powers


Did you ever wish you had super powers like your favorite comic book hero?
I sure did! When I was little, I wished I could fly like Superman. That would have been soooo cool. That evolved into X-Ray vision when I was an adolescent. Guess that’s a universal wish for that age-group (seeing through women’s clothes). Anyway, they already have that now in the airports, and while causing quite a stir, is really disgusting in the majority of cases.

All the good powers have been taken. Just about everybody flies like Superman (Spider man has web-assist), or is super strong. There’s not much left that hasn’t already been taken. And to tell the truth, as I get older, going faster than a speeding bullet is way too fast for me; laying on the couch is as fast as I wanna go. More powerful than a locomotive? Wish my bladder was and prostrate not. I would like to leap a stair in a single bound….tall buildings better have elevators.

More than that, I can’t think of any superpowers I really need. I wish however, that I had an invisible shield to deflect bull-shit. And Jedi mind control to set those guys in Washington straight.

How about you? Any super power ya wish you had?

Raise Taxes

That’s right…Raise taxes. And old Hansi didn’t screw-up with
spell-check and really mean Raise Texas…It’s Raise Taxes!!

I know a lot of my Republican friends are gonna start running for cover when I mention the “T” Word, but it’s gotta be done. You don’t get nothing for free and that goes for government services. Those pot-holes an’t gonna fill themselves; it costs money. Ya can’t keep the world’s largest prison population by just locking them up and throwing away the key. It’s gonna take bucks to keep bad guys off the street [to bad for every bad guy you take off the street, there’s two more to take his place].

I guess I’m on a rant, but damn. We gotta wake up and face the fact that nothing’s for free. In the good ol’ USofA we even go so far as to profit from everything that’s Not free. So..How we gonna do it? Everybody seems to want them services like Fire and Police protection (though I think the Police sometimes protect us too much). I sure want those Weights and Measurements folks making sure a gallon is a gallon and the Quickie-Mart’s not ripping me off. I wish Cal Trans was a little more active here in California, and Fish & Game stalking them streams in the Sierra’s weekly so I can have that real sportsman experience.

So we gotta Pay As You Go. That’s what I had to do all my life, but maybe I screwed up. We live in a consumer society, and in an economy that depends on us buying shit. Boy the old Stock Market sure took a dump when us consumers were spending a lot less discretionarily in 2009.

In California we’ve legalized gambling: the Lotto a few years back, and Indian Casinos are springing up daily. We almost legalized Pot (why not tax what everybody is doing anyway?). I gotta buy a license to fish. I gotta resister my car yearly. The only things that are free are illegal. And people don’t get taxed on illegal things because they are against the law, and the folks doing illegal things aren’t gonna be obeying tax laws. That would be too much of a burden on a major part of our population… When they are taking all the risks; hey!.. should they be taxed also? [kinda sounds like Wall Street].

So the only obvious conclusion one can draw from all this is: Make Everything Legal. If it’s legal you can tax it, and regulate it to death with fees and licenses. A real no-brainer for me. Look at Holland. They have legal prostitution ( the oldest business in the world). It’s safe, taxed to death, and everyone’s happy [ bunch of perverts over there in Europe]. Renting poontang here in the States is a risky business with no quality control whatsoever.

If you wanted to do a burglary, you’d have to apply first, and then be put on a list for available residential openings. Wanna do a 211 (armed robbery)? Better have a license first. “Doesn’t that mean: if your rob a liquor store without a license there could be penalties?” Hell no…….cause everything is legal, you’ll just have to apply for a permit of Non-Compliance; for which there will be a small fee. Government will be flush.

So. The answer is clear, at least to me. If ya wanna straighten out this whole financial mess, you gotta pay as you go..Or make everything legal.

If you got a better idea, let me know.

Things I don’t understand

Thongs
I can’t understand why thongs are such the rage these days. I know they’re sexy and all that, but to me wearing a thong is little more than dental floss for your A-hole. I mean if you really want to show off your butt without pantie lines, why don’t you just kinda hang loose as we men would say.

Men wear drawers, be they hangers or jockeys, for one reason and one reason only, and that is to avoid embarrassing yellow stains on the front of one’s pants and brown streaks in the rear back. Be it due to inadequate or hurried lily dew removal, or a hasty number two clean up, underwear serve more of an absorbent rather than supportive function for me.

I personally am a boxer short of guy. But I look forward to the day when I will have come full circle, leave the middle-man behind, and move on to adult diapers. “Hansi, how can you say that?” Well it works for my 2½ year old grandson. That little guy isn’t having to get up during his two hour nap to pee; nor stop from one moment of having fun to take care of business as his older brother does. The sweet innocence of youth. The Little Liar even denies it when it’s obvious to one and all that he’s carrying a load down there.

How about you? Do you have any fetishes stories about underwear that you’ve been waiting to share? Maybe something featuring dingle-berries??

Snake Oil


On the Business channel they are always decrying the decline of American industry and how manufacturing is increasingly going overseas. Well if ya get up early (before 5 am.) and watch cable TV, you’ll find one industry that’s alive and well: Snake Oil.

Aside from the usual pitches being made for the latest vacuum cleaner or cooking appliance, there’s some real gems (and I’m not talking gem-stones) out there that are so outlandish as to even make ol’ Hansi scratch his head with incredulity. You don’t even have to be properly medicated to wonder about some of this stuff.

There are scores of exercise machines just to work your abs. Why do those old difficult sit-ups, when for just $39.99, you can get this cruncher that seems to make it effortless. Old Jack LaLane (remember him?) is even out there hyping a juicer with his wife. He’s wearing the same jump-suit he did in the 50’s.

One of my favorites was this preacher who went by Bishop Something-or-Another. Now this guy was dressed up like a catholic priest, with clerical collar, but looked like he had recently be released from maximum security. He wanted to send you your own “Personal Prophecy” if only you’d call his 800 number. Not only did he have individual prophecies for you, but …. “No Evil Oil”. And that’s No Shit!…It was probably back there with the Black Cat Bones and Goofy Dust, next to the Gris-Gris.

I also liked the “No No” which was a magical shaving device, small and convenient, that removes female mustaches and keeps that bikini line in check. They never actually explained how this thing worked, but the testimonials confirmed its painless methodology. It was economical too, saving you thousands of dollars a year in waxing fees alone…….Damn those monthly waxing fees !

By far my favorite was the spot for a Magic Pill (not ExtenZe) that would enlarge your penis. I was assured of my inadequacy as a man by a series of twenty year old little trollops who, without hesitation, insisted that size was the only thing that mattered to them and that many a relationship was terminated and their man thrown back in, when found to have been under-sized. What these future welfare mothers didn’t know was: what truly matters to a woman is not how long the dong , but the wallop in his wallet. It got even better when this porn-star posing as a doctor (of what I can only guess) started her spiel. This chick’s blouse was buttoned just above her navel, with skirt riding high on her thighs; [you just know she wasn’t wearing any under garments]. Good thing I was too busy looking at her boobs or I would have rushed to the phone and placed my order immeidiately. 60 day money back guarantee? Hmmm.

Now here’s the part where the oil gets snakier. A little research revealed that not only did these ”Extenders” not work, and that over 90% of men were within the ‘average size category, but by placing a credit card order, you were agreeing to a payment plan which featured hidden multiple monthly charges that would go on forever. No wonder they advertise a 60 day money back guarantee; they ain’t gonna be around after 60 days.

Don’t ya just love American Capitalism? Let the buyer beware.

Germany


Germany is one of the strangest places in the world. I went there last September for a big family reunion. [I was born and raised in Los Angeles, but my mother came over to the States in 1929…bad year to be looking for work in a strange land]. Don’t get me wrong. Germany is beautiful. It’s clean; Green, with windmills and solar panels everywhere; And, highly organized, to the point where even my German relatives made light of how precision engineering was applied to every aspect of German life.

I got to drive on the famed German Autobahn. It was basically just a really well kept freeway with one exception. In Germany there is a law, rule or regulation for everything, like when on Saturdays you can mow your lawn [it’s never on Sundays], and that exception is: on the Autobahn there is no speed limit and you can go as fast as you want. I’d be going along at 80 mph, (over there its kilometers per hour, and damn difficult to figure out), when all of a sudden a huge Mercedes or BMW was on my ass and expecting me to move over… und Mach Schnell! The most regulated society in the world feels it’s pedal to the metal when it comes to driving…No wonder they make such good cars.

Thing is, you could only haul-ass when you’re out in the middle of nowhere; but there’s no Nowhere in Germany, cause every square inch over there is either inhabited, farmed, or set aside as a preserve, and has been that way for hundreds of years. So you could drive like a mad-man for about 10 kilometers, and then have to slow down for construction, or even come to a stop when getting close to a big city, when the Autobahn turned into a parking lot .

It got worse; my Sister turned her GPS’s voice from the nice feminine “Lisa” to a male voice when I drove (it’s the rules). Now, I can’t speak German, and have always personally thought the language sounded like two dogs growling over a bone while farting their brains out, but that male voice was something else. More harsh “BIEGEN SIE LINKS! LINKS!!” And less forgiving when I screwed up. “DUMMKOPF!….SCHEISSENKOPF!.” He sounded like a cross between Colonel Klink and Sargent Schultz from Hogan’s Heroes. I wonder if them German Engineers programmed that “Tom Tom” that way just to get even with us Americans for winning the war?

I found the German people to be warm, friendly, and a basically happy people. Maybe it’s because they drink beer all day (and not the Lite stuff we Americans are swilling down), so they must have a pretty good buzz going at all times. But on a serious note, the best part of Germany was being able to get in touch with my roots. I really felt comfortable there. Hard to describe, but a feeling of being at home. Maybe it was seeing my cousin Hans Hermann, who was a “Hansi” when was a little boy. A whole land full of Hansies….. Doesn’t get much better than that.

Damn You Spellcheck


Damn You Evil Spell-check

I was talking to my Sister Heidi the other day on Skype. I know “Hansi and Heidi”….how cute… how German! Anyway she lives in Germany now, and despite going to all the same LA schools I did, even graduating from UCLA, she has slowly lost her command of the mother tongue, but not so much as to spare me a sound lashing with it.

She was telling me about how much she likes my blog, and without breaking step or taking a new breathe of air, jumps right in my shit about proof reading the stuff I write. “Don’t you proof read what you write?” “Of course” I say. “Kinda”. She was quick to point out the many grammatical and linguistic errors I’ve made. Like writing illegible instead of illegal in one of my pieces. [Big deal. You know what I meant; and like we used to say in the Probation Department: “close enough for government work”]

Now this was humiliating, especially considering that she’s been speaking a whole lot more German than English for the past 40 years. She thinks in German; dreams in German, and hardly sounds like a good ol’ Southern California girl who used to speak our un-accented brand of English so flawlessly. I had to remind her though, that she too was subject to linguistic brain farts. We were once talking about Easter and she meant to say something about the resurrection, but instead called it the…”Re-Erection.” What a Bonner! But I knew what she meant, and Hey….same difference. Both refer to bringing something back to life.

The basic problem for me is relying on Spell-check to do my thinking for me. If it ain’t in red, it must be OK. Not only do I not have to no how to spell. I don’t even half to think. It’s sew much easier. Damn you evil Spell-check! I was subsequently upbraided for my reliance on a machine doing all the work for me. [Actually I do proof read my stuff, but am so well medicated when I do, that by the time I scroll to the bottom of the post, I’ve totally forgotten about any errors I may have noticed….Didn’t want to tell her that].

But here’s the good part, when we went to visit Heidi last September, she used a GPS device “Tom Tom” to get us all over Germany, even to Frankenstein’s Castle! (Yep…that’s ol’ Hansi next to the sign; burg means castle in German). This thing was programed with a female voice named “Lisa”. Lisa was very helpful and always polite, but it was fun to hear ol’ Lisa jump in Heidi’s shit when she missed a turn. Lisa was so insistent and merciless in her admonitions, that my sister had to placate Lisa with loving reassurances that Heidi was aware of the transgression, and rectify (good thing I didn’t write rectum by mistake) the matter forthwith. I sure learned a lot of German from Lisa. Got ‘turn right’ and ‘turn left’ down pat.

I guess Heidi is right! Gotta stop relying on a machine. She encouraged me to do my own thinking, and provided examples to highlight the importance of proper punctuation and Capitalization.

“Capitalization is the difference between helping your Uncle Jack off a horse, and helping your uncle jack off a horse.” she said. And the phrase: Jack said the teacher was an ass. Could mean two very different things depending on punctuation: 1) Jack said,“ the teacher was an ass.” Or 2) “Jack”, said the teacher,“was an ass”

Thank you heidi, for the Help.

Poontang


Poontang. Now that’s a word you don’t hear too often, at least not in mixed company. Unless you’re over 60, you probably don’t even know what I’m talking about. But if you are a long time reader of this Blog, you have a fairly good idea as to what the subject matter is all about. Which now begs the question: How did you learn your first dirty words?

In the mid-sixties, when I was seventeen years old, I used to work at the big round red Mobile gas station in back of the Broadway Department store in what is now called the Crenshaw District of Los Angeles. I worked with a guy named Buck who must have been in his mid sixties too. All Buck would ever talk about is fornicating and licking pussy. I didn’t have a clue as to what he was talking about back then (I thought fornicating was something they did in the Bible) , but started to get a pretty good idea when he pointed out women who he wanted to fornicate with, or said something like “That would be some good fornicatin’ over there.” Licking a cat seemed gross, cause they lick their butts all the time, and I didn’t want to lick anything that smelled as bad as a butt-lickin’ cat. Dogs however inspired some Yoga positions I never seemed to master. I was no Man from Nantucket.

You may think me a dirty rotten old turd,
And Poontang a thoroughly despicable word.
You can wash my mouth out with soap
If that’ll give you any hope.
But in the end, you know your imagination I have stirred.

I learned a lot from Buck that summer, and went on to learn even more during subsequent summers. Guess he made me the man I am today! How about you? Did you too have mentor figures as a youth who guided you through the ins and outs of adult life?

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