Well, It’s springtime. Except for you folks down under: Well, It’s fall time for you. You had your turn, and now the big fiery ball in the sky is on our side of the field. No wonder all the idiotical pagans thought the sun was a goddess. It’s bringing life back to the Earth and everything is blooming and swelling with life. Dumb shits. Everybody knows things are growing because we poured tons of chemicals on the ground, watered the hell out of it and sprayed everything with pesticides and herbicides, so only what we wanted to grow would do so uninterrupted by pests or other plants.
But wouldn’t it be a trip, if the earth really were an individual or entity of sorts, and we honored her as such. Did you say HER? Everybody knows God is a guy. Well maybe, but the female is much more suited to being a Infinite Being than male energy. All the male gods are too busy fighting over territory. The goddess is just busy reproducing and nurturing us; asking very little in return. She gets my vote for favorite infinite being.
Okay…for those of you new to Hansi’s Hallucinations, this isn’t about my struggle with cancer ( god forbid) or anything like that. It’s about a different kind of evasive growth that’s taking over my brain. I call it my Tumor. And have grown quite fond of it, cause it allows me to do stuff I’d not normally do, and not get blamed for it, or catch hell from The Wife. “It’s all the Tumors fault”, keeps working for me.
Well the ol’ Tumor flared up on me a few nights ago, and after medicating it real well, it got down to business and cranked out these gems. It’s all the Tumor’s fault.
Some people have asked me, “Hansi, how have you stayed happily married for forty three years?” Amazing, huh? Yes indeed! And it would be more amazing if someone actually did ask me that question. Usually, the response to finding out the length of my marriage (not measured in inches) is something like, “You’ve been married forty frickin’ years?”
Yep, and the key to a long marriage is practicing the Buddhist concept of non-attachment. And as illustrated above, that means not holding on to things which can make ya upset. Usually, anything the wife says goes in one ear and out the other; and everything’s just fine.
When a verbal zinger comes your way like: “Are you just gonna sit around the house all day loaded, drawing pornography, wasting time on your stupid blog”. No need to let that throw ya off balance. Don’t hold on to it. Just do a little mental yoga, and remove that mot, ignoring the beam in the others
ass eye. Those bite marks will heal; they’re really only kisses.
Kids are natural-born consumers, and will eagerly gobble up anything that’s thrown their way, if packaged right. My nine year old grandson is now into Puffles: a stuffed head with dumb expression on its face, that comes in a multitude of colors so you can collect them all. Problem is you really can’t play with em, cause they’re little more than bodiless teddy bears. I did suggest he use a few as bombs so we could play war, but he didn’t go for it.
Now when I was a kid, we were lucky to get a lunch bag which we could draw anything we wanted on, but who wanted to collect them? I usually threw mine away at the end of ‘nutrition break’, after eating it’s contents. They too usually ended up a bombs. Well old grandpa had a few puffs one night and decided to draw my own version of a Puffle; my grandson did the first drawing , I did the rest.
Now if ya actually went to the link and saw what I’m talking about, you’d blow your mind. Although I personally think Puffles are dumb [ If I ever saw one of my probation clients when I was fighting crime, with such a stupid-ass, shit eating grin on their face, I’d be marching their ass off to the testing room and make em pee in a little jar. And if it was “dirty”, they’d be pufflizing themselves in a jail cell for a few weeks.] Lost my train of thought. Sorry.
Anyway, you got to admit Puffles are a great marketing ploy: Sew a sack together, slap some furry hair on it, plaster it with a stupid expression, fill it up with some only mildly toxic shit made in China, and sell the poop out of it. Sure worked on me when I had young children. Many a time Young Hansi’s ass was out running around looking for a Cabbage Patch Kid or some Nintendo device, to make someones special day…extra special.
Actually, the title should read “Wishin’ I was Fishin’ Again”, cause I was able to blast up to Lone Pine at the end of March and get in some Eastern Sierra trout fishing. But rather than write a big narrative about the whole deal, I thought I’d just do a Blithering Idiot (my other blog) type of post.
My Hansi post (the usual fare, featuring a pretend story about what me and my Buddie may or may have not done on our little adventure) is on the Blithering Idiot. I know, shameless self-promotion. Sure hope it works on you…Kinda like my Mojo does 🙂
Sometimes I wonder why I spend so much of my time drawing silly pictures and splattering them all over my blog with a narrative that half the time, don’t really make much sense. Well, I figured that all out. I’m retired, and don’t have anything else to do.
But lack of anything else to do is not a good reason to do anything, except when you’re retired, so I’ve come up with a more noble reason for all this madness: It’s a Community Service. That sounds better, but not really. See, having spent thirty years in Corrections, fighting crime as a Probation Officer, community service sounds more like a punishment than noble effort. And it was! Community Service was usually ordered by the Court for low grade misdemeanors like petty theft (shop-lifting). And as their punishment, petty thieves would have to work at some charity or thrift store for 80 to 120 hours. Why any self-respecting charity would want a convicted thief working for ’em is something I could never figure out, but Oh Well.
So blogging for me has now become a community service. A punishment for me, wherein I have to share all my evil thoughts & deeds with you, as my way of ‘servicing’ the blogging community. What they call “a win win situation” don’t cha think?