Yes…..I said DEMONS!

 

 

    Sunday, I downloaded a Demon Virus!  It was one of those hideous apparitions that says it’s a security program that’s been alerted to a dangerous virus that has nested among my computer’s goodies. For only $39 dollars, (that’s 4,160 Chinese Li), it would go after and destroy the demon! Well….I didn’t just fall off the rhubarb truck yesterday! I know a scam when I hear one, so I tried to get rid of it myself. It froze my McAfee security, my restore program, and every effort to get rid of it failed. Soon it was flashing a warning every 20 seconds of the danger I was in and to hurry and enter my credit card number. I did a total reboot and file cleaning, and then my computer turned on me!! Fought me with error reports that I had never hear of before and several times it said things that brought tears to my eyes. Monday morning, just before noon…..my computer went…….dormant.

    I took it to the computer doctor to examine. Later, he sat me down and said there was no hope. The hard drive was beyond Viagra’s help and the mother board was no longer bored. He tried to be gentle. I left with the remains of my computer and then sat quietly in my car for a very long time before calling Wifey.

    “We lost her,” I told Wifey.
    “Lost who?” She was trying to be gentle.
    “The mother board,” I quietly said.
    “What the hell’s a mother board!” she consoled.
    “The heart of the computer. Lost her for good because of that virus!” I said.
    “If you’d stay away from those boobie sites, you would have never gotten that computer clap,” she reasoned. “Well, go get another one at Sam’s Club.”
    “Yes dear,” I said as I hung up and then cheered as I wet my pants with excitement.

    I walked into Sam’s Club later and stood there at the doorway with damp shorts on and said to the 80 year old greeter at the door….”Computers…..point the way!!” I spent the next two days putting together this Asian assembled contraption, trying to keep track of instructions that obviously the UN had put out, but finally I succeeded.

    This new one has no tower! It’s all in one and the days of using thick cables are over. Just these little wimpy USB cords and ports. This means my old cable printer is screwed now. All and all, it’s nice to move on to the next generation of electronics. But, I’ll really miss my old computer and the good times we had in private.

 

                                                                                      Charlie

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  Clairol-addictus hypertrichosis

 

    As a required disclaimer to protect myself from the Plagiaristic Nazi patrol, it is necessary that I report the documented information below as belonging to an outside source and not of my creation. Being truthful about where we all acquire our blog material is only proper and righteous. The information listed below was documented from private resources associated with the CBRC, (California Blonde Research Center), and associated with the current CRB, (Catch and Release Blondes) programs currently sponsored by the old Clinton-Weiner bill of 1996. The condition of Clairol-addictus hypertrichosis is not funny and has resulted in billions of brain cells perishing before their time. This report is dedicated to all those who are follicle melanin challenged.

The CBRC reported Blondeness in seven degrees of intensity. The first being the most common and the seventh, as the most extreme case:
　
FIRST DEGREE….A married couple were asleep when the phone rang at 2 in the morning. The very blonde wife picked up the phone, listened a moment and said ‘How should I know; that’s 200 miles from here!’ and hung up. The husband said, ‘Who was that?’ The wife answered, ‘I don’t know, some woman wanting to know if the coast is clear.’

SECOND DEGREE….Two blondes are walking down the street. One notices a compact on the sidewalk and leans down to pick it up. She opens it, looks in the mirror and says, ‘Hmm, this person looks familiar.’ The second blonde says, ‘Here, let me see!’ So, the first blonde hands her the compact. The second blonde looks in the mirror and says, ‘You dummy, it’s me!’

THIRD DEGREE….A blonde suspects her boyfriend of cheating on her, so she goes out and buys a gun. She goes to his apartment unexpectedly and when she opens the door she finds him in the arms of a redhead. Well, the blonde is really angry. She opens her purse to take out the gun, and as she does so, she is overcome with grief. She takes the gun and puts it to her head. The boyfriend yells, ‘No, honey, don’t do it!!!’ The blonde replies, ‘Shut up, you’re next!’

FOURTH DEGREE….A blonde was bragging about her knowledge of state capitals. She proudly says, ‘Go ahead, ask me, … I know ‘em all.’ A friend says, ‘OK, what’s the capital of Wisconsin ?’ The blonde replies, ‘Oh, that’s easy, it’s W.’

FIFTH DEGREE….Q: What did the blonde ask her doctor when he told her she was pregnant? A: ‘Is it mine?’

SIXTH DEGREE….Bambi, a blonde in her fourth year as a UCLA Freshman, sat in her US Government class. The professor asked Bambi if she knew what Roe vs. Wade was about. Bambi pondered the question; then, finally, said, ‘That was the decision George Washington had to make before he crossed the Delaware .’

SEVENTH DEGREE….Returning home from work, a blonde was shocked to find her house ransacked and burglarized. She telephoned the police at once and reported the crime. The police dispatcher broadcast the call on the radio, and a K-9 unit, patrolling nearby, was the first to respond. As the K-9 officer approached the house with his dog on a leash, the blonde ran out on the porch, shuddered at the sight of the cop and his dog, then sat down on the steps. Putting her face in her hands, she moaned, ‘I come home to find all my possessions stolen. I call the police for help, and what do they do? They send me a BLIND policeman!’

***Here I want to make a point that all the beautiful blondes on this site are nothing like the above! @Greatmartin told me about a few, but I totally disagreed with him…..just saying.

 

                                                                                                                Charlie

 

 

 

   MY NEW DOCTOR IS A BABY DOCTOR!

    Went to my doctor not long ago. He’s a good and somewhat intelligent doctor, but it seems like when you become older than your doctors, it’s just harder to trust their skills considering that some of your ailments are older than they are. I kept wanting to call him sonny or some cute nickname like Sabu. Anyway, the kid sat me down and gave me a lecture. He told me that my arteries were getting tighter than a squirrel’s anus and that my blood pressure was 180 over rigor mortis. We discussed what I ate, which caused him to squint and grimace several times and then I told him my exercise consisted of me going out to the mailbox each day, (and back), and the twenty or so trips I quickly make to the bathroom from sunup to sundown.

    The conclusion of my consultation was a prescription, a lecture on my diet, a bogus flu shot and a promise from me that I would start taking daily walks around my neighborhood. I thanked Sabu and as I drove home, (via KFC), I made a commitment to start exercising.

    I have been taking my daily walks for a week now. What I have rediscovered is the joy of breathing fresh air again. Smelling the fragrance of blooming flowers, car exhaust and pollen clouds. Every dog in my extended neighborhood has a vendetta out for me and all the mothers run out to remove their children from the yard when I walk by. Times have changed.

    I wave at folks working in their yards and they look away like they’re afraid I’m looking for help or I’m a Jehovah Witness. All same, I still wave and keep waddling on keeping an eye open for the next canine assault. Once in a while a UPS or mail truck will play ‘Road Warrior’ with me or some young teen will be out cruising looking for a geriatric hood ornament. I must stay ninja ready the entire time.

    Once I’ve concluded my daily excursion, I return home and replenish my electrolytes with a fermented beverage. I sit back in my recliner and relax as I pick assorted insectoids out of my beard that took refuse during my walk. I know it’s important to stay active at my age and I know doctor sonny has my best intentions at heart, but maybe I can just pay someone to drop by each day to move my legs for me while I watch reruns of Seinfeld.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          SIMPLE WORDS

 

 

    1970.….that’s four decades ago! Most of my friends on here are in their 4th and 5th decade of life and those beyond that have given up math. A few of the wiser ones are now into their sixties and of course a few of my special friends here have their age measured using a Biblical format. Back to 1970.….that was the year I returned home from the military. I had left all the confusion, pain, fear, anguish, political drama and sadness of Vietnam and returned home to a country that had more important issues and events to contend with, than with the homecoming of a confused vet.

    The newest band was the ‘Who’ and the ‘Beatles’ had just disbanded. President Nixon had just signed the ‘Public Health Act’ which banned all cigarette ads on TV. It was hard to believe that the actor, Ronald Reagan, was reelected Governor of California. Some students were killed at a small college called Kent State and it was the first year of some nonsense called the New York City Marathon. Women were getting out of hand with equality marches and boycotts for equal pay!! There was a lot going on then that held the attention and interest of the American people and just one more returning vet from an unpopular war meant very little…..it was okay, I didn’t really expect anything.

    The years passed and I grew old and wise in the ways of the world, or that small piece which was allocated to my observance. I learned that folks use people symbolically to reflect their discuss, anger, shame and pride. In 1970, when I returned home from the service, I represented a malicious and unfair government and I was simply a tool of their war machine. Pretty cold stuff to hang on a 21 year old, huh? Now, after many years and a few more wars, our men and women represent something more substantial and worthy. The Gulf War of 1991 elevated every member of the armed forces to hero status. Iraq, even with all the misplaced political maneuvers, did not tarnish the respect and admiration we all felt for the men and women who served in harm’s way. Afghanistan made us all stand in the presences of returning veterans and applaud with teary eyes.

    How often have you heard it now said, “Thank you for your service to your country.” Simple words that totally speak from the heart when emotions prevent us from saying so much more. “Thank you for your service to your country.” To hear those sincere words spoken by friend or stranger alike truly makes any veteran proud for what he or she has done. Only in the last few years have I heard that appreciation directed towards me for my service in Vietnam. I waited a long time for it, but it was worth it.

    I heard those words again last Memorial Day when I posted a memorial blog and mentioned my time in the military. “Thank you for your service to your country.” These kind comments were left by some of my friends on ‘Xanga’. Now you all know what this site means to me.                                                                             

                                                                    Charlie

 

 

 

 

                    ‘If a man takes no thought about what is distant, he will find sorrow near at hand’…..Confucius

 

      

    You walk into a Walmart and the first thing you see, after you pass the atrophied door greeter, are the long lines. First at the indoor McDonalds, and then lined up at the few checkouts they allow to be open, with lines backed up to the lampshade department. But, there is another line…..CUSTOMER SERVICE. Here you will find the multitudes returning their poor quality items of substandard workmanship. It’s called The Great Line Of China! Missing or broken buttons, video cameras that don’t video, zippers that don’t zip and pet food that causes Fluffy’s fur to change color. A typical day in the Walmart trenches. You make the long walk back to the electronics department to see if they have the new 55 inch 3-D Kaimy Television from the mainland of China. There you see it on display all shiny and luminous in it’s plastic enclosure. You ask the clerk if they have had any complaints on it and he responds by telling you to make sure and purchase the additional warranty that’s available and then they suggest a nice Korean made Blu-ray DVD player.

    I know, we’re all sick and tired of all these tirades about inferior Chinese products and the bellyaching about manufacturing jobs being siphoned from this country and infused into Asia. Most Walmart shoppers had rather talk about the Kardashians or last night’s American Idol while patiently waiting in line. Do Walmart shoppers even know that currently, 75-80% of all the items they buy in Wally World are manufactured by fly by night companies operating along the Yangtze River? That 24 million lucky folks are joining the Asian labor force every year? For China today, exports represent about 40% of their GDP, which means that in just a very few years, they will be the most dominant and powerful financial force on earth. They currently are the number one exported of goods in the world as well has maintaining the largest standing army on the planet, (just threw that in).

    The land of the free has turned into a land of the fleeced, who are marketed and influenced by foreign made products which lack desired quality and fail in comparison to the products we once made ourselves. I guess we need to live with the reality that we must accept Chinese products. We, as a people, don’t seem to care any longer and as such, have allowed manufacturing to leave us in the economic dust. We do not have it in our character anymore and have no determination to defend what was once great in the USA. Americans standing up and boycotting Chinese or any Asian made products is no longer a reality. There was a time, when we as a people, would have stood up….but, those days are long gone. Sad thing is, the customer still has it in their power to do something…..just not the will.

                                                                                                                                                                                Charlie

 

 

 

 

There are thousands of bats, but no one bats a thousand……Charlie

 

   

    Around this incredible guano ball we call earth, are about 1,240 species of a mammal belonging to the Chiroptera order. This creature is the mysterious bat! Bats account for nearly 25% of all identified mammals world wide. Most bats are insectivores, nearly 75%. Then there’s 14% which are fruit eaters, 5% aquatic feeders, 4% parasitic blood suckers and the final 2% represent the rare Transylvanian neck biters.

    Below, I have listed one type from several different species. Beautiful in their creation and strange and most bewildering in their uniqueness.

 

 

 Virginia Big Eared Bat

 

  Tube Nose Fruit Bat

 

Brown Bat

 

   Jamaican Bat (blood sucker)

 

  Tomb Bat

 

 

 

Left Wing Ding Bat (blood sucker)

   

    Beloved friends, let me state for the record, that I rarely post anything of a political nature as it’s like shaking the fruit trees around here and no telling what will fall out. Please accept the humor of this post…..or maybe just double up on the Xanax and Valium.

                                                                                                                     Charlie

 

 

 

 

 

         POLE CHALLENGED

   

    I first met the future Mrs. Wifey at the Geisha Fun Farm back in the previous century. She worked the midnight to four a.m. shift on the pole and was well respected for her disjointed gyrations. I was back in the States following a security tour in Somalia and just needed some down time before heading to Aspen with a few friends…………….Okay, some of this is a lie. Fact is, I met my intended in a grocery store where she worked the wine isle stocking and making orders. She saw me in my uniform and was impressed with all my citations and rank. I wore my Employee of the Month pin, Three Year Service tie tack and over my name badge was embroidered the words Asst. Manager. All quite impressive.

    She came on to me first, by giving me a smile and then walking over and asking could she help me. I could see the hunger in her eyes and she was panting somewhat. “Oh, I thought I’d get a bottle of wine to have with my dinner tonight,” I lied.

    “What are you having this evening?” she asked, obviously wanting to know if I was a meat eater.

    “Country fried steak and collard greens.”

    “Well,” she stammered, “We do have a very nice domestic beer to go with that.” Right off she impressed the crap out of me! I had already decided on that very thing and it was like she read my freakin mind!

    “Yes, I believe I will get that very thing,” I said. She smiled and then returned to her work. As she walked away, it was like a ship sailing out of the harbor of my heart. I scoped out her main beam and rudder assembly and fell in love. After that day, I decided to start drinking wine and visited her isle every day to purchase and learn all about wine. After six months of drinking a bottle of wine every night and two come Saturday and Sunday, I was admitted to Pasco county rehab for five weeks. After I was released, we became close and after a time I finally asked her to become my wife. She turned me down, with tears in her eyes, and said she had accepted a job in Miami as a pole dancer at the ‘Flopping Dolphin’……….Okay, maybe this is a little over the top. Fact is, I did meet her in a grocery store, down the wine isle. I just added the other stuff because I lie a lot……and she’s learned to live with it.

 

 

 

    ~WHEN DRESSES WERE DRESSES AND ONLY WOMEN WORE THEM~

 

    During my lifetime, which has been 9.6 dog years, I have seen fashion morph from one extreme to another. I can still remember the ‘Poodle’ skirt of the fifties, which was a very plain fashion with little or no variations, but looked great when dancing. One great attribute was when the girl spun around and gravity lifted the helm, there was a display of feminine accouterments that mesmerized all us young teens! Thigh high stockings with seams, octopus styled garter belts and white cotton knickers up to the waist. It was rapture in motion.

    During the 60’s, the ‘mini’ skirt took to the streets and dance clubs. Most schools and even a few municipalities restricted the fashion, which made the females even more determine. In time, they were everywhere. Pantyhose had come to the rescue and colored panties were now a requirement.

    Into the 70’s, the hippies dominated fashion with their eclectic fashion sense or non-sense, and to be honest, my memory of the 70’s is still very vague except that I woke one morning during the early 80’s and had a closet full of bell bottom ‘leisure’ suits.

    During the 80’s, polyester and spandex contaminated fashion. Clothes became more ‘bland’ and women now marched into the business world wearing pantsuits and false nails. Men took to wearing sterile looking polo shirts with a pansy looking crocodile logo.

    During the 90’s and well into the 21st century, fashion and taste simply became optional. Most people now wear what they want. The youth continues to dress only to piss off adults and old farts like me dress like golf course rejects. You might see someone in a poodle skirt now, but most likely they’re a drag queen….or, if they’re wearing a short mini shirt, then they could be a hooker. Young men still dress to impress women, just as women still dress to aggravate other women. I’ve now learned that fashion has no beginning or end, just the moment. I don’t totally understand the concept, I just pay the credit card bills.

                                                                                                                                                                               Charlie

 

                                  THE NEW “FHOTO” SKIRTS

 

 

 

    MY LITTLE SWEETIE RAPTOR

 

    Daughters are special. More special than sons because of the emotional investment required. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my son’s very much, but a daughter brain is more of a challenge than a son’s brain. As an example, I once told my 14 year old son how important it was to me that his sister only date good boys and also how important it was to me that he also be a good boy. He asked did that mean he had to date his sister? In retrospect, it‘s funny now, but back then I worried a lot about him and his misfiring synapses. In the final analysis, all my son’s did well, but, as for my daughter, she held my blood pressure and apoplexy hostage for years.

    Back then, any competent astronomer could predict with absolute accuracy just where every star in the universe would be at 11:00 at night, but none of them could predict where my teenage daughter could be at that time. Boyfriends were my nemesis and archrivals for my daughter. My beautiful daughter was like a flower that filled my world with beauty, and like a flower, sometimes attracted pests. These pests came in all complexions and mentalities and were like Mongol warriors ravaging the land with hopes of ravishing my daughter.

    I know I was tough on the guys, but it was to protect my little girl and her….you know….assets, which she poorly protected. I remember the breakfast table debates over her clothes. After spending over hour in the bathroom, (I could rule out reading), she would come to the table dressed like it was Casual Sex Day at school. “No way, young lady. You need to cover some of that terrain before frostbite sets in.”

    “This is the style,” she would yawn.

    “You dress like those entrepreneurs walking up and down Madison street!”

    “Well at least there, I’d get to wear what I want.”  

    “You know, your gonna hate prison, cause everyone’s gonna be dressed just like you!” I would grunt.

    “Please say I was switched at birth,” she would groan while she ate yogurt. My eyes would cross and her Mom would intervene and tell our daughter not to upset me, else I might end up having dinner with Jesus later. So, some sort of fashion compromise would be made between her and her mom, but I knew once she was out the door, that the compromise would be null and void.

    She would then scamper out the front door to wait on her current boyfriend. They knew never to pull into my driveway and honk, unless they were delivering a package, because they sure as hell would not be picking one up. Most of the boys she corrupted were afraid of me and every time I met one, I always put on my best zombie sneer. Each guy she dated for the first time, I would always slipped him a note with the address of the Immaculate Transgressor Convent in Cloverdale. I then whispered that if he ever got her home later than midnight, that he was to just turn around and deliver my daughter to the convent and then he needed to go and join the Navy. Seemed to have worked, and few, if any, ever dated her again.

    Well, she finally grew up and in spite of her Mom’s cuddling, she did well. She, and her Navy husband, gave us two wonderful granddaughters that I spoil each time I visit. They will be teenagers soon and I can’t wait!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WHEN GETTING HIGH WAS IMPORTANT! 

   

    Last night, I was out back sitting by our pool. We have a pool because I gave up auguring against anything in 1997.…anyway, I’m sitting in my chase lounge drinking a prune smoothie to help gyrate my plumbing when I looked up in the night sky and saw the nav-lights on an airliner go over at about 20,000 feet. I stared at this common event and then slowly digressed into awestruckness. It was a man-made object the size of a small building zipping through the air at approximately 550 miles an hour, (that’s 2,035 Chinese li an hour). It was carrying over 400 humans plus a dozen or so sedated dogs and cats below in the crowded baggage hold along with a few stashed immigrants.

    Incredible to comprehend, and yet we take it all for granted. I can only imagine the epiphany Wilbur and Orville must of felt the first time their powered glider, made of spruce and ash, and covered with muslin, didn’t crash for a change and soared through the troposphere at 7 miles an hour for nearly twelve seconds. The ten foot altitude must have been regurgitating!  Anyway, mankind has booked a lot of Frequent Flyer Miles since that eventful day in 1903.  As of 2010, the world’s airlines now fly over a billion people a year…..that’s a lot of cavity searches.

    Well, whatever celestial cloud the Wright brothers are hang gliding from today, they can be proud of that simple glider that flew at Kitty Hawk. But, like all marvelous creations which mankind comes up with….sooner or later, man will also find a way to use it for destruction. The once famous supercarrier, the USS Kitty Hawk with it’s contingency of military aircraft, had the destructive might to destroy a small country. Ironic.  

    So I sit by my pool in the evening and ponder these fleeting facts and conundrums. When you drink as much prune juice as I do, you tend to have a substantial library in your bathroom with oodles of useless facts.