So long, Luke

27 09 2008

I hate waking up to find out one of my heroes is dead. Paul Newman succumbed last night to his lengthy battle with cancer.

Kudos, Paul. Your spark made our lives brighter for a good long while.


Everyone you know is going to die.

1 09 2008

So I went home to Moulton* today and hung out with the family. My stepdad’s mother was there, and my brother came around later on, so it was kind of small affair. No bouncers, or anything. Very few, if any, strippers.

I also went, as usual, to visit my buddy Rae and talk shop about a few things. While there, he was explaining something to me about how a starter solenoid works, when I noticed he was a little more out of breath than usual. It reminded me of a while back, when I first began to notice that Rae is actually getting old.

It’s not that I can’t understand people who live past thirty, or anything like that, but Rae just turned 64 this past July. When I met him five years ago, he had long, wild blond hair and wore enough Native American jewelry to costume every single back-up dancer at a Cher concert. When I found out that he was about to turn the big Six Oh, I couldn’t for the life of me reconcile those two things in my mind: the wild-eyed Vietnam vet I hung around with, and my own preconceived notion of what a sixty year-old person should look and act like. He just seemed so damned young. Perfect eyesight, quick, clear, modern speech, and a mind like the proverbial steel trap.

I kind of pieced it together today, when I noticed his speech is beginning to slur, and his encyclopedic knowledge of cars is beginning to blend together. It could be his medications–God knows he takes enough–but I think life has caught up to him again**, maybe for the final time. He could very well be at the beginning stage of the inevitable ten or twenty-year downhill slide. Hell, it could be sooner than that. Who really knows?

Anyway, the point is I had one of those moments today where you realize with over-sharp clarity that every single person you have ever known is going to die. Many of them will go before you do, while many more will wait (perhaps spitefully) until you’ve passed. I couldn’t give any less of a damn about who would smile at my funeral, but I absolutely do not want to watch my friends die. And, because I feel so strongly about it, I’ll probably outlive every last one of the lucky sons-of-bitches.

*Why did I make a 140 mile round-trip just so I could hang out for a few hours? Because my mom made meatloaf, that’s why.

**I say life caught up to him “again” because of the sheer insanity of the first fifty years of it. If I get his express permission, I might write about his life, maybe share some of his stories with all of you. Some of them are nigh on poetic.

In Memory of…

4 07 2008

In order to properly commemorate the life and accomplishments of Senator Jesse Helms, I’ve decided to post this old thing I wrote. It was unfinished and abandoned, but hey–big news today, am I right?

Remember When Hating Blacks and Gays Really Meant Something? 

By Jesse Helms

 I remember those days. When people like Strom Thurmond used to rail against those dark-skinned peter-touching Commies like there was no tomorrow. Those were the good old days. Now, this is that tomorrow we never expected to come–owing in part to our healthy belief that Jesus is coming soon to kill all the niggers and homos with a sword–and where do we find ourselves but neck-deep in caramel-colored queerboys who don’t think twice about appearing out in public, or even looking a person right in the eye and saying “Hello!”

…and on Sunday, of all days!

Anyway, these days it’s getting to where a good hardworking Christian fellow can’t even shove a Chinaman off of a city sidewalk anymore. That’s city property! How can they just walk around on it like they own the place? Now, I’m not a racist, or anything, but I strongly disagree with allowing Chinamen and Chinawomen on city sidewalks. It’s not that they’re Chinese, or whatever yellow country they’re from; it’s that they’re not American

I’m getting off the main road here. The point of all this has been that I have lost faith in my country. That might seem like a comical statement coming from a tired old country cynic like me, but it’s the truth. You’ve let me and the whole rest of the world down, America:


Allowing this filth to exist anywhere in the world is tantamount to slapping little baby Jesus in the face with a rainbow-painted black boy. Chinamen

May God have mercy. 


Newly Dead Ex-Senator Jesse Helms


Special Author’s Note: So I hopefully won’t come off as a dick when people read this, I have to explain that this has nothing to do with being glad he’s dead, or that he “deserved it”, or anything. Over all, he seemed like a pretty colorful character (pun mildly intended) who brought a degree of rustic charm to the Senate.

So he was a homophobe and a racist. So are a lot of other people, except Helms had the nutsack to come right out and say it. Then again, he was also a powerful United States senator, so that kind of fucks things up a little. Oh well. Anyways, he’s dead.

A moment of silence, please: 

Peace out, G.

For the sake of decency!

19 05 2008

If there’s one thing we should all agree on, it’s that all porn performers have their expiration dates. John Holmes got AIDS, Jenna Jameson got her face seared off and sewed on wrong. Some just decide it’s time to hang up the jizz towel. Those are the ones whose old scenes are still worth watching. Some pornstars meet their expiration dates with a strange kind of dignity and grace, then fade out to become late-night shills for male enhancement products.

Then again, some porn stars die, and yet new footage of them continues to be released to the jerking viewing public. This is not okay. No. Scratch that. That is very not fucking okay. Do any of you have any clue how uncomfortable it is to watch a porn scene of someone who’s actually pretty impressive, only to find out that not only are they dead, but they were fucking murdered?

Jesus God! I understand that the porn industry is a little lacking as far as common decency is concerned, but there has to be a limit. This girl:

is dead. Only moments ago, I saw a scrolling advert blazing across the screen with her as the cover model. Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this? It’s not like Heath Ledger, who was an actor for “entertainment value only”. You can still watch his movies, and while you might think “Hey, he’s recently deceased.” it won’t exactly fuck you up. Porn–come on, we all know it’s true–is a two-way avenue of entertainment. Hardly anyone watches porn for the storylines. It’s interactive, up to a certain point. 

Okay, fine. Here’s the problem, in plain words: jerking off to dead girls is almost like necrophilia. 

That, along with the theft of infants for personal gain, is not okay with me. 

Just remember: if you’re watching porn, this girl:

is dead. I’m sorry.

And the eighth rule…

18 05 2008


I just finished reading Fight Club about twenty minutes ago.

Contrary to what I’ve been told, it’s noticeably different from the movie, in that it contains more of that Palahniuk philosophy that rings so fresh and yet so flat on the ear. That notion seems to be that we can never truly be a part of the great landslide of human existence unless we give up and allow ourselves to be reabsorbed into that which has already shat us out…that murderers want to be caught, because the detectives on the case are their saviors, and so on.

Okay, well… Bullshit. I’m not buying it. By definition, a landslide is an event which drags whatever is in the way along with it. In much the same manner, humankind is an unavoidable catastrophe bearing down on every single one of us from points above. The only way to avoid a total landslide is to be above it, on higher ground. The problem is, each generation is born further down the hill, deeper into the flood plain. Each generation is more fucked than the last. All told, there is no discernible difference between the dead on the bottom of the pile and those nearer the top, except that crows and coyotes can’t dig very far.

From the movie, one might assume that Chuck Palahniuk is out to destroy society, which has been marked irredeemable by those at the head of the landslide.

Ayn Rand was probably closer than Palahniuk on that end.

He seems to believe that we can only truly excel once the old ways have been torn down, and the new guard is allowed a truly fresh start. A sort of slash-and-burn sociological experiment. That’s all well and good on paper, but my question is: how can we ever expect to start fresh? You can tear down an old barn, but there’s still a big pile of shit left over, not to mention the foundation. Do we dig that up and destroy it, too? Do we waste our formative, fast-burning years on cleaning up after people long-dead and utterly blameless?

Fuck that noise. The only valid philosophy for this day and age is the Jackrabbit Principle: stay as far ahead of the brush fire as possible, and when it’s too late to run, lay low and eat the young.