Category Archives: Sounding off

A Pirate looks past 60, with apologies to Jimmy Buffett

Now we have the radical left who are no better than the radical right. It feels as if the entire country has lost its mooring.

We are adrift.

This is not who we are, what we are. There is and always has been racism – on all sides. I’ve been the only white guy in the room, not a comfortable situation; no more or less than being the only black guy in a room. But, we have always been able to put on the back burner and survive, when the shit hit the fan.

I know a man who can and does spew the vilest racist comments, but yet when the chips are down shows his true colors. I’ve seen this same guy risk his own life to save a non-English speaking Hispanic guy from a car fire. It showed me his racism is, or was, only on the surface, not who this guy is. It was his mouth, not his heart.

I fear it’s gone deeper in us now.

The right wing’s hate and anger that a black man had the audacity to be elected president and effectively lead for eight years has spilled out from the gut and now defines a substantial percentage of who we are.

Are we going to allow a handful of cowards who fear “them Uppity Niggers” define us a nation?

By the way, this is the first time I’ve ever used that word in a post. It is an ugly, yet powerful word. I wish people who use it freely would ponder its weight. Just think, step back from the anger and think.

We all own this. We have to.

I don’t think you will ever educate Klan members, Neo-Nazis. I’ve been in fights with the Klan, they are gutless cowards. They feed off each other. Their power is fragile. Giving them attention gives them power. The media gives them power, the White House gives them power. Ignore them and they will not go away, but they will diminish and weaken. They will go back into their holes.

The left is no better. Sinking to the same level as the right and the KKK. The radical left is nothing more than another disenfranchised collection of cowards. Again, the attention feeds them and their actions justify the radical rights actions.

I struggle with this. There is nothing I’d rather do that bust open the skull of a Klan member with a pipe.

That makes me no better than them.

We need calm level-headed leadership, not trump, not Hillary, not the mess we call congress. Instead, we have black armbands in the street.

We are seeing in this country now a direct result of the failure of leadership. We have been accepting the unacceptable for too long. There is a cancer eating this country alive. I’ve watched it come unglued since the ’70’s.

We used to have, at the very least, respectable leadership. What happened, why? How did we get to a place where we accept – AND DEFEND – the unacceptable.

We have the highest number of prisoners, per capita, of any nation in the world. A for-profit prison system. We have a government that is now encouraging – boldly – the militarization of local police departments. We have radicalized hate groups in the streets. We have men like Joe Arpaio endorsed by the occupant of the White House. That same occupant of the White House publicly endorses police violence. We have a Supreme Court that says corporations and people and they can dump as much cash as they want to spend to buy all the politicians they want to buy. We have a congress with an 11% approval rating and they still get elected…

We have a government so gutless that it stands back and watches it unfold… just lets it all be, as if these things are acceptable and normal.

We have got to do better. I’m not sure we are capable of coming back from this ledge. For the first time in my life I’m thinking of leaving, seriously thinking of leaving, abandoning my home and going somewhere else. Another shore to sit and watch it burn. I know some will say, “Good, go.” To them, I say, “God bless yer ‘merica”.

A recent conversation with a sane and somber conservative friend. We discussed the most effective gun for protection and hunting. He said the .12 ga. Shotgun hands down. As I sat looking at them, considering the life and death power; what they mean to me.  Thinking back to the reason I gave up my guns years ago, I had to ask myself, “is it really that bad?”

Sadly, I think it is. I’m curious to observe, will I buy the gun or pack it in.

 

#williamlobb #resign

Writing

 

 

People tell me I’m a good writer. That’s a stretch. I’m sure they are referring to the final product. That, to me, is a great honor. It is hard to describe the feeling when someone says good things about my work. It is more than a quick stroke of the ego. The positive feedback touches something very deep inside me. As does the criticism – always deserved – and IS the side of the writing process that leads to actual growth.

I am equally grateful for the criticism or the praise. It takes some work to appreciate criticism. Learning to say “he/she is right” and start over is tough, but it makes you a better writer. Suck it up, buttercup.

All that said, you people are nuts. Continue reading Writing

Old Glory, Faded Glory, Ragged Glory

I’ve seen a lot of American flags strapped to pickups trucks lately. I see them at night, I see them in the rain, I see them touching the lumber and garbage in the back of the trucks; beer cans and coffee cups and bags that I assume are destined for the local landfill, or the side of some back road. I see them flown, on pickup trucks, alongside Confederate flags.

I’ve never been much of a flag waver. I was raised around men who took the flag and what it stood for very seriously. They took patriotism – not nationalism – very seriously. Guys who were in fights like the Battle of the Bulge and Pearl Harbor in WWII – I actually had two uncles at Pearl Harbor – and some who saw some really heavy, terrifying things in Vietnam. Some got medals. Some threw those medals away. Continue reading Old Glory, Faded Glory, Ragged Glory

Fausto’s first blog post.

I cant type real good. I’m a cat. You get that, right? Be impressed I can type at all. I aint got opposable thumbs fer starters. Typing is hard.

My slave’s name is Mr. Lump, cause he makes a lump on the bed when I’m trying to nap.

He is freaked out of his mind about this trump feller. Somebody hide Lump’s phone before his head explodes. i think it wud make a hell of a mess.

I fear two things: no fud and vegibles. I hate vegibles.

If Lump’s heads explodes i might not have any fud. Then id be nervous. His hed didnt explode yet, so im good. but its close.

If you have fud and no vegibles I think you shud relax.

vacuum cleaners scare me. unless you are being chased by a vacuum cleaner you shud relax too. ive been chased by vacuum cleaners. – thanks Lump, you annoying bastard – i aint never been chased by no Kim Jung Un. He’s pretty chubby. I cant imagine he’s a real gud chaser.

you shud relax.

Tell Mr. Lump tu relax twoo

I’m takin over the bloggin. im hoping Mr. Lump will relax. its gettin annoying listening to him bitchin and bloggin and twittin all day.

Just say no to twitin Mr. Lump

 

 

 

I think I enjoyed it

 
 
The realization that all of your actions speak louder than your plans and desires. 
 
That  shaky moral code that says you never strike a woman or children or old people and animals. Anyone else is fair game and has been fair game. 
 
A time in your life where you could not eat meat of any kind, for moral reasons, but busting open a guys skull on the sidewalk was acceptable

Continue reading I think I enjoyed it

This Ain’t No Bike Race, Either

This administration reminds me of a failed bike race. Anyone who competes in any sport will understand. Falling behind is all in your mind, but it’s very real. Once you fall behind, you lose your edge, you start riding the other guy’s race. He dictates the pace, he controls the climbs, he controls your breathing. You find yourself falling behind and resenting everything. You start resenting breathing the same air as that jerk in front of you.

You might hang on, but the race is gone. It’s no longer fun. You start to take it out on yourself, your too old, too fat, too stupid. The list is endless. Continue reading This Ain’t No Bike Race, Either

JULY SUMMER

July is summer.

July is everything February could never be.

February sucks, it doesn’t even try.

I want to be in the daylight every second of every July day.

Nothing is better than being on my bike on a 95-degree day. That feeling of being slow roasted. I absorb every fricken degree and store it. I swear that’s the only way I survive 20 below.

95 is awesome, 20 below is just plain stupid.

I get stressed being inside in July,  like I’m wasting the summer.

I never wear pants in July. I hate pants.

I get strangely sad when July ends. August is great but it’s not July.

Late July is the time when friends start telling me how many weeks until winter… It is when people start talking about how much they “can’t wait” for the cool of autumn.

Bite me.

Late July people start using the “S” word around me and I want to cover my ears and sing really loud. It snows something like 14 months a year, can’t I just have July without mentioning that frozen, slushy crap?

Still, 4 days to go. That’s a lot, right?

Is It Me? I Think it Must Be Me. It Cannot Be This Screwed Up, Right?

I must be an eternal optimist. Every morning I wake up expecting the world to have somehow changed for the better – overnight -then I turn on the news and find myself greatly disappointed.

We are accepting things as normal that are just – flat out – not normal.

Are things as screwed up as they appear to be, or am I just a victim of some “good old days syndrome”? Continue reading Is It Me? I Think it Must Be Me. It Cannot Be This Screwed Up, Right?

Apple Pie and Chevrolet

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I saw this guy in an older Chevy Pick-up this morning. He’s about my age, wearing a John Deere hat, big wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth. I’m left wondering Red Man or Levi Garrett.

The truck had some Trump bumper sticker’s,  a “Stop Planned Parenthood” bumper sticker, a flag,  America flag. I was pretty sure his radio was to set to some country music station…

I’m hoping there would be Hank Sr. or George Jones. Those guys were goddamn poets. Maybe some Earl Scruggs. I don’t think you can really appreciate music until you have immersed yourself in Foggy Mountain Breakdown. I’m serious about this. All of this. Continue reading Apple Pie and Chevrolet