SELL OUT

Yeah man, I'm sellin' out. Getting ready. Just ready. For another sellout item check out "Sew What" posted sometime last year.

In order of appearance U.S. Navy illuminated compass made by the Lionel Corp. in 1943 with the original manila tracking card. It does not have the ships name on it, but some computer geek like Veggie Jim could probably take the serial # and find out what it sailed on.

Next is the world that the compass helped conquer. Not sure what year it is from, but there is no Israel, and Africa is a third French West Afr. Its in rough shape, but compared to the real blue ball, just fine, and without any plastic surgery.

Ah yes, the desk that the globe and my lap top rest on. "Get sick, get well, hang around a ink well, ring bell, hard to tell if anything is gonna sell" For the love of Sandy! How could I part with this?!

Last, the camera these photos were taken with. An awesome, needless to say, German camera. A Voigtlander, film not included. Although when I bought it there was a roll of film in it. I had it developed only to get pics of Ava and Adolph trying to consummate their own final solution.

As for the infamous trunk...I don't think I have any shots of it on this thing . Not sure if I would sell it. It's actually utilitarian. You know...body parts.

Oh yeah, of course I have some old Nike's and clothes from the 40's, 50's, and possibly even 60's.

Here is the real kicker. I'll be listing some of my CHEESE books on ebay soon.

Sellin' out man. Goin' '09 yuppie. Or maybe just goin'. Speaking of which...

Sympathy for the Devil - Remix Karen Klatt Karen Klatt you devil

For those of you who ever owned a copy of the Stones Get Yer YaYa's Out, you will recognize the following line. The first time I heard it I ran yelling to Molly Pootsie, "Karen , come hear this. It sounds like Jodie (our neighbor) calling your name. "
"Paint it black, Paint it black, Paint it black you devils!

Last year at about this time, tax time, I wrote a post titled Sympathy for the Devil. It was about brightening the day of some poor CPA working for the IRS here in the USA. Earlier this week I was going to mail in my return, but I got to the bottom and couldn't recall what I was going to put as my occupation. I was pretty sure it was court jester, but just wasn't certain. I got to work with my forms, stapled them all together and got ready to mail them. Later that day I realized that I was not a court jester, but in fact am a professional masochist. I must be! Yes I get paid, but it is the ecstasy of the abuse that brings me back to work each day.

To make a long story short, the remix/new spin on the sympathy I would like to have go in my favor. You see, I don't believe I signed, dated, and "occupated" my return. I can only hope that the same IRS CPA gets my 1040A that has seen it for the last four or five years and says "Hey Chuck, isn't this the serf, slave, indentured servant, court jester, song and dance man from AZ, and ID?" and signs it for me.

If not I believe I will enjoy the pain and penalties of being a tax paying, law abiding CITIZEN.

Don't fool around with a butchers daughter

This a.m. I was thinking about, just about. I was wondering if I should go on telling my stories or not. I never do get around to a lot of them. Such as Dorie, Jenny, or funky Christine out in N.H. (Thats a good funk) Being a poor typist I also thought about how much I leave out due to laziness. A story I can tell in five minutes, provided I don't get side tracked, takes me an hour to write. Then for some reason I thought about weapons I have had pulled on me. Due to my interaction with officers of the law there was off course guns, but the strangest was a meat cleaver and sharpening rod. Two questions came to mind. Where was he hiding that cleaver, and why didn't I see it coming.

Never knew a butchers daughter, but I did know a couple dealers that wanted to make mincemeat out of me.

Three cheers for the red, white, and blue

Now don't go thinking I'm getting all patriotic on you. Just settling in for a round of Chimays. Now that the subject has been brought up, have you heard that black is the new white? In all seriousness, the era of change is here. Spare change that is. Tell me, how could so many people swallow this "I'm different...Fresh....An outsider....An ambassador of change"? This widget is a bi product of the same machine (welcome) that pushed out Bush, Cheney, Clinton, Edwards, and Dean. Nothing new will come from this egomaniac. That smug smile needs a sock to the jaw. Who was/is more naive? The Chocolate (white chocolate) Jesus that thinks he can make a change, or the roop scoops that voted for him believing in the same?

You may find this hard to believe, but I have a couple of ideas that will definitely bring about change. Both fall under the category of REVOLUTION. In the real sense of the word. Not by the means of another schooled and groomed, mind manicured automaton. System number one (yes I'm a man of the system) is the traditional violent uprising. (I have the feeling that this will need to be led by The Cheese) To the victor will go the spoils and no amount of whining by the losers will get them concessions...or tax free casinos. System #2 is more complicated and involves redrawing borders, and life long commitments by all North American individuals.

More on this after I tell you about Dory and the Aunt Jamima lady. And yes, I still have that broken glass.

HEY JIMBO

One day shy of three weeks.

This is only a test

Well this is my second weekend with out drinking, which would make it three weeks on Friday. (I don't usually drink during the week...depending on how pathetique my work day goes) Knowing my past I feel it is best to sit back once in a while and lay off, just to make sure that I can. There is also another reason. I am saving money so that I can place an order with liduidsolutions.biz. In imitation of the Trappist monks I will then drink in search of an out of body experience. Speaking of which, remind me to tell you the story about the gnome that was shaking the sidewalk. I wasn't the only one to see/notice this.

But back to "this is only a test" of the emergency broadcast system. For those of you old enough to remember television before cable, do you remember when in the midst of your favorite show the screen would go black and the local station would put up a "Please stand by" graphic. Of course someone would get up and stand next to the t.v. in hopes of their proximity to the television would satisfy the stations need for a stand by.

So my self help book. I see so many in a day that it makes we want to vomit. Mine would be one page, one paragraph. No need to check in to rehab or attend meetings. The answer is quite simple, and for only $15.95 I will email the solution to all you dependency problems.

AN EPIPHANY

So for many years I have been moving around the country, even hoping to get out of the country. People will often ask me what I am running from and in return I would ask them if they had thought about what I might be running to.

So what am I running to? I'll tell you when I run into it. As for what I am running from, death. It appears as tho I have had this thought in the back of my mind. When I settle down, saying this is where I want to live the rest of my life, I am conceding to the fact that I will be dying. Where as if I continually move I at would have the thought of "at least I won't die hear". There by never having to face my mortality.

That now brings me to the planning of my funeral. This idea actually came to me several years ago. You know, when you die others will be planning your funeral the way they see best, not necessarily how you would like it to be.

As I lay in my casket I will be surrounded by ice and beer, barley wines and Belgians. The only bottle opener in the joint will be in my cold, dead hand, irremovable due to rig amortise. As people hang out and commiserate (that is if I haven't become such a hermit to no longer know any one) saying "Do you remember that time Pauly..." or "whatever becomes of great bands like Chumba Wumba?", a loop of WILD HORSES as played by the Stones, Old and In The Way, and The Sundays will play over and over. When a crescendo hits, this you will know by the opening notes of Helter Skelter, every one will smash their bottles and glasses on the floor. After that you can bury me, burn me, or float me down a river. Either way I don't care and won't know.