Friday, July 27, 2018

Been on an XTC kick lately...


Enjoy...

Notice...

Living in Nashua is okay.

If I had a million dollars and was required to spend the rest if my life in any New Hampshire town of my choice, I would pick Hollis.

If I ever get a ticket out of here...

Bye.

My 2 cents.

Bye.

Good Morning, America, How Are Ya...



I moved from Lowell to Richmond in 1998. The job I had at the time was rough enough, but the spot where the bus dropped me off was a mile and a half from my home.

All the same, I kind of enjoyed the walk. And for some reason, I occasionally started singing this song out loud on my way home.

I wasn't drunk, and I definitely wasn't high. I was just happy. Some born and bred New Englander, chip on shoulder, bug up ass, in a place like Richmond after dark... and happier than a Kodiak bear at a salmon buffet.

Enjoy...

Some XTC...



Enjoy...

Thursday, July 19, 2018

For The Record...

It was bad enough that Donald Trump called the European Union a foe, and pissed off other members of NATO, and insulted the British Prime Minister. Then he goes to Finland...

You know what? One thing about the Republican Party that had been unwavering as far back as I can remember, in fact, as far back as the start of the Cold War, was the hard line it took against Russia. Always. Twenty years after the Soviet Union went belly up, Mitt Romney said our greatest geopolitical foe was Russia. Barack Obama belittled him for not giving Al-Qaida that distinction at the time, but turns out Romney was right. I should have caught that at the time, and Obama certainly should have. At worst, al-Qaida was a serious security threat to America; Russia, on the other hand, in the past was an existential threat to America, and...

Well, after a few days of crapping all over our long-standing allies, Trump placed Vladimir Putin's "No we didn't" claim concerning Russian meddling in the 2016 election and the entire American intelligence community's declaration of "Yes they did" on equal footing. He threw what might have been the GOP's most reliable and irrefutable argument under the bus.

Then...

Trump tries to say he misspoke. He said "would," he meant "wouldn't."

Yo. Forget about what this guy meant or what he said, not just this past week but going all the way back to when he learned how to talk -- and forget whether you're all in, all out, or all mixed up when it comes to Donald Trump. This guy is the exact personification of the weather here in New England. You don't like it this morning, wait until this afternoon -- and chances are real fuckin' good you're gonna like it even less.

As a cab driver, I meet the whole range of folks over time. This includes a couple of self-proclaimed, yet confused progressives who have told me President Trump should be shot. Both times, I've gotten in their faces for that. First of all, anyone who feels that way needs to watch who they say that to -- unless they want the Secret Service to drop in unannounced. Second, Trump not living through this term for whatever reason means we end up with President Pence, a prospect which gives me great pause. Fuck that -- I'll take Putin's not-so-secret bromantic lover over his not-so-secret kindred stunted spirit all day, every day.

My two cents? If anyone in this story deserves to be shot, it's Vladimir Putin. Wash that down with your Smirnoff.

And to any Russians who somehow stumble upon the Medley and have an issue? Get your own election processes straightened out before you fuck with ours from now on. We celebrate monuments to Abraham Lincoln, you fuckin' morons celebrate monuments to Joseph Stalin. If I were Russian, I'd drink enough vodka to kill every bear in Asia too.

Way to go, comrades....

Friday, July 13, 2018

Donald Trump Needs To Lose in 2020...


https://youtu.be/9yJ7XfB1ydA

A couple years ago, I told folks who asked what I thought of Donald Trump something like this:

If I was struggling to run a business and Trump was in town, I'd seek him out for advice. He's known success and failure in business, so I'd be all ears.

I take that all back. I wouldn't seek out Trump for business advice, or any other advice, if he was the last natural-born predator on earth.

I didn't like this guy ten, twenty, or three years ago. Back in the day, it was mainly his on-air demeanor that put me off; more recently, his attitudes toward women. non-caucasian people, and the very idea of democracy only reinforced my sour opinion of him.

All the same, I thought he had a sound mind when it came to the business sector. No, he doesn't. He has a nine-figure net worth and a chip on his shoulder because if daddy hadn't rescued his pig-ignorant ass on multiple occasions, Donald Trump would have gone bankrupt by the age of forty, and I suspect that deep down, he knows and resents it.

The man is on record saying he likes conflict and chaos. I believe him...






1 Leapt-Bear Lane...


That's the working title of this furry fandom story that's been lurking about in my brain since... I dunno. I was still living in Henrico, Virginia at the time, but was it at Honey Tree, or was it at Gateway, when this concept came to me? Most likely Honey Tree, because that's where I was as when I finally accepted the truth that I was gay. But I really don't remember.

Whatever the origin, a bunch of fictional anthropomorphic characters came to be in the back of my mind. A couple of years ago, I started drawing them as best I could. Eventually I got eighteen of them pieced together in one upload, the image atop this post.

They all have names, too.

Top row: George Nestor, Rhoads "Bucky" Woodmason, Quach Ky Thanh, Zebedeo "Zorro" Mizrachi, Big Rich Roseneath, and Jessica Nestor.

Second row: George Hamock Tiras (aka Officer Ham), Lonnie McGriff, Bill Austin, Norman "Vex" Westmount, Sterling "Captain Dog" Derrickson, and Malcom "Switch" Lincoln.

Bottom row: Victoria Nestor, Raomon Taos Drum, Phil Van Horn (aka "Red Raven"), Cynthia Green-Austin, Brody "Boof" Fenner, and Dennis Nestor.

The four corners are all Nestor-surnamed goats. Clockwise from upper left, father, mother, son, daughter. Victoria is the first-born. Bill and Cynthia were married once -- when I started to try fleshing this story out, they were divorced.

For the record, I'm in this story too. I'm Boof.

Anyway, the title of this thing came to me in a dream sometime last year. I was trying to get home, and I knew I was close, but somehow I couldn't find the damn place. Someone suggested I look at my driver's license, so I pulled it out.

It read, "1 Leapt-Bear Lane." And I was like, Duuhh!

Then I woke up.

Now, look, I've never been much into dissecting my dreams. I've noticed, over the years, that they spring from my waking life experiences. I never dreamed about Direct Impressions until after I started working there, I never dreamed about driving a taxi until after I started doing that, et cetera.

But I have no idea where "1 Leapt-Bear Lane" came from. I only know it sounds like a great place to start with this furry fandom tale.

One last thing: I have no idea what a leapt-bear is. Which is hilarious to me -- as you can see Boof (me) is a friggin' bear. Neither he nor I know what it is.

But that address? That's the place to be. Go south on Patter Paw, bang a right on Three Oak. Turn left at the flashing light, it's on your right.

Say hello to George Nestor for me -- and tell him Boof will be home soon...