The Rank and Reeking Bat Bush and Rudy

Blog Sweetheart Cat did up this Bush collage for me! With her kind permission, I turned it into this.

My 2006 Predictions Scored

On my previous web site I listed the following predictions for 2006 after a friend, Hankenstein, mocked me as being of "National Inquirer" quality. Here is my accuracy score 0-10 per item. Hamid Karzai, the president of Afghanistan will be assassinated. Zero points, did not occur. I still predict this and will roll this over to 2007. The Kurdish peoples in the north of IRAQ will announce their independence and begin moves to form a Kurdish state. Five points. Kurdistan is already a functional reality. Their flag files there, not the Iraqi one. Their forces guard it, not the Iraqi forces. The Shiites in the south will react by announcing that they are forming an independent Islamic State. Well, they do not need to do this. They have everything going their way and have turned civil government into death squads. Hospitals are killing buildings. Police are no more than Shite run extermination squads. Private armies kill 100's ever day. Three points. Civil War will break out in Iraq with heavy involvement by Iran, and lesser involvement by Turkey and Russia. Eight points. NBC announced it officially calling it a civil war last fall. The US will belatedly swing its weight back with the Sunni Iraqi Arabs setting up a strongman puppet. This brings us full circle, as the Sunni is where the former regime (Baathists) came from, having been seeded by the CIA during the cold war. Zero, but will roll this over to 2007 predictions. This is what that asshole president has up his sleeve, now that he and everything he said and id has been proven to be a crap sack of lies based on his personal messiah complex. The number of Americans killed in Iraq will exceed the number of Americans killed on 9/11 in the Twin Towers. Ten points. Iran will continue to move towards becoming a nuclear power. Bush will blow a lot of hot air out his rotten corrupt ass, but will do nothing to stop them. Ten points. An Arab govt. will be overthrown, we will be drawn into the chaos that will ignite in the Mideast, and in Indonesia. Zero, but will roll over to 2007. A member of the Rolling Stones will die. Zero, though Keith Richard fell out of a cocoanut tree. That Demi Moore and Aston Kushner marriage (where is my barf bag?) will bust up. Zero. Lindsey Lohann will go into rehab for heroin/drug/boozing addiction. Ten points. Bush will be the number one issue in congressional elections. Democrats will sweep mid terms in a major realignment capturing the house AND the senate. Ten Points. Libby will be convicted (Bush will pardon him before leaving office). Zero points. Will roll over to 2007. Rove will be indicted. Zero. Delay will be found guilty Zero, will roll over to 2007. An ‘06 tornado season to match the '05 hurricane season. Zero. A major loss of life earthquake will occur in the US. One point for the island of Hawaii quake. A recession will hit in time for the 06 elections. Zero. A national republican will come out of the closet and shock the GOP in time for the 2006 elections. Ten points for the Reverend Ted "Hi, I do meth and blow male hookers for Jesus" Haggarty and the Mark Foley congressional page buttf*ck scandals. I should be awarded 20 points for this one but Hankenstein would rule such a move to be "foul ball" so we'll stay at ten points. It will come out that over 10,000 Americans have been illegally spied on as part of a political operation. This issue will explode and cause great widespread outrage in 2006. Zero, but will roll over to 2008. 34 percent accuracy. Will post my 2007 ones soon, and anyone can add their own predictions. In 2008 we''ll see who has an eye on the future.

As Seen on TV

Seattle Mariners 2, New York Yankees 1

Mothers Day, 2007. The lineup for the NYY series finale against the Mariners was. Yankees Johnny Damon CF Bobby Abreu RF Derek Jeter SS Alex Rodriguez 3B Jason Giambi DH Hideki Matsui LF Jorge Posada C Josh Phelps 1B Robinson Cano 2B Andy Pettitte LHP Mariners Ichiro Suzuki CF Jose Vidro DH Raul Ibanez LF Richie Sexson 1B Jose Guillen RF Adrian Beltre 3B Yuniesky Betancourt SS Jose Lopez 2B Jamie Burke C Horacio Ramirez P Being that it was Mother's Day, pink ribbons and bats were the style. Early on, as Seattle took the lead, NY switched back to regulation bats. That offended motherfood, and they went down to flaming defeat.

Saturday Night Soup for the Soul (30)

he summer is here, and this weekly column (but not the entire blog) is on a sort of summer break. Where is my love life? Tell me, Where has it gone? Somebody please please tell me what the hell is wrong Until I find the righteous one: Computer blue Until I find the righteous one: Computer blue Was in hard core classes all week. I replaced the burned out pond pump, so that the goldfish and koi can have proper water circulation and oxygenation. Additionally, now the birds can come and take baths in the fountain catch basin as they love to do all summer long. I now have two roof replacement bids (anyone remember the hellish winter storms we had last year in Seattle?) . I will get one more bid. Too busy, but such is life. I knew a guy named Nicky I guess you could say he was a sex fiend I met him in a hotel lobby Masturbating with a magazine He said "how'd you like to waste some time" And I could not resist When I saw little Nicky grind (Darling Nicky) Am going for a long walk today, then coming home to cut back some garden over growth, pick the first raspberries and blue berries, and then come in and putz about sorting through some more kitchen stuff that is still boxed up in the living room. We rendezvous on Champs-Elysees Leave Paris in the morning on T.E.E. Trans-Europe Express Trans-Europe Express Trans-Europe Express Trans-Europe Express From station to station Back to Dusseldorf City Meet Iggy Pop and David Bowie Trans-Europe Express Trans-Europe Express Trans-Europe Express Trans-Europe Express Next week I will start building a monster PC (4 gig, quad processor). In the meantime, Soup is on. 1. Computer Blue and 2. Darling Nicki are both part of a single track on Prince's fantabulous Purple Rain film soundtrack. Computer Blue is a hard rock ‘em sock ’em track, which starts with some suggestive dyke dominatrix chit-chat between band members Wendy and Lisa. Damn this is fun music, and what I think of when I think of the best of “80’s music”. A mix of synth and real instruments. Darling Nicki is one of the all time sexiest songs ever recorded. Check out the "vid" for it. 3. Trans Europe Express and 4. Metal on Metal are both from German pioneers Kraftwerk (German for “Power Station”). More than anyone, they originated the entire “techno, ambient, trance” musical genres influencing an army of admiring artists who followed in their footsteps. The first in line were David Bowie and Eno (David is actually mentioned in the lyrics of Trans Europa Express). An old Vid for Trans Europa Express (above) and Metal on Metal performed Live (below) as shot by a fan in the audiance. This song has sunk deep primal roots into my soul soil. Maybe it is my Germanic heritage, but the “Metal on Metal” section stirs up deep subconscious memories and impressions in me of ancient Teutonic battles slaughtering the inferior teeming masses who lie across Oder river, and of raping and pillaging deep into the vast landscapes that open up as you enter the plains that lie to the east (Drang nach Osten). Ah, those were teh days. I rememeber them well, so many life times ago, before I became civilized. This song also triggers a specific memory of a night in San Francisco in the early 1980’s in a leather bar (either the Brig or the Arena) and this was playing. I still remember the moment, happy that they were finally playing something that appealed to me (I hated disco dumpster dive music, and still do). The darkness, the smell of beer (personally speaking, I do not drink beer – hate the taste of it -- I have never consumed so musch as a single one in my life) , the smell of poppers, piss and funk, the red lights, the leather queens and super hot bulging muscle boys (oh, now some of them were STUNNINGLY HOT). And there were the occasional mysterious and dark real deal dudes lurking in the shadows (plus a scary sexual psychopath here and there). The slave auctions, blow jobs at the drink well, rim jobs on the pool table, fucks in the corner, and much, much more happening all over the place. Chains, cycle chrome parts, and Texas plates mounted on the walls. All part of the imagry dredged up by Metal on Metal. This was the zenith of pre-aids in your face gay promiscuity. You cannot imagine what was going on in places like the Cauldron on Natoma. If you can think it, it was happening. Somewhere I have some handbills from the latter that I’ll hunt up and scan and post someday. Extreme gay-fetishy art. I drifted through this scene, and yet, somehow remained unblemished by it. Dunno how or why. I suppose that it never was my destiny to be a part of it, or to be destroyed by it as so many were. God had other plans for me – not that I was appreciative of that fact at the time. Heck, I think that I was even resentful of that fact at the time. I say it again...such is life. All of this makes it's way into this week's soup. You can get your bowl of Saturday Night Soul for the Soul by clicking the jukebox.

WAR IS OVER (If You Want it)

WAR IS OVER (If You Want It)

From my other web site

This is a scene that occurs in the research work I am writing in real time (i.e. I publish drafts and revise in front of the public). You can visit me, where I am hard at work, HERE. Cheers!!!

"Woody Woodpecker v John McCain"

Click here to hear Woody Woodpecker.

"Where the Goys Are (The Gospel of T. Charles)"

The ever impish Uncle Arthur apparently used a bit of his warlock faire dust to whip up two hunk boys for this wonderful T. Charles fall portrait of a placid pocket sized lake, and place them smack dab in the center of attention. Or perhaps Uncle Arthur whipped them up for himself. Only Endora knows for sure.

Tony de Carlo's Dinner with the Dead

Tony's Dinner with the Dead "Tony, which 11 dead souls from history would you invite for a dream dinner? The menu includes a one hour cocktail hour with vegan whore's ovaries, followed by a nine course dinner at 8 PM sharp. After dinner: cigars, brandy, and a floor show. Explain each choice. 1. Lee Harvey Oswald....Wanna hear his side of the story. 2. Marilyn Monroe......Wanna find out 1). Whether she was murdered and 2) If those Kennedy boys did it. 3. Jesus Christ....Wanna tell him what people have done in his name, and ask him to do what he can to show the world that today’s version of Christianity neither represents him, nor reflects what he taught humanity. 4. Jackie O.......I want all the dirt on JFK 5. Vincent van Gogh.....Wanna ask him for artistic criticism and let him know he didn't have to kill himself because he was a closet case. 6. Abe Lincoln.......I want him to confess he's always loved men and admit that he is sorry that he married that nutball Mary Todd. 7. Princess Di...Even if she doesn't eat because of her anorexia, she’d be good to look at and be competition for Marilyn. 8. Rock Hudson.....I want to ask who he thought he was ever fooling. 9. Ronald Reagan....I want to let him know he got what he deserved....his golden years spent in Pampers. 10. Hitler........What the hell, he'd be fun to make fun of. What a freak show he was. 11. Roy Cohn Wanna ask him what hell is like. Above: Here is Hell, where Hitler and Roy Cohn share a little bungalow. Unfortunately, Roy will not be able to join us for dinner due to other pressing engagements Who would you all invite to your "Dinner with the Dead? ".

Saturday Night Soup (40)

The Return of the King G'evening to you all. Letters are something that is rapidly dying. You have no idea how it used to be. Once upon a time, everything connected with the postal system: pens, paper, stamps, writing (the verb), desks, mailmen (and now women), post offices, post marks, envelopes, stationary, and the art of the mail box: all things were highly iconic and therefore fair game (and a rich source at that) as topics to include in all the arts (visual, written, and audio). I see people, going day after day to their mailbox, hoping to find a letter from their true love, or word from a beloved one who was far away, or heartbreaking news, all such things and more contained in a letter box. Every letter was special. Now? We have cheap and instantly disposable email. It arrives and vanishes without leaving a trace (well, let us not get into the NSA), like empty, nutritionless calories. Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought that death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up hill and down King William Street, To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. (From "The Waste Land" (1922) What shall future generations read when they want to know something of the past, and of those who lived it? Letters are the richest source of material for biographers seeking to understand the life and times of those who came before today. Tomorrow, there will be nothing for them, or for anyone to read. Today the mail box is reduced to being a box for bills and junk circulars. I have 1000’s of memories of everything related to this topic going back to earliest childhood. The anticipation and the excitement, the heartbreak and the tears. Cards from Grandparents, an older sister, from a favorite Aunt, and from my mother when I got older and moved out onto my own. If the masses of people of today actually had to make the effort to compose, ponder, write, review, revise and rewrite. And then print, put into an envelope, select a stamp (ohmygod: selecting a stamp is a topic in itself) and waddle to the nearest mail box and mail it, 99.9999% of messages would not be sent. Take my surviving family as an example. Not a one of them who are younger than I have ever mailed me a card: birthday, Christmas, Easter, Halloween. Not a one. They are all too fat, too lazy; too uncaring of anything that is not fast food for the soul. Human lard bucketresses (they are all lazy females) who cannot compose a few simple sentences, put them to paper, seal it into an envelope, address the envelope, put a stamp on it, and walk to a mail box. Those older than I, and those departed all knew the fine art of letter writing. I am the surviving person in my family to retain this capacity. Those who are younger than I, are all marooned permanently on the living room sofa of death, watching TV. I shed tears for those generations not yet born, for in their perceived richness of 24/7 digital distractions, there shall be concealed a deafening silence, and an abject and terrible poverty. I know (well, I do not “know”, I can only assume and believe, rightly or wrongly that I “know”) that some of you understand this topic. After all, you are still old school, and send real cards, complete with hand chosen stickers and appliqués, and hand made touches. I keep one such three dimensional “smiley face candy” envelope jewel from one of you on my monitor. If you are reading this, know that I treasure it. People have remarked to me that I leave “content rich” messages on other people’s blogs. I do try earnestly to practice what I preach, and to put my heart and soul into my words and actions, in all things. It is this very trait that renders Facebook an exercise in futility for me. Facebook is all quick and easy cheap ass candy sprinkles (sugar and chemical dye). It is also a devious scam for your entire life to be monitored, tallied, and then sold to corporate and political crap sacks. and to like-minded sleazy diseased c*nts. Ann Coulter, for example (though rumor has it she is a twisted self hating Tranny). Facebook is not conducive to people such as me. By the reality of FB, I need to die and to go away. This I shall do someday. And when I am gone (by “I”, I do not literally mean me, I am speaking of my generation, the last people who remember how life was once lived on earth) you (ditto, not “you” who is reading this, but instead all people who have never experienced anything analog and real, that you can hold in your hand, or make from scratch) will find yourself unexpectedly missing me terribly. You shall find yourselves experiencing an awful and crippling disconnectedness one day. Now let us trot back to the topic of the analog postal system. I have seen photographic essays on mailboxes - both B&W and colour. Such studies in image go back many decades (some even predating my latest half century incarnation here). Last night as I was walking I saw a scene that my mind captured as a photographic essay. Picture this: A brightly coloured shopping center People milling about A “Nordstrom’s Rack” (it is an outlet mall) A “Justice for Girls” shop And some hideous shop that only carried pink junk for girls and their mothers, who want to wallow 24/7 in a world grotesquely over-populated by saccharine fairy princesses, and unicorns with cheesy ass ribbons. And there, in the middle of this scene, sat three extremely hot teenage boys. Very handsome and varied in hair color and skin complexion. Sort of looking like three Abercrombie & F. models. And the three friends were each glued to their phones starring into them, not talking to one another, or reacting to anything around them. I took a mental photograph, wishing instead that I had had a camera. I would have had no problem asking them their permission to shoot a pic, telling them to just keep doing what they were doing. I like finding the truth in all things. And therein was truth on display. The truth about the age in which we live. On my next two laps around the mall (it is a .6 mile circular ring) the three remained unchanged – still glued to the phones, in silence. Finally on lap three they were walking, two still glued to their phones. The third one was looking at me, noticing that I was looking at them. He had the oddest, almost sad expression. He was the blond one, with blue eyes. And his slightly detached sadness was haunting to me. Again, I wish I had the moment forever captured on film. 1. Symphony No. 4 in F minor, Op. 36 (Movement two) Melancholic inclinations. Obviously there is a strong current of melancholia in this soup. I therefore have chosen one of my favorite melancholic pieces of music. Russian, by dear Tchaikovsky, and is the second movement of the only official "Homosexual" symphony (his fourth symphony). His coded letters refer to "it", and the secret cypher discovered after he died tell us what "it" is. I featured the first movement in a different soup that you can find HERE. I am off to take a bath. Thank you all who read this, for your being you. For those who do not read this, I offer Matthew 7:6. Me.   You can get your bowl of Saturday Night Soul for the Soul by clicking the jukebox.

"Easy Ways to Make Sexy Table Settings"

Species Narcissist Americanus and "09-09-09"

Nothing much to report, or to be more accurate, not much that I am going to report from the wide open road. That said, here is another de Carlo painting that I passed in between Burma Shave signs on I-95.   I finished this painting yesterday, and wanted to use my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to give it the title of yesterday’s date. That’s my backyard and my garage in the background. I was considering adopting one or two more white Chihuahuas someone here is trying to give away, and this image helped convince me it probably wasn’t a good idea. “09.09.09” 24” x 36” Acrylic on Canvas At least I didn’t hijack a plane because of the date, like that nut in Mexico did,   TONY

"Marshall Dick Cheney Plays Dress Up for War"

Here we see little Dickie Cheney dressed to kill in a smartly tailored ensemble with matching coat, pants, accessorized with a perky little French inspired hat, with 24k gold piping, capped with a sterling silver Nazi SS Death’s Head pin. He is sure to turn all the boys’ heads as he struts the runways at the Pentagon Spring Fashion show.

Saturday Night Soup for the Soul (42)

here was once a certain person, who I thought was my friend.  I realized some time ago to my great sorrow that he was not. The past several weeks, I have  watched from the sidelines as he upped and abandoned his most lovely and rock solid faithful wife and kids for a dirty and insane (mental, emotional and /or spiritual insanity is after all an absolute  pre-requisite trait that one must possess before they surrender long-term their life and soul to any cult, religious or not) Seventh Day Adventist cult whore.  So everything good that I ever witnessed him say or do, and there was overwhelming evidence suggesting that he was rock solid in the personal integrity character traits that matter in this world, are now all  called to question.   Demolished is a better description of what has become of his reputation. My subject, we will call him Frito, has used the same fig leaf that scoundrels everywhere have used thru the ages, and continue to use today.  He is playing the false  “I am with the only true church and with the only true Lord and the rest of you are with Satan” card to try and mask the fact that at his bedrock soul, he is, in the words of my brother who figured this out three years ago, "just another Puerto Rican shit bag" man-whore.   Though I long ago realized that there was "something a bit off” about him, I never in a million years thought he would exhibit such selfishness and cruelty as I have witnessed these past several months.  El Güebón.  ¡Que bruto!   Yo sé como bate el cobre. Forsake, forsake your house carpenter And come away with me I'll take you where the green grass grows On the shores of sunny Italy So up she picked her babies three And gave them kisses, one, two, three Saying "take good care of your daddy while I'm gone And keep him good company." His widow who I will call Grace (I call her a widow because the man she loved is now dead and has been replaced by a Seventh Day Adventist cult man-whore) is devastated. I had gently warned her a year ago that one of the other fat slob cult whores was licking her chops like a glowing crimson-eyed she-devil starring at Frito and Gracie as she danced with her husband in their home. She dismissed my worries as a figment of my imagination   Oh what are those hills yonder, my love They look as white as snow Those are the hill of heaven, my love You and I'll never know   Oh what are those hills yonder, my love They look as dark as night Those are the hills of hell-fire my love Where you and I will unite   Now seeing this transpire, and witnessing Gracie’s pain has pushed my own buttons and raised some childhood issues.  My own rotten and selfish father (and believe me, he got exactly what he had coming to him in the end) abandoned my mother, my brother and myself when I was 12 years old, on CHRISTMAS DAY, 1965.  Yes, you read that correctly.  He chose Christmas day to abandon his family to seek his own self-fulfillment.  To this day, I have zero tolerence for being subjected to any type of selfishness from others.  Both my father and apparent dumbass Frito. Like all whores, they live off someone else and use everyone to get what they want for free.  Frito did not take off his mask and show his true colours until he had the next woman he would live off lined up.   A dirty man-whore to the core.   Broki, bregaste cajita e pollo.  ¿Oiteh?   When I was with Gracie a week ago and she was on the verge of crying, I hallucinated my own mother’s face on hers for a short moment.    It is always unforgettable to see one person’s face superimposed upon another’s.   DREAM. I dreamt that I was in Gracie and Frito’s downstairs bedroom.  Frito had ram shacked the room, stealing everything that was not nailed down including the bed and leaving bits of busted up debris everywhere.  He was sitting on the single remaining wooden chair dressed in his blue collar work clothes.  His face was pale, gray, like a ghost or like someone who was of the living-dead.  He had no expression and he sat motionless in the chair.   As I looked around the bedroom to survey the scene, I saw that the carpet was stained with dirt, especially where their bed had once stood.  He had stolen the bed.  I tried to find the words, tentatively at first as I was unsure how to ask the question.  Then I finally asked him “Frito, what made you hate her (Gracie) so”?  I awoke. Oh twice around went the gallant ship I'm sure it was not three When the ship all of a sudden, it sprung a leak And it drifted to the bottom of the sea   And now let us break bread and share Saturday Night Soup.   1. House Carpenter a/k/a "The Daemon Lover" by Bob Dylan is based upon a 16th century Scottish ballad.  It can be enjoyed as both a literal story and as a biblical parable.  The literal story tells of a man who returns to a former lover after a very long absence, and finds her with a husband (the house carpenter in the story) and her children.  He entices her to leave them all  behind and come away with him, luring her with many ships laden with treasure. Together they board one of his ships and put to sea… The woman regrets leaving her children but does not regret abandoning her house carpenter husband.  From aboard the ship, her spirits soar when she spots snow white hills on the horizon.  Asking her companion lover what they are, he responds “Heaven” and informs her that they are destined to never know the place.  She then spots dark and foreboding hills on a different horizon.  Asking about them, her loved responds that “Those are the hills of hell-fire my love, where you and I will unite”.   The ship then sinks and they die together.   That is the story told by the song. But there is parable lurking inside the song.  A parable that concerns choices ones makes between truth and falseness.  The House Carpenter can be seen as a stand in of “Jesus Christ”, or more broadly as “things which are true”.  The stranger seduces her from The Truth and she runs away with the Great Liar and Seducer: Satan. With him, she perishes. This song was to be on Bob Dylan’s debut 1962 LP but did not make the cut.  After circulating for decades on bootlegs, it was finally released in 1991 on Dylan’s The Bootleg Series Volumes 1–3 (Rare and Unreleased) 1961–1991. All of this makes it's way into this week's soup. You can get your bowl of Saturday Night Soup by clicking the jukebox.