“Not Just A Movie…”

(October 3, 2019)


is not a movie or book

first it was ‘wake-up!’*

*(A tale of two wakeups: one was standard, the other almost broke a Parris Island Drill Instructor’stone countenance. Zero Dark Thirty at U. S. Marine Corps boot camp was a real hour of the morning – long before the sun would threaten – and was promised roundly about the squadbay as the day’s delightful start. One enterprising recruit at the end of the rotating “firewatch” assignment was detailed to bang on the duty DI’s “hatch” (door frame) and announce the time in a bull-roar. Late in our training it came the turn of one of our particularly less-bright recruits: he announced loudly – and it was daylight savings time forgotten by all so it made matters even worse that Fall when the private announced in full timber: “Sir, The time On Deck is Circle Four Three Circle!” (Translation: 04:30, ante meridian). A frightening thing then happened. A drill instructor burst from the DI Hootch’s Hatch wearing his white boxer skivvie shorts and shirt and his bare feet stuck in a pair of glossy spit-shined combat boots and grabbed the offending recruit “by the stacking swivel” (also termed neck) and with spittle flying in all directions shouted in full roar: What Did You SAY, PRIVATE? You did not say SIR the second time, did you, PRIVATE?!! Well, that was it for private no-longer-necked as when released from the front facial chokehold scuttled as far away as possible and the DI hit all the squadbay lights. I was already in The Head, taking came ahead-of-time my morning toilette and saw the entire episode and froze myself to the wall by the sink at which I was shaving. The DI called revile and every swinging dick was off in a by-then well-oiled catastrophe of dressing, shaving, tooth-brushing and furious making the bunk beds’ sheets and blankets tight enough upon which to bounce a quarter high enough to give Soviet Olympic Pole Vault champion Valery Brummel hives of jealousy and then rushing down the ladder (stairs) to line up outside in formation before the DI arrived to march us all off to chow. But there was no one else outside: no other platoons along the entire battalion line of World War II wooden barracks abutting the treacherous tidal banks surrounding Parris Island. Not a soul or even a crow moved. The DI marched us about halfway to the messhall, some several hundred yards away. Then, in a frighteningly quiet stage whisper he said: Okay, herd, Y’all just stop, turn around and walk back to our barracks. Quiet. Without a sound. Do not march. Do not make any noise. Get back to the squadbay quietly. It was a time of terror and fear for the unknown. We all got back before our racks, at our best version of Attention. The DI went to the big clock and removed the case’s facing and adjusted the hour and minute hands by his own watch to 04:45. Fifteen minutes to go to our one-hour later on Sunday wakeup time. The DI turned off the lights and we just stood there at attention before he came back out quietly at first and then announced: Now, drop your cocks and grab your socks! Now, Revile, Now, Revile!.” This time everything went smooth as clockwork.)

“The Pulse Parade”

(October 4, 2019)

The (One) Pulse parade

more about ‘The Money,’ cause

it weren’t Queers – ISIS!*

*(The maniac who murdered a muchly homosexual – and other self-identified non-traditional interests – at Orlando’s Pulse Nightclub, it now comes out, had no real intention of attacking that ‘Community,’ it was just the first place he found that did not have an intimidating security set-up. The man was shilling for Islamic Terrorism even as he killed and talked to 911 on the phone. But, militant Gayness grabbed the goods and marched on without a pause for facts and now wants to spend near 50 million dollars of donations to Memorialize and Museum-icate their sexual cause. Take the money and put it into health care for HIV, you glory-hungry guys and gals who envision a place to send our school kids further to enhance your view of multi-isms.)

“College Football Friday Nights?”

(October 4, 2019)

pro football Friday

better than the college crowd

hornin-in on preps!*

*(Tonight’s University of Central Florida gridiron visit to Cincinnati saddens me. Even the Orlando Sentinel’s gushing over every top-rated local high school team EXCEPT locally second-rated 5-0 Seminole High School – my alma mater – did not evince much bile. The O-Do Slantinel long had abandoned any useful prep sports coverage so long ago I even remember when they used to print two full interior pages of High School football on Saturdays – and sometimes a page-one story nestled amongst the Gators and ‘Noles and added complete statistics (except, of course tackles and interior line blocking “grades” which I got to publish at my humble Titusville Star-Advocate and before that – minus the blocking “grades” at The Snafu Herald when we published every dang high school in the county with two fulltime and a minor half-dozen correspondents, including The Famous John Cherwa later of the Lost Angeleous Timbs! The encroachment of Pro Fooball on Mondays and Thursdays – and the more recent additions of College ball on Fridays further erodes the land of the Golden Egg – High Schools! Enough, already! Play Saturday – or, gasp! – Sunday. We did in Snaffurd: play Sundays either out behind Memorial Stadium or sometimes in my Senior Year at SHS when we sneaked into the stadium at 13th and Mellonville and played Blacks Against Whites No Pads tackle…and once behind the Black high school, Crooms Academy, when the cops ran us off when the rest of Central Florida was rioting over race(d) relations, whatinhole that means I dunno.)

“Terror-Ween Leaves Me Cold”

(October 4, 2018(

Terror-ween leaves me

cold – I quit the scam at twelve

Not a “corn” crap fan!*

*(Used to hand out just-popped real corn if I was home at my parents’. Used real butter. Told the owners or real small kids not to let their tykes have any – and said choking was a distinct possibility long before the fedrament figured that out.)