Things that used to be funny (a new theme).

Steve Martin. What in the hell? I think the last funny thing he did was Bowfinger and that was just one thimble full of wet in a Sahara-sized dry spell of comedy. He used to be my comedy hero. His stand up routines were absolute genius. Now, I think the best thing that he has going for him is his banjo playing, and I don't mean that as a cut. I'm thinking that it is time for him to move on and to stop embarrassing himself and making Peter Sellers spin in his grave. But, Steve, if you are reading this, I think that a good way to revive your comedy career would be to change Leslie Nielsen's diapers on live TV, thus, killing two birds with one stone.

The truth

Your heart either swells with joy or shrinks with pain. Your body either weakens or is carried by its virtue. Your mind is always enlightened no matter how hard the truth may be.

My heart is in pain. My body is weak. My mind expands now a bit further and I understand the nature of unconditional Love's duress on the one who takes upon him another's cross a bit more.

How can it be? It is the truth that hides behind self imposed blinds that hurts the most when revealed or discovered. Love allows you to express your disappointment and hurt without imposing further debt. This is the hardest exercise, yet the simplest path towards the fullness of joy. Our lusts dare reach such heights on wax wings. Withdraw not your hand when your pride fails you. Be there for those that you love, because, it may be you having to tell the hard truth about your imperfect self sometime.

Garden Gnomes and other creatures

I took the above picture while hiking in a deep canyon in the Wasatch range. It's a bit out of focus. I was frightened. I could not hold my camera phone still. What are the chances that I would come across such a mythical creature in the real world? But there it was: a garden gnome roaming around in its natural habitat. I was just happy to get out of there without a shovel mark or a bearding.

Here is another rare creature: the "ghost-eyed" Yogi. This is rumored to be the ghost of a tortured circus bear, a brown bear from Russia. Apparently, the bear died from dysentery--he drank the water down in Tijuana. They say that if this bear appears before you while you are eating a taco, you will suffer from lethal diarrhea.

This is the place where bad animals and garden gnomes go when they die: to motor travel lodges along the old highway systems around the U.S., doomed to entertain and scare the shit out of lost souls who can't afford to stay in a real hotel.

Oh, and yes, that gnome is giving you the finger, the other gnomes belong to the Crips, and that baby bear is giving a hand job to the bear on the left.

Giblet gravy

Scientists need to find a way to harness the power of dog farts. This would end the energy crisis.

I asked a hypothetical question of some of my friends recently. The question was, "If clown tears cured cancer what would be the best way of collecting them?" Here were some of their answers:

• Run over their floppy shoes with those little cars of theirs.
• Onion goggles.
• Torture.
  
• Hide their liquor.
• Tell them that they are a chicken and if they don't start producing eggs that you will start taking off toes one by one with a pair of bolt cutters.

I want to hear your suggestions.

I think everyone on my mom's side of the family has found me on Facebook. I guess my dad's side of the family is too busy getting drunk and hitting each other. I'm just happy that only one of my relatives knows about this blog.

Whatever happened to nun chucks?

I often think about the Hamburglar's motivations for stealing all those hamburgers. I don't see how he can eat them all himself. I think he is in love with Wimpy and is trying to win over his heart.

Have you ever been someone's PDA?

When you have erotic dreams involving people at work do you find it hard to look them in the eye the next day? I do.

You haven't lived until you've seen a cow eat an orange.

Squirrels are dreaming about nuts right now.

Dogs are dreaming about smelling bad things right now.

Cats are dreaming about how they are going to ignore you tomorrow.

Cow's are dreaming about winning a speed boat race and saying "Moo!" at random things.

What do you dream about?

I am The Grunt's lack of enthusiasm

So often I chastise myself for not living up to my ideals that I set up for myself on this blog: Nothing.

So, I was bored tonight...

This is my "bored" look. Muhammad Ali protects my slumber from evil leprechauns and monsters. Let's see...I know! I will take pictures of a tract that I defaced.
This here is a tract from "Religion" brand religion. You may have heard of it before. Anyway, whoever does their art, I want to do a special happy dance for you, because I always get a big kick out of your work. Ok, the text here is fairly simple (read: idiotic). Playing on the whole, "God didn't create Adam and Steve" mentality, I just wondered if God just did away with the whole Adam guy altogether (defective nipples or something) and this guy Steve just shows up one day picking fruit, which we all know is gay. Eve is patient with Steve, and his coast to coast nipple chain (with a junction down to Foreskinville), but soon resorts to animal therapy instead. The caption reads: "If Adam were really Steve". Steve's says, in a "Oh, what a beautiful morning" voice, "Mmmmm! Fruit again!!! La-la-la-la!" Eve is engaged in a deep one-on-one with Scamper, the squirrel. She is saying, "Oh, Scamper! You are the only one in the Garden who truly understands what a woman needs." Scamper is embarking on his first of many "WTF" Garden moments.

You know, I think this really happened. I should go check the Bible to make sure.

Music meme I got from Scott

Scott's a man with one hell of a sense for music, so when he did this I had to follow suite. Here we go.

1) What's a piece of music, any genre, any year, and form, (i.e 45, album, MP3, etc), that you often return to. Something that continually resonates throughout your life, and seems to gain greater impact as you grow older. How often do you find yourself seeking this piece?

Answer: The Who's Quadrophenia. I have always been trying to integrate all the competing parts of who I am to find the real me. I've been listening to this album since 1989 consistently.

2) Is there a specific story that relates to this?

Answer: Nope.

3) Was there a piece of music, despite the fact that you may have "outgrown" it now that at one time changed your life? How about something you feel you'll never outgrow?

A: Um, probably "Eruption" by Edward Van Halen and various works by Steve Vai. I am well over it now, but when I first heard those works, it was when I was a kid and it blew my preconceptions of what the guitar could do. I wasn't around for Hendrix to blow my mind while he was alive, so these guys did it for me. As for never outgrowing something, that would be Heavy Metal.

4) Could a piece of music that you found in common with a stranger bond you for life? Is there a story behind that?

A: It could, but it hasn't yet.

5) Is there a favorite artist that you had that you gave up on only to have him or her redeem themselves?

A: Yes: Alice Cooper, Jimmy Page, and Roky Erickson.

6) Has music ever got you through some really tough times? How?

A: Yes, probably Neil Young and Chris Bell, but Rush got me through adolescence because they are geeks who stick together and kick ass.

7) Can music change the world or is that naive wishful thinking?

A: It already did in the sixties, but not exactly how they wanted it to.

8) Is Rock and Roll dead?

A: Aw, hells no! As long as there's that sex in music, that rocks back and forth in the rhythm, then it isn't dead--they are just re-branding it so the kiddies will think that they have something original for their generation.

9) What's the song you wish played at you wedding? How about your funeral?

A: At my wedding I would want Pachelbel's Canon in D Major to be played. While my body is being prepared for burial I want Strauss' The Blue Danube waltz to be played. When my funeral is actually happening I want Dylan's "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" to be played.

10) What's the greatest live show you ever saw? In what year? Why? How old were you then? Did you attend with friends? Were you a skeptic going in?
Did you enter a huge fan? How about the most disappointing show? Why?

A: Pink Floyd at ASU stadium in 1994. I was 21. I was with friends, strangers, and my brother.
How could you be skeptical about Pink Floyd? I was a huge fan. The most disappointing show was ZZ Top at a festival because Dusty Hill was too fat and sweaty to finish the set and they left early. Billy Gibbons was awesome, though.

11) Has your feelings about recorded or live music changed over the years?

A: Arenas are evil. Small venues are bliss. Recorded music: MP3 compression is evil. Analog is the best when it is done/heard under the right circumstances. Digital is user friendly, economical, and has a high potential for both good and evil.

12) Do you listen to radio? How do you listen to music?

A: I don't listen to the radio unless that's all there is. I listen to music via my computer, Ipod, my truck's system (CD and MP3), my turntable, and my Walkman for my old tapes. I also get a kick out of listening to music on my brother's antique RCA phonograph.

13) Has the amount of time you listen to music changed over the years? To what extent?

A: I mainly listen to music now while I am doing something, like driving or working. I used to take hours out of the day just to listen to albums. It sucks, but I can't help feeling like I am wasting time just sitting there. I chalk it up to growing older.

14) In these tough economic stressful times do you gravitate towards a different kind of music, i.e happy, nostalgic, the blues, then you did say, 4 years ago?

A: I haven't been listening to bleak music for awhile because my life has needed more sustaining influences lately. It isn't that it is sunny music, just not dark without any redeeming quality. So, I haven't listened to much Dissection, Electric Wizard, or Bauhaus lately.

15) You're stuck on a desert isle, you've got a mix Cd with 10 songs you're stuck with until your dying day, (or at leas until you're rescued) what are those 10 songs and why?

1. "Wish you were here" Floyd: Because I wish I'd have someone else there with me.
2. "The Knife" Genesis: Because I need something to make me fall asleep and it's long.
3. "2112" Rush: Because I said so.
4. "Powderfinger" Neil Young: Young is so cryptic and I still need to figure out the whole story on this one.
5. "Like a Rolling Stone" Dylan: This song always makes my neck hairs stand on end, especially Al Kooper and Mike Bloomfield's contributions to the playing on this one.
6. "Mahgeetah" My Morning Jacket: This song just feels beautiful.
7. "War Pigs" Black Sabbath: I need my heavy metal and this one is the finest example of the genre.
8. "Wild Horses" Rolling Stones: It gives me longing.
9. "Waterloo Sunset" The Kinks: This song breaks my heart in a good way.
10. "Won't Get Fooled Again" The Who: Because Roger Daltery's yell is empowering.

That took way too friggin long.

Pitch Chewer

There's this old lady in a play pen, peeling hard-boiled eggs. I don't know what her name is. She sits there like a prisoner, chewing pitch gum and cussing at imaginary people. Greasy-haired W.C. Fields lookalike with big floppy breasts, one slung over her right shoulder. A mean old lady with swollen feet and ankles, arm flaps and missing teeth. I call her "mom" and pay for her time.

A post from a Viking: "Target Audience"

Whatever you do, just don't feed them. They'll keep coming back. We here at Vollewraithe are actively engaged in providing adolescent and adult men, who have no purpose in life, shelter from the storm.

We see that the specimen on the left is pretty far along in his mentoring. His right hand is in the correct position for sitting. The specimen on the right clearly needs our help. If he does not stop we will have to get Richard Simmons and Tom Cruise over here to scare him straight.

As always, Chuck Norris will be watching from the bedroom closet. He's old.

(Taken from an old blog of mine. Enjoy!)

Still sick...

But getting better. I felt like I bought the whole damn pharmacy today. I have to say, though, after having cancer I get a lot of time with my doc. He's making up for not figuring out what was wrong with me in a timely manner back then. So, anyway, I've got a nasty bronchial infection going on. Of course, that all sounds too familiar in that most dreadful way. However, I don't have all those mystery symptoms going on and there is no pain, that awful organ crushing pain. Damn, it's good to just have to deal with small potatoes.

I've got to get some shut eye. I'll be around to visit soon.

Sick

I'm sick. The good news is that I've now got my new laptop to keep me entertained. The laptop isn't ultra high-end, but it is pretty freaking awesome. It's a "Hell" Studio 1525.

What else? I dunno. The eternal drama that is family still keeps going on. I can still deal with it. I am pretty jazzed about getting a recording interface for this computer and sell off my cheesy digital 8-track mini studio. I will always keep my analog 4-track machine, because you never should lose your roots. There is a lot that I plan on doing now. But, right at this moment, I have to get some sleep and get well.

TIGF!!!

I haven't done one of these in awhile. Anyhooter, spring is coming and you know what that means? Scooters! A scooter is to a motorcycle as a femme is to a butch. Or, a scooter is to a fat man as a monkey riding a dog--funny. Girls on scooters are a pleasure, I must say. But, a girl on a bullet bike is even better, but not TIGF!!! I think the reason scooters are gay are the tiny wheels and seating position--it looks like you are observing correct posture, very square. I wish there was something else. I'm pretty tired right now. You'll have to help me out on this one.

BTW, the video clip that I stole features a song from one of my favorite obscure punk bands from the late '70s, The Pop Rivets.

Wander Lobster

Am I the only one who likes to lift the door and watch the washer wash my clothes?

I want to become the Hugh Hefner of dairy products, specifically, cheese.

Imagine being inside a car where the interior has been turned into an aquarium. The car still drives. You are in full diving gear. There are all manner of tropical fish swimming around inside. This is the ultimate driving experience.

I want to go camping on Mars. As long as we depend on the government to bail our stupid asses out of our mistakes we will never innovate and my dream will never be realized.

Will humans ever be evolved enough to live without external government?

Where are the obtainable wild frontiers anymore?

A fart is the same in all languages.

The key to world peace is unbridled flatulence.

My address book is shrinking fast.

Dogs and cats should be equipped with bluetooth so that they can connect to your computer and chat, play W.O.W., and become online predators.

Farmers need to grow stuff that lets you know how it feels so that some people will have to just deal with the fact that to gain the energy sufficient to live, other things must die. Some people will then resort to living off of dust.

Are dust bins used for dust only? Are rubbish bins exclusive to just containing rubbish? Are the British retarded?

I've never known anyone to get excited about Nebraska. Have you?

My alter ego has its own secret identity that I am unaware of. This could be the reason that I woke up with a strange taste in my mouth this morning.

A girl told me today that the '80s are coming back and that to say "word" is cool again. Do we really have to do this to ourselves? Shit.

Word out.

Go hang a salami. I'm a lasagna hog.

My duplex neighbors are moving. The sound of them walking in and out of their side is depressing to me. The depression of them leaving will soon get replaced by the anxiety of new tenants moving in. The renter's cycle of life is much like a palindrome--you think you are going forward with your life but you can't tell when you are actually going backward. It's all the same. You rent your living space. I want to own my living space.

Very few people actually own their living space. It is all temporary on this earth. Whether you rent, lease, or borrow, how much are you really going to own in the end? Do you own your soul? Is there eminent domain with that sort of thing? I often fantasize about living totally independent of God and man, but this is impossible. I also question my motives for having such desires. To totally disconnect is to enter the void--to cease existing. If I believe in an afterlife (which I happen to), then death does not bring that about. If there is no afterlife, then why rush the trip to the black? I'm back to realizing that I am in my place on borrowed time. My goal is to exit that place without tragedy. No, I want to transcend my situation and my environs.

I continue to ponder about what it takes to preside totally over my own being. I have to realize that this is possible while remaining connected. I will have to deal with neighbors and they will want to trespass. I'm going to have to allow some people on my lawn, in my living room, into my room. I think it has something to do with giving. You can't give something away that is not yours to begin with.

Now, I must ask who is it that has ownership of me. What do I need to do to negotiate a deal to get myself back? When I get what I want how will I behave? There is an art in selflessness that does not betray self preservation. I want to learn that. I want gain myself and give of myself, without loss. To give with exponential gain in return; that is the investment that I need now.

Yeah.

"Bike" and random

Last Saturday I was helping sort things out at my parent's storage unit. There was a ton of crap that was taken to the D.I., our version of Goodwill in this area. Also, a huge load of garbage was hauled away as well. This is when I came across my dad's old bicycle, a 1950 Mohawk. It would make a perfect beach cruiser. The chain guard, fenders, back rim, name plate, and original seat are gone. But, the bike would not take much at all to actually become a nice "about town" cruiser. So, this is going to be my next project and it will be just in time for spring.

I'm going to a funeral in the morning. John was accidentally killed in a fast food restaurant men's restroom by a man who was carrying a loaded gun in his pants. The man just got done going to the toilet, pulled up his pants, when his gun came out of his concealed holster inside his pants. The gun hit the floor and went off, shooting John dead. Before any of you start to lament the senseless loss of life, I need to confess something to you: John is a toilet. The restaurant actually will be holding a funeral for their deceased toilet as a publicity stunt. I live seven minutes away from this place and go there often, so I figure I might as well attend. I mean, how often do I get a chance to hear a eulogy for a toilet?

I watched Kubrick's Full Metal Jacket last night. That is one of my favorite war dramas. I can't help but wonder, though, about Private "Gomer Pyle". I think that they should have just locked him in that bathroom and let him have a bit of a freakout, then ship him off to 'Nam where he could actually kill the enemy. I guess the point was that his Drill Sergeant and his fellow privates became his enemy. The other thing about that movie that I marvel about is how far five dollars went back in those days. Jeepers!

I was told by a higher up today that my hair was becoming "mighty robust". I asked if that meant that she liked it. She just replied something to the effect that I could appreciate it more than others. So, I guess I don't have to get my hair cut yet.

I think you've had enough. Hey, if you haven't checked in on my previous post's roll call, just do it here. Ta!

Uninspired (roll call 2009)

I don't have enough self discipline to not post when I lack inspiration. I still feel like a funny guy but my needs to be funny for people have changed. Mainly, I don't give a shit if you don't find me funny anymore. I can feel that my humor has shifted. I am older. How could I go through what I went through and not come out a bit different? I just find myself musing on different things nowadays. I am fine with this.

I like the fact that a handful of you Gruntonians stick around and leave comments. It shows me that you are in this for real and not because I was the guy that did wacky shit or gay Fridays. Between you and me, the TIGF gig was becoming a drag for me, no pun intended.

Could you all do me a favor and check in for me? I need to see who still rocks it Grunty. Roll call!

The mostest with the postest

I don't have a lot to say. I took this photo at a auto salvage parking lot.

I bought a new laptop. I should be getting it next week sometime. Now I am cool.

I watched First Blood on Blue Ray. It was cool as always. One thing, however: How come, in the Viet Nam flashbacks, Rambo looks like a cousin of Three Dog Night's Chuck Negron? Were all the army barbers being held prisoner by Charlie or something?

My goal this year is to learn how to hambone.

I'm starting to develop crushes on all old fugly trucks. Trucks that look like this:
While I could buy one now and fix it up, I'm waiting to get married, sick of her, and then buying it to piss her off. I am thoughtful.

I don't have much more to say. I'm going to watch my Simpsons' DVDs.

Everything is fine, just fine

I have to tell myself that once in a while. Even if it may not feel true, I repeat it over and over until I believe it. It isn't denial. Its mood management. I am still aware of the challenges that confront me and those who I care for. When I'm calm, however, I am better able to deal with the problems at hand.

In order:

1. Mother
2. Brother
3. Niece
4. Sister
5. Father
6. Myself

The issues (not in order):

• Jobless without direction and excessive debt.
• Frail and trying to come to terms with the inevitable.
• Part of the fat that might get trimmed.
• Will he pop the question?
• Passing blood and undergoing extensive tests.
• Worn out, in pain, and displaced from their position at work.

Sometimes life is a white blur. Sometimes it is as real as obsidian. I wear gray and try to walk that line the best I can.

Going back

I finally got my files backed up from my ancient computer. Since then I have been reading old papers from college and various proto-Grunt writings. I decided to open up a file: a novel that I started in 2001. Boy, it sucks. I went through and edited, changed things here and there. I've decided that with a major re-write that it could be as good as I thought it could be back in the day.

I wanted to be a writer. I've gotten away from that. There's such pretense about saying that you want to be a writer that I eventually could not stomach it when I uttered those words to anyone. Now, I think I'm going to have another go at it. Only this time, I am not going to worry about being a writer. I just want to tell a story. I think being away from school has helped me in that my writing style has become more colloquial. There are no more professors to impress or cohorts to outdo. It's just me now. I like it that way. It's Grunt.

Happy Human Rights/MLK Day!

I decided that I haven't posted a decent "come hike with me" video in a while. I still haven't got a hair cut. I am surprised that it isn't longer than it is.

Anyway, I was thinking about the parable of the Sower and the Seed today. The seed that fell in good soil flourished the most. It got me thinking about what makes good soil: bullshit and lots of it.

I was helping my brother fix his '98 Ford Exploder on Saturday and my disdain for American automakers only deepened. I love the old American iron, but it is such a crap shoot buying anything American made in the past thirty-odd years sometimes. I drove a brand new Toyota Tundra the other day and I about cried when I had to give the keys back. I hope Detroit gets its shit together. It would be nice to have some pride in "Made in America" again.

On the flip side to that, I helped my friend Jason with his '71 Chevy pickup project this weekend. There's something about looking at a vehicle and not having any mysteries about its inner workings, it's so simple. The fascination of putting together a really big go cart is what I think it is, basically. Plus, I can go home and not have to deal with all the clutter and mess that comes with this kind of hobby.

I just want to give a shout out to Megatropolis: Congrats on getting married! I bet you feel like a new kind of woman now.

Dream #47,372

I had this dream this week, Monday night/Tuesday morning sometime abouts.

My friend Wayne and I were venturing in a strange part of the country. We saw a chapel that had a strange glow about it. People were filing in. We wanted to know what was going on, so we entered in the building. Inside the chapel there was a congregation of about 300 people and several open caskets with fresh corpses, not preserved, in the front near the pulpit.

My friend and I sat down on a pew somewhere in the middle of the meeting hall. The pastor gave his sermon and people began to be filled with some kind of pentecostal-like rapture. A man behind me started to grope and fondle my shoulders and head. I ordered him to stop. He said that everybody was joining in and that it was part of the ceremony. A woman told the man that she would take me instead and she started caressing me. This went on for a while. It wasn't an orgy as it was more like some weird holy roller "love in", without overt sexual contact.

At the height of the group's fascinations with each other, the pastor raised himself atop the pulpit, was delivered a corpse, and reached into the body and pulled out the rib cage. He then said, "Communion for those who believe. Damnation to those who do not. Eat! Eat!". The pastor then threw the rib cage out into the congregation and the feast began.

While this was going on, I could not find my friend. I was scared out of my wits and tried to escape the church. When I broke free from the congregation, some noticed and they sought out to apprehend me. I evaded them through the maze of dark halls and classrooms. I ended outside, via an open window. I hid up in a thicket, waiting to see if my friend would make it out. My dream ends there.

I'll tell you, this is the last damn time I roast my own peanuts and eat them before I go to bed.

Those guitar clips I promised

Okay, never mind the fact that I just woke up, put on a baseball cap to hide my scary hair, and took the videos with my crappy cell phone, the guitar speaks for itself. This is the "No-Nocaster" in all its glory. My phone only will do short clips, thus, the concise wanking. Also, not all of the guitar and my playing is in the pictures because I had to prop up the phone on a pillow. I couldn't tell where I was in the shot and got tired of things being perfect. You can hear what's going on well enough. Anyway, the guitar feels and plays great. I'm playing dirty in most of these clips. That's how I like it.

This clip shows some twangy rhythm playing with the amp mildly overdriven. This is probably as clean as I like to play in most cases.

This is the 1998 Fender Stratocaster "Deluxe" that I bought new in 1999 and is my most modified from original guitar. A Strat is a great "hot rod" in that you can take a whole bunch of parts and swap them out--modify to your taste. It is hard to do that to something more precious, such as a Les Paul. Anyway, 1998 was a great year for the Mexican Strats. I changed the body from a black MIM to a three-tone sunburst 2007 American Standard Strat body. However, the secret to great guitar tone is in the neck. If the neck doesn't have it, it never will. So, already having a great neck, the better body enhanced everything nicely. This is my most comfortable guitar to play and the most versatile. The neck pickup and the two "quack" positions (#2and#4) are this guitar's signature sound. Good for SRV, Mayer, Frusciante, Hendrix, and more funky styles.

This is my early '70s Les Paul copy, a Japanese made model by the Suzuki instrument company. It isn't the most desirable copy, but it is still a great guitar for what I paid for it. It is the most full bodied and sexy sounding of all my electrics and the most temperamental at the same time--the most woman like, if you will. It doesn't like to stay in tune, loves to shift with the humidity level, and it hurts my back if I play it too long. Love hurts. But when I get it dialed in, I just can't get enough of this guitar. Makes me want to save up for the real thing. Someday, perhaps.

The amp I was playing through is my '57 Gibson Skylark, all of 5 watts with a tiny 8" speaker. This small amp is still plenty loud and you can hit the sweet spots without killing off your sperm and glassware. It's funny that the engineers back then thought that the distortion produced by this amp made it an inferior design. I helped it along with my own modifications when I restored it.

Enjoy!

A great day

I had my quarterly cancer exam and things are looking good for me. The only thing that sucked was looking at my weight, post holidays. You know what is really weird? Having a lady doctor feel your groin and then ask you if you are currently dating someone. Anyway, it wasn't inappropriate of her at all, just that taken out of context it seems rather funny. I celebrated afterward by eating a giant calzone and then finishing my shift at work. I am happy, but I've got a major headache right now. Plus, I keep looking at my body and going, "Wuh, so fat! Ugh, can't eat anything now. Erf. I need to be rolled in flour and served to a small, starving village."

I did some video clips this morning of me playing a few of my guitars. I just woke up and have that scary homeless man look. I used my cell phone to do the video and the only way I could do it was at an upward angle and not all of the shots have the whole guitar in them. I had to set the phone on a pillow and the clips are short. I will post these soon.

If you haven't read my ten commandments yet, please do. They are in the previous post. Remember, I know when you are sleeping. I know when you're awake. I know if you've been bad or good. So be good for goodness sake! There's something so creepy about the concept of someone who can see everything you do and think.

Feeling better

The leg is doing better today. I was able to do a full shift at work. Blah, blah, blah.

I look like a hippie now. It is really starting to piss some people off. I might cut my hair soon just because it gets a bit wild.

I'm eating Special K now for breakfast. I still haven't figured out what makes it special. I thought it would be the strawberries that you see in the bowl on the front of the box, but it doesn't come with them--you have to supply them yourself. Captain Crunch, now there's a pretty freakin' special cereal. Losing weight is a suck. I know I worded that funny, but it sounds more right, or "righter", if you will.

I had a dream once where I could command the eagles--the football team. I commanded them thusly:

1. I, Grunteweh, am your lord your god and your best friend for realsies.
2. You shall have no other gods before me, only after two hours and between meals.
3. You shall not make yourself an idol. That is the public's choice and you will have to put up with that nasty Simon first.
4. You shall not make wrongful use of the name of your god. Do not say, "I would like my eggs over god," or "I cannot go out with you tonight. I am busy washing my god. God, please leave me alone. God, can't you take a hint already?"
5. Remember the Sabbath and keep it free from dust and fingerprints for long use and enjoyment.
6. Honor thy mother and thy father by announcing your alternative life choices at family gatherings with company present.
   
7. Thou shalt not kill, unless I am super pissed at somebody and tell you to draw up thy sword and slay their ass. "Why?", the jury will say. You say, "Because, god told me to."
8. You shalt not commit adultery. Because you are only as young as you feel, why hurry the aging process? I don't care that I misused the term "adultery". I'm your god. Deal with it. Okay, thou shalt not lie with thy lawn chair as thou doest with thy wife. To know thy neighbor's goat is to also know that thou art in need of a serious prison raping.
9. Thou shalt not bear false witness against your neighbor, but it is all right to bear false witness of the person two houses down from you because they live further away and are less likely to figure out that you were the one who screwed them over.
10. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife. So, technically speaking, you can bang her all you want only if you do not want her specifically. And, playing "Naked bumps in the dark" is all right so long as the furniture is unharmed and the cat is put outside.

I'm tired now.

Grunt just lucky, I guess

Have you ever been removing snow with a snow blower, backed up, fell backwards onto a fire hydrant, then had your leg get pinned? Well, you haven't lived until you've done that, my friends. Thank goodness I still have some high quality prescription painkillers left. I'm as sore as a muhfuhka. On the plus side, the McRib is back.

I'm Finished!

I finally completed the "No-Nocaster" project. This electric guitar was inspired by the lawsuit period, where Fender had to take the name off of their flagship solid body Broadcaster in order to not infringe on Gretsch's name rights of their "Broadkaster" model drum kit. Anyway, what you see in the picture above is the way a real Broadcaster/Nocaster/Telecaster/Esquire guitar's bridge plate and saddles should be like. In my opinion, there hasn't been a better mousetrap made for these guitar's since 1949. There have been nice improvements here and there, but those improvements (compensated brass saddles) have stayed true to the original "flawed" design: a ferrous bridge plate that focuses the bridge pickup's magnetic field; string-thru body; thick, brass bars for string saddles, which share two strings each (sympathetic harmonics); and the ability to mangle your hand if you attempt a Pete Townsend "windmill" power chord.
The other thing that makes this guitar is the philosophy of KISS, and this has nothing to do with Peter Chris or Paul Stanley. My dad taught me the Army's Keep It Simple Stupid philosophy early on in life and I try to KISS everything that I come into contact with. There wasn't much to these guitars and this is evident in how simple the wiring is in them. Believe it or not, this is just a tad more complex than the original three-way switching. I prefer four-ways, myself. That goes as follows: bridge, bridge/neck (parallel), neck, bridge/neck (series). It all adds up to various forms of ballsy, American twang!
I think the grand total of this build was a little over $600. Every component is top grade. The pickups are BG custom winds. The neck is a heel adjusted, beefy, boat-shaped profile with the unforgiving, but comfortable, original vintage 7 1/4" fretboard radius. This thing has serious bite and transmits the percussiveness of your picking attack a great deal, but without picking up Mexican radio stations. My only gripe is with the vintage style tuners that I got for a supposed great deal off of Fleabay. You can buy an entry level American standard Telecaster for about this price, a Mexican made for a bit less, and a Korean Squire for hardly anything at all. The Fender Custom Shop models go for a lot more. I figure that I have a near Custom Shop quality guitar for a standard price. The real value was the knowledge and skill gained through building this project. I've been able to set my other guitars up now in ways that I would have had to pay a tech/luthier a hundred or two dollars to get done.

I guess a low quality video clip on my crappy camera phone is in order. Oh yeah, now I can finally get my room back to looking like less of a Katrina ravaged Guitar Center.

Anniversary

Yesterday, Friday the 2nd of January, marked the year anniversary of my last chemotherapy treatment. I'd like to think that my team in crimson won the Sugar Bowl in my honor. Really, it doesn't seem that long ago. I remember that last infusion session quite well. It was bittersweet in that I was happy to be done with one long therapy and on to my radiation treatments. Also, I think that I barfed my spleen that night. I was given a blanket for my chemo graduation, a blanket in memoriam of a young boy that had passed away that year. His name is sewn into the flannel.

I want you to know, Ben, that I've often thought about your life and how it ended--what dreams that you had that were unrealized due to a life cut short. I wonder what fears you had of death and dying, because my fears were tremendous. That is a reality that all must face, but with diseases like cancer, it holds a unique form of dread. Did you suffer much? What did your family go through? How are they feeling about it now? Is there an afterlife, Ben? Is it worth giving hope to the hopeless? I certainly pondered these things as I went through that special hell and I don't query in spite or bitterness. In all humility, I just want to know.

However the many questions I have, I want you to know that the blanket that bears your name comforted me through the rest of my hardship onto recovery. That was tangible; a real shelter that I could not find in scripture, nor in ecclesiastical leader. I find it odd now that church people wish me to inspire them through my experiences when the time that I was suffering I could not find solace in but a few of them. I will do it. Not because I feel the burning in my bosom. Rather, because I know that I can offer them a blanket of my own instead of hocus pocus. If there is no god, may god exist through us.

Amen.

What I'd do if I won the lottery

I was near the Idaho border on New Year's Eve, searching out old railroad ghost towns and following the grades in the snow, when the urge to go across the border to buy a lotto ticket hit me. I didn't get up there. Burely, the closest real town in Idaho to where I was, was just too far in the kind of weather that started coming in that evening. So, my bro and I turned back instead. The whole way down I thought of the things I would do or get if I had total financial security--no, complete and utter excess and power. Everything went their usual course of taking care of family and friends, then to my immediate financial concerns. But, the thing that surprises me every time that I fantasize like this is that all roads lead to me becoming an evil genius. This isn't something that concerns me; rather, I find it amusing that I need such an outlet. Indeed, it is actually reassuring to me that I at least acknowledge the evil and insecurities in myself and their desire to be expressed. It means that I am human and that I couldn't be the savior of the universe (Flash, ah--ahhhhhh!) That's a lot of pressure off of my shoulders, to tell you the truth.

I'll confess, part of the fantasy involves an evil genius fortress in the icy mountains of Antartica, where I copulate with sexy female drones and plot to rule the world...which then usually devolves into having powers to force mass orgasms at will. My evil weapon of choice is a blow gun, bow and arrow, and the mini cross bow from the movie The Osterman Weekend, all having extravagent asscesories and high-tech doo dads. It's all very campy and probably a tad too revealing.

I am a small man. Pity me.

Happy New Year!!!

Don't drink too much or you'll end up like it.

Things that will not happen to me (or do) in the new year

• Get married.
• Slip on a banana peel.
• Build a mighty zeppelin and race around the globe with a pet monkey as my navigator.
• Win a life time supply of strawberry jam.
• Plaster caster of my, uh...moving on.
  
• Have cancer come back again.
• Listen to people gripe about how messed up they are without getting paid $100 an hour for it.
• Wear mittens while hollering "I'm a pretty girl" in public.
• Give a shit or pity a fool.
• Cut my hair and get a job, so to speak.
• Grow up.
• Tickle a badger.
• Wear lederhosen.
• Play grab ass with the pope.
• Have lightening strike me down.
• Dogs will not be able to discover my secrets by using their special powers--you know, that sideways, headcocked look?
• Write another stupid bulleted list like this one.

Things to do when snowed in

It was cold and around where I live got dumped on with copious amounts of the white stuff. So, being bored, I went over to my good friend Jason's house to help him tear down his newest truck project, a 1971 Chevy C20. We took the bed and the cab off last Saturday, and today we removed the engine and transmission, the front suspension with the cross member, and the rear suspension and axle. The original truck was a long bed. Jason likes short bed low riders and had a short frame ready to go. All we had to do was get the stuff off of the old one and get it ready to go on the shorty.

Here's some more video:

I smashed my finger while removing the front suspension. Smashing a finger is never fun. Smashing a finger when it is 18 degrees F is a good way to wake the neighborhood with swearing and girly screams.

Some stuff, oh, and MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

This one is for NYD, who asked about my guitar project that I started at the end of the summer. Well, I put that aside for awhile, but I decided that while I was off work for the holidays that it would be a good time to finish it. You can see that I've shielded the body cavities with copper foil to help reduce noise and radio interference. The neck has been taped to protect the maple's lacquer while I level, dress, and polish the frets. Not pictured is the bone nut that I have put in and will be slotting for the strings. The tuners are giving me problems. I had to drill very small pilot holes for the mounting screws in the hard rock maple. I broke off a drill bit in the wood and a couple of screws. So, it is going to be a major pain in the ass to extract those without collateral damage. I must say that you have to love doing this kind of stuff in order for it to be worth it. If you are just interested in saving money, this is not the way to go. But like I said before, this will be done exactly how I wanted and by me.

Going back to shaping and slotting the nut on this guitar, bone really stinks. I mean, when you start filing and sanding bone it gives off this ungodly odor. It smells like barber hair that caught on fire inside a defiled and dried out gym sock. Well, maybe not that bad, but hell.

I like eggs. I need eggs. That is why I put up with so much shit.

Um, the tale of two cities never mentioned their village idiots that buggered each other just to spite the mayors.

Jean Claude Van Damme is a good movie. Check it out if you can. The theater that I went to to see this has its own resident cat that wanders around everywhere. It's just about the coolest damn cat alive.

The new Metallica album is not too loud, you pussies.

Having the theater's cat walk between your legs while you are using the urinal is an odd experience. I think it likes me. I promise that I did not drip on it.

Argento, Bava, and Fulci are just a few of my favorite things.

Have you ever thought to yourself that maybe one of your friends may be imaginary because they are never around when your other friends or family are around? I still need them, even if they are imaginary.

There will never be a raccoon flavored ice cream.

Fin.

My favorite Christmas story

This is a short segment from David Lynch's film Wild At Heart.

The concert went well. I came straight from work to the concert. It was snowing real bad all day long and I was wet and cold. I had time to set up my gear but didn't have any time to warm up or rehearse. My rig sounded superb. I used my Strat and Li'l Bastard, the amp I built. The first number was a bit rough, but we looked good and salvaged it with grace. After that, things went well. Everybody involved did a great job. I wish I had some pictures but I was so focused on getting through the performance that I didn't take pictures. I'll see what I can do. This wasn't a huge deal, but it was fun. Plus, it was good for me to get out on stage and play. I plan on doing more of that.

I will get around to visit you all soon.

My sugar momma

There's this older woman at work that gave me an expensive gift for Christmas. In the morning I'm getting my teeth laser whitened. It's friggin' sweet!

Oh yeah, wish me luck on my concert tomorrow. I've got my rig all figured out. I just hope there is enough real estate on the stage for my gear. I wish you all could be there. I need somebody to throw panties and bras at me.

I recently purchased an awesome book on cryptozoology. If there was a magazine called "Bigfoot Fancy", I'd be a life long subscriber. In fact, when I see those "Nobody's Born a Bigot" bumper stickers, I always misread them as "Nobody's Born a Bigfoot." You must become Bigfoot through trial and error, I think.

I often wonder if Bruce Lee were alive today would he be doing an infomercial with Elvis about awesomeness? If so, It would involve a 12-step program, kicking ass, and a styling gel.

Just think if real people talked like they did in movies such as Juno. I really liked that movie, but if people around me were talking all smart-ass loud and shit, with an almost too hip to be real preciousness, I'd take up a new hobby called homicide.

I'm done.

The "Wood of the Day" is Bubinga

I am thinking of getting into the taco cart business. However, I need to come up with a new angle on the industry. I'm thinking of a hybrid of cultures here. The business name: "Taco Schnell". It's Mexican! It's German!! It's Fast!!! I mean, just think of the possibilities of a schnitzel taco topped with spaetzle and gravy or a braut 'n' kraut burrito.

I was at a holiday luncheon that the director of my department at work was putting on. We got to order at this lunch counter where you pick up your own order from them--kind of like having your number called. Well, our whole group had a number. I patiently and politely waited for everyone to get their food before I went to get mine. When I noticed that the only thing left was not what I had ordered, I asked the lady behind the counter if my sandwich would be coming. She told me that one of the gentlemen in my group took off with it. So, I took in this remaining plate of food, went up to the gentleman, in front of our boss, coordinators, and director, and asked him what kind of sandwich he ordered. He said, "I ordered a turkey panini." I then asked him what he was eating. He replied, "Um...". This only made him eat faster. I then persisted, holding up the plate I brought in, "What kind of sandwich is this?" He answered, "Um, that looks like a turkey sandwich. Did you order the same thing that I did?" He was clearly clueless as hell or in total desparation. I then told him, "Nope, this is your sandwich. I ordered the Rueben that you are eating. I was the only one that ordered that kind of sandwich." His response was only this, "Oh, they must have switched them", and he kept on eating. I went over to him and took half of the remaining sandwich and left him half of his sandwich. Shit, he about had a cow fit. Our bosses were really embarrassed by him.

The best part was when the staff were doing nice, informal introductions to the brass, this guy doesn't even say his name, he just starts off, "Um, yeah, I want to get on the training program", which is like asking for a promotion. He doesn't stop putting his foot in his mouth there. He continues talking about himself as, "We like to go hunting, camping, and we go fishing." I about had a anneurism from laughing when the director interjected with, "Uh, who is this "we" that you keep referring to? What is your name?" The guy still didn't say his name and just said, "That's my mom. I'd like more hours, too." He is 44 years old, btw. He is also the same guy that "invented" taping two lengths of pipe together. I don't do the same thing this guy does, in case you think I am also retarded.

P post

I had a dream that I was caught peeing in a sink. The girl that caught me peeing in the sink didn't seem to mind, but I was really self conscious about it because I thought that she might think I was masturbating into the sink instead. She said that she believed me and told me to finish up. That is when I realized that my brain was trying to trick me into peeing my bed and I woke up with about five gallons of urine that needed expelling.

I could go on about the weird pee dreams I've had. I want to hear some of yours, though.

Come on!

Why I feel like such a man today

A utility truck was stuck in the mud on a snowy hill. It had a big boom lift on a trailer. The reason I feel so manly was that I got in my truck Clyde, put it in 4wd low/compound gear and pulled this utility truck with it's trailer out of the mud and up the hill.

The thing is that I have no idea why this makes me feel manly. My truck did all the work.

What stupid things make you feel manly? Even the women can feel manly. All chime in!

I've been watching this over and over

My current Netflix DVD is David Cronenberg's Scanners. I can't seem to get enough of the head pop sequence. Enjoy!

Any other suggestions for me to search Youtube for?

Morbid tales from a local canyon

I've been meaning to post these but never got around to it. I took a hike up a canyon about four miles north of where I live. A service road to a radar station travels above the trail. This road is open to the public. It has many "Dead Man" points and the carnage is usually accessible from the trail. There are a few old wrecks, like a '36 Ford that are cool to check out.

When I hiked this day I bushwhacked my way to one of the more recent wrecks, a white Jeep Cherokee. A lot of the accidents involve kids drinking up the canyon, and then attempting to navigate their way down, they fly off the road and fall 900ft to their gruesome deaths. This particular Jeep was driving down the canyon with three guys and they kept driving straight because they didn't see the sharp turn (I know the details because I know the rescue guys in this town.) When the Jeep went tumbling down it threw one of the passengers out. The other two perished inside the Jeep. The one that got thrown out crawled up the steep canyon wall to the road where he was near death. A passing vehicle spotted the bloodied and broken pulp of a man laying in the dirt, picked him up, and got him down the canyon to medical help. He survived. One of the guys who died had his head crushed and his brains were found all over the rear gate of the Jeep. Yum!

I got to this wreck site on Thanksgiving. There had been some scavenging--catalytic converters and so forth--but most of the vehicle is still there, albeit highly messed up. I thought of crawling inside of it, but as I was about to I was overcome with an extreme case of the heebee geebees. So, I just took a dump by it instead. That's respect. I've got pictures on my brother's camera--of the wreck, not the dump. I'll see if I can get them from him.

I'll include more stories from this canyon in later posts. Most of our town's unnatural deaths occur in this canyon. It's kind of a local pastime around here to find out who's body or bodies are being pulled out of there. We're just a bunch of sick yokels.

A possible venture for me...possible, that is

I have been talking to my work's community relations director about doing a cable access show. He knows the guy that runs the local cable access station for our county. This is all very much some hair-brained idea of mine, but I want to at least see what is feasible. I'm thinking of a reality show consisting of filming scary people at bus stops set to the classic piece The Blue Danube and other greats. I thought of another fictional "reality" show of an Orwellian nature where we would feature interesting people in our area, consisting of pure bullshit stories and encounters with mythical beasts. The other show idea would be makeup tips for fat guy's backs on how to make them look like female fronts.

Have you any suggestions?

I've been a bad internets friend

I have no idea why I included the Wonder Woman thingy. Just enjoy it. Anyway, I've got a new security system that thinks that I shouldn't be visiting your blogs. It has blocked me from going to your sites and risk getting internet AIDS, or something. Of course, I haven't been on the computer much lately anyway. I have been busy planning a big event that will go down this Thursday. I am not a party/event planner person. How I got into this position is beyond me. Three other people were supposed to be helping me, but two of them are going to be out of town and other's mother passed away on Thanksgiving, with the funeral on the day of the event. All of this crap has convinced me that my dreams of becoming a mysterious, cave dwelling hermit are over and that I will just have to accept the fact that I will have to deal with people the rest of my life.

So, what's up witchu?

What if...

Leonardo da Vinci just sat around and drew penises all day?

Lunch

I had lunch today with the teacher who gave me my first of many "F" grades I got in school. This was in the fifth grade. We didn't talk about that, but we both remember it.

It is weird that this old guy and I are friends now. I've never told him how much that F made me feel like I was a failure. In reality, that F should have been the flag that got my parents attention that I was not doing well in my person, not that I was having a hard time with schoolwork.

I don't have hard feelings about it because I earned that F and it was my teacher's job to report that I was not doing any work. That should have been enough for grownups to ask why. It wasn't. Neither were the subsequent years up to my senior year in high school. Ultimately, it was I who decided to get good enough grades, go to summer and night school, to graduate, barely.

My parents did ask, but it was more like "Why can't you do better? You are smart." It didn't seem like there was an understanding that more was going on than just sloughing off school work. So, I eventually just hid my report cards and shut myself off from them.

It seems so obvious to me that if I have a child who tests high, gets top grades, then all of a sudden gets .08 GPAs that there is something seriously a matter with my child other than they got a bad grade. Too many times we treat symptoms, rather than the cause. Are we afraid of truth? I think that to truly love someone means to embrace the possibility of dealing with the fact that we are the cause and that we are the ones failing. I love my parents. I've learned a lot of things from their mistakes. The irony is that I probably won't have any children to practice what I've learned on. That's a possibility that troubles me.

Man, lunch is a bitch sometimes.

Hodge without the Podge

I have two ideas for Christian themed restaurants: "Chuck E. Jesus'" and "Macaroni and Jesus". The Chuck E. Jesus would have a robot manger band with a 12 disciple backing choir. The other, well, anything with macaroni in it is good for the soul. Just think, I risk my eternal salvation just to bring you such silly things. I hope you are amused to death.

My truck, Clyde, caught on fire Saturday. I was welding some stress cracks on the firewall when the heat set the paint on the interior on fire. Luckily, I had my brother standing by with a fire extinguisher and a wet towel. We put the fire out before anything was irreparably damaged. It's just that my truck smells like, as Ralph Wiggam would put it, burning. Wheee. I love working on my truck.

After getting a closer look at my truck, I noticed that it was a woman trapped in a man truck body. From now on my truck will be known as "Claudette". Yes, my truck is a sassy black lady. On second thought, I think I will just stick with Clyde.

I haven't cut my hair yet since it started growing back after having chemo. It is getting long. Today, at a local church, I actually had a person ask me if I was trying to prove a point by growing my hair long. I didn't take this in a bad way at all. I just said asked them what kind of hairstyle Jesus would have. I got nothing back from them. Irritating this person made me feel warm inside. It was nice to feel the spirit of the Lord at church.

I'm going to be performing at a Christmas concert that a friend is putting on. I have no idea what in the hell I will be doing because it is a Christmas theme and I don't do that kind of thing. Any time we set on a day to get together and reherse, something comes up with one of us and it never happens. I'm not a big performing type. If I do play, I can't suck. Everything about this is leading to suck because nobody can get their heads out of their asses and come to an agreement on stuff. I'm thinking of just showing up with my biggest amp and turning it up to "ungodly loud" and play my favorite tune: "The Party's Over, Retards". Yeah, it was one of Judy Garland's classics you've never heard of before.

Anybody think that Blueray is going to make real life look too "lo-fi"? I'm sorry, but the digital medium are just Legos compared to real life's molecules. One of the attractive qualities of the old and outdated Technicolor system in film was that the colors tended to bleed into each other. This was something that was flawed, but it had style in its imperfection. Real life is also flawed. Borders and boundries are blurry. There exists more fuzzy softness than crispness. That said, I just saw Hellboy II on Blueray and it was kewl.

I will close this post with one of my favorite lyrics from a rock song: I wish I was your mother.

TIGF!!! White Crown Victoria Douche Bags

You know the types. The wanna be or retired authority figures. They could pick any other color or any other kind of big ass car, but no, they have to make like they are the feds, fuzz, or government official. These douches like to go around and yell at people, telling them what they can or can't do. There are the ones who take things a step further by putting spotlights on their Vic.

I've had a run in lately with one of these asshole "WCV" driving douches. I'm not going to go into details, but he yelled at me--frothing mad--about something that he thought I was doing at work wasn't legal. This mid-50s town sheriff wannabe about ran me over, he coming to a screeching stop on the wrong side of the road, then started showing off his likeness to a braying jackass by opening his mouth. He was so livid that he started taking off his seat belt and grabbing the door handle, like he was going to have to take out the trash, yep. After "setting me straight" I called my work's head of security, who is a real cop, and he confirmed that I was right and that douche was wrong. He also told me to call him immediately if this asshole harassed me again. It's always good to have a cop on your side.

Share with me your "White Crown Victoria" douche bag stories. They don't have to drive a WCV, per se, just fit the general profile.

On Ebay you can buy sick things

I just bought some nut files on Ebay. This is so you can cut and shape your nuts. I am so excited now. I'm going to lock myself in my room and go to work on my nuts until I am satisfied with the results.

I am particularly fond of bone nuts. Nothing like a good bone, I always say. It is important, though, to make sure that when you work your nuts to have a precise spacing, or else things get misaligned and will cause bad vibrations. It helps to use a nut clamp or vise in order to get a better handle on your work.

It is important to make sure that the slot is clean before you place your nut into it. There might be all kinds of debris and residue in there. Heck, one could even find that the slot has a bunch of old glue caked in there. Clean that sucker out!

Once you have satisfactorily worked your nuts, the results will be pleasing. Remember, exercise patience and use good technique--these are key.

Thanks, you've been a great audience.

"Pagan", Satanic Fast Food, and other related ramblings.

During high school I worked at McDonald's. Only one Gruntonian knows the full extent of my weirdness during that time of my life. There was a group of guys that I worked with that called me "Pagan" or "Matt the Pagan". It started with the way that I made hamburgers on occasion. When I wanted to curse a patron, I made what I called a "Satan Burger". This burger was made with a beef patty with an upsidedown pentagram branded in the meat with a heated up spatula. I would get all giddy thinking what kind of horror would fill a customer's mind when they opened up their burger to see the mark.

I need to explain that as a teenager I was fascinated with occult symbols. I guess it was my way of rebelling against the seemingly strict religious community I was brought up in at the time. One summer, having to take a couple of courses so I could move on to high school, a fellow "failure" brought a book of witchcraft. I thought this book was fairly harmless, but started chanting the spells out loud by the candy machines where we would hang out at. This freaked out some of the students, but especially our teacher.

There was a bit of urban myth that there were some community members and teachers who were witches and satan worshippers. The stories were that they would steal your pets and sacrifice them up in the mountains. I spent many hours wondering who was a witch and where up in our foothills they would practice their rituals.

In the neighboring town to where I lived there was a tall stone cross hidden in a wooded ravine.This is a photograph of the cross. I understand that some dickhead blew it up with a pipe bomb. The cross was always a thing of much speculation and myth. The stories of what would happen there on a full moon or other eventful nights were rather wild. There were tales of hooded figures and animal sacrifice going on there. The few times I made the journey I only found one dead cat and I really couldn't say that it was sacrificed or just placed there to freak the shit out of us meddling kids.

There was only one time that I did come across a grizzly scene of animal sacrifice, or more likely, torture. A friend of mine and I were riding motorcycles in the hills above his house. We were always a bit curious about dead things and if we caught a whiff of death when up in the mountains we'd investigate and try to find the offender. We found Percival's dead horse he shot to put it out of its misery (the hoof tore from its leg after a fall). That was grotesque and about the worst smell I've ever had to intake. That day of riding, however, we caught a whiff of death and what we found was truly disturbing. We got off the bikes and walked through a thicket of oak brush. There, hanging from a tree, was a black dog skinned from the neck down, with its entrails laid down into a pattern of several symbols. I have no idea what must have taken place. All I can think of is the poor dog that was tortured to death. This is about the moment where those spooky fantasies of mine of witchcraft and the occult ended, and the reality of disturbed individuals began its torment upon my awareness.

I occasionally wonder if I have rubbed shoulders in that small town with the individual(s) who committed that horrible act. I guess I will never know.