Month: March 2019

The Magnificent Karnack, based on old Johnny Carson skit

The Unknown Sock Puppet has a Turban on his head, his voice is muffled when the turban slips down covering his face down to below his mouth. As he starts to introduce himself (turban slipping) this is how he would sound, “Behold, I AM THE MAGNIFICENT……Karrnnnack (muffled).

Now, as we all know, The Unknown Sock Puppet has no arms (and no hands). There he is, in a muffled voice, calling out, eventually shouting out, to his assistant “Bob”, trying to get him to come lift his turban back up. In a muffled voice, “Obbbb, gat urrrrr azzzz ova herrrr!!”. An arm comes  into view (led by the hand) and as the audience, we see the hand (attached to the arm) lift the turban up, The Unknown Sock Puppet’s voice goes from muffled to “Loud & Clear” as he is midway in another angry comment directed at his assistant “Bob”, “(muffled) youuu stupid motherrrfuckkker”…….(then not muffled) YOU CERTAINLY TOOK YOUR FUCKING TIME GETTING OVER HERE!!!!”.

You can imagine what The Unknown Sock Puppet sounds like when his turban slips down and muffles his voice by repeating his lines as you stick your face into your pillow tonight when you go to sleep

I was inspired to write this tonight when this documentary on ancient Egypt began focusing on the Karnack Temple Complex, near Luxor in Egypt. The word “Karnack” immediately reminded me of the old Johhny Carson skit “The Magnificent Karnack”

Peace & Abide,

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD

Strain: KARNACKDROPPINGS, harvested March 20th, 2019

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I was talking to my neighbor the other day. I don’t know how the subject of dog farts came up. Anyway, I said to my neighbor Bob, “I went over to my new girlfriend, Cindy’s house, the other night for dinner, and after dinner we sat on the couch and watched some movie. Cindy’s Great Dane, “Rufus”, jumped up and sat between us, which kinda prevented me from snuggling up to Cindy.

All of a sudden there whiffed through the air, one of those “Something crawled up your ASS and died”, kinda farts. I first looked at Rufus, then I glanced at her for a second or two. She looked at Rufus, then looked at me for a second or two. Right then I thought, she really doesn’t know if that god-awful smell was from Rufus, or me”.

Which led Bob to ask, “What is she feeding him?”, “I don’t know”, I responded, “Natural foods I think, she makes Rufus all his meals from scratch, plus I think she adds some store-bought dog food that is free of any added shit like, GMO’s, chemicals, preservatives, and such”.

This led to further discussion as I continued, “I think they should put warning labels on dog food. You know, like on a scale of 1 to 5……with 5 being the smelliest farts, and 1 being the least”. Bob agreed, as we laughed, he asked………

“Did you ever figure out wither it was Rufus or your girlfriend that farted?”. I smiled and said, “Yeah, later that evening when we were lying in bed, as I pulled her panties off, I smelled that lingering smell, you know, that fart smell that you left in your sheepskin seat cover in your car that one time we went for Sushi. When we got back in the car after an hour or so, your fart was still clinging to YOUR sheepskin, remember”. Don’t tell her I told you about it.

Peace & Abide,

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD

Strain: itsurewasntmadebypurina, harvested March 17th, 2019

For those of you that have enjoyed reading my posts and pages, and would like to make a small donation in support of my writing efforts, I have now set up a PayPal account for you to contribute $1 or so, or you can send some Cannabis, homemade Venison Jerky or Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups , your donation is 100% tax deductible.

 

 

 

 

 

It goes without saying, there is a certain amount of discretion one must use in our language around certain types of people, like little kids or some adults. Have you ever said something that at the time, you just were not thinking clearly and really did not intend on embarrassing yourself, or you were just one really strange mother-fucker after all, like, for instance, you are listening to your grandmother as she is describing, for the tenth time, her hip replacement surgery she had five years ago, and you say, “I just want to come in your room tonight and fuck you in the ass”. Good thing she’s deaf and can’t read lips. Bad thing however, I didn’t notice the nurse that walked in the room at that precise moment and was standing behind me when I said it. They don’t let me visit granny anymore. You just don’t say shit like that to your grandmother. It’s perfectly okay to say something like that to your children’s mother, and in the right circumstances, somewhat okay to say that to your girlfriend’s mother……….My girlfriend’s mother is a hottie……..It goes without saying.

Peace & Abide,

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD

Strain: GrannysBellyButtonLint, harvested March 10th, 2019

For those of you that have enjoyed reading my posts and pages, and would like to make a small donation in support of my writing efforts, I have now set up a PayPal account for you to contribute $1 or so, or you can send some Cannabis, homemade Venison Jerky or Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups , your donation is 100% tax deductible.

 

 

 

 

 

Blah-Blah-Blah-Blah-Blah-Blah-Blah-Blah-Blahhhh-Yadda-Yadda-Yadda-Yadda-Yadda-Yadda-Blah-Blah-Blah-Yadda-Yadda…… Phfftttt (Single Fly, Farting in the Wind”).

So many voices speaking out, crying, protesting, screaming, demanding, marching, and hoping. So many wanting their voices to be heard, for so MANY righteous and unrighteous reasons as well, against so many causes that are negatively or positively affecting our planet, our people, literally impacting all of us as a species. Yet, unless all voices, all screams, all prayers are heard at once, the thunder of what that could be, is merely a “Single Fly, Farting in the Wind”.

That’s where we are as a species today. Pro-life, Anti-Gay, Women’s Rights to kill their unborn children, Anti-Vaxxers, people protesting against De-Forestation in Pacoima, Pro-Gun Rights, Illegal Alien Rights, 9-11 Truthers, Pro-Cannabis, Impeach Trump, Pro-Right, Pro-Left, Anti-Zionism, Pro-Vegan, Anti-Drugs, Pro-This, Anti-That……Hundreds, perhaps thousands of worthy and not so worthy causes……. Phfftttttttttt (that’s the sound of that single fly farting, that you didn’t hear).

We think we know more today, and yet we are more confused and separated than any other time in our history, like herds of sheep going off in multiple directions, running off countless separate cliffs. The dumb seem to be just as dumb as they ever were, and although the smart seem to be getting smarter, so many of the smart sheep are still followers, and running off the proverbial cliffs.

Whether it’s believing in conspiracy theories or discovering the truth, about every subject under the sun, technology has allowed us to be more expressive with our beliefs and disbeliefs in a fractured unorganized manner. Just so much noise, like a “Single Fly, Farting in the Wind”.

Millions of people marching and demonstrating? Phfftttttttttt…..However faithful we are to a cause or how organized we attempt to be? Fly fart. Billionaire spending millions of dollars to advertise his “Impeach Trump” campaign? Single Fly, Farting in the Wind. Anti-this and anti-that, pro-this or pro-that? Fly Fart. One religion preaching that they are the “Only Way” or another religion believing that they are “God’s Chosen People?”, Phfftttttttttt.

My thoughts and beliefs, even now as I write them down? I’m just another fly farting in the wind. The difference today, compared to the previous history of our species is that we now have the technology, the evolutionary intelligence and the means to stop wars, stop famines, cure diseases, i.e., end suffering. If you count yourself as part of the 99%, you know that we do have the will/desire as well.

Instead, what do we have? A grossly mismanaged planet, controlled by all the elements that we all preach against, or support. The military-industrial complex, Dictators, regimes, and systems of government, racism and bigotry found in every part of the world. Starvation of millions of people, bombs dropping everywhere.

After a few thousand years, it’s still religion against religion, color against color, the haves against the have-nots. And then there was “Social Media”. Another tool to keep us confused (what’s real, what’s not?) and disorganized. Because of social media, we now are truly like millions of individual flies, farting in the wind for “our” particular cause or belief.

It is almost incomprehensible to get a grip on just how fucked up the human race seems to be at the moment, unless you have studied the evolution of our species in relationship to where we came from, where we are today, and the various scenarios for our future. The wealthy worry about running out of Grey Poupon while millions of men, women and children are starving to death. The small portion of aid that does get through to the people that actually need it, is embarrassing at most, compared to that 18-ounce piece of Prime Rib you are about to stuff yourself with…… Pass the Cannabis/Thyme-Infused Au Jus please. Oh, and waiter, please tell the dude with the wine that we need a few more bottles of that delicious Bordeaux.

Famines and starvation are nothing new, neither is the misery experienced by others. Millions of people have been known to die of starvation throughout our history. Today, people are still dying of starvation while the billionaires watch their investment portfolios grow and shrink and grow again, and shrink again, some days good, some days bad. In one good day of trading on Wall Street, a single investment can surge by hundreds of millions of dollars, enough to stop the famines, enough to provide food and medical aid to all of humanity, enough to provide shelter and/or relief from natural disasters, enough to end the endless wars, enough to cure all diseases. Even on a bad day of trading, the oligarchs of the world still have the resources to rescue those in need. One percent of the worlds wealth can end wars, end famines, end disease and stop the suffering on our planet. Ask the starving people in Yemen and other parts of the world if they prefer a baked potato or garlic-mashed with their steak.

Warfare because of political, religious and ethnic differences and the historical “Colonization” of our planet. Nothing new, except today, “War” is a “Product”. Conflict and war have taken millions of innocent lives throughout our known history. 2,300 + years without a day of killing so far. Now we use our differences as an excuse to start wars, invade sovereign countries, take down dictators, and steal the natural resources, not because of our differences like a thousand years ago, but to feed the military/industrial money machine and the stock portfolios owned by a handful of people (if you trust in that theory).

Today, children are being imprisoned because they “slap” a soldier in an effort to stand up to an apartheid regime. In another part of the globe, a “soldier” is cutting up a child into six pieces with his Machete before raping and killing the mother. All over the world we witness the indefensible acts of one political regime or religious system committing genocide “Ethnic Cleansing” against another people (nothing new).

The greatest of the world powers appear blameless to themselves as each of the powers are in control of every aspect of our lives. Like bullies on the playground, each world power desires control over the other bullies, spending billions of dollars on their military/industrial machines, like those playground bullies each showing their bigger stick or rock, their larger knife or pistol, their more powerful arsenal of nuclear weapons, (all part of our evolution as a species).

The real issue is that the world leaders are as puppets on a string, and the puppeteers are the 1% of the 1% in control. Think about this. 200 to 400 years ago, the world powers were colonizing the world, fighting each other once in a while as they conquered (colonized) the world, ending their conflicts with treaties and inter-marriages (example: the current royal family in the UK are mostly Germanic origin). Now there is the evolved New World Order (NWO). Google it. Start with Rothschilds and Zionism. Oh, and “Follow the Money”.

As a species, we have accomplished some amazing things. We have discovered the cures for, and vanquished many diseases. Our technological achievements in the past 100 years have changed how we live and how we interact as a species.
Our history, and our evolution as a species tells us that we are coming to a “Fork-in-the-Road” on this planet. We all talk about a multitude of issues, sharing them on social media, discussing, marching, creating signs and memes, but doing nothing really, because our separated voices are like that single fly, farting in the wind.

One man’s religion, or lack thereof, is scorned, rejected and punished by another. Another person’s thoughts of good will and mercy are beat down by another because of skin color, or what part of the planet we are from. Throughout our history as a species, too many innocent people have died as the result of wars, starvation and genocide, not because we don’t care, not because of the lack compassion and mercy, but because even our combined voices, are never really heard, like that “Single Fly, Farting in the Wind”.

When you look at what has been occurring over the last one hundred years or so, it becomes more and more obvious that we (mankind) are evolving, with our advancements in technology evolving faster than we can handle them (how about a microchip implanted in your brain at birth?).

Institutionalized, and evolved, our various religious beliefs, and ideas of governing/controlling the masses are owned by the dudes holding the keys to the BANK. They have evolved along with the rest of us. The “Elite” or 1%, as we call them own the Chess Board, the world leaders are their “Chess Players”, and we, the citizens of Planet Earth, aren’t even the chess pieces in the game. The wealthy are not listening, they could care less what we think, or say. We are merely flies buzzing around the table. Phfftttttttttt.

The only thing in common with the elite? Just like you and I, they WILL die eventually. They WILL be just as much food for the maggots and worms and although they “can’t take their wealth with them to their graves”, they certainly have had, and still have, the power to leave their treasure to their children, their children’s children for generations yet to be born. Another conspiracy theory?

Connect the “Family” dots for the past 200 years, in Europe and the USA especially. Do your own research. Mankind’s religions have always placed us in conflict with others, as it suits the powers in place at the time. Regardless of what you believe or don’t believe in, in the end, your body still becomes food for the maggots and worms, i.e., “From dust to dust”.

Is humanity still suffering from indifference, fear, hatred, bigotry and racial inequality? Yes. Does our species still suffer because of religious and/or ethnic differences? Yes. (connect the dots). Is there a possibility that we will make the correct choice as we approach that fork in the road? I believe we will. The answer? I’m not completely sure, but I do know that a simple thing like the “Golden Rule” will play a large part in the positive transformation of our species. New Age Order, not New World Order. Love yourself. Love your neighbor. Try showing that same love that we have for our children, to the rest of the world.

In closing, I just want to say, Blah-Blah-Blah-Blah-Blah-Blah-Blah-Blah-Blahhhh-Yadda-Yadda-Yadda-Yadda-Yadda-Yadda-Blah-Blah-Blah-Yadda-Yadda…… Phfftttt (Single Fly, Farting in the Wind). I AM an optimist however, and I believe we will survive our own self-inflicted misery. I believe collectively, we ALL have the solution that will take us from the Pisces Age into the Age of Aquarius. Ask me how.

Peace & Abide, La paz y la morada, السلام والالتزام , שלום ושמירה, Paix et Demeure, Խաղաղությունը եւ մնալը, Мир и пребывание,, 平和と遵守, 和平與恪守, Aştî û Abad, صلح و عبید, Fred och Abide, Kapayapaan at Patuloy, Frieden und Bleiben, Mir i Ostanite, शांति और निवास, Hòa bình và ở lại, Мир и Абиде, שלום און בלייַבן, สันติภาพและการปฏิบัติ, Mir in bivanje,

Yadhum oore yaavarum kelir, “The World Is One Family”

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD, RSISHE

 

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TheDeadArmadilloManuscript062120

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I take a healthy slab of my Hershey’s Milk Chocolate Bar and slide it into my mouth. I pretend my tongue is the Marshmallow and my lower lip is the Graham Cracker, half a Smores. Now, if you slightly compress the piece of Hershey’s Milk Chocolate Bar between both lips as you position it on your tongue, congratulations! You are now eating a whole Smores. Of course, I am slightly stoned when I write this. Eating my last full Smores right now. Smore is gone. Note to self: Buy more Hershey’s Milk Chocolate Bars.

Peace & Abide,

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD

Strain: TASTELIKEASMORESTOME, harvested November 18th, 2018

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I spent some time doing a little sorting/cleaning of some of my STUFF today. Among the crap I was keeping and/or throwing away, I found about five lighters. I put them on my desk. About thirty minutes later smoked a bowl (I had taken the lighter out of my pants pocket to light the bowl).

Now, again thirty minutes later, I stood up and went out on my patio, sat down with my little cigar, reached in to my pants pocket, and discovered immediately that my lighter was on the desk in my office along with the five other lighters that I had found an hour ago.

Chuckled to myself as I walked back in the house to my desk in my office and retrieved one of the lighters (randomly, not the one originally in my pocket) and proceeded to my easy chair on my patio. Sat down, grabbed my little cigar……….

Yeah, you guessed it. THAT lighter was dead, kaput, out of fluid, should have been thrown in the trash a long time ago lighter. Stood up, repeated the journey to my office. Tested the next lighter first this time, before going back out on my patio. As I was sitting there, out of the clear blue came this thought, THE IRONY OF IT ALL.

If Elvis had is stroke or whatever while driving one of his many Cadillac’s, he may have hit a bus filled with Elvis Fans on their way to Graceland, and killed a bunch of them. Instead, he died while taking a shit. He actually died from prescription drug poisoning, changed officially FROM heart attack. THE IRONY OF IT ALL.

Peace & Abide,

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD

Strain: aintnothinbutahounddog, harvested November 18th, 2018

For those of you that have enjoyed reading my posts and pages, and would like to make a small donation in support of my writing efforts, I have now set up a PayPal account for you to contribute $1 or so, or you can send some Cannabis, homemade Venison Jerky or Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups , your donation is 100% tax deductible.

 

 

 

Okay, so I’m at Karaoke for the first time in many years. I’ve been wanting to just show up at one of my friends, Chelsee’s Karaoke venues (she does a few at a few different bars during the week).

After much consternation and coaxing, here I am, standing before a crowded bar in front of the mike. “I have to say folks, I’m a little bit nervous about singing again, especially after having all my teeth pulled out. If there are any philanthropic dentists in the room tonight, I am looking for a good deal on those permanent implants……..So I can look like a seventy-year old, old fart with the teeth of a twenty-year old.

Okay, I know it’s not open-mike night at the Improv, but I have to tell you the rest of the story. I was out to dinner at my fav Sushi Bar the other night with my Son and my five-year old Grandson. During the meal, Owen (my grandson) looks at me intently and says, “Grandpa, you don’t have any teeth!”, which I responded by showing him my naked gums saying, “I’m waiting for my Baby Teeth to come in”. With a puzzled look on his face, he says, “But Grandpa, aren’t Baby Teeth for babies?”. I thought trying to explain Permanent Implants would be harder to explain.

“Of course, my handsome Grandson, I can also lift my leg like a dog”. My Son looks at me and shakes his head saying, “Let’s change the subject, Dad”. Isn’t it funny how those whom are the closest to you, rarely laugh at your sense of humor?”. “It’s OK Son, it’s not what you are thinking”, I tell him. Of course, he thought I was going to start explaining to Owen that when I’m out in the backyard at night, and have to pee, I lift my leg like a dog, and pee.

Of course, that was not where that “Train” of thought was going. What I did explain is that one time I was pulled over on the 118 by the Highway Patrol, and that the officer said he pulled me over for “Driving Erratically”. Why do they use the term “Erratically”? What if I was driving “Spazzmatically”, or “unpredictably” (same thing). So, the officer politely asks me, “Sir, please step out of the vehicle, please”, with his right hand resting on his pistol. Then he explains the situation to me. “I have reason to believe that you have been driving under the influence”, the officer says.

Then he proclaims the need for me to take the FIELD SOBRIETY TEST. I nailed all of the tests with straight “A’s”………..Until the part where he said, “Now, lift my right leg, and touch my nose with my left index finger”. I did what he asked me to do. You guessed it, as soon as I lifted my right leg, and touched my nose, I sneezed out some snot……..And pissed in my pants.

Okay, so you are thinking that for sure he arrested me on the spot. Since I had passed all the FIELD SOBRIETY TESTS, including the BREATHALYZER TEST, he let me go on my merry way. I say “Merry Way” because I HAD smoked a few bowls before leaving the Karaoke Bar. “You’re funny, Grandpa!” Owen says. Give him a few years, my son said.

The Sushi was great the other night when I explained all this to my Grandson, Owen. Okay, so now I’m going to sing the Jewish Frank Sinatra version of, “MY VEY”.

Peace & Abide,

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD

Strain: YELLOWSNOW, harvested November 18th, 2018

For those of you that have enjoyed reading my posts and pages, and would like to make a small donation in support of my writing efforts and intentions, I have now set up a PayPal account for you to contribute $1 or so, or you can send some Cannabis, homemade Venison Jerky or Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups , your donation is 100% tax deductible.

 

 

 

You know, I’m 70 years+ old, and I have to admit, I still have the sex drive of a twenty-year-old. I need to explain this a little bit so you understand where I’m cumming from. At fifteen years of age, (the first time for me, Susie was sixteen), I really didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, I admit that. Susie slavered on the Vaseline Petroleum Jelly on her pussy, and the moment the head of my penis touched her……….left arm, I came.

When you are a studly fellow at the ripe ole age of twenty, you tend to walk around in a constant state of erection. The sex is way better than when you were fifteen, and you feel like you could fuck for hours.

Now you are thirty, just married, and believe me, the sex is awesome…….For the first six months. That’s when you and your spouse have discovered a few things about each other that are, well, “Negative vibes, man, don’t put that shit on me, Susie”. She comes to bed with some sort of Vegan shit spread all over her face, you know, that GREEN MASK. Wouldn’t THAT be a Super-Hero for a comic book, the GREEN Mask, in living color, has just crawled into bed with you, she turns to you with her eyes closed tight, and her lips pouted for a kiss goodnight. You head for the bathroom to spank the monkey.

Now you are forty-two, slightly balding, recently divorced, and cruising the Karaoke Bars with the anticipation of a twenty-year old again. Of course, you are carrying several condom’s you respond, to some thirty-something that also asked what you do for a living (a way to ask if you are rich enough to afford her). After buying her drinks for most of the evening, and some slight touches, and even a few kisses, in walks her Lesbian Girlfriend to take her home. Well, tomorrows another night, great Karaoke over at the Golden China.

Now I skip over the fifties and sixties just a little. This period of time you are just one lucky mother-fucker if you ever got laid, or found a woman that wasn’t half to three-quarters “Plum-Fucking Crazy”. I guess I was one of the lucky ones……For about three months.

Because at fifty, I met, dated, and was fucking a gal that was only twenty-six years old. Five-foot, two inch, hundred and five pound “Spinner”, and you all know what that means. I approached her at the Golden Vagina (China) one Friday night, right after singing my version of the Kenny Rogers version, of “Lady”. She came to my place for dinner a few nights later. We had Surf & Turf, and fucked after dinner. We continued to fuck for three months. There is an end to that part of the story, but I’m saving it for later.

I’ve had a few other “Lucky” streaks in my fifties, the sixties were “Spank the Monkey” years. Now, I’m Seventy, and raring to go all over again. The only thing missing? M-O-N-E-Y. If a dude my age is filthy rich, and you see a thirty-year old walking by his side, holding his hand, it’s the M-O-N-E-Y. At my age and income level, all I can get are little old ladies at the Moose Lodge, pay for an eighteen (sure) year-old hooker, or buy some KY Jelly at the pharmacy. You also do the “Alice in Wonderland” trick and take a little “Blue Pill” (It makes you LARGER). The blood from your brain rushes to your dick, and you faint because you’ve also smoked a couple of bowls. So, one and all, take pity on a poor old helpless dude that I am, and join the group at:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/2075299525880081/permalink/2075302355879798/

Peace & Abide

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD

Strain: MILFBellyButtonLint, harvested November 28th, 1999

For those of you that have enjoyed reading my posts and pages, and would like to make a small donation in support of my writing efforts and intentions, I have now set up a PayPal account for you to contribute $1 or so, or you can send some Cannabis, homemade Venison Jerky or Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups , your donation is 100% tax deductible.

IWhat was I thinking? Year, 1997, place, Ventura County, specifically, a quiet little beach in between Malibu and Santa Barbara. I had bought my little beach pad by selling off a few shares of my Microsoft stock, 89, 000 shares that is, at $52.00 per share. $4,628,000 worth. Paid $2.5 mil for the beach house, and had a bit leftover which went in to my savings account.

Life was good, the kids were still young, Jake was 13, and Sara was 10 years old. My wife, the love of my life, was no longer with us, having suffered for a few years ago with Ovarian Cancer. After a long and difficult struggle with it, her body eventually gave up.

I had two favorite hangouts during that time. One was a Chinese restaurant we affectionately called the “Golden Vagina” (China) that had the best Karaoke in Southern California, and the other establishment was a great Italian place called “Giovanni’s Trattoria”. Not a fancy place, but the food was authentic, Southern Italian, and the prices were very reasonable. Wine was two house wines, a red “Chianti” and a white table wine that was similar to a Chenin Blanc. Both were served in decanters.

When we first moved there, I would take the kids once a week for Chinese, and once a week to the Italian place. A couple of times a month we had food delivered, especially in the wintertime. Fridays and Sundays were the family dinner dates with my children, when they were younger. Saturday night was Dad’s night out, and usually our neighbor Virginia would watch the kids, spending the night as Dad would either be singing like a Harry Belafonte at the Golden Vagina, or playing “No-Limit Holdem” poker in a backroom at Giovanni’s.

This is where the major part of this story begins, and ends. There really was a person named Giovanni, Italian for “John”. He was the oldest by five years. I always thought that his brother Mario was the oldest, because he was bigger, smarter, and just seemed older because he was the one in charge, or it seemed, worked the front end, while John, friends called him “Johnnie” was the primary chef, and ran the kitchen. As I later found out, several years after my first visit, the restaurant was not named after the older brother, but was actually their father’s name. Mr. “John” Giovanni Bonocchi Sr., had originally started the restaurant in Los Angeles, in Brentwood, and when he died, their mother Maria moved to Silverstrand Beach with the two boys and their sister Francesca.

The mother, Maria, was the real strength behind the success of the original Giovanni’s Trattoria as it was her recipes handed down from her mother, and her guidance in the kitchen that people raved about. Not a year had passed when she opened the restaurant at Silverstrand Beach.

One by one, as the children entered their teens, they worked for their mother, waiting tables at first. Being five years younger, by time Mario began his first job waiting on tables, his older brother Johnnie was working besides their mother in the kitchen. Of course, all three kids had some experience in the basics of Italian cooking, just from helping Mom cook at home, which she rarely did. Even as children, they grew up in the restaurant. But the minor roles they played, were just that, sweeping the floors, washing dishes sometimes, and other “chores” but mostly playing outside, especially in the summertime.

Mama Bonocchi and sister Francesca died in a plane crash in Italy when the boys were 25 & 30. It was a tragic loss, not only for Mario and Johnnie, but also a loss for the community. Some thought the restaurant might close without the guidance and kitchen skills of their mother. Johnnie was already a Master Chef in the kitchen (his mother taught him well) and Mario who had been taking some business and computer classes at night at the local college was the perfect front end person, so, after closing for a month for the mourning period and funerals (combined) they opened back up to a huge increase in patronage, mostly the regular customers, but enhanced by the publicity of their family tragedy, new customers, people from as far away as Orange County increased the overall business by 30%.

This is about the time that the kids and I moved to Silverstrand Beach. Even though we quickly became “regulars” it was busy enough on Sundays that we had a standing reservation for our Sunday dinner. I had learned early-on when we first started going there for dinner, that if we didn’t make a reservation, we were SOL.

In contrast, Friday dinners at the Golden China was always without a reservation because the place was so huge. I think the seating capacity was about 200 people. Mr. Garyoke, as the kids called him, (nickname for “Gary who owns the Karaoke place”, which they got from Dad) began saving us the same table after our fifth visit, which the kids thought was pretty special. By the time my kids were old enough to babysit themselves, I had become close friends with Garyoke (the owner of the Golden Vagina), and with Johnnie & Mario.

Saturday Poker Night in the back room at Giovanni’s was always a blast, win or lose, and a wonderful distraction for the Beach Bum life that I had assumed. I was and I am a better than average player. I probably won 50% of the time, which I considered pretty damn good. When I won, there were never any sore losers amongst our small gathering of players. We were all close friends, and we were all fairly well off financially.

Buy in was small. $5 grand with a limit of two re-buys of $5 grand each so the most one could lose in a night was $15 grand. Our games always started with nine of us at the table. The dealer usually was one of the kitchen staff, a young Italian gal related to the two brothers.

This was not like a typical tournament, with multiple tables, just the one table with nine of us, and usually three or four friends watching, waiting for someone to bust out. One night, some holiday, I can’t remember now what it was, there were six dudes watching and waiting for their turn at the table. Two of them never got to play, but they sure enjoyed themselves anyway.

If you did bust, as I said, you had two re-buys, and after that third bust, you automatically had to give up your chair to someone else. It was always first come first served, so you had to show up early (I was always early, having dinner first). If you were one of the few who had to watch the game and wait, you were given a number, ten, eleven and so on, in the order that you showed up late.

One time I WAS late, actually number thirteen (the latest) and I ended up the major winner at the end of the night, which typically was four o’clock in the morning. The table shrank as individuals would exhaust their re-buys, so usually by the cut-off time of four AM, there was only three of us left at the table and in the room.

I mentioned that I won 50% of the time…….80% of the time I was one of the last three remaining. On a good night, if you happened to be lucky (good) at our little game, you could go home with at least $75,000. Like I said, fun, and a distraction. Win or lose, we all had a great time, talking about every subject under the sun, drinking, joking around, smoking fat cigars, like your typical poker night.

Our hosts had one of those pull down 8 by 10 screens and an old projector, and they were always showing some old X-rated 8mm film like “Debbie does Dallas”. Now THAT…….WAS a distraction for some, but not for me. Pretty sneaky for the brothers to have those old movies playing while we played poker. The one and only time that I WAS distracted for a bit, was an old movie that started out like it was an old Frankenstein movie, until the part when Miss Frankenstein started giving Mr. Frankenstein a blow-job. I lost big time that night.

Note to self: Both coffins had a false bottom. Underneath their mother and sister’s bodies were a half a million dollars worth of Heroin and Cocaine. U. S. Customs didn’t take the bodies out to inspect the caskets, and they didn’t find any discernible weight issues. After all, the two caskets were the best money could buy, solid copper as I a neighbor of mine who had attended the dual-funeral had suggested.

No wonder that the Bonocchi Brothers both drove a Ferrari. “The restaurant business has been very very good for us”, Mario once said to me. In reality, although a popular place for Italian cuisine, there was no fucking way that they made Ferrari type money from the place.

I had known the Bonocchi Brothers for about two years when they had a falling-out with each other. It got down to the two brothers fighting one night in the kitchen. Pots of sauce were flying, at one point, when Mario picked up a huge meat cleaver, several of us stepped in and stopped the fight. We escorted Mario outside as he was yelling out, “I’ll kill you Mother-Fucker”. As far I know, those were the last words he said to his older brother.

One warm summer night, had to be mid-week because no one was there, I was sitting on my patio by myself, smoking a bowl, listening to the sound of the waves hitting the shoreline, when I heard footsteps approaching the patio from the street side of the house. It was Angelo Lucchese, a really close friend of Mario’s. I had only met Angelo a handful of times when I was either at Mario’s house, or at this favorite dive bar down the street near my place. “Angelo, how are you brother”, I said to him as he turned the corner walking towards where I was sitting. “Great, Tomas”, he spoke in his heavy Italian accent, pronouncing my name the Italian way. TOE-MASZ.

Angelo was carrying something that I couldn’t quite make out until he was sitting down on one of the other patio chairs. I’m sure you have seen, especially at Christmas, those huge gallon-size plastic jars filled with stuff like those round cheese puffs. Angelo had brought this gimongous jar over to my house, filled with bud.

I had smoked his shit before, and it was righteous shit. He proceeds to unscrew the lid as I commented, “Angelo, that is the largest amount of weed in one single vessel that I have ever seen in my life!”. Angelo responded by saying that he had five times this much at home. I thought to myself, “He’s GOT to be dealing, with that amount of weed”.

Let me stop myself for a minute and briefly describe Angelo. The first time I met him, I was with Mario at some dive in Ventura. Mario and I were sitting at a table in the back of the bar near the pool table. We had put our quarters up on the rail of the pool table each waiting for our turn. In comes Angelo, thru the back door the smoking patio. First impression? Mafia. The way he was dressed, all in shiny gaberdine black, with his shirt open about four buttons or so, a large gold chain with a Cornetto Devil’s horn hanging from it. Most commonly worn by Italian men to protect their genitalia from the evil eye.

Mario stood up to give Angelo a masculine bear hug, they kissed each other on both cheeks, so I did the same. Now, I’m not of Italian descent, not even close to resembling an Italian dude. But for some unknown reason, Angelo thought that I was Italian, possibly from Northern Italy. Since that first-time meeting Angelo, I kept up the charade, even talking like Marlon Brando in the “Godfather” movies. I did this bizarre charade from then on. Mario would look at me kinda strange whenever Angelo was around. One day he commented that he actually got a kick out of it. In truth, I was so fucking afraid of Angelo, I just transformed myself into a gangster.

The reason for the fear? That first night, after we sat there chatting, waiting for the current game of 8-ball to end so I could put MY quarters in and hopefully win, Angelo walks up to the pool table and pulls a couple of balls towards and into the side pocket where he was standing and quietly told these two “Cholos’” that their game was over and it was time for them to leave the table.

They were slightly reluctant to do so, which led to a very brief barroom brawl. The dude to the right of Angelo came around quickly with his Dos XX raised above his head in the first half of a striking motion, and Angelo’s leg popped up and out like a switch-blade knife, kicking the dude square in the head and knocking him down and out. The other Mexican dude just backed away from the table waving his arms back and forth as if to wave off a bull or something.

That’s when I came up with my nickname for Angelo. Angelo “The Bull” Lucchese. Oh, and yes, he was from the Lucchese Crime Family in New York, on his father’s side obviously. Gaetano Reina, the first “Boss” of the family back in the 1920’s was a Great-Great-Uncle of Angelo’s father.

While Angelo and I were playing a friendly game of eight-ball, some Mexican chick came over and poured her beer on the face of the dude that Angelo had knocked out. He had been laying there for about fifteen minutes. Regaining consciousness, he stood up, not looking in Angelo’s direction, and walked out of the bar. First impression? Angelo was a mean mother-fucker. Even the look in his eyes could make any Hells Angel dude back up.

I had to paint a sort of picture of Angelo in order to set-up this next part, continuation of my story. So, there we are, Angelo and I, sitting on my patio, sharing a joint or two or three. My Marlon Brando thing is full-on, except I didn’t stuff cotton in my mouth behind my lower lip. ”This is great weed, Angelo, so smooth, so relaxing” as I took a sip from my glass of Jameson 12-year-old Special Reserve. As I said that, I thought to myself, “Shit, Oscar time, I sound just like the Godfather. Still to this day, I have absolutely NO idea why Angelo referred to me as the “Godfather”. Was it something Mario may have said to him? Was it because I lived in a million-dollar home on the beach? Who knows.

It’s one thing to sound like Marlon Brando, it’s another whole thing when you have a dude like Angelo calling you, “Godfather”. “Well, Godfather, I do have a favor to ask of you”, as Angelo is lighting our third joint. “What’s that Angelo”, deep into my role. “You see, Godfather, I need to find a quiet secure place to do some modifications on a motorcycle, and I thought perhaps you would allow me to use part of your garage”.

At first, I mumbled on about some other subject. Not to be rude, after all, he DID call me the Godfather. It’s not like changing the subject to something mundane, like, “Man, this is great weather we’ve been having this week”, nothing like that. I think I asked him how Mario was doing. Then I asked him, “What sort of mods are you wanting to accomplish?”. “I need to mount my MAC-10 on my handlebars”, he said. For those of you that don’t know what a MAC-10 is, it’s a fully-automatic submachine gun, fairly small in architecture, but extremely deadly, capable of firing 1,090 rounds per minute, limited only by the size of the clip (generally used with large capacity clips).

“Yeah, I need to rig a mechanical device so I can pull on the trigger while my right hand is still gripping the throttle”. WTF! I thought, as I positioned my head and expression in my best Marlon Brando pose. Angelo goes on, “I have a contract I need to fulfill, and the best chance I have at doing so, is to speed up to my victim on my motorcycle, catch him coming out of his house or his place of business, and speeding away”.

HOLY SHIT I thought, this wasn’t just some wannabe mob dude that excels in bar room confrontations, Angelo was serious, and one crazy mother-fucker. How do I respond to this? How would Marlon Brando respond to this? This is way outa my league, so what did I do? I yawned, and said “This is way past my bedtime, let me think about it Angelo, my son uses half of the garage, so I’m not sure if that is a great idea”. Subject changed immediately.

We talked for another half-hour or so, and after I yawned a few more times, Angelo stood up holding his gallon jug of weed under his left arm and said, “Godfather, thank you for sharing your time with me this evening, I understand your position on this, about your son sharing the garage and all, so forget I even asked. I do have a place in Ventura that I can use”. I stood up, we hugged like to Italian brothers, and he left. I had some really interesting dreams that night.

Intended target, Mario’s brother, Johnnie. Stay tuned for the continuation of this story.

For my faithful readers that are aware that I’m finally working on “The Dead Armadillo” story, like say, a Producer, or a Director, or a Screenwriter or someone or a company that desires to option my novel, you can contact me at any time, night or day. If you are a one of those faithful readers that wish to read and follow my progress as I work on this novel, I will be posting updates as a PDF file on every new post on this website/blog. Here’s the latest of “The Dead Armadillo”

TheDeadArmadilloManuscript101019

For those of you that would care to get involved with me on this project, as I intend to hire a professional screenwriter at some point, and produce a feature film, I have recently been approved for a KICKSTARTER campaign where you can contribute. Here is the link to the KICKSTARTER campaign.

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/thedeadarmadillo/the-dead-armadillo

Peace & Abide, La paz y la morada, السلام والالتزام , שלום ושמירה, Paix et Demeure, Խաղաղությունը եւ մնալը, Мир и пребывание,, 平和と遵守, 和平與恪守, Aştî û Abad, صلح و عبید, Fred och Abide, Kapayapaan at Patuloy, Frieden und Bleiben, Mir i Ostanite, शांति और निवास, Hòa bình và ở lại, Мир и Абиде, שלום און בלייַבן, สันติภาพและการปฏิบัติ, Mir in bivanje,

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD

Strain: BrandosBellyButtonLint, harvested August 30th, 1972

For those of you that have enjoyed reading my posts and pages, and would like to make a small donation in support of my writing efforts and intentions, I have now set up a PayPal account for you to contribute $1 or so, or you can send some Cannabis, homemade Venison Jerky or Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups , your donation is 100% tax deductible.

 

 

 

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