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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“Conscientious Objector” versus “Conscious Subjector”

A conscientious objector is an “individual who has claimed the right to refuse to perform military service”on the grounds of freedom of thought, conscience, or religion.

Conscientious

con·sci·en·tious

Dictionary result for conscientious

(of a person) wishing to do what is right, especially to do one’s work or duty well and thoroughly.

“a conscientious and hardworking clerk”

Synonyms: diligent, industrious, punctilious, painstaking, sedulous, assiduous, dedicated, careful, meticulous, thorough, attentive, laborious, hard-working, ultra-careful, persevering, unflagging, searching, close, minute, accurate, correct, studious, rigorous, particular

Conscientious Objection and Alternative Service

Conscientious Objectors

Today, ALL conscientious objectors are still required to register with the Selective Service System. A conscientious objector is one who is opposed to serving in the armed forces and/or bearing arms on the grounds of moral or religious principles.

Subjector

A person who brings someone or something into a state of subjection, subordination, or submission; a subjugator.

Origin

Mid-16th century; earliest use found in Gilbert Hay (c1397–c1465), soldier and poet. From subject + -or. Compare classical Latin subiector person who introduces (documents) fraudulently, in post-classical Latin also person who subdues.

 

 

Tonight, after a very nice video-chat with a friend of mine, Dan Hanley, I decided to light up a bowl (at the end of our conversation I told Dan that I was going to light up a bowl), and as I sat here on the porch tonight, I got inspired to write. The subject matter? “Conscientious Objector” versus
“Conscious Subjector” “and how it relates to the horrid act we call 9-11.

10:30PM here and 11:30AM in Islamabad, Pakistan where Dan lives. Although this was our first video-chat, we have been “friends” on farcecrap for about six months. As it turns out, Dan is close to my age. I’m 70, turning 71 in August, and Dan is 69, turning 70 in May? Can’t remember the month.

Besides age, the other thing we discovered, or at least confirmed tonight, is the fact that we believe the same things have happened and are continuing to happen in our world.

One shared and overwhelming belief is that the attack on the World Trade Center was a “False Flag” operation by the Mossad and the CIA, along with some really sick Zionists who gained profit by the total destruction of the three buildings. The Military/Industrial Complex laughed all the way to the bank after 9-11. Added to that belief, Dan and I both believe that the total collapse of the buildings was due to a planned, and engineered demolition, what is referred to as “Building Implosion”.

In the controlled demolition industry, building implosion is the strategic placing of explosive material and timing of its detonation so that a structure collapses on itself in a matter of seconds, minimizing the physical damage to its immediate surroundings (from Wikipedia).

What this means for you folk that didn’t quite get a proper education and lack Common Sense or you folks with advanced degrees and not an ounce of Common Sense is……Explosives are strategically placed in the building and set off in a certain order, by computer program, in such a way that the building falls on itself at the same time that the building itself is being vaporized. Picture being “Vaporized”.

Dan’s expertise and beliefs, are two of the reasons why we became friends on farcecrap. That is, his perspective of 9-11 as a former pilot with 35-years of combined experience, having flown 20,000 flight hours in U. S. Naval and Commercial Aviation. Please visit  http://pakistantruther.blogspot.com/2015/05/who-is-captain-dan-hanley.html for his thoughts of how 9-11 happened (based on a pilot’s expertise and knowledge). Dan’s farcecrap page is: https://www.facebook.com/dan.hanley.98?fref=pb&hc_location=friends_tab

So, here I am, writing about something that is not directly related to 9 -11, but is distinctively related because of its nature, and its relation to how distorted our species has become in such a short time, i.e., the beginning of my inspiration to write about the difference between a “Conscientious Objector” versus “Conscious Subjector”. Think about it.

Up to and including the Vietnam War, a “Conscientious Objector” as I have explained earlier, was during a time period before the invention of modern day video games, you know, the ones wartime games where YOU have a weapon of some sort and you are searching (building to building) for the BAD GUYS so you can shoot them violently, scattering their blood and blown apart bodies as if you were in a chicken coop shooting at that nasty weasel that’s been killing your chickens.

Point is before video games came along, the average Joe was patriotic, regardless of wither he was drafted or enlisted on his own. Sure, the military trained us to do whatever was necessary to eliminate the enemy. The difference was how and what we were taught, versus the dude today that goes in with a preset mind and spirit that enjoys the prospect of REALLY killing someone (his opponent (s). That in itself is a whole different story. How young men today who have obsessed themselves with the WARS they waged on their video monitor, go into the military with a warped brain/attitude to satisfy that horrific, almost lust for death and destruction.

These are the dudes that I categorize as
“Conscious Subjector”. Go back if you need to, to refresh yourself with what is defined as a “Conscious Subjector”. I believe, as of this writing, that this is the first use of that term in this comparison.

There were many, thousands, of “Conscientious Objectors” during the Vietnam War. The young dudes of that day, especially the ones that were drafted, that had legitimate reasons to object to carrying a weapon or killing another human being, were treated far much better than their WW2 counter parts. I think that was the very beginning of the expansion of our thoughts and the acknowledgement of a truth that went against the majority of the population as far as WAR is concerned. Then we evolved, with the evolution of video gaming, and how I believe it contributed to the distortion of young men’s minds.

In WW2, a “Conscientious Objector” in your squad, company, or division for that matter was rare. They were scorned and physically abused sometimes for their strong belief in not killing another human being or other reason of their conscious . That generation’s mindset at that time, resulting in a huge surge of volunteers, was obviously patriotism, the desire to “defend our country”, especially against the Japanese. I wonder what percentage of the military were dudes that joined because they loved to kill? Not a large percentage.

One only needs to read the story of the first “Conscientious Objector” during WW2 that was awarded the Medal of Honor, and lived to talk about it. His name was Desmond Doss. There has only been one other to date, Thomas William Bennett (April 7, 1947 – February 11, 1969) who was a U.S. Army medic killed in action during the Vietnam War. I watched the Mel Gibson directed movie about Desmond Doss the other night, and all I have to say is that it’s his best as a director. Rent or buy it, title: HACKSAW RIDGE

So, in conclusion, the sickness of war has caught up with the technical side, i.e., weaponry. Now instead of scrambling from trench to trench, or foxhole to foxhole, these “trained” killers (I refuse to use the term, warriors) are miles away from the battle field, looking at a monitor, flying an unmanned flying weapon into a crowd of innocent people, killing 14 and wounding 29, including women and children, what we call “Non-Combatants”. That same mentality is also found in the grunts who are right there in the thick of battle because of some advanced Intel that there are scores of enemy soldiers in that building over there, to our left. The same mentality as the so-called soldiers, “defenders of our nation” throwing small puppies and/or kittens in the air for target practice like what we used to call a “Turkey Shoot”. Certainly, it takes a warped mind to do a lot of things, but shooting a kitten? Come on!

So, think about it. Do we as a nation, as a species, want to continue down this path? Do we have the capacity to love others around us, regardless of our religious beliefs, or culture? The answer is YES.

This is how the two subjects, what happened on 9-11, and “Conscious Subjectors”, are related. Our species has evolved in such a way that we have become “Conscious Subjectors”. The people that REALLY brought down the World Trade Center buildings have a mindset exactly like, and are are just as much “Conscious Subjectors” as that soldier finding a warped sense of pleasure in killing ANYONE that gets in his sights. The folks I’m talking about want to rid themselves of 80% of the world’s population! How fucked up is that? We need to change, and rapidly as possible. Change to a species that can give up war, turn the swords back into plowshares. If we can’t do that, we are doomed.

P. S. Being that I am an optimist, I believe that I will live long enough to one day hear my grandson say to me, “Grandpa, please tell me again what war and killing people was all about”.  I believe we will find peace eventually if we can accomplish a miracle or two, or three. If you agree to all the wars, and you are a shareholder in several companies that manufacture weapons of war, it is beyond stupid, it’s insane, give yourself a Lobotomy. If you are a Zebraist, or support Zebraism, your just due is coming very soon.

We sometimes think it is hopeless and against all odds, but hey, we are part of the 99% against the 1% that currently have absolute control. We can and shall overcome the odds, but only if we truly ORGANIZE. Otherwise, we are all just as a “Single Fly, Farting in the Wind”. Some thoughts on possible miracles/solutions can be found on the following GOFUNDME page. If you have questions, suggestions, comments, etcetera, again, please feel free to contact me. You can contact me by farcecrap PM, send me an email or fill out the contact form below. Thank you.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/like-a-single-fly-farting-in-the-wind

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, RSISHE

Get on board my attempt at organizing folks by joining us by “clicking” on the following link:

ITAD-NAO Home

Some immediate needs. On a volunteer basis for now, we need a WEBMASTER who can work on the ITAD-NAO website, we need a person skilled in “Crowd-Funding” and “Director of Charitable Giving”, we need an attorney to help in the legal matters for ITAD_NAO, including setting us up as a tax-exempt “Church”, we need a Certified CPA to insure the financial integrity of the ITAD-NAO organization, we need a “Chief of Security”, we need a film-maker, first for YouTube, eventually for larger platforms, plus a few other positions. We believe that somewhere down the road, a Billionaire will step up to the plate and write a check for $50 Million or so, which will turn those volunteer positions into paid positions.

 

 

 

 

Send Dr. Saxe a message using the form below:

 

 

 

 

 

The Great Unknown Sock Puppet

So, Mr. BIG FOOT THE BIKER DUDE, sir, how did you get the name “Big Foot” the Biker Dude?

Big foot the Biker Dude

I’m often confused with that sasquatch fellow because of my extremely hairy body, but not mistaken for that “I’m going to stick my BIG FOOT up your ass” dude that wants to meet you in the alley behind the bar. (canned  ewwws & ahhhs as he puts his right foot up on the desk).

The Great Unknown Sock Puppet

Well, you certainly do have a lot of body hair. Your facial hair is so thick I can barely see your eyes. (canned laughter). No offense, but that’s a huge foot you have there. What size boot is that, and how did your feet get so big?

Big foot the Biker Dude

My right foot is a size 32W, and my left foot is slightly larger, size 34W. I came out of my mother’s womb with these feet. She had to have a Cesarean of course. They all thought my mother was having triplets, until they saw my feet. (canned chuckles from audience).

The Great Unknown Sock Puppet

I noticed when we met before the show, you’re a tall dude. How tall are you?…..Six-foot nine I bet….

Big foot the Biker Dude

I’m exactly six-foot eleven and 7/8″ tall

The Great Unknown Sock Puppet

Wow! Seven foot tall!!

Big foot the Biker Dude

I said……….I’m exactly six-foot eleven and 7/8″ tall…(Grimacing stare)

The Great Unknown Sock Puppet

A little self-conscious about your heighth? I’d be more self-conscious about your huge fucking feet if I were you. How about your weight? I’m guessing 280 pounds.

Big foot the Biker Dude

I’m right at 299 and 3/4 pounds, I lost a pound or two in jail last week.

The Great Unknown Sock Puppet

Three hundred pounds! Wow! Well, I certainly would not want to run into you and your fatso girlfriend in a dark alley (canned laughter). (a menacing look from Big Foot the Biker Dude as the audience is laughing).

The Great Unknown Sock Puppet

Back to the incident the other night behind Billybob’s Bar and Grill in Simi Valley, California. Is violence necessary just because someone made an off-color remark to your 400 pound significant other? All the poor chap said was that it looked like her bra straps were potentially cutting off the blood supply to her brain. (canned laughter).

Big foot the Biker Dude

I’m actually a Vegan.

The Great Unknown Sock Puppet

What the fuck does that have to do with literally beating the crap out of that elderly gentleman in the wheelchair the other night?

Big foot the Biker Dude

I like squash. I like to squash my opponents balls with my big left foot. I also really love cauliflower. I love to put my opponent in a head-lock so tight, it gives him “cauliflower ears”.

The Great Unknown Sock Puppet

So you’re a Vegan. Anything else we need to know about you before we go to a commercial break?

Big foot the Biker Dude

I leave next week for the Minnesota Viking’s Training Camp. I can kick a football 83 yards on average. My longest punt was just shy of a hundred yards.

The Great Unknown Sock Puppet

Wow! That is amazing. Well, good luck to you Mr. Big Foot the Biker Dude, and thank you for coming on our show, “THE GREAT UNKNOWN SOCK  PUPPET INTERVIEWS”……(canned applause).

 

Now for all the manly men watching tonight’s show. Is your skin rough, scaly, and/or chapped? The answer is…..“EASEECUM”. EASEECUM will turn your rough, scaly arms and legs into skin so soft and smooth, you will think you are feeling a baby’s butt”, (canned applause, fade to commercial).

 

 

Stay tuned for more of the best interviews from THE UNKNOWN SOCK PUPPET INTERVIEWS

The following post was inspired by a simple cell phone message to my kids, after spending Christmas Eve with them.

Cell Phone message: “The clouds are really low tonight. I reached up, and stuck a hand through one of those moonlit clouds, and when I lowered my hand, it was wet. Thank you both for the delicious food and the gifts! Merry Christmas!”

Then I wrote the following:

Living up here in the Los Padres National Forest I know it’s the same experience that hard-core campers have. Hard-Core Campers are the real nature lover/addicts that camp more than eight times a year. They are the campers/nature lovers that experience the puffy clouds flying by so low, you can almost stick your hand through it.

People who camp once or twice a year, are who I call the “Family Campers”. You know the campers who could care less about the environment, and trash the camp grounds. The “Family Camper” has like a 50/50 chance of witnessing the low-flying cloud phenomenon, I. e., it’s raining, or the clouds are so thick, that you can’t see the field of stars that the low-flying clouds are racing through. There’s also a 50/50 chance that the “Family Camper” is so drunk he can’t see the sky anyway.

I can remember times when I camped at a high elevation. I can distinctly remember seeing the jillions and jillions of stars, and how low the clouds seemed to be…..Not “seemed to be” but “truly how low the clouds were”. The simple explanation is that when you are 4,000 feet above sea level, think about it. A mile is 5,280 feet above sea level. The really low flying clouds ARE closer. Duuuuuu.

Well tonight, I’m out on my patio finishing up the third and final night of a “Really Primo Pre-Roll”, and looking up, I’m amazed how low some of the puffy clouds are. I stuck one of my hands through one of those clouds, and about 3 seconds or so later retrieved my hand and it was……..(wait for it)……..WET! Of course I’m not serious. I really can’t stick my hands through a low flying cloud, they just seem so close because of the third and final night of a “Really Primo Pre-Roll”. I swear I just heard the jingling of the bells of Santa’s Sleigh, and………

You know Dasher and Dancer,
And Prancer and Vixen,
Comet and Cupid,
And Donner and Blitzen,
But do you recall
The most famous reindeer of all?

Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer
Had a very shiny nose.
And if you ever saw him,
You would even say it glows.
All of the other reindeer
Used to laugh and call him names.
They never let poor Rudolph
Play in any reindeer games.
Then one foggy Christmas eve
Santa came to say,

Peace & Abide

This was Christmas Eve, 2018

Dr. T. C. Saxe. DD

Strain: SeattlesBest1, harvested September 23rd, 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.

Postscript: Another phenomenon that these low-flying wispy clouds exhibit is that as they gently move along at what seems to be several miles per hour, from the North East to the South West, they are being pushed by a gentle wind that tries to blow them apart, but doesn’t. The bulk of these low-flying clouds stay together, but they change shape constantly. In micro-seconds changing from a giant lion, to an elephant, to a shape that resembles a woman giving some dude a blowjob, back to a rooster, then a 32 Ford Jalopy as it drifts out of view. By the way, those wispy, shape-shifting, low-flying clouds disappeared, leaving behind a moonlit start sky, which turned into misty rain. Over a period of two hours.

One last thought. I get a lot of traffic on my website/blog, and because of that, I thought it was time to encourage my friends/readers to visit my other major website www.itad-nao.com. I am serious about what the website says and what it stands for. So, if you got this far on this post, please take a few minutes and visit The International Tabernacle of Abiding Dudeism. Thank you.

Spoof Commercial

For a Men’s Skin lotion

Opening shot of the warning: “This commercial has a few scenes that contain material that may be a little bit raw or offensive to some viewers, and yet, clever in its use of subtle rawness.

First Scene or portion: A manly man (actually an ordinary man with a slight beer belly) is standing there in front of the bathroom mirror, vigorously rubbing EASEECUM Men’s Medical Miracle Skin Cream on his face neck and arms, then his hairless chest. The camera zooms in on the manly man’s facial skin, with a severe case of razor rash.

The camera continues to zoom in, thru all the microscopic levels. All of a sudden, the scene is of the manly man laying in bed, squirting a healthy portion of EASEECUM Men’s Medical Miracle Skin Cream on his right hand……….Then the camera sees a blurry shot (“in motion, after all, this is motion picture quality Spoof Commercial”) to the manly man’s hand gripping his penis in a choke hold worthy of WWE, i.e., he’s masturbating, as the celebrity voice for the commercial is saying, just as the manly man orgasmatically squirts a huge stream of cum, “EASEECUM will turn your rough, scaly arms and legs into skin so soft and smooth, you will think you are feeling a baby’s butt”. Then at the precise peak of orgasm, the manly man is screaming out, “OHHHHHHHHHHBABYOHHHHA”.

Back to the zoom in of the bottle of EASEECUM, as the main celebrity voice is saying, “Only $9.99 per bottle (plus S & H)…..But wait! There’s more! Order now and receive a SECOND bottle absolutely FREE!!! (just pay separate s & h). Operators are standing by for your call!  Of course, throughout the commercial, the toll-free number is on the screen for a bit, then it disappears.

The cleverness of the disappearing act on the part of the “toll free number”, is that as part of the audience, you think to yourself, “Shit, I should have written that number down”. After a slight pause, you are saying, “Melba, get me a pen and a piece of paper”….Thinks to himself, “I KNOW that they are going to show that number again”.

Well, that’s ALLLLL folks!

Peace & Abide,

Dr. T. C/ Saxe, DD

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.

One last thought. I get a lot of traffic on my website/blog, and because of that, I thought it was time to encourage my friends/readers to visit my other major website www.itad-nao.com. I am serious about what the website says and what it stands for. So, if you got this far on this post, please take a few minutes and visit The International Tabernacle of Abiding Dudeism. Thank you.

A few things happened tonight on a few different occasions as I took my potty-get coffee-sit on the patio-and smoke a bowl break from writing. This has been typical when I partake of a little MJ and look at the wonderful star-filled sky (at night of course).

Number 1: As I sat there enjoying the evening, looking up frequently at the night sky above the Los Padres National Forest where I live, I spotted 7 different aircraft going in 4 different directions and I thought, “Wow! I’ve never seen so many planes in the sky before…..usually I see three at most, sometimes only one, and then five minutes later, another one or two go slowly in whatever direction, lights blinking.” Hey! Wait a minute, I say to myself, “Those aircraft, all seven of them, looked like they were as high as the stars around them, and I didn’t see any blinking red and blue lights on these planes.”

So I take another swig of coffee, a puff or two off my Swisher Sweet Cigarillo, and then a hit on my “Unique, one of a kind, driftwood pipe, that I made myyyyyself. 

I look back up again, and four of the seven “aircraft” are gone, and three of them are making these darting moves, going one direction and then reversing and going back the same way that they just came from.

CRAZY! Either I’ve just seen a sky full of UFO’s, or this weed has affected my vision. Then I laugh my ass off for a minute or two, go back in the house and start writing again.

Number 2: Number Two, really should be Number One. About an hour or so before my UFO sighting, I was doing the same thing…….the potty-get coffee-sit on the patio-and smoke a bowl break from writing, I saw three shooting stars. Moving so quick, it was coincidental that I just happen to look up at that exact moment, those split seconds, to see it. I say “it” because the three shooting stars did their thing, separately, several minutes apart. Not like normally seeing one, perhaps three, airplanes slowly moving, lights blinking, towards their separate destinations.

In conclusion, this certainly was some great weed tonight. And a great experience watching, by coincidence, the three shooting stars. And even a greater experience seeing seven UFO’s at the same time.

Peace and Abide,

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD

Strain: SeattlesBest1, harvested September 23rd, 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 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.

Postscript: Did the weed (home-grown from Washington State) distort my vision, and thus, my “Minds Eye” of what I saw? Or did the weed enhance my vision allowing me to see things that our eyes normally can’t see?

Postscript Number two: Those of you that consistently read my blog, know that I am a proponent of “Writing” as a sort of mental therapy for all sorts of mental issues, and those that know me personally know that I have recently been suffering excruciating back pain from a back injury fifty years ago. Prescription Pain Pills only do so much and ALEVE
(naproxen) doing less. I can definitely attribute my LACK of pain in my back to the bowl of weed I smoked tonight.

Postscript Number Three: It’s 2:48AM, and at 2:36AM I decided to go out on the patio, feeling like I was finished with this little bit of prose. No coffee, no home-made pipe with a bowl-load of grass, just a Swisher Sweet. I definitely know that the Cannabis enhanced my hearing tonight, (those of you that know me personally, know that I’m slightly hard of hearing).

So I’m sitting there, periodically gazing at the heavens (I see the Big Dipper) and suddenly I hear the sounds of footsteps. Thinking prowler at first, I turn on my Tactical Flashlight thinking prowler or possibly a bear, and see a small deer walking through the front yard. Do you know what deer footsteps sound like? I do now, thanks to the weed.

One last thought. I get a lot of traffic on my website/blog, and because of that, I thought it was time to encourage my friends/readers to visit my other major website www.itad-nao.com. I am serious about what the website says and what it stands for. So, if you got this far on this post, please take a few minutes and visit The International Tabernacle of Abiding Dudeism. Thank you.

Mark, the dude that bought my house, has been here about a week, waiting for his stuff, and waiting for me to move out. During the week, every night we sit on the porch, light up, talk about every subject under the sun. Occasionally, Mark would share some of his grass. A little bit here, a little there. Tonight, he walks up the steps of the porch holding a bag of Washington State home grown. I called my son to say hello, share my great day I had today. Part of my voice message (voice mail?) I’m telling Tommy this story, “Tommy, this is a gallon freezer ziplock bag, half full, a fricken quart of BUD, no twigs or dust or dirt, ALL BUD.

Now at least three hours into relaxation and conversation, Mark says……

Mark: “I’m not insane!…..I’m not left handed!”

Needless to say, I almost busted a gut laughing.  Let me tell you a little bit about Mark. He has a few issues he’s successfully dealing with mentally, don’t we all?  Mark is one of the most intelligent human beings I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. He also is one of the naturally, funniest people I have ever met. So he has a few problems, so do I.

Tonight, I decided to turn on some music on Direct TV. Started out with some Blues, changed to Jazz, then settled on music of the 60’s. How wonderfully therapeutic. Song after song, reliving those years of my youth. Just a little bit before Mark’s teen years. Bob Dylan singing “Like a Rolling Stone”, Donavan singing, “Mellow Yellow”, Leonard Cohen singing “Suzanne”. Song after song bringing us both back to our individual memories, at a school dance, the drive-in Intermission music. playing on the radio in my cousin Butch’s 65 Malibu.

What I am saying is that for me, as well as for Mark, tonight, in general, the music, great weed, lots of “Bust your Gut” laughter’ has been very therapeutic. Soothing, satisfying, healing, expanding our brains with the game of trying to guess a band or singer’s name, what year or era. The brain exercise is wonderful for healing areas of our psyche that man-made medicines can’t touch. I believe it is a great natural remedy for many psychosis like PTSD, Schizophrenic related issues, depression, etceteras.  As I just said to Mark, I put a “Groove” on it tonight, referring to my writing of this post.

Last thought. Mark and I were sitting here, trying to figure out what MILF stood for. Many VERY wrong guesses and much laughter. It was obvious that neither one of us knew what it stood for. Possibly because none of our friends in High School had busty, sexpots for mothers. So, I googled it on my Samsung Tablet, gave Mark the answer, and we both laughed again.

It’s now 1:27AM Thursday morning. We started last night around 7:00PM. I really enjoyed the evening, the conversation, the laughter, and the great stimulus for my brain. Thanks for reading my sometimes serious posts, and sometimes frivolous posts. This coming Saturday I pack up the U-Haul and head to Southern California. Hope to see you all then.

Peace & Abide,

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD

Strain: SeattlesBest1, harvested September 23rd, 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.

 

It’s 2:30AM, and I have been playing Texas No-Limit Poker online via Farcecraps WSOP  “App” for several hours. Here’s a little bit of advice. It’s time to quit and go to bed when this happens to you.

I have written about this before, when to “Slow Play” a hand, and when NOT to “Slow Play” a hand. We have all been on the receiving end with a losing hand when someone else slow plays a “Nuts” hand. Here’s a play by play example of a hand that should convince you when it’s time to go to bed.

Before the FLOP: I’ve been dealt a pocket pair, of ACES, an Ace of Spades, and an Ace of Clubs, so I slow play, limping in. Limping in is when you just call and not raise before the “FLOP” hoping that everyone else limps in as well, which in this case, they do.

The “FLOP”: The flop is a Jack of Clubs, a Queen of Clubs, and an Ace of Diamonds. So now I have TRIP ACES, and there is a strong possibility that a few of the other players have hit either with pocket Jacks, pocket Queens, or straight draws.

Everyone limps through the “TURN” card, which is the Ace of Hearts. The table now reads Jack of Clubs, Queen of Clubs, Ace of Diamonds, and Ace of Hearts. At this point, before the “River” card is dealt, there are possible straights, possible full houses, and for sure possible hands with trips (three of a kind) facing you before the “River” card is dealt. I have four Aces BEFORE the “River” card is dealt.

The dude with what he thinks is the “Nuts” with a flopped “straight” bets. The dudette with what she thinks is also the “Nuts” with the “Turn” card making her “Full House Queens over Aces” raises. Everyone else has folded. You really like the betting action but have closed your eyes for what you thought was just a “second”. It’s my turn now to bet, to go “All In” before the “River” card is dealt, but I AM momentarily asleep.

With Farcecrap’s app, there is a timer, which if you don’t call or raise, you are AUTOMATICALLY FOLDED in that hand. It’s just a second or three, but when I open my eyes back up, I have run out of time, and my hole cards, those pocket aces, are “greyed out”, and I watch in horror as I see this gigantic pot of $30 Million or so, go to the dudette with the “Full House” against your folded four Aces.

Moral of the story. That certainly was the right time to “Slow Play” my hand, but the wrong time to close my eyes (just for a second”. I try not to play when I’m that tired. That hand was a REAL bad beat, like beat MYSELF with a rubber hose, bad beat. Hahahahahaha.

Peace & Abide,

 

 

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD

Strain: Grand-Ma’sBellyButtonLint, harvested September 23rd, 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.

 

 

 

 

TEXAS NO LIMIT HOLD-EM

PLEASE FORGIVE ME FOR TYPING ALL IN CAPS. I HAVE REALLY SHITTY VISION, AND IT’S JUST EASIER FOR ME. I WAS INSPIRED TO WRITE THIS TONIGHT BECAUSE OF A PARTICULAR POKER GAME/TABLE I PLAYED IN A COUPLE OF HOURS AGO.

THERE WAS THIS DUDE THAT KEPT GOING ALL IN, MOST OF THE TIME BEFORE THE FLOP, AND I WATCHED HIM LOSE ABOUT $75,000 $5,000 AT A TIME. THEN HE/SHE LEFT THE TABLE.

IT GOT ME TO THINKING ABOUT THE QUALITY OF MY PLAY, WHAT LEVEL AND HOW MANY CHIPS I HAVE WON. I PLAY ON THE FARCECRAP APP, WSOP. SINCE I LIVE IN ARIZONA, I CAN ONLY PLAY WITH THE FREE CHIP, NO REAL MONEY, TABLES.

FOR THOSE OF YOU THAT ARE FAMILIAR WITH, AND PLAY AT THIS APP, MY LEVEL AT THE MOMENT IS ACE IV, (4). I HAVE $800 MILLION CHIPS, A MAJOR PORTION OF WHICH I WON. I WAS UP TO $900 MILLION A FEW NIGHTS AGO, AND HAVE DROPPED A LITTLE.

NOW, HERE ARE MY THOUGHTS, WHAT I HAVE LEARNED OVER ABOUT A YEAR AT PLAYING THIS GAME ONLINE. KEEP IN MIND THAT THE MAJOR DIFFERENCE IN ONLINE POKER AND SITTING AT A REAL FACE TO FACE GAME, IS JUST THAT, YOU CANNOT SEE YOUR OPPONENTS FACES WHEN PLAYING ONLINE. MAYBE SOMEDAY, A PROGRAMMER WILL WRITE A PROGRAM WITH A SKYPE-LIKE FEATURE THAT ALLOWS YOU TO SEE ALL THE PLAYERS FROM CHEST UP? HMMM, HOW ABOUT FULL BODY CAMS, FOR STRIP POKER?

SO IT’S A REAL HANDICAP, NOT BEING ABLE TO SEE TELLS. WHAT YOU CAN SEE HOWEVER, IS HOW A PERSON PLAYS, LIKE IF YOU ARE DEALT A PAIR OF ACES, AND THE FLOP IS 6, 6, ACE, SO YOU SLOW PLAY YOUR TRIP ACES. THE ODDS ARE EXTREMELY SLIM THAT THE OTHER DUDE HAS POCKET SIXES. EVEN IF HE HAS ONE SIX, THAT MEANS YOU HAVE A HAND THAT ANYONE WOULD LIKELY BET ON, RAISE THE POT, OR EXPERIMENT AND SLOW-PLAY THE ACES, AND WAIT FOR THE TURN CARD. I’M NOT SURE WHAT THE ODDS ARE AT THAT POINT, BUT I CAN SAY THAT I HAVE LEGITIMATELY HAD THE WINNING HAND ALL THE WAY THRU THE RIVER AT LEAST 70% OF THE TIME.

I ALSO HAVE HAD THE ABOVE DESCRIBED HAND AND LOST TO MANY HANDS. I HAVE HAD ACES OR HIGH FACE CARDS IN THE HOLE, TURNED, AND RIVERED A FULL HOUSE, AND LOST TO FOUR OF A KIND, LIKE THE TIME A DUDE HAD POCKET SIXES, THAT TRIPPED UP ON THE FLOP, AND GOT HIS FOURTH SIX ON THE RIVER.

THERE ARE A LOT OF HANDS THAT I HAVE LOST, WHEN I THOUGHT MY THREE OF A KIND, OR MY STRAIGHT, OR MY FLUSH OR MY FULL-HOUSE WAS GOOD. THOSE LOSSES ARE WHAT POKER PLAYERS CALL “BAD BEATS” HOW EVER, AND FOR ME, IT’S ABOUT HALF OF MY 30 % LOSSES. THE OTHER HALF OF MY LOSSES ARE JUST PLAIN ERRORS ON MY PART, OR DOWN-RIGHT STUPIDITY.

A VERY SMALL PERCENTAGE OF MY LOSSES HAPPEN WHEN I START TO GET SLEEPY, AND MISS A WINNING HAND BECAUSE I CLOSED MY EYES AND DIDN’T CALL A BET, TIME RAN OUT, AND I AWAKENED TO SEE THAT I HAD JUST LOST THAT HAND 5 SECONDS AGO, THAT I SLOW PLAYED AFTER THE FLOP, CALLED ON THE TURN, EYES CLOSED ALL THE WAY THRU MY WINNING RIVER CARD, WHICH MY OPPONENT RAISED, AND THEN WON BECAUSE MY EYES WERE CLOSED AND TIME RAN OUT.

SUGGESTION: THESE ONLINE GAMES ARE SOFTWARE PROGRAMS, WITH WHAT IS CALLED, ALGORITHMS IN THE PROGRAM. THE CARDS ARE NOT A TRUE SIMULATION OF A REAL DEALER IN A REAL GAME. IF YOU SEE NOTHING BUT CRAPPY CARDS ALL THE TIME, IF YOU HAVE LOST HALF YOUR STACK, LEAVE THE TABLE, GO FIND ANOTHER TABLE. I HAVE BEEN ON TABLES WHERE, AS AN EXAMPLE, STARTED WITH $17MIL ON A $5MIL / $25MIL TABLE AND WHEN NOT CATCHING THE GOOD CARDS, LEFT AFTER FIVE OR SIX HANDS WITH ONLY SPENDING ON THE SMALL AND BIG BLIND, AND LEFT WITH MUCH OF MY CHIPS INTACT. I AM A FETISHLY CAUTIOUS PLAYER.

HAVING SAID ALL THAT, (SORRY FOR RAMBLING ON), HERE ARE A FEW BASICS WHEN PLAYING ONLINE POKER.

NUMBER ONE, AND MOST IMPORTANT, TAKE YOUR TIME, BE PATIENT, DON’T RUSH YOUR PLAY.

NUMBER TWO: LEAVE THE TABLE WHEN IT IS NECESSARY. I WILL LEAVE A TABLE FOR MANY REASONS. SOMETIMES YOU GET TIRED OF THAT ONE IDIOT WHO KEEPS GOING ALL IN BEFORE AND AFTER THE FLOP. TONIGHT, I FOLDED 15 TIMES TO HIS ALL-IN, AND NOT ONCE, WHEN THERE WAS TABLE ACTION AFTER THE DUDES ALL-IN, DID I HAVE A WINNING HAND.

IT WAS AN EXTRAORDINARILY CRAPPY TABLE FOR ME, FOR THE EARLY STAGES BEFORE HE/SHE FINALLY LEFT THE TABLE. AFTER THAT, I PLAYED AT THAT SAME TABLE FOR MORE THAN AN HOUR. WENT FROM $17MIL DOWN TO $12 MIL, UP TO $45 MIL, DOWN TO $ 40 MIL, AND LEFT THE TABLE UP $23 MIL OVER MY ORIGINAL INVESTMENT.

NUMBER THREE: CHANGE UP YOUR PLAY NOW AND THEN. I DON’T DO THIS AS OFTEN AS I SHOULD, BECAUSE PLAYERS THAT KNOW HOW I PLAY GENERALLY LEAVE A TABLE WHEN I FIRST APPEAR. TO DO THIS, TO REALLY CHANGE UP YOUR PLAY, YOU MUST BE WILLING TO BLOW A BUNCH OF CHIPS ON BAD OR ERRATIC PLAY, PURPOSELY. WHEN I SENSE THAT I NEED TO DO THIS AT A TABLE, I WILL MAKE STUPID CALLS AND/OR BETS, THAT IS RIGHT OUT THERE FOR THE PLAYERS TO SEE.

AFTER RUNNING OUT OF CHIPS, I WILL CHIP UP AND REJOIN THE SAME TABLE. SOME OF THE OPPONENTS WILL THINK, “EASY PICKIN IDIOT IS BACK”. I’M BACK, BUT THIS TIME WITH $25MIL IN CHIPS, INSTEAD OF $17MIL, LIKE MY SACRIFICIAL INVESTMENT PREVIOUSLY.

ON YOUR COMEBACK, PLAY WITH PATIENCE. YOU WILL WIN A LARGER PERCENTAGE OF THE HANDS YOU DO PLAY AND LOSE FEWER. YOU WILL SEE HANDS THAT YOU DIDN’T PLAY, END UP BEING WINNERS, HAD YOU NOT FOLDED. THIS ESPECIALLY HAPPENS, AS AN EXAMPLE, WHEN I FOLD A 3-9 OFFSUIT AFTER A FLOP OF KING, KING, NINE THEN THE THREE AND NINE COME ON THE TURN AND RIVER, WHICH WOULD HAVE MADE ME A FULL-HOUSE, AGAINST MY OPPONENTS THREE KINGS.

YOUR GAME/PLAY ALSO DEPENDS ON THE TABLE STAKES. IF ALL YOUR OPPONENTS LIMP IN ON A SMALL STAKES TABLE, YOU CAN AFFORD TO TAKE RISKS THAT YOU WOULD NOT TAKE ON A HIGH-STAKES TABLE. I FREQUENTLY PLAY THE $500K – $1 MIL BLINDS WITH MORE CAUTION THEN ON A SMALL BLINDS TABLE. I MAY CALL THE TURN AND RIVER WITH A SMALL PAIR, WHEREAS ON A HIGHER STAKES TABLE I WOULD FOLD HOLDING A LOW PAIR UNLESS A THIRD CARD TO MY POCKET PAIR SHOW UP.

IN CONCLUSION, HAVE FUN, PLAY SMART, BET SMART, BE PATIENT, AND PURPOSELY MIX IT WITH STUPID PLAY EVERY NOW AND THEN. LET ME KNOW IF THESE POINTERS HELP YOU WITH YOUR GAME. REMEMBER IT’S A COMPUTER GAME.

Strain: Grand-Ma’sBellyButtonLint, harvested September 23rd, 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.

 

Peace & Abide,

 

 

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD

 

 

 

I was about 4 and a half, maybe 5 years old, and our family was enjoying a week of camping and fishing up in the North Woods in Minnesota. Mom was very diligent about checking me for ticks maybe three or four times a day. She was good at seeking those little buggers out.

One night, just before going to sleep, I walked out of the tent, heading for the campfire where she was sitting with the other adults (three families) who were camping with us. “Mommy, I think I have a tick”, I said to her. She turned towards me as I was walking towards her and said, “Let’s take a look, where is it?”. It’s on my wee-wee I said.

Not wanting to pull my pajama bottoms and underwear down in front of the adults hanging out around our communal campfire, mommy and I walked back to our tent. We had one of those kerosene camping lanterns inside the tent, which she lit.

Pulling my PJ bottoms and underwear down, she spotted that tick right away. It must have recently latched on because it did not appear to be fat from my blood yet. Grabbing a liberal fingerful of Vaseline® Jelly from the jar in our tent, mommy smeared it on and all around the tick. Choke off the oxygen she said, as she had explained many times before.

Sure enough, after waiting for a few minutes, the tick backed out it’s fangs. Mommy gently picked that tick off. The usual end for a tick? Burning by lit cigarette tip. She turned off the camping lantern, kissed me good night and left the tent.

This was the first and last time I had the experience of a “tick” on my “dick”. It was not the first time I experienced erectile functionality. It was the first time I enjoyed a “hard-on” with the addition of Vaseline® Jelly on my penis. Mommy left most of it on my penis, because the tick bite itched.

Well, you guessed it. The spot where the tick had bit me itched, AND I had to rub it. The more I rubbed the itch, the harder I got. You know the “climax” to this short story.

Peace & Abide,

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD

Strain: Grand-Ma’sBellyButtonLint, harvested October 23rd, 2017

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.

STUDY WAR NO MORE!

I woke up this morning with a slightly elevated sense of satisfaction.  Did I accomplish something unusually gratifying in the past few days, like having an uncontrolled ejaculation whilst achieving  a hole in one on the Par 3, eighth hole at the Masters? No. Did I win the lottery? No, I’m still the same retired dude trying to survive on Social Security, and fighting the battle in my mind, like so many people with mental issues are doing. From the moment I woke up, I have had the feeling or sense that my life is worthy, and that I AM on the right track, at this time in my life., setting goals (however small or large they may be), and accomplishing them on a regular basis.

As a reminder, for those that follow my blog, I have had three strokes, the last one a Duesenberg, in July of 2015. I started writing and posting my blog in January 2016. I have repeatedly recommended “writing” as a therapy for depression, PTSD, Bi-Polar issues, and other debilitating conditions that hamper or decrease a persons overall well-being and feelings of self-worth, or lack there of.

Just like a really good bowel movement can sometimes feel very satisfying, what we accomplish in life, big or small, can give us a positive feeling about our lives. I once wrote (prestroke), “My life hasn’t been all THAT incredible……..except for all the INCREDIBLE things that HAVE happened in my life” – Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD

Why do I sometimes feel wonderful after taking a good crap?  Four years ago, I suffered from a rather nasty case of Diverticulitis, which resulted in my having to undergo an Ostomy. I lived with that “Shit Bag” attached to my stomach for over two years. Almost died! Talk about depressing! Add that physical disability to any form of depression……IT STINKS, literally, ask the people behind me in line at the grocery store. Ostomy farts are the funniest however.  So when the wonderful doctors at the MAYO Clinic in Phoenix reversed the Ostomy, i.e., reattached my anus, I felt wonderful, so taking a really good dump is exhilarating for me sometimes.

Depression related procrastination isn’t really procrastination. It’s being so fucking depressed, you just don’t feel like doing ANYTHING…..at all. Except to eat, sleep, and have a good bowel movement. I can sometimes go weeks on end doing absolutely NOTHING. It’s not normal, or healthy, I know. So when I actually wake up the next day feeling better, or good, or great, I tend to psychoanalyze myself to try to determine what the trigger was for this positive mental change.

This time, it was actually going grocery shopping and some banking. I was very low on essentials, like food. After putting away all the groceries, I started writing an article for my blogs and for Facecrap. This article, can be viewed at:

https://tcsblog.net/2018/04/23/sicario/

Whatever your passion is, write about it. It exercises your brain, and obviously for me, is a wonderful therapy. You can live a better life. It doesn’t mean the Governor just granted you a Pardon. But understanding depression and it’s triggers is a Reprieve. Even if you are desperately counting down the seconds in your life, like a condemned person waiting for the executioner to pull the “switch”, with time ticking away, pick up a writing tablet and pen or pencil. Write about anything, write the next Great American Novel. Write about childhood memories. Write about your passion. It works for me, I got a reprieve. I know the battle isn’t over, but I’m taking the initiative to deal with things.

There is no “magic” pill (although Mary-Jane helps tremendously). Set goals and reach for them. There is time, use it to your benefit instead of sleeping all day, or staring at the boob-tube all day.

 

 

Oh yeah, one other thing. I have totally ridden my lifestyle of drinking ANY alcoholic beverages. I’m hooked on water. Try it.

Peace & abide,

 

 

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD

 

 

 

 

Strain: Grand-Ma’sBellyButtonLint, harvested October 23rd, 2017

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.

 

 

So much silence regarding the Palestinians who were killed by the apartheid zionists yesterday. The silence from the so-called “Christians” here in the USA is especially sickening, and it’s fucking Easter? Go on, do nothing about the real evil in this world. By the way, CHOKING on your fucking Easter Ham is called Karma

Peace & abide

 

 

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD