Wednesday, May 28, 2014


It all started in the year of 2050; what we now call The Great Slide.  

The population of the earth had breached ten billion.  That is when the environment tipped over the edge: the CO-2 levels reached an historic high; ocean levels rose by two feet; the ozone layer all but disappeared; oceans acidified; the air became barely breathable; temperature rose to extreme high norms and the sun became deadly.    What resulted was a mass extermination which killed off most of the primitive third world populations and practically all animal life – the rats survived – and humans that were left became nocturnal – most living underground.  

The surface of the earth is now a fearful place.  The sun is deadly and daytime temps reach well above one hundred degrees, the humidity is always high and there are constant violent storms. 

The Slide was strange: Christians claimed it was the Apocalypse, and identified a God figure they proclaimed as savior.  The Christians became militant and Christian militias roamed the streets killing and torturing and looting in the name of the new Jesus.    Finally after a decade the government had to put them down.

I don’t believe in the Apocalypse or Gods; but a strange thing did happen at the beginning of the Slide: the dead came back to life.   They were reanimated, but only the fresh dead walked.   The recently deceased arose from the morgues and from shallow graves.    They staggered around in a grotesque semblance of living persons.  They weren’t dangerous except as disease carriers, but the noises they made as they tried to speak were unbearable.   It was quickly discovered that the best way to exterminate them was with fire; and most were burned within the first few weeks.


However, it is still eerie to walk through a cemetery, because your steps result in a cacophony of moans and shrieks from beneath the ground, from the corpse locked in caskets, entombed in concrete crypts and buried six feet below the earth.  The newly dead no longer walk but are cremated as a precaution – otherwise the rats would dig them up and eat them.  

 You are welcome to add to it - or not.

the Ol'Buzzard

Sunday, May 25, 2014


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When I am all used up you could just lay me out to rust here and I would be at home.  

the Ol'Buzzard


It takes all kinds to make a world; and I am pretty tolerant of people until they get in my space.  I really don’t have a problem with gun ownership and I can even forgive stupid people; but when stupid people are packing firearms in my vicinity I don’t like it. 

I have lived for seventy plus years and I have never felt threatened in a restaurant or a grocery store or Wal-Mart or Home Depot. 

If a person is so insecure they feel they need a firearm just to leave their house, perhaps they should just fortify their home and bunker down.  

It seems to me the real reason for people carrying firearms openly in public places is attention seeking.    Just like the militia, grown men and women pretending to be paramilitary; people carrying guns in public are living in a fantasy world of Road Warrior, where they are waiting for the world to go to shit so they save the day with their gun – automatic badass heroes – and it is all in their head. 

 Most of these people, if not all, are not screwed down tight.   They don’t actually see conspiracy theories around ever corner – they invent them.   It is a mind game.   They are badass wannabees and they think openly carrying a weapon impresses people.   And they are right: but the impression they are making is that of nut case with a gun; somebody best not to be around; an accident looking for a place to happen. 

I live in a community of about six thousand people – a small college town.  It is a quiet, safe and intellectually stimulating place to live.     About four months ago my wife and I went into the local supermarket.  Down one of the isles we happened on a mother and her son: he appeared to be thirteen or fourteen years old.   He was in dress pants, a dress shirt and tie, shined shoes and carrying a holstered Glock on is belt.   What kind of mother takes her armed teenager into a grocery store?  0bviously she was someone not playing with a complete deck of cards.    Considering the unusual way he was dressed, with his mother, and carrying sent up red warning flags and we left our half filled cart and departed the store. 

I have owned guns all my life.   I am probably more proficient than the average gun owner.   I was a member of the Quonset Point Navy pistol team and fired scores high enough to compete in All Navy competition.  I had an allotment of one thousand rounds of 45 cal. per month for practice.  I was awarded Navy Expert Rifle and Expert Pistol ribbons.  So I am not anti-gun: I am anti-gun nut. 

We have let the idiots take over the asylum and they are armed and packing and dangerous.   They are a greater dangerous to public safety that the people they claim they need protection from. 

If you want to go to a grocery store, a restaurant or a movie, leave your fucking guns at home; because you armed presence will definitely run my day and every other person in the area with common sense.   Stay out of my space with your fucking fire arms.   I have a right to live threat free and you are a public threat. 

Friday, May 23, 2014


I have decided to quit listening to Chris Matthews on MSNBC.   Up until this week my wife and I would tune into Chris while we ate supper.   After his program I always feel like lowering my head and charging into the wall.  

And what for?  

Why get wound up over something I have absolutely no power to change – and change to what?   The reality is that I have no option but to live through political changes I have no power to influence.  

I do not have money enough to buy my Senators and Congress Persons…    Presidential elections are decided not by my vote but by an electoral college appointed by political parties; and as far as a popular vote, it is obvious that that can be, and is being manipulated on a state level by these same political parties.

And even if my vote did count; a small, organized, vocal minority - the Republican minions (also known and the Tea Party and the Christian Fundamentalist – people who are capable of believing that Michele Bachmann and Sarah Palin are intelligent choices to govern us) can influence one of the only two viable political parties we have as a choice to the shithouse rat crazy extremes – which in turn can be manipulated by the billionaires whose actual goal is to establish an Oligarchy..

(Wow what a fucking sentence!  I think I will leave it alone and won’t edit…)

I will still listen to Rachel Maddow – she doesn’t rant and rave – and to Bill Maher and Vice on HBO for the WOW factor of crazy shithouse rat political machinations, which are nothing if not entertaining.

Politics to me is a voyeuristic sport, like professional football; something I have absolutely no power or ability to influence.   But, just because I am not capable of participating on any meaningful level does not mean that I don’t find it entertaining.     I just don’t need to get wound up over something I can not control. 

Spring is coming to western Maine, the daffodils are up and it is a beautiful overcast day.   I am going to have cereal and blueberries for breakfast this morning while we watch Rachel Maddow’s program that we taped last night.

Have a good day
the Ol’Buzzard

Thursday, May 22, 2014



Don't just watch it: Watch it again and again.
the Ol'Buzzard

Wednesday, May 21, 2014


The age old question of old age occurs when you look in the mirror and an old person is staring back, and you ask yourself: When did I get so fucking old?  Not; how did I live so fucking long – because it doesn't seem long to you.  

You are born and you die: you don’t remember the first and you won’t remember the last.

Along the train ride of life you decided that what you are doing is important – that you are moving toward a goal and that you and the rest of the world will reach nirvana when all your goals are met – but your goals were always ill defined – it is just moving ahead that is important. 

You meet, you fuck, you marry, you fuck, you shoulder responsibilities, you have opinions, you work, you travel…     And time passes.    At some point it becomes a reality that life is finite.  You are riding on this train with no destination but you will have to get off before the last stop.

Humanity has been able to escape Darwinism because of its ability to communicate.   Communication has led to cooperation and innovation; but this same communication has allowed corporate and individual greed and avarice - wars and genocide - rape and disaster and unbelievable mass-inhumanity on a grand scale.   The outcome only reinforces the maxim that we are semi-intelligent animals living in a meaningless world; and our destination is nowhere.

It’s only Rock and Roll
Everyone dies
Go with the flow
And try to have a few laughs.

Cletus Purcell (James Lee Burke’s Robicheaux series.)

Have a good day
the Ol’Buzzard 

Sunday, May 18, 2014


For some reason I don’t seem to be spending a lot of time on the computer (Blog.)

We have all been there: the urge seems to come and go.   Besides it is spring with all its demands of things that need doing - and also there are still a lot of books to read. 

However I am including a couple of jokes from the book HEIDEGGER AND A HIPPO WALK THROUGH THOSE PEARLY GATES by Thomas Cathcart and Daniel Klein:

   It got crowded in heaven, so Saint Peter decided to accept only people who’d had a really bad day on the day they died.   On the first morning of the new policy, Saint Peter said to the first man in line, “Tell me about the day you died.”

   The man said, “Oh, it was awful.  I was sure my wife was having an affair, so I came home early from work to catch her in the act.   I searched all over the apartment and couldn't find her lover anywhere.   So finally I went out on the balcony, where I found this man hanging over the edge by his fingertips.   So I went inside, got a hammer, and started hitting his hands.   He fell, but landed in some bushes and survived.   So I went inside, picked up the refrigerator, and pushed it out over the balcony.   It crushed him, but the strain of hefting the fridge game me a heart attack and I died.”   Saint Peter couldn't deny this was an awful day and that it was a crime of passion, so he let the man enter Heaven.   He then asked the next man in line about the day he died.

   “Well, sir, it was terrible.   I was doing aerobics on the balcony of the apartment when I slipped over the edge.   I managed to grab the balcony of the apartment below me but then some maniac came out and started pounding my fingers with a hammer!   I fell, but I landed in some bushes and lived!   But then this guy came out again and dropped a refrigerator on me!   That did it!”

   Saint peter chuckled a bit, and let him into Heaven.   “Tell me about the day you died,” he said to the third man. 

   “Okay, picture this.   I’m naked, hiding in a refrigerator…


   Malcom was taking a walk when he saw a frog in the gutter.   He was startled to hear the frog suddenly say to him, “Old man, if you kiss me, I’ll turn into a beautiful princess.   I’ll be yours forever, and we can make mad passionate love every night.”

   Malcom bent down and put the frog in his pocket and continued walking. 

   The frog said, “Hey, I don’t think you heard me.  I said if you kiss me, I’ll turn into a beautiful princess and we can make passionate love every night.”

   Malcom said, “I heard you all right, but at my age I’d rather have a talking frog.    

(You don't need a frog when you'be got a hot wife)
the Ol'Buzzard

Thursday, May 15, 2014



Fact: Low paying retailers hire the minimum number people necessary to move their product.

If Burger King needs X-number of people to wait on the public – and they raise salaries to a new minimum wage level – this will not result in Burger King firing employees.   They will still need the same number of people to serve the public.  It will just cause an increase in the price of a hamburger.  No one will complain – the demand will continue, the public will still eat hamburgers.

Republicans oppose minimum wage increases because they have extreme contempt for poor people.   The plight of the poor is a constant diversion from the policies and programs that benefit the wealthy.  The poor are viewed as leaches on society whose only useful purpose should be to fill the ranks of menial labor. 

The ideal solution for Republicans would be to establish labor camps to extract fair labor for government welfare.  Like capital punishment and stand your ground gun regulations, labor camps could be a rallying point for the Tea Party and the fundamentalist Christian base.

It is not about politics – it is about an oligarchy class and their minions manipulating the radical, the uninformed and ignorant in order to consolidate their own power.

And poor people: “Let them eat cake.”  

The Ol’Buzzard 

Monday, May 5, 2014


I told my wife that I wanted to buy an air compressor so I could spray paint the house.   She asked me why not just rent one.   I told her that she couldn't understand because men are from Mars and women are from Venus.   She said men are more likely from Uranus. 

I get no respect.

Women just don't seem to know their place.

Why Uranus?
Why would she say that?
the Ol'Buzzard

Sunday, May 4, 2014


A cowboy walks into a saloon: he’s tall, covered with dust; a gun is tied down low on his right hip.   He moves away from the door, into the shadow, stands for a minute and scans the tables. 

The bartender’s attention is drawn to the cowboy - and sensing an uncomfortable feeling that something is about to go bad-wrong, positions himself near the sawed off shotgun stowed near the cash box.

The cowboy’s spurs sing as he moves across the floor to the bar. 

For a moment the barkeep is held prisoner: captured by the steely, slate grey snake eyes that fix him from the shadow of the hat.   He can’t help but stare at the red scar that begins on the cowboy’s forehead, runs across the right eye and ends underneath the ear.   

Forcing his self-control the bartender asks, “Can I help you stranger.”

In a husky whisper that is little more than a growl the cowboy says, “Milk.”

I like milk.  I grew up drinking milk with meals.  I have milk on my cereal, and sometimes have a cold glass when I don’t want wine or beer.

During the eleven years spent in the Indian and Eskimo villages of the far north fresh milk wasn't available.   The milk of choice in the villages was Permalat. 

Permalat is not reconstituted – synthetic – with additives for ‘freshness’ or preservatives; it is real, honest to goodness milk that has been packed unprocessed, in soft, air proof containers that require no refrigeration until opened.  It will keep for months on the shelf with other non-perishables.

Permalat is ideal for people living in remote areas; people camping, hunting and fishing; people traveling in RV’s; or couples like my wife and I who want to keep milk on hand but don’t run to the store every couple of days.

I am a milk aficionado – and this is good milk.   It comes by the quart in 2% and whole; and both, to me, taste slightly richer than supermarket milk.  It could be that drinking it for many years I have developed a taste for it; but I don’t think so.  It is good milk.     

 the Ol'Buzzard

Friday, May 2, 2014



As a liberal caring person that attempts to follow the teachings of the Buddha, I abhor the state executions of human beings.   Any incident of people executed by a government is a crime against humanity.   Even though it is kept secret – removed from the view of the public – it is still barbaric; whether administered by hanging, stoning,  beheading, shooting, electric chair, boiling in oil, dismembering or lethal injection.

But then:
The prisoner recently executed in the state of Oklahoma was sentenced to death as the result of a home invasion where he raped a young girl, shot her and then buried her alive.   Had this happened to someone I cared for I would gleefully kill him myself – slow and painfully. 

My dilemma

the Ol’Buzzard 

Thursday, May 1, 2014


The best friend I ever had (to me a brother) died about three decades ago.  I have watched his son grow into adulthood and now into grey hair like me.  Just turning sixty he recently traveled down to Portland and purchased a Bushmaster.   He also has a concealed carry license.  I ask myself why?  Is he afraid or does he need that to display his manhood? 

Then I remember: we are not so unalike.   We started out the same, but somewhere in my later life I took a different turn – became a different person.  I changed. 

There was a time that I bought whiskey by the gallon, carried a pistol, hit on the wives of all my friends…bellicose, loud and obnoxious – I could fill pages with the outrageous things that I did.  

But about age forty I made a total life change.   I retired from the Navy, married a beautiful, intelligent women; we attended college together and then moved to Alaska and taught school in the Indian and Eskimo villages.   Now I try to be the man she wants me to be…but that earlier train wreck is still there, just under the surface.  

 So, how can I judge a friend?   We are in different worlds and have different perspectives - but I understand him – I have been there.     

A man defines who he is by his appearance and how he presents himself.  It is in the male DNA that we are part of a pecking order – and we try to distinguish ourselves in the pack.   Mankind has moved past the primitive days where physical prowess defined the alpha: where the top contenders competed; the wanna-bees puffed up and made noise; and the rest fell in line to follow.  It was always about who got the pick of the females. 

 Most men watch violent movies, violent TV shows and competitive sports.   We still vicariously see ourselves in the action hero role – and it is still about getting the pick of the females and the respect of other men.


Male psyche hasn't changed; but today we distinguish ourselves by more than just physical presence.   We can now be defined by money, intelligence, education, position and skill as well as physical prowess.   Many, or maybe most men, are just satisfied not to contend, but to lives independently.   This day and age we have that option.  

However, our DNA still wants to define us.   If we don’t have the money or the power or the position or some notoriety or the necessary self esteem, then we can apply for a carry permit and show up at the bowling alley or the ball game or the grocery store packing.  

Again, I don’t mean this to be judgmental: after all I dress up in leathers, ride my motorcycle and get a thrill at the power between my legs – that badass rush at riding in a pack of fifteen or twenty bikers. 


As men we are who we are, and that's our excuse; but it is still true that most of the harm inflicted on society comes from some primitive strain still embedded in the male DNA.  

the Ol’Buzzard