Bears, In And Out Of The Woods

There have been a lot of bear sightings in Eastern and Souteaster Kentucky lately, and visitors and residents have been appropriately warned against feeding them. More ominously, they have been advised to not leave food out in the yards, either in garbage cans, or even dog food, fo rvery long at a time. A lot of these bear sightings have, in fact, been not in the woods, but in peoples yards.

Amazingly, one area resident in the course of a local television news report expressed the pinion that the return of bears to Southeastern Kentucky was good for the area.

Oh, really? Good for who, I wonder? Good for hikers and campers to the area? Hard to see how. In fact, the more the bear population profligates, the less of them I see coming to the area, and what ones do, the less time I envision them spending. So, it can’t be that good for the local communities, which to a large extent are dependant on tourism, while not as of yet having the facilities that might be afforded in more popular areas such as the Smoky Mountains. Thus, there is not the degree of monitoring of either the tourist population, or that of the bears.

Or perhaps he was referring to the hunters who might be attracted to the propect of a weekend bear hunt, while availing themselves of the comfort of a forrest hunting lodge. Well, Kentucky is not quite as advanced as Romania, in that regard, and bear hunting so is illegal. In fact, it is illegal to kill bears, for any reason, including, evidently, in self-defense.

A year or so ago, a Kentucky native was awakened by the sound of what turned out to be a large bear trying to tear his way into his front door, presumably in an effort to get to his dog. The homeowner killed the bear, shot him several times, and was almost immediately charged with a violation. Suppossedly he should have ran out the bak door and got away, and returned after the bear had satisfied his primeval urges. The bear, you see, at least i Kentucky, is a protected species. This story faded from the news after some time, and I don’t know how it ever turned out, whether it was settled, the charges were dropped, or whether he was quietly fined or jailed or both. All I know for a fact is, the local news stopped covering the story.

At any rate, any propsective hunter of bears would be advised to start out from Bucharest, as oppossed to Buckhorn.

The only other advantage I see to the burgoning bear population is the potential environmental impact. They do indeed provide a necessary balance of nature, and help to thin out the herds of deer, and now elk, that mght otherwise defoliate the forrest areas. Hunters, of course, have helped nicely in this regard, it’s hard to see how bears are that much of a necessity.

Still, I will concede that they do make a vital addition to any forrest eco-system, under ordinary circumstances. Unfortunately, these days, the Kentucky forrests are becoming more and nore denuded by the encroaching of civilization, and by the stated need of mountain communities to expand beyond their traditional environs. Thus, in addition to many moutains being levelled,there are less and less forrests being restored, and less and less original land contours being maintained. This means, of course, that there is ever less land to provide for ever more bears. So, if you live in Eastern or Southeastern Kentucky, you can soon expect to see them in a backyard near you.

Of course, I guess you could make the minimal argument that the less people there are that go traipsing about in the woods, the less likely there are to be forrest fires due to carelessnenss, or outright arson. The only problem with that is, the kindof people that are either low down or stupid enough to engage in this kind of reckless behavior are precisely the kind that would love to set out food for the bears, no matter how often they are advised as to the dangers of such activity.

No, an increase of the bear population is not a good thing for Southeatern Kenucky. A moderate number in keeping with availiability of habitat is a good thing, no doubt. But too much fo a good thing quickly turns from being beautiful and interesting, into dangerous and wreckless.

The Great Fire Of Livingston Kentucky

When a raging, out of control fire destroys a business, home, or organization, as recently happenned in Livington Kentucky, there is not much that can be done but to salvage what mght remain, with an eye to rebuilding and eventually starting all over again. If that person, business, or organization has insurance, good isurance, and that insurance pays off in a timely and honorable manner, then the recovery can be a relatively swift, if not all togther painless, process.

If the home, business, or organization does not have insurance, however, then that is a different story. The recovery process will take much longer, will be that much more painful and stressful, and might even require the aid of some charitable undertaking.

Perversely, it was precisely the lack of insurance, and thus the need for a charitable funding drive, that was the direct cause of the fire that destroyed one of the most important organizations within the city of Livingston Kentucky. This organization, in an effort to raise money, had the intention of having a fish fry, and to that end, had acquired a fish fryer, evidently a deep fryer, which it tested, and then stored overnight in their building.

What happenned one night, the night of the fire, is a little murky. Maybe the machine had faulty wiring, and in the course of the testing got way too hot, or maybe someone had accidentlly left the machine plugged in, though thinkig it was turned off. Maybe there was enough grease inside the machine that it overheated and began to burn, becoming both a grease fire and perhaps causing an electrical fire at the same time.

Whatever happenned, by the time the fire was discovered, and finally extinquished, a great deal of damage had been done, in fact it was almost total destruction. The organizations building was all but destroyed, as well as most of the equipment. One thing that was greatly damaged, though evidently not destroyed beyond repair, was the organizations one vehicle.

As for the fish fry, that would still be on, though it would probably be delayed. Unfortunately, the object of the fish fry would now be geared toward not the continuing of operations, but in rebuilding. It was just too bad, very unfortuate, that the City of Livingston Volunteer Fire Department found itself unable to put out the blaze.

Luckily, the fire truck seems not to have been that badly damaged.

A Clark County Murder Trial

David Dressman is a young man in his early twenties, who might be looking at the prospect of spending the next twenty years or more of his life in prison, if convicted of the charge of murdering Dianne Snelling, the mother of his girlfriend, Stefanie Olsen. Stefanie was herself recently convicted of the charge, and has herself begun serving twenty years for her part in the murder, which she was complicit in instigating for, according to prosecutors, the urge to be free of her mothers dominaton, while at the same time acquiring what would have been her rightful inheritance of a 200,000 dollar life insurance policy.

Still, as of today, a monkey wrench might have conceivably been thrown into the works by the testimony of Timothy Crabtree, Dressmans and Olsens alleged accomplice, who early on in the case plea bargained for a six year sentence, in return for agreeing to admit to his involvement and to that of the other two defendants.

In court today, he testified that he was coerced into making these statements, it was the only way he could get this reduced sentence. He went on to state that he had no part in the crime, and knew of no role by Dressman and Olsen in it as well. The prosecution was aware of this, it’s not like they were blindsided, but they explained their decision to call him by saying it was the only way they could call to the stand a former cellmate of Crabtrees, who told of his confession to the crime.

Crabtree was upset, even crying at times, according to the informant, and expressed concern as to Dressmans ability to hold up, fearful that Dressman would in fact do as he ended up doing-testifying for the state against him and Olsen, in return for a lesser sentence. He even proposed killing Dressman, and then disposing of his body, on the land owned by his cellmates parents.

Still,the fact that this is a jailhouse informants testimony will of course call into question the integrity and motivations of this witness. If Dressman is inexplicaby found innocent of the crime, can a retrial for Stefanie, and possible acquital on appeal, be far behind. It seems unlikely, yet certainy possible.

Dianne Snelling was murdered three years ago in her Clark County Kentucky home. She was stabbed twenty-seven times. When a friend of Dressman and Olsens informed them of Dianes murder, they were both high on pot. According to her, Dressman seemed visibly shaken, upset. Olsen, however, seemed deathly calm, and even cold. Not exactly an expert psychological testimony, true. Still, it is chilling.

They Wait In Darkness

I just saw a report on the NBC affiliate WLEX Lexington news that would make anybody shiver, in fact, this is the stuff that horror movies are made of. Think of “The Birds”, and then think of “Willard”. Need I say more?

The setting is Race Street in downtown Lexington, in what appears to be a run down, predominantly black neighborhood. Yet, the woman who is the main human subject of the story is white. This one lone old white woman has the entire neighborhood up in arms, and yet, in the grip of fear. Because, her house is full of rats. Everywhere. They are living there, and breeding there, and dying there. Her floors are rotted, and under the flooboards, there are dead rats. And, there are living rats.

She feeds them. Every day. A ten pound bag of dog food. There are so many rats, they go through this ten pound bag of feed in just a little over two hours. Then, they start to get active. There are so many of them, she places the full bag inside a big plastic garbage can, into which they climb. By the time they are finished, the container is laying on it’s side on the ground, and has been moved several feet from where it started.

The rats wander about the neighborhood. They seem to be immune to rat poison. The police say there is nothing they can do about it, as the woman has really broken no laws they know of. Other neighborhood residents insist the house should be condemned, burned down, destroyed. Ah, but then, where would the rats go?

So why does the lady feed them? According to one of the area residents, the woman claims the rats are her pets. Truthfully, if she said this, it may have been in sarcasm. When asked why she continued to feed them, her answer was curt,and to the point.

“So they won’t bite me”, she replied.

As Dark Clouds Gather Over Brazil

A woman Brazil was recently acquitted by a jury of the murder of her husband based in large part, suppossedly, on the testimony of a psychic who claimed to have channelled a letter from the murdered mans spirit, which was read in court, and which absolved the accussed woman of any guilt in her husbands death. He did bitch her out though, and declared that he had inteneded to leave her. No word on who the real kiler is.

Don’t bother starting over at the beginning, you saw it correctly. She was acquitted, based at least in part due to this testimony, by a jury. Well, why not, hell, the judge allowed, as a matter of fact, the prosection didn’t even object to it.

Who knows, maybe they have too many pressing issues on their minds right now. The recent gang violence in Sao Paulo, for exampe, where there has been open warfare being waged between criminal gangs and the police, based on gang attacks and in which police have kiled, as of last count, some thirty five gang members. Still, the open attacks, many of them conducted in broad daylight, right in the middle of the city, goes on unabated, with no solution yet in sight.

Some of them might be considering the broader impications of Brazils recent successful indoctrination into the seemingly ever growing nuclear club, as they have recently announced their successful results at experiments at enriching uranium.

All this, and not a word from the U.S. Yet, we’re all so worried about Iran.

Mexican Voodoo

An interesting story from out of Mexico involves presidential politics and, of all things, voodoo dolls. A citizen of Mexico can now, for a fee, be involved in the electoral process to an extent never before possible, it seems. The purchase of a doll as a representative image of the Mexican presidential candidate of your choice can serve a variety of functions. All you need in addition to the doll is a needle, a little bit of faith, and a whole lot of resentment toward politicians. That last part should be easy enough, if the truth were known much moer so in Mexico than here. Nevertheless, here is how it works.

If you stick a needle in the dolls eye, it will insure that the candidates true intentions will become transparent.

If you stick the needle in it’s heart, it will make your candidate sincere in his promises.

If you stick the needle in the dolls right hand, it will make him always tell the truth.

There might be something to this. I recall how during the last presidential election, it was pointed out that, over the last few election cycles, the major candidates had been represented by bobble head dolls,which are offerred for sale. In all elections that this has been observed, the candidate whose bobble head doll sells the most units, is invariably the winner of the election. In the last one, George Bush’s bobblehead easily outsold John Kerrys. So much for Diebold.

In Mexico, it might well work in reverse, so whoevers voodoo doll sells the most might want to take special pains at being truthful and sincere, at being as open and transparent as possible. Of course, politicians are skilled at that anyway, for the most part.

Maybe they should just shove it up its ass, or into it's crotch, and hope they don't get shit on and fucked like they usually get in that shitty little country.

The Right To Privacy And Dignity

Imagine just for one moment that your mother has died. You are at her funeral, trying your best to cope with your distraught emotions, trying to keep it together, yet at the same time wanting to grieve, to let it out. Your friends and other family members are there to comfort you. They are grieving too. Not as badly as you are, perhaps, but they share to a limited extent your pain, your barely consolable grief, your anguish. You try to remember the good times, to remember her in all those positive ways. It’s hard, but you try, even though, at times, this makes it only worse. You also feel a sense of guilt. If only you hadn’t had that last argument. If only you had told her how much you loved her, how much she had meant to you over the years, how much you appreciated the sacrifices, the values she had tried to instill in you. You hope that she was proud of you, and more importantly, you hope she knows beyond any doubt how much you truly loved her.

You look out over the crowds of consolers, and you notice a male figure approaching, dressed in a suit. You have never seen him before, do not know who he is, but that’s okay, your mother was a well loved, respected woman. Certainly not perfect, by any means. Like all human beings, she has make her share of mistakes. But she was a good woman, a loving mother, a woman admired and respected by all those who truly knew her. And so, it makes sense that some strangers would arrive to pay their repects. Strangers such as the man you see now, approaching your mothers open coffin, with a determined look on his face, a glint of what you can ony describe as anger in his eyes. Anger at the cruelty of death, perhaps, for having taken one so well loved, so caring, at what many might consider to be well before her time?

He approaches your mothers form, then turns to approach the podium. He seems intent on giving a eulogy, yet it is not time. Still, he announces his presence to the whole of the people assembled at the small town funeral home, with a loud and actually somewhat arrogant sounding harrumph. He addresses everyone as lades and gentlemen, and then he intorduces himself., His name, he says, is the Reverend Fred Phelps. That’s odd, you think. Has he for some reason had to replace your pastor at your mothers service. But why? Soon, as he speaks, his intent becomes all too clear.

“This woman”,He says. “Was nothing but a low down,no account whore. This slut, whom you people are pretending was the salt of the earth, was one the biggest bitches in this town. Was her entire life. Any man could have her, and by god, just about any man did. All her children are bastards, conceived in sinful adultery. This is the kind of woman, and these are the kinds of children, who are going to bring the judgment of God down upon America. You shouldn’t cry at her passing. You should rejoice that she has been no doubt sent down to the pits of hell where she belongs.

“Rejoice and repent!”, he concludes as he waves his arms and, outside the funeral home. you hear a chorus of people. Looking out the window in stupefied shock, you see men, women, and children, carrying signs, some with your mothers name followed by words like “slut”, “whore”, “bitch”, and others with an admonishment to turn from such sins, and declarng Gods curse on America for condoning such lifestyles.

Soon the whole congregation joins you in an expression of outrage, combined with shock and grief at the audacity, the cruel, cold heartedness of this action.

I guess you’ve figured out by now this is my way of saying I am all in favor of the law passed to limit protests at military funerals to within a certain spot and to an hour before and after the service. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the exact same scenario. The fact that one of the funerals is conducted with military honors is to me an incidental irrelevance. Such actions would still be intruding on a families private grief, and should not be allowed in either case.

Besides, this isn't about freedom of speech. There are privacy issues involved here. Their may, however, be one aspect of our constitutional rights that may be pertinent here. The real issue here, in this case, is freedom of association. And if any family decides, in the throes of their very real and very painful private grief, that they do not want to be associated with the likes of Fred Phelps, for good or for ill-including the right to not have him in their presence in a threatening, harrassing manner- then so be it. Their wishes should be honored.

Divine Instigations

Something has got Fred Phelps on this wagon train to nowhere, and after giving it some thought, I think I’ve decided I think I know what it might be. It’s too obvious to say that he is just an insincere jerk, wanting to rattle peoples chains for money and publicity. That would be way too easy. His fame almost immediately crossed over into the line of infamy without a backwards glance, and though he is certainly well known, what good will that do him?

I would submit that Fred Pheps is the William Hung of Conservative Christian ministers. It is the very fact of the intensity of his hatred, which is so absurd, that it stands out in a crowd, though otherwise his words and deeds would be as forgettable as his talent and ability.

When Matthew Shepherd, a young gay student, was brutally beaten and murdered, left to die strung up along a fence on a Montana farm, way out in the middle of nowhere, Fred Phelps had been an almost totally unknown preacher probably barely eking out a living. Even by the standards of the surrounding communities in Kansas in which he lived and practised his faith and profession, he was probably relatively small time. He might even have been the butt of jokes,known by all as that old hellfire and brimstone preacher Phelps. Before this event,he may have even been somewhat moderate by comparison. But one thing for sure-he was definitely small time, and destined to forever remain so.

But Matthew Shepherd changed eveything for Fred Phelps. Matthew Shepherd had achieved a degree of fame he could only pretend to admire from a distance, could only barely imagine emulating.

Matthew Shepherd had been crucified. Now, after sufferring through his horrid ordeal, he was in the process of being deified. The crime against Matthew Shepherd was a crime of hate, and was being identified as such. Fred Phelps identified with that hate, for he felt it himself, and when he saw Matthew Shepherds photograph, and considered how he was now being given honor and dignity in death, how this crucified gay man was now being ressurrected and deified, he could not stand silently by and watch his ascension to heaven in the mind of his followers and sympathizers. It made the bile rise up in the heart and mind of Fred Phelps, and it utterly disgusted him. It made him sick. And he could just not stand idly by and allow it to go unchallenged.

After all, he had followed in the footsteps of Christ, in his own meager way, to the best of his all too limited ability, and had received no thanks for it. Indeed, he had many times received scorn. But now, Fred Phelps understood. A special calling had been reserved, just for him. Now, he could truly follow in Christs footsteps. Yes, he would still have scorn heaped upon him, yes he would still be ridiculed. But the lord his god had prepared him well for this mission in life. And he would fufill his destiny come what may.

Where In The World Is Jimmy Hoffa

He’s been buried under pro football field endzones. On other occassions, he has been buried under apartent buildings, high rises, and various other sundry construction projects. He’s been weighted down and/or stuffed into various receptacles and dumped in lakes, rivers, ponds, and oceans. He’s been ground up with a meat grinder. One time, after this occurrence, he temprorarily became an ingredient in the nationally known dog food brand Alpo. A few times before and after this, he was run through a scrap metal compacter, once or twice while inside a junked vehicle. He was incinerated, at least once or twice. His body has been chopped up and scatterred all over the place. At other times, he was left intact and buried in graves, some shallow, some very deept, and left to rot, thogh from time to time after being treated with lye to hasten decompisiton and minimize the scent of decay.

He is of course Jimmy Hoffa, the former Teamsters Union boss and Maffia racketeer asociate, who disappearred in 1978, never to be seen again. NEVER-I repeat-to be seen again. You see, when Richard Nixon pardoned him during his first term, it was with the understanding that he would seek no further ofice with the Teamsters or any other Union, and would stay away from gangsters. This deal was said to have been brokered by Nixon supporter Frank Fitzsimmons, Hoffas sucessor as head of the powerful Teamsters Union. Hoffa didn’t like the deal, and was detemrined to make a comback. This probably was not why he was killed, of course, he was killed because, in the course of it, he seemed detemrined to make waves.

This of course, was basically the same kind of thing that got Johnny Rosselli a trip to the Gulf of Mexico in his own private one man oil drum. But you see, Roselli, the notorious Las Vegas mobster repsonsible for the presenceof Howard Hughes in Vegas in earlier years, was discovered due to a simple fluke. Or, perhops he was meant ot be found, as a warning to any peson that might consider testifying before the Congress, as Roselli was suppossedly scheduled to do soon bfore hisdemise. Otherwise, it could just easily have been assummed that Roselli, not exactly a household name, simply skipped off for parts unknown.

This od course is something that could never be assummed about the highly popular and influential though controverial and corrupt Hofffa. And that is why Jimmy Hoffa will never be found. Precisely because they know this.

They know you’re looking for him, still, after all this time.

Vacation Aruba-A Year Of Getting Away With It All

It’s been a year now, and those bones are still ot ther somehwere in a remote spot of Aruba, screaming to be found. Well, okay, they’re not screaming. They’re not even stinking any more. Not even if they were all long ago turned to animal shit. But when the kalpoe Brothers and Joran Van Der Sloot, in my opinion, dumped the dead body of Natalie Holloway, whom they raped, and continually drugged until they accidentally killed her, in a remote area of the small island, surrounded by trees and bushes, possibly just dropping her from their car fromtheside down a hilly slope into oblivion, they knew she would never be found. All tey had to do, if they were questioned at all, about thir association with her, was lie, insist they had dropped her off. If she were later found and seen to have sufferrd a blow to the head from when Joan hit her, they would explainthis ahead oftime by saying that as she left the car, she stumbled and fell flat onher face. Brilliant plan. Just point out that there are niggers o the sland, in fact ty saw one fo them, a security guard, escort her to her feet, and out of their sight. And yes, of course she had sex with them willingly, they would say, hell, if you find her body you’ll probably find semen with our DNA all over it. But it was consensual, you see.

Yes, it’s been over a year, and still the well in the yard of Paulus Va Der Sloot, the father of main suspect Joran, has yet to be searched. He will not allow it to be searched. Of course, by now, it is probably too late. After this one full year, there is probably nothing left in the well, no bloody item of womens clothing, or a male gym shoe. They may have been retrieved long ago, if possible. But why don’t they look? Just for the hell of it? Why aren’t they allowed to look?

Whatever the case, probably nothing left but a few old bones, scatterred here and there, the rotting flesh and muscles and fat and organs long ago gnawed away, the remainder scorched by the sun, the heat, the wind, the rain.

Missing: Breanna Eversole

An attractive fourteen year old from Richmond Kentucky, Breanna Eversole has now been missing since May 21^st, twelve days as of the writing of this post. So far, the only thing I’ve heard about this is a ntice in my local newspaper. I’ve seen nothing about it on television, nor have I seen any amber alerts issued. Yes, she is a white girl, a very pretty one. One that I would imagine would easily catch the eye of the many potential predators that inhabit the envirojs of Richmond, including but not limited to the sizeable population of Eastern Kentucky University, to say nothing of the many passers-by to the area by way of Interstate 75 and surrounding counties, for many of whom Rchmond is the closest “west state” in which they can legally purchase alcohol.

Yet, despite all these considerable factors, I have yet as to hear cetain things that should be publicly explained. Where was she last seen, for example. At what time. Who was the last person known to have seen her, and when and where. Did she frequent the Richmond mall, or any fo the many stores and shopping centers, restaurants, etc. Yet, none of this informationhas been made availiable.

All of which leads me to question is this girl possibly a runaway? Is this just a desperate attempt to try to find a young girl who may, as far as I know, have pulled this knd of stunt before.

Still, twelve days is a long time for a girl this age to be missing, with no clue as to her whereabout, or evidently, her associations. And it might be appropriate to point out, in this and other such cases, that a good many of the times, runaways have one important fact in common with kidnapping victims. They can both easily end up raped, murdered, and their remains disposed of in out of the way locations.

And Now-The Rest Of The Story

Famed radio broadcaster Paul Harvey recently commented on the town of Mt. Vernon Kentucky, and though I never heard the broadcast myself, you can bet it created quite a stir. A sheriffs candidate for Rockcastle County, in fact, has made mention of the broadcast in his run for office. It is a reason, he says, why he should be considered not only qualified for the office, but the only viable alternative to replace current incumbent Darrell Doan. Having been a ecetn arrival to the county, he says, he owes no one anything.

You might have figured out by now that harveys comments were not positive. If so give yourself a cigar, or a kewpie doll, or whatever. You might have, if you have seen some of my prior comments on my home county, assume that I am solidly in agreement with Harvey’s comments that, as he put it, “if you want to commit murder and get away with it, just go to Rockcastle County Kentucky.”

If so, hand back the kewpie doll. If you’ve already smoked the cigar, however, don’t worry about it, I will make allowances for the possibility that Harvey might have been engaging in a bit of heavy handed hyperbole.

Outside of hyperbole, however, the statement has no basis in fact. For all the problems I have seen in this area, only a few of which I have noted on this blog, this not only does not belong in the litany of complaints, but it could, if miscontrued-or accurrately construed, as the case well may be-be a negative force that is not in the least helpful to any long term county improvement.

In fact, it crosses the line greatly. Out of all my knowledge of Mt. Vernon and Rockcastle County Kentucky recent history, I have endeavored to remember a time when a murder in this area was committed, in which the perpetrator has gotten away with the deed, a time, in fact, in which there was never a prosecution. I have honestly tried to remember, but alas, I can not honestly remember such an event.

And it has not been for lack of occasion. There have indeed been murders in the county over the last several decades. But I can honestly think of no circumstance in which a known murder was committed that the perpetrator was not caught, and sucessfuly prosecuted. And it has been of no consequence to what station in life the victim belonged.

About a decade ago, one of the local low-lifes was murdered and buried eight feet underground. The perpetrators were cpatured and successfully prosecuted, though it did take some time before the crime actually came to light. But once it did, that was the end of the road. It turned out to have been drug related.

There have been times that convicted murderers did not, in my opinion, get their just deserts, and Harvey could legitimately be referring to such events as a man who, having shot his wife twice with a loaded gun, claimed the shooting was accidental. He received, I think, a total of two years for manslaughter. There were other instances of people murdered in the course of drunken card gams in which the penalty may not have been severe enough, but you can put this down to being spur of the moment crimes committed in the heat of anger, to lack of premeditation.

The one murder in the county I can think of, in fact, that was never sucessfuly prosecuted, was the murder of a man who seems to have been present during a great many of these card games, in at least two of them, in fact. He was shot dead in the yard, where he lay in a drunken stupor, of a friends house, where a party had been held, suppossedly by an unknown, passing motorist. To my knowledge, no suspects were ever arressted.

Be that as it may, violent crimes of this nature, while they do occur here, do so with no more frequency than in other areas of similar size and population, and what is more, the number of arrests and sucessful prosecutions for the crime are at least the equal to other areas, and possibly on the average higher. Which is why I take humbrage with Mr. Harveys comments.

Many years ago, at last fifty,and possibly more, an old man on his death bed confessed to having kidnapped and murdered a young girl who had years before this dissappearred without a trace. He gave directions to the wooded area where he had left her, and sure enough her bones were uncovered. This was another occasion of an unsoved crime, the only one I can think of, but like I said, this was at least fifty years ago.

For the one and only other unsolved murders in the county, that I can recall as of now , you of necessity need to go back to the nineteenth century, some years after the Civil War. A handful of men had recently been convicted of burning down the then Mt. Vernon courthouse. Two of them were abducted and hanged outside of town, by men reputed to be the Ku Klux Klan. The ringleader of the group had somehow managed to escape this mob justice, almost by the skin of his teeth.

For the lynching of the guilty parties, and the attempted abduction and murder of the third man, who sneaked out the back of his home as they approached from the front, no one was ever, to my knowledge, brought to trial. In fact, no one was ever identified as the Klan members supposedly responsible.

Yet,the story does come full circle, and illustrates the real problem with the county, one that has lasted up until this day. The very man who was convicted in a court of law, of burning down the old court house, the same man who had barely eluded Klan justice-all because he wanted to destroy evidence pertaining to another crime he had committed which was stored there, was indeed held to a kind of account by the citizens of Rockcastle County.

He was elected County Judge.

And so it goes. With money, with connections, the worse of the worse can acquire and maintain elected office. That is nothing new, nor, however, is it a phenomenon that is limited solely to the environs of Rockcastle County Kentucky, sadly.

Not that all of the countys elected officials are this bad. For the most part, they just have an attitude of entitlement, and a lackadaisical attitude toward making any needed changes or improvements to the County. And this needs to be pointed out,and changed. Unfortunatey, hyperbole such as Harverys, however well intentioned, is all too easy to be misconstrued, taken literally, and therefore,makes no positive contribution toward that much needed change.

Page Two, please?

Coroners Request

Rockcastle County Coroner Billy Dowell has finally been granted something by the Rockcastle County Fiscal Court that he hasn’t had in his entire thirty years of service to the county-an official coroner vehicle. That is the only good thing about this story, which does little to mitigate the fact that the request was granted after much heated discussion. The worse thing about it is that Dowell even had to make the request.

Yet, for the last thirty yeas, Dowell has been forced to use his own vehicle to transport patients to Frankfort for the purposes of autopsies, when these were deemed necessary when deaths occurred under suspicous or unknown circumstances. He has even been forced to use his own vehicles to transport dead bodies, in some rare instances, which were the subjects of massive decomposition due to having been dead for long periods of time before their doscovery, in some cases bodies that were greatly mangled.

Admitedly,this is not as bad as it sounds at first glance, as Dowel is the successful business partner in one of the area funeral homes, Dowell and Martins, and so was able to avail himself of one of the business vehicles. This, however, is beside the point. It is one thing to expect a person to do so much in the line of civil duty. But this is really beyond the pale, especially as I am even unsure as to whether he was reimbursed gas mileage. I would like to say he was, but as of now I can’t say that. And, of course, there is also maintenance to consider.

This is especially galling when you consider that, up until just a few short years ago, Billy Dowell, as County Coroner, was paid less than what is normally paid for the office of dog catcher. The county is lucky, by the way, that he has been willing to perform this function for the last thrity years, under these conditions, with no complaints up untilthis point, so far as I know.

It makes you wonder just what kind of person would even consider running for office in Rockcastle County. Constable, for example, which technically is a kind of law enforcement, though very limited in range, as is the pay, which I would only describe as minimal at best. In fact, until recently, it was limited solely to an award for every ticket written that was collected on. It still is not much better than that, really.

I understand the need to cut corners and meet basic expenses, and the desire to refrain from raising taxes, especially as the tax base of the county is not so great to begin with-a situation which could be easily remedied by making the county wet, for example. But these problems are precisely why the same people seem to get elected to office and keep it year after year. They have their ways of making it pay off, and nobody is inclined to rock the boat. I guess Billy Dowell, for all his selfless civic mindedness, had finally had enough. And I for one don’t blame him.

As his daughtrs pointed out in a letter to the editor of the town paper, The Mt. Vernon Signal, if county money isn’t going to be used for valid purposes such as this, what is it to be used for, to be kept back to make a few road repairs during election years?

Ernie Fletcher And Joseph Lambert-Balancing Checks

Ernie Fletcher just cant seem to move a muscle without bumping into controversy, and this time he has been joined in this display of accident proneness by Joseph lambert, the Chief Justice of the Kentucky Supreme Court, whose wife, Debra lambert, is the sitting judge of my districts Family Court.

A law was recently passed which stated that a retired judge who decided to leave retirement, upon assumming office, can no longer draw both his pension and the salary for his or her current post. So therefore, if a judge is drawing 250,000 dollars a year, and also a pension fo 30,000 dollars a year, then he must forfeit his judges salary, or a portion thereof, to where he is drawingno more than one complete salary. This kind of practive has been an on-going, though certainly not that common, controversial practice known as “double dipping”.

It sounds like a reasonable law to me, and Ernie Fletcher agreed, and so after it was passed by the Kentucky legislature, he signed it into law. Joseph Lambert was of the opinion that it was so good a law, in fact, that it should be implemented immediately, and told Governor Fletcher so. Previously, Fletcher had been disposed towards waiting until after the next election cycle bfoe it takes effect. Therefore, it would not apply to any judges currently sitting, or who might be elected during the next election. Thanks to Lamberts influence, however, Fletcher utilized the line item veto to excise this item out of the bill, therefore making th elaw immediately applicable.

All well and good, so far as I’m concerned. Unfortunately, there’s a hitch. The man running against lamberts wife, Debra, for the Family Court Judges seat this election, is a man who has come out of retirement to run agains the controversial Judge Lambert. And he and his supporters are outraged.

And really, I could care less about whether this candidate, were he to win, would be able to engage in the practice of double dipping. In fact, I think it’s a practice that should have never been allowed. But he does make a point that Jospeh lamberts influence on the Governor in this matter is a definite conflict of interest, and an obvipous one at that. Yet, stupidly, Fletcher played along with it, and wonders why his administration is considered the most corrupt in recent Kentucky history. And believe me, it takes some doing to reach that level. Kentucky has had some real doozys.

And besides, this is blatantly unconstitutional, on every level. Joe Lambert, a sitting Justice, an official of the Kentucky judicial system, has no business interfering or inserting his influence into a matter of state business on the legislative or the gubernatorial level. His opinion on these matters is welcome only when a matter pertaining to them appears before his court. Otherwise, he should shut his fucking mouth.

Fletcher vs. Pence

Things could scarcly get any worse for Kentucky Governor Ernie Fletcher than they are right now. He himself has been indicted for abusing the states hiring system, and has been roundly criticized for issuing blanket pardons to anybody else in his administration who might be indicted. As of now, a number of sealed indictments have been issued, and quite a few of Fletchers cabinet and administrative staff have resigned under a cloud of suspicion. Now, Liutenant Governor Steve Pence has announced that he would not seek re-election as Lieutenant Governor in 2007 as Ernie Fletchers running mate.

This was discussed between Pence and Fletcher beforehand, and evidently Fletcher was fine with this. But what came next has sent the entire state ito a tailspin. Pence has said he will not as of now support Fletcher for re-election, and is himself leaving his options open.

In response to this, Fletcher personally asked Pence to resign. But Pence has as of now refused to do so. As he explains, the people own the offices towhich they are all elected, the public servants are merely temporary occupants of the offices. He had been elected to serve four terms, and he intends to fulfill his entire term.

Flethcer for his part has said, both personally and through spokespersons, that it would be best for the state if Pence resigns, that his administration is in need of a team player, which Pence no longer is.

I personally find it curious that Pence, a former prosecutor noted for targeting polticial corruption, has made no comments about the on-going state hiring scandal, only it seems obvious that this is the genesis of the problem.

So is he planning on running for governor? I don’t know, but I am guessing , he probably will not, and will possibly opt for a run at a U.S. House of Representatives seat, or may be looking ahead for a potential primary run against Senator Jim Bunning. Of course, the thing about it is, if things get any worse for Fletcher, or he fails to resove thecurrent issues with which he is afflicted, Pence, a right wing Christian conservative, may be the state Republican Partys only saving grace in the coming election. He might indeed be the only possible alternative to Fletcher as far as the Repubican Party keeping the governors seat. It’s hard to imagine Fletcher winning re-election at this stage of the game.

On the other hand, a primary battle between Fletcher and his Lieutenant Governor is likely to split the Republican Party wide open. Yet, in a poll conducted yesterday by WLEX Lexington, an NBC local affiliate, those who thought Pence should remain in his office totaled 79%. Those who though he should resign totaled a mere 17 %. Only four percent of respondents were undecided or unsure.

Pence is playing with a strong hand, while Fletcher is hemorhaging. You are tempted to ask, how could Pence not remain, not run against Fletcher in the 2007 Republican primaries. It would certainly draw a lot of attention, as would the following general election. In fact, this might, if it comes to pass, be one of those odd times where a primary election drawsmore interest than the genral election. Sort of puts you in mind of the old days of pro football, when the NFC championship was all but guaranteed to be a better game than the Super Bowl.

Pence has to pay it by ear, of course. On the one hand, he could alienate a lot of the Republican Party power brokers, both on the state and national levels. On the other hand, if he plays his cards right, this might be his one best shot at national stature, and eventual office.

On the other hand, I've always said that the alliance within the Republican Party between the corporatists and religous right was at best a marriage of convenience, at worse a marriage made in hell, and might well result one day in anything from an amicable seperation, at least on the surface, to a full fledged heated divorce. What is going on in Kentucky might well be the first symptoms of this rupture.

The Curse Of The Pussy Eating Vampire

The following short story I first sent to my Yahoo Group, Paganbitchslap. No, it's not a true story, though I couldn't resist trying to con my fellow group members into thinking it was. Just added to the fun, I guess. To this end, I used my own true real name as the name of the main character.

It's kind of rough, it's really just a first draft, one I have as yet to edit, yet which does need editing. Here it is in it's entirety, the way it was originally presented, typos and all. Hope you enjoy it.

The Curse Of The Pussy Eating Vampire

by

Patrick Kelley

It started with a loud series of knocks at my door, mind numbingly
loud, the kind that seem to go through your soul. Though the door
was locked and I was inside I could see her outside the door,
accompanied by a small number of individuals of indeterminate
appearrance. I hide to hide, but before I could execute this
strategy, there she was. I knew who she was, in her not quite
kneelength black, tight skirt with matching black top, black shoulder
length, wavy thick hair, medium complexion and dark brown eyes that
pierced through my soul as she sneered condescendingly and, nodding
her head in accentuation of each syllable, said in a gravelly voice
from the deepest pits of hell, carried by the north wind, -

"TAKE HER OUT TO EAT!"

I woke up in a sweat, chilled to the bone, and scared to death. It
was the kind of nightmare you have that seems real for minutes after
you wake up, and makes you afraid to go back to sleep. I looked at
the clock. It would only be three and a half hours before time to go
to work anyway, might as well stayed up. I fixed a pot of coffee,
drunk half of it, took a shower, drunk the other half, put on another
pot and, by the time I fixed and ate breakfast, I was over the
initial horror, though still transfixed by the reality of it.

I would think long and hard, I swore to myself, before invoking
Hecate for ANYTHING!

By the time I had been to work for a couple of hours, I was somewhat
at my old self, until I saw the reason I had invoked Hecate to begin
with. There she was, standing in the door of the store, winking and
smiling seductively, only because she knew it drove me batty. The
cutest little Goth chick in town.

How do you like my hair? she asked me. She had changed it from
purple to jet black, with brighjt red lipstick. She was dressed all
in black, with fishnet stockings. The perfect appearrance of a
vampire. I hit the cash button prematurely. whn she whirled around.

"It's, uhh, n-n-n-nice," I stammerred like an idiot.

The ritual worked, I realized. Or had it? Hecate in the dream had
been dressed more like a businesswoman, albeit one who had not
discarded her sense of style or sensuality. Raven was something else
all together. But what was it Hecate had said?

When she made it back up to the register to purchase her hanging
basket, I blurted out -

"I would like to take you out to eat".

My co-worker stiffled a laugh as he began stocking a nearby shelf.

Raven paid for her basket - which is to say, I hit the cash key - and
she said, with a winsome smile, " I'm just going to have to think
about that"

She made it to the door, then turned and said, "maybe later on this
month"

Strangely, she kind of laughed and went out the door.

Owen, my coworker, walked up to me and said, "you need some fucking
therapy, my friend," but he smiled and giggled as he sjhook his head.

I don't know what my thing is about Goth chicks. I'm not in the
least bit interested in becomming a part of this sub - culture, but
the women drive me to distraction. So who better to invoke, I
thought, than Hecate, the Underworld goddess who is the mother of The
Impussae, who are themselves spirit vampire - like creatures of the
Underworld, who enter the beds of men at night and drain their
energies through sexual seduction.

A number of weeks went by, and I didn't see Raven, and in facr began
to put even the horrifying dream of Hecate out of my mind. Then, one
night, about two and a half weeks later, came a resoundingly loud
knock at my door.

It was Melissa, a young lady recently moved from my apartmnent
building, along with my parents, who had recently entered her first
year of college at the University of Northern Kentucky. Me and her
parents had been fairly good friends, and so had the two of us in a
cordial sense, but I wondered what she was doing here now. She
seemed genuinely happy, and relieved, to see me. I invited her in
for some coffee, and she cheerilly agreed.

She began to bemoan her life at the University. "I never should have
let my parents talk me into taking those business courses. I hate
it."

Can't you change your major?" I asked.

Yeah, I probably will", she replied. I don't know what to yet"

I soon found out there was a point to her visit. She was desperate
to borrow twenty dollars, though she wouldn't tell me why, only that
she had takenm a week off fromn her courses, was visiting some
friends, and her parents didn't know about it. This didn't sit too
well with me, but she swore to me she would return next week, she
just needed the week off. She swore she didn't want the money for
anybody else, or for drugs, she just wanted it for emergency needs.
I didn't get it. But she was cute in - wait a minute - her black not
quite knee - length skirt, her matching black top, her dark brown
eyes, her shoulder length thick wavy dark hair. I want to take you
out to eat, I started to say. But, it came out -

"I want to eat you"

"What!"

"I want to take you out to eat", I quickly corrected myself

"NO, I want to eat your pussy is what you meant to say. Admit it. I
know you, Patrick Kelley," she insisted. "So, my good friend, my
parent's good friend, will give me twenty dollars. Tweny lousy
fucking dollars. Provided I let him kiss and lick and suck around on
my pussy."

Shje said this in such a prosecutorial masnner, I felt I had no
choice but to admit the awful truth.

"Yep, that's aboiut the size of it", I admitted.

To my surprise, she dropped her skirt, and then down came the panties.

"Do you understand now why I need some money?", she demanded. "It's
a few ddays early, and I have to have some money. So if you want to
eat it, eat away."

I saw the spots of blood. She was on her period. Her panties in
fact were drenched with a great big old spot of dried blood and
mucous. She needed something bad or it looked as though she would
soon be trailing blood all the way down the hall and out onto the
street.

Then she began to change from an angry _expression to one of what I
can only call a dare. She was breathing heavily. She was staring at
me, intensely. Her voice was gravelly. Gutteral. Hellish, even.

I need the money, so eat me, motherfucker.," she demanded.

"EAT MY FUCKING PUSSY, GODDAMN YOU, EAT MY FUCKING PUSSY!"

She was shouting now, and I knew she could be heard all over my
building. Suddenly, she lowered herself on the floor. Did I really
want to do this, after all? She seemed to be gushing.

I lowered my mouth to just inside her left knee, and began to slowly
suck there, moving upwards as I did so, slowly, slowly. She was
moaning, groaning, until finally I made my way with my mouth up to
her pussy. She screamed as I began the great work with my mouth
grinding and my tongue flickering against the entrance. She was
crying as her body heaved and trembled.

Now, to be sure, it was a ghastly taste, the hot blood and mucous and
female juices all mixed together in a salty, bitter explosion of
slimey sweltering rancid taste and smell. But once I started I could
not stop. She was pulling wildly at my hair as she thrusted her
abdomen upwards in a uncontrollable fury of desire. I spread her
blood soaked pussy lips apart as I thrusteed my tongue deeper and
deeper. Soon, she was pulling my body upwards with a strength which
I can only describe as maniacal. She was now ripping at my pants.

Soon, my hard, throbbing dick was plungin deeply into her, and I
began to fuck her harder and harder, until I finally exploded inside
her bloody pussy.

I know she told me she loved me a hundred times, or pretty close to
it, by the time we both went to sleep that night in each other's
arms, right there curled up on the floor, on a pillow, covvered in
nothing but two sheets, a light blanket, and I would suppose about a
half gallon of blood and mucous.

She remained with me for a couple of days. I didn't do it again, and
strangely, she didn't seem to mind that much, though she did seem a
little dissappointed. But when I came home from work, there she
would be, the blood problem now solved with the Kotex i had
supplied. She sucked my dick the night before she informed me she
would have to return to school.

I discovered she didn't return to school at all, but in fact dropped
out, and had moved in with some friends. She had a boyfriend who
supposedlly was in a band, and otherwise performed a variety of jobs,
going seemingly from first one to the other. I didn't care. I put
her, and the entire situation, out of my mind.

A couple of months later, I was sitting at the park down by the Ohio
River. I had just quit my job, and didn't know what I was going to
do about finding another one, but I tried not to worry too much about
that, though I was now a couple of months behind in my rent, and was
trying to avoid the landlord until I could come up with enough to
make at least a respectable partial payment. There at the park was
Raven. Her hair was now green. It was also spiked. I didn't care.
It was nice to tak to her though, as I was in a blue mood. We talked
for awhile, then she asked me to walk her to the club on Scott street
where she hung oput on Tuesday nights. It was getting dark, so I
thought, well, why not?

We made it to the club, I walked in with her. There were a handful
of other Goths, but she seemed to avoid going to them right away.
Have a drink with me, she asked.

"You buying?", I asked.

"Sure", she said. ""Two Heinekens, Charlie", she said to the
bartender.

As we sat and sipped and listened to first one tune after another by
Megadeth, Alice In Chains, etc. a couple of the Goths came up and
started talking to Raven, pretty much ignoring me, which suited me
fine. Suddenly, the third one called for the others, "Let's go"

She was all decked out in vampire like apparrel and make-up. It was
Melissa. When she saw me, she ambled over just as the other two were
starting to leave. She looked at Raven, then at me, then back to
her, and said,

"You better watch him raven, he as a big appetite, but he likes to
eat and run"

They left then, and Raven just looked at me with the oddest look you
could imagine.

"Oh, really now", was all she said.

Later that night, after I made it up to the apartment as quietly as I
could in the dead of the night, I climbed into bed, and when I
finally dozed off in a state of near exhaustion, I could have swore I
heard a distinct, maniacal female laughter, as though from some
shadowy underworld.

Trolling For Dollars

I had high hopes recently of being a regular contributor to Daily Kos, a leftist type political blog, but of course, there are a number of problems with that, this being for themost part the idea of keeping my mouth shut concerning those issues where i am in stark disagreement with the consensus opinion. Very often, I am aware that I might come across as more of a right leaning person than not. Well, in some situations I am.

Take for example, my unabashedly open support for gun rights. Or my belief in the death penalty. My opposition to anything approaching amnesty for illegal aliens, and my insistence on the need for strong border security and strengthening and enforcement of immigration laws. My advocacy of a strong military and national defense, my yearning for a sound environmental policy that allows for drilling in ANWAR and the deveolpment of nuclear energy, in addition to urgings for more refineries.

There are a few other examples, but I’m sure by now you get the point well enough you might be wondering, why the hell do you want to get on Daily Kos? And to tell you the truth, I’m not sure of the answer to that. Except that I like to think that I’m a proponent and supporter of sound, workable, common sense progressive liberal policies, in areas where they will really work and make a difference. Some people have even accussed me of being socialist in regards to some of my beliefs. And, in those instances,they would be right.

And, some people would accuse me of even being a troll. And, in a way, I guess they would be right here as well. A troll, according to most people, is somebody that likes to be a disruptive influence, a person who likes to stir the shit and watch the stink gather, I guess. Trolls, I have read, have no real life, and so they like to live vicariously by disrupting and abusing those who do, sometimes in cowardly ways. They like to post on sites in annoying ways, and then sit back and chuckle as they count, and read,the responses. They will defend themselves by saying it is all a joke, all for fun, but in reality, they are small, petty people that have nothing better to do than conduct abuse on their betters, those who have true values and beliefs, or those who are just innocent bystanders in life, at times.

To some extent they may be right. But in other cases, I wonder. Really, I have to wonder, specialy when I go onto Daily Kos and read about troll wars, and of one persons intention to leave the site altogether is the complaints don’t stop. This is a person I assume ot be a moderator on the site, and he is tired of the complaints from others. Evidently, he is having the same degree of suspicion and skepticism as am I. I have as yet to follow up on the complaints to enoughof a degree to understand what the problem is, but I have a strong idea I can offer a very valid definitionof what a troll really is.

If you do not agree with me, you are a troll.

If you erspond to my posts in a sarcastci way, you are a troll.

If you point out an aspect of an issue in such a way that I can offer no valid rebuttal to speak of, you are a troll.

If you make me look foolish, you are not a good person, therefore you must be a troll.

I could go on but I think I’m pretty clear. Some people can brook no disagreement, and dislike intensely being confronted with it, particularly when they have set themselves up as being the arbitrators and deciders of all that is wise and good, and right. A troll, then, is a shatterer of illussions. A ridiculer of foolishness. A slanderer of ego. A destroyer of delusion.

Trolls, in fact, can add to the discussion when it has become mundane and boring, and predictable. On another site, I noted a complaint about a troll, who was accussed, for no valid reason I can see, of being homophobic, and racist, and ignorant, etc. Without going into too much detail, I was that troll. The accussations were groundless, of course, but that is beside the point.

This was a person who is comfortable in his own belef systems, and can stand for nothing to challenge him on anything. If soconfronted with such a challenge, the person then, of course, is a troll, because of all these imagined qualities of which he is being acussed. Interesting.

I lurked for some time, and soon it became obvious, in this case, the kind of mentality, I was dealing with. This person desird nothin moe than to be around kindred spirits, with whom he could chew the fat about the things with which they all were in agreement, and engage in small talk on irrelevant matters, and hopefully be able to leave at the end of the day with the feeling that he was well loved and admired. The sad truth is, at the end of the day he was probably not given a second thought, but that illussion is probably one of the strongest held most dear by those ever on the lookout for the evil internet troll.

Truthfully, I care for one thing, and that is money and career, when it comes to the internet. I am under no illussions that I will meet the love of my life, or a large or even small circle of close, intimate friends. Those all would be nice, to be sure, and I am sure theere are many people out there I would be happy to have such relationshops with. But to all practical purposes, I hope for one day to be able to come onto this blog and find that I have some ads that are in some way making me a respectable amount of money. This of course means that I will have buildt my readership up to such a degree that, one day, I might land a writing contract. A novel, perhaps. Somewhere down the line, to be sure, but possible.

In the meantime, no doubt I will have stepped on a few toes, maybe more than a few. If that qualifies me for trolldom, so be it. I would rather be a rich troll than a poor, sweet, blind little lamb.

Me And My Cat

I just found out for a fact this morning, that cats are smarter than they appear to be. They are just too stubborn and willful for their own good. This is the case with my cat anyway.

My cat has seizures, which are infrequent,usually averaging about once a month, and of generally short duration, probably under a minute. Due to this, and the fact that she sleeps in my bed, I am constantly trying to get her, with little success, to confine herself on an area of the bed on which i have gathered some old shirts and blankets. Most of the time, she just growls and hisses at me, and gets madder and madder, the more I try to convince her, verbally and physically, to lay on this area.

This morning, when my clock went off, she was insistent upon waking me up, but it was hard, as always, forme to roust myself. She did thismorning what she usually does. She wished her tail across my face. She pounced on the door, raking her claws down it. back up in the bed, she punches at the doorknob with one paw. She tried to sit her ass on my face, and found out quick that was not going to happen, so she continued her assault in other ways. She licked my eyelids. She gnawed at my arm, at my hand, at my fingers. The only thing she didn’t do to me she couldn’t, because my arm pits this morning were not availaible for her to gnaw on. That usually does the trick when nothing else will.

I forgot how logn this went on, but I finally gatheed enough energy to raise up, whereupon I told her that if she wanted something to eat, she would have to first get on her bed. I meant of course the pile of blankets and shirts that I had arranged for her to sleep on with so little success. When I told her this this morning, I ponted at them.

Immediately, she got on them, and lowered herself down on them upon my further urgings, all the time meeting my gaze as she curled up and lay there. That did it. How could I not reward that? I got up and fed her.

But I guarantee tonight she will be just as stubborn, just as willful, when I try to get her to lay on them tonight. What the hell. She’s a cat, right? She’s smart as a whip, and I love her dearly, but it’s just the animals nature to be independant minded and self assertive. Frankly, I don’t think I would have it any other way.

Love Will Find A Way

Well, my aunt has finally left for Florida, there to meet the man of her dreams. She’ll be gone for two weeks to stay with this man who lives in gator country, somewhere in the Florida Eveglades, near Lake Okeechobee(sp?). I honestly hope it works out for her, but as this man is quite a few years her senior, I think she is walking into problems that will be more than she can handle. Her first husband, also an older man, sufferred from advance dementia, and I honestly believe her in-laws think she will be perfect to deal with their father, who I fear is just now exhibiting the beginnign stages of this curse. Two weeks will probably not be nowhere near long enough for this to be clear, but when she returns to stay as I rather fear she will, then by the time five years goes by, if that, then there she will have it. An old man in a trailor in the Everglades, sufferring from dementia, surrounded by alligators. What more could you ask for? At least if it gets to be too much for her, she’s got thousands of fall guys to pin the blame on, should he decide one day to go out and take a walk “without her knowledege”, say for example, “while she was sleeping”.

She thinks he has money, but insists this isn’t the reson she is going to meet him. Well, okay, the point is, she is going to Florida, from Kentucky, to do just that-meet him. In the meantime, she seems assurred that his two daughters will be coming around, to look after him, these two daughters that have fixed the two of them up, will keep coming around just like they have been doing.

I hope he does have a lot od money, and I hope she latches on to a good part of it. I guess if she stays with him for so long she would be entitled to a third of it. I ain’t believing for one minute the story she’s been told by the daughters that, despte all his wealth, they want none of his money. I’m tempted to say that if she gets taken and ends up with nothing to show for it she will be getting what she deserves, but on the other hand, the mans own daughters are culpable in these shenanignas, so if she does get it all, they would be getting what they deserve even more. Besides, she’s my aunt, so, despite her faults, I hope it works out as well or even better than she seems so sure it will.

On the other hand, I’ve tried to find out information about him, and so far the only thing I know is he is a German immigrant. Not old enough to be a Nazi, or even a regular soldier of the German army. He could have been a member of the Hitler youth. But, so was the Pope. My aunt probably wouldn’t give a shit anyway, if he turned out to be Joseph Mengele, she would say, well what more could I ask for than a brilliant doctor?

American Idol

I watched a bit of American Idol the night before last, in fact, I hate to admit it, I sat through the entire showing. After all, curiosity gets the better of even the most sane among us, from time to time. Okay, I understand the initial attraction, for some, and the general idea of the show is not bad.

Past that, of course, it sucks. The music sucks, especially. The singers suck. Sure, they are good singers, dancers, and entertainers. But what the hell? This is schmaltz, people. Can you imagine any of these people competing with somebody of the calibre of Springsteen, or Dylan, or Bono? No, and I promise you, neither can they.

And neither, obvioulsly, can Simon, the acerbic judge who is really the overall star of the show, whose acidic wit has brought many a contestant to the verge of tears, and beyond. Yet, he always manages to somehow chuck his integrity during the last few episodes. What the hell else can he do besides make the most of a mediocre at best situation?

Paula Abdul? This dumb bitch would probably prefer to be in a back storage room somewhere pulling a train on all the male contestants. By the same token, she is perfect here, as she is an acute representative of this brand of mind numbing entertainment.

I don’t know who the hell Randy is. I don’t think he knows what he is doing there, either. He has an affinity for the term dog, which sure as hell fits with the overall scope of this shows talent.

Ryan Seacrest is an affable enough host for the show, and is the subject of constant talk show rumors pertaining to his purported sexual preferences. Here again, why is this a matter of speculation? Why would anybody care? But then again, why would anybody care about this show?

Well, evidently they do. Taylor Hicks, last nights winner of American Idol, is just the latest in a seies of third rate at best talents to win the final vote tally, accumulating more votes, I would wager, than did George W. Bush in his 2004 election win over John Kerry. Hicks, it is rumored, also got more votes than did Kerry.

The final showdown between the two remaining contestants was perpetrated by the performance by each contestant of three forgettable, amateur renditions of such songs as Levon, Somewhere Over The Rainbow, and other offerrings that were borderline felony mischief. Then, the unpardonable insult to world culture occurred at the end. Both contestants sang a song that was an original song written especially for each of them. These were, if you dare to believe it, singles, which will be released upon the airwaves soon. They are meant to be hit songs, mind you, and I have no doubt they will be.

I didn’t watch the finale last night, thought I did tune in at the end to see who won. Taylor Hicks won. I don’t recall the name of the saccharrine sweet female performer he defeated. I am ashamed of myself that I remember his name.

It’s no wonder the fucking world hates us.