letter i wrote to MAUREEN DOWD after she slammed BOB DYLAN

i have a few words to say in reference to Maureen Dowd's lambaste of Bob Dylan. not a big fan of his, altho i have always liked Tangled up in Blue. as for myself, i will also say a few words, and let you be the judge. i consider myself, the left hand of God. i have, twice, lost my job, due to my attempts to save young women from their demons (crack cocaine, and all that that life entails - abusive, psychotic boyfriends, the 'system' (medical/mental health), which, essentially, slaps on a band-aid, rather than deal with the root cause/infection, whatever you wish to call it, the other system (police/'justice'), which happily spits out restraining orders, like a sewer discharges into the Ocean, all the live-long day, yet, when called upon to, actually, protect (as opposed to 'serve', which, apparently, consists primarily of warrants), finds itself mired in, red tape, paperwork, and the dictates of the, 'law', whatever, that, means, and, in the end,
essentially useless. not to mention the, 'fathers', and 'boyfriends' and 'husbands', their, supposed protectors, who, way too often, turn out to be the originators, of their plight. the first time, five or so years back, i, to put it mildly, threw away my whole life, in an attempt to save a stripper/crackwhore from, a) herself, b) her, standard-issue, abusive, psycho, crackhead boyfriend, the aforementioned 'sytems', and, lastly, c) various, and sundry, other, predators, low-lifes, and miscreants, whatever have you. i tried twice, this first time, which was a sort of penance for having failed a woman, rather badly, in the past, myself. to wit:

i once loved a girl, who, after a couple years, went her way, while i went mine. it is really, a long, tragic, and overly involved story, with which i will not bore you with here (it will be found, however, eventually, at SUICIDEGIRLS.COM, under the guise of frank cotton, and also, at OBSSESSEDARTIST.COM (how, appropriate), under one of my many, other, aliases, nil). a year or so later, after keeping in touch, working at the same establishment (and, i assure you, this is all true), and even lending her my truck, MORGENSTERN, to move with, she asked me, if, i would like to meet her, to have a beer. i said yes. here's where i show my dark side. when we first broke up , after a two-week cooling-off period, she told me, in no uncertain terms, that it was over.

to digress, a moment, please bear with me, if you will, i broke up with her, after she stayed out all night, one friday, with her new friends, from her new job, much the same as we had done, ourselves, together, to begin with. she stopped by our apartment with a carload of them, to, 'use the bathroom', as she put it, when, in reality, she was there to snag the last bag of weed we had stashed in the freezer. she had, prior to this event, stopped smoking, while i continued to do so. at the point in question, our breakup, i had quit smoking, trying to sync up with her, however behind i might have been, it was, i don't know, maybe two or three months off, and she, having started a new third-shift job, and making new friends, had started back up, smoking, that is, not cigarettes, but the devil's own weed. i believed her, at first; i mean, why would she lie to me, even tho we only saw each other once a month, on one weekend, due to her, a) schoolwork, college,
that is, a major in microbiology, with a minor in computer science, on the side, so to speak. b) ROTC, as she was expected to give up one weekend a month, two weeks in the summer, etc., and c) her full-time, 40-hour-a-week job. the new job, that is, that we were just talking about. well. after about two hours of sitting around, and trying my best, to sell myself her story, it occured to me, to look in the freezer. and, lo and behold, the weed, why, it's gone! not there! it disappeared (i was a little slow, back then), and so, to put it, again, mildly, i threw a coniption fit. yelled at the walls, threw a couple of things(unbreakable, by the way, i didn't want to break anything of hers, you see - and, yes it is, still, all true), around the room, stomped on the floor a couple of times, and, in a split-second of, dare i say, brilliance, i had a master plan! out of nowhere, it seems, even now, impossible to believe. why, i would play her, like a hand of
poker, and i would bluff her. simple, concise. easy-as-pie, what could possibly go wrong? care to take a guess? i called her, at her new friend's house, and told her, in, once again, no uncertain terms, that, she would either, a) come home, immediately, and try to patch things up, as best we could

(i was, at this point, starting to save up for a ring; she had risked her credit, to co-sign for, me, a car loan, so that i, might be able to actually, get to work, rather than, as was the norm, the usual, get in the car (old, 1970, 'ford' LTD, black, as midnight, courtesy of earl shieve's cheap-ass, $100 paint job, looks great, but don't run for ****, kinda, pray, cross my fingers, my heart, etc.), turn the key, and hope to God it would crank, sort of thing, that, we had going on, on, say, a daily basis). i figured, hey, if she's willing to risk her credit on the likes of me (stoner, high school dropout, some community college, never really commited to anything type of guy, that i was, at that time, with, you know, no future, vague visions of an art-fueled, movie-making career in the far, but not too, too, distant future, fanciful dreams, and not much else to bank on), then, she is, undoubtly, a keeper).

to resume, if i may, my somewhat, sordid, and, twisted tale, i told her in those terms yet again, that, if we broke up, there would be no second chance, no going back, that (at this point, a mere, two-weeks into what i thought was, a done deal, an open and shut case, ie, that is, i figured she would fold her hand, so to speak, can't lose situation, i'm already falling apart; i hadn't eaten, or slept, not literally, but not quite figuratively, either), if i had to go through this once (the breakup thing), as torn up as i already was, and picturing just how much further rent i would certainly be, i would, never, ever, go through it again. period. that, if she should, ever, in the not-too-distant and/or unforseeable future, want to attempt to get back together, or to even merely whisper the idea into my ear, that she would be, **** out of luck. or words to that effect. to this, at that point in time, she agreed.

almost to the instant, i put in play my other, darker, hidden, sub, but-not-quite-sub, concious plan, my EVIL, nefarious, and entirely unforgivable plan, into play. revenge. the, how to say, the, for the sake of my, broken heart, my, splintered heart, which, to, this very day, has never quite healed, would be quite, not-that-hard, but, nonetheless, rather difficult to pull off, over the course of a year, and, in emotional terms, very costly, indeed, would be, if not sweet, at least, it would certainly be, cold, plan. please, dear, i will try to finish this, in a thousand words, or less. i set her up. i knew, see, that we were MEANT to be together, i knew, that she WOULD, at some point in time, ask me, oh, something like, if i had nothing better to do, would i like to meet her, and have a beer. just one beer.

so. over the course of the following year, post-breakup, i, right off the bat, took a transfer to another location (ten miles away; i was working, this is the 1980s, for an unnamed, guaranteed on-time pizza delivery titan, as a manager-in-training/glorified delivery driver), so i wouldn't have to drive past HER apartment, umpteen-thousand times a day. two, maybe three months later, i took a second job, at her, then, place of employment (local to Wake Forest, her school, bar/restaurant, a place where, we, once-upon-a-time, hung out), part-time, evenings, as i worked day shift as a (more-or-less) assistant manager at the aforementioned francise pizza establishment. i know, it's weird; i hated driving past 'our' place, but i loved being in her presence, because i loved her, then, and i always will.

back to - see, it was not just a job, but also, a means to an end. my miserable, hateful, spiteful, end. of course, it worked. we had remained friends, sincerely, i assure you, because we had been friends for a couple of years before we got together. and i didn't want to lose, that, that last little bit of connection i still had with her, because, even tho, on the one hand, i was plotting against her, and hated her, for breaking my heart, on the other hand, i still loved her, if only with the, still functioning, good half, of my heart. we are all, like that, half bad, half good, another story, another day. love is, a, many, splendored thing, is it not? yes, and no. it is, on the one hand, a beautiful thing, something to be cherished, and sought after, whatever the cost, yet, on the other hand, it is, how to put this, a vile, horrible, and terrible thing, which, in the wrong hands (much like a gun, don't, get me started), is every bit as destructive, and
potentially lethal, as any nuclear stockpile, whether it be weapons of war, the ultimate toxic waste thereof, or, a mere, could be, but actually isn't, 'safe', 'clean', and efficient, powerplant. sex, as a weapon, has absolutely NOTHING on, love, as a weapon. and, don't we ALL, know it.

to continue, with the, story-within-a-story, i pushed all the right buttons, and pulled all the right strings, to steer her, all unknowing, and, in this, romantic, sense, innocent, towards my EVIL, heart's desire. EVIL, half, that is. vengeance. 'and, it worked', to quote NINE INCH NAILS, like a ****ing charm. as if on cue, one night, roughly a year after the, what else can i call it, the worst day of my life, she asks me, that question. the one beer question. the fish had, taken, so to speak, the proverbial bait, and, all sytems were go, ready for lift off. if memory serves, sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't, that was a friday night, yeah, friday again, and our, to say the least, again, or is that, yet again, fateful day of reckoning, that was, as far as she knew, just a date, with an old friend, and, maybe, just maybe, a single shot at a, second chance, that, she had been assured she would never, ever get. you can fill in the rest.

yes i did. i was that sorry, that heartless, that worthless a human being that, rather than take that second chance that providence had, ironically, given me, to save my soul, and myself, and my life, and, for all i knew, at that point, all of hers as well, rather than take that gift, and give thanks, and do the right thing, the one, and only thing, i should have done, i did the worst thing i have ever done, the one thing i can not, could not, and will not, ever, forgive myself for. ever. i mean it. did you see UNFORGIVEN? do you understand what the title means? i do. it took, seven, maybe eight years for the first cracks to appear, the cracks in my self-righteous, bull**** facade, that i saw presented before me, in the mirror in the bathroom of my, $300 a month, identical to, almost-down-to-the-last-detail floorplan apartment (identical to OURs, hers and mine, for those of you who may have lost track). it took another four, maybe five years, for it to
finally hit me, the magnitude of what i had done (you haven't heard the afterword, or the aftermath, as it were). what i had actually managed to accomplish.

not only did i a) flush what might have been a wonderful, joyful life, spent with her, right down the toilet, i also, call it a consolation prize/curse, managed to break a good deal of the faith that she had in men, in general (the same faith that women, in general, have in men, in general, that is, that we are not all, assholes, that some of us 'men', not me, mind you, are actually worthy of the name, 'man', are, in fact, actually worthy of the love that you, you women, you ANGELS, that you give us, that some of us, won't mistreat you, won't forget you, won't forget to watch over you), and, not only that, but i also managed to do one other, unforgivable thing. i managed to, not be there, the night, some months after, that, night of EVIL, that, night of, throwing away, of, spitting in the face of, of, the second chance, i also managed to, not be there, the night, the second night of EVIL, the night she was raped. the worst, of her life.

this is what i am, trying, with my, attempts, fated tho they may be, to make up for. not just, this part, or that part, but for all of it. the sum total. that is, not just metaphorically speaking, but literally, the burden that i bear, every day, for the rest of my life. i haven't dated, really, since then, altho there was, a dalliance, shall we say, with another lost soul, not as lost as the one that ran me to ground, but, well, i'm a sucker, for a damsel in distress, even if it is of her own making. but that was but a blip, a bogey, as the flyboys say, on the radar of life.

i failed her.

this is the 'sin', for which there is no ammends. i write, mostly for my own amusement, as no one seems to have any interest in any of my, other, stories, the fictional ones that i have lately, after finally giving up on ever selling them, started posting on the internet for free. once, when writing a letter to one of the many lost souls, there are, inhabiting our world, i wrote the following:

woman was God's gift to man

that he might know

beauty and joy

there is no greater sin than

to fail her

i, while a fair wordsmith at best, am nowhere near as eloquent as that. i, who used to think i was a great guy, a swell dude, a cool cat, i, have committed, long ago, the worst sin of all. the sin for which no one can forgive me. in a vain, pointless, attempt to somehow, say, balance the scales, if not actually make up for, my crime, against her, the one true love of my life, i continue to, despite the best advice of family and friends, try and save lost souls, from themselves. to wit:

a month or so, ago a young lady, from my place of employ (once, yet again, in the pizza delivery service dragon), who had previously, almost passed out, and also, due to a failed drug test, lost her place at school, was seen by mine own eyes, in her car, in the passenger seat (it is, a sign, to those in the know), with three crackheads, some hundred or so feet away from what i call, crackland. so. me, idiot that i am, i decide that something must be done, to save this girl from the life that the aforementioned stripper/crackwhore lived. that one, i met at the end; this one, i met at the beginning, so, what better point at which to assualt the demon? i tell my manager, who is still upset over the, 'almost passed out' thing (which, of course, i was also involved in. silly me, why don't i just quit trying to help people?), about what i saw, and he, big man that he is, says to, MIND MY OWN BUSINESS. (this fraidy-cat, he thinks that he is, personally, mind
you, going to be sued by this girl's family, at some point or another, over some thing or another). big man, who has some serious paranoia issues, tells me to back off. so. **** him. **** my job. **** my life. i am going to do something, and, i'm thinking, maybe i'll write her a letter, and tell her about the other one, the one i threw everything away for, tell this girl, about, that girl's 'life', if it can be called that, give her a glimmpse into her own possible future, as it were, and maybe, just maybe, that little peek at that horror show might snap her to her senses. which i did. and, i put it in her car, in a pretty envelope, the kind a secret admirerer might use. stupid, stupid man. what are you thinking? how dare you, try to help out a fellow human being? i get the one reaction i hadn't forseen, the 'freak out and show everyone in the store the letter ' reaction. i thought she would either, a) laugh it off, and say, 'you don't really think i
smoke crack, do you?' or something to that effect. or b) she would say nothing at all. at worst, i thought she might, maybe, slap me (in private), and curse me out. goes to show, what the hell, do i know? long to short - i show up to work the next morning, and get the axe. again.

so. what's the point of all this? the point is, i think i stand on firm ground, when i ask, just what the hell has ms. dowd done? other than write columns that are critical of others? so what if BOB DYLAN got paid? doesn't she? get paid? hypocrite, much? at least he wrote some songs that will stand the test of time. has she? done anything? that will stand the test of time? have you, Maureen. i'd like to know. thanks for your time. too bad you won't print this...

letter that cost me my job, and eventually six months in jail

i have a story for you, Amy, a love story as it were, of a boy and a girl who were both close to falling off of the earth, some 5 or 6 years ago. they were not far from the same age, he being a little forward of her, as it were. he hadn't dated for quite a long time, in part to shyness, in part to fear of rejection, and in a very large part to his once having left a girl, his only, true love, who was, after his departure, taken against her will a short time later. he punished himself for what happened to her, for some 20 years . but then, when loneliness and despair were near to driving him to take his own life, he determined instead to change; to cease being shy, to cease being afraid, and to cease hurting himself, for what he had been blaming himself for, all those years.

'twas easier than he'd expected, save for the last part, but he managed even that, too, in time. he got over the shyness and fear (this is, a true story, dear), by going to 'gentlemen's clubs'. he'd been to them before, but had been scared to even look at the girls. but now, he forced himself not only to look (which wasn't, actually, all that difficult), but to actually talk with them. and not about their looks, or sex, but how he might have talked to any girl, say, on a date. and it worked. it only took a couple of months, and a fair amount of alcohol, but after that he could talk to any woman, anywhere, stone cold sober. not all of the girls at these clubs were 'bad girls'; some of them worked simply to put themselves thru school, and then left. some of them worked, like anyone else, just to pay the bills. but of course, there were some bad apples, and here's where the story takes a turn for the worse. but it gets better, eventually.

he fell in love with Katt, who liked to draw, as he did. she had just left some jerk who had treated her like dirt, and was, supposedly, trying to better herself. the boy had this 'knight in shining armor rescuing the fair maiden' complex. an obsession, actually. she was really messed up - she had severe psychological/emotional issues, she was taking very strong anti-psychotics, living on a couch, and worst of all, hooked on crack. he didn't know about all this until after he'd fallen in love with her, but even once he had, all he could see was the lost little girl she was, and the woman she could be if she could only be salvaged from the one she'd become. and this blinded him to the truth. so, he got her a place to stay, and clothes and other things that girls especially like. he couldn't, or wouldn't, see that all she really wanted was only to keep smoking crack, just in a safer, more stable environment, because he loved her, dearly, and sincerely believed that she wanted to change. and he kept on believing this, despite the advice and opinions of friends and family that she was just using him.

over the following 6 months, he ran thru about $2500, believing he was helping her to get better, to honestly change, when all he was really doing was just making it much easier for her to be, and remain, an addict. he bought her cell phones, to keep in touch with him, that she repeatedly 'lost'. he kept her well fed, and some of her girlfriends, others like herself, and even tried to get the former 'boyfriend' arrested, because he'd terrorized all these girls, who had lived before at the same rent house (he'd chased them around with a pitchfork, when they were unruly, or late with the rent, because he was a sort-of house manager/demon).

he once called the police on the demon, when he'd seen, from a hotel a mile away, said demon in the front yard burning the possessions the girl had left behind in her haste to leave (she'd go back to him, time after time, when she finally had nowhere else to go - it had been like that for years). but, when he at last faced the truth (that she was using him, and would never, ever stop. not stop using, not stop using him, not stop burning her life, her soul, and him to the ground), when he finally saw it clearly, and his finances were nearly ruined, he fled. and in all that time, he had only ever kissed her, and that only once, because he wanted her to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it wasn't a sex thing, that he really cared for her, even after he found out the truth about the drugs, and her past, and even tho she was a dancer, what most everyone else considered trash.

he'd figured out, over the months, that she secretly loathed men, in general, for the things they had done to her, or let her do to herself, over her life. like whore herself out for money, to support their habits. or letting her give them head for $5 rocks, and then reneging on the deal afterwards, and mainly, for treating her, for the most part of her life, like something no better than a sex toy, or a slave. like something you'd scrape off your shoe. it gets better, eventually.

four months after he'd left, the boy had repaired his finances (they hadn't been totally ruined), and finally traded his wreck-magnet truck for a sweet little NEON 4-speed, which he named MIETE - french for 'little thing' - after a girl in a movie. (he was a romantic sort - he'd tried to fight the inclination for years, but it was in his blood). he had also, at long last, moved out of the $300 a month apartment he'd referred to as hell for 13 years, and into a two-bedroom, two bath, $1000 a-month paradise, that was actually only $600, due to its distance from town. he talked to women now (lots, actually), and there was an art gallery owner he liked, and a coffee shop girl he really liked, who he was currently dividing his attention between.

so one night, after taking pictures for a show opening at the gallery (a women's only show), he thought about the girl, and about how maybe, just maybe, seeing this show, or something like it, might be good for her. he had been feeling, lately, that maybe he hadn't totally gone the distance for her, and that maybe all she needed was for someone to show her that, her life was worth something, even if only to someone else. and, silly boy, he goes out looking for her. he goes to the demon's old house, and talks to 'doc', who, surprise surprise, is letting her crash on his floor. seems that the demon has finally been busted over numerous outstanding restraining orders that some unnamed citizen had taken upon himself to see served (in the name of freeing said girl from her fallback).

begin round two. this time, boy thinks, i'll go to the wall, i'll run myself entirely into the ground, without asking for anything in return (save a second kiss), if that it what it takes to show her that not all men are the scum she's dealt with all her life. he even offered to let her move in with him in his new place, with her own bedroom and bath, but she declined (too far from crackland). instead, he got her another place, at his own expense, and got her pictures and other things girls like to spruce it up with and, lastly, got her car some minor repairs, tires, and insurance, which he hadn't gotten around to the first time.

he also started giving her, on and off, just enough money for a $5 rock here, or a $10 there, so he could see who she bought from, what they drove, where they lived or did business. this so he could, maybe, trade the info to the law in exchange for her getting put into rehab (she had unresolved charges that, due to her being off her meds, would wind her up in a hospital, rather than jail). and even tho he talked to some agents about it, and gave them all he had, she was just a little fish, and they threw her back.

so the boy started wandering thru the cracklands, east, west, north, and south of her place, at all hours of the AM (he got off work at 11:PM, and was up half of most nights anyways), from midnite until dawn many nights, to make sure that, if she wouldn't stay home and behave, and insisted on trading her sex for dope, she might, at least, get home in one piece. some nights, when she would avoid him entirely, he would just walk the streets, calling her name, calling for her to please, just let him take her home (this happened so often it literally changed his voice). sometimes, if they were willing, he would hang out with her and her 'friends' while they smoked themselves up, and edged closer to hell, just to make sure that no one would **** her over, or just plain **** her, simply because they could get away with it. and still, he'd never so much as touched her, himself.

around 3 months into round 2, boy's co-workers started having to wake him up when he fell asleep on the job. by then he was only sleeping about every other night, and they all tried their level best to talk him into leaving the girl be (everyone knew what he was doing), but, stubborn know-it-all, he kept at it anyways. then one night at work, tears just started pouring down his face. he didn't sob, and could still do the work (which was mostly over the phone), but the tears wouldn't stop. yet no one even noticed. but it started happening every night after that, and between the tears and the sleeping issues, it wasn't long until one night he came in, sat down, and they just flooded out immediately. he knew it wouldn't stop, and that he was likely cracking up, so he reported to his supervisor, and she sent him to his doctor, who signed him out for ten days, and put him on antidepressants.

his mom, who was 60-some years old, and knew about all this, had a panic attack so severe she though it was a heart attack, and wound up in the ER. his brother, and his mom's boyfriend, told him in no uncertain terms, that he'd shut up, and, either stop what he was doing, get beat up, or get locked up, or maybe even both. so it was choice time; he could keep on, and literally lose everything, or throw in the towel while he might still come out slightly ahead. he lied, swore it was over, and for one last month, right up to the very edge of ruin, kept on trying. he'd seen the light, he knew he'd lost, but he had to be certain, in his soul, that he had done everything he possibly could have, just shy of destroying his, and his family's, lives. and he finally quit, dead on the brink (he had been trying to redeem his soul, for that long-gone girl's violation. because he had felt, since then, that maybe he didn't rate another girlfriend, after what had happened to the one).

he had managed, the second go round, to run his credit into the dirt (partially due to his moving). he had also, due to the sleeping/breakdown thing and/or the fact that he'd screwed his checking account and bounced 30 checks in 90 days (old rule: bounce 2, lose job; lucky him, that rule had changed), drawn the evil-eye of his new workaholic boss. after the breakdown he'd been late (with an excuse) 3 days running. 1) doctor's appt. ran over. 2) dentist appt. ran over. 3) new car ran into truck, two blocks from work (new NEON #2 - new NEON #1 was totaled trying to find girl a new home). new mr. bossman puts boy (who he thinks is another crackhead) on probation for 90 days - no more lates, no more screwed up time cards, and must inform mr. man himself of any future lates on boy's part.

after five months of no girl-related problems (sleeping, crying, etc.), idiot is late 2 days in a row, and the axe falls. bye-bye $40k-a-year, cushy, benefits-laden job (last - ha! - of the long-term damage/fallout from toxic relationship with poor, sad girl). bye-bye to new apartment, good credit, new car. but he couldn't lose the car, because without a car he would be SOL in the job market. so he gets brightest idea of all, makes a 'fool-proof' (ha-ha) plan, and robs an unnamed financial institution. so he could try to hang on until he found another job, and maybe, at the very least, not lose the car. long story short - idiot, big mouth, ratted out, jail. prison. half-way house (first offense, minimal time). not quite the end of the world, but a little too close to it.

he got a new job, made a lot of new friends, and life, albeit of a different sort, went on. he found out that, while he was gone, the girl had found herself a real job, and a marginally better relationship with a man who had kids, and so she had a different, if not-quite new life herself. the end. not all that happy, maybe not forever after, but better than it might have been. but not quite really the end. but it gets better, eventually.

on a day off from the new job, the boy sees this (another) girl, who looked just like Amy, the pretty, bright, happy-on-the-outside girl with the cool laugh, who he worked with at said new job. and really liked. he saw her, this couldn't-actually-be Amy, a stone's throw away from somewhere she, or anyone, really, shouldn't be. she was in the passenger seat of her own car, which looked just like Amy's car, with some dudes the boy was certain that she ought not to be hangin' with, considering the area. he got this instant, lightning-strike flashback to that lost girl, the poor sad girl, and a mental image of how, and maybe when, that lost girl first started down that wrong road herself, that lost highway, the one that goes straight to hell. the one she had just barely managed to get off of. and that mental image looked just like the real image of this girl who couldn't be Amy.

he thought for some time about what, if anything, he should do. he could be mistaken, of course. they might just have been some fellow students of the, not-quite Amy, from her EMT class, or maybe just old friends from high school. but he knew the real story. he knew the actual Amy had been dropped from EMT class for failing a drug screen. he really, really wished that he could be wrong, because he knew that if he wasn't, he would have to do something. back when he'd tried to save the lost girl from herself, he had felt that he was GOD'S left-hand man. the one who got out in the field and did the dirty work, the real dirty work. the cleaner; the one who took out the garbage, the one who cleaned up after the party/massacre. that he was GOD'S go-to guy. and he still believed that, that he was GOD'S avenger, and His watcher over those who required protection, not just from others, but from themselves. and he knew, knew, he could not just stand idly by, and watch this girl, this angel who looked just like (but couldn't possibly be) Amy, just go blithely driving off, in that car that looked like Amy's, and just watch her drive right off a cliff.
because he loved her. like GOD loves her. for even if it meant breaking his mother's heart, or going back to jail, again, he would go to WAR against all the heartless, consciousless, EVIL crack-dealing FILTH, and PERSONALLY, if it were necessary, even if only for this one girl, burn each and every one of them, and each and every one of their houses of hell, down to the ground. he loves this girl, who looks like Amy and, to be honest, he loves Amy, too. and this is what he would do for her, just because. yours, forever. GDL

if anyone cares

i would like to give you a report, on recent events, in one of your franchise operations. in actuality, i will be reporting on some, shall we say, ongoing events, as well. i tried, prior to this communique, to send an email thru your 'contact us' debacle, but, sadly, my email was sent, not to the corporation, but to the franchisee, soon to be, under discussion. first, i would like to tell of two, seperate, yet, connected, events.

both of these events relate to a delivery driver, who, at this time, will be called Joy.

event one

sometime in february, as memory does not serve, you can, may, and will, no doubt determine for yourselves, eventually, said driver, Joy, on a friday night, during peak/rush business hours, mentions, offhandedly, mind you, that her 'doctor', a certain Ms. Bright, shall we say (in actuality, that is her real name, or, rather, it may have been Smart, i'm a little fuzzy on the, uh, minor, details), (ironic, wouldn't you say?), had recently, maybe even, that very day, switched her, 'medication', from, KLONOPIN (yours truly, by the way, takes the same, every day), to SEROQUEL. and, she went on to say, she hadn't, as her 'dr' advised her to (she's not, all that dim, mind), stopped taking her previous 'meds', for two weeks, prior to, starting her new, 'medication'.

a side note: SEROQUEL, is, generally, given to psychotics, or, those prone to, such, like, episodes.

to resume: a few scant minutes later, we find Joy, by the ovens, starting to collapse in a heap, as those who don't, follow 'doctors' orders, often do. she was saved from hitting the floor, by another, fellow soldier/driver/woman, or two, hard to recall, exactly, at this distance from said event. she was, first, wedged, unceremoniously, between the driver's table and the wall, which afforded her a scant foot or so room to breathe, and, in addition, kept her in a safe, upright, position. at this point, business went on as usual, and by that, i mean two things, a) no one bothered to take charge of the Joy situation. b) the store continued to function as always (i would like to say here, that, as far as drivers, phone girls, and pizza makers are concerned, you could not ask for, nor find, a better crew). one person did, however, jump to the phones, and call 911, and that would be Kelly. but, since no one else could be bothered, yours truly, your humble narrator, inevitably, took charge. i asked Joy just what she had taken (KLONOPIN 0.5 mg / SEROQUEL 150 mg), and directed Ruth, and Tiffany, to get her to the office, and into a chair, for obvious reasons. i then asked Joy a second time what she had taken, to see if i would get the same response, which i did. i went to see if my run was up, as i was next in line. it was not, so i went to the back room and washed some dishes. the ambulance arrived at about the same time that i finished with the dishes, and then my run came up. i bagged my pizzas, then informed the EMTs of Joy's prescription intake. i went to the cooler to get a 2 litre (this was in the middle of a friday night rush, and when i say i went to the cooler, i mean i had to dodge this person, then that person, then back up a step or two, to get out of the way of the incoming drivers, etc. it reads like it took a couple of seconds, but it was more like 2 or 3 minutes. apply this to all of my actions, and you will get a better idea of the time flow), weaved my way around the carry-out customers (we get a lot), and made haste to my ride. i put everything where it belonged, buckled up, and turned the key. i was about to drive off, when i decided that, given the lack of oversight by management of the Joy situation, and the fact that all three EMTs looked to be in their 60s, i might had better at least take a look-see before rushing off. when i finally managed to worm my way thru the (it struck me, once, that a well-run pizza store is quite similar to an emergency room) commotion, i found the EMTs on the phone with their home base, and heard them being asked to find out what other medications Joy might be taking. i stood there, outside the office door, and counted off three minutes on my watch, during which, no one came out to fulfill the home bases' request. so, yes, of course, i worked my way back out of the store, and went to Joy's car, where i a) found her purse, which contained her prescriptions (all EIGHT of them, some of which were so faded as to be illegible). b) located her wallet, which was not in her purse, but on the floorboard (for the EMTs, for identification, if needed). c) took her keys from the ignition, just in case, and locked her car's doors. as i returned to the store, a second group of EMTs arrived, and took over from the first (thankfully). when we all arrived at the office, which took several minutes, due to business carrying on, and all, i gave the purse, pills, IDs, and keys, to one of the new, incoming, EMTs. at this time, i felt that the situation was in competent hands (the new EMTs), so i made my way back out of the store, again, and went on with my run (which made it to the door in under 50 minutes, from the time it was ordered). when i returned to the store after my run, i found that a) Joy, who had worked eight hours at her other job, and hadn't eaten all day, had been given some food and drink, which had served to revive her, most splendidly. b) i was ready to be cut. c) i was 'invading her personal privacy', as Jason so, pleasantly, put it, and that i might have put him in danger of getting in trouble over said privacy issue. not the store, not the franchise, not the corporation, mind you, but him. i told him that i was sorry if i had caused him any undue stress (i must point out that, Jason, is the world's biggest sissy, i honestly don't know how else i can put it), but that i felt it was in Joy's best interest that her privacy be invaded. call me silly, but i believe one's life, if only just ever so slightly, outweighs one's privacy, in the grander scheme of things.

i would like to pause for a moment here, to point a few things out. i tried once before, 6 or so years ago, to salvage someone, who was , pretty much, down to her last chance. sad to say, it didn't work. but, it needed to be done, and since no one else would man up, i did. it cost me everything, in the end; my career, my home, my credit, car, you name it. i made a serious error, afterwards, and compounded my problems, by winding up in jail for two years. what i should have done then, is what i'm doing here, now. i have been sorely abused by a number of corporate entities in my time here on your planet (the mega corporations' planet, that is), and every single time it has been, not by upper management, but by some, hot-shot, piece-of-**** new boss. i believe in karma; 'little caesar's dicked me around once, and look where they're at now. on my first job, at 16, a new boss asked me if i liked washing dishes, and, stupid me, thinking honesty was the best policy, told him, not really, and that son-of-a-bitch fired me, on the spot, just for telling him the truth. at the end of my career in IT, after losing almost everything in my foolish pursuit of trying to help a fellow human being, my new boss, who had a daughter of his own, the 'light of his life', as he told me, knowing full well what i was doing, and why, fired me, not for any real reason (it was recorded as being late to work on two consecutive days), but simply because i was not the workaholic he was (60 to 80 hour-a-week, would-be ladder-climber, who, in the end, blew his shot at the brass ring by over-estimating his own worth to his, new boss, and, put his career before the 'light of his life', and, everything and everyone else), and subscribed to a different world-view than his, that being, that there are some things more important than work, namely, having an actual life. before him, i had sworn, to God himself, after a number of these incidents, that i would, quite literally, kill the next one who treated me in like manner. and, of course, i did not, as that would have broken my Mother's heart, not to mention, led to a long period of incarceration, during which, i would be likely to miss my favorite TV show, THE SIMPSONS. no, i'm serious. instead, being a former bank employee, and knowing what is every bank's policy (give them what they ask for, get them out quickly, and, see to it that no one gets hurt), i took the coward's way out, and robbed a bank (non-violently, mind; i am, as far as physical violence goes, a pacifist, and more bark that bite. that said, this was the other, plan b kind of thing, that i also swore to God i would do, if i wound up in said situation again, etc. and, as, i am, a man of my word, in all else, and, formerly, when giving God ultimatums, had never before, had the balls to follow thru, decided it was about time that i, followed thru on, at least one, if i were ever to expect to be taken, seriously, in the future, if, indeed i had one). i likely would have gotten away with it, had i not told my 'best friend', who ratted me out for the CRIMESTOPPERS money. live and learn. to surmise, all of this has left me with a considerable chip on my shoulder, and it was merely your misfortune, fate, whatever, that when i finally figured out the right course of action for this type of situation, the whole, stabbed-in-the-back-for-nothing-by-a-new-boss thing, it fell on you, to be the receiver of my considerable, and long-pent wrath. que sera, sera, and all that. i will now return to the letter, proper, and take up with ---

event two

a few weeks ago, i just, really, can't be bothered with this whole, exact date thing. a bit of background info is required here, i live, literally, on the right-side of the track. about a mile and a half from my abode is a rail line, and, on the other side, just as in film, books, and cheap TV programs, is the bad side of town. i call it CRACKLAND, you, may, feel free, call it whatever you, like. other names that would do nicely include, oh, HELL, for one, the war zone, the end of the road, etc. there is a gas station on the border of this, dichotomy, which serves any and all, and upon pulling into this establishment for some much-needed go juice, i saw, quite to our mutual suprise, Joy, in the passenger seat of her car, which was filled with an assortment of unsavory types. CRACKHEADS, if you need it spelled out. and, if you've lost track here, not one hundred feet away from the abyss. having personal, and extensive, experience in this area of human misfortune, i feel fairly well-qualified to make what, to others, might appear to be a snap judgement. Joy, is, undoubtedly, smoking crack. from our various conversations at work i know that Joy is, a) living some 30 miles away from said crackland. b) not dating any known crackheads. and, c) without any, legitimate, reason for being where she was, with whom she was with, and, under the circumstances in which i saw her (not in the driver's seat; trust me, it is a significant sign). so. i am immediately in a quandary. i know what i know. i have been told by Jason, to stay out of Joy's personal life, and my own Mother will, upon hearing of this sad situation, undoubtably, tell me not to go there again. what? do you lie to your Mother? or, not tell her what's bothering you, when she asks? it is, a dire spot to find one's self in. i might try to, ellude the neccesity of telling the truth, if need be, but i am not the type of man who, would, bald-faced, and unashamed, lie to his Mother. to continue, what to do, what to do? like an idiot, i decide to take the accepted, useless route, and tell my boss, Jason, my suspicions. he, in turn, did exactly what i expected, and told me to, 'mind my own business', again, and, again, not for the corporation's sake, or, the francises' sake, or even the store's sake, but for his, own, personal, sake. that, alone, the, self-centered, ****-everyone-and-yay-for-me attitude (thank, my brother, for that, sweet little piece of verbal assault), by itself, would have been enough to make me do what i did, if, only out of spite. but the sheer, lack of concern for a fellow human being thing is what really determined my course of action. just how sorry can you be? is someone's life (Joy is 18/19 years old, has it all ahead of her, not behind, as was the case with my first attempt to, follow thru with the choice i had made, the stupid, worthless, and utterly contemptible choice, that is, to help someone out, when no one else is willing to so much as say boo), really, worth less than their privacy? or, one's own, personal, potential, liabilty? sadly, dear reader, the world is just that, ****ed-up, a place. but i, if only myself, alone, will not, just give up, and, say, to hell with it, what's, the point. what, did i do? i wrote Joy a letter, some, five pages, telling her what i had been thru with the last one, and how i, would, even if it meant going back to jail, or winding up in the street, do it again, for her, and how i will, keep on doing it, regardless, of the consequences. my own Mother, who would have, at one time, been out doing the same thing, if it had been a family member, or good friend's daughter, has turned against me over this, and, as much as i love her, i would walk over her corpse to do it again, if that's what is required. WOMEN, are NOT just some, afterthought, on God's part, as we have all been led to believe, and, as the powers-that-be, would, have us, continue to believe. i write, as a hobby, seeing as no one seems to be willing to, pay for my work, mostly song lyrics, short stories, never-to-be-completed novels, that sort of thing. once, while on patrol in crackland, during, personal war one, a line of prose came to me, something that, mine own eloquence will never equal.

WOMAN was God's gift to man, that he might know beauty and joy. There is NO greater sin than to fail Her.

my own, personal opinion is that, not only did God create WOMAN first, from the best parts of himself (the gender thing is a bitch, ain't it?), but that they were, and are, still, his ANGELS, and that man, created second, from what remained, with just a hint of that goodness God gave to, his ANGELS, was vain, and spiteful, and turned on WOMAN, whom he, was made to PROTECT, giving us, the, world we live in, the, world that is, invariably, being run into the ground by (who else?), men. but that's just me.

and, in the end, i was fired by Jason. and, i am not happy about it.

the above, however, is not the worst of it, no, not by a mile. we still have the ongoing thing to go over. SEXUAL HARRASSMENT is the topic we will be delving into, momentarily. the guilty party in this, travesty, will remain unnamed as, he will, eventually, hang himself with his own rope. i promise. but his escapades will be gone over in loving detail, starting now. we have had, over the last three years (roughly), three beautiful, innocent young phone girls, namely, Catherine, Desirae, and Carly. they all started at seventeen, and currently are, 19, 18, and 17, respectively. they are all, also, VIRGINS. shocked, are we? why, how, did he, how could he possibly...because, friends, the predator in their midst ASKED them, that's how. before the end of their first day on the job, each one was, probed with many, personal, intimate questions about their sex lives. you know, Desirae gives great blow jobs! you know this, because i know this, because our borderline pedophile fellow employee told me, without any prompting, whatsoever, on my part. why? because; alchoholic, 'jehovah's witness', wife-beating, child-beating, actual father, left behind, somewhere, at some point, wife, daughters, sons, escaped, somehow, the damage is done, etc. this, stealth-lothario, this, pretty-on-the-outside, all smiles and laughter in the light, poor, lost soul, sees me as a sort of, not-quite-as-****ed-up-as-the-real-deal, father-figure. some say that the Lord works in mysterious ways, that everything happens for a reason, all that. well, we can't have free will if it's everything, so, let's just say that, SOME things, happen for a reason, that some people, find themselves, somewhere they never imagined they'd be, for a purpose. not their own.

unnamed, he talks about three-ways, and girl-on-girl action, sex, sex, sex, pretty much non-stop. a quick aside - times have changed; we talked this same garbage twenty years ago when i worked for 'pizza hut', before all the LAWS were written that were supposed to put a stop to this sort of thing. it blows off steam, and helps get young, horny men laid. with girls of legal age, please. the reason it still goes on is NOT, the, the-more-things-change nonsense, but because the kids lack the inhibitions we old farts have, due, for the most part, to prime-time TV (another story/conspiracy, for another time), and to a lesser extent, film, music, everything. sex can't be avoided; it shouldn't be, in my own, but that is neither here nor there, or germane to the story at hand. sex is everywhere, and, these days, kids talk about it more openly, one might say brazenly, than they did in my day (i'm 50). we talked about it at the same age, my generation, but not around adults. so, it's not so much the topic of conversation that's the problem, but the continuing, ongoing quest of our young predator-friend, which is, to put it bluntly, to get it, as much, and, as often, as possible. he also told me that, he has considered girls as young as 13, and has hung out with one of our former driver's daughter, 15 (whose parent said, when asked about another 'what if' scenario (another, long, involved story) involving her daughter, that scenario being, 25 year-old 'man', 15 year-old girl, that she would KILL HIM, i, do not doubt her), has 'tweeted' the 17 year-old phone girl (when he was between girlfriends), and this is only what i, myself, know of. i feel it is safe to assume that, given, my knowledge, it is but, the tip, of the iceberg.

not, a pretty picture, to say the least. i can't swear to it, as i don't know, quite, everything, but i feel it is, again, safe to say, that, the franchise owner must have some awareness of the situation, as his own daughter, Tiffany, lovely girl, 19/20, something like that, is employed at the store, and was, recently, the target of our (future serial killer/rapist/who-knows-what-else) 'friend's', attention (the girl-on-girl question-thing that i was forced to shut down).

to finish up here, i hope to see, some action on the part of the, corporation and/or franchise owner's part, say, damn near immediately. otherwise, additional copies of this letter will be sent to, what say, USATODAY, and, any, and all major TV news networks, other, well-known newspapers, etc. here, is where things get a little touchy, what with bribery laws, and all. i feel it is fair to ask for, some sort of monetary compensation for yours truly, what with the, getting fired, and the, awful job-market, doomed-economy thing going on, as of late. no demands, mind you, just a simple, suggestion, shall we say. because, as we all know, if i were to threaten to, say, leak a bit, if not properly greased, as they used to say, well, that would be outside the bounds of propriety, not to mention, the, uh, law. no, heaven forbid, i am already on parole, and, in no position to even think of such a thing! feel free to contact me at 336.767.4857. anytime, day or night. rust never sleeps. i propbably don't need to say it, but rest assured, were i to, die, or, have an, 'accident', or, have my parole revoked, those letters would, still, believe it or not, find their way to the appropriate receivers. i, uh, wouldn't drag my feet, on this, if i were in, your position. thanks, for your time. sincerely,

gregory douglas lemieux

frank cotton here, yeah, that's right, i'm still here, and still running my mouth. from the top - frank cotton, here, with a SPECIAL REPORT on the the lousiness, if that is, indeed, a word, of his, that being, and meaning, my, personal, and actual, 50th birthday. IT SUCKED! first off, i had to work; can't miss a friday, what with gas, and the world, and all that. no big deal. i need the money, right? so, it's friday, my bday, and MOMS, of course, SHE can be counted on, i'm her son, right? she, like, gives me a card and fifty bucks. absolutely perfect. couldn't ask for more, but, yet, get this...she's hangin' out at boyfriends house, tonight, so frank's got the house to himself! rock on, mother****ers! right? yeah. so, it started out like this, great, like, for the first five minutes. or so. and, well, yeah, it kinda kept goin' ok, for a while - i stopped by BORDERS(?), got a cup of coffee, and went on in to work. to do my CORPORATE DUTY. as it were. day goes by, turns into night, and , eventually, frank gets off work. so. what's the big deal? how, is that, so bad? i, will tell you, momentarily. wow. sorry about the, dead air (i do this LIVE, as in, i type it up as soon as it, happens, if i can, if i'm near a, keyboard). let me explain: it is now, 8:32 in the AM, YOUR time (remember, it's ALWAYS midnite, here, at the station), monday, march 28th. i have just returned from, taking a leak. and, lo, and, behold, what do i see when i, get to the bathroom? it's ****ING SNOWING! seriously, no ****. back, to the program. the big deal. not one call, not one gift, not one, anything, from, anyone. nothing. all day. my own 'brother', who should be, taking me out to a strip club for drinks, AND, at the, very LEAST, one, lousy, lap dance, WHERE, THE **** IS HE? he didn't even, call. no voice mail. nothing. frank WOULD, have taken himself out, to yon' strip club, but, alas, his tax return has been, snagged by the, court/so-called justice system/restitution that frank, actually, owes to the feds, for that whole, misunderstanding at the bank, thing. so. no cash. bummer. look. i said to, not, make a big deal of it, NOT, to, mind, ignore it, ENTIRELY. i said that, about all birthdays, after, yes. NOT, THIS ONE. so. worst of all, i told a few of the angels, about it, being my, birthday, and, all, and, what did i get? did i get a single, hug? NO. did any one, of the beautiful girls (at work, at BORDERS), so much as, say, blow me, a, kiss? HELL ****ING NO! NOT, A ONE. so. that's why frank's so riled today/tonight/tommorow. which leads me into, my next bitch session. why i don't date. or even bother, to try. it's been, coming for a while now, and i think i'll just cut, to the chase, and, sum up just why god is, so all-fired up and, pissed off, a lot of the time, especially, here, lately. could someone, just, please explain to me why, i, frank cotton, emperor of the, known universe, the, most holy of holies, the, LORD GOD HIMSELF, who, just happened to, by the way, design it, in the, first place, WHY CAN'T I, GET ANY PUSSY! PLEASE? buehler? anyone? HELLO! this is serious, i'm trying to make a, point here, and that point is, at least, i hope it, is, that women don't, pick a guy by looks, alone? right? correct? isn't, that...why, that's JUST, BULL****! they are, every bit, as shallow, as men are! the men, they complain about, being shallow! why don't i, date? let's see, what am, i missing, BESIDES a, shot of leg, from, time to time. is it the, mind-numbing, mind-changing, mind-games? NO! don't, miss that. is it the, i, love you so much, but, then, i, go out of my way to make us, both, miserable, with all the, boo-hooing over the, teeny-tinyest, little thing, thing? HELL NO! sure as ****, don't miss, that! is it the, nerve-wracking harping, that, pretty much, every woman gets around to, doing, on, a regular basis, eventually? uh, no. so. girls, please...this is, an over-simplification, but, honestly, how many other, girls, do YOU know, that, deliberately, sabotage, pretty near every 'relationship' they, find themselves in? because, they're, waiting for, mister perfect, and, well, this one's just, filler until, he, finally, shows up? this, is a heads up, ladies. because, if, things continue on, the way they, are headed, with all this, bull****, one day, we men, are, going to perfect the, PUSSYBOT, which comes with a, handy remote control, including buttons, for, MUTE, PAUSE (think, FREEZEFRAME), and, OFF! and, then, we're going to take all our, 'bots, and, all our, handyman, honeydo, house maintanance/auto repair/etc. skills, and, MOVE TO, ANOTHER PLANET. WITHOUT, YOU. seriously, ladies, my last shot at, companionship, for, lack of a better word (the 'r' word being, unacceptable), led to, after, one week, my putting a cigarette out on, the back of, my, (left) hand, to leave a, permanent reminder, of, how i, ALWAYS, end up getting, BURNED. EVERY, SINGLE, TIME. and i try, my dears, i try harder than, anyone, to make you, happy, and, keep you, happy. in that girl's defense, i, was unaware that, she, was a, board-certified psychotic, and, she was, literally, locked up in a, hospital for, a, week, because, she'd gone off her, medication, and, off her, rocker. this, has been a, SPECIAL REPORT, and, i am, frank cotton, signing off.

for one show only, live, from FHLOSTON PARADISE, it's LOST HIGHWAY, over K-A-L-I radio, on IM frequemcy 6.6.6, hosted by the one and only, frank cotton! welcome back, kids! that was, THE BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE, MARILYN MANSON, ANTI-CHRIST SUPERSTAR (none taken), SPIN THE BLACK CIRCLE, PEARL JAM, VITALOGY, PUSHIN FORWARD BACK, TEMPLE OF THE DOG, squared, TOO OFFICIAL, QUICKSAND, SLIP, and last, but not least, YOU'RE CRAZY, GUNS N' ROSES, APPETITE FOR DESTRUCTION, which has, got to be the, best, album title, bar none, ever. and stand by, frank, 'cause i'll be throwin' titles atcha, all, spur of the moment like, at, any time, k? lot's of ground to, cover tonite, folks. and, since i've had a few, good, days off, and i'm in, no, mood for all that dark, unfun stuff we had last time, we're gonna use, this time, to, clear up a backlog of listener questions. first, of course, are the regular, features. but, before that, seein' as frank has become, somewhat preachy, here, on the show, it's high time he got him some, credentials. and, to that end, i, have applied to join the, CHURCH OF THE SUB-GENIUS (praise BOB; which is, honestly, my actual dad's, actual name. hmm...coincidence, or...), and, as soon as i, get my certificates and, whatnot, i, will be a full-on, card carrying, authen****ingtific REVEREND! that's right, the one, and, the only, REVEREND, frank cotton! how's THAT grab ya? far-****in' out, ain't it? well, sorry if you don't, share my, enthusiasm, maybe you need a, couple o' shots, or somethin'. no, frank, NOT, upside the head, shots o' LIQUOR, you, sap! altho...well, i, think it's slicker 'n snot, and since i, ain't 'catholic' (yes, raised, that way but, gave it up, long ago), i, can STILL GET LAID! well, ya know, i, COULD, still get laid, if, well, i, could at, some, point in time, actually, uh, GET laid. at, all. but, enuf 'a that, not, spoilin' the mood. no way. so, that out the way, tonight's WORD, is EXPOSITION. you'll soon know, why. tonite's THOUGHT, from, the film RAVENOUS, is, 'it’s lonely being a cannibal; tough making friends'. i, can relate and, NO, not literally. and, to finish up, i, RECOMMEND POINT #1, by CHEVELLE. it's way more, harsh, and TOOLish, in, a good way, i, think. we'll be playin' some, shortly, so you'll hear what, i, mean. we have a, new, sponsor for the RAVE this, morning/tonight, /whatever. this, SHOW! please, welcome to the fold, KINETIC AMALGAMATED, or (KA) for you, abbrv.-inclined types. makers of, well, uh, that's CLASSIFIED, so, even tho i, own the company, and, of course, i, do know, what they/we produce, and i, COULD tell you, since, well, it's, my show, and, my planet and, my, universe but, then i'd, uh, have to, say, KILL, EVERY LAST ONE OF YA! because that's, like, the rule for all that, top, classified and, kinda, secret-kinda, like, stuff. so, don't ask! but, what i, will tell ya, tonite is, or, has been, secret, for a long time. even tho, it has, always been, and, now is, technically, kinda, right in front of you, if, you'll just like, take off your, blinders, for a spell. FRANK! jams, man! ready? (DO NOT) STAND IN THE SHADOWS, and DANCING WITH MYSELF, from REBEL YELL, and BILLY frickin' IDOL, by, um, well, do i, hafta, say it again? no. FROM OUT OF NOWHERE, FAITH NO MORE, THE REAL THING, UNCOVERED, SOUNDGARDEN, LOUD LOVE (that's, like, the best kind), and finish this round with, NITRO (YOUTH ENERGY), by (there's no the, here) OFFSPRING, off of, that album, their first, ain't it, frank, that, that other other frank found, in, the closet , when he was, uh, lookin' fer, somethin'. i, don't think any of, us, want to go, there. oh, right, SMASH, was the title, there. we're, going to grab a, quick smoke, and be, right back with, the show, directly.

just, pick one, or, the other, frank! quit, playin'...
question #1) i get this one a lot. so, frank, or god, or, crazy ****er, what's with all the, foul language, and, bad grammar, and, all that? don't you, think that, maybe, more people would, listen' to ya, iffn you, like, didn't curse so, doggone much? answer #1) well, uh, **** NO, BOZO! you want i should get all, 'thee' and 'thou' with you, think, that might help? lookee here, ****hook; has it, worked, yet? anyone paying attention to, that, SHAKESPEAREAN crap? did they, ever? maybe, you'd like, me, to, speak LATIN, at ya, huh? didn't, think so, numbnuts. this, is, how you, meaning people as a, whole, talk, more or less, right? no, fancy crap, a little slang, here, and there, a little, or, a lot, of cussin', dependin' on, present company and/or, circumstances or, whatnot. right. so, this, is how frank, god, psycho dude, talks, to you. in, the, local vernacular, with, the, current lingo, gringo. not, expecting to, reach many of the, 45 and, above crowd, anyways, so...next question. #2) are you, like, all-powerful? answer #2) HELL NO! don't i, wish! no, you see, if i, was, then, the earth, would, have been RENT ASUNDER, long before i, turned like, fourteen! hormones, and, all, that, adolescent bull****. you don't go givin' a toddler, nuclear weapons, do you? what we got here is, a, reverse WIZARD OF OZ deal. i am, that is, frank, here, in his, corporeal form, is, the AVATAR, the user-friendly interface, the earthbound incarnation of, god. at, this point, just a, dude, with his, mental acuity, goin' way, way, off scale. now, i. know purty much near, most of ya'll, remember, the, STAR TREK episode, with, APOLLO? of, course you do! ran, that one, slap into the, ground, didn't they? you, had your, 'god', in, one place, and, his, for, lack of a better term, power supply, elsewhere. what you, got, with me, is, frank, down here on, good ol' earth, and, his, power supply, back, at the house, so to speak, in, dimension Z. GO AHEAD, AND, TRY, TO FIND IT. more, power to ya, so, to speak! i, may not have, immediate access, to the whole, uh, PLETHORA, of, godly superpowers, at, this very instant, but, you see, frank's, always been a, bit, hair-triggered, rage-wise, and, just plain, too, unstable, presently, to, be packin' the, FORCE, in a, like, major way. no, sir, not, a, good idea, at, this time. i'm, workin' up to it, mind, but, for the, time being i'm, a, combination, ambassador/field operative/undercover observer, kind, of guy. question #3) uh, why so many, like, different gods, and religions, and, uh, hell, why is/are all of your, god, personas so, changeable? answer #3) 'cause all you asswipes, just, don't, listen to me, in, whatever, shape/form/disposition/demeanor i, try! seems, as if, since i, ain't, to your knowledge, actually, physically present, like, ever, ya'll think you can, just, worship any old, thing, that, pops into, your, tiny little heads! this is due, partly, to the anti-authority component of your psychological makeup being cranked just a tad too high. not to mention, kinda, poorly focused, too. kinda my fault, but, also, kinda yours, too, i, can, adjust the volume, so, to speak, but the direction it goes in is, up, to you. mostly. question #4) the, big one, the, one they made that, movie, about, WHY? why, are we here, what's, it all for, what, is the purpose of, existence? mine. yours. everyone's. WHY. it's funny, isn't it, how the, most, difficult questions often have the, simplest answers, and the, simple questions, have the, most incomprehensible answers? well, you're gonna love, this, one. answer #4) because, OK. why, does anybody do, anything? why do, people, climb mount everest, why do, we, hurl probes into space, why does, the, chicken, cross the ****in' road? because, it's, something, to do; because, there's, nothing good on, TV, because being god, is, BORING! that's, why. there you, have it. if you won at, EVERYTHING, if you couldn't even, possibly, lose, AT ANYTHING, how long, do you think it would be before you, were bored out of, your skull? notice how, if, you use game cheats, all the time, the game becomes, pointless, because there's no, real, sense of winning or losing, there's no, real, sense of anything, at all, because there's no, challenge, there's nothing, at stake, whatsoever. it's just, same old, same old. but life, real, actual life, doesn't have, cheat codes (but you can still cheat, of course), it doesn't have, save points, and, if you die, you, really ****ing die. get it? life, is a game, but, with no resets, no, health packs, and no, extra lives. it's a real, challenge. it's the ultimate, GOD GAME. and when, god, plays, it's the same as when, you, play, a game, you, have set conditions, and parameters, and (if you, are NOT using, cheat codes) the, same baseline abilities as, any other player. and the REASON we are all here, is, to do things, and buy stuff. that's pretty much it folks, LIFE, is, boiled down to it's constituent parts, simply, something to do. that's, the big SECRET OF EVERYTHING! it's the ENDS, and the MEANS, all wrapped up together, for your enjoyment, at home, at work, or wherever you are. it is, what it is. the secret of life, is to learn the secret of life. that's why STEPHEN KING's, DARK TOWER ended the way it did, that's why, in ASTEROIDS, when you fly off the screen on one side, you, simultaneously fly in the other...there's just no other way to do things, than to do things. chew on that, for a spell. i'll be back...