Fun at the VA

I was just poking around this morning, reading the short-shrift vets are getting at the VA and it seems the memory of folk is mighty tiny. The VA has been hiring career “civil servants” for 39 years that I have had 1^st hand experience with, some of them are truly the dregs of both the administrative and medical sides of business.

My job was as a contract electronic engineer putting together the VA Center for Endoscopic Programs and had zero duties with the VA personnel themselves, therefore it was kinda nice to be able to see what went on dispassionately. In private enterprise, a LOT of the folk wouldn't last a week, hell, a bunch would be in jail. Interestingly, some of the very best surgeons I've ever met were there. Might have a bit to do with those men being combat vets of Korea, kinda had a dog in the fight.

One interesting observation was of the procurement department and how it was administered. It must have been self-administered as the “rules” were rather “conveniently flexible.” Good old gummit money, got lots and lots... The head of the department roughly tripled the numbers of employees in his department while I was there, no reason I could see other than him building his little “empire.” All female of course, no real accounting for work product or reason. Gummit money.

I always admired the really brilliant rule that each year, all the money allocated for a program absolutely must be spent or the same amount would be deducted from the following year's budget. It was pretty easy to see who was over-allocated, lots of new carpeting, desks, ergo-everything plus a few “invisible” perks... The “old stuff” had to be disposed of by donation to public schools, other gummit facilities, then auctioned to minority owned businesses, then open to general bidding.

As an aside to the story, when I was with Sandia Nat'l Labs, they had the same system, I assume due to being primarily gummit supported. Lots and lots of good office furniture, coffee makers, lab gear, that kind of stuff, and hydrogen bombs!

OK, the bombs didn't have the physics package installed. They were the beautifully machined 800 pound housings of the W-88 warheads that hadn't made the QC cut. I wanted one. Actually I wanted two. They were so lovely in their minimalist design and would make such beautiful bases for circular, glass-topped end table / lamps for the couch.

 

 

Oops, wrong W-88. Oh well, this one's nicer.

 

Did I mention I'm loosely wired? Some shortcuts were made in my design. ...just because I think I'd like a couple of 475 thousand ton warheads for lamps doesn't mean I need “special” attention!

...back to the VA, there were quite a few instants of taxpayer funded time and materials being “diverted” for G-jobs (now you know where the term came from) and one was really pretty strange. My “lab” there was the old animal lab that opened onto the shipping dock. Lots of trucks bringing lots of neat stuff paid for by taxpayers, a regular string of hearses bringing out errors and such, and one evening, a large shipment of 55 gallon drums. The next morning, I went out to see what they were and there were ten drums of 95% ethyl alcohol. 550 gallons of punch-spiker. Go figure...

...hmmm, 55 gallon drums of untaxed Everclear are going for $787. With Florida tax, it equals one mile of dollars! $5,280! ...times ten, hmmm...

On medical care, I found one item quite disturbing and that was the lack of having one physician following a long-term patient's case. One guy I followed had six different docs in one year “treating” him for hypertension.

 

His blood pressure would rise unacceptably, a doc would put him on one drug; it would drop way down, another doc would put him on another drug, this yo-yo treatment with a half-dozen apparently non-communicating “docs” continued for about a year until they killed him.

There were many cases like that, quite often linked to hiring foreign, ill-educated, non-Christian “doctors” who didn't much care for Americans or American servicemen. With no accountability through being sued for malpractice (VA, 39 years ago), it was just tough shit for those who went there. One could have care that was unmatched, extraordinarily fantastic, or one could draw dregs.

Enter Obummercare. Sixty years of decent medical experiences and now, after a nasty old stroke that left me unconscious for six months, I'm learning a few new things:

1. Who you thought were good friends are actually thieves.
2. If you have outlived your family and spouse, you've had it.
3. The “doctors” you have are all worthless hindus.
4. The “dentists” are worse.
5. If you're in need of a shrink, get a dog.    

 

Ah, the Golden Years, how we have looked forward to them! ...and with Obummercare, they will be so rich and rewarding! Just not for you.

 

For fun & games, our wonderful OMB says the present system is running at a work-product of 0.15 or 15 per cent efficiency for those of us that like clarity. 85% waste. Sounds about right for a G-job. ...or a B-job. It's expected to drop substantially in 2017 when the other half of Obummercare kicks in. Good luck, kiddies. When something is free, it's probably worth half of that and will cost a fortune. Kinda reminds me of my years in DC where it was said one could take a trip to the corner of Florida & 14^th , spend 20 bucks, and get a guarantee of three diseases. For 10 bucks you'd get six! Wonder what you got when it was free? AIDS, Ebola, and pneumonic plague added to the list?!!

Don't wind up in a nursing home without a family.

The days are very long.

...nights are longer

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Stoicism

Back in 1963-4, we had a gal in school with us that had a few handicaps. The photo seen here isn't her, however this gal's attitude reminded me of Carol's. She just wouldn't let anything get to her.

As a young child, she contracted polio, hence the wheelchair. I think it was around 1960 when she was additionally diagnosed with MS, a double whammy, and she would probably not see her 20^th birthday. We kids were not told of this initially, she knew as did the school staff, she didn't want pity.

We kids kinda vied to push her between her classes just because she was so bright and lively! Her muscle control was rather poor and she was shaky, besides, she liked the luxury of all her motors! I had the Mr. Wayne's chemistry to Mr. Kellogg's geography stretch. ...funny how one remembers something so small after all these years...

There was one fly in the ointment. Like all schools, this one had its coterie of bad boys. Wannabe hoodlums. This one was headed by a snot-nose by the name of Eddie, mostly found disgusting by his contemporaries. He and his gang of other snot-noses would mock Carol between classes by acting spastic, mimicking Carol's poor muscle control. Calling her a spastic did it for me. Things. Must. Be. Done!

Before I go any further, one thing you'll need to know about me is necessary. I have a version of milk allergy that can be life threatening. As a baby and as a young child, I was often very ill, often bed-ridden, and quite often feverish and pneumonic. The allergy was known, carried down by the Irish side, carried by the females, and expressed in the males. It was typically about as bad as a mild case of hay fever. Mine was ready to rock and roll. I remember a time after the first grade when I had had pneumonia pretty bad followed by double pneumonia, being transferred to my sister's room (corner room, the most sunny in the house), and just laying there. No discomfort, also no interest in anything at all. The doctor had prescribed a fancy new miracle drug, whether prophylactically or for an infection, I don't know. The drug was Terramycin. Ever hear of anaphylactic shock? I wasn't expected to live. So you can see why I could relate to Carol so well!

 

My allergy was finally diagnosed right and all cow's milk products were eliminated. This was a bit difficult due to product labeling being different in 1956-7 than now and you would not believe how many packaged products contain milk products. Try nearly all.

Now, in order to Set. Things. Straight., Things. Must. Be. Done!, and the following was very helpful.

Dad and I began weight-lifting. I'm just a little, tiny thing that was supposed to die so dad and I lifted weights every other day for years. I remained small, too late to change that, looked like a skinned fox, however that skinned fox was as hard as a rock! Eventually, my 18 mile newspaper delivery bike route plus running track, 220 & 440 yard, put me in pretty good shape. Also, my grandfather was a Irish sailor in the merchant marine during Prohibition and was one that kept Liberty Hall cleaned out until he met my grandmother! He taught me a few things besides mathematics and they weren't what wines went with what dishes! Between the two of them, this geeky little kid didn't have trouble with bullies.

Don't get me wrong, I never went looking for trouble, I had my shredded butt handed back to me more than once. Pain wasn't on my list of things worth pursuing, however this time, Eddie needed some teachin'. He was doing things to hurt my friend's feelings so I was gonna hurt his snot-lockering self!

There was no fighting on school grounds, that would get a beating by the Principle followed by suspension followed by one's parents having the need for a touchy-feelie conversation. Belt and butt conversation. Works well. These daze, it's called child abuse. Those days, it was called “avoidance therapy!” I was big on avoiding therapy so Eddie and me had Mrs. “ya'll be quatt bak arrr!” Weeks let us off the school bus in an isolated area for our reassignment surgery session. I planned to make earrings out of his nuts so he'd look nice for the girls...

Welllll, it didn't work out the way I expected, probably not his either. He had me on size and weight, not much, I'd have no trouble bench-pressing him. I was fast, he countered well, and we were both aware of the “dirty tricks” method of fighting so that wouldn't work. After beating the living daylights out of each other for 45 minutes, we called a draw. The net effect was achieved; he and his hoodlum buddies left Carol alone. Another effect was I was big-time bruised up, belly hurt too badly to eat for a few days but would have been a problem anyway with all the loose teeth. Eddie didn't fair any better, a bit worse actually.

You see I had a beauty of a shiner. Eddie had two!

I won!

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Where Did It Go?

It seems in every generation there's heard “when I was a kid, things were so much better...” and you ignore it because you've nothing but old, moldy records to do any comparison. Besides, you're in your 20's, making plenty of money, childhood is just behind, and well, what do they mean by “when I was...”?

Then you get to be 40, a tad cynical, and are curious what happened to the flying cars and trips to Mars that seemed so possible just a couple of decades ago? There's more politicians promising more programs, hiring more civil servants to do more “things” that we should do ourselves and no flying cars or trips to Mars, just the occasional robot doing robot things and our human-carrying rocket-ships are all gone.

Time continues to pass with ever-shrinking goals. What happened to fusion energy that was so close yet so far such a brief time ago? We have fancy, extremely expensive “stealth” bombers and fighters yet all we have for flying cars are a few homemade jobs that are kinda neat to look at. That's it. Kinda neat to look at.

...and the big medical bugaboo, the word that frightens most everyone, CANCER! We were gonna lick it 40 years ago. Billions and billions of War On Cancer dollars later, what do we have? A 5% improvement in the 5 year survival rate.

Vaccines. What a miracle! 60 years ago mothers kept their children at home when it was “polio season” which came as regularly as flu season. No one much remembers the horror of kids in iron lungs, wheelchairs, with drastically shortened lives... There was a huge medical growth in vaccines for almost all childhood diseases, mumps, measles, chicken-pox that most of us old farts had. Diphtheria? Gone. Tetanus? Ditto... Then it got more and more expensive. Our vaccines were all coming from overseas, we quit making them. Why? Oh. Lawyers. Lots and lots of liability laws and lawsuits. The companies were leaving for countries like India and China, Britain and France...

Twenty more years of ever-shrinking goals and ever-burgeoning population with the Cold War between two technically advanced and “mostly” rational ideologies changed for one that has a plethora of squabbling, ignorant, death-cultists wanting us dead is such a fine legacy. They are sooo rational and sooo honest, who wouldn't trust them to keep their word? With the huge world-wide population even a “small” nuclear exchange will cause so much chaos as to be unthinkable... Trust is spelled taqiyya.

Do you remember when the United States of America was proudly known world-wide as the “Great Melting Pot?” Now it is “Diversity” unless one is of the evil, domineering, divisive, despised species that, once-upon-a-time, invented all kinds of neat stuff. All Hail Diversity! Now we have a country more divided than South Africa during apartheid.

Another 20 years are gone. No flying cars. No rocket-ships to Mars. The Melting Pot is a Diverse armed camp that no one travels through in the night.

Medicine? Ebola. AIDS. MRSA. TB. Drug-resistant everything. ...and a drug culture consuming ever more potent products manufactured by a ever more illiterate, psychopathic criminal class...

What happened?

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Reading Habits

This morning there was a blurb on a serial killer on the loose, so common in both the entertainment and news media that it left no impression on me. It did make me think about abnormal psychology again.

My wife, Nina, had unusual reading habits. She only, and I mean only, read books on abnormal psychology. Newspapers and various magazine articles don't count. Must be me you say?! Well, probably some, however most of her interest came from the misery caused by her second husband's raping of her two pre-school children. He was a charming man, older than Nina, and got on well with kids I was told. He was also a psychopath. Walked on the easily proved charges due to his psychopathy, however it didn't end there. I'll get back to him...

When I lived in Silicon Gulch in the 70's, I was extremely lucky being a young EE doing work I loved, having many friends to play with (give up, I'm a hopeless case!), and waaay too much money. Some of the jobs I would have paid to do (Palomar & Siding Springs) and they wanted to pay me?! Good times and I knew it!

Since I was a V-8 running on 12 cylinders, I got “volunteered” for various social projects. To this day, I don't know who set me up on some, probably to keep themselves from getting skinned!

One of the projects was for a branch of the VFW. A young man, mid-20's, came by the house one Saturday morning collecting clothes for returning vets. Jerry, the young man, was also looking for folk to assist some of the vets re-establish themselves in the US. These guys wouldn't be head cases, those got the VA, they were just kids barely younger than my 22 years who had the misfortune of coming back to nothing. This worked out very well with me having five “guests” over the next year. More on a couple of them later...

Another was with the suicide prevention hotline. Whoever volunteered me is staying low. I'd probably have to hurt them! The hotline at the time had, if my memory serves, 60 branches around the Bay, with 20 or so volunteers per branch on scheduled call for active intervention. As you probably know, this isn't something one does just out of the box, there was a fair amount of training involved. There are a couple of stories worth telling, I might put them on my list. How the interventions were done was probably the best thing going.

The last one I'll mention and the only one that fits this post, is the one I tried for years to do again after moving out of California. One Saturday morning (Saturday was the day for Jehovah's Witnesses, Mormons, Buddhists, Save the Giant Flying Vampire Squid day) two young women, Sheila and Donna, stopped by the house and said a friend of mine suggested I was likely to be interested in helping with their facility. It turned out to be a foster group home and school with a big difference; every child, male and female, had been raped.

You probably already know what my feelings about creatures that do things of that nature is; swift, sure, extremely violent death. These beasts get no more air.

I was volunteered due to lots of reasons with one that I didn't expect.

When younger, one of my good buddies parents ran a foster home for kids with the “normal” miserable reasons; death in the family, ugly divorce, car accident, that type of pain, and I was a regular visitor. Those kids bore up well and it was really quite a lot of fun, especially the fishing trips we'd all go on! 

The unexpected reason Sheila and Donna wanted me was I was short! These kids were severely traumatized and did not trust men at all. I was barely taller than some, only my bushy, black moustashe indicated I was a adult male!

Two of the kids, Billy and Rachel, stayed with the home the three years of my association. Billy was a total, man-hating brat when I met him at age eight. Kicked the snot out of my ankle, scowling at me with defiance, daring me to something about it. By the way, the boys were by far the worst.

Rachel was also eight in the beginning. She was a pretty little pixie with long, dark hair, perfect manners, and never smiled. Also, she never spoke. Sheila said she was an excellent student, nothing wrong there. Just terribly traumatized.

Can you feel the love I have for the bastard that did that to that precious child? Right now my thoughts are of a tattoo saying “jew” in Farsi across his forehead and a one-way trip to a ISIS camp.

Moving right along, most Saturdays, weather and my schedule permitting (I often did field work and instruction), they would bring a crop of kids up, under five, just Sheila, five and up, both gals, once they brought 20 and a pair of UC Santa Cruz students to herd the kittens! We would do things as simple as play in the back yard with some rabbits from my rabbitry, go to the San Jose Flea Market with its amusement park including a huge super-slide and food court, take nature hikes in the south valley, and go to Great America, a full-time fair. Altruistic? Not on your life! I was having as much fun as the kids!

This is from Robert Heinlein's “Time Enough For Love”:

“Beware of altruism. It is based on self-deception, the root of all evil.”

“If tempted by something that feels “altruistic” examine your motives and root out that self-deception. Then, if you still want to do it, wallow in it!”

Ever meet a true altruist? Me neither. If I did, I'm afraid I'd have to kill it!

Sometime in the early Spring of 1975, Sheila just brought Billy and Rachel up. It was coming on time for me to vanish for a while under contract and I was going to miss them. Billy had become a good friend by now and poor Rachel still didn't talk. I don't know if my future leaving had anything to do with it, Rachel started talking one afternoon! She did it as matter of factually as if she had never stopped. It was so powerful both Sheila and me wound up crying our hearts out with simple joy! Smiling and talking, meeting one's eyes, a child getting her childhood back! Both of them are 50 now. I have often wondered how they have fared in life.

I see I've left two topics unfulfilled; Antonio Sillato, Nina's child-raping ex, and Steve H. & the crazy sniper. ...and a bit more about serial killers. Oh, and looking for the photograph of Sheila, Rachel, and Billy. I've got several hundred data CD's, too many that are carefully labeled “misc.”

Decisions, decisions...

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The Brain Fart

I read of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest today and thought I'd give it a shot, only this story is true. I may have embellished it a bit. The laws of physics are still in order!

The Brain Fart

Now I know every one of you has had “one of those days” when your mouth runs faster than your brain and something slips out that shouldn't. This is the story of one of those days.

This story begins with Nina and myself going over one fine Saturday afternoon to visit with friends Bill and Delores. At this time, Nina and I had been married for five years. For refreshment, Nina is Angela Antonia Marraro, a Sicilian, born and raised in the Bronx and on her families' 120 acre “farm” in Westchester, New York. This was also where her “uncle” made a lot of civil servants, police commissioners, and other “underpaid” public employees happy in exchange for being nice to his “employees” and his “family.”

She was a bit spoiled being a only child and was rather used to being treated well. Things could turn out poorly if one did not treat her properly.

Bill, Delores, Nina, and myself sat out in some lawn chairs, talking, saving the world from those evil politicians (Bill & me), girl talk (unimportant stuff), and enjoying the beautiful day! The sky was blue, the puffy little white clouds were sporty, birds were chirping, squirrels barking, the light breeze was cool and refreshing, and Bill's fish were blowing little bubbles in his pond. All was right with the world! Every now and then the gals would have to slow us down when Bill and I got to considering the best way to hang a congress-thing or other malfeasor, just normal behavior for us barbarians.

All was going well, we had a spirited, intelligent (despite Bill & I) interlocution (see how smart I is?), and then I did it. Committed suicide. At least I wanted to. It would be much faster, much more humane, if I were to do it. The option was too horrible to ponder.

The sky turned a dull, pot-metal grey, the clouds had changed to the ominous, pre-tornado monsters, the birds and the squirrels became silent, the breeze dissappeared leaving a dank, foul stench, and Bill's fish had all turned belly-up.

I had just called Nina by my ex-wife's name.

Please, may I have the knife?

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents — except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.” — Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, Paul Clifford (1830)

I'm almost that bad. What? Worse?

I'm gonna go outside and eat worms.

Dichotomy

They're Coming to Take Me Away ha ha!

Once one tries to reconcile two opposing mind-sets, i.e., a dichotomy, and accepts the results, one is a democrat. “Balanced budget” & “increased spending”, “better education” & “throwing more money at a proven failure”, “increased nat'l security” & “adding a new cabinet pos (intentional)” “Homeland Security” which grew a HUGE bureaucracy “trying” to consolidate 16 Federal agencies, failed miserably, had more money thrown at it, grew even huger, became even more worthless, curtailed the freedoms of its own citizens, is a howling bureaucratic nightmare... Amazing what the sandworms could do using only a few dime-store box cutters, our airplanes, our fuel, and our buildings.  Wonder if taxpayers paid for their flight school as well?

di·chot·o·my
dīˈkädəmē/
noun
noun: dichotomy; plural noun: dichotomies
1. a division or contrast between two things that are or are represented as being opposed or entirely different.
   "a rigid dichotomy between science and mysticism"

synonyms:

contrast, difference, polarity

schiz·o·phre·ni·a
ˌskitsəˈfrēnēə,ˌskitsəˈfrenēə/
noun
noun: schizophrenia
1. a long-term mental disorder of a type involving a breakdown in the relation between thought, emotion, and behavior, leading to faulty perception, inappropriate actions and feelings, withdrawal from reality and personal relationships into fantasy and delusion, and a sense of mental fragmentation.
   • (in general use) a mentality or approach characterized by inconsistent or contradictory elements.

Democrats are my favorite critters to debate! Well, actually, I like to see how quick I can get them sputtering and puffing trying to reconcile two opposites! Of course it's just about as easy to do it to Republicans these daze, they've mind-melded.

Or take Islam, the “religion of peace (pieces)”. In the Koran, there are 109 references to killing the infidel in various ways and more on screwing infidel women. It's not my interest to list them, indeed, I've spent too much of my time studying the alleged “holy book” only to find that the parts not lifted from the Old Testament or the Torah consist of 20% material totally unintelligible by any scholar and approximately 10%, the ramblings of a homicidal, pedophilic, maniac. Can't be reconciled. Since 9/11, there have been 26,727 terrorist attacks, doesn't jibe with the “religion of peace” unless one considers death and dismemberment “peace.” A barbaric death cult generated and spread like a disease.

In defense of folk that follow 'ol Mo, they are not all idiots. For over a hundred generations, they've been trained from childhood to truly believe the “righteousness” of blowing one's self up with a lot of infidels will get them to their “paradise” full of pussy and booze. If I was a retarded, inbred sandworm who stood a smaller chance of gettin' any 'cause the big worms got lots, and booze was forbidden in this life, I'd probably take the earthly bang to get banged in Paradise!

I've been re-reading up on President John Adams and the Barbary pirates and, rather disgustedly, John Kerry and the mad mullas of Iran. Is there anybody more stupid than Kerry? He testified before congress a couple of weeks ago and I could have cried.

Doesn't anybody in the real world understand the

meaning of taqiyya? ...that there cannot be any treaty with muslims? Get real. Actually it doesn't make any difference as we are giving them $150 billion and 24 daze notice to inspect themselves. Ho hum.

I bet they can make a lot of nukes and delivery systems with all that green. Nah, they can just drive across our undefended borders with trucks rigged to go boom. Wonder if atomic bombs will get them to paradise and all the swigs and nookie sooner? 

This is cute. Too bad it's true instead of parody.

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Hillary Clinton's Email Scandal

Now I've kinda promised myself I wouldn't get too involved blogging in this election. I'm running out of years and this election looks to be the one that ties the knot on the demise of the US. Sorry to see the old Republic go, however the last 8 years have done too much damage to repair without something very bad happening. Way too much promised with way too few resources with the resources becoming fewer. Europe is in almost as bad shape with France, Spain, & Greece worse than us. Africa is a horror story with so many fleeing, India is a cesspool of illiterates H1-B ing themselves as fast as they can get the US “civil servants” to “certify” them, muslims are invading all of Europe with Scandinavia really catching it in the crotch; the list goes on and on...

Presently, it appears we seem to be getting a choice between a knave whose past statements don't match his present (I'm checking, not sure of my source) and a absolute criminal. I will only talk of Hillary's latest scandal as I have a rather extensive experience with security and leave the other 21 (15 pages, no ads) for later.

It seems very odd that the democratic party would back such a absolute criminal and even odder that the American electorate would tolerate such. Oh, right. Jonathon “the stupidity of the American voter” Gruber said it all. I may be old and decrepit externally, internally I'm still 18. The young are supposed to call the old “fossilized”, same was true 50 years ago. Funny thing is, it wasn't true then and it's not true now. A broad paintbrush wielded by the liberal icons of the day and not of real human beings.

Unless “the Trump” did not actually change as dramatically as shown (like I said, check source), is he the best offering for the President of the second strongest (maybe lower) country in the world? If he did change, we can save our money on having an election. Won't be needed.

...think about it, both Boehner and McConnell folded completely in favor of the most liberal senator and now the “Resident” of the United States when it came to illegal aliens. Black people have lost big-time with employment losses both presently and very big-time with the legalizing of tens of millions of illegal aliens. Did you ever consider why so many Mexicans are leaving their beautiful country?

Now on to Hillary's email scandal. You have to read this first: READMEREADMEREADME

Done reading? Are Americans gonna vote for that POS? Oh, right. They voted for Obama. Twice.

Guess I'll have to vote for Jonathon.

It is really worthwhile reading Hillary's 22 ways to be a royal shit in public and think the American people will look the other way. Oops. They voted for Obama. Twice. She's got it in the bag.

It's impossible for me to exerp from either Hillary’s Air Gap Problem (email) or Hillary's 22 biggest scandals ever . It's just too much. Overkill for the lousiest thing since Obama and with the deteriorating state of everything, martial law and our next monarch.

Queen Hildebeast.

(I just ran spellcheck. It tried to replace Boehner with boner. Someone's got a sense of humor!)

 

 

I just found this:

 

 

Is this true? It's been in my file before he was a contender.

 



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A Little Light Hacking

I've been considering the possibility of someone getting hurt if this missive were to get out and about the only one in jeopardy would be me. If he knew who did it, he'd kill my ass. That would make me sad.

My wife was a true stoic, a full-blooded Italian from the Bronx who didn't cry. She made other people cry! In the nineteen years we shared, she only cried twice, the first time I would have joined her but I was too shocked, the second was seventeen years later and the reason needed some fixin'. It seems her direct boss, a banty rooster of a useless piece of used dog food, had been ragging on her and it had finally gotten under her skin.

Now Nina was an accountant and her most recent job at the company was a bit of forensics on the deposits of one of the 33 stores in her chain. Seems something like $50 grand per month were going missing and were circumstantially traced to one clerk. The clerk lived with her biker boyfriend and the pair of them didn't have the brains God gave a retarded piss-ant so the trail should be easy to follow. Nope. To date, Nina had found $150 G missing and one would expect some luxury spending.

It's becoming pretty obvious that there's someone on the inside manipulating the books in a covert fashion not available to be seen by Nina. She asked me to do a little hacking. You think you know where this is going, right?

The home office was in Orlando and I figured it would be the right place to acquire the passwords into the main database. The routine is very simple, put on one's best white-shoed, silver-tongued voice, identify yourself, company, and what you need. I simply used myself and my company since who better than myself to verify myself! This works so well it's almost criminal... This makes me happy!

For the next couple of days I enjoyed myself wandering through a giant database, many companies linked by a single capital source. I stayed out of that area even though I was behind an anonymiser while trying to trace Nina's boss's financials. “here be dragons...”

As expected, he spent more than he made and owned one item not mentioned any place locally. As he traveled a lot between stores, he was gone for days at a time so the house in St. Augustine didn't strike me as unusual initially. I'm nosy. Besides, he made my wife cry.

The snot-nosed banty rooster had a wife, two kids, and a mortgage locally.

He also had a wife, two kids, and a mortgage in St. Augustine.

The wives didn't know about each other. Oh, they would!

I printed out the pertinent information to present Nina that evening. I never got positive proof of his thievery, didn't really think more was needed. Have you ever seen the truly wicked smile and devilish glowing black eyes of a totally pleased Italian woman? The memory makes me whimper...

There was much sadness for one pitiful creature.

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Dr. Minnick

Stories like this one about Agnes Fenton are genuinely smile-inducing due to my childhood with Cora in it. She was Dr. Minnick's housekeeper and in 1955, was as spry and witty as a woman 1/3rd her age.

At 107, having all your hearing, sight, and ability to ambulate is something else!

We kids didn't know the significance of her age, indeed she was always busy with her household chores, keeping we bunch of kids from drowning each other in the river, and this one particular day, gossiping with the neighbors. What made it specially memorable was what she said. She was busily convincing a big old cooter turtle he no longer needed his head due to his future of being the main course for supper. I was doing 5-year-old kid things and looking at the pretty red/blondie woman she was talking with when Cora said "man who get no pussy, he get mean!" I do remember the young woman was wearing a baby-bump so now Cora's observation seems fitting.

Of course at the time that meant nothing at all to me, it just puzzled me why people like my father or grandfather would get mean without a cat. Neither of them ever paid any

attention to the mostly feral barn cats we had around the farm. Her statement was a mystery!

We used to have a ball being little kids and playing in the river with one game we played called "piranha." Cora approved, I think she would have enjoyed joining us. The big kids couldn't get away with it anymore so us littles took up the mantle. When my time came due, I did my share of coaching the next generation in this fine art. It went something like this: an adult enters the water, littles' vanish underwater. Adult is attacked from below by multiple "creatures" with teeth. Adult flees for life!

As you can imagine, this was great fun for the kids and put smiles on the parent-things. I do recall one stick-in-the-mud aunt who said in all seriousness that she would like to "hold their heads underwater until they quit bubbling." Old grouch!

At 107, Cora was 12 years older than Dr. Minnick. I found out later that she was his nurse when he was an infant. She was born in 1848, he in 1860, and they had been together all that time. The house on Fish River was gorgeous and I think I've found a picture of it or one very similar:

I have / had the rocking chair that Cora rocked baby Dr. Minnick and it was used for myself and for both of my boys. Stolen now along with everything I've earned in my 65 years.

In 1958 at the kitchen door of the house shown here (I think), 110 year-old Cora presented me with my Bible, bound in gold-embossed white leather printed on vellum with Christ's words highlighted in red. I must have done something right for a change!

Nah, never happen...

Dr. Minnick was one of the first "painless" dentists. He was quite athletic as a young man, however during college, he received a crippling injury in a football match that rendered him a paraplegic for the rest of his life. I still remember his wicker wingback wheelchair.

For something really weird, the first memory that I had happened six months after my stroke. I was following a similar wheelchair and it "dissolved" into a walker. I was receiving physical therapy. Go figure...

...back to Dr. Minnick. His house was open to us kids and he had bowls of peppermint candies around for us. Actually, that was a common practice among dentists of our time (1950's) as a reward for being such brave little troupers! Nothing like pure sugar to drum up business!

Another memory was the smell of sandalwood incense and to this day, I love it!

Dr. Minnick was a skeet shooter and had purchased (won?) a limited edition Winchester 12-12 skeet shotgun in 1922. This shotgun was feather light, had a ventilated rib sight, and a trigger reversal in place of the safety. Did I mention it was gorgeous?

Dr. Minnick went to give it to my grandfather and granddad turned him down. He said he couldn't accept a gift of such value. Some time later Dr. Minnick asked him if he had a dime and granddad gave him one. "There, you have now bought a shotgun."

My grandfather left it to me in his will and I went to carry it back to California in 1971. My sister Grace took me to the airport I referred to as "Mobile International Cow Pasture" wearing a long country dress with a hippie-chick blouse, and I with worn denim jeans, a horizontally striped yellow and black "pirate" long sleeved tee, a cut-off jean jacket, and a black, shoulder-blade ponytail with a Zapata.

...and a 12 gauge shotgun over my shoulder.

Cuban airline hijackings were at their peak, however a open carry was completely legal. Besides, this was fun!  I don't imagine one could get away with it these daze (sp). The world was much more rational, there were fewer "laws" for the recalcitrant human to ignore. Ever read the book "Please Don't Eat the Daisies" by Jean Kerr? Yup. If kids of any age are told not to do something, there is no probability of it not being done. It's a 100% certainty it WILL get done. Aren't you glad we have the hydrogen bomb?

I had the Winchester appraised back in California. With its provenience, it was worth $4,500 in 1972. Whew! I took good care of it planning for MY first grandchild to someday get it.

Did you just read the word "plan"? Does god need another laugh? Stolen. I hope to god the son of a bitch that got it discovers the reverse trigger by accidently killing his grandson.  Read "What Happened?" for more. It's not particularly pleasant.

I'm going to go look for more references about Dr. Minnick. I'm pretty desperately in need of good dental work and it isn't happening here. In the three days after I had my stroke, I lay alone on a concrete floor. I must have thrashed around a lot as I broke a lot of teeth. The horror story I've gone through since is absurd to the point of criminal intent. No, I'm not looking for dentistry by séance! The old style southern house seen here is a dental clinic found when I googled "dr. minnick dentist" and it's in the right place!

Stay tuned, same Bat Time, same Bat Channel... 

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College Football

Football was never a big interest in my family as we tended toward other recreational pursuits such as fishing, flying, gardening, and hunting. Also, TV was pretty-much unwatched with us kids being given little time for it and TV “privileges” could be removed easily! My mother said “I ought to switch them (she meant me of course) when I get them up because lord knows, they'll need it soon enough.”

She was right except I needed around four whuppings a day if she really caught me! About typical for a young teen.

You know how to raise male children don't you? After they are weaned, you put them in a barrel, nail the lid on, and feed them through the bung hole. When they reach 18, you drive the bung back in.

When I went off to college, I did it in a unconventional manner. My family was quite extensive and a heck of a lot of fun with lots of support in all sorts of activities. Well, most activities! ...some, welll...

Beginning in the last half of my 17^th year, things around the home place became strange, almost like a soul-sucking creature had set up house with us. Everything seemed gray, lifeless, and I couldn't understand what had gone wrong. I remember my mother crying softly in their bedroom at night with the sound of my father gently soothing her. ...just didn't know.

There were two very major things that happened to me between October of 1967 and March of 1968 that affected my feelings about college football that would take a book to explain so I'll just do the basics. In 1967 I won my high school Science Fair's 1^st prize in physics. They, the HS Administration, decided to send me on to the Regional which I won as well and got a bit of a fat head when NASA and the US Air Force paid a lot of attention. It was time for the State and it came with a substantial scholarship, enough to pay my books and tuition. I won, however, my high school had not paid the $4 admission fee. No tickee, no scholarshipee. Thanks a bunch Mr. Rogers.

My family was not poor. Between my father and his partner, a childhood chum, they had founded a very successful 13 year old refrigeration business, dad had his flying instructor and charter business, and I, among other things, made plenty repairing avionics. We had a fine home and 15 acres in the country all paid for, plus I was headed to a local private college to study engineering. It also kept me near my childhood sweetie, Connie, that I was to marry after college. We had been together since we were twelve and were joined at the hip! Also, there was the probability of maybe doing a bit of flying myself!

Are you beginning to get one of those “tell God your plans” feelings?

Things around home were going from bad to worse without a smile among us. My parents quit square dancing (I had loved it), dad sold the airplane, it was just getting hard to breathe. Nothing was right and there didn't seem to be a reason. The morning after graduation, I packed one small suitcase, drove up to the closest used car lot to I-10, sold my car for a song, and hitch-hiked to Washington, D.C.

The following years were not bad at all, just exceedingly poor. Being under 21, I couldn't sign a rental or lease (lived in 18 places during college), couldn't apply for resident student tuition (THAT really hurt), but I COULD go to Vietnam. My parents had split the sheets and the stories that filtered down to me were contradictory. I won't bore you. Besides, it still hurts after nearly 50 years. It wasn't until 1971 that I found out what happened. The story is pretty-much the same as the tale in “Death & Destruction”, change the names and the times. We never learn. I don't think we can.

Squeezing every penny to make tuition payments, living in some “interesting” places (those I'll HAVE to write about!), and riding the thumb a lot used to make me kinda green when I saw kids that were totally illiterate and innumerate get full-ride scholarships plus goodies that brainless muscle loves. Professional football only takes less than 2% of the NCAA players and the ones accepted have an average “career” of 3 years. One of the trio of Hell-spawned crackheads that broke my hip requiring titanium re-bar hammered in, in 2012 could only talk of his time & “heroics” with the Miami Hurricanes 25 years prior. He was one of the 98% rejected by the pros. He was sooooo smart it was a wonder how his skull could hold all his brains! A miracle I tell ya, just a miracle...

In 1981, my former wife and myself wanted to see if something could be done about the sorry state of the Suwannee County school system before our son started. The Suwannee County system was rated 3^rd from bottom in all of Florida and the symptom was the near-worship of football. Turns out we were not the only parents up in arms. Ever try tilting at windmills? Priorities......

Where do you want to spend your money? What departments do you want to encourage? Geography? Math? Chemistry? English? FOOTBALL!!! Ra ra ree, kick 'em inna knee! Ra ra rasss, kick 'em in da obber knee! Who needs scholastics when we got a championship pigskin team! ...paid for by alumni and tuition from the students.

When it came out in 1979 that school tuition was used in the purchasing of two Corvettes to bribe a pair of utterly brainless pieces of meat to join the FSU football team, my interest in college football fell to its present level; somewhat lower than a snake's rectum. That made the criminality of record company payola pale in comparison. When I think of what my roommates and myself did in college to keep body and soul together, like the day we got our paychecks (different employers) and we each bought a big jar of peanut butter and a loaf of WonderBread home, or the morning we had oatmeal but no sweetening (you can't eat unsweetened oatmeal!), went to a local diner and stole packets of sugar...

...but the tuition got paid.

For something lighter, try:

Key & Peele - East/West College Bowl

 

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Kinky

Several years ago I ran across a list of things you don't want to hear and one of them was “It will only seem kinky the first time”. I rather liked it, and, having a unusually fertile imagination, it kept me quite amused! How did the old saying go? Simple minds are easily amused?

Something was bothering me and took days to figure it out. The sentence was missing two words. It should have read “She said it will only seem kinky the first time”. You see, my first ex-wife was quite creative and kinda frisky. Wanted to try something new out on me. “Hell, girl, that'll seem kinky EVERY time! It did. Fun in a strange sort of way.

We were only married for a couple of months and neither one of us proposed. Nope, alcohol and drugs were not involved. A bunch of Cajuns were, as well as it being August in Southern Alabama. Her being a native San Franciscan and me a long time resident of the same might have had something to do with it. Addled by the heat. Cajuns LOVE weddings. And partying. One of the Cajuns was my step-dad who, in a bunch more years was also to be my uncle because my 2^nd ex-wife was his niece and when we had kids, that made my mother aunt granny! Isn't this fun?! ...and NO marriages were between blood kin! My tiny little Scottish grandmother thought we needed a bundling board (go look it up). Does this sound a bit disjointed? It is and we were and I still am. There's a whole lot more of the same but even thinking about it will get one busted in many states and would have them carry me off babbling in a butterfly net.

I remained good friends with Fran over the decades and strangely, her and Nina became good friends. Now I'll tell you, that was some serious nervous-making. 3,000 miles apart and they were plotting my demise. My life was soon to end. A Irish girl talking about a German boy to a Italian girl! Oh, the humanity! ...walking around with a severe case of the “yeeps!” is not good for a person...

One morning before dawn, Nina brought a selection of tools into the bedroom. Although I am normally not a big fan of sharp objects in the bedroom, I let this slide. She joined me in bed and began performing certain actions, quite interesting but quite painful. My joints were not nearly as flexible as they had been many years ago and there was a good chance of breaking a bone.

Now ten years after Nina's death and 25 years after her conversation with Fran, I've finally figured out what the ex-husband of my high school girlfriend meant when he wrote “It will only seem kinky the first time”. Fran was telling Nina a very unusual method of giving me a pedicure!

 

Read it through again. What WERE you thinking? I'm not that kind of person!

 

That hurts!

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Christina

Back when the moon had just been ripped from the flesh of the earth by the passing of the rogue star Niburu (humor me folks, I'm loosely threaded), I took employment at Sandia National Laboratories in New Mexico. For reasons best left unsaid, my wife and I thought it would be better for our marriage if we were to leave the old neighborhood. It didn't work of course, actually worsened the conflict.

At Sandia, EVERYONE was required to qualify for a Q, or atomic weapon clearance of one grade or another. Due to certain of my qualifications, I was slated for Group 320, better known as the “spook group.” Out of 8,000 cleared employees, there were only around 135 of us assigned to 320. This made for a rather thorough investigation of my background which wasn't too worrisome as I had carried Secret and Top Secret clearances in the past and hadn't sold the Russians any secrets recently. However, with a divorce in the making, mine was going to be especially tardy.

To enter Sandia, one has to enter the Kirkland Air Force Base compound which has guard posts on all entrances that required a decal or a permit to enter. One can also expect random vehicle inspections as well both coming in and going out.

After that, one is on base where parking is allowed prior to entering the tall, barbed top, chain link fence surrounding Sandia Base through security checkpoints. These checkpoints are quite thorough and “your papers must be in order!”

Sorry 'bout that, couldn't help myself!

 

In between the two fences is where the big alternate energy projects such as the Solar Power Tower & the sun tracking mirrors, the Savonius vertical windmills, and my favorite, the Particle Beam Fusion Accelerator (PBFA) are located. When that thing discharged, it could be felt for over a mile. By the way, when a test was imminent, we left the building!

Other items located in the limbo zone were the electronics warehouse, surplus items to be auctioned, and the Leper Colony. That was where those who were waiting for their clearances to come through toughed it out doing many of the unclassified projects. We were considered “unclean” and were cast out of the city gates!

Nearly every occupation was represented and all variety of work was undertaken. With 8,000 employees, Sandia represented a town of 24,000 high technology types – shear heaven for a electron bender like myself!

Christina Hwong was a gal about my age awaiting her clearance. With her mother being a Brit in Hong Kong and her father a Chinese businessman in Singapore, her Q would be a long time coming. Most new-hires were in their early 20's and hadn't had time like certain politicians, Christina, and myself to sell classified documents yet!

Christina was hired for her mathematical skill which was outstanding. Her grasp of the truly abstract was better than any I had ever seen and having her around gave me the opportunity to get some fantastic tutoring in a tough nut for me, vector calculus. She was a good teacher and rarely had my eyes glaze over!

There were about 20 folk at any one time in the colony with most folk receiving their clearances in six months or less. 8 AM was the official start of the work day, however Christina and myself showed up at 7. Math lessons, sure. Actually it was due to the coffee. We had one of those multi-pot Bunn industrial brewers to get going before Scott came in at 7:30. You see, Scott was a Scotsman, played a nearly professional game of golf each evening with the Air Force brass, (we had an excellent course on the reservation) and he, plus the AF brass retired to the Officers Club after for a wee nip of the Romulan ale. Normally, he felt poorly in the morning. If he made the coffee, spoons would stand up in the cups. One ate Scott's coffee. Toxic.

Christina also had a very nice home right outside of the base she shared with her mate. About once a month she gave a get-together for all the new-hires plus a few old hands. Mid-westerners, New Englanders, southern Californians, you pick it, they were there and a good time was had by all! She could make a rather alien place in the high desert where Mexican was the predominate language much more welcoming.

She also had a fair-sized two story “cabin” in the Manzano mountains she would host get-togethers at in fair weather. We did everything from hiking to football, lots of good eats, just really nice for the kids so far from home.

As far as work, we both wound up doing the unclassified work on the Vela satellite system that insured compliance with the nuclear test ban treaties. I had additional duties designing the video processing system for LAZAP, part of the SDI.

One morning Christina didn't show up. This was not particularly strange, often we were brought in the main compound for a bit of a briefing. Not this time. Christina was dead. Something gave way in her magnificent mind and she killed herself. The way she did it was so very strange; multiple stab wounds that she definitely inflicted herself.

About a year later, I had received my clearance and went to work with the 320 Group. Nina and I had begun living together with neither wanting to get married. We were extremely burned out by the Hell we went through with our divorces and getting too old for kids even if it was a good idea. Seems Sandia didn't feel exactly the same way. Admittedly, my job was one of the most classified around, however I thought it strange her and I married made me/us a lesser risk. Then they did something I thought was a bit demented: they gave me access to the computerized FBI files on damn-near everybody. These are the same type of files as the 900 found in Hillary's bedroom. One can blackmail the shit out of many folk (and ALL politicians); I was expected to look up Nina's past. Obviously they (management) didn't know me/us. Her and I were totally honest with each other and knew the painful parts of each that should be left alone. Scab-picking is a bad idea.

However, there were some scabs worthy of picking. Management for one. Politicians of course! It may be 1986 but it's still J. Edgar's FBI!

For enlightenment, I looked up Christina. A sweet, normal woman with a I.Q. of 187.

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Cutting One's Own Throat

The USA will be a very different place before my children die. I'd like to hang around to see how it'll actually take place but that ain't happening. California is already Aztlan as well as New Mexico with the rest of the Southwest soon to follow due to the extremely high birth rate of 8 children per Hispanic woman. This compares to the black rate of 6 per woman and the white of 1.6 to 1.8 children per woman. I suspect the white having different rates is due to some measurements taking some Hispanic included as white. I suspect the “official” US population figures of 17% Hispanic and 13% black are badly in error due to the black population being 11% back in 1965. The percentage change doesn't fit the birth rates. 

There isn't an accurate way to determine illegal alien immigration; California, plus the many sanctuary cities are proof enough, plus the “compounds” less-than-reputable businessmen maintain as told by the census lady in 2000 is damning. “What illegal aliens? I don't see any illegal aliens.” A few years ago, ICE raided Corbetts Mobile Home building joint, sending about 200 Mexicans hauling ass toward the woods. Of course one is not supposed to hire folk that have arrived with damp shirts.

Wonder how that turned out? A dozen years later Corbetts is still in business. The compound having 3,500 illegal aliens in Suwanee County is still there I'm told. “What illegal aliens?”

There was another really fine firm in the little, un-incorporated village of Wellborn, my home. It was known as Suwanee Log Homes and was as professional and polished as one could want. All of the homes were made of rot and bug resistant cypress beautifully milled to the buyer's specs with all the finish materials provided. A turn-key home was arrangeable if the future owner wished and could afford it! These things cost about 2-4 times conventional construction and SLH always had a huge backlog. The reason I knew so much about the firm was 1) due to my possible interest in a custom design, and 2) my next-door neighbor was one of their expediters.

You just know something bad is gonna happen, don'tcha! God needs a giggle...

The staff and construction crew were all local blacks and Scot/Irish, knew what they were doing, and were always cheerful. I was up there often for one reason or the other, mostly to have some of the happiness rub off, and I can't remember ever seeing a crew that effective.

The owners had one of their own with majority control. He wasn't the originator and his ownership seemed shady, however on that, all I have is gossip. He had another business that needed money and THAT one was shady and shaky. How to get more money out of SLH? Why, cut labor costs! What could be easier! There's a whole passel of cheap labor in a compound nearby that won't let the Census Bureau or the FBI in but will gladly send all the “help” you need!

Do you see something coming? Is the light at the end of the tunnel a train that is about to run you over?

Did I mention nearly every job there required skilled hands? A common language was mandatory as some folk found out the bloody way. Also, you don't bring home parts of the equipment that provides your employment no matter how bright and shiny they are.

Yep, he canned the entire crew with the exception of the three English speaking expediters who were absolutely necessary. It ain't done yet...

 

Well, Suwanee Log Homes continued to “work”, stumbling and thrashing about like a gut-shot drunk. Lumber cut to the wrong dimensions, notches where windows were to be, hardware missing in the shipments (disappeared between the warehouse and the shipping trucks and I mean a lot!), the place and the shipments were a shambles. The customers were far more than irate.

There was one thing that the folk with the damp dorsals did that I found quite amusing. The toilets there were the permanent porta-potty type which they would not use; didn't want to be caught by ICE that way. What they did was remove the toilet paper from the crappers and go shit next to the railroad tracks. In addition, the crappers and where the dorsally damp did their deed, was right next to the entrance where all supplies were delivered. Always lots of wind-blown used toilet paper and a wonderful aroma for the delivery men! Classy...

After many years of successful business with a fine product and service, Suwanee Log Homes economized itself to death. No jobs for anyone. ...sigh....

 

Other essays including illegal aliens and grotesquely criminal wrongdoing are “Dawgs vs Illegals” and “What Happened to My Christianity”

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