Saturday, September 24, 2016

Summer is pretty much over and the Grandfather's Club

 has made a couple of runs but this year we're adding another one.

The crisp evening fall run.

The Grandfather's Club has dwindled to two members from four. Two of us are now gone. One gave us warning, the other suddenly left without warning. There are now only two of us or three if you count the oldest teenager.

The Grandfather's Club is an entirely criminal organization that knowingly, willingly and recklessly endangers the life of young people. We do this by taking youngsters for a ride through farm country on sultry evenings unsecured in the back of an open pickup truck.

I became offered a membership even though I have no children and hence no grandchildren. I was invited because I own a pickup truck and none of them did.

The gig is fairly simple. the kids are taken north of Portersville in ordinary cars safely strapped in. We meet and transfer the kids to the open bed of my pickup and haul them through farm country at the dizzying speed of about thirty miles an hour.

They get to take in the sights, sounds and scents of farm country for an hour or two and then return to the cars and get taken home. The Grandfathers meet to strike a blow for liberty over a bottle of bourbon and then the meeting is over.

It started as three families of grandchildren and continues as such. What is interesting is that even though the kids have grown into teenagers they look forward to it. 

They also know that this is illegal and it was funny listening to a ten year old say that they'd never take him alive.

The oldest of the grandkids got his license a while back and had the duty of being the designated driver for the three grandfathers. Now he has only one grandfather to take home. It is not his.

Still, he pitches in and looks forward to it. I guess this upcoming summer he will be replaced by the next in line because one of the girls has her license. I hear murmurings of the young man heading into the Navy come next summer.

It gladdens my heart to take these young people out and callously and recklessly endanger their lives. They truly enjoy it.

What's more important is that I am helping not to create a future generation of criminals, but of outlaws.

These kids will remember the rides through the farmlands and they will also remember that it is illegal. They will grow up knowing the difference between doing something illegal and being a criminal and that is always a good thing. It's always good to know there's a future generation of outlaws coming along.



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Friday, September 23, 2016

Hey, Kid! I'll take ya down to the club and introduce you to Bubbles!




"Cool!" said the kid. " I want to check her out." He instinctively knew I was talkin' trash. He's about 14.

His mother looked shocked for a second and recovered quickly. She gave me a sort of embarrassed and slightly annoyed look.

Good old Bubbles. Every guy knows who she is. To some she is tall and curvy, to others short and cute but to everyone she is busty, has big hair and most important of all doesn't have a brain in her head. She believes what you tell her. She thinks I am a professor of Asian languages because I told her I was.

"What time are you free?" I asked the kid.

"I get off of practice at eight tonight," he said.

"I'll pick you up," I said. I turned to his mother. "You got the night off. We'll be home by about nine."

"Thank you," she said. She knew I wasn't taking the kid out to some dive. We'd likely stop off and grab a chocolate milk or something and just go for a drive. It was a sultry evening and perfect for a ride in a convertible.

"When we get to Thunder Alley," I said to the kid. "You'll hop out with the flashlight and you'll start the race. I don't want you in the car when I hang it out on Dead Man's Curve."

"Thank you," said his mother, dryly.

It's interesting how young guys intuitively pick up on when an older guy is being sarcastic. 

One day I saw him in the yard with his mom and stopped. The city was putting in concrete sidewalks and I commented that there was not a concrete crew that could keep my initials off of fresh concrete back in the day. He grinned.

I explained to him that I never used MY initials or name on fresh concrete. I always wrote 'Louie' so I didn't get in trouble. Louie wound up getting the ass chewing instead of me. That one drew a look. It was a couple of years ago and the kid looked a bit shocked.

The mother gave me a dirty look the time I told him that if he got himself a white T-shirt I'd teach him to roll a pack of Luckies into his sleeve. Then she recovered and shook her head. "Hmm." said the kid, amused.

Then I told him to grow his hair a couple of inches longer and I'd teach him to comb it into a duck's ass and jellyroll.

"Like the Fonz?" asked his mom, rolling here eyes.

"More like John Travolta," I said. "The Fonz didn't have a jellyroll on top," I turned to the kid. "Ya need Dixie Peach pomade for a haircut like that. You can go 120 mph in a '57 Chevy convertible with the top down and not a hair out of place!"

"Oh, God," said his mother. The kid laughed. Then I think she pictured her son looking like an Old School Rexall Ranger and cringed.

Seperation is rough on kids and even though his dad has done the best he can to stay in his children's life things are limited. While his dad is a friend of mine, so is his mom. I refuse to take side in matters like this unless it is to prevent violence which is not the case here.

It's funny watching the kid smirk when I say things like that. He's sharp enough to know I'm in sarcasm mode and he's starting to pick up on it a little. When I started doing stuff like this a couple of years ago he'd look horrified. Now he smirks. He perks up when he hears me address him as 'Hey, Kid,' because he knows I'm going to hit him with something off the wall. 

"Hey, Kid! Swing by the next time you see me in the yard and I'll teach you how to catch a smoke in the boy's room without getting caught!" 

He laughed at that one and his mother shook her head. He's an athlete and is smart enough not to fall into that trap.

"Hey, Kid! Whatcha drinkin' these days? Next time I stick up a liquor store I'll snag you a bottle!"

His mother wasn't in earshot when I said that and he laughed like hell.

It's fun watching him pick up on things because even two years ago my sarcasm would go over his head. His eyes would open wide and his jaw would drop.

Time is passing and he is growing more confident in himself and it won't be long before he starts the banter in full swing.

I once told him I'd teach him to drive a stick when he got his learner's permit and he thanked me.

"Kid, don't thank me," I said. "I'm just tryna help you wit college tuition. Ya can take two, maybe three 'vettes outta them strip club parking lots a night on Fridays and Saturdays. The chop shop'll give ya too, maybe tree grand apiece for 'em. You could get a PhD with no college debt that way. Ya gotta know how to drive a stick, though. Anything to help a young guy get an education. I'll have a word wit da boys when the time comes."

"Gee, thanks!" he said, snickering. I knew what his interpretation was. Piccolo will teach him to drive a stick when he gets his learner's permit. Nothing more, nothing less.

He's actually a fairly serious minded kid and 100% honest which is why I am comfortable teasing him this way. He's already saving every dime he can for college. He's a science kinda kid and I think that my teasing him that way keeps him from becoming a bit too nerdy.

If he wasn't a damned good kid I wouldn't waste my time on him. 

I might grab him for another evening ride in the Mazda when the weather gets a little crisper. He'd like that.


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Thursday, September 22, 2016

"What? You're from the State Police and you want to know about who?"



"Oh, Mike Adorvitch. Yeah. He told me a while ago he was using me as a reference. He's eactly the kind of guy I would like to see on the State Police. Why he would choose me as a reference is beyond me, though."

I gave the man the information about Mike that he wanted to know. I told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Truth is I think he'd make a pretty good trooper. For one thing he wasn't a kid fresh out of school and had some life behind him. He was nearly 30 and fairly well seasoned in life. The questioning went along well and I knew I was being helpful.

There were the usual to be expected questions as to the solidity of his marriage, questions about debt, drinking, gambling and narcotics use. He's as clean as a whistle.

 Mike fit the bill for service as a Trooper. I said so, too. I pointed out that I really think that at his age he would have better judgement than younger men.

Then I asked the interviewer if the Pennsylvania Troopers had a sense of humor. He assured me they did. I asked the interviewer if he was going to see Mike again and he said he was.

"When you see him, tell him Piccolo said you're a great guy because every time we go to Vegas you always know where to get the best coke and the hottest hookers. Better yet, ask to come along with us. Watch his jaw drop."

"You know, we do throw a few curves at the candidates to see their reactions," he chuckled. "I'll do that."

Mike Adorvitch is presently a Pennsylvania State Trooper now and seems to be doing one hell of a good job.




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Wednesday, September 21, 2016

She is...The most interesting woman in the world!



She has owned six sports cars...and wrecked nine. 

She bowls overhand.

She speaks fluent French...in Russian. 

She is the most interesting woman in the world.

OK, she's not really that interesting but she is interesting. Besides, I don't think she'd really do a good job of selling beer on TV. For that she'd have to look a bit more Spanish looking and be a little older. 

I got a new neighbor and hope she will accept an  invitation to come over with her daughter for dinner with a couple of my friends. We met on the street the other day and she simply seems to have the makings of a pretty good friend. A couple of comments she made let me know she's pretty damned squared away. She seems to have a good attitude and I want to pick her brain a bit.

She seems to be a straight shooter and doesn't mince words like most people do in this day and age. When I heard her say she didn't need someone else's money because she had her own I knew she was independent. If she needs a neighborhood favor it will be because she can't do it herself as opposed to being too lazy to do it herself. 

She also made a comment about soccer moms that sit around drinking wine all afternoon and I knew that meant she has a good work ethic. If she does need a favor it will likely be repaid somehow. 

Good brains are hard to find in this day and age. Most people seem to want to take the easy way out and it seems this woman knows better. She had a problem of sorts years ago and faced them head on by getting an education and a skill. That gets my respect. No gubmint handouts for her.

Another thing is that because she is in health care she's probably a good person to get to know. My neighbor, the RN that has lived next to me since Day One is on my speed dial. As I get older it is a good thing to have a couple of handy health care professionals I can call if there's an emergency.

Besides, every so often I like to cook and it is nice to have a few people to cook for every once in a while. I'll likely have her over to meet a few people.

**********************

Oh yeah. You know who you are. You're the jerk that gave me 'the look' when  mentioned having what is probably going to be a pretty cool neighbor. You seem to forget that I am married and want to keep it that way. On top of that, guys that date women half their age generally have ego problems. I don't. What's your problem, jerk?

***********************

One of the things I like to ask nurses is if they are the Official Clean Underwear Checker.

I did that once when I drove cab in a small Alaskan town. The nurse picked up on it instantly and laughed like hell.

The following day I took her to work again and her nametag had her name on it and underneath it said 'RN and clean underwear checker'. Ya gotta love small Alaskan towns.

Another time I busted a foot and limped into the hospital. At the check-in desk was a dour incompassionate humorless frump with about an inch of makeup on. I took one look at her and decided to crack her makeup.

After the preliminary paperwork I asked her if he clean underwear checker was going to inspect my drawers for cleanliness. Instantly I saw her makup crack in a bunch of places.

"The what?" she asked.

I put on my best small town rube act. "My momma always told me to wear clean underwear in case I got in an accident and had to go to the hospital. She said if the doctor saw it was clean he'd know you came from a good family and try harder to save you. I just was wondering when the clean underwear checker was going to inspect my shorts."

The cracks in her makeup turned into huge fissures and a small Filipina nurse that overheard it started to giggle and ducked in back somewhere.

A few seconds later the biggest Swedish nurse I have ever seen came out. She had shoulders like a linebacker. She was well over six feet tall in her stocking feet.

She walked up behind me an gave me the biggest wedgee I have ever had and lifted me a full foot off the floor by my shorts.

When she dropped me she said "They're clean. I'll tell the doctor you come from a good family" and walked off with a pretty self-satisfied grin on her face.

I later told the doctor he ought to buy that moose a set of antlers and he laughed like hell.

None of this made the pain in my foot go away but the laughter made it a little more bearable.




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Tuesday, September 20, 2016

I have made an enemy for life but he worked hard at it.



Some clown started off running his mouth about Melania Trump, calling her a few unsavory names refering to her modeling career. I grew tired of it and truth to be known I didn't like this guy to begin with.

"Want to talk about someone else's wife? Let's talk about mine first," I said. University of Oregon, Elementary education, teaching certificate, her Spanish and French are rusty but they'll come back with a little use. One hundred and twenty five pounds, my height, great figure for a teenager and she's  64. She knows how to run a salmon troller, too. She doesn't need my money because she has her own."

"Now let's talk about Melania Trump," I went on. "Excellent college education, speaks 4 languages fluently, had a modeling career, has her own money, doesn't need his. Has a figure like a goddess, a lot of charm is a real brain and is quite polished."

He stood there cringing at what he feared was coming. 

"So tell me, did your wife finish high school?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, cringing. He figured that her weight, close to 300 pounds was next and I saw him die inside.

"Outstanding!"  Maybe she can get a job at Walmart," I said, in a condescending tone. "Let's quit right now. You've been humiliated enough for one day," I walked off leaving a lot of people smirking.

Sometimes you don't have to go in for the kill. It's already been made and cruelty for cruelty's sake serves no purpose.




To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Monday, September 19, 2016

Sometimes we're responsible for letting ourselves become victims.



One of the classic situations is the idiot that walks down a dark alley counting a big wad of cash. Of course he gets boinked on the head and loses his cash. It's fair enough to hold the thief responsible.  The thief stole the cash and the victim was committing no crime.

Still, not many of us have a whole lot of sympathy for the victim because he was stupid enough to make it too easy for the criminal to resist.

Some people never seem to get it. They never pay attention or look around at hte rest of the world and learn from what they see.

Let's take a look at Europe and the recent wave of Middle East immigration. 

Germany has started telling the women there to wear sneakers and to try and outrun rapists.Sweden is having one hell of a time with Middle East immigrants and the Mayor of London is telling the Muslims there that they do not have to assimilate.

Of course, Hillary Clinton wants to bring a few million people like this into the United States. These poeple likely have no desire whatsoever to assimilate. They want to turn this country into a world where women are nothing more than toys. They have no rights. The wife burned dinner? Throw acid on her face. She's only a woman. That'll teach her!

These people want to destroy Western civilization and turn it into the big pile of failure that the Middle East has been for centuries. It doeasn't sound to me that Hillary Clinton has a whole lot of respect for American womanhood to me.

If Hillary Clinton wins and allows thousands adn thousands of Syrians to enter the country do not come complaining to me.

If your daughter ends up hospitalized form a torn vagina caused by some Middle Eastern immigrant gang rapists I want to be there when you get the news. I want to sit there and explain to you that you brought this on yourself by voting for the woman that allowed these people into the country. I want to see your tears.

If your son gets inviserated by an IED and winds up crippled for the rest of your life I want to be there when you get the news. I want to explain to you just how stupid you are for helping to allow these people into the country.

The truth is that I will have no sympathy for you whatsoever. None. You have brought this on yourself and your loved ones and have only yourself to blame. You did it to yourself. Your actions have helped destroy a nation and turn it into a hellhole of a place to live in. 

You did it, now sleep with it.

Incidentally if you don't like Donald Trump there is always Gary Johnson or Jill Stein. 


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Sunday, September 18, 2016

My wife and I live seperate lives in a way

 and often do not share the same domicile. It works and neither of us have any plans to split up. Neither of us want to split up. Both of us are content with things the way they are.

She often occupies the house I live in while I am gone.

When she moved out of the house a matchmaker took one look at the situation and started offering to fix me up. I said 'No thanks.' Of course, she persisted. Dumbasses like that generally do not know how to take no as an answer. She could simply not comprehend the fact that Mrs. Pic and I were not splitting up just because we opted for seperate living arrangements.

I later had a word with her husband and got her off my back. 

I always get a boot out of these matchmakers and the people that they pull out of their pocket.

"She's had a few problems with men." Read: divorced six times.

"She's had a problem with drugs/alcohol." Read: she just got out of rehab for the 8th time.

Even if Mrs. Pic and I did decide to split up the last thing I would want is any of the matchmaker's matches. I'm not that stupid.

I ran it by the couple across the street. They both have a great sense of humor. She's a tall, busty woman that has the ability to pull anything off. she's as comfortable dolled up in someplace fancy as she is sitting on the tailgate of a pickup with a beer watching an illegal street race down on Thunder Alley.

I confess to having an off the wall sense of humor and there are few women that truly appreciate it. Strangely enough, most of the few that do have been married for decades.

"Hey, Lois," I said. "Ever since Mrs. Pic and I started living apart Suzie the matchmaker has been trying to fix me up. I can't seem to get it in her head that I am married and want to stay that way."

Lois smirked. Tom looked at me and shook his head.

"Lois," I asked. "You got a Dolly Parton wig and a good push-up bra?"

Tom looked and smiled. He knew I was up to something. "OK, Pic. What's the plan?"

"We doll up Lois and we put the two of us in the Miata with the top down and drive by Suzie's place when she's gardening and I wave. She'll add two plus two, get seven and assume I have some foxy chick in my life and leave me the hell alone," I replied.

They both laughed.

"Lois, you still have that wig you wore to the costume party years ago?" asked Tom.

"Got rid of that a couple of years ago," she replied. "Now I wish I'd kept it... Hey, Suzie would know it was me if we drove by."

"That's what four pounds of trashy-looking makeup is for," I answered with a smug look. "Besides you can just kinda look around and not give her a good look at your face. It's all about illusion. Hell, I'm not necessarily even looking for a real woman. A decent drag queen would do nicely. Hell, if it really was a guy we could have a beer afterwards and talk about hunting and fishing."

All three of us laughed for a few minutes envisioning some guy in drag sitting next to me in the Miata...or sitting on the back porch drinking beer and talking about next deer season.

"Hey, George, sit like a lady! I'm tired of staring at your junk," I said. We were envisioning a drag queen and I sitting on the porch sharing beers.

We all laughed and Lois blushed a bit.

"Well, off to Craigslist," I said. 

"I wanna read THAT ad," said Tom.

"Me, too," added Lois.

What's funny about this entire conversation is that we all knew it to be semi-wishful thinking. The truth is I could never do something like this because it would get back to Mrs. Pic and her feelings would be hurt. There are simply just too many cruel people out there.

Instead, I chased down Suzie's husband and had a quiet word with him and he went home and squelched the entire issue, thank God. It was starting to get old fast. I was pretty damned close to putting on my old army boots and jumping all over Suzie with both feet.


To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY