Thieves are loose in the upstate. You might be next!

“I don’t mind a parasite, I object to a cut rate one.”


Times are tough all over, I get it. Life doesn’t always go your way, I understand, boy, do I ever understand. Sometimes you get dealt a losing hand and you have to make the most of what you’ve got left. Fine, but none of those things should ever, under any circumstances take precedent over self morals and humanity towards your fellow neighbor. Your life may suck, but for the love of God and all that’s holy, don’t take it out on others.

This being said, I have been sucker punched with the news that a very good friend of mine, a friend that has picked me up out of a deep dark hole on occasion, has had his personal property stolen. Being someone that knows the dirty feeling that is associated with being robbed, my heart bleeds a steady stream of red tears for this loss. This is a man, and his wife, who do nothing but bring smiles to enthusiasts faces, help with charitable organizations, and never hardly have I heard from anyone, have met an enemy. They are very possibly the sweetest people I know, and the thought that they’ve been stolen from makes me absolutely sick.

Here’s the scenario, an unmarked V Nose Cargo trailer, white, unassuming, was stolen early in the morning Saturday, October 7th. Luckily for the owners, not so much for the assailant there was nothing in the trailer, which they probably noticed when they went to pull away and there wasn’t much drag on the trailer. The scary thing about the whole thing is that back in my RV transport days we’d park stuff in that same very parking lot all the time, thinking is was secure, well lit, and had cameras. Not to mention I lived a mile and half up the road from said location, never once thinking any crime was near me. I was wrong.

I’ve got a few hypotheses.

The Foundation building is located off the main road, off of a secondary road, off of a cul-de-sac with no traffic going back there except for Foundation business only. Perhaps an errant delivery truck from Fed Ex will grace the parking lot, but rarely do any casual drivers stumble upon the building. That being said, the signage for the Foundation doesn’t actually say anything about having anything of “value” and, again, to those just driving down the secondary road where the sign is, would think of it nothing but an office building for the CCA staff to congregate and eat fudge. Even if you did have curiosity, there isn’t anything to conjure up any interest in actually thinking there is anything of value there, except maybe paperwork. This is perfect, and it really keeps the Foundation facility free from just run-amoks looking to waste time. It is really a haven for enthusiasts of the BMW marquee.

To my next point. Unless you know the area, and know the parking lot, there is no way to actually see down into the parking lot from any of the roads. You’d have to be purposely driven to go down that dead end road and get to that parking lot on purpose. In that area, for a grab and go thief for example, there are tons of other places to yank a trailer for resale out of state. Construction is abound in that area and with a simple set of bolt cutters you could find your way around any trailer lock. This being said, it seems like the culprit was targeting that particular parking lot for the simple reason that there MIGHT have been a classic Bimmer inside.

Social media is a criminals best friend. How often do we see pictures of all the cool stuff being brought in and out of the Foundation and other enthusiast museums? Just recently there were a few race cars that had been welcomed into the graces of the unassuming buildings caverns, could the thief not be someone who has been watching from a computer screen planning on what and when things were going to be shuffled around? Would a non-marked cargo trailer really be that hard to steal? It wouldn’t even have to be full of classic car, it could be full of keychains, which would actually be pretty funny.

The sunny side of the story is that nothing of real emotional value was stolen, and although it’s a pain in the ass having to file police reports and such, it could have been much worse. I’m hoping with this post, you’ll find it in your heart to share and try to find the trailer and bring these scum to justice. You can steal from a stranger of mine, and I’ll frown upon you, but steal from a friend of mine, you better believe the internet is going to find out about it.

If the thief does happen to read this, I’ll have you know, you’ve got one of the closest knit Car Clubs of America against you. You’re not going to get away with this. Not on my watch. Hopefully the camera footage will show what you were driving and a good picture of your deplorable face. (Side note, I will be posting something on every craigslist site from here to wherever to make sure it doesn’t try to get sold under false pretenses.)

Here’s the trailer, keep an eye out. There aren’t that many that are white. Maybe this is a sign, maybe if anyone out there has an un-marked cargo trailer you should take the time to blaze something on the side of it to make it stick out. Just a thought.

This us an unusually TALL trailer with inside ramps above the wheel wells.

Police have been notified. 

Foundation cameras show a silver or grey crew cab Chevy or GMC. License plate not visible

Stolen Cargo TrailerVin Numbers For Stolen Trailer


The Simple Life

“A man who leaves home to mend himself and others is a philosopher; but he who goes from country to country, guided by the blind impulse of curiosity, is a vagabond.”
Oliver Goldsmith

I find some odd quotes once in a while, primarily when I’m looking for answers to a question I haven’t asked yet. Today, while I was scrubbing a nasty interior of a thirteen year old Chevy Equinox, I actually asked myself a question, without even almost wanting to know the answer.

“How do other people live?”

The only reason this became pertinent on this crisp fall day in the South was that the entire leather interior was covered in this thick film of sludge. We’re not talking about a little dust, this was full on sludge. It wasn’t dirt, it wasn’t food, it was just straight up mysterious black film…on everything. As I sat and scrubbed, and scrubbed and waited, and vacuumed and cursed, imagery popped into my head as to what these peoples home must look like, what these people must eat, what the hell they do for a living. The cruel and harsh reality of the situation was that I had to clean up their mess. I’m cool with that, really, I just wanted to know what the hell happened. Chances are these people probably live in a decent house, with an adequate sized television set, two honor roll children that play baseball and soccer and a dog named Chuck that knows three commands.

Trust me, when I get dealt cars like this, I really want to cut the rope and run like hell, become a vagabond and run away from my troubles as quick as my feet, wheels, or airplane can take me. The need to mend myself has always been strong, because up until recently I’ve always felt broken. There has always been something that has been dangling that I can’t fix, much like an exhaust on a car in the north after a decade of winter salt on the road. Eroded. Morality and ethically, eaten up. It’s never been that I’ve put my tail between my legs and ran for fear, it’s always been to see if there’s a green pasture on the other side of the next hill. That mentality will tucker a person out.

I could say of myself that I’m a hybrid of vagabond and philosopher. I want to heal and help people, at the same time I’m not content on sitting in one place waiting for people to come to me for philosophical assistance. Especially in the high-speed-internet-junkie-YouTube-Watching-fiend, people aren’t necessarily looking for answer next door. People aren’t going down to the local dry good store and chatting over the cracker barrel about what’s going on in the world. This is good, broad horizons are great for the soul, but that the same time can leave a person wondering. Much like me wondering what’s over that next hill, we can all wonder what’s to behold on this next link that we see. This isn’t going to be a political post, nor anti-internet post. Far from it, it’s about being free.

“Simplicity is ultimate sophistication.”

Leonardo Da Vinci

(side note: I’m aware of the ways of the world, and there’s always going to be somebody that will say something negative about anybody that I quote. I in no way lead any sort of credence to one person or another, and if I quote them, it doesn’t mean that I idolize them. Quite the opposite, I’d respect anybody if they brought up a good point about something.)

Two kids, a dog and an SUV. Let’s throw in a house on a cul-de-sac, a masters in business and a country club membership. Or opposite, section eight housing, food stamps, and a twenty year old sedan with a sagging headliner. Our lives are what we make them to be, and to what priorities we set for ourselves. At a younger age, early twenties maybe, I was married, living extremely happily in a happy house in a happy neighborhood living very simply. We ate very well, we had more fun than most people should have, had a garden that would rival most country settings, and most of all we had each other. We were happy. I grew complicated with age, and became restless, needless to say I thought I needed more. I wanted things I hadn’t had before, only because I had never had them. It wasn’t to say that I would like them, it was just me being a flake.

Stumbling through six years of complexity, I realized that that lifestyle was where I wanted to be, but there was no way back machine to take me there. I tried the trophy soon-to-be-wife that would smile with a blank look in her eyes at company Christmas parties, pretend I liked to go hunting for pheasants and deer when deep down inside I was praying none would come across our path, I’d pretend I wanted to…well….you get the point. Every damn thing I did was complicated, it made me put up a false front and pretend everything was okay…psychologically this isn’t healthy. I needed simplicity.

I’m not going to lie, life is ridiculously simple right now, and I’m loving it, but some people disagree. We live an incredibly fulfilling life with a very healthy balance of work and play. This mean we don’t live in a house on a cul-de-sac, but honestly, what do we need that for? We work hard, we’re honest human being, we want for nothing, and we ask for no hand outs. Would life be easier for us somewhere else, no. Not by a long shot. Our happy home is an RV, sitting on an amazing span of acres upon acres of trees, prairies and an incredible river of fish. We have a roof over our head and all the luxuries of any other home you could ever want, but without hassle, without 2300 square feet of living space that we feel the need to fill with crap. Without the need to pay HOA fees or cut the lawn at regular intervals (okay, I love to cut the grass, but that’s not the point.)

I’ve lived the RV lifestyle for an accumulated two and a half years now, and honestly, I couldn’t be more thrilled. Being a little girl, I would yearn for our weekends in the woods camping. I remember camping when I was tiny in this bumper pull trailer that my “Pa” had, I remember our first tent camping trip in my Moms Trans-Am…I was in the back seat with all the camping equipment piled around me like an igloo. I remember the trips up to the “Northwoods” of Wisconsin with Steve, our landlord actually (long story) and spending an entire week up there with two of my best friends playing in the mud and being simple. We didn’t have elaborate European vacations, we didn’t need them. Whatever was given to us was enough. I’d take a leaky tent in the woods over a luxury hotel right now any day.

We come home from work, the two of us, in a one-slide fifth wheel and honestly couldn’t be happier, unless, perhaps, we were in the West somewhere.

This is a cautionary tale, one that more people should listen to, and even more should heed, especially when young, without children that is. Become simple, know your needs. Home doesn’t need to have a concrete slab, home doesn’t have to have a direct line to a telephone pole, home can absolutely have an axle and wheels. That interior that I cleaned this morning was just a screaming example of stagnant living, or just a slob.

I chose to think they’re too miserable to care, and that could all be alleviated with an RV.

Don’t tell me that you can’t have a “normal life” in an RV. It’s fall, and one of our favorite things to do in fall around here is to buy a pumpkin, plant Pansies and cultivate a fall garden. Cold beer in one hand, a hand trowel in the other, I’m happy.

Don’t tell me I can’t do that in an RV. I’m happy here. It’s simple….no vacuuming required.




Video update! 

I’ve been a bit preoccupied with fishing lately, so my efforts to make my own movie Channel has been delayed by a little bit. It doesn’t mean it’s not going down, quite the opposite. I’ve got a scheme.

I’m going to add to the “what doesn’t matter” theme and add a bit of The Onion-esque humor creating a lighthearted view of the politics and current events. Honestly, the need to watch me just complain about burning my hand on the stove is probably pretty low. Me making fun if stupid criminals, college sports, and perhaps the weather might make more sense.

Let me know what you’d like to hear me yap about. If you provide me with a good topic, I’ll give you a shout out on the channel.

And… If you would like to sponsor “The N. Weed Show” find me on PayPal 🙂

In the meantime, go buy a pumpkin… Local economy is counting on you.

Things that don’t matter

“Man is a short-sighted creature, sees but a very little way before him; and as his passions are none of his best friends, so his particular affections are generally his worst counselors.”

Daniel Defoe, The Life an Adventures of Robinson Crusoe

Your opinion matters to me as much as college football, climate change, or politics. Here’s the thing though, although I have my own opinion on these things might not jive with yours, it doesn’t mean that I’m going to take it to the podium and make you listen, until now. I’ve sat stagnant in the sidelines for too long seeing videos posted, posts written, and websites created all for the soul reason to bully others into you seeing things their way. Bullies, that’s what the world has become all of a sudden, a bunch of ego-crazed bullies that want to inflict their opinion on your.

It’s almost as if the entire modern culture has become one of war, not of a violence with guns level, but a war of opinion. “My sports team is so much better than yours, you suck.” “I disagree with your outlook on politics, so I’m going to argue with you about it.” “Pineapple on your pizza, what the hell is wrong with you, I’m going to give you seven reasons why pineapple on pizza is the best.” Leave me alone about it, I’m not going to cheer for your team, I’m not going to see eye to eye with anyone on the planet, simply because there is nobody else like me on the planet. What people have to understand in modern society is that there isn’t anybody like anybody else in the planet. You are unique, and you’re entitled to live a unique lifestyle.

“What is unique, Latin for asshole?”

John Candy

Here’s the deal. My entire life I’ve been led to believe everyone else has better opinions on life and mine should be subject to change depending on the validity of others argument. Better sources for information, more reading of the topic, more syllables in their statement, all volley points in a good argument, but why argue? Why should you let your ideas and beliefs be subject to change just because some other individual, which is probably bored, wants to try to impose their way of thinking or lifestyle upon you? What makes you so weak as to sway in the breeze like a dried reed? Are you really content in being in an entire field of reeds that have dried in the same way as you have and have the same inclination to bend when told to?

I remember a sleepover in about seventh grade with my best friend. We had procured some tequila and drank it, very gingerly, and got deep in conversation. I asked her “would you rather be a picture in a frame that hangs in every hotel room in america or be rare painting that is under guard in a museum somewhere. She wanted to be a rare painting, and at the time I wanted to be the mass produces prototype of what people thought was an acceptable thing to look at. In the long run, I think that was the fulcrum of my existence. Which way was I going to teeter, was I going to be a reed that bent, or an oak that stood. Did I develop the taproot of life, or was I comprised of a million tiny feeder roots that didn’t ground me anywhere?


Let’s talk drugs for a little while…drugs are cool (not in the aspect of taking them, but in the way that they interact with the neurotransmitters in our brain). Some will crawl into your brain and pretend to be the transmitter and make it work overtime (in extreme laymans terms), others with go in and bully the hell out of the neurotransmitters and make them their bitch. Those drugs will cling on like a leech and such the ability to function out and put their evil ways in.

In the pharmacology world, there are antagonist and agonists, and honestly, in everyday life, we experience the same thing with human beings. You have those sheep that hide in the herd and try to implant ideas that are somewhat along the lines of the herd mentality, then you have those that stand at the the sideline, waiting for an opportunity to attack, then infiltrate. This is what modern media has become. You have those that want to yell and scream to get their point across and those that pretend to be your friend, pulling you in closer to gain your trust.

In psychology, you have the submissive and the dominate characters. Those submissive sorts will flock to the antagonists and vice versa. How many times to we look towards news feeds, television news, or YouTube and see those that pretend to be your friend, talk really nice (agonists) and try to make you see things their way with a dulcet tone of friendship and acceptance. Then you have the bellowing Tuba (the antagonist) that wants to use volume, words, and pure shock value to try to scare you into seeing things their way. My favorite example was from my childhood, I couldn’t tell you what the guys name was, but he used to have a news program in Chicago (maybe Richard Bay?) and he’d yell in such a way that you were afraid NOT to listen to him.

“Clothes make the man, naked men have little or no influence on society.”

Mark Twain

So don yourself in your most influential garb, get yourself a YouTube channel and watch the world fall to your feet at the great opinion in which you speak. Wait, what?!?! You don’t know how to have your own opinion without being spoon-fed by a like minded individual or something that is barking statistics at you? No worries, you can be neither an agonist nor an antagonist, you can just be an antist, which is my new movement. Every where you look there are different “lives matter” “fill in the blank strong” and “#whateverthefuck. It’s absolutely nauseating.

That’s why, in a sheer stroke of intolerance to modern news, media, and especially YouTube (except Roadkill), I’m going to start my own YouTube page. I’m not going to spend an hour and a half curling my hair and putting makeup on to be “pleasing to the eye” and attract horny lonely guys that could care less of what I say, but watch my video on mute watching my tits. I’m not going to go to foreign lands (aka a blue screen that LOOKS like I’m in …I dunno, Indonesia) to try to grab the sympathy view (that poor girl, having to cover a story from that godforsaken land. I certainly am not going to be politically correct, only because I’m not political. Knowing me, I’ll probably do it from a picnic table in the woods somewhere and rant on why I think the NAACP should join forces with the NCCA. The NRA should make friends with PETA.

I’m sick of YouTube movies telling me what to think, this is my rebellion, this is me becoming not an antagonist, not an agonist, but an antist.


Sibling Rivalry and Spatial Awareness

“I think I could stand anything, any suffering, only to be able to say and to repeat to myself every moment, ‘I exist.’ In thousands of agonies — I exist. I’m tormented on the rack — but I exist!”

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

It’s no secret, I absolutely love Fyodor and his Russian cruel look at humanity and people in general. It’s an extremely refreshing read, at least for me, in a world of over glamorized lifestyles of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Not all of us can relate to such things, and be it as it may, I’m a much more simplistic person. I need something to relate to, I need something that I have something in common with, I need something that resonates with the psychology of my soul. Shades of Grey or whatever the fuck it was called does nothing for me, and I sort of pity the individual that needs to read something like that to be amused in life. I’m a deeper sort of being, perhaps a bit heavy on drinking at times, but I’d rather have a bourbon and read Russian novels than be submerged in a fiction that glorifies decadence and lack of moral compass. (Sure, I’m a fan of Hunter S. Thompsons work, which is an illumination of all of those things, but it was more based on personal experience, glorified at times, but this man actually lived like that.)

That’s exactly why when I woke up this morning I focused on three things:

  1. I wanted an egg, just one, and I hate eggs
  2. I wanted bourbon and ginger tea, I had a belly ache
  3. I wanted to read something raw, something that would distract me

Truth be told, I had a rattling evening and needed to turn to something to alleviate my churning mind. This same mind would reel at the aspect of the evening last night, but we all evolve. In a chaotic mindset, the world is constantly coming to an end, everything is the worst case scenario, everything is shitty, your life sucks. You’re never good enough, you’re never attractive enough, you impress nobody. I lived decades like this, and proudly the high water mark broke and suddenly rolled back, surprisingly without medication or booze. I rolled along in the backseat of my car (although, I’m not even sure who it actually belongs to anymore, everyone drives it but me) looking out the window and chatting via messenger with someone I knew from middle school.

Fucking Middle School, the rash on my ass that I had to sustain for two years. I remember crying as my mom drove me to my first day. That’s where I became broken, that’s where my mind broke. It was all about me though, I was so self absorbed I never put things into a broader perspective. Certainly my mom didn’t want to see me cry, but she had no choice, certainly I didn’t want to go to a scary new school, and most certainly my sister didn’t either. I was too involved in my own head to take into account the other people that were hurting. They got over it, I turned it into certain varieties of addiction and disease. Some say mental disorders aren’t really diseases, that you should just “think yourself out of it”. Fuck you, I say. Just like someone contracts syphilis, people can contract mental diseases. It’s a circumstantial thing.

Here’s the thing though, I survived. I’m not sure how, but I survived. I still “exist”. This is why that line from The Brothers Karamazov has always resonated with me (or, at least since I read it for the first time. Trials and tribulations of a set of siblings and their parents. Not to drag it out, but it involves bar fights, love triangles, school kids getting picked on, pretty much my life growing up. I survived, I still exist, but for the longest time I thought I was the only one that suffered, I was the only one that had this rough start. For some reason, this book, written back centuries plus ago made me realize that life has always been shitty. Siblings feud, bar fights happen, but life goes on.

This is what woke me up last night, a total stranger, only knowing them from middle school and by chance Facebook brought us together as “friends” had a similarly shitty lifestyle in middle school. Going into middle school I thought I was the bottom of the barrel, scourge of the earth, I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone. Perhaps it was the teenage emotions kicking in at the time, or just the realization that I wasn’t like most everyone else, it weighed heavily on me at that time. It was obvious, but therapy wasn’t really in the cards, hell, I don’t recall even going to the dentist.

“Red shoelaces, thanks.”

Preston Nelson

I didn’t really get thrown into a rational mindset about the entire situation until I found myself sitting at a bar in Atlanta watching a woman who had to be about 50 dance in front of me on a stage wearing nothing but a half shirt pulled up above her shoulders and some ridiculously ugly heeled boots.

Nothing else. Period. It was a full frontal and rear experience. I wanted to look away in shame for this woman, but at the same time there was a sense of compassion that led me to cheer her on. If that’s all you’ve got to hold onto is dancing nude infront of a bunch of people drinking beer in a very, VERY dark basement bar, well, you need some support. For all the times I’ve needed support and people have overlooked it, I sympathized. She pretended to be having a good time, doing her “job” but there was a certain amount of pain in her eyes. Maybe she got forced to go to a scary new middle school, maybe she had to go through a divorce, maybe she got sexually assaulted by a family member. Who knows, we all bleed. She was existing, and I was proud of her for it.

I don’t say it often, especially of people in that situation doing something like that for a living, but I wish I could be her. I wish I could throw my insecurities of my body aside and dance naked, however, I have a hard time even getting in the shower, let alone prancing naked. I dated a guy that whenever I was out of line would say “I dated a stripper, she was hot”, which would always lead me towards self hate and shame. After seeing this stripper, well, to each their own.

The circle comes around and I can’t help but ponder on life and it’s little qualms. If I were still severely anorexic, where would I be now, would it be better off than drinking? If I hadn’t loved my dad more than my mom, would my sister still talk to me? If I succumbed to modern literature would I be as deep as I am now?

All things that absolutely torment me, that coupled with social media. Seeing a post mentioning how “adorable” my little sisters engagement announcement cards put me in a funk. I thought of that stripper, wondering if she had a sister, and if they got along. I’m not receiving an announcement, and I’m okay with that. I see a post about how happy my mom is in her new home, which I didn’t know about until she was already moving. I am an island, but I exist.

“Halloween masks, Easter baskets, a Christmas Tree.”

Nikki Weed

I’m tired of “existing” trying to fulfill other peoples parameters. As my new “friend” from middle school asked me last night “are you a good person when people aren’t around.” The answer is yes, I will hurt nobody but myself intentionally. As in the Fyodor book, the brothers ended up hurting each other unintentionally, which in fact broke the family. Living a “pretend” lifestyle will do nothing but slaughter your attempt at actually existing. You’re on false pretenses. There isn’t a Halloween. You are not the mask you wear. There is not an Easter Bunny, those baskets don’t make you a better person. Don’t get me started on the brutal massacre of innocent Fir trees for that ridiculous celebration people call Christmas.

Thing is, I’m jealous. I’m jealous of my sister. I want to have “adorable” announcements. I want to have that house on a cul-de-sac with grass and a sidewalk, I want to have squabbles over dirty socks on the floor and why it took so long to go get a gallon of milk. I’m jealous, and this causes resentment.

However, as I am right now, I could have cute announcements and a big wedding, but it wouldn’t make me happy, because I would be existing in a reality that is meant to impress others. I could have that house, but for whom, do I need all that room or will I just be existing in the exceptions of someone else? My projected jealously prevails, but I’m go on with life. Living in a shadow of jealously, be it from a sibling, a stripper, or a sports car, it’s no way to live life.

“Leave me alone, I know what I’m doing.”

Kimi Raikkonen

I’m never going to be special. I eat junk food, I drink beer, i enjoy psychedelic music. None of these things will make me a super model, but fuck it, I exist.




Living On Luck

“Luck is a very thin wire between survival and disaster, and not many people can keep their balance on it.”

Hunter S. Thompson

I’ll make it short and sweet.

Luck is an intuitive instinct that nothing is going to happen to you, and when it does, it will be in your favor. Webster might define it as something a little different, but in modern day speak, it’s a bit more simplistic. Luck is when you go out on a day that the weather calls for rain without an umbrella, you drive with tires that are too bald on that same rainy day, you haven’t slept well in a week a feel drowsy but drive anyways on that same day, you broke up with your girlfriend and keep thinking about it on that same rainy day. Luck will ride you through, right?

Most of the time, yes. There will come a time that your luck will run out. Most of us make decisions depending on survival, such as having to get to work even though you don’t have good tires and you’re at risk of hydroplaning, yet you drive anyways, it’s survival. You have to have a job in order to survive, to provide your home with shelter and food. Prioritization over practicality takes over and that’s where luck comes in. I’ll raise my hand and say that I’m the most guilty of “living on luck” than anybody else. My luck has run out several times, but I keep going.

Except, maybe, Charles Bukowski, whom wrote a book about it. It was pretty much an accumulation of raw poetry and notes about gambling with life, also known as living on luck. This coming from the guy that lived out most of his life chasing a dream, but being drowned in a pool of booze and easy women. If anything, that’s disaster in it’s own form. Although he was slap dab in the middle of disaster, it still took a bit of luck. How did he know that one of those trashy women weren’t going to drug him and take his last five bucks in his pocket? He was a lucky bastard. He escaped death from over-drinking and overall, over decadence that he could never afford.

He skipped out on that lifestyle at the age of 49 and took a big bite out of the sandwich of luck by leaving his stable job to chase his dream of being a full time writer.

“regret is mostly caused by not having done anything.”
Charles Bukowski

Sometimes you just have to make a decision, even if you already know it’s a bad one. I will say, there are lots of people out there that have made bad decisions and I feel no sympathy for them. There are certain things that you need to do, without wavering. You need to brush your teeth, if you don’t, and they fall out. I feel no sympathy. If you run out of gas, although the needle read empty for miles, I feel no sympathy. If you drive without insurance and wreck your car into another car and are liable for not only your car, but the other as well, I feel no sympathy. You’re living on luck.

You’ll be lucky if your teeth don’t fall out.

You’ll be lucky if you coast into an conveniently places fuel stop.

You’ll be lucky if nobody pulls out in front of you.

Paranoia is one thing, total disregard of all bad things that can happen to you is another thing. Paranoia is the opposite of luck.

On the other hand, luck is a very, VERY good thing. You’ll never get anywhere unless you take chances. Bukowski took his life in a different direction and decided to live on luck and do something different full time. I lived on luck and traveled across country to chase a dream, living on luck on so many different levels. My friend traveled to Washington to chase his dream on the chance that it was going to work out for him, living on luck.

Luck, overlapping talent, equals success. That’s exactly why you don’t win the lottery. Luck by itself only opens you to vulnerability, however, luck coupled with talent will actually get you someplace. My friend was extremely talented at what he did, however, his luck was that there wasn’t someone more talented than he to take that position. He could have stayed complacent and not even tried, but he “lucked out” to find the position and went for it.

Luck, on the other hand can bite you in the ass. Take for instance an uninsured friend of mine that wrecked his truck into a guardrail. His luck ran out in a few ways. He got ticketed, his truck wasn’t able to get fixed and he lost his privileged to drive. There’s a bit BUT here. If the guardrail wasn’t there, he would have gone clear off the side of a mountain, into a tree, into another tree, flipped and died. So, in the grand scheme of things luck can be a pro, however, when it runs out, you’re sort of screwed. In his case, if he actually had insurance, would that assure him that the guardrail would actually be there? Cosmically, just because you have an insurance policy on your body, car, house, or even cell phone, does that eliminate it from harm, or are all of these things just subjected to luck?

I’ve been living on luck for so long, I can’t even remember when this psychological mindset overtook me. I think we’re all living on luck in some way, shape, or form. If you look at your day to day processes, how many things would change if you didn’t produce a safety net or plan? Could you live recklessly? Are you confident enough in yourself that you won’t need an overpriced health insurance policy, or are you afraid you’re going to come down with swine flu that is going to cost you multiple thousands of dollars to treat? Are you willing to live on luck?

I did not proof read to, well, live on the luck that everything is spelled properly.


Pictured below is my friend that lived on the luck that he was going to rock his job across the country, which he did. His luck was with him, mine was not. eb031ff325354b38ad6d0b685834e32b442e69e8-1S_1280.jpg

Death By Deodorant

“The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.”

Mark Twain

I sat next to an old black man at the bar the other day and had a very enlightening conversation about suits. Suits being a metaphor for sex, how that turned into the conversation is beyond me. He referred to always having that old suit that never lets you down, that you keep it hanging in the closet, just in case you have to use it. Then there are some of those suits that get all full of holes and you have to patch them together. Then there are some that just don’t fit right and give them away to Goodwill. Some days I feel like a suit full of hole, but that doesn’t get me down, I mend fairly well. I’d like to think my suit will be remembered long after I’m done wearing it.

As for the old man, he cracked me up, but I couldn’t help but think “damn he’s old.” He got up to leave, and I wondered how much longer he was going to live for, he was that old. I wondered if that was the last time I would see him or not. I didn’t even know the old timers name, but I still feel a sort of sadness thinking about it. It put me in a sort of dark place. Aren’t we all going to die anyways? I’ve always heard some sort of saying along the lines of “you only die if you stop living.” Given his personality, I’m guessing he’s going to go on living for a long time. Does he know that though, has he ever really thought about it? Is he afraid of it?

I’ve been around a broad spectrum of people, and it seems that those who really devote their lives to living instead of being afraid of death get along with me more than those paranoid of everything. I once dated a guy that wouldn’t wear deodorant for fear that the aluminum or something or other in it would give him cancer. He stunk, especially in the summertime after working outside all day, we’d go out somewhere and I’d be embarrassed because even after a shower he had a certain funk that the whole world could smell. It didn’t keep me from staying with him though, I accepted the fact that he believed the deodorant was going to kill him.

Fast forward eight years, he died, not from the scary deodorant, but something else. He spent all that time afraid of something that didn’t kill him.  That makes me wonder about some of the choices that we all make regarding how we approach life. I can’t say I’m afraid of much, snakes, bread, and vaseline. All very unreasonable fears, but I’m not so afraid of them because they’re going to kill me, only because somehow I’ve gotten a very negative connotation with them. Come to think of it, I think the only thing that can actually kill me is me. I’m like a cockroach.

I understand the conscience effort that people make in their day to day lives to prolong their time on earth by decision making. What influences us to make those decisions in the first place. Why did that old timer next to me at the bar have a burger and onion rings but leave two? Why don’t I like bread? Who told the ex that deodorant will kill him by giving him cancer of the arm pit?

“Garbage in, garbage out.”

A new way of thinking, in the 21st century at least, is to peer into the media and be influenced by others think, say, or do. Let’s put it in perspective using something we can all understand – rocks. (I don’t like to brag, but I have an awesome rock collection). We can get even more technical and use geological terms:

Uniformitarianism – Pretty much the theory that actions in the past creates the current state of things. In a simple way, the present is a key to the past.

Catastrophicism – Bad shit happened to the earth, that’s what formed what we now enjoy in nature.

Our selves, our souls, our behaviors are all based on something, we don’t just happen, just like rocks don’t just happen. The earth didn’t just happen, there has to be a reason. What influences us nowadays isn’t the same as it used to be, we are prone to looks for catastrophes that will influence what we do. The old saying “history repeats itself” is sort of obsolete in this modern society, with most of our news coming from the internet being written by got knows who, how are we to know what to believe? We focus on all the bad shit and form our decisions on the bad things that are out to get us.

YouTube is a huge proponent of modern day Catastrophicism. Anybody and their inbred brother can go on and make a video, and yes, I’ve made videos, but who’s to say that some of these people are credible enough to believe. The quantity of people out there making videos to either make you hate something or someone is ridiculous. When did society get so hateful, and why, pray tell, do they feel like they need to influence others to think the same as they do. Just because you’ve got internet access and are able to shoot a ridiculous film while you’re walking around blathering about mindless dribble does not make you qualified to influence others opinions. Society has become too influenced by what others think as opposed to what we’re supposed to do.

How did people survive before all this? How did they make decisions? Nature, that’s how. We all have carnal needs for food, clothing, shelter, but shouldn’t those things be chosen by what we feel we need? Food videos crack me up, trying to lead a cleaner, healthier lifestyle? Get rid of everything that actually tastes good. I can promise you if there are videos out there telling me that I was going to die because I eat red meat and drink beer, I’d probably just flip the bird and tell them “don’t tell me what to do.” People have been eating red meat for centuries, and there hasn’t been a global die off of people.

Maybe we should all spend more time forming ourselves into who we really want to be instead of being influenced by what other people are telling us. Going back to those rocks, they formed due to nature being nature, dinosaurs did their thing (sad that they had to go, but I see no way we could coexist) without being told how to be dinosaurs. I have a very firm policy of I won’t tell you what to do if you don’t tell me what to do. The more you try to push something on me, the more I will ignore you. I like to figure stuff out myself and let nature be my guide.

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!”

Hunter S Thompson

I’m not telling you what to do, but life is a lot more peaceful after I quit taking everything so seriously. I’m going to continue to drink good beer, have lots of sex, and eat cheeseburgers all of which could probably kill me, but at least I’ll die with a smile on my face.


Part of the rock collection.

If you step on a Banana Peel In Mississippi…

“There are days when I am haunted by a feeling that is blacker than the blackest melancholy. I have a contempt for humanity. I despise the people I have been fated to call my contemporaries. I feel suffocated by their filthy breath.”

Friedrich Nietzsche, The Anti Christ

Politics make me sick, and to be honest, I just learned the other day what “left” and “right” meant. I’ve heard to term for years, and never really cared enough to look into  what it meant and who it pertained to. For this,  I feel my ignorance was bliss. I would glance right over articles on the news and on social media feeds that had even the slightest amount of opinion related. Mostly because I didn’t understand it, and didn’t want to. Humanity, and what the world has become, terrifies me. Politics, government, news feeds are starting to scare me. I feel a sick sense of paranoia on this rainy morning in South Carolina.

I glance in the corner and see Zips, lucky little bastard. He doesn’t have to worry about having an opinion on anything, but then again, he’s an inanimate object. I like to pretend that I too am an inanimate object, being devoid of needing to have feelings or opinions on anything. This practice of burying my head in the sand has pretty much made me desensitized to current events on a broader spectrum. The news really doesn’t exist to me, except when they post mugshots on the local news channels app. What can I say, I’m more entertained by people like that than I am people arguing on television, or comment sections.

I broke that this morning and actually took up a conversation on a semi-political comment and felt disgusted with myself in regards to the topic, and why it was bothering me in the first place. I can barely help myself let alone carry other peoples problems on my shoulders, but this struck me, and my voice, albeit silent of opinion, rang out like the five o’clock whistle, and I went on a rant. (Me, rant? Really!)

Brief summary of topic

Ole Miss was having a Greek something or other for the weekend.

Young man eats a banana, throws peel in a tree, goes about his day.

The university goes into a clamor over the concept that it could have been a racial thing.

Words were used in the media like “hysteria”.

Young man who tossed the banana peel couldn’t find a garbage can.

Greek event cancels and news reports certain students “frightened”.

Let me clue you into where this came from in the first place, the title of the original article was a little misleading and although, like I said, I normally abstain from delving into matters like those, I really honestly thought it was going to be a funny article, something like from The Onion or something. The first few comments on the post were sort of humorous and curious too, why would anyone be offended by a banana peel. It took me a moment, but I figured it out on my own and shook my head and immediately though of these lyrics:

“Smokin’ banana peels in between meals
I was all pumped up about the iron
Let’s all pray get down and kneel”

The Dead Milkmen

To be fair, I’ve never smoked banana peels, nor have I been offended at piece of rubbish that was improperly placed in a tree. The young man, actually, had a good idea to place it in a tree. If watching cartoons growing up did for me what it probably did to a whole generation, people can seriously get hurt if they slip and fall on a banana peel. It’s a classic accident, and although it’s probably NOT going to make you fall on your ass, it could totally fuck up a good pair of shoes. This too, if it were on the ground, and you’ve been to a college campus lately, most kids don’t look where the hell they’re going, they’re burying in the phone. This kid is really a hero in my book, and I think you’d have to be smoking something to be offended by it.

Historically bananas were used to infer a lesser race. Something to do with monkeys or some shit, didn’t we all come from monkeys, or cavemen or some shit. Should that not offend people of all colors. I’m a strong believer of evolution, and historically there was a lot of ridiculous shit people did to offend what they might deem as a lesser race.

“I always thought bananas were historically used to make banana pudding.”

Some guy on Fox News (again, I have no idea what way he “leans” but that was some pretty funny shit right there.)

Should I be offended if somebody leaves cheese on my doorstep because I’m from Wisconsin? No, I’ll pick that shit up and eat it, provided it’s not American Cheese….I hate American Cheese. Is it okay to even say that, or am I going to get pegged and an terrorist? Could unintentionally someone cut someone else off in traffic and the cut offed person take it personal because the kind of car he’s driving? It can get absolutely dark if you start thinking about it, and after some pondering (I have been out of work for two days and have had a lot of time to think about stuff) and it put me in a black melancholy like Nietzche spoke of in The Anti Christ.

(side note, lots of people put a negative eye on this book and assume that it’s all about the phrase “God is Dead” but it’s really more about society and how it becomes sheeple)

But that would take actual thought, and sadly, our not just nation, but world has become so wrapped up in this, what I like to “clublike mentality”. Everybody wants to be a part of something and participate in something. It’s easy to get wrapped up into a clublike mentality, and it’s been this way for centuries. Think of the need to be a part of something back during the world wars. If you weren’t a German you were a Jew, and nowadays it has become if you’re not black you are white. If you’re not mexican you’re citizen.  Always, in my mind, it’s like a dichotomy that I don’t understand.

I love everybody, except for ONE person, and of course I haven’t met everybody, I don’t feel the need I have to in order to love everybody. I don’t understand what “race” is, to me it’s something that you do in cars, not people. I don’t understand borders, really don’t understand government, other than I’ve been flying under the radar for quite some time now. Of course, in the super paranoid population, some say they’re watching you all the time. Fuck, I sure hope I entertain them. I wouldn’t want to disappoint. Getting off topic, but pulling it back together here…when I go into my black space of melancholy I tend to turn up Radiohead and crack a beer, always the same record, never the same beer.

“Are you such a dreamer? To put the world to rights? I’ll stay home forever Where two & two always makes up five.”


And this video sums it up perfectly, the media forced dichotomy of classes, races, government regulation and the need to be in a club.

It’s sort of reminds me of the concept of Pink Floyds Animals album, but see, we’re still facing the same damn drama. I’ve only dug into one news story and I’m already over being political.

I’ll stick to trying to “Save The Bees”, it’ll be more productive than being a whiny butt over something stupid. Haters are going to hate, which makes you hate them back. Just remember, that amazing quote that I love from Richard Nixon (I know, I know)

“Remember, always give your best. Never get discouraged. Never be petty. Always remember, others may hate you. But those who hate you don’t win unless you hate them. And then you destroy yourself.”

With the mentality that is carrying on right now for hate of other people and other races and other countries we’re bound to destroy ourselves. I don’t accept that as an option, I’ll go back to watching cat videos, falling down and busting my face, and every once in a while writing something on this useless blog.


I can hurt myself more than any words from anybody elses mouth ever could. Emotionally we have all become too fragile with other human being. Open up your heart and let some of the hurt out, and in turn, I do believe you will want to hurt others as much.