The Ramones vs Styx, Journey, and REO

Hello friends,

When I was in high school my friends usta give me a hard time about being a Ramones fan. They would joke about how weird Joey looked and would imitate the 1-2-3-4 count like Corky from 'Life Goes On' was calling it out. Now, they were listening to sorry crap like Styx, Journey, and REO Speedwagon. For some stupid reason they thought that was good music. See, the corporate big shots brain washed their tiny pea brains in the 'tiny pea brain, brain washing conspiracy of the 1970's' conspiracy back in the 70's. They couldn't help it cause they got tiny pea brains. Anyway, now that time has passed and I can look back, I can see just how tiny their brains actually were and how I had super future X-ray vision for cool junk. It was obvious to me cause The Ramones didn't have kinky perms or write a song about their hair dresser Mr. Roberto like that girl singer for Styx did (That is a true story about the song Mr. Roboto. How sick and sad is that?) The Ramones didn't cancel a gazillion shows cause their throats were sore like that girl singer for Journey did(The Ramones played 2,263 shows, roughly as many as The Grateful Dead) The Ramones didn't wear tight spandex pants on their big fat asses like that girl guitar player for REO did (The Ramones wore jeans with holes in the knees) The Ramones didn't play state fairs, revival shows, or the Wind Jammer in East Tulsa like those three slugs. The Ramones didn't have some stupid band name that some num-skull thought sounded cool, like Boston, Foreigner, or Supertramp (The Ramones got the band name from a story that Paul McCartney called himself Paul Ramone when the Beatles were playing the bars in Hamburg, Germany before they were famous. See, that way some young fraulein couldn't track him down if he knocked her up. That's why they all took the last name Ramone as well) A few years back some one decided to put together a Ramones tribute album and the likes of U2, Pearl Jam, Kiss, Metallica, Marylin Manson, The Red Hot Chile Peppers, Foo Fighters, Rancid, Green Day, The Offspring, Rob Zombie, Garbage, The Pretenders, and Tom Waits all recorded songs for it. Hell, Joey Ramone has a street named after him in New York City, and the nations largest metropolis celebrated Joey Ramone day ta-boot. That's a little different than having a dirt road named after you and a wing-dig that evening in Afton or Pawhuska. The Ramones raised several hundred thousand dollars for the 911 families, did benefits for the homeless, and even gave money to by Kevlar for the New York City Police Department. The Ramones were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame on their first ballot in 2002. Those other three bands haven't even been nominated.

Just because a singer has a 6 octave voice or a guitar player can run scales up and down the neck of his guitar to beat the band, doesn't mean their any good. As a friend of mine said to some jack ass who was bashing the Ramones "Rock and roll isn't about great musicians, it's about great music." Well said, friend. He wasn't one of my tiny pea brained friends.








Adios,
~e~

Where Have All The Little Monkey Kisses Gone?

Hello friends,

How do people fall in love? I mean, what is it inside us that makes us have that 'goofy way you feel' feeling for another person? Is it some kind of endorphin that makes you happy when you see that person walk in to the room? What causes you to get that weird, spongy sensation in your stomach when that special person smiles at you? And I mean that smile where you know they are feeling the same way you are. What makes you dizzy when you have been in Louisiana doing hurricane Katrina clean up and on the return trip home the bus carrying the volunteers breaks down at 2:30 in the morning just 30 miles south of Tulsa and when she comes to pick you up she gets out of the car and runs to you and jumps in your arms and raps her legs around your waist then gives you a million little monkey kisses all over your face on the side of the highway as the semi trucks roar by? Could it be a chemical imbalance that makes you feel that way for that certain someone and not feel that way for someone else?

So, after going throw all of that malarkey, how do some people wind up losing that feeling for one another? Do those little electrical sparks stop jumping around your brain after a while? How do things that usta make them laugh, all of a sudden make them mad? How does a hero turn into a villain? How do monkey kisses turn in to kicks in the balls? (metaphorically speaking) Now to begin with, the answers to these questions are not the answers I'm really looking for. But you see, you have to answer those questions, to get to the question that I want the answer to. What I really want to know is, how does a wonderful, skipping through the daisies, dancing on a star, kind of love some how turn in to hating my stupid guts?

'The wind of fate has pried us loose..'

Adios,
~e~

Franny Beecher

Hello friends,

As much as I love all the founding fathers of rock guitar, like Carl Perkins, Link Wray, Scotty Moore, Chuck Berry, Cliff Gallup, and Paul Burlison, nobody, and I mean nobody, tore it up like Franny Beecher. Next time you here Rock Around the Clock, listen to the lead guitar. It's blistering. Nobody was playing like that back then.

I got the pleasure and honor to meet Mr. Beecher about ten years ago at the Jackson Rockabilly Festival in Jackson Tennessee (Home of Carl Perkins) He was a wonderful guy who spent several minutes talking to me about what ever I wanted to talk about. Think about it, this cat was there at the start. He is one of the guys responsible for all this rock and roll business. From the Beatles to the Sex Pistols, Led Zeppelin to Nirvana, The Rolling Stones to Green Day, and everything in between. But I wasn't sure if I wanted to see him preform. He was in his eighties and like the dumb ass that I am, I thought he probably couldn't play very well any more, and I didn't want to see that. Well, Mr. Beecher got to join the long list of people who have proved me wrong. He destroyed that guitar. Smoked it. It was amazing.



Adios,
~e~

Does God Have A Sense Of Humor?

Hello friends,

Does God have a sense of humor? You bet your sweet ass he does. I'll prove it to you. Now, the last couple of years have been pretty tough. I won't go in to all of it now, just take my word for it. Well, I started to clean out my garage yesterday. My garage is not hooked up to the house, it's kinda stuck in my back yard. The driveway runs from the street, up past the house, through the gate to the garage. So, I pulled everything out of the garage and on to the driveway or in the back yard. A friend stopped by and we played some darts (real darts) where I promptly got spanked every single game. I never returned to the garage cleanin'. I get up this morning to find out it rained last night. Most of my stuff was in plastic totes with out the lids. So my stuff didn't just get wet, it got to soak. The other stuff was in card board boxes, which fell apart and left everything in the grass or on the wet concrete. I had a full rack of cloths, records, CD's, movies, electronic stuff, tools, photos, some of my paintings, etc. Most of it is ruined. I felt like it was the last straw. I thought I was going to cry. Then I hear thunder, so I'm trying to get most of it back in the garage. As I'm bringing the last rain filled tote in, I'm pushing another box on the floor over with my bare foot to make room for the one I'm holding. As I'm doing this one of those fold up metal carts, used to haul files and office things around, falls over and mashes my toes. Now you tell me, does God have a sense of humor or what?

I'm tied.




Adios my friends,
~e~

Virtual Darts General Patton vs.Hansel and Gretel

Hello friends,

Well, I'm a little pissed, a little disappointed, and a little hurt, but I'm more pissed than the other two. There is something that I haven't told y'all...cause...well...it's a little embarrassing. You see, I play virtual darts on-line, and well, I am ranked number one in the world. I'm the only American in the top ten. That is the Gods honest truth, number one. The good part is that it makes me zero dollarinos, zilch. So I don't have to worry about taxes and what to spend the money on, so that's nice. Finally something I'm good at...virtual darts...wow. Now for the last few weeks I've been hanging around 6th, give or take a place, but I have played over my head lately and made the big push to the first spot yesterday. So what, big deal right? Right. But what I'm writing about is how the damned Germans have turned on me. These two dudes, who have been the big guns forever, and who were nice as hell when they were spanking my little red, white, and blue ass blue, have started talking all kinds of trash. Like I shouldn't be # 1 cause I'm not good and how I got lucky and so on. One even called me a bitch. Now, Hansel and Gretel (as I call them) have no idea who they are messin' with. First I'm a Merican, by God. (I meant to drop the 'A' cause that's how I say it...Merican) Second, I'm an Okie. I don't care what you say, the biggest sissy form Oklahoma will beat the ever lovin' tar out of some pretzel bendin', lieder hosen wearin', Heidi from Hamburg...sorry I got off on a tangent. Anyway, those idiots thought they could have a war of words with me, the General Patton of the come back and I always cross that line. I asked one of them if they had ever won a war they started. I said it seems that y'all are good about starting things but can't seem to follow through. I told the other that I think my uncle shot his Grampa at Normandy and cut his ear off and wore it on a necklace and he brought his G'pa's blood stained helmet back and gave it to the retarded neighbor kid down the street who used it for a urinal. I asked them why the worn girls bikini bottoms when they went swimming. I said Americans couldn't wear those because it wouldn't cover our huge.......well, you know. I asked how it felt to know that there relatives were all big losers and quitters. Oh, they were big men in Poland but that didn't last long. I told them they probably have American blood cause all the Frauleins were sleeping with our GI's...and who could blame them when all they had were bikini bottom wearers. I commended them on there bang up job with the 1972 Olympic hostage situation. Who was head of security, col. Klink? And on and on and on. They don't like me much. Shouldn't have called me a bitch.







Adios,
~e~

Independence Day

---------------------------God bless America!!!

Hello friends,

Well, the 4th of July is a only a short month away and since I didn't get any Memorial Day lake invites, I have no delusions of getting one for Independence Day either. I don't matter cause I got plans already. Very important plans doing very important junk, so don't waist your time. Now, I have always kinda fancied myself a bit of a comedian. I like to pull gags and such. Everybody loves my pranks. I have an old friend that thinks it's hilarious when I make fun of him. He laughs for hours. So, here is a joke for you to do at what ever shin-dig your shin-diggin' at.

What you'll need:
1) One small American flag on a stick
2) One kazoo
3) One sparkler
4) One pair of those glasses with the big springy eye balls
5) One Flowerdy Hi-y-yan shirt

OK, after everyone has had a few adult beverages, you kinda slip into the shadows. Put on the glasses (4) Put the kazoo (2) in your mouth. Now, when you see the wife of the host of the party, wait untill her back is towards you then take off your pants. I mean strip down to nothin' but leave the flowerdy Hi-y-yan shirt (5) on. Lite the sparkler (3) and pick up the flag (1) (*note* Do NOT lite the sparkler (3) before you take off your drawers, cause you will burn your nuts when you are a slidin'um off. Trust me on this, OK, I know) Where was I? Oh yeah, Then you run up behind the wife of the host, wavin' that flag, whippin' that sparkler to and fro, hummin' 'My Sharona' on the kazoo, all the while your humpin' her back side to beat the band. I'm tellin' y'all, everyone will be in stitches. I did this gag at the last 4th of July party I was invited to, oh I guess it was in 86, and they are still talking about it. Man, what a night....wheeew!

This ain't the Knack, this is HooDoo Gurus doin' 'Like Wow Wipe Out' I love this tune.

Adios,

~e~

You, Me, and the Supersuckers are Goin' to Hell

Hello friends,

Here are some good words to live by...

Livin' life like the roar of a 747
I don't ask for forgiveness cause I ain't to good at beggin'
Drinkin' and a zingin', I ain't never gonna stop
I'm underneath the house, hidin' from the cops
I don't go to church cause I can't sit still
you say your goin' to Heaven and I'm goin' to Hell

Spend my whole life just trin' to get inside
I always tell the truth you know, unless it's a lie
I don't follow the teachin' of Jesus or the Pope
I'm in a cheap motel with some whore doin' dope
It might'a been your wife, you never can tell
You can go to Heaven, I'm goin' to Hell

And when I'm cast down through the brimstone mist
the devils gonna see me, man he'll be fuckin' pissed
I'll kick him in the cock and bust him right between the ears
I'll turn up the heat and we will party there for years
I hope your doin' fine, hope things are goin' well
while your a servant up in Heaven I'll be runnin' things in Hell

...or maybe not.

Here's another song about goin' to hell. I wonder why these cats don't get asked to play the Oprey?

I love it when I'm in one of these moods.

Adios,
~e~

Read This

Hello friends,

Well, now I've gone and done it. You see, I was looking at a friends Face Book photos and the caption under one read "Some one Photo Shop me some hair" My friend is noticeably thinning on top. So, I put a Pompadour and big sideburns on him. It looked so funny that I put a fancy white jump suit and some gold Elvis glasses. I didn't use Photo Shop (I use to have Photo Shop but you need a physics degree to work it and I'm a few hours short on that one) Instead I used Windows Paint, so the pic didn't look real, it looked like a cartoon. To me, that's what made it funny. I also did a Uncle Fester, Pipi Longstocking, Marilyn Monroe, and a Chippendale dancer. The photos I used weren't of just friends, they were friends I really care about. Well, I fixed up a photo of a guy who has been a friend of mine for a long, long, time. I took the photo and put a jacket and a cap on him of a sports team that he hates. I mean really, really, REALLY, hates. I put it on my photo page on Face Book and somehow it gets sent to a gazillion people. My friend came unhinged. I truly thought it was Innocent and had know idea he would come unraveled. Then one thing led to another and things got a little heated. Anyway, I apologised and said I would take it off, which I did. I also removed all the other photos I rigged up. So, I'm pacing the floor, my head is about to explode I'm so pissed. Then it hits me, well it took a while, more like it poured over me like molasses. It doesn't matter if I think he over reacted or if I think h was being too sensitive. It doesn't matter if I meant no harm or that I thought it was funny. What matters is, he didn't think it was funny and I hurt him. Who am I to decide what's funny or not if it's at someone else's expense? Just because it wouldn't bother me doesn't mean it wouldn't bother someone else, and the last thing I want to do is hurt someones feelings, especially someone I care for. So, that being said, I would like to apologise to any one I have offended, upset, pissed off, teased, poked fun at, ragged on, or made mad. Those were not, or ever, my intentions. I hope you will except this apology in the manner and spirit that it is given.

Adios,
~e~

PS Everybody feel better now?

A Question For You

Hello friends,

You know, I understand that I am responsible for my actions, and that 95% of everything bad that happens to me is because of something that I have done. But that doesn't necessarily mean that for every wrong or bad action there is a repercussion. Our days are full of wrong or bad actions, for instance, say a man (Bo Ziffer) walks across the street with out looking and get hit by a bus full of nuns. Action (walking across the street) = repercussion (hit by nuns) right? OK, now let's say if a different man (Ben Wafflehowser) walks across the same street with out looking and doesn't get hit by anything. Action (walking across the street) = ??? (No repercussion) right? So why is it that the Bo Ziffers of the world, it seems, are always getting hit by buses full of nuns, and the Ben Wafflehowsers of the world, it seems, don't get hit by shit? Hell, some Ben Wafflehowsers not only make it across the street with out a scratch, but find a 20 dollar bill on the sidewalk that some Bo Ziffer has lost, all the while cars and dump trucks and buses full of nuns crash and collide all around him. I, on the other hand, am one of those guys that gets hit by the bus full of nuns while I'm standing there oblivious, pushin' that button that is suppose to change the traffic light (but never does) 100 times like a machine gun. Push-push-push-push-push (Come onnnn) push-push-push (For the love of God, please) push-push (Somebody yells "Look out for that bus full of nuns. It's out-a-control!") Push-push-push- (I yell back "It doesn't seem to be workin', I'll push it some more!") push-push ('What was he say'un?', I think to myself) push-push-push-pu-CRASH! BOOM!! (MY SPLINE!!) BANG!!! SMASH!!!! Silence, except for the sound of one lone hub cap spinnin' on the pavement. The carnage is horrific. I lay there maimed and broken, in the midst of the twisted steel and leaking gasoline, mumbling the Gettysburg Address and holding my busted right arm out, my bloody hand in a fist with my snapped in two places index finger crookedly extended, moving it back and forth like I was pushin' that damn button. It's a pathetic sight friends, pathetic. The point I'm tryin' to make is...is...hum...well, let's see...the point is...ahh...Hell, I forgot the stupid point I was tryin' to make, damn it. I hate it when I do that, sorry....Hold on, I remember, the point I was makin' is take the bus. Yeah, it saves the ozone, helps not pollute the air, saves precious fuel, you can meet nice people, and will mean less traffic on the streets, that way I can zip around town freely in my car and won't have to worry about traffic jams or lines at the gas station. That's my point......i think.

Here's one you haven't heard. This guy was standin' in the street darin' the buss full of nuns to run over him...and they did too...twice. He was a drug addict, an alcoholic, and known to commit acts of violence (Mainly with a baseball bat) and those are the kind of traits I like in my rock stars. This song was released in 1958. It's Ronnie Self screamin' Bop-A-Lena.



Adios,
~e~

I Am The Greatest Of All Time!

Hello friends,

I am hands down, the best, most stupendous, worlds greatest, pussy cat wrangler in the country. Maybe the world. Like my mama says "It ain't braggin' if it's true". And believe you me, it's the Gods honest truth. I bagged and tag a little tiny redheaded baby night before last. It took me all of 30 minutes to nab the little critter. Tracy has already found a home from him. You know what I'm hopin' for? I'm hopin' that someday I will be fortunate enough to catch one of those inbred f**kers tossin' a baby pussycat in the dumpster. What a glorious day that would be. First, I would thank God for delivering this sacrifice unto me. Second, I would shove my thumb in his eye socket until I hit gray matter (if any) then twist it back and forth real fast. Third, I would stomp on his nuts with my Chuck Taylor's until his tiny balls look like little Belgian waffles. And lastly, while he's laying there on the pavement wondering what went wrong with his 'throw away the pussycat' plan, I would relieve myself, I'm sorry friends, but I will piss all over his head. Then everyone will call him names like 'One Eyed Waffle Nuts' or 'Yella Headed Stinky Noodle' or 'Popeye the Cyclopsed Urine Boy' or somtnin' like that. That's what I'm hopin' for.

The coolest cat of all.

My Converse 'Chuck Taylors' or 'Waffel Makers'

Adios,
~e~

The Death-Ray

Hello friends,

The History~
A couple of years ago I had a little bout with the pleurisy. That's where the tissue between the ribs and lungs become inflamed. Great mother of God, I thought I was gonna die it hurt so bad. Any normal man would have lost his mind or committed suicide. Lucky for me I'm as tough as a herd of duck billed platypuses's. Anyway, the doctor told me the problem was my stomach was pushin' my lungs in to my heart or my lungs were pullin' on my pancreas or somethin' along those line. I'm not sure, cause I really wasn't paying attention. But in a nut shell, if I didn't lose my gut, well, basically I was gonna expire. So, two years go by and I haven't changed a thing. I thought if I ignored it, it would go away. It didn't. Some day that will work but as of yet I'm 0 for 2674 (my pop says it won't ever work, but I'm gonna show him someday) I thought about working out but that takes to much effort. Diet crossed my mind...for about 3 seconds. I can't go for walks cause it kills me not to run (that's how I got the pleurisy to begin with...runnin') And I've toyed with the idea about getting a bike, but Schwinn doesn't make Sting-Ray's for adults. Looks like I'm doomed and headed for the ol' marble orchard.

The Now~
Tracy wanted a bike for her birthday...I'm sorry, we don't celebrate her birthday anymore. Let me start over.

The Now~
Tracy wanted a bike for the Tracgiving day 'giving of the gifts' ritual. Tracgiving day is a day set aside to celebrate the knowing of Tracy. I got her this pearlescent pink beach cruiser. I got her the perfect bike...cause she picked it out. It's got a bell, a basket, a book rack, a light, a drink holder, a gadget that tells how fast your going, how far you've gone, average speed, top speed, how many calories burned, the time in Pango Pango, if your about to come in to money, and the color of your underwear. It's topped off with a pink flower on the handle bars. It's very glamorous.

Now, this all boils down to I'm gonna have to get a bicycle. I went to a fancy bike shop and looked at some fancy bikes. My shopping experience lasted a bit longer (but not much) than my thoughts about starting a diet. It's not that I couldn't afford one, it's that I just don't have that kind of money. So, I went to Target and bought about the first bike I came across. A blue Schwinn Legacy. It's frame was shaped kinda like the bright red Sting-Ray I had as a kid (the greatest bike in the world) so I bought it. I have modified it a bit. Not much, just a couple of tweaks to make my bike riding experience a little more enjoyable.

Here is what it looked like when I bought it~

Here it is today~
I named her Death-Ray cause what use to be an easy bike to ride has turned into a flat black death machine that's gonna pump my ass strait to the coroner if I don't pay attention and the Schwinn Sting-Ray which was the greatest bicycle ever built. I just mashed'um together and that's what I got, Death-Ray. Get it? Very clever I am at times. Don't she look great tho? I love her big, fat Kenda Flame rear tire with a red Nirve rear wheel, 19' ape hangers that I have wrapped with friction tape, a water proof banana seat, a raked springer front end, a Bonneville Salt Flats #13 race plate, black flame grips, 8 ball valve caps, dice rear axle nuts, a baby skeleton squeak-squeak horn, and a chrome skull hood ornament. I love my bike. I love, love, loooooove it. I'm not done with it either. I have a pair of 4" iron cross front axle spinners ordered and I'm gonna get some MP3 speakers that hook to the goose neck so I can blast Motorhead or the Ramones as I fly down the river parks.

The future~
So if your driving down Riverside Drive, there is no need to look for me, cause brother you couldn't miss me if you tried. Oh yeah, with all the time and money I've spent on the Death-Ray, it guess I could have bought one of those fancy bikes at the fancy bike store after all....but, I'm not that fancy and then I wouldn't have the most coolest bike on the planet, would I?

Motorhead playing their tribute to the Ramones ~ R.A.M.O.N.E.S

Adios,
~e~

Jim Blue's Barber Shop ~ A Tulsa Landmark

Hello friends,

I'm gonna ask for a bit of help from ya'll. It's not anything for me. What could I possibly need? I'm smrt as a whippet and as pretty as any man could ever wish to be. No, this is to help my barber, my friend, and help preserve a bit of Tulsa history. You like history, don'cha? So here is my pitch.

Jim Blue is the owner, barber, accountant, and floor sweeper of one of the, if not the only, last of the true barber shops around. He has been cuttin' cats hair there since 1959. He usta cut Charlie Daniels pompadour when he played with the Jaguars and lived in Tulsa. There are two barber chairs that Tulsans have planted there butts in for 51 years. There is a long wood bench where all the fellas set while their waitin' to get there hair cut. I wish I had a dime for every lie that has been swapped on that big hunk of wood. The original Coke machine is so old you have to put a dime in the slot and 65 cents in the little Dixie cup that sits on top, then pull a glass 8oz bottle out of this hole that's the size of a baseball in the lid. I wish I had a dime for every dime that's been poked in that machine. The joint is also air conditioned! I wouldn't lie to you. It says it right in the big front window, with letters that have snow on'um. And here is the kicker, 10 bucks for a hair cut. 10 measly smackers. Hell, Stupid Cuts charges more than that and they suck. Tracy said that I like to go there because it's like Mayberry, and mayberry she's right.

But friends, times are tough for us all right now, and Mr. Blue is know exception. Some jackasses stole his 7ft barber pole and not everybody put 65 cents in the cup. Most men now-a-days get there hair cut in a salon by a fat chick with black lip stick, bright pink hair, and a bad attitude or some dude with a lisp name Sweet Peeair and a bad attitude. Think about it, do real men go to a salon? Maybe real men in France, la-te-da. But not me brother, I got to a barber shop, just like my dad.

Trust me here friends, I promise you that Jim Blue will give you the best hair cut you have ever had (and at the best price) If you don't agree, I will pay for your hair cut myself. So, step back to a simpler time, drink you a Coke (put 65 cents in the cup, please), swap lies with the fellas, and help preserve a bit of history here in Tulsa. Let Jim Blue cut your hair, you'll be glad you did.

Jim Blues Barber Shop is at 943 S. Pittsburgh. That is half way between Harvard and Yale on 11th St, right behind the sewing machine repair shop. That's on the corner of 11th and Pittsburgh, across the street from the Big Time Pawn Shop. Turn north at the stop light on Pittsburgh. Here is a map to the joint that I personally downloaded on the back of my cut-off notice from the electric company. So don't tell me you couldn't find it. And don't forget to tip, you cheep bastards.
This ain't no Geico comercial.


Adios,

~e~

Letter #3

Hello friends,

Well, here is letter #3 to Youtube. Dig this.

Dear Youtube,

--I'm back for the third time to inform you that my 'Bangkok' video has not been put back. I have received no word from you about when it will be in operating condition again or what was wrong with the video in the first place. I believe I have been very patient concerning this matter, but you f**kers are starting to piss me off. So, put my g*d d**ned video back, you sons a b**thes, put it back! Pretty please with sugar on top, you scum sucking, piss drinking, dog f**king, short d**ked, s**t eating, buckets of monkey c*m, put it back!! I am about through being polite for f**ks sake. Christ almighty, just do what the hell I tell you to do. PUT IT BACK!!!

Sincerely,
ep13

Except I didn't have any stars on the e-mail I sent. Those jackasses are gettin' on my last nerve.

Watch this.




Adios,
~e~

Jeff Brewer, Cool Rockets, and One Simple Act of Kindness

------------------------------Little Ethel Merman

Hello Friends,

You know, Tracy has had a tough time lately. She lost her mother a couple of years ago, her fathers fighting with cancer, and all the problems that go along with living with me. Not to mention the day to day crap that we all have to deal with. But you know, it's funny how one simple act of kindness can make all off that disappear for while.

Our house is decorated kinda contemporary (I think it's contemporary, but I'm not to hip on interior decorating lingo) Anyway, our house is decorated with rockets and robots. A couple of weeks ago Tracy and I just got home from somewhere when she noticed that Little Ethel Merman (who, by the way, is a boy pussycat) was acting guilty. So she went looking around the house. She stopped looking when she got to the dining room. What she found was that LEM had jumped off the kitchen table and knocked some shelves off the wall. She also found her three 'Cool Rockets' I had bought her, smashed to smithereens on the floor. She tried to glue them back together...she glued them back together...they were doomed. I was never sure if she really liked the 'Cool Rockets' cause Tracy is a NASA girl, the Saturn V , Redstone, and SR-71 are her cup-o-tea. 'Cool Rockets' are more like 1950's sci-fi, comic book rockets. After her seeing them all mashed, I could tell that she really liked them. She was very upset.

'Cool Rockets' are the creations of a cat named Jeff Brewer. Besides being an artist extraordinaire, Jeff works as a model maker for the film and commerical television industry. His film credits include, Nightmare Before Christmas - Men in Black - James and The Giant Peach - Starship Troopers - Star Trek VIII-First Contact - Star Wars Episode I - Pearl Harbor, and so on and so forth.

So, a few days after the big crash of 2010, I ordered her a new rocket from his website. I wrote the story about how I found out she liked the rockets in a comment box strategically placed on the site. And guess what? I get an e-mail from Jeff Brewer himself. He gave his condolence's, said he was a dog person, and that he would mail her rocket that day. How cool was that? Mr. bigity big shot Hollywood model man sent me a personal e-mail. Pretty cool I think.

Now, a couple of days ago Tracy calls me from her office and tells me that she got rockets in the mail (that's where I had it sent) and that she loves them both. Both? I only ordered one rocket, see it seems that Jeff sent her a rocket to go with the one I ordered. Why? I guess because Jeff Brewer is one bad ass dude, that's why. Now, I didn't tell Tracy that cause I wanted it to look like I bought her two, cause two rockets are always better than one rocket....Kidding, kidding, I'm pullin' your leg. I told her all about the e-mail and Jeff's response. She is very happy.

Let me ask you friends, who does that? Jeff sent her an $80.00 dollar rocket for nothin'. Out of the goodness of his Hollywood heart. Who does that kind of thing? Nobody that's who. Except for Jeff Brewer......and Tracy. Remember the story I wrote about the little African kid and the clothes she bought for him or her donating two turkeys instead of one at Thanksgiving, or buying all those cleaning supplies for the homeless family that got a home, or scrounging up a VCR for the DHS kids who had a bunch of old tapes donated to them, or giving the homeless guy ten bucks instead of one dollar, or a million other stories about her I could tell? Charity stories, damn it, charity stories (I tell the other stories too, but this ain't the time or the place)

I have always said that I don't believe that what goes around, comes around, but Jeff Brewer has proven me wrong with one simple act of kindness.

So, go to his web site and buy somethin', or at least go look around, then buy somethin'. There are some pretty cool rockets there. And while your lookin' around, remember what a swingin' cat Jeff Brewer is and the very nice thing he did for my gal.

Thanks, Jeff. Thanks for more than you know.

http://www.coolrockets.com

Here is some rocket junk.

Adios
~e~

PS The three rockets pictured above are like the one's Little Ethel Merman busted. And I'm pretty sure Jeff has records of the stuff people have bought from the 'Cool Rockets' website, so don't any of you jackasses go writin' him letters about how your pet spider monkey chewed the fin of your 'Space Tub' and you want a free one, for Christs sake. He won't fall for it. Trust me, he won't.

Velvet Revolver vs American Idol

------------------------------ Velvet Revolver

Hello friends,

Along time ago, in another life, this chick I knew was making me watch American Idol. Now, those of you who know me, know how I feel about American Idol, but she wanted me to see something that would change my mind. Bo Bice. Bo Bice? Well, I watched Bo Bice and thought I was gonna puke. I looked at her and was completely amazed that she was so incredibly stupid to think I would like that shit. Fla-ber-gass-ted. That's what I was. Bo Bice. "He rocks!" she said. "He sucks!" I shot back. Well, later that evening, this was on Leno.

What perfect timing. Now, it's not that I'm a huge Velvet Revolver fan, but everything about this clip bleeds rock and roll. From Scott dancing around to Slash hopping around in circles. But when Slash put his foot up on the monitor, I looked at her and said "Are you watching this? That's rock and roll. Can't you see the difference between that and Bo Bice? Don't you get it?" She didn't get it....and later that evening, neither did I.

Adios,

~e~

Tim Toone

Hello friends,

Well, the NFL draft is over...finally. And I could really careless who is first round, but the last pick is somethin' different. This year, the 255th over all pick, by Detroit, was Weber States (I didn't know there was a state named Weber. Pronounced Weee-bur) 5'10" 185lb wide receiver Timmy Toone. Now listen neighbors, I really like this guy (ha ha, not that way) I don't know if he can make it in the NFL or not but I sure hope he does for the simple fact that he is a fast white guy with dread locks. I'm not quite sure why I like that but I'm not quite sure why I like a lot of the things I like. I like his attitude too. When asked about being the first Wee-bur State receiver to go over 3000 yards he said "...It just shows the accomplishment of our team...It just means we have (a) great line, great quarterback. You know, their out there doing their job..." There isn't enough of that kinda of attitude any more. Remember Barry Sanders? In college a reporter said to Barry "If you keep going like you are, you will be the greatest running back in the history of college football." Barry replied "Maybe we just have the greatest offensive line in the history of college football." (He played for the Detroit Lions also) And as for being the last picked, remember Thurman Thomas? He was thought to be a first round pick. ESPN had a live crew at his house to film the monument us occasion. Well, the first round came and went and Thurman fell asleep on TV. He was finally picked 40th in the second round. Thurman made a vow to make every team that passed him up sorry. I think he did. So, good luck Timmy, giv'um hell and make'um sorry, brother. I'm sure there all pullin' for you in the great state of Weber. (Where ever in the hell that is)

Heeeeere's Timmy!


and Thurman


and Barry


Adios,
~e~

Ps Barry Sanders and Thurman Thomas both went to college at Oklahoma State University. (I know where the great state of Oklahoma is, but I still can't find Wee-bur)

Brian Parton and the Nashville Rebels

Hello friends,

Every time I get on a tangent about something (like my fight with Youetube) something will come along to make me realize how non-important it is. You see, I heard today that my friend Brian Partons sister, Lisa, past away. I haven't seen Brian in a while and I have been thinking a lot about him today. You know, if you never got to see the Nashville Rebels play you sure missed out. Their live shows always delivered. Brian is a great showman, a great singer, a great song writer, and a great guitar player. Dave 'Skin Tight' White is Tulsa's premier bass player, and Billy Earl 'Bad Ass' Padgett is the most entertaining drummer around. Together those two make the best rhythm section you have ever heard. The Rebels, in my opinion, were one of the best bands Tulsa has ever put out. They are up there with the Shakers, Steve Pryor and the Mighty King Snakes, and the Jim Strader Quartet. And you would find Lisa at most of the Rebel gigs dancing like crazy. And believe me, Lisa had no problem letting you know how great her brother was. Sisters are great fans. My thoughts are with Brian. Hang in there you rockin' m-m-m-mutha.

This is the first tune I heard by Brian Parton and the Nashville Rebels. I heard it on the juke box at Caz's, and I was hooked.


Please Don't Touch


I love the lyrics in the song.
...Were goin' out for an evening
gonna do a little sleezin'
where they rock like fiends...


http://www.myspace.com/brianparton1

If you see Brian out playin' somewhere tell him Eddy says 'hey' and ask him to tell you the 'Sex Machine' story. It's a riot.

Adios
~e~

Sietuben

Hello friends,

Here is letter number two (2) to Youtube. I guess the first one (1) didn't get their attention.

Guter Tag,

Me again. Have you guys decided to put my video back yet? I wish you would just admit you were wrong and put it back where it was. Did you geniuses even watch my video? Tell me what parts were "offensive" so I will not make the same mistake in the future, because I don't know. I sure don't want to get another Community Strike, oh the shame! I bet if you tell me what parts that you consider "offensive" I can find ten (10) worse examples that are on Sietuben...sorry, I mean Youtube. I think you should browse around your site a bit. I'll help, check out 'hot ass' or 'big ass' or 'ass shakin' or 'butt shakin' or 'bubble butt' or 'bubble ass' or 'bubble ass butt' or 'double bubble ass butt', or' 'double bubble ass butt shakin' or just plain ol' ass butt'. Check it out and kick them all off, please. That should take about 3 months. When your done, I will give you some more. I will be your personal Storm trooper!

Alle Für Das Heimatland

Auf Wiedersehen
~e~

PS Could you let me know when my video is back up. Danke.

I always take things a bit to far.

Adios,
~e~

YouTube Nazis

Hello friends,

Do me a favor. Scroll down to the Alex Chilton story and click on the 3rd video 'Bangkok' for me. I'll wait....la ta de la ta da dooby dooby dooo...Ok, what did you see? I'll tell you what you saw, nothin', thats what. You see, I made that video, thank you very much, and Youtube yanked it from the site. This is what I saw when I tried lo log on to my Youtube account ~

ATTENTION
The following video(s) from your account have been disabled for violation of the YouTube Community Guidelines: •Bangkok - (ep13)
Most nudity is not allowed on YouTube, particularly if it is in a sexual context. Videos that are intended to be sexually provocative are also generally not acceptable for YouTube. There are exceptions for some educational, documentary and scientific content, but only if that is the sole purpose of the video and it is not sexually gratuitous.
Your account has received one Community Guidelines warning strike, which will expire in six months. Additional violations may result in the temporary disabling of your ability to post content to YouTube and/or the termination of your account.
Date Received: April 18, 2010

There was a little box at the bottom for me to click that said 'I acknowledge'. I didn't click it.

Here was my response to Youtube ~

Dear YouTube,

You bunch of SS wearing hypocrites. You jack boot my video for being offensive? Have you looked around your site, you bunch of blinder wearing Nazis. Hell, every clip I got for the video was off of YouTube, you idiots. Talk about offensive, how about that Prussian Blue 'Victory Day' music video or 'Anti American Animated Films on Iranian TV' or '9/11 CONSPIRACY: A CONTROLLED DEMOLITION DESTROYED THE WTC!!!' or 'White Noise - I Hate N...Mondays' or 'No Remorse - Deutschland'? And you gassed my Alex Chilton video for being offensive? Thank you for saving the world with your version of what is morale and what is not. Hitler tried to do the same thing.

"Videos that are intended to be sexually provocative are also generally not acceptable for YouTube. There are exceptions for some educational, documentary and scientific content, but only if that is the sole purpose of the video and it is not sexually gratuitous."

But it's OK to be a hate monger. What a joke!

"Your account has received one Community Guidelines warning strike..."

Oh no!!! Will that go on my permanent record along with skipping Mr. Tuckers math class in the 7th grade?

Stomp on the Constitution of the United States of America some more, Adolf.

Sieg Heil,
ep13

PS Does YouTube consider 'fuck you' to be offensive?

I guess that'll teachum' to mess with me, by God.

Here are a few clips that didn't get canned by Youtube. I'm not gonna show the racist videos. I won't give those pricks the honor of being on my site.







Adios,
~e~

The Most Greatest Story Ever Told

Here is a hunk from my book 'Drowning In The Shallow End Of The Dream Pool'

Hello Friends,

Here it is, the most greatest story ever told. Now, this is not to be confused with 'The Greatest Story Ever Told', this is the 'most greatest' story ever told. See the difference? This doesn't have to do with passin' out a bunch of stinky fishes or zombies or nothin', this has to do with my mom and pop. So, with out further ado, her is 'The Most Greatest Story Ever Told'.

Once upon a time, many, many, many, years ago, when I was somewhere around 16 or 17, I was in the Gilcrease Museum gift shop with my mom and pop. We had already been through the museum and were about ready to leave. Mom was off some where, talking to some complete stranger about God knows what, and pop and I were just standin' around doin' nothin' but waitin' on mom. All of a sudden here is mom and she is holding this fancy Indian necklace. Mom showed it to pop and said "Isn't this beautiful?" and pop did his trade mark 'open his eyes wide and jerk his head' move and replied "Boy howdy!" Then mom toddles off to tell the clerk some story that she could careless about (Now you know where I get it from)

After a few minutes here comes mom and she asks if we are ready to go. Pop asked her if she bought that necklace and mom replied "No" then informed pop that it was 900 smack-a-roos. Pop said with out hesitation "Oh, you need the check book" and reaches into his front shirt pocket to retrieve it (He didn't say 'let me buy it for you' or 'would you like to have it' He thought she didn't get it because she didn't have the check book) Mom said "On no, I don't want it" And we left.

Now, I am floored. I couldn't imagine that some one could just be throwin' around 900 bucks like that. He must be a some kinda millionaire or somethin', I thought. So I'm thinkin' if 900 dollarenies is nothin' to pop, maybe he will just give it to me. We left mom at the entrance of the joint while we went to get the car. Time to put my plan into action, I said "You know, since mom doesn't want that necklace, can I have the 900 donuts, pop....I mean...father? All I got was a non emotional, matter of fact, "No". Heck, he wasn't even lookin' at me, he was rubberneckin' around lookin' for the stupid car. As we pulled the Chrysler New Yorker around to pick up mom he tells me this story...not in the stupid way I'm tellin' y'all, but in his 'just the facts, get to the point' way of his. Pops way may be better, but he ain't here. Here is the story in the story.

Once upon a time, many, many, many, many, many, years ago, about 1949, lived a young couple named George and Betty. Now, George was fresh outta the Army Air Corp and WWII and Betty was fresh outta High school. George was from the country. He grew up during the depression in the oil fields some where between Olive and Oilton, Ok. And when I say country I mean if he wanted a glass of water, he didn't get it from some gadget squirtin' cold water and crushed ice that was built into the refrigerator door. He had to get a glass and go outside and pump water out of the bowles of the earth. Betty was from the city, Drumrite. She also grew up during the depression, but being from the big city, she had running water in her house. They now lived in an apartment on 6th and Rockford in Tulsa. Of course those two kids were married, because people didn't live together back then with out bein' hitched, cause if they did they would go to hell and they didn't want that. They had no car and no money. Not to mention, no big flat screen TV, microwave, computer, ipod, Sham Wow's, George Forman grill, or cell phones. If you wanted to call some one, not only did you have to actually know the number, but you had to physically dial it on a wheel with a bunch of holes in it. Ziiiip tick tick tick tick tick, ziiiip tick tick tick tick tick, ziiiip tick tick tick tick tick. It musta been a living hell back then.

Times were tough for those two. They rode the bus to and from work. Betty had just started working for the phone company and George worked at Retail Credit. They could barely make ends meet. One time after paying their bills, all that was left was one (1) dime. That's it, one stinking dime. This was all they had for the rest of the week. One stupid dime. Betty put the dime in the desk drawer. To make things worse, all they had to eat was a big bowl of macaroni salad. So for the next four days those two kids got up in the morning, ate a couple of spoonfuls of macaroni salad, walked to work, worked all day, walked home, ate a couple more spoonfuls, and went to bed. Friday, or better 'payday' finally came. They got up, ate a couple of spoonfuls, got ready to leave and opened the door to a rain storm. George went to the desk drawer and grabbed the dime. He told Betty to take the bus to work and on his lunch break he would run (literally) to the bank and cash his check so they could stop at the grocery store on their way home and get some food. Betty looked at George and said (This is great) "If your walking in the rain, I'm walking in the rain." And that's what they did friends, they walked to work in the rain...together. As they walked, George desided that he would go to college on the G.I. bill so he could a job that paid enough so this wouldn't happen again. And as he looked at his rain soaked bride, he made a silent promise to himself. He promised that when he got out of school and got that better paying job that he would never say 'no' to her. George did get out of school and become a engineer. He has designed, engineered, and built things, from skyscrapers to rockets. He is retired now, but still keeps his professional engineers license, number 5949, up to date. George and Betty have been married for over 63 years, and to this day he is still keeping his promise. And Betty, well she retired from the phone company and is still tellin' complete strangers the most interesting stories. She has never had to walk in the rain again.

I had never heard this story before that day. Mom filled in the blanks for me later but she never knew about the promise pop had made. But that's my father. It makes me wonder how many young brides today would walk in the rain. But that's my mother.

But on a sad note, pop didn't make any kind of promise to never say 'no' to his future son. He has no problem saying 'no' to me. Probably cause he knows I would have taken the stupid dime and got on the stupid bus.

And something else, mom, has never, and I mean never ever made macaroni salad again. Cross my heart.

Now, you tell me, is that not the most greatest story ever told?

Here are a few of the things pop was invoved with. Also, he was head engineer during the construction of the ONEOK building (the house that George built) at the top of the page. A million miles away from Retail Credit, city buses, and that little apartment on 6th and Rockford.




This is the kind of music that filled our house when I was growing up. There was always music playing in our house.






Adios,
~e~