Reprise Sunday: How Old Can Ya Be And Still Hook?

Yes, the burning question of the day from my blog back in May of 2013: How Old Can Ya Be And Still Hook? (NOTE: This is not about knitting or crocheting)

So, in answer to that question………..

The Worlds Oldest Profession Is Now Run By The Worlds Oldest People…..Seniors.

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Hey, and you thought us freakin’ seniors just sat around all day playing bingo and farting. Well screw you pal…..literally.

Well have I got a wake up call for all of you. Besides playing bingo and farting, we’re also helping to strengthen the economy by running our own prostitution ring with honest to goodness prostitutes. And no…..they’re NOT senior prostitutes. But real life hot looking eat your heart out fish net stocking type “so whaddya want me to do” type prostitutes.

I lied……they are senior prostitutes,

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But, there’s nothing shoddy about THIS operation fella. So get your wallets out and f**k, um….fork over the cash. Visa and MasterCard accepted.

As one web site reported, “Call it Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll Assisted Living.” I guess with a little assist from some really great prescription medications. My guess anyhow.

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The “Examiner.com” reports that the prostitution ring was run by a 75 year-old New Jersey man, James Parham, and that his helpers were elderly residents who were used as sex workers. But it wasn’t just sex, but cocaine as well. Oops….so much for the prescription medications.

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So, my question is, were these hooker hookers or elderly hookers?

The difference being, hooker hookers are obviously hookers who, for the most part, are young, say for the sake of argument, from 20 to 30 years of age, (30 pushing the envelope a tad) while elderly hookers most likely fall into the 65 to death category. Near death elderly hookers obviously come with a discount, lest during the heat of passion said elderly hooker suddenly buys the farm. Kinda like an instant rebate.

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Now the strange part of this story is that none of the senior prostitutes were arrested. Most likely because it would have been way too much of a problem loading scooters, wheelchairs, canes and oxygen tanks into paddy wagons. But, that 75 year-old guy was arrested and charged with being a damn pervert.

Um, no, that was not what he was actually charged with but I bet they thought about it. He was charged with “maintaining a nuisance” and having possession of drug paraphernalia.

The nuisance might have been a bunch of 75-year-old hookers forgoing their crocheting hooks to hook something else. In this instance, elderly men in an assisted living facility who wanted more than a freakin’ afghan crocheted for them.

“Hey Martha baybee. Whatcha makin’ there?”

“It’s an afghan so that you can feel nice and warm and fuzzy when you wrap it around yourself Elmer.”

“Hey, neat, really looks great. So what do ya charge for one.?

“$300 honey.”

“$300 dollars! Holy crap Martha. For $300 that damn afghan better do more than keep me warm and fuzzy!”

“Yes, I know Elmer, that’s why we’re charging you $300 for the afghan. It comes with some really great accessories honey. Realllly great accessories if ya catch my drift.”

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Along with Parham, 65 year-old Cheryl Chaney, (no relation to Lon or Dick) has been accused of allowing senior residents and their visitors to feel cracks on the hoo…..um….sorry, read that wrong. It should read, “has been accused of allowing senior residents and their visitors to “use crack” in their apartments. Sorry, got sidetracked with my mind on hookers.

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Parham ran the prostitution ring through his apartments and used a mix of young and older residents.

Considering this was a senior citizen housing complex I’d sure as hell wanna know where that claim of, “a mix of young and older women” comes into play.”

I mean, as far as I know, the term “senior citizens housing” leads me to believe that those residing there are seniors. Sooooooooo, if ya say, “younger women,” do ya mean 65 in deference to 90 or so?

“Yeah Jim, I want a younger chick. How bout that hot babe over there in the oxygen tent?”

“Good choice Barney, she just turned 66 yesterday…..AND….she still has her own teeth!”

m

In all fairness not all of the hookers, um, sorry, not all of the seniors in the complex welcomed the opportunity to supplement their incomes with extracurricular activities. And I’m not talkin’ about bingo or crocheting here. Some said that they felt rather uncomfortable with a few of their elderly neighbors working as “sex workers.”

Yep, alway a few party poopers in the crowd.

Um, Misfit, yer taklin’ about elderly senior citizens here.

Oh yeah, sorry. That should read, “Yep, always a few “potty poopers” in the crowd.sex7

So where exactly did all of this torrid elderly sex take place? According to reports, the activities took place in common areas of the complex. So common that some seniors were afraid to go to certain apartment complex areas because they were afraid for their lives.

Which is completely understandable. Ya go to do your laundry, bend over to put some clothes in the dryer, and the next thing ya know someone’s slipping a $100 dollar bill into your “Bounce” fabric softener dryer sheet box asking you for a bounce in the sheets. Or $100 in your “Snuggle” bottle for a snuggle and a quickie.

I don’t EVEN wanna think about what ya get for $100 using Arm & Hammer. Kinky sex I guess.

As one of the senior residents of the senior citizen housing complex phrased it, “a lot of nonsense going on.”

What she actually meant was, “Them ol coots are f**king their nonsensical brains out.”

Obviously the press cleaned up her comments for this story.

Just sayin.’

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Reprise Sunday: National Cat Hairball Awareness Day

Would I kid you? Well maybe, but……..not this time folks, nope, there really is a National Cat Hairball Awareness Day, which, when ya think about it, should be every day of the year.

Hack! Hack!

Anyhow, to compliment your Sunday breakfast, lunch or supper, should you choose to read this blog at that time, here’s a reprise of why cats barf up hairballs and all other kinds of fun stuff you really should know about hairballs.

Enjoy……….

National Hairball Awareness Day? Really!

 

Um....how about under the kitchen table at dinner time

OMG! One of the most important days on the calendar and I freakin’ missed it. I’m totally devastated. Now I gotta wait an entire year before I can celebrate one of the most relevant days….um….well, relevant to ME anyhow, “National Hairball Awareness Day.”

YES. An actual day that cat owners can celebrate that wonderful gift cats give to them….hairballs. And I missed it. SOB!catbarf4

It was last Friday, as it is, I guess, the last Friday in every April, which, for the life of me, I have  no idea why it wasn’t marked on my calendar. Damn!

But, have no fear my fine feline owner friends. MisfitWisdom to the rescue. Along with some guy from “Pet360,” Sid Kirchheimer, who is a lot nicer than that opinionated columnist Charles Krauthammer. (for some reason long names beginning with “K” fascinate me)

Sid has listed 30 facts about cat hairballs. Yes, 30!

Now look folks, sure, I’d like to know why any of my three cats insist on presenting me with a hairball on any given day, but I really DO NOT need to know 30 facts about hairballs. Just tell me why TF the little bastards cough up those disgusting things. That’s all.

Maybe a quick look at a cat’s brain might help.

Maybe

So, even though Sid, who obviously was into hairballs to list 30 reasons about them, I’m NOT gonna list all 30. Just a few that may be of interest before you actually cough one up from reading about them.

As I said, Sid listed “30” facts, but I’m only taking a few. I left his actual numbers for each fact intact so that you can tell which numbered fact I skipped over should you want to go to “pet360.com” and find his article.

2. ‘Tis the season! Spring is prime time for hairballs, as cats shed their winter coats.

My theory is that if we all know that “Spring” is when cats shed their winter coats, why not just shave the suckers so that they’re bald, buy them little coats, or knit them one, and thereby eliminate the possibility of them coughing up hairballs.

Um, wait. That might not work. This because they’re always licking themselves, and they’d cough up yarn balls. Then again cleaning up yarn balls would be a lot better than cleaning up hair balls. Ya think!

mmmmmm

3. Why they occur: No surprise that cats are fastidious groomers and have scratchy tongues – a perfect formula for hairballs. The sandpaper feel of a cat’s tongue is because it’s lined with tiny elevated hooks called papillae that help hold prey in place – as well as catch loose hair during grooming, which is then ingested.

Which is why cats make ideal fishing partners. With those little hooks all ya have to do when you go fishing is hang a cat off of your fishing rod and (screw using worms)  just shag them fish in.

4. The typical cat ingests about 6 ounces of hair each year. You decide how much comes back.

Wonder who the idiot was that was assigned to figure that stat out.hariball12

5. The largest recorded hairball ever surgically removed from a cat was 5 inches long and weighed 7.5 ounces, almost 2 ounces heavier than a single-serve container of yogurt.

The yogurt being much tastier.

Don’t tell me. It’s now on display somewhere at a cat hairball museum.

IT'S

7. Besides cats, other animals susceptible to hairballs include cows, deer, ferrets, rabbits and, yes, humans.

Look, I can understand animals licking themselves and coughing up a hairball, but, if I EVER see a human cough up a hairball I don’t EVEN wanna know the how’s and why’s of how that happened. Nor do I wanna see THAT hairball.

Um, why am I getting nauseous all of a sudden with that last thought?

8. In 2003, a 3-year-old Canadian girl had a grapefruit-sized hairball surgically removed from her stomach.

NOOOOO….NOOOOOOOOOOO I don’t wanna hear that stuff. STOP!!!!

10. The Poobah of Human Hairballs: A 10-pounder, removed by Chicago surgeons in 2007 from the stomach of an 18-year-old woman. Two year ago, a 4-pound hairball was removed from a teenager in India.

OMG! Um….Hey Sid….aren’t we supposed to be talkin’ about CATS here?catbarf6

11. The World’s largest hairball weighs 167 pounds – a collection of hair clippings kept a Missouri barber over his 50-year career. His name: Henry.

No, the barber DID NOT cough up THAT hairball folks. He collected hair from his customers. Sometimes ya just have to make things perfectly clear. Next thing ya know some idiot reading this is gonna go tell his wife some barber coughed up a 167 pound hairball.

13. It’s not uncommon for a cat to yak a hairball once every week or two, according to Cornell University College of Veterinary Medicine.

Yeah…well tell my cats that! How about every other day Sid. Obviously the Cornell University College of Veterinary Medicine doesn’t have a lot of cats roaming around the campus.

mmmmmm

14. Frequent hacking – especially with no resulting hairballs – may have nothing to do with hairballs and could indicate other problems, including asthma. Consult your vet!

Or if your cat smokes. Might wanna switch them to e-cigarettes.

19. Despite the “ball” that suggests they’re round, hairballs are more often shaped more like a cigar or sausage.

Again, is the person who studies hairballs getting paid a lot of cash to research this stuff?

“Soooo, how was your day today honey?”

“Oh not too bad Martha. Just a few good-sized hairballs and one really long one. Um, what’s for supper?”

mmmmm

20. Size varies but hairballs are usually about 1 inch long. Some can be five times that length.

Consult the “Smithsonian Institution Cat Hairball” display in Washington, D.C. for the largest hairball. (only kidding…..I don’t think they actually have one there…BUT…..considering how our government wastes money, ya never know)

21. Hairballs tend to be darker than a cat’s coat color because of bile, pet food and various gastric secretions.

(taking my nausea medication)

22. In the Middle Ages, ground-up hairballs were believed to help cure poisoning, epilepsy and the plague. (Remember their Persian origin for “antidote.”)

Guess what I’d do if I had a case of epilepsy or the plague and some doc tried to get me to take a dose of ground-up hairballs. Yep….hari kari.

mmmmm

23. Back then, hairballs were so cherished they were sometimes set with gold and jewels.

Be careful next time ya go to a pawn shop and spot that neat piece of furry round jewelry.

24. To commemorate 2006’s National Hairball Awareness Day, the National Museum of Health and Medicine near Washington, D.C., displayed 10 hairballs from cattle, oxen, a horse and a chicken.

Ok…so there ya have it. And you thought I was way off  base suggesting that the Smithsonian Institution may have a hairball display. Go figure.

26. Brushing cats regularly – daily for long-haired cats – can decrease the amount of ingested hair…and resulting hairballs. After brushing, wipe your cat with a clean cloth to remove any loose hairs.

Or, just use your Dyson vacuum.

mmmmm

27. When hacking begins, try administering a ¼ teaspoon of petroleum jelly to help ease the hairball downward rather than it being upchucked on the carpet. There are also over-the-counter hairball lubricants.

And you give this to a cat how?

28. Some vets also suggest feeding hairball-afflicted cats up to a teaspoon of butter every day for up to a week. Butter acts as a mild laxative. But first check with your vet.

Look for it on your grocers shelf. “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Hairball Butter.”butter2

30. High-fiber pet food can also do the trick. Some specially labeled “Hairball Control” or “Hairball Care” foods help to naturally move hair through the digestive system with dietary fiber.

Might wanna try it on yourself first before giving it to your cat. Just to be on the safe side. HEY! Can’t hurt, especially if you’re already on a “high-fiber” diet.

So there ya have it cat lovers. All the information you’d ever want to know, or not, about cat hairballs. Might wanna lay off  lunch till your stomach settles a bit after reading all this stuff.

And, because “Pet360.com” is REALLY into this hairball thing, guess what they have for you. No….not a gold-plated hairball you can display on your mantel, but the chance to win a year’s supply of hairball preventive cat food. Oh joy. Info below.

“Have a hairball worth “celebrating?” Post a picture of it – or that of the fur you’ve collected after brushing your cat – and you’ll be entered to win free cat food! Pet360.com will choose one entry at random to receive a year’s supply of Royal Canin Feline Health Nutrition Indoor Intense Hairball 34 Dry Cat Food worth more than $500.”

Last

So, get those cameras out and just wait for that hacking sound. You could be the next winner. Providing you don’t barf first taking a photo of your cat hacking up a huge hairball.

Just sayin.’

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Reprise Sunday: The Easter Bunny Conspiracy

For years on end I’ve been on this crusade to gain respect for chickens when it comes to Easter and Easter eggs. Look folks, who TF do ya think lays all those stinkin’ colored eggs that the Bunny gets credit for every Easter. THE CHICKENS!!!!

YES! Chickens ya damn dummies. Stop with the Easter Bunny getting all the credit for cripes sake.

Soooooo, once again here’s my 5th consecutive year of standing up for the rights of the Easter Chicken with yet another reprise of my Easter Sunday blog.

 

Easter 2017……The Chicken Vs. The Stinkin’ Rabbit

 

Yeah,

Tis the season once again when I take up the cause for neglected chickens. So I am once again reprising my post from past Easters in defense of chickens who absolutely get no respect at Easter time.

bunny 4

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again, “CHICKENS ARE GETTING SCREWED!”

(NOTE: I am NOT referring to when chickens get it on with roosters)

I’m referring to every time this year, Easter, when chickens do not get the recognition they so well deserve for producing all those eggs that the stinkin’ Easter bunny gets credit for.

Who, I ask you, do ya think slaves day in and day out producing egg after egg in a cold straw nest in some coop somewhere while that bunny just sits back in his cozy rabbit hole watching “Animal Planet.” It’s the chicken you damn dummies! When….when I ask you is the chicken gonna get the credit it deserves for making Easter eggs? WHEN!

This has been going on way too long if ya ask me. Without the chicken the rabbit would be useless at Easter time. No chickens…..no eggs. It’s as simple as that.

Every year at this time it’s the same old thing. “Ohhhh, is the Easter Bunny coming today mommy?” Or, “Mommy, daddy, can we color some neat eggs for Easter?”  Or, “Please….please…..can I get a real live bunny for Easter?”

Gimmie a freakin’ break. Do ya hear any kid ask their parent for a real live chicken for Easter? NO!  What happens to the chicken at Easter? If you’re not eatin’ ham you’re eatin’ a chicken….that’s what happens. Chickens, like Rodney Dangerfield, get absolutely no respect. I’m tired of it!

m

What the hell kinda respect does a chicken get at Easter? I’ll tell ya! “PEEPS.” Yes….those marshmallow yellow candy thingys that resemble chickens…PEEPS! Big damn deal. It’s that rabbit that gets all the recognition. Smiley bunnies all over store advertisements. Chocolate bunnies on the store shelves. Real live bunnies in pet stores. Bunny slippers. And, lest we forget, “rabbit ears,” which were for older TV sets before cable TV. Didn’t hear them called, “chicken ears” did ya.

p

And what’s “Playboy Magazine” got for its trademark logo? Yep….a damn rabbit. What’s wrong with having a chicken Mr. Hefner? Not sexy enough for ya?

I somehow suspect that because rabbits multiply quite rapidly by doing what rabbits do when they encounter rabbits of the opposite sex may be the reason “Playboy Magazine” chose a rabbit for their logo. The sex angle folks.bunnny 1

But, again, do ya see any eggs displayed prominently in Playboy? NO! Why? Because there’s NEVER any chickens in Playboy that’s why. Blatant chicken discrimination.

Tom Santos, a friend of mine, wrote a blog last year about his remembrances of Easter. He mentioned that he recalls those wonderful moments in anticipation of Santa Claus coming down the chimney and the Tooth Fairy coming in through the window and leaving a few bucks under his pillow, (his parents were wealthy) but said that he had no idea how the Easter Bunny got into his house.

mmmmmmmmmmm

I, of course, being quite knowledgeable on the scam the Easter Bunny has going for him, enlightened my friend as to how exactly the Easter Bunny gets eggs, (chicken ones) into ones home. It’s very simple. Bunnies burrow into the ground thereby having access to various plumbing conduits. They simply tap into your bathroom plumbing, scurry up the pipe to your toilet, lift up the seat, distribute their eggs, (chicken ones) and scurry back down the pipe.

For faster exits, bunnies, if detected in someone’s home, simply flush the toilet.

As I advised my friend Tom, this is one reason you should always wash your Easter eggs before consuming them.

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On the other hand, if you accept the fact that the Easter Bunny is nothing more than an opportunist who takes advantage of all the hard work a chicken does, you’ll have some compassion for chickens and start educating your children as to who really does all the hard egg work.

It’s time for the “Easter Chicken” to be recognized. Don’t wait for the U. S. Supreme Court to take up the case in “Chicken Lickin’ vs Peter Rabbit” before you take action. Be brave, stand up for all chickens TODAY!  Yes….TODAY….Easter Sunday.

Thanks

 

MisfitWisdom, along with “Chickens For Equal Rights” and the “Cock-a-doodle-doo Roosters Fife and Drum Core”  sponsored this message.

Remember their rally cry in support of chickens rights: “This ain’t no chicken shit.”

IIIIII

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Reprise Sunday: Wonder If God Reads This Stuff?

Well, if he DOES….boy am I screwed. Here’s a reprise of a blog from April 2012.

Bless you my child and enjoy.

The Catholic Church Is Being Too Catholic…Sorry GOD…But I Had To Chime In On This One.

GOD will most likely be really ticked off at me for writing today’s blog, but I figure it this way. If GOD doesn’t have a sense of humor, which HE may not, considering I’ve never seen HIM on my list of readers that WordPress supplies me with, then what have I got to lose.

I base this on the fact that ever since lotteries came into being, and I’ve prayed to hit the lottery, I haven’t hit it yet. Except for a few dollars here and there, which doesn’t really constitute a winning jackpot as far as I’m concerned, and may actually mean that GOD “does” have a sense of humor for screwing around with me with these small winnings.

Might be his way of getting even with me for not going to confession all of the time, and, perhaps leaving out some details when I was confessing my sins. HEY….I looked at it this way.  Why embarrass the heck outta myself in front of Father Penance, who is, after all, human, when GOD himself knows all that stuff already. I don’t need no stinkin’ middle man.

Hmmmm…..can I be excommunicated for writing this? AND….if I am, does excommunication mean I can’t communicate with any of my exes anymore?

Anyhow, I read about the late Senator Edward Kennedy’s wife, Victoria, who was supposed to speak at a commencement and receive an honorary degree at Anna Maria College in Paxton, Massachusetts. (no relation to Gary Paxton from the rock duo Skip & Flip)

It seems that Bishop Robert McManus, head of the Worcester, Massachusetts diocese, was upset that Victoria would be speaking at the commencement. Maybe he was afraid Victoria would be telling some “secrets.”  Play on words there folks.

Actually, Bishop McManus gave no reason for his decision. But, a diocese spokesman, (guys who speak for the diocese and GOD, kinda like a Heaven PR man, if Heaven had a publicity department) said that, “Catholic institutions should not honor those who act in defiance of our fundamental moral principles.”

Which, might be due to the fact that Victoria has backed abortion rights and gay marriage which are a no no as far as the Catholic church is concerned. So, I would assume if you’ve had an abortion, or, even thought about one fleetingly, or are gay and possibly thinking about marriage, or (gasp) even got married, you are not welcome in the Catholic church.

Which got me to wonder……how does the Catholic church know if any of their parishioners have had abortions or are gay?  Then I figured it all out. Being good devoted Catholics, anyone who had an abortion or is gay obviously went to confession, told Father Penance all that stuff, and in turn he immediately faxed GOD with this classified information, and GOD, or his PR department sent back a GOD memo banning these sinners from whatever it is they ban you from.  Speaking at commencements and other stuff I guess.

Victoria said that no one from the church ever contacted her, including Bishop McManus, about his objections or to speak with her pastor to learn about her faith. The least they could have done was forward her a copy of the memo from GOD’s PR department.

Unless…….they were too busy, considering Rick Santorum has been spending a lot of time with GOD himself. You all know how tough it is to keep track of all that sinning repenting stuff when you’re in the middle of a heated campaign. AND……as we all know, Santorum DOES have an “in” with GOD himself.

I think I read somewhere that GOD had told Rick to run via a GOD memo.

Well, all in all it’s Anna Maria’s loss.  Um, the college and not Anna Maria herself. I’m sure there’s an Anna Maria somewhere out there in Worcester, so I just had to clarify that fact.

If I were Victoria Kennedy, I wouldn’t lose any sleep over their decision. I myself have never been asked to speak at any Catholic school commencement either. Mainly because I’m of the same opinion as Victoria. That, and the fact that I did hold back on some of my confession material sin stuff as a child. As I said earlier, there was no way I was gonna tell Father Penance all that stuff. Nope. Next thing ya know he might decide to retire, write a tell all book detailing my sins, sell it to a movie producer, and then where would I be?

I’ll tell ya where.  Exposed!  I’d be all over the newspapers, Internet, Twitter, Facebook, and the next thing ya know on “Dancing With The Stars,” be writing a book and go on book and speaking tours, and then land my own reality show making gazillions of dollars just like Bristol Palin.

WAIT!!!  OMG!!!  (sorry GOD)

“Dancing With the Stars!”  The Internet!   Twitter!  Facebook!  Reality show!  Books! Speaking tours! G-g-g-gazillions of dollars!!!!!!!

“Hello…..is this Father Penance from “Our Lady of Continuing Agony Church?”

“Yes my son…..what can I do for you this fine day?”

“Um…….can ya schedule me for a really long confession session?”

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And now…..a word from GOD via Joan Osborne:

 

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Reprise Sunday….”Cats In Connecticut”

On Sundays I like to dig back into the MisfitWisdom blog file and find a past blog post you may have missed. That, and the fact that I had a nightmare last night that I was a woman and Donald Trump tried to grab my pussy. Which, in turn, reminded me of the following blog about cats. I’m sure you understand the connection.

“Cats In Connecticut”……. TV Reality Show..or “Pussy’s Galore.”

Last week another blogger wrote about her cat. She suspected that it actually might be a terrorist and listed the various reasons why.  I compared notes from her blog and have determined that she’s absolutely correct. Her cat is a terrorist.

That said, it gave me an idea for a new reality show.  After all, we all know reality shows are the rage right now, so what better way to become famous and at the same time make a gazillion bucks than to have one’s own reality show.

I’d call it, “Cats In Connecticut” or, “Pussy’s Galore” after the 1964 movie “Goldfinger” in which Honor Blackman played “Pussy Galore,” and considering that I have five cats, and “galore” means, “a plentiful supply of something,” which in my case is cats, I thought it quite appropriate. I’ll leave the final title up to the shows directors.

Scene 1:

Camera zooms in on Misfit and other half sleeping while three terrorist cats roam the bedroom in an attempt to make enough noise to awaken us. One is assigned to rattle the plastic blind slats. The second cat strategically places itself in front of the digital ceiling clock so that we will not be able to determine the exact time. Cat three rattles the sliding closet door thereby making a noise that sounds like thunder.  Morning wake up time has arrived.

Scene 2:

As both of us stumble out to the kitchen area to prepare the terrorist cats breakfast consisting of putrid smelling God knows what’s inside those cans cat food, meowing commences and jockeying for bowl positions takes place. It is at this point no other human activities can take place. Several episodes of spilling coffee and sugar on the floor while attempting to feed cats has all but ruled that function out.

Scene 3:

Cameras focus in on our morning ritual of reading the morning paper as one or two cats walk across the table in search of human morsels.  From the distance the sound of hacking and barfing can be detected, at which point the director signals to the audio person to delete the “F” and “MF” words from the soundtrack before airing the show.

Scene 4:

Late morning and time to clean the cat litter box, which I always look forward to with great anticipation after having my morning breakfast. It still amazes me to this day how cat poop gathered each morning outweighs the total weight of all five cats when one attempts to scoop it up.  Camera zooms in on my hacking as I attempt to scoop the cat box while two cats stand in line in anticipation of new litter to play in.

Scene 5:

It is mid afternoon and cat nap time.  Both for the cats, myself and my other half. Two sofas, one recliner, one chair and five cat beds are simply not enough as the camera pans the room showing one cat on top of me as I attempt to lie back on the sofa. Second cat is acting as a scarf around my other half’s neck while the third 19 pound cat is at her feet. Cats four and five commandeer a sofa and a recliner while all “made for cats” beds remain empty.

Scene 6:

Supper time is a repeat of breakfast with at least six out of the ten pairs of feline eye balls staring in anticipation of yet another human morsel. My glasses fog up from the closeness of the proximity of the cats in relation to my food and eating utensil. A cat hair or two mingled in with each meal is not an uncommon occurrence. One learns how to detect those quite methodically after a while as much as the cats try to disguise them. This “cat hair” ploy is used to discourage you from eating your dinner thereby securing more morsels for them.

Scene 7:

By far the most exciting part of this reality show is from 7PM to 11Pm when all cats on the face of the universe get into “cat games.”  This consists of knocking things over, which always is out of your line of sight or in another room, and always sounds like something catastrophic is happening.  Barfing in dark corners of the house which is similar to placing hidden mines in a battlefield. Playing in water bowls which I personally think is some sort of cat religious ritual, blessing of the feet or something. Placing their cold wet noses on your butt as you sit on the toilet because cats get a huge rush from doing that. And finally, loud meowing and screeching that sounds like Hannibal Lector is dissecting a body. I swear most of the TV shows that we watch on a nightly basis have meowing in them.

Scene 8, final cut:

Bedtime. A large panoramic type camera is used in this final scene as we attempt to call it a night, slither into bed, (queen size) while three, sometimes four, of the five cats also attempt to slither into bed and, after kneading for 45 minutes, select their final comfortable spot on the bed.  For the next 8 hours we are frozen in position. Quiet…….more quiet….sleep begins to take hold……ahhhhhh.

Off in the far away distance….the faint sound of hacking and barfing. Another typical night at the MisfitWisdom household.

Camera crew packs it in, gathers their equipment, and tip toes out into the night……….

walking verrrrry slowly in the dark so as to avoid any cat barf mine field .

(P.S. This blog was written with the assistance of one of the five cats sitting on top of my computer…..achoooo!….did I mention I have allergies too)

And finally, my favorite cat quote which I’ve said before: “Why is it that cats are only one foot tall but their butts are always in your face?”

Copyright 2011 MisfitWisdom RLV

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On The Lighter Side, A Reprise Of “Stuff”

Every so often I like to go back and reprise a blog from eons ago, long before the insanity of politics that has overtaken our society today.

So, from March 2011, a bit of “On The Lighter Side.”

Why You’re Forced To Buy STUFF!

Stuff!  You know, all that “stuff” you have in your home that you absolutely needed because you couldn’t live without, and also because if you didn’t buy new “stuff” to replace all of your old “stuff” you’d be out of the loop with all of the newer “stuff” coming out that replaces the original “stuff” you bought.  I’m a bit overstuffed here folks.

But all of this is a giant conspiracy.  I’m the only one who’s uncovered this plot to make us buy stuff.  Where the hell is James O’Keefe when ya need him?

Remember when I wrote about going from 78RPM records to 8-tracks, to cassettes, to CDs then to iPods and then to downloading music on your phone or directly to your computer. SEE!  It’s stuff to replace the stuff you already have.

And as far as I’m concerned the old stuff works just as good as the new stuff but the newer stuff just tweaks the old stuff to make it appear that it’s better to have the newer stuff, otherwise you’re labeled as an out of touch nerd because you’re not using the new stuff.  I say, “stuff it!”

For instance. I’m a bit in the stone age when it comes to recording shows. I (sigh) still use an old VCR that has the indicator light flashing. Works fine for me. I actually still record “stuff” on an old cassette player and sometimes physically touch a 45RPM record. OMG!!

I don’t own a “smart” phone because my “dumb” phone works perfectly fine. I can actually say “hello” when answering it and a person on the other end can hear me. So what the hell do I need a smart phone for?  Oh yeah…so I can text while driving 65mph down the Interstate rather than say, “HELLO.” I assume texting is much easier to do while you’re driving. I could be mistaken.

I’m even dumber when it comes to movies.  Now I don’t go to an actual movie theatre because I subscribe to “Netflix.” Why would I pay seven to twelve dollars plus gas and snacks to go to the movies when I can pay less than ten bucks a month to rent as many movies as I can get my bleeding eyeballs to watch in a months time?  This pisses off the movie theatre people and the movie studios, which is why they’re attempting to screw “Netflix” by holding back on releasing them to “Netflix.”  See…it’s a conspiracy to make you go to the movies.

Just like it’s a conspiracy to make you buy all that new stuff. GPS….I have a damn map. Cable TV……well, that will be a thing of the past when the “stuff” people force you to buy HDTV or require you to watch TV on your computer.  SOBs.

Smart phones you can obviously do everything on, which eliminates most of the other stuff you have. If smart phones are so smart why can’t you have sex with them?  Um…..wait…..I think they’re working on that. Something called, “hand app.”

Books are another thing that these conspiracy plotters are working hard to make obsolete.  Download books onto your Kindle or iPad or pod or whatever and no more turning pages or carrying those heavy books around.  So like, how exactly do you get an author to sign a Kindle book anyhow? And when you’re done with that book, how does it make its way to the Goodwill Store discount shelf? And, suppose you wanna have a book burning, what the hell do ya do….burn your Kindle?  Hmmmm……come to think of it, isn’t “kindle” something they use to start a fire?  Might be on to something there folks.

So ya see, everything, and I mean everything, is eventually going to replace all of the stuff you presently own. It’s a conspiracy I tell ya….a conspiracy. More money for the manufacturers each time they make new stuff to replace the old stuff.

The only exception to this is stuff that you’re married to or dating….female stuff. Or in some instances, male stuff, depending on your own personal option. Either way, your choice. No need to admit to which stuff you prefer here.

I personally would NEVER think of replacing my own female regardless of what new technology comes out in an attempt to replace females.

Unless of course those manufacturers of inflatable dolls manage to perfect a female replica that can be programmed to never have a headache, is programmed to only respond to “yes” when asked to do anything, has no use for money, is very well proportioned, and can be programmed to play my entire collection of oldies at the push of a button….located stragically……and also take my phone messages, act as a GPS system, with no bitching, and can record several TV programs at the same time.

Then I’d be very tempted to then replace all of my stuff.

Sorry dear.

Copyright 2011 MisfitWisdom RLV

Header: chickart@cox.net

 

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Willie Loco Alexander, The Velvet Underground and Misfit

Nice article about the Velvet Underground courtesy of “The Daily Beast” My friend Willie Loco Alexander was a member of this group. Check him out on Wikipedia.

Photo Illustration by Sarah Rogers/The Daily Beast

GROUNDBREAKING

50 Years Later, ‘The Velvet Underground and Nico’ Still Sounds Like the Future

There has never been a rock album more ahead of its time than the Velvet Underground’s singular masterpiece, released 50 years ago this week.

Stereo Williams

Stereo Williams

03.12.17 3:48 AM ET

There is no argument against 1967 as an epochal year in music. Landmarks like Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Are You Experienced?, High Priestess of Soul, Disraeli Gears, I’ve Never Loved A Man the Way I Love You—it was the year that popular artists fully realized the creative potential of the LP and it happened as a generation was discovering its cultural voice. But the year’s boldest musical moment was an album that didn’t appeal to the same sensibilities as idyllic hippie anthems or strutting soul classics—and it wasn’t born of Haight-Asbury, acid freakouts or middling interpretations of Eastern philosophy.

That album was The Velvet Underground and Nico, a uniquely groundbreaking release from a band of artsy New York misfits and marketed by the creative whims of one of the most iconic figures of the time: Andy Warhol. The cornerstone of the Velvet Underground’s image and sound was the songwriting of Lou Reed. A socially-awkward Jewish kid from Long Island, Reed’s musical voice, like so many others, was forged in pop and in pain. He taught himself how to play R&B songs on guitar by listening to the radio, eventually forming a doo-wopish group as a teen. Reed also began suffering panic attacks and after a mental breakdown following his first semester at NYU, his parents submitted him for electroshock therapy.

“Panic attacks and social phobias beset him,” wrote Reed’s sister, Merrill Reed Weiner, in 2015. “He possessed a fragile temperament. His hyper-focus on the things he liked led him to music and it was there that he found himself.”

Reed’s love of music became his guide, and rock ‘n’ roll became his voice. He eventually landed work as a pop songwriter, churning out middling hits for Pickwick Records while composing songs for himself on the side. His approach was to keep things simple and direct.

“I studied classical piano, and the minute I could play something I started writing new things,” Reed said in 2004. “And I switched to guitar and did the same thing. And the nice thing about rock is, besides the fact that I was in love with it, anyone can play that. And to this day anyone can play a Lou Reed song. Anybody. It’s the same essential chords, just various ways of looking at them. There is nothing special about it, and it only becomes special when I can’t do it. When I can’t do it I’m very impressed by the person who can, and when I can do it, it means nothing. But I would write new things from the day I could play anything.”

Reed had been inspired by as much as R&B as pop, and his edgy approach belied a music lover whose tastes were informed by a wide variety of influences.

“There were two sides of the coin for me: That kind of music—R&B, doo-wop, rockabilly. And then Ornette Coleman and Don Cherry, Archie Shepp, stuff like that,” Reed told rock journalist David Fricke in 1989. “When I was in college, I had a jazz radio show. I called it Excursion on a Wobbly Rail, after a Cecil Taylor song. I used to run around the Village following Ornette Coleman wherever he played. There was his song ‘Lonely Woman,’ Charlie Haden’s bass on that [he hums the riff]. Extraordinary.”

What would become the Velvet Underground started in 1964, when Reed met experimental instrumentalist John Cale and formed a band called The Primitives. With Reed on guitar and Cale on virtually everything else, they eventually added guitarist Sterling Morrison and percussionist Angus Maclise. After a short stint as The Falling Spikes, the fledgling quartet dubbed themselves “The Velvet Underground” after Michael Leigh’s book about sexual subculture in the 1960s. After Maclise suddenly left the group prior to their first paying gig, Morrison brought in Maureen Tucker to play drums. With Tucker’s unique approach (she used mallets more than drumsticks and never played cymbals), the Velvet Underground’s classic sound began to come together.

Gigging around New York City, the band eventually was introduced to Andy Warhol and became fixtures at The Factory, his famous studio in the Decker Building on Union Square West. Warhol insisted on becoming their manager, and centered the Velvet Underground in his ambitious pop art roadshow, Exploding Plastic Inevitable, with the VU’s music combined in showcase with experimental films from Warhol and his associates. The exposure raised the band’s profile significantly—despite the fact that Warhol had little-to-no influence on their actual approach or sound and rarely operated as a traditional manager for the band.

“We needed someone like Andy,” John Cale told Rolling Stone in 1971. “He was a genius for getting publicity. Once we were in Providence to play at the Rhode Island School of Design and they sent a TV newsman to talk to us. Andy did the interview lying on the ground with his head propped up on one arm. There were some studded balls with lights shining on them and when the interviewer asked him why he was on the ground, Andy said, ‘So I can see the stars better.’ The interview ended with the TV guy lying flat on his back saying, ‘Yeah, I see what you mean.’”

“I loved him on sight, he was obviously one of us,” said Reed in 2004. “He was right. I didn’t know who he was, I wasn’t aware of any of that, amazingly enough. But he was obviously a kindred spirit if ever there was one, and so smart with charisma to spare. But really so smart. And for a quote ‘passive’ guy, he took over everything. He was the leader, which would be very surprising for a lot of people to work out. He was in charge of us, everyone. You look towards Andy, the least likely person, but in fact the most likely. He was so smart, so talented and 24 hours a day going at it.”

It was Warhol who famously pushed the Velvet Underground to add German model Nico as they worked on their first album—a move that the band resented.

“We were together as a band, and then Nico showed up at the Factory,” said Morrison in 1980. “Andy said, ‘Oh, here we have Nico. Would you like her to sing with you?’ We said, ‘Well, we couldn’t dis-like it.’ That’s how we became the Velvet Underground and Nico. She just came kind of creeping in. We knew that it couldn’t last, because we didn’t have that many songs she could sing. Lou and I cranked out some songs for her. ‘Femme Fatale’—she always hated that. [nasal voice] Nico, whose native language is minority French, would say, ‘The name of this song is ‘Fahm Fahtahl.’ Lou and I would sing it our way. Nico hated that. I said, ‘Nico, hey, it’s my title, I’ll pronounce it my way.’”

“Lou and I were sort of startled,” Cale recalled to Quietus in 2011. “Moe didn’t know what to make of it. And Sterling was harumphing . . . But, y’know, after a little bit, you got to understand Andy, and that was really pure Andy. Everybody suddenly started looking at us in a different way.”

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The VU began recording the album in the spring of 1966 at the ramshackle Scepter Studios in New York City. The original acetate was shopped around to labels and routinely dismissed, prompting the band to re-record several songs. To facilitate a more marketable approach to the music, producer Tom Wilson, who’d produced Bob Dylan and Simon & Garfunkel, was brought in to remix some tracks. In Los Angeles, the Velvet Underground would re-record “Waiting For the Man,” “Venus and Furs” and “Heroin,” a seven-minute composition Lou Reed had begun as far back as 1964. At Wilson’s urging, the band also recorded the more radio-friendly “Sunday Morning.”

“I’d been around studios before, writing and recording these cutout-bin kind of records, trendy songs that sell for ninety-nine cents,” Reed said in 1989. “But Andy absorbed all the flak. Then MGM said they wanted to bring in a real producer, Tom Wilson. So that’s how you got ‘Sunday Morning,’ with all those overdubs—the viola in the back, Nico chanting. But he couldn’t undo what had already been done.”

For all of its visceral feel and focus, the debut album from the Velvet Underground opens with this rather delicate ballad. “Sunday Morning” features Lou Reed cooing in his most preciously girlie voice about “all the streets you cross not so long ago.” The song is a beautiful ode to paranoia (“Watch out—the world’s behind you”), and an early indicator that Reed was capable of remarkably simple melodicism that rivaled the more mainstream songwriters of the era while not directly emulating any of them. “Sunday Morning” was explicitly written to be a single, and is one of the most pop-friendly songs on the album. Wilson wanted the tune to be a showcase for Nico; nonetheless, it was Reed who sang the lilting lead vocal.

The jaggedly jaunty classic “I’m Waiting For the Man” sits somewhere between Bob Dylan, Lead Belly and glam rock, laying a sonic foundation on which David Bowie would build his church (Bowie recorded a live cover in 1972). The soundtrack for a white hipster’s travels uptown to score drugs, Reed’s crass “Hey white boy, what you doin’ uptown?” jive along with the strutting rhythm sounded more urban and streetwise than anything else happening in rock at the time. The declaration of “Man, you gotta split ‘cause he got no time to waste” captured the awkward hastiness of scoring some shit, with Reed’s chugging chords and Morrison’s Cropper-esque guitar lines swerving against the melody throughout.

The dirge-like “Venus In Furs” drips with sex and oozes doom. It’s an S&M-driven masterpiece that features Cale’s dissonant viola set against Maureen Tucker’s thumping drums. Reed’s lyrics are inspired by the novella of the same name—by Austrian author Leopold von Sacher-Masoch (“I didn’t write the book. But what a great book to throw into a song,” Reed would say in 1988), with declarations to “Strike dear mistress, and cure his heart” and references to “Sevrin” who “awaits you there.” The primary narrative of the novella describes the suprasexuality of Severin von Kusiemski, who is smitten with a woman named Wanda von Dunajew and longs to be dominated by her in degrading ways.

The forced addition of Nico adds an off-kilter element to the three songs on which she’s featured. Her icy vocal is best highlighted on the swirling midtempo “Femme Fatale,” a song inspired by Warhol superstar Edie Sedgwick. Warhol had requested Reed write a dedication to Sedgwick specifically, and “Femme Fatale” would be the first of many Reed compositions inspired by personalities he’d met at Warhol’s Factory. Reed’s observations of the people at Warhol’s Factory also inspired the Nico-led “All Tomorrow’s Parties.” Cale’s repetitive piano drives the melancholy feel, as the lyrics detail a sad woman who has lost her family. She was among the personalities Reed had encountered around Warhol.

Despite Reed’s declaration that “if anybody played a blues lick [in the band], they would be fined,” “Run Run Run” sounds like Slim Harpo sitting in with a garage band, with a driving rhythm turned on its ear and driven dissonant with Morrison’s jagged leads and Reed’s abrasive solo. It’s another song focused squarely on New York City junkie life, with lyrics that detail strung-out characters Teenage Mary, Margarita Passion, Seasick Sarah, and Beardless Harry, who need to “get a fix” and “rode the trolleys down to 47” to “get himself to heaven.”

“There She Goes Again” is the album’s most explicitly R&B-influenced track; the opening guitar rhythm is directly lifted from Marvin Gaye’s 1962 hit “Hitch Hike” and the backing vocals are straightforward harmonizing—or at least as close to it as the Velvet Underground got. Reed’s lyrics focus on the daily life of a prostitute: “She’s out on the streets again / She’s down on her knees, my friend / But you know she’ll never ask you please again.” The song never presents the woman as a tragic figure. In keeping with many of Reed’s characters, her life is just a reflection of reality—not a cautionary tale: “Now take a look, there’s no tears in her eyes / Like a bird, you know she would fly, what can you do / You see her walkin’ on down the street / Look at all your friends that she’s gonna meet…”

Nico’s vocals on “I’ll Be Your Mirror” became a source of frustration for Morrison and Reed. The German model seemed to be adamant in singing the song aggressively, which neither of the band members felt was suitable. After Morrison decided that they would scrap the song if she couldn’t get it right, Nico sang the final vocal in one take. It would be one of the first commercially available songs by the Velvet Underground—a single that was released in July 1966, almost a year before the album itself.

Cale’s experimentalism was at the core of “The Black Angel’s Death Song,” with dissonant viola and droning rhythms. The Chuck Berry-esque guitar riff repeats early on and slowly descends into avant-noise with feedback and distortion—as well as a crash of plates, courtesy of Cale—with Reed singing dismissive lyrics aimed at writer Delmore Schwartz, who was a mentor to Reed during the rocker’s time at Syracuse University. The lyrics don’t directly mention Schwartz, but original pressings of the album titled the track “European Son (Dedication to Delmore Schwartz.)”

One of the most harrowing and beautiful drug songs ever recorded, “Heroin” is an epic that seems to define the album. Opening with Reed’s distinctively melodic guitar lines and building into a cacophony of sound that evokes the rush of shooting up, it was a daring record—even during the “mind expanding” rhetoric of the 1960s. Hippie bands were singing about marijuana and LSD, but the darkness and danger of heroin was something else entirely. The element of release was there, but this was a harder addiction—something that the idealistic flower-power crowd hadn’t broached on record. Reed relished standing apart from what was supposedly the counterculture of the time.

In a 1987 interview, he told Joe Smith, “When [bands] did try to get, in quotes, ‘arty,’ it was worse than stupid rock ‘n’ roll,” he said. “What I mean by ‘stupid,’ I mean, like, the Doors. I never liked the Beatles, I thought they were garbage. If you say, ‘Who did you like?’ I liked nobody.”

The Velvet Underground’s “artsy outsider” ethos and fiercely New York image went against the grain in 1967, but their association with Andy Warhol kept the band’s profile relatively high for an act that was never very mainstream. The weight of Warhol’s image over the band came to be something that the Velvet Underground chafed against—especially after The Velvet Underground and Nico was released with the “produced by Andy Warhol” tag on the sleeve.

Cale fully understood the power of Warhol’s vision when the he saw what would become the iconic album cover for The Velvet Underground and Nico. The inspiration was purely spontaneous and indicative of how Warhol saw high art in the everyday. Warhol had noticed a magazine in the waiting room at an earlier doctor’s appointment; there was an ad inside that featured a banana with a peel-away sticker that revealed the nutrients in a banana. “He called me over and showed me: this is the album cover,” Cale told music publication The Quietus in 2011. “He said ‘What do you think of this as an album cover?’ I thought it was amazing.”

The Velvet Underground and Nico was finally released on March 12, 1967, but a pending lawsuit from actor Eric Emerson (his image was inadvertently featured in the background of the album’s back sleeve, in a photo of the band performing) led to it being shelved briefly and redistributed that summer. With the Summer of Love in full swing and much of the world fawning over Jimi Hendrix’s Are You Experienced? and the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper…, The Velvet Underground and Nico barely made a commercial dent. Shortly thereafter, the band broke from Warhol. And Nico, always viewed as a temporary affiliate of the Velvet Underground as opposed to an actual member, went her own way. She would release six solo albums before her death in 1988.

The Velvet Underground, of course, would release three more seminal albums, White Light/White Heat, their eponymous 1969 album, and 1970’s Loaded, before ultimately deteriorating (Cale would leave after White Light/White Heat and be replaced by Doug Yule; Reed and Morrison left the band after Loaded.) Cale would become one of the world’s most highly-regarded experimental rock artists, and Reed would go on to a legendary solo career, becoming one of the most revered rock songwriters of his generation before his death in 2013.

Brian Eno famously said in 1982 that “the first Velvet Underground album only sold 10,000 copies, but everyone who bought it formed a band,” and it doesn’t feel like hyperbole. With the benefit of hindsight, the most mythologized album of 1967, the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper, looks more like a relic of the Summer of Love and an exercise in pretentious pomposity. Conversely, The Velvet Underground and Nico looks more like the future of rock music. With its embrace of dissonant sounds, unapologetically gritty subject matter and simplistic rhythms and songwriting, the album is a jumping-off point for virtually every form of “alternative” music that would take hold over the next 30 years. Glam, punk, noise rock, art rock, ’80s college rock—it all seemed to draw from something established on The Velvet Underground and Nico. There has never been a rock album more ahead of its time.

In many ways, the world is still catching up to it.

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Willie Loco Alexander

Willie circa 1956 in my basement long before he became a member of the Velvet Underground.

MisfitWisdom

 

 

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