1. September 28, 1941: German troops massacre 40,000 Ukrainian Jews at Babi Yar.
Let us not forget the consequences of hate. Without a doubt everyone has had ancestors slaughtered for little more reason than their racial, religious, ethnic heritage, migration in search of a better life or simply because they stood in the way.
2. Statistics: Statistically you are likelier to be executed by Rick Perry than hit by a falling satellite.
And, I bet most of you are more terrorized of falling space junk than the Messiah from Texas. You shouldn’t be.
POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN CALIFORNIA:
I travelled by train to San Jose to have lunch with my good friend Bill. The day was warm and sunny and the train ride was pleasant and boring enough that I slept through most of it. Bill met me at the station and we drove in his new black Jag to a nearby Italian restaurant called “Paesano’s”. It is owned and operated by a man from Palermo Sicily called Pino. The food is a pastiche of dishes from several regions in Italy with an emphasis on the south of the country and adjusted for American tastes. We drank a bottle of Nero d’Avola wine from the area on the island near my mother’s native town. The food was quite good and I suggest that if you find yourself in San Jose and hungry for good Italian food this place will fit the bill.
After lunch we drove over to a new Restaurant/night club called “Myth” in which Bill is part owner. It is a very nice place that serves Greek food during the day and is a night-club on certain nights, with a live jazz group on Saturdays. What I especially like about it is that about one half of the place is out doors, for dining and partying al fresco. It apparently has become quite popular.
Bill and I sat at the bar and ordered some Greek wine. They had no “Retsina” so I ordered a white and Bill had a red. The bartender was a tall attractive young woman named Nichole. For reasons that I refuse to examine, I have a soft spot for woman bartenders especially those with tattoos. Nicole did not have any tattoos that I could see.
While we were drinking, a woman entered the place, walked up to the bar and offered to buy us a drink if we could give her four quarters for the parking meter. Bill and I rummaged through our pockets and found the change but declined the drink. She returned, sat a few stools down from us, ordered her own drink and told us that she was waiting for a friend.
Bill and I resumed our discussion that just happened to be about Cairo and smoking a Hookah. Our new friend then spoke up and said something like, “You’re talking about smoking. I like that.” Now, although reference to smoking can have many connotations not to mention meanings, Bill and I assumed she was speaking about Marijuana. Bill pointed out that we were discussing tobacco in a Hookah and I opined that perhaps she may have been thinking not about tobacco in a hookah but about rolling some weed in cigarette paper. “No,” she replied, “I prefer my smoke coming out of a pipe. This is California after all.”
Yes, it certainly is.
Bill had some client meetings to attend so he dropped me back at the train station and I made my way home.
PAPA JOES TALES AND FABLES:
JOEY’S MYSTERY NOVEL:
Chapter: Because I can no longer remember the chapter numbers, I have decided to start naming the chapters rather than numbering them. This one is called “Meg.”
Meg was naked, her steroid enhanced, chiseled body poised kneeling above him on the bed.
Outside the room the surf at Half Mood Bay rumbled, drowning out the sounds of automobiles on Highway One located about a hundred yards behind her home.
She lowered her head and with her tongue, gently explored Jack’s one eye. Ray moaned slightly and drew in his breath, She slowly licked the head and then Jack’s eye again. Then, placing her lips lightly on the tip of his penis, she gradually drew it into her mouth until her lips slid over the corona and lingered in the sulcus while she flicked her tongue again over the glans, then she proceeded down the shaft of his cock. He moaned again, his muscles going rigid as he entwined his fingers in her hair pulling it violently out and down while he thrust up forcing his cock deep into her mouth.
She loved the silky smoothness of the skin of his member, soft like velvet with the iron-hard prick beneath. She liked the pain as he pulled on her hair. She liked the ache in her sphincter where an hour or so before he brutalized it, thrusting deep within her. For the entire night they had gone without break from bed to shower to floor in an unending symphony of brutality and passion.
His moans grew louder as he drew her faster and deeper on him until with a sudden thrust the hot, bitter, salty brew sprayed into her mouth as he spasmed and then relaxed, his fingers falling from her hair.
As his breathing slowed and his erection wilted, she moved up and across his body bestowing light kisses on his body as she passed until she lay alongside him, her head nestled in the crook of his arm with her lips pressed against his neck.
She lay there a few moments, thinking first of Ray and languid ache in her that he brought on, than drifting off to confront the disturbing specter of Stephanie. Stephanie, her beautiful porcelain white skinned Stephanie. The night she died she had called Meg. Told her she couldn’t spend the night alone in that house and she was coming over the hill to spend it in Meg’s arms. She sounded upset, as she should be, not because of her asshole husband Sam’s death but because of its violence. But she never arrived. Then Meg got the call about the crash at Devil’s Slide.
When she arrived at the site, she found out it was Steph. The idiot medical examiner claimed it was an accident or suicide. Meg knew that it could not be. Devil’s slide was not on the route from Steph’s home to Meg’s place. Ray also expressed doubts about the official reported cause of Stephanie’s death.
She felt his breathing slow. He was drifting off into sleep.
“Not yet,” she whispered. “Once more for me.”
He smiled and with his eyes still closed he pulled her up towards him. She straddled his head with her knees. Her hands she pressed against the wall behind the bed. He gently ran his tongue along the sides of her clitoris and labia. She could feel her wetness. Her muscles tightened. He held her cheeks tightly. A finger fluttered around her aching asshole, prying it open and slipping the tip in and out. Suddenly he withdrew his tongue and sucked her steroid swollen clit into his mouth hard while plunging his finger deep into her ass. She felt the rush of blood and warmth spread throughout her body. Her muscles tightened until she became as rigid as a granite statue. As the flood of ecstasy swept from the fringes her body and plunged toward her cunt, she raised her face up toward the ceiling and let out a deep guttural scream.
a. I didn’t know that:
England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people, so they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, thread it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell.
Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (“the graveyard shift”) to listen for the bell; thus someone could be,”Saved by the Bell’‘ or considered a ”Dead Ringer.’‘
b. What Adam Smith (considered by some as the “father” of Capitalism) Really Said:
“All for ourselves, and nothing for other people, seems, in every age of the world, to have been the vile maxim of the masters of mankind.”
Adam Smith, The Wealth of Nations [Book III, Chapter IV, p. 444].
c. From God’s Mouth to your Ears:
“They must be dividing the spoils they took: there must be a damsel or two for each man, Spoils of dyed cloth as Sisera’s spoil, an ornate shawl or two for me in the spoil.”
(Judges 5:30 NAB)
Well, there you are, God is good to his guys, especially if they are very good at raping and killing.
d. Profiles in presidential courage:
e. American Exceptionalism:
” . . . the only way to drive the US from the Muslim world and defeat its satraps is by drawing Americans into a series of small but expensive wars that would ultimately bankrupt them.”
Osama Bin Ladin
Of course, no American government or political party would be so dumb as to fall for that.
“Our riches, being in our brains, die with us…unless of course someone chops off our head, in which case, we won’t need them anyway.”
W. A. Mozart
Wolfie, stick to your music.
“I would say any type of sexual activity has absolutely no place in the military.”
Huh! An army of eunuchs? Will we restore the draft or ask for volunteers? What would happen to our military if this man became president? Remember, it was Genghis (Wolfie) Mozart, owner of the candy store in the village that I grew up in, who said, “An army that can’t fuck is an army that kills its own officers.”
(I bet a lot of people believe that the oil companies are holding on to all this cash so that they can do something good for them.)