my girl...

There seems to be some confusion on who fancies who at the LaSolana pool:

"I saw your girl with her new guy today. They were riding bikes along Mountain View. You should see this bozo she is with now. She dumped you for a total tool."

Gino's confusion is innocent enough. It's humorous to be honest with you.

"Gino, for goodness sake. She is not my girl. You are the one who has eyes for her. Why do you keep saying she's my girl?"

A certain lady in a string bikini turns heads at the pool. I'll say 'hi' to her when she is there. That is the extent of our relationship. However, I made a suggestive remark one day when both of us were gawking at her. He won't let me forget it.

"That's what you told me. Those were you're exact words. You said, 'that's my girl' and motioned in her direction."

I play along for the hell of it.

"Okay Gino, you got me. She is my girl, not a full time thing though. If she wants to strut her stuff with another fella. Who am I to say no? I'm not the jealous type."

"Really," he says with a surprising gaze, "You don't mind that she is stepping out on you with another guy. I would be mad as hell."

I extend the farce more.

"You got me again Gino, I'm supposed to meet her at the hotel around the corner at nine. She says she is going to make it up to me."

"What the hell are you going to do at a hotel?"

"We're not going to play tiddly winks; that much is for sure."

A wide smile comes to his tan face after my proclamation; even at eighty eight it's still the first thing on a man's mind.

"You are a lucky guy. I wish I could take your place."

"If it is fiction you can say whatever you want," is my continuing thought.

"Gino, I'm just joking about meeting her at the hotel. She's actually coming over to my place tonight and I'm fixing her dinner. You know what desert is going to be," directing a wink and nod in his direction.

"Really," he says with a tone of jealousy.

"No, not really. It's a pleasant thought though."

old people talk at the pool...

The other day I was floating in the pool at LaSolana when Frank, who is eighty eight years old, says to me, "I saw your girlfriend out here today with another guy. I thought you said she was your girl. It sure doesn't look like it."

It's the opposite going on here, Frank has the hots for this gal & she is uninterested, thus causing him to turn his failure on me. I play along for the hell of it.

"Frank, she was never my girl. You were the one who had the hots for her. Don't get me wrong, she's an attractive lady. There was never anything there though. I could tell it when are eyes first gazed at one another. I knew she would never be my girl," the truth of the matter is she couldn't pick me out of a line up. 

"Don't give me that," he says insistently, "She dumped you for one of these old guys. How does that make you feel?"

"Not too bad since she was never my girl to begin with. Why don't you ask her out if you are so interested. She might tell her new guy to take a hike & start hanging out with you."

"Do you think so?"

"Probably not good buddy," is all I can muster.

There is a distinguished gentlemen who frequents the pool most afternoons. His name is Carmine & he tilts way to the right. The other day we had a brief conversation about Hunter Biden's lap top while floating around in the shallow end.

"This is complete bullshit on what Twitter is doing. Things like this is how communism gets its roots."

I had no idea what he was referring to...he explains it to me.

"They're suppressing the Hunter Biden/Russia story. They don't want the masses to see how crooked the Biden's really are," adding to his rant, "It turns out the moron had a bunch of top secret stuff on his lap top implicating all the shady deals he did while daddy was vice president. Some kind of genius this guy is. He takes the computer to get fixed and forgets where it is. He was probably coked out of his mind. The computer ends up in the hands of the FBI & they are not pushing the issue either. It's a sham!"

"So what does this got to do with Twitter?"

"They disconnect anyone who posts about it."

I wasn't sure if he had the story exactly right. The truth is I could care less. I didn't want to tell him that because I knew it would be a no win situation for me. Turns out, I was already in a no win situation.

"Bummer, so much for that 'October surprise," fully expecting him to reply with irritation.

"Bummer," he says in a mocking tone, "I'm telling you the whole shit house is on fire & that's all you have to say."

I abandon the conversation and wade over to the other side of the pool where Miss Kitty is at.

"It will be nice when the election is over Miss Kitty. I still don't know what people around here will talk about."

"There's always football Rob," is her immediate answer.

The latest happenings at the LaSolana pool...

I haven't officially measured the distance from my front door to the entrance of the LaSolana pool area. I'm guessing it can't be more than fifty paces. Maybe one of these days I will measure it for real & settle my own curiosity:

"Don't tell me the 'Rona has made it to the pool Jack. Why in the world is the entire pool roped off with yellow tape?"

Entering the pool area I notice yellow tape surrounding the entire pool. The 'Rona is the first thing that comes to mind.

"It's not the 'Rona Rob," he adds while lounging in a green lawn chair in the smoking area, "One of these old guys took a shit in the pool and they had to call in the cleaner to come and shock it. He said it would take two days for the chemicals to take affect. That's why the yellow tape is there."

"That is disgusting," is my initial words, adding, "I will have the image in my head every time I get in the pool from now on out. Who was it?"

"Nobody knows for sure. It could have been a number of these old guys. I don't think a lady would do that," adding with a shrug, "You got to remember something around here. It's all old people for the most part, so shit happens...literally."

I'm happy to report the problem is resolved and all is back to normal.

The other day I was in the pool floating in circles when I decided to ask a friend to reveal her secret.

"How did you get so good at picking football games Miss Kitty?"

"I just have a knack for it Rob," is her modest answer as a flotation device guides her gently around the pool.

Miss Kitty, a distinguished lady in her own right, is currently the win leader in the football pool at LaSolana.

"How do you think you'll do this week?"

"Hopefully I can win it again Rob," she won the last pot and has finished runner up twice. The season is only five weeks old.

"How come you're so bad at picking games Rob? I would think a guy like you would be better at it. You seem to know a lot about football," the truth is the more you know about football, the worse you are at picking games. I've seen it a million times. I tell her such.

"It's hard to believe someone can be as bad as me Miss Kitty. Unfortunately, I just don't have it. That's why I finish last every week. The best thing to do is let me tell you what I like & take the opposite. What's your secret Miss Kitty? How come you are so proficient at it?"

"I just concentrate for a few seconds on each pick and then I go with the one that sticks. Nothing more than that Rob. Mix in a lot of luck as well."

I know it's luck; she knows it's luck; everyone at the pool knows it's luck...the thing is if you do it consistently is it really luck? I had to make sure she wasn't trying to hustle me.

"Don't give me this luck story Miss Kitty. Everyone knows you are connected in ways that I can't even fathom. You probably got a hot line to some guy way up there and when things aren't going well you ring him up & whammo! All the calls start to go your way. It's way past a guy like me."

"I wish Rob," adding with a giggle, "My son will tell me what he thinks every once in a while, but I just go with my gut for the most part."

The two of us float around the pool for a bit more and then I ask, "Where is Carmine?"

"I haven't seen him in a few days. Do you think the zombies finally got him?"

Carmine is a patron of the pool who tilts ultra right. He's convinced the country will be staring down a President Pelosi come inauguration time.

"That's crazy," I add with a laugh, "Last week he told me Antifa was on his trail."

"Never a dull moment at LaSolana with all these old guys around Rob," she adds with a smile.

"You got that right," is my immediate response.

conversations at the pool...

About a year & a half ago I moved from Las Vegas to Surprise, Arizona. I currently reside in an old folks development named LaSolana:

"Heah Frank! Did you hear the latest news?"

"What's that?"

"It turns out the country will be experiencing a President Pelosi come January 2021."

The setting for our conversation occurs in the swimming pool of LaSolana.

"Don't say crazy things like that. It gives me nightmares," he responds with horror in his face.

"I'm not kidding Frank. The lady on FOX News says be ready for it."

"Which lady?"

"Judge Jeanine," adding, "She says the election won't be decided by inauguration day because it will be held up in court. In that case we will be looking at an acting president Pelosi. The other theory is the 'Rona will wipe everyone else out and she'll be the last man standing come inauguration, so to speak."

The disgust and fear in his face is real as he shakes his head & says in a gruff voice, "Eighty eight years is enough for me. If she becomes president I will jump in front of a bus."

Yep, you heard it right. My best friend nowadays is an eighty eight year old man who lives in the building south of mine.

"You think it's funny when I say I will shoot myself if Pelosi becomes president. I'm not kidding eighty eight years is enough."

I know he's only kidding about shooting himself if Pelosi is elected president. I tell him such.

"Frank, you still got twelve more years to live before you make it to a hundred. Don't let a president Pelosi stop you from such a grand feat," chuckles coming across the pool from Kitty...she lives a few doors down from me.

"You two can laugh all you want, I'm serious. If Pelosi ends up being president that's it for me," adding with a scoff to his gruff voice, "The second she is sworn in you will hear a loud pop coming from building 6. Have them cremate me and spread my ashes around the pool."

Kitty & I chuckle once again at his remarks.

"Enough of this president Pelosi bull shit. Who is leading in the football pool?"

I turn directly to Kitty after his question & say, "Yours truly is tied for first place going into tonight's game. I'm in last place."

"I thought you knew everything about football & your telling me a girl is beating you."

"Yep," is my answer.

"How could that be?"

"I don't know. Let's ask her."

Miss Kitty, as she is affectionately called around the pool, is a distinguished lady who I would guess to be in her late sixties to early seventies. 

"What's the secret to picking games Miss Kitty?"

"There is no secret Rob. It's just how I feel about things at the  moment," is her response with a smile, "Once in a while I will listen to what my son tells me. Besides that I just go with the flow."

"Whatever your doing, keep doing it. Have you seen Gus lately?"

The majority of the pool crowd at LaSolana is right leaning. Gus is the rightest of them all.

"I haven't seen him in a few days. Do you think the zombies got him?"

His addiction to conspiracy websites has made him even more paranoid than before. It's humorous listening to his rants at the pool. 

"I thought it was Hillary's people who were after him now. Hold on, now that I think about it he told me Hillary's people had lost his scent and Antifa is on his trail," adding to the chorus of laughter, "Maybe the zombies got him. Who knows for sure?"

As I'm leaving the pool for the hot tub, Kitty replies, "Rob, you should transfer your blog from Las Vegas to the pool at LaSolana. I'm sure people will find it entertaining. You could let everyone know what really goes on at the pool of an old folks home."

"It sounds like a good idea to me Kitty," is my response as I turn the knob on the hot tub and ease my way in, "I seriously have to do it."

 

scandalous...

The other day I started thinking about the predicament my friend Chuck from Kansas is currently in. I call him for an update:

"This one was easy, basically she kept everything and I moved in with mama," is his short answer for the dissolution of his fifth marriage, "Glad it is over. We never got along to begin with. No worries though, I got a couple new ones already."

The dumb bastard is pushing fifty with no job, money or future. The only thing the horny knuckle head thinks about is which suburban mom or recent divorcee he is going to bed next. He's scandalous and I tell him such.

"Yeah, I am scandalous," adding, "The thing is all these bitches are just as scandalous as I am. They like the excitement until they don't. It's a never ending cycle."

"Have you ever thought about just keeping it in your pants?"

"I have," he adds, "It's just too difficult. I'll meet up with one of these broads on the internet & she'll be wearing the sweetest smelling perfume. After a few drinks we'll start talking about how lonely we are. The next thing I know I'm in a bathroom stall snorting coke off of her tits."

"Chuck," adding with all seriousness, "Someone needs to remind you of your age. You're not in your twenties anymore. Jesus, you are still snorting coke off of hookers at fifty years old. It's pathetic. Although, in a weird kind of way I am jealous."

"I don't turn fifty for another two months. Are you really jealous?"

"If I was in my twenties I'd be jealous. The thing is I'm fifty and practicality is what guides me now."

"You never tried something like that with Roxy? She seems like the kind of girl who would go for it."

"No, whenever we were together it was intense sex followed by a little pillow talk."

"I'll be straight with you. If you get on the internet and shop around for a little while you'll meet a hundred Roxy types."

"I don't think so. She's one in a million. Don't insult her like that."

I ask if he has any new stories to share.

"No, not much new stuff lately. Although, I have something you'll find both funny and disturbing."

"What's that?"

"The other day this gal I've been seeing messages me and says she got a room downtown and wants to meet up around nine. When I show up she opens the door wearing a mask and immediately takes my temperature with a digital thermometer. After it reads I get waved in. The corona virus has made her extra cautious. She then gives me a mask to put on and proceeds to take off all her clothes while saying, 'We are going to do things different this time. I want you to take me from behind, but you have to wear a mask. We should be fine as long as we don't come face to face."

"She really made you wear a mask during sex?"

"Yep," adding, "I know it sounds strange. It's the world we live in nowadays."

I'd heard enough about his libido and changed the subject to something more important.

"Have you found a job yet?"

"Nope," is his reply.

"What do you do when your not with one of your conquests?"

"Hang out with mama. We watch every Royal's game and then we will watch reruns of Magnum PI or something like that. I do all the grocery shopping and she'll fix all the meals. Mama goes to bed around seven and then I usually head out on the prowl."

 

The Reckoning is coming...

The other day I called Mad Max from Kansas. He believes a 'Reckoning' of some sort is closing in on all of us:

"Trump motherfucker!" 

"What's going on Mad Max?"

"Getting ready for a Reckoning village idiot. What about you?"

"Reckoning," adding with laughter, "It's so funny when you say it. Even to this day I laugh."

"What's so funny about it?" 

"When you say, 'The Reckoning is coming,' I picture fire raining down from the sky and zombies marching everywhere like you see in the movies. Come On man! Do you really think that is going to happen?"

"Baa, baa, baa," he repeats in unison, "Do you know what that sound is?"

"Yes, I know what that sound is. It's the sound sheep make as they are being lead to slaughter. Get some new material Mad Max."

"You get some new material asshole," adding angrily, "Why do you think things are so funny?"

"They just are," is my reply.

"Like I said from the beginning. Your fat pasty ass will be the first to capitulate. It's pathetic."

He's been overusing the word capitulate lately. I had to tease him about it.

"Capitulate, Jesus, you don't even know what that means. Give me a break genius."

My statement angers him more.

"Let me put it in sentence form for you," sarcastically adding, "My name is Rob and my fat pasty ass will be the first to capitulate.' Does that make better sense for you moron?"

"You're a funny guy Mad Max. I need to correct you on something though."

"What?"

"I've been spending a lot of time at the pool and have a nice tan going. Calling me pasty is incorrect. I'm still fat though."

"Okay genius," in a mocking tone, "How's this sound instead? 'Your fat worthless ass will be the first to capitulate."

"Worthless sounds a lot better. Thank you for dropping the pasty part."

"Jesus boy, wake the fuck up! Do you want to survive?"

"Survive what?"

"The fucking Reckoning you moron," anger in his tone ever more.

"Are you talking about when fire starts raining down and zombies begin to march in the streets? I'll deal with it when I see it."

"Baa, baa, baa," is his immediate response to my mocking his beliefs, "You really are clueless. I want you to remember something boy."

"What's that Mad Max?"

"They are coming for your fat worthless ass real soon," he then hangs the phone up without saying goodbye.

 

the paramour...

My buddy Chuck was telling me about how easy it is to pick up chic's on the internet. 

"I'm telling you the internet is the greatest thing since Patrick Mahomes. It's like an all you can eat twenty four hour buffet."

Chuck is better served keeping it in his pants.

"What do you tell all these women when you meet up? Hi, my name is Chuck and I live with my mother."

"That's funny village idiot, I leave that part of the conversation out. I usually tell them I'm a bounty hunter or something interesting. The truth is they don't care. They are there for the same reason I am."

"How many of these women have you hooked up with?"

"More than you can count on all your fingers and toes," is his answer.

The son of a bitch is pushing fifty with no job, money or future. The only thing the horny bastard thinks about is which suburban house wife or recent divorcee he is going to bed next. It's as if he is reliving his twenties again. One problem though. He's fifty!

"Chuck, I envy you in a way. All those women eating out of your hand. It sounds like a hell of a lot fun. How do you keep your stamina? Let's face it you are hardly a young buck anymore."

"Whiskey & Viagra," he proclaims, "As long as you have plenty of both you will be a popular guy in the Ashley Madison world. I also carry a bag of hybrid with me as well, a lot of chic's nowadays are into it, especially the younger ones."

"What kind of hybrid?"

"King Louie is my current crop."

He mentioned in a previous conversation most of the women pay for the hotel room and some even give him money. I asked if that was still the case.

"Not lately, the last one I hooked up with wanted me to pay for the hotel and I told her I forgot my wallet. It still worked out though. I got in her car and we drove to a secluded spot and took care of business. After we were through she dropped me back at my car and we both went our merry ways. It reminded me of my younger days."

"When do you see your next one?"

"Either tonight or tomorrow, this lady from Chicago comes into town every month for business and I'm her current thing. She takes me to dinner and then it's back to the room for some fun. I always leave before eleven because she has to be up early for meetings."

"How long has that one been going on?"

"Four or five months. She is an Ashley Madison babe, those are the best ones to hook up with."

"Why?"

"Most of the women who use the service are well kept. The reason they sleep with a guy like me is always the same. Their husband or boyfriend cheated on them and they feel by being with me they are evening the score."

"Do you ever fall in love with any of them? Is there a wife number six somewhere in the mix?"

"I fall in love fifty times a day. It never sticks though. I'm through with marriage for good. Nowadays I am perfectly content being some lonely ladies paramour on Ashley Madison."

move into mama's...

The other day I got a call from my friend Chuck in Kansas. He recently moved in with his mother:

"Back with mama. She's the only one who would take me," it's fortunate his mother is still around to take him in, if not it would be outside time. I tell him such.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you are the twentieth person to tell me it. I look at it this way, 'Mama enjoys the company & I need a place to live. It's a win win."

"What happened with the 4th?"

"She was the 5th actually."

"Sorry," with a laugh, "What happened between you and the 5th?"

Chuck would be much better served by keeping it in his pants.

"My little head started thinking for my big head again. She wasn't giving it up so I got on Ashley Madison. You can't believe the women out there who are looking for a good time. It's unbelievable."

Think about this for a minute. He's pushing fifty; his fifth wife just kicked him out; he lost his job; he moved back in with his mother & yet his libido, which is his biggest downfall, is telling him to cruise for chic's on hookup sites.

"Don't you think it would be a good idea to set a list of priorities?"

"What do you mean?"

"Finding a job, moving out from your mothers. Don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about."

"First of all," he beckons, "Mama loves having me here. It gives her someone to watch all the Royal's games with. The other thing is there are not many jobs to pick from at this particular time."

"What's the plan? Are you just going to spend all your time cruising for chic's on the internet and living with your mother?"

"Yep," is his answer.

"Are you going to tell all these women you live with your mother?"

"Nope," adding, "The last few I hooked up with paid for the hotel room. One of them even gave me two hundred dollars."

"Get the fuck out of here," he's not much to look at. I find it unlikely a women would pay him to have sex. I tell him such.

"I'm being honest, I swear. After we were through she told me her husband hadn't fucked her in god knows how long. The money was a token of her appreciation."

We chat about the weather for a minute, then I hear someone yelling his name in the background. It was his eighty year old mother letting him know dinner was ready.

"I got to go buddy. Mom made chicken fried steak for dinner."

 

Where is the Bulldog pride?

The other day I called my friend Chuck in Kansas:

"What the fuck Chuck?"

When we were kids it was my standard greeting for him.

"No one has said that to me in years," he proclaims.

"What the fuck Chuck? One more time for good measure buddy."

"How are things going in Arizona? The corona virus get you yet?" Chuck is a non masker and he lets everyone know it, "Do you want to know something village idiot?"

"Sure," is my response.

"When I see all these people walking around wearing a mask it makes me shake my head and wonder how everyone became hoodwinked. It's all a bunch of nonsense. People believe the shit that has been shoveled on them. It's disturbing to watch it all fall apart from nothing more than a flu bug. Think about this for a minute. I lost my job; the wife works at home; the kids aren't going to school; dad is in a nursing home; the mortgage is four payments behind."

He tacks on a few more difficulties to his 'hard luck & busted' story before I politely interrupt.

"I hear you good buddy," a lifelong friend is going through a rough spot and encouragement is key, "This time will pass Chuck. It will. When it does people will be more appreciative of things."

"I understand it will pass. The problem is not the virus though. It's like Trump keeps saying, 'the cure cannot be worse than the disease," pausing to add, "If things don't turn around for me and I mean quick! You are going to see my ass standing on the corner holding a cardboard sign. They are going to starve us out. That's a thousand times more telling than any fucking virus will ever be."

I've known Chuck since we were pups and I know exactly what he needs.,"Woof, woof, woof, woof...Come on man you know what to do."

"Sometimes I wonder if you are permanently stuck in the 80's."

"Come on Chuck," with even more vigor, "Where is the Bulldog pride? Woof, woof, woof, woof."

"Give it up village idiot. Between the two ex wive's, tuition, mortgage, food, car payments, credit cards...Are you catching my drift? Bulldog pride is the last thing on my mind."

"Seriously, it will make you feel better for a minute. I promise. One time for me buddy. Woof, woof, woof, woof. Bulldog pride goddammit!"

"I got to go buddy. The wife just pulled in and things have not been pleasant. Give me a call some other time," he then hangs the phone up.

 

woe is me...Part 2

Uncle Jack called today in order to offer feedback on the blog:

"Do everyone a favor and stop whining about how much money you missed out on in Chinatown? It sounds pathetic. Take the loss and move on like a goddamn man does. You missed, plain and simple. Enough already."

"It was a boat pile of money uncle Jack," he interrupts.

"Yeah, I know, you told me already. Guess what? None of it came your way so live with it and move," I interrupt.

"Motherfucker," with pent up anger, "I'm not looking for pity from anyone. It's just people are starting to fully fathom how much money it was. It was in my grasp and I let it slip away. It will haunt me until the end of my days."

"Give me a break genius, I agree with Fred. If you want to get rich figure out a cure for corona virus. It's too late for you with all those restaurants in Chinatown. You failed on that endeavor!"

He's right, it was a fail. It was the fail of a lifetime.

"All those fucking restaurants you dumb fucker. Your pea brain is too narrow to process it. Let's just put it this way Einstein. It is more money than you and I would have ever seen in multiple lifetimes."

"Woe is me, woe is me, woe is me," his sarcasm evident, "Find a cure for corona virus like Fred suggested. You will make millions upon millions doing that. Lots more than those restaurants in Chinatown would have made."

"Fuck off asshole," I scream into the phone.

"Get a life genius," he replies.

"Fuck off asshole," louder than before.

"Listen genius," his sarcasm thickening to the point of me reaching through the phone and choking him, "You missed! Let me say it again for you. You missed! Please, for the love of everything holy. Move on!"

"Whatever uncle Jack,' with sarcasm of my own, "Just remember this Einstein. If you ever find me face down in a pile of my own filth, rest assured the last thing going through my head would have been, 'all that fucking money I missed out on in Chinatown."

"Get a life!"

"I'm serious uncle Jack. All that fucking money in Chinatown was there for the taking and I missed."

He yells 'get a life' one more time then hangs the phone up without saying goodbye.

woe is me...

A few years ago I ventured into a once in a lifetime opportunity that was going to make me rich beyond my wildest dreams. It escaped. It's haunted me to no ends since. I discuss my feelings with Fred:

"Did you see what Grubhub sold for?"

"No," Fred answers.

"Eight & a half billion. That's billion with a capital B!"

"So," he murmurs.

"Did you hear me alright? I said billion with a capital B!"

My angst at the Grubhub number is simple. I should've, could've, would've been part of it.

"Do you remember when I had all those restaurants in Chinatown under contract for delivery?"

"Here we go again. You need to let it go..."

I interrupt Fred, "All those fucking restaurants in Chinatown have been printing money for the platforms they serve, the revenue generated by the system has far exceeded my wildest expectations. I was at the beginning of it with those restaurants. There wasn't another platform within five miles of Chinatown! I'm the guy who brought it there and I missed out on the payday. Things would be so much different now if I would have been able to fully harvest them."

"Woe is me, woe is me, woe is me," Fred finds my regrets humorous, "Now maybe you  can go to work on a cure for corona virus. See if you can make your millions doing that."

"I have no idea why you think it is so funny, all those restaurants piled on top of each other, all under my thumb until someone comes in and buys us out. Millions upon millions escaped the family when I was unable to close the deal. I don't think that's funny one bit."

"Woe is me, woe is me, woe is me," the condescending tone in his voice ever more, "I'm telling you right now your best chance of striking it rich is finding a cure for the corona virus. Forget about all those restaurants in Chinatown," adding again, "Woe is me, woe is me, woe is me."

"If you say that one more time I will break you in two."

"Woe is me, woe is me, woe is me," he says in harmony, "Please, it's time for you to get a life. You missed, plain and simple, that's how shit works in life. I don't want to hear anything more about it. It's water under the bridge."

"That was a shit pile of water to go under the bridge," is my answer to his sarcasm, "A whole life changing shit pile of water!"

Love that chicken from Popeye's...

Most evenings I head to my associate Fred's house to walk his dog:

"I got a new nickname for you & Belle," as he opens the front door with the dog at his feet, "Do you want to know what it is?"

"Sure," is my answer.

"I am going to start calling you guys the 'pandemic thirty twins."

I didn't catch it, he explains.

"Between the two of you during the pandemic thirty pounds have been added to the world, thus the 'pandemic thirty twins."

He's lucky my feelings don't bruise easily. I tell him such.

"It's because your belly covers up all your feelings,' snickering at a fever pitch, "Jesus, we are going to have to grease the doorway to fit you guys through it."

I hook Belle to the leash and lead her out the door and to the car. She jumps in the passenger seat. As we pull out of the driveway en route to the dog park, she says, "I'm hungry, take me to Popeye's." She didn't really say that, she's a dog after all and dogs can't talk. I know she was thinking it though, so I set a course for the Popeye's drive thru.

"Is that you again Rob? Do you want me to have them cut the second sandwich into squares for Belle," the kid who runs the drive thru at Popeye's has become a dear friend to Belle & I during the pandemic.

"That would be great buddy. Dr. Pepper for the drink and Belle gets water of course."

"That'll be $16.58 at the window."

We pull to the window and I give the kid the money.

"How's Belle doing today?"

"She's doing awesome," is my answer after gently nudging her back to the passenger seat, "She gets so excited when we come here."

"Here you go. Have a good day."

We don't make it far before her impatience kicks in.

"Goddammit, wait til we get to the park you fucking pig," her nose aggressively pressed against a bag full of Popeye's artery clogging goodness.

She is unwilling to wait. I pull into the TJ Maxx on Meeker, "Here you go girl," as I place a wad of cajun fries in my hand, "Have at it," her portion of fries is devoured in less than fifteen seconds.

I'm able to enjoy a few bites of my sandwich before she insists on hers. One hand fed me, one hand fed her. Five minutes later the fat sack of artery clogging Popeye's goodness is no more. We take a few minutes to digest. Then it's park time.

Upon arriving at the dog park Belle defecates and urinates. The weather is too hot for much time outside, thus we decide to go back to Fred's place.

"It's the pandemic thirty twins back from their walk already," he comments as we waddle through the door, "It's still a bewilderment to me how you two can come back from exercise even fatter than you were before."

the greatest thing since Patrick Mahomes...

It has been a while since I heard from Roxy. I started thinking about her & decided to call:

"I was wondering when you were going to call again. It's been a long time Jethro. It's good to hear your voice," it's her voice, it's her silky, sexy, sultry voice.

"Uhh, uhh, uhh...I love you beautiful," I didn't know what else to say so I say the first thing that comes to mind, "I have been thinking about you more and more gorgeous. Please tell me that you will be my girl."

"Oh Jethro," she sighs, "What is it with you? I'm not going to be your girl. Why do you keep asking the same absurd question?"

"Because I love you sweet thing," is my immediate answer.

"Jethro, Jethro, Jethro," whenever she mentions my name in unison I prepare to be patronized, "What we had in Las Vegas is over now. You know it wasn't built to last," her tone becoming ever more condescending, "You think you can call me up after all this while and ask me to be your 'girl' is so preposterous of you. It's just how I remember. You haven't changed one bit."

I didn't ask her to go on a killing spree with me, I just want her to be my girl...I ask again.

"No, I'm not going to be your fucking girl. Jesus, I knew I shouldn't have answered the phone when I saw it was you."

"Why did you beautiful?"

"It's because I needed a shot of your sappiness I guess. I really don't know for sure."

"Sweet thing," adding with as much sappiness as I can muster, "Let's give it another shot wonderful. You're the greatest thing since Patrick Mahomes. I love you."

"I don't think so," is her immediate response, "You had your chance and blew it. Nowadays, I am with a wonderful guy who takes care of my every need. What you and I had is history. Do you understand that genius?"

She needs more persuading is my thought.

"I can't help it. I think you are the cats' meow beautiful. If there was ever a Ms. Beautiful title you would win it in a landslide. Let's just forget about all the stuff from the past and give it another go around, start afresh. What do you say Ms. Beautiful?"

"Are you hard of hearing Jethro?"

"No," anticipating an insult.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," further anticipating an insult.

"Why is it so hard for you to understand Jethro? It's irritating. For the last time. I am not your girl. We had a thing for a while. That's all it was, a thing Jethro. I know you are a fragile so I am going to be polite. Please do not ask me to be your girl anymore. The very idea is nonsensical."

"Okay, I'm going to give you one more chance to be my girl beautiful."

"Grow up Jethro," she then hangs the phone up without saying goodbye.

Mad Max being Mad Max...

I was going to leave him alone. Unfortunately, it's turned into an obsession:

"Get a life Mr. Sheep, baa, baa, baa - Do you hear that boy? It's the rest of the mindless calling you to slaughter Mr. Sheep."

Most normal folks say hello when they answer the phone...his obnoxious manner prohibits him from doing so.

"Mr. Sheep, what did you do this grand 4th of July weekend? Don't answer that question. I already know what you did. You stayed home and hid in your basement because that's what a sheep does."

I inform him of the dire situation Arizona is facing with the current pandemic roiling the state & how I feel obligated to do my part in flattening the curve.

"Flattening the curve, give me a break. How's that going for you Mr. Sheep? The culling is here. People need to except it and adjust. The cure cannot be worse than the disease."

I've laughed off his disturbing rhetoric for years, "It's just Mad Max being Mad Max." 

"Look buddy, I just called to see how things were going. You can spare the politics. What did you do this weekend?"

"I've been at the gun range all weekend. It's imperative everything be in proper working condition for when the zombies arrive."

"The zombies," snickering, "You are a funny guy Mad Max. Have you ever thought about hitting an open mic night?"

"You really are a jerk off," he then adds, "Your fat pasty ass will be the first guy to capitulate when containment begins. I can see it now. You'll throw up your hands and yell, 'Please take me. I'm a sheep."

"I'm not a sheep Mad Max. If you would please stop calling me that I would appreciate it."

"Okay Mr. Sheep, I'll stop calling you that. Please tell me something interesting before I hang up on you."

"Hmmm," scratching my chin for a moment, "You know what good buddy? I do have something interesting to share. Uncle Ned actually thought this up. He discovered a new way to test for corona virus."

"Ned did," with surprise in his voice.

"Yep, I'm proud of him. He's thinking about patenting the method."

"What is it?"

"You know how they say your sense of smell leaves you if you have the virus. When you think about this you will realize how genius he is. Every time he farts he falls back into it to make sure he can smell it. He says it's the cheapest way to know for sure."

"That's got to be the dumbest thing I have ever heard Mr. Sheep. Your uncle Ned sounds like a sheep as well," he then hangs the phone up without saying goodbye.

Uncle Ned shares his holiday plans...

I called uncle Ned in Kansas today because I had nothing else to do:

"Lookie here boy, I'm telling you right now the whole world can catch fire and all I will do is try an light my cigar with the flames. All your doomsday buddies can kiss my ass, call it cotton candy," Ned's health has deteriorated to the point of no longer being mobile, his mind is sharp as ever though, "Can we talk about something interesting for a change? Enough of this end of the world bull shit. Has your dad kept off all the weight he lost?"

My father lost nearly a hundred pounds in the last year.

"So far, so good," adding, "He's been riding his bike and walking the dog in the mornings."

"No more double cheeseburgers?"

"Not lately," with a laugh.

"What about the dog? Has she killed anything lately?"

Belle, whom we are unable to determine the exact breed at this time, is a pup dad & Sharon adopted a few years back.

"Not lately, she made another move at a bird the other day. I was able to restrain her. She hates coyotes & rabbits as well," the area dad & Sharon live in was built on the peripheral of Phoenix twenty years ago. Thus sharing the subdivision with many of natures finest.

"Do you still see coyotes when you walk her?"

"All the time," is my answer.

"Does she freak out when she sees them?"

"Yes sir, she hates them with a passion," adding, "She goes ballistic whenever seeing one. I'm restraining her so nothing ever happens. It's kind of funny to watch the coyotes. They'll get far enough away and then turn and start glaring at her, just wishing she would break free from her restraints and chase them."

"Goddamn, you make it sound like they're coyotes everywhere."

"Ned, this is no bullshit, they're more coyotes running around these subdivisions than you can count. It's like they're domesticated. Dad says a better word is acclimated."

"Do people shoot them?"

"Nope, against the law to discharge a firearm in city limits. They don't even trap them. You just get use to it after awhile. They're not aggressive toward humans. Although, small dogs would make a mighty tasty treat for them. Belle is too big for them to mess with, thank goodness."

We chat about our plans for the 4th of July.

"What you got going good buddy?"

"Nothing, you?"

"Not jack shit uncle Ned."

feed back from uncle Ned...

Uncle Ned is a fan of the blog. Today I called for some much needed feed back:

"It's Mad Max this; or Mad Max that. He's a nut job! Why don't you try finding something more uplifting than him to blog about. He's just another one of your bozo friends from Madison. Enough is enough, find something else to blog about or I'm not going to read it anymore."

It's good to hear his voice no matter the mood, "Uncle Ned, it's just that Mad Max is crazy and the time he has been talking about forever is finally here."

"What do you mean?

"The culling is what he is calling it."

"Jesus boy, you've got to stop listening to this guy. What the fuck does he mean by culling?

"A thinning of the herd is the best analogy he gave me."

"Enough of his bullshit. How are your dad & Sharon doing?"

"Doing fine right now. He's par for the course on his treatments. I believe they will be over by the middle of September. The goal now is to keep the widow maker at arm's length." 

The conversation turns to politics.

"All the polls show Biden with a commanding lead. It doesn't seem they are giving your idol a chance for a second term."

"He's not my idol," adding, "Mad Max says Trump gets reelected in a walk. I'm not so sure. We shall find out soon enough."

"Okay," adding with a snicker, "I just don't want you to cry if your idol loses."

I remind Ned again Trump is not my idol.

"Whatever genius, I got to get to the Dollar Store before they close. Oh, one more thing before I go. Tell Mad Max he's the one who needs woke," he then hangs the phone up without saying goodbye.

Talking football with Mad Max...

I just want to talk football with him, see if I can finally get his mind off dystopia:

"What now?"

He tells me he's not going to answer when I call because it's annoying, he still answers.

"Mad Max, look, I didn't call to discuss politics with you. Would it be possible for us to chat about football for a while? I know it's not high on your priority list, it use to be though. Let's pretend there's a normal season upcoming. Do you think the Chiefs will run it back?"

His answer is surprisingly pleasant, "I will go to fantasy land with you and pretend there's going to be a season. They have all the tools and jumping Jesus do they ever have a quarterback boy!"

"You better believe they got the quarterback. Just having him makes me think another parade is coming," adding with exuberance, "Mad Max, I have another question for you."

"What?"

"Do you know what the greatest day in Chief's football history is?"

"You already told me this one. I have it memorized. April 27th, 2017, its the day they drafted Mahomes."

"You better believe it boy! Back to back motherfucker!"

"You really know how to get a guy in a good mood."

"I want you to give dystopia a break for a minute good buddy. Everyone knows you're prepared. You still got to hold out some hope that things will eventually return to normal."

"There's where you & I differ. The reset button has been punched for real this time. The new normal will be chaos."

It's good to add levity when dealing with him.

"Did I tell you the newest conspiracy theory making the rounds among fans?"

"No," he replies.

"See, a number of them believe the Reckoning is brought upon by the Chiefs' first title in fifty years. It's been a running joke for years, at least I thought it was a joke. A majority of fans were not born yet last time they won the title. Long story short is no one thought it would ever happen and then when it did things went to hell shortly after, thus the Reckoning theory of a Chief's fan begins to seem plausible."

"Things did go to hell," he replies.

"I know it sounds illogical. Maybe there is some logic to it. Dad says anyone who thinks it is nothing more than coincidental is a fool. What do you think?"

"I agree with your dad. The shit house was bound to catch fire whether the Chiefs won a Super Bowl title or not. The unfortunate thing is we won't get to see them run it back because of this corona virus bullshit."

"That's not for sure yet, the NFL is a resilient corporation. They understand how much football means to America. I bet they......."

He interrupts before I'm able to finish my thoughts.

"Do you remember me telling you about being woke?"

"I do," is my answer.

"It's time for you to get woke. There isn't going to be a football season. We will miss the chance of seeing the Chiefs run it back. The quicker you come to grips with it the easier it will be for you to move on. Get fucking woke soon, please," he then hangs the phone up without saying goodbye.

predator or prey...

I was planning on giving Mad Max a rest. I planned wrong:

"What is it now genius?"

"Nothing in particular good buddy. I just thought you could tell me more about the dystopia. It's such an interesting subject," snickering under my breath.

"For some reason or another you seem to think this is funny," his voice rigid, "Like I said earlier moron, 'You will be the first guy to capitulate."

"Let's give dystopia a break and talk about something else for a while."

"What," he bellows obnoxiously.

"Let's talk about the Chiefs and there chances of running it back. They have twenty starters returning from last year. They're the odds on favorite to win it all again. Back to back good buddy. In all those years of frustration could you ever have imagined we'd be talking about the Chiefs going back to back. Chiefs motherfucker!"

He's a die hard fan so I figured a bit of Chiefs football talk would take his mine off dystopia for a few minutes...I figured wrong.

"Jesus Christ boy! You need to get woke!

"Oh great, here we go again," muttering before his obligatory 'woke' rant begins.

"Why the hell you're thinking about football is beyond me. The shit house is on fire with no end in sight and your main concern is if the Chiefs can win back to back Super Bowl titles."

"It would be cool," interrupting his tirade.

"Baaa, baaa, baaa, baaa - Do you know what that sound is boy?"

"No," anticipating an insult.

"It's the sound a sheep makes as it is being lead to slaughter. Get use to the sound, it will be common for you soon. I told you about my predator or prey theory. You will be part of the prey."

"You got to chill out will all your crazy talk Mad Max. It's beginning to alarm people."

"Predator or prey genius, predator or prey," he then hangs the phone up without saying goodbye.

Mad Max talking crazy...

I really, really, really need to give Mad Max a rest. The thing is I'm too stupid:

"What the fuck do you want now?" 

"How is dystopia preparation going for you today good buddy?"

"I know you have nothing better to do than sit around and thumb yourself all day long, I have things to do. The time I waste with you could be used for something productive," his patience thinning ever more.

"Give me a break," adding with humor to my tone, "How many times can a guy clean his guns and do ammunition checks. Good gracious, Mad Max, get a grip on yourself!"

"Listen, I know you think this is all a big joke and that I'm just some dumb ass in the woods with too many guns. I'll tell you this boy," stopping to catch his breath for a moment, "When they finally work up enough gall to come rushing through my door, I'll be ready! Your fat pasty ass will be the first guy to capitulate."

He's been overusing the word capitulate. I let him know, "It's always capitulate with you. It would be great if you could find another word. Do me a favor and don't say it or dystopia ever again when we talk. How's that sound for a new start?"

"Do you mean how your fat pasty ass will be the first guy to capitulate once dystopia arrives?"

"That's real funny Mad Max," adding with more laughter, "You should head to open mic night and try out some of your material."

"It's not meant to be funny jerk off!"

"Relax good buddy, all I'm saying is you got to chill out with all your crazy talk. People are starting to take it to heart."

"They should," his tone becoming more & more impatient, "Look man, I got crops that need tending so I don't have the time to sit around and talk shop with the first guy to capitulate," he then hangs the phone up without saying goodbye.

passing the time with Mad Max...

Things would definitely be clearer for me if I didn't dwell so much on Mad Max and all his craziness. I wasn't going to call him, but since I have nothing better to do:

"What the fuck do you want now?"

His phone etiquette could use polishing.

"I was just thinking about all that stuff you were talking about. You know, dystopia and all that other shit. I also got to tell you something."

"What?"

"I was going to come up to Kansas for a visit. Turns out I'll have to quarantine for fourteen days upon arrival. Kansas enacted an ordinance the other day stating anyone traveling from Arizona to Kansas must be quarantined upon arrival."

"Good," with a laugh, "We don't need filthy fuckers like you in the great state of Kansas."

I should be offended by the statement. I'm not.

"Mad Max, I want you to be honest with me. How bad are things going to get?"

"Let me ask you this," conviction in his voice, "What do you think a Dystopian state looks like?"

"I don't know?"

"Come on boy! Use that head of yours as more than a place to grow hair," asking again, "What do you think a Dystopian state looks like?"

"Uh, uh, uh, uh...I don't know," is the only answer I can muster. 

"Do you remember me telling you about being woke?"

"I do," is my answer

"It's time now, okay? It's time for you to wake up!"

"Can you explain it a little better to me? Just saying things are headed towards dystopia is a rather broad statement. Tell me some of the exacts so I can be prepared when it happens."

His patience wearing thin - "Man, if you don't get it by now you never will. Let me just sum it up for you real quick in a language everyone can understand, 'Guns, gold, crops, whiskey, beef, sex & more guns is going to be the new currency," he then hangs the phone up without saying goodbye.

 

a conversation with Mad Max...

I've known Mad Max since we were pups. Back then he was just your garden variety kind of crazy. Nowadays, it's risen to the point of him being downright scary:

"I will act accordingly while your soft ass gets swooped up in the first rounds of containment. It won't happen to me, not without blood shed everywhere."

"Jesus Christ dude, you have got to stop watching the news so much. It's turning your crazy-o-meter up another notch. It's the last thing you need," his paranoia continues to grow exponentially with all the current happenings in the world.

"I see what's going on down there in Arizona. The virus is running rapid and people are looting every chance they get. I promise you if that happens in my neck of the woods it will be dealt with harshly."

I doubt the looting will find its way to his bunker in north Greenwood county. Although, the virus could gradually make it there given the right spreader...I tell him such.

"You and this fucking virus bullshit. You don't seem to get it boy. The deep state is using the virus bullshit to encourage even that much more control over us."

"The deep state. Come on man. The only guy who is living in a deep state is you. You got to find something more viable. Again, stop watching so much news. It's turning off your spigot to reality."

It's been humorous for the longest time, listening to him rant about how we are all doomed. I never thought I would say this, "It's not humorous anymore. It's disturbing."

"Listen asshole, you can laugh all you want about things. Let me ask you a question. Do you think the corona virus was done intentionally?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean? You don't know."

Before I can respond the rant starts.

"Are you really that dumb? You're buying the story of some guy fucks a bat and then the bat shits on a pangolin, whatever that is, and then some asshole eats the the filth and now the world is shut down. It's bullshit. I don't believe it and no one else around here believes it either."

I don't know what to believe. I tell him such.

"Listen genius, I'm sitting here wasting time with you while I should be out tending the crops and preparing for dystopia. We'll have to carry this conversation on when you are finally woke," he then hangs the phone up without saying goodbye.

a young Mad Max...

Back when we were kids Mad Max had a dog named Harley. She was a beautiful tan bitch Rottweiler. He gave her carte blanche in Greenwood County. She would run all around town without a care in the world. Town folk would yell, chase, pet, feed, placate. It was a bygone era.

He stops by the house and asks, "Have you seen Harley?" 

"Haven't seen her buddy. Did you check down by the park? She was there earlier."

"I did. She wasn't there."

"I'll help you look for her good buddy," it's a summer afternoon in the 1980's and life is good.

We jump in his truck and begin to cruise the streets of Madison in search of her, checking the usual haunts with no luck. As he u-turns on Main a voice yells, "The dog catcher took Harley to the pound."

"When did we get a dog catcher in this town Jack? You have got to be shitting me."

"I'm not joking," he yells while standing on the corner of Main & 3rd, "The city council hired a lady out of Eureka. The pound is just north of town. It's where Joe's oil use to be. They converted the garage to a kennel."

We knew the place Jack was talking about & made our way there in short order.

Pulling into the gravel driveway of the newly anointed dog pound of Madison, he says, "If they know what is good for them they better give me Harley back without any problems."

"Relax dude, let me do the talking. We'll have her out of here in no time at all."

We follow the sound of barking dogs to the back of the structure and there was Harley, along with four other dogs, staring at us through a padlocked cage, "Don't worry girl we are going to have you out of here real soon. Go find whoever it is and tell them I am here to get her."

The pen was twenty yards, give or take, from the office. I walk around to the front and try an open the door. It was locked. I pound on the door for a few moments and no one answers. I go back to Mad Max and tell him no one is around. 

"Fuck this shit. I'm not waiting on anyone. I'm taking Harley home with me right now."

"How are we going to get her out of the pen without a key?"

"I got it covered boy. I'll be back in a minute," he walks to his truck and returns with a three foot ax, "Get the fuck back Harley! I'm going to get you out of here," all of the dogs retreat to the back of the kennel. 

Without further adieu he strikes the wood the lock is attached to. The cover plate half way dislodges. A few more violent strikes and it is lying on the ground.

"Let's get the fuck out of here Harley," yelling as he swings the door open.

I'll never forget the moment - Harley sprints to his truck and without breaking stride jumps directly in the bed. Her four accomplices all scattered in different directions as well. It was a doggy jailbreak.

As the two of us are leaving a mini white Nissan truck pulls in "What in the world are you guys doing?" It was the new dog catcher. Neither one of us recognized her.

"I am just getting my dog lady," Mad Max replies

"You are not suppose to be taking the dog. How did you get into the pen?"

"I chopped the lock off."

"You better not have," anger in her tone.

"I did! What the fuck are you going to do about it?" 

The new dog catcher is taken aback by his foul language, "You can't just come in here and take the dog. It is a nuisance and there is a fine you have to pay."

"I'm not paying you a fucking dime," the pitch of his tone growing ever more angry, "The dog has been running around town for years with no problem and you think you're going to take that away from her. I don't  know what the city council told you, but I'm telling you right now if you ever put her in here again I will burn this place to the ground."

"You can't talk like that to me. What is your name? Who is your father?"

He answered and added, "Look lady, we live in the bunker three miles north of town. If you want to go explain it to him. Be my guest."

The lady is a stranger to both of us, but after mentioning his fathers' name and the bunker three miles north of town the conversation ceases and we go on our merry way.

I never heard another word about a dog catcher in Madison after that day. My guess is the 'powers to be' realized a dog pound is not worth the aggravation of dealing with Mad Max; or others like him.