Sep 30, 2016

Just Comply When Ordered

Rufus Scales didn't know about the armed robbery that had taken place just a few blocks from where he was just minutes before. All he knew was that he had just spent almost 3 hours-- much of it in the rain-- chasing down his prize winning Onagadori rooster, Josephus, and he wanted to get himself and his treasured bird home and dry before either one of them caught cold.

Rufus had started backyard chicken farming some years before raising birds for eggs and meat when he happened upon a generous old woman who had been raising award winning show birds for decades. Rufus did some work on her aging coops in exchange for some of her high priced eggs with papers, put them in his homemade incubator and hatched them. She then taught Rufus how to groom and show birds.

When the old woman died, her family quickly sold off everything she had leaving Rufus being the only one around his area with an ample supply of eggs from her award winning bloodline. Suddenly Rufus was showing birds, selling treasured eggs to other would be breeders, and sticking a few thousand dollars a year in savings to send his 3 kids to college.

No, it wasn't enough to live on but it would change the lives of his children None of his children would have to hand stack freight on trucks 6 nights a week like their daddy did.

Officer Johnny Aims had been with the Sneedville Police Department for almost 2 years when he drove up on a man carrying something down the street in the vicinity of the armed robbery. Officer Aims had never arrested a violent felon before but he aimed not to let this one get away. Why, Officer Aims thought, would anyone be walking down the street in the pouring rain? He must be up to no good.

As Johnny Aims drove up behind Rufus Scales he turned on spot lights and on the megaphone shouted, " Stop, put your hands in the air!"

Rufus stopped dead in his tracks, unable to see who was behind him, but not wanting to take any chances, put his left hand in the air while holding Josephus under his right arm. "Both hands in the air," Officer Aims shouted as he exited the car, gun in hand, "Now!"

"But Sir," Rufus tried to explain... And just about that time Josephus decided to start crowing as could be heard, though not clearly seen, on the body camera video.

"Are you making fun of me?" Officer Aims shouted. "I said put both hands in the air or I'll shoot you in the back!"

"My rooster will get away!" Rufus pleaded. Admittedly, in both the body camera and dash camera videos it is hard to make out what Rufus was holding.

"I mean now!" Aims demanded!

Rufus let go of Josephus and raised both hands but roosters, being what they are, flew a loop straight back at Officer Johnny Aims who, with no real idea of what had just been unleashed upon him, started firing. Five shots rang out, one killed Josephus, the other four killed Rufus Scales.

Officer Johnny Aims had just killed a man and his rooster for complying with police orders. Things could only get worse. How worse, Johnny had no idea.

Well as it turned out, because Rufus Scales was white and white people haven't the backbone to stand up when their people are needlessly gunned down on the street, no one seemed to care much about Rufus Scales and the family he left behind.

But when it came to the thousands upon thousands of members of the American Poultry Association-- the folks who put on award winning chicken shows in all 50 US States-- well they were outraged that Josephus-- one of a long line of irreplaceable award winning birds of impeccable linage, had been needlessly shot to death by a Sneedville Police Officer...

Well there's simply no polite way to put what happened next-- the chicken shit hit the fan.

Then there was all the state and local breeders associations-- many of them in existence for 100 years or more, monied and with well established communications among members. Thousands upon thousands of chicken enthusiasts descended upon Sneedville, many of them older people driving motor homes and pulling campers behind pick-ups and SUVs.

Traffic came to a standstill for miles around as protestors blocked the streets by simply trying to drive there. Even the protestors were angry about the traffic delays.

Then came PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) to really make a mess of things.

Someone broke into the local chicken processing plant and dumped a truck load of chicken entrails in Officer Aims front yard. Officer Aims was so terrified for his family that he talked his commanding officer into locking himself and the entire family into the Sneedville Town Jail for their own protection.

Angry Onagadori rooster enthusiasts said you could obviously see the 5' long tail feathers in the videos but Officer Aims insisted he had no idea what the wet feathers were. Besides, he insisted he'd never seen an Onagadori rooster before in his life.

Then someone stole a helicopter equipped for firefighting, loaded the bucket with more chicken entrails and managed to drop several loads on the jail.

Soon the entire town smelled so bad no one could stand to live there. Protestors and locals started leaving in droves, the town's tax base went away and the entire Sneedville Police Department was eventually laid off.

All because Rufus Scales complied with police orders when called upon to do so.

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.

Sep 29, 2016

When Politicians Leave Us

Death Of A Political Animal

Another political animal died last evening.
The politicians and media will publicly morn it's passing, sing pretty words
while privately throwing big bashes to celebrate.

The workers, who for years believed in the animal chanting,
"Somebody should do something!" but who were themselves
always too lazy
will again be too lazy to remove it's rotting carcass from the street.

And the sheeple, who blindly go about their lives
herded to and fro
will simply stumble over its stinking corpse,
the sweet stench of death choking their every breath,
and ask, "What's that smell?"

Sep 28, 2016

Had Jimmy Only Known Then?

Swimming Rabbit

If I had a swimming rabbit,
I'd cage him on my boat;
sail out on the ocean,
drop anchor and just float.
Then I'd toss him over, say,
"Buddy, swim back home,
and if you see the President, 
tell him that I'm gone."

Never seen a Hyperlink Poem before? It's poetry in 3D-- something that can only be done on the Internet. Click on the links to get the sometimes hidden meanings and surprises that make up the entire poem.

Concord Meters Make Wine

Meters Get Their Day

In Concord, they petitioned to rid us
but now their raising our rates.
A dollar an hour's cheap labor;
some folks are just sour grapes.
We're making the village big money.
They studied to find it is true.
So park all you like in desirable spaces
and pay whatever is due.

Meanwhile the rate in nearby Brookline jumps to $2.oo per hour. And while some people think it wicked the local parking meters of Concord and Brookline, Massachusetts celebrate their victories with Parking Meter Poetry exclusively here at

Sep 27, 2016

Fast Food Subscriptions?

Cuckoo Birds

Red Robin flew over White Castle
and dropped his Burger Blaster.
And when the King, he saw it
he said, "This is a disaster.
I'm tired of these cuckoo birds,
someone call the sailor
and when you talk to Popeye, tell him,
feed Robin to the Whaler."

For my RSS subscribers, I ask, is it safe to go back into the water? And for the rest of you, this has been the latest update in the 100 year Fast Food War. Will it ever end?

Drive-in Nightmares

Sonic Invasion

Sweet Potato Tots came knocking at my door
despite the fact I'd told her
not to come 'round her no more.
But no was not an answer
she'd come prepared to take
and what she told me in her sleep
will make the king awake...

Keynesian Economic Practice

It's not the fact that's he's a Keynesian disciple that bothers me insomuch as it is he appears to be a Keynesian disciple on the take. Which, by the way, is completely contrary to true Keynesian Economic Theory but apparently central to Keynesian Economic Practice.

Sep 26, 2016

Nature's Oddities In Verse

Bug On A Branch

He sits in the middle all covered in spittle
so happy he's really quite snug
as he sucks out the juices for the ooze he produces;
the gross little bite of the Spittle Bug.

Billy And The Magic Mushroom

Or, A 21st Century Fairy Tale?

Times were getting really hard in the second decade of the 21st Century, we were out of food stamps and most all the hens were so old they stopped laying eggs so Momma said to me, "Billy, I want you to take the old hen that laid the golden egg to the market and trade it for all the mushrooms you can get."

"But Momma," I said, "That ol' hen ain't laid a golden egg in years. She ain't even laid any regular eggs in months."

"Don't you think I know that!" Momma shouted. Her nerves were on edge as she could no longer afford her prescription medications. "You just take the hen like I'm telling you and I'll call the market on my Obama Phone and tell them you're on your way to trade it for mushrooms. The man at the market has been trying to trade me out of that hen for years and now he's finally going to get it."

"Yes Ma'am," I replied as I put the hen that laid the golden egg in my beat-up old Dodge urban farm truck and headed towards the market.

"Hi Billy," the man said as I arrived at the market, "Your mother said you were on your way, did you bring the hen that laid the golden egg?"

"I sure did," I replied, "Right here in this box, Sir."

"Good," he smiled peeking inside the box, "She's a beautiful hen indeed."

"Do you have any mushrooms?" I asked.

"You know," the man said, "I've been thinking, "Why settle for just a few mushrooms when you could have all the mushrooms you could ever want? And fast growing magic mushrooms at that?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"These," the man said handing me a small bag, "Fast growing magic mushroom spores guaranteed to grow the biggest and best mushrooms you've ever seen for as long as you live."

"Really?" I asked.

"All you can eat, all you can sell," he grinned. "This is the best deal I can possibly offer you.

"I don't know," I replied, "Momma told me to get..."

"Your mother wanted you to get as many mushrooms as you possibly can," he interrupted holding up a small basket of wrinkled mushrooms. "Do you think your mother would prefer a basket full of mushrooms like these or all the fast growing, fresh magic mushrooms she could ever possibly want?"

"The magic mushrooms I guess, but..."

"Well there's no buts to it," he interrupted again. "You just put the hen that laid the golden egg  in the chicken coop out back and I'll tell the cashier to ring you up no charge on the magic mushroom spores."

I would have called home to discuss it with my mom but the law only allows one Obama Phone per household so the decision was mine and mine alone. Right or wrong I decided it best I take the fast growing magic mushroom spores instead of the wrinkled mushrooms. When I arrived home the old Dodge urban farm truck running on gas fumes, Momma was waiting on the porch. "Is that all the mushrooms you got?" she asked looking at the tiny bag.

"Oh we did much better than just mushrooms, Momma, these are magic mushroom spores. We will plant these and have mushrooms forever."

"Let me see that," she demanded taking the bag from my hands and looking inside. "Why that's just manure, compost, the same thing we have in the pile in the garden out back. Can't you do anything right? I told you to get mushrooms and you bring back dirt. Take these back to the market and bring me some mushrooms."

"I can't," I replied.

"And why not?" she shouted. By this point she was very angry.

"Truck's out of gas."

"Fine!" she screamed, "Just fine!" And with that she threw the bag of mushroom spores into the yard where it burst onto the ground below.

Late that night a big storm blew in with thunder, lightning and high winds. Several inches of rain fell and we were almost certain we would go out the next morning to find much of the urban farm had been destroyed by the storm but when the sun came up the next morning and the clouds cleared away we went outside to find a single giant mushroom quickly growing in the yard.

Click Photo To View Full Size

Since then it's gotten much taller and I'm contemplating climbing it to see where it goes. I guess we'll be eating and selling lots of mushrooms.

Oh, and the market is advertising magic corn with ears as big as small cars. Probably need a saw to cut the ears off the stalks. As soon as I sell some of the magic mushrooms I'm thinking I should invest in some magic corn. Momma, she still thinks magic corn might be a scam.

I Think She Was Coming On To Me


Fast food, oh it bores me so,
my life could use a change:
burgers, fries, and chicken strips
are making me deranged.

Mrs. Winner smiled at me,
said, "Dear, I know what you need."
"Sorry Ma'am, I've had enough
I think I'll just go read."

So read along my story now,
I think it's time to tell
fast food delights, the bitter fights,
the bodies in the well.

The mysteries unfold to see
in rhyme and in my verse,
the secrets true, all we once knew,
and last is sometimes first.

Lauralee Bug Bell-- Page 3 Girl

Proving once again to be one of the young and the restless, Lauralee Bug Bell has been caught by Billy's Page 3 Girls' cameras doing the naked hump boogie on a park bench with none other than Bug Hall, the child star who's no longer doing it solitaire over some cold case from the OC.

Maybe the price is right but one has to wonder if this intimate portrait might start a family feud the likes of which might even give Walker, Texas Ranger, a dose of reality the little rascals might think strong medicine.

Sep 25, 2016

Panhandling Parking Meters

Hey Buddy, It's Not Our Fault        

They're calling us aggressive,         
 say we force them to pay more,
but the evil city overlords
and who we do it for.
It's not because we like it--
we don't even get our share,
so remember our poles
when you go to the polls
and vote in someone fair.

And to think, you thought I was making up these stories about talking parking meters communicating to me in verse but here you have it, documented, straight from the Fair City News, photos and all as Parking Meter Poetry-- the story of the struggles of parking meters worldwide-- continue right here at Wackemall Network News.

Sep 24, 2016

Buried In The Back Yard

The garden area of my yard always had water problems-- way too wet. So I came up with an idea as to how to fix it before time to plant come spring. Each night I came home from work with rocks loaded in the back of my truck and backed it in the driveway.

Then I went into the garden and dug a 3'x6' hole about 3' deep being careful to set the top soil to the side. As it was dark by the time I got off of work no one could really see what I was doing and I could only finish one hole each night. I put about 12 inches of rock in the hole then put the top soil back on top in a mound.

I continued this for weeks, one hole per night. The rocks were free, my back was still good then, and the ground was soft. I never thought anything about it but one of the neighbors started the rumor that I was killing the gang members throughout the neighborhood and burying them in my back yard. Suddenly, without my knowing why, every little gang banger in the neighborhood was running away from me.

At the same time, the Greensboro Police Department and the Feds were cracking down and whisking a lot of the local gang bangers away in the middle of the night so everyone was assuming I did it.

It wasn't until my next door neighbor told me about the rumor his kids had heard at school that I found out. We never did anything to make them think any different.

Hole In The Wall

I used to deliver to Marshall's Department Stores in malls and shopping centers all over the country. I was one of about 300 drivers working for a company called Keyway Transport, now known as Cowan Transportation. Almost none of the stores had actual loading docks so when I arrived I had to back to a walk in door, climb into the trailer and carry everything to the rear of the trailer.

At other Marshalls stores there were holes in the wall in which they pushed rollers through for me to roll the boxes into the store. I could always fill the line faster than they could get it off.

Of course, everybody wants everything done yesterday so some big wheel at Marshalls decided their stores needed loading docks. Seemed like a good idea.

I arrived at one of several Dallas, Texas area stores to find a brand new loading dock where there had never been one before thinking, Man this is great!

I gently backed my trailer to the dock just lightly bumping the rubber bumpers and... The entire wall caved in! The whole freaking cinder-block wall!

I couldn't believe it. I had been bumping docks for well over a decade and never had I ever heard of such a thing.. Someone pulled the fire alarm, the sprinklers came on, folks up front thought the building had exploded.

Police, fire and EMS all came rushing out and searched through the rubble, amazingly no one was hurt. I decided I should call my dispatcher and report the accident. When he picked up the phone he said, "Jones, don't tell me you knocked down the wall too."

Turns out they had cut holes in single layer 8" cinder-block walls, installed roll up doors, dock bumpers and nothing more. And I was one of several to find out the hard way.

Sep 22, 2016

Dead End Lovers Know Best

Dead End Poem

Lovers know to get a piece
you have to sing the song,
play the tunes like no one else
and try to swim along;
see the picture from afar,
hold tight for fear you'll bend
until the day it finally comes
your freedom has to end.

Ed And The Rooster

A friend of mine sends a photograph of her goat, Ed and a young rooster that has become Ed's best friend. Rather than spend his days with the other roosters and hens this young rooster spends his days perched high upon Ed's sturdy back. And Ed seems to be okay with the arrangement as the young rooster's claws scratch Ed's back.

Click on the photo to enlarge.

What I want to know is, will the other roosters dare pick a fight with a rooster whose best friend is a goat?

The Sandwich Shop

In the 1970s there used to be a sandwich shop on in downtown Greensboro near the police station. Most folks knew it was a popular hang out for our local gay male population so most of us stayed away. You see, like lots of other places, Greensboro, North Carolina was a very different town back then with very different attitudes.

At the time I was a member of a local motorcycle gang that only lasted a few years and never amounted to much but we managed to get ourselves into the media just a bit more than we would have liked. One of my fellow gang members, a recent transplant from up north whose name I won't mention to protect the guilty, and myself rented a run down old shack located in what is now part of Greensboro's Bryan Park.

One day I received a telephone call from someone identifying himself as an officer with the Greensboro Police Department. That was odd in that usually the cops didn't usually call before coming over. Usually they just kicked in our doors. As a matter of fact, he didn't want to come over at all. He wanted to know if I was Billy Jones, did I own a pick-up truck and would I please bring it to the gay sandwich shop downtown? "Sir, are you sure you're talking to the right dude? I've heard about that place but it's not the sort of place my gang hangs out at."

He explained that my roommate had been drinking and the police wanted me to haul his motorcycle home provided I was sober. That way there wouldn't be a wrecker bill to pay. I assured him I was sober and quickly made my way downtown where I was administered and passed a field sobriety test on the spot.

But what I saw when I got there I was completely unprepared for. My roommate was in the back of a police car just as I'd expected him to be but every window, door, mirror, table and chair in the entire sandwich shop was destroyed and several grown men covered in minor cuts and bruises were sitting on the curb just outside the sandwich shop. "Did he do all that?" I asked the officers pointing at my roommate locked in the back seat of the patrol car.

"He sure did," one of the officers replied.

"Something tells me I'm not going to have enough money to make his bail," I mused.

"There's no bail," one of the officers said. "Once we help you get his bike loaded on your truck he's leaving with you."

"He is? But what about all the damage?"

"No one is pressing charges," the officer explained. We can't hold him."

I told you Greensboro was a very different town back then. I'm not saying it was better, just different.

As we started to drive away I looked at my bad ass biker roommate and asked, "What in the hell were you doing in there? What were you doing in a gay bar?"

"I didn't know," he said, "I didn't know. I was riding around on my bike and I saw a sandwich shop so I pulled over to get a sandwich and a beer."

"So how did you get in a fight?" I was expecting the usual, someone trying him on for size because he wore our club colors.

"I set down in a booth, ordered a sandwich and a beer and was eating when this guy set down beside me. I thought it was weird why with only about 4 people in the whole place he had to set beside me but I was just going to eat and go. Then he put his hand on my leg."

"So you hit him."

"Not yet, I calmly moved his hand off my leg and went back to eating. Then he put his hand on my leg again."

"So you hit him then?"

"No, I calmly moved his hand off my leg and told him not to put his hand on my leg again."

"So did he?"

"He sure did so I threw him out the window. Then everybody in the place started jumping on me so I started slamming and throwing everything I could get my hands on until the cops came in. Then I got myself another beer from behind the bar, paid the bartender and walked out to the police car and sat down."

Yeah, Greensboro was a very different town back then and we were all different too.

Still Waiting On A Hero?

Hero's Tale

You can not count on heroes.
Heroes fly away to fight in distant lands
and are never around when you need them.
Heroes march to victory
leaving you to walk alone,
take their stands in foreign lands
while you suffer here at home.
Heroes, they grow tired,
and heroes, they grow old,
but most of all a hero's tale
is just a story told...

Sep 21, 2016

Clash Of The Young Roosters

My two young roosters got in a fight today. I knew it would happen sooner or later. I watched as the hens tried to break it up to no avail. Then my old rooster, Mr Green Jeans decided he would break it up but his success was no better. Being the wise old bird he got out while he still could and moved his hens to a safe distance.

I watched on for a minute thinking one of the two would cut and run while preparing for the worst.

As I feared, the worst was yet to come. There was going to be no surrender and in just a few moments I saw blood. That's when I turned on the water hose.

It took three good soakings to wash all the fight out of the two young roosters but eventually, looking like they were swamped, both retreated to the chicken coop where the two of them are side by side sharing a perch, preening themselves and discussing their shared experience.

Titans they may be but I'm still the big rooster in my barn yard and as long as I've got my water hose I'll remain the big rooster. Just ask Mr Green Jeans, I don't even have to spray him anymore, just pick it up and he runs for cover.

Sep 18, 2016

Amanda Blake Page 3 Girl

This week’s page 3 girl is none other than Miss Kitty, AKA: Amanda Blake. Over the years Miss Kitty has been the fantasy of thousands of teenage boys and seen with Milburn Stone, Dennis Weaver, Festus Haggen, Burt Reynolds, John Wayne, Roger Ewing, Newly O’Brien, and of course, James Arness.

Miss Amanda Blake Shown here exposing herself in an open window, Miss Kitty is doing what she always did best-- waiting for Matt Dillon to return to Dodge City, come in, and start stroking her as she said only he could. No one ever doubted her ability to make Matt Dillon’s gunsmoke.

On a more serious note: The staff here at Billy's All Nude Page 3 Girls would like to thank Miss Amanda Blake for her lifetime of efforts in protecting wildlife (not that kind of wild life) for which the Amanda Blake Memorial Wildlife Refuge was built. Thank you, Miss Kitty.

Hungry Parking Meter

Rushing Not To Pay?

The parking meter said to me,
"I'm down to my last dime.
The people come, the people park
but they don't have the time.
I hear them as they walk away,
"I haven't time to waste."
And so it is, as I grow thin
they walk away in haste."

And so it is, another hungry parking meter tells me his sad story and the sad saga continues to be told. What? You were expecting a happy ending? Who said anything about an ending?

Conflicted Meter

They left me here to guard this parking space,
a prisoner of the human race,
my job to make you pay your fee
while you think you should park for free.

What is it with you people?

And so it is, we now know how they view us and why parking meters believe they should be the ones to rule the world with their everyone pays the same logic and no one parks for free rules. After all, it was us who put them here and programmed them to be the way they are but when it comes to following our own rules... Well, let me put it this way, when was the last time you heard of a parking meter getting a ticket?

Sep 17, 2016

Some Secrets Are Meant To Remain Secrets

And Would You Want To Know

Have you ever wondered
what the world would be like
if the world wasn't here....

but somewhere else...
way-far away...

Perhaps in another galaxy,
another universe...

another time...

But What About The Other Way?

Most cannot even comprehend Deism and Deists such as Voltaire. So they must believe in the fairy tales as passed down by their tribes to convince themselves any sort of god can exist. 'Tis a fine line between believer and Atheist and the tribe depends on the majority never crossing.

Sep 16, 2016

To Be There

 I wish someone would invent something
that would make me want to get up early each morning,
jump from my bed,
greet the day with joy,
seek out new adventures,
travel great distances to new horizons
I've never seen before
and never look bac...

Wait... it's called a motorcycle...

I sure wish mine wasn't broken.

Male-Female Differences

For those of you who sometimes find yourself in a quandary when the subject of sexual intercourse enters the occasion, you need only remember that generally speaking: Women need a reason to have sex-- men need a reason not to have sex.

As to why that is... bigger minds than I will have to answer.

Sep 11, 2016

Goats Driving Pick-up Trucks

Recently I heard a joke about a goat driving a pick-up truck.

Reminds me of something that happened to me many years ago before we had CDLs and nationwide standards. I was driving a tractor-trailer on Route 66 through New Mexico when I came upon a weigh station. (Really just a wide spot in the road where the weigh-master could park his car and wave over truckers.) The weigh-master asked to see my paperwork along with my drivers license. When I handed him my license he looked at it and politely said, "Sir, your license expired last month."

Now this was a really big problem considering that I lived in North Carolina and not New Mexico. Or at least I thought. "What am I going to do?" I asked. I was expecting to be told I was going to have to call my company and have them send out another driver.

"You got $5.oo?" the weigh-master asked.

Now me I'm thinking that is a really cheap fine. "Yes Sir," I answered rather hesitantly.

"Good," he said, "I'm also a drivers license examiner. Is all the information on your old drivers license still correct?"

"Yes Sir," I replied. A few minutes later he handed me a New Mexico drivers license on nothing more than a small paper form like many states still used back in those days. No photo, just a piece of paper with the lines filled out by hand and his signature. "Don't I need to take some kind of test?" I asked.

He looked up at the side of the truck, pointed to the door and asked, "Sir, you drove that truck all the way from Eden, North Carolina to New Mexico?"

"Yes Sir?"

"Then you already know more about driving it than I do. Enjoy the rest of your trip."

Now if only California had treated me so nicely.

So anyway, if I see the goat come driving up in a pick-up truck, I'll figure he already knows more about it than I know and jump right in.

Canucks Get Faster Fixings

Famous Dave Calls The Shots

Popeye went to Canada
looking for recruits.
Tim Horton, he was waiting there,
hogging all the loot.
Famous Dave was hanging out
down at the Mexican Grill
but it was Wild Wings of the frozen north
who would finally make the kill.

Too Much Cholesterol Bad For Clown's Heart

Tender Chicken Lovin'

"Gotta wanna, needa hava,
Gotta wanna needa hava,"
Ronald, he did say,
"I love to watch that Chicken strip.
I've dreamed of her all day."
But what ol' Ronald didn't know,
Bojangles knew it too.
And when the Chicken stripped,
Ronald's heart back flipped
and he met his Waterloo.

And the Colonel laughs from the grave...

911 Memories

Everyone remembers where they were at on 911. I was driving a truck for a living. Early that morning I left Richmond, Virginia with 3 stops on my trailer-- the first about a mile from the Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia.

My second stop was to be in Manhattan, New York City. And my third stop in Somerset County, Pennsylvania, not far from Shanksville-- the site of the third crash. What was on my trailer? Just some kind of paper products as is shipped everywhere. While I'd had jobs in the past that involved hauling lots of government and military loads, this wasn't one of them.

I was already in Arlington getting my first stop unloaded when we heard the news about the Twin Towers as there was a TV in the break room there. While we were watching we saw the news about the Pentagon as well. Apparently brick buildings and the noise of trucks, forklifts and a nearby Interstate was enough to cancel out the sound of the explosion as no one where I was at seemed to hear it.

Of course, we were all glued to the television inside more than any of us were actually working.

When my truck was unloaded and my papers signed I went out and found a message on the Qualcom for all units to return to the nearest terminal, ASAP. It appeared as if everything was shutting down. For me that was Richmond where I had just left. Actually, there was a closer terminal in Baltimore but the message also indicated the Baltimore terminal was already overfilled.

Besides, the last thing I wanted to do was head north. I managed to get one telephone call through to my son to give him directions to a place our family could hide out in the Appalachian Mountains and told him where I hid the spare key to all my guns and ammo. His uncles would already have everyone else rounded up and on the way if it came to that but living with his mother he was out of the loop. I told him he could even bring his mother and I wouldn't kill her despite the fact that I despised her.

Thankfully it never came to that. I did not want to live in the same town with that woman again but it wouldn't be right to ask him to chose.

Late that same night I was instructed to deliver my second stop to Port Elizabeth, New Jersey where it would be warehoused until it could be transferred to Manhattan. Every rest area, weigh station, toll booth and service plaza between Richmond and Port Elizabeth presented me with Soldiers, Marines, National Guard, Police, Highway Patrol and law enforcement of every kind imaginable all armed to the teeth and not in a good mood.

I would endure months of this as I delivered almost exclusively from Richmond to points north. And it wasn't helping my PTSD not one damned bit. Because the airplanes were all grounded, traffic was a nightmare. People here in my hometown of Greensboro, North Carolina are absolutely clueless when it comes to what a bad traffic jam really is. When you've spent 16 hours on the Interstate without moving you'll finally understand.

On September 12, 2001, I stood in Port Elizabeth, New Jersey along with millions of other people and watched the smoke rise from where the Twin Towers once stood. Dispatch informed us via Qualcom that some of our drivers trapped in New York City had finally managed to get out. Others they couldn't locate, but that's not unusual in New York as the tall buildings often block the satellite feeds until the trucks move. Eventually all of our drivers got out.

On September 13, 2011, I delivered my third stop in  Somerset County, Pennsylvania. Things were somber to say the least. Then, in a nearby county I picked up a full trailer of bagged mulch and delivered it to a lawn and garden store in Arlington, Virginia.  Full circle.

A few days later, at a service plaza on the New Jersey Turn Pike, I saw and became a part of how insane and afraid America was becoming. A Sikh family was having dinner in the restaurant when a group of men accused them of being terrorists and started threatening them. When the Sikhs tried to leave they surrounded them.  I don't even know how it is that I knew what Sikhs are or how it is I knew they aren't Islamist but somehow I knew and so did several other men in the restaurant-- most of them truck drivers. Besides, there were children. We didn't know each other, we just kinda looked at what was going on and stepped in at the last minute stopping the fight long enough for the New Jersey Highway Patrol to take charge.

They were just sitting there eating dinner-- a man, his wife and his children-- and a group of strangers tried to attack them only to be saved by another group of strangers. In just a few days fear had taken control and our country had gone to hell. Right before my eyes, America had become the very thing we fear most.

I spent the better part of 28 years on the road. Come December 24, 2011, I went home for Christmas and never went back out. Will I go back out someday? Perhaps when there is no one I feel I need to take care of.

Sep 10, 2016

The Bullshit Song

If Money Grew On Trees
by Billy Jones

Daddy and I traveled and we saw quite a lot.
Saw people who had plenty and people who had not
but the damnedest thing I ever seen, the dumbest of them all
was a man selling bullshit at the downtown mall.

Daddy, he just looked at him, he wasn't quick to talk.
He looked at me and he said, "Son, you'd better take a walk."
Then he turned to face the man, that's when I heard him say,
"Maybe come tomorrow but I'll not buy today."

"If money grew on trees you'd pick it when it's green.
You're about the dumbest man that I have ever seen.
If it fell down to the ground you'd probably let it rot.
That's why some folks have plenty and others, they have not."

The man said, "Sir, I understand, now why you feel this way
but at least 200 people bought my bullshit today
and if you'll stop and thing a bit I'm sure you will agree
that I am not the one who's dumb, you're just to blind to see."

"If money grew on trees you'd pick it when it's green.
You're about the dumbest man, Sir, I have ever seen.
If it fell down to the ground you'd probably let it rot.
That's why some folks have plenty and others, they have not."

Daddy, he sells bullshit now, we're really doing well.
Momma, she just looks at him, she thinks he'll go to hell.
He just looks at her and laughs. I guess he's done it all.
He'll really selling cow shit, the bullshit's at the mall.

If money grew on trees you'd pick it when it's green.
You're about the dumbest folks that I have ever seen.
If it fell down to the ground I'm sure you'd let it rot.
That's why some folks have plenty and others, they have not.

If money grew on trees you'd pick it when it's green.

Can You Keep A Secret?

Words Never Spoken

Confessions, words you yearn to speak
but dare not utter loud
for fear you might be known
for deeds for you're not proud.
You cannot keep them hidden deep.
You must share your vignette.
So you craft your words so carefully,
post them to the Internet.

Sep 9, 2016

Is That Kirstie In The Alley?


Hey there, tough guy.
Looks like you lost your head,
slipped into a jealous rage
and fell out of the bed.
You showed your tail to everyone
'til you were sure you reached your end
took a walk, found your seat
and hung out with your friends.

The 3 Failings of Human Nature:

People hold dear anything anyone else tries to take away from them-- even if that thing is bad for them. We've all done it over something big or small. Hopefully yours was small.

Those that erase history are doomed to repeat it.

The world is full of people who are trying to effect change without taking human nature into account.

Anyway, those are my thoughts on the matter. You perhaps have your own.

Sonic Rules, Sonic Rues

Tots On A Roll?

"Get into the ring.
It's time for happy hour!"
The Sonic brought his Blaster.
It was he who held the power.
The Burger King stood trembling
and Ronald bowed to pray
as the tots came by on roller-skates
and hauled it all away!

Just when you thought it was safe to go back into the drive-thru the Fast Food War comes rolling through your town. Eat local, it's safer that way, no Burger Wars and silly robots to worry about.

California By Way Of Mardi Gras

It was a long time ago, 1979, I think. I rode a new Harley-Davidson to New Orleans, Louisiana intending to enjoy Mardi Gras for a few days before making my way to California and back. It was raining when I left Greensboro, North Carolina but I rode on.

I had no place to stay while I was in New Orleans (no rooms at the inn) so I slept chained to my motorcycle on the sidewalks. I got drunk but I didn't have much fun as it rained the whole time I was there.

I continued to Houston to the Greyhound Bus Terminal where I picked-up a package I'd sent to myself before I left home. Dry clothes, food, motor oil, snacks, money, and a bottle of George Dickle. I spent the night in a cheap motel, put my wet clothes in the box and shipped them home.

It had rained every day since I began my trip and was still raining when I left Houston. I hadn't been completely dry more than a few minutes in over a week. I decided to ride back to North Carolina and forget California.

It rained all the way home.1,200 miles, give or take a few.


Jeremy was pissed. It had been another long night of double shifts and he was just getting off work at four in the morning and fighting to stay awake for his two hour commute home.

Jeremy's life had always been pretty crappy. His truck driving, biker dad was almost never around when he was growing up and life only seemed to get worse from there on out. A big, clumsy guy who didn't do well with girls, Jeremy resented his father and his control freak mother. But with the economy being what it was, like so many young men, Jeremy was forced to to live with his mother and step-father.

Looking in his rear view mirror, Jeremy saw a single headlight coming up from behind him. Great, he thought to himself, probably some loser like my dad running out on his kid and seeing the world while the rest of us bust ass to try and contribute to this fucked up society.

"I hate fucking bikers!"

Jeremy hadn't planned what was about to happen next but he did it anyway. Just as the bike started to pass, Jeremy swerved hard left knocking the biker off the road, tumbling end over end into the ditch. "Scumbag!" he shouted as he sped away. "That'll teach you to run out on your kid!"

But something inside him wouldn't let him leave so he turned around and drove back, parked his car on the side of the road and walked to where the biker was laying face down in the ditch.

"Man, have I ever fucked up," he mumbled as he got closer. "I'll probably go to prison for this shit." He could see something made of chrome, a mirror bracket maybe, sticking out of the dude's back. "Shit, this dude's a goner..."

The man slowly rolled over to face Jeremy-- it was his dad. "Dad!" Jeremy shouted, "I didn't know! I didn't know it was you!" Suddenly, feelings he had suppressed for years came pouring out, he broke into a cold sweat, started trembling and felt as if he was going to puke his guts out. "Dad, don't move! I'll call an ambulance to get you to the hospital!"

"Jeremy," his father whispered, blood trickling from his mouth, "is that you, Jeremy?"

"Yeah, Dad, it's me. Lie still and don't talk. I'll call 911."

"Don't bother."

"But you'll die!"

"I'm going to die anyway," the old man groaned, "Soon. Now get the fuck out of here and don't tell anyone this happened."

"But I can't leave you here!" Jeremy cried. "I have to get you some help."

"Boy," his dad shouted. Jeremy could tell it hurt him to talk. "It's my own fucking fault you turned out like you did, I never taught you a damned thing.  I had this shit coming. Now do like I tell you and get the fuck out of here before they send you to life in prison."


"Don't you but me, Boy, do like I told you and don't tell no one what happened here. Go the fuck on. Ride!"

About 3 hours later his telephone began to ring. Jeremy picked up the phone and held it to his ear. "Jeremy," an old woman's voice asked, "is that you, honey?"

"Yes, Grandma, it's me."

"I hate to call you so early in the morning but I thought I should tell you that your Daddy died early this morning." Jeremy couldn't speak. "Jeremy, can you hear me, Honey?"

"Yes Ma'am," Jeremy answered.

"Are you okay, Honey?"

"I think so."

"Is your mother home?"

"Hold on," Jeremy answered, "I'll wake her up."

All of his dad's old biker buddies rode in the funeral procession... and cried-- a lot. Then one of them motioned to Jeremy to come talk to him. "You remember me?" the old biker asked.

"Ah, you're Moose, right?"

"Not too shabby being you haven't seen me since you were five."

"It's pretty hard to forget the name of the guy who burned down your house." Jeremy replied.

"About that house," Moose answered. "I'm really sorry. I've never smoked in bed since then. You know I was younger than you are now when that happened, right?"

"Yeah, I guess you were pretty young."

"Your dad and I and most of the bros all started out pretty young. The bikes gave us something to live for, something to do, something to believe in. Your mother was from a different world, she never understood just like most of the girls never understand. We were all fucked-up kids and we needed our bikes just to keep ourselves together. I know you probably don't understand but we couldn't help but be like we were. Your dad was so proud that you didn't turn out just like him, gettin' in trouble and stuff. But he always wanted you to ride."

Jeremy stared at Moose not knowing what to say.

Moose went on, "Listen, what I want to tell you is, your Grandma had his bike carried over to my shop where your dad was storing a bunch of old bikes and parts. He was always planning on fixing you up an old motorcycle of your own but he just ran out of time. 'Sides, you never seemed all that interested in riding so it didn't seem like a rush. Anyway, here's the address if you want the stuff and if you don't want it then I can sell it and give you the money. He collected a lot of really valuable junk over the years. Why his tools alone are probably worth 50K."

"Yeah," Jeremy said as he took the paper from Moose, "I'll look you up soon, okay."

A couple of weeks later, Jeremy drove to Moose's shop to see what might be there thinking he'd sell it all and move out of his mother's house. There wasn't any life insurance and his dad didn't leave him much money because he didn't have much money. The garage door was open when Jeremy pulled up to the shop so he walked inside where Moose and a few others were standing around a wrecked bike talking. "Was this Dad's bike?" Jeremy asked.

"That's the one he died on," Moose answered. "How you doing?"

"I'm okay," Jeremy answered. "Can it be fixed?"

"Oh yeah," Moose answered. "It was just banged up a little bit, looks a lot worse than it is. If not for that mirror sticking through his chest your daddy would have had it fixed and be riding it by now. Look here, let me show you something." Moose raised the seat from the wrecked bike and pulled out a sealed envelope with 'Jeremy' written across the front.

Jeremy opened the letter and silently read his father's last words, "Jeremy, If you're reading this, then what I've always known was going to happen, finally did happened. Promise me no one will ever know, take my bike and ride. Love -Dad"

Jeremy folded the letter and placed it in his pocket. Moose asked, "Have you decided what you want to do about your dad's stuff?"

"Sell it," Jeremy answered. "Except for his bike."

"What are you going to do with his bike?"

"Ride. Just ride."

Sep 8, 2016

Kelly Ann Page Nude On Page 3

That's right folks, another Billy's Page 3 Girls exclusive nude page 3 girl exposes herself to the world.

Famous for smearing food all over the topless body of Lindsay Freeman, Kelly Ann is shown here all tartared up with pure cream from a tin all the way from New York City. The Young Lady Chatterley's heavy duty maid was no doubt made to stand the test of time and is holding up well despite many years on the spice girl's shelf.

Sep 7, 2016

Keen Parking Meters Voice Their Opinion

We don't care who fills us up,
we want our bellies filled.
Suing folks for feeding us
is robbing from our till.
The courts should recognize us too
as we're the ones who suffer
as Keene, New Hampshire rakes in fines
we do without our supper.

And we're keen to their tricks...

Will the courts consider the plight of Keene's hungry parking meters or will they, like parking meters around the world, be left to die a slow and painful death? stay tuned to Parking Meter Poetry to learn their fate and the fate of parking meters everywhere. After all, parking meters are people too.

It Happened In Scottsdale

My most vivid memory of Scottsdale is trenching to install cable television in a brand new subdivision before any of the houses were even built-- nothing but brand new city streets going out through the desert for miles around.

To add to the strangeness our trencher hit a telephone line where we had been told by the telephone company, gas company and electric companies that we were the first to dig there and would hit nothing more than rocks.

Minutes later two Air Force F-16s came flying over us very low and very fast. The wind from the jets almost blew us down. Then they came back and started circling us.

A few minutes later helicopters came and real live soldiers with real machine guns jumped out and herded us up. Later Jeeps and cars with men with lots of stripes showed up.

The local Sheriff's deputies came too but the soldiers with machine guns kept them a few hundred yards away from us.

We were there for hours as they asked us lots of questions and checked us out. Finally they told us to load up all of our equipment and go back to our motel rooms.

When we got back to the motel we called the boss in Atlanta to tell him. He said he'd already heard all about it and would call us back to tell us when and where we would work next.

Being the truck driver I hauled the equipment to Texas.

They never told us what that telephone line was for but we all had a pretty good idea. And I promise you some Federal Contractor caught pure hell for not burying it so deep it would never be found.

Sep 6, 2016

Colonel Sanders Goes To The Beach

Have It Your Way

Colonel Sanders washed up on the beach,
"He was chicken," BK said,
"A victim of his own abuse,
Taco Supremes left him for dead.
Burritos wouldn't come for him,
claimed, no habla when he screamed.
And so it is, crispy white toast
is chicken of the sea."

What in the world of mixed up metaphors and jumbled jingles is this supposed to be? Has the Fast Food War claimed the life of Colonel Sanders.... again? Has the Taco Bell tolled its last toll for the old grey headed white dude pushing addictive, chemical laden, fatty birds on poor people and minorities in working class communities around the world? How many times can one old man die anyway?

And what about that reference to chicken of the sea? What's the king referring to there? Could that be the Whaler is about to make a comeback? Or was there a mermaid involved? Silly old white man, you know he's too old to go diving for mermaids. Serves him right.

Leave It To Beaver

When my son, Jason was about 11 years old we were canoeing on the New River when we saw what we thought was a bear sunning on a rock in the middle of the river. As were were still a considerable distance away I decided to allow him a closer view.

As we got closer I could see it was a beaver but it was the largest beaver I had ever seen. And it wasn't moving.

We paddled closer expecting the giant (and I do mean giant) beaver to scurry off into the water but it still didn't move. Obviously it was dead, we decided.

Jason wanted to get a closer look and not wanting to deny him as much nature as possible, I turned the canoe in the direction of the rock noticing the flies in the vicinity of the beaver. It was then I realized why the beaver was so huge.

As we paddled up to the rock I saw Jason reach out with his paddle as if to poke the dead beaver in its bloated belly, "I wouldn't do that if I were you," I warned.

"Why not," Jason asked just as he poked the beaver causing it to explode! Damn near turned the canoe over.

And I promise Jason never forgot the smell of exploding beaver.

Japanese Motorcycle Song

Tuning screws, adjust the valves,
a brand new tire to spin in style,
wind it up and go real fast,
dammit, I forgot the gas!
So I push a few more miles...

Motorcycles, Two By Two

oTo........................................Zoom, zoom, hear the roar......... motorcycles by the score... Two by two and one by one, racing past and having fun! .....oTo...... Where do they go, I can not say but they'll come back again some day..........oTo......... Zoom, zoom, hear the roar....................oTo.......

oTo........................................Zoom, zoom, hear the roar......... motorcycles by the score... Two by two and one by one, racing past and having fun! .....oTo...... Where do they go, I can not say but they'll come back again some day..........oTo......... Zoom, zoom, hear the roar....................oTo.......

Sep 2, 2016

A Cowboy's Ball And Chain

I don't remember who made the leg iron or who epoxied the eye bolt into that old bowling ball that had been laying around the clubhouse since the night some guy thought it was a soccer ball and tried to score a goal with a sideways kick, but it was really well made and the 16 pound bowling ball at the end of the chain made sure anyone wearing it would move very slowly... most of the time.

Bikers are known for being wild but why anyone would voluntarily put a leg iron with a bowling ball attached to 5 feet of hardened steel chain on his leg and secure it with a padlock is beyond me. But that was exactly what Cowboy did. Maybe it was because he was drinking-- a lot.

Whatever his reason I'm sure he never thought about what might happen next. Hell, I didn't think about what might happen next and I'm the one who tossed Cowboy's bowling ball down the stairs with him still attached. Bump, bump, bump, bump, bump, bump.... Wasn't anything slow about it except for Cowboy getting up from the ground when the bumping finally stopped.

Like I said, anyone wearing it would move very slowly... most of the time.

Everybody got a big laugh out of it. That is, everybody but Cowboy. But after the broken bones healed he laughed too. I always expected some sort of retaliation from him but he crashed his car into a telephone pole and splattered his brains all over Spring Garden St. before he ever got the chance to get back at me.

Guess the ball and chain wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him.


When your bike is down
and you're stuck all alone,
your buddies all riding,
your bros not at home.
The world catches up,
all the problems return.
All you once left behind
is now your concern.
Ain't much you can do.
Ain't much you can say.
Just hang in there bro
'til the wheels turn your way.

Then ride with the wind in your face and the sun at your back.

Sep 1, 2016

A Tale Of Two Eagles

 Two eagles meet at a winter retreat high in the Rocky Mountains.

Hector: "Bird, you look really bad, what happened to you?"

Dexter: "Oh, I flew into a mountain, that's all."

Hector: "Weren't you watching were you were flying?"

Dexter: "Most of the time."

Hector: "Wadda' you mean most of the time?"

Dexter: "My beak gets cold in the winter so I tucked my head under my wing to warm it up."

Hector: "All of us eagles get cold beaks-- why didn't you land?"

Dexter: "I did land."

Hector: "I mean before you crashed into the mountain, Bird brain!"

Photo credit: Eagle Totem

Why Common Sense Never Prevails

Her: "I hate it when I have to reach into a sink full of dirty dishes to find and wash one thing so I can finish cooking a meal."

Him: "Well don't put the dirty dishes in the sink until you're ready to wash them."

A few hours later...

Him: "Move over Rover, I'm sleeping with you again tonight. No, I don't know why she's angry. Now try and keep your fleas to yourself."

And so once again a perfectly common sense solution to a problem we all face is rejected and a man is forced to pay the price. Good luck, young men, the world is a hard place and you will no doubt pay the price for having been born with common sense. Me? I'm old, alone and just made sure I've no prospects.