get it while it's free

the (new) Behavioral Pit

shekky — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 04:15:59 GMT

i was playing with my podcasting gear today. i actually made a special podcast CD that's too secret to talk about now. and then there is a pair of silver discs in an envelope dated 14-3-08 that have sat on my desk waiting for me to get some serious gibberish over the internets from the Behavioral Pit...but something just kept me from doing it. jesus, i haven't sat behind a mic since march. http://shekky.podOmatic.com maybe it's time again. maybe saturday?

the mail-order love chicken

shekky — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 07:25:29 GMT

IT WAS AN EVENING dedicated to furthering my slow and painful healing process--picking away the edges of this awful bloody red patch of heartbreak scab i have left as a result of having my rope cut away while i was happily being dragged along the Highway of Love at a steady one hundred and ten miles an hour. the weekend had been dedicated to bad news, savage confrontations, mean spirited advice from well meaning and respected friends topped off by a fifty mile drive into the southern edge of northern california's ultra hippie kingdom at a place called "ectotopia" where i petted goats with tom bombadil and watched hippies shoot frogs between the eyes with bb guns. i generally hate big movie theatres nowadays and pretty much all of the spew that emanates from the slime covered maw of the cesspool called hollywood almost five hundred miles to the south of the Flying Buffalo Ranch--but my mind needed at least two hours rest from thinking about the woman (and her new boy toy) that have been the source of all of my tears, agony and rage for the past two months, so i reluctanty agreed to make thirty minute bus trip into the financial district to see the new movie about the life and work of hunter s thompson with my longtime friend josh. that's all well and good. i'm not going to tell any of you a damned thing about the movie except that i was very happy with it and have placed "gonzo" high on the list of movies that i would see again and maybe again after that. i'll accept the right offer from the right woman for a movie date in san francisco... speaking of movie dates, my tuesday evening on the town came to an end at yet another establishment i've learned to avoid during my twenty five long years here in Sodom of the North, mel's diner. now is not the time to go into the details of why the very idea of mel's makes me nauseous and angry, rather it is the conversation which ocurred in the booth behind us. i hardly noticed the man who looked like a jesuit priest in his mid fifties and the well dressed young woman eating with him except that he was talking in a particularly loud and slow voice. he was not particularly odd looking in any way and there was nothing about him that suggested that he might have been a practiced pedophile or a man so desperate for teenage sex that he would place an order for a teenage whore from thailand. as the annoying mel's diner moments wore on, however, i noticed that our grey haired neighbor began to explain to his dinner date in his best sunday school teacher/mister rogers voice that she was now in america, and this is how we do things here, and everything was going to be OK. the girl didn't do much other than giggle. interesting. this is about when josh began to notice the drift of mister "pimp" roger's conversation with the young woman whose face remained hidden from me throughout the entire conversation. josh later told me mister rogers told the girl he was going to have her for dessert. interesting. what sort of strange and twisted human interaction did i bear witness to this evening? being newly single, i find it haunting that if i was indeed watching and listening to what i thought i was listening and watching, that men just but a few years my senior lack the social skills from which the are able to find a suitable sex partner here in the united states, on his own. what the fuck was going on here? i didn't see her face during the entire time i sat there and choked down my freeze frozen beef patty but it as obvious to both josh and i that this raven haired foreigner was considerably younger than "pimp" rogers. has our man just returned from a vacation in southeast asia or central america and brought along a new chew toy for his hot dog to play with? did he arrange a meeting with her from some secret web page on the internets and pay for her one way air fare from rio? can lonely, desperate middle aged men just simply buy a young girl from any third world nation in the world nowadays and have her smuggled into california or even south central nebraska nowadays by simply clicking a mouse? one wonders. perhaps the carefully spaced and clear words spoken by the man sitting in the booth behind us with a female some years younger than he WERE the calming words of some respected clergyman fresh from a three year mission in some poverty stricken hamlet in mexico or cambodia, who knows. many pure hearted and generous individuals have dedicated their lives to improving the lives of young people who lacked the good fortune of being born in what still is the wealthiest empires on the face of this planet. but on the same token, many of those kind individuals have also been born with a penis that becomes somewhat elongated and stiff at the sight of some sixteen year old dark haired waif who barely understands two words of any language but their own and i'm thinking that my man "pimp" rogers having dinner tonight at the mel's diner on geary boulevard in san francisco is one of them. after all, "pimp" rogers planned on having the black haired girl wearing a blue blouse as an sweet, brown after dinner snack. he said so himself. somehow, for reasons i don't (and probably would refuse) to understand eavesdropping on this bizarre conversation has assisted my healing process. i'm sure the love scab will still sting wednesday and probably the next hundred days after that but watching and listening to a man take desperate measures to jam his throbbing fifty year old member into the near-watertight virgin flower of a confused immigrant child makes me feel a hell of a lot better about myself today.

DO THE RIGHT THING!

shekky — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 03:58:28 GMT

NOW JUST A FEW blogs ago, i spent a few minutes whining and simpering about the idiot in the neighborhood who has been fiddling with his (or her) leslie K5La locomotive horn. tonight, while i was pissing my useless time away here at the Flying Buffalo Ranch on the internets, i caught the unmistakable tone of that horn again, not to far off. what i was hearing over the relentless cold wind of san francisco was a rubbery, wavering imitation of what many people hear day after day on america's steel rails of commerce. this is all well and good but i must say this to the person who is saying goodbye to the sun each day with those five well-tuned chimes--get a bigger air compressor or something. if you are going to insist on teasing me with pissant diesel locomotive music, then make it sound like this... http://www.dieselairhorns.com/sounds/K5LA_CSX6154.mp3 or THIS... http://www.dieselairhorns.com/sounds/K5LA-LB5.mp3 when you play with your train horn in the middle of san francisco, it is IMPERATIVE to fool all of the hipsters, tree huggers, money grubbers and touchy-feely wannabes that there is actually a FREIGHT TRAIN roaring down the middle of fulton street at seventy five miles an hour. perhaps you could even invest in a set of really huge speakers driven by a powerful amp through which one might add the deep rumble of the three twelve to fourteen cylinder engines pushing a train past the university of san francisco as well. trust me, mister tinkerer, these sounds are readily available online too. thank you for listening. have a fantastic fucking evening.

ever ready

shekky — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 03:17:13 GMT

I'M NOT DOING much giggling and smiling nowadays despite everything my friends try to liven me up. living with and loving somebody for a long time and having the connection suddenly drop is not conducive to celebrations and mirth. this youtube video helped a good bit today, though and i hope that it makes all you folks roll on the fucking floors. be warned, however, that the images portrayed are NOT work safe by any means, so be careful! one more thing...this video is rated adult, so you might have to have a youtube account to watch it. if all else fails, do a search for "eveready". http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RAo9kA4MW00

FLYING BUFFALO MUTANTS

shekky — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 02:22:05 GMT

THIS IS A carrot from julia's garden here at the Flying Buffalo Ranch. i think they're all like this--the day before julia moved out, we had a salad with veggies from her miniature organic farm. i wonder what the potatoes will look like.

don't fucking play with me, goddammit

shekky — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 06:03:53 GMT

AS I SIT HERE about to go to bed, SOMEBODY not far from the Flying Buffalo Ranch is playing with their locomotive horns. now let me tell you folks--if anybody knows what a train sounds like, especially a freight train with older locomotives pulling it sounds like, it is ME...SHEKKY, motherfuckers and NOBODY ELSE! there is ONE freight train that rolls through san francisco on weekdays, during DAYLIGHT HOURS! so listen fuck-o...if you are going to play with your locomotive horn in the city of san francisco at eleven o clock at night, LET IT FUCKING RIP!! don't give me none of that half second tooty-toot bullshit, i want to hear a full on FRA regulation grade crossing two long one short one long blast here in Sodom of the North two hours after the sun has gone down. thank you and good night!

in re: Kamping on the Kalifornia Koast

shekky — Sat, 07 Jun 2008 01:48:21 GMT

PHOTO--red rock canyon state park, one of many places julia and i spent under the stars THIS MORNING was hard. even though julia might read this sometime over the next few days, i don't mind. the days are only passing by just a tiny bit faster and the scab is growing over maybe ever so smaller since she decided to leave. why i have decided to write about our breakup in a public forum that may or may not be read by at least ten people whom i hardly know in person escapes me, but write i must. when my mind is occupied with some sort of activity, the hours pass by a little more rapidly and the pain is forgotten. the NBA finals game yesterday was a huge help, especially since there was an element of suspense due to the injury suffered by the celtic's superstar small forward paul pierce early in the third quarter. julia did not mind the fact that i watched basketball--sometimes she would lounge on the couch with me and take in part of a game until she'd get bored and lose herself in the pixelated unreality of the internet or if not that, the second love of her life, which is sleep. a deep, sound sleep can be a wonderful pain reliever but unless the drugs the doctor has prescribed you are powerful, we always wake up feeling the pain in the same places--perhaps with the intensity cranked down a few notches as the healing process continues. one of the few times that julia would NOT sleep very late into the morning were during the eight camping trips we made (ten if you include two jaunts to black rock city) during the time we shared the living space at the Flying Buffalo Ranch. i was thinking about that today, and those thoughts triggered a memory of a blog julia and i wrote together shortly afterward that i would like to share with some of my newer friends here at tribe.net and thought that some of my older friends would enjoy reading again. here it is, from september, 2005..Kamping on the Kalifornia Koast... KAMPING ON THE KALIFORNIA KOAST DISCONCERTING TALES FROM KAMP NO Julia and i were in high spirits as we wound along pescadero road in the minivan, driving ten miles in from highway one to our destination at memorial county park. everything was going according to our hastily made plans, but we had moved at a very leisurely pace loading the van, buying our groceries and running critical last minute errands. blib blib and i soon paid the price for our laid-back attitude towards the weekend get away. sometimes life isn’t so bad, even though the world shoves its foot up your ass every now and so often. miss girlfren' turned the mommyvan off of pescadero road and up to the registration station, which was lit up like the entrance to a modern-day redwood stalag at around ten fifteen or so at night. when we informed the guard that nobody was already in the park waiting for us, he very, very politely informed us that new campers weren’t allowed into memorial park after ten pee em. "well sir, we just drove an hour from san francisco." "i'm sorry sir." "well do you know of anyplace else where we could go? i mean, we have a van packed with camping gear and just drove all the way from san francisco." "i don't know, sir. most of the campgrounds around here close the gates at ten. there might be a private campground about twelve miles down highway one, but i'm not sure." julia sat dumbstruck in the driver's seat, i bowed my head and covered my my eyes, not sure if what was happening to us was some sort of THC induced paranoid delusion. i immediately suggested driving another four hours to the boggs mountain demonstration forest , a free campground in lake county not too far from clear lake. julia reluctantly agreed, and turned the sienna westward onto pescadero road, towards the restless pacific ocean. (here, miss j takes over the writin.) And to the Pacific I steered that burgundy red van. When Pescadero Road finally wound its way down to the PCH, I looked left to the South, looked to right to the North, and then drove straight. Driving straight at this particular junction takes you to the last few feet of the continent. I stopped the van on the little patch of asphalt, threw her in park, and killed the engine. I sat. I sat and sighed. Goddammit. Goddammaffffuuuuuck. What the hell are you supposed to do at eleven at night with a van full of food, camping gear, bicycles, and firewood? I had my heart set on being situated in the coastal hills of San Mateo County for the weekend. Mike suggested pushing on into the night to Boggs. But that was hours away and nowhere near the ocean. We were supposed to spend Sunday on the beach. What fucking gorgeous salty beach is there at 4000 feet? But there was nowhere for us to set up camp that night anywhere near the beloved violent mar. Dammit. I got out of the van and stood at the edge of the bluff and stared at the waves breaking in the soft moonlight. As the tide receded, I could hear rocks on the beach tumbling in the fast moving water. I didn’t want to leave. Reluctantly, I climbed back into the driver’s seat, stomped on the gas, and headed north. We crossed the bay on the San Mateo Bridge and were tearing through Berkeley on the freeway when it started drizzling. Then it turned to rain. And that rain just kept coming down harder. Fuck. Setting up a tent in the rain at three in the morning was sounding less and less appealing. My mind was racing trying to figure out what on earth could be done to salvage the evening. I refused to go home. No no no. Not going home. I was determined to spend the weekend AWAY. But where the fuck could we go at what was now 12:15 in the morning? Finally I ixnayed all plans of camping and turned the minivan around yet again. South we went. Back across the bridge. Back down the peninsula. Back into the hills of San Mateo County. This time to my parents’ house in Los Trancos Woods. The house was empty because my parents were away. However, the driveway was occupied by a thirty foot RV housing the Smiths, friends of my parents and former residents of the Woods. They had spent the past fifteen months driving the perimeter of the country at a casual 55 mph in their crazy cool motor home. And now they were back in the Bay Area and housesitting for my parents. I quietly rolled into a parking spot on the street outside the house. It was now two in the morning and I didn’t want to bother the sleeping Smiths. I held Mike’s hand as we tiptoed through the dark in the crunchy fallen leaves covering the path to the front door. We made it inside and collapsed on the hard wobbly futon in what used to be my brother’s bedroom. It was in the old part of the house that had a thin roof. The rain had followed us south. We fell asleep listening to the pat pat pat of the water hitting the roof. We awoke late the next morning. I put on the coffee and turned on the computer. Time to check out the weather forecasts and figure out if there was any decent camping to be had that weekend. 41% chance of rain it said. What the hell does that mean, Mike wanted to know. Is it going to rain or not? The best and brightest of the meteorological field seemed to be saying, your guess is as good as mine. So we said fuck it and jumped back in the van and drove back over the hill to Memorial Park. It being a decent hour of the day, they ushered us right in and off to campsite B-19 we went. (mike b stops chomping popcorn and takes over) I’ve been camping at Memorial Park a number of times, with mixed bag of results. The walk-in campsites which are located about five miles from the main amusement-park style campground are a fair bet-it’s a beautiful hike though the redwoods to get at them, and the nights are somewhat quiet. Car camping at this county operated campground is another matter, as evidenced by the forests of signs, all prominently featuring the word “no”. NO cats, NO camping, NO gathering firewood, NO parking, NO dishwashing, breathing, thinking, eating, smiling, laughing or anything else. Julia carefully negotiated the tight roads of Memorial Park while screeching squads of pre adolescent rug rats raced through the campsites and their fat, ugly parents glared drunkenly and disapprovingly at us from their cheap, overburdened Wal-Mart lawn furniture. Good grief, I thought, we’d mistakenly wandered onto the sets of “Planet of the Apes”, “Deliverance” and “Shootout at the OK Corral” all at once. And we were paying twenty one dollars to take all of these friendly vibes and openness in. With the mommyvan parked and unloaded, Blib Blib and I proceeded to build a fire, and light up the charcoal for an early dinner. Since we’d planned on spending two nights under the redwood stars, Julia and I had packed two days of food and firewood into the sienna, and we had no intention of driving back to San Francisco with any of it, save the fifth of Old Grandad we’d purchased in Half Moon Bay. Campsite number B-19, or B-20, wherever we were supposed to be, would be lit up with a huge fire fueled by the contents of the scrap wood bin and two ten foot four by fours I had chop-sawed at our shop. Strange looking old folks walked right on through our campsite tacking purple ribbons on the trees while we grilled chicken breasts and corn for our four o clock lunch. Ranchero music blared at top volume from a campsite not far away. We were going to camp here two nights, I thought. We were going to spend forty two dollars listening to bad Mexican music and unleashed pre teens gone wild on processed sugar. I consoled myself by thinking about how Julia and I are together, and doing something interesting outside rather than sitting around in the Flying Buffalo Ranch geeking on video games and computers all day long. The chicken had been sitting in the marinade overnight and turned out very well. Julia and I let the fire in the fire pit burn low and moved the rest of our gear to what we though was the back section of our campsite. Then we rode our bikes around all the roads in the campground. Memorial Park is big and there’s a lot of campsites there, but it seemed to Blib Blib and I that about seventy percent of the campsites in the park were closed, and had not been used for quite some time. We pedaled our bright red aluminum fat tired racers in and out of campgrounds covered in what must have been a summer’s worth of fallen pine needles. Why, I wondered, did park management pack us into on or two campsites like sardines when this large expanse of campsites with fire pits and picnic tables was available? This question crossed my mind again when three adults leading some ten or twelve young children tromped by our tent playing some sort of game with the purple ribbons the weirdos had attached to the tree trunks a few hours earlier. I kept the pipe and our stash stuffed into the drink holder in my camp chair while our uninvited guests enjoyed whatever game it was they were playing. So this what America calls camping, my friends. The government allows the Land Rapers to chew up the wildlands and spit them out in the form of non renewable commodities, while undermanned and poorly financed government agencies pack us into crowded campgrounds like Memorial Park in the name of our “wilderness experience.” What is supposed to be a contemplative and energizing time spent in beautiful and untamed places is sullied by the sounds of booming radios, harsh drunken shouts and the high pitched squealing of undisciplined rug rats. Any semblance of our sense of personal responsibility to keep wild woodlands clear of human debris is dulled by the presence of garbage cans and dumpsters, and a full blown garbage truck even empties these receptacles every morning at ten o‘clock in Memorial Park. Even though San Mateo County provides daily trash and recyling collection in the campgrounds at memorial Park, I still saw a lot of beer bottles and paper garbage on the ground. Memorial Park and campgrounds of this ilk are sometimes everything distasteful about urban areas moved to the forests Never mind the Meathead Aspect of spending a few nights in a county or state operated campground, my Julia and I still very much enjoyed our stay in Memorial Park, and we might even return in the near future. Hopefully, there will be a good many less redneck families with children camping down in the redwoods in mid November, and we’ll get to experience the quiet and stillness of the redwood forest along the banks of Pescadero Creek during the middle of autumn in Northern California. Maybe we’ll even plan our trip so that we end up camping in that area during the week, to avoid the weekend crush of alcoholics and jabbering idiots whose idea of camping is yelling at the top of their lungs deep into the night, and letting their demon-spawn children run wild and unsupervised through the trees. We’ll then have another drive down the coast to Wilder Ranch near San Jose, where Julia and I will give riding the mountain bike trails there another try. After our ride, we’ll sit on a beach all by ourselves, like we did this past Sunday, watching the waves and scanning the sparkling Pacific Ocean for signs of sea otters in the kelp beds. We’ll get back in whatever vehicle avails itself to us at the time and drive back to Pescadero Beach and watch the sunset. Maybe the moon will rise in the east at almost the same moment the sun set in the west the same way the two heavenly bodies rose and sank beneath the horizons yesterday evening. By then, our spirits will be lifted and my lover and best friend in the world will be ready to make it another month or so before the urge to sleep in a tent under the stars hits us again.

the best news story of the day

shekky — Fri, 06 Jun 2008 19:52:54 GMT

MY FAVORITE PART is where the pot smoke in the cabin of the private jet was so thick the pilot had to wear an oxygen mask. http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/n/a/2008/06/05/financial/f093901D80.DTL i guess you could say that this guy puts snoop dog to shame.

pissing away five hours in the Behavioral Pit

shekky — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 04:19:57 GMT

PHOTO--the result of pissing a few days away behind the mic at RFBM LISTENING TO AN AIRCHECK here at the Flying Buffalo Ranch...alone. those angry days at pirate cat radio, giving twenty five dollars a month to that little ghoulish egotistical bastard, monkey. what the fuck ever led me to believe that i could bring the hormonal overdrive radio hate style from KUSF to RFBM and then to monkey's Little Kingdom of Darkness? what the fuck indeed. it was the woman, probably, that little sultry, sexy and smart as fifty tacks stuffed into a machine gun bullet smart woman that i lived with for three years. it's funny how love can inspire one to... fuck all that. there is no inspiration in my life today, she is gone off to pursue her version of happiness which i will only be a small part of if any part of at all. i will be left to my devices as to how to spend my time. listening to the wretched MP3 files of these two hour shows that went out over the airwaves in and near san francisco's mission district and via the internet will be one of them. there are boxes and boxes of my KUSF cassettes i could rummage through as well--i have nearly all of those tapes in rotting cardboard boxes stuffed away in the bedroom closet here at the Flying Buffalo Ranch, dated from 1992 to 1998. then there are more MP3 files, from radio free burning man during both 2005 and 2006 and twenty six recordings of the Pod O Matic Rattlesnake Train. maybe she will never forget that i put her behind the microphone for the first time. between the airchecks, the NBA finals and re reading a thick book chronicling the history of the eight air force, i should have enough artificial gibberish rattling around in my thick cranium to keep my pain and agony at bay until the lights flick off at night and the only sound here at the Behavioral Pit is that goddamned cold wind blowing through the dying and decrepit lemon tree next to the window. earlier today i got an email from mosbaugh telling me to turn the TV on. i never have liked much of the swill that the major television networks shit out for any reason but johnny's email struck a compelling tone if felt that i had to act on immediately. for some reason, obama reminds me of myself--more than likely the fact that barack is a half breed devil like myself who claims african ancestry and has set a joint between his lips and inhaled deeply. indeed, barack is a basketball fan and there is no doubt in my mind that he will take time off from the vicious and ugly reality of a presidential campaign to take in at least a few moments of the upcoming retro-style battle between the celtics and the lakers. god in heaven help us regardless of who is elected president of the united states of america. islamic fundamentalists will hate us the same as they have hated us for the past several generations and we will be fortunate if our economy has not begun to dive a little steeper and faster, like a B-24 whose rudders have been shot off by messerschmitts and both starboard engines feathered because of damage from anti nazi aircraft fire. our new president will always have seven big pails of two day old shit on his desk--with more being hauled in from all over the planet by meth crazed redneck long haul truckers wearing yellow sweat stained wife beaters every two hours whether his name is bob barker or fela kuti. who the fuck knows, maybe fela kuti or even james brown could rise from the dead and lead america into a new era of sex and drug fueled grooving prosperity. damn. imagine that. americans could probably save themselves the trouble of having zombies run the country by electing john mccain and bob dole as president and mumbling cripple sidekick...but that would be like letting the dead man in the co pilot's seat of the doomed heavy bomber take control anyway...a guaranteed maximum speed nose dive into bomb pocked enemy territory far beyond the reach of rescue by comrades in arms even if the rest of the crew survives the massive impact explosion. jesus. how's that for optimism? optimism and a cheery demeanor are not high on the list of my to-do list this evening. it is indeed difficult to get up out of bed every day when the sky is grey and ugly and the wind reminds me at each pedal stroke toward my workplace that winter time has not really left the bay area, nor will it ever. will the winter time that has frozen my heart ever finally give way to the warmth of new found (or rekindled) love? perhaps not, or perhaps so. regardless of what happens to my wounded and frozen heart, i know that i am fortunate to have kept on to all of these recordings of the days when i sat behind a microphone and spewed whatever thoughts were bouncing around in my mind out into space...decade old tapes and MP3's from The New Digital Age whose music will keep me company through the coming cold and lonely nights here at the Flying Buffalo Ranch. the scab will fall off, but the scar will always be there.

memorial day

shekky — Mon, 26 May 2008 14:36:42 GMT

for me it's not about those who gave their lives in the service of the united states government for any reason. today my memories are focused on lost love. it's just another day to sit at home alone wondering what went wrong and why. two weeks have passed since julia left me but the pain stills stabs at my heart as if she left yesterday. nothing is helping, bikes, movies, video games, sleep, hanging with friends, whatever. once these things are all finished, it is all back to loneliness, pain and tears. if you have somebody with you today that you love, take the time to hold that person close to you for an extra moment, hour or perhaps even the entire day. share the memories of the wonderful things that you and your partner have done together. be thankful that you have love in your life, that you have somebody who feels that you are special enough to hold on to for just an extra moment...or hour, or day and maybe even the rest of your lives. what have i done to deserve having the light of my life taken away from me?

the end

shekky — Tue, 20 May 2008 04:17:24 GMT

after almost three and a half years of living together, julia (aka blib blib) has suddenly decided to pull the plug on our relationship i have just experienced three and a half of the very best years of my life--followed by the worst ever week of my life. julia, i'm sorry you feel that you couldn't go on. i loved you and still love you with all of my heart.

the best song of the day

shekky — Thu, 01 May 2008 01:09:02 GMT

julia blib blib showed me this and we laughed our heads off... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ruef7aYCEbc nice, huh?

what i think of red china...

shekky — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 17:38:17 GMT

it looks good on a white tablecloth... my thanks to a co worker for sharing this joke with me. p.s...q: did you hear about the terrorist who tried to blow up a bus? a: he burned his lips on the tailpipe...

teach 'em early, teach 'em evil

shekky — Wed, 02 Apr 2008 04:30:03 GMT

so i hated some of my grammar school teachers for being mean 'ol piss pot prudes, but i never plotted with the other kids to bind her with duct tape and stab her with a BROKEN steak knife... http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080402/ap_on_re_us/children_s_plot http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,344369,00.html what are we doing to our children to turn them into such mean little fucks?

sex in christ

shekky — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 02:16:45 GMT

apparently, a christian threesome is OK if it's m-w-w. http://www.sexinchrist.com/threesome.html also in this link--"fisting and god's will". just thought you'd all like to know this...

golden green and aromatic

shekky — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 01:40:30 GMT

watch this video. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DSHZbd9L50M

the clique mob and the govenor

shekky — Sat, 15 Mar 2008 21:07:02 GMT

HERE'S SOMETHING i found while perusing my mountain bike forum... http://www.thescambaiter.com/forum/showthread.php?t=109&pp=25 enjoy it, i thought it was absolutely hilarious! here's a sample... **You probly know by now that I have not dead you yet. I will give you another try to send the anus computers tio us or I will have to do what I sad to you. My client said you fraud and I say you frauds and you take our money that make you to be a thief. If you do not send our money backj in forull or send us the anus you will not live too long. I gave my client your email address and you personal phone numbers so expect a call and I know that death in your city may not be a big thing so you will be found dead without anyone to know abiout it for some months. i have already contaced your govenor and he knows who you are now wilsion.**

the rattlesnake train 11 march 08

shekky — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 01:29:28 GMT

JESUS CRIPPLED CHRIST, it has been a long time since i've fired up the two CD players and sat down behind the mic and produced a podcast. the Flying Buffalo Ranch and the Behavioral Pit have been reconfigured since my last effort on the 9th of october 2007 but the results are still the same--about an hour and a half of piss and vinegar, indy pop, blues and whatever else i decide to add to the week's playlist. i hope you enjoy the music and commentary. http://shekky.podOmatic.com/ otis rush-so many roads, so many trains led zeppelin-nobody's fault but mine ayalew mesfin & black lion band-good aderegechen keith sheilds-hey gyp buit to spill-out of sight earth wind and fire-shining star my life with the thrill kill kult-starmartyr dr dre & snoop-deep cover stolen bikes ride faster-wear holes overwhelming colorfast-how it should be the rolemodels-every other her majesty the baby-nebulous honeyburn-sister brian jonestown massacre-deep in the devil's eye and you john coletrane-spiritual

Eliot Spitzer, You Rat Bastard Lying Fuckhole

shekky — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 22:09:18 GMT

ROOTING OUT CORRUPTION, huh? Forty three hundred dollar call girls? You living, breathing, piece of shit. Never believe ANY politician, ANYWHERE. http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080310/ap_on_re_us/spitzer_prostitution

being a sonafabitch on the mountain bike forum

shekky — Sat, 23 Feb 2008 04:37:36 GMT

IT'S JUST BECAUSE i'm stupid like that, goddammit...oh, here's a new link to keep you doubled over, too...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_5BP1hr-EYw http://forums.mtbr.com/forumdisplay.php?f=45 mtbr member Join Date: Feb 2008 Posts: 3 Bike Park management Hello If some of you speak a little french, you can go see my website: www.bikesolutions.fr We're two consultants dedicated on bike park development management. We already know how IMBA is relevent in this domain, suck as gravity logicians... in Whistler. But we're specialized in european context issues... hope it can help I would be glad to get back some of your impresses... I'm very intersted in the ways american's are working about this subjects..How does it work when a bunche of rider or a land manager wishes to built up a bike park (a little one or a big area)... Hope you can explain me a little Thanks!! www.bikesolutions.fr 2 Hours Ago #2 mikeb the half-breed devil Join Date: Jan 2004 Posts: 1,053 **How does it work when a bunche of rider or a land manager wishes to built up a bike park (a little one or a big area)... Hope you can explain me a little** usually there are week-long riots and rivers of blood. then the land gets developed into cheap, poorly constructed tract housing which often becomes vacant after five years or so when all of the lower middle class refugees from the city default on their mortgages. the street gangs and wild animals slowly take over the houses over the next few years but usually end up getting chased out by bounty hunters and drunk rednecks driving bubba trucks after that happens, there are more horrible riots and more rivers of blood. hope this helps. __________________ Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul Last edited by mikeb : 1 Minute Ago at 08:33 PM.

out on a limb for the dukies

shekky — Wed, 06 Feb 2008 06:35:58 GMT

THERE ARE FEW college basketball programs i despise more than duke university's blue devils, but hear me now while i take this time and space to predict a spot in the final four for mike shi-shesky's team. (i refuse to spell his eastern european surname) duke has consistently produced a men's basketball team that has found its way into the nations elite and this year seems to be no exception. a young team that lost many of its starters over the past season and began this season ranked in the middle fifteen of america's top twenty five college basketball teams is now 19-1 and ranked second in the country. i don't think any college basketball fan or sportswriter in the nation saw this coming. all i heard at the end of last year's season was UCLA, kansas, indiana and michigan state. most pundits and so called experts believed that 2008 would be a down year for the dukies. it's a long, tough season and the ACC plays an intense do or die tournament at the end of that grueling six month campaign, but mark my words. when all the turds have slid down the groaner, the blue dukies will be one of the last four teams standing in san antonio, i think.

old, cheap, lazy, mean and half stupid.

shekky — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 07:29:12 GMT

PHOTO-walking on the playa with my girl in 2006, one of my many wonderful life experiences i'm not going to write a new blog for my birthday this year. instead, i'm going to recycle an old one like the cheapjack half breed hillbilly asshole i am. we're going to big sur on my birthday anyway, blib blib and i, to go hide in a cabin, eat fire broiled steaks and walk through the green forest by the ocean in the soft central coast rain. this coming thursday, i'll be forty six rather than forty five. whoopty goddamned doo. savage reflections from a man whose legs are tired I'LL BE forty five years old in about forty five minutes, fuckers. the fact that i have somehow negotiated my way though almost a half century on this blue gassy ball umpteen zillion miles from the sun with some measure of sucess baffles me. i have driven a 1973 mercury monterey with three passengers over a five foot high fifteen foot long natural ramp crossing the N & W mainline between portsmouth and columbus at just over a hundred miles an hour. that's one of the things i did when i was young that still scares the hell out me-what if a coal train would have roared across the grade at fifty miles an hour or the landing ruptured the mecury's twenty six gallon fuel tank? that incident is one of the few times in the past forty four years and forty five minutes in which my life has passed before my eyes in an instant. i have raced mountain bikes up and down the state of california. i have snorted a four inch line of methamphetamine up my nose that kept me in a state of sleepless borderline psychosis for six days. i earned my eagle scout award while in troop seven in chillicothe, ohio. i was a brotherhood member in the order of the arrow maka ina lodge 350, for what that's worth. i dated a sixteen year old girl at the age of twenty five. jesus. that was TWENTY YEARS AGO, folks, back in the days where my body was able to withstand a pack and a half of rothmann's finest red label chokes a day while i stayed up until eight in the morning painstakingly typing and re typing an essay on gun control for my community college english class. i have found a wonderful woman whom i am able to live with and love, hopefully for a long, long time. i ran head on into a chain link fence while sledding down devil's hill when i was about ten, breaking up my glasses and slicing up my face like i'd been beaten with an electrical cord. i have sucked LSD and other dangerous chemicals into my bloodstream without giving a second thought to the possible long term effects, which hopefully will not manifest themselves in a big, ugly painful way sometime during the next few years. i have lived my childhood dream of being a radio host since 1993. speaking of my radio broadcasting background, i am still in possession of an FCC license allowing me to operate such and such class of radio station for the rest of my natural born life, so long as i do it legally. whoopty do. and now here i sit, fifteen minutes closer to the number forty five, whatever that means, whatever the very concept of time has in our lives, dividing up the light from the near infinite sun into something measurable, a commodity we can manage and control, a set of numbers whose end many fear. am i a minute, two days, fifty years from my own end, and what end might that be? working in a dockside warehouse filled with toxic black dirt won't be able to cut the mustard too much longer--peeling vinyl and switching out locks in fantasy furniture is not what i live to do day in and day out. maybe julia and i will finally roll all of these blogs into a book and make a hundred billion dollars. maybe miss blib blib will sew herself up a pair of soft, snazzy pants that every girl has got to have and we'll make a hundred billion dollars and move to the most remote, desolate corner of northeastern california we can find, the kind of place in which most of the roads are dirt and the moonless midnight sky is like black ink spotted with far away diamonds. maybe somebody who owns a million billion dollars is stoned enough to buy the gibberish i write for fifty thousand dollars a paragraph. who the fuck knows. as my old punk rock star buddy sean's band, the lucky stiffs say, "tommorrow won't be like today". heh. that's for fucking sure. tommorrow i'll be forty five instead of forty four. whoopty god damned do. Tue, January 30, 2007 - 11:55 PM — permalink - 13 comments - add a comment

black cats and big wheels

shekky — Fri, 18 Jan 2008 04:18:44 GMT

JESUS CHRIST IN HEAVEN, it's been a long time since i've settled down into my treasure-from-the-streets-of-san francisco executive's chair here at the Flying Buffalo Ranch and spouted off about nothing in particular. we have a new pennyslvania wildcat named bear-bear, but most of ya'll should be aware of that. this morning, bear bear jumped up onto the kitchen table and dragged a roll of paper towels down onto the floor, where he tore half of them to shreds in a few frenzied seconds of cat-terror. poor uncle cletus knows no peace. it's almost time to have bear bear's little black nuts freeze dried by a vet somewhere and then we'll let him roam the back yard at will. little does uncle cletus know that he'll have a sleek little curious black rocket following his every step out back in our little swath of urban jungle. another bike has rolled into the bike room at the Ranch--a new 2007 year model schwinn fastback CX, a cyclocross bike. for those of you who don't know what a cyclocross bike is or how they're used, i'm not going to take the time to explain that here. you have access to google on your computers, use it! as it is, the cross bike is far faster than either of my mountain bikes, and for good reason. the schwinn hits the scales at 24 pounds with the water bottle cage niterider battery and headlamp deployed whereas the lighter of the two mountain bikes weighs about 28 pounds in the same configuration. i can ride the road down into sausalito on into marin city and tennessee valley road to the miwok stables, take a break and then grind up and over fireroads in the marin headlands. riding down a fast fire road on a drop bar bike with skinny tires as compared to a flat riser bar mountain bike with fat tires AND suspension are two distinctly different things. if you know anything about bikes, tomorrow i'm changing the tires from the stock 30mm schwalbes to 35mm ritcheys. then, i'm going to go for a ride if time avails and after that, blib blib and i will be off to carmel for her mom's 60th birthday celbration. and no, there is no pod-o-matic style nonsense planned in the near future. new bikes, podcasting and blogging don't mix...

HAPPY NEW YEAR...

shekky — Tue, 01 Jan 2008 01:35:32 GMT

PHOTO-the sun sets for one last time behind the Flying Buffalo Ranch in 2007 from the behavioral pit, out back of the Flying Buffalo Ranch here in Sodom of the North, San Francisco...and the Center of All Evil in the Universe, the internet, the world wide web, www.tribe.net, www.podomatic.com! sorry to say it, but the rattlesnake train will not run again in 2007. keep your eyes and ears open though, i'm paying for a premium pod o matic membership! stay out of hospitals and jails will ya? ps--i'm listening to spliff skankin on radio free burning man 2005. me and blib blib have not written off a trip to black rock city in 2008 but we ARE toying with the idea of flying to alaska...we'll see.

merry fucking christmas and don't do this at home

shekky — Mon, 24 Dec 2007 18:38:59 GMT

this is a special link...i like it...it makes me laugh like the asshole i am...peace, love and glazed ham to each and every one of you, even the vegans and vegetarians...i mean, it's probably better for you to eat a slice of ham every now and then rather than hit a burning can of WD-40 with a stick now, isn't it? http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-3874058244391438463 try not to end up in the hospital or jail in 2008, OK goddamit?!? stay off the fucking train tracks. drive with the headlights on when its raining. don't step in dog shit. don't inhale noxious fumes. quit smoking those god damned cigarettes. brush your teeth. take a shower. wipe your ass. got all that? OK.