by "Buck"

August 13, 2005

I've been away from these updates for much too long.  I have a
terminal case of writer's block and can't seem to find anything that
would be remotely interesting to you folks who visit this site with
religious reverence several times a day.  Oh sure I'll drop in a
crack or two on the comments section at the end—it's almost become
embarrassing in that I can make half-assed commentary daily, but I
can't sit down and string several of those ridiculous notions onto a
plasma generated screen.  Why am I unable to cobble together a piece of humor that will help stifle somebody's urge to ram a piece of
re-bar into the eye of their co-worker for another 15-minutes?  It's
a question that I'm sure Hemingway dealt with daily---his answer was
to pound whiskey sours every ten minutes and pour out his misery on
paper.  I'm a little beyond that kind of help.  I know we're
all pissed and disappointed when Jeff Kay from time to time can't
managed to publicly display his dirty laundry in a timely manner.
Allow me to be the first to defend him.  This looks easy until you try
it.

I was in Pittsburgh a few weeks ago, that's pronounced Picks-burg if
you live there, and I wound up getting turned around in the Oakland
section.  This is that stereotypical bunghole of every big city.
There were crack whores tricking on every corner and all were willing
to do unspeakable things to unmentionable parts of my body.    I get
that a lot driving through Charleston on my way to work early in the
morning.  You can get a lot of "work" done here in Charleston for $20
and they let you have the full menu from the corner when you're
stopped for the light.  Pittsburgh must have a higher cost of low
living….an equal value there was $50, adjusted for inflation and
transportation costs I suppose.  However, I was most intrigued while
driving through this shitty section of city at a sign I spied on an
alley wall.  Written on the bricks in blaze orange spray paint was
the phrase. "BUY CRACK HERE."  Business is really getting
competitive when they have to resort to advertising.

Could somebody please explain to me what the fuck is the deal with the Indians?   I will admit that my ancestors and your ancestors did some pretty shitty things to their ancestors—but beyond that can't we bury the hatchet?   There's not a damn thing I can do about General Custer and his band of drunken hillbillies.  Now they're insisting on becoming the political correctness police.  The NCAA has issued its decree from on high that any team with a Native American nickname will be barred from post-season competition.  Some of the hoity toity Yankee schools have already done their sensitivity routine and changed it.  St. Johns, formerly the Redmen is now the Red Storm.  Miami University of Ohio was the Redskins—they're now the Red Hawks.

Pussies.  I say fuck the whole lot of 'em.  We're living in a time
when our country is at war—people I KNOW have been KILLED in combat.  There's a better than ever chance that my ass is going to be pureed when I get on a bus, train, or subway.  I'm trying to figure out how in the fuck to make enough money to afford gas to get to work to make enough money to afford gas to get to work to make enough money to afford gas…well you get the idea.  We've got some serious shit going on in our world today, but the one thing that seems to light everybody's fuse is a fear that we might cause the Indians or some other splinter group of our melting pot, some kind of offense.  Well, if that's the case…..I'm about as Mountaineer as they come—should the West Virginia Mountaineer offend me?  I've volunteered to do a number of things—should I be offended that my Alma Mater the University of Tennessee continues calling itself the Volunteers?  My dad raises cattle—should I be offended that the University of Texas exploits his product in the name of school spirit?  When I was in college we went to a cockfight—I'm now offended that the University of South Carolina's mascot reminds me of that dreadful event.  Where does it end?  What the hell is going on?  We are becoming a nation of rampant pussies who can't cope with ANYTHING.  I say it's time for the Indians and the rest of those who are scared to say or do anything that might be perceived as offensive to grow a set of nuggets, man-up, and GET THE FUCK OVER IT.

Before I get off the warpath on the Indian measure.  A few years ago Wal-Mart had visions of placing a store in Morgantown on some property near West Virginia University.   The Indians had a big pow-wow out there claiming it was a Native American burial ground and was sacred.  They were quoted in the newspaper as saying, "We will SOAK THE GROUND IN OUR OWN BLOOD to protect this land."  What the fuck?  Eventually they stirred up enough Wal-Mart hate, and that doesn't take much, that Wal-Mart said 'fuck-it" and found another site.  Okay—no big deal, except that exact same tract of land now has about 500-rental apartment units on it?  The Indians left town and didn't say a word about that proposal—which sailed on through to be championed by local yokels as great development.  It was all about having the power to screw somebody when they chose to exercise that power—it has noting to do with our ancestors or right and wrong.

I was thinking the other day about some of my favorite foods.  Oh
believe me, it's a long list my friends, but a few of them popped into my head as I went through the mental exercise of comparing how much I love them versus how horribly unhealthy they are.  I'm pretty sure at the top of the list is Penrose sausages.  My wife refers to them as beer sausages—which may be a West Virginia thing.  I know they are always in a ridiculously oversized jar in beer gardens and seem to go well as a beer garden ordure.  I can literally eat 100-of them at a sitting and crave more.  They are addictive as heroin.  However, I'm pretty sure if somebody wanted to they could have warning labels placed on the said jar and force the good folks at Penrose to issue a certificate for one free angioplasty with every sale.  I makes about as much sense as this NCAA/Indian mascot bullshit.

Don't know how many of you listen to Rush Limbaugh….he has a tendency to rub some the wrong way…but he's always on Senator Robert Byrd like a hound dog on a hambone.  He's also on the Guantanamo Bay story pretty heavy with his own line of Club Gitmoe t-shirts.  Somebody bought one and took their picture beside every Robert C. Byrd namesake in the state. Rush has posted them on his website….pretty funny whether you're a Rush fan or not…check it out.

Okay, I'm pretty much pissed off for the weekend now—I'm not sure why, but maybe I'll just go start a barroom brawl this evening to calm my nerves.  I'm overflowing with an uncontrollable rage today—I hate to write in such a mood, but damn it shit builds up.

Buck FUCKING Out

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