The Death of A Childhood Friendship

It's a rather ironic thing about friendships, especially the ones forged during our childhood. They can end at a moments notice and for a variety of reasons. It is at the same time sad, yet also inevitable. One childhood friendship of mine came to a sudden halt because of something as insignificant as a football.

I met Billy Glennon when we both attended St.Peters parochial school and the two of us immediately became friends. Then Billy and I discovered that we lived in the same neighborhood. We hung out at each others house and even joined the Cub Scouts together. Along with another friend of ours, Brad, and my brother Mike,we got involved the the sort of shenanigans kids are prone to do.

On one of our excursions, our party of four went to The Wilmington and Western Railroad station(an old time steam locomotive exhibit)where we discovered quarters, dimes and nickels that had fallen out of visitors pockets. Afterwards,as we greedily counted our bounty of coins, Billy was upset that we'd found more than he did. He thought this was unfair and so did we, so Brad, Mike and myself without hesitation gave Billy a portion of our money so that we'd all be even. After that minor tragedy was averted, our happy little group found it's way to a delicatessen where we indulged in chocolate covered cupcakes and bottles of soda.

Billy moved away about a year or so later because his fathers job required that the family relocate to another state. I didn't see him again for five years. When I did, our reunion would be less than joyous.

It was during my junior year, I found out that Billy would be a student at St. Marks and was slated to play on the football team as a quarterback. I was delighted because I'd be hanging out with my friend again. I couldn't wait to see him. One day,I was in the cafeteria when I saw him walking down the isle. I got up from my table and went over to greet him, my hand outstretched. Billy never even looked at me. He simply whisked past me; it was as if I wasn't even in the room. It both hurt and sucked at the same time. Why would my friend treat me as if I were a non person?

Wait a minute-I think I've got it- he was a hotshot high school jock, while I who was not athletically inclined was a nobody; someone to be ignored or ridiculed. You see, in high school there is a certain hierarchy that still exists today in these supposedly enlighten times. The jocks are regarded with awe,exalted to an almost god like status because they can f**k with a football or f**k with a basketball.Those who aren't athletes can either function as their hangers on or be considered as "outsiders". I sure as shit never wanted to be a "hanger on". How demeaning that would have been. I'd much rather be an "outsider" and keep my individuality.

When I was in high school the outsiders were called either "dicks" or the ever popular(with them,not us.)"sissy dinks". One time, when I was having lunch with some friends, we just happened to be sitting at a table one row over from where Billy and a group of fellow pig skinned brained pricks happened to be. They overheard our conversation and were groaning, rolling their eyes and making uncalled for comments. Naturally,we ignored their ignorant behavior. But if the same thing occurred today, I'd march right over to their table and tell them in no uncertain terms," Our conversation is none of your f***ing business. So f**k off, assholes."

I'd like to take a moment to mention that Billy had two sisters, Colleen and Sheila, who also attended St.Marks. Now,they had been students at St.Peters as well, but since they were two gawky, skinny little girls, both of them pretty much went unnoticed by me during those years. By the time they hit high school,both of them had developed quite nicely,thank you very much. They were referred to as the Glennon Babes by the male populace of St Marks because of their gorgeous faces and knockout bodies. I know for a fact that many a hormone charged teenage boy at my school had fantasy's about them. These girls could have easily had successful careers as models once out of high school. I'll go even further than that to proclaim that Colleen and Sheila could have perhaps gone on to pose as Playboy Centerfolds, much to the delight of the male alumni of St. Marks. Yes,they were that hot. A couple of years after graduating high school, I read in the newspaper about Colleens impending marriage and that she was studying to be a nurse. I thought her career choice was a terrible waste of a drop dead pretty face and a killer figure.

Anyhoo, Billy during the next two years of high school never once spoke to me. Our friendship was now a thing of the past. After a while I ceased to care because he became mind over matter. I didn't mind because he sure as hell didn't matter. And although I haven't seen him since St. Marks I still have not forgiven him. If I were to run into him somewhere, I wouldn't as much as give him the time of day. We're not friends anymore;the two years he ignored me in high school completely erased any friendship we ever had. There are definite do's and don'ts when it comes to friendship. And just because he could kick a football a f***ing mile was no reason for treating me so contemptuously. You don't do that to your friends.

An Apology Is In Order.

Since I started my blog back in February of 2006, I have endeavored to make it as entertaining and informative as possible. And although I have tried to check for spelling errors it had recently come to my attention that many of my posts are dotted with misspelled words. Let me apologize and let anyone who reads my blog know that this error is being remedied as I write this to you. I should have proof read my posts more thoroughly and for that I am very sorry. Although I do refer to my dictionary, there are those times I assume I've spelled a word correctly without double checking. As the saying goes: When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me(truer words have never been spoken).

What galls me is that I pride myself on being a professional writer. Sure, I haven't made any money on it as of yet,but I do put my best foot forward when it comes to my writing. However, sloppiness is a key factor here as well as an inattention to detail.

Now that I've found out where the spell check icon is, there should be no more misspelled words. Again, for those of you who have read my blog with any regularity please accept my apology.

My Misadventures In Romance:The Day Crazy Helene Kooked Out.

Let me step up to the plate and confess to you, when it has come to a few of my previous relationships with the fairer sex, there's been a time or two (maybe even three or four times as far as that goes) when I haven't used my best judgement. Loneliness, desperation, the need for affection have driven me to seek the company of women who were totally wrong for me. You know the drill, any port in a storm.

This can said about Helene. The best word I can use in describing her is psychotic. If I had employed rational, clear thinking instead of going with my heart, I could've avoided a whole world of insanity that I willingly endured in order to have a girlfriend.

We met when I was working as a telemarketer at a company called Dial Direct. From our first meeting there was an unmistakable chemistry between us. A a co-worker named Doug once warned me about becoming romantically involved at the work place. His advice was: Never meet your honey where you make your money. I turned a deaf ear and followed my heart instead. Considering the eventual outcome, I should've followed his advice to the letter.

The first thing about Helene that I considered rather off putting were her racist views. When ever she mention black people the N word was thrown about with disturbing regularity. One time, I mentioned that I like getting a little tan during the summer. Helene replied humorously, "Don't get too tan or I won't go out with you." But it was the way she said that remark which me feel as if she really meant it, all kidding aside. This alone should have set off an alarm in me to drop her like the proverbial hot potato and find someone else, but I just ignored it. My rationale was that just because Helene was a frothing at the mouth bigot was no reason to stop seeing her. You know, live and let live, to each his own ect, ect. Proof positive that loneliness really does make us throw our common sense right out the window.

Then on top of that were her outbursts. Little things she would say or do that made me question her sanity. At the time I didn't have a car, so Helene would drive me to work and back home. One day on our way to work Helene, for reasons unknown, appeared to be agitated about something. When I asked if anything was wrong, she simply brushed it off. Then, without any provocation Helene began talking about "goggle heads", how they should be put into a room and have their heads cut off. She shouted," F**k 'em all! Kill 'em!"

As you can imagine, I was shocked by this outburst. But the worst was yet to come. At one point, Helene fished a half smoked cigarette butt out of the ashtray, lit it and began puffing away nervously. Suddenly, she took the steering wheel and began zigzagging her car across the two lane highway before finally composing herself. Helene said she was sorry and the remainder of our trip was uneventful. But I don't mind telling you that I was unnerved, as well as being a little scared, by her unexplained psychotic behavior. This was one thrill ride I surely did not enjoy: Helene's Tunnel of Insanity.

Now at this juncture, most men would've run away from her screaming. You know, thanks for inviting me to share your insanity, but no thanks. Not me. I chose to view her actions as quirky and colorful. For some unfathomable reason I still wanted her as my girlfriend.

Then came the beginning of the end. It was the New Years Eve of 1994 and we had made plans to go out to a party that evening. While we were at work, Helene all of the sudden announced that her mother was in critical condition at the hospital. She said she was going to see her, so she had to cancel our New Years festivities. Naturally I understood, even though her manner was strange. The way she darted her eyes away from me and her nervous mannerisms as she talked made me suspect Helene wasn't being truthful with me.

When we saw each other the day after New Years I asked Helene how her mother was doing. She replied vaguely," She's okay, I guess." Wait a freaking minute!  Helene's mother was supposedly in the hospital practically at deaths door and she guess's her mother is "okay"? Something fishy was definitely going on. I didn't want to know the truth, so I never pressed the issue although in the back of my mind I felt Helene had been with someone else that evening.

It was on Valentine's Day, that special, romantic day, that Helene kicked me to the curb. She bluntly informed me that I wasn't good enough for her, but she still wanted to be friends. I was totally God smacked. I let her rampant racist comments go unchallenged. That day she had her manic episode during our drive to work I passed it off as a quirky occurrence. I willingly and charitably put up with her foibles yet Helene considered me to be beneath her? Unbelievable! From that day forward we co-existed at work amicably if distantly.

Helene eventually was fired. She had this annoying habit whenever a co-worker, especially a black co-worker, would tap or touch her on the shoulder to ask a question, of leaping out of her chair shrieking," Don't touch me! I don't anyone to touch me!" This lead to the people in the office to refer to Helene behind her back as "Crazy Helene" and "Crazy Girl" while I had the dubious distinction of being known as "Crazy Girl's Boyfriend". Cute, huh?

Anyway, following several repeated insane outbursts, Helene was called to the office to be told her services were no longer required. And although I was at lunch during this bit of day time drama, I was told that after Helene was fired she made a snide comment to the supervisor(an African-American) saying," I never liked working with you f**king niggers anyway." So with that parting salvo Helene was gone from Dial Direct. Way to go, Helene. Way to go.

Although I never saw her again after that day(and am I thankful), several years later I bumped into one of my co-workers, Alicia, who had an odd encounter with Helene. Alicia was selling real estate and Helene called her up out of the blue wanting to purchase a house with money her father had left to her in a trust fund.

Poor Alicia. She spent an entire afternoon showing Helene different houses that were for sale. After few days passed, Alicia contacted Helene inquiring if she was interested in any of the properties that had been shown to her. Helene said that she decided instead to buy a house directly from one of her friends rather than deal through a real estate agent. When Alicia, who was a seasoned real estate agent, advised her against this course of action, Helene replied vaguely," Oh, I know what I'm doing."

And that was that, until a day or two later when Helene called her back. But it wasn't real estate Helene was interested in. She wanted to know if Alicia wanted to go to a movie with her that evening. As you can imagine Alicia was livid; she spends an entire afternoon showing Helene prospective houses only to be blown off by her in the end and now she's inviting Alicia to the movies. Alicia's response was far from polite. But what can I say? That's Helene for you.

Sex Offender Faces Possible Lethal Injection.....Here's Hoping.

Hey people, check out the loser on the left. He's John Couey and this specimen of dogshit kidnapped, raped, then coldbloodedly murdered nine year old Jessica Lunsford in 2005. Couey entered the Lunsfords home through an unlocked door,abducted Jessica and took her to the trailer where he lived(ironically located literally meters away from the Lunsford home). After sexually molesting the girl,Couey stuffed Jessica body into two plastic garbage bags where she died from asphyxiation.

What boggles the mind is that fact that Couey, a convicted sex offender,slipped under the radar by not bothering to inform the authorities in the Florida town of Homosassa that he had moved into the area. According to his record, Couey was accused in 1978 of grabbing a girl in her bedroom, placing his hand over her mouth and kissing her. In 1991,this pervert was arrested on a charge of fondling a child. Sounds like an upstanding pillar of the community,huh?

Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but if I ever found out that this kind of morally bankrupt slime bag was infesting my neighborhood; I'd welcome the deviate by whapping him upside his sick, twisted head with a wooden baseball bat. It might not do him a whole hell of a lot of good, but I'd enjoy it immensely.

Circuit Judge Richard Howard will be the one who ultimately decides whether Couey gets a life sentence(also known as three hots and a cot for life) or the death penalty. With sentencing to begin next Tuesday, Couey's lawyer had a psychologist testify that he suffers from mental illness and metal retardation. Oh com'on now, you mean his lawyer couldn't come up with a more original defense than that? Why not play sentimental violin music as he attempts to muster up sympathy for his degenerate client?

Maybe the jury will be predominately comprised of the kind of people I refer to as the boo hoo hoo for the criminal crowd. Not only will they make sure that Crazy Couey will be comfortably ensconced in a cell for the remainder of his worthless life, they'll probably insist one of the guards put a mint on his pillow every morning. We can always hope the jury shows him the very same brand of mercy he showed his victim instead.

Couey, probably acting on his lawyer advice, is playing the part of the mentally unbalanced murderer to the hilt; he sways slightly in his chair while staring with a crazed expression for the benefit of the jury and the media. Hey Couey, you're not fooling anyone! This is your big moment to make the jury (whom you hope are criminally gullible) feel pity for you so that they'll hand you a life sentence, thus sparing your perverted ass death by lethal injection. Lethal injection? This piss poor excuse for a human being should be shoved up against a wall and without the benefit of a blindfold put to death by a firing squad. When an animal begins to attack humans, it's put to death. Well, Couey is no better than an animal and ought to be treated in much the the same fashion.

However, a positive accomplishment has come from this terrible tragedy : Jessica's father, Mark Lunsford, became an activist who lobbied for tougher laws which will monitor sex offenders more carefully. His efforts came to fruition when Florida lawmakers enacted "Jessica's Law mandating longer prison sentences and lifetime tracking via global positioning devices for sexual predators convicted of molesting children under age 12. This landmark ruling is the reason other states are introducing tougher legislation on sex offenders. Enacting such laws will certainly make it harder for child predators like Couey to corrupt and possibly end the lives of their potential victims.

Introducing Alexxus Young : The Next Queen of Hip Hop. Not!

Alexxus Young is among the many beautiful women in this world who believes that she is the next big star. I've met Alexxus(real name Chris) on a couple of occasions during my two year stint at the website Red Hot Planet and can honestly say except for her physical appearance, she didn't exactly make much of an impression on me. She came across as vain, self absorbed and very impressed with herself. I didn't particularly care for her type when I was younger and I find myself even less patient with women of her ilk at the age of 52.

Oh, she manages to earn a living doing local modeling jobs in Baltimore, but this rather narcissistic young lady considers herself a serious actress,despite never having taken an acting class and appearing in a handful in locally filmed, low budget movies. Some, which as I write this, remain in a state of cinematic limbo as they await a video distributor to release these micro budgeted, backyard epics to the public at large. But Alexxus ,with her feet firmly in the air, thinks of herself as a seasoned thespian who has mastered the craft of acting. Yeah. Sure. And I'm going to play guitar with Korn on their next world tour.

As far as her talent is concerned, I once heard Alexxus attempt an English accent and had to bite my tongue to keep from bluntly informing Little Miss No Talent that it was the worst sounding accent I've ever heard. Oh, she can't sing for shit,either. One time, I phoned editor Bill George and got his answering machine only to be treated to her tone deaf rendition of a Christmas song. For a moment,I thought a cow had wandered into Bill's office, turned on his answering machine and began mooing into it. Yes, she was that bad.

Alexxus(Chris) is another in a long, inexhaustible lines of wannabes. You know the type: I wannabe an actress. I wannabe a singer. I wannabe famous- it just goes on and on and on into infinity. Yet, she has nothing in which to back up her ambitions with. She's simply a beautiful woman without any real substance.

In yet another effort to showcase another of her talents(ahem!), Alexxus has recorded a hip hop single under the nom de plume of Mary Jane called (get a load of this) Pimpin' Aint EZ 4Shez. Alexxus is so immensely proud of this latest endevor she downloaded it on her website for her adoring fans to enjoy.

I listened out of curiosity and came to the immediate conclusion that it was fair to bursting with crappiness. Among the singles deficiencies(and oh boy are there plenty) : The song itself is by turns hackneyed, cliched and most importantly, ridiculous to the point of inducing snickers of derision from the real members of the hip hop community. Naturally, the f bomb is dropped gratuitously throughout.

Besides the grammatically incorrect title, Alexxus happens to be a white girl who hails from an affluent, middle class background. Her stab at musical fame as the first white queen of hip hop has a rather false ring to it. But from all appearances it seems that Alexxus is attempting to make a name for herself in the entertainment industry, despite having no apparent talent.

Hey Alexxus, here's an idea for you to mull over: find yourself a rich sugar daddy who will happily bankroll your various vanity projects. Oh,the critics will have a field day as they cheerfully roast and lambast your latest film, record or any other endeavor you try to foist upon an unsuspecting public as entertainment(remember Pia Zadora?). But on the other hand , you'll be in the public eye as the paparazzi snaps pictures of you incessantly. It's too bad that as far as the public is concerned, you'll never be considered a serious actress or a talented singer; instead you'll exist only as a celebrity content in having your little moment in the sun. And if truth be told, that's your ultimate goal, is it not?

I Hate Valentines Day! Arrrrgh!

The Cemetery Where My Love Life Resides Permanently.












That's right. I hate Valentines Day with every fiber of my five foot five being. If Cupid actually existed I'd hunt him down, chop him up with an axe, stick his corpse in a cast iron box, weld it shut, bury him twenty feet deep, then build a shopping mall  over top of his grave.

During this time of year love is in the air and poor schmucks like me have to stand on the outside looking in on couples who are so cute you wanna douse 'em with gasoline then light a match  as they bill and coo to the point of creating nausea.

As for me, I just survived a kind of semi-date where the woman whom I had taken a fancy to told me she wasn't interested in any type of relationship. She's the kind of women I've been meeting as of late. Wounded birds who, because of a  bad marriage or relationship that soured quicker than a quart of milk left out of the refrigerator on a ninety degree day, have no interest in romance. They want to be (okay guys, say it along with me)" just friends. "

Well, I don't want another friend. I want a girlfriend, a lover, a significant other. Don't give me second place. That's dead ass time. I want the big prize; nothing else is acceptable. I once told a woman who handed me that well worn phrase if she wanted a friend to go to the local A.S.P.C.A and get herself a Goddamn dog.

Hell, my luck is so shitty I asked a co-worker ,who is hardly the hottest babe on the beach to be honest about it, out on a date and was turned down quicker than a bad idea. I mean, everyone should have a positive self image. But this woman with bad skin and a less than curvy figure is overdoing it a tad, I do think. She's much too picky for her own good. As for her reason, I'd need a eight year degree in psychology to figure that out and even then I don't think I could come up with a definitive answer.

So this Valentines Day(like last year and the year before) I'll be all be my little lonesome enjoying heaping bowlfuls of my own bitter stew. I may just call off of work to sit home and sulk. I must admit I have mastered the art of sulking. In fact, I've elevated it to an art form. I'll already be in a crappy mood; seeing couples in love holding hands just might make my day that much more crappier and I need that like I need an ass full of hemorrhoids.

However, if by next year I do find that special lady to share my life with, I'll be too happily in love to do any beefing, griping, bitching or grousing. Hopefully, I'll be totally head over heels in love and will be boring you with the all of the sappy details. But the way my miserable excuse for luck is going I wouldn't place any bets on it.

Pop Culture Icon Anna Nicole Smith Dead At 39

Following her untimely demise at the age of 39, as the body of Anna Nicole Smith was undergoing an autopsy in the office of the Broward County Medical Examiner, the scene played out as if it belonged in a Fellini movie. A line of TV satellite trucks were positioned outside of the medical examiners office while reporters waited like a pack of ravenous wolves for any news that could be immediately transmitted back to the various news shows. But most people witnessing this prime example of the intense public interest in Smith's death, cast a jaundiced eye toward the bizarre proceedings. Jacques Gill,a 73 year old retiree from Quebec summed it up with the succinct comment," Well, that's America."

You're right on that count, Jacques. That most definitely is America. We love our celebrities. We love to cheer them on when they're on top, but we also get a thrill out of kicking them in the teeth when they're down. It's a modern day spin on the Roman gladiator spectacle with our beloved celebrities in the arena while we the public view their meteoric successes and plane crashing failures with equally voyeuristic fascination.

And so it was with Anna Nicole Smith. To be blunt, I never considered her an actress; she was mainly a celebrity. Although Smith aspired to be the "NEW" Marilyn Monroe, she only managed to achieve the dubious honor of being a pale imitation. You see, Marilyn Monroe could act(check out films like NIAGRA,BUS STOP or THE MISFITS and see for yourself) while Smith specialized in playing the sexy,ditsy blonde in every film she appeared in. And all you have to do is check out her skimpy film credits on IMDb to see how minuscule her career as an actress was. Smith's specialty was just being herself on The E Channel, which required no real acting chops. Her crowning achievement was The Anna Nicole Smith Show, playing herself naturally, which from the previews looked to be a real snoozefest. Unless of course,you're a fan of hers; then the show was an hour well spent.

When Smith first appeared on the landscape, she was lionized for her beautiful face and buxom figure; even after it was discovered her bustline was the result of silicone implants as opposed to Mother Nature as she claimed at the time. When she married 89 year old millionaire J. Howard Marshall, the under the hairdryer set licked their chops in salacious glee. There was a seemingly unending supply of fodder for the tabloid journalists,to be sure.

Then, Smith gained so much weight she resembled a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Float and people shook their heads in disbelief and muttered to themselves as they stood in line at the grocery store check out lane, " How could she let herself go like that?" After her association with Trim Spa and Smith lost all of the weight(and then some), her adoring fans gushed about how wonderful she looked.The public either adored her, envied her, reviled her or made her the object of their pity. It's all part and parcel of living in the glaring spotlight; the price one must pay to be a cultural icon.

Now, Anna Nicole Smith has died, leaving behind an infant daughter, Dannielynn, who will never get to know the kind of person her mother was except for Smith's public persona. Dannielynn will see her mother on The Howard Stern Show in a drugged stupor and slurring her words. She'll watch a music awards show where once again Smith appeared on stage doped up and almost incoherent. She'll thumb through many magazines to see her late mother's photographic image. But that's all Dannilynn will ever have. That and the reminiscences of family members.

In the end,Anna Nicole Smith left the world as an iconic legacy to be remembered for years to come.The actual person may have been clouded by prescription drugs, self indulgence, self destructive behavior, and an unabashed love of publicity. However, her pop culture stature remains intact. Smith's mortal self has shuffled off this mortal coil, but the image she presented to the world stands firm as a reminder of her existence.

Nothing To Be Ashamed Of.

So there I was, driving home with a load of groceries while listening to Rush Limbaugh. Now,just to reiterate (in case you haven't read my previous article about him) that although I do listen to him on occasion, I'm not a ditto head. There are several issues where he and I part company. But when it comes to issues like less government interference in our lives and less taxes, then that's where we are in complete agreement.

But what really stuck in my craw was when a female caller was telling him how ashamed she was because of her liberal political beliefs when she was younger. This woman went on to say that liberalism was "an evil"(or did she say "a sickness") and that's when my eyes rolled back into my head in exasperation.Which by the way is not the smartest thing to to while driving down a busy roadway(just wanted to throw that in there). I mean, she was practically begging Rush to forgive her for what she felt were the sins of her youth.

She chastised herself for being part of the late sixties/early seventies radical movement which advocated tearing down the old establishment and building a new form of leadership. Well hell, most of us in that particular age group witnessed the killing of political radicals and the brutalization of war protesters on TV every night and in the newspapers. We thought the older generation was out of touch(and let's face it,they really were),so it became instilled in our conciseness that a major change was in order. So we protested and became radicals intent on changing our society.

Was our generation simply a gaggle of self deluded, drug induced,long haired liberals? Not at all. And although there were those whom experimented with substances, a lot of us were merely young and idealistic. After all, it was clear to us that the so called adults were botching things up. Yet when our generation spoke up,we were told to keep quiet and fall in line with the status quo. We saw the older generation being happily complacent as long as their bellies were full and their material possessions were plentiful as they damned and blasted the drugged out hippie culture while freely imbibing alcoholic beverages from their well stocked liquor cabinets.

Seeing this hypocrisy, the radicals protested in order to be heard. We wanted our voices, our opinions to be listened to and taken seriously. In our youthful zeal, we felt that the old power structure needed to be dismantled so the cry of " Burn, Baby Burn" was chanted. As soon as our generation grew up, we learned this was a woefully impractical and destructive solution. But in our youth this seemed to be the only viable solution. We wanted wanted change and we wanted it immediately. The impetuousness of the younger generation.

I,however,have to take a minute and confess something to you; I wasn't an bonafide radical. I sat in the bleachers as the true radical protesters took to the streets and cheered them on. I never participated in a protest, carried a sign or put myself in the way of the police in order to get arrested. I was there on the sidelines giving the power sign and dressing the part. Oh,I talked the talk alright,but never walked the walk. I was a radical in name only,passionately espousing my political views from the safety of my home and the places where I hung out at.

And although I have gained more knowledge in the thirty some years since those days of revolution as well social evolution, I feel no shame, no remorse or self recrimination for my liberal, activist leanings. I was who I was during that period of time. As I learned more about politics and the world in general, my opinions changed. After all,if I think and feel the same way at 52 as I did at 18, then I haven't accrued very much in the way of knowledge during my lifetime; I haven't evolved as a person.

As I mentioned before ,the woman who was berating herself on Limbaughs show for her days as a former liberal said at one point during her on -the- air mea culpa that she considered liberalism either "a sickness" or " an evil"(To be honest,I can't remember which). Now lady, if you want to wear your finest hair shirt when looking back on your past, well then, party hearty. But liberalism is neither " a sickness" nor "an evil" but another point of view. If you or your self appointed,self anointed leader of the conservatives have zero tolerance for any other political views except your own then you are just as judgemental as the Democrats that look at the Republican party in the same negative vein.

As far as I'm concerned, I have never or will I ever look back on my idealistic, liberal days with self loathing or any sort of self recrimination.So Rush Limbaugh, if you expect me to become contrite and plead for your unwanted and unneeded forgiveness for the convictions I held in the past, don't hold your breath. It ain't gonna happen.

Hillary Clinton Wants To Be President. Is She Right For The Job?

When Hillary Clinton announced her bid for the much coveted 2008 presidential seat, there were no gasps of disbelief or declarations of " Whatta surprise!" from anyone. Unless of course, you've spent the better part of the last fifteen years holed up in a cave or have simply been glued to the boob tube rapturously watching soap operas,dimwitted talk shows and other light weight fare.

Ever since her husband Bill occupied the oval office back in 1993,she has none too secretly nursed similar political aspirations. And remember their joint proclamation, " You get two for one" meaning they would be jointly running the country? Well, if Hillary gets elected we'll have to endure another four years of Bill Clinton as the co-president. Now, for those of you who thought that President Clinton "walked on water"(and you know who you are), well, Hillary's ascension into the White House will seem like a Godsend. The two of them in tandem will once again weave their special Democratic magic. Which in turn means: higher taxes and more useless do gooder social programs. The average, hardworking taxpayer will again be viewed as the governments veritable piggy bank from which these said programs will be financed.

And to prove that some social programs never die ( they simply lie in wait until their eagerly anticipated resurrection), Hillary's much touted health care bill will be hauled out of moth balls, dusted off, then presented a second time to the American people 15 years later in hopes that this time her precious bill will sail effortlessly through Congress. Suffice to say,going into detail about what some political wags referred to as Hillary Health would take up far too much time here, so search Google for the skinny on this flawed plan that was touted as a panacea for our countries health care woes.

But like all liberal Democrats, feelings will be the order of the day. Remember when President Clinton told all of us that he "felt our pain"? Well, it's kinda hard for me to really take seriously how someone who wears expensive suits,confers with people of power and privilege and feasts on $500.00 a plate dinners can relate to the average, hard working taxpayer who shops at Value City,rubs elbows with his equally average friends and chows down at Ruby Tuesdays. Yet these rich,influential politicians can somehow "feel our pain". I doubt it. Or perhaps I'm being a tad too cynical? Nah,I was right the first time.

Please keep in mind, Hillary Clinton is cut from the same liberal cloth as her husband. To be honest about it, I really can't tell one from the other as far as political ideology is concerned;unless of course you compare libidos in which case Bill Clinton becomes the front runner in that race.

However,if you pine for the bygone days when William Jefferson Clinton ran the White House, then by all means vote for Hillary. Sure, your wallet will be a tad lighter from paying for all of Hillary's and the predominantly Democratic Congress's well meaning social programs, but you'll derive that warm n' buttery feeling from doing what's right for your fellow man. And in the end, aren't feelings what liberal politics are all about?

Kidnapper Cries " Not Guilty". Yeah. Right.

It never fails to amaze me that certain people have an incredible capacity for deluding themselves. Murderers on death row, for example, proclaim their innocence despite the cold, hard fact (i.e. Their finger prints found at the murder scene, their DNA found on the victim's corpse,ect,ect.) that prove otherwise. These nimrods spend countless hours attempting to vindicate themselves and enlist their bleeding heart lawyers to waste the courts valuable time to achieve this end. All in order to convince the rest of society(and themselves in the process) that the court system condemned the wrong man.

I know someone who is into substance abuse, or to be blunt about it : he's a coke head. This guy blames his mother and certain members of his mothers family(they were prone to alcoholism) for his addiction problems. He however, is an innocent victim. It's not his fault. I once said to him," Until you look in the mirror and say to yourself, 'It begins with me and it ends with me' you won't get any better." Well, my pearls of wisdom were totally wasted; I would've gotten more out of talking to an ashtray. He would much rather play the blame game than take responsibilities for his addiction; after all, that path is a much easier one to take.

Kidnapper Michael Devlin is deluding himself as well . Faced with charges of kidnapping two boys (one of them was held by him for four years) Mike told the press,and I can't believe the following words can out of his mouth, that life was good for him during this period. Good? Good for who? There is the possibility that sick, scumbag molested Shawn Hornbeck during that four year period. Especially with the statement that he ," was never really interested in romantic relationships", but wouldn't say if he was attracted to women.Which is very revealing if you ask me. Should evidence of molestation is proven, justice will be served if pervo boy is locked away in a jail cell for the rest of his shabby, sorry life. Or even better, letting the other inmates play a rousing game game of " kick the can" with Mikey as the can. Oh well, it was a thought.

The other victim, Ben Owenby, was only held captive for two weeks,which probably means that sicko Devlin didn't have much time in which to torment him. In the meantime, authorities in Lincoln County are looking into another missing boy case , that of 11 year old Charles"Arlin" Henderson who vanished in 1991. One detective called Devlin " the most viable lead " in the case. In other words, all the signs point in his direction.

Meanwhile,Devlin's attorneys, Michael Kielty and Ethan Corlija, have refused to return reporters phone calls seeking their comment on the case. Those poor schmucks are probably burning the midnight oil as they rack their collective brains coming up with a defense for their sicko mucho client . And while Devlin himself refuses to discuss anything about the case he did plead not guilty on Thursday to charges of kidnapping Ben, but has not entered a plea as of yet about the kidnapping of Shawn. Not guilty of kidnapping? Get a clue, Mikey! You forced him into your white pickup, you mentally defective asshole! That's kidnapping. He sure as hell didn't climb into your truck of his own free will. His lawyers, of course, will fall back on that old and trusted,yet effective defense: Devin is mentally ill and was not responsible for his actions. Horseshit!He and he alone is culpable for his heinous misdeeds and should be dealt with harshly by the court system.

Devlin stated that his own parents, who live near the prison where he resides in have not visited him since his arrest. Hey Mikey, don't tell me this comes as a great, big shock to you. You have to realize that having a son arrested for kidnapping two children and who is also accused of child molestation is not something most parents would take pride in. So ,I wouldn't expect them to strut proudly around their neighborhood announcing to one and all that their son is a kidnapper in jail. If anything, Mikey; you're a badge of shame, a black mark on your undeserving parents lives.You've disgraced yourself and them by your actions. And still, you plead Innocent of all charges. Unbelievable!

Devlin made a telling comment when he said in an interview," I'm not worried. It's inevitable.I will eventually have to deal with it. I haven't exactly done a great job of representing myself so far." No you haven't, Mikey. Not in the least. If anything, you've shown us you're your own worst enemy.

Why I Think That Lions Gate and Regent Releasing Are Cheap, Ungrateful Bastards.

When I left the website Red Hot Planet, it was due to not seeing one damn dime of the money promised to me, in addition my dealings with editor/former friend Bill George. It was a situation containing lots of hard work on my part, but few tangible rewards. As for that whole can 'o' worms, I'll open that up at another time. But for now I'd like to expound on how I worked hard promoting two horror movies and in return receiving squat for my endeavors.

When Bill asked me to interview all seven of the actresses for 2001 MANIACS I agreed because as is his habit, he writes checks with his mouth that his ass can't cash. I fell into Bill's special little world where promises reign supreme, but the follow through never actually happens.

The first disappointment occurred when Bill(the Bard of Baltimore) ruthlessly rewrote each and every one of my interview introductions without my consent.  There was a lot of shouting and name calling, let me tell you. His unwanted interference temporarily stopped after Bill showed (in his eyes) my piss poor hackwork to Red Hot Planets web master J.B and was told that there was nothing wrong with my style of writing. J.B then called Bill a control freak. It was quite a victory for me! But I can and never will take credit for any of the interviews; the words are not mine. It's a matter of integrity. A component Bill sadly lacks.

Now, when I met the films director Tim Sullivan, in addition to actresses Christa Campbell and Wendy Kremer at The Horror Mania Convention in 2005, I said nothing about how my interview introductions to my interviews them were rewritten because I didn't want to rock the boat, so to speak. I simply bit my tongue and accepted their compliments. Tim even went so far as to personally thank me for my hard work promoting his film. And although I never felt the introductions were really mine,since being entirely rewritten, it didn't reflect my writing style at all; their appreciation gave me that cozy, warm feeling one gets from the praise of others. Even if I didn't think I entirely deserved it in this instance.

And what did Lions Gate(the films releasing company) do for us in turn? Um, nothing. We didn't even get a copy of the DVD. Red Hot Planet had a readership of about 20,000 a month. We gave Lions Gate a whole shit load of publicity. Bill even promoted one of their lame ass releases called MONSTER MAN ( This little gem is about a group of teenagers being chased through the woods by a monster called F**k Face. I can say without reservation I won't be renting this turd fest from my local video store anytime soon.). We received no promotional DVD'S. No appreciation. No nothing. Instead of them saying "Thank you for what you've done for us.", Lions Gate's shitty attitude was," F**k you for what you haven't done for us." And Bill, because he's a gutless, ass kissing joke of a man, thought this is appropriate treatment. Well, I sure as hell don't!

At another Monster Mania Convention I met and interviewed producer/director Federico Sanchez who was promoting his film ETERNAL, as well as his sister, the lovely Victoria Sanchez who was one of the films stars. A week or two following the convention I contacted Federico about interviewing the films star Caroline Neron. For those of you scratching your heads and mumbling," Never heard of her.", Ms. Neron is a very big star in her native Canada. For me, this was a big coup!

Anyhoo, all three interviews were put up on the website for the enjoyment of our 20,000 readers. When ETERNAL was released on dvd, how do you think the films releasing company, Regent Releasing showed their appreciation? They didn't. As in the case of Lions Gate, we received no DVD, no thank you, no recognition at all. I got the none too subtle impression that both companies felt they were doing us a huge favor by letting us promote their films. Wrong, you cheapskate dicks! We did you the favor by giving your movies extensive coverage on the Red Hot Planet website. So, get your heads out of your collective asses, you miserly, pinch penny bastards!

Bill, as usual, simply shrugged and took it on the chin. As you can see, Bill George really is a grovelling,genuflecting little dick! I,on the other hand, refuse to be treated like a chump who is to be used and ignored . A little respect is in order here, guys. Also,a little gratitude would be nice. Not a lot mind you, but just enough to let me know my labors are appreciated. If it isn't in these video companies vocabulary to utter the words thank you, a free DVD will suffice.

Rosie O' Donnell Vs Donald Trump. Can't They Both Just Get Along?

You know, we as a society must lead mundane, ordinary lives. I mean, how else do you explain our endless fascination with the trivial, the nonsensical? As an example: something like The Rosie O'Donnell/Donald Trump Feud getting a truck load of media attention as John Q. Public(and let's not forget Joan Q. Public. That would be unfair to the ladies.) focuses it's complete attention to their on going war.

This shameful,shallow drama began unfolding when Trump(who owns the pageant) forgave Miss USA , Tara Connor after she indulged in a an evening of drinking despite being underage . On that night, Ms. Connor proceeded to paint the town red and Miss USA Pageant officials in turn ended up seeing red after her late night revelries made the front page news. There was a hue and cry to wrest the crown from Ms. Connor's head for her blatant disregard of the pageants rules, but Trump intervened and made the decision not to discipline little Ms. Party Animal.

Rosie O' Donnell fired the opening salvo on The View by calling Trump "a snake oil salesman" and from that point the fight began. Trump responded with a nasty,vitriolic verbal assault claiming he could steal her girlfriend, Keli. After that, Rosie brought her girlfriend Kelli on The View saying," I was afraid to leave her at home in case someone with a comb-over came and stole her from me."

Since then, we've been treated to their constant non stop petty bickering. Oh,The Views studio audience ooh's and ah's whenever O'Donnell opens up her over sized mouth and once again verbally lashes out at Trump who in turn spits out another volley of bellicose verbiage. An endless cycle if ever there was one.

To her credit, Barbara Walters , a friend Trump, has tried to calm the waters between the two opponents but to no avail, their cat fight rages on. And we love it. It's as if everyone can't get enough of Trump and O'Donnells very public battle. If we can't see it on Inside Edition, there's always Talk Soup, the internet or the various entertainment periodicals available at our local magazine stores.

Sooner or later John and Joan Q. Public will grow tired and gravitate their limited attention span to something or someone else. You know, the next new thing. I know in my case, I've grown weary of the name calling, the exchanges of hostilities in the eyes of the media. Hell,I've grown tired of the whole mess(or is bored the word I'm looking for?).

In any event, Trump and O'Donnell should shake hands, let by gones be by gones and go their separate ways. Besides there's always another pair of celebrity combatants just waiting in the wings for their moment in the spotlight. And all of us(to our discredit) wait breathlessly so that we can watch the drama unfold before us.