I wrote this poem a couple days ago while me, Gigi and my parents took a cruise on the Columbia and Snake Rivers through various sections of Oregon, Washington and Idaho. Beautiful scenery and fascinating history. If you wish to fully comprehend the poem, visit my website.
I wish to convey, some critical information
To all the citizens, of this once great nation
The mode of delivery, will be poetry and rhyme
About multiple disasters, that transpire in real time
Our First Amendment rights, offer excellent reach
For a writer and activist, with a commitment to preach
The subject is dangerous, but I cannot resist
It's all about a word, that doesn't currently exist
An act of pure evil, an incomprehensible deed
A cascade of terror, I've termed it... dominipede
I personally have issues, with government accountability
their moral standards, when it comes to discernible inevitablity
Certain people have knowledge, they're not willing to relate
Instead of divulging, they'd prefer just to wait
On second thought, this might not be entirely true
Because at the heart of it all, lies a catch 22
For if you decide, to acknowledge and speak
Your chances for reelection, become incredibly weak
So silence becomes, a predictable norm
Rather than confronting, the inevitable storm
An untouchable issue, a test for humanity
Designed to play off, our collective insanity
Like a gun without bullets, something completely unique
It's impossible to fathom, the havoc one could reek
The NFL would provide, the best choice for a venue
Calling, hacking, spoofing, texting... just ingredients on a menu
The obvious choices, the places I fear most
Are in the South, Midwest and all over the East Coast
The most likely cities, the more inviting targets
Are the lesser known teams, in the much smaller markets
The people impacted, random victims of fate
their passion for football, and the 1 o' clock slate
Feel free to add another, to this supplemental attack
Encompassing INDY Racing fans, or even a NASCAR track
Social media, would play a likely role
with Twitter and Facebook, exacting their toll
Synthetic terror, minds of throngs sharply penetrated
Resulting in bodily crushes, that are artificially generated
An evident saturation, of alerts gone viral
Tripping, falling, stomping... as it all starts to spiral
Widespread panic, quickly taking its toll
In multiple locations, there would be no control
Assaults depending heavily, on timing and information
Coupled with herding instincts and a fear of predation
A reliance on ignorance, and a populace adrift
New tactics in combat, a permanent shift
Now consider the progression, of malicious intent
The stakes are too high, so I will never relent
For everyone has these weapons, we call them cell phones
And they can be just as deadly... as bombs, guns or drones
The questions of who, how, why... when and where
Will become part of the conspiracy, and we're already there
The pieces of the puzzle, I have a hunch how they'll fit
But the most troublesome aspect, is that we were all in on it
It's frustrating to know, that as hard as I try
It was simply one big hoax, it was the ultimate lie
For it could be only one, wishing to settle a score
That ushered in this new era, of generational war
Thursday, September 19, 2013
This morning I saw a road sign at the Elm Grove intersection of Rt. 88 and National Road. It was for a "rock concert" that happened about a month ago.
I was taken aback for roughly 3 seconds. In all honesty, I almost blacked out. After I came to my senses, I turned into the nearby Glo-Tone Parking lot and snagged the sign. It was as if my hands and feet were being controlled by some kind of "dark presence." This "evil under-lord" wanted me to resurrect the sign and plant it in my front yard.
So Saf, why didn't you go to the big Kip Winger show at Penetrations? Could you give me one good reason? I mean, are you crazy or something? Aren't you always complaining that there's "nothing to do in Wheeling?" How could you miss this end of summer, blow out blast?
Hey, not only was this show termed "The Triumphant Return of Kip Winger to the Ohio Valley," it was also billed as "300 Days til Next Jambo" and "WVNCC Nursing Students - We Welcome You With Open, Flabby Arms." And not only that, they'll be running a wing special. Buy 20 wings and get a free pitcher of tepid Bud Light with glasses piping hot (right out of the dishwasher). While all that does sound promising, I just didn't take the bait.
Still, you're asking - "Saffy, Why didn't you hit the show?"
I can actually hear the voices circling in my head, "You're an idiot - The whole gang was there."
There's only one way to explain away all this cynicism.
It's called another Top 10 list.
Top 10 Reasons I Didn't Get Winged in the Swing Club
10. Am I the only person who can't stand these melodramatic acoustic renditions of bad 80's glam
metal? Seventeen, Headed for a Heartbreak, etc. What's the world coming to? This is the kind of intolerable shit that makes me give Miley Cyrus a second look, or twerk, if you will.
9. I just don't like seeing street sign advertisements for Generations. Billboards too for that matter. First off, it's called the Swing Club. Always is and always will be. But the thought of the senior Duplaga standing out in front of the old Bernie Glenn's appliance store, trying to pilfer $3.00 for parking. Well, that's just too much of a cross to bear. Even for an atheist Jew.
8. Just the mere fact that this sign was "manufactured" is a troubling precedent. The sign itself is evidence. That's right. Evidence that there are more of them out there, lurking in the nooks and crannies of Ohio County. Just as you're rounding some bend out near West Lib or Roney's Point... E-GAD! WINGER IS BACK! For the love of Christ, it's enough to give you a panic attack and drive off a cliff. However, at least your death would be an honorable one. You died for a great cause - you died for the sins of Kip Winger.
7. What is it about the Ohio Valley? This same phenomenon happens every time some crappy band or has-been performer comes in for a show at Wheeling Island. Everyone in the area instantly becomes a dues paying member of their fan club. It could be Steppenwolf. It could be Foghat. Or it could be some off-celebrity like Michael Jackson's physician or the recently acquitted Roger Zimmerman. Wheeling just seems to have this weird knack for being an "off-kilterred stomping ground."
6. ADDITION: WINGER + S = WINGERS
That's right. Add that "S" and you instantly have some of the worst political pundits and facebook prognosticators - the hardcore, religious right wingers and the lunatic, zany left wingers.
5. SUBTRACTION: WINGER - ER = WING
I propose an addendum to the list of the 7 deadly sins. When you stumble upon the definition of "gluttony" there should be a list of all the different types of wings. Honey butter garlic, grecian parmesan, ragin cajun, etc. Lest ye forget the greatest wing paradox of all-time... "HOT RANCH!" Say it like ya mean it!
4. I have issues with anybody who calls themselves "Kip." His real name is Charles Frederick Winger. Kip is a self-assigned nickname. And it's not even close. At least "Rick" and "Ricky" have parts of "Eric." It's much like if I were to call myself "Flash" or "Zilch" or "Jewbag."
3. It signals a return of the super teased-up hair. Get out the 'ol high school yearbook.
This opportunity comes only a few times a year. It's a god-blessing for the local 3-time divorcees with 4 kids by 6 different baby daddy. Hire that babysitter and head out for a night on the town. Or better yet, bring the fam!
There are other times you'll see the regionally saturated hair tease. It's not just a Winger concert. There's the Wheeling Park Retro-Dance. Or maybe if Vance Church holds a candlelight vigil for the late Different Strokes star Dana Plato. Ohh... the world was her oyster. Why did she have to leave us?
Hey, some of us actually enjoy the "contented-Puritan" look. It's as close as I'll ever get to Sugarcreek, Ohio (Amish paradise) or for that matter, the I-77 Zoar/ Bolivar exit.
2. When you see the sign - it signals the show. And that means one thing and one thing only. That this will be either the greatest night or absolute worst night of everyone's collective lives. There will be no middle ground. Kip Winger is the embodiment of the full moon. Relationships will suddenly bite the dust. New romances will be kindled. The endless rounds of Jagerbombs, the late night fine dining at Sheetz gas station and of course, a steady slate of DUI arrests. And of course, there's the domestic violence angle after the show's over. It's almost like a Miller Lite commercial - great taste, less filling. Yeah... right. More like a woman yelling at her husband, "Kip's hot! You're not!" Might as well dial 911.
1. Finally, you know it's bad when you're the butt of Beavis and Butthead jokes. In this case, a picture speaks a thousand words. We call it getting "Butted in the Butthead."
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
I can't believe it. I totally forgot that the world's wealthiest con-artist is returning to Pittsburgh. Yep... it's Pastor Benny. And he'll be hosting his routine services at the David L. Lawrence Convention Center. Three of them. One of them is an "anointing" service on Thursday morning. The other two are "miracle healing" services on Wednesday and Thursday. What's the difference you ask? I have no fucking idea whatsoever. Just please don't ask him to cure anything that's visual in nature. He only does the internal stuff. Cancer is always a winner. Unless it's skin cancer, of course (due to the visual detectability issues).
Anyhoo, and I say this with the greatest lament... I will be UNABLE TO ATTEND. You're all probably thinking - poor Saffy. Wasn't he the guy who wanted to stage a modern day "tar and feathering" of this asshole? Then, if that didn't pan out, wasn't he the one who wanted to disrupt the service with some kind of ill-conceived flash mob, air horn protest? And wasn't he the asshole who staged the Mell-Hinn Arena protest that ended up being the lead story on all Pittsburgh news stations back in 2003?
The last time Benny Hinn was scheduled to appear (in 2011), I broke new boundaries that literally boggle the imagination. It was my intention to team up with the Chrisagis Brothers and hold our own "miracle healing puppet show" outside Soldiers and Sailors Hall. This had youtube written all over it, but the minister-schmuck canceled at the last minute. I've always hoped that someone from the Benny Hinn security apparatus stumbled across my blog and alerted him to the possibility of an attack. Yeah... right.
But like I was saying, I won't be in town. So here's the new plan. I'm going to try and pass a "virtual torch." Yep, that's right. I'm asking anyone who happens to read this blog entry (which is probably around 20 people) to step up their game. It's time for you, the reader, to enter the fray and git'r'dun.
As we all know, our miraculous savior is well known for his bleach-white, exorbitantly-priced Italian suits.
So how about this time, we pelt the fucker with all the colors of the gay pride rainbow?
Sounds like a plan. And here's how we're gonna do it.
The Palace of Gold in neighboring Marshall County held its annual "Festival of Colors" just last Saturday.
Rather than getting "barraged" with "organic" chalk dust, I chose to hit the Pitt-New Mexico game/Queens of the Stone Age concert, but that's another story.
There's actually some amusing amateur footage on youtube. I refuse to post anything other than the official video. It's mostly just a bunch of weirdos, smoking grass and gobbling crick-shrooms. Others consume complimentary vegan gruel served via unsanitary cement buckets. But rest assured, all in attendance will engage in the requisite song and dance. All will spread love. And some will spread their legs in a futile attempt to stem the declining Krishna population. But I digress.
So here's my idea. Head up to the Krishna Palace asap. The best way is to come in the back exit (properly referred to as an Uncle-Dunkle sneak attack). Ask around and find out who's in charge. It's likely a distant relative or child abuse victim of the currently incarcerated Swami Bhaktipada. If they ask for your credentials, tell them you're friends with Mary Joan. That should suffice.
Phase 1: Now it's time to gather up all the left over angel dust, chalky-dye, baking soda shit.
Phase 2: Drive up to Pittsburgh. Do not stop at Primanti's. Do not bitch about the Steelers 0-2 start. Do not gripe about Mayor Ravenstahl feeling up a stripper. Head directly to the Burgh.
When entering the convention center, try to be discreet. His security is top of the line. They even use ex-FBI agents. Let's just say he employs better security than Maury Povich and his goofy lap dog Dave Vitalli with that cranial hair-clump.
Depending on the size and experience of your team, here's my idea. You can either target Hinn exclusively or storm the stage "Braveheart Bezerker" style. Either way, let those colors reign down upon that douchebag! And don't forget to record and post it accordingly on youtube. A stunt like this would have SERIOUS viral potential.
Afterward, as you're being arrested and arraigned, don't forget to scream, "I'm innocent! It was all Saf's idea. That's right. The devil made me do it. He's called sonofsaf. Read his blog."
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Yesterday was quite the Saturday. Gigi was working til 3pm so I decided to hit up her friend's tailgate at Heinz Field. I stormed up to Pittsburgh around 11am. Parked on the cusp of the crack district and walked down to Lot 1. Her friends (Scott and Sue) along with a few other cars have one of the strongest parking spots for Pitt home games. About a 12 second walk to Gate B.
As expected, brunch was served. I had servings of two different quiches and something they call a "rat-tail."
The actual product looks much more tantalizing. It's a link of hot sausage, wrapped in a hot pepper, then wrapped in bacon. Even though I've never consumed "vermin appendage," I imagine it tasted better as well (texture related issues).
Three highlights from the game:
* It took me about 4 minutes to score a free ticket. And it was a club seat. So I spent the 1st quarter in the shaded 200 section along the 40 yard line.
* I zipped over to the other side and watched a 40 yard, spectacular end zone catch as the first half expired.
* I stole a ream of large garbage bags under the watchful eye of a young man with an EVENT STAFF t-shirt. Did he care? Nope. I thought he would say something, but he just purposely looked the other way. He didn't give a damn.
Enter Phase 2:
So Gigi and I zipped down the hill to the annual Millvale Days street fair. We were immediately confronted by a miniature pro-wrestling ring in the middle of a blocked off intersection. Seriously, they had this outdoor set-up in the middle of the fucking street. A crowd of about 200 onlookers watched 2 overweight masked men trading turns choking each other. When the villain had the upper-hand, he would yell at the crowd and tell them they sucked. The kids would heckle back, "You suck, Assassin."
This independent wrestling organization is based out of downtown Pittsburgh. It's known as the K.S.W.A. (Keystone State Wrestling Alliance). At first, it appeared a little "rag-tag" in nature, but then you start to explore the professionalism of the refs, the toned-down stunts/choreography, the interaction with the crowd, not to mention the dedication of the ring announcer... plus, hey it was free. Not too shabby.
I thought the crowd should heckle based on townships. Pittsburgh has all these little boroughs and distinct communities. Why not exploit the existing high school football rivalries or socioeconomic discrepancies? "Go back to Lawrencville!" or maybe "Assassin is a phony! He's not one of us! He lives in Crafton."
As we left to check out the other attractions, an 11-year-old kid looked at me and yelled "High-Five!" Not to be a party pooper, I extended my hand outward and the punk bastard slapped it as hard as he could. Seriously, this kid really went for broke. My hand stung for about 2 minutes. I reflected on it and figured it was a misguided act of retribution for the stolen trash bags. He was likely mimicking his violent heroes in the ring.
So we "milled around Millvale" for a little bit, taking in the sights and sounds. This little community, although trapped in some kind of low-income, bizzaro, mid-80's time warp, is actually pretty bad ass. It's hard to explain. Let's just say Millvale has a certain character that defies both description and explanation. I think they should rename Millvale Days... Millin' 'round Millvale.
Lots of eclectic booths, a mix of bars and churches, volleyball and musicians, street peddlers, a low-end farmer's market, etc. Last time we were there, a man accosted us - he tried to give us a free "nutritional replacement bar." He stammered, "We're trying to get a foothold in the community!" Gigi and I just looked at each other in awe as he delivered this aggressive, disjointed sales pitch. I'm still not sure what he was trying to do - either sell us a timeshare in Millvale or get us interested in some kind of granola bar selling pyramid scheme.
On our way back, the studio wrestling was coming to a close. There was an 8-man, old-school, over-the-top-rope battle royal. I was little worried because the ring was exceptionally small and the outside of the ring was straight asphalt (not very forgiving). Anyway, they introduced the first contestant. A mysterious entity emerged from the back of a U-Haul in a nearby alley...
Okay. Now when I was a kid, I used to worship pro wrestlers. I knew them all. The angry Russians, the cowardly sheiks, the scientific lame-o's... trust me, I get it. But honestly, what the fuck is that??? Turns out it was "SUPER GINGER!" I was totally overcome with emotion. I'd never even conceived of a character like this. The closest comparison I can recall was "Doink the Clown." There was George "The Animal" Steele, but the K.T.S.A. doesn't have enough in its coffers to properly finance edible turnbuckles.
Super Ginger really lived up to the hype. Whether or not he had soul is debatable.. His mannerisms really encapsulated the authentic ginger spirit. Very quixotic and skittish. I think he took his cue from a South Park episode where Cartman is transformed into a fake ginger and must adapt.
And onto phase 3:
We zipped down to the North Shore. There was a sold-out Pirates vs. Cubs game so traffic was kind of a mess. I reluctantly parked next to a meter that said "No parking on stadium event days." I thought about the earlier Pitt game at the stadium. Although it had ended 4 hours earlier, I was a little nervous. What if they fuck me? Then I thought, what if the Pixburgh parking enforcement goon-thugs claim that the "ballpark" is a "stadium?" Having been previously sodomized by a "unmarked, low-curb, church-zone" $120.00 parking ticket during a 2011 Ravens/Steelers game, let's just say I try to exercise an ample degree of discretion.
It took us about 20 minutes, but we scored 2 free Queens of the Stone Age tickets. Huzzah! Both came from obedient concert-goers standing in line. One was from a large, oafish dude. The other from a pleasant, nerdy high school kid. I think the younger kid was afraid that if he tried to sell the ticket, he might get arrested by the cops. Big brother at its finest. The slightest risk of any infraction for any perceived criminality... Way to go Janet Napolitano! Thanks for keeping us all safe during your 6 year reign of pseudo-terror, swabbing kid's wheelchairs and fondling granny groins. Now go enjoy your stint as the overlord of UCLA. You deserve it!
I'd been looking forward to this show all summer. I'm a big fan of QOTSA. If you've never heard of them, they're the musical equivalent of a heavier version of the Foo Fighters. But a little more spacey and erratic.
We went into the fray for the opening. I didn't check the set list, but I've downloaded a bunch of boots from 2013, so I knew they come out heavy. The early strobe lights had Gigi immediately back off.
This concert was way too loud. It had this piercing effect. We had our modified ear-plugs in (paper towel). This made it manageable. I started to realize something. I like about only 1/2 their material. And I really can't stand the other half. So I just skip through it at will. But if you're at the concert, you have to take the good with the bad. It made the whole experience kind of exhausting. Like I said, these guys are consummate professionals. But there's just too many Radiohead-esque interruptions and extended intros and outros. They have this unique heavy-hippie vibe, but sometimes, it's just too excessive and overbearing.
Suddenly, a tiny bunny rabbit skipped by us. This critter was terrified as it made its way into the metallic throng.
I hate to sound like a pessimist, but it was likely stomped to death. The closest analogy would be if I, a self-hating atheist Jew, journeyed to the Hajj seeking inner peace... and was trampled to death in a Muslim-o-rama, Mecca-licious stampede. This rabbit would likely would have fared better if it were hunted by former 2012 Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney. After all, he was a self-described "lifelong hunter" of "small game, varmints and such."
Another concert in the books. And a free fireworks display (SkyBlast) during the concert. Although it was partially obstructed by the North Shore building that houses the Jerome Bettis Grill. Here's the set list:
Monday, September 02, 2013
Normally, I wouldn't post these types of shock value videos. I figure they probably get enough coverage in the "twisted-bloggosphere." But this one is just too strong, too brutally honest, too mighty. And its coming shortly off the heels of the Mileage Cyrus twerking meltdown. And in the face of the current low-wage fast food employee crisis.
Simply stated, this one deserves greater recognition. On Labor Day, I proudly giveth thee "Toledo McRampage." If you can't devote the precious minute and a half, you have no soul.
Alright, I thought about doing a Top 10 Reasons Why I Support the McNugget Rampage Woman, but it would be too much info. Impossible to fit on a t-shirt. And while I do think this deranged woman deserves our collective embrace, I'll just settle for a Top 10 "observations." Strictly for reference purposes, this list is no particular order. I write them as I go.
10. Let's start it out with a Bob Weir wang dang doodle. When the woman (I'm going to refer to her as McMeth - not to be confused with the Shakespeare character Macbeth). As I was saying, when McMeth growls, "Don't make me assume my ultimate form!" Okay, I'm not completely naive. I knew this had to be stolen from somewhere. Turns out that it's from some 1980's/90's Asian cartoon character called Dragonballz or something. Kinda sad. Because there was this little part of me that wanted it to be an original. Like I said. I'm a cynical realist. Sometimes you gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em.
9. In the latter stages of the video, some employee tries to ascertain the reason for her hostile disposition. In the background he asks, "What's going on? Did she get burnt by an apple pie or something?" Strong move on that dude's part. He's obviously an astute observer of cognitive dissonance. This woman must be hurt. Is it a physical wound from the scalding apple pie? Or is it an emotional wound from the lack of McSustenance? I'd like to hear more from this guy. It's been rumored that after she peeled out, he asked, "Did she have a salon perm, or was that an Ogilvy Home perm?"
8. The woman screams another zany line, "I'm gonna eat your fucking face off and digest it." Yep... that pretty much speaks for itself. Does anyone remember that naked Miami dude who was "high on bath salts" and ate most of his buddy's face off? They labeled him the Causeway Cannibal. For this chick, I prefer McMeth (her real name is Melodie Dushane). For the mainstream press, maybe go with "The Toledo Terror."
Anyway, just for reference purposes - here's a pic of the Miami Zombie.
And here's a pic of the the edible homeless guy (pre-app)...
7. "Unless your speaking McNuggets into my hands..."
This is where her comments take on an almost biblical persona. God communicates with her directly through the anticipatory 6-Piece McNug. It's as if that oozing pink slime forms some kind of intestinally-inspired esophageal flap. McMeth should have growled, "Do not covet thy McNuggets!" or even better... "Thou shalt not covet thy McNuggets." Command that shit.
Just an aside - We have no way of knowing if she wanted a 6 piece, 12 piece or the 20 piece box extravaganza. If it was the oft-neglected 9-piece, I believe this may indicate "satanic leanings, or if you will, demonic inklings."
6. Early on, she calls the employee a "fat meatbag." This reminded me of an ill-fated venture I had at the Wendy's in Elm Grove. I zipped in the drive thru from the main drag (rather than circling the building). Anyway, this woman behind me felt like I cut her off. She stuck her head out the window and yelled at the top of her lungs. He wants a "faggotburger" This shit happened 3 years ago, but the memory is still as painful as it is vivid. Feels like yesterday.
5. Is it me or does the state of Ohio just seem to have a monopoly on these weird issues with deranged junkies, parents who imprison their children in cages, lots of non-consensual sex acts with various mammals (man on dog, man on chicken, man on goat, etc.) and misc. dungeon-held sex-slaves? Incessant incest, as well.
I always thought this problem was indigenous to the Northeast quadrant (Cleveland, Akron, Youngstown, etc.). But it seems to be migrating in an easterly direction. Maybe it has something to do with paving improvements on I-80. I do not know.
4. I must be showing my age (43). Until now, I've always thought of McDonald's villains in this passe, cartoonish, non-threatening kinda way . Grimace, Hamburglar... Well, I'm not sure Grimace was evil. In fact, he seemed both corpulent AND loveable. Hamburglar though... he was a little sinister (kind of like a diminutive Bashar Al-Assad). Maybe even more like his father, Hafez Al-Assad. But McMeth has set a new standard. I know, I know... the genocide, the chemical weapons... what about the sarin gas? Trust me: McMeth has raised the bar. She has set a new standard. A great man (Mike Tomlin) once said, "The standard is the standard."
By the way, someone on the comedy circuit needs to call Al-Assad... All-Ass Hole. Back in 2001, they interviewed this one Belmont County dude on WTOV-9. they asked him what his thoughts were on Osama Bin Laden. He replied, "That guy's a real asshole!" They bleeped it out. But you could easily discern that he said "asshole."
3. Time has come for a REVERSE - Fire in the Hole! Having originated in nearby Beaver County, PA, these videos clips are particularly poignant.
Yeah bitches! An ultimate reversal (similar to the foosball move "ultimate rebuttal" and to a lesser extent, "szechaun." Instead of soda (we call it pop) or soft ice cream cones, let us have all McDonald's employees submit a daily, "collective" urine sample. Located next to the take out-window at all times, if customers go wolfman bezerker... well, then they get a retaliatory, drenching golden shower.
2. Alright, here's the numero uno question, at least as I see things. Why in name of Allah did they edit in that additional cat-hissing noise? Her mouth isn't even open during the second deluge. Yeah... it's a nice effect, but it really undermines the credibility. Total fugazi. Some will even claim the whole thing was staged (no fuckin' way in hell). This could raise a quandary for future internet historians. And we all hold one truth to be self evident... ain't nobody got time for that!
1. So what exactly is the takeaway from all this shit? What have we learned from this rich tapestry, the unfolding "frantic fabric" of that which is McMeth?
Well, I'm still at a loss. As an act of complete desperation, perhaps the Wheeling PD could offer up their detective skills. Maybe form some kind of Wheeling-Toledo "crime corridor" task force? When they make the trek to collaborate, stick 'em all on the Wheeling Nailers bus. That way, the taxpayers save a little $ (very tea party/Sarah Palin inspired). Speaking of Sarah, I named my new cat after her!
I give you.... Palin.