Gary Johnson Campaign Slogan

GARY JOHNSON (L):

THE LESSER OF 3 EVILS

Most people would look at this bumper sticker's conceptual design ^^^ and have absolutely no idea what the fuck I'm talking about.  But as the 2016 election approaches, I have a hunch that could change.

Gary Johnson is the former Republican Governor of New Mexico.  As a registered Democrat in the state of West Virginia, I voted for him in the 2012 general election.  I figured that Mitt Romney was a lock in WV.  So what the hell, why not support the future of a credible third party?  We're the state where Obama almost lost to a convicted felon named Keith Judd in the 2012 primary.  At the time, Judd (the hillbilly version of the uni-bomber) was languishing in federal prison in the great state of Texas.  He actually won a handful of WV counties and secured about 40% of the vote.  Is he related to the country music mother-daughter duo?  I doubt it.  Hey, it's Western Virginia, go figure! 

I'm not too big on bumper stickers.  With one exception --- the anti-SAF on my old Outback, of course.

However, I do find this one amusing.

As a student of propaganda, misdirection and disinformation, maybe I just enjoy taking a curve ball approach to humanity... and the future.

That's why I like my tongue-in-cheek "lesser of 3 evils" slogan.  Not only does it have that classic tinge of self-deprecation, it also has this underlying sarcasm which I think would appeal to wiser voters who feel disenfranchised.  But most important, it's a great marketing teaser.  Because it raises the most obvious question --- who the hell is this guy?  And why would he refer to himself as "minimally evil?"  Then, you do a little research.  Then, the word of mouth gets going.  It's merely a ploy.  That's how it begins.

Gary Johnson???  He's a routine competitor in those triathlon, iron man competitions.  He founded a prominent construction company.  Has written several books about politics and government.  The guy fucking climbed Mount Everest, K-2 and all these other mountains.  Sounds a little more health conscious than Trump and a little more physically fit than Hillary.  This could be a valuable inroad --- portraying Hillary as an old bitty with a fat ass and Donald as your agitated, pissed off ginger uncle.

With Hillary and Trump repeatedly super-punching each other in the breasts and balls, it gives Johnson a legitimate opportunity to make some waves.  Although I seriously doubt his ability to contend, I honestly do believe he can have an impact.  Kingmaker... not likely.  But he could play a significant role in determining the outcome.  Seriously, what's the difference?  Just ego.  History occasionally respects strategy as opposed to money and power.  Not often, but sometimes.

It's doubtful he'll end up on the debate stage as his low polling numbers will give the networks a semi-credible out.  I'd say use that your advantage.  Rail against the media for not allowing a third, alternative perspective.  And then you can push your slogan --- The Lesser of Three Evils.

Just an aside.  Rather than the established (D) or (R), the Libertarian Party foolishly uses the moniker (LP).  Here's a straightforward suggestion.  If you want to legitimately compete in the 2016 race, or any other future political race, drop the letter "P"... in perpetuity.  You shouldn't have to tell people that your candidate hails from an actual political party.  It's a beacon of weakness and a stagnant reminder.  Same thing for the Constitution Party, Green Party, etc.

This slogan "the lesser of three evils" changes the conversation.  It instantaneously alters preconceived notions because it redefines the narrative.  Oh, there's a third choice.  You know something, I honestly forgot there was another major candidate.  Hey, if Clinton or Trump don't get their act together...

And here's a mind-blowing stat.  Depending on which poll you believe, Johnson is currently garnering anywhere from 4% to 11% of the popular vote.  Conjecture is that as things heat up between Trump/Clinton, most people will pick one or the other.  Because they won't want to waste their vote.  I disagree.  Both have ridiculously high negatives.  And so many people are dissatisfied with the 2 party death grip on the system.  As the barrage of negative campaigning rolls on, a few voters will be searching for a credible alternative.  And by the way, he'll be on the general election ballot in all 50 states.

Johnson's other positions --- generally is opposed to military intervention, wants to abolish the nonsensical war on drugs and stop the mindless incarceration, wants to simplify the tax code and slash govt. spending across the board.  His religious views can be summed up in one sentence --- do unto others...

All Johnson really needs is a killer, high profile endorsement and a snappy viral add.  Maybe Chewbacca-mask woman could lend a hand.

More registered voters likely value her opinion over John Kasich's.  That's the current sad state of affairs in the U.S. of A.  And just wait.  I assure you it's going to get much worse.  If you don't think an anti-government false flag is coming, you're outta your mind.  Hint: dominipede.

Could very well be how Trump pulls it off in 2016.

Politics is all about timing and momentum.  Just ask that guy with the peculiar name...  you know, the one who has occupied the White House for the last 7 years.

Philadelphia & Pittsburgh: A Tale of Two Marathons

Last Thursday, Gigi and I zipped across the state to see our friends Brandon and Pamela (celeb name Brandela).  They moved to Manayunk a few months ago.  It's an industrial/eclectic suburb about 10 miles west of downtown Philadelphia.  Our mission: back to back Pearl Jam concerts.

But our adventure started the day before when I took the plunge and bought a new car.  That's right!  I finally discarded the 2001 Subar-Jew Outback.  Truth be told, it wouldn't pass the stringent Pennsylvania emissions inspection.  The repairs were starting to outweigh the net worth of the car.  Never a good sign.  So I went to a local dealership and snagged a 2013 Outback.  Way to go Saf!  Congratulations!  Well, maybe not.

You see, I never actually paid them for the car because they physically weren't in "possession" of the title.  Thus, they couldn't finalize the paperwork.  So the best decision seemed to be --- leave my rusted piece of shit car in the back of their lot and drive off with the newer model.  And that's exactly what happened.

But on the way home, I started to notice some, shall we say, "inconsistencies."  The front passenger window wouldn't go down.  In retrospect, I probably should have tested it.  And there was a plethora of tiny stones trapped in the rubber tire treads.  Not a good omen for them just having detailed it.  I also got zapped, a feeling I've experienced all too often from my previous vehicles.  Not sure why I keep falling victim to car electro-shock.  That 1997 Jeep Grand Cherokee was the equivalent of a CIA sadomasochistic/pornographic dungeon website.

Come to think about it, the Carfax didn't have any oil changes and also showed some work on the suspension.  This is supposed to be a 2013 "certified" model.  Trust me... the only thing accurately certified on that day was my ass, and to a lesser extent, groin.  I arrived at the following conclusion --- that someone literally beat the shit out of this car in a manner consistent with UFC heavyweight ground and pound.

So here's the deal.  I will NOT be purchasing this particular vehicle.  However, that would not necessarily preclude me from putting 600+ miles on it.  Can you imagine that there's a jag-off on this planet who would treat a car dealership with such temerity and disrespect?  Ohh, the unmitigated effrontery and unregulated audacity.  For any of you fellow atheist Jews out there... that means chutzpah.  Long story short, I'm still gonna buy a car from them.  Just not this one.  I'm now leaning toward a new Impreza hatchback.

So we set out on our journey to Philly.  And that means one word --- turnpike.  I used to have a "passive aggressive  beef" when the toll was in the low twenties.  Now, it has been upped to $32.80 each way.  Damn!  What a fucking nonsense rip off.  And the mafia thinks they're the kings of extortion.  Trust me, they got nothin' on the PA Deptartment of Highways.  Seriously, what a racket!

So we made it to Pam and Brandon's place, exchanged pleasantries and settled in.  Then, we zipped down to the Wells Fargo Center for night #1 of Pearl Jam.  Cold and windy conditions seemed appropriate for our Gnarly Head Cabernet.  Had a predictable run-in with my friend Heidi and her 13 year old son from Wheeling.  It was his first concert.  Not a bad choice.  They seemed psyched.

As usual, we were ticketless.  But we quickly acquired 2 limited view tickets for $50.  Whatever.  Notice how they misspelled the word "Foundatoin."

 
I realize it's a rock concert and not the Grammar Jubilee, but isn't it crazy how that stuff still happens in this day and age?  And it wasn't only the print-outs.  The same error was on the regular tickets as well.

Anyway, screw the behind the stage seats.  Fuck them.  Those tickets are dealt to people with paper assholes.  An inside joke from my father's Wednesday night poker group --- "you deal like a man with a paper asshole."

We sneaked down on the floor.  There was a convenient row of mostly unused seats directly in front of the soundboard.  Perfect spot.  As usual, killer show.  We didn't get a copy of the set list this time.  Strangely enough, an original ended up in the hands of Heidi's son.  That's a pretty high-end memento for your first concert.  We settled for this pic.

Highlights for me: See My Friend, Wishlist, In My Tree, Evolution, Porch and OCEANS.

The next day we watched two episodes of the new show Containment.  Love the scenario.  I won't go into a deep explanation.  Suffice it to say, there are a ton of parallels with the current presidential race.  Fear-mongering, building walls, government overreach and bureaucracy, etc.  Me thinks it's not an accident.

Onto night #2.

The cell phone told us that we'd be stuck on the highway for over an hour... to travel a distance that would normally take 10 minutes.  So we re-routed North and came in on Broad Street.  Now I finally understand how the Flyers got the name "Broad Street Bullies."  Everyone shifting lanes, no signaling, emergency sirens, horns-a-honking, roads-a-raging, fingers-a-flipping.  You literally witness people bullying the hell outta everyone.  Driver intimidation at its finest.  Every car on Broad Street has one thing in common --- cracked bumpers and dented fenders.  One other commonality, nobody leaves behind those little friendly, apologetic notes.  It just don't work that way in the city of brotherly love.    

The arena was totally sold-out.  No extra tickets anywhere.  Scalpers asking for ridiculous amounts.  Lots of dejected people roaming outside the venue.  Kind of reminiscent of a Dead concert.

We tried a variety of tactics.  First was a sketchy side door for the roadies and security.  That didn't work.  Hey, we "needed" to use the restroom.  Now there was a bit of truth to this as we both had to pee.  But the gatekeeper wasn't going to naively fall for that degree of silliness.  He basically told us to "go piss in the lot."  Next up, a super-cool guy with a Villanova shirt told us to just follow his lead.  He was going to smooth-talk the ticket scanner person.  This man was a total bad ass.  Villanova concocted an impromptu, sob-story about how he had lost our tickets and everything was his fault.  He gave an almost 3 minute spiel.  It seemed like he was gaining traction but the head security guy entered the fray and put the kibosh on it.  Then, we ended up back at will call where they were preparing to close up shop for the night.  One guy managed to solicit a couple unused tickets with a last ditch effort.  His reward was at our expense.  No more freebies were to be had.

We decided to make a final loop, and if nothing panned out, we agreed to call it a night, and head back to the apartment.  Long story short, we eyed up an outdoor restaurant smoking patio connected to the arena.  We then calmly slipped behind a steel barricade.  And casually, albeit nervously, cruised right into the lower level.  Bad news --- we missed the first 8 songs.  Good news --- we didn't pay shit.  Good news --- they played the album Ten in its entirety to commemorate 10 consecutive Philly sell-outs.  Bad news --- we missed the bulk of it.  Good news --- they played Oceans on two consecutive nights.  Bad news --- only heard it once.

We celebrated our illegal entry victory by once again sneaking onto the floor.  This time we went all the way to the back, behind the soundboard, along the hockey boards.  I like this spot because you can lean against the boards and really feel the vibrations.  Plus, there's a ton of room for me to play air guitar, and when absolutely necessary, lurch forward with unbridled enthusiasm.  This happened multiple times during the late encore of Sonic Reducer.  Highlights for me --- Given to Fly (anytime they play it), Breakerfall (haven't heard it in a long time), Leash (get outta my fuckin' face) and Just Breathe (one of "our" songs).  Comfortably Numb was pretty cool too. 

So here's what's crazy.  Once again, we didn't get a set list.  However, I did track down the guy who snagged it.  It's the original.  The one that nobody will ever get to see.

And here's the one posted on the official facebook Pearl Jam page.

Does anyone reading this find the discrepancies even remotely intriguing?  I mean, I know that I do.  But if you haven't noticed, I'm kind of a "nerdo weirdo" when it comes to rock concerts.  Seriously, when Pearl Jam abruptly canceled their 2016 Raleigh, NC concert in defiance of the transgendered bathroom bill... let's just say it takes a "special" kind of person to saturate Pearl Jam-related facebook pages with the following comment ---

To the members of Pearl Jam --- Well done.  #RepealHB2

Now let's take it a step further and expose the dirty little secret of the U.S. government and private industry.  One that could potentially impact stadiums, ballparks, motor speedways, arenas and amphitheaters nationwide.  This is an undiscussable human rights issue.

http://agsaf.org/eddie-vedder-solution-to-the-artificially-generated-stampede
http://agsaf.org/pearl-jam-solution-to-the-artificially-generated-stampede

Alright, alright.  Enough with the stampede propaganda.  Hey, everyone has to pay a price for my agenda.  Transformational issues regarding asymmetric U.S. national security threats come with a cost.  I actually sympathize with Eddie Vedder, but I am absolutely certain that my mission would outweigh his personal, singular discomfort.  Hell, my latest target has been the lamentable Bob Nutting, the Pittsburgh Pirates owner.  Poor guy.  And once again, I do sympathize.  I am not a heartless clod.  Just more of an assholic prick/disruptive douchebag.

Morning #2

Brandela cooked us up a classic bacon and eggs breakfast and we hit up the Philadelphia Convention Center.  They tended to some extracurricular yet mandatory work obligations while we wandered through Chinatown and checked out a few landmarks.  Most notably the Visitor Center.  Hell, if you need to do a quickie tour of Philly in less than an hour, I think the Visitor Center is where it's at.  No admission fee and you can catch a perfectly compartmentalized tour of all the landmarks.  It's like reading the Philly Cliff Notes.  
   
We zipped through the Reading Terminal Market (highly recommended) and hit up Federal Doughnuts.  Normally, I never even consider eating a doughnut.  It's not that I don't like them.  I mean, seriously, who doesn't like a fresh doughnut?  I just never contemplate that particular breakfast  option.  But these were easily the best doughnuts I've ever had.  Mango poppy seed and the glazed pecan were stand-outs.

When we got back, Brandon made us some high-end chicken wings.  Perfect seasoning with a fair amount of heat.  You know it's a damn good chicken wing when there's no desire whatsoever to dip it in ranch or blue cheese.

Said our goodbyes and hit the turnpike.  32 dollars and 80 cents later we were back home.  Watched Obama totally nail it with the Presidential Correspondents Dinner and crashed out.

The next morning came early for me.  I decided to tackle the Pittsburgh Marathon, backwards.  This blog is already pretty long.  So I won't delve into the reasoning and methodology.  Let's just say I started at the finish line and ended at the start.  As opposed to last year, I got a late start.  6:34am to be precise.  Took off down Liberty Avenue.  Showcase Barbeque in Homewood is was where I saw the first runner.  Last year I ran into the stampede of humanity on the Birmingham Bridge and the South Side.  This year, the streets of madness came earlier, mostly in Oakland.

Highlights of this year's race:

* The energy from the crowd outside the big apartment complex in Homewood.
* A real rock'n'roll boy band in Shadyside playing a  cover of Zeppelin's "Good Times Bad Times"
* Free samples of this all natural gummy candy that resembles Dots, but infinitely better.  Just for the record, I'm well aware of the fact that Dots suck.  These things were called Honey Stingers.  Based in Steamboat Springs, Colorado.  If you see them, buy them.  Kinda like this DHS-Wells Fargo Center ground score.  Except the candy's legit.  Department of Homeland Security... well, not so much.  In retrospect, it's actually more of a "wall score." 

So about 5 1/2 hours later, I checked out after the West End Bridge (about 22 miles in) and walked back to my car at the Stage AE lot.  Skipped the North Side and the Strip District portion.  I guess I could have finished the whole thing, but thought my time would be better spent walking through the Point State Park Runner's Village.  Taking in the sights and smells.  Translation - a dizzying array of "deodorantially deprived" people in various states of pain and agony, risking the mere fear of a fart... as to shit their shorts.  I refer to this as the "anular conundrum."  It's all about risk management when you get thrown that early morning wake-up without adequate time to conform to standard bodily excretion protocol.  Sheldon, of the Big Bang Theory, has made this abundantly clear as he routinely moves his bowels between 8:10 to 8:20am.  Ahhh, if only life was so predictable. 

This whole Marathon Reverse Bandit thing has tremendous potential.  I think me and Gig are going to try it in a few other cities.  Maybe do one or two per year.  Columbus, Cleveland and then work our way to the big ones... Boston, New York.  Great way to explore the city and take it all in.  You get to see every single runner (in theory) and there's no silly admission fee.  Plus, you can make carefully scripted comments like, "Yeah, last week we 'did' the (insert name of city here) Marathon"... as everyone gasps in total disbelief.

So I walked back toward PNC Park and snagged a freebie for the Pirates/Reds game.  The Pirates social media team FINALLY blocked me from their facebook page.  Hey, it only took about a year's worth of degrading comments leveled at their security and ownership.  Good to see they're at the top of their game.

Wolfed down a Primanti's and bolted in the 4th inning.  That godforsaken game didn't end til around 6pm in the 11th inning.  Four errors helped seal the deal.  Watched some it when I got back home.  I did like the 2 out John Jayso home run to tie it up in the bottom of the 9th.  Even more so, I like the Mark Madden comment...

John Jayso Jingle Heimer Schmidt, he's a jabroni too

Madden recently blocked me for trolling his facebook page.  Too lengthy to write about but it's still a funny anecdote.  The most obnoxious, albeit brilliant, sports journalist in the United States apparently doesn't like what I've got say.  Last time I ran into him at Consol he totally freaked out on me.  Cursing up a storm.  Naturally, it was the highlight of my night.  Totally blogworthy.

 In time.  All in good time.

Ted Cruz Comeback Strategy

When asked for my thoughts on the remaining Republican candidates, it generally breaks down like this.

For the most part, I find Kasich remotely tolerable.
The thought of Ted Cruz becoming President of the United States literally terrifies me.
But the slightest thought of Donald Trump becoming President of the United States absolutely petrifies me to the point where I lose all control of my bodily functions.  I simultaneously urinate, defecate, snot is running down my nose, swallowing my own vomit, sweating, swampass, the works.

Like I said, that pretty much encapsulates my thoughts on the GOP.

At the moment, things are lookin' pretty bleak for Lyin'  Ted.  He got thumped in New York and the general consensus is that he's going to fare poorly this Tuesday in PA, MD, DE, CT and RI.  I don't think that's up for debate.  Not sure how he'll spin it.  But here's what I'd suggest.

Consider the current delegate count:

Trump has 844.
Cruz has 543.

Immediately after the Tuesday primary, Ted is going to need a quickie, inspiring narrative.

I'd extrapolate and use a baseball analogy.  Hey, it's America's favorite past-time.  Yeah, right.  Maybe back in the mid 1950's.  Anyway, the current math (844-543) translates to 8-5.  Let's round down.  After Tuesday, it'll probably be 9-6 or something like that.  Before Trump breaks the 1,000 mark, here's what I'd say in my concession speech.

"Well, lemme tell the voters a little secret.  Life on the road to the presidency is a lot like a game of baseball.  We're currently in the 7th inning stretch and heading to Indiana.  Well, there are still a few innings left.  Donald wants me to pack it in and forfeit the game.  Well, I've never heard of any team that decided to just give up in the 7th.  The score is 9-6.  Ya wanna know something?  The game's not over and I'm not giving up.  And hey, sometimes these things go into extra innings.  You wanna know where we're gonna have overtime??? Well, it's a city called Cleveland.  It's this summer in July and I can't wait to celebrate my freedom!!!"  (misc. cheers and huzzahs erupt from a run-down Econolodge ballroom on the outskirts of South Bend or Gary or wherever)  

When you use the "this game is headed for extra innings," play up the notion of how we got there.  Because Trump had poor management, nobody in the scouting department, no vendors, no ushers, nobody doing payroll.  He just thought that he could win it all alone.  Well Donald, there is no "I" in team.  Use Trump's greatest qualities against him --- narcissism, arrogance, unbridled enthusiasm, etc.  Use all that shit to his detriment.

This does a few things.  One, it makes Ted Cruz look like more of a populist, commoner.  A character trait he is severely lacking.  He needs to relate better to Joe 6-pack Republican, not suburban housewife on a steady diet of Prozac, Starbucks and circus peanuts.  Right now, he still resembles more of a creepy insurance actuary or disaffected funeral mortician.

It's also a superior narrative as opposed to talking about the rules committee and the potential for backroom deals and bribery, the art of persuasion with delegates and super delegates.  Steer clear of the precision details.  Ironically, it's the part you excel at... but you shouldn't bring it up.  Gives off a seedy vibe. 

This baseball idea also portrays him as the underdog, fighting a courageous comeback against a billionaire bully.  Americans love the story of a comeback.  Whether its the 1980 amateur Olympic hockey team, or the big 2016 Villanova victory, or Leicester City winning the English Premier League (5,000-1 odds at the beginning of the season)... as if anyone reading this blog has the slightest clue of what I'm talking about.

And when you use the reference the baseball analogy, don't forget to mention that a small market team (KC Royals), with one of the lowest MLB payrolls, beat the big league NY Mets in the World Series last year.  That was 2015... and guess what, it's 2016.  

Anyway, heading into the heartland, this is Cruz's last stand.  He already did that fucked up Duck Dynasty commercial with bayou god-father Phil Roberston.

Trust me, Teddy.  My idea is far less of a stretch.  And you needn't engage in the duck-quackery and simulated backwoods farting noises.

If all else fails, you should trot out that disturbing look-a-like who showed up for a paternity test on the Maury Show.  Perfect for Indiana.

Just hold a news conference and tell everyone that the two of you are going to put a stop to every abortion.  Rape?  Doesn't matter.  Incest?  Who cares, it's called "keeping it in the family."  Life of the mother?  Well, my daytime doppleganger is willing to give her own life to protect the sanctity of her unborn child.  Shouldn't every woman be that courageous... to accept a death sentence over a medical procedure?  Cheers from the crowd --- Kill her!  Burn her at the stake.  Make her repent!  Sacrifice her to our Gaaawwwwd!

When it comes to the next Commander-in-Chief..... Ted... (dramatic pause) you are the President!  

E-gad!  Don't worry about me though.  I'm gonna be relocating to a more diverse, open-minded region of the world.  I hear that Yemen is the new Dubai. 

Bob Nutting Garden Gnomes

Yesterday, I went to my first Pirates game of the season.  They put on a relatively convincing beat-down of the intoxicated Brewers (9-3).  I gave the artificially generated stampede propaganda a rest and tried a different approach to ballpark safety.

As you might know, every Sunday is Kid's Day.  Considering the influx of young boys, I thought it might be a wise idea to establish "Catholic priest-free zones."  Inside the venue and on the outer periphery.  Keep in mind, this would only be on Sundays.  Please let it be known that I am NOT proposing a permanent ban on men of the cloth.  After all, that would be discriminatory and unconscionable.  Think of it more in terms of a natural extension/sexual progression of the North Carolina transgender restroom legislation.  Say that one 10x fast.

So anyhoo, they were giving away Josh Harrison garden gnomes.

This promotional trinket was intended for children 14 and under, but I managed to snag an abandoned one.  J-Hay Huzzah!

I'm not too hip on the bobbleheads or miniature replica bats, but I do like t-shirts and gnomes.  In fact, I think they should take it to the next level.  Emeril Lagasse of Food Network fame used to refer to this as 'kicking it up a notch.'  So how could the Pirates organization achieve this objective?

Answer:
Bob Nutting Garden Gnome Giveaway

Let's face it.  Our beloved owner has a whimsical, elven management style.  It's part of his meticulous, bean-counter approach which extends deep into an aggressive monitoring of the frozen hot dog inventory. 

Truth be told, he even has the actual look and feel of a diminutive gnome. 

Probably has something to do with the fanciful eyebrow curvature.

Could you envision  a "Nutting Nome" or "Ogden Ornament" immersed in the pea pods, enveloped in the leaf lettuce or entwined in the cherry tomatoes?  Gardeners of the world unite!

It's eerily reminiscent of the "I'm a wise elf from a far off shire" in the overplayed General Electric commercial.

I'm a nice owner, your money I'll acquire

Please contribute, to the Nutting empire

I'd also be willing to endorse an angrier gnome version.  Gargoyle-like tendencies with a grimmer disposition. 

Here's Bob losing in the "win-and-yinz-in" wildcard game... twice in consecutive years.  Frumpy and distraught.  Has kind of a Mitch McConnell Senate majority leader thing goin' on.

Let's compare.  Here's Mitch reflecting on the two-term Obama presidency... to be followed by Hillary, of course.  That's one unhappy McSenator.

Our esteemed politician from Kentucky would make a fine gnome.  It's an ignominious distinction --- to be mass replicated in gnome form.

So here's the million dollar question.  Will the Buccos embrace my Gnovel Gnutting Gnome idea?  It's 3-G, short for third generation.  Hey now, that's cutting edge!

But will they get the ball rolling for next season?  Hmmm, I gotta be honest.  I seriously doubt it.

So I came up with another idea.  And it's perfectly suited for kids day.  I'll even set up the tent myself.  On Federal Street just off the Roberto Clemente Bridge.

It's gonna be an interactive arts and crafts project.
I call it... getting "Socked in the Nutting."  A distant variation of getting "tased in the butthole."

Now everyone remembers pro wrestling great Mick Foley and his beloved character Mr. Socko.  He was a schizophrenic little guy.  Capable of love and empathy.  Sometimes the silly comedian.  Often prone to outbursts of hostility.  Fits of rage.

The coolest thing about Mr. Socko --- the manifestation of his existence was open to interpretation.

Think of the possibilities!  You could design your own Socko.  Dress him up as you see fit.  Adorn him with glitter and sprinkles.  Maybe throw in some John Jaso yarnlocks.

Maybe give him a cool hat with that authentic Johnny Depp, Pirates of the Caribbean feel.

You know what?  How about we get creative for a change?  Instead of distributing a ton of mass produced crap from China or Bangledesh, why not "hand-craft" your own Mr. Socko for anything Pixburgh related?

Maybe a Mayor Bill Peduto Socko?  How about a hefty, fuller-figured Mark Madden Big Sexy Socko?  What about a stunningly vivacious Christina Aguilera Socko.  I really like the idea of a "Build it Back Up" Fetterman Socko, dressed in a classic black Levi's short sleeve button down.

The beauty of this idea is the DIY aspect.  Plus, try to envision the ensuing camaraderie that will take place once inside the ballpark.  Ooooh, who's that?  Lookie over there, it's a Mario Lemiuex Socko.  Maybe it's a balding Terry Bradshaw.  Maybe a Michael Keaton.

Everywhere you go, there'd be a unique Mr. Socko comin' atcha.  Taking a stroll on the river walk, sauntering through the concourse, buying a $12 warm Bud Light draft... Socko could even appear in the Lexus Club seats behind home plate... staring down a Root Sports television audience.

If you think the Pirates management despised the Nature Boy Ric Flair chants of Woooooooo,  how about a decentralized army of hand puppets, a veritable plethora in the form of an asymmetric militia, a teeming stampede of Yinzer Sockos! 

Hey, they already have Star Trek night.  They already got Pup night.  And praise be to God... they already embrace "Faith and Family" night and "Founding Fathers" night.  What's next?  "Freedom to Freely Frack" night?  Hell, they even have "Raise the Jolly Raja" night.

So why not a Mr. Socko night???

So here's the deal.  The Pirates organization will never take my real concerns seriously.  Maybe if this new Socko phenomenon takes hold, we'll finally get to see a little action!

Dare to dream.

The Great Wall of Trump

Trump's coming to Pittsburgh tomorrow. 

He's making two separate appearances.  The first one is a "town hall" with Sean Hannity at Soldiers and Sailors Hall on the University of Pitt campus in Oakland.  I'm sure Hannity will grill him with some really challenging questions like, "Who's gonna pay for the wall?"  And the crowd will chant back "Mexico!  Mexico! Mexico!"

Seriously though, I have a question for Trump.  It's better suited coming from a 3rd grader... because no adult would ever be allowed to ask it.  At least, not on live national television.  That's just not how things work at the highest levels of fair and balanced journalism. 

So without further adieu, here's the most vexing, challenging question of the entire campaign.

Mr. Trump, you talk an awful lot about building a wall. 

Where will the wall start?  Where will it end?  How high will it be?  Can you go around it?  Can you tunnel underneath it?  Can you fly over it?  Will the wall have a door?  If so, how many "doors?"  Will we be building additional walls on the Northern border, West coast and East coast?  If so, please answer the same questions. 

And finally, if you're going to make another country pay for it... who will be ultimately held responsible for building it to the proper specifications?  Who will supervise and monitor the construction process? 

Isn't it peculiar that NOBODY is allowed to ask the most common sense, remedial questions pertaining to one of the biggest national security issues of the campaign.  This just doesn't bode well for a future, meaningful discussion on illegal immigration.

Following Sean Hannity's grueling interrogation, Trump will be whisked off for a rally at the David Lawrence Convention Center.  I'm sure he'll regale everyone with a rigorous look into foreign and domestic policy.  Lamentably, from what I've witnessed, he'll likely tailor the speech to his huge poll numbers, favorability ratings and express an affinity for anything that's yinzer related.  I wonder if he can conjure up a Steelers has-been to take the stage.  Can you say Bubby Brister?  Repeat after me... Buh-B, Buh-B, Buh-B!  

We just went to see Bernie Sanders last week.  He gave an hour+ speech at the Convention Center.  And we also saw Hillary Clinton at the Skibo Gymnasium at Carnegie Mellon University.  Both campaign stops were fairly predictable.  Bernie stuck to his core themes.  His crowd trended a bit radical.  Plenty of lizard people, dreaded weirdos, pierced freaks.

I thought Hillary's speech was superior as she tailored it toward the CMU crowd --- specifically issues about technology, fair wages, college debt and immigration.  The CMU audience was very ethnically diverse... comprised heavily of Asian and Indian students.  And of course, a spattering of elderly white grannies. 

Neither used a teleprompter.  Just some notes.  Both crowds were equally enthusiastic.  Both had decent "optics" but Hillary's appearance seemed a bit more professional, organized and polished. 

I suspect there will be protests for Trump.  Particularly in Oakland.  Lots of college kids and student housing nearby.  I'm curious to see how "heavy-handed" the cops will be.  I think there's some potential for chaos.  Here's why.  Soldiers and Sailors has a capacity of 2,300.  Having been there a few times, I think this number is inaccurate.  Seems to me like it's about 1,500.  Anyway, I have a hunch that people will be turned away and could find themselves amidst a sea of protesters.  Already agitated from being denied the opportunity to watch the venerable Sean Hannity and the megalo-maniacal imbecile in person, there's the makings for heightened tension.  And never underestimate the problem with protesters in a balcony setting.   Based on the spattering of campaign violence over the past month, Trump should NOT be making political appearances in these type of venues.  It's not rocket science.  Just building logistics. 

The DHL Convention Center also has the potential for some disruptive elements.  Just off the Strip and bordering the Northside and the Hill District, I could envision the black population making their presence felt.  Oh, and I almost forgot, just up the street... it's a playoff HOCKEY NIGHT in Pittsburgh.  Round 1, Game #1 against the New York Rangers.  Even Chelsea Clinton is part of the action.  She's coming to her mom's campaign headquarters in East Liberty.

Doesn't get much better than this.  Just ask Frank Costanza.  Pittsburgh's the "place to be."

Trump rally protest/disruption strategies

Donald Trump is NOT an actual politician.  He's more of a semi-skilled carnival barker.  A billionaire agitator at best.  Not even fit to carry Vince McMahon's jock strap.  However, he is well-suited for the ignorant populist faction of the Republican party.  It's the ultimate irony for the conservative establishment chicken-hawk wing.  If McDonald's pink slime could talk, it would surely say... I'm lovin it.

Let's face it.  About 25% of his rallies consist of Trump heckling back at protesters.  Another 25% is him bragging about his poll numbers and ridiculing the opposition.  Mostly ad hominem taunts and corpulently-veiled threats.  Another 25% is devoted to lofty rhetoric, i.e., Making America Great Again, I'm wealthy beyond your wildest dreams, our politicians have failed us (they're all stupid and worthless... unless they support me.  Then, they're okay).

His policy positions are intentionally simplistic.  That could be the understatement of the century.

Isis is a bunch of bad dudes.  They're chopping off heads during Christmas.  We need to torture them and take their oil.  
Build the wall and make Mexico pay for it.
Gotta fix the trade imbalance with China.
Muslims should be banned from entering the country until we "can figure out what's going on."
And finally, he can't be bribed by lobbyists and bought off by corporate special interests (there could be a minimal ring of truth to this, at least compared to Congress at-large).

All this infantile rhetoric makes me physically ill. 
So if you're serious about disrupting a Trump rally, here are some unorthodox suggestions.

1) Consider attending the event in a wheelchair.  Those at the rally are far less likely to get into a confrontation with someone who appears physically disabled.  And if security tries to remove you, it makes for incredibly bad optics on television.  These days, when perception is reality, Trump goons picking on the handicapped would not go over well.  Him mocking them is one thing.  His minions getting rough with them is another.

If you can't borrow an old wheelchair, consider scoring a cheap pair of crutches from a thrift store.  Crutches also make for an excellent self defense weapon as traditional security measures and  magnetometers do not apply.

If you have military gear (particularly of the Vietnam era), make sure to wear it.  A subtle reminder that Trump got 4 preferential deferments from the draft.  Obviously, this would make him a great, amazing, wonderful, terrific commander-in-chief.

Instead of whistling or yelling "Bernie, Bernie", resort to screams of terror and agony as if you're afraid that your life is in imminent danger.  Not only is it much more confusing.  It's also disturbing and could provoke an EMT response.  There's a big difference between the generic sound of "USA, USA"or "TRUMP, TRUMP" and shrill, bone chilling screams.

2) Purchase a case of those "snap bang" fireworks and distribute them accordingly.  Hand them out to like-minded individuals heading inside.  Scatter a small handful in each of your pockets.  Those little snappers make a ton of noise.  If people around you are getting escorted out, discreetly start throwing them at the ground.  This is a secret service nightmare as the noises could be perceived as a weapon discharge.  If done effectively in various quadrants of the venue, they might pull the plug on Trump's mic... merely out of an abundance of caution until they get a handle on the situation.  Protesters wouldn't normally have the guts to pull this one off.  But if they hear others doing it, there could be a mob mentality participation.

These snappers are dirt cheap.  Sold by the case for less than $20.  And unlike traditional fireworks, you can buy them in all 50 states.

3) Download various piercing, random noises on your cell phone.  Errant high pitched screams, feedback noise, startling pinball ring tones, etc.  You can even purchase a miniature sound amplification device for relatively low cost.  This just adds to the irritation level.  Plus, others who hear the artificial noise, might follow suit.   

4) Sabotage Trump's twitter feed.  He routinely uses it as a primitive weapon.  So can you.

If you're attending the Trump rally, I heard that protesters are going to be keying cars, slashing tires and smashing windows.  My best advice is to park at least 1 mile away from the site.  Event organizers are encouraging Trump supporters to use public transportation.

Post this same information on the local newspaper and television facebook pages.  Flood social media.  People won't attend if they think their car might be vandalized during the rally.  Make potential references to drone threats, active shooter situations, hydrochloric acid in the face, things like that. Always preface every statement with... I heard a rumor that...

5) If the venue has an upper level, distribute precautionary literature beforehand that warns rally-goers about the dangers of potentially being thrown off the balcony.  Be particularly wary of muscular, heavy-set black men or other ethnic minorities in elevated locations.  Create a heightened level of fear and distrust in the venue.  Some people will think twice before attending.  Fear and paranoia sells - just ask The Donald.  It's pretty much the premise of his entire campaign.

6) If you have some serious courage, bring extra pairs of shoelaces and literally tie yourself to a fixed object.  Use an old pro-wrestling trick.  Knick your forehead with a tiny razor blade.  Relatively pain free with no permanent scarring... unless you take it to the brink every night for a couple of decades.

We're going to Make America Dream Again.  This would make for a great t-shirt.  A pic of Dusty Rhodes' mangled forehead.  Speaking of deceased pro wrestlers, I saw a Piper's Pit t-shirt at yesterday's St. Patrick's Day parade.  Only in Pittsburgh.  I say that as a compliment.

Anyway, traditional security will be a helluva lot more squeamish and tentative before getting involved with someone who has a trail of blood streaming down their face.  The truth --- bleeding makes the highlight reel.  Once again, it's a secret service nightmare and public relations mega-disaster.  Trump really doesn't have a traditional "damage control" team.  He just makes it all up as he goes along.

7) If you're getting escorted out, look for an opportunity to deliberately trip and hit the ground.  The people tossing you from the venue will be blamed for using unnecessary force and the inability to show a modicum of restraint.  The notion of protesters being manhandled by security does not sell in a general election.

Always carry mace or pepper spray.  Whether or not you'll be forced to remove it from your key chain is a matter of random discretion.  Security never specifically addresses this particular self-defense weapon, because they don't want to draw attention to the fact that it's universally legal in stadiums, arenas, amphitheaters, etc.

8) If you see Trump supporters being interviewed on live national television, enter the fray.  Pretend to be mentally retarded or pull a Rick Astley in the background - Never Gonna Give You Up dance moves.  Despite what many think, the old-school "fuck her in the pussy" disruption is alive and well.  That classic ain't goin' away anytime soon.  But I prefer the simple "Duhhh, I love Trump," spoken with the traditional retardo inflection of course.  A little low brow perhaps but very effective nonetheless.

9) Design a few signs that are by definition, totally absurd.  It makes the entire crowd look like a bunch of morons.  I used this ploy, with minimal success, at several McCain/Palin rallies.  I wrote about it in my auto-biography.

Note: the intentional misspelling of "dinosaurs."  I liked that one so much, I had it signed by Fox News pundit/political strategist Dick Morris.

I have a tenth suggestion but it's a little over the top.  If Trump-mentum persists, I'll pull it off if when the Jag-Off shows up in Pittsburgh.  And no, it's not an artificially generated stampede.  Although I do think it could happen at the Republican National Convention. Wouldn't it be nice if someone could warn venue management at Quicken Loans arena in Cleveland?  But regrettably, nobody's allowed to talk about it.  Ahh yes, the endearing catch-22.  How appropriate would it be if such a tragedy befell the evolutionary nay-sayers and their collective dismissal of herding instincts.  Ouch!

This has been such a mean spirited blog post.  Let's end it on a more lighthearted note.  Here's the many faces of Trump and his striking resemblance with raw chicken parts.

My favorite is the third one down on the right.  Pissed off chicken Trump.

Transgendered Clumps

I don't own a crystal ball.  However, I do enjoy predicting the future.  For example, I often envision a  DOMINIPEDE (multiple, simultaneous human stampedes likely impacting the NFL 1 o'clock slate of games).  Unless the government or private industry magically starts telling people the truth about outdated emergency stadium evacuation protocol, I see the next 9/11 comin' atcha like a bullet train to Osaka.  Home of Mr. Saito - the non-communicative, non-salt throwing half of the former WWF tag team champions.  End rant.  See... you got off lucky this time.

In this day and age, "political correctness" is the hot new buzzword.   Everything must be PC.  And at the same time, transgendered people are all the rage.  Olympic phenom/tv reality star Caitlyn Jenner is leading the charge.  Whether it be with an automobile accident on the Pacific Coast highway or some new Kardashian inspired perfume.  I call it Karcass... with an emphasis on the Wheaties ass syllable.  It's the latest scent in the trans-fume milieu.

Not to be confused with metal band Carcass or the capital of Venezuela, mispronounced Caracas.

Seriously though, these days everyone seems to be reveling in their physical abnormalities --- pierced dicks, third nipples, multi-tiered gunts.  I recently had an encounter with a man on the Southside who had a surgically implanted, secondary butthole.  His theory was that when he farted it could be like "dueling exhausts."  Naturally, on one ass cheek there's a Ford tattoo and the other side said its Chevy.  How inventive!  Nascar's back full throttle.  Boogity.

There's the government acceptance angle as well.  Bisexual restrooms, gay cruises, midget orgies, Euro-Homo porn, the list goes on.  As a tolerant and trusting society, we must embrace the eccentric freaks.  We must welcome them with open arms and provide federal funding for their genitalia removal and post-operative psychological counseling.  Hey, if I wanna get a third testicle, who are you to judge?  Who are you to play God?  George Costanza, Junior Mint/Triangle Art episode.

Jerry: Well, I gotta call the Hospital. I gotta tell 'em what happened.
George: No, Jerry. I wouldn't do that.
Jerry: Why?
George: You could get in trouble.
Jerry: Look, I gotta try and help the guy.
George: Who are you to play God!? Every man's time comes! If his number is up, who are you to interfere!?

My point.  It's the year of the transgendered.  Their time has come and we shall submit accordingly.  Now maybe you didn't notice but it's an election year as well.  So after the primary dust settles (it's correctly referred to as a "primordial dusting"), I suspect that Donald and Hillary will be the respective candidates.  Therefore, in the spirit of all that is PC, I proudly present you with the trans-morphed celebrity nickname --- "Dillary."

Uh, no.  Fuck that!  Instead, I give you CLUMP!

Now as the general election rolls around on November 8, 2016, it will naturally be preceded by Halloween.  And just like clockwork, the entire United States will be searching for that perfect costume.     

HELLO!  Uncle Leo, bitches.

I said fucking HELLO!  Clump is where it's at.  Clump masks. Clump posters. Clump figurines.  Everything Clump.

This will be the "go-to" 2016 Halloween costume.  No doubt about it.  Call it anything you want... a virtual certainty, a consequential assurance, an evident inevitability, whatever.

Now you know how the sheeple are so predictable.  Americans like to go out and spend, spend, spend.  Once again, I say fuck that.  Here's the superior Halloween costume.  And I'm gonna give it away now like Anthony Kiedis, on a diaper-clad, shirtless heroin binge.

Here's what you do.  Go to your local community college or university.  Yell at everyone in the computer lab, "Listen up you nerds.  Get the scholastic fuck outta here!  I need to use the printer!"  Google the word CLUMP and print out a hundred copies for each image.  Make that Hewlett Packard moan in agony... like a little Catholic schoolboy at confession.

Next, head over to the nearest Chinese restaurant, preferably named Won Ton Time or House of Wang.  Tell the owner you're going to stand outside and welcome every patron with the following line "Me so horny.  Me love you long time" unless they capitulate and give you their entire supply of chopsticks. 

With a pair of scissors, a roll of scotch tape and some cardboard, you now have all the necessary elements for a virtual army of Clumps.  There you go.  You just make a ton of those faux-ghetto hold up facial masks.  Put a few favorites in your back jeans pocket.  It's the Halloweenie costume of a lifetime.  No obstructive clothing.  No problem consuming hors d'oeuvres or imbibing shitty craft pumpkin beer.  Easy, peasy, japaneesie.

Finally, download that memorable Kriss-Kross song "Jump" on your i-phone.  Have it cued and ready to go.  Whenever someone asks, "Why didn't you dress up," you just whip out your Clump on a stick, hit the play button, and start yelling and jumping "Saffy Mac (insert your name) is gonna make ya, Clump, Clump, Clump!  Kriss Kross is gonna Clump, Clump, Clump!"  You'll get the whole party going like a Wisconsin Badgers football game.

Incidentally, my deepest sympathy to the one who's dead.  If I remember correctly, it was a heroin od.  But hey, let's be honest, what better way to celebrate his rapscallion existence? 

David Cross, 2-18-16, Pittsburgh

Gigi and I made a relatively last minute decision to go see David Cross.  Probably the funniest comedian who reminds me of myself.  Strangely ironic that I have NEVER seen an episode of Arrested Development, eh?  My only knowledge of the man comes from a single CD he released in 2002 entitled "Shut Up You Fucking Baby."  It came out right on the heels of 9/11 so the material gets pretty contentious.  I'm not much of a "comedic connoisseur," but this is probably the funniest thing I've ever heard.  Definitely in my Top 5. 

The show sold-out a while ago, but knowing our penchant for unorthodox ticket acquisition, we made the trek over to stunning Munhall (inner Homestead right on the cusp of Matzoh Ball Soup territory a/k/a Squirrel Hill). 

Although I do not know the man, we do share a common ancestry --- that being Atheist Assholic Jew Fuck.  Kind of a warped lineage I suppose.  Like I said, we don't know Cross personally , but I imagine he'd appreciate our increasingly "lighthearted, passive aggressive" panhandling style.  However, on this occasion, we paid the 40 bucks.  Oddly enough, they turned out to be "his" tickets.  Likely ones he had reserved for family and friends.  10 rows back, dead center. 

Unfortunately, the guy sitting next to Gigi had this rampant, mutant B.O.  Yep, right outta Seinfeld.  He was one of those hipster dufii, bearded lumberjacks that defiantly reject the conceptual nature of deodorant.  Who knows, probably had a beef with Proctor and Gamble testing their products on defenseless bunny rabbits.  The scented, arm-pitted wrath wafted upon those all around us.  It was the kind of olfactory stench that gives you this dulled, boorish headache.  Pure and belligerent.  Unrelenting.  Permeating deep into the cerebellum.  So you try to breathe exclusively through your mouth.  Then it becomes, inhale through your mouth and exhale through your nose.  Then, you just give up and realize that you're attending the Pixburgh equivalent of a religious pilgrimage in Southern India.

Cross came out on stage with a local tribute to Primanti's.  I've always thought this makes for decent fodder.  What's up with the sacred yearning to throw a heap of coleslaw and some relatively burnt fries directly onto the sammich?  As if the act itself inspires culinary heroism.  And why do the yinzers celebrate accordingly?  As if it was the combined resurrection of Myron Cope and the adult circumcision of Bill Peduto.  Cue the towel waving.

Just an aside, David Cross looks (and even sounds) like my buddy Paul Clune.  They both have similarly resonating vocal chords.  Even their speech pattern and inflection.  Strange indeed.  Here's a pic of him and Jessarooni.  Judge for yourself.

I admire Cross because of his real-world, storytelling delivery.  It's one thing to tell jokes and one-liners.  It's entirely another to relay poignant stories.  He knows the difference.  Sadly, half the population doesn't get it.  All they like is knock knock, priest-rabbi-Chewbacca walk into a bar, or kick to the groin action sequence.  Yeah, those are funny too.  In an urban Hee-Haw setting I suppose.  Just ain't my thang.

The opening piece was pretty strong.  A tattoo parlor in California whose motto was "you get what you get."  Probably not the best slogan for memorializing the tragic death of your 6 year old daughter who fell prey to a senseless act of gun violence.  Well, it is what it is.  You get what you get.  As far as tattoos go, I've noticed how the general population has grown increasingly serpentine and amphibious.  After all, twas was the great Maury Povich who once asked a guest, "You're a lizard, aren't you?"  I've often toyed with the idea of getting the first ever inverted cross, male tramp stamp.  Hey, if there's room on this planet for all those disturbing depictions of the cruxifiction.  Well then, Saffy should be allowed to sport some sexy demonic ink of his own.  What's right is right! 

A much better bit --- his harangue about the "culture of hero worship" surrounding the Founding Fathers.  Cross went off on the current Republican brand --- the incessant, mindless repetition of constitutional infallibility.  The judgement of the Founding Fathers will NOT be questioned.  Never!  Ever!  Despite the fact that many owned slaves and held archaic views about women's rights, civil rights, really any rights.  But if you like freedom... and most of us do, how fucking dare you besmirch the prevailing integrity of our country's forefathers!  Seriously, I'd like to see Ted Cruz dawn one of those creepy wigs.  If they truly wish to inspire the faithful clods at the Republican National Convention in Cleveland this summer (we'll be there on the protesting periphery), then put yer fuckin' wig on and git 'er dun.

I also enjoyed his piece about random encounters with those who excessively curse out loud... for no apparent reason whatsoever.  Just walking down the street --- "You cunt mother fucker piece of shit cocksucking asshole."  Truth be told, for many, it's just a way of life.  I seem to attract these people... like flies to a pile of shit.  Me being the defecation destination of your dreams.  Here's an excerpt from my odd-oh biography circa the early 90's.

Bears Against Drugs

So the time seemed right to re-enroll in school (West Liberty State College) and finish my degree.  But I still needed a job.  Enter the famed West Virginia Troopers Association and their notorious Bears Against Drugs program.  This was nothing more than a glorified telemarketing organization which sold "holiday inspired gift assortments" manufactured by a company called Smoky Mountain Secrets based out of Knoxville, Tennessee.  When selecting which gift box, the options were plentiful.  The jellies and preserves were the most common choice.  Not a fan of gelatinous substances or even speaking the word "jelly," I would normally push the steak sauces and seasonings.  This seemed more conducive to the overall sales pitch.  Other options included overpriced mustard, costly salad dressings and the much heralded fruit syrups.  Despite all the exquisite culinary choices, the entire operation was barely legitimate.  I wouldn't call it a complete scam though.  At least you got some jars of jam.  I spent over 3 years calling residents throughout northern West Virginia and Eastern Ohio.  Between carrying a full class load, working about 30 hours a week and partying my ass off, it was a rough ride.  But observing employee behavior helped see me through.

Most of the employees had the ability to speak extemporaneously, but from time to time they'd hire someone who could neither read nor write.  Our boss had a simple hiring policy.  Keep all the phones manned and push the shit out.  One memorable employee was this guy Neck Tattoo.  Neck Tattoo was very passionate but incapable of reading the fallback script.  And his communicative abilities were noticeably subpar.  Occasionally customers would pose the question, "Where does the money go?"  This was an edgy question because the entire operation was always under legal scrutiny.  When confronted with "what do you do with the money" here was the preferred response... "Some of the proceeds are used to purchase small teddy bears.  We place them in all the troopers' cruisers so if they come upon a child who has been traumatized in an accident, we can give them a teddy bear.  Ma'am, just clutching that teddy bear helps calm and reassure the child until a professional can tend to their emotional needs."  Keep in mind, this response was for people with minimal communication skills.

Well, during his brief time with Bears Against Drugs, Neck Tattoo was on the receiving end of the infamous "where does the money go" question.  I was seated nearby.  Let me do my best to recreate the conversation.

Elderly Woman:  "I'm just curious.  What do you do with the proceeds?"

Neck Tattoo:  "Yes ma'am, the money goes to the troopers."

Elderly Woman:  "Could you please be more specific?"

Neck Tattoo starts to lightly perspire:  "Troopers give 'em Teddy Hug-A-Bear."

Elderly Woman (speaking in a frail tone): "I don't know what you mean."

An agitated but confident Neck Tattoo: "Yes ma'am, they give 'em Hug-A-Bear.  It makes 'em understand."

Elderly Woman: "Excuse me?"

Neck Tattoo (lurching into the phone):  "Hug-A-Bear!  They get Hug-a-Bear!"

Elderly Woman: "Huh?"

A suddenly irate and exasperated Neck Tattoo jumps to his feet.  He places the phone directly perpendicular to his mouth and screams at the top of his lungs, "Hug-A-Bear!  I said Hug-A-Bear!  It makes 'em understand ma'am.  Trooper give 'em Hug-A-Bear!  Makes 'em understand!" 

At this moment and utterly clueless, the frightened elderly woman chose to hang up.  A flabbergasted Neck Tattoo turns to me and says, "The bitch didn't want no jellies."

Another employee was the reclusive Whiskey Thermos.  Whiskey Thermos was an ill-tempered man.  He had an unusual demeanor.  Calm and reserved yet prone to excessive and disconnected cursing. 

For example, as he strolled to the restroom he'd mutter, "I can't believe it's already fucking god damn dark outside.  Daylight savings shit."  Or when pouring a cup of coffee, he would say, "We're outta creamer again.  What the fuck am I supposed to do?  Cum in it?"  

But one shining moment really stood apart from the rest.  His daughter had come to pick him up at the end of the night.  "He looked at her and casually inquired, "Why you late you daughter clit bitch?"  Was the genitalia reference necessary?  Yes, for him, I believe it was.

The Bears Against Drugs operation folded the following year.  I got the impression that similar programs elsewhere came under attack from the attorneys general of neighboring states.  So I took all this acquired wisdom and experience and set out on my own.


The David Cross tour was aptly entitled "Making America Great Again."  I wish he'd more thoroughly explored this angle.  I have a hunch he will as the dates progress.  Obviously, his tour was designed to coincide with the Republican presidential primary and beyond.  Great timing!  The material is literally cuming to a theater near you.  Spewing itself forth, courtesy of Fox, MSNBC and CNN.  Like stained, unwelcome ejaculate on the comforter.

The show ended semi-abruptly.  Reminiscent of the Chris Christie presidential campaign.  Who could've possibly fathomed that he'd reemerge?  Lending his endorsement to Trump, of course.  Who woulda thunk it --- from one titanic loudmouth to another jag-off blowhard.

After the show ended, we could have talked to him outside and maybe gotten a photo.  But I don't normally do celeb pictures.  Except this one.  And when I do, it's usually not a good omen for those involved.  Poor Mr. Vedder.  I doubt he fathomed having to deal with my stampede shit.  Hey, we all gotta pay our dues.  Such is life.

So we bolted and snagged a few gyros on the Southside, zipped home and wolfed them down.  Yummo Goodo.  Not suitable for lent I suppose.  The Pittsburgh Catholic coalition should really resurrect that Dr. Demento song around this time of year --- Fish heads, fish heads, rolly poly fish heads, fish heads, fish heads, eat them up, yum.

Springsteen Review, 1-16-16, Pittsburgh

I've seen some sold-out concerts at Consol Energy Center.  Paul McCartney and Billy Joel come to mind.  But I don't think I've ever seen the place as jam-packed as it was last night.  Gave new meaning to the word rafter.  Hey, what better a city to open The River tour than Pixburgh?

You often hear the term "sold-out."  It's popular lingo for the scalpers.  Helps fetch that extra, much heralded zero off some Sewickley high school ginger kid.  Even when there are still tickets for sale at the box office.  Just say that magic word and every ounce of discretion and common sense goes flying out the window.  Not that it matters.  Most people don't care.  After all, it's only money.  Right?

Last night was one of those nights.  Me and G headed into the fray around 6pm.  Our libations for the evening --- 19 Crimes and Fetzer (both Cabs).  Just for the record, we're big fans of 19 Crimes.  If you see it, snag it.  Much like the refrain outside the arena.  If you see something, say something.  What a great motto!  Hey, I say something all the time, but nobody LISTENS.

Possibly the finest wine of the prestigious sub-$10 genre.  We also like Rex Goliath Free Range Red.  Just replace that delicate wine glass with an Aquafina water bottle.  I call it "de-cork, pour-in, un-screw, drink-up."   

Gigi scored a freebie immediately off some dude.  A little over an hour passed and we just couldn't snag another ticket.  Some woman emerged from the nearby church and handed a panhandler 2 print-outs.  I asked him where the tickets were located.  He had no idea.  He whipped out his lighter and took a closer look.  Section 119.  $142 plus service charge.  Not bad.  A retail value of just over $300.  I hope he got a good deal.  I imagine it was more profitable than his spare change routine.  At least I would hope.

On the cusp of showtime, I asked a curbside woman who emerged from an uber-car.  She had one extra.  The scalpers began to lurch in.  Sensing that my time-sensitive, freebie routine might be annoying and probably get rejected, I offered her $20.  She shrugged with semi-indifference and we made the exchange.  Aside from the free parking, it was likely my smartest move of the night.

Now you're probably thinking, "Wait one cotton pickin' minute!  Saf, I thought you NEVER pay.  Isn't it a matter of some warped sense of pride?  Wouldn't it bring shame to your children... and their children... and future generations.  Newsflash: we don't have kids.  3 cats and a temporary weekend visit from Abigail a/k/a the lil' doggie consisting of half dog, quarter gremlin, quarter hamster, smidgeon of genetic rodent.

But no kids.  Hence, the ethical code of conduct does not apply to "Scalping Jew" (the title of a book I intend to write in 2017, possibly sooner).

Anyway, we hit up the Captain Morgan Club over-hang and then got "upgraded" to the end seats in the loge section.  Plenty of room with our own waitress to boot.  FYI: the same seats belong to Franco Harris.  Ironic, as he surely went to Denver for the divisional round game.  Even greater irony, he's on the cover of my latest book "The Immaculate Rejection."

And even further irony.  The book has nothing to do with him or his famous/infamous catch.  And just to set the record straight, HE CAUGHT THE DAMN BALL.  Case closed.  Don't be fooled by the cover.  Words can be deceiving.  Or in this case... deadly.

Anyway, Springsteen and company literally stormed the stage with the full house lights on.  So cool.  More bands should consider doing this.  Then again, most couldn't pull it off.

I was telling Gigi that if they had scheduled the Steelers playoff game for the same day (the two events coincided), I bet he would have considered an old school "matinee" performance.  Wouldn't that have been crazy?  A 1pm Springsteen concert tour opener.  Fortunately, the NFL schedulers knew better.  Goodell and company got one right.  Who woulda thunk it?

Killer opener song.  Here's the version from Saturday Night Live a couple weeks ago.  It's strong but doesn't do justice compared to the version from last night.

For me, the highlights from "The River" portion of the set were Hungry Heart, Two Hearts (always loved this song) and Out in the Street.  Energy level was off the charts.  Typical fare for your average 3 hour+ Springsteen concert.

Towards the end of the set, they played a pretty cool Wrecking Ball.  Not a huge fan of the song, but I thoroughly enjoyed it... probably because I wasn't expecting it.  

They opened the encores with a poignant tribute to David Bowie.  Bruce went with "Rebel Rebel" which was a relatively cool choice.  Not sure which gem I would've chosen.  Just too many out there.  I think "Fashion" would have worked in a funny kinda way for obvious reasons (because he usually wears jeans and a white t-shirt).

Great versions of Bobby Jean, a triumphant Born to Run and an amusing Dancing in the Dark in which he pulled a woman from the audience who towered over everybody.  Seriously, she must have been 6'4".  Maybe played for the WNBA.  She should have danced with Little Steven instead.

One of my least favorite Springsteen tunes is Rosalita.  And I don't care for the obligatory Shout closer either.  Rest assured, I was in the minority.  Always gotta close on a down-note.

Setlist:

Meet Me in the City

The Ties That Bind

Sherry Darling

Jackson Cage

Two Hearts

Independence Day

Hungry Heart

Out In The Street

Crush On You

You Can Look (But You Better Not Touch)

I Wanna Marry You

The River

Point Blank

Cadillac Ranch

I'm A Rocker

Fade Away

Stolen Car

Ramrod

The Price You Pay

Drive All Night

Wreck On The Highway

Badlands

Wrecking Ball

Backstreets

Because the Night

The Rising

Thunder Road

Encores:

Rebel Rebel

Bobby Jean

Dancing in the Dark

Born to Run

Rosalita (Come Out Tonight)

Shout

Me and G have now seen The Boss 3 times, technically 4 (we went to a 2012 Obama "FORWARD re-election rally" at Soldiers and Sailors Hall in Oakland --- a prelude acoustic afternoon show before that evening's Consol Energy Center concert.  And there was his other concert w/ Tom Morello (Rage Against the Machine's guitarist subbed in for Silvio Dante).  Of the three, the 2012 show from that night was my favorite.  But last night was hard to beat.  

If we see him again, I'm going to legally change my name for one day.  That is correct.  Safsteen.  Just like former mayor Luke Ravenstahl changed his name to Steelerstahl.  And speaking of the Steelers... good luck today.  They're going to need it.  Last night we took our terrible towels.  If you were there, I have a hunch you may have seen us.  

On a final note, here's a free idea for the Springsteen marketing crew.  Next time he comes to Pittsburgh, make 5,000 limited edition "Springsteen terrible towels."  Not only could you double the customary price from $5.00 to $10.00, you could probably quadruple it to $20.  People are suckers.  And you'll get that whole arena whipped into a frenzy.  As if it would even be necessary.