Tag Archives: senior citizens

There’s something refreshing about this

Hi readers. Thanks for coming by for a read.  I don’t know anything much about Joan Rivers.  I wasn’t even aware she was still alive to die.  I recall seeing her on television maybe 30-40 years  ago.  But the orgies of synthetic grief and posturing admiration every time some celebrity croaks have never seemed to me to be a healthy thing.  In this brave new century maybe this other alternative is the healthy one.

At least it’s different.  Old Jules

Still Dead So Far

Did the God of Abraham Kill Joan Rivers?

If Only We Could Be Sure… By Gordon Duff, Senior Editor

Infowars, Alex Jones and the fiendish monstrosities of the “entertainment industry” mourn the death of that evil bitch, Joan Rivers. Before slipping into a coma, a life lived far too long, she advocated the slaughter of Palestinian children, claimed the first lady of the United States was a transsexual and accused President Obama of being as gay as his predecessor.

Rivers was a monster, our biggest concern at this time is to make sure she is still dead.

Her talent, for those who have seen her stage performance in Las Vegas is smut and fart jokes. At her best, she was boorish, tasteless and vile.

She got worse. She became a hate ridden monster, a freakish Zionist advocate of mass murder, a purveyor of continual lies, smears, filth and depravity. Everything wrong about Hollywood or being Jewish is what Rivers represents.

I am ashamed she was an American. I am ashamed of those who failed to stand against her and the powerful lobby that supported her.

So many decent people die all the time. So many of them were Jewish including Robin Williams, subject to continual smears. He was worth a thousand “Joan Rivers.” Robin Williams was a flawed human being, an American, an addict, hilarious, a man who cared about people, a Jew sometimes, a human being all the time.

Alex Jones says President Obama had Rivers assassinated. If only it were true.

What Robin Williams wasn’t is whatever Joan Rivers was, who will be mourned, cried over and lied about. Burn in hell Joan.

http://www.veteranstoday.com/2014/09/04/why-the-us-and-israel-are-not-getting-along-an-understatement/

Pentagon has an itchy trigger finger

Hi readers.  This lull between wars is always hard on the Pentagoners.  They don’t know what to do with themselves and are forced to sit around twiddling their thumbs and chewing their fingernails worrying about the security of the US.  If all those damned troops can’t find something to do against someone brown, or at least someone who can’t speak good English things could get dangerous.  They might have to be brought home, for Christ’s sake!

Those guys have proved time and again they can shoot a gnat off the nose of a housefly at 2000 yards!  We sure as hell don’t need them hanging around any water towers or rooftops around here, trying to think of something to do to amused themselves.

Pentagoneers are actually beginning to regret the whole drone-technology thing.  sitting in a house trailer outside El Paso, Texas looking at a television screen and dropping an explosive on someone in Pakistan while he’s taking a leak can’t provide a lasting occupation.  Trailer trash playing computer war games don’t win medals, no matter how heroic they get dressed up.  Even the US public can’t get excited about them.

So the Pentagoneers are throwing out as many options as they can think of for wossname, the guy in the What House, to consider.  People the US could go to war with and have a faint chance of winning.

But it’s not convincing.  August reminded everyone the US hasn’t won a war since the Japanese surrendered in 1945.  And a considerably doubt exists involving the concept of ‘win’ as it pertains to WWII and the US-plus-Japan-plus-Germany.  The unanointed couldn’t look at any of the ‘losers’ of WWII a decade after the war and see where ‘losing’ was different from a short term setback on the way to long-term winning.

Anyway, the Pentagoneers think maybe we could win a war over in Iraq/Syria if we put our minds to it.  They’ve learned from Bush #1 and Desert Storm, and Bush #2 and WMD Iraqs, and this guy now and Africanistan.  They think the old WWIII approach might be good.

Some guy in the Pentagon has been digging through dusty old files and found some stockpiles of ICBMs we could start out dropping on the Rooskies, of course, as a startup exeercise.  Then afterward we could put a couple of armored divisions on the ground in Western Iraq.

Everyone misses the good old days of bringing freedom and prosperity to Iraq.  And the damned Rooskies  need to stay out of our business.

Old Jules

Veterans Administration: How many guns do you own?

All over the US VA Hospitals/Medical Centers are under investigation for incompetence, waste, negligence, malfeasance and misfeasance, brutality and being a cruel farce.  Turns out the San Antonio VA Medical Center is under investigation for precisely the same [failure to treat patients in a timely manner] reasons I entered a private hospital in Kerrville, Texas in January after several weeks of non-treatment and non-diagnosis at the VA Odessa and Big Spring VA Medical facilities during November and December, 2013

All over the US VA Hospitals/Medical Centers are under investigation for incompetence, waste, negligence, malfeasance and misfeasance, brutality and being a cruel farce. Turns out the San Antonio VA Medical Center is under investigation for precisely the same [failure to treat patients in a timely manner] reasons I entered a private hospital in Kerrville, Texas in January after several weeks of non-treatment and non-diagnosis at the VA Odessa and Big Spring VA Medical facilities during November and December, 2013

Hi readers.  I’d made mental notes to mention this, either on the blog, or to some other veterans, anyway.  Ask them whether they’d encountered the same phenomenon.

I first encountered it at the Odessa, Texas, VA medical facility when I was parking my RV at Eddie Brewer’s in Andrews while trying to get the VA to check out my medical problems.  Which they never did while I visiting them at that facility, but they did take a urine sample, did some blood work.  And asked one hell of a lot of questions.

Those people spent at least an hour asking me whether I’d done any recreational drugs, which I admitted I had.  Whether I’d had much recreational sex, which I again admitted I had.  Whether I’d ever considered suicide, which I’m not certain how I answered.  And the entire pantheon of other questions I didn’t consider any of their business.

Including, “How many guns do you own?”

I’ll have to confess I don’t always tell the truth when I’m asked such questions as those, but particularly when questions are asked about my ownership of firearms.  I’ve indulged in falsehoods.  And I’d done so on so many different occasions and in so many different ways I honestly can’t recall whether I own any guns, or don’t.

Anyway, when Odessa and Big Spring Veterans Administration Medical Facilities convinced me around Christmas of 2013 they had no intention of trying to know more than I told them about my physical problems, I went back to Kerrville, Texas.  Checked into the local hospital emeergency room, which most of you readers will recall from this blog.

And when a week inside that one didn’t clear up my confusion about what was wrong with me, I got into the RV and drove far enough north for Jeanne’s sons to bring me to KC.  Where I spent another week or so in the hospital and actually learned a lot about my condition.

Enough, I hoped, to give the VA another try insofar as treatment.  VA Kansas City, it was.

And here’s the untanglement of the entire reason for this post, other than taking another opportunity to whine about what a weakling unhealthy specimen I’ve become.

Damned KC VA Medical people sat my ass down early in the process and asked me all those same questions I’d been asked in Odessa.  And again wanted to know how many guns I own.  And again I can’t recall how I answered them, except I’m fairly certain I denied owning any.

And maybe I was telling the truth, maybe not.  I honestly don’t know and don’t plan on finding out anytime soon.  What the hell do I care whether I own any guns?  It ain’t as though I’m going on any shooting rampage or need to stick up a convenience store.  If I ever discover I need to own a gun I’ll try to muster the energy to dig around in my belongings somewhere.

But hells bells, with bullets so expensive I couldn’t afford to buy a magazine-full so’s to be able to stick up a liquer store anyway.  I might as well point my finger from inside my jacket pocket at them and swear in a loud voice, “This is a screwup!  Don’t be a hero!”

The VA didn’t ask me whether I had any ammo for the hypothetical firearms I don’t have any of.

Old Jules

The Fantastic Foreign Flip-Flop Flim-Flam

Old Jules:

My stock of foreign flipflops was left in Texas, readers. I’ve been reduced to buying and wearing cloth tennis shoes for $7.95 from Walmart. And it turns out they hold up better than a pair of $20 flipflops and don’t stink any worse any sooner. Worth knowing. Jack

Originally posted on So Far From Heaven:

There’s a grave crisis looming, readers.  Time was when good American foots were protected by good American-made flip-flops.  They never failed.  Those old timey flip-flops lasted until they’d absorbed so much foot odor a hog would turn up its nose at them.  Normal landfills rejected them, demanded they be treated as hazardous waste.

But that’s all changed.  You see how those straps come out?  See how the layers of soles separate, sneakily intended to render the entire thing useless?  That’s the Asian plan for taking over the flip-flop world.

They think there’s nothing a good American can do about it, but they’re wrong.   If you can remember to pick up some Gorilla Glue you can make those babies run until they stink, just like the good American ones did.  In the top pic you can see those had been glued, but not sufficiently and the soles peeled open elsewhere.

I…

View original 70 more words

Culinary arts, broken toes and peaches

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

Because of the differences in our dietary idiosyncracies Jeanne and I don’t cook much for one another, almost never anything shared.  I usually cook breakfast for her, but only as a separate deed.

So yesterday when she pronounced she was going to make two [2] peach pies, one for me without salt, one for herself, I was only surprised she was doing one for me.  She carefully cut up the peaches, got everything ready but the crusts, then refrigerated it all.

I thought she’d already found the crust recipe she’d been searching for.  But there she was barefoot by the bookcase, holding the 10 pound, The Victory Cook Book, Binding of the American Woman’s Victory Edition published in 1943.  Edited by Ruth Berolzheimer, director of the Culinary Arts Institute.

Great book.  Dedicated to General Douglas MacArthur.

“His heroic leadership and gallant fight against overwhelming odds should inspire every American woman to make the most of daily opportunities to support the war effort in her home and in every sphere of worthwhile activity.”

Nice full page pic of Dugout Dug inside opposite the dedication, him having recovered from his nighttime scurry out of Manila leaving his command to surrender to the Japanese, Death March across Bataan, that sort of thing.
But I digress.

Jeanne tried to lift that book and SPANG, it slipped out of her hand!  She doesn’t have much strength in it because it was broken a while back, and it’s not easy for her to remember. CRUMP went Douglas MacArthur and all the cuisine prepared by the women of America supporting WWII.

Jeanne doubled over in pain and I hopped up figuring I’d try to help.  But Jeanne just lost WWII and the War in the Pacific, broke at least one toe, possibly two.

By the end of the evening the one toe was swelling and turning purple.  We were alternating artificial ice in and out of the freezer, and she was in a lot of pain.  The toe is purple enough for most usual purposes today and swollen, but she’s able to get around.

All the peaches are there in the fridge, but I’m thinking I might just figure on eating them without pie crust.  She’s going out with friends tonight and planning to be busy today, so I don’t think cooking pie is in the cards.

I suggested she tell her friends when they ask why she’s limping, tell them I pissed her off and she sidekicked me in the head.  If she doesn’t take me up on it she’s missing one hell of a good story.

Old Jules

Flashback: ‘Squirrelly’ Armijo Survives his own Funeral

Hi readers. I saw on Yahoo News that someone faked his own funeral. Got me remembering Squirrelly Armijo. So I searched for a post I was fairly certain I made in the deep history of this blog: Squirrelly didn’t fake his, except by accident.

A legendary man in the Quemado/Reserve area nicknamed ‘Squirrelly’ Armijo had a good working claim down near Queen’s Head in the Gallos near Apache Creek in the 1940s through the 1960s. Maybe that’s where he came across a skeleton, and probably just figured he might as well take it home, so he put it in his truck.
Driving up those winding mountain roads he lost control of the truck and rolled it. Squirrelly was thrown clear and the truck caught fire. He must have been out of his head, maybe with a concussion, because he evidently wandered into the mountains in a daze.

The police arrived and found the burned out truck with a skeleton inside and assumed because the truck belonged to him the remains were Squirrelly’s. He was pronounced dead, an expensive funeral held, and he was buried.

Twelve days later Squirrelly wandered out of the woods several miles away, which was a source of, first joy and awe, then suspicion. Initially it was thought he’d killed the person the skeleton belonged to. Then the lawsuits began, the Armijo family and the Funeral home arguing heatedly about who owed money to whom for burying some anonymous skeleton.

The story is so well-known it was used in a book about forensic pathology in New Mexico during the 1990s, the forensic pathologist explaining such a thing could never happen these more enlightened times. Journey in Forensic Anthropology, Stanley Rhine, University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque, 1998. Author Rhine elected to change Squirrelly’s surname to Aramando to avoid any sort of civil action. The Armijo family’s been herding sheep in that country since the time there was nobody out there but them and Mimbres Apaches. A lot of them are still there.

“A Premature Funeral

“Bones and Fire
“On June 4, 1959, Forest Service lookouts reported smoke rising from what was assumed to be a small forest fire just east of the Arizona state line, among the 8,000-feet peaks of the San Francisco Mountains of southwestern New Mexico. A firefighting crew dispatched to the scene discovered no forest fire, but an automobile burning furiously on the side of a gravel forest road. Dousing the flames, they found a mass of burned flesh, a skull, some other bones, and some teeth resting inside the burned-out hulk.

“The car was found to belong to a Mr. Armando, well known in the
lightly populated region. His fiery demise prompted the organization of a six-person coroner’s inquest in Catron County. According to former Catron County Sheriff and now Washoe County ( Nevada) Coroner Vernon McCarty, the “six responsible citizens” required by 1950s New Mexico law were most easily found by the justices of the peace at a local bar.

“McCarty observed that an insufficiency of able-bodied citizens could be remedied either by visiting several such spots or by prolonging the official quest at one of them for as long as it took to empanel the necessary six people.

“The resulting coroner’s jury in this case was made up of ranchers, Forest Service firefighters, two bartenders, and a service station attendant. It concluded that the remains were “badly burned and charred beyond positive identification,” according to the Albuquerque Journal for June 17, 1960. Nonetheless, an identification was made by Armando’s two brothers-in-law and the district attorney, apparently functioning in his multiple roles of death investigator and skeletal “expert.” That it was Armando was attested to the by the fact that the human skull was accompanied by some impressively large upper incisors. These prominent choppers had . . .”

Probably Squirrelly never paused to wonder about any moral or ethical issues when he put that skeleton into his truck. He just did it absent-mindedly the way any of us might. Probably somewhat as Mel did on Gobblers Knob:

Exploring Alley Oop’s Home Circa 1947.

I suppose the Squirrelly story came to mind because it’s a synopsis of the possibilities carried to the ultimate extreme, accompanied by the fact I recently had an email from his great-nephew wanting to ask some questions about my mention of his Queenshead claim in my lost gold mine book.

Old Jules

Previous posts: Skulls, skeletons and homicides:

The Ruin Skull – A Long Day Ago

Cold Mystery, Fevered Romance and Lost Gold

The Strangeness – Background Context of Unsolved Homicides

The Who-Ya-Gonna-Kill-Next Lottery tickets on sale at your Army Recruiter

Hi readers.  Back in the summer of 1961 the Rooskies were building the Berlin Wall and naturally we were all scared shitless they’d be wanting France or Britain next.  Because we were all dumber than cluckshit and we believed what the US government told us.

Anyway, July 1961, I was feeling patriotic as hell, wanted to kill me some young Russian guys.  Maybe shoot them, blow their damned brains from hell to breakfast.  Or maybe stab them with a bayonet close up, personal and bloody.  So I joined the US Army figuring they were the only branch of the service that actually rubbed up against Rooskies.

Damned Navy guys just floated around safely out in the ocean in ships loaded up with guns and munitions, never get a shot at a single Rooskie, most likely.  And the Air Force guys trained with .22 caliber rifles.  Jeeze.  Whoooo wants to shoot a damned Russian kid with a .22?  Stupid damned Air Force guys didn’t even march around carrying full field packs.

And the US Marines sounded okay, but how the hell would a Marine get all the way over to where there were Rooskies to be killed?  Ivan was going to be trying to hide behind that Berlin Wall.  Getting at him would be a job for good old American dogfaces, climbing over that wall and charging into machine guns aimed by Rooskie kids.  The best a Marine could hope for was maybe getting a chance to kill a Chinaman.

Whell hayuls bayuls!  I spent three years, went through the Cuban Missile Crisis, sea cruised to Japan and Korea and back, and never got to kill nobody, and especially not some Rooskie teenager with a bayonet nor hand grenade.

So I came home and the Vietnam War geared up, and I got out.  The guys who went in just after I did ended up killing all manner of brown people who didn’t need killing, but no damned Rooskies.  Nor Chinamen, either.

Later on guys volunteered to go kill brown people in wossname, Kuwait, Iraq, and that other place over there, Africanistan?  Something along those lines, anyway.  But the Rooskies had donealready pulled all their teenagers back inside their boundaries and good American boys couldn’t get at them.

But there’s still hope.  Some damned warlord over there is making a nuisance of himself and threatening to send some teenagers off to get their asses blown away, and the guy, wossname, in the White House is making noises suggesting he might lie claiming those Rooskie kids need killing.

He ought to have a belly full of killing brown people by now.  Rooskie white kids would be a refreshing change.  And meanwhile there’s that hodgepodge thing going on over in Western Iraq and Syria where the sky’s the limit.  Hells bells, just kill anythng that moves and you’ll hit someone who hates our guts.  Because we’ve probably blown the legs off their relatives one-time-or-another.

As a backup plan, if our boys run out of people to drop explosives on, there’s always white people living in Israel, but they’re harder targets, hiding in colonies over in Palestine.
Old Jules