God Texted


God:   Hello Laurie. You there? Texting is cool.

LK:    Well….well….well.     Greetings Hosannah In The Highest!

God:    The notorious G-O-D. I thought I’d try this texting stuff. It’s so instant us!

LK:   More so than talking on w phone?

God:  You guys to read more.   It’s all good.

LK:   How different the everything would have been had the technology existed back in the day.

God:   You guys were in your infancy back then. I had to introduce things to you in baby steps. Most of the early flock were Empiricists. These guys didn’t believe anything unless it could be felt, smelled, tasted, seen or heard. I had to be very creative back in the day.

LK:   And these days we take it all for granted.  We have banking, communication—everything In a cloud. And instantly accessible.

God:    You think Apple is a big deal? There was such mishegas with Guttenberg and the printing press!! What a commotion!!!    But it was good. I needed the world to be better connected…you know…closer. That Tower of Babel explanation only made things worse. It destroyed more bridges than it made.

LK:   Then why didn’t you just stick with Esperanto when you you had the chance?

God:    Water is great, right? But if you have access to eight different tasty kool-aid favors, well, how groovy is that?

LK:    Variety, huh?

God:    Anybody can learn a second, even a third language. Then there are emotions–those are universal. Love feels the same in if you speak Swedish or Urdu. Hate can be expressed in Mandarin as easily as it can be in German—Bavarian accent, thank you. And English is really kind of the new global speak. For a while I thought it should be Hebrew, but it’s a bit too glottal.

LK:    That would’ve infuriated the Islamic states. Can you imagine anyone there joining “the talibansky??????”

God:     Lead by Osama bin Ladenovitz???? Wasn’t in the cards.

LK:     What’s in the cards, then? Share, please.

God:     That’s up to you.

LK::     I hate it when our exchanges turn vague.

God:     They’re only vague to you and always only in the very beginning. The last word you type or utter in our conversations always come from a more enlightened person.

LK:    Knowledge is power.

God:     And faith is sustaining.

LK:     But more difficult in terms of adherence.

God:    For some, not for all. Faith is there for all who need it; those who seek it. It’s good to believe in something.  Even if it comes in the form of disbelieving.   That’s a commitment too.   It’s like what we were talking about earlier.

LK:     You mean the Internet? The ether? A cloud?

God:   Yes, and the big, white, gassy ones in the sky are no picnic to explain either.

LK:   I have faith, but it’s hard to describe.

God:    You’ve just described faith.

LK:     Interesting. Tell me please, do you know how it all goes? How it all ends?

God:    I know when it begins and I know when it ends.

LK:    And the middle part?

God:    That’s up to you. Look sweetie, life is like a sandwich. I give you two slices of bread—one is for birth, the other is for death. You decide what to put in between the slices, Ham, egg salad, a little roast beef, turkey or whatever.

LK:   You admit you know when it ends, but do you know how it ends?

God:   Simply put, it’s like this. Do I know when? Yes. How? No.

LK:    How can you not know how?

God:    I’ll let you in on a little secret. The keyword here is mystery. I can’t possibly explain everything. Only a few people can handle the reality–Steven Hawking and Nancy Pelosi to name a few.

LK:    Pelosi always sounded like an Italian verb.

God:    Yeah and who knew Nancy would become such an adjective!

LK:    I’ve known a few Nancy boys.

God:     As have I. You know, I’m perfectly okay with them getting married. I created them for a reason.

LK:    Which is???

God:   So everyone would have the chance to find love if they so choose. Your relatives 170 times removed poo-pood the concept of homosexuality. But that was when the world needed populating. I needed humans to procreate, but I needed them to love more.    So I let nature take its course.  People should love who they love. I never meant for the issue to be as divisive as it has.

LK;     How did you…YOU NOT see that coming??

God:   Maybe, I looked the other way. Maybe, I decided to give you guys the option of accepting things or denying things.

LK: Free will, again?

God : Again, free will.

LK:   That’s something you know I have trouble with.

God. Calvinism still keeping you up at night?

LK:  Well yeah frankly. Why does someone’s free will impinge on another persons free will? For example, a child is innocently playing in the front yard and some pedophile drives by, sees his opportunity, snatches the kid and a four year old’s battered body is found in a semi dry creek bed three days later.

God: You just answered your own question, doll.   Opportunity and outcome.

LK:  But we’re talking about an innocent child with just four years of life under his belt? He doesn’t know morality or what’s good or what’s evil.

God:   Maybe this ignorance can be a gift. That was his life. That’s all he got for this go round.

LK:   What do you mean?

God:    Here ‘s that Pesky Calvinism again. Pre-determination, but even that’s over simplifying it. Let’s say everyone has an alpha and an omega. A beginning and end.  .Don’t forget the sandwich metaphor.

LK:    How does that play into the reality that a toddler was abducted and found murdered?

God:   Again, it’s not that easy. But look at it this way: The child was going to die, It just so happened that he played outside on that particular day.    The murderous pedophile chose to turn down the street where the kid lived. Sometimes lives intersect. Sometimes only one comes out alive.

LK:    But to die in such a horrific way?

God:    Death is the destination, dying is the process. It gives me no pleasure watching a baby die en utero, There’s no joy in watching a platoon taken out by an IED. Its painful watching a jihadist wearing a suicide vest killing himself and everyone else in an open air market in Tel Aviv. It pains me to see a bomb landing in a playground,

LK:   Then why do we need to die at all? Why kill a baby before its born?

God:    Envy life has a purpose.  But the purpose has to be finite.   For the time the baby had, her impending arrival gave great joy to a mother and a father, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins.

LK   And great pain when it was miscarried.

God:   Yes, but perhaps it wasn’t meant to live.

LK:   Then why couldn’t you intercede?

God;    Who’s to say I didn’t? The one thing you mortals that makes me crazy is attribute perfection to me. Heck, I invented mistakes. Some rapper once warbled, “ain’t nuthin’ perfect”. Preach on, my son because that’s the truth. Humans are created with a divine recipe. I’m talking about a billion spontaneous combustions of cells amid myosis and myotis and other fancy Greek based words with ‘osis’ as a suffix. That means the odds are pretty good something might go wrong. And sometimes it does. I start the car; Nature is the engine. As for your fetus question, some baby’s aren’t sustainable outside the womb.

LK:  I understand attrition and culling of the herd and all…

God:   Don’t put it like that!!!

LK.   Then explain why some disabled kids make it through the gauntlet.

God:   Because they have a purpose, too. Primarily, they bring joy to the lives around them. They make people in their spheres, willing to be compassionate and tolerant, more compassionate and tolerant. In essence, better rounded as people.

(Texting ceases briefly)

God:   Uh…you there? I sense you’re making that confused face, right?

LK   I’m here.

God:   What everyone must understand is that you spend your life as both teacher and student. Life is a gift and each life regardless of where or how it’s lived is a process in which a lesson must be learned and must be taught as well.

LK:   Like famine?

God:   It gives cause to celebrate times of plenty and stock up, when there are periods when food is scarce.

LK:   Like war?

God:    Peace can’t exist without war. We wouldn’t know sweet without bitterness. If love exists, hate has to exist…or worse, apathy.

LK:    Explain apathy then.

God:   Switzerland.

LK:   I love that you’re funny.

God:   I communicate with you in ways relatable to you. If I’m funny, then you’re funny since the ancient texts say you’re made in my image.

LK:  But I don’t have a big white beard and wear long flowing robes.

God:   Neither do I. That was Chuck Heston and someone’s idea of me in the make up and costume department on the set of a Cecile B. DeMille movie.

LK:  bDo you like food, too?

God:   My child, happiness is a twelve inch high pastrami on rye. Heaven to me looks a lot like the old Stages deli.

LK:   What’s hell like then?

God:   No decent deli to be found within a hundred mile radius.

LK:     Good one, G-dog.

God:   Hate to end this delightful texting session, but I must. Your Me-given opposable thumbs must be hurting by now and I have a massive prayer list to deal with, some dating back to the Nixon administration.

LK:   What are those prayers about?

God:  You had Gerald Ford in office, right? Prime example of that old saying, “be careful what you pray for.”

LK: Good point. Then get busy, God. One last question?

God:  Shoot.

LK:  Does that mean you answer all the prayers you get?

God.  Of course. I texted you, didn’t I???

Oh My God-diva!!!!

Hello all,

It’s been forever since I’ve written anything on this blog.

But today, I stumbled upon something so incredibly decadent, that I decided to end my journalistic exile….if only for today… sharing with you a new, but regrettable appreciation for sweet stuff.

Up until quite recently, I was a savory loving broad. If I ever had anything sweet, it was a Coke and nothing else. But here I am four years into crone status, and chocolate has become a lusty pursuit. Thanks estrogen declination.

So today, while waiting for an appointment with a repair tech at a local Apple store, I happened by a Godiva boutique. Nice chocolates, right? But not my cup of tea. So, I have always been able walk by these ass expansion projects with no problem, but this afternoon, I was lured inside by the muse, Cacoacophony.

She’s the pudgy one with blood glucose issues.

I walked in the store, took a look around the place, and my eyes went straight to the chocolate dipped macaroon packages displayed on shelves, but arranged to say in the most subliminal ways, Eat me!”

I did.

I bought a four pack (around 20 bucks or so) knowing full well of the impending punishment. I took one bite and my jeans and I both cried simultaneously.

We’re talking about a nice sized truffle almost as big as my palm. Calorically?? About 330 calories packed inside a rich, dense, not overwhelmingly sweet, cake-like macaroon, not “bonbonish” at all, yet still quite moist. They’re all hand dipped in your choice of milk, white or dark chocolate. I have no idea if they’re kosher or gluten-free. I couldn’t read the label after shredding the package open with my teeth and at least four toes.

Make no mistake, these are  guilty pleasureS  INDEED imageat 330 calories per macaroon. I found this out after the fact and immediately vowed I would eat only a half each day, which would allow me to spread out my joy throughout the week.

That didn’t happen.

One half lead to three quarters ,which lead to one whole macaroon which in turn, forced me to eat a second one. Yes, forced,. Gum paste gunpoint. I was in such chocolate denial, exacerbated by sugar rush that would gack out a Howler monkey.  I found myself cutting it up in  8 tiny slices.

Seriously. As if eating it that way would make a difference. Whether you cut a 16 inch pizza in four slices or eight, it’s still a 16 inch pizza.

But mind you, this minor math lesson could necessitate the need for a meth session. One bite and you will happily bloat up and feel generally guilty and slovenly for hours. These are hubris filled bad boys and damn good. If they were humans, they’d be coconut narcissists.

All I know is that after one bite I wanted to light a cigarette, change the sheets and take a nap.

Keep in mind this is coming from a non-sleeping, middle- aged woman, teetering on frigidity, who doesn’t like sweets and never smoked.

The University of Texas: Forty Very Acrid Acres

Yes, I know.   Six generations of fruit flies have come and gone since I last posted a fresh, new blog.    I have no excuses, nothing much has inspired my digits to glide across my keyboard lately.    And in an effort to curb the codpendence blogging can create, I vowed to myself that that’s exactly what I’d do—-publish something ONLY if I felt moved.

Well, after last night’s humiliating Longhorn loss to Ole Miss, I had a movement alright.    And  the color of it just happens  to be  newest hue in the Crayola box of 64:   Mack Brown.

Look people, I’m a faithful Texas fan.    I’ve been through the years of feast and the years of famine, but lately UT football has been terribly frustrating and ironic….not unlike a bulimic trying to maintain an impossible binge/purge a habit while living in Sub- Saharan Africa.     And this sentiment has been bubbling to the core ever since the Longhorns won the National Championship in 2005.   After that, things went downhill.   We’re talking eight years of demonstrating frustration and eating humble pie.    Now, I know what it’s like to have been an Aggie for a while there.

In all my years of being a devout Orange Blood, I have never, even allowed the possibility of this thought to enter my gray matter.   Loyalty is the very core of  fandom.


I hope Texas never wins another game this season.

There, I said it.

And I said it because this is the only way the puppet master withing university brass will fire Texas head coach, Mack Brown.  He’s been at the helm of the UT program for 16 years.  Several were good years indeed. He helped us get to the Rose Bowl for the very first time.  We played Michigan and won thanks to the golden toe of young field goal kicker, Dusty Mangum who put it between the uprights in the final seconds of the game.   We returned a year later   to beat USC for the national championship.     A few years later, we played Alabama for the National Championship.      We took home the silver medal in that contest.      Even so, it was a good run for Brown;  was being the operative word.

There was, I feel, a great deal hinging on the outcome of the Longhorn’s third game of the season.  In the first contest,  they beat a community college who’s name escaped me.  Then in game two, they lost to BYU.     Last night, after showing some initial promise in terms of field command, they went into the locker room at halftime and reemerged sub par.   The Kennedy’s playing flag football at the Vineyard compound at Thanksgiving could have beaten Texas.

There are two things the top brass at Texas don’t like:  losing and the colors maroon and white.    Texas, love it or hate it, is a very wealthy school.   It’s coffers  perennially  beat out  other Texas Universities hands down and is the third wealthiest in the country behind the Thurston Howell the Third schools, such as Harvard and Yale, respectively.   The UT system’s endowment totals more than $17 billion, and check this out:  the school only receives 20% of its budget from the state, and that support has dropped steadily since 2009, leading to student walkouts to protest the budget cuts.

So, where does it get its money?    A couple of places:   There’s the University  The Permanent University Fund (PUF) which is a Sovereign Wealth Fund provided by the state to  fund public higher education within Texas.   It started out as funds received from the least of grasslands owned by the state and then came Spindletop and big oil.   Need I say more?     A portion of the returns  are annually directed towards the Available University Fund (AUF), which distributes the funds according to provisions set forth by the Texas Constitution of 1876, subsequent   amendments made since then, and the board of regents of the all powerful  University of Texas  System and their counterparts at Texas A&M.   The PUF provides extra funds, above monies from tax revenues, to both collegiate systems  which collectively have approximately 50 percent of state public university students. But while this fund was established to fund public universities, no  other schools in the state are allowed to dip their feet into this ever flowing font of green.   However, in 1984, university systems such as those at Texas Tech, North Texas State and others were given access to   the Higher Education Assistance Fund, essentially oil and natural gas crumbs.   Adding any other university system  or individual institutions to the Permanent University Fund would require an amendment to the Texas Constitution and since the majority of the Legislature consists of Aggie and Texas alumni, that ain’t gonna happen.

UT also operates on endowments…BIG ENDOWMENTS from deep pocketed alumni, who say prayers to St. Darrel of Royal every morning.    And then there’s the licensing of merchandise.  For the eighth straight year, Texas tops all other schools in terms of selling Longhorn merchandise and this is on going despite several abysmal football seasons.   People love the burnt orange and apparently, this little logo:


Bevo, as it turns out is quite marketable as bovine goes.

And then there’s the hand gesture:


It’s cool.   It kinda looks like the horns on a steer of that particular breed.   Rockers love it, but not for team loyalty and let’s be honest,  hands down it beats all the other Johnny Come lately team hand signs that came afterwards.

So, burnt orange means   green in Austin.      But while Longhorn caps, shirts, golf clubs, Christmas ornaments, insurance policies and , prosthetic limbs continue to fly off the shelves, I would think endowments from the Mega Bucked, would falter. If I were giving multi-million dollar donations to keep the Laurie Kendrick Endowment for the Endowed to stay afloat, I would most certainly want some bang for my buck.

Like winning football games if I may be so shallow.

The powers that be at Texas love Mack Brown and they have for the last 16 seasons which have been uglier than pretty.  After losing to BYU more than a week ago, Brown fired his defensive coach 24 hours after the second game of the season, something he said he’d never do.    It was if the Longhorns were trying to lose.    I witnessed more blown tackles on that field, than on a post game Sunday night in San Francisco’s Castro District.

And during last night’s debacle, the team looked like uncoordinated flying squirrels.   Leaping and lunging for tackles only to fall short.   They stood up  with mouths full of turf and little else.  As for receivers?   They can’t even catch subtle nuance.

All of this was etched on  Brown’s face.  I noticed it in pics taken before the game.     It was care-worn in that way.  His expression was like “I’d rather be in Damascus”.     He’s aged ‘presidentially”.     You know, as presidents do during extended times of crisis.  As Nixon did during the Checkers speech….and Watergate.    As Carter did during the Iranian embassy crisis.   As Clinton did after Lewinsky, as Bush did after 9/11…as Obama has done since taking office.      He looked bad before the game.  I can only imagine the facial pallor afterwards.   Mack, I beg you…do what Deloss Dodds and that other head honcho   guy won’t do.    It’s called ‘ the right thing”  and you’d accomplish that by abdicating.   Help return some gravitas to UT by hanging up your head coach’s whistle and head set.

NickSabanOr better yet, hand it all over to Nick Saban.   He’s perfect for Texas and I’ll tell you why.   It’s early in the season, but I’d lay odds that he’ll lead the Tide to their fourth (maybe fifth–sorry, not a fan) consecutive BCS title.    Every winning streak ends. It happens.   Ask Oklahoma.     And when it happens to Bama…and it will, do you think those spoiled fans, now so used to winning season after season,  would let Saban survive when its all over??     Highly doubtful he wouldn’t be tarred and feathered beyond one losing  season.

And every losing streak must end, too.  And it will for Texas.     Saban could be key to that.     And why not?      For Coach Nick, it’s a classic case of ‘been there/done that’.   By coming to Texas, he could possibly earn as much ten to 12 million per year, making him the highest paid coach in college football history and trust me, UT can afford that salary  and  then some.   That’s two days production on some UT owned oil wells in South Texas.w    He’d have the chance to do what coaches love to do:  take over a struggling program and rebuild it.   Shine it up pretty to its original Southwest Conference luster.  He may love the Alabama regents, the team…he may even love the state, but the man is human.   Team Saban will always come first.   Nothing against Nickie for that.   It’s all part of today’s survival skills.  In the new millennium, that means making money.   Fiscal promotions are perfectly acceptable exit strategies.    Besides, college coaches are gridiron bohemians, they move a  lot, they have to  command respect in a variety of team colors.   Very few coaches ever have Paterno-like staying power and let’s be honest, even that storied history  was no match after being Sanduskeyed as all of Penn State was.

So Saban, head west.   Come to Austin.     Keep Mack around if you must.   Use him to recruit.   He’s good at that and over the years, he has helped lure many talented blue chippers to the Forty Acres in the heart of Austin.    The problem is  he just forgets how to use them effectively once they sign their commitment contracts.

If that road is not taken,   well, then my beloved Longhorns,  you just keep on playing swinging statues out on the field.   Get tossed around like salad…and not the good kind.    Continue to drop passes.   Give up yards.   Penalize yourself into negative rushing.   Depend on field goals to do what rubbery passing arms and greasy catching hands can’t do.   If you must fail with Mack holding the reigns, then please do so with epic intent.   Be the best at being the worst.  Prove your point with more marks in the Lost Column.   And just remember, lost games means lost revenue.   Sadly, that just  might be the only real reality check at Texas.

And  when the  Longhorn merchandise sales falls behind that of Slippery Rock, when fans no longer buy tickets to the games and refuse to watch the contests on TV, leaving the networks desperately trying to find sponsors, when new building endowments are replaced by  paltry cashier’s checks to purchase  lean- to’s at Mart-O-Rama, remember the glory days when the winning was easy and the money flowed.    When strategy ruled.   And an offense was something beyond that which was listed on  a crime  blotter.

And uh, speaking of,  Mr. UT  Athletic Director, what’s with  all the criminal news issues coming out of Austin regarding team members in recent years?  With all the accusations of rape, drugs usage, DWI’s, attempted murder and other assorted acts of mayhem, I suggest  you might want to follow Patty Hearst’s lead and replace Defensive coach Manny Diaz who you fired after the BYU loss, with renowned defense attorney, F. Lee Bailey.    How about Robert Shapiro? Clarence Darrow’s great grandson?   Matlock?????

prison-uniformBook ’em, Horns,  as the old joke goes.       What the hell, they already look decent in orange.

American Horror Sstory/Asylum: Episode Five

Dr. Threadson revealed he is Bloody Face.

Or did he??????

Why would the creative team of Falchuk and Murray shoot their wad so quickly?  I mean, the identity of the person behind Bloody Face is this season’s Latex Onesey Gimp.   And by the way, I still feel that one of last year’s MAJOR AHS plot flaws was a failure to reveal anything about this black shiny masochistic device, as in why Tate wore it.  Why he killed while wearing it.  We all knew he could kill without it.   Remember the exterminator in the basement?   There were other murders he committed without the suit as well.

So, why reveal five episodes in that Threadson is Bloody Face?

Okay, I’ll accept that he might be a murderer–he might even be the real Bloody Face,  but I’ll bet you ANY amount of money that BF version 2012 isn’t Threadson, unless he’s also gotten that Dorian Grey thing down.  Remember, this season takes place in 1964.   For Threadson to still be whacking and hacking today, he’d have to be in his 80’s.  The Bloody Face that attacked the haunted house touring honeymood couple, Adam Levine and the Mila Kunis/Selena Gomez clone in the first episode, sure was agile and fast for an octogenerian.

We’ll have to dissect this further once we learn more about Threadson and his plans diabolique for future female victims.

Meanwhile, LOVED the homage to Ed Gein with the nipple’s clearly visible in the lampshade made out of skin in Threadson fabu 60’s bachelor pad.   Old Eddie was one extremely interesting homicideal maniac who was the inspiration behind The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Silence of The Lambs.  He’d kill, rob graves and keep trophies of his exploits.   A chair made or real human args and legs, etc.

Even the candy bowl on Threadson’s coffee table was the top of a skull.   Cool, as was the trap door in his…uh “work room”.    If you remember, Threadson took a fancy to reporter Lana Winters and promised he could/would rescue her from Briarcliff.   He made good with her promise.   He walked her right out, put her in her front seat of his car and even told an aproaching gaurd sent by Sister Jude to find him, that he no longer worked at Briacliff.  In fact, he insisted that the guard tell her that “he never had worked there”.

Makes me wonder if he was ever really a shrink and just a well educated maniac who lied his way in to Briarcliff to find who or what he was looking for.  I mean, hey–for a serial murder with a penchant for crazy, asylums make victims ripe for the picking.   And after last night’s episode, it sounds almost like Lana will be spared because she’s a reporter and this murderous psychopath-slash- narcissist wants his story told.   Perhaps Lana will get the story, but she’ll have to go tbrough  HELL to get it written.  He took the face off of Lana’s lover who he attacked in episode two and made a mask out of it.    He crudely placed her teeth in and around the lips and asked Lana to give it a big old wet one.

Nercophelia is bad enough, but add dismemberment to the issue?????

Ed Gein was in to that, too.

Also, I’ve inclined to think that Grace (the French chick with the shag haircut) never went under the knife for her sterilization.  I think she was abducted by the aliens from her cell (which by way, looked very much like the one Adam Levine’s wife hid from Bloody Face in).   She was awakened by this approaching bright light and grinding metal on metal sound and just before we went to commercial, we were offered an extreme close up of Graces face and eventually her eye, and in a pinpoint light next to her pupil,  you could see an image of something–it was either an octopus….a Portuguese Man of War…..OR….one of the tentacled but benevolent aliens that greeted Jodie Foster on the familiar beach of her mind in the movie, Contact.

Did anyone else see that or was I just having an acid flashback?

Anyway, she’s on an examining table on some nebulous sound stage and has some strange encounter with Alma, (I think that’s her name)  which was Tate’s wife that was supposedly killed by Tate/Kit, but as we know, was actually abducted by aliens.   So does this mean Alma is alive and living happily among the aliens or….did they simply need to move into her body to appear human to dupe the humans??????   You know aliens are.

Anyway, the next thing we know, she’s sitting in the  Commons Room and bleeding vaginally.    Tate/Kit sees her and thinks she was sterilized.  Just then the guards come in with the police and arrest him for all the Bloody Face murders.   They say they have his taped confession.

Which was something Threadson made him do in an old reel to reel recorder under the guise if he heard what happened in his own words there would be a better psychological connected to what really happened–or some psycho-babble shit.  Threadson sent the tape to authorities giving them their Bloody Face and allowing Threadson to continue to thrill-kill willy nilly.

No, I don’t think Grace was sterilized.  I think she was either crudely impregnated by the aliens or had an impromptu hysterectomy, not sure which.  I say this because of the conversation he and Grace had in their adjoining cells.   There was a lot of talk about wanting children…especially how much he and his wife Alma wanted kids.  I feel there’s a connection there somewhere.

I also loved Chloe the hobbled nympho’s appearance at the bottom of the stairs near the school.   Sister Satan told Dr. Arden that she took her out to the woods.   Nah, she tossed her down the stairs just like Regan did with Father Karras at the end of The Exorcist.    The stairs even looked like the ones in the movie and lest we forget, the demonic connection is shared in the story line.  As we’ve learned over the past two seasons, Falchuk and Murray are not above pilfering (lovingly so) from their favorite horror movies.

Then there’s Anne Frank, supposedly Charlotte Brown, a housewife with one helluva bad case of postpartum psychosis.   After having her baby, she became obsessed with Anne Frank and assumed her identity.  Whether she’s Anne or not, she knew enough to be able to  completely out Arden as Herr Doctor Gruber or Gruper, an insidiously cruel Nazi SS  physician who toured the Concentration Camps performing ungodly experiments on inmates.

Eventually, Charlotte’s husband has to bring her back to Briarcliff–he can’t handle her and Arden performs a lobotomy on her.   She goes home and transforms into this Stepford Wife who’s in the process of throwing away all her Nazi homework.   But she didn’t get to all of the copies of photos and newspaper stories on the wall.    Just as episode five comes to an end, the camera keys in on one remaining photo hanging there.   It’s one of Hitler standing at a podium in the midst of some anti-Semitic/Final Solution speech and behind him is a scowling decorated SS officer and of course, it’s none other than,  Dr. Arden Gruper Nazi SS Angel of Death Sadist Tool.

Lastly,  did Sister Jude actually go out on the town, and with her red lipstick, seduce up a man at a bar and sleep with him?    Or was that just a fantasy of her previous life or of a life she wants to live outside of her monastic confines????    Arden did say he was going to press charges against her because Anne Frank lifted a gun off a visiting detective and shot Herr Doctor in the leg.  Just a flesh wound.

Sister Jude said the charges meant that it was over for her.  She was done.  Tooth pick inserted in the center and removed crumbless.

Here’s what I think:  Threadson will keep Lana hostage in his hellish lair o’death forcing him to write his biography….a hat tip to the movie Misery, perhaps.   Sister Satan will become increasingly more demonic and will form an unholy alliance with Arden to rule Briarcliff and with the help of the aliens, develop maniacal, imperialistic designs to eventually, THE ENTIRE WORLD!!!!!!!!!!!

I’ll bet Grace is pregnant.  Tate/Kit somehow gets a ‘get out of fail’ card and we’ll learn more about the human eating, forest dwelling creatures,  a sorority in which  the hobbled nympho will surely be blackballed.   Perhaps, the tubby teacher who saw her attempting to slither up the stairs near campus, will call the cops who’ll be able take her to the hospital where she might still be verbal enough to prove that she’s a prime example of Dr. Arden’s handiwork.

And then…maybe the Simon Wiesenthal-esque nazi hunter that Sister Jude contacted will finally get his man.

And in turn, so will Sister Jude.

Probably won’t be able to offer up an overiew of episode six next Wednesday.  I’m cooking for 11 people for Thanksgiving in my lovely, semi-well appointed new home.    I’ll be up to my armpits in dressing, cranberries and Kendrick holiday  mayhem.  See you back here for Episode Seven in two weeks.

Also, my epic piece on JFK assassination facts will be published Tuesday.  this year marks the 49th anniversary of his death in Dallas.  I’ve done a lot of research on regarding lots of little known facts about the case.   Interesting read, if I say so myself.

Until then have a great holiday, kids.

Oh and have a turkey leg for the hobbled Nympho.

Funny Halloween Costumes 2012: Version 5.0

This blog turned five this past March and in the weeks prior to  just about every Halloween since its inception, I’ve published a post about strange and funny and yes, lewd Halloween costumes.

Sure, its easy to wear a t-shirt that says costume o slip on a white bikini with a prominently placed red cross and go as a naughty nurse.  It’s even easy to stick purple or green balloons to your torso and call yourself a bunch of grapes, but I’m talking about those really  creative costumes that requires thought, planning and structural engineering.   Yeah,  some you can order from a catalog or get at one of those overpriced Halloween stores that miraculously appear every late September in all the old Pier One buildings, but the best costumes are the ones designed on the home drawing board.

I always try my best to peruse the web, so you don’t have to.  So, feast your eyes on a post containing  photos of the strangest, most different and hilarious Halloween costumes.   Some are oldies but goodies–new entries will kick things off–but others are, rehashed for your viewing and reading pleasure for yet another Halloween.


Let’s kick things off with the ULTIMATE pair of boobs.

And on that note, the ULTIMATE Google logo.

Because OJ, Chuck Manson, Michael Meyers,  Jason, Freddie Krueger and murderous tainted steroid injections are so, so…yesterday.

Ted Williams

Eye sore or ice scream?   Both are painful.

The annoying Travelocity Gnome

What a tiny spigot!!!

A big ‘ol bag o’Jelly Beans

I’ll take a Jeopardy contestant for $200, Alex!!

An up and coming quarterback

Uh…I’m not even sure how to caption the next photo.

As a rule, I usually loathe pet costumes on any occasion–especially dogs in tiaras and tutus, but these next couple of photos are butched up enough to be rather funny

Fido as Lloyd Bridges on the set of “Sea Hunt”

A quadruped iPhone

Who can take the British?   Bring them to their knees?  Pacify resistors and some curry if you please, the Gandhi Man…oh the Gandhi Man can


A douche bag

The late, great artist, Bob Ross and his Happy Little Tree…Remember the soothing, golden voiced (audible Xanax) painter fella on PBS?

A Hitler child.    Or perhaps it’s a Himmler…or it is a Herler????  The kid in the pic looks like the child actor who played Damian in “The Omen”

A damsel in distress, tied by the villain, to the train tracks.  Woe is all of us!!!!

Ah yes, the classic Halloween bag of weed…nothing scary about this, other than the price he might have paid for one of the biggest lids known to man.

(PS…do they still call bags of weed “lids”???)

The wishing granting arcade game from the movie, “Big”.  Impressive attention to detail

Big Pharma…Candian Style

Cheerful counter service at the diner


Cock Block…get it???

Very clever.

I really don’t want to think about where the head of the guy bringing up the rear in this centaur costume below.   God, can you imagine?   And this paunchy blond man with the stringy blond locks looks like he can really sweat in all the damnedest places .

I AM Iron Man!!!

Not sure what this ↓ costume is exactly or how this guy put it on, but I have a feeling this guy is gonna need a Moil to get it off.

Baywatch has a new lifeguard to add to its bevy of ‘hot’ water rescuers this Halloween.  Meet “Anita Waxing”.   Wow…a Halloween merkin!!!!!

As strange as this costume is, it consists of five people.  It is a partial hand…or rather, five fingers.    Complete with knuckles, those white, half moon shaped lunulasd this, cuticles and ruffles skirts.  Observe  the wedding ring.

An oldie, but goodie

Wendy has tats on her left arm.   Wonder if it reads, “Hot AND Juicy”???

Spy vs. Spy.   What??????  Not familiar to you?   Ask mom or dad to explain MAD Magazine to you, then show them this.   They’ll laugh.

How to use Halloween to come out to your parents without saying a single word

A stink bug

This is a repeat from the several years.  It’s fabulous in it’s simplicity.  All I ask is that you have the bod to pull this off.

Otherwise, behold..the ULTIMATE sausage pizza!!

You gotta love the committment in this one!!!

I think this one is brilliant!!!

Dr. Octogon from “Spiderman”.   Clever.  Optimus Prime, maybe?   Sorry, I never saw the movie

Yes, scary costumes at Halloween can often make frightened children seek shelter by embracing the waist and groinal region of Padres.   There’s safety there!!!!

Tippi Hedren from the movie, “The Birds”.

The iconic scene depicting  Lloyd Dobbler and HIS HUGE 80’s boom box which is playing “In Your Eyes” for a resting brainiac and daddy’s girl, Diane Court from the 80’s movie, Say Anything 

I have a feeling mom’s choice of a natural delivery will not end well.    She will literally, never be the same.

Of course, I MUST insert the obvious joke here….”Trick or Teat!!”

The Old Spice Guy…very three years ago.

A penny for your thoughts, Copper??

I guess this is a Facebook Farmville costume, but I’m not really sure.   I don’t think the wearer is either

Anyone remember the great movie, “Mask”?   It’s about Rocky Dennis, a young man born with Craniodiaphyseal Dysplasia, an extremely rare, disfiguring, sclerotic bone disorder.  The movie starred Cher and Eric Stoltz as Rocky.

Well, I hate to admit this, but I took one look at this completely tasteless costume and burst out laughing.  Having seen the movie several times, I knew who the costume was an homage to the minute I laid eyes on it.

I’ve included a photo of Eric Stoltz in character (full make-up, too) just to hammer home the resemblance.    Good lord!!

I found these pants for sale at a costume website.  Yes, this is an actual costume.  You can either go as Mr. Poopy Pants….OR…..Incontinence Man.    The choice is yours.

Scary Missing Child On The Back of A Milk Carton Man

A very trapped groom.

A little butterball

An ostrich jockey????  Seriously.   Is there such a beast?   Granny Clampett rode one once in an episode of “The Beverly Hillbillies”.   There you go.

The Firefox logo

I’m assuming this is a typical scene from Mike Judge’s old FOX animated show, “King of The Hill”

And finally, if you’re really broke, take a tip from Picasso and Ed Gein and pull out several different face shots in full-page ads in various magazines.  Cut them up; place the various parts from different faces on your face–I don’t know, use tape or glue or spit, then go to your party as a scary guy or gifted actor, Steve Buscemi’s much uglier brother

The ultimate camel toe, complete with a posse.  I SAID POSSE!!!

A real by God illegal alien

I was always under the impression there were no eyes in Halloween????

And last but not least, Zipper Face

A resounding BRAVA on this costumed effort.  Someone’s good with the Maybelline.

So, there you go…my annual homage to All Souls Day Costume-A-Rama.

Happy Halloween, ya’ll.


Laura Kaeppler, Miss America 2012

This past Saturday night, I wrote a post about the excessive cringing I’ve been doing in my life lately. It’s the visceral response that I have when I think back on all the idiotic and in some cases, dangerous things I’ve done. We’re talking careless, reckless behavior. I alternate between feeling intense embarrassment, then shame…sometimes I feel both simultaneously. That’s enough to get to me think a bit about pulling a Lupe Velez…not that I ever could OR would do that. But I will admit, I am still appalled at my own  behavior.   Immobilized by my own audacity. 

Well, a post about all of that somehow degraded to  the subject of  Miss Texas, Kendall Morris making it to the Top Ten of the last Saturday night’s 2012 Miss America pageant, but not going beyond the top ten,  despite demonstrating what I thought to be the most talent of the nine other young women.   She was/is tall, young, and pretty. Beyond that she was/is this wonderfully fit specimen of womanhood. As handsome as she was/is, I suppose the woman who went all the way to be crowned and  then subsequently crooned by a CD of the late Bert Parks singing to her that as Miss America, she’s everyone’s ‘ideal”, was even prettier, talented and more fit.

Her name is Laura Kaeppeler.

For her talent, she sang opera, which I remember and to be honest, the performance made me cringe as much as reflecting back on that one particular Saturday night I spent drinking a lot of tequila in Nuevo Laredo. You can imagine the rollicking, frolicking evening I had. If you can, then please tell me. I don’t remember a thing. And something tells me I’m better off NOT remembering anything.

Anyway, see the pic above.  Pretty, right?

In the defining Q&A portion of the pageant, in which a question is selected randomly, she was queried via a slip of paper about the relevance whether ,  “a beauty queen should declare her political viewpoints or not’ . To that she answered…

 “Miss America represents everyone, so I think the message to political candidates is that they represent everyone as well. And so in these economic times, we need to be looking forward to what America needs, and I think Miss America needs to represent all.”

Not bad. ‘Twas a nice demonstration of thinking on her feet in a calm, cool and intelligible way.

Hardly this ridiculous mental prolapse:

The platform she’ll support for her one-year reign is supporting and mentoring children of incarcerated parents. She should know–her father served 18 months in prison for mail fraud. In fact, her dad was sentenced when she was 18, just as she was graduating from high school. That was five years ago and her views about having a jail-bird for a pappy are very reasoned and obviously, honed through experience. In her words,, “I know there are many of you out there and I was one of you, but it doesn’t have to define you.”

We are the products of so many things; genetic coding, environment, religion, birth order, gender,  social status  and of course, choices. The one we make and the ones others make that affect us.

I like what I think Laura Kaeppler stands for, though I don’t know her from Adam. And it’s because I didn’t know her that for a few moments Saturday night after donning that rhinestone crown, I thought her only problem in life was getting a zit. Being lovely, pretty and publicly “showing well” were her only concerns. While in  her line of work as a pageant contestant, that understandably, would be the case– having a father serve time in prison for a felony outweighs an acne outbreak anytime.

Laura Kaeppler is a bright, shining example of the Big Get Even that sometimes life bestows on us. No one has it all. I don’t care who you are. If you’re pretty and smart and decent, you’ve got a father who bent the rules to get ahead fiscally and was sentenced to prison for it. The family shame. If you’re smart and funny, invariably you’re built like a Rubik’s cube and that physical limitation only exacerbates your rampant carb addiction and lack of willpower. If you’re pretty and smart, you have the personality of a Ticonderoga No. 2 pencil eraser. If you’re a man who’s handsome and rich, you’re a self-centered rectal fissure.

Now, this isn’t to say that there are some who actually defy this and have it all, but these are rare finds, indeed. The truth is, no one experiences pure joy, elation and balance all the time. By our very nature as fallible mortals, we must endure the yin and yang of existence. The ups and downs; the highs and lows. Nature…God…the Universe (insert your belief system here), I swear, puts governors on our lives.   Whenever things are going well, something has to happen to temper it.  As if a law of nature.  George Harrison once warbled, “all things must pass”.   Joy comes as goes as fast as the violent thunderstorm.   

We’re given enough, never too much.

We are born free, but bound.

A million years ago, I grew up in a small South Texas town with small people who defined me by where I lived and the family I was born into. As I child and teen, I’d always heard others thought me lucky.   My family lived and played in what I suppose could be construed as small town opulence,  but lucky because of that????   Why is luck to some, defined by what one has? The people who thought I was lucky couldn’t have been more wrong. The home I grew up in had six bedrooms. It was big and that’s what people first noticed. Eventually, that would become all that they could see; just the outside walls and their dimensions. 

To me, that always exemplified perceptions and how different they can be depending on the eyes that’s doing the looking— the have nots vs. the reality of those who have, whether real or imagined.

In a way, that was the only thing I saw in Laura Kaeppler on  Saturday night. What she looked like..the fleshy walls that show the world a very lovely face and body.   I know she’s pretty, but that’s all I know.    I don’t know what her hurts are; what her needs are….her wants.   I don’t know what makes her cry…or cringe…in the privacy of a darkened room at 3:26 AM on any given Tuesday.

I don’t know her.    I just know what I see, which allows me to see her as one who has…so I can grieve as one who has not.

All of this is just fine, really.   This common distortion means the walls are doing their job.

They’re made to keep the roof on and the elements out.

Walls also help keep secrets hidden.

The Sad Art of Gaslighting


Yesterday, was “one of those days”.

All was going fine—until I stumbled upon something that shook my core: I was going through my voluminous Inbox in an attempt to make room for my life and I found an e-mail from my best friend who died a year ago. For some reason–never opened it. I guess it got lost in the shuffle.

Anyway, I read it and was flooded with emotion.

I didn’t sleep.

I tried watching TV but “The Giant Ladder System” was on 269 of my 280 channels so, that was a wash. I thought I’d try reading, so I went looking through my books trying to find something that would either take my mind off things or one that could help me better understand and deal with my grief.

I found just what I was looking for, but it wasn’t a book that dealt with the loss of my best friend; it was more like a book that would help me cope losing myself. It’s entitled, The Gaslight Effect: Don’t Be Afraid To Speak Your Truth by Robin Stern.

“Gaslighting is the systematic attempt by one person to erode another’s reality. This is done by telling them that what they are experiencing isn’t so – and, the gradual giving up on the part of the other person.”

Stern goes on to say that gaslighting generally takes two to tango: one person who needs to be in control to maintain his sense of self; the other, who needs the relationship to maintain his/her sense of self and because of this, he/she acquiesces—constantly.

The victim ends up giving far, far more than he/she gets. This process invariably erodes the soul.

You know you’re in a full blown Gaslight Effect when you find yourself second guessing your own reality; when you’re unsure of what you really think and feel. Why? Because you’ve allowed someone else to define your reality for you. Invariably, this leads to being told what to think and how to think. And then in turn, you’re told who you are. You’re molded into an entity that someone else deems worthy of his or her love, affection; attention.

And because of the constant whittling away at your psyche, you believe you’re a better person as he or she sees you; as he/she needs you to be.

As the kids used to say….”word”.

Having been “gaslit” in the past, I’d like to share my thoughts with you.

Gaslighting I think, is all that I just mention, with refined manipulation added. And this is maniplation that’s defined by greed and selfishness. It creates cognitive dissonance and it’s this “in between state of cognizance” that women–people, find themselves most vulnerable.

It’s being forced to color inside the lines that others have drawn for us. If we don’t, we’ll be alone and that to some people, is a fate worse than death. Knowing that isolation and lonliness are the dreaded alternatives, we allow gaslighting. It’s not compromise. Hardly–it’s utter relinquishing of the self.

The authentic self.

Then, you find yourself in a horrifically bad relationship but you stay because of that INSIDIOUS goddamn mindset that a bad relationship beats no relationship.

Make no mistake: this IS emotional abuse in every sense and women are almost always the victims. Don’t misunderstand the premise: women can be the culprits too. But women bear the brunt of more negative genetic coding–or so it seems. We’ve been subjugated by primordial design to believe relationships, love….and men, define us.

But gaslighting isn’t limited to love relationships. We also fall victim to it on the job; co-workers and bosses are often perpetrators and it also happens within the family dynamic.

Gaslighting is very real. As I stated, I’ve lived it. I just didn’t know it had a name. Or a book that defined it. Ordinarily, I try my best to avoid partaking from the sump pump of pop psychology. In other words, if Dr. Phil mentions it, I run in the opposite direction. But this book makes sense.

And here’s my two cents.

Integrity (something sorely lacking in the world today) applies to behavior that consistently matches principles. You can’t be a person of integrity if selfishness and self centered behavior are what fuels every motivation. Gaslighters almost always lack integrity; as distorted as this sounds, they thrive on their own selfishness. They are always self-centered. They are consummate liars. Invariably, they will never fail to fail you.

One must then ask, how can a gaslighter expect to be loved if he or she doesn’t know how to love? How can he or she venture into a real, equitable partnership without knowing how to play fair?

The answer? Manipulation passed off as love or affection…or concern

  • No one will love ever love you like I love you
  • You’re nothing without me
  • I ONLY want to take care of you
  • I only want what’s best for you and only I know what that is
  • You have changed and grown so much since knowing me. I make you think and you are better because of it

Furthermore, what these people demand of themselves will rarely work with others. Once again, we touch on “coloring inside the lines” we draw for others. And when someone refuses, that’s how gaslighting starts. I think foisting this on someone else, is the quintessence of neurotic narcissism.

What this book reveals isn’t earth shattering. If you’ve lived it, then you know exactly what gaslighting is all about. For me, it merely gave a name to what I’d experienced.

In remedying the gaslight malady, it goes on to state the obvious:

Women (especially) must be more assertive. We must be fearless about defining who we are, what we are and what we really think. We must empower ourselves to move forward and find real contentment in a relationship as opposed to sanctuary, no matter how fleeting.

I’ll take it one step further:

Some of us, by virtue of childhood experience, seek emotional replicas of our fathers and mothers. If we had a controlling parent, very often we’ll seek controlling partners. We’re most fortunate if we can break that cycle. And just because we find ourselves in abject co-dependence with someone cruel and controlling, well…that doesn’t mean we have to stay. Gather your courage and leave Simon Legree. As the James Gang so aptly sang, walk away.

But remember this: walking away is sometimes much easier than garnering the strength required to take that first step.

And keep this in mind as well: you’ll never gather courage by allowing fear to keep you in a one-sided relationship that’s devoid of romance, passion and real emotion. To do so is a sign of weakness. It’s giving your power away. We should be empowering ourselves. When we relinquish control, we hand over the reigns of our lives, willingly.



But for some, this is the perfect scenario. We’re absolved of all blame if we have no control of a situation. If we believe we’re not responsible, we can’t be held accountable. Especially when it comes to our own actions. Victimhood is extraordinarily convenienct. It all boils down to neglect. We’re being neglected and we’re neglecting ourselves. Well then– here’s your wake up call: neglect kills as often as a bullet to the head.

It kills relationships just as efficiently. And if you sit by and allow it to happen, you’re just as guilty.

In closing, I’ll just say this: Caruso loved the sound of his own voice…some people love the sound of their own opinions being expressed.

This should come as no surprise.

The typical gaslighter defies Copernican theory. They think THEY are, in fact, the center of the universe. In reality, this blustery bravado masks rampant insecurity. Inside, they’re just scared little boys and girls , very much afraid to be hurt, yet they think they’re too smart, too superior to actually feel the pain they’ve so deeply buried.

Sadly, this fear-based arrogance means they themselves have been “gaslit”…made victims by their own actions.