No Matter How Many Axes Somebody Put in His Head...

Leon Trotsky Lives On
I mean, I should have known, shouldn't I? Haven't I read that Neo-Cons are simply old Trotskyites (anti-commies really) still out for revenge for somebody's agent down there in Mexico putting an ax to Old Leon Trotsky's skull while he was sitting at his desk? [By the bye, just prior to the ax in his skull, the old rascal got to have an affair with Frida Kahlo, which must'a been something, except Frida said he wasn't that good in bed.] Leo Strauss, the U of Chicago (John D. Rockefeller built it) Neo-Con guru, was certainly a Trotskyite anti-Stalinist who turned Trotsky's "Endless Revolution" around backwards and turned it into "Endless War."

That's the objective of our little phony-baloney president, though he really is our blunderer-in-chief and our "servicemen" love his ass; and so do all the cops and firemen all over the country; and so do all the gun-toting Cretins all over the country; and so do the Mormons; and so do 28% of the voters; and so do all the VFW freaks in their little cunt caps and wearing their stupid service ribbons that millions of goofy soldiers have--and Purple Hearts, too; Purple Hearts galore and Lyndon "Big Balls" Johnson gave out the most Congressional Medals of Honor of any president during any war. The man who got two Congressional Medals of Honor (it was rumored he got 3 but one was denied him), General Smedley Butler, said the US Army was simply the army of the corporations--the army was a racket, the good Marine general said back in the 1920s. We didn't learn the lesson then; why do we think we are suddenly going to learn it NOW? NOW now stands for NOW Only War, N-O-W.

We glorify violence on television and in our movies. We glorify the torture of young women on most cop and CSI type shows--it's always the young girls the serial killers bury alive and shit like that! Yeah, men get blown away, but they're tough and begging for it when they get it; they're not crying like a bunch of sissy girls begging for their lives, bad guys fixing to die die like real men, NRA types, punk criminal types, the heroes we really cherish in this country, guys who kill or get killed. I now even see a Blackwater-type show on CBS--the only show I know where a black dude is the leader hero of a Blackwater-type group of "soldiers of fortune" that go around the world doing the CIA's and the NSA's dirty work, which means these boys are loaded to the teeth and they love killing and slapping A-rabb-looking terrorists up side the head before they blow 'em away. Oh yes, the good, the bad, and the ugly, and they're all killers, no matter what side of righteousness they're on. Even on the proper ladies's soap operas now they have terrorists and kidnappings and guerillas and kidnappings and some of the more buxom and sexy blondes get kidnapped and bound and gagged and threatened with sexual abuse by guys that need shaves but look like a god-damn million dollars--and if you check the records of a lot of these soap opera characters, they've all gone through murder trials, rape trials, kidnapping trials...God, you name it, if it's vile, vulgar, or vicious, vehement, or venal it's on or has been on our shit-for-brains soap operas.

Look at our worship of the Mafia. It's a constant worship of the Mafia. Mario Puzo, a half-ass, beer-gutted, kind'a hack NYC writer, made a fortune off his Mafia-as-hero book, The Godfather. And then look at the Godfather movies, made by a Coppola, too, how they are considered some of the finest movies ever made; yet, they are full of outrageous violence against fellow human beings--so they are stupid goombahs who deserve to be fitted in concrete overshoes--still, those that kill the most viciously come out the greatest heroes in our pop culturists's eyes (see Scarface). Being an outlaw is a very white thing and has been since the days of anarchy out on the Western Plains; it still goes on to this days in the ranks of the rhythm and rhyming hip-hop world.

Look at the worship of John Gotti here in NYC. John Gotti and his worshippers got Rudi Guiliani (Rudi Mussolini) a political career--made him a millionaire, that's for damn sure. How come none of the Mafia guys ever put a mark on Rudi? Doesn't that make you a little suspicious of which side of his heritage Rudi's really on? I've always said he was too F-ing dumb to be a goombah even, so they made him a lawyer and promoted him to Federal prosecuter. Rudi actually failed in his effort to put Gotti in jail (and boy did John have a good life in jail!); it was tax-evasion that finally got Gotti--tax evasion always gets the Mafia dudes, that and stoolies. Hey, the ability to get away with murder is an American ideal, isn't it?

All the evil sides of humanity dream of committing the perfect murder.

Some Neo-Con Facts

What is a NeoCon? Neocon is a neo-conservative who began as anti-Stalinist Trotskist before moving to the far right in U.S. politics. NeoCons have roots in the Leon Trotskyist movement of the 1930s and 1940s. In the 1950s and 1970s that movement morphed into anti-communist liberalism. Today the NeoCons are embedded in the imperial right and militarism of the U.S. defense and foreign affairs departments. If this sounds like muddled thinking, then you are not alone in such an assessment.

Who are the main NeoCons:

• Paul Wolfowitz,deputy secretary of defense is the NeoCon defense mastermind of the Bush administration
• Donald Rumsfeld is defense secretary (since Wolfowitz is too controversial)
• Douglas Feith, No. 3 at the Pentagon
• Lewis "Scooter" Libby, a Wolfowitz protégé who is Cheney's chief of staff
• John R. Bolton, a right-winger assigned to the State Department to keep Colin Powell in check
• Elliott Abrams, recently appointed to head Middle East policy at the National Security Council.
• James Woolsey,former CIA director, who tried repeatedly to link both 9/11 and the anthrax letters in the U.S. to Saddam Hussein
• Richard Perle, who recently resigned as chair of a defense department advisory body after a lobbying scandal. His comment that day was "It is not about the oil."
• Robert Kagan is a NeoCon propagandist who argues that Americans are 'martial' and Europeans 'pacifist.'
• Irving Kristol(b. 1920), City College '40; co-editor of The Public Interest magazine; John M. Olin Distinguished Fellow at the American Enterprise Institute. Kristol said," Ever since I can remember, I’ve been a neo-something: a neo-Marxist, a neo-Trotskyist, a neo-liberal, a neo-conservative; in religion a neo-orthodox even while I was a neo-Trotskyist and a neo-Marxist. I’m going to end up a neo- that’s all, neo dash nothing."

Interesting cast of characters, right?

What was Trotsky's Theory? Trotsky's theory is called "Permanent Revolution" (first published in Russian in Berlin in 1930). Permanent Revolution is a contribution to Karl Marx and Frederick Engel's thought. They wrote that "an independently organized party of the proletariat. Their battle-cry must be: The Permanent Revolution" (Address of the Central Committee of the Communist League, March 1850). Trotsky wrote: "The permanent revolution, in the sense which Marx attached to this concept, means a revolution which makes no compromise with any single form of class rule, which does not stop at the democratic stage, which goes over to socialist measures and to war against reaction from without; that is, a revolution whose every successive stage is rooted in the preceding one and which can end only in complete liquidation" (Ryan, 1996). Trotsky also wrote: "The Perspective of permanent revolution may be summarized in the following way: the complete victory of the democratic revolution in Russia is conceivable only in the form of the dictatorship of the proletariat, leaning on the peasantry. The dictatorship of the proletariat, which would inevitably place on the order of the day not only democratic but socialistic tasks as well, would at the same time give a powerful impetus to the international socialist revolution. Only the victory of the proletariat in the West could protect Russia from bourgeois restoration and assure it the possibility of rounding out the establishment of socialism" (Ryan, 1996).

In sum, the Permanent Revolution that the NeoCons pick up from Trotsky is that a country like Iraq need not pass through the stages of economic development achieved bu countries such as the U.S. Rather, the post-war Iraq government can combine backward and advanced economic aspects, in the form of a Permanent Revolution.

This information is unedited from the following site (written by M Boje, PhD):

http://www.peaceaware.com/NeoCon.shtml

thegrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler

All comments on this site are made by fictional characters who have no relation to living human beings whatsoever. Neo-Wolves. (Wasn't there a writer named Nero Wolfe?)

Sunday Is "For the War" Day

Scare Television
On Sunday mornings I can't wait for the Repugnican side of all of this shit going on all over El Mundo.

Sunday used to be called "The Day of Our Lard" out in the wilds of Texas. Sunday meant it was time to get up early and be cheery, dress in your "Sunday" best--with the women getting you up and getting you ready for "Church." That's what it was called, "Time to go to church." God, I hated those moments. Sunday morning "messages" delivered by who, even as a kid, I saw as having it pretty easy--you know in terms of money, cars, children, a place to live--preachers got to live the best lives on the backs of the congregations their "messages" are supposed to support and give reason for continuing to "toil" on this earth; in other words, and I often asked my mother this, like how come Christians just don't go in for mass suicide and that way go directly to that wonderful socialist movement in the sky the Christians call "Heaven." My mother always told me that God looked down on suicide. "But, Ma," I say, "wasn't Jesus committing suicide in the Garden of Gethsemane (sic) when he knew the Romans were coming to get his ass to nail him up to the cross." "No, son," mother replied, "that wasn't suicide; that was foreordained." Aha! Foreordained. OK, I was confused. By the way, I never heard any talk of peace in any Christian church I ever attended and I was born during WWII and I remember soldiers, kids in my hometown to learn how to "Kill or be Killed"--therefore they were "killers"--attending the church of my childhood, and I don't remember any prayers for peace, though I do remember prayers that our boys would kick some Kraut and Jap ass--and I remember these drawings that showed a US Army Air Force bomber flying toward Jap Land and, by golly, there was Jesus at the controls--beady eyed Jesus, headin' for heathen Japan to blow, say, 300,000 of those Coke-bottle glasses-wearing Jap bastards! Sorry, my Japanese friends, but I was brought up to hate the Germans, the Italians, and the Japs, in that order. I can remember my mother feeding me prunes--and I hated prunes, but she fed them to me like a small one would be Hiro Hito; a medium size one would be Hitler; and the fat ones were Mussolini. Uncle Joe Stalin, for instance, when I was a kid was an ally. I quit going to "church" when I was 17; that was at the beginning of the VietNam War. The first person to ever say "Peace" to me was a kid I went to high school with who was from New York City and wore a beret and all-black clothes and was reading Howl and On the Road--his father bought a book store from my family so that's how I got to know the dude--and everytime we parted after discussing Kerouac or Randall Jarrell, whomever, this dude would say, "Peace, cat." Only Christian white folks called themselves "brothers and sisters."

Seems I remember vaguely singing "Jesus loves the little children/all the children of the world/red and yellow, black and white/they are precious in his sight/Jesus loves the little children of the world." We've modified that now to sing, "Jesus loves the little children as long as they aren't wearing towels on their heads, then Jesus shoots them."

Since the time I was able to think, it was obvious to me this was a PURE white man's world--I reached this conclusion early, when I was two and living in Enid, Oklahoma, the capital of the Cherokee Strip, where white folks raced to steal vast Native American lands rich in wheat-growing soils and underneath all that wheatland a vast pool of oil and gas that ran all over the north central Oklahoma and came down the zippy middle of Oklahoma (there was an oil well on the Oklahoma capitol building grounds) to flare to a stop down around the Okie crotch area of Lawton, Ada, Ardmore, and across the Red River at the top of Texas at Wichita Falls ("Whiskey-tah Falls" it was called when I was a kid because it wasn't a "dry" town like all the other Texas cities in the area) Henrietta and Burkburnett (where the 30s film Boomtown was made--the story of how all that oil was stolen from the Native Americans by--WHO?, well, Standard Oil goons, that's who; representing John Demon Rockefeller and his greedy sons, going under the name of SOHIO--Standard Oil of Ohio; or Socony-Mobil--Standard Oil of New York, on and on, just look up your Standard Oil acronyms and that's who stole all that Okie oil and land from the Native Americans who'd been forced marched to Oklahoma Indian Territory by the kindly old reprobate Andy "I loves me some daughter" Jackson, the Tennessee high-class hillbilly who left his Heritage on Nashville, Yeehaw, Tennessee).

All this to say the White Man rules this country no matter the diversity of peoples who have immigrated and invested here since 1776. The White Man has kept his rule of this country by way of controlling the wealth and the politics of this country. Since the beginning of political time in this country, starting back when the first white man hit these shores in the 1600, life has been very hard and weirdly horrible for anyone who is not a PURE white male--I mean, come on, that's how you measure success in this country, by getting as close to being a PURE white male as you can get. Check out white women! They are totally controlled by the PURE white husbands and brothers and "love me" daddies and things. When a PURE white woman takes control of a business or becomes political, she becomes exactly like a PURE white man.

And I can assure you, the PURE white man is not going to give up HIS hold on this country's wealth and politics. This is the fight going on right now. This is the ultimate goal of Georgie Porgie Bushy Boy and his Old Pappy's New World Order (how come everybody ignores Pappy Bush's New World Order speeches and his Thousand Points of Light crap--remember "Read my lips?" And maybe that was a clue as to how to interpret his worthless son, by reading his lips, except he has narrow lips, wimp lips, lips that are hard to read except that of them you can read, you know if you ain't a PURE white man, you're in trouble.

I'm very surprised Georgie Porgie hasn't revealed his plans to send Black Americans back to Africa like the president Bush Baby is now comparing himself to, and I kid you not, the old Rail Splitter himself, Honest Abe "Send the Negroes Back to Africa" Lincoln tried to do. I mean, we tend to overlook the fact that Lincoln's wife's father was the largest slave trader in that part of the world (Illinois, Kentucky)! I assume Bush Baby and his Pappy Brigades will offer Barrack Obama the first one-way ticket back to his homeland. You see, Obama's the dichty kind of black person that PURE white males have always warned white Amuricans about (remember Emmett Till)--the "Give 'em an inch and they'll take a damn mile"-type blacks that all PURE white males are scared to death of because of the legend that floats among PURE white males that big blacks like Obama have 12-inch-long-or-longer championship penises, which, as the PURE white males also know, all white women, who PURE white males can't trust because of their mother hangups--most PURE white males are mamma's boys, dream nightly of being sexually sent to the Disney World of penises by being seduced or maybe even "fantasy forced" by a black man. Not a PURE black man now; did you hear me? 'Cause you see, under the PURE white male Constitution of this country, black men ain't human, they're savages--OK, OK, you're right, the PURE white males gave them 1/4 human worth, right? A 1/4 man. Wow. They checked noses in Nazi Germany; we'll check penises in this great land that is turning more and more Fascist with every passing moment. That's why I keep saying Bush Baby, our phony president, will never give up his rule; he will declare himself our PURE white male chancellor for life. His picture will soon be gonfaloning down from all our PURE white Federal office buildings, especially the PURE White House, that symbol of the PURE white males's absolute rule. The Lincoln Memorial, by the bye, is made out of PURE white marble. So's the Washington Monument and Old Tom "Red" Jefferson's Memorial. Papa George Washington's Mount Vernon home, that big plantation house on the Potomac, was PURE white, except for George's slaves--they lived in "slave" cabins, which are never white--always "cullered."

From wood s lot via l hat
Here's a kind of frightening bit of truthful observation by a college teacher:
Killers in the Classroom

By Dr. June Scorza Terpstra

02/15/07 "ICH " -- -- During a heated debate in a class I teach on social justice, several US Marines who had done tours in Iraq told me that they had "sacrificed" by “serving” in Iraq so that I could enjoy the freedom to teach in the USA. Parroting their master’s slogan about “fighting over there so we don’t have to fight over here”, these students proudly proclaimed that they terrorized and killed defenseless Iraqis. They intimated that their Arab victims are nothing more to them than collateral damage, incidental to their receipt of some money and an education.

A room full of students listened as a US Marine told of the invasion of Baghdad and Falluja and how he killed innocent Iraqis at a check point. He called them “collateral damage” and said he had followed the “rules”. A Muslim-American student in front of him said “I could slap you but then you would kill me”. A young female Muslim student gasped “I am a freshman; I never thought to hear of this in a class. I feel sick, like I will pass out.”

I knew in that moment that this was what the future of teaching about justice would include: teaching war criminals who sit glaring at me with hatred for daring to speak the truth of their atrocities and who, if paid to, would disappear, torture and kill me. I wondered that night how long I really have in this so called “free” country to teach my students and to be with my children and grandchildren.

The American military and mercenary soldiers who “sacrificed” their lives did not do so for the teacher’s freedom to teach the truth about the so-called war on terror, or any of US history for that matter. They sacrificed their lives, limbs and sanity for money, some education and the thrills of the violence for which they are socially bred. Sacrificing for the “bling and booty” in Iraq or Afghanistan, The Philippines, Grenada, Central America, Mexico, Somalia, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, or any of the other numerous wars and invasions spanning US history as an entity and beginning with their foundational practice of killing the Indians and stealing their land.

Many of the classes that I teach now include students who “served” in the US military and security corporations. There are also many students who intend to join the US military upon completion of a degree because with the degree they get a bigger “sign on” bonus of ten to fifty thousand dollars. Their position is supported by many of the student body, who, vegetating according to the American Plan, believe they should “support their troops”. The excuses that they give for joining or intending to join the US military terrorist training camps are first and foremost motivated by a desire for money. One student proudly said that he is willing to kill for money, a better standard of living and an education. Another student, who had done two tours of duty to the Empire in Iraq, justified killing and torture, citing the importance of staying on top as the world’s number one super power so that his family could have the highest standard of living and unlimited access to the world’s oil supplies. http://www.informationclearinghouse.info/article17074.htm

thegrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler

Shakin' the Shakes

Day After
I drank Harp ale laced with a couple of shots of Jameson's 12-year-old whiskey and then tripped back downtown to have my dinner at my favorite hangout, my neighborhood Irish pub, and then home for bed.

I wasn't drunk. I woke up this morning depressed. Yep, I must'a been drunk.

I'm finishing up reading Pursued by Furies, this amazing biography of Malcolm Lowry of Under the Volcano fame and bad fortune. Under the Volcano was so good poor old F-ed up Malc couldn't overcome it. He'd written Aquamarine as a young man after being sent to sea by his cotton broker father. Aquamarine was a squirrelly book, a young man's adulation of the sea being a form of encaged freedom--being on a ship sailing from England to the Pacific and back. The book was well-written but stained with Malc's admitted plagiarisms, borrowing huge chunks of the work of a Norwegian writer, Grieg, and the weirdo American Conrad Aiken's Blue Voyage, as well as something he lifted from Herald Tribune critic Burton Rascoe, this one haunting Malc for the rest of his life after Rascoe publically called Malc a plagiarist in his review of Ultramarine. Malc saw nothing wrong with borrowing chunks of other writers's writing saying that these writers's words were needed to lead into his own premises and that he had no problem admitting to "plagiarism," which in his writer's way of thinking wasn't plagiarism at all. Rascoe didn't see it that way.

Ultramarine didn't sell that well but it did introduce Malcolm Lowry as a potential at-least interesting writer and probably great writer, which he later proved true with the absolutely wonder-of-the-world writer it took to complete Under the Volcano, a book that I still read with much fierce excitement having lived in Mexico and having been to the same area where most of the action took place, probably having looked down into that same baranca, the abyss into which we all will be flung one day and into which poor ole Malc is fixing to be tossed in this massive biography of him by Gordon Bowker. Biographers like Bowker amaze me. Who the hell knows if the story they are spinning is true or not? Bowker tells Malcolm's story so fully it's as though he was a fly on all the walls that surrounded old Malc wherever he went.

Lowry was happiest when he lived in a squatter's shack on an island called Dollarton, just outside Vancouver, British Columbia. Bowker unfurls gaggle after gaggle of furies that were constantly dancing about Malc's head, the baddest one his dependency on alcohol--alcohol was Malcolm Lowry's true mother and the receiver of his true adoration--you know, like alcohol was his Ave Maria and perhaps he, like Jesus, was born of a virgin birth in a purity he couldn't live up to being plagued as he was by so many other furies, like insecurity, sexual confusion, paranoias having to do with syphilis and also having to do with impotency and homosexuality.

I haven't finished the book yet. Malc had already died in the first paragraph of this 600-page colossal, so I know he's dead already, but oh Jesus, you so want Malc to die anyway by this time in the book even though you know he's already dead.

I, however, do not know how his fury wife Marjorie died so I anxiously await the answer to that question.

That's what I did today trying to dampen the effects of alcohol on me after my hanging Friday night with 3 musician friends in the delightful working-class Irish bar far up the West Side from me here down in Manhattan's belly--which is a good book title and sometimes I have the urge to write at another book. I've written 10 books in my life; two of them were published; the last book I wrote I wrote during my year of hell living with who I called "the woman in my life." That's the novel I'm transferring from the laptop I wrote it on to the laptop I'm using now. [I can't tell y'all how much I dig these Toshiba laptops. This is my third one and it's the best so far. It's an old one, from 2004, a Tecra 8000 operating on XP Pro, but it looks and acts like new--I mean it's in perfect condition and what a joy to type on. I mean my fingers literally fly like raptors over these keys as if they were tasty rabbits and grabbing each one and eating it gives me such strength; I mean I'm killing a thousand rabbits a session writing the way I write on this laptop.]

So I wasn't drunk last night and remember being awake and aware coming downtown on the 1 train, getting off at Penn Station, walking up 33rd to Sixth, looking right down Sixth and deciding to go to my favorite place of cuisine worship and have a big dinner. I spent most of my time at the pub ogling one of the waitresses there who I've known now for right at ten years and she is becoming one of the most beautiful women I've encountered in that number of years and I'm beginning to nozzle tons of pheromones at her by staring lustfully at her as she works. I'm not worried; Irish girls who are pretty love to flirt and love being called pretty--but Irish men tell me...well, I won't disrespect Irish women by believing anything an Irishman says.

But when I woke up this morning, again I was a little depressed--from the damn Jameson's, I surmised; beer doesn't bother me, but whiskey--ohhh, that's another story--I get depressed and being depressed is what ruined poor ole Malcolm Lowry and what has ruined many a friend of mine, including my own dear nephew who blew his head off out in California back in December. I can't bear depression--never have and keep vowing I never will. Every time I've met depression I didn't like it.

Problem is, there's nothing more embracing and loving as a shot of 12-year-old Jameson's Irish whiskey tossed down quick after you come into an Irish pub after walking 7 blocks in windy-ass bitter cold, the tip of your nose and your ears feeling as though they are surely frostbitten. And then, of course, once that first shot has warmed the cockles of yere heart, another one is just right for sparkin' up the old attitudes and generating a serious jolly good time with good ole-good ole friends, friends who love to just one up each other with tales from their music careers. That one night of good cheer is worth this one day of hangover depression, so there, I've solved that problem.

Never let depression get the best of you. As long as you have the privilege of living what we call life, existing for a time on this wonderful earth, being depressed is being dead while alive. As Emerson said, wake up and realize your own history, your own faith, your own self as the source of God, that human energy to survive that dwells in our Holy Temples, what I call the solar plexus or what Freud would call our instincts. Never worry, never fear, and never be depressed. I hate being around depressed people. Ohhhhhhhhh, out damn spot with them.

thegrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler

DUMBOCRATS FALL AGAIN IN SENATE--WAR PROFITS GLEANERS WIN--NO DEBATE ON GEORGIE PORGIE'S CLEVER SURGE WAY OF GETTING OUT OF IRAQ; SENDING 20,000 MORE STUPID YOUNG'UNS TO POSSIBLE DOOM--AND ALL BECAUSE OF OUR PHONY PRESIDENT BEING SCARED TO f-ING DEATH ON SEPTEMBER 11TH OF THAT FATEFUL DAY WHEN THIS COUNTRY WAS ATTACKED AND THIS PHONY PRESIDENT WAS READING MY PET GOAT TO A BUNCH OF FLORIDA GRADESCHOOLERS WHEN THE FIRST BUILDING WAS HIT AND STILL READING THAT STUPID BOOK WHEN THE SECOND BUILDING WAS HIT AND THEN HE RAN LIKE A SCARED RABBIT NOT TO WASHINGTON BUT OUT TO THE SAFETY OF THE STRATEGIC AIR COMMAND BASE IN NEBRASKA.

THE ONLY WAY TO GET RID OF THIS PHONY PRESIDENT IS TO IMPEACH HIM. HIS POSSE IS BIGGER THAN WE THE PEOPLE'S; PLUS, THIS SNOBBISH LITTLE PHONY COWBOY SPOILED BRAT RICH SON OF A WIMP FATHER AND A BALLS-IN-THE-FAMILY MOTHER HAS THE MILITARY, THE CIA, THE FBI, THE DEA, THE NATIONAL GUARD, THE BORDER PATROL, BLACKWATER, THE SECRET SERVICE, ALL LOCAL POLICE AND FIREMEN, AND ALL THE MONEY IN THE WORLD ON HIS SIDE. THIS LITTLE SON OF A BEE COULD DECLARE HIMSELF CHANCELLOR ANY DAY NOW. DID YOU EVER ASK YOURSELF WHY IRAQ, IF IT'S A DEMOCRACY BASED ON OUR DEMOCRATIC IDEAS, HAS A PARLIAMENTARIAN GOVERNMENT AND NOT A BICAMERAL ONE LIKE WE HAVE? ALSO WHY OUR FIRST REP IN IRAQ, A JOKER NAMED BREMMER, WAS CALLED THE "VICEROY" OF IRAQ? INTERESTING, DON'T YA THINK?

A Nonbinding Resolution Against the Iraq War

It's My Lazy Day

I’m back to writing on my Toshiba Tecra up in my loft bed. I’m indulging in one of my favorite pastimes, the watching of “railroad videos.” Right I’m watching one of rail photographer Mark Labrozzi’s productions called Trains of Erie County PA. Two hours of train viewing in Erie County, Pennsylvania, up in the northeast corner of Pennsylvania, just up the road toward Ohio from Buffalo, New York, “The Queen City.” The King City is, of course, New York City—we have a Kings and a Queens County here in NYC. I’m supposin’ here; believe me, I have no idea why Buffalo is called the Queen City, and, yes, I know, all I have to do is search the Internet and find out, but that’s kind’a the meaning of this post…I’m so damn lazy this morning—come on, I just admitted that I’m watching a 2-hour video featuring the trains of Erie County, PA. How lazy can you get?

Railroad videos calm me down. Like a lone wolf, I can sit by these isolated in most cases railroad tracks and watch train after train after train after train, all voiced-over with monotonous train-talk narration, “Locomotive 488 hauls a load of cars toward Selkirk, New York,” that sort of palaver. OK, I’ll admit it, to a normal human being these can be some of the absolutely, no-doubt-about-it, boringest films ever made; unless you were born by a railroad track and used to lay awake at night listening to Texas & Pacific trains passing across the fields outside your bedroom window when when you were a kid, growing up, those trains becoming a part of your psyche. That was my growing-up experience. The rolling of those trains over those rails and the energy emitted through the noise of their mightiness and the beat that rollin’ perpetuated in me is the energy and beat I still live by. The music I still like the best was the music written and arranged on railroad cars. George Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue was written on a train going from NYC up to Boston. Duke Ellington and his band had their own private railroad car and Duke’s area of that car was set up where he could compose and arrange while that coach moved from city to city. One of Duke’s finest compositions is “The Happy-Go-Lucky Special” based on the “Night Train” theme, “Night Train” an early R&B root tune written by a Saint Louis saxman Jimmy Forrest and the theme of my generation of musicians who were the children of Be-Bop and the Beats and the Cool and Peace, Brother and Sister and “Yeah, daddy-o, man, you got the go, man, go; and so’s your fine chick, too, doc jive.” Oh the jive cats. The jive kittens. The shades. The snappy, stringy-brim hats. The continental suits. The Cuban heels. The drugs. The poetry. The community. The hope, man, that sprang eternal from my generation.

So, I love trains and watching train after train after train pass along these filmed tracks up in Erie County, PA., currently digging out of a horror, freak snow and ice storm—blamed on that cold air coming out of Canada by our millionaire weather jockeys on our millionaire-produced
news that is mostly commercials. It’s cold as a witch’s teat here in the Apple today because of the wind. Cold and icy; drab and dirty grey.

And people with cars in NYC woke up this morning to find out early before the sun was barely up our little man billionaire mayor had sent his traffic squads out to ticket all cars that hadn’t moved to the opposite side of the street (“alternate side of the street parking”), which means if you have a car in NYC and you park it on the streets, you have to get up every morning and move your car from one side of the street to the other side of the street before 6:30, I think it is, or you’re subject to a ticket. Our trusting but stupid NYC residents with cars thought that surely after the blizzard that hit us yesterday causing the Sanitation Dept. to snowplow the snow off the middle of the street—the little man billionaire mayor was bragging how he was prepared for the snow storm coming and how he was going to keep the streets clean of snow—so these garbage trucks with steel-plates attached to their fronts come barrel-assing up your street and they pile the snow right the hell against your parking place, in some cases, piling snow so high up over your car that you literally have to dig like a mole on steroids to unbury the damn expensive thing. So, New Yorkers woke up, found their cars snowpiled in, and it was icy snow, too, and it hardened fast to a glassy concrete state, and also ticketed. When the traffic cops couldn’t put the tickets on the cars iced over windshields they stuck the tickets in the door cracks or whatever part of the car was snow and ice free enough to hold a ticket securely.

People were bitching like hell. These tickets ain’t cheap and scores of New Yorkers were calling Sanitation and bitching about these tickets. Surely, they said, alternate side of the street parking had been suspended due to the storm. They got a big “F U” for an answer and then the little billionaire asshole mayor came on teevee and he was standing in front of a bunch of big tough-looking white guys—hunk types like firemen—all cocky and smart-ass and he jeered, “Hey, did you fools expect me to not keep my promise I was clearing the streets of this snow and something these brave men behind me can’t do if you disobey the alternate side of the street parking regulations that have been in place for many years now. If you want your streets clean, then you must let us do our job—let these men behind me do their jobs, which they’ve been up all night making sure your streets are clean and we have gotten through this storm in pretty good shape, I think. So F.U. New Yorkers. I hate all of your whiny complaining guts, you F-ing renters in those rent-controlled apartments—you’re no better than communists to me—and you people who make under 50,000 smackers a year, you know, we don’t want you in Manhattan anymore—you can move to the suburbs; I don’t give a shit about the suburbs, but Manhattan, now that’s mine, baby, and I’ve got designs for Manhattan. Why look at all the construction going on around you here. We’re letting the Commie Chinese develop 55-story luxury apartment buildings all over Manhattan, in every neighborhood, I mean literally thousands of these neighborhood-wrecking hi-rises are going up all over, every neighborhood and that way we are setting $2,000-a-month-a-room as the base rent for all of Manhattan. This way only people with money, like me—and we welcome foreigners especially because we know you Saudis and Japanese and Commie Chinese and Brits have all our money anyway, Americans have no money, well, myself excluded—hell, I’m a billionaire--I probably make 50,000 dollars in a matter of seconds—MONEY don’t bother me none, and excuse me mocking you in a venacular…but GOD, I hate poor people, and I don’t give a shit what your color or race or F-ing religion is, Manhattan is mine, dammit; I’m turning Manhattan into a rich man’s spa, a fun place—and elect me to another term and look what I have in store for you. In the meantime, pay your tickets and pay them on time or I’ll take your god-damn cars and sell ‘em for chicken feed to used car dealers at our monthly city repo auctions. Where’s my helicopter; I gotta fly to one of my Caribbean estates; I’m cold? God-dammit, where’s my helicopter!!”

I just turned off my railroad video. I’ve written myself into a coma.

I have to mentally prepare for a coming noise that has already been born and is rattling the bones of this old neighborhood as over on Sixth Avenue—the hottest real estate street in the city right now—these little bulldozer-like tractors with heavy artillery jackhammers mounted on their noses are demolishing a large parking garage getting ready to put up a god-damn 50-story hotel over there. There are no baffling buildings between my room windows and the site of that noise—it has grown already through its infant stage and is becoming a giant clumsy but extremely cacophonous child—comes straight-ass directly into my brace of windows--so I must brace for a year of construction noise coming my way. Yes, it’s two blocks away, but when you're on an upper floor in NYC noise travels as swift awing as the pigeons who clutter our lower skies and live under our eaves. I’ve had, oh, let’s see, about 4 months of a kind of peace back here in this once-solitudinously quite room now subject to a Dante Hell-like barrage of construction racket—the pile drivers, the truck noises all night long—you know, when these trucks back up those horrid beepin’ insults—and the jackhammering—at least a coming-year of daily noise to disrupt my need for peace.

A wolf-man has no peace ever. With the coming of morning or under that full moon at night, no time for peace.

Tomorrow, Congress is meeting--YES, it's a Saturday!! to vote on a nonbinding resolution that is the Dumbocrat plan on getting our troops out of Iraq--NOT ENDING THE WAR, but at least a start!! No mention of Afghanistan, the "good" war.

thegrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler

I was so lazy, I was late getting this post up--besides being out last night drinking with my musician friends uptown at the Dublin House.

By the bye, the billionaire asshole mayor had to apologize to all the people whose cars he ticketed like the lowlife weasel he is the morning after our worst snow storm yet. The mayor also said he was giving up on alternate side of the street parking for another couple of days. This mayor is such a noncaring son of a bitch. Why these bastards get into politics I can't figure out, except it does put them in a spotlite they love. Spot this, mayor! (I'm shootin' him the bird.)

Clean Break, Part 3

Clean Break?
It has to do with an Israel Palestine policy they called "Land for Peace." As the Israeli Army captured Palestinian lands (like Gaza, the Golan Heights, West Jerusalem), the Israeli diplomats would then negotiate peace treaties with the Palestinians based on their dealing them back certain lands in exchange for promises to allow Israel to remain a sovereign state. The Clean Break idea comes from the 90s when Israel decided to make "a clean break" with the Land for Peace way of dealing with the rightful owners to all of that area, the Palestinians. Yes, I know, the Palestinians are lower than dogs not only to the Israelis but also to the rest of the Arab world, especially Jordan and Saudi Arabia.

So there ya go. And I'm making a clean break from "clean break" posting with this post.

The post. I know there are military posts. I know the New York Post. And of course the United States Post Office, or United States Postal Service as they call themselves now that they are a private company, well, that is they are partially private, semi-private, whatever the hell they call it. Of course, too, as a partially privatized corporation they are losing millions a year and the cost of mailing a post keeps going up two and three cents at a time, right now standing on the brink of going to over 40 cents a one-ounce letter. You post your letter in the letter box, as Sir Bobbie Burns called it in The Ball at Ballynoor--"Where my wife and your wife were doin' it on the floor...." If you recall, in The Ball at Ballynoor, "The letter carrier he was there, the poor man had the pox, he couldn't do the lassies so he did the letter box."

Ah posting! To post. To dig post holes. To postulate. Which I am certainly doing in these POSTS, over 300 now! Praise the Lard! The post horn hath sounded and I take me breeches from the bedpost and posts meself on me post.

Basketball centers play on the post. They post up.

When I was a kid, I lots of times jumped fences and went on posted properties to steal things, like ripe watermelons or some papershell pecans. I was, I could say, a post-operative. The time was post-WWII. Poste, a relay station. You can turn a relay station into a trading post. You know, build such a post right by the corral where you keep the post horses.

You know how to post on a horse? "To rise from a saddle and return to it in rhythm with a horse's trot." You can tie your post horn to the saddle post. We'll post notice of the stage between one post and the next one. We'll ride the stage from one post to another on a stage coach. We travel post haste on a stage coach, especially if it's a post chaise.

But then everything's post hoc anyway.

The Daily Growler poster boy.

Today's Noose
The Ten Commandments Of The Postmodern

V. Remember the days of the past in thine own fashion and according to thine own textual need.

IX. Thou shalt not condemn the use of multinational capital to virtualize everything--thy neighbor's house, wife, manservant, maidservant, ox, ass, anything.

from wood s lot

Apology
I must apologize to the Dixie Chicks. They were pretty much trounced for Natalie's statement made in London about her being ashamed that G.W. Bush was from Texas. They apologized in a way but still they were ruined by the corrupt rightwing owners of the one or two companies that own most of the radio stations in this country and they also own the tour booking rights for some of these groups, so when they boycott your ass you're pretty much finished, which the Chicks were, going from the hottest girl group in the world to a truck-hauling, hustling, desperate band trying to save its ass from annihilation. The poor old Chicks--hey, they're mothers, too; seven children between all the "married" Chicks, two sets of twins brought on by infertility drugs. Why these ladies are living examples of every hillbilly gal's dream all across the hogback that is Hillbilly Heaven in this country. The lead singer for the Chicks, however, is not a hillbilly. She's a Caprock girl, a Panhandle girl, coming from Lubbock, Texas, country as hell, yes, but up on the high plains in irrigation land, cotton and cattle and Jimmy Dean Pure Pork Sausages (Jimmy's from Plainview, up there, too). My first wife was from Lubbock, Texas. Buddy Holly was from Lubbock. So was Mac Davis; remember him? I stole my wife from him. The Crickets were from Lubbock.

The Lubbock Hubbers for years were one of the best teams ever in the old West Texas-New Mexico Class D minor league baseball league. And baseball season is almost upon us, Praise the Lard!! This is sounding like a Post Script.

But I was a little hard on the Dixie Chicks in my after-the-Grammies post. I just never really listened to them. I listened to them this morning and by God they are good. Natalie can sing; a hell of a good voice; a strong voice, but, pure nasal in its Texas folk leanings--not hillbilly as much as cowgirl--yeah, the lead singer for the Chicks is a cowgirl--a barrel rider! I wonder.

Respect to the Dixie Chicks now that they're back on top in the pleasurable world of hillbilly trailer camp (post) trash--they're really too clean to be hillbillies. I think the girls are maybe too "cultured" to be hillbillies.

thegrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler

Clean Break, Part 2

The Babbling Wolf
I got so far off track with yesterday's post--I do this by myself now; I have been abandoned for the winter, even by Franny and Zoey, the two-headed girl reporter; she's living la dolce vita over in Tuscany until the thaw. But anyway, Charles the Leper is running the wiki-wacky machine so at least I'm protected from terrerists! I went off on the Freedom Tower again yesterday on the Freedom Tower site. That building so pisses me off and I think it should piss off all New York Citians and Americans, but, of course, that's not the spin being put on that damn underbudgeted piece of architectural crap--the Freedom Tower, designed by a Euro-Trash architect, and what we never hear, they were having trouble renting office space in the building--I mean absolutely no corporation wanted to locate there, EXCEPT--guess who decided to rent substantial space in this tower to the freedom these 19 Saudi Arabian nutcases supposedly took away from us? (oh, I'm sorry, one of them was a Jordanian--none of them were Iraqis, right? Yeah, that's right. None of them were Taliban, right? Right. None of them were Afghani, right? Yeah, right. And none of them were Iranian, right? Yeah, but.... It's like I'm arguing with Hillary Clinton, who has proven herself this month to be a BIMBO with no thoughts outside her own programmed Neo-Con self--I bet Slick Willie has his hand up that big broad butt working that mouth--and she mumbles and bumbles in her speeches--which like Christian preacher's sermons and extensive accented advice from the Dalai Lama make no reasonable sense at all--but enough of Hillary).

So who's gonna be the major tenant in the Freedom Tower? A Beijing real estate firm! Yeehaw! Ain't Capitalism grand, especially when a communist country owns all the Capitalist country's debt? But do you believe that a Beijing real estate firm is so far the only major tenant they've found for the Freedom Tower?--so far a 2-billion dollar WHITE elephant and getting more expensive every day? I can believe it since the Commie Chinese are big in Manhattan real estate, developing 55-story luxury apartment buildings and hotels all over the city (our billionaire mayor says that New York City's major industry is now tourism!! And you should see the turista Gringos who come to NYC--Yahoos and hillbillies all clamoring to go the Lion King and then to blow big bucks on Chinese Commie-made clothes at the Disney stores, eating a McDonald's, visiting Times Square, which is now a total commercial circus of 2,000 room hotels and television networks, Hard Rock cafes, just a bunch of jive in neon and brash in-your-Yahoo-face commercialism. Holy Christ, what the hell is going on in this country? We are hocking our whole fucking culture and existence to the Commie Chinese, the Saudi Royals, the Brit bankers and oilmongers, and the poor old Japanese, who got stuck with a lot of Manhattan real estate back in the 80s and 90s--remember when that Japanese oligarchy bought Rockefeller Center and then gave it back at a loss to good ole David and Larry Rockefeller?--office buildings on Fifth Avenue and some over on Madison sat empty for years due to overbuilding by these Japanese developers. Now the Japanese economy has tanked several times but they still hold several fistfuls of our debt so their future is secure. Plus, you know we are still sending these countries millions in aid every year; well, maybe not the Chinese Commies, though we are shipping our businesses over to Shanghai as fast as the Commies will welcome them in with open arms and open hands out. Communist China now has a millionaire and billionaire class. Why, that's exactly what Karl Marx had in mind in The Communist Manifesto, isn't it. It is just hard to believe all of this shit. It's like we're living in a cartoon for real, I tell you; and now our cartoons are being drawn by Taiwanese--they're animation geniuses, except, they have their own facial and body characteristics in their natural genius heads so their superheros and heroines look like Asians who had those eye operations--I mean Asian cartoonmakers are obsessed with big round eyes. Look at The Simpsons. Look at their eyes. I mean The Simpsons does look white American in their characterizations, except the eyes--Wow, the Asians love BIG round eyes. And I live in an Asian neighborhood here in NYC and I think the Asian girls are the most beautiful women around these days, almond-shaped eyes and all. God, they can be beautiful women; they look like young girls until they're in their 30s--they're even cute old women--that's why our GIs so prized them during WWII (America's first real contact with the Japanese people), and then during the Korean and Vietnam wars. Ironically, now in NYC there are large Korean and Vietnam neighborhoods. I like the Vietnamese; they love America, man; they love flat screen teevees, house and techno pop music, Budweiser beer, and God do they love cigarettes. I've never seen human beings smoke as much as Chinese and Vietnamese men--not so much Korean men. I don't know any of the women who smoke; not like the men. I quit eating in Chinese restaurants years ago because of the Chinese cooks and chefs that used to live in my building. I'd see them leaving for work in the morning and then coming home at night; wearing their white uniforms, always with a cigarette dangling out of their mouths, always, and then the next morning--uh-oh, they might be wearing the same whites they were wearing when the came from work--you know, some stains here and there, and again, that cigarette dangling from their mouths. And then one day, I'm eating Chinese with a friend of mine and he suddenly starts belching hatred out at the Chinese waiters, cursing the ground they walked on. "Look at this!" he hollered. I looked, he was pointing at a cigarette butt that looked like it had been put out in his dragon-fried sea bass presentation. "Oh, that just for you, Miss-ser Asshole." No, they weren't that blatant about it; in fact, they kissed his ass in a very sublime fashion while making fun of his ass at the same time. "You gonna eat what they bring you after that?" "F-ing no way; I'm gonna dump it down the pants of that god-damn waiter when it comes--piping hot, too, I hope. Let's go have a cigarette."

OK, so the Commie Chinese are renting up the Freedom Tower. Is there a Freedom Tower in China already?

Now it seems it's so very important to build the world's tallest building down there at the Freedom Glory Hole. Seems a Philadelphia Chinese-Commie developed office building is gonna top 1776-feet and this has the Freedom Tower truth spinners going nuts. Now they have to make the Freedom Tower taller than 1776 feet to be the tallest building in at least the US of A. So, I suggested they make it 1812 feet to commemorate the British burning down the White House, except the freedom the Freedom Tower represents is certainly not a freedom from Britain. I suppose it does represent our freedom from an Al Queda takeover. Yeah, sure, the massive Al Queda Army is going to really invade our shores and take us over and turn us all into Islamic fanatics--can you see Lynndie Englund in her burkha?

By the bye, whatever happened to that white chick soldier who when we first went into Baghdad supposedly got captured by Al Queda and was tortured and she took two or three bullets, then we came to find out it wasn't that way at all, it was a photo-op and set up spin session all along. Also, remember the mighty patriot Pat Tillman, fool, who gave up a multimillion dollar contract to go kick so towelhead ass in Afghanistan. Then remember all the patriotic crying and moaning and flag waving and Marine units marching with their guns (they're rifles, I know; I was in the US Army, were you?) and their snappy programmed robot ways of following F-ing orders during the halftimes of all the pro football games that year--"Let's bow our heads in remembrance of that great patriotic hero, Pat Tillman, God Bless America, and real men with balls like Pat who gave up fame and fortune to die for yours and my freedoms, these freedoms, under God, we hold so dear in this Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, like the great saintly Pat Tillman." OK, so truth was Pat got blown to bits by friendly fire. Aw, hell, too bad, Pat. So you're now looking like an idiot rather than a patriot. I do think our phony president gave you a medal of some kind of order; check it out, the medal's made of fool's gold.

Jessica...wasn't that the phony captured girl soldier's name? I can't remember her name; all of America probably can't remember her name. I don't remember her book, so where's she, in a mental hospital somewhere in the Midwest? Such a shame. And there seems to be nothing We the People can do to stop all this. We could. We could march on Washington! We could quit paying taxes! We could quit buying Chinese goods and renting overpriced Chinese developed apartments and quit staying at foreign-owned hotels (the average hotel room in NYC these days is $575 a night--but all these sheetrock and aluminum stud hotels are full as hell with Germans, Brits, Yahoos from the sticks, Outlanders, Sales folks from all over the world; and in the cheap hotels, those Indian and Pakistani hotels, the influx of Latinos house up at 110 bucks a night until they find an apartment out in Queens, which is already Little Latin America out there; except for Flushing, which is little Middle-East.] Holy shit. I was trying to Americano jive with my Bangladesh coffee man this morning early out there in the ice and snow and the son of a bitch couldn't even understand what I meant by asking, "Hey, man, where do you drive in from?" "Yes, very cold, sir, very cold." "No, I mean, your truck there..." "Yes, that's my truck; this my stand." "No, I mean, was it difficult driving in this morning with all the snow and ice." "Oh, yes, very cold." I gave up. "Have a nice day." "Oh, no sir, I am not playing, as you say."

G.W. Bush's Idiocy
I'm listening to Randi Rhodes as I type this--or is it "as I word process this"?--and, damn, she's hittin' nails on the head all over the place. A sensible woman. Sayin' it like a white preacher-- Randi does remind me of Cristo-Cosmo Paula White, a Christian dyed-blonde fundie babe from Palm Beach, Florida, and Randi has a house in West Palm, so I'm sure she knows Hot Paula White [Remember, the Wolf Man's personal pastor is still Pastor Melissa Scott, old Doctor Gene Scott's widow--she's got Paula White whipped all over the place, you know, looks, stage presence, message, smartness in brains and dress, and sexy--Pastor Melissa Scott is one of the sexiest women the Old Wolf Man has ever stumbled across looking for some baby female elk to throttle and devour--sorry, I got sidetracked by my religious leanings--my religion is based on old Father Freud's principles, pleasure principles, ya see].

So, I am listening to Randi and suddenly she plays this clip from Georgie Porgie Bush's press conference--I think this morning. I hear it, but I can't believe what I'm hearing. Georgie Porgie was telling THE TRUTH! Wha! you say. I know, I know, but I'm telling you--listen, hears what he said when he was asked by a reporter about if Iran was supplying weapons to the Iraqi insurgents that are killing our troops (3,131 now) then how come he was allowing the European Union countries, supposedly our BIG allies in the War on Terrerists, to still trade with Iran and not doing anything about to stop it--he added, since Iran weapons are getting our troops killed. Here's what Bush babbled back to this guy, he hemhawed around, stuttered a bit, huffed, and finally after hawking it up really slowly, getting a big ball of snot cocked in the back of his throat, this is what he finally spat in the face of our soldiers, "Money trumps Peace sometimes." That's exactly what he said. I waited about a minute and a half while he compiled it and finally got it, that's what he said, "Money trumps Peace sometimes." A truth, dammit. He told the truth. You can't used backward thinking on that one--because "Peace does not trump Money ever" everybody knows that's the lie in this "presidential" statement.

The other day this quack "president" spat another load into the face of our troops, and this time their families back home here, too, after he was asked by a reporter, "Are you aware of the low morale of our troops in Iraq...like, I just spoke with a high-level commander over there and he told me that troop morale in Iraq is very low; the troops are wondering what the hell they're doing there; who are they fighting; who's the enemy?" Georgie Porgie's reply, "Hey, these are volunteer troops and they're willing to go back three or four times. The low morale as I see it is on the home front, with the families back home...." Can you believe that kind of answer by the Commander and Chief of a US Army of 100,000 troops under attack in Iraq--under attack from whom? They don't know; Bush don't know; I don't know; You know? Who's the enemy in Iraq now? The Sunnis? The Shi'ites? Al Queda? Iranian insurgents? Syrian insurgents? See what I mean?

We are on a ship of state piloted by a crew of zombies. We are sailing on a Ship of Fools, right Katherine Anne Porter, a great Texas writer--cock-a-doodle-do--I'm a Texas wolf, remember--Hell no, I am not a coyote! Hell no, coyotes are dogs, apologies to the Plains Native Americans who find the coyote wily, from whence comes Wiley Coyote.

We gotta get off this ship, folks.

thegrowlingwolf
the The Daily Growler

A Clean Break

HILLARY CLINTON IS A MILITARIST SAME AS GEORGIE PORGIE BUSH--HILLARY IS A NEO-CON!

Neo-Cons Determined to Make Us Worse Nazis Than the Germans Were
Why are helicopters flying noisily over New York City all day long? Why is there an artificial star (I assume it's a hovering helicopter) over the Chelsea Pier area every evening for several hours?

What I'm trying to say is I could be extremely paranoid about anything that goes on in this great city anymore--since the cops and this phony sense of patriotism took over after 9/11--like big fat sloppy city men and women cops in the subways carrying AKA-type weapons and wearing flak jackets, flashy death shit meant to scare the hell out of us New Yorkers who ride the subways by the millions every day [the world's busiest subway system and the Metropolitan Transit Authority can't make it run profitable; instead, it runs totally worthlessly in funky debt every year with the millionaire/billionaire-controlled Metro Transit Authority--like that old filthy Silverstein bad boy who claims he owned the WTC lock, stock, and barrel...

[I just heard LLOYD PRICE do a promo for WBAI-FM here in NYC. Lardy, I must admit, I had recently totally forgotten Lloyd until at an Xmas party this year I met this woman who said she knew me, but I couldn't remember her. I looked dumb at her. She said, "Come on, you and I met at the Lloyd Price Show over at the Ballroom...must have been 10 years now...you don't remember me?" Then I knew who she was. But damn she was different; not badly different, but different enough. And now I hear Lloyd Price's name mentioned on the radio and, damn, I had totally forgotten remeeting this woman X-mas, so now I'm back to remembering her, plus, I'm remembering Lloyd Price again, who after the Xmas I had forgotten again, too. By the way, that Lloyd Price gig was one of the best damn shows I've ever seen, and this was long after Lloyd's Top Ten successes back in the beat-bound fifties--the most wonderful of original American musics coming those days, in Lloyd's case, out of the Mississippi Delta, meeting in Memphis, on Beale, in the clubs there, with the white kids hanging around sneaking listenings since they couldn't get in the "Colored Only" Beale Street clubs. But Lloyd was a wonderful restored charm back in the 90s, when, yes, as a guest of the owners of the Ballroom I came to hear Lloyd Price and, yes, I was put at a table with this woman and, yes, then we left together and, yes, we became friends in one passing in the night acquaintance and, yes, then that was it. I forgot both her and Lloyd Price. Ah sweet coincidence. It makes for such great irony; what great tales are made of.]

And now back to today's wolftale:
...like that old filthy rich Silverstein dude who claims he owned the WTC lock, stock, and barrel, and the extremely highly paid MTA board members led by that heartless and totally corrupt billionaire developer Peter Callico, and the MTA (Manhattan Thieving Assholes) yearly whines like a spoiled brat baby how they're so broke--of course due to workers demanding decent salaries and health benefits and stupid shit like that--how dare they? Don't workers understand that these rich assholes know what's best for them?--these wealthy white gentlemen know that these low-life worker types (consisting of a majority of blacks and Hispanics) would have much better lives if they would be willing to take lower salaries with no benefits and work longer and harder hours for Mr. Charlie--OH HOW STUPID WE TAX-PAYING AMERICANS ARE!

We are so damn stupid. I mean it's all so clearly left spelled out for us--some of us get it, but most of us don't. Most of us live in this dream world these rich assholes have created to distract us from their inhuman shenanigans, which is all this shit is to these born-rich-and-stayin'-rich bastards that pull us around by our noses, shenanigans, messin' with our minds, teaching us through their lousy school systems that Capitalism is the religion of the Christian God who loves us all but imposes on us strict constructionist rules and laws that none of us can eventually stand true to and that if we don't obey these frivolous rules and laws and ordinances and property taxes and state and city taxes and sales taxes and Federal taxes attached to our phone bills our utilities bills, and cigarette taxes and beer taxes and highway tolls and FICA taxes and taxes on our earnings (our production)--if we don't obey all those unfair, double-taxing laws, they try and ruin our lives--can you imagine an economic system that taxes its workers on the earnings they make off producing products so the Asians and Middle-Easterners can buy our products at giveaway prices? It was nice when American workers were able to buy American products--now we work our asses off and the products we get to consume are cheap crap coming out of nonunionized sweatshops in Hong Kong and Shanghai and Macao and Malaysia and Taiwan, shit that because it is soaked in formaldehyde to keep its synthetic material soft and cottony falls apart after two or three wearings, like one of those Mickey Mouse teeshirts you see all the hillbilly Wal-Mart-shopping wimmen wearing as guests on the Jerry "the Prostitutin' Mayor of Cincinnati" Springer Show (Jerry Springer was so dumb when he was mayor of Cincinnati he paid for his whorehouse bills with personal checks--now there's one dumb son of a bitch--yet, look at where that dumbness has gotten him--though at least Air America had the sense to kick his phony ass off their going-bankrupt network)]. [WOW, what an aside!]

That was all an aside. Amazing how distracted I get. I suppose that's because I'm a genius, right? An eccentric. OK, I'll take that one. If it hadn't'a been for eccentrics, we'd have nothing very innovative going on. Except we have plenty of political eccentrics, which is a bad thing, which could lead me to an aside about how I don't believe in "bad" or "good" and like using them in backward senses like black jazz musicians taught us the other way to use the word "bad" as meaning just the opposite of what the white man said it meant--"If we be bad, we must be good. And if the white man be good, then you know he's bad to the bone." That's the kind of saavy I respect.

How was that trip around the proverbial Robin's Barn? And here I am finally back at my point: the Neo-Cons are determined to carry out their Fascist designs no matter the cost to America, the World, and to mankind's existence itself. And all this time, the Neo-Cons have been working at this through Israel. Yeah, I'm sorry, my good Jewish friends, but god-dammit (I'm getting like Charles Ives used to get when you talked American politics and shit with him--hyperexcited, jumping up and down, waving my cane wildly about in the air, barking and cursing against the Rollos (Yahoos) of this world), this Middle-East mess is a grand design of assholes like Richard "Perilous" Perle in cahoots with the god-damn Israeli government--I am rambling, but I'm angry--I'm growling like a much-bothered wolf...

http://www.searchingwolf.com/nkgrowl1.wav

This just pisses me off. And my opening blast against Hillbilly Hillary Clinton--it's because this very DUMB woman made a speech in front of an American Israeli organization where she trumpeted her true feelings about invading IRAN because we must hold them accountable for sending the weapons to Iraq that are now killing American troops there and that we have to defend the Middle East and especially Israel against the wild and threatening intentions of the Iranians--HOLY BULLSHIT, I'm growling, Hillary, you dumb dipstick. You're running for F-ing president of the USA because in November the American people told you LOUD and F-ing CLEAR, we want out of Iraq, save our economy, save our god-damn country, stand up, show some COJONES, you b____; women have balls, god-dammit! And like Charles Ives, after an outburst, I have to lay down and rest.

This country is fixin' to either explode or implode. So saith America's NEW PROPHET, thegrowlingwolf. Amen. Selah. All that good mumbo-jumbo, or as I should say, all that BAD mumbo-jumbo.

I gotta git my MOJO workin'... I'll be back after I take a break... [A sigh of relief].

Then I'll try to elucidate on my meaning for this blog, maybe tomorrow; however, you know you can't depend on my "To Be Continueds" to really be continued. HILLARY, HOWEVER, DID SHOW HER TRUE HAND ABOUT INVADING IRAN AND CONTINUING TO GIVE MONEY TO THE PENTAGON TO CONTINUE TO WAR IN IRAQ!!! IT'S A SPEECH SHE GAVE ON FEBRUARY 1ST.

I, too, like Joe Biden, must apologize to Barrack Obama for calling him Osama Barrack in yesterday's post--Wow; must be my Goldwater Repugnican side coming out from hiding behind Hillary's rather broad-in-the-rear skirts.

I also wish to thank you if you are readin' this blog at the moment for we have had a spike in our visits--over 100 extra this week alone--why we're getting visitors at the rate of our soldiers getting killed in Iraq and Afghanistan this past deadly week in both those illegal and "good" wars, at least Hillary thinks they're good wars, she and the 28% of Amuricans who still are tight up G.W. Bush's unelected ass. Isn't that amazing! I mean Hillary being so afraid of the Bushes that she's scared to impotency as she decides she's now the one to lead us as President--SORRY, HILL, THE DAILY GROWLER'S STILL BACKING CHELSEA CLINTON AND AMY CARTER FOR FIRST FEMALE PRESIDENTS--LET THEM CO-SERVE. HOWEVER, I GOT MY EYES ON THE OLSEN TWINS AND MAY PULL THEM OUT OF THE POLITICAL HAT AND RUN THEM ON THE WOLF TICKET!!! (Sorry, Scott, I can't help laughing at my own jokes.)

Word is out: Marvin Backbiter was seen on the outskirts of Tampa yesterday afternoon by Bernie Williams's worthless agent.

thegrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler

And from our list of forgotten American Musicians passing:

Berry Gordy's first hire at Motown Records dead at 79

Motown bandleader and a three-time Grammy winner Joe Hunter died on Friday, February 2. Hunter was the first person hired by Motown Records owner Berry Gordy. Hunter was the record label's first bandleader and backed up acts such as Smokey Robinson & the Miracles, Jackie Wilson, and Hank Ballard & the Midnighters, on piano in the late 1950s. Hunter was the first member of the Funk Brothers, who played back-up on a multitude of Motown recordings. Hunter played piano on Martha and the Vandellas' "Heat Wave" and "Come and Get These Memories," and Marvin Gaye's "Pride and Joy." Times grew more difficult when Motown Records left Detroit in 1972. When Philadelphia musician/historian Allan Slutsky set out to find all the Funk Brothers in the 1980s, he found Hunter playing for tips at the Troy Marriott. Slutsky chronicled their saga in the documentary Standing in the Shadows of Motown. The soundtrack earned the Funk Brothers two Grammy Awards in 2003, followed by a Lifetime Achievement Award in 2004. Hunter had just returned to Detroit on Sunday, January 28, from a European tour with fellow Funk Brother Jack Ashford. Bruce Resnikoff, president of Universal Music Enterprises, the division of Universal Music which oversees the Motown catalog, issued a statement: "Joe Hunter's piano and stellar leadership helped birth the 'Motown Sound.' You can't miss Joe's piano on those great early hits. The first of the Funk Brothers, his terrific riffs and easy-going musicianship will live forever." Hunter was 79.

Sources: Associated Press, Detroit News

If You'll Be My Dixie Chicken, I'll Be Your Tennessee Lamb

Music in America
I didn't watch the Grammies last night. I'm a musician, so awards shows look like jokes to me; I mean, aren't the winners known long before they hit the stage with their big staged production of guess who won?

The Dixie Chicks, for instance. OK, I found the Dixie Chicks interesting many years ago because they're Texas chicks who look pretty good, sing pretty good, and who play their instruments with a delightful flair, but their music actually never varies much from country chick harmonizing and the same old inventions in their instrumental stuff. So, what was it 6 years ago that their career had been put in a bucket by Clear Channel (a Texas rightwing company owned by a very loyal Bush supporter) and dropped into the well of nonexistence? All because the lead singer said Bush was a nutjob idiot who was getting our asses put in slings over the War on Terrerism. Ooooh, and they were considered so unpatriotic in those days. Hillary didn't defend them, did she?

So now the Chicks have gotten their revenge on the Little Spoiled Rich Boy "President" and have come away with 5 Grammies. Cheers to the recording industry for finally coming to their defense, too--the music industry went right along with the condemnation of them when it looked like they were Terrerist sympathizers. Just think, the CIA could have kidnapped the Chicks and shipped 'em off for a little terror over with our buddies the Syrians; or, can you imagine, the Chicks could'a been hauled off to Afghanistan and been imprisoned, raped, stacked up naked, and then had dogs sicked on 'em, and maybe they'd'a gotten a real patriot like Lynndie Englund (has she done porn yet? Oops, that's right, she's a mother now; sorry, Lynndie) to come up with something exotic-erotic to humiliate them.

And congratulations to Mary J. Blige. She's one I don't understand either. What's so great about her stuff? She's not an exceptional singer; no comparison whatsoever to Aretha Franklin though she does give Aretha a reason she's a singer, Aretha and Anita Baker. She doesn't really swing that much. Her songs or raps or whatever the hell her style is don't strike me as being that exciting, but then, who the hell am I? Mary J. is Pee Diddly's (Puff Daddy, Puffy, P Diddy--his real name's Sean) pride and joy, though Jeff Redd's the dude who gave her a CD contract, then --out'a heavy-duty Yonkers, though born in the Bronx. Tough life. Yonkers tough shit projects life--Yonkers a strange little city up the Hudson from the Big Apple--I think of it as an old Mafia town, mostly Italians and Irish, though my distant New York relatives were Dutch and they moved to Yonkers from Harlem back in the 19th Century. But still sorry, I just don't get this, I'm sure "cool" woman's glory.

I've often wondered why our music is separated into black and white categories. What if the Dixie Chicks got a black chick in their group? How would you then classify them? [I totally forgot the easily forgotten Spice Girls were a mixed group, though British.] As it is, there ain't many black folks singing Cuntry and Western out there--I mean who black since Charlie Pride dare say they dig Cuntry and Western music? Name a black Cuntry and Western band? Blacks are all categorized under their category and then there's the white categories. Blacks win in "Hip Hop"--white hip hop groups are on the decline since M & M's flame has flickered to a forgotten whiff of smoke and Kid Rock has managed to make a total fool out of himself--I mean when these white rockers start boffing all the white puff pastry chicks like Pam Anderson they lose their spunk--literally. I mean, when you start humping these nympho Playboy bunnies like Pam, you clean out your creative energies--you spend all your talent in your humping triumphs. Hemingway said everytime you spend your energy by screwing a woman while you're working on a novel you lose your creativity--it ejaculates itself out with your semenal ejaculations, dig?

Anyway, congrats to the Dixie Chicks and Mary J. Blige.

I've honestly never really heard the Dixie Chicks except on teevee. Were they ever on Austin City Limits? And, honestly again, I've never really heard a Mary J. Blige tune clear through.

No mention of our "president" being a fool during the Grammies, was there?

OK, I guess that party's over.

thegrowlingwolf
the The Daily Growler

By the Bye: Yes, I just read, another day of death and destruction in Baghdad. 80 died early this morning in a bombing incident. Damn, ain't ya glad you live in America?

Observations

Hillary in New Hampshire
There she was flitting around New Hampshire, that cold smile thrown everybody's way--has anyone ever asked Chelsea what kind of mother she was? She tries to sport a sort of serious grin--and she seems to be constantly moving.

Did you ever notice how teevee emphasizes people walking or running, talking and discussing as they walk or run, people always moving, talking and moving, talking, walking, with body guards around them, their lackeys and their asslicking entourage, all of them always walking and walking with them others walking and talking and shouting at them as they move, from one podium to another, the same speech at each one, the same cornball responses to audience questions, except Hillary's getting bombs thrown at her by her own kind, one a young woman standing up and asking how Hillary how she can be trusted when she's gone along with Georgie Porgie Bush's policies without one croak of protest for the six years he's been in office.

Nor does she have any substantive ideas about the Afghanistan War--except we know she's a champion of that war; that's the good war (yeah sure). The Iraq War--and here's where Hillary stands accused--she voted for it, and she's consistently voted to fund that war, and she's continued to vote funds for the war in spite of, I feel it now, the overwhelming and now growling want of the American voter for us to get out of Iraq NOW, Repugnican nutjob or Dumbocrat bleeding-heart liberal, it doesn't matter, the American people want out of Iraq--and then when the truth about the Afghanistan War comes out and we're shown how we're losing that one, too, then maybe Americans will be against that war, too, maybe against all wars, though that's a little too much to ask of the scardy-cat Americans.

Hillary consistently failed when she was senator of New York--she didn't do a damn thing for New Yorkers while she was senator--all along, all she's been after is retribution for Slick Willie diddling (with a good illegal Cuban cigar I'm sure) Monica Lewinsky--"Ohhh, Mr. President got his cum on my good blue dress"--don't you think, ladies, that incident pissed old Hillary off big time? I can see her chewing Slick Willie out good, right? And Slick Willie replying, "Well, hell, Hill, I mean, you let that ass spread to about forty full acres of bottomland, honey. And your complexion! Cripes, you look like a menopausal ghost, all clammy white and stale looking. You need a major Oprah makeover, honey chile--I mean, you just flat lost yere looks, and you know I loves me some good lookin' women, like that Paula Jones--yeah, now there's an Arkie looker, the kind'a babe my old pappy would have gone for--that is, had I known who my old pappy was." [Bill Clinton, even though he said he never had sex with that woman, paid Paula Jones around $80,000 to go on about getting her nose jobs and posing naked in Hustler or did Bulldoggish Paula make Hugh Hotrod's Playboy? I'd say Paula made close to $500,000 of Slick Willie's sinning--her Playboy layout, her book deal, her hip-hop CD.]

The Clintons. Please. Hillbillies. I mean Slick Willie as governor of Arkansas (the lowest state in the Union in most categories) made 30,000 bucks a year. Hillary was the moneymaker at that time; being in the White & Rose law firm gave her a bigger salary than the Slick One; even her little comodities market (was it cattle buying?) scheme only brought her in a 100 grand or so. After Slick Willie diddled Monica in the Holy Office, Hilary suddenly got the spotlite turned on her. F the commodities market, F the law firm, now it was her turn to be the Slick One. Screw a hundred grand, she was now in the millionaire league--her "tell all" (actually bullshit) book made her independently wealthy of Slick Willie--whose book made him a millionaire, too; plus the big lecture fees they both got out of their book deals. Of course, the Slick One became a millionaire as president, exactly like Lyndon "Big Balls" Johnson went from Texas school teacher to a multimillionaire on the basis of an eighty-vote (most of them from dead voters in Duvall County, Texas) victory that got him in the Senate. [Remember Mr. Sam? Most of ya don't remember Sam Rayburn. But Google Sam Rayburn and read about a little Texas Dumbocrat politics--"Shiftless skunks" they used to be called in Texas.]

Richard "I am not a crook" Milhouse Nixon became a millionaire as president. Harry Ass Truman, too. Dwight David Eisenhower. Gerald R. Ford. Then there are the Kennedys; they've kept the Kennedy fortune growing by tumbling like clowns into the political arena--just think of the millions of dollars siphoned off the government into the Kennedy Foundation coffers while Daddy Joe (the bootlegger), JFK (loved to F a Mafia boss's moll--might have been one of the reasons he got assassinated, though that was due to his Bay of Pigs fiasco--E. Howard Hunt was in on that, you remember. E. Howard Hunt was also in Dallas--some say he was seen on the grassy knoll), Bobby Kennedy as brother-appointed Attorney General (his own going after the Mafia probably got him assassinated, too--remember, Allen Ginsberg said, after a lot of research, too, the CIA, the FBI, the DEA, and the Mafia are all the same bunch of goombahs, working for the same cause--MONEY, WEALTH, POWER, and the power to KILL at will with no reprisals. And KILL at will our presidents have done, every blinking one of them. Our presidents have killed more human beings than they've saved. Hilary will be no exception.

Rudi "America's Mayor" Guilimussolini will be no exception either.

Rupert Murdoch (a bloody Australian) loves Newtie Gingrich--Rupert thinks Newtie should run for president. Newtie is already a multimillionaire; hell, he's the representative of the county where Martin-Marietta rules the roost--I do believe Lockheed, too (We the People taxpayers, if you think back a few decades, one time bailed Lockheed out of going under--we've forgotten our government's bailing out of Lockheed same as we've forgotten our government's bailing out of Chrysler (after Lee Iococa F-ed it up), the New York Central and the Pennsylvania railroads--and how many other "under the table" bail outs have been given out by Congress that we don't even know about.

You see, rich people love money, especially hillbilly paupers who have the luck to have one of their bright sons or daughters get into politics and raise the family up to the point where, hell, they're socially acceptable folks--you know, if you can afford to pay to play, you get to play. Running for the presidency is merely "play" for these new millionaires and certainly for the old crusty bastard millionaires, too.

Hell, you and me, we're ruled by MONEY. You got brains but no money. Too bad. You be dumb as a dodo but you got money, hey, pal, welcome to the club, grab you a handful of those sweet tax dollars overthere in that big pot at the foot of that political rainbow.

Bill and Hill started getting rich the minute he first started running for president. There was a precedent, a guy named Dale Bumpers. Bumpers had been governor of Arkansas back just before Slick Willie took over that hillbilly state. Bumpers had been a Dumbocrat with presidential-running aspirations, and he almost made it, too; the Dumbocrats are always looking south for their candidates, you know. Have you ever checked that out? There's always a southerner somewhere in the mix. [Kerry, a Yankee, picking John Edwards, a South Carolina Yahoo rich boy. Before, Al Gore was a southerner (Tennessee, another hillbilly state), so he had Joe Lieberman, the Connecticut Yankee (most Americans add "he's a Jew" to their description of him), as his running mate. [A really big mistake now that Al has turned earth savior--but, oh yeah, the success of his 8mm film on Global Warming has pepped old slothful Al up a bit and if it wins an Academy Award, which it will--I mean how can Hollywood pass up a chance to gain that national attention?--he'll probably be looking through his closet for a hat to toss in the ring against Hillbilly Hillary and Osama bin Barrack (oops, I'm sorry, I'm reading a Rupert Murdoch description of this black gentleman from Chicago who has really impressed Joe Biden with his eloquence and clean-cut look [Biden runs for president as often as he can because of the millions you get to use whether you're a serious candidate or not]). A lot of these Congressional Yahoos do that; they run just for the measly million or two it garners their coffers. OH these miserable bastards are such open crooks. They aren't scared of We the People, but they sure as hell want us scared of them.

Chelsea Clinton and Amy Carter for President and Vice President. Or, hell, how 'bout ME, thegrowlingwolf for President. Fresh-killed baby elk bellies for all! Some pot in every chicken.

How 'bout we cut Anna Nichol Smith's little bastard daughter in quarters and give a piece to each of her daddies?

Always compassionate,

thegrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler

Saturday Night Fish Fry

For-Profit Hospitals
LOS ANGELES -- Even on Skid Row, it was shocking: a paraplegic man in a soiled gown sliding along the sidewalk with his hands, clutching a plastic bag with his belongings between his teeth.

Police said the man, who was dragging a broken colostomy bag behind him, was dumped on the sidewalk Thursday in one of the worst parts of the city by the driver of a hospital van. The area is the same location where city officials say hospitals have dumped the homeless before.

Witnesses, all homeless people, began shouting, ''Where is his wheelchair? Where is his walker?'' Detective Russ Long said Friday. They told officers the driver responded that the man defecated in the van and had to be removed. [From today's Chicago Sun Times.]

We Better All Get Rich Quick
That's my message for today: you either got money or you can go to Hell. The above bullshit happened out in LaLa Land, in Los Angeles, where the cops are crooked as a den of snakes at night; where the privileged do as they please as long as they pay; where people vie for the world's attention at any cost--anything for attention--"Hey, I gotta script!" "Hey, check out my pierced vulva." "Hey, I can eat glass and shit diamonds."

Warning: However, if you ever get sick in L.A. do not go to the hospital. Remember a year ago November I had a nephew die in an L.A. hospital--he never recovered from a simple operation, he never came out of it, went into a coma and was dead in 4 days.

One exception, the Good Samaritan Hospital; Gore Vidal says that's the best hospital in the world; he moved from Italy to L.A. right across the street from it just so he'd have it in case he needed it.

As long as our hospitals are Capitalist enterprises, healthcare goes to the highest bidder, those with money; the privileged. That's why my advice is "Get Rich As Quick As You Can." Exxon-Mobil stock will skyrocket if they get to steal Iraq's oil, and so far so good on that deal, which means next year they'll break their own "most profits ever in the history of corporations" record. Hey, the Wall Street Wolf Man highly recommends Exxon-Mobil stock. Carlyle Group stock, too, should be doing well since they are moving into the newspaper and television markets. The funeral home business, too, ought to be good for investment potential; a Texas company is going around buying up all funeral homes; then there's another company coming after funeral homes, too. When this company buys funeral homes, the prices of funerals double. Sure profits. People are not going to quit dying, just like they're not going to quit driving SUVs and Hummers and other gas-guzzling automobiles. Can you imagine NASCAR races without any gasoline? How about NASCAR races with electric autos or hybrids! Oh yeah!

Either get rich quick or don't you dare get sick! Especially, don't get cancer if you don't have at least a million buck kind of catastrophe insurance--cancer will ruin you financially unless you are filthy, filthy rich.

I'm too pissed to write a blog today.

thegrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler

The Daily Growler Sadly Notes the Passing of a True American Rugged Individualist Woman (F Anna Nichol Smith, here's a real woman!)--from the Blog of Death:

Liz Renay

Liz Renay was a multifaceted woman who experienced life with wild abandonment -- and rarely worried about the consequences of her actions.

Born Pearl Elizabeth Dobbins, Renay was raised in Arizona by strict evangelical Christian parents, and a grandmother whom she described as a "hellion." At 13, Renay ran away from home and hitchhiked to Las Vegas. The voluptuous girl won a Marilyn Monroe look-alike contest and supported herself by working as an underage cocktail waitress, showgirl and size 44DD bra model.

By 18, Renay was supporting her two children, a boy and a girl, as an exotic dancer and movie extra. When Life magazine featured her in a five-page photo spread, she decided to seek her fortune in New York City. There Renay became a high-fashion model, and even appeared on the cover of Esquire magazine. But she fell in with Tony "Cappy" Coppola, the right-hand man of mob boss Albert "The Mad Hatter" Anastasia, and life in the fast lane soon proved a bit too brisk for Renay. When her relationship with Coppola turned violent, she moved to California to become a film star.

Renay appeared in more than two-dozen pictures, mostly B-movies like "Date With Death," "The Thrill Killers," "Mark of the Astro-Zombies," "Desperate Living" and "Dimension in Fear," and won $1,000 for correctly answering geography questions on Groucho Marx's TV show, "You Bet Your Life." In the Hollywood press, she was famed for her beauty and for dating actors and celebrities. The blonde, and sometimes red-headed, bombshell eventually married seven times, divorced five times and widowed twice. She recounted her many flings in the 1992 memoir, "My First 2,000 Men."

Perhaps her best-known paramour was Hollywood mobster Mickey Cohen. Renay's relationship with Cohen was closely examined by grand juries on both coasts, and she received a three-year suspended sentence in the late 1950s for perjuring herself at his federal tax evasion trial. When she violated her probation for allegedly disturbing the peace during a photo shoot, Renay was sent to federal prison. During her 27-month incarceration, she ran a prison newspaper and taught art to the other inmates. Renay also painted 150 canvasses in the joint, including one of a centaur surrounded by beautiful women in a garden. The painting sold in 1964 for $10,000.

Renay's flamboyant nature didn't fade as she aged. She earned top billing in the 1970s for a string of X-rated pictures, despite the fact that she didn't participate in the actual sex acts or appear in the nude. Renay penned cookbooks and beauty tips as well as the bestselling autobiography, "My Face for the World to See," and toured the country in a double striptease act with her daughter, Brenda. In 1982, Brenda committed suicide on her 39th birthday.

In the height of the streaking craze, Renay was the first grandmother to run nude down Hollywood Blvd. The promotional act for a local theatre drew a crowd of thousands, and got her arrested for indecent exposure. Renay was later acquitted when the jury determined that she "was nude, but not lewd." Several jurors even asked for her autograph after the proceedings ended. During the final years of her life, Renay kept a loaded German Walther under her bed. However, she only shot the gun on the 4th of July to make sure it still worked.

"She was unsinkable, indefatigable, incorrigible, irresistible. Liz was larger than life and had the bust line to prove it," Las Vegas Review-Journal columnist John L. Smith wrote. "Even as she approached her 80th birthday last spring with her bum hip and other age-related maladies, she still led with her best assets. In the right light, she could still turn heads and charm the chips from casino players' pockets. It's hard to believe she's gone."

Renay died on Jan. 22 from cardiopulmonary arrest and gastric bleeding. She was 80.