True Stories

Republicans on Vacation

The climb up the Temple of the Sun was wearying, and hot. The Chiapas sun had finally burned through the hanging mist on the East side of the mountain leaving the Runias de Palenque speckled with the bright clothing of visitors from the world over. They dotted the stairways and promenades contrasting pleasingly with the dull gray walls of a millennium past.
“Well, let’s get down and have a refresco, hey Butch?”
“Cut out my heart and throw me down Rack, save me the walk.”

The Gringos worked themselves around the back of the temple and descended through the thick jungle, taking the shade by following a stream a few hundred meters through the deep green foliage. They soon arrived at a small pallapa and sat at one of the standard metal card tables emblazoned with “Superior” and the inevitable red and white checker board. They savored their Fantas beneath the thatched roof, watching the staked out alligators in the clear stream below.
“Chiapas garbage disposal,” Rack commented, watching the beasts slop down mounds of orange rinds and egg shells. A gaggle of turkeys entered the wall-less building begging for God knew what. “What do turkeys eat, Butch?”
“Same as everything else around here...” he replied, “...Orange peels and egg shells!” they giggled and gobbled in unison.

They noticed a pair of middle-aged Touristas winding down the seemingly endless waterfalls to the small soda stand. At their approach Rack reverted to Spanish while Butch put an “O” on the end of everything. They wanted to sound foreign so as not to have to guide more of the endless stream of nitwits to all the right places. But soon the rain forest ambiance was shattered by the pair of angry, shouting Americans.
Rack watched them  berate a small ten year old Mayan girl who possessively clutched two bottles of Coke to her breast, shaking her head negatively.
“You Hippies speak Spanish?” The man boomed at Rack.
“No intiendo.”
“You guys look White.”
“OK, OK, what’s the problem?” Rack replied.
“See, Herb, I told you they were Americans. We are from Ohio, where are you from?” the wife asked.
“Florida.” Rack answered the sunburned aliens.
“This little Spic here won’t take our damn money, that’s what’s the matter!” The angry man shouted. “And she doesn’t even speak English!” Mrs. Buckeye added.
Rack had witnessed this scene all too often, “You speak Spanish in Ohio do you?” They of course, being typical parochial Americans, had no idea what Rack was getting at.
“Que is problema?” he asked the frightened girl.
“Malo dinero.” she shyly replied.
“What y’all giving the kid here Herb? Let’s see... These are US fifty cent pieces, she never saw one of these before. You got any pesos?” Rack wondered himself when he had last seen a fifty cent piece.
Mr. Buckeye scowled, “Hell no! Me with Mex money, no way! I got checks, I got a VISA, and these here.” He said flipping one of the strange coins in the air.
“Well why don’t you give her the VISA and she can go down to the water and wrestle the card machine out of the gator. They eat them you know.” Rack was getting annoyed.
“Really?” Mrs.Buckeye asked, eyeing the large Caymans and stepping back.
“No, el kidding-O.” Butch replied, bouncing a turkey on his lap. The rest of the dozen or so fowl had made a close semicircle around him. “Gobble-gobble-gobble.” Butch cooed. “Gobble-gobble-gobble.” The turkeys replied in chorus.
“OK, OK, Butch, alto with the turkeys.” Butch quit turkeying. He could see Rack had just about had it with this new round of ugly Americans.
Rack turned to the girl and handed her a handful of pesos and told her to keep the change. She released the sodas to the couple with a sigh of relief.
“Gracias.” she said to Rack with a smile that was well worth the quarter tip.
“You tip these Spics?” Mr. Buckeye asked pocketing his coins.
“Ya know Herb, as I have heard them say so well down here, why don’t you go pound pinto beans up your ass.” Rack said turning away.

The couple waddled back up the path toward their air-conditioned Winnebago and ultimately back to Ohio to tell their friends how they had seen Mexico. Quaint, but too dirty, no one spoke English, and filled with American undesirables. As the Buckeyes entered the large van with the sodas the undesirables had bought them and the returnable bottles they had stolen from the Spic, Mrs. Buckeye asked Herb, “Have you ever met such rude people in your life?” More True Stories From Kick!

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"I was astounded to read these courageous remarks by Charlton Heston. I am thankful to hear a man with such high esteem say essentially the same things for which I have been reviled by the liberal media. His words should be reproduced and put into the hands of every American." NRA member David Duke, former neo-Nazi, Klansman and present bigot, sexist, racist, homophobe, anti-Semite and Republican Party Activist on NRA Spokesman Charlton Heston.

Rack turned into the parking lot, pulled down the rear view mirror, checked for boogers, stuck out his tongue to make sure it was the right color, yanked up his tie, grabbed his briefcase, and proceeded into Bullshitburg. This particular customer had been one of his best for a decade, but with the high turnover rate endemic to the industry, he only had one real friend left there, and sadly not in purchasing. It was Jeb, their top salesman, who Rack had been out making calls with since the beginning, his only inside help any longer.

Good waiting room. Plants, phone, nice dark decor, three receptionists behind glass with little slots on the counter to pass your card through.

"Joe please." Rack said leaning down shouting through the little hole.

"Is he expecting you [you lowlife peddler]?"

"Sure is, ma’m."

"Have a seat Rack."

If you have an appointment, always be late, they always are.

Rack picked up the new issue of Industrial Distributor paging through it reading about the new and better priced competition that would kill him, wondering if they needed anyone and if their advertisements were as filled with gross exaggeration and lies as his company’s.

He played with the phone and called his answering machine to see if the kids had got to it again. No messages, so he left a funny one for the kids who would be at it before he would. He stretched and crossed his legs, but noticing one of the ladies looking at him about to speak, he quickly stomped both feet back on the floor hoping she hadn’t seen the big hole on the bottom of his Tony Lamas.

"Mr. Jite? Joe can’t see you today, can you come back some other time [in about six years]?"

"Let me see Bill then please."

"Have a seat [no one wants to see you]."

Back to his main business, waiting room fun, he picked up Business Week and read that business in Texas sucked. It said it about a thousand times. Rack threw it down on the end table and walked over to the shoe polisher with the whirling black and red fluffy things. Straddling the machine, he put one boot under each fluffer at the same time, pushed the button on the waist high handle and awkwardly bent over with his butt in the air to see if the red one did anything different than the black one.

The door to the back opened and Bill caught him being stupid. "Hi Rack, I only got a minute. What’s up?" Bill did not invite him back to his office as in the good old days. It was much the same everywhere, the distributors didn’t want their suppliers not hearing the phones ringing.

"Sit down Bill."

"Only for a second."

Rack reached in his briefcase, yanked out the number one selling tool in America, The Full Color Brochure and, what every buyer thirsted for, the new price sheet with terms and discounts included!

"Here Bill," Rack said handing over the stack, "Notice the prices went up a bit but the net discount went from 2% net 30 days to 10% net 10!"

We want your money and we want it NOW Rack joked to himself.

Bill made quick small talk about how bad things were which Rack understood to mean, no order today. It also meant that his sales manger would be again threatening him come Friday.

Realizing that it was only 10AM and he had to go do this another eight times today and then go home and write it all down so not to forget how stupid it all was, he surmised that if corporate America took all the time and money spent in this country on getting people to buy one identical thing over another identical thing, we could buy the rest of the world and turn it into a giant theme park.

Rack’s reverie came to an end when Joe came running through the lobby.

"Whoa... What’s going on?" Bill asked, grabbing Joe and swinging him around before he made it out the door. "Yokum’s wife was found shot dead about an hour ago, the cops are looking for him!"

"Jeb Yokum?" Rack asked, now even more depressed, "Gosh, I was just out with him yesterday on a sales call."

Soon a score of people were running through the waiting room to the parking lot as the rest hummed with the sordid news. They were soon rushing back in with handguns tucked in belts, hanging out of pockets or in hand, one even carrying a shotgun as they filtered back to their desks and counters to hopefully fill yesterday’s pal with lots of big holes today. As a few stood in the lobby shoving in clips and comparing weapons, one of the receptionists shouted over the clicking din to announce the police had called to say they just found Jeb dead in his truck from a self inflicted gun wound.

The room held an air of intense electric silence, when Rack suddenly came to the realization that it was not over the death of a friend, but the disappointment of not having the chance to shoot him. Rack ran out the door, just barely making it before throwing up.

Texas Senate Votes for Guns at work 31 to 0

This is a literally true story from Houston in the 1990s.
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My friend Gar is a man of many talents, a 'Nam era Vet with a twisted sense of humor, this was his response to my email rant about the U S Airways debacle. I do apologize that as the president of the Ladie's Decency Society I had to replace a word or two for a G rating. Yours, Prunella P Crumbacher.

I hit a swarm of grasshoppers once and except for the windshield looking like Scream 2, I just kept on driving. Yea, didn't feel the need to drive the vehicle in the river to get it clean .

Shucks! I had the engine catch on fire before as well and found myself driving down the highway with parts falling off left and right... Did I drive off into a river? Nope!

When I was younger I had the police chasing me. You bet your - bipee I was looking for a river and would have landed there in a heartbeat if I could have found one.

So the plane got goosed and down they go.. To me that's just a trip to the Veteran's Admin. hospital, where I get goosed every other visit. After a certain birthday, no matter why the visit, or how recent the last "exam" the sound of rubber gloves snapping on is like an official greeting .

If I take the bus then I get goosed by the loud honking of the other riders at least twice and hit some wind turbulence before I can get to my seat.

I've hit cats, dogs, birds, a deer, a hooker, a hookers pimp, and other vehicles and I didn't even stop much less feel the need to drive into a river..

Oh, and the pilot gets a front row seat to the swearing in of the new pres.Maybe they will invite me to the re swearing in after they see who the real hero is.

Just my thoughts

Gar Facebook | Digg | Reddit | Stumble | Buzz it! | Email Article |

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It was late on a Sunday night. Rack sat in his newly remodeled office/garage watching the Iraq War on TV as the media and the American people wallowed in ecstasy with every bomb released when he saw headlights flash against the house wall. Who it could be so late was soon answered as the patio door slid open and Bubba and friend entered.

“Yo Rack! What’s happening? This here is Randyman, you remember him don’t you?”

A somewhat toothless Randy offered his tattooed “H-A-T-E” fingered hand while Rack looked to see if “L-O-V-E” was there on the other. Rack did remember him, an almost always drunken sometime drug dealer who last he had heard, was in trouble for shooting up his trailer park with a flare gun. “Hey Randyman, I remember you, staying away from flare guns?” Rack joked.
“He should’ve stuck with flare guns,” Bubba commented, “I just picked Randyman up at Huntsville State Pen, this is his first day out in two years!”

“Gosh Randyman, what did you do?” Randy walked to the bar and tossed a case of beer up on the bar.

“Shit, assault with a deadly weapon. I shot a couple people, but I only shot them a little!” He guffawed.

“Yeah,” Bubba followed up, “it was only a couple n-words and they’re okay now. Hey Randy, show Rack the gun.”

“Oh gosh.” Rack sighed as Randy reached behind him and pulled some sort of automatic pistol from his back pocket. Rack moved his attention back to the carnage on TV while Bubba and Randy fawned over the gun.

Rack thought how hypocritical it was that Americans wet their pants with flag waving glory jolts of glee when guns and bombs kill thousands of people in some far off land, but are horrified when some miserable screwed up American shoots another here at home.

“Woo-E!” Cried Randyman turning his attention from the gun on the bar to the carnage on the screen, “Look at that one go! Must a blown a hundred of dem sand-n-words all to Hell!”

“So how was it in Huntsville?” Rack asked wanting to get away from n-words-kill talk.”
“Lots of n-words up there! But I stayed away from the monkeys and spent my time reading the Bible. I have become Born again.” Randyman smiled with a toothless grin.

“Oh,” Rack said reaching behind him on his reference shelf grabbing a Bible and tossing it to the Randyman. “Show me where in here it talks about blowing sand-n-words away, shooting n-words or calling them monkeys?”

“Hey Rack, I’m not a racist, I just don’t like n-words.”

“Gosh... Just out of curiosity, how far you get in school?”

“Screw you Rack,” Bubba butted in, “Big college man hey, so Randy and I didn’t get out of High school, that has nothing to do with anything, we aren’t ignorant or racists, we just don’t like n-words. What’s the big deal?”

“Okay Bubba, hating n-words got Randyman two years in prison, what does it get you? Don’t you see?”

“Sure we see Rack, you’re a stuck up Yankee college boy calling us racists.”

“Gosh Bubba, tell you what, why not pack up your beer, your guns and your pal and leave me alone then.”

“We gotta go anyway, keep the beer for that crew tomorrow.”

The crew arrived with the equipment to begin the process of house leveling so many Houston home owners living on the gumbo usually put off until windows began shattering. Rack was surprised that the 12 man crew was Black rather than the usual Mexicans who did all the roofing-digging labor White Texans seldom did. He welcomed Eugene, the Black foreman, at the door only to hear the phone ring.

“Yeah.” He answered. “Yeah, the crew is here Bubba. I understand. No problem, they have the hydraulic coring equipment all over the yard and the foreman seems friendly enough. I am sure you can scarf all the information you need about the whole process and get out on your own in no time! Yeah, I’ll give them the beer.”

The crew worked fast, boring 25, 15’ deep three foot in diameter holes around the house with the wheel barrow men hoppin’ it out to the dump truck in no time.

Eugene came in to say it would be about an hour wait for the cement truck and asked if it would be okay if his crew sat around the yard and ate their lunch.
“No problem Eugene, in fact the air conditioning has been on in my party-room garage out there and my friend Bubba left a case a beer. If y’all want to sit in the garage and have a couple beers it’s fine with me.”

“We’ll take you up on that friend, thank you.”

Rack went back to work on his computer. Eugene came in after only a few minutes with a long level to note the tilt before the house was jacked which would come in a few days after the cement hardened. He was crawling around on the kitchen floor, unseen behind the dinning bar that opened into the living room when Bubba burst in through the front door.

“Damn Rack, there must be a dozen damn n-words in your garage! You can’t let n-words run wild on your property, they’ll steal you blind” Bubba stated.

“You know Bubba, we were just talking about this last night weren’t we? I tried my best to explain to you that racism and your dislike for people of color doesn’t get you anything. I have a suspicion that lesson is about to hit you square between the eyes. To no avail.”

As if taking a rehearsed cue, Eugene rose from behind the counter. “You listen to your friend here Bubba, he be telling you true.” He said nothing more and once again disappeared behind the counter.

Bubba stood embarrassed in the hallway, stammering for a way out. Realizing there was none, he left, $10 in the hole for the beer, and without the information he so wanted to get his business started.

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As you will recall, last Christmas after sitting in the den with my wife watching TV for the months leading up to the big day, I, like any good American husband could not brush off the onslaught of watching other good American men buying big African diamonds for their wives. Everytime one of those ads came on, I got that look. So I pulled the kids out of college and went down to my local Jewlery store and bought the biggest diamond they had.

I did indeed get laid that night - which seems to be the purpose of it all - and the kids seem happy working over at the Walmart selling lead covered toys and products that last almost 6 months or more to so many wise American consumers.

Though the diamond "you are a cheap creep if you don't buy your wife a diamond" ads ran just as heavy this year, it was the "you are a cheap creep if you don't buy your wife a Lexus" ad that generated the same looks this year.

So I went down to the Lexas dealer and found one the right color for only $63,000. I cut a good deal and paid nothing down. I only had to shell out $85 for the giant red bow. They had a lot of those giant red bows there. It all went even better than last year as this time I got laid with her wearing nothing but a giant red bow!

As an average Amerian with $6000 in credit card debt and $19.64 in the bank, come January 24th they will be coming to take the Lexus away. But I paid for the damn bow and will get to keep that anyway. So the plan is to have one last shot of giant red bow sex on the 23rd. Wish me luck and a very Merry Christmas to you too.

Fueled by ads, luxury vehicles are a popular gift choice

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Recently I received an email joke from a republican friend. Yes, and I admit it upfront, I have a few. Republican friends that is. Basically the joke was about Hillary and Fred Thompson and their encounter with a homeless person on the street.

In the joke Fred gives the homeless person $20. and his business card to come see him, supposedly to seek employment. Upon meeting another homeless person, Hillary, apparently learning from this compassionate conservative gesture, takes another $20, only out of Fred's pocket, and gives the homeless person directions to the welfare office while keeping fifteen of the twenty bucks for expenses.

This is how the republican mind works, like my friend thought I would find this humorous while making a strong conservative point.

Normally I would ignore this shit for the sake of friendship, but this was so blatantly outrageous, so insulting and upside down to reality, that I decided to respond. Below is my response to him, and I even used his real name, Ron.

Poor joke Ron.

Fred's running for the party that created record deficits, attacked and occupied a third world country that was no threat to us at the cost of hundreds of billions of dollars and untold tens of thousands of lives, not to mention alienating every other country on the planet.

Hillary's running for the party that balanced the budget, created a record surplus, and presided over this peace and prosperity for 8 uninterrupted years.

Bill can walk down any street on earth and will be mobbed with affection. Bush can't even vacation on his ranch in Crawford without protestors.

But....Bill lied about a blow job and every right wing nut, most of them religiously insane, have been in a frenzy screaming, "Clinton bad," every time Bush and his crew create another fuck up. Is this a good time to bring up the fact that every sex scandal the past six and a half years has involved republicans and church authorities?

No one gets killed lying about sex, but as we're finding out, way too many people lose their lives when we get lied into war.

Serious and intelligent conservatives are converting from the "dark side," and moving over. (check out Kansas). As a recovering conservative, I did. We all have choices and can make up our own minds, but the choice is not whether America is the greatest nation, the choice is are we doing the best we can. Clearly we're not because of prejudices and propaganda created by Fox News, Rush, Hannity, and the rest of the right wing noise machine.

You may not appreciate what I'm writing, and that's okay, but basically here's what happened; Rove and Bush gamed the political system to win elections. Where they went wrong is they didn't know how to govern shit. Katrina is a quick example. Meanwhile, Cheney and the rest of the neo-cons took advantage of 9/11 to push their PNAC, Project for a new American Century, ideological agenda, to imperially control the world as the sole-surviving super power.

Obviously this isn't going to happen and what's ironic is that America started out as a nation fighting against imperial control to escape a previous King George.

Ron, history does indeed repeat itself.

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I reluctantly walked back into the bookstore that Friday afternoon, wishing I were anywhere else. It had been a hellish week, full of idiotic customers, inane corporate directives and backstabbing co-workers. I glanced at the man perusing the books on the bestseller table and for the first time in my life, my jaw literally dropped. I ran to the back of the store on feet crippled by bone spurs, to grab the only other person I was sure would recognize him. She assumed I was fucking with her as I dragged her to the table. We stood about twenty foot away and whispered back and forth loudly enough for our voices to be heard in submarines half a world away from our small Texas town.
“It’s him!” I hissed.
“It looks like him but why would he be here?” she hissed back.
“I read somewhere he owned property in this county. I didn’t want to believe it,” I replied, still sotto voce.
A regular customer and another employee walked up to us.
Our regular asked, “Why are y’all hissing?”
We pointed and explained. Both newcomers agreed it looked like him. The employees seemed to feel the best option under these strange circumstances would be to continue debating, but our regular believed in the direct approach. The man had moved away from the table and was walking past us. Our regular went up to him and asked the question everyone but me was dying to know. I knew it was him.
The man gave an unconvincing chuckle and said, “No, but I get that all the time.”
In triumph, our regular joined our huddle and announced, “It’s not him.”
“What else would he say?” asked my employee.
“He lies,” I muttered darkly.
The hissing argument continued with everyone else wavering. I knew I was right. I could tell by the way my skin crawled when he was standing two feet from me. A woman appeared and asked where the history section was, thereby taking me out of the huddle and giving me no chance to convince the skeptical. I turned the corner and there he was.
The woman was his wife and they followed me all the way back up the aisle. A voice in my head, which I can only hope was mine, was shrieking,
“He’s looking at my butt!”
I stopped at the huddle, which now consisted of three people trying not to look guilty. The man and his wife continued to the cash register where he paid for his book with a credit card and left the store. But not before my employee had sent the regular out to the parking lot to get his license plate number so she could run it through some computer program she had on her computer. There was no need for that as we all raced to the startled and confused woman at the register and demanded she pull out her credit card slips. My sense of vindication was dampened by my need for an immediate shower and some good drugs.
Karl Rove had been looking at my butt.

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