by whadmin
FARMERSMUTUAL(FMBC)SUX.COM
February 1, 2020 in Auto-biographical
LOGHOMESINSURANCE SUX.COM FARMERSMUTUAL(FMBC)SUX.COM
“An Ode to FRED ROBERTS, INSURANCE MAN” 
it's easy to get lured
but all the smarmy
will drive you barmy
when you end up getting manured.
I've tried to talk to Fred
but he hides in the shed
it's kind of funny
'cos he loves your money
until a claim goes in the red.
There was an old codger who thought
since his clients never fought
you could nickel and dime
and waste their time
and never once get caught.
But when you tick off a writer
you might have unleashed a blighter
'cos he's mad as hell
and expresses it well
and makes an ugly fighter.
Dear reader,
Are all Insurance companies HONEST? Fair on claims? Never known to cheat on claims?
How about the story I read in the paper, of two home owners in New Orleans? Neighbors. Lost their homes in hurricane Rita. Total loss. Both had their insurance claims denied. They compared notes. One had storm and wind insurance, but no flood insurance. He was told (claim denied) the loss was due to a FLOOD. His next door neighbor (insured with the same company) had flood insurance, but no storm and wind protection. He was told (claim denied) the loss was due to high WINDS.
Well, if you are considering insuring YOUR valuable home? Take a few minutes, and read on.
Below, I will quote factually from the web page of an insurance gentleman by the name of FRED ROBERTS.
He's an INSURANCE company owner. License Number and details are as follows:
Fred A Roberts 123 Washington St. Fayetteville, Texas 78940. License # 868845
Because I want YOU to make up your own mind, on the subject of my experience at his hands of dealing with MY CLAIM, (a fire in a rent house, caused -I was told- by the tenant's PRINTER going on fire), I shall provide YOU with all the claim details, photographs, time intervals, and methodology that
Mr FRED ROBERTS, INSURANCE MAN, License # 868845,
deems appropriate, moral, and ethical. In his world. Then, I'll give you MY side of the story. And allow YOU to decide for yourself, who's in the right here. And then you can ask yourself the million dollar question:
Would I insure my house with this fine, upstanding, devout Christian man?
Here's a photo of him. 
Copied right off his website, LogHomesInsurance.com
with lots of sugar and smarm
but you'd better beware
of his scam and snare
before you come to harm.
it's not just ME that's defiant
but Fred doesn't care
he skulks in his lair
with delusions of being a giant.
Kind of inspires confidence, does he not? Just a good old Texas boy, from Fayetteville, Texas, who can be relied upon (according to his website) to 'do things other insurance brokers won't'. Now I DO happen to AGREE with that part, as you will see later, but NOT in the lofty, wonderful sense that HE means it. 
I liked this bit, where he, very modestly, humbly, writes:
Our business is based on a few simple rules to follow:
God First
Family Second
Church Third
Well, that's… downright inspiring, isn't it? I'm far from being an Atheist myself, (maybe not quite into the “I'm a Holy Joe – you can trust me” weepy-weepy, strut & pose stuff) but there are two bibles in my house. One is a King James. The other a modern “Good News”. Both are well worn, even battered a bit. Passages underlined, and highlighted.
Anyway, I've set the stage. Now you've seen HIS photo. How about me? I'm just an old boy. Retired commercial pilot. Fixed wing and helicopters. Had a stroke in December 2015.
For extra retirement income, I own rental houses. Bad idea. Eight of them. Eight bad ideas. On November 29th, 2019 one of them caught FIRE. There is heavy smoke damage throughout the house, and it is quite unlivable as it stands. You'll see the photos later. So, naturally, I was anxious to expedite settlement and repairs. I'm losing $750 a month income.
I told them I was anxious to get it repaired. In retrospect, I wonder if that was maybe my smartest move.
So we got a quote for repairs from a reputable company, “Servpro”, and the amount was: $6,217.76.
They did tell me that there was a CAVEAT. Namely, if they discovered MORE damage during repairs, which was quite possible, there could be additional billing. I understand that. Perfectly normal. It's such a mess inside there. Drywall pulled down, etc. Until they get properly stuck into it, there may be other problems lurking.
We got that quote. Passed it on to Farmers'Mutual/FMB of Fayetteville, Texas. Delay, delay. More delays. Then (eventually) it got REJECTED by insurers. I only found THAT out when Servpro called me. Nobody from Farmers' Mutual Fayetteville/FMB Insurance bothered themselves to contact me. I don't actually recall EVER receiving ONE SINGLE PHONE CALL from them.
And this is where it starts getting more and more, well, off-the-wall WEIRD.
I'm an old boy, been around the block, and I pretty soon felt I was getting PLAYED. Like a fish on a line. Things just don't add up. Oh, don't get me wrong, they play the rod well.
If you didn't shake yourself, you'd think they were doing you a BIG FAVOR.
So, here's how it went down. Follow how it all neatly unfolds. Real smoo-oo-ooth.
1) insurance company is in no hurry. Nobody returns phone calls. 
2) insurance company is in no hurry. Nobody returns phone calls. 
(etc, etc) (I'm losing $750 a month, and I have a new and anxious tenant standing by wanting to rent it)
3) I'm expecting a check for $5,217.76 (I have a $1,000 deductible), and an understanding that the contingency CAVEAT (if more damage is found during repairs) will be honored.
Well…. Basically, no, and HELL, NO. 
4) I EVENTUALLY get this call from the independent surveyor they use. I still can't get a phone call back from Farmers' Mutual/FMB, the insurers themselves. I have left messages, messages, up to FIVE A DAY, but the claims manager WILL not return my calls.
The independent surveyor talks to me real nicely. Lowers his voice. All sympathetic.
I start smelling a rodent. With body hygiene issues.
(Well, hell, I'll play along. If you think I'm just a doddery old fart, who doesn't know his elbow from his lower spine Monkey tail vertebrae, then that's okay with me).
This is HIS story. I'm NOT getting a check for $5,217.76. The claim is DENIED.
“What?”, I say. “It was a FIRE. I'm fully insured for fire!”
“Well”, says the surveyor, “No, not really. This was not a NORMAL fire.”
“What?”, says I. “What the hell IS IT then? It sure BURNED & SMOKED a lot?!! I could have lit my cigar off it! Warmed my feet? Toasted marshmallows!
What the hell are YOU calling it then??”
“Well, Sir, it's VANDALISM.”
“And I'm sorry, Sir, your limit on VANDALISM is $1,000!”
I was gob smacked.
“WHAT vandalism! First I heard of THAT! I thought the Computer PRINTER went on fire! It's all melted to Kingdom come! So is the power cable! You've seen it with your own eyes! We've got the photos of the charred power cable!”
Okay, so, let's pause there.
Numbers time. To cut a long story short, this is how it went.
Me: (wants $5,217.76 + CAVEAT)
Insurance: “all you're getting is $1,000, NO CAVEAT”
Me: “Balleaux! Rhubarb! Poppycock!”
Insurance: “Tough!”
Me: “How do you figure it's VANDALISM??”
Insurance: “Printers never go on fire.”
Me: “The hell they don't! It's got 110 volt going to it. Anything that's POWER going down the wrong path, can and will CATCH FIRE!”
Insurance: “No, it can't. Not with a printer. Mr Fred Roberts has a friend in the computer business, and the friend says they can't go on fire.”
???
Now, dear Reader, watch the numbers. Remember the rod. Fish on a line.
Here comes the play… Ever been fishing? If you try and reel 'em in too quick, you break the line, right?
So you got to let the fish kick and exhaust himself, right?
Insurance: “On this occasion only, by way of SPECIAL consideration, one time only, one-off… Mr Fred Roberts will go to $2,800. That's it. Final offer.
Me: “NO!” I don't do well on the end of a fishing line.
Okay, stop there.
Me: (wants $5,217.76 + contingency CAVEAT) Insurance: $2,800 and NO CAVEAT
I already told them “NO!”, That I wouldn't accept it. Well, get this!
They sent the check ANYWAY. $2,800! Cheeky b*st*rds!
I'm supposed to do my fish-quivering-on-the-line thing, SWALLOW THE BAIT, run to the bank, and forget the whole thing, right? But I'm thinking something else. Dark thoughts.
Like:
*** Did you guys PLAN THIS ALL ALONG, I WONDER?
*** Is that how you made your filthy lucre, Mister Roberts?
Hell, no. I won't cash it. I want to speak to the Claims Manager, or HIS BOSS, Mister Holy Roller, Jesus-loves-you, Fred Roberts.
I kid you not: WEEKS GO BY. NOBODY RETURNS MY PHONE CALLS. I CALL 3 to 5 times A DAY.
I'm getting mad. I tell the in-between-man, the insurance broker, the poor guy between me and the underwriter, I'll sue. (He actually completely supports me. Says that in 40 years in the insurance industry, HE's never seen anything like it). But before I do that, I'll produce a detailed written breakdown of where we stand, in the hopes we can peacefully resolve this issue.
I'm getting sick and tired of that hook stuck in my mouth, and Mr Fred Roberts, God's Insurance man, self-described Church guy, License # 86845, casually yanking on it.
Whenever he fancies a bit of sport.
it's not just ME that's defiant
but Fred doesn't care
he skulks in his lair
with delusions of being a giant.
So I produce a written REPORT, attached to this page further down.
You can READ it, if you wish. I thought it was fair and balanced. It references the hand-written 'report' of the Fire Chief, which report is ALSO attached underneath my summary-report.
Dear reader, I submit I was trying to reasonably solve this problem.
I spent hours on it.
Judge for yourself. It's a LONG report, if you want to read it, feel free, but it is long and VERY DETAILED. It was a sincere attempt by me to cut the Gordon's knot.
Did it achieve anything? Hell,no. It was reported back to me that Mr Fred Roberts, License # 868845, simply LAUGHED. This is a man I have NEVER been able to even get ON THE PHONE. Not ONCE. He thought it was FUNNY. And reportedly said words to the effect:
1) “That's great! He's given us his entire legal argument. Stupid. That makes it easy!”
2) “You can tell him, if he sues, we'll appoint the best and most expensive attorneys in Fayetteville, and we'll sue him right back. Then we'll go after him for the legal costs!
Just tell him that!:
(Nice fellow, eh?) You can tell he values his customers, eh? Really looks after them.
Well, let me tell you something:
you might just check with your Daddy
there's only one rule
I kick like a mule
but then I was born a Paddy.
So here I sit, February 1st, 2020, with a useless rent house that burned WAY back November 29, 2019. Losing $750 a month. And if it's up to Mr Fred Roberts, that's MY problem, not his. I submit, the question is: that kind of nickle-and-dime-haggling is that how HE made his money? How many times have you pulled this stunt, Mister? And gotten away with it?
WHERE IS THE PROOF THAT IT'S VANDALISM? There is none. The only 'PROOF' he can offer is a buddy in the computer industry, who says printers never go on fire. I'd guess ANY household appliance, from a color telly to a toaster, from a wide screen TV to a refrigerator, from a laptop to an I-phone, can and WILL (cheerfully) go on fire, if something shorts OUT. It's not the PRINTER, or the TV, the refrigerator, or the stupid TOASTER…. themselves. It's the ELECTRICAL POWER running to it, that decides (hey-ho!) to run somewhere where it's not supposed to run. It's called by a technical term, that nobody at FMBC(TX) seems to have ever heard of:
I'm baffled (and so are an increasing number of people I have spoken to, including in the newspaper and insurance industry) how this super-holy character can award himself such a breath taking latitude of discretion, to come to a (convenient) decision that it's 'VANDALISM', WITHOUT any PROOF.
NO sign of matches, lighter fluid, any accelerants, forced entry, or any signs of willful arson. No matter! Fred has solemnly declared it Vandalism! Knickers!
If you read my statement, be sure you ponder Part 10. I submit:
A home owner insured by Fred Roberts can be in SERIOUS TROUBLE, if his house is a TOTAL Loss, and Mr Fred Roberts decides, USING HIS WIDE SELF-GRANTED POWERS OF DISCRETION, (on a whim it seems), (no PROOF required) that it's VANDALISM. You would get a check for $1,000!
And, according to the Internet, 21% of house fires in the USA ARE vandalism, involving arson! If my house had burned down to the ground, I would have been f**ked.
Here's a check for $1,000! Have a nice day! 
WHAT KIND OF INSURANCE COVERAGE IS THAT? YOU ARE ONE PRETTY CYNICAL, COLD DUDE, MISTER FRED ROBERTS!
I have now spoken to a RAPIDLY GROWING number of people in the insurance industry.
For a claim to be downgraded to “Vandalism”, everybody agrees there needs to be SOLID PROOF.
Mr 'Holy Roller' says there IS proof. As follows:
1) His buddy in the computer business. Who says electrical printers never go on fire.
2) The Fire Chief's report saying there was no socket behind the printer.
He conveniently IGNORES everything else. Won't discuss it, won't take my phone calls.
Won't pay up, either.
THAT is his 'proof. WE (plural) say that's flat out NONSENSE. Just dirty politics.
Our reasons:
The tenant lady herself said, in front of the Fire Chief and my staff the next day, (see my statement) that:
**** she was using an extension cord
(duh! Have you never heard of one of those, Mister Fred Roberts?)
**** she had noticed that the printer seemed to be 'sparking a bit'.
The Fire Chief's report states in his report (see below) that the first responder Fire Men reported:
“Fire fighters notice flames coming from back room from printer on dresser.”
Mr Fred Roberts just casually, well, IGNORES all those inconvenient bits!
Like a fat emperor, sitting on his throne, dispensing judgment on the lower, lesser mortals!
Sitting on his wallet, I guess.
I'll cling real tight to my purse
my name is Fred
I take it to bed
and you can have the nurse.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
(letter from attempting to resolve issue)
Without Prejudice Jan 6, 2020
1. I have now had the opportunity to look at the 'report' of the Fire Chief, whose men responded to the house fire at my property at 920 Midlake Drive, on 11-29-2019.
2. For clarity's sake, I have arranged my comments in sections as follows:
3. Initial impression of 'Fire Report'
4. Timeline and Omission
5. Closer examination of 'Fire report'
6. Speculation runs riot & a matter of latitude & turning pirouettes
7. On vandalism, ghosts and ghouls
8. Smoke Alarm
9. Bottom Line
10. 21% of fires in the US are arson or vandalism
11. Intent and relations with underwriters
+++++++++++
3. Initial impression of 'Fire report'
The initial impression of the 'Fire report' is not good. I do appreciate the Fire Chief is a busy man, and a volunteer. I am grateful for his dedicated assist. I therefore do not wish to be unkind. But I would have expected a typed report. Instead we have a patently ad-hoc, handwritten job, in poor grammar, with lines liberally crossing out sentences, and additions untidily inserted. In my many years as C.E.O. of a freight forwarding company, dealing with litigation involving high value insurance claims, often consisting of perishable produce (meat, fish, etc) in the $80,000 to $100,000 value range, I have never seen anything on this basic level. It undermines the value of this rough, note-form document.A further very important weakness is simply that it is clearly not a 'first responder report'. It's a second hand, post-event, narrated report. Containing speculation. Meaning, it wasn't the Fire Chief who rushed into the smoke filled house. He is merely going on what he was told by the actual fire fighters, one of whom had to be later treated for smoke inhalation. But before I go into detail examining the questionable fare that he thus leaves us with, I must insert a critical weakness: Timeline and Omission.
4. Timeline and Omission
The fire was on 11-29-2019. However, crucially, there was a meeting at 920 Midlake Drive the following day, on 11-30-2019. In attendance were five persons:
Fire Chief (!)
Mr Chris Williams (tenant)
Mrs Tracy Williams (tenant)
Mark Weaver (helps me manage these houses)
Jennifer Hill (helps me manage these houses)
During the conversation, Mrs Williams stated (and very honestly admitted) a number of important issues:
*** she was regularly using the printer, with an extension cord. (this takes care of the usage, and no socket being beside the printer)
*** she had noticed that the printer seemed to occasionally “spark a bit “. (her words)
Not thinking too much of it, because it worked just fine, she nonetheless took the sensible precaution of disconnecting the extension cord after each use.
*** On the day in question, of the fire, she said she had been in a hurry and forgotten to disconnect the extension cord.
*** Her husband was leaning in the door apparently, and (sympathetically) said words to the effect of “Well, I guess you accidentally started the fire then! “
*** And her reply was along the lines of: “Yes, I guess I did. I'm really sorry. “
Now I would have thought that the Fire Chief would have backed up his cursory report of the previous day, with an additional record of THAT crucial meeting. For whatever reason, he did not.
5. Closer examination of “Fire Report “
So we already have looked at the multiple weaknesses of the Report. I now wish to focus in on the fact that it was a second hand report, based on what he was told afterwards by his people.
“Fire fighters notice flames coming from back room from printer on dresser. “
Very specific. What is the FIRST thing you would do, if you were a fire fighter and you thought the printer was on fire? Disconnect it! Disconnect the power source! I submit that is exactly what he did. Pulling the extension cord out and throwing it away. Then dealing with the fire. I am a trained fire fighter. I'm not speculating.
The rather airy-fairy speculation then comes in later. Wholly contradicting the sentence I quote above, we read:
“There were no signs of cause of fire. Printer had no power cord long enough to reach a power source. No electric outlit (sic) near printer, or wires behind wall from printer (sic). “
Well, this is obviously wholly corrected by the tenant's admission the next day, that she was using an extension cord. Case closed. Do we need to go further with this? Affidavits from Mark Weaver and Jennifer Hill?
6. Speculation runs riot & a matter of latitude & turning pirouettes
Can't say I'm too ecstatic about Claims Manager's actions here. Coolly ignoring the critical phrase in the Fire Report from the First Responders ( “Fire fighters notice flames coming from back room from printer on dresser “), Claims Manager prefers the post fire speculation by the Fire Chief.
( “There were no signs of cause of fire. Printer had no power cord long enough to reach a power source. No electric outlit (sic) near printer, or wires behind wall from printer (sic). “)
Well, you do know we still have the melted power cord, right? Burned to a crisp. See photos. We submit the first responders were correct.
( “Fire fighters notice flames coming from back room from printer on dresser “)
We have the physical evidence.
Next thing, we have a pretty amazing pirouette taking place. It's judged to be no longer an accidental fire. Demonstrating a truly wide latitude of discretion, it's now become “vandalism “. Which carries a limit of $1,000 on coverage!
7. On vandalism, ghost and ghouls
So what does that even mean? I see two possibilities:
A) a young teenager, home alone, is expecting his mother home any minute. She's normally there, but he doesn't know her car has broken down. Are we to believe he decides all-of-a-sudden:
“What the heck. Let's burn the house down! “
??
And then he runs in and out in a panic, trying to find his puppy? It's possible, but it seems extremely, off-the-charts unlikely. Oh, and he also manages his impromptu arson so cunningly, there is ZERO sign of accelerants or matches?
It's possible that he is a crime fiction fan, but I doubt it somehow.
B) What then? A mysterious stranger? A ghost? Who sneaks into the house? Without being noticed by the teenager? Or barked at by the dogs? Who then moves quietly down to the far end of the house, surreptitiously lights a fire, and glides away, unseen by all?
I'm happy to run both those scenarios past a judge, but I'm pretty sure he'll be more focused on this:
*** ( “Fire fighters notice flames coming from back room from printer on dresser “)
*** The 'confession' meeting the next day, and
***looking at the burned and melted printer power cord.
8. Smoke alarm
The Fire Report mentions “no smoke alarm “. Not in the bedroom, maybe. I don't know if that got hauled out in the confusion of the fire fighting, or not. They ripped part of the walls and ceiling down, remember. Regardless, the Fire Marshall confirmed in a meeting with Jennifer Hill that there WAS a working smoke detector immediately outside, in the hallway.
He complimented her for that, and stated he would have had to levy us a fine of $140 had there not been one. We received no such fine.
9. Bottom line
I have a site visit and quotation bill from Servpro for $1,183.87. I have to pay this regardless.
They emailed me an estimate on top of that for $5,033.89
Total: $6,217.76
That is the amount I'm looking for.
Respectfully, I see absolutely no justification to fend me off with a check for $2,800. I will not cash it, or accept it.
10. 21% of fires in the US are arson or vandalism
This is a figure I got off the Internet. It comes as a cold shower to me, that:
A) my coverage left me with a $1,000 limit for 21% of likely causes of fire!!
B) FMB Claims manager wishes to exercise such truly wide latitude in applying a convenient verdict of 'vandalism'.
What if the house (which is paid off, worth $65,000 plus) had burned down to the ground?
Cause: ghost or ghoul?
“Here you go, chum, here's a check for $1,000 “…??
Clearly I have some serious revision to do with our coverages! In some ways, I feel I dodged a bigger bullet here.
11. Intent and relations with underwriters
I have no wish to needlessly go to Deathcon 1 or start World War 3. I would much rather have cordial, sensible coverage and positive relations with underwriters. If we have to, we have to pay more to be properly covered.
I'm also interested in what coverage our tenants could acquire.
So I'm willing to work with you. But please make no mistake:
I feel very, very strongly about this one.
It's not even a huge amount of money. I would litigate it myself, because legal costs would dwarf the amount. It would be one of those “minimum 30 hours at $200 an hour, and $2,000 down jobs. “
Good luck. That's why I avoid litigation if I possibly can.
But I'm not inclined to back down one millimeter on this one.
Sincerely,
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Fire Chief report – Page 1
Fire Chief report – Page 2
Last edited by Francis Meyrick on February 8, 2020, 9:40 am
(0 votes, average: 0.00 out of 5)You need to be a registered member to rate this.
Loading… by whadmin
A Jewish Comedian
January 27, 2020 in Uncategorized
A Jewish Comedian Jan 25, 2029
Well, I can't wait. The BBC, that citadel of unbiased News, will be showing a (Jewish) (wholly unbiased) comedian, pursuing the (unbiased) line of investigation, centered on the question:
Why does Holocaust denial exist?
Is it madness? A form of neurosis? Can you catch it from playing too many video games?
A dirty toilet seat? Nope.
Apparently, the reasons are:
*** anti-Semitism ( “the oldest hatred “)
or
*** because the Internet spreads so many “conspiracy theories ” and “fake news ” stories that we now live in a “post-truth world. “
(Cue: more internet censorship)
(and I thought the oldest hatred was the tax man)
From the article:
“Notice there is not a single suggestion that it could be happening because of a failure of the 75-year-old Holocaust narrative to withstand honest scrutiny and the free exchange of ideas, largely due to the growth of the world-wide web. This wonderful invention has given the average person access to vastly more information from an immensity of sources. Of course, the BBC would have us believe this immensity of sources are mainly untrustworthy (post-truth), but Internet users have found out differently. It was networks like the BBC that in the past kept us in the dark about whatever they didn't want us to know, or else put their own spin on it.”
link to the article mentioned above: Jewish funny man
(0 votes, average: 0.00 out of 5)You need to be a registered member to rate this.
Loading… by whadmin
Getting a bit wound up
January 27, 2020 in Uncategorized
Getting a bit wound up Jan 25, 2020
Here's an article that really got me a bit wound up, thinking about the screaming hypocrisy, opportunism, and the jumping-on-the-bandwagon mania that many so-called 'novelists' cannot resist.
This article features the novelist John Boyne, who penned the predictable tear-jerker “The boy in the striped pajamas”.
Dutifully made into a MOVIE.
Ka-ching!
If I understand the article correctly, he first of all denies his book is simply transparently EXPLOITING the Holocaust. He maintains that the work is subtitled 'a fable'. But the article author, points out that he could NOT find that phrase on any of the book covers he could find.
Worse.
There is a STUDY GUIDE available for 4th to 8th grade kids available too+++
INDOCTRINATION, SOME?????
In my view, you are now fully and shamefully taking the right royal p*ss, at the expense of the honor and dignity of the German people.
And there's lots more like this greedy creep. It's just one big racket.
Holohoax, indeed.
That's not right.
I'm a writer with two novels out. Working on a sequel. I hope I never sink to those lows.
link to article quoted above: https://jan27.org/new-holocaust-fiction-is-as-low-quality-as-old-holocaust-fiction/
(0 votes, average: 0.00 out of 5)You need to be a registered member to rate this.
Loading… by whadmin
When you bury your face
January 27, 2020 in Uncategorized
When you bury your face, in quiet despair Jan 25, 2020
Oh, the Holocaust. And the grip it has on humanity's collective consciousness.
It's tarnished soul, if you like.
Is it because it was so bad? SO evil? So unparalleled in terms of raw evil, incarnate, compared with anything that had ever gone before?
This terrible guilt… is what has been thrown at the feet of the German People. Das Deutsche Volk. It seems forever. They cannot escape it. And must pay, and pay, and pay. Reputation. Honor. Oh, and Billions.
Is. It. True?
I am not German. I don't wear Swastikas, or ever practice the goose step. I'm just a very simple fellow. I confess I spent years thinking it was, well, true. I never really looked into it. Then, one day, I read that the gloomy Auschwitz gas chamber chimney, often photographed, sticking up into a grey sky, like an accusing finger-of-terrible-death, pointing to the angry, ever-judging sky…
… was built AFTER the war. By the Russians. in 1946. And wasn't even ATTACHED. And that the memorial, that until 1990 had stated “Four million killed”, suddenly, quietly, overnight, was replaced with “One-and-a-half million”.
And I, the simple one, thought: “How do you suddenly, after 45 years, after all that shrieking & hollering, quietly lose two-and-a-half million BODIES?
I still remember that moment. The crack in the stained glass pane. The dull sound of a penny, slowly, dropping off the table, onto the cold, marble floor. And I started wondering if the penny should have dropped YEARS earlier. But some sneaky bastard had GLUED the thing there. It was never meant to have a fair chance to drop, for the honest observer. That penny and that table was RIGGED to hell and back.
I've continued down that journey, and it leaves me sad. When I got yelled at by a family member for a few casual comments, that hurt.
I'm on-goingly shocked by what I now see as a colossal, absurdly cynical fraud. A libel, a lie to end all lies.
But you, dear Gabber, must judge for yourself. I could be a lying toe rag, a secret goose-stepping Nazi, a pretend gormless Paddy, who is actually a die hard German Nazi.
January 27th is going to be great big huff & puff global Media blitz-extravaganza, commemorating EITHER 'six million Jews', who suffered uniquely compared with anybody else in World War Two, and therefore should be commemorated (and, cough, compensated), FOREVER…
or…
It's a SICK JOKE, a monstrous lie, a voluminous barf bag, a ruthless extortion by a small, way over-powerful criminal clique, who just happen to own most of the World's Media, Banks, and all of Hollywood. Who are obsessed only with earthly power and wealth. Who have no soul, no integrity, no conscience, and should be roundly exposed for the global criminals they are.
I call it the #GreatShekelShakedown.
The #TalmudicMafia, the world's biggest international crime syndicate, that make Al Capone and the Mafia look tame, owe Germany a…
EPIC, MASSIVE, HUM-DINGER of an APOLOGY.
(0 votes, average: 0.00 out of 5)You need to be a registered member to rate this.
Loading… by whadmin
Demonic Darkness
January 27, 2020 in Uncategorized
Demonic Darkness Jan 27, 2020
I never doubted the Holocaust, for years. Decades.
Never thought too much about it either. Didn't investigate. No need.
On the rare occasions I have discussed my NEW views with Holocaust believers, I have quickly sensed in their eyes, something I guess I myself must have radiated for many years.
A mixture of pity, contempt, even fear.
(“Boy! This guy is a whack job!”)
I have actually been kind of deeply hurt a few times.
You want to blurt out: “I'm not a monster! I have feelings! I'm not cruel!”
But instead, I just lapsed into silence.
Writing is an easier medium. It's less confrontational, or can be, and it's possible to quietly state what you sincerely believe to be the truth in a mellow manner. Under-stated. Avoiding the harsh, and the strident. The fanatical gleam in the Denier eye, that others seem to so quickly discern?
Here is just another de-bunking article I have read. It rings perfectly true to me. You? Tell me below, please. The Holocaust witness concerned here, Mel Mermelstein, garnered fame (and Shekels) with his book, but, in truth, he comes across as just a really terrible liar.
Just dumb.
I read it, and just shook my head. I've read so many like this. It's like a gigantic house of playing cards, built many stories high, and now the Internet is tugging at the bottom cards. The #TalmudicMafia is worried.
They know what will happen, if the Internet is left free (-ish).
That house is going to come tumbling down. It's tottering already.
Hence their efforts to purge the Internet, and criminalize even asking questions. What a dead give-away that is. Their actions seek to mask a pitiful fraud. The world's biggest lie. And all those billions of lovely dollars in 'reparations'.
Mammon. Their only God.
I read the British Talmudic 'Daily Tale', and day-after-day, some Zionist teenager in the News Room pens absurd homages to the survivors of the Holocaust. All the world's 'leading lights & Royalty' will also gather and solemnly 'remember' the 'six million'.
It makes me both sad, and worry, that this world is being flooded with a terrible, Demonic Darkness. That hates the light, and those who shine it.
Please feel free to lecture me, if you think I'm sadly misguided.
I remember my former state of innocent bliss was much more comfortable. The way back, however?
Link to article quoted above:
(0 votes, average: 0.00 out of 5)
You need to be a registered member to rate this.Loading…
by whadmin
Mandatory Conviction
January 16, 2020 in Auto-biographical (spiritual quest)
A frequent area of Puzzlement – 'Entrenchment, & 'Mandatory Conviction'
A frequent area of bewilderment for my tiny, groping mind, is what I might loosely term 'entrenchment'. A (strong) tendency among men and grazing beasts, (and promenading ladies), to double down on what seems to feel good. Or taste good. Or attract a mate. And look no further.
To hell with adventure. Bugger 'challenge'. Spaghetti Bolognaise tastes good. Why trick around with that dish they call… what?
'Homard'??
Apart from the generational allegiance of drunk soccer hooligans to their sworn tribe, (go meet Celtic & Rangers fans) few areas generate more of such rabid entrenchment, than the minefield of Mandatory Conviction. 'MC' can be likened to entering a club, where strict unanimity of opinion is not only seen as (oddly) a rather desirable thing, it's bloody well… heck, mandatory. De rigueur. Sine qua non.
This flies quite in the face of logic & human dreaminess.
Or certainly, MY wandering dreaminess.
I should be able to climb any ladder I like, as far as I like, and climb right back down, get off, give my (noisy) opinion, and try a totally different ladder elsewhere, if I so wish. This harmless hobby of mine should not raise eyebrows. None. If I wish to try 'homard', and I discover it's 'lobster', then so be it.
Alas. I can assure you, in many fields of human endeavor, it raises a lot more than eyebrows. Try fists. And hobnail boots. Broken bottles. Machetes.
So, in my perfect world, I should be able to amble in to any church, mosque, or synagogue, temple, meeting house or den, or any football supporters' club house, and cheerfully announce:
“You know, fellows, today I'm not quite sure what I believe. Yesterday, I thought Celtic was my team. But today I'm thinking Rangers play much better football. And I like the color of their jerseys better. I reckon I'm going to be a Rangers' fan for a while.”
If I was to announce that in a packed, and highly inebriated Celtic bar, (after a crushing defeat that same afternoon, 1-6 to Rangers), in my perfect world they should all drink to my health. They won't, I assure you. They'll all take turns stomping furiously on my head.
Why is this? It's just so common. Why can't I attend a Baptist meeting, a Lutheran church, a Methodist chapel, or a Snake Charmer Church, and say:
“You know, I've been thinking. Maybe God is just a figment of our imagination. I give it fifty-fifty. How about we pass on the hymns today, leave the snakes in their cages, and all go for a beer?”
Or, maybe:
“This last week I was feeling 85% sure that God is real. But today, Sunday, nah, I'm down to maybe 10% of me thinking that way. The rest of me just thinks it's silly, having an invisible friend in the sky. You guys don't mind, do you?”
Oh, they'll mind. They'll mind a lot. You're supposed to play along that everybody is 100% sure, 100% of the time. It's 100% mandatory that you are 100% convinced.
Well, from the peanut gallery, I call cr*p. Cobblers. Piffle. Poppy & cock.
*** My (proudly varying) position is that I strongly suspect there is much more going on around us, than we even begin to realize.
*** I suspect (most days, quite strongly) that there is indeed an amazing, rational, aware, and compassionate Presence, that I've never seen. Never met him. That I know of.
Other than His works.
I honestly think I've seen a demon – once. Long story.
*** But if I climb down off that ladder, and hop up the Atheist ladder, or the Agnostic One, I'm quite interested in who all is climbing away there. And what they have to say.
*** I'm pretty tolerant. In my dreams, anyway. I know, me and the Perfect Pedophile Brigade don't get along. And, true, I have unkind things to say about the #TalmudicMafia. But apart from that transparently bogus lot, (…) I say I'm pretty tolerant.
Come on, don't laugh.
The only people that tick me off are all the truly LOUD shouters, all entrenched in their shallow views, who have climbed maybe three or four rungs, parked their butts there, REFUSE to climb further (or even look up the ladder), and, instead, yell hysterical abuse at everybody going down, or anybody even casting a sideways glance at ANY other ladder. There's just so MANY of these dudes. Shal-low.
I have often said, although I tend strongly towards the 'belief' ladder, I so often get along better with intelligent Atheists & Agnostics, than the plethora of noisy 'saved', cluttering up the bottom few rungs of the ladder, yelling & squawking, and furiously passing judgement on everybody else. “I'm saved, and YOU are NOT.” Meh. Bollocks.
They are often really boring people. Shallow too. Heavy, heavy into the 'Mandatory Conviction' bit.
The road to Conviction has been a long one, for me. Bumpy, too. But I've come a long way.
I will, however, if I may, point out the implications of the alternative “we are alone” mantra.
It's lonely.
We cannot commit a logical fallacy here, as many do, and reason that there 'must be a God', otherwise there is no point. Circular logic.
Again, I strongly suspect a Creator. But I for one am perfectly prepared to alternatively, look the Darkness of the Universe in the eye.
The Vast Void. I would then still say that Life is a Gift. Not from a Conscious Presence, but from a Chance series of events. It's still beautiful. Still a gift. But how small, finite, short-lived and puny we are.
The best we can hope for then, in that case, is to leave the world just a tiny bit kinder than when we entered upon our brief little stage.
That's all. In a blink of a mole's eye, we are gone, and quickly forgotten. Embrace the truth, I say.
But when I look at the posing, strutting, grabbing, and massively preening antics of so many of my fellow critters, I see so little Humility. So-much-Pride. So much runaway materialism.
That… I submit is a terrible mistake.
And, indeed, the root cause of much, much Evil.
If we are on our own, well, let's still roll up our sleeves.
If we want to build a better, kinder, more compassionate world?
No God?
Gonna be tough.
We're going to be REAL busy.
(0 votes, average: 0.00 out of 5)You need to be a registered member to rate this.
Loading… by whadmin
Crossroads Moment
January 13, 2020 in Auto-biographical (spiritual quest), My Search for God and Meaning
Crossroads Moment
There was a time, decades long, I tried to fill my mind.
I ceaselessly crammed all kinds of noisy cr*p in there.
Now I’m often trying to empty the conceited bastard.
That… just seems a whole lot harder.
Learning the systems on, say, an AS355F1, twin turbine helicopter takes time. But once you’ve officially qualified, your license endorsed, you’ve spent time flying the noisy bubble, poking around the brown grime of Los Angeles, the knowledge, although nice, is no longer life crucial. It’s rear view mirror time. In areas of learning languages, cultures, or traversing through the worlds of philosophy, theology, literature, and (shivers) Irish Politics, to a degree, a not dissimilar process takes place.
Oh, it’s nice to learn. To roam and travel around the world. See places, and watch ‘Homo Stupidus’ feverishly at work. Or, often enough, not. But then there comes a certain Crossroads Moment, if you’re like me. And if you are, well, poor you. You’ve been at odds with Polite Society for decades, have you not?
When my noisy mind, that too often resembles an overcrowded, badly littered flea market, finally does filter out the incessant screech & clamor of the daily, teeth-on-edge grind, I’m more often than not, inclined to sit back and enjoy the view. And the Quiet.
It’s not so much Miller Time, with the cheap beer. But the “Aaaaahhh….” element is very much available, and I maintain I could watch the Panorama unfold for a Thousand Years, and not get tired.
Hanging lazily under the rings of Saturn, and, with difficulty, discerning the tiny, faraway, shimmering dot that is the home of the ultra noisy ‘Genus Stupidus’, I always get this feeling I should have gotten there decades earlier. But no, I was too busy to look properly up. Making money, then losing it. Career and success. Opinions. Status. That perfect vertical snap roll. Landing on that rolling deck, in a sixty knot gale. With a thirty foot heave. Real ‘portant stuff, you know. Not really.
Here, under the rings, there is Peace. And, I submit, a Greater Awareness. A quiet, meditative state. Many a pang of regret. Many a fervent wish, if only. What would my old, 8th century, Buddhist mate Han-Shan say, from there, if anybody would listen? After he’s explored my gun cabinet? And discovered my Winchester lever-action? (“Don’t touch that!”) (“No!-No!-NO…!”)
(“Ah!… well, too late.”)
Ho-hum. Well. He seems quite proud of the hole he parked in my ceiling.
I reached Cold Mountain and all cares stopped
no idle thoughts remained in my head
nothing to do I write poems on rocks
and trust the current like an unmoored boat.
Our lives are circumscribed by dust
we’re like bugs inside a bowl
going in circles all day long
never leaving our bowl.
I look in all directions. Space is dark. Space is amazing. Space stretches everywhere. Time, when you consider eons, is stunning. Our lives? A hiccup. A noisy burble. The parade of our labors, much pomp and color, much Delusion and Desire. Who was it that wrote this doggerel?
Great Vanity of vanities
How much Art and feeling
In our world today
Is warped and twisted
Perverted and falsified
Willingly
For the poisonous pleasures
Of Reward or Fame?
I admire the man
Who left only his zither and a donkey
And the donkey ill at that
But he left his rhymes
His touch on our Times
The pure sense of his thought
In the letters that he wrought.
(http://www.writersharbor.org/work_view.php?work=866.com)
But I must say goodbye, soon, to that distant pearl in the Amazing Void. As we all must. Our accumulated pretend wealth, the baubles and the colored beads, the fractional hot puff of vanity and feeble power, our striving and strutting, our schemes and our incessant Talmudic trickery, our Delusions and Desires… all nothing more than the momentary noise, of over randy crickets on a quiet, Moon lit night.
I shall leave the last word to my esteemed visitor from the 8th century, Han-Shan. Via my toaster, (still smoking from the entire loaf he experimentally ran through it), and the exhausted micro-wave, now banned from my gun cabinet, his twelve hundred year old mind is now curiously pondering my Red Road King Harley. This could be interesting.
But he says it best. I forgive him the bullet hole in my ceiling.
I’ve always loved friends of the way
friends of the Way I’ve always held dear
meeting a traveler with a silent spring
or greeting a guest talking Zen
talking of the unseen on a moonlit night
searching for truth until dawn
when ten thousand reasons disappear
and we finally see who we are.
Last edited by Francis Meyrick on January 13, 2020, 10:17 am
(0 votes, average: 0.00 out of 5)You need to be a registered member to rate this.
Loading… by whadmin
A cold, dark, wintery night
January 12, 2020 in Auto-biographical (spiritual quest), My Search for God and Meaning
It’s a cold, dark, wintery night.
The wind tears furiously around my isolated, ancient, wooden cabin. Rain spatters staccato on the roof. Somewhere in the distance, a poor dog, tied up cruelly outside, howls his abandoned loneliness. My old pooch, by comparison, is snoring peacefully (and rather loudly) beside me on the carpet. Cozy-comfortable, and secure, trusting in my affection. We are best buds.
My thoughts, simple as they are, roam free.
The Universe is my playground.
I’m rather partial to old poets. I often feel that these thousand year gone bards have much to teach me. If only, I, the dull one, would open my tiny, rather ‘dugged’, obstinate, mule mind.
Take Han-Shan, or ‘Cold Mountain’. He may have passed (doubtless, cheerfully so) on to the Universe more than a millennium ago, and he may not have been the most erudite, refined, bells-and-whistles, rhyming man that ever scribbled on a rock. Or a wall. Or a tree. As he was fond of doing. But he radiates something I enjoy. Mischief, for sure. Dry wit. And a very honest insight into the human condition. How often has he left me thinking:
“Ha! Nothing changes!”
When he tells us how he feels, it’s as if he is sitting beside us. Enjoying my modern recliner, perhaps, fresh from marveling at my toaster. (and using up a whole sliced loaf, just for fun, to see the toast reliably pop up every time).
Sitting alone, I keep slipping away
far off with the cares of my heart
clouds wander by the mountainside
wind rushes out the valley
gibbons swing from the trees
birds call through the forest
time slips past my temples
year end finds me old with regrets.
Han-Shan, carefully read, gives us an insight into the human condition. He is funny, witty, dry, wistful, and longing. And well aware of the foibles of his race. Along with the poems of ‘Stonehouse’, born in 1272 in China, we receive a mental image of an oft repeated Absurdity, that Man, generationally, insists on slavishly following.
In a dry five minutes, I once wrote, tongue-in-cheek, the following:
I am the pin ball
In the machine
Paddled by forces
Seldom seen
Invisible fingers
Plot my way
At their mercy
I ricochet.
Some times poets, or pestiferous scribblers, touch, with few words, on something that resonates. Perhaps. A weariness, with the incessant fighting?
I’ll come around, from time to time
Fill the slot with my worn dime
Play the juke box with some zeal
Pretend it’s all a pukka deal.
But somewhere in my tiny mind
And I don’t mean to be unkind,
I crave a refuge, hidden, still
Away from Man and all his ill.
If I could travel past our Sun
beating Light and having fun
Would I turn around a lot
To ponder, wistful, our Blue Dot?
Or would I be content to stray
Far beyond the Milky Way
And never wish to hear again
This strange cacophony of Men.
(http://www.writersharbor.org/work_view.php?work=835)
Elsewhere I describe all sorts of my relentless stupid. There’s been so much of it, I have barely written down a fraction. From the accidental super low ripcord pull, after a two man link-up in free fall, to endlessly trying to nail that perfect vertical roll cum hammerhead in a variety of biplanes, to endless hours underneath the steady drumming of rotating blades, to moving furtively with a loaded weapon at night, wondering, breathlessly, heart-in-mouth, which shadow just moved, life has been one long discovery. Of Man, Nature, the Beast. And, often, most terrifying of all, of Self.
But what, were my best moments?
They were not caught in the midst of adrenaline or violence, storm or shipwreck. If I ever came close to some kind of understanding, it was in Quiet Moments. “Starry, starry Night” (Blip on the Radar, #14) is still one of my favorites. It makes zero claim to any literary merit. It was just raw honest.
(0 votes, average: 0.00 out of 5)
You need to be a registered member to rate this.Loading…
by whadmin
The Great Mystery
January 6, 2020 in Auto-biographical (spiritual quest), My Search for God and Meaning
The Great Mystery
“Good morning, Great Spirit “.
I have not finished my first coffee yet. On my lap, a faithful old dog.
Only hopped up a minute ago. Already fast asleep. Snoring.
It’s a quiet morning. Pale blue, wintery sky. Not a breath of wind.
Temperature hovering just above freezing. Frost.
The early sun’s rays, dancing low across the waking fields, lighting up a million patient, waiting drops.
Beacons. Each, a tiny reminder, of my simple thoughts, that ripple ever curiously through the Universe.
“Who are you?”
I’ve asked the question a million times. Once, at least, for every patient, brief, hanging drop of dew, I see out my window.
“But… Who are you?”
I listen to the silence, and drink it in. The silence thrills me. I love it when my mind seems to slowly empty of the sparks and noise, the grind and sweat, the odors and echoes, the noisy clamor of daily toil. With what seems so important, so pressing, so essential, quietly dismissed, I feel supremely free. To roam the highways and byways of memory lanes. To explore the Universe, challenge Time, and, so gently, touch…
the Great Mystery.
I’ve long thought that we should be totally honest.
“Maybe you’re not there. Maybe nobody is listening to my quiet thoughts. Not a sausage. Maybe the Universe is empty of Consciousness. Never mind Kindness.”
It doesn’t mean I’m wasting my time. For in a way, such intense meditation, (if that’s the correct word), goes a considerable way to achieve a very positive result. Namely, what? I think, somehow, it purifies my honesty. Enhances my sincerity. Helps me rise above the constant brouhaha of noisy, ever yammering humanity.
Meh. Maybe I’m being snotty. Aloof. I’m just another yammer, really. Parading and posing, tending to the pompous, and finding it hard to accept what I know, deep down, is totally true. Namely that I am not at the center of the Universe. The World does not revolve around me. I could be President, or Pope, Speaker of the House, or some other well known yammer. It doesn’t matter. We’re still all just little blips. Little puffs of vain glory. Sighs in the tempest. Tears in the Ocean. Momentary, fleeting beacons, so kindly touched, by a patient, early morning Sun.
It’s in the Silence, I move closer to this Awareness. It’s in the Silence, I sense the wave. Mid Ocean, eighty foot high, all ah-roaring and ah-crashing. Running out, mere days later, as a barely perceptible ripple, on a soft, sandy Angola beach, between the wiggling toes of a delighted, giggling child.
I’ve long thought that we should be totally honest. Maybe you’re not there. Maybe nobody is listening to my quiet thoughts. Not a sausage. Maybe the Universe is empty of Consciousness.
But what… if it’s not?
In the Beautiful, warm Silence, the Question reverberates.
I ponder, as objectively as I can, the Evidence.
It has been written, and quoted by many, that the evidence for Him is written clearly in the Magnificent Works of the Universe. I can see that. I’m in awe of the Universe. I have found more questions than answers. But the workings of the Cosmos, from one tiny living cell, a factory of amazing complexity, up to clusters of galaxies, both fascinate and humble me. Time, which I do not believe is a straight line constant, also takes my breath away. When I think of eons slipping by, and the bitter, Vodka laced, Drama Queen stumbling and strutting her way about on her flimsy cardboard stage, living only for the feeble, momentary spotlight… I feel sad for her divisive blindness.
And ours.
The truth is we will all be forgotten in the blink of a dew drop’s eye. That thundering truth should be written large inside our eye lids. Ah, if only.
It might, perhaps, lead us to bow the head. Speak softly. Think long. For once.
I’ve long thought that we should be totally honest. Maybe you’re not there. Maybe nobody is listening to my quiet thoughts. Not a sausage. Maybe the Universe is empty of Consciousness.
But what… if it’s not?
I come back to that Question. As I have, for decades.
“Who are you? And what do you want from me?”
Oh, I know. There’s a million wannabe preachers and Holy men out there, bumping their gums, all queuing up, only too eager to burst forth with their well rehearsed, learned off pat, bombastic, laying-down-the-way-it-is. Exactly, down to the last drop of Holy Water, the last verse or Hadith, the last morsel of sinfulness, and the last, tiny, flickering flame of hell.
Meh. I barely even listen much anymore. Too much… noise.
Who can know the mind of God?
So many talk like they do. Like they are spokesmen for God. Sitting at the Right Hand of God. Like God can sit back, relax. Put his divine feet up.
“We’ve got this, God. ”
“God this “. “God that “. “In the name of God. ” Bah, humbug. Their God must live comfortably in a matchbox. That they carry around casually in their hip pocket. “You want to see God? ” “Hang on a second. ” (pulls out the matchbox) “Neat, eh? ” (puts the matchbox back).
“Now never bother Him. Just listen to me… ”
Ridiculous.
A Red Cardinal just came to visit. He sits quietly on the railing outside, and observes me. Occasionally, putting his head to one side. I wonder about his tiny thoughts. Mine, too. And the old dog, snoring on my lap.
And I wonder if a Great Spirit, very patiently, very wisely, gazes down on me.
Listening, sympathetically, to every tiny whirring, in what passes for my mind.
I ask myself, wonderingly. For perhaps the millionth time.
Is he pleased, touched, or amused, or other…
when I, the clumsy-bumbling one,
hesitantly, nervously,
creep into His Presence…
to visit?
(0 votes, average: 0.00 out of 5)You need to be a registered member to rate this.
Loading… by whadmin
Second Childhood
December 12, 2019 in Auto-biographical (youth and childhood)
Second Childhood
I passed into my second childhood a while ago, (like 40 years ago),
(I'm 68), and I find I derive wicked amusement from doing all sorts of really stupid sh*t. I have no idea why. It's just this odd compulsion to quietly cause as much chaos & consternation as I possibly can.
It probably reflects some kind of philosophy of life, but I'm sure it's neither exemplary or 'so' terribly 'phisticated'.
I discovered a neat Harley Davidson trick a while ago, and I've refined it now to a fine example of 'senile old fart skulduggery' at its best.
Here's the way it works. It's a bit technical, but the theme is easy.
So the side stand on the newer Harleys have a fail-safe feature. Provided you put it down smartly, there is a 'tab' and as long as it is located between two 'shoulders', you may rest assured that the side stand WILL support your expensive bike. But…
Here's the yummy bit. The bike WILL tend to roll forward just a fraction. It LOOKS terrible, as if a catastrophe is imminent. But it's harmless.
Now you have to combine that with this strategic advantage. Although I've knocked up 28,000 motorcycle chicks in the last two years, I'm getting stiffer. Hold it.
(Did I write “chicks”? I meant 'Clicks'. As in MILES.)
(Not the noisy, ever squawking, impossible-to-please gaggle).
So anyway, being older, and stiffer, (rolls eyes) (language is SO confusing) I am cautious how I erect myself.
There I go again. Change verb. I'm cautious how I CLIMB on the ladies. (Oh, Gads). (Meaning, my bikes!!)
So to paint you the picture. Busy bar, road house, people sitting outside on chairs. Up the road comes loud bike, travelling quickly.
Everybody looks. Red Road King pulls in. (That's the bike, not the dangerous old geezer riding the bitch).
Pulls to a stop, switches off. People aren't looking, but… they are really. So the Old Guy proceeds with the act. Slowly remove helmet & goggles, and hang 'em from the mirrors. This reveals harmless, bearded old freak.
He smiles. Wishes everybody a good day. Now it's polite for everybody to stare. Big smile. Gotta HOLD the audience.
Now swing down the side stand. YOU know it's locked 'safe'.
But… (whispers).
THEY don't.
Time to further lead your new found buds up the Primrose Garden path. Speaking very slowly, I announce:
“I'm getting to the age, where RIDING 'em is the easy part….”
(smiles)
“It's getting ON and OFF I have to watch…”
(smiles all round)
Guaranteed full attention. Now you gotta move real slowly, swinging your right leg with apparent d-i-f-f-i-c-u-l-t-y over the seat.
(sympathies from audience) ( you can throw in a quiet little groan if you like).
Then… let go of the bars. With your back to the bike.
Obligingly, the Beast WILL lurch a few inches forwards. All on its own.
(Screams, alarm, wide eyes, people gibbering, jumping up)
I've had the sweetest Clicks, weighing 78 pounds max, darting forward to try and 'catch' an 800 pound Behemoth…
It's fun being an old varmint.
(0 votes, average: 0.00 out of 5)You need to be a registered member to rate this.
Loading…