Fast Eddie Friday...Gloom and Doom.

I figure I had best get in one final post before the shit heels on Capital Hill throw the country into a downward spiral and we all end up in a post apocalyptic world, fighting over gasoline and dented cans of cat food.
So here we go. Fast and loose.

I'm not ashamed to admit it, I'm way out of my area of expertise on the debt ceiling debacle. I feel like Rosie Odonell at a dick convention, it's all way beyond my grasp. You have one side of the debate telling us that we will be as fucked up as a soup sandwich if we don't raise the debt ceiling. DOOMED!!! On the other hand we are told nothing will happen, don't raise it. The one constant in this time of turmoil, the clowns who decide our fate are incapable of working together and getting a single thing done. The men, women, and Barney Frank, sit on their collective ass in Washington, one pissing match after another. Like monkeys trying to fuck a football, they just can't seem get the job done. I keep waiting for the leader of the free world to step up and put a shoe on congress, make em  get their shit together. Still waiting. In the words of Americas greatest poet, Merle Haggard, " Are we rolling down hill like a snowball headed for hell?" I'd make my monthly threat to abscond from the United States, but shits not even safe in Norway , so I'm not sure their is anywhere safe to escape to.

Speaking of unsafe places, the hordes of misunderstood youth have apparently taken to descending upon the Plaza to scare the bejesus out of the french poodle crowd. I was listening to Shanin and Parks, fuck my life, the other day when the subject of last weekends shenanigans took place on the plaza.  Caller after caller told the hosts horror stories regarding black urban scholars running amok in KC's stuccoed shopping/entertainment district. I tend to take radio callers comments with a cup of salt, however, between news reports of gunfire, seven young shit heels caught in an SUV with 2 pistols, and caller after caller claiming to see kids as young as 10 running wild and free through the streets, it's hard to dismiss it all as white racist paranoia. Naturally there is the same old defense of this fucked up behavior. There isn't anything for these kids to do, or anywhere for them to do it. A city that can't even repair its streets or keep waterlines from bursting every 5 minutes, is supposed to entertain bored teens and even tweens?  It's an easy fix really. Charter a couple of buses. When the shit kicks off, cuff em and stuff em. A night spent in city lock up, smelling hobo shit and eating  dry bologna sammiches, might persuade these delinquents to stay home and play with the xbox and the pitbull.

Maybe I'm just starting to feel my age, fuckin AARP magazines showing up in my mail box, buying Metamucil in bulk. I'm starting to feel like Wilfred Brimley. Out of touch. It seems like we've lost our way in this city, in this country. Washington is broke, absentee landlords disguised as parents expect the city to babysit their kids. It's enough to make you long for simpler times, before the internet came along with it's 24/7  instant bad news cycle, each story more fucked up and hopeless than the last. I'd hunker down in my basement with a weapons cache and canned goods, but I'm a felon so I can't own a gun, and my cellphone coverage is spotty down there.

Likes : Sunday School...Farmville...Tracking down Casey Anthony...Crazy comes to Facebook.

Marsha Roush likes Tori Spelling, spending time with family, the movie Beaches, and Love. Nice huh? Middle class white soccer mom, probably belongs to the PTA as well, although her Facebook page doesn't say as much. She is also a big fan of the late king O pop. Oh, I almost forgot, she loves to post on another Facebook page. The I Hate Casey Anthony page.
 Here's her first comment of the morning "Marsha Roush Good morning my fellow hunters... Is everyone locked and loaded....." If you think Marsha is just a lone nut bag trolling the fields of Farmville, you would be as wrong as Mike Jackson at a Cub scout jamboree. 

Here's just a few gems from the I Hate Casey Anthony site:

Michelle Tyree

Hope somebody slits her throat!

Yami Sweet

Kill that whore kill that whore kill that whore..do u smell that?... its the sweet smell of casey anthonys corps in the everglades.

James Burkhardt

Casey Anthony would be worth killing if you dont think so keep readin your bible..

Diana Bishop no matter what we need to keep talking until justice is served, Casey Anthony baby murderer is on my back window of my car in white shoe polish, I would rather replace windows than shut up.....

Cherrada Shepard

i think we should all come toughter and sue that whore for bothering our lifes and now we cant get on with our lifes till she is dead come on who feels there children are safe with a baby killer walking the streets ROT IN HELL BITCH I JUST WISH I WAS THE ONE TO BE THE HERO :)

Connie Baker She IS a cunt. Time to go on a cunt-hunt. Why hasnt' she been reported killed yet?? unacceptable.

I think you get the general idea. 55,000 plus members. People just like most of us. Middle class. White. ( black Folks stand up. You guys get a pass on this one) Normal, and I use that in the loosest sense of the word. The Internet, especially sites like Facebook have become something right out of a Stephen King novel. The reactions on the IHCA site speak volumes about the idiocy and hypocrisy of a good chunk of our society. It also lays bare the pure D fuckin crazy people we brush up against on a daily basis. Most of these people are just talking shit, wouldn't bust a grape in a jelly factory. That said, how many actual fruit baskets do you think might be taking this thing seriously?  Some loon sits in the glow of his computer screen decides to right the wrong, ala De niro in Taxi Driver.  He practices in front of his mirror. "You talkin to me? You must be talking to me." Next thing you know some woman unlucky enough to have a similar look, similar name, ends up dead.

We live in world full of slack jawed morons. They become emotionally invested in the lives of people who live in another time zone, a different state, yet they remain mute about about the countless deaths, atrocities, tragedies in their own back yards. Their Facebook pages are filled with I love Justin Bieber, or, requests for a milking machine for their Farmville dairy. You wont find any links to sites to prevent child abuse, or crime, or breast cancer awareness. It's all games or look at me type shit.  None of these Facebook trolls give a rats ass about Caylee Anthony. They just can't resist the attention, the mob mentality, the false sense of empowerment. One woman posted every few minutes for 12 hours.  Her 3 kids probably running around with loaded diapers and sticking forks in fucking electrical outlets.

A white suburbanite talking about slitting someones throat, is more chilling in my mind than all the thugs and gangstas on the city's east side.  My name is Mona. I like walks on the beach. Sunday School. Lady GaGa. And disemboweling Casey  Anthony.  The internet is as fucked up as a soup sandwich, but I'll never lack for material. Just be careful who you bump in to in the produce aisle. That blond mom in the capri pants might gut you.

Photos courtesy of the I hate Casey Anthony facebook page.

***  Need to give credit, lest someone shivs me for unauthorized use.***

Fast Eddie Friday...Monkeying around with Hippy Chicks...

My 52nd birthday is rapidly approaching. In a couple of weeks I'll be  a decade or so away from collecting Social Security, if there is any left to collect, and if they don't change the  eligibility age to 80 or some such bullshit. I've noticed that the approaching birfday has got me all nostalgic and shit, at least in the movie reel I play in my head while driving the vast flatlands of northern Missouri. Monday through Friday with the city at my back, I drive north into the land of the Amish, run my route, and spend my time flipping the radio between Rush Limbaugh and NPR. Is it any wonder I'm all fucked up? Somewhere around Jamesport I lose reception, pop some Robert Cray or the Boss into the cd player, and allow my mind to drift.

 For some reason I usually end up back in the mid to late 1970's.  To quote Chuck Dickens "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times".  It's really a wonder that I can recall anything from that time period. I mostly just recall the myriad of Hippy Chicks I bagged. I was about as far removed from Hippiness as you could get. Don't get me twisted, if you could smoke it, snort it, or swallow it (no Seacrest), then I was all about it. Long hair aside, I  didn't look or act like a dirty hippy. I was a hood, or what passes today for a waste of flesh with no redeeming social value. Good times. I have selective recall from that time period. I prefer to remember the Sunkist skin and bra less halter tops, while trying to block out the fact that most if not all of the girls back then looked like they had the Jackson 5 in a scissor lock. They walked around with chia pets down their long hippy bell bottoms. Vaginal afros aside, hippy chicks were free and easy. Which brings me to the actual point of this post, a movie review I caught on NPR right before the reception faded to some bluegrass station and I almost sideswiped some Amish prick who treated the highway like it was the Santa Fe Trail, or some midtown douche nozzle riding his bicycle down the middle of Armour road.

The NPR bit....Back in the 70's Columbia University researcher Herbert Terrace started an experiment on a baby chimp. Long story shortish, Terrace was trying to prove that language wasn't unique to humans. More to the point, he was trying to prove that a chimp could communicate just like us. So he gets a baby chimp, moves it into a fancy Upper West Side brownstone of Terrace's former student, Stephanie LaFarge. They dressed the monkey up like a little kid and taught it sign language.

I know what you are thinking..." WTF MM? We had to read your rambling bullshit just to find a story about a monkey living in New York".  Short answer...Yes. But it gets better, or worse. The NPR bit goes on to say that the Lafarge woman breast fed the chimp. When the chimp, named Nim, reached chimp puberty, Lafarge let the chimp check her out. Now they don't come right out and say she let Nim peel her hippy panties, but they say she let him explore her. After the fun part about the chimp banging exploring the hippy, the story got all sad and shit. Nim ends up trying to eat another hippy chicks face. He also doesn't really learn language, just signs for food, play, and probably the international sign for blow me.  You can read about Nim and the fucked up hippy monkey rapists here.

About the time the radio went tits up, NPR was starting to make me sleepy and Rush was replaced by a farm report. I went back to day dreaming about what it was like to have a 30 inch waist, a full head of hair, and 15 dollar ounce weed. Which, not for nothin, wasn't all that good. Weed today is way better. Just last night after my Preventive Glaucoma Bong Hits I was playing a video game and got to thinking, As some 6 year old kid in France killed off my character while talking shit to me in Frog, I had an epiphany. What if we really only exist to amuse the Gods. Maybe they are all hanging out somewhere in the galaxy, controllers in hand, laughing their asses off while they make us do stupid shit. Like I said, weed has got alot better over the years.

Casey Anthony and Nancy waste O space Grace. Symptoms of a bigger problem.

Did the jury get it right? Wrong? Everyone and their  cousin has chimed in, mostly with self righteous indignation. Nancy was so beside herself she claimed the Devil was dancing. Since the outset of this case Nancy has referred to Anthony as Tot Mom. Grace, a former prosecutor and a blood sucking waste of space, must have forgotten how the system works. We, the public, tried this case and handed down a guilty verdict, not based on evidence or facts, but on emotion, hyperbole, and the incessant media coverage. I called her guilty somewhere in this blog. My opinion hasn't changed, but that doesn't make me right. It doesn't make Casey Anthony innocent either. The verdict just means she couldn't be found guilty beyond reasonable doubt.

The bigger problem is not that our justice system is flawed. As distasteful as it may be to so many, the system worked. The media inundated us with pictures of the absentee mother, partying while her child decomposed a short distance from her family home. She lied more times than we could count. We hated her. We will never understand how a mother could behave as Casey Anthony behaved. Her baby was missing, she partied on. In the end, all of the media shit storm turned a tragedy into a circus side show. 

My initial reaction when I heard the verdict...The biggest miscarriage of justice since the OJ trial.  After a little reflection it was clearly a knee jerk reaction. OJ got off not for lack of evidence, there was plenty. OJ got off because of a racist cop, and a jury that was split between race and fear. The black members of the jury saw a brother getting railroaded by a cracker cop. The whites feared another LA riot. You'll never convince me otherwise. Casey Anthony got lucky. She got a jury that weighed the evidence and found it lacking. She'll get a fat book deal, develop a substance abuse problem, and eventually crash and burn.

And therein lies the bigger problem. Casey Anthony has become a Celebrity. Nancy Grace played a huge role in Anthony's celebrity status. The countless internet sites, threads, and blogs who obsessed nonstop throughout this trial also played a major role in the Celebra-tation of Casey Anthony. The morbidly curious and delusional  came in droves for the trial. People spent hours and days, months and years, bloviating on what worthless excuse for a human being "Tot Mom" was. While I don't disagree, I do find it fascinating.

The truth is a hard thing at times. Getting at it, accepting it, looking it in the eye and recognizing it for what it is.

The truth is this....We live in a world where we have come to need people like Casey Anthony and Nancy Grace. They make us feel better about ourselves and our own flaws, shortcomings, and character defects.  It goes like this, some bored housewife in bum fuck Iowa sits on her ass all day eating bon bons and writing poems to a child she doesn't know. She shares it in a thread or comment section with other unhappy people with no sense of purpose in their lives. For a few hours they forget about the mortgage, the neglectful partner, the ungraitfull kids. They forget about fucking the next door neighbor while the husband was away on that business trip. Pick your poison. Give it a name. For a minute or a few hours we get to luade over the world, show them how much better we are than this child killing whore. It's like Valium and Vodka. What it isn't about, all of this outrage and obsession, it isn't about a dead child. It never was. I'll wager the same people who raged so obsessively day in and day out couldn't tell you how many  (read mostly minority or poor white) children were killed in their own city or state this year.  The case they focus on is the case that is getting the most media attention. They inject themselves into the sideshow, and swell up on the crumbs of that attention. They tell the other obsessed types how horrible Casey Anthony is, how angelic poor Caylee was. They write poems, they wring their hands, they make this murder about themselves. Like Vampires. Like Nancy Grace.

In the end, that child is just as dead as she can be. The people who should have protected her, loved her, failed miserably.  In a few days or weeks those nut jobs who pretended to know and love a child they never met will move on to the next media circus. Nancy Grace and her ilk will find another dead body to beat to death. There will be long threads on the internet. There will be websites devoted to the victim, manned by someone who never knew them. There will be crazy people at the trial.  Because it's never really about the victim, not really.

Fast Eddie Friday...4th of July weekend edition....

It's been a minute since I've drug Fast Eddie out of the closet (no Seacrest). Well all good things come to an end, so here we go...Fast and Loose.

Tulips on troost is one of those Feel Good projects that people take part in to make themselves feel like they are making a difference on a street that has long been the racial dividing line in Kansas City. I won't pretend to know all of the specifics and minutia, mostly because I don't care who is behind it. Suffice to say, planting flowers on a street where shootings are a common occurrence doesn't do dick to change anything. I'm sure the flower beds make for an awesome place to stash drugs or for the hookers to toss used condoms, which are not biodegradable. Troost is a shit hole. Sorry. If you have to live along that road, I feel for you. If you live there by choice (hippies and hipsters) then don't come crying to me when you catch a stray round in the ass of your skinny jeans.

Troost and at least one of it's denizens hit an all time low Wednesday. A woman had the misfortune to pass out from the heat. This happened at 11:30, broad fuckin daylight. Police say that the victim told them that she was walking with a friend when she felt light-headed and passed-out in a shaded area. She says that she has no memory of the alleged attack, but that she was told by witnesses that Melvin Jackson was having sex with her, and that when she awoke she was no longer wearing her underwear. She was taken to an area hospital for an examination.

Not for nothin, but what kind of friend leaves you unconscious on Troost? Shit gets worse. When Kansas City Missouri Police arrived on the scene, authorities say that Jackson told them, "I thought that lady was dead." I don't even know what to say to that one. Clearly our boy thought he was abusing a corpse rather than committing rape, rape. Keep in mind 34th and troost would be less than 3 blocks from the central patrol police station and one of the busiest roads in midtown. If I gave out awards, Melvin would get this weeks " waste of flesh" award. The only explanation I can come up with.......fuck it, there's no explanation for this kind of craziness.

With the coming of the Independence Day weekend, emergency rooms will be swamped with Whiskey Tango Trailer Dwellers turned pyrotechnic expert. Here in Independence and across the metro, loud booms, and if you are on the east side, semi automatic gunfire, will fill the night air for the next 3 nights. Even as we celebrate our freedom to blow shit up, a greater freedom is under assault. Freedom of speech and expression.  Have you read or watched any news bits on the guy in the burbs of St. Lou that got a ticket for flipping off some clown who blocked an intersection? I'll link to it, but it's easier to just read my not so brief commentary, then move on with your life. Steven Pogue was sitting at a crowded intersection when a driver drove into the packed intersection; which kept Pogue stuck in place."The arm was there and, like I said, not proud, but I showed my displeasure of them blocking the intersection," said Pogue. A cop sees him flip the guy off, pulls him over, writes him a ticket for having his arm sticking out of his car. Apparently you can't stick your arm from your vehicle except when signaling. Pouges response "I was signaling".

It's official. The political correctness  pussification  of this country is complete. The terrorists win. It's legal to protest a soldiers funeral, display signs that say "God Hates Fags", but by God don't you dare stick a middle finger in the air directed toward some shit heel. We are officially fucked.

It's hotter than a half fucked fox in a forest fire outside. In between drinking too much, blowing shit up, and sitting in sobriety check point lines, remember to check on old people who can't afford AC and are reduced to eating cat food. Bring the dogs in, it's too fuckin hot for them out there, and if you are more worried about your hardwood floors than your pet, you need to be punched in the throat, and never should have had a pet in the first place.
Be safe, see you rubes back here on Tuesday.