My old buddy Whiskey Bill (oh, ok i’ll stop with the “whiskey”– he went to rehab,) is a 50 something year old single guy who can bench more than you– just ask him. We met Bill when he was a customer of an old business of ours that failed. The dude is fucking nuts (in a truly insane way,) so we hit it off as friends. Being that Whiskey Bill hates women, is an obsessive compulsive freak and will never come to the realization he’s gay– being married just isn’t his thing. That said, we’ve adopted him as a part of our own dysfunctional family.
Being a non-technical kinda guy, Whiskey Bill always called my work on technology evil– building the “tool of the devil.” I laughed and agreed. This was the early / mid 90′s– me and my homie Al Gore were busy building “the tool.” Well, fast forward ten years. He was right about the evil part, and it’s totally overtaken him. Whiskey’s now the outlaw of a “popular online dating site,” looking to rob every worn out “re-singled” 50′s something women of her remaining dignity.
Nope, he doesn’t need a job anymore. Landing beauty queens is his new job. Being a dedicated worker, he’s modernized his aging looks from the 70′s to fit that of a modern macho man “biker”: shaved the balding head– Check. Goatee that’s weekly dyed with dark toned “Just for Men”– Check. Manly tattoo– Check. Earring– yep, left side only!. West Coast Chopper T-Shirt– Check. Ability to bench press an amount worth bragging about– Hell yeah! Whiskey Bill is definitely shaping up to be tops in his new profession.
His online dating ladies love him (for at least a short while….) Short ones, tall ones, white ones, chinese ones, lotsa ones……. but no fat ones, because he really hates fat women– they must remind him of his mom or something. This guy is getting dates and (in his own words) “slinging the beef” daily and I think he’s surely going for Wilt Chamberlain’s womanizing record– just with ladies that are of the higher mileage flavor.
The story of the ‘beauty queens” he “slings” goes like this….. The kids are grown. The women are now alone. The ex is the devil and gone. The women are afraid of being the old maids they may already be and pretend not to be. Whiskey Bill, being the ultimate women hater, preys on them like a hawk. He lands his prey frequently, chews them up and spits them out. Then back to the tool of the devil to find the next one. How romantic!
We get pictures of his victims daily. I’m sure this one is proud to have her face is on my blog:
Divorced people in their 50′s are the bellbottoms of the new century– and i guess i don’t get it. When i think of divorce, I think of this:
Laws of gravity fight uncertainty
But I sit here without a clue
Life had different meaning and I was only dreaming
Someone else came to her rescue
Now she’s gone and I am too
Maybe she will
Want to have me near enough to feel unparted
Maybe she will
Ask me for some help to get her new place started
Maybe she will
See me ’round and want to take a mid-day walk
Maybe just feel lonely and will want to talk
In cold and darkest weather, the times we had together
Come to me and I smile to sleep
Then clouds dissipate and I soon re-awake
To such a living tragedy
I’m resolved to pondering
Maybe she will
Call me up to see if I am doing alright
Maybe she will
Remember the times when I would hold her so tight
Maybe she will
Think about the letters that I used to send
Someday change her mind and want to find me again
Thanks to Greg Graffin for the words. He wrote them in an obscure old song written when his wife left him. Not sure if he’s competing with Whiskey Bill for beauty queens online nowadays or not….
I know, i know………. Whiskey Bill is going to remind me…… “I’M JUST JEALOUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Well, now that i think about it, some of your beauty queens look pretty decent. Maybe 50 is the new 30……
Whiskey Bill– A true winner in representing dysfunction to the fullest– the Ultimate Beef Slinger…… and the Ultimate Women Hater.
UPDATE: To the hippie feminists who believe they are liberal and have a sense of humor,– but are really scornful, conservative, man haters– and thus had to email me hate about this post. Please don’t get your Starbucks fueled blood pressure even higher, I’m just playing around. I love women and i love being married. Don’t hate on me, sweetie— relax, remember the real hippie days of free love and go find Whiskey Bill. i think he’s looking for a date
Boy, i remember seeing Van Wastell when he was a little 5 year old, running around like a wild kid and starting to get around on a skateboard. His brother Jeff was one of my skateboard buddies. We used to work at Little Ceasars Pizza together and skate after work– they had a ramp in their backyard. This would have been the late 1980′s…..
Fast forward years, and Van grew up to be a great skateboarder, as did all the brothers. Now he’s dead, and he’s way too young for that.
Calm down, Turbo. Yeah, I said fisting…. I’m talking about some of my past adventures *boxing* (you know, the Sweet Science) in San Francisco . To the perverts who found this post through a “fisting” search query, hit up presidential candidate Burge or something. I’m retired, but you never know…. he might be into it.
So, I miss being in the ring. I miss beating people up. I miss the respect opponents earn for each other after rounds of beating one and other to a pulp. Hell, i even miss getting hit back. Getting a big boxing tattoo on my chest, hitting the bag and turning play rounds for fun in the gym doesn’t cut it. Hell, maybe you can come up and punch me in the face and I’ll remember why it was a good idea to stop… Until then, i’ll reflect on a couple great places I discovered along the way boxing in San Francisco:
THE COW PALACE:
I fought Golden Gloves in the Cow Palace and it felt great to fight at a venue with such a great history. Being a car guy, I also know this place as being the current home of the San Francisco Rod & Kustom Show.
The Cow Palace opened in 1941 and only had time for one event (Grand National Rodeo w/ appearance by Roy Rogers) before Pearl Harbor was bombed two weeks later and the US was drawn into World War II. For the next 5 years, Uncle Sam paid the city $1 per year to use the 150,000sf facility to process troops embarking to battle in the Pacific. After the war in 1949, the Palace held its first boxing match– a heavyweight bout where champion Ezzard Charles KO’d Pat Valentino in the 8th round. It wasn’t a boxing match that earned the venues best fight in it’s history though….
By 1972, when Evel Knievel came into town, he obviously had a beef ongoing with the Hells Angels. At his first Cow Palace jump, he egged on the Angels in attendance over loudspeaker, as he made negative comments to the crowd about the “bad element” in motorcycling, with his reference to the “outlaw bikers.” Then he ended his speech by giving away a new mini-bike to a black boy in the crowd.
Evel then rode his bike outside the arena (it was raining outside) in order to hit the speed necessary for his jump. As he made his way in, a Hells Angel threw a beer bottle at him as he thundered in for his approach. He still cleared the jump cleanly, and then rode towards the crowd waving triumphantly. He next stepped off his bike, approached the offending party, and landed a hell of haymaker punch to the jaw of the nearest Angel. It was on and things got wild in the Cow Palace! When some of the other Hells Angels piled onto Evel, the crowd joined in the brawl to back their American hero. The Angels had a hard night that night, and it took security quite some time to calm things down.
Evel won his first fight at the Cow Palace. So did I. I probably had 1/10th of the crowd that Evel had in his day, but i got some of the rush of hearing the crowd in that historical arena.
Sad to say that the city is thinking about closing down the Cow Palace, as part of our countries disposable lifestyle. “The Cow Palace has outlived its usefulness,” said City Manager Patricia Martel Events. “It contributes nothing to our community. Why would we keep it?” How about contributing over 65 years of history? BITCH.
SAN FRANCISCO UNITED IRISH CULTURAL CENTER:
Old Irish men at the United Irish Cultural Center in San Francisco, CA are great guys, great hosts and great fight fans.
In early San Francisco, the Irish made up about 1/3 of the population. There is still a lively Irish community in the city, and every year they used to have an Black Tie Fight Night at the United Irish Cultural Center. What, do you ask, is in the United Irish Cultural Center ? A huge bar, with lots of drinking, of course!
Being one of the few white heavyweight boxers (hell, white boxers period) in the area, I felt like a celebrity fighting there. The crowd went wild, and i even think they would have chanted my name if they knew it After a good fight, it seemed like every old Irish dude in the joint had to come up, pat me on the back, tell me a story about their favorite Irish fighter, remind me that there weren’t many white fighters left anymore, and offer to buy me a beer. It felt like I was an honorary Irish dude that day, so i had to drink those beers with my new pals.
SF was a good host for boxing. I won some and lost some fair and square in the city. While i know a lot of guys love East Bay, I’m still bent over a bum decision given to a local guy i beat up in a small promotion held at King’s Gym. Just another person robbed in Oakland, i suppose…. lol.
Boxing isn’t just about a couple concussions and missing back teeth. It helped introduce a SoCal transplant to a great new home.
NOTE ON THE TATTOO: I got this at a time I had stopped fighting, and at the same time i circled the world for the first time (back in the earlier Navy days, guys would get a sparrows to represent a safe journey completely circling the world.) Kahlil Rintye in San Francisco put it down and is righteous.
1. It seems like mass consumption is an addiction in this country. People need to have things cheaper so that they can buy more…… shit. Just like a drug addict where the drug takes power over common sense and causes the addict to cheat and lie to loved ones, the same is happening here. Americans need to be able to buy and have more shit, and thus don’t give a fuck about who it hurts to get it.
2. Our governmental leaders are owned / heavily influenced by corporations who get them into office. These corporations are not loyal to country, and more and more not loyal to their people. They are only loyal to profit– via any means necessary.
Separate corporation and state. Make trade balance a must. I don’t give a fuck if I only own one television, and i have to make that last 20 years. Hell, maybe the TV repair guy will get his work back instead of the dump.
No more new vice grips for me. The old stuff has more soul anyway, as you can clearly tell in this 1920′s Vice Grip factory photo:
Here’s a couple pics of a little road trip that Anissa, our ’54 Traveleze camper and myself took between Portland, Oregon and our home (San Jose, CA:)
The camper is much better being towed by the ’60 Wagon, but since time was limited the new style truck was easier.
There are great sea caves along the Oregon coast:
Pissing off an 80 foot cliff at sunset represents pure freedom. Too bad the wind was blowing it back at me. God bless America….
Tired eyes with lack of sleep, but good times none the less…
Meanwhile, back at El Rancho de San Jose, my daughter started 7th grade and Jr. High School last week. Here she is leaving home for her first day of school:
She’s a good kid and i’m proud of her. The school wasn’t so proud of her first day, being that they felt she was wearing “gang colors” with the red shirt and all. Looking at this picture, I wonder if the school thought she was a Blood or was down with the Nortenos or something? Ah, the silliness of things….
I’ve become obsessed over the history of using old WWII aircraft hydraulics in cars. Follow the past back through Hines, Barris and others starting in the 1950′s and you’ll learn that a real traditional custom suspension lifts on hydraulic fluid, not air.
The US Navy put a lot of “Screamin’ Mimi” pumps and Adelle dumps to work back in the day, most notably in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Lowriders with the right sense continued that tradition of dropping bombs.
The 48V with a single pump (shown above) works just right in Josh’s Rivi project. I really wish this video had sound. If it did, everybody listening would absolutely get “it.”
I gave a dishonorable discharge to the air bags in the Noteboom / Gambino Kustoms 1960 Cadillac project, so that they can be donated and put to practical use in the accordion factory. Old WWII era cookie tray mounted Screamin’ Mimi pump, w/ Green Monster dumps are being called into active duty and will be into battle when the timing is right. Atttteeeennnnn hut!
With September being “Hydraulics Appreciation Month,” expect more to come….
Sure, the Walmart of TV (Discovery Channel) reminds us that some people still have to bust ass to earn a wage– but come on…. we can’t get this obese as a society without being lazy asses. There’s something about the words “SLAVERY” and “DEPRESSION” that seem to suggest that back in the day folks had it rougher than ice truckers and crab fisherman. So, get comfortable, go grab a Twinkie and let’s find out, lard ass…
I was listening to NPR public radio while the wife and I were towing the camper home from Oregon this weekend, and they had a great show playing old working songs– thus the influence here. Fitting of Labor Day, here’s an old photo and song tribute to four of the professions that Americans had before we became the land of laziness and obesity.
The hippie white guy word of the year, “carbon neutral” wouldn’t exist today if it hadn’t been for all these years of hard working coal miners digging and bringing it up from hell to burn.
In 1946 Merle Travis released Sixteen Tons, which told the story of Muhlenberg County, Kentucky’s coal mines, where his father worked. Travis’ grew up listening to his father reply “I can’t afford to die, I owe my soul to the company store,” whenever anybody would ask how he was doing. Tennessee Ernie Ford redid it in 1955 and made it a hit.
You load sixteen tons, and what do you get?
another day older and deeper in debt
St. Peter, don’t you call me, ’cause I can’t go
I owe my soul to the company store
It’s doable. Assuming each shovel load of coal weighed about 10 lbs and it took about 10 seconds to shovel a load, it would take almost 6 hours straight of shoveling to load sixteen tons. Throw in a little lunch, piss breaks and other work– and you’ve got a tough day on the back.
Slavery was so wrong. Nowadays, we’ve grown as a human race and outsource our slavery to other countries so that hard working American people can live in freedom, working at Walmart.
In 1945, Huddie William Ledbetter (better knows as “Leadbelly,”) released “Pick a Bale of Cotton,” influenced by his cotton pickin’ years as a laborer in prison.
jump down, turn around, pick a bale a cotton
jump down, turn around, pick a bale a day
oooooohhh lordy! pick a bale a cotton
oooooohhh lordy! pick a bale a day
To put the challenge in perspective, ol’ Leadbelly would have to take a ten foot long bag and fill it up with about 100 lbs of cotton– and do that six times in a day to pick a bale.
The term cotton picker became a derogatory terms towards blacks, being their historical slave roots being forced to pick. That said, i think this depression era gal proves that cotton pickin’ didn’t discriminate when times were tough and it didn’t make white pickers happy either:
Happy to report that today’s cotton picker, John Deere, doesn’t get too offended by the title. He said you can call him a cotton picker all day long and he’ll just happily keep working. Ohhhhhh lordy!
SHOE SHINE BOY:
Many an immigrant picked up the rag and became a shoe shine boy upon arrival through Ellis Island in New York City through the years.
Johnny Cash never served time in Folsom Prison, and i really doubt he ever shined shoes…. but he sure as hell could tell a story. Get Rhythm.
Little shoeshine boy never gets low down
But he’s got the dirtiest job in town
Bendin’ low at the peoples’ feet
On the windy corner of the dirty street
Well, I asked him while he shined my shoes
How’d he keep from gettin’ the blues
He grinned as he raised his little head
Popped a shoeshine rag and then he said
Get rhythm when you get the blues
Hey, get rhythm when you get the blues
It only costs a dime, just a nickel a shoe
Does a million dollars worth of good for you
Get rhythm when you get the blues
The worlds oldest profession was dirtier, even before AIDS. Back in the day, harlots used to have to work in bordellos back before the days of running water and showers. Imagine how clean the men would be after months on the road… Imagine the lady not being able to bath after seeing multiple customers…. Oh yeah, need i remind you that condoms didn’t exist. Enough said.
For a minute there, i published this without a neat old song about prostitution, as i couldn’t find one. Within minutes of posting though, Iowahawk came through for me with a referral…. “Ten Cents a Dance by Rogers & Hart / sung by Doris Day. While it didnt come straight out and state what the “dance” was, it surely suggested strongly towards the topic….
Fighters and sailers and bow-legged tailors
Can pay for their tickets and rent me
Butchers and barbers and rats from the harbors
Are sweathearts my good luck has sent me
Sometimes i think i’ve found my hero
But it’s a queer romance
All you need is a ticket
Come on, come on big boy
Ten cents a dance