hey, Redstone--

[The Hollywood NeoCon]

It's kind of like being the PR agent for Greta Garbo.*

Please. Stop. Can't....breathe...laughing too hard...

[franksolich]

Please. Stop. Can't....breathe...laughing too hard...

Actually, ever since I was a little lad, I always wanted to be in advertising or publicity.

As odd as it might seem, my isolation from contemporary culture--because of my being deaf--makes me rather new and unusual.  Seeing things from a different side, having an unusual perspective, thoughts and ideas pure, raw, and unadulterated by outside influences (such as television or movies).

When Pedro Picasso, the "Atman" primitive, surely one of God's stupidest creatures on this green earth, showed up at our old home, he drew so much negative reaction that I offered to be his public-relations man, to burnish his image, to help make him look good.

Pedro Picasso wouldn't cooperate, though--we worked at cross-purposes, he trying his damnedest to look stupid, and my trying my damnedest to make him look good--and so I gave up, firing him as a client.

My current clients, as you may well guess, include (there's others) Chief S itting Bull, the sparkling husband primitive, Mrs. Alfred Packer, Doug's stupid ex-wife, Oscar Wilde, the defrocked warped primitive, and Die alte Sau.

They're all a handful to work with, when it comes to improving their public image, the defrocked warped primitive being the biggest piece of work.

[franksolich]

Bump to the top again, because I'm getting worried.

Chief S itting Bull's been gone from Skins's island for days and days and days.

Maybe the bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive tried to hit someone with an axe, and it slipped.

[The Hollywood NeoCon]

Bump to the top again, because I'm getting worried.

Chief S itting Bull's been gone from Skins's island for days and days and days.

Maybe the bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive tried to hit someone with an axe, and it slipped.

It's called a "bender," boss.

Unless, of course, the bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive doesn't imbibe, in which case, you may be correct.

[BlueStateSaint]

It's called a "bender," boss.

Unless, of course, the bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive doesn't imbibe, in which case, you may be correct.

I think that you may be onto something.

[franksolich]

Okay, time to "bump" this for Saturday, returning it to the front page, so Chief S itting Bull can see it.

I've been all over Skins's island the past four days, and haven't seen the bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive at all; one wonders what's up with that, given that Redstone has an opinion about everything, and never's been afraid to say it.  And there's been plenty on Skins's island on which Chief S itting Bull could opine.

One wonders if something happened; perhaps the bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive was putting gasoline into his car at the neighborhood convenience store, the self-service pumps, and because the fuel was slow in flowing, he leaned over, lighted cigarette dangling from his lips, to look inside the aperture.

Alas! poor S itting Bull! alas!

As many know, the bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive, who now lives in eastern Connecticut, was born and raised in New Hampshire, coming from a long line of earnest, hardworking, modest Gaels, the salt of the earth, who spent generations working in the textile mills there.

That was too meant to be Redstone's destiny, but he arrogantly balked at the notion.  No way was he going to be a manual laborer; he was too good to get dirt and callous on his hands.  Besides, he had "talent"--in music, in song-writing, in song-singing, in the jewelry business, in the know-it-all business, in the hospitality business, in the beating-people-up business.

Chief S itting Bull wasn't going to work in an old textile mill; he was going to be a star.

Well, well.....

The bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive is now, of course 60 years old (give or take one year either way), and as it turns out, never did anything worthwhile with his life.  Sure, during the late 1960s, he teamed up with the lying tits primitive, the now-mausoleumed "TomInTib" primitive, and they hitch-hiked around the Great American Southwest (including a stayover at the Charles Manson "ranch")....but that's a scant accomplishment.

Alas! poor S itting Bull! alas!

Now, if circa 1967 or 1968 or 1969, Redstone had gone to work at the textile factory, well, here it is, a little more than forty years later--and he would be about ready to retire with a five-figure pension and a six- or seven-figure retirement account.  The Life of Riley, he could be looking forward to.

But no.....

[The Hollywood NeoCon]

Chief S itting Bull wasn't going to work in an old textile mill; he was going to be a star.

Well, well.....

The bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive is now, of course 60 years old (give or take one year either way), and as it turns out, never did anything worthwhile with his life.  Sure, during the late 1960s, he teamed up with the lying tits primitive, the now-mausoleumed "TomInTib" primitive, and they hitch-hiked around the Great American Southwest (including a stayover at the Charles Manson "ranch")....but that's a scant accomplishment.

Alas! poor S itting Bull! alas!

..

My GOD, I'm in the presence of GENIUS!!!!!  

That is, beyond any question, the most insidious mind **** our great species has EVER created!!!!

It is a textbook example of "killing with kindness." People have been known to swallow bullets in response to far less heinous than this...

I'm sorry, coach, but a H5 just won't cut it this time. I'm gonna have to blow ya, damnit.

[franksolich]

That is, beyond any question, the most insidious mind **** our great species has EVER created!!!!

Uh, no.

The message was addressed to Chief S itting Bull, not decent and civilized people.

I'm thinking about writing a 21st-century version of The Pilgrim's Progress, making Redstone the star in it.

[The Hollywood NeoCon]

I'm thinking about writing a 21st-century version of The Pilgrim's Progress, making Redstone the star in it.

I had a professor like you once...

The guy was the love child of Bobby Fischer, Errol Flynn, Lenny Bruce and Otis the Drunk.

My God, the most influential and beloved teacher (in the truest sense of the word) I have ever encountered in my almost-50 years. 

[franksolich]

People have been known to swallow bullets in response to far less heinous than this...

Actually, besides his ill-fated gloating and bloating election night 2008, pronouncing the Republican party dead forever, and besides his, uh, rather unusual way of dealing with his affliction, Chief S itting Bull appeals to me for a third reason.

I know people like Redstone in real life; not many, but a few.

(And coincidentally, they're all "socially conscious" Dems.)

Myself having been born deaf, I have no idea what a voice really sounds like, but in my case, this voice is as flat and wide and slow as the Platte River of Nebraska. 

No stumbling, no stuttering, no stalling, just really slow.

(Actually, foreigners, those for whom English is a second language, and those who are trying to learn English, like to hear me, because I'm allegedly "understandable" to them--but of course 99% of my communicative contacts are with those from this time and place.)

I look utterly normal, utterly average.

And so it can be disconcerting for a person seeing me the first time, when I start to speak.

All my life, ever since I was about 2' tall, I've noticed that while this attribute bothers decent and civilized people only little, or not at all, it really really really "gets to" a certain species of people.

The hot-tempered, the chipped-on-the-shouldered, and "socially conscious" Dems.

And of course the bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive is (a), (b), and (c) above; all of them.

I've always said it's a good thing Redstone and I have never met in real life, because it wouldn't turn out well.  I already know what's going to happen, as I've seen this reaction in his kind of person.

The eyes crossing to inside of the head, smoke puffing out of the ears, mouth paralyzed wide-open, face turning dark red, hands becoming claw-like, nostrils flaring, and blood vessels inside the skull popping and bursting, causing an apoplexic fit.

I'm a nice guy; I don't want Chief S itting Bull to suffer an apoplexic fit.

I guarantee you that would be Redstone's reaction to franksolich.

Past, and numerous, experience doesn't lie.

[BlueStateSaint]

My GOD, I'm in the presence of GENIUS!!!!!  

That is, beyond any question, the most insidious mind **** our great species has EVER created!!!!

It is a textbook example of "killing with kindness." People have been known to swallow bullets in response to far less heinous than this...

I'm sorry, coach, but a H5 just won't cut it this time. I'm gonna have to blow ya, damnit.

Naah . . . get a soil-biology PhD. student to do that!

[The Hollywood NeoCon]

And so it can be disconcerting for a person seeing me the first time, when I start to speak.

All my life, ever since I was about 2' tall, I've noticed that while this attribute bothers decent and civilized people only little, or not at all, it really really really "gets to" a certain species of people.

The hot-tempered, the chipped-on-the-shouldered, and "socially conscious" Dems.

And of course the bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive is (a), (b), and (c) above; all of them.

Past, and numerous, experience doesn't lie.

If you aren't already writing a book, you are doing a grave disservice to literate people, and I am going to be exceedingly disappointed in you, personally.

[thundley4]

If you aren't already writing a book, you are doing a grave disservice to literate people, and I am going to be exceedingly disappointed in you, personally.

We've told Frank before that he needs to write a book. If nothing else, he could write an anthology of his short stories that he has posted on here.  I'm not sure how to find them, but Frank has written quite a few stories of his travels and the people he has met along the way.

[The Hollywood NeoCon]

We've told Frank before that he needs to write a book. If nothing else, he could write an anthology of his short stories that he has posted on here.  I'm not sure how to find them, but Frank has written quite a few stories of his travels and the people he has met along the way.

My point exactly. I've been a writer for over three decades now, and rarely have I come across a writer who's great talent has so intrigued and hungered me in so few words.

I'm truly impressed...

[I_B_Perky]

Okay, time to "bump" this for Saturday, returning it to the front page, so Chief S itting Bull can see it.

I've been all over Skins's island the past four days, and haven't seen the bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive at all; one wonders what's up with that, given that Redstone has an opinion about everything, and never's been afraid to say it.  And there's been plenty on Skins's island on which Chief S itting Bull could opine.

One wonders if something happened; perhaps the bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive was putting gasoline into his car at the neighborhood convenience store, the self-service pumps, and because the fuel was slow in flowing, he leaned over, lighted cigarette dangling from his lips, to look inside the aperture.

Alas! poor S itting Bull! alas!

As many know, the bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive, who now lives in eastern Connecticut, was born and raised in New Hampshire, coming from a long line of earnest, hardworking, modest Gaels, the salt of the earth, who spent generations working in the textile mills there.

That was too meant to be Redstone's destiny, but he arrogantly balked at the notion.  No way was he going to be a manual laborer; he was too good to get dirt and callous on his hands.  Besides, he had "talent"--in music, in song-writing, in song-singing, in the jewelry business, in the know-it-all business, in the hospitality business, in the beating-people-up business.

Chief S itting Bull wasn't going to work in an old textile mill; he was going to be a star.

Well, well.....

The bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive is now, of course 60 years old (give or take one year either way), and as it turns out, never did anything worthwhile with his life.  Sure, during the late 1960s, he teamed up with the lying tits primitive, the now-mausoleumed "TomInTib" primitive, and they hitch-hiked around the Great American Southwest (including a stayover at the Charles Manson "ranch")....but that's a scant accomplishment.

Alas! poor S itting Bull! alas!

Now, if circa 1967 or 1968 or 1969, Redstone had gone to work at the textile factory, well, here it is, a little more than forty years later--and he would be about ready to retire with a five-figure pension and a six- or seven-figure retirement account.  The Life of Riley, he could be looking forward to.

But no.....

Frank... you have a way with words that is indescribable. You should really write a book. Doesn't matter the subject... you would make it interesting!

 

[franksolich]

Sunday bump, but this is the last time I'm bumping this thread, as it's obvious Chief S itting Bull is cowering away from Skilns's island, afraid to go there in case someone asks him about his infamous prediction of early November 2008.

Either that, or the bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive, who has really poor "impulse control," is in jail.

First, his long-suffering battered wife, and next, a cop.

My, my.

Redstone really needs to learn some manners, to help him more gracefully accept his humble status in life.

Burned in the memory is one from December 2007, after the U.S. Senate had approved the nomination of George Bush's choice for attorney general.  Everybody out here in the wider real world had known that the choice would be approved since the preceding September--and hence it was no surprise to anybody but the primitives, who got all upset and bent out of shape because of it.

The primitives have a bad habit of being behind on what's going on.

Towards suppertime the day of the vote, Chief S itting Bull and Pedro Picasso, the "Atman" primitive, showed up together, finding the primitives substantially bawl-babying and demoralized.  They then both lit the same campfire, ordering my fellow alum Skins to show up on Skins's island, so as to hearten the primitives.

Neither of them begged or requested--both of them "demanded."

A peasant and a pauper summoning the king?

Skins didn't show up, and so the "demands" of the bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive and Pedro Picasso got more and more angry, more and more hysterical.  Both even started slandering, libeling, distorting, muddying, smearing, the good name of my fellow alum.

It was disgraceful watching that, a peasant and a pauper spitting at the king.

As it turned out, my fellow alum was that same evening babysitting his two young sons at home, not aware that two lowly pissants had commanded him to appear.  But when Skins showed up at the corporate offices of Skins's island the next morning, he saw the campfire, and responded.

My fellow alum has a problem; he apologizes for things when it's better to just tell the primitives to fudge off.

Redstone and Pedro Picasso were on Skins's island at the time, but neither of them came around to this campfire to humbly thank Skins for showing up....in fact, for about the next two months, the arrogant asses ignored every single campfire at which my fellow alum showed up, shunning him.

It blows the mind, that Chief S itting Bull and Pedro Picasso dared think that they were in a position to "demand" something of Skins, when in fact neither of them is good enough, bright enough, ethical enough, worthy enough, to as much as kiss the shoelaces on my fellow alum's shoes.

franksolich can forgive much, but franksolich finds it very difficult to forgive arrogant presumption.

Okay, this is the last time I'm bumping this, because I'm going to be busy the next four days, and besides, it's now painfully apparent that Chief S itting Bull is in some sort of trouble that keeps him away from Skins's island; in jail, or a mental ward, or a gutter, or something.....or too cowardly to show his mug on Skins's island.