Freddogg Off The Chain

The results below were published in the Ohio Journal of Medical Misinformation

COLUMBUS, Ohio, Sept. 28 -- Twelve of every 1,000 high school football players who played last year were injured during a game. Roughly half of the injuries were sprains and strains, and athletes missed fewer than seven days of school.

I reflect back to my junior year in high school scraping to the single wing off tackle hole to drop a Neshaminy fullback who would later in his life start at right offensive tackle for the Oakland Raiders. I was wearing hand pads and forearm pads on my forearms and calves because I was adept at leg whipping people I missed the first time.

So I dropped the locomoting Hairy Harry which puts me underneath him and about six inches below the frost line. I roll to my back and start to shake my right hand because it is buzzing. I look down and my ring finger is dislocated 90 degrees to the outside. I begin to scream in panic at this hideous deformity because no one had ever told me that could happen. A physician came onto the field from the enemy side and I looked up to see my gamily doctor who promptly told me to shut up and stop acting like a baby.

Two years later at Northeast High in Philadelphia playing in a Catholic game against Father Judge I was once again rolling on the ground with a buzzing hand. I prepared myself for the freaky finger but my hand looked fine—until I noticed a 16 penny rusty nail sticking through the meat of my hand behind my pinky. The nail was then bent. Teammates bowed as they past which was a Jesus on the cross type of joke.

Twenty years later I was coaching linemen at Cape Henlopen High School and after the first defensive play of the game my nose guard Jeff who was 6’3” about 360 and hand padded and arm padded out just like his coach began to roll on the ground and scream and yell. He was in a panic.

Evidently big Jeff was wrapped so tightly that when the back of his hand hit the top of the centers helmet the underside of Jeff’s ring finger just exploded laying open a fissure of meat all the way to the bone.

‘Easy Big Boy, ”I said. “Don’t look at it, that’s the secret. Let it buzz, just don’t look.”

I got used to those injuries and playing through pain but what I never liked was temporary paralysis what is now innocuously referred to as a stinger. A stinger is a towel snap when naked bonded guys are just having fun.

Football is a demolition derby where you are your own car.

Coach Freddogg

There is a gay high school in The Village in New York City. Last year two males dressed as females during Homo Coming Spirit week enticed some leering skeezer dude to the curb with their alluring body language then kicked his ass and took his wallet. And that is why I believe in a god who is interactive and a heaven filled with laughing Saints.

This is the Homecoming season and quite frankly I have never gotten it even when I was in high school. I was always acutely aware that Homecoming and Spirit Week and the stupid game simply alienated 70 percent of the student body sending their fat bellies to the Friday Night Lighted hoagie shop parking lots where they could discuss physical relationships with other immoralists in their peer group.

Last year a very sincere Irish soccer player who had been suspended for paying a fat kid to belly flop from a landing onto a lunch table and I’m sure it was all the way hilarious asked me to be Parade Marshall leading homecoming floats through the main street of town the following Friday night.

My wife said I should be honored but I felt it was “camp humor” like Adam West playing Batman on 1960’s television. People along the parade route were neck snapping saying “Is that Fredman in the Corvette convertible? What’s he doing in the parade?”

And so I started talking to the crowd saying, ”My car broke down on the way back from Happy Hour. I’m just catching a ride.”

There is an entire week of dress up stuff and it’s pretty funny until adults try to turn in into something positive and meaningful like "Dress for Success Day" to replace "Bum Day" like suddenly after 50 years of societal sarcasm it’s no fun to make fun of Bums. Why not “Dress like a Dork Day? How about “I Smell Like Kerosene and Wood Smoke Day”? “Crack Head Day” would be hilarious and maybe “Deadbeat Dad Day”.

A few years ago Cheerleaders were running amuck through the halls painting faces in blue and gold. Kids had the year of their graduation on their faces and there was glitter everywhere. I allowed a girl to paint 19 on one cheek and 64 on the other. Then she realized she was interacting with “The Mummy” and let out a cute and very honest “Oew Yuk”.

“Atlas Shrugged” because I ain’t in high school and they can’t hurt me no matter how hard they don’t try. Off to the hoagie shop parking lot which is how I roll!

Peace Freddogg

http://artists.letssingit.com/julie-brown-the-homecoming-queens-got-a-gun-6qvt8vh

I have a Double X gray tee shirt in my closet that has a Gerbil image running across the front surrounded by a circle with a line through it and underneath is written "No Gerbils”.
The shirt was designed and sold from the trunk of his car by a former student, now late student, and goes all the way back to 1985. This former student took a suicide flyer off the Saint Georges Bridge in Delaware. Ironically his humor and satire were always over the edge. The tee shirt was inspired by the urban story that a Philadelphia Newscaster named Jerry was admitted to Bryn Mawr Hospital and had to have a Gerbil “forceptly removed from his personal habitrail.”

I have another double x tee shirt my wife picked up at a gay yard sale that has neon poodles across the front and written underneath is "Poodle Beach" which is a gay beach in Rehoboth.

I have submitted humorous stories to a local gay magazine and made sure as the author I wasn’t identified as straight which I am but it may be funny if people thought I was closeted as in bi-fold doors walk out closet in the bedroom.

I have never worn the Poodle shirt because the way it hugs my torso makes me look too imperfect to be an aging gay guy. If I liked the way I looked I would wear it.

The "No Gerbils” shirt I wore once for a walk on the boardwalk and I didn’t like the way anyone looked at me. I was carrying a message and I wasn’t sure what it was so when all kinds of people looked I just looked back like “Yea, so? No Gerbils! Want to make something of it?”

I have often thought of making my own messages but not my own shirts. What am I, Indonesian?

I like this message from the NFL weekly injury report “Upgraded to Questionable”. Or this one: “Overfed and Under Trained.”

And my grandmother’s favorite: "Screw You and the Rhino You Rode In On.”

Peace Freddogg

Bill Clinton did the Old Guy Snap on Fox News interviewer Chris Wallace yesterday while subconsciously humming the aging baby boomer refrain “I hate everybody especially you.”

Those of us who reach 60 just don’t take no shit from no one no more and that would include me if Clinton snapped in my face. “I just know you ain’t snapping on me Billy! I just know that can’t be happening.”

It reminds me of the joke where the Pope offers his ring to kiss to some street urchin back alley kid from the slums of Rome and the kid says, ”Fuck you!”

“Son, my child, do you know who I am? I am the Pope, the Vicar of Rome, I am Saint Peter of planet earth, infallible in matters of religion and theology. I am the rock upon which the church was built .I am pastor of the flock, the Captain of the Catholic Sea. I wear a miter and carry a staff.

Fuck me? Fuck you!!!!

Billy has come a long way since inviting hawk nosed Paula Jones into his hotel room and saying, ”Don’t you think it’s ironic for a liberal like me to bend to the right.”

Peace Political Freddogg

You guys are supposed to be pumping iron!


Nine of 10 testosterone gorged Iranian power lifters failed drug tests when after bowing three times towards the East to pray they couldn’t get back up off their knees without assistance from natural lifters whose joints still contained cartilage and sonovial fluid.
The lifters blamed their Bulgarian Coach for sprinkling their scrambled eggs with testosterone extract harvested by hand directly from mountain bulls on steroids.

This story is doubly strange where put alongside a published report in the United States that found one in eight heart and/or diabetes patients stopped taking lifesaving drugs less than a month after prescription because of their disordered attention deficit or they just didn’t give a dam or they wanted a personal trainer to fill up their pill baggie each morning and twist off the cap of their Dasani water bottle.

Generic drugs are coming to Wall mart and you know what that means? Good, because I don’t. What does it mean?

Related to the gym there are the people who take a baggie of pills everyday and those who take none, clowns like me who won’t take the aspirin , the Glucosmine/Condrotin, won’t finish the antibiotics and would rather invest in nerf bars for the pickup from truckperformance.com than spend 400 dollars to a Canadian Company pushing counterfeit Cealis online. “It doesn’t matter, all sex is placebo driven, like George Barnard Shaw said, ”A pervert is a person who only knows one way of doing things” and if you don’t get it well you just don’t get it and Cealis ain’t helping you, just don’t leave it in the dog bowl.

But seriously, if you are chemically enhanced—does caffeine count- share your addictions and predilections with the rest of us.

I know for a fact the new redneck cocktail is two Budweiser’s and a Percocet followed by driving heavy equipment around a farmers field preferably an out of commission street sweeper and who hasn’t wanted to get freaked up and be the street sweeper guy?

Peace Trainer Freddogg

White Dog and his Chocolate Buddy
Mayor Ray Nagen is not the bozo he is portrayed to be by the white media which is all media outside BET and Jet. George Bush is proof that every moron on the street shouldn’t be told he can grow up and be President.
New Orleans is a Chocolate City just like Nagen said, the birthplace of Jazz and the New Orleans Jazz who moved to Utah and kept the name, how freaking ironic was that as Karl Malone was the only black person in the state.
And now the Monday Night NFL football extravaganza and reopening of the Superdome is upon us. The only Saints marching into the Superdome for Katrina salvation were trusting people of color or really confused caucasions.
Now here comes the post Katrina let's all be proud of America bullshit. And it is going to be embarrassing. A league where 95 percent of players who touch the ball are black and 90 percent of the defensive players are also. I have a nephew who played defense for five years in the NFL. Every Sunday the inside joke was Count The White Guys. Maybe the NFL is also a Chocolate league?

So who do they get to perform? U2 and Green Day. Get Nellie. Get Usher. Tracy Champan. Hootie. Get a chocolate face you morons!! Previous post Janet Jackson Superbowls were Paul McCartney and the Rolling Kidney Stones and before that Big and Rich entertaining at halftime of the NBA all star game. Charles Barkley said, ”You white people have to get over Janet Jackson. “And when is the last time you saw a black person listening to Beatles music?

There are many films made by white people that portray people of color who hate their own race. If you are white and Cracker on other white people they call you a Wigger and I guess if you stick up for Mexicans you’re a Wexican?

The NFL is going to White Up Chocolate New Orleans tonight and after Katrina it is going to be downright embarrassingly stupid. Count how many Chocolate people are holding tickets for this game. Let’s just hope Bush is smart enough to stay off the Jumbotron becuase Clinton wasn't, know what I'm sayin?

Freddogg

“Big Loser Boy” my pet name for myself as I travel the countryside reporting on the prime time athletic lives of others had spent 8 hours covering girl’s field hockey and football so I was ready for a Friday night beer. What I wasn’t ready for were the people who sit around bars on “Friday Night Lites” looking all blown out, fat and stupid and getting fatter and more stupid by the drink.

The Boosters Club for football handed out flyers at the game indicating a post game social to celebrate a victory. The team lost so nobody showed up but me and there was another teacher with whom I’m compatible and so I sat down next to him and we began to talk about coaching and kids but I kept being distracted by the young woman in red shoes and matching shirt bartending and the 95 year old guy with a cane asking to see her breasts.

It was all somewhat humorous in a pathetic sort of way but then I noticed two young women to my right nestled around four plates of bar foods including a greasy and cheesy pile of nachos, boiled sea creatures and skins from vegetables and puffin muffin deep fried stuff.

“Have you caught this act to my right, ”I asked my friend Chris? “And here I thought there was no entertainment tonight.”

Chris mentioned and I concurred that these girls were young and could be pretty if they stopped hunching over and shoveling bullshit food into their mouths. These girls were rooting and snorting, groveling and belching and I wanted to just say “Hi, did you girls go to school around here” but there was no expectation of civility at the bar and I’m sure they would have thought I was hitting on them so I could get some nachos.

They got up to leave and both were tall, well dressed with hour glass figures and stretch pants and fat like “it’s a shame fat” but it ain’t like your not working at it.”

I think these women should have been sent to prison for rehabilitation boot camp just like we do with drug addictions. Actually I think all personal over indulgences should be legal as long as you don’t drive impaired or while shaped like a pear.

What do you all think?

Dr. Freddogg

I was getting tired of Mr. Murphy the lay geometry teacher at Bishop Egan High school dropping jokes on my 10th grade ass. Murphy couldn’t stand me because I was a conceited and arrogant sophomore sensation in football and basketball who never cracked a book but I cold trump his lame ass gay jokes and gays weren’t even invented in 1962.

“Ptolemy and gone tomorrow, Hey Murphy? Didn’t I see you in the back row of the movie theater with you friend Pythagoras—maybe I said Pyfagoras – but it was just a Geometry joke.

“What I don’t understand Frederick is why you know enough to crack wise but not enough to solve a problem.”

“Me cracking wise is your problem Murphy more or less than some prime number multiplied by 2 which is always divisible by 2.”

I had no idea what I was talking about but the football coach warned me,”they were talking about you in the faculty room. Murphy said if you don’t get at least a 90 on the Friday test you are failing for the marking period. He says you are hovering right around 70. Do you want to tell me why that is the case?”

“Sure coach. I cheat.”

“Yea well you better do a better job of it and he said he is going to watch you like a hawk.”

“Oh, that’s original. So the game is on.”

Now I could play games so I went over to my Uncle Tony’s house. Tony was a construction Forman who drank whiskey and smoked non filtered Luckies-no college just a real guy laying out sewer lines across Philly-doing real trig and Geometry in the everyday work a day world and I wish I would shut up.

Tony mentored me and I took it like a man because he was a real man not some Geometry teacher earning minimum wage. I don’t think I ever tried to learn something and gave up. I usually give up before starting.

So on a Friday there was this 20 problem test with each problem getting more difficult. I was sitting right in the middle of the room surrounding by three guys who would all go on to Ivy League colleges on academic scholarships.

They were surprised I wasn’t long necking around trying to pick off their answers and, in fact, when I sat back finished I saw Tony Paglione’pick off my number 20 then pass it on to the other angst ridden high achievers.

“Ain’t that some shit,” I thought. “And that is the way the world sometimes plays which is why I preferred to shoot baskets and take stupid intellectuals to the basket who always go for the fake."

Murphy came in to class on Monday looking like the cat who swallowed Uncle Harry. He handed back the tests then asked all those with 100’s to stand up.

Four guys in the middle of the room ascended to stardom. The class erupted in applause. “That’s it, I’m not saying anything, ”Murphy said.

The three cheaters sat down but I remained standing.
“Do you have something to say Fredericks? Perhaps, an admission of contrition?”

“I just want to say that it’s pretty obvious these other three guys cheated.”

I never got such a big laugh for speaking a simple truth.

My grandmother always said, ”Take the joke then sit down and shut up.”

Freddogg

The “Dagsboro Dog” arrived by ambulance late Saturday night and the boy was way beyond “just ain’t right. “ The Emergency department at Beebe Hospital was alerted by CB radio to expect a crimped by copper ring around the penis and to dial up the resident Freudian because a quick consult before castration was a looming and dooming possibility.

This story got out and I had it because I am a story conduit but with no affection or affinity for discarded construction waste and cooper parts.

This guy was Captain Jacked and sexualy satisfied on a Saturday night then fell asleep in the trailer all oiled up with black matted body hair and shit. He napped some then his girlfriend saw the ring of cooper amidst all the other debris decorating the room and slipped in onto his penis, which is already a word I’m tired of writing about.

The biology of the matter is that the blood flowed in initiating erect mode but could not flow out and then the head began to expand and change colors like cualiflower on lSD.

The doctors tried the drywall bucket of ice trick but it didn’t work. Then they summoned the plastic caste mechanic but that saw not only didn’t work but it heated up the copper. The entire time this was happening the nurses were glancing sideways at each other because in some strange and macabre way it was pretty hilarious and they were anxious to get home and tell their husbands the story alhtough real mean don’t like wives who bring penis stories home from work.

Exasperated which rhymes with the way wrong word the Doctors paged the hospital maintenance man figuring in Sussex County every guy with a tool belt can solve most any mechanical problem.

The older gentleman thought a machine had blown a fuse so when the doctors pulled back the sheet revealing the hideous deformity of a penis left too long on the produce table of a third wolrd market place the guy was agast at the gastliness of it all. “I ain’t touching that dam thing, ”he screamed. “That’s the dangest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Somehow by the use of mainlined Valium and fiberoptics or optical mouse and lazer beam the ring was removed. And to answer all questions I don’t know whether it was a water line of gas line piece of tubing but with PVC you have a better chance, anytime your life is in such a state of flux.

Paging Dr.Freddogg

I got the Rainman picture but also wanted Rainwoman so I googled it and this is who popped up. Can you imagine? "Kmart Sucks!"

Last Sunday I was sitting in the Eagles pressbox through four quarters and overtime next to a multiple disordered crazy woman who remained in a state of over stimulation, unable to process stimuli without writing it all down on a yellow tablet like Rainman while complaining to the Tech Support person on her left that he was an idiot.

This woman and her sidekick were doing cutaways to national radio feeds. That’s when after a score they make a call on a 1960’s land line desk phone and say. “Here in Philadelphia The Giants drew first blood when Eli Manning engineered a seven play 67 yard drive finding Amani Toomer all alone in the end zone behind Roderick Hood for a 31 yard touchdown. This is Donna the crazy fat whale wearing a relief map double x tee shirt and ball cap reporting live from Philadelphia. And I wish someone would scratch Allentown because my back itches like a bitch.”

This woman had carpal tunnel syndrome on her left hand, a casted right ankle and complained that her blood was getting hot. She was helpless without her sidekick who was a real professional and good at what he was doing but she just kept up this relentless assault of busting on him and he just kept taking it and I admired his professional restraint and patience but at the same time I wanted to kick his ass before kicking her ass because all O/C disorder and hypochondria aside the bitch needed a beat down.

And that’s why I’m a pro because I can write good stuff amidst all kinds of distractions. And you would be amazed in Philadelphia how unprofessional the professional journalists are, talking loudly about bullshit stuff and playing computer solitaire on their laptops during timeouts.

But back to those who can’t see the forest until they line up the trees any profession that relies on statistics, charts, graphs and patterns attracts a high percentage of non adaptable list makers and pattern seekers who just don’t get it. The teaching profession is filled with non-adaptable anally disordered personality types who specialize in making life miserable for students.

Everybody should be like me, footloose and fancy free and best of all quiet.

Reporting live from Philly this is Fred Doggie Dogg

I have owned two Golden Retrievers and my puppy test is to throw a tennis ball over the heads of a littler of adoring puppies. The one who doesn't chase it is the one I buy. I call them incidental dogs like the "no harm no foul" rule in basketball. I want a dog who is laid back and wants to hang with Fredman and become a Freddogg.
I've had luck with males and no luck with females who are by reputation more agreeable and eager to please but all us males know that ain't true.
Now let me see if the bitch in this picture will return my Nikon ball.

freddogg

The College of Marine Studies married professors were ecstatic to be working in Lewes in the mid 1980’s where their office windows from the round Cannon Building looked straight down Roosevelt Inlet into the Delaware Bay.
And they were commmited liberals to community involment and public education. And that was working well until their middle school eighth grade daughter began to exhibit social behaviors that the professors found alarming.
A scheduled meeting with the schools guindance counselor began when the big collar, no tie, middle aged Afro American clearly spoken man, sounding like Jerry “The Iceman” Butler, sat back and sighed,’The problem is your daughter ‘be runnin’ with the wrong crowd.”
Now at this point snobbery raised it’s ugly head and the father said,’She be doin what? “
“She be runnin with the wrong crowd and subjected herself to bad peer influences,”the counselor said. “It be happening all the time, not just to your daughter,it be happening to lots of people; White, Black, Hispanic, Asian, Special, Not Special.”
“I get it! “Barked the Ph.D daddy. “Well she can’t be doin that no more and I can’t be tolerating it.”
The professors were proud of each other having changed the language sysntax and slang game during the action without calling a timeout because not everyone can be “doin that.”
But later when meeting with the girls Englsih teacher who was lamenting that the girl didn’t pay attention in class the teacher said,”I had went over this with her several time.”
“I’ll take this one,”said the wife. “You had went over it several times? Is that what you said? What else have you went over that we should know about?’
“I could send home an assigment calender and have you sign it,”the teacher said.
“I can’t be doin that,’Professor mommy said, and the liberals were having great fun at their duaghter’s expense but wondered where the English language had went while they were doing scientif research and finding things delightful and terribly amusing not to mention quite amazing.
The girls was transferred to sain Andrews where she became a biligual slang speaking snob and it ain’t many people who can be doin that.

Freddogg

His name was Mike Carfagno and he was electrocuted by a sump pump. He was in my fifth grade class and then he wasn’t. Carfagno is the sump pump dead kid from the deepening pool of my stored memories.
There was a sump pump in my basement. I used to stand on the stairs and stare at it. Sump pumps scare me because they’re electric and run in water which all in all seems like a bad idea. I used to dream at night of the sump pump and I wanted to go touch it to prove to myself I wasn’t afraid but then a voice said, ”You’re sleeping on the cat idiot, roll over.”
We remember all kids who die when we are kids. There was a kid in my hometown killed by a window box, a girl in my high school felled by a brain aneurism and the president of my high school class who slipped on a rocky path embedding a sliver of stone in his temple killing him instantly.
That is why we all approach life leerally, if not Timothy Leerally. Our very own houses attack us, cars sometimes blow up for no reason or maybe our very own heads simply leak on the inside like a garden hose and our last words “I feel faint” are gone before we hit the ground.
Yesterday a whacked by a stick field hockey orange ball narrowly missed my skull. Twenty years ago a 12 pound indoor shot was putted just over my head as I walked across the throwing sector.
I do not want to go out getting my head dented by a round hard ball. I do not want to die the way I live like a stupid sports guy who walks in front of deadly orange balls.
In 1977 I was in an alley on a too steep ladder painting an old house when it started to slide from the top and I knew I was going down. I came out from 15 feet high onto a brick sidewalk with a paint bucket in my right hand and a brush in my left. I landed on my feet right in front of this goofy bald headed lawyer who always considered me a brute. I didn’t even splatter any paint.
The lawyer began telling stories about me like I was this bigger than life legend of the fall.
Yesterday I was creakily creeping around under my house with wolf spiders, black snakes and hanging wires looking for an ice maker shut off valve. I am cautious and careless at the same time.
I thought of Carfagno and wondered why I got all these years to crawl around and fall off ladders while he only got 12?
I am never depressed because I always feel lucky and I’ll remain lucky until the day I’m not.

Father Freddogg

Woody Allen said he grew up neurotic because he was breast feed on falsies. There are no such things as falsies in the new millennium when breast augmentation is an option and remember it takes two hands to handle a whopper.

Sinbad does a routine of staring at a women on the beach and his wife says, ”What are you looking at Mr. Dog? Don’t you know they ain’t real?”

Sinbad’s response: ”Don’t they know we don’t care?”

Another favorite Sinbad line of mine which I have incorporated into a working daily philosophy of life comes from a routine where he is talking to hair weaved guys.

“Listen to me now, ”Sinbad said. “You can’t be bald headed on Monday and have hair down to your butt on Wednesday. At least try to fool somebody.”

This brings me around to the 38 year old Double D Anna Nicole Smith story which is on the lead page of every major web site. Do you ever read stories then say, ”I am such a big loser why I’m I interested in this followed by going Colombo trying to figure it out?”

Anna had a baby then her 20 year old son came to the Bahamas to visit mom and new baby half sister because he was just so thrilled if not perpetually confused having been conceived at Jim’s Krispy Fried Chicken in Texas then later watched his mother marry an 89 year old oil tycoon who dies a year later. Anna Nicole’s financial award which began at $474 million is currently down to ZERO!

Anyway I had to get all that shit out there to coke to the point--I mean make the point-- where the kid stays the night in now 3D Diet Product Mom’s room and in the morning is dead in the chair.

How many 20 year old men hang in hospital maternity rooms with mom in a, “Lionel Ritchie All Night Long” contentment when all kinds of Bahaman Mammas are running around on the sand in Rastafarian free love mode? Door number one is the drugs, door number two is me and door number three is the cheeseburgers.”

I believe this story is as wrong as John Karr which I never believed for a second. I believe poor Daniel waved goodbye in a lonely motel room whacked on a foreign substance.

“Stories that don’t appear likely to be true are rarely ever true but sometimes maybe true,” Aristotle said to Plato after a bong hit.

And admit it, you have your theories on this as well. And if you fell for the John Karr story, just get of my class!

Professor Freddogg

Five years ago Cape Henlopen high school where I worked was hard wired for the avoidance of reality. This was never more clearly focused among the integrated centrally controlled classroom network of televisions then when the Columbine story was breaking.
The Vice Principal, a five star alarmist in a three alarm world, ordered all televisions switched to Nickelodeon which was featuring some skinny drug addict talking to a dog named Magenta on a program called Blues Clues which qualified as ironic in a sub-reference Columbine sort of way.

When 911 happened sometime around 9:11 I had just finished my “World According To Fredman” current events lesson. My theme for each class was always “Some day you will wake up and the world will be a different place.”

I told my students to kick back and commence to lust after and grope one another as we passively watched Channel One where mixed raced homosexual correspondents traveled the world protected by automatic weapons off camera.

CNN came on as I waited for channel One to kick in. I saw a smoking World Trade Tower and thought of King Kong. I also always thought that any plane traversing the New York sky line would be shot from the sky and then questions would be asked.

I told the kids to be quiet that this was a big story depending on the size of the plane. I was thinking plane never contemplating the life inside that building in which I rode the elevator to the top several times once with a class of Cape students many grossly out of shape and not stair steppers for two floors or 80.

The television then switched to Channel One “Aids in Africa” and there was Ted Kopple and everyone said “We don’t want this story!” In fact , they never wanted that story and ironically the Channel One correspondent looked like the lead singer from the Fine Young Cannibals.

Students hit the parking lot to get to car radios. The story started to unravel. World Trade Two the Pentagon and several missing planes. Kids with brains grew smart enough to be scared.

A young, athletic, deer hunting, red necked, I own my own shotgun and hunt with my daddy, girl named Katie, started to cry and said, ”Fredman I want this to be over. This is my senior year. I don’t need this. Are we safe? Can you tell me it’s safe?” Katie said, going Marathon Man on me. Welcome to the team! You are an American just like the rest of us" I told her.

School was dismissed and we got to go home and watch the second plane crash into the Tower over and over from different angles. Then there were the home videos of collapsing buildings and foreign shots of Palestinians dancing in the streets. College and pros games were cancelled. A wave of patriotism and I hate to say stupid country songs swept the nation.

Then came the Taliban and Afghanistan then Iraq and Sunnis and Shites and Kurds but the good news is Americans have no idea about these players so just signed off to Bush, ”Go stomp whoever needs stomping” which is where we are five years later.

A four year old girl was on one of those airplanes. A guy flying back to California to get his lab puppy was on another. You have to wonder if you were in World Trade Two on a school trip how fast you would get out after the first plane hit.

A guy just hired at $700 grand a year was in charge of security and evacuation. But there was no plan for planes. How about this one?

“If a plane hits either building everyone gets out as quickly as possible. Sound the high pitched alarms and keep them screaming! And everyone just keep on running until you see Jersey License plates.”

I give the Saudi Terrorists absolutely no credit for a well orchestrated plan. The people paid to protect us were not prepared. We are still a free country with “soft targets” all over the place. My entire day is moving from one soft target to another.

And now Conspiracy Theorists are running amuck among us. ‘We attacked ourselves!” And some smart people be believing that shit.

I believe we lost 3000 good and innocent Americans five years ago. I believe I grieve for those team members. Beyond that I live in a state of foreign policy confusion and bewilderment but at least I admit it!

Freddogg

Mr. Gross Baby Photo

His name was Mr. Gross, a lay math teacher, but all the students at Bishop Eagan Catholic High School just called him Fish Head. Gross had bulging eyeballs beyond the double recessive mathematical improbability. He was afflicted with a gland that over secreted and probably the drinking didn’t help either. But he was a good guy which unfortunately cut no ice with Catholic boys of the Sixties battered by priests all day long. There are no mutated creatures on earth that keep from being prey and thrive because they are nice guys. “Nice guys don’t finish last, they don’t finish at all.”

One Monday morning the minority of those who cared asked Mr. Gross if he had graded the quizzes over the weekend. “No, no I didn’t, ” he said, in a low voice shuffling some papers. Some whiny kid kept after him. “But you said you would. My step dad wants to see the test when I get home.”

“Maybe I’ll have it tomorrow,”Gross said, hoping the kid would go away.

I was sitting in aisle four about three seats from the front. “Just exactly what does a guy like you do all weekend anyway, ”I asked Gross.

I don’t know why I asked him it just came over me that a carp colored fish head with no wife and kids, a teacher who didn’t attend athlete events, couldn’t get around to grading some sorry math quizzes to keep the wankers who cared out of his wheel house.

“What did you say, ”Gross said, putting two hollow point holes in my chest with those fish head eyes. “What did I do all weekend? Maybe I’ll come down that aisle and you’ll find out.”

The class responded with the predictable “Whoa!!!”

Gross shook his head up and down like he had won a round. I should have let him have it but I couldn’t.

“Bring it on down Chicken of the Sea.” Yep that was me, troll the bait and I will snap.

Fish Head is a better nickname and shorter than Chicken of the Sea but Gross evolved and who knows maybe went on to become an amphibian. After all, you can’t shake hands with a fish and they don’t grade tests either.

Don’t look for a closing moral here. I was an idiot, end of story!

Freddogg Fish Head

I played football for Temple University and when on the road stayed at the best hotels but I never knew where I was I was just in the hotel. I still don’t know where I was but remember the night before playing Hofstra in November —oh sure now I know it’s on Long Island- I walked out front to find an ocean staring at me. I couldn’t believe it! I thought I was in Wildwood and went searching for the Wild Mouse.
Do you know that the monorail ride on a metal mouse over an ocean pier was shut down after the mouse and its mouse boy rider plummeted into the raging surf and the freaking guy drown because the concussion had knocked him out.
Fundamentalist zealots believe that god is an active interceder in the lives of humans and if that’s true all I can say is “what the?” and I hope I don’t ride away from earth stapped to a Giant Tin Mouse but ours is not do reason why but to do or die and if that includes a tin mouse then so be it and that is the word of the lord.

So I’m in this hotel before the Kings Point game standing in the lobby with the rest of the starting offense walking through blocking assignments against a defense also wearing shirts and ties. I knew it was stupid but I don’t mind stupid in the least.

I was the starting right guard and the coach was going over how to block a stack over the center. “Now step with your left foot to the down guy Frederick. If he comes your way, block him. If he slants away, your next step is towards the linebaker who will be coming your way.”

"Coach I am so quick off the ball that if I explode out of my stance it’s unrealistic to think I can change direction at close to a 90 degree angle on my second step even though I know that’s the current coaching manual accepted theory.”

“Here’s another accepted theory Frederick. Shut up and do what you’re told! And by the way with your great quickness you won’t mind running point on the kickoff middle return flying wedge.”

We Temple guys knew from nothing about Kings Point or that it took the combined SAT scores of our offensive line to get past admissions. We were all shocked to walk into a stadium where all the fans were dressed in uniforms roaring like it was the Army/Navy game.

We received the deep kick straight down the center and I drifted back to the point position of the flying wedge. I looked back to make sure the back caught the football. He tucked it under his arm and screamed, ”Go!”

I exploded on my first step only to see this 6’3” 220 pound wedge breaker focused on my helmet, screaming and heading right for me. I went to basic instinct survival mode and began to dive into the grass. This maniac planted the top of his helmet into the back of my neck and lifted me off the ground and backwards. I was airborne for five years—I mean yards.

The next Monday in film session Head Coach George Makris kept running the play over and over in slow motion and each time it evidently got funnier because my teammates were on the floor.

‘Where you going at Frederick?”

“Where am I going what?”

“Guess that first step of yours wasn’t fast enough to get out of the way. What’s going on there, did you drop a quarter? What were you doing, grazing? How’s you neck?”

If god is listening I’d just like to say, ”O.K. you got me. It was funny-to everyone but one- just like the Wildwood Wild Mouse ride—Roll Tide Roll!”

Freddogg

I was sitting in the West Chester State library circa 1969 when this odd campus character named “Johnny” came walking past wearing a sign taped on the front and back that said “Spit On Me.” Johnny trolled by me several times but I didn’t surface in the wash to check out his baits.

Johnny was small and slender, dark haired with that dark perfectly outlined stubble thing going on. Finally, he sat down across from me—his target-- in a library lounging chair and just kept staring.

“What’s up man, ”I asked him.
“My name is Johnny, ”he said.
“I’m happy for you, ”I responded.

“I’m seven years old, ”Johnny said. I raised my eyebrows. “I’ll be eight in June.”
“At least you weren’t ate before you were seven,” I said, sinking to an old joke my grandfather told me when I was six.

I knew Johnny was beyond odd and campus rumor had it that he was a masochist and only one of 10 people on this Phys Ed campus who could spell it.

There are many behavior disorders that begin in childhood and just keep hanging in there and the overriding most debilitating common aspect among them is that the afflicted person doesn’t sense or realize that “normal” society is populated by some assholes that are just flat out evil and capable of instantaneous victimization.

I really dislike and don’t understand "normal" individuals who on the spur of the moment will pounce on the weakness of another in a spontaneous aniti social outburst. In my opinion that is really sick and there is nothing good to say about it.

Johnny crawled into the custodians’ closet in an old Serpentine Stone classroom building one dreary morning and was able to stick most of his hand under the door and out into the hall during class change so people could step on it.

I saw several testosterone driven, over compensating, small penis Phys Ed guys, running and long jumping onto Johnny’s hand laughing in horse teeth ecstasy.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled the fire alarm then went and straddle guarded the exposed hand because the closet door was locked.

People left the building but Johnny and I stayed. I admitted to pulling the alarm to save a hand that would have been crushed for life and demanded to talk to the Dean of Something about Johnny.

I went off on the guy for allowing this disturbed seven going on eight year old adolescent with a beard to serve as a campus repository for all the aberrant abusers, those seven going on eight year old Mental Agers from the Stanford Binet Intelligence Test, those creeps who were two standard deviations to the left of humane behavior.

The situation was quickly resolved as Johnny was thrown out of school thanks to me I guess. You just can’t stick your hand on the floor of a highly trafficked hallway and expect people to walk around it.

Weeks later a guy at a party on his eighth mug of beer came up to me and said, ”I stepped on that bitch, so what?’ And all his horse teethed friends whinnied but I knew that someday god would get them back because that’s the way he rolls.

Welcome to the gates of heaven! Here's Johnny!
Peace Freddogg

Twenty years ago I had this young athletic senior girl in class. She was smart and beautiful and most boys just stayed clear figuring they had a better chance not being shot down training in a Huey Helicopter.

Then the girl targeted this tall goofy never had a date senior in my class. She went after him and he was so wigged out by it that he kept looking around from side to side for the next six months expecting to be flattened by a runaway tractor trailer.

Everyday outside my glass it was him against the locker and her picking and poking and pouting in perky pugnacious alluring fashion. She was a man eating plant controlling all the action through her booty beat down behavior.

Speaking of beat down another student came to me and told me that this squirrelly student snared in the beaver trap of evolutionary brilliance had taken to hitting this girl who was a 10 on the fitness chart while he was an egg noodle. It was actually a boy who told me about “the abuse” and he asked me to speak to the kid before he had to intercede and kick his ass.

Then I put it all together. The cycle of the circle began with her dad who only paid attention to the girl to verbally beat her down and occasionally smacking her in the face when he was in an affectionate mood. That was the male attention she knew and the attention she sought. I said to myself "Dam! This is a beautiful athletic girl and possibly a sexual masochist? She will attract a crowd when she goes to college. She is a danger to herself and to others.”

I spoke with the boy who looked more startled than usual like “how did I know what she was like” and then he said “you have no idea about the sex” and I told him to “shut up” that I could come up with all the ideas he could experience on this earth because I was a Catholic boy and we were taught to imagine the most bizarre human behavior imaginable then to multiply it by 100 and that wouldn’t even scratch the surface of what the average priest heard in the confessional which is why some of them didn’t wear pants.”

Women who become “porn stars with pierced parts” are screaming for the beat down because it’s the only attention their sorry asses get. Hip terminology would categorize these losers as having “esteem issues” and any male who enters their world of Sugar Smack downs better never tie the knot unless its a sheepshank to the four bed posts.

Sigmund Freddogg
don't forget the link and sing along to the melody




http://members.aol.com/quentncree/lehrer/masochis.htm

A green thumb is a good thing but for a guy could mean he is gay in a purple trumpet sort of way. A green pocket of light green infection at the end of an index finger producing red streaks through the palm of my hand was most likely a bad thing, all throbbing digit jokes aside, so I took myself to the Boo Boo Hospital emergency room which is under construction complete with a giant vacuum system for removing harmful carcinogens from the internal atmosphere other wise known as the air.

I tend to present injuries where the hardened people who work in Emergency rooms respond with “Yuk! What is that?”

I proudly responded during intake interview that I was not allergic to anything, that I did not take any prescription medication, and that I was in perfect health. I also said “NO” to “do you drink alcohol” figured they meant the kind you rub on your body for what reason I never figured but every household has a bottle in case someone figures it out.

I was tagged with a raspberry colored bracelet which I joked looked like a Homo Tracking Device—not that there’s not a need for that.

I took my seat among the infirm. There was a young white couple with 2 week old “trashy baby” I’m sorry I know that’s wrong but mom was wearing gray sweat pants and white tee shirt and drinking a non diet fruity soda while pony tailed dad was all “Yo Boyed” out with untied hiking boots and Orlando Magic hat turned backwards and eating a bologna sandwich on white bread.

And there was one young black man who soon was joined by two younger boys then three older women then a much older couple then two hospital workers then some left and others came- one woman wearing a drywall mask-then He left and did not come back and I was confused but I knew when black people do the emergency room thing it usually extends many generations out to the third cousin level and also neighbors.

A you pasty white girl rolled in pushed by her concerned mother. She had dirty blond hair as in dirty which matched her clothes. She was hunched over making noises into a barf bag. No one paid any attention to her so I figured her performance was as common as a Seinfeld rerun.

I then realized that the bag was to capture carbon dioxide which helps stave off the oxygen overload dizziness that comes from hyperventilation brought on by anxiety attacks. I was going to smack her hard then shout “Shut up! Your o.k. Stop being a hyper vigilant alarmist. We’re all going to die!

Christine a former student and ER nurse smiled and invited me into the back where injured, sick and those who imagine they’re both awaited a visit from “Tom” who I guess was a doctor but would have been better cast in a Holiday Inn commercial.

Tom said the “needle” word and I suggested aspiration and then he said scalpel and I suggested scrapple and then the black nurse who was a Jesus loving sweet person said Tetanus shot and I said “My Ass” and she said “No your arm would do fine.”

I did overhear a woman in the hallway on a gurney say she had MS, Acid Reflux, Restless Leg Syndrome along with a number of contagions visiting her host body. I was going to suggest a private room for her and the P & P diet.

“What’s the P & P diet, Dr. Fredman”?

“Pancakes and Peppermint Paddies”

“What good are pancakes and peppermint paddies going to do me?”

“None, but they’re the only things that will slide under the door.”

“Paging Dr. Freddogg”!