Freddogg Off The Chain

What is up with straight men who dress as women then attend Halloween parties-drink white wine spritzers- and get so into character wearing red lipstick and pouting in “little ol me” vulnerability actually giving off pheromones because I’ve seen prissy men and nasty bulldog hairy men become interested in these transformed creatures of the night and I’m like ‘Star Wars Bar” is just a night and costume away.

One year in the early 90's I dressed as Yassir Arafat and I liked it because I’m closer to a Ringo looking dead terrorist than an attractive woman and I’m fine with that. The problem now is that with the war on “TUR” as Bush calls it anyone going to a party looking Kurdish will be gunned down by an irate citizen while pumping gas at the Super WaWa.

That’s it! WaWa worker. I could represent that with green hat, yellow tee shirt and my own hoagie nametag as long as it’s not a Shortie.

And you know if you follow Catholic Theology that the souls of the dearly departed are flying around all over the freaking place tonight because release me from the fires of purgatory and someone is going to pay because that shit ain’t right.

Any good mischief night stories or have all my adult friends repressed them all? Just remember if you do anything that involves knocking on doors and lying in wait with a garden hose and you only run 5.3 for the 40 yard dash your pumpkin is ripe for place kicking.

freddoggy

I am the monster masher of the “now generation”. A few years ago suffering through Friday homecoming at the high school, hallways filled with balloons, percolating cheerleaders spreading glitter like fairy dust and face painters, I acquiesced to have my mug modified to show my school spirit.
A senior girl said, “It will be 19 on one cheek and 99 on the other, is that o.k. Fredman?” “No it’s not o.k. I’m not graduating from high school this year. I want the year of my high school graduation.”
“O.K,” said Poke Salad Annie got your Granny” which reminds me of the time a girl named Brooke asked me if I knew her grandmother? “No, I don’t,”I answered. “What makes you think I may know her?”
“She’s a real slut. I just figured you may know her?”
I had the year 1964 painted on my face and the high school girl sat back like she suddenly discovered an arm extension.
All day long kids were coming up and asking,”Fredman, why is that year on your face?”
“It’s the year I graduated from high school,” I said, and the response was always the same, ”Ew! Yuk! And they would back up like I was too old to brush by in a crowded Junior hallway whose theme “Rumble in the Jungle” was ordered taken down by the clueless Vice Principal because it may offend black people.
“Fredman isn’t that racist, thinking black people would be offended by a jungle reference,” an astute Afro American girl asked me. ‘What, are we all supposed to live in Jungles? Have you seen my spirit spear?” By the way, what’s that number on your face?”
“It’s the year I graduated from high school.”
“That’s cool, she said! “My grandfather graduated that same year from a segregated school in Georgetown.”
“Hey what’s the theme in the sophomore hallway deemed politically and socially acceptable,”I asked her!”
“Pluck the Bluejays!” she said, and I added, "And while we’re at it, “Pluck Everybody!”

Freddogg

“The Plame boss-the Plame”! Turning up in my life all over the place from 60 Minutes to Diane Rehm NPR radio interviews and I’m sick of the bitches, all the bitches, Valerie, Diane and Katie.

How can anyone trust a signing spy who won’t shut up and looks so perfect? Scooter Libby was charged and sentenced later commuted by Bush, for Obstruction of Justice, because he wouldn’t give accurate information to a Special Ed Prosecutor who was trying to burn his boss. Cheney don’t play yo!

Hell I’m a right winged Liberal and now Joe Junket Wilson and Valerie are promoting her book about being outed as a CIA operative. What’s next for Valeria, NFL sideline reporting?

I’d out her myself if it weren’t too late and I’d never go grouse hunting with Pork Chop Cheney who may “accidentally” shoot me for no good reason.

The tragic thing about all this beltway stuff is everyone is corrupt and I’m not rich or powerful enough to join them I just pay taxes to give them all money to play with.

And what if it comes down to a choice between Hilary and Rudy which way do they swing? You know they both have walked on the Wild Side and speaking of a “gay marriage” maybe they should marry each other?

What happens in a democracy that has an entire building called the CIA? I mean don’t people park there everyday? I’ll bet that every spy in the world knows every other one and that they go to each other’s parties.

Freddogg

I watched a Thursday night football game on ESPN last week featuring South Florida at Rutgers and I really found sideline reporter Erin Andrews to be so annoying. It wasn’t until I googled her image that I realized she got the job because she is supposed to be a “major babe” so like fine go to the playboy channel and let me watch the game.
Erin Andrews actually said this ““South Florida Coach Jim Leavitt just pulled quarterback Matt Grothe aside and said “It’s time for you to start thinking with your head.” Is there a ‘real guy” out there in the entire world who doesn’t understand the two headed monster joke?”
Speaking of saying clever things that turn out dumb last Saturday I was the emcee at a Buddy Walk for kids with Downs Syndrome. I was calling them up to an outdoor bandstand to get medals, hats, pennants and discount liquor store coupons and whatever when a kid came up behind me.
“Do worry down here is Sussex county everyone comes in the backdoor” I joked, and it’s true, it’s also true the Rehoboth is a gay town and suddenly I was in the wrong joke out of context, the joke that isn’t funny I was Erin Andrews, a bandstand babe but not really, because Miss Piggy began to wear me out.
I was talking to a fastidious fit couple who were elated I am not because after all I swore I was so cool with my microphone when Cheryl who is clinically short and played the roller skating Miss Piggy in the Muppet Movie call me Mr. Pot Belly, got a laugh, so said it again.
I struck back because the little piggy wiggly was getting on my nerves. I am here donating my time at a fundraiser for Downs Syndrome buddies and Miss Piggy is wearing me out? What is that all about?”
Cheryl just found that delightful, got a big smile, hugged me around the waste and rested her head on my belly. “Save the Planet” I rolled off my tongue, which she found hysterical.
My grandmother used to say, ”Don’t get too full of yourself or you will grow up to look like Poppy.” Poppy is the roll and I am the seed. See you at the bagel shop!

Freddpigg

Back in 1970 the last period of the day in a seventh garde classroom I was faking my way through a film strip on Ancient Egypt. There came a sentence: ” The Pharaohs were buried in a casket called a Sarcophagus.”

I had never seen the word before in my life because I hate all things Egyptian from camels to sphinxes and the Nile river delta and shut up already about the cradle of civilization because I’m a sports guy and who did you ever beat, you old six day war victims?
I read the word out loud and pronounced it “Sack-row-fuck-us!” The class went wall peeling crazy with young boys screaming “he said fuck us! The teacher said “fuck us!”

And I’m thinking “fuck you little weasels!”

Four score and many years later I walk into a high school hallway and stop a couple of softball girls.

“Hey girls, I have to take pictures at your game today. Do you know if there is any room in the jugout?”

They looked at each other then back at me.

“What?”
“Dugout! Dugout! I, of course, said, room in the dugout?”

“You said jugout Fredman. “ They once again looked at each other then back at me.

“See you after school in the jugout Fredman.”

I guess that was my Sports Center Freudian fantasy and the more you talk and say "I didn't mean jugout I meant dugout" the more guilty you look.


Freddoggy

I was raised a Catholic, I was an alter boy and was never rear ended by a man of the cloth, cincture, sphincter, alb, miter, rod or staff. Now as an adult the group I don’t trust the most are protestant groups of young adults who lead young teens into happy jumping up and down parties of no alcohol, drugs or sex.

What teen in their right mind wants that? It’s as unnatural as celibacy itself and sobriety may be natural but the clear focus is annoying which is why people drink in the first place.

I send out a warning to parents of all teenagers,”Don’t trust them! And if the way they talk and behave is too good to be true that’s because it isn’t true.

And at least if some drugged out loser with a criminal record of misdemeanors comes walking up your driveway you know what your dealing with but the sparkly boy who wants to “chat it up’ with you? Just smack him hard in the head and tell him to stay away from your child and to go run his game of secret sick fantasies on someone else. Soon or later he will be walking into a kicthen and that dateline guy will commence to interview him.

I know I’m right about this.

Father Freddogg

I haven’t had a drink in weeks and I don’t do mass buffet feedings and I don’t particularly like backyard garden parties with country band and portable dance floor and old people in straw cowboy hats two stepping and smirking like they’re rocking my world. But nonetheless “there I was” the Elephant in the middle of the backyard having a difficult time being inanely social and small talking.
A discussion about Marion Jones came up and I mentioned that we are a culture of performance enhancement and physical augmentation so who cares and how is it different from a person-I pointed to a guy-who takes an aspirin everyday to prevent heart attack thereby robbing the rest of us the adrenaline high and pleasure of trying to jump start him at a party-‘Queer”-I mean Clear!”
Then a “nationally acclaimed” photographer introduced me to his “lady friend”- known as a Bitch in Hip-Hop culture-as a small time writer of some renown -and I corrected him-you meant to say small town- and she then pompously asked, ”Oh, do you write fiction.” And I went Philadelphia Society and said,”I don’t write no fucking fiction” my idea of novel would be a dog playing the drums.
And then not surprising I was alone with myself until the raw meat and chicken legs hit the table and I guess I was annoyingly in the wrong place and space because people kept asking me “Are you in line” and finally I told one women who was spinning a leg in her mouth and out came a chicken tibia and fibula and I said ‘I am standing in the middle of a yard and I am not in your line I am just standing here not everyone standing somewhere in this world is in your chicken leg line has that ever occurred to you?” She spun another leg in her mouth then not in the least bit fazed or offended said, ”Well then could you just go stand someplace else because everyone thinks your in line and you keep starting a new line that doesn’t move and doesn’t go anywhere.”
I just love people because you could be the most creative writer and inventor of fiction in the world but “the man who starts lines” is a concept only created in reality.

Freddogg

An exasperated psychiatrist throws up his hands then looks over at his patient with Multiple Personality Disorder and says,” Look man. I just can’t do this anymore. I’m not making any progress. Just who the hell are you?”
The patient looks back: “We’ll have to get back to you on that one.”
Last Thursday it was high winds and overcast skies, a little chilly and the perfect time to take the dogs to the beach. Susan and I were having fun watching them chase each other and a tennis ball into the ocean. They were on leashes but we were not.
I looked to the south and saw a man on a bike heading in our direction. Darby dog was secured by Susan while Jesse swam in the ocean.
The man stopped and began to lecture us about park rules including dogs on leashes and pulled out an I.D. tag that identified him as a member of the Citizen’s patrol. He said a woman down the way had her dog off the leash and it was chasing birds. I recognized this guy as an annoying community fruitcake and my blood began to boil. I told him he was dismissed and wondered under what circumstances I could pull out a Citizen’s patrol card and start lecturing a guy twice as big that was with his wife and two dogs? There are no circumstances short of a Euclid stone quarry dump truck tire rolling over my head that could change me into that person.
This is the fourth time in the last year that a citizen has had the courage to interrupt me and a dog in nature. The entire clamor of Mike Vick killing dogs is s smoke screen. Most people treat all dogs like criminals under house arrest. A dog on a leash is not a real dog it’s a fucking balloon dog.
I am not capable of smashing an annoying certified dog vigilante person in the face because I am a humorist and must forfeit that title if I start knocking people out. Sometimes I just say something like,”I’m about to pick you up and throw you into the ocean and there is nothing you can do about but you are welcome to try. This cleansing of your annoying soul will commence in two minutes.”
This is certainly strange information for the rule mongers to process but as I go expressionless with that thousand yard stare they always leave.
Hence the Multiple Personality joke at the beginning of this writing. Just who the hell are any of us or is any of us?

Freddogg Off All Chains at All Times

I am the winner of this year’s Nobel Schmuck prize. I was already a finalist when just this afternoon I was walking through the Lowe’s parking lot with a construction grade 75 foot rubber hose-I hate it when I’m ready to wash my car and the hose is kinked-I mean I really violently hate it- and just after I tossed the hose into the bed of my Tundra an old limping man carrying a empty silver bowl ask me for a donation to help pay for his wife’s funeral because she just died of diabetes and he didn’t have any insurance or job to pay burial expenses.
I should have asked “well where’s the bitch now” but the guy wasn’t a drunk and so I processed all available information and gave the guy a wad of one’s totally nine dollars. And as soon as he procured the money the story stopped dead just like his diabetic dead wife who was probably at home setting the table for the high stakes blue collar pinochle tournament at the trailer park.
I sat in my truck and watched the guy work figuring it was entertainment for my nine dollars. I saw a man who is always complaining that his son doesn’t get enough newspaper recognition playing sports. The guy gave him nothing in fact everyone but me gave nothing which is why I win the Nobel Schmuck prize.
Once after a Ravens game I saw a little old black man on his knees begging for coins. A young white dude stopped at a traffic light jumped out of his pickup and ran over and gave the guy a can of Budweiser. The guy got up went over to a wall and sat back practically purring and he tasted the first sip.
Budweiser boy was a semi finalist for Nobel Schmuck but I won because that guy was just a regular schmuck while I am a stupid schmuck.
And you know what? I’m o.k. with all of it!

Freddogg “Ain’t To Proud To Beg”

I stepped onto the Rehoboth Boardwalk at 10 a.m. this October weekday morning and thought ‘It is like a treadmill and conveyor belt moving in opposite directions and meeting at stop.” The people, most retired were moving but barely, lots of aluminum canes and slow steps, people leaning to the side with fat bellies and legs. It was depressing and then again not. I was swimming in a school of arthritic amphibians and I was thinking “spines talk back as we age the amazing thing is that they last as long as they do.”
I saw a young Dad reflecting pride that beamed from his skull as he looked adoringly at his goofy looking son being pushed in a stroller. “The kid looks so cute and perfect to the young parents but I could tell by the shape of the wide forehead and shock of hair down the middle that this kid would grow up to be a non qualifier and have to go to community college before transferring to the state university.
And what is with the baby steps that many elderly people take and how can they possibly pass me but they do. I am one step forward and two back on the treadmill of progressive deterioration and they are conveyors of a message I do not want to hear.

And there was knee replacement rehabbing guy and his loyal and adoring wife and I wondered if she knew if the situation were reversed old gimp would be thinking, ”I can’t believe I’m out here on this beautiful morning hanging with some old bitch that can’t walk.”
I limped and hobbled and some friends asked me what was wrong and I said,”Nothing, it is god’s makeover. What you see is the new me until I get worse.”

Peace Freddogg