Freddogg Off The Chain

A man with a Ph.D. in sociology purchased an army barracks compound post World War 2 in the middle of affluence and quickly turned it into a white ghetto and had no problem filling up the place with disjointed families heading by alcoholics and drug users and domestic batterers.
I taught at the junior high where these kids came to school. About 200 in grades 7 through 9 with low self esteem who problem solved through violence and talked nasty all the time even the girls.
One morning the kids from Lacy Park were particularly agitated because a body was hanging from a construction crane at one of their bus stops.
Crises counselors with college degrees and six thousand degrees of ghetto separation came to school to console dirty foul mouth talking prone to violence pubescents who outwardly found Mr. Blue Head to be an hilarious site and they just couldn’t stop talking about it and punching each other and threatening to hang each other’s mothers.
A recent survey of Inner City East L.A. high school students conducted by a Loyola Marymount youth group and published in the Los Angeles Times concluded

“A survey of 6,008 South Los Angeles high school students shows that many are frightened by violence in school, deeply dissatisfied with their choices of college preparatory classes, and -- perhaps most striking -- exhibit symptoms of clinical depression.”

One therapeutic used as an avenue to therapy is a ghetto game board game sort of like Monopoly
“Where the familiar squares of Baltic, Atlantic and Marvin Gardens might be, the options included Drugs, Dean's Office and Drop Out. Jail was a place to go when you're pulled over by the cops for no apparent reason. Restroom was where the player was likely to encounter gang members. Where Boardwalk should have been, the square read: "Dead.”
Clinical depression is chemical while situational depression is a healthy reaction to an unhealthy situation. You’re supposed to be depressed if you attend one of these hell holes and that should be motivation to get the hell out.
Can you imagine "hanging out all day" with a multitude of depressed teenagers and trying to teach them exactly what? That reality doesn’t bite? That their lives don’t suck? I’m depressed just thinking about it.

Professor Freddogg

You don’t have to be in the Starr Report to be in my show. It was a Friday night before a high football game I was covering for the newspaper. I was sitting at a bar in Wilmington with a friend who “knew the bar” waiting for a sandwich. The Starr Report walked into the bar and flopped itself down. It was September 11 of 1996.
“I just printed this out,”said the guy across the bar. “I intend to sit here and get drunk and read the entire thing.”
Amazing how 12 years later the Clinton’s are playing hard ball with OBama and it is working as Barack is fading like a half miler who ran the first lap too fast. 9/11 could be tactically thrown back at Hillary the next time she wants to ask Obama why he hasn’t walked out on Reverend Wright.
Also in the Starr report is reference to the Paula Jones sexual harassment charge, she claims that Slick Willey dropped his pants in front of her in an Arkansas motel room and that she could prove it because how else would she know he ironically swings to the right.
Speaking of surviving what about NBA Hall of Fame broadcaster Marv Albert who hid behind a motel room door naked dressed in a women’s wig and attacked his date from behind allegedly screaming “here I come from downtown—Yes!” before biting her on the back.
There was a sexual assault charge plea bargained down to a misdemeanor and during the trial another woman stood up and screamed “the sick bitch bit me too and then forced me”” Hey, Hey, that will be enough of that!
Obama needs to call in some “yard core” educated brothers as advisor's and develop his own deck of face cards to throw down like a card game of ghetto tonk on the Clinton's because you know those jokers have a deck just waiting to shoot the moon on his mommy was a white women’s ass.

Peace. Can’t we all get along?

Freddogg

All the campaign spin balanced against administration lies about Iraq and the systematic ripping off of the American consumer not only by oil companies but also stock market speculators who create an artificial economy and it’s no wonder that perplexity rolls right through your front door as you ask yourself, ”what the fuck should I do?”
“Ride a bike” does not seem logical because everyone in your town will conclude you just lost your license to DUI no matter how many yellow jerseys you wear. And it is true yuppies will ride a bike with a basket and child seat on the back but they’re not getting away with anything because we see them for what they are…posers!
I was overhearing a prep school lacrosse team last night discuss halftime strategy and I was heartened by the liberal use of the F word. These were real men, leaders of the future, speaking from the heart, using the language that made America strong.
I recalled a conversation with Pete the Barber, an Italian American who survived infantry duty in WW2. Pete said the Americans pushed from the south and met the Russian pushing from the north and "as we the held out our hands greeting as allies the Russian smiled and said, “Hello American G.I. Fuck You!” And it was all good as Pete responded “Fuck you too!” Men of the world from factories-what’s a factory- to the Ivy Universities all say "fuck" a lot. Even the Pope has been known to joust- “Fuck me? I’m the Holy Father-Fuck You!”
I would like to see just one "no decorum observed" honest presidential press conference where someone would ask the question “Where the fuck is he and don’t even say you don’t know. How in the name of a Garmin GPS does the crooked 6’5” terrorist on dialysis not only hide out but make videos that aren’t digital? Are you trying to get us to believe all that and also believe the too tall for camel jockey hooked nosed bastard is hiding out among extras from a Raiders of the Lost Ark movie.
I still believe Bin Laden was “plowed under” on the first invasion of Afghanistan and only a CIA heavy equipment operator knows the true story.
And if he is somewhere, which is unlikely, let's lock and load and march on in there because that’s what we’re good at. Terrorists in Iraq are already doing what we want which is to blow each other up so how can we improve on that?
If that bin laden boy is alive and responsible for 911 then let’s go get his ass Today. And let’s draft all those fucking college students to be part of the rumble plus they need motivation to learn about geo political positioning.

Correspondent Freddogg

“Love’s The Only Engine of Survival” Leonard Cohen.


I sat on the bench outside the service station waiting for my 4Runner fresh from oil change and tire rotation and spare cranked back underneath where it had been for 180 thousand miles. I hate an ugly tire and rim almost as much as a donut tire.
An older couple-defined as older than me- (a man big enough at least for a couple of Tibetians) came out manifesting post partum bill depression. He carried the portable oxygen with deviated house into his septum while she had the right side leaning leg limp thing going on.
They were gazing into each other eyes like teenage lovers and you know what that means but let’s not even think about that. And then he kissed her like “we just paid a bill together now it’s off to the diner for some scrapple.”
Their old school boxey brown shaped Dodge Caravan crept past me and it was so dirty you could hardly see through the gull spattered windshield. It looked like a Rorschach test for dirt bags. She was driving while he concentrated on boosting his oxygen saturation.
A sticker on the back read “I Love my Wife” and another sticker was obscured but perhaps it said “Jesus didn’t own no power washer with 6 H.P Honda engine.”

“Just an old fashioned love song coming down in three hub harmony”

Freddogg

I have been humming this tune since 10 am Tuesday morning.

What do you get when you fall in Love A guy with a pin to burst your bubble
That's what you get for all your trouble I'll never fall in love again.
I'll never fall in love again.

Because at 10 a.m. I took a picture of a 15 year old high jumper and I said to her, ”You look like a young Dionne Warwick” and she responded “Who is Dionne Warwick”?
My dumb answer was “Whitney Houston’s aunt” but I stopped short of “Do you know the way to San Jose and Psychic Hotline commercials”, in fact, I meant what I said to be complimentary and wanted to avoid saying “You look like Dionne after facial reconstruction so her face could match her beautiful voice.
Early Dionne “A chair is still a chair even though there’s no one sitting there” had that left to right low to high bite look going on which I liked, something attractive about a crooked smile and a pretty voice.
“I know I’ll never love this way again hold on hold on” who is Dionne Warwick? I was leveled.

Freddogg barking up the barren tree of musical memories

I’m going back to Memphis back home to see my momma. The only clothes I got left that ain’t rags is my pajamas.” Levon Helm 1977

I was at the Delaware Department of Motor Vehicles down home Sussex County Division this morning charming a fat young white girl so she wouldn’t dog me out and send me back home mission unaccomplished.

I saw an old man walk past and out the door carrying a license plate and wearing plaid pajamas. “Did you just see that guy wearing pajamas,”I said.

“It don’t surprise me none,” the girl answered. “I’ve seen a lot worse that that.”

And why is it that people get all dirt bagged up to get a car inspected or change over a title.

I saw a black man in a shirt of vertical stripes and another in a shirt of horizontal beach ball color design. Black people call these “white boy shirts” which I guess makes these guys Nackers.
And layered flannel is still in fashion including the black guys. I saw some hard looking older white guys hanging out getting trailers re-tagged looking all cock strong, we’re talking men who have never played a sport or gone to a gym but if one ever had occasion to grab you in anger you just ain’t getting loose. These are the type of men who can lift a man hole cover in the line of work but they are not working out to look better because they don’t care and they look it, they are simply strong, goofy and dangerous and hate David Letterman, Larry David and Barack Obama.

Postscript: 35 years ago I had a high homeroom at a special school for emotionally disturbed teens. I saved absentee notes and the last full day I put all excuses together and wrote them on the board. A hippy named Bill Jones was absent 45 times. His notes written by his mother were all the same. “Please excuse Bill he was ill.” We all called him Ill Bill.
Then there was Alonzo Simmons the bruising and introverted fullback from the football team. Alonzo had 23 notes written by his mother which all read “Please scuse Lonzo he be gettin his car spected.” We all called Alonzo “Mr. Simmons.”

The good news is I’m not ill and I don’t have to get my car spected for another year.

freddogg

“Good morning celebrants and supplicants will everyone kindly rise the fuck up?”


I am in the beginning stages of a new disorder which will someday bear my name and become a syndrome. Currently I call it Configurational Disorder where I see the general structure of a word but my subconscious mind changes it to make it inappropriate, or god forbid, funny. And now I’m starting to mishear words like when I asked a young waitress last week, ”How would I like my flaker? What’s a flaker?” She said, ”I said filet" and I’m thinking “filet me too”-you know aluminum diner humor. Fredman Syndrome may be my lasting legacy or in layman’s terms ‘When Grand Pappy went Full Blown Nuts.”
Last week at a meeting something was said about United Epworth Methodist Church but I heard "United F Word Methodist" and, of course, I would join if there were such a religion.
I had a dream on Martin Luther King Day about a yodeler with turrets syndrome. “Yodel yodel bi-ite me” would be funny if you shouted it from the early morning hill side like the proverbial Dylan rooster at the break of dawn except in the village you would be the fowl mouthed yodeler.
All progressive syndromes begin with a harmless and innocuous event like a few years back where I told a mobile waitress that I prefer my cheese to be happy. My wife asked my why I was trying out way obscure material on a blue collar waitress in an upscale restaurant.
‘She asked me if I wanted some frustrated cheese and I said “no thanks, I prefer my cheese to be happy.”
“She said, ‘fresh grated’ not frustrated.”
“You mean as opposed to grated a long time ago and pushing an expiration date? But the bitch is walking around carrying a fucking cheese grater. You don’t have to say fresh simply ask ‘you want some of this bullshit cheese shaved or should I just whack off a block”?

You can see that for males who begin life in the classroom of double meanings and sexual innuendos that some of us would return to the happy playground of yesteryear. Every word written or uttered is a challenge to be changed to something inappropriate. Starting the game that cleverness is held in high regard but at the end of the game everyone thinks you’re crazy.

Fred Doggy Daddy

I love a mailman who ends each day getting hammered at the local bar while retaining that icy stare that enables him to read every smallish psycho cursive writing style passed down by double recessive genes. Larry the Postman of West Chester was the undisputed American dart board champion at Joe’s Bar, a blend of townies and underachieving college types not unlike me.
Bars are magical places and fun, too bad alcoholism is such a ruinous debilitation but while it last, before the loss of job and dissolution of the family, there are tons of laughs and life philosophies to be learned.
Larry and I were tied going into our Tales from the Crypt almost dark out dinner time showdown of split darts-2-3-7 across the bottom. Larry was postage due and pasted while I remember myself as not being under any influence and that’s the beauty of alcohol and handling it, only the losers brag “I am so fucked up”!
Larry held wood-the hammer-so I went first and hit a double and two triples for a score of 8. Larry was lunch meat and he was wobbling like an unbalanced gyroscope. He was having a hard time steadying himself on the toe line that had seen some drunken toes over the years, toes that curled and reached to steady a torso.
I have never read a Shakespearian play but I knew what was coming, Larry threw a “white horse” all triples which won him the game and a beer from me and another on the house.
Beers were a freaking quarter at Happy Hour 1968 and a plasma donation across the street at the blood bank earned eight dollars or 32 beers but no one can drink 32 beers and all I can say to the Lite beer lost generation is-you don’t know anything!
The retrospective question is if you can acquire contagions from a tainted blood transfusion can you also improve your dart game?


Freddogg

What do you call the place where Special Education and No Child Left Behind meet the world of the adult workforce? I call it KMART which is on the economic skids like a parking lot of empty wood pallets.

Today I picked the aisle with the snaggle-toothed retired biker and recovering crystal methamphetamine dude running the register. He was friendly and congenial said he too was going to get some of that Vitamin Water on sale.

A big headed white woman about 30 with short hair making her look like a jack-o-lantern, configurationally speaking, came over to bag my catch. I had noticed her on the way in because of how loud she was in normal conversation. You could not speak that loud without throwing your shoulders into the delivery but somehow she managed-it was like crazy loud.

I asked her what I ask a lot of people “where did you go to high school” and she surprised me by yelling,” Saint Mark’s.” I mean you can't judge a frame by the bedding she just didn’t look like a preppy private Catholic school type girl.

“I was just up at Saint Mark’s a few days ago for a girls lacrosse game, ”I said. “There have a new field torched by an overdose of roundup and a new bench but those Catholics don’t trust anyone because they also had a brand new trash can chained to the bench like some student was going to get out of school look way over to the bright silver trash can and conclude, ”I need to come back under cover of darkness and steal that baby. What an awesome trash can?”

Then snaggle tooth said,” I’d be more worried if they left two pieces of wood some nails and a hammer” and loud girl just went off the hizzy and the pair of them were like Bose speakers. It was wild. I was walking away when I noticed the surly and bad attitude black girl working the customer service desk. She was a former student of mine.

“Why you gotta be over there telling your dry jokes to them loud white people Fredman”? I swear, you just never stop.”

I walked out looking like one of those squinting people you see who are in their own world trying to figure something out. “That was a catholic crucifixion joke that went over my head,”I said to myself. I need a hoagie!”

Don’t know where the hoagie came from and don’t care I just went and bought one.


freddogg