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          I used to hurry a lot, I used to worry a lot. I used to stay out till the break of day. Oh, that didn't get it. It was high time I quit it. I just couldn't carry on that way.
Oh, I did some damage, I know it's true. Didn't know I was so lonely , till I found you. You can go the distance. We'll find out in "the long run."     ~  ~ South Beach Crew If you're talking behind my back, you're in a good position to kiss my entire ass! |
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It came out of the Sky II
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Posted:Feb 24, 2011 10:15 am
Last Updated:Apr 8, 2019 9:39 am
14199 Views
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Subtitle; More on the '63 incident!
My mom worked in a garment factory most of her life, later on as a nurse's aid at the hospital when she got older. She passed on Valentines Day in 2001.
My Dad was a Chevrolet parts manager at a dealership in the small town we lived near some 12 miles away. He passed away with hepatitis in January of 1972 while I was a senior in high school. I was the only one of us 11 he didn't get to see graduate. These days he would have lived.
I can't say I was influenced by any of their work or was curious about their jobs, but they were both very hard working parents.
We moved to town when I was 10 after the 1963 incident.
What I had witnessed long ago as a in 1963 at the age of 9 became my future influence at the age of 18. I was approached a week after my high school graduation one sun shiny afternoon by two Government men (one black man, one white man) that identified themselves with being with the Department of Energy outside the small town I live in's pool hall in it's back parking lot. I'd never even heard of the Department of Energy at that time so I asked them what it was. The black man said, "It doesn't legally exist. Does that bother you?" I said, "Not a bit."
After that they immediately questioned me about what I had seen as a without beating around the bush about it at all. I had always remembered to not say anything about what I had seen to anybody, as having been told not to by a great big ugly ass Government man back in '63. Being a back then I wasn't aware that I was being threatened with anything, but at the same time I never told a soul in being too scared to. As I got older I became very aware that I had been threatened, and I was puzzled by it all when I did think about it. I found the best thing to do, was simply not to think about it.
But in 1972 like I said above after being questioned by these
two Government men after all those years I just plainly told them, "I didn't see a thing back in '63. I don't know what you're talking about." I lied and said, "Ive got to go, I've got go to work in a few minutes." The white man said, "You mean down at the grocery store you worked at all through high school? You quit that job the day before you graduated high school, didn't you young man?" I said, "How'd you know that?" They both just smiled at me. At that moment I had just this very eerie feeling that I can't describe fully.
I never once asked them why they were asking me all this stuff after all these years. I was just wanting to get away from them just as fast as I could, and didn't know how.
After asking more and getting the same answer, they seemed to be convinced I was going to say anything about all those happenings I had seen long ago. Then to my surprise they started talking to me about my plans for the future now that I had graduated high school. Then they plainly asked me about going to work for the Government and what possibilities I could do and achieve. It then became a lengthy conversation and nothing more was said about the '63 incident.
In two weeks time after some more discussion over the phone
with one of the same two men, and then a woman, and then signing
a lot of paper work they mailed me, a van came by and got me about 9 am one August morning of 1972.
There was a male driver about 40 years old that was about as talkative as a mute, but did answer any questions directly, and nothing more. The van had Nevada Government plates on it.
When he arrived to get me there were two guys in the van about my age, one from a town in Arkansas I can't remember the name of, and the other one was from Booneville, Mississippi. We stopped in Nashville and picked up two more guys about my age, one of them was from Franklin, TN. We stopped again in Bowling Green, Kentucky and picked another guy my age, and again in Elizabethtown, Ky for another guy. Other than stopping for gas and eating, our next stop was Quantico, Virginia, in it's infancy.
And that's when my career started by beating to my own
drum.
Later on I found out that I was being watched all those years as I was growing up, twice, sometimes three times a year. I read the reports about myself in the early 80's. It was very fascinating to me to read the very thick reports on myself.
I also asked to read about the '63 incident. I was refused on that request.
I had been made contact with by young Government men that were in training doing training opp's over the years as I grew up. When approaching me these men weren't asking me questions, they were just talking to me in general about normal and then teenage stuff.
They even took pictures of me at different stages or ages of my life. Some of the photos were in black and white and some later on were in color. Some of the pictures were taken while I was wearing my Little League baseball uniform and in Babe Ruth baseball also. There were pictures of me at my house in the yard, and of me mowing the yard, and pictures of me in the grocery store I worked at all through high school, and other pictures of me in my old hot rod 55 Chevy. Many other pictures also.
From all the people you see and you talk to growing up as a and as a , to this day, I can't identify a one of those men when they talked to me at any time. So they trained well.
Now a days I refer to all this as the beginning of the end.
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There's got to be a morning after!
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Posted:Apr 17, 2010 10:47 am
Last Updated:Apr 8, 2019 9:45 am
22409 Views
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In the shitty gaa-bie little small southern town of Purgatory I live in I was found hanged from a pine tree limb on the corner of the 1st Battle of Manassas Avenue and The Omen Street in the overgrown front yard of the heavily vine and bush covered abandoned two story house I was hiding away from the world in. It was a blazing hot July 95 degree afternoon with the humidity at 100 %.
The house is a half a block from the only red light in town, and although cars were going by and looking, and people walking by and looking all day it wasn't reported till mid afternoon after my 8 pm hanging the night before.
But I wasn't hung with with rope, but with with barbed wire.
I also had seven assorted Ginsu knives in my back. You know the ones advertised on TV that you cut a nail into with and then slice a tomato real pretty with right after. My throat was also cut from ear to ear, along with a pitch fork ran through my abdomen.
I had been shot in the chest by a 357 magnum, a 38 revolver,
a 30 caliber repeating rifle, an old 44 caliber Confederate
Civil War pistol, and a 10 gauge sawed off shotgun, and once through the temple with an Army Issue Model 1911 Colt 45 automatic.
Pitch forks, burnt out torches, along with empty Pabst Blue Ribbon beer cans that was on sale at the BP convenience store one block away were littered all over the ground around me. There
were also empty bottles of 1/2 pints of Old Grand Dad and
Old WAL*MART whiskey, with several empty packs of Pall
Mall and Lucky Strike cigarettes, along with the butts,
and Tennessee River Crook cigar butts laying all around me
to boot.
There was a homemade temporary barbecue grill set up, along with empty hot packs and buns of what was on sale at the Piggly Wiggly four blocks away, and with empty cans of Government Chili (mine naturally that they stole out of the house) laying all around the hanging scene too. Some of the hot dogs were half eaten. There was a lot of hot dog, beer and whiskey puke on the ground all over the place.
A scrawny Barney Fife looking deputy sheriff arrived on the scene first and started looking around for money. He checked my pockets and found 19 cents and put it in his pocket. He then snorted what look like was either some Cocaine or some Meth as he sipped on a 16 oz can of Colt 45 beer. After he finished off his beer he pulled out his dick that looked something like a skint rabbit and pissed for 15 minutes.
Just then the big pot bellied 450 pound southern sheriff of my county, Leroy Cornhole Beauregard arrived and got out of his car with a big shit stain in the back of his light brown pants. He was eating a stacked pickle loaf, bologna, honey ham, and a huge slice of ruint hog head cheese sandwich with Del Monte ketchup all over it. He was chasing it down with a quart of Purity chocolate milk. He half ass lifted his ass cheek with the hand holding the sandwich, then wet farted real loud and walked over to my hanging scene looking disgusted.
He walked clear around my dead body hanging there, and while
tripping slightly on a couple of the burnt out torches laying
on the ground and kicking a few beer cans and whiskey bottles out of his way, he said to his deputy, "Now that show nuff is the worst god damn case of fucking suicide I evar did see in all my whole born life thar boy. Glad that sum bitch is dead. Don't
know narry a soul that evar liked that fucking boy anyways. Good riddance! I guess the county will have to bury his sorry ass of course."
The skinny meth addicted deputy said, "I recken so thar sheriff."
The deputy found 37 cents laying on the ground that had been underneath a whiskey bottle the sheriff had kicked out of his way in the sheriff's presence. The sheriff made the deputy give it to him, and he grinned real big and put it in his pocket.
Then the sheriff belched real loud, puking a little in his
mouth but swallowed it, and then whale farted real big
one more time again telling the deputy, "Hand me one of them pitch forks thar boy. That'll save me $3.21 down at the Dollar General Store. I'll put the ole lady to work cleaning the barn with it. She a lazy ass bitch you know."
He then told the deputy, "Go down thar on Hallelujah Road
and get a couple of them fucking no count sorry ass prisoners we got picking up shit and get um to cut this lazy no good bastard down. Have um carry his dead ass up to the hospital, and throw his dead ass out thar by the back door. I'll call um about it when I gets the time to. I'sa busy man you know thar boy. Then have um come back here and pick all this fucking shit up and carry it to the county dump. It looks like he had himself a pretty good little party before he killed himself. Guess he didn't want to have to clean all this shit up right here in town. When y'all gets that done gets them two prisoners back down thar and put thay asses back to work on the road again. Then I wants ya to go in that old condemned house and take a look around. That boy may been selling dope. If thay's any money in thar bring it to me. It just might some of that evidence of some kind that's I hears them no count smart ass state boys talking bout all the time. Ain't shore what thay mean when thay talking about that shit, but we'll just keep it between us if thay is some money in thar, as always. And if thay's anything else in there worth selling, carry over to Two Foot (Black side of town) and sell it to some idiots over thar, and we's two'll split the money naturally. Then we'll go arrest them later on for stealing and sell it again."
The deputy said, "Alrighty then thar sheriff."
And then as he turned to leave the scene he slapped the deputy
on the back with a smile and sang, Suppers waiting
at home and I gotta get to it.
When the sheriff got to his car he turned and said, "We's
a be seeing ya at the Chicken diner in the morning for breakfast
thar boy. You pay for it as usual."
Copyright © JKH Production 2010
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ROFLMAO!
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Posted:Feb 3, 2010 1:17 pm
Last Updated:Apr 8, 2019 9:47 am
12226 Views
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A cute vagina?
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I miss that little boy!
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Posted:Jan 26, 2010 8:10 am
Last Updated:Apr 8, 2019 9:47 am
11919 Views
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A lot of you will say no, but I'd really love to be that little old boy again, and re-live it all in my own life span via Quantum Leap.
Wouldn't you really like to do it again?
Picture is of me at the age of 9, circa 1963.
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One person !
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Posted:Aug 14, 2009 6:31 pm
Last Updated:Apr 8, 2019 9:48 am
12714 Views
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To the world you may be one person. To one person, you may be the world. Think about it.
Pic is of a woman I lived with in 1983. I been trying to locate her. She lives, or used to live in the Phoenix, Arizona area. I haven't had any luck in finding her.
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Judge gently if you can !
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Posted:Jul 22, 2009 9:37 am
Last Updated:Apr 8, 2019 9:49 am
14407 Views
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Don't find fault with the man that limps
Or stumbles along the road.
Unless you have worn the shoes he wears
Or struggled beneath his load.
There may be tacks in his shoes that hurt
Though hidden away from view.
Or the burden he bears placed on your back
Might cause you to stumble too.
Don't sneer at the man who's down today
Unless you have felt the blow
That caused his fall or felt the shame
That only the fallen know.
You may be strong but still the blows
That was his if dealt to you
In the selfsame way, at the selfsame time
Might cause you to stagger too.
Don't be too harsh with the man that sins
Or pelt him with Word or stone
Unless you are sure - yea, doubly sure -
That you have no sins of your own.
For you know, perhaps,
If the tempter's voice should whisper as soft to you
As it did to him when he went astray
It might cause you to falter too.
Pic taken at Bien Hoa, South Vietnam, August 1973
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Is time on your side ?
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Posted:Jul 21, 2009 6:01 am
Last Updated:Apr 8, 2019 9:50 am
10830 Views
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Are you really, really happy?
Is all your real happiness these days just past memories?
Is it time for some of us to just head off into the sunset?
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Freedom isn't free
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Posted:Jul 1, 2009 9:36 am
Last Updated:Apr 8, 2019 9:50 am
9983 Views
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God Bless our Military who are protecting our Country for our Freedom. We people of the United States must never forget who gets the credit for the freedoms we have, of which we should be eternally grateful.
I watched the flag pass by one day.
It fluttered in the breeze.
A young Marine saluted it,
And then he stood at ease.
I looked at him in uniform;
so young, so tall, so proud.
With hair cut square and eyes alert,
he'd stand out in any crowd.
I thought how many men like him
had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil;
how many mothers' tears?
How many pilots' planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
No, freedom isn't free.
I heard the sound of Taps one night,
when everything was still.
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.
I wondered just how many times
That Taps had meant 'Amen.'
When a flag had draped a coffin
of a brother or a friend.
I thought of all the ,
of the mothers and the wives,
of fathers, sons and husbands
With interrupted lives.
I thought about a graveyard
At the bottom of the sea.
Of unmarked graves in Arlington...
No, freedom isn't free.
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