There was a boy in high school who was terribly mistreated.   He was born of incest and was severely disfigured.   One afternoon at lunch some of the kids were throwing pennies on the floor and watching him grovel.   He was so poor.   He was useless to them so I told them to stop hurting him and I gave him a dollar.   And hugged him.   I hope you are okay Chuckie!   I am so sorry for what they did.

Chuckie did not wanted to be born in that situation and the problem these days (even more so) is there are fewer people trying to defend the meek and virtually unwanted.    Eighty year old women wander the streets and I wonder where her kids are.   There is absolutely no reason for that,  even if that had grandchildren or great grandchildren to help.

I have often head comments to the effect that should stop ‘fucking’  because they are poor and I go off on anyone who says that.   I remind them they are not born because they chose to be born or where.    The Wheel of Fortune  was fortunate that day and it probably spun the next soul into the wormhole of reality.


This is reality not some imagined sleight by an ignorant asshole.   I would love to bitch slap those morons.    You use a Master Card or a Visa for ruby red lip stick or a case of Viagra.     Local news want you to think they actually care but people such as Cantore is self-promoting in a machismo effort to make you believe he is looking out for us.   What a laugh?   Like Benny Hinn and his hair piece plying dollars for unwitting and lonely.  The only wrong with many is a lack of hope.

Even TV has changed with many variations of misbehavior staged for our amusement because they say that is what we want?   Hey the Beverly Hillbillies poked fun at themselves while in Living Color parodied everyone and they gave the middle finger to the Politically Correct.    Shows of that nature seem to poke fun at themselves.   Not a white male or the redneck.    That term outside the trailer parks is meant in a way that just drives the knife deeper.

But that is my rant for tonight.   I am a bald-headed curmudgeon with milky eyes and frostbitten feet.    I look for an oasis to share with my naked and beautiful wife on an island.    I want a lot of grapes and maybe a dose of whip cream strategically placed.   I want to find a reason why we in that situation and never leave that place.    But I guess how can we know what pleasure feels like without some pain?

So I am clueless to whether poor Chuckie will ever know or care what has happened to him.   Maybe his bliss is more serene than our own.   All I know is you do NOT cast pennies to the hurting because those few pennies represent your soul.


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