Tamales, Tamales, I Love You, Tamales

I cannot in good conscience call my third ex-wife a “hot tamale.” Rather, she was a cold, embittered shrew of a tamale, as you would be if you were married to me.

BILL

Wholly Tamale!!!

Years ago, I sampled my first authentic tamale. Eager to try this Mexican Yuletide culinary delight, I peeled off the tin foil, tossed it into the microwave then took a ravenous bite. Seeing the look of confusion reigning over my face, my East LA cohort said “It’s probably better if you peel off the corn husk.”

BILL

Bill's Man Cave

I actually have a so-called “man cave.” It’s cold, drips water all over the place, reeks of mold and the DirecTV reception is for shit. Worst of all, there are bats! Fucking BATS! The guys hardly ever come over any more to watch the game. I’m telling you, these things are WAY overrated!

BILL

I never complain about my life.

I’m always aware I could be working in a slaughterhouse, my boots slipping in the blood and entrails of animals massacred in a state of sheer terror. Only then do I get depressed. I mean, why CAN’T I work in a slaughterhouse?!!

BILL

When life hands me lemons...

… I simply say “Hey, wait a second. I didn’t ask for any lemons. What the hell’s going on?! What fool is occupying your shipping department? What am I to do with lemons for Pete’s sake! You wanna do some good? Send me some peanut brittle or cinnamon rolls why don’t ya? Geez!”

BILL

The Sound of Silence

The power of sound in film has never been better exemplified than in the 1979 film “Norma Rae.” The scene forever branded into mind is near the end, when a defiant (and Oscar-winning) Sally Field scrawls out a message on a piece of cardboard, then stands atop a table, holding the sign up for everybody in the sweatshop to see, slowly pivoting 360. One by one, the gratingly loud mill machines – which have tormented our ears every time we are here – are turned off until, at long last, utter silence fills the shop. The message she scrawled out of course was: “I have a f*cking migraine.”

BILL

"I'm going to do anything to protect my reputation."

So says talk show host Tavis Smiley, taking umbrage at PBS stopping distribution of his show in the wake of sexual harassment allegations. Does “anything” include a lie detector test, Tavis? Because, if not, well, you know….

BILL

Try This Sometime:

Walk up to an armored car parked along the side of the street, reach through the five inch diameter hole in the side of the driver’s door and , with an enthusiastic, “goochie-goochie-goo!” – tickle his tummy. I do this from time to time and I can’t help but think it makes his day. One time this short black tube emerged – I guess his arm wouldn’t fit – and I think it was his way of saying: “Back at ya, buddy!”

BILL

Capital Crime

I hate when I type an email to a friend and, near the very end, suddenly realize that I’ve been typing in full caps the entire time. I usually just leave the message as is and figure, screw it, let him thing I’m pissed.

BILL

Layla Land

I think if Eric Clapton performed at an NRA convention and DIDN’T play “Layla” he would later be described by the coroner as “the single deadest man I’ve ever seen.”

BILL

My Upcoming Emeritus Years

When I’m old, feeble and incontinent I think I’d like to just be shoved out onto an Arctic ice floe and left to drift, then die. You know, like some frat house initiation prank.

BILL

The Man Who Wasn't In The Voting Booth

The ACLU gave an award to former NFL quarterback Colin Kaepernick, a man who never votes. (I suppose you’re right, Colin, there’s no difference AT ALL between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump.) Perhaps the American Civil Liberties Union needs to be reminded that those “civil liberties” came about by way of democracy. You know: voting.

BILL

Dispatches From The War on Christmas

Monday: Smoke billows upward in endless curls along the horizon while my beleaguered ears grow used it seems to the muffled rhythm of cannon-fire in the distance. I’m afraid the situation can now be described only as bleak. Rumors are rampant that the liberals have been kidnapping portly white haired gentlemen, binding their hands behind them, then hanging them from telephone poles, but not before hoisting signs around their necks reading “Ho-ho-ho,” as if taunting the very name of Christmas. I have yet to verify this with my own eyes however. Hurried, chaotic whispers in the streets claim the rebels might be making inroads against the godless bastards to the east, but who knows what to believe at this juncture? Field hospitals are packed with bullet-riddled rebels and, of course, the battered but still-clinging-to-life wounded of anyone caught watching FOX News. Supply lines have been cut off and I fear all may be lost. Pray for me.

Tuesday: My platoon came upon a cabin just outside of town. Seeing smoke emanating from the chimney, we checked it out. Sure enough, there were stockings hanging by the fireplace. White lace. Victoria’s Secret. Bastards. Is nothing sacred?

Wednesday: Good news! We have captured a spy among our ranks! I myself had suspicions about him from day one when he told me his son was named Sean (after Hannity). Following a brief infliction of a new interrogation technique – namely a tape of Gilbert Gottfried singing “Oh, Holy Night” – we learned that he was assigned by his Field Marshal to a regiment dedicated solely to poinsettia eradication. He stubbornly adhered to only this story when we threatened him with a second bout of Gilbert, at which time he completely broke, spilling his guts out about caroling sheet music theft squadrons, tinsel burning, Christmas tree-farm poisonings and the veritable SS of the opposition: manger vandalism. This is a major coup on our part, one that should infuse our dwindling ranks with some semblance of hope.

Thursday: Rumor has it that anyone seen wearing red and white is shot on sight. I tried to convey this to a clueless, hard-of-hearing geriatric clad in the verboten colors but all he did was stare back at me, confusion reigning in his sunken, dim bulb eyes. Heard later the old codger didn’t make it. Yesterday, a decoded message informed us that that our enemy has become even more ruthless, declaring that anyone found wearing a Santa hat is to be decapitated on the spot, their torso-bereft head then mounted like a star atop twelve-foot pine trees scattered throughout village squares. “Lets Charlie know who did this,” the message read, whatever the hell that means.

Friday: A brief respite from otherwise plummeting morale occurred with a much welcomed truckload of, granted, somewhat stale Christmas-Cookies-Ready-to-Eat (CCREs). Smiles abounded - if only for a spell - somewhat vanquishing the thousand-yard stares that inhabit the eyes of most every newbie. (Seems like a lifetime ago for me.) Some of us even found ourselves sipping the ultimate contraband, spiked eggnog, and singing “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.” Darned if we didn’t feel better.

Saturday: Too shattered to share any details of what they’re calling midnight massacre. Safe to say it was gruesome.

Sunday: Hearing the relentless grind of tanks growing louder, I feel Christmas will fall very soon. This being so, it seems the height of folly to purchase gifts this year. But, hey, look at all the money I’ll save! Ho-ho-ho!!!

BILL

Ode to Days Gone By

TEDDY ROOSEVELT (1910) – “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

IF TRUMP SPOKE ON THE SAME SUBJECT: “I hate critics, you know? Hate them. I mean, really, when I think of what they do, it just—I want to, like, smack them one. Am I right? Right? I get these guys—they have their media elite badge in their back pocket and they think they know everything. Well, trust me, they don’t. Trust me on this, OK? I know what I’m talking about. Let’s see if they can do what I’ve done. Build big building. I’m talking big buildings. You know, like really big. BIG I’m talking. But these guys? Get outta here. Take a hike, pal!”

BILL

The Last Supper?

Now our closest ally, Great Britain, is considering not inviting his clown-ness due to his recent retweeting British far-right anti-Muslim videos.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Trump Administration.

BILL

Actions Have Consequences

If your Southern California home has burned to the ground and you have lost everything you have ever owned, you have my complete, sincere and heartfelt sympathy, unless of course you voted for someone who said science-backed climate change, one of the predicted and – by golly gee – present symptoms of which is greater, more frequent and more severe droughts and the wildfires sure to follow, is a hoax perpetrated upon us by the Chinese, well, you do the math.

BILL

The Cloak of Innocence

Remember, kids, “innocent until proven guilty” only applies to courtrooms, not conversations, so until you start screaming at the top of your lungs “I’ll pay for lie detector tests for myself and my accusers!!” well, Roy Moore, I’ll just assume you volunteered to sit at the kiddie table every Thanksgiving even if Aunt Estelle didn’t overbook.

BILL

The Great Negotiator

“While Democrats were Trump’s targets on Tuesday, Congressional Republicans also have felt the sting of the president’s sometimes capricious style and tweets. The result is that, over Trump’s first year, many lawmakers in both parties are left distrustful of him as a negotiating partner.”*

(Ladies and gentlemen, the Trump Administration.)

BILL

* Source 11/29/17 Los Angeles Times

"Former Trump Adviser Flynn to Plead Guilty to Lying to FBI"

As Flynn himself enjoyed leading the crowd in a chant: “Lock him up! Lock him up! Lock him up!”

(Ladies and gentlemen, the Trump Administration.)

BILL