It has always been my intent to try and keep everyone’s ice time as close as possible while trying to keep competitive with other teams. It is not an easy task to try and get the kids off the ice for a shift change while play is going on. I am always open to suggestions that any one might have , about ANYTHING . If there are any parents that would like to assist in working the bench during a game I would be more than happy to oblige. TRANSLATION- I WILL GIVE YOUR FAT ASS A STOP WATCH AND TELL YOU THAT YOU NEED TO GIVE EACH PLAYER ON THE TEAM EXACTLY 15 MINUTES OF PLAYING TIME AND YOU CANNOT CHEAT AND GIVE YOUR BORED, UNINSPIRED, SPOILED, TALENTLESS LITTLE BRAT, ONE SECOND MORE OF PLAYING TIME THAN ANY OTHERS. WHEN YOU THROW YOUR HANDS UP AND TELL ME IT IS IMPOSSIBLE, I WILL PAT YOU ON THE BACK, GIVE YOU A HAPPY MEAL AND RECOMMEND THAT YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR THE DURATION OF THE SEASON.

Please contact me with any concerns you may have regardless of what they might be . Don’t forget that we follow the 24 hour rule for any complaints to any of the coaches. The intent of that rule is to prevent any “heated” discussions that may cause hard feelings , not to give you time to forget the problem . Level heads solve more problems than hot ones ! Hockey is a journey , not a destination- TRANSLATION- I HAVE A MILLION OTHER THINGS GOING ON IN MY LIFE OTHER THAN COACHING THIS TEAM FOR NO MONEY. I DECIDED TO COACH THIS TEAM BECAUSE MY NIECE IS THE ONLY GIRL PLAYING ON AN ALL BOY SQUAD AND WANTED TO ENSURE THAT HER EXPERIENCE WAS AS POSITIVE AS POSSIBLE GIVEN THAT YOUR HORMONE DRIVEN LITTLE FUCKS ARE THINKING ABOUT LINING HER UP A WHOLE HELL OF A LOT MORE THAN PUTTING A HIT ON AN OPPOSING PLAYER DURING A GAME. WITH THAT IN MIND, WE CAN DISCUSS YOUR CONCERNS AFTER 24 HOURS SO THAT I AM NOT TEMPTED TO ASK YOU TO STEP OUT TO THE PARKING LOT AFTER THE NEXT PRACTICE. I’D ALSO LIKE TO RECOMMEND THAT YOUR SON TAKE UP GOLF BECAUSE THERE IS A LOT LESS PASSING IN GOLF AND HE WON’T HAVE TO FEAR BEING HIT UNLESS HIS ASS IS STANDING ON THE FAIRWAY. I AM FULLY AWARE THAT YOU FEEL YOU COULD COACH THE TEAM A WHOLE LOT BETTER THAN ME. BASED ON THE PARENT/PLAYER GAME THAT WE HAD BEFORE CHRISTMAS, I WOULD HAVE TO CONCLUDE THAT YOU NEVER PLAYED AND ALTHOUGH YOU HAVE SEASON TICKETS TO SEE AN NHL TEAM, I SUSPECT YOU ARE WATCHING THE BEER VENDOR MORE THAN STUDYING THE GAME ENOUGH TO VOICE AN OPINION WORTH CONSIDERING. REMEMBER WHAT DEAN WORMER ONCE SAID IN THE MOVIE ANIMAL HOUSE? “Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life, son” – DON’T BE THAT PERSON.

I hope it will become a life long love your child can someday share with their own kids . There are many skills he will learn along the way . Some children pick up the game easier than others, that doesn’t mean they can’t all have the same amount of fun. See you at the rink- Coach Bob-TRANSLATION- YOUR KID WILL HAVE KIDS ONE DAY PROVIDED THERE ISN’T OCEAN FRONT PROPERTY IN KANSAS WITHIN THE NEXT TWENTY YEARS AND WE GO OUT LIKE THE DINOSAURS. I HOPE YOUR CHILD REMEMBERS YOUR SCREAMING AND BERATING YOU GAVE HIM FROM THE STANDS AND SHUTS HIS FUCKING MOUTH AND JUST SITS AND WATCHES THE GAME. YOUR SON WILL NOT BE IN THE NHL UNLESS HE CHOOSES TO WORK AS AN USHER AND SIT PEOPLE AT AN ARENA. THAT IS AS CLOSE AS HE WILL GET TO WORKING AT AN NHL ARENA. I WOULD SUGGEST YOU ALL READ UP ON DARWIN. YOU MAY GET BORED AND SINCE YOU REALLY DON’T READ MUCH OR UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU ARE READING, PLEASE READ RE-READ. I WOULD STICK TO THE INHERITENCE OF ACQUIRED CHARACTERISTICS. THIS WILL EXPLAIN A LOT TO YOU ABOUT NATURAL SELECTION, SURVIVAL OF THE FITEST AND THAT PHYSIOLOGICAL CHANGES ACQUIRED OVER THE LIFE OF AN ORGANISM MAY BE TRANSMITTED TO OFFSPRING- FURTHER TRANSLATION- WE CANNOT PICK OUR PARENTS. IF YOU ARE UNATHLETIC AND SLOW, DON’T EXPECT TOO MUCH FROM YOUR SON… WHATEVER… I’LL SEE YOU AT THE RINK- COACH BOB

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900,000 vacant lots within the city limits of Detroit and to occupy a blighted big city sounded almost charitable. Bill was feeling anything but compassion for the city of Detroit and the United States in general. Bill started off watching crowds of people on television in the Middle East fell leaders like Mubarak and Gaddafi. It was en vogue to drop heads of state like at no time since the fall of the Soviet empire. Billy joined people in occupying parks in places like Oakland and New York Cityonly to be returned home by Billy’s father’s deep pockets when it came time to bail him out. Soon the idea came to Billy to amass as many dissatisfied, disenchanted, and downtrodden; serfs and petty bourgeoisie and set up camp around the General Motor’sRenaissance Center in the heart of downtown Detroit ironically enough called Hart Plaza.

At first, Bill didn’t have many takers as most of his Detroit buddies who lived in metropolitan Detroit, knew that at night, late night, there were not a whole lot of people around downtown Detroit. Sewer covers blew off steam like English tea kettles every few feet around desolate streets and sidewalks. Every now and then you’d see a Chrysler 300 at a red light, waiting for no other cars to pass as the lights quietly turned from green to yellow and red. Most police officers patrolled several blocks away in the more vibrant Greektown where middle class Detroiters could take a stay-cation at one of the casino hotels, eat at a fairly upscale restaurant and try to win their house out of foreclosure inside the casinos. Those that stayed at the Hilton at the top of the GM Renaissance Center drove in by taxi or limousine and never had to venture out into the streets of Detroit. The people the protesters were trying to harass were largely unreachable. From up high, executives staying for a night or two could see the tents set up in the plaza. Most thought it was some sort of Hooverville in a town with nearly 20% unemployment.

The first Occupy Detroit gatherings were sort of pathetic as those who wanted to yell and scream at passersby took note of congregation of homeless men who actually danced to the sounds of a drummer who was leading a chant, “Bring out the 1%, bring out the 1%”. The black homeless men wondered if somehow the population of white people had actually dropped to 1%. The thought of white people being only 1% of the city of Detroit lead a few homeless people to wonder if they should pick up and move to other big cities where there was a larger pool of financially stable and generous white folk. The native Detroiters felt sort of silly when nobody noticed them except a few Red Wing fans that cut through HartPlaza on their way to Joe Louis Arena to catch a game. The hockey fans thought it was sort of dumb to camp outside in inner city Detroit but they politely ignored the small group. Within a few days, the Detroit protestors packed up and went home without any fanfare. No beatings, television crews, cops with night sticks or tear gas. Billy had to retool. Billy read up on other charismatic leaders like Hitler, Jim Jones, Pol Pot, Fidel Castro and H. Ross Perot to see how it was that they were able to draw people to them. Billy would never admit to reading Perot’s biography since he was in the top 1% of the top 1% but he read it nonetheless.

Billy remembered Michael Moore’s movie called Roger and me and how Moore had hounded a GM executive named Roger Smith everywhere in order to get an explanation why it was that he closed GM plants in Flint, Michigan and so Billy wrote a letter to Moore in hopes that he might be willing to help a fellow antiestablishment native of Michigan. Mooreliked the idea quite a bit. Michael Moore then used his larger base of fans and followers who hated the government, rich people and the mainstream in general and before long, Billy had close to a 1000 people who had descended upon Jefferson Avenue in front of the GM Renaissance Center in downtown Detroit. Moorehad chosen a rare time when there were throngs of sports fans out to see the Detroit Lions on a Sunday afternoon and the Detroit Red Wings in the evening. Moore told Billy to get the people together at about five in the evening and think of something that would bring traffic to a screeching halt. Billy had a great idea.

Hundreds of football fans on their way to see a hockey game and hockey fans that had just seen a football game, were stopped by a large group of mostly young white people who were throwing metal spoons onto Jefferson Avenue in front of the General Motors building. Bill felt like Che Guevara and Fidel Castro rolled up into one big Hugo Chavez. Bill climbed up a statue that symbolized the city of Detroit onWoodward Avenue and spoke through a megaphone. A few news trucks were out in front of the melee and filmed the action. Bill was in heaven.

The crowd quit banging drums and throwing metal spoons onto Jeffersonwhile Bill stood with his ratty looking red dread locks that hung like dirty rope over a Jamaican flag hoodie as he shouted into the amplification device.

“I’ve been to Seattle and New York and Oakland to help the people of those cities get people to understand that we are being taken for a ride by our government, by the fat cats who own 85% of everything worth owning. Look at that giant symbol of what the government involved itself in… General Motors. General Motors made a shit product and made the people at the top wealthy while working people on assembly lines lost their jobs. What happened? Your government gave your tax dollars to save a company that should have never failed. General Motors was once the largest manufacturer of automobiles in the world and they became in danger of going under. How does that happen? Your government bailed out companies that have fucked us all in the ass… How many people are out of jobs? How many people have been foreclosed on? Who has swooped up and bought up all these homes that once belonged to working people? The very banks that have caused this fucking mess. You starve and they eat cake with silver spoons in their mouths. Well if they are in search of a spoon tonight, my friends let them come down to the streets ofDetroitto find one. Millions of spoons for millionaires. When are you going to wake up people? When are you going to get up out of your chair and go to the window and yell that you’re mad as hell and not going to take it anymore?”

It was at that moment that a man by the name of Bob who owned a gun shop and riffle range in Northern Michigan, had decided that since the Lions were in danger of making the playoffs for the first time in years and that the Detroit Red Wings were in danger of making the playoffs for the 21st year in a row, that he would make the pilgrimage to the city of Detroit that epitomized everything that Bob disliked about America; Crime, racial tension, traffic, shopping malls, unemployment and rich white kids with nothing better to do than take up a liberal cause. Bob decided to rip through Jefferson over the spoons in his large truck, sending protestors flying to the left and right of him. A dozen or more people had leaned on a sign near the tunnel to Canada that read, Welcome to the United States of America. The sign snapped off and flew into the windshield of Bob’s brand new GMC truck that had a hand painted sign on both sides and the back window that read, “Bob’s Emporium of armaments- The playground for those believe in the Bill of Rights.

The windshield looked like a kaleidoscope after the heavy sign hit the windshield. Bob exited the vehicle as his wife rolled down the passenger side window and calmly lit a cigarette and gazed at the mob that had filled the street. Bob walked towards the sound of the voice and saw the slight figure yelling passionately into the megaphone. Bill seemed like the ring leader of the band of misfits and so he pulled Billy down off of the symbol ofDetroitand gave him and ass beating like he had never had before. The local news caught the whole the incident. A large man in a Detroit Lions hat and a Red Wings Gordie Howe jersey beat the young man with the megaphone senseless. Protestors through bottles and rocks at the Bob and before long, large groups of drunken football and hockey fans came to the rescue of Gordie Howe or at least a man wearing his jersey. When the dust settled,Detroit had made the national and international news. Possibly a million spoons littered Jefferson Avenue in front of the GM Renaissance Center and brought traffic to a stand still. Red Wing and Lions fans and protestors alike were taken into custody by the Detroit Police. Billy was given his proverbial one call. Billy called his father as he always did and expected to be bailed out without question once again. Billy hated his father for being a rich and successful owner of a flatware company that had moved operations from the United States to China. The spoons that were scattered all over the streets of Detroit came from a warehouse belonging to Billy’s father. Billy, well known to everyone who worked for his father, loaded crate after crate of spoons into trucks from his father’s factory for the sole purpose of letting people know that the rich were born, living and dying with silver spoons in their mouths. Billy’s father attitude had changed towards his son. He was very firm and to the point with Billy who had cost him a lot of money by stealing his spoons. Several millions.

“I’m going to speak plainly to you, son. The fake Rasta hair, no deodorant, Reggae listening, Haile Salassie is god bullshit was cute. You thought you’d rebel against having life the easy way and I would just sit back and shrug my shoulders because I should have some sort of guilt for having money. I have no guilt, son. I don’t know a man alive who ever claimed to have enough money and today, you cost me a whole lot of money. Your father is part of the 1% and you thought you might try to punish me at a tremendous expense by taking my spoons. You’ve dubbed yourself the new voice for the poor and people of color, right? A modern day Lenin waiting for the revolution to take hold in the streets of Detroit. It isn’t coming, Billy. Well I want you to know that you are going to work to pay off your debt. You want to ally yourself with the poor and ordinary man. You’re going to be right there with them now. Reading Marx and hating me while I put you through college and this is what I get… A big bill for all your pseudo communist bullshit. Here’s the deal, son; you will learn what it is like to truly work for one solid year or I will see to it that you spend your time in jail for what you’ve done. This is America, son. A free country and one where you have choices and so I give you the choice, if I bail you out this time, you go to work for one year, no days off or you can say no and know that I will do all I can with my pull and connections to see that you do at least a year for your brash stupidity. When some lifer is lining your ass up in the shower like a Penn State date, you’ll wish you had joined the proletariat… The choice is yours to make.”

In a factory in a remote part of China, where people wear medical masks over their faces at all times and are forced to breathe the air that has a strange tint to it when the light of day illuminates the sky, works Billy. Behind him wearing a suit is a young black man, whose only job is to watch and live with Billy 24 hours a day for a year. The day after Billy’s father bailed him out of jail; Billy’s father ordered a shake at a fast food restaurant and offered a job to a young man that was mopping a floor who was roughly the same age as Billy. The young man went from making minimum wage to a half million dollars in a year and his only job was to make sure Billy worked every day, twelve hours a day, loading silverware into boxes to be shipped to the head quarters in Detroit,Michigan. Hundreds of sullen Chinese stood in front of an assembly line, collecting spoons, knives and forks with one young white American. Jefferson, who just the week before had to take two buses to make just over $200.00 a week, was dressed in nice clothes, had a chauffeur and a nice apartment that he shared with Billy. Billy’s father sent Jefferson a text, thanking him for taking the $500,000.00 dollar job that came with a bonus of a new car and a condo if Billy could complete the year without fail. Jefferson replied to Billy’s father.

NO THANK YOU, SIR. AND THANK YOU FOR KEEPING THE AMERICAN DREAM ALIVE AND WELL. GOD BLESS YOU, SIR.

Jimmy loved skulls and singing about death and Satan and Cindy was part of the Evangelical women’s group at Church that helped raise money for born-again single mothers in Senegal. Jimmy screamed incoherent lyrics through an octave divider that lowered his voice and distorted it so that nobody could detect that he had no pitch while banging distorted chords on a Flying V guitar. His fans were angry suburban boys in their teens. Cindy sang in the women’s choir at church while playing an organ. Most of the songs she sang were two hundred years old. Jimmy never moved out of his parent’s home and Cindy moved out at the age of twenty-three. After three failed marriages, Cindy found god and a wealthy man. Jimmy never married but had a slew of fragile relationships that one might experience in junior high. Jimmy believes that Zanna is a keeper.
“Ok… So James will be given title to the home in Hamtramck and everything in it as well as the 1987 Lincoln Continental and Cindy will receive $352,000.00 that are in certificates of deposit. The following messages are to be read to each of you prior to signing any documentation… Jimmy, you were always such a good boy but so dumb in many ways. You graduated high school in 1978 and never grew up. The music you play hurts people’s ears. You wear clothes that nobody wears anymore and have a haircut that makes you look like an ugly woman. You got this dog walking thing that you started in Gross Pointe and I think it shows that you are worried a little bit for your future. Don’t waste all your money on Marijuana. I know you still sit up in your room and smoke Marijuana. It is no secret. After thirty five years of smelling it in my house, I have become accustomed to the distinct odor. You’re 51 years old and still go to those shows with high school kids, play video games and do drugs. It is time to grow up. This New York girl you got now is nothing but a user. You want some companionship and like your poppa used to say; a piece of ass is nothing but a drain on your life. You get her pregnant and you are going to regret it. I’m guessing in her early forties that she could still have a few. You were always good to me and took care of me despite the fact that you had no ambition. Never any back talk. You were a good boy. You get the house. I paid the taxes for the next two years. You have to make enough money and put away for utilities and taxes. You got to cut the lawn and take out the trash. Nobody will tell you to do that no more… Now then, Cindy… You were an angry child who blamed me for not leaving your father years ago but then went on to marry three men who were angry drunks. You hated life for not being able to have children. You hated Detroit so much that you could never come to see me. I would call you and you would never answer. I would get blanket Christmas cards addressed to everyone you knew with all those Dachshunds dressed up like reindeer every year with some kind of a re-cap of your life with Carl and all those dogs. You could never just write me a personal card, it always had to be some long winded thing about you and dogs and your women’s group and about some people you don’t even know in Africa. Did you really dislike me that much? You traveled to Alaska in an RV but could never make it to see your mother in Michigan. You use religion as a crutch for your great unhappiness. You were a good looking girl with a scowl on her face and have become a lumpy senior citizen with a permanent frown. I want to thank you for coming to my funeral if you in fact made it and hope that your dogs all cry at your funeral along with the people you’ve never met in Africa. I suspect you’ll die and a few people at that Protestant Church will sing a few songs and say a few nice things for you and then they’ll have coffee cake and punch and they will need to try and figure out who will play the organ at the services going forward. Sadly, we are all replaceable. My only goal in life was to be a good wife and a good mother. Once you two grew up, I realized I missed the boat on the most important thing in life which was to make myself happy.
So you sat in a foreign Catholic Church in Detroit and listened to some young fellow say some nice things about an old lady he never knew. Something about god calling his flock home and so on. While this was all going on, you were probably taking a head count and were wondering what it was going to cost to feed all those people you didn’t know. For this reason, I want you to have all my money that was really saved by your father who saved every extra cent and never did anything with that money. We never went anywhere or saw anything. Money should make you happy, Cynthia. The only home you’ve ever known should be a comfort to you, Jimmy. Alright. I did my job as a wife and as a mother. You kids were not easy and your father was a bastard but I made it through. Getting a job seating people at a restaurant in Greektown was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. I sat trapped in the house my whole life and then when your father passed, I got a job seating people. They asked if I was Greek and I told them that as a Sicilian. I looked Greek. That was good enough for them. I met so many people over the last twenty five years. I met some really nice people and some not so nice. I met old and young, rich and poor. People of all kinds of colors and shades. If I had to do it all over, I would do it differently as would most people. There is still time on the clock for you both. Figure out what makes you happy and just be happy. Happiness is all there really is. You should not die unhappy because that would truly be sad. Alright then, enjoy the gifts and don’t squander them. I had a good life. Momma loves you.

What colour is blue when the sky is gray. Walk down the streets of Detroit like I came from Mars, come to visit bars full of coulorful coloured folk and they think they know me because the press wants to own me, ride me, pride me like a pony and it’s phony. Won’t eat gluten. I’m free like Putin who wants to keep Russia from anarchy after the fall of The Wall and Soviet dynamo. The Red Army Team came to town when I was young. Ate biscuits and drank coffee in a vast land. I followed the road from Alberta to everywhere, man. Everywhere is nowhere and yet I’m somewhere between where I should be and where I am. Sit in the shade sipping wine no words to this Monk tune that rolls through my mind. If the colour blue is true, I hold out hope for me and you… Coltrane, last train try in vain… Gonna sit outside in Portugal or Spain and write a few words on the balcony in the rain… Rinse and repeat that, Cat.

Now to you and I, words strung together such as this meant little or nothing. A long stream of unconsciousness. Patrice was traded from Phoenix, to San Jose to Boston and then went to Nashville and landed in Detroit at minimum wage for the NHL. The Detroit Red Wings were a finesse team that really did not need a lug or a goon to go out and fight to protect the true hockey players of the team. The fighters were an outdated necessity from days gone by of clutch and grab hockey a la Philadelphia in the 1970’s. Detroit grabbed Patrice and never really played him until one day against Chicago, a heated rival who happened to be winning the game and taunted the Detroit team. The Detroit coach, Mike Babcock, nodded to Patrice, who on his first shift, beat up two Chicago players and mistakenly punched a referee. From that point on, Patrice had a home in the hearts of Detroit Red Wing fans.
Most people don’t know the story behind the finger snapping when Patrice takes the ice. To those from out of town or watching on Versus, it may sound like the theme from the Adams Family is being played. Before long, large groups of Beatnik poetry types who frequented Patrice’s café in the Detroit suburb of Hamtramck, began going to Detroit Red Wing games, wearing jerseys that had the name FORT on the back. Scruffy faced young men who appeared to be anti-sports, showed up wearing Red Wing jerseys, snapping their fingers violently whenever Patrice got on the ice or fought. Before long, everyone got in on the act. It was like throwing octopus on the ice.
After home games in Hamtramck on Jos Campau there is a Beatnik café where people drink and read poetry to Jazz. It is called, Beat Your Ass Café. It is nothing more than an old Polish watering hole that Patrice bought to host poetry readings and feature live Jazz. On the walls are pictures of some of Patrice’s best fights with the dates and names of opponents. Patrice usually appears after games and reads his latest poetry while young Jazz musicians play behind him and others. It is standing room only after Red Wing games. Dig that.

Batom- a bala bate no meu coracao. Dentes espalhados pelo chao- Natural- E a vezes social… Vai la cou boi!

Nobody in the backyard had ever really heard Samba music before or danced to it except Maria who had grown up with it long before they reached Cleveland. They all drank and all danced and gave very little thought to the things Luke had said. They may as well as have danced naked. Their inhibitions disappeared. The Mexican wait staff and the Vietnamese au pair joined in on the dancing as did neighbors adjacent to Luke’s property until the sun came up over Santa Monica Boulevard.

At about two in the afternoon following the party, Luke stood and stared out at the water the way he had once done at the Atlantic Ocean as a boy and Lake Erie as a younger man. He held a cup of coffee and suffered through a headache as he watched surfers off in the distance wading on boards, waiting to catch the right wave. Maria approached Luke and without saying a word, spoke to her husband in Portuguese. I could write what she said to Luke in Portuguese and it would really sound pretty. In English, this is how it went;

“You nearly let the cat out of the bag last night. I really thought you were going to tell them how we know… They could never begin to grasp how we know things. It would blow their minds.”
Luke or Lucio, Joao or John, took a drink of his coffee turned to his wife and replied without opening his mouth with a big toothy smile.

“Pessoas de Cleveland… pode ser estranho…

“The People of Cleveland… can be strange”

Harry- I’m going to California to visit my daughter Julia in Los Angeles next month.
Her husband is such a phony son-of-a-bitch. He thinks I’m stupid because I’m a little on the hard of hearing side.

Joe- They say a girl finds a man like her dad but I say bullshit that.

Oliver- Most of men today are goddamn pussies really when you get down to it.

Harry- Amen to that… So anyway Julia’s husband whom I call Gilligan because he’s
like that twerp from that old TV show. He lets my grandson who is fifteen now run around in girl’s tight jeans. The kid mopes like he’s neglected and carries a goddamn skateboard around with him everywhere. The hair in the eyes and so on. You can’t spank kids no more and they run the fucking show. My son-in-law tries to reason with a kid that is telling him to go fuck himself. So I step in and tell the kid that I fucked meaner looking men in jail and if he ever gets the idea to talk to me the way he does to his parents, he’ll need more than an orthodontist. My daughter got all upset and her husband tells me he doesn’t talk that way to his children… I turn to my grandson and apologize. I sez to him, you know you’re right. Your father should go fuck himself.

Oliver- California is the reason that this country we will have this Muslim
motherfucker doing nothing for another four years. Yes we can do what? What the fuck has he done? Sadly enough, what is the next guy gonna do? The Mormon? They all fucked things up together and now none of them can step outside themselves and just get shit done.

Joe- Did you call him a Muslim because you cain’t call him a nigger in front of me?
Is that what you wanna call him, Ollie? A nigger?

Oliver- You know I will call a spade a spade. I’ve called you a spade, and Javier
making the hash browns a spic and Harry the Heeb and I ain’t gonna change now. If you’re a fag, don’t be mad if I call you a fag. You wanna be African-American? Go back to fucking Africa. You ever been to Africa? Fuck no you haven’t. Harry here is a Jew. You think he’s been to Israel?

Harry- I was in Israel after the war.

Oliver- Okay then. Fuck all of you. Why don’t you join them smelly kids in the park
complaining about people with money. The communists lost. It’s survival of the fittest just like Darwin said. You’re smart? You go to school? Go get a good job. It’s easier to cry and sit in the park. Harry, why don’t you go put on your grandson’s bitch jeans and wheel this African-American over to the next, “Yes We Can” rally. For fuck’s sake… I voted for the son-of-a-bitch too. I don’t give a shit what color you are, if you got a cock or a cunt. You fuck up, hit the fucking road.

Joe- Okay, Archie Bunker… We heard your sermon.

Harry- Did you see the ass on that new woman they got here? She don’t look
Mexican.

Oliver- She’s Puerto Rican. Those Ricans got asses on them like black broads. You
Can tell.

Joe- You know something about African-American women, do ya?

Harry- It’s a proven fact that if you want a real good piece of ass, you don’t wanna
choose a Jewish girl. Foreplay for a Jewish broad is two weeks of begging.

Oliver- Look at this… You remember Bill who moved to Florida to be with his kid?
He’s right here in the obituaries. Looks like the memorial will be here. Bill
was a good guy. Had that annoying habit of sucking up his fucking snots while I was trying to eat, but otherwise he was a stand up guy.

Joe- We’re at that age now when you check the obituaries before the horoscope.

Harry- Let’s talk about something else. How bout them Tigers, huh?

Joe- Nobody gives a damn bout baseball no more.

Harry- That’s not true. Look at attendance at games all over the country.

Oliver- I still love a good game. I think football has taken over by far but I still like a
A good game. Kids today sit indoors watching television, playing video games. You see a thin kid these days; he’s a freak of nature. I’m so sick of seeing young boys with tits big enough to wear bras. What the fuck happened? You got half the country diabetic today. Kids play sports on computers when they aren’t jacking off to porn.

Joe- Oh so you’re against porn? You becoming a Muslim too?

Oliver- I’m against men with tits. You wanna play sports, give your thumbs a rest
and go to a park. When we were kids, our parents lived through the depression. We were told we had it good. I don’t know how much softer things can get.

Harry- You have to admit that porn is outstanding today. You don’t gotta sneak into
Into peep shows anymore and play with yourself in a seedy theater. Technology is wonderful.

Oliver received a phone call from his niece in New Jersey that his last remaining sibling is being put into a nursing home. The dementia was becoming too difficult for his niece to handle with a family and a job. Oliver hung up and said nothing for a minute as he thought about growing up with his older sister who was born prior to World War II. She had always been so sharp and witty. The idea that she had become childlike due to Alzheimer’s was hard for Oliver to swallow. Oliver wondered when his expiration date was. He wondered what it would be that would eventually do him in. He was sad enough to cry but didn’t. Joe and Harry saw that Oliver looked upset, quiet and distant. Joe gave Oliver his moment to process the news he just received without asking what had happened. Harry could not resist. Oliver took a sip of his free coffee, raised his eyebrows before speaking philosophically.

“Boys… We are the future dead and that’s for sure. It’s a beautiful day today. I think I’ll drag the old lady out for a stroll. Dust her off and take her for a spin… I’ll see you in the morning. If I don’t get here by six, one of you grab our table. The damn Koreans know we sit here but will take it if we’re not prompt… See ya, boys.”

Dion stood up and day dreamed as his soon to be father-in-law conducted the wedding ceremony. To Dianna’s eye, Dion looked to have been crying. She had no idea that her betrothed had been drinking, smoking, detained by Canadian border guards and forced to do a full cavity check, naked in a bare room with a lot of lights. Dion could only think about touching his toes and the Canadian guard flashing a light up his ass as the guard probed around with a gloved index finger in search of further illegal contraband. They boys never made it to the hotel. They were detained at the border until the early hours of the morning and then sent back to the United States without their joints or really good stories to share with their friends. During the ceremony, Dion turned and looked at his best man, Theo with squinty eyes and could only shake his head as he recalled the indignity of his night in Canada. Call it bad luck of the draw or that God truly does work in mysterious ways.

David Bowie- Young American

I got a suite and you got defeat
Ain’t there a man you can say no more?
Ain’t there a pen that will write before they die?
Ain’t you proud that you’ve still got faces?
Ain’t there one damn song that can make me
break down and cry?
All night
I want the young American
Young American, young American, I want the young American