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It’s about my dog Bo if only I had known why he and his pal Scamp waited for any chance to be in the kitchen. If I turned my head for a second, into the kitchen they’d romp. All the time I thought they were just two hungry dogs, until the day I walked in and Bo and Scamp both were wearing white chef caps and white aprons. They had oven mitts on their paws. They chopped and diced and cooked like pros. Succulent aromas saturated the house, and any who inhaled the fragrance salivated like Pavlov’s Dogs.”
“Is this a fairy tale?” I asked.
“It’s a true story.” Angelina continued,
“‘Out of the kitchen, dogs!’ I yelled, but they ignored me and dished out a plate of what looked like moist warm Kibbles and Bits for me. To be polite, I took a bite and to my palate’s delight, it tasted better than a Porterhouse Steak.
“Bo asked if I wanted more. He not only talked, he cooked too. I knew he’d be more faithful than any husband ever would. I figured that if I could have a litter like Bo or Scamp, I’d soon be rich. I immediately started looking online for a bitch to breed Bo and I looked for another for Scamp. Before I found a suitable mate for either one, I figured I’d find out where they learned to cook and if they could teach their pups to do it.
“Hey Bo, come here boy.” I couldn’t believe I was going to have a conversation with a dog, but then again, I couldn’t believe the dog was a gourmet cook, could talk and even washed his paws before handling any food. “Tell me where you learned to cook as well as you do.”
“Do you really want to know?” Bo said in barks that came out like words.
“Yes indeed, Bo. I need to know, so if you have pups I can train them to cook like you.”
“Sit down, and I’ll tell you if you promise to never repeat it to anyone.”
“Once upon a time, long ago, a light came from the sky and shone on my ancestor Howling Wolf. The energy from the light filled his brain with knowledge. He taught many wolfs how to cook and clean as I do. Then a rebellion began amongst the cubs. They didn’t want to work in the kitchen. They howled at the moon night after night, protesting that it was a crime against nature to have to cook and clean when they could be running down game.”
“Bo, did you eat some LSD laced puppy chow?”
Bo raised his paw, “I swear on my sixth sense that every word is true. Well, that light had made Howling Wolf so smart he figured out a way to keep all the wolves happy. For those who wanted to hunt and work, the solution was to let them follow their nature. For those who wanted to be pampered pups, he created humans.”
“Hold on Bo. You’re saying a wolf created man?”
“He was no ordinary wolf.”
“I can’t believe you. Why don’t all dogs cook and clean like you and Scamp?”
“We’re trying to break away from the pack. We believe it to be cruel to force humans to pick up our doggy doo and have to brush and bathe us as they do. We want to be independent and live as Howling Wolf did. Then we can be proud to say, ‘I’m a dog.’”
“I’m proud of you Bo. I tell everyone I know how smart my dog is.”
“Hold on there. You have that backward. Before I showed you I could cook, who did all the work around here?”
“Why, I suppose I did.”
“Who picked up after me when I took you for a walk?” Bo said and curled his lips in a doggy smile that meant he thought he had made himself clear.
“But I was in charge, and that made you my dog.”
“You’re deluded as most humans are. You and other humans were created to fill our needs, to cook and clean for us dogs. To give us baths and dress us in fancy clothes if we desired.”
“Wait a minute; I think that’s weird to dress up a dog.”
“I know, I had you made that way. Those pansy critters who dress like that are weird I think, but Howling Wolf said that dogs could choose to do anything they wanted.”
“Hold on here Bo. You’re wrong. If dogs are in charge, how do you explain the dog pounds where so many dogs are euthanized?”
“How do you explain penitentiaries?”
“They’re for people who don’t obey the law,”
“Ditto for dog pounds,” Bo said.
Bo was deluded and thought he was my boss, so I said, “I’m looking for a bitch so you and she will have a litter that I’ll sell for a bundle.”
As we spoke, a man walked past the kitchen door. Bo ran out to him and kissed his feet. “Oh what a cute dog,” he said and smiled at me. My heart melted, and I said, “He thinks you’re cute too. Would you like to come to watch him cook lunch for us?”
“Cute and he cooks too? You’re a lucky dog to have one like this.” He picked Bo up and kissed him.
Bo looked over his shoulder, with that doggy smile on his face. “I found you a stud to breed a brood of kids that’ll cook and clean for dogs like me.”
I worked every weekend I had a chance to during the summer, because work in construction always slowed down in the cold months. I took a day off figuring I’d do something fun for a change. I found myself in the Katzenjammer Kid’s bar on Lincoln Avenue in Chicago’s New Town section. The same place I went to unwind every night after work. Except for Bob, Chuck the bartender and me, it was empty on this beautiful summer day in 1976. I sat there wondering where I could find some excitement when suddenly Bob, a redneck guy from Kentucky, blurted out, “God almighty, Joe, look at this.”
“Nakid women, by god!”
“Yeah, so what?”
“Goddamn. Take a look.”
He shoved a copy of The Reader onto the bar in front of me. I took a swig from my frosty Old Style and glanced at a full page ad for the “Miss Nude America Contest.” The small print read, “Get naked and mingle with contest participants during our celebratory dance. Clothing optional.”
“I don’t know. What kind of girls would enter a nude contest?”
“Good looking ones. Look at the paper. It’s a nudist camp.”
“Nah, I’m not going. Never wanted to go see a bunch of guys walking around with their Trouser Hawgs hanging out,” I said.
Bob looked at me with narrowed eyes. “Who the hell’s going to be looking at Pussy Plungers with naked women running around?”
He had a point there, and I didn’t have any plans for the day, so I said, “Okay Bob, where is this place?”
I didn’t know if I wanted to go to a nudist camp with a horn-dog like Bob. He would screw anything he could get his hands on. I thought of Sally. A nice girl, but a bit retarded. She stopped in the Katzenjammers for a beer now and then. Bob took advantage of her every chance he got. Heck, just last week Bob fought with my friend Jack, because he screwed Jack’s girlfriend.
But what the heck. I didn’t want to sit in a bar on a beautiful summer day, so I figured Bob could do whatever he wanted once we were there and it wouldn’t be any skin off my ass.
“Hey Chuck,” I said, “Give me four cases of cold Old Style beer on my account.”
“Account, what account?”
“Account of I don’t have any money.”
Chuck looked at me like I was an idiot. Bob threw a fifty on the bar.
“Thanks Bob,” I said.
We loaded the beer into my Buick convertible, and I went to the drugstore and grabbed five rolls of film for the camera I always kept in my car. I paid for it. I wasn’t really broke, but if I was going to do the driving, I figured Bob could pay for the beer. We put it in the back seat and dumped two buckets of ice onto it that we got from the ice maker in the Katzerjammer.
I took I-65 to Highway 10 and drove to 3449 East State Rd 10. Near a pale yellow mailbox, I found a sign saying, “Naked City Nudist Camp, next left.”
We drank most of one case of beer along the way to Indiana and had a good buzz going. I almost passed the secluded entrance to the camp set back in the woods. We were already on the alert for naked women, but all we could see was nicely kept round, one-story building with a funny sloped roof. Bob and I paid our admittance fee and carrying three bottles of Old Style each, we entered through a gate in the eight-foot high chain link fence surrounding the camp.
“Is this here fence to keep people out, or is it to keep them in?” I asked.
“Hot damn, who cares? They can keep me here for the rest of my life,” Bob said as his head twisted from side to side, still looking for unclothed females. We paid our admittance to a big bouncer looking guy who allowed us through the gate.
Happy as a clam, I couldn’t believe I was really at a nudist camp. Never even considered going to one, but here I was. Pokey, my small brain, stood up a little, equally charmed.
“Hot dog!” Bob exclaimed, “sure never thought I’d see so much gash at one time in one place.”
It surprised me too, seeing so many shapely women walking around not only topless, but bottomless. I always pictured women at nudist camps being dried out old women who looked like Sunkist prunes.. Maybe it was just because of the contest that so many attractive young women were in the place.
If it was normal for so many lovely women to be prancing around naked, hell, the nudist camps would be overflowing with guys like Bob and me.
“Hot diggity dog! Looky there, Joe.” Bob pointed to an area where four artists were painting abstract and floral designs on four nude women’s skin, and eight more naked women stood in line waiting to be painted on.
“Let’s go, I always wanted to paint,” Bob said, and headed right for the girls.
“Hey! One more step, and you’re going to be hurting.” A muscular man dressed almost identical to the guy at the entrance blocked our path. Three big guys stood behind him. They wore black T-shirts and jeans that were probably uniforms for security. I grabbed Bob by the arm and pulled him away.
We backed off and continued to walk around ogling the naked women. We came to what looked like a boxing ring. It even had ropes around it They were probably there to keep the girls from falling off, or to keep the drooling men away from them when they strutted around to be judged on this stage set up for the contest. A noisy crowd of men with cameras bags and other photographic equipment hanging from their bodies stood anxiously waiting for the contestants. Many of them paced back and forth and anyone could see how worked up they were.
“What’s going on with these guys?” I asked one guy who appeared to be more calm and relaxed than the herd.
“Normal behavior for those perverts,” he said.
I looked at the camera I carried and wondered if I was perverted for wanting to take pictures. I wanted to ask him, but a roar went up from the crowd. A limo drove slowly towards where we stood.
“That’s the owner,” the relaxed guy said. “He’s a genius. He made a fortune by recruiting shut-ins with nothing to do. He figured a way to have them keep track of radio advertisements in order to assure the companies paying for advertisements received the spots they paid for.”
As we conversed, the Lincoln limousine stopped. My jaw dropped when I saw the blonde with size 38-D breast driving completely nude, and my jaw almost hit the ground when I looked and saw the girl in the passenger seat, a naked brunette who could have been a centerfold model. Pokey went into a spasm when both girls got out.
The loud chatter amongst the leering men stopped suddenly, like someone had turned a volume switch off.
A big security guy opened the rear door of the limo, revealing an interior upholstered with pink fur. A man with leg braces sat there with two additional fine-looking girls dressed in skimpy pink fur outfits matching the car’s interior. For him to have women like these attending to him, I figured his attraction had to be money. What else?
“That’s him.” The calm guy poked me and pointed to the guy as he slid out the door and into a wheel chair. “He not only came up with this idea, he opened a truck stop with nude waitresses.”
The blond and brunette pulled out a ramp, and the fur clad girls rolled the crippled genius in his chair down the ramp onto the grass. He looked like he was the happiest man alive and I couldn’t blame him. It must be heaven to have so many beautiful women toadying over him. I was almost envious, but I knew I wouldn’t trade places with him for anything, no matter how ladies he had fawning over him.
The loud chattering of men rose again as they oohed and ahhed at the combination of the luxurious limo and gorgeous girls. The genius who owned the camp sat smiling in his wheel chair.
Then I noticed some hot babes arriving and going into the circular building near the entrance.
“Come on Bob, let’s go get two cases of beer from the car.” I don’t know where I got this idea; I imagine Pokey gave it to me.
“We’re going to get inside, where all the hot babes are.”
“Just follow me,” I put a case of beer on my shoulder. Bob followed my example and we went to the door that I had seen the women go through, marked by a large sign that said Authorized Personnel Only. I knocked with my left hand as I used my right to balance the case of Old Style on my shoulder. A rough-looking man dressed in the black security “uniform” opened the door.
“Yeah?” he demanded.
“Delivery,” I said and pointed to the case of beer on my shoulder. He waved me in, and Bob followed behind with a case on his shoulder. I’d seen stupid stunts like this in the movies, but didn’t expect it to work.
Security wouldn’t let us get into touching distance while we walked around the camp, but here we were, surrounded by nude females. Pokey got excited, and I knew Bob, horndog that he was, must be going crazy too. The contestants busied themselves with make-up and fixing their hair, the only thing they were allowed to wear in the contest.
“C’mon Bob, follow me.” I found an empty room, put the beer in it, and took off my clothes. Bob started to undress too. “Go find your own room,” I said. I didn’t want to be naked that close to Bob.
Bob went down the hall. I made sure he stayed in front of me as we walked back to the large open room where the nude contestants congregated. Naked, we fit right in with the crowd. After drinking a few beers and watching the procedure for a while, I noticed when the new contestants came through the door they didn’t know where to go or what to do. Eventually someone would guide them to a dressing room, or should I say, undressing room.
Inspired by Pokey, my small brain, I greeted the next girl who walked through the door, “Hello, I’m Joe. I’m one of your contest judges today. Come with me and I’ll show you where to dress, er, I mean, undress.”
Bob listened to my line, and emulated me with the next girl as soon as she appeared at the door. I guided the stunning redhead I’d greeted to the room I stored the beer in. “This is our undressing room,” I said out loud. Under my breath I muttered, “Thank you, thank you, God.”
She let me help her undress, a miracle, to watch a woman who could be the center-fold of the year.
“If I win, I’m using the money to move to Hollywood,” she said.
“Are you an actress?”
“What woman isn’t?” she said.
“Well, you’ll get my vote. You’ll probably do well if you go to Hollywood,” I said, working hard to keep my eyes on her face.
Even though I was pushing the limits now, I was never a grab-ass type. I always felt empathy for women who I saw being poked and prodded. So I simply reveled being in a room with the best looking woman I’ve ever been naked with.
The girls got in line once they were ready, so after the redhead got in line, I went to the entrance and guided another new arrival to the room.
“My name is Jean. Are you going to vote for me?” she asked as she unbuttoned her pink blouse.
“Yes,” I said.
“Good. I need the money to pay for my son’s operation.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Lots of stuff.”
I didn’t believe a word she said, not even her name. I escorted her out to the main room and escorted a girl with long black hair back to the undressing room.
“How many girls are competing against me?”
She took her jeans, panties, and underwear off in swift movements and folded them neatly before placing them on a shelf.
“Why are you entering the contest?”
“To show my husband how lucky he is to have me.”
I couldn’t figure that one out. If my wife entered a nude contest, I wouldn’t consider myself lucky.
“You’re going to vote for me, right?”
“Oh, of course,” I said.
I saw a timid looking brunette standing by the entrance and escorted her to the undressing room, and found her a spot to leave her clothes.
“Why did you enter the contest?” I asked. That became my first question because I was trying to figure out why women entered these kinds of things.
“The winner is bound to be noticed by the major men’s magazines. Heck, I may even make Playboy. Maybe even the centerfold.”
Dream on, I thought. She wasn’t nearly as attractive as many of the other girls I saw walking around.
Once they let all the spectators in and all the women lined up to stroll on the stage, I stood admiring them, pretending to jot notes on a clipboard I found. One yelled out, “Joe, don’t forget, you promised to vote for me.” Another said, “He’s voting for me,” and another said, “He told me the same thing.”
All of them gave me scathing looks. Pokey shrank from the humiliation of getting caught lying. My big brain took over at this point, and it didn’t let their comments deter me from enjoying the show.
I grabbed my camera and mixed in with the crowd of fully dressed photographers. Once the contest started and the girls pranced artfully around the stage, occasionally bending over. The crowd of photographers went wild, roaring, pushing and shoving to try to get closer to take pictures. I couldn’t believe the looks on their faces, some hungry, others leering, and every one of them obviously excited beyond belief. I turned my camera away from the women and onto the crowd of men acting as if they’d never seen a naked woman before.
Once the contest was over, Bob and I roamed the camp. I noticed a few other nude men at Naked City. When I saw the sizes of their Towers of Power, I figured they were here mainly to parade their oversized small brains around.
As a man I’ve been trained to never look at another man’s junk, but when it’s waved around in the open air, it’s pretty hard not to notice one that’s three and four times the size of mine. Pokey didn’t measure up to those small brains surrounding me.
Bob and I got to the pool, and by this time we were finishing off the last few beers and drunk as skunks. Otherwise, I never would have had the courage to stand on the diving board and bounce up and down while all the people poolside watched Pokey with derision.
I didn’t let it get to me, because I fantasized about the nude dance starting in an hour or so. Unfortunately, I never got to dance. Horndog Bob lost control and grabbed the wrong ass. Security twisted Bob’s arms behind his back, and escorted us to the gate, throwing us out and our clothes after us.
“If we see either of you in here again, you won’t be walking home!” one beefy guy shouted.
“Gawd, this means we’re going to miss the dance,” Bob said as he pulled his pants on.
For a minute I thought Bob was going to bust out in tears and start bawling. I was disappointed about missing the dance too, but exhilarated from the day’s events. We got to my car just at twilight. I put the key in and cranked it, and cranked it. It wouldn’t start. Forgot to gas her up, but we still had a case of beer. We were out in the country where everything closed when the sun went down. We carried the beer to the side of the road, and drank it while we tried to hitch a ride to Chicago.
After a long wait, a white guy, in his thirties picked us up, Bob jumped in the back seat and I took the shotgun seat. Almost as soon as the door slammed and the car accelerated Bob said, “Holy Shit, you should have seen all the Putang at the nudist camp.”
“Yeah, I never saw so many bare assed women all in one place, I said.
“Please guys, I’m a priest. I don’t want to hear about nudity.”
“Didn’t God create us all naked?” I asked.
We drove the next fifty miles in total silence, and as we were getting out I said, “I don’t want to pollute your thoughts with images of naked women, but I learned something today that you should know.”
“And what’s that?” the priest asked.
“The women entering the contest, they’re all seeking the same thing.”
“What?” Bob asked.
He obviously wanted to know so he could give it to them, but I wasn’t trying to enlighten Bob. This priest that couldn’t even talk about nude women should know.
“A woman’s sense of self-worth is directly tied to her appearance. They’ll do anything to feel better about themselves, and if getting naked does that, I don’t think it’s a sin.”
By the look on his face I could tell he didn’t appreciate that I was trying to tell him, “I thank God I wasn’t born a woman.”
I arrive on an intense wave of electromagnetic radiation
to paint the world with colors and hues
I’ll snip from a rainbow that has seven I can take
but black isn’t one It’s missing from the colors allowed
so in the middle of the evening I’ll have to paint
the night in a different light while I dream
I can paint and create a new world when asleep
and if I do you will never know who changed
every color you used to see
I’ll stick a hose into the first polychromatic-rainbow I see
and siphon blue and green to spill onto the sky to create
turquoise clouds with an orange sky all held together
by buttery cream-colored string
I’ll paint pictures in the sky of a golden-hued heaven
outlined with whirls of red and royal-purple mixed
with a large proportion of love for artistic things
and behind every cloud I’ll have angels sing and play
until night arrives when the clouds hide behind the moon
stars and angels will feel the pull to return to the color they were
or change into creatures only suited for the dark night
If I wasn’t in a dream I’d never know creatures go home
when the sky turns black I use my rainbow hues to alter this
and paint white all the black in the sky until the stars and planets
no longer glow or twinkle they cry and say this nasty world
is no place to be when a man is allowed to choose colors
for the sky and erase the night that many need
to stay alive even the angels don’t want to sing are
in my dream but must do everything I imagine
dreams sometimes change in this one the moon, mars
and stars decide to gather and return my highlighted colors
to the rainbow and turn the snowy-white-sky black again
I’m not discouraged to stop taking rainbow colors to paint the sky and
bright-white over black makes it so planets moon or stars can’t shine
the man in the moon punches a hole in my white sky so the black behind
pours onto the white I put there and the universe spreads it all over the sky
my imagination has died killed by those I painted in an attempt to make them
more beautiful than they were when I tried to paint clouds skies even the moon
and twinkling stars light became the dark night in my dream I wish to be awake
my wish is granted everything is black am I blind when I feel a wall and know I’m okay
as my hand wanders all over the wall in search of one electric switch to light my night and take control again
can you imagine
Written today Sept, 25 by Joe DiBuduo.
Goldman Sachs gave him plenty of$
resident Barack Obama traveled to Flint, Michigan to talk to city leaders and residents about the city’s water contamination crisis. He said a “corrosive attitude in our politics” is partly to blame. (May 4) AP
WASHINGTON — Visiting a Michigan city where thousands of children were poisoned by lead in their drinking water, President Obama blamed the crisis in Flint on a mindset that “less government is the highest good,” which he said has led to disinvestment in poor communities.
In a speech to a restless audience at a high school gymnasium, Obama also urged parents of those children to get them tested — but also to have faith in their resilience and not to use the poisoned water as an excuse not to expect great things from them.”That attitude is just as corrosive to democracy as that stuff that put lead in your water,” he said. “It’s not enough to fix the water. We need to fix the culture of neglect.”
Obama’s visit to the eastern Michigan city of 100,000 people came three months after he declared a state of emergency to help the city deal with the fallout from a drinking water crisis. In addition to the poisoning from corroding lead pipes, the switch to under-treated water from the Flint River in 2014 is suspected in the deaths of 10 people from Legionnaires’ disease.
But Obama reassured Flint residents that the water is safe now — as long as it’s properly filtered.
“I really did need a glass of water. This is not a stunt,” he said as he asked for water during a bout of coughing. “If you’re using a filter, if you’re installing it, then Flint water at this point is drinkable.”
Obama didn’t assign any specific blame for the water crisis, which has already led to the indictments of three water officials. Obama said only that “some very poor decisions were made.”
“This was a man-made disaster. This was avoidable. This was preventable,” he said. “I do not believe that anybody consciously wanted to hurt the people of flint, and this is not the place to sort out every screw-up that resulted in contaminated water.”
He said the good news is that the Americans from all over the country have rallied around Flint, and the federal response is now in full swing. The president promised free water and filters, expanded Medicaid to treat children who may have been exposed, and job training programs.
“I came here to tell you directly that I see you, I hear you, and I want to hear directly from you about how this public health crisis has affected your lives,” he said. “I know you’re scared. A lot of you feel let down. I also came here to tell you that I’ve got your back.”
Even as he spoke directly to the people of Flint, Obama said he hoped to use that city to spark a “national conversation” about what he called a “pipeline of neglect” in American cities.
“The problems of water were a symptom of a broader issue, and that is a city that had lost a lot of resources, lost a lot of its tax base, was cutting a lot of services, and increasingly, didn’t have capacity,” he said at the end of a meeting with state and federal officials.
Michigan Gov. Rick Snyder greeted Air Force One at Bishop International Airport in Flint, ending days of speculation about whether the governor would participate. He was later booed by Flint residents as he tried to apologize for the state’s handling of the crisis.
When the crowd booed Snyder again as Obama recognized him, Obama calmed the crowd: “No, no, no, he’s here. We’re doing some business here.”
Also on board Air Force One for the half-day visit: Health and Human Services Secretary Sylvia Burwell, Environmental Protection Agency Administrator Gina McCarthy, Rep. Debbie Dingell, D-Mich., and Rep. Dan Kildee, D-Mich.
Reposted from USA Today
Take as many words as you know
and to make them flow mix a potion
in one motion in the name of love
to hear the one you want say those
endearing words you want to hear
put in smart stupid or any you want
so he becomes what the words describe
Guessing isn’t good enough to create a blend
to make a friend change from one way
to another when his mother objects use the next
best or worst words found in the dictionary and thesaurus
that are there to define what makes fine wine and
you wonder under the spell what he’ll be like
after you disintegrate the words and put them into a
witch’s brew to make them true you feed him
a dash of the potion in a cup of tea and hope
as soon as he drinks he’ll turn pink and become wonderful
from the mixed words of hope kindness charity goodness and
humor along with long forgotten historic words
told in fairy tales that made people full of laughter
and to live happily ever after
It has me in its grip
blinded by claims of fame
promising me what I need
and there’s no letting go
while I’m in pain, I believe
what I do is okay and
I’ll fill my needs with my
wish to please but I shouldn’t become
greedy with my craving for admiration
from girls.eager to satisfy
without saying please
I don’t need drugs to work
but hope everything I need
to fill my needs will come my way
and never let go
until I discover stupid and getting
screwed go together
like a writer with dope
I suffer when my name appears
on the cover of a book and it brings
no fame no girls no money no acclaim
yet, I continue inscribing words and I know why