high levels of COVID-19 cases throughout several parts of the country including at the Fort Wayne location.

Have there been very many Chinese tourists in the Ft. Wayne area?

I know Italy had a high number of Chinese tourists and now even the Pope has tested positive for Covid.

I also know a woman from out east with a few kids who were all in school in Italy. She told me she was scared. I do not blame her one bit. :-/

Ahhh, you discovova the Fotta Wingy cult, BTP. They eat onion rings...lots of them. and the eye makeup- blue. I'm sacred, man.

There's no fuckin' Covid here, only NottaVax injuries and deaths. I'll get the straight story between 0030 and 0130. You're going to get a lot of hospitalizations this winter now that the NottaVax has had a year to destroy everybody's immune systems that was stupid enough to take it. The common cold is going to be deadly for the 'walking vaxxed.'

Tell them you're diverse, ask for a fucking quilt. Equity, sounds of of silence, lol: Nigga, Nigga,Nigga,Nigga, Bitch, Ho, Nigga sing along campers!

Can I hold a dolla?

Not everyone wants to be a nigger, or even a bank robber :)

'Never get out of the boat.' Absolutely goddamn right! Unless you were goin' all the way... Esso got off the boat. He split from the whole fuckin' program.

Oh man... the bullshit piled up so fast during Covid, you needed wings to stay above it.

This is the way the fucking world ends! Look at this fucking shit we're in, man! Not with a bang, but with a whimper. And with a whimper, I'm fucking splitting, Dak.

If that's how Bidet fought the war, I began to wonder what they really had against Trump. It wasn't just insanity and murder; there was enough of that to go around for everyone.

The veteran, the one they called Noone, was from Texas. He was wrapped too tight for Covid; probably wrapped too tight for Texas. Dakmar, on the forward .50s, was a famous smartass from the beaches south of Indy. One look at him and you wouldn't believe he ever fired a weapon in his whole life. Tommy... TommyTheMadArtist... was from some Minnesota shithole and the lies and bullshit of Covid really put the zap on his head. Then there was Esso, the pilot of the storm. It might have been my mission, but it sure as shit was Esso's aircraft!

“As soon as I got on the bank I saw a trail—a broad trail through the grass. I remember the exultation with which I said to myself, ‘He can’t walk—he is crawling on all-fours—I’ve got him.’ The grass was wet with dew. I strode rapidly with clenched fists. I fancy I had some vague notion of falling upon him and giving him a drubbing. I don’t know. I had some imbecile thoughts. The knitting old woman with the cat obtruded herself upon my memory as a most improper person to be sitting at the other end of such an affair. I saw a row of pilgrims squirting lead in the air out of Winchesters held to the hip. I thought I would never get back to the steamer, and imagined myself living alone and unarmed in the woods to an advanced age. Such silly things—you know. And I remember I confounded the beat of the drum with the beating of my heart, and was pleased at its calm regularity.

“I kept to the track though—then stopped to listen. The night was very clear; a dark blue space, sparkling with dew and starlight, in which black things stood very still. I thought I could see a kind of motion ahead of me. I was strangely cocksure of everything that night. I actually left the track and ran in a wide semicircle (I verily believe chuckling to myself) so as to get in front of that stir, of that motion I had seen—if indeed I had seen anything. I was circumventing Kurtz as though it had been a boyish game.

“I came upon him, and, if he had not heard me coming, I would have fallen over him, too, but he got up in time. He rose, unsteady, long, pale, indistinct, like a vapour exhaled by the earth, and swayed slightly, misty and silent before me; while at my back the fires loomed between the trees, and the murmur of many voices issued from the forest. I had cut him off cleverly; but when actually confronting him I seemed to come to my senses, I saw the danger in its right proportion. It was by no means over yet. Suppose he began to shout? Though he could hardly stand, there was still plenty of vigour in his voice. ‘Go away—hide yourself,’ he said, in that profound tone. It was very awful. I glanced back. We were within thirty yards from the nearest fire. A black figure stood up, strode on long black legs, waving long black arms, across the glow. It had horns—antelope horns, I think—on its head. Some sorcerer, some witch-man, no doubt: it looked fiendlike enough. ‘Do you know what you are doing?’ I whispered. ‘Perfectly,’ he answered, raising his voice for that single word: it sounded to me far off and yet loud, like a hail through a speaking-trumpet. ‘If he makes a row we are lost,’ I thought to myself. This clearly was not a case for fisticuffs, even apart from the very natural aversion I had to beat that Shadow—this wandering and tormented thing. ‘You will be lost,’ I said—‘utterly lost.’ One gets sometimes such a flash of inspiration, you know. I did say the right thing, though indeed he could not have been more irretrievably lost than he was at this very moment, when the foundations of our intimacy were being laid—to endure—to endure—even to the end—even beyond.

“‘I had immense plans,’ he muttered irresolutely. ‘Yes,’ said I; ‘but if you try to shout I’ll smash your head with—’ There was not a stick or a stone near. ‘I will throttle you for good,’ I corrected myself. ‘I was on the threshold of great things,’ he pleaded, in a voice of longing, with a wistfulness of tone that made my blood run cold. ‘And now for this stupid scoundrel—’ ‘Your success in Europe is assured in any case,’ I affirmed steadily. I did not want to have the throttling of him, you understand—and indeed it would have been very little use for any practical purpose. I tried to break the spell—the heavy, mute spell of the wilderness—that seemed to draw him to its pitiless breast by the awakening of forgotten and brutal instincts, by the memory of gratified and monstrous passions. This alone, I was convinced, had driven him out to the edge of the forest, to the bush, towards the gleam of fires, the throb of drums, the drone of weird incantations; this alone had beguiled his unlawful soul beyond the bounds of permitted aspirations. And, don’t you see, the terror of the position was not in being knocked on the head—though I had a very lively sense of that danger, too—but in this, that I had to deal with a being to whom I could not appeal in the name of anything high or low. I had, even like the niggers, to invoke him—himself—his own exalted and incredible degradation. There was nothing either above or below him, and I knew it. He had kicked himself loose of the earth. Confound the man! he had kicked the very earth to pieces. He was alone, and I before him did not know whether I stood on the ground or floated in the air. I’ve been telling you what we said—repeating the phrases we pronounced—but what’s the good? They were common everyday words—the familiar, vague sounds exchanged on every waking day of life. But what of that? They had behind them, to my mind, the terrific suggestiveness of words heard in dreams, of phrases spoken in nightmares. Soul! If anybody ever struggled with a soul, I am the man. And I wasn’t arguing with a lunatic either. Believe me or not, his intelligence was perfectly clear—concentrated, it is true, upon himself with horrible intensity, yet clear; and therein was my only chance—barring, of course, the killing him there and then, which wasn’t so good, on account of unavoidable noise. But his soul was mad. Being alone in the wilderness, it had looked within itself, and, by heavens! I tell you, it had gone mad. I had—for my sins, I suppose—to go through the ordeal of looking into it myself. No eloquence could have been so withering to one’s belief in mankind as his final burst of sincerity. He struggled with himself, too. I saw it—I heard it. I saw the inconceivable mystery of a soul that knew no restraint, no faith, and no fear, yet struggling blindly with itself. I kept my head pretty well; but when I had him at last stretched on the couch, I wiped my forehead, while my legs shook under me as though I had carried half a ton on my back down that hill. And yet I had only supported him, his bony arm clasped round my neck—and he was not much heavier than a child.

“When next day we left at noon, the crowd, of whose presence behind the curtain of trees I had been acutely conscious all the time, flowed out of the woods again, filled the clearing, covered the slope with a mass of naked, breathing, quivering, bronze bodies. I steamed up a bit, then swung down stream, and two thousand eyes followed the evolutions of the splashing, thumping, fierce river-demon beating the water with its terrible tail and breathing black smoke into the air. In front of the first rank, along the river, three men, plastered with bright red earth from head to foot, strutted to and fro restlessly. When we came abreast again, they faced the river, stamped their feet, nodded their horned heads, swayed their scarlet bodies; they shook towards the fierce river-demon a bunch of black feathers, a mangy skin with a pendent tail—something that looked a dried gourd; they shouted periodically together strings of amazing words that resembled no sounds of human language; and the deep murmurs of the crowd, interrupted suddenly, were like the responses of some satanic litany.

“We had carried Kurtz into the pilot-house: there was more air there. Lying on the couch, he stared through the open shutter. There was an eddy in the mass of human bodies, and the woman with helmeted head and tawny cheeks rushed out to the very brink of the stream. She put out her hands, shouted something, and all that wild mob took up the shout in a roaring chorus of articulated, rapid, breathless utterance.

“‘Do you understand this?’ I asked.

“He kept on looking out past me with fiery, longing eyes, with a mingled expression of wistfulness and hate. He made no answer, but I saw a smile, a smile of indefinable meaning, appear on his colourless lips that a moment after twitched convulsively. ‘Do I not?’ he said slowly, gasping, as if the words had been torn out of him by a supernatural power.

“I pulled the string of the whistle, and I did this because I saw the pilgrims on deck getting out their rifles with an air of anticipating a jolly lark. At the sudden screech there was a movement of abject terror through that wedged mass of bodies. ‘Don’t! don’t you frighten them away,’ cried some one on deck disconsolately. I pulled the string time after time. They broke and ran, they leaped, they crouched, they swerved, they dodged the flying terror of the sound. The three red chaps had fallen flat, face down on the shore, as though they had been shot dead. Only the barbarous and superb woman did not so much as flinch, and stretched tragically her bare arms after us over the sombre and glittering river.

“And then that imbecile crowd down on the deck started their little fun, and I could see nothing more for smoke.

don't back down
don't back down
don't back down
don't back down
don't back down
don't back down
don't back down
don't back down
don't back down
don't back down

Cap'n Brandon (voice-over): Everybody wanted me to do it, him most of all. I felt like he was up there, waiting for me to take the pain away. He just wanted to go out like a pedophile, sniffing hair, not like some old, senile, hair-plugged, impotent asshole. Even the Kameltoe wanted him dead, and that's who he really took his orders from anyway.

Major Dak to Capn Brandon: You got any spearmint chew, gov? I'll givya two quid! It's so rude to puke on govt officials, but I'm ill, man. You hear me asshole? I'll puke..I'll do it! Get me some gum, JoJo!

Esso: [after having encountered a Karen in the grocery, returning to the truck, and proceeding into a nervous breakdown] You can have the whole goddamn fuckin' shit, man! You can kiss my ass in the county square cause I'm fuckin' buggin' out! I didn't come here for this! I don't fuckin' need it, I don't want it! I didn't get out of the goddamn Eighth grade for this kinda shit! All I wanted to do was fuckin' cook! I just wanted to learn to fuckin' cook, man!

[laughs manically]

They grit their teeth...they don't back down...:)

We worked The Beach Boys back in the 80s. These babes wearing Bikinis were running around. I asked one of them, "Are you really from California?" She said, "Yes." ROTFLOL

I saw the Beach Boys perform on the AXS Channel a couple years back, but there were no Beach Babes running around. Those young babes do not want to hang out with those old guys. :-/

I made out with a chick who thought I was a musician, back in the 80's. Since that was the only reason she was attracted to me, I have no problem with that being the extent of my involvement with her. I got off with no cash loss, basically. It's a shame I didn't learn anything.

Don't make me play the Hank Williams/blind puppy card, man. I'll do it!

When I lived in Chicago in the early 80s, myself and a few friends from the State Highways were in this bar room about a block from where I was living.

I got into it with a guy who lived in the other neighborhood. One of my buddies flicked a cigarette in his face and another one punched him in the head.

He got thrown out and said something to a guy out front. That guy punched him out. He was lying on the ground and motioning at the guy who hit him, "C'mon. C'mon." And the guy was hitting him while he was down.

Can anyone say shit for brains? ;)

Mistuh Kurtz, he dead.

Don't make me play the Hank Williams/blind puppy card, man. I'l do it!

Please don't. That '250 Dogs' thread yesterday about wasted me. I'm still sorry I looked at it.

When we worked The Highwaymen in Chicago, I was personal security for Johnny Cash during the Meet & Greet after the show. Johnny was a real gentleman.

After the Meet & Greet concluded I was told to follow Kris Kristofferson out of the building to make sure nobody messed with him.

He went up the stairs and I went up after him.When he got to the top landing he turned to look at me. I told him what they told me, so he turned and kept going.

The last two stories a are very old and am lucky to recall them. ;)

That '250 Dogs' thread yesterday about wasted me. I'm still sorry I looked at it.

That wasn't me, hillbilly. Does this make you feel better?

So happy to see y'all alive and as ornery as ever! ;)

So happy to see y'all alive and as ornery as ever!

If I'm not laughing, I'm crying. I get tired of being dehydrated all the time.

I still would've liked to have a dance with you, but last time I thought about that, I damn near got killed. :P

I miss you.

Nice, I always figured Kris was a decent guy, just by the way he carried himself. Gave Cash benefit of the doubt, but he sort of always seemed like pretty much every other "celebrity". IOW, I would have expected just as much kindness from Johnny Cash as I would from Judy Garland, or Merrick Garland for that matter.

Hi darlin', good to see you too!

That wasn't me, hillbilly.

I'm not a hillbilly, I'm a hick, dumbass. I wouldn't know a hill if it bit me on the punky.

I just sent you a pm.

I have signs, dig? You hillbilly. You wear baseball cap? Drive truck? Marry your sister? Brandon stomp you white trash, prepare for great enlightenment: You join union, much better hour money. Free needle bug. Water machine cold.

You wear baseball cap?

No.

Drive truck?

A pickup.

Marry your sister?

No, she could always outrun me.

Back in '77 they had hard wired mics. If this show happened in the last 30 years or so it would be wireless head sets. ;)

Back in '77 they had hard wired mics. If this show happened in the last 30 years or so it would be wireless head sets. ;)

LOL if Patti Smith went on MSNBC today they would cut the feed once she started talking about Jeebus.

The place I work they get on us if that shitty blue surgical mask (which is absolutely worthless) slips off out nose.

I was also supposed to make an appointment with some doctor down south so he can view the scans done on my legs. I did not get the make the appointment for the ride there. i go back to wound care next Wednesday and they will be displeased to say the least.

I told the pharmacist, "I am not taking the cholesterol med since the doctor has changed it once already. And if there is not sufficient cholesterol in your system the Liver manufactures it." And she knew because she had to study human physiology to be a pharmacist. ;)

You goobs (4um in general) are the only people that even care that I'm presenting facts that challenge the mainstream narrative. Without you I'd probably kill myself.