Dear Reader. I’m not an asshole, but sometimes I can be. Don’t hate me for it… try, like me, to appreciate it. I think it’s just that sometimes I don’t suffer fools well.   As some of you know, I’ve admitted to sometimes having a somewhat ungainly habit of engaging folks who attack me (physically […]

who’da thunk it?

from mostdiggity’s weekly hyper-rant… “you can’t make this stuff up” : Betting the sure thing at a Google-to-1 odds against. Some thoughtful reader suggested that I try to look at the bright side of things. So… after some careful thought, I must agree. Here goes: This post is NOT meant to highlight the lamenting of […]

‘Politically Correct’ or ‘Back-stab-ingly Pleasant’?

(with a nod to George Carlin) “Politically Correct” or ‘Back-Stab-ingly Pleasant’? Man, I’m really getting tired of all this negative name calling… I much prefer the soft landing civilized society (Progressives? nah) have embraced when it comes to labeling people or things. Especially if my being brutally honest might really pîss-off an overly-sensitive individual, forever damaging their […]

My Dougly; catch you on the backside?


Two months ago a very good friend suddenly left this plane, and though it had been some time since I last had heard his voice, I often wondered how he was doing. But now I think about him several times a day, though not in the blame filled guilt trip kinda way, just sadness, a sadness in that I never knew he was even sick. I’ve always joked (not joking) that I am the sanest person I know. With Doug though, if pressed I might have given him a slight edge on me. He had his shit together before I moved away from Greensboro, NC 13 years ago, when we ran hard and worked even harder, and then sometimes ran even faster again. Doug and I shared the work hard-play-hard life philosophy of “buy the ticket, take the ride”.

Now I feel sympathy for him and empathetic to his partner (Christina) and their son Noah, who is one year older than my 10-year old first-born son. I’m sorry that one of the finest persons I’ve been lucky enough to have called my friend found himself trapped inside one of the most vile twisted and horrible conditions in psychiatry today. And one that would eventually strike and unravel, deciding his fate. I know it must have been unbearable suffering, because the Doug I knew rarely lost at anything in life, his natural constitution was using his considerable talents to find a way to win. And a winner he was in every respect.

2dougnnoahIronically in 2007 we discussed some of these same issues that later haunted him, issues that from all accounts he later apparently struggled with mightily. He and I talked about it over a couple of long phone calls when my two-year old son’s mother died, ironically in the same out-of-the-blue mind-fuck way in which he later succumbed. It was only after some time that I was able to personally heal enough not to be mad at her when I looked at my son’s beautiful face, but I eventually researched it enough (with counseling) and studied the disease (manic bi-polar dis-order) enough to understand how she had been very sick, and her’s was not a selfish act… in some ways heroic. I admit to being mad at Doug too for those first couple of days as it is only a normal reaction. But, I hope that those who loved Doug will find it within themselves to forgive, and give Noah the love he will need going forward.

I’m now certain she (my son’s Mother) thought she was doing me and our son and maybe the world a favor. How could it happen only a few years later that Doug apparently didn’t recognize the symptoms he was experiencing as being eerily similar, and NOT seek immediate medical help?

Perhaps the greatest faculty our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need.

First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks
passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind’s way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.

Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying ‘time heals all wounds’ is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.

Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.

Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.

Patrick RothfussThe Name of the Wind

dougfricksOur friendship was special in many ways, and I never doubted it was one that was built to last despite wherever our individual paths would lead us. The few times we did talk in the last 3-4 years it seemed like yesterday that we were laughing, golfing, partying, or talking through long hours of a weekend night, building a unique bond of brotherhood. And, so times remain in memories too, and though we’ve duffed our last good times together on the front nine of this “good walk spoiled”… My Dougly, I’ll catch you on the backside.  

Doug will always seem near, and I doubt that feeling will ever yield, serving as testimony to all that we weathered together and how at one time we were bonded as if tethered. Time passed, and distance drew us further apart only in this physical realm, his life essence today as clear to me as anyone I’ve ever encountered who has passed my way..

In my minds eye I still see those bright sparkling sea blue eyes smiling that eternal grin, a slightly toothy and twisted grin that always uttered a quick shortish chuckle like a verbal wink, not a sneering snarkle.

I can still hear him saying…

“My Tommy-boy, what’s happen.n…in’…huh-huh-hnn” his standard opening line in modified uptalk.

“You, my brotha…  you’re happenin’. What might we do to make this sunny Friday good reason to call it a week? I make an air-golf-swing and give him an inquisitive look as if asking a question?

(Laughs out loud)” You’re on, but let me take care of a few things first. Let’s meet at Stoney Creek in an hour… they’ll squeeze us on. But, not before I buy you an ice-cold beer,” he offers, pulling one out of the small cooler in his tiny back office.

“Schweet, See ya’ at 12:45ish”, popping the top for a cool swig of cerveza.

The golf the excuse, the time spent laughing and chatting it up (and a few cold-uns) the real reasons we were playing. Of course, he almost always won, and I almost always got the tab later. Usually, he paid half anyway.

And so it was, that we sometimes were out late-ish. Closing time.


We sometimes but very rarely meet a person who shares a common natural vibe, manifesting itself as a subtle synchronous one-man-ship. Perhaps it is luck when two minds and hearts of like kind can instantly formulate and understand the other’s deepest thoughts and bind effortlessly in such a short time? True friendship, lastingly rare as it is, transcends the world we think we see and enters into a more sublime reality; where life and death are no different than time and distance, just a weird cohesive illusion. Maybe mind stays fresh for a time in the Consciousness of the Great  Immensity? People who have died that I knew well never do seem as far from me as those whom I am merely acquainted with. Then again, maybe its just a function of the brain’s electrical neurotransmitters and neural networks, and there’s no big truth to discover after death? For now, I’ll take what I can get.

With Christina,,Doug's partner and mother of Noah
With Christina,,Doug’s partner and mother of Noah

Neither of us a nihilist, and both always too real, we never disagreed about what is here and now, though we differed on the eternal spinning of the wheel. Doug, a religious believer, and me a skeptic… one never cared to convert the other, because we agreed that hey, “it is what it is”. Apparently Doug had one year earlier sold his restaurant, a business that started as a tiny cramped sandwich shop that he nurtured into a large, thriving, one-of-a-kind place to eat by the time Doug had hit 35. It was the epitome of the term “cash cow”. I often wonder if his having sold his life’s work recently and somewhat stumbling around free and without a solid plan for his next big move contributed to his fall from grace. “Idle hands are the Devils work”, they say, but then one must first also believe in the Devil. Doug did, not me. May be I’m just lucky? Lucky?

Well… curiously enough, I too “retired” from a successful career with the intent to take some “idle time” first before embarking on another big challenge at around the same age as Doug did (47). That was 12 years ago, and I’ve not worked at a job since then. But, don’t sleep on the fact that the years surrounding age 47 can be a difficult period for many men, as it is around the time we experience one of our greatest “changes of the seasons”. It is a time where questions outnumber answers, reason gives in to fantasy, and suppressed Jungian archetypes arrive unannounced to ring a gentle alarm, seemingly without an off button but a relentless snooze reminder.

For me, an avid reader from way back and a suction for knowledge of all things anything, I trust that this malady of Doug’s will stay at bay throughout my less-than-ideal projected number of remaining days. Smart and stubborn, when told in January ’06 I had “less than five years” to make my indelible mark on humanity, I simply refused to accept it, or believe it was a possibility.

After all, after 50 years of child-free living and loving it… I had become a father. I was a single father, and this wonderful life-giving “reason for reasons” became my duty bound refusal to leave as scheduled. I mean, to me it was as simple as, “No, I have a little boy to raise.”

Maybe in the twisted end we’ll all find that in sublime irony, “living is dying, and dying is living, or something a thousand times more weird. But, NOW is the only sure bet we have. It pays to have hope, reason, and expectation of a future… but we should never take our eye off the ball of NOW.

“The human being cannot live in a condition of emptiness for very long: if he is not growing toward something, he does not merely stagnate; the pent-up potentialities turn into morbidity and despair, and eventually into destructive activities.”

—  Rollo MayMan’s Search for Himself 



I admired a man named Douglas Fricks, an honest and loyal friend killed by one of (god’s) nastiest tricks. Smart and funny, happy and caring, humble, sharing, compassionate and never once was he over-bearing. Confident and cool, his actions were the example his employees didn’t learn in school. He didn’t worship money, he worshiped Noah and (sometimes) even his honey.

He spoke the truth and he knew its limits, but he never seem to pass on one more ice-cold beer… and I was right there, but we always usually sometimes held it together.  He was “My-Fugly-My-Dougly”, and my “Friggy-my Diggy”. And me, to him… just “Tommy-boy” (my habit of nicknaming and his return sally).

I hope you found your peace my brother, I’ll always be your biggest fan. You in the fairway and me the woods, your smooth swing had you dancing, and me hacking, whacking, hatchet thicket smacking… but you never let me know how far down I stood. I loved YOU for the you that was you… and you, My Dougly… I always will.


Tiger’s Woody!

A golf ball.

When you let your big stick do the talkin’
That “Parade of Porn”, with Paparazzi stalkin’
Snarly rough, traps-a-plenty; deep cut bunkers and nowhere to hide
When deciding to “lay up” was the riskier choice
If but for only that large amount of green and those swooshed titanium balls
would the World’s Greatest Scrambler survive a wretched 18 ho’s
Trading an extremely high handicap for a life of buried lies

Hardly checking which way the wind was blowing, knowing there are no mulligans
An egregious slice that wouldn’t fade, a train-wreck hacked so far out of bounds
You must have quit counting the lost strokes and calculating unplayable lies
Your balls dropped beyond the line of sight, but seemed ever further from home
Where money bets had long since been counted as lost in that first (wet) box
The truth is inside the ropes there’s plenty of trouble if you really want to hang yourself

Undulating backsides, luscious perky sloped tees, low cut cups waitin’ for loft and backspin
Manicured lovely, playin’ tight and long, and gorgeous to behold
Beautiful layouts you easily managed with your deft touch and artistic feel
Driving long and deep in middle of short Bentgrass, Bermuda soft, lush, and accessibly close
But, when instead of backing up, they began checking up, you started running fast and away
Ambien fueled Ambien fooled, once seeing a break, banging a sweet stroke… then nailing bottom of the ho’
The Ooohhs and aaahhs, moaning adoration, soon became belligerent bellows of, “Who’s Your Daddy!”

Stiill… YOU; lost deep in those woods but refused to take the normal penalty
Forsaking those easy birdies and model wife, with grim head held high you steadied your stance
Defiantly asking us to imagine that you were simply one more, ‘Par for the Course’
And so… pretty soon your Iconic magic grip you held over us loosened… until it vanished
As if you were raining bad behavior, your short game was turning into a slippery sloped Karmic wreck
Now cynical crowds yelling “Pussy Cat, knock it stiff”, or chanting “here cums Tiger’s Woody!
Perhaps an omen to us all… but for you Tiger… it signaled the Boogeyman had finally come… to stay.

Carolina (still) on My Mind

With the recent passing of basketball coaching legend Dean Smith, memories of being a KENTUCKY/Louisville fan in the heart of Tobacco Road flood my memory. To me, Dean was the best basketball coach I’ve ever had the joy of watching, but then…


I remember the moment I became an ABC’er (Anybody But Carolina) as clear as if it were yesterday, although it happened almost 37 years ago.

It was March 3rd, 1978…

Having grown up in Louisville, Kentucky and ripe with a BA from J-school at Morehead State University, I had three days earlier piled everything I owned into my 1973 Chevy Impala, weathered 30″ inches of fresh Kentucky snow through the craggy West Virginia coal country, zagged Southerly down Interstate-77, and finally zigged over the foggy Southern Virginia Appalachian mountains.

In a lush green North Carolina valley I finally unloaded my gear to begin my new life, and new job in Greensboro, NC. Though I’d only been there briefly in the month before (for my job interview), it had then seemed to me to be a friendly, habitable place. You know, well lit.

This was my first day in my new position as Sales Trainee for a small fast growing real estate publisher. It was around 4:30 p.m. as I sat in my sparsely furnished office, shuffling papers around wondering what I might pretend to be doing for the next hour or so.

After an eager tap on my door, a toothy well-dressed man slid in, smiling and shaking hands.  “Hi I’m Geoff Wolfe, the VP here. I hear you’re from Kentucky? Me? I graduated from Chapel Hill, that’s as in No..r..th Ca..ro..li..na. Basketball,” he offers and grins Cheshire cat-ishly.

“Pleased to meet you, and yes I’m from Louisville, went to Morehead State University. Uh, that’s as in Kentucky… as in Big Blue Bas..ket…ball,” I chided, eager to see that I’m talking to a basketball fan from another great traditional power. (At that time in March 1978 Kentucky was ranked number 1 in the country, with Twin Towers so big that airplanes could never bring them down).

“Well…”, he frowned then looked serious for once. “You know… Kentucky couldn’t play in the ACC”, he says matter-of-factly. “They’re number 1 right now only because they play in such a weak conference. They could never play our schedule.”

Then he shot a few ‘air-free throws’ looking away, he had tuned me out before I could offer rebuttal. He propped his shoes up on my desk. He shoots from deep.”Ford, from Franklin Street. “Yeesss”.

I gulped. I stuttered. My face flushed and I suddenly could smell my underarms overpowering my deodorant. I was stunned as he played his semi-silent game of air-shoot-ball, complete with the “hRaaahh” of crowd approval after each made shot. He made ’em all.

Looking somewhere in the distance, out the window I imagined being back over the NC mountains in the friendly confines of Kentucky. I sat silently while my brain lurched for clever, nervously ‘doing the math’ on what to say, on what could I say to this 4-corner Neanderthal. And, one whom it seemed, owned me…

Finally…”Uh, well… Uh Mr. Geo… uh Smith, that’s bullshit about how we can’t play in the ACC. Really, I mean that’s kinda…. stu…pid. No really, that’s f**&king stupid,” I muttered very low and gravely, but mainly to myself.

“Yeah… well, welcome to ACC country”, laughed Smith with his stupid smirk, still grabbing rebounds and making cheering putbacks. Then just as quickly, he’s up and out my door, his arrogance forever starting a fire in my heart known only to a true ABC’er.


One month later I celebrated both Kentucky’s fifth Natty against a formidable Duke team, and the recent news of Geoff Smith’s firing… by yelling and hooting it up at the then-and-now famous “Four Corners” bar, in downtown Chapel Hill, North Carolina. 

“Hey everybody”, I squealed to an uninterested few with both job and basketball safe from the idiocy

“I hear that Kentucky couldn’t play in the ACC! Well, looks like we just did!”


I lived in North Carolina for most of the next 24 years, enduring the basketball I.Q. equivalents of some 17th Century cultists, sometimes arguing college basketball religion along the way. Though I made many friends in NC, I’ve hated the Baby Blue with a fervent passion since that first Geoff Smith swish.

I worked with Duke University and the University of North Carolina during many of those years, but rarely talking Kentucky basketball with the infidels. I had a press pass at Cameron Indoor for many games/years and witnessed some thrilling Duke-UNC tilts there. The truth is, just as we Kentucky and Louisville fans have and understand, they both have much basketball tradition to be proud of.

Though I was always careful not to root for Duke, and always against the Tarheels, I admit to a little Dean Smith envy during much of that time. No one could get more out of the last 30 seconds of a game than The Dean.

But in all that time I loved the Cats and Cards and Kentucky basketball, traveling to see them play wherever and whenever I could, and partying years with the rest of Big Blue Nation.

Having lived in North Carolina for so long, I came to know every argument for/against Duke, Wake, NC State and UNC upside down and backwards. Though it got to be a tougher argument through the years, there’s one thing I can say from true life experience, and from having lived in and being around both basketball crazed states… Kentucky and North Carolina. At the end of the day…


A Hacker Comes Clean (not Russian)


I tee it. I see it. I feel it. I be it.

I aim it. I shake it. The Tiger. I wake it.

I peel it. I’m on it. Doggone it. Can’t fool it.

I slice it. I splice it. Pull-hook it. No dice it.


I’ll rule it. I’ll school it. Re-tool it. I pool it.

I find it. I Time it. Unwind it. Unkind it.

I stalk it. Don’t talk it. I bark it. Can’t park it.

I know it. I show it. Don’t get it. Can’t flow it.

I wear it. I swear it. I think it. Don’t care it.

I preach it. Beseech it. Then leech it. And beach it.


I pledge it. I wedge it. But hedge it. And fudge it.

I toe it. I heel it. I wheel it. No deal it.

I trust it. I bust it. Then budge it. Too much it.

I rough it. I tough it. Can’t bluff it. E’nuff it.

I gut it. I pitch it. I putt it. I bitch it.

I live it. To give it. I bet it. Regret it.



I stink it. I skunk it. I shank it. Go bank it.

I wank it. I hank it. I sky it. Then buy it.

I press it. Then fade it. The bet? I pre-paid it.

My swing. I don’t hate it. The cold water. I wade it.

My game it. Too lame it. To shame it. Or blame it.

My score it. Won’t show it. Love to play it. And I know it.








Rise of the Naked Sportsblog King

According to my read-test, most Sportsbloggers (aka: Blogsquirt-asorus) apparently know a good bit less about the sport in which they have type-spouted their esteemed opines than they do of basic Journalism101, which itself appears not to be a qualifier of their education, talent, and/or experience of either endeavor. IMHO, today’s internet media Sportswriting hard-scrabble of blog buddies, well… […]


Behold a smattering of audaciously bold, adult themed t-shirts by MOST-DIGGIT-TEES… built for the person who stands tall and let’s his t-shirt do his bidding. Fun shirts not to be taken too seriously but with a twist of ironic bad boy (or girl as I have numerous female designs not shown here). These shirts are made from the highest quality lightweight soft cotton and come in sizes too numerous to mention. Not cheap but inexpensive considering the attention you’ll get from “puttin’ it out there”.

What’s the rub? Currently the shirts are still in the design stage, but plans are to roll them out… someday? Stay tuned and check out shirts with game, while we’ve all seen plenty that are simply… lame.

The coolest audaciously ADULT tees you will find this side of Niburu.
The coolest audaciously ADULT tees you will find this side of Niburu.


A peak at an early version of an ebook catalog designed to add interest and humor to each design with options, etc…

pagemostdiggittees_r_ (1)chairdontcaremostdiggitees - Copy2


I confess I guess

The first rule of law.
Part One of: Philosophically confused… Confess, I guess.

Read the book Dress for Success so I did, I guess

Wore expensive clothes drove nice cars lived at the right address

Now some days I don’t shave or even wear my best

I’m aware that it works for me not for the rest… it don’t impress.

When I undress I feel no less, not a naked unsuccessful mess

So that’s all fair, I guess. More or less. I Confess.

I like to think I do more with less

I do with less than I did with more, I guess. More with less.

In me there’s a big ticking heart, a time bomb in a treasure chest

It’ll burst if I get too stressed, so I don’t worry and I don’t press,

Go straight ahead and don’t regress, without duress I guess. No less.

Invest less time making money than making love, oh yes. I Confess.

Once met a girl who had some great big breasts

We had some fun, and… well, you know the rest.

I like sex more than I do less, but with us more was less I guess. I Confess.

She liked sex more not less, and though I loved her yes she could be a pest, more than less.

To my ex with the great big chest; your’s may be fake but I ain’t… depressed, I guess.

I was in a zone you a full court press. So less is more, I guess. I Confess.

Say I ramble or I digress, but I suggest a point to this ole mess, I guess. More or less.

U can travel East or you can move out West, build a great big house or small cozy nest

Work real hard and fail life’s big test, but cheat yourself it’s you who you’ll detest, I guess. I Confess<.

Eat my WORDS and if you do ingest, when it all digests

you’ll know for sure that I DO NOT jest. I Confess. 

Upon my death I have this one bequest:

“Do what makes you happy, try your very best with all your zest

You’re in a game that you can’t win, but you cannot lose unless you choose, I guess.

So, more or less at my behest I ask of you, Confess.

Give thanks for each new day for each new moment for ALL your life, and when you do… you’ll be blessed
And I guarantee that its never less, and its always more than you could guess. To that I do hereby…

Confess I Guess…
humorous-quotes-sayings-job-done-deep-work (1)

Yes, maybe, not-so-much.


When folks ask me what I’ve been up to lately, my answer usually lies somewhere between everything and nothing, specifics being a bit hazy as they can be these days to a late 50’s POP (permanently overripe personality). (Read: unemployed old fart without prospects). And this from the man who was once the chalk (outside Kentucky that’s a sure thing) to be the eventual ruler of the free world (thanks, mom).

I like to say “free is where to find me, but Fun is where I’m from”.

But then as a rookie Father to 6 and 8 year-old boys, these days my official title ranges from, “Dad, can I…” to “hey, I think I’m gonna…”, instead of the more respectfully appropriate but more formal titled, “Duke of The House on Worthington”, or “Most Benevolent Domain Master”, or even… “Dude-meister of the Microcosmic Universe daddy that we call our home-dad.” One size fits all three.

My duties on this Starship are both boundless and boring, and as easily doable as they are unthinkable in doing, and all ranging from the absolutely necessary to the supremely sublime. Others call them “just normal stuff”.

I do seem to fumble some of life’s simplest hand-offs, and show a unnatural propensity to throw interceptions to some of life’s most wide-open receivers. I may call too many audibles and use too many trick plays, but I still hate football anyway. Go figure… a boy from Louisville, Kentucky. Who’d a thunk it?

So, ‘round here I’m paid to analyze, decide, motivate, invoke, critique, and hand out passing grades to everyone despite in-game homework performance or practice attitude, sideline behavior, or team spirit or team play. I learned that there are no losers anymore because we’re not allowed to keep score. DAMN, winning I knew.

So I’m more like a College Assistant Basketball Coach without the benefit of shoe deals and one-and-done. There are countless fanboys and other players depending on choices I make in an endless chain of unsure situations that hinge quickly on drawing up out-of-bounds plays, with a less than generous shot clock. All this for $4 hour while Schmoovy Weasal, the Head Coach gets $8MM. Go here. Pick. Pass, dribble, screen, shoot… air ball. Get back on Defense!! Maybe I need another shot or two?

Doing a Google search is no help either as it seems to always pull me into an abyss, more distracting than a smoke-wafting Pink Floyd concert. But hey, there’s always “The Wall”… one that I no longer can climb but still seem to hit.

So, sometimes I write blog posts to clear my cob-webs in the guise of either art or imparting some pretentious holier-than-thou “wisdom” for Everyman. The audaciousness of some people. I think I write in lieu of buying an assault rifle (I mean dude… hey, now its fuggin’unlimited rounds!). You know, cause I just love going to shooting ranges with my machine gun, and I would “kill” to go Sports hunting with Senator Paul Ryan and his rat-a-tat-tat Gattling gun. (uh, hey Paul, what do you shoot at since… you know, all the Dinosaurs are gone?). I’m afraid I’d start making lists, so I’ll pass.

 Oh no, no, I just like protecting my Second Amendment right-to bear-arms. Yeah… right(s)? If that were actually true (I mean owning guns to protect our Constitutional Rights), then all I have to say is, “WHERE in THE FUCK have ya’ll been the past fifty years?” You’re way late, you lazy gun toters. Get busy.

OK. That issue of ignoraneous (my word, not Websters) proportion (gun laws) is for another rant-blog-post, and I can assure you it will be a frontal assault. So Johnny, might better git yer gun.

No hey, I’m really just a BIG PICTURE guy who doesn’t feel like going around saying “God is in the Details, God is in the Details”. That’s for car mechanics or computer guys and Anal Retentive assholes so organized that they can always find their tools and wallets and keys and other minor essentials. Not me, uh uhn. That ain’t me. NO siree. No.

The thrill of the hunt is what I’m all about, and the multitude of ramifications of the before-during-and-after that such adventures tend to shower upon me all the while. Wisdom. Wise. Potato Chips. Lays. zzzzzzz….

Seriously, I recently read a clinical study on what the World’s wisest and smartest people think about the most important things regarding life and living. Smart people’s opinions on subjects of substance, circumstance, and degree. The results were, uh… somewhat startling, and if you’re like me… I guess happily so.

It seems that the wiser one becomes the less opinionated they tend to be. I mean, they really can’t decide. They see too many angles, perspectives, situations, viewpoints, and points to be subjective. Hmmm… they’re more objective. Sounds about right to me. Though I agree in concept, I tend to spout my own opinion to anyone who cares to listen. I’m, careful not to pre-judge anyone or anything, but once I get eyes and ears on ’em, I got opinions, yes I do.

But at least I know I’m wrong. Huh?

Truth is fleeting at best, and non-existent at its worst. While Black and White appear as extremes to us (optically), that really only covers a small portion of the entire vibrational spectrum. Where our world/universe leans to us, it meanders, and everything appears to eventually exist towards the middle, considering our limited senses. I mean extreme is well… extreme. Way out there. All things in moderation? Wise.

Great may be more good than not, or not-so-much as Best. We use opposites to give a mental picture to relate to the vast in-between. Or something. I just can’t say. Its complicated. Not too sure anyway.

The ONLY THING one can really know is that they know nothing. NADA. Zilch.

It’s friggin’ science, by God. Or not. Not sure.

To think that one “KNOW’s SOMETHING” is to deceive oneself about the untouchable, the unknowable: THE REAL TRUTH.


Quantum Physics (see Schrodinger and find his cat) explains that one can never be certain of the existence of anything until it has been “observed”. Once observed it is then in a state of existence that is knowable and predictable. But, before the observation? It did and did not exist simultaneously. In each moment of observation (which implies existence in space/time), reality continuously begins for each of us. But, keep in mind its just for us individually each separate moment, and just in that moment in time. This does not infer Real TRUTH, merely relative truth. Not REAL TRUTH.

about-time-sad-quotes-sayings-buddhaWe all can say that we know space/time changes from past to present to future, but does it exist? Relatively speaking, yes it does. Absolutely? NOT.

Everything we think we know is merely relative. Relatively speaking. In relation to something else. An observer. Cousins and daughters and uncles and aunts and dads and moms. Relatives. But not REAL TRUTH.

How long do you suppose, an instant lasts? Therein lies the difference between the TRUTH and the immensity of uncertainty. A single moment of time. Is there such a thing? No. Its less than a flash, and a little more than never. Immeasurable yes it is and they are, but we when we add them together we can knit the history of our universe. Still, that simultaneous instantaneous moment of TRUTH never seems to exist, and yet it does exist at the same time. A royal mind-fuck of academic epic proportions? Yes. Si. Nay. No. Don’t know nut-in’.

Right somewhere, between the Yes and NO, THE REAL TRUTH hides in the Space Between, the vast immensity of uncertainty. Like going from analog (the real) to digital (the facimile).

It is only to be measured when there are two or more moments (needing the observer making it relative), but it is at the same time scientifically, historically, philosophically, empirically, UNKNOWABLE when alone. It is only a possibility then. Anything is possible? That seems to be near the REAL TRUTH.

And still the mystery persists.

All this my good reader is why I tend to cause mid-day traffic jams, caustic hold-ups, maybe-this way,  no maybe-that, in an indiscernible gridlock of possibility for a House of (four) Cards on the verge of collapse. I don’t know, the Captain of the ship is stupid and he knows it, mutiny threatens on the high seas. Jib up, main out hold on don’t shout. Insubordinate chaos reigns and the Captain is the first to realize his own troubling sense of not knowing any damn thing.

What’s for dinner? I dunno. What bills to pay? Dunno. What time is it? Huh? What the Fuck? OK. Oh…

But then, our world, our society, our culture, in all their wisdom know not a goddamn thing either, and least of all where we are heading. So without knowing, I will hold the right to “imagine” possibility, or do the math and “speculate” on cause-effect. I usually get an EXTREME headache when I do that. I mean…whoa.

Religion? Extremists. Money? Extremism. Music, Politics, Sports? Exfuckingtremely. OK. I listen to old music and it ain’t all that extreme.

But I feel polarization everywhere but at our magnetic poles. So, what do we do?

I think more, I speculate… GTFOY.

Yeah, Get the fuck over yourself. Everyone. Now. Get over yourself. Find the gray area and live right there. I did and it ain’t all bad. A bit chaotic, OK.

You, me, we… jus’ babes in the cradle. We’re nothing more, we’re nothing less. To that I confess. And, NO this ain’t a guess. Pure specualtion.

Dinner tonight? Yes. Later? Maybe. When? Soonish. And then? Oh yeah… Gettin’ over myself… Next stop…R-E-L-I-G-


Homers n’ Haters n’ (da)Mastur (de)Baters


Historical data with facts and reasons to back em?

All courteous discourse be damned

Intelligence lost in a deep dark sphincter band

Trotting out opinions like… everybody has one

Experts who follow ex-purps, Blogsquirts who can’t write a lead or a lick

Internet Sports Websites; a vast and barren mind-field of Virtual (dick)weed-oligists.

Me? One time follower of Dean Oliver (Mi Deano que Numberino)

Now everybody’s got one,  a statistical guru with matchin’ number-crunchin’credo

The eye test is done-skee, Now its the drumbeat-of-repeato, conceited Eggo, a waffler with a bigger Ego

But, I’ll tell you what you can cram  up your USAs BEST Speedo…

A large wad of green ONE-and-DONE-o, shove that up your Uncle Sam Taxedo, dumb-a- dido

The NCAA. Straight laced but two-faced, laughing all-the-way to the… Johnny Cashed (not burned)

Dressed all in Folsom black, ring-of-fired up monied Coaches, BIG money not shared but stashed.

Call your raise little Homer-boy, and go up another notch just to see you show your red-faced gash

Mindless Babel, no pecking order, a Tower of  Trash talking knee-walking Monkey see-do commentators

Imagined a smarter retort?

Instead I’m reading between lines of the yellow teethed keys you gnashed.

Feel insulted? I can only hope.

Oh yeah, you-da Homers N’ Haters N’ The Mastur(de)Baters…

(All alone) on/under your keyboard, a Johnny-Cum-Later with everything and nothing to say.

Brainless Brainfarts spewing ignorant insult jism, eventually we all need knee-waders

Not the self-deluded Fanboy who incessantly yells “cheaters and one-and-doners”.

No, these… the loser “haters”who bury their hearts and their heads bad-mouthing everything,  even their own mashed potaters

Please, tell me who can discuss Sports intelligently anymore…besides the Cabbies and the Waiters?

YOU ignorant fans without rational rhyme or reason to believe, just wearing.school colors makes you feel smart looking lame. You got NO game.

and remember, you can’t lose if in the bigger picture it doesn’t really matter… so, until it does… I think I’ll read ya later.


Get a life if all you have to look forward to is vicarious victories by your faved team, son.
Get a life if all you have to look forward to is vicarious victories by your faved team, son.



Oh yeah… it has become Madness alright.

The twitter buzz lit up only minutes after University of Louisville reserve guard Kevin Ware landed poorly on his right leg in the Sunday (April) 2013 NCAA Tourney Final Four matchup between the University of Louisville and Duke University. But, as Ware was writhing on the floor and sending an entire nation watching to the bathroom sickly holding onto their dinner, a Syracuse fan tweeted to the world about Ware’s “wild background story”, then further hinting that it was Ware who had been responsible for the University of Central Florida’s NCAA probation issues.

Though Pete Thamel of Sports Illustrated (and NY Times) later attempted to minimize his tweet as only “providing background” to Ware’s story, most college basketball fans who know Thamel’s sensational yellow-coated writing style were left to speculate as to his real intentions. His timing couldn’t have been worse. Even Thamel was smart enough to retract and retreat, and explain away in re-tweet after re-tweet.

All Too Sweet, Pete.

Thamel, a Syracuse graduate and fan, and personal friends of both Syracuse Coach Jim Boeheim and Duke’s Mike Krzyzewski has made a living denigrating college basketball programs (outside of Gaudy Orange and Deep Blue Sea Devil) that don’t exactly meet with his personal “holier than thou” biases. If some heads-up Louisville fans and other intelligent sports fans hadn’t caught the ill-advised tweet, he likely would not have felt the urgent need to diareah-ically (my word not Websters) apologize for the Ware tweet. Thamel makes his living digging up dirt in Sports on players, coaches, and teams he also happens to dislike (read: they are better than his faves). He gets dirty too, sometimes.

By contrast, following the Cuse-Indiana Elite Eight game in a video interview with Syracuse’s Michael Carter Williams, fans were shown how the team’s players feel about one another (see NCAA video). Williams calmly and warmly spoke of his team’s biggest rival this year, Louisville, and showed the real side of competitive student athletes, rather than the one “so-called” media experts, haters, homers, trolls, and irresponsible fans-from-hell would rather have us believe. MCW is the rule, not the exception, and it has always been this way. Off court and on, competitors respect their adversaries to the point of rooting for them when they are not immediately diametrically opposed.

Sorry haters… the players just don’t feel the way you do about their rivals. Instead, they like them and wish them well. I repeat, there’s no HATE between College Basketball teams’ players…or any other sport for that matter; it exists only in the heads of their idiotic fans.

STOP THE HATE. IT’s way out of hand and way out of DATE. But, is it too late?

Seriously, what has happened to sports fandom today? The gloves have come off when one of the most respected newspaper’s (NY Times) own Sportwriter(s) fails to show good sportmanship in our virtually twisted-tweet world of Twitter-by-instant messaging? I mean really, does it make one a “cockroach  and a bandwagoneer” (as I was recently dubbed on a UL fansite by some nit-wit troll posing as a human and a Cardinal fan) if he/she is lucky enough to root for two teams from his home state ALL-his-life (in my case its called “Kentucky”), and only if their names happen to be “Kentucky” and “Louisville”?

Must I really choose between these two teams as several (anti-UK) UL fans demanded?

And hey… does it really hurt slime turtle, since it’s only megahertz… U foo-bean!

Well… uh, I graduated from Morehead State University. Must I be their fan, and that of no other team in this solar system? Ouch! Oh really now shit-for-brains, because which little Bimbo-boy says it must be so? You? He-he. HA!

But hey, I usually don’t go on my favorite teams’ Fan-site to argue ifs, ands, and maybes with brain-numbing stupidity, or to spout in-your-face electro-insults to moronic retardos like you, but instead (as in UL’s case) to simply celebrate our “RedBirds-of-a-Featherness” if only for but a brief, albeit passing moment.

Can U Dig it mumbo-gumbo? This better be good if you want to hold my attention little man!

Though, admittedly it can cause me to type ever more venomous and poisonous thoughts of my own hate-stew, word-wrestling with me can be an exercise in futility for the typical dyed-in-the-wool Hater. I admit to knowing that lame-brain banter makes me eventually start to yawn and becomes tedium, and so I normally lose interest in the verbal one-upmanship after one or two touché….zzzzzzzz

But, to say you win? Never.

When the Louisville-Duke game ended on that Sunday, Guards Quinn Cook and Rasheed Souliman both of Duke, quickly embraced their Louisville counterparts as if to say, “Congratulations guys on a great game, go on and win this thing”. And love him or hate him, Coach K was his usual class actin’ self-debasing-self in a loss, and when describing his respect for the players and the game his team had just endured. Was NO one taking notes?

Such is the State of Hate in Sports, and in Sports Journalism today. And I for one…HATE it.

And who really cares what Pete Thamel thinks? He’s a Cockroach.Screen-shot-2013-02-07-at-10_18_18-PM


my little man at 2.


U asked me to draw U a picture;

first a truck, a garbage truck,

then a fire truck.

it looked kind of funny.

U said, “can U draw me a lamp? a house? a tree? but, i’m not good with dogs.”

then U asked me to tell U a story.

i told you about an old fire truck and a fire.

but before i was through U said U found some putty and made it into a gumball and a big bubble at sam’s club.

your hands were cold.

“what happened”, U asked?

U found a toy truck under the chair.

“why did the truck run into the big trailer? why daddy? tell me why did the truck crash into the big trailer?”

by then U decided to go swimming. i helped you with your floatees.

“the right one doesn’t fit too easy”, U said

you hugged me and you were happy… your smile lit up my day…

all i could say was

“I love you more than anything (even beer).”

The efficiency of today’s vaunted “help desk”

A recent phone conversation to a “help desk” illustrates how far we’ve come since the “good ole days”:


A recent chat session with one Company’s vaunted “HELP DESK” (Skype), as I was in a BIG HURRY…

  • First, a wait on hold for 8:23 before reaching representative because the last call ended without results. After 30 minutes of getting nowhere I decided to call back to try and reach a more “knowledgeable” person. This time I recorded the session, and here are the results:
  • thom.adams.56 = mostdiggity


11/20/2012 5:05:46 AM          Michael Julius S.  

Hello! Welcome to Skype Live Support! My name is Michael Julius S. Kindly give me a few minutes to review your previous chat.

 11/20/2012 5:06:07 AM          thom.adams56


no problem.

 11/20/2012 5:10:33 AM          Michael Julius S.  

As I’ve understood, you are placing a call using your Skype to go, but it never pushes through because it was not recognize by the destination phone, correct?

 11/20/2012 5:13:35 AM          thom.adams56


No. I connect to the other phone. As you well know many businesses have a que system whereby you are then asked something like, If you would like to speak with the Head Garbage Master, please press 1, etc…ya-ya-da-ya-da. Now, when I use my Skype call pad to “press1” their system cannot recognize that I’ve pressed any number at all. After dozens of attempts and a few minutes have transpired, I get the obligatory, “thanks for calling… bye” and your system hangs up on me.

 11/20/2012 5:15:09 AM          Michael Julius S.  

Kindly hold on while I check on this for you.

 11/20/2012 5:19:56 AM          Michael Julius S.  

(ten minutes have passed, but I’m still patient)

Upon checking on your concern, and your statement, you were able to place a Skype call to a business number via their trunk line, and upon connection, the system will ask you to press a certain number to be connected to a department local number.

 11/20/2012 5:20:56 AM          thom.adams56

(getting tense)

Correcta-mundo! Now, what is your answer?  What do I do?

 11/20/2012 5:22:46 AM          Michael Julius S.  

As soon as you were able to connect to a certain line using Skype, it is already connected, since you pressed a number and the call suddenly drops, it is already in the provider of that destination whose having technical problem connecting you.

 11/20/2012 5:26:01 AM          thom.adams56

(getting pissed)

Do what? No. You are incorrect. The call does not “suddenly drop”. I am connected to a phone system which, if I want to speak with someone (a real live person), they require that I “press” a certain number. Upon doing so my good friend, the system (phone on the other side) does NOT recognize numbers that I “press”. How is it that Skype hasn’t thought of correcting this basic issue that MUST be common to all of mankind?

It’s as if I didn’t “press” any number at all, which… I swear to the heavens above… I have done so, did, and have done so many times. 

 11/20/2012 5:29:43 AM          Michael Julius S.  

I respect how you feel. You are absolutely right to feel that way.

 11/20/2012 5:29:50 AM          thom.adams56

(curious but anxious)

Michael? Tell you what… who is it that I can email or call that actually understands the issue and can give reliable feedback?

 11/20/2012 5:30:42 AM          Michael Julius S.  

You said a while ago that the call is connected, Correct?

 11/20/2012 5:31:02 AM          thom.adams56



 11/20/2012 5:32:31 AM          Michael Julius S.

But when the recipient number asks you to press a local number for them to connect you, it will not recognize the number that you pressed, and that you will be dropped, correct?

 11/20/2012 5:33:53 AM          thom.adams56

(thinking violent thoughts but staying composed)

NO! It does not drop me immediately, but I suspect after “NOT” hearing/recognizing that I’m over here pressing the hell out of numbers on my keyboard… the system is designed to hang up my call.

 11/20/2012 5:37:21 AM          Michael Julius S.  

What I am trying to explain here is the fact that the call is connected from you to the other line where in a system is prompt to answer, if it does not recognize the number that you pressed, then the issue should be informed to the local provider of that destination.

 11/20/2012 5:38:53 AM          thom.adams56

(trying to overcome screaming and throwing my phone through the window)

Look my good buddy, all I want to know is how do “we” fix this issue? What do I do?

 11/20/2012 5:39:59 AM          Michael Julius S.

I clearly understand how you feel and I am here to assist you with your concern.

 11/20/2012 5:41:22 AM          thom.adams56

(falsey appealing to his humaneess and understanding of my plight)

Seriously, I am want to understand your answer, as it is apparently way over my head, or maybe it just REALLY isn’t in the ballpark. Therefore… in the interest of civility, good faith, and trust in you and your employer (contractor) and mankind in general, could you please direct me to another person who specializes in such matters as these?

 With all due respect, you appear to be giving me the run-around or don’t have a clue what the real issue is Mike. Just…PLEASE… I beg you… GIVE ME ANOTHER PERSON TO CHAT WITH.NOW!

  11/20/2012 5:41:22 AM          thom.adams56  

(THEN pretending empathy)

Perhaps someone who speaks on a more “direct” level with me (as I feel we have a slight issue of communication). And hey, isn’t that what Skype is ALL ABOUT? Communicado? And customer service?

 11/20/2012 5:44:14 AM          thom.adams56

BTW, tell me Michael, are you a real “live” person, or some sort of artificial intelligent program that has yet to be provided with information such as this?

 11/20/2012 5:44:58 AM          Michael Julius S.  

Clearly, we’ve upset you and I want you to know that getting to the bottom of this is just as important to me as it is to you.

 11/20/2012 5:47:52 AM          thom.adams56


No, no… I’m not upset. Now… just simply curious about this session. Are you a “live” person? This isn’t meant to be an insult because I respect everyone (alive) and such. We, if you are a live human, have no problem excepting a slight communication problem. I can easily understand that, and it doesn’t at all make me angry. But, if you are not “real” or “alive”, I feel a bit duped by someone or something. Are you for real?

 11/20/2012 5:50:17 AM          Michael Julius S.  

This is not a system generated chat, Thom.

 11/20/2012 5:50:40 AM          thom.adams56


So, that means you are indeed alive?  Really?

 11/20/2012 5:51:00 AM          Michael Julius S.  

You are correct.

 11/20/2012 5:53:25 AM          thom.adams56

(feining friendliness)

Great. Thank you. Now, as for the other matter, I think we both realize that we are no closer to solving the issue or even understanding it between ourselves. Not a problem, my fellow human. It’s all good. But, I have one simple request:

Who else at Skype might I consider contacting about my problem? And, please remember, this isn’t about you, it’s about me and my Skype problem. Understand what I’m getting at?

 11/20/2012 5:57:31 AM          Michael Julius S.  

Thank you for that, and for your patience as well.

 11/20/2012 5:58:53 AM          Michael Julius S.  

I would like to find the best solution to this for you.

 11/20/2012 6:00:24 AM          thom.adams56

(The ole I’m on you’re team pal and we’re in this together against the POWERS THAT BE)

Ok. Now we are on the same page. How about giving me somebody’s email address or something? Maybe a name you’ve heard or a number you have that guys like me are not usually given because as such we are not lining their pockets fast enough? I can tell them what a great job you are doing.

 11/20/2012 6:02:17 AM          Michael Julius S.  

May I provide you with a possible solution to this issue?

 11/20/2012 6:05:06 AM          Michael Julius S.  

We understand that you want to dial DTMF tones with Skype for Windows?

 11/20/2012 6:05:28 AM          Michael Julius S.  

Please note that our DTMF tone sending system is configured to work with the highest possible number of different DTMF systems. Nevertheless, some may have special requirements (for example, differing tone duration). In this case, try pressing the numbers more slowly to create longer tone duration and spaces between tones.  To call a number manually using the dial pad:

 11/20/2012 6:09:02 AM          thom.adams56

(resignation but indignent)

Mike, as patience is a virtue… but one that I was shorted on by god above I am going to leave you in the spirit of peace and happiness (in other words, quit bothering you today). Trust me on this my good buddy when i say that Skype in all their glorified holiness has not left you with enough details as to be able to answer basic simple sessions such as this. You are doing a good job, but Skype is lacking. I shall seek answers in other quarters about this fairly commonplace problem (of which thousands or millions of others must have also suffered with no obvious relief). Perhaps they have programmers all over this right now as we chat? I don’t know, but I am damn sure gonna find out. Peace out!

 11/20/2012 6:10:23 AM          Michael Julius S.  

It’s been a pleasure speaking with you today. Thank you for contacting Skype Live Support, have a great day.

 11/20/2012 6:09:02 AM          thom.adams56

(yeah right)

Hey Mike! Eat me!!

NOTE: Time spent not including 8 minutes of hold time – 1:03:23


More Food for Thought…

  • it’s never a good idea to serve shrimp at a midget convention.
  • nor should you ever take fruitcake to a psychiatric ward.
  • never serve narcissism at a hot dog eating contest.
  • let self-pity stew.
  • try to keep tension from boiling over.
  • never fan the flames when grilling with prejudice.
  • pepper insight with wisdom, and spice up racy compliments with good taste.
  • too much fat n’ happy can cause your guests indigestion and could smell up an otherwise perfectly sweet affair.
  • always serve hemlock as an after dinner cocktail (or you will kill the fun before it starts), and ONLY at private functions using great discrimination, usually as a reward for any deed that as of yet a “THANK YOU” will never suffice…
  • toast banal on both sides to give it some “crunchiness”/ uncommon wit adds flavor, and can be considered gravy.
  • buffoonish clumsiness makes a great jerky.

Where There’s a Will

And of course we all know,” where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Here’s my additions:

• Where there’s a will, there’s a wait.
• Where there’s a will, there’s a way out.
• Where there’s a Will, there’s a William.
• Where there’s a will, there’s a way (happy beneficiary).
• Where there’s a will, there’s a weigh-in.
• Where there’s a will, there’s a won’t.
• Where there’s a will, there lies a dead man.
• Where there’s a will, there’s a waif.
• Where there’s will, there’s a “what the fucK?”
• Where there is will, there is willpower.

My Culinary Advice for fine dining…

Of course, we’ve all heard the saying, “always serve revenge cold.” Well, I decided to add a few tasty culinary sayings to that time-tested advice… Chow!

• Serve platonic love at moderate temperatures and in large helpings.
• Serve undying love steaming Hot, and always as the main course.
• In either case, admiration is a nice apertivo before having raw sex for dessert.
• Most men won’t eat quiche, but they all hate the taste of touche’.
• Success is too pungent when served with arrogance, but you can always use grace as a palette cleanser.
• Better, you can serve grace between each course; it will squelch the nasty aftertaste of envy.
• Never serve God at civic ceremonies, unless it is served as “mammon”.
• Diversity makes for a lively salad, but cold stereotypes will kill the rich flavors that delight without discriminating.
• Thoughtful advice should always be tenderized.
• Deep fry pomposity before lambasting.
• Hautiness always goes in the Crock-Pot.
• Excellence makes for the perfect gravy, but be sure not to lay it on too thick.
• You must grill suspicion, but hold the barbequing until you’re certain it’s edible.
• Marinate meathead until its soft and mushy; to be sure to lighten any bitter taste of testosterone.
• Serve chocolate Beefcake at gay birthday parties, or ladies night out coffee shop gatherings.
• Women like tubesteak served between two fresh buns.
• Never eat at the Y during a full moon cycle.

• Boiling and searing meanness only makes it harder to swallow.
• A good roast should always be dashed with wit, sarcasm, and biting humor.
• Deep freeze bigotry and never let it thaw.

and, cooking the books may look good, but it can be poisonous when left uncovered too long, and should never be served to loyal investors who only wanted a small taste of the proverbial pie.

Dear Governor of Florida

A one man wrecking ball for Gator haven hasn’t a clue

The Almighty Governor of this crooked State

Must sneer in laughter while good citizens await

Their pleas for justice fall on his silent jeers

Their hopes are waning whispering just two more years.

Convicted as a criminal though someone voted him in

Restricted by minimal  where his condolences end

Whose fault be it that he attained our vaunted lead?

His thieving constituents, who now nothing impedes.

Big Rick, Go find another entity to leech

Great Scott, find another’s justice system to breach

Yet we know  it doesn’t matter who sits your chair

This swamp’s full of liars, lizards, and snakes, of that I’m full aware.


The Rich get richer, while the Rich get dumber

A succinct letter to some folks who don’t get it…(distributed in their neighborhood)

July 6, 2012

John and Nina Kirchhoefer
11 S Brown Street
Orlando, Florida

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Kirchhoefer:

You may remember me as the person who, after noticing that every light in your house was on without window treatments, and seeing you lounging in your den on your double recliner through your clear glass door from the street, tapped on your front door with my seven year old son several hours after we watched the Lake Eola Fireworks display?

I remember that your husband John glanced back at us for about two seconds, then non-chalantly turned back around never bothering to look our way again. And it appeared that you only reluctantly came to the door after I began repeatedly pointing to my little son and making “we need help” gestures. We were so grateful you decided to walk those five steps to the door. We were also frantic. Thank You so much!
With several late model cars parked around your beautiful home and grounds, I had assured my worried son that folks with such ostentatious wealth on display are usually well educated, and as such could easily understand and empathize with our dire situation, and more than likely offer to help us. NOT.


I explained very clearly and politely to you that after the fireworks we had walked to and eaten at Wildside Grill, and then became lost looking for our car several hours earlier, and that both my son and I were about to “panic”. Even though I wasn’t dumbfounded by your lack of concern when I mentioned the fact that I am totally and permanently disabled from two recent heart failures (and we had easily walked at least 4-5 miles); I was dumfounded by your total lack of empathy and concern for my smart and beautiful seven year old son.

Your shameful indifference to our plight brought back a lesson I learned the hard way, but have since kept dear and close to my heart:

“Financial wealth can only bring you a brief respite from the inner knowledge and ultimate reality that life is short, and there are many, many more satisfying joys than a perfect lawn and well lit house, those being which only exemplify and enlarge one’s petty pretentious existence.” -mostdiggity

Though I’m a bit older than most (56), like many first time parents my son is my light and my life.

Your uncaring indifference and lack of effort to help us shocked, disgusted, and appalled me. At least you (Ms. K) listened, while your slug of a husband wouldn’t even face us like a real man; most likely because he had ascertained “that there was nothing in it for him”. How wrong. I pity his limited scope, and you, having such a desperate future with such a loathsome creature as he. Apparently not even a vacation to New Zeeland could cure his ills.

Apparently you’ve never been blessed with having children of your own, or you have forgotten what children are about? Or perhaps, you’re just STUPID and uninformed about common decent human protocol? I cannot speak to your upbringing, so perhaps you do have some excuse after all.

My son was frightened and scared and we were completely lost, though I knew my car must be somewhere within a couple of blocks of your home. I simply had no idea of which way to look, as I felt as if we had walked the entire Thornton Park neighborhood.

I also clearly stated that I am a single Father, and had no one in this town to call for help.

I explained to you, that although I had called 911 earlier and was met by an Orlando Patrolman, he drove us a mere three blocks then suddenly explained that was as much as he could help us. He put us out further from my car than before. Serve and Protect? I don’t think so.

Not to worry, I’ll be writing a similar missive to them as well, and understand that the internet is my best friend. Word.

Soooo… I’m writing you to shout a wake up call in large letters: SHAME ON YOU!

You two are selfish, ignorant, self-serving low-lifes for not putting us into one of your many cars and helping us for the 10-15 minutes it might have taken to find our vehicle. Did we look like thugs standing there with the obvious leftover Styrofoam sandwich takeout we were carrying? Are seven year olds apt to do home invasions these days with their 56 year old accomplices? Seriously if you were in the slightest bit afraid of us, then you are simply PATHETIC individuals with the insight of a mole. More likely you are fat, lazy have-it-alls who can’t even appreciate their own good fortune in life. Good fortune is a precarious friend.

It is obvious to me that you’ve been financially successful, all in spite of yourselves! How do you hide your fake selves from legitimate business associates? I’m betting you act quite differently around your prospects and customers… perhaps they too would enjoy hearing from me?

Little people like you are ridiculous contemptible morons, only acting like real people. Little people frauds who won’t bother to help others, even when they can easily determine that sometimes good folks might find real trouble.

Especially, when there is little or no expense to their own over-the-top empty self-serving lives.

John and Nina Kirshhwhodontgiveafuck, there may or may not be a place for God in your lives, but there certainly is Karma enough for everyone. It will check your ego at its unforgiving door.

So, perhaps you may want to forget about your all-important selves a bit, and work on simple generous, charitable, or philanthropic virtues a tad bit more. Remember, you are only human like the rest of us, and for the unexamined life Karma always has its way of forcing egotists like yourselves to their weak knees, where they must adjust to a more meaningful playing field. Your payday with fate is out there somewhere, and you are no exceptions to its unyielding rules.

I spent the time to find you, write you and also share my experience with your neighbors. After what you failed to do for my son and me that night, it’s really the least I could do for you.

Mind you this letter is from no lunatic, but from an intelligent, fully self-actualized man who has seen at least as much financial success in life and perhaps much more failure as you have. As mean as this letter may sound to you now, I write this in the peaceful spirit of an equal human who suggests you take a closer look at reality, before reality takes a look at you.

NOW PLEASE. I implore you from my heart of hearts: get over yourselves and be somebody! I am,


thom m adams

cc: anyone and everyone who cares to listen

Karma’s Face is turning Green after a Ten year Hiatus

Thom Adams of Maitland, Florida reports that a ten year “dicey-nastybug” he caught while moving his one man band to Florida 10 years ago may be finally letting up. Yesterday, he rolled Yo on the come out, sending thousands of unhappy don’t bettors to the three card poker tables and breaking his world record of consecutive don’t pass rolls. A record he says he’s not especially proud of, but he says he “rolls” with the punches.

He says that a multi-dimentional string of bad luck dice rolls got caught in a state of “suspended perpetuosity” (his words not ours) as he played Craps with god, the devil, van morrison, and a guy named creeps on a one way cruise to hell. He was betting the pass line with double odds and taking 2 come bets with 10X odds. The number “seven” came up 7,345 times consecutively, each time after establishing a point of various table numbers (of which he himself established on his come out rolls). He was very unpopular with the do’s, but the don’ts and the lays plowed him with all sorts of medicinal potions cococted to keep his horrendous roll alive. That is… until his string broke… and him too.

Today, he cautiously, but briefly smiled… ending a 10 year frown that left him with a double forehead brow, only recently made popular by Anthony Davis, the unibrow phenom from University of Kentucky. “I hope Ant stays away from the Riverboats in New Orleans, he quipped.

“And who knows,” he was reported saying. “Maybe tomorrow the sun will come out and my car windows will be rolled up.”


“What Will Come and What May”

-Written for a Special friend and mother (Stefanie) of a beautiful two year old (Jayden) on Mothers Day 2008.

They had spent the last week or two living with us due to an ex-boyfriend gone mad, and the changing dynamics had left an indelible mark on all our psyches. Our parenting styles were vastly different and we were both frustrated and confused…not to mention how the arrangement affected our TWO beautiful reasons to live, OUR SONS Jayden and Dylan.

While they went to Cocoa to enjoy the beach, and Dylan (my son) went to his grandma’s house for Mother’s Day, i had a few moments, (finally) alone to relax, reflect  and write this sing-songy poem…

You say i know nothing and nothing i might.

But to jump on conclusions would be a dark ride at night,

With scars healed by daylight and bones who’ve felt  bite

I must take you and your screaming to the woodshed of light

There once lived a young maiden, in a land far away

Spent 20 years of bailing yet making no hay

Her mind was confused keeping demons at bay.

THOUGH she was sharp, strong and able, somehow that didn’t pay,

She was searching for answers, but figured “what will come and what may”

Meanwhile, back at the office of crisis and crowd

The vortex had summoned my life SO clear and SO loud.

I was forced to eat porrage of love and deceit,

Then i woke up in heaven, and whom did i greet?

A line of old men who all looked like my dad

Their clothes matched each other’s, not yellow or red,

They were the color of ‘old wisdom’, they were gray flannel dead.

I was happy to see them, i think they were me, (i thought they were me?)

But then i was certain when they all stood to pee

My limelight soon over, their focus turned off of me,

Just behind my left shoulder sat (my son) in our Tree.

The branches were spindly, they all shook when he smiled,

My love was enormous but our chances looked vile.

I figured…  no need to worry, ”what will come and what may”

Then I watched  you with (Jayden), at Cocoa Beach… yesterday?

I grabbed my son Dylan, ran and waved while  I held back my tears

My dads all said goodbye, but  that I might not see them  see them for years

Between the dead and the living, it’s only us with the fears

But  I felt  this profound implication in loving our peers.

When I saw you again, I was no longer mad nor was I sad

I knew that our friendship was too important to let it go like some fad.

Your lovely smile lit my soul and I was thrilled you came my way

It was the day our lives intersected at the corner of  ”what will come and what may”


it all went down…

i wasn’t here when it all went down
one day vacation, is like weeks of bars in zani-town
my world on pause, yours still turnin’ round
they heard screams of pleasure, me not a sound.

what happened here musta’ been profound
she just may have left me, she can’t be found
an tho’ I’ve searched my memory, none be round
its why all flights to zani, are all inbound.

Nostradamus Lives!

this was posted on SeaofBlue.com BEFORE the NCAA Elite Eight Cats/Carolina slugfest in March 2011 which saw Kentucky outman, outgun, outdefend, (like all get out) a formidable, but very beatable Tar Heel squad…


though i usually can’t pick my nose in the ncaa, this time i predicted that only one-1 seed and no two seeds would see the final four this year. the Cats can make that happen today with a win. let’s take a look at some numbers and facts borrowed from kenpom.com:

generally carolina plays faster paced than kentucky, thus scoring more points per game. carolina wants to push the ball looking for open 2pt shots, and i doubt that calipari will mind.

carolina plays its offense primarily through their bigs. they are monster offensive rebounders, while kentucky is slightly better at defensive rebounding. keeping the heels off their offensive glass is crucial.

the teams are fairly equal at offensive shooting % inside the arc. but, carolina scores most of its points inside the arc, as they shoot a few threes, and those are not shot that well (33.2%). kentucky shoots the three very well (39.2%), and relatively more often, though they are not simply a three point shooting team that lives (and dies) by the three. kentucky shoots free throws better (71.7% vs 67%), but carolina does not foul nearly as much as kentucky and relatively little period.

kentucky takes care of the ball much better (makes fewer turnovers), ranked #9 div 1 vs #166 in offensive TO%.

kentucky defends the three about the same as carolina (opponents shoot 33.2% vs 32.5%) but defends inside the arc better (opp shoot 41.7 vs 44.4%). kentuckys opponents shoot fewer three than carolinas. kentucky typically blocks a slightly higher percentage of shots than carolina.

kentucky’s effective field goal % is higher than carolina (52.5 vs 49.2). this factor is calculated combining 2pt and 3pt shooting %. and its adjusted offensive efficiency (all factors combined – shooting %, TO%, OR%, FT%), is better (ranked #7 in division 1 vs #39), although carolina has a better adjusted defensive ratio (same factors only defensively – ranked #5 div 1 vs #20). yet, kentuckys effective defensive field goal % is bit higher than is carolinas (ie guarding 2pt and 3pt shots combined).

this adds up to a game being decided on how well kentucky can shoot the three against a carolina defense that does not guard the three well, and then defend their own basket in the paint against carolina’s bigger frontline, and how well carolina’s somewhat shaky guards take care of the basketball against a formidable defender in kentucky.


AS in, Season's ends in...
AS in, Season’s ends in…

also carolina’s free throw shooting may become a factor, since they are likely to be at the line more often.

Based on the games importance, it is likely to be a dogfight through the end with the numbers suggesting (to me) kentucky winning by 2-3 pts, say 76-74.

of course, we all know how the game is not played on paper, but in the hearts and minds of the players, and at the coaching box. for my money, i like kentucky here too, with the 4 seeding being a large factor in the chip they seem to be wearing on their shoulders. to me, the Heels seem satisfied to just have the monkey off their backs from last year’s debacle season, and seem a bit soft. Getting pounded by Duke and Georgia Tech this year shows they are vulnerable to a blowout.

Look for Liggins to possibly step out on Marshal early to test his fortitude, then settle in with defending Barnes.

If kentucky goes cold from the three point line, look for a long afternoon watching carolina rebound and head off to the races, ending in many contested layups, dunks, and foul trouble for the Cats. this will not end pretty for our boys, and we go home to watch on TV.

The play of Terrence Jones and Darius Miller seems important here in how well we can contain the big Carolina frontline. we already know Harrelson, Liggins, Lamb, and Knight will show up ready to play.

(sorry, i just hate to capitalize while huntin and peckin)


 Man Up O’ shallow prisoner of the flame

leave us fat ogres and hot strippers

to wallow in your shame… and OUR bed.

A misery worth no less than a ticker tape parade… I guess.

Go dig up the varmints and find the crooks

whom you admire and slither with in the darkness

 Nothing less is deserved for your brand of ignorant enlightenment.

 But stay meek, for it is your only trump,

 Though it is low and face cards await your play.

In your heartless shadow there lurks a black queen who wants you to take her home.

So, use up your new friends like minutes on a pubescent’s phone

never waiting for when the time strikes a better value

For You Are A Prime Time User

Consume, inhale, imbibe and partaketh…

Always knowing there’s an Amscott on every corner

where you always attract lot’s of interest.

 You can keep your two faced women

where i’ll remind you that while it may look good on paper

In reality it seems there’s no monopoly on ugly… Oh well.

But you never stooped my roomie… for trash or garbage.

Content to leave it lay where your sleeping dogs lie

where for you lying has been elevated to a new art form

And you… the Salvadore Dali of the downtrodden

who very few can understand, and even fewer can appreciate.

Knowing your wonderfully fragile acid burnt out heart

your backstabber friends will patiently wait… for when the bottom falls out.


  I mean for you.



Closing Time


U rung me up then wrung me out
last call has cum and went
sticky keys of vomit, beer, and booze
smoke and mirrors’ last lament.

times you X’d me out with smiles
left only Z’s and pants in piles
that telling tape of recorded lies
skimming froth from TRUTH, and HOPE…from reconcile.

my lights came on when the lights went out
while smart money headed for the door
don’t sexy crooks like you feel strange
knowing that my drawers were left open, not for you…but CHANGE?