you see the beaumont children were kidnapped and murdered back on january 26 1966 in Glenelg Adelaide

and in case you are wondering, their next lives made it up to an adult, you see it was a plan for the heavens to

trap cronus, and they ran up a series of problems for the 3 children, you see at the quick moment that the

beaumont children had died, they were ready to re enter the next life, and anna, who was the middle child

was reborn on April  13 in 1970, and she was named Ricky Schroder and Jane was the great Danny Ponce

who played one twin ***** hogan on the hit series Valerie and the Hogan Family after Valerie Harper died

Grant was Brian Allan who lives in Canberra because Patrick dunbar wanted Brian Allan to be worried about being an adult, so his family can avoid the USA

at any cost especially when the great Ted Bundy was causing problems for a lot of women over there

and when Brian watched silver spoons for the first time, he noticed that he needed to be kidnapped, but

he only got kidnapped in dreams, because, Jane wanted Rick Schroder to teach Brian that kidnapping is wrong

Brian also watched the hit show Valerie and the hogan family and looked at ***** hogan’s legs but it was because

he was having problems, you see Brian was kidnapped in wisconsin when he was Patrick Dunbar in 1950 by a nasty witch doctor

which made Brian a tad scared of witches when his mother read stories about the wicked witch, even though it was just a story and

then he was kidnapped as Greame Thorne in 1960 and then he was kidnapeed as Grant Beaumont and during his life

he noticed there was a concection  between Danny and Rick and Brian Allan, as they are the reincarnations of the beaumont children

this sounds weird as Brian Allan isn’t gay, but he was weird, and voices in his head said Brian’s Strange and another voice

saying i might kidnap Brian in a minute when Brian was going around Canberra grabbing kids, and as soon as Brian ******* a boy, Anne and Jane came down

and said, you hated it when they got us, so why are you doing it to another, those killers are in jail now and do you want to go to jail too

and Brian didn’t want to live in his delusions saying he is not a crazy person and Jane, who was Danny Ponce and Anna who was Rick Schroder

left Brian to drown himself in self pity, and then Brian knew he had a problem when he met Brendan who was asking for smokes all the fucken time

and he kept showing his Manly legs as he played basketball in Brian’s yard, and Brian who lived in the back yard of his parents house, was really worried

and he thought that everyone is leaving him, but then he saw a version of Lonesome dove, which had Rick Schroder in it, who was Anna, trying to teach

his reincarnation of her little brother who was having a few problems, with the ghost of ted bundy capturing him and Brendan, and then after a few more years in

2007, Brian moved out because every time Brian was having mojo issues every time it looked like he was improving, and when Brian moved out, he started to feel great

and Rick Anna made her reincarnation join the show Strong Medicine, to teach Brian how to deal with the health system, because Brian was struggling with his illness

and Brian was a tenpin bowler for about 12 years and he got quite a lot of great scores, and Brian is still alive today, a bit fat, but still alive, and so is Danny Ponce and Rick Schroder

you see way back in the 1960s, it was hard to cope, for Brian as he was kidnapped and killed 3 times before Brian Allan came into existence,

you see Brian has to now to stand up for himself because he can’t expect Rick and Danny to look after him forever, you see when Brian was running he tied himself tighty to his bed

to try and get a good story out of it, and you might have known that i have a few stories about kidnapping of ***** Hogan and Ricky Stratton kidnapped by the kids and the one about

me being the one to kidnap the sports boys, which i did, but I feel bad about grabbing the kids and yes i hated the father yelling at me, but i hated the idea of scaring the kids, and

i have been struggling, I can’t get a job where I need a working with vomerable persons check, and it was my fault, and I wish if i had my time again, i won’t make the same mistakes

as I did, you see it was good having my previous life’s sisters coming into my head when I was in jail, and i had to do the right thing so I don’t go to prison.

you see Anne and Jane, decided to help Brian who was Grant to make sure he will be sorry for what he did.

By Bob Englehart
(based on a true story)


Ben Hogan was the strongest man.
The game had ever seen,
The purest golfer in the world,
Who’d ever graced a green.

He had one dream and only one:
To play a perfect round,
Eighteen glorious holes-in-one
Before he’s in the ground.

One day a wealthy patron,
The richest man in town,
Said “Ben, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,
If you play that perfect round.

I’ll give you a million dollars,
More than fifty grand a stroke.
If you can do what no man’s done.”
Said Ben “Is this a joke?”

“Let’s do it now” the man said.
“Lets have a little fun.”
“OK”, said Ben.  “I’ll get my clubs.”
And they walked to number one.

He put his ball down on the tee,
The turf was Kentucky Blue.
He squared his body to the plane,
And swooped his follow-through.

Oh, he started on the first one,
And heaved his mighty whack!
It rolled onto the high side
And dribbled in the back.

The next one was a dogleg,
He waved the crowd away,
The gallery was silent now,
The trees began to sway.

A little breeze had risen up,
He put his club back in,
And took out something with less loft
And a little more backspin.

He hit it with a wallop!
It carved into the wind,
It chose a path below the wrath
And bounced and rolled.  It’s in.

The third one was a downhill,
With water on the left,
A line of trees behind the stream
And sand traps hard and wet.

Ol’ Ben let go a low one,
It swallowed up the air,
And blew right through an apple tree,
A peach tree and a pear.

That ball had so much on it,
Though it hardly did rise up,
It scattered rocks and leaves and dust
‘Til it rolled into the cup.

Its cover had unraveled,
Ben bent to lift it out.
He gave it to his caddy
Who gave a mighty shout.

Number four and five the same,
Perfection every shot,
Six through nine were ones apiece.
He was thirsty now and hot.

Number ten, the toughest hole
The golf course had on tap,
A double-dogleg, raised up green,
And a bunker called The Trap.

The Trap was a crater in the ground,
With a rope to climb on down,
And a flashlight on the bottom sand,
By a skull some golfer’d found.

Ol’ Ben just squinted skyward,
And lifted up his chin,
“I want to try to make this shot
Before the darkness settles in.”

He came down through that golf ball,
With a smile of purest pleasure,
And it headed for The Trap at speeds
Impossible to measure.

It dipped into the chasm,
And headed for the gloom,
It plunged down deep in the abyss
‘Til it hadn’t any room.

It hit the skull like a bullet,
Some bone was blown clean off,
Out the top of the Trap it flew
And lined up with the moss.

It rolled two hundred yards or so,
And headed for the cup,
And dropped in with a gentle plop
With its logo facing up.

Eleven, twelve and thirteen,
Were handled much the same,
You couldn’t hold a candle to him,
When Ben was on his game.

The next four holes were all alike,
The ones that came before,
All holes-in-one were on his card,
No twos were on his score.

He strolled up to the eighteenth tee,
His heart was beating loud.
He put his fingers to his lips,
And quieted the crowed.

The last one was a short one,
A straight-ahead par three
There were no hazards anywhere,
No sand trap, pond or tree.

“This should be a snap, ol’ sport”
The patron said as he looked.
He reached into his pocket,
And got out his checkbook.

Ben hit the ball without a tee,
A divot flopped in front,
The ball flew forward to the rough
Like a major-leaguers’ bunt.

It straightened out and bounded for
The cup which was dead ahead,
His target clearly right on line,
“Draino,” the patron said.

But deep inside that little hole,
In the center of the green,
A bug was singing courtship songs
That filled the round ravine.

And on the edge…above him,
His girl bug sat and giggled,
And fluttered sixteen eyelids
Her antennae bobbed and jiggled.

The ball snuck up behind her,
It didn’t see her charms,
And it knocked her off the slippery edge
Right into her boy bug’s arms.

The ball stopped when it hit her.
It wouldn’t moved an inch.
The patron’s eyes popped real wide,
Ben Hogan didn’t flinch.

Ben couldn’t know the truth of it,
He only knew he failed.
He took it all upon himself,
And stomped the ground and wailed.

Other dreams would have to wait.
He couldn’t rest until
He turned around and headed back
To the first tee on the hill.

They say his ghost’s still out there
And on moonlit nights you’ll hear
The pounding of his irons
Against the dimpled sphere.

Before I met her, I wanted to be her. Does that sound stupid? I wanted to be that ****** up ****** that did a bunch of drugs and always had money because she led men on and lived free and just lived life despite a daily brush with death. I was eventually, and I had an amazingly horrible experience.

I met her when I was 13. I spent a lot of time just "babysitting" her really. My other friends hated her. We'd come over and she'd literally go in the closet to shoot up and we'd just be chilling in her bedroom listening to Hole and being really confused as to why she didn't just use the bathroom. But she liked the attention and audience. This might seem cliche or mean or whatever, but it's true.

As my decent friends grew further away from me because I continuously grew closer and closer to her, I did a lot of *******, not nearly as much as I would later on in life. but enough to say, "wow I did a lot of ******* when I was 15" and at the time, it seemed like an accomplishment. Maybe I thought I was cool, I don't know, now I just think I was stupid and weak and regret being like my father.

Obviously, as time went on, I did ******. The first 500 times Natalie offered me it, I said no. I always said no, but she still always asked. If you know a ****** addict, there's something else you probably know. ****** addicts love having other ****** addicts around because you guys will work together to make money and get more. This will probably turn into what it really is and what we were really were, and that's a co-dependent platonic couple, but I didn't know that until just now.

The day I finally did it, my god. My god. My god. My god. My god.

I feel slightly guilty writing this because I don't want to glorify drug abuse but Christ, did it feel good.

We were downstairs watching Hedwig and she gave me the eye to start talking to her mom so she could go upstairs discreetly. Then her mom was like "where'd she go?" so I went to go check, even though I knew.

I walk into the bathroom, scaring the **** out of her. She had lines of ******, diesel, whatever. We called it diesel, I don't know if that's like a common name for it? Is it? Whatever, I said "let me try it."

Why? I don't know why. To this very second I can't remember what I was thinking. She didn't ask, and maybe that's why. But she put some on her hand and I snorted it. I hated the taste. Sometimes I smell it, and I don't know what it is that smells like ******, but I find myself saying out loud, when people are around, "ugh it smells like ******."

This is one of my catchphrases I think, and I am not proud of it anymore.

People always ask me what it felt like the first time. I remember not feeling anything. I remember not feeling guilty for helping Natalie remain a drug addict in her parents house. I remember her pinching me and telling me not be obvious, but oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that it was going to make me feel like a warm pancake that just wanted to sleep wide awake.

Sleeping wide awake, that's a good way to describe how it feels.

I tell people this a lot, this process of drug use, and how I ended up shooting ****** and kind of just ignoring that I was.

I smoked *** and said "well it's not like I'm doing E"
then I did E and said "I'm not doing coke"
then it was "it's not ******"
and then it was "it's not like I'm shooting it."

Once I started shooting it, I didn't have any excuse or cop out, I was just curious as to what else I could inject into my body and became that glorified drug addict who lived free and did anything she wanted and felt like she came out of a book or a movie or a ****** up story you only hear strangers gabbing about on the train.

I was that girl. Natalie was much worse though. But that didn't come until I was about 18.

I had morals, yes even heavily addicted to ******, I had morals. I didn't steal from my family. This was one thing that would not break for me even when I was maybe putting **** in my mouth for money. But that's not even entirely true because I didn't do it for the money, it just happened that way.

So I'm probably 16 at this point in the story. I'm meeting guys off MySpace with her, guys from rich towns that want *** or coke or ******, just guys who can't get it in their towns. She's ******* them, I'm stealing from them. We don't keep friends very long because they know what we're up to after a few times.

She also sold her parents wedding rings, I didn't even know until after the fact, or I would have tried to stop her.

Her mother was so good to me. I spent a lot of time at their house. Her mom always invited me for holidays, despite the huge family they already had coming, because she knew my home life wasn't too good and she just treated me like I imagine you're supposed to treat a daughter you like. She was also very religious, which added to the blinders she had when it came to Natalie. She thought she could pray the drugs away, the way she tried to pray my gay away.

I was absolutely heart broken and completely beside myself the day her mother yelled, "she told me what you did. She told me you took the rings."

I didn't take the rings but what was I supposed to do? Try and convince her that Natalie did? She knew, somewhere she knew, but she didn't want to believe it so I just walked out of the house and never came back. I cried about that for a long time because I loved her mother, so much more than I am trying to say here. She might have been oblivious, but she was the sweetest woman in the world and I feel horrible that she had a daughter like Natalie.

I met so many characters. Chris. I don't remember his last name but it was something really white boyish. He would drive 45 minutes to us so we could get him 8 bags of ****** when he paid for 10, but we'd pocket two. We did this a lot during the day actually. We'd get drugs for people and just never tell them you get a bundle (10 bags) for 80$, and they'd tell their friends we'd go for them, and they'd think the same thing. Why? Oh, because these were very white people that were afraid of the "ghetto." And it was the ghetto, it was Newark, NJ. The corner of Victoria and Garside, what up, what up. Come see me.

I never really liked Chris. He was a musician but he wasn't that good. I think he thought he was Conor Oberst, and at that time, he kind of looked like him. But he was just some rich white kid with an inflated ego and I didn't feel bad ripping him off, or his Trust Fund Baby friends.

I did feel bad though when one of them died in front of us.

So I guess this is where I'll start writing the "**** got real real fast" stuff, now that I've hopefully explained the type of person I am and how I got to this point.


Why drug dealers cut their drugs with poison and whatever else, I'll never know. Bad for business if you ask me, but I've never been a big fan of the business world, but this seems pretty similar.

Natalie is driving Chris' car and we didn't snort any ****** yet, which was weird, but I'm grateful we didn't. We bring it back to Chris and his friends, who are waiting a few towns over for us. They get in the car and are like "just drive around for a bit so we can do this."

They all have separate bags, and I feel terrible I can't remember the girl's name that died, I want to say it was Karen or something like that but I know it wasn't. She just rolls up a bill and snorts out of the bag and within like 10 seconds she's screaming and everyone in the backseat is screaming and I turn around and there's blood pouring out of her nose and it's all over her hands and the car and her boyfriend and Chris and I think her eyes are bleeding but I'm not entirely sure if that's what was happening. And I'm like "What the **** what the ****" because it wasn't a normal nose bleed, this girl was just, flowing blood out of her face.

Natalie is emotionless as always. I'm screaming "get to the hospital get to the ******* hospital" and the girl is like screaming "it hurts oh my god oh my god it hurts" and her boyfriend is like "yo man, what the **** bb are you okay bb."

It's weird that in situations like this everyone repeats themselves but I think your brain kind of stops working and you need to repeat yourself so the rest of you can process the magnitude of ****** up that your eyes are seeing.

Needless to say, Natalie didn't go straight to the hospital, she stopped the car a few blocks away. The girl died within 15 minutes. I don't know why Natalie or I wasn't held accountable for what happened, but I think it had something to do with me telling Chris who the dealer was, and this was the only time in my life I ever gave out a name, even when I was in jail, I didn't rat anyone out. But death is different and anyone who doesn't believe in being a rat when you're faced with that kind of guilt, is a *******.

Natalie got out and started walking, Chris got in the front seat and I followed after Natalie. He did take his friend to the hospital immediately after but Natalie was being inhumane, and it was just better she got out of the car because she probably would have driven us all into a river to avoid being arrested.

I really have no idea why she got out of the car though, she had no fear, I think she was just annoyed, like this girl's death ruined her day when it ruined my life. I guess making a joke out of it makes it easier for me to deal with, but it still isn't. For me, it was monstrous, it was desensitizing, it was mortality showing itself and I was like "I'll never do ****** again." But that was a lie. I found out a week later via MySpace message that the girl had glass (!?) in her bag as well as ****** and I have no idea. I have no ******* idea what why how. I just don't understand that.

Chris still came around for ****** though. And he still brought his friends, just not the ones that were there that day.

What am I, like 17? I'm still senior in high school and I have really ****** concept of age, and I meet this other guy.

MY GOD WHAT A MAN.

Yeah, I said it. He was 38, built like Hulk Hogan, and had the sweetest smile and the most honest blue eyes I have ever seen.

He also had been out of jail for a whole year before we met him. He was tied to a car ring where people would pay him to steal cars. He was in jail for 6 years and when I turned 21, I heard he landed himself back in jail for trying to **** someone or something.

He was nice though. I couldn't figure out why he was so obsessed with Natalie. But the niceness wore out and I finally learned what a creepy ******* he was.

He used to ride his bicycle to meet up with us and he had a lot of money, he just wasn't allowed a license. He was a construction worker for the union, made like 60$ an hour and what do you know, he was a ****** addict.

He told me how they get drugs inside jail. You get a girl to come visit you and sit down with you. You kiss them, like make out kissing because that's all you need. That like 4 seconds before someone is like HEY CUT IT OUT, and they have the drugs wrapped up in their mouth, and you get the picture. Just in case you were wondering how that works.

He also told me that I reminded him of his sister, that died of a drug overdose.
He also showed me his **** one day when he was at my house alone with me.
He also ****** off on my couch and tried to get me to **** it.
Then he tried to get me just to touch it.
Then I asked him to leave.
And then some other stuff happened that I don't feel comfortable writing about but I probably will another day.

He turned out to be a ******* ****** and I don't really trust anyone with pretty eyes anymore. But he was fun. Once he started trying to impress me, a 17 year old girl, and Natalie who was like 22, he decided he'd go back to his old ways and steal cars. I can't count the amount of porsches I've been in or how many miles per hour we went or how many car accidents there were that we shouldn't have walked away from it unharmed. He never hit anyone else, just walls and guardrails, rolled into ditches.

Seat belts, seriously, wear them. I don't anymore, but I'm going to start again.

He used to give me a lot of money. A Lot Of Money, just to hang out with him and watch him ******* and ****. I don't know sometimes when I think about these things.

Natalie did something stupid, she got caught stealing from him. He didn't mind giving us money and I think that's why he was so mad. He would have just handed it to her if she asked. So he started coming to my house a lot in stolen cars, then I introduced him to my other teenager female friends and it worked out really well for me.

He was gone for good and it was better that way.

I was still only snorting ****** up until this time of my life. The taste of ****** and the amount I puked from it was becoming too much and I was losing a lot of weight and it wasn't healthy looking so I decided to start shooting. I didn't even do it for the normal reason which is, you get higher, faster and harder.

Natalie and I are in a bathroom of my friend's house whose mother is handicapped, bed bound, so we just go there all the time to get high. The mother is also diabetic so there's a lot of unused empty needles. I help her shoot. And it's scary, she would shake and tremble and it was really bad. Sometimes I'd think to myself, "it's like your body is trying to stop you from doing it."

But if you like blood, watching someone shoot up is really cool. You mix water with the powder and, ew now that I'm thinking about it, what the ****. You wrap your arm up, so your veins pop up, put the needle into a vein and you pull some blood out, I don't know the reason behind this, and you shoot it back into yourself.

I'm really uncomfortable with the whole idea of shooting so I shot into my hands because I had very prominent veins there. I eventually started shooting speed *****, ****** and coke, which was too much fun for someone as emotionally unstable as I was, to be doing something so completely unpredictable. The first time I shot ******, I never snorted it again.

I shot Jack Daniels once and never did that again either. I figured I'd get drunk really fast, right? Wrong, it burned like a ***** and I started smashing my hand into the bathroom sink screaming "WHAT THE **** WHY DOES IT BURN."

It's whiskey, Audrey. Whiskey.

I met so many more people when I was shooting. I became friends with an entire *******, all the strippers, their boyfriends, their "daddies" and just, those kinds of people, and like I said before, I'll write about that another day. But that is where I met Janelle and Kevin, aka, Jack and Sally. They were these really gothy ****** addicts and this is going to be ridiculous, but it was so beautiful when they shot up.  

Kevin would be like "okay, baby, ready?" and he'd caress her arm and she'd wrap it, and he'd kiss her and then kiss her arm, then he'd put the needle in and I'd be sitting on the bed sobbing because I thought it was so cute, in like, a really disgusting "I'm clearly on drugs" kind of way.

I didn't hang out with them for that long, Natalie ****** Kevin and that ****** because Kevin and I used to make forts inside the house and talk a lot about nothing, but it was fun and I felt like a child, and I liked feeling like I was a child and that it was okay I was acting the way I was.

A bunch of people that hung out there eventually started doing ****** and I couldn't stand it so I had to get away from a bit because my guilt came back and I felt like I was killing everyone.


Natalie started setting up drug deals so they'd get ripped off if they went without her, she started turning on me, stealing from me, she had me set up for a deal and her dealer put a gun in my mouth when I started arguing with him about how he gave me like wood chips or whatever. It was not ******, but we still ran like thieves together.

She introduced me to the next guy we were going to use, his name was Pablo. He was about 42 and lived in his parents basement. He was an outstanding artist, I mean, I couldn't figure out why he was in his parents basement with the amount of talent he had. We used to smoked embalming fluid with him and angel dust.

Now, if you ever want to know what it feels like to be Alice in Thunderland, smoke embalming fluid. I went on a 4 day drug binge that consisted of nothing but dust, fluid, her

The victim list keeps growing

But no one really cares

The gristmill claims another one

Keep your hands in and don't stare

Hollywood is the golden land

The eternal silver screen

But many souls are lost here

A lot of greats or never beens

Child stars and veterans

The names can fill a book

Look, we've lost another one

Keep on moving, no time to look

We show concern when tales we hear

Of celebs dying young

We ruminate on films not made

And songs they've never sung

Each busload brings another group

To fill the starstruck void

And the next bus has a dozen more

With dreams, too soon destroyed

It's been this way since film began

The streets are filled with scores

Of undiscovered junkies,

And photogenic ******.

Some you know and some you don't

It's a list a mile long

It's amazing how these fragile folks

Could end up going wrong

The studios were pimps back then

With bennies all the rage

They loaded up their bonus babes

And then they sent them out on stage

We've seen the Little Rascals

You know Alfalfa Switzer, but,

Did you know he died a ******

From a bullet to his gut?

Scandals, lawsuits, hidden trysts

These stars were fully amped

Girls below the legal age,

Made Chaplins ***** a *****

Arbuckle committed ******

Other's just od'd

It's amazing how the failures

Make for a better read

Oh look another bus trip

Past the houses of the stars

All manicured and landscaped lawns

Just to hide the ****** scars

If you look behind the curtain

Back into the world of Oz

You'll find the munchkins getting plastered

And dear Judy dead because

They made her a screen idol

They broke down the girl inside

They milked her for her talent

****, they took her for a ride,

For every one like Garland

There's a thousand more in line

Just waiting for their chance to see

Their name upon that sign

Keep together, Keep on moving

There's lot's more for you to see

River Phoenix from an overdose

John Belsushi killed by speed

Peg Entwhistle jumped from high atop

The Hollywood sign we see

She decided she had had enough

In either 32 or 33.

Hughes bough loads of starlets

He liked to hide them round the town

But he was always way too busy

Getting up or coming down

James Dean died in a car crash

Add his name unto the glut

And there was young Grace Kelly

It seems our Princess was a ****

Jean Harlows husband shot himself

Clara Bow liked  having fun

In fact she ******* the USC football team

And I think she might have won

Look up and see the smiles

Of the ones who reached their dream

But, many do not go unscathed

In Space they can't hear you scream!

Sal Mineo was murdered,

Then there's dear dear Natalie Wood

They're not saying  RJ done it,

But it sure does not look good

Remember the curly headed kid

Who played Buffy on tv

She ended up so full of drugs

It's a list from A to Z

Now, when stars have problems

they do reheab and they hide

Back then they never had the chance

They just committed suicide

The man of steel, George Reeves

Was found shot in the head

They're not sure who killed Superman

So they said suicide instead,

Bob Crane, our Colonel Hogan

Made **** films and did drugs

But, whle Hogan's Heroes was still on

This was swept under the rugs

We can keep on this forever

Listing failures more than gains

For to be a fallen idol

comes with alot of pain

Child stars, just brushed aside

Their names and faces lost

Their lives are but a footnote

Is their loss the final cost?

You can peek behind the curtain

The wizard's still there today

But, if you come to visit

Please don't make the choice to stay

For, the victim list keeps growing

It gets longer every year

But, for many of these fallen stars

Is there one who'll shed a tear?

It's an image on a silver screen

We love the work they do

But of each ten thousand who do try

There's only one who's dream comes true

So, watch and listen closely

For in Hollywood you'll find

A list of tragic stories

Who the movies left behind.

To know just where your're going

You must know where you've been

You must respect the history

The things others have seen

It's true in all things relative

Be it music, sports or life

If you don't know where you came from

You're just dancing on a knife

Gherig, Ruth and Robinson

May, and Mantle, Seaver too

Respect their contributions

And don't just say Ruth who?

Respect where things have come from

And the players of the past

Because you learn and make things better

It's what makes the **** game last

Jimmy Foxx, Bob Gibson, Kaline

Nestor Chylak and The Goose

They made baseball special

They gave the game a little juice

Orr, Richard and Gretzky

Gordie Howe and Howie Morenz

You have to know about them

You need the beginning to your ends

Bob Baun and Bill Barilko

Connie Smythe and yeah...the Chief

You have to know their history

They're what it is to be a Leaf

The game has changed immensely

Things can not go back in time

But to me...the old alumni

Made the game I know as mine

Respect the ones before you

The ones who laid the groundwork down

The ones who made it special

The non-pretenders to the crown

Elvis, Buddy, Harrison

Played the songs inside their heart

Lennon, Wilson and the rest

They all played a real big part

Every single generation

should learn from the one before

For if they don't know where they've come from

Then what has it all been for?

Nicklaus, Palmer, Bobby Jones

Sarazen and Hogan too

They pushed the gameright to it's limits

Now the pressure's upon you

The new breed are the teachers now

They're the ones to lead the way

When twenty or so years from now

You'll hear somebody say

"Respect who came before you

The ones who made us so **** proud

LIke  Nash and , Perry and  Taylor Hall

They played the game so loud

Pudge, Jeter, and Verlander

they brought it up a notch

They were there to stretch the limits

Not to just sit by and watch

Rory, Justin Rose and Mahan

Bubba, Dustin and the rest

They are the players of the future

They all respected the games best

So, to know where you are going

You must know where you have been

Respect, past through the future

And all that's happened in between.

EG TEN /V.S/ BLitZ3D

ROUND 1

EG TEN
For the second time around, I won't be too gentle.// You turds can't rhyme for *****, soft as a noodle.// Get rid of that shirt, Wordman, do us a favor.// It ain't bad at all, its just, one size too little.// Ill break you fools in half, straw snapping like a scarecrow// Cowardly lion come out, Monster Smashed you innuendo.// The reason why you got passed by the first time around// Like a girl post some pix up, cut my **** in half, now u goin down// You and Wordman teams up, who cares! a pair of freakin clowns//

BLitZ3D
let um start off first, either way ur a representation of a man in a hearse /hurt um real bad n rubbed his face in the dirt/the pics that I posted was just a ***** in a skirt/sskkirrt! on this *****, like who you ****** with nerd?/ that's a ****** sweater what u talkin bout shirt?/ an what exactly do you think you rhymed off ****?/ ******* from the start, pulled out and drove straight into the curb/ Asian drivers man, they'll never ****** learn/ a coward vs a lion I guess my warning wasn't herd/ why'd you delete the first battle? you coulda reread my words/ then you'd probly remember to go again would be absurd/ but everyone loves a under dog, makes emotion go reverse/ cause then when you go under dog , the wears not even worse/ an no one teamed up on you,/ I tagged in and hulk Hogan lumped a few/ American Dream, elbow jumped at you,/ then to your defense, in ran gorilla monsoon/ the way I see it, the joker popped both of you,/ a heist on ur thread but that's just my point of view./ sights locked retical red, not a sound with the front mount/ knights drop, clown with a crown, and a jester in bed./ leave um slumped out/ /roar/ I messed with his head/ take my advice and this cypher ...just jump out

Round 2

EG TEN
Let um start off first? Now what the **** was that?// Your no king of the jungle, but a little ***** cat!// A blissful of zits in your face a sign disgusting// BlitZed does not show off his face an ugly duckling// My rhyme is in verse, so fresh with multiple gears on my Hearse// You can't spit for *****, so your *** be going in reverse// A fan of hulkamania? That **** ain't real brotha!.// I bet your next line would be "Hakuna Matata!// You ain't no **** Mufasa, your like that fool Scar hangin out With them ugly *** Hyena// I laugh at you BlitZed, I ******, I flip the script with my skills// Your elbow dropped not fast enough a straight kick up your chest!// This is SPARTA!!!! So jump on out! off to the next round// Welcome to the Writer's Creed, A true MC battleground!//

BLitZ3D
if this is Sparta then ***** I'm Gannicus,/ two swords in my hand while u attack with some shallow ****/ your **** right I'm scar and ull still bow down to this/ u wont get to far hyenas surround in the mist/ Hakuna Matata but theres reason to worry kid/ shoot um point blank an laugh as he say the dots are blury miss/ from his stomach out leaks guts an curry strips/ no lines to connect, his souls in a hurry, drips,/ out his mouth like his mom as she dines in nutty bliss/ bust um quick like his dad, his sister we both miss/ a cute little thing, deaf dumb n blind, snitch/ I think not, i broke her fingers, a tight grip/ dropped her leg and screamed Hogan wins/ layed on top of her and counted to three/ donkey punched that ***** in the head an continued to proceed/ so ask her how much I give a **** about writers creed //

ROUND 3

EG TEN
You claim to be a Marvel-Super-Villain-God-Like / If you are Galactus" I'm Lactose - Bacilli / Fermented like Lactic Acids what I spit!/ A genus of original but your just a make belief/ BlitZed please! step it ^ up a bit higher/ Your dealing with an oldskool underground ****** / None of that Kindergarten *****' of entry level / My words may be shallow but yet sharp as a Razor / Your write- wrist slice the veins blood burst just like a geyser / My word plays undefeated so try a little Monster / I sMashed your Baked Potatoe with chives a little butter / On side some bits of bacon a Cub is now a Lion / If you don't understand, im at work im eating Lunch / Im on break and wasted half of my time you little punk/ But its cool It's all in fun and that's what its all about / In a place full of infected A cesspool full of talent / Respect to my opponent a true Warrior of Poets / A Monster Mash Creator, A Master of Salvation / The bad *** Mr. BlitZed, Will continue this ***** later-/ Here at Writer's Creed, or where ever else you pleased/

BLitZ3D
A mutant, a radioactive contusion./My ***, gave it gas, now im ******* moving./Onto the end, the finish line, a ******* shoe in./Im new an, your old news, news i knew and /screws im loosing, as we pretend this battle im loosing, wrap it up with a few loose ends, /confusing, a thriving city, up an left it in ruins./Black cloaked, hooded druid, IV fluids, /Gat broke, firing pin, out i chewed it, trigger squeezed now, told you id do it./Ten teeth marks on the barrel, yea EG blew it./Face on some blue ****, stiff Elmers glue tip, /sticky grip, stick um up, Richy Rich, Jackson upper cuts, a Rampage, no *****./Bomb on the stage, chickens with no cluck./Took a bomb on stage, chicken heads, my ***** well ******./Salmonella poisoning, chocked the chicken, she likes it real rough. /In an out, left and right, my blade keeps the feathers well plucked. /Goose and a swan, I recognize no duck, bad luck, body covered up in the back of the truck./One G, no UN, i see, just me..no pun./Mission complete, no fun, grey skies, trust me, no sun.. rains not done. /Bars run from bars, bring the heavens down from the stars, impacts bombard/even from behind bars locked cars explode far, gorilla tactics, no holds bared, reload the AR/Re-roll a new cigar, as i retold, another page from Scar/12 bubbles Gage the contents of this unmarked mason jar./I know your popping some corny something, but i wasn't listening./Busy kicking it with Popcorn Sutton, drinking an smoking **** in the kitchen./These lines must be glitching, space-time the fabrics ripping./Physics are ******, i need a new physician./Watch as my feet move, roots grew planted in a quantum position./Like Groot, stomp um like a twig, raging tunnel vision./A ton of incisions, a gun mixed with questionable decisions. /A life for a life, changes nothing, for both sides the death penalty still glistens./the only difference is the same as this blunt. *****, BLitZ3D is still hitting. /Next time i roar a warning make sure you ******* listen... /
battle?
Im already bored with you
.....
I pulled a gun
And a sword you drew

even teddy said i got the sickest tricks brah.
like my abilities source from some kinda legendary liquid
                                                                ­                      / praise the lord /
monster energy should sponsor me.
a kickflip over the king’s *** hole
& a halfcab for the looky-loos.
i feel so tall when i climb that heap of asphalt trimmings
& see clear from the water tower to the bluffs.
gimme a good day, any day at the bluffs,
bottlerockets & girly birds.

her body brings a swarm of worms.
decomp,
said the f.b.i. men one by one with tweezers.
not quite the homecoming queen, still
wrapped in plastic.

look up.
see that great mess of wires, nest of powerlines and owl bones?
it crackles and croons its electro-spectral purr
all night and day.

new neck tat &
cody spends his paycheck on a crossbow.
we target practice on a bull skull.
wet cigarettes and turpentine-soaked socks for a good huff
in the dry of the roofline as it dumps.

there’s that little boy in a ghost mask again, tap-dancing
in puddles below the streetlamp,
& oversized shoes.
his grandmoms always be watchin’ from the window.
[whispers] she’s teaching him magic.

lucky unit 19: where our young dead damsel once dolled
herself up, you see
men and headlights would roll thru thrice nightly,
maybe more.
& i remember her punch red lips &
big whicker hat; while she weeded and watered her garden of begonias.

the sheriff’s deputy, hart? hicks? hogan? well he loved her a bunch.
stole her clothes in the middle of the night,
& sat beside the river sobbing into clumped fists
of bra and blouse.
i bought ******* from that guy once or twice.
harold? howard?

guess who showed his face today?
josiah, from unit 08.
since the incident with molly’s beagle, he’s been rarely seen.
took a bee line straight for the mailbox.
a package. a prize. a decoder ring/secret map sweepstakes
to be seen and deciphered.

My advice to fellow geezers?
Just say **** it!
“Roll up to the magical mystery tour!”
Just like John & Yoko!
Smoke a big fat doobie each morning.
Step out the Hogan door, just greet
The East and walk in beauty.
After a few weeks you just won’t
Give a **** anymore; just not give a ****
In general, no longer care about what’s
Not important: The Guv’ment.
Politics. The rate of unemployment.
Inflation. Even radical, freaking
Muslim Jihadist TERROR!
Yes.  Just light up, Babaloo,
Do one’s bit for the Decline &
Fall (dropped you, didn’t I?)
Let’s mourn the dying ***** goddess.
America: that shining city on a hill,
Colombia in all her senility, insolvency &
Not even D or I, just Lusions of grandeur.
Let us contemplate the decrepitude,
The crumbling, up-in-smoke spiritual infrastructure,
The USA: the United ****'s-Creek of America,
Going down, down, down . . . ALERT!
NEWS FLASH! It’s Rome & Great Britain,
It’s the update, the demise of Empire all over again.
I remember those sorry-***, pathetic Brits,
Met them all over while hitchhiking around
Europe, an intensive, closely observed tour of duty
Abroad: a gift to myself, in fact a scholarship,
I rigged for myself back in the early ‘70s.
Going abroad: once a reserved right of passage for certain,
Privileged children of the 1890s, lucky spawn from
Families known as the “Well-to-do.” And why not add:
Dubbed the “Mauve Decade" because William Henry Perkin’s
Aniline dye allowed widespread use of that color in fashion.
The "Gay Nineties,” referring to a time not of buggery, but
Merriment & optimism, & lest we forget, Twain’s “Gilded Age.”
Got the time, spare a dime, got the freaking time-frame, Mack?
It was a dark & stormy total eclipse of Jupiter.
Spiritually speaking, I was free-floating.
And what of those same-self, sad-assed &
Sorry, pathetic Brits?
Well, consider the specific years.
Experience in Europe in my early 20s,
Meant 1972, 1973 & 1974.
Surely, a time for English disillusionment,
What with the sun finally setting,
A vague, prismatic twilight time,
A virtual requiem for His or Her Majesty’s Empire,
“Rule, Britannia ... Britannia rule the waves.”
(Cue ruffles & flourishes, fifes & flugelhorns)
This was pre-North Sea Oil Bonanza days.
This was England before Mrs. Thatcher
Gave her good people a long overdue,
Richly deserved kick in the tuchas.
“The Iron Lady” they called her.
Stopped Orwell’s future, doornail dead, she did.
“Maggie’s Miracle” they called it.

Those Brits I met & knew back then,
Those “Used-to-be-Contender” types:
Self-deprecatory, apologetic & cynical,
Mocking the Union Jack,
Shedding salty tears for Lost Empire.
“This blessed plot, this earth,
This realm, this England.”
Ironic & bitter to a man,
“Gulping gin & bitters later,” observes
Current tenant occupier, 221B Baker Street,
Sherlock finding the word at last,
The definitive literary term,
That one precise mot juste, that says it all.
In a word? Sardonic.
The USA is going down, down down—
“And away goes trouble down the drain!”

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That’s right: $KA-CHING$!
An ad right in the middle of a ******* poem!
Always the sensible poet, I kept my day job.
But now in my 60’s finally figuring out:
HOW TO MAKE POETRY PAY?
Bow down to Adam Smith & Ricardo—
Not the ‘Splaine me, Cuban bandleader
Of that surname, but David, the classical economist,
The “Iron Law of Wages” guy
It’s time to make money.
Call in the Madmen.
Send in the clowns.

Mad Men – AMC - AMC.com www.amc.com/shows/mad-men Official site for AMC's award-winning series Mad Men: Games, making-of videos, plus episode & character guides.

$KA-CHING$! $KA-CHING$!

And Dan Draper: an alcoholic, chain-smoking,
***** magnet & Korean War ****-up, shifty
Name-changer, last seen at that Big Sur ashram,
The Esalen Retreat & Jingle Inspiration Center,
**** Whitman coming clean, at last:
Hovering a foot off the ground
In the lotus position, receiving **** *** from a
Coke bottle incarnation of Vishnu.

Search Results I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing (In Perfect Harmony ... https://en.wikipedia.org/I'dLiketoTeachtheWorld . . . Wikipedia "I'd Like to teach the World to Sing (In Perfect Harmony)" is a popular song that originated as the jingle "Buy the World a Coke" in the groundbreaking 1971 ... Writer(s)‎ ‎Jon Hamm AKA Dan Draper; ‎Label‎: Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce.

Money: FUNGIBLE GREEN.
$KA-CHING$!

Those once sardonic Brits,
Now have Brooklyn accents.
We’re going down the drain, Babaloo!
The barbarians are at the gates,
A horde of hunger, a ******* rabble,
Green-eyed monsters, envying America’s poor,
Craving what little Uncle Sam’s indigenous poor have left,
Ragtag migrants, short, dark compañeros,
Swarthy Huns & Visigoths,
Whitman's last yawp, the last gasp breath of
Work Ethos, be it Protestant or Papist,
A colossal mélange of famine, hope & prayer,
The usual suspects: “Your tired, your poor,
Your wretched refuse & solid waste,
Your huddled, yearning masses.”
My advice to Emma--Sephardic-Ashkenazi,
Proto-Zionist, years before Herzl:
Get yourself a nightclub act, Ms. Lazarus.

America: I am hidden in a high grass savannah,
I watch the hyenas pick your carcass clean.
Adam Smith: he displaced the term greed--
Smacking as it does of deadly sin baggage—
Replaced the term Greed with Self-Interest.
And the only invisible hand I know of is
Down my pants, jerking me off,
Mesmerized by slogans, divine metaphors, like:
“A rising tide lifts all boats,” a Big Lie, for example.
Today’s economists call it “The Multiplier Effect.”
You pay me and I pay him & he pays he or she,
Merry Goes Round, Goes Round & Round the Merry-Ground.
All is just so cool & groovy,
Life is just a copacetic bowl of copacetic until
Some self-interested ****-*** decides to export
Your ******* job right out of the country:
Casus belli? Most certainly. Class warfare,
Always our hitherto history.
It’s not like that fat slob Michael Moore never warned us.

**Roger & Me (1989) - IMDb www.imdb.com/title/tt0098213/ Internet Movie Database  Rating: 7.5/10 - ‎22,470 votes Director Michael Moore pursues GM CEO Roger Smith to confront him about the harm ... Roger & Me -- Michael Moore's controversial but popular film is a highly ... Plot Summary - ‎Quotes - ‎Trivia - ‎Awards

Gray Mountain, Arizona

                                      October 2nd, 1995

Out of gas again! The chill that ran down the back of my neck when passing that last open gas station should have given me pause. I was so sure there was still a gas station open in the middle of the Navajo Nation, one that served great fry-bread, and one that would get me to Tuba City with a quarter tank to spare. As I fiddled with the radio, tuning into the Navajo language network, the fear inside of me was already questioning what the night might bring.

Six years had passed since I had been down this road. The gas station I remembered was now boarded up and deserted, just like the dreams of most of the people it used to serve. With not enough gas to either press onward or go back, I became a prodigal wanderer in search of a distant Samaritan. I was now seeking in the remoteness of my spirit — the hospitality of the kind.

                        In The Remoteness Of My Spirit

In eight more miles, I saw a gravel road leading to a small ranch house a quarter of a mile at its end. To the right of the house sat a Hogan, telling of native inhabitants inside. In this part of the west, near the New Mexico / Arizona border, it was assuredly Zuni or Navajo, and I bet Navajo, as I parked the bike and walked up the long stone driveway.

I left the bike back on the road to seem like less of an intruder and walked up to the front door while rehearsing what I would say. I was hoping that someone was home, and if they were, that they would open the door. People were very scarce in these parts, and new people usually brought trouble along with them as part of their welcome.

To my great surprise, an attractive middle-aged native woman opened the door before I knocked and said: “Yes, can I help you?” They were warm words coming from the middle of such loneliness that surrounded me, and I explained to her my situation and that my gas was almost gone. She looked down the long gravel driveway for what seemed like forever and then said: “The only gas that my husband Charles and I have is in our white pickup truck which is around back.”

She told me that her name was Juanita, and she was sure that her husband would help me. She then said: “He has just gone into the Hogan ‘to sweat’ and would not be out for more than an hour. If you will remove your shirt and shoes, you could go in and join him, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Just make sure to announce your presence before walking through the flap.”

Still in my heavy riding suit, I took off my jacket and shirt and the padded boots I wore for touring. I felt a greater weight being lifted from me than just the clothes that I removed, and although I didn’t understand the feeling, I wanted to go inside.

I walked the short distance to the Hogan and stood outside its entrance wondering how I would feel having a stranger walk in on me. The silence of the open spaces overwhelmed me, as the sound of my heartbeat was the only thing I heard. With all that was inside me, I heard myself say: “Charles, my name’s Kurt, and your wife Juanita said it would be OK to come in and talk.” I stood there for a minute that seemed more like an hour until I heard a muffled voice from inside say: “All right, please enter.”

As I stepped through the flap the temperature change consumed me, and the steam coming off the hot rocks made it difficult to see. In the far corner of the Hogan, and with his back to the wall, sat an Indian man bare-chested and shoeless, with his head bowed and hiding his eyes. He had a bright yellow, green, and red bandana tied around his forehead. Its tails drifted down his back with the two ends resting on his belt. With his head still lowered he spoke again, asking: “Please sit down and tell me what has brought you to this place.”

I explained that my bike was almost empty, and he paused for a long moment before saying: “Your path has today led you in the direction of your own choosing. Sometimes without looking we most find our way. You now need to be able to find this inside of yourself once you leave”

                             Sometimes Without Looking …

Finally raising his head, he invited me to sweat with him. Already feeling the effects of the steam, and without any hesitation I said, yes, and we sat there in silence as all things started to change. He asked if I knew why the native man does this? I said: “It was for purification, and to come in contact with himself.” Then raising his head slightly, he said: “You surprise me strange visitor, you know more than was required and more than most know.” He then told me “I was expected,” and that he knew I was coming. He had known it inside himself since the last moon.”

                         He Had Known I Was Coming

He then spoke again: “We also sweat to come in contact with our past lives and those of our ancestors. It strips us of all place and time, focusing only on what’s real. Bow your head and think of nothing, and let the steam come inside you being thankful that on this day the Great Spirit has brought you to me. I will know what is happening, you don’t need to tell me, just feel the steam reach inside you as it frees you from all else.” As I did, a peace replaced my conscious self, and I felt my body leave the dwelling. I saw a distant ball-field of my youth, long ago and very far away.

My father was pitching to my grandfather who was catching. The in-fielders were all faceless and the outfield was gone. Through a connected vision I watched my grandfather pass a signal to my father, and staring as hard as I could I watched for the ball. My father wound up, pitching something toward me, and as it got closer it turned into a white bird with red eyes. The bird flew down low and went completely around me, and then coming up from behind, it rested on top my head.

I could feel its sharp talons grab my scalp as we lifted off slowly. Our speed increased, as we traveled to great heights out of the ballpark and into the dark. I don’t know if the flight lasted minutes or hours. I know that I did see my whole life, both the past and what was to come. I saw my children’s, children’s, children, standing off in the distance, all wearing a sign asking: “What is my name?”

We flew over the Great Canyon, the home of my Mother. We swooped down on the river as our reflections were released to the sky. At the North Rim. the talons let go and my body was now weightless, and in a mindless free motion I was allowed to begin again.

With this, I heard the gentle voice of Charles calling my name. Not from anywhere outside, but his voice was calling from within saying to me that: “Everything was all right and it was now time to come back.” I opened my eyes and Charles was still sitting with his head bowed before me, and without my uttering a word he said: “Ok, let’s go get you some gas.”

I ran to the bike and got the plastic siphon hose from the trunk, as Charles backed his truck down the long driveway, parking it as close to me as he could. We stood there and watched the small tube breath new life into the Venture, and he insisted that I fill the tank all the way to the top. I tried to pay him, but he refused and only asked for a favor — asking if he could ride on the back of the bike with me to a spot about five miles distant.

I waved to Juanita as we took off together, and in a few short minutes he tapped my shoulder saying: “This is the place.” As he got off the bike, there appeared to be nothing but desert and rock in the fading light. I watched him for as long as I could as he slowly walked East off into the darkness with my deliverance in hand.



Kurt Philip Behm

N’díídá!
Wake up, wake up…my son.
Hogan seeing east, great sun greets.
Brave piercing cold, Brave bleeding heat.
Set rezilient mind, see battles won.
Brave flinted rocks, brave metaled beats.
See painful pasts, set your feet lil’ one.

Náás diiná
Walk forward, walk forward…lil’ man.
Look through clouds, look over mountains.
Brave the liquor, Brave the drugs.
Bend blinded minds, see lies to “amen’s”.
Brave minds blinded, brave coward tugs.
Hear the peoples past, set your legs lil’ one

Holzishdę́ díníí’
Look to pasts, look to pasts…fighter young.
Smile sacred stories, smile given songs.
Brave severed cuts, Brave suicidal triggers.
Laugh at tears run, let fierce anger rung.
Brave the useless, brave the claimers.
Sing the creation past, set your fists lil’ one.

T'áá Yedigo Yániłtxi’
Speak up, stand up…my grown spear.
Surprise the eagle, overpower the bear.
Brave the gods, Brave the fearful.
Embrace the night, prepare the gear.
Brave the genocide, Brave the brainwashed.
Break the path, keep slaying their fear.

Keep digging…keep digging pillars of braves.

it looks like a
striped afghan
but now i'm on
the fourth or so
to me it's just
another set of nights

i'm in stitches
wound and
pulled to hold
me together

three seasons of
hogan's heroes
the first season of
mash (twice)
hair bleached
plus the dog
and three cats
several candles

i'm trying to
keep it together
but it's hard
because every day
is more of why
i can't get it together

pull the string of
emotions together
and let the obsessive
paranoia continue

i don't cry
i stitch.

Baseball was my passion
that year when the world
still seemed like a safe place
to hang my hat.  Dad was
buying horses left and right
while Mom shook her head
and kept her silence knowing
this was just another one of
his wild-*** hairs that seemed
to get a little crazier each year.
Credence Clearwater Revival
was hot and singing songs
about rain on the radio.  
School was out and I would
go over to the creek to swim
after I finished whatever chores
Mom had me doing those days.
Sometimes I would lie on the
Devil's Bed rock next to the
little falls where the biggest
trout liked to feed and listen
to the bugler from the Army
burial detail playing taps for
that days funeral. I wondered
what it would feel like to be
the son of the soldier getting
buried up on the hill having
to wear a suit and not cry. It
always gave me a lump in my
throat. My brother said it was
a shame and Johnson should
be shot instead. I always agreed.
We all watched the nightly news
together after supper and before
Hogan's Heroes came on.  The VC
were handing it to our guys in
a place called Hue and Mom cried
when a South Vietnamese officer
pulled out a pistol and BANG
shot that dude in the head
right there in front of god, me,
Mom and everybody. I went to
bed that night and  decided that I
wasn't going to pray any more.
We lost every game for the rest
of the season and I didn't care.
I've never forgiven that officer
for shooting that guy dressed
in black right in front of me,
god, my Mom and everybody.

r ~ 6/3/14

hi dudes


i wanted to be a hooligan, or was it a young dude who wants to party

you see i would go out at night, and be a real smart, you see my mates

would say, i was like their mob, but i hated my father saying, he hated to

be like my mob, so i called him a great big old fogie ,because that is what

he seemed to be, you see i don’t think dad can understand why his own flesh

and blood could tease him like this, i never really wanted to be an adult to him

no, please don’t make me, you see at present people are saying i am still a young dude

i am still an old fogie, because they wanna get me back, i hated being treated like

a yeah mate yeah kid, ya see, i would prefer to be treated right, you see i know my dad

is saying i am a fool, but my mates liked the way i used to tease my dad, so they joined right in

but i wanted to tell them that i wanted to tease dad all by myself, and when someone called dad

a great big old fogie in the club, i looked at him and said quietly to myself, way to go buddy

you see people are trying to get me to do what i used to do, like if i go into an expensive hotel

they will say, shut up, your still a young dude, buddy, and i said, yeah the young dude that enjoys

5 star hotels, yeah, and dad would try and get rid of my man and take him for a wander, and

some people are taking my cool kid for a bit of a wander, you see, i feel like i am being kidnapped

by the men saying as they tease someone, and then they say i might tease him in a minute

but he is still a hooligan or a friend to the poor, you see i also hear my friends try and be a street kid

so i can get teased by the families, and i don’t want to get teased by the families, and every time i be a

cool young dude, i see my old mates treating me like a shy person, as i am watching the very brave

**** fanning, about to do a press conference, **** he is brave, you see my mates are trying to reach in

to me and play with my itchy skin, you see maybe i was trying to be a street kid back then, so i don’t get teased

and maybe i was trying to be a poor person so i don’t get teased, but i don’t want to go back to the psych ward

you see i wanted to be a hooligan in 1989, and my mate called me dude, and i got voices in my head saying

hang on yeah little cool dude, and my mate said, yeah enjoy yourself man, and i tried to be like his brothers

he went yeah man enjoy yourself, and i ran off, you see i hear voices of people treating me like a little young dude

because when i was young i used to stay up till 11.30 pm on weekends and i used to watch the young ones and

the fast lane, and i watched neighbours and beavis and butted and e street and i remember my mates saying

i think brian doesn’t want to do this, but i want to be a cool kid to the TV, and i would say, you talk to me, i watch the TV

and my mates turning out to be the adults who want to go out and experience life, my version of loving life is watching TV

and teasing my dad, saying he is a great big old fogie and i feel like people are treating me like a roughneck young dude

trying to take my little cool kid to the family credits away, but i don’t want to be a little cool kid to the family, i prefer to be a big young

dude who enjoys calling dad a great big old fogie because dad always said, i don’t know who he is, i said **** malone is going well

dad said, who is **** malone, i said i watched good times last night, and i saw jj and dad said, who is jj, what a ****, i thought

everyone knows about jj, he said, oh dyna—— mite, maybe i was treating dad like me, ya know treating him like a **** of a man

but that was because i thought jj was popular and so was **** malone, i got in a lot of arguments with dad about his ******* comments

ya see now i fall asleep on the couch as i go up to space to try and reform my young dude, because i still want to stay up, i hate going

to bed early, i am not doing what i did in wood berry for anyone, you see i will drink my soft drink and say a bottle of soft drink knocks you out

and i wasn’t a woosey, i was a basketball star, i was a cool kid to the basketball people, yeah i made mistakes i grabbed kids on the mouths

as occasionally i was trying to trap myself, but i was a sports kid, ya know very good at sports, and i want dad to treat me like a man, because

dad can’t protect me from up there, so i want to be treated like a man who enjoys the finer things in life, like eating pizza and drinking coke

and anything that makes me into a real party dude, i don’t want to be a shy person, mind you, i like the idea, of teasing dad from down here

looking at dads next life’s latest pictures on the computer and dad is now in jimmy barnes’s family as betty campbell, but dad is at peace in that family

but he died with everyone thinking he doesn’t want to be cool, and betty campbell is going to be cooler than her last life, baz boy allan

you see i remember when my brother treated me like a little spaz boy, like saying my brain was chopped off and i am totally spastic, yeah like a

little spaz boy, like mum called dad baz boy, my brother called me little spaz boy and i felt very weird because i wanted to be like the TV people

like ***** hogan and ricky stratton or even bart simpson, forcing my brother to be lisa simpson, you see i take my medication to make me feel

better because back then i felt like a koomarri man, and i heard voices of people saying, your still a young dude brian, and i said i am a young dude

ya know, i stay up till late listening to music talking to my brother about his favourite music and favourite TV shows, it was really cool

and when i was young i said i wasn’t a cool kid, i am a big man’s kid or a big young dude who listens to cool poison and twisted sister, **** i love that video

and i got on very well with my family, including the great big old fogie in dad

you know one thing i hated as a kid, is not being included, because every kid

wants to be included, i love life, i love to PARTY, i love being normaL I hate nothing

nothing at all, you see i had this friend named patrick back in those days, and he

never yelled at me, i hear him  yelling at me  in my head, but that is the cosmos, you

see i tried to be like him, because he helped me more than anyone else, took me to jimmy barnes

concerts, and i liked him, and he took me to nye parties, and we certainly partied all night

even when i crashed over his house, cause i didn’t want to show dad how ****** i was, pat

never yelled like a *****, but i turned out to be a ***** in the end, because i had too much

creative energy i had to get rid of, and i was a ****, until i started seeing carers, they have all

helped me by making me understand that he ain’t my daddy, but i still wanted to see him

but i have to realise, we are adults now, and we have to grow up, when i am watching chris rock

i am hearing nonsense voices of my mates hating black people but i learnt from the messiah that

black people are good comedians and good athletes, there is a lot of knowledge in black people

more so than in white people, blacks are struggling day in and day out, while us whites get it easy

and i am saying patrick was the nicest white person i have ever met after meeting a few aussies at

the cricket, i liked patrick back then because he helped me understand a bit about my family, to whom

i used to get cranky with, well, mainly he was showing me what my family was doing with them, ya know

the other kids, anyway, i have no ideas what patrick is doing now, but i hope he is working in a top high class job

because i am an artist, and writer and youtube entertainer, when i go to bed, i ain’t like canary bird, and i ain’t

a koomarri man, i just fall asleep on the bed with the radio on to keep me company, and when i yell at my voices

i am basically saying, i AM THE BIG PARTY PERSON, I PROVIDE PARTIES FOR ALL, i have moved out now

so come on DUDES, because going out is fun, patrick taught me that, my head is saying, he didn’t wanna do that

because i don’t like yelling at people, i prefer if i yell, i yell at the cosmos, because bailey from the show NEIGHBOURS

‘when he yelled, he looked like a CRAZY person, making the man say ‘YOU’RE CRAZY BAILS’ and that man who said

that told bailey he was crazy, reminded me of patrick, in the way of saying, patrick was a very nice person, he didn’t have to yell

if i meet patrick again, i will explain i am an artist and writer and youtube ****** and then i will tell patrick, i have always liked the computer

it’s just that i like going out having fun too, i have been thrown out of houses or flats, but patrick never did, so that makes him

number 1, out of school chums who i mucked with at school, and i like the joke by chris rock, men can’t go backwards sexually while

women can’t go backwards in lifestyle, i know we said imagine what lylle would do, here, imagine what lyle would, there, imagine

what lyle would in any place, yeah mate yeah, i am cool, i remember playing heavy metal music loud with patrick, as well and playing

basketball as well,  now patrick, whether he liked christmas or not, he still put his xmas tree up, i can tell you one thing though, i am

a buddhist who loves christian holidays, and i had fun teasing the old army men, who fought and died for this country, you see

this year is the 100 th year of gallipoli, and it’s an oldie thing to tease with music now, because young army codgers are in it

to be there for their country, patrick is a heavy metal ******, mainly liking jimmy barnes and me, as cronus put dad in barnesy’s family

as his little granddaughter betty, so dad, the old army codger from way back can learn the nice parts of jimmy barnes

i remembered patrick singing when your love is gone, and i liked him singing it, but i was looking at his legs, i was CRAZY

because i shouldn’t look at people’s legs, i am not gay, i am a man with problems, i have changed from all that nonsense of my minds past

i am now the new and improved brian allan, but i realise that patrick might not like me saying this, but he helped me, by not getting cranky AT me

i just want to make peace with my good mate, opatrick, because, he might have been ******* with my criime

and because of that crime, and because he was nice, when i saw he was cranky, i left him to head down the mall to be big bad brian

and the best way to get a guy over to a girl’s house, is put a ***  on the stove and you will have every man breaking down your door

you see, i was hearing crazy teasing in my head, and patrick’s voice was saying, is he trying to be like mr allan, i thought he was trying

to be like us, tease him, fight him, bully him around, and patrick still doesn’t know that channel 9’s karl stefanovic reminded me of patrick’s cool kid

to my mind but i have to tread to carefully there because patrick might have been trying to be like craig from kingswood country, he might hate

karl stefanovic, it’s just he reminded me of patrick, what is wrong with visions, pat might hate karl stefanovic, well his cool kid does anyway

and my cool kid is ***** hogan and sam marshall, patrick is a young dude figure

Transgressions without
Appologies like heavy bricks
Thrown on a stage
Instead of roses
Smell them and remember

When I little I used to play a few games in my back yard
They have become more real for me lately
And I think that is because you make me feel like a six-year-old again
naive and impressionable and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I used to play freeze in my friends back yard.
At night we would run around and wait for her security camera
Light to go on
And when it did
You froze.
If you were close enough to the edge of the light
Someone on the outside could pull you back
But if you were in the middle
You were *******.
And that's how I feel now
That is how you make me feel
Stuck in the middle, all eyes on me
Except in real life, with you, the light doesn't go back off
It stays on staring at me
Forcing me to rethink every step I ever made.

My best friend and I played a spy game in my back yard
Trying to figure out who the evil master mind was
With our faithful companion
Hogan
The best dog ever.
And I wish I could go back to those days
Where we could make up our own secrets
Instead of hoping the real ones wont get exposed.
Or even better
We now try to uncover real secrets
To expose our enemies for what we believe them to be.
I want to turn into that spy again and figure out
What you are feeling
From the source: your heart
Because I don't think I trust your mouth.

Tag.
Your It.

Mother Gaia hears each tiny drum
shudder out of rhythm, then stop.
She gathers fallen wings,
heavy as earth.
These wings are her burden,
the stones she must carry
in the pockets of her daydreams.

Mother collects fish eyes at low tide,
picks through night's deposit of death
on oil-stinking sand.
She fills a fruit jar with eyes,
blind, no matter where they look.
These are the eyes
that allow her to see in water dreams.

Mother is a beautiful bag lady
who collects bleached bones, teeth,
human tongues and turtle shells.
Squirrel tails and rabbit ears
bring a smile to her fingers.
Eagle feathers flutter into her grasp.
Gaia gathers the skins of poets and thieves.

No one knows of Mother Gaia's nights,
where she sleeps,
much less the quilt made of stones and straw
in which she wraps herself, heartsick,
grieving as only a planet can.
She offers herself to the sun each dawn,
a lover she knows will eventually **** her
in his embrace.

*A quote from Frances Phillips in her review of Linda Hogan's "Climbing a Rope Ladder".

"A little nonsense now and then
is relished by the wisest men"

Does anyone still play guilty pleasures?

OKAY!

1. Troll 2 lady.
Too. Fun in Balloonland Narrator lady.
3. "Any" drum majorette.

"Speak roughly to your little boy
and beat him when he sneezes
he only does this to annoy
because he knows it teases."

Fore! Nance Peterlini, shouting obscenities.

"Silk, do you know an atomic trigger from a Balgarian *****? Because I sure don't."

5. Slingshot and P.J. in a swampside threeway.(only halfway guilty...three-quarters?)

"A ****** talking baby alligator, that's purple, and has really big jaws?"

Sicks. Honor and Glory...after Honor gets a nose job.

"Harlem is the experience playground for all people interested in becoming detectives."

7. Wanda Duvalle...*******...in a shack.
Ate. Lynn, from The Dark Power.
Nine. Colonel Hogan's...Secretary(?)

"I want to stop dreaming about fire from heaven, and melting men. Lasers."

10. Ming the Mercilesses' Daughter.

All the classic adverts a lot of them are missed
Adverts that are made today the producers must be ******
They're nothing like the classic ads I'm afraid I must resist
There isn't any flare or finesse so please would you desist
The same adverts are always shown there's no surprise or twist
Adverts are not liked these days I hope you get the gist
Your all just sitting there with you ***** clutched in your fist
Messing up your nice pressed suits with a swift one of the wrist
New adverts bore you to tears but it's all that you enlist
Cos your making more backhanders it's why you still persist
Stop relying on the sponsors we know there **** is kissed
And take particular notice of the old ones on this list

A skeleton with video tapes told us how its gonna be
Re-record not fade away with Scotch's lifetime guarantee
Whiskers was the food of choice according to the stats
It was preferred by at least eight out of ten cats
Noodle Doodle twisted spaghetti into motor cars and houses
He twisted it into butterflies and eek noodle doodle mouse's
A hippo made a fruity drink way down in the Congo
He danced a dainty tango and a rhino called it Um Bongo
There was only one Tea that could make you go OO!
Sue Pollard and Frankie Howard found out with Typhoo
But those little Tetley Tea Folk know without a doubt
That 2000 perforations would let the flavour flood out
You knew what to do to put the freshness back
Every time you vacuumed and did the Shake and Vac
Don't wake up and go to town use the one all over smell
Insignia's shampoo and deodorant, aftershave and shower gel
Jeremy had a roaring toothache again he liked to many treats
he could have had a crocodile smile without eating sweets
She was the Right One she would skate to get it there
Nicollete Sheridan delivered Martini anytime anyplace anywhere
A second class ticket to Dottingham a misunderstanding caper
Tunes could make you breath more easily with its Menthol vapour
Milk in every half pound one chunk lead to another
With a glass and a half for every Dairy Milk lover
Muhammad Ali and Benny Hill knew their coming fate
They watched out with a Humphrey about, drinking Unigate

If your into protection with your Mate's or a Durex
You'd get that rubber feeling during penetrative ***
Unless your like Fred Brewster and Geronimo was there
A friend that was washable and like an inner tube to wear

A chocolate bar sang about everybody's case of the Fruit and Nut
David Rappaport could tell it was Tizer when his eyes where shut
Kia Ora's to orangey for crows, it was just for him and his dog
Spuds wanted to be Smiths Crisps and not an average Joe Blog
Bars Iron Brew from Girders the Scottish people like
A second thought at junctions think once think twice think bike
You Crossed your heart for a better figure with a Playtex Bra
The Renualt Clio had a certain flair for Nicole and Papa
Flowers delivered from Interflora making your day bright
It was a taste to make you shine ohhh ohhh Vitalite
Sainsbury's world war one solders shared and called a truce
Maynard's Wine Gums set the juice loose aboot the hoose
Why would you have cotton when Galaxy was silk?
It was cool for cats when you woke up to Milk
The man from Del Monte loved fresh fruit so he said Yes
Frosty's where Grrreat, Tony Tiger expected nothing less
But Esso was the only petrol with a tiger in the tank
A galloping black horse was the icon for Lloyds bank

Its your life with Tampax you jumped around and skated
Jack Dee had John Smiths, was his Widget overrated ?
Flowers where given on Impulse hoping the ladies dated
Mr Soft loved Trebor mints a strange world was created
Flake was the Crumbliest chocolate was that understated?
Marmite was the kind of spread you loved or even hated
Michelin Man was made of tyres he was rubber weighted
A family always had there diner, with Oxo it was plated

Castlemain Four X wouldn't give anything else, Australians would preach
Unless you where Paul Hogan and Fosters Amber Nectar he would teach
But Heineken would refresh the parts other beers could not reach
Strongbow was strong straight and true made from apple and not peach
Broad at the shoulders slim at the hips Big Bad Dom Domestos Bleach
The Jolly Green Giant loved Sweet corn with his ** ** ** speech

Please broadcast something good, instead of all your trash
There is No Cornetto's from Italy! none shown from this stash
Like Cadburys and Nestle or the robot men from Smash
You had a break with Kit Kat and convenient packet mash
No Dr Whites ***** Pads I don't mean to sound so brash
Where is Castrol GTX or Buzby there's not even a rehash
All Gambling and Insurance Ads tying to get our cash
No concern about the national debt or any loan backlash

Rolf Harris teaching kids to swim in the water they did love it
I bet if they where around today they'd tell old Rolf to shove it
I felt sorry for that poor Churchill dog I admired his endurance
To put up with Rolfs wobble board that isn't much insurance

Jimmy Saville talked of safety he clunked clicked every trip
But Jimmy's mind was somewhere else thinking who he'd like to strip
And British Rail where unaware when he was trying not to slip
With Jims intent with his Railcard to get you in his grip

You may think its controversial, you may think its the wrong call?
I Guarantee the companies thought they where on the ball
I bet these ads are a blot and drive them up the wall
If they'd have known about these guys they wouldn't feel so small
These companies would not have hired Jim or Rolf at all
It doesn't matter if they're the ones who are not standing tall

Why cant new adverts be like the old ones that we had?
What's happened to production why are they so bad?
They are all so boring and there really rather sad
None of them are out there that make you feel so glad
Why do you insist on showing ones that drive us mad
Your viewers are so ******* board more than just a tad
everyone is getting annoyed even our mum and dad
stop showing the new adverts stop ruining our pad

We don't want life insurance or sponsors for every show
We don't want Go Compare adverts, the Gtech can surely go
There are no Classic overtones they've lost that certain glow
Its boring seeing the same adverts shown in the same row
Phone commercials are not wanted it may be quite a blow
Loans and expensive Sky packages the people should say no
Please would you take some advice stop keeping these in tow
And bring back all the classic ads and stop going with the flow

i hated king kong bundy
for so long
as a kid
for beating up
and hurting
hulk hogan

then i learned it
was fake
and i had
wasted all
this hate
on
nothing

fast
forward

i hated rachel
for so long
as a man
for beating up
and hurting
my heart

then i learned it
was fake
and i had
wasted all
this hate
on
nothing

fast
forward

it got better
i learned how to feel
i understood
what was real

From a mountain before Jesus flooded Earth could be heard strange
sounds of pillage & ravage & a cry from Hulk Hogan: “I just ate 10
heads of field-rotten cabbage to honor Macho Man Randy Savage!”

Pro-wrestling is something; I've always loved. I got made fun or teased. It was a world of action, and story lines. Somethings I loved, others were time killers in my eyes. I remember being a hulk hogan fan and then Ric flair fan. With Hogan you are strong doing what's right. Flair had it all women and money. He was a heel and Hogan was the good guy. After the 80s ended the late 90s would have the attitude era. With stone cold and the rock. So many wrestlers had gimmicks or themed for better words.

It has been such a Long time since our last incarnation such like reassembly.

We’ve been scrubbing our United States
and leasing places
as scarification and other humans‘ faces
of stories,
to bless or gargle foreign.

We’ve been to the Neptune’s Fountain to find Young Man Hogan’s bench situated within all those loners’ speedy extroversion,
and catch the Saint Petersburg bell that hitchhiked the church there

to make a glimpse of urbanism and the world’s history replaced
by just one journal
and one fella’s pencil
swerving greatly‏.
‏
Still,
the words are still trying,
flexing,
to fit their whole ends
into shoes they should have taken off
already, a long time ago,
and that‘s this somewhere
where we could say:
crossroads decide their fruition.

And it comes to realisation:
faces,
screens,
bruises,
droppings,
chilling entries,
work,
how I remade the word “naked”of one thousand and one nights
under my tiny silky
cloak
-
it has been nothing but a play
for the day when I’ll write,
and the Life,
that will take on my own skin
one way or another.

One paper corner will meet with the other.

Departures are all eventually just fun geese’s bump in another flight of a night.

The timid frozen morning air awakens from sounds of screams and metal car frames...cracking.

The cool lit night star air flashes from the fire burned tires and frigid numbed souls...cursing.

The smoky dust filled air sees tears of hate and bloodied stained floors....of fate.

The cloudy misty saturated air hears bullets striking and lifeless bodies....collapsing.

OH WHERE...have the spirit filled airs, the glittering filled airs, that hozhóogo air gone to?


The green-bluish water feels the sluggish toxic sludge and forgotten people...mitering.

Pure white solid crystals wrap around the intoxicated body, it's courage slowly....mystifying.

The red rock's seeping water blindly poisons the youthful smile and secretly kills...a-mourning.

The raging brown foamed water rushes by the pallet walled hogan and the shivering lil feet...mesmerizing.

OH WHERE...have the dew dressed holy ones, the chanting waters, the life healing and growing waters....gone?


The blowing fine dust creeps through the window seals, witnessing punches to her face and kicks to her chest.

Them dark black coaled rock mesas spot fields below of slow deathed and sugar-filled....people-a-mess.

Round red sun brazen rocks are embraced, by the abandoned lost wondering child...lil-one parentless.

Darkened mountain soil sees the people a-mess, looking up, seeking guidance of hope...restless.

OH WHERE...have the lightning bolted peaks, the strong holy ridges, them keepers of home gone to?

Water drenches the Earth Mother, Winds rage from our Sky Father,
Lights of the Star People shimmer brightly,
Rocky cliff faces begin to shake violently...

"Here We Are!"

The first ones and holy people yell mightingly,

"HERE WE ARRRREEE !!!!!"

'You can't have a million-dollar dream with a minimum-wage work ethic.'
-Stephen C. Hogan

N.W.O.-owned corporations promote the freshest of youthful faces
having Hillary F. Clinton lesbian relations in crowded public places
Moral citizens must subdue these shrub-scouts with military maces
then bind them together with cheap lamp cord, twine & shoe laces,
before scrubbing the scene clean to obliterate all ****-diving traces
from mobs bleeding the white-funded black & sallow yellow races,
they take up  phony causes in nine of ten clinically-disproven cases
running Manchurian patsies & *** kittens through menticidal paces
A rosy future belongs to normal people, the more normal the better,
folks who appreciate normal things: normal pets like an Irish setter
and paying a street ***** with cash because she's a chronic debtor,
and yet her ****'s an amiable fellow: truly a self-starting go-getter
who crochets booties for newborns & obeys some laws to the letter
How many movies in Maine feature a crapped-out Joan Fontaine?
How much glucosamine does a diseased cow's leg bone contain?
There were no gregarious bean bakers in Hooterville's Green Acres
nor big queen Quakers, fatuous lean takers, spliced spleen shakers,
seldom-seen fakers, farmers as keen rakers, men called teen takers
Low sugar metabolism makes a chick act like Portland Hoffa Allen
in that she'll scarf like a starved pig, piggishly hogging water melon
or muskmelon or any melon that Montreal-melon sellers are sellin'
to your average Trenton mobster, fugitive or romantic paroled felon
who'd **** with depleted uranium Arab babies by incessant shellin'
& get away with it because America's corporate media ain't a-tellin'
just like they didn't tell when 1-dollar milk sold for 1 buck a gallon
and Americans wondered if Michael Jackson & Billy Jean'd marry
civilly in Dominica even though he was a pæderastic-gay-bait fairy
preferring to make it with some 11-year-old paper boy named Gary
in the ***** fields of Michael Landon's Little House on the Prairie
where S.A.G. cows grazed to produce cream for N.B.C'.s T.V. dairy
that made Victor French's fancy ice cream: French vanilla & cherry
that even Melissa Gilbert couldn't resist, who was so often contrary
on the set 'cause her adolescent mood swings did menstrually vary
in the '70's when broads were sexier as they were much more hairy
than “Johnny B. Goode” singer & women's room spy Chuck Berry,
who married a cousin who was flittier than Heinz queer John Kerry
& 6 points stupider than the porcupine stooge: old anti-Christ Larry
who chose his sister-in-law's sister as the bride most likely to marry
whose dipsomania meant that she'd imbibe fortified wine & sherry
as one could be subbed for the other when all choices ain't arbitrary
within fashion statements decrying the sci-fi of Gene Roddenberry  
while taking pseudo-fictive writings as celestially lunar and literary
masterminded by T.V. cockroach from Hogan's Heroes: Bob Clary
Give to me the possession of my hormones back for full absorption
as I'm keen on resuming the bony splinter means of bone resorption
while admixed by neo-commixed protocols of bio-ecleptic sorption
Let's stomp sun-burnt faces 'cause J. Edgar Hoover was the riddled
manufacturer of Malcolm X from a ***** mulatto known by Little
who scrounged while Jersey burned its cheap, girly skirts for a tittle
No one plays guitar more melodically than does cuchi cuchi Charo
whose passion for nature out-natures that of the lovely Al Malinaro
& the crapped-out juvenile actor who was known as Frankie Darro
whom all Californians knew was as straight as the straightest arrow
unafraid to stay the course & to keep righteously straight & narrow
under the same moral code that's served so well María Mia Farrow
who has sworn off the making of stew using vole, llama or sparrow
yet not excluding the animal delicacies of pancreas & bone marrow  
enjoyed by robbers Bonnie Parker, Buck, Clyde & Blanche Barrow
who, as bandidos Mexicanos, were obliged to steal Mexican dinero
☹ A wild man's on the loose who's hurting tourism as a tourist ******
☹ He's tall & menacing like the guy on T.V.'s F Troop, Forrest Tucker
☹ A ****** is on the prowl and he's ******* tourists as a tourist ******
☹ He looks like that F Troop sergeant O'Rourke, actor Forrest Tucker
☹ A wild ******'s escaped from ******* prison & he's a tourist ******
☹ He is a bad ******* **** like the ****** on F Troop, Forrest Tucker