Towelhead Down

By our man in the Black Hawk, Repoman Jack

Osama Bin Laden done got his ass busted real good. The Seals knew just what they’re doing and our C-in-C is tuned in realtime to watch the show (thought Hilary looked kinda queasy tho). Obama comes outta this looking real fine, he wanted the sucker killed and killed he was, hiding behind wife #3 like a real macho. Navy boys done ‘buried him at sea’. Yeah right. Bet the Marines drew up a real reverential service. American justice.

Big party stateside by all red-blooded Americans. Well not quite. Now there’s these dadbasted do-gooders all cringeing and crying that we never read him his rights or tried to arrest under due process. Due process my boney ass. If ever a man’s guilty as all hell its this varmint. Did we ‘violate his human rights’? Sure did, in spades. And then some.

Now I don’t recall him reading no rights to the victims of 9/11. Or USS Cole. Or them African embassies. Or them thousands of other muslims he killed for deviating from his fundamentalist version. No sir, he’s just a cold-blooded bastard hiding in his mansion while his flankers do his evil. He got his deserts.

The Seals go in

Even more hackling is them Pakistani bandits getting all  riled up and saying we violated their airspace and didn’t notify or seek approval for the raid.  Well tough talookie, buster. Here’s public enemy No 1 holed up a mile from their elite military academy and 35 miles from the capital for 5 years and they want us to believe they didn’t know nuthin’?? Per-lease! If he was a mile from West Point you bet your  ass the CIA would have twigged it pronto. We’ve been saying it for years, we pump in the aid and the military hardware but these hombres just aint our allies, and now we got us proof. So hang your moustache in shame Abdul, the whole world knows you as a two-faced rattler who shelters terrorists. And stuff that up yer violated airspace.

New York Times got it right on the money. Rot In Hell was their headline. And if that violates Satan’s human rights, well its just a risk we’re gonna have to take.  Nuff said.

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Published in: on May 4, 2011 at 10:41 am  Comments (20)  

I swear….

By our WGYG committment therapist, Repoman Jack

Now whereabouts I come from a man looks new year in the eye and fixes to make some changes. He kinda looks back & says “Enough already, I’m done with that”. He then lists a whole buncha stuff that’s adios muchachos and maybe adds a few items that’s new. Make life better, the whole bang shoot. So I’m up & ready to give a whopper 2 points to the best list of 3 New Year Resolutions that’s you’re fixing to make & by golly you’d better stick to ’em or all the hombres in these parts gonna bust your ass. We’ll be watching, you betcha.

Here’s mine.

  1. Be less mealy-mouthed & shoot from the hip. You want ornery? I can do ornery.
  2. Feel real good about drinking tequilla & smoking cheroots.
  3. Take on the pinkos wherever I finds ’em & kick some ass. Shock & Awe.

Yeah you’re down on your luck/ and you don’t give a f*ck/ Till the best part of you starts to twitch//

Published in: on January 3, 2011 at 9:31 am  Comments (62)  

The girl with the dragon tattoo

By our body art correspondent Repoman Jack

Female tattoos. Don’tcha just hate ’em? Pretty girls with tramp stamps, just above their ass & on full display. There’s been plenty of times you get yourself into the rite position knowing full well a gals going to be bending over and you’re dang set for an eyeful & what you get is some godawful tattoo that distracts your aim just when you got a bead on.

Often they’re these celtic types or heavy metal. Once saw one on a bar girl with a guy’s name (Roger – can you believe it?) so when he’s rogering away he looks down and sees his dog tag. But the other customers gotta find it a turnoff thinking Hey! This Roger dude done beat me to it! How about that?

Time was a maiden was fair & unblemished, silky skin, as the Good Lord intended.  Now there’s all these designs in the most unlikely places (as I know) & some them just aint hygienic. It just aint natural to go exploring south of the border & find there’s a goddam map right down there.

Tattoos aint good for women-folk – and I speak as someone who has a couple himself – & I’m sure the Bible backs me up here someplace. Something about adornment & paintedness I’m sure. It’s OK some grunt getting the needle to show his mettle but the ladies – NO.

And they were imagining roses/ As if life itself were a dream/ Is a gift not a reason for living?/ Not enough, not enough, so it seems.//

Published in: on October 24, 2010 at 6:56 pm  Comments (33)  

Far out, man

By our far-out correspondent Repoman

Proper bona-fide hippies were a product of the 60’s, starting over in California then spreading worldwide in free societies, leastways those with welfare or innocent folks you could scam. Love, Peace, Anti-War, sex and drugs were their slogans and sure as hell can be seen as a reaction to a sterile and oppressive post-war settlement. It was kinda fun to be a hippy in them far days, grow your hair, screw around, blow some weed and generally blame everything ungroovy on The Man. We also had all the best bands and happenings. Happy days 🙂  😉 Yup, they done invented the Smiley too.

Course everything passes, and the hippies got corrupted, stagnated, wacked up, spaced-out, Tolkiened off and militant (in no particular order). The low point gotta be 3 disc conecpt albums and 2 hour drum solos. Then the endless urge for novelty saw a rejection of their values to be replaced by glam, Disco, punks, grunge, rap etc. as this week’s gotta-be fashion accessory.

But what’s setting a burr under my saddle is these here new hippies, kids probably grand-children of the originals. 3rd generation Galadriels and Pigpens. They got the lingo off-pat, like y’know like far out man, cool. They grow their hair real good. They are agin most bad stuff but what in tarnations name are they actually for?

They got themselves no positive values that I can actually see. Just hang around aping the tricks of the oldsters but without any enthusiasm or go. Nearest they gets to doing any darn thing is to post on Facebook then moaning when nothing happens. They never faced the draft. They aint even got the get-up & go to go panhandling, just pick up welfare cheques. They aint got the imagination to set up their own thang so they just camp out in a watered-down version of the original, strumming along to the old tunes they just don’t get. How sad is that?

Kids ought to be in the vanguard of creativity and cultural change but when they just can’t be bothered to even get a new hairstyle and fashion then things seem kinda bleak. What’s next, neo-Jazzist hep cats? Mercy! So kick a neo-hippy today and remember folks, don’t trust anyone under 60.

Name that tune

 Your greasy hands, your salty lips/ Looks like you found the chips/ Your belly aches, your teeth grind/ Some tater tots would blow your mind//

Published in: on April 30, 2010 at 12:06 pm  Comments (40)  

Christmas crackups

By our WGYG ho-ho-ho correspondent Repoman  Jack

Xmas has hit Bangkok and we aint even had Thanksgiving yet. Venture into the malls at your peril – they’ve got deafening xmas carols blasting out at maximum volumes, usually 3 different tunes on the same floor. Total disorientation central, this kinda stuff was banned even in Guantanamo.

Heavy shopping, man

There’s Thainglish versions – Jingen ben, jingen ben, jingen ordewai. There’s US versions with ghastly kids with lisps – Here comes Thanta Clauth, here come Thanta Clauth, gweedy wikkle wugwatsth. Now I’m normally the first to stand up & be counted for US inventions but these really are the pits. There’s even a weird dub of carols onto Beatles standards – Silent Night as Taxman and Come all ye faithful as I am the Walrus. Bad acid flashbacks in a mall is powerful bad wampum medicine, not for the faint-hearted.

Our helpful staff are happy to assist

All the staff are kitted out in Santa hats & tinsel. Mighty purty some of ’em but still dimmer than a 10 watt bulb & no darn hat is going to get them up to the efficiency levels of a red-eyed raccoon. Then there’s the dumb dorky promotions. ‘Lets all celebrate Christmas love and peace with megabonus points spectanzula’ (pardon me?). You try telling them you don’t want no voucher in no rigged sweepstake and they just won’t have it. ‘You! You fill in form now! Win big big no ploblem. You give passport I do for you. You do now!’.  They’re real demented and alls you want is buy a set of boxers but you ends up walking out bagless as a flat-top hobo.

Christmas? Baah, humbug!

Thais love any excuse for a party & fun but they have no real idea of what Xmas is about. They celebrate all major religious festivals except Ramadan (fasting? Do what??). We’ve just gotten thru Halloween & Tlick or Tleat now its smack bang into Klitmaat. I aint no killjoy, no Sir, but this sensory barrage and bureaucratic idiocy sure sets the cactus burr under my saddle. So I’m commencing to hunker down till its all over. But then we’re right away into the first of 3 new year celebrations in 4 months so there’s no escape. Welcome to the Hotel California.

Oh gosh oh gee, how happy I’d be/ If I could only whistle (thhhh)//

Published in: on November 18, 2009 at 12:43 pm  Comments (58)  
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Snipers

By our WGYG relationships correspondent: Anonymous

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The other day I looked at the calendar with a jolt. 17th October – why did that date have such significance for me? I racked my brains for a while and then moved on into the everyday routine of stuff and things, my own question forgetten in the play of life. Then, over coffee with a colleague, it hit me. I abruptly realised that this was the date I married my first wife, it was my ex-wedding anniversary, a date swept aside for so many years but now recalled from past oblivion.

The realisation colored my mood for the rest of the day and plunged me into an intense bout of memories. I actually calculated that it would have been our 30th anniversary on that day, but now it was just another day of no particular significance. 30th anniversary – what’s that? Not gold (50) or silver (25). Maybe some intermediate precious metal or rare earth. I settled on Irridium. It was my Irridium wedding day and for some reason the thought had swept into my life with great force, demanding examination.

That evening I decided to get drunk on my own in the apartment, raise a glass of celebration to failure and amnesia. I went through a strangely maudlin phase when something clicked and out popped fully-formed memories, replete with sound, color, dialogue, smells, tastes and raw vicious emotion. Long suppressed, or forgotten, these vivid memories held me entranced like some long-lost movie favorite, digitally remastered.

And then I remembered the snipers.

The long period of our on-off separation (18 months) could best be characterised as trench warfare. Each side dug in, immovable, intractable, each yards progress bought with massive pain and loss, each assault beaten back, total stalemate at enormous emotional cost. We lost track of our goals, keeping the war going became the goal and we forgot what life was all about. Just one more push, the final breakthrough would be made, victory assured.  But the real fighting was done by the snipers at night.

They are killers. Their only function is targeted homicide inflicting maximum pain and humiliation. They know where to shoot with their laser-guided sights and they know just when to pull the trigger. They are the true professionals of marital warfare.

They work like this. When the battle is at its height the sniper takes aim and, waiting his time to the split second, pulls the trigger and hits the target dead on. Remember that time you acted disgracefully at her bosses party, got sick to the stomach and had to be taken home? I embarrassed her so bad, it was then that she realised we had no future together.  Bullseye. The Red command center takes a direct hit, the assault falters, communications down the line crack up, urgent regrouping takes place under smoke.

The only possible response is return sniper fire. Dig deep, drag something up take careful aim and bang – the Blue command center takes a hit, a dum-dum designed to maim and cause maximum pain. Its no wonder I took affairs when you’re so frigid. A trump card which, once played, can never be retrieved.

We're trying to sort things out

We're trying to sort things out

Its a vicious war, anything goes. There’s no real point in the war, but the fighting is dirty, and the combatants get down mean and personal. Its only aim is to claim moral rights, to prove that you weren’t the one that started an unjust campaign and therefore any means of defensive response is justified. MAD – Mutually Assured Destruction. So much heat, so little light.

And when the war is over and the dust settles we start to pick up and get on with our lives. But for long periods after the snipers are still in play, indirectly in memory. We replay battle scenes, repeat the sniper attacks over and over, consider the snipers we never deployed, ponder the timing and pacing of failed sniper attacks, and lick the wounds of raw direct hits. Armchair generals refighting ancient tactics and strategies in fantasy combat.  Until eventually the snipers go back into their boxes (or should that be barracks?) and life moves on.

So when the anniversary comes around unbidden you stand in shock. Did I really unleash those forces to cause maximum hurt? What exactly was I fighting for? How did war break out? How did it end? Did I really fight that dirty when I can’t remember what I hoped to achieve? Time blurs the raw edges and erases the urgent immediacy of old warfare, and we ponder who that person was that was us.

av-62645And the goat-getter? Did I really fight so dirty and mean over something I can’t really remember with a woman whose face I can barely envisage even as she was then? Yes I surely did, and it  all seems so long ago. But make no mistake. The snipers may be back in barracks but they are a rapid deployment force, fully trained and ready for active service at a moments notice. We all have them. The deadly reservists of psychological warfare, fit to fight again at a moment’s notice. They still don’t get it. There is no victory in wars like these, no winners, no losers. Only survivors.

For the last line, here’s a tune I played over and then some at the time.

Oh whatever makes her happy/ I won’t stand in the way/  Oh  the bitter taste still lingers on/ From the night I tried to make her stay//

Published in: on October 26, 2009 at 11:24 am  Comments (17)  
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Walk, don’t walk

By our special correspondent Repoman Jack for WGYG News

What gets my goat? Well just pull up a stool & I’ll tell ya. Whenever you’re fixing to mosey over any darn place in Asia there’s folks walking right slap bang in fronts of you. Then stopping. Just like that, right in your face. Its like the dodgem cars getting from A to B. You sets out from A and they zoom in on random vectors and pull up dead when when up front of you. You need to dodge & weave like a Giants linebacker to get anyplace and still they block you off. Its like you just aint there and even when you sets to glaring at ’em they just looks plum thru you like you some kinda invisible man without the bandages.

The deadliest types got themselves tooled up with brushes and mops. They got radar real good as they never even look up but just wheel on their heel and starts up brushing and mopping right over your boots. They rush too, just to get smack bang on target then theys off, sweeping away likes theys always been there and you walked into them. Some even backs off but keeps right upfront whichever ways you head, like some demented tango pervo. Go left, they do, go right, they do. Back up, they advance. There’s no escape.

Just try getting near any doorway and kazzam! What was a clear run just seconds before is now a total slamdown. They’re real fast, comes up outta noplace & just stands there slackjawed but 3 deep. Does they budge some? No sir, just stands there looking every which way but never going in the door themselves.

What we need is some kinda traffic cops on the sidewalks making folks walk straight & true, giving some sign when they fixing to change lane or enter a shop say. The cops should be armed and all decent folks won’t object none if they starts popping off the odd round at blockers & jumpers. It’s the only way we’re gonna clear up our streets and make ’em fit for honest citizens to go about their daily business. Either that or we all starts toting machetes.

Right, that’s gotten that offa my chest, & feeling all the better for it. So here’s that famous last line.

And the best thing lovin’/ Was your sister and your cousin/ And it started with a little kiss, like this//

Published in: on October 1, 2009 at 12:46 pm  Comments (15)  
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