Halloween in the Gaza Strip

Well the Jews turned off every light, closed their doors, rolled up the walk. The Muslim Brotherhood did the same, sneaking in the back door with the lights off. But for us queer folk, Halloween is our turf. We love it and I carved three pumpkins, lit them with candles, made up my face in a zombie-farmer look and passed out candy that is at least five years old. I have one gallon bag left of the crap.

I was amazed at the neighbors on either side of us, oh, and the House That Kills, they too turned out all the lights even though the Armenian mafia's car was parked in the driveway. You would think he would pass out bullets or something. And you would think the Muslims would pass out bombs and the Jews of Little Israel would pass out  matzo. But no, fuck no they didn't pass gas they're so damn tight.

It's the Fags of Gaza that keep the spirit of Halloween alive in this hood. Without us who would rot the teeth of children? Who would make their front porch gorgeous and who would dress up like a kid even at sixty-six? Not the hets. Fuck no, they're birthin' babies and running up debt. It takes a fairy to make a hood pretty, everyone knows that.

So that's life in Gaza, stuck in the middle of Jews and Muslims, we do our duty for god and country and beautify, beautify, Beautify America.

Life In The Gaza Strip

The weather has cooled to a delightful Fall temperature. Chilly mornings that warm up when the sun climbs in the heavens and stays comfortable until late afternoon. Fall and Spring are my favorite, with the weather, the scenery, it just works well for my temperament. But for the blood of the hood, well, that's a different matter.

In New Jerusalem, Mean Queen and Daddy were at it again. I don't know what the fuck Daddy was thinking when he told Mean Queen to clean up the yard. All in Hebrew of course, like rocks being tossed by someone's tonsils back and forth but hey, they seem to like it so much that it is all done at a scream. Still translates the same, "You fucking bitch, I told you to put the leaves in the trash. Not the fucking trash on the leaves." "Fuck you, Moshe, fuck you and you're whole fucking family. I didn't sign up to be a Mexican laborer, I'm a fucking JAP you idiot.  

In New Iran, the Muslims have planted all their bombs, and apparently they haven't gone off yet or it was another dud terrorist plot. I'm thinking dud because they paid way over price on that house they bought next door. And he thinks it is all suppose to hold up for another fifty years. Sorry pal, here in La-La Land nothing lasts fifty fucking years. Now they made the place look more Iranian, lots of fucking coiled wires everywhere in the patio. It looks like there is more coiled up electric wires than they have the electricity to  power it. I mean, get a fucking extension cord like the rest of us and put the fucking light up. You don't need twenty-fucking miles of electric cord to do it.

Now the ones across the street at The House That Kills, they scare me. Give me the Jews, give me the Muslims but for the love of Mike, keep the fucking Armenians the fuck out. The dude is real big and scary and never ever-ever smiles. He looks like he just ate his mother alive and is still hungry. A real killer that guy and now I think he would kill locally. Hell, even across the street, so I keep the fuck away from that one. The dude is diffidently Armenian Mafia, in fact, I think he teaches prospects how to kill the Armenian way by shooting the fuck out of everything in a circular pattern, leaving only yourself to walk out alive.

Well, that's the hood for Fall, nice place as long as you watch where you walk. 

The Return Of The Muslim Brotherhood And The Rescue Of Mexican Monkey

Not too many days ago all the cars at Little Iran were gone. Poof! for months they sat packed tight to each other in the carport, three of them and one on the street that moved ever so often. There is, The Greeter, his wife but there are others there. You hear them on occasion. like when they had missionaries over for dinner that turned out to be the main course. I guess the missionaries ended up skewered for the barbie. They burn everything on the barbie, it's as if it was sacrificed food. "How you like the chicken? Burnt? Yeah great isn't it."

Well the Muslim Brotherhood is back, their bombs planted, they are waiting for the right moment to make the call and set them off. Wally and I are pretty safe, unless of course they find out I'm writing about them and then I'm sure a fatwa will be sent out for our immediate murders.

They are very strange people from Iran, friendly one time, not so much the second and after the third, a bit rude. It could be there next to queers and so feel they will be sullied by our close proximity. We do have a lot of fun and I think Muslims are against fun when they try to kill little girls for seeking knowledge.

We almost had a terrible accident yesterday,  Mom was over, there's a slight flaw in the boyfriend, he's loving, giving, a democrat, has money, a house but apparently isn't into sex all that much. Mom was set to find a flaw and did, so she was getting drunk in the back yard with the rest of us. Popping beers like she does her sleeping pills she decided Mexican Monkey had to trim the back fence. Not a good idea because if the the little guy fell to the west he would end up in Iranian territory and possibly captured then held for ransom. Of course we wouldn't pay it and then they would send monkey parts to us until he was cut up like packaged brownies. If he fell east then the Israelis would have him, worked to death for little money and then cheated out of that, they wouldn't bother with ransom, he would be put in the alley when through with working him to death.

I did intervene and peppered her with questions about the quality of sex with the new Bo. Apparently quality isn't a problem, there is not much going on from that front to begin with. There is no quality, or quantity and so Mom as gained seven pounds, ate three chocolate donuts while here and her weight in beer. Mom likes her sex raw and kinky and ain't no amount of money to make up for that. At least Mexican Monkey is safe. He cleaned out the chicken coop today and started another batch of compost,  Such a good monkey he is and a good thing I stopped Mom from having a little fun at his expense for if he did get on the ladder to cut the hedge, he would have surely fallen at his peril. 

Leaving Cayucos Update

                          Wally and I out for a stroll on the pier in Cayucos


It was a wonderful time, we laughed, drank in excess, at least I did, Gabe a little, and ate well. Shopped til we dropped because there are three very large antique stores in Cayucos, two of which had two to three floors. Now, picture an antique store, filled to the rafters with every kind of bric-a-brac you could think of, then picture creaky,  very creaky old stairs to get to all that junk. So as you walk, all the ceramic, tin, tinsel and platters rattles along your path.

I found an ornate Chinese cast iron lantern for twelve dollars. I found a lot of things including some interesting books, one was of Moby Dick, thirty-five, H.G Wells, the same cover on ebay is going for eight hundred, The History of Mr. Polly with a forward by Sinclair Lewis for seven that doubled in price when I got back and looked it up on eBay. Pavilion of Women, by Pearl S. Buck for seven, first edition and in very good condition.
And then the old gal that I charmed gave me ten percent off. It was a real deal.



Now for the guests. Pete with the meat had a bevy of girls waiting for him. His website is Captured Erotica and the guy is constantly being asked for photo shoots. I was amazed at the young women who wanted to be photographed by him tied up, wearing hoofs and a tail and spanked. The horse lady was the prettiest. even with the multicolored tail sticking from her ass and shoes that gave her feet the appearance of being hooves. The strangest event being when he was taking photos of the sunset and a young woman fancied him went home with him, got a call her grandmother was dying and still he got laid.

And I promise you, that Pete with the meat will send me a picture of Gabe. The guy that is Wally's caregiver. If you are in the market for one hell of nice guy and very good looking, this is the guy and he took care of Wally so well that I actually had a real vacation for the first time. 
                                        Pete With The Meat

By The Seaside, The Wonderful Sea

This is Morro Rock. From where we are in Cayucos it looks like a mystical island.















It is real nice here, and the weather for the most part has been great. We had some rain yesterday in the morning that lasted until noon and some more that's expected for this morning but I like storms at the beach and from what I hear on my walks, so does everyone else. The pier is a half block away, easy to reach from the house,  and with beautiful views as you walk on its long length. Fishermen are catching sardines. Not the kind that fit in those cans but larger than the length of your hand. In Spain they eat a lot of sardines and I can see why, they are good tasting and you can usually eat bone and all on them.

Went to a local tavern here or saloon as they call it. A straight bar, with talk of some local fag going on, yet the bartender had a slight lisp and the two of us talked of hats. He is a hat man and so am I. Feel damn near naked without one and we talked of our favorite hat. I was wearing mine, the fedora of Indiana Jones. I really really like the hat. I wore it in the rain and it seemed to soften up the stiffness of the brim making it look more like the rugged hat on Harrison Ford. And I think made me look more like Harrison Ford in the bar, being that it was dark, I was on the far side and everyone was getting drunk.

I like straight bars, they will talk to you in a straight bar. Not so much in a gay bar, where all communications is done with the eyes and gestures. With my glasses and my squinting eyes, I might as well be invisible in a gay bar but in a straight one, people will talk to you while having a drink and I find the conversations very interesting. You never know what will be said, but you can rest assured it will be interesting. 

David is coming in on the train and is staying at a nearby motel. It will be good to see him, get a report on the activities of the train and he doesn't drink, which if he did, the both of us would be in the saloon, talking about the local fags or the fags we know and getting plowed. When I'm by myself, it is easy to limit the martinis to one or two.

                                                        After the Storm

Livin' Like White Folk

Damn if it's isn't nice too. I took the train up from La La Land to San Luis Obispo, or SLO as the natives call it. SLO, and it is, Cayucos is slow too, that's where I rented a beach house for the week. The old lady at the one and only grocery store is still there and still slow but lovable. She helped me hide the bottles of wine in the basket of my bike with bread and vegetables. I'm not sure why, some law I'm sure for when we first pulled in and unpacked the cops were hassling the homeless. An alley in back, nice too but the hapless homeless guys made a mistake of drinking some kind of shit when the cops came by. Now they're in custody, taken away to some shit hole.

I'm having a great time. Really great because the train ride was fun. I got two critiques done while on the train, they have wireless when it works. Saw parts of the Pacific Coast that are only visible by boat or the train. There ain't nothin' the fuck out there, no houses, people or fences after the 101 turns inland the train takes a different direction, and it is an OMG experience with the ocean on one side where you are riding on the cliff's edge and the slopes of natural vegetation that go on to the horizon on the other.  Really, if you ever get the chance, take the train from Slo to La La Land or the other way, don't matter. It gives me hope that the Republicans haven't fucked us over too much with the environment in their quest to appease every greedy asshole that wants to fuck us all over in the name of commerce and themselves getting rich.

When are people going to realize we are living in a spaceship? SLO, in the past week or so passed an ordinance to ban plastic bags and if you want paper, it's ten cents extra. I can live with that. I came with plastic bags and glad to. Here at the rental we're in and it is a nice house too, are two devices that hold plastic bags for your convenience. Put them in the top and pull them out at the bottom. Yet at the market the sweet old lady thought she might have a problem with a newcomer not use to recycling. I smoke recycled chicken shit. Well, not directly but I use the chicken manure from our chickens, the plant material of the garden, ashes and make my own compost. Great for growing marijuana or squash. Great for flowers, lemon trees and grapes and I eat it and smoke it the form of recycled chicken manure and all, so plastic bags? Please, so latter day.

All is quiet

Maybe it's the weather, the heat just cooked the fuck out of all of us. Tomatoes, squash, cucumbers, eggs from the girls were all done under. And I can't blame them, who the hell wants to shit an egg when it's over a hundred. Day after day, the thermometer rose and with little falling back too.  Of course there's nothing to global warming, shit no.

Now though, the high with its murderous sweltering heat has left. We are grateful and slept with the doors open and the A.C. turned off. No worry of the Muslim Brotherhood attacking us at night, they're still out planting bombs.  House of Crime is quiet too. In fact, I'm worried. Not that we'll be murdered in an Armenian bloodbath but that someone somewhere is. Mean Queen at the Palace has been pleasant, waves when she is in her car and I'm out front. Daddy has yelled his last yell at the Hispanic workers getting shit pay to cover the earth in cement. Why do they do it?

The Jihad Party Boys in back had one hell of a party a few months ago. Lots of clap-clap songs and male bonding that they love doing. Hermit Witch came out once asking for Wally. I gave her squash, cucumbers and tomatoes to NOT put a curse on our house. At least this year's payment wasn't eggs and flea spray that it was last year. Flea spray, it's like what? You need flea spray and eggs? Okay, I have flea spray but does a witch need that? They like fleas, I always thought. They've been biting her, she said, from someone's cat that they had left her. Yeah right, it couldn't have been payment for a dismissed curse could it? Eggs, here, flea spray there, and familiars from everywhere--witches are strange that way but I like them.

Village idiot is truly an idiot. He lost three families already. He lost his car, his trash cans and I think he is losing his voice. His opera tenor voice. Maybe he's growing balls for the first time in his life. And next door to him, Lady of the Forest has been gone for a very long time. Someone is in there, they don't go there much but someone is in someway in there and I think a male. Drag Queen next to her shakes her booty now and then. I think she is on a road trip, some big-ass motor home came  by and picked her big ass up. She'll be back after chasing the fleet.