Football Comes To LaLa Land

Fan Base Of The LA Football Club--Notice The Difference Between This Crowd And a Trump Fund Raiser

View From My Seat

April 29 was the opening game for the Los Angles Football Club and it was a party from the get-go.  How could you not have a great time, and game, with the diversity and love for football that LA has stored in their hearts for generations. We are, in La-la Land, a mix of the world. We incorporate in our city, people from everywhere and every kind. That is our strength in that we unite to be who we are from where we came. Me and my friends left from Culver City after a great meal of Mexican food.  We boarded the Expo line a few blocks away that dropped us off in front of the Rose garden at Expo Park. From there we walked by USC students who graduated and were taking photo shoots in the rose garden's fountain  area. From there a quick step through the Science Center and to the Banc Of California Stadium. Along the way vendors plying us with all kinds of food and wear, people taking photos, families and friends smiling and enjoying everything Los Angeles has to offer at its finest. It was Disneyland in the heart of the city.  

The opening festivities left us with enough time to wait in line for a big-ass can of beer. We got to our seats to watch an eagle fly and for us to sing the national anthem before the game began. It was far different watching it live than from the living room's TV. The constant roar of fans, the anticipation of scoring throughout the game up to the last seconds where the score was 0 to 0. That's when LA's captain gave it one last try and scored. It brought the house down. 

For an hour after the game, fans roared, congratulated and praised our team and its wonderful, beautiful, diversified stadium and city. Our mayor was there at the opening to help usher in another wonder that makes La-La Land so unique in America. We left and walked back to the Expo line where our police force helped its citizens to board safely and quickly. It was far faster to take Metro than to drive there. Even where I live in the San Fernando Valley, I can go a few blocks to a Metro station and get to this stadium in the heart of the city faster than I could ever do in a car. How cool is that?

My Pal Sweet Pea

Animals are a joy to have. They light your soul and warm your heart like nothing else can. My Sweet Pea is one heart warmer, full of love who, from the moment he wakes next to me, wants nothing more than to be my pal for the whole day. He is there for me on good days and bad, doesn't matter, he'll bring me a squeak to toss in the air for him bringing it back with a dash for another toss. He lays down next to me when I take a nap and ready to go as soon as I wake. His favorite activity is a brisk walk when we canvass the hood looking for something new. He walks well with a strut in his stride, tail up and wide eyed, especially when squirrels comes his way.

Every animal I've known had their own unique personality, just like people, and all of them respond to love and affection. But I think some have a tad more love to give than others, it just depends how they match up with you. Sweet Pea and me match up pretty well and I can tell because Millie the cat and Sweet Pea got along just fine right from the day they met. That says a lot about Sweet Pea because Millie isn't real fond of other dogs at all except for this one. They sleep together, play together which is really fun to watch one chasing the other and then they switch until they tire enough and lay on the grass next to one another.

I love them both. Millie is a very special cat who watches out for everybody, patrolling the property on a regular schedule. If a gate is open, she'll get me and cry until I follow her where she will sit and stare at the problem until I realize that something isn't right and then fix it--thanks to her diligence. Sweet Pea knows the sound of any car. If a friend pulls up, Sweet Pea knows before we do because he recognizes each individual car. It's amazing what the little guy can hear but when you have ears like a bat it must be quite easy to know when butterflies come around. 

Bar Fly News From LaLa Land

The Pikey Bar and Grill

I like bars. It can be high end or low end, doesn't matter to me because it is the people that go to them that make the bar. It's a place, especially if you're alone where for a while you have companionship in the mix of drinks and conversation. Then there is the eavesdropping of other conversations that are of interest. The hookups, the failed hookups and the subtle seducing that draws your ear and thoughts away from your troubles while listening to theirs.

People come fresh from work to unwind, and hopefully before the end of Happy Hour. They open their collars and wallets as they ease into a chair at the bar. They come in groups and solo to join all the others wanting a moment away from the world. For that is what a bar brings people, a time to get away and be free of constraint. Bars are probably the first social experience man has created. I'm sure the caves of Lascaux France with the painted scenes of wild animals was to entertain guests waiting for some kind of alcoholic concoction served to them after a day of hunting. What could be a better experience than to sit in firelight drinking grog from a horn and recanting the great hunt pictured on the walls all around.

Even during the darkest hours in America when bars were closed and raided, people found a way to gather. Sure they could get a drink at home but why? It's not the same as when you go someplace else to drink because it is the social event that matters. It's in our genes to gather at the watering hole and spend time with complete strangers mixing thought and word with one another. So go on, find a place nearby and take part in this time honored tradition of our species to find a place with a sign hanging out front--Cocktails.    

Keeping Chickens in LaLa Land Is A Tradition

Plymouth Barred Rock pullets in their run at home

In the novel, the Postman Always Rings Twice by James M. Cain, there is the telling of directions to an area of the Santa Monica mountains by a man who raised rabbits in Encino to the murderers in the story. In fact, my uncle raised rabbits in Encino, something he learned as a kid growing up during the depression era to put meat on the table. My own family, in the same neighborhood, raised chickens and probably for the same reason initially. We still have the chickens, not the same chickens but a clutch of hens I get when they are pullets for their eggs but not so much for the meat. That I leave to an immigrant family from Columbia who can't wait for the next meal of a healthy Encino raised chicken. The hens lay well enough for three years at most, after that it's time to start a new brood.

We in Los Angeles, though thought of in rural areas of the country to be city folk who couldn't survive without the farm produce raised in conservative rural areas, would be surprised to know La La Land has a vibrant farm community.  For us, we use the refuse of the chickens for compost in our vegetable garden that brings us apples, grapes, lemons, guava, peppers, tomato, lettuce, squash, herbs and anything else we wish to grow. Even those in apartments will grow something to eat or smoke in containers near a sunny window or balcony. Farming goes on everywhere in the city including bee keeping.

We not only raise enough produce and eggs to give to our neighbors and friends, but they in turn have reciprocated by giving us something they farmed as well. There is an added bonus that our produce brings, fish when a neighbor or friend has extra they caught in exchange. Nothing like fresh tuna with a homegrown salad to share it with. There too are the friends and family who dabble in beer or wine making. Sometimes surprising in content but always accepted and enjoyed because that's L.A. You learn to share space and with that--food.

There is a special beauty in seeing home garden plots. Dotting our city are open areas rented to those who want to get their knees brown and their thumbs green. A place to socialize and have friends visit with a picnic basket in hand. That's La La Land, unabashed liberals greening up So. Cal. So now that Spring is here. Get out your hippie jewelry and join in growing something for your table to enjoy with friends and family now that you're on the farm.

La La Land Has Football

I've wanted to see live football in L.A. for a long long time. The Galaxy club is not really in Los Angeles proper, you can't take Metro to Carson that I know of, at least not without several hours on several buses. You can take the dreaded 405 to get there but at a  mind numbing crawl. Not now though with the new kid in town and he is a very bad boy.

I bought season tickets for me and my buds. We have shirts, caps and pins. We're ready and we can have a great time getting there without driving much and using the Expo line. It is the new Los Angeles coming of age with a hot football club with a very cool name and a sellout brand new stadium in the heart of Los Angeles. Welcome soccer fans everywhere, it's football that the whole damn world plays.

The first two games had winning scores. We watched the action unfold with our home team on television when they beat Seattle by one and then on to Salt Lake where they trounced Real Salt Lake 5 to 1. Our team is doing pretty good without yet having their stadium ready, but we are.

La La Land welcomes everyone from every place on the planet. Our multi-ethnic cuisines blend tastes and talent from far and wide. Now we have added to this wonderful mix a real football team and we can be proud for it. 

Dancing With Ghosts In LaLa Land

DANCING WITH GHOSTS ARTWORK BY CLEMENTE GUZMAN

 
I've been doing that a lot lately, remembering those that are no longer here. It's part of aging, you begin to remember more about what you did with those deceased than the living. For me it's not bad because for the most part, I only remember the good times. Once in a while a memory of something terrible occurs but as time goes on, the mix of memories mellow and become a balm when you feel lonely. That's when you sooth your psychic with memories from another time.

That's the thing with aging, you will feel alone at times because most everyone else you know is either dead or close to it. It's all in how you want to look at it. I don't mind it myself for it gives me the time to remember, and in doing so for that brief moment, relive a wonderful experience. Each of us has in them beautiful memories culled from our past and groomed to fit how we look at ourselves and our lives. These selected memories are there to enjoy as we dance to a rhythm timed just right for us. Let the old have their dance, let them sing to songs of long ago and let them remember through a prism of their own.

I do miss the days in Topanga Canyon, especially in the cold season when we gathered at someone's house to keep warm and play musical instruments to entertain ourselves. We fixed dinners from whatever was on hand and laughed through it all. Each adding a story or two from where they hailed or adventures shared while we listened to old rafters creak and a stream surge into a river below us.

For in these memories I am young again, full of piss and vinegar ready to pit myself against the world. And that is what some of chose to do. Warriors that fought battles in our own worlds, we tried to bring understanding of ourselves to those that didn't know us. Isn't that what we all want? Understanding of who we are.

In A World Gone Mad Kindness Prevails

It's hard sometimes to watch the news about families torn apart for political gain along with a  mix of crude and vulgar language coming from the highest office in the land. It's hard to think the country I love wants to cast out those that yearn to be free because they come from a destitute land. But here in La La Land, life is a little different for this is where dreams can come true.

Sweet Pea and I think about the day on our walks in the hood. How people have shown kindness to me in a variety of ways when I tell them of Wally's passing. There is no judgement of our life style, no callous remarks of my loss but only sympathy for what I'm going through. It helps. For some days are really tough from beginning to end.

What I thought would be easy to adjust to, the freedom of  only caring for myself, isn't so easy. I'm so use to caring for Wally that it became who I was, and now I can't remember to take my pills because I'm not measuring out for the both of us in my morning routine. It's empty here, so very very empty. That too, I thought I would like but it is at times uncomfortable. Though Wally couldn't talk toward the end he was there to talk to, and now those little things that come up in a day that you would only say to someone you love can no longer be said. 


But something magical happens. People, strangers in fact, are kind to you with smiles and pleasantries. It doesn't take much to brighten someone's day. These things we do for one another connects us, makes us all better people, for in that magic moment of kindness we are not alone and that is very important for human beings.

I know that someday this will be behind me, I will feel more at ease and that all the legal issues concerning Wally will be over but right now that is not the case. Right now, he is gone and I miss him to the point that my guts hurt. We met at a dance class and I suppose someday we might dance again. Wouldn't that be nice. 

One Door Opens And Another Closes

For years now I have cared for my spouse who suffered with dementia. He died last month from complications caused by this terrible disintegration of the brain. But it was at great cost to me taking this journey to its end. I'm recovering now from the stress and exhaustion of the final ordeal he went through. A door closed on his life and another opened for mine.

To go through the grieving process, and at the same time, deal with the arrangements for the remains and the legal issues that arise, are the toughest thing a husband or wife has to do. And there is no choice in the matter. No one can do it for you. You can plan, you can have all your ducks in a row but when it comes down to when it happens you are vulnerable as if you were stark naked. You are bewildered to the point of insanity and desperate for a normal of some kind to occur.

I expected his death for a long time. The doctors and nurses told me for years that he wouldn't live another year and yet he did. Even to the end, his body fought for life days longer than the doctor's proclamation to me, "Now is the time, if anyone wants to see him, because he will be gone within hours." That was on a Wednesday and he stayed with us for three more days.

Now I'm at the point of picking up my life, most of what was needed to close Wally's is done. There are still some things left but each day brings less that I must take care of and a bit more for me to get use to. I still look for Wally in bed or his chair that is now gone. The schedule that ruled us everyday of my life for years is now empty and ready for things new.

There was an article I read once on getting over grief. Basically it is replacing old memories with new. Try to do things you didn't do with your partner which would give new memories to have, not that the old memories pass but you're not reliving them without your partner. That was the problem I was having while Wally was still alive. Everything was, "We went here," or "We did this." It becomes unbearable after time and with that I've been looking into forming new memories. I bought season tickets to the games of L.A's new soccer team, the L.A. Football Club.

Season tickets for four at the new soccer stadium, Banc of California Football Stadium that is being built at Exposition Park. It gives me something to look forward to, something exciting I can do with my friends that I never did before. It's very much La La Land to have something new all the time. Only now, for me, it is opening a new door, to new beginnings and new adventures, a new way of life.

I'm hoping I'll do okay. That I will adjust, like so many other things I've had to adjust to, with time and with the help of friends, to a new way of life. That is what makes living in La La Land special, we have taken the golden rule of the universe, adapt or die as a motto to live by. There are no other choices when you think about it. 

Grocery Shopping for Memories

Back in my hippie days we lived in an area that went off the grid during storms leaving residents without access to food, water, or power. It taught self reliance real quick and now that I live where that isn't a problem during storms, I still shop and store as if it might happen at any time. There is a supply in the garage of just about everything to get by for a week or more if necessary.  It helped in the 94 Northridge quake, we didn't lose power or water but friends did. We didn't need to run out to the store right away and if we had lost power or water it wouldn't be the end of the world. Inconvenient, yes but with the survival skills I learned, we would get by.

 Still, when storm weather comes (and what a delight here in La La Land for stormy weather) I relish supplying the larder. You need food that cooks in one pot, hopefully for a long time to help warm the house and make it a comfortable place to hunker down. The aroma of slow cooked meals simmered on a wood stove while you sit in front of its cast iron belly to read, craft or chat with family and friends is something usually savored at campsites. Time to open a bottle and contemplate whatever it is that needs contemplation. Time to slow down and enjoy the simple things life has to offer like a warm meal shared with others.

Everyone has their own way of navigating the isles of grocery stores. I start at the entrance and wind my way down each isle until I reach the other end where the produce is stored. But that depends on the reliance of the store keeper. There might not be what I'm looking for in the one department and that might mean changing course, going back to a previous aisle for what I could use instead. At the end of shopping, my last item is at least one block of ice. I like my beer cold.

Back at home, with a look at the weather report while stocking the pantry, I think back to those hippie days and the people I met. There is, unfortunately, no one left alive that I know, except for a friend's son who called two years ago to say his mother was dying.  Apparently she did for I never heard from her that Christmas. That leaves me and my memories.

So here I am with a glass of Merlot as Joni Mitchell and Neil Young play softly to the storm that will bring rain and wind to shade my memories of the  laughter and songs we once had a long time ago. To Johnny Reno, Lee and Roxanne, to Richard, Henry and Jeff, to all those that came in and out of our door during bad times and good that storms bring. May you go in peace just as you lived. 

The Hood Is Going To The Dogs

Spring in our park inside of La La Land. Notice the pink flowers on the trees, we would have nothing else.

 

As me and Sweet Pea left the house I told him we are on a great adventure, a new route through less traveled places, some unknown to both us.  Sweet Pea is all for adventure as long as we are on it together, and I feel the same. We headed East toward Balboa Park.

It was a blustery day for the wind did crack its cheeks with an icy breath. But Sweet Pea and I have felt cold before and it would not deter us. It seemed not to deter others either for we ran into a number of folk taking a stroll. It's due to living in La La Land where warm (and every year it is noticeably warmer than the year before) is most days. The joy of a change in weather is too strong to resist and L.A. wants to savor that change to the fullest. Can't blame them.

La La Land is the heart of Fruits and Nuts California. Our first encounter with one of the nuts was right on our block. Someone had bought the house of someone we knew at one time who happened to be a therapist, we have a lot of therapist here to help deal with the nuts and the two come in about equal numbers. I'm not sure though which came first. Before I could pick up the poop of Sweet Pea, screams of rage and profanity rang from the house once owned by the therapist neighbor. We were not on his lawn but the public sidewalk when Sweet Pea decided he needed to take care of unfinished business. I don't know what the man wanted me to do, but before I could get the paper towel out of the plastic bag he was on the porch yelling at me to make sure I took care of Sweet Pea's now finished business. Once the dog completed the task at hand, I wrapped it up and told the raging lunatic he had a definite attitude problem before walking away and disposing the waste in a trash container across the street from him. I figure we're lucky he didn't shoot us for this outrage committed by an eight pound dog. That's one of the things you learn when living here. Avoid the Nuts, the Fruits aren't nearly as disagreeable.

We took to a busier street, I wanted to show Sweet Pea that some streets near us had a lot more traffic than ours and I think he understood for he was very happy once we hit the green grass of the park. And who wouldn't? Our park is really nice and the two of us diffidently felt better once in it. Our walk now became a leisurely stroll to enjoy the sights, sounds and smells of a quiet oasis set in an island surrounded by cars. If La La Land wasn't so big, more people, I think, would walk around. But here everyone drives before walking, except the two of us, we left the gas guzzling fat-ass caddie in the driveway back home. 

Everything after the earlier and uglier encounter of the day was pleasant. Nods of "Hello" were given when applicable. Sweet Pea was in a fine strut, holding himself quite well and handsome. An elderly couple sitting on a bench even commented on Sweet Pea's well mannered ways and I was proud of him, boasting he was just over a year old and already an accomplished wayfarer.

Then, on our way back from the park another encounter. This time with a person who wanted to know if we were attacked by a pit bull. Specifically his pit bull. Apparently a dog irritated his dog and a fight ensued whereas the pit bull won. I looked at Sweet Pea and shivered at the thought of him defending himself against a pit bull. There would be little defense for him to give and I would be terror struck if something like that happened to him. I've never known a dog to give so much love as Sweet Pea.

That's it every where you go in life. Some days are walks in the park and then other can be strange and frightening encounters with the dark side. Maybe more trees that flower in pink should be planted, or more therapists for the nuts. I'm not sure what would work better but our great adventure, like most great adventures showed us both.  

The Annual Christmas Dinner

 
Each Christmas we gather, what friends and family are left for gathering, for dinner at a special restaurant. Most times it is at the same place but that place has changed now and then through the years. Presently it will be at the Culver City Hotel where we celebrated last season.

 It is always just before Christmas when shops are open to browse and people fill the streets dressed in winter wear and bright smiles, an unusual sight for LA LA Land. In particular, the Culver City Hotel was made just for this. The building has been restored to its glory days of 1924--only better.

The city has made their downtown a place to go. The streets are wide, walkways plentiful with small green parks placed here and there. It makes a stroll on the avenues pleasant and rewarding. There are benches to sit on, photo ops everywhere and a good selection of bistros and bars to try along the way.

The hotel's food is excellent with daily specials made from farm to table ingredients, and the service very good. Last year there was a mix up on the reservation and for it they accompanied us with seating where we wanted in spite of the error and presented a bottle of champagne to soothe the mix up. The historic structure sits on an island and this makes for a wonderful outdoor setting. You get the feel that your table is special due to the well placed foliage and sparkling lights that accompany your surroundings. It makes dining al fresco a favorite seeing the weather is good most of the year.

But for Christmas we dine inside where there is live music and enchanting heirloom antiques placed about. A fireplace warms a sitting area to enjoy a drink or two while you wait for your table. Fresh vases of flowers overflow on grand tables and the towering walls that surround you have high arched windows to view the city's lights. It makes it grand and special, the perfect way to celebrate a wonderful holiday that brings family and friends together at least one time each year. That's the wonder of Christmas, the joy it brings anybody who wishes to celebrate the love of those close and dear to us.

Merry Christmas Everyone.

Christmas In The Hood

Like a lot of folks my age I have grown in girth instead of height. The girth became a problem not long ago with a warning from the doc about weight, diabetes and all manner of ills that come from the excesses of the good life. I've lost the weight, got my blood sugar under control and working on the daily exercise. That's where Sweet Pea comes in.

Our dog, Buster Brown passed away after years of faithful service. Buster was very good at eating, barking, and messing in the house, but his one redeemable act of devotion to Wally was unmatched. His last moment on earth was to crawl to Wally's feet where he laid down and died, quietly and at peace. Buster was not a dog that enjoyed walks, but he was faithful to the end. When we adopted Sweet Pea from the city shelter a few months back he wasn't quite a year old and like all puppies came with a full charge.


Me and Sweet Pea go for our walk in the hood almost every morning. It is Sweet Pea's favorite part of the day, he doesn't whine if I'm too busy for our walk, or if I have to make it a short constitutional. It is when he hears, "Do you want to go for a walk?" And the leash comes out, his tail goes into high gear. Sweet Pea gets so excited it's hard for him to calm down seeing that a walk is better than a steak cutlet. Currently we are reviewing Christmas in the hood.

Now, our neighborhood is where I grew up from the age of ten. It is where all my traumatic memories, outside of the scalding water, happened. It is where I have watched over sixty years of change to the housing tract made for World War Two vets to start a family. Every forth house is the same, yet one of the first things most folks did was make them theirs. Attached garages made into rooms, rooms added, and all manner of additions placed, yet you can still, for most of them, see what they were like back in 1949 when babies popped out around America like a kettle of corn at a carnie.

People have come and go, I don't know who is left here from when I was a kid, they all have passed to the great beyond that I knew, but the hood still holds families starting out. It still has dreams and tragedy, and in all the mix, Christmas comes and so do the lights, the lawn dressing and all manner of things that say, "Merry Christmas."

In the stark reality of daylight, the flashing lights and bobbing Santa Clauses go still and flat yet in my walks with Sweet Pea, we have noticed that it doesn't matter, for when night returns, the magic comes and turns our hood into festival of light.
Happy Holidays Everyone.   

Los Angeles is a big city full of small town people.

One of my favorite places nearby is a water hole on Ventura Blvd. A sports bar with television screens all around and windows that look out on the street and parking lot. If you have enough to drink the parking lot turns into a beach front and the street turns into a canal of floating vessels. It's very comfortable there perched on a bar stool facing the screens of a variety of sports. I enjoy baseball and soccer but watch what ever is playing, it's the movement of color after a drink or two that makes it interesting--that and the people in the bar.

In one corner is a man who is there every time I am. I go on Saturdays as a rule, not all Saturdays but when I do he's there. A kind of ear to conversations, he gives high-fives when the occasion merits, smiles when you smile at him and a general 'All is well' ambiance to himself. He sits near where the condiments of lemon wedges and lime, peels of zest and fat green olives are kept. He has a lemon wedge in his water along with some drink I'm not sure of other than its clear and the bartender knows instinctively when to refill.  For the rest of the patrons, they come--they go and some I have seen on occasion while others look new.

The bartender is a young black woman, very smart with a great smile and attitude to match. I thought, like most of the help there, that she was in college but she is not. She should be because the woman has a good head on her shoulders. But college isn't for everyone and she seems to do very well without it. Her birthday is next week. I know because when I came in she was asking around for someone to take her shift that day so she could party.

The bar is a place where a lot of folks come to meet one another. Probably from some dating site or app. They appear, the women especially, well dressed and searching for someone in particular and sometimes that particular person shows up to introduce themselves. I never see them after that as a couple but I have seen the same person search for another particular person to show up from time to time. They are always older, as I am and sadly desperate as I hope not to be but probably will at some point.

There are hustlers and cheaters, lovers and loners and they come, as Los Angeles, in all colors and ethnicity. They are there because the parking lot turns into a beach front, and the street a canal of floating vessels after a drink or two, just when you wish, as the man sitting next to the condiments does, that the world will stay still for a moment. It's why I'm there, to have the world stop so I can take a breath.

I've had it with my Trump campaign. I'm so tired of the tyrant and hearing his rants and raves that I can no longer write about it. Too horrible to endure any longer I am like the lady who wedged herself between my shopping cart at Ralphs and the magazine rack in front of the cashier. She had to have a National Enquirer. Why? Because she wanted to get away from the awful politics swirling around us like suns circling a black hole.

I almost got one for myself.

Captured By The Alt-Right I Escaped With Others.

 The ordeal is over. The torture inflicted on me will last a life time as it will others but we survived. The hours spent on the fondle machine with its many pinching grabbing metal hands was excruciating and for some lethal.

We were forced to watch and listen to Nazi propaganda that Orange Hair himself picked for us from a trove of films held by his Russian puppet master, Putin. After hours on the machine of many hands, we then were not allowed to sleep but to endure countless messages that Orange Hair was our divine leader that we must listen to and follow. We were ordered under threat of the claws of his wicked machine, to bow in the direction of Trump Towers every morning and evening, giving thanks to Orange Hair.

Our escape was treacherous but with some good luck we won our freedom. How fortuitous that Orange Hair attention span is that of a hare. Once he found a bright shinny object that drew his attention away from the depths of his Florida Swamp and from his guards who were now free of their master's leash. His crew grew lax and slothful. His thugs thought of us captives as subdued, they grew weary watching us and more fond of sex and drugs. Then the right opportunity came, a hole in the keep that we took advantage of. I imagine that Orange Hair is still screaming at their incompetence but then he screams at everyone.

It's good to be back and away from the constant pulling and grabbing that I endured, yet still suffer with in the form of horrible nightmares. We are safe, nestled deep among Muslims, Jews, Latinos, Africa Americans and the LGTB, who would give their lives for our freedom or for anyone else who is willing to fight the madness of Orange Hair's grip on America.

Drones loaded with freeze-dried darts of various hallucinogenics will soon fill the skies above Trump Tower where the great evil lurks this very day. With the drones camouflage ability they will lay in wait for the perfect moment to subdue our enemy and allow us to find Orange Hair's filthy liar.

For in spite of our setbacks, we will prevail.

Dart Drones Of The Freedom Fighters

Our forces are busy equipping drones with a battery of ice darts. We have developed a way to freeze-dry hallucinogenics into very small frozen darts that when they hit their target on the skin or clothing, a dose of either: Ecstasy, LSD, or THC is administered. Each drone is equip with two ounces of ice darts that gives the drone thousands of darts to administer on each mission.

Each dart consists of a large enough dose to render the person hit with enough hallucinogenic material to cause complete perceptual anomalies lasting one to two days. If hit by more doses the effect could go weeks to months causing a complete psychotic breakdown.

We have drones that have the agility to fly within flocks of birds giving them complete secrecy in advancing on the enemy, or to lay in wait, blending like chameleons,  for spying and to attack the target on command from where ever they emerge.

Orange Hair is preparing his troops to siege our beloved city. But he will have a surprise should he try. At the moment he is hiding in the Marsh Of The Rich Fat Assholes of Lower Florida. He has brought his Molesting machine, his beloved gift from Puss Stain, ruler of all Russia. From his campaign to enslave women there are several hundred Muslim and Hispanics maidens for him to pick out and use his Molesting machine on. Orange Hair has invited his cabinet to choose among the women whom to torture and giving in to their thirst for power. This gives us time to set our drones to cover the skies and wait. For we shall rescue these women from the clutches of evil and set them free.  Their freedom will enrage the deranged Orange Hair and cause him to commit even more mistakes, perhaps fatal mistakes.

Orange Hair's Battle Against The Free Press

Orange Hair hates bad news about him. Bad news about others? That's okay but he will not tolerate anything that questions his decisions or actions. He wants to replace a free press for the Orange Hair World View, which he deems the only valid news source.  He wants Orange Hair news that says all things good about Orange Hair. Anything else is dangerous and a threat to his desires of world domination. Puss Stain, the new Stalin of Russia, has told Orange Hair that without suppressing the truth, he could not dominate the world much less America. It was something that poor Puss Stain had to repeat over and over to Orange Hair due to Orange Hair's obsession on all things Orange Hair.

So now the Supreme Oligarch of all Russia has planted in Orange Hair's circle of  plants to whisper over and over the need to control all information. Very important for world domination.

Puss Stain controls all news, information, data, for all of Russia. This criminal of freedom has a burning desire for world domination as well. His puppet in America Orange Hair, admires Puss Stain because he is a ruthless tyrant, he wants America to join Puss Stain and his campaign against free thought. It is too dangerous to think without Puss Stain or Orange Hair telling you what to think of and about.

We are in peril of losing our country to evil men. Men who want all things their way and we must fight with everything we have. Join us in the City of Angles, Los Angeles, City of Refuge, City of Light and fight the good fight against the ruthless tyrants, Orange Hair and his keeper Puss Stain.

We have dart drones and devices and will blanket the sky with our robotic and highly developed techno gear. We will show the world a new war fought not by the bodies of men but the intelligence of their machines that do not bleed life. 

It is a new era, a time for all those everywhere to stand up against the tyranny of the few over all others. It is time to usher in the age of Aquarius.


 

Kevin McCarthy Warns California Of The Wrath Of Orange Hair

Snot nosed McCarthy who recently removed his head from Orange Hair's ass came back to California to warn us that if we do not bow down and worship Orange Hair, as he does, we will face his unrelenting wrath.

MC CARTHY

WE WILL NOT WORSHIP ORANGE HAIR. NOT NOW OR EVER

Notice McCarthy's face freshly pulled from Orange Hair's ass. The pouting lips that suckle on Orange Hair's sphincter. The bent nose from the large amount of time spent up the rear of Orange Hair. This is the look that McCarthy wants Californians to have, but we will not brown nose this tyrant and turn into the sniveling coward that McCarthy has become. McCarthy is a traitor to all California. He needs to move closer to Moscow and we intend to put them there so he can sniff the butts of Puss Stain and Orange Hair that he adores and worships.

The battle is soon to come. Orange Hair is gathering his forces along with his goons like McCarthy. Beware City of Angels for this demon pictured here is no friend of ours. Gather your dart drones and devices and be ready for the attack that could come at any moment for the siege is about to begin.

Orange Hair Grants An Audience With His Minions

Orange Hair gathered bales of dollar bills from the treasury to drop from Air Force One as he flew over the swamps of Florida to help in gathering a crowd. Those that showed up had to buy an overpriced hat that said, I'm with Stupid. But the crowd didn't mind since the hats are red which is perfect for possum hunting and driving pick ups. The crowd was happy with their hats and Orange hair was happy with getting all their found money. And as the crowd looked for the free beer advertised on flyers they soon learned that the Dixie cup of warm suds came only after they entered the hangar and the doors were shut and locked. Still it was free although flat and on the warm side, but they had their beer and a bench to sit on. That's when Orange Hair brought in the entertainment to warm up the crowd.

It was a success with the beer bellied hillbillys in attendance for most of them never saw a naked thigh that wasn't two hundred pounds of wiggly fat, and though the dancers had tits that didn't hang to their belly, the overhaul crowd loved them still. One was overheard to say he never saw anything so exciting since they outlawed public lynchings.

Orange Hair, seated on his glorious porcelain throne, stood and raised his hand to hush the crowd, he was about to speak. But the crowd wanted more beer and maybe a bit of pickled pork belly but Orange Hair denied their request and blamed the media.

"I told you about the media didn't I?" He asked as he scanned the crowd. "The lying thieves ate all the pickled pork belly and they drank the rest of the beer too, but they'll deny it if you ask them. That's how low down they are. They would take  your granny's beer can while she rocked on the front porch if you didn't watch them."

A roar of boos erupted along with more than a few belches of gas which pleased Orange Hair and he knew that he was on the right track.

"I saw one of these Northern scoundrels pull a whiskey bottle right out of the mouth of a nursing mother before she could take a swig." More boos and cat calls came from the growing unruly crowd.

The press corps began to look for an exit but found every escape route batten downed.  They began to worry.

"You know you can't trust what they write. Not that you could read it but if you could, it is all lies so I'll tell you what they wrote." Orange Hair then looked out to the crowd and in a very long voice screamed, "LIES. That's what they write about me." The crowd erupted once more, belching and spitting, puffing and huffing.

Then Orange Hair swept back his coif, raised both hands to the ceiling and yelled, "They hate Jesus too. Can you imagine."

Well it was to much for the crowd. They tore off the boards they had sat on and marched toward the press stand where shivering journalists stood petrified.

We don't know how many survived to write about anything, some grabbed red hats and tried to blend with the crowd but most of them didn't survive. This much we know.

       

Republicans Love Orange Hair and Orange Hair Loves All Things Russian

With the help of the Republican party, Orange Hair is successfully selling secrets to Russia.  Puss Stain is so happy with his puppet, he doesn't have to pull strings, the puppet dances to the tunes Russia plays without any help. America has been sold for an undisclosed price by the Republican party's need to win the election. They have successfully handed America over to the Kremlin without a shot being fired. The treasonous acts of our FBI director, James Comey to deliberately hide information of  Orange Hair's constant contact with his Russian handlers should send him to the gallows but it will not for the Republican base doesn't care if we're sold to the Russians or anyone else, they only love Orange Hair and Orange Hair tells them what to think and what to do and they do it without thinking.

We are at the hands of a great horde of illiterate self schooled Jesus freaks. They don't think, they only need someone's insults to go on. They don't have lives, they live thinking that Orange Hair will make them rich too. That's how stupid the Republican base is at the present. Orange Hair is tearing our educational system to shreds, people who think for themselves can be very dangerous. Should his base become educated they may think Orange Hair's insults and brags aren't worth the breath spent on them. And how then could Orange Hair control what they think, read and see.

It is time to rise up and join our forces before we all must learn Russian. We will be planting potatoes for Russia by this summer if something isn't done today. Join or forces in the City of Angels and fight this diabolical dictator that has taken our country hostage.

Commander Flynn, Orange Hair's GoBetween To Russia With Love

The Manchurian Candidate has happened with Flynn flying in to whisper in the Kremlin's ear at their beck and call. The Russians have successfully placed Orange Hair in the highest office of our land and they need only wait for Orange Hair to turn America the free, into Amerika the enslaved. Truths are lies and lies are truth, for we now have alternative facts to smoke screen the Republican base into believing it is so. Do Not Trust The Media. When you control the information, you control the people. Our country is in grave peril.

It is time to rise up and resist this great evil. Our freedom's, our very lives are at stake with Orange Hair and his madness for fame and fortune. For he will risk everything to cement his name as a world dictator to fear and worship.

Russia told Flynn to go after Iran. Now Orange Hair is fixated on a target, the most recent, an Iranian ship in International waters somewhere in the Persian Gulf. Orange Hair planned to board by force the ship and search the cargo for any contraband deemed so by Orange Hair.  That would most certainly lead to war with Iran. Orange Hair's planned was shelved, for the moment, being that international waters might present a problem of piracy. Not that resorting to piracy isn't beneath Orange Hair, he's been a pirate  his whole life. But his advisors got cold feet, there wasn't anyone convenient to blame it on should things go not as planned. Men of no honor look for none.

 We have our drones and devices at the ready should Orange Hair and his minions try to enter the City of Angels. The forces of oppression shall do so meeting great resistance by the free citizens of our beloved megalopolis, for we have not been fooled into thinking Orange Hair brings anything but misery and death.