Archive for the ‘Paolo’s Best’ Category

My “Inner Child” Is A Slut

Thursday, July 2nd, 2020

Can only women be sluts (or, as they call them in the Northwest, “lumber camp toys”)?  Are men sluts: studs, dicks, or just real, REAL lucky?

Is the term decided by numbers?  How many sex partners does it take to be a slut?  Are 10 enough? 100?  Does 200+ put you in the “Super Slut” category like Charlie – “I’m not a slut I just play one on television” – Sheen?  What about fantasies?  Can you think yourself to slutdom?

Do all sex partners count equally?  Is a blowjob in the men’s room equal to a wine&dine one night stand?  Can you count yourself as a sex partner?  How many times?

And what about hookers and porn stars (“I’m not really a slut – I just have a user-friendly vagina”)?

It’s all pretty confusing to me.  If someone called me a slut, I still wouldn’t know whether to hug ‘em, shrug ‘em, or fock ‘em.

SLUT:  https://www.google.com/

A Fire In The Belly

Friday, June 26th, 2020


When I was about seven, I lived in a small town and made  my career choice based on a carnival.  Every July, a traveling troupe would roll into our town’s small park. There were a few trailers driven by shady carnies with black grease under their nails, some game booths, ripped tents, and a little portable stage for the “acts”.

Today these acts would not even be popular in the cardboard box villages of the homeless – but for kids in Hicksville, USA – they were fantastic!  Our favorite was the Fire Eater.  When this guy took off his shirt (he was also the Strongman), threw his head back, and shoved down a long, flaming sword, the crowd went nuts!  I immediately decided that’s what I wanted to be in life – a Fire Eater!

Now, as an older man, I see there are a few disadvantages in that particular line of work.  But as a kid, I went to the library and read all sorts of books and magazine on the subject.  In one I remember the “worst” thing about fire eating in those days: rehearsing with lit, oily rags tied with wire around swords – and becoming complacent about it.

If you got too cocky and didn’t tie the wire tightly,  part of the burning rag would slip off the sword, slide down your throat, and land – still burning!  And I remember what the guy said about that unhappy experience: the fire would go out after a few seconds – but it was a looong few seconds.

Today, over a half-century later, I still remember that man’s words.  If something’s not going well in a day,  I say to myself, “Well, at least I didn’t become a damn Fire Eater.”

Fire Eaters:  https://www.google.com/

Nobody Watches Ronald Pee

Thursday, June 25th, 2020

I learned a lot about perception, reality, and life on a beautiful May afternoon in Hudson, New York in the early ’70s. It was my first job as an Account Executive for an Upstate New York McDonalds’ advertising agency.  I was 23. One of my duties was to manage Ronald McDonald appearances.

Now here’s a big secret up front. There’s more than one Ronald McDonald; actually, there are many Ronalds.  Regional “Ronalds” looked alike, had various “talents” – like juggling Big  Mac boxes –  and their own unique personalities.

“My” Ronald was an old magician who was cranky and didn’t like kids very much. But for some odd reason, he liked me – and I liked him. And I loved the fact Ronald McDonald appearances were so bizarre, they were like LSD trips without drugs. Ronald was the world’s most famous clown – with a lousy attitude.

On that first appearance, I drove Ronald in full costume to McDonalds with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. When we arrived, he told me to pull up to the side entrance and guard the bathroom.

Seeing my puzzled look, he said, “Look, you go in first, clear everyone out, then go outside and guard the door.  Shit, kids can’t see Ronald taking a leak!”

Soon I saw two junior high punks walking towards me and the bathroom door. The larger delinquent spoke first.

“We gotta use the bathroom.”

“You can’t use the bathroom right now. Ronald McDonald is using it,” I said with a straight face.

The punks looked at each other and burst out laughing. They obviously weren’t there for the appearance.

“Ronald McDonald is really in there pissing?” one sarcastically asked.

“Hey guys,” I said, “I don’t know what he’s doing in there. But you can’t go in until he comes out.” Of course this produced more loud laughter.

Suddenly the men’s room door burst open and there stood “Ronald” immediately taking in the situation.  He put his hands on his hips.

“Oooh Ronald,”one laughed, “why can’t we see you pee?”

And then in a voice cracked by more than 60-years of cigarettes and alcohol, my Ronald growled, “Because, you little bastards, I’ve got a schlong that’s this long (here he put his hands about a foot apart) and it would just scare the shit out of ya!” With that he turned and started clumping towards the McDonald’s entrance in his size 22 clown shoes.

The punks and I stared at each other in silence. After a second or two, I rushed to catch up to the world’s most famous clown.

***

The ‘G’ In G-Man Stood For Gay

Thursday, June 4th, 2020
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J. Edgar Hoover, Director of the FBI for over 50-years, was a rabid right-wing fanatic who used illegal wiretaps, malicious gossip, and innuendo to blackmail Presidents into letting him keep his position until the day he died. His reign crushed the rights, the careers, and sometimes even the lives of countless Americans who had the audacity to disagree with “The Director” or whom he thought were “commonist”.

After finishing two, well-researched biographies of Hoover, I can also add another adjective to the mix: pathetic.  Hoover probably knew he was gay since high school – he just never could admit it.  He found it nearly impossible to change or suppress his sexual preference completely. The large “girlie” centerfolds he hung in his home’s bar embarrassed and saddened his guests.

For nearly half a century, his relationship to Clyde Tolson, who became the powerful FBI Assistant Director, was an “open secret” in Washington.  Everyone “knew” – but no one talked about it.  The dismal part is Hoover’s hypocrisy demanded he create a macho public image firing gay FBI agents and leaking rumors of his enemies’ homosexual dalliances to Congress.

Once, Tolson had to be hospitalized.  “Hysterectomy?” joked one FBI Agent.  Hoover fired him on the spot.

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Was Hoover gay?  https://www.google.com/

Playing Footsie With Reality

Tuesday, June 2nd, 2020

February 23, 2010 (This my FAVORITE post – out of thousands!)

I guess there just was not a lot of good news in February 10-years ago.  Maybe that’s why we got such a kick about a human foot found on a conveyor belt at a recycling plant in Seneca, a small town in upstate New York.

Naturally the workers at Casella Waste Management were quite concerned when they saw the foot coming down the line. Are human body parts recyclable?  Was the rest of the body on its way? Was somebody just putting his best foot forward and keeping the rest?

As rumors ran rampant, law enforcement and county officials called the media for a press conference. They looked grim. Yes, initial medical reports said the foot was human and only partially decomposed. Yes, we’re sending it to the Monroe County Medical Examiner’s Office for DNA confirmation. No, it has not been determined if it’s a male or female foot. No, we don’t know if it’s from a child or an adult.

Please people, they said, stop calling the police with reports of missing persons until we kick this thing around a bit and see what’s up.  Casella Waste gets refuse from 15 New York counties and parts of Canada – we’ve got to check all of them.  Yes, we’re on our toes down here – we know what we’re doing.

By Tuesday the crisis was peaking.  The plant was closed and inspectors were all over the place like smell on garbage. Then, a shocking development!  The foot was tracked to Canada – specifically to a load from a recycling centre on New Toronto Street, near Lake Shore Boulevard.  The Toronto Homicide Department stepped in.

“It could only be one of two things: medical waste or foul play,” said Toronto police Staff Sgt. David Vickers.  Uh oh.

The kicker came on Thursday.

“After days of DNA testing, we’ve determined that what we have is not a human foot – but probably the foot of a black bear,” said Seneca Sheriff Philip Povero.

Oops – a bear foot – not a bare foot!  How embearassing! At least now Toronto Police could refocus their investigation to search for a large, black bear hopping around their city.

And what can we learn from this drama?  Something computer geeks taught us long ago  – “Garbage In – Garbage Out”.

Big Foot caught on tape:

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Strange things found in recycling plants: https://www.google.com/

Legendary Stripper CAROL DODA Gets DWI

Monday, June 1st, 2020
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“San Francisco has 3-great attractions. The other is a bridge.”

San Francisco Chronicle

Seven years ago, Ms. Carol Doda, 77, was arrested by San Francisco police when she smashed her Audi into a parked car and the police smelled alcohol on her breath. 

In the 1960′s, Doda  danced at the Condor Club and through numerous ‘obscenity,’ ‘outraging public decency,’ and ‘freedom of speech’ lawsuits.  She won almost every one.

What was her talent?  The manager of the silicone-enhanced, 44D busty star said, “Well, with a little help, she can sit up.”

When she retired from the stage, Carolyn Doda formed a rock group named, “Carol Doda and the Lucky Stiffs.”  They opened for  “Nobody Famous,” the legendary SF rock band which included my friend Brad.

Brad was the band’s almost-nominated Grammy-award-winning drummer.  He and Carolyn were secretly married in Lake Tahoe, Nevada in 1982.  The marriage was annulled less than a year later.

Brad asked me not mention his marriage in this post. When questioned about it years ago, Ms. Doda said, “I’m still trying to forget it!”

Carol has her own “Star.”

More on Carol Doda:  https://www.google.com/

No Nudes Is Bad Nudes

Wednesday, May 27th, 2020

Memorial Day traditionally has been the kickoff for nudist resorts in regions like mine in Upstate New York. I’ve enjoyed nude sunbathing for years and, as others have told me, it’s no big thing.  But whatever the location, nudists enjoy the sun and the freedom allowed by a clothes-free environment.

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This freedom comes from total body acceptance without regard to the ‘young, beautiful, slender bodies’ culture. I’ve seen the bodies of senior citizens, kids, fat people, skinny people, and just about everyone else under the sun. It’s hard to believe – but nobody really cares what you look like. The naked novelty idea wears off after about ten minutes – really.

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In this society, we associate being naked with sex – but nudist resorts are about as sexy as dog shows. There are no displays of affection, teasing bikinis, or “enhanced” Speed-O’s. Sun worshippers are just average, tradition – bound Americans with this one rebellious activity which they do not consider rebellious at all.

Do they worry about skin damage from the sun? Oh please – virtually everything is relatively safe when done in moderation. And anything done regularly to the extreme is usually harmful – especially moderation.

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 While I’m writing this, the only thing I have on is the TV.

Thank A Grill This Weekend

Monday, May 25th, 2020

Are you having a cookout this weekend? Many Americans do because it’s a tradition – and you “do” traditions whether you want to or not. 

The husband (usually) drags out the Weber grill, fills it with old charcoal (vintage: Memorial Day, 2018), dumps on too much lighter fluid (a definite lack of creativity naming this product), lights it, and then jumps back from the 2-foot flames.

“I’ll be ready for those burgers in about 10-minutes!” he shouts to his eye-rolling wife who is just thankful he didn’t set the house on fire. Then Dad grabs another beer – his fourth. The kids groan when they see a backyard inferno like they haven’t seen since the newscasts of the California wildfires. Ahh, charred rawhide for dinner again this year. The charcoal briquettes might be easier to eat.

“MOM! Can we go to McDonalds?”

”No!” she yells back. “We’re a family – and families cook and eat outdoors together on Memorial Day. It’s important to your Father.”

Louder groans. “Why?” one yells.

“God friggin’ knows…,” she thinks as she scoops salads onto serving plates from plastic containers bought at the supermarket.

“Go set the table! Use the paper plates and plastic silverware.” More groans. Even before the kids find the long lost picnic supplies, the wind picks up and a new species of aggressive fly is attracted to the smell of burning meat. Finally the family is seated. Paper plates are held down by mayonnaisey salads and one hand – as the other tries to shoo away the unrelenting pests.

And despite the fact that everything on the grill is now uniformly burnt to a crispy black, and everyone is miserable, Dad asks the punch line question, “How would you like your burger?”

Cookout tips:  https://www.google.com/

“She’s Alive, Franco!”

Monday, May 4th, 2020

2010

Jake loved his old dog, Heidi, as much as I loved Sunday the Cat. N was a new friend with whom I was trying to share some benefits. I was photographing her before we went out for dinner.

The phone rang. It was Jake crying drunk and slurring, “We had to put Heidi down today, Franco – she was suffering so much. It’s killing me! A few of us are at the bar having a drink to her memory; I brought in some pictures. Can you come over?”

N stayed in the apartment as I went to Heidi’s “Memorial”. Of course Jake was a mess telling Heidi stories and showing her pictures. I bought a round or two and left in about an hour.

After a long, enjoyable dinner, N and I came back and the answer machine light was flashing. I hit ‘play’ and immediately heard a very drunken Jake.

“Franco! HEIDI’S ALIVE! She’s alive, Franco! What a dog! Franco – HEIDI’S ALIVE!” Click. N and I stared at each other. Uh-oh. Seemed Jake took the 10:10 to Crazyville. It was too late to call back but too weird not to. Jake’s wife answered. “He’s passed out, Franco.” Then she told me the ‘real’ story. It wasn’t even half as good as the one I imagined – they never are.

Jake and Wife took Heidi to the vet’s to be put down. Both were distraught but Jake was worse – much worse. So Wife told him to say good-bye and she would stay with Heidi. Jake left – she broke down. Vet decided neither was ready yet and he gave the dog something to make her more comfortable for a few days. When Wife brought Heidi home, Jake wasn’t there so she waited and fell asleep.

Reality is so dull. That’s why they invented drugs and alcohol.

Earth Day My Ass

Wednesday, April 22nd, 2020

Rainforest? Pave it – make it a parking lot!

My liberal friends hate it when I say I really don’t give a damn about Earth Day.  The roots of my apathy go back over 45-years.

In 1970, the Anti-Vietnam War movement began to lose momentum. People were discouraged because that “win-less” war continued despite our best protests.

And then came Earth Day – and everyone had a NEW CAUSE – Environmentalism. The trendies quickly embraced goals which were ridiculously futuristic and too easy. After all, who was “for” pollution and against the earth? We anti-war demonstrators were booed, gassed, clubbed, arrested, and beaten. We were called commies and traitors.

No one spit on or hated tree-hugging, dolphin-kissing, dirt-worshipping earth lovers. As a cause, environmentalism was as good and clean as it got. 

Worse? It reverently centered on the Future! Our Future.  Our Kids’ Future.  Our Planet’s Future. Ah, the Future – 100 years, 500 years, 10- centuries from now – alla God’s chillens gonna have clean air, pretty trees, and snail darting fish – in the Future.

The only problem is what about NOW?! Right now we have piles of bodies from the ravages of wars, hunger, disease, and poverty. 40,000 people – mostly children – unnecessarily dropping dead EVERY SINGLE DAY!  How green will they be in 500 years? Shall we put them in blue recycling boxes or just dump them in the landfills of history?

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You probably won’t read more about starving children here. But make sure you wear a green shirt today.

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Waterfalls are so much prettier than starving children.