Friday, November 28, 2014


I am thankful for Bellotoot and that Mythical Monkey. . . .

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Why, oh why, would I comment?

The president's recent announcement of a major shift in the enforcement of immigration laws, justified on the grounds of Congress' failure to enact legislation changing the current law, and

the recent determination to tolerate yet again violent police action without criminal charges

just cries out for a re-entry of mister muleboy, on his horse about his brilliant views on these and other issues.

Forget it.  I don't know anyone who isn't burdened [as I am] by a world view that impedes critical re-examination of the premises of his or her beliefs.  Even "open" minds have contours of their openings, and once in, forms that must be matched lest their (my) brain explodes.

And, in my own way, I am easily able to tie the immigration decree and the police shooting and the grand jury's decision and the warrantless search of police records and the assassination of American citizens abroad and the demise of a free-ish Ukraine and the shitty new Taylor Swift record


Those are the contours of my mind and opinions and beliefs.

Monday, September 8, 2014

chapman at the rivers

who knew that Mark David Chapman also got an autograph from Joan Rivers. . . ?

Budding photographer Mark David Chapman waits in line for an autograph from Joan Rivers. 1968

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Terrorism, 2014

"The City That Dreams Built, No. 2," No. 2

I'm sure that they'll get around to blowing shit up after they get a few autographs. . . .

Friday, June 6, 2014


Seventy years ago, my old man was busy trying to stay alive by
killing Japanese boys.

And by outfitting aeroplanes with equipment better to
kill Japanese boys.

So he was not busy killing German boys.

Or dying at the hands of German boys.  And men.  And tanks.

And artillery.

A lot of boys and men did die at their hands, including those who must have died in the most horrible way I can imagine:  being shoveled by massive sea-borne tools into near-certain death.

What must they have felt when the landing craft slowed, and the crank was heard lowering that thin steel and iron barrier, with a continent aimed at their heart?  And for those who came out alive, how have they slept for the last seventy years?

The boys and men pictured here seem to be lucky ones.  Standing, wading --  lots never got even that far.

If the Allies hadn't been bold, and foolish, and obsessive, and lucky, Hitler might have extended the war for years -- or long enough to subdue the Allies with murderous rockets.  Rather than discussing the legacy of Hiroshima, we might instead be commemorating the dead of Manchester.

Of course, the boys and men who climbed out of those boats didn't constitute the Greatest Generation -- they came home, and started us on the path to our doom.  They raised children without shame, children willing to mortgage our children's futures for leisure and excess (I should know; I'm a mortgagor).

But those that came home came back having accomplished something worth thanking them for.

My old man, although thankfully not a Marine, landed with the Marines on Iwo Jima.  When I asked him "what Wave?" he'd landed in, he looked at me like I had just proven myself The World's Biggest Fool:  "there weren't waves," he said.  "There was only chaos."

And my old man looked up to the boys of Omaha Beach.  And Utah Beach.  and those lesser Canadian-type beaches, where boys bled their guts out and died, alone, staring at a smoky sky.  If my old man thought highly of them, it's good enough for me.

I say thank you to every last one of 'em. . . .

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Barack Obama is the Ryan Church of presidents

Two Observations

(1) If they made pizza without the cheese, tomato sauce, and bread, it would likely be a lot healthier; and
(2) George W Bush and Dick Cheney are likely war criminals.

I say likely because I am reserved.  Thoughtful.  Conscientious. Timid.

That stuff.

Cut out "likely". . . .

Thursday, May 22, 2014

Fuck Those Fucking Fuckers

Gilbert Gottfried.  Joan Rivers. Michael whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is.  Richards.

Asking someone to apologize for a joke is like asking someone to clean up a fart.

It may have smelled bad for a second, but it's gone and just doesn't fucking matter.

And if someone keeps going around telling tasteless, bad, insensitive jokes, then don't go in that smelly room.

The extraction of apologies from everyone for not conforming to some unannounced Huffington-Post-measured ethos is now mandatory.

Fucking fuckers.

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

I Now Love Twitter

Dana DeArmond ™ (@danadearmond)
If you have to ask if I fisted someone in the vagina or the asshole, you don't know me very well.

Download the official Twitter app here

-from a portable device

Friday, May 9, 2014

-from a portable device

Lesson Learned -- a Rationalist's Tale

So I recently had occasion to go to an emergency room. 

I was not in extremis, but I've been instructed to go directly to the ER any time that I've    experienced an erection lasting more than four hours      lost consciousness whilst driving a motorcycle    had the particular weird symptoms that I had.

Anyway, a word of advice:  if you go to a hospital with the word "Adventist" somewhere in its name, you probably don't want to answer the question:
Religious affiliation?
with the booming and forthright response:

My experience suggests that it might be followed by a [simultaneous] collective gasp (from some) and collective snicker (from others).

And I know that in my case,  about two seconds after I did it the PA crackled and a woman began:

This morning's prayer. . .

Yup; true story

Thursday, May 8, 2014

Conservative Radio

I thought that I would make a rather trite, and not original, observation:

With regard to conservative talk radio,

An angry, offended, victimized body politic might be good for radio ratings and income, and might be bad for governance.

I occasionally hear principles with which I agree spouted on the radio by goons that I would gladly see tarred and feathered

Angry Snark is the tone of the day. Every day. And it's so poisonous and polluting that it's either gonna stop, or this whole thing will [more overtly] crash around our heads.

I hate those fucking fuckers.

Noting that people are people, and that bad behavior isn't owned by any particular party or philosophy, I suppose that I should note that I read much the same thing on Facebook. But the anger and bile is usually replaced with a haughty (my dictation program typed out: hottie) sense of superiority not earned by analysis or persuasiveness.

-from a portable device

I hate those fucking fuckers too.

Wednesday, May 7, 2014


I get a lot of my news from the Huffington POst.

Not information, mind you.  Nor analysis.  But I learn what's new and noteworthy.  You know, news.

But I may not be able to keep reading the fucking thing.

At one sitting, I ran across the following . . . hyperbole . . . in the headlines on the "Front Page":

Overwhelming number. . . .

15 Shocking Facts

Have NO FAITH . . .

[ ] is going insane. . .

Devastating. . .

Brilliant . . .


More Epic


Hilariously Bad








Extremely Embarrassing

Let's see. 
The "overwhelming number" had "lost faith" in an institution.

The "overwhelming number" referred to was, depending on the matter polled, 51%, or 60%-30%, or 80%-20%. 

 Leaving aside that none of those percentages is "a number," when I applied the factor to determine the "overwhelming number" of people who'd lost faith in something, I came to 810.  Of the 1004 polled.  By a partisan polling group.

People give CNN a lotta shit about "breaking news" -------- Breaking News -- Obama still president;  Breaking news -- missing plane still missing -------------- but this is even more egregious, in my humble estimation.  Everything is breathless.  Everything is

well, not everything,; I don't wanna go into my own hyperbole

so much is breathless, begging for those eyeballs and clicks.

And, of course, the article itself said "wide" and not "overwhelming"

Fuck 'em

I'm going native -- no punctuation, epic post.

No monumental fail here. . . .

And I won't go into my anger and dismay, reading that someone "graduated college" or "graduated high school"                you've heard all of my shit about the buttfucking of the language, I can't help it if they want to hang their mistakes out there

there -- I've gifted you my insights

Friday, May 2, 2014

Mama Mia, That's'a Some 'a Spicy 'a Meatball !

Ooh, Mama mia, that's'a some 'a spicy a' meatball !

copyright 2014 mistermuleboy
all rights reserved

Steiner Family Reunion, No. 2

Steiner Family Reunion, No. 2 v.2

More Satellite Dishes, Please, No. 2

1936, meet 2014
More Satellite Dishes, Please No. 2 No. 3

copyright 2014 mistermuleboy
all rights reserved

Monday, April 21, 2014

piedmont park fete, No. 3

piedmont park fete, no. three, No. 2

Copyright 2014 mistermuleboy
all rights reserved

Friday, April 11, 2014

Happy Anniversary

Hey, gang.

By gang, I mean misterparker


so yesterday was the ninth anniversary of my separation from alcohol.  It's been nine great fucking years.

my life has been full of unexpected rewards: love, [relative] security, proud and peaceful relationships with loved ones, health, happiness, and Dmitri Young.

I won't bore you with the "grateful, recovering alcoholic" but, I'll save that for my fellow drunks.

But, as you may remember, I used to--especially during 2007 and 2008--report on the mundane yet shocking amounts of money saved by not buying the booze that I bought, daily, for the last few years o' my drinking.

So I thought that I'd reprise that ritual, seeing as how I celebrated an anniversary that pleases me so.

If I had lived these nine years (and I'll cite the express opinion of one medical practitioner on my chances of living that long: Zero.  You'll be dead) and had continued an unchanged pattern of drinking, I would have spent


As I note, I wouldn't have lived that long.  Nor could I have spent that money; I'd be unemployed and homeless.

But I like to know the money that I've "saved."

And no, I'm not free to go spend that money, which I don't have.

Anyway, happy anniversary, mistermuleboy.  glad you're here to celebrate it.

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Water Below, No. 2

Water Below, No. 2 first vol.

I can't wait until Autumn and Winter.  How's 'bout you?

copyright 2014, 2009
all rights reserved

Spot The Monkey, No. 2

Today, we play "Spot the Monkey"

Monday, March 17, 2014

The Hotel at Midnight, No. 2

The Hotel at Midnight, No. 2, No. 2

copyright 2014 mistermuleboy
all rights reserved 

Thursday, February 20, 2014

The Titanic Going Down

The Titanic Going Down, No. 2, No. 2

copyright 2014, 2007 mistermuleboy
all rights reserved

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Friday, February 7, 2014

Vaccaro's By Day

Vaccaro's By Day

copyright 2014 mistermuleboy
all rights reserved


Fells Point, No. 2 No. 1

copyright 2014 mistermuleboy
all rights reserved

Thursday, February 6, 2014

Prune, No. 2, No. 2

Prune, No. 2

copyright 2014 mistermuleboy
all rights reserved

Still in love, twenty-eight years later. . . .

What, Me Worry?

So every "dissident" [i.e. political opponent or critic] can be tracked, with gathering places identified, and trail followed.

Their ideas and tactics known. 

All of the things that they own can be identified [through "club card memberships," Amazon records, etc.]

Why the fuck wouldn't someone with his or her hand on the controls abuse that?  Since when have we elected saints and innocents?

And once in, why the fuck wouldn't someone use it to perpetuate his or her ppower ad influence?

And if people objected, what abuser would care?  If those "dissidents" couldn't gather and plan, couldn't meaningfully communicate, couldn't--hey, wait a minute, let's disarm them just in case--where is there any meaningful impediment to an authoritarian state?

Why the fuck do Americans think that they're so special that it couldn't happen to them?  The only things that have made Americans "special" are the tenuous, enforced limitations on government power that were more easily maintained in an earlier, technologically and ballistically limited time.  [well, that and great resources and protective borders and. . . ]

I know, I know -- why, the army could never be used against the American people; it's made up of right-thinking, good folk who would rebel against any rise of a totalitarian state.


I was at a mall with a recent horrific shooting incident.  I watched the police arriving.  Some were amazingly brave and dedicated.  Some were young men, excitedly laughing and eagerly pulling their tactical weapons out of their cars -- hey, we can finally use these!

Or militarized police and security forces are already a standing internal army -- anathema to those crafty folks that put together the limitations-you know, checks and balances and withholding of power by us governed--that have made us special.

I'm waiting for the folks who call me such a chicken-little fellow to explain how it could never happen.  The ones who laughed when I suggested that the surveillance state was everywhere.

You know, my pre-Snowden critics.

Oh, by the way, lots of the folks I implicitly criticize here know I've done it.  Know who I am, what kind of porn I like, know that I cheated on wives and girlfriends and Monolopoly.  They could crush me like a bug.  Why won't they?  Because I am a bug.  But if I met or joined other smart, better bugs, I would be squashed.

Rant rant extremist  extremist  nutjob nutjob

there; I'm done

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

In the last two months, far more people have stopped in to view my other [one-post] blog, The Mouth of the Majestic Moose.

I don't blame them. . . . .