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There Comes A Woman



There comes a woman once in a crazy man’s life who can bring him back down to reality-at least for a few minutes, anyway.

Remember the girl that Thumper met in Bambi?
How about Adrian with Rocky?
Leia with Han Solo?

I’m out of my mind, but it’s quite possible that the finger has been pointed at me now.
Everyone knows I’m a fighter.  Some people think I’m just a troll on the Net, and I don’t care about that, as I have witnesses who can attest to the fact that it’s not wise to get into my face and it’s a stupid idea to hit me.   I mean, you can probably kick my ass, because I’m not Bruce Lee, but I get right back up to take the next punch-which I don’t even feel.  I don’t even have to hit you to get my way.

I can send your pretty daughter who’s in her senior year of high school straight to the local gentleman’s club if she really wants to go to college-and that’s all I need to do.

I lose a couple of teeth, you lose your house and she loses her reputation, so it’s not worth it.

That’s when happens when someone gets into a fight with me in a parking lot.  I might get my ass kicked, but I heal much more quickly than the reputations of others.

This young lady knows that I will fight for her.  In fact, I would lay down my life for this young woman who is in her early twenties.    I am humbled by the fact that she worries about me, and that’s because I worry about her.

Ah, the Age of the Donald; right-wing dictator and modern-day fascist.

What really annoys me is that I’m one of the few on the left who’s willing to put someone’s face through the windshield of a 1954 Chrysler Imperial-I’ve even been coaxed by a man with autism not to do that a few times to those who said he should be put in an institution.

Windshields, library chairs, bats, it’s all the same to me-just think what I would do for this woman whom I would give my final drop of blood for. I would also do some pleasant things to anyone who makes fun of my niece, as she has cerebral palsy.  Don’t fuck with me, Wigboy.  I know you like to make fun of people with Parkinson’s.

There comes a woman once in a man’s life who does her best to keep her man from giving someone free dental work, and if this goes where I hope it does, the poor Senorita has one hell of a job to do.


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The Wrong Immigrant To Scare



I have someone to fight for, and she’s someone I hope to make a future with someday.
I’m going to do everything I can in my power to keep her here, because she likes it here (why, I don’t know.  It was a hell of a lot better under Obama and Clinton).

I’m a political brawler, but I fight much more effectively when it’s personal-and this one is personal.  No Marquis of Queensbury rules-especially when it comes to the white nationalist we have in the White House.

I met her at my niece’s birthday party two years ago, and I learned roughly a year ago of her interest in me.

One thing which is great about her is that she has something that American women have lost over the course of the last forty years-a domestic sophistication and the desire to create a true home.  Men don’t meet women like that anymore-not in this country, anyway.  What we normally get is ‘dinner is thawing in the sink.  Love you.’

She wants to own her own business in conjunction with being a wife and mother-and I have only seen that balancing act work once in my life.  The woman I knew who did that was damn good at pulling it off, because her daughter (my girlfriend at the time) was special needs.   Sixteen years later, that girl who was special needs is now a psychologist in Los Angeles, in her late thirties, and with a shitload of awards.  I couldn’t be prouder of her.

So, it can be done.

I’m prepared to defend this young lady, even if it means that I get hauled away in an ambulance.  That’s what you do when there’s a white supremacist in the White House and you must defend someone whom you already care for.

This girl is going to find out what happens when someone touches me while they try to negatively affect her life.

I’ve always been the middle finger with a mouth, and I’m prepared to raise it high for this queen, because she’s royalty to me, and because she’s worth more than L’Oréal (remember the commercial?  Okay, then.  Shut up.).  I’m no Muhammad Ali and I’m no Jack Dempsey, but you don’t want to do anything to her and you certainly don’t want to hit me when I must defend her-trust me on either situation.

Oh, and you certainly don’t want to try and cuff me while all of this goes down in real time.  It’s just a stupid idea on your part.  People have seen what I tend to do when I get hurt in a fight-just don’t try it.

Yes, this is the same liberal you love to hate, but not all modern-day liberals are pussies.  That’s why a lot of liberals mistake me for a Republican-because I don’t turn the other cheek.  I break the other jaw with whatever I can grab hold of.

Try growing up in Sylmar, California.   You just try it, my friends.

The best way I can describe that Los Angeles suburb is that the perfect soundtrack for that place is Mean Street by Van Halen-especially as you go down the hill.  You get around Herrick Avenue and the lower part of Sayre Street, you’d better have some good life insurance…or else your wife is going to have to have to go down to her high school weight so she can be a stripper and feed the orphans you were dumb enough to leave behind.

How long does it take to lose 150 lbs. anyway?

Just asking-and by the way, I grew up on Lyle Street, which is between Herrick and DeGarmo.  I heard gunfire because Sylmar Park is around the corner and down the street.

Anyway, that’s Sylmar, California, the place where I grew up, and the place I still call home-no matter where I am and no matter where I end up by the time it’s all over. That’s where I learned to fight.  That’s where I usually won, but when I got a beating, I really got a beating.

Everyone plays their hand, right?

I’ll never forget the fight I lost in the 4th grade in 1979 in the front of Dyer Street School. That kid (Good one, Robert) simply had me.  I have no excuses for losing that one.

That’s why I don’t read like the average Wonder Bread liberal.  That’s also why Wonder Bread liberals mistake me for a Republican.  I may be a metalhead, but I did grow up in the hood-which gives this young lady the advantage.

That’s probably why she’s afraid of the Alt-Right, but I’m not.  I laugh when they open their racist mouths, as I’ve met people who walked the talk they’re simply too pussy to demonstrate for all of us.

I’ve dealt with racists.  I’ve dealt with cops who have aimed guns at my head at point blank range.  I’ve dealt with the National Rifle Association.  I’ve dealt with idiots who brag about how many they killed in war.

The Alt-Right is filled with gray-haired, beer-bellied amateurs, and the man who woos this Latina has dealt with professionals.    This woman is simply the wrong immigrant to scare.