We’ve all been afraid of something during our lifetimes. Fear is the enemy of clear thoughts and swift action. Fear of failure has led many to miss a great opportunity. I suppose there’s a phobia about fear, the fear of fear. Or there’s the current fear that gets my panties in a bunch. The Fear of the Walking Dead. My fear here is that millions of Americans sit around watching this mindless, unoriginal crap, so much so that it will become the norm for entertainment, driving out the worthy productions, and stifling news talents.

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For those interested in The Soul cage, here is a little Q &A I’ve been asked to write about how and why I wrote it

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Similar to many parents, I grow more concerned for the future of my children and their children as I grow older and experience more of how strange the world is becoming.
Never was this concern more worrisome than after I heard a recent story on the news. A local judge was deciding the fate of two children in a historic court case. It seems that two lesbians each had a child by artificial insemination, but then they broke up. Now each woman wants custody of the children they had by unnatural births. In their wildest dreams I seriously doubt our nation’s forefathers could have envisioned these circumstances when they developed our constitution and judicial system. I doubt even God could have imagined these possibilities when giving Man free will.

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I’ve listened to all the Presidential debates, and now I’m being bombarded by all their freakin’ television commercials, but the one thing I’m finding annoying is the continuing rhetoric of one of Obama’s worst policies. The Democrats want to increase taxes on the “elite 1%” to spread the wealth to those who are not living the “American dream.” I believe that if a person is not where they want to be in life, it’s a problem with the poor choices they’ve made during their lifetime, not something to be gained by living off the earning of others who have worked hard and made the right choices.

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Something has irritated me to no end for the last several months, and I figure the best way to get it off my chest is to write about it Following the death of several “African .Americans” (Blacks) by “police of European heritage” (Whites), blacks started protesting that: “Black lives matter.” While I agree that human lives matter. Shouldn’t they protest that: “All lives matter?” That was the first point of my irritation. That a people would have the unholy arrogance to claim only their lives matter, thereby increasing the racial tension in this country. It obviously isn’t a well-thought-out protest.

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A Ride on the Wild Side

One

The post-storm clouds were clearing over Club de Golf la Hacienda on a late Tuesday afternoon in the final week of August, 1974. The temperature was in the high seventies. The neighborhood streets were still puddled following a seasonal rainstorm. Fourteen-year-old Jack “Butcher” Bucher bebopped behind the wheel of his mother’s blue Ford Mustang II. “Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting” by Elton John blasted from the radio at ear-pounding levels. The idling Mustang bubbled next to the curb just down from the second bridge on the main neighborhood through street. Jack waited for Brad Stephens, who would be in his mother’s Super Bee. He was anxious for another go at their new and exciting game they’d called “Cops and Robbers.”

            Don’t do this, Jack, Zeph warned. Just go to the bakery, get your tortillas and bolillos, and go home. Chasing each other around the neighborhood at high speeds is hardly the act of a responsible driver.

            Yeah, but it’s a helluva lot of fun, Jack thought. And aren’t you the one always preachin’ that I should live life to its fullest?

            Damn it! This isn’t the same thing, and you know it, Zeph said hotly. This stupid game is highly dangerous. You could get killed, or worse still, you could kill someone else. Remember your dream, Jack. This is exactly the sort of thing that could lead to you killing a policeman.

            Oh, c’mon, Zeph, Jack thought wearily. You mean to tell me you didn’t do stupid things when you were my age, just for kicks?

            I’d be lying if I said I didn’t, Zeph said. But I was stupid, and I didn’t have someone there to warn me when I was acting like an idiot. Think of how much you’ve accomplished—how much you’ve grown this summer. I beg you. Don’t throw it all away over a dangerous joyride.

            You worry too much, Zeph. I’m always . . .

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Typical of any weekday evening, I was watching news the other night when they gave their version of a hero. They were doing a story on a group of women whom they were calling heroes. Their reasoning was that these women had all suffered heart attacks, and now they were running in a 5-K race to raise awareness about heart disease. I thought: “Heroes? Really? With all our Medal of Honor recipients and war veterans, you’re rating a group of women who are running to save their own lives as heroes?” What a loud of steaming crap!

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Following the Oregon State shooting, I thought Obama showed his usual narcissistic lack of intelligence and infinite nativity. Similar to the TMartin case, his first public reaction was: “That could have been me or one of my daughters.” Yeah, like your two daughters would go to a JC like Oregon State. Even if they did, I’m sure the taxpayers would be paying a fortune for an army of security agents to protect your spoiled brats from being approached by anything more dangerous than a cold virus.

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