TALKIN’ BOUT MY G G G GENERATION…..zuki says it’ll be okay

"Look at those girls!"

“Look at those girls!”

Good Morning My Generation,

Is it me, or have most college students generally become more vulgar? How has this evolved? What are the conditions either genetically or environmentally that has led to this unpleasantness? In delving into these troubling questions my biggest fear is NOT to sound like my Father.

I can remember watching the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show (that certainly dates me) and listening to him denigrate my idols. “Look at those queers, you better never grow your hair out like those faggots!” If you look back at the length of their hair in the early 60’s they would be considered well groomed by today’s standards, they look like choir boys for God’s sake, but they were revolutionary at the time. Without sounding like every preceding generation and its hand wringing over the generation they helped to create, there are a number of things that if nothing else, are telling.

Let’s take rock groups for example. In my day we had the aforementioned Beatles, Rolling Stones, The Byrds, Credence Clearwater, It’s a Beautiful Day, Jefferson Airplane, Grateful Dead, Cream, Led Zeppelin, Bob Dylan and a few 50’s holdovers like Peter, Paul, & Mary and Pete Seeger (many of these can be heard as elevator music today).  The themes were varied but generally about peace, love, and understanding.

Now days we’re subjected to angry chainsaw satanic worship music like Mega Death, Killers, Black Sabbath, Satan’s Children, Motor Head, Rage Against the Machine, and one of my favorites, Hole.  Themes here are mostly dealing with angst and hate.  Yesterday we grew our hair long, smoked dope, and had Vietnam as the “Sword of Damocles” whose themes tended to unite us against accepting the political edicts from Nixon and his henchmen. History has now exonerated our righteous opposition to a horrible and unjust war that killed 58,000 of us.  ALL FOR NOTHING!

In conversations with my sons I’ve tried to extract why their peers use their faces as pincushions, relish and even praise violent bloody contests, and in general exist in a malaise for want of political action. While I’m in no position to judge, as today I’m hardly an advocate for anything other than self-indulgence, but it seems the generation I helped to create has no unifying message or even a central theme. My parents were born out of the ‘Great Depression’ and WWII and have been proclaimed “The Greatest Generation” by Tom Brokaw. If you’ve not read the book, you should do so.

Sure it’s easy to lump every young person into this simplified broad-brush analysis painted above, because extremes will always garner attention and will forever sell newspapers. I’m very proud of my sons. Of course they listen to chainsaw music and have an affinity for bloodlust mostly because these things are of their generation, but the eldest is working in Sweden dating a model, and my youngest is a fire fighter already decorated for bravery! But more importantly they also own a big heart. Both of them try to conceal the fact they’ve helped others and me when we needed it without thought of compensation. They have a soft spot for animals and children, and I can always count on them when things get tough.

These attributes are cross-generational and reflect the true nature of one’s essence. As long as this is true of their peers, and represents the majority of their generation, I think we geezers will be in good hands.

“Party on Garth”


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A BLONDIE’S FIGHT TO THE DEATH……lost one more curmudgeon

corkscrew in headGood Morning Darwinians,

My sympathies to the two or three of you skimming this stain on your way to a double cappuccino, but get comfortable.  I know that sounds a bit condescending and I apologize, but honestly the truth is the truth! Sometimes it’s simply a matter of hearing a knock at the door!  Even in the midst of a torpedo attack, sometimes shear lucidity supersedes panic to deliver the inevitable!

Sadly though, we continue to buy lotto tickets. Hope is such an elixir that those that have figured a way to bottle it have become wealthy. The problem is and will continue to be that it’s impossible to predict with any certainty when the inevitable will materialize! We’re helpless to avoid it. Eventuality comes to us all!

This fact was irrevocably scratched into my brain as I watched two people implode; each contributing a unique brand of stupidity. It was sort of like watching the sequel to “Dumb and Dumber” only without an ending, tragically inane, and not funny. I’m spending way too much time at the bar as these events all seem to involve excessive alcohol consumption and defy logic.

I used to be able to find idiocy in other places, but of late I rarely go other places. So in the tradition of the ‘Diatribe’ I report objectively….”you decide.” I hesitate to use their names as it may cause undo suffering to their respective families, but the story must be told. Last Saturday I came into the bar about sunset having just finished a round of golf.  Personally I was exhausted given the drinking, accoutrements suitable for the occasion, and 9 holes in the mid-day sun.  I was baked and ordered ice water and found a seat at the other end of ‘Curmudgeon Corner.’

Being dehydrated I downed the first glass almost immediately and began working on a second, when I heard vulgar, loud, and angry swearing. The hissing and cursing was mixed with raucous laughter. I stood up and looked down the other end to see one of our own tied at the wrist with an evil looking fat dyke contained within a 10 foot area created by the crowd that circled them. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing!

With left wrists tied to each other and the right hand used to hold a 16 oz beer, they spun each other around screaming brutal insults! It was organized such that they took turns in delivering their personal defilements to either annoy or please the blood thirsty patrons. The idea was to cause the other to spill beer and suffer extreme humiliation! The crowd participated by rooting for their favorite and then high five each other when it was obvious one of the combatants delivered a zinger to the other. The way I understood this goofy contest is one could either tap out and untie themselves leaving immediately running the gauntlet of jeers toward the exit, spill one’s beer, or by crying which is an immediate disqualification. The contest continued until one or all of the above happen.

At one point the viciousness of this match of wits came to a head when the evil dyke hocked a loogie in the eye of our curmudgeon associate!  Without a free hand our good friend had no way to relieve the stinging pain and endured the slimy ooze as it crawled down his face.  Our boy used part of his beer to rinse his eye driving the crowd crazy further urging the evil dyke on. While his head was tilted up and his good eye shut, she didn’t hesitate and kicked him squarely in the nards dropping him to his knees!

Sadly he began to cry in addition to spilling the rest of his beer so it was over. I felt his shame and my heart was broken to see one of our own limp out the door amidst scorn and ignominy. I’d be surprised if we ever see him again.

Like in nature, these contests rarely end up in death but do allow the strongest individual to breed and insert themselves in conversations. Unfortunately the evil dyke feels at home at Blondie’s and none of the curmudgeons will take this behemoth on. I’m going to call for a special session of the committee for dwarf tossing to assess the damage and recommend actions to mitigate this intruder’s visit to our bar. Stay tuned.


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ONCE UPON A TIME……bagwan decides to write a real story

Ernie pours a stiff one

Ernie pours a stiff one

Good Morning Heidi Fleiss (Gratuitous reference)  Wherever You Are,

Well let’s see….first of all I enjoy Bagwan’s ramblings and NEVER scolded him for not using the more traditional rules of story writing.  In fact after today’s thinly disguised lashing I may insist he go back to rambling.  That said, and speaking for the two or three of us that ingested this bug, we’re truly grateful for Bagwan’s further truth & light.   Please enjoy:

I got in trouble with Zuki last week for my random musings about talcum powder. While he reluctantly posted my effort he scolded me for not upholding the high standard of the Diatribe where all stories must have a beginning, middle and ending like a three act play. I listened attentively and then carefully articulated my position — “SHUT UP!”

Not wanting to get involved in a dick-waving incident I sat down at the IBM Selectric (if you are under 40 ask your mom) and tried to compose one of those tight knit Zuki type stories. It turns out that my life is so boring that most of my stories barely have a beginning much less a middle or an ending. I was faced with having to either steal from someone else’s life or just make something up. I decided to just make it up and create a fictional character who we will call Mike.


It all started where in one week he met two women willing to tolerate his “come here often” opening line. They both gave off serious bi-polar signs and Mike was left to choose the one he thought least likely to kill him in his sleep. Mike chose Maureen, a relatively attractive, post-menopausal pain in the ass. Mike shared all the details with me at a Monday Floor Committee meeting. Right from the start I couldn’t help but thinking about what Whoppi Goldberg’s mother said the day of her birth — “This is going to get ugly.”


Well they hit it off famously. They would meet at Red Lobster for the Early Bird Specials and then go for short walks on the banks of the Platte River. She got him to address some deferred maintenance health issues and, while it lightened his wallet considerably, it put a spring in his step and a sparkle in his smile.

Now I don’t want to represent that all was perfect here. As is that gender’s wont she completely destroyed his routine — especially that part about hanging out with his buddies and getting drunk every day.  Men seem to be willing to accept women as they find them but women always have a not so short list of changes they need to make in their male companions.

Of course Mike was able to put up with all this as long as he was able to view it as foreplay. And so it was because their sex life flourished, at least considering the various genital challenges of their age group.


Unfortunately it was that very sex life which leads to the end of our story. During the “act of love” at the height of her ecstasy Maureen screams out, “You’re an animal Just Joe.” It was more than Mike could take and he stomped out leaving his khakis and boxers behind. There were a couple of attempts at reconciliation but in the end Mike just couldn’t forgive or forget.

He did recently send her a Hallmark card: “I’m so miserable without you, it’s almost like you are still here.”

Footnote: all the characters mentioned here are fictional characters and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.


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LIFE’S RICH PAGEANT IS AN S.O.P……..zuki discovers loophole

These make great door stops

These make great door stops

Good Morning Tillers of Cerebral Soil,

Given that I’m rarely on the road these days, my work centers on today’s cubicle oriented society at ‘the office’.  Generally I blend in, do my thing, and rarely does anyone micro-manage me or even notice what I’m doing. However, what I’m facing presently is disturbing in a corporate way of life. Probably not a huge deal to most corporate slaves, but our little company like all ISO (International Organization for Standardization) driven companies work and operate according to self-applied S.O.P. manuals.

What a pain! This thing dictates procedures for every process including how to change a procedure. This Pantheon of policy is housed in four six-inch binders! While informative, I’m sad to say that for the most part it has replaced common sense and is now subject to today’s bloodletting.

I had an epiphany of sorts and discovered a much better way for sales people to qualify for commissions paid only once per month. I know the sales guys very well, and this particular rash is a source of irritation as ‘procedure’ will often times be responsible for missing payment deadlines! Not that I have much experience with commissions of late, but never-the-less my idea would allow sales people to be paid faster, and in most cases the same month the sale occurs instead of in arrears.

When I brought this up to my VP of Sales, he directed me to the S.O.P. manual for the proper procedure to alter or change existing company policies. The  @^**&! Forms would take me a week to fill out! What ever happened to the suggestion box? Having said this though, I’m sure in his own warped sense of things he thinks he’s teaching me a valuable lesson.

Like the two or three of you still reading this cark, I’ve got plenty to do while at work, so this little project took a while.  I can hear you saying, “zuki, why are you slaving over this when you haven’t seen a commission check in years”?  I’m hip. I may be committing professional suicide; then again it may expose this scab as the drain on morale it is.  Hopefully not both!

The effort will make me a hero to the field reps, plus I’ve discovered a loophole. In the 8-page change of procedure form I found that existing commission rates were actually written in pencil.  I’m guessing simply because the commission structure changes every three weeks.  Not only did I change the methodology, I also gave the sales crew a raise!

My little company of 120 employees is guided by and worships the god S.O.P.  They never think about it, they just ‘do it’ because S.O.P. says so.  This includes accounting and payroll, so we should see the results on the next paycheck. I’m sure it’ll be noticed at some point, but didn’t want to wait six months for management approval so I took matters into my own hands.  It’s just a matter of time before they see the VP of Sales signature was forged.

All hell will break loose.

If you’ve read this far, then you must abide by the “code of the road”. This solemn oath was in place long before “what happens here stays here” got hip. I know they’ll suspect me, but there’ll be no smoking gun. I’ll get away with this if we’re all discrete. God Bless You.


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COOL…CLEAR…WATER…….”and now for something completely different”

Please no Tongues

Please no Tongues

Good Morning from the Pure Waters of the Rocky Mountains,

The weekends nearly always provide experiences of such oddity I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t pass it along.  As humans it’s safe to assume most of us are creatures of habit. We travel the same roads, eat the same foods, and order the same drinks.  It’s rare indeed when we venture outside our relative comfort zones to experience something different.  In many cases when we do, we’re often rewarded with a unique and pleasurable adventure that surprises our cynical selves. Conversely though, there’s always a risk of regret from the undertaking.

Unfortunately I was privy to such an observance that involved my associates Just JOE and the Bagwan. They actually showed some spine and tried something new.  It was so far removed from their normally predictable behavior, that it shocked everyone at the bar!  They both exhibited rare courage and ordered a glass of water instead of the ‘special select Coors Light’ they typically consume. This raised eyebrows the entire length of the bar!  It was like one of those old EF Hutton commercials where they all stop what they’re doing to lean in and listen.

Not wanting to miss the initial reaction from the first swallow I watched as Just JOE took a long draught from his water glass.  Initially there was no reaction, but a few seconds later he began to cough then hack like he smoked three packs of Pall Malls a day.  Bagwan had just finished his first small sip of H2O and noticed his distressed friend.  He began to slap JJ on the back futilely trying to alleviate his involuntary contraction of the muscles that control the process of breathing, if I may be absolutely clinical.

Poor JJ could not get a breath (there were many with their fingers crossed) and threw himself onto the floor knocking over two of the adjacent stools looking very much like a trout out of water as he struggled for air.  Spittle oozed out the sides of his mouth, as he began to turn bluish-green from his convulsive hacking.  Our Bagwan wasted no time.  He leapt from his bar stool to provide CPR to his struggling friend.

I probably didn’t see this right, but it looked as though Bagwan inserted his tongue. Then without explanation he ceased his attempt at the ‘kiss of life’ and rose straight up.  His face had turned ashen, and began to swell up. My God! It appeared Baggy was in the early stages of anaphylactic shock!  As usual Dawn our astute bartender had already called 911 and professional help was on the way. I was too stunned to offer much help other than to force feed the Bagged One Coors Light.  Just JOE’s coughing seemed to be subsiding thanks to Bagwan’s quick thinking and was sitting comfortably on the floor.

The Paramedics were able to stabilize Bagged One’s condition and indicated my decision to put beer back into his system may have saved his life.  No need to thank me, your courage is thanks enough.  I’m happy to report both have recovered and now stable returning to the bar. I hope this story doesn’t discourage the two or three of you reading this piffle from trying new things. However, I think it’s safe to assume water will be scratched from their collective menus until further notice……. Jeez.


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