ZUKI SENT ON A “MISSION FROM GOD”……’cotton box’ central rises from ashes

tarot cardGood Morning Delicate Flowers,

The weekend came and went as it always does; much too fast. I was hunkered down in my little hovel waiting for pay-day when our neighborhood lost electricity. It’s such a pain in the ass when it happens because no one from Xcel is going to call to apologize and credit your account for the power lost and personal discomfort. We have no way of knowing how long our piece of the grid will be down! My shanty faces west and in August gets much too hot without AC, so I donned my tennis shoes and shorts and decided to walk around the neighborhood. Interestingly everything including the high school practice fields is connected by a network of nature paths that criss-cross a feeder creek and is actually well maintained for a flood overflow! The entry is less than a block away, so I left my sauna and began to explore.

Given the zoo I call home I always knew economically speaking I lived in an ‘E’ neighborhood. For those of you not familiar with this marketing term, it’s a simple demographic representing the income levels of every block in the city. A point of contrast would be ‘Cherry Hills.’ It would be labeled an ‘A’ neighborhood with ‘E’ being the poorest. As I took in the surrounding businesses and services it occurred to me how much more than a blue-collar trailer trash wife-beating locale it really is. Within a three block area I found ‘Metropolitan Psychological Services,’ ‘Clinical health Psychology,’ ‘Cobblestone Bookstore & Women’s Tarot Association,’ ‘Jay Schneider, PhD, ABPP,’ and ‘The Colorado State Government ‘Nervous’ Hospital.’ I had no idea I reside smack-dab in the middle of the ‘Cotton Box’ section of town, and I’m a bit ambivalent about it. Why wasn’t I told? Who’s responsible?

Not only was I terrorized by this ‘new shit that had come to light’ I was beginning to sweat profusely. It was close to 90 degrees and it was obvious I was ‘pitting’ up with the inevitable salt stains in all the wrong places, so I made my way down to the creek. Scooping up water I splashed my face and immediately cooled down. Careful not to ingest it, the water definitely soothed my sweaty neck and felt refreshed. Still looking down at the running water I could clearly see my reflection. I continued to stare thinking what a handsome devil I am, when darkness beset me. What was happening to me? I felt coerced to look deeper beyond my reflection to find the epiphany that most certainly awaited me. Then brilliant light replaced the darkness! Eureka!  I knew what I had to do.

I made my way back to the Cobblestone Bookstore & Women’s Tarot Association. Not knowing what I was to do exactly, I winged it and just walked in. Like the old EF Hutton commercials, the discussion ceased and as if choreographed the 10 women seated in a circle turned and stared at me. Beth politely asked “Can I help you?” I smiled and replied, “Is it possible to browse your bookstore?” “I’m afraid the bookstore is closed” she explained, “But feel free to join our discussion group” she invited, inserting another chair. “Is this what I’m supposed to do?” I thought. Beth is a reasonably attractive woman I guess to be in her fifties, but knew deep down she had to be a crazy person. Pressing on I accepted her invitation and took a seat.

After introductions Beth tried to get me ‘caught up’ and explained the discussion was focused primarily on the Goddess Gaia. Is she the God of Earth? Or is she the Mother Goddess from which ALL other Gods are sprung? Weighty issues for Wiccans worldwide to be sure. Since I had no prior knowledge of such things, I asked in a very level monotonic voice how she expected to find the truth? After the normal drivel about faith and some grand neopagen plan, I further explained to the group how their little coffee clutch is no different than any other religious sect, church, cult, mosque, or what-have-you; they all need money and claim to be the only true path back to God. Beth had taken on the very pinched look my ex-wife gets when displeased, and lost her hostess demeanor. She thought it best I leave.

As a parting shot I turned around and shouted, “You morons, what makes you think God even wants’ you back?” I turned and exited. God does indeed work in mysterious ways because it appeared the meeting broke up soon after my tirade and perhaps saved these desperate women a few shekels. Sometimes being a vassal has its rewards. “God bless us everyone” – Tiny Tim



save-the-colorado-Good Morning Cantillated Hosers,

Our very own Bagwan who’s righteous indignation knows no boundaries, has taken a closer look at his mountainous perch.  There is a reason our holy fucker descends once a week  to bless we the unwashed with further truth and light.  Being able to urinate in everyone’s water from atop the Continental Divide is no longer reason for celebration.  Bagwan takes dead aim at the Centennial State and is not pleased, so please join me in assimilating this finger wagging:


“Tis a privilege to live in Colorado,” was a favorite saying of the founder of the Denver Post which is still posted on a wall in the newsroom. I assume it referred mostly to the opportunities of the great outdoors and our salubrious climate. It used to be accepted as fact that we have 300 days of sunshine a year. Recently a meteorologist determined that it is closer to 250 days and that’s if you’re generous with your definition of a “day of sunshine.” 250 or 300, I don’t really care, I’ve always thought that “sunny days” are way overrated. I’ll take a dark dreary day every time – and no I am not kidding.

Lately I have been feeling more uneasy than privileged about life here in the Centennial State. Let’s start with the trial of James Holmes which just finished its sixth week and counting. Everyone agrees that he shot up an Aurora theater, killing 12 and wounding 70, the only thing they are debating is his sanity. Really the only thing they are debating is whether he should receive the death penalty. I am normally a firm supporter of the death penalty but since we never actually execute anyone here in Colorado, why bother with the cost of a trial followed by a sham death sentence.

The weather this spring also has me on edge. Every day it seems there are thunderstorm warnings and tornado watches. They’ll break in to a perfectly good rerun of “Gunsmoke” to tell you to watch out for flash flooding in Kit Carson County. I don’t know or care where Kit Carson County is, but I would sure like to know what Matt and Festus are saying about Miss Kitty.

Recent events have me very interested in the exact location of Larimer County and not for the purpose of flash flood warnings. I am interested because there is some nut up there running around randomly shooting people. When I say “random” that is exactly what I mean. This doesn’t appear to have anything to do with race, gender, age, religon or sexual orientation. Whatever happened to good old fashioned hate crimes?

I was just starting to get used to a farce trial, warning sirens and serial killers and then along came the sinkhole. I find sinkholes very frightening – there is something almost biblical about them. This one is especially frightening because of its location – right at the entrance to the commercial complex which houses the world headquarters of JJ’s financial empire. That’s right; at the intersection less than one block from the front door of JJ and Son is now a huge gaping hole that swallowed up a Sheridan Police Department SUV.  Now in fairness the Almighty could have been targeting one of the other occupants of the complex but I expect that this Saturday will find JJ in the confessional at St. Vincent’s followed by mass and communion on Sunday.

You may have noticed that I used the new name of JJ’s business: “JJ and Son.” We were all surprised that after all these years of doing business as XYZ Escapades he would change the name. It turns out that he was watching an episode of Sanford and Son and was brought to tears by the father/son relationship in the show. He said he saw a lot of himself in Fred Sanford and realized that the one piece missing in his otherwise successful life is a son. He doesn’t want to go the biological route because of all messiness that entails and besides he wants an adult son. He has started a full scale search for candidates using all the current forms of social media (including men’s room walls). It really is a terrific opportunity for the right young man to have the mentoring and nurturing JJ can offer not to mention a nice inheritance in the not too distant future. The only catch that I can see is that he insists you change your name to Lamont.



A CURMUDGEON’S DYING WISH……zuki says we gave it our best shot

LANDFILL002Good Morning Harbingers of the Inevitable,

As the two or three of you reading this lifeless body may have heard, our fellow rules committee member passed to the great beyond. His family adored and cherished him and was even loved by a few at the bar. They honored him with a fine funeral service complete with professional mourners and two wailers. Given his family considered me and the other members of the rules committee part of the problem we were not invited but quickly discovered he was to be buried in a family only graveside service. The obituaries are pretty thorough.

You see in general curmudgeons never let on they actually care about one of their own as it goes against hard earned perceptions. His last few visits to Blondie’s painfully announced to all our dear friend was very ill. He took a few of the senior members aside and in as solemn a voice this reprobate ever spoke, he explained that regardless of how it had to happen he was to be placed in an old refrigerator and buried in Jefferson County Landfill! He made each of us promise to see it through. Nobody knew the place better than he did! Cush would spend hours picking through the layers of goo to find little treasures including his latest fashion statement; the hat.  He was very concerned and rightfully so, that his family would never honor his dying wishes.

The plan was set. At the end of chapel services the casket was closed until everyone filed out including the mourners and wailers who agreed to hook up for beers right after they put him in the ground. Only his immediate family remained and followed the casket being wheeled to and loaded into the Hurst. Dv’ant borrowed a repossessed panel van from the bank and picked me up. We followed behind the procession at a respectable distance as not to be noticed when we pulled in and parked behind a large mausoleum some 20 yards from the grave site. Joe and the Bagwan were strategically positioned behind two headstones each packing a loaded tranquilizer gun. They each insisted on playing a role in this body snatching and looked like pathetic ‘Rambo wanna-be’s,’ I suppose to satisfy some deep seated need to be men again. But we needed the help.

It broke my heart to see our good friend’s family so grief stricken. Each member had tears streaming down their faces and with the wailers and mourners chiming in, I almost broke down myself. The casket was slowly lowered into the hole as the family faced away and returned to their cars arm in arm. The backhoe operator waited until the procession left the cemetery before he fired it up. He was completely unaware of being in the crosshairs of two Stanley air rifles and later would recall feeling stinging in his neck before blacking out.  Dv’ant backed the panel van close to the site as we needed to work quickly. It took all four of us to pull his stiff body from the casket and wrap him with several garbage bags. I’ve operated a backhoe before so I managed to finish the job and with the help of JJ placed the sedated operator back onto the seat to sleep it off.

We had several hours to kill until darkness so we headed to Blondie’s leaving the body to bake in the van. Five hours later we emerged from the bar to finish our ghoulish task and staggered to the panel van. It was obvious Cush had ripened some as we headed to the landfill with our heads out of our respective windows. As expected the entrance gate was padlocked but offered little resistance to the bolt cutter. Dv’ant shut the headlights off leaving only the parking lights to illuminate our way and realized we really had no idea where the refrigerators were dumped. We slowly made our way about a quarter mile from the gate and decided to find a place to bury our dead committee member thinking it was close enough to the old bastard’s wishes.

Digging was far more difficult than expected as we kept hitting junk. Pieces of plywood, old shingles, lamps, lawnmowers, and other such debris made digging a deep hole impossible. In our besotted condition we collectively decided to place him in the shallow hole we managed to dig then cover him up with the loose debris on the surface.

The Bagwan insisted on saying a “few” words before finishing the job, so leaning on our shovels we bowed our heads while our spiritual leader began to bless the site. The holy man was on a roll when the distinctive howling of dogs could be heard stopping him mid-sentence. The narrow beams of flashlights could be seen while the sound of barking dogs was nearly on top of us. We could see the silhouette of several dogs come over the mound of garbage directly in front of us so we immediately abandoned our mission and ran for the panel van.

A vicious Doberman was screaming at me while rolling up my window as the other dogs began sniffing at our boy’s plastic shroud. Then the unthinkable happened. The dogs began digging at his body pulling at his limbs and face. Oh my God I saw one dog finally tear off the left arm and trotted away I assume to eat it! Another had managed to gulp down an ear as two others fought over the other arm. There was no time left. Joe’s military training kicked in taking control and snapped us out of our collective panic. “This way” Joe commanded and Dv’ant hit the gas throwing gravel and junk at the carnage left behind making a clean get-a-way.

I’m sure this unfortunate incident was not what our good friend had in mind, but damn it we meant well. In the future please don’t involve the curmudgeons in burial plans. This rule was the first order of business at yesterday’s meeting.


BAGWAN SPEAKS OF PROTOCOL AT CURMUDGEON CORNER…….finds similarities to bin laden’s admin

bin laden_applicationGood Morning Proponents of Veridical Reporting,

Once again our very own Bagwan has seen fit to enlighten we the unwashed.  He has come down from his lofty perch after seeing far too many similarities between al-Qaeda and “Curmudgeon Corner.”  His keen eye has seen enough and has demanded an audience.  If you’ll read it carefully, you’ll find the comparison rationally portioned and some would say even-handed.  Please join with me in prayer in similitude to our most holy of holy’s the Bagwan:


Up till now we have accepted every disagreeable, liver-spotted old sot who plopped down at the bar as a member of Curmudgeon Corner. I read something this week which convinced me, actually embarrassed me into believing that this practice must stop. In the raid that resulted in the death of Osama bin Laden a cache of documents was discovered which included a three page job application which had to be filled out before joining al-Qaeda. That’s right; al-Qaeda was more selective and more organized than we are. I decided right then and there that Curmudgeon Corner needed to add a little bit of bureaucracy to its routine.

Not being one to try to reinvent the wheel I decided that with some editing the al-Qaeda application form would work for our purposes so I went to work on the task. I got everything in ship-shape order and then took the form over to Brother JJ’s place of business for printing. When I got the copies back I realized there were some mistakes but I was not about to run up any bigger tab than necessary since we aren’t going to pay the bill anyway. The one instruction I mistakenly left in was #3 – “If you do not speak Arabic, please answer in the language you know.” I actually got one form back in Arabic and we have reported the individual to the proper authorities. Zuki’s shocked reaction, “I always thought he was an Apache.”

I have asked Dawn the Bartender to make sure that all existing “members” fill out a form so decisions can be made about their on-going status. As you can well imagine that has resulted in a lot of grumbling and complaints. I wasn’t surprised to learn that most of the complaints were about the instruction to answer accurately and truthfully because after all, accuracy and truthiness don’t thrive at the Corner.

As I began to review the forms I saw that there were responses which needed to be shared here at the Diatribe. First off, almost everyone got the date right, although a couple missed the year. Nicknames and alias came in 100% perfect. The request for a first name was easy for Roger the Hairdresser but it stumped Cush. He said he has been called Cush for so long that he had forgot what his first name was — although he thought maybe it was “Asshole” since every time he walks in Blondie’s he hears people saying, “here comes that asshole Cush.”

Age, marital status and profession didn’t seem to trip anyone up. I was a little surprised by JJ’s response to “Father’s Name” and “Grandfather’s Name” which he listed as Dad and Grandpa.

Some of the other questions elicited a few unexpected answers. For example we actually got three “no’s” to the question about ever being in jail. Two claimed proficiency in speaking Chinese – JJ in the Mandarin dialect and Gimpy John in Xiang. Although both admitted they have never attempted Chinese before midnight. Very few of our members have passports, forged or otherwise and the list of chronic diseases is way too long to include here. I did pass along the disease list to Dawn so she can add the appropriate antidotes to the dishwashing process.

One question I left in just the way bin Laden asked it: “Do you wish to execute a suicide mission?” One of our more philosophical members pointed out that our current collective lifestyles were a pretty good facsimile of a suicide mission. Needless to say that anonymous fellow will remain a member in good standing and can look forward to a promotion to Assistant Bagwan.

Finally they ask about who should be contacted “in case you become a martyr.” JJ said he didn’t know proper protocol on martyrdom but he thought I should ask Zuki since he has played the martyr for as long as anyone can remember.


THE POLE THEATER TAKES CENTER STAGE…….zuki brings specimen jar

a poleGood Morning Tatterdemalions,

I was perusing my normal sources of inspiration and entertainment for the weekend and came across a Blues Theater website promoting a ‘Pole Dancing’ competition.  This isn’t necessarily your “Father’s pole dance” either as the marquee announced pole art, pole comedy, pole drama, and pole classique!


When did this happen?  Back in the day…and I’m talking way back in the day, pole dancing was limited to firemen and strip clubs.  Today we’ve got “Festivus for the rest of us” introduced in a Seinfeld episode where the pole centered on the airing of grievances with family members over the Christmas holidays.  The North and South Poles are of course geographic markers, Antipodes mark absolute opposites, mathematically speaking “a pole of a meromorphic function is a certain type of singularity” whatever that means, and certainly who can forget the quickly disappearing ‘ski poles’ used to gracefully navigate down a mountain ski slope.  I missed it somehow…I mean the day “Pole Comedy” arrived at a club near you.

I’m reluctant to admit this, but I honestly don’t find poles all that amusing!

I was a mediocre pole vault-er in high school, but 11 feet was honorable in those days and I’m a better man for the experience.  I continued to marvel at the promotion offering a chance for a member of the audience to join the ‘artist’ on stage as evidently there’s an ‘Amateur Division.’ Guest stars that, assuming this is all true and not an elaborate ruse, are well known in the Pole Theatre community and will also perform.  I honestly had NO idea this obsession with poles was so pervasive, but there it was calling to me with bright shiny pictures and text with the following announcement:

Pole Theatre USA:

Friday Night:  Amateur Competition and guest performances by some of the biggest names in the pole industry.  Back by popular demand is Sally Slipenslidey who perfected the running leap catching the pole with both knees using her momentum to spin gracefully onto the stage completing the move with a springing hand-stand onto her feet.  (Para-Medics are on standby).

Gracing the stage and our headliner for the evening is our very own Bertha Clinchmeyer.  She defies gravity by wrapping her buttocks around the pole and with amazing strength and muscle control uses her ass cheeks to climb the pole!  (Please no cameras)

Saturday Night:  Professional Competition and guest performances by last year’s national champion Olivia Spittle; bringing her plates on a stick routine to our humble venue!  Marge “Firehouse” Brickman will be there without a helmet as she uses the pole to drop 20 feet directly onto her head….she gets up (most nights) and carries a basket of fruit on the flat portion of her head on exit!  You have to see it to believe it.  Cheryl Boneme’ is our final act!  Get a front row seat and watch Cheryl hump and make love to her favorite pole; gyrating for tips..   (Towelettes will be available)

Our emcee both nights is Michelle Shimmy, a Sydney-based pole dancer, instructor and co-owner of the Pole Dance Academy.  Shimmy has performed and competed all over the world, and we could not be more excited to have her on our stage!  She will be available for private dances after the show.

Our judging panel consists of Marlo Frisken, Nadia Sharif, Maddie Sparkle, David “Toothless” Owen, and Natasha Wang.

For the two or three of you still reading this ‘bucolic’ rhapsody this “New shit coming to light” has opened up a whole new world for this observer of “life’s rich pageant.”  I plan to get a front row seat this Saturday night.

On a side note:

I’m looking for an attractive woman interested in cooking while on a pole.  It’ll take some practice but believe that by securing a hot plate around her waist my star would cook then feed some lucky customer a ‘Denver’ omelet.  This can’t miss!  Contact me for more details.