Last week I had the occasion to patronize the Gothic Theater to watch Delbert McClinton entertain mostly geezers and old ‘Hippies’ bent on recapturing the quickly evaporating past.  The Gothic Theater is no doubt like many old ‘Art Deco’ theaters built in the 30’s – 40’s either long since torn down or saved as historic landmarks.  The upstairs mezzanine has its own bar in addition to a large bar at the back of the main floor near the entrance.    For those of you born after the Vietnamese “Conflict” Delbert taught John Lennon of Beatles fame how to play a little used instrument today called the harmonica.  After suffering through a couple of warm up acts (Delbert’s kid) that left me ready to pack it in, Delbert’s band was introduced and finally the “house was a rockin’.”  

All focused in closely observing one of the white legends of the blues join his band in a raucous rendition of “Givin’ it up for your love” with a harmonica solo that has been forever his signature.  Chair dancing, head bobbing, and mild shuffling could be observed from any vantage point in the theater.  Our own ‘twinkle toes’ Joe was so taken by the music he hop scotched down the aisle to dance with an old woman who had braced herself against one of the several support pillars on the main floor.  Without warning JJ grabbed her arm believing she’d be thrilled with the chance of cutting a rug with our own Just Joe!  Unfortunately given the number of rotations she’s witnessed it was clear by her smile the mind was willing, but her body could no longer cash the checks and fell to the floor.  When all nearby saw what had happened, they immediately looked to JJ most of them thinking what a dirt-bag he was for pushing an old woman to the ground!  In a panic, JJ instead of helping the woman to her feet, turned away and ducked back into the crowd headed for the bar.  I tell you it was shameful!

I wandered down past JJ’s debacle and got close to the stage.  I couldn’t tell from where I was standing at the bar just how much this legend had aged since last I had the pleasure.  Pushing 70 rotations he still had fire in the belly and gave his all, toweling off every couple of minutes.  But after six or seven songs he announced to the crowd that he was taking a break and would be back ‘shortly.’  His band continued without him, but I paid my $40 to see Delbert yet understood why the breaks were necessary.  This made me sad.  I thought to myself, “WOW….one more reminder of our collective grind toward death…jeez”  In addition to Delbert’s obvious decline you may have watched the Rolling Stones and Tom Petty’s pathetic performances at recent Super Bowl half-times.  I’ve vowed this was to be my last journey to watch aging hero’s of yesteryear’s anthology.  I have enough reminders of my own deterioration and don’t need additional slaps to the face.

Okay, I fully understand that aging will affect my physical and maybe mental state exponentially from here on in.  Yeah I get it.  That said though, I also vow to go kicking and screaming sliding head first into home plate using ALL of the runway!  Most importantly though, I must find a way back to Kona.  Whenever my last breath is scheduled I want to be on a secluded beach and become crab food.

zuki

Last weekend was a milestone for Cush and his family.  Cush’s youngest son actually earned his high school diploma, and distinguished himself from his parents and older brother who obtained G.E.D.’s after dropping out of high school.  In the years I’ve known this family, I can’t remember when I’ve seen our Cush so filled with pride.  Typically he’s filled with something else, but last Saturday our boy became the consummate host of a backyard grad party with all the trimmings.  Do you remember ever getting an ‘ice sculpture’ for graduation?  Yes in addition to the ice sculpture (rigged for pouring booze down its length to chill it), there was a ‘corn hole’ beanbag game, four canopies covering tables and chairs for the distinguished guests, pulled pork, 20’ Subway sandwich, music (chainsaw variety), Aunt Myrna in person, half-dozen rug rats, full keg of…..ugh…Bud Lite, vaporizer, and all the accoutrements one could ingest, inhale, or otherwise consume!  It was truly a well thought out affair complete with chronological pictures of baby, child, teen, and graduating son.

My first sense of things turning south, and it seems they always do, was saying hello to ‘Charlie’ Cush’s stepbrother who managed to get blotto’d before a single guest arrived.  He was planted in the porch swing passed out, mouth agape, and a steady flow of drool collecting on his AC – DC T-shirt.  Knowing full well it could only get better, like clockwork Cush descended from nowhere and snagged our expensive bottle of whiskey pouring shots down the ice sculpture for his ex-con stepbrother and the boys from the union hall.  Stranahan’s brought as a gift by JJ and yours truly, thinking the adults would understand how it’s to be enjoyed, were utterly shocked but not surprised by its abuse!  For those non-mountain folk, Stranahan’s is a local Colorado distillery which has been featured on the ‘History’ channel as part of a world tour of the finest spirits.  It’s a blended Whiskey 94 proof and considered a fine ‘sipping’ whiskey. 

The two or three of you still reading this ‘burnt weenie sandwich’ have no doubt attended more cultured and refined soirées, can only try to envision my abject horror when ‘Rodney’ the other stepbrother took his shot and slammed it like cheap Tequila wiping the excess off his chin with his sleeve.  One by one the ‘extra’s’ from old ‘Hee Haw’ episodes followed suit calling it “smoooooth.”  JJ and I looked at each other momentarily and began laughing!  It didn’t matter how many times we admonished them to sip it, the in-bred nature of Jimmy Hoffa disciples did what came natural.  Cush seemed overly fascinated with the pour spouts incased in the ice and kept draining our lovely gift until it was gone. Jeez!

Up until a few weeks ago, I had no idea what a vaporizer was outside of having a bad cold.  The wonder of modern science has crossed over to the dark side making accoutrement consumption more effective with little to zero harshness.  This mainline to the blood stream and its staggering effect was demonstrated by one of our own.  Not one plate, not two plates, not three plates, but four…count em…four plates of food with a big hunk of cake for desert nearly became a full fledged ‘munchies’ emergency.  However, being the grizzled veteran he is, managed NOT to shit himself and buck up but did temporarily list to one side.  Very disturbing.

All in all though the mix of ‘Goth’s, wanna be gangsta’s, and Teamsters infused with grandchildren, Aunt Myrna, and a few maroons made for an interesting afternoon.  The graduate collected a cool grand which surprisingly he put in the bank.  Not bad for the first act of a high school graduate.

Zuki

If you’re just now logging on this week, Marzuki (my Father) died in his sleep last Tuesday May 8, 2012.  I wanted to pull the plug on the website, but somehow he’s figured out a way to communicate with me to continue posting his little rants.  I’m afraid of what torment he’d subject me to should I refuse so until he’s able to R.I.P. I’ll keep assisting him.  Today’s posting was delivered to me via Morse code!  He tapped on my wall all night!  Here you go:

Good Morning Fixed Position Receivers,

There will be hell to pay!  It’s happening in Italy so it can’t be too far way for the rest of us!  President Obama’s fascination if not total embracement of the socialized style of governments found in the ‘Euro Zone,’ will no doubt be interested in how the little Italian town of Falciano Del Massico deals with a significant problem.  Evidently the local cemetery is full up.  No Vacancy, no room at the Inn, filled to the brim, and overflowing would describe the macabre circumstances enshrouding the aging population of 3,700 residing in Falciano Del Massico.  Somebody had to do something, and do it quickly!  Like any thinking politician, the good mayor demonstrated solid leadership and drafted a local ordinance banning all deaths.  No, I didn’t stutter!  Having just died myself, I wondered what if any repercussions had been put in place to punish those that thumbed their noses at the law and died anyway.  Even with my expanded abilities, this part of the ordinance was missing or in fine print and eluded me.

The locals are adamant and refuse to be buried in the neighboring town of Mondragone.  What I was able to find out is some fourteen or fifteen years ago Del Massico and Mondragone’s respective soccer teams were involved in an epic championship match in Mondragone.  In the middle of a third overtime, Guido Sarducci a local Del Massico hero and superstar was mysteriously shot down on a breakaway that would have ended the game.  Rumor has it Mondragone is a Mafia stronghold so I suspect some serious cash was on the line.  After a 30 minute delay to pronounce Sarducci dead and move his body off the field and onto the sideline, the overtime period resumed.  On the very first play, Mondragone scored ending the game securing their victory!  As one might imagine, the Falciano Del Massicans were outraged and stormed the field brutalizing the Mondragone players and staff alike.  The Mondragonians soon joined the fray and 15 minutes later it was over.  The field was covered in blood with 67 people giving up their lives for a fixed soccer game!  There’s been a blood feud ever since.

It’s easy to understand why the good citizens of Falciano Del Massico refuse to bury their loved ones in the tainted soil of their enemy.  I found the Mayor’s solution to the issue to resemble much of the legislation passed in our fine country.  Our lawmakers adroitly address the problem head on with bluster and bullshit sound bites designed to appease the 99%.  These morons lack the perception necessary to see through it and are the same nitwits pushing for ‘Ebonics’ to become our second language.   For reasons unknown to me these idiots are brain dead, running around yelling “Harrumph” “Harrumph” demanding to be heard yet have nothing to say, inexplicably affecting our national dialog.  Savvy politicians from all parties and walks of life know this and take full advantage.  Tell em what they want to hear Johnny!

zuki lives

Hello Diatribe,

My old man’s timing sucks.  Michael Phippen aka Marzuki died in his sleep last night.  I hope it was painless, but you know my Dad, if there was a breath left in him he shook his fist to the sky damning God for it!  If things aren’t hectic enough, this whole thing about carrying on the old man’s website was promised as a joke and shouldn’t be held against me should I opt to pull the plug.  But it’s like he never died, rather he’s now lurking in the shadows unable to come into the light yet still a pain in the ass. The oft used epitaph “Rest in Peace” is significantly more meaningful these days. Having witnessed first hand his ability to communicate I’m afraid of what he’ll do to me should I ever refuse to post his rantings. He’s figured out how to get around using some form of mental telepathy, but I don’t know what it does to one’s soul. Based on his most recent posting below I’m afraid he’s been influenced by these successive gut wrenching encounters. When I say influenced, I mean in a bad or dare I say evil way.

Not ever knowing how or when he’ll manifest himself makes it difficult to sleep at night. This has caused me a number of related problems at work. I have a demanding job and travel extensively working for a company I fear is going under.  A fatigue induced fog has greatly diminished cognitive thought and I’m looking at a half dozen programs to de-bug with major re-writes. This is not the optimal time to die!

It’s 2:00 AM and I’m working on my last re-write fighting off sleep. To put this in context, I had written 650 lines of Java script and was about finished with the 3rd and final test run when I noticed flickering lights at one corner of the monitor. I’ve learned to back up and save data every few minutes just in case, and I didn’t like what I was seeing so I hit the ‘save’ key. It had no effect as the flickering lights began to spread across the screen. I quickly powered down the computer but the meltdown continued unabated. I screamed YOU MOTHER FUCKER!!!! “IS THAT YOU OLD MAN?” Just as the screen was completely engulfed in dancing lights I heard what could only be my fathers’ high pitched laugh. It’s very distinct particularly when he’s really tickled about something. I screamed at the top of my lungs, “THIS ISN’T FUNNY DAD!!” The flickering colors began to move until there in bold red letters it read ‘PRINT.’ I hit the print key and without power produced the arcane message below, I’m very worried:

Good Morning Iniquitous Ones,

Since my last posting I’ve mastered astral projection to revisit the times, places, and people at the root source of decisions made not only for me but my family as well. I visited religious leaders, art professors, shaman, businessmen, various women, authors, artists, close friends, and my parents. In the world of mortality I was operating under the assumption most people liked and thought well of me. I was convinced of this! But I haven’t found one situation where my decisions championed anything but self indulgence, and were further stunned to discover I was universally disliked!  However, on a positive note, my parents did say they can only just tolerate me.

I gather this place I dwell in is some sort of holding area until your number is called. What I’ve discovered is nobody here is able to lie. This is such a liberating imputation for any souls using verbal or non-verbal methodology so there’s never a misunderstanding! Why wasn’t this implemented on earth? Try to imagine how your collective lives would be improved if everything said could be taken to the bank. Yet the sick plans for the living include deception along with the other deadly sins to spice it up for us.

How wonderful it is to be free from superficial niceties and tell someone to fuck themselves rather than talk about the weather! The more I was able to humiliate and pile on the easier it became. In fact, I gave myself a 200 point bonus if I could make them cry. I found this to be empowering beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. If my efforts in mortality are regarded as failure and received only lip service from those I considered friends, then my mission here is clear. Ignominy and pain must be inflicted upon as many souls possible!

I will exact harsh payment from those who’ve wronged me, but miserable are the lives of those simpletons believing they’re in heaven. It hardly seems fair. They make for such easy targets because without having to lie, they’ve convinced themselves I’m the devil and they currently reside in hell with a perceived obligation to worship me! I can honestly say this is the most fun I’ve had, EVER. No longer will I endure the lectures and condescending bad-mouthing at the hands of self-appointed pompous asses! Instead of allowing them to deliver the ‘slings and arrows,’ with me bleeding profusely of shame, I shall be ‘taunting them a second time!’

Zuki lives…

For the two or three of you reading this Pork Loin on a beautiful Saturday morning, you should go ahead and shoot yourselves! 

I thought it only fair and fitting to announce, particularly after all the whining and complaining, that I had a temporary lack of judgment yesterday and drank a lousy canned Bud-Light with Cush.  While no drunken sloppy ugliness ensued, nevertheless I was weak.  I’ve been doing ‘sack cloth and ashes’ all morning to punish myself for this ‘turned to jello’ moment. 

Pile on if you must, I certainly deserve it.  But I think the image says it all don’t you?

zuki

I had a restful evening for a change. Sobriety has convinced me I’ve been living in a “cotton box;” nets poised to drop. Drunken perceptions aside, sobriety also reveals ones level of inner strength. To quit smoking was a ‘walk in the park’ compared to being a drunk voluntarily walking away from the bar. Not only is the drug (#1 best friend) legal, it serves us well by delivering a few hours of self-medicated bliss.  Further, our government has provided places in which this legal separation from our senses is facilitated by bartenders and juke boxes!  It’s not just the drug that makes it tough, it’s the social interchange! Think about it, there’s always a ready audience for our respective ‘B’ sides found nowhere else! This of course adds to the degree of difficulty.   It would be far cheaper to buy a bottle as opposed to visiting a bar but in my search for ‘kindred spirits’ I rarely drink alone.  My propensity for like minded curmudgeon-ism offers little room for questioning my outrageous behavior so most times it’s tolerated or worse; emulated.  Self examination is oft times like my conversations with the bathroom mirror telling me I’m not fat. This daily affirmation makes it easy for the party to continue.  Self-exams require objectivity, and suspect it’s in short supply at most establishments.  So be careful with your sessions in the mirror; sobriety will viciously rip away the ‘beer goggles’ and gut you with the truth.

To put this in perspective, if not for my liver being highly distressed I’d still be pounding Vodka Tonics. You may think otherwise, but my reasoning for posting this epistle is actually pure.  I’m not going to admonish or preach to the two or three of you reading this silent fart, rather I want to explain just how difficult it is to walk away from not only the drug but the environment as well.  Whatever reasoning that descends causing you to turn your back on the demon alcohol, you must be prepared to deal with these two individual forces that will entice and weaken your resolve. Since most of my recreational time is divided between the bar, studio, and/or golf course; all self-indulgent behavior, makes me uniquely qualified to comment.  While people differ widely in how alcohol affects their interaction with others, the common denominator is the need for social interplay. You can deny this all you want, but the need to be stomached (in my case) is equal to if not stronger than the need to self-medicate.

The pleasure we derive at being surrounded by others of like-mind particularly at a bar is largely founded on the consumption of adult beverages. We go there to drink. Over the last decade, I’ve enjoyed myself as either the source or recipient of anecdotal stories or jokes I thought amusing. The buzz derived from drinking seems to link everyone to a wavelength that enhances the experience.  To get a good sense of what I’m saying,  I challenge you to visit your favorite establishment stone-cold sober and join in on a conversation with your peers who’ve obviously had a head start and see how zany you think they are.

I enjoy laughing. Laughter is fundamental to most of us and proven to be integral to our mental and physical well being. Without consuming the magic elixir a good joke brings a dis-connect takes place and many of those things I perceived as humorous are now mildly amusing at best!  It’s not that these things aren’t still considered farcical, it’s just that I’m no longer plugged into the shared wavelength that so easily induced a guffaw. I’ve had people comment at my adopted drinking establishment, that they liked me a whole lot better when I drank. I’m sure these independent observations are true, and sometimes I fear I may never laugh again but cling to the hope it’ll get better!

I believe there’s a transition period one must suffer through that eventually allows the B-side of our personalities to come through without the lubricant of elixir.  A cherished friend of mine observed, “zuki you’ve not yet celebrated your sobriety because you’re still grieving the loss.”   Can I have an AMEN?

zuki

In a March interview on Bolivian television, Judge Gualberto Cusi, who was recently elected to Bolivia’s Constitutional Tribunal from the indigenous Aymara community, acknowledged that occasionally, when deciding tough cases, he relied on the Aymaran tradition of “reading” coca leaves.  “In moments when decisions must be taken, we turn to coca to guide us and show us the way.” [ BBC News, 3-15-2012]

I truly wonder about some of our own judges given decisions that make little sense to most of us.  For example:  The Connecticut Supreme Court on Monday upheld the right of individuals, regardless of sexual orientation, to engage in any number of “grandiose behaviors,” including, but not limited to, sashaying across the room “like a hussy, yelling ‘Oh my God!’ at the top of their lungs while hopping up and down, and generally acting like Miss Thing.”  There should be laws to punish idiots from assaulting our eyes with such stupidity.  The CT Supreme Court should be forced to spend a week with Hartford’s gay community.

In a sad case, a mother of a murdered 21 years old man requested to an Austin, Texas court to let her collect a semen sample from her dead son to fulfill his lifetime dream of having three sons. The judge agreed and the body was kept at very low temperature until a specialist could collect the sperm. The “specialist” employed to collect the sample known only as ‘Gracie the Vacuum’ is counter suing for non-payment for services rendered.  Evidently, the Vacuum was unable to collect a sample after 3 hours of laborious manipulations.  Gracie was quoted “Hey I’m damn good, and if I can’t coax a dead man to get it up, then nobody can!”  The agreed amount was undisclosed and the grieving mother had no comment.

A man sued his girlfriend because, as he says, she broke his penis during a creative sexual session. When the girl tried some radical new maneuvers that involved a golf ball cleaner his penis broke. He sued for damages and medical expenses for “negligent sexual intercourse” resulting in sexual dysfunction. The court’s decision claimed there was no damage because the sex was consensual, even though the position was not.

And you thought coca leaf decisions were bizarre.

zuki

Evidently even as pathetic as my part in life’s rich pageant is, I’ve chosen to add to this hell voluntarily.  It’s funny how things manifest themselves.  I had a wonderful week filled with professional and personal highs, dated a beautiful woman, witnessed the genius of Joe Bonamassa, and drank myself to oblivion each night! WOW F-ING WEE!  With the exception of hitting Powerball, it couldn’t possibly get any better could it?  That said, In my sixty plus rotations I’ve learned mostly the hard way that the other shoe will always drop snuffing out whatever joy and happiness I’ve managed to snag.  It’s probably my left shoe. 

There’s a local TV station here in Denver that has organized and sponsors a “Health Fair” every April the past 15 years or so.  They offer all manner of testing and consulting for very reasonable fees and use medical volunteers to draw blood etc…  I’ve not felt up to par of late, and decided to take advantage of the health fair and went in for a blood work up to see if there was anything that needed attention.  I suspected as much and the diagnostics served up the brutal truth.  My liver looks like the one they removed from David Crosby (Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young fame).  The good news is my PSA levels were lovely with no sign of prostate cancer.  The doctor indicated out of the 35 tests run, 4 of them came back with bad news all pointing to my liver as being seriously distressed.  Shit.

PLATELET COUNT IS LOW 115 – normal is 140-400 thous/mcl – not much can be done about this other than to fix what ails you.  If one has an unhealthy heart, kidney, or liver the count will be low.  Medical professionals use this as an indicator of the overall health of a patient.

GGT TEST:  153.  Normal range is 3 – 70 U/L  This test is to look for Cirrhosis, Hepatitis, and other liver diseases.  If you do the math my count is more than double the high side of the normal range!  Gad Zooks!

AST (SGOT):  60.  Normal range is 10 – 35 U/L  This test specifically targets the liver indicating damage.  Again my count nearly doubles the high side of normal.

TRIGLYCERIDES:  272  Normal is 150 MG/DL  They represent the level of fat in the blood and continued high levels often lead to diabetes.  However, in nearly all cases with high levels of Triglycerides heavy drinking is involved.

I had announced and actually stopped drinking in 2005.  It was far more difficult than when I quit smoking!  Not only do you fight the addiction to alcohol, what I missed most was the social interchange and gamesmanship at the bar.  So I convinced myself I would walk into the bar and order a diet coke or ‘near’ beer but instead discovered being sober around a bunch of drunk’s sucks!  Most times they think they’re funny, honestly they really do, and suppose I was no different… no..no..that’s not true, I really was funny!  Anyway I suspect drinking large amounts of Diet Coke would be just as bad for you so my trips to the bar became infrequent.  But when I retested 5 months later all counts were back to the normal range.  The doctor told me if I had to drink stick with red wine.  I adhered to his advice for a time but eventually went back to Vodka drinking mostly doubles and triples.

So once again I’m engaged in the painful act of sobriety.  Going on day 4 I expect it will go a bit smoother than seven years ago given my art studio, but know for a fact I’ll become irritable and snippy.  I’m apologizing in advance.

Happy Trails,

zuki

34 year old Joe Bonamassa and his band came to Denver Tuesday night.  Sitting in the front section about 10 rows back, I was genuinely excited about being there.  Not only because Bonamassa is considered one of the heavy hitters in the rock/blues world, but was sharing the experience with my eldest son who gave me Tuesday evening as a Christmas gift, making the evening a perfect one.  Wikipedia’s bio said his father gave Joe B his first guitar at the age of 4.  By his seventh birthday he was playing Stevie Ray Vaughan and Jimi Hendrix tunes note for note!

I’m guessing the two or three of you reading this gelatinous goo haven’t attended many Symphonies.  I’ve been to exactly one.  Seasoned patrons can always tell a rookie.  They’re the ones that begin clapping thinking the song had ended, rather than the pause between ‘Movements.’  His songs were performed much the same way.  He’d begin softly, barely able to hear above the morons yelling “Go Joe” or my personal favorite “you da man.” Keep in mind the majority of attendees were in their 50’s – 60’s with weak bladders.  Slowly the music would build in volume and complexity drawing the head-dancing audience in, driving a few possessed idiots to their feet bobbing and weaving to the electricity; music ending in a chromatic scale crescendo that could raise the dead.  In one instance a dick with ears rose to his feet as if he was at ‘Woodstock,’ blocking the view of the redneck sitting behind him.  Seats in the front section were $119.00 a pop, so I laughed out loud when the redneck kicked the moron’s chair hard enough to spill half his beer causing him to turn around.  The redneck leaned in toward this dumb ass and said loud enough for me to hear, “Sit Down!”  The prick never stood up again. 

In sixty some rotations I’ve been to a few concerts.  Obviously watching live, I can’t remember any guitar player that didn’t occasionally create ‘sleeve noise’ from rapid chord changes.  I confess to drinking heavily before, during, and after the show, but even in my alcohol induced stupor I didn’t hear a single instance of sleeve noise from Mr. Bonamassa.  Lightning fast his hands articulated each chord and note with such precision it raised the hair on the back of my neck.  He played and sang with such emotion, it caused me to well up on several occasions not really understanding why, but his music blasted raw emotion.

Getting old is cruel enough.  The onslaught of malady after malady is all part of life’s rich pageant, but letting one’s mind become a tottering decrepit needle skipping back and forth repeating the same segments on an LP is by far more tragic.  We hope to make it to BINGO right after the “Early Bird Special” down at the home.  Elvis impersonators will be drawing letters. GAWD!

I’ve about run out of superlatives.  It’s just as well as they don’t really explain how I felt.  All I can say is the kid loves to play and is prolific so I suspect it won’t be long before he makes an appearance somewhere nearby.  Go see him. 

zuki

For those of you that haven’t met our “Holy Fucker” he currently is a man of leisure with little to do but point out minor flaws and faux Pas of both family and associates.  While technically correct in his assessment of Mr. Gibb’s condition, and his wrongful inclusion on my death list, I think we can all agree it’s simply nit-picking.  Already in possession of a pound of flesh, he’s now going after my blood. 

The Bagwan writes:

When I tried to explain to Zuki that he was premature with his Robin Gibb death announcement he, of course, got snippy with me. All I was trying to do was protect the journalistic integrity of the Diatribe and my reward was a terse three sentence (and 3 exclamation point) response making it clear that my help wasn’t needed.

I think Zuki has lost track of the fact that people rely on the Diatribe for cutting edge, current events information. What if on his way home from accounts receivable fez stopped off at his favorite watering hole for a Campari and soda and announced to all present that Robin Gibb had died. Suppose one of the patrons took exception to that erroneous piece of info and a knife fight ensued.

Well my snippy friend please read the following dated 4/24/12 from the BBC:

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Robin Gibb has ‘beaten the odds’, son says

Bee Gees singer Robin Gibb, who woke from a coma at the weekend, has been laughing and joking and wants to go home from hospital, his wife has said.

Dwina Murphy-Gibb told ITV News her husband was “really happy… he just wants to get out”.

Gibb’s son Robin-John said: “They gave him an under 10% survival chance and he has beaten the odds… he really is something else.”

The 62-year-old star fell into a coma last week after contracting pneumonia.

He has also been battling colon and liver cancer. Gibb’s son said his father was “completely compos mentis now”.

The family – including son Spencer and daughter Melissa – had been playing Bee Gees tunes to the singer as he lay in a coma and noticed Gibb trying to mouth words to the songs.

The family credited a recording of “Staying Alive” they had recently received from America for the final stage of this remarkable recovery. The source of the CD is identified only as a Holy Man from the Rockies.