Jack was a real woman 'pleaser' – good looking, a great dancer and a line of gab which could convince the Pope to change his religion. In later life, he was Chrysler's top car salesman for three consecutive years. Well, Jack managed to gather up a double date for the two of us. Not having a car of my own – and neither did Jack – I borrowed a 1936 Chevy from my uncle which unfortunately had the whole left side smashed in due to his misjudging the effects of a high speed turn. I was introduced to Marge, an extremely nice looking blue-eyed blond. Marge was icy towards me most of the night – before, during and after the movie we attended. We had a snack and I left the restaurant first in order to fetch the car. I brought it around and, to my surprise, Marge jumped in laughing and was "all over me", as the saying goes.
After we took the girls home, I mentioned the abrupt change in Marge's behavior. I was always blessed with intelligence and good looks due to my father's wise choice of a mate. Jack laughed and then explained. "You see," he told Marge, "Bob has always been timid about his family's wealth. Although he was given a LaSalle (a prestigious auto at the time) for his birthday, he has always feared that girls would only like him for his money and so he pretends to be a poor boy from across the tracks. That's why he drives that wreck."
I hardly remember pretty Marge. I suppose some dimwit married her and was happy to be staked out in her pasture. I will forever be grateful that Jack and I were like brothers. He died recently – a true friend right up to the end. I do miss him – a lot.
Ain't calculators grand? Ain't it great to see great minds gather in order to solve such an earthshaking problem? Ah, diversity!
What is astonishing is not the utter depravity which is noticed daily, but the fact that millions of people applaud the filth which has stained forever the office of the presidency. What fool would still swear allegiance to this monuntental corruption?
One must never forget that although "the law" was originally established to promote the community welfare and interest but now it is little more than a perversion designed by lawyers for the benefit of lawyers and the admonition that "this is a nation of laws" only serves to keep the dull-witted enslaved by their own compliance. After all, isn't it "the law" which is now stripping the White male of any authority, anywhere? Martin L. Coon shouted that there were "unjust laws" and then proceeded to break them. Where is Fred M. Honky who dares shout the same?
More food means that the worthless – those who cannot feed themselves – can continue to breed thus creating more hungry mouths. This means that food production must be increased. The production of quality food has already passed its peak and now an increasing quantity is only possible through a further lessening of quality. "Science" will not save your ass as there is no way – in spite of the vitamin, ginseng, enzymes and other Madison Avenue balderdash – that man can improve upon God's gifts. As food quality decreases, so does the general health. This means a temporary boon for the medical quack business and drug industry but an increase in disease will follow as sure as God made little green apples. We see this all around but not many people make the connection. Never interfere with a society hell-bent upon its own destruction. Better yet, assist them.
Since ALL channels belch the same unrelenting marxist egalitarian propaganda, it then is obvious they are ALL part of the same gang of hoodlums. I do not watch niggerball or anything close to it. Even the once great National Geographic shows are now polluted with jungle-bunny racket – crap which offends my tender ears. I avoid all soap-opera shows, yammering broads, ugly "genius" apes, muds of every grotesque form, anything which pummels my ear drums, sports nonsense, and so on and so forth. Even Food TV is becoming saturated with jackasses and mongrels. A typical TV night in my apartment consists of clicking through 40 channels and then turning it off. This process takes me about one minute to complete. I then reach for a "hate" book which might give me some clue as how to safely eradicate cockroaches when the law forbids it. It bad enough that my small tax levy goes to pay for the repair and upkeep of parasites.
If your mother didn't breast feed you, then I think it's time you pulled her fingernails out. Milk has always been a perfect food and so I wonder why taking things out makes it more perfect. If you believe that less nutrition is better, then you should pull your own fingernails out. Even herbivores such as sheep and giraffes, eat animal products in the early part of their lives. Protein cannot be assimilated without accompanying fat. Take the fat out and most of the protein goes into the toilet. It's not fat, per se, that's the problem but that assembly line hydrogenated axle grease which is more profitable to feed the goyim than is down home butter. The same thing is true about the newest recommendation: Drink soy milk.
Soy milk tastes like sh-t and that's a very good reason to avoid it. It is claimed to be high in protein but so is a rotting aardvark. A dilute solution of potassium cyanide is very high in water content but I'll let you use it to quench your thirst.
When you start worrying about what you eat, you are burdening your system with a dose of emotional stress which usually is more adverse than eating a plastic Ho-Ho. It's the same with worrying about your blood pressure. The more you worry, the worse it gets.
I listened to a soccer mom tell her daughter that it was time to take a suck on her water bottle. The teen pulled a plastic bottle out of her trendy sack and sipped a bit. I wonder if mom ever told her about the butyl based plasticizers which leeched into that "spring" water from the bottle. She stated that she didn't want her little beautiful, intelligent and talented offspring to "dehydrate." Well folks, how many people do you know who unconsciously dehydrated? Whatever happened to that sensation we call "thirst?" (The fact remains is that the bottle suckers are not really thirsty – otherwise they wouldn't be sipping the stuff. It's only a trendy fad.) Mothers like this are also convinced that their twerps will starve if they refuse to eat. My mom never insisted that we eat what was on the plate. If we refused, we had to wait until the next meal. You see, my beloved mother ran the house and her kids didn't run her. You might cry your little eyes red, but she'd remind you that it was your own darned fault that you were hungry. When it was dinner time on Wednesday, you only had one shot at it – no condescending snacks in between. "I'm hungry, I'm hungry," my little sister was once heard to say. Mom replied, "If you don't starve to death between now and supper time, you'll be OK."
Mom was substantial and I asked my father the reason he picked her to marry. He, in great seriousness, told me, "I looked for a woman who was good enough to be the mother of my children. I will not leave them in the care of just anybody."
At the time, I was looking for a wife as I intended to have a son. I noticed that whenever I came to her house her father was never around. Sometimes I'd be there in the evening and often in the morning on a Saturday. I assumed that he had one of those representative jobs which had unusual hours and required him to be on the road. I let it go at that and then one day I heard Ruth's mother shout, "When your father comes home, he'll get a piece of my mind!" At this point I asked Ruth about her father's schedule. She replied that she didn't know since he left about 26 years ago and no one had heard of him since. Clue #1. (Be wary of any woman who has never had a long, loving relationship with her father.)
I had a Chevy convertible which I loved. It was turquoise in color; excellent in gas mileage – 26 m.p.g. on the highway at 70 m.p.h.; and I could always count on it to bag a trophy anytime I wished at the local drag races (88 m.p.h. in the quarter mile). Ruth didn't like the car, she claimed, because it had a floor shift. Clue #2. I had pulled off the sloppy column linkage and replaced it with something more solid for the racing events. Ruth wanted me to restore the factory linkage. I was saturated with drag racing and was going to do that anyway but my silence probably was interpreted as giving in to her request..
Each time I won a race, a window sticker was given along with a cash prize and a trophy. I collected enough "firsts" so that the right rear window was nearly sealed from the light. Ruth didn't like those stickers. Clue #3. I had planned to sell the car to one of my younger brothers and I'd have lost the stickers in that event anyway. I took off the stickers and Ruth smiled. I smiled too, wondering what the next – there would be a next, you know! – little irritant would be. Sure as the rain – within one week she she told me she didn't like the shoes I was wearing! Clue #4.
I sold the car and went looking for another. I wanted to get a Camaro and so did everyone else, it seemed. No dealer was willing to "deal". As a lark, I dropped into a Lincoln show room and looked at the newly introduced Cougars. I liked what I saw knowing full well that their 289 V8 engine just didn't have the zing of the Chevrolet 283 V8 (actually about 40 hp. less). As I had fractured some spinal vertebrae in a motorcycle accident a couple of years prior to that, I was quite sensitive to the way a seat matched my posterior. I bought that car for the seats alone! I still retained my old dependable 1954 Chevy and one afternoon, while driving past the agency, Ruth motioned to drive in as she said she fell in love with the new Cougar. I was going to pick the car up that evening but never mentioned it. Ruth assumed that I had bought the car because she wanted to ride around in one. Note: Being honest doesn't mean you must tell everything you know!
I was quite curious as to why Ruth chose a certain remote location for one of our outings. She obviously was there before. One afternoon, her mother unwittingly remarked about how Ruth loved that location since she used to go there with "Dave". Clues #5, 6, 7, 8 and 9. Ruth was using me as a substitute partner to relive a distorted memory of what had long since passed.
Happiness reigned but all of those clues remained locked in my concrete noodle. Ruth was not going to be the mother of any of my children and certainly never a wife of mine. Those clues only pointed to future problems – problems I wished to avoid.
I planned one more, and final, date – New Year's eve. In October I made a reservation at a very expensive inn on the lake. Our table was cupped in a little foyer-like projection overlooking what would soon be a ragged, frozen lake where, weather permitting, would be flooded with the light of a nearly full moon. I had seen beauty like this before. Ruth was happy but I knew that something just HAD to come up. It did. Clue #10 and I was "out".
On that eve, she wanted to go to some place or the other in a more distant region on the lake, rather than pursue the original plan. I was somewhat sober when I explained that the probability of finding a vacancy at that late time, was quite low. Ruth insisted and so I drove to her "dreamland" resort. There were no canceled reservations. I then made a grand "180" and went back towards my original destination. Normally, I am not known for switching in the middle of a stream, but since I had planned a "good-bye" for that evening, I saw little to be lost by letting her have her way – a grand farewell gift!
We arrived at the inn far too late. The reservation had a time limit. At this point, the jovial mood for which I am noted, announced itself and I lovingly told Ruth, " I know a place with food you'll love. It is comfortable and I am sure you'll find no fault whatsoever since I've heard you sing its praises in the past. "Where", she asked. "It shall be a surprise," I said, tenderly touching her thigh. With that assurance, Ruth leaned back and closed her eyes. She was happy.
I stopped. Ruth awoke from her shallow nap. "Please, get out," I gently commanded. "But this is where I live!", she retorted. "I know, and you will find it exactly as I described."
As I drove away, my rear view mirror held the image of that beautiful woman standing in a foot of glistening snow. It was a wonderfully brisk night. The tears, which were starting to seep from my eyes, told me that the next months would not be an easy time. They weren't. I loved that woman but love alone is not sufficient for a happy life.
It takes about six months for most things to heal solidly and I used that time touring this great land of ours – from east to west and north to south. I secured a four month leave of absence from my employer and with each passing day, the beauty of my life increased a speck at a time. One can never command healing, whether physical, mental or emotional. It's a solitary process which must be endured.
Ruth is now a fondly remembered parcel of my past, as was that Cougar which was as close to being a friend as any mechanical object could be. But, as it has been with most of the things I've loved – they are never around for long.