There, but for the Grace of Jones, go I.

Premise of blog: Asshole learns some tough lessons, learns something along the lines of, “All you need is love,” and lives on as humble beacon.

Reality: Having difficulty getting off the ground because people are murderous and evil.

Upper class, suburban neighborhood. It is early afternoon, and I am driving to an appointment at the home of a resident. I pull into winding, immaculate driveway and proceed up steep hill. Wrong mansion. I am rather deliberately blocked by another car as I try to exit the one-lane driveway. The man who exits the car looks like he played high school football 30-odd years ago.

“What are you doing here?” He is really stern, and though I am usually prepared for conflict, I am caught in work mode, and by surprise.

“I’m working. I have the wrong house.”

“You’re damn right you do.” His response is predictable, but nonetheless intimidating. I am immediately embarrassed of being shaken-up by this man. I will now find a picture that looks like this person, as I was struck at the time by the similarity:


The confrontation continues with events such as my saying, “I am unarmed, sir. You need not resort to the castle doctrine!”  I had no doubt this man had a gun on his person.

Stud says, “I’m from West Virginia. I work for all these things you do to have. Don’t give me that college bullshit!” There is a Nixonesque, jowly quality to his barking.

I was detained in this way for almost ten minutes, and then made to search my car for nonstandard credentials that satisfied him. He eventually let me go. It’s odd, I have had guns pulled on me a few times in rough places, but I felt I was at risk of being shot this time if I had not complied.

The man directly took my power from me. I felt him absorbing it as the seconds passed. I became a child, but not even a modern child. I was like a boy from the 50’s, and this man was my pa. The peOple in this man’s life respect him. he is wealthy, and likely the center of his family. I can think of his family crying as his bravery and strength are eulogized some day. One


What is Man? Or no, wait! Wait!

As I hang here typing, upside-down in a South American cave, I gaze for a moment into the abyss of insects and guano and consider the moon. The moon is no emblem of rebellion, only another servant to one dying star among billions. Wry in repose amidst her hazy billows, she scorns m…

I’m terribly sorry. I shall no longer permit a bat to write my blog. Now, my name is Gary, and as I look about this belfry, I try to imag…

I do apologize! I feel I have no control over these gentlemen. I’m trying to write a blog about peace, here, in the sure

hands of a baseball player. I crack into the ball, and the sound echoes in the forest of my ashy forebears…

I shall permit no bats, of any kind, to write in this blog! These gentlemen have no concept of what it is to stand still and upright in a wall for 85 odd years between studs, or lie forever on a dusty attic floor. To be stacked indiscriminately among brothers and strangers in a…


I don’t know why I’m doing this bat thing, but I will say, the last “bat” was a “batt,” in fact. fiberglass batt insulation This blog is about a gentleman in his early thirties who has either average, or below-average tolerance for his fellow man. I know comedians make good livings coming up with ways to joke about how they don’t fit in. The burgeoning, annoying, animal lover “class,” which it is, also harbor considerable misanthropy, but they comprise a small percentage of the population. The man featured in this blog hates people as much as, or a little more than, the next person. He is a regular, quietly hateful bastard. This weblog will chronicle the man’s progress as he attempts to transition to a mindset of peace and goodwill through whatever means available.