Bullying. You know the solution.

It dismays me to no end that there is a growing legion of people in this country that rely on the government to do everything for them.

Everything.

I keep reading and hearing of this "bullying" problem, and quite frankly, I don't see where the problem is.

Actually, I do and it is with the person or people being bullied.

It's called cowardice. But here is a nice video showing the reality of 99% of all bullying situations.
Bully gets his ass kicked.

That's the way I was taught to handle bullies when I was growing up five decades ago. It worked then, it works now.

It's not necessarily "laying hands on someone" that is the point--it's standing up to the bully and giving it right back to them with the implied PROMISE that you will kick their ass by and with whatever means necessary to end the harassment or threats or bullying they are laying on you.

I was a pretty small guy growing up and the bigger, older neighborhood kids kicked my ass now and then just for the hell of it. My grandad, a WWII vet, encouraged judo lessons. From there, I added karate and in a couple of years, I found myself going after a couple of guys who'd shoved down a kid on crutches.

It infuriated me, and I went after the two guys without thinking. About fifteen seconds into the brawl, it dawned on me that this judo and karate stuff really DOES work. When you focus your discipline and power into your punches and kicks and use your opponent's momentum (and ignorance) against him, you can deliver a fearsome ass-kicking.

But today, we as parents run to the principal's office crying and sobbing and demanding that THEY do something about the bully who is bothering our precious Percy or Priscilla. As adults, we go crying to human resources or EEOC demanding THEY do something about a bullying co-worker or supervisor.

Bullies do what they do because they do not respect the person they are picking on. Fear generates a healthy dose of respect. If you don't believe me, ask any veteran who went through boot camp. We feared our drill instructors and knew, without a doubt, that they could kick our ass seven ways sideways to Sunday.

But because THEY also knew it, the need to "bully" wasn't there. By the end of our eight or twelve weeks of basic military training, mutual respect had been achieved.

You can achieve the same thing in the civilian world in eight to twelve seconds if you simply stand up to the SOB who is bullying you and promise what we called "violence of action" and have every intention of following through.

It's a mindset you have to acquire, which is why we're such a spineless nation ruled by bullies. It's much easier to run whining to the government to make more laws against bullying than it is to stand up to them and/or teach our kids how to stand up to them.

Spare me the talk about lawyers and courts and police. Simply STANDING UP to a damned bully will win three-fourths of the battles. Tell them to kiss your ass and howl at the moon.

If you live in fear, it is because you choose to live in fear. Bullies are nothing new, nor is standing up to them.

But again, we choose to be spineless.

And to prove it, our U.S. Government is the biggest bunch of bullies there are, and we don't even have the guts to vote their asses out of office.

There is still light in this world.

 Maybe we need more of this and less of the governments mismanaging the world.

Sometimes, it really is that simple.

I found America this past weekend.

Some folks in Natchitoches, Louisiana invited me to an EAA (Experimental Aviation Association) fly-in, dinner and shooting get-together at the local range--and they asked me to bring some books to sell and sign.

Let's think about this for a minute. Airplanes (I'm an EAA and AOPA member), guns, Louisiana cooking and the opportunity to make new friends.

I'm in.

I loaded up the Cessna after lunch on Friday, waited until the heat of the day was peaking, made sure headwinds would be at their strongest and departed. (Pilots understand how conditions rarely favor you on outbound legs of trips.)

ATC had me on a departure route west of Fort Worth. I'm always amazed--and dismayed--at how big Cowtown has become.

To the immediate west of my heading was the Fort Worth Joint Naval Air Station. Us local pilots have learned to keep a wary eye out for the Navy jocks. They have a difficult time reading "2,500" on their altimeters--which is the minimum altitude they are required to fly on inbound approach from the north.

Remember: They have parachutes and we don't.

It's always a relief to be clear of ANY class bravo airspace, and even though DFW is home and I know it like I know all the weeds in my backyard, it's always good to have it behind you.

It was 102F when I cranked up and took off. This was to be a VFR trip, so I'd filed for 7500'. Naturally, there was a cloud layer at 7500' and just as naturally, there was one at 5500' so I had a choice: fly at 3500' msl and sweat and get bounced around, or climb above it all.

Took me no time at all to decide, and I snapped this picture as I was clearing 9000' msl. At altitude, the outside air temperature (OAT) was actually in the low 40's. Nice calm and cool skies from that point on eastward.

Looking down at Tyler, Texas--one of my favorite east Texas towns.

It was hot, humid and hazy down below, but that is Toledo Bend Reservoir--the largest enclosed body of water in Texas and it sits on the border between us and Louisiana. Long, big lake.

They have a fantastic airport at Natchitoches (KIER) with first-class people operating it. Here, I've got the bird unloaded and tucked in for the weekend.

Saturday morning, my host, Ben Rushing, asks me if I want to see Louisiana as seen from one of the coolest bi-planes in the universe--a Hiperbipe. He even foolishly let me fly it. Said he needed to get his heart rate up a bit for the day.

View from the front office of the Hiperbipe.

Cheated Death once again and brought a heavier-than-air flying machine safely to the ground.

Here is a beautiful Taylorcraft that showed up for the fly-in. Flying doesn't get much more fun than in these fabric airplanes.

Then there was the Stearman. When you combine the old low and slow fabric birds with bi-planes, you get the classic Stearman. Of course, that big radial engine up front stays constantly thirsty.

After the birds had all come in Saturday morning, there was fellowship and hangar flying and food. A huge swamp cooler had been set up in the hangar along with a lot of long tables.

Some of my Louisiana gun buddies and readers had driven over for the festivities and we had some great conversations. Other attendees sitting at our big long table chimed in. Between us all, we solved the issue of Obamacare--just get rid of Obama and every son of a bitch that voted for it.

We fixed all gun control problems--toss out every son of a bitch that doesn't understand the Second Amendment or who doesn't like it.

Illegal immigration was solved rather easily--pistols began appearing and we admired each other's hardware. I saw some really NICE purse pistols from the ladies. Of course, this also solved the petty crime problems.

Imagine that, a bunch of good southerners gathered together and in less than half an hour, we'd solved 90% of our nation's ills just like that.

How long does it take those dumb asses in Washington, and then they still don't get it right? In fact, they make it worse.

Maybe they need to start attending more fly-ins and book-signings and shooting range events.

At the shooting range in Natchitoches, any remaining problems that we faced in America were dispatched in fine fashion and with a variety of calibers and firearms. We had some poker targets, but we were all too old to see the cards printed on them and had to keep moving closer just to tell the Ace of Spades from the Ten of Clubs.

At least, that was my excuse. Must've left my reading glasses back at the airport. . .

As with all good things, after all the books had been sold and signed and addresses and e-mails and phone numbers exchanged, it was time to head back to the airport to load up the plane and return back home.

On most trips, I look forward to getting back home. On this trip, I wanted to stay.

I'd rediscovered America.

America is in our small towns. The fruits of freedom are often found in large scale in the big cities like Dallas and New York and Los Angeles, but the engine that drives America, the backbone that keeps us free and safe, the morals and values that MAKE us America. . . they're found in ample abundance in Small Town, USA.

Maybe we should reverse how we elect representatives and give more weight (ie more seats in the House) to the rural areas, and less for the urban areas.

More country folks up in Washington, and we'd have these problems licked.

It was something to think about as I flew into the sunset.

Flying, signing, eating and shooting, Louisiana style.

Packing up the airplane and heading east this afternoon to Natchitoches, Louisiana.

One of my book readers has put together a shindig and it includes a fly-in, Louisiana food, a book-signing and a get-together at the shooting range on Saturday, June 30th.

As he explains it, "anytime in the South when a few good folks get together, you just know there are going to be some great times to be had along with some serious truth-stretching come story-telling time."

Pass the cornbread.

Here is the Saturday itinerary for anyone in the neighborhood:

• Fly-in is at the Natchitoches airport (KIER) and folks will be flying in beginning around 0900 through mid-morning.

• Lunch and a book-signing will be around 11:30 (ish--everything in Texas and the South is on "ish" time. That's how we do things.)

• Shooting and more book-signing at the local range begins at 2:00 p.m.

• Probably some more truth-stretching throughout the afternoon until around 5:00 or 6:00.

More information can be found here.

I was at the hangar today topping off the bird with fuel and doing a thorough pre-flight. In this heat, I want to be in the air as fast as I can. That means load up the plane, roll her out of the hangar, get strapped in, check everything over one more time from inside the cockpit before spinning the prop, do my pre-start checklist and pre-takeoff checklist together, flip the master switch, turn the key and crank 'er up.

As soon as I see oil-pressure indication, slip the brakes and taxi to the run up area. My pre-takeoff physical checklist will be done on the roll--controls, instruments, gas, trim, flaps. Runup will be the last thing, then takeoff. I'll set my radios and frequencies and GPS units while in the air.

As Murphy's Law pointed out a day or two ago, with an air-cooled engine, the ground is NOT where you want to be on a hot day. I want to be in the air with some nice 100kt breezes flowing into the engine cowlings and keeping my cylinders nice and comfortable as well as keeping my oil temp out of the red.

It's going to be hot and bumpy until I get to altitude. It's a relatively short trip (230nm) and weather forecast is for hot and clear so I'll go VFR and climb to 7500 and see how comfortable that is.

Taking my camera, a few guns, lots of books and the joy and knowledge that a weekend spent with folks who love guns and airplanes always promises to be a fantastic time.

If you're in the neighborhood Saturday, drop on by.

Die, you SOBs. . . DIE!!!

Not a good day yesterday in the land of An Ordinary American.

For starters, it topped 100 degrees again, no breeze, too much humidity.

Felt like I was in Houston. Had to check my GPS to make sure I wasn't.

I'm outside doing some yard work in the heat of the day, and in the midst of taking the brushwhacker to my shrubs at the front of the house, I get attacked by a swarm of (expletive deleted) yellow jackets.

Luckily, I'm not allergic to being bit or stung by these SOBs. The primary adverse reaction I have is swearing at the top of my lungs when bitten by one of these flying menaces.

Given the size of the swarm today, I set new records for volume, duration and creative use of unbefore-heard-of swear words. I think I dropped more f-bombs in just a few seconds than Jimmy Doolittle did during his entire mission over Tokyo.

Then I got mad. Killing mad.

When dealing with yellow jackets and wasps and other useless menaces, Tom Hite is my hero. I didn't do it exactly how he does it in this video, but I ain't through battling these SOBs either.

I managed to get a bunch of ice packs on the affected areas (read: where the little crappers bit and stung me) to keep the initial swelling down, then put some numbing agent on the areas, and finished up with some prescription-strength hydrocortisone.

Finished the yard work, washed the Doberman, changed the oil and filter on my wife's car, went inside and took a refreshing shower and when I sat down in my easy chair . . . the damn electricity went out.

4:30 p.m. northern suburbs of Dallas, Texas on a triple-digit day and the freaking power goes out. Stayed out over four hours.

I heard later in the evening, when the power came back on and I was watching the news, that some utility worker got stung by a yellow-jacket. When he drew his Model 29 with #14 shot (specially cast for wasps, hornets, yellow jackets and horseflies here in Texas), he ended up shooting the transmitter.

Damn yellow jackets.

P.S. I hope the Georgia Bulldogs pound the living snot out of Georgia Tech this year and every year going forward.

I have no words to describe this.

Except for "BRILLIANT."

The growing irrelevancy of the mainstream media is now being proven.

I'd like to think I was a bit of a prophet when I wrote this in my novel:

The major networks and metropolitan newspapers largely ignored all facets except for the president’s grandstanding and camera hounding in which he promised to veto a bill that never should have made it past the House, let alone into the Senate. The editorials and commentaries from the major media moguls favorably regurgitated all of this, then waited for the onslaught of negative feedback on their websites. Positive or negative, it didn’t matter because as long as the feedback was significant, it would support their advertising rates. But unlike in recent weeks, very little feedback occurred, giving a case for serious concern to network management and newspaper publishers alike. No feedback meant nobody was listening, nobody was reading. Nobody cared what they had to say.

The real action was elsewhere, like on talk radio where callers lit up the lines with national talk-show hosts Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, Mark Levin and Laura Ingraham, with the overwhelming majority of callers strongly favoring a national castle doctrine. Even faster and more furious was the internet with the bloggers and discussion forums. More and more of America had finally learned to disregard the so-called “news” that emanates from the networks with the exception of the Fox News Channel. One feedback submission to MSNBC pretty well summed up the feelings of most when it read, “You’re simply not relevant anymore, therefore, what you in the media think doesn’t matter.”

Fact is, rather than being prophetic, one would have to be blind to NOT see the growing irrelevancy of today's mainstream media.

Of course, the overwhelming majority of liberals ARE extremely "sight-challenged."

Having spent almost two decades in the world of Madison Avenue, I'm familiar with advertising and how it is the sole supporting source of revenue for television news programs. On TV, you have sitcoms and sports and things that people actually ENJOY viewing. Not so much with news. Don Henley had it right when he penned "Dirty Laundry."


Adding to that experience is the fact that my lovely wife was a veteran television reporter for almost a decade. Towards the end, before she left for the far more financially lucrative pastures of public relations, she often bemoaned the fact that newsroom budgets were being cut because of falling advertising revenues.

When the internet began truly roaring around five to seven years ago, we both predicted that the mainstream media would begin taking major-league hard hits.

We were right.

The local birdcage liners around here are the Dallas Morning News and the Fort Worth Star Telegram--huge papers serving a huge population. Ten years ago, the Morning News was actually tolerable until they brought in some wild-eyed radical woman from an Arizona paper to take over as Editor. The paper went to hell in a matter of months.

Subscriptions have been plummeting faster than the deck chairs on the Titanic. Rather than re-assessing the problem, the newspaper did the typical liberal thing--raised prices for advertisers and then began charging "subscription" rates for online viewing.

Now, not only did subscription continue to plummet, so did readership.

I've been seeing this all over the country. Newspapers are just about extinct. Sad, on one hand, but on the other. . . well, they did it to themselves.

In advertising, we determined rates by CPM--which is Cost Per Thousand, translated this means how much does it cost to reach one thousand viewers/listeners/readers. There are more formulas we used, such as Reach and Frequency and Weight, but at the end of the day, it all boiled down to CPM.

When you lose readers, that means your "thousands" go down, which means your advertisers are reaching LESS people for the same advertising rates. That, incidentally, brings up another nefarious problem that liberals are completely blind to, and that would be ROI--Return On Investment.

So what we have are advertisers reaching LESS readers, but the newspapers wanting to charge MORE for the readers that ARE being reached. I'm sure this makes perfect sense, somehow, to the managers at the New York Times and Washington Post and Dallas Morning News and other fish-wrappers. But it makes absolutely zero sense to the advertisers.

Unlike government, we were in business to make a profit. After all, someone has to support the career politicians and their career welfare constituents. Paying more to get less only makes sense inside the Beltway and those who worship the left side of the aisle in Washington, which is why we're so screwed up.

But according to this story in today's Drudge Report, even the lame-brained newspapers are finally starting to accept the BIG FACT behind their plummeting readership rates.

People are tuning them out. They don't matter. We already KNOW what they're going to say and how they're going to say it before an event even happens. It's either going to be Bush's fault, or we're all racists, or we support feeding children and senior citizens cat food, or we're all part of greedy big business.

Good is bad, bad is good. It's the liberal mantra parroted by mainstream media sources for decades, and this dodo bird is finally coming home to roost.

That is only fitting that such an idiotic bird come home to poop on the mainstream newspapers who line its bird cage.

My fellow Americans, your Commander-In-Chief.

This just in. . .

With this being Memorial Day weekend, maybe we should take a pretty good look at the asshole who is our present Commander-In-Chief of all armed forces and military personnel.

Maybe all those drugs he inhaled, snorted and allegedly sold while in high school and college has affected his reality-challenged brain. Take this headline, Obama Twice Mistakenly Mentions ‘My Sons,' While Defending Contraception Mandate, and story for example.

I mean, hell, he's had his two DAUGHTERS for more than ten years. You'd think he'd have it down.

Maybe he was thinking if they were sons, they'd look like Trayvon Martin?

And yet there are still numbnuts in this country who want this bozo for another four years.

Drug-crazed, Nude Man Breaks Into Marine's Home--Met With Three Bullets.

From the "Not just good news, but damn good news" stacks. . .

We need more of this.

Don't mess with a man who's been trained to improvise, adapt, overcome.

I wonder if someone is going to challenge "stand your ground" on this. . .

Could another Texan be our next president?

This is almost too good to be true.

Here are some links to the stories, but it seems Keith Judd, a federal inmate incarcerated in a prison in Beaumont, Texas is serving a rather long sentence (much like the American citizens who are suffering under Obama) for extortion.

Extortion?

Hell, this guy fits right in with Obama and the Chicago thugs!

Anyhow. . . it seems that Judd is also a serial presidential candidate and he took, get this, FORTY-ONE PERCENT of the vote in the West Virginia Democratic primary.

Oh, this also makes him eligible to be a delegate for the DNC convention coming up this fall. Wonder if he can get an early release from Hillary (who supported felons being able to vote, remember) to attend the convention?

Stories about this--

Keith Judd, Texas inmate, makes strong showing against President Obama in West Virginia primary

Against Obama, even a jailbird gets some votes

Inmate leads Obama in 8 W. Va. counties in primary

Sorry, but I STILL haven't been able to stop laughing my ass off at this.

Only in Obama's America could this happen.

Proof the U.S. Air Force rocks!

(From the e-mail stack)

For those that remember the Golden Age of Rock 'n Roll.

Remember those great instrumental songs like Pipeline, Drums, Drums, Drums?

Do you remember Dwayne Eddy and Sandy Nelson?

Do you remember the Ventures and their great instrumental "Walk, Don't Run"?

Did you know that the original drummer with the Ventures when they started out was a 17 yr old high school kid who is now a general in the US Air Force?

Watch this clip where the Ventures get him up on stage to sit in on that famous song.

Speakers WAAAAY up--You're gonna love it!

Here is proof that the Air Force Rocks! Thought everyone would enjoy this history.
Some of you don't know the Ventures. Those that do, enjoy the clip, a little long but should bring a smile to your face.

Definitely sexist. Definitly not safe for work. You've been warned.

OK, so I'm a retired ad agency creative guy.

I could only wish that we'd had a client this agile and with this kind of a budget for something that had to have been pure fun to shoot and produce.

Over the years, I wrote and produced a lot of television and radio commercials, but this is the kind that upon completion and airing, I would've instantly retired because nothing is going to top it.

We did open up major offices in London and Paris, but European advertising is vastly different from North American advertising, as you're about to see.

Warning: Sexist and NOT SAFE for work. (My wife thought it was hilarious, though.)

Fleggaard television ad.

Enjoy.

Free smile on your face. (We need to smile about something these days)

I won the lottery back in 1999.

Not money, nothing that easy. No, instead I was the creative director who managed to snag Benjamin Wallace into the employ of our national ad agency and put him to work as a copywriter.

And did it ever pay off.

Ben and Patty Wallace are two of the most talented, creative people I know. Patty, Ben's wife, designed the cover for Above Reproach. She's an art director--a damn good one--and she freelances on the side. She's done a number of covers. If you know a writer who needs a top-shelf cover, contact her (I linked on her name).

Ben wrote and published his first book exactly one year ago today--and today he's put it up for a free download as a celebration.

I'll tell you right here and right now, this is a fun book to read. The description seems a bit silly, but the book is more of a look at an alternative post-apocalyptic world after the SHTF--that scenario us gun-owners are always prepping for. Or TEOTWAWKI (I think I got that acronym right).

And again, it's FREE today (1 May 2012).

I found myself chuckling out loud enough that the wife banished me to the easy chair in the living room at night (can't read this one in bed). I'd get up to get another soft drink and find that I had a big grin on my face.

Reading is supposed to allow us to escape, to breathe in, to relax. . . to forget for a while. We have enough crap going on around us right now what with politics, despot leaders (in other countries, too), poor economy, skyrocketing gas prices, etc etc.

How about something fun? Download Post Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors today, FOR FREE, and read it at your leisure. Good stuff.

Oh and by the way--Ben and Patty are part of our group. They're gun-owners and patriots. They're traditional parents. They had guns before they had children, and guess what? When they started a family, they didn't give up the guns "for the children's safety."

They got a gun safe. They know Eddie Eagle and the routine for their oldest boy should he, or a friend, come across an unattended firearm: Stop. Don't touch. Leave the area. Tell an adult.

The Wallaces are our kind of people. Download Ben's book today and enjoy it.

We're gun owners. We take care of our own.

How to make money giving the bird to people you don't even know.

How cool is that? Give the bird to someone you don't even know and there's a good chance you can make a few bucks off of them.

A good friend of mine and former employee is doing just that--and making four-figures a month to boot.

He's a writer--a very good one--and he's also a marketer, a very good one, and he's combined the two.

It's called social media and Ben Wallace has used Twitter to go from the depths of absolute obscurity in Amazon.com's rankings to literally owning the top spots in his genre--comic fiction.

He did almost all of it with Twitter.

Now, before you quit reading thinking that if you're not a writer/author, it won't work for you, let me assure you that it will.

As a retired marketing/ad agency executive, believe me when I tell you this: The advice and technique Wallace gives in Giving the Bird: The Indie Author's Guide to Twitter will work for virtually ANY small business.

Let me, a guy who has marketed for giants like Pepsi, Pizza Hut, Sears, American Airlines, Pearle Vision, Sonic Drive-Ins, JC Penney, Sprint all the way down to home-kitchen based confectioneries assure you that, yes, it WILL work.

Simply substitute the word "writer" or "author" where it is mentioned in the book and replace it with whatever profession or business or service you provide. Then follow it, keep at it, mine it, nurture it and your followers will grow and as your followers grow, so will your reputation and thus your business and thus your income.

This is not one of those ripoff direct-response piece of crap ads you see all the time where you read, scroll down the page, read some more, read a few testimonials and then get hit with the "To discover how to do this yourself and make gazillions of dollars working just mere nano-seconds a day, send $99.95 to this address and blah blah blah."

The book costs $2.99 and I cussed Ben up one side and down the other for pricing it that low. He's got thick skin, though. After all, he used to work for me and that tends to callous up the skin pretty quick.

The book is only available in e-book format which makes perfect sense--it is using electronic media.

It takes about an hour, maybe two to read, then go back and re-read/skim over some sections.

Then, start putting it into play. Manage your expectations as nothing huge happens overnight--which you don't want. You want to build a solid, firm foundation and that is something Ben emphasizes in the book.

His main forté is comic fiction and I've bought several of his books and enjoyed them thoroughly. He's a gifted writer and his style is to write as though he's sitting across from you at a table conversing while the two of you chew on french fries and eat hamburgers.

Oh, and he's one of us, too. When he interviewed with me right out of college, he showed me a bunch of spec work for various handguns.

Need I say more? Buy his book, read it and learn from it and pass on the advice to other entrepreneurs you know.

With this bunch of bozos in Washington running our big businesses into the ground, small business is going to be the only financial engine our nation will have left--so let's make it happen.

Buy the book. You won't regret it.

If you are one, you will relate to this.

The year is 2016 and the United States has just elected the first woman president. A few days after the election the president-elect, whose name is Debra, calls her father and says, "So, Dad, I assume you will be coming to my inauguration?"

"I don't think so. It's a 10 hour drive."

"Don 't worry about it Dad, I'll send Air Force One. And a limousine will pick you up at your door."

"I don't know. Everybody will be so fancy. What would your mother wear?"

"Oh Dad," replies Debra, 'I'll make sure she has a wonderful gown custom-made by the best designer in Washington ."

"Honey," Dad complains, "you know I can't eat those rich foods you eat."

The President-to-be responds, " Don 't worry Dad. The entire affair will be handled by the best caterer in Washington ; I'll ensure your meals are salt free. You and mom just have to be there."

So Dad reluctantly agrees, and on January 20, 2017, Debra is being sworn in as President of the United States . In the front row sits the new president's dad and mom.

Dad, noticing the senator sitting next to him, leans over and whispers, "You see that woman over there with her hand on the Bible, becoming President of the United States ."

The Senator whispers back, "You bet I do."

Dad says proudly, "Her brother is a Pilot!"

Texas tan-line.

Don't mess with our Texas cuties.

'Nuff said.

But damn the music was good.

After having wrapped up the book and getting it sent off for formatting and distribution, I was at the bank today doing some hocus-pocus with "pay me" and "pay you" accounts.

I saw a young lady wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and I couldn't help but chuckle. She was my (adopted) daughter's age. Maybe a year or two younger, which would have her chasing the end of her teenage years.

We talked and she gushed about how cool the music was of the 70's and I agreed.

The 80's gave us Prince and Boy George, but thankfully that little ol' band from Texas was able to kick their ass, along with a blaze of blues known as Stevie Ray Vaughn. But both Texas legends were throwbacks to an earlier era with ZZ Top being a solidly 70's originating band, while Boy George was a throwback to, to. . .  to what, I'm not sure. A failed sex-experiment somewhere in Sweden with a couple of transgenders on LSD?

*Shudder*

The 90's? I was too busy working sixty to ninety hours a week and shoveling as much money as I could into every investment portfolio I could find to even turn on a radio. The start of the new century began much the way the 90's ended--work, work, work. But every time I turned on the radio, all I heard was either garbage, or. . .  wait for it. . .

Music from the 60's and 70's. They called it Classic Rock.

I learned about the world serving in the military. I learned about people serving in federal law enforcement. I learned about making money working in Madison Avenue. And what I learned there was that when we used songs and soundtracks from the 60's and 70's, response to our commercials skyrocketed.

In 2002, I was making my plans to retire. In the ad agency world, especially if you were a creative, you made obscene amounts of money in an obscenely short amount of time. If you were smart (most weren't), you invested heavily because by the time you turned forty/forty-five, you were too old for the biz any more and you started either planning for retirement and a career change, or a career as a freelancer.

Social media was getting big and I was still trying to figure out how to program numbers into my cell phone. Thank God for admins and personal assistants that kept up with technology.

Some colleagues of mine at an agency called D'Arcy, Massius, Benton & Bowles in Troy, Michigan achieved the impossible: They got Led Zeppelin to sign over partial rights to a Zeppelin song to be used in a television commercial. For a car. An American-made car. The Cadillac.

After seeing the commercials run on the Super Bowl, I called up one of their managing directors I was friends with and congratulated him--then asked him how much it cost.  "$10 million smackeroos, plus residuals," he replied.

Have you heard of any major advertiser paying some rap-crap gangster $10 million to use his song music noise in a television commercial--or for anything else?

I find myself over at YouTube somewhat often and in between searching and viewing videos on airplanes and guns and Dobermans, I'll run across some classic music.

The Eagles, Tina Turner, Led Zeppelin, ZZ Top, Bob Seger, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Bachman-Turner Overdrive, Deep Purple, Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, Jerry Jeff Walker, Merle Haggard, Hank Williams, Jr., Lynyrd Skynyrd, Charlie Daniels, Grand Funk Railroad, Heart, Fleetwood Mac, Stevie Ray Vaughn, the Atlanta Rhythm Section. . .

The list goes on and on.

I get a chuckle at reading some of the comments on some of the YouTube videos, especially from the kids my (adopted) daughter's age or younger. Stuff like, "Damn! I wish I'd been born back then when there was GOOD music," seems to be the norm.

I don't miss bell-bottoms and I don't miss all the long hair and hairy faces. Hip-huggers are back and lower than ever (to my chagrin now that I find myself in a father role to a young lady that thinks thongs and low-slung jeans are THE thing. . .) and more midriff is once again showing.

We had good music back then, even if we had crappy clothes.

So, your neighbor pays you to have sex with his beautiful wife. . .

(from the e-mail stack)

You just can't make some things up. . .

So this Arab gets into a taxi. . .

(From the e-mail stack)

SO, this Arab gets into a taxi.

Once he is seated he asks the cab driver to turn off the radio "because he must not hear music as decreed by his religion and, in the time of the prophet, there was no music, especially Western music which is music of the infidel's and certainly no radio."

So the cab driver politely switches off the radio, stops the cab and opens the back door.

The Arab asks him: “Watt are you doing man?”

The cabby answers: “In the time of the prophet there were no taxis. So get the hell out and wait for a camel.”

Translation: If you don't like the way we do things here, get the hell out and go back home. Nobody made you come here, and for sure, nobody is making you stay.

Who'd want to have sex with Sandra Fluke anyhow?

That was my first thought when I saw pictures of this rabble-rousing woman.

In case some of you haven't heard of her, Sandra Fluke is a law student (typical) who sought out Georgetown University (a Catholic school) for admission, then once in, started raising hell because Obama's "contraception rights" BS wasn't being followed.

She went on and on about how important sex was and birth control and reproductive rights, blah blah blah.

So, like any other red-blooded American male, I headed to the internet looking for pictures of this supposed babe who, from the way she presents herself, is perpetually more horny than a pack of Dallas middle-aged cougars grazing on cocktails at a midtown martini bar across from the local Gold's Gym.

I figured Sandra Fluke would be a babe. A cover girl for a condom advertising spread. Someone Hugh Hefner would drop millions on to get in his Playboy mansion.

But I remembered a popular line from the 70's about some of the more self-righteous women who were piously in everyone's face about abortion.

"What do those broads care? They're so ugly, nobody would want to (ahem, er, fornicate with) them anyhow."

Now oh yeah, that is a sexist statement, no doubt. It also sounds like it's pro-choice. But to a typically hormone-equipped young man in the 70's, it was really neither. Instead, it was just a simple observation.

Now some three-plus decades later, I'm still anti-abortion but find myself drawing the same analogy to this Sandra Fluke person.

Or, to put it another way, I think she's uglier than a batch of homemade soap gone bad. Uglier than an empty glass of buttermilk. Uglier than Death itself reading a Mad magazine in an outhouse basement.

I mean, this woman is approaching Nancy Pelosi ugly, and that's some serious ugly.

Yet, she wants Georgetown to spring for her "protection" against unprotected sex because she wants to have sex all the time?

I can see why.

She's probably never had much, and probably never with the same guy more than once.

In college, we used to call girls like Fluke "coyote dates." The reason was that if you got THAT drunk to where you woke up in the morning, and Fluke's head was resting on your arm, it was preferable to chew your own arm off and leave rather than risk awakening her and possibly having to do the "deed" again just to be able to grab your clothes and leave.

Fluke could be a recruiting poster for the AA 12-step program on college campi everywhere.

Yeah, I'm really sounding sexist here but I'm trying to make a point.

Fluke CHOSE a Catholic university. She KNEW what their moral standards were. She KNEW what their "health plans" were, etc. Yet she chose to apply and enroll for the sole purpose of raising hell about not being supplied condoms or little daily white pills or vaginal foam or sponges or whatever.

I don't recall anyone else at Georgetown University complaining over these things. Those that did simply dropped out and enrolled at universities more to their liking.

If a liberal looney tunes idiot like Fluke really wants to make a point, maybe she should try dropping a few pounds, doing a little wardrobe experimenting, do something with her hair and makeup and make herself a bit more sexually appealing if she wants to argue on behalf of free-range sex with "protection" sponsored, provided and paid for by a religious institution that disagrees adamantly with her.

But on the other hand, if I were the Georgetown head priest guy, I think I'd take pictures of Fluke and blow them up to poster size, then put them up in all the dorms and bars around campus.

The sight of Fluke and her supporters alone might do more for abstinence than one could ever imagine.