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.

From virtual to reality.

Several years ago when I first began jotting down an outline and thoughts for my first fiction novel, e-books were pretty rare. Kindle was new and the naysayers were saying e-books would never fly.

Having spent many a year in the world of Madison Avenue, I knew all about naysayers. These are the folks who predicted the downfall of the stock market--in 1930. Same folks who predicted Pearl Harbor--on December 8th.

The original title of the book was to be "The Castle Doctrine" as the premise was, and still is, the right of ordinary American citizens to use whatever force necessary to defend themselves against threat of imminent, bodily harm and to not have to face prosecution, civil or criminal, for having done so.

My wife hated the title. As good husbands do, I ignored her for the majority of the book. But then I line I'd written in a later chapter where a showdown occurred in the Dirksen Senate conference room over a national reciprocity bill, the title "Above Reproach" came out all on it's own.

From the book:

   “We have rules, Mr. Cole,” Senator Maguire said quietly. “And I’ve already warned you about your language.”
   “Yes ma’am, you do and you have,” Dillon replied. “But so do we. And our rules, from the people that elect you and pay you, are that you treat us with the same respect and dignity that you demand from us. All across the country these past few days, we’ve watched and listened to reports about armed citizens defending themselves, their families, their neighborhoods and businesses against these sleeper cell terrorists that have recently woken up and are going on murderous rampages. The people fighting back against these terrorists are ordinary citizens, just like you and me who—”
   “They’re not ordinary, Mr. Cole,” the senator from New York yelled, again rising to his feet. “They’re barely one step above the animals whose rights they violated and then murdered, and as such, should not be—”
   “Wrong, Senator!” Dillon thundered, slamming his open palm down on the table with enough force to make everyone in the chamber jump. “These are good people. They are decent, law-abiding people. They are patriotic citizens looking out for themselves and their families. When such people as these defend themselves or their families or friends or neighbors using whatever force necessary, they are acting morally, ethically and lawfully and as such, Senator, they are above reproach from you or anyone else in this screwed up town as well as the media!”

As cool as it was to see the book come to fruition in e-book form, it is now available in print edition.

Seeing, feeling and holding your labor of love and joy in your hands for the first time is pretty cool, I have to tell you.

For once, the timing worked out how I wanted it also. The print edition debuted on Memorial Day weekend at Amazon.com. It will be another month or so from the date of this writing until it becomes available at Barnes & Noble and other online retailers.

But for now, virtual has become reality. And for me, that's pretty cool.

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.

Gun owners rejoice--it's here!

Heh heh. Please forgive the self-effusiveness, but I just got word that Above Reproach is now live and available for sale and download on Amazon.com.

I'd teased it a bit a few weeks ago, calling it the "novel for gun-owners written by a gun-owner."

In doing so, I got some interesting feedback, all of it positive but one remark in particular stuck out. My apologies for not remembering exactly who said it, so I'll paraphrase.

"It's not just a gun-owner, but a GUN-LOVER. . ."

So true.

I love guns and the gun world. Yes, we have a very tiny minority of assholes in our midst, but they are just that--a tiny minority.

On the side of this blog, I have linked to A Girl And Her Gun one of THE most succinct self-expressions about what it means to become a gun-owner and join this non-exclusive group of now just over 100,000,000 Americans, and who knows how many more life-loving, freedom-seeking individuals in other nations like Canada, Australia, New Zealand, the United Kingdom, Central and South America, Europe and elsewhere.

Gun-owners. We are a special breed. We are of all colors, races, religious creeds, economic backgrounds. . . we're white collar and blue collar and sometimes no collar at all. We are a rare group that strives to be inclusive rather than exclusive. We WANT more people to legally own guns and join our inclusive group because we stand for a lot of things like individualism, independence, freedom, patriotism and self-sufficiency.

Unlike so many other groups, if someone doesn't like firearms, we're okay with that too--just as long as you don't try to take ours away from us. I have nothing against vegans. . . right up until they tell me what I should be eating. Then they have a fight on their hands.

That is a challenge we face daily here in America, but thank God we have a Constitution and Bill of Rights. Our friends in other countries are not nearly as fortunate.

In the forward remarks of the book, I salute my "many friends" from these countries and hope that the words and scenarios in the pages therein give you inspiration and reason to continue fighting for your RIGHT to self-defense and self-determination.

A lot of things went into Above Reproach and its writing, but above all, a lot of love of country, of my fellow citizens and for the freedoms we have directed the course of the book. And at the base of all of that, is the Second Amendment which protects and gives strength and teeth to the other amendments.

Many other fine writers have acknowledged gun-owners, but I've only seen a handful of other writers who openly embraced the Second Amendment and the armed citizen as he and she is embraced in Above Reproach. Matthew Bracken does it in his books, William W. Johnstone did it in his, especially the Ashes series and a few one-offs.

What I attempted to do in Above Reproach was to present everyday Americans--people just like you and me--who unwillingly found themselves in a situation in which the police could not help them. It was either take your own defense into your own hands, or suffer the horrible and all likelihood fatal consequences. The scenarios are all too real and all too easy to happen, and without armed citizens, all too likely to succeed.

Between the advance copies sent out (and my thanks to Old NFO for graciously volunteering to be an advance reader--his feedback was invaluable and much of it incorporated into the first round of revisions), proof copies and discussions on a handful of gun-related discussion forums, word is beginning to get out. I've been approached with several radio interview requests, a couple of mid-sized newspaper interview requests and more opportunities. Some gun stores are requesting posters of the cover, and I've received over a hundred requests for signed 5x7s of the cover.

And this is all before the book was even available for purchase and download! To say I'm both humbled and overwhelmed would be a Texas-sized understatment, if such an oxymoron is even possible. But this is simply another indication of how tight the gun-owner community is. We take care of our own--as A Girl And Her Gun point out in her post--and we take care of those who take care of us and who do not demean us.

We're finishing up the cover and copy for the print edition and it should be available by mid-May. By that time, Above Reproach will be available at the iBookstore, Barnes & Noble, Sony e-Reader, Baker & Taylor, Kobo, Copia and a host of other retailers and e-tailers.

The second novel is in progress, entitled Altar of the False Gods and in which the Second Amendment plays the role of protector against Big Business and Big Government and Wall Street as small and independent businesses develop a strategy and tactics to not only ensure their survival, but to continue growing and profiting by taking market share away from the heretofore untouchable colossal giants of business.

To all who have helped, all who have read and all who have supported me on this journey, you have my unending gratitude. The title of my blog is "An Ordinary American," and is epitomizes what we can do, as ordinary Americans, in this great nation by banding and standing together and being the best we can be.

Thank you.

Would the Kardashians just please go away.

Message to the no-talent, no-brains, lucky sperm/egg club airhead sensations who draw in other no-brain airheads like moths to flame:

Go away.

I'm still trying to figure out, like a great number of other rational Americans, just what the draw is over these girls.

They're not pretty--in fact, they look more like summer intern projects at the School of Plastic Surgery and Cosmetology.

Brains? Where?

Personality? Where?

Talent? You've got to be kidding.

Is it any wonder we're going down the sewer tubes in this country? We have skyrocketing gas prices, skyrocketing taxes, record-setting un/underemployment, the lousiest most ineffective bunch of elected bozos in our history (both sides of the aisle), a president who is the laughing stock of the world and rather than being overly concerned about any of that, we're more concerned about what the next grocery store magazine that caters to those with room temperature IQs is going to say about the Kardashians.

And if not the Kardashians, then whoever the next schmuck on American Idol happens to be. Or Dancing With the Stars. Or whatever "reality" show du jour is "the thing" at the moment.

I find it not just sad, but extremely disturbing and telling when only .45% of the population in America cares enough to serve at least one tour in the military defending our freedom and keeping us strong, but over 22% have some sort of affinity or feelings or "deep concern" for what happens to oxygen thieves like the Kardashians who contribute zilch.

We've got problems.

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. . . who are you?

I paid zero attention to the Super Bowl this year.

Zero.

When everyone e-mailed me and asked me who I was rooting for, New York or New England, my answer was always the same:

Neither. They're both a couple of Yankee teams and I hope they both lose.

In college bowl games, if I didn't have a dog in the hunt, I would always root for southernmost team. So in this case, New York is further south than Boston, so I guess it's okay that they won.

But I really didn't care and don't care and will never care.

One thing that did strike me, however, was when browsing The Drudge Report, I ran into one of those stories that has a sidebar link that leads you to another sidebar link that leads you to another.

Boring Monday afternoon, so I kept clicking. And I found this, Celebrities spotted at the Super Bowl.

I need to update the Fios in the cave next to the rock I must be living under, because there are sixty-two pictures of celebrities here and I only recognized a few. I didn't recognize any of the (so-called) super-models, and most of the television actors I didn't recognize.

Most of the shows that I watch involve fishing or hunting or shooting or flying, which negates that fat, obnoxious son of a bitch Alex Baldwin, who I did recognize. Hard to miss that slob's ugly visage anywhere.

I recognized Madonna, even though she had her clothes on, and I recognized Stephen Tyler. Maybe a few others, but for all the other (so-called) celebrities, I was left wondering,

Who the hell are you and what makes you a celebrity?

Or more importantly, why should I care?

A greeting card you can forward across the world--dogs decorating the Christmas tree.

With a couple of weeks left before Christmas, I wanted to pull this delightful Christmas card out and share with everyone.

This comes from Hungary and will warm your heart.

Man's best friend at his mischievous best when the owners step away.

I'm not sure me or my wife can decorate a Christmas tree this well. For certain, our beloved Doberman can't.

Enjoy, forward this on to your friends as a unique greeting card and remember that it's not Christmas without Christ.

The living, breathing epitome of an asshole.

The queen of pissant slobs (Michael Moore is the king) got his fat-slob but tossed off an American Airlines flight today.

I've always liked American Airlines.

Alec Baldwin got tossed because the arrogant SOB refused to turn off his iPad before takeoff.

He refused because he was playing a video game.

But, Baldwin being Baldwin, he does what he does best (besides menstruating during a self-made crisis): He took to Twitter and twitted and tweeted and twooted and twerped all day long about the injustice of American Airlines and how the flight attendants were all Catholic School nun rejects from the 50's, etc etc.

Has this asshole looked in the mirror in the last ten years? He's not one to be ragging ANYONE on their looks, physical shape, personality or anything else associated with the human race.

Someone needs to kick this guy's ass into orbit.

Better yet, kick him in the balls and see if he files a sexual harassment suit.

But once again, he's another liberal who has no balls. . .

The new, deadly tools of terrorists.

Guitars.

But just Gibson guitars. You know, Les Pauls, SGs, 335s, maybe the occasional double-deadly ES-1275 doubleneck made famous by Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin.

I wouldn't doubt that a few acoustics and mandolins are problem poised to terrorize America. Banjos for certain.

This is a problem. A very real one. I have Gibson guitars. Les Pauls, an old bird, an SG somewhere. Even worse, my sordid past includes admitted ownership of yet more Les Pauls, SGs, Flying V's, an Explorer and once even the dreaded double-deadly EDS-1275.

When will Obama's heavily-armed environmental goon squad come kicking my door down?

By now we already know of the infamous raid on Gibson's guitar factory by heavily armed, ethics-challenged federal agents. Did you know there was a second raid not long after?

Senator Rand Paul held a hearing with Gibson's CEO. Check it out, then decide if you need to ditch your contraband Gibson guitars or perhaps raise nine kinds of bloody hell with your elected idiots to disband the goon squads.

The Gibson CEO is rumored to have given money, consistently, to conservative politicians. Taylor Guitars and CF Martin gave quite a bit of money to the Obama hope & change campaign. The allegedly illegal wood the goons were looking for all came from the same place, same distributors, same exporters, same importers. Some of it went to Gibson, some of it went to Taylor, some of it went to CF Martin.

Only Gibson was raided.

Chicago thuggery. Plain and simple.

I used to have a Martin guitar. Used to. An old D-28. Sold it after the Gibson raid. I tried selling it to an Obama supporter, but I couldn't find one with a good enough job that could afford it.

So I took it to a guitar store and traded it. For a Gibson.

I expect my doors to be kicked in any day now. Welcome to America Under Obama.

How to never grow old. Guaranteed.

Age is just a state of mind. . . for the most part.

Sometimes your body betrays you when you first get up out of bed and your joints sound like a bad box of Rice Crispies--you know, *snap* *crackle* and *pop* for a few minutes.

But our minds. . . ah, our minds. THOSE we can always keep young and youthful.

If anyone had ever told me twenty years ago that I would have thought a Michael Jackson song would ever be appropriate for anything other than at the skeet range, I would've laughed.

But now that I'm older, oh well.

Here are three people who have simply refused to age. And no, Brett Favre is not in this one.

I don't see myself ever dancing to anything Michael Jackson, but who knows what we'll be doing in a few years, eh?

Whores and hockey players.

A man in a Florida supermarket tries to buy half a head of lettuce. The very young produce assistant tells him they only sell whole heads of lettuce.

The man gets huffy and persistent and demands to see the manager.

The boy says he'll ask his manager about it. Walking to the back of the store, he finds his manager and said, "Some asshole wants to buy half a head of lettuce."

As he finished, he turned around to find the man standing right behind him, so he added, "And this gentleman has kindly offered to buy the other half."

The manager approved the deal and the man went on his way.

Afterwards, the manager said to the boy, "I was impressed with the way you got yourself out of that situation earlier. We like people who can think on their feet around here. Where are you from, son?"

"Canada, sir," the boy replied.

"Well, why did you leave Canada?" the manager asked.

The boy looked at the manager and said, "Sir, there's nothing but whores and hockey players up there."

"Really?" said the manager. "My wife is from Canada."

"No shit?" replied the boy. "Who'd she play for?"

# # #

Old Guys Are Helpful

I was in Lowe's the other day pushing my cart around when I collided with a young guy pushing his cart.

I said to the young guy, "Sorry about that.  I'm looking for my wife and I guess I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

The young guy says, "That's OK. It's a coincidence.  I'm looking for my wife, too. I can't find her and I'm getting a little desperate."

I said, "Well, maybe we can help each other.  What does your wife look like?"

The young guy says, "Well, she is 24 years old,  tall, with blond hair, big blue eyes, long legs, big
boobs, and she's wearing tight white shorts, a halter top and no bra. What does your wife look like?"

I said, "Doesn't matter --- let's look for yours."

Most old guys are helpful like that. 

# # #

When Fighter Pilots Retire

A ragged, old, derelict shuffled into a down and dirty bar. Stinking of whisky and cigarettes, his hands shook as he took the "Piano Player Wanted" sign from the window and handed it to the bartender. "I'd like to apply for the job," he said. "I was an F-4 driver and a Colonel in the Air Force but when they retired the Phantom they cashiered me, as well. So I learned to play the piano."

The barkeep wasn't too sure about this doubtful looking old guy, but it had been quite a while since he had a piano player and business was falling off. So, the barkeep decided to give him a try.

The Colonel staggered his way over to the piano while several patrons snickered. By the time he was into his third bar of music, every voice was silenced. What followed was a rhapsody of sound and music, unlike anyone had heard in the bar before. When he finished there wasn't a dry eye in the place.

The bartender took the old fighter pilot a beer and asked him the name of the song he had just played.

It's called "Drop your Skivvies, Baby, I'm Going Balls To The Wall For You!" said the Colonel after he took a long pull from the beer. "I wrote it myself."

The bartender and the crowd winced at the title, but the piano player then went on with a knee-slapping, hand-clapping bit of ragtime that had the place jumping. After he finished, the fighter pilot acknowledged the applause and told the crowd the song was called, "Big Boobs Make My Afterburner Light." He then excused himself as he lurched to the john.

When he came out the bartender went over to him and said, "Look Colonel, the job is yours, but do you know your fly is open and your pecker is hanging out?"

"Know it?" the old fighter pilot replied, "Hell, I wrote it!"

Dale Fout: "Don't F*** with me or you'll be eating cheeseburgers through a straw."

Yep, that's the message this week from Dale Fout. Last week, it was "You touched my neck. You ASSAULTED ME!" Oh, and he said it to a tiny 136-pound, 50-year-old woman.

There's more great quotes, courtesy of a very informing and insightful follow-up article written about he-man Dale Fout and his bad-ass antics with a 50-year-old woman in a theater (who, according to Fout, damn near crippled him with a vicious tap on the neck) written by Jeff Prince of the Fort Worth Weekly.

In case you missed it, here is the original tale of Dale Fout almost being made a paraplegic by this tiny woman who tapped him on the neck asking him to please quit texting in the middle of a movie at a theater in Grapevine, Texas.

Keep in mind that Dale Fout self-describes himself as being "220 pounds. I'm broad, not fat. I played football."

In Mr. Prince's follow-up interview and article, it seems that the picture of manhood took a little offense at some of the comments posted in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram's comment section. Texas readers, of both sexes, tended to agree with me that Fout probably has the necessary plumbing that makes urinating much more convenient and less messy if he sits down or squats to do it.

Others called him names that aren't too flattering, but hard to argue with. One reader exercised the Texas Open Records Act and found Fout's criminal history from some twenty or more years back, and still others inferred that had he gotten out of line with them at the theater, he would have had a REAL assault complaint to make.

One would think that after reading all that, a real man would shake his head and say something to the journalist interviewing him like, "Damn, did I ever screw THAT one up. Not one of my best days or best calls. I've already called Ms. Godwin up and apologized and sent her a check for the cost of the movie tickets and I'm actually pretty embarrassed over the whole thing."

I could go with that. We've all had diarrhea of the mouth at times.

Apparently, though, Fout's mouth and brain live in a constant state of dysentery--because he's a TOUGH GUY. Was probably a military SEAL/Delta Force/PJ/Recon Marine/Airborne Ranger/GreenBeret/Air Force STS Commando

In fact, it wouldn't surprise me a damn bit if even Chuck Norris gives this guy a wide berth.

Check out Fout's quotes to Jeff Prince in the interview:

If anybody wants to come say some of that stuff to his face and threaten him, they’re welcome, “but when you’re sipping through a straw for a month because you’re jaw is broke, don’t blame me,” he said. “I take care of business.”

He doubts anybody will confront him face to face.

“If I was in front of them they’d probably pee and crap their drawers,” he said. “It goes to show you what a bunch of idiots there are in the world. They’re idiots because they don’t know the whole story. I’ll tell every one of them to their face they’re an idiot. The woman put her hand on me and pushed me.”

The 54-year-old Fout characterized himself as “outspoken” and “fiery” but said he would never strike a woman and doesn’t seek confrontation with people

Lots more good stuff in Prince's interview and article.

In my original blog post, I hinted that I was kind of horrified that this douchebag was from Texas. Again, thanks to some readers, I was redeemed: They say this big blowhard is actually from Canton, Ohio--same place another blowhard, this one a cop, made national news in a bad way.

Kind of like Fout is doing.

Maybe this nutjob "advertising/marketing consultant" ought to consult a psychologist or psychiatrist. He and Officer Daniel Harless can share the same couch.

Two girls in a box.

If only I were so limber. . .

This is beyond amazing.