Proud to have Pride April 30, 2007

Why is it that during our most innocuousness, some of the most memorable times of our lives; those that our minds allow us to recall – just show up uninvited?

I believe it is an unintended… unattended check point of our lives. A turnaround on a turnpike, marked “for emergency vehicles only”. I hope they didn’t have cameras there when I last declined their suggestion in signage.

At anyfuckin’rate and for reasons completely random in a less than stable mind. I thought tonight, of a life altering experience I was part of, June of 2000. I will always hold this hesitantly obliged invitation dear to my heart. Once recollecting that day’s events, my mind hemorrhages with the joy that seemingly ordinary day offered me.

As a new resident to Atlanta, GA, knowing no one, I embraced the invitation of  my favorite Lesbian ‘tender at the legendary 24-7 bar of it’s time – Backstreet Atlanta (for 30 years grandfathered to the playboy club), (now condos) about me participating in the “Harley Hysteria” that traditionally initiates the Pride Parade of Atlanta’s official “Gay Pride Parade”.

Imagine, my puny 140lb ass atop 1200cc’s of raw American engineered power. Basically a rocket strapped to a bicycle frame – following the direction of a woman I’d always considered to be a very womanly… MAN!

The President of Exxon – a supposed world leader I’d once met, had no longer a place in my personal repertoire of (what I thought was) fame & guaranteed fortune. He hasn’t a clue. He hasn’t a third the leadership skills I was subordiate to that June day.

Amongst the 38 of us “parade starters” were I, one other strikingly handsome (terrified) male… and 36… uh, other… women to some degree. Piloting an estimated three quarter a million dollars worth of obnoxiously loud raucous American pride. Not just gay pride – American pride.

I’ve never witnessed the unbelievable, the unspoken exchange and appreciation – the filming of us bikers, the paparazzi fashioned photography of us from the Mounted Patrol, in an odd sort of analogous way with the APD, the love and equality – the mutual respect and admiration from that of The Atlanta Police Mounted Patrol & Atlanta Fire Department – and we (Gay? or not) Iron horse riders. I’d immagned me being photographed by a Cop – but only at APD headquarters.

It was quite an extraordinary sight to behold. One I’d never witnessed anywhere. That of which I’ll likely never again see or appriciate in my time again. For however a fleating moment, we were on stage for all the city to un-christianlike pass judgement upon.

I’ll not bore you with what became that day’s & night’s activities. But if any readers know Atlanta’s Pride festivals – it’s a solid week long event, rain or shine. Many of these festivals have brought fourth the likes of The B-52’s, REM, Montell Williams,  HBO productions, Turner Broadcasting, CNN, etc., Even a version of the current Bush regime showed up. Who was that snake in wolves clothing. God love the poor bastard who signed up for that costume. He’s still recovering.

Truly, it was more fun than I could possibly have ever prepared myself for. In my own simplistic take, I figure the Atlanta Pride Parade is so large, because of the fact that Atlanta is the unassuming buckle of the bible belt. Luckily for me, The Baptist convention was being held there that year.

If God truly loves me, he’ll forgive the spectacle I’m guilty of staging on any given day.

And in that same year, in an unprecedented gesture to all, the then current Mayor allowed the Pride banners to be strung along city light poles all throughout downtown and Midtown. Perhaps his futile effort to burry the fact that he was a political CROOK! He was my neighbor. I loved him during his tenure in his respective office. Let’s just say… uh… he left me alone; as did I turn a blind eye toward him (and his filthy hateful dirty disrespectful spoiled rotten bratty ass children).

The remains of what I’ve carried away from my short time in a very odd conglomeration of a place…….  and a wonderful 4 years in Atlanta, amounts simply to this: 

Suppression shall always come as aggression for those who disallow evolution.

Quote me on that. PLEASE! GOD knows I need the negative press.

Any at all is good right?All the best my little Angels,

WMT III

Avis on crack April 23, 2007

Good day Avis Officers:

If you need a Marketing Manager call me. I have a team that will increase your bottom line ten fold. Obviously, the firm you have managing your current advertising campaign is high… as in otherwise chemically altered.

Your television commercial has me changing the channel as quickly as possible upon the onset of these imbeciles with this absurd wide open mouth concept, that quite frankly scares the hell out of me. My Grandmother was so confused that she changed the batteries in her remote, thinking the damn thing had given up completely, while surely trying to tune in elsewhere.

My brief point of view penned in your limited web site space, is that I… and many millions of Avis customers have Ipods, or the like.  However, in my humble opinion, we execs don’t give a damn if even the radio is operable in our rag-a-muffin rentals. As big business narrates – executive phone calls and world altering decisions are being closed over satellite cellulars and Blackberrys that our respective employers are covering gratis, carte blanche for the betterment of their bottom line.

How do “free Napster songs” fit into this picture?I love avis. In all honesty, I never consider renting elsewhere. My query here is – who is your target audience? 

All the best…  and hey! “we try harder” – that’s the meat of what turns on carnivorous businesspeople. 

Faithfully anyway,

Walter M. Tarpley III

713-545-….

Show me love April 23, 2007

Tonight, of all the seven nights to go out and carry on like the common filthy hetaeristic demonic child that I am… I had an extraordinary revelation. True love is pointed directly in all of our faces. We’ve never learned to recognize true love – more than that just considered common. There simply wasn’t a class on it… in-between Home Economics, Sex Ed and Drivers Ed.

Having spent the first 35 years of my life posing in my own self perceived fabulousness, as most of us might have; I came to a conclusion in that horrifically long chapter in my life… say, around 37. I found that I’d never had proper enlightenment, or encouragement to set loftier goals for my future. I was simply put, disregarded… damaged goods… marked down to half price… buy one get one free… unintentionally poised for the probability of being a complete failure…… I was unloved.

At some point during that ignoble young super-sale, say… at 40 years of age, I’ve taken the time to recollect the usual “liberty” visits that my father was awarded during his time defending our country. Since I’m far from being a math wizard, I added and subtracted dates, carried the two, divided by seven, had a drink… and arrived at the reality of me being unplanned. My sister and I were simply a shot in the dark on my parent’s behalf – exactly marked nine months post liberty, times two.

That’s likely is the norm from that era. Regardless, during all the missed opportunities in my life- I was never taught what love is. The expected love and nurturing one might assume from their mother and father. I wasn’t told the many variances of the meaning of said word. Kindergarten love. Real love forever and ever, or even for the moment. Add love at first sight (I’ve always thought that was a ‘crock-o-shit’ – but I’ve experienced it personally). Playful love, perhaps that felt for a family pet. Passionate, desperate, sleep deprived, heart-wrenching unbridled love of a high school sweetheart.

Incestuous love. Love from a trusted neighbor or Pastor. Love from a passerby at the safe haven of a school bus stop. Love improper.

Tonight, at 42.75 years old, during the borderline insanity that is currently my existence – I embraced the meaning of what real love is: the love of my life. As in past tense, I was no where near expectant of where or when this love might have accosted my well worn heart. It came in the form of two Labs and a Hag. For all the finery and riches collected the world over – I couldn’t replace her.You are my sunshine… you are my cloudiest day… you are real.

I love you FILTHY

W

implicit Imperialist April 16, 2007

I’ve always considered myself to be somewhat intelligent. If nothing more, certainly less simple than your average sheep. I wish I could respect the following subject or the institution from which it came. Any sort of test like this leaves so much to the author’s imagination of the way the world is from his/her broad… or grossly limited perspective. Liken it to the Stanford IQ test. Useless to all – period!

On that test I scored “superior to average” in 10 minutes time on a 30 minute test. I’m impatient and do not “go back” to questions that I didn’t know the answers to.  So, with that – and $9.75 I could get a Starbuck’s Latte.

I took this absurd racial test three times. They all three placed me in the “slight preference to white people to black people”.

Duh!! I’m Kilz primer white inside and out. At one point while taking the test – I was making a dry martini stirred not bruised with one Queen olive and one Holland onion served straight up poured from a fabulous 1930’s art deco shaker … simultaneously scratching my balls and just simply picked what I was forced to pick to keep the nonsensical test moving forward.

Still, I rated the same as if I were paying close attention. This ignorant sort of bull shit always surfaces when there is any sort of scandalous firestorm of Ho’s and nappyness – like with Imus, created by some… well, several… Malcolm X wannabies coke headed hate mongering racist perpetuatin’ cheatin’, outa wedlock breedin’ & sinnin’ with filthy assed nappy headed Ho’s posing as good ol’ boy God fearing reverends of the church of what the fuck B happenin’ now!

Anyway, take the fatuous test if you have five minutes to burn. Drunk & disorderly, at church Sunday morn, on your Blackberry, eating blackberry pie, whatever… the results shall be the same. And therefore is as useless as any other test based on chance. A spin at the roulette table is sure to hold a better return. https://implicit.harvard.edu/implicit/demo/takeatest.html 

later Nappys

PS:  If you wanna see a passionate writer’s carrying on… click here: http://lauriekendrick.wordpress.com/ 

She’s not nearly as filthy as she looks.