Second Rate First Class
So the direct flight from Springfield to LAX was an hour late in departure. Why? Glad you asked – it turns out that getting mouthy with flight attendants will get your ass tossed off of a plane, post haste. I’m not sure what sparked the whole incident (something about overbooking), but at some point Todd the flight attendant turned off his sing-songy voice, let his testicles drop and boomed out from the front of the aircraft “THAT’S IT! YOU’RE OFF THIS FLIGHT!!” Then the object of his angry passion had to walk to the front of the plane, where a heated debate ensued between Todd, his good buddy Ken and the third flight attendant, Patty. Captain Michelle came out of the cockpit, and inflammatory words such as “disrespect”, “rude” and “vile woman” were being bandied about in hissing voices. They took their party out into the jet walk, where I imagine Captain Michelle smacked them all around and told everyone to stop whining like sissies, she had a plane to get off the ground. Eventually the offending passenger was let back on the plane, whereby she had to make the walk of shame back to her seat, wiping tears and enduring the gauntlet of the curious. And that’s how we began.
I sat next to a very nice school principal from Antelope Valley named Susan; her sons are firefighters and she’s a Harley rider, but most importantly, she was willing to talk trash with me about the other passengers. This is the kind of connection you want with fellow travelers. It not only helps pass the time, but allows you to vent to someone when informed that a can of soda is going to set you back two dollars. Nice lady.
Upon arrival at LAX, the first thing I notice is the prodigious amount of good looking women hanging out there and looking bored. Accompanying this surplus of attractive females are an equal amount of sleazy looking guys who look like they are either trying out for “The Real Dirtbags of LA County” or some boy band that has as its dress code very skinny jeans and hair done like Kate Gosselin. Three steps off the jetway and I hear people being rude to one another. The City of Angels doesn’t change much, really.
Buns greets me with a hot coffee, having somehow buffaloed his way through security (take THAT, TSA) and I am very much impressed by his slithering wherewithall that allows him to circumvent the Homeland Security system. I throw my bags into the back of his German sportscar and watch with amusement as he refuses to pay the parking attendant with a bill smaller than a twenty. There’s no “I’m sorry, that’s all I have”, or “I don’t know what to say, I apologize”. No. When the attendant says “You need to pay with a smaller bill”, Buns looks at him and says, simply, “No.” The detente continues until the poor sap finally cracks, and breaks my brothers 20-spot. Another victory in the land of the aggressive. As if to prove his point, Buns then roars out past the gate, cutting off another driver whom he refers to as a “filthy douchebag” and we’re off.
Welcome home.
The Lyin’ Dutchman, age 7
“I’m very important. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.” – Ron Burgundy
I’ve decided I need to join a cult. After reading about how the Church Of Scientology is having conniption fits over the actions of some internet trolls (read 
Although most of your major religions would frown upon the idea, nurturing some well-placed hatred in your heart can be healthy. If you know where to focus your laser beam of unlove, you shield the innocent from being unintentional recipients of your rage. At least, that’s the theory I came up with this morning. So here are some examples of people it’s okay to love a little less:



Few things can be ingrained in young minds as severely as shame. We are taught at an early age to be ashamed of letting our parents down by cracking a sibling across the head with a croquet mallet. We felt embarrassment when caught in a heinous lie as to our whereabouts at 3 am (ps- where ELSE would a teenage boy be?) When the other kids mocked you for being – insert here - tall, short, thin, round, weak, strong, mustachioed, you name it – you’d look down at the pavement and kick your Vans in the dirt, hoping the attention of the group would soon turn on another, weaker member of class, while secretly wishing you had the ability of Mr. T to crush them against the cafeteria walls.
One of the advantages to relative insanity is that there is never a shortage of material from which to draw. Disadvantage? No one believes you when you try to describe family dynamics, because it sounds like utter and complete cockamamie. I would like to cite my own pater familias as an example. Those of you out there who know him can vouch that my following description of him is accurate to the point of being tragicomic. In upcoming essays, I’ll go into details that’ll make your back hair curl and your tea turn bitter. But for now, play along as I try to paint you a picture of the man I refer to as the Lyin’ Dutchman.
It’s Monday morning here in the Ozarks, and I’m watching the parade of mad country commuters out my office window trying desperately to beat the clock and face their weekly obligations. Even from here up at the house, I can see the clenched knuckles on the steering wheels, the eyes set in steely resolution and the grim realities of the workweek etching their lines on foreheads. All this while they buzz by at 60 mph. Okay, I may be imagining it more than actually seeing it, only because I’ll be joining them tomorrow morning for a stint at the firehouse. Either way, it’s time to clock in and contribute more of what little time we have on here on Earth to The Man. Let’s lighten the mood a bit and assign the weekly LOTPG / KCTTT. Take a glance at the bottom for the Half Past Friday survey question, and send your answers to 