Monday, July 31, 2006


(Your Hairy Chic for the week, enjoy!)

Friday, July 28, 2006

Simon says…

Since I am A) I am hung-over B) I got into a fight with the Mrs. JQP and C) I have nothing to say, I leave you in the capable hands of Rick and AJ, to start your weekend.


Thursday, July 27, 2006

Your Hairy Pit for the Week:

BW hairy pits

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Nothing but the News:

Toddler-beating dad ‘sorry,’ gets 12 years
By Dionne Waugh, The Journal Gazette

A judge Tuesday sentenced a Fort Wayne man who beat and choked his 2-year-old son, causing unknown brain damage, to 12 years in prison.

Cameron M. Niemeyer, 21, of the 4300 block of Champlain Drive, pleaded guilty June 30 to battery and neglect of a dependent for assaulting his son during the Christmas holiday. He initially told the boy’s mother and police that the boy fell and hit his head on a coffee table.

In court Tuesday, he apologized for his actions. “Things went a little bit farther than I meant them to. I’m not that bad of a person. This is the first time it happened. I’m sorry,” he said as he began to cry. An emergency room doctor showed picture after picture as he testified that the boy had choke marks around his neck; severe bruising on both cheeks and ears that were consistent with the child being slapped or punched several times on both sides of the face; and bleeding in his brain.

The child’s mother, who did not attend the hearing, wrote a letter to the judge asking that Niemeyer be given the maximum sentence. She also asked that her 911 tape be played in court to show how she felt when she saw her son after his stay with Niemeyer, but the audio player didn’t work. Deputy Prosecutor Patricia Pikel told Allen Superior Judge Fran Gull that Niemeyer has had a violent record since he was a juvenile, including a previous battery conviction. She said he has a high likelihood of re-offending, and she worried about a 9-month-old child he has with another woman.

“He violated a position of trust with this little guy on Christmas and then lied about what happened. We won’t know for years the long-term effects of his brain injury,” Pikel said, adding that Niemeyer also threatened the boy’s mother on the phone afterward. Defense attorney Anthony Churchward asked Gull to consider Niemeyer’s childhood, which included abuse at his own father’s hands. “As (Niemeyer’s) mother said, it’s not an excuse, but it is an explanation of how this abuse carries over from generation to generation. He now realizes this is not the way,” Churchward said.

In reading aloud Niemeyer’s criminal record, Gull noted that previous reform efforts had failed. She sentenced Niemeyer to 12 years in prison, the maximum, for each charge, but she ran the sentences concurrent. She also gave Niemeyer 98 days jail credit and ordered him to pay $3,801 in restitution.

(Just an I am sorry will do')

Unwatched-child ads jolt viewers
Associated Press
INDIANAPOLIS – TV commercials featuring children in danger have some viewers turning the channel or looking away – but supporters say the ads have the emotional effect to draw attention to the important issue of child supervision.

The ads, running on Indiana TV stations since June, show different scenarios of unattended children.

In one ad, a father is giving his child a bath when he is called to take a phone call. In another, a mother loses sight of a child in a backyard swimming pool. In both ads, the children appear to have drowned as the parents begin to panic.

A third ad, scheduled to run in August, shows a mother sleeping with her infant on a sofa before she wakes up to find the baby suffocated.

At least 30 people have complained about the graphic nature of the ads, said Susan Tielking, a spokeswoman for the Indiana Department of Child Services, which sponsors the ads along with Kids First Trust Fund. Jon Bolen, a 39-year-old Indianapolis resident who has a 5-week-old baby at home, told the Indianapolis Star that his wife will not watch the commercials.

“To me, it’s the shock factor of the reality of what could happen,” he said.

But the ad’s sponsors say the subject matter is important: “The issue of supervision, even leaving children for a moment, is an issue we need to talk about,” Tielking said. “The intent of the summer campaign was to get people to talk about supervision.”

The Asher Agency in Fort Wayne produced the ads. Larry Wardlaw, an account executive for the agency, said some TV stations have received protests about the commercials, but stations have not pulled them from the airwaves.

Matt Georgi, the creative director for the Asher Agency, said none of the ads actually shows a child underwater or dying. But they do show the panic surrounding the events in shaky, off-angle camera footage.

“Why we went with a more realistic feel and a hand-held movie is because more and more people can smell fakes,” Georgi said. “They see ads that say ‘Watch your kids this summer because they may drown’ and they tune them out.”

The ads cost $50,000 to produce, and placement costs have been about $388,000, Tielking said. The Kids First Trust Fund, paid for by sales of specialty Kids First license plates, put up about $250,000 toward this and other related ad campaigns this year.

Clara Anderson, president of the Kids First Trust Fund board, said the ads fall within the organization’s mandate of preventing child abuse and neglect.

“Whether it’s accidental or not, what we’re holding onto (is) can we prevent trauma not only for the kids but also the family,” Anderson said.

(Gee, how many programs that are really out there doing the work, could that money have funded, vs. going to Mitch's friends and supporters, I would love to see what staffing costs are slide in there, in goverment, nothing is as it seems)

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

The Ramblings of the Naked:

Thought for the Day:
If you believe the doctors, nothing is wholesome; if you believe the theologians, nothing is innocent; if you believe the military, nothing is safe.
Lord Salisbury

I am not feeling all that creative this morning, my mind keeps going back to work shit and some changes afoot there. So, since I have nothing of note here is a half ass posting, enjoy…

What type of Coffee do you drink:
At home Folgers French Roast, out and about, whatever the truck-stops I frequent serve, I am after all a member of the proletariat.

Your favorite drink:
Sweet Tea by far, after that Miller-Rumplemizt (when I am on a mission or out with the boys) and Bombay Sapphire Gin & Tonics (quinine tonic only) with two limes, thank-you

How do you vote:
I vote for the person, just as every informed American should do, however in my case I vote for the person as long as they are not Republican.

Do you have a hobby:
Besides making scale copies of bridges built from 1400 to 1800 out of matchsticks? I would have to say my chief hobby is having experiences, the more the better.

Did you go to college:
Yes, as those fuckers from student loans like to remind me.

What are listening to:
NPR, its early morning. Throughout the day however, I have been listing to Texas Swing, Grand Funk, Steppenwolf, Nina Simon and Miles Davis

Things I have been reading:
My current theme is Roman Histories and Histories of the British Empire from 1850 to 1950.

Something people would be surprised to know about you:
You would have to ask people, how the hell do I know.

Is your life a well lived one:
Lived well yes, well lived, I am to busy for introspection, isn’t that more of a deathbed kind of thing?

Thing you value most:
My relationships.

Do you attend religious services:
Yes, religiously. If you led my life wouldn’t you?

Favorite meal:
Pork roast with dumplings and fresh green beans. Just like Ma used to make, I have not had that since 1990 when she died. However my favorite meal of the day is breakfast.

Things you have on my bedside table:
My Rosary, a NATO coaster I got the mid-80s during Reforger and books that put me to sleep.

When did you lose your virginity:
13, I matured early, some boys have a bar mitzvah, I had sex.

When did you last have sex:
Cheeky bastard, with myself or others?

Number of people I have had sex with:
I could give you a rough guess, but a gentleman never tells.

Dream Job:
I have always wanted to be both Pope and King.

Favorite Sexual Position:
The Secret Flying “8”, practiced only by yogi masters and certain sects of Old Order Amish, I hold a 3rd degree belt in the art.

Kinkiest thing I have ever done:
Let’s see, most of the things I enjoy are illegal in southern states, how about a Fijian Grand Slam, I have done that twice

Countries you have visited:
To long a list, how about best and worst, Spain (I think Interpol still has warrants) and Somalia, I still have dreams about that place.

Biggest fault:
Biggest, my there are so many, and isn’t it our faults that add color to life? How about this, I always want to see what’s over the next mountain.

Places you would like to go:
Cuba, I would like to see the old family place, I enjoy Nova Scotia, I feel at home both there and SC. In a few weeks I am heading Memphis for a visit and to get some BBQ.

Are you married or in a serous relationship:
I am in fact married, working on a decade with the same woman (next time just lease), however I don’t know many who would call our relationship serious. That Mrs. JQP is just such a card.

Ever had a bad break-up:
I don’t know of many “break-ups” that are good; if they were they would be called leaving-you-happy-party-time. However, I have had in fact a few of the later.

Number of times married:
3, sounds bad doesn’t it? In my defense, the first was when I was 17 years old and 1000 miles away from home, I was homesick, in truth I should have gotten a dog not a wife, but to this day I wish my ex-wife and former high school best buddy all the joy and happiness they deserve. Both the next two were to the same woman (the pretty and petite Mrs. JQP) one on a drunken lark at the Horry Co. Court House in South By-God Carolina and the second at a Cathedral with all the smells and bells (I got an annulment for my first one, in only two months and for amazing low price of 75.00 bucks, yes it pays to know someone at the Vatican).

What are you wearing right now:
A Tuba and a Montanyard loin cloth, ok really my black silk pj bottoms a dressing robe and a smile.

I prefer to think of my economic situation has one that is more outcome based.

Type of work:
Governmental (heavy on the mental aspect) social services type stuff (what can I say, I am after all a people person) I also do contract work for the Hong Kong Triads and various friendly governments.

Jewelry I wear:
Crucifix and a Saint medal (I have several so I can switch them out based on my perceived need) a scapular and my wedding ring (which was sized two sizes to small, so when we got married there was no way it would come off).

Your Mail Order Brides for the Week:

Today’s Bill:

How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness every where!
And yet this time removed was summer's time,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease:
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute;
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
(yes, I guess I am a bit moody today)

Quote for the Day:
The real distinction is between those who adapt their purposes to reality and those who seek to mold reality in the light of their purposes.
Henry Kissinger

I remain, much like your childhood imaginary friend, the one who often wet your bed:

JQP esq.

Monday, July 24, 2006

Mad Dogs and Englishmen:

Suffice to say, the weekend was more in line with my normal lifestyle choices, a brief re-cap:

I took Friday afternoon off, and sat in the sun drinking sweet tea, eating scones and reading scholarly materials.

I got a sun-burn on my nose and left ear, it hurts.

I smoked 3 very expensive cigars.

I hired incorrigible neighborhood youth to clean up my back-yard, but ended up showing them some of the many uses of dental floss and drain cleaner.

Little Kevin called (6 times) to say he will be in town from Phoenix for a week starting Friday.

I trumped my flowers comment “if you were a cereal you would be Skankliberry Crunch” with “if you were a fairytale you would be Slutpelstiltskin”.

My little sister gave birth; both she and the baby are fine.

I went a book store and got three new books, which always makes me happy, I also got to make fun of the hippy playing guitar at the attached coffee shop.

A RCA rep. bought us dinner; I ate a porterhouse steak, a lobster and four shrimp cocktails.

We made a trip to Greek run omelet house in the Dale of Wayne.

I bought a newspaper and peanuts from a Nation of Islam guy.

Saturday night, we hung-out with the Alaskan CW McCall and his wife Cutie-Pie.

I got a hair cut, I am pretty. I use ethnic hair care products.

My Flower went shopping for new panties and a Derby hat while I got drunk at a TGIF @ the Mall, yes I was slumming.

I had to show them how to make a real Mojito, I then drank nine of them.

I smoked 3 more very expensive cigars.

I was introduced to a cowboy from Poe.

Driving around in a Limo Saturday night led to corresponding trips to 6 1/2 strip-clubs. (1/2 because I fell down in the parking lot on the last one and the left me till they were done, you know sometimes gravel just feels good).

My Flower picked me up and did a fireman carry with me all the way to the limo, nice to know that in combat she would never leave me behind.

I got bit in the armpit by a woman with a snake. It still hurts.

I accidentally called my father in-law and the Drummer-Boy and his wife Lady-Bird, at 1:45am Sunday due largely to the fact that I was getting a lap-dance from a Nubian Princess and my phone was in my pocket and she had a very talented ass.

I bought a rose from a gypsy for ten dollars.

I got into an argument about how to palletize equipment and combat load a C-123.

I was the usher at the 10:00am Mass, looking a feeling my best.

I went and bought all the ingredients for my special stuffed pork-chops.

I had no idea why my legs hurt, until my Flower reminded me that I had two Thai Girls standing on my lap, performing a SE Asian cultural fertility dance at some point during the night, I vaguely remember the flaming batons.

I picked ten tomatoes from my uber-tomato patch.

I got a shitty job offer in Kuwait but it was still better than the one in Uganda.

I dumped three loads of shingles in unlocked dumpsters around the city, I am after all an out-law.

My Flower informed me she will be having a Scrapbook/Sex Toy Party next Sunday.

I bet she will put out the towels and little bars of soap I am not allowed to use.

My subsequent plans are to go trap shooting next Sunday.

I had sex instead of watching 60 Minutes last night, which I might add lasted until half way through Cold Case. My Flower made some good purchases at Victoria’s Secret.

All in all, a quiet normal weekend.

Off to do battle with the Dark Lords of Global-Consumerism and Trickle-Down Economics, after that I might get some lunch:

JQP esq.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Your recipes for the Week:

Butches Gay-Ass Zucchini Casserole

1 tbsp. olive oil
2 medium onions, chopped
3 carrots, peeled and sliced
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tbsp. dill
1 lb. baking potatoes, peeled and quartered
3 eggs, beaten (yes, I am into that)
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2 tbsp. Cayenne Pepper
1 1/2 to 2 lbs. zucchini, halved and cubed
8 oz. package of shredded sharp cheddar cheese
4 skinless boneless chicken breasts
8 oz. sour cream

Place cubed zucchini in a colander and sprinkle with salt. Place a paper towel on top and add weight on top to force water from zucchini. Let sit for 30 minutes. Force excess water from zucchini by hand. Set aside. Preheat oven to 350° and lightly grease a 10 x 8 baking dish with cooking spray. Heat olive oil in a saute pan and add onions, garlic, and carrots. Season with salt and pepper and cook over medium heat until onions are soft and carrots are slightly tender, about 20 minutes. Place potatoes in a large mixing bowl and add eggs, salt and pepper, and a dash of cayenne pepper. Stir to coat. Add reserved zucchini, onion mixture, and half of cheese packet. Mix ingredients together well and place in baking dish. Sprinkle remaining cheese on top and drizzle with olive oil.

Cover with tin foil and bake in the oven for 1 hour. Remove tin foil and turn on broiler. Broil until top of casserole is browned and bubbly.

While casserole is baking, season chicken breasts with salt and pepper and cook on grill or in stovetop grill pan, about five minutes each side. Set chicken breasts aside.

Place 1 chicken breast on each plate and mound a quarter of the casserole on top of the chicken. Garnish with a dollop of sour cream and freshly ground black pepper. Serve with a piece of crusty French bread and a nice brown ale, like Yards Special Ale from Philly, or a few bottles of wine coolers.

VARIATION 1: You can also brown the chicken breasts lightly on both sides and place them in the bottom of the baking dish before adding the casserole mix. Follow directions from there.

VARIATION 2: We used what we had on hand to make this could mix and match, just as long as your substitutions have similar consistencies. However never use red beets. I like to serve this with a raw pork chop in a dirty ash tray, it just adds so much to the table.

Makes 4 servings.

Shrimp Remoulade

The kid on the back of this booklet insists that these canned shrimp "Tastes Swell – And Mom Says They're Good for Me", but take a look at that cover picture! The illustrated "shrimp" bear a closer resemblance to the grubs that are eating my grass than something I'd eat. While we would never recommend using canned shrimp for ANY recipe, this remoulade sauce will tempt your guests with its "deep-sea flavor." JQP says kick it up a notch with a splash(or 10) of hot sauce, dont be a puss.

1 pound medium shrimp, peeled and deveined
1/4 stalk celery
4 tbsp. salad oil
1 tbsp. prepared mustard
2 tbsp. minced onion
2 tbsp. lemon juice or vinegar
Salt and pepper to taste
1 tsp. minced parsley

Blend together all ingredients except shrimp. Set in the refrigerator to chill for 2 hours. Serve very cold in nests of shredded lettuce with shrimp on the side. – Adapted from "Exciting Recipes: New Ways to Enjoy Wholesome Canned Shrimp" (Year Unknown)

Tom Delay's Chili Beans
This handy little pamphlet from the Wine Advisory Board helps idiot Americans discover that wine will lead to "a fun and flavor you've never known before." For me it leads to a headache and hangover and waking up in a strange womans bed (dont they all have to be strage to sleep with me?) Regardless of your alcohol preference, these are not your mother's baked beans.

1 lb. red beans
1 onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, chopped
6 slices bacon, cut fine
1 cup California Claret wine (or California Burgundy, Zinfandel or other red table wine)
1 (8 oz.) can tomato suace
2 tsps. chili powder
1/2 tsp. cumin seed
Salt to taste

Wash beans; soak overnight in cold water. Drain. Put in heavy kettle with 1 qt. boiling water and remaining ingredients. Cover; simmer very gently until beans are tender and sauce is thick and rich, 4 to 5 hours. Stir often; add a little more water if needed. Serves 6-8. From "California Wine Selector with Recipe Roundup of America's Favorite Dishes" (Year Unknown)

Hamburger De Luxe
What barbecue is complete without some burgers? This surprising little booklet from Sunset actually has recipes that sound good, despite the presence of a 1955 copyright. That always makes me a little nervous and -- sure enough -- a recipe for something called Perro Con Queso that involves coring hot dogs with a piece of copper tubing is just pages away!

Press ground beef into very thin, flat cakes between waxed paper. Put two cakes together with a filling made from finely chopped raw onion mixed with steak sauce and honey, crimping the edges of the cakes firmly together. Broil over the coals and serve in hot picnic buns, split and buttered. Cheese slices may be substituted for the onion filling. I hower use raw liver, its a treat the kids just love. From "Barbecue Cooking: A Sunset Booklet" (1955)

Barbecued Bologna Roll
Fried bologna. Bologna and cheese. Bologna omelette. Bologna boats. I thought that about ran the bologna gamut. Until I started stumbling upon not one, but several recipes for Barbecued Bologna Roll. If you put a gun to my head I wouldn't know where to get a bologna roll large enough to barbecue. Apparently the guy in the photo does, but as the caption informs us, he's an "outdoor grill fan." Then again, the book also tells us that Barbecued Bologna Roll is "Quick. Easy. Inexpensive. Good!" Gotta love that staccato style, speaking of crack whores....

4 to 6 lb. (!) roll of bologna
1 1/2 tbsp. prepared mustard
1 1/2 tsp. brown sugar
1 tsp. prepared horseradish
1 cup chili sauce
3 tbsp. vinegar

Score bologna roll with 1/2" to 1" cuts, 1" apart. Secure roll on spit or shish kebab skewer and spead with mixture of mustard, brown sugar and horseradish. Attach spit or place directly on grill about 3" from coals. Baste well with mixture of chili sauce and vinegar. Start motor and grill until roll is thoroughly heated. If placed directly on grill, turn often. Remove spit or skewer; slice. About 16 servings! From the incredible "The Master Chef's Outdoor Grill Cookbook" (1960)

Whore House Punch
Okay, okay, so it doesn't sound all that appealing – apparently, the person who wrote this lil' gem of a book has never BEEN in a whore-house. But that's okay, because they also insist that Summertime drinks made with Old Fitzgerald are as refreshing as the sound of ice tinkling in your glass. You can take some pride and pleasure in this regal refreshment, or do what I do and just grab another Miller from the cooler! 20 buck however will get you a half-n-half

3/4 pound fine granulated sugar
1 quart lemon juice
1 fifth Jamaican rum
1 pint peach brandy
2 quarts branch water
1 fifth Old Fitzgerald Bourbon (I loves me some Old Fitz)

Combine sugar and lemon juice and stir until suagr is dissolved. Add Old Fitzgerald, brandy, rum, and water in order named. (Some prefer to add strained contents of a pot of tea.) Refrigerate for two to three hours to "age", stirring occasionally. Just before serving, pour into punch bowl over large block of ice. Serves 12 to 20. From "Summertime Recipes" (late 1950s)

Berries Romanoff Au Cointreau
I am admittedly not a big dessert guy. But if you put anything in a bowl and top it with Redi-Whip (kinky?) The recipe below calls for a cup of cream, so I might be tempted. To set it on fire use 151.

1 pint ice cream
1 cup cream
1 shot of Cointreau
2 quarts berries

mix, eat.

Like the Great Santini I say to you “Chow down Hogs”:

JQP esq.

Your Drinks for the Weekend:

tray guy

The Knickerbocker Knocker

Drink Ingredients
1.5 oz. Orange Juice
0.75 oz. Midori
0.75 oz. Peach Schnapps
0.5 oz. Creme de Banana
0.75 oz. Sweet & Sour mix
1.5 oz. Cranberry juice

Shake all but Creme de Banana with ice and strain into cocktail glass. Top with creme de banana.

Monkey Cum

Drink Ingredients
3/4 shot Bailey's Irish Cream
1/4 shot Butterscotch Schnapps

Fill shot glass about 3/4 full with Bailey's Irish Cream. Perfection is not necessary with this drink. Fill rest of way with Butterscotch Schnapps.

Bloody Smurf

Drink Ingredients
1 1/2 oz. Blueberry Schnapps
8 oz. Cranberry juice

Pour schnapps into glass filled with ice. Add cranberry juice and stir.

Enjoy, I know I will.

JQP esq.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

I stomp my own grapes:

Thought for the Day:
Power corrupts. Absolute power is kind of neat.
John Lehman, Secretary of the Navy, 1981-1987

(Long after the party was over, I continued to play on. Some blame my abuse of over-the-counter cold medicines, but you the reader know for me it’s all about the music.)

Random things on a Rainy Humid Indiana Thursday:

Stem Cell Research, ok, common fucking sense… a embryo in not a fucking human, nope, never, when it grows and comes out of its mommy then it’s a human. I don’t go to KFC and order fried fucking chicken and when they serve me scrambled eggs call it the same fucking thing.

My Flower got a small case of poison ivy and you would think she has leprosy.

I am big today in Finland, Alabama, and Iran.

I heard some genius on NPR yesterday go on and on about how the US has no history and/or knowledge of how to fight a “stateless enemy”. Wow, I guess that guys parents never let him watch any John Wayne movies, ask a American Indian how well we did at our war on their race, or has My Flower reminded me while singing the Marine Corp Hymn during our love-making last night, “…the shores of Tripoli” which if I recall correctly was a campaign against the Barbary Pirates, if not they could ask the British, they have centuries of experience with it and even after being attacked two years ago they have not started striping civil liberties.

I called the Giant Irishman last night and he was out on a date, with a girl.

My tomato plants are like mutants, about up to 5 feet tall. I love me some tomatoes.

We ate at the Macedonian Road House last night, chiefly because I didn’t feel like cooking. In the course of conversation with the colorful local population there (this is no-shit), we learned that one man, who I will call Burns, mostly because that’s his name, is a proud descendant of redneck hillbillies and snake handlers. He is also dating 4 women, because he like 3 sums (no I didn’t correct him on his math) one of which is a midget who I might add is the proud owner of a two headed pig. Another gentleman asked me if I would be willing to roof his shotgun shack down by the river, after my Flower told him my Raccoon story he retracted his offer, that’s ok I would have politely declined.

My ass hurts but I am told it is healing nicely.

Every ex-Army etc... guy I seem to meet was in the Special Forces/Navy Seals/Rangers/Marine Recon. Fucking hell, when did we take them up to Division strength? What’s odd, is 98.9% cant tell me how to get around at Ft. Bragg, or where Jump School is. Guess a lot of things have changed since I was in boots.

Kevlar helmets are pussy and you can’t wash your ass in them. I still have the first one I was issued, my wife uses it as a planter.

I get to see how well we did on the roof today, it’s supposed to rain all day.

Lebanon, man, one tribe you really don’t want to piss off is the Israelis, shame the Lebanese couldn’t police their own shit because…lets see ummm, gee all the support promised them didn’t come (thanks to us, the UN and the EU). Come to think about it, I will when elected solve our Iraq problem by sub-contracting the whole thing out to the IDF. Over all, the whole Lebanese thing makes me sad; I have always had a soft spot in my heart land at its peoplet. It was once known as the Paris of the Middle East, think a more exotic Vegas with a bit more class and they were just starting to get into rebuilding the place after a few decades of civil war. Also, I should add the Lebanese chics are hot.

When a Hippy tries to sell you food from his van and the best thing he can say is “dude, its like farm raised” don’t buy it. Also, Hippies don’t chew tobacco which they call gross. Ok, internal menstrual cups are ok, but spiting tobacco instead of smoking it is gross?

Did you know that you really can’t roller-skate in a buffalo herd?

Blog Quote of the Day:
Was watching the news this morning before heading into work and they had a clip of Bush talking about the fighting between Israel and Hezbollah in Lebanon. I wasn’t paying it all that much attention because I was busy trying to wake up at the time, but I could’ve sworn that at one point Bush used the phrase “Hezbollian attacks.” It sounded like such a stupid turn of phrase that I wrote it off as me still being half asleep, but it turns out that’s exactly what he said. You know, as though the fighters were from Hezbollastan. From an all around nice guy at

Todays Bill:
"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."
From Macbeth (V, v, 19)

Quote of the Day:
Knowledge is power, if you know it about the right person.
Ethel Mumford

I remain, stomping through the vineyards where the grapes of wrath are stored:

JQP esq.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Lemonade, Maxi Pads and Roofing Nails:

(Do these gray pants make my ass look fat?)

Thought for the Day:
We are alone, absolutely alone on this chance planet: and, amid all the forms of life that surround us, not one, excepting the dog, has made an alliance with us.
Maurice Maeterlinck

JQP’s Garage Roof Part III:
When last I left you the reader, I was facing a rather pissed off Raccoon that had designs on my well shaped toes, all while 16 feet in the air, balanced on rotten rafters. I will continue…

There I stood, sweat dripping from my brow and pitchfork in hand, angry raccoon on the attack. I quickly ran through my possible courses of action, I could go on the attack, which as you all know is what Clausewitz would recommend. My chief weapon, my pitchfork was full of shingles, useless in this onslaught. I then thought to that sage of battlefield wisdom Sun Tu, what would he do? Well, he would un-ass the area, which dear reader was the course of action I took.

However, it was not without risk. Your see I pushed myself up from my semi crouched position using said pitchfork, full of old shingles. In doing so I lost grip of it, dear reader, it slid off the roof, I should however note, not before knocking down my ladder with it.

Picture if you will, yours truly on a 90 degree day, 16 feet in the air, standing balanced on two rotten 2 by 8’s set at a 60 degree angle, wearing sandals, with a rather pissed off mother raccoon lunging for my feet. With both my primary weapon and my point of egress unavailable to me.

It was at this point my Olympic gymnast like abilities failed me.

Fell and fell hard, I did. Not to the ground as many had expected (Mrs. JQP over the course of this adventure in home restoration, brought up double indemnity life insurance on more than one occasion) but instead my round shapely ass fell onto the rafters. Now something that those of you how have never done roofing before might not be aware of, is that when you take off an old roof, there are literally thousands of exposed nails sticking up in the rafters. I dear friend somehow managed to land on most of them.

One nail however in particular had my undivided attention, since the risk off raccoon attack was greatly diminished. It was the nail that somehow managed to carve a grove starting at the top of my ass and ending somewhere close to my taint.

I slowly pulled myself off the rafter.

At this time I heard the unmistakable sound of tearing fabric, as you the attentive reader recall, I was wearing only sandals and a pair of shorts, commando on a hot summer day. I felt behind me and realized that the entire ass end of my shorts (British Army Chinos, Banana Republic 32.95 on sale) were missing, exposing my ass and a rather nasty looking flesh wound, which by this point was bleeding freely.

Thus my problem, you see dear reader, I had no way down, my ladder lost in the sneak coon attack. My ass bloody and nude, and my deadmans knee already telling me (hey, fucker don’t even think about jumping this 16 feet to the ground, unless you want to pay for surgery # 6) that dropping to the ground using my paratroop training would not be a wise course of action.

Working alone, no phone, what to you do, yell for help from a passer-by? Um, Hi, Hello, um, could you help me; I seem to have lost my ladder in a coon attack and also sodomised myself with a nail, be a dear and help me down, please? Pride, yes that’s where pride jumped in, if I don’t stop and ask for directions, no fucking way was I going to call for help. I looked around, taking note of the resources available to me which was when I was able to formulate a plan.

You see dear friends, in my back yard there is an old gas street light, about 6 feet away from the garage roof, I thought that if jumped just right I would be able to grab the light post and using my extreme upper body strength climb down that pole. Which is exactly what I did…and it worked.

However it was at this time that the neighbor lady decided to enjoy some lemonade on her porch with few friends, 50 feet from where I was hanging bare assed from a light pole. I heard one member of her party cry out in shock with “Oh my what is that!?”, At this point I had established eye contact with them and my neighbor lady said without a pause, “Oh, that, that’s just JQP, he’s our neighbor.” And with out further mention when on about the business of serving lemonade to her guests (what can I say, after a year or two people become accustom to me).

Firmly on the ground, I went indoors and tended to my wounds, calling my Pretty Flower. You see, no matter how you hold a mirror, looking at your ass is hard. She came home from work on her lunch hour, and between laughing hysterically put 19 stitches in my ass (one of the things I looked for in a prospective wife was strong working knowledge of advanced first aid, and friends it has paid off for me).

Now a wound in this area presents a special problem, mainly in so much as there is no good way to bandage one’s ass crack. After applying enough first aid cream to the wound that I felt like a white collar criminal on his first over nighter on Cell Block D, my Loving bride came up with a inventive solution.

Maxi pads...

Now, dear readers, I know what your thinking, but my ass was still bleeding rather freely and if there is one thing that is more embarrassing than a wet spot on the front of your slacks it’s a blood spot on the back. Hey, talk about thinking outside of the box, it worked.

Not being a quitter, I changed into clothing more suitable for the job, tightey whiteys (with what I would soon come to call “ass pads” in place) Carhart pants and an old pair of Jump Boots. Ladder back in place, I went back to work. By the end of the day, I had torn off two sides of the roof (all but one corner, where the coon family lived, trusting in the fact that they would be moving that night). It was at this time, as I readied for a shower and a new dressing, followed by icing my knee, my wife took it upon herself to call everyone we knew and tell them the story of my day of roofing.

While I wish she would have been more discreet about certain details it did have a pleasant side effect, it made people want to come and help a poor disabled veteran, roof his garage and get a few belly laughs in while they were at it. I am told she said something like “Fuck, this happened on day one, can you imagine what kind of shit he will get himself into before it’s over?”

Dear reader, nothing of this scale happened for the rest of the project, but I am assured, that for many years to come anytime the subject of roofing comes up, this tale will be passed around the camp fire. As of 9:00pm last night the job that was to only take a weekend, is finally finished. Five full days of hard labor, in what was really a skill building activity for myself and others. I left with a new found respect for roofers, raccoons and menstruating women (those things are uncomfortable as all hell) and a well developed understanding on appropriate foot wear and clothing on to the job site. In case you wondering my ass is all better now and I have a new scar to show everyone.

I would like to take a moment and thank all those who made this project possible, bask in glory you noble souls:

The Cigar Man, who with out his largess this whole project never would have gotten underway.

The Giant Irish Man, a man whose strength and steady hand are the things the bards sang about.

Matt the Cop, who brought his children along, so they to could laugh at Uncle JQP

Pete the Fireman, who we had to talk out of using a fire ax to steady himself on the roof (“Well, damnit, that’s how we do it at work”).

My neighbors who helped and brought supplies.

My Flower, I am after all nothing without this fine woman (she reads this blog) Semper Fi!

Her Aunt and Uncle, the real skill behind the project and also the people who brought a nail gun.

M. Chamberlain, who took time from researching his upcoming novel to experience a moment of male bonding.

And last but not least, Sky-Captain & his Pretty Blond Headed Wife, he dear friends is truly a Renaissance Man and a good friend.

I am glad to count myself in their company.

Today’s Bill:

The little Love-god lying once asleep
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd;
And so the general of hot desire
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy
For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall,
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove,
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.

Quote of the Day:
If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment.
Marcus Aurelius Antoninus

I remain, growing weeds in garden of your sub-conscience:

JQP esq.

Monday, July 17, 2006

Busy as a One Armed Wallpaper Hanger:

kids paint
(Yet, another reason I am not a breeder.)

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Coon Skins and Alligator Hide, make a pair of Jump Boots just the Right Size:

Thought for the Day:
I do nothing but go about persuading you all, old and young alike, not to take thought for your persons or your properties, but and chiefly to care about the greatest improvement of the soul. I tell you that virtue is not given by money, but that from virtue comes money and every other good of man, public as well as private. This is my teaching, and if this is the doctrine which corrupts the youth, I am a mischievous person.

1 roofer
JQP’s Roof Vol. II
Friday last I cut out of work early around 10:00 to start my project. Fortified in the knowledge that if I can go to war and get advanced degrees, I sure has hell can figure out how to roof a garage. How wrong I was, dear reader, how very wrong.

Knowing 4 of my good friends were going to come help me Saturday, I started to tear off the old roof. It seems I was the first person to ever attempt this, as there are four lairs of shingles setting atop the original cedar shingles. So, picture a nail about every two inches.

I started and soon realized I was over dressed. So, I entered my palatial manor home and changed into something more suitable for the sub-tropic environment that I found myself laboring in. Chiefly, I wore a pair of shorts and sandals. Remembering my military training, I shunned under garments, to prevent chafing, a decision that would soon come back to haunt me.

I started making wonderful progress, due mainly to the advanced state of decay of the roof. Tearing away, I was, shingles and nails and rotten lumber were flying. I looking at it as my own little Gestalt therapy, freeing the thimble full of repressed anger I tend to carry around with me.

About half way though the first side, I received my first phone call from one of my dear volunteer roofing friends, within the hour all 4 had called, saying that they would not be able to be of assistance, perhaps next week or the week after (Get the feeling a few people are going to be dropped from my Christmas Card list?). They all had the same excuse, “I am going to the lakes, to get drunk, ski, tube, pick-up 18 year old girls.” Not even the decency to lie and say something like “I have to leave town there is a warrant out for me”, or “Uncle Roy broke his arm leaving New Red Dragon China Buffet and now I have to help him change his colostomy bag”.

Happy, I was not.

You see by that point I had taken a man sized hole and made it as big has a VW micro-bus, dear friends there was no stopping now, the die and been cast and my fate sealed. I had gone too far in the tear off and even if I wanted to stop, my foul mood prevented me. Dear reader, I started in tearing the roof off with a passion, a blind rage, cussing everyone who had ever done me wrong, using word combinations that have not been invented yet.

This friends continued until the neighbor kids came out into their back yard to jump on their trampoline, something about 11 kids 20 yards away from me that makes me clean up my language (you see, I am at times a moral up-standing citizen of this our great land). Allow me to digress, their were 11 children jumping up and down on that damn thing, ages 3 to 12, I always cringe when I see them go out there, its just a bad accident waiting to happen, you see they have no adult supervision. When I spoke to the mother about this, she laughed and said “its God’s way of thinning the herd and anyway I have them all insured.” …back to my story.

I was at the far corner, tearing away and shingles flying when I heard an odd noise. Now you the reader should note that I suffer from hearing loss due to both my military service and my years as a roadie for Molly Hatchet, I can hear sounds but I have a difficultly in telling from whence they came. This sound was somewhat like an angry cat mating in a large garbage can, odd I thought, now what could that be? It sounded like something from my past, after a minute or so I was able to place it, it sounded much like a pissed off raccoon.

1 coons
You see, my loving step-father raised coon hounds and from and early age I was forced at gun point to go coon hunting most school nights during the week. My job being to hold the dogs and carry the dead raccoons, I ask you, is that or is that not some bonifided redneck pedigree? Thus, I was familiar with the sound. Once again, I thought to myself “self, that’s odd, that I am hearing what sounds to be a very pissed off coon” it was at that moment I happened to look down.

Remember, dear reader how I said I was wearing only a pair of shorts, sandals and a smile. Well, about 6 inches from my rather pretty and well cared for toes, was a 20 pound, highly fucking pissed off mother raccoon. Thinking, that getting a toe bit off is not what I had in mind for a days work, I wisely decided to un-ass the area. However, it was my method of un-assing that could have used some further exploration.

Tune in for Vol. III, when you hear our hero say “oh…shit…”.

Your Moment of Summertime Zen:
6 flags

Your Bill for the Day:
Were 't aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which prove more short than waste or ruining?
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent,
For compound sweet forgoing simple savour,
Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent?
No, let me be obsequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblation, poor but free,
Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art,
But mutual render, only me for thee.
Hence, thou suborn'd informer! a true soul
When most impeach'd stands least in thy control.

Quote of the Day:
Never despair; but if you do, work on in despair.
Edmund Burke

I remain, wearing a coon skin cap and silk loin cloth in your reoccurring dreams:


Tuesday, July 11, 2006

A Grim Determined Face & a Giddy Free Sprit:

Thought for the Day:
Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.

_1 fiddler

JQP’s Garage Roof Vol. I:
I took the better part of Friday off to re-due my garage roof. As you the frequent reader know my roof had a man sized hole in it (which resulted in a trip to my local ER, last time I took it upon myself to be handy around the house). Assured, I had help on Saturday & Sunday, I started to work on my garage.

Now about my garage, it is historic, which means I can’t tear the fucking thing down (word of advice, never move into a historic neighborhood). It was built in 1918, to hold not one but two automobiles or perhaps a buggy. It is rather large, as old shitty garages go, and has a four sided peaked roof at a 65 degree angle, yes 65 degree, nothing but style.

But due the needed repair work there are several permits needed, plus I am told I would have to appear in front of a historic preservation committee. I being an outlaw and a descendant of a long line of Irish Travelers (in my off time I seal the driveways of elderly people with used motor oil and bilk them out of their life’s savings). I went ahead with the work, permits; I don’t need no stinking permits.

I should note that I had no idea how to roof anything. It’s something I have never done, nor seen done. That is where my trusted friends came into it. If you know 4 guys there is a good chance that at least one of them worked as a roofer at some point in their life. I borrowed the necessary tools for the job and gathered supplies.

Now something any home owner should note, is that when your going to start a do-it-yourself job it pays to tell everyone you know. After telling folks, my backyard was inundated with roofing supplies, we men are true to our gender.

For the following reasons:

A) Men, always over buy when they start a home project. Hell, for some odd reason the hardware store clerics almost insist you do. Thus, after every project there is left over building supplies.

B) Men, after completing a project are tired and lazy; they do not take the left over stuff back to the store, even if they have a receipt and their wives ask them to, hell you never know when this or that might come in handy.

C) After a few months/years, the piles of shit sitting in their garages starts to drive them nuts and they want it gone.

Brothers and sisters, the only thing I have had to buy for this project is the shingles. I have gotten 8 rolls of tar paper, 30 sheets of plywood, 30 pounds of roofing nails, two roof vents, lumber, and drip guards, plus free use of tools, just because people I know didn’t want it around anymore. Yes, children, it pays to know people.

Stay tuned for Vol. II, when you hear our hero say “Oh, Fuck” and my old retired neighbors just shake their heads.

Your Hairy Pits of the Week:

ex gf 1
(Exhibit A: Goth-Girl, Hot in an “I-will-screw-your-legs-off-steal-your-CDs-read-Emily Dickinson-cut-myself-NIN-is-past-tense-train-wreck” kind of way.)

goth pit
(Exhibit B: Same Goth-Girl with hairy arm pits. Perfect in a Sexy-Misunderstood-by-my-family and-friends-poet-erotic-woman-warrior-with-great-taste-in-music-and-film way.)

Random things this morning:

How many wars does our current President want to start?

Why am I the only man in this town with three seersucker suits (I wear them with starched white shirts, brown suspenders and my Panama hat). Trust me, people do notice.

I am glad the North Koreans can’t build a decent missile.

Ike was right.

The Village People are coming to town on Saturday and my wife asked me if a wanted back stage passes.

Lately I have been humming old Boxcar Willie, Turtles, and Yiddish Folk tunes to myself. That and rocking back and forth seems to comfort me.

Drinking helps to.

Mrs. JQP wants to start trying to have a baby again, with me.

When will the pain in my knees and arms stop and why have I no pain pills?

M. Chamberlain looks good in an ascot.

Last night, I spoke with a woman who just got back from the Rainbow Tribe gathering; she felt it necessary to tell me she forgot her tampons and had to buy an internal menstrual cup.

Pastor Bob called me at 11:15 last night to ask me if he could borrow my MIG welder (something I do know how to do). It seems he is planning of building a 1/3 scale WW1 Dreadnaught “Deutschland”, and plans to take his family on a three month cruse in it when completed on Lake Erie.

I woke up this morning and somehow during the night my eye brow hair had grown three inches.

I know several people who can name the songs and artists on the 1980’s compilation album (available only on TV) “Southern Fried Rock”.

Tiny knows more about C.W. McCall, singer of the 70’s hit “Convoy” than any man should.

It is supposed to be in the 90’s all weekend.

I am getting three free lunches this week at expensive restaurants. They all specialize in fish. There is no such thing as a free lunch.

Today’s Bill:
"Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know."
From Twelfth Night (II, iii, 44-45)

Quote of the Day:
Most of you have been where I am tonight. The crash site of unrequited love. You ask yourself, How did I get here? What was it about? Was it her smile? Was it the way she crossed her legs, the turn of her ankle, the poignant vulnerability of her slender wrists? What are these elusive and ephemeral things that ignite passion in the human heart? That's an age-old question. It's perfect food for thought on a bright midsummer's night.
Martin Sage and Sybil Adelman

I remain, much like Bob the Builder, busy at work in your repressed thoughts and feelings:

JQP esq.

Monday, July 10, 2006

Busy Doing the Lords Work:

Friday, July 07, 2006

Off Work every Friday:

lots of butts
(...and I am working on my roof.)

Thursday, July 06, 2006

JQP’s Book Review:

(One * don’t waste your time unless your at a dentist office etc. Four plus****, you should pick it up, or let me know I will loan it to you.)

Getting Stoned with Savages****
(The best in show, good read. Fix yourself a cocktail, sit in front of a fan on a hot summer afternoon and enjoy a trip.)

The Yes Man****
Officers of NLT
(Not speaking UK, I had a little bit of difficulty, but this book did make me stop and think, don’t buy into the new-age free your mind shit, the premise is you don’t really know what will happen if you say yes, but chances are it was meant to be.)

In Search of Captain Zero***
page boy
(I used to surf, granted not very well, but at least I was out there, this is a story about searching, for an old friend, and almost finding yourself in the journey. Very real life.)

Bury Me Standing**
John college
(A study of the gypsies, without the romance, the author did have some very interesting points about commonality in culture between long term oppressed peoples. This is the kind of book you had to read for your Anthro. 101 class, back in Junior College.

Roughneck Nine-One**
no hoe
(I got this to see what was new in my old career field, other than a lot of new toys it’s the same, Ego’s, Bad-Asses, Bull-shit, Bravo and automatic weapons)

Contract Warriors*
Karen fighters
(I wanted to see what the folks I was in boots with were up to these days, it turns out, about the same as Roughneck Nine-One, but making a shit load more money, which lead me to wish I didn’t have all these Anabaptist ethics and morals.)

The Sexualized Child in Foster Care***
class thip to the sex shop
(Work stuff: Thankfully a short read, it flushes out some issues that most people would not think of. I would say if you ever want to be a foster parent it is a must read.)

Best Friends Worst Enemies***
old lady reading
(Work Stuff: How children relate and act interpersonally, who knew little girls could be so mean? It however is a hell of a trip down memory lane, that is if you want to take it.)

Divorced Dads Survival Book****
(Work et al. Since it seems everyone I know is going through a divorce, I thought I would pick this up and see what ideas I might be able to give them. I am going to by this book for a couple of guys I know, yes its that good.)

I remain the Oprah of the Outlaw set:


Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Once more into the Breach:

Thought for the Day:
Men are afraid to rock the boat in which they hope to drift safely through life's currents, when, actually, the boat is stuck on a sandbar. They would be better off to rock the boat and try to shake it loose.
Thomas Szasz

Family Affair Cast Photo
(Uncle Bill, Mr. French, Sissy, Buffy, Jody and I would like to welcome all of our American fans back to work.)

A Weekend Recap:
I was sneaky this weekend, my loving bride and I told everyone we were going out of town for the holiday, and didn’t. We stayed at home, watched 19 movies (one of which was “Escape from Witch Mountain”), ate junk food, I read 9 books, and we took a lot of naps, hell we didn’t even get out of bed when our neighbor set his garage on fire during an impromptu fireworks display.

However, on Sunday night we did go out for a few drinks (by a few I mean x10), which was enough reinforcement toward my original goal of not going out that we once again cloistered ourselves (the hangover was also a help). So sorry, nothing note worthy to report, other than some well earned downtime. Btw: that’s my story and I am sticking to it.

A Candid Snapshot of this Years Rainbow Tribe Gathering:
hippy pits

Your Mail Order Brides for the Week:

Quote of the Day:
Personally I'm always ready to learn, although I do not always like being taught.
Sir Winston Churchill

I remain the George Hamilton of your hopes and dreams:

JQP esq.