Wasting away again in Margaritaville...

I know it's been a while folks but I have that urge to start writing things down again, must be that seasonal weather change we get down here in the sunshine state when the daily temperature changes from 91 degrees to 84 degrees or what I like to call: WINTER.

I can't explain why I stop blogging and writing but during times of excessive creativity I tend to shut down in the middle of it and have a strong desire to go away and hide.  During my seclusion I put away pen and paper and try to clear the noggin of any type of word worthy material that could be used for a laugh or two on this here blog. Why? No bloody idea but the thought of writing something funny every day makes my head hurt and I am talking about the big head which at my age is now the important one.

I found an old journal that had some of my thoughts from 2008 and came across the following piece, I have mellowed since then and much of my anger has dissipated with age but back in 2008 I might have left this person legless. So here goes...an old journal entry from April 2008 to get me back in the swing of writing.

Many thanks to my blogging friend The Unbearable Banishment for his e-mail as to my current whereabouts and state of mind, thank you again for the swift kick in the arse and for pulling me out if my margarita haze.
Cheers, Sausage...


THOUGHTS OF VIOLENCE
April 2008

Son of a bitch....was what I usually muttered under faded breath when in sight of the bastard. 

Daring and noble he is to annoy such a beast, I wonder if his courage is fueled by a similar disgust as is mine.
Smugness and arrogance blended to perfection then worn as a rancid perfume to tug at the patience of myself.
If alive in other times it would be him and me face to face, pistols at dawn or joust to joust. Two gladiators 1 death.

I hate this person, no wait I loath him. This man has been a thorn in my side for many years and has tested my patience on more than one occasion. I have never laid hands on him but every day is one day closer to my giant hands wringing his neck until he begs for mercy while his life drains from him.
 
I am not a violent man and I would never lay hands on another again unless of course it was in defense of offspring or betrothed but the mere sight of this person brings out an evil in me that is best suited for mask wearing machete wielding monsters. Why? I have no idea.

A pint with my father

The smoked meat strung up and hanging above the bar, I wonder if it is real or just a modern day pub prop?

Dad orders another round casually nodding to the bar man, a subtle move learned on the other continent. I gladly accept whatever beer he orders just to be propped up on this wicker stool in his company with a pint is nirvana.

We speak of life and football and children and football, Dad complains that nobody dribbles anymore and regales me of tales of the one they called "Jinky" and how he was able to dance among the tall pines of blue with ease.

I sit and sip with my mind clear and fresh, the fog of business, mortgage, economy and all other obstacles has been washed away by the blanket like sounds of my father's voice coupled with the fermentation of liquid joy.

Even a grown man needs the strong arm and the slap on the back from the one he calls Father.
Cheers...

Smuggler's Blues part 2

So I really fucked up. Apologies for the banal tone but what landed me inside was really daft and caused me to miss precious time with my beloved wife and bairns and witnessing how fast life goes by is criminal on my part.


I assaulted a police officer and I am damn lucky that his taser was we the only foreign object to penetrate my body because if that electric man dropper had been a .40 caliber bullet from his fully automatic pistol then this post might have been from the afterlife.
Lucky.


Smuggler's Blues part 1 described the situation next door with the world's dumbest drug dealers and their open air policy of business. Also as previously mentioned the FDLE website was awash with pictures and descriptions of their past discretions and this is what had me worried. The simple fact that they were convicted drug dealers and still dealing in public made for many a sleepless night especially when nocturnal thoughts drifted to how close this business was being ventured so close to my children.


Along with the entire neighborhood I planned and held covert meetings to alert the good citizens about the situation next door. The HOA held separate private meetings with officers from the local police department and patrols were stepped up then tripled once the names of the convicted were leaked to the office of the sheriff.
(It was me that leaked the names, shhhh...)
Game on.


Sunday morning, April 29th 7:11 A.M.  I walked to the driveway to grab the Sunday paper, my eyes still heavy from the early rise and the clink of glass from the night prior. Not sure if still in dream I lift the noggin to witness a barrage of blue and red lights not a mere 40 yards away, sirens were off. This blueberry cobbler wake up is further advanced by the made for TV sight of eight (8) fully armed members of the local sheriff's office making their way to my neighbor's step. I pick up the paper and step quietly back in the garage.


I am awake, I am more awake that I have ever been.


How many times have any of you witnessed this type of standoff on television? 50? 100?
Let me tell you something no matter how many times you have watched it whether is was Starsky and Hutch or CSI Miami, when you see it live and that close your realize two things.
I.  Glad I did not choose law enforcement as a career.
2. Glad I did not choose drug dealing as a career.


Problem.
My oldest son (14) was coming home from a sleepover from a friends house down the street, as usual he cuts through the back yards of the neighbors. His friend lives only four houses down and the locals are fine with him cutting through, I have told him time and time again not to cut through the drug house but he was supposed to be home by 7 and decided to take the dangerous shortcut.
Unbeknownst to the lad the raid was green lighted just as he was in the center of the drug house back yard when an unsuspecting officer saw a male running away from the scene. My child was tackled and with the officer's knee driven in my son's back he was cuffed ready to be taken to the van along with the scum that sold drugs in front of children.
Now I am awake, I am more awake than I have ever been. I react.


I plead, no beg that the cops have an innocent bystander but my front driveway courtroom pleas are falling on deaf ears as the protectors of the Innocent are hauling away my son, they will not stop just to listen to me they are assuming he is one of them and was trying to flee. My wife is inconsolable.


Big Problem.
I grabbed the arm of the arresting officer to argue my case and he and turns his attention to me, a shit storm of obvious and tired adjectives is hurled upon me as I offer my wrist in place of my child. My cries for help are completely ignored and I make my final case for the innocence of my 14 year old son.


Once again I am ignored and once again I place my hands on an officer of the law.
Bad idea but what is a father to do?


I don't remember the taser being fired but I do remember the strong overwhelming taste of metal in my mouth.
I am not a slight man and I have never taken a backwards step from a question but from what I have been told I went down like a torpedoed brick wall when I was tasered for laying hands on an officer of the law in the defense of the innocence of my son.
Innocent until proven guilty - not that day.


I did my time as quietly as possible, lucky to be in a county not a state facility. Once the realisation of the situation had clarified the charges were still not dropped, for the laying of hands on an officer of the law is a no-no even if that officer has ones innocent child cuffed and wrongly arrested. Apparently I swore death or justice, I can't remember saying that but the situation played out so quickly so who knows.

So here I am with two new holes in me, I got my left ear pierced in Broughty Ferry, Dundee in 1978 and I swore that would be the last time I would be pierced. Fast forward thirty four years and the latter two piercings are and always will be considered defensive parenting scars.


The world's dumbest drug dealers are gone and I found out later that one of them was released before me!

Sometimes karma kicks hard.

PS. Be nice to American cops.

What's this? we lost 5-1. Lock the bleedin' door.

Smuggler's Blues - Part 1

Back on the streets again...

The first time I saw illegal drugs was 1984.
I was at a party and a man wearing
a silk suit entered holding a briefcase.
The contents of the briefcase were:
2 bags of cocaine and twenty thousand cash money
It was in Lighthouse Point, Florida.
I was 16.

Needless to say I grew up around Miami in the 1980's where cocaine fell from the sky and square grouper (Marijuana bales) floated in with the tide and every joker with a mullet and a mustang was a drug dealer.
Like the songs says  "It's the lure of easy money it's got a very strong appeal."

Many moons ago my old college roommate and I shifted a few packages here and there, perhaps we watched "Scarface" too many times and harbored youthful dreams of cruising down South Beach in a Ferrari, stick thin model to our right checking her hair in the side mirror as the warm sticky Miami breeze offered no quarter. Luckily for the both of us we were smart enough to realize that the allure of cash heavy pockets and automotive fantasies did not mask the horrors of what happens in prison. Back to class it was for us because what happens in prison is no picnic unless you consider being raped in the shower a picnic...I do not and I left that business behind while Reagan was still in office.

As and adult I am a liberal sort of man and your business is your business as far as I am concerned what you are doing in the privacy of your own home is not my concern, unless you are a pedo or a drug dealer, then I become as conservative as a Texas sheriff married to the leader of a church choir in a border town during an election. Hypocritical? possibly but as a father my thought process is to protect and who out there has the same mindset they did as a kid?

Here lies the situation that landed me on the inside.
New neighbors arrived and they have brought with them a drive up can I take your order type of drug business. Vehicles arriving at all hours, runners coursing the neighborhood on cell phones arranging deals, cash handovers in plain sight. All of this right in front of my face, in my opinion they are the dumbest drug dealers in history, no care or concern as to who is watching or reporting. They are brazen.
A quick search on a local law enforcement site tells me that 3 of the new neighbors have priors for possession and intent to distribute and now they are standing in my yard just feet from my family.

Problem! My kids as well as the other neighborhood kids are front and center and the scum don't care. I have watched the dealings in person and have witnessed the complete and utter disregard for families and children, the safety of my own family is what fuels my disgust of this practice and my past reminds me of the danger and the dark side of the business.

I am thankful for the second amendment to the constitution which gives me the right to not wear sleeves and protect my family at the same time, I like being comfortable it's hot down here.
Part two of this post will tell of how I landed in the big house. Now it's time for a pint or four.
It's good to be home.
Sausage...

I never dropped the soap

The food here is really terrible.
I will be out in June.
They let me write this because I behaved
That is all I can say...for now.

PS. Be nice to American cops.