Buffalohair: Growing Old 101: Where Does Buzzard Skin Come From?

 

Growing Old 101: Where Does ‘Buzzard Skin’ Come From?

120px-SanwitDon’t you just hate growing old? Does not happen over night but there is that one moment in your life you discover; “I’m and old buzzard, Shiza!!”. Was it the mirrors reflection of an old geezer running around in a tattered ‘AIM’ tee shirt, rolling a doobie with ‘Going Up the Country’ (Canned Heat) playing in the back ground? Is my spotted pony, that 53′ ‘Jockey Shift’ Harley Davidson, in the driveway actually just a glorified mobility scooter? And whats the deal with all this ‘extra skin’ under my arms? Oh, Oh yeah……….buzzard skin.

 

Then the youngsters quip:“Yup gramps, you’re like a bottle of vintage fine wine or aged cheese”, I’d hear. Nothing like being compared to rot gut wine and smelly cheese. Why not throw in a green fuzzy piece of stale fry-bread while you’re at it? Oh boy, I feel a lot better knowing I’m almost ready to be harvested and eaten. Maybe I’ll be made into a wafer like in the movie ‘Soylent Green’. That’s where old buzzards were collected then euthanized and baked into tasty green wafers with nutrients left behind by the former host. Rather than cremated or buried, I can choose, smoked, fried or BBQ, screw a casket, I need carry out.  Don’t laugh, we are already eating genetically mutated farm animals chock full of human DNA. Is that considered cannibalism?

 

Being put out to pasture at ‘Clonazepam Acres Assisted Living Home’ until I’m harvested and made into pemmican for the Winter Solstice  is not my idea of enjoying the golden years. Well youngster, you look like a zit that needs to be popped you frigging roody-poo condescending sidewalk commando. And no, I don’t have one foot in the grave, this size 13 Redwing Boot is on its way up your keester so hold on.

Administering a royal ass kicking is one of the few joys left my old and decrepit body can deliver these days. Granted, dancing around for 30 minutes in fisticuffs is just out of the question, my oxygen level you know. If I waved my arms to much for to long I might take to flight with all this buzzard skin flapping around. I’d rather disenable agent provocateurs apace, before I have to pee or watch ‘Duck Dynasty’ of course.

 

I used to get carded at restaurants when I asked for the senior citizen discount, sort of like when I was a kid buying booze and smokes. Short of grabbing a wheelchair or walker, waitresses never question my buzzardness anymore, they just want an Indian name. That sort of sucks, congratulations I am officially an old geezer. Suddenly I feel all warm and fuzzy inside or is it some kind of hot flash or something? Don’t ask me, this is my first time being an old buzzard. I lost my owners manual back in the 60′s but I know it’s this frigging buzzard skin that snitches me off age-wise. Screws up my tattoos real bad to. Dragons and eagles look more like worms & pigeons. Skulls & demons now resemble ‘Howdy Doody & Felix the Cat’, and all the other stuff looks like postage stamps and ‘Garbage Pail Kids’. Gawd it sucks to get old.

 

My long wavy dark hair is turning platinum blond and frizzy like I put my tongue in a wall socket, whats up with that? One alternative is to use that Grecian stuff but gads it turned my homie’s hair into the color of cat urine. I’ve seen dudes with dyed hair and it reminded me of an Elvis impersonator with an oversized hair piece glued to their head. At least I don’t have to comb from the back of my neck over my forehead with all 18 strands of hair. What about that colored silly string looking stuff guys spray on their melons? Guess I should not be so insensitive about hair and going bald. At least bald guys don’t get beaten to death by buzzard skin when strolling through the park on a windy day or gourd dancing at a Pow Wow or social.

 

I’ll take up skydiving & base jumping and use my buzzard skin as a built in Wingsuit and soar through the heavens like an eagle in flight. Merrily I will fly past towering peaks gliding through the sky in aeronautical bliss. Am I a bird or a plane I ponder, as the wind rushes past my ears. Suddenly I glide into a thicket of cottonwoods and ceder in one tumultuous crash. Branches and twigs snap as my carcass pirouettes out of control through the treetops and onto the forest floor below. Then, in an epiphanous revelation I realize; I have to either buy or pull a ripcord at Walgreens or was that Homeland? Does my Part D cover ripcords and buzzard skin? And no, I was not a bird after all, just another Dreamliner suffering equipment failure. Maybe I’ll pass on aeronautics as a second hobby.

 

With a growing untapped market filled with old codgers, will the manufacturers of Depends come out with sportier diapers with cool pictures like skulls & cross bones or other spiffy pirate stuff? Flames would be bitchen to sport around in or better yet “David Mann” inspired motorcycle diapers. Indian and Harley Davidson could come out with their own disposable diapers for ‘seasoned’ motorcycle enthusiast. For the elderly art aficionados Van Goug or Rembrandt themed pull-ups and Scrimshaw catheters could be the next rage. Custer and Chivington Depends would be a hot seller on my rez for obvious reasons. Customized Depends could sport pictures of ex spouses, fetid public officials and anyone else who deserves a ‘crap sandwich’. Oh the possibilities…………….

 

I can see Cabela’s Fall Catalog with sales on camo diapers and buzzardly accessories like balloon tires  and wilderness kits for electric scooters. Prune flavored energy drinks and pureed food stuffs would fill backpacks and camp kitchens. ‘Tanka Bar’ could come out with a delicious buffalo paste treat for the dentally challenged. Possibly toss a few GPS or locator beacons into the mix, just in case one of us old coots forget what we were doing and simply wander off, looking for a place to pee, read the latest issue of Prevention or try to figure out exactly what side ‘AARP’ is on anyway. Ah yes, nothing like spending time in the great out doors. I can almost smell the pine and the cedars as they enjoin the brisk morning air as it intermingles with the sent of fresh coffee brewing,…..and ole Uncle Floyd taking his morning constitutional while arguing with a diaper stealing chipmunk.

 

The ‘Captain’ might come out with prune flavored spiced rum when it’s obvious there are more of us old geezers then young poop butt sidewalk commandos. Nightclubs will be ‘Rascal Friendly’ and along with a row of motorcycles, a row of mobility scooters will be parked. Tow truck companies should develop a new type of lift when old geezers get buster cruising their scooters, wasted on Gerital shooters. And hopefully in the midst of this senior citizen revival someone will come up with a cure for buzzard skin, gray frizzy hair and bald heads. If we all lived naked there would be no need for diapers, but a pair of rubber boots or moccasins would be in order.

 

I always drooled profusely, flung feces at passing motorists and embraced dementia so this is not an issue in my case, thank goodness. But coping with buzzard skin has become an ongoing challenge, for vanities sake at the very least. Lifting weights does not seem to cure buzzard skin and running a zillion miles a day only causes turbulence and dust on the mountain trails I traverse. If two buzzard skins pass one another on a trail bystanders can be injured as the buzzards try to avoid slapping each other with their ‘wings of lard’. Bicycles are a particular hazard on mountain trails since buzzard skin has been known to get caught up in the spokes, I hate it when that happens. On the bright side, bears hear you coming way before you get there, “Smokey, Party of three…”, bon appetite.

 

Ointments, salves, creams, lotions, elixirs and bath salts of every kind did nothing. A dunking in crap smelling volcanic water by some priest dressed in Beavis & Butthead boxers reciting Pee Wee Herman’s, “Mecca Lecca High, Mecca Hiney Ho”, didn’t cure buzzard skin one bit either. To top it all off, out of nowhere hair began to grow on top of my nose and don’t get me started on my new unibrow or the hair that decided to grow in my ears, nose and back. Not just peach fuzz hair but gargantuan monster hair that is all thick, twisted, flat and umm,…..platinum blond. Hell with old age, I’m turning into a frigging Werewolf, or should I say Yeti since the hair is sort of snow colored.

 

Getting old sucks but there is a cool secret I’ll share. When you see an old timer cruising around, in some cases on a vintage Harley, 9 times out of 10 they are listening to Redbone, The Doors, or Bobby Darin in a cleverly disguised iPod called ‘the brain’. I doubt he or she will pay any attention to you while they are tripping on music and memories, especially if they are reminiscing ‘The Jimmy Hendrix Experience’ in L.A. at the Forum way back in the last century, by cracky. We made it this far so whats the rush? We’ll get back to you after the song is done or our memories disappear, which ever comes first.

 

When our old and blurry eyes gaze into yours we are not jealous of your youth or anything like that, we are only wondering; ‘if anyone is home’. In fact us old buzzards wonder if anyone is home societally speaking for it would appear the new stewards of this planet suffer acute fecal brain syndrome. In a darkly humorous sense I see a grand comedy from my vantage point, a comedy of errors intentional or not that will haunt humanity until nature sets things straight and the elders of my tribe know its coming. In fact old buzzards from all cultures know this era is doomed to failure because of the callousness, ineptitude and greed that earmarks this time we live. If you don’t see what is going on in society you have buzzard skin for eye lids but the joke is on you because us old buzzards will soon be out of here.

 

Whether we survive to see the conclusion of this dynamic change or not is of no real importance to us but the seeds we planted are. Sadly many of the young don’t listen to ‘sage wisdom’ from lessons learned in human history and are doomed to repeat therm. One day the knowledge of the past will be lost forever when the witnesses from the last generation are finally gone, buzzard skin and all. Only those who heeded the warnings of their elders and adhered to their traditions will survive the future, lock, stock and tomahawk.

 

And yes, they will eventually have buzzard skin…

 

Your Devil’s Advocate

Buffalohair

 

© 2013, Buffalohair Productions. All rights reserved.

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Posted by Ann on September 30, 2013 at 7:29 pm
Filed under Buffalohair Stories and News, Buffalohair Universe, Buffalohair-Jage Press, Elderly, Entertainment, Hello World, Human Behavior, Native American, satire, Survival, The Future, The Now, The Past, Wisdom, Writing  |  Tags:

Buffalohair: As Prophecy Comes To Pass / Plastic People Party

As Prophecy Comes To Pass, Plastic People Party

frank zappa

Government is the Entertainment Division of the               Military-Industrial Complex”                                        –Frank Zappa

‘Ambivalence and Ignorance’ is bliss and nothing proves this more than watching people pray and cheer at the all mighty stock market. Ironically, as they watch with joy while markets climb to new heights they are still loosing their jobs and homes. If you did not notice, the ever achieving stock markets has only benefited an absolute minority of the population while tossing crumbs to the desperate masses by comparison. ‘The Nick of Time’ will never come to those who need it the most no matter how high the market travels. The bitter irony is that profiteering from foreclosures was partially responsible for the market uptick. In essence people are celebrating profits made from their own demise in many cases and not only in real estate. Life on Planet Pavlov…

 

Good thing this minuet but wealthy population controls the presses and media because reality sucks for the vast majority of us carbon based life forms. Ambivalence and ignorance should actually be called ‘Stupidity and Political Blindness’. The shear magnitude of fraud being perpetrated by trusted  and beloved government officials is ‘In your face’ and their corporate cronies are laughing all the way to the bank. But like starving chickens in a coup, people scramble to gather the scratch and corn from the farmer. And all the while the farmer is selecting the next fat bird to butcher, just like a Banker. Talk about George Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’ becoming a Reality TV Show. Someone please hand me the ‘clicker’.

Is this the ‘Renaissance’ of the aberrant and repugnant behavior of corporate hooligans that would dine on their young or start a war if it meant corporate profits? Right off the top it is clear that Renaissance is out of the question since vested corporate interests have already ruled the nation untethered since the murder of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy. You remember JFK, the guy who chose to stand against the Military Industrial Complex and planned to stop the Vietnam War. Well they whacked his brother Bobbie to. Oh well, screw that story, so much for a happy ending for it goes down hill from there.

With corporate dolollies, and the suckers who feed on them, at the helm of the socioeconomic pulse of a nation it should be of no surprise that all is not actually well in Lilliput or the EU for that matter. If all is well then why are cities and townships waging war on the rising tide of homeless people by passing legislation to criminalize their poverty? Sad enough China is buying up all the American’s foreclosed homes. The real criminals are walking the streets waging land grabs & wars for natural resources at the expense of innocent people around the world, some call it murder while others call it genocide. Just label villagers and freedom fighters terrorist, Muslim or Al Qaeda, if they oppose your land grab, then its OK to slaughter their families and community they lived in. Screw trials and the cornerstone of liberty and justice, it’s only collateral damage. That is just messed up.

Sadly its the US citizen that must bare the brunt for the crimes against humanity committed by western corporations in their quest for resources or simply a picturesque place to build a resort or casino, screw the villagers who’ve resided there for eons. They wear grass skirts and eat fish so who cares? Haiti should have been a major red flag in exposing non governmental and governmental corruption of donated emergency relief funds. Billions flowed into this disaster stricken nation only to finance the building of 5 star luxury resorts, just ask Bill ‘Monsanto’ Clinton and George War for Profits’ Bush. Ask these corporate stooges where they spent the money donated to their Haitian charity. America and its leadership were supposed to put the nations best foot forward in Haiti’s hour of need, not a pigs cloven hoof covered in feces. And you wonder why we are spate upon by the world. Dodging loogies, the next Great American pastime.

National leaders have chosen to trump the mortal concerns of innocent civilian populations (even their own) on every continent for vested corporate interests, except Antarctica. Give ‘Global Manifest Destiny’ and its architects, the global vermin elite, time and soon the South Pole will be covered in Walmart bags, penguins would be forced to live in ‘colonies or reservations’ if their meat and hides are not marketable. But chances are corporate thugs would simply have them exterminated like their ancestors did to the noble buffalo in America. Come to think of it, they almost exterminated my people. Fortunately I come from the ‘Dog Nation’ and like our brother the coyote, we still returned. “Arf”, I say as I pee on your Gucci Horsebit Loafers.

‘Plastic People’, circa 1965, is a term I adopted from the late great musician ‘Frank Zappa’ and his band, ‘The Mothers of Invention’. Surely you remember The Mothers of Invention. After all, in the 60′s and throughout their career they were harbingers warning us of the encroaching corporate fascist agenda, the destruction of civil society and basic freedom. So did President Dwight D. Eisenhower but he did not have a rock band. Besides, The Mothers of Invention had a Cheyenne drummer/vocalist, Jimmy Carl Black and us Dog People do stick together. Just remember, it was only a few years since JFK was whacked when Zappa coined the phrase ‘Plastic People’. Kennedy stood in the way of massive corporate profits from the Vietnam War. Fortunately Lyndon and Ladybird Johnson took the helm after the horrific assassination. A vise president and wife who were financially invested in the Southeast Asian War only added intrigue to this tale, especially since JFK was in the midst of ending the war or maybe it was all just a coincidence.

Opps! Lyndon escalated the war, contrary to his predecessors intentions, to the chagrin of a nation and the joy of the *’Plastic People’; the folks who profited from the war through stocks and bonds. Was LBJ the father of Plastic People? And the funny part was the fact politicians on both sides of the isle were profiting from the war regardless of their public flatulations, just like today. Frankly speaking, the Plastic People of Zappa fame have taken over and the wars they’ve spawned are carbon copies of the Vietnam War with regard to profiteering from death through frugal investments in the military industrial complex. What pisses me off is that many idealist hippies ended up becoming Plastic People after all. They must have only been into all that protest stuff to score chicks and get free dope, now they rule corporations. Things have not changed since ‘Nam’ other than location and the excuse for a lucrative war for its all about the money, bada bing, bada bang, bada boom, capice?

Win, loose or draw, select investors always win with a stacked deck of cards as stocks soar and portfolios grow with every high tech multi million dollar rocket volley or shipment of vehicles to replace the ones destroyed by IEDs. The Plastic People party on the bones of their fellow countrymen & women who were in the military using expensive hardware, munitions and ultimately loosing their lives so elitists can have platinum toilet seats, eat GMO free food and frolic in blood money they acquired from crimes against humanity. The smell of absolute greed has become the stench that fills hallways where the sweet fragrance of liberty once wafted. In reality the Plastic People are nothing more than lemmings who will purposely march to their own demise for the corporate bottom line. They will follow their false G*D as he lures them along with a chunk of funny yellow metal, like a rat to cheese.

The cool part is the fact this is also a part of prophecy from dogmas and ideological principals from around the world. Its just a real suck time to be a good person and a frigging nice guy, gads! (Grits Teeth) If you had your ducks in a row spiritually speaking and comfortable with our true spiritual reality then all this stuff is ‘nothing but a meatball’ since you already know the deal. What deal? Surely if you’re spiritually inclined and already made that crucial spiritual connection with good guys and did not pee all over yourself praying to that cretin false G*D, you would know what I am talking about. Global vermin are supposed to have their heyday and languish in their ill gotten goods, blood money and stolen land for it is also a sign that their days, including the days of their false G*D, ‘Mork’ are numbered and there is nothing they can do to alter their destiny. Pay attention boys and girls for our technological Achilles tendon will soon be severed dealing a fatal blow to technocrats everywhere, including Mork and his merry band of buttheads.

Corporatist thugs watched in loathsome glee as innocent people were killed while being used as human shields in wars spawned by them but soon their false G*D will use them as shields when his mortality is reveled. Butt Cracker Mork and his paranormal chums are not G*Ds, just pseudo terrestrial douche bags who bedazzled some very ignorant people a zillion years ago. These dummies have been killing in the name of their false G*D ever since, how far beyond stupid is that eh? Don’t matter, who, what, when, where, how and why, their days are numbered and it will manifest itself in absolutely every aspect of life we all enjoin. We have blood on our hands and are guilty of complacency at the very least, and I sure was no cherry during my ‘goon’ years. So don’t feel like the ‘Lone Ranger’ writhe with guilt & ‘Original Sin’ and I don’t mean that lame movie, holay! What were you thinking John? Tonto means ‘moron and fool’ in Spanish. Or was it your intent to berate natives for your corporate handlers? Jump through the hoop Johnny, jump through the hoop, gads.

Everyone will get a taste of the crap sandwich retribution will muster as nature flexes her might in ways yet to be discovered or ignored by our collective of alchemists and politically motivated fraudsters with pocket protectors. Agenda based environmental shenanigans by all parties, good and bad, will disappear as survival takes center stage in our daily activities while we scrounge for food and warmth just to stay alive. Nature will reign supreme over all of life like a dominatrix with a dungeon full of slaves. The measure of pain we endure will be reflective of the pain we’ve distributed in our lifetime. Gads, that’s going to leave a mark, in my case anyway. Yup, like they say on the streets, “What comes around, goes around”. Mans existence will be known for what it actually is, a tiny hemorrhoid but a royal pain in the ass none the less.

There is no way man or false G*D can physically prepare enough for what is in store for them and their lack of a positive spiritual connection or conduit to the spirit world is their death nil regardless of all the toys money can buy and gizmos Mork and his team try to conger to line their underground habitat. Funny how ‘False G*D Mork’ needs technological devices, advanced as it is, to putter around and stuff. He and his fat head chums are just as screwed as us when it is all said and done. Hmm, funny how prophecies foretell of these boneheads and how they would be diametrically opposed to spirituality, prophecy and its ultimate conclusion. Guess they have issues foretelling their demise for some reason. The Plastic People will know in their hearts my words are all poppycock and their Frisbee Flying, B.S. Artist, False G*D, ‘Mork’, is ‘Da Man’, how far beyond stupid is that? Actually it’s not stupid, it’s prophecy…

For all you spiritual types who walk your talk with absolute faith within your respective dogmas and ideological principals, yup it’s all happening and its not your imagination. You know, spirits buzzing around, but just remember they were always there, only now some people are beginning to see them. Others will follow and eventually spirits will be hard to ignore. So don’t get your panties in a bunch because some plastic spirits are talking smack in your ear. They are just pissed that you are aware of their lameness and the fact they are all mouth who needs fear to control spiritually challenged humans.

Absolute faith within your respective dogma or ideological principal is the impenetrable bond between you and what ever you call the creator. Its a spiritual 911 x 10 since you don’t need to dial when an emergency occurs. You’ll get used to the whole spiritual being deal in a practical sense provided you don’t pee all over the furniture in the process and actually follow the tenets of your respective dogma or ideological principal. If not, buy some plastic furniture protectors and get over it or you’ll end up with the Plastic People.

For all you Plastic People and your Plastic Galactic Chums; enjoying your plastic party while you still can but watch out where the huskies go, and don’t you eat that yellow snow.

*Plastic People Lyrics

http://songmeanings.com/songs/view/50004/

 

Your Devil’s Advocate

Buffalohair

© 2013, Buffalohair Productions. All rights reserved.

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Posted by Little Running Deer “Featured”, Ann Little Running Deer, Ann’s Home Page, Bilderberg NWO + New World Order, Buffalohair-Jage Press, History, Satire, Survival, Time of Change

Our Humor is mainly Life Moments

Blog Entry Our Humor is mainly Life Moments Dec 14, ’08 2:11 PM
by Ann for everyone
Not many made up Joke Collections you know, just life moment
 
An Australian travel writer touring Canada was checking out
of the Vancouver Hilton, and as he paid his bill said to the
manager, “By the way, what’s with the Indian chief sitting in
the lobby? He’s been there ever since I arrived.”

 


“Oh that’s ‘Big Chief Forget-me Not’,” said the manager.
“The hotel is built on an Indian reservation, and part of the
agreement is to allow the chief free use of the premises for
the rest of his life. He is known as ‘Big Chief Forget-me Not’
because of his phenomenal memory. He is 92 and can remember
the slightest details of his life.”

 

 


The travel writer took this in, and as he was waiting for
his cab decided to put the chief’s memory to the test.
“G’dye, myte!” said the Aussie, receiving only a slight
nod in return. “What did you have for breakfast on your
21st birthday?”
“Eggs,” was the chief’s instant reply, without even looking
up, and indeed the Aussie was impressed.

 

 


He went off on his travel writing itinerary, right across
to the east coast and back, telling others of Big Chief
Forget-Me-Not’s great memory. (One local noted to him that
‘How’ was a more appropriate greeting for an Indian chief than
‘G’dye myte.’)

 


On his return to the Vancouver Hilton six months later, he
was surprised to see ‘Big Chief Forget-me Not’ still sitting
in the lobby, fully occupied with whittling away on a stick.

 


“How,” said the Aussie.
“Scrambled,” said the Chief.

 

 

WILD WEST JOKES

From WILD WEST JOKES Dec 14, ’08 2:13 PM
by Ann for everyone

 

Various Submissions

chief.gif

INDIAN MESSAGE TO THE MOON

 

 

When NASA was preparing for the Apollo project, they did some astronaut training on a Navajo Indian reservation.

One day, a Navajo elder and his son were herding sheep and came across the space crew. The old man, who spoke only Navajo, asked a question which his son translated. “What are these guys in the big suits doing?”

A member of the crew said they were practicing for their trip to the moon. The old man got all excited and asked if he could send a message to the moon with the astronauts.

Recognizing a promotional opportunity for the spin-doctors, the NASA folks found a tape recorder. After the old man recorded his message, they asked the son to translate it. He refused.

So the NASA reps brought the tape to the reservation where the rest of the tribe listened and laughed but refused to translate the elder’s message to the moon.

Finally, the NASA crew called in an official government translator. He reported that the moon message said, “Watch out for these guys; they have come to steal your land.”

THE PREACHER AND THE BEAR

 

A country preacher decided to skip services one Sunday and head to the hills to do some bear hunting. As he rounded the corner on a perilous twist in the trail, he and a bear collided, sending him and his rifle tumbling down the mountainside.

Before he knew it, his rifle went one way and he went the other, landing on a rock and breaking both legs. That was the good news. The bad news was the ferocious bear charging at him from a distance, and he couldn’t move.

“Oh, Lord,” the preacher prayed, “I’m so sorry for skipping services today to come out here and hunt. Please forgive me and grant me just one wish . . . please make a Christian out of that bear that’s coming at me. Please, Lord!”

That very instant, the bear skidded to a halt, fell to its knees, clasped its paws together and began to pray aloud right at the preacher’s feet. “Dear God, bless this food I am about to receive . . .”

WHERE THE WHITE MAN WENT WRONG

The old Cherokee chief sat in his reservation hut, smoking the ceremonial pipe, eyeing the two US government officials sent to interview him.

“Chief Two Eagles,” one official began, “you have observed the white man for many generations, you have seen his wars, his products, all his progress, and all his problems.”

The chief nodded.

The official continued, “Considering recent events, in your opinion, where has the white man gone wrong?

The chief stared at the government officials for over a minute, and then calmly replied. “When white man found the land, Indians were running it. No taxes. No debt. Plenty buffalo, Plenty beaver. Medicine man was free. The women did most of the work. Indian men hunted and fished all the time”

The chief smiled, and added quietly, “White man dumb enough to think he could improve system like that.”

LAST CHANCE SALOON

A guy travelling through the prairies of the USA stopped at a small town and went to a bar.

He stood at the end of the bar, ordered a drink, and lit up a cigar. As he sipped his drink, he stood there quietly blowing smoke rings.

After he blew nine or ten smoke rings into the air, an angry American Indian stomped up to him and said, “One more remark like that, and I’ll smash your face in!”

Lost

Lost Dec 14, ’08 2:15 PM
by Ann for everyone

Lost (Wednesday Groaner)

Long, long ago an old Indian chief was about to die, so he called for Geronimo and Falling Rocks, the two bravest warriors in his tribe. The chief instructed each to go out and seek buffalo skins. Whoever returned with the most skins would be chief.
About a month later Geronimo came back with one hundred pelts; sadly, Falling Rocks never returned.
Today as you drive through the West you can see the evidence of love and devotion the tribe had for this brave. At nearly every mile marker there are signs saying, “Watch for Falling Rocks.”

101 Ways to Prepare Long Pork / 2010

101 Ways to Prepare Long Pork

With food shortages and famine encroaching on civilization it should come as no surprise that alternative food sources will gain more popularity as necessity dictates. The ‘junk’ fish people use to discard will find its way onto the frying pan by thankful and starving anglers in the near future. Bones will become the mainstay rather than Fido’s Scooby Treats; hmm Fido will look pretty tasty as well. The 3-Day Chicken will become commonplace once again provided there are chickens. But when things get dicey and sustenance becomes nonexistent, for a host of catastrophic reasons, the dead guy lying next to you may very well hold the key to your existence. Welcome to the dark side of survival, where a person is forced to lift a fork and consume a fellow human being in the age old culinary adventure called cannibalism. Guess a person could use chop sticks or a piece of fry bread if they chose to.

 

Granted this is a very taboo subject and totally unacceptable under most conditions but there are times when dining on others is permissible. Throughout the ages people have been placed in situations where they either died along side others or ate from the flesh of the dead. It was once said that Columbus cut and quartered plump native kids then pickled them in wood casks for his first return trip from the ‘New World’. The Donner Party as well as Al Packer comes to mind in American cannibal lore. An old sailor once told me about an unwritten maritime law where it was OK when stranded in a lifeboat to eat a fellow crewman if they expired before you. The Andes Flight Disaster of Oct. 13 1972 where a Uruguayan airplane crashed in the Andes with a soccer team onboard was a classic case for cannibalism and survival. So please bear in mind that the situation must be extreme before people are added to the menu. And in no way am I condoning human flesh as ‘the other white meat’. Personally I prefer legs and thighs, dark meat please.

 

Let’s say that you and a group of your friends and family survived the time of change and dodged all the bullets man and nature tossed your way. You’ve built a compound with all the amenities your group needs such as living quarters, kitchen and crapper. Reverting to hunter gatherer techniques the hunters would go out in quest of food for the newly evolving clan. Others would scavenge through the ruins of civilization for just about anything useful to bring back to camp. Building materials, clothing, food and other items would be collected as the budding community grows. Eventually anything that was good would be picked through and all the food stuffs would be gathered. Weeks would pass into months then one day the hunters report that the wild game is disappearing.

 

As time progresses, the hunters come back empty handed more and more. Food stuffs gathered from the ruins of civilization become depleted and the villagers are getting hungry. Daily, people begin to sicken as starvation and disease sets in. First it’s the elderly then the children start to die. The healthiest people begin to succumb from the pangs of starvation as well. Then a bulb lights up in your head, “Why don’t we eat Uncle Otis? After all, he’s dead anyway.” In all reality there would be allot of soul searching before a fork touched Uncle Otis since it’s not normal to eat people, let alone a relative. Whence all the tears were shed and you made your peace with the Creator it’s time to prepare supper. Where would a person start when it came to eating human flesh? And where is Andrew Zimmern (Bazaar Foods, TLC) when you need him?

 

Long Pork (LP) has been slang for human meat since time immemorial. Interestingly enough human meat or LP has also been treated like pork since it must be well cooked before consuming. So now you have Uncle Otis on the chopping block. The first thing you should do is to dress him out. No, I don’t mean only take his cloths off but to remove the skin and the internal organs then save. Remove the skinned head and place with organs and skin in bucket. Be careful not to tear or puncture the stomach or intestines since the contents can taint the meat. At this time you should check the liver for spots since that would tell you if the meat is diseased or not. Hopefully Uncle Otis was healthy, other than the fact he starved to death. It is a sure bet he will not have much fat on him. Lean is good since triglycerides and serum cholesterol would still be an issue for some folks. LP is greasy and filled with antibiotics, growth hormones and other nasty chemicals that is in their feed so beware because human is also not Kosher or Halal.

 

LP would provide needed protein for survival in the form of chops and steaks. The back strap would be small but offer tender cuts of meat. Ribs are ribs and neck bone makes good soup. But if you had a grinder burger would be a good way to deal with other odd cuts of meat a human carcass would glean. With that in mind cleaning the intestines would be an excellent idea since you would be able to make sausage also. Hopefully you would have an abundance of salt to preserve your culinary bounty. If not, then it would behoove you to smoke all the meat for preservation sake. There is debate in some circles as to whether red or white wine should be served with LP. In this instance its rule of thumb that red wine should be served since in all actuality LP is a red meat. A vintage Cabernet Sauvignon would be nice. Side dishes are subject to tastes but if you had side dishes in the first place Uncle Otis would not be on the table. Spices are spices so season to taste and hopefully you packed a couple bottles of garlic salt in your survival pack. Just remember to cook until well done because LP may get you sick if served under cooked like other pork products.

 

There are other factors to consider as well. Is there water handy? If not and there is no possibility of finding any, you will soon be dead along side Uncle Otis within a week or so even if you drank his urine and blood. Thirst would trump hunger as dehydration turned your flesh into jerky. Delirium would set in well before you ever got hungry enough to stick a fork into Uncle Otis. Madness would ensue as your system shut down. Death would become your liberator. Worse yet, you are captured by others that enjoy the taste of LP who promptly tosses you on a make shift rotisserie. No salt, no pepper, not even a sprig of parsley. You are roasted alive without a hint of seasoning. How barbaric could it possibly be? Just to add insult to injury your captures would dine on your char broiled essence while drinking a poor quality pilsner beer. Have they no shame?

 

Seasoned or unseasoned there is no question that cannibalism is on the rise around the world. Starvation leads to desperation and cannibalism has taken on a new dimension in this era. Ritualistic cannibalism has gone off the charts as well. This is more ghoulishly macabre by design since it’s not about consuming human flesh for survival; it’s more about consuming people because you like it or some bonehead spirit told you to. The consumption of human fetuses for ritual or virility in stews and stir-fry crosses all continents. The scent of placenta soup still wafts in the air of some old world communities after a child is born. Would feeding fat Burmese babies to leeches in vats of water be considered a form of cannibalism if people ate the leeches?

 

One such restaurant in Thailand specialized in meals prepared with leeches. Burmese soldiers sell infants to Thai human traffickers who in turn sell plump healthy infants to restaurateurs. The restaurateurs fatten up the child then placed them in vats so the leeches can suck the rich milk fed blood from the infant’s veins. The leeches would get fat and juicy then the chef would pluck one out of the baby/water mixture and into a wok filled with spices, vegetables and shrimp paste. To the joy of exotic food aficionados their dining experience would be complete with a piping hot plate of steamed rice and succulent leeches in its own sauce. The leeches would be semi sweet from milk fat yet maintain their musky and savory leech flavor through the ginger onions, garlic and tamarind. So back to my moral dilemma, if the leeches are full of human baby blood when they are cooked and served would the person who ate the leeches be a cannibal? Would the diner be more of a cannibal if they knowingly ate leeches filled with baby blood? It is alleged General Than Shwe of Burma has taken part in sacrificial rituals involving the consumption of human flesh on more than one occasion. Ritual murder and cannibalism has become a military terror tactic for this criminal regime as well. Shwe is not the only one who practices this dark ritual, not by a long shot. Supermodel Naomi “Blood Diamonds” Campbell’s sweetie, Charles Taylor of Liberia comes to mind though I doubt Shwe or Taylor dined on leeches filled with baby blood.

 

If it were not for the fact I heard these eyewitness accounts from Christian missionaries and Karen refugees I would not have fathomed this reality. But after visiting and interviewing the survivors of Burma’s blood soaked regime it became clear torture and death was an excepted part of their normality. The only way to cope with the vivid images of gore from disemboweled bodies hung along pathways or to witness loved ones being butchered to death by a crowd of laughing sadistic soldiers is to raise the bar in what is perceived as sane. If not, a person would surely go mad from all the cruelty they endure. Many of my Asian friends barely raise an eye brow during at bloody western horror movie. In reality they experienced much worse from barbaric soldiers before they came to America. Ritual cannibalism committed by Burmese soldiers was not a surprise revelation. In fact ritual cannibalism is more common than people think and it’s being performed on every continent, well maybe not Antarctica. From India and the followers of Kali to the USA and the secret sects that roam the countryside, LP is on the menu. Maybe next time someone offers you some home made blood sausage you’ll think twice. Toss in a Kaiser roll some sour kraut and mustard, oh yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.

 

 

In closing, eating people is not cool, generally speaking. Under the right conditions having a filet of Fred or a side of Sidney can save your life in the most extreme of conditions. If you have to eat Uncle Otis the right seasoning and preparation will make the most of your cannibalistic culinary adventure. After all, it’s not your fault you are starving to death. So make the best out of a bad situation with a Cotesdeporc Charcutiere au Otis and a wine of your choosing. Just so you know, eating your neighbors is illegal in most Canadian Provinces though I am not sure about Quebec. It is anybody’s guess in America since politicians are known to eat their young. But if for some reason your fridge is packed with LP chops and steaks now, you may be in need of an attorney. Ritual, fetish or simply because you enjoy the taste of human flesh is no excuse for cannibalism. The exception to the rule is if you’re one of the forgotten millions of homeless and starving people around the globe, bon appétit.

 

Your Devil’s Advocate

Buffalohair

This entry was posted on October 9, 2010 at 7:40 pm and is filed under Reflets Sombres with tags , , , , , , , , .