Paul Dixon: “The Arkansas Letter”

A couple weeks ago, on a Saturday, we put up an old clip from the Paul Dixon Show that ruled Cincinnati morning television here back in the 60’s and 70’s. As a habit, we will sometimes put clips up on Saturday, because that’s our slowest day when it comes to views.

With the Paul Dixon clip, that wasn’t the case. Young and old loved it and it’s still getting watched here.

Here’s another one we found called “The Arkansas Letter.” We hope you enjoy it and your weekend.

Larry Gross

(Photo from t.v.party.com)

15 Items or Less

I’m not exactly a young guy anymore, but old people either crack me up at the grocery store or totally piss me off.

I was in line at Keller’s IGA in Clifton, kind of in a hurry to get in and out – had an appointment to make. All the lanes were full and I only had a couple things to get. I went to the express lane – 15 items or less.

In front of me was this older man putting out his groceries so the cashier would ring him up. 15 items or less my ass. The guy’s shopping cart was full.

As the cashier was ringing him up, he would look at certain items he had purchased and would say “I don’t need that. Take that off.” He did that at least three times – the cashier was being patient. I was pretending to be.

When it was all said and done, the man with at least 30 items owed the cashier around fifty bucks. Try to imagine how long it took him to find his wallet. Try to imagine how long it took him to learn how to swipe his credit card on the machine.

Paper or plastic? He wanted plastic. When the cashier was all done bagging up his groceries – shock – he changes his mind, better make that paper.

I felt like I had been in line for over an hour, just to get a couple things. I felt like killing the old man.

I’ve written about adventures in the grocery store before – click here to read another one.

Anybody out there have any grocery shopping stories to share?

Larry Gross

(Photo from rachelleb.com)

Cincinnati Photo of the Week

Kids today: They grow up so fast. Enjoy them while you can.

Tom Anus

(Photo from the wonderful world of the Google. Even President Bush uses it)

Rambling Candy Apple

I took Zoloft back when it was in vogue. All my friends were on Prozac, Zoloft or similar pills during the mid 90’s. It made me like a zombie. I didn’t care about anything, was like a potato head woman walking around, no spunk or anything. I said I would rather be depressed.

My cupcakes are done. I love to bake. Not that I’m all great at it, just makes me happy. I’m making cupcakes for my nephew. Every time he sees me he screams “candy cake, candy cake?” because he usually only sees me at parties or family functions where I bring a cake.

I haven’t read a book in ages, currently, my mom has sent me “Running with Scissors” which she told me wasn’t that great but then wants me to read it?

“Elie Wiesel” concentration camp survivor story, sounds so sad. I’m scared to open it, “The Hundred Secret Senses” by Amy Tan, no desire to read that one. I can read a book in a day if I like it. I read fast. I don’t even have time to read a magazine now.

Candy Apple

(Photo from gianteagle.com. This Candy Apple needs to be back on Zoloft. She gives me a headache)

Confederate Flag Simply a Statement of Southern Pride?

Artist John Sims is not about to back down and I rejoice, “Good for him!”

The Mary Brogan Museum of Art and Science in Tallahassee, Florida is hosting a fourteen piece exhibit by the artist. Click here for more on the story. Featured is a display entitled, “The Proper Way to Hang a Confederate Flag,” which features a confederate flag hung by a noose from a gallows.

Damn! I wish I’d thought of that.

All my life, I’ve had to listen to relatives try to rationalize (to themselves?) that the confederate flag stands for southern pride and nothing else.

Bullshit.

If you are African-American and you find yourself in the vicinity of a house or vehicle festooned with confederate flags, know this (as if you didn’t already); the owner of that house or vehicle is most certainly racist.

How do I know? Simple; I have a number of uncles, aunts, and cousins (male and female) who display the confederate flag. And I know for a sorry fact they are racist.

Some time ago, I was drinking beer around a campfire with relatives (the same ones who have a giant confederate flag hanging on the side of their barn). One of these people started telling racist jokes. This was going over very well. Seriously. I could tell that this person wasn’t going to stop and I couldn’t, in good conscience, let him continue uncontested. When he paused for a drink of beer, I looked over at him and stated, “You know, you’d be much more effective if you’d wear your white sheet while telling these sick jokes.”

He threw me a nasty look and continued to glare at me the rest of the evening. Ask me if I cared.

Lord, Lord. I remember an uncle back in the day that had a George Wallace for President bumper sticker. And he meant it. At the tender age of ten, even I knew this man’s thinking was skewed.

I have a female cousin who carries a handgun and belongs to a survivalist group. Read this as white supremacist group, for this is exactly what it is.

Another cousin invited my husband to join the Eagles Club. Husband asked what exactly this club was. By way of description, my husband was told that this club was very selective. What! Come again? I suppose if cousin had realized my husband was Catholic (ardently so), the invitation would never have been extended.

I could go on, but I’m getting a headache. Just know that each and every one of these people, clearly racist, has some form of confederate flag on their property. Is my family an anomaly? Of course not.

Don’t give me that shit about southern pride.

Marilyn

(Exhibit by John Sims. Photo from Google.com)

What is Satire?

If you thought you had read a morning post here about a large company in town, you weren’t dreaming.

It was a satire piece – lampooning a national corporation that’s been in the headlines lately. None of it was factual, just a big joke taking some shots at it’s former owner who the writer of the piece pretended was still the current owner, because the person is still so well known for being associated with it.

Whatever. We took the post down. Let’s just say it was considered “inappropriate” and I didn’t feel like fighting about it. I try to pick my battles.

What is satire and is it something you want to see here? And while we’re at it, let’s just open up the door to anything else you like or don’t like here.

I’m not asking you to be nice, but I’m asking you to be honest.

Larry Gross

(Photo: petesrestaurants.com)

On Crack and Lovin’ It

Or maybe the guy was just having a good time at last year’s Taste of Cincinnati. You decide.

Teri Archer
(Photo: photobucket.com)

Monday’s Lunch

• Kitten

George W. Bush

(Photo from photobucket.com)

What’s Happening to Me?

I’ve been unemployed for weeks now. Ever since I lost my job because of jacking off too much in the corporate restroom, my life has gone downhill.

Job interviews don’t go well, because my mind is always on sex. Even doctor visits become difficult if the doctor examining me has a pair of breasts. Damn my girlfriend. Why did she have to break up with me?

I’ve got plenty of time on my hands these days. I’m sitting at a table in a bar here in Cincinnati, drinking a gin and tonic. The bar is almost empty as it’s early in the afternoon.

The bartender is an old guy who isn’t very friendly. The guy sitting at the bar nursing a beer smiled at me when I came in.

He’s older than me – not a bad looking guy. He has short brown hair and I like his glasses. He’s reading a newspaper and I like that – a man who wants to know what’s going on in the world.

I like his jacket too.

He orders another beer from the bartender, looks over at me and smiles again.

I don’t know why, I’m not gay, but I feel my penis getting hard. Why does this man keep smiling at me? What does he want?

His back is turned to me again and he’s still reading his newspaper. I like the way he takes small sips of his beer. I wish he would stand up so I could get a look at his ass.

My penis is getting harder.

What’s happening to me?

Nate

(Jesus, what a screwed up guy. Photo from thevisualrecord.com)

Large. Firm. Large.

I had never been with a black man before. I don’t know why, maybe the opportunity never presented itself.

He was at the bar when I came in late. I couldn’t sleep – kept tossing and turning in my bed. I live in downtown Cincinnati. Madonna’s is only a few blocks down from me. Maybe a few gin & tonics would help me sleep. That was my thinking.

Maybe he noticed I wasn’t wearing underwear. What for? It was just a quick drink.

He walked up to me.

He was black. All muscle. He had to be at least 7 feet tall. When his hand started rubbing my back, I felt a chill. I felt turned on.

I asked him if he was the real deal. He kissed me on the lips lightly. I had yet to hear him speak.

I paid the bar tab. I took his hand and we talked the two blocks back to my apartment.

In my bedroom, we both stripped. In my bed, I laid on my back. In the darkness I looked at his penis. Large. Firm. Large.

Between my legs, he pounded me – pounded me like I had never been before. I had an orgasm. I was satisfied, but he wasn’t done. I had another orgasm – then another – and then he was ready to have his own release.

He kissed me lightly on the lips. We were both exhausted and sweaty. We fell asleep.

He never spoke a word.

When I woke up the next morning, he was gone.

LOL Girl

(Photo from google.com)