This is why I don't share my poetry.

Filling stations no longer serve
Work up her nerve
Abandoned at the alter
She ran to her home

You pump your gas
You ride my ass
Get off me
I don’t want to hear it

Check the oil
Never spoil
Don’t panic
It’s just a minor threat

Who’s buying coffee?
Still can’t get her off me
Push on her stomach
She’ll throw up

Reach in and grab your lust
Pull it from disgust
Sliced my finger
On broken glass

My finger starts to bleed
Losing what I need
Will you put it in me
When I am gone?

Fill er’ up Phil
Pig in its swill
I hate myself
If you will too

Drive away
Why stay
Fuck the paperwork
Just keep it

Danger

What a Smell of Sulfer

Who doesn’t count The Wizard of Oz as one of their favorite movies? It is a movie that is timeless in many respects. For seven decades, children have been enamored by its magic, with good reason. The story draws you in. The fascinating adventure Dorothy and Toto find in Oz one no child can ever forget. There is nothing complicated about it. You don’t have to think, just enjoy. The acting is great. The sets are phenomenal. The make up was incredibly realistic. The Wicked Witch was a great villain. She was evil and mean but, still safe enough even for timid children. Munchkin land and The Emerald city are typical of the fantasy world all kids go to in their imagination. Each and every character was so defined that kids could feel as if they knew each and every one of them. There was the bumbling “Wizard”, the comforting Glenda, the witch, and of coarse Dorothy and her companions.
What many people don’t know is the political aspect the book was originally written around. As you are aware, our dollars are each worth one dollar’s worth of gold. That is to say in theory, you could take a dollar bill to Fort Knox in Kentucky and trade it in for one dollar’s worth of gold. In actuality you can’t do that because they are now backed by faith, but that’s another story. When The Wizard of Oz was written, America was considering changing to the “silver standard”. With this change, your dollars would be worth silver not gold. Frank Baum was keen on this idea. He felt that staying on the gold standard, or “following the yellow brick road” would let down the American people, just as Dorothy was let down by the false wizard. The whole journey Dorothy was following the yellow brick to Oz. Oz, which is the abbreviation for ounces, represents gold, which is measured in ounces. Dorothy is the average American. Most Americans didn’t know about the gold standard, let alone know weather or not the silver standard would be better. That parallels Dorothy knowledge of what to expect on the yellow brick road. In the book Dorothy was wearing silver slippers. In the end, it was the silver slippers that were her salvation. Toto represented the children of America. Toto had to go along with Dorothy no matter which path she took. He would share in her fate although he had no means of controlling that fate. The Scarecrow represented the farmers who were under educated. The Tin Man was the blue collar workers, who acted as if they didn’t care. And the Lion represented the silent majority who was afraid to speak up. The Wicked Witch represented the Speaker of the House of Representatives, who would use congress, (flying monkeys) to thwart Dorothy’s best interests so she could personally profit.
If all this is interesting to you, dig this. Get a copy of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon. It must be a C.D. If you burn it then there must be no time between the tracks. Play the movie and turn the sound off. At the start of the MGM lion’s third roar begin the C.D. I will go no further. You must experience that for yourself. I cannot do it justice from a keyboard. If you have access, eat some psilocybin mushrooms prior to the movie.
After the Witch throws a fireball at the Scarecrow that the Tin Man puts out with his hat, that’s rumored to be a man committing suicide in the far background. It’s just before the fade, center screen.
The Scarecrow is the only character to carry a gun. He carries in the Haunted Forest.

These guys knew how to party. (Actually I dislike it when people use "party" as a verb.)

The dynamic relationship of Ken Kesey, LSD, the Hell’s Angels, and Hunter S. Thompson, would change the American cultural landscape. Somehow Kesey scored a gig taking LSD as a test subject for the government at Menlo Park Veterans Hospital. Kesey liked the acid but did not care much for the surroundings. He used his experiences taking psychoactives as inspiration for his novel One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. With the proceeds from his writing success he acquired a magical piece of land in La Honda California. At that time, Thompson was attracting attention from major publishers for his work in the Nation. He was writing a series of pieces on the Hell’s Angels. The Angels had been ripped apart by the press; they despised journalists. Thompson was able to play on his role as a fellow misfit in society to gain their acceptance. He worked to remove the stigma left by sensational headlines. When Kesey and Thompson were drinking at a bar, graced by a performance of fledgling rockers Jefferson Airplane, Kesey invited Thompson to bring the Angels to La Honda. There Kesey and his “Merry Band of Pranksters” were hosting bashes known as “acid tests”. These celebrations would later give birth to the hippie movement. The Angels arrived at La Honda on July 22, 1965; greeted by a sign reading “The Merry Pranksters Welcome The Hell’s Angels” This was the Angel’s first introduction to LSD. Thompson was no stranger to hard drugs. However, he stayed away from LSD on the advice of a trusted physician and friend who told him he was too violent for LSD’s effects. That night, after a memorable orgy, Thompson was ready and willing to dose. Surely the universe paused when Thompson’s tongue first contacted his beloved nectar. The matter-of-fact manner in which Thompson relayed his use of LSD in his writings became a trademark of his.
The illusion of a successful union between these fringe elements of society would soon crash. The Merry Pranksters and there hippie followers found themselves at odds with the Angels over their positions on communism, and the Vietnam War. The glue of drugs and rock-n-roll could not withstand the division. Angels would crash anti-war protests set up by Kesey and fellow prankster Neil Cassady. Sonny Barger, maximum leader of the Hell’s Angels, went so far as to offer the Angels service as a “crack group of trained gorillas” for service in Vietnam to President Johnson. Johnson declined the offer. Thompson could only play both sides of the issue for a finite amount of time. In September of sixty-six Thompson made a life changing mistake. At a drug fueled party he got into a fight with an Angel. Although he was in favor with the Angels Thompson was not one of them. The Angels beat Thompson with the ruthlessness he had worked to erase from the public’s opinion of them.

Not A Present For Your Friends To Open (rerun, yeah I'm busy, so fucking what)

Let’s take a closer look at the lyrics to Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. The lyrics give the clear message that the author is dissatisfied with the way things are, and wants to return to a simpler life. In reading these carefully crafted words a question arises. Is this a letter from Elton John to his fans, or is it a letter from a jilted lover to Elton John? Both scenarios apply.


When are you gonna come down?

When are you gonna land?

I should have stayed on the farm,

should have listened to my old man.


Certainly these words can be from a lover who regrets leaving his simpler life to be with a rock star. It also seems like a rock star regretting leaving a simpler life for the fake Hollywood scene.


You know you can’t hold me forever.

I didn’t sign up for you.

I’m not a present for your friends to open.

This boy’s too young to be singing the blues.


This intriguing stanza is my favorite. The first line suggests it form a lover. The phrase “home me forever” brings to mind more of a lovers’ relationship rather than a relationship between an artist and his fans. However it can certainly apply to both. The second line’s use of “sign up” is more prominently associated with an artist and their record label but can also describe a pair of lovers’ commitment to each other. It is the third line that is most graphically addresses both theories. Being a “present for your friends to open” can refer to compact disks being given to friends as a gift. An artist could “sing the blues” over being reduced to a gift package that is often put on a shelf and forgotten. However, the other school of thought suggests a rock star sharing his homosexual lover to other homosexuals as a favor. Obviously, a lover would “sing the blues” over being reduced to this role.


So goodbye yellow brick road

Where the dogs of society howl.

You can’t plant me in your penthouse

I’m going back to my plow.

Back to the howling owl in the woods

Hunting the horny back toad

Oh, I’ve finally decided my future lies

Beyond the yellow brick road


There stanzas speak of someone who wants to leave their life to reclaim a simpler one. I think they equally support both schools of thought. The mention of a penthouse at first seems to speak of someone addressing a more wealthy rock star. However a rock star who has become disillusioned with his lifestyle would tend to see the material positions amassed as those of the lifestyle and not his own. The fans, as recipients of this letter, embody that lifestyle.


What do you think you’ll do then

I bet that’ll shoot down your plane

It’ll take you a couple of vodka and tonics

To set you on your feet again


Again, this portion of the lyrics supports both possibilities. They simply say ‘you will miss me when I’m gone’. If written to a rock star the phrase “shoot down your plane” is more literal. Private jets are associated with rock stars. If this is addressed to fans the shooting down of “your plane” would be more figurative.


Maybe you’ll get a replacement

There’s plenty like me to be found

Mongrels who ain’t got a penny

Sniffing for tidbits like you on the ground


It is obvious how these lines could go either way. The phrase “Mongrels who ain’t got a penny” can refer to an aspiring artist or a gold digging homosexual who now regrets his pursuit of coattails. It is interesting to note that this work was not written by Elton John himself, but rather Bernie Taupin. Taupin wrote many of Elton John’s songs. I believe “Bennie” from Bennie and the Jets is a mix of both Elton John and Taupin. Taupin also wrote the words to Your Song which Elton John has described as a letter from himself to his mother. It seems that the points of view Taupin writes from are varied and unusual.

Welcome to Mrs Danger's World

I was driving Home with my twelve year old daughter, Lori Valentine and almost two year old Shifty Pete. It was the wee hours of the morning, and we were all on cloud nine from a successful surprise 60th birthday party for Grandpa Danger.

L.V.: Dad! Stop that! You’re trying to hit that cat on purpose.

N.D.: You know, they’re so hard to hit. I try and try but only get one out of every hundred or so.

L.V.: Shut up.

N.D. You have to hit them just right… across their back legs and butt. That way, they don’t die right away but crawl away to go bleed to death. “RRRRRRAAAAAAAAWWWWWWRRRRRRRLLLLLLL”

L.V.: Cut it out Dad.

N.D. When I get a good hit I’ll drive back around to listen to it cry. “RRRRAAAAWWWLL WHY DID YOU HIT ME RRRAAAWWLLLLLL”

L.V.: You know what you are Dad, a murderer that’s what you are!

N.D.: “RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLL”

S.P.: “RRRAAAWWWLL”

Minutes later inside the Danger Compound, Shifty Pete is delivered to Mrs. Danger for jammies and bed.

N.D.: Tell Mommy what a cat says when you hit it with a car

S.P.: “RRRRAAAAWWWLL”

There's a place I like to go.

A Brief History of the Recreational Drugs I've Done (so far)

When I was eight I started smoking cigarettes with a friend from the Catholic school I attended. From time to time I would drink beer with his older siblings and catch glimpses down his sisters’ shirts. In the summer between sixth and seventh grade I traded the use of my parents lawn mower to a friend for one eight of an ounce of marijuana. I stole one of my dad’s tobacco pipes and got high in my room alone. I loved it. In Junior High School my drug taking pace accelerated. I took to hanging out with the ‘hoods’ or ‘gritters’. We would meet behind a fence to smoke cigarettes and drink what beer we could take from our houses before school. Once or twice a week we got high on pot. My freshman year of High School, I got a gig selling joints. A few friends and I would break open two cigarettes into each ounce of weed and roll the whole mixture into ‘pinners’ that sold for two bucks a piece. We made a killing. One night during my freshman year I was too drunk to go home. My friend said he had just the thing I needed. I did three lines of cocaine. I made it home fine, but I sat up all night twiddling my thumbs. I started doing coke a few times a week with a serious binge once every couple of months. My sophomore year I befriended a guy new to our school. He turned me on to acid. For the next few years this would be my drug of choice. I would take acid at least every other day. The next year I had two heart attacks and one major arrest. I cut out the cocaine but nothing else. One night some friends and I were driving around enjoying the effects of acid and looking for a bag of smoke. A friend came back to our car from a dealer’s house and told us he could not get any weed but he could score some crack. It was my money and I was down with the plan. I took to crack more like I did acid than cocaine. I started hanging out with more serious druggies, mostly runaways and punkers. I rarely shot up heroine. Due to lack of means I picked up inhalants and cough syrup. Then my girlfriend told me she was pregnant. Weeks later I converted to Christianity from Greene County Jail. In a miracle, I quit all drugs, save cigarettes with no withdrawals. I joined the U.S. Army where I drank only occasionally. I separated from the service and Jesus in an ugly karmic whirlwind. I was lost and drank heavily for months. I gradually started smoking more pot again. I still smoke a quarter ounce a week together with Mrs. Danger. It was during this time I met Mrs. Danger. She was married to a drinking buddy of mine. With that crowd I did a lot of ecstasy (and PCP and coke from time to time). When Mrs. Danger’s ex-husband left her she turned to excessive alcohol. I offered to quit drinking with her. We did. Now, I drink rarely. I just took an anti depressant for three months to quit smoking cigarettes. It was successful.

really, my mother raised me right... I swear

Student on my community college campus: Excuse me sir, We are stopping interesting looking people to…

Nick Danger (interrupting): Well you just stopped a rude one. Fuck off and die.

I was in a good mood before during and after this encounter. I have no idea where the outburst came from. Perhaps I should get back on antidepressants.

altitudinous thats right, altitudinous, look it up

There wasn’t enough light to confirm but the bar felt moldy. There were two long haired people in sweatshirts with the sleeves rolled up necking in the hall that led into the bathrooms. There was a party of eight softball teammates with five trophy girlfriends between them. Looking into the mirror behind the bar, Nick saw Ferguson walk in the door. He was sick of this bar and was glad to finally get to work. He finished his drink, a White Russian. He kept staring at the mirror behind the bar while talking to Andy.
“You ready?”
“Yeah, eashy pickins from what I’ve overhhheard” Andy said grinning.
Nick hoped Andy wasn’t as drunk as he sounded. He scanned the bar to size up everyone’s location. He spotted the waitress blowing her nose just before she picked up an order of cheese sticks. Nick got up and went to the jukebox, then the mens room. It was foul, but not any worse than he’d expected He pulled a pad of post-it notes and pen from his jacket pocket. He wrote down the code.

James Gang/Funk #49

*

Kool and the Gang/Jungle Boogie

He stuck the note on the back of the commode, and returned to his stool. Soon after, Funk #49 was finishing. He raised his voice and said to Andy
“Hey, You remember when the Brady Bunch had them chink, and nigger kids staying with them?”
His voice traveled over the jukebox which had just started playing Jungle Boogie.
Andy’s reaction was slowed by alcohol. He grinned and before he could respond they both heard objections from the adjacent table.
“I don’t appreciate the language pal” asserted a tall lanky fellow in a flannel shirt one size too small. The shirt looked as if it were small because it would be too hard to find one that fit his large proportions. Still, he wasn’t particularly muscular; Nick proceeded.
“Sorry I thought you eavesdropping faggots were racists too!”
Andy bit his lip to keep from laughing. A shorter more muscular man with a buzz cut stood up next to his altitudinous friend.
“Hey asshole, if you’ve got a problem just say so.”
Nick grasped Andy’s beer by the neck and broke the bottom of the bottle off in one fluid movement. His expression was all business. He took two steps towards the gentleman with closely cropped locks and held the make-shift weapon aloft.
“So…..”
There was no reaction from Buzz Cut. He pointed the bottle to the taller of the would be combatants.
“How bout you Abe Lincoln?”
Just then, Nick felt the welcome grasp of a bouncer’s hand on the back of his neck. He looked to his left and saw that this particular bouncer was primarily a cook. Still, he looked an apt bouncer.Nick called out loud “Do you even know who I am!?!? I’m the seventh king’s servant! Woo-Coo-Coo!!!” He flapped his arms as he was assisted to the door.
Andy laughed.
Minutes later Andy and Nick had picked themselves up from the sidewalk and were two doors down when Ferguson came around the side of the strip mall.
“I got six wallets, but I couldn’t get into the ‘chick in the green shirt’s purse so I took the whole purse. They’re going to be onto us soon. We better boogie.”
The three of them retrieved their bikes from behind a dumpster.

I liked OJ better.

The young medium of the blog should be viewed as untapped potential. Will this medium show itself to be a fad? Will it become a powerful resource for recordkeeping? I would like to test this mediums capability to compare the different flavors of its readers’ regions. The following are the ‘Michael Jackson’ jokes from the Miami Valley of Ohio. Stop reading now if you can’t have a good chuckle over pedophilia. What are the ‘Michael Jackson’ jokes from where your neck of the woods?

What time is bedtime at the Neverland Ranch?

When the big hand is on the little hand.

What does Michael Jackson have in common with caviar?

They both come on little white crackers.

What is the difference between Michael Jackson and a refrigerator?

Refrigerators don’t fuck little boys

(I made up that last one.)

Danger

Gratitude

1000 Danger points each to Kevin and Rae Ann for friendship in time of whoa. Thank you for your care packages. Thank you very much.

bench in Yellow Springs
.

Interview with a Danger

The following is an excerpt from an interview of Nick Danger, by H. Scoop Thompson conducted on a covert surveillance boat in parts unknown.

S.T. So, you’re out here on some top secret mission?

N.D. No secret, from time to time Congress and the president call on me to fill roles in world saving missions. Today we are intercepting some cronies of Professor Buzzkill as they come to exploit nearby uranium mine.

S.T. Well, we certainly wish you the best with that Nick Danger. What new products can we expect to see coming out of the Danger Labs?

N.D. We have a team working on a new style breast implant.

S.T. New style, what’s that all about?

N.D. What we’re developing is a breast for women’s back. You know, for slow dancing and such.

S.T. Another wonderful development for the betterment of mankind, thank you Mr. Danger

N.D. I’ll pass your thanks along to the good folks in the labs. They are also developing disposable toothbrushes; you just swallow ‘em.

S.T. No shit?

N.D. No Shit.

S.T. You were seen with high ranking Republican Leadership recently. What was that all about?

N.D. That puss Frist! I basically have to tell him to grow a pair. I told him we were pushing through Bolton and he was going to have to rally the troops and show some fucking leadership or he was going to lose any backing in the ’08 primaries.

S.T. Interesting, Is this just another day for Nick Danger?

N.D. I don’t think there’s any such thing.

S.T. It would seem not. You were also recently seen in court over an advertising dispute.

N.D. Yeah, I sold Tampax the phrase, “so comfortable you’ll stuck one in your butt too”. Those bastards reneged on our deal. After they convinced me to let them change ass to butt, they wanted to change the royalty structure.

S.T. So it was a bitter dispute.

N.D. Well, I still am long in their stock. It’s a good place to park cash I like the stability of feminine hygiene profits. I don’t want to go hiding under a rock at the first sign of a swell in the value of the Euro, but this post 9-11 market keep you guessing. Who would have thought gold would be such a late bloomer from the last recession?

S.T. Not me

N.D. Fuckin-a-right not you.

In the Ghetto

Yesterday I finally reached my savings goal and I have the down payment on the house I want. This is especially exciting to me. Everyone has a sob story and I am no exception. I have worked hard and overcome many mistakes I made to be where I am. That is living with my wife and four kids in the ghetto. When I say ghetto I actually mean the section of the suburbs littered with grassless lawns and drunks. A police visit to my street is usually a three of four times a week event. I have done my best to protect my kids there. Nick Jr. has had his bike stolen five times in the last four years. The kids used to wonder why they weren’t allowed to play with their neighbors. Now that my oldest is reaching Jr. High and her classmates from our neighborhood are starting to smoke and go to juvenile detention she is beginning to see the wisdom in that decision.
Then I come home to find out some dickless piece of shit totaled my van. He was from the ever-present crowd of teenage boys who sit three houses down from my house, in their front yard around a Webber grill. This mother fucker is sitting in jail with no license or insurance and no way to even think about paying for the damage he cost. I’ve got a way to pay for it but I was really looking forward to getting the house.

It’s ironic and frustrating.

Fuck everything and everyone in the world

I quote Michael Jackson from “The Wiz” soundtrack
~ “You can’t win; you can’t get even; and you can’t get out of the game.”

a bike ride and a chance to try posting photos

Pete loves riding in his trailer. His siblings swarm around him as he points out motorcycles and airplanes. Trains, cows and busses are also items of note. Even from this low vantage point, Pete manages to be the center of attention on rides. Rolling from the backyard, Pete looks up from his trailer and inspects his riding companions like a General inspects his troops. He is ready for a ride and will not tolerate any slackers.

Pete is disappointed to find that Grandma Danger is not in attendance. In an attempt to enlist her as a member of the riding party he suggests stopping by her house to see if she’s like to ride with. This request is verbalized as “Go to Go-Go’s house?” repeated for the entire mile to her house. Unfortunately she did not accompany us and Gal ended up keeping her company in her air conditioning. So, Lori, Pete, and I set out to The Wright Brother’s Memorial.

Here we see Lori and Pete enjoying themselves at the memorial. Shortly after this picture was taken Lori took a major dive from her bike onto the concrete bike path. Although she had a harsh initial smack and a long slide, she emerged with no serious injuries. She sprained her wrist and scrapped her shoulder and knee. Pete was impressed with her aerial stunt. When I was a newer parent I would have been just glad she was ok. Now I’m just glad it wasn’t a major hospital bill.

Weekend in Hai Ku

drunken bar-b-q
we cut up a leg-o-lamb
swimming in the dark

family bike ride
and watch Star Wars with the kids
should have mowed the lawn

much grocery shopping
two hundred sixty dollars
your welcome Kroger

a new light to mount
Mag for bicycle headlight
As bright as they come

head out late night ride
from Yellow Springs to Springfield
eighteen mile run

early out of bed
a trip to Columbus Zoo
I like the monkeys

spaghetti dinner
and then popsicles outside
evening family ride

one more nighttime ride
alone in rare solitude
I need an I-pod

how was your weekend?
let us know in a Hai Ku
counting syllables

Danger loves you.

A poem by Nick Danger

I wrote this on a late night bike ride recently. Mrs Danger thinks its "stupid". I think she just doesn't "get" it.

Ding Dong
Smoke a bong
Riding while we're lit

Tick Tock
Suck my cock
While I take a shit

Nicky is a Punk Rocker

My adolescence is now looked back on as a punk rock blur. I was a punker, not a liberty punk with fucking colored spikes. No, I was a gutter punk. My experiences growing up punk have equipped me with the tools I have used to live a rich and full life. As a young adult in the Army, I met all kinds of Americans from across all spectrums of life. I also met many immigrants working to earn their citizenship in the service. It was common for us to congregate and discuss our recent comings of ages. It was in those discussions that I learned just how exceptional my own personal teenage wasteland was. Here is an excerpt.
For a time I lived in a large studio with a large skate ramp. I kept my belongings under the ramp. I don’t know why or how but, my fellow squatters and I had amassed many refrigerators. (I assumed they were stolen from houses by ambitious thieves, but I’m just guessing.) To this day I don’t know who, if anyone was paying the rent there. For that matter I don’t even know if the building was condemned. It was filled with artists and punkers of all flavors. Rather than scrape up enough change for a pack of cigarettes, we would scrape up bus fare for one. That unlucky individual would take the buss to the mall and scour the ashtrays for long butts. Many times I asked myself what my life was as I was stared at by a bus full of discussed onlookers. I cradled shirt loads of half smoked smokes, a diligent hunter gatherer for my punk rock tribe.
I often ran with a crowd called the robo junkies. They bore this moniker because of their drug of choice. Robitussen DM. These guys largely lived at home. You know the type, rich kids on LSD. They had many strange rituals. At parties in different suburban houses we would tale wash rags from the linen closets and chew on them like dogs. In a show of masculinity the boys would grasp opposite ends of the same rag in their teeth and fight over them. When very high on cough syrup and other intoxicants we would often speak in “robo talk”, where we would drop all articles and prepositions.
The whole time I was out stretching my wings and flirting with death I had two loving parents I could go home to. In fact they were yearning for me to do so. I just dug that scene.

morning sex

waking slow start too tired she laid naked on her stomach with her legs making a four shape I enter her face down spare her my breath legs sore from bike ride rhythmic pumping to pbs kids shows on tv pinch her nipple alarm will go off soon that’s it reach around is it Thursday or Friday hear one of the kids upstairs give it to her harder faster I have to mow today watch her ass bounce I should have done laundry last night what shirt will I wear my thigh against hers take myself out and leave myself on her back “I’m running late, do you have gas money?” “Yes” put my stomach in her back gooey bite her neck “I love you” “I love you too” baby monitor rustles and cries get out of bed

Strange Things Afoot

While Marc went inside the Dairy Mart, Adam waited in the car. He stared at the girl on the payphone. She was dirty and barefoot, and kept sticking her hand down her cut off jean shorts to scratch her groin. “fuckin’ crack whore” Adam whispered to himself. Marc returned with two tall paper cups of coffee and two doughnuts in tissue paper. Adam took a coffee; he knew both doughnuts were for Marc.
“What’s the deal? You got a crush on Miss America there?” Marc asked indicating the filthy tart on the pay phone.
“Yeah…just working up the nerve to ask her to the prom.”
“Hey, why’d you wear the shirt and tie today like you’re going to work today?”
“Because I am.”
“Yeah, but for the last time, you could have just called in sick. 16 hours and we’re millionaires”
“Man what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What?”
“Keep you’re mouth shut about that shit, man, come on!”
“What?”
“I’ve killed three people over the past seventeen years because of you can’t keep a secret. There’s less than sixteen hours until the statute of limitations is up. Then you can write a book about the robbery for all I care, until then keep your trap shut! Don’t fuck this up now; you know we’re being watched.”
Marc waived his hand dismissively as he placed it over the bench seat, looking over his shoulder pulling out of the parking lot. As they pulled away, the grungy girl at the phone spoke into the microphone in her shirt.
“I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I heard killed and robbery I think.”
A voice came to the receiver in her ear.
“We’re enhancing it now. I think it might be enough to pick them up. Good Job Anne.”

searching and streching with Shifty Pete

This weekend I learned that: in Fairborn, on a Sunday afternoon, an average of one baseball per outfield can be found, also that teaching a two year old yoga is like stacking grains of sand. You don't accomplish much, but the experince can be zen.

That Legendary Divorce is Such a Bore

Here we dissect the great Cobain’s lyrics to “Serve the Servants” They begin…

Teenage angst has paid off well
Now I'm bored and old

I’m putting Kurt in his mid twenties when he wrote this. I too can remember feeling much more ‘tame’ after the whirlwind that was my teenage years. It seems silly to me now but I first started to think of myself as ‘old’ when I was in my mid twenties. I thought I had peaked at sixteen. Actually I had peaked then, now I realize it was the first of many peaks.

Cobain goes on…

Self-Appointed judges judge
More than they have sold

Here a twist is introduced. The growing old aspect in the first two lines is tied to a ‘souring’ or ‘selling out’. This is what I love about Cobian’s writing. His words are rarely bound by any grammar rules, yet they swirl around images like bees buzz around a hive. Perhaps these hypocritical judges are somehow tied to the record industry. The fact that he mentions selling brings to mind record sales. I always have been suspect of the relationship between Kurt Cobain and media mogul David Geffen, but hell, what would I know about them.

If she floats than she is not
A witch like we had thought
A down payment on another
One at Salem’s lot

I purpose that this entire stanza ties much together. There is the obvious reference to the Salem witch trials that bring in an anti-Christian theme. The term “down payment” adds an anti-capitalist element, which ties it all with the souring 'selling out' from the previous stanza. It is interesting to me that what we seem to have here is a condemnation of the political right. Youthful idealness is pitted against more mature reason, capitalism is contrasted with communal sharing, and secularism is promoted with one of the most stereotypical anti-Christian parables: the Salem witch trials.

Next we have the chorus

Serve the servants - Oh no
That legendary divorce is such a bore

The title of this song speaks to me in a personal way. When this song was released I was both a devout fundamentalist Christian and a Non Commissioned Officer in the Army. (I also was (and still am) a husband and father) Servant leadership was my life, and the focus of much of my meditations. I often would wonder why such a conservative and Christian mantra was immersed in such liberal and secular lyrics. Did Kurt Cobain see servant leadership as a good in the face of the established church’s corruption? Was he simply throwing Jesus philosophy back at modern Christian who had strayed so far form his teachings? The second line here drew me in to Kurt Cobain in a generational manner. I knew we were the about same age. At the time I felt we had a unique loathing, not only for divorce itself but the de-moralization the divorce rate had come to represent. It also seems fitting that he was addressing the moral decay he saw with the loss of youthful liberalism.

The next stanza is where the meat is. Perhaps some back-story is in order before I show these next four lines through Nick Danger’s mind. When I was a teenager I worshipped the band Jane’s Addiction. I cannot imagine it was much different for Kurt Cobain. Perry Ferrell’s seminal song “Had a Dad” dealt with similar issues as I have purposed here. The short of it is “Had a Dad” is about a lost personal relationship with God.

As my bones grew they did hurt
They hurt really bad
I tried hard to have a father
But instead I had a dad

What I think Mr. Cobain says here in the first two lines is that he was experiencing growing pains, emotional growing pains, that he longed and tried for a relationship with the creator, yet found a lost relationship with God. If that was his intention in writing that I must say I felt his pain. Who hasn’t?


I just want you to know that I
Don't hate you anymore
there is nothing I could say
that I haven't thought before

Now this sounds like conversations I've had with God in my head. I have felt guilt for thoughts that would be considered blasphemous. It’s ironic, yes, but I have wrestled with it my whole life. Perhaps I’m dating myself here (thx Mr G) but, I felt a rush of relief that someone else may be dealing with the same horrible issue as me: wrestling with God. I think it may have been my Catholic upbringing or just my natural rebellion or that my dad was an atheist, maybe it is all of them. I have wrestled with my concept of God my whole thinking life.

I know many of you come here for the humor. This is the second somber post out of the last three so let me leave up with this.

In order to made a Kleenex dance…blow a little boogie in it, and don't forget, fuck the Joneses Danger

Did I Mention I'll Waive The Security Deposit

One thing my neighbor Chas and I count on each other for is stress relief. At the end of a bad day I can look forward to cussing Chas out as if it were his fault. I am happy to return the favor and receive his verbal abuse in return. I don’t know why, perhaps it’s a guy thing, but we just end up berating each other often. No offence is ever taken, in fact, to us its endearing.
One misty morning as I stepped out onto my porch, I noticed Chas’s cat leaning out of his upstairs window. I told Nick Jr. to go let Chas know to bring the cat in and shut the window. Soon, I saw Chas walking up to the window. I decided to greet him with some sailor lingo. “Hey fuck-face, keep you’re piece of shit cat inside! We have enough strays around this shit hole without your dumb ass letting your cat out for a fuck fest!”
Just to make me feel wanted Chas retorted with feeling. “Fuck YOU mother fucker. My god damn cat will use these strays as cum dumpsters if he fuckin’ wants to!”
It was about this time I spied the landlord from the rental across the street showing his property to a young couple. The three adults and two children in their party looked as if the were witnessing a murder. Their pale faces stared unblinking; they had become statues of stunned figures.
Chas was continuing his bombardment of filth. I’m not sure but I believe he was instructing me to perform fellatio on him while he defecated. I kept a straight face as I threatened to leave another dead cat in his hot tub. As the party across the street left I smiled and waved. I never said anything to Paul (the landlord) but I think he knew I was saying “We’ll just keep having NO neighbors for now, thank you”

help us stop this killer

When I was six years old I stood on my grandmother’s front porch. It was a plain concrete porch, with simple iron rails on the sides. The porch stands about five feet off the ground. Next to it is a thorny bush, which flowers into a wine colored red every spring. This was the most uneventful place for a six year old to waste his time, until uncle Ernie came into the picture.
“Hey Nick, How’s it going?” Ernie asked. It made little difference to me what he said; I could tell by his voice inflection he was about to destroy any boredom I was experiencing. Rather than answer him with words, I stuck out my pointer finger from my fist, with my thumb in the air. I lowered my thumb with a six year old gun sound, much the same noise as a rocket ship taking off. Upon being struck with the imaginary bullet Ernie clutched his heart. He was thrown by the bullets force over the iron rail and onto the thorny bush. I was amazed that someone who I saw as an adult would engage in such silliness. He laid there motionless in make-believe death for at least three minutes. My stomach was sore from laughter by the time I could get my mother to come witness her brother’s antics.
Last summer Ernie decided to sit on some rail road tracks in front of a train to end his long suffering. Although he was a bright shining light to all of us in his family, He lived with a very personal torture. Surrounded by family and friends he suffered alone. Demons of depression had sunk their claws deep into Ernie. Ernie is survived by his two young sons and a large family will always just want him back.
My mother (Grandma Danger) has been intensely training for months now for the Out of Darkness Walk in an effort to raise awareness about this silent cruel killer. My pride in her swells as I hear her reports on her training. I have enjoyed riding bicycles with her as part of her cross-training. It is bitterly ironic when we bike past those loud trains, yet ma seems to use it as a motivator. I encourage all of you to search your pockets for a donation that may help champion this cause.I humbly thank you. Danger

Let's get Rrrready to Rrrrumbllle...

Here are some fights I’d like to see.

1. 20 Midgets with spears vs. two angry elephants.
2. Teletubbies vs. Boohbahs
3. Tom Cruise’s army from Last Samurai vs. Mel Gibson’s army from Braveheart.
4. Indiana Jones vs. MacGyver
5. Katie Couric vs. Brittney Spears (to the death)
6. Stephen Hawking vs. Timmy (from South Park)
7. Gallagher vs. Carrot Top
8. The entire cast of The Simpsons vs. The Muppets
9. Rae Ann vs. Gina (naked pillow fight)
10. Arnold Schwarzenegger vs. my calculus teacher

Place your bets…