Where you been, Marco Polo?


American Daze Purple Haze is back… he went down to Sydney to help a jailbird… twenty-two hours from New York… flying through darkness, hitting a storm around Fiji… 30,000 feet down to the sea… plane rockin and rollin… like riding a buckin horse in the dead of night… finally a glimpse of morning light… sun coming up over the Opera House… wanna see Die Fiedermaus?.. going through Customs… the wily coyote flashes a vax card, excellent forgery, breezes through the Covid bull… takes a bus to Long Bay Prison… bail hearing for an old mate who saved his life in ’78… he’s in the pokey for killing a man in a bar fight, both crazy with booze… the dude has paid his dues… let him go… Thanks for coming, we’ll let you know.

American Daze Purple Haze had planned to stay awhile… but then came the rain, millions of mice came up the drain… time to get out of this town, everything is upside down… he takes the first flight to wherever it’s going… it’s going to Tahiti, eight hours to Papeete… no sweat, order a mai tai… check into the Hotel Tahiti Nui… tempted to pack it all in and stay here, no one will miss him… but on the chance they do, he’ll say he got amnesia in French Polynesia… forget all that, you got a cat… in the GHOST IN TAHITIdrunken heat he wanders the streets… looking for the ghost of Cheyenne Brando… je me souviens… he walks into the wrong bar on Papeete Street… but let’s be discreet and draw a veil on that tale… our hero is just trying to get back… another bird on the tarmac… jumps on board, eight hours to LA, City of Angels… but the angels have fled… and the Devil ain’t dead… he’s alive and well and living at the Rainbow Hotel… no time to tarry, American Daze Purple Haze is still on the fly, another plane, another sky… a smooth six hours to Gotham City… a night at the Casablanca… rubbing shoulders with faded memories in Times Square, the pungent smell of the past in the air… and next day the final leg, a train from Grand Central to Mumblypeg… picks up his cat, Where you been Marco Polo? Six days looking out a window, take me home to the bungalow… and thus they repair to the hermitage, he’s rolling and she’s lolling… the sweet aroma of purple haze in the air.

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Welcome to Seattle — Enjoy Your Stay!

Seattle city of lawlessness.

No City For Old Men

Lawless gangs occupy the once civilized city under the guise of Black Lives Matter.

They are anarchists and they are tearing America apart city by city.

Partisan politicians fight among themselves and do nothing to stop the chaos — they do not care about the American people.

Seattle’s CHOP (Capitol Hill Organized Protest) zone was established around a police precinct that was abandoned by cops during protests over the “I-can’t-breathe” death of George Floyd.

The area has been rocked by violence and death including the fatal shootings of two teens. Antonio Mays Jr, 16, was killed after trying to drive a stolen Jeep to the zone for safety amidst a hail of gunfire. The 14-year-old in the car with him was critically injured.


After three weeks of chaos and violence bulldozers wipe out CHOP zone and more than 30 people arrested as crime soared 525 percent

This is not the safe city my wife and I visited some years ago. And it’s happening all over, from L.A. to New York. The America I moved to and loved decades ago will never be the same. The nation is going all to hell as socialists and anarchists take over cities, kill innocent people, destroy private property and tear down statues.

The lawlessness is out of control. The Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave is dead.

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Python of pure sex

“Oh, baby, come on home.”

Guido Michelini showered in the basement of Grand Central Station. Two quarters in the turnstile for a torn towel and a piece of soap with hair on it.

He wasn’t a bona fide bum. The night before he had $400 in crisp new $100 bills in his wallet that he had just withdrawn from an ATM. His last.

He lost them to a  black whore in the Cavalier Hotel on East 36th Street. A black python of pure sex. She charged him $100 for a blowjob, and while he was still recovering, she lifted the crisp new $100 bills from his wallet and skedaddled out of there. He heard her yelling “Taxi!” on the street below. That’s when he looked in his wallet. She hadn’t taken any of his ID and had left him with a few $5 and $10 dollar bills, which he thought was very considerate.

It turned out to be a damn expensive blowjob, but almost worth it, in fact he’d say it was worth it, as he showered in the basement of Grand Central Station while men crapping in toilets without doors looked on. He had to laugh.

Collect Call from Giorgio Amani

He had no credit cards with any credit left, but he had girlfriends, and when he was cleaned up and was back in his Giorgio Amani suit, he phoned one of them collect in Los Angeles. He told her tearfully and with appropriate drama that he had been robbed by a thug in the night who held a knife to his throat and took his $400 in crisp new $100 bills.

She said, “Oh, baby, come on home,” and said she would put an airline ticket to L.A. on her American Express card. He used part of the cash the python had left him to take a cab to Kennedy Airport. Then he was on a plane heading for the City of Angels. Oh, baby, come on home!

Guido had several such “homes.” He was a loser, but in many ways he was a winner.

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