Just a few quickies of some of the art I've been working on. Enjoy!

 

 

Bettie was the queen of the pinups as far as I'm concerned and she will be missed by all that had the pleasure of being a fan. Dont know of anybody that the camera loved more. I have very few words right now its a very sad day. Sleep with the angels Bettie and know I will be onr of the biggest fans you ever had and you will remain in my heart forever

 

Grave

Not one person I know disagrees this country is in major trouble! Now what ya gonna do about it? I'm reminded of an ad I saw on the side of a bus one time. It said " Ignore your teeth they will go away" Well boyz and gurlz this problem aint gonna go away! We need to wake the fuck up before its too late if its not already.

I dont know about you but I sure dont wanna be gettin my paycheck from a chinaman!

Please read this and forward it on to other
fellow Americans!!!!!

Lee Iacocca, the man who rescued Chrysler
Corporation from its death throes.

He's now 82 years old
and has new book, and here are some excerpts:



'Am I the only guy in this country who's
fed up with what's happening? Where the hell is our
outrage? We should be screaming bloody murder.

We've
got a gang of clueless bozos steering our ship of state
right over a cliff, we've got corporate gangsters
stealing us blind, and we can't even clean up after a
hurricane much less build a hybrid car.

But instead of
getting mad, everyone sits around and nods their heads when
the politicians say, 'Stay the course'

Stay the course? You've got to be kidding.


This is America, not the damned 'Titanic'.

I'll
give you a sound bite: 'Throw all the bums out!'

You might think I'm getting senile, that
I've gone off my rocker, and maybe I have.

But someone
has to speak up. I hardly recognize this country anymore.



The most famous business leaders are not the
innovators but the guys in handcuffs.

While we're
fiddling in Iraq , the Middle East is burning and nobody
seems to know what to do.

And the press is waving
'pom-poms' instead of asking hard questions.


That's not the promise of the ' America ' my
parents and yours traveled across the ocean for.



I've had enough.

How about you?

I'll go a step further.

You can't call
yourself a patriot if you're not outraged.

This is a
fight I'm ready and willing to have.

The Biggest
'C' is Crisis ! (Iacocca elaborates on nine C's
of leadership, crisis being the first.

)

Leaders are made, not born.

Leadership is forged
in times of crisis.

It's easy to sit there with your
feet up on the desk and talk theory.

Or send someone
else's kids off to war when you've never seen a
battlefield yourself.

It's another thing to lead when
your world comes tumbling down.



On September 11, 2001, we needed a strong leader
more than any other time in our history.

We needed a steady
hand to guide us out of the ashes.

A Hell of a Mess So
here's where we stand.

We're immersed in a bloody
war with no plan for winning and no plan for
leaving. We're running the biggest deficit in the
history of the country.

We're losing the manufacturing
edge to Asia , while our once-great companies are getting
slaughtered by health care costs.

Gas prices are
skyrocketing, and nobody in power has a coherent energy
policy. Our schools are in trouble.

Our borders are like
sieves. The middle class is being squeezed every which way.


These are times that cry out for leadership.



But when you look around, you've got to ask:
'Where have all the leaders gone?' Where are the
curious, creative communicators? Where are the people of
character, courage, conviction, omnipotence, and common
sense? I may be a sucker for alliteration, but I think you
get the point.



Name me a leader who has a better idea for
homeland security than making us take off our shoes in
airports and throw away our shampoo? We've spent
billions of dollars building a huge new bureaucracy, and
all we know how to do is react to things that have already
happened.



Name me one leader who emerged from the crisis of
Hurricane Katrina.

Congress has yet to spend a single day
evaluating the response to the hurricane, or demanding
accountability for the decisions that were made in the
crucial hours after the storm.



Everyone's hunkering down, fingers crossed,
hoping it doesn't happen again.

Now, that's just
crazy. Storms happen. Deal with it. Make a plan .

Figure
out what you're going to do the next time.



Name me an industry leader who is thinking
creatively about how we can restore our competitive edge in
manufacturing.

Who would have believed that there could ever
be a time when 'The Big Three' referred to Japanese
car companies? How did this happen, and more important,
what are we going to do about it?

Name me a government leader who can articulate a
plan for paying down the debt, or solving the energy
crisis, or managing the health care problem.

The silence is
deafening.

But these are the crises that are eating away at
our country
and milking the middle class dry.



I have news for the gang in Congress.

We
didn't elect you to sit on your asses and do nothing
and remain silent while our democracy is being hijacked and
our greatness is being replaced with mediocrity.

What is
everybody so afraid of? That some bonehead on Fox News will
call them a name? Give me a break.

Why don't you guys
show some spine for a change?

Had Enough?

Hey, I'm not trying to be the voice of gloom
and doom here. I'm trying to light a fire.

I'm
speaking out because I have hope I believe in America .

In
my lifetime I've had the privilege of living through
some of America 's greatest moments.

I've also
experienced some of our worst crises: the 'Great
Depression', 'World War II', the 'Korean
War', the 'Kennedy Assassination', the
'Vietnam War', the 1970s oil crisis, and the
struggles of recent years culminating with 9/11.



If I've learned one thing, it's this:
'You don't get anywhere by standing on the
sidelines waiting for somebody else to take action.

Whether
it's building a better car or building a better future
for our children, we all have a role to play.

That's
the challenge I'm raising in this book.

It's a call
to 'Action' for people who, like me, believe in
America .

It's not too late, but it's getting
pretty close.

So let's shake off the crap and go to
work. Let's tell 'em all we've had enough.

'

Make your own contribution by sending this to
everyone you know and care about.

It's our country,
folks; and it's our future.

Our future is at stake!
Grave

There is a great amount of interest in this year's presidential elections, as everybody seems to recognize that our next president has to be a lot better than George Bush. The Democrats are riding high with two groundbreaking candidates — a woman and a Muslim-African-American — while the conservative Republicans are in a quandary about their party's nod to a quasi-liberal maverick, John McCain.

Each candidate is carefully pandering to a smorgasbord of special-interest groups, ranging from gay, lesbian and transgender people to children of illegal immigrants to working mothers to evangelical Christians.

There is one group no one has recognized, and it is the group that will decide the election: the Angry White Man. The Angry White Man comes from all economic backgrounds, from dirt-poor to filthy rich. He represents all geographic areas in America, from urban sophisticate to rural redneck, deep South to mountain West, left Coast to Eastern Seaboard.

His common traits are that he isn't looking for anything from anyone — just the promise to be able to make his own way on a level playing field. In many cases, he is an independent businessman and employs several people. He pays more than his share of taxes and works hard.

The victimhood syndrome buzzwords — "disenfranchised," "marginalized" and "voiceless" — don't resonate with him. "Press 'one' for English" is a curse-word to him. He's used to picking up the tab, whether it's the company Christmas party, three sets of braces, three college educations or a beautiful wedding.

He believes the Constitution is to be interpreted literally, not as a "living document" open to the whims and vagaries of a panel of judges who have never worked an honest day in their lives.

The Angry White Man owns firearms, and he's willing to pick up a gun to defend his home and his country. He is willing to lay down his life to defend the freedom and safety of others, and the thought of killing someone who needs killing really doesn't bother him.

The Angry White Man is not a metrosexual, a homosexual or a victim. Nobody like him drowned in Hurricane Katrina — he got his people together and got the hell out, then went back in to rescue those too helpless and stupid to help themselves, often as a police officer, a National Guard soldier or a volunteer firefighter.

His last name and religion don't matter. His background might be Italian, English, Polish, German, Slavic, Irish, or Russian, and he might have Cherokee, Mexican, or Puerto Rican mixed in, but he considers himself a white American.

He's a man's man, the kind of guy who likes to play poker, watch football, hunt white-tailed deer, call turkeys, play golf, spend a few bucks at a strip club once in a blue moon, change his own oil and build things. He coaches baseball, soccer and football teams and doesn't ask for a penny. He's the kind of guy who can put an addition on his house with a couple of friends, drill an oil well, weld a new bumper for his truck, design a factory and publish books. He can fill a train with 100,000 tons of coal and get it to the power plant on time so that you keep the lights on and never know what it took to flip that light switch.

Women either love him or hate him, but they know he's a man, not a dishrag. If they're looking for someone to walk all over, they've got the wrong guy. He stands up straight, opens doors for women and says "Yes, sir" and "No, ma'am."

He might be a Republican and he might be a Democrat; he might be a Libertarian or a Green. He knows that his wife is more emotional than rational, and he guides the family in a rational manner.

He's not a racist, but he is annoyed and disappointed when people of certain backgrounds exhibit behavior that typifies the worst stereotypes of their race. He's willing to give everybody a fair chance if they work hard, play by the rules and learn English.

Most important, the Angry White Man is pissed off. When his job site becomes flooded with illegal workers who don't pay taxes and his wages drop like a stone, he gets righteously angry. When his job gets shipped overseas, and he has to speak to some incomprehensible idiot in India for tech support, he simmers. When Al Sharpton comes on TV, leading some rally for reparations for slavery or some such nonsense, he bites his tongue and he remembers. When a child gets charged with carrying a concealed weapon for mistakenly bringing a penknife to school, he takes note of who the local idiots are in education and law enforcement.

He also votes, and the Angry White Man loathes Hillary Clinton. Her voice reminds him of a shovel scraping a rock. He recoils at the mere sight of her on television. Her very image disgusts him, and he cannot fathom why anyone would want her as their leader. It's not that she is a woman. It's that she is who she is. It's the liberal victim groups she panders to, the "poor me" attitude that she represents, her inability to give a straight answer to an honest question, his tax dollars that she wants to give to people who refuse to do anything for themselves.

There are many millions of Angry White Men. Four million Angry White Men are members of the National Rifle Association, and all of them will vote against Hillary Clinton, just as the great majority of them voted for George Bush.

He hopes that she will be the Democratic nominee for president in 2008, and he will make sure that she gets beaten like a drum.

..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /> 

>RED MARBLES
>
>I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes. I noticed a
>small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily
>apprising
>a basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes but was also
>drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed
>peas
>and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the
>conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next
>to
>me.
>
>"Hello Barry, how are you today?"
>
>"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. They sure
>look good."
>
>"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"
>
>"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."
>
>"Good. Anything I can help you with?"
>
>"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."
>
>"Would you like to take some home?" asked Mr. Miller.
>
>"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."
>
>"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"
>
>"All I got's my prize marble here."
>
>"Is that right? Let me see it" said Miller.
>
>"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."
>
>"I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go
>for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?" the store owner asked.
>
>"Not zackley but almost."
>
>"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way
>let me look at that red marble" . Mr. Miller told the boy.
>
>"Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller."
>
>Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a
>smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in our community, all
>three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them
>for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their
>red
>marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and
>he
>sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one,
>when they come on their next trip to the store."
>
>I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time
>later I moved toColorado, but I never forgot the story of this man, the
>boys,
>and their bartering for marbles.
>
>Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just
>recently
>I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while
>I
>was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his
>visitation
>that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany
>them.
>Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the
>deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could
>
>Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and
>the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts...all very
>professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and
>smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed
>her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket.
>
>Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man
>stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the
>casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.
>
>Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded her
>of
>the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her
>husband's bartering for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my
>hand
>and led me to the casket.
>
>"Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They
>just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. N o w, at
>last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size....they came
>to
>pay their debt."
>
>"We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided,
>"but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho ."
>
>With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased
>husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.
>
>
>The Moral : We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind
>deeds.
>Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take
>our
>breath.
>
>Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ~
>A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself.
>An unexpected phone call from an old friend.
>Green stoplights on your way to work.
>The fastest line at the grocery store.
>A good sing-along song on the radio.
>Your keys found right where you left them.
>
>Send this to the people you'll never forget. I just Did...
>
>If you don't send it to anyone, it means you are in way too much of a hurry
>to even notice the ordinary miracles when they occur.
>
>IT'S NOT WHAT YOU GATHER, BUT WHAT YOU SCATTER THAT TELLS WHAT KIND OF LIFE
>YOU HAVE LIVED!

Well here we go again boyz and gurlz!  Another chapter in what pisses me off! This one sadly enough is some of my pet peeves here on myspace that people do. Now these things are MY pet peeves and are not to be confused with the general myspace loser lists that get circulated . Just wanna let folks know I own up to my rants lol! Ok here we go. ..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

 

1. If your gonna message me and I'm not on your freinds list.........how about being smart enough not to set your profile to freinds only on your list can send you messages. Makes it kinda tough to send an answer back.  And yes myspace will not let you send it bacl even on a reply. And when you set everything to private there is no way to contact you if say my computer crashes and I lose some of the list.

 

2. If your gonna put in an add request on my page ya better have more than one picture of your dog on your page and nothing else.  If your so fuckin ugly you wont even put a pic of you somewhere on your profile or your too insecure to post at least one pic of yourself I dont want ya as a friend anyway and if I wanted a new furry friend  to look at I know how to google images.

 

3. Images: If your gonna put  fucking postage stamps (pictures so small ya cant see them )in your pic section.  Dont bother inviting me over to visit.  I understand some folks here are a bit computer challenged but come on folks if you cant see how small they are when you upload them dont waste my time lookin for a  magnifying fuckin glass to see them. Once again if ya aint proud enough ta show us what your trying to show us I dont need ya on my list anyways. May sound like I'm being a bit arrogent but nothing I hate more than Billybob showing a picture of that trophy dogfish he caught out on turkey holler creek and I cant even see it from the picture being so small. Or Sallygene Rottencrotch showing  me her latest cam pic of the warts on her cleavage. Pics are spose ta git bigger on your screen when you click on them not smaller!  Trust me your visitors comments will increase by 100%

 

4. Also on the subject of images: Whats up with people showing 27 shots of the same damn thing. Is it a real acomplishment to have 15 pic albums and every third one has the same shit rearranged? Yes I know your proud of that new second hand couch on your porch but cmon peeps! And trust me  your the only one that wants to see 750 shots of   booger your hienz 57 mutt you saved from your cousins barbeque pit. 10 or 15 will do.  And girls us guys love your cleavage but if all you can afford is a cheap ass webcam that has snot on the lens and you only know one pose (your face and cleavage looking up at it while your sitting in a dark room)  25 shots of that will do trust me. That wart aint gonna move beacuse you put on another shirt and if we aint turned on by shot 20 or so it aint happenin !

 

5. Comments: I love comments but I have a few rules. If ya wanna drop me a line on my comments with an image keep the image under a city block in size. I just cant seem to understand why people cant figger this stuff out. Dont ya love that one guy that puts an image of himself in your comments and it is so big ya gotta scroll for 5 minutes to see all of it! Do it and it will get deleted. Sorry but I am not in love with you as much as you are

 

6. I from time to time wander around myspace lookin for new friends. It absolutly amazes me as to how fuckin arrogant some people really are. I have my page set up right now with captcha because I just went thru a huge crash on two of my machines because of virus's that snuck by my protection here on myspace. I actually had one person message me and informed me that if I did not remove captcha within 24 hours off my page they would be deleting me off their list. Thier reason was they hated captcha and they didnt have time to be fucking with it just to send me a message. Guess what happened next!

 

7. I have several models on my list because I promote car shows and do freelance pinup work for a few magazines that require models from time to time. Some body please explain why someone in the modeling profession would write a bulletin saying "I just posted new pics come see!"  and then set all thier pics to private! I can see a few of you right now shakin your head cause you know what I'm talking about. Hello ya gotta unlock the door before I can come in! This is the kinda shit they write blond jokes about! And before all the blondes flame me I am a blonde.

 

8. Curses: This one has been hashed over ten thousand times but is one of my biggest peeves on myspace. If you are on my list and I open your bulletin because you say something like I need your help............then you cmon with some fucking joke that ends with if you dont repost this your dick/tits will turn black and fall off or you will have bad luck or your family will have the worst year they ever had. I dont need this shit and if ya believe in karma at all you dont either. To be honest I just think its stupid as fuck and if you cant tell me a joke without threatining me fuck off!  Think about it people. Everytime you do that shit wether you belive or not your throwing a general curse out there. Now why would you if you are my freind want me to have a fucked up love life or to have to walk around with no dick! Dayum! I dont know who started that shit but they need to go play in traffic!

 

Well this is a few of my peeves thanx for listening and I'm gonna blog this too so stop by and comment on my blog and add to the list!

And for you folks who think I'm refering to you............There is hope. Just stop doin stupid shit!