Would Allowing Priests to Wed Solve the Pedophilia Problem? (A weekend repeat)

No because priests don't want to get married!

Priests are gay. Of course, many do not know they are when they enter the priesthood.

The enforced celibacy they willingly sign on for is tantamount to undergoing a form of castration

A sane, heterosexual, straight men would not voluntarily submit to such a life. It is inhuman!It is against all the laws of nature.

Actually there is nothing wrong with gay men becoming priests.

There is everything wrong when these men are pedophiles and for obvious reasons most of these men are gay pedophiles.

Why? Let me give you my theory.

A gay man can find zillions of lovers outside of the priesthood, but if he goes into the priesthood he can have his cake and eat it too.

What I mean by that is that then he can can spend his life in a helping profession, find spiritual fulfillment and as an added bonus meet similarly inclined spiritual men rather than hanging in gay bars and meeting losers.

Not so with gay pedophiles.

They cannot find lovers on the outside because they aren't looking for lovers. they are looking for victims.

So celibacy is not the real problem.

The problem is the priesthood itself,and the Bishops and the Cardinals and the numero uno desperado,the Pope.

They are all involved in the greatest, most sinister cover-up in history.

The problem is organized religion and the tremendous amount of money which is needed to sustain it. The tax protection given to Churches should be eliminated as a first step.

Corruption always exists side by side with high finances. It's a lot more easy to look the other way on the pedophilia problem when there is so much money at stake. That's exactly why the church hierarchy has let this go on for so many hundreds of years.

Certainly they assumed they would never be found out.They never thought for a minute they could be caught. They could go to Sunday dinner at the home of the boys they were molesting. Why it would be sacrilegious for the boys parents to even entertain such a thought. They would got straight to hell.

What a weapon to hold in your hands.First understand human nature. We don't want to believe our fellow human beings are capable of such evil.

This is why we glorify criminals instead of believing their victims. It's why a surgeon can leave us crippled and we hesitate to press charges of malpractice.It is why women fall in love with vicious criminals on death row.

The fear of ever doubting the motives of a priest was taught in Sunday school, and has been shouted into the souls of men for centuries in sermons by these sexually frustrated men.

Go back into the archives of the daily Question Blog and read the June 30th post titled "Is God Dead" based on the book by Nietzsche "Thus Spake Zarathustra."

The essence of Nietzsche's thought is that God was killed by pity and that the murder was an inside job.

The first Apostles,who were in fact the first priests, set Jesus up as a mythological creator who suffered for us. If we would be saved from fire and brimstone in the life hereafter we must suffer here on this earth for him.

Now I am not a biblical expert but I know that is not what Jesus taught.

How easy to spread the gospel when you use pity as a tool. I read a classic novel many years ago dealing with the subject of pity, The Red and the Black by StendahL.

Pity and empathy are not the same. Pity leads to lack of empathy. It leads to suppressed anger and expresses itself ultimately as trivialization which is the opposite of empathy.

That is why religious pedophilia is being criminally trivialized to this day.

There is too much pity and trivialization in this world.Empathy has just about disappeared. There are people going around denying that slavery ever existed.They also contend that there was no holocaust.By 2020 They will obliterate the history of these molesting priests in a similar manner.

Will close with this:

The Catholic church, according to an editorial comment in the Sunday NY Times, is presently investigating whether "nuns (women) are living in fidelity to religious life".

How's that for changing the subject.

Are they implying the nuns are lesbians? Centuries of indifference to gay priests and now suddenly the problem is the Sisters?

Hypocrisy.

PS: some updates on this topic since this post was originally published:

Since 2002, a government-funded compensation board has paid out more than euro900 million ($1.25 billion) to about 12,000 people abused in church-run facilities for children since the 1930s.

In May, a 2,600-page report into that scandal concluded that Catholic orders of nuns, priests and brothers who ran state-funded orphanages, workhouses and reformatories for Ireland's poorest children were guilty of shielding hundreds, if not thousands, of known abusers within their ranks. Crimes documented included ritual beatings, rape, and lying to children that their parents were dead. The last of those church-run facilities closed in the 1990s.

James Patrick Grady, Pastor of St. Raphael The Archangel in south St. Louis, was arrested Wednesday night by local police and the FBI after he showed up at a secret location somewhere in St. Louis County. Grady, 57, had been exchanging emails with an undercover investigator, and had agreed to pay $80 for oral sex from a 16-year-old girl, court documents allege.

And here is as expected a typical reaction from the church school official at Grady's parish:

Ann Perryman, the school board president, emerged saying, "It was a completely isolated incident, I believe." She added, "I think he had a moment of weakness

Friday excerpt from S'mothered. Eleven year old Johnny Orlando's first day at work

"I started working just after the war broke out. I should say I thought I started working. I wanted to be a caddy at the County golf course so I went there one morning and asked the Caddy Master if there was a test I had to take or forms to fill out.

He looked at me as if I was retarded and said “no tests kid and no forms, just sit there until I tell you I have a bag for you. Are you sure, you can carry a bag? You look like a runt.”

I replied in a shaky voice “I’ve never carried a bag on a real golf course for a real golfer but I have carried my Uncle Sal’s bag around the yard.”

My Uncle Sal was a great amateur golfer and had won some County Tournaments. I told the Caddy Master my uncles name and pretended he sent me here to get a job caddying.

He sarcastically shot back, “Listen kid I don’t care if your Uncle is Bobby Jones as long as you can carry a bag when I get you one, so shut up and go sit in the caddy shack until I need you.”

I was puzzled why he referred to my Uncle Sal as Bobby Jones and wondered who Bobby Jones was.

As for being called a runt, I had been called a lot worse than that by my own relatives, so why should I care if a stranger called me that?

My cousin Larry had started caddying here a few months ago and I thought maybe I should mention his name to the Caddy Master but decided to quit while I was behind. I should have asked Larry about the terms they use here. Like what did they mean about getting me a bag? I thought golfers bought their own bags. My uncles did.

Well I waited two or three hours and it was time for lunch. Grandma had made me a spiced ham sandwich on white bread with mustard and put it in a brown bag with a banana. I bought a coke at the refreshment stand and started eating the sandwich.

A caddy was coming off the course and asked me if I had gotten out yet”

I didn’t know what “gotten out” meant but answered “yes.”

“How many bags you carried and how much did the cheap skate pay you?” he asked.

I could see I was getting in over my head now so I changed the subject and offered him half my sandwich.

He could tell I was new and helped me interpret the golf lingo they used here.
“The main thing ,” he said “is to watch where the guy hits the golf ball. Most of the golfers will put up with anything except if you lose their ball. You lose their ball Johnny and they will have a shit fit.”

Oh boy, I thought to myself, this job is going to be tougher than I imagined it would be.

After lunch, I sat around and waited for another two or three hours but the Caddy Master never did call my name. I walked home somewhat dejected, I had already spent what I going to earn. At least in my mind I had spent it. I needed a new tire for my bike after getting three flats in two weeks. The tube was made of more patches than rubber by now. On top of that, I needed fifty cents for the Captain Marvel club dues.

Anyhow, the next day Larry went with me to the course. We signed up with Jack, the caddy master. I was impressed Larry knew his name. We went to the shack and waited, shot some marbles and played a game with our penknives.

Two hours passed and Jack called Larry’s name, he used last names so he shouted out, “Villani, get over to the first tee, you got a bag, ask for Mr. Giardano, get a move on, quick!”

I figured Larry had seniority since he worked here a few months already. I assumed my turn was next and sat down. Two hours later I ate my lunch, a baloney sandwich, except my Grandma forgot to put mustard on it. After lunch, I resumed waiting and when it was 4:00 p.m. I realized I was not getting any bags again. Since it got dark at seven and a round of golf took at least four hours, no golfers would tee off after four o’clock.

I walked home alone. Larry was still caddying for Mr. Giordano. When my mother got home from work, she asked how much money I made.

When I told her none, she said “how come Larry brings home five dollars every time he goes to caddy and you bring home nothing Johnny?”

By now I had figured out how the system worked, the Caddy Master picked caddies by age first, then seniority and then strength or height and then finally he would pick the runts.”

So I answered my mother sarcastically, “I guess it’s because Larry’s Mother gives him milk and cereal for breakfast and I get soda.” I was really telling the truth although in a flippant sort of way. We never had milk in our house and the only cereal Grandma ever made was pastina, which I hated.

My Mother never yelled at me or threatened to hit me, never once in my life. She hurt me with words instead and I learned to reply in kind. “Well junior,” she said.” that isn’t my fault, I go to work every day and give Grandma money every week for food. Anyhow, what’s that got to do with caddying?”

I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of finding out I was classified as a runt at the golf course so I walked away, cursing under my breath.

Finally, on Friday, my third day of being a gainfully employed caddy, the course was very crowded. Every available caddy had been used. I was the last one left.

Jack called out “OK, Orlando you got a bag, get over to the tee and ask for Mr. O’Hara. Look for a big heavyset guy, any questions?”

“Nope” I said back to him, and ran over to the first tee, which was up a very steep hill. When I got there, I asked another caddy to point out the golfer I was caddying for. Mr. O’Hara turned out to more than heavy set, he was obese. When I went up to him, I was out of breath from running up the hill.

He noticed it and said “what’s the matter kid.We haven’t started yet and your out of breath. You ever loop before?”

Larry had clued me in on the golf terms the previous day, so I knew “loop” meant 18 holes. I thought of lying but figured he would know by the end of the first hole that this was all Greek to me, so I told him “no, Mr. O’Hara, but I’m a fast learner.”

He smiled and said “I’m not worried about you learning kid, all you have to do is stay out of my line of sight when I’m swinging and then carry my bag to where the ball lands, you don’t have to be Albert Einstein to be a caddy, just don’t lose my ball. What I am worried about though is if you can carry the bag? How much do you weigh?”

I exaggerated a little and said “one hundred and five.”

I could tell by the way he looked at me that he didn’t believe me. He joked, “well the bag weighs more than you do so good luck.”

I didn’t believe he could even swing the club, that’s how fat he was. He got up on the first tee, put his ball on a wooden tee and sunk it into the ground. Then he swung so hard he almost fell down.

I was so fascinated with watching him swing the club; I forgot to watch the ball. I had absolutely no idea where it had gone. “Oh my God,” I said to myself; now I was in trouble. I thought quickly, I’ll just walk behind him and follow him to the ball.
No such luck, he hadn’t seen it either and asked “where did it go kid?”

I looked the other way so he couldn’t see my face, meanwhile thinking, what do I do now? I figured it could have gone left or right so if I just guessed, thinking I had a 50 per cent chance of being right.

I said, “it went left Sir.” We walked down the left side of the fairway. He couldn’t see his ball and neither could I.

I thought even quicker now and told him “it went into the rough.” When you hit a ball, in the rough where the grass is quite high, the player doesn’t hold the caddy responsible. I was off the hook for now.

The other three golfers in the foursome came over to help us look for the ball. Mr. O’Hara said his ball was a brand new Wilson. The five of us searched for the ball for about 10 minutes with no luck. Just as he was putting another ball down to hit from where his lost ball should be, one of the other caddies called from across the fairway.

Your ball’s over here Mr. O’Hara, a Wilson right? Damn, I said under my breath it’s all the way over on the right side of the fairway. I should have said right.

He gave me a dirty look and said “look kid, you keep this up and I am kicking your ass off this course and the Caddy Master’s as well. Why in hell does he always stick me with the runt of the litter?”

Oh boy, I whispered, there’s that damn word again.

Well I may be a little slow on the draw, but when I start concentrating, I pick things up fast, as I had proved the past year in school. I watched every shot the rest of the loop and, being blessed with great eyesight, I never lost another ball.

At the end of the 18 holes, he said “good job, kid, you had me a little worried at the beginning but you’re not bad.” He handed me a five-dollar bill and said “spend this on food and put some meat on those bones.”

With the most money I had ever earned in my pocket, I practically floated home to tell my Mother. I could tell she was impressed but she didn’t say anything.

I said nothing about the first hole, to her, or to Larry, or to anyone else in the town, state or country."

Whats up? There are forty nine male authors in this top 50 list and only one woman?

A recent survey by Modern Reader listed the top 50 novels of all time. The results are listed in a box further down this page.

There is only one female author listed, Virginia Woolf.

That is astonishing. There are forty nine male authors in this top 50 list and one woman?

Please understand that I am not a chauvinist male. I am not posting this list to demean female writers or females of any profession. I feel women are every bit as good,if not better than men in every art,craft or skill I can think of.

I am as puzzled by this oddity as I think most of you readers are.

I have pondered this for a very long time. As a voracious reader of classical literature I have deliberately sought out books written by women, to try and spot some shortcoming which would explain this.

Some of the authors I have read in this project are very well known, Ann Beatty,Ann Tyler,Gertrude Stein, Virginia Wolfe, Flannery O'Conner,Joyce Carol Oates,Toni Morrison,Marilynne Robinson,Alice Walker, Willa Cather, Louise Erdrich,and Nadine Gordimer.

They are great writers, no doubt. I enjoy some more than others. Flannery O'Conner would rank as my favorite except I feel she overuses the N word for no useful purpose.

It is hard to explain why none of these excellent writers qualify among the top 50.

Here is what I have concluded and I hope I do not offend anyone, particularly women who write novels.

I find the work of all the authors mentioned above to be entertaining,informative and sometimes quite exciting.

For some reason, however when I finish these books I feel something is missing.

I am almost sure it is because of the endings.

I think women write as well as men from start, to almost, but not quite the end. They leave this reader feeling somewhat cheated.

I also suspect that women who read these authors do not have the same reaction. I believe most male readers do.

What I am trying to say, probably in a convoluted manner, is that women unconsciously write for other women.

Observe two women carrying on a conversation and two men doing the same. One women very seldom has to completely finish her thought before her companion interrupts her and says "I know just what you mean." The variation of that phrase used so commonly today is "know what I mean?"

A man,meanwhile, most of the time doesn't know what in the heck the other guy means and asks him to repeat his thought.

So, isn't it fair to conjecture that female novelists assume they do not have to spell out the conclusion of their writing? Male authors seem to just naturally assume they won't be understood unless they do.

Lets take an example and compare how two great authors, Toni Morrison and Charles Dickens each ended one of their most celebrated books.

Morrison ends "Beloved" twice and has drawn criticism from both blacks and women for the ambivalence of the endings.

As one respected critic,Mary Paniccia Carden, said in her review in 1999, "Beloved ends first with the construction of new domestic arrangements at 124 Bluestone Road, and then with the deconstruction of Beloved.

"That these two endings with their contradictory movements--coming together and flying apart--sit so separately together indicates the novel's ambivalent investment in the heterosexual couple as the site where history assumes its shape and meaning."

I am easily confused by these type endings. I leave unsure whether the focus of the novel was why black women have historically been secondary or invisible.

Or was the focus on the projection of a happily-ever-after romance scenario for Sethe and Paul , with possibilities for both resistance and re inscription of the gender role expectations that have consistently failed them ?

Consider on the other hand, the ending of Charles Dicken's novel "Hard Times"

Mrs. Sparsit and her arch rival, Mr. Bounderby confront each with a climactic, scathing discussion which leaves little doubt in the reader's mind where each stands.

The next to last page bids farewell to Louisa, Mr. Gradgrind,Rachael. Dicken's uses the literary goodbye to each character to sum up their pasts and presume thier futures.

So, I feel male authors choose eiither a happy ,sad or tragic ending, but always a conclusive finish. Women writers leave some loose ends.

I am just theorizing about this puzzling list along side of my post, I concede however, that your guess is as good as mine.

Or maybe not?

"Flaky, Ignorant Demagogue." ???

I agree with Carl Bernstein who is one of the most reputable newsmen in the country; the man who broke the Watergate story.

However I don't think he went far enough. He said McCain committed an "unpatriotic act" when he selected Sarah Palin as his VP running mate last year.

Bringing this person to an office one heartbeat from the Presidency is not merely unpatriotic. Desecrating our flag is an example of an unpatriotic act. What John McCain did borders on treason.

Sarah Palin is a dangerous person. Let's examine the terms Bernstein used.

Flaky?

This is obvious. Just watch her stomp up the steps, pounce on the microphone, click her heels,and lick her high gloss lipstick. Before she utters one word we know we are in the presence of a flake.

Ignorant?

One question from Katie Couric forever stigmatized the former Governor as spaced out. This makes her more, rather than less, dangerous. To understand that ambiguity you have to understand conservative white American men. They find vacuous women fascinating.

Demagogue?

A demagogue is one who appeals to and manipulates mass prejudice.

Palin appeals to the whole spectrum of the prejudiced, Those who cannot tolerate the existence of Non-whites,. Her followers don't trust non-Alaskans or gays,. They would stuff religion down our throats. They are gun toting fanatics,and detest those who would let women decide on their own whether they want to have an abortion.

Actually she cannot manipulate anyone because manipulation is an art or a skill. Palin has no skills. She is gorgeous and she is dumb and that is where her great appeal originates.

This is a Capitalistic society. Wealthy white men of influence run it. These men love dumb beautiful women.

Typically these men are very insecure about their sexuality. The Sanfords,Craigs, Foleys, Spitzers, Maddoffs,Haggards see the Sarah Palin type as non-threatening to their macho natures.

She it too dense to manipulate anyone, but she appeals to these dumbed down Kool-Aid followers..

So there you have it. Finally a man of great substance,Bernstein, this morning, stepped up and told the truth.

Millions of influential Democrats feel the same about Palin but you won't see them offering their remarks for publication. They must protect their own hides at all costs.

This is how we live these days.

"See no evil, hear no evil ,speak no evil monkeys," running the Zoo, while the really dangerous animals run wild.

HOMELESS VETS.TRULY, A NATIONAL DISGRACE!

The latest estimates of homeless veterans range from 230,000 to more than 750,000, about two-thirds of whom served since the beginning of the Vietnam era.

Let's own up to the truth.

It was mostly the poor and uneducated who were drafted to fight the Vietnam War, it should come as no surprise that so many are now on the margins of society.

Admittedly, the Veterans Administration provides many benefits, including educational assistance, job training, disability compensation, pensions, readjustment and job counseling, housing loans, and medical care. But few of the homeless veterans receive all the benefits they deserve or need.

The situation is going to get a lot worse and soon. Thousands of Iraq vets will soon be swelling the homeless ranks. It usually takes a year or two before the returning troops suffer the delayed shock of what they have seen in this horrifying war

I voted for Obama but I am getting very discouraged on this issue. Barack, the candidate made a big point of the Veterans problem, terming it "intolerable and unacceptable." McCain said much the same thing as did G.W. Bush and Bill Clinton.

The cruel reality is our leaders do very little to address this situation after they are elected. Why?

Because it flies beneath the radar. Bank bailouts,unemployment etc, all legitimate concerns, grab the headlines. It does not fly beneath my radar. Every time I see a homeless vet I get a lump in my throat.

I served in the Korean War. The nation at the time was tired of wars since the War to end all Wars had just ended a few years earlier. Still, while there were no parades for returning Korean vets, their reception can in no way be compared to what has happened after Vietnam and what is happening to the returning Iraq vets today.

THIS IS A DISGRACE !

Saluting these men and women on July 4th, Memorial Day and Veterans Day does not cut the mustard. Its almost like the people who call themselves spiritual because they don't beat their children. Heck, animals do that.

Veterans deserve more than we can ever give them because without their service those who never served could not be enjoying what they have today.

Two homes,one for each season, bowling alley size master bedrooms, home theaters in the basements and four cars and 5 dogs in every family. We spend more on our dogs and veterinarians than we do on veterans. I have no figures to back that up but I know I'm right.

Wake up America , veterans make up 11 percent of the adult population, but they make up 26 percent of the homeless according to a National Alliance report report. That's insane.

Wake up Mr. President. Fly out to San Diego this week and talk to these homeless vets gathered there for 3 days to receive their annual dental checkups from a volunteer organization called Stand Down. The military term, stand down refers to time out from combat to allow rest and re-equipping.

Stand Down started 21 years ago here in San Diego and is duplicated on a smaller scale in other cities. It still draws a preponderance of Vietnam-era men, many fighting alcohol and drug problems.

''Vietnam veterans have never been able to resolve the questions that a person needs to answer to have a healthy psyche, like, 'What did I do that for?' and 'What was the fighting about?' '' says Michael Leaveck, a spokesman for the Vietnam Veterans of America. Jeers Instead of Cheers

Leaveck goes on to say that the war left many veterans with alcohol or drug problems, or the mental illness called post-traumatic stress disorder. According to the organization, one-third of the homeless veterans have substance abuse problems and another third have mental or physical disabilities.

We need dramatic efforts and legislation to bring this sad story on to the front pages.

Specifically, our veterans should not have to get their health care from volunteer organizations. They should receive lifetime coverage equivalent to what our Senators receive.

EVERY VETERAN WHO LOSES A LIMB should receive 1 million bucks from the govt; 1 million for each limb lost. In other words a quad amputee would receive 4 million and so forth.

Every vet who is emotionally crippled by post traumatic stress syndrome should receive a lifetime pension which would keep him or her from living on the streets.

And every single vet who served in Iraq itself during the past 7 years should receive a free home,minimum of 3 bedrooms. Their can be absolutely no rational reason why any of these brave young returnees should ever be homeless!

Not in a rich country like this. No way!

P.S. Tried google and other search engines for photos of amputee vets. I could not find any for this article. Amazing how even our search engines protect our sensitivies. We all choose to buffer ourselves from reality when it shames us.

Friday excerpt from my autobiographical novel,S'mothered

These were some of the things I reflected on, as I stood shivering, my hands almost frost bitten, eyes tearing and nose numb, at the corner of Colfax and Seaton avenues on December 8, 1941. The previous day was of course a fateful one for America, but I was too young to realize how much the happenings of the past 24 hours somewhere half way around the world, would influence the rest of my adolescence.

The Japanese invaded Pearl Harbor. The same night, President Roosevelt announced our country was now at war. I knew what a war was. I had toy soldiers and I lined them up against my friend’s soldiers. He tried to kill my soldiers, and I tried to kill his. Even at the age of ten I understood the war the President talked about was a lot more serious than our make-believe wars.

During the next few years, four of the remaining males in my life served in World War 11 on various battlefields thousands of miles from Rose Point, my Uncle Sal, Uncle Pat, Uncle Frank and my stepfather Hank. I missed them all but when Uncle Sal left, I cried.

Patriotic fever was beginning to erupt, even in our small ethnic community in New Jersey as just about all the able-bodied men marched off to war. Bands played and women wept with pride as each week some additional young men left their jobs, schools or businesses to fight against booted fascists and yellow, sneaky, cowardly Japs.

These were exciting, proud, almost euphoric days and weeks in the little town I lived in. The radios blared forth songs like “Lets Remember Pearl Harbor” and at the one movie theater in the town, almost overnight, every picture playing showed soldiers, sailors and marines fighting monsters like Hitler, Mussolini and Hirohito.

It all seemed surreal. The headlines in the daily newspapers, which I couldn’t wait to read each morning, were bold and black and twice the size as usual. The radio bulletins interrupted regular programs to announce news of the Allied Forces advancing and then retreating as they bombed large cities and ports. Foreboding photos of captured troops in prisoner of war camps cast a pall on life. Each night I listened to F.D.R talking on the radio about fearing fear itself, infamy and victory.

I guess the most serious report was when a rumor floated throughout the state, in the newspapers, and on the radio about a German U boat being sighted off the new Jersey coast. The possibility the Nazis were about to invade us was now pervasive. Soon we were having mandatory, twice weekly, practice air raids. A loud, scary, wailing alarm sounded for a full minute. We were told it was a minute, but it felt like much longer. Everyone was ordered into his or her homes until the all clear alarm sounded five minutes later.

Ironically, amid all this tumult and turmoil, my life seemed calmer and more peaceful. There was less shouting and fighting both inside and outside the house and around the neighborhood. The war had initially sparked passions of pride and pomp, but as reports of casualties started to slowly filter back to the home front, a sense of fear and anxiety developed. I could feel it.

People were talking to other people more often as they shared their reactions and vulnerabilities. Some neighbors, Mrs. Fanning, the butcher, Mr. Cutrafello, and the scary old woman known as the "Calabrase Lady,” occasionally expressed concern about my sister and me.

I noticed this also among the adults milling around outside of Sabio’s and at the gas station. I felt closer to my peers both in school and while playing. I think our common fears drew us closer to each other. The school bullies picked on me less and the normally aloof older kids were more approachable.

This new atmosphere of serenity was temporarily and harshly shattered one morning in January, when I was awakened by the sound of police sirens. I jumped out of bed and ran outside as did everyone else in the house except grandma. I saw Larry across the street talking with some high school kids. I ran over and asked “What happened, Lar, what’s going on?”

Larry hesitated to tell me. He knew how scary I was and didn’t want his mother yelling at him later for spilling the beans and getting me all stirred up. I kept pulling at Larry’s sleeve.

Finally he gave in and said “don’t spread this around but Tommy Manning killed him self last night. He laid his head on the tracks and it got cut off.”

What, what,” I shouted, “you’re kidding, you know you’re kidding. What a sick joke, Larry. Why are you trying to scare me, you dirty bastard?” I hardly ever cursed but was so mad the words exploded out of me. The thought of someone who I actually knew, and in fact, had been kidding around with a few days earlier, not having a head, freaked me out.

Larry grabbed me by the arm and told me to shut up. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you,” he said angrily,” you’re a brat, I wouldn’t make up something this serious, you jerk. Tommy Manning is dead, He committed suicide. He’s dead. His body’s in his house. They found his head. They’ll be coming to get him pretty soon. Now move away from here, Johnny. The cop just told me we all have to get away from here.”

We slowly shuffled back across the street and sat on the curb in front of our house.

Tommy Manning was a seventeen-year-old senior at Rose Point high school, a star safety and punter on the football team, with a blond, cheerleader girl friend. I had a crush on her and never missed a chance to run outside if I saw her coming down the block. Actually, at that stage of my life, I had a crush on any blond as long as she had one head and two legs.

We learned the full story later. Tommy had reacted with horror to the Japs' surprise attack on Pearl Harbor and told everyone who would listen, he was going to join the Infantry, as soon as he graduated. He was going to wipe out every "yellow livered cruddy Jap" he could find. His face always would turn deep scarlet when he talked about the Japs, his eyes almost popping out of his head. He would crouch and hold his arms and hands in a position as if he was holding a machine gun. He would fire imaginary shots “rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat.” Shouting as fast as he coul. In his mind he would kill hundreds of Jap soldiers

That evening, I learned from my Uncle Jimmy even more of what happened. Tommy Manning had gone to the army recruiting center in Westfield, N.J. the previous morning to enlist. He couldn’t enter the army until he graduated in June, but the recruiters wanted him to sign up early so they could give him some written tests and a physical exam.

Well, would you believe it? Tommy failed the physical! He was suffering from malfunctioning adrenal glands. Anyhow, he was rejected and reclassified 4f, or, not fit for service. The 4f classification had a stigma attached to it since the start of the War. The newspapers said we needed all the men we could get. Only down and out bums or disabled people were being turned down.

Tommy came home that evening after apparently wandering aimlessly all afternoon. He said nothing to anyone and when his girl friend called about 9:00 p.m., he told his Mom to tell her he had gone to bed early.

Evidently he didn’t feel well. His father, a light sleeper, heard him slip out of the house just before midnight. The police investigative unit theorized what happened next as there were no witnesses.

Tommy, utterly dejected about not getting into the army and feeling totally humiliated, took a six pack of Ballentine beer out of the ice box and walked the hundred yards to the tracks directly in back of his corner house.

The police figured he drank all six beers in about 20 minutes, then laid flat on the ground on his belly and smoked a cigarette. His head rested just over the outer rail of the tracks. The westbound Silver Streak Express, originating in New York City and bound for Miami, neatly severed Tommy’s young beautiful head from the rest of his seventeen-year-old body.

I laid awake until 11 o’clock, replaying the horror of that day. I imagined Tommy, sneaking out, walking across the field where my friends and I played baseball every day and laying down with his head on the track. I pictured Tommy’s body, his head with the cigarette still dangling from his lips, as it slowly rolled away down the embankment, the very same embankment where Larry and I had sledded a month earlier during the snowstorm.

I sat upright in my bed, crying and shaking, and wished my mother was in the next bedroom instead of three thousand miles away.


keywords, paltrow,erin andrews,helicopter crash,tour de france,clunkers,janke,tequila,solange,spurrier

What causes your P.C.to creep, crawl and then crash?

In one word, MAINTENANCE.

A personal computer, be it a laptop or a desktop can last you as long as a Volkswagen if you regularly perform some simple tasks.

My suggestions are based on my own personal experiences. I taught myself how to operate a PC in the earliest days of the Internet. I learned the hard way after repeated freezes and crashes. In those early days there was no google to go to for advice. The only way out of the simplest problem was to reboot. There were no preventive maintenance programs.

1.Do not trust the protection promised by your Internet Providers,Cable or Phone Company DSL providers or any other third party program. The "Lord helps those who protect themselves" is a good motto when you are dealing with millions of hackers who get their jollies from destroying your equipment.

Invest in a good top of the line software package and do not skimp on the price. Most are ineffective and a complete waste.

Besides the anti-virus feature they should also provide anti-spam, network security,anti-phishing,id protection, a two way firewall, anti-tracking devices,Internet worm protection, browser protection,intrusion preventions and web site authentication.

My personal favorite is the Norton Internet Security package. It is simple but incredibly effective. Run the scan feature at least once a week to see where your problems originate and delete the suspect programs. Once you have Norton installed you won't even know what horrible things are going on in the background because Norton cuts 99% of them off before they ever cause a critical problem.

Scan and delete the programs causing them anyway. Eventually they will wear your PC down much as an engine running with 2 year old engine oil in the crankcase of your car.

If your DSL constantly slows down until you would be better off with the old dial-up, be advised it is most likely a virus problem. Your DSL repairmen whether they be from Direct TV,Time-Warner, or Verizon will not tell you this as they understandably have to to justify their jobs.

The answerman tells you right now that almost all slow-down problems ruining your cyber experience are related to hidden infections you know nothing about!

Buy and install the Norton programs or equivalent software packages from reliable manufacturers. The times you are suddenly logged off will virtually disappear.
The Norton pkg costs about $89.00 at Staples, Best Buy etc.

2. Get a good Malaware program like Malwarebytes. Copy and paste this link in your browser window and then click on go:

http://www.malwarebytes.org/.

This program scans your hard drive for worms, bugs,viruses etc which are already on your PC. It identifies them by name, Vondos,Trojan, etc and removes them with a quick reboot and restart.

Dell customer support showed me where to get a free download of this program but you might have to pay for it if you find it on your own.

3. Use the chkdsk feature, monthly. Run it at night while you are sleeping as it can take hours to complete:

Follow these instructions very carefully.

Click Start and then click My Computer.
Right-click the hard disk drive to scan, and click Properties.
In the Local Disk Properties window, click the Tools tab.
Click Check Now.
In the Check Disk Local Disk window, click to select the box next to Automatically fix file system errors.
note

It is advisable to select "Scan for and attempt recovery of bad sectors" to physically check the surface of the hard disk. However, this step increases the time it takes to complete the scan. What do you care? You will be snoring away.

Click Start. A prompt may appear to perform the scan the next time the computer restarts. If so, click Yes. The computer restarts and runs Checkdisk and you go to bed.

That's it. Actually its not as difficult as it sounds.If my instructions confuse you, ask the manufacturer of your PC to help you or google check disk.

There is an optional program, DEFRAG which you can also use but I don't think its that important.


Comments and topic suggestions welcomed and appreciated.

BETH WANTS A BABY! IS THE KING OF ALL MEDIA FIRING BLANKS?

The answer? It sure looks like it.

Howard Stern at age 55 has everything, almost everything.

Megalomaniacs are never satisfied unless they have absolutely everything.

They must constantly reaffirm their virility.It's a power trip.

Former United States Senator Al Amato this weekend publicly urged Howie and Beth to have a "little one." and implied it would help their marriage. Stripped of his machismo by scandals, Amato should know. His wife, who is decades younger than Senator Al, will give birth within days. The once powerful Senator can now feel like a man again.

The Stern marriage is doomed if Howie cannot deliver.

I predict Beth Ostrosky will leave Stern if he cannot get her pregnant by their second anniversary. She desperately wants a child and her time clock is running out. If she does depart she will marry a man at least 15 years younger than herself.

This is a truism; women who marry sugar daddies, sooner or later transmogrify into Cougar gals.

Howard has reiterated, almost daily on his radio show for the past 7 years that he does not want children The opposite is closer to the truth.

Never, ever believe what Stern reveals on-air about his private life.In fact, to know what is really going on, assume the opposite.

For twenty years,the lovely, ultra intelligent Allison Stern, phoned into the show several times. The loving banter between Howie and Allison was both entertaining and heartwarming. We loyal and rabid fans were duped.

Who knew he was at the time contemplating divorce from the mother of his three daughters?

Who knew 10 years ago, between marriages,that he was sleeping with Angie Everhart and Robin Givens?

Now ,Stern has to prove that he is still capable of having children. It is an obsession. There can only be one rational reason why Beth is not pregnant yet.

Of course they are both consummate actors so you will never hear confirmation of this fact from either of them on-air.

After all, why would this self-obsessed genius want to burden himself with raising a child now?

What burden?

Howard makes 25 million a year. He can hire a full time live in Mom to raise the child and pay the "Mom" 1 million a year. The only time he would have to see the kid is when he or she is handed to him for a photo op.

If this guy did not want a child he would have a vasectomy in one minute.

He is one of the cleverest men in the country. Has effectively buffered himself against the charges of sterility, but Daily Question has daily answers.

Howard has run out of solutions to his dilemma.He could have Beth inseminated from a sperm bank or from John Stamos and then announce it is his child.

Sure, and how does he explain when the baby comes out with a normal nose?

So the answer to today's question is yes.