Archive for the ‘Ha Ha’ Category

The love song of Donald Trump and Kim Jong-un
With Roy Zimmerman and Sandy and Richard Riccardi
Parody lyrics by Roy Zimmerman and Melanie Harby

 

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We wish to extend our New Years Greetings to all of our readers, friends and foes. furbirdsqueerly in this incarnation will continue into another year. When we take a look at our readership from all over the world we say, yeah we had better. It always amazes us when we check out the stats at the end of the year to see folks from all sorts of places who came for a visit. We have had people from Zimbabwe, New Caledonia, Uruguay, Vietnam, South Africa, Russia , France, Norway, Japan, Finland, South Korea, Singapore, French Guiana, Chile, Afghanistan, Bulgaria, Turkey, Norway, Philippians, Puerto Rico, United Kingdom, Bolivia, France, Pakistan, Mexico, Cambodia, many more, and of course the United States. We have had people from every continent except Greenland and mainland China. Here is a map from our stats.

So we say to ourselves, what else should we be doing. If someone from Cambodia visits once how can we get that person to come back again? How can we get people from Sweden to come on board? punkpink will be doing a run down of our stats to see what folks who came for a visit looked at. We want that international appeal as well as the next gal.

One thing we like to do at the end of the year is mention furbirdsqueerly’s greatest hits. What type of essays and article drew people to our site during the last year. This is not to say that we will monkey these posts just to keep the momentum going.

So here goes just a few our greatest hits for 2017!

Coming in at number one is an essay that we wrote back in 2008 when we worked with the group Queers Without Borders. It was in response to a local gay magazine The Metroline who wrote that there were no drag queens at Stonewall. (contrary to what everyone else who was there, (he was not) said about that night. The piece “No Drag Queens At Stonewall You Say, We Say Take A Flying Fuck was republished in 2011 on furbirdsqueerly when once again this same question reared its ugly head. This essay continues  to get hits and has links to the Stonewall Veterans Site.

Of course we noticed when we go local folks from this area come over to see what the fuss is about. (yes we love to cause a fuss, upset apple-carts and ruffle the feathers of the enlightened class) One piece a tribute to an artist who we think is tremendous, makes art, no questions asked is the artist Marc Burns. We wrote the essay Marc Burns At Art Space, A Wonderful Art Experience For All Of Us was a review of the artist’s show at a local gallery. Many people noted that our review was the better of the few but most of the people where enamored over a review which to us was flat and dry but was published by a well know critic on a well known web site. Oh well what can we say. Some have soul, some do not, some are afraid to say and we do not. I suppose though in the long run to the top I would rather a review by an art site rather than a little anarchist communist blog sitting in Hartford Ct.

front banner of jeri and us.

Our essays on LGBTQ Pride always get quite a bit attention we notice that folks in Europe really dig reading them. This is a post of 14 essays written over the years. The above photo’s are some of the members of Queers Without Borders attending PRIDE in NYC.

Our latest work J. P. Morgan and the celebrating of misdeeds is gaining readers everyday.  What we enjoy about this one is that folks from not only here but around the world are reading this essay. The lesson that rang true through-out the essay was the words of Anarchist Leon Czolgosz, “Don’t give up the fight, Don’t dare surrender! No War But Class War. No War But Class War!”

Close to home but with resounding all over the country was our essay, Rip It Down Or Let It Stand, an essay on the removal of the Colt Memorial in a local park. In future essays we will be exploring other statues, and memorials that we feel should be removed.  One such statue is a new one of the Rev. Samuel Stone, a rev. from the late 1600’s who tortured and persecuted women who were declared to be witches.

Image result for samuel stone hartford ct.

Our essay Center Church: Is An Apology In Order From The Church For The Persecution of Women continues to gather readers.

Image result for equality march hartford ct.

Photo-button worn by furbirdsqueerly R. Nelson, taken by Kerri of Real Hartford.

One essay, a very important one, Greetings To All How Gather Here Today: A Leaflet From Furbirdsqueerly to The LGBTQ Community and Allies. A rallying call against single issue struggle the essay began this way:

“Today as concerned queers we gather with others who oppose the regime in Washington DC. We gather to raise our concerns not only to this nation but to our community the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer and allied. Many years ago, when our movement was young we learned that as LGBTQ folks we were here, there and everywhere. We learned that as Queers in the Gay Liberation Front we could not survive unless we formed a united front with others who at that time were under attack. We fully understood that we must not only seek the liberation of our people but of all people and join with the movements around the world in solidarity and in fighting for liberation. Later we learned from the great Black, poet, author, philosopher, teacher Audre Lorde when she said, “There is no such thing as a single issue, as we do not lead a single-issue life.”

Of course many folks visit our main page and archives. (probably wondering what is a furbird anyway.)  So we will be doing more one page articles, photos and other quick readings. The above articles are just a few of our hits from the past year. We will continue to work against this unjust system doing what we can and supporting those who do. So from all of us at furbirdsqueerly    HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Yeah okay. I had a gun. A cowboy uniform too. Strung up my sister on the clothes line, broke it down, got spanked a bit and yelled at a lot. “We were only playing and she is my captive,” I yelled. Funny how some liberals say if you buy a gun for your son he will graduate into something else. He may even kill you and everyone else. Well I never did. I enjoyed playing with my guns. I enjoyed playing shoot them up. I could play with the best of them. Children of the 50′ grew up watching cowboy shows and watching gun toting hero’s like the Lone Ranger an his comrade Tonto. Play guns, war toys and cowboy costumes were all the rage. Some of the kids even had full Indian costumes with bows and rubber head arrows. Yeah I had a gun, a black hat and outfit too. I played the bad guy, the outlaw, the outsider, the villain. I would be like Pretty Boy Floyd rob a bank and give the money away to the poor. But you know this play didn’t make me want to kill in later years? It didn’t make me want to join the army and Kill for Peace? No never. By the time I was old enough to go to Sunday School I heard another message. That of peace and love and that is where I began a new journey.

Why here I am Christmas 1952 all dressed up and ready to rob a bank.

People, especially males, are hard-wired toward weaponry and taking aim at something. Every day I take aim and get it in the toilet.

Notes from an artist in the run-down section of town.

From queerartist’s memory banks and then some.

Old man Brown said that he was going to raise the rent $5.00 since the weather was getting warmer and now the studio had heat. “What!!!, you old fool, you don’t supply the sun that shines in the windows and gives us some heat each day. We survived the winter in your no water, no heat, shack of a building and now since the sun will be shining stronger you want to charge us more? Well you old fool I don’t have that much cabbage and if I did I would want to buy some food and art supplies not give it to a rich old doctor like you. Old man Brown was a classic slum lord. Lived in a nice suburban ranch and owned a couple of old buildings in Goon City. I couldn’t even sing The Faucets Are Dripping since this studio came with no running water. Bet his faucets didn’t drip in the suburbs, bet he has heat and didn’t have to decide each month is it the rent, food, the electric bill or art supplies that my little bit of money will go towards? Since its a problem that isn’t going to go away as long as we live under this dirty rotten system lets listen to Malvaina Reynolds sing her song, The Facets are Dripping and remember that landlords are a large part of the problem we face. Here is a wonderful quote from Punkerslut: One can find the essay Landlords Parasites of the Earth, HERE. The essay is well worth reading.

“The landlord lives by owning. They earn their wealth by possession and not by labor. What they live on has been made by the endless toil of workers in all nations. They do not build up or maintain the housing of their tenants. They hire from the same class that they collect rent from, the laborers. The individuals or family inhabiting the building are only paying for a place to live and sleep. Since the world has been broken up into small tiny chunks of land, the possessors of land have been exploitive of those who need the land.”

Well what was an artist in the run down section of town suppose to do. Move out?

Suppose a new studio could be found but artist had put quite a bit of work into this place and the thought of moving to another run down building in the run down section of town was not at all appealing. Where else could artist go? The old firehouse was now being taken over for a car repair shop by a hot hunky gay man. ( oh yes honey he could repair cars as well as any red neck in fact so well that he had a line of men outside of his doors all wanting to get their crank shafts greased.) Add to that mix the way he carried himself one would think he was straight except for what he like to do in bed, in the bushes, at the porno-theater, on the floor and in the back seat of any car. Now that old fire house would make a great studio, and it had heat and running water. Maybe queerartist thought, I could get a place in the old abandoned factory. Nah, too big and scary and it has Turd Brook running under a good part of it. Do think that after a while that the smell of the water and the constant running water sound would be a bit too much. One would have to burn a lot of incense in order to mask the smell of that brook. Some may like it but not me. At least my pad has electricity. ( the one modern convenience that I had in that studio).

Even with all the studio’s shortcomings it was a home. Since Phil and I took out the wall that separated the two front rooms it is great as one big room. Four windows on the south side of the room and two to the north. We were high on crystal meth one evening and I said to him, “I would love to have a large studio rather than the two rooms.” “Well, said Phil, “I am sure that it wouldn’t be too hard to take out this wall.” So we began. What a sight. Two high hippie artists taking down a wall. The first layer was some type of thin wall board.(save the wall board good for painting on) Then a surprise. The wall was made of tongue and groove boards. That wall came down real fast as it was like taking apart a toy. Get one board out of the line up and the rest came out one- two-three. Once the wall was down we had to find a place to dump the broken down wall. There was no trash pick up in the run-down section of town and everyone had to dispose of their garbage any way that they could. Most people around town either drove to the dump or hired Wilbur Giles who had most of the garbage pick up in Goon City but where was a poor artist going to get the money to dispose of boards and two by fours? This had to be done on the sly as if Stubby Stabola who owned the package store downstairs saw us getting rid of Brown’s wall he would be on the phone fast calling Old Man Brown up and telling on us. He was a funny man, a nice redneck if there can be such a creature but wasn’t happy that artists were upstairs his store.  I needed paint, I needed canvas, I need food, I had to pay my rent. Money, money, money. Maybe I should dress up, and get my money-maker out on the street. Some one may be hot to trot with queerartist and be willing to pay for a hot fast quickie.

Where can I dump the wall? Goosey Bell said “behind the factory is a neat place.” Talk about illegal dumping. Old sofas, washers, collapsed boxes of crap, large piles of old skids, wet cardboard, rolls of plastic, scrap pieces of wood, an old water heater, a stove, a few old chairs, soggy newspapers and metal. Well the old wall boards would look just marvey out back there with all the other dumpings. Phil and I bundled up all the boards and tied the bundle with rope, loaded it in a shopping cart from Fancies Grocery store and in the dead of night went behind the factory and dumped the load amongst all the other dumpings. No one would know, let alone care as the factory had been closed for 4 years. In the heyday of the factory beautiful wooden pull toys had been made there.

Noah’s Ark toy. Just like the one I use to have. The ark was full of animals. The only animal that I still have is one called Quaky Duck which comes out every Easter.

Ruthie Hillard’s father owned the place. He closed it down during the depression and opened it up a few years after. The factory was sold after Mr. Hillard died. A bunch of other small factories were opened in the building and the last was a factory where plastic windowed envelopes were assembled. Now it just sat there empty.

According to Bob Bee a few squatting hippies had made their way to Goon City from California, on the invitation of Gail hung around in there and had painted up the place real nice. They had made a hang-out hippie pad in the sections that were the offices. Their bathroom was over Turd Brook. A hole was cut in the floor and a chair without a bottom and sawed down legs was placed over the hole. Topping it off was a toilet seat taken from the no longer in use restrooms. This building had no water, no heat and no electricity. The hippies toilet worked quite well. Bombs away right into Turd Brook. That is how Turd Brook got its name from all the turds that floated along in its waters. Anyone whose homes were anywhere along the ridge above Turd Brook, the people on Summit Hill and workers who worked in the factories on the border of the run-down section of town all pooped and the poop went through the sewer pipes and into Turd Brook. It was like that for years and years. Back when we were young kids we always were overjoyed to spy used rubbers caught in branches all along Turd Brook. We wondered who was fucking who up there on Summit Hill? At least we had the sense not to play with or try on the rubbers. We just looked and laughed and wondered what it was like to fuck, be fucked, and us little sissy boys dreamed of some of the big hunky men up there stretching those rubbers over their dicks.

The Run Down Section Of Town.

I found while surfing around the net this old photo of this section of town. My studio was upstairs in the white building on the right. The train trestle separated the town. Many a kid would go up on that trestle and try to get to the other side before a train came along. By the time we came along there were no more passenger trains coming through from New York City making their way to Boston. I am not sure what year this photo was taken but I notice the road was dirt. It wasn’t that way when we lived there but the freight trains still ran through town.

The run-down section of town was just that. Most of the people who lived in the area were those who had rejected society or had been rejected by society. Artists fit right in with some of the people except for a few that hung out in the Purple Cow and those were men who came into the run-down section of town to drink, none of them lived in the area. Billy always said, “Well they have their problems too or they wouldn’t come around here and drink they would stay in their own section of town drinking at some of the more fancy establishments.” Must be something there that pushes them down here towards us. The Purple Cow was the mother of all dives. Let’s talk restrooms. We have to tell you about the men’s room at the Cow. There was a hole in the floor with out a chair  that served as a toilet. We heard that the toilet was ripped out and used as a weapon during a gang fight a few years back. So now it was take a piss but try to get it in the hole buddy. This place was for pissing only. Don’t think that anyone would even want to try to squat down and take a good number 2 as I know that several people talked about something coming up out of that hole and latching on to your ass or chomping off your dick and balls. There was a rumor that Razor Blade one of the local motorcycle guys had thrown his pet alligator down there or some say it was some type of snake. So truth be told no one was taking any chances. Did you ever see a dirty sink that was so dirty that all you saw was the dirty? Dirty, greasy, grubby, dirty dirt. Forget soap and paper towel. Here is a photo of a sink. Just like the sink in the old Purple Cow.

The walls were painted dark brown on the bottom half and the top was a fading green with chips and graffiti. Most guys went out the door and to the back of the Cow and took a piss there. Well that men’s room, was the strangest place that most of us had ever been in. Peter told me that years ago Old Himmey Johnson who to lives up near the town dump use to give blow jobs in there. Phew. Never got one so I wouldn’t know if Peter was passing on tall tales. Gail told us that the women’s room or better yet, Babe’s Piss House (as the sign she put on the door said) was cleaner. But no man would dare use it. The only time a guy got in there was if Babe was performing a cheap trick or two. But when she was there sitting on her stool she had a view right to her room and once or twice when we were in there feeling our oats we heard Babe yell out, “Get the fuck away from my restroom,” which alarmed Willy the bartender who went back there to yell that the trespasser was not to use Babe’s special restroom. “Gotta shit,” was met with “squat over the hole or go home and do your business.”

The Cow had its share of red necks, a few fathers of the local kids, us young artists with connections to the place via family, our friends, some motorcycle guys and their girls, and Babe Moon. Babe was the queen of the bar and if you wanted to be accepted in there you had to pass her test first. She sat up at the end of the bar, on “Babes stool” (and don’t anyone forget that was her stool,) right in the window holding court each and every day,  afternoon, evening, and to closing there she was up on her stool. Her stool even had her name glued on the back. Some of us artists got a pass as Babe rented an apartment from old Edgar up above his pit and she knew us from hanging out there. She knew me since I was a baby and told me once that I was a very ugly baby. I had big ears, and lots of dark hair and a scrunched up face. “I declare,” she said, “you looked like someone elses monkey which had been left on the doorstep.” Ugliest baby I ever did see. I saw a lot of babies in my day, before I became a drinker I was a nurse.

Well Babe takes one to know one. You’re no beauty yourself. You know that I grew out of my baby ugly but honey take a look at you. You got your ugly all over the place. From the top of your head right down to your toes. Up on your stool you sit like a rough rouged old queen, in heat for all the working class men that come in to the Purple Cow. Truth be told around town they say you can be had for $10.00 and give an okay blow job. Men around here don’t really care if it’s only ok as they get nothing from their wifes at home. No wonder they stray into your mouth.  But you know Babe I got the cute ones. Yes Babe, baby ugly me. Frankie the Hells Angel, (he always got good dope, and a dick so suckable too) Ray the fighter, (hot Italian, man does he sweat when fucking)  Billy with his long blonde hair that most people think he is an apparition from the heavens (very careful sex as he is fragile). We do it to each other and we do it for free. Make Love Not War that is what we do. 3 men you will never get. They got me and I don’t charge. So Babe go suck a Purple Cow’s teet. I found one for you and it looks as goofy as you do in my memory banks.

I never saw a purple cow
I never hope to see one
But I would rather see a purple cow
Then be one. (more…)

Here is a little dream for you. Then reality snuck in. A talisman perhaps.

And Benny was dreaming up the large mountain to get to the other side. No, he knew he wasn’t the bear that went over the mountain just to see what was on the other side, not Benny. I’ve been up this mountain before. On the top of the mountain was a large tall building but Benny couldn’t see above the 2nd floor that was skinned down to only its girders. Funny place Mr. Johnson is renovating that floor for his new condo. Someone lives up stairs but we only hear them. Benny walked to the back of the building hoping that it was all down hill from there but saw in front of him a large swamp. The swamp is wide and I can not cross over, wish I had wings to fly, that old folks song came in his head. Shit if I did I would be home by now having my dinner in my cozy little cottage. Suddenly Benny’s eyes spied something moving across the swamp, dodging the trees of the forest. It was a wolf, and Benny was afraid not so much of the wolf but about what could have happened if he hadn’t spied the wolf from where he stood and ran smack into its snarling face on the other side of the swamp. Glad I saw it as if I figured out a way to cross this swamp I could very well be the next Little Red Riding Hood’s Grandma. Eaten up by the wolf and no telling how long I would have had to spend in the belly of the wolf before some handsome woodsman came and slit open its belly and let me out.

Handsome Hank the Handy Woodsman

Went up to the 2nd floor, I will stay up here safe from any prowling wolves. They say they come in packs though I have heard of lone wolves before. Maybe there is something to block the door. A boy named Billy tried to find an old door that had been taken off its hinges, or some boards just lying around. Come on now all places should have a board or two to do the trick of blocking the entrance so a wolf couldn’t enter. Others joined us looking out from the floor and then we spied the wolf which had now crossed the swamp and was going south on the path down below. A lone wolf if one ever saw a lone wolf. A woman with us couldn’t see the wolf no matter how hard she tried. No wolf out there I am going out for a walk, she told us. Passing by cubby holes after cubby holes down the ramp and outside she went.

Benny woke from the dream frightened. Wondering out loud are there any packs of wild dogs here in this city? Now I know there isn’t any wolves. Scaring himself more and more thinking about snarling dogs, biting at him, surrounding him and pulling him down to the ground. Hey there can’t be wild dogs around here as I have to go out this morning at 4:15 way before anyone would hear my screams if attacked by a pack of wild dogs. What do I have to protect myself, no gun, no baseball bat, no mace, nothing. I suppose that I could throw ammonia at the dogs and that would chase them away from me. I certainly don’t want to become any dogs meal I would be rather messy if anyone could tell it was me after finding what was left there in the early morning hours. Wild dogs must be hungry with all this snow around and all the furry little animals hiding in their den, not venturing out or maybe not at all able to get out. Hole buried by so much snow. Wild dogs gotta eat.
Well thought Benny the laundry must be done and no fear of a pack of wild dogs is going to bother me and get me to stay home and not do my early Sunday morning job.

Benny left his apartment and out on the side sidewalk he looked down and saw the word wolf. WTF!! WOLF stared back at him. He pick up the round little container and read, Longcut Wintergreen Timber Wolf. Something to protect me on my journey thought Benny. I use to know all about such things back in the day when I was with Harry. What to do with the snuff in the can if any wild dogs come around. Sprinkle it all about and hope for the best. Tune up your fine senses, tune up your eyes, tune up your nose and walk lightly. Remember the old ways.

The wind began to howl and blow so cold. Pssssssssssssssssssssssst- Art comes in many strange ways now doesn’t it.

Benny gave us the can of Timber Wolf Snuff and we promised that if invited to show in the next art show we will show it.

INTRODUCTION:

Anyone who reads this blog knows that we have published articles on earthworms off and on. We just love them what can we say. We celebrate the earthworm as our friend, a friend that should be cared for and a friend that we should keep off of fisherman’s hooks and never spray the ground they live in with insecticides which is one of the biggest dangers to the earthworm.  Want to care for the earth then start with the lowly earthworm which does so much for the planets health. We have been busy working on this collage of found interesting facts, pictures, and videos for your viewing pleasure.

Information on The Earthworm. 

“It may be doubted whether there are any other animals which have played so important a part in the history of the world as have these lowly, organized creatures, ” Charles Darwin. (1)

When it is stated that in this vast array of creatures the lowly, segmented earthworm is probably the most important to mankind, the uninitiated might aptly declare that such a statement sounds neither logical nor reasonable.  That little slimy thing, that small creepy thing, good only for fishing bait, and to chop in half and see if they grow themselves back together again. (they don’t). Yet few creatures equal the burrowing earthworm as an essential to better health and greater growth to plant and vegetable life, and, therefore, indirectly is of the utmost importance to man. Now we all need our plants and vegetables, this is true and we need these things without a chemical side dish to worry about. So get up, boys and girls give a salute to the worm, say thank you, thank you. From the small and slimy we get great things.

Earthworms doing their job in the vegetable patch.

The burrowing earthworm is Nature’s own plough, her chemist, her cultivator, her fertilizer, her distributor of plant food. In every way, the earthworm surpasses anything man has yet invented to plough, to cultivate or to fertilize the soil.

 

Red Worms the best for the job.

Red worms are nature’s waste-renewal units.  They don’t simply consume the waste, they turn it into something far more useful: nutrient-rich compost.  Red worms cut the composting process down to a third of the time it would take without the presence of worms and eliminate the need to turn your compost! (one less thing to do around the farm, take a break at that time.) Got a compost bin get some worms, stick them in, feed them, water them and all the plants you grow will say thanks farmer Abbey.

Can we say it? Yes we can. You know us yes we will.

(4)

There is nothing short of a revolution here. Has been for a billion years. Earthworms survived the great calamity that killed off the dinosaurs and been ploughing the earth ever since. We’ve been ploughing the earth for a billion years and we plough the earth still. This unpaid handy worker goes about its business creating a revolution in farming, a revolution in the way we produce our food, a revolution in our health, and a revolution in the way we treat our waste. The worms are like the masses, working together the worm has power, individually they are powerless, but together now they are capable of breaking down and transforming all kind of biodegradables, including perhaps the rot that permeates our society. Take a tip from the earth worm, oh you artists you. Take a tip from the lowly worm. Join the revolution.

What are those tiny little mounds almost like a sandcastle we see on the ground?

These here? Earthworm castings on the dirt.

Earthworm Castings are the excretions left behind by worms after they finish digesting the organic matter that makes up their diet. The process of creating worm castings is probably the most efficient means of recycling kitchen and yard wastes.

Benefits of Worm Castings in the Garden

More than just a great plant fertilizer, castings are also a terrific soil amendment, plant growth enhancer, and the gardener’s ultimate compost. Earthworm castings are clean, odorless, and can be used indoors and outdoors to provide a boost to all of your plants.  Indoors, castings can be added to potting soil or mixed into the containers of established houseplants. (5) Outdoors in the garden spread worm castings and incorporate them into the surface soil levels of your raised beds. Castings can also be added to the bottom of the planting hole when setting out transplants, or scratched into the soil surrounding established flowers and vegetables. Worm castings are loaded with beneficial soil microbes and other soil organisms that will help restore life and health to depleted and worn out garden soils. (more…)