Hamil Family Assistance Fund

~reposted from facebook~

May 26, 2011...

"I am heartbroken to report that Ryan's body has been found. We cannot begin to thank you for your incredible outpouring of support. We so appreciate all of the prayers, encouraging words, and financial gifts. Please continue to keep the Hamil family in your prayers as they deal with yet another devastating loss." -Michelle Capener

Click here to support 'Hamil Family Assistance Fund by Michelle Capener'

www.gofundme.com

The Hamil Family in Oklahoma had their home destroyed by a tornado yesterday afternoon. Their 15 month old son, Cole, was killed. Catherine (the mother) and Cathleen (5) remain hospitalized with significant injuries. Their 3 year old son, Ryan, is still missing. For those of you who would li...

58 minutes ago · Share

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  Prayers for the Hamil family-Find Ryan

  Remember to check out Shower of Hope Oklahoma - Hamil Family! They are gathering things for the Hamil baby that is due in October! I am sure they won't turn down any other donations either! All monetary donations need to be made to any Midfirst bank or www.midfirstbank.com Under the name HANK HAMIL or http://www.gofundme.com/4z9po

  58 minutes ago · 2622 ·  · 
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  Prayers for the Hamil family-Find Ryan

  The goal for today has not been reached yet! If you would like to help the family you can by donating at this site! http://www.gofundme.com/4z9po

  18 hours ago · 3850 ·  · 
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  Prayers for the Hamil family-Find Ryan

  I was just told by family that this link is still available to those who wish to donate online. I know yesterday there was talk of closing it because of fees, but they feel it should stay open for those who would rather pay this way and not mail a check to the bank! They have raised almost $30k so far! Lets help them reach today's goal!http://www.gofundme.com/4z9po

Will Norton Search Update - Friday 5/27/11

Will Norton
Photo Courtesy of The Norton Family

REPOSTED FROM FACEBOOK

Help Find Will Norton


Search update 1:

We had a great turnout today with over 80 searchers and covered a ton of ground! We're now able to completely mark these areas off of our grid map and focus on other areas.  I was also able to scope out exact path and debris drop areas east and northeast of the destruction zone for possible search targets (thanks to a gracious friend and a willing pilot). This was a tremendous help!

posted 3 hours ago

Search update 2:

We will be searching some additional areas tomorrow and would be thrilled to find ATV or dog capabilities. Stage location: Freeman Hospital West (32nd Street) @ 9:30am. Bring proper gear for searching (ticks are VERY bad, bring tick repellant). Email FindWillNorton+searchteam@gmail.com if you do not have my phone #.

-Keith

posted 3 hours ago


Search update 3:

Ready to help Will?


1) Join us Friday 9:30am @ Freeman Hospital Cafeteria, groups should come ready to search. If later than 9:30am (but NO later than noon) please text my 513.476.xxxx number (email FindWillNorton+searchteam@gmail.com)

OR

2) Join an official SAR or cleanup team at MSSU's Billingsly Hall (taking volunteers 24x7) They will provide you with a bracelet, additional gear, and a bus ride to the grid location to be searched.


Thanks to everyone, time for some rest. see you in the AM.
Keith

Posted 2 hours ago

Body of 15 Month Old Skyular Lodgson Identified

The Kansas City Star has reported that the body of Skyular Logsdon has been found, ending a frantic rescue search by his family, friends, and rescue personnel.   Read more: http://www.kansascity.com/2011/05/25/2904023/remains-of-missing-baby-skyular.html#ixzz1NQFforQK

Skyular Logsdon

The Head of the Snake Severed, Bin Laden Killed By U.S. Forces

Now that it is official that Osama Bin Laden is dead, killed by U.S. forces, it is hard not to look back at the history of this conflict.  We remember exactly where we were on 9/11, how we heard the news, and our reaction was overwhelmingly sad and painful. 

Personally, I wrote a song about that day. I was deeply moved by the New York Times posting of honorariums for every person killed on September 11th.  My song focused on four victims. A reporter from the New York Times gave copies of my tribute song to the families of those I wrote about.  Scott Anderson was one of those killed in the attack and I remember receiving a touching email from his widow. Suddenly, I became closer to the tragedy and I was humbled by her deeply moving words.  Scott left behind two young daughters.  He did not deserve his fate. He was not at war with anybody.  They did not deserve their fate either.

A few months later I learned that a married woman living in the Township where I work also died in the attack on twin towers.  Her husband was devastated by her death. Less than a year later, he took his own life.  Clearly, there were more victims than the nearly 3,000 who died on that sunny September day.

The terrible consequences of Al Qaeda's attack on our country extended beyond that day, beyond our country into other countries around the world.  Attacks in Europe killed hundreds more, and we then took the fight to our enemy in Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan, and other countries all over the world. Families lost loved ones and lives were horribly changed forever. 

Osama Bin Laden declared war on our country. That war continues today and into the foreseeable future. We must remain vigilant. We must support our troops, our President, Congress, and our intelligence community.  But today is a momentous day in the history of our country.  The cheering crowds outside the  White House represent how many of us feel. 

We are joyous that our enemy, a mass murderer of innocent civilians, is dead, but we are also reminded of those citizens we lost that day, and the thousands of soldiers who have given their limbs and their lives to defend our liberty since Septmeber 11th.   Good riddance Bin Laden.  Your death is our justice for your heinous acts against our homeland.

God Bless America, now and forever.

Britney Spears, The Comeback Kid

We laughed when Lady GaGa arrived at an awards show inside an egg, a pre-mature (or perhaps immature) Cleopatra conceiving the birth of her new song.  We laughed harder when the Phillie Phanatic tried the same schtick at a Phillies home opener early this season.  But we aren't laughing at Britney Spears.  The comeback kid has arrived, and circus critics take note- Britney plans to own the whole tent.

This is more than a well-oiled machine, this is a calculated strike for all the gold in the industry, accomplished with a cheerleader's smile.  Yes, her smile is back, and that smile can melt steel in Antarctica.  When Britney had her own rebellion/meltdown- the shaved head, the custody battle, the ambulance trips to the hospital, the terrible award show performances- her CD still  topped the charts and millions of girls danced to her music in clubs around the world.

Self-destruction and a million of units sold is a rare occurrence for an artist.  Usually, the business tanks along with the celebrity.  Charlie Sheen's recent misadventure illustrates that point perfectly. We don't expect to see him in feature movies any time soon, no matter what he may tell us. Britney not only survived her media-chronicled slip on multiple banana peels, she made a gazillion dollars while falling.  What would happen when she owns her image again, when her branding is as solid as a thick oak plank?

Let's take a quick look at her most recent video.  It's a brilliantly conceived display of sensuality and innocence.  Britney is surrounded by wet, sweaty, sexual dancers, popping and humping to the beat- but there is only one shot where she is truly as sensual as they are- one beautifully conceived shot that is 100% female heat (1:58).  Just as quickly, it's gone. She is still dancing with them, but slightly distanced because ....of that smile!  Britney's knowing look, an almost mocking grin, is like a dancer in a strip club, smiling at you with sweet seduction while expertly extracting all your dollar bills.  Are you loving this yet?  Got any more fivers in your wallet, daddy?

Through most of the video, Britney is wearing a spiky leather jacket, black spandex tights with holes designed to show off her flat tummy, and black nylons with runs so large you could fit a torpedo through them. She is almost sleethy in appearance, but then the next shot is a close-up and she's bopping her head side to side, like a teeny, um...cheerlead...um,...cute as a, um....teenager pretending to be a star in front of the mirror in their own bedroom.

But that kid's new video has had over nineteen (19) million views on youtube in only three (3) weeks.  Let's hope viral diseases never spread as fast as her video. The Britney Spears Company is an industry giant, an undefeated heavyweight, who may not have the best jab, but with the finest footwork, but will knock you out in the first round.  You weren't looking  for the left hook, and then the smile.  Stay down for the count Lady Gaga.  Britney floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee.

Her million dollar smile separates her from the rest of the pack. Britney doesn't get as down and dirty as Christina Aguilera did in a 2002 video surprisingly similar in style to Till The World Ends.  When Christina reaches down deep, a whole lot of sex comes out- she's as trampy as the dancers she's hanging with. When Britney reaches down into her sexual soul, she pulls out pretty cut flowers for the dining room table.  A nice dinner, lovely flowers, a little sex- sounds like the perfect date.

At one point in the video, she is wearing red sheer "I Dream of Jeannie" costume and it looks awful on her, and just when you begin to wonder who was the idiot that chose that garish outfit, the camera provides a split-second view of her backside (2:55). Oh Lordie, J-Lo has competition.  Time to get insurance on that booty. Suddenly, it all makes sense. Silly costume? Nooo...excellent costume!

And that is Britney's charm, that ability to look slightly askew, innocently beautiful, teasingly sensual, and even pensive (2:15) while dancing to a pounding beat.  The world above is crumbling and crashing down, but Britney is safe below, surrounded by half-naked men, women writhing on the floor at her feet and she appears oblivious to what the director may be artistically suggesting:

Once upon a time, the world was crashing around Britney, but she hid underground and never stopped singing and dancing. Her  innocence has remained intact. And now her brand is fully alive and she's  spitting fire, with just enough spark to light your scented bedroom candles.

The song ends- Britney pops her head out of a manhole like a cute groundhog from Punxsutawney, and you guessed it, the sun is shining and she can see the green money leaves hanging from every tree. Tell the competition that they will have six more years of winter. The comeback kid has emerged from her underground den. There is only one Britney Spears and this is her perfectly orchestrated and managed smiling groundhog day.  

Wikileaks - Anna Ardin: The Radical Feminist Revealed

President Anna Ardin (center, seated)
Heart, Believers Social Democrats in Stockholm

"So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance."  -FDR, 1st Inaugural Address, 1933

There are radicals in every movement.  The cause of nearly every radical is the same- to bring massive and uncompromising change to a political structure. A radical sees the current political structure as irreparably broken. The radical defines people associated with that system as either corrupt or corrupted by that failed political structure.

The average person may look upon a radical as a singular person or small ineffective group with little chance of achieving their ideologically pure goals. This is a dangerous falsehood. Radicals will exhaustively work for the advancement of their reactionary goals. They gain power through incorporating their polemic into the existing legal and political structures of our society- in order to destroy them.  The Tea Party is a perfect example of this in our own country.

The radical feminist movement in Sweden has been extremely successful at incorporating their principles into legislation that is now Swedish law.  Politicians fear radicals and try to placate them, by incorporating the least radical of their ideas into the overall political platform. This is a mistake and is exactly what radicals expect from a corrupt system. Their foot is now in the door.

In the United States, the fundamentalist Christian movement integrated itself into the Bush administration and brought their narrow-minded belief system into our country's armed forces.  It has been widely reported that there were political and military leaders who believed our invasion of Iraq would expedite the second coming of Christ. Ridiculous, right?  Radical, yes?  We invaded Iraq on false pretense, based upon cherry-picked misinformation from unreliable sources.  Was this a coincidence or a well-execute plan by radicals within our own government?

And so it is with the radical feminists of Sweden, who have successfully lobbied for their own Minister in the government cabinet, have worked tirelessly to get new rape definitions placed into law.  Rape  is a horrible, violent and demeaning act. In the U.S., the rape is legally defined as a criminal offense of forcible sexual relations with a person against that person's will.   Lack of consent is the critical determinate in deciding whether a person has been raped.   But not so in Sweden- where a consensual sexual act is considered to be rape if the male is simply irresponsible in his use of contraceptives. Are there no female contraceptive devices in Sweden?

The expansion of the rape law is not enough to soothe radical feminists like Anna Ardin, or Belardin as she prefers to be called.  She continues to post about the male having more muscle mass than the average female, naturally placing the female in an inferior position and placing her at risk.  In Belardin's view. there must be laws that provide clear advantage to women. This is the sad mentality of a radical.  Justice must be blind to attitudes and be based upon facts in order to be fair.

We should never imprison the innocent in order to protect a class of people from the guilty.  We can never pass laws that would find a man guilty of being male before proceeding with a trial for his alleged male-related crime.  This is absurdity. This is anarchy. These radical women are declaring war on male of the species.

Creating laws that are weighted to one sex, or one race, or one religion is grossly unfair and untenable. This is a slippery slope the Swedish Government has built for themselves, and  exactly what the radical feminists want in order to advance their warlike agenda.

Wikileak's Julian Assange is at a serious risk in Sweden's rape investigation. His accuser, Anna Ardin, admits freely that they had consensual sex. Then she accuses him of not being responsible with his use of contraceptives.  That is how she was raped.   She has also affirmed on her own blog that she is a radical feminist.  Is Mr. Assange her sacrificial lamb to advance a radical agenda?

Yet Anna has mixed so many different philosophies together, it is hard to understand any longer how she can justify any of them.  In her recent posts and in defense of her posts, she has clearly stated that Islam is misunderstood by the West. She believes Islam is a religion that respects tolerance.  While Islam may be misunderstood in the West, Islamic fundamentalism is not. Any religion that treats women as second-class citizens, inferior to males, that uses stoning and murder as punishment for being a victim of rape- the same type of rape that Belardin believes is a result of the physical differences between the sexes- is not a religion a radical feminist should encourage her followers to accommodate.

Now that she has been conveniently appointed to the position of President of her Swedish Christian Brotherhood organization (now renamed Heart - Believers Social Democrats in Stockholm),   now that she has spent time in the Middle East helping families of diverse religions co-exist in the same village, perhaps she should now admit that her radical views towards the male of the species is indefensible.

Her own words place her in a compromising position. She should admit that she is a woman scorned, and tell the Swedish Government that she will not participate in a mockery of a trial, or use her disappointing star-fucking experience as an excuse to send an innocent man to Guantanamo Bay.

But chances are she will continue to advance her personal vendetta behind the guise of radical feminism and people will fear her power.  Julian Assange should not not fear this woman.  She is her own worst enemy.  When the major media finally gets their claws in her,  she will understand that being attacked against your will is not limited to a consensual sexual act in a Swedish bedroom- it can come flying at you through the lens of a CNN camera.  There is no defense from that, no condom law, no tiny village in Israel to to hide for the rest of your life.  That is where fear itself will be a most effective weapon.

Just as an afterthought, Anna.  There is no such person as a half-vegan.  You are either a Vegetarian or you are not. Vegan is a type of Vegetarian.  If you eat meat, you're not half anything.  You're omniverous. You sure do enjoy tossing names at people who disagree with you.  But you can't even be honest about your own diet. (Quoting an excerpt from Belardin's March 11th blog "Eftersom det igen bara kommer bli en halv veganism så behöver jag komplettera med nåt tänker jag.")




         

The Father Cursed

My impulsive nature is nothing compared to my regrets, 
like nightmares when the lights are on; 
how can I still feel the warm embrace of your love 
from our yesterdays,
inside this chilling wind
within the dark curse 
of your forever in every tomorrow.

Notes Upon the Passing of Your Grandmother

Dear Hawthorne,

Your random email reminds me of when we drove to my grandmother's funeral five or ten years ago.  It was quiet, overcast, the world a slate gray, the row homes of Reading reflecting the sentinel sky. The cemetery sat precariously on a small hill within the boundaries of the stone church, near the parking lot, overlooking lower part of the town.  I wondered as I stood there, how different was the view from this spot one hundred years earlier, when my ancestors gathered for a  burial in this same place?  I am a Grube, I thought.  This hill is filled with Grubes.  They command the high ground over a sea of poverty, forlorn industrial buildings of red brick and metal in full decay, small coal miner homes, once full of a new age promise, and then half-emptied of men through two world wars, and now filled with low-riders, salsa music, and another foreign language- this one not as willing to fade into the proper English as the previous generations of Dutch melted into the American pot over a century ago.  

We laid her to rest next to her parents.  Her husband, who died in the late sixties from heart failure, is buried on hallowed Jewish ground, protected from heathens like the woman he loved, who loved him- and who never re-married after his passing- out of respect, out of love, out of tradition.  This tradition passes with her too.  Their tradition remains intact, resolute, without compromise.  Their wars will continue too as men force their faith upon others, and wall themselves inside their zealotry, like that cemetery where mortal love receives no respect, even though true love remains is as equally eternal as heaven and damnation combined.  I can not visit my grandfather's grave, as I do not visit his faith and call it my own and I do not appreciate walls around people, living or dead.

Nanny, as she was called, chose cremation, she was a slight woman and her urn was small. The perfectly square hole that was dug in the ground, was as simple and neat as she kept her own house. I suppose she would have enjoyed the symmetry of that. I have a different idea for my own grave. I want to be buried with all my junk, my songs, my instruments, my piles of papers with half-written poems and lyrics, my favorite records, and a spare pair of underwear for the long trip home.  Hire a backhoe and dig out a nice deep hole, like the ones I have climbed into and evaluated for the past twenty years.  A soil scientist should be present to write up the soil log, with all the horizons, texture, and consistency of the soil properly described, and the colors charted from the Munsell Book. I hope I get some good colors, like a 5YR5/8 or a 2.5Y6/3.  Once the log is completed,  drop it on top of my pile of junk, lightly sprinkle with my ashes (maybe you could chart that color too) and then backfill the damn hole and plant a tree, but not a black ash because they are messy.  Plant a tree that is colorful in Autumn and will drop tons of leaves that some poor living bastard will have to rake and remove each year. 

As Nanny's urn lay there, after words were spoken, read from bible verses, and some poetry was offered, my younger brother (who currently despises me with his entire soul and may spit on my ashes if permitted too, if he outlives me- which is dubious considering his bad habits that I no longer share) drops a half-eaten bag of peanut m&m's into the grave and mumbles something about the trip.   I ask him if Nanny liked peanut m&m's and he shrugs and says something like "I don't know, but she'll need them for the trip".  I thought it was borderline appropriate- his way of saying goodbye, perhaps.  

I'll never forget the stunned look on the funeral home attendant's face when little brother dropped that half-empty bag of candy in her teeny barbie-doll grave.  The bag barely fit between the dark urn and the brown side of the hole.  And he dropped it in such a casual way that someone unknowing, like our attendant, might have thought of a deep disrespect- he dumped his trash into the grave of his grandmother!  I understood that look of disbelief and shock, but not well enough.  I wanted to comfort this stranger, tell him this is not what it appears to be. Now I am not so certain. Was there an unspoken truth I was not privy to?   

In recent days, my brother has told me there is only one truth. I do not reply but also know there are million lies that accompany one truth. Together they become an army, ruthless and victorious over the innocent and the guilty.  There is no time for justice in a world at war, there is no time for a common, shared perception of truth.  There is only blood in the river and a river of blood in the street.  Family arguments are petty creations of our own vanity, with pain and suffering too great a symptom for the minor cause.  Besides, Nanny would not approve.

Today, random skies pushed clouds across the hills in angry, black raven shapes.  Grandmothers pass and they take something with them we never had, and something they share only with their grandkids. She made have had that secret with each grandchild, but each one of us treasured ours alone.  Parents might become upset or angry and issue orders to the troops. Nanny would smile and wink at us, and we would rise above the moment- with her. All is not as it seems- she knows something about our parents that we do not. Chuckling softly to herself and winking at us, grandmother points to the dead fuse on wet dynamite.  The troops ignore their leaders, if only for a brief moment in her presence.  

Right into her last years, our Grandmother kept bottles of coca-cola in her refrigerator door- the kind in the greenish tinted bottles, where you needed a bottle opener. The soda always tickled our palette like the first time we ever tasted that sparkling delight and she would smile at us, like it was her first time too.  Grandmothers have that ability to spin magic out of the mundane, to turn a small row house in Reading into a perfect paradise, a fortress from the world at large- where love and safety play on the front porch together.

My condolences to you in your loss.  May you find strength in her love and in all your memories of your grandmother's life where it intertwined with yours.

Deepest Regards,

Melville

The Grammys - Lights, More Lights, Fake Fire..and Real Arcade Fire

Justin Bieber lost.  He had his eyes closed, as if he was wishing for his name to be called. After all, isn't he the heartthrob of millions of 12-year old girls?  But when Esmeralda Spalding's name was called, his eyes popped open in complete surprise- just like the rest of us.

While many of the female pop stars were popping out of their minds in costumes best suited for Laugh-In meets the Carnies, Esmeralda wore the Grammy.  Lady GaGa arrived in an egg, and her performance laid another.  Justin was sharp with his dance moves, but his voice is thin, nearly transparent, and almost as lost in the music as his dancing was in the lights.

Mick Jagger wore the best tux of the night and proved that old rockers can still move their hips and bring a crowd to its feet.  Here is a man who loves to perform.   Streisand, on the other hand, looked antiquated- a relic of a by-gone era where show tunes, classical, and jazz music dominated the Grammy awards.  Her voice was a mere ghost of her past, with only a glimpse or two of that signature control and tone that set her apart from other contemporary singers.  She also followed Mick Jagger onto the stage- yeah, you don't want to do that.

Usher can dance, is a true entertainer, and his troupe tore up the floor. Likewise for Bruno Mars with his multi-instrument performance- nice touch to CBS for the black and white filter...I felt like we had a real director for this award show.  Rhianna sang beautifully, looked lovely, as did all the women who sang the 'long enough tribute to think she was dead" to Aretha Franklin.

Eminem is "The Man".  He has the presence and power that most rappers only dream of.  When he steps out on the stage, he brings the audience to their feet, and he lives and breathes his words- it's an assault upon your senses, an amazingly powerful experience. Eminem is fascinating to watch, a mesmerizing artist unlike any other.  He didn't wear an outfit from a 1980's Dr. Who television show in order to bare his soul- he just laid it out there.

Once you remove the silly costumes, turn-off the auto-tuners and the karaoke machine, and the juvenile hair styles, there were some excellent performances that deserve mentioning- and so we rated them.  The Mutant Mouse top five performances at the 2011 Grammy Awards were:

5.  Bruno Mars - nice work kid
4.  Mumford and Sons- You boys kicked ass
3.  Eminem - $#*# man, that was sick.
2.  Muse - music and light show was excellent- lose the anarchist dancers tho
1.  Arcade Fire - Says thanks for Album of the Year award and then plays another song- awesome

Kudos to CBS for adapting on the fly to Arcade Fire's decision to play another song.  It felt like unscripted, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants television. And isn't that what we were looking for all along?

On a final note: Sorry, Justin- you have to have better music on your CD than your competition in order to actually WIN a Grammy.  Don't give up, your dance moves were slick tonight...you could be the next Justin Timberlake if you keep at it for a few more years.  Or you could end up like Leif Garrett.  Good  luck, kid.

Wishmakers Latest Charity Project to Benefit FSMA

From our Friends, The Wishmakers

http://www.thewishmakers.org/

The Wishmakers have a new project!! We will be raising money for Families of Spinal Muscular Atrophy (FSMA) by selling children's activity Maze  books in memory of Violet Wehrkamp (Little Flower Violet). Our kick- off event will be February 18th at 9 p.m., at Desaki Japanese  Restaurant on Route 611 Swiftwater, PA. Books will be sold there that  night and online at www.thewishmakers.org

The Wishmakers created children's maze activity books ("SMAZES") to benefit Families of Spinal Muscular Atrophy (SMA). They will be on sale starting February 18th from their website.  Join Wishmakers Facebook Group at http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Wishmakers/183933024956554


The Mutant Mouse Chronicles will be there on February 18th for The Wishmakers FSMA Charity Event.  Join us as we support Families of Spinal Muscular Atrophy on February 18, 2011 at 9:00 p.m. at Desaki Japanese Restaurant, Route 611, Swiftwater, Pennsylvania

www.fsma.org

  

Diffle County Report on The Johnston/Reilly Feud

(Author's Note: Diffle County is a fictional place, located in the Eastern Pennsylvania foothills. All characters are based upon folks I may or may not know. All events are fictional as well, although a truck did get pushed into in a ditch by a Johnston driving a backhoe, while pulling the remains of his neighbor's fence about twenty years ago.  This story has nothing in common with that one-except that they were similar in nature, with alcohol involved and a feud in progress. )

Our story begins...

Back in Diffle County, the boys had a Wikileak problem of their own.  Seems like Charlie Johnston got a little "tired" after too many beers on New Years Eve  and finally decided to remove the fence that Joe Reilly built  on the Johnston property. A witness to the removal called the newspaper, and the next day the Diffle County Record had a page-one picture of  the Diffle County's brand new Ford 150 upside-down in a ditch, along with Charlie's backhoe laying on its side and pieces of fencing scattered like toothpicks all over the highway.

 It all began last summer, when neighbor Joe Reilly decided that Charlie's weekend partying (especially the one that ended with Charlie running around Joe's backyard starkers) was too downright awful a sight to watch. Joe bought and built a six-foot high stockade fence (without a zoning permit) on the property line between them. That property line location was kind of determined by Joe, his step-son Billy, and a string line between two stakes. This did not sit well with Charlie Johnston, not well at all.

Family history

Joe and Charlie go way back, all the way back to Pre-K school at the Garret YMCA.  There isn't one thing one doesn't know about the other.  Now you would think that would make them the best of friends.  On the contrary, they act like two cats in a bag.

Their family history is a tad convoluted too.  Recently, Charlie's niece, Vera Johnston-Reilly  married Joe's oldest brother, William.  The Johnston family now has the singular opinion that William Reilly is a cradle-robbing pedophillic, trophy-wife hunting, loveless, screwed up son of a bitch who has twisted and coerced Vera Johnston's innocent soul and beautiful body into loving him. William also has a ton of money and most local folks wonder which bank he robbed to get it.

If you ask Vera, she will tell you (in hushed tones) that William has three redeeming qualities she can not resist- a 1968 Ford Shelby Mustang GT-350 bright red and in cherry condition, a ton of money, and the biggest "weiner" she ever laid eyes on.  It was love at first sight.

Charlie and Joe's history goes even deeper- something to do with grandparents, a tree, and a monument with a misspelled name.  That is a story for another time.

Why the fence was built

Six months ago, before the fence was built, on a warm, sunny Monday morning, Joe Reilly stormed into the town office. He was ready to raise holy hell.  According to Joe, the following incident occurred: Charlie and his wife, a bleached blonde-three hundred pound screamer named Sheila (with a mean streak wider than Saturn's rings), got plastered on JD and Corona chasers, and snuck into Joe's backyard. They wanted to take a naughty midnight dip in the Reilly's brand-new in-ground swimming pool.  "Let's pop its cherry!" Charlie said.

First they got naked (not unusual) and had loud sex on the pool steps.  Afterwards, Joe took a sweet, long pee into the pool  from the concrete edge. This angered Sheila, who was still in the pool, floating on her back.   As her voice rose to a decibel level usually reserved for planes taking-off, Charlie vomited on a lounge chair.  At about this time, Joe Reilly, usually a deep sleeper, stepped outside with shotgun in hand, shells loaded to the max with rocksalt.

Joe chased them off, with a stinging spread of salt in their naked behinds. He spent the next several hours  cleaning and super-chlorinating his pool.  The next day, he went to the town office to complain. Since Charlie Johnston works on the township road crew, Joe decided this was a community problem and he wanted Charlie Johnston fired.

Big Don, deer sausage therapy

Big Don, elected town father, handled Joe Reilly in the usual manner- with a dose of humor, a shrug of the shoulders, and a reminder to sign up for the recycling containers.  When Joe left the office an hour later (after a free hot dog lunch) he was carrying a pound of deer sausage under his arm, courtesy of Big Don. At that point, Joe had completely forgotten about Charlie Johnston's drunken disaster. "Whew, I'm not sure how I do it!", Don exclaimed, his eyes twinkling with mirth.  We're not too sure either.

Joe Reilly didn't forget his Reilly problem for very long. When he arrived home, Sheila was standing in her driveway, screaming full throttle at her kids, who were either ignoring her or completely deaf as they climbed up into Joe Reilly's favorite maple tree.  The next day, Joe bought a stockade fence at Home Depot and had it installed that weekend.  On Monday morning, Charlie Johnston filed a complaint with the zoning officer.

The township did their job, took Joe Reilly to local court and he paid a five hundred dollar fine.  But he refused to get a permit and a showdown was now brewing in Diffle County Court.  Yet Joe would visit town hall every Monday at lunchtime for a  free hot dog lunch, courtesy of Big Don.


Reilly goes to the shore , Johnston gets creative

On the Saturday following Labor Day, Joe Reilly packed up his tiny peep of a wife, and his 19-year old step-son Billy, and drove to the Jersey shore for a nice, relaxing week at his brother's vacation home in Avalon.  Finally, he would get away from the hoots, hollers, loud music, and wild parties next door.  The only sound he wanted to hear was the surf crashing against the beach.

Five minutes after he pulled out of his driveway and steered his jet-black Altima towards the Garden State Parkway, Charlie Johnston went to work on decorating Reilly's fence.

A short history on Jimmy, the hubcap hunter

A few weeks earlier, Charlie Johnston  ran into Diffle County Senior Judge William Butler at the Moose Lodge.  In early April, Judge Butler arrived home a half-day early from a weekend seminar to find his 18-year old daughter, Jennifer, in bed with 26-year old  Jimmy Beaver.

Beaver was well known for having a grand collection of hubcaps. He spent hours every day on his bicycle, canvassing Nother and Diffle County roads. Jimmy was a hubcap hunter. You couldn't miss him, he always wore the same red and black tartan flannel shirt and a bright orange hunting cap (the one with the fuzzy sides snapped up). His  long dark, greasy hair would be sticking out in all directions, and a bead of water was always hanging off the tip of his long beak of a nose.  Hubcaps were bungied to his bicycle in every way imaginable, and in a few ways no one but Jimmy could imagine.

Jimmy would place these shiny treasures all over his 1/2 acre property- Ford caps on the right side yard, Chevy caps in the front yard, Dodge caps in the left side yard, and Jap/Korean/Yugo caps in the rear yard.  Near the main road, there was a hand painted sign that read, Hupcabs,  2 dolar  Fin em yerself  leeve $ in jar   Next to the sign was a big glass jar- empty as a pauper's wallet.

The Judge was not happy that his daughter (who must have got her smarts from her mother's side of the family) was bedding anyone, especially that moron, Jimmy Beaver (to quote the judge, off the record). Senior Judge William Butler, wielding a #3 wood,  ran a half-naked Jimmy Beaver off his property that Sunday morning.

On Monday, State revenue agents showed up at the front door of Beaver's 1965 brown and tan, single-wide trailer.  They wanted to know why Jimmy Beaver hadn't sent in his sales tax money for his hubcap sales.

On Tuesday, the zoning officer knocked on Beaver's paper-thin trailer door, then hand-delivered a Notice of Violation for operating a hubcap business without a permit, in a residential zone, in violation of setbacks.

On Wednesday, two squirrelly-looking dudes from the Department of Environmental Protection were poking  Jimmy's yard with soil samplers, looking for spilled oil- based on an anonymous complaint they received.

On Thursday, Jimmy received an audit notice from the Internal Revenue Service and he lost electric for 12 hours when a County landscaping crew accidentally dropped a tree on his electric line while clearing brush along the highway.

On Friday, he was pulled over by the State Police and given a $70.00 ticket for riding a bicycle without a helmet.

Senior Judge William Butler's deal of a lifetime

Saturday morning dawned with sun-filled splendor.  Jimmy Beaver was sitting on the rusted metal front steps of his mobile home, drinking coffee, when black Lincoln town car with tinted windows pulled into his rutted, dirt driveway. The rear car door opened and out popped Judge Butler. He walked over to Jimmy and gingerly leaned on the rusted railing.  Their conversation went something like this,

Judge Butler:   "Beautiful morning!  Why look at all these hubcaps!  You got some business here, Jimmy."
Jimmy:            (frowns) "What do you want?  You need a hubcap or something?"
Judge Butler:   "How was your week?  I bet you got plenty of visitors here, eh?"
Jimmy:            (shrugs) "A few too many this week, Judge, thanks to you."
Judge Butler:   "That may be true or not, but I will tell you this. I can make it all go away with a phone call".
Jimmy:            "I ain't got no phone.  Got cut off,  right in the middle of talkin' to a man from the IRS."  
Judge Butler:   "I think two reasonable men can come to an agreement concerning my daughter."
Jimmy:            "What kind of agreement you thinkin' about, Judge?"
Judge Butler:   "How about I give you a dollar for every hubcap you have here." 
Jimmy:            "Gotta be a string attached to that somewhere..."
Judge Butler:    (interrupting) "You can never have any contact with my daughter ever again."
Jimmy:            "I got a lot of hubcaps, 10,795 of 'em to be exact.  I like to count, Judge."
Judge Butler:   "That's fine. I will write you a check, and I will have someone remove them all."
Jimmy:            "I got a string attached too."
Judge Butler:   "What do you want, son?"
Jimmy:           "I rode my bicycle out to Lincoln township yesterday. 
                       Heard you owned a couple hundred acres there, nice and flat, 
                       big tall spruce trees up to the sky. Sounds pretty."
Judge Butler:  (frowning) "Yes, I own land in Lincoln Township."
Jimmy:            (wiping his nose on his sleeve) "I got a ticket on the way back for not havin' a helmet. Made 
                      me get to thinkin' about that land. I would love to own that land"
Judge Butler:  "I'm not giving you that land, son."
Jimmy:           "I would never ask you to give me land, Judge. I wanna buy it. For 10,795 dollars. 
                      When that check o' yours clears the bank, I'll write one back to you."
Judge Butler:  "That's preposterous! I paid over 200 thousand for that land!"
Jimmy:           "Judge, your daughter Jenny loves me. Told me so on Saturday night, 
                       right before we did it in your bed.  You put the price on love, Judge. So can I.  
                       I could tell her you came here and tried to bribe me." 
Judge Butler:  "But you don't love her."
Jimmy:            (sniffs) "It will be hard to not love your daughter, but with that land, it would be a lot  
                       easier. Would forget all about her, like we never happened at all."
Judge Butler:  "May I ask what you are gonna do with 200 acres of the finest land in Diffle county?" 
Jimmy:           "Am gonna build me an airport. You can land there anytime you like- for free"  

And that is how Jimmy Beaver and Jennifer Wilma Butler broke up, how Jimmy ended up with 200 acres of the finest land in Diffle County, and how Senior Judge William Butler ended up paying monthly rent on a storage unit containing exactly 10,795 hubcaps.

How to decorate your fence for interactive play

At the Moose Lodge, another deal was made. Charlie Johnston accepted the generous offer of 10,795 free hubcaps. All he had to do was remove them from Judge Butler's storage unit.  A whole new plan was born.  Charlie called back into the kitchen, and out walked  Marshall Beets, registered surveyor and Moose lodge manager.  An hour after the Reilly family arrived in Avalon, Marshall Beets surveyed the property line, set two iron pipes on the Reilly side of the fence, and placed his seal on the blueprint- declaring Charlie Johnston as the rightful owner of Reilly's fence.

Charlie made a few phone calls and within an hour, the entire Johnston clan (except for Vera Johnston-Reilly) was standing alongside the fence, hammer in one hand nail and hubcap in the other hand.  It took 3 days and 10 cases of Budweiser, 4 quart bottles of Jack Daniels, a case of wine from the Merranti Brothers Diffle Valley Winery, and a bottle of New York State Champagne for the christening.  When it was all finished, it kind of looked like this:

Hubcap Fence  (typ.)

Joe Reilly returned home late Friday night, and drove directly into his garage, utilizing his automatic garage door opener.  His side of the fence was exactly as he built it- all wood and six feet high. The next morning he walked outside to check the pool.  All seemed normal, nothing foreign floating in the water, no extra large panties stuffed in the pool filter.  Then he saw something gleam through a crack in the fence. It looked like shiny metal reflecting the sun.

Joe walked down his driveway to the end of the fence. There, facing his property was a "No Trespassing" sign posted on a stake, directly behind the orange-painted survey pipe.  Joe peeked around the end of the fence.  Then he stepped past the pipe, passed the sign, walked 10 feet onto Charlie Johnston's property. he turned and stared at the hubcap side of the fence.  He stared for about ten minutes.  He never heard Charlie sneak up behind him until Charlie spoke,
 "She's a beauty, ain't she?"  Charlie said with false pride, patting Joe Reilly on the back.

Joe Reilly never turned around, never said a word, he simply marched back into his house and slammed the door.  Charlie laughed all day long.

After nightfall, Charlie Johnston got a rifle out of his closet. He bought it when he was 15 years old, a BB shooter, powered by a Co2 cannister. Charlie opened his bedroom window, stuck the rifle out, aimed at a hubcap and fired.  The tinging sound rang out through the sleeping neighborhood.  For the next week, every night, when Charlie got up to get a drink of water, or use the bathroom, or just because his alarm went off at 3 a.m., he would open the window, fire a few shots, ring Reilly's bell, and then return to sleep. Charlie Johnston had created a real-world first-person shooter game.

Good for the goose, good for the gander

Meanwhile, Joe Reilly paid another visit to Big Don.  Joe didn't want a recycling container.  He didn't want a hot dog.  He didn't want a story and he didn't want deer sausage.  Joe Reilly wanted Charlie Johnston cited for building a fence without a permit. Also, he wanted Johnston cited for owning a junkyard.  Big Don referred Reilly to the zoning officer, who declined to investigate on account of not knowing for certain who owned the fence, and the fact it was a feud.

Joe Reilly hired a fancy lawyer and sued to have the fence, along with the hubcaps, removed.  Joe Reilly wanted monetary damages too- for pain and suffering.The case was assigned to Diffle County Senior Judge William Butler. Charlie Johnston was ordered to remove the hubcaps, to cease from shooting at anything within the line of sight of Joe Reilly's house.  He was also ordered to not remove the fence, since it was built by Reilly.  Then Judge Butler ordered Reilly to move the fence back to his own property or tear it down. Reilly appealed to the State court and swore he'd take it all the way to the Supreme Court.

After the Hearing, Charlie Johnston drove home, called everyone in the family, and they helped him  remove 10,794 hubcaps from the fence.  He returned the hubcaps to Judge Butler's storage unit. He left one Chevy hubcap on the fence (he was a Chevy man)- in what he thought was his last act of defiance. Joe Reilly sued over that last hubcap too. And he won.

And that's how we got to this moment...

On New Years Eve, having been told that the fence was legally his, Charlie Johnston decided to remove it. He drank till he was drunk and brave enough, started up his John Deere backhoe, tied a cable to four sections of fence, and pulled it over. He repeated this until a screaming Joe Reilly came running out of his house.  He had a handgun and was shooting wildly, apparently trying to kill Charlie Johnston.  Charlie took off down the county road in the backhoe, with four sections of the fence still on the cable, dragging behind him.  Joe called 911, who dispatched the State Police.

Meanwhile, John Primer, Diffle County road foreman, was driving the County's brand new Ford F-150 over to Marin Lane, after getting a complaint of a tree down on the road.  He heard the police dispatch for Johnston on the truck scanner.  That had to be right up ahead, he thought.  Within seconds, he saw a backhoe heading straight for him. John, in a moment of heroism, tried to block the road with his truck, but Charlie Johnston didn't stop. The backhoe's front bucket hit the passenger side of the truck, and Charlie pushed John and the County's Ford truck into a storm ditch on the side of the road.  The truck flipped over, and the backhoe fell on its side. Then, out of darkness, came a photographer to get the picture for page one of the local scandal-rag, The Diffle County Reporter.  

Big Don just wants to know, "Who dropped the dime on Charlie Johnston? Must have been one of those Wikleaks people. Was it you Ricky?" and then, "John Primer should have known, you never block a Chevy man with a Ford." Then, after lunch, "I wonder if Judge Butler has a hubcap for my daughter's 2004 Chevy Lumina?  I better give him a call."  And that is how Big Don ended up with a side business- hubcap sales.