Photography Inspired by Geographic Envy

ChronicJimmy has always felt saddened by the fact that he can never be as good as those folk privileged enough to have been born on the East Coast of Our Great Country (OGC).

Indeed, ChronicJ had a dear friend who attended that bastion of Appalachian-ness, Ohio University, back in the dear old 1980’s.  What a fun time that was!  Still, this friend had the nerve to get herself into law school at Boston University!  Goodness, how ballsy she was!

Anywho, said lady managed to outscore all of her geographically-superior classmates there in old Beantown.  In fact, they were so curious, envious, and childish that she decided to start TAPING HER TEST RESULTS TO THE BACK OF HER CHAIR so that they could see the highest score in the class without having to strain their necks.  Now wasn’t that kind of her to do?  Leave it to a Buckeye to be so thoughtful, and so snotty!  Props to you, Lisa!  LOVE IT!

Recently ChronicJ had dinner with an old acquaintance now living in Philadelphia, land of her birth.  Her cousin teaches at one of the many private colleges in Ohio, and this old aquaintance had stopped in to see her relative & had invited ChronicJ along, too.  Here’s a snippet of conversation:

Philadelphian:  “Oh, you must have been so relieved to have gotten out of Wisconsin when you did.  Not that Ohio could be much better…”

Cousin of Philadelphian:  “Believe me, Ohio is a step up.”

ChronicJimmy:  “I think Boston is delightful, myself.  Even if the people there aren’t nearly so smart as they imagine themselves to be.”

Philadelphian:  “Well, Boston can be a bit unfriendly.  But intellectually, Philadelphia has more to offer.”

Cousin of Philadelphian:  “Want to see me snort Bordeaux up my nose?”

ChronicJimmy:  “Gosh darn it, not everyone from the East is a Tiresome Bore.  Ain’t you just a knee-slapper!”

Please let ChronicJ know if you like the new blog header he has artfully created from some tiny spark of inspiration illuminating his puny Midwestern Mind.

ChronicJimmy: Old Enough to Remember When

1. Michael Jackson was fine, and black.
2. MTV played music videos, and all the kids at school knew it was oh-so-cool.
3. Video brutally killed the Radio Star.
4. Farrah Fawcett debuted on “Charlie’s Angels,” and heads everywhere magically sprouted feathers.
5. Big ol’ Vinyl shrank into shiny CD’s.
6. Harvest Gold and Avocado ruled the kitchen.
7. His transistor radio first trumpeted the glorious strains of “YMCA.”
8. To be master of Pong was to be master of the video gaming world.
9. Grandpa reminisced about the old days during dinner on Sunday evenings, and there were no blogs on which to record his precious ramblings.

Laura Ling and Euna Lee Sentenced to 12 Years Making Tube Tops for Walmart

Editor’s Note:  Patty DuCake has returned from North Central Ohio, with a few extra tattoos on her ass & track marks up & down her arm, but otherwise no worse for wear. 

As a reporter who has covered the slums of Newport, Kentucky and the biker bars of Mansfield, Ohio, I appreciate the dangers of investigative reporting. 

Both Laura Ling and Euna Lee are brave women, who were unfairly imprisoned while bringing to the American public the story of human trafficking along the North Korean/Chinese border. 

Charged and convicted with the crime of illegally entering North Korean territory, these two reporters have been sentenced to twelve years of hard labor!  As spoiled Americans, we might imagine “hard labor” to be washing dishes or making license plates.  Wrongo.  Think more along the lines of “chain gang.”  Or, more likely, “sweat shop.”  It’s how we get all of our low, low prices here in the States. 

Patty DuCake knows irony.  (It goes well with cynicism.)  Anyway, these two ladies bothered to care about the enslavement of women in a particular part of Asia.  And now they have been enslaved themselves.  Just saying.  Or, as my big fat billiards partner at Club 42 would put it, “Ain’t that a bitch, Sugar Tits?”

Gunman a Member of Mensa! Genius!!

Well, here it is, Gentle Reader.  What makes a guy devote his life to obsessing over a conspiracy?  Hopefully the guard at the Holocaust Museum recovers completely. 

James W. von Brunn holds a BachSci Journalism degree from a mid-Western university where he was president of SAE and played varsity football. During WWII he served as PT-Boat captain, Lt. USNR, receiving a Commendation and four battle stars. For twenty years he was an advertising executive and film-producer in New York City. He is a member of Mensa, the high-IQ society. In 1981 von Brunn attempted to place the treasonous Federal Reserve Board of Governors under legal, non-violent, citizens arrest. He was tried in a Washington, D.C. Superior Court; convicted by a Negro jury, Jew/Negro attorneys, and sentenced to prison for eleven years by a Jew judge. A Jew/Negro/White Court of Appeals denied his appeal. He served 6.5 years in federal prison. He is now an artist and author and lives on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. Tob Shebbe Goyim Harog is the culmination of his life’s work.

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Fringe Energy Creates Vortex in Cincinnati

Don’t be frightened by the Fringe Festival, folks.  Come on Downtown and enjoy the energy.  Performers from all corners of the country trek to the Cincinnati area each year to strut their stuff, to put out something new and different for the public to enjoy.

ChronicJ was sad to see the Cavs lose last night, it was true.  But he was moved to tears watching “The Gayer Show, 66 Years of Faggotry.”  Seriously.  When Les told of his Dad finally speaking him after 14 years of silence, on a joyous Christmas day, ChronicaJ had a tear in his eye.

So please take a look at the various shows available for you to see.  There’s bound to be one that will entertain you, and make you think.

Plant Closing & It’s All Getting Better

Chronicjimmy’s dear Auntie called him this morning & asked him if he had seen the news.  He hadn’t.

“Your plant is closing.”

Oh.  The plant ChronicJ was forced to work at while building his career as a world-class blogger.  Seems like a distant memory…

“So I’m guess you still aren’t doing jackshit,” Auntie commented. 

That depends on your definintion of “jackshit.”  Does that include studying the racing form and playing the ponies?  What about Keno?  What about talking on the phone for hours on end?  And obsessing over fashion?

“So I guess all those morons in the office will join the ranks of losers such as yourself.”

Nicely put.  Even the Plant Manager will have to find a job.  And of course he strenuously denied anything of the sort would happen.  That was his job, to strenuously deny everything.

But the good news is that unemployment has been extended to the next millenium.  So there’s no need to worry about a supposed Obama conspiracy to kick-in-the-face any taxpayer daring to claw his or her way into the middle class.  Knock down the people earning $40,000.00 a year.  Keep them in their place, and they’ll always be Democrats, because Democrats care about the poor. 

Let all the lawyers make their money, as a protected class, since they are the pool of politicians.  And a deal has already been made with the bankers and financiers. 

Sleep soundly, Dear Ones.  Everything is under control.  Enjoy your safety net; the same one that will wrap around your neck and choke you if you dare wake up and try to run a business on your own.

Patty DuCake Imprisoned While Investigating the Heroin Trade in Shelby, Ohio

A Letter from Walter Cronkite, Esteemed Journalist:

My Fellow Americans,

It is with a heavy heart that I bring to you the troubling news of the incarceration of a fine journalist and heavy drinker, Patty DuCake.  I’ve worked with Patty under a variety of circumstances and have always admired her pluck and willingness to put both her dignity and her gynecological health on the line in order to get the story.

You see, for Patty, it’s not a matter of reporting a story, but rather, of living it.

And so, when asked by LMNOP Ragazine to get to the heart of the story in the heart of the Ohio heartland, Patty chose not to stay in comfort at the local Motel 6, but rather to live on the streets of the north Ohio town of Shelby, with only a few dollars in her pocket, ready to live the life of the greasy heroin-hunter, desperate to make her next score. 

And where is this intrepid reporter today?  Well, no one is quite sure.  She hasn’t been heard of for quite some time; in fact she was last sighted playing pool in the town of Mansfield, in a biker bar along State Route 42, wearing a pink tube top and rubbing up against a big guy called “Cletis” by his friends.

Perhaps you are asking yourself why you should care.  About Shelby.  About stoned rednecks.  About journalism, and its never-ending quest for truth.

Maybe you just want to get back to your ipod, or that f***ing facebook application.  Maybe you are just another dipshit blogger, who knows nothing of history and never rubs elbows with anyone outside your wimpy, self-absorbed, genuinely boring and unenlightened circle of friends.  You’ve probably never read a newspaper or watched a real newscast and have no idea what it would be like to get to a living, breathing, source of a story, rather than just surfing the web and using other people’s ideas as your own.  Plus you think you are funny and you are not.

Anyway, if you truly believe PBR is cool, then you must help Patty DuCake.  Stand up, stop looking at yourself on YouTube, and get involved with your country before it is too late.  (Hell, one Viet Cong could easily wipe out a whole batallion of you lazy-ass shits.  A diet of rice and commie propaganda would probably do you brats some good.)

Two major organizations have quite a bit of pull in the Shelby area and might respond to a public outcry over the disappearance of Ms. Patty DuCake:  The Klu Klux Clan and the Girl Scouts of America.  Please make your voice heard and keep the pressure on these two groups.  Patty’s life might depend on you.

And that’s the way it is.

Editors Note:  Check out http://www.condron.us to see a blog about blogs, perhaps the mother of all blogs.

Kirstie Alley Gnaws Off Own Arm in Attempt to Escape Oprah’s Trap

So, ChronicJ is a big Oprah fan.  Two thumbs up, Gurlllll!

And did you see the recent episode featuring dieters who had all gained their weight back?  Talk about dramatic television!  That’s a lot of tacos going down the gullet!  Goodness!

Now that the lovably goofy Ms. Alley has gained back all the weight she dropped while the spokesperson for Jenny Craig, she has decided to take on a new job pimping chicken for KFC. 

“I’m the Colonel’s bitch now!” cried Kirstie gleefully when asked by Ms. Winfrey what she intended to do next.

Oprah lifted her eyebrows and intimated that she knew more.  “Lisa Ling saw you hanging out with the homies in the middle of a cornfield in the Fun Center of Ohio a few weeks ago.  Tell us what you were doing there.”

Kirstie is never at a loss for words!  “My Grandpappy lives out that way.  He’s been smoking weed with Lisa. ”  Lifting up her her arms and waving the audience in towards her heaving bosoms, she added “And that skinny-minny gets the munchies when she gets high!”

“Now Kirstie, when we come back from commercial break you’re going to tell us all about that new diet system you’ve been working on.”  Oprah had the look.  The one that means “this black woman is on to you, so you might as well fess up!”

Anyway, after the ads for paisley surgical masks and the current drug-of-the-week, the camera zoomed in on a rather distraught fat actress.  “But I didn’t want everyone to know how I managed to lose 20 lbs in one month!” 

“It’s o.k., Kirstie.  You can tell us.  It’s heroin, isn’t it?”

“No.  The Shelby Heroin Weight-Loss Plan has already been copyrighted by someone else.”

Oprah’s eyes grew as big as cd’s.  Looking aside at the audience, she mumbled “someone owes Harpo some royalties!  We were the first to discover heroin in Ohio!  Lordy!  And what in the tarnation are you doing, Kirstie!”

Believe it or not, the lady had put salt on her arm and had started chewing.

“I don’t taste like chicken!” she announced breezily.

The Oprah Winfrey Show cut to commercial.  ChronicJimmy didn’t get to see the rest.  His tequila bottle started talking in a high-pitched voice, ordering him to switch over to QVC, which was featuring a delightful selection of shot glasses designed by Vera Bradley.

Letter from Lower Price Hill

Gentle Readers, I’d like you to know that the streets of Cincinnati run this way and that, without regard to whether or not you want to get THERE from HERE.  Such is life; a philosophical lesson to be learned.  (Yes, that was a semi-colon.  Get over it.)

Searching for a long-lost relative, half way up the hill, neither HERE nor THERE, ChronicJimmy had time to reflect.  About a long lost love.  A yearning for marital bliss, and the hopeful possibility of a messy divorce.

You see, ChronicJ missed his window of opportunity in the sunny state of California.  Instead of years of wedded bliss, now the most he can hope for is years of civil union-ness.  What a bitter blow.  And in the midst of such a shallow depression, ChronicJ’s ever-helpful sister sent him a link to a Wikipedia article with the note:  “Why don’t you move to Iran or Mauritania, you whiney pain in the ass.”  Here is the link:   http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homosexuality_laws_of_the_world

Well, what do the laws of some backward towel-headed nations have to do with those of the Beacon of Liberty?  And aren’t Muslims, Catholics, and Bible-Thumping Baptists just god-damned annoying?  (That is, unless they are black or brown.  Chronic Jimmy has nothing against oppressed Members of Darker Races (MODR), even if they are narrow-minded.)

Though an enthusiastic fan of the Miss America (wait, or was that Miss Universal?  or Miss Milky Way? or Miss Miss U?  or Miss USA?  or Mz. Tery?  or Mz. Informed?)  pageant since the tender age of three, ChronicJ is furious at that bleach-blonde bikini-wearing slut for growing up in a household that didn’t hold gay rights in the highest esteem.  Though it may be true that the Islamic-terrorists-who-hate -Great-Satan-America often kill homosexuals whenever they have the opportunity, isn’t it true that a dippy beauty contestant representing the progessive state of California should just damn well KNOW BETTER!  I spit on her spiked heels!  Death to her colorist! 

OK.  Let ChronicJ compose himself.  Though many rights have been violated throughout the centuries from one society to another, isn’t it time we all came together, held hands, sang Kumbayah, and had a sip of chardonnay together?  Well, except in those places where enjoying a glass of wine is punishable by death.  In those places, please have a delightful cup of tea.  If you are allowed out of your house.  Please, ladies, put on your bourquas, find Uncle Sahid, and tootle on over to the local tea-house for a drink of solidarity.  And remember, when in Saudi Arabia, let the human with the penis do the driving.

Fascist Americans!  Shame on you!  Let Freedom and the wedding bells ring for all throughout this great land!

Gated Community in Brown County Possible Cult Site

ChronicJimmy would like to regale his readers with tales from the Queen City.  While attending a party in Lower Price Hill, he overheard a conversation by a mysterious man in a lovely silk blouse who recently purchased a home in a gated community in prestigious Brown County, Ohio.

OK, so you are amazed that 1. ChronicJ could gain access to the Price Hill elite and 2. that there could be anything gated in Brown County other than the county jail.

Months after the Madoff arrest, the financial chatter has died down among all the heirs to the various junkyard and Port-o-Let fortunes which through the years have allowed LPH to become a hotbed of culture and philanthropy.  Sadly, some lost big in the stock market debacle and have had to move back into tinfoil double-wides with kindly dope-smoking cousins.  But I digress.

You see, our hosts in LPH were smart enough to have “diversified assets” and thus escaped utter ruin and continue to live a cultured lifestyle replete with cases of Bud Light 08 (a fine year) and gallons of Jack Daniels whiskey.  Indeed, ice is still selling well and they have little worry that they will have to give up their boat, captained by a Bill Clintonesque fellow in a brown velour suit and christened the Slippery Cigar.

Anyway, the gentleman I overheard speaking about a “compound” he was building on the lake seemed to have most details in order.  Organic vegetables, nude sunbathing, chemical-free mosquito repellant, and masseuses on hand to keep the Great Leader in a good mood and fullest open chakra (centered of course in the lower abdominal region.)  Still, there was one nagging issue.

“I don’t know if I should deflower all the virgins myself or contract the work out.”

“Where are you going to find any virgins in Brown County,” his stunned listener replied.

“We might have to import them from Millersburg.”  The future cult leader had a thoughtful mien.  I admired his lovely accent, which placed his origins in the environs of Cheviot.  Fascinating place.

“You’re going to raid the Amish?”

“Sure.  They won’t have a clue what’s going on.”

“How are you going to accomplish that?”  The puzzled man poured himself another snort of Jack.

“Oh, I don’t know,  maybe I’ll start some sort of band camp where all the counselors speak German.  The Amish would send their kids to that kind of thing, wouldn’t they?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll figure something out.”  The Great Leader stretched his arms and stated that he was going for a walk along the river.

“Dude, you won’t find any Amish down there.”

“I know, but maybe I’ll find a twelve-year-old without any brothers.”

Now mind you, ChronicJimmy found this conversation quite disturbing.  But since he has no intention of ever stepping foot in Brown County, Ohio, he’s not sure there is much he can do about the whole thing.  And besides, it was just idle chitchat from one touched eccentric to an incredulous stranger.  The Compound will most likely never come to be.  Koolaid, anyone?