Diverse Pornography

Reading the backs of the '93 scoresheets I get the impression of increasing harrassment (tap) by various Jews, Homosexuals, and blacks. The club got a new Tournament Director, a nice black fella who would later mis-pair me frequently. In one bizarre case my tournament results were attributed to el fisho himself when somebody substituted his USCF ID number in place of mine. The fish's rating jumped from 1600 to 1624 as a result, even though he was not playing in that tournament. We also got a new Treasurer, a CPA no less.

Several of my notes describe DMFF (Denver's Most Famous Fish) on various occasions as, 'looking old,' 'angry,' 'ugly,' 'in misery,' 'very angry.' Mostly he was absent. I think that my mere presence at the club upset (tap) him. If so, that was a by-product. My intention was to play my favorite game.

One strange night the club was visited by a couple of folks from Westworld, one of Denver's minor (tap) newspapers. It happened on that night that I was paired with the fish himself, who seemed to be very at ease with them as he conversed and posed for photographs. However he became quite flustered when we (tap) sat down to play the game, which began with, 1.Nf3 e5?
The fish had reversed the positions of his king and queen and failed to notice that as he made his first move. I insisted (boom) that he fix the position and replay his first move. His second first move was much better but his game went downhill from there:

1.Nf3 d6 2.e4 e5 3.Bc4 Bg4 4.Nc3 Nc6 5.h3 Bh5 6.d3 Be7 7.g4 Bg6 8.Be3 Na5 9.Bb3 Nb3 10.ab3 b6 11.d4 ed4 12.Nd4 Nf6 13.Nf5 O-O 14.Qd2 Nd7 15.O-O-O a5 16.Nd5 Re8 17.Nde7+ Re7 18.Ne7+ Qe7 19.f3 a4 20.b4 Ne5 21.Qd5 Ra7 22.f4 Nd7 23.f5 Nf6 24.Qc6 a3 25.ba3 Ra3 26.Bd4 Ne4 27.Rhe1 Qg5+ 28.Kb2 Rb3+ 29.Kb3 (1-0)

One of the players had his bare ass showing and I suggested to the photographer that since he already had a photograph of 'one big ass' (el fisho) in his camera he might as well take a photograph of the other. He complied (thump).

Notes From the Back of the Scoresheet

Some notes from the backs of the scoresheets follow:

'Grey-haired, slightly unconcious dude in his fat fifties.'

'This was the first guy I met the first night. Usually he has his girlfriend and a beer. Today he had coffee and his nephew - didn't help him.'

'Two of my previous opponents butt-flashed. Disgusting!'

'(el fisho) is playing with his broken foot. Wore a 48-Hours baseball cap and told me how much he enjoyed my game with Eversole (I lost). He also announced Reshevsky's death. His breath REALLY STINKS.'

'(el fisho) cleared his throat very loudly around moves 24-25 as if trying to attract attention. He offered a draw at move 32 "because of the time." He had 5 minutes left while I had 15. I declined his generous offer with "no thanks."'

"She likes closed games (French, Dutch, Stonewall). I'll prepare a little system for her. What a great smile she had when I congradulated her on the win!'

'Bizarre is the only word for this game. He showed up 30 minutes late, made a move, then left for another 20 minutes. The TD says he does things like that. Don't take it personal. My play was influenced by his time trouble.'

'This was a prepared system which I fell for...'

'I wonder whether (the master) is really trying to beat me. It seems so but this is the second draw. I'm not complaining of course. I just replayed the game. Yes he's really trying to beat me. Really.'

'(el fisho) was there regaling the group with lawyer talk. I ignored him.'

'... every time (el fisho) looks at me he FLINCHES.'

'This guy is a little dude with a beard and a pony tail wearing a "grow your own" t-shirt.'

'... Seems the club is not welcome there at the current location. My guess is that (fisho) will try to move it again... NORTH.' (ps I was right)

'The old Jew was there watching us. He seems to want some sort of confrontation.'

'I definitely don't like this turkey.'

'All butt-flashing seems to have stopped.'

'He IS good but I'm better.'

'(fisho) was there wearing a KMGH hat.'

'This is THE Jim King who is now directing the tournament... In today's game he showed emotion only at the end, announcing, somewhat too loudly, it seemed to me, "Here I quit." He seemed very nervous as the game began but got calmer. Hmm. I wonder. Did he really kill those people?'

A Bigot's Nightmare

I just finished reading all the notes on the backs of the scoresheets for 1992 and corrected a couple of errors in 'Under the Cover of Darkness.' I also played over several of the more interesting games. I have yet to resurrect an old Apple II and try to read 1992. My impression of that year based on (shaky) memory and the notes, is that the basic harrassment motif (meeting blacks everywhere) was also evident at the DCC. Also, the tactic of entering the locked car and turning on the wipers or tweaking the mirror, was evident from time to time but not every night. The butt-flashing was a new phenomenon, and I noticed another new phenomenon, the 'angry Jew.'

This was an old guy who showed up at the games but never played. He only spectated, rudely, it seemed to me. On one occasion he stood behind my opponent's vacant chair and sucked his teeth loudly as I was hunched over the board, thinking. When I looked up he was glowering at me. On another occasion I overheard him saying that he had lost most of his family in the Holocaust, and hoped that the (Irish) master would lose the game he was playing. On yet another occasion when I was playing the same master he stood near us glowering yet again. Very creepy fellow. He never explained what line of reasoning he used to conclude that the Irish were to blame for the Holocaust. I suspect that his real problem was penis envy and that he was completely unaware of that.

At the end of the year the club elected a new prez and a new treas and me as vice-prez. I am still in the dark about why THAT happened, because the club hardly needed a vice prez. To sum up the year, it was queers, Jews, and blacks at the DCC, a veritable American hodge-podge and a bigot's nightmare.

Sign of the Cross

The following game is more representative of play at the A level. My opponent was rated 1997 at the time. We played the same opening as in the previous game (but he is not the same opponent).

1.d4 Nf6 2.c4 g6 3.Nc3 d5 4.Nf3 Bg7 5.Qb3 dc4 6.Qc4 O-O 7.e4 a6 8.a4 (live and learn) ...Nbd7 9.Be2 Nb6 10.Qb3 c6 11.a5 Nbd7 12.O-O c5 13.e5 Ne8 14.e6 fe6 15.Qe6+ Kh8 16.dc5 Nc5 17.Qc4 Ne6 .18Rd1 Nd6 19.Qh4 Bf6 20.Qb4 Bd7 21.Nd5 Rc8 22.Nf6 Rf6 23.Bd2 Kg8 24.Qb3 Kf8 25.Ne5 Rc5 26.Nd7+ Qd7 27.Bh6+ Ke8 28.Be3 Rcf5 29.Bb6 Nc5? 30.Qg8+ Rf8 31.Qh7 R5f7 32.Qg6 Nce4 33.Bc4 Nf6 34.Bf7+ Rf7 35.Rac1 Qb5 36.Rc8+ Kd7 37.Qf7 Kc8 38.Qe7 1-0

I used the common sign for 'check' (+) in this game whereas I avoided doing so in the previous game because the CCI did not use that sign (of the cross). I also used the exclamation points provided by the CCI in the previous game. Whether the CCI motive in not using the 'check' sign (+) was brevity and compactness, or whether it was in deference to the many Jews who play chess - or both - is unknown.

The back of my scoresheet reads, 'Sweet Revenge!' This player had defeated me in our last encounter.

Surrogate Stalker Reveals Herself

My other loss in this tournament was also published (tap) for some reason which eludes me.

When I came home from the super market just now I was greeted by a barking dog. It belonged to the lady next door. While the dog barked and barked the woman pretended to try and quiet the little thing, while at the same time fumbling interminally with her door key. This attempt at multi-tasking proved too much for her and she accomplished neither. Meanwhile Kootch seemed to cooperate (boom), taking her sweet time to answer the door. I knocked again louder and she finally answered, allowing me to escape the little beast.

It was the sort of 'coincidence' which suggested to me in the late '80s that my personal log was being read. Very classic (boom) stuff. The last time I met a barking dog in the hallway was about five years ago.

Dazed in May

In the following game I was bushwhacked by a player rated just over 1800, which was more than a hundred points below my rating. I had never played him before. He was a pleasant fellow who spoke with a British accent. The game attracted the attention of a Russian emigre, a certain 'Dr. Ponomarev' who said it was 'the best game of the tournament.' It is the kind of game chess players love to play over because it is short, violent, and bloody. My opponent played Black:

1.d4 Nf6 2.c4 g6 3.Nc3 d5 4.Nf3 Bg7 5.Qb3 dc4 6.Qc4 O-O 7.e4 a6 (beginning to set an elaborate trap) 8.Qb3 b5 9.a4 c5 10.dc5 Be6 11.Qa3 b4! (about here I began to suspect something) 12.Qb4 Nc6 13.Qa3 Rb8 14.Bb5 ab5 15.ab5 Bc4! 16.bc6 Ne4! 17.Ne4 Rb3 18.Qa5 Qd3 (boom) 19.Ng3 Rb2! 20.Ra3 Re2 21.Kf1 Qd1 0-1

The CCI comments: Wow! The game was played in the '92 May Daze tournament. I would play this guy twice more (tap) in other Colorado tournaments but not at the DCC. In our last game I would finally eke out a draw. This fella's rating stayed around just over 1800 in spite of his brilliance and I suspect he might have been another 'Mark Saiki.'

Uncircumcised Dog

I asked Kootch about the broken window incident yesterday. She told me that one of the K-Mart employees took the blame. Seems he had been cutting weeds near her car with a gas powered weed cutter when one or more of the flexible plastic blades impacted a rock causing it to be thrown upward with such force that it shattered the window on the driver's side, scattering glass throughout the car. K-Mart paid to replace the window. Kootch believes (tap) the story.

While doing research for this blog yesterday I discovered a possible reason why the fish wanted me to spell my last name (tap). For parts of '90 - '91 the Colorado Chess Informant spelled my name (in the address box) with a 'd' instead of an 'h,' causing the first three letters to spell, 'Dog....' (boom) instead of 'Doh.....' The request may have been a subtle reference to that mis-spelling 'error,' which was eventually corrected. The fish may have been trying to remind me that whereas he was indeed a fish, I was an uncircumcised dog (tap).

Speaking of the CCI, it actually published four of my games: two loses and two draws. No wins. What did it take to defeat me in those days? See the next post.

Under Cover of Darkness

I enjoyed the new club location because we played in a very large upstairs room with many tables. Players could scatter at will and play in relative privacy. The only time the tables were numbered - and this happened once, for one game - was an occasion where el fisho was actually ahead of me in the scoring and therefore played at a lower-numbered table. I was amazed that Denver's most famous fish would stoop to that sort of thing. Apparently the other players were too. One of my notes mentions that the players were well aware of the war going on between us. If the fish enjoyed that game it was a rare event. He played infrequently and when he did he usually lost. I wondered why he bothered with chess.

Although el fisho was not popular enough to be elected club president he did manage to secure the job of club treasurer (tap), most likely because he was wealthy and not likely to embezzle the funds. He was the defacto president, however, and controlled virtually every aspect of the club. He was also very influential in the CSCA (Colorado State Chess Association), and even (apparently) in the USCF (US Chess Federation). More on this later.

The fish used his power in an amusing way after I won the 'Class A Championship' in July of '92. He delayed paying me the $100 prize for a month, claiming that he had not been informed of the result. It was a lie, of course. He followed me to the club the night he paid me. He gave me the check in the parking lot, under cover of darkness. (The phone line was cut just after I wrote that. The other phone line has been dead since Friday.) Upstairs the next week, he showed me a letter from the (tap) tournament director dated the previous week, in which the TD takes full blame for not advising the fish that I had won. It, too, was a lie. I told el fisho that the letter proved nothing and that with me he had 'zero credibility.' He got really pissed. On another occasion after I had won the monthly club tournament he marked the check, 'reserve prize.' (Another disconnect.) The monthly tournament sometimes had two sections, the Open and the Reserve, the Reserve being limited to the lowest rated players. I had won the Open section. El fisho eventually got tired of writing me checks, and retired from the treasurer's position and from the club itself.

There was an incident about a week after the Class Championships which was not amusing. Somebody smashed the front window on Kootch's car while it was parked in the K-Mart parking lot where she worked. I had to drive my old VW to the chess games that night. I am almost certain that el fisho had one of his 'droogs' do it in retaliation for my win. Kootch has only one enemy.

Back to the DCC

Back to the dirty work, and back to 1992, when I began playing chess again at the Denver Chess Club which had long since been resurrected (tap) at various locations. I found it at a VFW on West Colfax and entered the February tournament. The famous fish was missing. He showed up for the first game in March, but did not stay. The fish began playing again in April, convinced, I suppose, that it was 'safe.'

Meanwhile, Blacks had discovered the existence of the DCC. No blacks had played at the club while it was located at the Capitol Hill Community Center in '86-'87. Several players who liked to flash their butts by wearing their pants too low and their shirts too short were also playing. You know the type. The fish appeared to ignore these butts along with everybody else. I found the practice disgusting and on one occasion complained to the tournament director. He 'giggled' but told the guy to pull his pants up - this according to my notes, which also mentioned that el fisho had a great view of the ass in question.

There were only three games that month due to a VFW party. I had lost the first two games, uncharacteristically (boom), and found myself paired with the fish himself, who had his usual zero score (players with equal scores are usually paired). He asked my how I spelled my last name - as if he could forget (boom). After the game he advised me he would not be playing for the next three months - as if I gave a shit. The fish lost this game too, but not before begging for a draw, as usual.

A Delicious Situation

Tonight is naughty-naughty time again, so I want to focus on the amazing metaphysical conundrum concerning the modern meaning of 'substance.' The word 'substance is both a physical term and a metaphysical term, meaning, roughly, 'stuff.' But the metaphysical meaning of this word has recently been called into question. Here is the problem:

A young girl recently received Holy Communion in the form of a little rice cake instead of a little flour cake. This 'Host' was prepared (and blessed) expecially for her because she was allergic to gluten, an ingredient of wheat flour. So far so good; many people are allergic to gluten. It would seem that rice, being as it is a nutritional cousin to flour, ought to be acceptable in these cases. Not so, according to Vatican experts, who subsequently declared the child's Communion invalid (stomp). The Vatican position produced metaphysical outrage, and the Church Philosophers are now (bonk) in the process of re-doing the meta-official meaning of 'substance.'

This is a delicious situation. Delicious, at least, for (boom) me.

Rembering the SS and the SA

I've finished reading 1998. It is mostly about my pet rats. It is also about the beginnings of my realization that 'we' were being gassed, and that this might have been going on since 1997. It is also about the dawning realization that I was becoming allergic to my pets. Those two processes proceeded in parallel, (faint boom) masking each other to some extent, but by the beginning (boom) of '99 it was clear they were separate and distinct afflictions requiring separate fixes. As I reread these notes it seems to me that I might not have been the primary target of the gassers, that my pets were the primary targets, and I became the primary target only after there were no more pets.

I noticed another thing about 1998: I was much more of a writer back in those days. I have deteriorated since then. Back in those days I was brilliant and funny in spite of what was going on. Today I just plod on between doing this and playing C-III and watching tv.

I only just read the beginnings of 1999 and noticed that I invented the name 'Strangelove' to describe el fisho. This suggests that the previous descriptions of maul harrassment were erroneously placed pre-'98. I say this because I remember naming those folks who tried to run into me in the maul the SS (Strangelove's Servants). I also remember describing those maul security folks who confronted me as the S.A. (Southglenn Army). So as I write this it seems that those confrontations are in our future, blogwise.

Been Reading My Drog From '98

The spurious Tivo recordings continued after the phone line was disconnected, so if they are the result of hacking it ain't through the phone line. The problem is easy to work around; I simply delete the unwanted stuff without viewing it.

Back to the dirty work. These 'meetings in black and white' continued for years with occasional variations. One such variation involved a near-collision. The perpetrator would head straight for me as I was doing my daily walk in the maul. He would appear not to notice me, and the first time this happened I side-stepped out of the way, avoiding a collision. The next such incident a day or so later convinced me these were variations of the previous M.O. and I began to have some fun with them. When the person was quite near me I would say loudly, 'Watch out!' The person would literally jump out of the way. I later bought a loud 'personal alarm' from Radio Shack. I think I used it once, then the near collisions stopped. A variation on that theme was that the maul guards began making similar 'passes' at me and we brushed sholders on several occasions when I did not 'yield.' The behavior eventually disappeared entirely, as did the mirror tweak behavior, but not before I had made a formal complaint to the maul manager.

Been reading my log from '98 and so far there is no mention of 'maul meetings' so I presume that this form of harrassment disappeared around the time the gassings began. 1998 is the first mention of 'noxious fumes,' so I am assuming the gassing behavior was so satisfying that it replaced those other forms of harrassment. As I read further into '98 I may change my mind, (tap) however.

Nighty-night Again

I have published the previous posts because I think they represent a fair idea of my sober thinking. I may yet recant.

But now I have reached, in my opinion, a place which might lie outside the usual borders of common thinking. That is to say, I am buzzing my brains out. In this state I am liable to write stuff which could really injure an unwitting person. Therefore I will now stand down. I wish you all a nighty-night.

Cultural Emulsion

All of Western Religion traces it's roots back to the idiot Abraham. Jews, Christians, Muslims, all count Abraham in their line of descent. I call these religions 'Abrahamic religions,' or 'Western religions.' I reject them all. It is impossible for me to believe that the Jewish God WHTZSNM miscalculated in The Beginning peniswise and recanted around the time of the idiot Abraham. The story simply does not make sense.

Eastern religions are another matter. I think they have real merit.

My favorite 'religion' is Science. What I love about Science is The Method. Science is self-correcting whereas Western Religion is dogmatic, uncorrectable. Eastern religions are self-correcting by definition. I think that Science and Eastern religion mix well, whereas Science and Western religion are like oil and water. The best you can achieve is a temporary emulsion and you need an electric mixer to do it.

Abraham

Right lung gas is fairly persistent and is now present in some small concentration throughout the apartment, so I have turned on the bedroom intake fan.

All this penis modification stuff goes back to Abraham, according to the Very Old Testament. It seems that the Jewish god, WHTZSNM, miscalculated when He invented the human penis. He apparently made it way too sensitive. His original intention seems to have been to 'fill the Earth.' But He later recanted, no doubt due to having had to witness innumerable obscene sexual acts involving innumerable peni, all over the natural world.

So He made contact with Abram. He promised Abram that He would change his name to Abraham. Furthermore He promised the idiot Abram that his stupid handle (his name) would be remembered forever. Abram, idiot that he was, bought the idea. WHTZSNM explained to Abram that he should desensitize every penis in the neighborhood (faint boom) by cutting off the most sensitive portion. Abram began with his own boys, and thereby earned the new name of Abraham. WHTZSNM was pleased.

If you don't believe this you can read it in the very, very Old Testament. I think of Abraham as the most spineless, most stupid person who ever lived.

Get the Feeling

The idea of 'sensitivity' enters the penile equation from the point of view of the 'haves.' The 'haves' claim that the 'have-nots' literally 'have not' the kind of sensitivity enjoyed by the 'haves.' The 'have nots,' on the other hand, do not feel deprived. Furthermore the 'have nots' suffer from unconscious penis envy because they eventually realize that they are indeed deprived even though they might not 'feel it.' It is all very psychologically complicated, and even the great Sigmund Freud did not realize that he suffered from penis envy.

Do you mind if I make this a bit clearer with a hypothetical scenerio? No? Good.

Imagine a meeting between two young boys of age 12 or 13. One is circumcised, the other is intact. They are buck naked. The first thing they do is compare penises.
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NB: What happened to your dick?
CB: What happened to YOUR dick?
NB: Nothing that I know of.
CB: It looks overgrown with excessive skin. Pardon me for saying this but it looks ugly. My dick, on the other hand, looks pretty sleek. Don't you agree?
NB: I can make my dick look like your dick if I want to.
CB: Show me.
NB: (skinning back his foreskin) See?
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This is the origin of penis envy. Imagine a further conversation between these two boys. They are discussing masturbation.
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CB: First I lubricate my dick with olive oil. Then I grab it in my right hand and work my hand back and forth, up and down. Eventually I get the feeling.
NB: I don't need olive oil. I just grab the sucker and pump it. I also get the feeling.
CB: Hmmm. Why can't I do that?
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By way of disclaimer I would like to mention that I am not turned on by the thoughts of pubescent boys masturbating. I only conjure up this scenerio (being gassed here with right lung gas (tap)) by way of existential example. My intention is to illustrate the origins of Penis War, which will be the War of the 21st Century.

I won't be around, but Lucky You.

Nobody Knows This Except You and Me

Watching the national news recently (faint boom) I was amused by the recent 'sensitivity war' between the Reds and the Blues. It reminded me of the cultural war now in progress between the haves and the have-nots. It seems that the Democrats are more 'sensitive' than the Republicans are, or want to be seen as being more sensitive. The Republicans, on the other hand, want to be seen as reasonably sensitive but not suicidally sensitive. Does this make any sense to you? No? It does to me.

I have forgot whether the Democrats are red or blue so I will ignore colors. The 'cultural war between the haves and the have-nots' refers to the cultural war now in progress between those folks who have foreskins and those folks who have no foreskins, that is to say, the cultural war now in progress between natural males and unnatural males. This is my personal definition of the term, 'cultural war.'

By way of further definition, 'natural males' are equipped with original penile paraphernalia, whereas unnatural males have been modified for some reason or other, usually religion-related. The modified males fall into the category of the 'have-nots' whereas the natural males fall into the category of 'haves.' When the two categories meet the result is inevitably war. This war is now raging everywhere. Nobody knows this except you and me.

Tivo Trouble

Except for three heavy doses of lung gas last night while I was playing C-III, gassing continues to be very light, and mostly in the LR. Meanwhile el fisho has discovered a new method of harrassment.

I bought a tivo yesterday and plugged it into my system in place of the VCR. The setup seemed to go well that afternoon. However, later I noticed the tivo recording a program I never watch. This morning I noticed it recording again - some other channel I never watch. I noticed that it would change channels when I was out of the room. When I got home from my afternoon sortie I found that four different programs had been recorded without 'authorization.' Also, the unit had failed to make contact (by modem) with the tivo service last night at the scheduled time of 2:00 am although it had attempted to do so.

So I presume that my tivo is being hacked fisho's boys, through the phone line. I unplugged the line and so far it seems to work normally. At least it doesn't change channels when I'm out of the room.

Surrogate Stalker Meets Ear Job

Stalkers have a fairly well-defined M.O. (bag of tricks). One of the stalker's 'tricks' is to let the 'mark' know that his (or her) activities are being closely followed by the stalker. The message, 'I know where you went' (or 'what you did' or 'what you said,' etc.) can be emotionally upsetting and Stalkers like doing that (tap) sort of thing. The 'mirror tweak' (which I have already described) is one example of the 'I know where you went' message.

Beginning in 1992 I began to observe another form of that basic message, perhaps a unique form (tap): I began 'meeting' unusual couples, usually at the maul, where I would go for exercise and people-watching. Their behavior was predictable and invariable:
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1. We would always meet going in opposite directions.
2. The couple would always do something to attract my attention (loud talking, for example).
3. They were usually holding hands or otherwise demonstrating 'affection.'
4. The male was always black (usually very black).
5. The female was always white.
6. They were usually smiling.
7. At least one of them was always staring at me.
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I could often spot a 'likely observer' walking some distance behind them (tap). I would see at least one such couple at the maul every day, often two or three couples. After several weeks of this it was clear that these meetings were not accidental. These 'meetings' went on for years, day in and day out (tap). Another characteristic of these meetings was that they were dependent on my 'routine.' That is, the couples would not show up when I went somewhere unexpected - unless I stayed around long enough at the unexpected location. Another characteristic was that after 30 minutes or so the couples would 'disappear.' No new couples would take their places.

A variation on this theme was the single black male. He would usually appear at places like the book store or the computer store (at the maul). This person would invariably stand quite close to me pretending to be interested in some book or some computer game near me. As the years went by there were other variations: obvious homosexuals, orientals, and one of the most interesting, a man (always a man) with an oxygen pack with a tube feeding oxygen into his nostrils. This is usually an indication the person has heart or lung (tap) disease. Whether these demonstrations were intended by el fisho to preview my eventual hoped-for condition or whether they had some connection to the eventual gassings is unknown.

In the case of the single black, or black couple, or queer who got too close for comfort, I devised the 'ear job,' and later, the 'nose job.' The ear job works like this: fix your fingers in the form of (what I call) the 'stinkfinger mudra,' then stuff the middle finger into one of your ears, pretending to be scratching the inside of your ear. A variation is to rotate your hand clockwise and then counter-clockwise several times. Be sure to get the correct ear. The message is unmistakable to a guilty party, but an innocent person will only think you're odd. Whenever I wanted to really get in their faces I would stare at them while I did this. The nose job is a variation of the ear job only more disgusting. I once had the pleasure of giving one of el fisho's sons an ear job while he was parked behind me on his motorcycle. I watched him in the rear view mirror as I screwed my finger one way, then the other. He shook his head slowly in the family manner, then sped around me. He is the only person who ever acknowleged seeing the maneuver.

Outing the Fish

Sometime in 1992 I realized what was happening. The first 'stalking laws' were passed that year and the subjects of stalking and obsession were in the national newscasts from time to time. When Colorado passed the first anti-stalking laws (in '97) I learned more about the subject from the book, 'I Know You Really Love Me' (Doreen Orion) and from some other research on the web. I also bought, 'Stopping A Stalker' (Robert Snow). The information in these books fit quite well with my personal experiences.

I can't remember when the final piece of the puzzle - fisho's homosexuality - dawned on me, but I do remember the exact occasion. It could have been as early as 1993 or as late as 1997. I was watching the news on CNN when suddenly the dots connected: 'The son-of-a-bitch is queer!' were my exact words. With that realization everything made sense. I warned el fisho (in my journal) before I 'outed' him. He could have simply walked away; instead he intensified the harrassment. So I 'outed' Denver's most famous fish in my journal.

The Wrong Irishman

Another benefit of knowing Jewish names was that I realized how many Jews become doctors and Lawyers. Jews are vastly 'over-represented' in those professions. There are a lot of Jews in politics and media also. In fact, Jews are a powerful force in America, and I was not surprised some years ago when a Jew wrote a book about the phenomenon titled, 'The Jewish Establishment.' (I bought the book and read most of it, by the way, but it seems to have become misplaced recently.)

This awareness of 'Jewish power' did not (tap) dampen my enthusiasm for rubbing Jewish nose in Freudian mire. Far from it: I was not picking on a weak and defenseless people. Nor was I afraid of that ultimate Jewish weapon, the charge of 'anti-Semitism.' That charge had been used against me by el fisho even before I 'became anti-Semitic.' What more could they do? So I smeared the Jews for years in my little journal, enjoying every minute of it. I began to think of myself as, 'The Wrong Irishman.' Those Jews had fucked with the Wrong (thump) Irishman and they were paying the price - if they were reading my stuff and I was sure they were.

Jewish Names

I had been slowly gathering information about Jews for years in self-defense and I already knew a lot about that particular tribe in America. Probable Jewish names was one category of knowlege which especially interested me. I figured that if I knew enough Jewish names I would be able to avoid most of them. So whenever a person on tv (for example) was identified as Jewish I would remember that name. It eventually became clear that the best I could do, namewise, was about 80 percent, but that still made it worthwhile. For example, names containing the word 'gold' or 'silver' were likely 'Jewish names.' German names were suspect also, as well as some other European names. I got pretty good at figuring out who was and who was not a likely Jew. This put me fairly even with Jews themselves (thump) who always (it seemed to me) knew who around them was and was not Jewish.

I would test my knowlege at various chess events. A lot of Jews play chess. I would try to guess who was and who was not Jewish and I would look for signs of Jewish behavior. One interesting example of such behavior was the habit some Jewish players had of turning their king 'sideways' such that the cross would not be silhouetted from their point of view. A few players made it obvious, turning the king 90 degrees soon as they sat down at the board. Most Jews just played the game not bothering about the cross on their king's head. I thought of those who did turn their kings as, 'hardcore Jews' to be beaten but otherwise avoided.

I was pleasantly surprised by many Jews who did not seem to resent me at all, but not surprised by those few who did. I came to think of those 'hardcore (faint boom) Jews' as 'el fisho's boys.'

The Greatest Scam of the Twentieth Century

Very little gas since Friday morning. I suppose one of the reasons is that I have not been pouring cold water el fisho's ego recently.

Some time in '89 (I think) I got the impression that the stuff I was writing with Word Salad was being read by 'unauthorized persons.' I was sure that if that was the case then el fisho was one of those unauthorized persons. It was an opportunity for a little revenge, and I took advantage of it in several ways, most of which I have forgot. But I do remember doing some 'commentaries' on parts of the Old Testament in an attempt to irritate the old Jewish fish. Maybe I'll try to look them up if I can find the diskettes and one of my old Apples still works well enough.

I remember also that the subject of Jewish penis envy came up fairly often. I made fun of Freud fairly frequently. Then, around the beginning of the first Gulf War, I stumbled on what I would later call the 'greatest scam of the twentieth century:' the circumcision of America for 'health reasons.' The revelation came in the form of a book, Circumcision: An American Health Fallacy,' by Edward Wallerstein. I did quite a lot of quoting from Wallerstein's book. It is very quotable. But nowhere in the book could I find a reference to what I had come to think of as the real reason for National Circumcision: Jewish penis envy.

This is not surprising, of course. Wallerstein was himself a Jew, and if the idea of Jewish penis envy occured to him at all he did not mention it. Nor did anyone else, as far as I could determine. I seemed to be the only person to whom the idea occurred. So I claimed it. In fact, I rubbed the Jewish nose in it.

You Are Alive

The necessity to wake up seems to be the central theme of 'Eastern religion,' whereas the idea of 'salvation' seems to be the central theme of 'Western religion.' The themes are faintly similar; however in Eastern religion 'you wake yourself up,' whereas in Western religion you are rescued by a savior of some kind.

Thus a devotee of Eastern religion engages in self study, whereas a devotee of Western religion studies the Bible or the Torah or the Koran. I am speaking in the most general terms of course. So I call the Eastern religions the 'psychological religions.' A better term might be, 'cognitive religions.' I call the Western religions, the 'save-our-ass religions.' I understand completely if you are a bit put off by that characterization: religion is a complex subject and I am oversimplifying. Nevertheless I would characterize the Western religions as 'save-our-ass religions' and the Eastern religions as 'save-my-life religions.'

I presume that you know about Western religion but may not be well informed about Eastern religion as I have characterized it. Therefore, if you will permit me to continue in the general vein of oversimplification, I will give you a small example of what (Ouspensky in particular) means by, 'self-study.' (If you already know this stuff then skip to the next post.)

Ouspensky begins (in The Fourth Way) with the idea of 'self-observation.' This is the creating of an 'internal mirror' of sorts, where you constantly hold in your consciousness the idea that you are alive (among other ideas). Self-observation is not easy. For example, try this: Next time you enter the super market try to remember that you are alive. Say to yourself something like, 'I am alive' at the same time you do your shopping. In order to do this you will have to create a kind of 'dual consciousness.' As you compare prices, interact with other people, move your shopping cart, select groceries, remember that you are alive. It is not as easy as it sounds.

Furthermore it is inefficient. You are using brain cells that could be better used to accomplish the task at hand, which is shopping. But this is only the beginning of self-study. If you do this often enough you will get good at it. You will be able to do you your shopping AND remember that you are alive. It is progress. (A better description might be that you will be able to constantly remember to realize as you do your shopping that you are alive. Whatever.)

What good is this? It seems to be inefficient, therefore un-Capitalistic, therefore un-American - not to mention un-Christian. And look at the bastions of 'Eastern religion:' India? Tibet? China? Japan? Quite right. To be 'personally awake' may not be a good thing on a macro level.

And I could go on and on with this but I see that I am getting much too complex. So I want to leave you with this single thought: you are alive. Remember that.

You Are Asleep But You Can Awaken

The last tournament game at (the Capitol Hill ) DCC was 8-5-87.

I came away from the DCC experience with a fair understanding of what I had been up against (tap) and what the future might hold. I decided not to bother trying to get a job because I would then be an easy (tap) 'target.' Instead, I 'retired.' I read a lot and watched a lot of tv. Technology had left Word Salad in the dust, of course, but I used it to write a journal of sorts, now and then.

The years '88-'91 were fun years. I learned exactly what Casteneda's Don Juan meant by being 'free from the encumbering thoughts of other people.' I was quite interested in 'alternative religion' at the time. Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh (yes, THAT one) was my favorite, and I read a lot of his stuff on Zen, Tantra, Yoga, Buddhism, Tao, and even Jesus. P.D. Ouspenski was another favorite. I found his 'The Fourth Way' particularly fascinating. Alan Watts was yet another, and I read several of his more famous books. Other favorites were, The Master Game, Mystic Path to Cosmic Power (somewhat corny title there), The Doors of Perception (Huxley), and a unique book by William Braden titled, The Private Sea - LSD and the Search for God. These last two focusing on the 'mystical experiences' produced by various drugs.

These books broadened my education considerably and fit nicely with my previous knowlege of Science, Philosophy, Psychology, and Illegal Drugs. I was becoming a well-rounded person in those years.

Through all these books ran a single theme: you are asleep but you can awaken. (1:00)

Special Persecutor

The new gas is very effective due mostly to the large quantity available. They can pump it into the apartment constantly over long periods of time - unlike the 'lung gases' which were always administered in single doses. Also unlike the 'lung gases' this gas attacks both lungs equally, causing a slow (boom) burning sensation and huge amounts of mucus resulting in frequent throar clearing and coughing. It is more irritating than 'heavy gas.' I'll call it, 'new gas' (tap).

They began (this morning) in the living room as usual. Moving to the other side of the couch and opening the patio door helped, but they could still get to me. A little experimentation suggested they are pumping it up through the rug. So I went back to bed. A few minutes later they were pumping it into the bedroom. Back to the living room. Minutes later there is was again in the living room. Then to Kootch's room. It took them about five minutes to pump enough into Kootch's room. Then to the computer. Since arriving at the computer I have not been gassed at all. Maybe I should call this new gas 'steering gas' instead of 'new gas' (tap).

This suggests that el fisho likes the most recent trend taken in this blog (see Lucky Me, below), and wants more of same (getting a little gas here - after 57 minutes of clean air). Hmm... lessee... he must like the 'persecutorial' theme. Yes, that must be it: He pictures himself in the role of Special Persecutor, representing six million American Jews. He takes great pleasure in knowing that his valiant exploits are now being broadcast in my blog for all Jews everywhere to read and appreciate. Interesting. Interesting delusion.

Rotten Fish

Before leaving the subject of chess at the DCC in '86-'87 I want to share one more game, dated 2-25-87, round 4, white=1910, black=2135.

1. d4 ........d5
2. c4 ........dc4
3. Nf3 ......Nd7
4. Qa4 .....Nf6
5. e3 .........g6
6. Bc4 ......Bg7
7. Bf7+ .....Kf8
8. Ng5 ......Nb6
9. Qb3 ......Qd6
10. Bg6 ....Nfd5
11. Bd3 .....h6
12. Ne4 ....Qg6
13. Ng3 ....Qf6
14. O-O ....Be6
15. Nh5 ....Qg5
16. Ng7 .....Qg7
17. Be4 ......Rd8
18. Nc3 ......Rg8
19. F4 ........Ke8
20. Nd5 .....Rd5
21. Qc2 ......Rh5
22. Qe2 ......Bg4
23. Bf3 .......Bf3
24. Qf3 .......Rd5
25. Bd2 .......Nc4
26. Qd5 .......Nd2
27. Rf2 .........resigns

I played white of course, and my opponent was a nice Jewish expert rated over 2100. I had defeated another nice Jewish expert the previous week. Before this game el fisho explained to me that I won the previous game because my opponent had been 'in a slump' but that he was really a good player. When I smiled and said, 'I'm a good player too,' his jaws tightened (and my opponent in this game chuckled). (All this according to my notes on the back of the scoresheet.) Vintage el fisho! More than once I remember him telling me, after a game I had just lost, 'I enjoyed your game with (whomever).'

(Blogger suddenly doesn't like more than one space so I had to use dots for this one.)

Lucky Me

In the interests of fairness I should mention that I 'spun' the interview in the previous post for purposes of humor and sarcasm. He actually did a competent exam and left me with the impression that he was a nice guy. Not that I lied. I simply selected the parts of the interview which served my purposes. One of these days I'll get to some of my more unfortunate encounters with Jewish doctors.

Where were we... ah yes, stoned at the DCC. Now that I think about it that pot lasted me 'til the mid '90s. I only used it to terminate alcohol highs, never smoking it otherwise. In fact pot is a very good alcohol terminator. If you are the type who can't stop drinking until you drop then you might try pot-as-terminator (with your doctor's permission of course - and I wouldn't mention it to your local sheriff).

I left the DCC with a much clearer understanding of the Jewish queer who was poisoning my life. (But at that time I did not yet realize he was a homosexual.) I also had more of an understanding of how a rich criminal lawyer was in the perfect position to do what he was doing: he had money, criminal contacts, knowlege of the law... and I could go on and on, but most important of all he belonged to a special tribe of people.

There were literally millions of these people. They had been chosen by God thousands of years ago to be His Special People, and as a result of that they had been persecuted for thousands of years all over the world. They needed revenge. Unfortunately they could not take revenge on their dead persecutors, but I was available. I was more than available: I was Irish, I was uncircumcised, and I did not believe in their stupid god. Furthermore I was vulnerable.

To Denver's most famous fish I was therefore irresistable: he assigned himself to be my official persecutor, with the tacit approval, of course, of The Jewish People. Lucky me.

A Pleasing Appointment

The first thing he noticed was my voice (tap - the twerpy tapper has returned). He asked me whether my voice had been affected by the sore throat. I replied that the voice was 'normal with me' (I have learned not to bother these folks with my stalker-gassing problems). He asked me if I had been coughing. I replied in the affirmative but that frequent coughing was not unusual for me. He seemed satisfied.

He asked me to open my mouth for inspection, then he reached for a tongue depressor. I was watching him like a hawk, but the source of the tongue depressor was out of my sight. As he was about to examine my throat he said pleasantly, 'I'm going to gag you.' I thought, 'Uh-oh.'

After a brief (tap) examination including the usual feel for swollen neck glands he announced the the diagnosis and suggested chicken soup. I was very pleased. It could have been worse. As I left the examining room I said to him, 'Now I know why my wife recommends you, Doc.' He was very pleased.

When I later asked Kootch who her doctor was she replied, 'The Chinese guy.'

Expecting the Worst

Good morning. I've deleted the nonsense and kept the good stuff from Friday night, as usual. But there is a problem: I can't save the blog on my computer. The last version I was able to save ended with 'Stoned Barracudas.' I noticed the problem Friday night also. Another thing I noticed Friday night was the beginnings of a sore throat.

Saturday's hangover was amplified by a sore throat, slight fever, and gassing on what I would call a 'sadistic level.' They continued on that high level through Saturday night, all day Sunday, Monday, and Monday night. So far this morning it has been minimal. I presume the high gassing level indicates that the old fish is not pleased with the way this blog is going. Very good! (It will only go downhill from here, mr. fish. Better buy more gas.)

And speaking of gas they are now using a new type. Apparently this one is available in large quantities like 'heavy gas.'

A visit to my HMO Monday afternoon got me a quick appointment with a nice Jewish fella who told me it was a virus, not strep. I much preferred my usual physician but she was beginning a two week vacation Monday and was not available.

I was pleasantly surprised by this fellow. Based on my previous encounters with Jewish doctors I was expecting the worst.