Wednesday, November 30, 2005

The best fish in the world

Anarhichas lupus

I am afraid this is a fish you have to discover on your own. When you do you will thank me.
Your welcome JW


Monday, November 28, 2005

Cowards Anonymous

Tilburgs Dutch Brown Ale was what I sampled last Saturday night and was intrigued by the lable (see below painting) and astounded by the taste. I tell ya it was like an angel pissing on my tounge it was so good! Well I toddled home and when I checked my email I discovered I had a number of anonymous posts. None of them I felt where intended to be constructive so I responded and boom! Within minutes I had an email, they had responded and so it went for awhile a couple of young Bath House Boyz attacking a poor alcohol infeebled man, I think I got the best of them since they made even less since than I did. So if you are suffering problems with belligerant anonymous posters to your site, drink Tilburgs Dutch Brown Ale, it will give you the edge...This post was not payed for the Tilburg company it is quite simply a public service, or maybe community service~` Kind Regards JW

Tilburg's Dutch Brown Ale is a top fermented Ale.
The beer is brewed with top quality barley malt,
fine selected hops and yeast according to an ancient old recipe.
It's fruity character can best be descriped as
"full bodied and superb and refreshing aftertaste".

Tilburg's Dutch Brown Ale is being produced in the brewery located
in the small quiet village of Tilburg, near the Belgian border.
The brewery is unique in it's kind, while it is situated inside the walls of
the Abbey of Koningshoeven.

The famous Dutch painter: "Jeroen Bosch" lived nearby the brewery.
The label is based on a detail from Jeroen Bosch’s masterpiece
"The Garden of Earthly Delights"

The Garden of Earthly Delights

The most famous of Bosch's pieces, The Garden of Earthly Delights is generally placed late in his career, well after 1500, and exhibits many of the same themes found in his earlier works, most notably that humankind is given over to sin. In the left panel we see the now familiar paradise story set in a more fantastical setting than had been the case up until this point. The center panel presents an entirely unique view of earth, one which contains many of the same themes which Bosch has developed in other pieces, but here they are presented in an entirely new way. Finally, in the right panel Bosch presents us with a mature depiction of Hell.While the triptych format is traditional for Netherlandish alterpieces the subjects and presentation of this piece makes it likely that it was never intended to be placed in a church but was instead prepared for lay patrons. Indeed there is good evidence that The Garden of Earthly Delights was owned by Hendrick III of Nassau.

Left wingCentral panelRight wing
The Garden of Earthly DelightsOil on Panel86 5/8 X 191 5/8(220 X 389) Prado, Madrid
Visit the link below link for more details of the painting.

Saturday, November 26, 2005

Tattoo too

Why? Because I liked the story.

Tattoo Two News

More Tattoos on
Charlie Williams, Bizzarologist
Trail Rider Magazine

Charlie, Trail Rider is not an open forum for your lunacy, just because you own a motorcycle doesn't mean I have to print your unrelated gibberish. Stick to the point or you'll find yourself back in pulp. This is the last article on tattooing. I'm sorry I ever mentioned it.


Dear readers, thank you so very much for all the letters and phone calls about my first tattoo article. I really appreciate your input, but in the future please consider others feelings. I'm afraid we have been scaring Mrs. Clipper. Sure, I enjoyed the goat head, but the blood-soaked box was a little too much. I guess blood ran down the mailbox post and attracted a pack of New Jersey jackals. The entire Clipper clan was trapped. This type of situation does not endear me to the Clippers. If we are not more careful, I'm afraid Paul may revoke my poetic license and go back to printing techno trash. A cheer from the insomniacs.

Another thing I must clear up is my personal style of quotes and quotation marks. First off is the "single" quotation mark. Well, this means I either made up the conversation or I've changed it so it would be funny. ""Double"" quotation marks mean it is close to what was actually said or at least thought. """Triple""" marks mean it is quoted the best I could remember but can still not be considered totally accurate. """"Quadruple"""" quotation marks mean although the words are quoted exactly they may be used out of context with my own slant and inflection.

I'm sorry, but no one stands a chance of fair reporting with me at the keyboard. All events are filtered through my sponge-like brain and trickle out my fingertips. It is through this Zen type of writing I am able to translate and quote body language. I also possess the powers to translate dog thoughts. I write only to entertain, not to report. Please consider this next time you send rotten fish guts to the magazine.

You may sense a variation in qualities about my writing. Like this piece--it's just a lot of disconnected thoughts, but bear with me... I think I do have a message, I just can't figure out how to say it. Writing is a lot like riding or surfing or climbing: some times you got it, some times you don't. In writing there are good days and bad days, rookies and pros, there are rules and politics, there are over-rated stars and there are under-respected locals. It is also the middle of winter and there was really nothing to write about. I could describe my room. The walls and floor are a sea of mattress buttons. Need I say more?

Some of you sharper readers may wonder what any of this has to do with tattoos. Nothing really, but tattoos are the same, as any circle, pro guy, rookie, wannabe's, and your hard core tattoo lovers. Now, another question from the audience: what do tattoos have to do with motorcycles? Besides the most obvious uses of tattoos, like marking broken bones and giving your doctor a medical history inscribed on your body. Tattoos will not make you a faster rider. Tattoos will enhance your confidence. By permanently scarring your body in a moment of bad decision you must either accept your mistake and rise above it or you remain beat down by the social acceptance of "Easy Meat" tattooed into your biceps. Most people do rise up over the tattoo stigma. They are the strong people who are proud of themselves and any bad decision they may make.

So what I want to say is, nobody's perfect, very few really try. I'm from this sect. The only important thing is I'm okay with it and should not be persecuted for my looks or how well I can ride a bike or arrange words. I'm a regular guy looking to have a good time. My greatest treasures in life are things you cannot buy. I've had to earn them with effort; not exchange money for them.

Why spend your life trying to paint the perfect picture and finally fail? Paint many pictures, enjoy the time spent creating. That is where the true joy of painting comes from, not the finished picture on the wall. It is more fun going to the art shop hanging out looking at all the new gadgets sold to make you a better painter, eventually passing them by and settling on something obscure and special, thereby impressing the pants off the sales girl. Later you bump into her at the art fair where you do not win a ribbon or any recognition, but for the sales girl who thinks your painting cool. "Why won't it dry?" Who is the winner in this story? The queer arguing with the blue-haired ladies over a trophy, or the guy that picks up the sales girl? I think you might start seeing things my way now. I'm not trying to change your mind, just open it.

I ride bikes for the adventure. I enjoy the long road trips. I enjoy getting to ride in all kinds of places. Sure, I like winning, but that is not the measure of a successful trip. Everybody who rides is equal to all other riders--maybe not in skill level, but equal in the fact they have gotten up off the couch to ask more out of life. The thrill a novice feels bumping a berm is the same thrill the expert gets doing a double jump. The risk and rewards are different but the thrill, excitement, and emotion are the same. Riding is a one man sport, no team to hide behind, just you and what you can do. Win lose or quit, it is up to you, no one else can dictate.

So the next time you line up at the start, look around. Realize we ride in the dust of our fathers, we make the ruts for our children. Individually you are not a leader but part of a whole, and that whole is what motorcycling is, was, and will be. Your life is your lap around the track of life--do you save yourself for the end or do you go wide open till you blow? In a race where you don't know when it will be over, you had better go hard from the start. Won't you be squeezing the nurse's fingers soon enough? Better to leave with an empty wallet and a full heart.

Strike out on a new mission right now; to fill the heart with all the adventure you can dream up. Try new things, do old things more, go on vacation, live right now! Yesterday is gone and there are only a few more tomorrows.

Scratch Pad

First published in Trail Rider magazine, (Motorcycle trails) authored by my brother Chuckles and read by whoever choose's.

By Charlie Williams

Readers have written asking about the relationship between tattooing and racing. Certainly, many of the fastest motocrossers today are bringing back the art of tattooing, and your humble writer is no exception. I do indeed have many tattoos, but most were done by amateurs, either myself or other prisoners.

You can tell my approximate age by the content of the tattoo. My first tattoo I did myself. It was the word "Bultaco" on the backs of my fingers. It was a mistake. I had not given it enough thought; after all, study hall was only two hours long. Being right handed, I wrote the letters B U L T then ran out of fingers, so I had to switch hands and spell A C O. I can't write with my left hand, so A C O was a scrawled, bloody, un-readable mess. Then once it was finished it made no sense unless I crossed my wrists.

Then came a tattooed list of my weaknesses. It started out with girls names, then the names of beers, then various other vices. I remember one time waking up on the playground slide with an unmentionable word freshly bleeding down my leg. The officer prodded me with his night stick and asked me if I had been drinking. I responded by pulling my lower lip down, exposing the words SCREW YOU! He did more than prod with his night stick, and the next time I woke up I was missing my boot strings, my pockets had been emptied, and I was in a cage where everyone looked just like me!

Most of my bearded, stringy, rangy cellmates knew exactly what a Bultaco was; in fact several of them were collectors. It's a shame such a fine marque like Bultaco winds up in the hands of the tattooed prisoner types like myself. Harley found its niche. Maybe some day I could sell my Alpina for top dollar.

Prison is where I met members of the Tionga Tattoo Club. Meetings were attended and new friends were made. Tionga is where I got all the areas I could not reach myself. You see, everywhere I could reach with my right hand was covered with doodles, hence my yard name "Scratch Pad." The places I could only reach with my left hand looked pretty bad, as far as home made tattoos go.

Anyhow, one day Stabber was working on the word "Gatlinburg" on my back and we were talking. I said, "Now let me get this straight, you're telling me people judge you by looking at your tattoos?"

"Ummhmm" hummed Stabber.

"You mean people can tell just by looking at me whether they like me or not?"


"People can actually cop an attitude, positive or negative, just by my looks? They don't want to know my religious affiliation? My political opinion?"

"Nope. Look, Scratch Pad, it ain't right, I'll agree, but it's a fact. If you got long hair you're a hippie, short hair, you're a queer. Black clothes? You're a Nazi. Today's social sects are differentiated by initialized uniforms."

"That's not fair!" I cried.

"Then tell me how the pecking order goes in your circles?"

"Well Stabber, at the race track it's the fastest rider is the very best person."


"Yea, the really fast guys are treated like knowledge-filled heroes. The rest of the guys are rated by their fancy outfits."

"Scratch Pad, is this fair? To be socially rated by your clothes, or how fast you can do one thing like racing?"

"No, I guess I agree with you there, Stabber. There are so many points to admire before you should judge a person, if you should judge another person at all."

Stabber thinks this over for a while, takes a long deep draw off his cigarette and says, "You know Scratch Pad, ya got a point. Who are we to judge other men, no matter how many qualities we study before making a decision. But on the other hand you must have some sort of quality rating system to sort out the good from the bad, friend or foe."

"Yea, that would be cool," I said.

"Judging is such a stern word, let's use "accept." Accept another man, only rejecting him when his values or quality levels fall below your personal standards. Now it's okay for a guy to have low standards and all, but when his actions affect another person, this is where you must make a judgment whether to allow this person in your proximity. Here is an example: I used to do gun shows with a fella, every week it was my truck, my gas, my oil. Okay, but the free ride didn't stop there. I'd pay for the booth space and he wouldn't kick in, under pressure he would agree to pay a few dollars, always later. He would never lift a finger to load the display tables although he had used them to display his wares all day. After many financial beatings I made a decision not to accept his level of standards. It wasn't my goal to try to change his habits, it was in my own best interest to avoid this character. So in a way I am judging this man not to be of the caliber needed to be my friend."

"Wow, Stabber, you're such a deep thinker."

"Thinker? Naw, all the deep thoughts have been thought already. I've just studied in the prison library and know the questions no man knows the answers to. I can only search for answers, more of a thought-prospector looking for answers than a thinker thinking new original thoughts."

This part of Stabber really blew me away. I already respected him on his tattoo skills, now to realize how intellectual he was, another sound reason to respect him. Prison is a good place to study mankind. A micro-culture devoid of social status emblems. Because after a strip-search, a bug bath, a lice-removing hair cut and a nice orange jump suit, we are all pretty much equal, boiled down to who we really are.

"Wow, so what you are saying, Stabber, is take away the Mercedes, take away the Gucci, take away the Armani and the Rolex, we can pretty much see who the person is."

"Careful, Scratch Pad, you can now see what the man looks like but you can still be deceived. You must take time to study the mans values."

"Values? Like how much money he can save you?"

"No, no; not like the extra value meal, but how he looks at the world, what is important to him. Does he think so little of you he would steal your cigarettes? All of them? Part of them? Or one at a time? If you can not trust him with your cigarettes, how can you trust him with something really important?"


"Well yea, but I was thinking of something more important than money. Something so important you cant buy it with anything."


"No you idiot, trust! Trust! Can you trust and depend on another person? Can you trust a person with your trust?"

"Wow Stabber, that's so cool. Trust another person with your trust. Almost a mutual agreement."

"Sure is."

Stabber handed me a mirror and I looked over my shoulder to see the word Galenburg bleeding down my back.

"Galenburg!?!? I wanted Gatlinburg! You said you knew how to spell it! I trusted you!"

"Gee man, I'm sorry, I'm only human."

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

My Town Sure Has Growed

I live near Indianapolis, Indiana and its not what you would picture, really. Stop by and spend some money in our town. Its better than you would expect. JW

The Sea Shes Rough

The tiller (Steering stick) on my sailboat is rotten and cracked, imminent danger is at hand. So I recognized this problem and recalling the quote of a great dead adventurer "there are no adventures just mistakes" I am determined to prevent this mistake. I priced a new tiller on a whim from West Marine near $300.00 large! I have access to plenty of hardwood and sawing thingys. My plan is to reproduce this tiller over the winter with the help of my state of the art measuring instrument. Best laid plans..

Got to get behind the mule

  OK, slow pitch who wrote the following song.
First correct answer
wins Thanksgiving leftovers!

Get Behind the Mule
(Tom Waits and Kathleen Brennan)

Molly be damned smote Jimmy the Harp
With a horrid little pistol and a lariat
She's goin to the bottom
And she's goin down the drain
Said she wasn't big enough to carry it

She got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
She got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
She got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
She got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow

Choppity chop goes the axe in the woods
You gotta meet me by the fall down tree
Shovel of dirt upon a coffin lid
And I know they'll come lookin for me boys
And I know they'll come a-lookin for me

Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow

Big Jack Earl was 8'1
He stood in the road and he cried
He couldn't make her love him
Couldn't make her stay
But tell the good Lord that he tried
Dusty trail from Atchison to Placerville
On the wreck of the Weaverville stage
Beaula fired on Beatty for a lemonade
I was stirring my brandy with a nail boys
Stirring my brandy with a nail
Well the rampaging sons of the widow James
Jack the cutter and the pock marked kid
Had to stand naked at the bottom
Of the cross
And tell the good lord what they did
Tell the good lord what they did
Punctuated birds on the power line
In a Studebaker with the Birdie Joe Joaks
I'm diggin all the way to China
With a silver spoon
While the hangman fumbles with the noose, boys
The hangman fumbles with the noose
Pin your ear to the wisdom post
Pin your eye to the line
Never let the weeds get higher
Than the garden
Always keep a sapphire in your mind
Always keep a diamond in your mind

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Who wrote this song?

A prodigy early in his career and still going strong. Who ? I'm asking you I cant remember.

The piano has been drinking
my necktie is asleep
and the combo went back to New York
the jukebox has to take a leak
and the carpet needs a haircut
and the spotlight looks like a prison break
cause the telephone's out of cigarettes
and the balcony's on the make
and the piano has been drinking
the piano has been drinking...

and the menus are all freezing
and the lightman's blind in one eye
and he can't see out of the other
and the piano-tuner's got a hearing aid
and he showed up with his mother
and the piano has been drinking
the piano has been drinking

cause the bouncer is a Sumo wrestler
cream puff casper milk toast
and the owner is a mental midget
with the I.Q. of a fencepost
cause the piano has been drinking
the piano has been drinking...

and you can't find your waitress
with a Geiger counter
And she hates you and your friends
and you just can't get served
without her
and the box-office is drooling
and the bar stools are on fire
and the newspapers were fooling
and the ash-trays have retired
the piano has been drinking
the piano has been drinking
The piano has been drinking
not me, not me, not me, not me, not me

Sunday, November 20, 2005

Old Joe Bones

I was passing my time innocently enough in room 407 of the BA Hotel and ole Joe Bones showed up to claim his wife. Well you know ole Joe has hands the size of car hoods and fists the size of shopping carts and...well we got into a tangle. After 25 hours of conflict Old Joe and I decided that his wife should pay the tab for our damage to the hotel. We were both victims of a vixens wiles and after we had our ...discussion we realized that she was to blame not us! Ole Joe Bones and myself are now buds and God be with you if you cross my comrade Joe. JW

Monday, November 14, 2005

A plug for a worthwhile cause

I took a short trip with this company a couple of years ago and now am sending an invite to all who stumble onto this. Take the trip, top of the line riding,guiding and company.I will not be on this trip because I have to work! Someone go for me and bring me gifts. Thanks JW

Does shredding through Baja, delicious tacos, and maybe a cervesa or two sound like a good way to ring in your New Year???
....If so, we have the ride for you!
Trail Boss Tours Presents
"10th Annual Rip to the Tip"
Cabo Adventure
December 27th - January 4th, 2006.
It is guaranteed to be a great time, 9 years in the making!
Please contact us if you are interested in more information.
Happy Trails,
Nancy and Chris Steward
Trail Boss Tours

Friday, November 11, 2005

Kenya Cruising

While on Motorbike Safari in Kenya part of our group cruising down a dried river bed, avoiding road ruts, hanging with the locals, cavorting on the Indian Ocean beach and blazing down the highway with Kilimanjaro as a backdrop. I was not eaten by a lion nor did a monkey pitch scat at me. All in all a successful trip!
For the whole story (first published in Trail Rider Magazine ) click on the link...

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

HNT my last!

You damn perverted bloggers I will contribute but under duress. This photo was taken in a urinal in the Czech Republic so its kind of exotic.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Captive Audience

One learns from an early age while standing at the urinal you stare straight ahead. You don't look to left or right you stand in a forward position do your work and then leave. My opinion is that brilliant advertising exploits a captive audience, which this ad has done. A more "sensitive" man eyes may wander but the real kinda he man stares forward and reads what is in front of him, advertising. It works!The fine print on lower left reads "Drink SOS", I am unsure what SOS is but I will drink it the first chance I have. Send me money and I'll give you some info...On what? I dunno but it would be nice if you sent me some jing. Kind Regards JW

Sunday, November 06, 2005

Gravitys Rainbow

I tell you one damn thing reviewing books for Amazon is a damn hard way to make a living.I'm beggining to think they have swindled me. This review was written,hmmm around Jan 26 2005 and thus far 21 of 23 people found it helpful so Amazon show me the money! Kind Regards JW 11/06/05

Gravity's Rainbow (Penguin Twentieth-Century Classics) by Thomas Pynchon
Edition: Paperback
Price: $12.24
Availability: Usually ships in 24 hours

32 used & new from $8.25

21 of 23 people found the following review helpful:

This earns one crushed scorpion, January 26, 2005
I first read this book when I took a long sabbatical from the University. I read the book mostly while I laid in bed with a large dictionary that smelled of turned pages since Mr. Pynchon's working vocabulary is really, really err...big. I refer to the scorpion because I read a interview with Edward Abbey and he mentioned reading this book while in a trailer in the desert, he was so absorbed that when a scorpion bit him on the ankle he simply squashed it and continued to read. Had it been me I would have squashed the scorpion and maybe not lied about the rest. I do recommend the book, a very challenging read so its not recommended for the faint of brain. Now I also recommend you stop reading this review because I feel another spell coming on, yep sure nuff. I don't know what it is about this book but it always reminds me of the time as a child I was at the car wash with my dad and my brother Charles Chadwick, Charles and myself were bored watching our dad wash the station wagon so we found something to distract ourselves (which usually consisted of my brother talking me into doing something stupid), the present story does not veer from this path. Being the younger brother and quite a tiny lad my brother (Charles Chadwick) convinced me that I could reach my skinny little arm up into the towel dispenser and extract some valuable paper towels for free, save my pop a quarter and we would all be winners.However I reached as far as I could and could find nothing and by the time I gave up my arm had swollen so much from all the blood pumping into my arm but the little slot had a devilish design that would not permit blood to flow back into my body, so to make a long story short my dad had to find the owner of the car wash who took a hack saw to his own towel for hire dispenser and extract my arm. I am forever grateful to that man and also my dad who for some reason was not mad, I reckon he recognized early on how innocent I really was and incidentally have remained to this day! I've also learned to pause and think whenever my brother suggests I do something heroic.I don't know why Gravity's Rainbow evokes these memories but it does, so maybe you should buy yourself a copy and remember something as fascinating as what I just related.

Friday, November 04, 2005

Trepanning was such a fad

Most fads I ignore or don't notice to begin with, somehow I studied Trepanning when it was popular a few years ago. The theory is that you are born and have the soft spot on the top of your head which then as you grow older grows shut. What the pioneer trepaners were doing was trying to recapture the minds of their youth, the excitement, creativity and what other shit goes along with not knowing anything. By drilling a hole in your head you relieve the pressure and your brain is flooded with blood flow, blood flow equals vitality etc. So I was bored tonight , was digging through my tool box looking for a box wrench to beat my dryer with ( it makes noise and I want it to stop) and I came upon a surgeons drill used for drilling burr holes in skulls and such. Since they only use it once it was in like new condition. I dug out a big bit from my collection cause If I am going to drill a hole in my skull I am going to make it worth my time.
Results: I still feel the same, I ...where was I ...yes looking for a ball cap to hide the hole in my forehead...I ...not make difference...ellipses etc. Don’t to dis it work bad. not work it not work. I repeat do not drill a hoe in yo head.Peace Trails JW

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

A Spanking Monkey on my Back

A word of caution, what may seem to start out as an
innocent obscene phone call you pick up, can be a
gateway call. A call that can come close to if not
ruining your life.
Last February 15th I had just such a call. I
chuckled and shared the experience with my friends and
my mule site readers just recently.
What happened after this I am ashamed and yet feel
liberated to admit. I became a phone sex addict. It
started as a joke, you know the game dial 1-800 and
then type in seven digits whose letters will spell
something obscene. For example 1-800-hot-sexy I would
wager would direct you to a sex line that you would
then have to give a credit card to and the rest is
lost wages. Well playing this game at parties and
such was fun and stuff but I began to do it alone and
used my credit cards, within weeks they were maxed
out! Then to ole reliable, the 1-900 #s well this went
on until I lost everything but my boat.
I was so addicted that I hatched a plan where I would sail out
on big blue sink my boat and then hold up an SOS sign
to be rescued, tell my fantastic tale of being at sea for six weeks
without food and water and capitalize on the news coverage,
maybe even cut a made for TV movie deal. All this to
finance my phone sex addiction! Well the best laid
plans of mice and pervs... instead of my SOS sign I accidently
held up my “Will work for phone sex sign”…
Then came the intervention. My folks hired six X Navy Seals to work
me over every time my digits tried to dial the
dreadful 1 –900 this plan did not work because the
Seals would beat the shit out of me for hours and when
they were spent I would sneak off and dial 1-900.
Finally I realized I had reached bottom and it was
time to take things into my own hands, so to speak.
What I did was take all the #9 buttons off my phones,
problem solved! Until I remembered the 800 # trick so
I would just dial those listen to the intro teaser and
then hang up. I still was not convinced I was cured so
I removed all the # 8 digits from my phone, problem
solved. Now this may explain to a few of my friends
whose phone numbers contain the number eight or nine
where I have been. Call me! I'm all alone with only a
drawer full of mangled phone buttons (8,9) and
a horrible addiction to keep me company.
Kind Regards Josh