The Saturday Night Concert Lights

Of course I’m talking about our Saturday night enjoying the ZZ Top concert. But first I must throw out a mention to an amazing guitarist Tyler Bryant. I must confess, however, that I have never heard of him, I’m still kicking my self for having a deaf ear to him in the past. But, no longer, no way, now I see the error in my ways. In our particular show, this pasty white man waltzes out onto the stage, introduces himself over the noise of the crowd, so we could barely hear what he said. Without flash and fanfare he began to play, the crowd became calmed, and he amazed us all with the way he played the guitar and with no back up nothing, all solo, just the Tyler Bryant show, I was pretty impressed to say the least. So, if I were y’all, and you like great guitar music, check out Tyler Bryant, y’all won’t be one bit disappointed. Then we witnessed Jeff Beck, again not someone I was exactly up to speed with his music, definitely my loss for sure, an oversight that I can assure you is been corrected since Saturday night. For 70 years young, he deserves his world ranking in guitar playing, his hands show no sign of slowing down in my opinion. The show wasn’t that flashy, but it was good to set my head back and just let the music flow through me. Nevertheless, he is another skilled musician which opened my ears and eyes, fully had my attention.

Then there was our headliner, ZZ Top, who blew the roof off of the house, to put it very mildly. I was looking forward to this part of the show for two reasons, one because this was 4th time seeing ZZ Top live and the second reason was it was my son’s rock n’ roll live concert christening. He can no longer be teased by his older sisters as being the concert virgin. He has been a “fan” of ZZ Top for a few years, being guilty by association through me and the music I listen to, since I’m not always bang my head ’til I bleed metal as many like to think. I like what is referred to as classic rock as well, this so called classic rock is what I grew up on, it is my generation, it was our contribution to musical history. Too much? Too dramatic? My son has always heard music in his headphones or on the stereo speakers, never live and in his face. I really didn’t know what to expect taking him to this show. Soon after the show began initially I knew the birthday present was a grand slam. If I may, to set the mood, take y’all to the end of the show, after the lights came up, when my son turned to me and said “dad, I have a new found respect for ZZ Top, they made me feel like dancing”. I’m not an emotional man, I don’t wear my feelings on my sleeve in no way, but those words, those simple words, made my day, made me smile in the grandest of ways, I was extremely proud of my son, I think he now understands what I have always told him, one feels good music beyond just listening to it. He said he thought about that the whole concert, an excerpt from a conversation years ago, when I was asked why I listen to my music so loud. No, it’s not because I’m deaf boy, it’s because I want it to enter my soul through the vibrations, I want to feel the music, not just listen to it.

So, this was a good concert for him, in many ways. As well, my future son in law attended the concert with us and reacted in much the same way, even though he is now 21. But, in his defense, and this was not his first concert, he mentioned he always wanted to be able to see one of his all time favorite bands live, mission complete. He was all giddy like a 12 year old girl as well. But, as I explained to both of them, because I had a life before they knew me, that when the lights go down what they had in store for them. As I looked out over the sea of silver haired men and women, I mentioned that before long the party would start, beyond the concert, beyond the music, because these people came prepared to party. I just mentioned that as they smell things beyond the cigarette smoke and beer, that they will smell the skunk, but not to look for it, don’t point, and definitely don’t talk or saying anything about it. And, it didn’t take long, and it was purple haze time! Not for me personally, all I had was two 32oz bottles of water. And then, even though my son was aware of the fact that there are other sexual cultures beyond heterosexual, he had never witnessed anything up close and personal. At least both of them waited until we were in the car, yes in the mustang, to ask me if I saw the three lesbian couples sitting in front of us “making out”. Yes, I saw it. So what? That stifled the entire conversation, it was over before it started, its not my place to have an opinion about someone else’s relationship. One thing I will point out, however, is that the three couple were of different age groups, one was in their early twenties, the other I would guess thirtyish, and the other couple was in there fifties. My only opinion is that if it feels good for you then do it. Really too bad people get stuck in their judgmental bullshit all of the time. Plus, there was allot of making out everywhere around us, why do y’all think people bring the big blankets. Anyway, makes no matter to me, I came for the show, I came because I wanted to witness my son get his concert cherry popped. The only reason I brought up the female couples in this post is because I was asked about it later. Why do I need to care?

The only real stumbling point my son had with the concept of the live rock and roll concert, beyond the drinking, toking, and sex, was the fact that it is okay to sing along, it’s almost a requirement. As well, yelling, screaming, cheering, and clapping are our way of showing our unbridled appreciation for fantastic shows. Where I lost him was when ZZ Top was signing, then they go silent, music and all, waiting for the crowd to scream out the finish to the lyric. He knows the words, just didn’t know this was his time to scream them out louder than when he is in the shower. I will have y’all know, I went home hoarse, barely able to talk, my voice was toast, and I could feel it. For what its worth, I’m not shy when it comes to signing out load, yes I suck, but so does everyone else, but we all do it just the same. The night was fantastic all the way around, we all had fun, we all got to put a notch in our belt, for me, I’m my 25th belt or so, but who’s counting anyway. Sunday morning I laid in bed, my wife on one arm, and I found myself thinking how I was the one that each one of my kids saw their first live rock concert with. Many would say this isn’t good parenting, I disagree, I enjoy the company of family, I like being there for their “first times” in life. I’m an involved parent, guilty as charged. I’m lucky, my kids like music, and I’m lucky to live in a huge city where the opportunities to witness live music are everywhere. Most of the people I know don’t know what their kids are up too, nor do they care. No, I do not think I know what they do 24/7, but I have a pretty good idea I won’t see them on the news looting anytime soon. Sorry, my kids are important to me, I care to be in their lives, and for them to want to be in mine.

Sorry, got a little sidetracked, but then I never actually said I would be doing a song by song concert review, y’all should know better than that by now. I was deeply impressed by this little ‘ol band from Texas, I always am. I was disappointed in others attending the concert, a giant shame on you goes out to them, I could count the kids I saw on one hand. First concert I have ever been to that there wasn’t a cross section of three to four generations of the people. How do we share our music with the up and coming generations if we don’t take our kids to concerts? ZZ Top has been playing since 1969, you cant tell me that the only people that want to see them live are the 40-60 crowd. Maybe next time right, maybe the next band right, maybe the next concert right? This is exactly how bands just fade away, we all know it. Anyway, just wanted to mention that, to each his/her own, because it was an outstanding show, one I know my son and future son in law will not soon forget, and nor will I. My son told me this morning he gets it now, music wasn’t meant to be heard through earbuds, its meant to be heard live and loud. Funny how one’s first concert can make one appreciate the efforts of great musicians. I could go on and on about music, but that’s not why you came today. See, just because I’m not writing much lately doesn’t mean I’m dead, just means I’m out living life to the fullest. So, no, my blog isn’t up for grabs, not yet at least. Thanks for all the great emails, texts, and comments, I plan on getting caught up real soon with some fantastic stories, some are even true. Remember everyone, take the earbuds out once in a while and enjoy this concert we call life.

7 Myths About Christmas Explained

One time each year, the world acts civilized for a few weeks. The “holiday” season brings out feelings and thoughts of goodwill and brotherhood in the masses, who would normally be at each other’s throats, for one reason or another. It’s a sad as shit commentary on the state of things that humans can set aside their differences and actually be nice to complete strangers, but just long enough to say “Happy Holidays” instead of Merry Christmas so nobody gets their their fucking panties in a knot.

I say Merry Christmas. Get over it.

Beginning on Black Friday, the day just after Thanksgiving, although it was on Thanksgiving day this year in the United States, the Christmas season is an officially open invitation for Americans to go on a retail feeding frenzy. As long as you’re not battling your way through the mall or other retail big box stores, someone will offer you good wishes for your holiday season. You may, however, be surprised by the number of widely held beliefs that are inaccurate, misinterpreted, or just plain wrong in regards to the Christmas season. Here’s a look at some of the most common Christmas holiday misconceptions, and how they came to be.

#1 Who Wrote “’Twas The Night Before Christmas”?

An anonymous New York resident submitted this well-known verse, “A Visit From St. Nick,” to the Troy Sentinel in 1823. Clement C. Moore, a local professor and poet, claimed it in 1836, though its structure and style matched none of his other published works. Another family in the area came forward to state that their patriarch had been reciting the poem to them each Christmas Eve since at least 1809. Many suspect that the verse came over with Dutch settlers, because of all the cultural references mentioned in the work. Regardless of its origins, the majority of people are familiar with this poem, but don’t have a clue who gets the credit for writing it or it’s actual origin.

#2 Are Real Christmas Trees A Fire Hazard?

Every year, of the millions of Christmas trees put up all over the world, only a small percentage of fires occur that can be traced back to shitty wiring. Generally, the problem is faulty or overloaded wiring, and not the actual tree, that is to blame. Fire safety experts advise that a real tree is no more hazardous than artificial trees, as long as people are “smart” and remember to keep it watered. But hey, we live in the land of blaming inanimate objects for short comings, why change and accept responsibility once a year. Safety? Fuck safety, we need more fucking lights! Right? Right.

#3 Was Jesus Born On December 25th?

Oddly enough, though bible scholars agree that Christ was more likely born in late Spring or early Autumn, many people still subscribe to the belief that Christmas day is the actual date of his birth. Too many seasonal signs in the scriptures point to the likelihood that he was born during a warmer time of the year. The presence of shepherds in the fields is one of the more blatant signs, but I’m just saying. Centuries later, the Roman Catholics were spreading Christianity to the far reaches of Europe, and trying to assimilate the masses of heathens by superimposing the Christian faith over the pagan traditions already in place. In an attempt to overshadow the pagan celebration of the Winter Solstice, one of Christianity’s more important holy days was intentionally scheduled for December 25th.

#4 Is Christmas The Most Important Christian Holiday?

It may be surprising for many people to discover that, while the celebration of the birth of Christ ranks high in the religious charts, in the eyes of theologians, it comes in second. The birth of the Son of God is an important earmark in history, but the more notable spiritual moment occurred when Christ’s divinity was proven – at his resurrection. Easter marks the historical point where Jesus stopped being a man, and became immortal, and religious scholars consider this the most important landmark in the Christian faith. Interesting enough, the actual date of Easter is also in question, as its springtime celebration coincides suspiciously with the pagan fertility ritual, Ostara, which is where we get Easter eggs and bunnies. Sneaky, huh?

#5 Did Three Kings Visit Jesus In The Manger?

The bible does not say anything about kings visiting Jesus, at any time during his childhood. Scripture states that three wise men followed an exceptionally bright star in the east, finding their way to the Son of God, and bestowing expensive gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. Since these alleged ‘wise men’ still believed in astronomical portents, and none of them had a Eurail pass, it is more likely that the magi caught up with Jesus around his first birthday. Centuries later, a mosaic in Ravenna, Italy, depicted the ‘gifts of the magi,’ and the names of the ‘three kings,’ Gaspar, Melchior, and Balthasar became part of this nativity myth and is still alive and kicking today.

#6 Is It Sacrilegious To Shorten Christmas To “X-Mas?”

The sad truth behind this myth simply illustrates how little modern Christians know about this holiday. Contrary to the belief that people who write “X-mas” are taking Christ out of Christmas, the habit of abbreviating the name is based on the Greek spelling of Christ, “Χριστός.” The Roman spelling also starts with an X. Entomologically, the argument could be made that people who write Christmas as X-mas are keeping the “Christ” in Christmas. This whole ‘X’ thing probably appeals to American rednecks, who can’t spell worth a shit, I know this personally.

#7 Are Santa Claus, Saint Nicolas And Father Christmas The Same Person?

The modern interpretation of Santa Claus, at least in America, is an amalgam of characteristics from several traditions; however, each of these traditions had very different points of origin.

Saint Nicolas was a Turkish bishop who, around the fourth century, dedicated his life to giving to the poor. He died on December 6th, so when the church canonized him, this date became St. Nicolas Day. In the 15th century, as attention focused back onto Christmas, and less on December 6th, Christians of that era wanted to keep the gift-giving tradition, and he became Father Christmas. The Dutch brought St. Nick to the New World, calling him sinterklaas. So, in America at least, Santa Claus is the modern representation of these varied cultures.

These widely held, but incorrect, beliefs don’t dampen the holiday spirits. It is more common these days for everyone to get their panties in a twist when someone says “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Holidays.” Let’s face facts, not everyone celebrates Christmas, but my family and I do, hope that doesn’t get anyone’s ass all chapped. In reality, those who don’t celebrate Christmas don’t offend me, to each his own, the end. Many of your neighbors celebrate Hanukkah, or Kwanza or some will even argue with you to say they are the real Christians who do not believe in Christmas. These days it’s not uncommon to find new age pagans and wiccans, celebrating the Winter Solstice. Count yourselves lucky that, despite your differences, total strangers are willing to extend you the tidings of peace, brotherhood, and goodwill. Considering the intolerance that is so common in the Christian faith and throughout the world, take what you can get from your non-Christian neighbors, and don’t make problems where there aren’t any.

Regardless, of how – or what – you celebrate, have a safe and Merry Christmas season, and a prosperous New Year. So, there you have it, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it, Merry Christmas from The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog.

Posted From Scorpion Sting’s Motorola Droid Maxx!

Having My Very Own Magic Weekend

To begin with, my wife and I don’t really celebrate Valentine’s Day in a traditional (commercial) way. For the most part is it just another day on the calendar that comes and goes with little to no notice. We tend to avoid all the typical things like flowers, candy, and fighting crowds to go out to eat. We both see it as a waste. We will exchange a card (sometimes) but if nothing is said, done, or acknowledged it isn’t dwelled upon by either of us. To be honest, we don’t need a “holiday” for us to get together in any regard. I had plans of making my special version of chicken cordon bleu and I was looking forward to our dinner plans since it was supposed to be just my wife and me. When I got home I was getting prepared to assemble the chicken, the wine was being chilled, and the oven was warming up. Soon after, my wife strolls through the door and tells me we have plans, so stop what I’m doing so we can get dressed. Plans? We don’t do “plans” on Valentine’s day, ever, not even when we were just dating. It’s hard to wear my pissy face when my wife is all excited. Well, let me put everything up so it doesn’t go to waste and turn off the oven for sure.

I follow her to the bedroom which was a pleasant trip because all the way to the bedroom she was shedding clothes. It was like a mobile strip tease. She puts on her robe, if you can call it a robe, sits down to redo her hair and make-up. I decided to jump in the shower to knock the day off and freshen up a bit. My wife isn’t worried because she knows I’m an in and out of the shower kind of guy so she knows I wont take long. Unless, she was to join me, the I’m still the in and out guy but the shower takes a little longer. But, not this time, this was a solo sudsing to say the very least. Five minutes later I emerged, squeaky clean and ready to rock & roll. She took the opportunity to lay my clothes out for me. When I saw what it was I was struck with a little disappointment because I knew what it meant. Laid out on the bed were my black Wrangler jeans, which I hate because they are too tight in the ass and crotch, leaving very little room to breathe normally. Next to the jeans was my red long-sleeved “western” shirt, a very nice shirt which I only wear when we are going out dancing at the redneck clubs. This night is taking a bad turn, I think I might be feeling ill. On the floor were my nice western boots, which I hadn’t worn since my foot surgery a few months ago. I really like these boots, I have had them for 20 plus years and cannot wear them out for nothing, but then it is hard to wear out alligator skin, these are black too, of course. She was wanting me to go all out I see as my black Stetson and nice black leather belt with the headstone belt buckle were also laying on the bed next to everything.

She goes into the closet and emerges with a handful of clothes which I didn’t get to see and she heads off to the bathroom. I proceeded to get dressed, getting all redneck pimped out for who knows what reason. It will be good though, we don’t go out, just her and I, much any more. Fifteen minutes later she slinks out of the bathroom looking like a stunning redneck angel, looking allot like the day we met so many years ago. Then she asked for my help, she needed me to lace up her leather corset for her and well as pull up the zipper on her pants. Strange, I like it the other way, unlacing and unzipping, but not tonight, she is on a mission I can tell. I’m surprised she is wearing these jeans, they are so tight that is she wasn’t shaven then we could count the short and curlys. Lucky for us she took care of business. These are my favorite jeans, they fit her like a latex glove that is 3 sizes too small. I remember buying these jeans a few years ago, she is a tricky one to buy jeans for as not all jeans conform to a woman’s body the same way for each woman. I never mind going jeans shopping because it is always a show that I don’t want to miss. For those of you new here, my wife is 5’1″, 108 lbs, natural blonde, and she is still very proud of her boobs because after 2 children and being forty years old now, she still has yet to start “drooping”. She told me once I will never have to be one of those husbands who spends tens of thousands of dollars on boob jobs for his wife.

So, due to the nature of her clothing she will be going commando all the way around, as the leather corset does not leave room for a bra. So, now the hard part, I get to put on her socks and her boots for her. I tried to teach her years ago to put the pants on half on way and then put her boots on before she pulls them all the way up. But, she likes it this way it would seem. Now that she is all buttoned, laced, and zipped, she moves back to the mirror to finish up with her hair. I’m a lucky man in many senses of the word, but I feel lucky personally because my wife wears very little make up, mostly eye make up and a little something to throw off the blend of color in her face. She decided to wear her hair down with is nice for me because I always see it up in a ponytail or up in some fashion. I tend to forget her hair is almost down to her ass because I rarely see it down. She’s up to something, she is trying to distract me from something, so I better watch closely so I don’t miss what it is. After a little bit more primping I brushed my teeth and wetted my hair down to stand it back up, a high and tight flat top is such a hard hair style to maintain said no man ever. Final look at both of us, grab my Stetson, and away we go. There she goes down the hall, what a sway she has after all these years, she has never lost it, I do enjoy watching her walk away from me.

As we are walking out the door she mentions she wants to go big and asks if we can take the H1. Sure why not, nothing like trying to squeeze this bitch into a compact car parking spot. I joked with her and told her to grab the butter because it might be a tight fit here in a bit. As we are leaving the neighborhood she is quiet about where we are headed which I hate when I’m driving because I like to know in advance where we are going. We head into town, she tells me where to turn and where to go and soon enough I knew what she was up to. We were fixing to head into a place I know real well as I used to bartend here many years ago, many years ago. Lucky for me they were providing valet parking so I wasn’t going to drive around the giant lot looking for a spot. I got out, went around to the passenger side to help my wife out, and turned to give my keys to this 12 y/o kid, well, he looked 12 at least. I’m thinking that I hope he is tall enough to reach the pedals as I chuckled out loud as we walked. We were greeted at the door by friends my wife works with, I knew this was a damn trap, and we all went in together. Bonus, ladies have no cover charge, bummer, men have a $25.00 cover, ouch. Bonus again, the attendant remembers me and she gives me a break for the promise that my wife will let me give her a dance later. My wife actually agrees to it. What she doesn’t know is she don’t want to dance with me, she wants to grind up and down my leg and if she hasn’t changed she wont be wearing a stitch under that super short mini skirt.

We get in and the freaking place is packed, like 1,000 people over the building capacity packed. I decided to go to the bar and see what I could scare up, we order our drinks and the bartender asks my wife for her I.D., so I had it in my shirt pocket show she showed it and put it back. The group of us made our way to the outside edge of the club and actually found a booth which held the six of us. It’s the perfect place to sit, close to the bar, close to the restroom, and close to the mechanical bull bar. I told my wife already that I would support her if she wanted to give it a spin but I refuse, those days are over for me, way over, years ago, way over. She gave me the “uh huh wink” so I knew we would be arguing later. The ladies all left to go take a powder or whatever the fuck they all do as a gang going to the restroom. Still, to this day, at 45, I don’t understand why it takes one woman at least two other women to pee. Maybe I’m missing something, maybe I need to start spying. Will I ever know the answer? Nope. I decided to go get in line to throw some darts, nothing mixes well better than alcohol and pointy object you get to throw. Man, don’t people move on with their lives, it was like seeing the same people from years ago, except they got a little fatter and gained a few more wrinkles. I lit a cigarette and laid my money on the table. How boring, playing 501 in and out. My wife located me and said she will be out dancing when I’m done, and don’t make her wait or she will grab some young buck and make him wet himself. Awww, she’s such a damn tease.

My turn at the dart board, luckily I went to the H1 and grabbed my darts. Time flies when you can’t lose. It wasn’t because I’m that good, it is because they sucked that much ass. Made me look good and put a little money in my pocket. The last game a cocky sucker wanted a rematch because he felt he had been cheated because he “runs” these dart boards and he “owns” every bitch who steps up. Well, shit, nobody told me I had to ask permission to beat someone’s ass here. Fine, it’s my last match because I had a wanting women giving me the evil eye every dart I threw. Step up, put down some money. After some really big talk, by both of us, the bet was settled, $1000.00 winner takes all, best of three games. I showed my wad, coincidently that wad belonged to the others I beat here since I walked in with only a hundred to throw down for darts. Bam, Bam, I owned and dominated the first two games, no questions and no problems. I picked up my money and walked off to get another shot of tequila on my way to the dance floor. Lets hope I can remember how to dance now, maybe another shot of liquid courage, or three, yeah, four was the magic number. Dance we will, look out ladies, fresh meat coming through. A crowded dance floor full of horny drunk women is a place I would rarely walk alone, but I had to muster though the groping, grinding, and package checks to get to my wife, who always likes the center of the dance floor.

By the time I got to her I was already sweating, what is it in her 666 degrees! Then the world went into slow motion the moment I was in front of my wife, she had sweat rolling down the sides of her face, she was glistening, he hair was all tossed about, and she was just going to town, she had that just fucked put away wet look, this is going to be a good night to be me I can feel it already. We danced, we danced allot, finally after an hour or so, all those shots were talking to my bladder, it was time to make a break for the head before they had to clean a mess up on the dance floor and wet saw dust is so hard to sweep. I seemed like an hour to get off the dance floor, I could see the giant sign that said “<—- Cowboys Cowgirls —>” in bright neon lights, I was really close. Finally, I made it in just enough time to stand in line. The line moved fast enough, if molasses in the winter in North Dakota is fast, and finally I get in to go. Saying what a relief it actually was would be the understatement of the century, I haven’t had to hold it in like that since I was about 6 and never what to have to do it again. Okay, let me the hell out of this zoo before I get anymore wayward drunk piss on my boots, I hate it when a man can’t even have the common courtesy to piss on his own boots, he has to piss on mine. Now that I’m out I am trying to see which direction I need to head, got it, time to start pushing through. About 15 feet from the rest room I feel a hellacious crash to the back of my head, I fall forward to catch myself, turn around, and see the jackass that lost all of his money because he sucked playing darts.

I was told it was one great fight. I was told I held my own quite well against this 20 something punk. Luckily for me, as I was told, I won’t need any medical attention, and I won’t be going to jail if the police can locate my wife in the club. The dumbass, however, gets a trip in the ambulance and then will be headed to jail. Apparently, all of his boys ratted him out when they were talking to witnesses where he had said he was going to kill me if I didn’t give his money back. I love redneck clubs! Within 30 minutes my wife was walking up to the police cruiser where I was sitting. How nice, she has my Stetson. No words were spoken. No looks were given. Just a soft hand held out to help me out of the back seat of the car. The valet asked if we were ready to go and I said of course. He returned with my H1 and I put my wife in and I got in. Hungry, we went across the street to IHOP to get a snack or something. We sat there, staring at each other for a few minutes when she finally asked if it was worth it. Worth it? Was what worth it? I dug the two grand out of my pocket and put it in her hand and told her the guy was a sore loser and wanted his wad back. Her head sunk for a moment and when she looked back up she told me that this would have been a piss poor reason to get killed in the redneck club, she said this with a slick little smirk on her face because she thought the little fight was over something else stupid, like me running my mouth. Me, never.

We wrapped it up, paid the tab, and headed home. It was about 3 in the morning, I was tired, really sore, and I just wanted to be free of the meat locker jeans. After undressing, I jumped in the shower to soak a bit. A little while passed and I open my eyes to my wife standing in front of me as the shower rained down. She reached out, put her arms around me, pulled me tight, told me she is glad I’m not dead, and we stood there and soaked for a good while. Afterwords we both toweled off and headed for the bedroom. I told her I would be back in a few minutes since I was headed outside to smoke. She agreed, declined my invitation to join me, and off I went. I smoked two, locked up, got a drink of water, killed the lights, and ended up in front of our bed. It was a vision of an angel, the lights were on, the television was on, and my naked wife was sprawled out across the bed sideways. As tempting as this might all look, it was probably best, she looked tired, amazing, but tired, I was sore from my ass whoopin’, so I just fixed her in the bed and was out within a matter of minutes. When I woke up the next morning I realized I just had my very own Magic Weekend and figured I would have a go at telling my story. I remember now, that moments like these don’t happen on purpose, nor does everyone get to be as lucky as I am having the wife I have. She might not always agree with me but she will always be at my side, even if she is passed out cold bare assed naked.

Happy Thanksgiving To One And All

We Love To Hate The Ones We Love