One more for my mob!

That's right, brethren... tonight we welcome a new member to the fold. Say "Howdy" to Mike Suczinski, or as we call him around here, Mr. S. Admit it, it's easier to say, let alone spell...

Mike is one of our Poker regulars and one hell of a wood worker. He's the guy who built the beer trap featured on our "Trapped Like A Trap In A Trap" CD and for that major accomplishment, he earned the title of Yeoman. Okay, so it's a medieval title, but if you've ever seen Mike's shop, you'd know that medieval titles kinda fit him... very well. Mike is also the genius behind our monthly Gnome Shoots, some of which are available on YouTube. He is also responsible for the only two gnomes to survive more than an hour at my house: my Raider gnome (what a loser... sob...) and my Crazy Bill gnome, he of the upraised middle finger, manic glare and combat shotgun. Think of it as kind of a "Statue of Dorian Donohue," only without that cessation of aging thing, dammit!

Welcome to the asylum, Mike!

Bill

HUZZAH!!!

There's good news tonight! Ray came through the operation in great shape! The doc said he was able to get all the cancer out without affecting any major nerves or body functions. The surgical team did move some of Ray's pectoral muscle to his neck, but at last report, we won't be calling Ray "Nipple Neck" any time soon...

Thanks to all of you who prayed for Ray and helped make this operation a success!

And now I believe it's time for a celebratory drink! Uh... like it isn't time for that most any time around here...

HUZZAH!!!

Bill

A Very Important Day

Today is a very important day... in more ways than one, even though they all have one central point: my friend, Ray.

Those of you who know me (and considering that there's only 3 or 4 readers of this damn thing limits that number to 1 or 2) know how important my music is to my life. Hell, if it wasn't for my band and the guys in it, I'd be somewhere up in the hills of Idaho right now, talking to myself (okay, I do that now... ), drinking copious amounts of Bushmill's (okay, I do that now, but I'm working on it... really... ), and doing one hell of a lot of long distance shooting with my arsenal (okay, note to self: must do this more... sans whiskey and self-discussion.). Yeah, the band is that important... and yet, that's just a minor point of why Ray is so important.

I've been playing in bands with Ray for damn near 15 years now. To put it bluntly, he's the best damn drummer I ever played with: fluid, on time, creative... the list goes on and on. But that's not the main point...

The point is (now THERE's an original segue... ) that Ray's also been one of the best, if not THE best, friend I've ever had. I could go on and on about all the great times (and really shitty times) we've had, but then you'd get bored, I'd get maudlin, then I'd get Bushmill's and then I'd miss work tomorrow... not a good thing. Let's just say that Ray is THE MAN. Oh, I could tell you about the time a good friend in the military sent me 2 liters of good German beer and what happened after, or the time Ray took a header in the parking lot of a club we'd just played at, and what happened after, or the time Ray started calling himself "The Flagler" and why... and what happened after, but I digress...

The main reason today is a very important day is that my best bud Ray is going under the knife today for cancer. Yeah, Ray beat lymphoma (which took Joey Ramone and others from us), but some damn melanoma got under his skin and gave him a tumor (which we nicknamed "Lumpy"), which is being excised today. The operation ain't gonna be an easy one, and there's a chance Ray could get really fucked over by it (loss of arm movement, loss of facial gestures, etc... ), but what really matters is that Ray survives. I can't even begin to imagine my life without Ray Gilligan in it. I could hang with Ray not being able to play, but I can't hang without hearing Ray say "Hey Homocidal, what's going on?"

So here's what I'd like all four or five of you to do: pray for Ray. Pray that he comes through this well. Pray that my best friend gets to keep on living (and hopefully playing).

Cuz that's what I'm doing...

False flag op or Psycho drugs gone wrong?

My condolences to everyone affected by the Fort Hood shootings. It does raise the question, though: was this a false flag op planned by Obongo, or was this just some sick fuck who's been on psychotropic drugs all his life? There are those who will say he did it because he's a Muslim, but that's wearing kinda thin nowadays. Yeah, some of those guys go ballistic the minute you refuse to believe that they have the one true god, but that doesn't ring true here.

If he was on the juice, then that fits right in with all the assholes that shot up their schools, which is a huge indictment on the psychiatric machine. Bad JuJu!

And if it's a false flag op, well then gang, it looks like the shit is getting ready to hit the fan... which is something I've been saying for some time now.

I pray all of you are safe and prepared (you can't have one without the other), and I hope the good Lord keep you safe in these "interesting" times.

Now, there's a bottle of Bushmill's calling my name... how it knows me is anybody's guess, but my guess is that it knows exactly what it's doing... just like the fuckers who are trying to ruin the great American Republic...

Bill

Woohoo! Two apostles...

Well folks, it's been a while since I've been out here (now that I'm working, I'm no less pissed off, but finding the energy to rant is kinda tough...), but tonight there is reason to celebrate! Tonight the ranks of the Undead Lizard Army has swelled by 100%! Oops... sorry about the Gazuga reference, but...

It seems one other kindred soul has been reading the blog and has decided to join. Please welcome ParaPacem (which is Latin... figure it out and win a prize...) to our ranks. Okay, two followers and two or three other guys who read this is hardly "ranks," but even the longest journey starts with a single step. So...

I've actually read some of Para's stuff (you don't mind if I call you Para, do you?) before, as he reads and comments on a couple of the blogs that I do on a daily basis (Sipsey Street, baby!) and he seems to have his head screwed on right. Plus, the man looks kinda like Gazuga... if you forget the fact that he ain't 900 feet tall and doesn't have red fur and three eyes... but beggars can't be choosers, right gang (Note to self: 4 or 5 guys ain't a gang... must redo the math... or something)?

Anyway, welcome ParaPacem to Gazuga's Gazette! Please feel free to comment on any and every thing you read out here. I enjoy debate, since it fills those empty moments between breaths and beers. Besides, if there's at least two of us out here who think like I do (and that doesn't mean Frank doesn't, except he likes wrestlers...), that means we get double the bang for our buck... or euro... or junk silver.

Okay, now I'm back to the Prohibition Ale, which is pretty damn good. We have made progress tonight, uh... guys... now if there were just more of us...

Burp!
Bill

A Call To Arms... or at least, to fingers...

Okay, I'm a whore... All I've got is booze, a bad attitude, and a ton of lettuce, which I'll now throw against the wall in an inept attempt (now there's a band name!) to garner readership. Hell, I've even called in all my favors from guys who've known me for years to get them to get into this blog thing. And hopefully, you'll hear from them... at least once, any way, as they publicly deny all knowledge of me... but that's okay.

The longest voyage starts with a single footstep... that, and a reminder to go to the bathroom before we get in the car.

I've pissed, I am pissed and I'm in the damn car, dammit! Let's get this show rolling...

Cuz otherwise, it's just me and Frank... and he likes wrestlers...

Frank (or someone like him...) writes back!

I'm very pleased to say that Frank Rizzo (not his real name... or maybe it is...) has written back in response to my last rant. This in itself is good news! It means that, a: someone cares enough to write; b: someone actually reads the shit I write; or c, Frank is truly bored and from Canukistan, where folks either respond to blogs or murder everyone stuck in the ice-fishing cabin with them at the time. Personally, I'm holding out for Choice C, but only because there's something about a blood-spattered keyboard in an ice-fishing cabin that appeals to me.

Why? I don't know... my personal keyboard is usually spattered with Bushmill's and snot... I'm not sure if the two are related. Frank also relates that he's fond of wrestling... and I won't hold that against him. When I was y0ung (and that was back when we had dinosaurs for pets), I really liked The Legion of Doom. Hey, any group of people that can say "Good for us, bad for you." and mean it, are alright with me. While I don't hold much with Frank's choice of cool wrestler, he's free to worship the overly steroided Cro-Magnon of his choice. Hopefully, it's just a fan thing... hopefully...

The good news is that Frank doesn't appear to be an ATF or FBI plant... which is good news during these trying times. I figure these Nazi fucks have better things to do than respond to this hard-rockin', hard-drinkin', hard hallucinatin' idiot's blog... although paranoia can be a beautiful thing... if you're armed to the teeth... and I am... but y'all knew that.

Y'all? There's just me and Frank, for Christ's sake! And I can't trust him... he's from Canuckistan! THERE'S ONLY TWO OF US! WE'RE TRULY FUCKED!!!

Okay, back to "normal..." Frank, thanks for reading and responding. You made my day. Now I'll make yours by telling you not to take any flu shot and to start storing lots of long shelf life foods in your house... that, and ammo... oh... wait... you're not allowed guns in Canuckistan...

Sorry, dude!

Bill