My current attitude towards facebook and other pointless endeavors summed up in a single photo.

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I love Iron Man and many of the other Marvel films.

The appeal is obvious—aside from wishing we were genius billionaire philanthropists—there are times when we wish we could take matters into our own hands; to be a lone gun-slinger, dispensing our own brand of justice or seeking retribution. Alas, until “civilization” slides a little farther into the abyss, or we have nothing left to lose, we must  settle for watching others wreak vengeance in film and video games; living vicariously through them. But oh how we wish sometimes. . .

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Lost in the Wilderness: Part 3

A “living the dream” in the North Country rant.

Do you know why most tall strong men are gentle giants? If we weren’t, there would be none of you mouthy little f-ckers left! It must be wonderful to be five-foot-six and sixty-five years of age or more, and be able to say anything to anyone without there being much of a chance of getting a badly needed wrap in the teeth.

Here is the background dirt I dismissed, AS I ALWAYS DO, as gossip. People who gossip are usually a waste of skin, but in this case they were relaying accurate information. I believe you should judge people by their actions rather than what you HEAR. Some people are trying to change and improve. I am someone who encourages those who SEEM to be making the attempt. I have hired ex-cons, reformed alcoholics, and former drug users, and some made the transition back to productive members of society. Some did not.

My former neighbor has a small horse farm he runs on a pension. He is a total country boy. He was born here and he will die here. He traps, hunts, has a vegetable garden, mills lumber, and slaughters his own livestock—a very self-sufficient guy. These are traits I admire. I have hired him on several projects and found him to be reliable and hard-working. I have been invited to his yearly barn party that was a very “rural” thing to do, while not really my thing. When he had a heart problem, I offered any assistance I could give.

I had heard alleged reports of spousal and animal abuse. A good friend said simply: “He’s an a–hole.”, though I never knew the reason. I do know he has children who never visit. I recall he was always grumpy, even twenty-five years ago when I first encountered him at a local bar’s pool table. He was a bad loser who would get angry and leave without uttering a word that might have gotten him knocked out. It was that kind of place.

He exhibited the classic Napoleon complex—possibly abused, probably picked on or bullied, and unhappy his entire life at the hand he was dealt.

A couple of years ago when he was stressed about his health issues, he had been snarly with me. I let it pass because he is much smaller and too old for someone like me to bother with.

Strike one called.

Recently, I introduced a young friend to our little Napoleon to get some chainsaw chains sharpened; bringing him still more business. A couple weeks later, the same young friend had brokered a house trailer sale between his client and Napoleon. His client, whose wife was in hospital with terminal cancer, asked us to retrieve some blankets from the trailer which had sentimental value so off we went to Napoleon’s to get the keys. When I asked if we could get the keys to retrieve some items, he flatly said NO. I asked if he was kidding to which he replied NO and told me to F-CK OFF as he closed the door on us.

We left, a little stunned by what had transpired. My young friend was enraged. I was still in a state of disbelief. My rage would bubble up later. I explained to my young friend that this little twerp would gladly involve the police were he to do anything, and any judge who saw the age and size difference would not rule in his favour.

I was the voice of reason for a change.

I, on the other hand, am only ten or so years younger than Napoleon, but would not consider pounding him into the ground like a tent peg for the same reasons. I explained he is likely a sociopath, and punching him out will not fix his condition.

Strike two called.

I know the readers were hoping for the strike three call to see what I would do, but we will ALL have to wait to find out. Even I am not sure what I might do. I may be writing that segment from a prison cell.

What do we do in our tolerant and overly-policed society with a provocative prick who uses his small size, age, and the law to run his mouth, and who is such a piece of shit that he would keep f-cking blankets from a dying cancer patient?

I got nuthin’.

WE CAN ONLY HOPE KARMA IS A REAL THING.