Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Frank Bank, Actor, “Lumpy” on “Leave It To Beaver”, Dies – Boomers in Mourning



Well, an obscure actor from a family sitcom from the nineteen fifties died the other day. Word leaked out to the Boomers from Jerry Mathers’ Facebook Page. 

Jerry played the little moron tyke nicknamed “Beaver” in the so-called family comedy show "Leave It To Beaver" in the late fifties and early sixties when America was supposed to be innocent but reality must have been more really like a captive family in a Mormon like fascist small town, whites only, enclave.

Frank Bank played "Lumpy" aka Clarence, a rather overweight dumb kind of teenage friend of Beaver’s older teenage brother Wally. Though dumb and the likely object of bullies, Lumpy seemed more like the bully type off screen with his size and height and may have been the reason Wally let him hang around his crowd in high school.

It is all rather bizarre to explain the TV show to foreigners and or a British audience where I believe that Beaver means something else and is the name of a once famous Playboy like magazine called Beaver. Whatever.

The boomers think it is news. And for the majority of them as “nones” in religion, the passing of a fellow traveler brings them all too soberly to the realization that the end is near for that crowd of aging Americans.

I never knew what Ward the father did for a living. He worked in an office with Lumpy’s father who may have been Ward’s equal or superior in that office. Which is another reason why Wally and Beaver had to perhaps be kind to the dumb son of the local stake bishop etc.

Beaver’s mother was a stay at home mom and wore high heels and pearls as she dusted her house and was forever serving roast beef and mashed potatoes to her boys and husband at dinner. 

June only made meatloaf when Beaver's little fat dumber than he friend Larry came over to dinner and put carrots in the meatloaf because he hated carrots. It was June's way of saying to Larry that he might not be welcome or of an equal class to the Cleaver family?

June never spoke when her husband spoke and differed to his wisdom distributed around the dining room table. 

I think that Mitt Romney comes to mind when I think of Ward in his non-job and his temple crony co-workers sitting in an office overlooking the local town square and I think there only real job was to spy strangers on that town square within view and report them to the sheriff or the local militia/John Birch society. Report the dark strangers especially, if you know what I mean, wink, nod.

For all you third world globals now being subjected to the sixty year old tapes of "I Love Lucy" comedies as stage one of the American colonization process, be forewarned. 

If you or your family watches "Leave It To Beaver", your wife and children will be turned into pillars of salt. Or worse, you will become a dumbed clone version of A-merican non-culture through "entertainment".

As for Frank, I read that he was a gambler and a financial consultant and lived the good life after Beaver. Escaped Beaver Town so to speak.

Of course there is no control over how the dogs tear up and rip your bones apart after you are dead and consume you. 

Especially when the Boomers need your life story to comfort them in the Lame Stream Media.

That’s Life. That’s Show Business. That’s Hollywood. LOL






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Monday, April 8, 2013

Dancing in the Streets of Britain at word of Death of Margaret Thatcher, Corportist Tool and General all Around Political C*nt




The Victimized Working Class of Britain awoke today to hear of the death of Margaret Thatcher and to start a nationwide party of celebration in response.

Rumors that Ronald Reagan's cadaver will be dung up to attend Maggie's State Funeral at St. Paul's Cathedral.  

Rumors of a Margaret Thatcher Zombie lookalike wandering around in Brighton. LOL















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Friday, August 1, 2008

the great dark



A great dark bird (B-1)
circles above.

It is hard to ignore as I
approach and park, then go
do a late day routine.

Lines in the desert seem
more crisply defined with
clear blue sky overhead.

Black silhouette
against electric blue
is hard to miss.

Driving here everyday sees
training flights all the time
as they round the city.

Oddly comfortable,
a nation’s ready defense
against who or what
I sometimes wonder.

My errand is done.

The image returns as
I start up the car and
look through the windshield.

The great dark bird
continues to fly.

It casts large shadows
while it coasts on solar winds
slowly maneuvering near
its unseen home mountain
(Davis Monthan Air Force Base).

This while four young chicks,
training jets in standard gray,
(not the usual A-10’s)
keep careful speed and distance
to the mother bird.

This all, with nearby
afternoon football play
in a still green autumn park.

Long shadows, fading sun.
A warmth of Sol on the face.

Driving away from the park
and daycare retrieval
I notice (and am part of)...

The great dark’s spread
of larger wings,
casting its personal shadow
on us, my son and me,
as it seemingly glides to conquer
near ground in landing.
over a house as horizon line.

Momentary illusion, partaking
interrupted by reality and
a sobering thought.

The cost overruns had
nothing to due with grace
or beauty.

Haunting end day images
mix with Oppenheimer’s
Hindu recitation. – echo
“ I am become death...
...a shatterer...”

(be not death! I reply)

Where there is life, there is God.

Power. Power.
A dropped egg?

Potential death.
There or here?

Hopeful design
never (a prayer)
to be fulfilled.


(11-29-95, Tucson)
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