Yes folks.... The IR back again with the latest and greatest from Iraq... but in this case, Iraq takes a sideline. My dad, as those of you know, cashed in this past month, and truthfully, it's been a bitch for the ole Intrepid Reporter to have much to say... those who know me have been in shock, and many have emailed me asking "What the fuck?"... well I'm here to tell you, the verbal abuse I had was directly influenced by the Old Man, and in his passing, I just have had one hell of a time being able to write. Call it the "Death of my Muse/Father." Dad didn't teach me much to be honest...his athletic skills rated right up there with a retarded child in a wheelchair and the only things he ever really taught me how to do, as well as FedBro (my baby brother) was how to drive and shoot, and most improtantly, how to WRITE.
Thusly, its a motherfucker to try and capture the moment, but thankfully due to lugubrious amounts of liquid mind lubricant (Smirnoff 100 proof) that I'm now capable of formulating a coherent thought. The title of this blog is "Rebel Rouser." This is a Duane Eddie classic rock song that, since the Old Man cashed, has been my 'monument' to him in that, as a child of the 50's, Dad LOVED Duane Eddie, and the music that was produced. Every time I start getting ripped, I play it, and hoist one for the Old Man, and hopefully, somehwhere, he's smiling, and if we're lucky, he's hoisting right along side of me.
The othe reason for this post, well... truthfully, one of the few things that was passed on to me, well, as stupid as it sounds, was his ability with a Zippo. Yep. The Old Man, being a child of the "smoking generation" was the ability to manipulate a Zippo Lighter like a fucking Ninja with Nunchucks. I was getting plastered about 15 minutes before this (truth being I'd been getting hammered all night) but the realization that I had my "Countries INC" lighter (Zippo, type one each) and was flipping it, whipping it, and generally doing what would be considered 'bar tricks' with it, whe it hit me, "Hey... here's another thing the Old Man taught me."
Once I realized it, it was like a ephiphani. Dad, being a "Doctor of Some Literary Rupute" (published in like 60 languages and 148 countries), that his true worth was more to me in his day-to-day things that, at the time, seemed minor, but now have a great impact. I'm a ninja master of the Zippo because of him. And it's something, being that my baby bro has never nor EVER will be a smoker, is sort of a 'secret club member' with him. I mean my baby bro ALWAY had cars with Dad, and I was barely a motorhead to say the least, but having this ONE thing that was shared to me, well Hell, its special. Iknow to those of you you who are out there say "So fucking what?", but to me, the ability to one-hand-snap-and-light has new meaning to me, and now, ya'll can look forward to more postings, as I think I've now buried the demons of the past behind me.
Best Regards until my next, I remain, the Intrepid Reporter