Saturday, May 31, 2014


     I first started living in Oregon about 1975. I first lived in the Columbia River George, in a tiny town called Coopey Falls. Then in a couple of years, I moved to Lincoln City, which is where I first heard about the Weiser Idaho Old Time Fiddlers Contest. Being a multi- instrumentalist that I was, along with the raring to go on any road trip, at the drop of a hat, propelled me into sacrificing my normal comfort zone by traveling as a passenger, with my lady friend in her VW van. I was so used to the height of my Chevy van's doors, that I banged my head on the top of the VW door frame, way too many times. You could say I took my lumps on this trip.
     Upon arriving in Weiser, it was certain that the party was on. People were in the streets, the bars were overflowing, tons of bikes were parked along the streets and the whole town was a buzz. We immediately went to find a place to set up camp. This place was called Mortimer's Island. There were campers, converted school buses, tents and vans everywhere. We settled in and took a well needed break from the very long drive we had just taken, when I noticed that one of my close neighbors was getting his fiddle out. I immediately grabbed my guitar and we started to jam. Holy smoke and I do mean smoke, this guy was taring up the fiddle like no one I had ever heard or played with before. He was able to ad-lib and embellish notes and moves to my compositions as if we had played together all of our lives. We became musical soul mates within minutes. For the next week we partied and jammed so much, that my fingers were bleeding from the hours of torturous abuse. My right thumb was shredded from the constant friction I had put it through. When your playing and you can't stop playing, because the music is so fuckin awesome and you are willingly suffering through it, so as to complete the tune perfectly, well.....,this is masochistic surrender. The music outweighs the pain and takes precedence over anything that can possibly interrupt it. This initial meeting, was the foundation of the story I am about to tell you. My new friend's name that he went by was Fingers The Fiddler. I came from the Oregon coast and he, from Utah, only to meet for the first time at Weiser, Idaho. By chance, our first meeting.
      After partying and preforming in some incredible jams and taking my music to new heights, it was time to go back to the Oregon coast. Sadly we parted ways but left each other our addresses so we could meet again. I was even invited to his wedding, but was never able to make it to Utah, to attend. We lost track of each other and for years all I could think about, was how I had finally found that person that was a perfect match for my musical style and that now, I had no idea where he lived, or if I would ever see, or join forces playing music with him again. After the tank had been filled, would the vehicle ever start again? Time marches on.
     During the next five years, I traveled all over the west and was in Santa Cruz, California for the very first time. I cruised downtown for a while and noticed that allot of young people were carousing about the storefronts and playing music and dancing colorfully, in this college town full of hippie types. Lots of tie-dyes. This was my style of action, so I randomly grabbed a T-shirt and was off to seek out and enjoy. I came upon a group of pickers and strummers, just getting down, on their prospective instruments. I stopped and listened with open ears and was impressed with the talent of this red headed mandolin player. The song that they were playing came to a crescendo and as the music stopped, this red headed stranger looked up at me and said these incredible words, " Do you know Fingers?..... "A bright light came on in my mind. I asked him, "You mean Fingers? Fingers the fiddler? You bet I know him." My mind was racing with memories of Weiser. Could this possibly be?  His response blew my mind so wide open, that my brains were temporarily scattered all over the universe. Upon collecting my thoughts back together, he then said, that Fingers lived just down the street and was having a birthday party. Apparently, when I had randomly chose a T-shit to wear, I chose my Weiser Idaho, Old Time Fiddlers Contest T-shirt and this is what he stared at while he was playing. The art design of guitars, fiddles and mandolins, displayed on the front of the shirt, propelled him into asking me the question, did I know Fingers? Over the years, Fingers had talked largely and told stories of our musical interlude in Weiser, Idaho and Woody, the mandolin player, was one of the interested recipients, of one of these stories. So putting all of these coincidences together, is what lead him to speaking the magic words that reunited me and my long lost musical soul-mate. ( Do you know Fingers? )
      We took off immediately and arrived at the house where Fingers was having his 26th birthday party. "Happy birthday!" I spoke with my eyes wide and my face aglow. What a shock to find me at his door, a supernova of excitement was bursting on the scene. The reuniting of two wizzzing asteroids in the same galaxy, retroactively seeking to burst into space and go play our musical hearts out. We shook off the shock and were ready to rock! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! We grabbed our instruments and were off to the plaza to blow minds. We played and played and played some more in celebration of our cosmic reunification. A complete stranger, in a place that I had never been, asking me an amazing question, that I'll never forget, "( Do you know Fingers? )" This incredible moment in time, would change our lives forever. Two musical entities, colliding in space and time, only to create an amazing array of musical power, stretching out like a supernova of beautiful musical melodies, throughout the universe. This was an amazing moment in time, but there is another amazing moment that lye ahead, that would blow minds even further, into an infinitesimal place where our minds cannot fathom reality, one far beyond the grasp of our imagination. One that defies the odds.

      To be continued, my friends, stay tuned        Wizzzmo

Wednesday, May 28, 2014


   I'm the world's 2nd worst procrastinator, I'm not fighting you for the first spot, that's yours. But if you want to help us celebrate our grammed opening of our store in cyberville, you better make plans to be at Alberta St. May 29th and that's tomorrow. It's time for last Thursday, it's here. Our stroll down the center of the street will begin around 6;30 pm. Come join in the festivities, featuring sexy voodoo goddesses, giant bubble blowing, fireballs, masks, walking sticks, drums and Wizzzmo's newly acquired serpent staff, rescued from an ancient abandoned lair in a place that time forgot. Don't miss this artful spectacle, that I have been waiting to unveil. See you tomorrow my friends and don't procrastinate, you know who you are.

     Be there or be square my friends        Wizzzmo

Tuesday, May 27, 2014


     While spending all my summers up in Brewster, I seemed to get into allot of harmless mischief. I don't know if it was who I was hanging out with, or who was hanging out with me, that was the influence that ruled the tides. Whoever it was don't even matter, but this time, it was my friend Chicky.
     On this particular summer day we were cruising the neighborhood around Lake View Manor, a section of the lake where we all met, played music and went swimming. The road dead ended not too far down from the clubhouse, in heavy swampland, where nobody ever went. The only people you would normally see down there, were usually the numbered few, that lived down the dead end road. It was getting dark, just toward the tail end of dusk, when we drove by what seemed to be two young lovers making out in a car. They also had Connecticut license plates. They were in strange territory and we were just the rascals to mess with there heads. I had recently been having a great time terrorizing different victims with my red cop light, that had a suction cup on the bottom of it, so as it could stick to my roof. We knew that we would be able to scare the crap out of them, if we came down the dusky road with all lights flashing, so that's what we did. We came to an abrupt stop and proceeded to approach the two innocent victims. They thought they were in trouble, as they remained frozen in there car. The front window was open and I was the first to approach the young couple. I said in a deeper than normal authoritative voice, "you know that your not allowed to be here and that your parked illegally in a no parking zone?" Me and Chicky could hardly hold back our laughter, while these two kids were taking us seriously and thinking they were in deep shit. We didn't even come close to resembling cops. In fact we were giggling so much, that to my surprise, when I figured that they had to know by now, that we were joking, I stuck out my hand, in a give me skin opened palm position, but instead of getting a slap on the palm, the guy said nervously, while shaking, "Da, do you wa want my license?" Holy smoke! This guy started fumbling around, trying to find his wallet. This was way more than we had hoped for and started laughing our asses off, totally out of control. We then went back to my car and sped off, up the road and out of sight. We couldn't stop laughing, my ribs were hurting, from laughing so hard. Two pranksters getting more than they could have imagined. What a gas being young and carefree and a little mischievous too, I guess.

    Stay young my friends        Wizzzmo

Sunday, May 25, 2014


     Of coarse we have The Rolling Stones. Who said it's hard for a rock to role? These stones just keep on rolling and have gathered no moss. Stop! No mas. Then we have sugalite also known as luvalite. I've called it the lawyer stone, because the beginning of the word sounds like sued ya. Then there is that blue stone called azurite. This is the Italian stone, because it sounds like az-aw-right. At least it's all right with me. Then, once in Tucson I went around asking for nugalite, I really got ripped when I found some too! Hey! What about that meteor stone moldavite, another stoner stone. This squinty eyed stone has squinty eyes for a reason and it's really down to earth. Down under. Then there is the dog stone, labradorite, it's bight has no bark. That's bad, so bad it's malachite, green with envy. Getting thirsty my friends, there's always sodalite, without bubbles I'm afraid, for all you seltzer addicts out there. When you only owe a little, it's Iolight. Does it pay to get Iolite? Only when you owe allot. Then for all you babies and men, believe it or not there is titanite. I'm not playing you for a sucker, there really is a stone called titalite, for all you breast feeders and tit lovers out there, this is your stone. being a sucker ain't so bad after all, you might say. Then there is stone doubt. For those people that don't think they can get stoned, but wonder if they should try to, I would suggest that they try some before they are the last people in doubt.
     I must be searching for something in this blog, but I don't know what it is, so I'm out of here. wizzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..........

     Stay stoned my friends                   Wizzzmo

Friday, May 23, 2014


     I was just thinking deeply into a kush enhanced idea earlier. Check this out. I-phones are rectangular and do not fit the structure of the human hand comfortably, not enough for my hand. Dropping them is too common, due to the shape of what they feel is right for you, the public. Well........, I beg to differ with these giant corporations, I think the I-Phone, should be shaped like an eye. My eye, your eye, I-eye yi yi. You know. It would fit your hand more naturally than the old rectangular phone. It would make the clumsy phones we have now obsolete. It would have a perfect marketing name, that would make this phone's sales skyrocket beyond our galaxy. It would monopolize all sales on this planet. It's.,;,',;,.,;',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,; THE EYE-PHONE ! Well........,whata you think? Do the eyes have it? All in favor, say aye.

     Good night my friends                       wizzzmo

Thursday, May 22, 2014


   I've seen a lot of fantastic and unusual things in my life, but this nighttime display of light on water was one for the books.
   I was attending a barter fair up in N.E. Washington, above Spokane, in a beautiful and majestic setting, just right where the Columbia River enters the U.S.A. on the Canadian border. This barter fair was known as the Northport Barter Fair. I was a regular at this yearly event, which took place on the first or second weekend of October every fall and I was also in charge of the music and entertainment this year. The rains were dowsing the meadow and plateau, which was full of vendors trying to make trades and hopefully get some cash, to at least cover their expenses for gas and food. Everybody was hunkering down waiting for the torrential rain to subside. The rain had been falling for many hours and was putting a real damper on this long awaited event. It was about one o'clock in the morning and mostly everyone was crashed and snoring zzzzz's in dreamland. I was wide awake with some fairgoers, playing guitar and stoning out on some good harvest buds, when the massive wall of water, we had been dealing with for most of the day, abruptly stopped. I watched this water wall go across the open range, where everyone resided in makeshift structures, tents and teepee's. The multi-ringed barter circle was vast this year and was visually unfolding right before my eyes, as the sharply defined clearing slowly moved on. In this drop-free clearing, at the same time that I was watching it's movement, the brightest full moon that I ever saw, appeared from behind the distant mountain. The extremely, almost blinding bright moon, as it was shining on the wall of water, created a colorless rainbow in the middle of the circle. Fantastic! WOW! I had never seen anything like this visual phenomena in all my extensive travels and experiences. I'm sure glad that I was still awake to witness this once in a lifetime event, for my love of the earth and all it's wonders goes deep into the core of my bones and is rooted in my feet. All the shape of a rainbow, but colorless. Just a white, bright, projection of the moon's light on a solid water screen, an arc for the ages.

     Stay thirsty my friends           Wizzzmo

Wednesday, May 21, 2014


   Those were the good old days, when my Mom and Dad stayed down the city, where we lived and left me the key to the downstairs converted basement  apartment, in the house we owned in Brewster, our country home. Yea, those were good days. I had a bunch of different friends that I would let stay and party at my place. I'd wake up in the morning and the place was always clean. The female section of our group, which included girls about the same age as my sister, but younger than me, showed their thanks by keeping it that way, so they were welcome anytime. It was a small tight group of young adults and teenagers and we all looked out for each other while experimenting with various drugs that were popular at the time. We played music and all enjoyed each others company. We were a happy family of friends. But I was hated by the parents of the girls in our group. You couldn't blame them, after all we were 20 and 21, my best friend Bob and I. These girls were all still in high school. In school or not, we all were high, that's for certain. I also, would sometimes leave one of the bedroom windows unlocked, so my trusted friends could come and go, in case I was not there. A real nice guy. You think? Some, might have thought I must be a sucker, I guess, or I might not have been chiseled out of half of my stash.
   I had just gotten back from a trip up to Mt. Everett, my paradise in the Berkshires and was wanting to get stoned, when I opened up my cupboard to get my stash. "What the fuck is this," I said. I took the bag of Colombian that I had left behind and noticed about half of it was gone. What a surprise! Somebody ripped me off for half of my stash. "Mother fucker," I muttered to myself. Who the fuck would take half of my stash and leave me the rest? My mind could not formulate the answer to this unsolved mystery and for years I never knew who had ripped me off for just half of my pot and then left the rest for me. It kinda sounds funny, but I figured I must have been ripped off by a friend. Only a friend would still leave you something to still get stoned with. Right? What kind of friend? This I would find out over 20 years later.
   I would occasionally come back to visit my parents for Xmas and would rent or borrow a car and go visit old friends. Me and my friend Bob, who I hadn't seen for a while, were on our way up to Brewster to visit some old friends. Chicky and Patty, who had married and had kids. They invited us to stop by and visit them at their house in Connecticut. We arrived in the afternoon and stayed over night till the next morning. At the dinner table we talked of good old times that we shared, growing up as teenagers in Brewster and how lucky we were to make so many great escapes from the cops, who were the peskiest bunch of ass holes ever. During this conversation, I mentioned the time that someone stole half of my bag of Colombian, but had still left me half to get stoned on. The unsolved mystery was about to start unraveling. Then...., finally..., after all those years of wondering who, Chicky says,"Yea, that was me." Wow! no,WoW! no, WOW!!!!!! "Your kidding that was you" I said. Dumbfounded by the discloser of this information and being a New Yorker by heart, I demanded my other half an ounce back immediately. No I didn't, I was just kidding you my friends. I shot him! Oops..., just kidding again. Actually I don't remember just what I really did or said, so just use your imagination and do or say something to him for me. Thanks, that was appropriate. Well played! Good going!
   So, what do you think? Was he a friend? Or was he not a friend, by doing this dastardly deed?  I'm gonna leave this one to a vote. If you want to vote on this pressing issue, please cast your vote on the comment page and the results will be tallied in due time and process. At that time, I will reveal the count and decide weather he was a friend, or not, at the time the alleged crime took place. Thumbs up? Or thumbs down? It's up to you. Oh,! by the way, this can give all you hippies a chance to vote for the first time, so take advantage of this one time voting experience. Let the votes be cast!

   This is not jury duty my friends,         Wizzzmo

Monday, May 19, 2014


   Besides from just purchasing some flash paper for Wizzzmo's Grand Floral Parade, I just purchased some real estate in Gnarlywood. That's right my friends, has just rented a storefront on Web St. in downtown Cyberworld. My C.D., Storyland, Mr. Pot Tater Head, a pot-culture novelty item, along with my one of a kind Leather Dog Ties, a Giant Bubble Making Kit, Fire Agates, crystals, post cards, tee-shirts and many other items will be available for your purchase, at titillating prices, in our new store. All that you will find is original art and music, with creative and unique items for your every day enjoyment, adornment and listening pleasure.
   Achieve, ignite, push on into the light. Let freedom ring! Our grand opening will be May 29th. We will be celebrating this event with a parade, that will be turtling it's way, down Alberta St., starting around 6:30, from the corner of 28th and Alberta. This gala extravaganga will be featuring an entourage of sexy voodoo goddesses, giant bubble blowers, fireballs, fantastic masks, drums and Wizzzmo's unveiling of his cosmically acquired serpent stick, recently found in the ruins of an old wizards lair. will be covering the event so that all of the galaxy can attend.
   So be there, or be square my friends. Come 'round, no angles, as the web so untangles, don't be prey to those who fray, let your path be the sound, of your feet upon the ground, breaking strides, till you arrive, spring up, take a dive, let us know that your alive, make a splash, bring your stash and I'll see you in a Flash!!!!!!  The 29th (LAST THURSDAY) in May, Alberta St., Portland, OR.
   Let us rejoice my friends          Wizzzmo

Friday, May 16, 2014


     I was about 18 years old, when this strange looking shillelagh, bared its ugly vulture-like head, in my direction. Chicky, Bob, John and myself decided to  exploring a house that had been boarded up for many years. It was boarded up so well that nobody even messed with it for a long time. However, though not the first to break through the thickly boarded doors or windows, we were the first to find out some intriguing information, about this mysterious abandoned country  house. We found German documents and swat stickers, with war medals and letters from Germany. We also found a German war helmet and a knife that was claimed by one of the other guys, but when me and Chicky grabbed the Gonga Root at the same time, it was war!" It's mine," I spoke authoritatively. There might have been a fight if he didn't succumb to my grip that I had on the stick. My tone of voice was firm and my will was not to be broken. So I claimed the wicked stick for my own. That was that. We all left the abandoned house with amazing stuff, what a score for a bunch of board guys taking a walk down a country road.
     I brought the stick back to the city, where I had to work delivering boxes of food for Party Inn Caterers. My friend and delivery partner, Dennis Barnum and I, were going on a delivery together, when I showed him my new, awesome, shillelagh. He immediately dubbed it the Gonga Root as he seemed to be familiar with it's strange naturally occurring configuration of a vultures head. He had seen something like it in some other country he had been to and the name stuck immediately. I now had this strange ugly stick that would be part of the magic of the Cathey House later on in my life. This is where I recently was gifted with the serpent stick, that will make it's first public appearance in Wizzzmo's Grand Floral Parade on the 29th of May at the Last Thursday celebration on Alberta St. It will be accompanied by some of my most unusual staffs and wands including the Gonga Root.

     Comme ci, comme ca my friends        Wizzzmo
      Come on down!

Thursday, May 15, 2014


     The great Wizzzmo of Cannabistan will be attending a fabulous event, exactly  two weeks from now. We will be celebrating our grand opening, with a gala spectacle, in the form of a slow parade, down Alberta Street in Portland. The entourage will include sexy voodoo goddesses, giant bubble blowers, fireballs, costumes and Wizzzmo's incredible serpent stick, recently obtained from an ancient wizards cache. Free buds will be available for enhancing your experience on this last Thursday of May, the 29th. Be there my friends, for this once in a lifetime spectacle. Wizzzmo will also have the magic slippers of Wizzzmorella with him, so to try to find his long lost love. Will your foot fit the slippers? You may win a trip through the galaxy with Wizzzmo and his magical, mystical, entourage.
     So come one....and come Alberta St. in N.E. Portland on the 29th of May. We will all be meeting at 28th and Alberta St. around 6:00 o'clock in front of Alforno Ferruzza to coordinate our onslaught. Don't miss this extravaganza!

     BE THERE OR BE SQUARE MY FRIENDS                Wizzzmo

Tuesday, May 13, 2014


   In my younger mid twenties, I was traveling cross country quite often. What could be a better way to experience an adventure? I had been staying with my parents in Yonkers, N.Y. where I grew up. I worked construction for my Dad for a few months, trying to get some money together to go back out west, where I now decided I would be living and making my home. My total worth was not enough to buy another van, so I decided to take Rainbow up on her offer and accompany her in her station wagon, on a cross country trip, back to Oregon. I was not a solo unit at this time in my life, my companion and traveling partner was my dog Ryan, the coolest dog in the galaxy, no doubt. We went everywhere together, every time, every day, every every. You know what I mean.
    So the launching date came and I found myself with my dog on my parents front lawn. We were all hugging and saying goodbye, when I kinda felt as if something wasn't right and that it just didn't feel as if I was leaving. I even said to my Mom, that I really didn't feel right, but nonetheless we boarded the wagon and in a moment, we were off on our journey cross country. I was now a passenger, not a driver. I was not turning the wheel, I was not stepping on the brake, I was not in control. This was very strange to me and made me rather uncomfortable and extremely alert with eyes wide open at all times.
     We had been traveling for a while now and I was getting use to my part time passenger status, as I now was now driving most of the time. We were on our way westward and cruising on a warm day, when we incurred our first problem of the trip. Overheating." Oh well, no big deal, I'll fix it." It was hot and after getting some cool water from a nearby stream, I did the deed, I checked the hoses, fixed the cause of the problem and we got back on to the interstate. We were traveling through Michigan now, on this multi-lane interstate highway, that passes through Marshall. It was about 3 in the afternoon and we were just getting over having our first problem, when we had a blowout. The rear right tire was destroyed, but I was prepared with a spare and a good jack to fix it. I grabbed the tire iron and got out to observe and tackle the problem, when HOLY SHIT! fire was coming from the backside of the wheel, by the axle. In panic I grabbed this multi-gallon water bag and tried to fit it under the back bumper and squeeze it on the protruding flames. This was not working, as the fire was in the axle and water would not douse a grease fire anyway. The interstate had slowed to observe the spectacle, while from 200 feet away, running as fast as he could, was a truck driver with his fire extinguisher. He was aware of our dilemma and was playing the part of the knight in shining armor, So with extinguisher drawn, he lay white powder to the flame. The battle raged on. Wonderfully wielding his magic, he conquered the dragon dramatically and put it's wrath to rest. We stood by in near shock and was glorifying and praising him for his gallantry, when from out of nowhere the flames reappeared. The dragon was not done and the flames were worse than before. All of this was happening right underneath the gas tank and sticking around was no longer an option. We ran for the nearby hillside, while the brave truck driver flayed to rest his discharged weapon. The flames were growing out of control and the highway was frozen, with no way to quicken the infantries arrival. I realized that all my wares that made me who I was, were still on board. I had to make a decision. I could let my guitar, flute and my grandfather's violin, all burn in the wagon, or I could go back into the dragons fiery den and rescue my love, my musical instruments and my dreams. I knew what I had to do. Without hesitation, I ran back to the fire, knowing it could explode at any time. I flung open the door to the backseat, gabbed my instruments and turned to run, when my faithful friend and K9 companion jumped into the back seat. He thought it was time to leave. "Ryan" I yelled! "lets go!" He immediately responded and we fled the scene to the nearby hill where everybody was rooting us on. We were safe as I sat smiling and caressing the strings of my beautiful guitar, knowing that I had conquered the walls of the castle and escaped with my love and my life. The dragon blew his flames forty feet across the highway and consumed all of our remaining possessions. By the time the calvary arrived the fortress was burned to a crisp. Very little remained. I realized at that moment, why I felt the way I did, when I said goodbye to my family. The moment when I felt that I was not leaving with comfortable insight in going out west. I knew something wasn't right, just a feeling you could say, a premonition perhaps. Sensitivity, yes. As we sat in the back of the air conditioned State Trooper car, we wondered, just what would we do know? The only things that survived the battle were my instruments, a pair of Fry Boots of Rainbows, a pair of cut-offs that were in the middle of all my burnt clothes and a denim jacket patch that had these words on it, (Have A Nice Night). Cute!
     We slept at a nearby hotel and boarded a plane going back to N.Y. the very next day. I had been staying with my parents who had a homeowners policy that allowed me to collect on my losses and with a couple of receipts from my Dad's friends camera shop, I had enough money to buy a van, so I could get back out west, in the style I was most accustomed to. A hippie van.
     Funny, but hanging around Untermyer Park, which is where all the hippies gathered, I met a blond hippie chick that was very alluring and charmed me into taking her with me, on my trip back across the country. Yea right. You believe that shit? She wasn't charming, she was a dumb blond, a pretty, young, sweet looking girl, ready for adventure and I was just the guy to take her on one. Oh yea! I was like any other horny young hippie, wanting a beautiful babe to travel with. So there we went, my dog Ryan, me, and my new girl, Sunshine. Pretty funny! I left to go out west with a girl named Rainbow and we were turned away by the dragon. So I came back to strengthen my caravan and while doing so, met a fair maiden, by the name of Sunshine. What a bunch of hippies, Rainbow and Sunshine, etc. But now it was time for me to leave the east coast and go back out west. (The west is the best) We can only wait, as another story counts on time, to release it from it's grasp. So stay tunned, till next time.

      Keep truckin' my friends        Wizzzmo


    I will never get toad in the rain?
     Did you ever have a blowout with your van,
      while thumping along, jumping toads,
       stay clear of the roads, it all explodes,
        fireballs! fireballs! Great balls there of,
         peace, love and even dove.
          Climb above, the rainbows end,
           just get help, from a friend.
            Tired now, the end.

       Let it all hang out my friends,       Wizzzmo

Saturday, May 10, 2014


     Back in 1971 I was a pretty sharp shooting, quick moving, ball sinking, pool shark. I even won a big tournament in South Yonkers and was presented with a cue stick, for coming in first, by the great Willie Mosconi. What an honor that was for me, to meet one of the all time greats at the game and to shake his hand, while being presented an awesome cue stick for first place, at the tournament he had sponsored.
     The town of Brewster had a great pool hall that I often played at. It was owned and handled, by a character named Turk. Turk was a small framed man with large underground connections. A kind of shady character, that ran a great business for all of us kids to patronize and hang out. There was lots of action on the betting front and this made for a very lucrative source of income, for someone like myself. On many nights I'd be involved in hustling pool and making some scratch just to satisfy my financial and egotistical nature, but when the place closed, I'd be outside wondering where the party was. At my young age, not knowing where the party was, was killing my social life and this was not a good thing for me.
     On one night, which I remember very well, I had made about $45 dollars and the pool hall was closing at midnight, as it always had. I stood alone outside on a beautiful summer night. The town was dead. Everybody was at some giant party that I didn't know the location of, when I came to the realization, that my social life was being stolen by my love of competition and making money. My skills were sharp but my life was dull. Was it worth it? " Hell no!" was my answer to myself. It all became clear to me, on that night, at that moment. I hung up my cue stick and didn't play the game at all, for at least 7 years. I found much better things to do, like playing guitar and just plain seeking out adventurers with my friends. This turn would tantalize and satisfy my active and youthful social life. I would leave the east coast to follow my destiny out west, only a few years later.
     Over the years, I have played pool only when I ran across someone that just needed to get beat for their own good, or maybe for the good of others. Distribution for humanities sake. me being the executioner. Shatter a few egos, was my only concern in pursuing the game. A turning point in life was achieved on that night, at that moment, a realization of major proportion would propel me forward, to bring me here to you, on this night, so as to entertain you, with another profound moment in my life. I hope you were entertained.

      Stay thirsty my friends          Wizzzmo

Friday, May 9, 2014


     Did you ever here that joke that goes, (What do you get when you play a country western song backwards?) The answer being, (you get the car back, you get the dog back, you get the house back, etc., etc., etc,. ) However they don't ever tell you, that you will get your tools back, because you never get your tools back, in any scenario, Don't give up your tools, ever!
     After losing her teeth, she had to succumb, to sucking gum.
     Hey is that a form of harassment? The form of her ass meant everything to me. It even became habit, forming the clay with my hands, till the oven made it hard.
      The other day I got pulled over by a State Trooper. As he peered amid, I noticed that his eyes were glazed. I think he was eating too many dough-nuts that day. I called him on it and said some bizzare palindromic collection of words. "Step on no pets" I cried! But to my surprise he spoke back at me and said, "Dammit I'm mad!"  I was really freaked out! A cop palindroming me back was unheard of. We were breaking grounds that had never been broken. However, breaking bread was out of the question and when I suggested we go for dough-nuts, it was all over. I escaped with my freedom and he with his tolerance. Don't try this my friends, not all cops know palindromes.

     Visit daily my friends                  Wizzzmo

Thursday, May 8, 2014


     I just had a conversation with my Head Minion, Sun-Marko, in which he informed me of some rather vital information, this being the top 4 states to live in peace as a Hippie. I wonder who they polled? Are Hippies voting now? Here's the drum roll.,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,coming in at number 4 is,.,;,',;,.,;,'ta,da...Oregon, Yea! Home sweet home for Wizzzmo. I love Oregon. Keep it green. And now,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,number 3 is,.....New Hampshire. You've gotta love the Shire. It's on fire! Thanks Marv, but lose those panties. And now for #2..,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,It starts with a V.  Yes! It's Vermont. Let's here it for Montpelier. You can yell your Hippie heads off. All hail Timothy Leary! He made things seem so very cleary. And now my friends for the best state to live in perfect Hippiedom. It's.,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,Oh no! I screwed up. I'm stoned out on brownies and Blue City D. The state that I thought was 1st is 2nd and visa-versa. So here's your number 2 not number 1. It's Maine! How about that my friends.
     But here's the catch, coming in dead last is.,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,.,;,',;,. You guessed it. Mississippi. I wonder what Mr. Hippie thinks of that? He even said he would meet her at the Mississippi, but she was in de Nile. You can't blame her for liking the blues, Blue City Diesel, Blue Dream, even Jake and Elwood could'nt do no wrong. Poor Mrs. Hippie coming in last. Tunica in next week..., for another dangling participial or two. Till then.......... Oh....., by the way I guess your wondering about Colorado? Well it came in 5th.However Dan Fogelberg was awesome and still number one in many ways. Love ya Nederland.

      Don't worry, be Hippie   Hippie tie dye oh a nika yes you peak a boo.
        Create, ignite, push on into the light.         Wizzzmo says, good night


Add lib to women's, bellybutton lint to linens, say it with a smile, I'm grinnin'. 
Don't give me lip, give me dreads, grateful, hateful, a crate full instead.
Bledsoe, Tebow, World Fuckin Peace, Jason, chasin, the Golden colored Fleece. Peanut butter has no other. I hate mieces to pieces. Reeses, cups, give me ups. wa sup, hick up, bad pup, no sup, fessup Jessup,, get down Charlie Brown, board a train in the Purple Rain, Pink Floyd, going insane, Choo Choo Charlie, brown an gnarly, on his Harley, with Chris Farley, corn of barley. John must die. Why!? Syndicate, in the kit, a caboodle, white rice noodle, on the Toutle, logs and tons of mud brown like Mexican bud. Dirt weed, nose bleed, higher seats, sweeter treats, popcorn pop, squeeze that mop, overtime, nursery rhyme, slithering slime-ball, let's end it once and for all. That's it! Done. Really. Ferris Bueller.  Gotcha!   Oh yeah!

      Free lance from a lot my friends      Wizzzmo

Tuesday, May 6, 2014


   When I was 7 years old, my playmates and I couldn't wait for Mr. Grunge to get home, where we would love to listen to him tell us stories of his life. Mr. Grunge was a kind, soft spoken, lonely old man, who just loved us kids and always had a story for us. I remember him dearly with his little Fedora hat and mustache, a small framed man, with glasses and a big heart, would be how I would describe this legendary mariner. His stories would keep us kids captivated with wide eyed enthusiasm. I couldn't wait till he came back from the park, so he could sit us kids down, give us treats and then tell us stories of his glorious life. It was my favorite time of day. My life was in it's wonder years, fascinating stories of adventure opened up my childlike imagination and allowed me later in life to realize the importance of my adventures and to share them with you. As we get older, we see how certain people from our past experiences have influenced our lives and have been key figures in cultivating just who we ultimately become. This wonderful old man was one such person. I feel just as he might have, when I write these stories and share them with you, my children on the porch next door. With me starting this website, I have become Mr. Grunge in an odd way, sharing my glorious tales of great escapes, adventurous experiences and intergalactic phenomena with you, my friends. I hope my treats are tasty and that my stories of my life, are worth the time that you give me to read them. So as I sit on my front porch, my stories await your arrival. Please gather 'round children, It's me, Mr. Grunge with another story for you. 

      Stay young my friends       Wizzzmo

Sunday, May 4, 2014


     The year, 1973. The place, (In back of the Hunt Club). The characters, Me, My friend Rich and his friend Glenn, Gene and the Cops.
      I had just played in a card game, with a bunch of bad poker players and had a pocket full of quarters that I had won. My friend Richie had some chocolate mescaline and we, Glenn, Richie and I, decided to go on an adventure to find Bash Bish Falls, a place of fantastic waterfalls, or so we had heard. We swallowed the mescalito in tablet form and went to get the gas tank filled. The station we chose, was the Sinclair station, on the way out of town. We needed some drinks, so I went to get something from out of the machine. Yoo-Hoo, at the time, was a very popular chocolate energy drink. I was ripped on some Black Afghan Hashish that I had scored and decided to try to empty the machine out of all the Yoo-Hoo it had in it. Each time I put a quarter in, out popped a Yoo-Hoo. I kept dropping quarters in and rapidly started stacking Yoo-Hoo cans, can, after can, after can, after can. My pocket was emptying, to my numb surprise, still no place to go. Now all the quarters were gone and what remained was a pyramid of ice cold energy drinks, waiting to be loaded into my van. We pulled the van up, opened the side doors and scattered about 60 cans of Yoo-Hoo all over the back, which consisted of a mattress and loads of blankets  and sleeping bags for camping out. We were now off to see Gene, the son of Mrs. Hunt, the owner of the Hunt club. Gene was a blatant homosexual who tended bar at this neighborhood hangout and we were going to score some of that famous Gold Colombian he had just gotten the day before. Everyone in town knew Gene had the best weed and that's what I wanted, as I pulled my van down the dead end road to the back of the Hunt Club. I was on my way to get an ounce that we all chipped in on. I started walking down the path when Gene popped up from the back of the shed and said in a gay-like feminine voice," you better get out of here, the cops are after my ass, I'm real hot man, I ain't got nothing, someone narced on me." I headed the warning and got back to my van and fired it up. Before I could get 200ft. a cop car peeled out from in back of a pile of gavel and promptly pulled me over. We were now tripping really good on the mescaline and had huge smiles on our faces, each of us with cold Yoo-Hoo cans in our fists. They had set up Gene and now, they thought they were gonna find the evidence in my van, so they filed us out of the van, lined us up and waited for back up and then began their search. Lights were flashing everywhere, reflecting off the trees and creating subtle hallucinations. I was getting a little worried, Richie had 30 hits of mescaline in his boot and the hashish I had scored was missing from where I thought it was. Nonetheless, I couldn't wipe that smile off of my face as the search continued. This chocolate mescaline was some really smiley stuff and we all wore a perpetual smile. As I had mentioned before, we seemingly had no rights back then and the cops did as they pleased. So with chocolate energy drink in hand and giant smiles on our faces we gazed on as their search was turning up nothing but full cans of Yoo-Hoo. They tore my van apart for about 20 minutes and found nothing that they were looking for. Good thing they never came across that hash I had lost, I never did either. So thinking that maybe we were some of Gene's gay friends, real happy guys, drinking chocolate energy drink and smiling our faces off, one of the cops approached us, thinking he had it all figured out in his head and said,"I see you guys are real heavy drinkers," as he smiled and tugged his belt. I replied, "oh yea officer, we love the stuff, it grows hair on your chest. Would you like to have one?" Of coarse he refused, handed me back my license and registration and let us go, but not before making a snide remark like,"you guys have a nice night now." So with a tip of his hat and a sneer of his lip he was off. Another close call!  Whoosh!
         We continued on our trip to find Bash-Bish falls which was still 100 miles away to the north. I will pick up this story from here in my next chapter of Brewster stories. But now, I must tell you about that same cop, while hitchhiking in Carmel N.Y.
        About a year later I was without vehicle and coming back from Carmel to Brewster. This was a rare moment for me, being I almost always had my car or van in my early years. However, on this day I was thumbing a ride, when a cop pulled over and asked me for my identification. I gave him my license and stood there, as he seemed to scorn his eyebrows upon reading it, he then asked me if I had a blue van with a...............when suddenly, he remembered! He spoke out with a smile and said, " I remember you now, your the guy with the Yoo-Hoo." He then promptly handed me back my license, smiled and said "HAVE A NICE DAY" and drove off grinning from ear to ear. The search he had done of my van a year ago, must have been a fond memory for him as well as for me. I could just see him telling his trooper buddies about the time he searched this hippie van for pot and all he could find was full cans of ice cold Yoo=Hoo, the chocolate energy drink and three guys that couldn't stop smiling.

        Keep smiling my friends                 Wizzzmo

Friday, May 2, 2014


    I just got back home from my neighborhood sports bar and I'm still pumped. Hats off to Damien Lillard and the Portland Trail Blazers, advancing to the next round of the B-ball hoop de do. The game had me yelling out loud and I was within the rectangle, for the whole furking game. A tele-zombie. The end seemed to be the biggest bummer, but then...... the rip of the net, as time had expired. A miracle in the rockin Moda Center." RIIIIP CITY " I roared, as we started high fiving each other. We were all in a place which was the opposite of were we where a second ago, (or to be exact .9 seconds ago.)
    I was gonna write some awesome story of my elaborate past, but I'm out of words and still to hyped up to continue.                                                                So......., let's celebrate, celebrate, let's light a big one for Damien Lillard 
    Stay pumped my friends          Wizzzmo


     Why are so many Italians named Tony?............
      Because, when they were getting on the boat to come to America, many were stamped, To N.Y......... Hello statue? ,,,, No... it's a my cousin.... Of course it's me, liberty.
       Hey, do you know Tony spelled backwards is y-not. And why not? After all, ( go hang a salami, I'm a lasagna hog ) spelled backwards is the same-a-ting. That's -a- nice
       Hey..., Tony,... my doctor said I'm getting Alzheimer's disease. What am I gonna do........?       Hey, fugetta bout it.    Badda bing badda boom.
       What do you get when a Jamaican women has a baby with an Italian man ? ........A nice-a-little Pastafarian      lol
       And so I will say good night with another Italiandrome.
          Amore. Roma  and may we all break bread with our meatballs.
            Just don't break-a- my balls.
       Join me in a glass of wine my friends        Wizzzmo