Amish Stink!

The crash site -
The crash site –

(this story contains bad language and racist intent – but is true) 

One of my buddies was hauling Amish in his van to make a living and support his family – all good! He called me one evening and was sick and needed a substitute driver to haul two Amish guys over to the west side of Cleveland complete with their trailer full of gutter supplies. I figured cool a quick way to score $200 bucks! Ya drive em over – then you sit and read for eight hours – then you drive em home simple right? I mean they are Amish so they will be saint like and holy!

5am and I pick the first guy up at his home and pick up his trailer and hook it to my 1ton truck. He is about 6′ 4″ and stout – he  jumps in and I notice the lack of deodorant and what has this guy been eating whole garlic – it is barely warming up! We pick up his midget brother who has no home or wife because of his being short…but he is cool and talkative (and does not smell as bad!).

Fast forward, sit read surf the net and write all day and wrap it up to head home. We are hauling a 10,000 pound trailer through heavy traffic with AC blasting to mask the smell of Farting Garlic Amish man in the middle lane of a three lane freeway when bam I am slamming on my brakes as a crazy black girl swerves in front of me – bam my truck is climbing her right bumper and smashing the life outa her mini-car all the while she is still gunning it trying to make her exit three lanes over! Bam she pins a Ford F150 to the guard rail and it is all over! We screech to a halt!

Now this is where the fun begins! A black lady in her mid forties switches seats with a girl that had been driving! Then the lady gets out of the car and starts screaming as only a black woman can scream – “you killed my babies” ” you MF- you killed my babies!” Her babies were fine strapped in car seats in the back! She starts beating on the passenger side window of my crew cab. The Amish guy gets out of the truck and towering over this black woman endures her rage for about a minute and then says – “You f$@#ing nigger you are nothing more than a subspecies of ape!” The conversation stopped! I told the Farting Garlic Amish man to get back in the truck and we rolled up the windows! (Yes, the truck was still running fine – it is a Ford!) I could not believe the guy dropped the “F” bomb and said nigger! Wow… Amish are really

Not much damage - $3800
Not much damage – $3800 – you can see the hulking Amish dude!

different than I thought!

A cute redheaded Irish girl was our responding officer and she asked us to move down the highway about 1/2 mile so she could clear traffic! I move down the road and look in my rearview mirror and guess who is following us on foot! Yep, the black woman! Running after us screaming bloody murder! You racist MF! and on and on. Running after her was the little Irish cop – cute as a button she cuffed her and stuffed her!

I made it home later that evening after finding out the driver was 15 with two children, no driver license, and driving a Hertz Rental Car that was borrowed!

Her car - slight damage!
Her car – slight damage!
The Ford after!
The Ford after! Happily home in Montana!

Yep my insurance picked up the tab and my insurance went up despite it not being my fault! I will say that I have since switched insurance because Nationwide was the F150 drivers insurance and they were hardcore on his side! My Progressive was not progressive at all – they needed to be aggressive!

Disclaimer: I in no way condone the use of profanity or calling someone a subspecies of ape! I also eat garlic so I understand the Farting Garlic Amish Man could not control his smell!

Amish country near Arthur, Illinois
Amish country near Arthur, Illinois (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


Navajo Taco

Nabaho Taco!  Nabaho Egocentric
Nabaho Taco!
Nabaho Egocentric

White Mountain Apache Reservation August 2006, the wife is leading barrels and going for her second win in barrels! I love the fair! I love this fair more than the “Great Navajo Nation Fair”. Sorry, I just always look forward to getting up in the pines and camping out. Whiteriver Rodeo has the best fireworks of any Indian rodeo. Period!

We walk through the fair and of course I am hungry – hey it is a fair and I am the fat white guy! I see a frybread stand and walk quickly over to stand in line with about 10 Apaches…remember I am used to being the dumb white guy…! I get up to the counter and ask for – Yes, I asked for a “Navajo Taco!” I honestly thought they were endemic to the Navajo Rez! The Apache lady was not humored especially since my proud little Navajo was standing next to me with a shit eating grin! I never even realized everyone was pissed – pure food focus! I finished up my Apache Taco and thanked the lady all the while oblivious to angry stares of the Apache!

So, what do you get when a Mexican and a Navajo get married….Navajo Taco!

In all fairness – my mother-in-law and sister in law make the best frybread in the world bar none! I do love all the different frybreads – especially Bobbie Riggs (The Champ) bread that is super thin and I forget the name! Each tribes “frybread” is different and each is great!

Dedicated to Renee Kevine – the first ndn that ever made me frybread !


Is it poaching ?

Is it poaching if you are white on the Navajo Rez and the only guy with a deer rifle not in pawn.


Moving into Pinon, 1998 and I unpack the guns and stash em! I unpack and unpack and finally moved into Teacher Housing, Pinon Arizona – Navajo Reservation. Being a white guy on the Navajo Rez is an experience and the learning curve is steep. From Renee Kevine bringing me frybread at home because I mistakenly said “what’s that?” to Peyote Tea – I was the classic neophyte.

November rolls around and I had gotten to know the janitor Moses Clark pretty well. He drives up to my house and honks his horn (another learning curve – Navajo do not use your doorbell – why, when ya have a horn). I am thinking what glonnie (drunk) or native arts and craft sales lady is it this time? Looking out, I see Moses in his 71 Ford lifted to the sky ! I love the truck and my little Chevy Chiddy (truck) sits sulking in the corner. Moses gets out and asks me to come over and shoot this Mule Deer that is usually in and around his place early morning – tomorrow being Saturday. I look at him and say “how do you know I have a deer rifle?” he smiles and says everyone in Pinon watched you unload your stuff! Duh, town of 400 people on a high mesa and bets on how long I was gonna last were running 6 – 7 months. Moses had a sweet deer rifle just happened to be in pawn…

I said to Moses, ” well, yes, I have a deer rifle but what about a license and tag to shoot the deer?”

Moses looked at me like I was the dumbest white boy that ever hit the reservation and said ” huh? what if you miss?” we will worry about the tag later! ”

8mm Mauser
8mm Mauser

I don’t miss and shot a beautiful Muley ! 26″ rack – and field dressed out at 185 – well, that is what I was told later when Moses dropped off my share of venison. No, I never asked to see the tag but I know it was well butchered complete with “Bashas Grocery” stamped on the white packing.

The bet on how long I would stay – well they all lost and gave up after ten years. My old deer rifle is not some sexy cool rifle but was passed down from my father to me – Mauser 8mm with an Ivory Indian head embedded in the stock!

Flourishing Flowers, Flowering Fountains

One has to love Spring in Siberia – seems like an oxymoron

Transform Siberia

Flowers and Fountains! Finally. FINALLY! F-I-N-A-L-L-Y!!! When fountains flower and flowers flourish then Lazurus-Spring has finally chased the Queen of Winter from her Siberian throne. Pink Rhododendron have burst into the sleeping grey forest, jolting a sleeping winter heart into beating-beating blood red LIFE! Blazing blossoms of fuchsia shatter the Siberian paradigm and make the quiet of the forest so loud. And the fountains! A ballet of water washes through the souls of city dwellers. Under protection of a fountain, toddlers squeal at new sensations, children splash, skate, gawk, and dash. Youth cuddle, parents chat and tend the young ones, and the elderly rest, enjoying the water show, complete with music and light. Fountains create refuges in the rush of Russian cities. Fountains and flowers transform Siberia!










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I Can’t Spell! in Pinon, Arizona – Part 1

th1999 10th Grade English, First Period – Navajo Rez !! and we are all just waking up! Col. Mike Clark our fearless principal comes into my classroom to discuss a matter of grave importance! Someone had “tagged” the dugout brick wall! He knew who it was and the young man was sitting in my classroom! Oh, he could not prove it – but we all knew!westside (1)

The only problem was how to punish the young man? You see the young man was in my classroom and this was English class and all of a sudden the “TAG” was my fault! Yes, MY FAULT! The young man that tagged the dugout was a notorious member of “WESTSIDE”. Throwing gang signs in a town of 400 people – ya kinda stand out. Now why was it my fault ? Simple – the young man tagged the dugout WESSIDE – it seems he was a phonetic speller! Minus 5 points for poor spelling!

I had him stay after class and write WESTSIDE on the board 100 times! I will not tolerate any of my English students misspelling their gang affiliation!

Drunk at Harvard

I always love that word “Harvard” sounds like something out of a Jerry Seinfeld joke. You can just hear him saying it in that nasal Jew voice. Just the word elicits prestige and advanced learning. As if by osmosis, to walk the hallowed grounds one will gain understanding and wisdom.

JFK Harvard
JFK Harvard

JFK School of Government and Morton Blackwell’s Leadership Institute teamed up to give College Republicans a training they would never forget! Morton Blackwell was a National Convention Alternate Delegate for Ronald Reagan in 1968 and 1976, and a Ronald Reagan Delegate at the 1980 National Convention. In 1980, he organized and oversaw the national youth effort for Ronald Reagan. He served as Special Assistant to the President on President Reagan’s White House Staff 1981-1984. Morton Blackwell was no slouch! Cigar and a long Southern drawl, Blackwell was a politicians politician.

These were the Reagan years and America was on top! I was on top too, I served as the president of Bowling Green State University College Republicans and Treasure for the State of Ohio College Republicans. I got to the Back Bay Hilton early and settled into the bar. Two goods friends were along and we dined and made our way from one bar to the next enjoying the evening with fellow Republicans giddy with youth and gin!


Gin is the key to my downfall and still to this day I can not drink or smell gin. I fall asleep at 4am and set the alarm for 6am. Up and groggy and feeling queasy, I stumble to the truck and drive to Harvard! Oh no….Oh no oh no oh no…bathroom now ! I run into the men’s room and start to give back to the porcelain god – the gin burned coming up. I smell cigar smoke. Someone is smoking in the stall next to me? I begin to wash my face and bam – I am throwing up again into the sink. I hate gin! I look up and Morton Blackwell is standing next to me handing me his handkerchief and chuckling. I introduce myself embarrassed and he smiles and says in his sweet southern drawl ” I am sure you will do just fine in politics”.

Later that morning, while I am introducing myself to the audience Blackwell says, “Mr Lors and I met over gin”.

on and on you go (take two)

Love this –


Please don’t hate me! I was not content with my first version of this poem. Something about the third stanza (and a few other things) just didn’t fit. So I revised it, and here it is. Most of you know by now: This poem is dedicated to “wind.”

dress3From here to there and everywhere,
on and on you go.
I hear you there, or is it there?
Your face, you’ll never show.

O’er sea and over mountain,
continent and plain,
from Asia to the Balkan:
the world is your domain.

At times I’ve seen you angry,
you howl and wreak havoc.
It’s then I shiver meekly,
and stand in awe, dumbstruck.

But when you’re sweet, you’re lovely;
you caress my soul.
Your whispers soft and balmy,
you can take me whole.

And though I cannot touch you,
on wings you fly me high,
to places where I knew you,

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For Keelen – Honors English Pinon High School

tumblr_m2lr8cyzFP1qa944oo1_400You probably have never had the privilege of teaching on the Navajo Reservation! Fresh out of South Korea, where a teacher could ask his kindergarten class to memorize the first five books of the Bible and 99% of the class would have it rote by morning. (there are two lessons in that – work ethic and religion – teachers were highly respected and highly paid) I digress, I walk into my first day at Pinon High School ! My classroom is sweet. All the latest technology, great white boards, new, clean, perfect! I always start my class greeting kids at the door and funneling them to arbitrarily assigned seats.

The bell rings – round one. “Goodmorning, do you have any questions?” Students are thinking what the heck is this guy talking about? Shane Yazzie, back of the class, raises his hand (I am thinking cool) and he says – ” so, are you just another loser teacher who could not get a job anywhere else?”


So why “For Keelen” because Keelen gave me a journal from her summer that detailed her life as a Navajo young lady. She trusted me to read her private journal and helped me understand a third world country trapped in our “great country. Thank you Keelen – I am forever in your debt!

Pinon High School 1999 – gun – what would you do?

I am teaching Creative Writing at Pinon High School, Navajo Reservation, Arizona – it is 1999 and I have the coolest group of young Navajo students! I get a transfer student from Phoenix. A hard tough Nabaho gangbanger who was tossed from school in Phoenix and landed back on da rez. He was tough and he was a good kid who had been scrapping on the streets since he was young. I challenged all my students to keep a journal and I would keep the stories secret and his stories if only half true were hardcore! Stealing, drugs, fights and Juvy sum up all his stories because my word is still in effect.

45 -
45 –

The class is buzzing and of course I always seem to get the new student. Best principal ever, Colonel Mike Clark, seemed to always assign the new kids to my class…electives! In walks the new tough with his baggy pants and underwear showing all pimped out with chains and rings… okay I don’t remember any rings…but you get the picture. He walks on in and we begin. Four weeks later, I formed a bond with this young man because I refuse to judge a person on past or present, looks, clothes, bio, time served. This Monday afternoon he  walks into class late drops his notebook and when he bends down I see the glint of silver and ivory tucked into his waist. Shit, looks like a 45 ACP. Now stop and think – really stop reading and think – what would you do? (not what would Jesus do) what would you do?

Here is what I did –

I ignored the gun and greeted the student. I taught class just like it was all good. I asked my student to stay after for a minute. I walked up to my student and put my hand right on the small of his back and said what is this? “Shit, MF, what the…” I calmly said ” give me the gun and come to my house after school and I will return it to you” – No questions, no bullshit, just straight up. He gave me the gun and I put it in my desk drawer. I looked at him and said ” a drive by in Pinon is done with squirt guns because we are all poor” and he cracked a smile and laughed and said “I will be by after school”!

I never told the principal. I never told anyone till writing it today because that young man never ever gave me a problem in class. I am not going to name the student so all my wonderful students – you all know anyway! But with all the gun violence happening in Amerika today – I just wonder what you would have done?

This story is dedicated to Colonel Mike Clark who had my back in Pinon and Phoenix – you have my respect now and always!

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