Thank You For Proving Us Right, Facebook

Yesterday I was thrown off OF Facebook for a day because one of my Cheeto Sucking Facebook Friends on my Private Page reported me, yet again for posting something Anti Trump.

This time Facebook threw me off for a day and stripped me of my communication line to the rest of the world ( LOL- dudes I have THREE blogs).

Here’s the deal.

I was nailed for Hate Speech.

Did I call for the Death of Twitler? Post pictures of him hanging in effigy  and pictures of him squatting in a hut- oh wait that was what REPUBLICANS did to President Obama because “Murica and Freedoms etc. etc. etc. and they could do HATEFUL, Racist stuff like that.

Nope. I most certainly DID NOT say or do anything like that.

I posted this Meme- with quotes from Twitler Himself with pictures of the people he was talking about- The Very Fine People and The Sons of Bitches

Facebook in their infinite wisdom declared this ” Hate Speech. ”

Well. Sure. It was hateful. We all know that. We were pointing that out.

So when are they going to throw the man who uttered these HATEFUL  words through the same mouth that agreed with Howard Stern who asked it was okay to refer to his daughter as a Piece of Ass  “,  off of Facebook?

Last time I looked he was threating WWIII on Twitter as well

Call me a stickler but I’m pretty darn sure he’s violated a few TOS along the way here.

So while Facebook checks into Twitler’s Hate Speech which has sucked all of the air out the known Universe and considers booting him off too-

I’ll be right here  at my blog.


And doing what I do.

Writing ALL about it.



Look Who Washed Up On Shore!


There is no ONE reason why I haven’t been writing- but in the end I guess what I wanted was to sit back and absorb what was going on in my life instead of reacting to it.

I think that new way of thinking  changed me a bit.

I still love the same foods, for the most part the I still love the same people and generally speaking I’m happy with myself as a writer.

I guess it’s normal to go off and fill the well as long as you come back to you and the places that matter.

Writing is a place that matters.





Dirty Deeds ( Done By Sheep )

When me and Luis’ kids were little- they were about  six and seven years old at the time I played them  Joan Jett’s cover of the AC/DC song ” Dirty Deeds ”

They thought she was singing ” Dirty deeds, done by sheep ” .

So to this day that’s the way we sing it.

Other kids a few years older then they were at the time have a different but still highly amusing take on AC/DC – who- when they came to Seattle had first aid cars parked outside the Seattle Center Coliseum and first aid tents inside which I fondly referred to as  ” The Vomitoriums” ( thank you Saturday Night Live )

Good times…and good music!


And now for … Dirty Deeds Done BY SHEEP….dirt cheap as rocked out by Joan Jett ( and STILL  a family favorite )

talk to me


I remember when I started to blog, what- it’s been over 10 years now, me and my fellow bloggers used to put a ton of energy and work into our posts so that people would chat it up in the comment section.

It used to be a great way to connect with other writers and have some fun.

Now we have Facebook and I can post a quip or a link and sometimes people care but most of the time they don’t say anything at all. I have friends who feel ‘left out’ because nobody or hardly anyone likes their posts or comments on them. I’m always surprised anyone stops by my FB page at all. It’s a mess over there.

For the most part, I treat FB like a notebook and I store pictures there.It’s fun to play with, but I’m not so sure it’s the best place to goof off and it’s fun to look at when I’m on the bus because if I read a book when I’m in a car or riding on the bus I get carsick.

I like my blog, it’s me.

My Facebook page is an accounting of me and do you know what?

I don’t like that at all.






We Were Here


Today I was out walking my dog and we ended up by the Playfield- the Playfield used to be ” The Woods ” where me and the neighborhood kids played games and built forts, where we drank and smoked and we walked there or rode our bikes because in  those days we didn’t have Malls or cellphones or parents who drove us three blocks to school or a mile away to visit our friends.

Sadly most of the ” The Woods” have ended up like this:

Photo A.M. Mososo
Photo A.M. Moscoso

The funny thing is they felt like ” The Woods” again when I altered the pictures:

Photo A.M. Moscoso
Photo A.M. Moscoso
Photo A.M. Moscoso

Call me sentimental,but I think that’s the way The Woods want to be remembered- and who am I to question that?


The Strange Day of A.M. Moscoso

My bus ride home from work in Seattle isn’t a bad ride, it’s not even a boring ride.

Some people   I ride with are interesting- we talk about movies, books, our pets what we have planned for the weekend, there are people I don’t talk to but I do watch because they always look angry or bored  but my personal favorites are the people who are determined not let anyone sit next to them.

It’s a little mini-drama, each time the bus stops to let people on the drama begins.

Will the next person on board sit next to them? Will they not sit next to them? Will they drop dead before they get a chance to sit next to them? Should I get up and sit next to them at the last minute just when they think they have the entire seat to themselves because sometimes I feel like quite the little devil?

Today I was lucky- a Mom and her little boy, who looked to be around six years old sat next to me on the long bench seat at the front of the bus.

She had a pierced tongue and he was dressed in jeans and a nice white t-shirt, he had an old school crew cut  and he was wearing brand new Carhart boots.

They looked like they had walked out of two different time streams- he from the 50’s, she was a biker chick from the late 90’s.

They both started to compare the bus to the way the bus smelled like a Bus Station bathroom right after they had cleaned it, in fact the bus she said smelled like urinal cakes and her son agreed..

The people sitting across from us ( One lady was one of my ‘ this is my seat, darn you, walk on ) looked offended.

I laughed and agreed because you know, when the air conditioner went on the bus did smell like a freshly cleaned public bathroom.

After we chatted about the way the bus smelled we moved on to another topic and we bonded:

The little boy asked me if I liked ” The Minions ” and I said that I did. I told him I loved the movies, had the toys and I had gotten a Minion t-shirt from my Mom for Christmas.

The little boy and his Mom had a Kindle with the Minions game on it and I watched him play.

He showed me a few things and when his turn was up he gave it to his Mom for her turn and he looked at me right in the eye, which I liked.

” Who is Shaymus? he asked me.

That was when my bus ride took a little side trip.

” Who?” I asked.

” Is he your dog?”

” Is who my dog?”

I saw his Mom give us the side eye from her game, she was all ears.

” Shaymus. ” he said. He looked at me again and then he said carefully. ” Saymus?”

” My dog is named Hamish” I told him.

Photo A.M. Moscoso


I didn’t ask him how he knew that, I didn’t at that time wonder if I knew the boy and his Mom or if they had ever rode the bus before and over heard me talking about my dog. I just looked at him and waited for the next question.

” What’s your cat’s name?” he asked.

” Darwin.” I said.

He looked skeptical.

I have three cats and I love them dearly but my cat Wolfgang who passed away it 2008 at the age of 17 is always on my mind.

It was a teeny fib on my part and we both new it.

The little boy looked straight into my eyes and through the back of head.

He touched my arm and said there were other games on his Kindle he could show me.

I took it as a peace offering of sorts.

Then it was his turn at Minions and he insisted on showing me some moves on the screen and I left the Twilight Zone because it was time to leave. I can’t believe I did that so quickly, but there are times when you listen to that little voice in your head and things for the most part turn out well for me when I do.


I could  speculate about the little boy and our conversation about  Hamish and my Cat whose name I held back to see what would happen because playing devilish games is what I do sometimes.

I enjoy writing about the odd,the Macabre, I love to look at life through a fun house mirror.

And to turn a phrase-

Sometimes those things look into me.


Photo: AM. Moscoso