Friday, July 24, 2009


A rather large stash of drugs was confiscated today when the Youngstown West Side Neighborhood Block Watchers Association raided the estate of Chris Yambar this morning. Yambar had been suspected of harboring discount drugs and living the life of a rock star (most notably KISS front man Paul Stanley) for some time.
"When we entered the home, you could smell oats and coffee," stated YWSNBWA co-ordinator and investigative point man David Hartford/ "Most mornings you could almost taste it while walking past the place. Some of the other neighbors reported that he could be heard singing loudly and going around shirtless. Personally, I never had a problem from Mr. Yambar. He always waved when he drove by and he and the Mrs. planted new flowers this year. When they brought home that second cat, I had an odd feeling in my guts. I knew he had to be hiding something."
The 9:30 AM kitchen raid allowed local investigators to catch Yambar in the act with a spatula in his hands. While he stirred his oats, he sang from the second disc of the KISS ALIVE! concert CD while his wife worked in the side yard planting a burning bush.
"He was topless all right," Hartford continued. "Almost put my eye out looking at his gyrating like that. We knew for sure this was no Christian home."
What authorities found next stunned the posse of do-gooders.
"They had a drawer in there just chock full of drugs. Hard stuff. Super B-Complex, No-Flush Niacin, Glucosamine Chondroitin Complex, C 500mg, CoQ-10, Curiously Strong Altoids and a bottle of 100% uncut Aspirin. That man even had a big bottle of Vitamin E, which puzzled me because they don't have any children."
Hartford added that there were several international items also found, including two pound bags of Sumatra Sidikalang, Indie Mysore Nuggets (Extra Bold) and a highly used French coffee press. Both were acquired from Small Town Roasters over the internet.
"He's a crafty dude, but this time his fancy way-out ways are a matter of public record. All in all, it felt good to bring a little justice to his side of the street for a change."
The drugs were gathered into specimen bags and taken to the police for further analysis.
Hartford returned to his job as a long-distance school crossing guard who is not allowed to work within 300 yards of any local elementary education buildings for reasons that he declined to comment on. Being a former Catholic Priest his integrity is seldom questioned.
When asked to comment on the estate raid, Yambar simply said, "Drugs have always been a part of my life. I have no plans to stop using them now."

Tuesday, July 21, 2009


Writing one's first official blog is a pretty humbling event. Blogs are very personal. You have to establish trust with your readers and give them something to think about.
On Facebook you can afford to be coy and brash, shooting off brilliant one-liners to those who have friended you in order to hang onto high school memories after their third husband has left them for a youthful new lover that they just met on MySpace.
MySpace allows you to outright lie and live in an adult fantasy world when you are only twelve.
Twitter allows you to tweet about the most insignificant and mundane events like the time the police raided your house and dragged away that creepy old guy who agreed to meet you while your parents were away at their class reunion. Or that time you peed a little during the Heart concert.
Blogs are far more complex. They allow you to expound on the depths of your soul and delve into the bowels of your dreams in ways that can easily be gathered into books for future study. I want this blog spot to be personal and sometimes a little too honest and revealing. I want this standard because you are important to me. Without your support I would be like a defenseless dandelion in a vast wind storm. Scattered and drifting. Unfocused and frightened.
What I am about to tell you has been a secret so heavy and awkward that it has nearly crushed the joy out of my life. I have hid this from everyone for years. It is my hidden shame. On the outside I have have put on the face of a carefree clown. On the inside I have cried out for release like a small red fox with its paw clamped firmly in a hunter's winter field trap. My blood winding its way through the cold snow until my vision blurs and I am too weak to gnaw my leg off as I hear my death approaching with his dogs.
Sharing it with you now will set me free to return to the world of men and of dignity.
I AM BLANKET JACKSON'S FATHER. There. I have finally said it.
Several years ago, I had the opportunity to attend a party thrown by the King of Pop and was ushered into a secret room where I was offered money to be the seed doner for Michael Jackson's third child. At first I tried to turn down the offer, but I needed the money to pay for some cereal premiums I had ordered on eBay. I don't know who the woman was. I never did see her face. She was wearing a blanket over her head just like me. I blacked out when we were through. I awoke hours later at a bus station in southern California. Sheepishly, I rifled through my pockets for the promised payment for my drunken act. All that was there was a note that simply read, "Beat It!"
When I returned to Ohio, I somehow managed to put the whole thing out of my mind. I went back to my job picking up litter in the executive parking lot of a now bankrupt national drug store chain. Every once in a while, I would see something that reminded me of that strange night. Usually, it was something on the radio. Then it all came to a head for me. I saw Michael dangle his son from a hotel window. Those helpless flapping arms. Those Fred Flintstone toes. That chubby baby fat. THAT BLANKET!
I immediately began to write letters to Neverland demanding to see my son. I got beat up by security guards for attempting to scale the fence that surrounded the Jackson property. I appealed to the authorities but to no avail. Nothing worked.
Jackson seemed to mock me on VH1 with lines from "Billy Jean" that included the line, "the kid is not my son." What other proof did the courts need? One day I just gave up. Then Michael died. Now the whole child custody topic is up in the air again. I can't fight Michael's dermatologist or even LaToya for that matter. I could probably take Jermaine in a fight, but I think Tito would outright kick my ass. I just don't have the liquid assets.
Look. I've posted an image of myself and one of my beautiful son Blanket. We belong together. Please help me fight the Jackson estate for custody of my son. He needs me. I know he cries in his sleep. I can feel his tears. If you can find it in your heart to send me some money to fight for sweet little Blanket, I will pray that God increases your bank account 100 fold. If you send me that, then i will pray that He increases what you have left a thousand fold. I have sown my seed; now will you help me by sending a cash seed donation to: Cash, 23 South Hartford Avenue, Youngstown, Ohio 44509 USA. (Make sure you write "Blanket Funds" in the memo area of your check or money order so it will be allocated properly.) Thank you!
Tonight, when you go to sleep, make sure you rub your blanket against your cheek. Imagine that my son is snuggling with you. And smiling.
Whew! Thanks for letting me get this off my chest. You are simply the best! I love you so much. Your friendship is magical to me!