Wherein I discuss my romance for the history of homes, and trace the dark history of the home where Rob Reiner was murdered, Norman Lear held subversive communist meetings, & Jane Fonda was denied by her mother who eventually slit her own throat with a razor blade.

Henry also is alleged to have taken her to a strip club when she was 14 then mocked her when she cried.

I throw in my own history of my homes and even the childhood home of Kurt Cobain.

Why not?

I’m done ignoring God’s poetry.

No refunds.

Oh, this song is at the end. I wrote & recorded it from a dream I had in august.

I’m not a good singer but it kinda fits.

===============

No One Home

7-22-2025 merkley

I

Somebody moving out,

somebody moving in,

bIIM7

nobody knows the ghosts

I

he knows within.

Somebody paints a wall,

somebody stains a floor,

nobody knows the pain

that came before.

bIIM7

Stripping her down around

I

below the bone,

bIIM7

tilling the ground he found

I

no one home,

bIIM7

killing the sound

he’s bound to be

I

lonely & left alone,

bIIM7

no one home,

I

no one home.

bIII I

Nobody stays around forever.

bIII I

Nobody breaks the final rule.

bIII

Nobody lives & loves

I

& laughs at deadly weather,

II7 bIIM7 I

nobody, not like you.

II7 bIIM7 I

Nobody, not like you.

Somebody moving out,

somebody moving in,

nobody knows the ghosts

he knows within.

Nobody knows the ghosts

he knows within.

=============

Wherein I find myself in a rabbit hole started by the murder if Rob Reiner by his own son that lead me to watch the pilot episode of Kids Incorporated, for which I failed an audition in 1983.

Hard to say, but it might have been one of the luckiest failures of my life.

There is no real reason to be discussing this, but I kinda want it on the record.

Gay.

No refunds.

Wherein I explore the woo woo ways in which the algorithms have lead me to discover many poetic connections between both good & evil influences in my life and maybe yours.

From my audition for Kids Incorporated, at Osmond Studios to having my first drink with Fergie in Berkeley.

From watching All In The Family with my own messed up family, to discovering that it was written by card carrying communists hell bent on destroying American values, to YouTube asking me to watch Carrol O’Connor & Jean Stapleton refusing to do the voices of their characters on the Donny & Marie show in their last (possibly only) appearance together as themselves.

Right up until Meathead was poetically slaughtered by his own son.

Justice delivered to your doorstep.

Metaphorically literally.

Anyway, too much, I know.

No refunds.

Wherein I ponder how my Christmas, and maybe yours, was in some small way affected by a decades long plan to undermine and diminish white fatherhood.

From All In The Family, to Maude, The Jeffersons, Good Times, One Day At a Time, right on up to his last ditch attempt with 704 Hauser St., his commitment was impressive.

He likely never imagined how the season finale would feature Rob Reiner, his first anti-dad protagonist, stabbed to death by his own son.

More clarity is coming with each passing day.

Seize it.

No refunds.

Wherein I implore anyone listening to my little rants reverberating from my little crack in the universe to set their expectations extremely low. I also impart the cheapest of all gifts, which is permission to completely ignore me.

As if you need that permission.

You don’t.

Anyway, I also jump around some childhood Christmas memories in a family with 18 kids and way too many step dads & moms.

Don’t chop off your dick.

Merry Christmas.

No refunds.

Wherein I suggest that a new tradition might be added to any Christmas party wherein we try to determine which guest is most likely to murder another guest.

I also argue that some of your favorite aspects of Christmas, pre-date Jesus by many centuries.

Also, Santa flying around on an eight legged horse, turning into black smoke & floating down your chimney, would be more bad ass than the fat clown with 8 gay reindeer stuff.

My research is half assed at best.

Merry Christmas

No refunds.

Wherein I ponder the queasy shameful memories I have rubbing shoulders in exclusive elitist Hollywood parties, & face the fact that those who are being excluded in said exclusivity are the very people who deserve inclusion most.

Resentment of the disease known as “fame” is not only justified, it is moral.

This whole thing is more Shakespearean than Biblical, but it does seem as if God is slapping us in the face with reality/truth.

I don’t edit.

Lots of tangents & dead air.

No refunds.

Wherein I examine the clues revealed by Rob Reiner’s “friends” at his 2000 Friar’s Club roast & further examine the subversive communist history of The Friars Club & the endless Hollywood self congratulatory circle jerk of awards ceremonies that inverts morality & basic American values to exalt the scheming manipulators & shame the common man.

Aka Joe McCarthy was right, which is why he was demonized.

My research process leaves something to be desired, but then again, so does every alleged historical record.

No refunds.

Wherein I wonder why there are very few, if any, pundits or leaders, specifically looking out for the tribal interests of White people, yet countless pundits & leaders specifically looking out for the tribal interests of every other tribe.

White people seem to be the only people who ever put the interests of other tribes before their own, and they might have been tricked into doing it.

Pigeons & Crows coexist while looking out for their own.

Time for White people to become tribal.

Otherwise, there will soon be no more White people.

No refunds.

Wherein I ponder the above topic by comparing what happened to Reiner against other rare A-listers who chose to leave the spotlight in order to raise normal families.

Fame is a disease that is not hard to cure once diagnosed properly.

Fans are a huge part of the problem.

I mention Spaulding Gray but I think I got his name wrong.

I’m not good at this.

So what.

No refunds.