Archive for the ‘new england’ Tag

08/26/2002 ☠️☠️Morbid Humor☠️☠️   Leave a comment

Over the years I spent a great deal of time roaming through graveyards in New England and elsewhere. I’ve always found them to be very quiet and calming. I also discovered that the older the tombstones the more interesting are the epithets. Here are a few you might get a kick out of.

Beneath this stone, a lump of clay,

Lies Uncle Peter Daniels,

Who too early in the month of May

Took off his winter flannels.


The children of Israel wanted bread,

And the Lord sent to them manna.

Old clerk Wallace wanted a wife,

And the Devil sent him Anna.


Here lies my husbands, One, Two, Three,

Dumb as men could ever be.

As for my fourth, well, praise be God,

He bides for a little longer above the sod.

Alex, Ben, and Sandy were the first three names,

And to make things tidy I’ll add his – James.


Here lies the body of fat May Preston

Who’s now moved to heaven

To relieve the congestion.


09/20/2021 Pennsylvania Loyalist   4 comments

Years ago my favorite blogger, the late, great, Acid Man, wrote a few hundred words on swearing, cussing, and the differences between the two. I am nowhere near as eloquent as he but here goes anyway.

I come from an area in the country known for its blue-collar roots, coal miners, mill workers, and some downright bad ass cusser’s. Western Pennsylvania is arrogant in its pride of self and I find myself guilty of that at times. At age four I was sitting on a street corner in Natrona, Pennsylvania with my grandfather and swearing for nickels and pennies from his buddies. If by chance I yelled the ultimate motherfucker, I got a quarter and some ice cream. So you have to admit I come by swearing honestly.

Of course we were all raised as avid Steeler fans and if you didn’t curse loudly and often enough while watching their games then you were a horse’s ass. Any bastard who called some other son-of-a-bitch a rotten prick was a no good shithead or so I’ve been told. You always had to be ready to voice your support for the Steelers as they kicked the shit out of those pussies from Cleveland and those bastards from Houston (hopefully).

We lived in a diverse area with Irish, Poles, Slavs, Blacks, Italians, and the occasional Hispanic. To be a professional cusser in our neighborhood you had to know cuss words in at least six different languages to be properly understood. We were the UN of fucking, half-assed, dirty rotten language and damn proud of it.

I’ve now lived in New England for more than 37 years and I have to admit that the swearing here is a little more laid back than I’m used to. A little too polite and prissy for a boy from fucking Pennsylvania. I actually look forward to trips back home where I can walk into a bar after 37 years of living in New England and have someone say, “Hey, who let that motherfucker in here and is he buying the next goddamn round?”. It’s just not the same here in New England. Two F-bombs in one sentence seems to be too much for New England sensibilities. Well hell, if they don’t fucking like it they can kiss my fucking ass.



01-28-2014. Journal Entry – Cemetery Visits   2 comments

I thought today I’d show you a few photographs I took during my travels yesterday. Even though it’s winter and freezing cold with snow piled just about everywhere, I needed to get away from the house for a few hours. I reverted to my old habits, took my camera, and began my search for some old cemeteries.


“A cold and wintery resting place.”

One of the things I like best about living in New England is the number of ancient cemeteries that are scattered throughout almost every community. It seems that every large family back in the 1600’s that owned property maintained a private cemetery for their family members. Almost all of them have survived but most are difficult to visit since they’re away from public roads and on private property.


“This shows how old the cemetery really  is. These folks were buried here before those trees existed.”

I became quite the cemetery visitor when I lived in southern Massachusetts back in the 1980s. My ex-wife and I owned a small gift shop and as part of that business I painted landscapes of local cemeteries and sold them in the shop. For a time I could be found creeping around the older of the cemeteries with a supply of T-shirts to stretch over tombstones to do gravestone rubbings.  A great many people thought the idea of owning a T-shirt with their family name on it was edgy and cool.  They sold like hot cakes.  On one occasion I was visited by the local police in a cemetery where they questioned me as to my activities.  Fortunately I was able to explain things to them and avoided arrest. Within a week I had supplied one of those officers with his own personalized shirt and was never bothered again.


“The day was too bright and made the names difficult to capture.”

I just love cemeteries, the older the better.  It’s a quiet and serene place to spend a hour relaxing and reading old epithets.  Yesterday I found a few within a short drive from my home that were accessible and not covered in snow. 


“I tweaked this photo with software but still couldn’t get the names readable.”

I can’t wait for the return of Spring and Summer weather so I can search out a few more of the isolated graveyards and add their photo’s to my collection.

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