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Preview: Burb's Buck & Buntline Inn

Burb's Buck & Buntline Inn

MsBurb's virtual bar where today's issues can be digested as well as the virtual drink she just served to you! Visit B3's cousin site "2nd Tate-LaBianca Murders Blog" at> while you're at it!

Last Build Date: Wed, 20 Sep 2017 04:53:53 PDT


Truth is Militant...

Tue, 19 Sep 2017 15:16:32 PDT

Before the phrase Politically Correct was coined, how did the world actually work?I remember my mother saying to me, "It's okay to tell White Lies if they keep from hurting someone."At age 7, that kind of made sense, and I took that motto with me all the way through grade school and university and even into my part-time retail job that paid for university, that if a customer the size of an 18 wheeler semi asked me if that horizontal striped shirt looked great on her, I'd smile, jauntily nod, and say, "Nobody can carry that look off like you!"Heck, once my friends started popping out babies, I'd look at each breathing, crying, pooping new born amoeba (all new-borns look like amoebas, okay!), and say, "Yes, he/she is the sweetest thing since sugar!"*Yawn* that's me being nice to not hurt someone's feelings...BANG! ZOOM! It's 2017, and the polite gloves are off and the raised by wolves mentality reigns!Now, not only will we tell you you're ugly and your mother dresses you funny, we will copy and paste a link to you of a paper bag & potato sack company you can use to cover your ugly self so the world's eyes don't have to bleed out at the sight of you. And SOMEONE ONLINE will give us a Like for that!I'm thinking the world has turned upside down in this technological Renaissance.Back in the day:To protect feelings, a White Lie.To protect the world from serious woes, the Truth.Now:To protect feelings, Online Shaming.To protect the world from serious woes, Group Think PC.I go on Twitter, and if I disagree with the norm on a serious issue, however abnormal that norm is, I get a pantheon on hateful tweets for even voicing an opposing opinion. Same with Facebook.I cannot discuss the future of the writing industry, what I think about the American obsession with race or debunk any so-called Conspiracy Theory without the Groupies coming out in swarms to smother me in their own brand of Group Think PC. It's like being the only person on a bridge trying to save a jumper and all the people in the cars on that bridge screeching to a stop to pull me away from doing, saying, what is reasonable, natural, normal.To answer the above:I don't think there should be Affirmative Action applied to any profession for any group. You should be offered entrance on ability alone. Period. And that goes doubly for the writing industry. Americans have got to STOP THINKING ABOUT RACE for bloody once in their 200+ year life and start thinking people, just plain people, who happen to be American. Simply, human beings breathing air. Lee Harvey Oswald killed JFK, and he did it alone. I read all 26 volumes of the Warren Report, have you? We went to the Moon in '69. Those reflecting squares didn't fly there on their own! 9/11 was not a bloody inside job. For cryin' out loud! And the Newtown murders of wee children actually happened. I'm so very sorry, but they did. Truth is ugly. It's base and often it's boring. But it's real. And believing in it, or not, doesn't alter that fact.Before you Group Think Groupies go off on an uttered Truth, sit back, use the brain God gave you, and consider that there might just be truth to that Truth, and in doing so, you might learn something...hopefully, to not be a PC Groupie. [...]

Image - A Death-knell to Your Future Goals...

Wed, 13 Sep 2017 18:25:24 PDT

Lethargy.Procrastination.The lack of personal success.Society begs for over-productivity in the workforce, but once we come home from work, we secretly dream of wanting more for ourselves, but end up doing less to nothing about it.Is this a universal truth? Time and culturally tested?Or is this a by-product of an over-stressed populous?We rush to get through work.We rush on the freeways to get home.We rush to make dinner for the family and to tidy the house.Only to rush to our easy chairs to do nothing for ourselves but stare into a screen - play station or TV tube.In past decades, when there were less time-saving devices, and when there weren't any home screens at all, somehow there was more time, and here's a twist: more energy to boot!I think the key to all success and failure is an ideal that should have be made into the 8th Deadly Sin eons ago, and that's Image - how we want the world to see us.In past eras, poverty was more the norm rather than the exception. Everybody lived within their means because they had no alternative. They paid by cash for everything they purchased, and if the money wasn't there to participate in some pleasurable past-time, you simply stayed home.Now, the middle class, of which there was none pre World War II, seeks to look like they live the caviar life, dreaming the champagne dreams of the rich and famous...all on a beer budget with a half dozen credit cards to pick up the slack that they can't possibly pay off in two lifetimes.That pay-cheque to pay-cheque existence over time creates stress, and long term stress creates lethargy, procrastination and ultimately depression, none of which give birth to a positive and productive energy flow. You're, in fact, pretending to "live the dream" that will in the end exhaust you to the point that actually achieving that dream will never materialize.If a societal solution is to be found, we must get real with ourselves, live within our means like our grandparents did, and be bloody content with what we have, so a positive energy flow is there to produce better results for us tomorrow.I once knew a couple who in their latter years were multi millionaires, and the wife, when she waxed emotional, always said her and her husband had more joy in their lives when they had orange crates for end tables...think about that!It's not what cars you drive.It's not how big your home is.It's not the clothes you wear...As long as you are content and confident in your own skin.That takes some doing if you are part of the self-conscious majority today, erroneously believing what you possess defines who you are.My advice on how to gain productivity freedom:Get off that useless treadmill and rid yourself of that elusive public Image, and when you do, you may find your free time far more energetic, far more enjoyable, and far more productive. [...]

MsBurb is Baaaaack!

Tue, 29 Aug 2017 18:38:43 PDT

It's not like MsBurb to disappear.Many people would like that, but I'm like a bad penny slathered in Ebola...I might hide inside a monkey for a wee while but, like Jack said, well, kind of, Here's MsBurb!First, my apologies...I went AWOL on both the 2nd Official Tate-LaBianca Murders Blog (aka TLB2) and the Buck & Buntline Inn (aka B3), as for the last number of years I decided to try my hand at longer works, and like chewing gum and walking - and I have no idea how people do that! - I left writing short articles to dive deep and long into novels.In that time, I've written three books...CLICK PIC TO BUYNo More Blood - on the last three hours of Truman Capote's life - available right now as an ebook at Amazon.No More Blood, being such a research heavy topic, and my first stab at a long work, took me close to two years to finish; although, Truman had been talking in my ear since '07, I just didn't think I had it in me then to attempt the feat. CLICK PIC TO BUY18 1/2 - a political thriller where I tell the reader, once and for all, what was on that 18 1/2 minute gap on the Nixon Watergate tape - available on amazon as well.Sessions - a psychological noir - NOT a typical police procedural - is a kind of proverbial  Dodge City at High Noon shoot out between a psychiatrist and a sexually sadistic serial killer who is a 70 year old female...never been caught. As I type this, Sessions is being read by agents in an attempt to get this book traditionally published so as yet not available to the public.All the while I'm spending all-niters writing these works, I was thinking of these blog sites, but I knew my writer's mind could not do justice to two things at once.My writing has been under an evolution of sorts this last decade since I retired from the full-time work-force, and for the better, I like to think. But although I am already in preparation mode for my 4th novel, I feel more skilled to handle both long and short works, so here I am, and this time, I mean to stay.My goal is to blog on Mondays for TLB2 and B3, the rest of the week write on my current novel. I may flounder here and there but I'm determined to stay the course and try my best to get you, my dear readers, back, giving you the attention you deserve.If there are any specific topics you'd like to see me handle on TLB2 or B3, just email me and offer up your ideas. I have posts in the hopper but it's nice to see what the readership would like me to cover, as well.If you click back onto the blogs, you will see a New & Improved look to them both, hopefully set up better, offering more and resembling something one would actually find online in this century. Yes, I went kicking and screaming into the 21st. I have the proverbial psychological bruises to prove it!On TLB2, MsBurb's "Record Player" is back! Email me anytime with '60s songs you'd like me to add to the playlist. And in the near future, I will add a "Slide Show" of the main photos covering these crimes and those times. These new blog themes are Works In Progress so bear with me...On B3, a new look as well, but still in keeping with my two favourite things - drinking and being North Irish-Canadian - this blog enabling me to say what doesn't quite fit on TLB2, past and current issues, social/historical events that have shaped our time in this our shared human experience.I have also begun a third website, entitled,CLICK PIC TO CHECK OUT SITE!Words to Write By...Books by B.J. Thompson (aka WWB), where, as a free-lance editor and writer, I discuss the issues surrounding the craft, will pen some short tales and post excerpts from my books, and make those novels available for sale to the general public. So, pour a coffee or something stronger, drop by, and do a little reading, won't you?So, here we go again, my fellow readers...the Manson and Social Commentary breech. I missed talking with all of you, so like Jack said, well kind of...MsBurb's Baaaaack! [...]

The Essence of Elvis...

Mon, 28 Aug 2017 16:31:10 PDT

…is about as hard to grasp as a hunk of cloud out an airplane window… Sure, watching those grainy, Technicolor recordings of his concerts or media/family videos of his time at Graceland look certainly out-dated and hokey, but there was something special in his aura, in the atmosphere he generated, in the man himself, and of course, in the music, wasn’t there? And the more the years roll by, and the older I get, I’m finally seeing the man over the “image” of the man, the imperfect human over the perfect sex idol, the real essence of Elvis Presley over the image of “Elvis”. It’s not that he wasn’t all those things to us girls way back when; it’s just that we locked eyes on those eyes, those cheekbones, those lips and that hair, and we really saw very little else. It was what made Elvis Presley “Elvis” in those days, even now. Today, Elvis would turn 75 if he had lived. Instead, he died three years younger than I am right now, and although I’m no spring chicken myself anymore, dying at 45, or at 42 like “E”, is truly unthinkable to me. Sure, the body isn’t any 21 year old anymore but the mind feels like it’s only beginning when one hits their 40s. But that’s the essence of what “Elvis” was that Elvis Presley would never be. The “image” could never fail, never falter, never grow old in any of our eyes. We, his fans, sentenced him to death well before the talent and the genius that was him had a chance to really bloom. Now, I can so easily envision Elvis in an advisory role to many of the new musicians of today, giving them the gift of his experience and musical intuition, right to his dying day. But that would require us, his fans, allowing him to fail, and falter and grow old…and I guess he thought we’d never allow that.I wonder if he was right? Elvis was only one in a pair of heart-throbs in those days and his counter-part, Tom Jones, managed to surviveour admiration and adoration quite well. Whether by luck or by breeding or by a more realistic view of himself, Tom was able to break free of the idol image and come back down to earth long enough for his fans to accept that he was “sex walking” no matter how old he got.  As it stands though, at 42, in 1977, the lights went out for good in Graceland for her, and for us, for good.We didn’t see the deepening lines, or the thinning, greying hair, our adoration for the man and the voice was and is as strong today as it was in the hay-day of his career,  just as Elvis’ had been. The realities of both men are and were vastly different though. Tom is in great health, his voice deeper and stronger now than in his youth and although some time ago he finally abandoned the silly notion of dying his hair, now sporting his natural snow white mop, his mental/physical/vocal faculties are intact,, no question. Elvis’ physical situation was far worse. Beyond the publicly known prescription pill addiction, Elvis suffered from raging glaucoma, having to take daily eye drops, wearing those signature dark, metal framed sun-glasses, really as a medical necessity over a strictly fashionable one. Some in the know claimed that he would have been legally blind in no time. His terrific mane of hair was seriously thinning and it was said that “E” had a small bald spot on the top of his head that his hair-dresser, Larry Geller, would spray-paint black to match his dyed black (naturally sandy blond) hair. The weight gain was, of course, a constant battle for “E” as well, a more than likely inherited trait from his Mother and not helped one bit by a constant diet of fat-rich southern home cooking. At one point, his entourage, “The Memphis Mafia”, lead by Joe Esposito, kept him drugged up for close to two weeks just so he wouldn’t eat - a desperate act to lose the weight. The weight, the stress of touring endlessly and yes, the pills, all began to have an affect on his voice. His signature tone stayed true but at the end, [...]

The Russian Martians Are Coming!

Mon, 21 Aug 2017 17:54:23 PDT

Thursday August 8, 1974.A beautiful, calm, late summer, early evening day in Lake Country, Haliburton, Ontario.My memory doesn't hold what I or my family did up at the cottage that day but there is no doubt what we did when we came in for the evening.The adults were seated around the dining room table - it must be a farmer-thing to sit at a table - I, not having been a farm girl, always thought that habit strange when perfectly good, comfy chairs and couches were on offer in a room constructed for the purpose of living – the Living room.With that personal logic firmly in place, then as now, I took my preferred seat in an antique rocking chair which sat opposite and catty-corner the portable TV and the picture window looking out on to Maple Lake. I remember the leaves were already turning but the grass was still very green, no real summer heat to speak of at this setting-sun hour unless one meant the white-hot heat coming from the picture tube which projected out to us all the Washington DC announcement being aired, live, on the CBC channel. We were lucky to tune in any TV station in those days, for aerials on roof-tops were the only technological innovation available to dial in a decent picture.Luckily, or unluckily, for me, that Thursday was a clear TV viewing day and the image of a slate-blue backdrop curtain, a nondescript desk and a Brylcremed-hair man in a dark blue suit, well familiar to us all, filled the screen;“Good evening. This is the 37th time I have spoken to you from this office, where so many decisions have been made ...” he began.This televised speech was not unexpected by most but for me, at age nine, what you expect and how you react to that expectation were two different things.The worst time of life to have any traumatic event must be at the age of nine. You're old enough to understand what is said and are able to see with your own eyes events which are unfolding but not old enough to properly digest nor appreciate nor truly comprehend the Big Picture. What adults witnessed that night they knew would eventually be overcome. An imaginative child like me saw this Thursday at 9:01pm, as the end of the world;“Therefore, I shall resign the Presidency effective at noon tomorrow....”My ears tuned out after that sentence. If I had been an adult, I would have known the Vice President would have had the seamless transfer of power, that oft unheard, unseen, quiet, sedate, level-headed soul, the former Congressman from the Warren Commission, Mr. Bland himself, known by all as Gerald Ford. And knowing all that, I would have realized that the big chair in the Oval Office would have been well occupied, surely preventing my wild speculation, “We're going to be invaded by Martians or Russians,                       or Russian Martians! Nobody is minding the store!”My Mom had joined me in the Living room when Nixon got well into his speech, sitting, she did, to my left, on the couch, while the rest of the adults were still holding court at the Dining Room table, talking in low tones, solemn, serious. I looked left and right in a rather controlled panic to see if anyone else in the cottage was as frightened as me and although no adult was panicking, none were jumping for joy either. They all had that look parents have when their kiddies have done something wrong – that look of disappointment. I knew Nixon must have been very bad.Admittedly, I long ago knew he had been very bad. I, like the rest of North America had been glued to the TV all those months before, watching the Ervin Senate Hearings but somehow I couldn't, or wouldn't, connect the wrong-doing stated there, with Nixon. Naive, I guess I was, believing that Presidents don't lie, Presidents don't cheat, Presidents don't cover up mistakes...because, well, Presidents never make mistakes, right?Wrong.That Thursday, as the sun sank low on [...]

Our Beloved D-Day Generation…

Mon, 21 Aug 2017 17:54:56 PDT

Most of us weren’t even born then, or if we were, were small toddlers, but the adults who fought in World War II, who braved the fearsome Nazi foe, were a very brave breed indeed.Long before D-Day, the men on the battle-fields and the family members left behind sacrificed in ways we will never quite appreciate. Many of us kids have made fun of our parents and grandparents when they would scrimp and save, keeping cans of used fat, darning old socks, eating left-overs and turning off lights, saying to them in frustration, “Why on earth don’t you live a little?”We, our generation, was who they fought for, who they sacrificed for, and once you live without for what seems like a five year warring lifetime, the habit is instilled. Pay by cash, don’t amass debt, don’t abuse nor live in excess, your word and your handshake, your bond.No, all was quiet on the Western Front, or so they thought, in the late-night and wee morning hours, exactly 70 years ago this very minute. North Americans were enjoying their evening papers, while the British slept in their beds, but quietly and with the greatest force of manpower and materiel ever amassed, an entire modern-day Trojan Horse was being assembled on the English Channel, the likes of which had never been seen in human history.Patton had done his bit very successfully, promoting his grand fake army positioned near Folkstone facing Calais. A vast Division of balloon ships, artillery pieces, army jeeps and tanks, fake airplanes and fake radio communications, fooling the Nazis into thinking that when the Allied attack on France did happen, it would surely happen on the beaches of Calais. And for all their intelligence and diligence, the Germans were fooled, no member of the Nazi High Command ever thinking Patton would head anything but a legitimate force. Of course, Patton hated Eisenhower for giving him this order but it was this sneaky strategy which enabled complete tactical surprise on those five beaches in Normandy at dawn on June 6, 1944.By the time Britain's were rising from their beds, padding downstairs to put the kettle on for yet another of many such tea brews which sustained them through the war years and those awful Blitzkrieg air attacks, from the Messerschmitt's to the V1 & V2’s, a floating armada of Allied battleships and troop carriers, an advance party of paratroopers and glider pilots, all quietly fought the turbulent Channel winds to land on French soil and begin what would be the eventual ending of that horrible Nazi Regime.My Mother was only 18 years old on June 6th, June 4th being her birthday, working for the Medical Division of the Canadian National Railway in Winnipeg. My Father was 30, defending our Canadian soil as a Constable in the RCMP. Their Generation smoking cigarettes, reading newspapers, listening to the radio and living on food rations, scrimping and saving wherever and whenever they could.These people are dying now by the hundreds and with this 70th anniversary the last World War as a living memory will become a thing of the past, only read in history books and talked about dispassionately, for the heart and the soul of that last, great fight, is dying with those people who made it happen.The world holds court now with the children and grand-children of those brave men and women and we have assumed their gift of freedom as a birth-right, something which will never be at risk again. We celebrate this so-called “fact” by buying everything on credit, amassing great personal debt, buying material objects which are well beyond our means and not caring, really, if what we are doing and how we are living, flies in the face of what was so precious to the  Greatest Generation who fought so hard and sacrificed so much for that freedom – the freedom of choice, the freedom of voice – the freedom to forget and not appreciate and the freedom to abuse.Tomorrow, not many will care. Tomorrow, not much wi[...]