I discovered at an early age how much women love diamonds and gold. The first piece of jewelry I ever bought for a female was a promise ring. The dia­mond was so tiny you could hardly even see it or tell it was there. Nonetheless, my 9th grade girlfriend adored it and promptly gave me a kiss. My first wife loved jewelry. But she didn’t get any diamonds and gold. A Choctaw Indian, I bought her rings, bracelets and necklaces made of sterling silver and turquoise. It wasn’t that I didn’t love her. At the time, I just couldn’t afford the good stuff being diamonds and gold. And even if I had been able to afford it, she probably would have got mad at me and hocked it or threw it in my face. All the fine diamonds at Tiffany’s couldn’t please that woman. (See previous blog “The Wrath ofPocahontas”) The Wrath Of Pocahontas

My girlfriend Tina liked diamonds and gold. I bought her some pretty nice rings back in 1983. Blonde and blue, she looked stunning wearing all her expen­sive jewelry. The first one carat cluster I ever bought a woman I bought for Tina. Young at the time, I bought it at Service Merchandise instead of Zales or Kay Jewelers. When Tina ran off with my best friend, she took the ring with her. I sure miss my friend. Just kidding! But she did leave me for another man. Think he bought her any rings? I seriously doubt it. Then there was my girl­friend of 1984. She too got diamonds and gold, but after three years(yes 3) pleasuring her and not getting any pussy? I still had to go. (See previous blog “How ‘Bout a Blowjob”)

How About A Blow Job Yes, there’s been lots of women in my life. And they all got their fair share of jewelry.

My third wife Melinda Ann? Now there was a girl who was spoiled rotten with diamonds and gold. She had rings on every finger, bracelets, necklaces and a gold Seiko watch to boot. There are pictures of her in “Tattoos For Women 21″. You see, she not only got diamonds and gold. She got five grand’s worth of profession­ally done tattoos too. When buying Melinda Ann jewelry, I chose a lot of Black Hill’s gold. I even updated her stuff. When I bought something bigger and better, her old diamonds and gold either got traded in on the purchase or placed in a scrap bag for melting or trading later on. This girl was decked out ladies! I enjoyed buying for her mainly because she was appreciative. Plus, I was high rolling at the time and had all the money in the world. You should have seen the cute little look she got on her face and the way she crinkled her nose. She loved it when I bought her diamonds and gold. And she loved old Tripper as well.

I remember the first one carat solitaire I ever purchased. It was a marquis cut. The guy at Andy’s Gun and Pawn beat me out of that one. Then there were the begets and pear shaped diamonds I’d bought and traded for. And the many rings made out of 18 and 24 karat gold. For a while there, I was dismantling stolen rings placing each individual diamond in small ziplock bags according to weight. Taking my melted down gold, I had custom rings and bracelets made for my girl­friends. All of which they thoroughly enjoyed. And how about this? Anyone ever heard of a mossenite? A mossenite looks like a diamond, will pass for a diamond and even test positive as a diamond on a jewelry store grade diamond tester. But they’re fake! Beware of ads in the newspaper that say, “One carat solitaire $800″. Noting that they never said “diamond” at all. Been there/done that. Lesson learned. Just so you know, you can’t always trust a diamond tester.

The guy who snitched me out on this bit? (See previous blog “The Rat”)THE RAT He use to bring me lots of diamonds and gold. Traded jewelry to me for speed all the time. Sometimes deals a man just couldn’t turn down. My lady friend Jo-Ann told me not to trust Tonmy. Said she felt he was no fucking good. Ignoring her woman’s intuition, I dealt with him anyway. And here I sit today. Doing an ass-load of time because I was greedy and wouldn’t listen when I should have. I got a diamond tennis bracelet from another rat. Twenty-two quarter carat stones set in 14 karat gold. Jackie Butler the stripper got that one. Along with a couple of grams of snow. Of course she was worth it. In reality, she was literally worth her weight in gold. A fun little chick. The kind of girl that caused me to trade dope for diamonds and gold. Man what a hotty! Not just any girl could have got five and a half total carats of stones.

The biggest and best diamond ring I ever traded for was one where I got a very good deal. Sight unseen, I bought a pawn ticket from a friend. I picked up the ring at Paul’s. It had three stones only. A one carat solitaire set in the center of the ring and two three-quarter carat stones on either side. Melinda wanted that ring. And wanted it bad. Begged me for it. But that was one ring I just couldn’t let her have. I bought it as an investment. And in the end, I made money which was a rare thing for me to do. That was one ring she never got to wear on her finger. A friend of mine’s father owns it now. He was smart enough to know what it was and bought it from me when I was down and out and needed the dough. In a way, I wish I would have kept that particular ring. Rings like that are few and far between.

Some of my customers use to think I was a pawn broker. Bringing jewelry as collateral to hold. One girl brought me a ring asking me to keep it until she could pay me for some speed. Said she’d be back in a week. I told her I didn’t want to take her ring but if I did, and she didn’t return, I’d sell it for the cost of the dope. An entire month later she came back asking me if I still had her one carat diamond ring. Didn’t have the money to pick it up, but she still wanted to know. When I told her I no longer had it, that a deal was a deal. She got all sad eyed and upset wishing she hadn’t given it to me at all. That’s when I took it out of my safe and tossed it back to her saying, “This one’s on me. Clean up and don’t hock your jewelry for any more dope.” I just couldn’t bring myself to keep that poor little girl’s ring. But still, I wanted to teach her a lesson letting her sweat.

Never bought any rocks for myself. But I did buy myself some gold. All the diamonds I bought or traded for went to my girls. I gave Kim a nice ring and matching earrings. She probably traded them off the minute I got put in jail. Some women are like that. And others appreciate what they are given. I’m the kind of guy that would rather buy something and give it to a girlfriend than buy something for myself. Especially when it comes to diamonds and gold. From that very first promise ring to the last ring I gave to Jo-Ann, I still remember them all. Being retired, I’ll probably never get to trade for any more. They say diamonds are a girl’s best friend. And you know what? I believe that, they sure got me a lot of preferential treatment over the years. And if I had it to do all over again? I’d still buy and trade for diamonds and gold! I am Tripper! Better diamonds and gold days!

There was a particular Chinese restaurant in my area I use to eat at all the time. They had great food and a buffet that was simply out of this world! I loved to have lunch there. And every time I met a new chick, that’s where I’d take her to dine. The owner of the restaurant acknowledged that I came in with numerous pretty girls. Sometimes she’d wink at me letting me know she knew. Never was one to date Asian women. But this old gal was different. She had long, beautiful hair and I swear she must have had breast implants. Because most of the Chinese women I knew didn’t have 38-double D’s like hers. When paying my bill, I always told her to keep the change. Smiling at me, I wondered if it was me she liked or my money clip full of fifty and hundred dollar bills. Sure was a pretty little lady. Never thought of having sex with her, although I couldn’t help but to ogle at her tits from time to time.

One day, Brenda and I had just finished our chicken fried rice and egg rolls (not to be confused with yummy-yummy egg rolls in a previous blog titled the same), when my date announced she was going to the lady’s room. While she was gone, Sushi Sue came and started taking our dishes away. “How are you today?” I smiled and asked the hot little fox as she bent down to wipe my area showing me her less than ample cleavage. “Me fine. You know me mother, she like you. She think you coolest American she ever seen. You should talk to her sometime. Ask her out on date. She single you know.” Surprised at how bold this young geisha girl was in attempting to fix me up with her mama-sahn, but wanting to be nice, I replied, “Oh cool. Tell her I’ll give her a call. My name’s Trip, if you didn’t know.” Smiling, the young Chinese girl, every bit as pretty as her mother, turned and sashayed away.

“She’s cute, huh?” said Brenda when returning from the lady’s room. “Yeah, she’s okay. But you know me. I’m not really into Asian women. I like blondes. Now let’s me and you go do a couple of lines of coke and get naked! What do ya say?” I laughed and teased. I then took a five dollar bill and three ones out of my shirt pocket and left them under the fortune cookie tray as a tip. “Here! Wait!” said Brenda. “Aren’t you going to read your fortune?” “Nah, you know I don’t believe in that kind of stuff. Pick one for both of us and you read it to me.” I said. After paying for lunch and on the way out the door, Brenda snapped the fortune cookie in half and read. “Your love life is about to change for the better.” “Yeah, right” I said. “I believe that like I believe there’s a man in the moon! Now, get in the car. You like candy? Cause I got an all day sucker here with your name written all over it,” I teased.

Two weeks later, I returned to my favorite restaurant. But this time, with a different girl and her two kids. At 9 years old, my girlfriend Kim’s son Cameron was a mean little fucker. He was totally off the chain and out of control, saying words that would make the meanest teenagers blush. “Cameron, I’ll give you five bucks if you eat some of that red hot sauce in that bottle with the rooster and Chinese writing on the side.” I told him. “Is it real hot Uncle Allen?” he inquired. “Nah, even the wimpiest could turn the bottle up and drink that stuff!” I said. “Don’t tell him that Allen!” said his mom knowing that particular hot sauce would light a mother fucker up to no end. Shaking his head “no,” he smiled at me, his four front teeth missing, knowing he wanted that five bucks like crazy. “Ten bucks,” I said. Again, Cameron the terror shook his head “no.” “Okay, fifteen is my final offer. And look!” I said when squirting a little of the sauce on my fried rice. “I’ll even try some of it myself. I’m not a wimp!”

The waitress came and asked if everything was alright—did we need anything. And I asked her to bring us another round of Cokes. When she left, I laid three five-dollar bills on the table and squirted a big bunch of killer red hot sauce on Cameron’s rice. “What’ll it be? Just tell me you’re weak. Just tell me you’re a wimp and it’ll all be okay. I’m sure your little sister Jessie would like to have that fifteen. Let me find out you’re a real wimp.” Challenging this little terror, knowing his mother was going to be pissed, but perhaps even getting a little revenge after the 15 minute sailor mouth session he gave his mother on the ride over where she just took it and did not punish him at all, not even to tell him to be quiet! Grabbing the three Abe Lincolns, Cameron shoved a mouthful of hot saturated rice in his craw and began to chew.”Gotta swallow it all or it’s no deal!” I said. He did Then all of a sudden, his face turned beet red, eyes started bulging out of their sockets and he started gasping for air. “Damnit Tripper!” his mom screamed while hitting me on the shoulder. “Cameron! Take a drink of your soda before you pass the fuck out!” she said. I gave him a glass of milk that the pretty little waitress brought with the cokes, and told him to drink it up, it would go away and next time to think about that burn when he spoke to his momma. Yeah, old Cameron baby’s mouth was literally on fire there for a while. As a souvenir, I bought him a bottle of the Chinese hot sauce to take home with him when we left.

Time now to leave, I tipped my favorite waitress and walked toward the front. “Kim, take the kids and go on out to-the car. I’ll be there in a minute. I want to get a bottle of this hot sauce to go.” “Hi!” I said to the little Asian lady who owned the restaurant and always flirted with me. “That’ll be twenty-dowwa. Everything okay?” she asked. “Just fine,” I said when pulling out a wad of bills from my jacket pocket. Peeling off a twenty and an extra five for the sauce, I didn’t notice it at first, but apparently I’d dropped a quarter paper of cocaine on the counter. “Shit!” I said grabbing for the ziplock baggy full of powder at the same time as the hostess who said, “This my tip? This for me?” “If you say so,” I replied still in shock and really not knowing what to do. Embarrassed and a bit shaken I hurried on out to my Cadillac.

From that day forth, that lady never would leave me alone. She even invited me to the back one time where we shared a couple of lines snorted from a chopping block in the kitchen. She was cute and all. But as I mentioned before. I wasn’t into Asian chicks. I’d only dated one before. And she was a hooker and way, way too skinny for me. “You sure are handsome man. Sure you wouldn’t like to take me out on date some time?” she asked grabbing me by the forearm, running her hands up to my biceps adding, “Ooh! You so big and strong!” “Maybe later,” I said and smiled, not wanting to hurt her feelings. Leaving the back and heading out the front door, I thought to myself … think maybe she’s like one of those chicks in the movies— me love you long time? Who knows. All I know is, I got the hell out of there and after that and stopped eating Chinese buffet. Take it easy everyone. I’m Tripper, Better Days!

Some of my readers may be too young to remember Bob Keeshan as Captain Kangaroo. Others may be a product of the ‘roo generation just like me. Captain Kangaroo,for those who don’t know, was a preschool TV program that ran on CBS from 1955 to 1984. A large, dumpy lookin’ dude with a funny hair­cut and thick brushy ’stache. I sometimes wondered if the Captain got high or maybe he was gay. And if so, was Mr. Greenjeans also a stoner or perhaps the Captain’s gay counterpart? Nonetheless, I was a little kid who sat in front of the TV Monday through Friday watching Captain K. before heading off for school. Romper Room didn’t have shit on the Captain. Neither did that soft spoken fag Mr. Rogers. “Can you say penis boys and girls? Sure you can!” Yeah, the whole crew of early morning kid show hosts were a bunch of fucking freaks!

And how about the Dancing Bear? Remember him? I think I read somewhere that the guy in the bear costume was the same dude that had his hand stuck up Bunny Rabbit’s ass to make him come to life. Silly rabbit anyway. A bear, a rabbit, a moose and a talking grandfather clock. What kind of acid was Captain Kangaroo fucking doing? Someone certainly had a vivid imagination. That’s for sure. Did you know the Captain was a drunk? Remember how red his cheeks always were? He must have spiked his morning coffee with vodka. At least he didn’t commit suicide like poor Mr. Greenjeans. I heard he woke up one morning, looked in the mirror and said, “Look at me! What a pitiful excuse for a man! I’m 72 years old and all I’ve ever been is Mister Fucking Greenjeans!” Click, click, BOOM! It was all over but the crying.

When I shaved off my experimental beard a couple months ago, I was fucking around and left myself some big old mutton chop sideburns like Captain Kangaroo use to have. After a few minutes, I realized how silly I looked and shaved them off. Think that was a wig the Captain wore? His hair was always so straight and perfect. I never had bangs when I was a little kid. They only looked good on little girls. Maybe that was part of the Captain’s way of getting in touch with his feminine side. Who the hell knows. No magic mirror on the Captain. “Magic mirror, magic mirror, tell me today, did all my friends have fun at play?” Yeah, fuck some Romper Room! The Captain was the shit! I was a Captain Kanga­roo kid. Not a Romper Room reject! And while I’m thinking about it, screw some Mr. Stupid Rogers too!

When I was a kid, I use to think it was so goddamn funny when Mr. Moose dropped all those ping-pong balls on top of the Captain’s head. Stupid ass moose anyway. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one that thought all that shit was funny. Its 29 year running made Captain Kangaroo the longest-running national children’s program in the history of network TV. Thinking back, I seem to recall there was at least one female who frequented the show. She was some sort of farm chick that came in and helped Mr. Greenjeans from time to time. Anyone remember her name? I thought not. Maybe I was just hallucinating. Hell I don’t know! And there were even cartoons on the Captain K. show. Tom Terrific and some fucked up dog named Muttley? No, not Muttley. Manfred the Wonder Dog! Yeah, I remember now!

The Captain may not have been gay. The rumor I heard about him and Mr. McFeely Rogers doing it in a Greyhound Bus Station may not have been true at all. I think it all started when my older cousin Ronnie saw me watching the Cap’ one morning and said, “You know he gobbles goobers don’t you?” I looked at him all crazy and said, “What did you say?” “Captain Kangaroo is a homo! He sucks little boy’s peckers!” Ronnie continued to taunt and tease. “No he does not!” I adamantly replied. “Now go the hell away!” He literally ruined my wholesome image of my childhood idol! He screwed my mind up for life! Surely Captain K. wasn’t a queer. And if so, how did my cousin Ronnie find out and know? Fuck it. He had to be lying. So I went ahead and kept watching Captain Kangaroo anyway.

Yeah, there were other little kids shows, but none held a candle to Captain K. Howdy Doody was before my time and Bozo the Clown always freaked me out. Mr. Rogers, he reminded me too much of Norman Bates, the character on Alfred Hitchcock’s movie “Psycho”. Some weird, soft spoken mental patient who might sneak up and stab you in the back right before he fucked you up the ass. Oh shit! I just remembered something else. Remember the Captain’s jangling ring of keys? I just thought about that when a Correctional Officer walked by and locked our cellblock door! Was the Captain perhaps an old school prison guard? Maybe he really did like young boys after all! And too, I wonder if the Captain ever got his star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame? He certainly was famous enough. Quite the colorful character, everyone knew who he was.

In closing, I just wanted to let everyone know that I was a Captain Kangaroo kid and proud of it! I miss all the little books he use to read to me. Think there’s some kind of box set of all his old shows? I miss his theme music. I can still hear it in my head today. What a happy tune. I wonder if the Cap. had diabetes? After all, he was fat and alcohol is chock full of sugar. Never saw him smoke a cigarette. But hell, he probably smoked them and maybe even a little weed too. In my middle class home, watching Captain Kangaroo was something to help keep me out of mischief. I know my mom appreciated him even though I kind of turned out fucked up, ending up in federal prison like I did. Wherever you are Captain!, I hope you’re happy as you made me smile many an early morning before grade school! I am Tripper! Better Kangaroo Days!

Trying to make this birthday a happy one for Tripper. I’m calling out to all friends, readers, and supporters, I need your help to make this work. Please read the blog, but the goal is at least 100 cards. That’s no small goal, it’s gonna take everybody and then some!! Please check it out and pimp this!!