Monday, November 22, 2010


Life is the journey of a slow death for most of us. Sometimes death comes knocking early, sometimes death doesn't even knock, it just comes in and takes you. Other times it let's you be for a long time but eventually it comes to take you away from the world you know and the ones you love most. It comes to take us all.

My death warreat came a couple of weeks ago from my have cancer Max. Like any death warrant, some are excecuted on the spot, some are not executed for years. Their are always appeals, sometimes long drawn out painful appeals were we languish in a limbo full of dangers.

I can't say I was shocked, death has been after me for a long time. Like all of us it sits on our shoulder just waiting for the right moment when we are not fully attententive of our whereabouts. After all our state of being is a constant puzzle. Where are we? Why? Who am I? What is my purpose? Nobody has the answer. Yet most of us are addicted to life. Oh, we have a lot of excuses. To create a better world, leave something behind that will remind total strangers of the future that we have lived? Yes of course a better future for our children, for all the children of the world. All a little selfish considering that most of us won't be remembered past a horses ass.

How do I feel about my death warrant? I'm thinking about it. I'll let you know.

Friday, July 2, 2010

Thursday Night @ The Standard

I almost never go out in this town called LA. Yet, last night I did, wanted to see an old friend and porn actress Brittaney Andrews and I wanted to see The Standard Hotel, I'm kind of a hotel buff?

Sticky waterbeds, sticky hand rails (yuk), strange stuffy rooms with toilets in the sleeping area and each narrow dimly lite floor with it's own delicate odor and the guests? Far from high end, mainly at a dead-end. Endless stories full of cow you know what...tee shirts, dirty sneakers, bad breath, spilled drinks, drunken corporate workers and an incredible view of the ten or so high rises that define the skyline of downtown Los Angeles.

A better name would be The Standard Motel, with their signage posted up-side-down.



It just never ends, doesn't it?

A note from an old friend on Facebook corporate censorship and their endless war on sexuality which will cause their downfall...

It just never ends, doesn't it?

I have been a fan of Dr. Susan Block for, I guess, 15 years (and I am probably low-balling it). She has been one of the people responsible for (some say blame) for my sexual evolvement. She is sexy, haughty, regal, profane, outrageous....and a pretty hood egg.

Currently she is having a bit of a problem with the folks at Facebook. It is the same problem wherever she and those like her go: you follow the restrictive TOS, but even then, because some biddy in Terre Haute thinks that you are the embodiment of Satanism because you talk about sex in an honest manner, you should be banned.

Pay no attention to the person on FB who post about how much he wants to kill the President.

No sex on YouTube, but pay no attention to the very graphic videos of people killing themselves or uncensored gang videos.

It goes on and on and on.

Below, is an episode of the Dr. Susan Block Show from late 2009. Herein, DocBlock...when she is not offering homespun advice about vibrators and orgasms.....unleashes holy hell on AOL for, pretty much, the same crap that Yahoo, Facebook, Twitter, Multiply, Tagged, etc. pull. Restrictive terms of service that insures that their sites are safe for the same 8-year olds clandestinely downloading Sunny Lane videos onto their PS3s.

As you can see......nothing changes.

Don Pascal

See some classic Dr. Susan Block Shows @

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

The Time is Short

As if I didn't know, since my quadruple by-pass operation I've come to realize that these are my last days on earth. That whole thing about a life time ahead of me was just a misunderstanding of time and space. A well intentioned parental booster on those bad days when life sucked.

But now I get to tell everything, I can cut the thin delicate veneer of the of the bag and let all the beans spill out, let them spread across the floor, cause now it doesn't matter and the truth has to be told. I'm going to tell you all this because I think you should know the truth. You should know the truth for my sake There is no life time, there are minutes, moments when we see ourselves bigger than life, masters of the fact, we are little, tiny, inconsequential in the scheme of time and space.

But we are arrogant braggards with big stories about our little lives. We insist that we are. Are what? Time erases us in a matter of nano-seconds. What we leave behind is stuff. Tragic stuff.

More later... 

Monday, March 1, 2010


We are back on the air live and you can listen to the back shows at

Sunday, February 21, 2010

The Bunny Ranch

I'm always amazed when I go see my old friend Dennis at the Bunny Ranch out in the middle of nowhere. All these great warrior hookers plying their trade and bringing pleasure to people. How brave they are to ignore all the social pressures. Goddess bless them and open the doors to heaven for them for they are truely brave women.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Way to go Mossad

Way to go Mossad. Hey, great hit, great operation. Watched it all on video tape! You know video tape? You know security cameras? You all looked fabulous :-)

OK, what can I say...

Sasha Grey, Maxhardcore and more

Just returned from Sex Week at Yale where I spent the last night listening to Sasha Grey and one of the most boring interviews ever. Not only was Sasha a bore and not informed but she accused Maxhardcore of raping women and said he should be in prison. Good going Sasha, may the good goddess bless you!

What else? The ladies of Yale were far better & hotter then any of the porn stars at Sex Week @ Yale. I was falling in love every few minutes.

Thursday, February 4, 2010


One more day waiting for an answer to my questions. I live not to far above the city of Los Angeles. It's our new home in the sky. From here I can see the city, the mountains and on a clear day I can see heaven and the angels.

One more day waiting for answers to my questions which will never be answered.

Sunday, January 31, 2010

Lady Ga Ga / Terror in NY

On my mind today: Is lady Ga Ga a man? and New Yorkers don't want to spend $200 million to bring the mastermind of 9/11 to trial in their city? What's up with that?

Friday, January 15, 2010

Early Morning

Sometimes the magic ends at the end of a conversation.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Black Hair, Brown Hair, Red Hair and Blond Hair

Black haired girls have stubles and beards and smell pretty strong. Brown haired girls have soft pubic hairs and smell pretty good. Red haired girls are insane and smell funny. Blond haired girls always look clean and almost always smell yummy.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010


I'm alone in my office. I'm drinking. I'm trying to find someone who knows English grammer who can help me with my awful English. I have ads everywhere.

That's all I have to say tonight. Well, I have a lot more to say but the more I say the more confused the world becomes....sooo, I should be very humble and not say much at times like this. Cause sometimes we say way to much.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

TODAY 1.3.2010

The following words have not been edited.

It's been a long time since that ship's journey to America in 1951 and lot of history has been written. Now there is a new world of wars, war of the worlds. People come to America with bombs in there underwear, bombs in their shoes. People come to America full of hate and resentment over our squandering of resources, our disregard for the suffering of the world's poor, our disregard for humans, our disregard for the animal kingdom and our disregard for mother nature. They hate us for all we have done and wasted throughout our history. They hate us for our arrogance. They hate us for our religions. They hate us for our power. They hate us for destroying their cultures with hamburgers. They hate us for a million wrong reasons because they know not freedom...they don't even know why they hate us.

Me, I got freedom here. They jailed me, they beat me, they tortured me, they called me names, they charged me with dispicable crimes, they plundered my life, they raped me but I have freedom, freedom to fight back.

But just this moment I look out over my city of Los Angeles with it's 10 or so little skyscrapersand I look at my village and I am amazed...I am alive!

Yet I feel they pain..the pain in my heart.

Old Writings Catching Up to Me

Please always keep in mind that these are raw writings and have not been edited.

January 1951 Mid-Atlantic. It’s late night and I’ve snuck out of my cabin once again to wander around this huge white ship sailing through the night, a ship that is taking me to America.

There’s no one on the decks except rows of wood lounge chairs. As I walk by the bar area I can see people inside drinking and talking. The ocean is rough and threatening spraying its’ restlessness all around us, even to the upper decks and the bridge of the ship.

The nose of the ship cuts deep into the black swells of water that surround us and then raises it’s self up and out like a giant white whale leaving a white frosting on the surface. I stand there transfixed.

With ocean spray all around me I make my way down the iron and wood stairs. The metal is cold against my hands and the wind is howling like wolves in the night. The sea is dark. There are no lights anywhere except the reflection of the ships lights.I make my way to the first deck and towards the front of the ship. I
watch the front of the ship rise up towards the dark sky and then fall gracefully back into the ocean slicing through the waves like a knife through butter. I watch the seawater spraying up over the
ships bow. My hands grip tightly to the cold metal railing. I just stand there. I am the captain of my ship.

That’s what I will do the rest of my life. I will be the captain of my ship. The sound of the sea and wind are deafening.

December 2003. It’s late night. From my window I can see the harbor of the little village I live in the South of France. It’s four thirty in the morning. The sea is very calm the lights dance gently on it’s surface. I’m drinking whiskey. In Los Angeles everyone is getting ready for Susan’s show. I am alone in my lonely paradise.

December 13, 2003. 5:45 AM. It’s almost show time in Los Angeles. Tonight we have the PORN CLOWNS. I’m tired, very tired. I’m lonely separated from my family. Not my first family I created with my first wife but my new family. A family that loves me and cares for me.

JANUARY 22, 2001. I’ve been crippled. They tried to cripple me. They have succeeded in a way. Actually they wanted to kill me, cause me a little stress so that I might have a heart attack. Yet it’s more like I’ve had an ART-ATTACK. My isolation calls up all the things that my mom and dad thought me when I was a child. I had great parents, parents that came from another world, another culture another time. They grew me big and strong. They made me smart, especially my father. Peter was a storybook character, a one of a kind crazy man. He had zero tolerance for weakness. I have many wonderful memories of his insanity and my mother’s tears.

Actually what these people wanted from me was money, cold hard cash, I’m back to the people that wanted me killed. I’m not talking about some terrorist agents. I’m talking about my God awful children. Sometimes I wish he would take them back but children only have a ninety-day warranty. Please take back them,
these were never my children, they were a genetic failure, a God-awful creation, a nightmare from a horror movie. These are flesh-eating worms, thieves, self-centered, self- pitying worms who should be crushed under the heavy boot of time and our family history.

Additional Notes, SEVERAL YEARS LATER: Yet children are children no matter how old they get and after all the charges they filed against me have been dropped and our family has resolved the issues, except for money of course which is always hard to deal with, especially when money is not a priority in my life.
Somehow you must always forgive your children as they forgive you. Time heals bad memories.

Through it all there are people who like to kick you when they can. People that want to hurt you and your loved ones. We all know people like that. Ex employees are notorious stompers as are ex-lovers. So when I was charged by my daughter of horrific crimes out came the vultures.

Ex employee Ben Schlaver and his girlfriend Natalie Monroe found their revenge. Of course they had to be removed from our offices for selling crack from our house and shipping drugs via Fedex across state lines with our company name on the airbill. Nice liberal family from Boston. Real smart...Schalver.

Then there's Joseph Buckman that couldn't wait to strong arm Susan into taking the company away from her as soon as I left, this is the guy who financed my trip to France. But when he wasn't able to take over the company he filed a claim for back wages for his accounting services. He was never an employee, he was an investor, consultant and our book keeper.

Then there's ex-employee Robert Sterling, the conspiracy buff and Konformist editor who stole private papers from the company files which eventually wound up on someone else's website. I won't even mention this scum bags name (at this point) who calls himself a journalist but he is well known and admits to making up stories. He has tried hard to hurt Susan, and he has moved his site from server to server to avoid taking down his story on this whole affair.

There are a lot of ugly, angry people in the world, victims of their own failures and fucked up childhoods. Animals with no soul who just smell blood and come in for the kill. Then there are all our real friends who have helped and stood by Susan, including my ex family who have helped resolve a lot of the past and continue to do so.

Max, the nights are warm, south of the border.

January 29,2004. The sad case of Cheryl Turner, Atty and her red faced lawyer, his veins pop out of his neck, he's rude, unprofessional and a God fearing man. His name is Michael (RED FACE) McCarthy. These two are the type of lawyers that give the legal profession a bad name. This scum-bag is a foul mouthed arrogant waster of time and money. The lawyer he is defending is Cheryl Turner who caused my wife and her staff to be evicted because she didn't know in how many days to file an answer.

Now don't get me wrong, I love lawyers, they are the thin line that protects our rights, they are the reason we have Democracy, they are our every freedom, they are the basis of our Democracy but like every profession there some that should not be allowed to practice.

I'll continue tomorrow night. It's late now and Michael is not returning my call, he's an asshole and he's a scared sissy with little soldiers on his suspenders, he's probably a Bushie. Call me Michael, come babble with me like you did today, see if you can bully me tough guy.

This guy has so many babies that there is no food left in the world for the rest us, let alone our settlement. So when his client loses she'll have to pay the money out of her pocket because there will be no more insurance money left! This guy is going to use it all up in his fees! After all he said he needed $100.000 to send his kids
to college!

You know Michael you should relax, control yourself or your going  have a Heart Attack and you have so many kids to feed. I'll call you tomorrow. You said you wanted to talk to me, then call me, talk to me!

Late night, way late. I don't know what you are doing but here it is six in the morning, time to get some sleep.

Good night and learn some manners....

January 31,2004. The boy- boy never called me back, Michael, his tie. I'm sorry. I can't stop thinking about this red faced bully talking to my wife as if she was some kind of floozy. This guy Mc Carthy is my new play toy boy. I'm looking for your picture. Why don't you come out and play with me young man? JUST A LITTLE MORE ROOM TO WRITE ABOUT YOU BUT NOT TONIGHT.

February 2,2004. It's late night in my little village were I live. It's a world apart from all the things I love and cherish, all the things I miss, all the things dear to my heart. All those things are one person with a gizillian little parts.

It's been a hard few weeks. My emotions are on a roller coaster. From extreme sadness to elated joy and of course bouts of fear and huge patches of Worry Weeds that have to be pulled from my fertile brain every few minutes. Then I come out of it, like a computer settling down so it can work properly.

Yet somehow I felt much better when Janet Jackson lost part of her costume and revealed her beautiful right breast. The reaction to it was beyond comprehension for a so called civilized society, the mass hysteria is frightening.

The Super Bowel, is a place where some young men go to die for the sport, where beer and slobbering drunks mix with young people around the world, a fine example of our civilization and its' priorities. Millions of people got upset about a half covered breast. Let's teach our young people how obscene a woman's breasts are, let's teach them fear of sex.

I don't want to be moralistic here but why are so many obsessed with an exposed breast with the nipple covered. Who knows. I was obsessed enough that I made up these digital pieces of her, I guess just to mark a special day of hysteria. A 9/11 nipple attack on 100 million people, go, go, tvo fans!

February 4 ,2004. Red Cheeks, McCarthy strikes again. He calls us whores, phone sex therapists, he fucks his wife like Saadam fucked his people. Today we went to court with a guy who has bred 8 children for his own ego and sexual satisfaction. I guess no one has told him about birth control, I guess that no
one has told him that the world is over populated. Has anyone told this guy that the ice caps are melting? Has anyone told him that you can not put people on the street? Has anyone told him about recreational sex versus religious sex that many times kills women in childbirth? He fucks his wife like a prisoner fucks livers
from the kitchen mess hall. Wake up asshole and stop defending this idiot of a woman that calls herself an attorney.

February 6 , 2004. Well Michael you put your foot up your ass again. ( Michael McCarthy is a lawyer with the firm Nemecek & Cole, they represent clients like State Farm. ) Michael is on the payroll of the insurance companies, if you look him up on the internet there is nothing there because all he knows how to do is keep his wife pregnant and call my wife names and throw papers at witnesses. I would suggest that Mr. Nemecek and Mr. Cole rein this guy in before he blows a fuse and gets your law firm sued.

Michael is defending a law suit against his client Cheryl Turner, Atty for malpractice. Now this is no million dollar case but Michael is spending as much of the insurance company's money as he can. After all he's got to send all those kids of his to school.I feel bad that I have to keep writing about this poor bastard and
not many other things I would like to be writing about but I'm not
going to shut up until this case is over.

FEBRUARY WINTER 1976. Meetings With Annie Sprinkle. This is a long story and a painful story that started when my first wife Susan and I where living in Newport Rhode Island in the carriage house of (I'll have to fill in the name when I remember). It was beautiful there, the winter was cold and we were publishing LOVE Magazine, that legendary "Reader Written Magazine" that at that time earned me the dubious title of "depraved" by a Rhode Island court.

Annie was working for a friend of mine Peter Wolf, one of the great sex editors of that time. PeterWolf had done several stories on us and the "Love Family", a wonderfully bizarre group of hippies, students, artists and just plain wackos that were producing the Los Angeles Star, FINGER, GOD, radical left wing publication that were the forerunners of the LA Weekly and dozens of other sex papers that were spawned by our work.

This was one of Annie's first writing assignments and we were the subjects of the piece. Annie was working part time as a reporter and part time as a hooker in a massage parlor in New York City.

She arrived lugging her camera equipment. The first thing I noticed about her was her squeaky little voice which did not really fit her body and her large breasts, somehow it seemed out of
place. I didn't know if her voice was a put on or she was just a dumb brunet. I hoped for the best. The shoot went well as did the interview. Little did I know that day that Annie and I would cross paths many times in the coming years (to be continued).


Above: FCC Chairman Michael Powell and Colin Powell's son. Hey, how did this guy get his job? Let's get these Taliban gangsters out of Washington before they put us all in concentration camps.

NOTE: These pages are part of the reconstruction of 30 years of archives for a book I am working on. The pages also contain daily entries. Nothing is corrected or edited. Dates, times, names are also just noted and not verified. In addition the entries are not in chronological order.

This column is being used as storage for art and photos to be used on different pages for other entries.

January 3.2010. I added these enteries from my Wine & Roses which I started to write in France about ten years ago. Much of it is very angry. The vultures were nipping at our flesh. A sordid group of friends and family members trying to justify their failures and misrable lives. To this day I'm trying to work my way out of the insanity of that period of my life. But I will never rest till the truth is told.

Friday, January 1, 2010

The New Year

The new year leaves me with no one to talk to. I am alone in the world. I have loved and lived, lived and loved. Still now there is no one to talk to.

I live next door to a strip club, it's been around for years. I took my wife there, it was out of desperation for some place to go to on New Years eve, I didn't want to go to the usual places and hang out with the usual suspects. I watched the girls table dance, lap dance and I watched them ply their trade. What a tough job, what beautiful angels of love, what compassionate souls, what beautiful healers. What a places to be on New Years Eve.