Wild Bill Simpson, my pappy. A look back at his Life & Times

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As a kid, because of her looks, she was used and abused, deceived and exploited. They used her to hawk perfume and blue jeans, underwear and dreams.

But she was tough, resilient, ambitious. She channeled that abuse and exploitation to build her own company, to make millions, to beat them at their own game. 

But at what price? 

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A monument to virility. Manly to the core. Fifty years chasing the ladies. But, alas, not so much anymore.

He started young, made women his vocation. Unfortunately it's looking like he'll need a fresh inspiration.

Times they are a-changin, machinery all worn out. Poor boy's emasculated, of that there can be no doubt.

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Trouble at the mall.

White kids tangled up with black kids. The N-word careens around the food court. One kid pushes another kid. Fists fly. Blood spills.

The cops arrive. They put the white kid in a chair, the black kid on the floor. Tempers flare. Guns are drawn.

What's Gus going to do? What's Gus going to say?

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The suits at corporate tell Sam to go home. Relax. Enjoy life. He no longer needs to report to the office.

"I'll be working from home?"

"Nope."

"What then? Am I fired?" Sam asks. 

"Good God, no, Sam. Paycheck and health insurance safe and sound."

Sam, baffled but delighted, heads home. Tells Shelley. She's suspect. Wants the details.

"Chill, Shel. It's the new economy." 

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She's been having some trouble sleeping. A lot on her mind. Kids. Job. Boss. Ex-hubby. Noisy furnace. Bad trans. Vlad Putin. School shootings. Ultra-processed foods. 

And on and on and on. No end to the toils and troubles. 

She put up the black-out curtains. Stuffed her ears with wax plugs. Meditated. Found something to be grateful for. And fell fast asleep lickity split.

But now it's just three stinking hours later. 2:33 a.m. And she's awake. Wide awake. In the pitch black of early morning. Body and brain buzzing. Can't lie still. Can't quiet the monkey noise in her head.

Madness. She feels right on the edge of madness.

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Gary Edward Earl, better known as Gas, has been tasked with fixing the supply chain problems. He could likely do the job from his home office in the Garden State suburbs, but what fun would that be?

Gas wants to hit the road. Or is this case, the sky. First class all the way. Singapore. Zurich. Around the world at 30,000 feet.

Late October but everywhere Gas goes it's hot hot hot. Broiling hot. And humid. But no big thang. AC's hummin. Pushing out it's cool, dry hair. In limos. Airport terminals. 787s. Office buildings. Restaurants. Hotel lobbies. Hotel suites.  

No matter where he ventures, Gas stays cool. 

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Cold and windy at the summit, but Jake's determined to make one last run. His buds say no way, done for the day, but Jake moves to the beat of his own drummer. He leaves the warmth and camaraderie of the lodge, steps into his Atomics, and heads for the lift.

Trouble is, there's a perfect storm brewing. Wind, cold, snow, party at the tech billionaire's ski lodge, obstinance, and lift operators who are stoned, injured, and dreaming of sex.

A man may think he has some measure of control over his life, but man is, by and large, a fool. 

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