In 1964–65 the Free Speech Movement (FSM) was born out of student protests on the campus of the University Of California, Berkeley.
CENSORED- Palm Beach Post lists Crackhead Jesus: The Movie as nine question marks.
The Free Speech Movement died October 29, 2010, when The Palm Beach Post censored award-winning art, in print, for the world to see and fake mainstream media news outlets to ignore.
On February 1, 2017, the University Of California, Berkeley put the final nail in the 1st Amendment coffin.
Art Speaks Truth To Power
Super Bowl Movie Trailer Ads for “Crackhead Jesus: The Movie”, a modern Orwellian tale of false prophets and lawyers.
“Newspapers are less concerned with free speech and facts, than they are with profit and influence.” – Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca II.
Stunning Performance By The McCoy’s Frontman, Inspires Music Industry Icons To Produce Historic Rock And Roll Memorabilia, On Canvas, In Fort Myers, Florida.
On February 24, 2012, Rick Derringer walked into a room full of rock and roll icons gathered for rehearsal and blew everyone in sight away, with one of the most electrifying performances, any of the music industry legends had ever witnessed. The energy in the Sidney And Berne Davis Art Center, went from amazing to beyond intense, when Rick Derringer stepped on stage, grabbed the microphone and belted through a ferocious version of ,”Rock And Roll Hoochie Koo“, that left everyone in the hall breathless. The remarkable moment of Rock and Roll history was captured in a 41×56, work of art titled, “Live-Love-Flow“, manifested by the Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca II, who was specially selected as an intuitive artist with synesthesia, to perform with the entertainment industry All-Stars, as part of the Modern Art Music Movement™ (MAMM).
THE RIVER WEEKLY NEWS ARTICLE ANNOUNCING THE INCLUSION OF THE MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II IN THE MODERN ART MUSIC MOVEMENT ALL-STAR JAM.
THE MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, CENTER STAGE, SURROUNDED BY ROCK & ROLL ARISTOCRACY AT THE MODERN ART MUSIC MOVEMENT ALL-STAR MAMM JAM IN FORT MYERS, FLORIDA.
“Rock and Roll Hoochie Koo” by Rick Derringer peaked at 23 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100. It was first released on the “Johnny Winter And“ LP (1970), with Rick Derringer and the McCoys (#1 “Hang On Sloopy”) backing up Johnny Winter. Derringer decided to re-record the song for his first solo single, on the 1974, “All American Boy“, LP.”Hoochie Koo” is short for “Hoochie Koochie,” which is sexual slang popularized by Muddy Waters in his song “Hoochie Coochie Man”.
RICK DERRINGER, POINTS AT CAMERA, STANDING BESIDE THE MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, ON STAGE, AT THE LEGENDARY MODERN ART MUSIC MOVEMENT™ALL-STAR JAM IN FORT MYERS, FLORIDA.
Rick Derringer’s clever lyrics subversively imply female genitalia and the act of copulation:
“Hope you all know what I’m talkin’ about.
The way they wiggle that thing really knocks me out.
Gettin’ high all the time, hope you all are too.
C’mon little pussy gonna do it to you.”
MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, FAR RIGHT, AT REHEARSAL, IN THE MIX OF THINGS, COLLABORATING WITH MUSIC INDUSTRY LEGENDS, TO CAPTURE MAGIC MOMENTS ON CANVAS, THROUGH THE MODERN ART MUSIC MOVEMENT™(MAMM).
THE ART OF CREATION: AT REHEARSAL, THE MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, MANIFESTS ROCK AND ROLL MEMORABILIA WITH TITANS OF THE ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY, THAT COLLECTIVELY, HAVE SOLD OVER HALF A BILLION RECORD ALBUMS AND SINGLES, WORLDWIDE.
Like the Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca II, Rick Derringer was raised Roman Catholic and attended a private Catholic school, for eight-years, during his youth. After a time of intense personal struggle, Rick Derringer was reborn in his faith and rewrote the lyrics to, “Rock And Roll Hoochie Koo”, reflecting a less sexual and more spiritual mood:
“Couldn’t stop shouting when it first took hold.
It was an awesome night at the old church hall.
There was an old time preacher he was laying it down.
Heard the word and you know I can’t forget that sound.
Read the word, live it too.
Let the truth be seen in you.”
“LIVE-LOVE-FLOW” (41X56) BY THE MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, CAPTURES THE UNIQUE MOMENT, WHEN RICK DERRINGER JOINED THE MODERN ART MUSIC MOVEMENT ALL-STARS, FOR A ROUSING RENDITION OF HIS CLASSIC ANTHEM, “ROCK AND ROLL HOOTCHIE KOO.”
Rick Derringer and his wife own artwork from The Victor-Hugo Collection.
Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Reflects Upon His Unique Experience As A Finalist, In “The Best Comic Standing Competition”, At The New York Comedy Club.
As an artist, I see no limitations, only challenges. Therefore, when I heard from friends in the entertainment industry that doing stand up comedy, in front of a live audience, is one of the most challenging things to do, if not the most difficult, in the business of entertainment, I realized I had to find out for myself, if this was, in fact, true. So, I convinced the owner of the New York Comedy Club, to let me enter “The Best Comic Standing Competition” in spite of warnings from the owners and seasoned stand-up comic professionals, that the audience would literally, eat me alive and throw me off stage, if my inexperience showed, in the least bit, during my performance as a comedian.
DETAIL FROM, “THE VIRGIN MARY AND LAMBCHOP VISIT AMSTERDAM”, MODERN-ART-GONZO-JOURNALISM BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II.
Part of being an artist is learning how to fail, because failure comes with risk and without risk, there is no progress and progress comes from learning to cope with the experience of disappointment and without disappointment, an artist can never experience success.
An artist, should always be smart enough to fear failure but strong enough to realize, that hard work and study of craft can minimize the risk. Therefore, as an artist, I listened to the sound advice of modern masters I have met, in my curious passage through this blessed, spectacular lifetime.
When I lived in Beverly Hills, California, I met “The Diceman”, Andrew Dice Clay, and at first I thought he was being insulting when, in front of his manager at a pizza shop on Rodeo Drive, he told me, “If you want to be Hollywood, Victor-Hugo, you have to act Hollywood.”
As a wayward artist, living in the 90210 zip code, The Diceman’s words threw me into a brief but deep depression, that caused me to soul search, while walking the streets of Hollywood alone. Eventually, I ended up at The Backstage Cafe, in Beverly Hills; Ian Copeland’s legendary, hole-in-the-wall club, frequented by the likes of Herbie Hancock, Slash, Sting, Elizabeth Hurley, Sharon Stone, Dr. Dre and Tom Hanks, where L.A.’s top musicians often show up, to jam on their off nights. While trying to make sense of what I perceived to be, Andrew Dice Clay’s insult to my face, Bill Maher, the celebrated comic, spilled a drink on me, while walking upstairs, to the VIP section, at The Backstage Cafe. Mr. Maher immediately apologized and graciously offered to by me a drink. I accepted his offer and joined Bill Maher at his table for an unforgettable learning experience, surrounded by Hollywood aristocracy, that would forever change my worldview and life, as a maverick artist.
At the end of the day, upon reflection, I realized The Diceman had done me a huge favor, because the meaning of what he said sunk in to the fiber of my being and opened my eyes to the reality that there are no rules in art. I learned that Hollywood is an illusion that exists within reality and to be a true artist, I must convey the tangible reality of illusions to audiences clearly and succinctly.
I never thought I would make it to the finals of a stand-up comedy competition but then again, I never thought I would earn my living as an artist, either. I was supposed to be a Doctor, dutifully serving my country and Brothers In Arms, in the United States Navy, after graduating from the prestigious, world famous, leadership laboratory in Annapolis, Maryland known as, the U.S. Naval Academy.
UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY MIDSHIPMAN OFFICER VICTOR-HUGO VACA II (USNA CLASS OF 93)
Alas, life has a funny way of happening when you least expect it and so I found myself, alone, on a beautiful beach in Florida, practicing my stand-up comedy routine, in front of an audience of sharks and fish, in the ocean.
JANUARY 2012 HAPPY HERALD FEATURING COVER STORY ON BEACHFRONT PROPERTY OF THE MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR- HUGO VACA II
For six years, God blessed me with the opportunity to live on a pristine beachfront property on Millionaires Row in Florida.
HAPPY HERALD ARTICLE DESCRIBING THE LABYRINTH OF CREATIVITY ON THE BEACH, WHERE THE MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II LIVED AND BREATHED ART, IN NATURE.
The surrounding, undeveloped area, afforded me the unique opportunity to soak in the inspiration of my natural environment, without the clutter of distractions, chaos and noise from the outside world.
OASIS THAT PROVIDED SERENITY AND INSPIRATION FOR THE MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II TO MATURE AS AN ARTIST.
I created masterpieces and developed my stature as a modern-art-gonzo-journalist reflecting on the human condition through the Modern Art Music Movement (MAMM).™
ARTICLE DESCRIBING THE LIFESTYLE OF MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II.
For hours and days before my performances, I studied comics at home, on tv and practiced the timing and nuances of my carefully crafted routine, in front of the flying fish and circling nurse sharks, that served as my captive audience, in the ocean. I figured, if the sharks didn’t bite and the fish were jumping, it meant my comedy routine wasn’t half bad.
BEACH WHERE THE MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II PRACTICED HIS STAND UP COMEDY ROUTINES CAN BE SEEN IN THIS REAL ESTATE AD.
To my amazement, I made it past the first couple of rounds and into the finals of “The Best Comic Standing” competition. It’s not that I doubted myself, because I had practiced and was sure of my ability, at least in front of the fish and sharks, but the New York Comedy Club competition was full of lifelong talent, that graciously embraced me as a newcomer on the comedy circuit and I didn’t think I could compete against such seasoned professionals, all I was looking for was the experience, to be quite honest.
Winning posed a new set of problems, because it meant having to come up with seven minutes of new material every week, to move on to the next round and I wasn’t sure the fish and sharks could take any more of my nonsensical babbling every day in practice. The secret of stand up comedy is making the scripted material seem off-the-cuff. That, and winning the audience over immediately, for if you don’t have the audience in the palm of your hand, within the first fifteen seconds of your performance, the remaining time on stage will seem like an eternity in hell, for anyone attempting to do stand up comedy.
An angry audience can make a great white shark seem like Santa Clause and scar an artist for life, if one is not prepared to fall hard, on the sharp knife of failure, without a safety net. Stand up comedy is not for the insecure, timid or faint of heart but I can honestly say it was one of the most thrilling and rewarding experiences of my remarkable life. In closing, I will say this, when people laugh at you, it hurts to the very core of ones soul, which is why bullying is so dangerous and unacceptable in any civil society; on the flip side, one of the most satisfying things in life is to witness people laughing with you, it warms my heart to see people smile.
The following is footage from one of my performances at The New York Comedy Club during “The Best Comic Standing Competition”. I understand there is footage of my other stand up performances, floating around somewhere, in the ether of the internet, and if I ever find those clips, I will gladly share them with you as well, if you wish.
“Radical Islamic Terrorists are like Unicorns, they simply don’t exist. President Barrack Hussein Obama and Hillary Clinton are 100% correct when they say, “Islam is a religion of peace” and anyone who thinks otherwise is, Islamophobic and xenophobic. Hillary Clinton is correct when she says, “Donald Trump’s supporters are deplorable racists that are beyond redemption”. Actually, all white people are racist. Allahu Akbar! Hillary Clinton 2016.” – Osama Bin Laden
MILLENNIALS DON’T NEED BIAS MAINSTREAM NEWS TO TELL THEM THE CLINTON MACHINE IS MANIPULATING SOCIAL MEDIA LIKE FACEBOOK, INSTAGRAM AND TWITTER, TO CENSOR FREE SPEECH IN AMERICA.
“The Last Hit” features artwork and a cameo by Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca II. The action packed film is available on DVD and on major streaming outlets like HULU and Amazon Prime.
“WOMAN”, SEEN ON BIG SCREEN IN AWARD WINNING ACTION-DRAMA, ”THE LAST HIT”: Film Features Popular DNA Series Painting, By Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca II, In Hit Movie Climax.
THE WORD RACIST HAS LOST ITS MEANING IN THE NEW WORLD ORDER.
The Undecided Voter knows the meaning of the word, RACIST, which by definition, demands a superior-inferior power relationship: Therefore, Caucasians, like Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump, can be labeled “racist”; however, a Black or Hispanic person may be disdainful of, prejudiced against, or dislike a Caucasian, or all Caucasians for that matter, but a Black or Hispanic person or group, like La Raza or Black Lives Matter, cannot be labeled racist, ever.
TO DISTRACT FROM THE “HILLARY CLINTON PAY-FOR-PLAY-RIGGED- ELECTION-RACIST-DNC- EMAIL-SCANDALS” THE CLINTON MACHINE TRIES TO IGNITE A MODERN CIVIL WAR, BY LABELING SWATHS OF BLACKS AND HISPANICS, “ALT-RIGHT BIGOTS”, DURING THE 2016 TRUMP VS CLINTON WHITE HOUSE RACE.
The Undecided Voter realizes that Hillary Clinton is attempting to diminish the history and meaning of the word, “RACIST”, by politicizing racism and prejudice to mean: Anyone who is against corruption or oligarchy, as in; “If you do not vote for Hillary Clinton you are a racist, alt right, conspiracy theorist.”, which, of course, is simply not true.
THE UNDECIDED VOTER
The Undecided Voter notices Hillary Clinton would have American citizens and constituents believe conspiracy theorists are tantamount to racists.
CONSPIRACY THEORY OR FACT?
The Undecided Voter notices Hillary Clinton would have American citizens and constituents believe that Hispanics and Blacks who believe in change are racist.
ALT-RIGHT-HILLARY CLINTON WOULD HAVE EVERYONE BELIEVE THAT ALL HISPANICS ARE MEXICAN AND THAT ANY HISPANIC THAT SUPPORTS TRUMP IS RACIST OR IGNORANT.
The Undecided Voter notices that Hillary Clinton would have American citizens and constituents believe all Hispanics and Blacks who are pro-democracy and not in favor of plutocracy and oligarchy in the United States of America, are racist bigots or rapists.
ALT-RIGHT-HILLARY CLINTON WOULD HAVE PEOPLE BELIEVE THAT ALL BLACKS ARE LIKE BILL COSBY AND THAT ANY BLACK OR HISPANIC WHO VOTES FOR TRUMP IS RACIST AND IGNORANT.
The Undecided Voter notices Hillary Clinton would have American citizens and constituents believe that Hispanics and Blacks who believe in Democracy without corruption are racist.
ALT-RIGHT –HILLARY CLINTON WOULD HAVE PEOPLE BELIEVE THAT BLACKS AND HISPANICS WHO DON’T VOTE FOR A CORRUPT SYSTEM OF GOVERNMENT ARE RACIST.
The Undecided Voter notices Hillary Clinton would have American citizens and constituents believe that Hispanics and Blacks who believe 9/11 was an inside job are racist.
CONTEMPORARY ART CONSPIRACY THEORY MEME UNDERSTOOD BY EVERYONE, INCLUDING NEEDY LATINO’S AND SUPER PREDATORS.
The Undecided Voter notices that Blacks and Hispanics know very well, that not all Hispanics are Mexican and not all African-Americans are Black.
THIS WHITE MAN IS AFRICAN, FROM SANDTON, JOHANNESBURG, SOUTH AFRICA. HE IS, CONVICTED MURDERER, OSCAR PISTORIUS, A.K.A. THE BLADE RUNNER. IF HE WERE TO BECOME AN AMERICAN CITIZEN, BY DEFINITION; HE WOULD BE LABELED, AN IMMIGRANT AFRICAN-AMERICAN CONVICTED OF MURDER. ACCORDING TO THE NFL, UNDER THE TOXIC LEADERSHIP OF ROGER GOODELL, ANYONE WHO STANDS FOR THE NATIONAL ANTHEM AND THINKS OUT LOUD THAT SOME PROFESSIONAL AFRICAN-AMERICAN ATHLETES ARE VIOLENT, IS A RACIST PERSON.
The Undecided Voter notices that there are some black Brazilians and White Mexicans that are wonderful human beings and some Brown, White, Black and Hispanic people that are rapists and murderers, which, like sexual predators and killers of any color, nationality or religious belief, are dangerous to civil society and the general public as a whole.
THE UNITED SLAVES OF AMERICA SEE PAST THE TRUTH OF RACISM AND BIGOTRY BEING PEDDLED AS POLITICAL CORRECTNESS IN AMERICA.
The Undecided Voter sees Blacks and Hispanics shouting, “No justice, no peace!”, while the United Slaves Of America demand Rule Of Law be fairly applied to all Constituents.
BLACKS, HISPANICS AND WHITES ARE ALL UNITED SLAVES OF AMERICA WHEN RULE OF LAW IS NOT APPLIED FAIRLY, AS IN THE CASE OF BARRACK HUSSEIN OBAMA AND HILLARY RODHAM CLINTON.
The Undecided Voter realizes that, being educated and informed, does not make Hispanics, Blacks or Whites radical, racist, alt-right, conspiracy-theorists.
BLACKS AND HISPANICS CAN TELL WHEN A WHITE MAN LIES TO THEM ON TELEVISION AND CALLS IT NEWS.
“As a United States Naval Academy Midshipman Officer, at the world famous leadership laboratory in Annapolis, Maryland, I learned that what Hillary Clinton has done to the citizens of the United States is tantamount to treason, because her actions have left our nation vulnerable to blackmail by enemies of the state.” – Victor-Hugo Vaca II
The New York Post, which some critics consider a rag, recently published an article by Michael Goodwin titled, “American Journalism Is Collapsing Before Our Eyes.”
IT IS NO WONDER THAT PUBLIC TRUST IN NEWS MEDIA IS ALL BUT EXTINGUISHED WHEN JOURNALISM IS FUNDAMENTALLY DISHONEST IN REPORTING EDITORIAL OPINION AS FACT AND TRUTH.
The New York Times has thrown out standards and violated all journalistic integrity in favor of echoing the Whitehouse and Hillary Clinton campaign.
AMERICAN FLAG VICTOR HUGO VACA II
The New York Times echoed the false premise of weapons of mass destruction, spoon-fed by Colin Powell and the Bush Whitehouse, to careless New York Times editors who published articles encouraging war in Iraq, without fact checking.
MODERN-ART-GONZO-JOURNALISM PAINTING, “THE THREE SOLDIERS” REPORTED THE WAR IN IRAQ AS BOTH AN INVASION AND A FARCE, BEFORE IT WAS CHIC, AT THE 2006 “CONTINUE TO DESCEND” EXHIBIT FEATURING WORK BY JEFF KOONS AND MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, AS NOTED IN THE NY ARTS MAGAZINE ARTICLE BY KATE HICKEY.
History will tell that bad reporting by The New York Times was partially responsible for the United States Invasion of Iraq and the continuing quagmire that exists in the Middle East, which is now bleeding heavily into Europe and on American soil.
“GOD SPOKE BUT INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALISTS WERE ALL LAID OFF, SO NOBODY LEARNED A THING.” MODERN-ART-GONZO-JOURNALISM STORY BOARD DRAWING BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II.
Instead of using investigative journalism to confirm facts properly before publishing content as a beacon of news and information for public trust, The New York Times, Miami Herald and Fort Myers News Press, to name a few, appear to be practicing copy and paste journalism that makes modern-art-gonzo-journalism seem more like Jon Stewart’s, “The Daily Show”, to cultured Millennials.
IT IS ESTIMATED THAT BETWEEN 6-10% OF REVENUE, ACTUALLY GOES TO CHARITY, IN “THE CLINTON FOUNDATION”, EVEN LESS IN FLY BY NIGHT CHARITIES, THAT EXPLOIT HANDICAPPED CHILDREN, WOMEN AND VETERANS FOR POLITICAL FAVORS AND PERSONAL ENRICHMENT.
“I mean, honestly, the question, I think, now for the Clintons is, ‘What else don’t we know? What don’t we know about your donors? What don’t we know about the conflicts of interest that those donors represent when Mrs. Clinton is serving as Secretary of State?’ We are now finding out that so little of those charitable donations actually go to charitable works.” – Republican presidential candidate Carly Fiorina
2013 ANNUAL REVENUE OF THE CLINTON FOUNDATION WAS $149 MILLION OF WHICH $9 MILLION OR 6% ACTUALLY MADE ITS WAY TO CHARITY IN GRANTS, ALLEGEDLY.
To be fair, according to Katherina Rosqueta, the founding executive director of the Center for High Impact Philanthropy at the University of Pennsylvania, “There is an important distinction between an operating foundation vs. a non-operating foundation; An operating foundation implements programs so money it raises is not designed to be used exclusively for grant-making purposes. When most people hear ‘foundation’, they think exclusively of a grant-making entity. In either case, the key is to understand how well the foundation uses money — whether to implement programs or to grant out to nonprofits.”
THE UNDECIDED VOTER
Katherina Rosqueta, The Undecided Voter notices, is suggesting the Clinton Foundation is an “operating foundation.”
“THE GONIF INSIDE” MODERN-ART-GONZO-JOURNALISM STORY BOARD DRAWING BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II.
The Clinton Foundation allegedly spent 12 percent of its revenue on travel and conferences and 20 percent of its revenue on salaries.
GONIFS COLLUDE WITH JOURNALISTS TO BAMBOOZLE DO-GOODERS INTO EXPLOITING THE FEEBLE MINDED AND WEAK IN SACRIFICE OF PUBLIC TRUST.
Mr. Bill was a friend of mine. When he needed shelter, I housed him. When he needed food, I fed him. One day, Mr. Bill called to ask a favor of me.
“The All Stars are getting together again, would you like to be part of the reunion?” He asked.
I recalled the thrill of being on stage, in front of thousands of cheering fans in Fort Myers, Florida, using my gift of synesthesia to interpret wavelengths and frequencies of music in color on canvas, with rock & roll legends, who collectively, sold over half a billion records worldwide.
“Is it going to be like the first time?” I asked.
“ALL STAR MAMM JAM” BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II.
“Yes.” He answered. “Only this time, it will be to benefit handicapped children. My girlfriend’s son has autism. He attends the Able Academy in Naples. I wondered if you wouldn’t mind working with them the day before the show at the school. The band is going to be there and so is FOX News. At the concert, I’ll make sure the stage is set up properly. If you don’t mind, we’ll bring the kids up and let them paint with you during one of the songs. You can stay with the band at the beachfront mansion I rented and I’ll cover your travel expenses. What do you say, can you do it?”
“Sure.” I answered.
“Oh, and after we perform for the children in Naples, we’re scheduled for a gig in Fort Myers, at the opening game of spring training for the World Series champions, the Boston Red Sox.” Mr. Bill paused before continuing. “So, you’ll be there too, right? You can create three Modern Art Music Movement paintings to commemorate the All Star weekend.”
“Yeah, sure, no problem. I’ll be there for all three MAMM Jams”
After hanging up with Mr. Bill, I got a phone call from my best friend Todd in New York, a huge Orthodox Jew that looks like an albino gorilla wearing a yamaka. He’s a wrestling champion, nicknamed, “The Hebrew Hammer”, who plays the harmonica with chutzpa and soul.
“My friend just invited me to a VH1 Fashion Week Party full of notable celebrities, he’s one of the performing artists, so it’s going to be VIP all the way, you want to come? VH1 gave him a suite at the Times Square Marriott, there’s plenty of room, you can be my guest.” Todd said.
“I would love to.” I answered, before realizing that the dates conflicted with the bond I had given to my friend Mr. Bill for sake of the children at the Able Academy. “Why don’t you join me in Fort Myers for an All-Star MAMM Jam with former members of Boston, Steely Dan, The Doobie Brothers, Third World, The Wailers and The James Brown Band, to benefit mentally handicapped children? I’ll tell Mr. Bill I’m bringing you as my guest and you can stay with me at the beachfront mansion he’s renting for the band.”
“You sure it’s going to be alright, remember, I’m Kosher, what about Shabbat?”
“ Dude, they’re rock legends, not anti-semites.”
“Alright, I’ll buy my ticket to fly down to your Labyrinth of Creativity on the beach near Miami. I’ll rent a big car for us to drive across Alligator Alley together, as long as you make sure I can celebrate my Weekly Holy Day.”
“You got it, Todd. I promise.”
So began my covenant with the Able Academy kids and my friends, never realizing that my commitment would lead to a series of events that left me afraid of charity and suffering Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).
CHAPTER ONE: THE SPECIAL ARTIST FROM NYC
The day before meeting the Able Academy kids in Naples, I was scheduled to appear on WRPBI-TV, which broadcasts out of Boca Raton, Florida, to promote the All Star event in Fort Myers. Prior to my interview, on a show titled, “Out Of The Haze with Bryan Hayes”, I was introduced to Snow, a Canadian Reggae Musician, whose song, “Informer”, has been recorded twice in the “Guinness Book Of World Records” as the best selling reggae single in U.S. History, as well as the highest charting reggae single in history, after spending seven consecutive weeks at Number 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1993.
I signed an autograph for Snow’s daughter talked to his manager, invited them all to the event in Fort Myers and next thing I knew, I was being asked intimate questions about my career as a “maverick artist” on a soundstage, in front of a television camera. According to Todd, who watched the show on a monitor backstage, the half-hour interview was “perfect”.
Outside, the weather was beyond nasty, torrential downpours and lightning strikes peppered the day and were forecast deep into the night. My trip across Alligator Alley to Fort Myers would be a dangerous journey. Thunder struck as Todd and I exited the television station, making a mad dash for the rental car, through deep puddles, under umbrellas that failed to keep us dry. Soaked, we began our adventure to the west coast of Florida, in the name of charity.
Halfway over the treacherous road that cuts through the Everglades, I received a text message from Mr. Bill advising me that Skunk Baxter, formerly of the Doobie Brothers and Steely Dan, had arrived at the Fort Myers beachfront mansion with his grandchildren, which meant there was no room for Todd and I.
There are no U-turns or exits on Alligator Alley, it’s one- way in and one-way out so, we had no choice but to stay the course. The weather was grave, as we drove cautiously through the darkness of night with little road visibility, in spite of glaring high beams, that only shined light on our immediate predicament. I could not respond to Mr. Bill’s untimely message in the midst of such severe weather because of our remote location, in the middle of the Everglades, which offered no cell phone reception.
After a grueling five and a half-hour road trip, Todd and I made it to Mr. Bill’s home near the Henry Ford and Thomas Edison estates in Fort Myers. My cell phone battery was dead, so I knocked on the door and asked Mr. Bill’s housekeeper to notify him of our arrival. I smiled at Todd, when I noticed the framed painting of, “Cristomujer”, which I had personally signed and gifted to Mr. Bill when he last stayed at my home as a houseguest, hanging prominently on his living room wall. Todd and I looked at framed photographs of Mr. Bill standing side by side with every single United States President since Richard Nixon and other notables in the music and entertainment world, as his voice carried over the cell phone speaker of his house-keeper.
“Don’t send them over to the beach house.” Mr. Bill said, unaware that he was on speakerphone.
“Shall I set them up here?” The housekeeper asked, with an embarrassed look on his face.
“No! Let them sleep in the fixer-upper.”
“But, there’s no beds or furniture, there’s no hot water or locks on the doors. Are you sure? There’s plenty of room here.”
“I don’t want them staying at the house, do what I tell you.” Mr. Bill said firmly before ending the call abruptly.
“I thought you said this guy was your friend?” Todd asked.
“He is.” I said, with a confused look on my face, as I dripped onto Mr. Bill’s wooden floor in front of his housekeeper, who looked back at me with pity.
“There’s a mattress in the garage. The garage is full of junk. If you guys help me, we can take the mattress out, put it in my truck, and you both can sleep on it over at the fixer-upper.”
An hour later, after wiping cobwebs and spiders off a stained mattress in the middle of a thunderstorm, we arrived at what appeared to be a crack house near the Edison Estate in Fort Myers. There were no blinds, shades or window treatments for privacy. Puddles riddled rooms in fluid Rorschach shapes from leaks in the ceiling. A blood red stain covered the kitchen floor in the manner of a human body drawn by Keith Haring, which made the place appear like a crime scene.
“You’ll have to climb through the window.” Mr. Bill’s housekeeper announced before exiting through the dank garage.
“I thought I heard you say there was no locks on the doors.” Todd interjected.
“Well, I don’t have keys for the padlocks used to secure the front and back exits, so, you’ll have to climb through the window if you really got to get out, otherwise, just come and go through the garage.” Mr. Bill’s housekeeper said in visible breaths that sliced through the pungent smell of mildew permeating the carport. “Doors broke, so it’s always open.”
“Are you serious?” Todd asked, looking at me sternly.
“Oh, and the toilets don’t work.” Mr. Bill’s housekeeper paused before adding, “And, I wouldn’t drink the water either, it’s brown.”
Todd and I were out of there, back into the storm, without a place to rest, hours before I was supposed to perform for handicapped children in Naples and thousands of classic rock and Boston Red Sox fans in Fort Myers.
After Midnight, we showed up at the beachfront mansion, where we were initially supposed to stay. I called Mr. Bill, to let him know we were outside but he didn’t answer the phone. Minutes later, he responded with a text message that read, “You can’t stay here. Don’t ring the bell, you’ll wake the band”.
Todd and I stared in disbelief, through buckets of rain being scattered by windshield wipers, at a huge RV that could easily sleep a dozen people, parked outside the beachfront mansion, while I contacted my manager to explain the situation.
“Can you find us a hotel?” I pleaded.
Half an hour later, my manager called back to say that all hotels in the Fort Myers area were booked. She said she would try to find us a hotel within a hundred mile radius and call back once she had secured a room for us.
In that time, Todd received a call from his friend, who had just finished performing at the VH1 fashion show in New York City, he was on speakerphone, so I could hear every detail of how awesome the event was and how amazing the star-studded after-party was going. I slumped into the seat as Todd stared down at me. I felt like such a shmuck.
“Why don’t you guys fly over on the red eye? There are hot models everywhere! I’ve got a suite at the Marriott Times Square for the weekend, the party’s just begun!”
Finally, around 2 a.m., my manager called with reservations for a hotel in Naples, not far from the Able Academy, where I was supposed to arrive at 8 a.m. to rehearse for my 9 o’clock performance with the All Stars in front of FOX News cameras and a roomful of handicapped children. The hotel was about two hours away, according to the GPS. It would cost me $287.00 to rest my head for a few hours, or I could hop on a flight with Todd and be in Manhattan, cavorting with A-list celebrities and models all weekend.
“It’s up to you.” Todd said. “I can drive us to the airport or to the hotel. Mr. Bill doesn’t sound like a very good friend and I don’t think he’s going to honor his word. Let’s cut our losses and get out of here.”
“Yeah, but I promised these kids. My manager says they’ve been studying my work for weeks and are looking forward to meeting me.” I answered, not sure why I cared, since, I don’t have children of my own and I much prefer partying with women than I do playing with kids. My instinct told me to get on a plane to New York and live like a party animal for the weekend but my heart told me to do the right thing and stay for the youngsters at the Able Academy.
Darkness shifted from crimson to amethyst before turning azure in the heaven above, shining a bright light in my eyes through the window shades, as the alarm went off, two hours after falling asleep. Todd stayed in bed; there was no waking him up. My brain was mush from lack of rest and my body ached from being trapped in a car for over ten hours. When I arrived at the Able Academy, the director of the school told me that Mr. Bill had just called to inform her that the All Star Band was not coming and since the band had cancelled, FOX News decided to abort the affair as well.
I had never worked with handicapped children before in my life. Without a clue, I told the director of the school to follow my lead and we would make something special happen for the rising generation. I determined the disabled kids would get a MAMM Jam, with or without Mr. Bill and his All Star Band.
“The show must go on”, I thought, through all the confusion. So, I grabbed some canvas, paints and brushes, out of the trunk of my car; found a radio and some strobe lights and hustled into the Able Academy as a text message from my manager came in, reminding me not to be late for the “Boston Strong MAMM Jam” , honoring victims of the Boston bombing at the Boston Red Sox Spring Training opener in Fort Myers at noon.
I told the school director that I only had two hours before having to rush over to the stadium. She said it wasn’t enough time to spend with all the kids and that they would be disappointed because they had spent weeks examining my work in anticipation of my arrival.
I suggested doubling the number of youngsters I would work with at a time and she said that would be impossible because mentally handicapped children could be uncomfortable and unpredictable in large groups. She warned me that even with the most experienced of teachers and professional counselors, they could get violent or unruly. I told her we didn’t have a choice and so my spontaneous adventure in art therapy with the special kids at the Able Academy began.
CHAPTER TWO – BOSTON STRONG
“All interesting artists are autodidacts.” – Massimiliano Gioni
In some Italian provinces, the word ‘artist’ is a synonym for dunce. An artist must walk a tightrope between being perceived as an illustrious nobody or a famous intellectual by critics disguised as cultural sycophants in an arena filled with smoke and mirrors. Being a creator is not a career for fragile egos, so to be a virtuoso, one must have thick skin.
I have been called all sorts of things by critics, not all of them complimentary, but I survive and my work will live on, long after my corporal being exits this plane of existence, in the expanding multi-universe.
In 2005, after performing a MAMM Jam with Rhythmm Epkins, drummer for “The English Beat”, and founder of the R&B funk group, “Mind, Body & Soul”, to raise money for the mentally handicapped, at a sold-out show in Bakersfield, California, where the first five rows were reserved for the mentally challenged, who were the most appreciative audience I have ever had the pleasure of performing in front of, I became known, by some critics, as, “Victor-Hugo: The Artist of Retards”.
When I performed MAMM Jams during 2009 Art Basel Week in Miami, Florida to sold-out, standing room only crowds attending the infamous, “Crackhead Jesus: The Second Coming Art Exhibition”, at the “Buck 15 Gallery Lounge” on Lincoln Road, a large group of women from Weight Watchers joined me onstage while I painted the unique moment on canvas, at which point, I became known, by some critics, as, “Victor-Hugo: The Artist of Fat Chicks and Retards”.
Some call me, “The Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo” others call me, “The Maverick Meatball”. Whatever the case, I’m happy. However, as I am an artist/activist birthed from a business background, I’ve come to notice that artists are often treated like “The-Retards-of-the-Business-World” instead of sober-entrepreneurs, by some ignorant top brass. Though, thankfully, not all influence makers exploit an artists’ passion, those who choose to dim the light instead of fueling the soul, manifest dark energy that fills the multi-universe, all this, in spite of knowing that entertainment is, in fact, like any other business, an industry that must flow perpetually, in balance of soul currency, to exist infinitely.
Art is not cheap to create. It takes effort, ingenuity and time and since time is money, if I had a Bitcoin, for every time someone, like Mr. Bill, told me, “Why don’t you perform for free, it’ll be good exposure?” or, “How about giving me one of your paintings, for free, to hang in my mansion, so all my filthy-rich friends can see your work, while smoking weed?” I’d be a tycoon of Rothschild proportions.
Do these unenlightened moguls ask Doctors to perform surgery for free or ask lawyers to satisfy their legal issues, free of charge, because it’s good practice?
I don’t think so. An artist must always risk failure, for failure is part of the process but that doesn’t mean creators should accept the status quo of double-dealing in business matters or any other affairs. An artist has class mobility, for that reason, particularly in a disturbed society, a virtuoso must ask the right questions, open consciousness, raise awareness and elevate minds.
An artist should serve mankind, for that reason, humanity should not become complacent with the profiteering of an artist because a true artist can be childlike forever and the exploitation of children is detrimental to any culture pursuing Enlightenment. Some muddled people feel the world doesn’t need artists because art doesn’t meet our basic needs to survive but that’s bogus; art fuels the soul currency of human capital that trumps any banknote or material treasure.
These thoughts raced through my aching head, as I prepared to meet my audience of special children at The Able Academy in Naples, Florida, hours before my gig with the All Stars at the Boston Red Sox Spring Training Opener in Fort Myers, Florida, to honor victims of the Boston Marathon bombing. As if taunting my choice of career, the outstretched, blank canvas, measuring 36 x 71, clipped to the front of a long table turned on it’s side, resting atop another elongated table, stared back at me, screaming, “Fail! Fail! Fail!”
I’ve heard people say that animals can sense fear and weakness. I don’t know what experts say about children with autism but I can tell you this, the moment the Able Academy director opened the door, to let kids into the room where I stood vulnerable, feeling helpless and alone in a cruel world, a beautiful boy ran to me, clasped my knees lovingly and looked up at me like a cherub in a chapel. I felt such overwhelming affection from the pint-sized angel holding a tight grip on me that, in an instant, all the negativity and cynicism inside of me washed away like the Great Flood. I fought back tears in that abstract moment that seemed to last a lifetime because I did not want to break down in front of the celestial beings surrounding me.
One by one, frail angels entered the room, coalescing in the ecstasy of colors, dancing freely with paint and brushes in their tiny hands as they guided me through the purity of love being expressed on canvas without shame, guilt or remorse. I noticed one child slumped in the corner with his face in his hands. He beckoned me with magnificent eyes that stared at me through the cracks in his fingers.
“”Would you like to paint with us?” I asked, as I knelt down before him.
“Art has power.” He said, letting his guard down.
“Yes, it does.” I said as I placed a brush in his hand. “Show me what you can do.”
“Believe in your greatness and it will be the death of your creativity.” He said, taking my hand in his and leading me to the canvas where we melted into the void of color alongside the other offspring.
The joy was so intense, time flew by the way magic moments do and before I knew it the unique experience was over. I said goodbye to the kids, packed my equipment, called Todd, who was patiently waiting outside the hotel after having checked out and assured him I was on my way to get him for the hour-long journey to Fort Myers.
He reminded me that we were running late.
Before leaving, the stunned school director asked me how I had managed to get the catatonic child to speak. She said it was a miracle because the juvenile never spoke to anyone. I told her I communicated with respect and dignity. The innocent confided in me that the adults didn’t understand them and didn’t pay attention, which frankly, was no surprise to me, since out of the mouth of babes comes truth and most adults can’t handle the truth, which is why some adolescents choose to stay silent.
Traffic was at a crawl, leading up to the stadium in Fort Myers. It seemed all of creation had come to cheer for the World Series Champions at the Spring Training Opener. My manager had coordinated for the Boston Red Sox to sign the painting created with the Able Academy children, for the artwork to be auctioned off in their benefit but when I got to the stadium, Mr. Bill chastised me for my manager doing so, claiming she had overstepped her bounds, “It’s my show, damn it!” He stated indefatigably before adding, “Hurry up, you’re late! The band goes on stage in 10 minutes.”
“This is your friend?” Todd said, looking at Mr. Bill with disgust and me with sympathy, as Mr. Bill’s girlfriend Melissa approached me with open arms and a huge smile.
“Oh my God! I heard you got my son to speak, I wish I could have been there.” She said holding back tears.
“Why weren’t you?” I thought to myself, sinking into her warm embrace while Mr. Bill stared back at me with contempt that I could not explain.
One by one, the All Stars embraced me before going on stage. I was reunited with members of Bon Jovi, Boston, The Doobie Brothers, Steely Dan, The Wailers, Third World, The James Brown Band and Foster Child, none of which were aware of the harrowing experience that had preceded our moment in time before the Boston Red Sox fans in Fort Myers. Like the victims of the Boston bombing, I was determined to carry on, undaunted by adversity, and so I did, creating “Boston Strong” alongside music industry titans, in front of a live audience on February 28, 2014.
The painting, “Boston Strong”, is signed by Bon Jovi’s bass player, Hugh McDonald ; Fran Sheehan, the former bassist and original member of the band Boston; Barry Goudreau, guitarist and original member of the band Boston; Leroy Romans, former keyboard player for Third World and The Wailers; Robert “Mousey” Thompson, drummer for the late James Brown; Danny Beissel of the band Foster Child; B.A.M. (Bad Ass Musician) and Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo.
Philanthropy is great but some charities are a sham whose only purpose is to make money for the producer of the fundraiser. Most charities are legitimate but others exploit children, veterans or the handicapped by using paid fundraisers whose fees eat up most of a donation through loopholes, so very little money is actually shared with those most in need.
In 2013, total giving to charitable organizations was $335.17 billion. Hundreds of charities claim to help the disadvantaged but how much of the money raised actually goes to the cause being donated to and how much cash goes to the fundraiser?
The answer, unfortunately, is almost nothing goes to the motive. Even if regulators try to shut down unscrupulous fundraisers for fooling donors, most operate without fear of reckoning because mainstream media, that survives on the public trust of its audience, has accepted exploitation of the underprivileged as status quo and therefore under reports the fact that very little money makes it to those who need it most when it comes to fundraising.
Case in point, the story of Charles Runnells, who covers arts and entertainment for The News Press in Fort Myers, Florida. When asked to research allegations of fraud by an alleged scammer in his community, focusing on specific causes like handicapped children and disabled veterans to play on the generosity of his readership, Mr. Runnells dismissed the accusation, as not worthy of his time for a thorough, in-depth investigation.
If you are thinking about giving to a charity, beware of fundraisers who: refuse to provide detailed information about identity, mission, costs and how donations will be used; won’t provide proof that a contribution is tax deductible; use high-pressure tactics in shaming you to donate; refuse to provide proof of percentage of donation actually going to the charity; refuse to provide forensic accounting of how much money will be going to the fundraiser, after expenses; are not registered with the state as a charity or fundraiser.
If you think you’ve been the victim of a charity scam, file a complaint with the Federal Trade Commission or contact your State Attorney. There is no glory in being a stooge. Stand strong in the face of adversity. Your action can help detect patterns of unscrupulousness that may lead to investigations and prosecutions.
I wrote some of what you just read on canvas, in front of Red Sox fans, during my performance at the Boston Strong Modern Art Music Movement (MAMM) Jam in Fort Myers, FL. When I’m on stage, I enter a trance, filling the void with colorful letters that swirl into words that dance in syncopation to the wavelengths and frequencies of sounds that surround me, manifesting sentences that educate audiences in a cacophony of coloring that provides a foundation, for the work of art created to serve as a historical document of the event, for future generations to consider, and digest, in light of the fact that, if you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything, because truth is imprinted on the canvas of life.
If what’s alleged about Bill Cosby is less sweet than a pudding pop, watchdog journalists, like Mark Whitaker, won’t investigate thoroughly; so too when it comes to Mr. Bill in the news press. In 1914, Walter Williams wrote “The Journalist’s Creed”. Essentially, it reads:
I believe in the profession of journalism.
I believe that the public journal is a public trust, that all connected with it are, to the full measure of responsibility, trustees for the public, that all acceptance of lesser service than the public service is a betrayal of trust.
I believe that clear thinking, clear statement, accuracy and fairness are fundamental to good journalism.
I believe that a journalist should write only what he holds in his heart to be true.
I believe that suppression of the news, for any consideration other than the welfare of society, is indefensible.
I believe that no one should write as a journalist what he would not say as a gentleman, that bribery by one’s own pocket book is as much to be avoided as bribery by the pocketbook of another, that individual responsibility may not be escaped by pleading another’s instructions or another’s dividends.
I believe that advertising, news and editorial columns should alike serve the best interests of readers; that a single standard of helpful truth and cleanness should prevail for all; that supreme test of good journalism is the measure of its public service.
I believe that the journalism which succeeds the best and best deserves success fears God and honors man; is stoutly independent; unmoved by pride of opinion or greed of power; constructive, tolerant but never careless, self-controlled, patient, always respectful of it’s readers but always unafraid, is quickly indignant at injustice; is unswayed by the appeal of the privilege or the clamor of the mob; seeks to give every man a chance, and as far as law, an honest wage and recognition of human brotherhood can make it so, an equal chance is profoundly patriotic while sincerely promoting international good will and cementing world-comradeship, is a journalism of humanity, of and for today’s world.
Well, that was then and this is now. In the internet age of NBC News Director, Brian Williams, being everywhere but in reality, journalist’s hide behind clips of kittens, puppies and laughing babies trending online, while wiping their asses with the Journalist’s Creed, which is why, I fused Hunter S. Thompson’s gonzo journalism with Salvador Dali’s style of impregnating subliminal messages into psychedelically-poetic-cryptic works of art, to create modern art gonzo journalism for The Lied To Generation through the Modern Art Music Movement (MAMM).
The twenty-four hour news cycle is brimming with cross-legged beauties wearing little more than big smiles while flashing their stately pair of gams for the camera’s voyeuristic gaze as teleprompters feed them the horrific news of the day, before thanking rainbow colored pundits tripping over themselves to avoid saying, “You’re welcome”, in response to the inviting news anchors gratitude for joining the staged broadcast. Instead, we as audience witness talking heads state, with great inflection intimating courteous one-upmanship, “No! Thank you, for having me, on your program.”
One can only imagine the number of viewers who masturbate while watching the news, in a world where titillation has replaced fact and, on that note, with a long, hard stroke of my thick, wet brush I finished painting “Boston Strong” in front of an open-mouthed audience in Fort Myers, Florida, that was begging for more. Alas, there was no encore from the All-Star Band, at the Boston Red Sox Spring Training Home-Opener. The eager crowd got what they deserved and from the satisfied look on their faces, they loved every moment of the MAMM Jam experience.
“What the hell was that?” Mr. Bill asked, when I got off stage.
“Modern art gonzo journalism.” I answered, nonplussed. “I paint the news.”
“Thank God it wasn’t one of your DNA Series.” Mr. Bill shook his head in disgust and walked away muttering. “Sperm painting.”
“Hey Bill, where am I staying tonight? I don’t have a place to rest and last night cost me three hundred bucks out of pocket. What’s up?” I asked the back of Mr. Bill’s head.
“We’ll talk about it later.” Mr. Bill answered, without turning around. “I’m busy.”
At that moment, I remembered a rumor about a friend of mine who plays with The Cars, J Geils Band and The Bellevue Cadillac. Allegedly, Mr. Bill had asked the beloved musician to join the All Star Band for a gig on Wall Street to raise money for wounded veterans but when it came time to reimburse the artist for travel expenses and accommodations, as promised, Mr. Bill failed to honor his word and left the well-respected performer in the red.
It’s a small world and news travels fast about a person’s reputation but all I knew about Mr. Bill at that point was, that like Bill Cosby, both men were highly regarded, well-liked and doted on by those who did not wish to disturb the Natural Order of Things in the entertainment world, so bad press was hard to come by for either man and uttering anything negative about Mr. Bill or Bill Cosby, was simply taboo in the entertainment industry.
I chose to reserve judgment as I stared at Mr. Bill ignoring my concerns in favor of being fawned by fans, backstage, in front of his girlfriend, Melissa. The truth is hard to swallow, so I buried my instinct and threw myself into the only thing that made sense to me at that point; the steady process of cleaning brushes, packing paint cans and breaking down my easel after an exhausting MAMM Jam performance.
THE UNDECIDED VOTER ASKS: IS NEWS MEDIA COLLUDING WITH “THE CLINTON FOUNDATION” AND OTHERS TO EXPLOIT HANDICAPPED CHILDREN, WOMEN AND VETERANS, IN GROSS VIOLATION OF PUBLIC TRUST?
“The Retarded Artist From NYC Gets Call From Mr. Bill Asking Favor To Perform For Abel Academy Kids” by Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca II
“I just ran into Taylor Swift Shabbat and Clive Davis, I thought you were catching the red eye. Where the hell are you guys?”
“We’re at the Boston Red Sox game.” Todd answered his animated friend, who was calling from a New York City Fashion Week event.
“Well get your ass over here, Beyonce and Jay-Z invited me to their crib for a V.I.P. after party tonight and they said I can bring some friends.”
“I can’t make it, the Jewish Sabbath is in a few hours and we still don’t have a place to stay. Maybe tomorrow, after Shabbat.”
“What? I thought you said your friend set you up at a beach house with a bunch of rock stars.”
“He did but his friend bailed out on us and now we’re wandering about like vagabonds.”
The crack of a wooden bat smashing a baseball over the fence for a home-run sent the sold-out crowd into a frenzy drowning out the humiliating conversation going on beside me between Todd and his V.I.P. friend in Manhattan. I could hear every word screaming out of his cell phone as my Android vibrated to alert me that my manager was calling.
“You’re not going to believe this.” My manager said when I answered her call. “Mr. Bill told me to have Todd pay for a hotel but there are no hotels, it’s season, everything is booked.”
“What?” I answered in disbelief as Todd ended his call and eavesdropped on my conversation.
“Mr. Bill said, Todd’s Jewish.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked.
“Mr. Bill said, there’s no such thing as a poor Jew, therefore,” My manager sounded stunned by his logic.
“I assume, he figured…”
“I knew it. Mr. Bill’s an anti-semite! He looked at me kind of funny when we met. Stop being a cheap Jew and pay for a hotel.” Todd growled at me as he rearranged the black yamaka, adorned with the Star of David, on his head.
“Hot dogs! Peanuts! Get your hot dogs and peanuts here.” The vendor shouted as timber splintered after colliding with a baseball that flew over the fence sending hearts soaring for the World Series champions who manifested another point on the scoreboard as, exhausted, I rose, embarrassed and confused, in a sea of Boston Red Sox fans.
“That’s not happening. Todd’s not paying for the hotel. What the hell is wrong with Mr. Bill?” I shouted into the phone as the crowd around me reverberated with delight.
“Why don’t you tell him that?” My manager asked. “Isn’t Mr. Bill with you?”
“No. He said he would come by to get Todd and I before the seventh inning stretch, so we could all go out for a late lunch, it’s already the bottom of the eighth.”
“I told you, Mr. Bill ain’t coming!” Todd shouted over my shoulder into the phone. “I’m starving.”
“Get Todd a hotdog.” My manager suggested as I put her call on speakerphone.
“I’m Kosher! That dog’s not kosher! I need to follow Jewish dietary law.”
“Listen, I found a beach house for you guys. The owners are big fans and willing to trade accommodations in exchange for four tickets to the All Star MAMM Jam in Fort Myers tomorrow night. I told Mr. Bill and he said he would get back to me but I haven’t heard from him, so if you see him, tell him to call me ASAP.” My manager said before hanging up.
“Let’s get out of here.” Todd kvetched. “Shabbat starts at sunset.”
We sat in traffic for hours with all the snowbirds, waiting to hear from Mr. Bill but he never returned my calls or text messages. Finally, my manager called with the news that Mr. Bill refused to barter four tickets in exchange for safe shelter.
“He said Todd should stop being cheap and pay for a hotel.” My manager added with disgust, as I put her on speakerphone. “Mr. Bill suggested you guys stay at his house or a trailer that’s supposed to be parked in his driveway later tonight.”
“I need to find shelter before the sun goes down. ” Todd insisted. “That anti-semites home is too far away at this point, we’ll never make it before Shabbat.”
My manager promised to continue searching for hotel accommodations on the web while we dodged in and out of roadside motels without no-vacancy signs, through crawling traffic, as the sun beat down on us before beginning to set.
“There’s got to be something.” I pleaded with the motel desk clerk who, like all the other hotel clerks I’d interacted with in the twilight, informed me that because we were, “In-Season”, there were no vacancies.
“My cousin, owns a motel just over the bridge, it’s called The Welcome Inn. I will call him now to see if he has any rooms available.” The pungent smelling clerk said in an almost unintelligible East Indian accent.
“Please hurry, I think my friends going to turn into a Pumpkin if I don’t find him a place to stay before sundown.” I said, while looking out at Todd shifting nervously while reading the Torah, behind the wheel of our packed rental car in the parking lot.
“Good news.” I told Todd as I entered the car five minutes later. “We have a room at The Welcome Inn, I made reservations. It’s just over the bridge. We should make it before sunset.”
And, we did. Just as the sun began to set, we drove past the hookers and crack-heads into the parking lot of The Welcome Inn. When I opened the door to our room, the first thing I saw was graffiti. Written in black magic marker on the dark green wall, beneath the black mildew from the leaking, air-conditioning unit, were the words, “Fuck You”, staring back at me. The writing on the wall was literally a sign of things to come during my stay with The Hebrew Hammer on Shabbos at, what came to be known as, “The Unwelcome Inn”.
MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR- HUGO VACA II BEFORE GETTING ON STAGE TO PERFORM MODERN ART MUSIC MOVEMENT WITH MUSIC INDUSTRY LEGENDS TO BENEFIT CHILDREN’S CHARITY.
“I’ve seen the dark side of charity, the hypocrisy of philanthropy, enabled by weak news media and neutered journalists, that fail to tell altruistic people where their donations are really going and how little money actually goes, into helping the cause.” – Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca II
Welcome back, to those around the digital universe who visited www.vhvii.com, www.victorhugogallery.com and www.crackheadjesus.com when the internet was still spreading its wings and searching for purpose amongst artists and muses looking to interact with and redefine the creative process. No doubt, you noticed the award-winning websites were shut down or hacked and redirected at the peak of popularity, suddenly and without explanation.
Maverick Artist Victor Hugo Vaca II – The Censored Artist
Through over 1,000 works of impactful, thought-provoking, fine-art and graffiti, representing a diary-of-the-world-on-canvas and movie-story-board, for a forthcoming major motion picture series about the birth of modern-art-gonzo-journalism, you will learn, over time, the incredible events that manifested the creation of, The Victor-Hugo Collection.
The Victor-Hugo Collection
For those of you who thought The Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo had wandered off never to return, you were wrong. He’s back, with the Modern Art Music Movement™ to share with you, if you wish, “The Strangest Love Story Ever Told”.
Tracking a serial-killer is like trying to put together a moving jigsaw puzzle. Serial killers leave crumbs of evidence in plain sight because they can’t fight the urge to want to get caught. For most people, the hard part is seeing the crumbs for the clues they are but intuitive artists, detectives and investigative journalists often see past the truth. After all, what good are all those brilliant crimes if no one takes the credit?
In a world where the Washington Post, NPR, NBC and other news outlets have focused on long term character traits and behavior patterns for morning show hosts, and Hollywood producers, should people worry about an elite spinal-surgeon, described in news publications as a slum-lord who according to government officials, almost ran an airline into the ground and female subordinates claim is a sexual predator serial-killer?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dujFVJqTjZc
“Capicua 3:1:3 – The Long Arm Of The Law (The Story Of Alleged Serial-Killer-Spinal-Surgeon, Charles C. Edwards MD)” By Victor-Hugo Vaca II.
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: Is Baltimore/D.C. Area Surgeon Charles Edwards MD, Ted Cruz’s favorite alleged serial killer?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GgIP4cnm7dc
MODERN-ART-GONZO-JOURNALISM : TO CATCH A SERIAL KILLER – Ted Cruz Ponders Favorite Serial Killer On Jimmy Kimmel Live After 55 Year-Old Italian Nurse Arrested As Tuscan Hospital Serial Killer: Awkward moment captured on film makes voters wonder if Charles C. Edwards MD, is the Canadian born Republican U.S. presidential candidate’s favorite alleged serial killer.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T63oEG5-wSM
In this telling interview, United States Presidential candidate, Rafael Edward “Ted” Cruz, who was born in Calgary, Alberta, Canada on December 22, 1970 and remained a Canadian citizen until he officially renounced it on May 14, 2014, eighteen months after taking the oath of office as a U.S. Senator, stumbles into an awkward moment on Jimmy Kimmel Live, that raises several questions about the alleged serial-killer-spinal surgeon, Dr. Charles Edwards, operating out of the Baltimore/Washington, D.C. area and Senator Ted Cruz, whom some allege to be the Zodiac Killer.
Infamous Ted Cruz Favorite Serial Killer Moment On Jimmy Kimmel Live Highlights Apathy Manifesting Global Hunting Grounds For Alleged Serial Killers And Terrorists Who Live In General Public Disguised As Figures Of Public Trust : The Grim Sleeper, Serial-Killer-Spinal-Surgeon, ISIS And Ted Cruz Open Serial Killer vs.Terrorist Debate in 2016 United States Presidential Election.
For 30 years, from 1985 to 2007, Lonnie Franklin Jr., a 63-year-old former police mechanic from Los Angeles, California, allegedly killed over 180 victims; though, some crime analysts estimate the final body count attributed to him, may be over one thousand murdered. After a victim survived his attack in 1988, Franklin Jr. took a break from creating ghosts, until 2002, when the urge to murder became too strong. Because of this break in his killing spree, Lonnie Franklin Jr. is nicknamed, “The Grim Sleeper”. Franklin, according to prosecutors, was invisible, and able to blend in perfectly amid the chaos of a city which was blighted by crack cocaine.
In the award-winning film, “Crackhead Jesus: The Movie”, art imitates life. Inspired by curious allegations of Washington D.C. area stalked by a serial-killer-spinal-surgeon that surfaced from individuals close to Baltimore area investor, airline owner and doctor, Charles Edwards MD. According to an F.A.A. insider, Charles Edwards MD, allegedly purchased Kiwi Airlines to run down maintenance on airplanes as acting CEO, in order to get away with murder, since Airline CEO’s don’t get arrested for murder after fatal plane crash disasters. A Federal Aviation Administration report found Kiwi Airlines planes to be unsafe to fly and the company was shut down by the FAA because Kiwi Airlines planes were found to be in “unairworthy condition”.
The Story of Alleged Serial Killer Spinal Surgeon Dr. Charles Edwards
Growing allegations that Charles C. Edwards MD, described by People magazine as, “a uniquely inventive orthopedic surgeon who has added radical new techniques to skeletal reconstruction”, could feel empowered to act, in the Age of Harvey Weinstein, to kill unsuspecting tenants, patients and customers, on a grand scale, by using lawyers to manipulate a broken two-tier justice system, that affords corporations like GM, CEO’s like, Don Blankenship and allegedly well connected serial-killer-spinal-surgeons working for Sisters of Mercy to hide behind publicly perceived protection and receive immunity from punishment under corporate shields, inspired the New York born Hispanic artist, Victor-Hugo Vaca II to create a Modern-Art-Graphic-Novel titled, “Redemption: The Story Of The Crackhead Jesus Trials”.
Redemption
The work of modern-art-gonzo-journalism explores circumstances behind the allegations that a world renowned spinal surgeon could be an alleged serial-killer flying under the radar for decades emboldened by weak investigative journalism, corporate greed, corrupt government and a broken justice system in the United States of America during a year of election.
Charles C Edwards MD- Alleged Serial-Killer-Spinal-Surgeon
The work of art titled “Capicua 3:1:3 – The Long Arm Of The Law The Story Of Alleged Serial Killer Spinal Surgeon, Charles Edwards MD” inspired the award-winning independent short-film produced by the Modern Art Music Movement titled, “Crackhead Jesus: The Movie”, directed by Victor-Hugo Vaca Jr, at the 2009 Delray Beach, Florida Film Festival during a seventy-two hour film competition.
Crackhead Jesus: The Movie Review
Alleged serial-killers like Lonnie Franklin Jr. and Charles C. Edwards MD are alleged to have tallied a high victim count. Republican, Ted Cruz, let it be known to Jimmy Kimmel in front of a startled live audience, that in fact, the Canadian-Born-Christian-Conservative, not only has a unique favorite breakfast cereal, he has a favorite serial-killer too.
Is Charles Edwards MD Ted Cruz’s favorite alleged serial killer?
The following quotes from newspaper articles fueled rumors that Charles C. Edwards MD had allegedly set his sights on being the most prolific serial killer in history by using money, influence, profession and a shield of corporate lawyers to protect his murderous ways:
MIAMI HERALD ARTICLE Grand View Palace North Bay Village, Florida
The Baltimore surgeon who owns the Cherry Hill Apartments filed a lawsuit yesterday against the township, seeking to stop Mayor Susan Bass Levin from completing the condemnation of his property.
“The suit, filed by owner Charles Edwards in Camden County Superior Court, seeks to block township officials from declaring the 41-year-old apartment complex on Route 38 a redevelopment zone”
“The apartments were deemed “unfit for human habitation” in early August. Its 61 residents were evacuated and placed in other apartments in town.”
THE GRAND VIEW PALACE & CHERRY HILL APARTMENTS – SAME, SAME BUT DIFFERENT.
“The Cherry Hill Apartments are in desperate need of rehabilitation,” Levin said, adding that the Township Council is set to vote Monday on repossessing the property. “I suggest he stop hiring lawyers and do something to make the buildings safe again.”
“township officials had told Edwards several times about their concerns over the buildings’ condition – which led township, county and state agencies to cite Edwards for violations ranging from faulty lighting to dead animals on the premises.”
Charles C. Edwards, the surgeon, acquired the buildings in 1995 but could not come up with the capital to rehabilitate them, and the township threatened condemnation. A 1998 township report called conditions “deplorable,” and the last 40 tenants were evacuated. Viking acquired the buildings in 2002.
Each building has 217 apartments. Together they constitute the third-largest high-rise housing complex in the township.
Susan Bass Levine, the mayor of Cherry Hill, said the structures fell into disrepair before their current owner, Charles C. Edwards MD, of Maryland, bought them about four years ago; Edwards has not been able to turn the property around.
“It’s currently a building in crisis that could be a shining star,” she said.
The township will give the current owner, a surgeon who Morgan said did the residential development of Pier Three in Philadelphia, a few more weeks. After that, if he does not sell it or take action to do the improvements, the township will take steps to have the high-rises condemned and taken over.
HIGH RISE HELL – THE GRANDVIEW PALACE
A day after Kiwi International Airlines thought it had won a reprieve from a Government-imposed death sentence, the Federal Aviation Administration yesterday grounded the struggling carrier, saying that it was unsafe to fly.
KIWI Airlines – Unsafe To Fly
It was the first time the Government had shut down a scheduled carrier since Valujet was grounded in 1996 after one of its DC-9’s crashed in the Everglades, killing 110 people.
The F.A.A.’s order cited a series of maintenance and safety violations that it said resulted in Kiwi flying airplanes that were ”in an unairworthy condition.” In one case, Kiwi flew one of its four jets for two days in late February without fixing an oil leak in one of its two engines, the agency said.
When reliable sources contacted modern-art-gonzo-journalist Victor-Hugo Vaca Jr. with verifiable facts and information regarding an alleged serial-killer spinal-surgeon living and working in the Baltimore, Maryland/Washington D.C. area, the multimedia artist rewrote the script for, “Crackhead Jesus: The Movie”, to include the serial-killer-spinal-surgeon theme as a subplot in the controversial film that would go on to become a cult classic in the age of OJ Simpson.
Crackhead Jesus: The Movie Film Slate
Public trust in police and newspapers has reached such a low point in human history, that victims and witnesses have turned to modern-art-gonzo-journalists to “paint the news” being ignored by financially strapped mainstream media news outlets and police forces, in the hopes that someone, will do something positive with the clues and information presented in works of art inspired by actual events.
Recently, Victor-Hugo Vaca Jr. was contacted by Sean Welsh, an editor at the Baltimore Sun, regarding modern-art-gonzo-journalism. Supposedly, Welsh passed information along to staff writer Christine Jedra, an investigative journalist, who contacted Victor-Hugo by phone for an at length interview from Las Vegas, Nevada. When all was said and done, Christine Jedra, who claimed to work for “The Capital Newspaper” in Annapolis, Maryland, admitted that she was new at the job of reporting news and that she had no idea what to do with the information she had been provided.
So, if you come across a spinal-surgeon from Baltimore, named Charles C. Edwards MD, be forewarned, he is an alleged serial-killer and if you have faith in what you hear on the news, realize that public trust does not top the list of priorities for cash strapped news outlets, trying to survive in the age of OJ Simpson.
Charles C Edwards MD- Alleged Serial-Killer-Spinal-Surgeon
The following archived articles from The New York Times, The Philadelphia Inquirer, The North Jersey Media Group, The Record, and The Asbury Park Press referencing Charles C. Edwards MD, Director of The Maryland Spine Center at Mercy Medical Center in Baltimore, Maryland, make sharp investigate journalists, FBI investigators and serial-killer-spotters go, “Hmmmm.”
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