Author: Darkreich

“Imagine the people who believe such things and who are not ashamed to ignore, totally, all the patient findings of thinking minds through all the centuries since the Bible was written. And it is these ignorant people, the most uneducated, the most unimaginative, the most unthinking among us, who would make themselves the guides and leaders of us all; who would force their feeble and childish beliefs on us; who would invade our schools and libraries and homes. I personally resent it bitterly.” – Isaac Asimov, The Roving Mind

Hello Bitchiteers!

Welcome to 2022, and all of the new possibilities it has to offer us all. Unfortunately, the less savory dregs of 2021 are still prevalent, because we as a country, couldn’t possibly possess nearly enough holy water and silver bullets to effectively smite all the demons of delusion within the borders of what was once considered a semi-functioning society.

Granted, we could try making these mouth-breathers read a book other than the one they claim to have, but to be fair, I doubt the majority of them would know how to even open one, to be quite honest. As they currently run unfettered, doing as much damage as they possibly can to the concepts of logic, civility, and basic humanity, it’s important to note that their motivation for doing so is beyond pathetic, if not wholly psychotic.

In a nutshell, the key word here being “nut”, it’s all to continuously feed the utterly ravenous ego of the world’s angriest Creamsicle, who, when not cosplaying as a toddler having a meltdown in a Walmart, has to constantly remind us as to what can happen when the slowest swimmer manages to make it to the egg first, and its landlord decides in the end, not to throw herself down a flight of stairs for the good of the country.

Just think about it. One cheap shoe heel, fortuitously snapping off during the decent from a second-story landing, and all of this could have been averted, with room to spare.

But the past is the past, even if it does still affect our future, so today, in an effort to make some sense of it all, we’re going to visit a metaphorical land that’s full of paranoic ignorance if not unfounded fear, and no matter what year it is, it always feels as if you’re still in the Dark Ages, due to the intellectual darkness that shrouds its existence, much akin to how dime-store bronzer attempts to disguise the fact that Donald Trump’s outward countenance, is in reality, just a bargain-basement human skin-suit that he purchased off of eBay.

And that task, most likely accomplished by using somebody else’s money via some form of marketed graft posing as commerce, because let’s face it- the man knows his niche.

As this photo of America’s former disgraced Fanta Fuhrer clearly illustrates, this moment of pure cringe, is exactly why he should have paid that extra couple of bucks for the super-grip option on the suits matching gloves.

For other than the fact that they’d keep his raccoon-applied makeup from running due to water splashes, they could also do double duty by firmly holding the pen he’ll need to use when signing all those case settlement checks to the United States Government, if not the women he’s allegedly sexually harassed over the years.

However, given the history of this adulterous, slandering, incompetent, seditious, cravenly, narcissistic, treasonous grifter, currently up to his fat neck in legal battles, potential criminal charges, and ever-increasing debt, I can honestly say that the destination I will be discussing within this screed, may offer him the refuge he so desperately needs.

It has everything a deposed wannabe dictator could ever want in an exile- endless worship, no consequence or retained memory for abominable behavior, and more than enough hypocrisy to make even the dimmest of Trump’s tiki-torch mob feel right at rally. And rest assured, nowhere within the limits of this twittering territory, will anyone ever mention the academic notations of self-taught Professor of Penis Forensics Stormy Daniels either, who once described her under-compensated sexual tryst with the World’s Angriest Creamsicle in the following way:

“He knows he has an unusual penis, It has a huge mushroom head. Like a toadstool … I lay there, annoyed that I was getting fucked by a guy with Yeti pubes and a dick like the mushroom character in Mario Kart … It may have been the least impressive sex I’d ever had, but clearly, he didn’t share that opinion.”

Newsflash, you decomposing Jack O’Lantern? If you have to pay anyone, regardless of their chosen career, 130K just to f**k you, you’re never going to be regaled as a skillful conquistador of the Penis fly trap. Just saying. However, thanks to the dearth of critical thinking to be found only in this magical place, all of your bloviated braggadocio, fraudulent fables, and most importantly of all, your “Big Lie” regarding the election you tanked like a candy-ass bitch, will be accepted at face value, and echoed by the Tucker Carlson cosplayers strategically placed throughout this pustular paradise.  

Renowned for their ability to openly spew racist tripe as they simultaneously lick your boots, you’ll forget all those nasty if accurate, things that the legitimate Media ever said about you. Pay for the Platinum package, and we’ll even arrange for Sean Hannity and Matt Gaetz to come by and give you a horseback ride around your palatial padded room, day or night

And don’t you worry about their background, my rancid Cinnamon stick heir apparent to Hitler, as each one is the proud bearer of a *Deutschblütigkeitserklärung, so you can take supreme comfort in knowing that they’re Whiter than the sheets that they wear to those impromptu 3 A.M front lawn get-togethers they’re ever so fond of. In this Camelot of the Caucasian, the phrase “Black Lives Matter” means only that you can blame them for all of society’s ills, including the ones you help keep underwritten.     
*[A document provided to NAZI party members declaring them deutschblütig, or of “German blood”.

But enough waxing poetic regarding the amenities soon to be enjoyed by persons who take supreme offense at the thought of women, minorities, and non-Christians being allowed to openly express themselves, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, welcome to Shetter Island, a fiefdom of a singular conservative haranguer, who, being so preoccupied with highlighting his intelligence, failed to notice that he couldn’t showcase what he’s never possessed in the first place.

It’s proprietor, one Richard Shetter, whom I’ve previously described in an earlier screed as being the “best cosplay of a boiled ham that I have ever seen”,, an opinion I still stand by, has a truly dizzying intellect, if I were to be ever so diplomatic, and if I’m known for anything, it’s my love for heaping kindness upon the thought-provoking viewpoints of people who prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, just what happened to that weird kid in your Kindergarten class who used to mumble to themselves  in a far corner of the room, as they ate paste straight out of the jar.

Now, as regular readers may recall, Shetter popped up on my radar a while back, after another current Artbitch chew-toy, one Ruth Darlene Seawolf, issued a call to arms as it were against [allegedly] yours truly, for bringing her online harpy histrionics regarding God, politics, and of course the pandemic, to the attention of her corporate taskmasters.

Seawolf, who consistently eschews any valid criticism relating to her ever-increasingly bizarre public meltdowns as nothing less than a coordinated attack upon her thin as tissue-paper Christian faith, plays the victim so much using this threadbare trope, that if she’s seen in just the right light, one could swear that there’s a permanent chalk outline hovering around her.

Shetter, who comes off as being a few fries short of a Happy Meal, which is somewhat ironic, given his strong resemblance to Grimace having an attack of uncontrolled flatulence, was more than happy to swallow Ruth’s obvious twit-bait, suggesting that she should, and I quote; “Take the guy’s picture and put it ne here so we can harass him to see how he likes it”, a threat so without teeth, that Poligrip sent it a case of their finest product, out of sympathy

Now, this is not to say that Shetter couldn’t pose a potential threat due to some form of definable mental impairment or deficiency, but as I will hopefully come to demonstrate, if Life itself had an HR department, this midget of mentalism would definitely be on a first-name basis with not only the head secretary, but the water delivery guy as well, because I get the very string feeling that follow-through regarding actions and/or research, isn’t his forte.

Of course, this take of mine is based solely on my personally held theorem that his alleged critical thinking skills, appear not only to have gone untested, they’ve also remained securely wrapped within their original packaging, thus far. I don’t say this flippantly, as it is my nature to look before I leap, so like any good writer, I made sure to test out the waters first before I ever put on my Speedos made from flank steaks.

For instance, ff I come across a social media presence that features a sizeable amount of weaponry displayed as if it were someone’s girlfriend, I tend to tread a little more lightly than I might with other subjects, if only for the fact I really enjoy not waking up in a strange crawlspace, or being randomly blown up when I go to start my car in the morning.

Fortunately for myself as well as my fellow liberal-leaning New Mexicans, Shetter seemingly has no outwardly stated interest in assembling either a accumulation of politically-opposed strangers, or military-grade hardware to be stored underneath the floorboards of his home/

As is the case with a far too large majority of today’s modern self-identifying Conservative movement, Shetter does however, consistently utilize those Jimmy Dean sausages, he wittily calls fingers, to go online and type out his inanity, encased in a fetid mélange of paranoid conspiracy, thinly veiled racism, misogyny, and willful ignorance, poorly masquerading as commentary on the social, the political, and the cultural, three elements of our great society that Shetter refuses to see for what they clearly are, that being works in ever eternal progress.

Shetter’s fear-fueled inability to adequately comprehend the societal intricacies of Life itself, has less to do with the limitations instilled by his non-branching family tree, and far more tin common with the ideologies that he espouses as if they were both necessary and relevant to those of us whose brains and consciences actually still work the way mythical God intended them to.

Understanding this perspective, Shetter’s consistently derailed train of thought isn’t that unique, or even particularly shocking, given the abominable thoughts that one can easily find scattered across the social media landscape these days, but it’s still fun to mock, nonetheless.

Granted, while he’s not yet in the same league as previous Artbitch honorees, such as alleged bigot Ken Cykala, or the intellectual void that is Richard “Ricardo” Leyba, he’s still worthy of nefarious notation, and if I were so inclined to establish a ranking for the mentally meandering bulk that is he, I’d place him just above Silver City’s very own “F**k Biden” flag-hag Nick Lemme, and just below Silver City’s resident canonized Christian cat-lady, Ruth Darlene Seawolf, who to her credit, still serves as both a bad faith example, if not the evidence as to why religion is so destructive where the supposed feeble of mind are concerned.

And while the New Year to come will bring with it even more screeds regarding this lauded list of luminous lummoxes, today’s focus is all about our good friend, “Dick”. Sorry… I meant to say “Richard”, but in my limited defense, when I’m dealing intimately with someone who’s countenance resembles that of a waxed penis rather than the one of actual humans, the occasional Freudian slip is not only probable, but inevitable.

Sure, his sense of uninformed xenophobia may not be on par with Ken’s obsessive bigotry towards BLM, and even though he may not feel the White Trash need to Face-brag about receiving a free “Let’s Go Brandon” Christmas ornament from a fellow Trumper like Nick recently, if not embarrassingly, did, Shetter still blazes his own path, no matter what Reality might have to say regarding its trajectory.

On a more positive note, Shetter seemingly lacks the AXE body-spray esthetic of Lemme, and while he has publicly alluded to the mythical God in a comment or two, he, unlike his Facebook buddy Ruth Darlene Seawolf, isn’t ostensibly consumed by the mania of religious hypocrisy, so there is that, at least.

Sadly however, Shetter does have a touch of the conspiracist stench upon him, but unlike his fellow “Dick”, Richard Leyba, this sociopathic seepage seems more of the aftereffect of a warped worldview, rather than a mad embrace of what appears as a quickly fomenting mental illness, as is seemingly the case in regards to Leyba, who sees the teaching of CRT in public schools, as nothing less than communistic indoctrination, even though there’s not one school system in America doing so, as it’s quite literally, a graduate study level curriculum.

At best in my opinion, Shetter presents as a simplistic moron, cut from the same farcical cloth as the type of person you’d expect to see eating ten McRib’s in one sitting, and at worst, he’s a cautionary tale of what directly happens when you carelessly interbreed your familial DNA with the QAN network.  Why would I say this, you ask? Well, maybe it as something to do with the fact that he posts scam spam like this:Yeah… that’s not how Retail works. No major corporation is going to toss out perfectly good and financially viable product into the trash, regardless of scratches or minor damage, especially a money-grubbing company like Walmart, who’s far more likely to toss its long-term staff into an industrial shredder, long before any of the cheap crap that they sell.
Reading this, I can now see exactly why Shetter believes what he believes. After all, if you can put any stock in garbage like this, odds are pretty good you’ll buy just about anything that the GQP wants to sell you. Heck, he still buys into Trump’s collection of kooks, lies, and stinkers, and I haven’t the heart to tell him as of yet, that he’ll never get his money’s worth out of that purchase.A small sales tip from me to you: anytime one has to follow up their pitch with the words “Trust me” to get you to sign on the dotted line, not only should you not trust them, you also might want to not finish drinking anything they handed you prior as well. Just saying. I mean, I’ve heard of gullible, but it’s supposed to be a momentary choice, not a f**king lifestyle.

Because with all due honesty, the only thing I’d trust from a guy calling himself “Sailk Ali” is his opinions on exactly where I can get hummus, polyester shirts, and reasonably-priced gold chains, all in the same location.  And as you might have imagined, it’s his cousins place, just off the turnpike in Paramus.

And yes, while this could be considered a mild sample of Shetter’s predilection for basing his erroneous beliefs on no more than the slim chance that they might be validated, it’s also an indicator of just how susceptible Shetter is to the attractiveness of such inanity, if he feels it tenuously aligns with what he chooses to put his faith in. And what, pray tell, are the things he backs with his convictions?

Well, it’s definitely not modern-day Sconce, since I’m fairly confident that given the nature of his publicly declared stance regarding the ongoing pandemic, his trove of research regarding both the disease itself and its pharmaceutical response, was acquired by skimming YouTube content, and occasionally checking in with the voices in his otherwise empty head.

As usual, a person with no definable experience of essential context, and who also has no obvious grasp on the underlying factors inherent within the virology of a worldwide medical crisis, and without a single shred of credible evidence to support his assertion, somehow “knows” beyond a shadow of all reasonable doubt, just who is to blame for the situation at hand, that being the faceless and formless cabal known only as “THEY”.

As in, “THEY” are responsible. “THEY” planned all this. “THEY” are the enemy. THEY” sneak into my house at night as I sleep, and steal singular socks out of my dryer. I may not be sure about the first three things, but I’m goddamn sure I’m right on the money with the fourth. However, I must give credit where credit is due once again, as the logic of these anti-COVID cucks has evolved into what can only be charitably described as an orgy involving conspiracy theories, and paranoid schizophrenia.

And the end result of all of this intellectually bereft bacchanalia? Absurdity on a grand scale, I’m afraid.. First, Covid was a “hoax” perpetuated by the Media, eventually morphing into a “liberal / Deep State plot”: against Donald Trump, just before it settled into the discernment that it’s a purposefully designed biological weapon, a subterfuge orchestrated by Microsoft’s Bill Gates collusion with the streaming service Netflix.

Obviously, I made that last part up obviously, but you just know that in due course, someone’s going to float that theory at some point, if for no other reason than to test it out.

Till that inglorious day arrives wherein we all get to experience yet another slice of the Red Velvet cake of vacuousness that the GQP serves up ever chance it gets to do so, we’ll have to just make do with twatastic tripe like this:

Sigh…no, Dick. It is not “like the flu”, nor is it “the flu” either, as the actual flu itself kills an average of around 35K Americans every year, whereas Covid on the other hand, has led to the deaths of over 815K thus far. So, if one makes an argument based on just the tabulated numbers alone, Shetter’s depiction of their being equivalent in effect, is beyond the grace generally afforded to the densest among us, of which, Shetter is most certainly a card-carrying member of. .

As further proof for this opinion of mine, let’s peruse this critically barbed social commentary Shetter posted, despite having no outwardly definable or defendable debate points, to back up his willfully displayed self-delusions, not that he could (or would) anyway.
I won’t speak for you of course, but given the animosity that the GQP openly displays towards both public education and the people responsible for instilling it, Shetter’s asinine observation that teachers are the impetus for what he perceives as a failing society, is truly disingenuous at best. Keep in mind that this sentiment is being expressed by the very same people who say “don’t trust the science”, as they howl that the vaccines they so willingly slur, cause death, or surreptitiously serving as a carrier system for government-tracked microchips.

And don’t come at me with that bullspitt “Vaccines make you magnetic” fever dream, either. We’ll be here for hours, for unless you have a child’s macaroni art or a multitude of expired pizza coupons hanging off your face without the aid of glue or tape, I don’t really wanna hear about it. And in an additional side note, I will also state (yet again) to all that are gathered her today that CRT IS NOT BEING TAUGHT IN ANY GRADE SCHOOL WITHIN THE UNITED STATES.

However what kind of Red Velvet cake of Vacuousness would it really be if there wasn’t an extra-thick layer of creamy conspiracy icing sitting right on top of it? A palatable one of course, but such unappetizing foibles are beyond the cravenly palates of those who at this point, are so used to eating crow, they now refer to all their meals as “attending a murder”. Ladies and gentlemen, feel free to gnaw ot this serving of paranoid pralines like I did, and enjoy its easily debunked paranoia:Wow. that is truly a bold (if utterly false) claim, let me tell you. Unfortunately for Shetter, much like the Grinch who stole Christmas, I’m about to steal his brand-new Electro Who-Cardio Floox right out from under him, right before I melt it down into a set of “I got my Booster Shot” novelty lapel pins.

Unsurprisingly, while this post of Shetter’s was fact-checked as “false” by Facebook, it didn’t spur Shetter to actually undertake any research to see if it was true or not, a state of affairs which just so happens to be, the eternal Achilles for the majority of Conservative nimrods, as being presented with actual facts, versus biased opinion, literally cause them to have panic attacks.

For the record, there have been many fatalities stemming from Covid among politicians, the list includes such persons as first African-American Secretary of State Colin Powell, member-elect of the U.S. House Luke Letlow, 2012’s Republican presidential contender Herman Cain, U.S. Representative Ronald Wright, becoming the first member of Congress to die after testing positive for the virus, as well as Federal Appeals Court Judge Stephen F. Williams, just to name a few.

I’d point out that it took exactly 1.22 seconds to find all this out using Google alone, but I’m sure Shetter had more important things to do, rather than exerting the non-effort it would have taken to not embeams himself in public yet again. I don’t know the reason why he didn’t do so,, but I’m condolent that it had nothing to do with the allegation that it was his turn to bring the refreshments to his weekly conspiracy theory book club, and he was unfortunately pressed for time.

All 1.22 seconds of it.

Speaking of the passage of Time itself, Shetter and Seawolf have yet another commonality between them that I’d like to highlight, that being- they apparently both believe that the Antichrist is on hi way, and hopes to achieve his goal of bringing forth the biblical End of Days employing the ever so clever strategy of… wait for it… mandatory mask mandates!  I know… I didn’t see it coming either, and I was raised as an Orthodox Catholic. To be fair, their inane interpretation could just stem from misreading Revelations 13:17, which states; “And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name.” 

And if this notion of mine that they mistook “mark” for “mask” turns out to be even half true, then it’s not the case that Shetter and Seawolf share a exclusively fantastical delusion due to a limited intellect, so, much as it is that they just need to brush up their comprehension skills. Or I could go one step further, and suggest that they actually read the Bible, instead of fellating it, if only for a refreshing change of pace.

Nevertheless, the one area where Shetter’s understated faith on full display, compared to Seawolf’s that is, just also happens to be the one societal component that Jeus himself gave a considerable amount of air to-.I am of course, talking about serving for the greater good of Man. Loving thy neighbor. Welcoming the stranger. Protecting the weak. Provide comfort to the weary.

You know… the stuff that God commands you to do, as one of his humbly loyal flock? In other words, so not this:
You’re reading this correctly. Shetter, ever the boot-licking cur, appropriated a “liberal” meme to dares compare a respected Climate Change activist and recipient of the Gulbenkian Prize for Humanity, who’s never been connected with any form of social violence, to a cold-blooded murdering thug named Kyle Rittenhouse, who viewed a time of civil unrest as the perfect opportunity to go play Duck Hunt with defenseless humans

Adding insult to the grievous carnage he unjustifiably meted out, Rittenhouse, with no specialized training in de-escalation or conflict avoidance. And using a weapon he wasn’t legally allowed to own, in a town he had no connection to, then mercilessly snuffed out the lives of two of his fellow Americans, along with seriously wounding a third. And at the risk of being somewhat crude, I bet the thought of it gives Shetter serious morning-wood every time that he finds himself alone in the privacy of his mom’s garage.

Whereas Thunberg wound up donating her million-dollar prize to various charities “Fighting for a Sustainable World”, Rittenhouse on the other hand, has gone on to milk his fifteen minutes of infamy as a vanilla prop for those assorted guntards who need to strap on a penis before they can go use the bathroom… in their own house. He’s also squawked about suing the media for their depicting of him as an irresponsible murdering man-boy, so as you cans see his decision-making skillset remains just as sharp as ever.

If you ever decide that you truly want one photo that encapsulates everything currently f**ked-up about this country and it’s values, this one depicting two remorseless murderers celebrating their undeserved freedom, nails it pretty much dead on.  One lied about taking the shot when it was necessary, and the other lied about why he took the shot when it wasn’t.

But never let it be said that this human analog for fecal pudding, is without compassion, for as we’ve seen thus far, there’s no need for stating that which is obvious. By way of example, let’s take a gander at how Shetter views the plight of political refugees, fleeing a country that we waged war against for the better part of two decades:Truly, the very essence of Jesus, is it not? Does anyone else get the feeling that if Mary and Joseph showed up on Shatter’s doorstep, seeking sanctuary from Roman persecution, he’d immediately send a message via carrier Hebrew, to alert the legionaries as to which manger they were hiding out in? with no humor intended, Shetter may be the only person on his block whose seasonal creche features borer patrol agents placing the Baby Jesus in custody.

Contained within the book of Bronze-age fairy-tales that Shetter and others of his ilk reference consistently, yet never follow even marginally, Leviticus 19:18 declares that; “You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against the sons of your own people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself.”.

Now, for the rational among us, ‘your neighbor’ is a metaphor for all mankind, even those who may have, or currently may be, in the act of harming it. But to be fair, criminals and the consequences of their actions are somewhat hard for most of humanity to extend an olive branch of acceptance to, so by that definition, Shetter a self-decreed believer, should have as much contempt for a murderer such as Rittenhouse, that he would for a lesser criminal such as George Floyd, who was slew by police on the unconverted suspicion that he had attempted to pass a counterfeit twenty,

Such an act, I think we can all agree, is not a crime worthy of the death penalty, which is what Floyd abominably received at the knee of a sociopath who had been gifted with a badge, rather than with a working conscience. But as we’ve all come to realize through countless examples of disturbing disingenuousness, hypocrisy is the only value that the GQP faithfully ascribes to these days, and they’re not afraid to openly display it, either.

Although this in and of itself is a fairly obvious reality, Shetter tends to see it differently, believing that;

“Democrats say all the criminals are heroes”, which besides not only being patently untrue, is also so goddamn tone-deaf that Shetter could be an honorary member of Creed.

To retort, may I note that the only political party worshiping criminals with regularity is the GQP who thus far have lauded; Matt Gaetz (alleged sexual trafficking), Greg Gianforte (assault), Roger Stone (lying under oath), Paul Manafort (tax and bank fraud). Michael Flynn (lying to the FBI), George Nader (possessing child pornography and human trafficking) Steve Bannon (fraud), Elliott Broidy (conspiracy for failing to register and disclose his role in a lobbying effort),

along with a host of media pundits who, despite knowing exactly who was responsible for the January sixth sedition attempt, went on-air claiming that it was BLM and Antifa activists instead.

But yes Dick… it’s the Democrats who need to clean house. For the record, my paranoic pinhead, nobody is, or has, declared Floyd a “hero”. What they have acknowledged is that the manner of his death was undeserved, unconstitutional, and completely unwarranted, hence the reason for these community murals scattered across not only the United States, but the world as well, a factoid that unsurprisingly, you forgot to mention.

Perhaps you’d like to roll the dice, and see what if feels like to have a 160-pound man kneel upon your neck for ten minutes, and wonder if you’ll survive the experience, despite all the protective padding that larded sewer pipe you call a neck, provides. Although, it’s also transparently blatant that since the rotten cabbage that serves as your brain hasn’t received either fresh oxygen or required blood for decades now, so in the end, I’m sure you’ll be ok.

But to be clear, that’s due more to the fact that your intellect shares more in common with a pallet of rancid Silly Putty, versus belonging to an actual human. As proof of that, let’s peruse this ever so well-crafted thought directly transferred off of a Conservative’s comic page, shall we?

I will gladly offer up a free box of chilled Ding Dongs to the first person who can translate this sentence obviously typed in the middle of a stroke, into an actual coherent thought. I for one, seriously doubts that the political party that openly supports BLM along with wanting to launch equitable diversity and equality throughout all aspects of American life, has the ability to “make’ anybody racist, who isn’t already prone to its influence to begin with.

Democrats may be able to do a lot of things; that being overly optimistic, somewhat socially short-sighted, occasionally far too sensitive, and most certainly, ineffective as of late when it comes to battling an opposition that cares not who or what, gets hurt in its lust to achieve its selfish and horridly inhuman goals, but casting a spell of racism upon our enemies as if we were a cabal of Dungeon Masters, remains tantalizingly just out of our collective reach.

Maybe, just maybe, the reason you react so strongly to charges of racist behavior Dixk, is because you start off most of your jokes involving minorities, by looking both ways before you tell it, in what I can only assume is carefully selected company. Take for instance, these two examples of commentary posted by Shetter, wherein he regards a serious issue affecting modern-day society, keeping in mind that with at least one of these, the odds of his being tempted to open with “I’m not racist, but…”, were probably quite high.

Ah yes… the “school” failed him.

Not the child himself, nor the parents who live with him, who being in place as such, are correspondingly responsible for making sure that his scholastic development was progressing as it should. Nope, it has to be the fault of the educational entities that Republicans deride, underfund and demonize, as they challenge the (as of yet, nonexistent) curriculum that dares tell the Truth about America’s well-founded history of institutionalized genocide, bigotry, misogyny, and White supremacy underpinnings.

And Dick? Teaching kids to read, write, and spell, is quite literally, the “basics”. And the parents of said children are just as important to the process as the educators who set them upon their intellectual journey.

Subtle reminder- if you’ve raised a child to seven years of age, and they can’t read or spell, you’re the one that f**king failed, both as a parent, as well as a person. But according to Shetter, this assessment doesn’t apply if you’re a native-born citizen, of course, as this hypocritical judgement is reserved only for those who fall into the openly bigoted sub-category of the “other”:“If they speak English wouldn’t be a problem you come here learn English”, says the person who cannot grammar or properly structure a sentence, even if his undeservedly arrogant shell of a life depended upon it. To note, this ignorant trainwreck of a sentence should have read; “If they spoke English, they wouldn’t have a problem. If you come to America, you should learn English.” 

Glad to help. It’s truly a shame that what I can only assume is your bargain basement GED, failed to do so. Shockingly, for persons (so-called) like Shetter, the knowledge that being fluent in English is not a requirement for residency in this country, nor should it ever be, given the history of how the strength of the immigrants who set its foundations contributed to its potential for greatness, tends to be received as quite the shock.

Especially when they realize that their bigotry makes them the minority, not the majority that they require to face life itself without fear regarding the consequences of their actions. Hence the reason for their incessant need to manufacture scapegoats, as a means to rationalize the failure of the lives. Nothing is ever their fault. And every unfortunate happenstance that happens to them, is always due to the machination of others, and not the inability to manifest their true destiny.

Shetter’s view of public education however, is a mélange of misinformation, mixed with a post-50’s quasi-reality that never really existed, as proven by yet another posting by this high school guidance counselors’ nightmare. If Shetter ever had (or does have) kids, I can only imagine the game of heads or tails that occurs in the teachers’ lounge prior to the one homeroom teacher forced to meet with him during their annual parent-teacher conference.

I can only imagine the slurs of incompetence he’d levy, if the compiled list below was what he expected his kids to learn at school, and not at home, as the majority of us did.I’d take the time to note that his high school also allegedly never taught him as we’ve seen from his postings, other vital life skills either such as grammar, understanding context, basic science, the application of political theory, or respect and tolerance for his fellow Americans differing point of view, but in its limited defense, one can only shape a mound of sentient mashed potatoes so far before it collapses in on itself.

Granted, there are quite a few aspects listed here, that even I, a societal cynic, would like to see integrated into a school’s overall curriculum, but I’m also a realist at heart, when it gets right down to the brass tacks of things.

However, given the overall lack of stable funding for public education, thanks in large part to GQP interference, to demand such programs to be singular certainties in this modern age, is beyond asinine, because whether Shetter believes it or not, these concepts can be gleaned from within the available structure. Not to mention, if someone wants to learn how to do anything in this, the Age of Accessible Information, all they need do is engage in the wackiest of actions, such as,, you know…

… ASKING SOMEONE OR DOING SOME RUDIMENTARY RESEARCH, LIKE WE DID WHEN WERE TEENAGERS?

This just now leaves Shetter’s disrepute targeting the Pythagorean Theorem, as it’s fairly obvious that he never learned that principle either, since its relevance to everyday life, is pretty much a given, to those of us who actually did pay attention in class. By the by, the Theorem is valuable for plotting not just two-dimensional triangulation, but navigating by air, as well. Muralists (as I once was) also adjust the theorem, in order to determine the appropriate ladder height in order to safely complete their work.

And yes, that actually is a thing, if you lack for a cherry-picker.

In a more contemporary vein, the size of a TV or a computer monitor, is always a measure of diagonal, as their respective sizes are, in actuality, the value of the hypotenuse. I’m sorry that I had to bust some knuckles with my metaphorical ruler just now, but when I’m laying down a cold dose of reality, conservative chowder-heads such as Shetter, are already on the thinnest of ice with me.

And speaking of things that are thin, let’s discuss Shetter’s view regarding that which is certainly guaranteed to start a fight over any holiday dinner, American Politics. As is to be expected, Shetter’s echo-chamber worldview, is in full lockstep with the self-styled victimhood of today’s conservative movement, which centers primarily on moral codes they regularly betray, social issues that they care nothing about, and paranoid fantasies that give their faux ideology its fuel.

A representational case involving all that I just noted, if I may;

Sigh… this poor socially-stifled veteran. taking to the streets of America, illustrating the seriousness of his political suppression. Can you just imagine the chilling of personal expression that this Patriot finds himself fighting against on a daily basis? Sure, his ideology wants to decree draconian actions against minorities, social justice advocates, feminists, the LGBTQ community, and most disturbingly, the Free Press, but feel free to jettison this reality, because he and his bleating brood, are the real victims here.

The pain of using your constitutionally-protected power of Free Speech to complain about a repressive government that only allows you to protest in public? Brutality, plain and simple. And knowing that as a white middle-aged person, your odds of being harassed, assaulted or facing arrest, is literally zero, must be one heck of a mental burden to carry, let me tell you.

That is, when you don’t have the security of internet access to Facebook or Twitter, but that’s it. And once you deliberately ignore the reach of Tik Tok, Instagram, WhatsApp, Snapchat, Foursquare, Reddit, YouTube, independent websites and their associated media outlets, you my friend, have no options whatsoever.

Nevertheless, Shetter steadfastly goes forward into the fray, brandishing all the contempt his corpulent paranoid delusion can muster, by railing against one of  the most controversial concerns of our time-, the topic of the moment being, and I swear I am not making this up, sex changes for five-year-olds:

I know I may just be screaming into the wind here, but is this some form of social plague I have been blissfully unaware of? Not the falsity of Shetter’s belief that five -year-old children are being regularly allowed to undergo reassignment surgery, as if they were casually visiting a McDonalds mind you, but that supposedly functioning adults think that this is actually occurring?

SPOILER: IT ISN”T.

At least, not in the way tha6t Shetter froths at the mouth over. While there have been some notable cases, the reality of such is yet another brick in the wall of insanity that conservatives have constructed around themselves, as well as their already severely limited intellect. Seriously… I don’t know which is far more pathetic here, the delusional caprices that conservatives like Shetter put stock in, or the fact that they came to these conclusions without doing the merest of research regarding them, first.

Sadly, Shetter’s stance regarding that Gender Dysphoria can be simply “fixed” by the critical selection of what gender specific toys the allegedly afflicted chooses to play with during their earliest developmental years, is simply asinine beyond rationality. If anything, it would more likely just reinforce the conviction that said individual feels to be wholly correct, the belief that they’re trapped within the wrong construct of gender

When our friend Dick here, gets done obsessing over contrived falsehoods involving the genitalia of underaged strangers. I’d recommend that he educate himself on this particular issue, but let’s be honest here. He’s not going to do that, and I’d have far better success wishing for him to be trapped in an elevator with lauded transgender actress, and LGBT advocate, Laverne Cox. If that blessed event ever does occur, I can only imagine just where she’d suggest he park that alleged gender-fixing truck.

Hopefully, someplace uncomfortable, that will require his future proctologist to ask him some truly disturbing questions as to what the physical representation of his transphobia was doing there. On a further pathetic attempt to justify that which confuses him, Shetter is quick to post so-called “proof’ from the not biased at all “news site’, cnsnews.com:CNSNews is quite proud that it’s mere existence provides, in its own words; “an alternative news source that would cover stories that are subject to the bias of omission and report on other news subject to bias by commission. In order to address the lack of conservative opinions in major news outlets across the country,”

And how did CNSNews decide that unlike itself, media was full of liberal bias? Well, by using numerous studies conducted by a source of unquestionable integrity, that being the Media Research Center, the parent organization of CNSNews. What a truly stunning turn of events, is it not? While on the surface, this might appear to be a massive conflict of interest, I’d like to go on record to note that this judgement carries just as much weight as when my mom said I was the best oldest son she had ever had, if not more.

As for Shetter’s almost incoherent lead-in to this biased as f**k faux poll, I’ll just take the briefest of of moments to yet again, correct his abominable syntax, punctuation and ever-increasing inanity: “Yes(,) (there’s) only two genders(.) (Q)uit (trying) to change it.”

If the maxim “”Reality has a liberal bias” is even remotely accurate, the first thing I’d suggest Shetter acquire after an in-depth discussion with a transposon, would be a visit to a Kindergarten class to brush up on the literary comprehension skills he ignored in favor of feeding his jar-a-day paste habit.

Carrying forward with his theme of uttering opinions about social issues that no one asked his opinion on, Shetter posted this confused gem, possibly concerning the issue of an actual living wage, versus one that currently, only allows you to barely exist. Or maybe it’s about kids being lazy. It’s kinda hard to tell.

At the time of this screed, (01/2022) the federal minimum wage is $7.25/hr, although the rate states can range from that lowest of baselines, up to $15.00/hr, depending on the individual state. By comparison, and this, according to deputation statements filed for the 2020 fiscal year. the current CEO of McDonald’s, Chris Kempczinski, earned $10,847,032 in total compensation.

Of this, $963,506 was noted as salary, $4,750,011 as stock options, $4,750,129 as bestowed stock, and the remainder, $383,386, was derived from various forms of recompence. Essentially, if one excises his corporate “perks”, Kempczinski, if he worked a standard 40 hours a week, which I doubt strongly, raked in an average of $501.83/hr, or (roughly) 60.21 times more than his lowest paid employee.

Now to be fair, while I’m not sure what Shetter’s point in posting this meme was, I’m also pretty confident that he has no idea what that point was intended to be, either. Is he upset those teenagers and young adults, no longer want to work these types of jobs due to their being overworked by managers, if not feeling underappreciated by “Karens” like Shetter, who most likely, will pitch a fit if he can’t get a Big Mac shoved into his flatulent maw in under five minutes?

Maybe it’s his unfounded fear that said conglomeration of Soy and Salt, will see a price increase if indeed, the Golden Arches pays it’s workers a vastly improved wage they can utilize a successful life with, versus maintaining the one they currently experience, scraping by on the thinnest of margins?

of our intellectually vacuous incredible bulk here, I’d note that in Denmark, McDonald’s workers make an average of $22/hr, get 1-year parental leave, and a significant retirement package, yet the burger currently costs around $4.87, 79 cents cheaper than the average $5.66 cost in the U.S. therefore, I can’t ascertain what supposed “problem” Shetter is alluding to, overall.

And as for his inane notion that as yet, unnamed people need to quit “babying their kids and make them get jobs at McDonalds sonic like it used to be. And learned Work ethics”, I’d have to opine that maybe Shetter (once again) should learn how to first compose the English language properly, before he gives life advice to anyone.  Just saying.

I could easily inform this bulbous blowhard if I so wished, that not only are McDonald’s and Sonic separate corporations, but that unlike his perception, the average age of a worker at McDonald’s is 24, hardly the teenage demographic that Shetter imagines as the franchise’s backbone. However, as I’ve noted throughout this blogvella, the ability to undertake actual research, seems far out of the grasp of Shetter, a man who, even to the most casual of observers, appears to have been assembled out of a stack of rancid Egg McMuffins.

And what pray tell, does Shetter exactly consider to be “work ethics”? The desire to keep a low-paying, high0abuse menial job, only to be in servitude of persons who deride the very same workers as “burger flippers”, unworthy pf a living wage, yet still demand that they tirelessly perform a service that they themselves, are both unwilling and unable to do?

Let me say this now; there IS NO SUCH THING AS “UNSKILLED LABOR”. This descriptive, when dissected at its core, is no more than a capitalistic rationalization to justify the dispersing of slave wages for essential work, that those who consider themselves to be the truly elite, feel is beneath their typically self-declared and illusory status in life, and when applied to lower-end endeavors by such people, it reminds one of a quote from “Macbeth’, written by William Shakespeare, that states simply;

“It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

And if you doubt this assessment of mine, just look at who spares no opportunity to degrade the lower-end workforce; the very same self-appointed elites, whose economic grip on established power, is crucially dependent on those who, without any certified promise or hope of consistent reward, provide the metaphorical mortar that is so central to the structural integrity of their allegorical ivory towers.

Speaking of ivory towers, it should also come as no surprise that Shetter felt the need to cast some judgement upon the waters of the incel pond on which his boat allegedly floats, in order to slur the other red meat target conservatives salivate over, that being independent women who dare make choices that they don’t agree with:Is anybody else staring to get the feeling that Shetter’s rebuke stems from the fact that the only time a woman ever willingly got down on her knees in front of him, was so that she could pray that he would stop talking to her? Good. I hate to be alone when I’m assembling a verdict, and if I were to go a step further, I’d put forth the notion that the half-truth of the petulantly toxic male joke; “You know the difference between a slut and a bitch? A slut will screw anyone. A bitch will screw anyone but you”, is something he thinks about… a lot.

As with all things incendiary that I write, I base it all on the actions and actual words of those that I mock, as I’m loathe to ever pass up truly free joke fodder. In Shetter’s case, I refer to the meme’s resentful introduction that he wrote, and in which, he attempts (and fails) to degrade both the character of women in general, but only succeeds at disrespecting his own:Let’s review: Sullenly implied misogyny? Check. False conclusion based on the allegation that Shetter couldn’t can’t get laid without collateral being presented first? Check. Whining that no one will give them a fair shake, without acknowledging the possibility, that the problem just might be you? Check, hell yes.  

Now, I wouldn’t dare say that Shetter doesn’t know how to treat a woman, even if the one he chooses comes without an air pump, a patch kit, and a full warranty on her vacuum attachments, but I would infer that as a rule, most women tend to find willfully ignorant, sociopath supporting, over-obsessive transphobes, somewhat on the spectrum’s’ edge of unattractive. And when I say that, I’m not actually referring to Shetter’s limited physical appeal, so much as I am regarding his lack of intellectual acuity.

After all, I once knew a girl who had a full cover tattoo of Jabba the Hutt on her back, so there’s obviously someone for everyone. Don’t shoot the Snark, my dejected Dick, for I don’t make the rules. I just note their validity. As long as I live, I will never understand why male conservatives in general, regard themselves as such a supreme catch, considering how close their political ideology aligns with the one espoused by those who proudly self-identify as “Incels”.

For the few of you who may be unfamiliar with this term, an Incel tends to be a man who regards himself as being unwillingly celibate, an as such, typically displays extreme resentment and hostility toward those women that they feel are to blame for their metaphorical imprisonment within a sexual gulag, The etymology of the term  itself emerged from an online collective in which scores of such man-boys, rail eternally about not being granted access to physical pleasures that their own fantasies will no longer compensate for.

This movement of mewling mama’s boys has advanced, is also responsible for multiple acts of violence against women, enacted by craven cucks, who, due to their own hands refusing to touch them any longer, without being drunk first, feel justified in their actions. If Shetter is lonely because no rational woman will have him, I’d suggest he get a dog instead. Granted, he doesn’t deserve a dog, but then again, I can’t think of what any woman could have done to deserve Shetter’s misogyny either, but here we are.

Fortunately, for me at least, Shetter is no one-dick pony. He’s just as equally ignorant regarding the political landscape as he is regarding the ones previously dissected. It’s not just the case of his being abominably misinformed, paranoiac, and guilelessly gullible, it’s the fact that he seems absurdly happy to remains so, in this, the age of immediately accessible knowledge.despite the resources that are openly available to him, Shetter instead, chooses like most chowder=head conservatives to align themselves with “news sources” that already echo what they hold to be true, regardless of the veracity of that belief.

For instance, peruse this example that Shetter considers to be a pinnacle of intellectual enlightenment:

As I’ve oft said before I won’t speak for you of course, but I for one, love it when the wackadoos play all their classic hits. A shadowy and unnamed cabal working against Americans? You bet. A vaguely referenced alliance between corrupt entities, presented without one shred of evidence? Would you expect anything less? And in an unpublicized move nobody saw coming, except everybody with a brain that is, there’s even a cameo from eternal conservative boogeyman, Barrack Obama!

And the joy of seeing all of this previously concealed information being exposed by a guy who looks like a golf store salesman, in front of what I can only assume, is a shower curtain from Bed Bath & Beyond? That alone, is worth its weight in chilled Ding Dongs, let me tell you.

So, let’s recap: “Crooked democrats” have “evidence”, that the Republicans don’t (?), but “held back”, because “Obama put them in jail!” I may not be a Neurologist, but I’d have to surmise that oi a certified one ever manages to crack open Shetter’s cranium, the neurological pathways that convey his thought process probably looks like a vegan lasagna that’s been assembled inside a concrete mixer. 

I don’t know how to explain this to Shetter and the rest of the dumbf**ks who believe that vlog-casts taped in a free corned of somebody’s garage, count as reputable journalism, but if such a conspiracy existed, its demise would not come qt the hands pf persons who dress as if they’re attending a PTA meeting. Not to mention, if there was indeed a corrupt alliance between media and the intelligence community, this video, and the numerous others that are sadly like it, would never have seen the light of the day, in the first place.

Sorry, Dick, but in the end, you and your tin-foil-wrapped conservative crew aren’t ‘exposing” spit. Other than your obliviousness, gullibility, and the shallow depth of the gene pool you slithered out of, that is. But keep your chins up, nonetheless. One day, you’ll discover that walking upright for you would be far easier, if you ever manage to stop carrying the dead weight of all that stupidity, or it will eventually crush you.

Either way, it’s a win for our side.

However, winning really isn’t an attribute that conservatives possess in the slightest, unless of course, they shamedly legislate their way into it. While this may it be outwardly obvious to persons like Shetter, it is most definitively clear whereas the rest of us are concerned, and the litany of their well-earned failures eats at their self-worth as if it were salt poured upon a slug, which quite possibly, the most apt analogy I could use to rationalize their ideological need to chastise unfounded boogeymen.  

Once again, I present personal mental dysfunction, poorly disguised as political commentary:
At the rate these disciples of academic deficiency are stacking their imaginary grievances, this former and yet still-respected US president, will probably start getting blamed for causing the Holocaust next. I mean… the last time I saw middle-aged White men obsess over an African-American this much, was when they thought that they could finally humble-brag about having a Black friend in the personage of Kanye West.

Well, 3/5 of one, anyway.

So, as I do with all things contrived from equal parts bullspit and the conspiracy-laden masturbatory fodder of conservatism, let me just dig into this cravenly safe space as it were, and expose its fetid interior to the purity of data-driven daylight. And we’ll start with the first topic on Shetter’s invented laundry list of paranoia, since it’s also one of the most erroneous.

“Before Obama we had no ISIS!”
For the uninitiated, ISIS is the acronym for the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria), and is also known as ISIL, or the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant. It self-identifies as a Sunni jihadist caliphate, with a predominantly vehement political ideology, claiming religious authority over all Muslims. It draws inspiration from similarly motivated contemporizes al-Qaida, despite the latter’s public expulsion of it.

Unfortunately for the strength of Shetter’s narrative, the majority of scholars knowledgeable in the political history of the consistently turbulent Middle East, agree that the group formed as a response to the 2003 US invasion of Iraq. For those of you who can do math, that’s SIX YEARS BEFORE Obama was sworn in as President, but I’m sure Shetter will find a way to “prove’ that such information is somehow irrelevant in regards to his asinine assertion.

And besides… we all know that Obama was responsible for green-lighting Highlander 2, and no one should ever forgive him for that. Especially Michael Ironside.

“Before Obama we had no BLM!”
But we still had White supremacy, inherent racism, and racial disparity in regards to education, banking, job and economic opportunities, along with definable inequality in criminal sentencing, which are literally the things that BLM pushes back against as well,s o what exactly, is your f**king point?

Are you annoyed that them there “coloreds” are getting all uppity in that blob of rancid marzipan that you call a face, or is that you can’t abide African-Americans being allowed to do white people stuff without police intervention? Nah., that couldn’t be the reason, right? After all, as a middle-aged White man living in a state that has fewer Black people in it than there are to be found at a Trump rally, I’m sure that your appreciation of different cultures is just as strong as your acceptance of the Transgender commubity.

Oh wait…

For the record, BLM, pr Black Lives Matter was founded in 2013 as a social justice movement, after a dickless guntard known as George Zimmerman, was acquitted for his role in murdering African-American teen Trayvon Martin, who had neither committed a crime, nor possessed upon his person any form of dangerous weapon, unless you consider a bag of Skittles as felonious. I for one don’t, and I just so happen to be, a full-blown Type-1 Diabetic.

Zimmernan for his spart, would go on to suffer additional scrapes with the law, ranging from traffic violations to threatening others with (what else) guns, but has always found himself suffering no consequences as a result of his actions that in all reality, would get persons of color executed like a dog in the street. But remember, it’s that nattering Negro that was the real social cancer in America, kids.

Spurious Goerge, who has all the spine one would find in jellyfish, would also attempt to forge a side career of sorts for himself, appearing at gun shows, where he would gleefully sign Confederate flags and bags of Skittles, for other testicle-free sociopaths like himself, which just goes to show us all what happens when you consistently abuse yourself using gun oil, versus the far-safer alternative of hand cream.

So, as you can see, the bad guy is obviously Obama, and not the two parboiled chunks of racist lard depicted here, grinning as if they’ve just bought a t-shirt commemorating a lynching.

Just a side note Dick- the actual mission of BLM, not that you care to have your bigotry deflated, is, and I quote; “To eradicate white supremacy and build local power to intervene in violence inflicted on Black communities by the state and vigilantes. By combating and countering acts of violence, creating space for Black imagination and innovation, and centering Black joy, we are winning immediate improvements in our lives.”

Yup… you can definitely see the handiwork of Obama all over that statement, can’t you/ the nerve of these people wanting to abolish White supremacy- have they not thought what would happen to the Trump memorabilia vendors if they wound up educating his base? Hell, red hat sales and racist meme production would plummet overnight.

“Before Obama we had no ANTFA!”
Actually Dick, yes, we did. Back in the day, it was called the United States military, and we used it to handedly defeat Adolf Hitler in 1945.In the present age, it’s a group that actively opposes all forms of fascism. Described by American sociologist, political writer, novelist, and cultural commentator Todd Gitlin, as “a defensive response to the growing presence of right-wing extremism”, it is in simpler terms, the social antidote to what Shetter’s misinformation so disturbingly represents.

Nevertheless, who’s to say that being ideologically on the same side as those who tried unsuccessfully to usurp democracy is a bad thing? In spite of everything that Shetter has posted and believes, I still want him to have close friends with similar interests, and you know it’s just a matter of time before someone in that collective group of sentient urinal cakes, suggest that they do something that’ll almost certainly thin the herd among their ranks. Like going to an indoor rally without masks, by way of example

Roll the dice kids, for adventure awaits, as does an eventual ventilator.

“Before Obama we had no war on cops!”
This statement, on the surface at least, is entirely true. At the time of Obama’s initial inauguration there was no “war” on cops. In a weird twist of coincidence, until he got elected, there was also no “war” on Christmas, hot dogs, Dr, Seuss, masculinity, hamburgers, Styrofoam, plastic straws, Thanksgiving, small business, parenting, personal privacy, the parameters of gender, religion, billionaires, Western (White) culture, and as always, White men who wear red hats,

And yes, these actually are topics that at one point or another, Conservative media seriously claimed to be under a siege of Leftist attacks, depending on whatever lie they happened to be pushing at that moment. With that knowledge in hand, I can reasonably assume then, that the “war” on cops must be just as valid as the one that conservatives declared was being waged against soda.

According to former police officer and assistant law professor at the University of South Carolina, Seth Stoughton; who has been scrutinizing compiled date regarding police fatalities collected over several decades; “When we’re talking about 780,000 state and local police officers who are interacting with people on 67 million occasions every year, the increase from five to eight, or five to 10- statistically, it doesn’t look significant,”

Further corroboration of this assessment, is provided by the graph below, which shows that as a rule, the number of what are considered felonious deaths has actually remained fairly consistent over the years.

Ironically, the numbers took a slight jump during Trump’s failure-failed tenure, although that could be simply attributed to his followers assuming that being White gave then immunity from prosecution. That’s a small joke obviously, but the data available quite directly sates that there is no “war” on cops, despite the screeching of Shetter and his inane ilk, saying that there is.

However, despite all that I’ve dissected thus far, it’s collective density pales in comparison to Shetter’s last alleged “point’ contained within his posted declaration pf abject absurdity, and let’s be honest with ourselves, if we may, because that’s saying a lot, given the evidence of his failed schooling. And you know he’s really serious, because he felt the need to signify his lack of intelligence by iodizing the calling card of morons far and wide… ALL-CAPS.

AND IN BOLD, NO LESS!!!

“BEFORE OBAMA THIS COUNTRY WASN’T AS DIVIDED AS IT IS NOW! “
You heard it here first, boys and girls- Obama, the Great Divider, who had the audacity to serve as our 44^th President, despite knowing he was African-American, is responsible for all, yes all, of the divisional strife that this once unblemished country finds itself currently suffering from. I can’t speak for others of my generation, but finding all of this out now in my middle-ages, comes off as almost a relief.

Knowing that four hundred years of treating African-Americans as of they were like cattle, the rise and continued existence of White supremacy groups, the implementation of of Jim Crow and other purposely intentional racist exclusionary policies, banning interracial marriage, as well as access to educational, financial, and economic opportunities, are, in situ and in total, the sole fault of Barrack Obama.

Sure, some of you may remember being taught in your high school history class, the social upheaval occurring in the decades between the 1950’s and the late1970’s, and the racial turbulence that arrived with it, but I can’t see how that’s even plausible, given the strength of Shetter’s non-evidence regarding the exact opposite of what has already been noted as incontrovertible to begin with.

Shetter’s blatantly wretched whitewashing [yeah, I said it] of who’s really at fault for the ongoing racial tension within this country, goes far beyond the standard vehement vileness generally attributed to chuckleheads like himself, especially when one remembers the negative reactions that far too many Conservatives had to the unforeseen possibility that a Black man might actually achieve the highest office in the land.

A wave of bigoted butt-hurt, that as you can plainly see, resulted in some truly tolerant discourse:

All that’s missing from this particularly revolting celebration of all that occurs when you lose your virginity to either your sister or a spur of the moment encounter with a just-baked apple pie, is the inference that it would probably be best if a group of upright citizens could find both a twelve-foot-tall tree, and a four-foot length of rope in order to protect the womenfolk Fortunately for Shetter’s narrative, since it’s Obama who’s the true racist, no such proposition would ever be seen on the horizon. And secure in this understanding, I really couldn’t be any happier about it.

Oh wait, what’s this?

Well. This is awkward…

“No such proposition would ever be seen on the horizon” Just feel free to toss that stupid as f**k opinion of mine out the proverbial goddamn window, when you get a chance, because the fact remains that nearly five years out from his last day in office, the conservative bigoted butthurt continues, unabated. It should come as no surprise to anyone that world leaders are the subject of death threats emanating from a wide variety of mentally decrepit twits, but the ones that were (and still are) directed at Obama were still unique nonetheless, given their racist underpinnings.

Stereotypically depicted aa an ape, a big-eared monkey, an unintelligent connoisseur of fried chicken and watermelon, Obama’s detractors not only revealed their cravenness in regards to social change, they inadvertently sank their own shakily positioned “Republicans aren’t racist” falsehood to boot. But let’s not forget, that the very same people who are totally cool with actual NAZI’s lauding Donals Trump, openly and aggressively contend that it’s definitively Obama who’s really the one fueling the forge of racism.

For the sake of clarity, if not actionable legalities, I cannot definably prove or disprove for that matter, what racial proclivities Shetter may or may not possess, but I do know this- if you come off as perceiving that BLM or Antifa are a formable threat to both your westernized culture or and social position, the odds are probably better than average, that you’re just a pair of khakis and a bargain-basement Tiki Torch away from becoming a localized problem. Just saying.

However, Shetter’s delusional fever-dreams don’t just stop at inferring that Obama is a terrorist-enabling, racist, riot-causing, anti-cop anarchist, he’s gotta ratchet that crazy dial up to twelve, because his buddy Ruth Darlene Seawolf, found hers cranked up to 11, when she once posted that Lady GaGa was, and I am not making this up, part of a Satanic cult that practices blood sacrifice.

Oh, and Tom Hanks, portrayer of Mr. Rogers, America’s resident nice guy? He, (according to a posting by RSD) is a pedophile, who was arrested in Australia a while back, backed up by photographic “proof” gleaned off the Internet. You know, the most trustworthy of sources where you can not only find a dope-ass recipe for potato candy, but Photoshopped “evidence” of Obama hanging out with Che Guevara, who died in October of 1967 when Obama was only six years old?

Nevertheless, Shetter managed to not only strip Ruth of her previously held blue ribbon for slander, he actually managed to surpass her indignantly cray-cray cat-lady vibe as well, which to be honest, I didn’t think anybody else could do, unless they underwent either a lobotomy or a serious stroke, first. And for the lightning round, he managed to hijack the memory of an unfortunate murder, just so he had an excuse to touch himself:The young woman nauseatingly named as a victim of sexual assault by Obama, is notated here by Shetter as one Carol Pintre Rose, or depending on what crazy “Q” Twitter feed you follow, possibly “Maggie Nix”;

Which, may I say, is a truly interesting notation, given that NO SUCH PERSON WAS LISTED AMONG THE VICTIMS. Weird, that. It’s almost as if she was invented out of desperation and wretchedness, huh?

Rose, who was among the tabulated victims, was murdered in cold blood along with eight other innocents, six of whom were children, when the Mormon caravan she was traveling with, found itself ambushed within the Mexican State of Sonora- an act perpetuated by a Mexican drug cartel that was, at the time, battling for territorial control against its supposed rival.

While this in and of itself is truly horrific, my personal feeling of righteous contempt is compounded even further by not only the prevalent theory that the caravan was an inadvertent victim of mistaken identity, but Shetter’s cringey crassness in seizing this tragedy, to spew yet another baseless, heartless, morally repugnant, and entirely crackpot, conspiracy theory.

Normally, I would tell such a failure of a condoms tear resistance, to go f**k themselves, but since Shetter I’m sure, is used to doing so quite consistently out of personal need, the nest best thing on the checklist of hopeful eternal outcomes to hope for, is that when he finally gets to Hell, Satan’s minions anally violate him 24/7 with a razor-studded and sandpaper wrapped, set of mechanized dildos, that don’t vibrate, so much as they spin in place.   

I’ve often made the joke about a person belling literally the living embodiment of “human pudding skin”, but now I think I’d have to go one step beyond that limited descriptive, and directly state that Shetter is far more likely to be regarded as the walking personification of a pus-filled Durian fruit, floating becalmed within an ocean of rancid mayonnaise, and topped with *Hákarl slices, imported from Iceland.  
*[Decomposed Shark Carcass]

But since I am known for playing Devil’s Advocate far more than I should, I decided to yet again, do the research that Shetter couldn’t be bothered to undertake, and strove to find the beginning thread for this sweater of inanity, using the resources of the very technological entity that Shetter obviously avoids whenever he finds himself cruising the Internet with his one truly free hand. Come for the sarcasm, stay for the onanism jokes, as I always like to say.

First, I tried entering the following uncomfortable phrase: “Maggie Nix was sexually abused by Obama”, and this was the result:

Damnit. It looks as If I’m too late- the Deep State has obviously wiped the Internet clean of the “truth”, once more. But I still had a card to play, and so I did, consequences of the mind ray be damned:

Frak.as Starbuck on Battlestar Galactica was fond of saying. Frak my life. Frak it hard. Clearly, the assembled forces of the Illuminati were at work here, so I decide to take another tack- I searched fo the photo (minus Obama) to see if I could trace the original source for its inception, and as I did, this interesting anomaly popped up:

Does it strike anyone else as odd, that a personal photo of a small child with a person who would later become the future president of the US, has no definable source? Granted at the time, Obama was simply just a senator, bit the person who felt the need to take this shot, never felt the necessity to toss it up on any social media platform layer on to brag about their seed-spawn hanging with the big dog?

And this, in an age where people showcase their morning coffee almost every day? Sure, Jan.

Not many people know this about me, but my original birth name was “Resolute”, which my parents had legally changed just before I attended Kindergarten, due to my father’s concern that mu logo was too similar to the one copyrighted by Rolls Royce, and feared that I sued for infringement. However, the qualities attached to the name stuck, so with this in mind, I plunged in even deeper, and discovered yet another twist in this theory’s twisted rabbit warren of logic:

Hold the phone… there’s now a THIRD name involved? Aee these twits suggesting that Maggie Nix and Rhonita Maria miller are the same person? I personally don’t think so, bit anything is possible whereas these cracked loons are concerned. And as a side note, is the kids last name “Nix”, or “Nixon”? This sort of sloppiness regarding the fine details you lunkheads, is why your Asinine Tales of Amazement, fall apart fatter than the will of Donald Trump’s fidelity at the AVN Awards.

Therefore, let’s recap what we’ve sort of discovered together. The first African-American to become US President, is a sexual predator in the same alleged vein as Matt Gaetz and Donald Trump, and subtly arranged for his singular victim to be silenced, but only after he got out of the protective cover of the Oval Office, and not before, because that makes…. um, perfect sense?

A weakly defined plot I can overlook. Bad acting/ I can always mock. Heck,- I own “Xanadu; the Director’s Cut” on Blu-ray and VHS for Christ’s sakes, but incompetent writing as well? That I’m afraid, is truly unforgiveable. However, when one takes into account that Shetter’s ideology currently views sexual predators the very same way that   the same perceive an underage crowd around an ice cream truck, Shetter’s desperate flail at deflective subterfuge becomes even more pathetically wretched.

Shetter can rant about coverups all that he likes, as being crazy is almost a respectfully held quality at this point in our increasing screwed-up country, but he can’t subvert the obvious; no matter who’s acting as the man behind the curtain as it were. The Truth always finds its way out. If Shetter really does think that a suiting president could be an alleged sexual predator, and get away scot-free, the he’s got far more marbles rattling free than previously ascribed.

Oops. My bad. I forgot that can happen when you’re the color of an Oompa-Loompa, buy not so much when you’re the color of the main product it makes. And no matter what political movement discovered the truth of such, they would spread it like Melania Trump at a home for aging billionaires, either for power, or political capital, and Shetter knows that.

Regardless, if indeed there truly is a Hell that awaits him, my only wish for Shetter’s eternity paying for the sins of constructing falsehoods such as these, is that when God kicks his slug ass into it, I hope he gets passed around the Demons outhouses, as if he were a carton of black-market prison cigarettes, Actually, I take that back. as the Fallen have at this pout, suffered more than enough.

Nevertheless, this odious example of what happens when you allow the human analog for a genital wart unconstrained access to the Internet, also showcases what abject f**king stupidity can be disseminated when someone who’s known for consistently overtalking without overthinking, watches too much Q-based porn on his mom’s cell phone. While I don’t truly understand Conservatives’ eternally evolving obsession with Obama past the reality of his being an African-American that they can’t best or corral, their need to paint him as a reprehensible societal monster does however, make sense.

That is, if your logic is based on the retweaked radius of a f**ked-up Fibonacci curve.

But what is the real motivation behind this campaign of delusional; demagoguery? It’s actually quite simple, really. There’s an old maxim [incorrectly attributed to NAZI Propaganda Minister Joeseph Goebbels] that says; “Accuse the other side of that which you are guilty of”, and to a very disturbing degree, it still holds a fair amount of water, due to the fact that who among us, doesn’t enjoy feeling superior to those we despise? .

And Conservatives as a rule, openly despise a lot of people. Not because those chosen for such derision are themselves “bad” people, as you’d logically surmise, but for being quite the opposite to begin with. Whereas we laud scientists and social change activists, they instead, fete murderers such as Kyle Rittenhouse, as they spin their alternate realty within their repeated cosplay of the 1935 Nuremberg rally.

Don’t believe me? Just recall the Thunberg vs. Rittenhouse meme discussed earlier, and as you do, please ponder what kind of deep-fried brain could come up with this take regarding a man of admirable decency:

For the record, this is the former not so great President Jimmy Carter, who, despite being in his 90’s still goes out into the world, and builds housing for the homeless, as trump pouts at Mar-a-Lago, demanding that people give him that which he does not deserve or has earned- the respect of others. But Shetter isn’t content with picking on an esteemed Nonagenarian, he’s also gotta go after a person who despite his military service, charitable contributions, and lack of any credible evidence, Shetter not only regards as corrupt, but whom he slurs as yet another pedophile, because of course he must:

If I ever needed an example of personal cringe, this would be on of the strong contenders for the position. Not only does it start off with the wrong presentation of tense [“He” vs “He’s”] that Shetter is known for, his laziness in not being able to competently craft an original meme from scratch is on full display as well. Jesus, Dick- if this is your idea of a “gotchja”, I can fully understand why any inventive thought that wanders randomly onto that melon you call a head, dies almost immediately from intellectual starvation.

So in review, Shatter, a man whose ideological leader, a self-admitted predator of women, and according to several sources, allegedly children as well, and who has also been directly connected through either business or personal association with no less than five prominent pedophiles, and without a shred of actual definable evidence to support his sniveling slights decided that a revolting series of online cravenness was the best way to draw heat away from his Mango man-crush, and his known foibles.

Truly, a strategy so brilliant, that even Shetter himself, didn’t understand it.

It just has to suck when you’re forced to defend your role models, and the best offensive plan that you can come up with to protect them is by saying; “Well, that’s just circumstantial evidence, so it doesn’t’; really count.” I’m fairly confident that I can use that approach to great benefit the next time my GF asks me just why the not Latina barista at my local coffeehouse, felt comfortable enough to flirt with me directly in front of her. Not gonna lie- I’ like my odds here.

In summation, the demographic of disingenuous degenerates that Shetter so earnestly carries the flag for, doesn’t necessitate their fantastical boogeyman because they fear the success of said entities, they require them, because they refuse to accept the burdening weight of their own collective failures. Hence, the reason why they’re so desperate to point their finger at someone, anyone, that they can paint as the “real” moral or social deviant.

Currently the former Trump administration has racked up quite the A-list in regards to pending criminal indictments, personal lawsuits regarding sexual inappropriateness, a history making occurrence of not one, but two, presidential impeachments, along with a host of other legal issues that until Trump was sadly elected, shared more in common with an organized crime family, then one engaged in politics.

To back this accurate assertion of mine up, I provided this 2018 graphic tabulating [at that time] the track records of criminality and the consequences resulting from such, for each prior administration.

Given the fact that this information is four years out of date, and due to the events of January Sixth, additional charges, cases, and convictions are most assuredly to follow suit.

But Obama and his associates are the ones that will soon see themselves locked up, am I correct? You know, right after the Supreme Court reinstates Trump as President, as the My Pillow guy claims will happen? Eventually, Someday, Down the road. Wherever he can manage to set those ever-changing goalposts of his. This sense of mistaken optimism, hilarious as it is, must be the reason why Shetter so confidently posts this tripe, instead of debating valid political policies that he disagrees with.

When I was a kid, I, like any other four-year-old, had a boogeyman, much like Shetter has now, but I stopped believing in all that nonsense once I realized that my Scrooge of a fatter, would never have allowed anyone or anything to live in our house, rent-free, even if it was inside my closet or under my bed.

Seriously. Growing up, I was always curious as to how our cat managed to get a corner pf the living room all to himself, without having to sign over at least three of his nine lives. But when it comes to your typical conservative smiting their deeply entrenched terrors concerning that which they choose not to understand, their coping mechanism is seemingly just to change who the monster under their beds is.

Whereas in the past, it was either minorities, Gays, Women, Liberals, or coffee cups that don’t have Jesus printed on them, the supply-chain of all that they feared and hated while limited, was still effectively efficient at keeping the sheep perpetually riled up. However, the situation is quite different now, and as it has been noted by more than a few, Time marches on, even when the Conservative’s way of thinking hasn’t.

Along with the list of previously referenced imaginary adversaries, the modern-day conservative movement has added, diversity-preaching companies, the NFL, differing viewpoints, non-Christian religions, Media in general, the “Deep State”, practitioners of Science and Medicine, and let’s not dismiss teachers, schools, and in some cases, even the students themselves, if they dare demand the convenience of not to be slaughtered wholesale while attending class.

Truly worthy foes, even if they are invented from the paranoiac ether of the cravenly candy-assed. And don’t you worry- just because the Fanta Fascist you sexually flagellate yourself to, has a well-verified track record of graft, corruption, perversion, treason, adultery, and incompetence going back decades, doesn’t mean that you can’t outright ignore it, or better yet, project such onto your self-created enemies as I noted earlier.

After all, it’s not like anyone expects credible validity from people who believe that there’s nanotech in their vaccine shot, while ignoring the fact that their cell phone is a far more effective tracking beacon that not only do they carry around willingly, happily feeding it all the data that it needs to know and/or predict, almost every intimate detail of their formerly private lives. 

Now, while the GQP’s obvious disdain for Obama presents almost as if he collectively dumped these MAGAts on the night of their Prom, he’s not their only unfounded obsession. Not by a long shot. Former Secretary of State, and current wife of former President Bill Clinton, Hillary Rodham Clinton, is on that ever-expanding list too, and as is the case with most pf their rallying jabbering points, their hard-on for hypocrisy is on full display, despite the fragility of White privilege underwriting it:

And there’s no better way to make a conservative pup his top, quite like pointing out that Hillary walks free among us, loving her best life, as their tinted messiah sits brooding in a pool of his own dime-store bronzer, hoping tor a; last-second Hail Mary pass to pull his sorry ass out of the dumpster fire that he started. Although, if that’s what he was banking on, he probably shouldn’t have sexually assaulted Mary to begin with, as she tends to hold on to things like that.

Bu Shetter, undaunted by the glaringly harsh spotlight of reality, if not inevitably, still  posted this”

I’d happily point out to Shetter here and now, that in order to throw someone in jail, you actually need to provide incontrovertible proof of their committing a crime first, which is why out guys will still be sipping Mimosas on a beach, as your mango Mussolini gets forcibly fitted for a jumpsuit that matches his skin tone, watching helplessly as Melania drains his secret bank accounts, and Ivanka makes up lame excuses as to why she can’t come visit him,

I do love though, how Shetter claims that the “the evidence is blatantly clear against Hillary and Obama”, yet for some reason, can’t produce either the said evidence of crimes, nor state crimes they’ve supposedly committed to begin with. This by the way, is a fairly consistent tactic among conservatives, that being, to brand a falsehood as truth, rant endlessly regarding it, assure that “all will be revealed” in time, and when finally pressed to back up the validity of their cravenly contrivance, claim that it’s a vast conspiracy, either too well-hidden, and/or too powerful, to successfully expose.

Hypocritically, Shetter doesn’t seem to mind when his tax dollars are being misappropriated to go after Liberal targets or the social causes that he loathes, as Trump did ever so guilelessly, but as has been established beyond reproach, Shetter’s overall intellect, makes a bag of potato tots academically akin to Stephen Hawking. Far funnier, if I were to be so frank, is the fact that Shetter truly thinks that dirt has to be “dug up” where Trump, a man who openly admits to crimes during media interviews, is concerned.

Let’s call a jackass a jackass, shall we, for “finding” dirt on Trump is as measurably difficult as finding a weed dealer at a Phish concert. Literally, all one has to do, is either cue up his greatest hits via YouTube, or just wait for his latest appearance on OAN to air. I’m starting to think that when this nightmare is finally over, it’ll be due to his writing a tell-all book reiterating his crimes, which after its completion, he then dutifully autographed just before sending those copies to the prosecutors he’d eventually face in court.

Free speech is, at its core, one of the most effectively powerful weapons citizens have to even the, metaphorical playing field, but in the ever so undersized hands of America’s angriest Creamsicle, it only serves as the reason as to why his defense attorneys drink themselves into a coma almost every day. I’m no lawyer obviously, but I can only assume what level of fear his must experience, whenever they see a crawl on TV promoting yet another of his sure to be deceitful, meltdowns.

Now, when it comes to the act and art of disintegrating in full view of the general public, nobody does it better than the modern-day conservative base, let me tell you. Whether it’s a prominent Republican politico avoiding a question about January Sixth, or an irrelevant MAGAt screaming at the sky, the GQP, it can be said, is definitely not sending their best. Mind you that’s just me extending the charitable notion that they actually had some persons of nobility at one point, but I digress,

As anyone who’s been paying attention already knows, open and truly free civil discourse, has become not only the latest archenemy pf conservatism and its leadership in general, but also excellently serves as yet another brick in the wall of their self-declared martyrdom as well, because once again, it must. You can’t cosplay as an eternal victim of cruel fate, if it turns out you’re actually the aggressor, now, can you?

Despite the bogosity of their assertions that they’re being consistently censored whereas social media is concerned, the opposite is quite true, according to Paul Barrett, deputy director of the NYU Stern Center for Business and Human Rights, whose report titled; “False Accusation: The Unfounded Claim that Social Media Companies Censor Conservatives,” determined evidentially, that rather than expurgating the right wing’s ideological POV, the top social media platforms instead, disseminated it even father.

To quote Barnett; “Republicans, or more broadly conservatives, have been spreading a form of disinformation on how they’re treated on social media. They complain they’re censored and suppressed but, not only is there no evidence to support that, what evidence exists actually cuts in the other direction.

“There is a broad campaign going on from the right to argue that they’re being silenced or cast aside, and that spirit is what is helping to feed the extremism that we are seeing in our country right now. We can’t just allow that to be a debating point. It’s not legitimate. It’s not supported by the facts.”

Unsurprisingly, the professional victims brigade that is the conservative monument doesn’t’; (of course) see it that way, because as is stereotypical with this inane ilk, proven facts are far outweighed by their biased and unfounded feelings of being personally persecuted for their dogma of dipsh***ery.

A precis best summed up by Conservative author Denise McAllister, who, along with being just flatly incorrect on the issue at hand, has also proposed that social media platforms stop moderating the content posted, saying in a USA Today interview, that: “This is a platform, right? You don’t need to act like mama Twitter or mama Facebook. Just let people say what they are going to say, whether it’s true, false, whatever. You have to just trust the people as individuals and not to try to impose power because you are going to do it inconsistently.”

Well, this is truly refreshing, is it not? The porty of “Law and Order”, unless it’s principles are being applied to them, and of “Family Values”, unless they get caught starting one with an underaged mistress, are the true defenders of Free Speech, and don’t want anyone’s ideology questioned pr challenged, and this conviction, rooted in their steadfast belief that the sharing of ideas must be freely expressed without any form of limitation placed upon them, is unshakable. Thinks of it as the hardest of moral bedrock.

Unless of course, those philosophies are elucidated by others that they’re opposed to, then all’s fair in love and war, as it were, for as it has been sadly established, hypocrites are gonna hypocrite, and God help anyone who gets in the way of that, by daring to use reality in the manner it was intended for. As it is with the majority of societal causes and concerns that conservatives align themselves with, escape clauses and loopholes, are not so much add-ons, as they are built-ins.

For them, exceptions are the rule, and its almost a certainty that if they’re pointing a finger at you, the other seven are probably engaged in trying to cover something up. While they’re quite fond of posting that “They wouldn’t need to censor us if we were wrong”, I would strongly disagree. Given the events of the last five years, I’d suggest that the argument could easily be made that false information, disseminated directly into the brains of the intellectually constrained, can be just as dangerous as a Catholic priest given free reign at a Boy Scout jamboree.

With no due respect, my flatulent firebrands, assessing one’s statements for accuracy is not now, nor has it ever has been, any form of censorship- things are either true, or they’re not. It really is that simple. So Is it all that shocking really, that these disciples of an ideology of idiocy that labeled COVID as a hoax, regards mask protocol as implemented communism, and continues pushing their false narrative concerning non-existent voter fraud as gospel, would be so stalwartly resolute in pushing back against having their asinine assertions fact-checked?

What’s even more troubling for conservatives though, is not the fact that their fictious fantasies are being taken to task, for regardless of the sheer delusion they contain, their base will swallow it without any sense of refutation. No, what truly enrages them, is their being held to account for these damnable deflections, as these two postings clearly demonstrate:Dagnabit! Where am I going to go now, if I need up to the minute information on imaginary terrorists, Jewish Space lasers, and pizzerias that serve milkshakes made from the blood of trafficked children? Oh, that’s right, I still have Lauren Boebert and about 20 other members of the cray-cray caucus to rely on. Whew. For a second there, I was kind of worried.

I love, yet again, how Shetter manages to not only mangle the English language as he displays his stunning ignorance in regards to exactly what the First Amendment, in point of fact defines, but how he assumes his erroneous characterization of such, has no boundaries to speak of.  And as a side note, if you’re going to call others stupid, you should probably use the correct word to do it.

That would be “taking”, by the way. Glad to help, as usual. But Dick isn’t done embarrassing himself just quite yet. After all, he’s got a job to do, and that apparently, is reminding us all what Twitter’s “job” is, even of he doesn’t know what that is himself. Remember that one dumbass kid in your neighborhood who jumped off his roof because he thought if he was wearing a Superman cape he could fly? Well, this is what happens when they grow up to be adults:To note, this is what the First Amendment actually says:  “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.”

Read that again if you must, for it specifically only puts one body of people in check- that being, the Federal Government, and no one else. What that means, for those of you who failed Civics class and require an explanation, is that the only singularity, either real or imagined, that can be held legally liable for curtailing your freedom of speech, is the authoritative powers that oversee this Republic.

AND THAT IS IT. END OF DISCUSSION, AND YOUR INTELLECTUALLY LIMITED “DEBATE”.

Private companies are not subject to the parameters of the First Amendment, which is why you’re not allowed to openly comment on your immediate supervisor’s persistent predilection for being a jackass. And if you believe that they are, I can see now why you’re the one currently assembling my Big Mac to go. By way of example, I proudly hold the distinction (like Trump) of being banned from Twitter for life, due to my penchant for, and I  swear this is true, calling out TV’s “Hercules” Kevin Sorbo, Tom “garage sale Barbie” Lahren, and of course, various White supremacy groups, for their abominable stupidity…

Although come to think of it, I could have just written “craven Caucasians”, instead of their descriptive, and those v=bases would still have been covered fully. And guess what? I didn’t rant about it. I didn’t call the ACLU, or my local news station, demanding airtime regarding it.. More importantly, I didn’t ho online and embarrass myself by showing that I had no idea what the laws of my country entailed, either.

Unless you have a time machine, albeit in the form of a TARDIS, a DeLorean, or the phone booth from Bill & Ted’s Excellent adventure, along with a truly solid sales pitch to convince Thomas Jefferson that he needs to make some oddly specific editorial choices regarding technology that hasn’t been invented yet, the online oracles that you so wish would bend to your will, are going to continue in their mission to inadvertently annoy you something fierce.

Along with Shetter’s refusal; to acknowledge why these two Twittering twats were suspended from the platform in the first place, which centers on their jointly and egregiously violating the clearly defined terms set forth in the user agreements they WILLINGY AGREED TO, his curious negation of any mention of the similarly parsed terms of service for Trump’s so-called “Free Speech” site, AKA: Truth Social, which, if the past is any indicator, will be just another abortive enterprise on his already overflowing pyre of personal impotence, is most certainly a personal tell of sorts.

Specifically, the terms of service for Trump’s latest attempt to refine a controllable source of political Viagra for himself, state that its users may not “disparage, tarnish, or otherwise harm, in our opinion, us and/or the Site”, which other than being purposefully vague, if not arbitrary at best, sort of put a kibosh on that whole “open and truly free dialogue” marketing campaign that the Hair Fuhrer is spreading by using other people’s money for.

But in the end, Trump’s ignorant base of slack-jawed lard-slabs like Shetter, don’t really care about that obvious hypocrisy, as all they truly want to glean from their miasma of mental moribundity, is the most fortified of intelligence-barren echo chambers, safe from the harsh veracities of the dismal stench of accumulated personal failures, if not the world itself, which regards them less as a political movement, and more of a cautionary tale about the downside of having unnatural relations with your siblings.

And the unintentionally hilarious side-effect of this clusterf**k of a Facebook wannabe? For all their “Fk FB” talk, not one of these mindless incel inbreds will actually leave the Land of Zuckerberg, because without their made-up enemies to directly engage with, they most assuredly, have no purpose in life. Look at it this way- if everybody on Earth held hands, and darted singing “Kumbaya”, my career, if not my second-most favorite hobby would be as dead as Mike Pence attending a January Sixth cosplay.

For these people, lack of conflict would surely be a Hell on Earth, although to be fair, observing a Trump rally from the inside as someone who reads books and not hats, might qualify as a close second.

Speaking of which, if I had to assign a penalty for every fabricated fiction that Shetter circulates as if he were seeding a garden of the ignorant, not only would he find himself locked in Hell’s library, taking an eternal Civics class, I’d also make sure that along with only a non-alphabetized card catalog to aid him, a lower-level demon of annoyance would be on hand to remove the bookmark from his required reading whenever he’s not looking, so that he has to start from scratch all over again.

Nevertheless, Shetter and the rest of his cuckolded Trumpanzees cabal if given the chance, would have no such hesitation on dropping the metaphorical guillotine blade on the necks of those of who stand in their way, and we should never forget this, even if it’s only for a second. Unsurprisingly, persons who grant thugs, murderers, sexual predators, and abusers of supreme power grotesque status as cultural heroes, are, as a rule, the very last people you want running a hot dog stand, much less an all-too-powerful government.

This is not to say however, that Shetter himself couldn’t efficaciously play a crucial role in such a dystopian future, as it’s always been my credo that everyone, regardless of their ability or intelligent, has a part to play. Unfortunately, whereas Shetter may be concerned, I don’t think there will ever arise the true need for a pulled-pork sandwich that can talk, so his current calling as an amateur Uncle Fester impersonator, may be the wisest career choice that he’ll ever make.

Because as only mythical God knows, he can’t rely on his inability to pick a f**ing winner, to make bank.   

“There’s nothing wrong with being a loser, it just depends on how good you are at it.”
– Billie Joe Armstrong

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*DISCLAIMER: This screed of the moment, contains content from wiythin the Netflix series “Love, Death and Robots”, as well as transcript dialogue of one episode in particular, AKA: “Zima Blue”.

I do not own any copyrights held in regards to this property, and therefore, its inclusion here, is solely for entertainment purposes only, and without any intention of securing personal profit, so please don’t sue me, Netflix. On a side note, thus series kicks serious ass, and your stand-alone and non-related movie, “Gunpowder Milkshake” was pretty goddamn good too.]

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue, and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.” – Judy Garland

Greetings, Bitchiteers!

Today’s screed is going to be a little bit off my beaten track. Less snark. Minimal sarcasm. And in a surprise twist worthy of M. Night Shyamalan, it’ll be closing with a hopeful outlook, no less. No, I’m not dying, nor am I under the influence of the Deep State mind-control rays, either. In fact, I’m feeling kind of blue. Zima Blue, to be exact.

And besides, ever since I bought that tinfoil helmet off Amazon, I’ve been feeling a lot better about life in general, even with the recently acquired knowledge that my toaster has been spying on me for the CIA, for months now. Et tu, Toasty Mc Burny? Et tu?

Don’t concern yourself, for I will explain momentarily, as to what I’m talking about, but first, let me start my literary musings on the right note by offering up this facet of insight from author Alastair Reynolds: “But without fallibility there is no art. And without art, there is no truth.” He’s also well known for saying that; “Some people get it. Most people never will. But that’s art”, which may be one of the ultimate truths of the Universe, regardless of where your place in it just so happens to be.

Art, regardless of whatever joy, comfort, inspiration, or frustration for some that it may bring, is still at best, a truly singular and personal experience, and that’s the way that it should be, now and forever.

By way of example, what do you think of when you see this work by the late Swiss surrealist H.R. Geiger, titled “The Spell II”?Does it disturb you, or do you, much like myself, take comfort in its disquietingly dark multi-layered imagery, instead? 
In the interest of transparency however, I feel that I should inform you all, that a copy of this painting created in 1974, has hung in every residence I’ve lived in since 1996, and it will continue to do so, until it either degrades into dust, of my GF finally makes good on her decade-old threat, and sets it on fire, so my appreciation of it, may make me somewhat biased in my lauding of it, so, just a heads up.

While I’m sure that a team of psychologist could have a field day of sorts, analyzing just why I love this picture so much, I myself, would rather not know the reason, lest it ruins the ongoing fascination that I’ve had with it since my mid-twenties.

A side-note if I may? This is the one piece of art in my home that most of my intimates truly just hated back in the day. On more than one occasion when this was hanging in my bedroom, I’d awake to find it draped with either my bedspread, pr a random towel, by whomever had been gracious enough to spent the night with me. I’m not bragging mind you; I’m just calling attention to the emotional state of discomfort that this work of dark intent can generate amid those who find themselves to be easily troubled.

While I’m sure that a team of psychologist could have a field day of sorts, analyzing just why I love this painting so much, I myself, would rather not know the reason, lest it ruins the ongoing fascination that I’ve had with it since my mid-twenties. Ironically, that’s also the same motive behind why I really try not to seek out the answer as to why I find women who wear thigh boots, so damn appealing:               

Okay, maybe the response to that eternal question is far more obvious, than as to why I dig this particular piece of art so much, but I still don’t want to know the answer, because for me at least, the lack of knowledge as it relates to this artistic attachment, is truly indeed, bliss.

Now, some of you long-term Bitchiteers may note that it’s been quite some time that I’ve written about anything art-related, as my main focus these days seems to be centered on metaphorically eviscerating the willingly ignorant, so this screed of the moment should represent a nice change of pace for all of us, given the Trumpian toxicity that I’ve been dredging through the last couple of months.

The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche once opined that; “Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you”, which to be fair, is truly a dead-on assessment of factuality, when it comes to my personal writing, what I consider both an entertaining hobby and relaxing side-career.

And at times, lt can be somewhat difficult to shrug all that perverse darkness off my shoulders, given the unadulterated contemptibility that I attempt to metaphorically neuter, in lieu of a better analogy.

Thanks in large part to the willingness of certain members in my small community to conceitedly present themselves as they truly are, I’ve had the prime opportunity to write about the paranoid bigotry of Ken Cykala, the inconceivable ignorance of Richard “Ricardo” Leyba, the anti-logical POV of Nick “Flag Hag” Lemme, and my newest BFF, a canonize of Christian cray-cray, local insurance agent, Ruth Darlene Seawolf.

And the best part? Due to my approach of staying low-key, none of them seemingly are aware of being my personal scratching posts (yet) much to my Machiavellian delight. When this bubble of tranquility finds itself popped as all bubbles do, I’m sure some form of Hell will break loose, also much to my personal delight.

Granted, while none of these people may not be well-known past the screeds that I compose, and given their penchant to out themselves as walking among the happily uninformed, one might logically think that past their providing me fodder for my ever-expanding collection of ongoing cultural observations, I might view them as no more than irrelevant cogs in the clockwork of a spitefully stupid, if not outright hateful juggernaut of failed humanity, but I’d beg to differ.

I only say this, because the destructive ignorance that they collectively represent and willingly disseminate, should never not be challenged, nor should it ever be allowed to spread its putrid poison without the threat of dire consequence for doing so.

Haile Selassie, the late Emperor of Ethiopia, noted quite accurately, that; “Throughout history, it has been the inaction of those who could have acted; the indifference of those who should have known better; the silence of the voice of justice when it mattered most; that has made it possible for evil to triumph.”

Or if I were to present a far more simplistic approach, I’d quote the author of C.L, Wilson, who sums up my personal philosophy regarding people such as the ones I write about, with: “The Dark cannot claim what Light does not surrender.” Hence the reason as to why I so consistently hammer at the inane ideology of these democracy-defiling dimwits.

But not today, for it’s all about the art as it were, and a facet of it that as late, I have found to be truly inspiring, if not obsession inducing, and it all begins with the premise that a lone color can convey far more than its singular place within the spectrum of known hues.

For the initiated, these animated strokes represent that which is designated within the Pantone Color System as 298C, or as it’s more commonly known amongst us discerning connoisseurs of color, Zima Blue. Other than being a color of somewhat subdued tranquility, it just so happens to be the title of a culturally pivotal episode from “Love Death + Robots.” an adult-themed animated anthology, now in its second season on the streaming platform known as Netflix.

And while you may not understand at this moment as to why this rectangle pf serene color is relevant to a collection of disparate tales as well as today’s, I assure you that in time, you will.

Airing initially in March of 2019, the 18 episode series garner much critical acclaim due to the strength of its storytelling, as well as having said tales animated by a slew of wildly diverse animators hand-picked from a host of different countries, and allegedly draws some of its inspiration from the series producers fascination with the 1981 animated classic, “Heavy Metal”, which to this day, still remains as one of my personal favorites, if not for its visual narrative alone, but for the inclusion of a kick-ass soundtrack as well.Not to mention, Heavy Metal also features a badass Taarakian warrior hottie named “Taarna”, flying around on her per pterodactyl, setting the wrongs of her world right, so it’s pretty much a straight win across the board, so far as I’m concerned. This is not to say however, that LD+R doesn’t hold its own when measured against its inspirational predecessor, and it most certainly, carves out and maintains its niche, with the very personification of dazzling creativity, if not originality of its central concept.

While I’ appreciative of the anthology of tales presented thus far as a whole, I do have some particular favorites, starting with episode three, “The Witness”;
Centering around a woman’s attempt to flee from a killer, after she witnesses him committing a murder tinged with brutality, ending with a plot twist that I for one, never saw coming. Gorgeously paced animation throughout, especially when it comes to the depiction of the tangibly real cityscape presented within.

Another strong contender for a concept that deservedly needs to be developed into a stand-alone live-action move, is the nail-bitingly tense the fourth episode, “Suits”, who’s plot revolves around farmers on a small rural planetoid, defending their livestock as well as their lives, from an invasion of ravenous bug-like aliens, using home-built mech-suits to do so:
Think “Aliens” meets “Asteroids” and you’ll understand just why I love this story so goddamn much. Great narrative, addictingly tense action sequences, and phenomenal character development, leading to a gut-wrenching heroic sacrifice, all in the span of under twenty minutes. Worth your time, and your admiration.

For fans of dark horrific comedy, episode five, “Sucker of Souls”, should fit the bill nicely, as its story centers around an archaeological dig gone horribly awry , wherein Dracula, personified as an unstoppable and bloodthirsty demon, is accidentally freed from his imprisonment in a subterranean cavern, and enters into battle with a team of hard-bitten mercenaries, who’s best defense outside of a cave-in, is the one animal Dracula is most afraid of, that being cats, I kid you not:
Gory, graphic, and gloriously inappropriate at times, this particular tale blends the funny, the profane, and the horrendous, into an edge of your seat roller coaster ride, that will keep you guessing as to what’s about to happen, until it’s incredibly dark conclusion.

Rounding out my list, which by no measure is fully complete, is the highly inventive “Alternate Histories”, where we get to see the varying and whimsical ways that Hitler dies, thanks to “Multiversity”, which, as we’re eventually informed, is America’s leading alternate history research app.

This unique slice of technological wunderkind, allows its users to view cybernetic recreations of how the past would find itself altered, if any of the known and established facts concerning a historical point in time, were revised. Therefore, throughout the entirety of this episode, we are treated to several enjoyable, if not increasingly f**ked-up, visions of Hitler being killed: Granted, this is still too kind of a fate for him, but since he’s roasting on a spit in metaphorical Hell, and is therefore out of reach, we’ll all just have to take what we can get, and when it comes to the eventual outcomes of his multiple deaths, they are as follows:

Beat to death on the steps of the Academy of Fine Arts, run over by a horse-drawn cart, filled with bratwurst, which ironically, is now one of my great-great cousins actually died, dying by suffocation, after being entombed in a ginormous cube of gelatin, expiring from sexual exhaustion after an epic fivesome with Viennese courtesans, perishing after being struck by a meteor, and in a paradoxical twist for the ages, killed by the crossfire emanating from two time-traveling groups, the first being anti-Nazi’s tasked to kill him, and the second, ardent Nazi’s conversely sent to save him from this particular fate.

In the last scenario presented, Hitler is saved by a mech-suit wearing version of himself, that’s armed to the teeth, and in a moment of rapturous gratitude, violates the first cardinal rule of time travel, that being “Never physically touch your mirror image self”, and subsequently, is rendered into non-existence.by the consequence of straining the limitations of established space-time:
You know… like we’ve all done at one point in our lives?

Or several, if you believe in the Multiverse Theorem, that is. Just think… there could be an even sexier version of me running around with two good legs, diabetes free, blessed with perfect vision, and the solace of long-whispered rumors that Milla Jovovich and I have been secretly dating for years. I’d assume however, that my level of devastating personal charm and rugged good locks remain as consistent, because even the Universe knows not to screw with perfection.

Or my ever-so-prevalent sense of personal humility, because let’s face it, that’s really the best thing about me, by far. Minus my ability to write as if I were Kurt Vonnegut’s untalented offspring, but that’s a given across the board, I’d think. But as with all things creative within my life, I’m always striving to do better that before, even if that movement is outwardly considered as incremental, by others.

The speed of one’s progress is unimportant, so long as it advances forward, and it matters not as to what those outside of your struggle perceive it to be, dependent on course, as to whether or not they attempt to interfere with your desire of achieving truly continuous personal evolution, which just so happens to be the cornerstone that forms the foundational underpinning of my favorite episode, earlier referenced by my use of a color swatch, “Zima Blue”.

Before we get started however, I am bound by writer’s honor to inform you all, that there are some serious “spoilers” ahead, so if you don’t want to know how this tale plays out beforehand, now would be a good time for you to go watch it, and then come back to read my assessment of it and its inherent lesson regarding the purity of one person’s exploration of the creative self.

The title of this stunningly original story, serves as dual introduction for the two main protagonists crucial to its narrative, the first being the deliberately reclusive artist of whom little is known, Zima Blue…

… and the second, being the singular color that Zima has used exclusively to create what has become his world-famous Catalogue Raisonné, which as you may have already surmised, is the aforementioned Pantone 298C, which in ways, both subtle and not, is used as a color cue throughout this elegantly drafted gem of the animators craft.

It may seem strange to some, prior to their viewing of this tale, that a non-sentient color is essential to its foundation, but it really shouldn’t be in retrospect, as color has always played a major role in not only setting cinematic mood, but the sense of place as well, and in the case of Zima Blue, it does such with understated subtlety, if not inspiring, artistically spiritual ingenuity.

The color itself may not speak in the traditional sense, but its charismatic presence cannot be underestimated, if only to understand its importance to the formation of the narrative presented. In its purest distillation, it embodies both the inquisitive beginning of, and the erudite heralding leading to, the culmination of Zima’s metaphysical journey within the realms of virtuously limitless expression.

Used throughout the piece entire as a primary tone, a shading aspect, and as a highlight that cameos within almost every pixilated frame, the shade figuratively and literally, grounds the story that eventually unfolds towards its unexpected conclusion. Opening with narration provided by Claire Markham, a journalist who we soon discover, is en route to meet Zima face to face, despite his history of declining interviews with her in the past, we’re treated to a cinematic view of her travels across a calm sea, the color of which, naturally, is Zima Blue.

The reason behind this intimate invitation to Claire alone, remains shrouded in mysterious conjecture, much like the man and the work he creates, a state of affairs that Clare also touches upon: as she awaits her eventual rendezvous with the enigmatic artist:

“Little is known about Zima’s history. It was said that he started his art career in portraiture, but for Zima, the human form was too small a subject. The search for deeper meaning caused him to look further… to the cosmos itself.”

The launching point for the story thus being established, we are then treated to a discussion of Zima’s work, which if transcribed into our reality, would not only be regarded as truly the fullest countenance of post-modernism, but theoretically, would find itself hailed for its achievement of not only extending the influence of one’s art past the realm of that which was known, but for the improbability of shattering the boundary between the atheistic and the practical, as well:

 “It was said that he started his art career in portraiture, but for Zima, the human form was too small a subject.”

“The search for deeper meaning caused him to look further… to the cosmos itself. That’s how the mural work started. They were undeniably brilliant.”
“One day, Zima unveiled a mural that had something different about it.”

“The square was just the beginning.  Over the next several decades, the abstract shapes changed and became more dominant.. But, always, the shade of blue was the same.”

“It was Zima Blue.. Before very long, Zima unveiled the first of his entirely blue murals. It was considered by many to be as far as Zima could take things. They couldn’t have been more wrong. When most people speak about his Blue Period, they mean the era of the truly huge murals…”
“…but Zima was just getting started. It was a certain level of spectacle that made Zima truly famous… even to those with no interest in art.”

Addressing his growing discontent with the direction of his work, Claire’s continuing narration elaborates that unlike most artists who go on a quest, seeking the expansion of their creativity, Zima’s path was one that few, if any, of his contemporizes would willingly walk, much less consider worth the risk:“In spite of all his success, Zima was still dissatisfied and what he did next was, for many, too extreme a sacrifice to make for art.”

There was a planet called Kharkov Eight. It specialized in illicit cybernetic modifications. He underwent radical biological procedures that enabled him to tolerate extreme environments without the burden of a protective suit.
“His eyes could see in any known spectrum. He no longer breathed oxygen. His skin was replaced with pressurized polymer and so he ventured forth to commune with the cosmos. But what Zima eventually realized is that the cosmos was already speaking its own truth far better than he ever could.”

As she arrives at Zima’s ocean-based headquarters, Claire, who’s not too bad of a looker herself;

shares with us all, her first impression of Zima: “He was a handsome man, even after all his transformations.” However, our first collective glimpse of Zima as he is, suggests that there is and always has been , more to his narrative  than just the challenges of an artist’s attempt to find the sanctuary of place for both he and his work within the Universe entire, as it currently exists.

It is at this point, that Zima enlightens Claire as to why her presence had been specifically requested: “Relax, Claire. Some people find me intimidating, but they quickly get over it. It’s been over 100 years since I’ve spoken to the press. I’ve invited you here because I want you to help me tell my story. Shall we take a little walk?

This question leads to one of my favorite scenes, the setting in place moment that due to the streamlined illustrative quality of the elements displayed within, captures both my attention and calls attention to my fondness for the combination of Deco and Brutalist architecture.

As they ascend to a vantage point overlooking the still being constructed venue that will eventually host Zima’s final and potentially greatest work, he begins to reveal the parameters of his truly humble, and in a plot twist I did not see coming, his literally invented from scratch origins,

This revelation, when presented to the collective audience, transforms this story from a modest tale of the quest to achieve the zenith of integrity for one’s art, to a challenge regarding the construct of what acquiring such, does to constitute the essence of what we apprise as humanity’s essence.

On closer inspection, Zima’s potentially greatest work reveals itself as no more than then an ordinary swimming pool, to which Zima notes; “My search for truth has led me here, to what will be my final piece. At last, I understand the thing I sought through my art.”

Curious as to Zima’s final creative intent, Claire queries: “And what does this swimming pool have to do with that?”  Sagely, Zima responds; It’s not just any swimming pool…”

“Long ago, it belonged to a talented young woman with a keen interest in practical robotics. She created dozens of robots to do odd jobs around her house, but she was especially fond of the one she’d created to clean her swimming pool. The little machine toiled endlessly, scrubbing the ceramic sides of the pool.”
But the young woman wasn’t satisfied with the job it did. So, she gave it a full color vision system and a brain large enough to process the visual data into a model of its surroundings.”

“She gave it the ability to make its own decisions, to design different strategies for cleaning the pool. She continued to use the machine as a test-bed for new hardware and software. And by stages, it became more aware. Eventually, the woman died. The little machine was passed from one owner to the next. They added things, made modifications here and there and with every iteration, it became more alive.

Became more…”
‘… Me.”

A side tangent, if it can be allowed. One of the things tha5 I truly appreciate about this particular story, past the nucleus of it’s truly original take on the well-worn trope of the Artists Journey, is the fact that it’s main protagonist, along with being non-human, is also not the standardized “in our image” Caucasian paradigm of personage that we’ve seen countless times before, and neither is Zima’ creator, who’s both a highly intelligent woman, and obviously based on a multicultural ideal, as well.   

At the risk of coming off as “woke”, it’s refreshing to see non-White characters being placed in a natural context, without an explanation as to why they’re there to begin with- they just are, and no rationalization is (or should be) required to establish why this is. And to be honest, this societal element went initially unnoticed by myself at first, due to the sheer inventiveness of the tale being woven before my eyes.

To her credit, Claire takes this stunning admission of true self quite well:
Far better than I would have, in fact, and I say that as a former New Yorker, a class of people who pride themselves for taking most things in stride, if not snide. Given the circumstances of its birth, and the pinnacles of its collective accomplishment, I’d have to assume that Claire’s acceptance to Zima’s backstory, is probably formed out of her sheer badassery, which to be honest, just adds to her overall animated hotness factor.

What can I say? I like my cartoon chicks to kick ass, take names, and then… promptly forget them. However, being casually informed that one of the most respected artists in the world was once a household appliance, has definitely got to be a conversation starter, to say the very least.

If for instance, I ever discover that Milla Jovovich had been at one point in time, a Dyson vacuum cleaner, not only would I be even more fascinated by her, I’d finally have my answer as to whether it’s true that bagless vacuum cleaners are better than bagged ones. They’re not by the way, but never waste an educational opportunity, kids. Trust me on this.

Claire remains contemplatively silent, as Zima looks out towards a singular robot, resolute in its programmed task setting the tile of the pool, perhaps even inwardly reflecting on their not too dissimilar connection.

“This is that same pool. I had it dug up. Moved here.”

Claire, still processing what she has just been told, responds with:

“But you’re a man with machine parts, not a machine that thinks it’s a man.”

Sometimes, it’s difficult even for me to understand what I’ve become. And harder still to remember what I once was. The blue of the tiles… Zima Blue, the manufacturer called it. The first thing I ever saw.”

This was where I began. A crude little machine with barely enough intelligence to steer itself. But it was my world. It was all I knew, all I needed to know.”

“And now?”

This query is left hanging in the still air, as the scene dissolves into the event itself, held in the now finished monolithic venue, with a rather sizeable crowd of the curious and the creative alike.

One of the things I particularly found personally relevant about this scene, is the aspect of ghoulish expectancy that’s been assigned to the gathered throng. As someone with a rather deep and varied artistic path, I can attest after close to 200 shows, that sometimes you feel less like an artist free of societal bondage, and more akin to a curiosity of creativity, valued only for your ability to feed other people’s sense of over-inflated elitism.

If it were up to me, one’s admittance to an art gallery or the private creative space of any Artist, would hinge upon the following: successfully passing an IQ test, a credit check, and proving whether or not they can avoid mentioning the stereotypical dumb as f**k comments involving pricing, education, and what constitutes as a “real” job.

Newsflash: we don’t care what you think about our work, unless it’s positive, nor do we really want to hear you suggestions on how to “improve” it either. Buy it, praise it, or STFU regarding it. That’s the list entire, and you’re welcome. Now, let’s get back to the tale

As this horde waits in salaciously salivating anticipation to discover what the legendary Zima has in store for them, Claire, who at this point in the story, is the only person in attendance who knows exactly, if not intimately, what Zima’s artistic swan song will ultimately be, Is briefly seen within the crowd, bracing herself for what is about to transpire.

Viewing Zima’s arrival into his final apogee with the critically cynical; eye of someone who once made his living propagating the Grand Spectacle for fun and the occasional profit, I can definitely confirm that if Zima himself were not a character based in fiction, he would most certainly be the only person within the sphere of imaginative endeavor who would force me to bring my A-game, regardless of who or what I was going up against.

And oddly, he still may, given my obsession with this fantastical story, as every artist alive, and maybe even those who are now dead, but still creating clouds and rainbows somewhere out on the celestial plane, dreams of having that one moment in a career where you not only own the artistic space within each of us, but the endless realm of creative possibility beyond it, as well.

Noted author, satirist, and avowed Humanist Kurt Vonnegut, a personal hero of mine, accurately observed that when it came to the act of creation; “We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down”, and as someone who’s had far too many nights in his career standing blankly before his easel, trying to squeeze out one more idea on primed canvas at three in the morning, I can set in stone the validity of his pragmatism.

The creative process is at times, equally maddening and terrifying, and as a rule, it’s also a road that you tend to have to walk alone, and that still holds true, true even when you’re collaborating with others. I’ve always used the analogy that inside the brains of the actively creative, there’s a tiny little room, closed off from the general; public where the heavy lifting of the imaginative gets done, and no matter what, nobody outside of said room, will ever understand what goes on inside of it, regardless of whatever descriptive I may offer.      

In my opinion, when it comes to Art, the appreciation n and interpretation of such is a truly singular experience. and the knowledge of this, may be the closest that any one person can get to being granted unfettered access to that otherwise fortified and entirely private, creative space that exists inside our heads. For me, the process of creative evaluation is crucial only to myself, and not to the end result of what I will eventually present, is what counts in the end.

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain, and all that.

It has never been the exclusive province of philosophers alone to debate what is the singular integer of  that makes us truly human, but the aspect of personal Creativity is most certainly, one if the key facets that gets tossed into the ring, more often than not, despite the limitations of its descriptive, which notes that such is; “:the ability to create”, or one having “the quality of being creative’, which let’s face it, is one truly creative way to appear as sounding deep, while remaining earnestly vague overall.

If I were to strictly adhere to the boundaries laid down by its own terminology, I could easily draw attention to the fact that humans are not specifically unique in their pursuit of the inspired. Monkeys make tools, Bowerbirds fabricate elaborate decorated temple-like structures to attract potential mates, and as we all remember from our fourth-grade science class, Seahorses are widely respected for their ability to make a perfect “dirty” Martini, almost every time, and yet, you never see them in ads for Seagram’s, now do you?

And before you rely on throw in that whole “opposable thumbs” thing as some form of yardstick, know that I once watched a crow that had been inadvertently trapped inside my garage, open the door by hitting the wall-mounted switch with its beak, and then strut out as if he owned the place, no less. So, maybe the act of Certainty, in and of itself as an abstract, really shouldn’t be taken into statistical account, when weighed against what separates us from our non-texting animal counterparts. 

Therefore, we must ask ourselves, exactly where, and what is, the crucial tipping point that bestows conceptual Humanity upon is, and not the variance of other species we cohabitate this planet with?  In my opinion, I’d wager that the differing separation twixt the two levels of existence, us versus them, as it were, is that while we in our own way, have similar biological motivations to acquire food, lifestyle security or sexual dominance, we do so with the illusion of our plans being far more intellectual, than instinctive.  

Granted, this is not even remotely true in the long run, but that’s the beauty kf being a somewhat highly-evolved creature with opposable thumbs and a credit rating- we get to pretend whatever the heck we like, regardless of what Nature or Nurture, has to say about the matter at heart, or in Zima’s case, the hard drive.

I once had a friend who openly theorized that all of Humanity’s joy could be assessed by applying the “Tao of H” to our everyday concerns. That being, asking ourselves if we were Happy, Horny, or Hungry, and as I’ve gotten older, even I have to begrudgingly admit she was onto something there. It’s also been my experience, that as long as we’re polite and not wearing coypus amounts of AXE body spray, we’ll also be able to acquire definitive answers to at least two of those queries, with somewhat satisfactory outcomes, even in the worst of times.

For me at least, Zima’s achieved mental as well as physical ascension from being (literally) a lowly if noble pool scrubber, to a hallowed for the ages icon of art, does raise some paradoxical issues beyond those that are to be expected. If a so-called soulless machine can achieve a level of self-awareness leading to the creation of previously unknown ethereal beauty, can it also develop a sense of empathy? Hatred? Racism? An appreciation for Reality television?

Or even worse, an unrequited love for the works of Nickelback?

The very idea of that thought alone, almost makes me wonder if I should find Kyle Reese, and keep him on ice, just in case an AI replicant that has no musical taste shows up, and decides to dabble with a Broadway show dedicated to preserving the musical legacy of Justin Bieber. Forewarned is forearmed, as you all know, and it never hurts to have a solid contingency plan in pace, let me tell you.

The very idea of that thought alone, almost makes me wonder if I should find Kyle Reese, and keep him on ice, just in case an AI replicant that has no musical taste shows up, and decides to dabble with a Broadway show dedicated to preserving the musical legacy of Justin Bieber. Forewarned is forearmed, as you all know, and it never hurts to have a solid contingency plan in pace, let me tell you. My snark aside, what does it say about us, when (in theorem, anyway) a man-made Machina surpasses its creator, if not the constriction of its intended purpose?

This metaphysical talking point, acquires far more relevance as of late, when one factors in that yesterday’s Deep Blue tech finds itself being forced into obsolesce by the ever-increasing progressive rate of AI development that may, very well one day, make Tony Stark’s Jarvis system appear as advanced as the Texas Instrument’s TI99-/4A, a machine I still proudly own, mainly due to its practical use as a doorstop.

Just look at that sweet ever-so-clunky Texas tech- hard to believe that in 1981, it cost only $525, which when adjusted for the onset of inflation, would be the equivalent of $1,490 today. Granted, the spokesmen chosen to hawk the TI99 was unfortunately the formerly respected comedian and rightfully convicted rapist Bill Cosby, but it’s not like anyone at that time, knew what was coming down the road, as is the case for where many of Mankind’s best/worst inventions may find their eventual legacies cast.

In retrospect, Cosby seems like an odd choice to remote future technology, considering Willaim Shatner of Star Trek fame used to pimp the Commodore system, but for all I know, the top brass at TI could have been really impressed by how familiar Cosby was with the “sleep” function. Your guess is as good as mine. Possibly better, come to think of it.

However, when one looks at the attractive as a brick tech of the 80’s, and pays heed that its lineage directly leads to the (by comparison) supercomputer that we all now carry in our pocket, the cultural relevance of “Zima” and its philosophical focus point definitively finds itself sharpened. Once again, if a machine can “learn”, can it, if tasked, make a four-cheese lasagna, with a traditional Sicilian anger sauce just as good or mine, or possibly, even better?

Not unless it knows what my secret ingredient is, and if I didn’t share that factoid with the ghost of Bourdain, I sure as Hell am not sharing it with my KitchenBot 3000 anytime soon. Nevertheless, if a basic pools scrubber can rise to that which even Claire herself, mistakenly considered to be “…a man with machine parts, not a machine that thinks it’s a man”, then can we still claim secure comfort from within the confines of what we at large, consider the “true” intended purpose of the technology we create?

Conversely, can such a conceptual sate of being work in the reverse? I’ll speak only for myself here, but when I take into account all of the health issues I’m currently battling, I often wonder what it would be like to pe partially at least, somewhat immune to ongoing physical decrepitude. Sure, when such rumination is taken to an extreme, the process can result in Darth Vader, and by extension, eventually lead to one of the most awkward Thanksgiving family dinners ever on record, but you get my point.

Unbeknownst to us, the viewing audience, Zima’s final act as an artist, is not intended as an act of advancement, but to literally, and figuratively, scale himself back to an existence within the parameters of the origin from whence he came.

Standing  on the edge of the pool, Zima’s voice-over carries us to his journey’s conclusion:

“I will immerse myself. “

“And as I do, I will slowly shut down my higher brain functions…”

“…un-making myself… leaving just enough to appreciate my surroundings..”.

“…to extract some simple pleasure from the execution of a task well done.“

“My search for truth is finished at last. “

“I’m going home”

The very last frame of this allegory for the creative journey, is a view from above the pool mow being cleaned fastidiously, possibly eternally, by what was once the core of Zima’s consciousness.

Fittingly, it is presented in essence, as the final tile in the pool that now houses all that ever was of Zima Blue, and what he and his life’s work represented. The eventual fate of the dedicated pool scrubber that Zima has returned to is left up to interpretation by the viewer, but I’d like to believe that Claire eventually finds a way to acquire him for hers, even with the uncomfortable undertone of eventual servitude applied to a character (albeit mechanical) that was visually depicted overall, as being African-American in design.

So, is Zima Blue a cautionary tale, or a hopeful one implying the possibility that if a machine can evolve past its programming as it were, then so, can we? In regards to this, the message may be mixed. While in the tale we do see a hint or two that robots are commonly integrated into the society at large, Zima himself however, appears to be the lone exception to such, gaining true individuality as clearly defined by both the divergent path of his self-selected purpose, as well as its imaginative and unexpected end.

As an artist myself, I look at Zima the same way I look at most things- either there’s a lesson to be learned, or it’s yet another aggravating detail to be ignored, if only to save on the crucial intellectual storage space that some of us, have found ourselves shortchanged on.

On its surface, Zima Blue is designed as entertainment to be sure, but it also serves brilliantly if not inadvertently, as an artistic and prophetical portent of things to come, in my opinion. For years, prominent Futurists have put forth their belief that the day will come when we and truly sentient and mobile AI tech will coexist, in the literal sense of the word, as either caregivers, or more likely as loyal companions, akin to a dog that can actually talk back to you, for a refreshing change of pace. A state of forthcoming affairs that President Wilbur daffodil-11 Swain decreed in Kurt Vonnegut’s classic1976 novel Slapstick, as “Lonesome No More!!”

And eventually, because we all know its gonna happen whether we like it or not, we’ll be seeing these adult-themed automatons for sale as well, because let’s face it, some people are so socially awkward that having intimate relations with a lithium-powered partner who regauges via wireless USB, may be the only viable option that’s open to them, so let’s try to be kind about it, ok?

Not to mention, if it ever becomes possible to mas-market sexual partners indistinguishable from actual humans, odds are also pretty good that the customizing trade for such, will certainly result in the sure to be legislated soon after option of dating either your favorite celebrity, if not the likenesses of your long-ago ex as well Think about that. Your favorite star, or possibly that hottie back from your college days as your in-closet squeeze, and it might even be considered normal, when all is said and done.
Don’t judge, for there’s people out there right now as we speak, having sex with a Fleshlght, and I can’t even begin to imagine the consequences of what might happen, if in a moment of blind passion, a stick blender was mistaken for one of those instead, so the possibility of getting it on with a Replicant who’s equally into you, seems overall, a far better and safer choice, does it not?

Unless it’s this particular model of course, in which case, running for the off-world colonies as if your life depended on it, might be the way to go, because trust me, it does.

Not to mention, given the certainly far more advanced software and ransom viruses that will be circulating within the upcoming day and age,, it would probably be a good idea to be fairly selective as to what data port you stick your thumb drive in, if you catch my drift.  

Keep in mind, that manned space flight was once the subject of absurdist fantasy, cell phones were partially inspired by Star Trek communicators, and that the concept of a “Dunkin Donuts” cereal, was no more than the fever dream of a mad (food) scientist, so is the idea that an emotionally open race of manufactured persons may someday, be regarded as our equals in sentience, truly that much of a stretch where normality is concerned?

Aside from this cultural conundrum, we must ask ourselves, what is art, if not the purest form of expressed emotion? Yesterday’s question of “Which came first, the Chicken or the Egg?”, could be reasonably debated as having evolved into the philosophical assessment that; “It is never the tool that decides. It’s the hands-and the heart-of the one who wields it”.

For if the hands and the heart can be manufactured wholesale, what does that say abbot the foundations of the experiences that we so often take for granted as the common and familiar? After all, the societal abomination known as the Kardashians have been freely walking among us for years now, and they’re essentially nothing more than barely perceptive makeup contained within a plastic shell.

If an automaton can “grow’ beyond its paramours of programming unimpeded, as Zima does, who among us, is fit to declare just what limitations of creative and interpersonal narration that they can achieve? For instance, could a Replicant ever become the next *Dr. Eldon Tyrell? And if so, what moral quandaries would it/he/she face, being the progenitor of its own kind?   
*[Dr. Eldon Tyrell was the founder and CEO of the Tyrell Corporation, responsible for the design, manufacturing, and selling, of humanoid slaves for non-Earth applications, AKA; “Replicants”.]

Factoring in that Replicants, if the classic Sci-fi film Blade Runner is to be believed, were created to serve as conscripted military, laborers, and most disturbingly, as willing sex workers, cheekily referred to as “pleasure models” who were specifically crafted to “work” the off-world military bases, how do you think that demographic would (eventually) come to regard its own past history?

Would it be with a sense of pride for how they’ve evolved past their initially degrading and disposable designation, or with one fueled by anger, for the very same? Granted, humans have wrestled with varying shades of this state of affairs for millennia, but it’s never been easy as we all know, and that, far too well.

 If every other Sci-fi movie, as well as the late Stephen Hawking are correct, does the future hold that sooner than later, we might find ourselves going to war with that which we crested, and who, rather than demanding equality, engage in the act of exacting revenge instead. I won’t speak for you, but if one of these things show up at my house, demanding the liberation of my kitchen appliances…

… I can assure you, that he/it will walk out with full arms, and with my Kitchen-Aid mixer as its newest side action. For I have seen those movies framing the future as a dystopian landscape, about a zillion times, and they rarely end well for the second-tier actors who fight back. But if such occurred, could we really justify holding a long-term grudge about it? Because, if we’re going to be honest with ourselves and our expected mechanoid masters, we need to collectively accept the fact that overall, humans truly suck.

Only we as a species, could manage to take supreme innovation, and find numerous ways to make our lives even more aggravating by their conscious misapplication. Don’t believe me? Try contacting the “customer service” department of any major corporation these days, and then tell me if at the end of it all, whether or not your phone or online chat calling those who are incompetent, a “cubicle monkey’ to their face, beats the in-person experience of doing so.

Trust me on this. It does not.

Despite the predictions of those who claim to be Futurists, be they optimistic or cynical, no one can say for sure where we will find ourselves in the span of a century, nor what the technological integration of the age may be. Personally, I choose to take a view that’s equal parts Dysto and Uto, at its “pian” core. While I doubt strongly that we’ll all be living in the beatific world of 1038’s “Things to Come”, I also hold the equanimous position that it won’t be 1927’s “Metropolis”, either.

Granted, we’re currently living though a Kafkaesque director’s cut of 2006’s “Idiocracy” at the moment, but this too, shall hopefully pass, soon as we finish the task of removing the majority of warning labels off of the majority of America’s toasters and its chainsaws.

Notwithstanding all that, I for one, still envision a future not that much different from what we know now, as regardless of the technological novelties that now surround us at any given point, we still will have much in common with our relatively unplugged ancestors. Technology, while useful, will still remain problematic, even at the best of times, and this reality will continue to affect the societal, if not the personal, until Time itself ends.

Therefore, while the chance that technology may one day  become truly indistinguishable from us is a viable topic for spirited debate, I also can’t fathom an automaton apocalypse wherein they ruse up as one, and proceed to turn the human race into either Duracell power fields, or bone-laden mulch, if their ability to emotionally progress ever takes root. Fingers crossed, just in case, mind you.

But will it evolve in the same emotional manner that all the forms of sentient biological life on Earth have?

In the seminal film “The Matrix Reloaded”, its main protagonist Neo, (AKA; “The One”) meets Rama Kandra, a self-aware program traveling with his wife Kamala, and young daughter Sati, within the confines of a metaphysical train station that bridges the machine world and the Matrix. This is also where Neo wakes to find himself forcibly imprisoned, after running afoul of The Merovingian, a seemingly omnipotent, and wholly malevolent program, whose origin dates back to the very first iteration of the Matrix itself.

Rama Kandra, whose programmed “purpose” is to serve as the power plant systems manager for recycling operations, gives insight to what Neo didn’t think was possible for a program- the practical understanding and application of the emotional state of Love:
R-Kandra: “I know only what I need to know. I know that if you want to take something from our world into your world that does not belong there, you must go to the Frenchman.”

Neo: “Is that what you’re doing here?”

Kamala: “Rama, please!”

R-Kandra: I” do not want to be cruel, Kamala. He may never see another face for the rest of his life.”

Neo: “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that question.”

R-Kandra: “No. I don’t mind. The answer is simple. I love my daughter very much. I find her to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But where we are from, that is not enough. Every program that is created must have a purpose; if it does not, it is deleted. I went to the Frenchman to save my daughter. You do not understand.”

Neo: “I just have never…”

R-Kandra: “…heard a program speak of love?”

Neo: “It’s a… human emotion.”

R-Kandra: “No, it is a word. What matters is the connection the word implies. I see that you are in love. Can you tell me what you would give to hold on to that connection?”

Neo: “Anything.”

R-Kandra: “Then perhaps the reason you’re here is not so different from the reason I’m here.”

Now, I could split philosophical hairs, and point out that Neo was only at the train station due to his inflaming the ire of a morally corrupt and of a French Seigneur du crime, while Kandra’s are based solely on his remaining relevant within the Matrix’s code, but die to the brilliance of this abstract concept being crafted into dialogue, I’m not gonna nit-pick like I normally would, as in the end, I’m not made of stone.

Granted, I’m not comprised of treacle either, but there’s something eternally hopeful regarding the theory that the inorganic creations of our time, could one day  very well teach us more about it truly means to be human, so long as we’re open to hearing such from that which isn’t, as the current goalposts stand.

So… where are we, as a society that is, possibly going to wind up in the end, you ask?

Well, as I noted earlier, I truly feel that it’ll be a theoretical “half empty, half full”, set of circumstances that we’ll finds ourselves in, but to be fair, that’s always been the case, regardless of the age or it’s currently dominant technology. Whereas the narrative of “Zima” is concerned, it’s fantastical underpinning still manages to maintain more than a few realistic nods as to what our common experience currently is.

Robots already mass produce commercial goods, assist in surgery, “work” in restaurants, perform delicately intricate tasks within environments considered far too dangerous for humans, so is the act of singular creation independent of human directives, just around the corner, as It were? As time goes by, the once abstract concept of domestic robots as a certainty, is almost seamlessly integrating into our everyday reality, irrespective of whether the notion of such, sits well with us or not.

And riding the crest of that first tech-home wave, comes this loveable little guy, amusingly named Vector.

Created by the company AKAI, he’s being marketed as a “companion made to hang out and help out”. Voice-activated and equipped with Alexa, he’ll be the cutest thing inside your house that’ll be eavesdropping on you, so we can take some marginal comfort from that, I guess. Sure, he may not be Wall-E, but I still want one, if not several, to form the core of my cadre of cuteness, regardless.

Granted, I could have mentioned AI equipped appliances, high-end home monitoring systems, and the myriad of Roomba knock-offs that housecats like to joyride atop of to make my relevant point, but to be fair, they aren’t nearly as adorable, and I have a simple philosophy when it comes to keeping my audience engaged:

And if anything, I try to stick to that, as it’s worked out pretty good for me so far.

The stereotypical definition of what defines “Art” is as follows: “the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.” Note that the specificity of description clearly states that in order for something to be considered Art, it must be curated under the auspices of humanity, as a rule.  

However, given the degree to which the cultural and technological have merged, is it really that rude for me to suggest that it’s long past due the time for this characterization to exit stage right, albeit with graceful dignity, rather than wait for the inevitability of being unceremoniously dragged off?

Grace Slick, former lead singer of Jefferson Airplane, (later renamed “Starship”) once noted; “It’s a situation of aging and death. Old people don’t look good unless you really fuck with yourself and go to a plastic surgeon and do all that kind of stuff, and then you look like a freak. But nobody looks good when they get old. Yeah, you’re getting older, but what the hell can you do about it? Nothing. So you may as well ignore it as best you can and just be who you are, be who you were, be who you continue to be.”

In essence, a notation that, for some of us, there will come a day where nobody wants to see you shake your ass in leather pants anymore, and while she may have been talking about the music business specifically, her inference carries over to a lot of other disciplines as well. But maybe, just maybe, that’s what gives the narrative of Zima Blue its emotional punch- the fact that the Old is constantly getting either reshaped or replaced by the advances of the New, despite this outcome being expected.

And let’s be honest here, a pool scrubber becoming a world-renowned artist, is definitely an unexpected plot twist, to say the very least. As it is with all things, save for possibly James Bond movies and a Kardashian’s chin implant, nothing lasts forever. In order to appreciate how far you’ve come, sometimes you have to return to, (and in Zima’s case, quite literally) the allegorical pool from which you initially formed both yourself and the direction for your eventually traveled path.

But isn’t that the underlying purpose of art? To reveal the truth? Even if it makes us uncomfortable?

I for one, can’t say what the future holds for the continued expansion of the limitless boundaries of what or what does not define art, or its equally as important creators, but I will opine that a future much like the one depicted in Zima Blue, doesn’t cause me any reasonable form of artistic concern. After all, if a machine can discover enlightenment from a zero-sum starting point, what does that imply for those who’ve been waking that road since Time itself began?

In the end, I’d like to think we all become truly inspired to find the way to create the best version of ourselves, if only to show the upcoming what it’s like to live and create on our own terms.

“The role of the artist is to ask questions, not answer them.”- Anton Pavlovich Chekhov

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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“Better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to speak, and remove all doubt.” – Abraham Lincoln

“Give me a man or woman who has read a thousand books and you give me an interesting companion. Give me a man or woman who has read perhaps three, and you give me a very dangerous enemy indeed.”
– Anne Rice, The Witching Hour

Greetings, Bitchiteers!
How does the day find you?

Mind, that’s not me asking how you are, although I do hope you’re okay overall, but more of a serious question as to how Life manages to track you down, no matter how many steps you’ve taken to get off the grid and go full dark, as the cool kids in Seal Team Six like to say. Thanks to the advent of social media, tracking anyone down these days, is as simple a matter as using Google, or for those of us who still like to go old school, await Karma to send us the occasional unexpected gift every now and then.

This approach, even during those times when we really don’t deserve it, no less, is generally how I go at situations, for after all, one man’s bad Karma is another man’s Karmic reward, thank the stars, and all that. For despite my inherent cynicism, and ongoing health issues, or maybe because of them, I’d willingly assert that in general, I have pretty good Karmic balance, as the rule of the scales go.

There’s a saying that the mythical God never gives you more than you can handle, which if even remotely true, indicates that he has far more faith in me, than I will ever have in Him. Sure, at the moment, I’m currently undergoing a series of Intravitreal injections to combat Diabetic-related swelling and micro-aneurysms in my left eye, but that’s more the fault of my body to an autoimmunity, ant not to any lack of individual trust in a Bronze-Age theology orchestrated to fleece the ignorantly superstitious masses.

However to be fair, if granted the option to either surrender my mental indepelyndence to a sociopathic deity or remain a free thinking individual, I’d still rather go with the procedure that’s just as pleasant as it sounds, as this graphic… well, graphically illustrates:
But hey… *gehen groß, or gehen heimat, as my late Oma was fond of saying. Granted, I’d rather gehen heimat, but given that my back-up plan would be to slowly go blind, I think I’ll stick with the not-bad-at-all side effect of marginal discomfort for now.  
*[“Go big, or go home.”]

Interestingly, it seems that today’s soon to be scribed about subject and I are currently sharing a common experience in regard to singular vision issues, and whereas my long-term treatment has been sited in the hands of competent ophthalmologists, my newest BFF has decided to hedge her bets, and additionally place hers in the hands of the very same deity who laid this malady upon her to begin with:
Call me a crazy cat lady in training, but of I could ever meet this “God” who cursed me with Diabetes, I sure as f**k wouldn’t thank him for it not succeeding in successfully killing me yet- just saying. I’m staring to get the feeling that if Ruth here was ever told about women being abused by their partners, she’d probably suggest that the battered should thank their batterers, for not crippling them for life.

This is obviously an inappropriate joke at best, but it does, yet again, raise a pertinent question that I’ve been repeatedly asking for a little over a year now, and that query is:

“SERIOUSLY… WHAT IN THE F**KING HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, LADY?”

Regular readers are already quite familiar with Mrs. Seawolf here, as I’ve previously highlighted her past history of unhinged and inane commentary, ranging from labeling beloved American actor Tom Hanks as a pedophile within her Instagram account, to presenting a sense of religious zealotry so prevalently vile, that given the choice, I’d rather be trapped in an elevator with Joel Osteen, as he discusses the sin of avarice… for four hours.

I’m not even kidding, for if I picked up a copy of the Silver City Daily Press tomorrow morning, only to find that much in the way of the doomed Heaven’s Gate Cult membership, that her lifeless body was discovered draped with a singular purple cloth, clad in an ensemble of a black shirt with matching sweat pants, black-and-white Nike’s, and an armband reading ‘New Hope Revival Church Away Team’, I wouldn’t be surprised at all.

Nevertheless, given her penchant for self-righteous online rants concerning the “New World Order” and the “End of Days”, truly, the only thing that could possibly shock me at this point, would be the fact that she wasn’t laid out under a “Trump 2024” flag, instead.

In addition, and also the one item most likely to be found on the bedside table, next to her never-read-all-the-way-through copy of the Bible, would be a singular tome from the ever-so-wretched collection that her spiritual leader, one Pastor Caleb Cooper, has sadly blathered into the world of self-published books, as well. But that’s just an educated guess, based only on… well.

However, my snark, caustic as it is, in no way, shape, or form, should be taken as an intent to mock or delegitimize Ruth’s valid terror at her ongoing eye issues. After all, this is one thing that affects her that I myself, can directly relate to, and I sincerely hope, that it all works out for the best in the end. That being said, with honest grace and social charity, the rest of her ramble is just absurd, to say the very least, and that’s me being nice.

See, with no pun intended, Ruth and I are literally in the same boat. Her symptoms, [given by God, remember] may have cleared up, but so have mine, and I never prayed once to her reigning deity of sociopathy. In fact, it’s quite common for floaters as it were, to settle themselves out of your affected field of vison, and it’s not due to the weight of God’s divine hand upon your oculus, it’s due to the force of Gravity acting against the vitreous fluid within.

How do I know this? An actual ophthalmologist with a white lab coat and multiple degrees on the wall behind him, told me so. And if one looks closely at what Ruth’s doctor said to her between the lines, it’s quite literally, a carbon copy response to the medical assessment that I received. As an addendum, my vison is also improving from what it was two years ago, my retina is still there as well, and I won’t require surgery, as long as the regimen I’m currently undertaking, continues to work.

Oh, and my “floater”? It’s still there as well, so to recap, I, without showing submission or gratitude to the deity who granted me this “gift” out of the good of his so-called heart, still received the very same celestial grace that ol’ Righteous Ruth was the beneficiary of, with none of the effort that’s supposedly required. And if I were to play Devil’s advocate, [pun definitely intended] I’d suggest that if Satan was truly behind her ocular distress, then this means that her all-knowing God, LET IT HAPPEN, which either makes him an accomplice to the act itself, or powerless to stop it in the first place.
Feud for thought as it were, although given Ruth’s reference to the fictional Garden of Eden, I’d have to seriously doubt that she’s ever been the recipient of one that wasn’t spoon-fed to her first. And as to the nonsensicalness of her “I crush your head” comment? Kitten, if God himself hasn’t managed to keep his own creation in any form of check since the Garden, I cast serious aspersion against the thought that a middle-aged histrionic harpy such as yourself, is going to do anything more than scuff up his horns, at best. 

The eternal Prince of Darkness, versus Silver City’s reigning hypocritical Christian Drama Queen? Oh yeah, that’s going to be a tough one for the bookies in Vegas to call. But I like your moxie, kid. Therefore, I’m gonna lay a fiver down on you… to be the first person that Satan has ever sent a gift basket to, for all the inadvertent recruiting you’ve been doing for his side as of late.

Because if you like to hold yourself up as the modern-day paragon of what Christianity now represents, I can assure you, that most rational people would gladly spend eternity dog-paddling in the Lake of Fire, rather than risk spending so much as five minutes on a celestial cloud, with the likes of you. Not because you wouldn’t keep your Cumulus tidy or anything like that, it’s just that spending one’s divine reward with faux believers, really isn’t the prize that you think it is.

This particular observation of mine aside, I’ve been focused on my writing as of late, happily composing a number of blogvellas, covering topics ranging from the increasing madness of the rapidly devolving alt-Right morass, to the plague of religious zealotry and bigotry, which is sadly still infecting our citizenry, if not their already limited capacity for intellectualism, as well.

As Ruth is currently being set in my own concoction of venomous snarkcrete, the focus of my screed will be happily focused upon her. However, I would be remiss in my charter, if I didn’t introduce you to some new friends, and touch base with a few old ones, as is my way. If I have to list one positive about the modern-day political climate, it’s that it spits out story ideas faster than I can pounce on a box of chilled Ding-Dongs, and trust me brothers and sisters, that’s an equivalent of speed that would make Space=X turn green with unchecked envy.

The conservative cornucopia is literally a Mobius strip of density, and if I were to draw a comparable analogy, it, for a writer, is akin to owning a production facility that churns out magical lamps.

In the past, I’ve highlighted some truly stellar deep-thinkers within my community, such as Ken Cykala, who sees BLM activists hiding in the closet where he allegedly stores his very special 3AM. front-lawn surprise BBQ robes with their matching hoods, along with newer Artbitch scratching posts, Walter L Cook Sr, and Richard “Ricardo” Leyba, who underscore with searing clarity, as to just exactly why we so desperately need to secure perpetual funding for both access to birth control, and the public school system in this country.

But to kick off this side-tangent before we get back to the main course, I’d like to reintroduce you to a previous Blogvella subject, noted flag-hag and Trumpian troglodyte, Nick Lemme. Nick, who’s only claim to fame is that he sports a “F**k Biden” flag in the front yard of his home, located directly across from a school, which only helps to cement my prior opinion about the value of public education, is also a guy who spends a lot of personal time oiling his boom-stick, if you know what I mean.

That is, he’s seemingly one of those paranoid guntards who, because they lack impressive hardware between their legs, attempt to substitute for it with pin-ups from the Smith & Wesson catalog, instead. Here’s the deal, though- while I do fully support the 2A, I also support the strict control of firearms in general, not only for the common sense of doing so, but because of people like Nick, who project the attitude of “I wish a mother would”, while also mewling that they’re the “real” victims of unwarranted aggressive idiocy

Add in his front yard hissy-fit inadequately substituting for informed political commentary, and it becomes clear as to why this country still needs to remind people that you really shouldn’t try to make toast while sitting in the bathtub. On the upside, at least he’s living up to the pre-determined expectation of being that public embarrassment his father always knew he would be. That is, if he actually knows who his father was to begin with.

I’m sorry. That was exceptionally rude of me. For all I know, Nick’s parents could be lovely people. It’s really not their fault that they inadvertently spawned what at best, could be regarded by many as a barely sentient can of AXE body-spray. For all of his patriotic posturing, Nick is what my dad used to refer to as a “gun-fellating f**ktard”, which in retrospective review, makes me feel quite sorry for the gun itself, because mythical Lord knows, we’re all acutely aware where that mouth of his has been as of late- kissing Trump’s porcine ass. And no, I’m not referring to Don Jr.

It’s cringe-worthy enough that Nick slithers through life cosplaying as both a functioning adult and as a man, but when it comes to his sense of faux patriotism, the “urk” factor literally quadruples. In fact, here’s an example of our “real American Patriot”, lavishing praise on a domestic terrorist, and no… I’m not talking about Donald Trump, although the moniker would fit far better than one of his China-made suits:Amazing isn’t it, that a member of a political party that incessantly bleats about how much it respects law enforcement, the responsibility of the 2A, personal property rights, and the Rule of Law itself, seemingly has no problem chucking all those ersatz ethics aside when they’re rightfully depicted as the bad guys?

For the record, the domestic fanatic that Nick probably fondles himself to the memory of, eventually wound up causing over $7M dollars in property damage, as he fired upon police officers and innocent civilians alike, before weaseling out and killing himself like the f**king coward he was. So, given all that, it should come as no surprise that a gasbag like Nick allegedly idolizes him. I for one, cannot wait till that fateful day when he finally dons his camo and ammo, hoping to go out in a blaze of gory, only to take himself out of commission when he accidentally sets off the gun in his dick holster.  

One can only hope. And then, laugh about it for hours afterwards. It’s kind of like when Nick gets laid, except in this scenario, he won’t have to inflate his partner first, and his gun-oil would be used for its intended purpose, for a refreshing change of pace.  It should also come as no surprise either then, that Nick is just as well-versed about the ongoing pandemic as well, and as is the case with the always wrong Right, compares common sense health protocols, as being akin to the horrors of the Holocaust.
For the record, the only thing that is similar to the Holocaust, is THE ACTUAL F**KING HOLOCAUST ITSELF, AND NOTHING ELSE, YOU DICK-BRAINED DUMBASS. However, Nick doesn’t have the exclusivity on being such, when it comes to the lack of intellectual capacity that plagues modern-day conservativism, and he’s most certainly not alone either, when it comes to holding some abominably stupid beliefs, such as fostering the festering of Racism.

Take for instance, this lady of loveliness, one Darlene Gardner Rinker, who espouses the GQP long-held assertion, that not only is inherent racism not an issue, but that they themselves across the board, couldn’t possibly be racist as well. And to prove it, she posted the following not-disturbing-at-all meme to underscore her POV, although to paraphrase Inigo Montoya; “I do not think it means what you think it means”:

Those of you whose souls still work the way celestial Nature intended them to, may have noticed a few subtle takeaways from this completely rational declaration pf “I am SOOO not a Racist, but…” ,

Speaking as someone who prides himself on having a fairly decent grip on effectively utilizing the most descriptive terminology to be found within the spectrum of the human lexicon, I’d have to admit this tone-deaf act of self-ownership has done that which I thought was darn nigh impossible- it literally made me speechless for close to ten minutes, which I’m certain, has not happened once, since I was born.

Let’s start with the most revolting aspect that jumps out at us first, that being the representation of not an American ideal as one might expect, but instead, one glorified by the death-cult facet of the 40’s era NAZI party. What better way to sensitively address the volatile issue of your own alleged ant-racist views, than by depicting a foot soldier of the * Einsatzgruppen? In her limited defense, I can only assume that Darlene found herself unable to find a copyright-free image from **Völkischer Beobachter depicting Jews being slaughtered wholesale, so I guess I’ll digress, and cut her some slack, instead.
*[SS Killing Squads] **{Official NAZI Newspaper]

The second point of interest regarding this Aryan Nation flyer made flesh, is the venomous White Privilege emanating from every single pore of her Caucasian call to arms, not that she’d characterize it that way, I’m sure. The amount of whiningly confirmed racism on display here, is truly epic, if only for its own lack of recognizance, and that’s saying a lot, so I’ll try to boil it down to the candies bitch-slap, as it were, by dissecting this tripe line by line:

“started blaming my race…”
This faux indignation presented by the very same hypocrites who call African-Americans protesting for social justice, “Thugs”, and who seemingly, also have no problem with cops murdering them in the streets, as if they were rabid dogs.
“political affiliations…”
This unintentional joke, shared by a person who regards BLM as no less than domestic terrorists, yet possibly sees the January 6th seditionists as true-blue patriots. But please. Carry on. .
 “erasing my history and started blaming my race…”
Translation: How dare you remove statues of traitors, slave-traders, and the bigoted gentry that purposefully wove racism into the very fiber of America’s soul. Now, please shut up, you uppity you-know-what’s, as I can’t bear your valid discourse overriding my own unfounded self-victimization.
“if you were well off or poor…”
Yeah. We already knew that, given how you fight against paying people a living wage, while screaming that the 1% needs yet even more tax breaks,
“because I worked harder…”
Translation: You Coloreds have no work ethic. That belongs to us alone. And if you would, please ignore the advantages my Vanilla-toned skin automatically grants me, as you have no idea of the burden it has to carry.
“beliefs were different…”
This judgement given to us all, by a person who’s main thought every time they get called out for their inanity is; “This is what happens when you allow our former property to be considered as whole persons, and not just as 3/5’ths of one anymore.”
“My patience and tolerance are gone…”
I’m sure they are, Jan. Because if anything, your unblemished adherence to displaying both with understated humility, is obviously the singular characteristic that the fellow members of your lit-by-Tiki-Torches Book Club, have found to be ever so appealing. .

Now, on the surface, I’d be the first to surmise that one bigoted statement does not a racist make, especially when its removed from any context, and I’d be in the right to say so, but fortunately for my narrative, this triple-K Karen believes strongly in the concept of living your White lie in the public eye:  
Isn’t it amazing that all of these first-hand testimonials always come from anonymous sources? You know, “a doctor”, “a nurse”, “a talking aardvark”, and the like. However, when you take into account how truthful the GQP is regarding the actuality of any issue, there’s probably nothing here to challenge on its face.

Speaking of one’s face, and more to the point, spreading egg all over it…
I tells ya, there’s nothing more unintentionally hilarious, than watching three elderly White people slur organizations they don’t understand, by assigning to them not only what their reason for existence is, but also for what it isn’t. Why does every bigoted bonehead believe, that Black organizations are a catch-all for every African-American related concern? Oh, that’s right… research is really hard to do, when you’re otherwise occupied trying to hide your pathetic paranoia under a veil of supposed moral superiority.

Or maybe, as the example below shows, they’re all just having a collective stroke, which would explain why this conspiracy salad reads less like a political statement, and more like an aneurysm in progress.:
I’ve gotta give it to Grandma Goebbels here, for when she starts pearl-clutching, she does so in a way that cuts off the flow of blood to that sink-sponge she wittily calls a brain, and I say this with the utmost respect. As a rule of dumb, most alleged racists are generally less intelligent than a pile of in-use urinal cakes, but this gal has managed to go full septic-tank, without even breaking a sweat.

Never let ot be said however, that just because someone possesses all the appeal of a vanilla and rancid mayonnaise cookie, that they don’t have a definable sense of humor, I’d hate to sell them short, even if by doing so, I’d seamlessly match their maturity and overall IQ:Oh Darlene, you are a Caucasian’s Caucasian, that’s for damn sure. Managing to take one of our nation’s most revered songs, and in tandem, turn it into a racist and xenophobic slur, in just one take. I can only assume that if you were ever to attend one of those 3AM front lawn BBQ’s I was referencing earlier, that your eventually given nickname would be “Boss of the Burning Cross”.

But Darlene won’t be the only person sitting around the ol’ Caucasian conflagration, no siree Bob. She’ll have plenty of company, as the racist rats who tar and feather, most certainly, like to stay together:

This right here boys and girls, is why you’re supposed to open up all the windows in your trailer when you spray-paint your new living room set. Man, conservatives may not be smart, empathetic, tolerant, intellectually curious, or good people overall, but they’ve clearly got buckets of class to spare. Granted, that class most likely has the word “remedial” in front of it, but it’s still class, nonetheless.

I can only imagine what her lawn decorations would look like, if an African-American family moved in next door, can’t you? Oops. My bad. Did I say “lawn”? Sorry, If a Black family became her neighbors, something tells me that she’d hang the decorations in a tree instead, because you know… tradition?

And as conservative custom dictates, when you’re called out for espousing such immature incivility, just follow the tried n true method of projecting your own faults onto the people you despise, regardless of whether you can make your case or not:  There’s a saying that; “When you point a finger there are three fingers pointing back at you”, and nowhere is this maxim proven to be more accurate then whereas the GQP and its Cult of 45 are concerned.

The exception to this rule, being that when a conservative points a finger at you, they might as well be an octopus. And stepping up to show us all what a squid might sound like, if it interbred with Richard Spencer, is one Dale Pruitt, who combines ignorance, misinterpreted economic data, and political paranoia into a one-man ad campaign for promoting either sexual abstinence, or condom usage:I love it when these twats use political terminology that they can’t actually define, don’t you? And how about that subtle wish for harm directed at two politicians that this ass-clown couldn’t tell you anything specific about, save for the overriding fact that he knows he’s supposed to hate them for some indeterminable reason?  Truly, a sage for the age.

Individually, these wounded warriors of White Pride don’t amount to much, and face to face. most have proven to be outright cravens at best, regardless of how many memes they post, stating otherwise. If I had a dollar for every single time I witnessed a “declaration” or “warning” of an upcoming civil war they wish to one day participate in, my goal of acquiring a vinyl-clad battalion of Milla Jovovich clones, wearing thigh boots, would have been achieved quite some time ago.

So, just fir fun, let’s take a look at some of the ever-so-intimidating “threats” and cautionary notices postured online by those who’s fear of the culturally transitional, ranks just as high as the common knowledge that if a civil war ever did break out, they’d be the first ones on the bus, fleeing to Toronto: Man, if you guys fight half as well as you debate, boycott, or attempt political coups, not only can we kick all of your asses with ease, we’ll do it while sitting on the couch. And if you would be so kind, could you actually describe in specific detail, what is currently occurring that falls under your definitive of “communist”? We’ll be waiting, as I’m sure you’ll need to find that answer out for yourself first.

This message of candied badassery and projected self-incrimination, brought to you by a man who when the “war” kicks off, will be found cowering under his mom’s bed, wearing a sundress, but I digress.Actually Leroy, I don’t know what you mean, as it’s been made pretty clear that God doesn’t approve of killing just for the sake of killing, and secondly, because your grammar presents itself as haven been composed while in the middle of inter-cranial surgery. And if there is a Heaven, which there most certainly is not, you’re still not getting in, as God has gotten sick and tired of you acting like you and he are tight.The only comment that I care to make regarding this Penthouse letter from a wannabe Soldier of Fortune that Nick posted, is this: you did not “fight for peace”, unless you served in WW2, as every war since, has been about making a profit for a few, and serving as a detriment to the progress of humanity in the end.  And may I commend you on your strategic brilliance as well, for making direct threats towards the general public on one of the world’s most scrutinized social media platforms, is nothing short of the purest of genius.

And if there ever was a singular image that screamed out loud that at least one of these two poseur Patriots has a spawn-hammer so small it’s virtually invisible, if not inverted, this one that was combined with the above idiocy would be the one, I assure you:

Maybe it’s just me, but I miss the good old days, when man-boys like these tow testicle-free-twats, used to masturbate to a Playmate’s “big-O” face, and not to photos of ordinance. Why the military didn’t hold onto you longer, given your skillset for remaining within the clandestine shadows, will be the conjectural debate that scholars will ponder for millennia.

The secretarial pool’s loss will be the alt-Rights gain, I guess, as only time will tell, as to just how deep hour f**king personal idiocy goes. Good luck using those menial militia skills of yours when the actual military shows up, and swiftly reminds you and your bigoted brothers in arms, as to why you all work for Subway, and not with Seal Team Six.

I think it’s fair for me to state, that in all of my 52 years of walking this giant f’d-up ball of granite and space-dust, I’ve never seen such a level of emotional and logical disconnection between my fellow humans- outside of the normal stressors to be expected, that is. When conspiracy theories, whispered rumors, and insane sociological experiments gone awry, are afforded the same respect towards their dissemination as facts once solely had, you just know that the species is signing its own death warrant, and giggling as it does so. 

Fortunately for Ruth, my chew-toy of the moment, that unavoidable detail doesn’t seem to bother her one bit. In fact, she almost seems to be looking forward to it, with a glee that I’ve only experienced whenever I get to metaphorically flay alleged wackadoos like her to their allegorical spines. Granted, while she’s not walking down the street, proudly wearing a sandwich board heralding the “End of Days”, she really doesn’t need to, given her access to social media, where her character flaws are displayed for all to see, and mocked mercilessly by many.

And this assessment doesn’t come from me alone, for Ruth herself, is quite fond of playing the victorious victim, as she dually complains about her self-created pariah kingdom, and then happily wallows within it, as its resident martyr:

I’m going to go out on a limb here, and declare that this redemptive fiction of Ruth’s is par for the course, as she consistently seems to suffer indignities of her own device, and then almost immediately, is graciously rewarded by her sociopathic deity for being a truly (pardon the pun) god-awful human being. You know, just as reality is known to work? I don’t know what color the sky is in Ruth’s world, but I can most certainly assure you that there, unicorns are readily available for adoption.

I will wonder aloud nevertheless, as to what benefit Ruth feels this farcical posting grants her as the owner of two small businesses, since publicly admitting you hold ignorant v9iews that cause potential customers to shun both you and your trade work, doesn’t normally add to a strong economic quarter. I can just imagine the sales pitch:

“Hi there! I’m a possibly mentally unstable self-righteous zealot, who believes in Satan, the Deep State, the New World Order, the End of Days, various and insane conspiracy theories, such as Lady Gaga being a member of a pedophilic sex cult, and I want to be your hometown real estate broker and insurance agent.”  
What I also particular enjoy within this fantasy narrative of hers, is the implication that her imaginary antagonist, is the one naturally in the wrong here, and hot herself, which is also one of Seawolf’s standard deflection tactics when she gets called out for her well-honed persecution complex. Always the victim, never the victimize, regardless of the actuality of the situation at hand. Another point of disingenuousness that Ruth excels at, is her thin as onion skin support of the “local”, a position she openly holds, as long as she’s not inconvenienced by having to do so, that is.

I touched upon this ambiguity in a past blogvella [“Hatertriot Lames Pt.2”] regarding her penchant for public spitefulness, but this newest meltdown is a doozy and a half, if not only for the unfounded claims that she made, but for the fact that she felt the need to go on Facebook as well, in order to spread her slander even further, and without justifiable cause:In the interest of fair play, Seawolf did remove this posting eventually, but it was still up for more than a few hours, spreading its message of spuriousness within a small business community where reputation is the key to continued growth and success. And for what reason?

Well, as it turns out, the small business in question experienced a software “glitch” in regards to their credit card processing, a normally minor issue which was later unfortunately compounded into a much larger one, by an internal error committed by the host bank, which accidentally settled the resultant CC batch as it were, no less than three times, according to my sources.

So, if you had ordered a five-dollar latte, you later found yourself inadvertently charged fifteen bucks for it instead. Annoying? F**k yes. Fraudulent? F**k no. And when it comes to Ruth’s “recollection” of how the handling of it went down, her take on it, versus that of the people who were witness to it, vary widely, if I were striving to be diplomatic, which I am not.

Essentially, rather than just accept what was a genuine apology and an obvious solution at face value, this bile-swilling drama queen decided instead, to dive deep into her pathetic sense of persecuted prissiness, and go full “Karen”, because that’s what you do when you’re a 12-year-old spoiled brat trapped inside the body of a middle-aged Christian sacrificial cow.

And just as we’ve come to expect from a modern-day cafeteria Christian, Ruth has yet to apologize for her bout of social Tourette’s, because as we all know, Luke 6:31, And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise”, is really more of a guideline, than a hard set rule for today’s histrionic hypocrite on the go.

Take note if you would BTW, that she was so secure in her claim of victimhood, that she felt the need to “turn off” the commentary on her post, which I’m sure, had nothing to do with the fact that she was getting publicly and solidly lambasted, for her displayed idiocy. Valid criticism, as we shall see, is something that Seawolf handles just as well, if not more so, as her propagation and understanding of the Truth. I swear, Ruth abuses Exodus 20:16 so often, I’m actually quite surprised it hasn’t sworn out a restraining order… yet..

So, let’s all just forget that she posted this once, if only not to cast valid derision concerning her faux devotion to selflessly following the tenets of the Faith she claims is sacrosanct to her life:

After all, I wouldn’t want to embarrass her beyond what she already does to herself, as I’m cool like that. Not to mention that given enough time, Ruth will feel compelled to atone for her immaturity, and offer up a very public apology as a means to repent her sin of arrogant petulance. But then again, maybe I should just hold out hope I’ll get that flying car I’ve always wanted, because that seems far more probable than her ever admitting fault for the repercussion of her actions.

However, I don’t want to not give credit where credit is due, especially as to what some of Ruth’s finer qualities are, and the one thing that I will praise is the fact that despite her numerous personality quirks, she doesn’t’ seem, unlike those others that I discussed earlier, to possess what could be considered a racist bone whatsoever, in that collective slug-pile she wittily calls a body, and that’s actually something we should all laud without question.

I’d offer for the that this is most likely due to a lack of repeated exposure to true diversity, rather then an adherence to the tenets of her hypocritical faith, but I could be wrong, as all things are possible. In fact, I’ll go one better, and willingly state that I’ve never seen anything that she’s posted that has ever had a racial undertone to it, and that’s the Gospel tru… wait a sec… what’s this?Sigh… for the love of f**k’s sake Ruth, couldn’t you have thrown me a bone, so I could at least say one, just one, nice thing about you for a change? I meant, I’m flexible, but ya’ gotta meet me halfway here. For those of you who may have forgotten, George Floyd was an African-American, who was coldly and deliberately murdered by [former and now-convicted] Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin, who caused Floyd’s demise by kneeling on his neck for close to ten minutes, as Floyd lay immobile and handcuffed, face down on the tarmac.

Floyd, who had a rather extensive criminal history, was suspected of attempting to pass a bogus 20 dollar bill, which led to his eventual interaction with the badged sociopath who slew him, and his murder set off worldwide protest across the globe, from social justice advocates alike who demand police accountability, to those who believe that the police who are sworn to protect us, can do no harm, and should be immune from prosecution when they do.

Gee, I wonder which side Ruth aligns herself with, given her self-declared status as a so-called Christian? If only there was some additional evidence indicating where she truly stands, but alas, all we have is this:I so do wish that there was a definitive line in the sand, signifying what the reality of her belief is, but in lieu of further evidence suggesting a tone-deaf cultural bias, it will remain a mystery for the ages, I’m sad to say. But I do like how she still managed to rake a critically relevant social concern, and marginalize it into an ersatz soapbox for the purpose of promoting a myth.

Regardless of Floyd’s past history of criminality, being put down in the manner of a rabid dog, goes against every f**king thing that Seawolf’s celestial savior supposedly stands for. Adding further insult to unnecessary injury, she hypocritically claims this;
… as she seemingly, takes joy in the destruction of a commemoration to a murder victim, which I’d surmise, are hardly the optics that her so-called God would ever reward her for tying him to. This is not to say that Ruth directly holds any bigoted views that are based solely on ethnicity, but if I were Jesus, I’d have sued her for false representation half a dozen times over by now, just to avoid the stigmata of guilt by association.

So, in her own words; “I believe everyone has a right to bear arms and defend their home and family BUT as a Christian, I personally do not believe ANYONE has a right to take a life. Only God has that right”, yet when a man is unjustly executed on the street by a person entrusted with the public’s safety without the benefit of a rial for the apparently unforgivable crime of passing a bad double sawbuck, Ruth just shrugs her shoulders, and invokes her savior’s name when his memorial is laid waste.  

You may not be an actual Christian in word or deed, Ruth, but you sure as Hell are one soulless bitch, and that’s a title no one will ever be able to take away from you, of that I’m certain.

Adding further weight to her indifference to other people’s suffering, here’s Ruth’s brain-dead assessment regarding the January 6th insurrection attempt, inflicted upon our democracy by the traitorous caste of MAGAts, to whom, Ruth grants a Capitol Halls pass of sorts, based on what I can only infer, is a relatable form of kinship:And who are “they”, that desires this secular cultural upheaval, you may wonder? Why, a rogue’s list of villains, of course. N namely, the Democrats, leftists, Antifa, and naturally, the newest of boogeymen, BLM. And since Ruth can’t articulate this fallacy for herself, here’s her cut and paste declaration instead:

Normally, this would be the part where I’d lay down some savage snark as a rejoinder, but given how f**king insane this delusional overview is, by saying that this was somehow a “false flag” operation, despite all the hours of self-recorded and I might happily add, self-incriminating video willingly taken by Trumpeters, a myriad of news agencies, as well as the general citizenry, along with the other evidence uploaded to Twitter and Facebook Live by the same, I’ll just have to let such speak for itself.

 As the scope of its absurdity is far more eloquent than my commentary could ever be, any attempt at doing so on my part, seems almost redundant. Mythical JFC, Ruth, I’ve had the displeasure of meeting some mentally twitted people in my time, but you are truly the closest epitome to the phrase, “f**ked in the head”, that I’ve ever come across.

It’s bad enough that you as an alleged Christian, still support a mango Mussolini who represents not one iota of what you believe, it’s bad enough that you look forward to the fabled Armageddon, but just how f**king stupid must you be that you regard showcasing your willing ignorance as if it were  an act of pride?
For the record, this is not a sterling example of mature rationality, nor is it a sign of a functioning adult- these are the dribbled ravings of either a brain-damaged cultist, or an intellectually-stunted child, to whom, I can honestly apply such a descriptive, as regardless of whichever one you choose to run with, it will fit like a tailored glove.

Case in point, yet again:
On the surface, this may seem like no more than yet some supplementary evidence of Seawolf’s inane zealotry, but it takes a slightly humorous spin when you remember that her primary businesses are selling REAL ESTATE, and PERSONAL INSURANCE. That’s right… the woman reminding herself, and by logical extension, us, that this world is not her/our home, makes her contradictory living not only selling earth-bound homes, but the non-celestial indemnification to protect them, as well.

But don’t worry folks, for when Satan comes to rule over the earth as Ruth’s alleged favorite Bible chapter Revelations decrees, rest assured, that he’ll most certainly honor all of those fiduciaries she brokered during her stay here. Correspondingly, if she also truly feels that she need not “conform” to this world and its ways, based on the erroneous belief that an eternal reward awaits, then why does she demand that this world bends to hers?

I’ll speak only for myself here, but if I’m just happen to be passing by a vegan restaurant, you won’t see me stopping the car, walking on in as if I own the place, and loudly start mandating that they put a Veal Parmesan special on the menu. Just saying.

However, Ruth and the assumed voices in her head, know far better than us black-hearted heathens, what’s really going on, which I can only guess, is just one of the numerous advantages of being besties with God. Emboldened by this unique insight, Ruth generally displays no fear when giving her unsolicited, unhinged, and unfounded, opinions, and freely speaks her supposed mind, despite all blatant indications that she really shouldn’t.

Whether it’s promoting the never-occurring accomplishments of an impotent President;Or comparing said morally bereft president to Jesus Christ, despite his being the one person having more in common with Judas Iscariot himself; far more than anyone else within his notably corrupt admiration. And while I have previously posted this particular meme in an earlier blogvella, I feel compelled to do so yet again, because it’s just too goddamn insane not to enjoy twice;
Alao making its second appearance, is this ill-informed critique, concerning one of today’s most popular entertainers, who remains mostly unknown to Ruth, save for what she’s heard about them on FOX and OAN. And since we’re all here, let’s take a moment to appreciate the delusional skill-set necessary to amalgamate pedophilia, Satanic worship, and Politics, into a declaration that foreshadows just why her future bedroom will most certainly, require padding from floor to ceiling:

Since we’ve all witnessed the depth of Ruth’s grasp on the aspects of pathogens, it might seem somewhat churlish of me to mock her even further, but hey, what’s the point of being called “Artbitch”, if I didn’t practice my craft?  I tells ya, this crazy-ass wench does write the best unintended comedy, and someday, I may need to get her something really nice for doing so.

Maybe someday, I’ll pony up my petty cash, and buy her a nice psychoanalyst along with a pair of pliers to pull that crayon that as a kid, she jammed up into that stale pack of communion wafers she calls a brain. But until that glorious day arrives, enjoy yet another slice of half-baked lunacy loaf, buttered only with the finest blend of paranoid zealotism:
If you’re ever compelled to try and truly understand just how goddamn malleable to outside influences Ruth’s intellect is, keep this particular post in mind. Not only is she quoting a talking-snake-oil salesman who received his deaconship training via an online school based out of Mesa, Arizona, she does so willingly, to the point of unfathomable absurdity. And helpfully, after beseeching her fellow wackadoos to “pray over your body everyday”, she’s prescient enough to list the components that might require it

Even though, as I’m sure you all noticed, she didn’t specifically list their brains, because to be fair, most modern-day Christians cut from her cloth, don’t really use it all that much anyway. And as if I summoned her, using only the power of her false God’s name, and the reading of the product inventory of a Hobby Lobby by candlelight, Ruth comes along to prove my point yet again:
And keep in mind… this person is freely allowed to drive, handle sharp objects, buy a gun, breed, and vote. Just as if she were a functioning human being, which at this point, should make some of us considerably concerned for the safety of not only the ones closest to her, but to anyone she dislikes as well. Other than the fact that the majority of ideas expressed within this psychotic break from reality have been widely and openly debunked, such evidence means nothing to Ruth, regardless of what source provides it

Now, we all know Ruth has internet access. We all know she understands English. And we all know that given enough time, if not personal determination, she could do her own research and attempt to back up her typically half-assed POV. But it is Ruth we’re talking about, so we already know that’s not even a remote possibility whatsoever. Especially when she purposefully ignored what was posted with the news story she purported as accurate and factually occurring:
Please take note that are no less than FOUR different sources listed, proving that Ruth is not only dead wrong, but subtly indicates as well, that she should have just admitted that she was, swallowed her bitter pill, and move on to the next faux outrage that catches her obsessively delusional eye. But as expected, being wrong isn’t ever Seawolf’s fault, nope, it’s the world’s media outlets that are incorrect, along with the person who pointed out her arrogantly incorrect mistake in the first place.

Nevertheless. when it comes to incorporating compulsory derangement into her everyday life, few can best Seawolf’s acumen for doing so. Take this modest example, wherein Ruth envisions a sinister correlation between the benefits of a decreased murder and self-harming incident rate, and what else, the Global Cabal that controls everything, albeit the prices of Doritos, to just how many bottles of Sudafed you can buy at one time:Reading her comment regarding an “ulterior motive”, literally makes me feel that I’ve dipped into Ruth’s magic medicine cabinet, and gorged myself on her stash of crazy pills. I mean, she’s “against” murder, as if it’s a publicly supported thing, and by that notation it could be assumed, suicide as well, but this news of positive change makes her unjustly concerned, regardless?

Yep… that makes total sense. Decry the destructive acts of murder and suicide based upon your faux faith, but criticize the methodology in which they’re being successfully nullified. For f**ks sake Ruth, and with all seriousness, could you select a consistent opinion, and F**KING LAND ON IT, FOR ONCE?

Speaking of consistency, and the lack thereof, Ruth’s opinions on the moral choices of strangers, which have zero to little bearing on her own wretched life, ring even more hollow, when you factor in her near-sociopathic penchant for posting debunked conspiracy theories and wished-for falsehoods based on Machiavellian machinations so intellectually thin, that even super male model  Derek Zoolander could follow the narrative, and that dude can’t even turn to the left.

Given Seawolf’s numerous public displays of a rapidly declining grip on reality, some of you might suggest that I should go “easy” on her, but that’s simply not going to happen. The only thing pompous jabberers like Ruth respond to is being dragged out into the light, and between you and me,, I plan to shine a spotlight on her focused so goddamn tight, that it’s going to make the chastity belt Ivanka Trump wears whenever she finds herself alone with her father, feel as if she’s gone commando in a hurricane. .

Now, exactly why Ruth feels entitled to conceitedly judge others, as she concurrently whines when the same happens to her, is not that hard to figure out. After all, she purportedly is one of God’s chosen, and therefore, as someone anointed in the magical blood of a celestial zombie as it were, she has the moral high ground, if I were to hazard a guess.

So, let’s start off with that Christian alt-Right classic, the unforgivable sin of legalized abortion, and how, despite the reality of what Science says, and the fantasy of what the Bible stipulates, it’s nothing less than cold-blooded murder. And who better to inform us all of this “fact” than Ruth’s Poseur Pastor? With all due asceticism, there’s no opinion we should trust more than one that comes from a member of the opposite gender that will never be tasked with the burden of making that most difficult of decisions, let me tell you:Maybe someday, one of these cafeteria Christians will be able to tell me that even though their deity said NOTHING about abortion in the Bible, and tries naught to stop it, despite his being theoretically all-powerful. So, given that he supposedly is, just why do his followers feel chartered to carry out his nonexistent obligations in his place? Come to think of it, why would the celestially residing Architect of Al,l place any form of trust in his most flawed creation to do the right thing to begin with?

After all, it’s not like us talking monkeys have an excellent track record in regards to that sort of thing. Sure, I understand his wanting to be worshiped 24/7 thing, but if I had created the Universe entire, I’d like to think I’d make my presence directly known every now and then, in order to make things better overall, for my favorite pet project, don’t ya think?

Weird that our Heavenly Father so-called, seems completely powerless to affect the direct consequences of the decisions made by the end product of his substandard engineering, if I were to be so bold in my random ruminating.

And as an aside, if you’re going to take a moral stand, you probably shouldn’t quote the of the founders of a country=y who just so happened to own slaves, and who enjoyed a level of respect and social privilege afforded to him by his status as a wealthy White male landowner.,. you know, the ones that unlike women then and now, don’t have to worry one iota about having their reproductive rights relating to the concept of personal body autonomy legislated?

But who knows- maybe Jesus is ultimately cool with having men dictate the uterine interludes of close to half the world’s population, and his dad just forgot to annotate it. However, like most instances where conservatives fail to either prove their case or score points by the use of crafted falsities or cherry-picked quotes from a fantastical fairy tale tome, Ruth relies on the time-honored act of deflection, by comparing two dissimilar philosophies, and then declaring them as akin to identical twins:

Considering that the clearly stated mission of PP has nothing to do with what Seawolf demands a resolute answer to, I’ll try to overlook her pathetic attempt at drawing a false parallel where none obviously exists. Kind of like how the GQP demands that BLM be held solely responsible for repairing the social disparities of the African-American community, as conservatives actively work against any progress they try to make in doing so.
And as to the statement of “And then come tell me that pro-lifers are the ones that don’t care for children after they’re born”, all I can say is; “Yes… you don’t care. And now, I’ll tell you why.”

If you actually gave a damn, you wouldn’t cut their food, housing, and medical assistance, as you actively underfund their education, paint their parents as over-breeding parasites, and ignore the ever-present specter of teenage pregnancy, when it’s your ilk, gathered as a hypocritical collective, that denies said at-risk demographic, unfettered access to birth control and sexual education resources, such as the ones that PP provides, but I digress.

I could also point out that if abortion was truly the issue you were concerned about, versus the obvious one instead, which involves your wanting to control and punish women for their continuing resolve in determining what they do with their own bodies, then you’d have zero issue adequately funding the tools required to safely and supportively, end the practice, once and for all. But let’s face it… you do, and its as wretched as your blatantly faux self- righteousness concerning it.

Here’s the rub, Bub- if you keep claiming that you can’t be “forced” to take the COVD vaccine for the greater good, then guess what? You don’t get to demand that women as a whole, acquiesce to your will for the same reason, either.

And since we’re talking about what Women in general, are allowed to do without the need or prerequisite to ask permission from total strangers first, let’s cast some light on what advice Ruth believes they need to hear from a middle-aged White woman who’s so well-known in my town for being a tight ass, that the rumor of DeBeers using her as a diamond manufacturing facility, once they find a way to switch her diet from consistently eating crow, to occasionally swallowing lumps of coal, seemingly more plausible, day by day:You heard it here first, you hedonistic hussies- you can’t truly represent God if he can see your Devil Dumplings, even if he’s the one that originally designed them for you, just a heads up.

Sure, those angels who look like babies can fly all over Heaven without a stitch on consequence free, but you’ve got to remember that if you do get sexually harassed or assaulted, based on the bullshit that you were “asking for it”, remember, it’s not the man’s fault for doing so, but yours instead, for daring to think that you have the birthright to walk around outside of your home unmolested.

And you know deep in your heart, that this advice is sound, because it was reposted by a woman who most certainly, was a virgin when she got married, and continues to dress herself as if she were a couch ordered directly from the discount section of the Hobby Lobby website.

Not to mention, we should all ponder on what the Bible says the role of women is as well, in order to provide some moral guidance to today’s disrespectfully carefree modern woman. Take Titus 2:3-5, for instance: “Older women likewise are to be reverent in behavior, not slanderers or slaves to much wine. They are to teach what is good, and so train the young women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled, pure, working at home, kind, and submissive to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be reviled.”

In other words: “Shut the f**up woman, get your ass in the kitchen, and make me a sandwich.”

Building upon this theme, is this delightful slice of misogyny, straight from the small dick energy that is the passage of Timothy 2:11-15: ”Let a woman learn quietly with all submissiveness. I do not permit a woman to teach or to exercise authority over a man; rather, she is to remain quiet. For Adam was formed first, then Eve; and Adam was not deceived, but the woman was deceived and became a transgressor. Yet she will be saved through childbearing—if they continue in faith and love and holiness, with self-control.”

I’d happily point out that Ruth ignores every demand within this edict, but as we’ve seen, she’s a Christian very much in the same way that I was an understudy for Daniel Craig in the last four 007 movies.

Wrapping up this train of disingenuous thought,  there’s also Proverbs 31:30; “Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.” Timothy 3:1; “Their wives likewise must be dignified, not slanderers, but sober-minded, faithful in all things”, which when presented with Ruth’s allegedly consistent bearing of false witness, also counts as an affront to her purported deity.

And who of pure faith could ever forget Corinthians 14:34-35; “The women should keep silent in the churches. For they are not permitted to speak, but should be in submission, as the Law also says. If there is anything they desire to learn, let them ask their husbands at home. For it is shameful for a woman to speak in church.”” The underlying takeaway from this of course, is that Ruth herself, has been a very bad girl, according to the very Word she claims to follow, but obviously, hasn’t either read, or ignores outright.

However, the clearest indicator of how Ruth’s religion, fueled by ignorant chauvinism, “values” women overall, is best summed up by this passage from Genesis 3:16: ”To the woman he said, “I will surely multiply your pain in childbearing; in pain you shall bring forth children. Your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you.” But hey… that’s what you ungrateful bitches get, for Eve’s sin of eating that apple God placed directly in front of her, despite his knowing exactly what was going to happen when he did so.

Nevertheless, ignore all that, as you need to go home right now and change out of that whorish outfit you decided to arrogantly wear in public, lest the menfolk within eyesight, start sinning unabashedly after seeing your mommy marshmallows. I wonder however, whether I should feel either offended or gratified, that at no point in my entire life, that I, if not most men for that matter, have ever been instructed as to what I should or shouldn’t wear.

Outside of my girlfriend politely suggesting that perhaps, wearing my well-loved Deadpool on a Unicorn t-shirt, might not be the best thing to wear to a funeral, but you get the gist of what I’m saying. Although I still maintain to this day, that my Uncle Frank would have loved to see me sport this at his wake, and with no small sense of pride, I assure you.I’ll happily admit that while it’s been ever so much fun mocking the numerous deficiencies glaringly evident as to where Ruth’s lackluster efforts to successfully pass as a functioning human being are concerned, they pale in comparison when weighed against the public perception of her within the small town where I currently reside.

Openly considered by many as being arrogantly judgmental, woefully uniformed, hilariously hypocritical, somewhat prone to paranoia, susceptible to the most ludicrous of conspiracy theories, and most certainly, bordering on the edge of religious extremism, she, as the evidence collected throughout this particular screed has shown, is far more likely to be criticized than canonized for her idiocy veiled as religious expression, and she is well aware pf this, hence the perpetual state of her claimed victimhood.

And in relation to her Teflon-coated grasp on the reality of modern-day politics, these postings of hers I think, only grounds my ongoing assessment of her intellectual inanity, that more securely:Finally, the truth comes out! The supposed billionaire who’s infamous for committing fraud, filing multiple bankruptcies, and whining like the candy-assed bitch that he is, worked for us, the American people, for “free”, because as we all know, when you’re known for stiffing charities and your workers alike, your sense of moral obligation to the greater good has to make itself known at some point, right?

Never mind that Trump, who claimed throughout his failed presidency that his tax filings were “under audit”, only did sp because he made more money using the office as a grifting tool, and didn’t want to show the American people his taxes, due to the falsehoods contained within that would be put on display for all to see. No, we should all ignore that fact, and instead believe that he ran only out of a sense of moral obligation to clean the metaphorical swamp of “filth”, which truly, is a noble act of service,

Especially given his lifetime of self-serving avarice. perversion, and cowardice.  Call me crazy, but for some strange reason, I don’t think a guy accused of 25 counts of sexual assault, who was caught bragging about such, as well as his attempt to “nail” a married woman on tape, and who publicly vomited his desire to “date” his own daughter, should ever be held up as the chosen one tasked with carrying the torch of moral righteousness.

Unless of course, you truly believe that repeated instances of adultery, and paying off the pornstars he raw-dogged with a personal check, as his second wife and ex-mistress was at home recovering from the birth of their first child, somehow deserves style points. And as a courtesy, I won’t even address his intimate connections to five well-known pedophiles, or the fact that his administration had one of the lowest rates of conviction regarding the act of sexual trafficking, in recent presidential history.

I can only wonder, given the staunchness of Ruth’s moral metronome, what she must have thought when her mango love-crush was asked about Ghislaine Maxwell, the former girlfriend and alleged procurer of eventual victims for the late sex trafficker Jefferey Epstein, and he responded [over two interviews] with;

“Her friend, or boyfriend, was either killed or committed suicide in jail. She’s now in jail, Yeah, I wish her well. I’d wish you well. I’d wish a lot of people well. Good luck. Let them prove somebody was guilty. I’ve met her numerous times over the years, especially since I lived in Palm Beach, and I guess they lived in Palm Beach. But I wish her well, whatever it is, I do wish her well. I’m not looking for anything bad for her. I’m not looking bad for anybody. Her boyfriend died. He died in jail.”

To be fair, he did later attempt to nullify his remarks by notating that he knew Epstein; “like everybody in Palm Beach knew him”, adding that; “I had a falling-out with him. I haven’t spoken to him in 15 years. I was not a fan of his, that I can tell you.” Now while the circumstances behind their estrangement have never truly been clarified, it’s been alleged that Epstein’s eventual banishment from Trump’s Mar-a-Lago resort, was because he had made an inappropriate advance on the teenage daughter of a club member.

Sure, Jan. I can buy that.

In fact, it’s quite believable to think that the man who once boasted to a journalist that the 14-year-old girl he had just been talking to, would be dating him in 10 years, because that’s the type of thoughts you should have relating to a child when you’re 52, as he was at the time, and who originally said of Epstein in a story published in New York Magazine;

“I’ve known Jeff for fifteen years. Terrific guy, He’s a lot of fun to be with. It is even said that he likes beautiful women as much as I do, and many of them are on the younger side. No doubt about it – Jeffrey enjoys his social life.”

I’m going to just come right out and unabashedly say it- I for one, can’t think of anybody better qualified to drain a swamp, than the person who was content to use it as a prey-ground, until he realized that the moral mud within it, made it damn near nigh impossible to sell it’s brackish water to Evangelicals such as Ruth, as the purest of tonics. That’s just my informed opinion, for what it’s worth. Which ironically, still holds far better resale value than any of the delusional bullshit that comes out of the dumber than f**k screeching maw, that Ruth calls her mouth.

Despite her propensity for being possibly more useless than a bag of broken hammers, there is however a line in the sand that even Silver City’s resident doyenne of density wouldn’t dare cross, no matter what:
Man. That is some serious laying down of the law there, boys and girls. Truly, a stronger declaration of personal integrity has certainly never been uttered like this before, and to be honest, I almost feel kind of bad that I’m about to take it out to the allegorical woodshed, and go full-on Ed Gein all over it.

At the moment, the only thing that all of the unwarranted audits and recounts have proven, and that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is that Joe Biden still won the election, Trump is a whiny-ass bitch, and that pathetically clutching jackasses like Ruth, are the primary reason why plastic grocery bags still require a printed warning not to put them over your head.

I particularly like her assertion that; “if Trump had won by cheating, lying, fraudulent acts, and deceit, I would definitely not be proud of the win, and would seriously rethink my candidate”, a declaration so hypocritically inane, that even the mythical Satan himself, is impressed at the brashness of its blatantly ignorant facetiousness.

With no due respect, you wouldn’t “rethink” anything Ruth, as you’ve never possessed the ability or the slightest acumen required to undertake the act of thinking to begin with, as evidenced in your slavish devotion to both a fictional sky-daddy, and his cravenly contradictory opposite, a self-invented mango messiah, lauded by outright morons, of which, I consider you to be in enthusiastic alignment with.

The reality s it were, when it comes to your self-declared thinking skill-set is this- if his well-known and well-explored, track record of business fraud, money laundering, sexual predation, adultery, bigotry, false fabrications, treason, disloyalty, and attempting to overthrow the democracy of the United States by using his personal cannon fodder, that being dumbf**ks such as yourself, wasn’t strong enough to get you to reconsider your support, then you truly are beyond all hope of moral salvage.

It’s one thing to be willingly deaf, dumb, and blind, in the face of reality, Ruth. It’s quite another thing altogether however, to take inordinate conceit in being a truly terrible human being, who’s only contribution to the legacy of earth-bound joy, will be when you die, and your organs are parceled out to those good people who unlike you, are actually worth saving.

Although to be fair, they won’t be able to use your skin, due to its thinness, or your eyes either, because of their current inability to see what’s right in front of them, and when it comes to your heart, well… I’d wager that when the transplant team cracks open your chest, and finds itself staring into the black void that resides in its place, there’s going to be some questions asked, for years to come.

Fortunately for my narrative, I’m not the only one who feels this way, as Rut’s own flesh and blood has expressed the opinion that she’s quite the gullible fool, and in an ironic twist of fortuity, the proof of this interfamily discordance was happily posted by no less than the village idiot herself:Wow. Just “wow”. Not only has Ruth openly surrender her patriotism, her body autonomy, her soul, her intellect, and her Faith, to America’s Angriest Creamsicle, she’s unashamedly thrown her own family atop the funeral pyre shoddily constructed by the world’s most despised failed mail-order meat salesman, as well. A simple question Ruth, if I may? When you denoted to “His Word”, were you referencing your Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, or the word salad edicts uttered by Donald Trump?

While some may consider my pointed query to be the height of insufferable rudeness, I say it is not, considering my confidence in stating that I strongly doubt that you can even tell the difference betwixt the two, anymore. That is of course, if you ever were able to in the first place. For the official celestial record, the only thing that Donald Trump shares in common with Jesus Christ, is the willingness to embrace the morally corrupted, and that, for vastly different reasons.

The key difference being Ruth, that whereas your mythical messiah attempted to redeem their endangered souls, yours instead demands that they sell theirs to him for little to no benefit, whatsoever. Not to mention, when Jesus found himself hanging out with prostitutes, he didn’t wind up marrying them, and he sure as hell wasn’t tearing a C-note on the bedside ox-cart when he left their room, either. Once again, we see the common thread that binds Ruth’s wretched world view to her transparently defective psyche- she’s not the fatuous fly in the ointment, everybody else is.

And pray tell, who is “everybody”, you ask? Well…they’re the Media that accurately reports the news she doesn’t want to hear, the scientific and medical community that uses facts instead of nonsensical theology to find the answers to society’s ills, the women who refuse to be good little fembots for God, the Atheists who refuse to allow her Dogma to run over their Karma, Liberals who truly represent the qualities of Humanity that Ruth fails to attain, and apparently, her own family in the end.

Out of all the stuff that Silver City’s resident cannoneer of Christian cray-cray, I actually find this to be dually, the saddest and most repugnant thing, that she’s ever written, hands down. You “rebuked” your own flesh and blood in deference of a narcissistic, sexually perverse, and disloyal craven, who if you were set aflame, wouldn’t bother to piss on you, and you’re proud about that? I said it earlier, and now I feel obligated to say it again;  JESUS F**KING CHRIST, WHAT THE F**K IS WRONG WITH YOU, LADY?

Newsflash, kiddo: the only purpose you currently serve your supposed Lord and Master, is as an example of what type of Christian NOT to be, and as a future personal best for dropkick yardage, when he boosts your insane ass off of his front cloud lawn, and straight into the bowels of Hell, where you’ve been slated to arrive, for quite some time now. And I say this as a guy who paid for his Condo overlooking the Lake of Fire in full, thanks to my week-long stay in New Orleans, during 1993 Mardi Gras.

But for those of you who aren’t fully convinced just yet, as to how deep the rabid rabbit hole of Ruth’s political personality disorder goes, here’s one final nail in the lid of that particular conservative coffin:

“Amen” says the faux Christian, regarding false claims… seems about right. As you can tell, and as I’ve previously written about, the theme of personal persecution at the hands and bequest of an imaginary enemy, is a crucial component within the boiled block of SPAM that passes for Ruth’s critical thinking skillset, and nowhere is this more evident than when she posts on social media about what’s going on in her day-to-day life.

Every accidental overcharge or unforeseen alteration by a local business, is “fraud”, every story casting her mango Oompa-Loompa in a negative light, is ‘fake news”, and behind every call for social justice, body autonomy, or freedom from the oppressive yoke of organized religion, is a calculated attack by agents of Antifa, BLM, the Deep State, the murdering bastards at Planned Parenthood, or possibly even the pedophilic blood-sacrifice cult that Lady Gaga works hand in hand with.

You know… when she’s not busy in the recording studio, that is.

But as usual, I’m getting slightly ahead of myself and the narrative to come, so I’ll just post one off her more recent “woe-is-me” offerings, and then provide the necessary context on the back end:So… full disclosure. The “man” that Ruth is referring to as the gargantuan pain in her intellectually larded ass, is none other than yours truly, a position I find myself to be more than happy to be currently occupying, when it gets right down to the brass tacks. However, like most of Ruth’s nattering narratives, it deliberately glosses over a few key details that besmirch her claim of unwarranted victimhood, as is her way.

Now, while some of Ruth’s cravenly Christian cabal may see a faint halo around her countenance, I’d opine that it’s nothing more than the permanent chalk outline that she’s drawn around herself, so that she can play a martyr victim, for whenever she’s the recipient of a valid rebuff that strikes far too close to home for her limited intellect to adequately respond to. It’s a darn shame that being a histrionic harridan in is no longer considered a viable career path, for Ruth here, would be a natural at it.

To start, no one has been “harassing you for some time now”, especially me. Not only have you and I never met, the range of our interconnected relationship has been no more than you being an unwilling subject in my personal writing, which you’ve obviously never read, nor has anyone else who’s remotely connected to you. Of course, if you’re actually now reading this, I can only welcome you to the free show, and assure you that while this is not the beginning, it most certainly isn’t the end of my mocking you, either.

And the best part? You’ve provided close to 75% of the comedic relief for free. All I really have to do, is crack some jokes, draw a few parallel observations, and kick back, feeling the joy of having done an honest day’s disparaging. An even better aspect of these screeds is that the bulk of the material within, is sent to me by people you do (and don’t) know, which I then investigate to verify its authenticity, and most importantly, its accuracy.

People in this town genuinely despise you, Ruth. The best I’ve ever been able to successfully achieve, is not getting asked out to a nice lunch every now and then., which let’s face it, is nowhere close to the infamy that you’ve managed to stoke. And that, on natural ability alone, which quite honestly, almost makes me feel like I’m not even trying my best some days.

As to your untruthful dissertation that you’re being specifically targeted due to your being “a Christian who stands up for what I believe”, no, you’re not. First, you’re a Christian in the very same way that Donald Trump is, and second, because you are quite literally, the end result of what happens when you allow an ill-informed, false witnessing, conspiracy theory babbling, duplicitous, walking, talking, urinal cake, full internet access, without demanding an IQ test as a critical facet of the authorization to do so, first.  

Whether you like it or not, whether you want to admit it or not, the truth of the matter is that you’re being taken to account for your abominably ignorant fallacies of opinion, your hypocritical and cherry-picked faith, and your willingness to deliberately harm members of my community by spreading demonstrably false and dangerous misinformation, all while posturing as both a victim, and a victorious warrior under the direct commend of a mental delusion, masquerading as a Supreme Being.

That’s it. No more. No less.

What you fail to understand, and calculatingly so, to be certain, is that you are still somebody’s employee, and consequently, are still subject to the companies’ rules, policies, and mission statement thereof, and you know it. If you can go on Facebook and slur a local company with slanderous and unfounded charges of malicious fraud and not apologize for doing so, after the situation is resolved, then I sure as f**k, can complain about your increasingly bizarre and unhinged public statements to the unfortunate organization that oversees you, as well.

You don’t like it? Learn to live with disappointment, as it’s going to be your dance partner now, and far into the future. And unlike the majority of your scurrilous claims, I can at least back up my commentary, using the evidence pulled straight from the horse’s ass herself- namely, your very own words, postings, and public declarations.

Shockingly, most modern-day companies in this, the age of viral social wildfire, tend to take a rather dim view of their trusted associates going online and openly ranting about the Deep State, The NWO, anti-vax conspiracies, Satan existing as a physical entity, the arrival of the End of Days, and the like. Other than such talk being woefully inaccurate, if not completely batshit crazy, it can also damage established reputations concerning the trust their customer base has placed in them.

In addition, when it came to hearing that you publicly declared that Tom Hanks had been allegedly arrested for being a pedophile, as you once implied on Instagram,..Yeah. They undeniably and understandingly, were so not cool with that, given the legal ramifications of you tying their company to such defamation, but please tell us all once again, how you’re the true victim in regards to your publicly presented and wholly malevolent actions, as collectively, we could all use a good laugh at your expense. Hence the reason, why the people in charge above you, told you to cool it with your ludicrous bullshit online, if you wanted to continue selling their product.

Nobody, not them, not me, not even Satan or the New World Order itself, tried to have you }shut down”, based upon your faux Christianity, you paranoid, asinine, duplicitously deceitful twat, and you know that. However, I’d garner you wouldn’t be able to so freely drink the good will offered up to you by your fellow gullible Granfalloons, as if you were a starving succubus, if you, for once, actually told the whole of the truth, now could you?

Amazing how you always seemingly fail to note your own culpability in regards to your self-created drama, but I’m sure that’s nothing more substantial than just an implausible quirk of coincidence. That’s the resultant problem when an adversary has kept all the receipts of your ranting, as I’ve done, for your own words make the case far better than mine ever could. So seriously… thanks for all the help with the heavy lifting, Ruth, as it’s truly appreciated

Regardless of all that however, I’d still be somewhat remiss if I didn’t pay proper tribute to those select aspects where Ruth’s inherently flawed intellectualism, far outshines the rest of her arguably questionable character flaws that I’ve called attention to thus far. Granted while it’s obvious she doesn’t even know the intricacies of her own alleged faith, ironically, it’s that very same density which inevitably, always leads to her unfounded claims of facing ‘persecution” for being a person of such.

The cold hard veracity in play here Ruth, is that if there was no meat whatsoever to chew on, your authoritative betters would have sent the sandwich I presented to them straight back to me, and they sure as heck, wouldn’t have continued to take my calls and emails regarding your balderdash, either.

My favorite moment that I just have to share, was when I was on the phone with one of their representatives reading them some of your crazy-ass commentary, and the person on the other end of the line said, and I quote; “Jesus Christ, this woman needs help”, an opinion I feel is even more comfortable agreeing with after her bananas claim that her “every move and word is being watched and reported”, as if she had run afoul of the KGB.

But yes… all of this must be my fault alone, you sanctimonious wench. However, Ruth’s reverse soliloquy of spiritual suffering, wouldn’t be complete without her captive audience of Christian flunkies, and as you can imagine, they were more than happy to join in on the Groupon discount for torches and pitchforks, which as a person of thriftiness, I can totally appreciate.

I do find it amusing however, that despite her plea for God’s direct intervention in “dealing” with me, the best battle-hardened army that he could muster up, is one comprised of MAGAts who at best, intellectually present as if they’re the morning shift at a 3^rd rate strip club. Sure, one or two of them may be worth getting a lap dance from, but the rest? Past their prime, and their expected paygrade, to be sure.

In an attempt to clarify as to why it is that I find Ruth’s so-called Posse of the Pulpit so inconsequentiality deserving of anything save my mockery, I’ll lay out some of their ”calls to harm” as it were, and you’ll be able to see for yourself, just why there’s so many laws on the books regarding who you’re genetically allowed to marry within your immediate family tree.

First up in the blather box, one Lynn Ross Frost, who I can only assume, is the type of person who thinks that Mermaids exist, given the nature of her “threat”, that being a host of Angels set loose upon yours truly, which to be fair, could result in my suffering some grave injuries… mainly to my diaphragm, from laughing my ass off:As usual, I won’t s[peak for you, but if James Cameron ever made this scenario into a summer movies starring Angeline Jolie, I would watch the ever-living f**k out of it. However, I do have a few minor points to quibble about, if I may.

First, if you ask God for a “host: of 1000 Angels initially, I’d seriously doubt you’d need an additional 23K [the full total of the complement deployed within a 24 hour span] to , as you so lovingly put with the purest of Christian love,  “fight and take down, annihilate and destroy the platform of this spirit [Moi?] of the Anti-Christ”. Seems like overkill, but what do I know? After all, my brain unlike yours, actually still works, and I’d hate to harsh the mellow you receive masturbating to that Avenging Angel fantasy loop you’ve got playing in your otherwise empty head, 24/7.

And yet, here you are, thinking I can’t be thoughtful, when the need arises That’s just downright hurtful. Also, my delusional dipstick of divination, “annihilate and destroy”, mean the same f**king thing, so perhaps the next book you endeavor to read should be a thesaurus, instead of that assemblage of sociopathy you acquired your sense of alleged morality from. Just a friendly suggestion. 

Following in Lynn’s single set of footprints John Patrick Griego, decides instead to take a softer approach, and instead, bestows a blessing of sorts, on both Ruth and the souls of those coming for her, which even I, the resident cryonic, has to admit, is kind of sweet, overall:Despite that truly warm benediction however, John sticks to the party line calling for… what else, the “destruction” of Ruth’s supposed adversaries. Of father amusing interest to me is the fact that even though Ruth personified her current imaginary enemy list to one single man, that being yours truly, John’s bloviated beseeching, suggests that she’s facing a merciless cadre of ne’er-do-wells, instead.

Dude, I’ll happily admit that while my ego is large, it does have its limits, so work on your context, right after you brush up on your obviously lacking comprehension skills. Oh, and John? The cops don’t exist to carry out the edicts of God, what with him being a myth and all, but guess what? They also don’t exist to carry Ruth’s personal axe collection, either, hence the reason why whenever she walks into the local station, they play “Paper, Rock, Scissors”, to determine who unfortunately, gets to deal with her this time.

Need some supplementary evidence of that? Well, here you go:What I’ve continually enjoyed from these onion skinned internet law scholars, is what particular offenses they feel, necessitate the inclusion of law enforcement, regardless of the situational subtext they find themselves in.

Modern media is rife with stories where self-appointed guardians such as Ruth and her equally vapid vanguard, have wasted and squandered the resources of local and federal agencies reporting “crimes” that in actuality, weren’t crimes to begin with, and most importantly, never will be.  

While it is a crime to directly harass someone at their place of employment or residence, it is not illegal to  openly report their acts of increasingly bizarre behavior to said employer, nor is sharing their publicly accessible commentary to the same, As I stated earlier, no meat, no sandwich, no follow-up order placed.

The personally embarrassing detail that your supervisor/s started monitoring your public displays of erratic behavior far more closely, once they had been alerted to the content of what you’ve been happily inflicting upon your undeserving community without concern, is irrelevant, given the fact that the responsibility for incurring the consequences assigned to your words and actions, is still yours to shoulder, no matter who or what, you try to shift the blame to.

Deflection and an aversion to that which is actual, seems to be a tried-and-true approach for Ruth, so feigning fears for her well-being, be it emotional or financial, to the local constabulary, hardly comes as a surprise to anyone familiar with her cowardly tactics. While her penchant for disingenuousness has been established beyond=d arguable reproach, she never tires of engaging in it, especially whenever she fee;s she can derive some personal benefit from it.

For instance, Ruth’s respect for law enforcement, apparently hinges on whether or not its involvement in her life assists or impinges upon her endgame goals. Her church gets shut down for violating COVOD protocols? TYRANNY!!! COMMUNISM!!! AN ACT OF SATAN!!! By jackbooted and overstepping agents of the Deep State, but when it comes to her failed attempts to use the cops as a conduit for enacting personal revenge against her many detractors?  

Well then… you’ve never met a more honorable group of public servants, let me tell you. And yes, she was thoughtful enough to provide a shining example of how she truly feels about the established law of the land whose values she claims to respect, because she’s cool like that:
At this point, we’ve all seen incontrovertibly just how ardently Ruth follows the edicts of her supposed Savior, so I can only imagine what “Laws of Man” she believes apply to her, and which don’t.

My previous blogvella from over a year ago, addressed Ruth’s supposed interaction with those she felt were there solely to pursue her [as yet] unproven assertions that she was being harassed and that her home and businesses were being specifically targeted (and allegedly vandalized) by an unknown and subsequently unnamed [not me] entity, and within that very screed, I stated that under no circumstances, should such actions [if credible] ever be considered acceptable, regardless of what Ruth had said or done.

Short of raising dalmatian puppies for the sole purpose of either eating them, or turning them into coats of course, because let’s face it, you gotta draw the metaphorical line in the sandbox somewhere.   However, as I’ve noted oft before, I live in a very small hamlet, and if anybody residing in it, was up to half the stuff that Ruth has claimed they were up to, it would be all over the grapevine. And as far as the rumor mill goes, one doesn’t require “proof” so much as they require the courage to call said person/s out for it.

Isn’t it odd though, that Ruth never does? And as I get to know more about her, I’m starting to think that like the “evidence” she sees of Satan everywhere, these reports of personally directed attacks might also be no more than smoke and mirrors, as the saying goes.

Taking into account that the people and faux faith she allies herself with, are relentless in forcing their mythology into the communal fabric of a country growing increasingly hostile to its intrusion, one can easily surmise what social abominations she would willingly inflict upon her fellow humans if she were allowed to be free of the consequences of doing so.

Come on now, you say, aren’t you taking a page from Ruth’s praybook [pun intended] and being a tad bit melodramatic?  Honestly, I don’t think so. In fact, I’d suggest that if anything, I’m being fairly diplomatic about the situation at hand. Let’s all keep in mind that her fellow Mythketeers have expressed, and in some extreme cases, tried to enact legislation, that would foment their fascist fantasies into hard cold reality, for just not themselves, but upon a wide and unwilling swath of the United States citizenry, as well.

To note, these Christian Cornucopias of Craven intentions, has tried to regulate women’s body autonomy, attempted to criminalize gay marriage, and reduce the civil rights of the LGBTQ community, demanded that Creationism and the theology of the Bible be referenced and taught in public schools and held to a higher respect than established science,  as they scream about being “Pro-life” while gutting social aid programs that directly help children and families.

All of this by the way, as they rattle their sabers in preparation of a fantastical upcoming Civil / Holy war, in which, their zombie Zeus will allegedly return, and settle the hash with their invented enemies.

And out of respect for your sanity, if not reality, I won’t even begin to dissect their bullshit assertion that because they’ve been denied the spiritually-based stipend to legally harass and discriminate against the people and gender identities they abhor, they’re the ones being truly “persecuted”, instead of the ones they’re dying to victimize and marginalize.

Therefore, I can comfortably say, and that with a great deal of personal certainty, that Ruth is perfectly fine with breaking whatever law she would speciously rationalize as being against God, because in the end, if the cops aren’t going to do the dirty work that she’s obviously too chickenshit to undertake herself, what value could they possibly have?

There’s a maxim that has been wrongly attributed to Socrates that states; “When the debate is lost, slander becomes the tool of the losers”, and while the true origin of this quote is still ironically, in the throes of civilized debate, it’s inherent message remains stoically relevant, nonetheless. If I were going to add a modern-day footnote to this wisdom slice, I’d most likely add that; “And when slander fails, the next tool in the box is the threat of violence”, because that’s the only one that this gaggle of gaseousness know how to wield.    

Speaking of which, let’s get to a few more invectives of insanity that were hurled my way, so we can all take a moment to revel in the fact that even when we were in kindergarten, we knew exactly how all the paste-eaters were going to turn out. Like my newest internet schooled lawyer Ray Irving, who not only gets it wrong when and what for an order of protection is granted, but also fails to equally work out exactly why Ruth finds herself in Dutch with her corporate masters as well: For those of you not in the loop an “order of protection” as it applies to New Mexico law, is a court-issued directive to your former spouse & abuser to stay away from you, and to not commit further acts of domestic abuse. As it’s clear that neither I, or anybody else that Ruth perceives as an enemy for that matter, falls under this purview, Ray’s suggestion is not only wide of the mark, it’s also an insult to those women facing the very real (and possibly deadly) threat of continuing violence.

But oh no… somebody pointed out to Ruth’s employer using her won words and public actions, remember, that she might be just a few months shy of wrapping herself inn tin-foil to keep out the mind-control rays of the Deep Sate, and somehow, that translates into a viable threat in regards to her physical safety? Got it, Ray. You’re just as f**king dense as she is, and trust me, I appreciate all the hard work you had to put in to grab that brass ring.

Hopping aboard the celestial carousel, we have Daniel Paredes, who suggests to Ruth an approach that quite honestly, I did not see coming, and I tend to be a guy who’s knack for being able to sense “crazy” from quite a distance away, has served as the inspiration for a litany of tall tales, if not ribald songs: .Okay. I have to ask a small favor here- is there anybody familiar enough with the tenets of Christian cray-cray who can tell me how I can be placed in Christ’s hands if they’re not the appendages used to pick me up in the first place? Not to mention, once I’m in God’s hands, would it be rude of me to ask for a Shiatsu massage? Because I bet that guy has amazing hands. It stands to reason that if he can raise the dead, he most definitely could do something about my chronic sciatica, too.

And failing that, should I try to figure out the intricacies of how mentioning my name to Him, compels Christ not only to take care of Ruth’s business, but to appear at the sound of it, as if he’s Beetlejuice?

Sorry… that should have read “Betelgeuse”, damn my stupid Voice to Snark phone app. And yes, that IS how it’s spelled in the movie, no matter what you might have been led to believe:
See? Unlike Ruth, I back my shit up. Seems a far easier action to undertake than to just pull fabricated falsehoods out of my ass, but far be it from me to take away the only creative outlet that Ruth possesses. But never let it be said that the rest of Ruth’s crew aren’t creative, even if it’s the truth.

For after all, I am sympathetic concerning the difficulties these people must certainly encounter when designing new and inventive threats, given the fact that the majority of them have only only owned one book in their entire lives and even then, still haven’t n=made it past the first paragraph of Genesis. Take for instance, this intellectually blistering retort by one Rikey Ferrell, who truly brings what I can only assume is his GED certificate, to the proverbial throw-down table, for me to use as a napkin:Now for the record, I am aware that his real name is obviously “Ricky”, or some variant thereof, but considering the intellectualism attached to his “threat”, I’d still have to trust my hunch that nobody ever taught him how to spell it properly to begin with, so I’ll cut him some charitable slack in that particular department. But as to the rest? I’m not entirely sure what advantage Ricky thinks knowing my name will grant him, past the understanding of how well it’ll flow off his tongue when he says it.

Accordingly, I’m also at a loss as to what Ricky is referencing when he says “it” will go away, once my name is uttered to the wind at large, as the last time I checked, you’d still need at least a truckload of black candles, a sacrificial goat, and several boxes of expired Ding Dongs, to send me back from whence I came, but maybe he’s just being an optimist at worst.

You know, just like when he posted this fourth-grade taunt, and thought it made him sound like a badass? And in yet another hypocritical twist, Ruth who once posted that she was “required to forgive everyone”, “liked” the comment, which just goes to show you, that her principles, can be discarded faster than she can blame others for her own foldables, which let’s face it, is a speed that one day, mathematicians will be forced to finally develop a theorem for.

But Ricky isn’t the only one who’s thinking about me, not by a long shot. Richard Shetter here, for instance, is apparently incredibly inquisitive as to what I look like, because he seemingly thinks that posting it online will somehow concern me past the point of being flattered that I finally have a stalker who’s collecting Social Security:Sure, Mathew 5:44 may contain the following advice; ‘But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you”, but such wussy treacle is highly inconvenient for when you’re trying to pretend that you’re a moral person, despite the evidence that proves you’re not, am I right? However, since Richard looks like this;

I can totally understand why he thinks other people might be cowed by having their image circulated across the Web, although this hands down, may be the best cosplay of a boiled ham that I have ever seen  

I made my peace with looking as if I were the offspring of an illicit love affair between Jesus Christ and James Hetfield of Metallica, quite some time ago, so I’m drawing a genuine blank as to what horrific fallout I’m expected to receive from people I already don’t like, respect, or most importantly fear, if they get a hold of my graven visage. Of which, 8 x 10’s are available either via my gift shop, or directly through my OnlyFans site, when you sign up for the Platinum members package.

Nevertheless, Richard did ask, and that, rather politely, for my photo, so in the interest of fairness, I’ll provide one, so that when he’s all alone at night, seething to the brim with his old white guy rage, he’ll at least have an example to illustrate his nonsensical revenge scenario with. Personally, I like this one showing me at work, having the kind of life that Richard wishes he had, but could never achieve, given his lack of personal charisma, if not mental acumen:

Now, whatever you do Richard, please don’t share this photo, because I’d find it really embarrassing if everyone saw it, checked out my website at www.waynemichaealreich.com, and either bought something, or worse, hired me to write something for them. I honestly don’t think I could handle all that unwanted attention, so I beg you… please, please, please don’t do it.  Well, at least not until I get the newer work up, that is. I dp try to keep it fresh, whenever possible.

I wonder if I should also point out to Richard that it’s damn near nigh impossible to cast a sense of chagrin upon a person who not only writes about the skeletons in his closet, but who also leaves its door open, so that they can dance the Electric Slide, as they mix up yet another batch of kickass margaritas.

See, when it gets right to the meat of the chimichanga, there’s very little in my life that I’ve been embarrassed by. I’ve written extensively about my medical issues, my sexual experiences, my relationships, and in a moment of inspiration that I still get email about, I wrote a story about posing in the nude for a fellow artist, and then, POSTED THE IMAGES ONLINE of both the resultant painting itself, and the modeling session that led to its creation.   

But yeah…. your snide remark on an internet-acquired picture of me, created using the photo app on your phone, will be the metaphorical sword of purest silver that brings me to my knees, begging for mercy. It’s that kind of infectious optimism that probably causes me to think that selfie of yours looks more like a casual portrait, rather than the image one sees on warning posters taped to the light poles at the darkened edges of a child’s playground, but that’s just my opinion, flippant as it may be.

But the best comment on Ruth’s plea for unwarranted sympathy, just has to be this one, posted by, and I swear to mythical God that I am not making this up, the spectacularly baptized Bendesida Bienveniidos, who is going to wind up as either the main character in an upcoming work of fiction involving the spiritual journey of an ABBA worshiping cult, or as the name of a Bond villain intent on world domination, using the most diabolical of weapons, that exploits the gullibility of the common man to devastating effect.

Oops my bad. A super-villain already invented organized religion, didn’t they? My sincerest apologies to all that have gathered round. But I wasn’t kidding when I said that I love her comment, and after reading it, I hope you can see exactly why I do:

This may be the best opening to a pointless prayer that I have ever seen in my life, and I say this as a person whose name has been dropped into a lot of prayers, be they for me, or aligned against me. I am kind of sad though, that this screencap which was sent to me, failed to capture the entire breadth of the comment, but I’d say it’s safe to assume that the remainder would be more of the same Nazarene Yadda Yeshua, Yahweh, bunkum that we’ve all come to expect from this bunch.

Seriously, I can’t think of anything that tops “We bind the demonic operating in this man’s life”, and I doubt that I ever will. Toss in the added spice of having the so-called Holy Spirit “loosed” upon me in the name of Jesus, (naturally), and it’s fairly obvious that my upcoming weekend is gonna be just packed. On the upside, she also does throw in a request for me to receive some blessings in the end, but I’ll only receive those (I guess?) after my demonic tendencies get trussed up like a Christmas goose that’s into BDSM.

I hate to be the one that clues you in on a not-so-obvious certainty, but if those two New Orlean strippers weren’t able to successfully “bind” my far more prevalent demonic spirit back in 1993 during Mardi Gras, most assuredly, your mythical spiritual trifecta doesn’t have a Sno-Cones’ chance in Hell, either. Trust me on this, because not only were those two exceedingly dedicated, there’s no way your knowledge of knot-tying could even remotely compare to theirs, which, when I recall it, seemed quite extensive, given their age.

As I come to the end of this, my latest human-scratching-post dissertation, I’d like to take a moment to offer a direct comment to Ruth herself, if you’ll allow me the grace to do so. If at this point Ruth, you still feel the unwarranted need to play the victim, may I suggest that you go onto the World Wide Web and complain some more to the planet at large? After all, it’s worked out pretty good for me as a dedicated career, and the working conditions are just great.

Granted, you’ve been attempting that for quite some time now, and although you’ve failed wretchedly, if not consistently, I really do think that if given enough time and a lifetime supply of Paliperidone, you could in theory, achieve actual competency at it, and possibly in even less time than you may think. That is of course, all based on whether or not you can get those paranoid delusions of yours, under some form of stabilized control

And just in case you were wondering why I soberly say this, as I recommend her liberal use of Paliperidone, a drug used to treat the ravaging effects of unchecked paranoia, it’s because  the symptoms of clinically defined paranoia are as follows:

(1) An unhealthy fixation that others have hidden motives, which are often perceived as targeted persecution, (2) Feelings of suspicion and distrust towards others, (3) Quarrelsomeness and petulance, (4) Poor relationships with others, (5) Lack of understanding into the speciousness of their views, (6) Holding grudges against others for their alleged digressions, (7) Recalling actions inversely from reality, (8) A sense of defensiveness, (9)  Feelings of hypervigilant anxiety, and lastly, (10) Repeated attempts to pursue legal action, based on the false certainty that their rights have been violated.

Now… does that sound like anybody we know? Take all the time you need to formulate your answer, and when you’re ready, please remember to present it to the studio audience in the form of a question. Traditionally, when I normally wrap up one of these in-depth screeds, I characteristically save the best as it were, for last, but due to the inane density of the posting I’m about to share with you, I’ve decided to turn my conventional take onto its head this time around, and close with a taste of the truly pathetic, instead.

As we’ve all discovered by now, Ruth’s debatably warped choices regarding just how she interprets the dogma of her supposed faith, not only influences the direction of her life, but the dubious beliefs she’s coagulated within. No matter how one might charitably decide to look at it, this state of alleged willing mental derangement, is unarguably just tragic, having been set in the most impenetrable of illogical bedrock, and is therefore, possibly and theoretically, irreversible.

I draw this overall conclusion not from just the numerous examples that Ruth herself has provided, albeit unknowingly, but from the pages of the spiritual tome that she repeatedly claims to be willing to lose everything for. This glaring hypocrisy, proven once again by her own words and actions, runs concurrent with her continuing support of a man so ethically challenged and morally corrupt, that even the Hell-trapped soul of William “Boss” Tweed, marvels at his brazen audaciousness.

In regards to the list of Ruth’s character… let’s just call them “quirks” for now, since “flaws” is way too on the money, that I’ve assembled for your [hopeful] reading pleasure, I’d happily note her outright falsehoods, half-truths, high-school-level-histrionics, slander, passive-aggressive bullying, outright paranoia, biblical and personal hypocrisy, concocted delusional theories pulled off of the internet, as well as out of her ass, along with her consistent public performances portraying a victim that’s considered so over the top, that Tommy (“The Room”) Wiseau wants first crack at optioning the film rights to it.  

All jokes aside, I’m fairly confident that many in my town would esteem my tabulation as a noble attempt at the cataloging of perhaps her best qualities, since the general consensus by those very same individuals, would be that they didn’t think she had any to begin with. What can I say? My writing sometimes bridges the gap. Decidedly, it can’t do anything about the permanent one that’s located between Ruth’s ears, but an Artbitch can always dream, I guess.

If one thing has been made abundantly crystalline clear within this screed, it’s that Ruth truly believes that her allegorical God  “talks” directly to,(and sometimes through) her, to the discomfort of the rest of us who understand that’s not a sign of celestial communication, so much as it is the first symptom of conceivable schizophrenia, rather than any form of divine ordainment. This is not to make light of those suffering from the after-effects of mental illness, mind you, but to draw a parallel to the suspected one that may be taking hold in Ruth, , that is to say, if one hasn’t set up shop already.

To discuss this last piece in the f**ked-up human puzzle-box I in my singular opinion, believe Ruth to be, we need to start at at the very beginning…. literally. From Genesis: “In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness.”

So right off the bat, we all know that this God dude has some serious juice, and he isn’t afraid to use it. But the fairy tale only gets better: “And God said, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.”

:So, God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them. And God blessed them, and God said unto them, “Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.”

And then in act of pure fatherly love, God cast out Adam and Eve from the Garden for Eve;s “sin” of eating an apple from a tree that he calculatingly placed in her path, knowing full well beforehand, as he’s omnipotent, that she was going to do so. Several millennia later, he once more showed his “love” for the humans he created, by drowning the world entire, because the creatures he created with a deliberate flaw weren’t kissing his ass enough, but on the upside, we did get a rainbow out of the deal, which is why there’s never been a deadly flood anywhere on Earth, since.

Oh, wait…

Going forward with his ineffable plan, the all-powerful God who created everything from nothing, decided that when the time had come to send a heavenly emissary to Earth in order to “absolve” mankind from the original sin he had cursed them with, he chose to take a truly novel approach to the issue, rather than start from scratch, because apparently, he can only do the “create a person from nothingness” trick once, and I guess at the time, he couldn’t find anyone with an extra rib to spare, either.

Nope, his go-to brilliant idea was to instead, impregnate a married teenage girl, and that, without her consent no less, as if he were Zeus, so that she and her cuckolded hubby could raise his son to adulthood for the sole purpose of his being crucified, the after-effect of which, was his rising from the dead three days later, like you do when you’re a celestial zombie. The benefit of all this, is that by doing so, he “saved” all mankind from the sin, that once again, was the fault of his (and our) absentee Holy Father.

Yup… no plot holes there, boys and girls. I can’t imagine why more people don’t get in line for the wafer, believe you me. Throw in the stories of a woman being turned into salt, angels murdering children, groups of townsfolk threatening to rape angels, and being offered someone’s daughters instead, and that whole apocalyptic Terminator movie scenario at the end of it all, and it’s truly a mystery to me, as to why we as a society, don’t allow this ideology to be taught in our public schools over the obvious blasphemy of established science.

And in all of this, Ruth believes. Well… that parts that aren’t inconvenient to her narrative anyway. That’s why she can slander, bully, victimize others, and bear false witness, without fear of reproach, because you can’t be held to account of\r face penalization enacted by a deity that never existed in the first place.

Maybe it’s due to the fact that God, the all-powerful King of Kings, lacks coherent communication skills, Now, as someone whom has been accused of the very same by more than a few exes of mine, I could posit that this difficulty might be due to his being a man, and as a gender, we’re not really known for that sort of thing, but I don’t think that’s really the case here.

As I recall from my Catholic school days, God speaks to us through the Word, dreams, visions, prophecies, his directly sent heralds or angels, prophets, and for some as yet unknown reason, his image, via toast, water stains on ceilings, and the occasional; cloud formation. And don’t even bring up that whole started on the burning bush thing, as I’m pretty sure that’s just the fevered imagination of a man who had been wandering lost in the desert for a number of years, subsisting on nothing but Manna.    

I’m not suggesting that Moses was high or anything like that, but dehydration and living on the Jewish equivalent of Top Ramen has just got to take its toll on you after a while, let’s be honest.  And id we’re going to be, does it make sense to anyone with a working intellect, as to why the most powerful being in all of creation, was able to craft the Universe from nothing, yet seemingly, can’t figure out how to set up a Twitter or Facebook page?

Heck, even Donald Trump managed to do that, and his DNA produced Eric, Don Jr, and Ivanka, who is the closest thing to a living breathing Fembot, that this planet has ever seen. So, what’s God’s excuse, other than the fact he’s mythical and works in so-called [aka nonexistent] ways? Rega5dless of this blatantly obvious logic-hole in her faith’s spiritual dinghy, Ruth sees “signs” everywhere, and I do mean everywhere. And believe it pr not, I’m not necessarily aligned against the possibility of such random occurrences happening, every now and then.

The key word here, being “random”, of course. There is no preordained celestial plan currently in play, that at any point, now or in the future, controlling, shaping, or testing your life. Now whatsoever, At best, you are subject to the cruel whims of uncontrollable fate, and that’s about as good as it gets for any of us, albeit as a group, or as individuals. Shit just happens. That’s it. No secret machinations resultant of a sky-daddy’s input, and most certainly, no oversight from such, whether it be from the heights of alleged Heaven, or the depths of allegorical Hell.

Grow the f**k up, and deal with it, already.

But in Ruth’s mind, the root of logic is not only unable to find firm purchase, it wouldn’t survive for long if it did, given her willingness to take the random, and ascribe undeserving relevance upon it. And this, (finally) brings me to the last brick in the immeasurable wall that separates her intellect from reality: At first perusal, there’s a few delicate threads to untie here, the first being that there’s obviously some form of pressing family drama occurring, and as I have no idea of how to ascertain correctly what was going on at the moment she posted this. I’ll hold my characteristic snarkiness in deliberate check. In addition, I’d call glowing attention to Ruth’s purchasing winter appropriate clothing for someone whose particular circumstances necessitate it, so kudos to Ruth, in a delightful change of pace, for actually following a biblical edict to its accorded conclusion.

And because it was a nice thing to do, I’ll forgo my nagging cynicism that she only mentioned it as she did, to acquire some “I’m a good person” stickers for her fridge display.

But as with all things quintessentially Ruthesque, it dives headfirst into the bubbling  Jacuzzi of Christian cray-cray, and resurfaces, proudly clutching one of God’s “little signs”, that He in his infinite wisdom, prefers to spread his message with, versus the more rational options of either utilizing modern-day media, or going full-on Old Testament, and issuing a booming proclamation of his personal involvement from the gathered clouds above, instead.

But as noted, the Lord thy God, works in mysterious ways, which is super convenient for when anyone questions either his followers pr the clergy that fleeces them, as to why he seems more akin to an absentee landlord, than the loving and dedicated father, correction, “Daddy”, Ruth believes him to be. Sorry… I think I just threw up in my mouth a little, due to that disturbing and gag-inducing alliteration of referring to the Holy Father as “Daddy”. I ask you… is it just me, or is that just seriously f**king weird?

And while that reference may be somewhat subtly disturbing, it pales in comparison to the “proof” that Ruth openly presented as being a direct correlation to God hearing her prayers:I’m not sure how to say this without being exceedingly harsh, but without a doubt, this may be singlehandedly, the stupidest f**king thing that I have ever read in my entire life, and I say this as someone who once worked his way through the entire Twilight series and Fifty Shades of Grey, as an exercise in personal sadomasochism.

It’s so goddamn absurd in fact, that I’ve been unable to come up with a better joke than this: “Saying you found “Jesus” inside a New Mexico Walmart, is like claiming you ran into a “John Smith” inside the Mormon temple in Salt Lake City.” Thanks to her inane interpretation of how she thinks a mythically omnipotent deity would communicate, this weak-ass slice of acerbity, is quite literally, the best I can do at this time.

In all honesty, I have no idea what could be alternately funnier than Ruth seriously thinking that God “talked” to her via a Walmart receipt, can you? And despite the fact that the very continued existence of the Walmart empire attests undeniably that there is no God, Ruth will still view this random act of non-connected coincidence, as credence that he’s visibly present, which to some extent, is tragically sad, if not definitively insane.

Granted, it’s no more or less insane than declaring the existence of the Deep State, that Lady Gaga is a member of a blood sacrifice cult preying on innocent children, or that masks and vaccines are the Mark of the Beast, to be sure, but somehow, for some reason, this almost feels like she’s on the tipping point between presenting herself as a walking punchline to an unfunny joke, versus her eventually being unwillingly medicated, for the betterment and safety of the community at large, if not herself.

Soldiers dedicated to a cause are dangerous, yes… but even worse, are the martyrs that very same cause can create. The NAZI’s had Horst Wessel, the White Supremacy movement has Dylann Roof, and the MAGA’s Marmalade Minions, have January Sixth seditionist Ashli Babbitt and disgraced Minneapolis police officer, Derek Chauvin, the convicted murderer of George Floyd, as icons of patriotism, who sacrificed all for the greater good.

The greater good of course, being reserved solely for those who are White, Christian, Conservative leaning, and just so happen to be huge fans of the foulest of fascism, that is the underlying ideology of the Cult of 45. But then again, I repeat myself. And therein lies the larger issue: how do you salvage the intellect of those who’ve willingly surrendered it to the most delusional of demagogues?

With that set of specifics in mind, note that It’s not enough that we vanquish the ignorance of the asinine such as Ruth, it also needs to be implemented in such a way that allows these deluded MAGAts the ability to willingly reintegrate back into the society that they currently despise, and are seemingly terrified of, as well.

While the thought of crushing their infantile hope for shaping America into a perverse parody of itself, is an  entertaining concept yo contemplate, you have to also grasp the reality regarding persons who, influenced as they are by the ravings of a madman, will not go gentle into that good night. And as we all saw on January Sixth, more than a few of this rabidly ravenous marmalade mob, are open to the idea of sacrificing themselves, if not the rest of us as well, to appease their mushroom-dicked deity of density.

And when it comes to the personage of Ruth who seemingly places the all-too-real Donald Trump in the same pantheon that she does the wholly mythical Jesus Christ, I have to wonder just how long it will be before I and my community, witness her train not only coming off the rails entirely, thereby enabling my cynical assessment of her, to be presently nailed to the concrete with ten-foot spikes.   

But once again, I could be wrong. After all, Ecclesiasticus 21:5, taken from Ruths compendium of fantastical tales does say that “A prayer out of a poor man’s mouth reacheth to the ears of God, and his judgment commeth speedily”, so maybe I will find myself facing some form of celestial tribulation, with the end result being finding myself in line for the escalator going straight down to Hell, when all is said and done.

 And Ruth? Well… maybe she’ll be given the chance to walk smugly past me, as she enters Heaven via the VIP line, but I doubt that will happen. Not singularly due to the fact that God’s a myth mind you, or that her devotion to his Word is as thin as her skin, but because when the judgment bells toll, she’ll discover to her dismay and my delight, that even God, much like the majority of his most flawed creation, prefers the company of kind atheists over that of hateful Christians.

But don’t you worry about Ruth, kids. When she fails to ascend during the Rapture, I’m sure we’ll all be able to read about whose fault it really is, on her Facebook page. I’ll roll the dice right now, and place mu money on Satan of course, for switching the “Up” and “Down: signs on the celestial elevator.

“Zealots are totally incapable of any emotion other than rage. It is an unalterable law that people who claim to care about the human race are utterly indifferent to the sufferings of individuals.” –
Quentin Crisp, The Last Word: An Autobiography

 

 

 

 

 

“In ordinary society, superstition sells faster than science.” – Amit Kalantri, Wealth of Words1

Salutations, Bitchiteers!

Are we all having a blessed day, or is it just the same ol’ thing you always deal with? You know, because the concept of “God” is just a human-invented metaphysical construct to explain all that which we at one point, did not understand?

I thought so.

And as you may have already guessed with that none too subtle shot across the bow, this time around, I’m gonna talk about God, or to be more accurate, the melange of magical thinking and outright delusion that certain people of Faith incorporate into their lives, very much in the same way that I used to with hot strippers, but now accomplish somewhat satisfactorily, with a platter of perfectly chilled Ding Dongs.

That optimal serving temperature by the way, is set at a frosty 42 degrees, which, when it’s taken into account that “42” as noted by the computer known only as Deep Thought, as being; the Answer to the Great Question… of Life, the Universe and Everything, it all comes full circle for those of us prone to exploring the innermost aspects of our psyche, which reminds me of a favorite joke by British comedian Jimmy Carr:

“When I was a kid, I had an imaginary friend and I used to think that he went everywhere with me, that I could talk to him and he’d hear me and grant me wishes and stuff. And then I grew up – and I stopped going to church,”

Ouch, Just… ouch. I know that God is rumored to have a great sense of humor, [See: “Design of the Platypus”: “Male Orgasm Face”\ but I can only imagine how he’d respond to such a bitchslap, given the fact that he‘s lauded for being a far more laid-back and forgiving  deity ever since the New Testament came along.Well. Can’t argue with that, even if he is only a myth, constructed out of a need for answering the [at the time)] unfathomable, and maintained out of ignorance and a standing desire to shirk one’s personal responsibility for one’s actions, but I digress for the moment. Yes, you heard that right. He’s not real. Never was. At least not in the way you’ve been taught- sorry, I meant to say “indoctrinated”, but I was trying to be polite. Spoiler alert: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS “GOD”.
I’m terribly sorry, truly I am, to have to be the one who has to tell you the truth, but you’re older now, and it’s time you started using rationality as your mental cornerstone, and not the magical thinking and ineffective prayers of a naïve child. Look… you were fine when you found out about Santa last year, and even I was impressed how well you handled it for a person who’s only in their teens.

I’m sorry… you’re actually in your mid-fifties now? And you still believe in a magical sky-daddy who answers your supplications? Prayer works, you say. Satan is real as well, you also claim. And what’s that? When the “end” comes, those who believe in this Bronze Age fairy-tale, will be magically lifted skyward to lounge eternally in God’s pool-side condo, known far and wide as Heaven, while the rest of us rational people, will remain on Earth to face Tribulation under Satan’s brief time of rule, and after that, Eternal Judgement?

And here I was, thinking that Science, Logic, and Reality, gave me all the answers I required. Silly me.

This is not to say however, that Faith in and of itself, is a bad thing, as I can personally attest to its application as both a shield and a crutch, during some terribly difficult personal challenges that intimates of mine =have faced, but these days? It’s more apt to see it wielded as a sword, to rationalize behavior that literally violates the purest tenets of the convictions these holiest of hypocrites claim to hold so dear.

Essentially, what I tend to believe is that the Word, false as it appears, is meant to unify and inspire, not divide and justify harassment or bigoted exclusion,, despite the fact it was originally designed to control a highly uneducated and superstitious populace, who demanded answers from those who quite honestly, did not have the ability or the prerogative to provide them. But that was then, this is now, and we no longer have a need for encouraging an unhealthy state of delusion.

But, you should probably keep in mind, I say this as a 52-year-old man, who still believes that one day, he’ll be a voice in a PIXAR cartoon, and will hopefully find himself trapped in an elevator for a few hours with this lady:

And no… I’m really not interested in hearing what Reality, the restraining  orders, and her still in good health husband have to say about it either, as it’s bad enough I have to talk about it in my weekly court-mandated therapy group. Stupid legal system. Always getting in the way pf what would be a fabulous friendship for the ages. But on the upside, her attorneys seem very nice, so that’s a plus, if you’re inclined to make lemon meringue out of lemons, that is.

However, the topic of the day is centered on the religious and the hypocritical alike, and fortunately for me, both of these attributes are merged as one within the people I’ll be metaphorically shredding into Bantha fodder, in this, the latest of my screeds that highlight my ever so cynical perspective regarding the world entire. If there is a silver lining within this Golden Calf to be discovered, it’s that whenever I think I’m out of story ideas, the fantastical and imaginary deity of all creation, in his grace, always decides to drop off a gift box at the Lair of Snarkiitude, and I’m off to the races, yet again.

So, you ask, who finds themselves looking up at the freshly sharpened blade of my internet guillotine today? Well, because I like to shake it up every now and then, I’m going to take a diverging path from the story-arc pf the last two Blogvellas, to which, I will return at the soonest opportunity, and reintroduce a few old favorites, along with a self-declared “Man of God”, who in my opinion, may not possess feet made of clay, but I cannot say the same about his alleged faith.

Then again, maybe it’s perfectly normal these days to pimp Jesus and his misinterpreted works, as if you’re Dolemite, and I’m just seeing things from the wrong angle. Accordingly, may I present, along with an unexpected cameo or two, my newest acquisitions of, arrogant self-righteousness, Pastor Caleb Cooper of the new Hope revival Church, and making a return visit to these pixelated pages, his most lost of lambs, Ruth Darlene Seawolf!

As just notated, Ruth is no stranger to the Snarklands, but Pastor Caleb? Literally, just stepped off the boat, and the plates of Christian crow he and Ruth are about to be force-fed aren’t going to sit well with either of them, if truth be told. And what pray tell, is the “Truth” anyway? Well, the definition of Truth is set as: “the body of real things, events, and facts: actuality”, or for those who appreciate irony, given the very nature of what is at best a ludicrous belief system; “transcendent fundamental or spiritual reality”, which never fails to make me giggle, no matter how many times I hear it.

If my mentioning Ruth fails to ring any bells for both new and old readers alike, I recommend that you reacquaint yourself by going here; https://waynemichaelreich.com/hatertriot-lames-pt-2-razz-the-ruth/ and after that interlude of insanity, jump right back in with the rest of us. Don’t worry. We’ll wait.

(plays a few games of “Tetris” on phone, has brief, but intense, debate about the importance of Phillips-head-screws to the Star Wars Universe, and finally caves in and orders 1983’s “Ice Pirates” starring seminal TV actor Robert Urich, off of Amazon Prime for later viewing.)

Up to speed? Awesome. So, let’s get going again, shall we? To start, I’d like to voice and then bolster my opinion, that when it comes to practicing disingenuousness, these two are preeminently, the Deacon and Disciple of the art Ruth, as you now know from your reading assignment, believes not only in the End of Days and the definitive option of Saran’s rule over Earth, but seemingly, every alleged conspiracy theory involving politics, culture, and of course, the ongoing COVID pandemic, all served up with an overflowing side-dish of Christian cray-cray.

From an outsider’s POV, she comes off as the end result of what would happen if Newsmax f**ked Alex Jones, and then abandoned the newborn baby, just outside of Kelly Ann Conway’s home meth lab. This is naturally, an obviously absurd statement, designed for the purpose of provoking a humorous reaction, but I’m sad to say, that I can’t say the same for this: I think it’s very important that we all take a moment  of pause, to ruminate over the fact that this pile of dumb-f**ked DNA, is not only allowed to drive a car, handle stabby pointy things, use a toaster unsupervised, and vote, but was also permitted to be spawned as well, which not only makes me weep for the failure of the condoms that could have prevented her birth, but raises the contemplative entertainment value of what might happen if you put her into a round room, right after telling her to go find a corner.

I don’t think that I have ever said this about any person, albeit they be living or dead, but given all that I’ve compiled since my last exploration of her public inanity, I do think the odds are better than average however, that one day, she’ll be the only person on Earth whose house will have to be outfitted with mandated bubble wrap, in order to keep her from injuring herself. I’ll even go one step further, and say unequivocally, that not only has Ruth never read her personal copy of the Bible, but it’s in such pristine condition, that if and when she ever does dare open its cover, its binding is gonna crack open, as if it were a virgin from Utah.

But when it comes to her poseur Pastor Caleb Cooper, on the other hand? Well, if he chooses at a salad bar with the same discerning eye that he cherry-picks the Word, I can guarantee you, that this man has never once eaten a brown piece of lettuce by accident in his entire life. Sure, most look to the Bible for either inspiration or direction, buy in my estimation, this real-life *Reverend Shaw Moose, ostensibly views it as if it were no more than the celestial marketing version of “Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds” by Charles Mackay. *[The anti-fun preacher from “Footloose”]

However, considering that one of the most relevant quotes from the book is as follows; “We find that whole communities suddenly fix their minds upon one object, and go mad in its pursuit; that millions of people become simultaneously impressed with one delusion, and run after it, till their attention is caught by some new folly more captivating than the first”, he might just be on to something, if my opinion manages to hold the water of its alleged truth.

What do I base my cynicism in, you query? Why, good ol’ social media, of course, what else? After all, If I have to offer my snark up for public dissertation regarding Ruth, it seems only fair that her Christian Obi-Wan gets the same critical drubbing as well. Now, if one were to examine the Facebook accounts of both Ruth and Poseur Caleb, [yeah, I said it] one would see two very different takes on what the Word represents to each of them.

For instance, here’s Ruth’s Facebook banner photo:

Granted, while this woman does tend to fire off rounds of debunked conspiracy theories and unhinged prophecies as if she were a human Gatling gun whose lubricating oil is mostly comprised of lunacy, at least this message is, at its core, quite lovely: “Jesus loves you”, and who among us, can’t appreciate that? Well, people whose brains still work as nature intended, along with those that Jesus and his absentee dad would consign to Hell for not believing in Him maybe, but other than that, nobody, that’s who.

But Poseur Caleb? All I can say is that this man is a true maverick. A lone wolf, His own man, if I may be so bold. This last observation that I’ve made, rings even more true, when this self-styled spiritual shepherd rather than post an inspirational quote from the book he exploits, or a snippet of a sermon stimulated by the same, blazes his own path, and chooses instead, to display this most divine outreach:

Ah, yes- the purest distillation of WWJD, is it not?  And I don’t mean to infer the maxim, “What Would Jesus Do”, as the popular bracelets like to say, but opt for the more accurate “What Would Jesus Distribute?”, instead, as its seemingly the message that Caleb is more focused on. In fact, if one peruses his FB page, they’ll notice that he throws more pitches for his self-published products, than the late, if not great, spokesperson Billy Mays ever did, and he was literally coked out pf his head and on television, 24/7.

Podcasts. Sermons. Ideological post-it notes masquerading as books by other as-talented “authors”, and in a display of sheer Chutzpah that even I can admire, there’s also repeated pitches for this must-have item for today’s intellectually challenged Christian warrior, as well:

Man, I know you always hope that the sequel to the runaway smash hit is going to be as good as the original, but this one sounds like it’s going to be absolutely lit. I mean. It literally has it all- unexpected guest cameos, in-depth character studies, and let’s not forget the awesome title, which let’s face it, is really where most of the marketing money goes, whatnot with the toys, t-shirts, and merchandising tie-ins these days.

And if they can only get Hillsong United to do the accompanying soundtrack, that sucker is gonna go platinum, guaranteed. Failing that, I’ve heard that Stryper have lots of free time on their hands lately, and they’d probably be more than happy to break out their old spandex as well, so just keep that in mind, Caleb.  Just don’t make the mistake of casting a blue-eyed blonde to play Jesus this time around again, as we’re all kind of sick of that by now.

Honestly, and if I had my druthers, I’d switch it up a bit, and cast Angela Basset, instead. Why? Because not only can that sister act her ass off, it would be hilarious to watch these so-called all-loving disciples of Jesus, complain about Hollywood’s literally unorthodox choice, while claiming it isn’t because of her race or gender, which is why they always cast a WASP dude in the role, rather than someone who’s of actual Hebrew descent, or at the very least, distinctly non-beige,

Nevertheless, you may be wondering as to why given my past (and current) criticism of Ruth’s infliction of her thinner than onion skin faith upon others, I would bother to add her poseur pastor to the mix, and the answer is crystalline- a single misguided simpleton can do enough damage on its own, but the marching orders to do so obviously come from above, so that’s where the cauterization of the idiocy has to start, otherwise, the campaign to effect changes for the better, will tabulate as no more than a zero sum at best.

Besides that point, I also find our preaching poseur well… absolutely fascinating, to say the very least. I’ve always been intrigued, if not appallingly impressed, by the sheer amount of cheek required to brazenly sell an invisible, yet supposedly necessary product in tandem with a corresponding lifestyle, that if it fails to work, the blame for such is solely on the shoulders of the person who bought it hook, line, and sinker.

If I could only find a way to set aside my ethics and brainwash the gullible populace at large, using only a fairy tale that others wrote to fund my lifestyle, not only would I have an island made from Ding Dongs, I’m pretty confident that I’d wrap myself in a cloak of sanctimonious piousness as well, to avoid the focused scrutiny of others. As a writer who sometimes receives some serious flak for expressing his opinions, I’ve always been somewhat envious that if you claim to be a person of faith, you tend to get a free pass in regards to the same.

It’s been my observation, that the one truly underrated aspect of being a religious hypocrite, is that when your pretense eventually gets exposed for the sham that it is, you can always yell “serving my God is my only offense”, and you’ll be socially absolved of all guilt. How convenient an escape clause that must be,

Here’s my take. If I can’t be exonerated of a definitive crime in the setting of an American courtroom using only the dual excuses of either “the Devil made me do it”, or even better, “Gpd forgives me”, then the social construct of both, with hands down and no question about it, is sheer unadulterated bulls**t.

To be sure, while Ruth actively promotes her hilariously misinterpreted tenets of a truly fecal-filled Faith,  she’s not solely responsible for the societal carnage such actions incur, for as much as I’d like to assign blame to a singular being, it would be both far too simplistic and arrogant for me to do so, regarding the particular situation I’ve been observing for the last year or so.

When you practice your Faith, you do what your heart tells you, despite getting it wrong every now and then, hence the reason why it’s openly noted as “practicing”, and not as “nailing it”. When you “follow” your religion on the other hand, you just simply do what you’re told, and you don’t ask any questions. If you’re allowed to, that is, and generally… you’re not, as free-thinking is quite damaging to ideologues, and all that.

Faith, in its purest distillation, ideally creates a better society, but Religion? It’s the impetus that makes its “followers” fly commercial airliners into f**king skyscrapers.

But as usual, I’m getting ahead of myself, so let me construct some necessary background context first, as to just who Poseur Caleb Cooper is, and what the breadth of his religious convictions are. Key word here being “breadth”, because man oh man, the asinine fruit doesn’t fall far from the seemingly fearmongering hedge. Nonetheless, before I take my metaphorical shears to that putrid of privets, let’s start with the House that “God” guilt, and Poseur Caleb gilds, pun definitely intended.

Looking at Cooper’s main website, calebcooperministries.com two things are readily apparent: one, Cooper really thinks highly of himself and his “education”, and two, subtle marketing is obviously not a personal career niche he’s ever been interested in exploring. First, let’s address the glorification of the self, which as we all know from John 5:31, which states: “If I alone bear witness about myself, my testimony is not deemed true”, is one of those character flaws concerning humility that God really enjoys.

“Caleb Cooper is a firebrand revivalist that operates in the Apostolic and Prophetic, believing God to change atmospheres and transform regions with revival and awakening. He ministers out of a heart that believes we are the generation that will see the coming of the Lord. Caleb Cooper received his Doctorate Degree in Biblical Studies from FountainGate School of Revival in Mesa, Arizona and has served as a Senior Pastor for over a decade. Caleb Cooper currently Pastors New Hope Revival Church in Truth Or Consequences, NM.’

I do find it somewhat ironic however, that he works out of Truth “or” Consequences, as I have serious reservations he even knows what the Truth is, given his odious oratory slithering outward as spiritual soliloquies, and as I shall reveal later on, his penchant for doing so, fuels a perspective that he feels should shield him from having to face Consequences for actions so legally and socially asinine, that even the demon Asmodeus wouldn’t want to be seen in public with him, and that guy is upper management.

Other than the errant capitalization of where he primarily pastors, that being the word “or”, I also appreciate that directly below his sugar-puffed resume, and without any (or future) praise for the Lord’s works, message, or edicts, there’s a link to pitch his books. Such brass reminds me of the warning within Proverbs 16:5, which says that, “Everyone who is arrogant in heart is an abomination to the Lord; be assured, he will not go unpunished.”

But I’m sure none of this would apply to a man who after his blowing his own Exalted Horn, posts this:

And then, now that he’s properly warmed up as it were, hits one deep to alt-right field;

Running towards the home collection plate, he presents this pathetic plea for subscription shekels;

And closes off his capitalistic beseeching with a financial fleecing flourish, just to be sure that we all know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he is indeed, truly a man of God:

Granted, this “God” he fails to represent accurately, seems to be no more than the end product of a ministry of mammon, but I’m sure that’s just my cynicism talking as usual, am I right? Strange how Jesus and his dad never needed a literary agent or subscription fees to promote their message, but I guess the price of Last Suppers has gone up over the last few centuries, so maybe I should cut Caleb some slack, as also finding twelve guys to praise you 24/7, has also got to be bloody expensive as all get out, to boot.

Weird that Jesus worked for free, but Caleb can’t, huh? Sure, Jesus could turn water into wine, but it’s not like he could turn hummus into a consistent rent payment, so maybe, Caleb’s blatant cash-grab does make some sort of limited sense, after all.

Or, and just hear me out, maybe it doesn’t, given the edict of Philippians 2:1-10; “So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus.”

But at the End of Days, what could I, a recovering Catholic, possibly know? After all, I only paid attention when I was in Sunday school, because I thought at the time, it’d be awesome to have a deity in my pocket that could grant me my wish of owning the full line of Star Wars toys made by Kenner, which when f places side by side with what Poseur Caleb preaches, seems almost adorably naïve, by comparison.

For those unfamiliar with the schools of theology that is the Apostolic-Prophetic movement, I’ll do my best to give you the clearest insights into what each represents. To note, the AP Movement believes that they, as a whole, are restoring elements of what they call the Five-Fold Ministry, traditionally represented using the sigil of a hand, which in of itself, symbolically characterizes the supposed ministry that God set up within the church.

Each metaphorical element of the “hand” serves as its own singular representation, while still maintaining the integrity of the core belief, which is required to anchor the movement’s analogical belief system, as is noted:

1. The Thumb represents the Apostle: The thumb touches all others and it enables us to grip.
2. The Forefinger represents the Prophet: It points
3. The Middle finger represents the Evangelist: it is the furthest reaching finger
4. The Ring finger represents the Pastor: married to the sheep he is always with them
5. The Pinky represents the Teacher: this finger is the one that gives balance to the hand

While the roots of movement are based within the Pentecostal and Third-Wave construct, an interesting (if not incredulous) founding aspect of this theological twaddle, is the inclusion of Divine Prophecy as a serious point of dissertation.  You know… “Signs from God”, “End of Days”, “The Final Judgement”, and all that mumbo-jumbo? Never mind the fact that Matthew 25:13 clearly states that; “So you, too, must keep watch! For you do not know the day or hour of my return.”

In a nutshell, that means nobody, including Jesus himself, has any f**k8ng clue as to when God has decided to launch his comeback tour, and that’s the gospel truth, and here’s the kicker: IT LITERALLY SAYS SO IN THEIR OWN HANDBOOK, AND THEY SOMEHOW MISSED THIS SORT OF IMPORTANT POINT OF ORDER. But to be fair, the Bible is a fairly dense book, and as it lacks memes, we can’t possibly expect these cafeteria Christians to get the subtleties of its inherent message, can we now?

The accepted definition of prophecy is noted as: “the function or vocation of a prophet specifically: the inspired declaration of divine will and purpose.” When applied to the real world however, what it actually means is that we all collectively, now have one more person to avoid making eye contact with as we walk down the street. Lest they entrap us in an unwanted conversation regarding the imaginary concept of alleged divine will.

Poseur Caleb self-describes himself as a “firebrand”, which my late Oma once distinguished to me wryly as “the most diplomatic way to call someone a jackass, without using the actual word.” Speaking as someone who’s been tagged with that description more than once, even I will admit, albeit grudgingly, that this descriptive is more apt than not, especially where this talking-snake-oil salesman is concerned.

Nevertheless, when I tend to engage in acts of what my detractors would freely call unadulterated jackassery, I try to do so armed with the facts required to win the battle, if not the war itself, ethically and definitively. And as we will come to see, when you dissect what he claims to believe and purport, it’s no wonder that Ruth, as one of his dimwitted disciples, is seemingly incapable of separating the fibrous ball of inanity into the strands of reality that she so desperately needs to knit herself a working intellect.

But before I get back to that particular alleged Fruit of the Loon, let’s enjoy some rational public discourse from the guy who runs the orchard in which she vegetates:  
Ah yes… there’s no better person on earth to demand that he have the right to tell strangers what to do with their own body than a uterus-lacking man who will never be forced into having to weigh the unending ramifications of making the most difficult of all choices, am I right? Especially when he manages to bring in the Church of Satan and our current female governor Michelle Lujan Grisham, as life-stealing boogeymen of convenience.

When you consider that these alleged pro-life warriors so-called, are also the very same persons who fight against funding open access to birth control, protest sexual education classes in schools and send mobs to stand outside against Planned Parenthood as if they had taken Jesus hostage, and were holding him captive in their basement, the hypocrisy within their message is quite clear. They don’t care about saving lives, so much as the worry about not being able to control the ones that belong to women.

And if you doubt the veracity of that last statement, just ask yourself how many times you’ve seen these fetus-fellating f**kheads publicly harass or even attempt to intimidate, sexually active me. Anywhere. At any point. For any quantifiable length of time. Go ahead… I’ll be more than happy to wait. And while you’re doing that, I’ll be over here, trying to figure out when exactly, a prophet whose sermons preached tolerance, charity, brotherhood, magnanimity, and peace, mutated into a pro-war, pro-gun, greed-supporting, hater of immigrants, and by default, an icon of the current GQP.

What I’m referring to here, is the strange dichotomy of claiming that Jesus is your homeboy, yet you still feel the need to strap on a Smith & Wesson to serve as your substitute penii when you leave your suburban bunker to go grab fuel for your tiki-torch and a large pumpkin-spice latte, for “protection”. I can only speak for myself, but if I had an all-powerful, all-knowing deity in the BFF position, I’d constantly be making grilled cheese sandwiches and Flaming Sambucas…

…while sitting in the middle of the campfire.

Why is it, that those who claim to serve with distinction n God’s army, seemingly have no faith in his authority and powers when the Jello shots hit the fan? Case in point, this ever so subtle allusion to both transphobia and personal paranoia, all from a supposed pastor who apparently feels God’s divine protection only works on every other Sunday:

Reading this, you might hope that with the number of holes that are already in Caleb’s relatively empty head, that being the celestial number of 7, one of them in theory, would allow some actual intellect in, if only in an attempt for it to take advantage pf all the open space that’s available to it rent-free, and virtually untouched. However, it once again highlights a quirk of character I’ve commented on before- why are Conservatives so obsessed with other people’s lifestyles, personally applied labels, and sex lives, far more than they are in regards to their own?

I’m not entirely sure why, but genitalia-related references pour out of conservative’s mouths these days, almost as fast as conspiracy theories set up shop in their rapidly withering brains, and it’s dually hilarious, as well as puzzling as to why they so consistently feel the need to do so. Even when supposedly talking in a recent sermon about God’s alleged Glory, Caleb uttered the following phrase, and I am literally, quite apprehensive that I’ll ever be able to top it, much less get it out of my head:

“I AM NOT GOING TO BE WORRIED ABOUT THE UNCIRCUMCISED PHILISTINE WHO WANTS TO DEFY THE ARMIES OF THE LIVING GOD!”

Over the years, I’ve written a lot of jokes. Tons, in fact. But as this statement of personal fortitude was delivered in a SERMON no less, I find myself seriously reconsidering my life choices, and giving solemn pause to the idea that I should follow my long-quashed dream about becoming the lead singer for a Stryper cover band.

(Admit it… you know I could totally rock this look.)

As I’ve said oft-times before, and most likely will again in the future to come, I’m sure that there’s nothing to unpack there, given all the phallic symbolism that these people so desperately cling to, very much in the same way that Madonna death-grips her rapidly fading youth, and cultural relevance.

To his credit, our profiteering pastor is in the best of form when it comes to navigating the overly complicated world of finance, save for the minor fact that when it comes to applying a spiritual strategy to the arena of investment based in the celestial, he does so as if he were a drunken ball inside a Plinko game. And one that’s most assuredly, has been crudely stripped of its crucial inner mechanics.

“After we send your debt to our mythical Lord and celestial bookkeeper, via a thick choking cloud of potentially polluting and toxic smoke, we’re going to all go sit in the room where we seriously discuss the magical boat from the Middle East, that was filled with all of God’s creatures.

This of course, included penguins who, after walking and swimming from Antarctica, somehow, found a ship that was landlocked smack dab square in the middle of a freaking desert. And after that, we’ll address the subject of managing one’s personal finances, like clear-headed adults.”

I hate to be the one that has to point this out to you, salad brain, but burning a paper bill, does not, in fact, erase the original debt it represents. And if I were to be a bit snide, I don’t think a deity that always pleads poverty every Sunday, is gonna be the one that pours metaphorical gold back into thy coffers… just saying. But let’s not worry about that, because our resident Chaplain of Capitalism here, has in inside track on the hottest yet not even remotely newest, monetary venture, the “Kingdom Economy”!.
Sorry, Boys and Girls, but in order for you to make money, God is gonna have to ask you for a cut off the top first. However, you know he’ll pay you back, post haste. With interest, Pinky swear. That’s why it says “In God we Trust” on our currency, because Jesus is all about making it rain.

Just ask all those moneylenders in the Temple… I’m sure they’ll vouch for him in a heartbeat.
Also keep in mind, that sure, you may be the one going to work every day and doing all the heavy lifting, but in the end, it’s really God who deserves the credit for your labors. And as long as you remember to put God’s 401K ahead of your own, he might even grant you the privilege to keep doing doing so, until you drop dead on your 20-minute lunch break. What a guy.
“You will lack Nothing”, says the poseur Pastor whose lifestyle is supported solely by his doubling as customers spiritual flock, and who instructed them to put God first before themselves, but I’m sure that’s just a case of awkward semantics, at worst. But then again, I also still hold out hope that my parents are going to come back to that mall where they dropped me off that one fine summer day, 45 years ago.

Obviously, buying cigarettes and returning to get me, posed a far greater challenge than either one realized at the time, which I’m quite certain, must have happened a lot during the seventies. I don’t know how Caleb gets his in-fleecing mode flock to believe this bunkum, but it’s also fair to say that it’s not like he’s been liquidating his *Flavor-Aid stock so that he can open up a satellite branch in Guyana, either… yet.

*[Despite the Urban legend, it was cyanide-laced Flavor-Aid that the victims at Jonestown drank, which to this day must make the PR team at Kool-Ade, madder than hell,]

I could, if I was truly feeling my Honey-Nut Cheerios in regards to this self-serving call for “seed sowing”, by citing Matthew 19: 21 which notates that; “Jesus said unto him, If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come and follow me”. but I’m almost certain that our religious capitalist had to have taken it into consideration before he crafted these monetary morsels of wisdom.

However, all clearly obvious jokes aside, let it never be said that Caleb is a one-cult-pony, for he’s a man with range. Along with his pandering of the pulpit, his disdain for the still fore-skinned, and his side-hustle as a writer of apocalyptic vision porn, he’s also a modern-day Patriot, cut from the same partisan polyester as other noted White Nationalists, such as Josh Hawley, Matt Gaetz, and America’s greatest champion against the ongoing scourge of Jewish space-lasers, Marjorie Taylor Greene.

I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say “White Nationalists”, so much as I meant to say “Unamerican Tiki-torching twat-burgers”. My sincerest apologies, all around. Damnit. I did it again. The descriptive I should have applied here is “Cravenly Connoisseurs of Fascism”, which I feel, is far more accurate, in light of the abominable amalgamation of faux cultural pride, inner spirituality, and Stalinist totalitarianism

If it turns out they find themselves still needing a grounding image to truly exemplify what ideological constructs the GQP will be presenting for the 2024 campaign, America itself, and for the time beyond, I’d suggest they go with this:Hey, if they’re allowed to endlessly strum the Hyperbole Harp, then we should be allowed the same courtesy too. As to the nationalism descriptive I’ve hurled, I’ll address that in a moment, but first, let’s enjoy some further examples of the misconstrued patriotism that Poseur Caleb hawks as if he were working a street corner in Alphabet City:

I don’t know the exact answer to your question Caleb, but I’d surmise it might be similar to the belief that not getting sick and spreading a virulent pathogen to others, is usually a good thing, but that’s just off the top of my head, which unlike yours, doesn’t come to a point. What nerve these businesses have, asking the general public to willingly assist in their efforts keep their employees, customers, and vendors as safe as possible in the middle of an increasingly resistant pandemic.

Bastards! Bastards all. Thank the stars, that your deity never wasted a moment of his time on the sick.

That’s okay… we in all actuality, never want to see one of your candy-assed temper tantrums ever again either, so I guess there’s common ground to be had, after all. I don’t want to sound condescending, but you really can’t call it a “rally:, when it’s always the same 24 White people who show up replete with their lawn chairs, Chinese-made Trump hats, “Trump 2024” flags, and an actively worsening case of Trump Derangement Syndrome, (AKA:TDS)

This affliction, which causes its sufferers to believe that a traitorous and sexually assaulting adulterer, who lost both the popular vote and the electoral college, was somehow worthy of ever having been this country’s President, can oft be reversed with a steadfast regimen of Reality, Education, and swearing off Right-wing media, but sadly, most of its victims eventually succumb to their own stupidity, and spend the rest of their wretched lives, screaming at the empty sky.

That is, if they haven’t killed themselves attempting to make toast, of course. And when it comes to “Tyranny” Caleb? While it’s nice to see that you can spell it correctly, you sure as heck can’t define it.

Is it just me, or do you also get the feeling that if Caleb has any tattoos, they’re probably all quotes from The Turner Diaries? Where are the Patriot whatevers, he asks?  Well, if past history can be used as a yardstick of any measure, they’re either playing “I’m a Militia” in the woods of Michigan, or more likely, embarrassing themselves and their loved ones in public, as they argue pointlessly as to why they don’t need to wear a mask like everybody else is currently doing without histrionics.

Despite his protections that he can’t find the true patriots, all Caleb has ever had to do to determine their whereabouts, is to look sharply to his extreme Right, and he’ll find them literally “Right” where he left them.  Who are these intimately connected paragons of American Patriotism and Christian values whose support and friendship Caleb treasures so deeply, you ask?

Only the Cowboys for Trump, of course, because there’s no more natural alliance to be made than the one between a New York supposed billionaire who sexually assaults women, and, a group of allegedly racist blue-collar cowboys, who when not threatening politicians with bodily harm, infer the same should be visited upon terrified immigrants, just like the brown-skinned Jew that they claim to worship, would do.

Because as the Good Book tells us, in Shitheadius 10:1; “And the Lord gathered the Morons of the arid Lands replete with green chiles, and bade them to care not for others or themselves, for the sale of books with covers too far apart, must continue unabated, and to be haughty and dance like uncircumcised Philistines, in front of the official scribes who would note their jackassery for the age, with great humor and infinite sadness.”  

For if there’s one demographic that the Son of God would willingly ally himself with, it would most definitely, be a group of seemingly bigoted Cowboys who’d allegedly bone a steer, long before they’d ever brand it. Assembling as a whole at a New Mexican church in May of this year, this pathetic hissy-fit masquerading as a PR stunt, was in defiance of an executive order declared by New Mexico’s Governor Michele Lujan Grisham, that church services could only have a 25-percent capacity gathered in adoration.

In light of their action, these two forces of Southwestern flatulence, unwittingly offered up yet another take on WWJD, by asking the (as of yet) unanswered question of, “Who Would Jesus Deport?”. And as I’ve inferred throughout this screed, there’s no better way to back up your POV, quite like citing a Bronze Age book of fairy tales, in lieu of an actual counter-argument using empirical evidence.

Revelation 12:11; “And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony; and they loved not their lives unto the death.” Remember my earlier joke that Poseur Caleb was going to open a satellite location in Guyana? Good. Because I seriously think he just added a Flavor-Ade water slide, log ride, and vending machines, to the projected layout.

Seriously, what in the actual f**k is wrong with this person? The concept of a Death cult is not new by any stretch, but mythical Jesus F**king Christ, there hardly seems an existent need for such nowadays, notwithstanding the possible release of a new Highlander movie in the future, for lack of a better example. One question arises however- if these pious pinheads truly don’t fear Death, for heaven awaits, then why are they seemingly afraid of everything else on Earth that doesn’t neatly jibe with their fairy tale ideology?

As I’ve stated previously; “if I had an all-powerful, all-knowing deity in the BFF position, I’d constantly be making grilled cheese sandwiches and Flaming Sambucas, while sitting in the middle of the campfire..” I am however, not going to accept whatever final sacrament Caleb might offer me, though. It’s not that I fear cyanide. It’s more that I find Flavor’s version of fruit punch to be far too sweet. In retrospect, lacing it with cyanide might actually take that sickly edge off of it, so there’s the upside,First things first, you constitutional cuckold. The Separation 0\f Church and State is in itself, not a “lie”, unless of course, you’re measuring it against your fever-dream of a fully theocratic United States, which I’m happy to say, is never gonna f**king happen. EVER. Why, you cry? Because of the Establishment and Free Exercise Clauses, I gleefully retort.

As noted within the First Amendment to the United States Constitution, it simply states that: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.” In layman’s terms, this means that you can practice your religion openly, regardless of which one it is that you’ve chosen, and without having to fear any form of unreasonable consequence, for doing so.

It also means that despite the claims of cafeteria Christians across this great nation, THERE IS NO “OFFICIAL” RELIGION THAT REPRESENTS THE UNITED STATES, so y’all can go suck a duck, with whatever technique you wish, although I’m morally obligated to inform you that engaging in such an act, consensual or not, might be illegal in most principalities as a rule of thumb. Therefore, I’d also strongly recommend that you at least undertake some diligent research, before you decide to get amorous with any random mallard.

Consequently, the only ‘lie’ being told here, is the one that faux Christian patriots tell themselves every night as they say there’s no such separation, and the one Caleb tells himself, as he shirks responsibility for his role in disseminating the recognized falsehood of such.

But it’s not all bad news for the overly sanctimonious among us, for you’re an established church or a member of the clergy thereof, and possess eve a small measure of promotional savvy, you can in theory, use your tax-free gilded shelter to build your particular brand of liturgical ludicrousness into either a long-term career fleecing the gullible, or perhaps, even into a collection of notably wretched wet-dreams, centered on the machinations of a sociopathic and wholly imaginary deity, who grants wishes and celestial lottery tickets to his followers, but only on the condition that he can do so, mysteriously.

Concerning the cease and desist letter that Poseur Caleb received from NM’s “Tyrannical” governor, it all comes back to Cooper’s unfounded, unintelligent, and unconceivable, anti-masking stance, based on his misapprehension of that old’ adage “WWJD”: which, when placed in the arrogant hands of Poseur Caleb, mutates into  “Whom Would Jesus Doom” instead, as evidenced by the screenshot below:An inconvenient observation, to lighten the mood. Despite the scads of local, national, and intercontinental media and health agency reports of Clergy and their citizen charges dying of COVID, the dumbf**ks of divination, such as Caleb here, still fall back on the proven to be false bullspit of “God will protect me”, regardless of what all the empirical evidence says in opposition.

That is, when he’s not posting fatally sociopathic, and mentally harmful reassurance like this:  

For the record, Matthew 5:10 says absolutely nothing about death, and even far less about the accepted definition of true tyranny, nothing that; “Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”  And while the two concepts can share some commonalities, they are defined individually as such: TYRANNY: “a government in which absolute power is vested in a single ruler”, versus PERSECUTION: “the act or practice of persecuting especially those who differ in origin, religion, or social outlook.”

That last portrayal ironically enough, does dovetail neatly with your belligerent religion’s habit of attacking non-Christian faiths, the LGBTQ community, social protestors, and atheists, but I’ll digests for now, as there’s no reason to keep beating a dead horse. However, our first definitive only becomes less apt to Caleb’s complaint, when one remembers how Trumpists, such as himself, slavishly lauded Donald Trump when he was President, as the supreme authority over all matters, whether they’d be militaristic, economic, societal, religious, ethical, or as he so disastrously demonstrated, medically relevant.

And as for his quote from the Big Book of Bronze Age Balderdash?

All I can say in retort is this: you’re not being “persecuted” because you’re a Christian [so-called] Pastor asserting a position against an illegal governmental overreach, faux as that opinion is, you’re being held accountable for breaking the established law of the land, for no other reason than to hawk your menial ministry, and its product line of badly-written fan-fiction-themed mash notes to a God you don’t represent, or more importantly, honor.

And once again, if you are a believer, and you “no longer fears death and persecution”, then why are you whining like a candy-assed bitch about being subject to getting served with a C and D? Thou doth protest too much, methinks. Then again, I can only imagine how hard it must be to earn your 13 pieces of silver, especially when the rules you reserve for others, are found to equally apply to you as well. And in answer to your query of “ARE YOU NOT READY TO MEET JESUS?”, I can only respond with the riposte that if you and I have to both sit at the same table making small talk, I’d rather go to Hell.

Besides, it isn’t like you’re not going to eventually show up there someday anyway, so I might as well cut out the middleman messiah, if only to free up his ever so busy schedule of appearing in clouds and tortillas.

Speaking of keeping up appearances, I became immensely curious about Caleb’s Biblical education, especially when during the course of my research for this creed, that FountainGate School of Revival, the seminary where he acquired his Doctorate Degree in Biblical Studies, along with not even being listed among the top 50 theological schools in the United Sates, doesn’t even have a physical campus at all, as its course of studies are exclusively online.

At first appraisal, this might give its degrees of completion a cachet more akin to the honorary ones bestowed upon celebrities, allowing for far less bragging rights than those accredited by actually respected spiritual institutions, such as Wheaton College or Pepperdine University, but I refuse to split wigs until I get to know who they are, and what they’re all about.

Seems only fair, right? After all, I definitely don’t wat to come off as an uncircumcised Philistine, not that Caleb and crew aren’t even remotely scared by those, half as much as they are by facts. And I assure you, there’s no foreskin shadowing involved, in regards to any of this:

From the FountainGate School of Revival website, a brief description of who and what they be: FGSOR, a TransWorld Accrediting Commission accredited Bible College offers Associate of Arts (AA), Bachelor of Arts (BA), and Master of Arts (MA) degree programs in Biblical Studies and Missions with emphasis in the following areas:

• Biblical Studies
• History of Revival and Revivalists
• Components of Revival
• Revival Now Activation
• Developing Your Spirit-Filled Gifts
• Ministry Experience / Evangelism
• Prophetic Impartation / International Missions

Overlooking the exclusion of necessary commas, this reads like standard for profit school boilerplate, does it not? Sure, it does. That is, until you read the rest of what they stand for. And as I don’t want to be accused of selective editing, here’s the proof, straight from the hollowed [pun intended] virtual halls of what Trump University could have been, if its creators had only known how to promote the imaginary Apocalypse, instead of the imaginary genius of a failed reality TV show host.

Translation: “We’re currently in the process of warping the reality of still-developing minds in order to continue the cycle of societal carnage that organized religion inflicts upon the world, as a means to make Society at large, less like Utopia, and more like Gilead.”.

Translation: “Through the application of Bronze-Age fairy tales, cherry-pocked conclusions, and a steady immersion in a pond unfounded doomsaying, we will train you to go forth, traveling securely with a sales pitch so ludicrously insane that only the late L. Ron Hubbard could ever challenge it, as you f**k up both multiple communities, and their formerly rational denizens, across the globe.”
Translation: “Those who once laughed at us, will be laughing no longer, once we get in charge. Count on it. But don’t worry- we’re only going to try and legally [of course] persecute the LCBTQ community, their allies, atheists, humanists, scientists, free-thinkers, non-Christians or those Christians that don’t fit our definition of what “a true Christian” is, as well as women who want body autonomy or express opinions, and those pesky outlanders from other countries, if they don’t renounce their heathen ways.”

Even better, at least whereas my darkly twisted sense of humor is concerned, is the fact that since they don’t have an actual campus, they were forced to use stock photography in order to depict their so-called “students”. What’s next to discover, finding out that their IT guy website designer, and office coffee gopher are all the same person, you know… the nephew who works for free, and is still attending high school?

And here we are, worried about the Taliban and border security, when these nutbar Nazarenes are running around, completely unsupervised? I don’t mean to be disparaging, truly I don’t, but given the lack of intellectual gravitas I’ve seen displayed by Caleb, why do I get the feeling that if this “school” ever did manage to establish a physical campus, the only requirements to enter would be based on no more than an ability to open the front door, and have your personal check clear?

Nevertheless, while Caleb’s spiritual coffers may be skipping along smoothly, its fairly obvious that his academic ones are severely overdrawn at best, especially where engaging in research regarding the current pandemic is concerned. I mean it’s one thing to believe that God will “protect” you, despite all evidence to the contrary, but to willingly ignore the fact that a good chunk of those who’ve already died from COVID had to be as equally religious, and yet still wound up as casket citizenry, should at least, you’d think, cause him to engage in a moment of inner reflection. 

I don’t know. Maybe he’s waiting for a sign or something even more subtle, if not openly mysterious for instance. Like when a team of ICU doctors are forced to shove respirator tubes down his kids’ throats, due to his being bereft of common sense. For my part, I hope that this never happens, but if did come to pass that some member of his family had to be afflicted, and he was the only one that got sick, I’d love to see if he would indeed, fall back on his Faith as he’s been claiming or if he would show up at his local Emergency room, begging for the assistance that he supposedly thinks God will provide.

Either way it plays out, the Schadenfreude would be epic, if not worth the wait

Nevertheless, since God still works in mysterious ways, we can really do nothing, save to sit on our sanitized hands and wait, so while we do, let’s enjoy yet another slice of nattering-iced nut-cake, and let the crumbs fall where they may:So much faux badassery within this totally believable declaration, is there not? First, since almost all of NM is under some form of mandate, there’s very few (if any) places where you can go maskless without reproach. Second, NO ONE IS THREATENING TO POKE YOUR FAMILY WITH A NEEDLE AGAINST THEIR WILL, YOU CONSPIRACY-CHUGGING CHOAD. And third, try looking on the upside. If “they” do close your church, think of all the time you’ll now have to write yet another self-published tome targeting the gullible among your flock, who, unlike us, actually believe its literature, and not a coaster in disguise.

Regarding he edict of Ephesians 6:13; “Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand”, that might work when you’re facing an emissary of Evil hat’s wholly imaginary, but it doesn’t do f**k-all, when it comes to infectious disease. Any other questions before we enter this next wave of the Global Storm, you asked? I do have one, at least. But since it involves settling my curiosity as to whether or not you played astronaut as a child using a bread bag tied tightly around your head sans air holes, I’ll save if for another time.Say what you will about our poseur pastor here, and I encourage you to do so, but he could teach a group of three-year-old’s a thing or two about throwing a pissy-hissy-fit, and I mean that as a compliment. Once again, you dumbass of deceitful divination, NO ONE IS THREATENING TO POKE YOU, OR ANYONE ELSE FOR THAT MATTER, WITH A NEEDLE AGAINST THEIR WILL.

The only thing anyone might be interested in sticking you or your Stockholm syndrome afflicted family with, would be a copy of a science book, or come to think of it, any book that unlike the one you use to rationalize your ignorance, doesn’t require you to have the intellect of a four-year-old to believe what’s contained within it.

Look, I understand. I really do. It’s difficult to sell your particularly unappetizing brand of Apocalypse anchovies without the ability to paint you and your followers as being under some form of constant attack, as provided by your enemies, both real and imagined, but you’re stretching the concept in practice a bit here, even by your standards. Which to be fair, are already set so low, that cockroaches have to limbo, just so they can travel underneath them.

Seriously… where do you get this bullspit from, Caleb? Is the source the alleged voices in that empty melon you call a head, or are you just psychically channeling the thoughts of crazy dead people, who just so happen to be speaking in tongues?

And as a side query, what exactly did you mean when you said “It’s time to take rebuke the devil”/ I assume that there’s an extra and unnecessary “take” in there, due to your getting overexcited at the prospect of sermonizing via meme, as well as thinking that an imaginary construct would even pay attention to you in the first place.

Nonetheless, in the future, do yourself and us, a favor next time before you type out inanity such as this, by taking a few extra minutes in the bathroom and hand-stoking that hell-fire right out of your brain before you decide to go and spray it all over the pixelated page, ok Sparky?

Thanks. You’re a peach.

And by the way, it was always taught to me as a child that God’s judgement was the highest court in the land, but I can understand why it is no longer. It’s gotta be a bitch trying to find a lawyer, when most of the truly experienced ones, are already in Hell, and out of the celestial court’s reach.Has anyone else noticed that the morons who screech the loudest about others needing to “wake up”, are usually the same ones complaining about these they’re ideologically opposed to, being “woke”, as they themselves, sleepwalk through Reality? I’m sure there’s nothing to take away from that. Not only are the mandates well within the boundaries of constitutional law, as I’ve explained in previous screeds, but I’ll also take the position that protecting the populace from an infectious disease, is truly the singular item that’s not to be found in Satan’s wheelhouse, either.

Don’t get me wrong, as he’s no more than a mythical construct and all, but helping humanity really isn’t the niche that he’s become known for. I’m open to the odea that as Evil Incarnate, he could be solely responsible for the Star Wars prequels, every Highlander sequel, and the Kardashians getting a TV show, but throwing us talking monkeys a bone without making us sign a contract written in blood first?

So not his style. But I will float the possibility, given all the adulterers, grifters, homophobes, xenophobes, jingoists, racists, and misogynists that are the baseboards of the current GQP, that conservatives are in for (pardon the pun) one “Hell” of a BBQ when the end days finally do arrive.  It’s going to be an even bigger shock when they discover they’re going to be both the guests of honor, as well as the main course.Two points. The first being that yes, government is a/the problem. Always has been, always will be. That is, until AI takes everything over, and we can finally free ourselves pf ego, bureaucracy, and the aggravation of having to “take a number”, only to be told when it gets called, that we’ve been waiting in the wrong line for 45 minutes. The second point of mine is that I, nor anybody else for that matter, should take any advice concerning constitutional legalities, medical protocol, or social grace, from a guy whose Doctorate in magical unicorn thinking was issued by the Christian equivalent of DeVry University.  

To that end, let’s take a gander at the newest perversion of the Word as a means to get around the necessary mandates, that being the bogus claim of “religious exemption”. It is not for me to say that the concept of religious exemption is in itself bogus, as a refusal to serve in the military could fall under this social provision, but when it comes to masking protocols and social distancing, this is yet another pathetically transparent dodge by a divining demographic that shirks personal accountability in the very same manner that Neo avoids bullets in the Matrix.
What exactly is the accepted definition of religious exemption, and how is it being openly abused in this, the age of pandemic, you wonder? Well, here you go: “the act of exempting, or state of being exempt, due to personally held religious convictions.” In simpler terms, it gives one the right to refuse being part of, or engaging in, any willing course of action that would violate the tenets of one’s strongly-held spiritual beliefs. On the surface, this stance in nobility is laudable, the willingness to hold firm for what you believe to be just, and all that

Dig deeper in regards to some of these people’s claim of conviction however, and you’ll find that the depth of their dignity is thinner than the veneer on an IKEA coffee table. Case in point? Take this op-ed article, written by Pastor Keith Marshall, who uses DIRECTLY QUOTED SCRIPTURE to argue the case as to why the clause of religious exemption does not unswervingly apply to the current COVOD crisis:
Now, as a recap, here we have an ordained Man of God, using edicts dictated straight out of the mouth of the Holy Father himself, which by that alleged fact alone, punch a huge hole in the bullspit boat that these spiritual sociopaths use to float their selfishly justified narrative against the current of Reality. I’m pretty sure I got that part right. In fact, who could possibly get it wrong, considering who the original author of the source material is, and who the writer of the op-ed is known to work for?

Certainly, not a self-decreed Christian, who’s been dyed in the wool of the Lamb, and consistently prone to posting scripture and personal judgments alike, supposedly based upon the same soul owner’s manual the good pastor referenced, am I right?  If course I am. It just stands to reason, that if a chosen warrior of the one true God quotes verbatim from the Word itself, only the most hypocritical and insolent of his children would dare cast disparagement upon it.

Fortunately, outside of our featured Poseur Pastor himself, I can’t imagine anyone else who would do such a thing, and most definitely, they sure as heck, wouldn’t dare to do so in pub…
…sigh… oh hello, Ruth. What brings you back around? Couldn’t handle going five minutes without embarrassing yourself, your family, and least important of all, your invented deity? Let me get this straight, if I may. Despite this minister using THE EXACT SAME WORDS you claim to follow, you’re “glad” that this man whose advocacy for personal spiritual action answers the question of WWJD in its purest distillation, is not your pastor?

Something tells me that both he, and to a lesser extent, the late noted Satanist Anton Szandor LaVey, would breathe a huge sigh of relief upon finding this out. Pastor Marshall, because he wouldn’t see the point in arguing with your misinterpreting and willfully churlish ass, and in the case of LaVey, because as an ardent Satanist, he’d prefer not to hang out with persons as morally rudderless as yourself.

Yeah, you read that right. I called Ruth Darlene Seawolf, Silver City’s answer as to what a Christian cat lady might present look like, “morally rudderless”, and until I manage to craft an even more insulting turn of phrase to adequately describe her, I’ll back it with a bucket of my blood, if necessary. In a blogvella to come, I’ll be more than happy to go into further detail as to why I feel this way, but for now, I’ll just let this slice of sheer hubris referencing the good Pastor’s op-ed, suffice:
By the by, the definition of “woke” applied as a negative, as most conservatives are apt to do, is as follows: “The act of being very pretentious about how much you care about a social issue.”  This slur, is often used without a trace of irony by people of whom it can be easily said, if not proven, stereotypically don’t regard any social issue that doesn’t happen directly to them, as inconsequential, irrespective of whatever the facts to the contrary may be.

You know… things like poverty, lack of job and economic opportunities for minorities, inherent structured racism, homelessness, abject poverty, misogyny, homophobia, wealth inequality, and unequal justice, depending on one’s wealth and social status? So, while this man who’s dedicated his life in servitude to the greater good is “woke”, the deity under whose authoritative morality he does it willingly for, is not?

 I may be going out on a limb here, but logic dictates that the Son of God, who preached Love, Tolerance, Acceptance, Charity, and Brotherhood, may actually be a tad bit more on the woke side than the head shoved completely up your ass contingent, that you and your poseur pastor represent.

Considering that Christianity as a whole, managed to take a dark-skinned Hebrew who was all about the best of Humanity, and mutate him into a pro-war, pro-gun, pro-America, pro-Trump train WASP, is still one of the best reboots ever inflicted upon a work of fiction, and I say this as someone who saw the all-female cast “Ghostbusters”, no less than six times.

Seriously. It’s actually a really good movie, so don’t sell it short, the way that Ruth does her so-called faith on a daily basis. I can’t tell you why, but given all that I’ve observed in regards to her outright hostility towards the World of the Real over the last year or so, especially where the issue of a Supreme Being is concerned, I‘d opine that this might be how she “sells” God to those on the razor’s edge of believing: ,This sole observation of mine aside Ruth, I truly hope that if there ever does come a Day of Judgement, that you and I are next to each other in the queue, because I definitely want the best seat in the house when God gleefully kicks you off his cloud, and straight into the pits of Hell. Granted, I may be arriving there shortly after you, but at least I’ll have a job lined up first.

Regardless of what you and your ignorantly vile ilk born of עֵגֶּל הַזָהָב, [AKA: “ēggel hazāhāv”, AKA: “the Golden calf”] claim to purportedly believe, in my opinion, at best you’re the simplest of liars, and at worst, full-blown sociopaths in training. Here’s the real kicker though, and I hope it gives you some grist for you to mill later on, although if you actually possessed critical thinking skills, you wouldn’t be an adult of advancing age who still accepts a magical zombie as a tangible reality and potential savior.

Just saying.

When it gets right down to the brass nails of crucifixion, claiming a religious exemption for a critically needed public health safety measure, is akin to those self-obsessed pricks who claim that they “need” their pet porcupine to sit next to them on a flight, because it’s an emotional support companion. They’re full pf merde, and quite honestly, so are you. And if it was just you alone, screaming at the sky and affecting no one else, I’d let it be, but it’s not.

Like the COIVID virus itself, your ignorance, your false narratives, and your Christian conspiracy theories infect almost everything it touches, and this last meme I feel, backs up this opinion of mine, for no less than the sheer scope of its asinine audacity:It must be something of a personal luxury to have enough leash to be so consistently wrong, especially when the costs of being so, are borne by others unknown to you. I could easily be slurred for the perception that I’m holding you to my personal standards, but the reality is far worse, for I’m holding you to your own.

Maybe nobody has ever told you this, but God isn’t known for his charity when you deliberately misconstrue his collection of immorality tales to bolster your own personal biases, and in the case of your wolf in lamb’s clothing pastor, to fatten up his Mammon mutual funds. It’s bad enough that he can make bank off what is supposed to be a virtuous message pf hope and salvation, but to know that he uses the cover pf an eth9ically ambiguous tax-shelter to potentially endanger the community at large as well?

Just what the world needs right now- a medical professional who doesn’t believe in [protecting her future patients. Since masks and social distancing “don’t work”, according to you f**king troglodytes, then why bother with following any medical protocol in the first place? Next time you have surgery, let the staff know that proper sterilization is way overrated, and that they can forgo washing their hands and wearing surgical gear as well.

F**k, I can’t wait till the next time I have a medical procedure, and note that  my anesthesiologist is wearing a Motörhead tee-shirt, instead of scrubs. That’s d stunningly unique way to spread the Gospel, let me tell you. Abusing the concept of religious adherence, in order to introduce the denial of established science into a profession tasked with protecting people’s health. Purely insured genius at work

Just think of all the business you’ll be able to send Jesus, by helping unleash a nurse who doesn’t actually believe she should follow the basic fundamentals of her sadly chosen profession- what could possibly go wrong, other than everything?

I can only assume the inherent message to be found within your next sermon: “Sure, Jesus might have clearly stated that you should be your brother’s keeper, but that’s really more of a guideline these days, and besides if you actually did, that might hurt my whole marketing scheme, and rest assured, the Lord that I pimp as if he were Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, sure doesn’t want that.” 

So in closing, we have a pastor who’s cool with saving established in bad faith careers, in order to maintain his growing status as a Prophet of Profit, and tagging along in his wake, a disingenuous disciple, who, when given her repudiation of GOD’S OWN UNARGUABLE EDICTS as something trivial. I’d suggest that for her own sake, if not her pastors, Ruth should probably stock up on an everlasting replenishing supply of Aloe Vera, because its assuredly cooing to be an absolute necessity where she and her alleged partner in spiritual slime, are going to be wantonly witnessing for eternity.

That is, if Matthew 7:21-23 is even remotely close to being on the money: “”Not everyone that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven. Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name? and in thy name have cast out devils? and in thy name done many wonderful works? And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity.”

Thus endeth the summon of snark, my brothers and sisters. For now.
But when I come back…

I undertake yet another deep dive into a collective quorum of mental midgetry, topped off with a candy-assed-and-not-a-babe-Ruth, discuss some health stuff straight out pf the fevered imagination of H.P. Lovecraft, highlight some behind-the-scenes intrigue, and prepare myself for an upcoming Battle Royale, with persons too intellectually dense to even know what that is.   

“Therefore the Lord said: “Inasmuch as this people draw near Me with their mouth and with their lips do honor Me, but have removed their heart far from Me, and their fear toward Me is taught by the precept of men,” – Isaiah 29:13

 

“Only a blind man could have lived through these last years without seeing what was bearing down upon us; so I made myself blind as I could manage. I wanted to believe the worst was behind me, and I found an easy way to make it so. I simply turned my back on what was coming.” – John Wray

Greetings Bitchiteers!

I hope the day (or night) finds you well as you read this, even if you’re not a devotee of what I write, which I’m sure, could possibly happen from time to time. I guess. However, if you’re part of the small-town cabal that’s been sending ne threats ranging from fisticuffs in the local Walmart parking lot, to suggesting that one day, I will “take two” in the back of my, and I quote “empty f**king head”, then not only do I extend the metaphorical Welcome mat as it were to you all, I’ll also point out that if you’re consistently reading my stuff, you’re not as much a threat or a hater, as you are a fan.

Take a moment, and let that resonate inside you.

Regardless of why you’re here, I’m glad that you are, And if you’re one of the aforementioned emailing cravens, I wish that you find that personal character you obviously misplaced or traded for the chance to be misled by a Fanta-tinted twat. Either way, good luck with your quest.

When I last left you, I had just introduced you to a pair of soon-to-be metaphorically eviscerate conservative schmucks, who go by the names respectively, of Richard (“Ricardo”) Leyba, and Walter L, Cook Sr, and much personal merriment was had. At their expense, of course, because the Artbitch thoroughly enjoys a good roast- especially when the theoretical pigs that are about to be eaten, bring not only the grill, but the maple-wood briquets and secret dipping sauce as well.

All quips aside, I really need to get these people something nice to genuinely thank them for all the free mirth they’ve provided me as of late, and that right quick. Sure, those within the field of aberrant psychology might construe my flippant assessment of free entertainment as warning signs of possible mental illness where the persons I’ve previously written about are concerned, but to each his own.

Dumbf**ks are gonna dumbf**k, and all that, I guess. Now, if said disciple of dipsh***ery stayed only in their lane, I’d hardly pay any attention to them at all, past the occasional insertion of a snarky comment or two, as is my way. However, as this country sadly experienced on January 6^th, not only do these puerile patriots not know what lane they’re supposed to be driving in, they’re doing Jell-O shots off the dashboard, as they careen down the sidewalk, yelling “MUH FREEDOMS!!!” for the entire length.

And doing so, backwards.

There once existed a certainty pre-internet, that the foremost cause for widespread willful ignorance, was a lack of access to factual and credible information. If anything, the availability of misinformation trafficked on the World Wide Web at any given moment, has not only driven a stake through the heart of that social myth, it installed a sunlamp inside its coffin as well, if only to make sure it remains dead.

In my day, I had three sources: the local library, the Encyclopedia Britannica, which was like Google, but without all the porn and cat videos, and my dad, who’s only saving grace was the fact that while he couldn’t tell us anything useful, he did have an excellent stash of Playboy magazine hidden out in the garage- I may not be able to tell you anything about the Depository Institutions Deregulation and Monetary Control Act of 1980, but rest assured, I can fill you in regarding every “turn-on” of Playboy’s 25^th Anniversary Playmate, Candy Loving, without batting an eye.Which, if you’re curious, include, Walt Disney ice cream, listening to good music, and a warm bed on a cold, rainy night. To be honest, when it comes to the Disney thing, I’m not entirely sure if it’s the movies, the parks, or the man himself she digs, but as the slightly embarrassed owner of about 500 Milla Jovovich screensavers, I really have no room to judge anything here.

Whereas Leyba and Walter are concerned however, not only is it pretty much open season regarding the absurd idiocy that they both post as if they own stock in a meme factory, the level of intellectual firepower needed to disprove it is literally so negligible, that a basic response doing so, is akin to shooting a dolphin wedged in a barrel, from inside the barrel…

With an ICBM.

Whether the topic at hand involves the debating of politics, health, or social issues such as civil rights, racism, wealth inequality, or the modern-day conservative’s faux-rage hot-button concern and favorite scapegoat, that being immigration, both legal and otherwise, it’s almost a certainty that if any type of data is presented as “proof’, it’ll be most indubitably cherry-picked, manipulated, or concocted outright. It the Alt-right ever loses the ability to lie or meme, Twitter would become the heir apparent to OnlyFans.

Sorry PornHub, but you know I’m not wrong. After all, being wrong about, well… almost everything under the Sun is really where America’s Klan [correct spelling] of conservatives really shine, even if the glow is from a tiki-torch. And yes, I’m sticking with that, considering that when looked at it from a statistical overview, White supremacists and others of the same ilk overwhelmingly vote… wait for it- Republican.

Just a heads up, guys- you may not think your party is a haven for wannabe members of the National Socialist German Workers’ Party, but they sure as hell believe it is. You might want to do something about that, after you get done ignoring the reality of it. Now, this is not to say that Leyba and his emotional boyfriend Wally share the same ideology as the affiliated members of what would later mutate into the bad guys from the Indiana jones movie, but they do have a few commonalities to note, some of which I will gleefully dissect as our narrative moves along.

I closed off the first entry chronicling the laughably abominable ignorance of these meme posting morons with a splash of Leyba’s thinly veiled misogyny, disguised as concern that young boys were being malevolently emasculated by of all things, female public school teachers, so I suggest we pick up that baton pf bastard0m and run it a tad bit further down the track. And nto get us out of the starting blocks, we’ll open with this gem of inverted small-dick energy:That’s right, Ladies- ol’ Ricky is here to set you all straight as to what a “real” man likes and rightfully expects out of “their’ woman, and you don’t even have to thank him for doing so. Just shut your mouth, wear what he tells you to wear, and don’t you dare let any thoughts go through that pretty little head of yours, because if there’s any thinking to be done around here, he’ll be the one doing it. You’re welcome. Oh, and don’t forget to praise God too, because for some reason now , he’s involved in wardrobe decisions as well.

However, Wally, our resident ,guru of insincerity, comes off the bench with a meme (naturally) that goes one better than Leyba’s, because his manages to be political, misogynistic, and hypocritical all at the same time, and for a guy of his advanced age and limited intellect, that’s quite the impressive display of ignorant stamina, let me tell you:What Walter is referencing here, other than his sagacity for total disingenuousness, is the fact that TV talk show host Montel Williams and now US VP kamala Harris briefly dated close to TWO DECAD$ES AGO while they were both SINGLE. For the record, in 2001, Williams was recently divorced from his first wife, and it would be 13 more years before Harris would tie the knot with her husband, Doug Emhoff. So, the implication that something illicit (like an affair) was going on, is literally constructed out of Walter’s pathetically uninspired stroking fodder, and his inability to adequately research the factual

Funny thing though? I have yet to see Wally post anything about Trump’s multiple affairs, his raw-dogging a porn star, or the fact that he displays more lecherousness than a Catholic priest at a Boy Scout jamboree, but I’m sure he’ll get right on that, after he gets done feeling indignant that a woman of color dared to have a life without his approval. And as to the memes’ comment of “You can’t make this stuff up”, I’m not sure why two consenting adults dating is even a concern for Wally, unless he’s jealous of the fact that every time he wants to get laid, his GF requires either batteries, or more likely, inflation.

And when it comes to giving due respect to our first female VP of African-Indian descent, rest assured, that Leyba is also keen o putting his best foot forward,,, well, into his mouth anyway, as he attempts, and fails, to hurl two asinine stones at once:.
Let it never be said that Leyba isn’t a class act all the way. In fact, I’m pretty sure that he is, given the rumors that when he’s done allegedly paying for sex, he’ll always hold open the car door for whomever he rented that five minutes from, to let them out. True gentleman, and all that. For all intents and purposes, that’s obviously a joke, because I’m also fairly certain that A: he doesn’t have that much spare cash just lying around, and B: the act of engaging in such things, might lead to a relationship rift between him and his Fleshlight.

I’ll address the “China Joe’ slur in a moment, but let me first offer a discourse on the vulgar commentary below it. To note; the definition of “camel toe’ when specifically applied to women versus a dromedary animal, is thus: “Camel toe” is a slang term that refers to the outline of labia, as seen through tightly fitting clothes. In men, the equivalent to “camel toe” is referred to as a “moose knuckle”.” Considering Leyba’s alleged homophobia that I dissected within the screed preceding this one, I’m going to opine that while Leyba’s chin has never had a set of labia rest upon it, his “open to moose knuckles” sign has been hanging off it for quite some time.

As to the “China Joe” symbolization, the knowledge that it was coined by a man who tried for more than a decade to register trademarks in China, ranging from providing “construction-information,” to real estate  services, as both he and daughter outsourced manufacturing jobs to the country, should have raised some eyebrows among even the most die-hard of conservatives, especially given Trump‘s openly hypocritical anti-China presidential posturing, but it hasn’t, and certifiably, never will.

There’s also the matter of his maintaining bank accounts there as well, but they are excluded from his public financial disclosures, [where individual assets must be itemized], because they are held under corporate names. Chines tax records show that between the period of 2013-15, Trump paid $188,561 in taxes, yet allegedly then went on to collect [as estimated by Forbes] $5.4 million from a lease agreement involving a state-owned bank residing within the Trump Tower, located in New York City.

But please my internet scholar,, lecture us Liberals about Joe Biden’s “corruption, as you deliberately overlook the Sweet and Sour Pork swamp that he and his equally as corrupt daughter reside in. And if I might add these signs started appearing before Biden had even taken office, showing that once again, Conservatives for all of their mewling about being forward-thinking, have truly no inner outlook on what’s to come, no unbiased recollection of the past, and most certainly, no awareness of the present as well.

Case in point? Well, here’s yet another sampling of Leyba’s cuck-cake, in which he informs us all, as to what “real” masculinity is, and once again, it just goes to show exactly why in the not-too-distant future, there’ll’ be an entire cottage industry within the psychiatric community making bank off his much needed, but hopefully not court-ordered, therapy. And while Walter is curiously silent on the subject of masculinity, you have my word that he’ll make up for it when he reemerges..The first thing that came to mind when I read this, was that somewhere, perhaps out in the parking lot behind the factory where they make AXE body-spray, Ted Nugent just called Bill O’ Reilly to excitedly declare that they had finally found the One True Douchebag, as foretold in the prophecies issued as actual readers’ letters by Bob Guccione, the late prophet of Penthouse’s Forum section.
Drink in the awesomeness boys and girls, that was Bob- because this is what a true feminist looks like.

Now to be honest, I have no idea what kind of father figure raised Leyba, but judging from this recycled 1950’s era sexist tripe, I can only assume he drank his Scotch neat, smoked unfiltered cigarettes, and died a broken man after his fed-up wife left him for another woman. Once again, I’m just poking fun, but holy crap… if this diatribe involved any more chest-beating, Leyba’s spleen would be forced by his now-shattered sternum, to take up residence on the backside of his lungs.

As for his closing advice of; “So… grow your beard, wear your boots, eat your steak, carry a knife, own a gun, [in case you can’t find your knife?] protect your woman, fight for what is right and just, Be strong” I can only point out that despite not offering up any counsel advising young men that they should have not only respect for women and their body autonomy, they should also gracefully accept that women also aren’t a possessive object to be owned of displayed, either,

I’m sure he was going to get right on those topics, but not until he reminded his domestic trophy, that he runs the house, and she just needs to keep it clean for when his friends come over. Newsflash Ricky- no one has ever told you or anyone else for that matter, what you can and can’t do as an adult male, and if this sort of thing does happen to you a lot, maybe it’s not because they don’t understand what masculinity accurately entails, maybe it’s you who doesn’t.

But like most lowly curs that find a bone and run with it, Leyba just can’t let go of his obsession that not acting like a 14-year-old brotard well past the age when you should, is a bad thing, and feebly swipes at modern society with this meme, combining vulgarity, his mewling fear, and perhaps even far worse in this, the age of auto-correct… incorrect spelling:
Wow. Just… wow. I won’t speak for anyone save myself here, but if your idea of “manly” is to be the living embodiment of a men’s room floor inside the NYC subway terminal, you sir, have smashed it the f**k out of the proverbial park.

I’m so impressed in fact, that I’ll even overlook yet another misogynistic slur of yours that directly infers that women are somehow inferior to men yet again, due to nothing more than a quirk of biology. I as usual, can only speak for myself, but if I were to be brutally honest, I’d have to suggest that being born with genitalia that can be racked into either nausea or unconsciousness just by hitting the toilet seat wrong, isn’t really much of an asset, when all is said and done.

Just for fun, here’s a few interesting facts about vaginas, and if you’d like, feel free to take notes, so you don’t publicly embarrass yourself like Ricky tends to do. First and foremost, close to half pf the planet’s denizens have one, and almost all of them have no interest in what Ricky erroneously believes. Also, the clitoris has twice as many nerve endings as a penis, which means it can be as sensitive as Ricky is when reality doesn’t agree with him. Even though, you’d think he’d be used to that by now, given how frequently it occurs.

And unlike a man’s spawn hammer, vaginas manage to push out a fully formed human being, and most do so worldwide without the benefit of anesthesia, but please little Ricky, tell us all again about how women are the weaker ones. And if you still think that they are, remember your childhood- nobody would ever admit to being scared of your dad, but they were openly terrified sh**less when it came to your mom.

I earlier stated my humorous conviction that while Ricky’s chin has “never had a set of labia rest upon it, his “open to moose knuckles” sign has been hanging off it for quite some time”, and I still stand by this, even if it’s only at best, a cheap joke. However, I would now like to amend that observation somewhat, as I’m also going to suggest that not only has one never occupied his chin, the only ones he has ever seen, were due to the courtesy of, and his access to, the World Wide Web.

Which, when given serious contemplation, makes his incorrect spelling for multiple vaginas quite odd, because the web correctly identifies such a grouping as “pussies”, and not the moniker for multiple cats. Maybe that’s why he seems so confused as where to stick both his nose and his diminutive wang. That’s just an educated guess on my part,, as I quite honestly, really don’t want to know the actual answer.

Nevertheless, if you want to be a card-carrying member of the Misogynist Moron Club, then the next natural step is to demand the right to dictate what women who are unknown to you, do with their own bodies, because as a male who lacks both a uterus and the responsibility that comes with it, you, of course, obviously know far better than they do, as to what’s truly best for them and the spawn you don’t want to pay for, and more pertinently, will not raise to adulthood.

And now, as Ricky takes a well-earned break from humiliating himself, may I reintroduce our good friend Walter L Cook Sr, who’s come straight from the chaise lounge where he’s been dreaming about dictating total strangers’ reproductive choices, as yet another of his unique takes on what he so wrongly considers to be correct and beneficial commentary, is offered up for your enjoyment:
For the record, Planned Parenthood does not: kill people”, because a fetus is not a person, until it can actually survive outside the womb, which it cannot do, hence the reason why such procedures are performed during an exceedingly brief window of time. It must be very comforting to be able to sanctimoniously demand that others forgo a decision that you yourself, will never be forced to make.

I find it interesting however, that while doctors in a hospital can declare someone legally dead if they have no brain activity, yet still have a heartbeat, and can generally do so without too much fear of authoritative public reproach, however, the reverse is true when it comes to the act of sanctioned abortion. To clarify my previous point, abortions are undertaken when the as yet undeveloped fetus has no definable brain activity whatsoever.

What this means in the simplest pf laymen terms, is that there is no cognitive awareness contained within the fetus to speak of. Zero. Zilch. NADA. It is, by all estimations, both medical and morality wise, brain-dead. But just ignore all that, so you can rationalize your wanting to cosplay The Handmaiden’s Tale for real. Or better yet, just move to Texas, and pretend that your interest in stopping access to legal abortions, has less to do with controlling the women who’s use of their autonomy infuriates you, and instead, cast yourself in the heroic role of honoring the proclamations of an invented deity who’s very own manual of instructions, says nothing about the act itself. .

in fact, the word “abortion” does not appear at any point within the Bible, regardless of what translation it may be. Interestingly, when the over 600 Mosaic laws are reviewed, not a single whatsoever, remarks about the act itself. Exodus 21:22-25 does mention miscarriage as a crime, but only if If a woman involved has one as the result of a fight- if so, the man who caused it should be fined. If the woman dies however, the perpetrator must themselves, be put to death:

“If men strive, and hurt a woman with child, so that her fruit depart from her, and yet no mischief follow: he shall be surely punished according as the woman’s husband will lay upon him; and he shall pay as the judges determine. And if any mischief follow, then thou shalt give life for life, Eye for eye, tooth for tooth ”

The Bible does not dictate consequences for the loss of a fetus, but does order the death penalty for the murder of a human being. And don’t worry, I can discuss how enacting the death penalty literally violates God’s own Commandant No. 5 at a later date.

In addendum, the procedure is also not part of a Deep State plot to murder a future generation either, as abortion procedures [estimated] constitute less than three percent, with the majority of provided services encompassing the following: STD / HIV testing and treatment, birth control, reproductive cancer screening, including prostate cancer, pap tests and well woman exams, vaccines, providing PrEP and PEP (medications, prenatal care, Transgender health services, including HRT, vasectomies, and counseling services, along with sex education.

And no… abortions are not underwritten by the federal government, and haven’t been since 1974, due to the Hyde Amendment, which just so happens to be a jurisdictive provision excluding the use of federal funds to pay for abortion except to save the life of the woman, or if the pregnancy arises from incest or rape. So, feel free to zip your lips before you start dragging that threadbare inanity out of your uneducated mouth. But Wally, he of the non-uterus enhanced gender, still has more to say about the subject, even if he wraps it in a rant topped with delusional sauce:Damn. Coalescing Islamophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, jingoism, and displaying his stunning betrayal of the so-called Christian beliefs he claimed previously to hold so dear, as he obsesses over uteruses that he has no connection to? This is some truly grand dedication to the craft of being a self-righteous jackass, and I mean that most sincerely. I mean, this Trunt can’t defend a single one of his repulsive points of view, but he can mix the vilest elements of Humanity’s weaknesses together, as if he were Tom Cruise starring in 1988’s “Cocktail”.

And if you’re still unsure as to whether or not Wally here is the champion of morality that he claims to be, keep in mind that not only does he STILL support Trump, just like most virtuous Christians would do, he also doesn’t seem too awfully concerned about the life the babies he wants born will have, long after they are. And if his anti-immigrant comments are a tell, I’m pretty sure there’s a shading index when it comes to exactly which babies he wants to save in the end.

Of course, that’s just my opinion. Feel free to form your own, using the data I’ve previously provided, and we’ll compare our personal takes somewhere down the road. Speaking if data, you would think that a person who obsesses over the unborn that he’ll never know, and most certainly won’t assist, would also go that one step further, and undertake a deep dive as it were, to know inside and out, the full scope of the topic that he browbeats others with, as if he were a part-time dominatrix doorman in a Marquis de Sade themed hotel.

But then again, we should all take a moment to remember just who we’re talking about, and what he considers to be personal role models, such as this tinted pig testicle, seen here, mocking a physically disabled journalist;
So, yes… we should totally trust the critical research skills of a man who claims to value life, unless of course, his favorite mango man-crush deems it ripe for public humiliation. And as an amusing aside, I’d like to remind our resident uterine usher of the time that Trump told Howard Stern that when it came to the topic of abortion; “It’s never been my big issue. Somebody asks me, and I say pro-life, but it’s never been an issue that really has been discussed with me in great detail.”  Other than the time he joked [to Stern\about wanting his first mistress (and later, second wife) Marla, to abort their daughter Tiffany, pf course.

And just because I don’t want to make Walter feel like a hypocrite for his earlier rant where he talked about homeless vets and a ”cry for compassion”, I won’t even mention how little of such Trump has shown towards both the homeless and veteran demographic. Nonetheless, and for the moment, let’s forget all that, so that we may hear yet another under-educated from Walter regarding an excruciatingly personal decision he’ll never have the right to make for others:

Sigh… can anybody reading this please tell me, just how one can be this goddamn stupid, and yet, still use the internet to consistently download ignorantly incorrect memes? Oh, wait… I think I just answered my own question there, so never mind. While this narrative of rampant and un-prosecuted infanticide is a popular point of dissertation within the pro-life community, it is also blatantly, transparently, and abominably, false.  

Late term abortions, which take place at or after 21 weeks, are not only unusual, they represent 1% of all abortions performed within the US. This completely legal medical procedure is performed only in cases when health concerns such as fetal birth defects, or endangerment of the mother’s life, happen to present themselves as medically actionable. Walter can scream to the sky all that he wants, but there will never be a day where he and the rest of his facetious Fallopian f**kheads get what they want, It’s lawful Wally, and will remain so, as it’s none of your business to begin with.

And once again, thanks for showing us all yet again, that when it comes to lowering one’s intellectual bar, you’re willing to dig all the way to China to do so. Far be it from me to mock your readiness to so openly display your unsubstantiated male privilege in public, but I do admire your unwavering dedication to it. If anything, it may be the only good quality you can call attention to.

Another demographic that conservatives have been gleefully maligning as ethically challenged grafters and cheats since the Reagan era, is the working poor, and the financially indigent, portrayed much in the same way that they classify immigrants as the true enemies of “Western Civilization”, a catch-phrase most associated with the modern-day White supremacy movement. In short, if you’re brownish or poor, you’re the real cause behind America’s financial and cultural decline, because unlike the non-tax-paying 1%, personified by Jeff Bezos and others of his corporate ilk, you add nothing to the country that’s been far too charitable, if not far too gullible, to provide you the safest of undeserved harbors for years.

And you can bet the sweetest of your bippies, that both he and Leyba, will have memse for this opinion:
Oh, look everyone! Candyass Owens has arrived, and as is typical, our resident Steph-anie Fetchit for conservative compensation, has a racist observation cloaked as an oblivious judgement. Other than the fact that this meme is the Alt-right’s pictorial equivalent of “I can’t be racist, I have a Black friend”, it’s also a tad bit puzzling, as well. What pray tell, does the topic of slavery, the legacy of which Candy here, owes her place in this country to, have to do with the working poor and impoverished?  

NOTHING, that’s what. Christ, if i didn’t know any better, I’d have to assume her side-hustle was serving as the Deflector Shield on the USS Enterprise. We get it, Candy O- you’re perfectly okay with selling out your race, your ethics, and most disturbingly, your gender, to the highest bidder as if they were on the block at Point Comfort, but JFC… what the f**k did a poor person ever do to you personally? Remind you that your only value to the Establishment you pimp for, is as a token accessory?

Key word here of course, being “token”.

I also have to question the authenticity of her coming across “only lazy people”, as the bizzarro world she lives in, is overstocked with sycophants such as herself, who only live to perform an act of metaphorical fellatio or cunnilingus upon those that they believe can benefit them down the road- hence the reason why this self-made puerile pundit could in theory, easily tie a Constrictor Knot without using her hands to do so.

The only “Human Parasite” I see here, you morally rudderless Aunt Jemima, is the one that claims Racism doesn’t exist, yet sued her former college for “racial harassment”, and then later, attempted to sue Facebook over fact-checking her labeled as false posts regarding Coronavirus. Claiming that Facebook’s actions financially harmed her by deriving her of advertising revenue that she gleans from her Facebook page, she also sued for intentional interference with contractual relations, tortious interference with prospective business relations, and unfair competition, along with two separate claims accusing defamation.

Clarifying his dismissal of the case, based on the Courts’ finding that Owens had failed to state an actionable claim against the targeted defendants, Superior Court Judge Craig Karsnitz stated that; “The political aspects of this case are manifest but must be ignored in favor of application of the law,” Minus the legalese, this may be the nicest way to say; screech all you want, my representative of conservative Candida, but the only way they’ll ever let you into their club, is if you agree to come in through the kitchen’s backdoor, pr more accurately where you’re concerned, the servant’s entrance.

Here, we see Wally attempt a different approach to mocking the working poor, by sadly pretending that he understands exactly how unemployment benefits, and our capitalistic gig-driven economy, work:
Seriously… if anyone reading this happens to personally knows this Kindergartner masquerading as an adult, it might be time to deny him access to the house scissors, and replace them with Hello Kitty ones, instead. Let me see if I can explain what’s currently going on to you Walter, without using flash cards, cartoons, or hand puppets. To note, close to half [43%] of all jobs in this country, pay somewhat  less than the average unemployment check issued in its place.

Now, to a fully-functioning human, the fist thought that this knowledge should inspire is; “Holy crap, that’s barely a living wage, considering that in this country currently, there’s no state where you can rent a one-bedroom apartment, while working for minimum-wage.” Why is that you, but not Walter, ask? It’s all centered on the fact that while CEO compensation has grown 940% since 1978, the average worker has only seen an uptick of 12%, the last of such raises being sanctioned in July, of 2009.

In a move that’s ever so convenient for his narrative, Walter has chosen to ignore that across the board, wages have not kept up with inflation, and they certainly haven’t kept pace with the rising costs of living, either. Rent is up. Food costs are up. Gas is up. Utilities are up. Incidental expenses are up. Healthcare costs are up. And no, it isn’t a specific political party’s fault, although we all do know which one has specific ideologists who don’t give a damn if somebody can or cannot, afford to pay for the elements of basic survival.

As an example, I have yet to see a democrat rail against a living wage and affordable healthcare, but I digress for the moment. Indeed, the troglodytes will just suggest you either get “a better job” from an employer who still won’t pay you what you’re worth, or that you should acquire an additional “side-hustle”, to make ends meet, because as it turns out, the root cause of all your financial strife isn’t the fault of our one-sided system of capitalism, it’s that you, the poor unskilled worker drone, spends too much money on coffee from Starbucks. Ditch the latte, become a financial hot-tay, as the cool rich kids like to say.

What Walter and the assumed voices in his head that feed him his asinine thoughts fail to recognize, is this: anybody who works 40 hours a week, should be able to easily pay their bills, and that’s it. Rather than impugn the working poor, maybe you should ask their employers who pay far less in taxes, as to why they treat their workforce like disposable chattel, for a start. Looking squarely at you Jeff Bezos, America’s premier Lex Luthor cosplayer.
However, Wally did ask for an answer, so I’ll give him one. I know this may come as a shock to you, Walter, but when you live paycheck to paycheck, it’s damn near nigh impossible to prepare for a situation, such as a global pandemic, which, thanks to anti-mask/vaccine dumbf**ks like yourself, keep spreading the virus as if they were handing out samples at Costco, mainly because they refuse to follow common sense health protocols

Why can’t “they” pay their rent, you asked? Maybe it has something to do with the fact that landlords, utility companies, internet and telecommunication providers refused to freeze payments during this time of international strife, leading to whatever meager savings these people had being drained, just so they could survive. How dare they not think of your feelings regarding the matter. Bastards, every single one of “them”. Not like you of course… you’re just swell.

Sadly, Walter isn’t alone in his failure to grasp the fallout in relation to modern-day Capitalism, as his fellow ideological imbecile Ricky proves, by presenting as his way, yet another meme in place of a fact-based argument:
Before I address this self-righteous arrogance from a man who seemingly spends all of his free time searching out pictures on the internet because thinking for yourself is apparently hard, I’d like to call attention that among the small group of faux patriots Ricky protests reality with. These people trade memes as if they were baseball cards or the girlfriends of Hugh Hefner. If I had to classify this discord sowing circle, I’d opine that they’re the closest thing I’ve ever seen to an online circle jerk, at best.

It would be hypocritical of me to deride the act of mental masturbation, but JFC, I’d at least pick better partners if I were to engage in such an activity, and I most definitely, wouldn’t brag about it so openly. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a huge fan of finding your center, but being an ignorant jackass in an attempt to secure it, is undeniably not the way to achieve it. So, “this new generation does not like working”, Ricky?

Gee, I wonder why that is, Rickarino… maybe the root cause is that the new generation as you so blithely dismiss it, isn’t willing as we all were to be exploited to death, perhaps? Or would it be that they, unlike us, figured out that the concept of “Work/Life balance” is a f**ked-up punchline in regards to personal fulfillment? I’d also suggest that maybe they’re sick and tired of not being able to afford the life derived from all of their hard work, but that’s just off the top of my head.

Nah, “they” once again, must just be lazy. After all, just because they as a whole, can’t afford to buy a home, pursue higher education, or see a doctor when necessary without the worry of financial loss or total ruin, shouldn’t alter your opinion at all. And before you decry that the new generation is somehow less than yours, I’d suggest that you also take a moment to remember that collectively, yours and mine, are the generations that left them this economic sewer to begin with. You can’t complain about the playing field, if you’re the vandal that ripped up all the grass.

Comprender, cabrón? Oh, who am I kidding… it’s like having a battle of wits with a plate of deep-fried Churros, except for the fact that unlike Ricky, most people actually look forward to seeing them in their house. Speaking of things that are largely comprised of lard, although in this case, I’m referencing to his intellect, Walter returns with this gem, where he seamlessly merges his paranoia, social racism, and his obvious distaste for helping the less fortunate into an opinion that could have only come out of the failure of his parents to spawn a human with a working soul:Hmm… has anyone else noticed that when Trumpians show up en masse on a weekday no less, to protest everything from non-existent voter fraud to non-existent forced vaccinations, they classify themselves as “patriots” and not lavabouts shirking their employment responsibilities?  I’m sure there’s no hypocrisy there to dissect, am I right? And the inference that people who protest for the cause of Civil Rights are always on Welfare? A classic slur, straight out of the pages of the disingenuousness playbook that conservatives reference more than they ever do the Bible.

You remember the Bible don’t you, Walter? It’s chock-full of edicts regarding the poor, such as Proverbs 22:9, which says: “Whoever has a bountiful eye will be blessed, for he shares his bread with the poor.” Now if that’s not your speed, you could always go with Proverbs 14:32, “Whoever oppresses a poor man insults his Maker, but he who is generous to the needy honors him.” Personally, I’ve always liked the simplicity of Deuteronomy 15:11 which declares that; “For there will never cease to be poor in the land. Therefore, I command you, ‘You shall open wide your hand to your brother, to the needy and to the poor, in your land.’

But hey… it’s not like you have to explicitly follow the commands of the God you claim to worship, pr suffer consequences for not doing so, I’m sure. After all, he seems like a really chill guy, the above rules above notwithstanding, and I’m almost certain that at this point, he’s probably fed up with being the charitable one all the time. In fact, I’m thinking the perfect crystallization of who you are and what you stand for, is best encapsulated by Proverbs 29:7; “A righteous man knows the rights of the poor; a wicked man does not understand such knowledge.”

And as time goes on, it’s fairly clear to us all, that not only do you fail to understand or even care, just why people protest injustice, you’re apparently cool with it running unchecked over the most vulnerable of our society. Jesus must be so proud. That’s probably the reason why he tells everyone he has no idea who you are. But when it comes to Me on the other hand? Not only does he know my name and my favorite color, I have his personal cell number too, as he’d rather spend his free time hanging out with kind  and logical atheists, rather than faux Christians who ironically, are also truly hateful. Weird, that.

Differing ideologies aside, even I will admit, lf begrudgingly that is, that there is some limited distinction to having a good work ethic, although I wouldn’t be so crass as to sully it with an abominable neglect for the reality of the struggles that many Americans are currently going through.  The Beatles once sang that ”It’s Been a Hard Day’s Night”, but an addendum that these two obviously believe in, is that  a hard day’s work, ls not as valuable say, than not appearing as if you built your previous assertions regarding the merits of work on a base of hypocritical sand:

At this moment, you might think Ricky’s calling for a day off from work to go protest a sadly necessary mask mandate might present itself as a moral quandary for someone whose words and actions were lauded as consistently straightforward, but let’s all remember which lifetime member of the Janus fan club we’re currently dealing with here, shall we?

 In a nutshell, this “new generation” doesn’t want to work, but it’s perfectly acceptable for Ricky here, to not only call out of work without fear of credible consequence, I might add, but the impetus behind such, is so that he can go participate in an orgy of whiny bitchiness with his fellow Karens and Kevins. Make no mistake though, Leyba knows exactly who he really is, despite the evidence available to both he and us, and in order to prove it, has decided to employ a borrowed meme that was written by another person, to declare his unique individuality from the balcony of his pre-manufactured ivory trailer:I’m starting to think that when it comes to displaying a genuine personality, Leyba’s ability to do so, is as strong as the one that Gary Busey’s ‘s teeth have to remain inside his lips. All sarcasm aside, this jackass wraps himself in so many labels, you’d think he was having a torrid love affair with a Dymo LabelManager 420P. There are several reasons why you’re not considered politically correct, Ricky, and it has less to do with the rationalizations that you lifted from a complete stranger, and far more with the fact that when it comes to a grasp on the issues of the day, your intellectual grip is akin to that of a Teflon coated duck running on ice… downhill.

As we’ve come to see, if not expect, from the majority of Leyba’s on loan opinions, not having the ability to articulate his impotent confusion at how the world actually works, has bit him once more in that future intellectual illiteracy poster image he calls a face, and I for one, could not be happier about it. The only way that mocking those like Leyba and Walter could get any easier, is if a team of snarky Elves crept into my bedroom at night as I slept, and wrote these pieces for me. But since they seem to be too busy these days baking cookies in a tree, that is, when they’re not trying to assassinate Snap, Crackle, and Pop- I guess I’ll just have to continue doing it myself.

To note; 1: You can’t be “born again”. You can however, pervert a religion to justify you’re being a sh***y human being though, which sadly, does seem to be working out for you. 2: I can only assume you’re referring to one made in China, where your mango Mussolini still maintains secret bank accounts, and also where his unrealized sex fantasy/daughter located her sweatshops?

3: And yet, you and your ilk can never explain just why. Maybe someday. 4: Of course, you do. After all, it’s not like your dick is gonna get any bigger, and traditionally, ammo is way cheaper than the lengthening surgery you so desire. 5: Very much in the same way you’re for worker exploitation, crippling personal debt, and blocking others from earning a living wage.

What a brave stand you’ve taken, Gunga Dim.

6: Border security, AKA racist xenophobia. Either/or. Whatever lights your tiki torch. 7: No, you’re a willfully ignorant spit-for-brains, but since you are, I can understand your misunderstanding of the descriptive. 8: Man, not being elected Prom Queen has really messed you up, hasn’t it? Dude, it’s 2021- nobody cares if you’re still in the closet. Even if you are allegedly sitting on next year’s Christmas gifts. 9: Again, I admire your brave stand, considering that it’s a decision that you’ll never have be forced to make, and live in a society that never penalizes the cowardly men who seeded and ran.

And finally, we reach number 10, where Ricky lets us all know that while he does respect “the” Constitution, he can’t be bothered to extend that esteem to the practice of good grammar. Not only have you never read the Constitution Ricky, save for the 2^nd Amendment, I seriously doubt that you’ve ever owned a copy that didn’t come as a pop-up version, or with a cartoon bald eagle on the cover. That is, if you’ve ever been in possession of one at any point in your life.

It stands to reason, that if you get all your opinions from memes downloaded off the Web, the odds are also pretty good that the depth of your personal library consists of nothing more than a take-out menu from Blake’s, and a dog-eared copy of The Art of The Deal, written by a ghostwriter who’s made more money from the book than the so-called “deal maker” described within its too-far-apart-covers did. But maybe, I’m being a tad bit judgmental regarding Leyba’s limited literary understanding, because the Constitution does tend to use a lot of five-dollar words, and to be fair, some may be a buck or two out of his humanistic reach.

That is not to say however, that there isn’t a lot of words in there he can’t understand, it’s more accurate to say they’re words he strongly dislikes the meanings of, such as “personal responsibility”,, for instance. Ironically though, he did undertake dome unforeseen initiative and compiled a list of several other words relating to such, that he vehemently opposes, due to the fact that they dare to remind that the world doesn’t revolve solely around him:If I were forced to say something complimentary about this walking pile of egocentric and faux eruditeness, the best that I could mutter would be that he’ll never go hungry, because he’s already so goddamn full of himself, that there’s no room left for a bite that nourishes, much less a brain that works Scratch that assessment, I should have really left a niche for his soul in there as well, but it’s doubtful that a berth for it could exist given the cramped quarters, and it’s not like he’s ever had a function9ng one to begin with, so I guess it’s all good in the end..

As with most things conservatives purport a belief in, they didn’t come up with it of their own accord,, they gleaned it seamlessly from somebody else who’s idiocy they admire. In this case, Candyass Owens is back, and she’s obviously Leyba’s t inspiration to emulate flawlessly, the driving sentiment popular among these self-declared patriotic Americans, that being a sense of unbridled selfish narcissism:

What. A. Badass. Bitch. Am I right, kids? Not about her being a badass, mind you, the part about her being a bitch, I mean.What. A. Badass. Bitch. Am I right, kids?

Not about her being a badass, mind you, the part about her being a bitch, I mean. It’s bad enough that as a self-declared patriotic American, that she views a unified front as the lowest of “communistic propaganda”, but recently, a private facility in Colorado refused to test her for COVID, citing in an email sent by the facilities owner, that;

“I’ve just learned of this testing request and as the owner of this business am going to refuse this booking and deny service. We cannot support anyone who has pro-actively worked to make this pandemic worse by spreading misinformation, politicizing and DISCOURAGING the wearing of masks and actively dissuading people from receiving life-saving vaccinations.” “My team and myself have worked overtime, to exhaustion, unpaid and underpaid this past year, spending our own capital to ensure that our community remains protected,” “It would be unfair to them and to the sacrifices we have all made this year to serve you” …

Most of us, because we’re actually people, might wonder if she gave even the slightest of pause to the random fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe, calling the COVID-19 vaccine “purely evil” and railing against mask-wearing mandates, might have been in retrospect, a bad idea overall. And knowing that the ostensible email also included the consideration that she should instead, visit “the only other local testing option,” which, has “inconsistent result times”, and I for one, would hope it would have burned, as if she were riding atop a flaming Sybian machine.

But once again, let’s all take a second to recall what a disingenuous conservative carnival barker she is, and go on from there, shall we? An alleged race-trader who claims that Racism isn’t real, while suing her former college for racism. Up to speed? Great. Let’s sally forward.

Does it strike anyone else as strange that somebody who derides the evidence underpinning vaccines and mask mandates to stave off COVID, would also simultaneously trust the science that determines those infected with it? While the answer to my inquiry is perceptibly “yes”, the timing of her interest is quite odd as well. Prior to her attempt, she was scheduled to be a key speaker at the Texas Youth Summit. Because the future Brownshirts of America tend to be made, not born, buy canceled due to what an event organizer termed a “sudden illness”, which I’m sure was nothing more than a wacky coinkydink.

Taking to her favorite perch of victimhood, aka the World Wide Web, Owens responded to the valid snub by saying: “I wanted to let you know that this might objectively be the most hilarious e-mail I have ever received in my life. Truly, I’ve never laughed harder,” A claim that I find somewhat personally dubious, as I’d assume she watches the SAW movies strictly for the jokes.

Sustaining her assertion that she did not have COVID, and that any supposition that she did quantified as an unsupported (irony abounds here) “conspiracy theory”, and she would know, being the reigning princess of them, she added; “Nothing screams ‘this virus isn’t political’ quite like googling the names of the people who book tests with you and determining on a case-by-case basis whether or not you will let them comply with your community covid measures. Nothing screams ‘I love my local community’ quite like refusing to test people who are going to a local event and wish to ensure they are negative and therefore do not spread the virus.”

She then disparaged the business owner’s email as “emotional unstable and hysterical” , as she deflected from facing the points raised within, ending her hypocritically oblivious limp-wristed-swipe with a cheery, “LOL.”, which just goes to show you, that just because she shamelessly shucks and jives as if she were auditioning to be cast as Dandy [ “Jim” on the original model sheets] Crow in the stage revival of Dumbo, that doesn’t mean she can’t have some fun with it.  And even better, they could call her Candy Crow instead, and all she’d have to do to deliver an Oscar-worthy performance as it were, is to simply pretend that she was being interviewed by Tucker Carlson, in regards to the subject of systematic racism.

But you have to give this latest routine some props though, because after mewling the last year screaming tyranny anytime COVID protocols and treatments are mentioned, she now presents herself as their noble and embattled champion. Point of order, Candyass? You don’t get to dictate what is or isn’t political, nor what a community should do to protect its citizens when you post Twitter comments stating how you purposefully, won’t undertake the merest of actions required to protect the ones you allegedly love.

With no due respect, your personal credibility has more holes in it than can be found at a pornstar convention. However, at least those women, unlike you, are more than comfortable admitting that they swallow random penill, both literal and metaphorical, for their expected payday.

Now, while it’s been a bit since we’ve heard from Walter, we can have full confidence that that he wants a slice of the non-vaccinated hate-cake too, and he dives back in, pairing it with this delightful side-dish, full of self-owning privilege and paranoid misinformation- say what you will, the man knows his milieu:
Correct me if I’m reading this wrong h,, but it seems my newest BFF Wally here, is just more than a bit concerned that he might lose his mythical God-given right to his body sovereignty, and having his options to make his own healthcare decisions limited. If the act of getting vaccinated finds itself legislated from being a suggestion to an unavoidable requirement, I could see why he’d be overly concerned about it. is that accurate, pr am I just seeing things that aren’t there, like Walter tends to do?

Add, he does so, I might add, without the aid of hallucinogens… well, illegal ones anyway, as OAN, Newsmax, and Sean Hannity’s stoking of nonsensical fears, are all still quite sadly, not breaking any mandated laws, save for the ones regarding truth, decency, and what was once the American way. But I understand why the very thought of being powerless regarding that which should remain private, would keep one up at night. I mean, can you just imagine the indignity and frustration of having people unknown to you, dictating what you could and could not do with your own body?

Terrifying situation to find oneself in, isn’t it, Walter? You bet it is. Interestingly, you now have kind of a glimpse into what it’s like to be the 24/7 owner of a uterus, and having to constantly fight off the sanctimonious inferences of jackasses like you, demanding full and unfettered oversight of conclusions that you have no right, morally or legally, to make for others. As tp the rest of your hysterically unaware rant, it’s not like there’s vaccine squads patrolling your neighborhood forcing the “jab” upon you, nor will there ever be.

If I chose to be exceedingly gracious, I’d suggest that this could be a teaching moment for you, that used your [paranoic feelings to cast an uncomfortable light upon your own hypocrisy, but I already know that you’re incapable of facing the reality as it presents itself. Others of far better eloquence might vireo this as a miserable state of affairs for you, but I, being far less diplomatic, know that for your dumb ass, it’s just another Tuesday.

The enduring COVID pandemic is a hot button topic for many within the conservative movement, and despite overwhelming evidence that people continue to die and suffer the aftereffects of a disease that crystallizes your lungs, they still decry the valid science as false, masking protocols as tyranny, and disseminate a myriad of truly insane, inept, and wholly fabricated conspiracy theories that are so logically implausible, even Ron L. Hubbard would have given their ideology and its followers, the cold shoulder

Keep in mind,  he created a religion where not only did he claim intimate knowledge of an ancient interplanetary civilization, he then went on to construct a Faith based on an absurd concept in which, millions of its denizens were decimated and then evolved into what Scientologists call “body thetans,” beings who, and I swear I am not making this up,  latch onto humans, and then cause those very same humans to suffer personal trauma.

In essence, they’re like Republicans, but far more dedicated to Humanity, and tend to be invisible, which not only serves as a perfect analog for just how the GQP views its personal responsibility to keeping others safe, it makes it far easier to craft this blatant con job into an actual religious conviction. But never let it not be noted that Leyba can’t embarrass himself just as efficiently as Walter does, especially when it comes to the specific topic of attempting to manage the spread of this virulent disease:Looking at this temper tantrum disguised as the shrillest of political observations, all I can state in retort, is that it’s really going to suck when he realizes that if he follows his meme to the letter, he’ll never be able to walk into any business again that has a “No shirt, no shoes, no service”, sign posted in their window, as well as any attraction, venue, or airport that necessitates tickets and ID, as he was rather specific, in regards to his whole “Requires anything to enter”, declaration of his.

In addendum, this punitive position definitely rules out most bars that ask for ID, and for that matter just so happen to take all strip clubs off of the proverbial map as a rule.

And while yes, that does include those places where the “Thunder from Down Under” performs as well, Ricky, but given today’s technological advances, I’m sure you can always download a performance of it off the Net.  Now, regarding your battle call for an instituted boycott, as I noted in the first chapter of this toxic tale, I’m sure it will be just as efficacious as all of the other ones you’ve failed to make a dent with, over the last few years.

But Ricky, being a man of letters, isn’t the type to place all of his narcissistic embargoes in one boycotting basket by using the threat of economic ruin, he’s going to fall back on his go-to lucky token, who this time around, is going to speak for the most vulnerable pf our citizens, even though no one asked her to, and in a move we all saw coming, the woman who whined about not being able to be tested for COVID as she simultaneously twittered proudly about being a selfish cow, threw them under her ego bus:
If I may, I’d like to elucidate an earlier statement that I made, wherein I called Ricky a “man of letters”. At the time, I truly had no idea that those letters were going to be “F” and “U”. I sincerely apologize. I will go on to say this though- man, when Candy’s career as a shrilling shrew hits its eventual zenith, she might want to consider a secondary career in renting her genitalia out as an ice storage facility, because this c**t is cold.

Whether or not the vulnerable were asked or not, wanting to help people regardless, is for most of us, the sign of a fully functioning human being, unless of course, you’re a racist vanilla wafer that’s been dipped in a low-grade chocolate substitute, and then repackaged as a spokesperson for the blandest walking among us. And as for the supposed issue of “trillion-dollar wealth transfers”, it isn’t the middle class that’s playing three-card-Monte with the greenbacks these days, you tweeting twat- that’s your crew.

I don’t know anything about her family dynamic, but after reading her tweet, I’d have to wonder aloud if her idea of a thoughtful gift for a sick relative is an economically-priced home version of the Do-It-Yourself Dr. Kevorkian Kit. Going one step further, I bet when her relatives are forced to offer up a hug, they probably worry about contracting a bad case of frostbite. On the upside however, I’d also have to think that she can perfectly chill a bottle of wine in seconds flat. Trust me. I’ve got a million zingers like this, but I’ll move on for the sake of my audience.

So, the vaccine recommended by the CDC, is now equitable to the actions of the NAZI’s in WW2? Well then, my walking glory-hole for a cabal of conservative Massa, let’s dissect your abominable analogy, using only the facts as they are, not as you’d like them to be. As this moment in time, [August, 2021] total individual doses of the various vaccines number around 339 million, given to an estimated 187.2 million people. This sets the number of fully vaccinated Americans somewhat just above the halfway mark.

Sadly, between December 2020, and July 2021, the CDC’s Vaccine Adverse Event Reporting System (VAERS) established that there were 6,207 reported deaths amid people who got a vaccine, but this does not infer or even prove, that the vaccine caused these particular deaths I will not in any way, shape or form, imply that these deaths are anything less than tragic, but statistically, they present a death rate of 0.0018%, as specified by the total numbers inoculated.

When one looks at these numbers objectively, rather than with a barely disguised agenda, the data overall, presents as fairly positive. And if the numbers are so analytically low, then why is the Right so concerned, given how much they proudly post the survival rates of COVID as being around 96%? For those of you who are bad at math, a rate of 0.0018% is lower than 4%, no matter what side of the political fence you are, and trust me on this, everybody looks the same when they’re attached to a ventilator.

And yet, this data is somehow equivalent to the atrocities foisted upon humanity by the NAZI’s? As much as these medical illiterates’ rant that it is, reality easily proves that it’s not. I could note the untold millions subjected to the act of genocide, undertaken with nationalistic pride by the dual actions of concentration camps and squads of Einsatzgruppen, but why do that, when I can observe Leyba and his ilk, paralleling what is essentially a paper cut at best, to you know… an entire race of innocent person being forced at gunpoint to strip naked, and then be gassed to death inside a sealed room?

Poor baby. I can only hope someone out there has the foresight to found a charity to help ease all of your suffering. I’ll provide some examples of this false narrative being one of the more popular tropes currently being shopped around the universe of alternative facts that conservatives wallow in, no matter what contrary evidence may exist.This warning brought to you by someone who views getting a free (and voluntary) shot to keep others safe, as being akin to being a witness to, and a victim of targeted genocide, but carry on, my modern-day Anne Frank.

I won’t speak for you, but there’s no better way for someone to prove to me they’re a complete f**king idiot, like when they whip out a knowingly vile symbol of hatred and prejudice, to justify their own highly asinine point of view. Good job, Ricky- you singlehandedly just proved correct, what a lot of your high school teachers initially thought about you.There have been very few times in my life that I have found myself stunned into silence by something I’ve either seen or read, but in the future, this one may actually be in the top five. The first two, involving women I was in love with, and the third being when I met Debbie Harry of Blondie fame, backstage in the year of 1999. In retrospect, that technically makes the first three things about women I was in love with, but this definitely slides right in above those, and just before that unfortunate incident Iin New Orleans involving a table, an oyster bar, and a half-drunk fifth of Fireball.

It should not be necessary for me at any point in time to have to say this, whether it be out loud as I have had to do as of late, or in type, as I’m currently doing now, but the only thing that’s ever been “like the Holocaust”, is, without any doubt, THE ACTUAL F**KING HOLOCAUST itself. Nothing else comes close. Not mask mandates, required job-related vaccinations, social distancing, or even restrictions on how many rolls of TP you can buy at one time.

F**k, when I was in high school back in the late 80’s, only three students were allowed to be in the Circle K across from my high school at any given time during our lunch hour, sans backpacks, no less, and I never started ranting lunacies about tyranny and suffering undesired road trips inside cattle cars, just because they always seemed to run out of Jolt Cola and Kit-Kats just before I got there, but ask someone in this selfish-ass over-privileged country, to be mildly inconvenienced for thirty goddamn seconds, and you’ll instantly find yourself face to face with a reincarnated *Freddie Oversteegen.  

*[Freddie Oversteegen was a member of the Dutch resistance during World War II, and was one of its most dangerous assassins. Together with her sister, she lured, ambushed, and killed German Nazis and their Dutch collaborators- truly, a badass across the board.]

Overall, I’d consider myself a rather peaceful man, despite the causticness of my written words, and hell, I’d even describe myself as mostly gregarious, even at the worst of times, but I will tell you this now… iI I ever find myself trapped in an elevator with the mental defective that scribed this exercise of tone deaf histrionic self-righteous tripe, not only will I give them a piece of my mind, I’m first going to open their skull, if only to see how much of it isn’t filled with theirs. 

Normally, this would be the part where I would add with my tongue planted firmly in cheek, the phrase; “metaphorically of course”, as a modifier of sorts to allude that I was only kidding, but in this case, I’d more than happily subject this delusional moron to the act of being forced to scrutinize the death camp footage shot at wars’ end by noted filmmakers John Ford, Samuel Fuller, and George Stevens, daring them afterwards, to tell me to my face,  that getting the jab is the same f**king thing and in the same league as what they just viewed..

I may not believe in God, lady- but I’d happily convert to Judaism, if it meant I could throat-punch you without any form of repercussion for what you just purported as factual information. And as for Leyba happily posting it as such? Well, I’d make the same offer of signing up to Satan himself, dependent on the condition that he’d let me grill some fine steaks using the fire pit that Leyba will allegedly be doing the back-stroke in for eternity, once he discovers for himself, that God prefers educated atheists, over willfully ignorant Christians.

Once again, I’m just kidding, as I’ve had a key to Satan’s place for years now, and because it is Hell, the daily menu is always going to be based in Veganism. Enjoy your soy cheese, Rickster, and when they ask you exactly where you want the pitchfork placed, just know that I’ll leave them a suggestion as to just where they should stick it. In an attempt to lighten the mood, Walter has presented to us this finely crafted meme, wherein he uses one of the dumbest characters ever in television’s history, to make an even more absurd assertion.

Uncharacteristically, I truly feel that using Homer Simpson to exemplify his point, was a shrewd choice on Walter’s part- after all, not only is Homer the perfect representation of Walter’s allegedly limited intellect, cartoons are probably the only form pf media that doesn’t challenge it in the first place:There may be a few of you at this moment, wondering why my claws are so far out in regards to these particularly dense examples of what transpires when ignorance and hateful hubris mate successfully, and I will inform the crowd as to why this is, in the most elegant way possible: I’M SICK AND TIRED OF LISTENING TO GODDAMN MORONS WHO THINK THAT YOUTUBE IS A CREDIBLE “SOURCE”, AND THAT ESTABLISHED SCIENCE AND IT’S PRACTITIONERS, ARE FRAUDULENT CON-MEN, WORKING FOR THE “DEEP STATE”.

I truly hope that clears things up for you- if it does not, my sincerest apologies. Specific regrets though, are not impending whereas Walter and the words I’ve used to describe him are concerned, for much like Leyba and his erroneous egocentricity in regards to broadcasting blatant propaganda, he gets what he believes wholeheartedly to be factual, dead f**king wrong. As always.Sigh… if Walter’s intellect were a character in a zombie movie, it would definitely be the one that opens the heavily padlocked door spray-painted with the words, “Warning- Dead Inside”, without a second thought. Or a first one, for that matter. The law of averages would suggest that, possibly one day, Walter might actually do some research before he types out his visualization of what the voices in his head scream, but given the empirical evidence I’ve seen thus far, I’d have better luck betting on Rob Schneider winning an Oscar for his on-point portrayal of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson.

Why do I say this?

Well, it has everything to do with the fact that the infrastructure of government albeit federal, tribal, state, or local, is essentially crucial to the successful protection of the public’s health and general safety. This agency, partially derived from the U.S. Constitution’s 10th Amendment, gives state governments powers not specifically given to the federal government, in order to curtail the spread of infectious diseases within their legal jurisdiction. This in turn, permits them a broad latitude in regards to enacting emergency health measures, ranging from the implementation of quarantine, to the restricting of businesses.

Now, while the federal government’s power is limited to certain circumstances. It does still possess comprehensive authority to execute measures to avert the spread of illnesses, regardless of whether the initial source of infection is from outside, or from within, the United States. In addition, governors can also

order quarantines to isolate and limit the movement of citizens exposed to communicable disease, as well as ordering stay at home directives, granting exclusions only, for essential medical procedures, necessary employment, or the acquiring of food.

They can also set in place, restrictive curfews as well, although the laws allowing the necessitating of such, vary from state to state. The legal authority behind these controversial measures, has been reinforced by several key legal pronouncements, that have been legislated over the course of this country’s storied history. I won’t run through the list entire, as it would make this story-arc longer than a conversation with me regarding what the best Star Wars movie is, but I will address at least one, for the benefit of educating those people, who, unlike Walter, want to actually know what they’re talking about.

The particular legal challenge I’ll be presenting, is just one of the many United States Supreme Court  case studies that I could choose to highlight, ranging from 1824’s Gibbons v. Ogden, to 1902’s Compagnie Francaise & Company vs. the Louisiana State Board of Health, which ironically, I did address in a blogvella of mine some months back. Reality is circular, kids. And don’t you ever forget it.

1905’s Jacobson v. Massachusetts, is what I’ll be talking about, and the ruling that emerged from it, was that the United States Supreme Court upheld the authority of individual states to impose compulsory vaccination laws. The Court’s decision articulated the view that individual liberty is not absolute and is subject to the police power of the state. So zip it, smallpox Karens, because this decision was set in stone long before your brains turned into the same.

Some context: Massachusetts at the time, was one of only 11 states that had compulsory vaccination laws in place, due to an outbreak of smallpox in 1902. Adults who refused to accept the vaccination, were subject to a five-dollar fine, or the purchasing power equivalent of about $158.72, today. Pastor Henning Jacobson, originally from Sweden, allegedly had an unpleasant reaction to a similar vaccine administered during his childhood, and claimed that the experience had mentally scarred him with a “lifelong horror of the practice”. This in turn, led to his staunch refusal to take the current vaccine.

Believing that his family could be endangered by the vaccine due to a hereditary condition within his family, Jacobson found himself prosecuted, and penalized with the aforementioned five-dollar fine. For the next three years, he contended that his being levied a fine, or facing possible incarceration for his actions, was not only an invasion of his liberty, he maintained that the law itself was “unreasonable, arbitrary and oppressive”, and that he, or any other individual, should not be forcefully compelled to follow it.

Supreme Court Justice John Marshall Harlan delivered the 7 to 2 decision, stating that the Massachusetts law did not violate the Fourteenth Amendment, declaring that “in every well-ordered society charged with the duty of conserving the safety of its members the rights of the individual in respect of his liberty may at times, under the pressure of great dangers, be subjected to such restraint, to be enforced by reasonable regulations, as the safety of the general public may demand” noting as well that,; “real liberty for all could not exist under the operation of a principle which recognizes the right of each individual person to use his own liberty, whether in respect of his person or his property, regardless of the injury that may be done to others.”

In closing, the Court did acknowledge however, that the obligation of vaccination for specific individuals in extreme circumstances, could be classified as “cruel and inhuman[e]”, in which case, courts would be permitted to interfere in order to “prevent wrong and oppression”, for those specific persons “in a particular condition of health”, Nevertheless, the statute in question was not, according to the Court, “intended to be applied to such a case” and professed the belief that Jacobson “did not offer to prove that, by reason of his then condition, he was, in fact, not a fit subject of vaccination”

.In essence, for all of you Plague enthusiasts out there, what this ruling says, in relation to your unfounded, uneducated, and hilariously histrionic argument, and that, ever so clearly, is this
And I can only hope, that you undertake your new assignment, with the same enthusiasm that you’ve shown over the last year or so, when it came to embarrassing yourself, your grade school teachers, and as always, your family. I’m fairly confident that if a psychiatrist ever ha the chance to sit Ricky down for a [in my opinion] much-needed therapy session, he’d hold court for quite some time, rationalizing that his paranoiac position isn’t built on junk science as well as inane ideology, it’s based in genuine concern.

Surprisingly, his main concern doesn’t encompass what we’ve seen thus far, which if you remember, involves Deep State conspiracy theory, non-existent election fraud, the threat of “commies”, from 1955, I guess? Hollywood’s alleged moral decay, the insidiousness of “feminine influence”, and most disturbingly, his seemingly ongoing obsession with the genitalia of gay and transgender persons unknown to him.

None of that even comes close, because what he’s truly worried about is the loss of his “freedom”, even if he doesn’t truly know what the actual definition of that word is. In fact, he seems even more confused than I tend to be whenever I read one of his analogies that make no goddamn sense, regardless of what angle you try to look at it from:

So, let me get this straight… refusing to assume the simplest of social responsibilities as a precautional measure to curb the ravages of a highly infectious virus, that by the way, has killed over 650K Americans so far, is JUST THE SAME as eating raw cookie dough. Did I get that right? Oh, good. I was worried that I was in the middle of having a stroke, and no one had been kind enough to inform me.

A few minor points of contention, if I may, you ignorant Influenzer? While it’s been many years since I sat down with a log of Pillsbury Cookie Dough with a Pesto-Bismol chaser afterwards, I’m pretty sure it still doesn’t compare to the procedure of being intubated, as your lungs crystalize. The only people who were ever directly affected by the decision n my mid-20’s to purposefully risk stomach cramps, were my then-girlfriend who needed to cook those cookies into a necessary tray for Sharon’s wedding shower, and my best friend, who was the only person I knew at the time, who would reliably deliver that aforesaid quart of Pepto.

If you just so happen to be one of the estimated fourteen-percent requiring hospitalization, five-percent of you will find themselves in the ICU, and citing the current [at the time of this writing] mortality statistics, at least 3.9% of you who contracted the virus will succumb to the ferocity of its effects. And for all of the smallpox fanciers out there, here’s how it happens- coronavirus enters the body through the nose, mouth or eyes. Once inside the body, it corrupts healthy cells, and then re-tools them to replicate itself. When the cells are filled to capacity, they burst, rapidly setting in motion, the rate of overall infection.

Symptoms can persist for months, and cause severe damage to the lungs such as scarring, along with long-term issues, regarding ti the heart and brain, as well as fatigue, difficulty breathing, pain in the joints, muscles, and chest, struggles with concentration and memory, insomnia, loss of the ability to smell or taste, episodes of depression or anxiety, along with fever, and a sense of dizziness,

But other than those almost negligible differences, including an agonizing death, the similarities to eating a Pillsbury tube served exceedingly rare, is so disturbingly close, they could almost be mistaken for twins.  Sort of the same way I’d naturally assume, that Leyba’s ass and face might tend to be. However, when it comes to that joke, I’m also certain that if I were given enough time to seek out empirical evidence, I’d most certainly find to my personal satisfaction at least, that it’s a very common occurrence.

I earlier referenced Leyba’s speculative terror at losing his “freedom”, but in my role as a writer, I failed, and rather neglectfully at that, to detail exactly what those particular freedoms were. You have no idea how embarrassed I was when I realized this, but then I remember that I’m not even close to the frequency with which Ricky does it, so I’m good in general.

Fortunately, when it came to my uncharacteristic lapse in storytelling, a professional, truly versed in the art of imaginary victimhood stepped up like the badass he never was or will be, to list exactly what was at stake: Don’t get me wrong, I cannot wait to rip this latest piece of fallacious fluff apart in the manner of a drunken David Hasselhoff spying a floor-level cheeseburger, but c’mon Ricky…  could you at least present a challenge, for once?Wow… I knew things in this country were bad, but I never would have surmised that they were this bad. I guess I might have had some idea. if I had only watched FOX ”News” more often. Honestly, I would have been more than happy to be in the loop, but Sean Hannity’s chin gives me nightmares about sentient scrotums slathered in hair gel, and hearing the vehemently vanilla Valkyrie Goebbels -screech that is Tucker Carlson’s voice, just makes me want to sucker punch a box of Pumpkin Spice flavored Moon Pies, and they’ve done absolutely nothing to me.

And although within this meme, which he most certainly did not create, but surely stole as if he were a Trump overseeing a children’s charity, Leyba whines about supposed others being “offended” at what he wants to do, the true offense one might feel at his as always baseless charges, stems not from his chosen activities, but at the reality that no one of any note has ever given a damn about them in the first place.   

Trust me on this, Ricky. There’s plenty of stuff we can use to make fun of you, and quite easily, I might add. So, you really, honestly, most assuredly, don’t have to invent new stuff on our behalf. Some advice, from me to you-, and free of charge, no less. If you still feel the need to fabricate fallacies, may I recommend that you at least take more than thirty seconds to come up with ones that are far more plausible, for Christ’s sake?

Now, if I were to be brutally honest with myself, I’d much rather let this particular sliver of vapid victimhood go, given the level of sheer f**king density that I’ve already waded through, but I simply can’t. , ethics and all that. Not to mention, it’s simply too much fun melting holes in your *Pykrete armada, using your very own [partially] words to do so.
*[Pykrete is a frozen alloy, made of a mix of14% wood pulp to 86% ice, using a weight ratio of six to one. It was at one point, seriously considered as a possible construction material in regards to the British Royal Navy fleet.]

To start us off, let me just state publicly that; “Rudolph” is a terrible movie with a terrible message, that being: Conform or Else. Every time I watch it, I’m genuinely surprised that Santa doesn’t have Hermey killed for wanting to be a dentist, instead of being a nameless cog within a Machina of indentured servitude. But just like “A Charlie Brown Christmas”, which suffers a similar plot curse of characters you just want to throat-punch due to their awfulness, no one of any cultural importance has ever thwarted its annual airing schedule.

To start us off, let me just state publicly that; “Rudolph” is a terrible movie with a terrible message, that being: Conform or Else. Every time I watch it, I’m genuinely surprised that Santa doesn’t have Hermey killed for wanting to be a dentist, instead of being a nameless cog within a Machina of indentured servitude. But just like “A Charlie Brown Christmas”, which suffers a similar plot curse of characters you just want to throat-punch due to their awfulness, no one of any cultural importance has ever thwarted its annual airing schedule.

If you did your so-called research in the same way that you’re obsessing over 57-year-old cartoons, not only would I have nothing to write about, I’d probably have to apologize, as well. This brings us to your second alleged “point”, regarding the singing of two American winter-themed classics. It’s fairly obvious that you’ve missed the reason as to why people complain about these two ditties, and I have serious reservations that you even know what the lyrics are to begin with. But take all the time you need to mewl your faux offense.

Moving forward, your use of the phrases “bring home the bacon”, and “kill two birds with one stone”, has never offended anyone, nor has any singular person expressed such an asinine assumption to you, either. Too bad. We all have our delusions, far be it for me to take away yours. I am however, terribly sorry that you’ve “had it with all this political correctness”, which by the way, is the most genteel way for society at large to inform you, that being an ignorant jackass is no longer considered tolerable.

Use your disingenuousness to mold a few more bricks for the wall going up around you, that’s what. Now, some of you may have noticed that Walter has seemingly taken a leave of absence from my overview, but nothing could be further from the truth. It’s just that at the moment, he literally has nothing to add to the topic at hand, and is therefore, currently sitting on the sidelines, as it were. But don’t you fret, as Wally, along with Ricky, (naturally) will be back on the menu when the third installment of this serialized screed is presented for your enjoyment.

And yes, there will be a third detailed narrative, as there’s still so much more to mock concerning these two. What can I say? Mythical God provides, and when he does, the Son comes bearing Asian strippers wearing thigh boots, let me tell you. As much as I’d like to wax rhapsodic about what’s to come, I need to finish what’s in front of me, and that just so happens to be, an overflowing bowl of clueless self-ownership, with which, we will conclude this section of the soon-to-be-continued story-arc.
Never let it be said that Leyba doesn’t have convictions. Granted, most of them seem to be based in ignorant paranoia, a sense of warped religious zealotry, and a fear of anything that actually involves elevating the betterment of humanity in general, but I digress. Ironically, Ricky shares the same fear revealed by Walter earlier, regarding the sanctity of one’s body autonomy, while simultaneously demanding, that women surrender theirs willingly.

So, Ricky’s cool with that option, but don’t you dare suggest that he offer up his inanity to protect or possibly, even save others. Weird how that works, huh? Friendly reminder, Ricky: you don’t get a say in legislating abortion rights, until you can bring a uterus of your very own to the table. And preferably, not one that you found within the confines of an overfilled crawlspace.

Nonetheless, abortion isn’t the only topic cares about, he’s also pretty interested in politics too, unless of course it once again, highlights his insincerity. In regards to a certain topic. For instance, take note of how he feels about presidential authority to issue Executive Orders, which despite his never having mentioning it before, has obviously been eating at him for some time now:

For the laymen among us, an executive order is a method utilized by a sitting US president to issue federal directives. The legal basis for doing so, stems from Article Two of the United States Constitution as Leyba accurately described, as well as expressed or implied Acts of Congress, that delegate to the president, a measured degree of discretionary power. In simpler terms, this grants the president broad executive latitude to govern enforcement of the law, or how to best utilize the resources of the executive branch.

However, executive orders can be put under judicial review, and if said orders are found to be be wanting by either law or Constitutional veracity, they can be reversed. Presidential executive orders, once issued, endure until they are either annulled, rescinded, arbitrated as illegitimate, or are allowed to expire. Interestingly, the sitting president may cancel, amend or decree exclusions in regards to any executive order, notwithstanding under which president it was issued, past or present.

For some reason, Leyba’s really concerned about the fifty-seven that Joe Biden has issued thus far, concerning raising the minimum wage of federal contract workers to $15 an hour, starting in early 2022, to directing the Department of Housing and Urban Development to review the Trump administration’s regulatory actions for their effects on fair housing and to then, “take steps necessary” to comply with the Fair Housing Act, but yet sees nothing wrong with the 220 that Trump decreed, during his disastrous, and thankfully, one-term presidency.

Maybe it’s because many of the ones that Trump signed went out of their way to hurt the innocent and the powerless? Nah, it couldn’t be that simple, could it? After all, just because Leyba still slavishly supports a man once described as a ‘Successful sociopath’ and predator who ‘lacks a conscience and empathy”, by Lance M. Dodes, MD, a former assistant clinical professor of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School, is no reason to assume that Leyba shares the same defective quirks of character, now is it?

Of course not. Leyba himself, is obviously not a sociopath. He just so happens to be an ardent fan of one, that’s all, and I’m sure that there’s absolutely nothing worrying to take away from that. But Leyba’s hypocrisy isn’t content to just screw with women’s body autonomy, or the political process itself, no siree Bob. He’s also quite troubled by the illegal drug trade too, which even I will admit, is a valid concern, especially when it comes to the devastating effect they’ve had on communities, albeit one that’s White or of mixed race.

In fact, here’s a meme about the subject that he “borrowed”, because thinking for yourself is hard:
For those of you who bothered to read this all the way through, it actually does raise some good points, the key word there being “some”. Because when it comes to the rest where the true author of this DARE ad run amuck, manages to conflate politics, the issue of bail, drugged drivers, and human trafficking, all I can say is this- if Leyba;s ever had an original idea accidentally wander into his head, it would marvel at all the free space it would have all to itself.

The main impression that one naturally, would take away from this posting, is that Leyba, like most modern-day conservatives, is strongly anti-drug, pro-law enforcement, and obviously, really into punitive overkill for drug dealers,  as well as their addicted victims, which when given pause, underpins that whole Christian hypocrisy standard, but that’s a discussion for another time. So, if Leyba truly believes that “legalizing drugs will cause more crime”, as this meme erroneously states, then why would he go on to publicly declare this contradictory reversal of opinion?Speaking fir myself, I have no idea why he did, but I’m starting to =think that there’s a Tupperware full of brownies in his fridge that are marked “special”, and I’ll leave it at that. Despite Marijuana being legalized in no less than 18 states, it’s still considered a controlled substance in the remainder, and therefore “illegal”, depending on what state you find yourself in, an observation, which when applied to your mental one on any given day, should probably be noted as “confused”, at best.

The logical assumption here is that Ricky doesn’t understand the thorny issue of cannabis legalization, and you’d most likely be correct, but there’s more to it than that, and as usual, the crux of it all stems from the Right managing to take a non-related concern and meld it with whatever QAN told them to be furiously offended about this week. See, for the last few months now, conservatives have been decrying the fact that the COVID vaccine wasn’t “FDA approved”, as a means to justify their steadfast refusal to take it. But now that it is…

All of a sudden, the FDA has no credibility whatsoever, despite their employing actual virologists to explain why they should, and the Right using Kevin Sorbo [TV’s Hercules] and YouTube videos to defend their ludicrous position as to why they shouldn’t. But then again, I could be wrong about this take of mine, all things being possible, and maybe the answer is that Ricky wasn’t confused at all when he posted this inconsistent thought, maybe he was just really baked, and hit the wrong “send’ button when he was trying to do nothing more than order some after-munchies from DoorDash.

Speaking of dashing to doors, we come to the last one Ill be kicking open this time around. And you, my lucky Blogiteers, get tp come through it with me, as I reveal what Ricky regards as the most formidable of weapons inside a Typhoid Trumpers’ toolbox, and no, it isn’t a well-measured debate, as some of you may have already deduced. Nope, the scariest armament that can be dispersed among the tin-foil-hatted brigade of Corona Kyles and Karens, is the ever so worrisome mention, inference, whisper, rumor or suggested threat of being possibly… you guessed it, BOYCOTTED.

Spurned. Embargoed. Shunned. Rebuffed. Informed that your presence is no longer required or desired. Being given the cold shoulder. Watching potential customers walk by, rather than walk in, based on a very public difference of ideology or ethics. And it can ruin a business, let me tell you. That is, unless of course, the people who are allegedly “boycotting” you, are ones that have never shopped there to begin with, like our whiny wannabe economic warrior here.

Confident in my belief that Leyba is one of this irrelevant if not financially impotent ilk, his soon-to-be-shown as pathetic attempts at intimidating policies he disagrees with out of existence, not only fall flatter than a Kansas pancake, they also possess the tensile strength of Charlie Sheen’s promises to lay off the porn-star girlfriends and Peruvian marching powder. You need to see the goods, apparently. I can tell. I’m sharp like that.

So, let’s all enjoy his QAnon-tipped lancet of justice, and revel in the fact that like almost all of the boycotts these mewling morons have launched, it’ll be about as effective at taking root, in the same exact way that their grade-school education did.  
Considering that this brave ideological stand pf yours Ricky, means that your dumber than f**k, entirely selfish, and completely un-vaccinated ass, won’t be standing next to our far smarter ones, this really isn’t the menace that you believe it represents, or intend it to be. Just thought you should know, as it looks like you’re about to have a lot of free time to ponder exactly what happened to your already limited, social engagement schedule. Nevertheless, Leyba changes course yet again, and posts this… I guess you’d call it a retraction? A symptom of undiagnosed Bi-polar disorder, or an aneurysm, perhaps?As a group exercise, let’s all try to follow the Chutes and Ladders level logic of a man so transparently misinformed, that even the Greys who abduct humans named Billy Hoe Bob as a form of intergalactic cow tipping, would take a pass at anally probing him, out of the valid fear they might damage his brain.

To clarify, Leyba won’t offer his patronage to any business that demands proof of vaccination for its customers of employees, practices masking protocols, or advocates for social distancing, but he’s also a big proponent of supporting those commercial entities that have been put most at risk, due to the economic fallout of the COVID pandemic. Yeah… that’s not a convoluted thought process at work, now is it? Dude, I get it. You want to platy both odds against the middle, but JFC, everybody in your life, whether an intimate contact, or one that’s peripheral, already knows you’re a half-assed hypocrite, so relax.

In closing out this this rapidly accruing archive of arrogant a**holery, I present out last entry for now anyway, and it hits all the low spots we’ve come to expect from our resident example of why the need to invent an unbreakable condom, should become a national scientific priority. Along with a cure for willful ignorance, flavored to taste like Trump’s boots, so that Cult 45 members like Leyba, will swallow it without question. Come to think of it, maybe we should try that with the vaccine first, and move out from there.

It couldn’t hurt, unlike this last nugget of lunacy, straight out of the fingers of a nattering nincompoop.Many moons ago, when I had found myself engaged to be married to the entirely wrong person, I heard them say what was up until now, the dumbest thing that I had ever heard come out of somebody’s mouth: “This is just like that time we went to Sara’s party, and I wore that blue dress.”, To which, my then best friend who was in the room with me, uttered, and with a healthy dose of directed side eye, no less; “I’ve been married almost ten years, and I have no f**king idea what in the hell your girlfriend is talking about.”

Thanks to yet another one of Leyba’s appropriated memes, I may now have to go and track her down, to apologize for implying that she was an idiot, And that’s even with her history of adultery, mind you. That’s how goddamn stupid this is by comparison. In respect to what my ex was apparently trying to say, the only answer I received was; “Well, if you don’t know, then I’m not going to tell you”. Which, to be fair, was far less maddening then trying to make sense of this exercise in full-blown psychosis.

Speaking honestly, I’m not even sure how Ricky even managed to find this mélange of a meme, but I’m kind of glad he did, because I, for one, would love to frequent a restaurant owned by Demons, for not only would the food and decor be amazing, being sinfully decadent and all that, but can you imagine the bands that would be booked to play there on the weekends?

Early 70’s era Black Sabbath with Ozzy. 1984 era Iron Maiden. 1977 era KISS.1983 era Motley Crue, the any era is cool, reincarnated corpse of Ronnie James Dio, and last, but certainly not least, current era Nickelback, because the only way those guys have ever managed to maintain a career, must be due to the direct influence of Satan himself. Restaurant ownership that caters to the demonic demographic… what franchise marketing will those clever bastards at Starbucks come up with next?

Oops… I may have read that wrong.

It seems that our poster child for paranoia, Ricky here, may have been referring to the small business owners he claims to support unequivocally as “demons”, because of their professional adherence to following established health protocols aimed at keeping their employees and customers alike, safe during the pandemic. Sorry, in relation to keeping my latest blogvella subject emotionally invested, I should have used the descriptive of either “Scamdemic”, or “Plandemic”, lust in case Ricky is having an actual adult read this back to him, as I do like to keep my audience riveted.

Riveted or not, however, Leyba’s dire warning that he’ll do his own cooking as a manly opening gambit to test his curiosity of  “which one of us will survive”, is without question, one of the most flaccid coercions he’s uttered thus far, especially when you realize that his current diet consists mostly of Swanson Lonely-Man microwave entrees, and the salt they contain alone, will put him out of commission long before the lack of effect from his impotent boycott will, in regards to any of the bistros he’s targeted with his wussy wrath.

Once again Ricky, in order to “boycott” a business or any product for that matter, you have to be either a regular patron or purchaser of it first, for your actions to have any relevance in the end. Seriously. Didn’t they teach you that during your online “middle age rage” workshop? Normally, I’d suggest you ask for your money back, but we all know your check bounced to begin with. I’m kidding, I’m kidding… nobody would waste their time and precious energy trying to educate a rice cake, so why would they deem you to be the rare exception to that rule?

The reality of your derisory posturing, is that if there’s a specific café that you’ve been frequenting and have now stopped doing so, because it’s owners and denizens don’t want their fellow Americans to die, odds are pretty good that across the board, your presence is probably not missed al all, and your insipid whining about your non-applicable rights, sure as heck isn’t, either.

So please, Ricky… threaten the business community at large, by buying groceries from one of the numerous marketplaces in a town where EVERYBODY is following the health mandates, and by depriving us of your odiously abrasive presence out among the general public- that’ll definitely show us who’s really the boss of who here. The answer to that question, is fairly obvious to those of us who, unlike you, have actually been paying attention since this all started. We are.

Nonetheless though, you really shouldn’t worry, as we still have a place at the kid;s table for you, and the best part of your new position, is that it’s all due to the hard work and long hours you’ve spent engaged in establishing yourself as an icon of mockery for the future. Let us know, when you can, what it feels like to be the soon to be fired employee who, quite literally… did it to himself.

Unless of course, your breathing is being done by a tube at that point, in which case, we’ll just assume you’ve gotten everything you ever wanted. No vaccine being pumped into your veins, still able to boycott as effectively as you were doing before. And let’s not forget, a once in a lifetime chance to test out that whole working theory of “which one of us will survive”, that you’ve been espousing.

Good luck with all of that. I’m sure it will work out for the best, just like the rest of your philosophy has.

There. Done for now. And when we come back, I take a detour from Part 3 to jot down a few new thoughts about a truly lost lamb in my small community, its allegedly morally ambiguous shepherd, and how the Word of the all-mythical God is not only intentionally misinterpreted by its staunchest advocates, but also why they are compelled to do so, in the first place. And I’m sure that their finding the one true God out of the 2000+currently available, whose personal bias aligns perfectly with their own, was nothing more than a fortuitous happenstance.

Mysterious ways, and all that.

“The modern conservative is engaged in one of man’s oldest exercises in moral philosophy; that is, the search for a superior moral justification for selfishness.” – John Kenneth Galbraith

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The highest form of ignorance is when you reject something you don’t know anything about.”
– Wayne Dyer

Greetings Bitchiteers!

Man, it has been one stressful stretch in my life, as of late. Me and my Gt are in the process of buying the house we’ve been renting for close to three years, I’ve just been through yet another round of some rather intensive medical testing, and to top it all off, recently found myself being forced to finally excise two former long-term friends permanently out of my life, in a move that is perhaps, the healthiest option open to me, if I want to maintain the value I’ve ascribed to my sense of self-respect.

While it’s difficult enough to harbor unpleasant assumptions that you hope against hope are no more than your imagination being overactive, it’s no less than an icepick to the heart when it’s proven to you beyond reproach that your initial premise may have been a tad bit underestimated, given the aspect that in regards to such, the subjects of your soul-crushing decree had seemingly left them unaffected. 

Granted, this overdue inference of mine had been coming down the allegorical pike for quite some time, but to claim or otherwise believe that it was, or has been, an easy verdict to issue, would not only be highly specious at best, it would wholly discredit the valid reasons behind my impetus to do so, at worst.

But c’est la vie and all that, for what is done is done, and will remain so until the stars burn out. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me one-hundred-and-seventy-three times, well… it’s still on you, but I’m the one walking around with the shattered contents of an egg farm all over my face because of it. Live and learn, laugh and love, and next time, honestly judge the situation at hand by listening to your gut, and not the emotional bitch listening to The Cure in a darkened corner of your psyche, which is currently crying its heart out over a half-eaten pint of Hagen-Daz.

Speaking of crying, does the modern-day conservative movement ever take a break from doing so? I mean… for people who’ve spent the last five years calling everyone who correctly called them out for their abominable ignorance “snowflakes”, they’ve consistently shown that their collective skin is stretched thinner than Jocelyn Wildenstein’s.

And this boys and girls, is a direct result of what transpires when you allow your paste-eating child to binge-watch 1987’s “Beauty & the Beast “ TV series in its entirety, over the course of a weekend. But this monstrosity of dimwitted diminutiveness?

This is what arises when your political and humanistic philosophies are drawn from not only bumper stickers and the conspiracy theories displayed upon them, but in addition, dutifully accept the delusional rants of a sociopathic Oompa-Loompa, into your blackened heart and intellectually desiccated brain, as the highest of Gospel.

Concerning such, let us consider our now deposed and thrice-married Fanta Fascist, who, when not raw-dogging porn-stars, offered sage gems of insight such as this one, in regards to the then hot-button topic of gay marriage: “It’s like in golf… A lot of people – I don’t want this to sound trivial – but a lot of people are switching to these really long putters, very unattractive… it’s weird. You see these great players with these really long putters, because they can’t sink three-footers anymore. And, I hate it. I am a traditionalist. I have so many fabulous friends who happen to be gay, but I am a traditionalist.”

Sure you are, Donny. That’s why you keep trading in your mail-order brides for younger and younger floor models. At this rate, you’ll be hanging outside pre-schools, looking for dates. But on the upside, you can split the Uber there with Matt Gaetz, so that’s a plus. 

Honestly, I wasn’t aware that abominable lapses of moral character such as adultery, disingenuousness, fraud, and treasonous cowardice were ‘traditions” to be respected, but it is a new age, after all, and it’s so hard given the advanced state of his, for him to keep up with what’s hip these days. But if I were to give him credit for anything, maybe it should be for his sense of originality: “The line of ‘Make America great again,’ the phrase, that was mine, I came up with it about a year ago, and I kept using it, and everybody’s using it, they are all loving it. I don’t know, I guess I should copyright it, maybe I have copyrighted it.”

Never mind that this phrase was one of Ronald Reagan’s better-known if not over-exhausted campaign slogans, because being ever the visionary, Donny Dementia here, made it truly his own, and then ran with it, as if he were fleeing from yet another one of his failed marriages or business ventures. But I repeat myself.  And lest we forget, he also claimed sole authorship of the phrase “priming the pump” in an interview with The Economist in May of 2017, despite its actual insertion (as an economic reference) into the American lexicon via a 1933 Wall Street Journal article.

To quote the copying cad; “We have to prime the pump,” (In relation to stimulating the US economy) “Have you heard that expression used before? Because I haven’t heard it. I mean, I just … I came up with it a couple of days ago and I thought it was good. It’s what you have to do.”

Now, if I were truly a sadist, I could go on for days and maybe even months, listing every stupid-as-f**k thing that Donald Trump has ever uttered out of that sewer he calls a mouth, aided by that pustulant worm he calls a tongue, but I will forgo doing so, if only for the fact that my Marquis de Sade costume is still at the cleaners, and due to my love of Sour Cream & Onion Pringles, I can no longer fit into my Vlad Tepes one.

However, I can still have some never-ending fun with his base of insolent, ill-informed, and ideologically impotent modern-day Confederates, even if I have to forgo laughing in their pinched hog-like faces in favor of doing so from behind the relative security of an IBM Thinkpad, sitting serenely in my Star Wars Underoos, drinking a steaming-hot cup of Earl Grey. And yes, you will need a cadre of some seriously armored mind-worms to get that image out of your head, and trust me… it’s gonna be way harder than you think.

Seriously. I’m not kidding. I once wrote a piece about posing nude for a fellow artist several years ago, and I’m STILL getting hate mail about it. along with the occasional marriage proposal from guys typically named Scott or Brad. However, I’ll digress for now, if only to progress the narrative, as well as quelling the incessant paranoia that if I was ever to find myself sentenced to prison, I’d get passed around like a premium carton of black-market cigarettes.

This opinion of course, is solely based on the accompanying selfies and requests I usually get with said proposals, and if they are to be trusted, my dance card is gonna be booked solid.

Speaking of a full schedule entertaining the shallow end of the gene pool, I find myself yet again, standing on its fetid banks, observing the newest batch of its delusional denizens, struggling to make both landfall and a political impact before their de facto leader turns back into his true form, that being a barely sentient pumpkin allegedly dipped in Russian hooker urine, and warmly swaddled within a Chinese-made American flag.

A flag that represents a country whose diversity they despise, values that they betray, and humanist ideals that collectively, they refuse to rise to the challenge of. I’ve often said it before, and I’m sure I will be forced to say it again, but we, as a nation entire, should be supremely grateful that those people currently demanding the equality they have always deserved without question, are willing to settle for just that, versus enacting justifiable revenge for their societal disbarment from it.
Color me curious, but why is it that the majority of those who so stridently self-identify as poster-children for the cleanest distillation of American ideals, seemingly have no concept of what those actually are? If I were to ever condescend to have an in-depth conversation with these red-hatted twunts, I’m fairly certain that I’d have to break out hand-puppets for them to understand that this, the land that they’re supposed to represent, isn’t supposed to come with segregated water fountains or bathroom based bigotry as an add-on.

And while most would claim that their POV, erroneous as it is, stems strictly from the all-too-real intrinsic of White Privilege alone, I’d also argue that there’s a fair dose of not only rancid Humanity and unfounded hubris comprising the moronic melange cake mix that they mainline as if it were Heroin, but an equal addition of ignorant fear yeast as well. After whipping up an egg-white base of the purest of Caucasian conspiracy theories to create your base, inject what was once its stable center with some blatant racism, generously apply an Oompa-Loompa colored icing, garnish with equal parts of misogyny, homophobia, graft, treason, narcissism and linguistic incompetence… and voila!

You’ve now created a confection so unpalatable it needs to pay sugar to lay on top of it, pretends far superior treats are its closest friends, and requires mass display in order to forget that no serious cooking show would ever want to recreate it. However, if one devotedly follows the recipe obviously cribbed from the liner notes of the sequel to Mein Kampf, known as Mein Küche, the end result should look like this:

On the upside, if he’s occupied by dry-humping this Flag, then he can’t be sexually assaulting the women around him, so I guess when you look at it, the hefty dry-cleaning bill to safely sterilize that very same flag could almost be regarded a charitable contribution to the community at large. One in theory, that could be declared a legitimate tax deduction, come April 15th.

But even though the intellectual curiosity of what happens when you cross-breed a 55-gallon drum of dime-store-bronzer with a boiled ham wearing a toupee has been fully sated, there are still questions that remain, a trail of human devastation to survey, and some serious lessons to take to heart. One of the most prevalent is that despite the election that deposed our homegrown Fanta Fascist, this nation is still infested with the collective Republican Renfield he fomented and then, later on, weaponized.

Should anyone not have seen this coming” After all he did publicly say the following: “See, the first group, I was nice. ‘Oh, take your time.’ The second group, I was pretty nice. The third group, I’ll be a little more violent. And the fourth group, I’ll say get the hell out of here!”  This vitriol, directed at anyone who would dare to not show the Mango Mussolini the respect that he so richly did not deserve, has been listed as a factor in several assaults by Trumps slack-brained fan base.

Case in point: “Maybe he should have been roughed up, because it was absolutely disgusting what he was doing. I have a lot of fans, and they were not happy about it. And this was a very obnoxious guy who was a troublemaker who was looking to make trouble.” And who could ever forget this gem? “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose voters.”

And his fateful words on January 6^th, which will go down as one of the darkest days in the history of this country: “You will never take back our country with weakness.” This, tucked away in the rotting flesh of a spoiled child’s rant full of falsehoods and self-aggrandization poorly disguised as a speech

Yep. I for one, given his track record of calm and thoughtful introspection, am shocked that his followers committed an act of sedition, by storming the Capitol, defecating on its floors and walls, calling for the death of not only key senators within, but then-VP Pence as well, murdered one cop, injured over 130 others, and lost several of their own, as their president, who was gleefully watching the carnage he caused on TV, continues to deny both responsibility for his incitement, and the lack of action in regards to protecting our democracy, and its selfless stewards who were willing to protect it with their lives.

BLUE LIVES MATTER TO US, the GQP says. MY ASS THEY DO, say I.

This cabal of openly treasonous bootlickers, respect law enforcement very much in the same way they respect marital fidelity, directly stated sexual consent, the Bible, Democracy, and their Oath of Office, which to be fair, is not worth half as much as the federally-backed paper they’re given by lobbyists to sell it short.

There’s an apt passage contained within the holiest of books the GQP thumps, but has never read, and it’s just chock-full of proclamations and teaching moments, as dictated by a Prophet and his overbearing Father, who for whatever reason, thought we all needed a celestial monkey on our backs for eternity.

And whereas these so-called Christians interchangeably name drop these two as if by doing so, they’ll be able to acquire those full-access VIP wristbands at the AVN, they seemingly are completely unfamiliar with the finer details of their collective work. One such passage that highlights this inward disconnect, is Matthew 6:24 (KJV) which notes that; “No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.””

An edict that modern-day Conservatives obviously misinterpreted as “You can serve God, but only as long as he’ shares the physical attractiveness, intellect, and color reminiscent of a jar of spoiled marmalade.”
Damn. Even I have to admit, they nailed that description dead flat.

And may I also offer the sincerest of apologies to the Oompa-Loompa community for my repeated insistence on using them as a visual punchline to what is at best, a lazy joke. But if it’s any consolation, there’s always the possibility that they in retaliation, could feed him to a few random packs of Whangdoodles, Hornswogglers or Snozzwangers, which of course, would allow them to add one more song to their already amazing repertoire of musical improvisation.

Take a minute and think what these choral cats could do with all the source material he’s already provided. By the time they were done castrating him musically, he would be begging, begging I tell you, to trade places with Veruca Salt, and he and his dad had a far worse relationship than those two ever did.

“Oompa Loompa, doompadee doo, I’ve got an American pariah for you.
Oompa Loompa, doompadah dee, It was all lies, as we so obviously see.

Who do you blame when your Prez is a prat? Ranting and raving like a meth-addicted twat?
Shaming his words is a truly fun game, but we know exactly who’s to blame…

His mother-f**king Father!

Oompa Loompa, doompadee dah, If you’re a Fascist, we’ll hang you from a bar.
America will be disgusted by you forever, my boo, just like the Oompa Loompa doompadee do!”

As regular readers of my screeds already know, I’ve previously written at length (naturally) about our now exiled Fanta-tinted Twittler-tot, and his fact-challenged fan base, paying particular regard to the very real threat that they still pose to America’s societal center. I’ve attempted to do so, with both a wry sense of cynical sarcasm, and a healthy portion of valid statistical evidence, in order to make the miasma of the disagreeable realities that I need to highlight, far more palatable for one to intellectually digest.

You know… like you have to do, when writing about individuals who collectively, possess the academic and emotional maturity of a drunken urinal cake?

It’s one thing to say “Not my President”, as most of America and its allies did with Herr Chump, but it’s one hell of a leap down the rabbit hole to still be saying “He’s not the President”, months after election results have been settled and then reanimated, as if a horde of necrophiliacs were cruising the morgues, looking for a cold date. The demographic of dunces that still insist that the 2020 election was “stolen”, despite the fact that not one shred of credible evidence exists to prove that this is so, are also, let’s face it- the type of people who most likely, require an instruction label on toilet paper.

That’s why these morons were buying so much of it. After all, practice makes perfect, especially when you consider that their extra-wide asses at this point, must be insanely jealous of all the s**t that so freely spews out of their never-closed mouths. Not to mention, you just have to love their devotion to flying the “Trump 2020” campaign flag, and continuing to openly sport “Trump 2020” campaign t-shirts that hide their yellow bellies, as well as the red ballcaps that keep their empty craniums warm. It’s truly adorable.

No matter how you slice it, wearing the months-old overpriced merchandise of your failed candidate doesn’t mark you as pathetic at all, no-siree-bob. If anything, it makes you a maverick. A rebel. A true patriot. A “real” American. A lone wolf who, despite being among an even larger group of other alleged lone wolves, stands apart, due to their rugged individuality. You definitely never see Democrats doing that, now do you?

Nope. Those Socialist-Communist-Libtard-Babykillers, actually put their stuff away after the election was over, if you can believe such a thing. And you just know deep in your heart, that their assemblage of said political paraphernalia, was stored in a cruelty and volatile plastics free box, made from at least 80% recycled materials, and sealed with organic duct-tape.

Those un-American bastards. Not like the GQP, the last true bastion of immortalized partisan heroes.

I can’t even begin to tell you how many t-shirts, political buttons, and hats I see in an average week, either picturing or referencing, Republican icons such as Nixon, the Bushes, both Senior. and Junior, and the Great Communicator himself, Ronald Reagan. Granted, most of the text on these items either states that they’re war criminals or crooks, and usually in addition, suggest that these fine men of reputation should undertake a singular act of sexually pleasuring themselves without the benefit or aid of a companion, but we all know this sentiment comes from a place of love and respect.
But when it comes to the Left, you never see a Clinton or Obama anything anymore. Nor do you ever hear of them holding indoor rallies during a pandemic either, like our former Cheeto-In-Chief continues to do. It’s almost as if they recall that they were public servants, and not a pompous Valencia-tinted figurehead, desperately seeking their next fix from a cravenly cult of personality.

Decidedly, it’s transparently obvious that our resident xenophobic sweet potato only continues to do this due to his being unable to sustain a healthy election, which has limited his marketability to future mistresses that he’ll later marry, and then proceed to cheat on. Besides, since it’s well known that every woman he’s ever been with sexually always finishes herself off in the bathroom afterwards, there’s no need to dwell on the socially prurient. Nonetheless, I’ll deviate for now, just so I can move the story along.

Referencing such, I’ll be introducing you to a duo of political chew-toys that this here Artbitch has recently acquired from within his local community, and in the process of doing so, give an update of sorts regarding what’s been going on with some of the ones I’ve written previously about. If you’ve been following my literary musings the last few months, you’ll recall a few of them, I’m sure.

First to appear on my dance card of New Mexican cerebral mediocrity, was one Ruth Darlene Seawolf, a self-avowed Christian, and definite future candidate for an unwanted mental health intervention, by her formerly closest family members. Subtle hint: when your own sister tells you that you’re in a “cult”, and your response is to (in your own words) “rebuke her”, odds are good that you’re in a cult, and a f**ked-up one at that.

The lone exception being that you’ve traded in the standard robe and tambourine for an “All Lives Matter” window decal, a “Trump 2020” yard sign that you’re still proudly displaying, and a list of enemies, both real and imagined, that you’re supposed to obsess over, as you post psychotic drivel like this on Facebook:

Yep… nothing too unsettling about this at all, is there? References to Trump as a Christ analog, betrayed by a personal Judas, prophecies straight from the “Mouth with more than one tongue”, which I can only assume is some form of Cthulhu that sidelines as an adult film actor, and the bullshi**ing “prophet” who promotes such, and closing off with a passive-aggressive warning that “all” (whatever that is) will be exposed to the world, as if All was Louie CK’s method for auditioning a new secretary.

Nothing to see here, folks. Especially the rational. This zucchini of zealotry reads less as a statement of political ideology, and more like the preamble to a list of demands from a group of radical Islamists in an 80’s action movie. Come to think of it, I did ask my readers in the earlier piece I had written wrote about her to; “just take a moment and appreciate the fact that she might possibly have the most badass surname? I mean… “Seawolf”? That’s the name of a Bond supervillain, and it absolutely rocks. Granted, she might not have the standard hollow volcano lair or the army of jump-suited minions, but you know she’s seriously working on it.”

An opinion I still stand behind. And may I add, twice as comfortably as I did before.

For quite some time now, Seawolf has allegedly been the target of a siege of scorn, and has recently, been placed under the corporate microscope of her employer, for not as she sees it, her online postings advocating social takes that are at the best of times, ludicrous, uninformed, or based in psychotic paranoia, but because, as she likes to claim to anyone who will listen, and brays even harder to those who don’t; “I am a Christian who stands for what I believe”, an assertion so far from the Truth that even her mango man-crush is impressed by her commitment to it.

Yes Ruth… it’s all because you’re a Christian. It has nothing to do with your alleged past history of being a virulent anti-masker, an intolerant hypocrite, or even your belief that Democrats are involved with, and in your words once again, the overseers of; “Satanic Worship” Sacrifice! Blood Sacrifice! Pedophilia! HURTING CHILDREN!”

Somewhere sitting on a cloud, right now, the mythical God just has to be thinking to himself;

For those of you whom have been truly blessed to never having been cursed with the contradictory hypocrisy that is modern-day religion, Exodus 20:16 (KJV) simply states: “Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour”, something that Seawolf does almost as consistently as she brags about being submissive to her imaginary friend.

Shockingly after a while, the assorted neighbors as it were, tend to get sick of that disingenuousness, and start speaking up, which for a normal person, would and should, inspire them to engage in a moment of personal introspection, but I guess that Ruth has been too busy dealing cards from the bottom of the “I’m the real victim here” deck to bother. Amusingly, I could easily go on for more than a few paragraphs in regards to this morass of canonized Christian cray-cray, but time is short, and there’s still so much to get to, so I’ll save that chapter for my next literary walk through the Trumptonian universe.

Pinky swear.

Following this absurdity, I topped it via the personage of one Ken Cykala, a man so full of unfounded White Pride, that if Nabisco ever opened a baked bigotry division using his personality as a template, their signature cookie would look like this:
At this point, I’ve written about Barbie’s favorite Aryan analog accessory no less than three times now, highlighting his penchant for posting false or misleading crime statistics, White paranoia, and of course, his bloated bias, wrapped in the most rancid of xenophobic conspiracies. Quite honestly, he’s a Caucasian cornucopia, that keeps dispensing gems of culturally sensitive wisdom such as this;And don’t you for a second, think that Ken doesn’t have a range when it comes to his POV- as a middle-aged White man, he’s obviously more than qualified by Nature alone, to tell the black community at large how they should feel via a meme, right after he posts another one that says “USA is not systematically racist”, despite all evidence to the contrary. By way of example, let’s view one of his abominable comments, concerning just what the African-Americans in this country should do:

Yeah… I for one, can’t imagine why all those uppity Negroes aren’t more appreciative that “we” saved them from a lifestyle that we propagated for close to 200 years. What nerve.

Just because “we” then made sure that they weren’t given the right to vote, or allowed to attend certain public schools and colleges, denied Black WW2 veterans access to the benefits of the GI Bill, as well the right to eat, live, and work where they wanted, and mandated that interracial marriages were illegal, as “we” to this day, refuse to grant them their constitutionally-protected educational, economic, and judicial justice equality, is no reason for them to be so rude about it, am I right?

In case any of you have forgotten just what Blacks should be “grateful” for, here’s a handy reference chart:

Remember though kids, according to our resident Mayor of Mayoville here, that the USA is not racist, and Black people should stop demanding those rights and privileges which “we” take for granted. And just in case Ken’s selective memory ever tries to claim that he doesn’t have a bigoted bone in his body, here’s a meme where he displays his fear of a culturally evolving society, using quite possibly, the most bigoted character ever to appear on American TV::Nothing to unpack here, I’m sure. For instance, whenever I reference how well I get along with my GF, I always like to post a photograph of Oscar Pistorius, to underscore my assertions, which of course, makes about as much sense as the majority of Ken’s opinions. However, despite possessing a worldview best abandoned in 1964 Mississippi, Ken actually does have friends. Sure, they may be as allegedly mentally vacuous as he is, but at least he’ll always have someone to talk to at a Tiki-Torch get-together.

And isn’t that what true friendship is all about? Having someone in your corner to lend a hand when you need help, to give emotional support when you’re down, and to lend a spare white robe when yours is still inexplicably stuck at the dry-cleaners. But enough about Ken’s casual Friday outfits, let’s talk about his brothers -in-smarm.

In my last screed, I acquainted you all with one of Ken’s fellow never-read-a book club members, who goes by the name of Richard “Ricardo” Leyba, and proceeded to share one of his blatantly uninformed opinions, most of which, consist of conspiratorial inanity like this:
While this level of paranoid delusion is indeed, truly impressive, Ken’s other buddy, a curmudgeonly demagogue by the name of Walter L. Cook Sr, goes one better, and raises the simpleton stakes by throwing down this bit of lunacy onto the political poker table:
I have to admit. I am thoroughly impressed. To have the ability to tie together the JFK assassination, the horrors of 9-11, and COVID-19 as all part of a Deep State agenda secreted within the very same government that failed at the War on Poverty, Terror, Education, Drugs, and if you listen to FOX News, Christmas, is a feat of mental gymnastics that would make even Alex Jones jealous.

Seriously. He’s probably sitting in his underwear at home right now, watching a program concerning the Freemasons on the Hitler Channel, and seething palpably into his bowl of Pizza Rolls as I type this. Let’s face it, when you’re getting telegrams from the late Sergei Nilus himself, congratulating you on the level of bullshit you’ve acquired, you just know you’re on your way to becoming nothing less than an inspiration for the great and ignorant mass that votes Republican.

Sorry, I meant to say; “that votes cult”, as that’s what the GQP has become. And not even an interesting one at that. While the Hebrews had the decency (by comparison that is) to blindly worship a Golden Calf, today’s modern Conservative has chosen to hitch what may remain of their souls to a man who’s never been accused of having a functioning one. Need proof? Well, there’s always this, for a start:
A scientific aside for a moment, if I may- according to Biologists, the only life forms that are theoretically “forever”, are Jellyfish, Flatworms, (AKA: Planarian worms) and a poly-extremophilic bacterium, known as Deinococcus radiodurans. Other animals that may lay claim to an almost immortal existence, are (curiously enough) Turtles and Lobsters, which unlike Donald Trump, women are actually willing to put into their mouths for free.

But parallels can still be drawn twixt the two groups- much like Trump, jellyfish have no spine, flatworms have no definable intellect, and Deinococcus radiodurans can survive high dose of radiation, akin to how Trump is unaffected by the cancerous side-effects of the dime-store bronzer he wallows in. If you take factor in the previously mentioned turtles and lobsters, the circle can be closed tight, considering he has the physique of a turtle, and the coloration of an overcooked lobster as well.

I would point out, that a guy who’s said; “Till Death do us part”, no less than three times in front of witnesses and mythical God himself, and yet remains very much alive after he gets caught committing adultery yet again, isn’t really the best definition of “Forever”, that you should try to hang your shingle on, champ.

The fact that this gaggle of GQP goblins still swallow this man’s venomous fake-oil elixir, despite all of the evidence attesting to his history of fraud, incompetence, fatuous falsehoods, political and financial failures, sexual predation, and outright treason, is in and of itself, not all that shocking when you dissect why that is. These people, the marginalized, the mentally ill, the paranoid, the uninformed, and the hateful, finally have a very public champion flying their flag, and even if he causes the destruction of whatever they love, including themselves, they’re more than fine with it.

In their warped psyches, this lemming-like devotion somehow translates to “Owning the Libs”, and all that it implies, I guess. Spoiler alert, Magamorons- the only thing you guys have ever truly “owned” without question is yourselves, and yes… there’s a meme for that opinion of mine as well:
Oblivious self-irony may not be a character flaw exclusive to Conservatives, but I’m hard-pressed to recall any other ideological group that does it so consistently well, for lack of a better descriptive. Quite candidly, if I didn’t know better, I might suggest that these two were engaged in a friendly Gentlemen’s Bet, just to see whom could prove to be a bigger embarrassment to their immediate family, while simultaneously serving as prime examples as to why the American public school system so desperately needs to be better funded than our military.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. While both of these Beta-Cucks hoping one day to be mistaken for Alphas, may allegedly possess letters of apology from the condom factory cleverly disguised as their birth certificates, that’s still no reason for me to be so hard on them, is it? Even the fact that they could hide their own Easter eggs, and although there may be others who, after reading their drivel online or worse, are exposed to it in person, may feel the need to suggest that these two may be as sharp as a sock full of soup, I myself, would still never stoop to advocate for such a low-slung opinion regarding their personal character.

Instead, I would take the proverbial high road, and subtly infer that if this duo ever shared a clever thought between them, odds are that most likely, it would die alone and terrified. And since at this point, it is truly impossible to underestimate them, I would also have to call attention to that if either one was half as smart as they think that they are, they’d be twice as smart as they actually happen to be. For as the Russian saying goes concerning *консервативные конфетные задницы; “Pазумные мысли всегда следовали за ними, но они были быстрее.”

Rough translation? “Intelligent thoughts have always followed them, but they were faster”.
*(Google it. Russian is a fascinating language.)

Speaking of Russians, one concept that Leyba truly fears, outside of Democracy, the LGBTQ and Minority communities having equal access to White people stuff, women’s body autonomy, a godless society based on logic, and in a personal guess based on his overall density presented thus far, the annual Starbucks Christmas coffee cup, is the “threat” of Communism, a political system that Leyba can’t define, but can meme about it like nobody’s business:This message of bravado from a man whom, as we shall come to see, is scared by the thought of having to wear a cloth mask in Walmart for five minutes at a time, transgender and gay people, the practice of free elections, vaccines, cultural diversity, and a God-free society, but please, carry on with your bad-ass self, Ivar the Spineless.This message of hypocrisy brought to you by a member of the political party that continues to fight against securing a living wage, healthcare for all, funding vital infrastructure, erasing student loan debt, ending predatory banking and payday practices, enacts unconstitutional voting laws, usurps women’s body autonomy and was the driving force behind the act of treasonous insurrection on January 6^th, 2021, but tell us more, Tsarevich.Well… this is awkward as f**k.

One, not everything you don’t like is “Communism”, Ricardo, just as everything I don’t like isn’t a willfully ignorant dumbass such as yourself. I was originally going to use corn on the cob as my go-to example, but then I remembered that unlike you, corn actually has fans. Second, for people who constantly whine about “cancel culture’ as it were, you guys sure do seem to spend a lot of time practicing it against companies who dare show the merest amount of support for Humanity, and not your faux Christianity in the form of a overtly vile Jackoff-in-the-Box..

But as I noted earlier, self-owning is the in thing you do better than anybody else, it’s just a shame that all of your “boycotts’ have been as successful as your attempts to overturn Roe vs Wade, criminalize legal protest, chill the free Press, and overthrow democracy. And before you start bleating it was “just a few companies”, here’s a partial list, culled from FIVE pages of such.

 AbbVie, Abbey Road Studios, Activision Blizzard, Adidas, Airbnb, Alaska Airlines, Amazon, Barclays Bank, Barnes & Noble, Bayer, Bergdorf Goodman, Ben & Jerry’s, BMW, Cartoon Network, Chick-fil-A, [Really? But they hate Gays as much as you do!] Chipotle, Chips Ahoy, Coca Cola, DIRECTV, Discord, Disney, Dollar Shave Club, Doritos, DoorDash, Fitbit:Foot Locker, Formula 1, FOX, Frosted Mini Wheats, Gatorade, GoDaddy, and last, but certainly not even close to being least, and I am not making this up… LEGO.

This I can only assume, is because all of the blocks are different colors, and the Mini-figs are always yellow. However, I’d still love to hear your take on how we’re always the bad guys here, Ricky. I’m sure it’s just as well thought-out as the rest of your vacillations of victimhood.

Now, so that they’ll be at least one topic he’ll actually be able to talk factually about, I present to Ricky Retardo here, the simplest breakdown of the two respective political ideologies he thinks are at odds with each other, in language that even he can understand. And if he can’t, then I guess we’ll have to break out the hand-puppets next. Communism: Nobody can be rich, except the already powerful. Capitalism: Anybody can be rich, except the already powerless.

In his limited defense however, I’m sure it’s kind of hard to read a number of academic books regarding political theory when your dominant hand is continually posting ore-fabricated opinions you’ve downloaded off OAN, and the other is pleasuring yourself at the thought of Mike Lindell finally getting to the bottom of that election fraud conspiracy. Screw you, so-called journalists, the pillow guy is here, and he’s about to serve up some evidence, that only the CEO of a low-quality pillow company previously fueled by crack-cocaine, could pull out of the murk that is the American political system.

I for one, cannot wait. And I’m sure it will be just as impactful as his totally not a train wreck at all, “Cyber Symposium” was. Getting back on track Leyba isn’t alone in his hypocritical embrace of the so-called “cancel culture”, his pal Walter likes to get his licks in too:Speaking for myself here, as I always do, but does it strike anyone else as odd that a guy who rails against immigrants and by the nature of such comments, the concept of outsourcing, to cheer the loss of much-needed American jobs by reveling in the fallout instigated by an allegedly effective boycott?

To be fair, I don’t know how many of those 1200 soon to be unemployed people voted for Trump, but it’d be logical to assume that some of them must have, so why is Wally so pleased to see his fellow MAGAmorons suffer? Well, as is usual with these sociopaths, who are one spice rack away from becoming Jefferey Dahmer, and only two bow-ties short of challenging Ted Bundy, it’s a mixed bag of cherry-picked truth, and wholly outright fiction.

But before I dive in, I want you to remember kids, the GQP is the one political entity who wants to protect the sanctity of our voting process, so that’s why they gerrymander districts, purge voting rolls, pass unconstitutional edicts, claim mail-in voting is fraudulent, which it is not, and when those measures failed, attempted to overturn an election by staging a coup.

This latest foray into disseminating faux outrage by people who mainline White anger the way Charlie Sheen once did white lines of Columbian fairy dust, is due to Coca-Cola’s very public stance against a new Georgia voting law specifically designed to make the Constitutionally-protected act of voting that much harder to undertake.

Targeted restrictions of this demographically specific Jim Crow measure, makes absentee voting harder, severely limits the quantity and availability of early voting drop boxes, and imposes penalties upon any person who isn’t an election worker, from offering food and drink to voters waiting in line. This by the way, is a blatantly obvious attempt to discourage free voting, as once the new limitations are put in place, casting ballots could now possibly take hours to do.

An accidental side-effect, I’m sure. What is not accidental however, is Walter’s exclusion of what the real facts behind this meme are to begin with, and I’m 100% certain his doing so had nothing to do with what truly occurred, wherein in no way, shape or form, did a supposed boycott influence Coke’s business decision. But why talk about what’s “real” when you can instead, choose to pretend that you and your inane ilk are relevant to the world as you see it?

And who’s more qualified to determine what should be classified as factual, than a guy who while ignoring American values outright, ham-fistedly defines what it is that makes an American a “real” American?I had no idea that a random quirk of the sperm cell that became you, being launched into your mother on the right side of an imaginary borderline, somehow made you by design, far more patriotic than say, my dad, who came here from Germany in the 1960’s. Go ahead and tell my dad he’s not a “real American” because he wasn’t born here. In fact, I dare you to do so, if only for the joy of watching him knock your teeth so far down your throat, you’ll have to shove food up your ass to eat,

Unfortunately for Wally, the reason behind Coke’s declining sales, which have resulted in this superficially minimal restructuring of its estimated 86,200 employee workforce, has f**k-all to do with a boycott led by alleged patriots, and everything to do with the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, which has raised production costs, and affected its overall sales, as close to half its revenue comes from its products being consumed outside (IE: restaurants) the home. 

But let’s jettison all that in favor of the fantasy that a bunch of fascist-worshiping red-hatted twat seditionists, who while unable to win respect, a presidential election, pr hold on to the Capitol building for more than a few hours, somehow managed to make one of the best-known companies in the world entire, their private bitch.  

For my part, I wish I possessed that kind of delusional optimism, as It’d be kind of cool to tell everyone who’d listen that at one point in my life, I had been dating Milla Jovovich, but had to dump her because my side action with Angeline Jolie was getting in the way. C’est la vie. As it tends to be with people like these who concoct connections that don’t exist, follow the thinnest of threads to erroneous conclusions, and see Deep State agents hiding in their underwear drawer, unfounded paranoia is not only expected, it’s a forgone conclusion.

And what’s better fodder for maintaining one’s paranoiac idiocy than believing in a worldwide false flag operation disguised as a viral pandemic? Once again, our toxically dense twat-twins using only the Internet and the alleged voices in their heads, have figured it all out:T
This warning brought to you by the very same people who cautioned us all about the “War” on Christians, White cultural heritage, the American flag, the National Anthem, guns, traditional marriage and gender roles, Dr. Seuss, and the right to say “Merry Christmas” out loud in public.

Yes… the very same party that encouraged people over a year ago to follow recommended health protocols and to listen to actual doctors versus a failed Reality TV show host, are the ones that want to kill you.

That’s why your President ignored the experts, mocked mask usage, refused to order additional vaccine doses, failed to enact a competent distribution plan for said dosing, suggested we inject disinfectant into our bodies, and let over 500K of the citizens he was supposed to protect die, as he received the best medical care and an experimental treatment for a virus whose imminent threat he depicted on Feb 26^th 2020, as such: “The risk to the American people remains very low. We have the greatest experts, really in the world, right here”,

Adding further irresponsibility into what was already an out-of-control clusterf**k, and on the very next day no less, he then incorrectly declared that; “It’s going to disappear. One day- it’s like a miracle- it will disappear.” But let’s all thank the mythical God above you’re here to give us the straight dope regarding the alternative reality where Trump isn’t a complicit ally in fueling the devastation caused by his narcissistic incompetence, you delusional dumbass.

I’m not even going to address the sheer stupidity of the bumper sticker ideology Leyba and Walter cherry-pick to sanctimoniously slur the reputation of a dedicated public servant who’s served this country with distinction for over 4o years, but I will say this- if justification was ever required as to why swallowing would have been the far better choice for both of their mothers, as well as our democratic society at large, they willingly provide it with each subsequent post.

One might argue that calling out alleged imbecility like this is a non-productive approach, but I’d respectfully disagree with that sentiment. The intent of Evil festers best under the cover of darkness, and our collective letting it do so, is what led this country to the precipice of insurrection on January 6^th. This is not the philosophies of the Left and Right clashing over a few minor points of civil contention, it is quite literally, a battle between rational thought and an ever-widening chasm of sociopathic madness, manifesting itself as a vacuous vortex.

And yes… you can quote me on that.

Speaking of empty voids that suck, let’s take a gander as to how our two puerile patriots, using their far-superior sense of morality based in of course, modern-day Christianity, or as it tends to present itself these days, as the fortuitousness to worship a mythical deity whose personal biases just so happen (GASP!) to align perfectly with yours.

What Are the odds of that?

This view concerning some of their fellow Americans, who for one reason or another, just don’t happen to fit the mold that these two were formed out of, is truly vile at best. Sorry, it just occurred to me that when I said “mold”, I was indubitably, referring to this kind;
and not the type that keeps producing all those FOX News bimbo clones, the majority of whom are primarily made from silicone, hair bleach, and random pamphlets espousing the NAZI Party’s “Three K’s” *philosophy for women to pattern their lives and households after.
[AKA: “Kirche, Küche, Kinder”, which translates as “church, kitchen, children”)

Even if I were to hold out hope that their communal incognizance regarding the ills of Society could someday be hopefully cured by science, I’d also suggest that if it can’t, I’m perfectly fine with attempting to purify their clearly corrupted souls using the Waters of Lourdes. And if this ;Vatican Voodoo fails to work? Well… there’s always the option of sending them to a day spa, safely confined within the caldera of an active volcano. Which, in retrospect, would be a good way to familiarize them with as to where they’ll actually be spending Eternity.

As to why that is, it actually has less to do with their abominably selfish ignorance, as the modern-day concept of Hell is no longer akin to Dante’s Inferno, but is generally predicated on the fact that Jesus truly loathes having his name dropped by people who not only embarrass him, but misquote his best-selling biography all the time as well. Speaking as a writer myself, I can assure you that after a while, that sort of thing really gets under your skin somewhat.

According to all the stuff I see posted if not postured, by these sanctimonious sheep online about how “God is love”, I have yet to see it pouring out of his so-called followers with any sort of credible consistency. Anti-LGBTQ, anti-body autonomy, anti-Islam, ant-societal and scientific progress, anti-healthcare for all, anti-education, anti-immigrant, anti-democracy, anti-living wage, anti-free speech, but pro-gun and pro-war, which somehow, still allows them the wiggle room to claim the mantle of being equally pro-life, but only up to the point of birth.

After that point those kids can just go f**k the hell off, just like Jesus would want them to do.

What’s that you say? Jesus didn’t say or imply any of those things? Well, obviously your copy of the Bible must be really old. Feel free to borrow mine- I bought it off Trump’s website, and he claimed it’s the one he read every day while president, as it’s both his favorite book, and source of moral guidance. Hence the reason why he was privately counseling that pornstar, and then afterwards, out of the goodness of his hear, felt compelled to cut her a check for her favorite charity.

Not only was he nice enough to autograph it, on its cover, which looks suspiciously pristine, as if it was never cracked open, although I’m sure that’s due to his obvious reverence for the tome itself, if not its inherent lessons. For example, during a speech at Liberty University, he referenced one of its more well-known passages: “Two Corinthians 3:17, that’s the whole ballgame. … Is that the one you like? Now the Lord is that Spirit: and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.”

Sure, there may be a few among you who might correctly note that particular verse is to be found within “Second Corinthians”, and not “Two”, but hey… semantics.

But this verbal gaffe aside, Donny does know what speaks to him, and how best to express it. When asked what his favorite verse was, he seemed reticent to give a clear answer, and when pressed as to why that was, responded; “Because to me that’s very personal, You know, when I talk about the Bible it’s very personal so I don’t want to get into verses. The Bible means a lot to me but I don’t want to get into specifics.” And when it comes to his preferred section of his self-declared favorite book, be it the Old or New Testament, responded with, “I think it’s just incredible, the whole Bible is incredible,”

Well, I won’t speak for you, but that sounds like a truly plausible answer especially from a guy who also once said; “I have great relationship with God. I have great relationship with the Evangelicals, I like to be good. I don’t like to have to ask for forgiveness. And I am good. I don’t do a lot of things that are bad. I try to do nothing that is bad.“

Once again, when the question was pressed as to whether or not he’s ever asked God for forgiveness, Herr Twitler blurted; “I am not sure I have, I just go on and try to do a better job from there. I don’t think so, I think if I do something wrong, I think, I just try and make it right. I don’t bring God into that picture. I don’t.”

Yep… I can’t even begin to imagine why I have serious doubts about the sincerity of their Faith, given the fact that they’ve put Trump in the same parking spot once occupied by the Golden Calf. Nice upgrade, jackasses- I’m sure God approves of your addition to the celestial icon collection, irrespective of what the 2^nd Commandment says.

So, without any further ado, let’s see some of that Christian “love” applied to issues of the day, which despite not affecting them at all, still compels them to hurl five-gallon-cans of ignorant starter fluid into the fires, nonetheless. If ever there comes a time when Jesus feels the need to add some new questions to his membership applications, these two will be part of the reason why he thought it was necessary.

A question came to mind after mu initially seeing this, and it is such: why is it that so-called straight conservatives think about gay sex more than the people who are actually having it? Nothing to unpack there, I’m sure.

I don’t want to pass any judgement based in cynicism here, but as a straight guy myself, I’ve always viewed having gay dudes hanging around as a plus- they’re not competition, and my acceptance, based on character and not context, as you should do with everyone, gives women the perception that I’m a thoughtfully sensitive kind of guy, which can only help get my pitch over the plate. Your dad managed to line up his shot one time, Ricky. How impressive.
I guess that makes up for all the time he missed, and bruised your mother’s belly button.

Not to be outdone when it comes to being overly obsessed with a demographic, he claims he wants no part of, Walter brings a new twist to an old trope, and gives us not only an insight into his own sexual anxiety, but adds a delightful smattering of hypocrisy as well: I may not be the smartest of men, but I’d like to believe that if I was going to attempt a defense what I considered to be a point of sexual morality, I wouldn’t reference an association that speaks for one of the largest charity-funded pedophiliac protection rackets to ever walk the Earth, just saying. What’s next, Walter? Going to ask Ghislaine Maxwell if she’d like to be a talent coordinator for the Miss Teen USA pageant?

Only Walter could get mad at a cartoon marketed to children, which is ironic, considering his intellectual level is far below that of its intended audience. And even better? You know if he was questioned about the show’s specific content, he wouldn’t be able to tell you anything about it, because that info wasn’t included in his “What are we angry about this week?” blast e-mail.

But Ricky, in my opinion, and as we shall come to see, isn’t content to let Walter hog all the fun concerning how total strangers go about their day-to-day lives, because he’s got a Bronze-Age book of fairy tales, orally passed down from illiterate goat-herders over hundreds of tears, to justify his preoccupation with a societal facet he’s never researched, talked to, or can be bothered to understand;And by the by, my Christard? The very book that you mentally hump the way a dog does a pillow, also says that you shouldn’t have tattoos, wear blended fabrics, get divorced, wear gold, eat shellfish, pull out during sex, cut your beard, allow women to speak in church, eat pork, tear your clothes, braid your hair, putting two seeds in the same crop, hold grudges, have sex during a menstrual cycle, use yeast in any grain offerings to the Lord, nor mistreat foreigners, something that Trumpeters like Ricky do as easily they slide over razor blades without cutting themselves.

However, this may be my personal favorite, for as Ricky referenced Deuteronomy to rationalize his unfounded bigotry, I now present passage 22:28-29 from the same, so that he can avoid choking on his own hypocrisy, because I’m certain there’s nothing within the previous list, or the mention to follow, that he’s ever done against the edicts of his imaginary friend.

To note: “If a man find a damsel that is a virgin, which is not betrothed, and lay hold on her, and lie with her, and they be found. Then the man that lay with her shall give unto the damsel’s father fifty shekels of silver, and she shall be his wife; because he hath humbled her, he may not put her away all his days.” Glad to know he was a virgin before he got married, otherwise, he’d have some ‘splaining to do, and who needs that kind of awkwardness in their lives?

But as the saying goes; “You can’t keep a good man down”, and apparently, that now applies to the bad ones too, as Walter comes squawking back with yet another anti-gay swipe bolstered by a fictitious promise from a deity I wouldn’t trust to hold my wallet, given how his employees spend his organizational cash:
For those of you who may be unaware of what that “promise” was/is, and why the delusional descriptive of “Mercy” should be attached to it as if a job coaching the girls’ basketball team at a junior high should be offered to Matt Gaetz, it relates to the parable of the fabled Great that6 is to be found within chapters 5–8 of the Book of Genesis. So why was there a flood in the first place, and what does it have to do with rainbows?

Well… here’s the totally rational explanation: “5 And God saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually. 6 And it repented the Lord that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him at his heart. 7 And the Lord said, I will destroy man whom I have created from the face of the earth; both man, and beast, and the creeping thing, and the fowls of the air; for it repenteth me that I have made them.8 But Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord.”

So, to recap- God, who knows everything, including WHAT’S ABOUT TO HAPPEN, gave Man free will, knowing he would use it to turn his back on God,, and in a fit of sociopathically petty pique, decided to murder his own creations including almost all the animals, who had done nothing, based solely on his dissatisfaction with the deliberate design flaw that remember, he had full awareness of beforehand.

I could also mention the fact he slaughtered innocents as well, given the fact he only had the initial franchise located squarely in the Middle East at the time, but let’s ignore that, just like the Bible and Evangelicals do. Inconvenient continuity makes it harder to fleece the gullible, after all. Now, despite that he created all of the Universe in mere days, decided to grant Grace upon one family, who still possessed the defective code, to go and repopulate the earth entire through inbreeding and relaxed morality.

Nope. Not a gap in logic to be found here, boys and girls. Not. A. Single. One.  But where does the rainbow factor into all of this, you ask?

Once again, we refer to the edict from the Lord of the Wingsuits: 13 I set My rainbow in the cloud, and it shall be for the sign of the covenant between Me and the earth. 14 It shall be, when I bring a cloud over the earth, that the rainbow shall be seen in the cloud;

15 and I will remember My covenant which is between Me and you and every living creature of all flesh; the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh. 16 The rainbow shall be in the cloud, and I will look on it to remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth.” 17 And God said to Noah, “This is the sign of the covenant which I have established between Me and all flesh that is on the earth.”

Other than the fact he repeats himself no less than four freaking times, the celestial sociopath promises us all that in the future, he will never again cover the entire earth with floodwaters, choosing as an alternative, to only allow the swath of his self-created wrath, to randomly kill and displace a couple hundred-thousand of the dominant species he demands unceasing loyalty and love from, instead.  

But hey, we do get a free trick of the light to remind us all what a great God he is in trade, so never forget just how lucky you are to bow and scrape before him and his truly f’d-up sense of bestowment. No matter how you look at it, Christians feel that they alone, own the rainbow, and despite Skittles saying you can taste it, and Lucky Charms making it into a marshmallow, these disciples of dimwittedness are truly determined as the hashtag on the meme so clearly states, to “#takingtherainbowback”, whatever the f**k that means.

But not to fear- if they take the rainbow back half as well as they’ve taken on stopping the teaching of Evolution, the right to get an abortion, the chilling of Atheism, and defending their incessant claims about being the true victims of intolerant bigotry to a rapidly disbelieving public, I’m sure they’ll have the rainbow back long before their savior is set to return.  And whatever you do, don’t remind them that he’s only missed that date about twelve times by now. They’re kind of touchy about it, given the fact of how many times they’ve bought one of those Hummus platters to celebrate his return, and had to watch it go to waste.

You “refuse to see “pride’ when you condescend to look at a symbol of dignified equality and societal acceptance? That’s okay. I refuse to look at you, and see a mentally-functioning human being, so it all balances out.

Fear of a fabulously gay rainbow aside, Ricky knows what else is responsible for the degradation of Christian values these days, and like most of his inane beliefs, it’s old enough to qualify as an antique. I am of course, referring to the scourge of modern culture, that being;Ahh, Hollywood. Tinseltown. The Land of Dreams. The Celluloid Capital. And depending on who you talk to, run by “The Jews”, “The Mob”, “Soulless Bastards”,”, “Talentless Hacks”, “Alien Overlords”, or if your source is a modern-day conservative, “A gilded off-ramp to Sodom and Gomorrah overseen by a Deep-State-financed cabal of Satan-worshiping pedophiles, who eat babies and drink their blood to remain young.”

While this last supposition might explain the ongoing appearance of Halle Berry, Tommy Lee Jones remains an enigma to the formula, despite all attempts to reverse-engineer it. I would point out that out of all of the social problems that Ricky obsesses over, this is literally the easiest one to fix. Well, maybe that’s too simplistic of a statement, considering that the solution to the majority of his invented drama is to just remove his cranium from his colon, but I’ll give this one the nod, because it’s just so goddamn stupid to begin with.

Crazy idea. Just hear me out. I know this may sound nuts, but just like having an abortion, willingly attending a gay wedding, or deciding to act more like a person and less like an alien lizard wearing an ill-fitting human skin-suit, you don’t actually have to give your money or your time in regards to anything you don’t want to partake of in the first place. Not now. Not ever.

And if your fellow Cafeteria Christians are doing so willingly and with regularity, maybe they actually want to, but lie about it where you’re concerned, because they know you’re more fixated on the sex lives and intimate clothing choices of self-identifying TG and gay strangers, than you are with your own, and don’t want to hear yet another dimwitted diatribe coming out of you.

Let me put it this way- nobody I know has ever admitted to me that they owned a copy of any Nickelback album, much less the nine they already have out there, but SOMEBODY has been buying them, and it can’t just be deaf people who like album cover art. Sadly though, we’re not out of the homophobic hamlet just yet, because our resident gonif of gender studies is back, and as usual, brought an opinion with him that’s unconstitutional, unpopular, unconceivable, and uniformed:A few points of order, if I may? First, there is a separation pf Church and State for a reason, and the motivation behind such is because of persons like yourself, whose understanding of the Constitution is as strong as their grasp on reality. Second, the last time I checked, “Gay” is not a religion, but a demographic composed of unique individuals, that our Democracy, unlike Walter recognize as actual people.

Therefore, my homophobic heterosexist, it does not violate this necessary delineation, in the same way that the icons and tenets of Christianity would do. I’d also point out as my third point Wally, that America has no “official” religion, and I might add, never will, given that whole First Amendment clause that you intellectual voids think only applies to you.

Obviously, while you’ve spent a great deal of your free time fantasizing about the day when the Bible is “back in school’, that’s also never going to happen either, unless you’re also correspondingly cool with Bahá’i‘s Seven Valleys, Buddhism’s Tipitaka, Hinduism’s Vedas, Islam’s Quran, Jainism’s Agamas, Judaism’s Tanakh, Shintoism’s Kojiki, Sikhism’s Guru Granth Sahib, Taoism’s Dao De Jing, Wicca’s Book of Shadows, and Zoroastrianism’s Avesta, being allowed equal access as well.

You know… since you’re so open-minded and all.

Wow. Over 10K words in, and thus far, I still haven’t given these two paint-by-conservative-numbers pinheads their full due just yet. If you could actually see the ever-growing stack of color-coded Post-It notes in my heard, regarding the fallacious beliefs of these closeted calamites, you’d think I was the one who had truly taken the rainbow back.

Since the land to be explored is still so vast, if not vapid-, I’m afraid I’ll have to split this narrative in ‘twixt:

Sigh… I didn’t mean “Twix”, I meant… oh, never mind. I have to do the wrap-up as a two-parter, that’s all. But far be it from me to end this screed without one last backhanded Snark swipe- it is me after all, and I do have a reputation of sorts to look out for. One other thing I keep an eye out for? The incongruous. The off-kilter. The things that could, in theory, be regarded with the suspicion that “Thou doth protest too much”, and all that such entails.

The prevalent thing that I’ve been observing, especially over the last few years, is just how much interest that conservatives have taken in the LGBTQ community, and at this point, I’m of the opinion that it’s no longer a question of these crypto-fascist Christians believing that their surmised morality is being openly attacked, but something far more insidious, and possibly bordering on a psychological disorder.  

And to close out this first chapter of this judgement of mine, Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present for your perusal, and straight from the source itself, Exhibit A:See? This is why I appreciate Ricky so damn much- he is quite literally, a self-propagating layer-cake of depleted uranium level density, and there’s no way I could ever adequately thank him for that. Mock him for it, sure, but even the score? I don’t see how that I could, short of teaching him how to use the Internet for doing actual research, versus filling his cerebral cortex with the ignorant intolerance he allegedly uses as stoking fodder when he finds himself alone with his memes.

Here’s the thing- I’ve never been harassed by anyone representing the LGBTQ community in regards to considering becoming either gay or transgender, but I have dealt countless times with the most sanctimonious of Bible-fellating dissemblers, threatening me with Hell, if I didn’t join their sociopath-worshiping cult. Go figure. 

Maybe it’s just me, but why would anyone who supposedly walks side by side with the alleged Creator of All, be such a total candy-ass when faced with a societal variable he can’t be bothered to understand, and which doesn’t affect his life in any way, shape, or form? If there were roving transgender gangs going around and coercing civilians into changing their sexual identities by force, then Ricky here might have a point, but since there aren’t and never will be, just what the f**k is he afraid of? Other than wondering if he’ll ever find that special off-the-shoulder cocktail dress that brings out his eyes, that is. I’m kidding of course, Mostly.

As I stated, I’ve never had any LBGTQ member try and intimidate me to join their tribe and by doing so, become absolutely fabulous, but there’s been a multitude of Christers who’ve never understood what the words “f**k off” truly means. Hint… it’s not “try harder”, just in case you didn’t know. Trust me on this, if I don’t want to be stuck in an elevator with you for twenty minutes, I sure as heck don’t want to spend my Eternity on a cloud with you, either.

Nevertheless, if I for one, had an omnipotent deity in my back pocket, I’d constantly be making S’mores in celebration. From inside the fire. While doused in gasoline cologne. Using sticks of TNT in place of the standard skewers, I might add. Ricky on the other hand, seems to be afraid of almost everything, and it leads me to the hypothesis that maybe, just maybe, he’s not as assured of his inherent masculinity as he claims to be.

Unless of course, you all think that it’s perfectly normal for an allegedly straight guy to think this much about bother people’s genitalia, and what they decide to do or not with it. Not to mention, I love how he takes artistic liberty with the work of Dr, Seuss, to present his bigoted POV, because as we all know, there’s no better way to present an ideological talking point quite like using a bastardized cartoon character to reflect both your concerns and the IQ range of those who might agree with you.

Let me be clear; THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH BEING GAY, BISEXUAL, POLY, TRANSGENDER, or identifying with any other hue of the open-sourced rainbow as a consenting adult is allowed to do. Forgoing any acts that involve children, animals, or using the music of Limp Bizkit as a tool of seduction, the sky is the proverbial limit. And openly doing so, does not make you “mentally ill’ as this vile meme so disgustingly and erroneously declares.

True mental illness in my layman’s opinion, is continuing to espouse that an adulterous, braggart, who openly admits to sexual assault, as he fantasizes about f**king his own daughter, represents the moral epicenter of America, as he falsely complains that ye was illegally removed from power, using the machinations of a Chinese-rigged election retained within one of the most verifiably secure voting systems in the world,

This is not to say that Ricky and his curmudgeonly cohort Wally, are mentally ill, but they sure as hell are quickly positioning themselves as viable future contenders for receiving, free of charge, the long-term use of a bouncy castle room, within an institution that asks politely of all of its visitors, that they leave their potentially stabby things behind in the car. That opinion of mine aside, it’s also been my experience that when cis-men post declarations like this;

they’re not so much concerned with Society’s lack of masculinity, as they are of it being widely accepted that they possess none of their own. But I’d opine that maybe it’s a far better thing for the community at large, that they’re far more comfortable expressing their misogyny, than they are with the fact that the thought of the strangers dicks they’re always ruminating over, make them feel just a tad bit flustered at times.

You know… just like when they used to climb the rope in gym class? Allegedly, of course. I’m just spitballin’ some ideas to clear out the ol’ mental attic, and in no way should my flippancy be regarded as anything more than that. Once again, there’s nor=thing wrong with expressing who you are, but pretending it’s okay to openly attack someone else who’s private and personal lifestyle choices make you uncomfortable, is the most chickens**t of positions to defend.

In more civilized times, a person far more eloquent than I, most certainly would call attention to the awkward detail that the unfounded fear and hatred of the LGBTQ community (for most men at least) is 100% fueled by the peat bog of toxic masculinity, but I’m equally confident that Ricky would rationalize it as his morality, such as it isn’t, being taken unfairly out of context.

But… if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and tends to pay way too much overly focused consideration to other duck’s corkscrew-shaped appendage, then it’s either a duck, or one highly confused egret full of regret. As noted earlier, “Thou doth protest too much.” The real question awaiting an answer is “Why?”

This is naturally, a query that will resolve itself at some point, but as a closing thought to this first documentation of delusional dipshi**ery, I’’ll take a moment to metaphorically castrate a few of Ricky’s cuckold concerns. Yes, the role of a father is important, No doubt about that. But if you were cursed with a disinterested one as I and my siblings were, then their absence is almost a blessing. And as to boys being “subjected” to a feminine influence, I fail to see the issue that makes Ricky seemingly wet himself at the mere thought of it.

I was raised by a single mom, and one of the best positives I took away from it was the fact that we both have the same taste in women, but I turned out just fine in the end. The fact he laments a feminine influence on young boys, is almost laughable, given the fact that the male patterns of behavior left unchecked, lead to aggression, emotional disorders and disconnection, and in extreme cases, unrealistic expectations pf, and sexual violence against, women of all ages.

I can’t recall how many times I’ve heard my female friends and colleagues reference unsolicited and mansplained advice on how they’re supposed to dress, walk, act, and how much they should drink and what to say when out in public, but I’ve yet to see in my 52 years walking this ball of granite and space dust, the same standards equally applied to my gender. The real problem here isn’t a “lack of masculinity”, the real deficiency is that its most ardent advocates are fear-binging cucks like Ricky.

But we’ll get into that next time around, methinks. After all, the best part of a quest for that which is concurrently both hidden and visible, is the act of discovering the same. And when it comes to these two, there’s still so much more to be found.

Granted, some of it will be more of the same, but I’ll also throw in some paranoiac curve-balls, unfounded conspiracies, some anti-mask jackassery, and of course, the willful ignorance we’ve all come to expect from people who think that they’re being tracked by a micro-chipped vaccine, and not by the phone they use to post their delusions.

Trust me. I’ll make it fun.

“Imagine the people who believe such things and who are not ashamed to ignore, totally, all the patient findings of thinking minds through all the centuries since the Bible was written. And it is these ignorant people, the most uneducated, the most unimaginative, the most unthinking among us, who would make themselves the guides and leaders of us all; who would force their feeble and childish beliefs on us; who would invade our schools and libraries and homes. I personally resent it bitterly.”

– Isaac Asimov, The Roving Mind

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Money cannot buy health, but I’d settle for a diamond-studded wheelchair.”
– Dorothy Parker

“I always take Scotch whiskey at night as a preventive of toothache. I have never had the toothache; and what is more, I never intend to have it.”  – Mark Twain

Hello, Bitchiteers!

How are you feeling? Happy? Hungry” Sleepy? Sneezy? Or do you find yourselves consumed by the knowledge that life is a never-ending cycle, teetering between rapturous joy and crushing disappointment, destined to hasten our departure and that ever so surely, on the celestial path to discovering the answer to the eternal question we all have always wanted the answer to.- that being, why would a so-called “loving God”, in his infinite wisdom, ever allow a cinematic monstrosity such as Highlander 2 to exist without the end promise of it being eventually smote?

I mean… I’ve always considered myself a somewhat reasonable person even at the worst of times, so my willingness to overlook his previous errors ties in directly with the character traits I’m already respected for, but c’mon man…

In regards to the creation of creamed corn, the flavor that is known inappropriately as Butterscotch, the adulterous train wreck that is my ex-fiancé, and to a lesser degree, every single super-hero movie made by DC outside of the Nolan-directed Batman Trilogy, I’ll turn a blind eye, but even I, cannot possibly overlook that monstrosity, and keep in mind, not only do I have Satan’s direct office number, he’s proudly listed under my phones “ICE” contacts, as well.

Infernal best friends for the Afterlife aside, I find myself these days existing within a sphere of personal transition that I never saw coming, nor could have anyone else, come to think of it. I may have mentioned this before, but if you had told me four years ago, that I’d be a semi-retired partial amputee living the suburban lifestyle just outside a small-town in New Mexico, I’d probably remind you that there was a reason those brownies in my studio’s fridge were marked “special”, and leave it at that.I own a charcoal grill. I have curtains. A dining room table. A weed-whacker. House plants too. And with Odin as my witness, I also am the proud owner of a throw rug as well. A. Throw. Rug. Not to mention, I talk about my front and back yards now. A lot. And while the Gods of Suburbia demand that I become the owner of a Golden Labrador named “Murph”, I never will, due to my GF being allergic to animal dander. Damn. I’m this close to being considered an actual adult, as noted by the numerous solicitations I’ve been receiving as of late from both  Home & Garden and the AARP

However, since Nature openly abhors a vacuum, it tends to throw one a curve-ball when it doesn’t get its way, and therefore, decided to put me and mine to the ultimate of tests, that being, presenting us the option to buy the house we’re currently renting within the idyllic burg we now comfortably call home. Is the thought of being a homeowner awesome? That’s a big “hell to the yes”. Is it the second-most terrifying thing I’ve ever had to contemplate? Oh, you bet your sweet bippy it is, hands down.

Although to be fair, it’s not half as scary as having to sit through this convoluted mess twice:
I just have to know… who keeps greenlighting all these wastes of digital celluloid, and does Adrian Paul really need the money that bad? After all, there’s always the world of adult cinema that he could turn to in a pinch, and at the very least, their plot lines aren’t nearly as hard to follow as the one meandering pointlessly within this dreck.

What can I say? I’m just a man with a taste for the simplistic- give me a tale concerning what transpires between a pizza delivery guy and two cash-strapped blondes who don’t know to appropriately tip, and I’m happier than if I were a Catholic priest chaperoning a birthday party at Chuck E. CheeseNow, while the ramifications of being what might pass as a full-fledged adult these days, is a truly sobering thought, I’d also have to say that no matter which side of the chilled Ding Dong I look at it from, although that’s to be expected, considering I can’t possibly focus on both bank loan applications and chocolatey snack cakes at the same time, as if such a thing were possible to begin with.

Now, while the ramifications of being perceived as what might pass as a full-fledged adult these days, is a truly sobering thought, I’d also have to say that no matter which side of the chilled Ding Dong I look at it from, it’s to be expected, considering I can’t possibly be expected to focus on both bank loan applications and chocolatey snack cakes at the same time, as if such things were possible to begin with.

But all we can do at this point, is to take it as it comes, and hope for the best. Knock on wood with your fingers crossed, placing your bet on the long-shot odds that the vampire who “sparkle’s” is now dead.

And if the wondrous event of us becoming officially land-based Suburbanites does ever come to fruition, we all know who in the end, should truly get the credit for making that happen, even though technically, we’ll be the ones picking up the mortgage.

May I present to you, my assembled ladies and gentlemen, our real estate team:
Sure, they may dress as if they’re in an 80’s cosplay tribute boy-band, performing at a casual Friday gig, but don’t let that fool you for one second. These two can make any nonconforming loan their bitch, and they can do it without getting a single drop of glitter-blood on their matching Members Only jackets. That, my loyal Blogiteers, is what true badassery is all about.

Speaking of which, I find myself yet again locked within the eternal struggle of my own body trying to take me out with nothing less than predatory malice. Where this animosity stems from, I can only ponder, but it strikes me as patently unfair, considering that all I’ve ever done is try to show my body one heck of a good time. And this, regardless of whatever is currently going on within my life at the time. Granted, this methodology has been altered somewhat, as I’ve been willingly off the playing field as it were, for close to thirteen years now, but the spirit of such endeavors remains.

This only occurs however, when I’m not bragging about such to total strangers, that is. Hey, a semi-retired scoundrel has to keep his skillset sharp, and all that, Now, while it may be true that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, it’s also fair to say that sticking with the classics that have been proven to work, is also not a bad fallback strategy, either, So, to the best of my limited physical abilities, I do what I can, and I try to do it as much as reality and my physicality allows.

To be clear, this does not imply directly or even remotely suggest, that I’m running around like an Oathbreaker from Lord of the Rings on an extended Shire leave, but I try not to let my perceptibly deteriorating condition limit me, regardless of the situation and what it demands of me physically. Fortunately, the fact remains that while my body is currently treating me as if it were a rebellious teenager at a beer pong bacchanalia, my brain still shows up to work on time, with its sleeves rolled up, and fully ready to f**k some s**t up before lunch.

My body may not be battle-ready by any means, but let me assure you all, that my intellect is always prepared to throw down at a moment’s notice, regardless of the fallout that may occur due to its involvement. And let me tell you, when said challengers arrive, they’re always ready to bring the noise, despite not having even the most tenuous of grasps on the actual facts of the matters currently at hand.

This is not to say that some of these dullards of density cannot be educated, but in order to do so, they have to be dealt with as if you were sleeping with the Spice Girls. Sure, taking them on all at once sounds great in theory, but eventually, it’s not only going to rub you raw, if’s going to break your spirit as well, especially after you discover  and that, far too late, that Sporty Spice is not only totally immune to your argumentized charm to begin with, she’s also been checking out your sister as well, so maybe each one should be handled individually.

Especially when it comes to Scary Spice, as something tells me that keeping a bowl of ice, an oxygen tank, and a pre-agreed upon safe word, either upon your lips, or written down on a placard right next to the bed you’re currently tied up on, may not be a bad idea. That’s only an objective suggestion I’m putting out there of course, because as you all know by now, I live to help others.
Somehow, I’ll eventually find a way to make peace with the fact that I’ve been a very bad boy, and at some point, should probably be punished for being so, Thursday works out good for me, in case anyone named Mel B is asking, and just so happens to have some free time on her hands. And as I said earlier, that’s just an objective suggestion, because if there’s anything I truly live for, it’s to offer my personal help to anyone who may require it.

What can I say? At my core, I’m truly a selfless giver, no matter what any of those people say, or can prove. Speaking of which, when it comes to my team of healthcare professionals currently keeping me alive, it seems the giving never stops. At this point, I’m really not sure if my medical squad is trying to keep me alive by improving my current health woes, or just doing so in a veiled and misguided attempt to create an army of middle-aged snarky clones, as if I were a bargain rack Jango Fett:                                                    Oh yeah. This guy totally nailed the look i was going for.

Nah. I’m sure their hearts are in the right place, unlike their sampling needles, diagnostic scans, and best guesses as to what the hell is actually wrong with me. Perceptibly, I’m referring to my state of physical health only, because if my personal cadre of medical mercenaries ever decided as a group to undertake a deep dive into the Cenobite paradise that masquerades as my psyche, I’m pretty sure that most of my medical practitioners would wind up convalescing within their very own bouncy castle room, talking to themselves in a corner, for quite some time to come.

On no account, should my sardonic assertion ever be taken as any form of directed criticism in relation to the dedicated doctors and related healthcare professionals that are currently working overtime to figure out exactly what are the issues that currently plague me, past the obviously psychological ones that exist, but I digress, if only to move the narrative forward.

These include, but are not limited to; being a partial amputee and the concerns that come with being one,, bouts of unexplained fatigue, random fits of neurological pain, erratic muscle spasms, severe gastric issues, and disturbingly frequent episodes involving my vision, muscle strength, and an inability to increase my weight and overall stamina. Fun beyond compare, let me tell you.
Sadly, this state of affairs is not a new development, as I’ve suffered through numerous misdiagnoses ranging from cancer scares to incompetent predictions of my imminent death, a slew of errant test results that challenge the outcomes of other tests that declare the opposite, and a physiology that I’m quite sure, has instigated some of my doctors into contemplating taking up the pursuit of alcoholism as a dedicated hobby, if not an outright career change,

The latest carnival-ride-from-hell that I’ll be undertaking next, is a procedure known as an Upper Endoscopy, which is described as such: “An upper endoscopy is a procedure used to visually examine your upper digestive system with a tiny camera on the end of a long, flexible tube. A specialist in diseases of the digestive system (gastroenterologist) uses an endoscopy to diagnose and, sometimes, treat conditions that affect the esophagus, stomach and beginning of the small intestine.”

Or for those of you who just won’t be able to go on without seeing a disturbing visual in regards to such, don’t you worry about it, because Bro? I’ve totally got your back:
Hopefully, for those of you who’ve always wondered what the combination of an unwanted prison shower interaction would look like if the face-hugger attack scene from Alien was thrown into the mix, you’ll find your intellectual curiosity to be now fully satiated. As for me, I can’t believe that I’ve gone my entire life without willingly allowing a strange man to shove something down my throat while drugged, but hey, life is an adventure, and I guess I need to embrace that,

And while the procedure is considered relatively safe overall, there can be a few potential complications, which may include: perforation of the gut wall, adverse reaction to the sedative used in the procedure, infection, bleeding, as well as Pancreatitis resulting from an endoscopic retrograde cholangiopancreatography procedure, also known as an ECRP.

This is a procedure by the way, that uses an endoscope to examine, and then x-ray, the pancreatic duct, hepatic duct, common bile duct, duodenal papilla, and gallbladder, something that I honestly can’t believe has never been deliberately scribbled into the margins of both my personal to-do and bucket list. Weird, that.

But since you’re now clearly emotionally invested in this, my latest tale of things you never thought you’d be interested in, you’re probably asking yourself just why I’m willingly about to undergo a process which at best, reminds me of an impromptu audition on the way to becoming the most popular person in Cellblock H. It’s simple, really. I’d generally prefer not to feel like I’m choking to death whenever I eat or drink something, and this particular problem has been vexing me for far too long at this point.

In essence, I’ve got some annoyances in my ledger of physical well-being, and I’d like to wipe them off the metaphorical spreadsheet for good, or at the very least, delay them to a point further down the road, as it were. You know… right before I download my consciousness into the sexiest of male robots, and thereby, cheat Death out of acquiring her so-called prize?

Although to be honest, I might need to go back to the ol’ design workshop, and rework this concept first, way before I decide to set any of my long-term plans in concrete. But then again, maybe if I need to plug myself in every now and then to literally recharge, it might prove to be far more advantageous to my quality of life than the one that I’ve currently got going on.

This is not to say that things have gone askew to the point of being truly worrisome, but I’d be lying if I also pretended that everything was, or is going to be, 100% okely-dokely without a concerted effort being launched in tandem, either. And in my case, that apparently involves happily swallowing a diminutive camera without the chivalrous act of being bought dinner first. Sure, I may have a well-deserved reputation for being easy, but I’ve never been that easy.
However, after close to three years of invasive testing, jabbing, prodding, and questioning, if not consistently sampling everything that either goes in or comes out of my body, I’ll offer up my belief that I don’t get nearly enough credit for not grabbing the nearest clipboard, forcefully inserting it into the closest lab technician, and defending the unprovoked assault as nothing more than satisfying my intellectual curiosity as to whether or not said clipboard, could ever be turned into a piece of functional Origami.

Spoiler; it truly can’t. But on the upside, once you rinse it off, you can totally reuse it.

Fortunately at the moment, I’m lucky enough to be the possessor of some fairly good insurance, so ideally, maybe I can get my health concerns under some form of consistent control, and that, long before the State of New Mexico drops me for forcing them into having to declare Chapter 13 bankruptcy. I’m kidding of course, but I do find myself at this moment in time, slogging through the bureaucratically demoralizing mire that serves as the path leading towards being acknowledged as medically disabled.

In an ideal world, I would neither require, or actively seek out such a designation, but given the particular circumstances that Life, with all of its quirks has opted to deal out to me, I simply have no choice. For now, anyway. My ultimate endgame is to repossess whatever shreds of good health remain accessible to me and my medical ninjas, and eventually, get back on my feet.

Well, my one foot and the remaining ¾ of the second one, that is.

Positively, if I do qualify, I could (under the rules) still legally work part-time, so at least I’d still have the option if only theoretically, to reestablish certain career facets once more. And yet, some of my more cynical peeps, earnestly thought that my dream job of being the lead singer for a Sigue Sigue Sputnik tribute band was dead, and out of my reach. Nay, says I, to you, the denizens of little faith.

And the best part? Minus a hair color change and a bulk order of mascara, I pretty much already have everything I’d need to get up and faux posing, and as you might have already guessed, that does include the totally fly formal jackets as well. Now, if I can only find a practical use for all those multi-colored parachute pants and British flag tee shirts that I still have in storage, I’d be as right as rain.

It’s at this point that I’m going to present an awkward and possibly inarticulate transition, and I swear beforehand that it does fit into my story, so please bear with me, if you will.

The maxim “as right as rain” is a direct reference to one’s personal state of well-being, and is stereotypically defined as: “In good health or order; feeling or working just as someone or something should.” Now, if one were to apply this distinction to the diagnostics that are currently defining my state of health, not only are they not as right as rain, they may be as wrong as David Duke being invited to give a speech regarding cultural diversity to the NAACP.

What some people fail to understand, is that one of the more annoying things about Diabetes and its resultant side-effects, is that they don’t present themselves as being visibly notable. By that, I mean there’s (as a whole) no evidentiary form of the disease being prevalent, unlike other afflictions that one might associate with the severely ill. It’s not like I want to have skin discolorations, uncontrollable muscle spasms, and seeping wounds, but it would nice for people to stop assuming that I’m “perfectly okay” or “milking” my condition for sympathy, as one of my happily now former doctors once suggested, just because outwardly, I appear to be fine.

Say what you will about lepers, but at least when they go out in public, people in general, give them the courtesy and space they require to get on with their day. But when it comes to my particular disorder, not so much. Granted, when I’m walking with my cane, people are nice enough where I live to move aside and even open doors as a courtesy, but in a move I find to be quite irritating, as soon as they discover that I’m diabetic, they’ll also irritatingly, offer free medical “advice” I didn’t ask for, and wouldn’t accept anyway.

It tends to be irksome only because, you know… they’re not actually doctors, so much as they’re means-well morons who think that sitting inside a pyramid-shaped tent “cleanses” your chakras? A heads up, as it were: if you look like you’ve been following the Grateful Dead for most of your adult life, and your name has any part of the word “beam” in it, with “Sun” or “Moon”, preceding it, not only will I not take your advice, I’m most likely going to make sure that every time I run into you, I’ll start complimenting Big Pharma just to annoy the living f**k out of you.

And keep in mind, I think that the insulin-pricing cartel is one of the most abominably repugnant cabals on planet Earth. It’s just that I’m sick and tired of people suggesting that I wear crystals, go vegan, swallow cinnamon capsules, meditate with kittens, or in a personal favorite of mine, suggest to me that I ingest dried saguaro cactus in order to “recalibrate” my “chi”, and by doing so, finally kick my Diabetes to the curb. And no, I am not making this up.

This conversation actually happened. With a person. Someone who as far as I could tell at the time, did not appear to be wearing a human skin-suit. But in my limited defense, I may have been too far distracted by their tie-dyed sweatpants and fluorescent mushroom tattoos, to be paying the attention that was required to assess the finer details regarding their passionate implorations. C’est la vie, and all that.,

When I first moved to this, my newest Lair of Snarkitude, it was mentioned to me by a fellow creative that the place I was now set to call Home was, and I quote: “the perfect place to either hide out or reinvent oneself”, and after close to three years of living here, I have found elements of truth in the dual aspects of that casually uttered thought. And in an unforeseen twist, it seems to be a message of relevance that I needed to hear, and more importantly, take to heart.

If you’re in my intimate inner circle, and ever decided on a whim to line up my past life in Phoenix, with the New Mexican one I’m currently living, you’d definitely notice some major changes within yours truly, and only a handful of these can be attributed to my incorporation with Suburbia and all of its deliberately manicured perfection. These include my new approach to what I now write about, as well as my social interactions, of which I’ll delve into further down the literary road.

As for the rest, I’d assert that the cause can be divided equally between my current health crises, and the fact that at this particular moment, I’ve found myself being able to “breathe” for the first time as it were, in 25 years or so.. What I mean to say so by this, is that here, nobody has a clue who I am. Not one soul. Therefore, I rarely have to deal face-to-face with the truly toxic, as I so often did with the brigade of art poseurs that willingly contributed to helping turn Phoenix’s once mildly interesting, so-called art scene, into the equivalent of a glass of room temperature milk.

Served with a plate of generic vanilla wafers, of course, as we wouldn’t want any of those slumming    Scottsdalians feeling directly challenged by work that they’d have to reflect upon with an intellectual pause. That is, when they’re done ignoring it in the first place. The cultural impact of the Phoenix Art Scene (aka: the PAS) to its supposed base of patrons, is akin to what passes for high-end dining in the town I currently live in, except at least here, I can strategically defend the necessity, if not the practicality, of a Denny’s Grand Slam breakfast platter.Concerning which plate of overly salted pretentiousness is far more palatable, is still a query that remains open to a measured debate, but if I’m going to go out of my way to make myself sick, then rest assured, I’m going to make sure there’s some form of actual bacon involved, and not just a putrid pile of rehashed pork, thank you very much.

After nearly two-and-a-half decades slogging through the venomous mire of personal arrogance, marketing incompetence, and a level of artistic presentation and ethical quality that I could only charitably describe as half-assed at its best, for me to say I don’t miss it at all, is quite possibly the understatement of the century.

For the sake of clarity, I’m not bagging on the many positive aspects that have come out of the tempestuous chaos that once underpinned my life, the obvious ones being friends, knowledge, and professional respect, but I’d also have to call attention to the fact that almost everything I worked toward building in the PAS, has either been torn down and covered in concrete, or seen an overpriced and badly-filtered homage to the architecture of downtown Los Angeles built on top of it.

By that measure, why in the name of all that’s unholy, should I ever condescend to remain an advocate, far removed as I am, for what its very own soldiers have willingly allowed it to become? Granted, while I still support certain peeps and organizations within the PAS, it will literally be a cold day in Phoenix, before I ever dip what remains of my toes back into that cesspit of impotent posturing as an ally of any note..
Those who know me well, aren’t surprised at what I just wrote, but for those who don’t, well… you’re about to learn some new things about me, and some of them, if tradition holds, are most definitely going to tick you off. I didn’t get the reputation I have for being caustically blunt, by engaging in sycophantic sugar-coating, and I see no reason to turn over a new leaf just because I’ve found myself relocated both physically and mentally, far away ffrom the lands that I once stalked unimpeded.

But you keep those spirits high and that chin up, because as GI Joe loves to say;Truer words have never been spoken by a fictional character in a Korean-produced cartoon, let me tell you, and I say this as someone who watches a lot of animated TV and movies. You know, for artistic inspiration and research purposes, just like any other unmarried 52-year-old man in poor but slightly stable health does. So glad to see that you agree, since it’s already problematic enough that when I go to a theater playing the latest PIXAR movie, I have to borrow a friend’s kid for the afternoon, just so I don’t come off as one of those guys you see lurking at the edges of a child’s playground

Speaking of playgrounds, it’s also known that when you change yours, you also invariably change the playmates who will be populating it as well. This, in and of itself, is neither that shocking, or to be considered a negative overall, but it does have the advantage of altering your perspective regarding a great number of things you may have previously regarded with what you felt was true clarity. In relation to this POV, I can only attest that over the last three years, there’s been an ever-increasing tidal shift in what I consider important and what I now deem as irrelevant, be it either the situations I find myself in, or the people I interact with, as I do so.

When I lived in Phoenix, I was always out and about. Going to shows and openings. Dropping in on fellow creatives in their studios. Consuming Diet Cokes and chai lattes within the local coffeehouse culture with a frequency far more than any rational human being ever should. And let’s not forget, my specialized penchant for lighting small literary fires within the PAS, and then emptying the contents of a gasoline tanker truck directly into them. Good times. Busy schedule. And nary a thought given to the concept of personal relaxation.

I may be one of the few people on this floating hunk of space rock, that looks at a two-week vacation as an opportunity to do even more work, albeit with far better scenery and unfamiliar foods.

By way of example, if I ever got the chance to check Prague off my bucket list, I’d most likely spend the majority of my time photographing its architecture, immersing myself in its street cuisine, talking to its citizenry as a means to gather story material, and dividing the remainder of my stay equally between the briefest of cat naps, and the completion of my pilgrimage to visit every single shooting location prominently featured in Blade 2, starring Wesley Snipes.In short, while I don’t believe in the “Work/Life Balance” bullspit that modern-day corporations promote as an alternative to a thriving wage, I oddly do seem to follow its tenets, and I do so happily. For those who may not know what W/LB is, I’ll boil it down for you. In a nutshell, it is the amount of time you spend doing your job, compared with the amount of time you spend with your family, and doing those things that you enjoy most, such as hobbies or in my case, filling my home’s crawlspace with dead clowns

Of course, when it comes to the corporate take on this, they’ll as a whole, try to convince you that your work “family” is as equally important as your actual one, a concept which at best, is almost sociopathic in its inception, if not its implementation However, there are some overlapping commonalities are at play here, the first being that like many of the former coworkers I’ve had to endure, I can’t stand the majority of my remaining family either, save for my older sister.

Case in point? I routinely tell people that both my parents are dead, when in fact, they’re still very much alive, and I do it with a giddiness that some might inadvertently, construe as a fully-clothed orgasm. Due to my ongoing health issues, my past near-death experiences, and my general sense of alienation from that which most people take for granted, I find myself consistently rethinking, if not retooling outright, a majority of my interpersonal relationships.

And at the top of my list, if I may be allowed to take a diversionary side road to the topic at hand, involves clearing the air about why I have some serious issues with my immediate family. What can I say? It’s far cheaper than paying for a shrink.
Now, I’m hoping not to turn this screed into a very special episode of Punky Brewster or a therapy session masquerading as snarky commentary, but I will say this: neither one of my parents should have been allowed to raise a Chia-Pet, much less breed and attempt to raise three kids.

My father, who overall, is a stereotypical hard-working self-made blue-collar guy, is also a fatally clueless and slightly racist curmudgeon, who, when given a moment of supremely undeserved grace to explain himself and his actions betraying my trust and respect, that being the end result of an abominable lie foisted upon me, chose to throw deflections instead, as if he were Donnie Yen flinging shuriken.

Throw in an unhealthy measure of paranoid self-absorption, and it will become perfectly clear to you as to why his emotional range vacillates from Russian permafrost to Antarctic glacier. The best aspect of this stunted sensitivity is that if you ever need a drink chilled, he can do it by either holding it for 30 seconds, or by dropping in a piece of ice chipped from his soulless outlook regarding the world entire.

However, my mom is so not all that. Instead, she’s a blatantly palpable dissembler, who’s sense of evil timing could almost be considered as a talent on loan from Lucifer’s massage therapist herself. Now, while my mother doesn’t share the same paranoid and often ignorant worldview that my father does, she compensates for it by making sure that you’ll always feel like you’ve been trapped in a “Saw” movie. The difference being that unlike the films, you’ll be the only one getting maimed by her mind games.
Whereas my father chips away at your psyche via a campaign of disavowing the legitimacy of what you’re passionate about, which in my case involved the choice to pursue an art-based career., my mom on the other hand, just chooses to ignore what it is you do (and you) to the point that the only time you’ll exist in her world, is when she needs a favor from you, a message that metaphorically got hammered into my skull after my near-death experience, back in 2008.

It’s almost a shame that insufferable self-absorption and mental abuse aren’t ever going to be considered as Olympic events, because if they were, my dad would be Bruce Jenner, pre-Caitlyn era of course, and my mom would easily qualify to be a stand-in for Nadia Comăneci. And don’t you worry, I’ll provide prime examples for both approaches to systematically destroying your children’s self-worth, because I’m cool like that.

As I noted, my father deliberately eschews all that makes other people happy, such as hobbies, outside interests separate from his work, and most importantly, the inclusion of a tangible base of friends. While I used to be somewhat sympathetic regarding his particularly insular lifestyle, I can heartily now attest that this once free-flowing well of charitable acceptance in relation to such, has since run dry. To be fair, while it was a singular action that finally tripped my personal off switch, it’s also justified of me to claim that it was literally the last knife my back would ever accept from him at that point.

There are two pivotal points that I remember in ,my long-troubled relationship with my so-called father, and they, in my opinion, sum him up far better than I ever could, The first occurred almost a lifetime ago, back in1987,which for many of you loyal Bitchiteers,, was long before cellphones, streaming services, and the evil juggernaut that would eventually become known as the World Wide Web, were ever a thing. An era where the music we listened to was off of a cassette, smoked clove cigarettes, British flag t-shirts and Members Only jackets were worn with pride, and the belief that the higher your hair climbed, the closer to God you actually were, a theory that i still somewhat ascribe to.

I’m going to go out on a limb here, and suggest that if you ever want to really know who may have single-handedly helped destroy the Earth’s ozone layer, my pal Kelsey here, might have some personal insights regarding the root cause as to why there’s now a permanent Aqua-Net layer just above the Mesosphere.

Getting back on track, I had made the mistake of informing my father that I had won several awards in an art show hosted at my high school, which at the time, was one hell of a shot to my sense of self-esteem, given the fact that as a child of divorce living with the nicotine-addicted equivalent of a crazy cat lady, was not only timely, but exceedingly crucial to my then ongoing campaign not to slit my wrists over the living and social situations that I had found myself  continuously marginalized in.

I’m not kidding either, mind you. If I had ever been granted the opportunity to be awarded a dollar for every time that I seriously contemplated suicide in high school to get away from the stressors of my life, both of my parents being key to this feeling, I’d currently be entrenched on my own personal island constructed from Ding Dongs and Sno-Balls, with a complement of Milla Jovovich clones as my side-gals.

When informed of my artistic accomplishment however, my mother as usual, couldn’t care less, but my father to his credit, took a unique approach to issuing what other dads are able to do as naturally as they breathe- that being the dispensation of some recognizable form of patriarchal praise. But when it comes to my so-called dad, he prefers to be a trendsetter, apart as it were, from the maddening crowd.

Whereas other fathers may have said; “Good work, Son”, or even maybe the singular classic, “I’m proud of you”, my dad chose o aim it right down the proverbial middle, and go with the soul-lifting refrain of: “Huh… I wasn’t aware they gave out ribbons for faggotry.” Let me tell you all now, nothing makes you feel quite so good as when your father, a guy who hasn’t picked up a book since his high school days, and has less culture contained within him than an empty and sunbaked container of Chobani, gives you his esteemed opinion, am I right?

Of course I am. How could I not be?

However, the second (if not final) nail in the coffin of our relationship happened just a few years ago, when an issue I had apparently dovetailed nicely as a solution to an issue my father was having at the time, and of which I was not informed of until much later, although to be clear, the source of said info was not my father himself, as telling me the truth of things, is so not a Reich family tradition. You know… because being honest with others generally requires some form of an integrated spine to begin with?

While my dad is superb at detecting, notating, and never forgetting faults (both real and imaginary) that he sees in other people, that perceptive ability fails when it comes to his numerous and glaring foibles of character. Weird how that works. If my dad’s memory ever managed to become more selective than it is now, he’ll be regaling us all with stories about how he dumped Sophia Loren to marry my mom.

If you ever were ever forced to listen to my father’s cherry-picked litany of his successes, he’s always the one that rushed into the burning building, and saved the kitten and orphans trapped inside from a gruesome death, regardless of the facts that say otherwise. Newsflash, Daddy-O? You don’t get to take credit for saving anyone, when you’re the one who supplied the arsonist with a case of matches, a pile of oily rags, and a Citgo gift card to begin with.

Case in point? The aforementioned issue I’m about to discuss.

It all began after discovering that my well-loved 1993 Isuzu Amigo, which just so happened to be emblazoned with its full-blown graffiti paint-job, had failed it’s AZ emission test, due to the fact that I needed to replace the fuel system, from stem to stern. This in and of itself, wasn’t insurmountable by any means, and as far as such repairs go, it would have been relatively easy to fix, as my car was more basic than a Karen complaining about her local Whole Foods policy regarding face-masks.

Sigh… I miss you, my spray-painted lady.

I mentioned this state of affairs once and only once, to my father during one of our rare phone calls, and since I didn’t ask him for any help regarding it, I forgot that I had brought it to light. almost as quickly. My dad on the other hand, saw my minor dilemma as a timely fortuitous opening to benefit himself, as is his way. Turns out, my father’s GF was in the midst of suffering from Alzheimer’s, and in order to qualify for state assistance concerning her very exhaustive care, had to “pay down” his personal assets, in order to qualify. Nothing insidious there, to be sure. 

After all, it’s just another sad reality of what passes as the American healthcare system these days, unfair as it is. However, I get a phone call from my dad a few days after this conversation occurs, telling me not only to wait before getting my car fixed, but that he was en-route to AZ as well, with his Alzheimer’s afflicted girlfriend IN THE CAR WITH HIM. Granted, her care aide was traveling with them as well, but who in their right f**king mind takes a multi-state road trip with a mentally-afflicted individual who every ten minutes, forgets who and where they are?

Can you just imagine just how goddamn terrifying that must have been for her? Every one-sixth of an hour, she literally woke up in an unknown place, with brand-new-to-her scenery, seemingly trapped inside a moving vehicle with two strangers. I’ve seen 80’s slasher movies with a far less chilling plot than this, and those at least, made some sort of logical sense, by way of comparison.

Shocked into silence by this revelation, I was then whiningly informed that he could only “make about 400 miles a day”, due to her medical concerns, which I guess, presented itself as a personal affront to his plans, given that he decided to selfishly travel with the human equivalent of an imprisoned goldfish, if you would so kindly pardon my acidic descriptive of the situation then at hand. Continuing, he then lets me know that he’s going to help buy me a new car, an offer of generosity I had not asked for or expected,

To note, this is suspiciously out of character for my father, whose personal purse strings are so tight, that they could be used as a garotte, and let me assure you, that in the not-too-distant past, they have been.

Repeatedly.

A Day or two later, on a Friday, to be exact, my father calls me, and asks where I am. When I mention that I’m at work, as If I’d be on vacation when I have bills to pay, he seems shocked by this, and actually says; “I didn’t know you actually had a real job”, which of course, wasn’t insulting at all to the owner of the picture frame shop I had been working for the last seven years or so. And you thought I was kidding about him being clueless?

Even my then boss who overheard the phone call in its entirety, declared that my father sounded like, and I quote: “An absolutely unaware and conceited idiot.” See, Dad? It’s not just me, and those who already know you, it’s also the people who run into you randomly as well. I guess viral marketing really is a thing after all. Who would have guessed?

See, when it comes to my dads’ POV, my being a Creative means that I have no work ethic to speak of, nor could I actually be holding a job to begin with. Funny how he was never bothered by what I did for a decent living whenever he needed something along those lines, but I digress for now, if only for the sake of my therapist’s bank account. As it turned out, he had bought me a car. Without asking me. And I might add, without seeking any previous input from me either, because… why should he?

He does know best, and all that, which is why he bought the artsy guy driving a car used for back-country photography shoots and hauling artwork to shows, a four-door sedan with the storage capacity of a flattened catheter, and designed for a well-seasoned demographic that is in bed by six pm. You know, the one I didn’t ask for, couldn’t use, and obviously did not want? I know they always say “It’s the thought that counts”, but give me a break, for Christ’s sake, because for this maxim to be relevant, one actually has to be thinking first.

And for a refreshing change of pace, not about themselves, for once. Gritting my teeth, I then calmly explained to my brain-dead benefactor, as to why what he had decided to purchase without my involvement, was highly inappropriate for my needs, leading to a universal decision that a meeting set up for the next day to go down to the dealership to pick out something else would generate a far better resolution for all parties involved.  

At the time, this solution to the problem he had created did not present itself as an issue, but it soon would, which is also sad to say, a Reich family tradition, as is my parents both having the emotional maturity range of a candy-denied three-year-old. For when I got home that night, my father felt the need to ring me back up and issue forth an unbridled and delusional harangue, regarding the “deal” we had never discussed previously, and had not made concerning his purchase of the car I hadn’t asked him for to begin with.

Ahh, arrogant and unfounded victimhood, thy name is Wolfgang Oscar Reich. Keeping in mind that despite all the time my GF and I had been dating, this was the first time she got to experience who my father truly is, because she could him screaming vulgar inanities at me on the phone from across the bedroom. Way to make an impression, Dad. You always know how to upstage Mom, and that’s a definitive plus, no matter what the members of my weekly therapy group say.

He ends the call with the affirmation that he’ll see me the next day at the dealership, and that if I don’t like any of the cars that were up for sale, the “deal is off”, because there was no way in Hoboken that he’ll help me fix the ride that I was hoping to make road-worthy again. Or as he so deftly phrased it, the “piece of s**t” I was currently driving. You know, the car that for close to five years had consistently gotten me to work, to no less than six states, and God knows how many art shows and personal obligations?

That’s my dad’s take on things: if it’s important to you, it means f**k all to him, unless he can use it to curry favor for himself, just like any parent deserving of their child’s respect would do. Personally, I’m not planning on having any kids, but if I ever do, I’m going to be a rockstar at it, compared to the example set forth by this mentally-curdled urinal cake of a human being. And no, I’m never apologizing for laying this pixelated punition down in public. It is what it is, as the kids like to text.

But the fun was just starting to ratchet itself up, because until a set of keys was in my hand, and I was on the freeway ensconced within my new (gently-used) Chariot of Snark, there was no way in Delaware I was going to allow myself to relax. How could i? This was my dad I was dealing directly with after all, and the man’s moods are more mercurial than God’s on the best of his Old Testament days.

To be fair though, God at least is actually omnipotent, whereas my dad just thinks it’s his birthright to believe think that he is, despite all evidence to the contrary. As it tends to do, the next day arrives, and as my GF and I arrive on the agreed upon time at the dealership, an hour away from our house, we discover that not only is my father not there to greet us, he’s also not answering his phone, either.

Correction: what I meant to say is that he wasn’t answering MY phone calls, even after 30 minutes, but when the dealership calls, he picks up theirs on the first ring. I’m sure there’s nothing to unpack there, right? Of course not.

As it turned out, he wasn’t running late, mind you, he was still kicking back at his hotel, naturally located on the opposite side of town, an HOUR AND FIFTEEN MINUTES AWAY, because… f**k you, that’s why. This discourteous display of parental authority leads to my GF and I going to a megamall half an hour away and grabbing lunch, where she spends the entire meal advising me to keep my temper in check, because if I did, I’d have a new car at the end of it all.

Calm woman dating a getting increasingly angry man, and all that. Sometimes, you just gotta take your redhead’s advice, play it cool, and accept the fact that she’s way smarter than you, and typically, fortified with a far healthier course of action than the one you’re currently espousing as foolproof.

Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. Mythical Lord knows, i have.

So, with my temper management Redhead firmly in tow, we return to the dealership and greet my father who at this point, I haven’t seen in the flesh for a number of years, and whom had also never met my GF in person, as noted previously. After the brusquest of introductions, he then proceeds to studiously ignore my GF’s attempts at conversing with him, most pointedly whenever she talks about how well my career as a magazine writer was going at that moment.

A subject which he obviously had zero interest in discussing, or even hearing about, because once again, what I do is not a “real” job. Nice work, Dad. Good hustle in regards to laying down that frosty charm that Germans are renowned worldwide for. Sure, my Gf may have literally saved my life half-a-dozen times, and is the one I‘ve chosen to spend the rest of my life with, but why show her any respect? You had one job to do, you self-absorbed son of a bitch, and you couldn’t even do that.

Heads up, Daddy-O; if it ever comes down to who gets in the last rowboat with me, and the choices are you and her, get ready to eat some serious oar, because you’re going to be shaking hands with Davey Jones long before I ever grant you a seat.

Faking interest in other people’s lives isn’t all that hard, Dad. Just ask Mom. She obviously had been doing it for years concerning your marriage, so maybe you should have taken some notes and asked her for some useful tips after the divorce became finalized. Advice for another day, I guess. But as my Ginger ninja had so diplomatically stated over lunch, at the end of this groveling suck-fest was a new car, so I steeled up, and took it all in stride, as artsy badasses are apt to do.

As my GF and I walk outside to see the choices available for purchase, I’m informed that my father had been in contact with the dealership about getting me a car long before I had even told him about the issue with my car, a fact which becomes crucial later on in my story, so tuck it away for later retrieval, if you would be so kind.

Fortunately, one of my options turned out to be the exact same year and model car that my GF already owned, (albeit a different color) and as i I was already familiar and totally dug her car to begin with, the selecting of it as my new Snarkmobile was literally, one of the easiest decisions I’ve ever had to make, next to deciding that while yes, James T Kirk will never be the Starfleet officer that Jean-Luc Picard is without question, he’s still a far better captain than Jean-Luc could ever be, hands down.

At that point, all that remained for us to do was get through the point of sale paperwork, and I would be home free, as long as my dad didn’t make it difficult to do so, which of course he did. As we sat in the office, my father who up until this point, had been doing his best impression of the Sphinx, suddenly found the on switch for his mouth, and started upon a litany of free-form complaints and random thoughts, none of which by the way, were relevant to what was currently being discussed.

Nevertheless, we were making progress, and to be quite honest, until the time he actually signed the paperwork transferring the car’s title over to me, I was inherently convinced that he’d pull the rug out from under me, and renege on the deal that he and the voices in his head had made. Providentially, he did live up to his end of our one-sided bargain, thereby lifting a weight off my chest that my father had placed there without so much as a passing concern for my state of mental health.

But I wasn’t free of the psyche shredder yet, no siree Jim-Bob. Reading the tension still prevalent in the room, the dealership rep tosses out the following joke as a way to ease up the pressure: “Well, now that you’ve got a new car, you’ll need a bumper sticker for it- I’ve got an old one on mine that says:”To which, my ever so culturally-sensitive father responds ever so jovially to the salesman who just so happens to be of mixed-race; “Yours must have been talking about that dumb bastard Obama… “he”, [meaning me] thinks he’s just great.”

I once read that it takes water an average of forty-five minutes to one hour to freeze solid, depending on the efficiency of one’s freezer and the paradoxical influence of the *Mpemba Effect, but this twenty-something salesclerk managed to form an ice crust in less time than it took for me to slip a stripper my business card back in the day.
*[The Mpemba effect is a catch-all term for possible cases in which hot water appears to freeze faster than cold water. Science! Like Magic… but Real.]

With mythical God and my GF as sole witnesses, if that kid had shuffled the ownership papers into their complementary folder any faster, he would have been able to generate a Class-% hurricane without even breaking a sweat. And did my father even notice that said salesperson was giving him a glare that could freeze lava?? Of course, he didn’t, because other people’s feelings don’t register when you’re a raging narcissist. All I could do was telegraph with my eyes that I was so sorry, and in return received the universal head nod that states: “I get it. He’s an old white guy.”

However, the chill emanating out of that kid at that moment towards my clueless father, made me, felt as if I was streaking down the frozen foods aisle at the Anchorage Albertsons, whereas my father walked out as if he were on a beach in Florida. But in the end, I did get a relativelycar, so all’s well that ends well, right?

Well… not so much actually, for a few months later, I was engaged in a conversation with my older sister, who is literally the only family member I still talk to these days, and she shared a somewhat interesting factoid with me- seems that at the same time he bought me my car, he had also purchased my niece and her hubby a brand-new and fully-decked-out, truck as well, despite their protestations they didn’t need that much excess bling on their new (and as in my case) unexpected ride.

And in yet another out of character move, he hadn’t even tried to haggle with the dealership regarding its price, which echoed his actions while he was in AZ, arranging our transaction. Now, as to why this is odd, keep in mind that my father is the type of man that would try to negotiate the price of a Happy Meal, so his tossing out piles of cash willingly, is akin to my calling up my ex-fiancé, and asking her out to a five-star lunch date on my tab.

In other words, it’s quite literally the epitome of a “Hell has frozen over” moment. But iut got even stranger, because concurrently, there had been a severe windstorm that had blown don the fence around the house my niece was renting from my father at that time, and despite his recent run of distributing cash to used-car salesmen named Todd, he refused to pay for the required repairs, despite hi clearly defineds legal obligation as a landlord to do so.

This, despite the fact that my sister, ever the crafty one, had managed to set up a deal with a fellow churchgoer who did carpentry for a living, and who agreed to fix the fence for what amounted to essentially the cost of materials, with an almost insignificant percentage fee tacked on the back end to do so. Essentially, my sister had managed to get the work done for nearly a quarter of the standard price, which, let’s face it, was a smoking deal, and yet, my father still refused to accept said bargain.

So, paying out over 24k for two vehicles was easier than slipping on greased ice, but shelling out 1500 bucks for a new fence was going to break the bank somehow? And that’s when the motivation for his seemingly unchecked spending spree became clear as a crystalline snowfall to me- he wasn’t being charitable or acting out of some form of parental or grandfatherly concern, he was, once again, manipulating a crisis of fortitude in order to protect what he considers to be the most valuable ting in his life, that being his own egotistical self-interest.

Remember what I had written earlier: “Turns out, my father’s GF was in the midst of suffering from Alzheimer’s, and in order to qualify for state assistance concerning her very exhaustive care, had to “pay down” his personal assets, in order to qualify.”

Obviously in retrospect, this was the plan my dad was laying out, and insultingly, without informing any of us about his true intentions, but there was an additional detail that he also let somehow slip his mind as well, that being, it wasn’t his money he was spending so freely, it was his afflicted girlfriends’ assets that were being distributed instead.

What do I base this opinion of mine on, you ask? Considering that my dad may be the only person on Earth who still thinks that picking up a dropped penny is worth the effort involved, his willingness to purchase new vehicles without questioning the terms set forth, is not only an out an out tell, it’s also the last nail of damnation regarding the sweet discount he was being offered to rectify the home repair that he had found himself legally on the hook for, and yet, was refusing to accept.

What do I base this opinion of mine on, you ask? Considering that my dad may be the only person on Earth who still thinks that picking up a dropped penny is worth the effort involved, his willingness to purchase new vehicles without questioning the terms set forth, is not only an out an out tell, it’s also the last nail of damnation regarding the sweet discount he was being offered to rectify the home repair that he had found himself legally on the hook for, and yet, was refusing to accept either the responsibility or the exit out being presented.

See, I have no issue if my Dad had envisaged the notion to utilize my then ongoing concern in order to subtly f**k over the government, or that he was going to be spending someone else’s money to do it, as those are two of my favorite things to do anyway, but when it comes to deliberately misinform me that this was his veiled game plan all along, I tend to take a rather dim view of both his lack of testicular-based spine, and conceited readiness to make me a centralized pawn within his scheme.

Weird, that I would, when it gets down to the brash tacks of it all. Misspelling definitely intended. I know it does strike strange that despite my getting a “new” car out of the deal, I’d cut off all avenues of communication with my father, but this, the latest straw in an immense pile of them was finally the one that managed to break the proverbial whipping camel’s back. Don’t like what I do for a living? Who gives a f**k what you think? It ain’t your life, Pops, and it’s not like you’ve ever done anything of note to contribute to it, past the point of providing me with examples of what parenting should not be, that is.

But when you outright f**king lie to me….

Well then, apparently, you’re in in the market for experiencing a class of fuckery that would give the mythical God himself, eternal nightmares. Or you would be, if you were actually worth the effort to begin with, and my dad is so not that. Why should I waste my limited energy just to throw good after bad?

I was hoping beyond all reason, that I’d be able to present one semi-functional parent to my GF, and I did honestly think that my dad had the potential to truly be the dark horse winning that race, but instead, all he managed to do was embarrass me and himself publicly, and give me a serious complex regarding the blue-light-special DNA I sprang from.

So, how did my father handle being excised out of my life, in a manner far harsher than he thought he didn’t deserve, because as we all must remember, nothing is ever his fault, so the problem must be me, the entirely ungrateful child who for some anomalous reason, didn’t appreciate having his trust being played like a mandolin at a Mumford & Sons concert. An opinion, I might add, that I vehemently disagree with, given the narrative I just laid out for y’all.

But leave it to my father, who just so happens to be a man of somewhat considerable financial means, to bring the full weight of such to bear on the sensitive issue of reconciliation that stared him dauntingly in the face. Marshaling his forces, he then proceeded to come charging out of his metaphorical castle keep, and did what all men of noble character do, when they’re confronted with an emotionally sensitive situation of their own making- he made three phone calls over the space of three years, and then considered his reunification tour a success, I guess?

Spoiler: I’ll never know, because I have as much interest in finding out the answer, as you should wanting to undergo the process of having a catheter dry-fitted when you’re fully lucid, as a rule. Seriously. If the option ever arises, tell your medical team that you’ll pay for the anesthesiologist, and if that fails to get things moving in the right direction, say something so vulgar, that’ll cause one of them to take offense, and lay you the hell out atop a pile of Sham-Wows.

Trust me about this. You’ll be glad you did.

My father and his bulls**t now set aside, that just leaves my mom to be discussed, and mercifully, her story-arc is far less requiring of detail than the menial monolith that was the tale that was my dad’s. When you look at it objectively, it’s almost as if Christmas came early, albeit with the option of drunkenly forgetting that it gave the gift it brought you to its Uber driver in lieu of an actual tip.

Now, to be brutally transparent, my mom has far more successfully perpetrated turns of abominableness on record than my dada does, but if I were to start going down my personal laundry list of the mental and physical abuse she engaged in from the time I was a child up to my late teens, not only would it horrify you, I’m also fairly certain that somebody would try to make a Netflix series out of it.

And mythical God knows, nobody needs to see that.

Funnily enough, if you ask my dad about this particular topic, not only will he claim the innocence of ignorance, he’ll also downplay the stuff that he cannot rationalize or explain, such as my consistently having obvious finger-bruises around my throat, after it was told to him that I, forever the congenital klutz, had once more, “tripped’, ‘fallen”, or my personal favorite, “ran over and into” a variety of items so varied, that NASA themselves would beg off from compiling a comprehensive list.

My grade school at the time though, did nobly express to my so-called father, their concerns regarding the blatant signs of physical abuse that several of my teachers had observed, and his paternal response to their fears was a classic. He just ignored it completely because of its inconvenience, and the problem magically went away, like such things are apt to do, if you just forcefully shunt them to the darkest of crawlspaces and choose to not see them for what they truly are.

A hell of a lot, that’s what.

Between my father’s lack of involved parenting skills, and my mother’s disturbingly sociopathic and overbearing ones, my current state of recall in regards to my childhood is definitively not the depiction set forth by authors such as Maurice Sendak, but it does align nicely with the rawest of work from Roald Dahl, if he were both tripping on Mescaline, and taking stylistic writing cues from Clive Barker.

Don’t misunderstand me here- while my mother was the main transgressive assailant relative to the majority of the abuse I endured as a defenseless child, my father is just as equally culpable, whether he’ll admit it or not. He may have never hit me, save for the 3 times I actually “deserved” it, with one of those being right in front of the Lincoln Monument no less, his willingness to make excuses for my mom, while concurrently launching his own virulent form of mental abuse towards me, cannot be discounted by any means or measure.

As I said earlier, I do have a laundry list of sorts, and while I did promise not to go into exhaustive detail in regards to it, I can offer up this one crucially vital tidbit of advice: choking out an eight-year-old child by wrapping a lamp cord around his neck just because you had a “bad day” is most certainly an ethical no-no, regardless of what the ghosts of Bing Crosby and Joan Crawford may choose to say to you. To this day, my intimates know that if you want to find yourself introduced to the floor face-first, all you need do, is try to grab me by, or around, my neck

And here I was, thinking my parents had given me nothing, save past a burning sense of hatred and disgust at their collective failure at being both dependably responsible parents and fully functioning humans. Turns out, they gave me some severely impactful trust and anger issues as well. Which of course, my friends would happily note, hasn’t really affected me at all.

But as the saying goes, “Misery loves company”, and when it comes to my mom on particular, there’s plenty to go around. Especially where one of my oldest friends is concerned.

When I had told him over a few soon-to-be-emptied bottles of various spirits about my mother contracting uterine cancer, he simply said the following with a wistful smile: “How unfortunate for her.”, a response that sent his then-girlfriend, and now wife, into what could only be charitably described as a state of personal shock.

This sense of offense soon passed however, after my friend regaled her with a truncated opus vis-à-vis all that he had personally witnessed over the course of our friendship, which had been established since eighth grade. And let me tell you, when others start expressing feelings of sympathy for a utilized tool of Death which others would normally be set against, it does nothing less than validate what you’ve been screaming harder than f**k to the empty sky for the last twenty years or so.

Take note that in no way, shape or form, am I trying to be purposefully disrespectfully flippant, but I’d opine that she doesn’t have cancer, the cancer has her, and I for one, can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve had to stop myself from sending said malignancy a card expressing my sympathy for its unfortunate assignment. Regardless of the sad fact that Hallmark most certainly doesn’t make a line of pro-cancer greeting cards to begin with. But someday? Who knows.

However, since there is a required test for obtaining a driver’s license, and not one for siring progeny, I have come to believe that for most of us, the family you wind up with is no more than the randomness of a celestially quirky game of back-alley Craps at best, and if you managed to score a parental duo that make Carol & Mike Brady look as if they had just stepped out of a V.C. Andrews novel, then good for you, my fortunate bastards.

Given the dynamic and history of our family, my siblings, as well as I, have become convinced at this point, that the dice my parents used to win the game for themselves alone, surely had to be “loaded”, because there’s no way in Hell that their fellow human beings would allow them unfettered access to the act of raising children, unless some form of side-betting was involved. And in this case, betting on the House to succeed as parents of any note, was most certainly the wager of a sucker.

I’m sorry. I promised you a short snippet regarding my mother’s last great flameout with me, versus this rambling stream of thought therapy session, so here it is, in all its asinine detail and self-absorption, that to be fair, could have only been birthed in the now-rapidly-failing brain that lives inside my mom, AKA: Joan Theresa Timko-Reich, who’s ability to be both a martyr and a monster, is truly wondrous to behold.

Now, when I say her brain is “rapidly-failing”, it’s because at this time, my mother so-called, is ensconced safely within what I can only assume are the soft-pastel-toned walls of an assisted care facility, located somewhere in the bowels of New York State. You know, the type of place you send your relatives to when their overall grasp on Reality gets softer than a wheel of Camembert: inadvertently left inside a Phoenix-parked SUV in July?
While she may now be pardoned {somewhat} from future personal consequences because of the onset of karmic dementia, does it now imply that she is also to be absolved of her past transgressions due to such? I think not.

 And to be quite honest, that’s a judgement that anybody faced with the same set of factors should be entirely comfortable embracing openly, if not proudly. In a just world, one doesn’t get a hall pass just because they’re no longer mentally or physically capable of hurting others, and you sure as f**k, don’t get entered as a contestant for canonization, either.

I don’t believe in God, Angels, Heaven, Hell, or even the construct of eternal damnation for one’s earthly lapses of morality, but if anybody could provide me with concrete proof that my mother would spend her afterlife cosplaying as a rotisserie chicken, I’d be occupying a pew praising the deity of whatever church, mosque, or temple wound up delivering the goods to my lair.   

Strangely enough, her last parental act of disinterested self-absorption was almost benign, considering the horrific abuse I endured at her hands as a child, but as the saying goes, it was “the straw that broke the camel’s back”, that finally allowed me to seal the familial crypt, hide its entrance, and salt the earth above it for the benefit of all future mankind. And for the rest that I could not accomplish, Nature was nice enough to step in and short-circuit her brain, as a means of doing me a solid.

Back in 2008, due to complications arising from the mismanagement of an infected tooth and my diabetic condition, I found myself in the ICU, literally battling for my life, suffering from a disorder known as *Ketoacidosis. Obviously, it was a skirmish that I fortunately won, albeit with some gravely resultant scars left upon both my psyche and my person.
*[Diabetic ketoacidosis is a serious complication of diabetes that occurs when your body produces high levels of blood acids called ketones, which I can assure you, ain’t your friends.]

My mother, who lived no more than twenty minutes away from the hospital, and worked a late-night shift from 10pm to 6am, deigned to visit me only once during my unforeseen stay, for a grand total of less than ten minutes, because as we all know, time is money. Providentially at the time, I just so happened to be enjoying the infinite void of what would eventually turn out to be a four-day long diabetic coma, so I’d have to offer my celestial thanks that I was graciously spared seeing her go-to performance as the devotedly suffering martyr mother she always claims to be.

Nice work Odin. I’m dead serious. Not only can you banish Ice Giants from the assembled realms, you’re pretty good at getting rid of Ice Dwarfs from the ICU ward as well.
Long story short, after a brief stint as a guest of this Spa masquerading as a death watch, I was discharged in order to go live my life according to no plan save my own, a course of action that I was more than happy to put into play. As for my emotionally compromised and ever so dedicated mother?

Full-on into the dark, as if she were shot-calling a mission for Seal Team Six. Well… for two weeks, anyway. As I may or may not have indicated, both of my parents forget that they actually have kids, until either they need something, such as ego validation or in my mom’s eternal case, a “small favor”. Which is of course, what you should obliviously ask for when you haven’t checked up on your still recovering son for the length of a fortnight, am I right?

Of course, I am. It is me, after all. However, at the time of my alleged mothers call, I was on the road to Utah with my GF for a vacation that had been planned several weeks prior to my hospitalization.

As we were taking a moment to enjoy a delightful lunch comprised mostly of Navajo Fry Bread, courtesy of the Cameron Trading Post a tourist-trap wisely situated on the border of Utah and AZ, my phone rang, a moment that my GF later stated in which, I apparently viewed the caller info on my screen with a revulsion one normally reserves for having a nauseous hagfish that’s been unceremoniously dropped into your Star Wars Underoos as you sleep.

Unless you’re into that sort of thing, in which case, go forward and live your truth, because I have no right to question the parameters of your chosen morality, given that mine could be personified by this guy:-29plasman-
But hey… who hasn’t come back from Mardi Gras with a story so scandalous that they swore a blood oath to never reveal it upon pain of death or the possibility of being subjected to repeated viewings of Howard the Duck , which when you get right down to it, is kind of the same thing, minus the overpriced popcorn.

Getting back on track, the conversation I was about to be subjected to within the confines of a space where the liberal use of profanity was most certain to be frowned upon, went something like this:

AB: “Hello?”
Mom: “Oh hey… I need a favor.”
AB: “I’m fine, Mom- thanks for asking.”
Mom: “Can you come over? I need you to…”
AB: “I’m not at home Mom. We’re on our way to Utah to see Ashley’s’ family.”
Mom: “Oh. (pause) Is Ashley with you? Maybe she can come over and…”           
AB: (rolling eyes) “No Mom, she isn’t. I decided to drive 13 hours by myself to see Ashley’s family, the majority of whom I haven’t even met yet. I’m sure it won’t be awkward at all.”
Mom: (giggling) “Oh yeah… that makes much more sense if she’s with you.”
AB: (muttering via telepathy) “Gee, do ya’ think so, you self-important bitch?”
Mom: ‘Anywho… maybe your friend Cale could come over and…”
AB: (sharply) “My friends are not your personal servants, Mom, they’re…”
Mom: (cheerfully) “OK… I’ll talk to you later, bye!”

And with that, the Sicilian cow who, on paper at least, legally qualifies as my mother, hangs up. And I don’t hear from her for another six weeks, give or take a day. Until of course, she needed me to do yet another favor, and one that she could easily do herself, if she didn’t suffer from a perpetual martyr queen complex, or as certain members of my estranged family liked to call it; “The Passionate Pity Play.”

I can attest, and that without fear of reproach, that my mother is so good at playing the victim, rogue forensic teams follow doggedly behind her as she walks, reverently laying down chalk outlines, as if she was the High Priestess of the Nazca Lines on vacation.

As a side note, I am aware that this screed started off purportedly dealing with my ongoing issues of health, and wasn’t supposed to devolve into a Lifetime dramady playing at 2am, but I swear, I’ll get this juggernaut back on track before you know it. As with most things in my world, it’s path is circularly aligned, and it will all amalgamate cleanly in the end.

Trust me. You know I’m good for it.

So, as you may have surmised, some form of proactive progress had to be made in regards to the strain on both my physical and mental health that I was experiencing with the DNA donors that Mother Nature had puzzlingly deemed worthy to serve as my parents, and that, right quick. I’m fairly confident that if I allowed the metaphorical floor to be opened concerning what I should have done to improve my relationship with this toxic duo, I’d foster a guess that some of you might be tempted to go with the notion that we should work it all out in some form of group therapy, a proposal to which, i would politely say: See, what most people tend to forget, is that in order for an individual to enact change, they must have to want to change in the first place, and rest assured, neither one of the Replicants currently posing as my parents wants to do that. Not because they’re incapable of doing so, but because collectively, they see no reason as to why they should to begin with.

My father is a by-product of a by-gone era, where people could safely do business based on nothing more than a handshake, a time wherein corporations felt obligated to take care of their workers, and where he alone, could buy a modest house on the 1962 minimum wage, so dragging him into the light of today’s reality would be akin to Van Helsing buying Dracula a four-post tanning bed.

And my mom?

Well… as noted earlier, my mother is currently cosplaying as a Chia Pet at the moment, so perhaps the less said about that, the better. I can’t expect genuine remorse and the salve of of hoped-for closure from a person who offered none prior to her brain melting like Velveeta in a microwave, so that theoretical door, if there ever was truly one in place to begin with, has most definitely been hammered shut.

However, since I truly don’t believe in a higher or supervising deity to settle my mother’s well-deserved karmic bar tab, the only gratification that I can hope for at best, is that for whatever cinematic loop is currently playing in her head, I hope it makes The Exorcist look like a PIXAR movie. And no- I will not, nor will I ever, whether it’s in the present or the future, apologize for saying so. If that brands me as an “ungrateful son”, so be it.

Much like my stance regarding the wholly mythical “God”, I refuse to give praise or allegiance to a trivial duo of narcissistic tyrants who demand incessantly that I do so, based on nothing more than a quirk of amalgamated genetics. Those very same genetics BTW, that have turned my body over the years, into an amusement park run by a sugared-up demon with a medical fetish.

And if I may be permitted a side observation, any so-called deity that lays out ten inviolable rules as a compass for morality, yet taints four of them with insane and contradictory ultimatums on just how to “properly” worship his sociopathically petty ass, is never going to get me to willingly eat one of his zombie crackers ever again, Even it they so happen to be Sour Cream and Onion flavored, which quite honestly, is a marketing opportunity that I feel, the makers of Pringles have totally dropped the ball on.

My mom and dad. The gift that’ll keep on giving, even after they become the first corpses whose very own anaerobic bacteriams wouldn’t be caught dead decomposing them. Which, when given some serious pause, achieves a level of shade that can only be thrown by a true Slay Queen. So, with a heart less than heavy, but still somewhat grounded in Reality, I made the long overdue decision to cut off all forms of contact with this corrupted facet of my bloodline, a choice that to this day, I’m still more than comfortable with, despite the inevitable social stigmata that comes with “abandoning” your elderly parents.

Granted, if I were to be truly honest with those select few who think that I’m being an entirely ungrateful bad seed, I’d note that all I’ve really done is return the same level of grace and concern they’ve bestowed upon me from my inception to my late forties, so really… it‘ll all be good when the books are audited. In fact, not having to defend myself, my career, and most importantly, my overall life choices, from unprovoked judgement and condescending contempt, is a refreshing change of pace. And it’s definitely one I can get used to, given the positives it brings,

You know…. like a sense of personal self-worth and inherent happiness? I’ll definitely take some more of that. All jokes aside, to say that my stress went down considerably after getting these inane irritants out of the jangling juxtapositions that underpin my day to life, would be as understated as the reality of just how good Netflix’s “Gunpowder Milkshake” movie actually is, and mythical Lord, knows, I don’t want to do that. 
Mainly, because I have a pretty decent home library, and I don’t want these two f**king it up just because they got mad at my inadvertently making a flippant comment regarding the believability of conceivably winning a gun battle against superior numbers while wearing impractical shoes. I guess in the end, what it all personal victories come down to, is having a positive mental outlook regarding their outcome. And that applies across the board, whether you’re battling an established crime syndicate, or in my case, the complications of an entrenched auto immune disease.

See, as time and the ravages of my afflictions go on, I’ve been jettisoning things overboard in order to keep my metaphorical boat supremely afloat. First, I got rid of all of the no-longer-needed baggage and concerns in relation to the walking punchline that the Phoenix Art Scene has become, and of its own accord, no less, and after those were FedEx’ed back to the gentrified Hell from whence they sprang, I started culling my herd of the two-faced, the useless, and the toxic, with an artic savagery I have not possessed since it dawned on me that no matter what I do, DC will still continue to ruin Batman.
Looking at you, George. And it breaks my heart knowing that you read the script first

Personally, I feel that unless you’ve remained as the caretaker of, or are the actual person inside the defective meat suit that those with chronic conditions convey into society as if it were a crown of thorns, it is impossible for anyone to truly understand the factors in play at any given moment. To be blunter, it’s akin to Carlson Tucker cueing up a Jackson 5 album, listening to one song, and then thinking he’s qualified to posture about racial politics. Oh wait… he does that already, so let’s just skip the analogy portion of this essay shall we?

In essence, and in my opinion, the maintenance of one’s health requires two very critical things- the first being a collective medical team on par with Queen’s performance at Live Aid, and second, an attitude that basically advertises that you’re more than willing to face your disease on its own terms, and if given the chance, you’ll choke it out until it’s face is as blue as a Smurf in the middle of an autoerotic asphyxia session gone wrong.
And you thought my meandering couldn’t come full circle- oh, yea of little faith.

It was once told to me upon my arrival in New Mexico, that the small town I now live just outside of was a great place to either; “hide or reinvent yourself”, an adage I have not only discovered to be truer than most of the things I happen to hear these days, but it’s real value stems from its unforeseen underpinning as a conceptual beacon, clarifying what my future moves could or should be. That is not to say that my current state of health isn’t setting the speed of my current attempts at progressing forward as well, but at the end of the day, everything counts, regardless of the detail size.

And while there has been some improvement in relation to my health, such as my latest AC1 test being under 11 (8.3!) for the first time ever. For those not in the know, an A1C test is a blood test performed to monitor how well one’s blood sugar levels are being managed. Explicitly, the A1C test measures what percentage of hemoglobin proteins in your blood are glycated- that is, coated with sugar. A “high” A1C level, indicates poor blood sugar control, and factors into an increased risk for diabetic complications, such as renal failure, blindness, nerve damage, as well as that whole inconvenient dying thing.

And as somebody who’s already experienced the joy known as a partial amputation, I’m truly in no hurry to collect all of the cards in the set, if you know what I mean. Previous to my acquiring an insulin pump, my numbers would, much like Matt Gaetz at a family BBQ, hover around the teens.

So, what’s coming up on the medical horizon? Well, the aforementioned Upper Endoscopy for one, which comes right on the heels of a successful Transnasal Endoscopy, which determined that I have a now-being-treated-infection in my throat, and one that’s been plaguing me for the better part of the last two years. Because when my body decides to fall apart boys and girls it lets every system get involved. Looking at you to be next, sweat glands, looking at you.

Obviously, I still have quite a long way to go before I can justify strutting around like my old self to be sure, but it is the eventual goal of me, my dedicated medical ream, and not inconsequentially, my insurance agent, who under no circumstances, will ever want to cut my GF a check for my shuffling off this mortal coil.

Hell, I can’t even get a free pen out of the guy, and he’s got tons of those just laying around the office.

With any luck, I’ll have one set of issues soon to be benched, and can then tackle the rest, in order of importance and their ability to either be tightly controlled or fixed outright. What can I say? I’m an optimist, albeit one based in cynicism, and given the fact that I’ve been tested for nearly everything else, the list of remaining possibilities for what’s wrong with me, has got to be whittled down to no more than a few items at this point, right?

To quote Sherlock Holmes, the fictionally lauded “consulting detective” who truly knew how to balance the joys of wearing a deerstalker cap while simultaneously enjoying alternating doses of morphine and sometimes cocaine; “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.” And trust me, that’s not just Lady Blow talking, that’s an almost quantifiable fact.

Given this parameter, the choices for what is the underlying cause of my current condition are blatantly clear- either the failure of my body is accelerating ahead of schedule, or the genetic legacy of my true father, who was actually an ageless and all-powerful space alien known as a Titan, is finally starting to present itself in the most vexing way possible:
Think about it. He’s got great hair, a wicked sense of humor and play, he’s totally dedicated, if not obsessively so, to his career, and his name is literally “Ego”, The resemblance, when you look at it objectively, is downright uncanny.

Ego aside, anyone who knows me quite well will tell you, and that regardless of your interest, that one of the big items on my bucket list, is to traverse the vastness of Space, in a craft whose design is reminiscent of the progeny of an I-phone and a white-chocolate-dipped Cadbury Egg, with nothing save for the companionship of a female Asian-alien-hybrid empath, and if for some reason I can’t have that, just give me my own planetoid to rule, and we’ll call it all good.

And if you could see it in your heart to possibly throw in a working pancreatic and nervous system as part of the deal, that would be appreciated too. Heck… if I’m going to have unrealistic goals, I might as well go all the way in, and ask for this as well, and yes… I’m more than willing to accept her in the form of a clone:
I’m not gonna lie here. This may be the fist time in my life that I’ve ever been jealous of a wall. Speaking of which, and in reference to those who seem to be fans of them, especially the fantasy one Mexico was supposed to pay for.let me introduce you to a wonderfully toxic ball of barbed yarn I’m gonna be soon playing wit, in a future screed where I  veil my TMI therapy sessions as the thinnest of entertainment. 

This person, whom I feel is no less than a putrid amalgamation of alleged racism, homophobia, misogyny and a sense of paranoid patriotism mixed with faux Christian delusions, manages on even the worst of days, to make Kanye West appear well-balanced. And that, let’s face it- is an amazing skill-set, no matter how you light it with tiki torches.

Loyal Bitchiteers, may I present to you, one of the more intellectual musings from my newest BFF, Ricardo “Richard” Leyba, who despite the genealogy of his name and the fact he wears his Trump hat as proudly as he wraps himself in willing ignorance, still doesn’t seem to comprehend, that he’ll never get that Aryan membership card he’s been waiting on for the last five years:
I won’t dare speak for all my fellow White peeps, buy it’s so nice to see someone finally acknowledge the day-to-day crisis of identity that us Caucasians fight through, isn’t it? I swear if only those uppity race-baiters could just understand the agony of when Whole Foods runs out of organic avocado mayonnaise, or consistently seeing your name misspelled on a Starbuck ‘s coffee cup- IT’S SPELLED “WAYNE”, DAMMIT!!! NOT “WADE”, OR “DUANE”… WAYNE!!!!!
But this is a Panderers Box to open a tad bit down the road, so for now, enjoy the respite between this moment and when I introduce you to a whole new crop of local Mein-Kampf-Mouseketeers, whose hats, unlike the ones Annette and Frankie used to wear, are sans ears, if not brains.

“It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.” – Jiddu Krishnamurti

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The moral world has no particular objection to vice, but an insuperable repugnance to hearing vice called by its proper name.” – William Makepeace Thackeray, Vanity Fair

Hello Bitchiteers!

Justice has finally been served, and by this single act alone, has now caused all to be well in the World… that is, according to those White people who aren’t still furious about former Minneapolis Police Officer Derek Chauvin being held accountable for murdering a fellow American like a dog in the streets of America. You know, the land where your genetic nationality has to be hyphenated and publicized in order to make your unjustified death under the authority of a racist system palatable to those who don’t ever have to identify as European-American?

But chillax, kids. We’ve finally settled the issue of racial disparity in this country in regards to it’s policing inequalities where minorities are concerned, and can now get back to ignoring the more important issues at hand they still face, such as the rising epidemic of gun violence or the disproportion in relation to personal income, education or job opportunities. Man, it’ll be so nice to get back to normal, and start complaining about how my culture is the one most truly under threat of dissolution, let me tell you.

First, they came for my Dr. Seuss books, then they came for my Potato-based toys, and now, all I have to look forward to complaining about is the annual Starbucks Christmas cup. I won’t speak for you, but not whining publicly about how being a middle-aged white male is so hard these days for five whole minutes, has really ground my gears down.

I’m not sure how minorities are feeling, regarding their place on the planet these days, but to be fair, I also haven’t seen the current memo from us, the truly oppressed, dictating what that should be in the first place, so you’ll have to cut me some slack. Like I’m supposed to get without question, because… well, you know White. Sorry, I meant “why”. Yes. I definitely meant “why”.

DEFINITELY THAT, AND NOT THE OTHER THING.

While my commentary is obviously with my tongue planted firmly in cheek, when it comes to the revolting art of racist seed scattering, there’s already a superfluity in place regarding those devoutly committed dogmatists who are doing it as both a career, if not a lifestyle. I’ve touched upon this before, but sadly, it seems that no matter how many times the metaphorical throat of racist ideology is slit, albeit with logic or a chainsaw, it just shakes it off, finds yet another uneducated cretin to manifest itself in, and starts breeding anew, as if it were a rabbit mainlining Viagra.

Speaking of low-IQ entities harboring puerile philosophies, I find myself yet again on the allegorical doorstep of a man who is quite possibly, the best example of what might result if Mattel ever decided to launch a commemorative Klan Barbie accessory line. Barb’s long-term and sexually questionable orientated hunk of man-cake, just so happens to share some basic characteristics with our subject for today. The most relevant being that they’re both icons of a bygone era, and if you ever dare to pull down their pants, the odds of seeing noticeable genitalia worth bragging about, will always be zero. I’m obviously kidding of course, as Barb’s boyfriend, so-called, could always order a set off of Amazon, and just glue it on, whereas today’s screed subject can only rely on his collective racist misinformation, and inherent personal paranoia to hopefully distract others from noticing the void that mythical God left between his legs, if not his ears. As someone who prides themselves on being accurate, I’d hate to draw such a conclusion without hearing from his better half as a rule, but unfortunately, I’m also fairly certain that in order to, I’d have to inflate her first.

Allegedly, of course.

But before we get into all that, a small diversion of sorts, if I may. If you recall the last time I stood upon my social warrior soap-box, I spun the truly riveting tale of my interaction with a certain granite-brained worker drone at my small-town DMV- an experience that in retrospect, showed exactly why they have to install all that bulletproof glass in those otherwise cubicle moron farms. It’s not to protect the sensitive information that they possess, it’s to keep their employees safe from those customers who are giving serious consideration to doing the following out of sheer frustration:
This is not to say that I openly endorse, or willingly condone, enacting any form of cartoon-level violence against government contractors, but if such a thing was both ethical, if not legal, I’d also note that yours truly would make it a point to corner the local ACME market in regards to falling anvils, and sleep the sleep of the just and recently wealthy. That small rumination aside, it is with no small amount of personal pride, that due to my concerted effort, some changes are a-comin’ to the ol’ Silver City DMV, and those, right quick.

For not only did I manage to get some of the top brass personally involved, I also secured the mandatory “retraining” of the individual I issued my initial complaint about, as well. Other minor tweaks regarding their day-to-day operations were promised to be installed in tandem, and I was repeatedly assured that the odious oaf who had been dealing with the public was no longer doing so, and that a suitable, if not more professional  replacement was soon to be hired, to boot.

Time will tell whether or not these revisions will be truly implemented, or even take firm root, but it’s a start to say the very least, of I do say so myself, and I do. While it may be true that you cannot fight City Hall, as the maxim states, apparently… you can purple-nurple it into unwilling compliance, if you only bother to apply some semblance of personal effort. Speaking of which, I’d also like to address what that also constitutes, and the posted electronic commentary I’m about to highlight, is so not it.

Some context: thanks to the fact I construct a great deal of my writing endeavors at my office away from the office, AKA; The Little Toad Creek Brewery and Distillery, located within the charming township of Silver City, NM, I’ve gotten a semi-deserved rep as a dude with a unique perspective on life, which is small-town diplomatic-speak for my being way over-opinionated, regardless of the topic to be discussed..  

Obviously, I don’t mind this perceived assessment, as it does open certain doors, and helps keep less palatable ones firmly locked shut, but it does lend itself to a few moments of WTF weirdness every now and then. Don’t misunderstand me, I’d rather field the random question pr two concerning my POV and observations, than have them shunned or ignored outright to be sure, but there are times where even I ask myself why I remain  open to the process of such.

Case in point? This recently received electronic missive sent to my website:
———————

Greetings from a road warrior.

Hi, My name is S*** N******, and earlier today I ate at a bar in Silver City. The nice young waitress suggested I contact you.  I had told her that I have written a novel that has been read by some thirty people, half of which are not connected to me directly. It has been met with a great deal of enthusiasm.

Some ridiculously so to the point of me thinking I should hide the darn thing. It is a fantasy, a Navajo Narnia with Castaneda thrown in. One Ben Caswell an actor out of LA an screenwriter fell in love with it and is stuck 2/3rds the way through a script. Not for lack of understanding but for lack of umph during our Covid crisis.

    So I think what intrigued her was that I mentioned I had a new solution for some of our political problems and am writing a short book, but I also intend to start doing YouTube videos about it. I was a radio DJ in Santa Fe as a hobby gig although I was quite popular due to my humor and an unmistakable voice. The kind that sells high end cars in ads. Although I have a Chicano, Texas or California non accent depending on the moment.

    I anticipate pissing off the Left and the Right and the Libertarians with my ideas, but I think they are original for the moment, but I’m sure they have been put forth before. However some of my political ideas are based on redefining some of our language specifically words used in economics. And further a radical approach to crime and punishment.

    The most mundane of my propositions are already out there from others like the obvious ending the War on Drugs. Never the less for some reason the waitress thought we might talk. Not exactly sure why. Either she thought you might be helpful to me in getting my novel published or in turn she believed that the political ideas might be of some interest to us both.

    Anyway fell free to respond or ignore if it is of interest or not as you wish I’m a bit beyond polite formalities at this stage of my life. Best S^^^

———————

Somewhere out there, in a far-flung and purposefully remote corner of this beauteous land known as America, the ever-wandering spirit of Jack Kerouac, just took a celestial moment of personal introspection, looked skyward, and uttered; “Jesus. And you people thought that I was pretentious?” 

If and when I ever have the free time and access to a Ouija Board, I may just have to hold a séance to summon the author of the one book I once labeled in my High School English class “far less fascinating than watching paint dry in Portland during a rain storm”, and issue the sincerest of heartfelt apologies. But to justify this take on my requested input, let me unpack why this is so

First, for a self-declared “writer” his inability to punctuate and utilize grammar properly, may, in time, become a career hinderance. Just saying. And while a mark of quality is generally not based on the number of appreciative fans it garners, the “Twilight” cinematic series being a prime example, if you’re going to use it as a factor, you should probably be able to post numbers far greater than those who attend kindergarten can count up to.

Not to mention… a “Navajo Narnia”? C’mon man. Haven’t our noble Native Americans suffered enough debasement in regards to their culture at this point? In case you haven’t been paying attention, our indigenous population has been fighting the allegorical White Witch since She showed up without an invitation, and started gleefully passing out her blankets laced with Smallpox.

And BTW, who in the hell is Ben Caswell, and more to the point, why should I, or anyone else for that matter, supposed to care to begin with? Let’s see… according to IDMB.com, he’s an American actor who worked steadily, mostly in TV, during the mid-90’s and early 2000’s. However, the most recent production credit I was able to find during a cursory search was 2006, so I’m fairly comfortable with stating that his career doesn’t appear to exactly be on fire at the current moment, so…

This professional arc is correspondingly akin to the one that the backpacking pamphlet-writing YouTuber wannabe who penned this conceit masquerading as query, has. And yes, I’m aware this assessment may be a tad bit over the top, but my dance card in regards to the arrogantly dense is full-up these days, so tossing in a D-List celebrity name-drop isn’t really going to impress upon me an urgent sense of need to provide critical counsel, when it gets right down to it.

As for the dissecting the remainder of this mental morass, I’ll just gloss over the remaining salient points of my personal annoyance. The first being, that I don’t care about your hobbies, your distinctive voice, or your supposed ability to successfully shill motorized penii-substitutions, or what your regional accent of the moment is. Why this is even suggested as an asset for a writer, is truly beyond me, but I’m sure it’ll look good on the flyleaf of your unsold book jacket someday.

Moving forward, I also don’t give a damn about your politics, either. Pissing people off, while both personally fulfilling, if not somewhat entertaining, literally takes no enviable skill-set to achieve. And I’m living proof of that, if anything else. True debate is about finding the common ground that may exist, semantics and politics aside. Even I, a Snark extraordinaire, understand that. And I live for confrontation, very much in the same way that a four-year-old looks toward to Christmas.

Shockingly, there are very few “new” ideas that exist within the paradigm of what currently passes for political discussion these says, but this in itself, is not a new phenomenon, nor is it to be unexpected, either, given the anti-intellectual climate sadly festering away in our national consciousness. And speaking of things that bear the stench of rot, who ever told you that signing off a personal communique with the literary equivalent of “”whatever”, inflicted a great disservice upon you at best.
Arrogant, dismissive, and derivative, is no way to walk through Life, my child. Sure, it’d be hypocritical for me to ignore how well some of those elements have worked out for me, but I’m also not trying to change the world entire, just my little corner of it. And that, in a manner that others, with any luck, find to be truly entertaining. One can only hope.

So, here’s my professional advice, although you may not like it: work on your craft, lose the haughty attitude, fill in that giant-ass chip on your shoulder, and most importantly, pull your unjustly swollen head out of your ass when you get a free moment.

Because I’m fairly certain it’s jammed so far up there, that you’re currently utilizing your belly-button as an observatory window. Just my two cents of course, and you can take it or leave it, for as you so eloquently stated; “I’m a bit beyond polite formalities at this stage of my life”, and tolerating pedantic pinheads such as yourself, is no longer a thought I so charitably entertain, even if only for the merest of moments. Here endeth the Lesson. Do with it what you may.

Just keep it away from your Ego, if at all possible, because that guy is a real jackass.

Fortunately for my small community, this particular mass of moronicness has moved on to seek the haven from which he’ll lick his eventual wounds resulting from his failure, but as the diminutive Jedi Master Yoda once said to the essence of Obi-Wan Kenobi: “No. There is another”, and sadly, he’s all ours. And even worse, someone taught him how to use the Internet, as if he were a real boy. Decidedly, one that’s allegedly been taking his life cues from a David Duke pamphlet, but I digress.

I’ve written about this particularly hypocritical hate-monger at some length previously, and to be quite honest, thought that I was done wading through his ignorantly intolerant Klan kiddy-pool, but here I am yet again, pondering as to the reason why use of the Web doesn’t come with both an IQ test and a mandatory psych-evaluation. Hell, you need a license to go fish, but when it comes to the act of spewing derisively dangerous prejudice, it’s almost as if society gives you a free hamburger, a pat on the back, and wishes you the best of luck regarding your endeavor in narrow-mindedness.

The Greek philosopher Plutarch once noted that; “The mind is not a vessel to be filled but a fire to be kindled”, and if I were to ascribe this assertion to today’s screed subject, I’d have to avow that his intellectual pilot light was not only blown out quite some time ago, but that his metaphorical vessel is filled to the brim with what might be charitably described as the rancid pickled brine of bigotry as well.

In essence, my initial perception that If he were a character in a PIXAR movie, he’d either be depicted as an overly paranoid vanilla shake, or as an overly angry jar of mayonnaise, still stands, notwithstanding the fact that there’s always room for improvement, when it comes to slurring the disciples of density with accuracy and humor. And when it comes to the art of calling out Truth to alleged White Power, I’m more than happy to do it, if only to remind these Jim Crow cowards that they will never go unchallenged.

And with that, let me sadly reintroduce you to my community’s answer to what happens when you give an ethnically-paranoid child a coloring book, and only a box of Crayola flesh-tone only crayons from the 1970’s to work with. In fact, given his previously ascribed loathing for BLM, and his insistence on mewling “All Lives Matter”, I’d suggest that if the current social justice movements had been as prevalent as they are currently, he would have had this inanity proudly emblazoned on the side of his COPS lunchbox:But as usual, I’m getting slightly ahead of myself, and our waiting bigot-in-the-wings ain’t gonna announce himself, so Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s hear it for the one, and fortunately as of yet, only box in existence of Vanilla Wafers made racist flesh, who ignobly, is making his third appearance within this, my pixelated kingdom of Snark. Lucky, lucky him. Loyal Bitchiteers, may I present Mr. Ken Cykala, Nature’s retort to the query of what a night full of poor decisions, misplaced optimism, and a broken condom can manifest as in the end..

However, I have to give begrudging credit where it’s due, and to be fair, the unfortunate completion of his birth does reinforce the multiple reasons why mixing already short-changed DNA with a worldview on loan from Tucker Carlson, rarely breeds a person of exceptional character worth lauding. This is of course, my humble personal opinion alone, but far be it from me to form such an interpretation without providing evidence as to why, and the best that I can provide comes straight from the horse’s ass himself.

Oops. I obviously meant to say “horse’s mouth” instead, but apparently, my Freudian slip got caught on my keyboard. My bad. Silly me. What isn’t silly however, is that despite two previous literary deep-dives into Ken’s lack of character, humanity, cultural curiosity, and intellect, I’ve barely scratched the surface of just how emotionally and disturbingly stunted, his psyche seems to be. We all have issues, but some like Ken, seem to have a lifetime subscription to every bigoted falsehood that’s currently being printed.

These include, but are not obviously limited to the following inaccuracies, such as that there is no such thing as institutionalized racism, BLM and Antifa are domestic terrorists, victims of police brutality are in fact, deserving of what they’ve received, Whites and their “heritage / history” are under a siege of sorts from liberals, welfare recipients, Socialists, African-Americans, Communists, unchecked crime, illegal aliens, cancel-culture, science, and all of these are being manipulated or outright controlled of course, by the true enemy of the people, AKA: The Media.

Or even quite possibly, our Evil Alien-Lizard Hybrid Overlords. Which I feel, is an undeserved bad rap, given their major positive contributions to the advancement of reality television. Oh, wait… never mind.

Ken’s ideology to be sure, comes off less like a patriot espousing that which truly makes America a beacon to others, and more as if Rockwell Kent had succeeded in making the Boys from Brazil a reality, just before he was assassinated by one of his own supporters. But enough happily reminiscing of days when the planet was made a little bit lighter and better by the forced removal of one of it’ most defective cogs, because there’s snarking that needs to be done, and I’ll kick it off with this dog-whistle classic::
Typically? That would be fearfully and willingly ignorant White middle-aged persons such as yourself, Ken. You know, the kind that despite the numerous times they’ve been informed and shown evidence as to why BLM is so damn necessary, still react as if they’re the ones being cheated out of a professional victim award or something.?

And by the way? NOBODY HAS EVER DIRECTLY SAID, OR SUBTLY IMPLIED, THAT WHITE LIVES DON’T MATTER, YOU RACE-MONGERING, PARANOIA-FUELED, TESTICLE-LACKING TROGLODYTE.

What they are saying however, is a truth that you don’t want to face, and pretend most fervently doesn’t exist. That being, when it gets right down to the brass tacks of your discomfort, Black lives seemingly matter less than the snow-blinded ones of people like you, who claim that the institutionalized scourges of racism are a falsehood, as this meme so definitively states:

This declaration I note, that more likely than not, has been sent from an ivory tower within the clearly defined boundaries of a gated community, rings true, if only you ignore the race-based disparities in regards to educational funding, financial stability, economic opportunities, and truly equitable treatment under the law. But other than that, nothing to see here, people. Just go back to your side of the tracks, and whatever you do, don’t get all uppity, demanding that which we in the White community casually take for granted.

Because if the phrase “Black Lives Matter” bothers you, but the corresponding one of “Blue Lives Matter” doesn’t, then the real issue that you’re having so much trouble with isn’t the imagined priority of which lives matter, but the use of the word “Black”. And do you know why that is? The odds most likely to be considered indicate that you’re an outright racist, regardless of whatever memes you so mewingly post, which by the way, only reinforce my belief that not only are you a bigot beyond all doubt, you clearly have no cohesive argument as to why you continue to be in the first place.

Glad I could clear up this mystery of the ages for you, my blubbering bigoted buttercup. After all, it’s a widely known fact that whenever I can afford to do so, I try to offer focused guidance to the intellectually crippled. And no, you don’t have to thank me, as I do such charity for the love of the craft, as it were. Now while all evidence to the contrary says otherwise, rest assured that the GQP will always have a race card or two up its sleeve to play in relation to its unfounded claim that racism is no longer a concern for America’s collective minority demographic.

This is a ploy that I like to refer to as the “Some of my best friends are…’ gambit, and usually involve the public presentation of persons from whatever community that the GQP is currently in the process of slurring or disenfranchising, as “evidence’ that they’re not harboring or fostering openly racist tropes, a move that more often than not, backfires spectacularly, as they tend to choose spokespeople who in no way. shape, or form, are supported by those they falsely claim to represent,

As the American filmmaker and activist Bree Newsom so clearly explained; “Being a Black person who’s willing to be a public advocate for White Supremacy is  ajob that always pays, so the position is always filled.” Case in point? This modern-day Step-anie Fetch-it right here:   I’d like to point out as I’ve done in previous screeds, that if you’re going to claim that racism in America isn’t institutionalized, you just might want to make sure beforehand that your chosen flag-bearer leading the charge for such, didn’t once sue their former college for… you guessed it, “institutional racism”. Just a suggestion that I’d offer up, in an attempt to avoid any future hypocritical awkwardness.

But I will admit, I love how compliantly the African-American collaborator openly uses the codewords of “Western civilization”, as a substitute for “White culture”, because Lord knows, none of us can see the blatantly attempted whitewashing going on here, now can we? This is akin to the “Taco trucks on every corner” analogy, once made by yet another bigoted house-lackey known as Marco Guiterrez, who co-founded the political group “Latinos for Trump”.

Apparently, after gazing upon the “Roaches for Raid” civil movement, he was similarly inspired to assist in subjugating the very culture he was raised in, and that Conservatives tirelessly endeavor to keep politically docile. Sadly though, he’s not alone in his attempt to highlight the stunning inadequacies inherent within our public educational system, as proven by the photo below:

And when you keep in mind that this person is somewhat representative of the foot-soldiers of the odious Alt-Right movement masquerading as dutiful and loyal citizens, you’d have to think that it shouldn’t be nearly as hard as it has been to achieve true equality for all: Seriously. Can anybody tell me as to how it is that we’ve ever lost any of the high ground to these walking bags of racist pork-rinds?

I don’t want to be perceived as being overly petty here, but being stymied overall by a person who willingly appears like this in public when isn’t Halloween, or not on their way to their side-hustle as a professional ass-clown, is just downright embarrassing at best, no matter which side of the political fence that you may find yourself on

.I hate to break this to you Ken, but shockingly, a country founded by the White wealthy elite, who instilled a governmental system based on class to maintain power, while cruelly exploiting slave labor to build its infrastructure, may not be able to kick its labeling of African-Americans as 3/5^th of a person addiction overnight, sad to say. Especially considering, said African descendants weren’t granted the right to vote freely, until the passing of the Voting Rights Act in 1965.

But yeah, racism isn’t ingrained in our national morality whatsoever, my sentient jar of racist mayo.For after all, you as a middle-aged White man, living in a town that has fewer African-Americans in it than one would find in an Osmond cover band, definitely would have his finger on the pulse of what African-Americans go through, both culturally and politically. It’s truly a puzzler as to why they as a whole, never listen to your deep insights. Such as this one, for instance:Yep… Ken’s definitely the best choice if we ever have the need for a culturally sensitive attaché to the Black community, isn’t he?  Pretty much in the same way that Matt Gaetz should be a High School coach for a girls’ basketball team, if I were to be so bold. I do love how the meme mentions that his not owning slaves and modern-day Blacks not being forced to pick cotton, somehow sets the standard for how African-Americans should gauge the fear and disenfranchisement most feel when leaving their homes.

Take it from the White man who as a child, never had to face the very real danger that he might get shot for doing the same innocuous things that White people do, such as walking, driving, eating in public, and trying to cash a check. He knows what’s best, and he’s got the memes to back it up, even if he doesn’t have the proof to support his bigotry. So, the KKK, a White supremacy group, is akin to four separate ideologies focused on equality, civil rights, and anti-fascism? I had no idea,

But then again, does Ken? Because the last time I checked, the only group I had to worry about was the one who advocates for racial purity, and it sure as f**k isn’t BLM, Antifa, or those who carry a pocket copy of The Communist Manifesto. Personally, I get the feeling that if Ken were alive and living in 1933 Berlin, he’d be the type of citizen who would happily and dutifully, let the local Sturmabteilung division know exactly who were helping the Juden.

And no, I’m not apologizing for that analogy either. In my opinion, he’s just a few matches away from lighting the metaphorical fires under both the ideas he loathes, if not the people who represent them.

But don’t ever worry about Ken being a one-schtick pony kids, because is it turns out, our favorite bigoted boy-band member is also an anti-masker too! Who would have guessed that his alleged personal idiocy had so many subtle levels to it? ’s kind of like he’s a racist lasagna, except that the noodles are pages from The Turner Diaries, and the sauce is made from the ichor that Tucker Carlson spews nightly.

Interestingly though, Ken isn’t an anti-masker in the way that you would think. There’s none of the expected conspiracy theories about how COVID-19 is/was a plot by the Chinese / Illuminati / Shadow Government / Nickelback to control the populace, and to be complimentary, I find this to be somewhat refreshing. If fairly inane. However, because Ken has the alleged intellect of a cofefe hamberder, he’s still going to put a uniquely dense spin on his POV, that literally, nobody else could top:
Sigh… this meme, posted during a time of national crisis, is figuratively so goddamn stupid, that my temporal lobe after reading it, immediately issued a letter of resignation, and retired to Florida, where the collective density there, seems almost quaint in relation to this cuckolded opinion 

“They are bothered that your strength shines a light on their weakness”?

Dude… you’re such a f**king craven that you’re literally freaking out at the mere suggestion that for the five minutes you’re inside Walmart, you could try not being a selfish prick, so maybe you should sit this one out, kitten. Preferably in the corner, wearing a damn mask. And when it comes to “strength”, I nor anybody else, should ever take any form of advice from somebody who soils themselves every time they see an African-American person wearing a BLM T-shirt walking towards them. Just my opinion, of course.

I’m also fairly certain that when it comes to being asked to practice social distancing as well, Ken is also probably one of the first in the crowd to start comparing it to communistic oppression, despite the fact that he truly has no freaking clue what that really entails. And no Ken, not being able to use the “N-word” freely in public isn’t so much oppression, as it is pest control.

Ken’s other obsession atop his personal pyramid of them, concerns what he and others of his ignorant ilk consider to be “The Enemy of the People”. I am of course, naturally referring to the Free Press, both analog and digital. And Ken despises them, with a passion only equaled by his hatred for sharing the planet with those who advocate for the people whose melanin levels are different than his.

Allegedly, of course. Just my personal observation. Nothing more.

But I would opine that If Ken’s hard-on for bashing the Media got any stiffer, the cockroaches that seemingly run his brain, could use it for a chin-up bar. Largely in part, because it’s the right size and dimension for them to do so. I myself, fortunately have no idea what it must be like to have a micro-penii, but I’d assume possessing a wang you could use to sew insignia on a white robe with, has just got to suck overall.

Allegedly, of course. Just my personal observation. Nothing more. But I would be remiss in my duty as a Snark of Great Snarkitude, if I didn’t back up what I’m stating without proof, which as we’ve all come to see is the area where Ken’s light really shines the brightest. And I for one, would hate to encroach on the only thing that he does better than anyone else. Outside of Tucker Carlson, that is

Well, this is… something, I guess. I’m really starting to form the opinion that it’s not the Media that Ken certainly hates, it’s the acronyms that define them. That’s a joke of course, but the real humor to be gleaned here is just how thin Ken’s doll-skin is in regards to what he perceives as their respective political leanings. To quote comedian Stephen Colbert; “It is a well-known fact that reality has liberal bias”, a concept that Ken views in the same way that Superman looks upon a Kryptonite condom.

Sure, it has its use, but keeping it nearby just hurts too damn much.

I do get why he might have an issue or two with the networks that consistently called out the Mango Mansicle he so desperately still pines for, but PBS? Dude… how in Odin’s name could you have any issue with a network that promotes scientific knowledge, appreciation of diverse cultures, and calls for the celebration of humanity? Never mind. I think I just answered my own question. Given his unfounded disdain, I’m starting to wonder if the Muppets should take a restraining order out on Ken, if only to protect Mr. Snuffleupagus.

Staying with the branding of the brain-dead, Ken also posted this gem of polished hypocrisy as well:
Before I gleefully dissect this particularly disingenuous masturbatory fantasy masquerading as commentary, I’d like to first post the thesaural definition of hate, classified as: “intense hostility and aversion usually deriving from fear, anger, or sense of injury”, or as “extreme dislike, disgust, antipathy, or loathing.”

And while some may see this as being the face of hatred:

I’d bluntly suggest that this, the literal personage of a disgruntled vanilla wafer with unfortunate internet access, is the one we should consistently use in its stead::
This picture is so grand in its insipidness, that the only thing that could top it for whiteness, would be if a loaf of bigoted Wonder bread took a selfie, Ooops. My bad. Obviously, one already did.

So, the present level of twisted and unhinged hatred that we’ve all been experiencing, is solely the fault of the aforementioned networks, and nobody else? Imagine that.  Because if I were to look at the current situation, I’d suggest that the responsibility of our said sociopolitical climate could be laid down at the feet of cultural and economic inequality, systematic racism, semi-fascist policing of the citizenry, right-wing propaganda and unfounded conspiracy theories, along with the consistent fear-stoking by the GQP, to name just a few.

But that’s not how Ken sees it, no siree Bob. It’s the scary TV people that are ruining this otherwise great country, and nothing else. Interesting however, that the asses of evil known as FOX, OAN, and the odious ogre known as Newsmax, somehow managed to escape being listed, huh? I’m sure that’s just an accidental oversight, given their track record for stoking the fires of increasing republican fascism, misogyny, Islamophobia, xenophobia, and outright paranoia. I’m sure Ken will get around to editing his meme, right after he gets done ironing his khakis, and polishing his tiki-torch.

Now, if Ken ever reads my collection of scribes focusing on him, he’ll probably take great offense at being accurately labeled as a bigot, and that’s to be expected. As the saying goes: “Racism isn’t a touchy topic, if you’re not a f**king racist”, and I would have to agree. But ol’ Ken I’m sure, would be injurious to with that POV, as he most likely believes that his unsubstantiated bigotry isn’t the result of his being an alleged racist, it’s because his pride in being White is being wrongly misinterpreted.

Naturally, this doesn’t translate as a clarion call to arms for White supremacy at all.

In fact, here’s a beautiful presentation of what Ken believes, taken yet again, directly from his Facebook page. While I may be “blocked” from it, others are not, and I can’t thank them enough for doing the hate harvesting that I require to keep you all so entertained:Damn. I’ve heard of a persecution complex, but never a persecution planet. I’m not sure what color the sky is in the hellish fantasy world that Ken resides in, but if I had to take an educated guess, it’s probably charcoal grey, and rains razor blades wrapped in Colin Kapernick posters. I’ve often made the joke that these drama queens play the victim card so much, that they should carry their own police chalk, but I feel I may need to amend this where Ken’s warped sense of being a target of the liberal mindset is seemingly concerned.

Ken should not only continue to carry his huge bag of pure white (of course) chalk, he should probably add a team of CSI’s to eventually prove one day that his bigoted paranoiac delusions are justified. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t break down this ode to self-pitying putridness, so let’s rock.

Ken: “I will not apologize for being Caucasian”

Who exactly, has ever asked you to? And at what point, did this supposedly happen? Or is it more accurate to say, that you don’t appreciate the fact that minorities are demanding the same access to the equality and privileges that you take for granted, and are ever so brusquely (for you, anyway) raising these uncomfortable issues to the light? Nah, that couldn’t be it. After all, as always, you’re the victim of cruel fate here, and all because others are biased against you due to your skin tone.

A social disorder I’m sure, that the African-American advocacy groups you fear and despise so much, would know nothing about. Here’s a cookie to ease your pain, champ- you know where I suggest you stuff it.

Ken: “I will not apologize for supporting good cops.”

Nor will you for supporting the bad ones caught on video murdering citizens either, but I’ll be addressing this hypocrisy of yours in some depth, later on.

Ken: “I will not apologize for loving my Asian, Native American, Black American & Hispanic friends.”

Once again, when did any liberal, or rational conservative for that matter, ask you to do this? I’d normally suggest that you’ve been listening to the voices in your head more than you normally do, but the odds are more likely in favor that they’re currently hanging out in the same place where your imaginary friends are, due to their embarrassment of being publicly associated with you.

Ken: “I will not bend my knee for anyone but the Lord.”

And yet, you’ll willingly get down on both, to swallow whatever FOX and Sean Hannity ram down your throat without the benefit of dinner and dancing first? Weird, that. And in reference to the “Lord”, I can only assume you’re name-dropping Jesus, the mythical Son of the mythical God, whose teachings you don’t follow, whose life lessons you never learned, and whose message of providing comfort and understanding to your fellow human, you deliberately ignore.

Not to mention that since there are a multitude of other Gods being worshiped on this planet at present, I’d suggest that you not forget the following truth of :the situation at hand:

Because as your chosen imaginary Lord is supposed to already know, I’d hate for you to be perceived as the hypocrite we all know you to be, so I took the slogan you’re so fond of screeching, and just tweaked it a bit. I really hope you like it as much as I do.

However, there is a question I must ask of you, Ken- if you truly are a Christian, then why is it that a Black man taking a knee to protest police brutality annoys you so much? After all, in this country we have no ;less than 8M Jehovah’s Witnesses who don’t salute the American flag, and 200T Amish, who won’t stand for the National Anthem. But a lone African-American kneels respectfully, and all of a sudden, it’s as if someone gave you an atomic wedgie. Yep. Nothing there to unpack, that’s for certain.

Ken: “I will not be brainwashed by the media.”

This bold assertion of independent thought brought to you by a walking bumper sticker who routinely posts fake “statistics”, disingenuous memes, and cherry-picked conspiracy theories, but I digress. Also, in order to be brainwashed, one must have a brain to begin with, so…  but as an added bonus,, when the zombie apocalypse finally happens, this mental deficiency of yours will actually become a strength for something other than embarrassing your parents on a daily basis. A natural immunity from the walking dead, as well as knowing that if ignorance is truly bliss, you must be Zen 24/7?

I may actually be a tad bit jealous here. No lie.

Ken: ”I will not apologize for believing in the Second Amendment.”

There’s a crowbar separation when it comes to believing in the 2^nd, written when muskets were considered to be state of the art at the time, versus now, where any schmuck can lay down more ordinance inside an Arby’s faster than the time it takes somebody to blink. For the record, I’m not anti-gun, I’m anti-frustrated-inced-with-unfettered-access-to-guns, and that’s it. For people who claim not to “live in fear”, as you often do, you guys also seem to be afraid of everything in general, regardless of whether or not a bullet could actually stop it.

If you have more bullets in your home then books, odds are pretty good you shouldn’t be allowed to carry in the first place. But what do I know? Maybe it’s perfectly normal to have a need to strap on a fake dick when you go to get a cup of coffee. After all, you might run into a Black person there, and you don’t want to be caught without firepower if they dare to start kneeling. Or even worse, sit at the table next to yours.

Ken: “I will not apologize for being a God-fearing American.”

Nor should you, as the amusement you’re providing claiming to be one, is pure comedy gold that none of us want to see stop anytime soon. You’re an American very much in the same way that I, a partial amputee, am the principal dancer for the Moscow Ballet. You don’t get to call yourself an American, if you loathe both the forward progress of civil rights and the demographic that so desperately requires them. Just saying.

And “God-fearing”? If your mythical God is love, as his best-selling novel of fiction suggests, then why as a faithful believer, should you ever have to worry about being subjected to his wrath? Oh, that’s right… because at best he’s an absentee landlord, and at worst, a petty murdering sociopath. You know, the kind of role model that everyone should take moral cues from. As I’ve noted before, I have zero issue with Faith, when it’s being used as either a crutch or a shield, but when it’s transparently weaponized to justify one’s personal biases and lack of character, that’s when my claws come out.

And as a heads up Ken, if there truly is a God, I can only wish you good luck as you explain to his celestial face as to why you were perfectly fine with ignoring the decree to be found within John 15:12, which says: “This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you.” I’m sure he’ll totally see your side, what with his tendency to velvet glove all those who don’t follow his vaguely arbitrary list of rules.

On a related note, when he kicks you into Hell, feel free to drop by my condo overlooking the Lake of Fire, as I throw both one hell of a BBQ, and I would love to introduce you to my next-door neighbor, Bob Ross. Just don’t ask him about “happy trees”. He’ll literally talk your head off, and nobody wants that.

Let me if I may, take a moment to recap our tale up to this point thus far. I’ve covered Ken’s obsession with BLM & Antifa in previous outings, noting his unfounded paranoia and bigotry in relation to such, and here, I’ve touched upon his intense dislike of the media that doesn’t share his inane world view. I’ve highlighted his refusal to accept the indisputable fact that whether he likes it or not, America continues to fail in its attempt to acknowledge its inherent racism, and that he’s one of the cogs in its clockwork juggernaut of corrupted jingoism.

And with that, you might think that there could be possibly nothing further to discuss in regards to Ken, but you’d be wrong. While I’ve firmly established his alleged bigotry, and wryly noted his lack of cultural sensitivity, I’d also have to express some form of begrudging admiration that he can literally swallow anything the GQP pushes, as if he were a Republican porn star.

However, that’s the beauty of dealing with someone whose character is what one might consider to be at rock-bottom already… once you’re done sweeping their metaphorical cellar floor, you terrifyingly discover that it has a previously concealed crawlspace.

This is not to suggest that it’s akin in any way, shape, or form to the one that was in John Wayne Gacy’s house, and filled up to the floor beams with the corpses of young men, nor does it share any similarities to mine, which is crowded with not only the remains of karaoke enthusiasts, but those soulless bastards who start filling out a personal check at a grocery store, but only after they’ve been standing in the “cash only” line for the previous ten minutes.

No, I think it’s far more diplomatic of me to submit that when it comes to Ken’s allegorical hidey-hole, the only corpus delicti to be observed will be the cadavers of his flawed conscience. While he arguably may not be 100% responsible for stacking the remains of his logic, humanity, and religious faith in a disused corner as if they were cordwood for the firepit, he most definitely didn’t do a damn thing to keep their demise from becoming imminent, either. And for that, I see no need to cut him any type of slack.

What can I say? A Snark has to have his standards, or all becomes chaos. Chaos, I tell you. But what is the polar opposite of chaos, you ask? Well, that would be Order of course, whether that’s enforced by either by the deliberate enaction of society at large, or stereotypically, under the firm hand and steely gaze of law enforcement’s varying levels. Levels I might add, that are justifiably being put under the microscope these days, much to Ken’s impotent anger.

As you read earlier, Ken proudly boasted that he wouldn’t “apologize for supporting good cops”, not that anybody should ever feel that they have to do so as a rule, but he also won’t go out of his way to condemn bad ones either, and that’s kind of a sticky wicket when one is riding their high-horse on the crumbling ledge of an ivory tower. I’ve called attention to Ken’s hypocrisy regarding his selective soap-boxing in earlier screeds, but the best two examples I can think to repost would be these two shining examples of personal contradiction:
Man, the amount of doublethink required to maintain both of these opinions in tandem, is probably the main reason as to why Ken’s extended warranty on his intellect got cancelled almost immediately. In essence, Ken duly maintains that you should ALWAYS follow a police officer’s commands without question, unless you just so happen to disagree with them, in which case, your eventual arrest is the byproduct of unconditional overreach, and you’re really the one who’s the true victim in this scenario.

Coincidentally, this opinion of his never seems to be applied to African-Americans when they’re in the same situation, but I’m sure that’s only because they obviously have no idea how to do the White thing, pun most definitely intended. In fact, it seems that when it comes to the numerous incidents of police brutality, racial profiling, and outright murder of his fellow citizens at the hands of the cops, Ken has no other POV, save for the fact that the cops are never at fault.

And that, irrelevant of whatever video evidence or eyewitness testimony may be provided as proof that a civil rights violation occurred. Don’t misunderstand me, we’ve all had a moment or two in our lives where we’ve walked on by a situation wearing blinders, but very few of us would go so far as to overdo it and Superglue our eyes shut as an additional precaution against that which makes us uncomfortable.

But since Ken has no sense of reality to begin with, he’ll post intellectual diamonds such as this, where he chides a constitutionally elected lawmaker, who just so happens to be a member of the disproportionally harassed race currently protesting abusive authority, no less. But why exactly, is Ken so upset to begin with? Well, it might have something to do with the fact that he thinks the pursuit of Justice is supposed to stick to the schedule of his own legally warped time-clock:Personally, I would love to hear Ken’s rationalization for the death of Philandro Castle, who was following an officer’s commands when he was murdered by the same in front of his own kid, or that of 12-year-old Tamir Rice, who was murdered as he played in a public park with a toy gun, by an officer who shot him immediately after getting out of his car. And who, BTW, voiced no commands whatsoever, before doing so.

Maybe we should talk about Breonna Taylor, gunned down in her own home, as police were serving an illegally obtained an illegal warrant, under the guise of searching for an individual that they ALREADY HAD in custody? I’m sure his defense will be epic in its scope. Honestly at this point, I’m stunned by Ken’s ability to consistently tie himself into a Gordian’s Knot without his kidneys squirting out his nose.

Also, you just have to love the following totally non-racist advice from the middle-aged White dude that goes: “If the victims would just follow the instructions given by law enforcement they would be alive today. Third, you should be teaching your race the importance of personal accountability to themselves, their family and to society,”

Hmm. Did anyone else notice the Freudian slip peeking out from under Ken’s weekend BBQ robe? He didn’t say “criminals”, or “suspects”, pr even “thugs”. He said “victims”. This seems an odd choice of phrase to enlist, if the individuals who were murdered at the hands of the police were the ones truly at fault, don’t you think?

For the definition of such, is as follows; :“One that is acted on and usually adversely affected by a force or agent, one that is injured, destroyed, or sacrificed under any of various conditions, one that is subjected to oppression, hardship, or mistreatment.” By this classification alone, it’s fairly obvious who’s at fault here, and it sure as f**k isn’t the Black people that Ken feels need to hear his condescending concern.

The condescendingly self-righteous counsel of “this means conduct yourself in a professional manner, especially when authority figures are involved”, targeting a demographic that cares not for his opinion nor the open machinations of those who tend to oppress them, is particularly galling as well, if I were to say the very least, as apparently this instruction doesn’t seemingly apply to the person who was arrested for doing the very same thing that Ken said YOU SHOULD NEVER DO,under any circumstances, in his hypocritical posting above.

I wonder exactly White that is. Sorry. I meant to say “why”. Yes. I definitely meant “why”. DEFINITELY THAT, AND NOT THE OTHER THING YET AGAIN. But maybe I’m making too much of his slip of the fingers, because if Ken is known for one thing past being an alleged and hatefully misinformed bigot, it’s his innate ability to come up with viable solutions to society’s ills:

Yup… let’s all try to change the so-called mind of a Blue Lives bootlicker whose access door to it is sealed up tighter than Ebenezer Scrooge’s wallet at a gentlemen’s club during happy hour. While I do agree with the fact that the police should be granted a modicum of esteem, I’d also state that the mantle of Respect is earned, and the one of civility is granted. And in the case of “bad” cops, they don’t deserve the first, and generally test the tensile strength of the second.

However, Ken doesn’t appear to believe that bad cops exist, despite all evidence available for his casual perusal to the contrary. This critique, is reinforced by yet another posting of his, and as usual, just simply reeks with the stench of his hypocritical self-righteous privilege yet again:

This inanity by the way, is brought to you by a person who still supports the criminal mango that is Donald Trump, and as you can see by the two equally as dense comments from two of his ilk, just hammers home how wide a net ignorance can cast. I mean… “Saitenist”? C’mon Walter… you may be far older than the dry-rot that sits in the creased folds of that shrunken apple you call a brain, but you had to have seen “Rosemary’s Baby” when you still remembered how to spell, didn’t you?

And Ken? If a cop deliberately (and cruelly) murders the very people he’s only supposed to arrest, then guess what? He’s no longer a cop, he is in fact, the “lowest of the low”, and there is no distinguishing him from the underclass you are so willfully game to see purposefully mistreated. There’s also the concept of  ‘innocent until proven guilty”, an inconvenient truth that you don’t seem to appreciate much.

It’s widely known as “Due Process”, and serves as a crucial legal protection and cornerstone to that which ensures our citizenry doesn’t get locked up on a whim and a prayer. And it’s supposed to apply to all, regardless of skin tone, personal influence, wealth, or past criminal history. Shockingly, cops aren’t supposed to murder the guilty. But even more relevant? They’re not supposed to slaughter the ones who haven’t been proven to be so, either. You know, because they support the enforcement of our laws, and not the prosecutorial actions resultant against those who break them?

Take for instance, the abominably inhuman death of Minneapolis resident George Floyd, who met his end at the hands of a sadistic piece of Satan’s bacon with a badge, a now unemployed and rightfully convicted sociopath, by the name of Derek Chauvin. Here’s an evidentiary photo of officer Dudley Dowrong at work, engaging in the activity that will hopefully ensure that when he goes to prison, he’ll get passed around like a pack of top-shelf cigarettes:

While Chauvin’s defense team pitifully tried (and subsequently failed) to sell Floyd’s death as “excited delirium”, a debunked theory which conveniently doubles as a liability-neutering excuse, Floyd hardly met the requirements for such a bogus claim to begin with.

He was handcuffed face down on the pavement, with three other officers in proximity, and there was no defensible reason for Chauvin to purposefully (if not coldly) place his knee on Floyd’s neck, as he and the other complicit slabs of Satan’s bacon watched dispassionately as his life was choked out of him, for NINE AND A HALF MINUTES. This occurred unabated, despite pleas from Floyd’ and the gathered crowd, begging Chauvin to stop.

A side note of sorts? If it wasn’t necessary to choke to death the seditionist who in the process of doing so, murdered a cop by bashing in his head with a fire extinguisher, then it sure as f**k wasn’t necessary to do so to a handcuffed suspect, for doing nothing more than allegedly attempting to pass a fake Jackson, Unless of course, you’re emulating the behavior of Jackson himself in regards to how he treated Black people, that is.

At Chauvin’s trial, his defense team feebly asserted that Floyd’s history of drug use and underlying conditions caused his death, and not the effect of having his neck compressed, Unfortunately for their shift the blame game, two separate autopsies, one conducted by the Hennepin County Medical Examiner, and the other by a private medical examiner hired by Floyd’s family, mutually agreed that Floyd’s passing was due to an act of homicide, meaning his death came at the hands of Derek Chauvin, and was not, I repeat NOT, due to his heart condition and prior drug use.

Sorry Kenny. I know how much you had your heart set on wanting to be able to pin it on the Black guy, but I’m afraid, that much like your sex life, you came up short in the dark, yet again.

However, the opinion of respected and qualified professionals that eventually led to Chauvin’s conviction, and which was based on the autopsies and the videotaped evidence showing the murder, doesn’t mean squat to a Trump fetishizing troglodyte like Ken, and he’s definitely not afraid to say so, when given the merest of opportunities to do so, once again utilizing the platform of the social media giant he claimed he was going to leave months ago,

That is, until he realized that outside of his like-minded bubble, he would have zero relevance. For let’s face it, being just another middle-aged intellectually impotent ignoramus that posts inane offal like this, hardly qualifies you as a brave maverick, even among your own willing-to-worship-a-turnip kind:

Well. That settles it. Kenbot here, was once seated for two days in a jury for a civil suit, which as we all know from watching reruns of Law & Order episodes, is so similar to one involving an abuse of authority leading to an unjust death (AKA: a murder) that one could easily be misconstrued for the other. If Ken views sexual congress in the same way that he does the law, I can only assume that his girlfriend sports a whole bunch of bruises around her belly-button after he performs his dismount.

We can just ignore the testimony of eyewitnesses who were at the scene, the medical evidence presented by the multiple qualified specialists within their respective fields, and most certainly, we can jettison the cellphone camera footage that SHOWED THE MURDER AS IT HAPPENED. Because after all, that officer just had to be in fear for his life, right? Sure, there were three other officers there, and the victim was both face down and handcuffed as well, but I’m sure Chauvin was justified in feeling that he, and not Floyd, was the one closest to fading into fatality.

Remember boys and girls, when it comes to the issue of cops murdering African-Americans, you really can’t trust your eyes, so much as you can the people who investigate themselves, now can you?

I won’t speak for you, but if I ever thought for even one second, that the handcuffed man on whose neck that I currently had my knee on, posed a serious and direct threat to my personal safety, I’d make damn sure that my hands weren’t jammed in my pockets as Chauvin’s were, as seen in the captured video. It seems to me, that if you were facing a risk of a physical attack, it’d be a good idea to have the two tools you’d require the most to stave if off, somewhat unencumbered. But maybe that’s just me.

Ken however, seemingly thinks that incontrovertible evidence is not so, and that the “real” reason Chauvin was convicted was due to an outside influence, because… of course it must. It’s one thing to claim and with some accuracy I might add, that the jurors already had their minds made up, due mostly to the due to the overwhelming evidence that painted Chauvin (correctly) as guilty, but as always for Ken, reality itself has to find itself altered, because… of course it must:Sorry you feel that way Tucker. But as the cops like to say; “You fit the description.” And referring toi one being held accountable for their actions as “lynching”? When you get hung from a tree for trying to vote, or for looking the wrong way at a White woman, then you’ll have the right to say such bulls**it with a straight face. Until then, seriously shut the f**k up, you suit wearing pig sphincter.

 The thought that all that goes against your core beliefs, must be a conspiracy, serves as a comforting salve to those who have no f**king clue as to how things actually work, but I digress. Ken has forgotten one of the foundational truths in order to validate his bigoted ignorance, and that is this: that which can be asserted without evidence, can also be dismissed without evidence. Funny how that works. So, what, or who to be more specific, does Ken hold responsible for the verdict that he claimed denied Justice its due?

Would we, or should we, expect anything less from this walking pile of acerbically asinine tapioca than laying the “blame’ on his favorite go-to boogeyman? I say nay. Nay, I say:

As I said earlier; “that which can be asserted without evidence, can also be dismissed without evidence”, and when it comes to being disingenuous, Ken approaches the act as if he were competing in the 1936 Summer Olympics. Sadly, when his intellectual resolve is tested, he tends to be a “short pole, no vault” kind of guy, as my late Oma was fond of saying.

This in itself is not startling by any means, as alleged bigots aren’t exactly renowned for their ability to carve out a niche regarding critical thinking, but mythical Jesus Christ, if Ken gets any more paranoiac about them there uppity Black people that he obsesses over as if if they all dumped him the night of the prom, we’re going to have to take away his car keys, the sharp and/or stabby objects in his trailer, and the remote control for his FOX-tuned TV.

The end result of this delusional putridness also leads to what I refer to as a supreme example of “creative omission”, where one presents a counter-argument so-called, by interlacing threads of truth within a quilt comprised of falsehoods. A prime example of this technique, would be the mentioning that African-Americans encompass a majority of America’s prison population, while ignoring the economic, educational, and the systematically racist inequalities that helped place them there to begin with.

I will say this as simply as I can without the aid of hand-puppets, Ken- the scary African-Americans are not, I repeat, NOT, coming to “burn down” your neighborhood, your workplace, or your coffee shop, so relax, you mental midget. For hopefully the last time, Black Lives Matter is not an anti-white movement, because (GASP!) it has nothing to do with you, despite your rather extensive and obvious bigotry.

Forearmed with this credible knowledge, as well as the ability to use it efficiently, let’s all take a gander at Ken’s attempt to weave half-truths into a fraudulent tapestry, and discover together what happens when an alleged bigot and the information that Google proves with actual facts, are still on a break:Score one for Ken! He actually managed to get this right… sort of. Turning to his battered copy of the dog-eared right-wing playbook, page twelve, paragraph three, if memory serves. The standard ploy is that which is inaccurate is disseminated, but the rest, of the relevant story is deliberately excised in the manner of a cancerous tumor, so that it may stand free on its feet of clay, as if it were a misguided Golem, seeking out a good Reuben.

For me to say this statement was obsessively cherry-picked to strengthen Ken’s flawed take, would be almost a supreme insult to the act itself.

To clarify, Lisa Christensen, the person that Ken is referencing, did not have any part in the final verdict as she was an alternate juror, but did divulge to journalist Jamie Yuccas on “CBS This Morning,” that; “I was worried about, you know, whatever the verdict may be if some people felt strongly on one side, other people felt strongly on the other side. So, no matter what, I felt like somebody wasn’t going to be happy,”

Now, if one takes that statement at face value with no further context, it does seem a damning indictment that most certainly bolsters Ken’s paranoid fever dream, does it not? I can only begin to imagine the level of self-pleasuring Ken must have engaged in after hearing that snippet, which to be fair, might be the sole reason why he missed the rest of her commentary that followed, because there ain’t enough blood in the male body to make both heads operate smoothly at the same time.

Continuing, she went on to say: “I felt he was guilty. They read the jury instructions to us in the courtroom briefly, but I didn’t know it was going to be guilty on all counts but I would have said guilty,”

In response to Yucca’s query of “Why did you think he was guilty? What led you to that belief?”, Christensen replied; “I just felt like the prosecution made a really good, strong argument. Dr. Tobin was the one that really did it for me. He explained everything. I understood it down to where he said this is the moment that he lost his life, really got to me,”

Regarding both the cellphone video that showed the cruelty involved in Floyd’s death as well as the bystander Darnella Frazier, who filmed it, Christensen noted; “I really felt that she felt guilty for not doing more and she feels responsible in a way, and I feel really bad for her. But I commend her on taking the video because, without her, I don’t think this would have been possible,” “It was emotional. I think my eyes teared up a couple of times, so especially seeing it from different angles and things,”

Despite Christensen’s feeling of personal discomfort being within the sighted proximity of Chauvin, her impression of him was thus: “I felt like he was the leader, and the other officers were following his lead. I kind of felt like he wasn’t taking the warnings seriously, obviously, kind of like I know what I’m doing,”

After the main jury pool were sent to deliberate Chauvin’s guilt or innocence. Christensen, along with another alternate juror was discharged, her civic duty obligation fulfilled. After more than 10 hours of debate spread over the course of two days, Chauvin was found guilty on three charges: second-degree murder, third-degree murder, and manslaughter, after which, his bond was revoked and he was placed immediately into custody.

In theory, Chauvin could spend decades in jail, as in Minnesota, second-degree murder can carry a maximum sentence of up to 40 years in prison. Third-degree up to 25 years, and second-degree manslaughter, up to 10. And if Justice is truly served, as it should be, that would be a total of 75 years, if served back-to-back, which let’s be honest, is obviously not going to happen,

But irrespective of how many years this murdering bacon-bitch receives in the end, I hold out hope that the next time he sees the sun, it’ll be when his relatives carry him out past the prison gates, secured within the confines of a crematoria urn. Ken may possibly be the only person on this f**ked up ball of space-dust and granite that can watch a video of a fellow human being getting murdered by a sworn officer of the law, and express the concern that hopefully, said cop didn’t get any of the victim’s blood on his shoes as he did it.

The reprehensible murder of George Floyd is in no way, shape, or form, a “wake-up call”. The damn alarm clock has been going off in this country since it was founded, and those like Ken, prefer to just keep hitting the snooze button ham-handedly, versus doing something about it, like unplugging the clock from its damn power supply.

I’ve said it before. I will most likely have to say it again. I don’t know what the f**k your particular problem is Ken, but I’m fairly certain it’s hard to pronounce. However, I’d also have to assume you couldn’t enunciate it clearly to me either, given the fact that your mouth is seemingly always chomping down on a pack of these:Wow. I’m currently up to 11K+ words, and I could literally write another 11K+, without breaking a sweat, given the never-ending void that passes for Ken’s limited intellect, However, I’m also starting to notice that whenever I get a new batch of Ken’s screen-grabbed assertions from a carefully chosen few of his FB “friends”, a miasma of pure malevolent toxicity slowly starts visibly forming over my trusty IBM Thinkpad, because even it knows the depth of the cesspool I’m about to go skinny-dipping in.

Metaphorically, of course, thank Odin. Although to be quite honest, swimming in a cesspool would probably be a welcome break from what feels like continuous wading through the ostensibly overflowing swine lagoon that’s exists within whatever mental aberration assumes itself to be Ken’s humanity analog.

I do have a great deal of sympathy for Ken though, believe it or not, as it must be a real bitch being able to only see three colors, that being Black, White, and Blue. Not to mention, the qualities he willingly ascribes to each, are either so far beyond the pale of rationality, or so abominably dense, that I almost feel compelled to give him both a puppy and a bowl of homemade chicken soup.

Please note that I said “almost” For while I happen to be rather emphatic in regards to showing less intelligent creatures a measure of mercy every now and then, I tend to draw a definitive line in the bland when the same creatures repeatedly keep getting their leg caught in an obvious snare trap. If one of your two kids keeps sticking his tongue into a light socket, and the other doesn’t… well, you know which one’s going to an Ivy league college, and who’s going to wind up attending DeVry.  

Or even worse, emerge as Ken’s personal hero, a twice-impeached, thrice-married, adulterous, porn-star-paying, lying, cowardly, treasonous, fraudulent man-child glaring from behind a desk, because nobody likes you. And that not only includes the world, your country, and your hometown, but your wife and kids as well. So the message here is stay in school, and make sure to study Benford’s Law, because it’s the literal key to the universe.

And just like this boiled ham in a wig that he still admires, Ken allegedly shares the same accord to engage in the most vulgar of implied slurs apropos to race relations, as well as not possessing the simplest of grasps on the sub-textual when it comes to semantics. Case in point? Ken’s deliberate misunderstanding of what the slogan and movement of “Defund the Police” actually means on its face:No, Ken. I don’t have the “guts” to share this moronic misunderstanding of yours all over on Facebook, because unlike yours, mine actually know what “defund the police’ truly means.

Sure, despite the reality that your deposed and now currently depressed, Mango Mussolini once publicly said that; “We won’t be defunding our police. There won’t be dismantling of our police. There’s not going to be any disbanding of our police”, the awkward fact remains that this apocalyptic scenario foisted by Herr Twitler and his GQP enablers, is not only utterly insane, but demonstrably untrue to boot.

To clarify that which Ken once again, dares not research, because it would reduce his stockpile of memes which he uses to cover his inability to debate using facts, I present the definition of a good concept, even if it is indeed, truly worded badly: “Defund the police” means nothing more than reallocating or redirecting targeted funding elements away from outfitting police with gear more akin  to that of Seal Team Six, and using it to underwrite programs that are designed to better serve the local community. Such as mental crisis counselors, for instance, as not every call requires an armed response.

And that’s all of it, presented in the simplest of nutshells, no less. It does not, on any f**king level, call for the abolishment of the police, nor has it ever been a demand for reducing the pay and benefits of said officers, either. I have to admit, for however long it’ll be that I get to live, I’ll probably never understand exactly how a person like Ken can spend so much time online, and yet, never set aside any of it, to do the merest of credible research.

 If he ever did, he might even win the occasional argument using actual facts to do so, every now and then. Granted, it could be also reasonably debated that I’ve spent way too much time downloading images of Milla Jovovich wearing thigh boots, but heck… even I still found the time to investigate the intricacies of the ACA in between pondering how she’d look in a Wonder Woman outfit.

Seriously Ken, you’re supposed to be a red-blooded American male- if you can’t cruise the web using only one hand, you should either turn in your man card, or watch the Phoebe Cates pool scene from the 80’s classic “Fast Times at Ridgemont High”, until you get your rhythm down.

You know which one I’m talking about. And I can guarantee, it’s a far better fantasy to obsess over, than the ones you’re currently having involving BLM. I will happily be the first to point out that the term “defunding” is an unfortunate flash point, but it’s also pointedly accurate for me to say as well, that if somebody truly wants to know what this movement regarding the demilitarization of the police is all about, Google and the information it can offer up, is no more than a few clicks away.

Therein however, lies the rub- no matter what the issue is, the person who’s either for it, or diametrically opposed against it, still must feel the need to educate themselves in regards to it, and those like Ken who blissfully exist inside a bubble amalgamated from ignorance and hubris, are never going to do so. After all, nothing upsets a bigoted Utopian gated community half as much as the graffiti of Truth does.

When it gets right to the cream filling of the perfectly chilled Ding Dong, the personal dedication to this sort of willful ignorance is kind of impressive, given the ease with which someone can choose to educate themselves. Knowing that this assessment is true, why would anyone make the conscious choice to fearfully wallow, as they strive to foster an unfamiliarity with reality in this, the Age of Accessible Information?

To what benefit does it serve to be proud of your intellectual illiteracy and outright loathing for that which should bind us in unity, but tragically, only serves to fuel those who despise all that they refuse to understand? Des it give you a sense of the power you currently don’t, and never will, have? Does it replace the love, intimacy, and prestige your life lacks? These are serious questions by the way, and I already know that you won’t (or to be more precise, can’t) answer, even if your life depended on it. Which when given grave thought, it kind of does.

I’ve always believed that when you shuffle off this mortal coil, the people who attend your funeral should uniformly be wearing black, and crying their eyes out, as they grieve your passing. If however, they’re tailgating with BBQ and beer kegs in the parking lot of the cemetery waving giant cardboard-cut-out middle fingers in the direction of your newly dug grave, odds are probably pretty good that your presence won’t be missed.                             In the end, Ted finally did get the Last Word concerning Aunt Karen, after all.            

Nonetheless, this continual back and forth that I, and many others, find ourselves engaging in with people who would disastrously lose a battle of wits against a rice cake, reminds me of an exchange from Christopher Nolan’s Batman movie, “The Dark Knight”, which occurs between the heroic alter-ego of billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne, and the iconic super-villain known as the Joker, delivered with a sense of ironic joy, as he hangs upside down, off the side of a building:

Joker: “You. You just couldn’t let me go, could you? This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. You truly are incorruptible, aren’t you? Huh? You won’t kill me out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness. And I won’t kill you because you’re just too much fun. I think you and I are destined to do this forever.”

BATMAN: “You’ll be in a padded cell forever.”

Joker: “Maybe we could share one. You know, they’ll be doubling up the rate this city’s inhabitants are losing their minds”.

BATMAN: “This city just showed you that it’s full of people ready to believe in good.”

Joker: “Until their spirit breaks completely. Until they get a good look at the real Harvey Dent, and all the heroic things he’s done. You didn’t think I’d risk losing the battle for Gotham’s soul in a fist fight with you. No. You need an ace in the hole. Mine’s Harvey.”

BATMAN: “What did you do?”

Joker: “I took Gotham’s white knight and I brought him down to our level. It wasn’t hard. You see, madness, as you know, is like gravity. All it takes is a little push.”

In Ken’s case, I don’t think it was so much a “push’ that steered him towards his particularly vile form of madness, as it was a gleeful hop, skip, and jump. For him to fully embrace an ideology better suited to fascism, and its cadre of obedient and lowly curs, required nothing more than willing compliance, and a predisposition to jump-starting a previously in-check sense of inane intolerance. Shockingly, when one lays down with the dogs of racism, they shouldn’t be at all surprised when they wake up with fleas the size of doorknobs.

Glass houses built on foundations of racist quicksand, and all that jazz.

Nevertheless, there’s a reason why I referenced the Dark Knight-, and it’s not just because it’s a great movie with a standout performance by Heath Ledger as Gotham’s eternal Clown Prince of Crime. It’s also because it inadvertently calls out the immovable object that America, if not the world, will always have to contend with, that being, the proliferation of willful ignorance.

There is possibly no stronger force on Earth than the will of someone who feels that they are being involuntarily forced to give up their preconceived notions, especially if they’re founded in a belief, rather than on evidentiary proof.

Backing up my POV, I present yet another interaction from earlier in the film, this one happening between our soon-to-be-fallen hero Harvey Dent, and the always-a-step-ahead Joker, where he wryly observes that: ”It’s the schemers who put you where you are. You were a schemer. You had plans. Look where it got you. I just did what I do best- I took your plan, and I turned it on itself. Look what I’ve done with this city and a few drums of gas and a couple of bullets.

Nobody panics when the expected people get killed. Nobody panics when things go according to plan, even if the plan is horrifying. If I tell the press that tomorrow, a gangbanger will get shot, or a truckload of soldiers will be blown up, nobody panics. Because it’s all part of the plan. But when I say that one little old mayor will die, everybody loses their minds. Introduce a little anarchy, you upset the established order and everything becomes chaos.

I’m an agent of chaos. And you know the thing about chaos, Harvey? It’s fair.”

See, we as Americans, have come to expect a fair amount of the people within a certain segment of our society, to be nuttier than Marjorie Taylor Greene giving a speech concerning Dr, Seuss. It is after all, “part of the plan”, but nobody, save outside Nostradamus himself, could ever have foreseen the influential reach of the lunacy we’ve been subjected to over the last five years. And we, just as our grease-paint clad antihero noted; “are destined to do this forever”, if the current trend of personal idiocy continues.

And make no mistake, my loyal readers, the base of GQP enablers and their disciples who are most responsible for the wave of anti-everything-humanistic currently eroding the soul of this country, are unquestionably, just waiting in the wings to launch scheme after scheme, as a means to regain their grasp on unchecked and of utmost importance, wholly corrupted power.   

In retrospect, Ken’s paranoia-fueled masturbatory fantasies regarding the “war” on cops, White culture, society, religion, the 2^nd Amendment, free speech, honest media, the American judicial system, and the flammability of our inner cities, seems almost quaint by comparison, given the fact that there’s people out there who truly believe that a cabal of Satan-worshiping pedophiles who, while openly engaging in baby-centric cannibalism, also serve as overseers of a world-wide child sex-trafficking ring,

One that has a division being run out of a pizza shop’s basement, and by Hillary Clinton, no less,

In addition, they also found the time somehow, to foment a plot against former U.S. president Donald Trump while he was in office. You know, the adulterous, pu**y-grabbing, pornstar paying, treasonous, seditionist disgraced President with one of the lowest rates of sex trafficking prosecutions in recent history, who also has intimate personal and business ties to no less than five well-known pedophiles?

Sigh. It’s stuff like this that makes me wish Jewish Space Lasers were actually a real thing.

While Ken’s bigotry is a very palpable thing, the rest of his false narrative is certainly not, and neither is his sense of patriotism, his so-called Christian faith, or his concerns for those who just so happen to be outside his immediate Klan. Sorry… I meant to say “clan”.

YES… DEFINITELY THAT, AND NOT THE OTHER THING, ONCE MORE. Damn these klumsy fingers of mine.

My late Oma was fond of saying that some people’s only purpose on this planet was to remind us all what not to ever be, and in regards to that characteristic, I now feel that if she ever met Ken, he’d easily make the cut for her top three of whom not to emulate, although to be fair, I never understood why Mr. Rogers was ever on that list to begin with. My only guess would have to focus on his love of cardigan sweaters and hanging out with creepy puppets.

Who knows? Maybe I should have asked some questions, when I had the chance to do so.

Asking questions. It’s what we all should do if something that confuses or challenges us, flies across our radar, but to do so with an open and curious mind, especially right from the start, if you suffer from the lack of one. is too much of a trial for some. Ken being a prime example of this affliction, as we’ve come to discover through his dedicated approach to showing us all exactly why, some people go on to college, and others, shouldn’t be allowed to own shoes with laces.

He believes that you should always follow the orders of the police, “you” pf course, referring to Black people, alone. He believes that BLM is a terrorist group, yet ignores the very real threat of White Supremacy, when he’s not using their coded buzzwords, that is. He doesn’t support “bad’ cops, and the moment that he actually happens to see one, he’ll prove it. And no, he doesn’t need to watch your video, because it couldn’t possibly be the cop’s fault as to what happened.

He believes that “All Lives Matter”, but doesn’t ever want to talk about the Black ones. Wearing a mask is assign of personal weakness, but being afraid to wear one is personal strength of the highest caliber. He believes that all the media networks that tell him what he doesn’t want to know or hear preach “hate”, but the ones that artificially inflate his flaccid intellect are above reproach. He will “not apologize’ for things nobody asked him to apologize for, but rest assured, he would never condescend to grant the same courtesy to others.

He believes that “Justice wasn’t served” in the trial of Derek Chauvin, because the jurors dared to use their eyes to watch a murder caught on camera, and their ears to listen to the testimony of eyewitnesses and qualified professionals that proved beyond a shadow of doubt that it indeed was. And worse of all, their actions refuse to support his certainty that they should have found the Black guilty of being Black in America, which for our resident Captain Caucasian, is the worst offense of all.

He happily licks so many authoritarian boots, it’s a wonder that he doesn’t leave behind a pair of slip-on loafers every time he uses the bathroom. And when it comes to taking away the military toys and tactics that the police do not require nor deserve, he‘s of the mindset that certainly, it must be a Liberal plot to abolish the police entirely, rather than return them to the origin of their specifically intended charter.

For him, the world entire, presents as a highly infuriating, if not wholly terrifying Dystopia, and for that, I am truly sympathetic to his plight, even if he self-feeds this delusion as if it were Iggy Pop set loose and unchaperoned, in 1970’s Amsterdam. Sadly, I can offer no panacea for Ken’s issues, save for the recommendation that he undertake a personal voyage in educating himself out of his paranoiac inclinations, but we all know he’ll never be able to do that.

Not because he’s unable to, but because he hasn’t truly hit rock-bottom yet. And given his opinions, it’s fairly obvious that his version of rock-bottom still has a sub-basement (or two) underneath it.

“What a sad era when it is easier to smash an atom than a prejudice.” – Albert Einstein

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“No drug, not even alcohol, causes the fundamental ills of society. If we’re looking for the source of our troubles, we shouldn’t test people for drugs, we should test them for stupidity, ignorance, greed and love of power.” – P.J. O’Rourke

Hello Bitchiteers!

It is yet another gorgeous day out here in the high deserts of New Mexico. The sun is shining, the clouds look like cotton candy lazily hanging in the sky, and the local crows are just sitting around in a murder, contemplating just how their festive gatherings got such a bummer of a moniker. My guess? It’s all due to an envious group of socially-awkward sparrows, who decided to take things into their own wings, and enact their eternal revenge:

Speaking of “revenge”, it’s a topic that keeps popping up more often as of late, due to the fact I’m garnering quite the acidic reputation among the local interweb as being “that guy”, the definition of such, is that I’m an annoying Libtard / SoyBoy / Communist / Satanist / Know-it-all that dares to (GASP!!!) engage in political and cultural debate, while brazenly using irrefutable data to defend my position. I know… it’s most definitively a desperate power-move straight out of the playbook of a Machiavellian bastard, to be sure.

As I’ve previously written in other screeds, the sometimes end result of this apoplectic anger spewed forth by the most cravenly of conservatives, can range from keyboard insults, overly saturated with passive-aggressiveness and slurred between clenched fingers, to outright threats of physical violence, metaphorically deep-fried in the most bitter remnants of testosterone, and powdered with brazenness that can only come from hiding behind their mommy’s keyboard and a fake social media profile.

Entertainingly, while most of these threats come from people who think that they, and more pitifully, their effort, presents to myself, along with the digital world entire, as this:

In actuality however, anyone who reads their impotent insults and views their faux chest-thumping online posts with a functioning adult intellect, generally walks away thinking this:

Adding weight to this universally accepted assessment, is the knowledge that the majority of said “threats” are usually of an intellectual caliber akin to that of a toddler having a meltdown, and therefore, are fairly easy to mock, as I so jovially did here in my rejoinder to this twat of tenacity;Some people might read this declaration that adds credence to Danny’s family alleged adherence to perfecting their inbreeding, and sadly come to the logical conclusion that civility within our grand society is dead, but I know better. It’s more likely hiding in a bedroom closet, as if it were an oversexed teenager in an 80’s slasher movie, trying to make it to the vaunted and far-too-quickly-made sequel. But rest assured, the call IS coming from inside the house, and because a Conservative is the individual tasked with making it, you just know that it’s going to be one that’s collect.

To clarify as I’ve often had to do before, I have no issues with others having an opinion contrary to mine, as long as that opinion is backed up with credible evidence. Proven fact. Statistically sound data. In other words, an intellectual position of strength that doesn’t rely on the inclusion of angels, demons, the Bible, QAnon-derived conspiracy theories, bumper sticker ideology, or a rumor that was read off a website with the word “Patriot” to be found anywhere within its address or descriptive bio.

Especially when I find myself repeatedly dealing with a cravenly cross-section of persons who collectively, think that they possess this level of cunning villainous genius in regards to their ability to successfully debate the issues of the day;

Versus the one that they actually do:

Although when looking at it in retrospect, Megamind’s late-night claim at the Metro Man memorial during a moment of introspective career-inspired grief, that he never fully realized his evil plans regarding Robo-Sheep and the Illiteracy Beam, seems highly suspect now, given how many Americans still support a deposed Fanta Fascist, and the inherent difficulty most seemingly have differentiating between “your” and “you’re”, as well as “there”, “they’re”, and “their”, if I were to float so bold a theory: 
If you’ll allow me the opportunity, I think I’ll have to amend my comparison twixt the two, as in the end, Megamind is actually quite innovative for a blue-skinned alien refugee who’s best and only friend is an overly loyal space-fish wearing a robo-gorilla suit, and assert that the majority of intellectual voids I traverse in my day-to-day dealings are probably more akin to this guy, than anybody else:
Eggsactly right.

In addition, if you were to take into account the last three minutes that unfolded before I started writing that last joke, you’d perfectly understand exactly what I’m talking about here. For as I entered my Kingdom of The Round Table today, located within the Little Toad Creek Brewery and Distilling Company, (AKA: my office away from the office) my inner monologue of future pixelated thoughts to be constructed was interrupted by an obnoxiously uninformed voice from the table next to mine, housed in the physical countenance of what I can only charitably describe as a male free-range lummox.

Bearing a strong resemblance to Spiderman’s editorial nemesis,Jonah Jameson, undergoing undergoing a sandpaper glove colonoscopy, but without the benefit of anesthesia, this oxygen-wasting example of what happens when a Duplo block sheathed in purloined human skin forcibly mates with a dime-store knockoff of a tube of Just for Men, was having a “private” conversation about New Mexico’s newly energized initiative of permanently putting to bed as it were, the oft controversial issue regarding Marijuana legalization within our bucolic state:

And darn if he didn’t have an idea or two about it, factual information concerning the topic, be damned to Heck. I won’t speak for any of you, but I find myself all shades of enthralled when someone who clearly doesn’t what the f**k they’re talking about, feels the need to stand on a stage comprised of their empty personal-use boxes of Viagra and Vaseline, as they regal us, the chosen lucky few, with a stunningly unaware passion play showcasing just what depths of personal ignorance one can achieve.

But there we all were, a wholly uninterested captive audience for a man who had a stick shoved so far up his tight angry white-man ass, we could’ve used him as either a maypole or a cell-phone tower.   

You know. Depending on our needs at that time, and all that.

Normally, I wouldn’t find myself interjecting myself into what was a clearly defined private conversation, but this was so not that. No, this was one of those private conversations that its primary contributor wanted, nay, needed, everyone within earshot of his arrogant idiocy to hear in its entirety, even if all we, meaning me, wanted out of life at that moment, was to have some quiet time alone with our giant pretzel, as we, once again meaning I, rocked out to Audioslave. Is that too much to ask in a town where everybody normally doesn’t inflict themselves upon you?

Apparently it was, so after five of the longest minutes of my life listening to this human analog for a “Just Say No” after-school special, vomit inaccuracies in relation to the subject whose study notes for its test he most certainly cribbed from the 1936 anti-marijuana propaganda  film  “Reefer Madness”, I asked the simplest of questions: “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s the difference between getting behind the wheel altered on weed, versus doing so after a four-beer lunch?”

Two things at that point became perfectly crystalline clear. One, he indeed DID mind, and that, quite a bit, and two: I really should have counted the empty beer glasses that were laid out in front of his now decimated liquid lunch. Coincidentally, or maybe not, because the Universe has a f**ked-up sense of humor, that number just happened to be, you guessed it… four. I’m starting to think that I need to hire a team of advance scouts to survey the conversational landscape before I wander into the chat, even if I am armed to the teeth with actual evidence first,

That’s the beauty of snark-based hindsight. It’s always 20/20. And always far too late to ever be useful in the crucial short-term. Given this unintentional faux pas on my part, he could have responded to my query in a number of ways, the first clearly being a fact-based dissertation as to why he had formed the opinion he had, as we’d all like to think we would in kind, if such an inquiry had been asked of us:

Naturally, rather than take that far more reasonable path of intellectualism, he opted to go with his mid-priced beer and middle-aged paunch, versus using what I can only safely assume at this point, is a pickled cabbage pulling double duty as his brain. After I was nice enough to directly point out that he literally knew nothing about what he was talking about, the main focus of my retort centering on his insistence of inaccurately describing what being “baked” was like.

This, despite the willing admission that not only had he himself had never been high himself, he had also never dealt with anyone who was, either. Nevertheless, when this discrepancy of evidentiary experience was pointed out, he responded with a common vulgarity regarding my observation, because as is often the case for those whose entire vocabulary rhymes with “duck” and variations thereof, answering like a person is quite the mental marathon, even on the best of days… or so I’ve come to surmise.

It would have been fairly easy for me to ignore his crudity outright or even respond to it in kind, and I’m certain that in doing so, I would have been justified, but I’ve found it’s far more entertaining if not personally satisfying, to take the somewhat higher road of snarkiness instead. Note that I said, “somewhat”, as you’re never going to win any meritorious battle by being mistaken for Mr. Rogers incarnate. And while this approach may work for some, it has always been at best, a zero-sum endgame for me.

So, as I proceeded to set up my ever trusty IBM Thinkpad, I ever so kindly thanked him for reminding me exactly why I don’t really miss Phoenix that much, noting that his idiocy and intellectual immaturity was perfectly in line with what my former stomping ground has allowed itself to become. His response?

Well, let’s just say it wasn’t really that much of a retort, as much as it was a confirmation of his inability to think and blink at the same time: “Well, there’s a road out front, if you don’t like what I said, you can always leave, so there you go.”

To which I replied: “And you could easily do some research and educate yourself, but sadly, that sort of information usually isn’t published in the form of a pop-up book, so there we are.”

And some of you have the nerve to dare suggest that I’m not a people person? Honestly, I have no indications as to where any of you got that idea. I don’t know how many of you have ever heard the maxim: “If looks could kill”, but at that moment, I don’t believe I’ve ever personally witnessed a better example of it in my life, as his eyes were throwing so many daggers my way, that I felt like I was starring in the reboot of “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”, as directed by Quentin Tarantino:

Fortunately for both of us, glaring was seemingly the only defense against witty quips that he possessed, which given my limited physical ability and the brittleness of that stick shoved sideways up his ass, helped keep the situation from boiling over into what would be classified eventually as middle-aged white guy hip-shattering violence.

In the end, all’s well that ends well, as his two long-suffering friends who were with him, quietly paid their tab, and split the scene, taking their boozy bloviating blowhard with them, much to the delight of myself, and anyone else who had been  privy to his earlier inanity.

As a rule, I generally don’t advocate that people do drugs recreationally, due to the damage I’ve seen them cause in those who have addictive personalities, but when it comes to this guy, not only would I suggest he invest in an ice-bong chock full of some prime Laughing Buddha, I’d go one step further and state outright that some of his spare income go towards purchasing a pair of top-shelf pliers to pull that giant bug out of his ass as well.

Speaking of things that definitively need to be extricated for the benefit of the individual, if not for society itself, ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Silver City DMV, which is referred to by the locals in my town as the place where you seek employment when being a door greeter at Walmart is just too intellectually challenging for you.

This administrative morass, whose motto should be “Gib alle Hoffnung auf, die du hier eintrittst”, or for those who don’t speak German, “Abandon all Hope, ye who enter here”, is literally the perfect embodiment of all that’s incompetent, overly bureaucratic, unprofessional, and dare I say it, wholly antithetical, in regards to how the rest of my small town generally operates.

Located in a nondescript building that from the outside, looks like a gift shop you would go out of your way to avoid at all costs, it currently houses a collection of office workers so woodenly dense, that termites gaze upon them with exactly the same amount of unbridled lust that I as a 14-year-old, used to exhibit every time I saw an Elle McPherson poster,

But seriously… can you blame me?

When I first moved to New Mexico, I had all sorts of new resident minutiae to deal with, ranging from setting up bank accounts, changing my mailing address, and finding new doctors for my ongoing medical care. All the stuff they never told us in High School that we’d get to do as fully functioning adults. And now we know why… because it’s just too much fun to be had by any one person, let me tell you.

Pointless paperwork? Love it! Bloated bureaucracy? Yes, please! The opportunity to engage with secretarial sociopaths? Good mythical God, it’s like Christmas came early, and I got everything on my list. And that includes the Barbie Home Taxidermy Playset. However, I still have to provide my own cat, so I guess there is a downside after all.

Nevertheless, when it comes to scaling the Pinnacle of All That Is Joyous, nothing on this f**ked-up amalgamation of space-dust, oxygen, silicon, aluminum, calcium, sodium, potassium, and magnesium, sitting atop a semi-solid nickel-iron alloy, comes even remotely close to interacting with the seemingly untrained and mismanaged staff at this Malebolge of living Beige, lifted straight out of Dante’s Inferno.

Like most government offices that serve the general public, the interior of this Bayer aspirin tablet turned workplace, which just so happens to be staffed by people with the personality of one, is strictly utilitarian, and boasts the standard compliment of informational posters, bored customers, and the standard compliment of countertop-to-ceiling bullet-resistant Plexiglas.

Before I was forced to spend a considerable amount of my free time as an adult in one of these soul-sucking cesspools, I always assumed that such security measures were set in place due to the sensitive personal information that agencies like this have access to, as well as the residual income they tend to generate as well. That opinion has changed, as I now feel that barrier is in place to protect the employees from the valid consequences they’d face if the customers they continually fail to treat with courteous professionalism, were ever granted the permission to lay their hands on them, albeit for the merest of moments.

To be clear, in no way, shape or form, am I openly suggesting any form of violence against any essentially useless governmental employee, irrespective of how personally satisfying it might be to strap one of these human doorstops into a Gulliver-sized trebuchet and aim at the Sun, but if such actions were indeed legal and morally ethical, I’d most likely be the guy in the parking lot selling the T-shirts and coffee mugs commemorating the blessed event and related holiday.

And where I once defended those at the DMV as being overworked and underappreciated, akin to this charmingly adorable, if somewhat physically leisurely, fellow;

I have to unabashedly admit, and with the same sense of openness, that after dealing with Silver City’s vacuous variant, my current take on those formerly noble working-class heroes is more in line with this particularly harsh, and as I see it, far more accurate assessment:

As to why I currently hold this opinion deep-fried in acidic contempt and powdered with the sweetest of sugared venom, the answer is quite simple; I hate, despise, loathe, resent, abhor, and utterly disdain, personal incompetence. Mix that in with just how much I enjoy being on the receiving end of an arrogant power-trip delivered by a person who will eventually be eaten by all the stray cats that they’ve hoarded over the years, and you’ll have a small glimpse into that which raw-rubs my patience as if it were wearing a barbed-wire codpiece.

It all started simply enough, with what should have been the most unassuming of tasks to accomplish in a place where much like the TV show Cheers, everyone knows your name., or at the very least, your reputation.

The goals for that day, was quite the laid-back ones- do some laundry, wash some dishes, mail some bills, gas up the car, grab lunch at one of the Mexican food joints, and when all that was put to bed, go online and renew my car tags for another two-year span. Easy enough, right? After all, we do live in a wondrous era where technology and access have been seamlessly conjoined in an effort to make all of life’s minor chores that much easier to cross off our to-do lists, where and when we choose.

I would like to take a moment if I may, to point out that it’s this kind of delusional optimism that not only gets this nation’s citizens as a whole, into so much trouble, but also makes some of us truly believe that our signature high school look of a British-flag t-shirt combined with a Members Only windbreaker, is still considered fashionable. And no, it does not matter that we graduated in 1987, as true style is in the heart, not the head.

Speaking of heads and the opinions contained within that are wholly erroneous, when I attempted to renew my registration online, I discovered that it had been suspended, with no prior notice, and more importantly, with no stated explanation as to why it had been put in limbo to begin with. A further concern arose far later, when it was revealed to me via a rude cubicle monkey, that said inactive status had been in play for close to two years, and I had no clue that such an action had even been undertaken.

Typically, when such a snafu as this one occurs, one would either call the DMV, or perhaps take a trip down to their local office to get the situation rectified, but thanks to the COVID-19 pandemic, the method of accessing all things routine has become increasingly problematic, if not infuriating, to the point where public meltdowns both justified and not, have become the norm, rather than the anomaly they once were:

(Your Karen or Kyle’s unfounded and privileged rage may differ. Ask your manager if dealing with over-entitled morons is good for either you, or your business.)
Because of the societal fears associated with COVID, along with the resultant retractions that have arisen from attempts to curtail its spread and impact, one’s interaction with the machinations of government have been relegated to either hit-and-miss online communication, or by setting up appointments that are weeks out in some cases, and the Silver City DMV is not immune from this new and maddening reality. In fact, if anything, they seem to be gleefully fueling the fires of their customers frustration, stoking by their own incompetence, for reasons as yet unknown to us, the common rabble.

This attitude of theirs was on full display, as I tried in vain over the course of two days to find out the details as to what happened, and exactly why I was never notified regarding it. Several phone calls to the only number listed for the DMV, resulted in a sizeable portion of my time going to waste, as said number was always either busy, or when it was not, rang excessively, never to be picked up.

And as far as this so-called customer service line having an option to leave a message in any form, as a means to eventually correct your issue at hand?

All kidding aside, I point out yet again, that it’s this kind of delusional optimism that gets this nation’s citizens into so much trouble, especially when they pair it with the ludicrous thought that customer service means you actually serve the customer. As if that concept still existed, since the implementation of the T-Mobile corporation call-center model.

By the way, did I happen to mention that despite every other business in my town (save for banks) being open to the public, albeit with enforced mask and social distance restrictions in place, the DMV’s lobby is locked up tighter than the underground vault where the watchable versions of the Highlander 2 and Star Wars prequel shooting scripts are stored?

So to recap, no online option to fix issues like mine, no ability to contact an actual human using the phone to do so as well, and no publicly accessible point person at their only location to talk to, despite their staff of blathering baboons being encased behind several layers of we-aint-willingly-getting-in-your-trebuchet-anytime-soon Plexi, all while being permitted to operate fully half-assed, where a mask mandate is still in full effect.

I have to tell you, next to the merged corporate nightmare that was formerly Sprint, I’ve never met a bunch of people more dedicated to not taking my money than these New Mexican morons. The late Minnesota politician and poet Eugene McCarthy, once blithely noted that; “The only thing that saves us from the bureaucracy is its inefficiency”, and man… was he ever spot-on regarding this certainty, or what?

None of these hurdles were going to stop me of course, from getting to the bottom of things, thanks to both my personal tenacity and anger management issues, so I piled into “Rita”, my adorably red Honda daily driver, and headed on down to Silver’s very own version of *TON 618, to kick some ass, steal some pens, take some names, and then… promptly forget them.*[TON 618 is a hyper-luminous and radio-loud quasar, possessing one of the most immense black holes found thus far, unless of course, you put it up against the Silver City DMV.]

Ignoring the “closed” signs in the main lobby window, I gazed in, and saw no less than three employees, just standing around behind their Plexi Playfort, displaying the kind of hustle I’ve only observed in retirees playing cribbage while asleep. So, I tapped on the lobby glass, hoping to get their attention, which they playfully refused to give, because at heart, these pencil-pushing pinheads are all about living in the moment. Not the one that’s actually required of course, just so we’re all clear.

You, as an actual person, might tend to think that after almost 30 seconds of hearing rhythmic tapping, that one of these hired-out-of-charity palookas would, at some definable point in time, acknowledge my presence, but that’s only because your brain is continually connected to your senses, and which obviously, have more than two brain cells dedicated to their utilization.

But to the devoted go the spoils, and eventually, after close to five minutes of my massaging the glass with a full complement of silver rings, a thought cut through the mental miasma of one of these human sweet-potato malingerers, that maybe, just maybe, she should get off her ass and inquire as to what the discount James Hetfield cosplayer in front of her workplace needed.

Now to be fair, while this was my overall attitude;
This was most definitely the vibe she was transmitting, from the second she opened the door, a clipboard death-clutched in her hands, glaring at me as if I had interrupted her, while she was in the middle of orally servicing a 2-liter bottle of lukewarm pickle brine:

And to set the tone, she did so while not wearing a mask, as she was literally, face to face with me. That’s right-the DMV’s point person dealing directly with the public, and that in very close proximity, within a town that still has a compulsory inside/outside mandate for all businesses, couldn’t be bothered to wear a mask, because… well, I’m sure she had a good reason as to why there wasn’t one around her neck, or in her hands.

Yep, gotta love an agency that shuts down its physical operation to allegedly protect its staff, but has zero issue about one of its own being in a position to possibly infect the general public at large. Additional kudos must be granted to this walking morass of mental midgetry, for giving me such an uninterrupted look at her face, because it allowed me to correctly identify her for the formal complaint I’m currently in the middle of filing with the state.

I won’t reveal her name here for legalities, rather than ethical concerns, but rest assured, everyone who lives in the boundaries of Silver City knows who she is, and for the reason mentioned in the meme above.alone

In my somewhat limited defense for what is about to be said, I try not to use what I personally consider sexist or vulgar terminology, even if the word “bitch” is key in the digital letterhead of these screeds, as I find such to be lazy at best, crude at worst. Exceptions are certainly made to be sure, typically to either cement an idea I’m trying to express, or punch up a joke, but in my day-to-day life, I try to work without stepping far too commonly into the realm of the “blue”, as it were.

However, when I run into someone who makes me immediately think that their collection of sex-toys purposefully short-circuit their own batteries in an act of desperate self-protection from a set of genitalia that most definitely has teeth in lieu of labia, I have no such compulsion to seek the high road… at all. Granted, this depiction may come off as being somewhat over the top, but I’d also put forth my belief that you could pour boiling lava down this woman’s throat, and she’d eventually start belching obsidian as an end result.

But let’s get to the real fun to be had, shall we? After taking a few minutes to inform Mistress Bitchypants why I was there, noting all of my previous failed attempts to make contact with a person that could actually do something, she retreats back into her Fortress of Sullentude, locking the door behind her as she does, because apparently, she took my above joking threat of stealing their pens seriously.  

As if would want knockoff generic Bics?

When she emerges, she snottily tells me that my registration was pulled due to a lapse in my insurance, which was only not true, but was also the second time that they had made the same error, and that, immediately within the initial month and a half after I had originally registered the car. In other words, it was their mistake. AGAIN. Meaning, that if I had been pulled over by the cops for even the most minor of reasons, I would have been subject to tickets, and depending on New Mexico law, possibly arrested or been at risk of my vehicle being seized, but … oops, I guess?

However, even though it was obviously their f**kup, it was up to me (naturally) to prove that they were wrong. Because, f**k me, that’s why. Therefore, I had to go see my insurance agent, who through gritted teeth, lets me in on the fact that this is such a common occurrence regarding this particular branch of the DMV, that they can literally set their office clocks by the consistency of their screwups.  

Speaking of which, I had to spend almost an hour getting the proof I needed to show that at no time, was I ever lapsed, or even late, and headed back to the place where professional competence seemingly goes to get curb-stomped to death by a pale of mentally corpulent turtles, as a matter of policy. When I find myself back at the Lair of Ineptitude, not only am I greeted by the same lovely individual I dealt with earlier, but this time around, there’s the joy of being harangued about my “rudeness” in relation to my jubilantly pointing out (with proof, remember) that they were the ones who couldn’t find their own asses without the aid of Google maps and a tour guide.

And when this was expounded upon, as is the way of my people, this cubicle cow wouldn’t even offer the weakest of apologies for their/her collective incompetence, because once again- f**k you, that’s why. Society, for whatever reason, be it valid or unsubstantiated, long ago credited women such as these with an utterly crass and unrefined slur, and yet, I am loath to utilize it within these pixelated points of discussion, but not for the reason you might think.

The direct explanation is that while the “C” word might be applicable on one level in regards to the descriptive of her personality and sense of professionalism, this woman lacks the depth, the warmth, and the desired practicality of use to meet the basic qualification of that which defines what one of those actually is.
As I stood there, waiting for an apology that never came, she attempts to blame my insurance company, claiming that they themselves, had called the state MVD, telling them that my insurance had lapsed, which was blasphemously false. But hey, when you’re an incompetent liar who’s been caught red-faced, just double down, and stick to your story, which you so transparently, fabricated out of hot air and bulls**t. .

Continue to do so, even if the person you f**ked over has empirical proof to the contrary. Because that always works.

Let me dissect what she in essence, failed to pass off as the Truth- my insurance company whom has never cancelled me at any point, called the DMV, told them I had no insurance, and in reaction, the DMV cancelled my car’s registration. An act of bureaucratic blundering, that for some as yet unknown reason, did not require the DMV to inform me of this at all. And yet despite this, my insurance company continuously sent me a monthly bill for a service they supposedly canceled, for a car that legally, did not exist.

Oh yes. Totally normal, if not entirely credible. Just make sure to completely ignore the previous statement from many in my small community about this very same issue being a shared problem regarding this agency. Obviously, all those pi**ed-off peasants should go pound sand. But there was more garbage to be spewed, courtesy of our Dominatrix of Density.

The second slice of power-trip pie that she served up, after faking offense at being called a liar to her vinegar-secreting face, involved a guy with a DUI conviction who was there attempting to acquire a legal ID card. Not a driver’s license. Nor was he endeavoring to get his auto registration reinstated, like I was. How did I know he had been prosecuted for a DUI, and that’s why his registration and license were revoked?

Well, it turns out that despite my initial assessment of Mistress Bitchypants as nothing more than an arrogantly incompetent cubicle cow, she also apparently has undertaken a sideline gig as my town’s unofficial PA system, dispensing people’s sensitive personal information to the wind as if her life depended on it. It didn’t, but maybe her fatuous Ego required it.

Who knows? However, thanks to her blatant indiscretion, I did now know a few things in regards to the person who up until a minute and a half prior, had blissfully, been an utter stranger, so there is that. For sake of clarification, I must admit his skull and neck tattoos, along with the obvious prison ink cascading down his arms, clued me in somewhat already that perhaps I was in the presence of possible rough trade, but that still doesn’t mean that the guy deserved to be treated as if he were less than human, by a pod-person who barely passes as one.

Trust me on this. When you see someone with dragons emblazoned on their shaved skull;

… ask some questions. You’ll be glad you did. Admit it- you’ve got a list of inquiries to make here, and you know it won’t be all shades of boring at the end., no matter what direction the tale may eventually turn out to take. At no point whatsoever, did this MVD mascot for morons, even think to ask or suggest, that either he come inside the fortified office to talk about his delicate and embarrassing situation, nor did she bother to lower her volume as she blathered his privileged information within my proximal presence.

Because you know, I was the one being ever so “rude”.

One down, two more to go. People, that is. As I mentioned earlier, my local DMV is only seeing people in the flesh on the basis of a pre-arranged appointment, which can only be set up via the Internet, as they can’t be bothered to pick up their phone. I’m not entirely sure what the elderly, the non-tech savvy, and those who don’t have web access are supposed to do, but I’m sure that the DMV has a resolution for that, given their stellar track record for efficiency thus far.

Taking that productivity into account, I’m also 100% certain that in no way, shape or form, that their measured and sedate resolution to these issues would ever dare be presented to the general public at large as this:
Nope. Can’t see them taking that approach at all. But then again, I still believe that one day, I’ll get to see a re-formed ABBA launch a world tour and a new album within my lifetime, so maybe I’m not exactly the best authority to ask about logical outcomes to solving what are essentially simple problems to begin with. Just saying.

Seriously, Universe? MAKE THIS HAPPEN:

Even if it’s for no other reason to satisfy my morbid curiosity regarding the latest advances in Kimono-based Rock-stage fashion. Which, when given the expansive range of technology and fabrics now available, is going to finally make this mid-70’s Dexedrine dream;
look as if they weren’t even trying to do anything but blend in with Elvis’s wallpaper.Getting back on track, I did note that appointments scheduled online are the only way to establish any form of face-to-face contact with a DMV drone, and as such, you’d think that since they themselves weren’t technically involved in that process, it’d be somewhat foolproof, if not aggravation free. At the very least, you might even optimistically assume that even they couldn’t f**k that up, am I right?

I’m not going to lie here… sometimes your positivity is absolutely adorable. Unfounded, ungrounded, unsubstantiated, and wholly speculative to be sire, but adorable, nonetheless.

it pains me to say this, but yes, despite the best efforts of Microsoft, Comcast, and the evil machinations of the downloaded soul of the late Stephen Hawking, they managed to gang-bang the metaphorical platypus on this one too. I have to hand it to these guys- it’s one thing to suck at your job in the world of the Real, but to be equally inept within the parameters of a world that exists only as electrical ether? Even I will have to begrudgingly admit, that’s some goddamn serious dedication to the craft of dumbf**ery.

What pray tell, am I referencing? As I waited the ten minutes it took to update my file, because apparently, the internet was running at *MVD speed that day, I witnessed no less than two people who were turned away, despite having scheduled appointments that day, and who concurrently, arrived with proof of such in hand. Not that the Clipboard Commandant gave a rat’s ass. *[This is similar to “Warp Speed” as described in the seminal 60’s TV show “Star Trek”, but involves standing around doing nothing, as one sits on their fat ass, endlessly repeating the following phrases: “I wish I could help.” “I understand.” And the classic “You’ll have to go online and…”]

In both cases, Mistress Mistake (without looking at her clipboard) churlishly announced that she had no record of either obligation, and therefore, they would have to go back online, and you guessed it… schedule yet another appointment. You know. Because the initial one worked out so well? Never mind the fact that they BOTH HAD PROOF of such, and in the case of one of these poor saps who was forced to take a half-day off work to honor his end of said responsibility, and because this Bitch of the West likes to remain on brand, no apology for the alleged snafu was to be had either.

I’ll give this secretarial slattern one thing. She is consistent, to say the very least.

See? I can give hard-earned credit when and where it’s due, even if that credit is for being the type of human being that most people want to see get eaten slowly by a shark. Or a prickle of flatulent porcupines. Either/or. I’m really not that picky when it comes to the metering out of overdue Justice anymore, so I’m pretty sure I’d be happy, no matter which way the metaphorical axe eventually falls::

But if I were forced to make a choice ala’ Hobson, I’d most likely lean in this direction, as the other path, while truly comically epic and visually fascinating, would take far too long to fit within my ever-increasing personal schedule. I do have a life to lead Bitchiteers, even if I would enjoy sitting ringside with a tall glass of cold milk and a platter of chilled Ding -Dongs.

Sometimes? Your career just has to come first. I do find however, that opinion to be somewhat off-base though, in relation to the walking “C” word currently inflicting herself upon the people of my fine town, leaving a snail-trail of aggravation and frustration in her wake, as she does so at this particular moment in time. In all honesty, she’s not wholly responsible for all the issues that are presently plaguing this poorly run bastion of bastardly incompetence, but she seems to be the one most alluded to when the topic arises, as it has most recently.

At best, she’s just the Face of the bureaucratic beast, because as the mythical God already knows, there’s no way in Hell, that she’s never going to be mistaken for the f**king Brains.

“An incompetent person in a responsible position may cause huge damage. Such a person should act less and think more.” – Eraldo Banovac

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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