Started reading a book written by Vince Flynn titled "Kill Shot".
The joint I work for is picky about the stuff they put out to sell, which is a good thing. The store has a reputation for quality stuff at good prices.
The store receives a ton of donated books. If they are a bit raggedy they get dumped into the recycling pile.
First of all I have an intimate relation with the book section - paperbacks are $1, hardcover are $2. Even though I recently made the decision to do the kindle thing on my tablet for "throwaway" books, you know, books I would not be inspired to hold onto, I cannot stop myself from bringing book after book after book home from the store. The walls of the house are bursting with bookage; leaning out at precarious angles.
Only a matter of time before Carol and I are living outdoors.
In addition, I go through the recycled books pile. I get these for free, for Christ sake. I came across "Kill Shot", never read the guy before, so I thumbed through it, liked the feel, and took it home.
Flynn had a series of books he wrote about Mitch Rapp, a rogue CIA agent. Decades ago I read a ton of espionage novels. So much so that I burned out on them. I have stayed away from them ever since. But I liked the style of his writing, the feel of the book; the vibe was right and I am all about the vibe when I pick up a new book or new author.
I love the book. Fucking love it. Have been devouring it this week.
The book was published in 2012. Under acknowledgements in the front of the book, Flynn devoted a few pages to the fact that he had been recently diagnosed with prostate cancer. He thanked a lot of people for their help and support along the way. Friends, his wife, people in the literary world, his doctors.
It was a positive thing. He thanked a friend who was told he was going to die from cancer 10 years prior and was, obviously, still alive. Flynn said: "Thank you for showing me what can happen when a stubborn Irishman refuses to quit".
I decided to check in and see how Vince Flynn was doing.
Vince Flynn died on June 19, 2013 from prostate cancer. He was 47 years old.
This really bummed me out. I mean fucking floored me. I had just discovered this guy's writing and decided that I love it; just discovered that he had written a whole series of these books in a genre I had ignored for decades but now had renewed interest in.
It is a weird thing and difficult to explain. I guess going from the excitement of discovering a new author, new to me, going from being allowed intimately into his life through the acknowledgments section, to finding out that he died - recently - from the disease that attacked him - I guess it knocked me off balance.
From one extreme to another, emotionally.
Of course, that nasty fucking cancer word has been introduced into my own life and it hangs over my head like the Sword of Damocles in the Three Stooges episode titled "Half-Wits Holiday".
I don't care what anybody says, I don't care how relatively minor the diagnosis was, I don't care how many people I know who have survived a loooooooong time with cancer - that word is permanently lodged in my mind. I come back to it a lot.
And wonder.....................
So there is that.
Anyway, I have been reading this book with a touch of somberness in my soul.
Glad I found you, Vince Flynn. You are making and will continue to make my life more endurable, and that is no small feat. Thank You.
I wish for your family's sake and for my own selfish sake that you were still around.
Friday, March 17, 2017
Wednesday, March 15, 2017
Monday, March 13, 2017
Food Shopping Sucks (Then Again It Doesn't)
I see food shopping as a socio-economic experience.
It definitely sucks - no one wants to go food shopping. Especially if you are on a budget. In my humble opinion, being forced to adhere to a budget when buying food is the ultimate in self degradation. The ultimate proof of failure to succeed in life.
Eating is one of the few pleasures you are allowed in life as a low wage earner. You can't afford to go out to eat, can't go to the movies, to the theater, to concerts; can't travel, can't buy nice clothes or Italian shoes. You got nothing - no release, no way to escape the truth that life has beaten you down and robbed you of all dignity (except for alcohol and drugs - thank fucking Christ for alcohol and drugs).
Your life sucks. It constricts you, it bores you. So you should eat whatever the fuck you want to. Whatever food makes you happy, whatever it is that creates satisfaction for you to chow as you destroy your brain watching mindless TV - you should be allowed to eat that.
Period. No budgets, no fucking coupons, no restrictions, no guilt.
Life doesn't work that way. We all have food budgets. We all eat shit instead of eating Porterhouse steaks.
But I digress.
So food shopping sucks. But it is also an interesting commentary on humanity and on marriage/relationships.
Carol and I shop every two or three weeks - we got it down to a fucking science. Load up a couple of carts, pile 'em high so we can avoid repeating the experience for as long as possible. I handle the mundane stuff that takes up room - water, kitty litter, cat snacks, toilet paper, kleenex, stuff for me - like beer, munchies and mini packages of Fig Newtons, baby - gotta have the Fig Newtons.
I breeze through the register, run all that shit out to the car and head back in to the store. I search the aisles for Carol; we complete our mission together.
Conversing, questioning each other, making decisions, discussing inventory.
I have noticed that everyone around us is having the same conversations. It fascinates me because I believe the human experience is a shared one, which is why I will never understand the maximum violence and deep seated hatred in the world.
Food shopping is one proof - a quite reliable and accurate one - that we are all the same.
I eaves drop. When I am around a couple having a shopping related conversation, I tune right in. Because they are having the same exact conversation Carol and I just had or will have at some point during the drill.
Wondering how much of this we have at home, how does the store brand price compare to the name brand price and what about quality, is it cheaper to buy two boxes of 20 trash bags each on sale than one box of 40 trash bags not on sale? What do you want for supper tonight? Do you want fruit? You never eat it anyway - it always goes bad. How many yogurts do you need to get through the next couple of weeks? You haven't been eating the string cheese regularly, maybe we should hold off on that this week. What kind of bread do you want? Do we need hot dog rolls? How many hot dogs are left in the freezer?
The discussions are the same, the thought processes are the same, the lives being lived are the same.
Mannerisms too. Men hang back more, or wander around checking stuff out; and they have less patience.
Definitely less patience.
Women are more pragmatic - digging right in and doing what needs to be done, crossing items off the list, eternally aware of the budget.
I am always amused when it comes to the purchase of toilet paper. You have two couples standing close by each other debating the merits. Do we want ultra strong or super soft? A six pack of mega rolls or 24 pack of regular rolls? Do the mega rolls fit on the toilet paper dispenser? Do we need any for the downstairs bathroom? How about no name - do you think that will be good enough?
It amuses me because this is a deeply personal area of our lives, one we do not make a big deal out of or generally discuss in public. Yet in a supermarket we engage in open debate about which toilet paper will best service our ass.
We are all equal in the supermarket. We are all equal in more ways than we will ever fucking admit.
Pay attention the next time you go food shopping. Maybe it will soften up your intolerance a bit.
If not, at least treat yourself to a fucking Porterhouse steak.
It definitely sucks - no one wants to go food shopping. Especially if you are on a budget. In my humble opinion, being forced to adhere to a budget when buying food is the ultimate in self degradation. The ultimate proof of failure to succeed in life.
Eating is one of the few pleasures you are allowed in life as a low wage earner. You can't afford to go out to eat, can't go to the movies, to the theater, to concerts; can't travel, can't buy nice clothes or Italian shoes. You got nothing - no release, no way to escape the truth that life has beaten you down and robbed you of all dignity (except for alcohol and drugs - thank fucking Christ for alcohol and drugs).
Your life sucks. It constricts you, it bores you. So you should eat whatever the fuck you want to. Whatever food makes you happy, whatever it is that creates satisfaction for you to chow as you destroy your brain watching mindless TV - you should be allowed to eat that.
Period. No budgets, no fucking coupons, no restrictions, no guilt.
Life doesn't work that way. We all have food budgets. We all eat shit instead of eating Porterhouse steaks.
But I digress.
So food shopping sucks. But it is also an interesting commentary on humanity and on marriage/relationships.
Carol and I shop every two or three weeks - we got it down to a fucking science. Load up a couple of carts, pile 'em high so we can avoid repeating the experience for as long as possible. I handle the mundane stuff that takes up room - water, kitty litter, cat snacks, toilet paper, kleenex, stuff for me - like beer, munchies and mini packages of Fig Newtons, baby - gotta have the Fig Newtons.
I breeze through the register, run all that shit out to the car and head back in to the store. I search the aisles for Carol; we complete our mission together.
Conversing, questioning each other, making decisions, discussing inventory.
I have noticed that everyone around us is having the same conversations. It fascinates me because I believe the human experience is a shared one, which is why I will never understand the maximum violence and deep seated hatred in the world.
Food shopping is one proof - a quite reliable and accurate one - that we are all the same.
I eaves drop. When I am around a couple having a shopping related conversation, I tune right in. Because they are having the same exact conversation Carol and I just had or will have at some point during the drill.
Wondering how much of this we have at home, how does the store brand price compare to the name brand price and what about quality, is it cheaper to buy two boxes of 20 trash bags each on sale than one box of 40 trash bags not on sale? What do you want for supper tonight? Do you want fruit? You never eat it anyway - it always goes bad. How many yogurts do you need to get through the next couple of weeks? You haven't been eating the string cheese regularly, maybe we should hold off on that this week. What kind of bread do you want? Do we need hot dog rolls? How many hot dogs are left in the freezer?
The discussions are the same, the thought processes are the same, the lives being lived are the same.
Mannerisms too. Men hang back more, or wander around checking stuff out; and they have less patience.
Definitely less patience.
Women are more pragmatic - digging right in and doing what needs to be done, crossing items off the list, eternally aware of the budget.
I am always amused when it comes to the purchase of toilet paper. You have two couples standing close by each other debating the merits. Do we want ultra strong or super soft? A six pack of mega rolls or 24 pack of regular rolls? Do the mega rolls fit on the toilet paper dispenser? Do we need any for the downstairs bathroom? How about no name - do you think that will be good enough?
It amuses me because this is a deeply personal area of our lives, one we do not make a big deal out of or generally discuss in public. Yet in a supermarket we engage in open debate about which toilet paper will best service our ass.
We are all equal in the supermarket. We are all equal in more ways than we will ever fucking admit.
Pay attention the next time you go food shopping. Maybe it will soften up your intolerance a bit.
If not, at least treat yourself to a fucking Porterhouse steak.
Thursday, March 9, 2017
Oh No - Not Again
You are not going to believe what happened.
Just the other day.
'Member those arrogant assholes I told you about? The financial elite who congregate at O's?
There is a sign in the window that says "If you earn less than $250,000 a year, you do NOT belong here."
No word of a lie.
These fucking people pay $15 for macaroni and cheese. (Editor's note: If I had the cash I would gladly pay $15 for macaroni and cheese. I want so badly to be admitted into O's society. I want to be one of them. I want to earn $251,000. I want to pop in for overpriced drinks and foods on a whim. Any old whim. Without regard to the word budget).
Oops, sorry; I slipped there. Where the hell did that come from?
O's Fucking Steaks and Seafood. Steaks and seafood, steaks and seafood, steaks and seafood.
Yeah, yeah, yeah I get it - I fucking get it. Stay away thrift shop boy; stay away.
Sometimes at work I get relegated to shoe duty. Gotta go downstairs and sift through hundreds of pairs of shoes to separate those that should be discarded from those that will be sold.
You would not believe the disgusting condition of shoes some people donate. Some covered in mold and excrement. (I may be exaggerating a bit).
In truth I don't mind this duty. Downstairs I am entirely alone and out of view. No ancient co-workers; no asswipe customers, no cameras. And I take advantage of the situation.
If I am down there for three hours I probably put in one hour's worth of work. I spend the rest of the time daydreaming, plotting and planning for the day (very soon) when I burst upon the scene, rich and rewarded, as the next pretentious literary lion.
You would think that working for an organization that does such meaningful work, an organization that provides assistance to homeless families, you would think that working for these people would inspire a commitment that precludes goofing off. That goofing off would feel like an irredeemable crime.
Not in my mind. As I sift through shoes, I contemplate the words "wasted potential". This provides the fuel to disconnect myself from the situation and allows me to goof off, like I would at any other demeaning job (of which there have been many).
But I digress.
The room is below ground. There is a picture window at ground level just about even with my head.
Just the other day I was down there, gazing out the window, when I noticed a crowd of people converging on the lawn that stretches out in front of the window. As they got closer I recognized them as O's patrons.
It wasn't hard. They were all well dressed, at least by Concord, NH standards - they were all holding overpriced cocktails. One carried a plate of apps. Very expensive apps.
And they were all laughing. At me. And calling out "Hey thrift shop boy, how's it going? Makin' any money?"
They came up close and pressed their noses up against the window; some flipped me off. A couple of the bold ones dropped their pants and smooshed their asses up against the window.
I was impressed with the creamy smooth complexion of their ass cheeks, obviously well tended.
I shouted angrily, I flipped them off but that only made them laugh harder. I tried tears, angling for empathy - they laughed even harder, pointing at me and shouting "Look at the wussy boy cry. Are you crying because you make $9.50 an hour? Are you crying because you wish you could afford to eat at O's? Are you crying because you are not us?"
That's when I started shouting "I am not done yet. I am just beginning my second act. I will make a name for myself. I will make good money. I will buy Italian leather shoes."
They did not hear most of what I said. I heard one of them say "How fucking delusional"; they turned away and walked back towards their fucking pretentious restaurant before I even got to the "yet".
These people torment me. You say, "Thrift shop boy - do not let them into your head". Too late; too fucking late. They are always there.
Whipping me, beating me, holding me back and keeping me down.
I will have my revenge. I will get famous. They will want to buy me drinks. They will want to buy me dinner.
I will let them; I will order only the most expensive drinks, the most expensive food.
Unless fish is the highest price.
I hate seafood.
Just the other day.
'Member those arrogant assholes I told you about? The financial elite who congregate at O's?
There is a sign in the window that says "If you earn less than $250,000 a year, you do NOT belong here."
No word of a lie.
These fucking people pay $15 for macaroni and cheese. (Editor's note: If I had the cash I would gladly pay $15 for macaroni and cheese. I want so badly to be admitted into O's society. I want to be one of them. I want to earn $251,000. I want to pop in for overpriced drinks and foods on a whim. Any old whim. Without regard to the word budget).
Oops, sorry; I slipped there. Where the hell did that come from?
O's Fucking Steaks and Seafood. Steaks and seafood, steaks and seafood, steaks and seafood.
Yeah, yeah, yeah I get it - I fucking get it. Stay away thrift shop boy; stay away.
Sometimes at work I get relegated to shoe duty. Gotta go downstairs and sift through hundreds of pairs of shoes to separate those that should be discarded from those that will be sold.
You would not believe the disgusting condition of shoes some people donate. Some covered in mold and excrement. (I may be exaggerating a bit).
In truth I don't mind this duty. Downstairs I am entirely alone and out of view. No ancient co-workers; no asswipe customers, no cameras. And I take advantage of the situation.
If I am down there for three hours I probably put in one hour's worth of work. I spend the rest of the time daydreaming, plotting and planning for the day (very soon) when I burst upon the scene, rich and rewarded, as the next pretentious literary lion.
You would think that working for an organization that does such meaningful work, an organization that provides assistance to homeless families, you would think that working for these people would inspire a commitment that precludes goofing off. That goofing off would feel like an irredeemable crime.
Not in my mind. As I sift through shoes, I contemplate the words "wasted potential". This provides the fuel to disconnect myself from the situation and allows me to goof off, like I would at any other demeaning job (of which there have been many).
But I digress.
The room is below ground. There is a picture window at ground level just about even with my head.
Just the other day I was down there, gazing out the window, when I noticed a crowd of people converging on the lawn that stretches out in front of the window. As they got closer I recognized them as O's patrons.
It wasn't hard. They were all well dressed, at least by Concord, NH standards - they were all holding overpriced cocktails. One carried a plate of apps. Very expensive apps.
And they were all laughing. At me. And calling out "Hey thrift shop boy, how's it going? Makin' any money?"
They came up close and pressed their noses up against the window; some flipped me off. A couple of the bold ones dropped their pants and smooshed their asses up against the window.
I was impressed with the creamy smooth complexion of their ass cheeks, obviously well tended.
I shouted angrily, I flipped them off but that only made them laugh harder. I tried tears, angling for empathy - they laughed even harder, pointing at me and shouting "Look at the wussy boy cry. Are you crying because you make $9.50 an hour? Are you crying because you wish you could afford to eat at O's? Are you crying because you are not us?"
That's when I started shouting "I am not done yet. I am just beginning my second act. I will make a name for myself. I will make good money. I will buy Italian leather shoes."
They did not hear most of what I said. I heard one of them say "How fucking delusional"; they turned away and walked back towards their fucking pretentious restaurant before I even got to the "yet".
These people torment me. You say, "Thrift shop boy - do not let them into your head". Too late; too fucking late. They are always there.
Whipping me, beating me, holding me back and keeping me down.
I will have my revenge. I will get famous. They will want to buy me drinks. They will want to buy me dinner.
I will let them; I will order only the most expensive drinks, the most expensive food.
Unless fish is the highest price.
I hate seafood.
Saturday, March 4, 2017
A Shitty Fucking Day
Had a shitty fucking day yesterday.
I mean a real piece of shit. Working the retail job in old fartville. The ironic thing is a woman that I typically work with on Wednesdays and Fridays - a woman I fucking despise - called in sick. So my first reaction was to jump up and down like Richard Simmons in my short shorts and yahoo my way to heaven.
Figured it would be a good day.
Nope. Fridays are lean on volunteers and yesterday in the afternoon there were none. So the day devolved to me and one other woman manning the store. This meant I had to spend maximum time dealing with customers.
Customers suck.
My workmate left at 5:30, which left me alone with customers for 30 minutes. Hell could be no worse.
I noticed a family shopping with their kids - they had been in the store since 4:30 - four fucking thirty - picking out clothes and piling them on a piece of furniture.
Apparently this is a thing in thrift stores. It happens all the time. People spend hours shopping and then report to the register with 75 articles of clothing. And some dishes. And some toys. And some electronics.
We have one register. As our motto says: "One register - lots of waiting".
Anyway at 5:55 - five minutes before closing time - I hear the dad saying "OK, let's get moving - it's almost closing time". Like he's doing me a fucking favor.
Their shit filled four large bags. In a thrift store, at a couple of bucks a pop - it takes 73,000 articles of clothing to fill four large bags. That's bad enough, but on top of that the mom had to ask questions and pick and choose through the shit. "How much is that? How much have we spent so far? Oh no, I don't want that - I changed my mind. You know what - go ahead and ring it up - I have decided to take it."
Are you fucking kidding me?
I was checking these lowlifes out until 6:20.
I was so agitated it took two nips to get me home.
As I was driving home I come around a bend on 202 and see police lights in the distance. The traffic slows to 30 mph and thank god for that. As I approach the cop car I see a car off the road on its side.
Black ice, baby.
When I drew parallel to the car my rear end kicked out but I held it. I was only going thirty. If I hit that patch going 60, which I was previously, I would have been off the road.
Another mile or two down the road, another police car, another car off the road.
Again, my rear end kicked out but not too bad; I held on.
Finally got home and cancelled our plans to go out for subs.
I tell you this not in an attempt to evoke sympathy - you probably had a shitty day too. We all have shitty days.
Shitty days are the fabric out of which our lives are woven.
I tell you this to get it on the record. To establish facts.
Today I am having a good day. Got the day off. Spent a couple of hours searching for a better paying, more satisfying part time job. Nothing yet.
Now I am indulging my need to write.
Later I am going to check out a bottle of Irish whiskey I bought last night. A brand I've never had before. It was on sale and I had a coupon so I saved $10.
I've been drinking cheap whiskey for months now. Because of the snafu with social security I didn't feel right spending money on Crown Royal. So I have been drinking rot gut. Old Crow. Old Fucking Crow.
My taste buds are burned out. Can't take it anymore. So I upgraded a little last night.
Next week, on 03/08, I am supposed to get my first ss payment in four months.
On that day I will buy myself a bottle of Crown Royal.
On that day I will have an orgasm.
I mean a real piece of shit. Working the retail job in old fartville. The ironic thing is a woman that I typically work with on Wednesdays and Fridays - a woman I fucking despise - called in sick. So my first reaction was to jump up and down like Richard Simmons in my short shorts and yahoo my way to heaven.
Figured it would be a good day.
Nope. Fridays are lean on volunteers and yesterday in the afternoon there were none. So the day devolved to me and one other woman manning the store. This meant I had to spend maximum time dealing with customers.
Customers suck.
My workmate left at 5:30, which left me alone with customers for 30 minutes. Hell could be no worse.
I noticed a family shopping with their kids - they had been in the store since 4:30 - four fucking thirty - picking out clothes and piling them on a piece of furniture.
Apparently this is a thing in thrift stores. It happens all the time. People spend hours shopping and then report to the register with 75 articles of clothing. And some dishes. And some toys. And some electronics.
We have one register. As our motto says: "One register - lots of waiting".
Anyway at 5:55 - five minutes before closing time - I hear the dad saying "OK, let's get moving - it's almost closing time". Like he's doing me a fucking favor.
Their shit filled four large bags. In a thrift store, at a couple of bucks a pop - it takes 73,000 articles of clothing to fill four large bags. That's bad enough, but on top of that the mom had to ask questions and pick and choose through the shit. "How much is that? How much have we spent so far? Oh no, I don't want that - I changed my mind. You know what - go ahead and ring it up - I have decided to take it."
Are you fucking kidding me?
I was checking these lowlifes out until 6:20.
I was so agitated it took two nips to get me home.
As I was driving home I come around a bend on 202 and see police lights in the distance. The traffic slows to 30 mph and thank god for that. As I approach the cop car I see a car off the road on its side.
Black ice, baby.
When I drew parallel to the car my rear end kicked out but I held it. I was only going thirty. If I hit that patch going 60, which I was previously, I would have been off the road.
Another mile or two down the road, another police car, another car off the road.
Again, my rear end kicked out but not too bad; I held on.
Finally got home and cancelled our plans to go out for subs.
I tell you this not in an attempt to evoke sympathy - you probably had a shitty day too. We all have shitty days.
Shitty days are the fabric out of which our lives are woven.
I tell you this to get it on the record. To establish facts.
Today I am having a good day. Got the day off. Spent a couple of hours searching for a better paying, more satisfying part time job. Nothing yet.
Now I am indulging my need to write.
Later I am going to check out a bottle of Irish whiskey I bought last night. A brand I've never had before. It was on sale and I had a coupon so I saved $10.
I've been drinking cheap whiskey for months now. Because of the snafu with social security I didn't feel right spending money on Crown Royal. So I have been drinking rot gut. Old Crow. Old Fucking Crow.
My taste buds are burned out. Can't take it anymore. So I upgraded a little last night.
Next week, on 03/08, I am supposed to get my first ss payment in four months.
On that day I will buy myself a bottle of Crown Royal.
On that day I will have an orgasm.
Thursday, March 2, 2017
A History Lesson (One For The Ages)
There were two types of trump voters.
Fanatical trump supporters who would have voted for trump even if he raped and killed the pope one week before the election.
These people are unreachable. They should have howled when trump admitted that we are paying for the wall - not Mexico - but they didn't. Because not only are they willing to accept him, they are willing to accept any policy reversal that proves he lied during the campaign to dupe gullible voters.
(Editor's note - I don't believe there will ever be a wall. It is a ridiculous idea and one that is destined to die. At which point trump will lie about the reversal and blame somebody else).
There were people who knew in their gut they were making a mistake but pulled the lever anyway; and then could not eat for a week afterwards.
These people should already be horrified by this clown. If not, they will be soon. Then they need to start speaking out against him and taking positive action to make sure an ass-clown like him will never again be elected.
I took the position during the campaign that anybody who voted third party was voting for trump; that anybody not voting was voting for trump.
That is a cold, hard truth.
I took a lot of shit for that.
I was not campaigning for Hillary Clinton's sainthood (I was a passionate Bernie guy), I merely understood that this was the wrong time - a dangerous time - to make a stand.
I understand that people who hated Hillary believe that she and Bill killed 100 people and buried them under the White House. In fact I have breaking news for you - they didn't bury the bodies - they ate them. I know for a fact that every time they murdered someone they hosted a lavish barbecue in which the entree was human corpse.
Still, she should have been forgiven and elected to the presidency. Cannibalism is no where near as bad as a trump presidency.
trump's administration is falling apart. He will be impeached because he is too stupid and uninformed and damaged psychologically for this not to happen.
His impeachment will not help us. He surrounded himself with cold-hearted people, idiots, and vicious corporate killers who do not have one compassionate bone in their bodies for American workers; the people who live paycheck to paycheck and depend on elected officials to keep them safe and make reasonable economic decisions that provide opportunity.
His entire administration would have to be wiped out for working Americans to have a chance at survival.
Who would replace them? Perhaps The Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus. Couldn't do any more damage and they are about to become unemployed anyway.
So that's where we are people. Unfortunately. A deep hole has been dug. We need to start climbing out of it if The United States of America is to remain The United States of America.
As monkey man would so eloquently say - sad.
Fanatical trump supporters who would have voted for trump even if he raped and killed the pope one week before the election.
These people are unreachable. They should have howled when trump admitted that we are paying for the wall - not Mexico - but they didn't. Because not only are they willing to accept him, they are willing to accept any policy reversal that proves he lied during the campaign to dupe gullible voters.
(Editor's note - I don't believe there will ever be a wall. It is a ridiculous idea and one that is destined to die. At which point trump will lie about the reversal and blame somebody else).
There were people who knew in their gut they were making a mistake but pulled the lever anyway; and then could not eat for a week afterwards.
These people should already be horrified by this clown. If not, they will be soon. Then they need to start speaking out against him and taking positive action to make sure an ass-clown like him will never again be elected.
I took the position during the campaign that anybody who voted third party was voting for trump; that anybody not voting was voting for trump.
That is a cold, hard truth.
I took a lot of shit for that.
I was not campaigning for Hillary Clinton's sainthood (I was a passionate Bernie guy), I merely understood that this was the wrong time - a dangerous time - to make a stand.
I understand that people who hated Hillary believe that she and Bill killed 100 people and buried them under the White House. In fact I have breaking news for you - they didn't bury the bodies - they ate them. I know for a fact that every time they murdered someone they hosted a lavish barbecue in which the entree was human corpse.
Still, she should have been forgiven and elected to the presidency. Cannibalism is no where near as bad as a trump presidency.
trump's administration is falling apart. He will be impeached because he is too stupid and uninformed and damaged psychologically for this not to happen.
His impeachment will not help us. He surrounded himself with cold-hearted people, idiots, and vicious corporate killers who do not have one compassionate bone in their bodies for American workers; the people who live paycheck to paycheck and depend on elected officials to keep them safe and make reasonable economic decisions that provide opportunity.
His entire administration would have to be wiped out for working Americans to have a chance at survival.
Who would replace them? Perhaps The Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus. Couldn't do any more damage and they are about to become unemployed anyway.
So that's where we are people. Unfortunately. A deep hole has been dug. We need to start climbing out of it if The United States of America is to remain The United States of America.
As monkey man would so eloquently say - sad.
Wednesday, March 1, 2017
trumpworld
Last night I was listening to the ass-clown of a president that currently occupies the white house and was amused at his god-like opinion of himself.
He makes these over the top, completely unrealistic promises that he will never fulfill. In fact I believe he has no intention of fulfilling many of them.
trump has seized on the disappointing truth that most people have little interest in politics, that most people pay zero attention to how politicians fuck their constituents. He knows he can say anything he wants and certain people will lap it up and then go away and continue to struggle to survive.
Unfortunately, because of Americans' apathy and desperation, a hell of a lot of people actually believe that trump will fight for working people. Or at least they are on their knees praying that trump will fight for working people.
As monkey man would say - so sad.
Millions of Americans have been set up to be brutally disappointed. I believe that not only are their lives not going to get better - they are going to get worse.
As I listened I was thinking that if I took a trump approach to explaining my plans for 2017 to Carol, it would go something like this:
"Baby, I am going to earn $250 million dollars by the end of the year. I am going to have my first novel published and it will sell 6 trillion copies. I am going to start practicing my guitar again and The Stones are going to invite me out on tour. I am going to discover a cure for cancer; in fact I am going to discover a cure for death. Believe me, nobody hates death more than me."
As I ponder this, it is possible that I actually made or implied promises like this 40 years ago; why the hell else would Carol marry me?
But I digress - Warning, Will Robinson - do not take trump at his word. He says only what you want to hear, not what he is actually going to do.
He makes these over the top, completely unrealistic promises that he will never fulfill. In fact I believe he has no intention of fulfilling many of them.
trump has seized on the disappointing truth that most people have little interest in politics, that most people pay zero attention to how politicians fuck their constituents. He knows he can say anything he wants and certain people will lap it up and then go away and continue to struggle to survive.
Unfortunately, because of Americans' apathy and desperation, a hell of a lot of people actually believe that trump will fight for working people. Or at least they are on their knees praying that trump will fight for working people.
As monkey man would say - so sad.
Millions of Americans have been set up to be brutally disappointed. I believe that not only are their lives not going to get better - they are going to get worse.
As I listened I was thinking that if I took a trump approach to explaining my plans for 2017 to Carol, it would go something like this:
"Baby, I am going to earn $250 million dollars by the end of the year. I am going to have my first novel published and it will sell 6 trillion copies. I am going to start practicing my guitar again and The Stones are going to invite me out on tour. I am going to discover a cure for cancer; in fact I am going to discover a cure for death. Believe me, nobody hates death more than me."
As I ponder this, it is possible that I actually made or implied promises like this 40 years ago; why the hell else would Carol marry me?
But I digress - Warning, Will Robinson - do not take trump at his word. He says only what you want to hear, not what he is actually going to do.
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