So. I’m sitting here to the keyboard writing because the weather has fucked my day all to Hell and back. Ever since getting diagnosed with the ass cancer I’ve made changes to my daily routines designed to improve both my physical and cognitive health, and to hopefully improve my attitudes towards Life, the big L life, and likewise designed for me to be more tolerant of lives, as in life forms. I decided that when facing the Big C a man might ought to rearrange his orders, and alter his cadences, so as to march forward into the fog. When setting my new schedules I included an early morning dogs walk, time at the gym, reading time, meditation time, study time for poker improvements and then use of that knowledge to make money up to the big casino across the Red River, time slots for meals and rest and social intercourse.
In the rambling run-ons above, notice I said nothing whatsoever about having allocated slotting for social intercourse of the sexing it up variety. As I see self-manipulation in much the same way as I do any other body cleansing activity, like blowing a snotty nose, rather than an event requiring specific time allocations masturbation is a matter of either convenience, or inconvenience, as each individual among us can choose to see it. I will say, herein, that I have seen aging as an interesting modifier of opinions as it relates to self-love. It seems that a month doesn’t pass that I hear someone unlikely speak of masturbation, and usually they are of my general age.
Additionally, as there are no actual sexing partnerships hereabouts, if and when opportunity should arise I’ll be required to slice time from other allocations already having been made, practiced, and accepted.
Hearing myself say that, I’m guessing sexing time should come straight out of exercise allotments. As out of practice as I am there will certainly be much physical efforts required.
That said, and before my ADD sinks this boat faster than Titanic’s iceberg, you’ll notice that I mentioned not any time slots for writing. And why isn’t it “icebUrg”, with a u and not an e? When I started writing my thoughts down to share with you guys all those years ago, it was done strictly as a much-needed therapy to ease the pressure inside my skull and also as a method to avoid another stay over to the loony bin, and not for pleasure—mine or yours. Ever since our divorce, my psycho therapist and first ex-wife, the lovely and charming Dr. Sam I. Am Johnson, has used threats of extended stays over to the crazy house as a means to manipulate me into doing what she wants me to do. While many of you might read that last sentence as a sign of my lack of understanding as to how psycho therapy supposedly works, I’ll herein inform you that for starters, fuck you, and as a finish maybe after 35-years of intensive theraporizing, you too might see things from my world view.
The reason that I’m writing rather than dogs walking is that quite simply put, my therapist isn’t the only important female manipulating the ever-loving shit right on out of me. The following early morning conversation shall provide for your enlightenment.
Me: “OK kiddies, let’s harness up…Let’s lock-n-load your furry asses, let’s rock-and-roll. It’s time to walk, hoochie-koo!!!”
The Squirt: “Fuck you.”
Me: “Huh?”
The Squirt: “I said, fuck you.”
Me, after thinking if I had forgotten some promise made to the small, brown puppy: “Why the attitude little lady? It’s 8 am and time for your walk.”
The Squirt: “What part of ‘fuck you” is confusing you, buddy boy? I’m not walking in this fog.”
Me: “It’s not that bad, sweetie pie, I can almost see the sidewalk from the front door.”
The Squirt: “Who gives a shit, asshole, there’s coyotes and skunks running the neighborhood and I’ll not walk under the threat of an attack. And there’s been a bobcat sighting. I’ll die by my own hand but I will not be eaten alive by some giant fucking cat! And don’t you dare ‘But, sweetie,’ me.”
So here I am, and that reminds me that I’ve been thinking a thought that you need to fully hear-out before deciding whether or not I should be re-placed in confinements over to the loony bin. Think what I’m about to say all the way through before committing either your mind, or me.
I might believe that having elected Donald J. Trump as President could be the best thing for America since the repeal of the Volstead Act. Enacted in the same year as women got the vote with the, I think, 19th Amendment, the year 1920 AD, I firmly believe that the ignition and repeal of Prohibition was way more important in starting and ending the Great Depression than any other single factor. I think cutting us off from our drinks depressed us, and giving them back had this huge yoyo effect, and affect, upon our economy.
I mention this only as a modifier to my Trump hypothesis and not as an effort to belittle any other historical facts with which a scholarly debate on importance might be based. Me, for my part, I think the outlawing of adult beverages was a powerful blow to public psyche, and it’s re-legalization an even more powerful boost than even the wars since.
Again, my thought serves, herein, only as a marker to demonstrate the historical context of my premise. If you have confusion over that premise, imagine mine.
I think that the average American Joe will finally start to see the two-faces of conservative politics and begin to act more in line with their personal interests as results of current politics. I think the ways in which Republicans are talking out of both sides of their mouths is becoming so gaudily obvious that even the dumbest-most can see it. To see Hannity attack Hollywood Sexual perverts while coddling Judge Roy Moore, the Alabalamba Senatorial candidate dickhead, is but the latest two-faced demonstration. Watching conservatives minimize the entire Russian situation after the Benghazi dealio, and now the tax reform plan that promised middle class benefits yet is nothing more than a rich-get-richer charade, might actually give white low-to-middle-class voters reason to rethink their votes.
To cinch the saddle tightly to my topical horse, I present you with Mr. Harvey Weinstein, serial sexual predator. As enough women have come forward to sink old Harve’s boat, likewise many more men and women have publically stated the sexual misconduct of other “Hollywood” types. And how have we liberals responded? With ridicule, denouncements, and expulsions. Once enough credible reporting has been made, we have marked those men as pariahs.
To a man, we have castigated them from their lofty positions and deemed them as unacceptable as is their behaviors. Correct responses if you were to ask me.
But how have the conservative Christians responded to Donald Trump and Judge Moore’s sexual predatories? Trump was a locker room talking boy who meant no harm, and those women who accused Trump and Moore are all—each and every one of them—liars. Moore’s own pastor quoted Bible Verses that sanctified his deviant acts misusing Bible verses to portray Moore as if he were a prophet, and the airwaves have been jam-packed with Christian leaders twisting Biblical nuances to find ways to exonerate Moore’s evil acts.
I see the event of Harvey getting called out on the red carpet as the opening of floodgates against sexual oppression and perversion, and also as a watershed moment to define important differences between the general conservative and liberal sociologies of our country.
So Fuck Walmart, sexual deviants, and two-faced assholes, one and all!!!
