It’s The Great Orange F*ck Head Charlie Brown!

 Personally, I don’t get truly get it. The extent some people are willing to go because they are upset. I understand, there are a lot of things to be unsatisfied with. However, I don’t get a lot of the things that they are unsatisfied about. I also, cannot for the life of me, understand their proposed fix. Sure he is certainly not the status quo. Yet, he comes from the pool of status quo, more of a by-product of the status quo. Like the toxic bull shit from the Lake Eerie of the status quo. Like some sort of baby boomer mutant antisemite yam tempura roll that grew from said toxic bull shit. A powerful businessman, whose type has helped create the current situation people are wanting change from. He is exclusionary, incendiary, and, well, fucking racist. He’s been called the law and order candidate, even though he is surrounded by barely contained chaos. He says he will end terrorism, while scaring the shit out of people. He is Donald Trump, the official Republican nominee.   

 How is this possible? Well, a bunch of fucking militant hobbit like, shire dwellers let their ignorance and fear sweep over them. Projecting their small-town childhoods on the rest of the country. Remember when we didn’t have the talking pictures that showed all the violence? Remember when we had to subscribe to HBO and wait until the sun went down to get our jollies off? Remember when everyone was white and straight?

 To make matters worse, they are now trying to force their bullshit freedom encroaching ideas on the rest of us in the name of freedom. Because they are afraid of dying and afraid they aren’t free. Let me tell you, if nominating the great orange fuckhead as your candidate isn’t freedom, I don’t know what is.

  In this time of poorly defined patriotism, I really want to point out something. Basically, if I don’t whoop like a lobotomized idgit every time someone says, America, Freedom, or Toby Keith, then I apparently don’t love my country. So, I can’t say to my country, “Baby, those jeans make you look a little fat.” without a bunch of knobby so-called-patriots calling me out as unpatriotic. Yet, they can deliver a presidential candidate who is essentially all three vials of the lethal injection in one very convenient and racist package labeled orange juice. What the hell is actually wrong here? I love my country. I don’t want to have some loon in power. I don’t want the stereotypical loud, brash, fat, unattractive, self-centered, self-righteous, internationally ignorant, American as president.

 I can’t believe he has actually made it this far. Every step of the way people have said “It is a joke.” Whenever he says his latest crazy thing, people say “He isn’t serious,” as they try to reason that no one that close to power could be that crazy.

 He isn’t joking! People without senses of humor do not joke. He is a psychopath. He isn’t empathizing with you. He doesn’t care about you. He is only trying to help himself and his kind. All he is doing is appealing to the basest nature of our basest people and somehow looking like change to others.

 Sure, I will admit that he is change. He is different, but so is having sex with a rodeo clown. One of the ones that has to paint the smile on. One of the ones that insist on being called Louis L’Amour while being choked out. Afterward, the tears turn down the dial on the smile all the while “Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy” repeats. Now that! Is fucking different! That! Is change! Best of all it won’t fuck the rest of us, just you.

Just because I’m bagging on O-range-and-Tang does not mean that I’m voting democrat. Although, my resolve is beginning to waiver.

Is It Too Late To Go To The RNC?

 My wife was in full blown ironic, self-harm mode last night. It didn’t matter what I said, my pleas for respecting oneself went unheeded. She watched over an hour of the Republican National Convention. Over that hour, I tried to ignore it by turning up my music to deafening levels. However, there were moments that I could hear what was happening. Some of it caught my interest, to the point I had to remove headphones and listen. I have to admit I don’t know why I was so hesitant. Once I relaxed, I really enjoyed it.

 What isn’t to love about a bunch of good ole people getting together and saying the status quo, the current situation, and stuff we did back in the 50’s works for us? People who say, we don’t want to change a goddamn thing, except for: too many brown people, too many atheists, women are lippy, and bring back prayer in school. I saw people who were not only worried about the safety of their physical vessels – to near ludicrous levels – while on this harsh earth, but were also deeply concerned about the pristineness of their souls. Especially, once those damn dirty liberals take away the guns and they are unable to defend themselves from the terrorist strike that occurs moments later. Alanis Morissette couldn’t even write a song about that kind of irony!

 Then a blue collar multi-millionaire got up on stage and said he knew what it was like to be the common folk. Who cares if he hasn’t had to pack his lunch, take care of his kids, stretch a minimum wage paycheck, get stuck in traffic, knows how to hide his taxes in offshore bank accounts. He is just a cheap beer drinking, Larry The Cable Guy loving, driving with the windows down while blasting Toby Keith, blue collar guy. He could literally work right alongside you at your job. However, he doesn’t because he is fucking a millionaire. All he had to do was a say that, “America isn’t safe, non-white male hetero people, America.”

 As far as the America isn’t safe thing, are they shooting for a zero percent fail rate? How many more liberties are people actually willing to have encroached upon in order to keep themselves safe and “free.” Wait, wait. I’m doing it wrong. I started thinking again, back to the RNC.

 Screw music festivals and drugs as a way to decompress and avoid the stresses of day to day life. The RNC seemed better for the physical body, plus most people seemed to have showered before they came. Speaking of indoor plumbing, the RNC has it! Which is something most musical festivals don’t.

 Sure, maybe the music that is played isn’t quite your thing. Perhaps the fact that you understand the Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Born in the U.S.A.’ is a scathing critique, not a celebration. Sure, maybe jabbing a metal skewer through an ocular cavity and swishing it around the frontal lobe will be necessary for one to fully enjoy the benefits of the RNC, but when in Rome.  

 In the end, life just seems easier at the RNC. For instance, I didn’t realize that racism and the environment weren’t actually issues. All it took was some rich guy getting up on stage and telling me to not worry about it. Silly me, all these years wasted trying to be a better person and – albeit shallowly – trying to leave the world in a better place.  

 But fuck it! It isn’t a problem, nothing is. Not with my gun by my side, women’s bodies under the full control of the government, and plenty of laws and social barriers to marginalize non-white male heteros. A totalitarian religious regime, what could possibly wrong?
Just because I’m bagging on the GOP does not mean that I’m voting democrat.

Welcome Oliver!

 This has been a very exciting and joyous week for us. We have adopted a new pup, Oliver Raylan Standard. He’s a rescue dog from Mexico, but has been living in Washington the last few months. When we met him, there was a click. He was pretty calm for being somewhere around the six month mark and just seemed like he would fit in perfectly with Bleu. So far we’ve been right.

 They became friends almost instantly. One little bark and some sniffs, followed by a walk. Oliver spent most of the walk in the grass, as he didn’t like sidewalks. We had that corrected by the end of the next walk. Bleu has been a great little big brother. He has been a rock for timid little Oliver and has shown him that stairs and doors are no big deal. We are still working on elevators a.k.a. The Devil’s Box.

 It also helps that I am able to take him to work with me. There are so many dogs and people that he has no choice but to socialize, which he loves doing for the most part. There are still just a few hang ups, like when multiple big dogs get in his face. Although that greatly improved today as he wrestled with a rottie, a doberman, and a burmese. No fear, just the joy of being a dog.

  Now he has so much confidence that, tonight when I was making dinner, I had to take three different shoes away from him. Thankfully they were my running shoes which are super bright and easy to spot. So as he came bucking down the hallway like a bronco with a disco on face, I was able to see them and take them away. I eventually gave in and put all the shoes in the closet.

 So we have a few things to work on, but we love him and he loves us back. He is fitting in really well and Bleu likes having a companion, even though he has to share attention.


Left or Right

 While readers may think that this post is going to be dealing with the a difference between left wing and right wing politics, they would be only half right. Because first of all, what is the difference – oh zing! – and second of all what other lefts and rights are there?

 This week is one of those magical weeks when we are once again reminded that politicians are far cooler than we’ll ever be. That they have powers, resources, and networking skills that many of us can only dream of. It is the day when depending on what side of the fence you are on, Hillary is free from the zillion dollar GoP witch hunt or a criminal has been let go.

 Personally, I don’t really like to be on one side of the fence anymore. Instead I like to position myself right in the center and enjoy the painful wedgie. Yep, nothing better than getting a wedgie from rational, well balanced thought. Sure I have a tendency to lean to the left, but you try to sit there with your boxers held up in box canyon for hours at a time, all the while listening to ninnies and harpies go on at each other. Defending candidates that couldn’t care less about them.

 Come on everyone step closer to the fence. Lean on up against it. I implore you! I beg you! If this were a ship, and every four years we had a vote to pick who was going to steer the ship – by that I don’t mean the captain, I mean the person that is going to physically touch the steering wheel of the ship and spin the wheel – would we want someone who is going to crank the wheel far to the left, followed by someone who is going to spin it far to the right? Hell no we wouldn’t! We would want someone to keep it dead freakin’ center, unless we were turning. We may also want someone who uses punctuation, but I am not on trial here. In fact, no one is.

 To fully interpret and appreciate the correct meaning of the title of today’s post, one must look at themselves in the mirror and ask themselves one question. “Do I want to be shot in the left knee or the right knee?” According to what I heard when I watched Reservoir Dogs five years ago, the knee is one the most painful places to be shot. Which, seems on par with getting a bad leader.

 When both of these candidates seem to be coated in the teflon. When both act almost as childish and tasteless as the other. When many articles and tweets concede that one’s party-of-choice candidate is bad, but not as bad as the other one. Then we are truly being given the choice of two equally painful places to be shot.

 It doesn’t make any sense to me. There are other viable choices from the Libertarian and Green Parties. Why don’t we start a write in campaign for Bernie. Damnit, he shouldn’t have ran as a democrat! It’s 2016 and this is where we are at? Come November 8th, maybe don’t be so gung ho to pick your favorite of the big two. Don’t be afraid to “throw away” your vote on a candidate not affiliated with the major two. Don’t roll up your pant legs and take one for the team. Because there really isn’t much of a team anymore. Just two parties that have divided the shit out of this nation, but they haven’t conquered us yet.  


Happy 10 Years of Bleu

That little guy pictured above moved in with us ten years ago today. We already had our big boy Jacoby, but we felt like he needed a companion. I don’t think we could have found a better one, than little Bleu. They were inseparable throughout the rest of Jake’s life. They were best friends. They were brothers.

When we got Bleu he was so tiny he could easily fit in both hands and have room to spare. The size of the world seemed overwhelming to him. As if he were thinking “There is too much grass in the world! It’s going to take me days to walk from A to B. He also got car sick on the drive home and puked on my wife.

As the years went on he got bigger and more confident. He learned a lot about being a dog from his big brother Jake. To the point that he seems to have become a big dog in a little dog body. Running off leash, playing fetch, and chewing on bones are in his wheelhouse. However, he never fell in love with swimming. He would much rather just sit on the beach and bask. Which seems like it might be difficult to do on this overcast Canada Day morning.