Everybody’s Hugging Everybody: The Great Unification of 2018


Everybody’s Hugging Everybody.

Everybody’s hugging everybody. Champagne and other alcohol fly in every which way. Little pieces of paper descend from the sky. People turned to gravity and said, “Hold my nachos.” Whether people were shockingly disappointed or super duper excited, people dropped whatever they were holding and clung to one another. The Eagles won, or so I’ve heard, the internet wouldn’t lie would it?

Not That I Care.

I didn’t watch the game. In fact, I wasn’t even planning to capitalize on the trending beast, then I had a thought. America loves football, a lot. Either people love those teams outright or hate one of them enough to root for the other. If nothing else, people like snacks and need something to talk about between throat lacerating fistfuls of Doritos.

Then I Had This Thought.

At some point in time last night, a Republican and a emocratD unwittingly treated one another with the decency that is given to everyone. I’m not talking about people who know how each other voted. I mean strangers at bars and at parties. Those people who just joined in comradery or be a contrarianism. Who chose to hate or love one of those teams at some point in their lives. Whether it was fifty years ago or two weeks, they were unified.

In those final moments, they consoled one another or tossed a cold one the other’s way. That had to happen somewhere in the 9.8 square kilometer* of country. People left the MAGA hats and the “I Watched Hamilton and All I Got Was A Boner.” t-shirts at home.

I Could Be Wrong

That is of course unless every democrat chose to cheer for the deep state establishment called the New England Patriot. Not only would that be typical, that would mean that there were a lot of green jerseys and red hats. I have to admit, that sounds very festive.

#DrainTheSwampEaglesDrainTheSwamp

Err.. I mean.

#FLYEAGLESFLY!


*google the miles.

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The Toiletfire Continues: 2018 Begins


The Toiletfire Continues

The toiletfire that will define 2018 is off to a roaring start! How could it not when 2017 went out in a blaze of glory? Might as well address that we all have the Bon Jovi song in our head at this point and if one doesn’t, then one is broken. Imagine those last few days of 2017, the final moments, set to that beautiful piece of music. Now imagine the version worthy of 2017, which is covered by a band of people who don’t know how to play, except for the oboe player – who’s just fucking on point, and said band is fronted by legendary comedian Gilbert Godfrey.

We’re halfway through January, which is a mixed bag of good news, bad news. Which means it all averages out to okay news! For instance, a good chunk of people have given up on their resolutions. Treadmills sit vacant, stairwells have tumbleweeds rolling down them, facebook accounts have been reactivated, and twitter is once again brimming with A-holes.

My Resolutions

As for my new year’s resolutions, I retroactively created two. The first one was, change a tire for the first time in over thirteen years. Completed and created on new years day, in that order. Crushed it! Boy did I feel great!

The next day, still high with accomplishment coursing through my veins and seeing an exodus of people, my second resolution was created, take the stairs at work less. If stairs are generally slower than taking the elevator, then the stairs at the first of the year are even slower. There’s a zillion people – each and every one of them with good intention in their hearts – shambling up the damn stairs, moaning, groaning, and wheezing.

So much so that nutter doomsdayers and fans of The Walking Dead get all excited because they think “This is it! The big one! The day uncle granpappy trained me for!” Grabbing duffle bags and cocking the guns they picked up on their way to work, they form a defensive line at the top of the stairs flipping over couches and plugging the gap between said couches and wall with the ficas*. Triggers squeeze, hammers rear back, and then, “Oh! Hey Bill from accounting! You look great! Did you get that fitbit for Christmas?” Bill can’t answer, he took the stairs. Avoid getting shot by the guy that thinks military boots are acceptable as “everyday wear.” Take elevator. Treat yo’self!

As For Other People’s Resolutions,

From what I see on social media, the resolution of be a better person was a fairly unpopular one this year and those that did resolve to be better people inserted “at holier than thou condescension” in the middle. For an example, of use, see the previous sentence.

That Guy On Facebook

The guy that’s facebook tile says he is unemployed and studied at school of the hard knocks ought to be a red flag. If that is a rando transient hobo bot 600, then the part that says he has a great sarcastic and ironic sense of humor, yet is angry at The Onion, well, he truly is a master of irony or an idiot.

Year of the Dick

2017 was the year of the rooster and as we should all know – without having to go to thesaurus.com – another name for rooster is cock. Under the guise of a big veiny bastard, 2017 starts to make a whole lot more sense. It flopped from left to right. It was hairy, stinky, and looked dumb. Then it ballooned for absolutely no freaking reason. People tried to run, but most just got pinned to the wall and had to stay there for four hours.

Of course, if one could reach their phone, those four hours were spent arguing with someone on social media. No one could tell if they were being yelled at by fake shitheads or real ones who think the pasty German Olson twins from The Matrix Reloaded are still cool and get raging four hour car door slamming boners each time they see a “What if I told you,” meme. Hell, no one seems to know anything anymore.

The Toiletfire Continues To Continue

Fires have a tendency to spread. Toiletfires are no different. Whether that toilet be in the boonies, the suburbs, or a prison, it doesn’t really matter. A toiletfire is a toiletfire. And a toiletfire doesn’t necessarily have so much to do with the contents of the bowl, but rather the amount of flammable material found in the water supply. Flush it once, avoid the backdraft, and now all the toilets are on fire.

At the moment, I’m joking about fire water. Yet I can’t help but think, that’s an all too plausible scenario. Hell, under an administration that seemed to give a shit, Flint had rusty water. Now we have folks that don’t give a flip about the masses water supply one bit. Not wanting to wear a tinfoil hat, but it could happen.

Especially with the repeals of laws and erosion of protection for the environment.

When laws were in place to protect water, land, and animals, they weren’t hurting us. Meaning it would be better to have them around than not have them. I mean, I’m not trying to bang my step-mom on the family yacht, I don’t need impress upon her how masculine my junk looks by cramming elephant tusks up next it. I also don’t have barrels of hazardous waste just sitting around that I don’t know what to do with. Nor have I ever thought, “this national park is way too big and would be improved by the addition of some fucking condos or a Wal-Mart.”

 


Only eleven and half months to go!

*What the actual fuck is a ficas? I hear it a lot. I say it a lot. It’s a funny word, but I don’t think anyone would know what a ficas looked even if it went all The Happening and head-butted them in the no-no’s.

 

2017 Ate All The Dicks

2017 ate dicks!

All of them. It was literally the worst fucking year of my life. It could be said that most years have been pretty great so that maybe 2017 isn’t all that bad. While the former is true. That latter isn’t. 2017 was terrible. 2017 sucked shit through a silly straw. Hey, 2017, I loathe you. I will look back at 2017 like the festering speed bump made gawhd god-knows-what organic matter – I swear I see severed limbs and a horse’s head sticking out of it – that it was.

There was a prologue to 2017 called 2016. As far as years go, it was kind of fucky. Until 2017 blew the doors off this muth and showed people what a terrible year looks like. From a statistical standpoint, the quality of years seem to be in a downward trend. Good news is, I’m not alone. Ever since that human toilet fire showed up on a debate stage, almost everyone’s quality of life has been trending down. Even if their head’s up are shoved up their racist uncle’s ass. It won’t grant them immunity as it isn’t the ring of protection the nerds are prattling on about. Now having their head up their rich as fuck racists uncle’s ass, well, that’s a different story.

It’s not just the politics though. It’s not the fact that I can’t go on social media without stumbling upon some trash heap post that’s somewhere between smoldering and five-alarm. Whether it’s from a friend or some troll bot 5000, it doesn’t matter. It’s sucked the fun out of social media. There’s a bit of anxiety. It’s like walking around downtown and happening upon a greasy back alley handy-j while someone is yelling “This is my opinion, my opinion is fact!” Let’s say, I’ve muted a lot of people this year.

Take A Break.

I’m sorry, that last bit was kind of gross. On a personal level though, I’ve been obliterated. Bad shit occurred. The kind of terrible real shit that we all eventually deal with and though many have, there’s no good way to deal with it. It’s rough, different. Lives have been forced to change and it can never be undone. That’s why, once again, I’ve vanished for a while. I wish it were because I was working on my novel for nanowrimo, but that has about one days worth of writing against it. In general, I just haven’t felt like sitting in front of the PC and tippy-tappin’ out the words. I’m basically forcing myself to do this right now.

Thankfully, I’m fuelled by rage and the need a laugh. Laughing hasn’t been as prevalent during the last few weeks. Which is too bad because I’m a fairly funny person. Although, since it’s taken me the better part of two months to write this, more laughs have occured. I like to laugh and enjoy making others laugh.

Back to the laughing.

2017 and to that end, life, are like a horse. But not just any horse. One of the big black evil bastards that bites everybody and kicked one of his trainers into a well. Of course that was when he was young and in a good mood. Now he is more days behind him than he does in front of him. The racing days are over due to arthritis. That’s why he started taking PCP*. And to support his cool habit of taking hard to come by drugs he had to get a job. So he hauls trash carts behind him. Basically, that brings him full circle on the hipster scale. Old drug, old job, old technology, in general being a drip with a penchant for black.

At any time did I mention that the trash cart is on fire? No? Doesn’t seem like I did. Well, it goes without saying that fire freaks horses the fuck out and makes them run in the opposite direction. That’s just a regular horse. Not a horse on PCP, hauling a trash cart that is perpetually on fire and four feet behind the asshole, both literally and figuratively.

In closing, 2017 sucked. Drive an oak stake through its heart. Chop off its head. Salt it. Burn it. Bye Felicia.

Can’t wait to see how fucky 2018 is!


Before the Chicken Soup for the Soul demographic get after me, there are plenty of things I’m grateful for. I’m just, pissy.

*PCP ( ) is a horse tranquilizer that was taken off the market in 1965. People took would become dissociative and feel nothing. Case in point, in the original Terminator movie, the police thought that the Terminator was on PCP. Turns out he was a time travelling killer cyborg from Austria.

Covfefe: Obligations and What-Not


The ‘Fefe Was That?

Not meaning to toot my own horn, but “toot-toot!” I went the entire day without sayin’ boo. Covfefe? More like covwhofuckin’cares? I’m going to take high road travelled by grumpy old men and look down on anyone who jumped on the bandwagon. For shame!

So gloats the great horn of irony! It’s not lost on me that this post is a contradiction, but I needed something to write about and I might as well go where the money is.

What the hell was it all about anyway? I can’t be bothered to google it or look into much more than the shallow end of twitter, but I believe it was intended to be “coverage.” I typed it like I was playing accompaniment air guitar on a Jim Brickman song. Meaning, so gently I didn’t depress a single key.

My investigation concluded with substantial evidence that everyone is an idiot. The person who typed it, the people who jumped on it and made it go viral, me for writing this. We’re all in this together! We just spread a virus. Symptoms include shrinking of hands and being an idiot. Covfefe, catch the fever!

 


See you in the funny papers. Which now happens to be every paper.

 

Simon and Simon: And The Case of Teaching Us How To Love Again


 

Admit it, you hear the slide guitar in your head. That scratchy riff. The bumping of the kick drum. You may be heading off to the internet to track down the theme song, so let me help you out. Let it jog your memory. Let it carry you off to the memories of yesteryear. Ah, such a great song!

Now, I’m not going to act like I was a huge fan of the show. I was ten when it was canceled. There is no Rick cosplay costume in my closet. I never attended the Simon and Simon Con and Con. In fact, I don’t remember that much about the show. No episode is stuck in my mind. Hell, I had to google their names. When I read Rick, it rang a bell, but Andrew “A.J.” Jackson didn’t really.

The show was about two brothers. One who had gotten too big for his britches and moved to, not only the big city, but Cali-forn-I-A. While the other stayed behind and then went off to ‘Nam. For some reason, they decide to open a Private Detective agency. Good times ensued and conflicting differences occurred. Mr. Fancy pants A.J. was the well-to-do, practicing Catholic, book smart guy who played by the rules, mostly. Meanwhile, Rick was never seen without a combination of a mustache, denim or cowboy boots, yes, even in shorts. He was surly, ornery, and in general rootin’-tootin’.

Needless to say, their case solving styles were different. Sometimes one of them wanted to punch a guy, while the other one figured it was best to hit said guy with their truck then punch him. Even so, they were able to put aside their differences and solve over one hundred and fifty* cases. Still, there is one case they didn’t solve. A case they didn’t even know existed. For the crime wouldn’t be committed for almost thirty more years.That’s the Case of the Divided people!

Coast to coast. Urban to rural. Facebook to twitter. We’ve quickly become people that can’t fathom speaking with someone on the “other side.” Compromise isn’t a word we seem to be familiar with. All we want to do is to keep posting our one-sided feel good, won’t convert anyone’s thoughts memes.

Here’s the thing, even if they wanted to solve the case, they couldn’t. Simon and Simon, could not exist right now. Not in the current bi-partisan polar opposite climate. Not in the fake news thumping, finger pointing, dick wagging, hear no republican, speak no democrat, see no – whatever – bullshit spree we are on about. If it did, it would bomb when one of the two groups easily offended snowflakes started complaining. Either Rick is too much of a racist redneck or A.J. would be a fast talkin’ sissy. Take your pick. In truth, neither one would actually be offensive to anyone except the snowflakes.

Yet, I would argue that we need Simon and Simon. Now more than ever! The only way they could solve this case is by demonstrating acts of brotherly love and acceptance. Rick and A.J. could easily show us how it’s done. Extending the hand and not giving into the temptation to strike one another in the mouth.

Come on Hollywood do it! Bring it back! Get Gerald McRaney and Jameson Parker back in there. If it makes you feel better, I’ll even let you cast Danny McBride and James Franco or Zac Efron. Make it a bit more of comedy if you’d like. Don’t go dark with it. Opening sequence, two brothers step out of the voting booth, as the place their “I voted stickers” on their lapels, they look each other dead in the eyes. A tense moment passes and then, a good ol’ brotherly rivalry fueled eighties fight scene ensues – please include a water fountain. Because let’s face it, Rick and A.J. would have voted for Trump and Hillary respectively. Sure A.J. may have toyed with the idea of Gary Johnson, but he eventually came around.

 


*This is based on the assumption that they solved one case per episode.

 

If It Isn’t Trump, It’s The Introverts


 

Holy freakin’ smokes! Has anyone else hit their limit of political posts they can see within a day? That’s basically all facebook is now, just post after post of the leftist doom and gloom or the victorious chortles of righties. Thankfully, twitter is still full of erotic authors trying to sell me their bigfoot on alien action, but that isn’t enough. Not the bigfoot on alien action, the respite from politics.

I just can’t do it anymore! I’m not calling it quits on politics forever, but there are only so many posts one can read that solidify their viewpoint to the consistency of cookies made from concrete. That’s why I’ve decided to quit reading anything that has a whiff of the political. Whether it be from the U.S., Canada, or anywhere in the world. Kelly Leitch’s odd video was the last, for the time being. I thought it was a good place to stop.

A New Day

It was with this new found resolve, that I waded back into the primordial pool that is facebook. I had my bullshit waders on and one big water wing around my entire head. I sounded like Darth Vader passing gas, couldn’t see shit, and felt happy. That was, until I scrolled headlong into, at least, three posts about being introverted. I don’t know what they said because, before politics, introvert posts were the thing I swore off of.

For a group of humble people who don’t want to draw attention to themselves, introverts sure do love sharing articles on how to tell if you’re one of them, how to talk to them and how great it is to be one. There are so many of these dang posts that people can’t help but click on them. If curiosity kills cats, then cats must be an endangered species*.

Poets and Penis Wrinkles

There are only so many times I’m going to fall for the possibility that I could be an introvert that slipped through the cracks. I’m not one, I know that and so does everyone who knows me. Although, I do like to hang out by myself and sip scotch while reading a book on a Saturday night more than my extroverted ass should. That doesn’t mean that I am an introvert and that is the problem with these posts.

They have convinced hundreds of thousands of extroverts that they are introverts. Just because they like to be quiet sometimes. Furthermore, the articles typically make introversion sound far more appealing than extroversion. Quiet, hard working, organized. Forms fiercely loyal friendships with a small number of people. Good ghawd, what isn’t to like? That sounds so much better than the implied loud, brash, fist bumping, macro brewed rice lager chugging, slutty social butterfly venture capitalist who’s too busy talking or being a choad blaster to look at their calendar and make note of one of their acquaintance’s birthdays.

It’s no wonder that extroverts think they are introverts, that they wish they were introverts. Who wouldn’t want to be hip, cool, and reserved instead of, I don’t know, socially sweaty? But enough’s enough, if it isn’t Trump, it’s the introverts and neither is on my “Want to read” list. For now.

 


I’m going to go read!

 

*Not that that matters any longer, because Trump

The Blaring of Trump’s Noise


So Much Noise…

Sweet Geezus, it’s a fucking quagmire! One no longer goes online without getting pulled into Trump bullshit. Whether it be for him, against him, or whatever the hell there is in between. There is simply so much shit, so many opinions. Who has the time for this? Does anyone really want to spend their time talking about this guy? Get a hobby! Play with a model train!

Otherwise, it’s like running into a lake from the shore. You’re tracking pretty well then you’re feet hit the water and you begin to slow, just a bit. As the water raises to half-calf, you begin to feel the drag and start waddling. You’re really high-kneeing it a step or two after. Your feet a sinking into the sand ever so slightly. That’s when it happens, you step off the shelf and fully fall in. You gasp as the icy grasp of water enshrouds your no-no’s. The gasp, causes water to enter your airway. You cough to force the water out or your airway and it sounds super disorienting as your underwater. In the state of discombobulation, you inhale once more to cough again. Which causes your lungs to fill. It’s at this point in time that you recall that you can’t even swim. Curious what you were doing running toward the lake with such excitement in the first place. You sink into the silty muck below.

Phew!

This is more of an observation really. I mean, I’m guilty of contributing to the online noise. I’ve written plenty of blog posts, tweets, and even some facebook posts on the matter. Not that these do much good, or so I hear. People seem to pretty much have their minds made up and are unwilling to budge. I can appreciate that. It’s hard to convey a belief altering thought in a tweet and it’s even harder to find a headline that invites people to have their views challenged. Not to mention that you have to find a person willing to click it in the first place.

Keep On Being Loud!

That being said, in fact, all of this being said, keep doing it. That’s what we’re supposed to do. Acceptance is for people who don’t get the punchline to the joke that we’ve just been told. Complacency is for those who don’t even realize they’ve been told a joke. Keep posting stuff. Good, verifiable stuff. Try to stay as classy as possible. Don’t spread lies, that weakens the cause. Be sure to click on the other sides links to. Then read those things, with an open-ish mind, just in case there isn’t a literary flaming bag of shit inside of that article.

And if anyone wants to make an app or extension that filters out Trump stuff, that would be great. Although, I caution people not to run it all the time. Just when you need some time away.

 

 


I’m going to go buy a donut.

Inauguration Day: The Last Day of The Rest of Your Life?


 

Well, here we go.

Today’s the day. We’ve been waiting in anticipation for quite some time. The suspense is killing me or, at least, it’s making me constipated. In other words, I’m not looking forward to it. In fact, I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I’m not sure if it’s in the pit of my something or somewhere else. Somewhere ever so slightly out of the range of my vision, always at the edge, no matter how fast I turn. Other people really seem to be enjoying it though. To the point that some have big ole boners cloaked in red MAGA branded condemns crowned with a shockingly straight and thick blond pubic patch. It’s Inauguaration Day!

I’m not happy, but I am excited. After all, this is one of those days that the U.S. political system was crafted to keep in check, splitting up power and keeping it in line. And, oh holy shit, if it’s not going to be stress tested. Blatant cronyism and cabinet appointments, so ironic, that they make me wonder if Donald Trump isn’t the self-serving businessman that I think he is, but a hipster.

I get it, it’s certainly different. Maybe this is the change we needed, but I doubt it. This whole situation seems like a ‘roided up version of what got us in the trouble that began over sixteen years ago. It’s almost like that trouble is coming back in final boss form. We’ve given the inmates the keys. Is this what his supporters actually wanted? For the life of me, I can’t empathize with anyone looking forward to what’s about to happen.

 


Today, I don’t care what you do. Yet, I really do.

Kidnapping Is So Passe’


 

When I woke up this morning and saw #BLMKidnapping* trending, I was floored by what I saw and read. Is this where the U.S. is at? The damn thing is a powder keg that seems likely to blow at any moment. Say what you will about baskets of deplorables and Trump’s rhetoric, it takes two to tango. That’s right, both sides are to blame and in this case the dance floor is full and partners are being swapped with nary a care.

Not that it helps being slammed into two groups. Conservative and liberal being used to loosely define a whole lot of people doesn’t seem to be working.  In fact, it seems to be making things worse. How terrible would a sports league with two teams be? Something tells me there would be a lot more hate and resentment at the games. And sure we can side with another subgroup or philosophy. Be libertarian or socialist, it doesn’t matter. We will still be put under the liberal and conservative silos.

Quite possibly the larger issue currently, is communication. Stereotyping, and a deep desire to label people and groups into quick digestible details is wreaking havoc. Wading into social media is a frustrating nightmare. Everyone is just yelling and pointing at another group from the group they’re a part of. People are strangling themselves to label groups as a whole. Will we ever realize that just because some bad people exist in a group that doesn’t mean the rest of the group is bad? You know that person at work who is a total asshole? Well, just because they exist doesn’t mean everyone at work – including yourself – is an asshole. All gun owners aren’t assholes, a fact proven by all of us still being alive. Not all liberals are assholes, nor conservatives. In fact, both groups have some really good people in them. I have friends in both.

In closing, at the risk of sounding corny – but mostly because I just signed up for Amazon Prime – we need to start accepting others and get along. If you haven’t made any resolutions yet, I just gave you one. Accept, get along, and no more kidnapping.

 


Now to Amazon Prime!

*From what I’ve read, they have nothing to do with BLM. I am not labeling this kidnapping as part of BLM. To do so would be the opposite I’ve what you’ve just read/will read – totally depends on when you read footnotes.

2016 Is Dead!


     Long Live 2017!

Don’t let the door hit ya where the good lord split ya 2016. You were a terrible fucking year and I will loathe you until my dying breath. Surrounded by loved ones and machines keeping me alive, with a raspy and gaspy voice I will say, “I love you all, fuck 2016.”

Let me be clear that this is not just because of all the great artists, musicians, actors you took. Nor the fact that a quarter of the U.S. is cool with Trump being president and the remainder is pissed about something. Excluding the increased fighting in Syria, the ramped up tensions with Russia and all that alludes to. Screw it, I want to be self-centered!

For me, 2016’s  never-ending supply of sack taps began in October of the previous year. Which set the stage for what would come to be an all around terrible year. I usually don’t write off an entire year and it’s not like some good things happened in 2016. Sure we had some laughs and Oliver moved in with us, but as a whole 2016 deserves to be buried and forgotten. Scratch that, decapitate it, bury an oak stake in its chest, salt it, and burn it.

     Time For A Resolution

I’ve made the same New Year’s resolution for the last six or seven years now. I’ve never failed at it. Mostly because one can only fail at it once unless one partied with Motley Crue back in the 80’s. That resolution is, “Don’t Die.” Sure, it’s dry and grim, but it’s a resolution I will stick to. There won’t be a time where I say, “Ah, I think I will skip not dying today.”

I implore you all to make this resolution because…

 

     Kill 2017 Before It Kills You!

Let’s face it 2016 sucked, but it also laid the groundwork for some truly trying times to follow. Tensions aren’t going to settle down because it’s a new year. More celebrities are going to pass away and none of them will be tied to the Kardashians. So just believe it okay. You’ve experienced the shit 2016 flung at you. No more surprises! The blindfold and the gloves are off. I not going to begin 2017 with “Happy New Year.” Compliance and blissful ignorance nets us nothing. Instead I will say, “It’s going to be a long year butthead, I’ll see you on the other side.”

 


I mean butthead in the most loving way possible. Please share.