A Funny Thing Happened on the way to the Bookstore

One day a few weeks ago I found myself going to the closest venue of the Sage from Bentonville (Wal-Mart) when  I came to realize that all of my current reading opportunities have come from the small section of the store stuck in between the cigarette aisle and the “20 Items or less” cashier.  It is the feed trough of my inquiring mind.  At least it used to be.

Being an academic by nature and profession, I had been studying an interesting subject the day prior to my sojourn to the depths of retail Nirvana.  Is there really such a thing being as the Devil? On a philosophical level it has proven a stimulating topic.   I began the study in order to reinforce my personal skepticism as to the existence of such a being.

There is research to attest or refute the idea that a being exists that has nothing but contempt and derision for mankind.  All that is offered is the ranting’s of some believers, and the references in the bible to “That which is called Legion.”  My trip out that day was to purchase groceries and perhaps a new book, but what I found was definitive proof.

Coming out of my driveway I viewed an old woman who lives down the street from me walking with an umbrella to ward off the rain.  I stopped to see if I could give her a ride.  I had done this a number of times before and I usually looked forward to the chance opportunity to commit a random act of kindness.  The old woman always gave me a broken toothed smile, and always made sure that I was given some form of payment for my services.  Most of the time she would hand me fifty cents, as if I was operating some form of public transportation, and then go about her business.  This day, she handed me a pamphlet on the existence of Satan, and how to identify that being when encountered.  She told me to go back home and read the brochure.  I told her that I needed to visit the retail giant and would look at it upon my arrival back at my home. 

Instantly waving her hands in the air she wailed at me that the devil himself was at that store and that if I had to go there, I must stay clear of the book section.  She reached over, clutched my hand, and began reciting the script of an exorcism.  It took several minutes to extricate my hand from her grip and assure her that I would be careful.

I took the experience with a grain of salt. This was not the first time she had exhibited a radical expression of her views.  I believed that she was just a crazy old lady that I got to give a rides  Little did I know how much my life would change that day as a result of a momentary denial of another person’s dogma.

I got to Wal-Mart and found the items I required and was going to leave before something told me to go look at the books.  I remembered the woman’s admonishment but gave it little power.  Walking to the bookrack I noticed, standing before the religious books, Satan.  Well, at least someone dressed as the Trickster.  The red face and skin, pointy tail sticking from under the red cape, the black hair and pencil thin moustache and goatee, the red pitchfork, and the evil smile, just as in all the pictures I have seen.  Staring in disbelief, I push it off as someone dressed for a costume party.  Until, that is, he dropped a bible on the floor and burned it with a set of flames coming out of his eyes. Afterward, he turned to me and smiled.  He told me that he had been waiting on me, and that we should get to work.

All my life I have tried to get published as a writer.  Reading and writing had been an obsession and compulsion for as long as I could remember.  I recalled watching someone accepting a prize for writing one time and took it on as a dream.  I would win that prize one day.  This guy told me that he could give that to me…if I signed my soul over to him.

Admittedly, this seemed to me too convenient, and I scoffed at him.  He, just as I have seen in a million movies and read in as many books, pulled out a parchment with gothic writing on it with my name at the top, and next to the signature line. I took it and read it.  It was a standard agreement for services that already had a prominent “Lucifer” in script next to the seller line.

As I read the contract, I imagined my new life.  Buying the huge house, the book signing tours, and the trophy wife I met at a reading of one of my poems, as well as all the rest of the perks of being an award winning author.  I seriously considered reaching for the quill pen when other thoughts came to mind.  There was the IRS audit where I got arrested for fraudulent filing, the repossession of the house, the multi-raced child my wife had and sued me for child support, the big guy in the next prison cell who informed me of his intentions to change my sexual orientation, and the last glimpse of the truck that was about to run me over. I dropped the book, left the groceries, and fled the store as soon as I could…never to return.

The devil felt a tap on his shoulder and, turning around, encountered the broken toothed smile of the old woman who had received a ride from the fleeing man.  He shook his head in disgust and said, “Ma, you have to stop doing that.  I am way behind on my monthly quota!”

 

l

An Fhís

 “But it is not you. It is them.” He sat at the end of my bed and quietly sipped a cup of coffee and smoked a cigarette. There was nothing remarkable about him. Just a dude with a couple of days growth on his face wearing jeans, work boots, and a “Frank Zappa for President” t-shirt like the one I was sleeping in. I sat up in bed and asked him what he was talking about. It did not occur to me to ask him who he was and how he had to audacity to be in my house and drinking my coffee when I had no earthly idea who the fuck he was.

“It’s true, you know. You have been wondering for days why people act the way they do when you show up anywhere. It seems as if you are an interruption in their ordinary everyday ordinariness and it is an imposition for you to even be breathing.” He blew some smoke rings and looked at me.

“What in the Holy Good Christ are you talking about?” I asked even though I knew perfectly well what he was saying.

“Oh, don’t be coy now. I am just telling you that it is not your fault. All those fuckers out there are just jealous of you and treat you as if you are an intrusion for just being there. Even that dumbshit smiling guy at the Stop N’ Shop gas station who you never talk to because you use your card at the pump and never even walk the hell inside thinks you’re weird. He waves at you and you wave back, but he is secretly counting the minutes you are even out front of his store. He thinks you are peculiar even though he is just a stupid son of a bitch who works there because he dropped out of high school and cannot get a better job.” More smoke rings drift to the ceiling.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That guy always smiles at me and besides, that’s the cheapest gas in town.” I swing my legs over and sit on the side of the bed. “Go away, I have to pray and then piss before I get my coffee. Did you leave any in the pot?” I look at his cup which seems really immense.

“I’ll make a fresh pot. See you in the living room. I know how you take it.” He gets up and pads out the door. I noticed he had slipped out of his work boots and was walking in bare feet. This deepened my resentment. Who the shit not only invades a guy’s bedroom but has the impudence to feel comfortable enough to walk around without shoes?

I read my books, and say my prayers before heading to the toilet. I have my t-shirt and boxers on from sleeping and toss on my bathrobe, leaving it open as I walk. I go to the can and then walk to the living room. I stop and take a detour to get my slippers in order to make the right statement to my barefooted home invader. I get back to my chair and find a piping hot cup of Joe on the table next to it where I keep the remote and whatever book I am currently reading. The bold burglar is nowhere to be found. Getting the first sip down I catch him peering, headfirst, from the kitchen with a spatula in his hand asking me how I like my eggs. He tells me to watch the news while I drank my coffee and that breakfast will be finished in a jiffy.

The level of confusion over this bizarre incident begins to grow and I start thinking it might be better to just listen and go along. I finish the coffee, get up, and walk into the kitchen. I am greeted with a properly set table with an azalea bloom in a long stemmed vase. There are plates, silverware, and glasses of what had to be fresh squeezed orange juice (The oranges I put in the bowl on the kitchen counter are gone) and milk. My intruder motions for me to sit down and when I did he sets before me a plate of bacon and eggs and another with three pancakes. He goes to the refrigerator bringing the butter dish and the jelly. How does he know that I eat my pancakes with jelly? The final touch is a plate of buttermilk pancakes and a bowl of sausage gravy. He sits down and, bowing his head, asks me if I wanted to say grace.

After clearing the dishes for him and loading the dishwasher, I ask him to explain himself. He waves for me to follow him out the back door and sits down at the edge of the patio overlooking the back yard. It is my favorite spot and he appears right at home in the empty chair that I have placed next to mine with a table in between. This was, in my mind, God’s chair and he has some nerve sitting there. He waves for me to sit and I do…grudgingly.

“You see, you got off on the wrong foot when you started writing that damn book. Nobody wants to read a book that tells them that they cannot or should not do something that they just love to do.” He lights another cigarette and sits back crossing his legs. “I have a real problem with it, hell I told everyone that they should not do it a long damn time ago. Hell, fucking commanded them not to.”

“You are not trying to convince me that you are God! That would be totally absurd! I mean, how could everyone even be mad at me when I have not done anything but write the damn thing and never even tried to publish it? All it was supposed to be was something to make me feel better after those folks died in New York!” I could feel my blood pressure starting to spike and my chest get tight.

“I know, I know. People are weird. They think who the fuck they are. That whole freedom of choice gig was a major faux pas dude. I’ve been regretting it ever since I let it happen. Hell, look what it has brought us to!”

“Man, I am not having this conversation! You are going to tell me who the shitting hell you are or I am going to call the police…RIGHT NOW!” I grabbed his pack of cigarettes and lit one. The first puff reminded me why I had given them up.

When I looked back at him, and he’s gone, vanished into the clear air. All that remains is the pack of cigarettes and the empty coffee cup he had been drinking from. I sit staring at the chair for a while before finally surrendering and walk back in the house. I find my computer and, opening the word processing program, begin to type. I realize that the book about killing is not done. I’ve let it languish for several years while I went out and found other things to do. I do feel odd when I walked out in public. I am not paranoid. I do feel that many people treat me as if they have bitterness toward me, but it does not bother me. I just did not care. Or is it, that I did not think that there anything to be done about it? Could there really be a world where killing was just something that people liked? Dreamed of and pursued like it was the answer to all their problems?

No. It cannot be. Let him come and make me breakfast if he must, I WILL finish that book!

Abstemious Abstinence

 A hundred words can change the world. What if someone just told the truth? Perhaps it would be for the first time. It might be a veracious act driven by an intolerable atrocity. Maybe they observed an act of courage or unconditional love that cannot be explained. What if that act was performed by someone who would normally be in complete opposition to the situation causing the act? What if a hate filled person suddenly stopped another individual filled with loathing from carrying out an atrocious affront. What if that acrimoniously loathsome person suddenly just…stopped…hating?

I am not talking about something that is improbable or even impossible. I am talking on the sudden event of someone having an epiphany and realizing that what they felt and believed in their hearts was just wrong. It is like they suddenly discover what they believe is erroneous in both emotion as well as execution while proving itself inadequate in every sense of the word.

Like that time when I was a kid and had to meet a bully after school in order settle some real or imagined slight through an act of violence. This kid had bullied me most of the fourth grade. Towards the end previous year I had a full plaster of Paris cast on my arm and would use it to act the bully myself. Once free of the contraption, I was pretty much defenseless while I regained my strength. This guy took advantage of that nearly every day. I let him because I was afraid of re-breaking the arm. Over the course of the summer, my cousin’s barbells helped me reclaim my strength and I decided to avenge my honor by beating the tar out of this creep.

We met at the appointed time and spent a ridiculous amount of time negotiating the rules before we started. Once the fight commenced, I realized that all the advantage was mine and that in a short time I would have this kid beat down to an acceptable level of capitulation where I could regain my status as class bully and reign supreme. Then I looked into his eyes.

There was nothing but fear.

I just stopped. I remembered that it sucked to be afraid, and it sucked worse when you see it in another’s eyes. I stopped and told him that I give up. He, startled at the circumstance, regained his composure, and began prancing around like the champion we both knew he was not. I lived with some more bullying from him but it stopped. I would just look him in the eye and he would recall the truth and walk away.

I think about this and wonder where that guy went that just could not stand the look of fear in another’s eyes. I wonder where it came from in me and wonder if there are not many folks out there who wish for some kind of insight or lightning bolt to hit them to stop the stupidity and disgust they are so used to displaying.

What if…

Easy Pickings

There had been an invasion. Some foreign country had placed sleeper agents in the White House who had slowly weakened our defense systems. Strategically placed clusters of Electromagnetic pulse bombs had disrupted the entire infrastructure wiping out all of our defensive capability. Telecommunication problems had forced our military to hunker down in place until word from other commands would coordinate a defense. Trains came to a stop. Airplanes sat on runways unable to take off. Navy ships lay adrift in the oceans unable to get under way. The ground attack devastated the country and foreign troops were systematically taking control of towns and cities with remarkable speed. Not, however, in more rural areas that existed mostly on their own efforts.

For the first month our town, Wolf Crossing, remained untouched. The EM Pulses had occurred many miles away which left the community unscathed and functioning. Everything remained the same as before. There were school buses roaming the streets every morning and afternoon. The movie theater changed its line-up on Tuesdays and the basketball teams from the schools all played games on the weekends. The Daily Special at Mabel’s Café still had meat loaf on Monday, Chicken and Dumplings on Wednesday and All-you-can-eat Catfish every Friday.

The Mayor was walking around shaking hands and kissing babies and his opponent in the upcoming election was busily knocking on every door in the town to campaign for his “Need for Change” platform. There were some high school kids walking around with sandwich signs for the candidate they supported while passing out red or blue balloons with the appropriate name on them. The Whole Earth Party was set up in the little park on the Town Square and was attempting to get people to commit to vote for them and plant a tree. They had a pick-up on the lawn next to them with a for sale sign on the side. They raised a ruckus when the police chief came and told them to move on because the park was city property and ordinance did not allow campaigning without a permit. They argued and tried to stage a sit-in until the lead candidate sat down and was not, being eighty years old and three hundred pounds, able to get back up. The local ambulance had to come put her on a stretcher and haul her to the hospital because her heart began to palpitate and it would not look too good for her to die while trying to get elected mayor.

In reality, due to the distance from the rest of the country, very few folks in town even had the least clue that there had been anything of real importance happening in the world outside the city limits of their small hamlet. They had no idea that there had been a major invasion from another country. Come the first of the month that all changed.

The first of the military vehicles rolled in about 8:00 AM with a detachment of infantry soldiers. They had strange uniforms and had a look about them that seemed to suggest that they were not from around there. They all spoke a sort of broken English and began spreading out around town in strategic spots. The commander of the group walked around asking for the leader of the town and the mayor came and held his hand out to shakes hands, as he had been doing all day and the entire month before. The commander took his hand and, holding it firmly, took out a pistol, and shot the mayor between the eyes. He ordered his men to drag the body to the park and leave it there.

The force of men then began to round up people and usher them into the movie theater. They went from street to street and stopped when the theater got full. They moved to the school and rounded up all the kids and made them sit in the assembly theater and the gym at the high school. This was not a difficult task overall. The town only had around six hundred residents including the kids. There were some difficulties. The police chief and his three patrol officers were all shot and deposited in the park. Then there was the elderly Post Commander of the local VFW who got shot when he came after the invaders with a German Lugar and a pineapple grenade. The grenade turned out to be a cigarette light and the German Luger fired caps. A few farmers with shotgun racks in their pickups were added to the growing pile of bodies in the park. The raiders sustained several casualties along the way before the town was properly incarcerated and the violence curtailed.

The commander had a bullhorn he used to address the adults in the theater and his second in command went to the school and gave the same speech to the kids. There would be safe and secure treatment for those who cooperated and helped the occupiers set up a defensive perimeter around the town. There would be rewards of food and privileges to those who voluntarily cooperated. There would be harsh consequences for those who did not. Up to and including being deposited, dead, at the park.

No one spoke a word. Neither did any of them volunteer nor show the least bit of interest in cooperating. There were three more deaths when the owner of the theater, the school principal, and the gym teacher acted as leader in their respective location and informed the marauders that they should go to hell. The pile of bodies in the park had reached a dozen by the time the sun set. The commander told his men to lock everyone in where they were and walked into the command tent that had been set up in the park with the dead bodies. He had the dead men moved to the edge of the park furthest from the tent and set about developing a night perimeter of men to guard things until the morning. He figured when the townsfolks got thirsty, hungry, or needed the restroom the level of collaboration would vastly increase.

He ordered his men to get Mabel’s Café open and to cook a meal for the invaders. He thought about forcing Mabel to do it, but chose to just use the café and have his men do the cooking. The food was there even if the cooperation was not. He went to the back of the tent to lie down for a while detailing for his aide to wake him when the food was ready. He lay down and went to sleep.

It was sometime later when he woke. The tent was dark except for a small kerosene lamp in the front. He stood up and found a washing station that had been set up with water, soap, and a towel for him. He cleansed himself, put on a fresh shirt, and inspected his pistol. He took it apart, cleaned it, placed a fresh clip in it, worked the slide to cock it, and let the hammer down with his thumb. He walked out of the tent with the intention of getting something to eat…maybe a steak.

Once outside he noticed that the street lights were not glowing but that it was still bright enough to see even though it was late enough for stars to be shining. He looked up and saw the largest, brightest full moon he had ever imagined. He turned to look for the bodies wondering if they had started to smell. They were not there. He walked all the way around the park and found nothing. He walked around the square finding nothing, not even his own men. He went to the theater which was to his shock and surprise, empty. He went back to the tent and tried the radio only to get nothing but static. He walked outside and found the mayor and the police chief waiting for him. They were alive and had no injuries showing where they had been shot. There was blood on their clothes, but no marks of any sign that, several hours earlier, each of these men had been shot in the face with a military issue 9mm pistol.

He reached for his sidearm and the police chief; moving faster than he could see, grabbed him, and relieved him of his gun. They proceeded to march/drag him to the high school where the rest of his men were sitting back to back on the ground and tied up at the fifty yard line. The mayor explained that he had either chose, or was ordered to invade the wrong town. Behind him walked up the remaining group of people who, also had been shot earlier that day.

The commander watched the mayor begin to shake and tremble. He started to swirl his head around and wave his arms about. The police chief and the rest of the recently dead all began to do the same thing. Their bodies grew and their clothes ripped off their chests and arms. They grew huge fangs and claws at their hands. Not werewolf like, but something much more horrifying. Something grotesque and hideous When the transformation was complete, the commander could see others flowing in from all the exits on the football field. It seemed to be the townspeople with their children. All of them looked the same as the dead men. All of them were grotesque and ghastly. There was no snarling or roaring or howling. They were all dreadfully quiet. The mayor looked back at the crowd of his neighbors, and then at the commander before shouting:

“Soup’s up!”

The Sudden Stop

“How did I let myself get talked into this crap?” Bobby stood at the edge of the rail and looked over to the river below. “Jesus! It is soooo freaking far down there! Please don’t make me do this! I am going to die right flipping here if you do not let me get back in the car! FOR REAL FOR REAL!!!” He stood there trembling looking at his date. He had just wanted to do something adventurous and fun. Like maybe taking a white water rafting trip, or hiking and camping in the woods or something. Not this…not this…NOT THIS!

“Oh don’t be such a baby.” The current love of his life, Pattie with an “ie” scolded him. She was, at least on the outside, just the type of woman who he would want. She answered his post on the freaking dating site and they went on a couple of dates before attempting this insanity. “You are not going to die. I mean I have done this a hundred times and it is just the most radical adrenaline rush. Only punks and babies do not find this fun.” She got up on the rail and jumped. The bungee cord made a loud cracking sound as it tightened and she let out a loud bellow that seemed unlikely for such a small girl.

Bobby let loose with his own scream because the cracking made him think that the bungee had come loose and she was plummeting to her death. This was definitely not fun and he wanted to go home. The only reason he came was because she told him that if he just came out and looked at it then he would probably hit a home run when they got back to the apartment. Maybe even a Grand Slam if he actually did it with her. Her sports metaphors for sex should have been the first sign that she was not the type for him. He always thought that badminton was altogether too much of a contact sport to play let alone intentionally plunging to your death at the end of a large rubber band. What if they measured him wrong and made the damn thing too long and he cracked his head on the rocks in the river below. Oh! Whoa is my stupid horny a-s-s!

The loud grunt that she gave out when she reached the end of the first jolting bounce came first followed immediately with what seemed like an earsplitting war cry. He ventured a peek over the edge and watched as she bounced and laughed and bellowed her delight. He stood back relieved and sat with his back to the stanchion holding the bridge up. He caught his breath and stood as they hauled her back over the side of the rail with safe, solid ground. She let them release her from the contraption holding her feet and did a victory dance like a football player in the end zone at the Super Bowl. She whooped and hollered and pumped her fists in the air. She shook he hair and laughed like an insane person. Bobby had never seen anything quite so sexy!

Finishing her revel, she grabbed Bobby by the arm and before he realized it had him secured in the boot contraption attached to the big rubber band. She told him that the guy would adjust the band to his size and his weight. He would be fine and got the guy running the contraption to confirm it. They boosted him up on the rail and he froze.

She coaxed him with promises of a night of erotic amazement. She told him that it would cure him of his Acrophobia. She told him that once the boots were on, they did not come off until after the jump. All of which meant nothing to him as he pleaded to be let down. Finally she told him to close his eyes, which already closed, and listen to her. She told him that she had been afraid of high places also and that made her feel sort of…less than. What she did was join the Army and volunteer for Airborne Jump School. She made it through and that was the last of her fear. Now she goes skydiving, bungee jumping, base jumping, and even dove off a cliff in Hawaii last year when she was on vacation. He asked her if Jump School taught her to relax and what the classes were about. She told him that she did fine until it came for her first jump from and airplane. He asked what happened. She told him that she froze in the door and would not jump. He asked her what happened then and she simply said “the Sargent put his hand on my shoulder and did this…” With that she reached up and pushed him off the bridge.

Only to discover that the guy rigging things had disassembled the rigging to make the adjustments and had not yet attached the other end of the bungee cord.

It ain't the fall...

 

The Geezer Compendia

A “Geezer,” according to the dictionary, is an “an odd or eccentric man.” It is my contention that a true “Geezer” is the sort of man that is a necessary component to modern society. When we say eccentric would it not also be acceptable to call it staunch in belief. When we say odd can it not be just as easily said that the individual looks at the world with wide open eyes. The combination gives us character, verve, resilience, fortitude, and a devil may care attitude which is easily recognizable by its defining axiom. “Leave me the fuck alone with your adolescent, dimwitted bullshit. I will do, think, or say whatever the shit I please.”

In that spirit I write, as a self-proclaimed “Geezer” and will do as long as I inhale oxygen. The stories I write have foundations in the world I see about me. They might come from a dream the night before, or something heard on the latest Star Trek film or television episode. It might come from the word of the day I receive daily that catches my eye due to the unusual spelling or outrageous pronunciations. It might be alliterative in nature as that is my favorite transcribing tool. It may come from a guy I meet in the frozen foods section of the grocery store. It may come off the internet, although most of that is inept and ridiculous to say the least. Or it may be a story about a guy meeting the devil in a Walmart book section who tries to give him the universe in exchange for his soul.

I am at a temporary impasse as to the delivering of these stories. It would be nice to earn some scarolas in the process. I’ll post this on my blog and see if I get any suggestions. It is not a major project to undertake. I have a books worth of stories already looking for a home and probably another 30 or 40 in need of a concluding word, phrase, sentence, or even writing beyond a title. Can a Geezer get an “Amen?”

Let me know what you think

Silencing the Solstice Sadness

 The scent drifted past my nose and made me look up from my grocery list to see where it originated. I first glimpsed a flowing skirt and working my way up its length with my eyes to a white laced tank top/bustier and finally what had to be the head and face of an angel. Without realizing it the electric cart I was riding through the grocery store turned and followed the vision before me. Even now I have no conscious memory of directing the mechanical conveyance to take any path under my command. It just seemed to be directing itself as to the path of travel.

The divine vision before me was wearing the flowing skirt that had a V shaped slit in the front revealing a pair of long deliciously well-shaped muscular legs. Her arms swung freely as she walked. The upper left arm held a heart shaped tattoo with an arrow through it and initials on either side of the shaft. Her hands were delicate with manicured and artistically sculpted nails. She turned her head and her face was exquisitely elegant with amazingly bright hazel/blue eyes. For some reason she smiled, revealing the most perfect set of brilliant white teeth. Long golden blond straight hair to the waist completed what had to be a hallucination. Never in my entire senior citizen aged life, either live or in picture, had I ever beheld anything more beautiful. My old heart began beating faster and I forced the cart to cease following her. I had no wish to keep following the wingless angel thinking it might test the effectiveness of my heart medication if she happened to look or smile at me.

I continued on my appointed shopping duties only to find that every aisle I turned down held the object of what was a growing obsession. Each time I got close I turned my head and pulled something off the shelf to demonstrate that I was, indeed, shopping. The pasta aisle turned into the canned food aisle which forced me to buy tomato sauce for the pasta. Coffee and creamer came next, followed by sweetener and various spices because it was on the same aisle. Cold cuts and cheese slices inspired a trip for mustard, mayonnaise, ranch dressing, and ketchup. (I got home later and discover that the last four bottles were but duplicates of items I already possessed) It is impossible to make a sandwich without bread which also meant bagels, English muffins, and a couple of boxes of Ding Dongs. Then came the dairy aisle for cream cheese, and Greek yogurt because, well why not? Dairy also meant French onion dip which meant the chip aisle was next. Looking down at the pasta made me go shop for gravy which sent me to the meat section for meatballs, Italian Sausage, chicken legs and pork chops.

Each stop coinciding with yet another chance encounter with the Gift from God in a peach print skirt and low cut top.

I found myself reading the ingredients on the back of a package of Thai noodle mix and looking at a basket full of food I had never intended to buy. I looked at the list I brought with me which read; freeze pops, Kool Aid, blueberry muffins, and denture adhesive. None of those items were in the basket. I consciously forced myself to get the first three items on my list and make a strategic retreat to get the denture adhesive. The adhesive was on the other side of the Walmart Superstore I was in. It was a good bet that the angel would not be shopping there and I could be set free from my farcical fixation. I rode the ¼ mile to the other side of the store and was making my choice when I was once more hit in the nostrils with the ambrosia scent that began the whole shopping predicament. I looked up and discovered the largest muscle bound man in a wife beater t-shirt, a piercing in his nose, and a short cropped spiked haircut. He smiled at me revealing a gold tooth with a star in the middle. There was a matching star tattooed under his right eye. He stepped out of way revealing the vision standing squarely  in front of me and said; “Get a good look you old baboon faced bastard!”  She raised the front of her skirt high enough to reveal that there were no undergarments beneath the skirt. She stalked off and the large muscle that was with her smiled and gave me the universal one fingered salute.

Worst part of the day? I had to hire a kid to come unload the 80 pounds of groceries I was too embarrassed to put back.

The Fragile Folly of Funlightenment

“So I did the math…U.S. citizens comprise 4.25% of the world populations, yet we have almost 26% of all COVID-19 cases... and a little over 25% of the deaths.”

I read this little gem the other day and it hit a nerve with me. Statistics are funny things. Sometimes they are accurate and useful. Sometimes they are not accurate and universally accepted as Gospel. Sometimes they serve a purpose and actually help in a situation. Other times they are bald faced lies directed at the majority of people who blindly believe them and create the most egregious of depravities and immoralities. (Reference the current Republican leadership of this country…if the word leadership is used loosely) Yet the worst thing that can be said in conjunction with any statistic is “What’s your source.”

Once asked the narrative mutates into a mish mash nonsensical diatribe of who is reputable and who is the “Man behind the curtain” and need not to be paid any attention. This, naturally, is an age old defense against the veracity of any opinion, idea, thought, or desire which is contrary to whatever kind of tripe one might be peddling.

Being a well read and educated man; I find statistics to be an aggravation at best. Thanks to the acumen of a number of college professors I have the near ability to discern truth from tripe where it comes to numbers and what they mean. The opening numbers of this piece are dreadfully accurate. Whether anyone believes them or not is of no concern to me. I believe them and all else in opposition may embrace the south end of this north bound overly verbose writer. I will simply leave the earnestness of my belief in this set of numerals where they sit while reminding the reader of both my personality and the reality of the dubious area of statistical endeavors.

The first three hundred words of this piece were what, in my brain, had to be written in order to get to the crux of the opinion I am about to share. It is apparent that we live in fraught and immensely perilous times. I woke up one day and while surfing the social media one day to find out that a good buddy of mine had died from COVID -19. He could not get in to see a doctor to even get diagnosed. That was months ago. Another bit of wisdom is some doctor stating that America might see as many as 100,000 new cases a month going into winter with no cure of vaccine in sight. A friend of mine spent two months in a rehab hospital unable to see his family for fear of this virus. Then I read that with my breathing problems that it may be dangerous to wear a mask. Is that the truth? Is any of it true or is all of it true? Caveat Emptor!

Meanwhile, politicians are calling for the country to reopen. Amusement parks are planning to get some piece of a summer trade. Bar owners are suing the Texas governor for closing down all bars. People are demanding their constitutional right to not wear masks. Politicians are either holding or planning on holding election rallies placing hundreds or thousands of people in small areas where social distancing would be impossible. Having fun is apparently more important than not dying.

My own Congressman is amongst those railing against the restraints. He is also suffering from Covid 19, much to the distress of his family who is staunchly in agreement with the precautions detailed in fighting this disease. When your own family is willing to give interviews in opposition to your beliefs, perhaps you need a refresher course or two on the finer points of the science classes most Americans were required to take while attending school. Most of which seem have been ignored or forgotten in the face of political posturing. But, then again, we live in a country where millions believe that the earth is only 8-10000 years old. This is the same country that has an estimated 6,400,000 folks who believe that the earth is flat. Again with the statistics…repeat – Caveat Emptor.

The damnable numbers keep coming and keep being ignored. To date there are 4.9 million cases in America with 160,000 confirmed deaths. April 1, 2020 it was 184,770 cases with 3,746 deaths. This figures to be 26 times as many cases and 42 times the deaths IN FOUR MONTHS IN THE UNITED STATES!!!! The greatest country in the world and we are COMMITING GENOCIDE ON OUR OWN CITIZENS!!!!!!

Yet still we seek respite in such things as concerts, sports games, religious activities, and a system of government that has habitually lied to and committed crimes against the population without regard to anyone or anything out of fear of not getting the baboon faced bastard at the head of the table reelected. IT IS EVERY ONE IN America’s fault because we have allowed it to happen and get worse. SHAME ON EVERY ONE OF US!!!!

There is an old belief amongst the environmental and scientific community that the earth, Mother Nature if you will, has the ability to correct the problems of this beautiful planet. Science has shown that there have been five distinct Extinction Level Events on earth. The meteor the dinosaurs experienced was not the first. The Great Flood that has been mythologized and discovered to be scientifically true. Religious texts speak of war and pestilence destroying the population. Global warming which everyone believes except the adherents of the Good Grand Temple of the Orange Baboon might be the precursor to the next major catastrophe. AND WE ARE LETTING IT HAPPEN!

 The frustrating part of this dilemma is that we have the ability to do something about this problem. The rest of the world has adjusted/evolved and is, as such, not is as much danger as America.  The Babooninator claims it will just go away like the bubonic plague went away. The bubonic plague still exists and reoccurs from time to time. It is not as devastating as earlier time’s because it is treated with a tried and true method. Quarantine.

Every plague has one thing in common. Containment is tied, universally, to the separation of people who are sick from those who are not. This has been working for hundreds of years and there is no reason to change other than the fact that movie theaters, baseball games, casino’s, and presidential elections have proponents out there hawking their wares with fervor and apathy as to the effect of ignoring tried and true methods of containment. Making money and having a good time seems to be more important. To that, all I have to say is:

Fiat Justitia Ruat Caelum

 

Dystopian Detritus

I was watching a show on television last night and one of the characters made an observation that made perfect sense to me. The discussion was about differing ways of life. The first being the way things used to be on earth. Pristine land abundant with all the earthly requirements needed for humanity to survive and thrive. The other being the way we have made it in our rush towards annihilation. In the first scenario you did not have to go anywhere and purchase anything you needed; food shelter, clothes, etc., you just went out and found it. The second involved racing at breakneck speed towards a world of concrete, steel, violence, hate, bigotry, and death.  The analogy made was that the Good Mother Earth would, sooner or later, shrug and shake and decimate the second way of life leaving the simple existence that was probably the Creators intention.

This ideal of survival has been on the forefront of my thoughts for many years. Yes, I do enjoy the comforts the concrete and steel provide me. Driving cars or trucks is pretty cool. Being able to get in a tubular pile of metal and soar above the earth is infinitely delicious. Computers and the internet is the bomb! Riding a train has its allure also. Until, of course, any of these conveyances breakdown. Then you risk homelessness attempting to pay the repair costs. Walking to the places you wish/need to go is infinitely better. Sitting on a log and watching an eagle soar, or a mother dear and her fawn sneak up to you are amazing. What is amazing is that unless you are hungry and in need of sustenance for you, your family, or your community, you can leave them alone to surprise the next individual sitting on your log. Trophies have no place in either world if it means the death of an animal or person.

The flotsam and jetsam of this world are just differing degrees of the debris and scraps of unnecessary “things.”

So how do I justify this abominable paradigm? I read and I write. One of the cool things about living in this world that is galloping towards obliteration is that the very thing I am railing against is the exact avenue with which I get to attempt persuading humans away from the insanity of this world of wonder and death, and towards a reasonable way to stop the eradication of mankind. Hypocrite, you say? Perhaps, but I get to say it anyway. If you don’t like it, you can call me a fool and stop reading.

“Whatever the cost of our libraries, the price is cheap compared to that of an ignorant nation.”  Walter Cronkite

Another fascinating aspect of being the hypocrite is that while I complain about the world, I get to. If the worst thing my hypocrisy creates is a momentary thought that might come of this pretense towards the absurd…What if he is right?