No, this is not an April Fool's joke. This virus making our lives miserable, horrid, and heartbreaking is actually a blessing, a gift from our Maker. And Lord knows I'm breaking down from the pressure of it. 2020 had already started out to be a right bitch with my job situation and the unbelievable one-in-a billion coincidence I end up working in the same place as Biscuit Lady (seems I can beat the odds to win the reverse-lottery). My health was starting to fade even then.
My hair was thinning from the stress of it then this virus hits putting my life in both economic and bodily peril. Motherfuck! It may sound melodramatic but surviving this year is no guarantee for me - at all. I'm missing too many pieces of support, some my fault, some not. But I ain't situated or emotionally suited to endure this kind of slow motion nightmare. And asking God's help is the last thing you want to do. One must eat the fruit one has chosen, no matter how poisonous. For it is written when we have chosen poorly:
"When that day [of woe] comes, you will cry out for relief from the [Trumptard] king you have chosen, but the LORD will not answer you in that day."
We've been ignoring the larger picture for far too long and now reality encroaches upon us like a wildfire while we worry about returning to the playing tennis on our insulated estate. It's our God-given right here in America to be spoiled brats. I hear one-percenters selfishly complain about those not on board with the lockdown as if these bubble-wrapped souls are being righteous staying in their luxury homes without fear of loss of home, car, family, or income. They will say, "We're all in this together" just as long as it's someone else feeling the pain, i.e. it's better you starve and become homeless than they get the flu. How lovely.
These nutballs crack me up boasting how this crisis will cause an explosion of creativity with all the extra time people will have while dying. Hey, asshole, let's see you make funny TikTok videos with a gun pointed to your head. Entertain me, bitch! There's tone deaf then there's outright disconnect to reality. Forfeit your own food and fortune and then I'll listen to you. Otherwise, you'd be advised to pour yourself a good strong cup of STFU. But despite all these false silver lignings I keep hearing being espoused, there really could be one - a life changing one.
See, as this great Vox article points out, Nature ain't victimizing us, we're victimizing Nature. And until we stop it things will just get worse and worse and worse no matter how much money we print. Think about it. This is our wake up call. Ten years ago I wrote we're ignoring the tragedy we're weaving as we ignore the fires we've set that will one day burn us down. Welcome to the purification, pal.
Love is waiting on us, beseeching us, begging us, crying rivers of pain for us. As we destroy ourselves, the more we expose the lies upon which we based this wretched world we created. And dear hearts, God (won't) help you if ever say we've based it on love. We've built our lives - and our lies - around getting love because we know there's no other way. We know it, but we don't admit it. There still remains among us those who know and trust in the perfection of the nature that's been given us. It's the only way forward. Idealism is pragmatism.
Jesus done saved my soul and Trump did save my ass! Thanks you, Lord Jesus! And, hey, don't none of you illegals be callin' him "Hey Soos!" That just wrong as wrong can be. Him my savior, not you stinkin' immigrants. He done died for my sins! An' I tell ya one thing, I lookin' for lots others to die for my sins too. Just like that affluenza kid, them people he run over had to die for his sins because he was rich and they wasn't! Make ya feel powerful when folks die for ya!
My savior Trump know how to make all sorts of folk suffer his sins! Him doin' the Lord's work, him is! He be fixin' this country, makin' it safe for evil folks like me and mine to do our business. See, dummies, when someone make it safe for ya, he become the savior. Thanks the Lord for that! You hear how them ICE agents cagin' and rapin' and watchin' them filthy damn immigrants dyin'? HILARIOUS! We need more of that, not less like them fascists tryin' to be forcin' on us. Don't nobody want liberty no more?? Sometime I wonder what this world comin' to!
Lotsa bad folks out there attacking Jesus and Trump both. People like that ain't got a lick of sense! Shake my head and just gotta ask what the hell them folks thinkin'. Has they lost their everlovin' mind?? Here ya got these two tryin' to make everything better and there's people out there fighting that. CRAZY! Then they wonder why bad things happen to them cuz we gotta beat 'em down to stop they's bad behavior. YOU WILL NEVER STOP ME FIGHTING FOR TRUMP AND JESUS! Them losers got no principles but our side do. That why they never understand we ain't "changin' our mind" like I hear fools talk 'bout. We in it all the way, that just how the righteous roll.
Talkin' to a good military man other day and he was tellin' me all the enemies he been killin' for Jesus. Make ya right proud when ya hear that! We went on talkin' and decidin' which people need killin' or not. It good when you got enlightened folk discussin' events and how things need be and what all need done 'bout it. Us be like a community of wise men and saints settin' the world straight. Common sense ain't so common! Like Jesus said: love thy neighbor. That I does! And ain't none of my neighbors be libtards, spics, radical Muslims, or any of them other godless people that don't count.
Course, there is that radical librul on the corner, Goldberg. I hate that fucker. But Jesus would too.
If you morons would just wake the hell up an' smell the coffee we could fix this dang world! Ya got librul medias attacking our saviors with facts just to make them look bad! Just what in tarnation they hopin' to accomplish with THAT? Badmouthin' and tearing folks down don't help nothin' you twisted son-a-bitch asswipe motherfuckers. Try removin' the BEAM in your eye afore talkin' about the splinter in mine. These dang hypocrites just ruin it for everyone. OPEN YOU'S EYES!
There just one thing out there ya gotta get through your head, one thing true above all else: and that's there ain't no librul truth! Ya'll just makin' it up as you go along, jess sayin' stuff to suit ya-self accordin' to whatever come along. Now the Good Book don't say nothing 'bout believin' in facts, no sir. It say believin' in GAWD. That there what ya gotta trust, that God be like you. Ya wanna know what truth is, truth be what we good folk say it is. That what make me a man of faith!
Takura's misery was legendary even before his timely demise. A fixture in the seaside city of Ajiro, his sake-soaked days made him a pariah, loathed by both high and low. But his status as a samurai in 17th century Japan assured him certain privileges to where the only safe reaction was just to ignore him. And besides, he was scary.
The grotesqueness of Takura's life fascinated the children who spied upon him from peeping corners. No one knew exactly what was eating at him but the children's instincts told them he was different - and in ancient Japan, to be different was to feed an unspoken hunger in a nation who prides itself on its homogeneity. They couldn't take their eyes off him. But never did they learn of what drove him.
Before "The Event" - which permanently altered the course of his life - Takura was an esteemed samurai in the famed Hosokawa clan. He had no political ambitions - or any ambition at all, really - but was naturally gifted with a sword and in a meritocracy like Imperial Japan this carried considerable weight. He knew he wasn't the best in the land and had no desire to go forth and test his skill. But his Aikido losses could be counted on one hand and his reputation was a point of honor with the clan. Still, trouble was brewing from within.
While Takura recognized his own ability with a sword, that was something he was born with, not something he created. Though martial abilities were still esteemed, the age of war had passed and a feeling of drowning purposelessness sank Takura into a whirlpool of doom he felt he could not escape. He almost resented his continued success as a competitor because it failed to belie the inner turmoil he sequestered from an unforgiving world. The more he did what was expected, the more praise he received. The more praise he received, the more buried he felt. Where was hope to be found in the formalized structure that ruled his life with an iron grip?
Kyoko, his wife, was worshiped from afar by her husband. As a consequence of his position in the clan Takura was able to arrange her marriage to him and she blazed as a glittering star in his life. For a few short months he was on top of the world ("Look who I'm with!") before the Doubt started seeping in, slowly washing away the foundation of his trust. For while she gave him no cause for distrust - and never failed to openly reassure him of her actual happiness - the voice of Doubt could not be quelled. How exactly does being an Aikido expert make you worthy of love? What have you done in your life on your own? She will grow beyond you and leave you behind, an exposed fool to be mocked by the very clan that now exalts you.
That's what lead to The Event.
For a crime such as The Event the normal punishment would be death for an ordinary citizen. But not wanting to advertise the hideousness of one of its members, the clan leaders banished Takura for life, driving him to farthest parts of the island to live unknown. There Takura crawled into a sake bottle, never to return to the life he betrayed. Rumors abounded for his drunken behavior among the townspeople but Takura never cracked, the one clue he ever gave was his being "a widower." His self-loathing was obvious, but once in a drunken rage he displayed his skills, drawing his katana to deftly slice ornaments laid out for the upcoming Spring festival. And as samurai were placed at the pinnacle of the Japanese power structure, this town drunk was left to do as he pleased, not to be provoked.
Like a nearby volcano that lets out sporadic but continual streams of smoke, Takura's presence was given a leery look by his fellow citizens as they prayed he never explode. When Otokonoko came to town, however, they feared the worst.
Otokonoko arrived openly asking for the whereabouts of Takura. He'd spent eight long years in his painstaking search having long ago given up on discretion as an ally as frustration boiled over. Kyoko was his sister whom Takura had slain in a misguided fit of jealousy. Otokonoko, unlike the man he sought, overflowed with ambition and had been seeking his fortune in the new power center of Edo. Word never reached him of his sister's death until he returned to Ajiro two years later. In Edo, he was (rightly) seen as a lightweight, an obvious gold digger to the elites; his sort a dime a dozen. It was with his tail between his legs he returned home. Upon learning Kyoko's fate he vowed revenge loudly and publicly for all to see and hear. This would be how he would make his name.
Who can question how the stars align? As if by some miracle, Hisaka entered Takura's life. She needing to give, he needing to receive. He told her the only good thing in his life was that each day brought him one step closer to the grave. He refused seppuku so that he may live on in agony as he deserved. He explained, for the first time, he killed his wife for "cheating", only to later realize that was a fiction he'd concocted in his mind. A precious life was taken simply because of his own self-deception. What a monster. Having been forced to face what his life had truly made him, he could only look on in envy at the surrounding souls who lived in innocent desire while he burned in hell.
Though while unable to forgive himself, Hisaka did. Takura was too weak to refuse.
He would get fits of "moral" self-loathing, telling Hisaka to rid herself of his presence to better her life. But she was strong where he was weak. Takura didn't know what to make of this relationship but knew he needed it. Could he be trusted to nurture it? Would he take the final step to salvation?
Otokonoko entered the scene as if to answer that very question. Calling Takura out of the sake house for all to see, he demanded a duel at dawn in the woods in seven days to avenge his sister's death. The wait ostensibly allowed time for Takura to sober up and prepare so that the fight may be done with honor. But Takura would do no such thing. He spotted Otokonoko for what he was. As a veteran of so many sparring partners, Takura could spot the weak-minded a mile away. The challenge was refused. Compounding one killing with another was no answer. Idiot Otokonoko took this as a sign of weakness.
But during the seven day wait, lingering Doubt took hold as of old, whispering in the dead of night before dawn's deadline. There is evil in your arm! That evil killed Kyoko. Without your evil arm, none of this would have happened. She would be alive and you could lead an honest life. Do the right thing, for once!
Takura judged Nature had been wrong to let him live. The courage to trust himself never returned. He would make amends.
An hour before dawn, a messenger arrived. Otokonoko had taken Hisaka hostage, tying her to a tree at the duel site to ensure Takura's coming. This infuriated Takura who immediately decided to kill Otokonoko as he would a pestering fly. "His type do not deserve to live."
It was the best Takura had felt about himself since The Event. The clarity! He should live the rest of his life in this moment.
But do you deserve it? Do you ever deserve to feel good ever again? Was it not you who altered the course of Otokonoko's life that has led him to tying up Hisaka? You foul up everything! Who are you to decide anyone's fate?
By the time Takura got to the designated place, his mind was mush and his heart confused. Just what was the right thing to do? When he saw Otokonoko's red gloating face, the desire to kill him returned. But would that be moral?
"So the coward samurai shows up! I took your woman. Fight me, or I kill her like you did my sister, you drunken dog."
In combat, an unclear mind is the greatest hindrance. Takura's swirling mind needed to make a decision. Kill, or be killed. Neither seemed suitable. Then it came to him. He could easily manipulate the battle with this arrogant neophyte and then...
"Hahahaha! I did it! I sliced off your arm like the loser you are. My sister's ghost is watching and applauding. I shall stand here and watch you bleed to death. The gods are with me."
Takura had only one thing left to say as he blindly prayed to the gods that he'd at least partially made up for his past transgressions by shedding his talented limb. "Let her go. Let Hisaka go."
Hisaka screamed helplessly watching the maiming occur right before her eyes. She cried uncontrollably. But Otokonoko was full of himself as never before. His empty existence had meaning at last, a brave avenger of whom tales would be told. He'd go down in history. With the gods' wind at his back, he made a snap decision.
"And now, as final punishment for you slaying my innocent sister in cold blood, you shall watch as I kill someone you love in cold blood!"
Takura, who had deemed himself evil and let himself be convinced his helplessness would prevent further harm, realized too late the folly of that decision as he staggered futilely to stop the hellbent Otokonoko from slicing Hisaka in two. Seeing this insane, possessed figure commit this atrocity struck Takura that this must have of been how he looked committing his own atrocity. "If only I hadn't cowered in my own head..."
EPILOGUE: Otokonoko swaggered back to Ajiro expecting a hero's welcome for having rid the city of its most notorious nuisance. The response was muted. Seeing this bragging, loathsome creature made no one's heart sing and in fact his deed put Takura's time there in a whole new light. Otokonoko chalked it up to jealousy as he embarked on his expected victory tour upon return to his hometown where he would encounter no such baseless prejudice.
He never made it back. Believing he was more than he was, Otokonoko made another boastful challenge and was struck down by a laughing samurai as onlookers shook their head at the squandered life of a fool. With silence we plant seeds of tragedy, water it with miscommunication, and die from its poisoned fruit. So help me, God.
But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what time of night
the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into.
Of course, that doesn't apply if you're a Trumptard with no sense of self-preservation. There's no hope for those people as they will self-annihilate despite the best efforts of God and the Universe. Our fairy tales and willful thinking have come home to roost. Since we refused to end the insanity on our own, Nature is ending us instead. In a monetized viral-pandemic society, one is either pro-virus or pro-starvation/homelessness. It didn't have to be that way. Still doesn't.
But that's the (beginning of the) price we pay for holding onto our cold hard cash. Going to be a horrific ride on the way down as Nature has no ears for our clever political arguments nor time for coddling our precious lies we so solemnly honor. Yes, one does not have to believe the "truth will out" for it to happen. Sweet!
I went to survey the damage firsthand, wandering through downtown Dallas on a Friday afternoon that had only a drop of the usual torrent of traffic in both people and cars. In fact, the majority of those I did find walking about were the homeless and the already abandoned - whose ranks are about swell many fold.
God will not ask us why we didn't take care of each other, only if ("Well, you see, the socioeconomic conditions did not allow for wholesale handouts plus you just can't go around helping everyone until they prove they deserve it and..."). It's all garbage to God's ears.
Our insides beget the outside. Our personal hollowing leads to external hollowing. Casting out emotional lepers casts away also any chance of hope for us all.
At first we thought it was just another snake cult, but the movement to make incompetence holy and even desired has taken storm round the world as morons rejoice in their brief and flickering time of power in the twilight of what we've deemed civilization. Do not ask where has the love of God gone. Ask where we have gone.
There's no song in my heart to be sung. In winter, seeds are dormant, waiting for the time to sprout. But until that time, we won't know many seeds have made it through the wintry frost intact. Resist the urge to "fix" winter's cold and hold on for the Springtime of life to come. The longer winter lasts, though, the more the doubt Spring will ever come - but come it will.
Don't ask me how this ends because I don't know, will never know, and am not going to deal with it for the rest of my life. It is what it is - and what it is I don't know. That's just the way things are, can't be helped. Deal with it, get over it, move on. Any other stock phrases you might know for denial and running away, you can stick those in here too. So let it be written, so let it be done.
It happened. I don't know how, or her thought process, or maybe it was my imagination - it can't be! - or maybe there's a simple explanation I cannot fathom. All I know is that bitch can't be smarter than me. Nobody is!
I'm beyond pissed if she has won this war.
I cannot fight another battle. I am weaponless and exposed on the field of battle, a stricken body unable to move as her tank battalion storms my way in relentless inevitable victory. Waiting for it is worse than the actual dying.
Guess I might as well get this over with. Biscuit Lady winked at me.
Jesus goddam fucking Christ! She was supposed to avoid me at all costs. Our paths were never to cross again much less her give me a positive sign of anything. Hate me, you stupid moronic bitch. That's the agreement we made.
Shit, what a mind fuck. Actually, it was a wink and a direct smile. What does that mean? Did she see right through my manipulations? Did she sit around with her friends discussing the situation and come up with this clearly diabolical plan to fuck with my head. Maybe collectively they were able to deduce I had set her up.
Could it be I'm not as think as I smart I am?
She should have internalized my fooling her in a blanket of shame, which would have made it impossible to overcome with never seeing the light of day. But maybe that's just me painting my own idiocy onto others. Just burns my butt, though, to think she lives her life in a healthier way than I do. I need her to be an asshole. I can't tell you how much I'm gonna hate her if she doesn't justify my hate. I should sue her somehow.
Damn. Just damn.
I replayed the scene in my head over and over, just to make sure I didn't miss anything. Yes, it was certainly deliberate. She knows she can catch me that time of day at work because I have a fixed routine I cannot alter. Crap! What if she has more planned? Naturally, this happens on a Friday so I have all weekend to stew and mull on this like a cannibal's victim slowly lowered into a boiling pot.
Now she's got me dreading the sight of her.
Man, I hate being outwitted. I know she's not being honest. This is warfare, pure and simple. How can she possibly like me when even I don't? Much as I hate to say it, I do have to admit it's a brilliant move.
It's amazing how what we say sticks to us even when it's a blatant lie. Machiavelli, you ignorant slut. Words count even when we don't mean them. I made Biscuit Lady think I had feelings for her and she's playing off that as if I meant every word. I can't believe she trapped me like this. If I admit I was lying before then all those words lose their power plus she gets the moral high ground. And in battle, we all know the person with the high ground has the advantage!
I have to stare at these golden yuppies all day every day at work as I clean up after them. Having the freedom of keeping my own mind is supposed to give me a leg up on those corporatized cunts. I hear snippets of conversation where I listen to them weave themselves into knots from which they can never escape. I understand it. Poverty is also a knot you cannot escape so they are choosing the better poison in their minds. My payoffs are strictly intangible (like a free blog!).
So to have one of them outplay me - even if it was a team effort as I'm going to ascribe it to - just galls the hell out of me. Means she has the best of both worlds: wealth and a brain. I don't know how I can recover from this. Maybe I should just accept defeat and realize she's going to get away with calling me stinky in public. I hate this fucking world, I really do.
[In a world swallowed by crisis, it dawned on Bond a word was missing from that phrase. It should read perpetual crisis. He'd seen enough, he'd had enough. Who would save him?]
Repressed much, Mr. Bombed?
"Does being a secret agent mean you have to keep your feelings secret?"
The thought has popped into Bond's head with irrefutable fury, a vexing thorn in the night. It was as if he'd awoken from a light slumber, aware but not fully realizing his situation: Bond had been living a lie for most of his life. He had bought into his own myth. Perhaps this recent revelation started with that infernal department psychologist (Bond really had no time for the self-doubting 12st century) who asked him: "What would you do with your life if there were no 'bad guys' left in the world?"
He tried to be glib saying there "would never be a shortage of that kind!" But the prying woman had torn the lid off a festering issue 007 had never wanted to face, one he had smothered with women, drink, and adrenaline. Like a slipping disk in the spine, his soul had fractured over the years making it harder and harder for him to do his job. And it is his job he uses as a refuge from the inadequacies of his personal life.
With its always impeccable timing, the universe had arranged for the assignment Bond hated most: cold blooded assassination. Also as always, the man's file read like a demon's resume. But the idea of "winning through attrition" had become stale and untenable to 007. This gave him a scare like no other in his life; a creeping, gnawing fear that cannot be wished away or escaped. Had his life been a fraud?
James Bond reflected on such while viewing the moody sunset outside his high-rise lair.
Though while wearing one himself, Bond in a recent casual conversation on the state of the world remarked, "We should just kill everyone in a suit. All the trouble starts with those fellows." It was an unsophisticated comment, taken out of context of his true thinking, but James on occasion liked to shock and there was a certain truth to what he had said even without qualification. In other words, he knew only the guilty would take offense and it gave him great pleasure to observe those who squirmed at the statement and those who did not. Sidney Reilly got nothing on this boy, Bond mused to himself.
The impermanence of his luxury flat decorated with only the finest items suited Bond to a T. He bought not for status but for competence - the only true currency in 007's world. The fact that elite competence often comes with a high price made no matter. Bond did not keep up with technology but relied on those who did to keep him current with the latest home gadgets. As always with Bond, his endeavors were a team effort. But as he looked on his half-empty Crystal Skull vodka he knew he was on his own on the mission of life. One is always alone at the end of the day.
The assassination mission had been refused. 007 stood in disgrace. It was the first time he'd truly done something for himself. Serving queen and country can only be a temporary thing. The furious backlash he received surprised him. Hadn't his years of service counted for anything? He saw hurt and betrayal in his superiors' eyes as they flooded him with stern invective and pleading logic. Bond wasn't just saying no to this particular mission, but to the whole idea they had the right to order him around. Rejecting that had truly ripped the masks off their faces once and for all.
Who in their right mind would kill on orders from a moronic freak like this??
"No one's smart enough to tell me whom I should or should not kill."
So James did what he always did and got good and bombed on Vodka. This was no mere port in a storm as usual, though, but rather a wall between him and the world. In his drunken fog, he could not refuse the clarity that had been knocking at his door for so many years: his career as a secret agent ended with his marriage to Emily. She challenged him with intelligence in ways no one else on the planet could.When confronting his criminal opponents, Bond would often smirk to himself as he imagined Emily's assessment of the redoubtable personal failings that had driven the criminal to his loser's fate. World leaders were also not spared: "Putin would rather face a firing squad than an actual woman."
Emily kept Bond alive in ways no government agency could ever hope to. He always joked that even if he hadn't married her he'd still need her in his life and whatever woman he did marry would just have to understand. But while Emily was the least demanding soul he'd ever come across, living up to her proved more than he could bear. The growing chasm in their relationship brought ruination to his heart. With gallows humor he commented on his failed relationship to his buddies, "I can't go off and join the bloody Foreign Legion - I'm already there." His inability to grow had shackled him as he watched her sail away to places he could never reach (though she had concerns the frozen Bond did not see).
Ten years of underlying disintegration had to come to a head, Bond had been slowly dying. He hoped Emily would be proud to see him now, breaking free at last. But what could he really do with his life? Is it too late? Emily was an acclaimed writer - a career not requiring the presence of evil in the world. To do something that emanated from the inside - that he had no desire to face, ever, under any circumstance or under any penalty. That was one line he would not cross, one he'd -
"Dammit, stop!"
The alcohol, the pain, the isolation had driven Bond home. Being an ex-00 agent wasn't the end of the world. It was the beginning. Facing into the bottom of his glass, Bond saw his reflection for the first time. It occurred to him that perhaps he had shortchanged himself. He'd driven himself to relentless excellence in his chosen line of work - the best in the world. But the world remained the same criminal enterprise it had always been and had never pulled its weight in the bargain of 007 risking life and limb to save it.
Dear world, looks like we both need to grow the hell up.
EPILOGUE: In three months Bond was dead of a heart attack while passed out drunk. MI6 made no announcement as even the threat of Bond still had its uses. The secret burial was unattended. After a lifetime of repression, a fractured Bond could not break free to express himself - a horrid fate for one so full of feeling. Playing the role of the satisfied retired English gentleman (to the hilt, as in all things) may have fooled the world but not his broken dreams. He passed away at 56, same age as another Englishman he admired: Ian Fleming.
"Dat shit ain't happening to me." Yeah, Igor, we know. We've heard it all before: we don't reap what we sow. Fairy tales rule the day. Though not realized yet, this century is our Day Of Reckoning. We pray for corn while having planted cotton. But as the seeds of our past come to fruition, we're forced to eat the bad fruit they bear. For that, we will receive no sympathy nor relief from our Maker. We were warned and not only ignored that warning but ridiculed it and called it ungodly. Oh, my.
As Pharaoh of old, we will endure many plagues of many varieties meant to soften our hard hearts. Those who say they will have to pry the money system from their cold dead hands will have exactly that happen. Our current plague is a literal virus but others are rising from our poisoned soil of lies to test our fealty to Truth. Each country's suffering will be determined by how hard it clings to its lies. Doesn't bode well for America! Babble on, Babylon! See where your politics gets you with Nature.
Why is it I almost never hear "get healthier" as a solution to the Carona virus? It's all "Go hide in a cave until it goes away!" Literally. And of course, the ones proponing that are the ones who also refuse to suffer that. They just selfishly want others to go away so they themselves won't catch ill. How sweet! How "socially responsible"! There's just no bottom to the insanity. We are headed in the wrong direction and things won't get better until we change course. And what's truly horrific about a stupid and stubborn people is that we keep making incompetent decisions as "proof" that it's OK to do so!
So I ask: How many days of reckoning will there be?
It's waay too early to tell, of course, but boy do I have my hopes up for the Corona virus. All possible outcomes (except for its disappearance) benefit me greatly! If it kills me, that solves more problems than anything else. If it causes widespread panic that would be vastly entertaining watching 'Merica crumble under the weight of its own fear and guilt. President Retard would be booted out and all the lamers would be hiding in their houses as I walk free and easy whenever and wherever I want. My job gets much much easier to boot with the reduced foot traffic. God, it would be glorious!
Naturally, I'm trying to stoke the embers of fear and panic as much as possible. Saw a survey that said 30% of the population believes Corona beer is linked to Corona virus. There's hay to be made there! I'm starting a rumor that evil infected libtards are going to Trump's Nuremberg rallies just to infect his supporters. Since no doubt 100% of the low-informed 30% who think it's related to beer are Trumptards, this will put them in a wholesale panic because this is precisely the kind of garbage they base their lives on.
What's even more ironically perfect is that everything the Retard administration is doing to prevent panic will increase it in the end! Once it's perceived that reality has trumped the Orange Nigger's dishonesty and suppression of facts the backlash will swing way out of proportion to the threat. No one will know what to believe so they will gravitate towards believing the worst. Hilarious! Go, virus, go!
Now, I know what the simple-minded and political among you will think when reading these words. And you can go fuck yourself. God gave you a brain: USE it! Nature is having Her say and that's never a bad thing for setting us back on the right track. There's always a price to pay for ignoring or distorting or denying the truth. Longer this goes on, the more people will get burned. See if you can vote your way out of that!
The gods are angry with me, flinging yet another nemesis into my life to inflict torture and agony upon my precious being that God so highly values. What did I do to deserve this? God only knows - and that fucker ain't talking. So I just have to deal with the never-ending flow of shit as it comes. At some point I'm just going to drown. Death by shit.
Not that I'm bitter.
So for whatever reason Biscuit Lady has entered the rhythms of my existence - patterns I cannot alter due to my economic needs. I am stuck as any Jew in a concentration camp. I can try and flee but I have nowhere to go but die in the forest from starvation and exposure. And this bitch's path now crosses mine on a daily basis - during the week anyway. I tried avoidance tactics but I don't want to waste any more life than I have to at the godforsaken shithole where I labor nor can I (literally) afford to be late. So every morning there she is in plain site - I as an antelope spotting a cougar in the wild. I had to do something.
Yes, it's painful to even type this. We work in the same building. Or rather, I work at it and she works in it as I only clean it for a contracted janitorial company. She works for a legal firm on seventh floor. I feel crucified by fate. So taking my cue from Lethal Weapon, when God hates you, hate him back.
Yesterday, my fellow never-have-been's, never-will-be's, and other assorted never-do-wells asked me my solution to this most prickly of problems. How does the antelope defeat the predator?
"I blocked her."
"Blocked her? Blocker her how? You don't have her phone number!"
"No, I blocked her better than that."
"You so full of shit! You don't even know her name! How you gonna block her anywhere? That bitch can have your job anytime she wants."
"I hope she knows how to use a dust mop then."
"You know what I mean..."
"Yes, that's why I blocked her. She now avoids me at all costs of her own free will. She will crawl naked on glass to keep me out of her life. She will not mention me to anyone at anytime nor ever acknowledge my existence even alone in the dead of night. It is total and complete."
If they're smiling, you know they don't do it for a living.
"Jesus, Harry, what did you do to that woman? Kill her cat?"
"No, but by the look on her face you'd thought I had. And don't call me 'Jesus Harry'."
"You idiot. I don't believe you did anything. You too much a coward."
"Being a coward is what forces me to act."
"Then tell me exactly what you did, no bullshit."
"OK. I told her I loved her."
"Hahaha! Oh, no you didn't!"
"Yup. Her whole jaw dropped. When she couldn't speak, I dropped the bomb on her."
"Gotta hear this."
"I told her I wanted to whisper my secret dreams in her ear."
"That crazy stuff!"
"Yuppers. That's when she had the look like I just shot her dog."
"She had to say something."
"She was all tied up then she looks down and says: 'I'm sorry, I can't help you.' Then she got the hell out of dodge."
"How did you know that would even work?"
"Experience. For one thing, I made sure not say I was in love with her. She could have seen through that. I just let her interpret it however she wanted which is always the worst way possible with women."
"Man, you nuts."
"Not like I asked to be in this situation!! What are the odds she's in the library same day I am?? Whole thing is nuts. I had to do something to get her out of my life or she might of found out something really awful."
Then, in what must have been a moment of true madness, I launched the remaining two bites of my treasured bacon and egg McMuffin at my blonde enemy. Looking back, I have wondered what kind of scene that made had I been an impartial third party observer. Not a pretty sight, I'm sure. But the bitch got under my skin, reminding me of everything I'm not.
I have many triggering subjects, one the most sensitive being asking me what I do for a living. I don't do anything for a living! I do for money, only. Yes, it's a motherfreaking nightmare I don't expect you simple sots to understand. Your lack of understanding does not alleviate my suffering, however. I truly wish and pray for the death of this planet each and every day and it is my most fervent hope and desire. Old Testament scripture on the fall of Babylon is a joy for me to read.
Blondie has it made in this world but perhaps she knows deep down that it's really a lie, after all. But for the likes of her, everything breaks her way because she's invested in the status quo everyone wants to keep going. Still, chunking my tasty McMuffin definitely was a case of spiting my face by cutting off my nose. I knew, but I still couldn't stop it. I just had to drive her away any way I could - or so I thought at the time.
Food of the gods!
Just to be clear, I almost never buy fast food. It's a poor way of spending my food budget no matter how many delicious Whoppers are out there calling my name. I do succumb to the siren song on occasion but I'm beat down with waves of guilt. March 2, however, is National Egg McMuffin Day and you can get a FREE one that morning. I was a happy boy when I heard the news even though deep inside something (rightly) told me it was too good to be true. Never crossed my mind I'd be the one to destroy it but God is an inventive fucker when it comes to sabotage.
Also, like I said, Blondie has the world at her feet, getting all the breaks, so when I started publicly berating her on that downtown street corner, a cop comes to rescue her from the smelly old homeless dude who's ruining life for everyone with his mere existence. Next thing I know I'm sitting in the back seat of a squad car (though not hauled in, luckily) getting a talking to until Blondie is safely out of the picture. For the life of me, I was not able to explain my motivations. I stammered God knows what and tried to sound sorry even though not a particle of my being actually was. Damn, what a shitty morning, and I'd been looking forward to that egg McMuffin all week. I just want to die.
EARLIER THAT MORNING:
It was bone cold, frostbite nipping at my heels. I was one of the first ones in the J Erik Jonsson library here in downtown Dallas. I settled into what I thought was a safe spot out of the way as I warmed up and reflected on my state of the union - as is cursed to happen when I can no longer deny my misery. The weight of the heavy sorrow of a life not lived descended on me as I opened myself up to the scrutiny of Heaven. I came up wanting - again. My health is declining and I feel this is the last calendar year of my presence. I can tell no one.
There's tired and then there's eroding. What's eroded does not come back. I can't stop coughing and sanctuary is nowhere to be found. The work I do is as all work: boring, humiliating, and soul crushing. One can only "endure" for so long. I do not judge the criminals among us who are so to survive. The world itself is a criminal enterprise. But I never gave life a fair chance. With love, truly anything is possible. Without it, there's only despair and futility. Love, though, is beyond my reach, hidden among the twinkling stars. I live wrapped in a blanket of shame and that's feeble protection on the mean streets of poverty.
I did manage to scrape up an inner smile in my gallows humor of the morn. I heard the story of a guy who claimed he had Caronavirus when he got arrested causing five Dallas cops to be quarantined. Hilarious! Maybe I could put my coughing to use as a weapon against the popo, I figured. (No, I had neither the presence of mind nor the nerve to do that when I actually did have my encounter later that morning.) I was actually a little proud of myself at being able to find a grin in my sea of gloom. Then princess Blondie shows up right on cue.
I hear an "Oh, my God!" under her breath as she walks by and I had the usual self-debate if that was referring to me or not. Lordy, with the constant flow of shit in the world I never find time for myself. Just my luck Blondie had business in the remote corner that I picked but these encounters seem to be preordained. I decided to ride out the storm giving no clue as to my inner turmoil and let her pass out of my life. But she wasn't having it.
Carrying her reference book on her way back past me, she snidely remarks with heaping disdain without looking at me or breaking her stride: "What do you, stink for a living?"
As always in these situations, I looked around to see if anyone had noticed her or me. No one had - not even God. Sometimes I struggle keeping up appearances and I do let myself go more than I want but I just don't have the energy to do otherwise. Apparently, this was one of those times. The whole of my soul looked to escape and slink out the building as unnoticed as possible. That familiar sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach has to be hidden at all costs, seeking refuge to lick my wounds. But she really ticked me off.
Blondie was the living stereotype of an insulated yuppie ensconced in her let-them-eat-cake BMW paradise curiously musing why everyone isn't as successful as she is but no doubt it's because they don't have the guts or work ethic she does. She had blessed herself divine, case closed. Ergo, I must be worthless scum invading her blessed domain, case closed. But on my way out, I just had to reopen it.
"Hey, lady, want to smell my armpit?"
"Fuck you," came the swift and immediate reply; no remorse, no hesitation, no compunction.
I did dare to scrutinize her face as I continued my fearful exit and the cross look on her face truly gave me a moment of pleasure. Didn't have to wonder who pissed in her Cheerios! I think I actually cracked a smile at her which really incensed the princess - as I was to find out. Back outside, I hesitated, trying to remember an important item. Oh, yeah! Free egg McMuffin day! I would use that to cheer me up then later on go through the monumental chore of getting myself pristine and presentable so no more Blondies could attack me.
"That's him, over there," I heard her voice behind me, pointing me out to a security guard. I took off running, rounding the corner quick as I could to put them off the scent.
Safe in a back alley, my chest was heaving. I wanted to cry but I know there's no room for tears on the streets. In emergency mode, I decided to bluff my way into a hotel lobby and make my way to the always nice public restroom and clean myself up best I could. I was filled with paranoia I'd run into the same derision at McDonald's if I didn't get clean. I felt the whole world was against me so I wasn't going leave anything to chance.
Walking out of the McDonalds I was relieved as hell as I was not singled out as someone who did not deserve a free McMuffin. Victory tasted sweet! But to my horror who do I see but Blondie! She stops, recognizing me while talking on her phone - no doubt telling her snooty friends about our encounter. Then, phone still up to her ear, she unbelievably waves at me and shouts, "Hey, stinky!" My street brethren and various wanderers from the nearby Greyhound station take giggling pleasure in my public disgracing. Blondie turns her back on me and crosses the street. Vexed to the core I follow and, well, you know the rest.
It's been a couple of days with time to reflect. Truth be told I wanted Blondie in all her shallow chic. I want to be an entitled arrogant asshole strutting my way through the shit show of this world. Fuck! I hate always losing. Now I'm left only with another impossible prayer as a solution: Dear McDonalds, please have another free egg McMuffin day. I promise not to fuck it up this time.
