![I Believe… [Trump is Us. Own It.]](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/579fa3912994ca0eff850271/1518380552559-HOD1FBL4F6GGOMKZ2BKA/ibelieve....jpg)
I Believe… [Trump is Us. Own It.]
…that anyone who uses social media to insult, shame, name call, posture and overtly self-promote is in no position to castigate Trump for it because you are playing from the exact same playbook as our Idiot Savant President. The biggest tragedy of the 2016 Election is that we finally elected someone just like us.
For The Broken Hearted: A Post-Holiday Advisory
A significant chunk of my emotional power, my passionate heart had been all tied up with these feelings for this woman for close to a decade. Finding some sort of closure helped me to finally release her. This opened a tremendous amount of room in my heart for new love to be born.
We Hate Our Jobs | Why Americans Are So Pissy
There is a sense of frustration and despair in the faces I see across tables in cafes and restaurants. A feeling of just keeping heads slightly above the encroaching tide. I believe that this sort of non-stop anxiety is incredibly unhealthy. I believe that swimming in it is a choice. As Sam Harris likes to say "Reframe." And as I like to say, "If you hate spending eight hours a day doing something that causes you to feel small or stupid or worthless, get the fuck outta there, bub!"
In the end, work is work. You sacrifice a piece of yourself to make enough dough to live. The question is how much of yourself do you give and for what return?
The True and Unbending Stink of Destiny
The Romans, I'm guessing, probably thought that all of history up to that point had led to their ascension. It's likely that they could not see past their own dominance of the known world at the time to comprehend the idea that their empire had an inevitable shelf life. Like the jellyfish in Quinn's tale, the average Roman citizen couldn't see past the "lip of the vast bowl that holds the sea."
I'd hazard a guess that the Aztecs were no precognitive than the Romans. Neither were the Greeks. The Han Dynasty? Nope.
Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of February 11, 2018
• Every time I meet with a recruiter, I feel as if they’re sizing me up for how they can best exploit my talent for their financial gain. The next time I meet with one, I’m going to blast out a sonic-rattling fart then let its heat and stench consume the oxygen in the room before breaking the tension with, “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
Natural Causes — Part III
The visitor’s eyebrows arched at the sound of his name and he entered the room. He took Mary’s hand from C, then turned his head upwards exhaling blue smoke to the ceiling. And with great fanfare Massimo kissed her hand, precisely on the wedding ring she still wore.
American Shithole #4 — What Treasures Await Within The Failure Box?
“Mom, can I have more shelf-stable milk?”
“Now Timmy, you know you have already had your governmentally allotted granules of dehydrated, dairy product! You know the billionaire class needs every cent the rest of us can spare, for really important reasons, like they want it. Now help your sister open the meat.
“Aww, mom! But I need strength in my bones for the Trump Parade!
Well, now that the Trump parade is every second Thursday of the month, I guess you’re right, son!”
For Those Who Pray: God Doesn’t Care and Neither Do You
In heaven, the man meets God and asks him, “God, why didn’t you save me from the storm? I prayed and prayed that you would.”
God replies, “You fucking idiot. There were the news warnings, the car, the boat, the helicopter. You had every opportunity to be saved. What more did you want?”
The Minutes of Our Last Meeting - White House Valentine's Day Emergency Meeting
"I’ve been so busy lately. I got up to page five on that memo from the democrats. I vetoed it because it was so boring. Someone needs to tell the democrats to use more graphs. I like wheels."
The Evolution of a Holiday: From Executing a Priest to Being Terrified of Sex
Obviously, no one sends a greeting card to honor the martyrdom of some dude who was interrogated (and likely tortured - it was Rome and he was a Christian priest) and killed (probably in some really grotesque and humiliating fashion - again, Rome). I'm not sure it would do to have children in elementary schools cutting out construction paper implements of torture or crayon drawings of a cat being stoned to death.
Don't Give Me a Hard Time About Condoms and Other Pickup One-Night Stand Caveats
There are certain things you shouldn't do without asking first or negotiating beforehand. And you shouldn't get all pissy if you're denied. These include, but are not limited to, the following:
- pissing on my face
- ass to vagina or ass to mouth
- verbal abuse (Though the usual dirty talk is okay and even preferred)
- anything that breaks or significantly marks the skin (Although, I get a kick out of having to cover hickeys with concealer before I go to work the next day. Makes me feel like a teenager.)
![I Believe… [Age is Just a Number That Means You're Old]](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/579fa3912994ca0eff850271/1517972232036-U7UR7YGBEVXOWJLLU6MS/ibelieve....jpg)
I Believe… [Age is Just a Number That Means You're Old]
…that when you say "Age is just a number" my feet and lower back wanna sock you repeatedly in the junk until you acknowledge that age is decay and decay is the ever approaching sound of mortality. Maybe lose the "just." "Age is a number" is more true and less damning of the fact I'm wearing bifocals.
Let's Not Have a Military Parade, Let's Have a Military Blowout
If Trump wants to wave his military around like a child showing you the thumb nail-size booger he just dug out of his nose, Trump should do what America has always done: Have an airshow.
You go to all the landlocked airfields across this Great Nation and you bring in the tanks and the jeeps and the bombers and the fighters and you load them up with blanks and pyrotechnics and you press play. The swooping and booming and bursting will thrill We the People and show the world that we’ve got the hardware and funnel cake stands.
Life After Hate
It starts as acceptance for someone who has felt alone and has never felt part of something greater than themselves. Someone who’s never felt a part of their family, their school community, society at large, well this is a person at their most vulnerable. And there are a great many individuals out there that feel this way right now as you are reading this. Acceptance into a group, no matter how hateful or backwards their ideologies may seem, is still being accepted. And if it’s for the first time, the euphoria is as powerful as any drug and ten times more addictive.
If You Have No Home for Hate, You Have No Home for Love Either
Try to expel hate, and it will wander, scavenging for scraps, surviving by any means necessary, wounds festering, world-weariness feeding a determination that has become destiny, identity, a crutch to lean upon while staggering on, surrounded by chaos.
Notes from the Post-It Wall — Week of February 4, 2018
• There is no guarantee or promise that your children or parents will love you. There is no such thing as unconditional love. If you love your asshole dad or child, the condition is that they are your dad or kid and there’s a natural bond. But a bond doesn’t determine love.
Why "Three Billboards…" is a Far Better Film Than You Thought it Was
Written by Martin McDonagh (a playwright and screenwriter known for dark satires like The Cripple of Inishmaan, The Pillowman, and films like In Bruges and Seven Psychopaths) Three Billboards… eschews the easy answers of a Good vs. Evil narrative and presents a comic tale of complicated humans doing complicated things for complicated reasons. Of course, it's "problematic."
American Shithole #3 — Partisans of Liberty
In honor of the late, great Ursula K. LeGuin, I present a bit of science fiction in lieu of the daily political grind, or perhaps this would qualify as high fantasy.
Crashing a Gig in a Small Supper Club
By now the piano player hates the trumpeter. The stage has become a hostile environment. Soon it will be time to wake up the bass player. I just want to get off the stage. It's my turn again. We are just about to wrap up my song and people start screaming.
The Minutes of Our Last Meeting - The PepsiCo Lady-Friendly Foods Initiative
Burritos can be very messy. No lady wants to get refried beans on her delicate blouse. We are pitching to Taco Bell...The Femito. It’s a burrito with a straw.
If you’re not feeling the Holiday Spirit, turn on Elvis’ Christmas album. That’ll do the trick. Every time. Guaranteed. Try it. You’ll thank me. You’ll thank me very much.