Goodbye, Mom

After a long and emotionally grueling two-and-a-half weeks, my family and I said our final goodbyes to my mom today. Long-time blog readers will remember the aggravation and comedy gold Mom gave me. Man, I wish I could spar with her some more.

(Above is my mom with her kazillion granddaughters.)

I'm not going to get maudlin. I'm definitely not going to describe the last emotionally crushing and exhausting weeks my brother and I experienced. Instead, let's celebrate this wonderful, stubborn, beautiful, frustrating, one-of-a-kind mother. 

Mom lived a full life on her own terms; stubbornly so. She was fond of saying, “I know what I know” and “I know I’m right.” Of course, she hailed from Missouri, the “Show Me State,” and wore that state cliche tightly like a snug turtleneck. She disagreed with my brothers and I on everything from politics to washing machines (don't ask), but did so with a mischievous sense of humor. And no matter how heated our ridiculous debates got, she’d always end the conversation with love.

What an amazing woman. When her husband--my dad--was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, she took her wedding vows literally. Like a warrior, she cared for Dad the rest of his life. She saw him through medical crises, job changes, and numerous life alterations. But she never once failed to pick him up from work on time and heft that heavy wheelchair into the car's trunk. Throughout these trials, they adapted and never stopped loving one another.

Miraculously, she also managed to raise three boys, a task not for the faint of heart. I mean, one daughter nearly did me in.

A master of multi-tasking, Mom also worked in real estate and hauled her sons everywhere, from grocery stores to school to auto shops and the dreaded fabric stores, where my younger brother and I remember spending endless, boring hours. I'm talking hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and...

(Deep breath)...hours and hours and days.

And more hours and hours and hours.

And hours.

An amusing funeral anecdote (because they're sooooooo popular): after relating the fabric shop trauma in a speech I gave at Mom's memorial, one of the funeral directors who oversaw the proceedings came up to me afterward, nudged me, and said, "What you said about fabric stores? Man, that really brought memories back for me. I spent endless days with my mom in those, too."

I said, "really?"

"Yeah."

"It was almost like I spent my childhood there," I said. "It was brutal."

He just shook his head, lowered his eyelids as if experiencing PTSD. I agreed with a solemn nod. Had the pandemic not deterred it, I think a brothers-in-arms hug would've been appropriate.

Anyway, once we three sons had flown the coop, my parents enjoyed vacationing in Florida. They spent many winters there, joining the unofficial “snow birds” community. After my dad’s passing, Mom chose not to sit still and continued her yearly sojourns down south. There, she renewed her passion for dancing (something she enjoyed with my dad in their early days). She turned many an eye on the dance floor with numerous suitors, but none of them could keep up with her. In every sense possible.

One of my mom's biggest joys was her grandchildren.  She taught her granddaughters the art of cooking, made them Halloween costumes (she made my daughter a Sailor Moon costume! The accumulated months in fabric stores clearly paid off.), took them on adventures, and shared her big world with them.  And always with a wonderful, self-deprecating sense of sly humor which all of “Nana’s girls” have inherited. Every grandchild loved spending time with her. A true testament to her loving power.

A caring, generous of soul person, Mom lived her life as a Christian, treating everyone with respect and compassion.

But I'm trying not to mourn, because I believe Mom’s happy. Whatever kind of afterlife there is, I choose to believe she's in a wondrous dance hall meeting up once again with my dad (a venue where they met in the first place many years ago), he dapper in his 40’s movie star style handsomeness, where they’re dancing eternity away to some crazy big band song.

I miss you and love you, Mom.

Good Ol'-Fashioned Holiday...ah, never mind...

With the holidays upon us, tradition means a lot to our friends and families. Unless you're stuck in 2020, of course, where most traditions such as family gatherings are thrown under the bus (for good reason).

But even with daunting obstacles in our path, the world is still finding variations on the old holiday traditions by masking, distancing, and going Zoom crazy (not to mention drinking, internet spending gone wild, and the outta control growth of facial hair). 

I say, let the merriment continue! Sing carols to each other via Zoom (frankly I'd prefer that over the excruciatingly uncomfortable visit upon my doorstep)! Reach out to friends and family and that guy who bullied you in eighth grade and let them know you're thinking of them...well, maybe not the bully; if you told him what you're thinking, it could very well start a new round of bullying.

One of our newest traditions is a very Christmas decorated bathroom. Shower curtain, towels, soap dispenser, other stuff. My daughter named it "Santa's Bathroom," clearly the place where Santa delivers his, um, gifts.

The important thing is, no matter what your holiday traditions are, do carry on. Find safe alternatives, but keep the spirit of the holidays healthy. Keep hope alive.

I gotta say, though, some traditions are probably better off buried.

These days, office holiday parties end up in mandatory diversity and/or sexual harassment training seminars, so cut it out. "Elf On a Shelf" is pure big business hokum mass-manufactured to give children Christmas nightmares. The song, Baby, It's Cold Outside? No. We don't need creepy, date-rape holiday music. Tinsel's probably about as healthy as bathing in fiberglass. Yard inflatables? Let's stick a pin in the damned monstrosities and turn them into wiggly windy guys found in car lots. I could go on, but I won't...

Wait. I think I will. Has anyone ever tried "figgy pudding," let alone know what it is? Furthermore, why is the singer so damned demanding? (Okay, hold on, now I'm curious. Well, figgy pudding sounds a lot like a kind of fruitcake. We can do without that, too.)

Some holiday traditions you can't kill with a hand grenade. They come back more times than Jason or Freddy or Michael. A lot of my past family gatherings usually resulted in some racist remarks. Granted, the guilty parties have tempered it in recent times, utilizing a kinder, softer sort of racism...wait, scratch that. There is no such qualification. But no matter how much I'd tried to stomp the racism out, it somehow kept sneaking back in around the holidays. Time of the year, I guess. Or more likely, the only time during the year I'd see some family members.

That tradition's not going to happen this year, though. On the 25th, it's just my wife and I. And it feels like our first Christmas together in a weird way. No stress, no travel, no awkward political conversations, no racism, no family discomfort! 

Now, bring me some of that damn figgy pudding. Don't make me say it again!

Happy holidays, everyone! Stay safe.

And speaking of the "horror-days," I would encourage everyone  to check out Grinning Skull Press' annual Deathlehem series, seven books containing all the Christmas horror tales you'd ever want stuffed in your stocking. Not only are these tomes chock-full of great prose, but all proceeds go the worthy Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation. I'm particularly fond of The Shadow over Deathlehem (which contains a stellar story by a certain writer who's too damn humble to mention himself by name).

 

Baffled in the Hardware Store

I've never liked hardware stores. First of all, I know nothing about tools. I leave that to my wife. Second, they carry that very unpleasant aroma that's a mix between lawn chemicals, oil, and man-sweat (whereas, women don't sweat, they *glisten*.). 

In fact, hardware stores are my third least favorite kind of store, right behind tire vendors (with the always present smell of rubber, anti-sterile appearance, and coffee that'll send you hurtling to the bathroom), and fabric stores. (Why fabric stores? My mom used to drag my brother and I to those when we were kids. For hours! Nothing to do in there but hide behind the multiple rolls of fabric until the crotchety ol' lady assistant manager would yell at us to get out.).

So, it was to my surprise, when my wife told me, "While you're out, I need you to go to the hardware store."

I looked around to see if anyone else was in the room. "You're kidding, right? Remember, I'm the guy who spent 45 minutes wandering around one of those super hardware stores looking for ant bait."

"That's because you won't ask for help."

"Well...yeah, but..." My argument trailed off, simply because I didn't have one. Since the days of cavemen, guys don't ask for assistance. I don't make the stupid rules, it just is.

"Get over it," she said. "And go get a baffle."

"A baffle? What the hell's a baffle?"

"It's that round, rubbery thing that fits into the garbage disposal hole." She dragged me to the sink and pointed it out. 

"But...but, why is it called a 'baffle'?"

"I dunno. I thought it was weird, too, but that's what it's called when I looked it up."

Fully (un)armed with knowledge, I set out on my "baffle" quest.

First stop was the local Mom 'n Pop hardware store (I always try to support the small, non-chain places whenever possible). I'd been in there before and it's usually well-kept. But this time it was in total disarray. The pegboard shelving units were near barren, pointless, and pushed out of the way. In their place sat an army of at least one hundred battered lawnmowers covering the floor. There was no room to walk beyond the door.

I saw no one and waited. Finally, this Stephen King-looking, hunched over, very tall guy ambled toward me, deftly maneuvering through the obstacle course despite horrible posture. And maskless. Immediately I wanted out of there.

"Help you?" He wiped his hands with a filthy red rag, just like in the horror movies.

I knew he wouldn't have what I was looking for, so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "Do you work on mowers?" Stupid, I know, but I had to say something.

He nodded.

"Well, my mower, ah, it's acting funny."

"Does it mow?" he asked.

"Kinda."

"Then I'd go home and mow. Cain't get no parts in nowadays. Could be a good minute."

I fled outta there straight to the mazes and endless aisles of Super-Store Lowe's.

After wandering in a helpless stupor--every part, gizmo, what's-it, tool, and frick-n-frack began to insidiously meld together--I finally bit the bullet.

I stood next to a red-vested kid for minutes until forced to clear my throat. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah," he said, barely acknowledging my existence.

"I, um, I need a baffle for my garbage disposal."

Finally, he looked up and gave me one of those looks like I had toilet paper trailing on my shoe-heel. "A what?"

"A baffle for the garbage disposal."

He shook his head, face scrunched up quizzically.

Then I remembered my wife's description. "It's that round, rubbery thing that fits into the garbage disposal hole."

Light bulbs lit up above this dim-bulb kid's stylish hair-style. "Ah! They're over here..."

That's when it hit me. The true meaning of why a "baffle" is thusly named: because it baffles the hell outta everyone.

Hey! For a truly mystifying, mysterious, spooky, and, yes, baffling ghost story, come visit beautiful Gannaway, Kansas. Just not at night, if you know what I mean, and I think you do. That would be Ghosts of Gannaway, available at Amazon and other fine website establishments everywhere. 

The Monolith Martians

I would like to formally give the alien species behind the suddenly appearing and disappearing monoliths my most gracious thanks for giving us something to talk about other than the pandemic and Trump. So...thank you, lil' green men! (Of course if these monoliths are an early precursor to a world take-over, than I retract my thanks and say, "Don't forget to wear your masks 'cause now's not the best time for an alien invasion. Come back next spring for best results.")

Everyone knows about the monoliths, right? If not, a Cliff's Notes styled recap is supplied: in the red rock desert of eastern Utah, a mysterious 9 foot tall steel monolith appeared embedded into the ground. Days later, it mysteriously vanished. Then a second, similar monolith was found in the mountains of Romania. It too has disappeared.

This is...awesome. I'm stoked about this. No rhyme, no reason, all fun, something that's been missing in the news lately. I'd like to think creepy bug-eyed aliens (and if this is true, fellas, I apologize and mean no insult, so don't space blast my ass, please) are behind this fun diversion. My childhood dream come true. Maybe the aliens are punking us, having a good laugh at our expense. Maybe it's their overture to meet their idol, Trump. Or just maybe, these monoliths represent something of immeasurable depth and meaning.

However, there's always a spoil-sport in the bunch. Couple days ago, a Utah photographer claims he witnessed and took photos of a group of men approaching the monolith, then destroying it. One guy purportedly said, "Leave no evidence behind."

BOOOOOOO! Don't pee on my parade, mister! Give us this brief moment of wonderful imagination and expansiveness that we haven't known in the is-it-over-yet year of 2020. Don't be one of those guys!

But he seems to be dead-set on his conspiracy theory. I gotta say, though, his story sounds kinda hinky to me. First of all, where is this photographic evidence of the secret society of monolith destroying men? Did it get lost in the mail along with the evidence against Hunter Biden?

Okay, whatever. In all honesty, this is my second favorite theory, so I'll take it. I mean, who doesn't love to get behind a top-secret cabal of mystery men installing and then destroying  a couple of monoliths? To what nefarious ends? Some sort of secret weapons testing? Or maybe they're developing the ultimate in television streaming hardware.

There have been lotsa crackpot theories, for sure (I'm looking at you, 2020). So in the spirit of our times, let me lob another one out there: the monoliths are God's thermometers. Worried about how sickly Mother Earth is, God has inserted two thermometers (rectally and orally--different sides of our planet) to gauge why Mother Earth has been so sickly in 2020. Or something. 

God help me, I'd kinda like to even hear Trump's theory about the monoliths.

Or maybe...just maybe Stanley Kubrick's mind-mess of a film, "2001, a Space Odyssey," was prophetic. The monoliths portend the further evolution of humankind. Seems like we sorta need to evolve the hell outta 2020.

While we're chatting about evolution, why not give my horror/mystery/dark comedy, Corporate Wolf, a read? Putting the EVIL in EVILution, so you don't have to.

 

New Breed Sighting: The Human Whale!

Recently, spectators caught sight of this bizarre, tireless creature outside of President Trump's golf course, spouting air through its blowhole onto the frail humans walking beside him! A new species is born!

Okay, you guys have probably read the story of this goofball and what he's up to: protesting the protesters who're protesting... something or other. Honestly, I can't keep track of all of the protesting going on anymore. I need a murder board to keep it all straight. I'm not gonna trot out what any of the protesters are protesting at this particular venue, needless to say it's gonna piss off half the U.S. population one way or the other.

It's all so...tired. Aren't you guys exhausted? Both political sides have displayed poor extremist behavior and are embarrassing their respective parties. I'm not gonna exclude myself from name-calling, getting angry, and pointing fingers in the past. But I'm done.

So...let's talk about the important matters here: first...this guy's style. Just look at his spectacular form, letting it all hang out, apparently never exhausting his copious amount of oxygen (as an ex-smoker, there's no way I could've maintained his stamina without passing out), not once caring how foolish he looks. I gotta give the guy props for that, at least. And, oh! His perfectly round blowhole is something to be envied (by someone, somewhere, I'm fairly sure).

Obviously, this idiot could be a carrier of coronavirus and not have symptoms, so I'm glad they charged him. (Thus further cementing my thought that not only does 2020 suck, but now it blows, too.) 

But what about the precedent this guy is setting? Particularly for the future and laws relating to such similar crimes? I mean, he was arrested for misdemeanor assault after all.

How in the world could this be proven in court?

For instance...

Matlock (espousing his cracker-barrel philosophy): "Your honor, it's a travesty, just a travesty, I say, that my client is even being charged with this laughable perceived 'crime'."

Opposing Counsel: "Objection, your honor, the defendant is clearly shown in photographic evidence breathing on the victims! He obviously--"

Matlock: "Did you just take a breath there, Mr. Opposing Counsel? I swan I saw you do such a thing. Your honor, isn't breathin' just a natural body function? I know I'm sure as shootin' glad I'm still breathin'."

Judge (smiling and chuckling): "I'll allow Mr. Matlock to say anything just as long as he keeps speaking in that warm, down-home drawl." (Aims puppy dog eyes at Matlock.)

See what I mean? This is setting a terrible precedent for legal cases in 2021 and beyond. Don't the courts have more important things to be dealing with like...oh...wait, scratch that example.

Here, try another scenario:

(Cue an All-American Family in a car.)

Little Suzie: "Daaaaad! Billy just breathed on me! Gah!"

Little Billy: "Did not, did not, did not, did not, did not, did--"

Dad (red-faced with veins bulging out of his forehead): "Gawd dammit, Billy, quit breathing! Don't MAKE me come back there!"

Not a pretty future, is it?

Nothing's certainly been pretty in the last couple months or so. My retinas have been permanently scarred by so-called "news" outlets releasing revolting photos (thus making the National Enquirer the class-act news outlet on the block now). There's the aforementioned Human Whale. 

How about Trump dancing to the Village People's song "Y.M.C.A" (and I still find it outrageous that no one in Trump's cabinet had the testicular fortitude to tell the guy what that song was really about)? There was Mitch McConnell's awful close-ups of his white, black, pink, and purple appearance (I almost felt sorry for the guy. On second thought...nahhhhhh.). 

And finally Giuliani's infamous double-whammy with his "acting" debut in Borat 2, followed by the manic-looking photo where his head bled down upon him exacting revenge.

 (Looks at clock. Checks calendar.) Hurry up, 2021!

While we're waiting for this ghastly year to come to a sluggish stop, how about entertaining yourself with my ghastly horror collection, Twisted Tales from Tornado Alley? Lots of horror and laughs guaranteed to take your mind off the horror and laughs of 2020.

 

The Revenge of Don Chillito!

You know, with all my recent angry posts about current politics and the state of the world, you'd think one of those posts would have been controversial, stirring people up on both sides. But just take a wild guess as to what the most controversial post I ever wrote was. Go on, take a stab... 

Yep, it was about my horrifying visit to a little Mexican restaurant dump, Don Chillito's, right here in my neighborhood. (If you'd like to read it, LOOKIE HERE. Go on...I'll wait...)

It blew up the intronets for a couple days, my most widely read article ever! Why? Because this "local institution" is inexplicably loved by crazy people. I had haters coming outta the woodwork and calling me names because I dared to detail my awful last visit there (I took my daughter and nieces to torture them because they couldn't believe it was as bad as my brother and I kept making it out to be.). I was called a "stupid, little old lady(?)" and that I had no taste and should "keep my big mouth shut" and one eerie, creepy response read like an illiterate death threat! All because of this sucky, crappy restaurant that's known for having rats run through the kitchen.

THAT'S what stirs up people. Not politics.

Hard at work to make YOU sick!

 

Well, it looks like "Don Chillito" himself has given me just one more reason to never set foot in his hell-hole again. (Note: I know that "Don Chillito" isn't the name of the owner, but I like to imagine him as a mumbly-mouthed Brando-like gangster cliche, sitting behind his row of microwaves and doling out burrito justice.) 

Get this... Don Chillito's owner has decided to ignore all COVID-19 restrictions, including mask orders! This ass-hat is quoted as saying, "I think at a time when our liberty is attacked as it is being, there comes a time where a man has to draw a line in the sand."

Spoken like a true ignorant mafioso of Mexican gastro grotesqueries. So when you order "Don's Plate" make sure to ask for a side of COVID to wash it all down with.

Look, the place has always been gross, dirty, and filthy. A guy I know who used to work there said he once saw a giant rat running across the open burrito fillings trays. 

And they have this big open trough filled with chips where everyone is encouraged to just go up and reach in. In fact, I'm pretty sure I once heard that a little girl fell into it and suffocated. Later, they found her cold,blue hand reaching out of the chip pit, clutching onto a chip. Yeah, I'm almost absolutely kinda pretty sure I'd heard that...

GROSS!

 

Anyway, people stay out of this crummy dump! If not for the sake of your taste buds, then do it to save your life! Jeeze, guess what they're gonna do to good ol' Don Chillito if the city finds him in violation of the mask order (of which he definitely is)? They'll slap him with a hundred dollar fine and let him go on with his business! That's nothing! Don can make that money back in five minutes by slinging crappy burritos to unwitting rubes. Might even sneeze on their food, too, for good measure. 'Cause he's a patriot, by cracky!

The Don of Disgusting Dinners goes on about drawing a line in the sand because he's a man and all that hooey (Gee, who does this sound like, folks?). His claim our liberty is being attacked is downright ludicrous.

Whatever, Don, whatever... If you were truly a patriot, then you'd be wearing a mask to protect your fellow citizens. It's everyone's duty to protect one another. Golden rule time and what not.

Gets my back up. However, there is a silver lining...in the same article, the Don is quoted as saying, if the city takes him to court over this, he might just close the doors.

Halleluhjah! Take your burritos, Don, and go home! Ding Dong, the Don is dead!

Speaking of things that should be dead, maybe it's time to check out (and into) my horror, thriller, mystery what's-it, Dread and Breakfast.  Sometimes, "dead" is just a state of mind. 

 

REVEALED: Why It Took Nevada So Long to Count Election Results!

Because of my stellar, fiery journalistic skills (i.e., making crap up), I've uncovered the shocking truth behind why Nevada took forever in wrapping things up. It's because of this guy:

It's the truth. How else do you explain why a state with such a low population took much longer than the bigger states? The entire election has just been a farce of agony and torture. Everything hinged on Nevada's six electoral votes, and every day I watched as the percentage of completion crawled along. Then every night around five, they'd call it a day and send their one counter home to bed because he needed his daily eleven hours sleep. The next day he'd come back in to work and knock out another whopping 1% before calling it a day. 

Shocking thing is I encountered this lone Nevada vote counter in Kansas before he migrated West. Couple years ago, I found a rare, cheap beer I liked at a liquor store. So I loaded up four six-packs; one in each hand, one beneath my chin, the last one grasped under my arm.

The old clerk--straight outta a Green Acres corner store--asked me if I'd like a bag. 

I thought about it. "Sure," I said, "it'll make my life easier." Or so I thought...

Behind huge spectacles, he stared at me, eyes at half-mast, a sleepy tortoise on downers. I watched in horror as he ever so slowly (and a bit too lovingly) licked his finger. (I'm thinking, are there Amber Alerts for guys like me?) 

As he continued to lick that finger like a buffalo chicken wing, his eyes never left me. Finally, he lowered the wet digit to the plastic bag dispenser. It didn't take. So he brought the finger back up to his lizard-like darting tongue again, eyes glued to mine, hypnotizing me with his can't-take-my-eyes-off-a-car-wreck gaze, and licked the tar outta his finger again. In surrealistic slow motion, he lowered the offensively wet finger and again failed to pull the bag off the dispenser. But he didn't let it get him down as he stared at me through his owl-like eyes.

Okay, side-bar: First of all, I've never understood the absolutely unnecessary finger-licking the elderly favor to accomplish small achievements such as turning a page in a book and now, trying to grasp a plastic bag off a hook. Second, gross. Third, it's not only grotesque, but I can definitively say I don't want some guy licking up my bags, particularly during the pandemic.

As a child, I once tried this peculiar method. Thought it was grown up behavior (friggin' adults never made sense). All I got for my failed effort was a funky taste in my mouth.

Back to the liquor store, I decided to cut and run before ol' Mr. Lick-Fail-Repeat could run through the cycle again. I said, "Don't worry about it. I'll just strong-arm 'em out to the car." I did. It wasn't easy. But it was a lot quicker than the finger-lickin'-good bag dispenser man. And those eyes! GOD, THOSE EYES!

Such nightmares.

But the finger licker had a fairy-tale ending: I'm absolutely certain he's the only hire counting the 2020 election ballots in Nevada, painstakingly licking that damn finger with every ballot, time and time again, until it's totally pruned out.

For God's sake, people! Stop the madness of finger licking and my salivaphobia! Honestly, I don't ever want to get back to using paper currency ever again; you never know whose got their slobber all over that five-spot. 

Glad I got that off my chest.

(Okay, final side-bar: I'm done, at least for a while, writing about politics. Right now the last thing anyone needs is another knucklehead running around and saying hurtful things on social media. This post was done in fun and I think maybe it's a bit cathartic for me, putting my political woes and fears and anger to bed with a (I hope) funny small epilogue. At least for now. Peace.)

 

The (So-Called) Political Race Drags On...

Four days and still counting the votes! Agghhhh! I want this crap over with. This election--the divisiveness, the anger and animosity toward our fellow citizens--has gone on long enough. I'd very much like it to stop.

The entire ramped-up country trauma has been going on for too long. Guess I hadn't realized it as much until the last four years, but in all fairness, the problem's been going on for a lot longer than that. It's just now been pushed to the forefront.

I'm worried about America's future, gang. And I'm not putting it all down to the silly presidential race. I'm talking about everyone in general. When this election finally--FINALLY--gets decided, will we continue on a downward spiral into racism and seething anger toward our neighbors? Or will we slowly heal, bolstered by (I hope) a vaccine for Covid-19?

I dunno. My great sis-in-law posted on Facebook, "Hey, when is the good luck from those black-eyed peas we ate on New Year's Eve 2020 gonna' kick in?" (Naturally, I gave a smart-assed reply which is helpful to no one and said, "2027. Like gum, black-eyed peas takes seven years to digest." Kinda hope I'm not a prophet.)

Our neighbors, the new kids on the block, had the right idea. On election day, they left notes on every door on the street about how tensions are high, tonight's gonna be long, but let's continue to be kind to everyone in the 'hood. Come over to party. Agreed I did. Hammered I got. (Socially distancing outside, natch). The intelligent way to handle election "night."

So much of this is unprecedented. And I'm damn tired of checking my computer every thirty minutes hoping for some kind of movement. Even if the results don't turn out to be what I want, I just want closure. As an American, I'll accept whatever. But my addled brain and nerves have been dangerous, yet inert live wires for four days now.

Of course, if President Trump loses, he's threatening he won't take defeat lightly, fighting it until January. Great! Much hilarity will ensue! Or he still could win and then brag about it to the stars. 

Sigh...

Aren't you all just...exhausted? 

Lately, my wife and I have been seeking solace in the TV show, "The West Wing" on Netflix. But even that seems like too much politics now.

I think I'll take up taxidermy, an uplifting hobby, certain to boost my spirits, one that's not at all creepy.

Okay, sorry. This is written Thursday night at midnight and I promised not to do another political rant, but...c'mon, guys! Politicians are supposed to be serving the American people, not torturing them!

Good night and God bless us one and all (oh, and you, too, Tiny Tim, as long as you're white, privileged, definitely male, and not any of that nonsensical other non binary gender nonsense. Sorry, sorry, a thousand sorries...but if our president can speak "sarcastically," hey, so can one of his lowly constituents.)

Scariest Halloween EVER!

Boo! Boils and ghouls, I didn't mean to scare you with the photo! BOO! Ha, did it again. Gotcha! Sorry. 

But I'm scared, too.

We're a couple days away from the election that will definitely change history one way or another and I'd be reticent if I didn't say something. I might make a few haters along the way, but that's okay, certainly nothing new. 

I'd love to get back to the day when people can enjoy political debates with family and friends. Remember when it was sorta fun, even healthy?

Last week's presidential debate was actually--to my surprise--pretty much a real debate. Clearly, President Trump listened to his advisors and calmed down, got off the steroids and power drinks, and only several times blew his orange top. An early Christmas miracle!

I can talk about all of the "fake news (Trump's favorite term when anything doesn't go his way)" facts  (ahem!) President Trump cited (i.e., lies). Or I can talk about the creepy way he didn't address the camera/the viewers. Perhaps I could mention how he avoids, dodges, ducks, deflects into defense regarding Big Questions. But I'm not. 

I've already lost one friend over this stupidity. I'm sick of it.

What I will say is Trump's handling of COVID-19 was (and is) negligent at best. It's been widely documented that he chose to ignore it, was quoted as saying, "I don't want to cause panic."

Bully for him. And bullshit to him for downplaying it even after he was diagnosed with it. Not every person can afford a million dollars worth of the best doctors and medicine. And he unbelievably wants to do away with medical insurance for those with pre-existing conditions. Probably not the best time, Mr. President.

Why doesn't Trump ask anyone who's lost a loved one to COVID what they think of his marginalization of the many, many--too very many--deaths? Especially when if handled early and properly, many lives could have been saved.

COVID-19 doesn't really wake you up until it's personal. In the early days, I thought, "sure, I'll wear a mask, I'll be fine, we'll weather through it." That's simply not the case.

Every day, I worry about my wife, a teacher. She deals with students. A warrior. Still okay, knock on wood.

But at least twelve people I care about have been knocked down by this awful disease and the tally's increasing. One of my best friends is still struggling with it after many months. My daughter's dear, sweet, generous friend went from being diagnosed with COVID to dying within a week. 

Yet, there's Trump out there negating Dr. Fauci's advice, saying he's "a nice guy, but doesn't know what he's talking about." Calling him an "idiot," despite being the foremost contagious disease expert in the country who happens to be on Trump's "support team," but, hey, let's not nit-pick.

Lately, Trump's been out campaigning (understandable), but his rallies are not safe havens (not acceptable). "Super spreader events," some pundits call them. During one such groovy happening in Nebraska two days ago, people gathered via bus to listen to our president rant (and, I hope, danced again to the Village People. Only thing that could've made that better is if Mike Pence, Rudy Giuliani, and Mitch McConnell would've joined him in full VP garb.) People were apparently stranded afterward in freezing temps, the buses not able to keep up. Many were hospitalized for "various reasons."

Glad someone's happy.

Please understand Biden's not my ideal president. President Bartlett from "The West Wing" is. But since Bartlett's a fictional character, I'll take the only other choice who won't lead us further into despair and death and fear and hatred and racism and deficit.

Golly.

Is it to much to ask for a president who acts, you know, slightly presidential? How about a president who doesn't constantly bully, induce fear, and divide the country further with border-line racism? Or maybe a president who doesn't mock impaired people or insult those brave men and women who've fallen in the line of duty while serving their country? Someone who doesn't have a slew of sexual assault/harassment allegations against him? Perhaps a president who's more interested in serving the public instead of lining his pockets with more money? Wouldn't that be a nice change of pace. 

Ooh! I got it! How about a leader who doesn't spit all over democracy? Hey, anyone who doesn't have as grating of a screaming voice (and has anyone ever seen our president less than angry? SOOOO honorable) worse than Adam Sandler's affected "funny" voices while gargling broken glass is a step up, I kinda think. 

After passing another tax break bill to the rich, this is the president who was quoted as saying (at a dinner party), "I just made you all more rich." 

I know some people will vote for Trump because they're against abortion and that's what Republicans support. If pro-life is your belief, stand by it. Stay solid, don't back down, more power to you, that's what our country stands for. But consider this...um, how many abortions do you think Trump might have been responsible for given his penchant for porn stars and Russian hookers? 

Kanye would be better than four more years of this guy.

I remember thinking that we'd never again elect a worse president than George W's reign of dimwittedness and neglect. Man, was I dumb.

Guys, this is worse than depressing, the current state of "politics" is running our country into the ground.

But I'm an American. If the outcome next Tuesday is not what I'd prefer? I'll still support it, that's what our country does. That's what Democracy is supposed to be about. Look it up. (Trump didn't, apparently skipped school that day.)

Alright, I'm done now. No matter how the election turns out, I won't revisit the awful topic of politics again. 

But...VOTE. Vote like the wind! Vote your arses off! Make a difference either way you lean! Despite the electoral college ridiculousness, let's make a difference.

Hey, happy Halloween, boo!

 

Appearance, Personal Hygiene and You!

Appearance is everything, boys and girls. You never know when you may be out in public or appear on the news. So, for a happier and healthier lifestyle, take pride in your personal appearance!

For instance, take special note of the care I put into my appearance at this crucial election time. Sure, my wife says I'm gonna get the crap kicked outta me, particularly living in Kansas, but it's something I take great pride in. I wear this mask everywhere I go: grocery stores, liquor stores, on walks through the neighborhood, leisurely strolls through local Klan gatherings...

It's all about appearance, Mr. and Mrs. Young America! Gramma always used to tell me to be sure to put on clean underwear because you never know when you might die.

Well, A) that's a really disturbing thing for your Gramma to tell you as an impressionable young tyke; and B) it's really kinda stupid. Many people who die--especially in shocking, sudden, blunt trauma methods--fill their shorts as a final parting shot.

But never mind that! Gramma always knew best (even while hurling racist diatribes at the TV box and her stories)! So, it's important to always wear clean undergarments.

As another example, I harken back to the unexpected time when I had two detectives and all four local news networks banging on my front door. For  an hour-and-a-half that day, I had much more than twenty minutes of Warholian fame. I was the star sound-bite guy to beat.

The detectives weren't very forthcoming with information, just wanted to know what I could tell them about the twin women who lived next door (FACT! I didn't even know the women were twins until I ran into both of them at the grocery store together, and this after I'd been having--what I'd presumed--conversations with one woman over the fence for several years). What I told the detectives wasn't much; what they told me in return was absolutely nothing. I asked if the women were in trouble. One of the rude detectives laughed, shook her head, and walked off.

Later on, before my First Big TV Interview, the reporter (whom I reminded I had done shots with at a downtown bar many years ago; she just rolled her eyes and said, "yeah, that sounds like me.") filled me in. The twins had committed double suicide. It stunned me, and it shows in my kinda lackadaisical interviews. Then the rest of the film-crews came racing to find me. After my second interview, I locked the door, hunkered in and didn't answer the rest of the incessant door ringers (while my daughter kept watch from behind the front curtain).

But here's where appearance is important, boys and girls! Note the huge, glaring third eye I'm sporting in my interview! No one, and I mean NO ONE, wants to see that on their fancy, shmancy big-screen TV's.

One of my awesome bro-in-laws has the right idea; he says every time the TV weather crews come around when there's a tornado sighting, he slips on his Tweety sweatpants and "Who Farted?" T-Shirt, and goes outside hoping for his twenty minutes in the limelight.

That's why I have my "I Pooped Today!" T-Shirt standing by, boys and girls! Hanging in the foyer! Appearance is everything!

Back to the appearance my current mask is projecting: the running tally is nine positive comments, a crap-load of stares and double-takes, and a whole lot of menacing glares, always from the same type of person (see example below). So far, no bodily damage or hurt. But everywhere I go, I'm sporting my mask and clean underwear, doubling down before this crucial election.

I'm not gonna waste time and rant about who I feel you should vote for (as usual, I'm not excited about either candidate, but I do despise one over the other), because it's a colossal waste of time, especially with how divided we've become over the past four years. (Sigh... I remember when political debate among friends was healthy and fun! Oh, the golden years...) But. It's important to VOTE! VOTE, people, vote like the wind! (And wear clean underwear).

This has been a Public Service Announcement sponsored by the Underwear Manufacturers of the World.

Rainbows, Puppies, Unicorns, Racism...wait...

Say there, Mr. Average American! How are you? Looking quite dapper, I see. Say, is all this nonsense about the fear of Joe Biden turning our country into a socialist one getting you down? Is it putting the fear of oppressed, privileged white men into you? Don't worry your purty lil' head, Mr. Average American! Because that's all it is...nonsense. It's typical fear-mongering crap meant to further divide our country and the one behind it all is, of course, the Manchurian Cantaloupe. 

With the impending, looming, fateful election day around the corner, I'm afraid it's time for me to get up on my Twisted Tales soap-box once again. But the last time I veered into these dangerous waters I got into trouble. SO, I promise to behave (fingers crossed). Sorta (not really). Scout's honor (I was a Scout drop-out).

My wife and I were talking the other day about racism. As much as I'd like to lay the blame for its terrifying rise on President Klandalf, my wife says he didn't start it. But he's made it worse. Hell, yes, he has. He's out there fanning the cross-burning fires at this very moment. In fact (as I once told my mom), do you guys know why Trump has such a fabulous orange comb-over? So he can cover up his "666" birthmark, of course. (My mom just stared at me in spooky silence.)

To watch the recent preposterous "debate" between Forrest Trump and Biden was stomach-churning. Especially when Trump pronounced "I've done more for black people than any president since Lincoln." My God, I wonder what it's like living in his delirious, delusional, orange world built on flagrant lies. In the same debate/debacle, Trump more than tossed in with the heinous "Proud Boys," giving them a rallying cry of "stand down, but stand by." What kind of message is this supposed to give Mr. Average American? Sounds to me like a cry to pick up arms against those of different color. 

Trump is dangerous.

Frankly, it scares me how much a lot of the country is reverting to racism. Years ago, in my naivete, I nearly cried when Obama was elected as the first black president. Why? Because I was really proud of our little country, pulling up its big boy britches, and finally--FINALLY--casting aside their racist blinders. I thought we'd turned a corner and would never look back around it.

Dumb. So very dumb.

As my wife and I discussed the terrifying rise of racism (MUCH more frightening than Trump tossing around words like "socialism" to scare Mr. and Mrs. Average Joe), she said it's systemic. Recently, a black man held a door open for her. She replied, "thank you, sir." A few minutes later, she wondered why she went with "sir," instead of the usual chipper,"thanks!" Was she wrong? Was it a bit of a reaction to some of the recent self-searching and anti-bias conversations that have been going on lately? Clearly, we all have a lot to learn, as we realize how we can all be part of a systemic problem of society. 

Maybe we should just be nicer to everyone. I'd love to get to the point where this is the case.

But what she'd described is what I'd been going through for years. I used to go out of my way to smile at black people, speak to them, do everything I could to make up for the crappy-ass way they'd been treated throughout history. I started young on this well-intentioned, but misguided, path. In sixth grade, when I began to reject my parents' shackles of racism, I went out of my way to befriend the new (and only) black kid in school. 

My daughter and I recently discussed this topic as well. She said, "Did you befriend him because you felt like he was an outsider and wanted to make him feel better or because he was black?" Really good question. I thought about it, finally said, "Because of both, I think, but mostly because he was black." And part of me wanted to make it all about me, have my own "black experience." Yeah...now that I write about it, it doesn't sound that great.

Furthermore, I went on to tell my daughter that I guess I'm trying to make up for the sins of past generations. I said, "Sarah, your great great grandparents owned slaves for God's sake!"

She said, "Racism exists. But I grew up in a melting pot of a school where color was never hammered into us. It didn't matter and wasn't a big deal. My first job was at a Montessori school where most of the kids came from a different cultural and ethnic background. Difference in skin color was never mentioned. Kids don't care what color you are. Dumb adults do. Don't lay your white guilt on me, pops! My generation doesn't have anything to atone for. That's all on you guys."

Well. Yes and no. I do see an improvement in their generation regarding how they view people of color and those of different sexual leanings. But it's important to learn from the past. Furthermore, I believe there are are conscious or subconscious biases in all of us. And it's up to us to stop it.

So get out and vote. It figures that it took a man of orange color to further divide people of different colors in our country. Don't let this happen again. VOTE!

There. I'm done now. Don't make me come over there.