WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOG.....

We interrupt this blog to inflict you with some issues that I want to address.

This isn't going to be a "regular" post. It's a semi-rant - -  selfishly intended to unleash my pent-up feelings.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.......


Rather recently, a little bird perched on my shoulder. After he took a crap, he whispered in my ear something that he heard through the Blogger Grapevine: 

I have irritated and dismayed several fellow bloggers, because they don't think I take the Plague - - oops, I mean Covid19 - - seriously enough. 
And I have insulted humanity by constantly spoofing the Plague Masks and vowing never to wear one.

My readership is dwindling because of my seemingly cold-hearted indifference to the Plague.

Boys and girls -
I take the pandemic very seriously and lament the fact that many people are dying from it.
Many people are also dying from cancer, heart failure, murder, auto accidents, drugs, and alcohol. 
It's one helluva cruel world.

I also have great empathy for those people who've been wounded or killed in the on-going anti-America riots - - - especially the innocent children.

Despite having sympathy for the victims of Covid19, I don't feel the urge to permanently wear a Plague Mask and sequester myself forever as a sacred sacrifice to save others.

Turning ourselves into the Living Dead because of the Plague is foolish, worthless, and destructive.


Here's a confession:

I often enjoy irritating, goading, and annoying people by discarding the mainstream mode of thinking.

 I especially derive a sadistic pleasure in torturing the liberal leftists - - solely because so many of them are  humorless, hateful, and perpetually angry.
Stirring their wrath is easy and amusing.

I'm NOT a hateful, angry person, Jon. I just want to kill Trump!!!!!

  My pathetic pastime is dangerous and an extreme risk, because it has caused me to make many enemies....
but I can't control myself.

In the fall of 2016 I caused mass hysteria in Blogland by trashing Hillary Clinton. I said she was an extremely bad campaigner, incredibly unlikable, and would never win the election.

And I was right on target!

This caused a negative backlash that exceeded my wildest expectations.
Many (many) longtime faithful readers of my blog dropped me like a proverbial hotcake. I received an alarming amount of hate mail, and even one anonymous death threat.

I never dreamed that liberals could be so psychotic and easily triggered.

I'm not psychotic or triggered, Jon!!
I'd just like to kill you, skin you, and hang you out to dry!!!! 

After Trump won, I (jokingly, of course) said the first thing he should do in the White House is change the toilet seats.

( I thought it was hilarious )

That caustic utterance signed my Death Warrant.


Never one to learn my lesson from bitter experience, my next intended debacle was when I said that transgenders shouldn't be in the military. My humorous post on the subject infuriated a myriad of gays.
They tumbled out of closets and hurled flouncy fluffs of fury at me.

  An old gay blogger in Florida actually wrote a scathing blog post about me. And his wicked friends (who didn't know me and never heard of me) left caustic comments about me on his blog!

Sooooooo.....

In a rare moment of guilt and penance, I wrote another post - in which I apologized. I said that I had changed my mind. Transgenders should be in the military.....
....they should be put in the front lines.

That appeased a few idiots. 

So there you have it, boys, girls, and...transgenders. The woeful tale of my bumpy ride along the treacherous road of Blogdom.


There's another presidential election just around the corner -
and senile Joe Biden is such a pathetic joke that he almost makes Hillary look good.
I said almost......

If Biden's keepers are ever able to drag him out of his Basement Hideaway to have a presidential debate (which I seriously doubt), Trump will eat him alive and spit out the bones.

Here's something to digest:

The blind rage of the liberals - and their unrelenting insane hatred for President Trump -  have inspired me to keep voicing my opinions with absolutely no regrets.

After all, I'm on the winning team.

 

DEATH WISH

 
One time, after an extremely violent confrontation with my father (and believe me there were many), he handed me a loaded gun and told me to kill myself.

He didn't actually tell me. He begged me. Said he wanted to see me dead, wished with his whole heart that I would do it.

Our horrifyingly turbulent history was filled with similar scenes (and scenes far worse), but somehow this one managed to penetrate my coat of self-defensive armor. I was very used to his cutting verbal abuse - - and even more used to his vicious physical attacks, but this was a new ambush. The words stung hard.

I still have that gun. And the bullets. 
I never want to grow old. I never want to be sick, feeble, and helpless. The glory days of my youth are far past. Someday.....perhaps someday.....the gun will serve a noble purpose.....

I had a serious death wish in my youth. In retrospect, I don't think I ever really wanted to die. My true goal was to expunge the abject pain and misery in my life - - to end the eternal chaotic nightmare in which I was ensnared - - the direct result of my father's insane abuse.

I had stayed under his suffocating shadow for too long, mainly to protect my mother - who was as emotionally wounded and physically immobilized as myself. Two emotional cripples, clinging desperately to the nothingness that was our existence.

I never wanted to die, but I wanted to kill the emotional agony that was devouring me.
One impossible night, after a terrifying scene, I locked myself in the bathroom. Grabbed a pair of scissors, viciously hacked at my wrists until the alarming amount of flowing blood brought me to my senses.
In truth - I was hacking at my father's evil soul.... 

I've written about that final night many times before, but I'm mentioning it again in a pitiful bout of beer drinking and remembrance.

That final physical scene with my father, when he tried to break my neck, choked me into unconsciousness, knocked me through the plate glass back door. I landed outside on hard concrete, amid sharp and bloody pieces of glass.
That night I got his gun, planned to kill him when he was sleeping, but lost my feeble courage....

And what, you might ask, caused my father to inflict such violence? We were having dinner. He was drinking too much beer. He started an argument about the cost of electricity. Warned me not to turn on any lights. I foolishly defied him. I got up and turned on the dining room light.

You don't dare defy my father. Ever. 

It took weeks for my physical wounds to heal. After that I took off for Hollywood and embarked on a long, slow death of self-destruction. It was my method of escape. Escape from the ugly bitch of reality.
Escape was always my main objective.

The freedom that I craved wasn't possible without becoming an entirely different person than I really was. Booze and drugs helped me abandon  my timidity, self-consciousness, fears and inhibitions, and aided me in becoming street-wise tough. I wasn't tough, but could admirably fake it.

Booze, drugs, one-night stands. Casual sex and back alley quickies. Serious "relationships" that never lasted. Lots of them. Copious amounts of malt liquor, washed down with whiskey or vodka. 

Soon the potency of booze worn thin. I started pouring whiskey or vodka into my malt liquor. Then, in an extended dimension to the lethal cocktail, I'd add pills - sleeping pills, tranquilizers. Anything available. 

I marvel that I didn't die. In fact, these many years later, I look back at my toxic youth in absolute jaw-dropping astonishment.
 
I played rough games with dangerous people. I thoroughly enjoyed endangering myself. The wild, shameless, unconventional, colorful, lurid, fantasy backdrop of Hollywood only served to enhance my unholy journey.....

.....and I learned how incredibly easy it is to lose one's dignity and abandon one's soul.



These were a few tiny glimpses of my turbulent past. It's a modified version. The expanded version would be too scary.
Most of my readers have heard this before (there are occasional yawns). I repeat things for the newer readers. 

MY HATE LIST

I'm drinking beer and thinking "Hell, this should be a cinch - since I hate just about everything."
(that's a trait which I inherited from my father).

Then I reconsidered. "Hate" is an unbecomingly strong word. Perhaps "dislike" would be better.
Dislike.

I'm too intensely sweet to hate.
Anyway, here's my list. Hang onto your wigs and armchairs. It's going to get rough.

Listed in no particular order

1. Incessantly barking dogs.
I have a gun and know how to use it.

2. Children.
Yea, I know your kids and grandkids are adorable. Just keep them the hell away from my property.

3. Tailgaters.
Follow too closely and I'll break quickly.

4. Screaming babies.
Makes me think abortionists have the right idea.

5. Marriage.
Straight, gay, whatever. I've always been adamantly opposed.

6. Cell phones.
Who the hell are these obnoxious people constantly talking to?

7. Sugar-Free
If it doesn't decay your teeth and make you fat, I don't want it.

8. Taxes
Enough said.

9. "Awesome!"
The most annoyingly over-used word in the English language.

10. Weddings.
A complete waste of time and money. They'll be divorced in three years.

11. Couples who proudly announce "We are pregnant."
You're not pregnant, you emasculated wimp. The cow is pregnant.

12. Women who proudly proclaim "I'm a single mother."
What happened to the man, babe? Suicide? Or did you drive him away? Was it immaculate conception? I think there were a couple shots of sperm somewhere along the way.

13. Stay-at-home dad.
It sounds far too sissy.

14. Birthdays.
Save your damn cake and candles. I want to age  discreetly.

15. Algebra.
I still have horror flashbacks from the 11th grade.

16. Rap music.
Take it back to Uganda where it belongs.

17. Shaving.
Continuous facial nicks and razor burn since I was seventeen. 

18. Getting up early.
If God wanted me to rise at dawn I'd be a rooster.

19. Contests.
Rigged. Phony. Look at me! I'm the best!

20. Surveys.
You don't really want my opinion....

21. Audio Books and eBooks.
If it's not made of paper and I can't turn the pages, I don't want it.

22. Passwords.
Holy shit, I have at least fifty of them.

23. Instant Messaging.
I rank that with instant coffee. The only instant thing I want is sex.

24. Windows Updates.
Why do they have twenty updates a week?

25. Facebook. 
A Communist organization.

26. Stravinsky.
Ear torture.

27. NASA
Biggest waste of money in the history of the United States.

28. Greenpeace and PETA.
I chop down trees, barbecue beef, and wear real fur.
Wanna rumble??

29. Political Correctness.
Trotskyism at its worst.

30. Affirmative Action. 
I just scrapped my opinion on this. I didn't want to scare you.

32. Doctors and Scientists.
I detest anyone who likes to play God.

33. NY Times Bestseller List.
Consistently some of the most incredibly bad books I've ever read.

34. Football.
America's biggest waste of time.

35. Spam.
I'm talking computer spam. Not canned Spam.

36. Fine Cuisine.
I don't want bean sprouts and quail beaks. I want a side of beef and 5 lbs. of potatoes. With gravy.

37. Lima Beans.
Dry, repulsive, tasteless.

38. Okra. 
Slimy. Thoroughly disgusting.

39. Spiders, scorpions, ticks.
AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!

40. Washing Dishes.
Don't tell me to get a dishwasher. I hate them. Washing dishes by hand is a piss, but at least it keeps my fingernails clean.

This list is getting extremely long and I can sense your restlessness.  I'll speed it up.

41. Caustic criticism.
There's no such thing as innocuous criticism. It's always intended to hurt. And it's often inspired by jealousy. 

42. Cleaning the cat's litter box.
I have three cats and they shit more than an elephant herd.

What's this? Only 42 things on my list of dislikes??
Hey, I haven't even warmed up yet.
But I'll spare you the rest.

When I'm tossing and turning sleepless in bed tonight I'll think of 42 more. 

Did I offend anyone?
If I did, lighten up. I was extremely polite and didn't mention Hillary or Obama. 

RAGE AND A CURSE

There's no doubt that I've had an extraordinary life - - much of which I would be reluctant to reveal in a public blog (or even a memoir, for that matter). Despite the brash facade that I project on this blog, I am in truth fiercely private and introverted. I'm not comfortable talking about myself. Also, I'm often hesitant to reveal certain things, because - to be blunt - they might not be believed.

I've noticed, however, that the older I get (not that I'm old, of course....) the less concerned I am about what other people think - - and the stronger my desire is to reveal things about myself and my past.

In my previous post I mentioned that I believe curses come home to roost, and that I had a story to tell. I've never told this story to anyone before, except my mother and one of my cousins - - mainly because it makes me look bad. Vindictive, childish, completely irrational.

My only defense is that intense anger - especially after years of pent-up rage - can make us do insanely irrational things.

It's no secret that my father and I always had an extremely turbulent and violent relationship. There was no mysterious reason behind this. My father was an extraordinarily violent person with a temper so insanely brutal that I still shudder at the memory of it. I feared him until the day he died. His inner demons caused him to lash out at anybody, for any reason. Since my mother and I were the people nearest  him, we always bore the full brunt of his rage. The frequent physical violence was also accompanied by constant verbal abuse. His vile words cut like a knife.

One small, random example of physical violence happened one summer when I was fourteen. My father was working in the back yard, putting down a cement sidewalk. I was watching him and happened to get in his way. A huge mistake.

He immediately started pummeling me with his fists, then stomped on my bare feet until they were bloody (he was wearing heavy work boots). He then got me into one of his infamous bear hugs (it wasn't the first time) and managed to fracture two of my ribs. My hysterical mother managed to intervene and save my life.

I was a fourteen-year-old kid - - pathetically skinny and abnormally frail. I didn't have a fighting chance. 
That's only one small example of many, many others.

What about the curse?
Fast Forward - -
years later when I was a young adult. No need to go into details. My father and I had another blowup, which - of course - was violent and physical. During the course of this one, dear ol' dad got a loaded gun and threatened to kill me. Eventually he turned the tables (so to speak), handed me the gun, and begged me to kill myself, over and over.
Implored me to kill myself - - said that he prayed I would die and wanted to see me dead.

My intense hate for him always rendered me helpless and caused me to act completely irrationally. Later that day, in a blind fury of hate, I found an old photo of him. I spat on it, cursed him out loud, and said that I wanted him to die. I took a pin and jabbed his photo in the abdomen, over and over, cursing him every time.

That very night, a few hours after I went to sleep, I began having severe abdominal pain. As I became fully awake the pain got worse, until it was so violently intense that I was writhing in agony and couldn't get out of bed. It was the worse pain I ever had in my life - - and it was located in the exact area of the abdomen where I had pierced my father's photo with pins.

To abbreviate a long story:
I had an attack of kidney stones which was so severe that the stones ripped my right kidney and seriously damaged it. I was in the hospital for a week and it took many months to recover. I had pain in my right kidney for years afterwards.

I remember grimly saying (about my father),
You can't win with that son-of-a-bitch. Even my curses failed.

Was this all a mere coincidence?
Not on your life. After this incredible incident, I fully believe that curses come home to roost. 



Link to my other blog
(one is enough - why the hell would I have two??):

Cabinet of Curious Treasures