It has been a long time since my fingers stroked the keys on my laptop. I’ve been away for three years, and I doubt most people knew I was gone. … Continue reading Awakening From A Three Year Slumber: Back into the Driver’s Seat
The news last week was cruel just as the news this week. The weather is foul all across the North. Most of the states were trampled by snow; the inhabitants are still struggling with trekking across the vast, dangerous white wasteland. It sucks to suck for all those poor individuals. Meanwhile, in the South, the weather is sunny with a chance of more sun. The battle between frontrunners Cruz and Trump has the Republican house divided into two camps: conservatives that values stay true above all else and right-wings that enjoy ravaging the establishment. The smart people of America know this fact–“A house divided against itself cannot stand.” Cruz shines as the poster child of the Constitutional conservative, a man of unwavering principles who will not be silenced by the establishment. On the other side of the coin, Trump is a wrecking ball ready to cause havoc on all levels of power. Truth be told, both candidates wave the flag of anti-establishment. The two dueling warriors trade devastating punches until the other is bloody. Trump mocks Cruz as an insider of the establishment while Cruz mocks Trump as a non-conservative. The members of the Republican establishment are growing furious with the current outcome of as Trump and Cruz dominate, and they fear no other credible candidates will emerge any time soon. The leaders of the Republican establishment, made up of elected officials, lobbyists and donors, are sending a message to the mainstream candidates, such as former Gov. Jeb Bush of Florida, that they should withdraw from the race if they do not show any clout. The old ones have spent millions of dollars supporting their prized mainstream candidates. For example, Bush still has the endorsement of a super PAC. Even if he were to trail Mr. Rubio after the first contests, Mr. Bush might still fight on to South Carolina. Former Mississippi Gov. Haley Barbour (R) put out an honest observation. “Why is Right to Rise spending all this money on somebody who can beat Hillary?” he asked. “Meanwhile, Trump and Cruz go mostly unscathed.” It’s funny to see the major contributors and voices of the old ones vocal about their impatience. The electoral college will figure it out sooner or later. Well, who else is wondering about the real issue at hand: Captain America vs. Iron Man!
So, I woke up feeling like a pile of cow manure. You know, the lowest of the low festering on the green grass of this blue sphere. I toss and turn on my mattress in my blanket cocoon trying not to make sense of the fact I’m still alive. That one existential question fondles the deepest parts of my subconscious: Dear Lord, why am I here? The creepy, grotesque hand of the Grim Reaper taps me on the shoulder. I’ve contemplated about the final drink with Ol’Death, but I’m not ready for the last good night just yet. Somehow, I manage to rise out of my blanket cocoon and spread my tattered wings for another try at the dingy, dirty, and mucky daily deadlock. Nothing like the long, strenuous drag to the shower to wake the hell up. The tepid water clashes with my skin to officially give my body the cleansing it deserves. I step out, dry myself off, and proceed to brush the 32 chompers residing in my mouth. My hair seems legit for the time being until I actually manage to go to work. Except I remember one important factor: I’m a low rate writer with occasional gigs, a few blog articles, and pays from the newspaper. Welcome to reality, jackass!
A quick look in the dingy fridge and my eyes are welcomed to the fresh display of nutrients to nourish my body for the most important meal of the day. Wait a minute…my feeble mind and gluttonous stomach deceive me. The fridge is bare and the only nutrient setting all alone is a six pack from last night. Shit! It was bound to happen, so I crack open a cold one then slap on the illicit boob tube for current events.
The news is a fast, hard, and sad burn this week. The lives of two children, a 9-year-old from Chicago and a 6-year-old from Louisiana, met the end of their lives thanks to the barrel of a gun. The thought flashes that these two rugrats didn’t asked to be brought into this world neither to be taken out. Hell, those little rugrats kept themselves occupied with activities like the rest of us, yet they didn’t know tragedy would strike. If the media didn’t cover the unfortunate mishap, they’ll be unnoticed lost souls with no one to give a shit about them. Without the small tidbit of information, it wouldn’t matter. Sadly, there will be more in the next weeks. In other news, a feces swastika was found on the bathroom door on a college campus in Missouri. Someone give that lunatic a Klondike bar. This crazy took the time to gather feces to produce a shitstika. That’s dedication! Racial tensions have boiled over at the Missouri campus in Columbia since the month of September, when Payton Head, the Missouri Students Association president, said he was racially abused while walking on campus. Well, Missouri Tigers, there is a crazy, anti-Semitic, racist, and feces loving individual running around campus. If you come in contact with this asshole, give a lesson in hygiene.
After that unfortunate incident, it seems the terrible times begin to roll downhill. France experience an ungodly bombardment by the terrorist group of ISIS. These rat bastards live, breath, and die for the chaos their filthy hands create. However, these cockroaches manage to scurry off somewhere to form the mythological Hydra: a violent beast with many heads along with an acid tongue. Even if you chop off the head, another ugly serpent noggin will appear. Kill the boy the head will die or shove a nuke up its ass and watch that ugly bastard explode into nasty chunks. These attention whores are calling for death, so why not answer the call and do the humane duty. I mean, we shoot horses, right? I’m not an expert for it, I’m all about the sociopathic attack and running off at the mouth for some destruction. An actual strategic plan constructed by the minds of intelligent individuals will suffice. For me, I’m all about a lot nukes; the fast and hard strike like an erratic male pornstar pile driving on every scene. Henceforth, paying attention to my ramblings will cause more side effects than the medicines force fed down our esophagus.
By now, I believe most of you clever individuals have figured out that I’m part of the problem as much as part of the solution. I’m possessed by my nihilism, sarcasm, and constant trouble by what I see or from the dark corners of my mind. I try not to be attached to society, yet I’m stuck here like every other bipedal debauchery. These incidents will leave a mark on us, but as a fact, we can’t give suffering any precedence over our individual or collective lives. We have to press forward on with things and those who don’t will get left behind to be trampled on by the moving stampede. They’ll only slow us down with their pitiful bellyaching. We have someplace to be and must believe we’ll get there, wherever that may be. Let the good times roll.
Forgive me for my previous transgressions. I had the opportunity to cover the second half of the debauchery guised as the Republican Debate, but I was too busy under the influence in the godforsaken, sinful city of Las Vegas. If a piece of my memory serves me right, I won money, spent it on more rounds of Wild Turkey, taxis, and more copious amounts of Wild Turkey. I digress. The story of my degenerative, impulsive behavior will be another time.
The Democratic Debate was upon not too long ago. Where was it held? In the same city that tortured my cynical grey matter—Las Vegas. Previously, I had an article prepared with the gaffes of all five of those political swine. What happened to my precious document? The damned electricity died just before I saved it! It was like they knew I was going to annihilate their reputations! Majority of the debate was massacred by Hillary Rodham Clinton. Somehow, she had bigger balls than the men on stage. The opportune moment appear when Hillary’s credibility came under the microscope by Anderson Cooper. Hillary is most vulnerable when her character comes into question. The email issue is the monstrosity hunkering over Clinton’s shoulders. Clinton responded to Cooper with a pocketed ace response—the email server was a mistake, yet it was allowed, but not the best choice. She has turned over 55,000 pages of emails and answered every question. Cooper continued his frontal assault stating that the FBI investigation was nonpartisan and even President Obama said it was a legitimate issue. “I never said it wasn’t legitimate,” she countered, after trashing the issue’s legitimacy, “I’m saying I have answered all the questions and will certainly be doing so again before this committee.”
Our “heroes”—Sanders, Chaffee, O’Malley, and Chafee—had the opportunity to strike and possibly defeat the oppressive overlord. Bernie managed to draw his sword from his sheath. Bernie led the charge with his comment: “May not be great politics, but I think the secretary is right. The American people are sick and tired of hearing about your damn emails.” The two shook hands then Hillary cackled with glee. What the hell, “hero!” The prime opportunity to strike her down turned into a peace treaty. However, another “hero” decided to rise in the form of Chaffee. He fired his arrows straight to Hillary’s chest.
Chaffee said that the matter of presidential credibility was important, especially, in his opinion, since George W. Bush lied about the WMD’s in Iraq. Cooper gave Clinton an opportunity to respond, she said one word: no. The crowd went into a murderous frenzy of obnoxious applause and shouts. The battle was over. I couldn’t believe what I just seen. My mouth was left in shellshock. In one gambit, Clinton slaughtered them with no remorse. How could they miss it? What happened to the battle plan? Clinton—along with the rest of the political vultures—is not driven by conviction but political calculation. She has consistently switched positions of countless issues ranging from war, trade, and social reform. The only opponent to step up was the mild mannered, friendly neighborhood Chaffee.
Nevertheless, they all managed to rack up points on bearing false witness. Former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton revised her statement on the Trans Pacific Partnership proclaiming she said she “hoped” it would be a “gold standard.” On Nov. 15, 2012, she said it was a gold standard. Switching back to the email scandal, Clinton said that using a personal email account “was allowed by the State Department.” The department also requires her to turn over her emails before she departed office. She turned in her emails on Dec. 5, 2014; she left office on Feb. 1, 2013. Sanders wrongly said that the U.S. had “more wealth and income inequality than any other country.” According to the Global Wealth Databook, the share of wealth amongst the 1% has declined to an estimated 37.3% this year. The United States is also ranked 11th for income inequality among the 37 counties listed. Sanders has also botched the numbers concerning unemployment. “African American youth unemployment is 51%. Hispanic youth unemployment is 36%,” Sanders said. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, in September, the unemployment rate for this age group was 24% for African Americans, 11.6% for Hispanics and 10.7% for whites. This shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. These facts are probably minor in the clogged toilet of politics. I almost forgot about the other three candidates. The reason is they’re easily forgettable: candidate cannon fodder.
It’s a shame we’re sold the same con by every politician who steps up. Tragedy molests us then politicians help us to our feet with words of “wisdom and compassion.” In the eyes of these vultures, we’re considered a bunch of lowlife sheep scum seeking for a shepherd. The millions described as disenfranchised cynics are considered pseudo-intellectual scum. The parties are sneaky chameleons camouflaging in whatever crowd fits them at the time. It’s like every election year is going to decide the face of guy who’ll be screwing us next.
Fight the power, Scum!
When it comes to the realm of social media, I’m repulsed by it. I gather no inspiration from Facebook, Twitter, Instagram or any other string of debauchery we’ve created. It pains every nerve in my body to sell my soul to a beast that will devour society. It’s like staring down the barrel of a loaded gun with your finger on the trigger: a quick, brutal suicide. Scary, isn’t it? Too many attention whores invade the waves of social media. They’re ready to sell their assets on the corner for a few followers.
Cheap makeup makes these floozies desirable, so idiots fall for the clickbait. I reckon there is something about the joys of social media human trafficking. Honestly, I find it rather disgusting. I want to wash my hands of this weirdness; my hands are too filthy to become clean. I’ve become an attention whore myself. I try to promote my blog through the grimy streets of the internet. Once in a while, I’ll get a customer then the action begins. The hustle becomes repetitive, my eyes are bloodshot from staring at the computer, and my fingers might have carpal tunnel.
Somehow, I continue to press on to deliver the message of truth without drowning amongst the rest. This upcoming generation has a one track mind—establish yourself with selfies! Damn, how did we get here? We have to blame ourselves. Our massive egos to improve our lives caused this fiasco. I doubt nothing can change it. I feel we’re detached from using the tool between our shoulders. I’m afraid books will become ancient relics of the past, our vocabulary will be strictly internet speak, and we’ll just go with flow. Yep, I believe we’re screwed with the next generation coming up.
The sun goes down, and the moon conquers the clouds. The night sky blankets over the environment. At that moment, the floodgates of old memories are open and I find myself drowning in thought.
There were nights of old when we bombarded the streets in search of misadventures. We mingled among the general populous of lunatics. We were obnoxious brutes with alcohol pumping through our veins as we darted through the darkness.
Small embers from our lighters lit our path to next misadventure, the trails of smoke lingered behind us, and we realize on thing: we were born for this!
I have indulged in many fantasies under the dim streetlights, but things have changed. The nightlife is a different universe; it brings out the hedonism in people.
I regret the hangovers from the years of partying,
I regret mornings with the faint taste of whiskey and tobacco on my tongue,
I regret my cynicism passing pre-judgement on every soul that crosses my path,
I regret laughing at the kid that fell. I don’t regret that because it was funny. It wasn’t me.
I do regret my impulsive behavior leading to detrimental disaster;
my regrets play on the seesaw of wisdom and folly.
A life without regrets…
My regrets show I lived, learned, and soldiered on.