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Wednesday, March 27, 2024

Time-Waster

I spent most of yesterday in bed with a headache (which is still with me this morning). Lemme just tell you, while a day of full-blown indulgence sounds awesome, in my current timeline…not so much.

Fer fuck’s sake, I’m in for MORE brain surgery in a piffling 13 days. Losing a day of exercise, tax prep work and seeing to other important stray bits is far from ideal.

While laying in bed, waiting for the Tylenol to kick in, I scrolled through news, cat pics and assorted silliness on Threads. There I found one of those Am I The Asshole (styled AITA) posts.

In case you’re unfamiliar, AITA is a sub-group on the Reddit site. Users post their theoretical real-life social experiences/quandaries and ask for judgement calls and advice from fellow “redditors.”

Responses generally begin with one of the following:
YTA (You’re the Asshole)
NTA (Not the Asshole {and the other person is})
ESH  (Everyone Sucks here)
NAH (No Assholes here)
INFO (Not Enough Info)

This is followed by comments, advice and criticisms. The posts, when I indulge, can be entertaining but, at the same time, guilt inducing time-wasters. Sort of like People Magazine or reality teevee.

Yesterday’s guilt inducing time-waster?
AITA For Wanting To Divorce My Husband Because He Wants A Son?

Long story short, her wanting a divorce has little to abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do with her husband’s wish for a son. It’s tangential, like saying Trump’s desire to occupy the oval office again is all about him really wanting to do the job of presidenting. Hah!

This previously, supposedly happy Reddit couple are expecting triplets. Tragically, there first child, a boy, had been stillborn. They were thrilled to bits about the triplets UNTIL this elaborate gender reveal party. FYI, it’s not uncommon for even the expecting parents to not know the sex of the awaited infant before the shindig of weirdness

I was so excited for the gender reveal. I don’t care what the gender of our babies was I just wanted healthy little babies, but my husband was clearly excited for potentially three sons. When the time came me, my husband, and my brother all shot a confetti cannon and all three shot out pink confetti. I was so excited and so was my brother but my husband screamed at the top of his lungs and hit the table in front of us, hitting it so hard that it actually broke. He screamed at me that I was supposed to give him at least one son because I killed his first one.
~~~
I tried to talk to him about it and asked about how he’ll be with our three daughters, but he spat at me and told me he will provide them shelter and food but he isn’t interested in daughters and doesn’t plan to have a close relationship with them. That sealed the deal that I want to divorce him and I cried myself to sleep last night.  (source)
In case you didn’t know, it’s the sperm, not the egg which determines the eventual baby’s sex. Apparently this poor woman and her horrifically ignorant and abusive sperm donor were unaware of this basic fact.

At this point in reading, I was wondering if all this actually happened. Possibly the OP (original poster) was engaging in a bit of creative writing? Was/is the story and plea for advice no more than a writing exercise—prep for crafting a horror novel or movie script? Maybe it’s nothing more than rage-bait for clicks and attention? Is the OP unaware that Jerry Springer’s dead and his show is no longer in production? Seems the author put forth an awful lot of effort just to grab a tiny interwebz spotlight.

IF this happened, was the couple ever truly as happy as she claims? Did she never see any red flags before this? Is the husband an undiagnosed psychotic? Can wifey lay hands on some wild hemlock or deadly nightshade or white snakeroot?

I’d love to know whether this story is real or not. Will OP become yet another sad statistic? After all, homicide ls the leading cause of death for pregnant women in U.S.


Tuesday, March 26, 2024

Justice Delayed

Lemme just say this…I’m deeply disappointed that the motherfucking criming griftasaurus was given a break and another goddamn chance yesterday. 

Also enraged.

It’s up to us to make sure the insane orange ball of hate, his henchman, puppet masters and minions fail and do so in max humiliating fashion.

VOTE! PROTEST! RAISE YOUR VOICE!

Justice too long delayed is justice denied.
~ Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

You shall not pervert justice. You shall not show partiality, and you shall not accept a bribe, for a bribe blinds the eyes of the wise and subverts the cause of the righteous.
~ Deuteronomy 16:19 

I should like to be able to love my country and still love justice.
~ Albert Camus

There may be times when we are powerless to prevent injustice, but there must never be a time when we fail to protest.
~ Elie Wiesel

Justice will not be served until those who are unaffected are as outraged as those who are.

~ Benjamin Franklin
I believe that there will ultimately be a clash between the oppressed and those who do the oppressing. I believe that there will be a clash between those who want freedom, justice and equality for everyone and those who want to continue the system of exploitation. I believe that there will be that kind of clash, but I don't think it will be based on the color of the skin.
~ Malcolm X 

Justice is unjust,
When it merely imposes,
The will of the state.
~ Victor D López  


Never forget that justice is what love looks like in public.
~ Cornel West

In keeping silent about evil, in burying it so deep within us that no sign of it appears on the surface, we are implanting it, and it will rise up a thousand fold in the future. When we neither punish nor reproach evildoers, we are not simply protecting their trivial old age, we are thereby ripping the foundations of justice from beneath new generations.
~ Aleksandr I. Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago 1918–1956

I am opposing a social order in which it is possible for one man who does absolutely nothing that is useful to amass a fortune of hundreds of millions of dollars, while millions of men and women who work all the days of their lives secure barely enough for a wretched existence.
~ Eugene Debs

We are not to simply bandage the wounds of victims beneath the wheels of injustice, we are to drive a spoke into the wheel itself.
~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer

To be wealthy and honored in an unjust society is a disgrace.
~ Confucius, The Analects

Justice? -You get justice in the next world, in this world you have the law.
~ William Gaddis, A Frolic of His Own

I am convinced that imprisonment is a way of pretending to solve the problem of crime. It does nothing for the victims of crime, but perpetuates the idea of retribution, thus maintaining the endless cycle of violence in our culture. It is a cruel and useless substitute for the elimination of those conditions--poverty, unemployment, homelessness, desperation, racism, greed--which are at the root of most punished crime. The crimes of the rich and powerful go mostly unpunished.
~ Howard Zinn, You Can't Be Neutral on a Moving Train: A Personal History of Our Times

Sometimes, the only way to get justice is to take it for yourself.

~ Leigh Bardugo, Crooked Kingdom


Monday, March 25, 2024

Solid Gold Schadenfreude

For all those who celebrate, Happy Seize the Fuck Outta Everything Cheato Owns Day! Mind you, he may pull off a last minute save—that’d be all Hollywood dramatic and right up his gold plated plague-rat style.

I’m hoping there’s no last minute miracle…of course I am. One of the best parts of Seize His Shitty Assets day is finding out precisely how little he actually owns. Trump Tower, fer instance—he owns the retail and commercial bits and a triplex apartment.
It turns out that of the many Trump-branded or -associated properties, he appears to own just a few units or portions of a building, such as at Trump Tower. In most other cases, Trump’s name on a building represents a licensing agreement, a condition of sale, or the Trump Organization’s role as property manager. Trump’s only equity in many of “his” buildings appears limited to a handful of unsold apartments or common spaces — if any at all. (source)
What this means is that an awful lot of “his” properties will need to be taken in order to satisfy the judgment. How many of these apartments and commercial spaces are mortgaged to the moon and back? How much does he, free and clear, actually own? Not too bloody much is my guess. He’s been playing three-card monte and shell games with banks, the public, the IRS and investors his entire life and is about to be exposed.

We’re about to find out that the shit-stained miscreant clown who buys face-painting bronzer in bulk (applying it with all the skill of a toddler on meth), wears a girdle, has mega-lifts in his shoes and spent more than $70,000 on hairstyling during his run on that little reality-TV show, is beyond broke. The lunatic fraudster is, at absolute best, a thousandaire NOT a billionaire.

By the by, the fraud felon deducted his hair-management expenses from his taxable income. That’s some serious financial gymnastics.
If he fails to either secure a bond or delay the process in court, the authorities in New York can freeze his bank accounts or target his properties. (source)
I like the sound of Donnie Dipshit’s bank accounts being put on ice. I also like the idea of him losing his $100 million airplane. His Gotham crib too. Yeah, the one he claimed was 30,000 square feet which, in reality, is just 11,000 square feet.
Financial statements from 2015 and 2016 still made the claim that the triplex was the much larger size, and valued it at $327 million. But in testimony given to the attorney general's office, Trump Organization CFO Allen Weisselberg said that the apartment's value was overstated by "give or take" $200 million. (source)
So, his Fifth Avenue condo is worth somewhere slightly north of $100 mil NOT $327mil. What about his vermin infested Florida crash pad?
Luxury home sales in Palm Beach increased by 20 percent year-over-year during the fourth quarter of 2023, according to a Douglass Elliman and Miller Samuel report. It said the average price per square foot in the luxury market, which represents the top 10 percent of all sales, rose to $3,770. At 62,500 square feet, that puts Mar-a-Lago at just shy of $250 million. Trump, however, claimed at trial that his Florida home is worth more than $1 billion. (source)
Considering that the banks undoubtedly own more of “his” property than he does, I think Mister Art of the Steal is, pretty much, fucked and not in the way he prefers either—you know, forcibly and with barely legal girls who look like his daughter.

Friday, March 22, 2024

Heaven and Hell

Catholic school totally misled me about the true nature of Heaven and Hell.

 Fer instance, this golden harp horseshit? Angels do NOT spend all there time sitting around on poofy, foofy cumulus clouds strumming on fancy, schmancy stringed instruments. No siree, mes amis! First off, dogs and most cats do not have opposable thumbs. This makes playing any human imagined musical instrument pretty much impossible.

What? You didn’t know that all of our good furry friends are actually angels? Do try to keep up, will you?

Other realities of Heaven?

  • The air always smells of freshly mown grass, the ocean, vanilla extract and freshly baked bread.
  • There’s never a line for the bathroom.
  • I have audio again (of course—that’s how I know I’m in paradise) and hear only the music I love. Given my vast, varied tuneage tastes, a lot of territory is covered. In fact, for me, listening to music alone IS Heaven. I’m pretty much all set.
  • Time travel exists so I can hurtle back to 1900 and watch Gustav Klimt paint his epic, Medicine (destroyed by retreating Nazis in May of 1945).
  • There’s teevee. You can watch anything you want BUT Firefly had 20 seasons (not just one), Angel (which had just found its best groove) had at least one more season and Crazyhead is playing into eternity.
  • Nachos are perfect—not too cheesy, NO lettuce, plenty of jalapeños, exquisite hot sauce and zero calories. Also, a proper, ultra dry martini (straight up, one olive) won’t make me drunk. (yes, I'm a wicked lightweight.)
  • Language isn’t a barrier to conversation. That is, none of us needs to speak clearly, concisely and all in the same tongue to be understood. In Heaven we sense vibes. We can understand others thoughts, needs, wishes by observing/taking in auras, chi and what-have-you. This eliminates the confusion of, for example, fanny meaning one thing in American English and something quite different in British English.

Hell is, as you’d expect, torture but not because it’s just like some Hieronymus Bosch, Dantean Inferno, Jan van Eyck confabulation.

Nope. Hell is much more akin to the one in Terry Pratchett’s novel Eric.

Eric Thursley visits Hell, which Astfgl, the demon king, has revolutionised. The damned must suffer repeated viewings of other people's holiday slides, elevator music, and the reading aloud of every clause of the 40,000 volumes of health and safety rules. (source)


The place is, by turns, obscenely dull and annoying.
  • None of the food is properly seasoned. All the veggies are boiled to death.
  • The only available wines are Manischewitz, Liebfraumilch, Cold Duck and, of course, Ripple.
  • There’s TV in Hell but they only get one channel. Yes, it’s Fox “News.” Occasionally, if you fix the rabbit ears just right, you can catch reruns of Three’s Company and Eight is Enough. Yeah… Hell.
  • There’s internet but it’s a very slow, shrieking dial up which rarely completes connection. Your only choice for web browser is AOL.
  • The walls are all painted white or mental institution green and are uninterestingly stained.
  • Sports—only Dodge Ball and everyone must play but you’re never on the team with possession of the ball.
Also, Hell doesn’t allow any pets. Not cats, dogs, turtles, parrots, etc. Why not? Animals and birds are perfect and don’t deserve the unbearable vexations, boredom and pains of Hell. Good for the wildlife but another misery source for the human residents.

Thursday, March 21, 2024

Sixth

Today is the sixth anniversary of the day Ten and I left Bend, Oregon in his truck packed with all his belongings.

We drove through gorgeous Montana; spent nine years driving though the state more boring than unseasoned mashed potatoes—yes, that's South Dakota; then Minnesota, Illinois, Pennsylvania and more until we finally hit Massachusetts. 

We moved him from the West Coast to the East Coast where we don't pronounce "r"s at the end of words, the liquor store is referred to as the "packy," Republi/Fascists are scarce and, most importantly, it's where my neuro pit crew resides.

Happy Anniversary to us! I think this calls for cake AND ice cream.


Wednesday, March 20, 2024

Cat & Mouse

Yesterday evening as Jen, Ten and I were sitting around schmoozing, Cake started going all Simone Biles near our front door. What the furry fuck, Cake? Ten and Jen spotted the object of our Angel Butt’s attraction immediately. The boy had discovered a little house mousey.

We watched him chase and toy with his new buddy for a couple minutes (with Jen and I cheering Cake on) before Ten stepped in to be the lone adult in the room. He separated our ferocious pee-wee panther from his quarry, capturing Fred (yes, I named the house mouse) in a glass jar. Ten then carried Fred out to the yard where he set the little fella free.

Our jungle warrior kitten was confused—“where did my new playmate/victim go? He was just here a second ago!” Cake hunted around, possibly hoping that Fred’s brother George was ready to go pata a pata in a battle to the death. Ah nope. IF George had been in the house, he was, wisely, making himself mighty scarce. 

As much as I like to keep the bloodsports off the good carpet (it’s just hell to clean up), I felt bad for my now confused battling bruiser. Obviously he deserved treats, pats and mega praise for defending us against the scary, fierce invading forces. And he got them.


Did you know?  

  • The average House Mouse can run as fast as 8mph. Wow!
  • The little devils are polygynous and make babies year round.(Horny or hellbent on keeping their species alive and thriving?)
  • In the wild, most don’t make it past 12-18 months of age. In captivity they can live up to five years (but are any of those years filled with freewheeling fun? Doubt it).
  • It was recently discovered that boy mice produce complex, ultrasonic songs in response to female sex pheromones. Basically, dudes are singing Percy Sledge, Barry White and The Beatles to attract baby mommas. Okay then!
The only worry about setting Fred free was that he might be cold. After all, yesterday was just the first day of spring—nights are still chilly as hell. Of course, if we’d kept him inside he’d not-so-eventually be unalived by our very good but savage panther guardian.
 
Maybe we should’ve put out a washcloth lined shoebox for Fred along with a bowl of kibble and an Oreo? Next time...

Tuesday, March 19, 2024

Bloodbaths and Gaslighting

Countess Elizabeth Bathory, AKA Erzsébet Báthory (1560-1614), was a rich, powerful Hungarian who was def not thrilled about aging…just like so many current era, swimming-in-dough-and-zero-dignity types. Plastic surgery had yet to be invented in the late-14th/early-15th century though. Fer Bast’s sake, what’s a late Middle Ages, wealthy, fading beauty to do?!

Why…bathe in the blood of the young female servants and minor noblewomen she’d tortured and murdered. Of course!

Some of Bathory's victims were covered with honey and left outside for insects to devour. During colder parts of the year young women might be stripped naked and forced into deadly ice baths. Bathory sometimes tortured girls by driving needles into their fingers, cutting their noses or lips or whipping them with stinging nettles. She would bite shoulders and breasts, as well as burning the flesh, including the genitals, of some victims. (source)

She sounds like your average unhinged MAGAT, doesn’t she? Supposedly she tore up 650 young women. Probably took her a lot longer than your average school massacre assassin but then, those dudes weren’t trying to collect blood for their respective beauty regimens.

By the by, Lizzie had a nephew who was the prince of Transylvania. No word on whether his name was Vlad or not.

Bloodbath
     noun
1: a great slaughter
2: a notably fierce, violent, or destructive contest or struggle

As his coven of willfully ignorant, hate riddled, gun fetishizing rubes zealously scream praise at their gold painted god’s rallies, threatening to murder all of his/their imagined enemies, Demented Diaper Don gleefully anticipated the bloodbath.

Hoplophile
     noun
Someone with an irrational love of, or fetish for, weaponry (especially firearms). From the Greek "hoplon" meaning armaments, and "philia" meaning love or intense friendship. (source)

Being a hoplophile is a requirement for all members of the Cult of Trump. 

"Now, if I don't get elected, it's gonna be a bloodbath for the whole ... that's gonna be the least of it, it's gonna be a bloodbath for the country, that'll be the least of it.” (source)
~ Cheato the Loser at a campaign rally for an Ohio Senate candidate who was stupid enough to not foresee that the Insecure Orange Id would steal the entire show so thoroughly that no one remembers his name…and we don’t.

Dave Whamond

"Let’s stop it with the faux-apologetics over TFG’s comments, namely that “bloodbath” was figurative and meant for the auto industry or the hot-mic’d “I want my people” was for his cabinet, not the rest of us. Cute, but no.

He opened that same rally by praising J6 terrorists, he’s repeatedly encouraged all manner of political violence, and he’s openly reveled in a “tough guy” mob boss persona. Power is his goal and violence is the only method his tiny brain can come up with to attain it.

Add to that the fact that he peppers every bullshit story with bizarre references to reverent people calling him “Sir,” always with eyes full of tears.

We know exactly what he means. So do his followers, who are more than happy to “stand back and stand by” for J6, The Sequel.

He doesn’t get the benefit of nuance or even “context,” because he’s never claimed to have any use for either. This is who he is: an unhinged bully demanding to be a worshipped dictator.

Enough of the gaslighting."

~ Jeffrey A. Ward 

Also, tick tock on coming up with that $464m for his fraud case. He needs to either pay the full amount in cash or secure a bond if he wants to continue his doom-bound appeal. Broke Boy’s got six little days (counting today) to come up with bucks or bond and shit don’t look good.

Apparently, not even his daughter/wife’s husband (Mr. $2 Billion Bonesaw Bucks) is willing to front Mr. Art-of-the-Steal money.

This makes me happy and I believe cake and ice cream are called for.