Just finished consuming one of those beautiful jewels of fruit, and found the process and the product of that labor to be an apt metaphor for the shit that this year hath wrought upon me. For those of you who find me afflicted with "Terminal Victimhood," scroll down 'til you see something that you LIKE. Y'know, some of that "Life Is Good (TM)" yuppie horseshit that ignores the starving, the sick, the robbed, the fucked-over, the injustice, the agony that's going on RIGHT THE FUCK IN FRONT OF THEIR FACES, 'cause they don't wanna trouble their "beautiful minds" with realities like me.
Just also finished wrapping presents for a fake holiday that I don't celebrate, for children who haven't loved me or given a flying rat's ass about me in 10 years; most of 'em "grown" now, think that they're thinking for themselves, but all they do is parrot the lies of their progenitors. And yesterday, when I took my cats over to THEIR house for their monthly (if we're lucky) "Field Trip," so that they can take their obese, elderly asses OUTSIDE and get some fresh air, graze, exercise, or just lie in the grass and watch fat, arrogant squirrels go by with their tongues sticking out... anyway, as I was leaving THEIR house, something on THEIR xmas tree caught my eye, because it was in my own handwriting, and it was something that I had given Tater over 15 years ago. He'd have been 22 this year, if he hadn't been murdered by white-trash-with-money drug dealers whose grandmothers had already bribed the white-trash-alkie-klepto-klansman "sheriff" to ALWAYS look the other way, even to the point of destroying crime scenes and physical evidence.
I keep thinking that I am, after 39 tortured fucking years having to deal with these motherfuckers, that I am FINALLY callused enough, hardened and scarred enough, to where they can't fucking hurt me anymore, no matter what their next trick, ambush, or other deception may be. When Nannie died and they tried to illegally destroy her handwritten will, the first thing THEY did to torture ME was to cut me off from the kids. Only Tater, his now-a-junkie-whore-traitor-whom-I-have-long-since-disowned "sister," and their little sister --- they were the only ones with whom I could have contact, because THEIR scumbag skank junkie whore "mother" wanted a cut of what Nannie left me, and that skank STILL owes me TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS from what I loaned her for divorce #5 so that she could marry abusive alcoholic #6 (and she just split with alcoholic pentecostal moron #7, I might add). Anyway, the only good thing that came out of Nannie dying was that I never lost Tater or his sisters, even though the older one would later betray me for far less than Judas' thirty pieces of silver, but from the almighty Son-King, the object/penile-substitute that THEY still worship to this very fucking day. The other one, well, she's a mercenary. She goes where it's convenient and/or profitable for her to be, and as I'm broke as a motherfucking joke and have so little to share, I'm not amongst her priorities in any capacity. She didn't drive the knife in my back, but she doesn't seem to give a rat's ass that it's still there.
All of that backstory to say this: when I saw that fucking xmas tree, I saw a cheap little polyester stocking that I had hand-lettered with "Tater" on it, back around '94 or earlier, and filled with candy to attach to Tater's xmas present, my fucking heart STOPPED. And being the big tender-hearted sentimental fool that he was, a boy who spent his life adopting "strays," even the motherfuckers who killed him, because neither of his "parents" nor his "grandparents" cared enough about him to give him a fucking HOME or anything even remotely resembling a "family --- he was always out looking for other people to take care of, because he'd never gotten the love that he deserved, he'd never had the parents that he deserved, and his grandparents sent him back to the whore who spawned him, BECAUSE THEY WANTED TO BUY A BIGGER FUCKING R.V. He was a teenager and tall enough to stand-up to Teh Dick's bullying and threats and physical abuse, so he hadda go. When you're talking about two grade-school bullies who never matured PAST high school, THEY have to be the ones who "rule" the roost, and a boy who learned how to stand up for himself wasn't what they were looking for, in a pet boy. Materially, they'd spoiled him, up until he finished puberty and outgrew Teh Dick, at which point they handed him back to his "father," who put him in the street because of the crack-whore (#2) he'd married, who hated all 3 of "his" kids (when you abandon children a few hundred times over their short life spans, can you really CALL yourself a "father"??!?!) --- and Tater couldn't get along with the skank's hubby #7, so she put him in the street, too. She'd give him a hundred bucks for the month and tell him to "go find someplace to stay." And because he would not submit to Teh Dick again, his "place to stay" always wound-up being with the drug-dealing scum who would soon murder him. Tater, despite being raised in filth, poverty, hunger, no healthcare, the bottom of EVERY fucking food chain, no matter if he had a roof over his head or clothes on his back or not, he STILL was more worried about taking care of OTHERS. He "adopted" that loser as his "best friend" because nobody else wanted to be associated with the disgusting little felon, unless they needed to score some X or weed or what-the-fuck-ever. Tater saw "good" in that piece of shit, much like his Aunt Nanner tried too damned hard, too many damned times, to see "good" in parasitic critters, be they platonic or sexual, male or female, whom the rest of the world had already spat-out. Yes, I'm way the fuck off-track, but fuck it, with people abandoning this blog left and fucking right, and lately, just Miss Poppy & Terrible posting (and damned well, I might add!!!), I figure that I can spare the bandwidth.
Anyway: apparently, that sweet-hearted angel of a boy (not a "literal" "angel," he weren't no virgin, by a long shot, he had 3-5 girlfriends at any given moment, and it ain't like he could've passed a piss-test for weed or beer, that's for damned sure, so I'm forging a different definition for "angel" when it comes to Tater) had saved that stocking for over 10 years. I would imagine, before teh Fallen Uterus & Her Dick yard-saled and threw-out most of Tater's belongings when he was shunted over to Bumfuckville (where Teh Skank lived with #7, and unfortunately, where our baby boy is buried, even though #7 ditched Teh Skank back in January of this year) --- anyway, before all of the pieces of shit who were supposed to be "RAISING" that boy yard-saled and threw-away most of his belongings, I would imagine that he had saved every present I ever gave him, especially that lava lamp. We had a matched set of lava lamps, 'cause he saw mine and fell in love with it, so I got him one for his next birfday, back when I could get and/or hold a job.
When Tater was murdered, I got nothing of his. Teh fucking cunt Evil Bitch Fallen Uterus MADE DAMNED SURE that she GOT A HUGE HONKIN' HANK OF HIS HAIR from the fucking mortician before they sealed the coffin (nope, never got to SEE him THERE, either, as I wasn't ALLOWED to see him at either hospital that night, before they pulled the plug on him, I WAS NOT ALLOWED TO TELL THAT BOY GOODBYE, and I will never be able to. Kinda the same way that they pulled the plug on Nannie while I was driving 95 fucking miles per hour, from New Orleans to Zachary, LA, to that Roach Motel of a "hospital" --- THEY made damned fucking sure that she was DEAD ***LONG*** BEFORE I GOT THERE, no matter how fast I drove.), but did she ask me if *I* wanted anything?!?!? Fuck no. His skank whore of a "mother" got his clothes back from the state police crime lab (as futile an exercise as THAT was, since all of the REAL, relevant evidence HAD ALREADY BEEN DESTROYED before the state police ever SAW ANY), but do you think that I got my Ramones t-shirt, the one he was wearing that night --- y'all think that I'll ever see that shirt? That stupid whore probably burned it. And yes, I would have taken it back with his blood and brains on it, it would've been SOMETHING of Tater that I could've kept, and it was MY damned t-shirt anyfuckingway. I know how gross & morbid that this sounds to y'all, but since I never got to see him again, alive or dead, after our last phone conversation, 2 nights before he was murdered, I wanted SOMETHING of HIM, dammit.
And so, out of all of his possessions, none of which I will ever see again, especially the gifts that I'd given him all of his life (and, I might note, for several years, he was the ONLY one of all of the nieces & nephews who EVER gave me an xmas or birfday present. Oldest Niece started reciprocating after Tater died, but because she's the only one with whom I have an actual relationship with anymore, and even that is touch-and-go nowadays.) --- the only one upon which I have laid eyes in the 4.5 years since he was murdered, was something that I made just for him. A cheap trifle, but to see it again, for the first time in over 15 years, to see that he had SAVED that little stocking for so long, just ripped through me with THE very epitome of "bittersweet" agony. It was like he was reaching back to tell me that he still loved me, but I should've known that FIVE FUCKING YEARS AGO, dammit. That cold-hearted bitch has been hoarding/HIDING that stocking FROM ME, for ALL OF THIS FUCKING TIME, knowing DAMNED FUCKING WELL THAT ****I**** FUCKING MADE IT FOR AND GAVE IT TO TATER.
But now, she chooses to put it right at my eye-level on her fucking tree, just to rip my fucking guts out. NOW she claims that it's been on her various xmas trees "ALL ALONG," like she NEVER STOPPED hanging it on her fucking trees --- when I know damned well that it probably wasn't even IN that house until after Tater died. And she THINKS that she's going to get to "keep" that stocking. I'll cut her fucking throat over that stocking. I know, it sounds insane, trivial, unimportant to the rest of the world, but Tater wasn't just my nephew, he wasn't just the son that I would never have, he was MY FRIEND, and one of the best friends I've ever had. And when I lose a friend, you might as well cut off one of my fucking limbs, it hurts that fucking bad. I love that boy, to this day, with all of my fucking heart.
He was trying to get AWAY from those motherfuckers, those scumbag drug-dealing pieces of shit. He wanted to finish high school, not just get a GED, he wanted to FINISH, he wanted to go to trade school or college, he wanted to DO SOMETHING WITH HIS LIFE, instead of being a fucking patsy/drug mule/servant to those parasitic pieces of shit for whom HE felt pity, compassion, and acceptance, whereas they treated him like he was STOOOPID for caring about their scumbag asses. Sound familiar? I tried to teach those kids, at least to learn from my multitudinous and flaming fucking MISTAKES, but Tater was too ornery to see the parallels from my explosive fuck-ups to the fucktarded losers whom he felt the need to "mother," so to speak.
I've given the Fallen Uterus until she takes down her fake tree to give that stocking back to me. Not saying that I'm actually "threatening" anybody or that I'm actually going to "kill" anybody (that would pretty much clusterfuck my whole SURPRISE, wouldn't it?), not at all. But that stocking is the most valuable thing in the world to me right now. I still don't have a place to move to yet, I've lost the woman whom I thought was my very best friend not once, but TWICE this year, AND THEN she hadda go and QUIT THE FUCKING BLOG, like ditching me wasn't ENOUGH HURT. I wish that I had the $$$ that she's spent on me to give back, to give her the money that she & her dad spent on this computer, because I never wanted to owe her anything in the first place, but when we were, I thought, FRIENDS, it didn't make me wanna open a vein to have them do such an enormous favor for me. It made me feel like a completely useless pile of shit, but a grateful and honored pile of shit. Nobody had EVER done anything like that for me since my Nannie died. Yeah, a now-apparently-ALSO-former-friend helped me get my teefuses, after I wasted Redcane's and y'all's money on all of the WRONG dentists and two root canals that didn't quite hold the fuck up, but for somebody to just walk into a store and buy me a new machine --- that kinda shit don't happen in my life, and I'm pretty fucking sure that it'll never happen again. She will always have my gratitude, but since she could never be bothered to explain to me WHY I was no longer her friend, that wound will never heal. If you ask that third-party friend (going back to the teefuses), who likes to blow a lotta smoke up people's asses about what he THINKS he knows about my relationship with that best friend, I am the epitome of evil, 'cause HE SAYS SO, 'cause, y'know, he was in on every phone call, every e-mail, every conversation that she & I ever had.
Normally, I don't put my quarrels with loved ones out on the front page, because it's tacky and it's just bad karma. But since those two CHOSE to leave my life, I don't know what else to do with it. The hurting is still there, can't do shit to fix that, and apparently, can't talk to either one of them, so how the fuck do I "just get the fuck over it," as some would say.
I just can't take losing one more loved one, dammit, not just this year, but this fucking LIFETIME. Lost Al Hill last year, that damned near killed me. Another longstanding friend has HIV, and we don't know how far-progressed THAT is, because he's too fucking hard-headed to go to a fucking DOCTOR more than once a fucking DECADE. RenB's driving himself to an early grave, still taking care of everybody BUT himself, like THAT'S new... Poppy damned near died on us, with her brain trying to escape her head, but thankfully, she's still around and still kicking ass. Mentis will never talk about it, but he lost someone he loved VERY much not so long ago, and has had some serious health scares with someone else whom he loves just as much, which he also won't talk about. But it makes me worry FOR HIM, so that's why I blather it here. When people I love hurt, I HURT. And I'm not mentally-equipped to deal with this shit. Not because I'm "certifiable," I've beaten THAT rap about five or six times already; I just don't know how to FIX THIS SHIT. How to save people who matter from DYING ON US, how to keep people I love from LEAVING ME, how to fix all the shit that's wrong in so many of my friends' lives.
I don't know how to go back in time and cut the fucking throat of the Trinidadian PIECE OF SHIT who murdered Jada IN THE WOMB. Every four to six months, she's back in the hospital, and some fucking doctor is saying that she's "ABOUT TO" die again. But she's back out of the hospital again, and she's still kicking. Thanks to her sperm donor, that's about as much exercise or movement as she'll EVER GET: she's 2-1/2 years old, and she still can't hold-up her own head, sit up, crawl, or speak. If there were any justice in the universe whatsofuckingever, there wouldn't be a jury on the planet that would convict me of ANYTHING after I fed that motherfucker, all 6-foot-6 of him, into the woodchipper, FEET FIRST, with a ball-gag in his fucking mouth and close-up video of his FACE. I want to watch THAT PIECE OF SHIT SUFFER THE WAY THAT HE'S MADE THAT BEAUTIFUL BABY SUFFER, EVERY FUCKING DAY OF HER SHORT LITTLE LIFE. You beat a woman almost to death in the 3rd trimester, yeah, you've pretty much fucked that beautiful, brilliant baby out of her entire fucking life, the life that she DESERVED, the life that she SHOULD HAVE HAD.
If there were any justice in the universe, the PIGS in Livingston Parish, LA would've investigated the cut brakes on my first car, when I lost the left half of my brain in 1986, and Teh Dick and his penis-extension almighty fucking SON-KING would've been in Angola for attempted murder, even if NOBODY IN WILLIE GRAVES' OFFICE BELIEVES IN PROSECUTING CHILD-MOLESTERS, DESPITE THE EXTENDED STATUTE-OF-LIMITATIONS LAWS THAT GIVE THE VICTIM UP TO THIRTY YEARS AFTER THEY REACH THE AGE OF 18. No, I'll never be as bad-off as Jada, I can still, somewhat, walk, I can sure as hell talk, and I did somehow manage to graduate high school and to half-ass my way through college. But every day that I sit here in L'Hotel du Fucktards, I wonder WHAT I MIGHT HAVE BEEN. What they fucking STOLE FROM ME. And I'll never fucking know, because as soon as I stopped the sexual slavery and started my entire life over from SCRATCH, because everything I'd been "taught" all of my life had been BIG FAT PERVERTED, DISGUSTING FUCKING ***LIES*** --- as soon as I started my entire life over from scratch, and tried like all hell to catch-up with the rest of the REAL world --- they killed me. Well, they killed the IMPORTANT parts, put it that way.
What I did to deserve this life, I have no idea. I know that a lot of people think that I'm a "bad person" BECAUSE I USE ADULT FUCKING LANGUAGE and I don't suck-up to ANYBODY for ANY FUCKING "APPROVAL," nor do I hold any respect for ANYBODY'S FUCKING CULTS, etc. But just ME being ME still ain't enough to warrant this shit. Nannie sure as fuck didn't EVER do anything to deserve the horrific, slow and painful execution that SHE got. Tater sure as FUCK never deserved to have his glorious potential STOLEN by BIPEDAL PIECES OF SHIT.
Yes, I am fortunate in many ways: I do still have, for now anyway, several truly good friends, people whom I *know* truly love me, and not just 'cause I'm some charity/pity-project for them. People who consider me their equals, whether they bust their asses 50+ hours a week working or if they're on disability like me. People who don't care if I'm older than them or younger, if I'm more or less well-read or educated, who don't give a dust-mite up a bug's ass as to what I've achieved in my life or if the "big picture" shows that I'm a huge fucking failure at EVERYTHING I've ever tried to do. Some of 'em even know what I *have* achieved, and give me credit for it, even if I *am* a lowlife welfare queen. If I did not have my family of friends, there would be no point for me to continue wasting this planet's oxygen. I just can't take losing anybody else. Yes, it's the purely narcissistic way to look at my friends and what they mean to my life, but this is ME we're talking about here, right? All I know how to do or BE is "narcissism," right? Just ask ol' Third-Party boy up thar. He knows, 'cause he knows ALL. He was supposed to be my friend, but now he thinks that he's my JUDGE. Sorry, kiddo, but you ain't qualified for that position. Maybe if you actually, oh, I dunno, FUCKED women, as opposed to putting one of 'em up on a pedestal and then condemning the rest, you might get it one day. Whether or not you'll ever get ANY, well, that's between you, Rosy Palm and her Five Sisters. I daren't hazard a guess.
Yes, I know how useless and pointless and rambling this entire transcendental-masturbation session has been, and I'm sorry to have wasted y'all's time with it. I thought that there was a point in here somewhere, but apparently not. That's why I'm putting it in the Storage Unit... Teh sleeping pill has kicked-in, and I have lost my focus entirely.
The pomegranate was wonderful, but messy, tedious, and a pain in the ass to eat. But it was still worth it. Why aren't I? Nope, not asking for any fucking CULT cliche' quips to "console" me, not looking for ANY kind of cliche' to "console" me. Just throwing this shit out there because it's cathartic. I had this whole concept measured-out and outlined in my head, and the damned drugs got to me first. Will try again later, to make SOMETHING out of this clusterfuck.
Most of all, I want a time machine. I wanna go back and get my Nannie, my Papa, and my Tater. I wanna go back and save Mike Pierre from the drive-by crackheads who GOT THE WRONG FUCKING HOUSE, and go get Barry Cowsill and save most of Orleans Parish from Katrina, I wanna do radio over again, knowing what I know now. I want my Nannie to have never had to have sold her house and given up on her life. Even if it meant that I had to be stuck at LSU and weigh 300 pounds until I croak from a heart attack, I could go back and NEVER HAVE LEFT MY NANNIE ALONE AGAIN, and no matter what happened around Tater, HE WOULD ALWAYS HAVE HAD A HOME. I can't fix any of this shit. I can't go back in time and un-learn that Henry Rollins hates women, especially me. I can't go back in time and get the best friend that I thought of as the younger sister I always wanted BACK. I can't fix ANYTHING anymore, so why the fuck am I here? Nobody will give me straight answers, they just disappear from my fucking life. Well fuck, if you're not in it for the LONG HAUL, as said friend SWORE that she WAS, WHY EVEN FUCKING ***BOTHER*** TO ACT LIKE YOU'RE MY "FRIEND"?!??!?! I know that it's not because I'm even remotely "entertaining," so why did she waste all of that time and money on someone she obviously holds in no regard or respect?!?!?!?
When and if I ever hit the powerball, the first thing that I'm going to do is to send her twenty times what the computer cost, so that we might, at least, be even/equal in THAT sense.
None of this makes any sense, so I'm gonna shut the fuck up now.
And if it kills me, I'm getting Tater's stocking back, dammit.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
FINALLY!!!
After all of these years of being THE first to lend a hand, to leap-in with both feet EVERY time that help is needed, Terrible has finally given me a chance to try and do something FOR HIM.
Like a lot of us, Terrible's driving a beater, and even though he does a helluva lot of the work himself, or has really good friends who help out, the Kia ain't lookin' so good. Not on the "terminal" list yet, but not far from it. And what gave ME a fuckin' heart attack is learning that he's got a broken belt in the sidewall of one of his two snow tires.
Vermont. Assloads of snow, steep drop-offs from narrow roads, ice everywhere, oh, and a teeny-tiny pimple in the sidewall of a tire can blow up and knock your ass into a fucking tree. No, I'm not even remotely exaggerating. Yes, I am a nagging yenta/professional worrier, so fucking sue me.
So here's the pitch: FUNDRAISER FOR TERRIBLE!!!!!! (< We can't be having our Terrible flying off the side of a fucking mountain or into a gawdlessdamned tree or stranded on the side of some ass-end-of-East-Fuckin'-Jeebus road in a fuckin' blizzard. I wish I could properly install a PayPal button in a fucking post, but I never *have* mastered that particular skill, for some fucking reason. Yeah, I know. Ironic. Huh huh huh. A semi-professional beggar who can't even do it right. Smoooooth. Well, when I hit the fucking powerball, none of us will need fundraisers anymore, and I can hire somebody to finally teach me how to do PayPal buttons PROPERLY, to pound it into my oft-dented skull with a 10-pound maul, so that it STAYS THERE. But then, we will only have to do fundraisers for good charities, like the ones who don't demand that children SHOW PROOF OF CITIZENSHIP in order to receive xmas toys. Don't get me started, I'll go all off-track, well, even worse than I have already.
Y'all all know & love Terrible, and he has never asked any of us for ANYTHING, he just gives and he gives and he gives. I've got about an ACRE of mosquito-netting, instant-stove chemical cookers, smart-assed MREs (ha ha fuckin' ha, Ted.), all KINDS of shit to prepare me for any kind of natural or Halliburton-made disaster (and yes, I went out and spent a WAD on hurricane supplies this year, and FOR WHAT?!?!?!?! Too late to return any of it, I can promise y'all THAT shit.) --- and the books! Terrible used to have a bookstore, and he is STILL de-stashing. Videos, oh and holy SHIT, that Vermont Smoke & Cure summer sausage!!!!! He got me thoroughly ADDICTED to that small-batch, family-farm-made stuff. In other words, Terrible is the cool older brother that I was SUPPOSED to have, who always watches out for me and makes damned sure that I never go hungry. If I had it, I'd send him a fortune my damned self, but y'all know me: doomed to perpetual brokeness. So that's why I'm asking Y'ALL. If anybody "deserves" a little help (or severe acreage and a huge wad of cash), its our Terrible, by damn. Yes, other people in the world have it hard, and it's charitable-contribution-demand time, they're ALL out in force, and they've all gone into the red this year, I know, I know, I know.
But this is something that y'all can do for one person whom you KNOW will keep doing good in the world, who will never stop busting his ass to improve his little patch of the planet, and who genuinely needs your help to stay independent and self-sufficient. And no, that's not an oxymoron. And yes, we all know that EVERYBODY has it hard this year and will for the next couple of years, I don't give a shit WHAT the media tells ya to get you back into the shopping malls. That should tell y'all how serious this is, that Terrible would let me ask y'all for help, and how very much he and I will both appreciate any and all help that y'all can share.
Thank y'all, once again, for listening to me blather, and without even throwing rotten fruit or eggs.
Like a lot of us, Terrible's driving a beater, and even though he does a helluva lot of the work himself, or has really good friends who help out, the Kia ain't lookin' so good. Not on the "terminal" list yet, but not far from it. And what gave ME a fuckin' heart attack is learning that he's got a broken belt in the sidewall of one of his two snow tires.
Vermont. Assloads of snow, steep drop-offs from narrow roads, ice everywhere, oh, and a teeny-tiny pimple in the sidewall of a tire can blow up and knock your ass into a fucking tree. No, I'm not even remotely exaggerating. Yes, I am a nagging yenta/professional worrier, so fucking sue me.
So here's the pitch: FUNDRAISER FOR TERRIBLE!!!!!! (<
Y'all all know & love Terrible, and he has never asked any of us for ANYTHING, he just gives and he gives and he gives. I've got about an ACRE of mosquito-netting, instant-stove chemical cookers, smart-assed MREs (ha ha fuckin' ha, Ted.), all KINDS of shit to prepare me for any kind of natural or Halliburton-made disaster (and yes, I went out and spent a WAD on hurricane supplies this year, and FOR WHAT?!?!?!?! Too late to return any of it, I can promise y'all THAT shit.) --- and the books! Terrible used to have a bookstore, and he is STILL de-stashing. Videos, oh and holy SHIT, that Vermont Smoke & Cure summer sausage!!!!! He got me thoroughly ADDICTED to that small-batch, family-farm-made stuff. In other words, Terrible is the cool older brother that I was SUPPOSED to have, who always watches out for me and makes damned sure that I never go hungry. If I had it, I'd send him a fortune my damned self, but y'all know me: doomed to perpetual brokeness. So that's why I'm asking Y'ALL. If anybody "deserves" a little help (or severe acreage and a huge wad of cash), its our Terrible, by damn. Yes, other people in the world have it hard, and it's charitable-contribution-demand time, they're ALL out in force, and they've all gone into the red this year, I know, I know, I know.
But this is something that y'all can do for one person whom you KNOW will keep doing good in the world, who will never stop busting his ass to improve his little patch of the planet, and who genuinely needs your help to stay independent and self-sufficient. And no, that's not an oxymoron. And yes, we all know that EVERYBODY has it hard this year and will for the next couple of years, I don't give a shit WHAT the media tells ya to get you back into the shopping malls. That should tell y'all how serious this is, that Terrible would let me ask y'all for help, and how very much he and I will both appreciate any and all help that y'all can share.
Thank y'all, once again, for listening to me blather, and without even throwing rotten fruit or eggs.
Monday, December 7, 2009
The "RAFFLES MIA/APB DISAPPEARED!!!" Post
To preserve the original post, I've moved it here, because it was so damned long and I am so damned tired and my tailbone is trying to murder me, from sitting upright for all these long-assed fucking hours (at least four of them were devoted exclusively to finding Raffles!). The "Mission Accomplished" is at the main blog.
Many thanks to Terrible, all of the wunnerful women who work for the VA in New Hampshah, and a SAINT named Cindy who got Raffles ON THE PHONE for me!!!
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posted by Anntichrist S. Coulter at 2:34 AM
Many thanks to Terrible, all of the wunnerful women who work for the VA in New Hampshah, and a SAINT named Cindy who got Raffles ON THE PHONE for me!!!
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Monday, December 07, 2009
MIA/APB: RAFFLES HAS BEEN DISAPPEARED!!!
RenB's dad, affectionately known as "Raffles," aka Richard Bodkin of Manchester, New Hampshire, has gone missing. He's a 93-year-old veteran, who fell & fractured (though not a complete break, thankfully) his pelvis/hip right after thanksgiving, out raking leaves, and had surgery at Elliot Hospital in Manchester.
He then went to his other son's house (names will be listed if we don't find him soon) to "recover," and was then to start physical therapy, in-patient or out-patient, through the V.A. Why on earth Medicare didn't send him to his own home with a daily "visitation nurse" to take care of him in his own home, in his own bed, I have no fucking idea. The wicked-witch daughter-in-law kept pushing the "NURSING HOME!!!" meme on him, which Raffles fucking HATED, she kept upsetting Raffles at every opportunity, and then would get on the phone with RenB and start fights with HIM, as if HIS nerves weren't already fucked ENOUGH. Blaming HIM for being in Austria, claiming that he wanted his own father to "die," psycho-cunt/socipathic shit like that. And then, as of December 2nd, "NOBODY" in the Bodkin clan "knows" where Raffles "is."
I shit y'all not. Not only has his other offspring and his wedded tumor done everything possible to emotionally alienate Raffles from RenB, now they have PHYSICALLY and LITERALLY DEPRIVED HIM OF HIS FATHER. I know, I need to google the V.A.s in N.H., I need to get off of my butt and FIND the ol' coot, but I have a hard enough time getting out of the damned bed these days. Much has fallen by the wayside, bills go unpaid, etc. But I can NOT forget about Raffles. I am NOT going to lose another friend this year, dammit. And Ren does NOT need to lose his only father, by any means or manipulation by third parties.
So if anybody up thataway knows anything about V.A. hospitals & nursing homes, please enlighten me, because it's almost been five days, and neither Ren nor I have any idea of where he is, and none of his "family" will tell him ANYTHING about the care/health/location of HIS OWN DAMNED FATHER. Raffles is one of the good ones, dammit, and I intend to do whatever I can to keep his ornery ol' ass on this planet as long as humanly possible. Well, not so much "ornery" as "smartassed," but y'all get the drift. Ren's been in Austria for 30+ years, seen his dad 3 or 4 times, but has been e-mailing and/or calling him on a regular basis all along. There were rough patches, Ren's fucktarded bigot "relatives" constantly bombard him and Raffles with homophobic bullshit, but Raffles knows what's important --- that Ren is his son, and that he loves him. Even though he still has to deal with the waste-of-oxygen types, Raffles sticks up for himself. That's where Ren gets that temper from, y'know. And that ornery/stubborn streak a mile fuckin' wide.
Yes, it IS most likely that Raffles is fine, though infinitely pissed-off, having been stuck into a damned nursing home, which he HATES (who doesn't?!?!), but until RenB or I hear something concrete, we're gonna keep rattling the shutters and banging on the doors. What kind of assholes CUT A MAN OFF FROM HIS 93-YEAR-OLD FATHER?!?!?!?! He's damned lucky to be alive at this point, YOU DO NOT GAMBLE WITH THE TIME THAT HE HAS LEFT ON THIS EARTH. And you sure as hell don't piss it away, playing psychotic little manipulation-games, just to hurt his own SON.
If the aforementioned skank-in-law, or his jellyfish of a "brother," doesn't get in touch with Ren, to let him know where Raffles is currently incarcerated (have YOU ever seen a nursing home that wasn't like jail?!?!? Much less one run by the state or fed???), I'm gonna call the fucking state troopers. Five days is a long damned time to NOT KNOW WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON, when you're talking about a wounded 93-year-old. No, he didn't lose bone marrow; he hasn't, as far as we know, been afflicted with hospital-borne pneumonia, which kills so many of the elderly; for all we know, he could be up and walking and bitching as we speak.
BUT WE DON'T KNOW, DO WE.
I wish that I had a picture of Raffles to post, but RenB can't find one on his current computer, as they were all on his ol' puter, "Lazarus," which means that they are effectively down the memory hole. How I've been friends with them both for all of these years and never seen a picture of Raffles, I have no idea. But we all know how senile I am. Compared to Raffles, *I* should prolly be in a nursing home, 'cause he's sharper than the proverbial tack and hasn't had a "foggy" day in his life. Certain people might have others BELIEVE that he's "slipping," that he "needs" to be in supervised-care prisons, um, "nursing homes," but HE DOESN'T NEED THAT SHIT. Medicare and the V.A. can send actual REGISTERED Nurses, not LPNs or "nurse-practitioners" who think that they're "DOCTORS," REAL nurses --- right to his home. They were the only real medical care that my Nannie got when the F.U. & her Dick condemned her to death by colon cancer, but somehow, nobody ever intervened or questioned that "medical power of attorney."
Sorry, flashbacks. I can't stand losing people, especially old people that I love. Not overly thrilled when I lose the young ones, either, whether by death or simply their desire to walk out of my life, but life is so fragile after you pass a certain age, no matter how tough the nonagenarian is --- you worry. You worry a LOT. And you miss the hell out of them. I don't want to jinx Raffles by talking about death, but this skeers the shit outta me like when Al Hill died --- I didn't find out for a WEEK after I talked to him in the hospital, and only found out that he'd died BY GOOGLING HIM. When the in-laws are outlaws like what Raffles has, you AUTOMATICALLY suspect the fuckers, especially when they make sure that the ENTIRE FUCKING "FAMILY" SHUTS-OUT THE ONE PERSON WHO LOVES HIM MOST.
Sound familiar? For those of y'all who were around after my Nannie died, you remember how the Fallen Uterus cut me off from all of my nieces & nephews, because she was trying to INVALIDATE Nannie's hand-written will and rob me fucking blind. Most of them, I never have truly gotten those relationships back. And this is what these manipulations smell like to me. And I'm not above publishing home phone numbers if Raffles doesn't surface and soon, either. What are they gonna do, SUE ME? HA! Talk about a waste of lawyer bills... I *know* that they don't want my hoopty old truck or two obese and crotchety cats, and that's all that I've got. A woman with nothing left to lose is a very dangerous individual, indeed. I've been censored by every gaggle of clique-brained breeders, cult freaks, "society" cunts, misogynist swine, inbred redneck mouth-breather "teachers"/"principals," lowlife "bosses," thieving "relatives," and Tammy Faye Bakker look-alike food stamp bitches known to humankind. SKEER ME.
~~~~~~
Elsewhere: Birfday update --- that young whippersnapper Hermes, of Hermes' Journeys, turns all of THIRTY on the 18th of this month, so send him your best wishes and as many wrinkles as possible. Looks like a fucking TEENAGER at the ripe old age of 29. Yeah, THAT'S fair. Right. He'd damned well better drink some tequila for me, is all I'm sayin'.
He then went to his other son's house (names will be listed if we don't find him soon) to "recover," and was then to start physical therapy, in-patient or out-patient, through the V.A. Why on earth Medicare didn't send him to his own home with a daily "visitation nurse" to take care of him in his own home, in his own bed, I have no fucking idea. The wicked-witch daughter-in-law kept pushing the "NURSING HOME!!!" meme on him, which Raffles fucking HATED, she kept upsetting Raffles at every opportunity, and then would get on the phone with RenB and start fights with HIM, as if HIS nerves weren't already fucked ENOUGH. Blaming HIM for being in Austria, claiming that he wanted his own father to "die," psycho-cunt/socipathic shit like that. And then, as of December 2nd, "NOBODY" in the Bodkin clan "knows" where Raffles "is."
I shit y'all not. Not only has his other offspring and his wedded tumor done everything possible to emotionally alienate Raffles from RenB, now they have PHYSICALLY and LITERALLY DEPRIVED HIM OF HIS FATHER. I know, I need to google the V.A.s in N.H., I need to get off of my butt and FIND the ol' coot, but I have a hard enough time getting out of the damned bed these days. Much has fallen by the wayside, bills go unpaid, etc. But I can NOT forget about Raffles. I am NOT going to lose another friend this year, dammit. And Ren does NOT need to lose his only father, by any means or manipulation by third parties.
So if anybody up thataway knows anything about V.A. hospitals & nursing homes, please enlighten me, because it's almost been five days, and neither Ren nor I have any idea of where he is, and none of his "family" will tell him ANYTHING about the care/health/location of HIS OWN DAMNED FATHER. Raffles is one of the good ones, dammit, and I intend to do whatever I can to keep his ornery ol' ass on this planet as long as humanly possible. Well, not so much "ornery" as "smartassed," but y'all get the drift. Ren's been in Austria for 30+ years, seen his dad 3 or 4 times, but has been e-mailing and/or calling him on a regular basis all along. There were rough patches, Ren's fucktarded bigot "relatives" constantly bombard him and Raffles with homophobic bullshit, but Raffles knows what's important --- that Ren is his son, and that he loves him. Even though he still has to deal with the waste-of-oxygen types, Raffles sticks up for himself. That's where Ren gets that temper from, y'know. And that ornery/stubborn streak a mile fuckin' wide.
Yes, it IS most likely that Raffles is fine, though infinitely pissed-off, having been stuck into a damned nursing home, which he HATES (who doesn't?!?!), but until RenB or I hear something concrete, we're gonna keep rattling the shutters and banging on the doors. What kind of assholes CUT A MAN OFF FROM HIS 93-YEAR-OLD FATHER?!?!?!?! He's damned lucky to be alive at this point, YOU DO NOT GAMBLE WITH THE TIME THAT HE HAS LEFT ON THIS EARTH. And you sure as hell don't piss it away, playing psychotic little manipulation-games, just to hurt his own SON.
If the aforementioned skank-in-law, or his jellyfish of a "brother," doesn't get in touch with Ren, to let him know where Raffles is currently incarcerated (have YOU ever seen a nursing home that wasn't like jail?!?!? Much less one run by the state or fed???), I'm gonna call the fucking state troopers. Five days is a long damned time to NOT KNOW WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON, when you're talking about a wounded 93-year-old. No, he didn't lose bone marrow; he hasn't, as far as we know, been afflicted with hospital-borne pneumonia, which kills so many of the elderly; for all we know, he could be up and walking and bitching as we speak.
BUT WE DON'T KNOW, DO WE.
I wish that I had a picture of Raffles to post, but RenB can't find one on his current computer, as they were all on his ol' puter, "Lazarus," which means that they are effectively down the memory hole. How I've been friends with them both for all of these years and never seen a picture of Raffles, I have no idea. But we all know how senile I am. Compared to Raffles, *I* should prolly be in a nursing home, 'cause he's sharper than the proverbial tack and hasn't had a "foggy" day in his life. Certain people might have others BELIEVE that he's "slipping," that he "needs" to be in supervised-care prisons, um, "nursing homes," but HE DOESN'T NEED THAT SHIT. Medicare and the V.A. can send actual REGISTERED Nurses, not LPNs or "nurse-practitioners" who think that they're "DOCTORS," REAL nurses --- right to his home. They were the only real medical care that my Nannie got when the F.U. & her Dick condemned her to death by colon cancer, but somehow, nobody ever intervened or questioned that "medical power of attorney."
Sorry, flashbacks. I can't stand losing people, especially old people that I love. Not overly thrilled when I lose the young ones, either, whether by death or simply their desire to walk out of my life, but life is so fragile after you pass a certain age, no matter how tough the nonagenarian is --- you worry. You worry a LOT. And you miss the hell out of them. I don't want to jinx Raffles by talking about death, but this skeers the shit outta me like when Al Hill died --- I didn't find out for a WEEK after I talked to him in the hospital, and only found out that he'd died BY GOOGLING HIM. When the in-laws are outlaws like what Raffles has, you AUTOMATICALLY suspect the fuckers, especially when they make sure that the ENTIRE FUCKING "FAMILY" SHUTS-OUT THE ONE PERSON WHO LOVES HIM MOST.
Sound familiar? For those of y'all who were around after my Nannie died, you remember how the Fallen Uterus cut me off from all of my nieces & nephews, because she was trying to INVALIDATE Nannie's hand-written will and rob me fucking blind. Most of them, I never have truly gotten those relationships back. And this is what these manipulations smell like to me. And I'm not above publishing home phone numbers if Raffles doesn't surface and soon, either. What are they gonna do, SUE ME? HA! Talk about a waste of lawyer bills... I *know* that they don't want my hoopty old truck or two obese and crotchety cats, and that's all that I've got. A woman with nothing left to lose is a very dangerous individual, indeed. I've been censored by every gaggle of clique-brained breeders, cult freaks, "society" cunts, misogynist swine, inbred redneck mouth-breather "teachers"/"principals," lowlife "bosses," thieving "relatives," and Tammy Faye Bakker look-alike food stamp bitches known to humankind. SKEER ME.
~~~~~~
Elsewhere: Birfday update --- that young whippersnapper Hermes, of Hermes' Journeys, turns all of THIRTY on the 18th of this month, so send him your best wishes and as many wrinkles as possible. Looks like a fucking TEENAGER at the ripe old age of 29. Yeah, THAT'S fair. Right. He'd damned well better drink some tequila for me, is all I'm sayin'.
Labels: elder-abuse, elderly, never trust the in-laws, New Hampshah, nursing homes SUXXORS, Raffles, RenB, veterans
Monday, September 7, 2009
Hurricane, Economic Depression & other survival tips
In other words, when you're broke, your friends are broke, and you might very well be without electricity and/or communications utilities for more than a week, much less fresh food, YOU CAN SURVIVE.
I know, 'cause I've done it. I've gone months without a phone, I've sold plasma & everything I own to keep the electricity turned on, and even that didn't last, and I've survived hurricanes all of my life. Granted, I wasn't there to survive Katrina, so I don't know what it's like to survive the WORST hurricanes, but I've gathered a few useful tips here and there that might help, if you find yourself homeless, without utilities, without income, without fresh food, living on ancient canned goods and questionable perishables.
First of all, all expiration dates are not created equal. I can make a loaf of bread (white or wheat or multigrain) last over a month in the fridge. Bagels can be saved INDEFINITELY in the freezer and for at least four weeks in the fridge. Milk is a task that you take unto yourself. First you sniff it, then taste a small bit, so that you won't barf. But yes, even milk lasts longer than they tell you it does, unless you've got a terribly disreputable grocer. And yes, you do tend to get your money's worth (or food stamps' worth) more often on American-made/canned/processed food, although I am no fan or friend of Con-Agra or Monsanto. True, I do patronize those bloody French Nestle' bastids in the Lean Cuisine aisle, who ONLY USE SEAFOOD FROM THE UBER-POLLUTED SOUTH CHINA SEA, but only when absolutely necessary. And there are canned goods that can be eaten cold. You won't like them, but you can get used to anything. I recommend starting on the canned fruit, then working your way out from there. Processed, gloppy pastas like ravioli, spaghetti-o's, etc. well, they're NOT recommended cold, but they are already cooked, so you won't get food poisoning from eating them without heating them.
If you ARE in a hurricane or other natural/man-made disaster, and YOUR neighborhood is last on the list to have power restored (i.e., YOU DON'T LIVE IN THE COUNTRY CLUB OF LOUISIANA), here are some things that you should hoard, should the National Guard be activated and sent to your area with MREs. Those chemical heat packs? INVALUABLE!!! Not only are they good for the MRE meals (only 1/3 of which are actually palatable/edible, sadly), but you can use them with canned meals/veggies/oatmeal/etc. Instant Oatmeal is one of your best staples, as they last damned near forever, long as you don't get weevils. And all you need is a little bit of hot water, some margarine (another "perishable" that can survive a week or more in an unpowered fridge) and sugar (I like cinnamon & nutmeg, m'self). And you can eat it for 3 meals a day, if you have to. Granola bars are a great item to stock-up on, as you'll get calcium, fiber, some protein, and energy-producing carbs (as long as you're active enough to keep those carbs from becoming sugar; if you're a sloth like me, take cinnamon capsules every day, as THEY do the metabolizing work FOR YOU.) --- also, rolled oats/granola/nuts are VERY filling and can help you stretch your food supply longer than you'd think. Laugh now, but STOCK UP ON NUTS WHILE YOU'RE LAUGHING. Fresh, roasted, glazed, whatever floats your boat (raw/fresh & roasted last the longest & attract the fewest ants), GET YOUR NUTS NOW. Pecans, walnuts, whatever's cheapest/the best value in your area. NUTS CAN SAVE YOUR LIFE. Make all your testicle jokes now, chirren. Ranty Aunty Annti will be over here, checking her supply of dried fruit.
If you're lucky enough to have a food bank within reach and to qualify for it, as inferior to Jif as it is, HANG ONTO THAT GENERIC PEANUT BUTTER. When the shit hits the fan, or a blizzard hits your neighborhood, you'll be glad for that protein, and it won't make you fart as much as living on tofu and beans to keep from losing muscle mass. Speaking of blizzards --- those chemical heaters that come with the MREs? AWESOME for warming up the foot of the bed if you've lost your heat, but YOU HAVE TO WATCH THEM THE ENTIRE TIME. They DO get hot enough to set fire to the bedclothes, especially if you have any synthetic fabrics on the bed. EVERYTHING can be reused, so don't be so quick to throw away ANYTHING. I'm not saying that we should hoard EVERYTHING like my great-aunt Thelma and other children of the First Depression, but don't waste things that you CAN re-use, like plastic packaging, aluminum foil, waterproof MRE matches, those little salt packets (I hate black pepper, but I've always got cayenne close by, so no worries there), and as many cheap/generic/Dollar Tree candles as you can afford. I've got pictures that I'll post at another time, because I still haven't edited the gigantic bastards down to a usable size, of what I've gotten to prepare for this hurricane season. After what Gustav did to me, and what I did to myself because of Gustav, I won't EVER be caught short again.
Most importantly, ICE CHEST. Keep one handy. Rubbermaid or cheaper knock-off storage containers that you can fit into your freezer can turn your freezer (I have one of those old-timey up-top freezers, which means I have to get on my fucking KNEES to get anything out of the fucking fridge!) INTO AN EXTRA ICE CHEST, as long as you keep an eye on the melting/overflowing water (no point in killing the freezer ITSELF) -to-ice ratio. I lost over $100 worth of meat, fish, and chicken during Gustav, having saved it as long as I could in the ice chests, and do you think that FEMA gave me A DIME for that or the microwave THAT ENTERGY AND DEMCO BLEW UP?!?!?! Fuck no. Their surges, as we went eight-plus days without electricity, destroyed the control panel of my 2-year-old microwave, so that now it only cooks on HIGH. NO RENTER WILL EVER GET A FUCKING ***DIME*** FROM FEMA, KNOW THAT NOW. If you're a HOMEOWNER, you MIGHT get SOME help, but if you have dozens of trees destroyed by hurricane-spawned tornadoes or just regular tornadoes, don't hold your breath on those little PRIVATIZED/SUBCONTRACTED FEMA PRICKS GIVING A FUCK ABOUT THE FACT THAT YOUR UTILITY BILL JUST DOUBLED BECAUSE YOU LOST ALL OF YOUR SHADE COVER. Make sure that your homeowner's insurance covers the loss of old trees that were there before you were, because you can't "replace" a hundred-year-old tree, but you can damned well RE-PLANT, if they don't fuck you the way that FEMA does.
So, if you're a renter like me, in a ghetto-assed white-trash ripoff joint that constantly STEALS from their own tenants AND the federal government (but the "district" USDA "official" DOESN'T ALLOW YOU TO FILE COMPLAINTS OR GET IN TOUCH WITH THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT WHATSOFUCKINGEVER, NOR DOES THE WEBSITE), be prepared to lose your ass on uncooked/frozen/fresh food. And no, that TWELVE PERCENT "boost" IN OUR MONTHLY FOOD STAMPS DID ***NOT*** FUCKING REPLACE WHAT I LOST, PIYUSH.
All you can do is cook your best stuff first (hope that you have a grill, 'cause the idea of a "communal grill" amongst your neighbors will just get your ass ripped-off), and then live on dry goods and canned goods and MREs until the electricity comes back. If you have friends or relatives with generators, take your best frozen/refrigerated food TO THEIR HOUSES FIRST. You'll THINK that you can save your own stuff, but you can't. As I said earlier, milk lasts longer than you think, as long as you only open the fridge WHEN YOU ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY HAVE TO OPEN IT. Most of your condiments will be a loss, except catsup/ketchup and Hershey's syrup. Kiss that homemade muscadine jelly goodbye.
So in the early weeks of hurricane or tornado or flood or blizzard or whatever season affects your area, cut back on the luxuries. Condiments, fresh veggies that need refrigeration, bruisable fresh fruit, expensive meat/fish/poultry, or anything else that you can't afford to replace right away. Stock-up on canned tomatoes, tomato sauce, soup, canned veggies & fruits, oatmeal, cereal & other ready-to-go dry goods, granola, energy bars, junk food (chocolate can be a lifesaver during the depression of a blackout), potato chips or other salty craving-killers, fruit bars, cookies, ANY AND EVERYTHING THAT DOESN'T REQUIRE COOKING, because even with those MRE heat-packs, YOU WON'T HAVE ENOUGH TO GET YOU THROUGH THREE HOT MEALS A DAY. So plan your meals. You can get three or four hours on one of those little six-packs of cheese-crackers with peanut butter. Don't overload on the sugar, it'll just make you more tired than you already are, from climbing those fucking stairs. Don't do what I did during Gustav, either, and just skip eating altogether, because you're out of pain meds & muscle relaxers and are in too much pain to eat. YOU NEED THE ENERGY, if only to defend your store of food from the other neanderthals.
Make sure that you get at least one serving of PROTEIN every day, whether it's meat, peanut butter, beans, tofu, whatever. You can stretch carbs and veggies a LONG damned way, and canned peaches make one helluva dessert when you need one. And in case nobody's figured this out yet, A HAND-CRANKED CAN OPENER oughta go without saying, but I've actually met people WHO NEVER USED A MANUAL CAN-OPENER IN THEIR LIVES, so you never know.
Flashlights, batteries, but most importantly, CANDLES, CANDLES, CANDLES. Not just to light your apartment, but also to help you get around the building because the idiots across the hall won't open their doors and HELP CREATE VENTILATION CROSS-FLOW. And your apartment will start to stink, no matter how many times a day you go through the ice chests and throw away what was just recently PERFECTLY GOOD FOOD. The lack of air flow will MAKE YOUR SHIT STINK. So get a couple of vanilla or otherwise-scented candles in with those dozens of UTILITY candles. I highly recommend Wally World and Dolllar Tree on that score. ALSO, the big camping brand-names will charge you an arm and a leg for battery-operated small lanterns (non-kerosene, 'CAUSE WHO WANTS TO DIE OF CARBON MONOXIDE POISONING FROM USING KEROSENE INDOORS?!?!??!), BUT --- and I hate to endorse the evil Arkies and their Chinese massahs --- Wally World sells these GREAT little LED lanterns that run on AA batteries FOR FIVE BUCKS. I sure as hell got ME one. AND it's magnetic on the bottom, so you can mount or hang it damned near anywhere. They're about six inches tall, and right on the periphery of the sporting-goods department, next to those expensive-assed Coleman lanterns, and put off JUST AS MUCH LIGHT as the overpriced brand names.
Another thing you will need, and if it hadn't been for Terrible, I'd never have had --- and this goes for THE WHOLE U. S. OF A. --- MOSQUITO NETTING. Seriously. Whether it's an unnatural flood in the Ohio River Valley, a hurricane or homelessness, GET YOUR ASS COVERED IN MOSQUITO NETTING. Not just enough to fit over YOUR body, but enough to fit OVER A DOUBLE-SIZED CANOPY BED. Trust Annti on this one. Next hurricane, THIS bitch will NEVER get malaria or West Nile. All thanks to Terrible and his buds at the Army-Navy surplus. I slept, for eight days, with my head hanging out of this third-floor window, just HOPING for a fucking BREEZE. What little sleep I *did* get, anyway. Why? 'Cause even though I'd propped my door open and secured my privacy with hanging fabric, NONE OF THE MORONS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HALL WOULD BE SO SMART OR SO GOOD AS TO OPEN A SINGLE ONE OF THEIR DOORS SO THAT ANYBODY ON THIS FLOOR COULD GET CROSS-VENTILATION.
Normally, I sleep with the a/c pumping @ 62 degrees F in order for me to lay down and BREATHE. Because of the sarcoidosis and almost 39 years on Cancer Alley, if I do lie back, much like the Elephant Man, I suffocate. My lungs fill up with fluid and I drown all fucking night long, hocking-up lung cookies and other attractive effluents. So, since my oft-fucked spine won't allow me to sleep propped-up like John Merrick, I have to freeze-out in order to breathe. Now, that in mind, imagine what 8 days of Louisiana HEAT, humidity, and HURRICANE was like, every mosquito-filled night. With none of my usual painkillers or muscle relaxers, eighty BILLION muscle spasms per minute, two REALLY discomfited and PISSED-OFF CATS, and, here's the topper --- NO FUCKING SLEEPING PILLS. And of course, my ever-so-considerate neighbors looked upon this blackout as an excuse to GET DRUNK AND STAY LOUD, 24 FUCKING SEVEN. The fact that I did *ANYTHING* for these cockbites is purely a product of frustration, injustice, rage at the laziness/racism/idiocy of the "powers-that-be" and the fat little polyester piggies that they hire to keep us po' folks FROM ROBBING THE RICH MOTHERFUCKERS LIKE ALL HELL. Oh, and severe drug withdrawal/levels of pain that BONE CANCER PATIENTS CAN'T BEAT. So I was, thankfully, quite literally, out of my fucking mind the entire time, and at times, blissfully out of my body.
ALLLLL of that bleating martyrdom to say this: I FUCKING HATE MOSQUITOES, BUT THEY FUCKING ***LOVE*** ME. I burned some generic little mosquito-coil bug-shoo-away thingies, but they didn't do shit. Y'know what DID help, as I hocked and rasped and wheezed through my 8 lovely nights here in L'Hotel des Fouquetards?
INCENSE.
I shit you not. Thanks to an old friend, Neal, who never DID get up the cajones to post @ MOB, but maybe one day... *sigh* --- anyway, Neal stocked me up with SOOOOO much fucking incense, in almost every flavor of the rainbow, especially my favorites (nag champa, cedar, sandalwood, and anything else wood/NATURAL floral-based, not that "black love" shit you get at the convenience stores, or the old-women-in-church-perfume-scented shit that Wally World calls "lavendar"), and it was the INCENSE that kept those bloodthirsty little fuckers OFF OF ME AND OUT OF MY WINDOWS. Yes, I did buy more and better (brand-name) mosquito coils for this year's hurricane kit, but more than anything else, I RELY UPON THE INCENSE. You *will* get sick of the smell of mosquito coils, and the incense does SO much to soothe the nerves. If Neal hadn't hooked me up with the best incense stash this side of a Cheech & Chong movie, I'da been SCREWWWWWED, mosquito-bite-wise.
Next post will, hopefully, be more organized, in terms of a shopping list, using stuff-for-other-purposes ideas, and how long shit REALLY lasts, as opposed to what retailers tell y'all. And pictures. In the meantime, I hope that some of this late-night blathering has been helpful to someone. Oh, and if you have phone power, even without hot water and electricity, HAVING FRIENDS WHO'LL LISTEN TO YOU BITCH ABOUT IT REALLY, REALLY FUCKING HELPS. If it hadn't been for CC McGoon, Tammy & Dan, and other non-MOB buds, I'DA LOST WHAT LITTLE I HAD LEFT OF MY FUCKIN' MIND. Yes, I read a LOT of books during Gustav, but one can only read SO MUCH for SO MANY hours of the day. So thank y'all all again, for all of that. Oh, and for those of y'all with cordless phones? During a hurricane or other disaster, YOU'LL BE FUCKED. Even cell phones aren't guaranteed, and how ya gonna charge 'em? GET A FUCKING LAND LINE THAT CAN'T BE EAVESDROPPED-UPON BY THE ROAMING PIGLETS WITH POLICE SCANNERS.
If anybody has any questions about any of these tips, or suggestions for more, please feel free to comment here or over at the M.O.B. link, k? Hang in there, it ain't over yet.
Most important two survival rules?
1. ALWAYS CARRY A MAG-LITE. Even if it's just a Mini-Mag (for which it is damned near IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND A REPLACEMENT BULB, I MIGHT ADD!!!), KEEP IT ON YOU AT ALL TIMES DURING ANY EMERGENCY SITUATION, I DON'T CARE *HOW* HEAVY THAT FUCKER IS. It's still easier than carrying a lantern and a baseball bat. But the longer/heavier the Mag-Lite, the more effective it is. Sure, lots of people make fairly decent flashlights, but only a Mag-Lite is a Mag-Lite. I also recommend Dollar-Tree booklights, if you can FIND the fucking things anymore, because those little LED fuckers are great for reading AND for traversing the hazardous, unlit stairwells of L'Hotel des Fouquetards. Last year's died, and I haven't found another one yet, but I've got my Mag-Lite. The book light can clamp onto anything, though, so you have a free hand to carry whatever else you gotta carry.
2. ALWAYS ALWAYS ***ALWAYS*** CARRY A TRUSTY BLADE. Even if someone "disappears" your trusty shock-proof folding hunting knife that was just on this side of the legal blade-length limit, with a serrated AND smooth blade (and I've torn this fucking apartment APART looking for that fucker, and IT AIN'T HERE, and I fucking LOVED that knife!!!) --- even if you lose your best blade to a kleptomaniac relative, KEEP **SOME** KIND OF BLADE ON YOU, AT ALL TIMES, NOT JUST DURING EMERGENCIES. Even if it's a 99-cent plastic-sheath/body "keychain" serrated knife from the survival/surplus store, KEEP THAT FUCKER ON YOU AT ALL TIMES. I'm not advocating the bullshit/schizophrenic "race war" idiocy that CERTAIN REDNECKS WHO DON'T NEED TO BE NAMED keep CLAIMING will happen as they stockpile ammo & canned goods (all 'cause Obama got elected, dontcha know), I'm just saying that PEOPLE GET STUPID. Regular times, bad times, emergency times, PEOPLE DO STUPID FUCKING SHIT. And it never helps to have a little self-defense on your side.. Any coward can fire a gun, and yeah, I've heard those stupid racist jokes about "I ain't no Mexican, I don't bring a knife to a gun fight!" all of my life, but I don't give a fuck. Any chickenshit can fire a gun from a safe distance. You gotta cut somebody, IT'S NECESSARY. And it's fucking PERSONAL. It's not something you do for shits and giggles, it's fucking SERIOUS if you've got to saw through human flesh.
So don't take this shit lightly, 'cause it's not. But whether you're cutting rope to string-up a tent under your local overpass when the shit REALLY hits the fan, or tying a tarp down onto the bed of your truck, or, worst-case-scenario, defending yourself, ALWAYS HAVE A BLADE ON YOU. Period. Check your state regulations, obviously, about blade length and the definition of "carrying concealed" (yes, it varies, state to state), but a blade is a TOOL, first and foremost, and a weapon ONLY AS A LAST RESORT.
I know, 'cause I've done it. I've gone months without a phone, I've sold plasma & everything I own to keep the electricity turned on, and even that didn't last, and I've survived hurricanes all of my life. Granted, I wasn't there to survive Katrina, so I don't know what it's like to survive the WORST hurricanes, but I've gathered a few useful tips here and there that might help, if you find yourself homeless, without utilities, without income, without fresh food, living on ancient canned goods and questionable perishables.
First of all, all expiration dates are not created equal. I can make a loaf of bread (white or wheat or multigrain) last over a month in the fridge. Bagels can be saved INDEFINITELY in the freezer and for at least four weeks in the fridge. Milk is a task that you take unto yourself. First you sniff it, then taste a small bit, so that you won't barf. But yes, even milk lasts longer than they tell you it does, unless you've got a terribly disreputable grocer. And yes, you do tend to get your money's worth (or food stamps' worth) more often on American-made/canned/processed food, although I am no fan or friend of Con-Agra or Monsanto. True, I do patronize those bloody French Nestle' bastids in the Lean Cuisine aisle, who ONLY USE SEAFOOD FROM THE UBER-POLLUTED SOUTH CHINA SEA, but only when absolutely necessary. And there are canned goods that can be eaten cold. You won't like them, but you can get used to anything. I recommend starting on the canned fruit, then working your way out from there. Processed, gloppy pastas like ravioli, spaghetti-o's, etc. well, they're NOT recommended cold, but they are already cooked, so you won't get food poisoning from eating them without heating them.
If you ARE in a hurricane or other natural/man-made disaster, and YOUR neighborhood is last on the list to have power restored (i.e., YOU DON'T LIVE IN THE COUNTRY CLUB OF LOUISIANA), here are some things that you should hoard, should the National Guard be activated and sent to your area with MREs. Those chemical heat packs? INVALUABLE!!! Not only are they good for the MRE meals (only 1/3 of which are actually palatable/edible, sadly), but you can use them with canned meals/veggies/oatmeal/etc. Instant Oatmeal is one of your best staples, as they last damned near forever, long as you don't get weevils. And all you need is a little bit of hot water, some margarine (another "perishable" that can survive a week or more in an unpowered fridge) and sugar (I like cinnamon & nutmeg, m'self). And you can eat it for 3 meals a day, if you have to. Granola bars are a great item to stock-up on, as you'll get calcium, fiber, some protein, and energy-producing carbs (as long as you're active enough to keep those carbs from becoming sugar; if you're a sloth like me, take cinnamon capsules every day, as THEY do the metabolizing work FOR YOU.) --- also, rolled oats/granola/nuts are VERY filling and can help you stretch your food supply longer than you'd think. Laugh now, but STOCK UP ON NUTS WHILE YOU'RE LAUGHING. Fresh, roasted, glazed, whatever floats your boat (raw/fresh & roasted last the longest & attract the fewest ants), GET YOUR NUTS NOW. Pecans, walnuts, whatever's cheapest/the best value in your area. NUTS CAN SAVE YOUR LIFE. Make all your testicle jokes now, chirren. Ranty Aunty Annti will be over here, checking her supply of dried fruit.
If you're lucky enough to have a food bank within reach and to qualify for it, as inferior to Jif as it is, HANG ONTO THAT GENERIC PEANUT BUTTER. When the shit hits the fan, or a blizzard hits your neighborhood, you'll be glad for that protein, and it won't make you fart as much as living on tofu and beans to keep from losing muscle mass. Speaking of blizzards --- those chemical heaters that come with the MREs? AWESOME for warming up the foot of the bed if you've lost your heat, but YOU HAVE TO WATCH THEM THE ENTIRE TIME. They DO get hot enough to set fire to the bedclothes, especially if you have any synthetic fabrics on the bed. EVERYTHING can be reused, so don't be so quick to throw away ANYTHING. I'm not saying that we should hoard EVERYTHING like my great-aunt Thelma and other children of the First Depression, but don't waste things that you CAN re-use, like plastic packaging, aluminum foil, waterproof MRE matches, those little salt packets (I hate black pepper, but I've always got cayenne close by, so no worries there), and as many cheap/generic/Dollar Tree candles as you can afford. I've got pictures that I'll post at another time, because I still haven't edited the gigantic bastards down to a usable size, of what I've gotten to prepare for this hurricane season. After what Gustav did to me, and what I did to myself because of Gustav, I won't EVER be caught short again.
Most importantly, ICE CHEST. Keep one handy. Rubbermaid or cheaper knock-off storage containers that you can fit into your freezer can turn your freezer (I have one of those old-timey up-top freezers, which means I have to get on my fucking KNEES to get anything out of the fucking fridge!) INTO AN EXTRA ICE CHEST, as long as you keep an eye on the melting/overflowing water (no point in killing the freezer ITSELF) -to-ice ratio. I lost over $100 worth of meat, fish, and chicken during Gustav, having saved it as long as I could in the ice chests, and do you think that FEMA gave me A DIME for that or the microwave THAT ENTERGY AND DEMCO BLEW UP?!?!?! Fuck no. Their surges, as we went eight-plus days without electricity, destroyed the control panel of my 2-year-old microwave, so that now it only cooks on HIGH. NO RENTER WILL EVER GET A FUCKING ***DIME*** FROM FEMA, KNOW THAT NOW. If you're a HOMEOWNER, you MIGHT get SOME help, but if you have dozens of trees destroyed by hurricane-spawned tornadoes or just regular tornadoes, don't hold your breath on those little PRIVATIZED/SUBCONTRACTED FEMA PRICKS GIVING A FUCK ABOUT THE FACT THAT YOUR UTILITY BILL JUST DOUBLED BECAUSE YOU LOST ALL OF YOUR SHADE COVER. Make sure that your homeowner's insurance covers the loss of old trees that were there before you were, because you can't "replace" a hundred-year-old tree, but you can damned well RE-PLANT, if they don't fuck you the way that FEMA does.
So, if you're a renter like me, in a ghetto-assed white-trash ripoff joint that constantly STEALS from their own tenants AND the federal government (but the "district" USDA "official" DOESN'T ALLOW YOU TO FILE COMPLAINTS OR GET IN TOUCH WITH THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT WHATSOFUCKINGEVER, NOR DOES THE WEBSITE), be prepared to lose your ass on uncooked/frozen/fresh food. And no, that TWELVE PERCENT "boost" IN OUR MONTHLY FOOD STAMPS DID ***NOT*** FUCKING REPLACE WHAT I LOST, PIYUSH.
All you can do is cook your best stuff first (hope that you have a grill, 'cause the idea of a "communal grill" amongst your neighbors will just get your ass ripped-off), and then live on dry goods and canned goods and MREs until the electricity comes back. If you have friends or relatives with generators, take your best frozen/refrigerated food TO THEIR HOUSES FIRST. You'll THINK that you can save your own stuff, but you can't. As I said earlier, milk lasts longer than you think, as long as you only open the fridge WHEN YOU ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY HAVE TO OPEN IT. Most of your condiments will be a loss, except catsup/ketchup and Hershey's syrup. Kiss that homemade muscadine jelly goodbye.
So in the early weeks of hurricane or tornado or flood or blizzard or whatever season affects your area, cut back on the luxuries. Condiments, fresh veggies that need refrigeration, bruisable fresh fruit, expensive meat/fish/poultry, or anything else that you can't afford to replace right away. Stock-up on canned tomatoes, tomato sauce, soup, canned veggies & fruits, oatmeal, cereal & other ready-to-go dry goods, granola, energy bars, junk food (chocolate can be a lifesaver during the depression of a blackout), potato chips or other salty craving-killers, fruit bars, cookies, ANY AND EVERYTHING THAT DOESN'T REQUIRE COOKING, because even with those MRE heat-packs, YOU WON'T HAVE ENOUGH TO GET YOU THROUGH THREE HOT MEALS A DAY. So plan your meals. You can get three or four hours on one of those little six-packs of cheese-crackers with peanut butter. Don't overload on the sugar, it'll just make you more tired than you already are, from climbing those fucking stairs. Don't do what I did during Gustav, either, and just skip eating altogether, because you're out of pain meds & muscle relaxers and are in too much pain to eat. YOU NEED THE ENERGY, if only to defend your store of food from the other neanderthals.
Make sure that you get at least one serving of PROTEIN every day, whether it's meat, peanut butter, beans, tofu, whatever. You can stretch carbs and veggies a LONG damned way, and canned peaches make one helluva dessert when you need one. And in case nobody's figured this out yet, A HAND-CRANKED CAN OPENER oughta go without saying, but I've actually met people WHO NEVER USED A MANUAL CAN-OPENER IN THEIR LIVES, so you never know.
Flashlights, batteries, but most importantly, CANDLES, CANDLES, CANDLES. Not just to light your apartment, but also to help you get around the building because the idiots across the hall won't open their doors and HELP CREATE VENTILATION CROSS-FLOW. And your apartment will start to stink, no matter how many times a day you go through the ice chests and throw away what was just recently PERFECTLY GOOD FOOD. The lack of air flow will MAKE YOUR SHIT STINK. So get a couple of vanilla or otherwise-scented candles in with those dozens of UTILITY candles. I highly recommend Wally World and Dolllar Tree on that score. ALSO, the big camping brand-names will charge you an arm and a leg for battery-operated small lanterns (non-kerosene, 'CAUSE WHO WANTS TO DIE OF CARBON MONOXIDE POISONING FROM USING KEROSENE INDOORS?!?!??!), BUT --- and I hate to endorse the evil Arkies and their Chinese massahs --- Wally World sells these GREAT little LED lanterns that run on AA batteries FOR FIVE BUCKS. I sure as hell got ME one. AND it's magnetic on the bottom, so you can mount or hang it damned near anywhere. They're about six inches tall, and right on the periphery of the sporting-goods department, next to those expensive-assed Coleman lanterns, and put off JUST AS MUCH LIGHT as the overpriced brand names.
Another thing you will need, and if it hadn't been for Terrible, I'd never have had --- and this goes for THE WHOLE U. S. OF A. --- MOSQUITO NETTING. Seriously. Whether it's an unnatural flood in the Ohio River Valley, a hurricane or homelessness, GET YOUR ASS COVERED IN MOSQUITO NETTING. Not just enough to fit over YOUR body, but enough to fit OVER A DOUBLE-SIZED CANOPY BED. Trust Annti on this one. Next hurricane, THIS bitch will NEVER get malaria or West Nile. All thanks to Terrible and his buds at the Army-Navy surplus. I slept, for eight days, with my head hanging out of this third-floor window, just HOPING for a fucking BREEZE. What little sleep I *did* get, anyway. Why? 'Cause even though I'd propped my door open and secured my privacy with hanging fabric, NONE OF THE MORONS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HALL WOULD BE SO SMART OR SO GOOD AS TO OPEN A SINGLE ONE OF THEIR DOORS SO THAT ANYBODY ON THIS FLOOR COULD GET CROSS-VENTILATION.
Normally, I sleep with the a/c pumping @ 62 degrees F in order for me to lay down and BREATHE. Because of the sarcoidosis and almost 39 years on Cancer Alley, if I do lie back, much like the Elephant Man, I suffocate. My lungs fill up with fluid and I drown all fucking night long, hocking-up lung cookies and other attractive effluents. So, since my oft-fucked spine won't allow me to sleep propped-up like John Merrick, I have to freeze-out in order to breathe. Now, that in mind, imagine what 8 days of Louisiana HEAT, humidity, and HURRICANE was like, every mosquito-filled night. With none of my usual painkillers or muscle relaxers, eighty BILLION muscle spasms per minute, two REALLY discomfited and PISSED-OFF CATS, and, here's the topper --- NO FUCKING SLEEPING PILLS. And of course, my ever-so-considerate neighbors looked upon this blackout as an excuse to GET DRUNK AND STAY LOUD, 24 FUCKING SEVEN. The fact that I did *ANYTHING* for these cockbites is purely a product of frustration, injustice, rage at the laziness/racism/idiocy of the "powers-that-be" and the fat little polyester piggies that they hire to keep us po' folks FROM ROBBING THE RICH MOTHERFUCKERS LIKE ALL HELL. Oh, and severe drug withdrawal/levels of pain that BONE CANCER PATIENTS CAN'T BEAT. So I was, thankfully, quite literally, out of my fucking mind the entire time, and at times, blissfully out of my body.
ALLLLL of that bleating martyrdom to say this: I FUCKING HATE MOSQUITOES, BUT THEY FUCKING ***LOVE*** ME. I burned some generic little mosquito-coil bug-shoo-away thingies, but they didn't do shit. Y'know what DID help, as I hocked and rasped and wheezed through my 8 lovely nights here in L'Hotel des Fouquetards?
INCENSE.
I shit you not. Thanks to an old friend, Neal, who never DID get up the cajones to post @ MOB, but maybe one day... *sigh* --- anyway, Neal stocked me up with SOOOOO much fucking incense, in almost every flavor of the rainbow, especially my favorites (nag champa, cedar, sandalwood, and anything else wood/NATURAL floral-based, not that "black love" shit you get at the convenience stores, or the old-women-in-church-perfume-scented shit that Wally World calls "lavendar"), and it was the INCENSE that kept those bloodthirsty little fuckers OFF OF ME AND OUT OF MY WINDOWS. Yes, I did buy more and better (brand-name) mosquito coils for this year's hurricane kit, but more than anything else, I RELY UPON THE INCENSE. You *will* get sick of the smell of mosquito coils, and the incense does SO much to soothe the nerves. If Neal hadn't hooked me up with the best incense stash this side of a Cheech & Chong movie, I'da been SCREWWWWWED, mosquito-bite-wise.
Next post will, hopefully, be more organized, in terms of a shopping list, using stuff-for-other-purposes ideas, and how long shit REALLY lasts, as opposed to what retailers tell y'all. And pictures. In the meantime, I hope that some of this late-night blathering has been helpful to someone. Oh, and if you have phone power, even without hot water and electricity, HAVING FRIENDS WHO'LL LISTEN TO YOU BITCH ABOUT IT REALLY, REALLY FUCKING HELPS. If it hadn't been for CC McGoon, Tammy & Dan, and other non-MOB buds, I'DA LOST WHAT LITTLE I HAD LEFT OF MY FUCKIN' MIND. Yes, I read a LOT of books during Gustav, but one can only read SO MUCH for SO MANY hours of the day. So thank y'all all again, for all of that. Oh, and for those of y'all with cordless phones? During a hurricane or other disaster, YOU'LL BE FUCKED. Even cell phones aren't guaranteed, and how ya gonna charge 'em? GET A FUCKING LAND LINE THAT CAN'T BE EAVESDROPPED-UPON BY THE ROAMING PIGLETS WITH POLICE SCANNERS.
If anybody has any questions about any of these tips, or suggestions for more, please feel free to comment here or over at the M.O.B. link, k? Hang in there, it ain't over yet.
Most important two survival rules?
1. ALWAYS CARRY A MAG-LITE. Even if it's just a Mini-Mag (for which it is damned near IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND A REPLACEMENT BULB, I MIGHT ADD!!!), KEEP IT ON YOU AT ALL TIMES DURING ANY EMERGENCY SITUATION, I DON'T CARE *HOW* HEAVY THAT FUCKER IS. It's still easier than carrying a lantern and a baseball bat. But the longer/heavier the Mag-Lite, the more effective it is. Sure, lots of people make fairly decent flashlights, but only a Mag-Lite is a Mag-Lite. I also recommend Dollar-Tree booklights, if you can FIND the fucking things anymore, because those little LED fuckers are great for reading AND for traversing the hazardous, unlit stairwells of L'Hotel des Fouquetards. Last year's died, and I haven't found another one yet, but I've got my Mag-Lite. The book light can clamp onto anything, though, so you have a free hand to carry whatever else you gotta carry.
2. ALWAYS ALWAYS ***ALWAYS*** CARRY A TRUSTY BLADE. Even if someone "disappears" your trusty shock-proof folding hunting knife that was just on this side of the legal blade-length limit, with a serrated AND smooth blade (and I've torn this fucking apartment APART looking for that fucker, and IT AIN'T HERE, and I fucking LOVED that knife!!!) --- even if you lose your best blade to a kleptomaniac relative, KEEP **SOME** KIND OF BLADE ON YOU, AT ALL TIMES, NOT JUST DURING EMERGENCIES. Even if it's a 99-cent plastic-sheath/body "keychain" serrated knife from the survival/surplus store, KEEP THAT FUCKER ON YOU AT ALL TIMES. I'm not advocating the bullshit/schizophrenic "race war" idiocy that CERTAIN REDNECKS WHO DON'T NEED TO BE NAMED keep CLAIMING will happen as they stockpile ammo & canned goods (all 'cause Obama got elected, dontcha know), I'm just saying that PEOPLE GET STUPID. Regular times, bad times, emergency times, PEOPLE DO STUPID FUCKING SHIT. And it never helps to have a little self-defense on your side.. Any coward can fire a gun, and yeah, I've heard those stupid racist jokes about "I ain't no Mexican, I don't bring a knife to a gun fight!" all of my life, but I don't give a fuck. Any chickenshit can fire a gun from a safe distance. You gotta cut somebody, IT'S NECESSARY. And it's fucking PERSONAL. It's not something you do for shits and giggles, it's fucking SERIOUS if you've got to saw through human flesh.
So don't take this shit lightly, 'cause it's not. But whether you're cutting rope to string-up a tent under your local overpass when the shit REALLY hits the fan, or tying a tarp down onto the bed of your truck, or, worst-case-scenario, defending yourself, ALWAYS HAVE A BLADE ON YOU. Period. Check your state regulations, obviously, about blade length and the definition of "carrying concealed" (yes, it varies, state to state), but a blade is a TOOL, first and foremost, and a weapon ONLY AS A LAST RESORT.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Don't tell me that they don't know where we live...
This is the letter that I just sent the Fucking Communications Clusterfuck (FCC) about how after 5.5 days of "digital transmissions," I'VE LOST ALL OF MY FUCKING TELEVISION SIGNALS ALTOGETHER.
Happened NOT that long after I posted my last M.O.B. rant, including a few choice words for Michael Powell et al., including Lowry Mays, Rupert Murdoch, and the rest of those corporate whores. Think that there's no connection? Feel free to speculate. Enjoy the letter, and I can't WAIT to see if it gets bounced by a fucking LANGUAGE BOT.
TO: consumersupport@dtv2009.gov
"1. When I received my two coupons, I tried to redeem them and purchase DTV adapter boxes for 2 televisions (AT $15-40 ABOVE THE "$40" PRICE LISTED BY YOUR WEBSITES & PROMOS), but the closest Wal-Mart never had the boxes, or only had ONE when I had the money to waste ON the damned boxes.
2. When the conversion was announced (after Michael Powell had left office with very full pockets from Sony/Viacom, Panasonic, Disney/ABC, Universal/NBC & all cable providers), WE WERE TOLD THAT OUR ORIGINAL RABBIT-EAR ANTENNAS WOULD BE FULLY FUNCTIONAL WITH THE NEW (cheaper to broadcast, as if they don't make ENOUGH money off of overvalued advertising revenue) DIGITAL SIGNAL. After 5 days of receivng 2/3 of the stations that I could pick up via analog broadcast, I LOST THE SIGNAL ENTIRELY. FOR EVERY CHANNEL IN MY ENTIRE VIEWING RANGE. Before this crap, I could get (in Louisiana) Channels 9, 19, 21, 27, 33, 44 & 50. AFTER the digital screw-over, I could receive 2 (then IT went away and I could only get Channel 3 from Alexandria, the OTHER ABC/Disney affiliate), 9, 27, 33, 44 & 50. Then as of 11P last night, I can no longer receive ANY SIGNALS, FROM ANY STATIONS, ANYWHERE. I spent a good half-hour to forty-five minutes on the phone with one of your (no-bid) subcontractors, a very nice young lady, who walked me through the exact same process as I'd used to set this joke box up in the FIRST place, except that she took one extra step, of cutting-off the power-supply (surge protector) to the TV, VCR/DVD, and adapter box. And guess what? BUPKIS. Great way to spend tax money, geniuses @ the FCC. Makes me glad that I don't work in radio anymore, 'cause I'd be ashamed to carry my FCC license on me.
3. Now I'm supposed to call an 800# for some carpetbagging strangers, from who knows where, to come into my house (where I live happily single), when I've never met these people before in my life, nor do I have any way to contact their supervisors if they screw the situation up even WORSE, as they obviously don't have a local office or headquarters, just an 800# call center that's probably in the Phillipines or Mumbai. Greaaaaat. Well, at least the (no-bid) subcontractors who handled YOUR 800# were IN THIS COUNTRY, or at least she SOUNDED like she was in this country. And they'll go through the exact steps that I went through myself, as well as when I went through them with the nice young lady on the phone, and will probably get the EXACT SAME RESULTS AS I DID, as apart from giving me a new antenna for free (as if!), THERE'S NOTHING DIFFERENT THAT THEY CAN POSSIBLY DO. Again, BRILLIANT way to spend tax money. I know that the current FCC administration didn't create this clusterfuck, the crooked-as-hell republicunts did, but y'all are still stuck CLEANING UP THEIR MESS, as is the rest of the country. In other words, IT'S YOUR JOB NOW, SO YOU MIGHT WANNA FIGURE OUT SOME MORE-EFFICIENT WAYS OF GETTING IT DONE, THAN HIRING EIGHTY DIFFERENT LEVELS OF SUBCONTRACTORS, none of whose work offers any guarantee of consistent quality.
4. Lastly, and I really do hope that this e-mail gets passed onto someone who might actually be able to do more than DELETE it and pretend that I never sent it: NICE WAY TO FUCK OVER THE POOR PEOPLE OF THIS COUNTRY, ONE MORE DAMNED TIME. We can't afford cable or satellite, or we live in disabled/subsidized housing where we're not ALLOWED to hire satellite TV (which ought to be FREE any damned way, as WE STILL HAVE TO SIT THROUGH CRAPPY COMMERCIALS TO SEE THEIR PROGRAMMING, SO THEY OUGHT TO BE PAYING *US* FOR WATCHING THEIR SCHLOCK!!!), and rabbit-ears are all that we can afford. I bought a new pair of rabbit years LESS THAN A YEAR AGO, and now they're telling me THAT I NEED A NEW "DIGITAL" ANTENNA. Your "PSAs" about "The Big Switch " (more like The Big Bend Over The Barrel Like THE GIMP"!!!) LIED TO ALL OF US AND ***INSISTED*** THAT WE WOULD *NOT* NEED TO CHANGE OUR ANTENNAS, INDOOR OR OUT, IN ORDER TO GET ACCESS TO THE "WONDERFUL" NEW "DIGITAL" (cheaply compressed, seizure-inducing pixellation CRAP!!!) SIGNALS. Why did y'all even BOTHER TO LIE, when we MIGHT have been able to get the damned antennas when we got the stupid Chinese-made CONVERTER BOXES??!?!!??! WHY DO YOU WAIT 'TIL THE LAST DAMNED MINUTE TO TELL US THAT WE'VE GOT TO SHILL-OUT ANOTHER ***THIRTY DAMNED DOLLARS*** BECAUSE YOUR "WONDERFUL" CONVERTER BOXES ***DON'T*** ACTUALLY WORK SO DAMNED GREAT ***AFTER ALL***?!?!??!!? What's the freaking point of HAVING the converter boxes (which, btw, Radio Shack is selling at a THIRTY-DOLLAR MARK-UP ABOVE THE $40 COUPON, SO STOP GIVING *THOSE* PROFITEERING JERKS THE FREE ADVERTISING!!!) IF WE STILL GET ROBBED FOR ANOTHER THIRTY BUCKS?!?!?! ***AND WHY IN THE ***HELL*** AREN'T THERE ANY *COUPONS* AVAILABLE FOR THE NEW DAMNED "DIGITAL" ANTENNAS?!?!?!?!?! IF YOU'RE GOING TO *FORCE* THE PUBLIC, TO WHOM THE BROADCAST AIRWAVES BELONG IN THE FIRST DAMNED PLACE --- IF YOU'RE GOING TO **FORCE*** US TO LAY OUT UP TO OR MORE THAN SIXTY FUCKING DOLLARS IN ORDER TO GET ACCESS TO **OUR OWN** AIRWAVES, THEN ***YOU*** GENIUSES AND YOUR CORPORATE TV MASSAHS SHOULD HAVE TO PAY US FOR THE PRIVILEGE!!!!!! And hell yes, this applies quadruple to that corporate whore Michael Powell. I want a damned DISCOUNT on that damned "digital" antenna, and everyone else WHO REFUSES TO PAY FOR PROGRAMMING OVERRUN WITH ADVERTISING, JUST LIKE THE FREE CRAP, DESERVES TO *NOT* HAVE TO PAY FOR YOUR BAIT-AND-SWITCH SCAM TACTICS! STOP LYING TO THE AMERICAN PUBLIC AND TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR THIS INTENTIONAL "HEY, LET'S SCREW THE POOR AGAIN, IT'S NOT LIKE THEY HAVE ANY *RIGHTS* OR *RECOURSE*!!!" LITTLE CIRCLE-JERK. And ADMIT, in public, that y'all LIED YOUR FACES OFF FROM THE GET-GO, about how "smoothly" and "easiliy" this transfer would go, AND about how much it's ACTUALLY GOING TO COST THE POOR PEOPLE OF THIS COUNTRY, WHO *DON'T* LIVE IN GATED COMMUNITIES OVERLOOKING GOLF COURSES, AS I'M SURE THAT THE MAJORITY OF THE PAID-OFF-BY-VIACOM MANAGEMENT OF THE FCC DOES.
Obama promised us change, and the FCC is robbing us blind. Greaaat. I know that he's got a lot of work on his desk, he "inherited" the biggest INTENTIONAL screwups perpetrated against this country since the birth of Ronald Reagan, but it'd be nice if someone brought this to his attention. We're in THE biggest economic collapse in the history of the country, INTENTIONALLY BROUGHT-ON BY THE MONEYED ELITE WHO'VE BEEN RUNNING THE JOINT SINCE THE GOT TO BILL CLINTON (who may or may not have ever actually been a Democrat), and well before, actually, going all the way back to Nazi munitions-supplier PRESCOT BUSH --- and yet our own governmental agency, the people who are supposed to be the stewards of OUR airwaves, not Viacom's, not Infinity/CBS/Sony's, not the evil and dreaded DISNEY'S --- OUR AIRWAVES, and THIS is what y'all do with that responsibility? SCREW OVER THE POOR ONE MORE TIME? Nice. $25-30 might not mean anything to y'all, but it's a big chunk of my monthly disability income, that I could otherwise spend on medicine or food, because the "governor" of Louisiana is trying to destroy Medicaid, food stamps, and public schools. He'd very much like to institute a full-bore CASTE SYSTEM here (just like in India), where the poor will die out from malnutrition, preventable diseases, and no opportunity to ever get past their high school diplomas or (he'd prefer, if you don't do parochial school) GEDs --- this is what Piyush Jindal wants to "accomplish" before he tries to run for president in 2012. And y'all just helped him screw the poor just a little bit harder. No hug, no kiss, no reacharound.
Thanks ever so.
Oh, and if you doubt anything that I've said about Louisiana under the Jindal regime, ask Donna Brazile, she knows. She may be the last honest woman (aside from the First Lady) LEFT in D.C. (well, Barbara Boxer, too, but she's got her own problems to handle right now), but Donna KNOWS. And hopefully, someday, we'll get her to come home and run Piyush out of the governor's mansion.
So what now? Will any of these e-mails be answered or fixed? Granted, I'm not holding my breath, but I'd be flabbergasted if any of us actually got any HELP out of this.
-- (A.S.C.)"
Happened NOT that long after I posted my last M.O.B. rant, including a few choice words for Michael Powell et al., including Lowry Mays, Rupert Murdoch, and the rest of those corporate whores. Think that there's no connection? Feel free to speculate. Enjoy the letter, and I can't WAIT to see if it gets bounced by a fucking LANGUAGE BOT.
TO: consumersupport@dtv2009.gov
"1. When I received my two coupons, I tried to redeem them and purchase DTV adapter boxes for 2 televisions (AT $15-40 ABOVE THE "$40" PRICE LISTED BY YOUR WEBSITES & PROMOS), but the closest Wal-Mart never had the boxes, or only had ONE when I had the money to waste ON the damned boxes.
2. When the conversion was announced (after Michael Powell had left office with very full pockets from Sony/Viacom, Panasonic, Disney/ABC, Universal/NBC & all cable providers), WE WERE TOLD THAT OUR ORIGINAL RABBIT-EAR ANTENNAS WOULD BE FULLY FUNCTIONAL WITH THE NEW (cheaper to broadcast, as if they don't make ENOUGH money off of overvalued advertising revenue) DIGITAL SIGNAL. After 5 days of receivng 2/3 of the stations that I could pick up via analog broadcast, I LOST THE SIGNAL ENTIRELY. FOR EVERY CHANNEL IN MY ENTIRE VIEWING RANGE. Before this crap, I could get (in Louisiana) Channels 9, 19, 21, 27, 33, 44 & 50. AFTER the digital screw-over, I could receive 2 (then IT went away and I could only get Channel 3 from Alexandria, the OTHER ABC/Disney affiliate), 9, 27, 33, 44 & 50. Then as of 11P last night, I can no longer receive ANY SIGNALS, FROM ANY STATIONS, ANYWHERE. I spent a good half-hour to forty-five minutes on the phone with one of your (no-bid) subcontractors, a very nice young lady, who walked me through the exact same process as I'd used to set this joke box up in the FIRST place, except that she took one extra step, of cutting-off the power-supply (surge protector) to the TV, VCR/DVD, and adapter box. And guess what? BUPKIS. Great way to spend tax money, geniuses @ the FCC. Makes me glad that I don't work in radio anymore, 'cause I'd be ashamed to carry my FCC license on me.
3. Now I'm supposed to call an 800# for some carpetbagging strangers, from who knows where, to come into my house (where I live happily single), when I've never met these people before in my life, nor do I have any way to contact their supervisors if they screw the situation up even WORSE, as they obviously don't have a local office or headquarters, just an 800# call center that's probably in the Phillipines or Mumbai. Greaaaaat. Well, at least the (no-bid) subcontractors who handled YOUR 800# were IN THIS COUNTRY, or at least she SOUNDED like she was in this country. And they'll go through the exact steps that I went through myself, as well as when I went through them with the nice young lady on the phone, and will probably get the EXACT SAME RESULTS AS I DID, as apart from giving me a new antenna for free (as if!), THERE'S NOTHING DIFFERENT THAT THEY CAN POSSIBLY DO. Again, BRILLIANT way to spend tax money. I know that the current FCC administration didn't create this clusterfuck, the crooked-as-hell republicunts did, but y'all are still stuck CLEANING UP THEIR MESS, as is the rest of the country. In other words, IT'S YOUR JOB NOW, SO YOU MIGHT WANNA FIGURE OUT SOME MORE-EFFICIENT WAYS OF GETTING IT DONE, THAN HIRING EIGHTY DIFFERENT LEVELS OF SUBCONTRACTORS, none of whose work offers any guarantee of consistent quality.
4. Lastly, and I really do hope that this e-mail gets passed onto someone who might actually be able to do more than DELETE it and pretend that I never sent it: NICE WAY TO FUCK OVER THE POOR PEOPLE OF THIS COUNTRY, ONE MORE DAMNED TIME. We can't afford cable or satellite, or we live in disabled/subsidized housing where we're not ALLOWED to hire satellite TV (which ought to be FREE any damned way, as WE STILL HAVE TO SIT THROUGH CRAPPY COMMERCIALS TO SEE THEIR PROGRAMMING, SO THEY OUGHT TO BE PAYING *US* FOR WATCHING THEIR SCHLOCK!!!), and rabbit-ears are all that we can afford. I bought a new pair of rabbit years LESS THAN A YEAR AGO, and now they're telling me THAT I NEED A NEW "DIGITAL" ANTENNA. Your "PSAs" about "The Big Switch " (more like The Big Bend Over The Barrel Like THE GIMP"!!!) LIED TO ALL OF US AND ***INSISTED*** THAT WE WOULD *NOT* NEED TO CHANGE OUR ANTENNAS, INDOOR OR OUT, IN ORDER TO GET ACCESS TO THE "WONDERFUL" NEW "DIGITAL" (cheaply compressed, seizure-inducing pixellation CRAP!!!) SIGNALS. Why did y'all even BOTHER TO LIE, when we MIGHT have been able to get the damned antennas when we got the stupid Chinese-made CONVERTER BOXES??!?!!??! WHY DO YOU WAIT 'TIL THE LAST DAMNED MINUTE TO TELL US THAT WE'VE GOT TO SHILL-OUT ANOTHER ***THIRTY DAMNED DOLLARS*** BECAUSE YOUR "WONDERFUL" CONVERTER BOXES ***DON'T*** ACTUALLY WORK SO DAMNED GREAT ***AFTER ALL***?!?!??!!? What's the freaking point of HAVING the converter boxes (which, btw, Radio Shack is selling at a THIRTY-DOLLAR MARK-UP ABOVE THE $40 COUPON, SO STOP GIVING *THOSE* PROFITEERING JERKS THE FREE ADVERTISING!!!) IF WE STILL GET ROBBED FOR ANOTHER THIRTY BUCKS?!?!?! ***AND WHY IN THE ***HELL*** AREN'T THERE ANY *COUPONS* AVAILABLE FOR THE NEW DAMNED "DIGITAL" ANTENNAS?!?!?!?!?! IF YOU'RE GOING TO *FORCE* THE PUBLIC, TO WHOM THE BROADCAST AIRWAVES BELONG IN THE FIRST DAMNED PLACE --- IF YOU'RE GOING TO **FORCE*** US TO LAY OUT UP TO OR MORE THAN SIXTY FUCKING DOLLARS IN ORDER TO GET ACCESS TO **OUR OWN** AIRWAVES, THEN ***YOU*** GENIUSES AND YOUR CORPORATE TV MASSAHS SHOULD HAVE TO PAY US FOR THE PRIVILEGE!!!!!! And hell yes, this applies quadruple to that corporate whore Michael Powell. I want a damned DISCOUNT on that damned "digital" antenna, and everyone else WHO REFUSES TO PAY FOR PROGRAMMING OVERRUN WITH ADVERTISING, JUST LIKE THE FREE CRAP, DESERVES TO *NOT* HAVE TO PAY FOR YOUR BAIT-AND-SWITCH SCAM TACTICS! STOP LYING TO THE AMERICAN PUBLIC AND TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR THIS INTENTIONAL "HEY, LET'S SCREW THE POOR AGAIN, IT'S NOT LIKE THEY HAVE ANY *RIGHTS* OR *RECOURSE*!!!" LITTLE CIRCLE-JERK. And ADMIT, in public, that y'all LIED YOUR FACES OFF FROM THE GET-GO, about how "smoothly" and "easiliy" this transfer would go, AND about how much it's ACTUALLY GOING TO COST THE POOR PEOPLE OF THIS COUNTRY, WHO *DON'T* LIVE IN GATED COMMUNITIES OVERLOOKING GOLF COURSES, AS I'M SURE THAT THE MAJORITY OF THE PAID-OFF-BY-VIACOM MANAGEMENT OF THE FCC DOES.
Obama promised us change, and the FCC is robbing us blind. Greaaat. I know that he's got a lot of work on his desk, he "inherited" the biggest INTENTIONAL screwups perpetrated against this country since the birth of Ronald Reagan, but it'd be nice if someone brought this to his attention. We're in THE biggest economic collapse in the history of the country, INTENTIONALLY BROUGHT-ON BY THE MONEYED ELITE WHO'VE BEEN RUNNING THE JOINT SINCE THE GOT TO BILL CLINTON (who may or may not have ever actually been a Democrat), and well before, actually, going all the way back to Nazi munitions-supplier PRESCOT BUSH --- and yet our own governmental agency, the people who are supposed to be the stewards of OUR airwaves, not Viacom's, not Infinity/CBS/Sony's, not the evil and dreaded DISNEY'S --- OUR AIRWAVES, and THIS is what y'all do with that responsibility? SCREW OVER THE POOR ONE MORE TIME? Nice. $25-30 might not mean anything to y'all, but it's a big chunk of my monthly disability income, that I could otherwise spend on medicine or food, because the "governor" of Louisiana is trying to destroy Medicaid, food stamps, and public schools. He'd very much like to institute a full-bore CASTE SYSTEM here (just like in India), where the poor will die out from malnutrition, preventable diseases, and no opportunity to ever get past their high school diplomas or (he'd prefer, if you don't do parochial school) GEDs --- this is what Piyush Jindal wants to "accomplish" before he tries to run for president in 2012. And y'all just helped him screw the poor just a little bit harder. No hug, no kiss, no reacharound.
Thanks ever so.
Oh, and if you doubt anything that I've said about Louisiana under the Jindal regime, ask Donna Brazile, she knows. She may be the last honest woman (aside from the First Lady) LEFT in D.C. (well, Barbara Boxer, too, but she's got her own problems to handle right now), but Donna KNOWS. And hopefully, someday, we'll get her to come home and run Piyush out of the governor's mansion.
So what now? Will any of these e-mails be answered or fixed? Granted, I'm not holding my breath, but I'd be flabbergasted if any of us actually got any HELP out of this.
-- (A.S.C.)"
Friday, May 8, 2009
Dear Northern Tool & Equipment: U SUCK. May teh wrath of Basement Cat strike y'all ALL down!!!
Elaine from Cat Haven e-mailed me this the other day, and I was worried that it might be an "urban myth" fwd, so I wrote to Northern Tool FIRST, to see what they had to say. Following are the original mail-out and my letter to NT&E, as well as the form letter that I got back. Sent: Monday, May 04, 2009 5:05 PM
Subject: please cross and write- post- this is horrible
This morning on my drive into work I heard something on Houston
radio that I could not believe.
Northern Tool is running an advertisement in which a man is complaining about a cat sitting on a fence tormenting his dog. He is advised to use his Northern Tool nail gun to remedy the problem.
In the advertisement you hear the sound of the nail gun being fired
then you hear the cat scream.
Please let Northern Tool know that this is not acceptable and that
they are promoting animal cruelty.
This is a link to email Northern Tool:
http://www.northerntool.com/contactus/
Northern Tool + Equipment
2800 Southcross Drive West
Burnsville, Minnesota 55306
Phone: 1-800-221-0516
My Letter to NT&E:
I'm trying to find out if this e-mail I got about your advertisement that advocates SHOOTING CATS WITH A HYDRAULIC NAIL-GUN is true or not. I've been on your catalog mailing list for a couple of years now, and if it is true, I would like to be removed. And then I'm going to pitch a major bitch about this commercial. So, does Northern Tool make jokes about killing/mutilating animals with power tools?
(then I copied the fwded e-mail)
What say you?
This is what I got back from Northern Tool & Equipment:
Hello,
Thank you for your feedback. The ad that you heard is part of a nationwide campaign for which we have received a few comments from some concerned parties.* We are sorry if this ad has offended you and our intention of the ad was not to advocate violence toward animals and we have received, both positive and negative on this ad. At this point, Northern Tool has removed the spot from airing on the radio. As of Wednesday, this spot should not be airing. Thanks again for your comments.
Bev
Northern Tool + Equipment
Ecommerce customer contact
customercare1@northerntool
*Emphasis mine.This morning on my drive into work I heard something on Houston
radio that I could not believe.
Northern Tool is running an advertisement in which a man is complaining about a cat sitting on a fence tormenting his dog. He is advised to use his Northern Tool nail gun to remedy the problem.
In the advertisement you hear the sound of the nail gun being fired
then you hear the cat scream.
Please let Northern Tool know that this is not acceptable and that
they are promoting animal cruelty.
This is a link to email Northern Tool:
http://www.northerntool.com/contactus/
Northern Tool + Equipment
2800 Southcross Drive West
Burnsville, Minnesota 55306
Phone: 1-800-221-0516
My Letter to NT&E:
I'm trying to find out if this e-mail I got about your advertisement that advocates SHOOTING CATS WITH A HYDRAULIC NAIL-GUN is true or not. I've been on your catalog mailing list for a couple of years now, and if it is true, I would like to be removed. And then I'm going to pitch a major bitch about this commercial. So, does Northern Tool make jokes about killing/mutilating animals with power tools?
(then I copied the fwded e-mail)
What say you?
This is what I got back from Northern Tool & Equipment:
Hello,
Thank you for your feedback. The ad that you heard is part of a nationwide campaign for which we have received a few comments from some concerned parties.* We are sorry if this ad has offended you and our intention of the ad was not to advocate violence toward animals and we have received, both positive and negative on this ad. At this point, Northern Tool has removed the spot from airing on the radio. As of Wednesday, this spot should not be airing. Thanks again for your comments.
Bev
Northern Tool + Equipment
Ecommerce customer contact
customercare1@northerntool
Now, is it just me, or does it sound like Northern Tool & Equipment, who, up until this point, I had considered half-way decent people (I've been on their catalog mailing list for years, even though I haven't been able to afford power tools in YEARS, I still like to window-shop!) --- anyway, does it sound to y'all that Northern Tool needs to MAYBE MAKE A SIGNIFICANT DONATION TO MORE THAN ONE ANIMAL CHARITY??? Hmmm? I mean, that is how these things run nowadays, right? A celebrity or corporation takes a very public DUMP on someone/animals/group of people/the law, they get a slap on the wrist from "the law," and then they donate to a charity of THEIR choosing, and then everybody "forgets" about it? Right, Kobe? Right, Michael Vick? Right, Mel insane-freak Gibson?
If it was ME deciding how they should get out of this public-relations CLUSTERFUCK, I'd highly recommend a write-in campaign to get them to donate an ASSLOAD of money to Cat Haven, the ASPCA, BestFriends, and the New Orleans SPCA. Seems fair, right? They're going to treat cats (as do all of the redneck fucktards around here @ Hillbilly HellHole) LIKE VERMIN, then they ought to do more than a half-assed, back-handed form-letter so-called "apology," right?
I'd also like to know, who in the flying RAT-FUCK gave them "POSITIVE FEEDBACK" about this fucking commercial, other than the JUVENILE THUG-WANNABE FRAT-BOY DOUCHEBAG ADVERTISING ASSHOLES who "wrote" this bullshit in the FIRST FUCKING PLACE.
Monday, May 4, 2009
For my friend: NOT ONE MORE, 6/3/98
NOT ONE MORE 6/3/98
6-3-98 - 4:11PNOT ONE MORE --- 5/2/09 Update
Don't tell me,
Lady on the Rape Investigation Hotline,
that "God never sleeps,"
that "God protects us always,"--
GOD DOESN'T GIVE A FUCK.
THIS WAS NOT "MEANT TO BE."
THIS SHOULD NEVER BE.
Where was God
when a little girl,
still innocent and loving,
despite her many years of hell,
was taken by the railroad tracks,
her spirit crushed as her body was torn
by cruel hands THAT HAD NO RIGHT?
Where was God
when that sorry, useless, diseased puke
INVADED her, BEAT her, HURT her--
was God watching?
was God loving?
Did God care?
Doesn't fucking look like it.
Where was God
when a trusting soul
was turned aside
was turned to bitter,
because a trusted friend,
some two-bit loser frat-boy predator
used her trust against her
and took what was not his.
Where was God
when an innocent young flower
was crushed by drunken hands--
BUT HE COULD NOT KILL HER SPIRIT.
Where was God?
Sleeping, distracted,
or simply amused by her pain?
Where was God.
Interesting that we live in a world
Where God is supposed to be a man.
"HE" loves us. "HE" protects us.
"HE" created Man in His own Image.
Does that mean that part of God
is a rapist?
Does that mean that God condones
violence against women?
And I say, "part of God,"
because I know that not all men are rapists.
Because I know there are good men.
And I know that there are boys who will become
good men ,*
despite growing up in a nightmarish world
that would have them be anything but.
But there are also monsters.
Beasts, diseased predators, thieves of souls.
Those who are so weak that
They must destroy
Women.
And their "God" created them.
And I tell you there is no god
Because I know there is no justice.
Because when I spoke the truth
to my parents
in 1986,
their SON got their sympathy
and I got the shaft.
I was the one--in THAT family--
who was labelled, "The Crazy One."
And all of God's horses
and all of god's men
couldn't --ever--
put my innocence back together again.
And I tell you there is no god
Because I did not have the guts
to kill that short, dumpy, ugly
motherfucker in 1991
after he dismantled my face
and I blamed myself.
And there will never be any justice
Even as every time my jaw clicks & spasms with TMJ,
I flash back to him above me,
and those ugly hands
only meant for destruction.
And where was God
as I begged for mercy?
And where was God
And where was I
when they were hurt.
I'm supposed to be
the big, strong, fierce one,
caretaker to the universe--
and I was not there.
I should have been, but I wasn't.
Even though I'm just a big, soft ninny
on the inside
who's never even been in a fight**
I LOOK like the big, scary mean bitch
And that usually discourages
the predators.
And I wish I could say
that I'm buying a gun
and going hunting on the streets of New Orleans.
I AM a damn good shot.
But I won't,
because, eventually, they'd catch me,
I know.
And then the fuckers will win, again.
They win, every time I've tried to die.
They win, every time I fail.
They win, every time I cannot function in this world
where I am still forced to live alongside them.
They win, every time I cannot love
or ever know what true love is.
They win, every time we fuck to prove we still can,
because we're only hurting ourselves.
They win, because even as we scratch and claw
to reclaim ourselves, we give up more in the process.
But what I can do, is LIVE.
I cannot repair my sisters' hearts
or bodies, or minds, or souls,
But I can be there.
I cannot bring down
the wrath as I should...
But I can lift up my sisters.
And I can
speak out,
And shine the light of truth
on those quivering cockroach parasites
Every time they try to steal innocence
and prey on someone weaker, or smaller,
or more fragile.
I am not so fragile that I cannot speak.
Because every time I speak
And every time I live,
I WIN.
And those fuckers lose.
And where will God be?
Cowering behind the cherubim?
Counselling the religious-right nazis
on how to better oppress women?
"Vengeance is mine, sayeth The Lord."
Well, The Lord's been getting sloppy
And this shit just keeps happening.
So, if we want vengeance,
we'd better start picking up the slack.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*This referred to my nephew Tater, who WAS a good man, but never got to become all that he had the potential to be, because he was murdered by the drug-dealing scum that he tried to escape.
**This was, after all, written before the Crack Whore tried to kill me in my own bed on March 15, 1999, as my Nannie heard the whole thing over the phone, and died of colon cancer 14 months later, because the beast that she adopted DENIED HER MEDICAL CARE. But it was the shock, the pain, and the horror that that day inflicted upon her that got her sick in the first damned place.
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