CAUTION: This TOME is not, yet, rated!

Moderators, Monitors & recently converted, Re-Puritans are to be too dense, bitter, angry, and fugly to grasp the universal wisdom, and, the not-too-subtle, hidden messages buried deep within the chatter of this Literary Treatise, written in Crayon by Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, "Doctored"!

(If you don't think I am "Doctored", just take a gander in me Medicine Cabinet. I take one, two, maybe, three hundred pills a day. If I ain't "DOCTORED", who the HELL IS?)

Note: The author is innocent until proven guilty by a Court of MAGA LIARS, currently on trial for Congenital Perjury.

As CEO & Flounder of the less than prestigious , Bird Droppings Institute- a Think/Stink Tank for Morons, No Idiots, please," is located in the nearly torn down community of Mildew, Ohio, where there are NO JOBS, NOT EVEN BLOW JOBS!

As many of you know, I am a Part-time Idiot and a Full-Time Moron, so I can speak to both factions. But, I don't. I will speak to you!

BACKGROUND INFORMATION:

I entered life directly from an explosion, thanks to Jack London, the brilliant comedy writer, who wrote for nearly every comic, COMIC BOOK, and TV comedy show in his day.

His genes are not my genes, my genes are blue genes. However, when I am down and out, I like to wear his. You understand that, don't you?

Oops, hold on... it's "Piss Break Time"... at nearly 81, it is every 5 minutes, so you will just have to wait damn it. I've told you too much, already!

Get some coffee, smoke a cigarette, and CURSE, if it suits you. I do.

With Jack passing, I felt compelled to purloin his work, since he was no longer benefiting from it, and my stuff sucked.

The Jack London that I refer to is not the Jack London that through Alaska shot unarmed animals to eat, skin, and make weapons from their bones.

No, no Boys & Girls from the Sundance Generation, the Jack London that turned my life around, and showed me how it is done, is the author of that historic, hysterical paperback, "Killing Pigeons in the Park with a Hammer!"

I suspect this highly paid Hollywood writer, and my idol, may have been "mad" at various times in his career. But, who among us has not?

As CEO & founder of the much-maligned "Bird Droppings Institute", I know that pain.

It haunts me to this day, that is why I steal everything I can from Jack London, the comedy genius, not the dummy that ran around Alaska killing wild animals in the tundra, then bragging about it in his books.

How gouache is that?

My Jack was a little bit of an alcoholic, and I would be, too, if I allowed myself to indulge, but I cannot stand the smell of whiskey.

At the ripe age of 12.8, my adult neighbor's guests, Ore, and her playboy handsome paramour thought it amusing to ply me to the brim with whisky and coke, until I nearly succumbed to "Alcohol Poisoning".

To this day, nearly 70 years later, I cannot stand the smell of Whiskey and rarely drink, which I suspect disappoints my deceased childhood mentor., "Old Drunken Harry Ballard's" who loved to sing bawdy songs.

As I now roamed the basement cells of the BDI, where our critics are charitably held, against their will, for the benefit of Humanity, I have been advised by my telepathic contactees that the notorious, Re-Thugs (former Republicans) have traveled too far up Trump's posterior, that they are paralyzed when confronted with a moral dilemma, e.g. "What is right, and What is wrong?"

Steve Bunions (a former "Dirth Diaper Donnie "Wiper") has proudly asserted that the" God Awful smell," emanating from Trump's gigantic butt is the cause of what is stinking up 'Merika!

(It's in the National Enquirer , Google it!)



Above is a recent photo of "Dirty Diaper Donnie", before he was cuffed and dragged off to jail by two lesbian cops, or, so I am told by my unnamed and unnamable sauce. 

"I interrupted this trite tirade to straighten out the facts. I am a man of FACTS, not bull chips. Strictly the facts, madam, as Joe Blow used to say on his Crime TV show back in the day.

"Any who, this is as good of a time as any to promote my newest scam, er, enterprise, TRADING CARD of Mine for ONLY $99 per card, so you can personally help me avoid jail.

"My Fellow MAGA Drag Queen, I need your financial assistance more than ever. More than when I asked for MONEY for my 'BUILD THE WALL' scam. Or, my Immigration Ball, held at my Washington, D.C. Hotel, where many of you stayed as a gesture to help my family of GRIFTERS stays afloat while we dedicated our life to bailing from LEFT WING RADICALS in the Democratic Party of Fools.

So, Now I am allowing you to be the FIRST in America to buy my best scam, yet, Trump Playing Cards for ONLY $99.00 per card.

"Won't you help out your next POTUS in 2024, so people can stop calling me a POS?"
Folks, my fellow Left Leaning Liberals, too lazy to get a job, the stubborn reality is "Donnie T-Rump," always has a full, overflowing load of "bull chips" in his Super-Duper, DEPENDS, 24/7/365!

Sadly, the former POTUS, present POS, is having difficulty keeping "WIPERS," which acerbate the situation making it smell worse in Mar Lago, where Trump is currently hiding from the "law in plain sight".

Recently, a highly trained, tainted, oddity of two doctors, formerly attached to the "less than prestigious", BIRD DROPPING INSTITUTE - A Stink Tank for Morons, No Idiots, please, studied this unique phenomenon, 60 consecutive seconds before reaching their diagnosis. Observers monitoring the medical debate stated to our unknown, unknowable, drunk reporters that "it was one Hell of a back-alley brawl between the twins, but finally reaching a conclusion

Despite the brevity, the notoriously Deaf, Dump & Blind Doctors, "Ding-A-Ling & Ding-Dong," well-known to Side Show Barkers, as the "Amassing Siamese Twin, Conjoined Foot to Mouth Freaks), (after one hell of a jailhouse beating) concluded (behind closed, barred, prison doors, where they are currently vacationing for 5 years, thanks to a "Trumped-Up", baseless charge by T-Rump Donnie.


The not so "right in the head" doctors, concluded "Dirty Diaper Donnie's" condition of the overflowing diapers was, and to this day, is due to T-Rump's addiction to powerful drugs, such as Adderall, Viagra & Cocaine-laced Chocolate cake!


Yes, that is all true, but, when one peels back the Onion, is there NNOT, an Apple inside?

Viewer discretion is advised!

Violence, Vulgarity, Left-Wing Sentiments, and Sexual Situations are all included, at NO EXTRA COST !

(Unless you want to pay more to upgrade your membership).

Within this trusted site, (Eat the Press - Do Not Read It) one will find, "All the things that we wish were in an article, that aren't! The real down and dirty gritty stuff that grinds one soul until it explodes evaporates into "Fairy Mary Dust", or so I am advised by my "sauces," Fairy & Merry, two straight queens cured by Conversion Therapy, plus, another twelve years of forced fed bull chip in the Jerry Falwell Christian School for the learning impaired!

Read at your peril. It is a "CLASSLESS", piece of DRIBBLE written in a fury, "by the less than esteemed, Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, "Doctored."

If you don't think I am "doctored," just take a gander at my medicine cabinet. I take 17 kinds of medications. I even take one to remind me to take my medications.

If I'm not  "doctored," who the Hell is?

Brothers & Sistas of the Corn Hole De-Generation now is the time to make that call that you have been "wanting to do" for so long.  

Pick up the phone, Sport, dial the number for your local MENTAL HEALTH facility, and tell them you need an appointment, "Right this Damn Minute!"

It worked for me. 

Now, I am institutionalized within the luxurious confines of the Dick Cheney Nursing Home for Disgruntled Republicans where "Water Boarding Is a Therapy, not a Torture!" 

Sincerely,
(If you have to sin, at all!)

- Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, "Doctored," Publisher & Flounder of Eat the Press - Do Not Read It!

We are located in that lovely, but, nearly all torn-down Village of Mildew, Ohio, where there are NO JOBS - NOT EVEN BLOW JOBS!

(I warned you it might be offensive, especially, if you live in a bubble of religious mumble-jumble. It is the real world I speak to, not the Trump Alternate Reality of a Reality-TV Celebrity!)




Not recommended for the faint of heart. (Or, Republicans with no heart!)

CHAPTER II

Uncontrollable vomiting is common for some (OK, all readers)! Keep your BARF BAG HANDY!
I wouldn't read it. It is nothing but Political Smut. I like it like that. 

NOTE: Be  prepared before you venture down this wormhole. Right-Wing Nut Jobs may attack you in their underwear with merciless, inarticulate comments that will have you scratching your head and asking yourself: 

"How did these Maroons get out of the trash bin and into my head?"

In my 80.5 years of sordid experiences, I have observed that "Redneck, Red-Hat wearing, ready to rumble, moonshine sucking Hill Folks" are angry twitters, with low IQs, bad breath, and no sense of humor!



Now, before you throw a " hissy fit ," call one of your moderator friends (that is just as loopy as you), let me assure you, this is "NOT a Sweeping Generalization," as some critics might suggest.

This Epistle is based on personal, excruciating experience, observations gained from running for my life, though, nearly every Ews-Neck state in the South and Southwest during my formative, traumatic years, chased by those lovable, grossly overweight, Confederate flag-waving imbeciles swinging baseball bats at folks they call "sissies, faggots, Northerners, Liberals, Socialists, and their top smack-e-roo, 'Unpatriotic Pussies'!"  (That is everyone that ain't them.)

My observations, bruises, and blood-stained T-shirts have left me with the feeling that most, if not all of these 'hooting & hollering' rednecks have "Red Necks, Red Faces, and tobacco-stained teeth!" It isn't that I don't like low-functioning Red Necks, I just never liked bullies, especially dumb ones, "Hee Haw, Y'all"!

Look, Honey, the "Civil War" is over! Y'all lost, now, get the Freakin' Frack over it! That was 1865, this is 2022. (157 years ago.) It's time to move on, put the moonshine down, brush your teeth, and stop beating your wife.

It is time, fellow Americans, if, indeed, you are a "Fellow American," and, no longer a "CONFEDERATE TRAITOR", to give up the ghost of "Stone Wall Jackson, and, stop blaming "Gay Folks" for every miserable thing that happens in your life. You might have had something to do with it. 

It's time, Honey, to "Move on Up to the West Side, to that High Rise in the Sky!" Be bold, open up your Dry Cleaner, and "clean up," get rich, and take daily baths.

Now, honey, move your plump arse down those rust-colored, unpaved roads and chase your own "Rainbow!" But, don't wear high heels, Sugar. You might break your neck when running from your relatives.

Listen up, Sweetheart, it is way past time for y'all to "Stop mooning over y'all's attempt to secede from the United States of America so you all could start your own country, within our country, that would have allowed y'all to buy and sell other human beings for profit."

That is so gouache!

Believe me, Bitches, beating, raping, torturing, and selling slaves is not something you want to put on your resume.

Nor is "The Joy of Working Black Folks to Death," a favorable recommendation. Giving your non-paid employees one outfit per year, spun from coarse material, while loved by Corporate Billionaires, is not an indicator of "good management skills."

At some point, one has got to stop, LIVING' IN THE DARK AGES, before Elvis, and realize it is time to move on, or up to the High Rise on the West side!

Chapter III "The Lame Blame Game"

The Southern Baptist Church , y'all's only approved state church, claimed that "slavery is all right! It's in the Bible, somewhere."

Your state-sanctioned, state church, Evangelicals, will not allow other religion to plant their seeds in the dimly lit minds of Southerners, or, so, I am told by my "Sauces."

No Jews, no Presbyterians, no other religion allowed, or, acknowledged, IN TH DEEP, DARK AGE OF Dixie Land, except the Southern Baptist Church , now, upgraded to "The Evil-Genetical Talkin'-In-Tongues to the Devil," churches of jumpin' up, jumpin' down , rollin' on da floor, frothin' at the mouth, worked up into a religious fervor that is reminiscent to those old, primitive, backwoods Houses of God in "da hills and hollers of the Appalachians Mountains."

Seriously, folklorists, don't you find that a "tad bit Dark Age-ish?"

Folks, say it is a "step up from the Southern Baptist Church!" But I see it as a step way far down, down, down.

I guess those folks may be unable to read the Constitution, or, anything, and do not understand the prohibition of the state-sanctioned church.  They seem to be only able to understand what their "preacher man" says.

You know, the guy who "came to da Jesus," after an all-night drunk, face-up on the barroom floor.

You see, in the South, everyone that was anyone, was a mandatory SOUTHERN BAPTIST, until the run-up to the Civil War.

That is when Southerners stormed out of the original Baptist church, broke off from the Northern Baptist Church, and established, what else, their own SOUTHERN BAPTIST CHURCH?


As Churchill once wanted to say, but chickened out: "I Shall Return, After Me Constitutional, Ye, yanks!"

Because, the Baptist church, which they had been in since the 1600s, were abolitionists, an ORIGINAL SIN, in their Glorious Old South full of Gentility & Human Bondage.

My other observation, which may not be aligned with yours, is that "Southerner Haters" are, for the most part, inbreeds, who rarely achieved their goal, the 5th grade, until they reach their sixteenth birthday (the legal age to quit school and marry their first cousin, or, their favorite siblings).

That is the sum of it, folks, in a "nutshell," (my nutshell, that is.)



The view from a twisted sister is rarely welcomed in Dixieland, the land of gentility and good manners.

This gnarled regurgitation is a sampling of my thesis, which got me kicked out of Graduate School, quite quickly.

So, folks, "Light them up, if you have them," as they say in the Army.

Not to worry, if you don't have any, we, "Northerners, East Coast Pot-Head, Deadbeats, Liv's off da system, scumbags" can make arrangements, for a small fee, plus, and an outrageous Shipping & Handling charge.

Write to: The  Devil's Weed! 
                % Yo Moma Is a Street Walker
                Mildew, OH 
                (Just a Sharp Right Turn from            Commonsense)
Not to brag, but it is "Marvelous", already, No?

Now, sit back. Take off your shoes, or, various apparel. Make yourself comfortable and enjoy the ride. Don't forget to take a "Selfie", and send it to me for "your bonus edition" of my personal, private photos that I took before I was locked up, or, knocked down by Cheney, the Dick!

Now, shall we begin? If you don't get it by now, you probably aren't going to get it, or, ever took that roll in the hay that you always wanted to, but, was too shy to ask your cousin for help.

So, I will lay it out. THIS IS S A T I R E! (Not a tire that sat too long! )

If you will shut up, I will begin:

The old Confederacy, known, now, as "THE RED STATES," where toilet paper still scratches and is purchased by the wagon loads, s eems to have an inordinate stranglehold on the Republican Party.

Don't get me wrong, I don't HATE the South, I hate scratchy toilet paper. Further, as I discovered from my travel through Hell, I just do not think the South has matured very much since the Days of the Neanderthals.

You, see, Hee Haws, (loved that show) the history that we have been taught is all wrong!

Neanderthals did not go extinct, they just migrated to the South and blended in with the local yokels, undetected.

Do not worry about your pretty little head, they are easily spotted. They wear silly, little red caps to hide their receding forehead, chew tobacco, and wipe with both hands. Most spend much of their time loading and unloading their weapons while scouring at strangers. 

Do Not Disturb Them when they are engaged in their preferred sexual activity, playing with their weapon. It is as dangerous as picking up a sleeping cat. They will attack, claw, hiss, and maw you in a Nashville Minute!

Researchers have discovered that the Red Cappers are observed constantly fiddling with their weapons in public! This is reportedly their preferred activity. It is what they live for, what they love, what they stroke the most, and, what they will kill for , their guns. Guns mean more to them than food, or, pussy. They are really "Twisted."

Too bad their obsession is not with their "gums," those crooked, decaying fangs could use some attention.

I know, that now, many of you are wondering, "How did I get trapped in this Twisted Sister's bent mind?" Well, it wasn't easy, or, by chance.

It's my cadre of Mind Controllers!

That's right, "mind controllers! They were installed while white folks slept soundly during TRUMP thunderous RALLYS IN THE ALLEY " Revivals & Ho Downs" that his High-Ass passes off as political events.

Truth be known, Brothers and Sistas of the Corn Hole Degeneration, it is fate! That is right, alt-right, Brothers & Sistas, FATE !

Just as fate, or, as Thumpers like to say, "GOD," appointed Donald John Trump as "America's First Fake POTUS, Real POS," I was appointed ORACLE!

Aka, "Messenger to the Masses of Unwashed Arses," to spout my wisdom about the "obvious." Captain Obvious, was not available, so, I was tapped. Well, make that smacked around until I said, "Yes."

After my extensive, forced confinement within the gated confines of the DICK CHENEY Nursing Home for Wayward Republicans, where I was required to study porn and listen to Country Music night and day until I repented and was declared "fixed up."

I was not an unwilling resident. I grew to look forward to my weekly Waterboarding Therapy session with Dick Cheney, who giggled constantly as he worked, but never whistled. His entourage of Red Capped Maroons would wash my mouth and brain out with soap, then, play "Pick Up the Soap" with all of the inmates, er, residents.

Unfortunately, when my Health Care ran out, I was unceremoniously tossed out, ordered to NEVER return to the BIRD DROPPINGS INSTITUTE - A THINK TANK FOR MORONS - NO IDIOTS, PLEASE , located in the basement of the Nursing Home, upon penalty of death. Years later, I learned that it was on direct orders from the courts, all of them.

At that, the darkest moment of my "wasted life", I was miraculously ordained by Reverend Oral Fleece, a divine leader/con man whose moniker, "Straight from the Street and Not from the Police", instructed me to deliver my messages, via hand-scribbled flyers to every drive-thru MacDonald in "Merica!"

Which I did for "Forty Days & Forty Nights," until it rained.

Reverend Oral is known in some circles as "the Very Fermented Pasteur" of the Church of the How Big is Your Wallet, How Small Is Your Brain, and, is considered a "big deal," here, in Mildew, Ohio, a small rural burrow in Southwest Ohio, where there are NO JOBS, not even blow jobs. (It is worth repeating).

Once the Re-Puritans came to town, they closed down our major factory and sent all of our good-paying jobs overseas to China. There is a sad country song in our story, somewhere. Maybe Taylor Swift will pen a hit tune for us to sing on the way to the "firing line." Trump is cleaning the house and is on a tear to get rid of "Rif-Raf." So, it is "Bye, Bye, Miss America Pie."

It was my tutelage with Reverend Oral Fleece where I found the courage ( Muscatel & Lime Juice) to step forward out of the shadows of the alley dumpsters and into the holy-rollers "Good-Golly, Miss Molly" light of Evangelical, Talking-In-Tongue, Religious Hypocrisy and preach to the worried worshipers of "Trump Urinal, Piss-Pot Politics followers and shocked them away from their heathenistic religion sold to them by Pat Robinson, for "nickels on the dollar."

It was, howsoever, that is to say, nonetheless, how I found my true calling. It was carved in large block letters above the urinal in the Men's restroom. 

The sign, I knew at first glance, was from the "Man Upstairs" because it instructed me to forego eating navel lent and take up exposing the abhorrent political scene, here, in 'Merica Land . . . Land of the Orange Tan to the MASSES OF UNWASHED ASSES! That be you, folks!



I pledged, to the GOD OF CHAOS, that in this drunken state, I shall unmask myself to my legion of fans, known to law enforcement as, "Liberals, Progressives, Rif-Raff, and such," thereby, lightening the way for others to follow.

Those other chumps, "the Deplorables," that curse my name to the God of Grammar, a fraudulent deity, that has tormented me all of "me" MISERABLE life, I further vowed: that, "the tyrants of Republican Rule shall not prevail, because we have e-mail!"

Write that down!

There will be a test later, and the winner will get an uneaten Snicker's Bar.  

I hope it's a Red Neck, they could do with a smile once in a while, Hoss! Man, they are an angry mess!

My point is, "My Fellow Americans, We Must Resist, Persists, Get Pissed, and learn to love Stitches," if we are to succeed, 'cause those son's-of-Witches are a mean lot.

Now, here, is as good a time as any for READERS to get your TETANUS SHOT, because it only gets worse! Or, a shot of liquor, it's quicker!

This is the end of this Episodic Overload, where those with IQs above 60 usually drop out! I shall, or shall not return, depending on how well my medication wears off!


The Sermon from Da' Dismounted Position

Brothers & Sistas, of the Corn Hole Degeneration , you know who I am talkin' to; those damnable Left-Leaning Liberals Too Lazy to Get a Job, and, those "Right-Wing, Gun-Totting Knuckleheads That Can't Get One Either, Because They Are Just Too Damn Poorly Educated, and Sickly from Eating Beaver Pelts all dang day and vomiting all night long.

No wonder they don't smile.

We (that'll be, me and you) are their "betters," because we do not spread our bread with our boots. That is so gauche, so passe!

Therefore, it is our sworn, God-given mission to boot harden "Trumpers" out of all public latrines, and, send their "sorry arses" back to grammar school.

On the other hand ("the left one") we demand that the "guv-mint" dump "trillions" of other people's money, aka, "FEDERAL DOLLARS" into rehabbing" our sad-sacks liberals- Commies-Marxist- Socialists-Lefties domiciles for free, so we might look like average White Americans with burr haircuts, wearing MAGA hats and totting our government-issued OBAMA, free phone, and automatic weapons.

After all, we vote DEMOCRATS and can be bought off cheaply. Pennies on the dollar, or so I am told.

Dummies, like, "W", Pence, and Trump have been in charge, too, damn long.

It is time for us, the "slightly less dumb," to regain our rightful place as heads of all public "mistakes," and, start giving "Free Sh*t Away, again!"

Can I get an "Amen?"

Naturally, our largess will be restricted to our fellow Left-Leaning Liberals, who are always smoking pot and, too "stoned" to work at a regular job.

Amen, Brother Ben! (Ben Carson, that is). Oh, Brothers and Sistas of the Corn Hole De-Generation, when the Spirit moves me, I have to screech!

Why run from it, folks? After all, it is what the All-Knowing, Alt-Right, Always-Right, Uptight-Upright, Conservative, Christian Re-Puritans claim is what Dems, Liberals, and, dirty, communist Humanitarians want:  "Free Sh*t from Uncle Sammy."



I pretty much agree with that assumption.

We are, according to God's Chosen Folks , "nothin', but, Welfare Cheats, Commies, Socialists, Marxist, Fascists," because we want everyone, who is eligible to vote . . .  to VOTE. In a conservative-run world, that is a "No-No. Numero Uno, No-Ass-Kicking, No!"

Why is that thought so radical to the Right-Awful, Religious-Right that today makes up most of the Republican Party of Whining Misfits? 

We are, so my hallucinations, tell me, "Proponents of the Bill of Rights" (all of them, not just the Second Amendment) unlike the "other" clan, the "gun-toting" one, who cannot read the Constitution, or, spell their name. That's why they all have nicknames, like "Bubba, Hot Rod, or Doofus", so, I am told by, yet, another voice in my knurled head.

As everyone knows, "Trumpers", when not loading and unloading their guns, spend much of their time memorizing their favorite part of the Constitution, The Sacred Second Amendment, particularly the phrase dealing with their right to own guns, and the right to shoot pigeons in the park.

Hill Folks, in my gilded view, interpret what they call their "Constitutional Rights", to mean:

"We, da Hill Jack folks, peoples, has da right to do, as we damn well, please, 'cause, Bubba, we be free whites' folks who adorn ourselves with the lovely white hood given to us by the White Jesus!"

Within their moonshine-damaged, nearly empty, childlike mind, they miraculously conceived the idea that it is their " right to keep the guv'mint in checkers. White & Red Checkers, No Black ones!"

These are some dumb, dangerous Mother Fucars. It is best not to say anything, just look them in the eye and nod in the affirmative.

THANK GOD! There is a B R E A K!

CHAP LIBS:  III

Forgive me for indulging myself, but I started this "confessional" by acknowledging that I am not, nor, have I ever been "queer"!  Full of "cheer", but, not queer. Odd, yes, by God, but, not queer full of fear.

I get that question every single day from Maroons wearing those silly red MAGA caps, lugging around their loaded military-style weapons, as they shop at Walmart, of course, Horse. Fearful, I assume, that a "fat white woman, with a fistful of coupons, might slow the checkout line.


Re-Puritans, always say, "No", to gourmet establishments. They are too "gay", as one Gun Nut explained to me. Although, I did not ask.


Another burr haircut member of "Killers for Khrist", butted in with, "Real Americans with Real, Red-Faces and Real Red-Necks aren't sissified Northerners!"

"Are you one, too?" asked a third, tapping the barrel of his rifle on my chartreuse-colored T-Shirt. 

Who the FU*K are these arse-wipes?

More importantly, who is responsible for taking the SEWER LIDS off, anywho, you who? That is the one that is at fault!

Why do Evangelicals and Gun-Totting Conservative Republicans, with marginal intelligence, always think that it is appropriate to ask total strangers when they first meet them a very personal question:  "Are you GAY?"

"No, I am queer! And you, are you still bangin' your momma, Oedipus?"

"What?  Who is Ed-de-pus?" they always ask, reaching for their AR 15, staring belligerently at me with those menacing eyes of the typical Evangelical Preacher, caught molesting a big-busted female choir member. (Man or woman, as long as they are "Big-Busted", they grab them by the "pussy", like their idol, "the Donald" does. But, they never, ever sexually harass them).

Is that in the Bible, somewhere?

In college, I was very, very, close, perhaps, too, close to my freshman roommate.  My "roomie" was a big, white, "nerdy looking", unnaturally awkward young man, and the object of my envy.

His Honest to Hades name is "Winthrop Merideth, The III." 

Wow, now that is a rich-sounding name for an aristocrat. I was struck by that handle. One knew from the name that that "White, Obnoxious, Son-of-A-Bi-Ouch-ie Snob" was RICH, loaded to the "gills", which he had on either side of his neck.

"Imagine that", I thought, "a freakin' rich, white kid at a BLACK UNIVERSITY, in Wilberforce, Ohio.

This out-of-place, be-spectacle Freshman stuck out from across the campus, as did his silk, expensive-looking scarf that he wore everywhere, even to the gym.

Man, was I smitten!

Later in life, I took his name out of vengeance and made him publisher of Eat the Press - Do Not Read It ( The Content Is Worthless! The value is in the nutrients in the pulp in the paper when one eats it. So, Eat It, Michael! Don't Beat It. That is so passe ).

On the advice of my attorneys, Swindlers, Inc., altered the spelling slightly, to prevent the inevitable lawsuits for slander, which is my trade.

I took his name out of revenge. Winthrop hurt me, so, so many decades ago, oh, so, deeply, that I could not get him out of my mind, or my arse!  

He was the stubborn, impacted, you know what, that refuses to leave your body, making you nauseous until it does.

And, believe me, after, all these years, I wanted nothing more than that rich kid from Pennsylvania out of my arse. It gave me headaches to be so abused.

But, "Winnie" would not go. Not even with an exorcism.

Have you ever had anyone haunt you like that?

In the "Spirit of Transparency", let me explain, that like Trump, I am a complete fraud, though, slightly less flush with other peoples' CASH than that POS in the WH is alleged to be.

I am an admitted card trick! Dealt from the bottom of the deck. Do Not Shuffle!

And, this is my autobiography, on sale in most Gay Baths, in Greenwich Village, where I used to work as a paid Hand Towel. Though, I am not "gay", so it will not rub off on you, unless, of course, you are a "Twisted Sister".

Oh, contra, I am a "Girly Man", and damn proud of it, too. I like the Opera, Ballet, the Theater, Classical Music, History, Art and Pussy.

Not too big on baseball, football, or basketball after the 8th grade, when I had my balls crushed by a realization that I was a short, nearly incompetent athlete who would never play in the Major League.  Damn it, I would have to get a job.

So, you see, don't you, that you have nothing to worry about reading this sad tale of a man who wanted to be "happy", but, was, like Edgar Allen Poe, profoundly "depressed" in a dress.

WARNING: Big  boy words are thrown around "CHERE"! 

If you are offended by words, but, not deeds, you may want to "fast forward" to the very popular page, "I Love Hypocrisy in My Morning Right-Wing, Conservative Nuts Cereal" page for Maroons!  Those times are profusely sprinkled about The NewStalker.com, there is no need for you here if you are scared of queers, my dear. 

Just look for the sounds of WHINING!  That is where one will find "the real queer folks", re-puritans.
                                                    
Let me be clear about this, I do not HATE Trump!  I just don't think CROOKS should be President.

Call me "old fashioned", even "queer", if you must, but I think it is a bad idea to elevate "Con Artists, Thieves, Deadbeats", even me, to the Highest Office in the land.

This ain't the "Land of Lakes", Honey! This is 'Merica! We don't cotton to " data corruption that"! No, siree, bob-ba-lu-ba, corruption stinks! Laugh at that, MF-er! 

Whatever happened to the concept of "vetting" candidates running for public office versus embracing those candidates running toward a public toilet at most Metropolitan Air Ports? "Shuck, Drag da foot and slide!"

End of Disclosure!   Please, put your weapons away! And, take off those stupid RED CAPS when reading this tome. We all know you are going bald! 



                                                                            
Well, then, Ladies (Lindsey Graham-ers) back to the "juicy", personal stuff.

I " yam what I yam," I must confess, the one and only (thank GOD for that), "less than prestigious", Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, CEO & Flounder, of the Bird Droppings Institute, A Think Tank for Morons, No Idiots, please!

We are located in the nearly all-torn-down community of Mildew, Ohio, where there are no jobs, not even "Blow Jobs".

Mildew, like so many new rural American communities, is a GATED COMMUNITY. We don't know who built it or why, but we like it like that.  Come visit us, we are just a short leap from REALITY.

If you are driving, we are the second exit from the one that reads, "Twilight Zone". Just make that VIOLENT, RIGHT-HAND TURN from anywhere in 'Merica and you'll be instantly there.

Don't let the gun turrets, the barb-wire fence or the mind field put you off, it is mostly for show. Just stay on the well-worn path and you'll be fine.

You see, folks, with the wisdom I have gained over the three-quarters of a century that I have trans versed this world. I have picked up bad habits. I don't suffer fools well.

If someone thinks that a serial rapist, sexual predator, pathological liar, and CAREER THIEF is a good person to occupy the Whitehouse, by all means, SKIP this page.

As I see it, when "the below average, Angry Americans", who are, often, too stupid, too fat, or, too, naive to figure out who is "taking advantage of them", then, we are going to have trouble "Co-MUN-KNEE-ATE-ING!"

So why bother with getting your panties in a knot? There are a lot of "empty-headed, Trump Bots" seeded by the Russian Intelligence Agency thorough out social media to peruse, amuse, and abuse you. 

Trump in my view, and, in the view of 63,000,000 voters believe him to be "insane, a contemptuous human being, and a "Clear and Present Danger"!



However, if you are not wholesome, a left-leaning liberal who loves creativity, the arts, the environment, and humanity you may want to take a "roll in the hay" with us, Gus! Or, not!

CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED!

It is never the "Dems"; it is always the Calcified Conservative Republicans to hung up on racism, and, too, intolerant of others, the "BASTARDS-In-Cheap Shit Rhetoric" that are the "bad guys". Not us "good guys", forward-thinking Liberals, that are to blame for every damn thing wrong with 'Merica

For example, in 1980, in an era of complete insanity, America fell madly in LOVE with a "B" rated movie actor, Ronnie Reagan. That is when everything started to "trickle down" from there like Elephant piss!

Like Trump, who was a REALITY TV STAR before becoming POTUS, the Americans, back then, in the '80s, grew up on television, so, naturally, everyone loved Reagan, thought "Ronnie" had all the answers, had a "great smile, and was something he was not:  HUMAN!

"Ronnie", as his wife, Cruella De Ville, liked to call him, was a well-known half-azz MOVIE STAR, with a nice voice, neat haircut, and good teeth. The qualities that American voters look for in their president.

Reagan's appeal is similar to the current POS in the Whitehouse, Trump. Folks like his hair, his tan, and, above all else, 'the Donald" nice blue suits, freshly starched white shirt, and, those, extremely long red ties to camouflage his obese waist. At times, his red ties are so long that they drag behind him like a Devil's tail.


Educated people, who should have known better, bought Reagan's economic, "Trickle Down" bull.

It was nothing more than a "top-down scam", just like Trump's " Tax Cuts For The Rich" scheme.

The Republicans' Economic Theory amount to: "Rich People Need More Money"! It is quite forward and simple.

This classic Republican policy is based on the faulty belief that if our "betters", the super-rich, are allowed to keep more of their questionably acquired "cash", instead of paying taxes, like the "Little People" must, then, they, the Uber Rich Son of A Bitches," are so kind, so thoughtful, so generous due to their tender-hearted nature will ensure that all benefits from the "trickle-down" concept. Including the peasants. ( Dat is you and me.)

It took years before the gullible American taxpayers realized that they had been "had".

However, 32% of Registered Republican, Right Wing Voters do not agree. They "LOVE" being "had", over and over, again, and, again. 

"It feels good to get fuck", one 5th generation Re-Puritan explained the theory to me, as I banged his wife.

It is not "RONNIE" fault solely, other Re-Pukes had fu*ked it up, too:  Herbert Hoover, Dick Nixon, Dick Cheney, and, of course, "W", contributed to our demise into a "SHITHOLE COUNTRY" with a "piece of shit" in the Whitehouse.

What the freakin' frack did you think would happen?

It was that great intellect, "W", America's First Retarded President, who opened the door, whereupon, Trump, The CON MAN, burst thru bellowing, snorting, and exclaiming that he, "alone knows all things known"

Right, this entitled RICH, "SPOILED BRAT", who inherited $147,000,000 from his daddy, Frederick the legend has it, made his "loot" laundering money for mobsters) is now our COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF.

Trump's mouth, and, that alone, is responsible for cracking the Republicans ever rotting egg.

At one time, the Republican Party was respected and had statesmen leading it. Not anymore.

Now it is a Lunatic Asylum with the worst collection of human waste imaginable, passing themselves as Congressional leaders!

Trump's never-ending bull-chip, contempt for the press, and, inability to keep his hands out of the public coffers are slowly awakening rural Americans to the dirty innards of the Republican's "Horse Manure Farm".


The impact of "wrong-headed" Republican policies damn near wiped out my small, pastoral community, Mildew, Ohio.

It is there that I lay claim to my fame as the publisher of Eat the Press Do Not Wipe Your Butt with It.

Republicans' self-serving policies nearly destroyed this once quaint prosperous, little community by the filthy, polluted Yellow Springs, that flows from our neighboring community's Military-Industrial, "Guns Don't Kill -People Do" munitions factories.

When the heartless Re-Puritans were elected nationwide, primarily by the questionable demographic, known as the "deplorable", they did so with the aid of the Russian government, Putin, the Koch Roach Brothers, Deranged Evangelical, and Corporate Thieves.

That is when our community went to Hell-In-A-Hand Bag .

What difference does it make if it is a "DESIGNER'S HANDBAG"?

It is still a handbag, probably a "KNOCK-OFF" made in China, and sold on the streets of America by "illegals", taking good-paying jobs from our recently released felons.

It seems, to this "slightly disturbed, humbled by the years' observer," that Republican policy is designed to screw the "little people", without their consent, by allowing our big, rich "betters to strangle us into starving paupers, making it easier to make us their slaves.

I ask you, fellow News Talkers.com, "what diabolical genius decided that the best thing to do to stimulate the sagging American economy was to ship 50,000 factories overseas to Communist China and Third World countries to keep the cost of goods low".

In my admittedly limited mind, I struggle with the issue that if the average American worker cannot get a good-paying job, then, we cannot buy the things we do not need. That ain't stimulating anything but "P O V E R T Y".

What do you say, NewsStalkers.communists?

For decades Republicans have denied the perils of Global Warming, replacing it with "Global Marketing". Which has become the "buzzword" for every Republican in 'Merica. 

"No Global Warming!" It's now," Global Marketing, Baby!", they love to scream at the NRA meetings, in between their chants:  "LOCK HER UP!" 

Well, arse wipes, in Mildew, OH-HIGH-O, we endured the destructive force of a Category 10 economic tornado when this wave of self-righteous Republicans appeared on our doorsteps, unannounced!

Now, Republican leaders love Communist China? Of all the countries in the world, they want to send our jobs, over 5,000,000 jobs to CHINA. who would have thought it?

I thought Conservatives hated communists more than anything, except liberals. They love MONEY more than they do their country. 

Well, Brothers & Sistas of the Corn Hole De-Generation, it practically killed our community off. This once semi-prosperous, little community, by the county dump, went belly up overnight and turned into a "Swamp"!

Everyone in our town, including the mayor, the candlestick maker, and even, our pedophile priest was affected; laid off, unemployed, and bankrupted! Just like that. 

Once upon a time, in a far-off land was a thriving, prosperous community of "nitwits", isolated from the rest of the world by ostracism.

We didn't care, because anyone that could work, worked at our "CORK SACKING" factory. Or, in the complimentary "start-up" business making "KNEE PADS". You see, when everyone in your community is working as a "cork-sackers", you are gonna need a lot of knee pads."

Well, that's my story and I am sticking to it. So, "Yes", I, too, am a "Former Cork-Sacker" and, proud of it!

* * * *CONFESSIONAL OF A LIFE LONG CORK SACKER * * * *



Well, folks, you may have caught me, at a bad time, with my pants down, a frequent condition suffered by old folks with enlarged bladders the size of a watermelon, jammed up where "the Sun Don't Shine" , thanks to our Christian, angry Republican Trumpers!

Yep, I am "outed", yup, jes like Miss Lindsey Graham, and, that ain't the first time, neither, Miss Pence.

NOTE: This may be as good of a time, as any, for some of you that need to hurl to take your leave.  Me, too. Be back in five. Talking about Trump does that to me - makes me want to VOMIT!
 
                                                                       * * *

Chapter II: "Who the Hell Gives Crap?"



I never took this old man's advice. What did he know?

Now, where was I, that is to say, none the least, in this "Spirit of Transparency Age & Overused Phrases", I admit that "the Very, Very Reverend Oral Fleece, "Straight From the Street and Not From the Police", pastor of the Church of T he How Big Is Your Wallet - How Small Is Your Brain", is, like all Evangelical Televangelists, just another "religious scam", that I concocted.

Like Trump's Trump University scheme, I, too, needed to raise money from "rubes" to pay for my Mercedes payments, which are in arrears.  As is my rear!

I have been known to drag it behind, honey, filled with my sack of quarters.

They are not legally mine, like that POS in the Whitehouse, it's all ensconced from "other's people's cash."
A trick I learned from perusing "Donald's" book "The Art of the Steal".

I am guilty of using these pen names and a dozen other "non-de plums", that I employ to disabuse "me" creditors, which are many.

I, like Trump, am a congenital "deadbeat", and, like "the Donald", proud of it. Too many of us hide in the shadows begging for crumbs from strangers.

Not, Trump nor I! We go boldly into the "Unkown" where DECENT FOLKS fear to fly! On the "criminal side"!

Believe me, if anyone understands Trump, it is I.



Not my Left eye; my Right One Sees All. His Warts, His Whores, His Schemes & Scams, His Foibles. They are so apparent it awes me that anyone with an I. Q. above minus 50 would not see them.

Truth be known, I am the lowly, lonely, looney, lovely, green-eyed John K. Roberts, aka ("Little Johnnie Jump Up") my stage personae, that I employ when I perform at a backwatered establishment like Taffy Coffee Shop & Gay Biker Bar, in Eaton, Ohio, that have "Very Low Standards. If you have a heartbeat, you are Welcome to the Stage!" 

It is a unique establishment, nestled in a quaint historic setting, where one is free to contract a venereal disease just by sitting in a booth.

It was here, in this quaint, queer-adverse, God Fearing, mostly right-wing Conservative community that I re-learned my "craft'.

T he Art of Th e Dodge, or, how to avoid a gaggle of irate "Red Neck Trump Supporters" screaming invectives while dexterously swinging hand-hewn pickaxes, weighed-down in the pursuit by their heavy military gear which appears to be permanently attached to their every appendage.

In a quieter, more reflective moment, these step-down geranium heads,  should be "snapped" to allow the other flowers to bloom. But, in "Hill Billy Heaven" only the "briars" flourish. The poets are stomped on the vines by clog hopper-wearing "Hill Folks" from KY (McConnell's Territory) with a "Religious Zeal" killings "Queers".

At 77 years, six months, and six days, I am too close to my "Expiration Date" not know when to run, even though I am not "gay", I am, according to the Local Christian Yokels, "Queer".    

"We ain't seen you at the Bible readings . Are you queer, or, somethin'?"

"No, sure, just odd. I like to read, write, garden, meditate".

"Sounds queer to me. You better git outta town 'for we hang ya!"

"OK, then, bye-bye, now, "I am leaving on the next plane, ain't comin' back again".

 Who needs to go to a Gym, and pay for a workout? When one can run for one's life from MidWestern, God-Fearing "Trump Nuts" free.

It is almost over!

It may come as a surprise to my longstanding, largely incarcerated fans, that I purloined the name, "Winthrop Merideth, The III", from a college mate, that did me wrong!

Winthrop, like me, was a fellow white student (aka "a grey, who was isolated at the predominately Negro college, Central State, located in the little college community of Wilberforce, Ohio, back in the day, 1960, the Era of the Civil Rights Movement.

In my College "Hey Days" (60-63) I was lucky enough to be one of six white freshmen living on campus in the former Penn Hall freshman dormitory. There were approximately 2300 students, of which, 99.9% were Afro-Americans, so, we, the "greys" stood out like "glow sticks".

Our fellow, non-white classmates referred to us as the "Greys", because, they claimed, we looked colorless, when seeing one's reflection in a plate glass window after being thrown headfirst into it by a militant, non-violence Civil Rights Worker, tired of the slow pace of the peaceful protest movement. 

I thought it was just part of the Freshman Orientation and laughed it off.

What surprised me the most was that I discovered that "Negroes", like White racists, had their caste system, where they ranked each other, not "on the content of their character", but, rather on the color of their skin.

The highest ranks were awarded to the "Near Whites", blended folks, who were predominately whites, but, as was the custom of that time, relegated to live within the Negro community, or, attempt to "pass as White", at their peril as I did.

You see, what most people do not know about me is that I am "blended". I am bi-racial, bi-pedal, bi-partisan, and bipolar.

If you don't believe me, I can prove it. Brothers have "rope"; right now my "Jonson" is down the street, around the corner making a "booty call" on a pay phone. Some of you should be getting a text message about now.

Racism is not about the color of your skin, it is about the size of your Johnson. Ask Clarence Thomas, he gave himself the handle of "Long Dong Silver".

Viagra has helped some, but, White People still have a long way to go. "Penis Envy" is Universal, just ask Donald J. Trump. He has suffered from that symptom all of his "miserable life".

Now, back to the meat of this tome:

The Classifications of Negroes into degrees of desirability by Negroes.  First, there were the very attractive, "High Yellows" (poly blended beauties, who were not averse to letting you know it.  Followed by the "Reds", who professed to have more Indian blood than African.  Of course, the most common category, e.g. Michelle Obama, was very conscious that they were quite a few steps above, the bottom run, of the "Black As Coal", Black folks.

This was before the "Black Is Beautiful" movement, which upended this chart, and, replaced the pejorative term "Negro" with "Black". Black Pride. It is, and, was a good thing that rapidly changed the social dynamics in 'Merica.

We also had a few Africans, Indians, Albinos, and one or two Orientals for photo ops.

Winthrop was a "Glow Stick", too, a "gray", as we were affectionately known to our new friends, who were as eager to know about us, as we were about them.

"You mean, you guys stand up to piss, too."

Or, from our more naive fellow white comrades in cultural contrast, these indelicate slip of the tongue: "Where do you all put the bone in your nose when you sleep?"

Most of rural White America's perception of "Blacks" was solidly formed from Tarzan movies.

Reluctantly, Winthrop, my new best White Bread friend, was a bit aloof, one might say smug, and, somewhat of a geek. Normally, I would have avoided him like the plague, but, thrown together in this sea of blackness, we cuddled as friends.  We were both white, and, spoke the same language, English.

At that time, September 1960, we, as well as, most White America were ignorant of "Ebonics", knew little about the African-American culture, less about World History, and had only seen a few Negroes in our lifetime or by watching the very popular AMOS & ANDY TV series.

Winthrop was a "doofus" , with thick glasses from Allen Town, Pennsylvania, and I was a "doofus" from Dayton, Ohio. At first, like in "Faires in a Fairy Land ", we hid in dormitory rooms, trying to blend in with the white sheet on the bed, unnoticed.

Often, in those first days of paranoia, we worked at adjusting to our new environs. Leaning the new phrases of greetings, "What's up, White Mother Fuc*ers", "Up High-Down Low", "Catch you on the down-low", and, the very popular, F*ck Off, Honky, or die, Bitch!" (Which I took as a universal/reciprocal greeting).

We, the quivering, "Six Greys" spent a good bit of our "Nervous Corneille" trying to wipe the white off, and spraying on an entire can of Spray-On Tan as Trump does, a concealer protect that works. That is what folks do when they are in the minority. They assimilate, or, get the sh*t beat out of them.

We, also, spent a good deal of time wondering "What the Hell are we doing at an all-Negro College?  Previously, I had been studying for the electric chair, and, my fellow "Whites" had various ambitions of working in the numerous manufacturing facilities in the Dayton/Montgomery country area, where gray work uniforms were the predominant look of the day. And, a scowl on one's face was mandatory.

But, secretly, we were afraid that at any minute the natives might revolt, burst into our room, and carry us off to the central plaza where we would be hurled into a vat of boiling water and eaten by wild savages in Ivy League clothes.

We, the inner city representatives of the "All White, American Working Class, Known As. The Paranoid Gerbils" grew up on a "boatload" of Tarzan & Jane movies in the '50s and '60s.

So quite naturally, our cultural orientation made us scared to death of blacks, especially, blacks that could dance well.

Tarzan, and, the half-naked Jane, were never far removed from our young hormone-erupting minds. Neither was topless, jiggling, Negro women, dancing provocatively, before the feast. The intense music, the raw savagery, and the sweating sexy scene were enough for me to voluntarily leap into the pot, just for the opportunity to see so many tits.

That is what scared me the most! The urge to leap into the pot. Instinctively, I sensed that there was a part of me that was not under my control, and, it scared the "bejesus" out of me. Sometimes I would nearly wet my pants. At least that is what I thought happened.

The story-line was predictable; a white, mousy guy, decked out in a freshly pressed, Tommy Hills Middle-finger's "White Safari Explorer's Uniform," tied to a tree next to a large, black, pot bubbling over a roaring pit fire.

Per usual, this terrifying scene was made more threatening by a  group of "wild-eyed savages, beating on drums, in grass skirts, complete with bones in their noses, dancing in remarkable choreographed routines, like a group of well-trained Rockefeller Rockets.

The camera close-ups shots revealed that they, indeed, were not "The Rockefeller Rocketts on Tour in Africa", but, horrifyingly ferocious starving savages, "gingering up" their appetites in anticipation of the great "White Cook-Out Feast". 

I never failed to notice that there were never any orientals, Jews, Chinese, or, Africans roasted, or, boiled ALIVE. It was always, only White guys with thick glasses wearing those stupid round sun hats for shade.

Who needs shade in a vat of boiling water?

Scared the "bejesus" out of me!

Gradually, we realized that our students were good kids from middle to upper-class families that were not interested in eating us, except for the gay ones.

Rapidly, we became acclimatized to this beautiful, rustic college; it soothing East Coast Ivy League quality, complete with a lovely, grassy knoll plaza, where local KKK members practiced their assassination skills with wood sticks, moonshine, and a mouthful of tobacco juice.

CSC, at that time, was opening its campus to the surrounding community of "backwood Hill Folks" who, formerly had terrorized the college with their "Torch Burning, Night Rides" thorough the campus, on their monthly inspection tours to "make damn sure that no White woman was deflowered by a Black man on their watch", which always surprised me because not one of them could tell time.


Winthrop was a great storyteller, not a "good-looking guy, like me, but, a shock to the eye.  As you can see from his graduation picture to the left.

"Whinny", as we called him/her is a great storyteller. He would regale us, late into the night, when he returned to campus, still "tipsy" from his glorious, enviable weekend exploits. 

His lively, exciting stories of sexual conquests, drunken parties, and smoking "pot" keep us up all night, in more ways than one. We, too, were horny your men, with tiny, engorged horns that dripped with anticipation that "one day" we would be known not by the "color of our skin", but, by the size of our growing "Johnson."

Winthrop was the first "rich person" I had ever met, and I was proud to have a rich friend. I had sold my Green, 1949 Chevy Coupe to a fellow white student who commuted from Fairborn, Ohio for $150. I needed the money for books, and supplies and to pay my "campus drug dealer", the Dean of Theater, Drama, and the Art of Same-Sex Seduction, which was a mandatory requirement for Whites.

TO BE CONTINUED - Whether you want me to, or, not!