Inside the Twisted Insane - MAGA-LONNYS
Category: Op/Ed
Via: eat-the-press-do-not-read-it • 2 years ago • 93 commentsBy: Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, "Doctored"
S E E D E D C O N T E N T
The magic, my fellow Oak Tree Keepers of the Secret Knot, is not in this brilliant artifice! It is in the comments, damn it, idiots!
It is in my witty, snappy, knee-slapping "re-snorts", in the comment section.
That is where the battle is WON or LOST. (Must I tell you everything?)
WARNING:
The content of this blistering, poorly written, and I mean, POORLY, with a capital Pee (because Trump likes it that way) so-called, Opus is worthless.
Do Steal & Try to Sell It for Money, use it for something important - Toilet Paper.
My critics, of which there are many, denigrated this treatise as "obnoxious and should be immediately burned"!
I don't disagree. Feel free to light it up, now, if so moved. I recommend holding it in your hand as it burns to demonstrate your commitment to "Sancton Harassment" (a new Amendment to the Constitution approved exclusively in former Confederate state, where literacy is marginal.
At what is now being referred to as Maga-Loon's Rally in the Alley, I distinctively, and I mean with the utmost pride, heard the crowd of White Nationalists, NEO-NAZI, MTG, Lauren Boebert, George Santos, and truck loads of "Drooling Magas" give a "shout-out" to one of T-Rump's top sycophants, Ted Cruz, as raged crowds swarmed into the Texas STADIUM, like drunken sailors, shouting:
"You, Bastard", roared the unwashed masses of mostly white asses, at the mild-mannered, still trembling, Woody-Allen-like, Ted Cruz (R, Tex-ass)!
The thunderous hooting & hollering, foot-stomping, cowbell-ringing crowd of mostly under-educated MAGA losers, banged their clubbed feet in unison, then looked straight at Ted, knowing as everyone does, that he ain't "straight". He is 100% crooked!
One, particularly loud, raucous retort stung Cruz to the core, "Trump is RIGHT, your wife is FUCKING UGLY"!
Ted looked up, waved his trembling hand, and nodded his head in agreement with the mob of All-White, White-Nationalists, Oak Keepers' Nut-Crackers, and a large contingency of Girl Scouts, that Cruz could not stop ogling.
"This is no place to disagree with a rabid, celebratory, drunken crowd of angry, narrow-minded voters," Cruz thought to himself, sheepishly.
Ted, knew from the multiple beatings he had received over his career, that as a serial, two-faced, professional Arse-Wiper, (par excellent) that no one wanted to hear from him, anymore, no more, ever again! So, he remained silent, and only talked to himself.
"Damn No! Never Again!", shouted the Red-Hat wearing, Red-Faced, Red Necks, known, affectionately in the South as "Divine-Inspired Rebel-Rousers".
The mostly, Southerner inbred, MAGA-LOONS were angry that Ted deliberately ditched his wife, kids, shunned the people of Tex (Kiss-My) Ass, in their "Hour of Need", when a hurricane swooped down on Texas's eastern coast and wreaked havoc.
Ted was, however, indifferent to the crowd, frustrated that the Girl Scouts he had been ogling had ignored his tentative overtures.
Ted bellowed back, like the Texas Jackass, he is, in his notorious, high-pitched, feminist voice: "I-Am Senator & You Morons Are Snot!"
Teddy comforted his bruised ego the best he could, with snarky, juvenile thoughts, that he would never dare to say out loud!
"Those hapless saps," he muttered, in his tangled mind of deceit, "I deserted you all in urine hour of need to save you all from me! Have you'll critters no sense of gratitude?"
To which the entire audience retorted, "HELL NO!" Somehow, they could read his thoughts!
"Constituents," Cruz again mused to himself, wiping sweat balls from his wide, near Neanderthal sized forehead.
When confronted with the truth, Ted employed a technique he learned from Marjorie Taylor Green, when they were having a "fling", so to speak, often helped calm him.
"Teddy-Boy", as he was known to MTG, continued consoled himself with, "one little white lie, after another," a technique he learned as a child from his father, or, as Trump called him, "a Cuban conspirator in JFK's assassination." Trump loves to tortured people!)
Once, again, Cruz spoke out loud his silent thoughts, "Voters can be so inconsiderate, when I am the one burden with tough decisions, while those ding-a-lings spend their time breaking windows and rioting in the street."
"They," (meaning, his "senseless" constituents) "have the NERVE to think their puny, personal problems supersede my need to relax. They don't damn it!"
He puffed and huffed and tried to blow the entire coliseum down, but, to no avail. It was all "Hot, Stinky Breath"!
"Teddy", as his Log Cabin Republicans like to call him, shouted out in vain, again:
"I am, and always will be, FIRST and foremost, in my priorities! Don't you get it?", he asked of what appeared to be a "Deaf, Dump & Blind" man, standing next to him!
(It turned out to be, Kevin McCarthy, who was busy "French Kissing" his newest wench, Marjorie Taylor Green, since giving up on Lauren Boebert, who he discovered is a "Twisted Sister".
"Leaders are superior to followers", Teddy bellowed through his old cheerleader Megaphone.
"For Christ's sake, everyone that is anyone, knows that, Teddy", Kevin whispered, then slunk away.
Poor, sweaty Teddy's mental tirades accidentally slipped out orally, disgusting attendees close to him, causing them to head-jerk around like spooked Long Horn Cattle!
"Just because I made a quick decision," Ted said, out loud, to no one in particular, (because no one, in particular, was remotely paying any attention to the disagreeable, flop-sweating, drenched Senator).
Ted smiled, apologetically at the small herd staring obliquely at him, and explained, "I made a quick, snappy decision to save my arse (which, I omit, is obese) at the exact moment that, an unknown to me, the devastating tornado was barreling down on Houston, I decided abruptly to board a ✈ to Cancun, Mexico to take a much-needed vacation."
"Is that wrong?" Teddy asked of the thong of heaving, headbutting, hooves stomping MAGA Maroons.
The booing, MAGA crowd rose to their feet, with an even more ferocious cacophony of vocal hate-speech, SCREAMING, at the top of their lungs:
"It's cowardly, Crusty Cruz, you ain't nothing, but a Political Whore!"
Cruz shrugged it off, whispering, again to himself, in disgust! "Like I don't know that?"
From somewhere in the back of the crowd, Matt Gatz, the renowned accused, "child sex predator" was celebrating his dismissed, "Sex Trafficking" case, as well, as the narrow, Republican Mid-Turn victory that gave Re-Thugs (his crew) control of the House of Representatives and Kevin McCarthy.
Ted, on the other hand (the Right Hand) accredited the win to the "LOVE-ER-LY, ever-caring Re-Thug-I-KKK-ANS" in the House, whose "bag of dirty tricks", led to the mid-term victory, with the generous assistance of billions from "Billionaire Dollars," who focused "stealing the election", as they had done, so many times before.
Cruz erupted in great self-loathing, shouting to the silent crowd of vapors, "We are nothing but Cheap WHORES! We have been "bought, lock, stock and barrel" by our superiors, Billionaires DIRTY, FLITHY MONEY!" he chastised himself and the crowd ignored him.
On the upside, Ted thought to himself, "It provided us, Re-Thugs, in the House, the opportunity to do damn near, anything we want to, including the much-discussed mini-brothel, that most of us want installed in the seldom-used conference room!"
"The Brothel" was Marjorie Taylor Green's idea, (who Ted had a crush on). The entire contingent of "Young Turks", claimed (snickering) that it was for "medicinal purposes"!
"We get so stressed out with our duties, and making a difficult decision, such as, when do we recess for lunch?"
All of the southerner "Hound Dogs," in attendance at the "Swearing-In-Ceremony" (and there was much of that) and a small contingency of closeted "gay" men (aka Miss Lindsey) concurred, that that proposal for the "The Brothel" was a "niffy, fun, much-needed distraction that would make work much more "fun'.
Unfortunately, for Demon-crats, losing the House to Republicans, enabled the "dog whistlers", and the MAGA-LUNATICS to pass their agenda:
1. Conduct endless investigations into Hunter Biden's Laptop!
2. Investigate President Biden's special relationship with his dog.
3. And, perhaps, "premier Uno" vote to IMPEACH Dr. Fauci!
Meanwhile, back at the celebratory hooting & hollering crowd of Red Hat-wearing Republicans, the snorting, and stomping their muddy cowboy boots into the Dallas Cowboy's Football turf, like the highly trained Circus Acts of the glorious days of Barnum & Bailey, circa the 1950s, continued to scream:
"CENSOR Demon-crates!" hoarse shout could be heard three states away. It was so intense that several Maga Loons had organisms. (Or, so I was told by my "sauce", Mister McNasty!)
(After all, wasn't that the purpose of these gatherings? It is not about politics, but SEX!)
"Sources", unknown to this reporter, claimed that they "overheard a discussion" in the Men's Room, between two high-ranking Republican leaders (Kevin McCarthy and Gym Jordan (R, OH) arguing about which of the platform issues should be the primary one to kick off the new 2023 VICTORY with a "bang".
The sauce, that I previously referenced (whom I must not name) claimed that the loud uproar in the Men's Room, was created by Senator Randy Paul (R, KY) who had banged his fist on the Men's Room stall door, so loudly, and with such a mad, angry, bull-like head-butt against it, that both leaders, lucking on the other side of the stall, froze in near shock! Frightful that they might be exposed.
Both men (a stretch) assumed that no one would leave the stadium during Senator Sinema's (D, AZ) double-crossing Democrat, pre-planned, "Song and Dance routine", where she valiantly shocked the crap out of Dems leadership by announcing that she was "NO LONGER a Demon-crat!"! At which point, Democrats broke out in applause.
"I am now a registered INDEPENDENT!" (At which point, Independents, booed!
MAGAS cheered!
Unshaken, Senator "Traitor", awkwardly, and insanely broke into a very dated 1950s dance routine, stolen from by Ginger Rogers & Fred Astaire.
Republicans, (with the clap) clapped, as did those known as "saps" did with their clappers, clapped!
Democrats spent the rest of the night repeatedly chanting: "Traitor-Traitor-Hair On FIRE!"
The intoxicated crowd of Republican MAGAS cheered, while Democrats quietly, with the great, discretion sniffled, whispering amongst themselves, "Poppy-Fart-Hell, we didn't see that coming. We are fucked!" (Or, words not remotely similar to these)!
(Rumor has it that Nancy Pelosi, ever the House's top gatherer of Congressional Smut,
"You ain't, Speaker, yet girlfriend! I am! So, sit your narrow, cowardly, ass down, Shit for Brains, or I'll punch you out, in front of God, and the assembled, Nimrod!'
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Remembrance, good and bad. We all have them.
Yep, if you mix them together you will never need Viagra, again. Even if you are a wounded, Pusey-whip whiner.
And some haunt us. The good fade, the bad, the ugly fester in the back of one's brain they are let loose in some form or another.
At nearly 81, I am trying to give them the boot. But they are strong, devious, hurtful, inspiring, even dangerous.
I'm 82 so perhaps some of our experiences might be similar. In life, I believe that we are all trying to give them the boot, but they do have a tendency to hang on.
Einstein once told me that sopheric acid dipped in eye drops was always his first choice.
Our memories whether good or bad; real or imagined shape us.
Had a very weird dream last night that I won't be shaking off for awhile.
Watched so many die in reality no matter my efforts to revive them.
My dreams will never be as bad as my horrible memories.
I have a talent for waking myself up from subconscious nightmares.
An excellent quote, Kavika. Thank you for sharing it with us.
Were you in the service?
Thank you!
Ditto, that!
Same for me with my PTSD. I have dreams about when I was flying as medevac Navy Hospital Corpsman on USMC Hueys and second guess myself on the ones who did not survive under my care. I wake up screaming and in tears. Scares my adult daughter who lives with me.
Can you believe that "Dirty Diaper Donnie" is going to "RUN", again.
The only thing he should run for is a COMMODE!
From your writing, I would never believe that you were 82. The older I get, the more fun I am having as a writer of "Political Pornographer"!
Life for me gets better and better as I get older.
That must have been a devastating tour of duty.
I think it's nice you put your memories of growing up down in words on this forum for all to see.
Its also cool that you dropped the "Mad Magazine" style of writing for a little bit.
John, you have been, and continue to me a guide. Thank you!
Truth is a bone, too often overlooked. There are nutrients everywhere. (You have been a good virtual friend.)
Canned sardines are too often overlooked and the bones in them are easily digested and very nutritious, that’s the virtual truth
My Dad used to carry a can of sardines, pack of crackers and onion everyday for lunch when he was a young man. Said he loved 'em and as a bonus it helped keep the skeeters away...
I learned to enjoy sardines with my grandfather, that and Limburger cheese.
Today, I enjoy sardines on salad, with capers and black olives, sardines in Spanish rice, in pasta and on a sandwich, bread or crackers.
I enjoyed eating them as a child. They were as you said.
I am hungry, and that sound wonderful.
Yes, I know. I haven't had them since I was a kid.
You make me hungry for them with that post.
As a musician/songsmith I understand how the Eater thinks at times.
Sat on a 'loveseat' backstage with Bob Marley once. A few years before he died of melanoma.
He didn't pass his big spleef to me or anybody else.
His guys knew to just toss joints back and forth between them and us. It was a game of catch.
Didn't take long for us to figure out the protocol (us being the Blue Riddum Band).
I wrote poetry in college, and when the loneliness was so intense, I couldn't sleep, or understand why.
I would write out my feelings, well into the night, correct the phrases, then, with a weight lifted from me, I would fall to sleep. I carried those poems, writings, etc. in a backpack for a number of years when I returned to college.
My professors would often read my work to the class, as I would in my Creative Writing. My work was rejected over and over again, so many time, that one morning I tossed the pack pack with years of my work into a dumpster.
I felt an instant release. But, gradually over the years, I have regrated that impulsive action. For with it with a chunk of my soul that I have never been able to retrieve.
For years, I was able to recall, even recite some of my work. Slowly, they have evaporated. I miss them. They held me together, assuaged by sense of self, wrapped a wall of confidence about me. Now that they are gone, I have a sense of emptiness, loss that I cannot shape.
I turned to comedy, satire, political swathing, but it is not the same.
That is lit, man. That is pure poetry. Gifted, dude.
Being five years older than you, your essay evoked memories of my own, although not quite so colourful, delivery of a block of ice for my grandmother's cottage ice box and getting that piece of ice to suck on, milk delivered in glass bottles with the cream risen to the top, a "Victory Garden" behind the garage, and dial phones with party lines, but not the drama that you witnessed. In fact I'm still laughing from this line:
Thanks, Buzz!
That is how life was, thanks for sharing.
Yes, sometimes, when my granddaughter reminds me that I am from another century...I begin to remember how different my life is from her experiences.
As a teen, my mother told me about her family leaving Minnesota on a Cover Wagon to get to South Dakota and qualify for 160 free acres and a mule.
I was embarrassed, humiliated! "Why would she tell me about her destitute, primitive life?"
Now, I wished that I had listened more closely.
I still remember my daughter asking me why I use the phrase "dial a phone number'. Fortunately, I had an old, phone in the basement to show her. She was surprised at the size, weight and of course, the rotary dial.
My great, great, great grandfather built the first wind powered grain mil ln Kansas.
My great, great grandfather opened the first Chevy dealership in Kansas.
My grandfather brought electric power to our county.
My father owned a bank and a whole town.
All I do is flaunt a $100,000.00 Rolex and a few fast cars.
My college degrees involve environmental science and saving the planet.
Seems I'm letting my ancestors down and have no idea how to remedy that.
cjcold, you are an artist, a writer, that is your gift. There is no need to follow in someone else's footsteps. You are walking in your own.
We are not the same as others. It is difficult to accept the fact that we are talented, want different thing, see and feel the world differently.
Your ancestors did their thing, and they were good at it, successful, contributed to humanity, but we do as well, in another soulful way.
Your journey is calling you to a different path, take it. No one that loves you expects you to follow in someone's else shoes, if they do, then, they do not know you.
You are not required to emulate your ancestors, or anyone.
Do your own thing, and fuck 'em.
People build empires, a poem, or a song is just as strong.
I have more editing to do, but grow weary after a short spurt, need a nap, a dictionary break and a snack.
Keep your strength up, "old-timer!" I hope you got that editing completed. As I am 'bout to start reading any 'minute' now!
The strangest thing, CB, as I start to edit, I am carried away in a burst of energy, rarely get it done, jamming up the keyboard with another preamble.
At times, I do try to re-edit my work, but the effusion will not allow me to look backwards, it forces me into another incomprehensible rush, and such, I feel is the power of bi-bolar storms.
I have stopped taking my mood meds and started howling at the Moon. Can you hear me, where you are?
At nearly 81, I know not how much time I have to ramble...I intend to do so until the end.
Well, I did note the edit process was. . . 'stalled' a bit. All is forgiven. Age is a factor for which you have earned all your proportioned laurels. Sit by a stream, watch the children laugh, and put on some good tunes and read and write what is in your heart as often as you like!
Who cares why elephants are fat? And anyway-why can't donkeys fly?
You have been a good, virtual friend to me. I rely on your replies. I know not why. But, they are like manna to a parched man. Thank you, CB, for being a friend.
Finally, I feel like I am slinking in, every so softly, into the inner den surrounded by a growing glow of friends, even if they are virtual, they feel like real friends, maybe, even better.
Yeah, well we can't get 'looted' by donation scams in the virtual world!
All those, 'Feed the polar bears, tigers, elephants, cows, cats, dogs, babies, lions, ->breathes<- are just too much already!
You like me because people like us we don't give in and we don't give out! We can't lose! We got this! Life, at any age, is as good as it gets, because we accept nothing, I mean nuthin ' less! Whatever I am, whatever I got, whosoever I am holding on to. . . they're mind and I ain't letting go of any of it! Because I'm, we're, giving it the best that we got!
Cheers, sir!
Now,. . . how about some mayonnaise on your fish sandwich or are you good?!
Morning CB... forget the mayo, I can send some Vegemite...that will have Eats firing on all cylinders in no time.
Morning Shona!! Send extra Vegamite in a 'care package' to CB! I might like firing a few cylinders too!
Please do, I am ready to get make in me girdle and whip up some more SHAT for T-Rump to eat.
I also make a living editing the mistakes of others. Some folks just can't write.
Victims of our public school education?
Or they didn't take advantage of what was offered to them...
I saw a lot of that when I was a public school teacher.
My wife is a public school teacher and complains of the same, parents, what can we do?
It's a story as old as time. Just think back to when you were a kid. There were always kids who were underachievers. Positive reinforcement maybe?
Like participation trophies?
That is a gift. I have a manuscript that I wrote in a heat when my Best Friend died, ten years ago. It begs to be edited. I cannot return to it.
Genetics.
Well, how much would you charge and old, nearly senile Octogenarian to edit one of his Opuses on Eat The Press
Do Not Read It?
I write in a fury, edit it like a deeply disturbed Owl.
I update, er...edited the opening paragraphs, but run out of steam after that.
Take a gander over to the "The Hells Angels of Literature", which is what my many critics label my artistic drools.
I am so delighted that you took the time from your busy schedule to post to this miserable dog.
You know, Pee-Air, most people think that I am
NUTS, even my admitting psychiatrist. I am just different...born upside-down and backwards. It took me 69 years to realize what a blessing it is, and a skill.
Hope you still remember me. My parents couldn't after 7 months. They just told all seven of us, that they "were going to the groceries store, and never came back.
It wasn't until I grew up and moved away that I realized that I was living with the neighbors.
That explains my neediness.
PS: I am back...front, too, after spending over four months crying in the wind because no one, and I mean no one commented on my EPISTLES.
CB, who is very kind, did spat on one. But that is not enough. I need confirmation that I am here, and not stuck in a Mental Institution for the Weird, from which I must escape.
"Thank you, Mrs. Rogers, for being my neighbor."
What a heartfelt reminiscence. !!
I hope everyone here reads it.
Man, can you fabricate the tooth!
Okay, my dear and adorable friend you may deserve to get in as much trouble as Eddie Murphy found himself when he joked about AIDS being on the lips of women after kissing their homosexual friends. (Take that blue-joke-out of your line-up!)
Now, turning to other things. . . how about that peaceful and beautifully landscaped garden of color image you supplied us to indulge our eyes upon? PRECIOUS.
I am in the mood to vent me anger.
Oh-oh! Lighting bolts and thunderclaps in dark clouds are breaching the horizon. . . and then the warm, cool, radiance of your sunny disposition burst into full view of the stage of your existence and the lights came up. . . and we all sang a celebration song around you before we broke up to go back 'home'!
CB: You are a good virtual friend and the finest Bull Chipper I know.
Love ya, Bro
Did I ever tell you about going to an all-Black College in 1960. There were only six white students in my freshman class.
It was exhilarating, frightening, an eye-opening...a monumental moment in my life.
From the very beginning of our online friendship, I thought you were a plant Voyer or.
It is very good....and I love how you get the memories in there. I know some are sad and some are happy... We have to live through the sad so we realize there are happy ones.
Childhood memories can color our outlooks so much (or at least I have found that to be true). I have tried to do better than my parents with my kids, but I see the mistakes I have made.
I will be back to read more when you continue (you did say a work in process).
I did, but I should call it a "A Work In Editing."
I keep going back and rewriting it as fast as I can, which changes everything. I have since the age of 9 wanted to tell the stories of growing up in a dysfunctional family in the 1940s -50s.
I am constantly verbalizing, obsessing about it in me heard, then struggling to put it to pen.
I have 5 sisters, who had 5 different stories...
The humor assuages my pain, lifts me up, and often I cannot let go of it to tell the story that haunts me.
Thank you for your kind words, understanding and uplifting comments.
The odd thing is I can only recall memories when I write. Most of the time it is blank white wall, and a nurse who goes by the name of
Miss Rachet.
Do you know her? She claims that Jack Nichols had a thing for her.
"The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain."
Kahil Gibran
I just missed the joy train, not for running...put for the pain, the fear that held me back. The next time it rush by I shall jump aboard with confidence. Thank you for helping me look up, rather than always down.
Pat, I still have my Kahil Griban's book, "The Prophet"! Thank for reminding me of that great writer.
The older I get, the truer that statement becomes!
Gulp! Lots to digest there. I will need a minute. . . but before I take the specified amount of time. . . I am reminded on something I recall: The milk delivery man. Lordy! That man had some of the richest tasting buttermilk in a jar money could buy! Hmm mm. Now here is the 'thang': Is there even butter in buttermilk?!
Yes, he did. What struck me was his size, strength, his calmness, efficiency, and quiet manner. I liked the ice, his kind gesture, but, always wished that he would linger longer. That image lingers to this day.
I never was much of a milk drinker. I do not remember its taste, I remember the feeling, although fleeting, of safety I felt with him near.
We always got the buttermilk and chocolate milk delivery. Oh my I just had a memory: taking off the paper tab top pressed down and sealed around the top of the bottles.
We got our ice blocks from the ice facility 'up the street' a ways. We drove for it.
This describes my speech aphasia.
I get the sentences all lined up and ready to go in my brain, and then sometimes the words make it all the way out of my mouth and sometimes they get lost in the translation between thought and the spoken word.
Thank you very much for sharing.
Those Were The Days My Friend - Mary Hopkin -Lyrics On Screen
I remember going to the Ice House and using an ice pick. . . but what I do not remember is. . . the purposes of buying blocks of ice. . . my family was not the 'party' type back then!
"We'd sing and dance forever and a day!"
Thanks, I remember that song, but, never was it more meaningful that when I played it hear.
She has good 'wind' to sing that song! Aah youth - those were the days, eh?
Not for me. Now, going on 81, I understand what the GOLDEN YEARS are, and they ain't about "Golden Showers", Mister Trump.
Her voice is beautiful...I forgot about that song. I did love it. But my youth, teens, and early adulthood were filled with ups and downs...more downs than up, until I married my wife on June 12, 1976.
I was 34, and she was 26. We have been together going on 47 years.
And, for me LIFE get better each passing day, every passing minute, ever passing hour. We had some moments, but very, very few.
I guess I had a lot to learn. Slowly, I am learning.
I am no angry, bitter, hate filled, jealous, filled with remorse, disappointed that my 13-year-old dreams never fully came true.
I did dance around the edges, came close, lost my confidence and fell in a deep hole that nearly consumed me.
GOD answered by prays in 1974. It took me two years to realize it. When I did, we married, had a son, two grandchildren that taught us to love all over again.
I was down for the count in 1974, lost, unemployed, major depression, regretful that my acting, stand-up comedy, writing careers blew up, over and over again, until I was exhausted. I returned to college, got a degree, started teaching, but knew this was not the life I envisioned for myself.
My dreams, my hope, my prayers for success my talents were Flat-out gone! Fear griped me, loneliness sucked the life out of me. I was a loser, mentally losing my mind, hungry, thin, friendless, penniless, estranged from my family, friends, the world.
My mind and body ached, I slept in parks, hustled, held a variety of meaningless jobs, hurt, but unable to put pen to paper. Smoked way too much grass,
I was moments away from suicide, when I had a long conversation with GOD, and laid it all out, in detailed.
Told GOD what I needed in A WOMAN. At the end of what seemed like an hour long, tearful oral conversation with GOD, in my one-bedroom, walk-up apartment in Dayton, Ohio, I confessed my sins, and ask for HIS help.
At the end, I felt marginally better, realized that I was still certified as a Substitute Teacher, walked or drove down to the Board of Education.
They were not hiring at that time but told me about a creative After-School Program that just started up and suggested that that might be more suited to my interests, varied experiences and skillset.
I was hired to teach Improvisation Theater and assigned to Stiver H.S. auditorium.
When I walked in, there she was in white petal pushers, a see-thorough thin Spring blouse, a light blue bra, blonde hair, full lips, blue eyes, and a body I could not take my eyes off.
She was assigned to the same classroom, the same time as I was to teach piano.
Not one student showed up for either one of our classes.
I talked non-stop for the complete hour, lusting for her, eye her up and down, not caring if it upset or bothered her. Later she said that it didn't, it made he swoon.
I asked her if she like Chinese food, she did. I told her about a cute, lovely, romantic restaurant that opened recently in a two-story brick home on Wayne Ave, not far from us.
I gushed all though that dinner meal, staring constantly at her full beautiful breasts that I could see rising and falling. I wanted to take her right there, knocking over the plate and making wanton love to her for hours.
When we finished eating one of the most sensuous meals of my life, I reached for my wallet, and to my horror and shock, I had left on my dresser.
I was so humiliated, she asked me, "Is everything OK"?
"No," I replied like a man who had been run over by a Mack truck.
I explained what happened that I had no money, I left my wallet at home.
She smiled those blue eyes were looking at me, now, and said, with a light chuckle, "It's OK. I'll pay for it."
She has been paying ever since. She is everything I needed, everything I wanted, down to the playing piano, sensuous.
For the first two years it was all lust, off and on, a careful dance around a raging fire.
I was regaining my feet, bursting with renewed energy, sparking, creative, exciting about life.
It took me two years to go from LUST & NEED to
this new thing...LOVE!
Now, at nearly 81, with a lifetime of love, it does seem like a blink of an eye.
Before, when I held someone say that I couldn't wrap my head around it.
Now, I, too, understand what they meant when they said, "It seems like only yesterday."
Love is a potion from GOD!
Thank you for indulging me. I love telling that story.
It is a portion I take every nanosecond I am alive, "with every breathe I take", and I believe I take with me to the other side of the rainbow.
GOD IS GOOD!
GOOD CAN ONLY DO GOOD!
GOD LIVES WITHIN ALL OF US, whether or not we live within him!
I am skeptical if GOD has anything to do with organized religions. In 1971, after taking a peyote petal, given to me by a very kind Navaho Indian, I fell through to the "Center of the Universe," where I heard GOD VOICE.
He said, "I can only do good!" (Meaning GOD can only do good). I did not know I was seeking that answer.
I had gone from child's God to No God, to studying about the Biblical Jesus, to a weird sense of God with my college roommate, when we decided that we had master college after the first semester of our sophomore year, hit the road in routed to getting jobs on a Freighter and going to Europe free, then, backpacking though Europe looking, searching for the purpose of life, God, writing poetry, having serious discussions with artists, musicians, poets, writers, sculptures', religious junkies...searching, always searching for something just out of reach on-the road NYC, Greenwich Village, The Bowery, Montreal, Canada where our dream was shattered by a FREIGHTER CAPTAIN that told us in no uncertain terms we had to be certified by the Freighters Union, know something about sea travel, and maritime skill, "until that time get the fuck off my ship!"
Fast forward to the peyote hallucinatory petal it (GOD'S voice was a clear as a ringing church bell.
When I heard the message, I instantaneously, flipped backwards, feet over head, without fear, and slide from one dimension to this dimension.
Unfortunately, I missed interrupted what GOD said.
I bolted to my roommate's side, and said:
"GOD has limitations!" I shouted out to my roommate who said, "Ok", and went right on smoking his hashish pipe.
It took three years before I had another encounter with GOD, before I slowly understood it's meaning.
I hope I am not boring you, because I am having a whale of a good time.
I think by no, you all should have figured it out. I am trying to get the comments up to 100.
If you help me, I promise I will stop pestering you!
Deal?
Like Trump, I don't mind cheating.
Those were the days, on some days, in some years, but not always.
I do dig my "Golden Years".
Donald, I did not say "Golden Showers", so put that itsy-bitsy thing away, and for once in your damn life take a shower.
You smell like SHAT!
Oh, sorry, "Dirty Diaper Donnie" that is your overflowing DEPENDS.
Can't you steal some from Melanoma's dresser drawer. You know, damn well, that Ghouianni has a room stacked to the ceiling with them.
I am certain if you grant him another "Pardon Me, I Never Promised You a Rose Garden"!
He is so addled headed, Ruby, won't know the difference. He still thinks you're POTUS, instead of just a POS!
sIN-CERELY,
Your Friend (Not Really) Jonathan Livingston Pigeon -
Certainly, all of this work deserves an award of some kind.
How about, "Most Spelling Errors", or "Can't Type Worth Shat", that's novel.
Je-soup, do I have to do all the work to get to 100 comments. Have you no decency? (That could be a little overworked)
I am dying here. In the old days, the audiences were kind enough to throw "Rotten Eggs." Those I could use.
But, silence. That pricks the prick the harsh us! Have you no decency?
Just between you posters, and me, how much money do I have to pay you to get a "Like", and or a RAVING REVIEW.
I am a personal friend of Elon, so money is no object. You post a flattering comment and I'll send you your donation/money ASAPY!
I have supported CG's entire family for over four years.
You know my fellow newstalkers.comrades, I am getting a suspicious, down in the dirt, old-timey feeling that Trump's MAGAS have infiltrate our pristine site, here, on the ButtKickersNewsSmackDownSite that come to U-Haul, "Free", when you pay $8.00 per month, plus "Shating & Handling fees!"
Folks, don't cry fee me, fer a modest service charge of ONLY$175.00 for the first month, multiplied by 2 every other month until you no longer have to worry about MONEY, cause you ain't got any left.
Don't "CRY ME A RIVER", so that I can Cry a River Over You. That don't solve nothing.
Is I wrong? Paranoid, rattled, or losing what I never had before, common sense. Please, share your common sense with me, and I will FOLLOW BACK!
My apologies, Fellow Fiends, much of this information may seem too erudite for you. Be assured that it is for me, as well.
That is why I hire a "Deaf, Dumb, and Blind" interrupter to read it to me.
Try it, you might like it. That is what they say about Oral Sex and look how far that has spread around the globe.
LOVE YA! (No, I don't. I just said that so you would read it, instead of chew it up and spit on it.)
One day, when you are "Old and Grey", you're look back on these essays and say why didn't they teach that in schools? Instead of burn them. The least they could have done is to "BAND" them.
Schools have bands!
If you would like to edit any of these scrolls, feel free to do so. I can't. This is the best that I can do. But you, people who can actually read, right, and tell stories, might want to have pity on an old man trapped in an ever-evaporating mind... Could do so, by sending me all the money you have in your bank accounts, like those good people did with Jim Jones.
Perhaps, I should add Naked Photos, that catches people's eye and other appendages? What say you, my, "Silent Friends"?
When I was a kid, studying for the ELECTRIC CHAIR, my mother was a Republican. My Father was a Democrat, so when I became a man, I Put My Childish Things Away, and Took the Road Less Traveled...
"The Chicken Shat Road," and registered as an Independent, and that have is, indeed, the one less travelled.
My Fellow NewsTakers.com fiends, for ONLY $8.00 per month, you, too, can get my FREE Articles monthly. (No checks, cards or battering! CASH ONLY.
Nothing is ever free. Put that down in your Book of Wis-Dumb!
Do you know what's got my "panties in a knot"?
Every other day, I revise, edit and update my Literary Masterpiece, even taking in the pages and pages of criticism from my fellow Newstalkers Idiots, too, lazy to get a job because they are too damn business, like I am, telling everybody in the world what the HELL is up.
But it crushes me to the marrow, because I no longer have bones, when no one, nada replies, not even those that I pay to do so.
Sometimes, I think that it is because I am so erudite. Is that it?
No, yo, like "Dirty Diaper Donnie", are a POS!
"Thank you, I needed that."
When I was a kid I lived in Trashlandia. We were so poor, we had to rent groceries.
-Thank you, Stan Drubin
I remember when I was sane. It was not a HAPPY time.