Eat the Press - Do Not Read It! Unmasked by its Publisher, Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, "Doctored"
CAUTION: This TOME is not, yet, rated! Violence, vulgarity, Left Wing Sentiments, Sexual Situations are all included at NO EXTRA COST!
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After all these years, and, on direct orders from the court, it is time that I step forward, out of the shadows of the alley dumpsters, into the light of "Trump Urinal Piss Pot Politics".
I pledge to the GOD OF CHAOS, that in this drunken state, I shall unmask myself to my legion of fans, known to law enforcement as, the Unwashed Masses of Asses.
Those other chumps, the "Twisted Sisters", that curse my name to the God of Grammar (a deity that has tormented me all of "me" MISERABLE LIFE) I further vow, "They shall not prevail because we have e-mail!
We, their "betters", must boot them out of all public latrines, and, send their "sorry arse" back to grammar school.
Dummies have been in charge to darn 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"!
Why run from it. Our Conservative counterparts know what we do. We "cheat" by allowing everyone who is register to vote . . . VOTE.
How radical is that?
Forgive me for indulging, but, I start this "confessional" by acknowledging that I am not, nor, have I ever been queer!
However, I was once close.
In college, I was very, very, perhaps, too close to my college "roomie, Winthrop Merideth, The III.
Later in life, I took his name 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). I did so out of revenge. He hurt me, so, so many decades ago, so, deeply, that I could not get him out of my mind. And, believe me, I wanted nothing but that.
But, "Winnie" would not go.
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 a self-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 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.
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! Those tomes are profusely sprinkled about The NewStalker.com.
Just look for the signs of WHINING! That is where one will find "the queer folks".
Let me be perfectly 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 dat.
Whatever happened to "vetting" candidates running for public office, and, not running to a toilet?
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!
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Well, then, Ladies (Lindsey Graham-ers) back to the "juicy", personal stuff.
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". The tag line of our Convention and Visitors Bureau, of which, I am a proud member. In fact, the only member.
You see, folks, with the wisdom I have gained over the three-quarters of a century that I have transversed this world. I have picked up many things about humans, and, some communicable diseases.
As I see it, when "the Average, Angry Americans", who are too often too stupid, too fat, or, too, naive are unable to figure out who is "taking advantage of them", or, they say in the vernacular, fu*king them", these nitwits, halfwits, and, the witless, invariably blame the wrong folks: "The Dems".
It is never the "Dems", it is always the Calcified Conservative Republicans to hung up on racism, and, too intolerant of others, who naturally have less than they do, but look physically stronger who is at blame.
For example in 1980, in an era of complete insanity, America fell madly in LOVE with a "B" rated movie actor, Ronnie Reagen. That is when everything trickled down from there.
Like Trump, who was a REALITY TV STAR, the American populace grew up on television, so, naturally, everyone liked Reagan and thought he was something he was not: HUMAN!
"Ronnie", as his wife, Cruella De Ville Reagan, like to call him, was well known as half-azz MOVIE STAR, with a great smile, nice voice, and good teeth. The qualities that many 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 his nice blue suits, that he wears with a freshly started white shirt, courtesy of illegals, and, an extremely long red tie, that often drags on the floor.
Educated people, who should have known better, bought Reagan's economic, "Trickle Down" malarky on face value. Reagan's face. It was nothing more than a "top-down scam", just like Trump's Tax Cuts For The Rich scheme.
The Republicans' Economic Theory, "Rich People Need More Money", is quite simple. It 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 are required to do", because the Uber Rich are so kind, so thoughtful, so generous due to their kind-hearted nature which ensures that all the benefits will "trickle-down" to the peasants. Dat be you and me.
It took years before the gullible American taxpayers realized that they had been "had". However, 32% of Registered Voters do not agree. They "LOVE" being "had", over and over, again, and, again.
It was that great intellect, "W", America's First Retarded President, who opened the door, whereupon Trump, The CON MAN, bellowing, snorting and exclaiming that he, "alone, knows all things that need to be known", because he is RICH, "SPOILED BRAT", who inherited $147,000,000 from his daddy, Frederich, who made his loot laundering money for mobsters.
Trump's mouth, and, that alone, is responsive for the "H U G E" cracking the decades' old Republican delusion. Trump's never-ending bull-chips, hatred of the press, and, his inability to keep his hands out of the public coffers, is slowly awakening rural Americans insight into dirty innards of the Republicans "Horse Manure Farm".
The impact of "wrong-headed" Republican policies is dramatically seen, even by the densest among us, "Conservatives Red Neck Re-Thugs, in our smaller community, Mildew, Ohio.
It is here, where I lay claim to fame, that the devastation of Republican policies has nearly destroyed this once quaint prosperous, little community by the filthy, polluted Yellow Springs, that flowed from our neighboring community's Military-Industrial Complex.
When the heartless Re-Puritans were elected nationwide, primarily by the "deplorables", with the aid of the Russian government, 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 say you, NewsStalkers?
For decades Republicans have denied the perils of Global Warming, replacing it with "Global Marketing". Which has become the "buzz word" for every Republican in 'Merica. "No Global Warming! Global Marketing, Baby!", they scream at the NRA meetings.
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.
Communist China? Of all the places, who would have thought it.
I thought Conservatives hated communists more than anything, except liberals.
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, even, our pedophile priest were affected; laid off, unemployed, 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 me 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!
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Chapter II: "Who The Hell Gives a 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 The 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, apparently, is my own 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 "the Donald's" book of "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. To 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 me Left eye; me 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 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 my sitting in a booth.
It was here, in this quaint, queer-adverse, God Fearing, mostly right-wing Conservative community that I re-learned me "craft'.
The Art of The 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" to not to 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 readin's. Are you queer?"
"No, sure, just odd. I like to read, write, garden, meditate".
"Sounds queer to me. Yous better git outta town 'for we hang ya!"
"OK, then, bye-bye, now, I am leavin on the next plane, ain't comin' back again".
Who needs to go to a Gym, pay for a workout? When one can run for one's life from MidWestern, God-Fearing' "Trump Nuts" free.
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, like 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 own 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 Negroe community, or, attempt to "pass as White", at their own 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 bi-polar.
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 payphone. 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, the "Mahagony", e.g. Michelle Obama, who was very conscious that they were quite a few steps above, the bottom run, 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, Albinoes, and one of 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 "Black" was solidly formed from Tarzan movies.
Reluctantly, Winthrop, my new best White 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 of 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 "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, Honkey, or die, Bitch!" (Which I took as a universal/reciprocal greeting).
We, the quivering, "Six Greys" spent a good bit of our "Nervous Neilley" 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 ambition 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 afraid that at any minute the natives might revolt, burst into our room, carry us off to the central plaza where we would be hurled into a vat of boiling water and eaten by wild savage 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 the topless, jiggling, Negroe women, dancing provocatively, prior to the feast. The intense music, the raw savagery, 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. Some times I would nearly wet my pants. At least that is what I thought happened.
The storyline was predictable; a white, mousey guy, decked out in a freshly pressed, Tommy Hilfiger's "White Safari Explorer's Outfit", 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 savage, beating on drums, in grass skirts, complete with bones in their noses, dancing in remarkable choreographed routines, like a group of well-trained Rockets.
The camera close-ups shots revealed that they, indeed, were not "The Rockefeller Rockets on Tour in Africa", but, mortifyingly 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 hot water?
Scared the bejesus out of me!
Gradually, we realized that our students were good kids from the 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's 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.
lined with flowers that we eagerly, merrily transverse daily to a fro en route to our college classes.
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.
"Winny", 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 Jonsons.
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, 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!