Thursday, January 16, 2020

Bridge over the River Cry (Sieg Heil Snowflakes)

“Almost any sect, cult, or religion will legislate its creed into law if it acquires the political power to do so.”- Robert A. Heinlein

Hello Blogiteers!

In regards to my last screed, I discovered that publicly expressing the hope that the jackleg along with the judge who f**ked you over regarding your AZIC case wind up in a prison shower scene where all of the convicts are wearing sandpaper condoms, will not endear you one iota to the church group unfortunately sitting right next to you at your part-time writers garret and town’s watering hole, but it will increase the amount of prayers directed your way that aim to rehabilitate your soul, and quicken the pace of their lunch, so that’s a plus of sorts.

Speaking of serious soul-searching, are you tired of “winning” yet? I know I am.

I never had a definitive reference point for what can be constituted as emotional fatigue, until the Mango Mussolini who masquerades as our current President somehow managed to gaslight his corpulence into securing the most powerful job in the land. A walking, twittering, sniffling corpus of every vulgar human characteristic that was ever freed from Pandoras Box, Herr *Pilz-Penis is without doubt, the least redeemable person I have ever witnessed in my lifetime. Keep in mind that I grew up during the Evel Knievel years, and that guy was a stone-cold bastard, covered in a piquant son-of-a-bitch-sauce. But at least he had a few qualities Trump will never be able to buy at any price, that being style, guts, and the ability to rock a white leather jumpsuit with a sense of swagger not seen since Elvis walked this Earth. Say what you will about his fashion sense, but Evel never backed down from a fight fair or not, and at least his hands were man-sized.
*[“Mushroom” in German.]

Other than his ass and ill-fitting off the discount-rack suits, everything about Trump is petitely underdeveloped- this includes not only his intellect, but his empathy, sympathy, loyalty, and sense of patriotism as well. More embarrassingly, according to professional schlong connoisseur Stormy Daniels, he’s also not packing anything between his thighs that Liz Phair would ever write a truly rocking song about. Sad. Bigly. If not covfefe beyond compare. Granted, I myself could never present as a tangible challenge to say, Italian porn star Rocco Siffredi, but at least my gear extends past the molars, and I don’t have to cut a check for 130K every time I want to play a game of hide the Vonnegut. Just saying. In the end however, he’s really no more than the end dish of a corrupted kitchen that mixes racism, narcissism, homophobia, misogyny, and a stunning pride in being willfully ignorant, into a meal so noxious that the selection at Taco Bell comes off as if they were the ala carte Lounge Menu at Le Bernardin in New York.

And just like most things that prove to be inedible, he’ll eventually be tossed out like the trash he is. The same thought cannot be held however towards both his slavish base of cultists and willing enablers, sad to say. This now firmly-entrenched demographic, which has already proven itself to be a truly dire problem facing this country, can only be expected to ramp up both their rhetoric and threats of violence as they find themselves being forced back into the natural marginalization  they had previously occupied by a despised majority they wish to see exterminated, and that right quick. I have to be upfront here, as it’s kind of hard for me to fear people who think that by just owning a surplus of XXL-sized camo and ammo, that they’ll be able to commit a successful act of sedition, when they’ve already shown that as a rule, they can barely spell the word in the first place, and have no idea what it actually means, in the second.

MENSA candidates these people are not, but in-bloom sociopaths they have proven to be, given both their posted and public actions over the last few years. Whether it’s championing ludicrous and debunked conspiracy theories, praying for the next great “Civil War”, or espousing that former (and far better President) Barrack Obama is overseeing a shadowy governmental cabal known as the Deep State in between producing shows for Netflix, the list of unintended and inane comedy seemingly never ends. And neither does the continually venomous ichor broth that these erroneous views produce. If it weren’t for their ability to mindlessly parrot the propaganda they glean from t-shirts, bumper stickers, Chinese-made hats, FOX “News”, and the unresearched memes these persons swallow as if they were free pork rinds, we’d all be blessed with a far more peaceful world, as their political arguments tend to be as strongly fortified as their combined intellect. I’ve often taken the firm position that I honestly don’t care that others think differently, as long as they’re actually THINKING in the first place. When somebody open up a debate with me using any of the bottom-rung talking points that this ilk holds in such high regard, the odds are that I’d rather eviscerate them than engage in a pointless and circular argument with these barely sentient hockey pucks.

I’ve touched upon this subject before, but in essence, I barely scratched the surface. As far as topics go, this one not only possesses an almost perpetual motion momentum as it’s theoretical underpinning, it also lends itself to a wide variety of approaches as to how one can write about it, and so far, this wellspring has presented as an inexhaustible source of literary inspiration. No matter which way you want to tackle the subject of this self-lampooning cult, you seemingly can’t go wrong, and for a dedicated writer like myself, that’s mental manna straight from the perfectly defined zombie-killing arms of Milla Jovovich. Okay, it’s nothing like that, but it’s been at least ten minutes since I mentioned her online, and I have a daily quota to meet. By way of example, when one looks at Trumpism dogma, most of the horde that trusts it tends to post ideas and beliefs so mind-numbingly stupid that one has to wonder if the majority of their nutritional intake as children was comprised solely of lead paint chips.

But this is just the natural side-effect of when one deeply supports a man so widely despised that the best he can hope for when he dies, is to have his body interred in secret, so as not to have his grave violated. There’s a previous Artbitch honoree, a faux wannabe politician from Chicago by the name of *Frank Coconate, whose unwavering devotion to Trump despite the harshness of all the information that has come out, highlights my main point as if it was born to do so. *[]

Amusingly, even though Senor Coconuts wound up eventually blocking me on the ol’ Facebook, due to my forcing him to rely on weak rationalizations versus hard facts to serve as his defense, I still have a more than a few sources who send me random screencaps of his stuff, mainly so I can mock it. There’s an old saying that goes; “Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life.” By the way, this is truer than you know, especially when you look forward to correcting inanity in the same way a four-year old regards Christmas. And because he’s the perfect shining example of why we so desperately need to fund public education in this country like never before, I’d like to gleefully share some of his recent postings and ramblings about current events, if for no other reason than that they make me smile.

First up, here’s Frankie whining about being held responsible (yet again) for violating Facebook’s Community Standards- apparently, the guy who stalks the free website he trolls on like a politico version of The Zodiac, also lacks a basic understanding of how the clearly stated rules are applied to everyone who signs up for the service. But in his very limited defense, I’m also willing to bet he’s never read the Constitution either, which when you think about it, does explain a lot. And if you missed it, he slurs whom ever turned him in as a “coward”, yet his role model is a cravenly shell of a man who needs a rally every three weeks because he can no longer sustain an election.

Here, we see Frank parade out his longtime girlfriend, that being a diseased skank who goes by the name of Overt Racism. She’s not much in the looks department, but she’ll never fail to tell you that your baseless bigotry is damn sexy, no matter what that bitch Reality says. I could note that new immigrants are the number one demographic for entrepreneurship creation in this country, and that compared to his fellow native-born Americans, they also commit less crime, not that facts matter to Frankie in the first place. Also, if as Frank and his ilk like to claim that true racism is a fraud, then why would he worry about being relegated to becoming a minority? In a city that according to the 2010 census, was charted as 45.3% White, 32% African-American, 5% Asian, 3% Mixed-Race, and 31.7% Non-Hispanic White, he should be just fine. Unless of course, minorities have a history of being treated bad in this country...

Frank switches gears here, and showcases the hypocrisy that has infected the Christian faith as of late, by ignoring not only the “true” story of Jesus, but all of his teachings as well. Granted, I’ve never met the Dude, but he strikes me as the sort of guy who loved everyone, no matter what their skin color was, which in his case, was more likely closer to a shade of olive wood, rather than that of a Massachusetts WASP. And as a past Catholic, I do have it on fairly good authority that he wouldn’t be cool with allowing kids to be put in cages or allowing them to die on concrete floors, either. Also, he’s not that big a fan of Christmas, because it doesn’t actually have a damn thing to do with him, and he has no idea who started that rumor in the first place.

And Frank, when you’re done fellating your never-opened Bible as a means to justify your own vile intolerance, take a moment to look up the following verses: Deuteronomy 26:5 & 27:19, Exodus 22:21 & 23:9, Galatians 3:28, Deuteronomy 10:19, Hebrews 13:2, Leviticus 23:22, Leviticus 25:35, and my favorite, Matthew 25:35. As the saying goes, “Y’all need Jesus.” And if you’re not even going to pretend to do what he says, then stop pretending you and he were ever tight.

Oh boy… I always assumed that if I ever had an Uncle who while watching FOX had a stroke, it would sound a lot like this. Frankie ignores the numerous differences between the consensual skin-flute hum-job that Bill received and Donnie’s conspiring to obstruct justice, due to the fact he obviously doesn’t know what either is. As an added bonus, he’s kind enough to let us all know that the phrase “African-Americans” is another way to identify people sometimes referred to as “Blacks”. It’s that kind of obscure educational trivia I’m sure we all find truly fascinating. And here I was, thinking there’s no way I was learning a new fact today. Man, is my face “Scarlet”. (“Red”)

A few things to dissect here. 

One, most of us do have a “dark side”, but unlike Bill Cosby a convicted rapist, it usually doesn’t center around willfully sexually assaulting vulnerable and drugged into unconsciousness women. 

Two, while accidentally mistaking a TG individual for the opposite sex at 4 in the morning, may be personally embarrassing for some, it hardly constitutes as being equivalent to the heinous act of committing multiple rapes. 

Three, considering he still thinks that a thrice-failed husband and reality TV show host is an actual President, I’m going to have to take his advice regarding African-American comedian placement with about a pound and a half of vanilla-laced salt.
Can anyone else taste the ironic pretense here? She’s not qualified to talk about world affairs despite being surrounded by a cadre of qualified advisors, but a former reality TV show host who thinks that windmill noise causes cancer, that hurricanes can be stopped by the use of nuclear weapons, and who somehow bankrupted four casinos, while failing to successfully sell vodka and steaks to Americans, is? A man so stupid that he can’t operate an umbrella, gets caught on a hot mic bragging about sexually assaulting women, and once said of his election coverage, "That was one hell of a night. I think it was maybe, you know, there are those that say one of the most extraordinary and exciting evenings in the history of television and the history of anything." I really don’t even need to try and make a relevant joke here, as Frank’s unintentionally comedic hypocrisy is far funnier than anything I’d come up with on my best day.

Sigh… yes boys and girls, the King of POP was murdered by “greedy Globalist”, which is the singular, not the plural of the word. Grammar is unimportant when you’re overlooking the fact he might also have been a serial pedophile, and was addicted to a drug routine that eventually killed him, but there’s no reason why you can’t tack a ludicrous spy-novel take onto his tragic end, am I right? The definition of a globalist by the way, is defined as such: “a person who advocates the interpretation or planning of economic and foreign policy in relation to events and developments throughout the world”, which naturally, make all of us not only think of the music business, but obviously Michael Jacksons career as well.

So, let’s take a rough tally here, shall we? Frank thus far, has shown us his affinity for racism and Christian hypocrisy, downplayed Bill Cosby’s rapes as him just having a “dark side”, and just opined that MJ was murdered by a lone and apparently greedy, globalist. I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I will say it again, but you have to stop pushing when the Q-tip you’re using to clean out your ears meets resistance, Frank.

Ok… I’ll give Frank partial credit here, even though his analysis as usual, is severely flawed. What would be more accurate for him to have stated, would be that major corporations scheming under the umbrella of a Globalist agenda, have leveraged their political and financial clout against the common citizen, to the detriment of some of our most cherished institutions. I do like however, that even when he’s on the right track, his innate hypocrisy still demands a seat at the adults table, nonetheless. The Democrats are bought and paid for, but the Republicans are not? That is a truly full-on brass cojones kind of take on the current situation at hand. The one party that has in the last few years openly and proudly defended Nazis, pedophiles, murderers, drunk drivers, wife beaters, sexual predators, Confederate monuments, and outright treason, are somehow in Frank’s narrow estimation, wholly immune to being corrupted. This point of view is what develops when your TV only has one channel, kids. Take note, and invest in a good streaming service.

Some free advice Frank- if your personal attorney has told others of a credible threat to your person long before he informed you, it might be time to either up his retainer quite a bit, or start the process of getting yourself a new attorney. You know, one that doesn’t want to see your internal organs on the outside of your body? Just a thought. As for the “threat” itself, I’m of the mindset that if an unsavory element in Chicago truly wanted you hurt, you’d either already be in the ICU, the river, or made into one of those deep-dish pizzas you guys do so well. Look upon this as a personal teaching moment, Frankie. It’s only a matter of time before your history of making arrogantly empty threats guides Karma to your doorstep and settles your account as a matter of principle. But look on the bright side- you’ve been playing the wounded martyr card for so long,  it would be almost a Godsend of sorts for it to actually be justified for once. And as for “feeling like Jimmy Hoffa”, his head is almost certainly stuffed inside an oil drum, yours is just so far up your own ass that you can see out your bellybutton.

And finally, we can see from this posting that Frank has managed to blame both the Democrats and the entertainment industry for Iran’s logical counter-reaction to the wag-the-dog distraction his Fanta-colored man-crush greenlit. Call me crazy, but I can’t give any semblance of credence to the theory that an industry which has produced 12 Friday the 13th movies are in any way, shape, or form, partially at fault for inciting a possible war with Iran. And you really can’t lay blame on the Democrats either, since the Fanta Fascist decided that rather than inform them of his brain-dead idea to launch a military strike, he needed to have his idiot son Eric tweet about it first. This is why when Trump talks about the Constitution, I feel the need to point out that maybe we need to as a country, explain to him what his powers actually are, using flash cards as a teaching aid.

If there’s one thing we can all take away from this assemblage of abject paranoiac density, it’s that the Right’s often repeated disparagements of the Left being the “intolerant” side is at best, truly and exceptionally, disingenuous. I’ll be the first to admit and this willingly, that I myself, have a zero-bulls**t policy in place in regards to my interactions with what now tries to pass itself off as the modern Republican Party. I’m all for a measured and logical debate, but I’ll happily draw the line in my opponent’s blood if the core of their so-called argument is based on nothing more than racism, misogyny, homophobia, egotism, jingoism, xenophobia, and willing ignorance- you know, the things that as functioning human beings, we’re all supposed to not tolerate in the first place?

This does not even remotely equate to what the Right has tirelessly presented as a poisonous disregard for opposite points of view, because that’s a transparent deflection from what the actual issue is. One side promotes tangible values and fights to protect them, and the other consistently searches for scapegoats to blame for problems they themselves created in the first place. Does there exist a number of organizations on the Left who can be just as violent and intractable as some of the more extremist groups we’ve seen on the Right? Most certainly. Monkeys are going to monkey, and all that, but the key difference is that you never see the Left at an ego-stroke rally comfortably aligning itself with White Nationalism, home-grown Militia groups, and small-tackle paranoiacs who need to strap on a gun to go get coffee, now do you?

And there’s other observations backing up my point of view that I can note here, and so I shall, if just for the sake of annoying the Trumplethinskins who send me physical threats as if they were handing out supermarket samples. Note the statistics when it comes to gerrymandering, political intimidation, voter ID laws, and the illegal purging of registered voters- it’s almost exclusively a standard go-to Republican tactic. In addition, the conservative demographic has a solid track record of harassing sexual-assault victims who dare to come forward, are constantly attacking women’s reproductive rights, marginalize the LGBTQ community as they directly and obsessively try to legislate lawful discrimination against them, go after poor people and immigrants as if they have a hunting license to do so, and are perfectly okay ripping asylum-seeking families apart, all  for the sake of massaging their vulgar presidents petty and candy-assed Ego.

Truthfully, who are the ones always leading the charge against logical gun reform, student debt reduction measures, funding education, forcing corporations to pay their fair share of taxes, fixing the rigged medical care system, and any social program that benefits the poor, the elderly, and our veterans, who unlike many of the GOP Warhawks, have served with brave distinction? What party beats the over-funded war drums non-stop, but can never find any money to finance truly clean energy, fix our failing environment, feed the hungry, or house the homeless? On top of this, let’s also call focused attention who’s usually instigated the violent incidents that have occurred at what should have been peaceful protests over the last three years. Shockingly, a political party that is seemingly okay with modern Neo-Nazis marching down American streets while chanting anti-Semitic slurs, doesn’t really have a moral leg to stand on when the subject of who’s really personally intolerent comes up for a serious societal discussion.

And when they crow about being Pro-life, know what they really mean is that they’re Pro-birth. If they weren’t, no one in this country would be hungry, sick, homeless, uneducated, have gone bankrupt from medical bills, or be watching the Kardashians for any reason. And at the rate these geniuses are ineffectively boycotting companies for (GASP!!!) acknowledging that their fellow humans have the same rights as they do and should be treated with respect and dignity, they’ll have to eventually learn how to grow their own food and coffee, brew their own beer, and make their own designer clothes and original movies, so that their faux morality isn’t triggered. Look at it from the view of one who lives on Sesame Street, as in one of these things is not like the other, one of these things does not belong. One side shows up with hand-made signs, glitter, pink crocheted vulva hats and Pride flags, the other comes armed to the metaphorical teeth with guns, bats, paramilitary garb, riot helmets, and tear gas, all while waving the badly defeated flags of treason and racism.

And for once, I’m not talking about the Police, even though at times, they seem to be operating in coordination with these Sieg Heil goose-stepping faux patriots. For all of their propensity for spewing bile about the violence yet to come, this demographic is at the core of their candy-assed hearts, lowly cur spawns of cowardice at best. The same people who brag about how they’ll teach us “libtards” some manners sooner than later, are also the very same ones who’d rather play “I’m a Militia” in the woods, than join the real Armed Forces. Anytime you see an American flag serving as somebody’s Facebook or Twitter avatar, it’s almost a certainty that you’re being challenged by someone too stupid to understand how a book works, and is also probably befuddled by the mechanics of bubble wrap as well.

But that’s not to say that we should ever feel completely comfortable turning our backs on these walking punchlines, though. Individually, this squad of boorish bullies are as dangerous as a glass of warm milk. En masse however, they can rapidly coalesce into a serious threat to life, liberty, and the pursuit of Truth, which is exactly what their puppet masters strive so hard to achieve. The standard modus operandi for people not cunning enough to attain their goals using logic, is to naturally fall back on their primate intellect, and threaten some form of harm. Either to others, or to the System itself, which in their warped worldview, must surely be corrupt, due to the fact it occasionally holds them and their shameful ideals accountable.

And don’t even get me started on how these FOX-schooled Internet academics interpret what the Constitution of this amazing country truly embodies. The assurances contained within apply to everybody and all situations across the board, no matter how they’d like to misrepresent the pure context of what it actually says. Freedom of Speech and Religion also means the autonomy to not agree with either, something the faux Christian arm of the Trumpslugs have never seemingly been able to understand, even when it’s explained to them using hand-puppets. They demand the right to use both freely to harass, but expect no blowback when they do, as they claim they’re the real victims. The concrete reality is that in this country, you’re allowed to pretty much believe (and say) almost anything you want, but even this has certain set parameters in regards to certain situations.

For instance, saying out loud that you prefer tea over coffee is acceptable, but conversely, the act of standing outside your local synagogue brandishing multiple weapons as you assert that you’re there to make tea from the bones of the Jews you’re about to savagely murder isn’t. It’s not rocket science. Hell, even the densest of Kindergartners gets this, and those adorable munchkins eat paste as if our planet is running out of it. The challenge ahead is that after we finally rid ourselves of this self-bronzed stain on our History, we’ll still need to fix all of the damage that he and his cult of personality have enabled. Mind you, the Jinn of ignorance is out of its bottle, and there’s no benign way that we’ll be able to contain its rage, as these mentally flatulent firebrands will not just agree to go away quietly and swiftly. They’ve had a taste of authority and political power, and much like my love for Ding Dongs, that’s a hard addiction to lose the taste for, even if you’re forced to go cold turkey.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely, as the sage riposte states.

Keep this terrifying thought in mind, if you would- these people are not ethereal boogeymen, nor are they the mythical Übermensch that they prefer to view themselves as either. They are in fact, much worse. They’re doing their best to hide in plain sight among our doctors, lawyers, teachers, judges, police, military, co-workers, neighbors, relatives, friends, and as one can easily observe, our politicians as well. They may also be our lovers too, but in the end, I’m hoping we’re all collectively better than that, no matter how good the sex is. Even coming from a position of pure cynicism, I still think some of these people are salvageable, once we gradually wean them off the Orange Kool Aid they’ve been bathing and sleeping in for the last three years or so. The rest however, may have to be written off as the resultant fatalities for their engaging in deliberately planned acts of self-inflicted madness, sad to say.

One thing is clear above all other considerations though, and that’s this: it took time to unweave the collective conscience of our society, and it’s going to take quite some more to mend it back into a cohesive whole. Whether the repair helps to make us communally stronger or even more brittle, is still anybody’s guess, but this nation will never be what it once was, that’s for certain.

All we can hope for is that it makes us better, not bitter.

“Sometimes a man wants to be stupid if it lets him do a thing his cleverness forbids.”

- John Steinbeck, East of Eden

Sunday, January 12, 2020

A Time to Shill (The Politics of Posturing)

“Lawyers spend a great deal of their time shoveling smoke.”- Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.

Hello Blogiteers!

What a day for a daydream, eh? And also a nightmare, if my early morning a couple of days ago was any indicator, for that was when I got to partake in a pointless video conference with not only the jackleg who represented both my former employer and their unethical as a Sith Lord business insurer, the Hartford, but with a “judge” of the AZ Industrial Commission as well. The reason why that descriptor has been placed within the confine of quote marks, is because in my personal opinion, this self-alleged impartial overseer came off as a neutral magistrate in regard to my case very much in the same way that Dr. Pepper presents as a qualified medical professional.

A heads up for you, my loyal readers- if one finds themselves complaining about this particularly  succubustic Legalzilla who clearly made up their mind about a case before hearing any details, and bluntly suggest that an act of metaphorical fellatio was performed on the opposing side's  latrine lawyer to their immediate supervisor, be aware that said administrator is going to get very flustered with you, and suggest that you're possibly not a nice person. Interestingly however, they also will not deny the validity of what you said, and while this doesn’t prove your personal opinion correct, it doesn’t disprove it either. Just know that in the end, these bloviating bureaucrats will close ranks to shield their own long before protecting the public whom they claim to serve. It does make me wonder though, if the judicial staff at the AZIC have to provide their own knee pads, or if there is a general fund from the state for that sort of thing.

A question for another time, I guess.

There’s an old axiom among photographers that the camera adds ten pounds, and I have found this to be the case within certain situations, but when I saw the physicality of my legal adversary on my phone screen, the first thought I had was possibly inquiring about how many cameras were currently being pointed at him, because he looked like he could produce his own gravity. I’m not being flippant, but I gave seriously thoughtful pause to the wonderous notion that if he accidently dropped a Mc Donald’s ketchup packet into his lap, it would circle his beltline of its own accord.

And no, I’m not trying to body-shame, as I myself currently look like what might happen if James Hetfield ever falls into a dehydrator head-first, but I’m also not going to lie when the thought that came into my head after “Jesus, put down the fork, dude”, was that if I ever found myself between him and an open crate of Chocolate Twinkies, I’d be a dead man walking. And with that series of playful jokes, I smugly display the sense of advanced maturity I’ve been working on with great intensity for at least the last twenty minutes or so. In my earlier days of writing, I might have voiced the acerbic and erroneous conviction that these so-called professionals career path was the natural choice for persons far too unattractive to work in porn, but who’s innate ethics proved way too strong to allow them to freely sell counterfeit Ecstasy to Kindergartners.

See? Those are the kind of clearly obvious jokes I would never even think of making these days.

I guess what legendary sci-fi author H.G Wells once stated in his novel Love and Mr. Lewisham is accurate, regarding the development of one’s personal maturity, that being; “There's truths you have to grow into.” This lone concept by the way, has proven itself to me more than once, but as someone who like the majority of us, grew up among so-called adults, one of the truths I’ve held rather tightly to as I’ve aged is that too many of them are supreme moral failures within the lives they were gifted. The foremost career demographic that always comes to mind concerning this assessment are naturally politicians, as you might expect, but running a close hair-gelled second would be the practitioners of the carrion fueled industry known as the legal profession. And in third place? That honor falls to any person who works in one of those annoying theme restaurants in Las Vegas where the wait staff sing and dance while you’re trying to eat your overpriced and underdone cheeseburger.

No, “Corky-not-your-real-name”, I actually don’t want to hear you mangle yet another Buddy Holly song, as the plane crash he died in skillfully did that quite some time ago, but thanks for the shrill reminder to all of us why college, if not trade school, is so damn important. Speaking of which, my personal experience with law school graduates has always been uniformly unpleasant. Whether it’s seeing just what level of shameless odiousness one person can achieve in the pursuit of an unethical buck, or the fact that most seemingly have an inner compass that guides their moral path very much in the manner that a catholic priest would of a Boy Scout troop, if he were still allowed to be in charge of one. It brings to mind the classic joke that goes; “Q: Why did New Jersey get all the toxic waste and California all the lawyers? A: It’s because New Jersey got to pick first.” Which is still one of the best decisions NJ ever made, in my humble opinion.

Well that, and the interesting factoid that no matter where you decide to gas up your car, an attendant will always be on hand to go and pump petrol for you. Remarkably, New Jersey is the only state that doesn’t allow drivers to pump their own gas. This is because of the Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act and Regulations that was passed in 1949, which states that the unusual prohibition is for the safety of motorists. From the text of the act: “Because of the fire hazards directly associated with dispensing fuel, it is in the public interest that gasoline station operators have the control needed over that activity to ensure compliance with appropriate safety procedures, including turning off vehicle engines and refraining from smoking while fuel is dispensed.” Given how much I’ve grown to dislike the act of filling up my own tank, due to certain physical limitations I now suffer from, I can get 100% behind this.

In fact I’m so impressed by this that I won’t even mention how New Jersey is totally responsible for giving us Bon Jovi all those years ago. Oops… do me a solid, and just ignore that faux pas, will you? I have no real grievance with Mr. Bon Jovi, but I’ve always felt that the master-tape for his song “Living on a Prayer” needs to be burned and then buried in a salt pit, because that’s how you truly eradicate the purest of evil ear-worms as a rule. Coming back from that unanticipated tangent, my morning before the unanticipated clusterf**k to come was fairly typical- I awoke, had my two bowls of Apple Jacks and a cup of Earl Grey, and sat patiently on my living room couch in  New Mexico, cruising my social media with no expectations whatsoever. There was one concern I had been anxious about for the last month or so, however. This of course, was the uneasy feeling that the jackleg of obesity I was about to soon face was going to attempt derailing my case using not hard facts, but soft technicalities.

Just one time. That’s all I want. Just one time, it would be really nice if my gut instincts could finally be wrong about something. Anything. I’d really look forward to this new experience, if it meant that I’d finally witness people being held truly accountable for their actions. But as Fate would have it, we live in a pre-rigged world where the hardscrabble populace is routinely abused and discounted by the very people who were tasked with protecting them in the first place. I’ve previously written about my interaction with the impotent Civil Rights Division of the AZ Attorney General’s Office and its intrinsic failure to do the heavy lifting that was required, so it almost feels like I’m trapped in its hastily produced sequel, but with a far lower budget, and a cast nobody’s ever heard of, save for Kevin Sorbo.

For those of you who mercifully don’t know who Kevin Sorbo is, he’s an American actor with a dramatic range regarded as somewhere between that of a urinal cake and a slice of Provolone cheese. He’s best known for starring in two B-Grade TV shows, Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, and Andromeda. These television studio tax write-offs should be noted for their respective cultural benchmarks- Hercules exhibited weekly why its spinoff show Xena: Warrior Princess was far superior, and Andromeda proved that the normally reliable Star Trek lightning doesn’t always strike the same success twice. Sorbo, who’s wackadoo political views are just as wretched as his films, may also be one of the main reasons I received a lifetime ban from Twitter due to my consistent postings on his page that if it weren’t for the discount bins at Walmart, there would be no existent archive for his straight-to-DVD career. Sorry. I went off track yet again. My sincerest apologies. Mainly for making you aware of who he is. Close your eyes and think of a far better actor, and you’ll be right as rain in no time. I promise.

Normally, when I’m challenged by those I consider to be soulless, I like to do it from inside the secure confines of a demon-repelling circle of salt, but to be quite honest, it’s really hard to lay one of those out on a whim and get it just right. Plus, I’m also not sure how such old-school tactics might work against entities who aren’t even in the room with you to begin with. After all, when it comes to the governmental agencies within Arizona, the only one I’ve ever seen do their jobs correctly is the DMV, and those overwhelmed people get all shades of undeserved crap from it’s customers. You hate waiting 45 minutes to get your tags? Try waiting almost two years for the justice you deserve, only to watch it get sodomized with a razor-studded strap-on, who’s owner then dares to lecture you on the finer points of why you should have appreciated their modern interpretation of a *Tijuana donkey show.
*[A donkey show is the descriptive term for a type of live sex show widely considered as an urban legend, in which a woman performs an act of bestiality with a donkey. These shows were rumored to be located in the Mexican border city of Tijuana, and while one can easily find both women and donkeys there, it’s quite rare to see them being anything other than very close platonic friends.]

But before I get into delivering yet another well-earned Artbitch exsanguination, some necessary past context must be presented. When I first filed all the appropriate paperwork with the AZIC, there was a portent of what was to come. Unfortunately, I relied on my sense of cynical optimism, rather than just going ahead and outright suing both my ex-employer and former supervisor, for shirking the dual responsibility of my medical bills and the callous violation of my civil rights due to an act of discriminatory firing. Go big, or go home, as my macramé coach was fond of saying.

Like most government offices, the AZIC has a front desk person whose sole purpose is to either direct you or answer your questions, and the one AZIC had as their point person was very nice and capable, but also sadly cursed with a massive stutter. One that could have made King George the VI come off smoother than Benedict Cumberbatch wearing a smoking jacket, reading a wine list. Once again, I’m not being a jerk, just remarking on the fact that certain afflictions need to be taken into consideration when one chooses a career path. Since my hands have a tendency to shake as if I have Parkinsons Disease on the best of days, I shouldn’t be the first person you’d tap for performing acts of microsurgery or a bris, and I’d submit for your perusal that a public contact person probably shouldn’t have to take almost five minutes to eventually spit out the phrase “How may I help you?” It’s the same reason as to why I wouldn’t trust a proctologist or urologist who had steel hooks for hands. Sure, they might be able to do the job fabulously, but that crucial first impression isn’t going to set my confidence in stone concerning their abilities anytime soon.

Just my two cents.

So, I filed the paperwork, and eventually they got a hold of me to get the ball rolling. Except that’s not what happened. In fact, my filing languished for close to a month, and I only found this out after physically going back down to the agency’s office to see why I hadn’t heard anything in regards to my claim. Turns out, I needed to list the date of my injury, which I could not do, due to the fact I didn’t actually recall the specific day it had happened on to begin with. What I mean to clarify is that while I knew the time frame in which it had occurred, the exact day on which it had was unknown to myself, so I was forced to pick an arbitrary date within said range. When I asked why nobody had bothered to contact me about the problem, as this truly was a time-sensitive issue, I was met with a lazy shoulder shrug, an eye-roll, and a response of “I don’t know”, which as far as my personal experiences have shown, is seemingly the official motto of almost every so-called citizen protection agency located within the state of Arizona.

As I hope I implied earlier, I will never criticize any employee of the DMV ever again, since those poor bastards work within a Mad Max Thunderdome, and yet somehow, still get the job done with the limited resources they possess. This tax-dollar wasting agency on the other hand, couldn’t seemingly hire any employees that know how to do a competent follow-up using a phone, email, smoke signals, or cuneiform, so I can only imagine what their collective brain trust upstairs must be like. Oh wait, I do know that. And it’s just as disorganized as you’d think. For instance, even though there was over a month of prep-time for what I believed was to be a tele-conference, AZIC contacted me no less than five minutes before the hearing was scheduled to start, and informed me that it was in all actuality, supposed to be a video-conference. Other than the fact I was still in my Avenger-print pajamas, the real issue was that where I live, the internet can be as reliable as the wedding vows of Donald Trump.

You can see the problem, but these slack jaw simpletons didn’t. After all, a lead of several weeks to make sure the kinks are worked out beforehand is hardly enough time to work with when you willingly spend most of it playing grab-ass with the very same people you’re chartered to keep in check. In order to combat their glaring, if not incompetent oversight, I was forced to download a Google app now removed, which demanded access to all of the data on my phone, because I need to have even more of my life violated due to the actions of morally corrupted overseers. Granted, that’s only my take on the situation in relation to individuals whose only interest in seemingly doing their jobs, is to try and collect the steady paychecks that in my opinion, they don’t deserve and don’t truly earn.

To be fair, the first twenty minutes of this farce were what you’d expect, with my answering the standard boilerplate questions, but soon it became obvious that the deck was purposefully stacked against me. In retrospect, I don’t even know why I bothered to participate, because from my POV, I had the feeling I was no more than a third wheel on someone’s first date. Why do I hold this personal opinion, you ask? It rests on the fact that despite the Hartfords’ established history of shady obstruction, their multiple unresolved consumer complaints, and a purposeful failure to notify me of my valid claim being denied, none of this was EVER taken into any form of serious consideration. The latter issue by the way, was the causation of why I missed the ninety-day window in which I had to file an appeal,

Also ignored was the myriad of my health issues, which had kept me sadly bedridden for close to five months, and It was also implied that my not being expertly versed in the laws regarding workman’s comp in the state of AZ was solely my fault as well. Apparently, that sort of innate knowledge is something one should just know instinctively as a rule. One other thing I found interesting, was that rather than say “excuse me” or “may I interrupt” when I was answering a question, whenever the judge felt the need to interject, she’d start waving her arms spastically as if she was doing the Wave at a Steelers football game. While that by itself was fairly insulting, it paled in comparison to having to watch this falsely neutral judge bend over backwards to shield the opposing attorney from bearing any responsibility.

At no point did he state that my injury claim was invalid, he just whined that I had taken “too long” to present my case, which by the way, I’ve been F**KING DOING FOR THE LAST TWO GODDAMN YEARS. When at one point, I accidentally misstated this jacklegs name, I was informed rather snottily what the correct pronunciation was immediately. Not by him, but by her. I’ll tell you right now, if I had known that the persons assigned to assist me were going to gleefully hold me down as I was run over by two combined well-funded and unethical entities, I would have forgone this bulls**t and just sued the life out of the responsible parties involved, which is now what I am going to have to do. I could honestly care less about the actions of my employer’s jackleg, since scumbags are gonna do scumbag things for other scumbags, but the magistrate who in my opinion, did everything they could do to make sure he did so unimpeded?

I can only assume from my POV that being bought and paid for must come with one hell of a comprehensive dental plan for somebody to justify renting out their ethics. To clarify, I’m not threatened by any woman who’s smarter than me, more capable at being truly ruthless, or can throw down an arrogant front just as hard as any dude. I do however, have more than a few bones to pick with anyone I find to be unethical, uncaring, and totally incompetent at grasping the basic tenets of Humanity, which the rest of us seem to find as natural as breathing.

At the end of the hearing, which I signed off on by cutting my video feed and commenting on open audio that the duo who had wasted my time were “f**king idiots”, for which, I will only utter the traditional “sorry, not sorry”, as a capstone. It’s pretty well known if I feel that I’m going to crash and burn at warp-speed, I’m going to enjoy riding the bomb like Slim Pickens did so happily in Dr. Strangelove. Not too surprisingly, I did run through a brief and very angry mental litany of what I felt were appropriate words to describe the persons I had just dealt with. And as you might well imagine that when it came to the jackleg, I blazed through every obesity joke I knew first, because as someone who has German relatives who both personify and tell them, it’s a shallow pond to begin with.

Sadly however, when it comes to derogatory names or terms for women, there seems to be no end to how deep that well goes. It’s been quite clear to me for a while now that online at least, there are a lot of very angry anti-feminists out there. While a man of lesser words if not intellect, might use some gender-specific terms to render an opinion about the female judge in his case, I’d like to think I’m better than that. I’m not, but I definitely like to think that I am. In that aspect, it’s just like when I talk about how good my microwaving burritos game is. It’s not that impressive overall, but I can still bring it when necessary. I try very hard not to be marginalized as your ‘typical guy”, and unlike most of my gender, I don’t view fraudulent chivalry as a means to get on a woman’s good side.

In person, I tend to be quite respectful to both sides of the human coin, and it’s extremely rare that I use the type of language to describe someone publicly that one might overhear while lounging inside a New Orleans cathouse. But in this instance afterwards, you would have thought I was auditioning for the main role in a Tarantino movie. After hissing out a half-dozen combinations, most of which rhymed with some variant of “brother-sucker”, I came back to the most vile of all the feminine-targeted insults, that being the dreaded, last-resort, and apocalyptic one that begins with, and is noted with great and fearful trepidation as, “The C Word”. And no, it doesn’t stand for “condescending”, or “churlish” in this case, but it could. Breathing room is always nice, but it doesn’t apply here.

Nope. It stands exactly for what you think it does, and for once, I really don’t feel too bad for thinking it.

But as I said, I’d like to think I’m better than that, and besides, it’s also not really that accurate of a description to begin with. If I were forced to look at it fairly, she lacks the warmth, the depth, and the visual interest required in order to carry that assessment forward with full honors, so there is that in her general favor. Once again, that’s just my personally held opinion for whatever it’s worth. And I will happily acknowledge that her supervisor deemed my POV to not only be highly inappropriate, but correspondingly, right on the razors edge of being a tad bit too caustic for him to comment on past a few weak-ass excuses. What can I say? I’m a people person, and I think it shows. A small side note: when you call the AZIC and inform them that you wish to file a formal complaint against one of their judges, don’t be too surprised that there is no definable path to accountability whatsoever. I claim this, because when I attempted to lodge such an action, the front desk clerk had no idea how to complete my request. He had no knowledge of a form, or website, or any governing division of the AZIC that was in charge of resolving such an issue.

Sigh… what cabal of meatheads writes policy for these agencies? Is it that group lobotomies are a thing now, and I’ve just never noticed? Speaking of which, after being placed on hold for no less than ten minutes as the front desk clerk scrambled to find me the right route to take, I found myself on the phone with what was yet another disingenuous AZIC official, who hemmed, hawed, and deflected the concerns I was voicing. And while my tone was exceedingly sarcastic, it was also focused on the issues at hand. In retrospect, I probably should have started off this soon to be worthless conversation using flattery, rather than observational cynicism, because there was no way this person was going to do anything but duck reality and cover for his employee, unless his pompous ass was being kissed like a Popes’ ring first. Once again, just my opinion.

When I noted the stunning lack of an easily accessible public forum in which to formally hold his staff member accountable, I was informed, (and that rather tersely) that I could write a letter to him, and he would “look into it”. Oddly, that answer didn’t lend any additional credibility to his platitudes that my concerns were going to be rectified or even dealt with at all. With the benefit of hindsight, it’s probably a good thing that no one owns the royalty rights to the vulgar phrase “go f**k yourself”, because if they did, I’d currently be working four jobs just to cover the usage check I would have had to cut over the last few days. And while I’m not proud of it, that is exactly how I ended our conversation, because after close to two years of being crudely jerked off by people wearing sandpaper gloves with no happy or remotely tolerable ending in sight, I finally have hit my personal zenith for dealing with the piles of other people’s bulls**t. Maddening as this has been, what’s truly galling is that I’m expected to be the only one who‘s not only civil, but overly grateful, for the graciousness so-called, of being mocked, lied to, and discounted by the agencies who were supposed to help me settle this to its perceptibly logical conclusion.

To quote Nick Fury of SHIELD:It's stuff like this that gives me trust issues.

So, what’s the next step? Now shocking as it may seem, despite the love I have for hollow volcano lairs, along with dreams of possessing both a jump-suited army of minions, and a reasonably priced Death Ray, and even factoring in my penchant for hiring racially ambiguous yet earthily sexy, female secretaries who keep sleeping with dispassionate but heroic British secret agents, I’m still not a Bond villain. I’m not going to announce the minutiae I plan to utilize to legally bring to bear the full force of equitable justice to those who’ve shirked its glare for far too long. But this is me we’re talking about, so my approach has to have a touch of the creative, to say the very least. I’d feel like phoning it in otherwise, and Odin knows I can’t get down with that.

Sure, the usual machinations are to be expected, since my case will have to be settled in the cubicle peoples’ court, and I’m pretty sure that demographic of the judiciary wouldn’t appreciate me bringing in my personal Harkonnen Capo Chair, no matter how well it fits both my persona and wardrobe.

I’m not sure why, but for some strange reason, furniture with skulls as part of its structure really freaks out the straights, but if it helps remind my former employer and supervisor that they’re not above the law, then I guess it will be energy well spent. And if I don’t win in the end, because Life isn’t always fair, at least I’ll have it within the public record of who and what, I went up against. I once wrote that there are hills to die on, and hills to avoid, and a lifetime of experience will tell you which is which.

So, if this is the hill I metaphorically expire on, then I’m going to make sure that everyone will know why.
SciFi writer Isaac Asimov once observed that “Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome.” What I take away from this sage advice, is that at the end of all things, one finally gets the opportunity to truly rest. But until then?

Stand for what’s right. Raise Hell as often as possible. Make the unjust weep at the mere mention of your name.

And always leave more scars on them than on yourself.

“The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, and wretches hang that jurymen may dine.”

- Alexander Pope