Friday, June 17, 2016

A Prophetic Message about Donald Trump

The first two minutes should suffice as far as ascertaining content. However... if you're interested in the panoramic underbelly of corrupt, insane American Mafia fundamentalism, you may want to watch a bit more. (And we're sorry to denigrate organized crime with that reference.)

Absolutely fascinating.

And yes, that's Tammy Faye Bakker's former husband, Jim, who apparently has more lives than most cats.

If you build it...

Good Lord.

Paul Ryan is aging faster than Dorian Gray's attic art collection.

Not Just About Addiction.. About All of Us

We don't often come across paradigm shattering notions - that hold water, anyway. This isn't to say that the article we're posted below is exact science, but as interesting experiments go, this one could be among the most important we've ever seen, one worth revisiting.

We get excited about lots of things vs being a jaded old ho, but this deserves the neon intro. Why? Because the ideas contained therein to be ones that embolden, that awaken us to possibilities of the most illuminating variety.

When Thomas Jefferson said, "We hold these truths to be self-evident...", many of the ideas were exactly that even if people had never seen them in such a wondrous format Yeah, yeah, we know: Mighty big words.

There's more. We're posting it despite the fact that it's from "Collective Evolution", an online periodical that often irks us as much as it informs. (Scratch that: Lately, it's been completely annoying because of its combination of condescension and self-righteous hyperbolic POV on nearly every topic: Imagine a tabloid run by rabid vegans.)

Maybe it's the cranky old broad thing, but we prefer to be informed by those at least pretending a modicum of humility. This group? Not gonna happen: This is put together by the kids who brought you Google. Just the same: We're damn glad we haven't unsubscribed. It proves we're still teachable.

If it makes sense to you, pass it on - you know. Without all of the bloody editorializing. And thanks very much for having a look.


In which the cat of the first party tells the cat of the second party, "Look, ho, you can't go off your feed, too, because - well, it's just bloody bad timing is all."

And yet she's done just that. Ah, Mitzi. All almost 18 years of you. Dear, dear, my chubby, chatty kitty.

Considering how many animals we've had through the years, that no two have ever been on the same dire illness page at once is pretty fortunate.

And, since we know better than to take things like critical illness personally, we're trying to figure just what happiness we may bring them on this day.

Besides food, darn it. That narrows it down, don't you know.

Aha. Perhaps doing something to really embarrass the rat terrier might be just the trick. You know. To make up for all those uninvited humping sessions that used to happen when we first brought him home.

We'll figure out something.

And it's not even summer yet...

In which we try to quote the Bard without looking despite having his entire works about twenty feet away. Because there is rarely a thing that happens that son of a gun didn't think of. And because we're trying really hard to think about lofty things after a week where madness was in overdrive.

"For whether tis nobler in the minds of man to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them."

(Dang, that boy writes purty, don't he?)

And then this - a few random, entirely subjective thoughts on the tragic death of Jo Cox after the Orlando massacre, in which we pay attention to common elements, knowing damn well it's more complicated but, hey, we've gotta start somewhere.

(We may need to shorten that post title.)

Please know this: This isn't a casual comparison of dreadful crimes.

The events are very different - Orlando and yesterday's killing of Jo Cox.

But in the way of murders, they are much the same. Both violent acts are examples of flat-out crazy wearing the tuxedo of terrorism. All dressed up and everywhere to go.

Maybe crazy with a cause must be easier to bear: the annihilating compression of self hatred turned outward in a perfect checkmate or at least relief. Fooling a few of the people for all time. Going out with a bang of denial.

But Jo Cox's death? Different, yet the same because she was cut down with a political cry, one with deliberate affixed with political significance, as if some bullshit words stretched across a violent act somehow ennobled it. And, like putting a cotton ball on a slashed femoral artery: it was too little, too late, seen for the pathetic ruse it was.

Yet in Great Britain, they aren't pushing back and forth about viper nests harboring terrorists, etc. Here's why and it's also the chief ingredient missing here, which is the utter lack of an Arabic presence in the death of Ms. Cox. We know. It's just that the similarities of the crime are arresting. And not to notice them at all, a tiny bit of folly.

The death of Jo Cox also differs in that her killer lived - even past his arrest. (The quiet two minute video of the British police taking him into custody contrasts wildly to videos of many Americans getting even a simple parking ticket. We're talking behavior of both suspect and law enforcement, btw. To not espy the generally higher level of civility in the UK is to not pay attention.)

But there is another difference that's, well, very different. In the UK, they realized,immediately, that no matter what this killer, Tommy Mair, screamed out during his crime that he's been mentally ill for some time - and they are are calling it that. Right away. In America, there is the implication that bringing 'insanity' into the picture somehow diminishes the horror of the act. It's more than semantics.

In the UK, unlike the US, they no longer have capital punishment. There's no hook letting off to happen, no taking something off the table. Here, to be adjudged crazy is to escape justice.

Yes, the Orlando massacre was and is unequivocally about terror in its most egregious, stark state.

But the act was far less political than they're making it. The politics of Orlando happened afterwards and will continue, because we are good at it, for some time.

The catastrophic failure of one life gone murderously awry is much harder to sink our collective teeth in than the fluid epidemic of international terrorism, that many headed beast who hates our God, our goodness, our baseball and apple pie.

Plain old hate caused both men to bubble over, yet in both of them, every single clue, sign and oops the boy ain't right signal was there and they were ignored over and over again.

It's chicken and egg time again: What came first, the hate or the madness? In each case, it was the madness itself that lay disguised, hidden well enough that it was all but invisible - except from an occasionally beaten wife or fretful parents, until it exploded across the world.

These are times when nearly any private outrage needn't look far to be legitimized. Miserable, rage-filled and alone? By shifting focus to those larger crimes of inequity, godlessness or even European Union, instead of being the lunatic down the street, you can be poster boy to a terror cell in a place you've never been. They might as well make up brochures.

The Orlando annihilator took selfies that tell a lot, but only in perfect hindsight. Would that evil wore a T-shirt. Instead, we look at his pictures over and over looking for a sign, any sign. It's more chilling that none are there. All we see is a collegiately handsome lad looking back at us, almost bashful in his desire to be seen, liked. But when we see his middle easternness - aha. That pins the tail on the donkey.

How did we miss it? That what he really wanted was so forbidden, that his self-loathing, rooted in tormented sexuality, would jump ditches like a stray fire, joining up with the huge inferno of world terrorism. Tinder, indeed.

Did he see a heaven of virgins like the other suicide guys? How ironic.

Maybe, just maybe... when he arrived, there were indeed the many virgins as promised. And like a Twilight Zone even Rod Serling missed, that, ladies and gentlemen, is his hell.

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

When decency comes calling....


We're posting this without a single comment because it says enough.

It says enough.

Thanks for passing along this comment-free post.

Sometimes we evolve. Pass it on.

Monday, June 13, 2016

Seriously Citrus

What a day. Friends brought special animal food and because we've been icky sick which is bull you're supposed to get this in the winter, we got this like our tonsils just came out. We've never seen it because we don't shop at that uber fancy OCD all the labels facing the same direction store. The place with $25 frozen pizza. The place with this...

Not for the faint hearted or casual lemon lovers: When we were kids in Miami, we'd pick lemons from the trees, throw them on the sidewalk to bust 'em open and then run hose water over them before pushing them into our faces. You might say we're lemon heads. But this stuff.

We're not even gonna say what a pint cost.

Our birthday came early.


Critter Central

As ever, we've got the sweetest bunch of folks sending love and prayers our way via Facebook.

Thought we'd tell you that Mama Dog is having a very good day. Some of that might have to do with some amazing homemade pet food delivered to us by very caring, animal loving friends...

The dogs liked it so much that they did that head jerk while they eat thing you mostly see in wild dogs after a kill.

We were impressed. Gonna be hard to go back to kibble again after this - it's not crap kibble, mind you, but the stuff we got must be really fresh meat.

As for now, Homer is purring his happy purr and has forgiven me the attack of the killer syringe. (We tidied him to nicely afterwards and thanked him for not biting.)


Homer the Only

If we're lucky - and we are in the ways of these dear beesties -

we get a heads up before it's their time.

We got one for this Sweet Boy.

Not tomorrow or the next day, but far sooner than we wanted.

His kidneys are failing and, despite his Mom's sloppy haircuts and not getting the gunk out of his pretty eyes, I still think he takes the prettiest picture.

Until then, whatever he wants, I'll try to get this kiddo his favorites.

Even Cheetah's being nice to him.

Will wonders never cease?

Sunday, June 12, 2016

That Voodoo They Do So Well


This was supposed to be up and out this morning right when (Dan Patrick) hit the fan. Pardon the less than lightning speed of its appearance here...

But first, to those of you who leave thoughtful comments in abridged form, my sincere gratitude. Some of what you send is so kind, illuminating or pithy, as the case may be, that it's like seeing haiku with cool laser pointers. Better. And even when I disagree with the sentiments, I'm grateful for comparative brevity which enables me to read other comments. It is wonderful to see lots of replies and probably impractical to attempt to read them all.

And the difference between conveying messages with which we disagree, and conveying them in disagreeable manner ends up being PRET-ty, PRET-ty big. (Borrowed Larry David's voice on that last.)


Then there are probably lots of folks I'd see eye to eye with, but don't see at ALL because I rarely read ones I have to scroll. And scroll. I'd never have time to scribble my own. Before anyone kvetches - seriously? I'm in a giddy minority of FB 'verified' page-keepers - albeit far from the big boys - who make an effort to keep up, occasionally even replying. Thanks for the gift of accommodating this, an undoubtedly selfish, perspective.


The Post Itself:


Seems our post about Christina Grimmie's death ended with what could be the title of this one. (‪#‎shootinggallerynation‬) But it's more than that:

In the devastation of Orlando's last few days, we found another enemy on the wrong side of the police barriers. The guy's a public servant. Our reaction to his treachery was not a godly one, but cheering nonetheless to put into words. So, Father, forgive me: I know exactly what I would do....

The Fun Part Oh Yeaaah

I'd like to arrange the long-awaited introduction of my pointiest-toed, oldest, Texas boot to a tender portion of Texas Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick's anatomy. And that's just the appetizer.

Downside: Enormously problematic just because it's hard to swing a leg really high up and use a powerful magnifying glass simultaneously.

Upside: One well-timed kick could meet said teensy target and also make short work of alleged cranial contents like stoving in Russian nesting dolls: one hidden inside the other, into microscopic infinity.

I'm starting to believe that these ass clown creationists, et al, are less committed to any holy biblical ideal than simply terrified of joining and discovering proof of close kinship with a web-footed, poisonous primate sub-species whose DNA, in warped spirals, mixes with that of a boneless version of the serpent first mentioned in Genesis.

Short version? Fair enough...(Cover the kids' ears!)

You pecker-brained, godless, traitorous shitheads. You're standing with, beside and for everything Jesus kicked over in the temple. That's right: If y'all can presume to know what pisses Him off, then let the rest of us have a stab at it, too: Time for turnabout.

I'm not a secular humanist, but today, that's a technicality, because it's getting where I much prefer their company over these self-appointed chosen ones with fists full of rocks, warmed up throwing arms and no mirror in sight.

We feel sure that a clarion call to shut the Dan Patricks down will have agnostics, etc lining up in their unSabbath best to heckle the satanic curses of DP and his sorry ilk. This might be the perfect storm:

Let's take a peek at current levels of American outrage. Why, it's adorable. We PIN it! We sign ONLINE PETITIONS! Our forefathers tremble at the force majeure we ain't! It would be funny if it wasn't. For example: One sitting judge, Persky, in the Brock Turner case, in Santa Clara County, California has received nearly a million signatures urging that he be ousted for giving what amounts to a time-out, hand slap for a violent felony.

In light of this sprawling attempt to mete revenge in the wake of the missed justice train, we're wondering how many more signatures could be garnered with nuclear strike ferocity to unseat Patrick.

Although I'm doggedly pro First Amendment, from a defense standpoint, each man's behavior - Persky and Patrick's - is unassailable, I do want to think that some form of satisfying recourse is available. I don't want it to be a trick bunny pulled out of a tired hat either. Period.

Threats to national security are morphing faster than new drone designs and Patrick's hissed Bible verses are the sheep's clothing of sedition.

How many religious folks will merely tisk-tisk the Lt. Gov, ruefully nodding towards their once Good Books, now sharpened like knives and aimed smugly at MILLIONS of Americans who don't meet their judgmental image of what kind of sinner escapes with their lives?

We think not enough of them.

Until today, beyond my own hyperbole, I didn't see the leap between passive-aggressiveness and the threat of terrorism. But it's at work in SOME American religious circles and as vile, deadly and, not least, spiritually diminishing as any imported threat.

Unlike the terror cells across oceans hiding behind thousands of child captives, these s.o.b.s operate in plain sight behind lecterns, defiling pulpits, giving free reign to the kind of loathing that isn't limited to their targets...

Advocating mass violence against innocent humans - which was implied in Patrick's statement - against anyone, but against American citizens is no less a threat than the kind we're spending trillions to contain. Artfully suggesting they've got it coming is despicable at the very least.

Kicking that guy out office would not only be virtually free, but could earn America's purchase from the teetering edge of perdition.

And a postscript based on late news:

Sen.Ted Cruz, fresh from his wound-licking, rallied like a nutless bull in a China shop, making a clean sweep of everyone's pain, just as we reach out for one another for comfort, vigilance and solidarity, adding both opportunism and insult to injury.

Because we're borrowing that last phrase from Poe, we think a fitting prize for Ted is the ending of Poe's own story, 'The Cask of Amontillado'. His 6, unparalleled on his best far, as of today's statement, is unparalleled. And that leaves us speechless.

Thank you.

Mama Dog

I'm not sure how or why she hangs on. I'm so happy for the love, but this morning I told her I'd understand if she needed to cross that Bridge and then the corners of her mouth turned up like this.

What we do to earn this, I'll never know. Roger is being very solicitous of her. Walks down the steps with her very slowly. I've never seen a dog do that for another dog before. Taking notes, taking notes.

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