The Bright Side Of Dementia; A New Cure For Bigotry

 

So. I’ve finally let Mother’s cat out of the bag and I cannot even begin to tell you how good it feels. To share with you Mother Johnson’s trip down Memory Loss Lane has freed me in ways I hadn’t realized. Most importantly is freedom from censure and censorship. I don’t like bridled truths because real truth is unbridled. If I’m going to talk about anything, I want to be able to talk about that anything’s anythings.

It’ll take a moment, but that made perfect sense.

See, when I started this stupid fucking bloggie dealio, I promised that I would be full disclosure on all things except the children I have with Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson. I only made that promise to Sammie to save myself from a/an extended stay/stays over to the Loony Bin at Shoal Creek Mental Hospital. My lovely first ex-wife’s precise words were, “If you do anything to draw unwanted attention to our children, Mooner Einstein Johnson, I’ll lock your ass so deep into the bowels of The System you’ll never again see the light of day.”

I wonder how she learned to speak so properly and not dangle her modifiers or prepositions. I would have said, “… you’ll never see the light of day again.”

She was right, Dr. Know It All, and I’m glad that I’ve kept my kids off limits to the blathering. I don’t have a need to disclose anything about my children because I don’t say anything about them. But when Mother asked me to secret her memory losses from you, I didn’t feel right about it. Not because the landlord of my initial Earthly home has become a bigoted old gas bag and I want to make fun of her in all ways possible, but rather from, again, the full disclosure perspectives.

How can I fully-disclose my life without fully disclosing it? How can I address my life with my mother and withhold her dementia?

It’s like the fucking Republican lawmakers back East to Washington in the D.C. Yesterday, the Congressional Budget Office—those stalwart non-partisan bookkeepers for the US Congress—announced that the Affordable Health Care Act, aka Obamacare, would actually SAVE about $84 billion. That’s right, folks, a bunch of accountants with no political ties or agenda have said that not only will all Americans be afforded top notch health care, that in the act of providing that care we will also save $Billions in debt!

Affordable health care for all Americans saves all Americans money. Me, I say, “Yippy-Skippy and a Hip-Hip-Hooray!!!”

The Republicans, however, responded with their typical fuzzy mathematics to make a misguided and decidedly stupid point. Ignoring facts and hiding realities, they continue to snark about this Bill. “It’ll cost $Trillions,” said Speaker of the House Johnny “Does My Skin Match My Cleveland Browns Cap Yet” Boehner.

How can these assholes sell that load of non-disclosed bullshit? Who, inthefuck, is buying it? And they say they are Christians, for shitsakes. Christians? Really?

They can’t even help their neighbors with health care and save the entire country billions of dollars because they hate our first black President so thoroughly. And don’t you even start to tell me that Obama’s skin color doesn’t matter to the likes of Cantor and Romney and Limbaugh and Beck. Do not even start!

I thought the fucking Dark Ages were over. I thought the days of persecuting people for their thoughts or who they are was history. Patricia, from over to Polygon Blog has asked if maybe we should bring back the Stocks. You remember the Stocks, right? It’s that dealie where an offending person would be seated with arms and legs sticking through holes in a wooden platform and made to sit for days.

Oh, and Patricia, darling, why can’t I comment using my name and URL? I don’t have any of that other shit to use as ID for a comment. I spent thirty minutes this am writing a thoughtful and clever response to your “Stocks” posting and then discovered that I can’t comment thereto.

Thereon, maybe? Wait, might it would be therewith? Am I dangling shit again? Whateverthefuck, I was really bothered, from the intrinsic perspectives, by hiding Mother’s fast creeping dementia. I was forced to not tell you when she was acting like a true Christian woman because the only times she acts it are those times when she forgets that she became a right-wing bigoted asshole.

And that is the foundation for what I want to say today. Why is it that when my mother forgets things, she forgets to be a bigot? Why is she forgetting to hate people just because they are gay or Muslim or liberal? Why is she forgetting that she thinks that abortion is a choice to be made by politicians? Does that mean that her bigotry was learned or taught and not truly her thoughts?

I have always wondered at Mother’s views on abortion. See, my mother didn’t want a third child when the third seed sprouted in her womb. I guess that Sister and me were burden enough. So she starved herself until she miscarried, what we might call a do-it-yourself abortion.

I could never understand how she can now oppose a safe medical procedure when she spent sixty days starving a fetus she had already carried almost three months. If abortions had been legal when she got preggers that third time would she have had a medical procedure instead?

The Squirt and I took her to her brain doctor yesterday afternoon for a checkup on her short term memory. It wasn’t good. Twice she asked me where we were going in the car on the way, and she likewise had to ask me twice if I minded taking her. Her doctor told us that she thinks Mother’s dementia is fast-paced and was inherited from her mother, my grandmother who was murdered. I told the doc that Grandma was sharp as a tack at a ripe old age and she told me it didn’t matter. “Your mother’s dementia looks genetic in nature. A family sort of thing.”

“Huh?” I asked. “You’re saying this is an inherited malady?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Johnson, and it likely doesn’t skip any generations.”

Fuck me running.

I need a Carta Blanca beer. Manana, y’all.

 

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10 Responses to “The Bright Side Of Dementia; A New Cure For Bigotry”

  1. squatlo says:

    As wonderful as a cure for bigotry might be, I don’t believe the side-effects of dementia would be worth the price of the cure. Kind of like the cure for voter fraud? Where you keep everyone from voting? Not fond of that “cure” either…

    Sorry to hear the dementia thing might possibly be in your own personal future, Mooner. I guess we all inherit things from our folks we’d rather not have… like a propensity for alcoholism or a tendency to fart at inappropriate quiet somber moments.

    On the brighter side, there’s a good chance your mom will actually have some lucid moments of clarity in which she behaves humanely toward those she’s managed to alienate over the years. Those might be redeeming moments.

    (and don’t expect any GOPers to believe your non-partisan, unbiased, purely mathematical numbers, either… when you live and breathe in a fact-free environment devoid of reality you aren’t phased by numbers you hear from the “lamestream media”)

  2. Parttime Texan, Mooner Johnson says:

    Squat. Yea, I guess parasites lack the ability to empathize with their hosts. I just had the image of Mitt Romney as a fat wood tick with a trickle of worker blood on his beak.

    Ick. And Ugh.

  3. squatlo says:

    Thanks for the visual… I think.

  4. squatlo says:

    Okay, this is for the lurkers… folks who come by this blobber every damn day hoping Mooner has something worthwhile, odd, or Moonerific to tell us about:

    Where the fuck are ya?

    This is the second of two VERY (!) confessional posts, probably WAY harder to write than any of us could imagine, and none of you has bothered to comment on the subject matter if you even bothered to read the posts.

    Ten demerits.

    There. Down from the soap box. Do continue your surfing, and disregard the hectoring noises you just heard.

    Slackers.

  5. squatlo says:

    Hey, Don… maybe no one bothers to respond to your blog unless you include gay animals having interspecies sex in your closet? I’d bring Mr. Dave back to the scene, pronto.

  6. squatlo says:

    cricket… cricket… cricket…

  7. Parttime Texan, Mooner Johnson says:

    Squat. Your empathy is more comforting than the Superman footie pj’s I had as a kid. Mother’s mother made them for me. She started with a store-bought Superman sleep set and she sewed a pair of my favorite hero’s boots from canvas and leather and stitched them to the hems of the pants.

    While the outfit didn’t help me fly off the barn roof any better than that time I had tried it while nekid, I always felt safe in its warm embrace.

    Having said that, I didn’t post about this to gain sympathies, rather, I needed to clear my own head of non-disclosed facts. I can now speak of Mother with a balanced dialog, one not canted all the way to the right.

    And thank you for being my friend. Now I’m fucking leaking tears like a teenage girl whose boyfriend just dropped her. Ugh.

  8. mel says:

    Holy hell….I have issues with commenting because life gets in the way for A COUPLE OF DAYS (ok maybe longer than that…) and this bomb gets dropped?? That just sucks. Big. My great grandmother had Alzheimer’s disease, and I remember how hard it was for my grandfather to visit her toward the end – he never knew what she would remember. She always thought he was his father who died very young. It is a sad and scary situation – especially when the doctor tells you about the whole genetic aspect of the whole mess.

    Also, as you have been dealing with this for quite some time its not like you are just now digesting all of this information. It has to feel pretty amazing to get it out there. So I am glad for you in that respect. I’m glad too because she was really starting to sound like a mega bitch that I couldn’t understand why you tolerated…despite the fact that she’s your mom!

    You know where to find me if you need to vent and don’t want to publicly let everyone know you are having a moment…

  9. squatlo says:

    Mooner, your Superman cape story reminds me of Guy Clark’s song “The Cape”. Youtube it… funny as hell.

  10. admin says:

    Mel. Thanks. One of my buddy’s mom has the Alzies and she thinks he’s the first guy she had sex with. Apparently it started with a hand job in the back of a “30 Packard, and his mother reaches her hand into his pants routinely. Just in case, I’m going to convince Mother that she’s a lifelong lesbian.

    Squat. I’ll check it out.

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