Archive for September, 2014

‘Tis The Season To Ponder; Poker For Dummies

Friday, September 26th, 2014

So. As I’ve been playing poker like a dumbass and losing my hard-earned dollars at the table with great alacrity, I have banished myself from the casinos for three days to give me time to reflect upon just whatinthefuck has happened to my game. I’m spending the daylight hours of these three days in intense psycho therapies and self-reflections aimed at a recapturing my lost poker skills. The three nights are investments in drug and alcohol-fueled reflective bliss, the aimless targets of which I cannot vocalize, other than to say, “That’s simply how we roll, baby!”
What I want to tell you today has to do with last evening’s boozy revelations, but I can’t tell that story without background. As “Full Disclosure” is my middle name, please allow me to elucidate.
OK, for starters, Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson is writing a new book and she has asked me to assist her with reviewing her words before she sends them off to her editor. She thinks she has me fooled with the Guinea pig wool over my eyes, but I know for a fact that she is using me as her test subject for the premises of her silly fucking book. Having been the test pigeon for many of her prior experiments, I can tell when I’m being had.
Getting had? Do you get had or be had? I know you get head, but then, again, you let it be.
Whateverthefuck, I have been the subject for previous of the mad Doctor’s trials and having said that, I’m now guessing that the subject word is “be”. If I’ve been the subject, then, and therefore, I was “be” in it as the original tense. Now I’m tense and starting to grind my teeth.
ADHD kills!
This newest tome from my darling first-of-ten ex-wives is all about a person overcoming the anxieties and self-defeating thoughts we older farts have in the second half of life. Somehow she has found a way to distinguish between the anxieties we personages suffer from birth to fifty years of age and those we suffer thereafter. The good Doctor’s distinguishments perplex me.
“How the Hell do you draw the line at fifty?” I asked her when I first read and proofed her introduction. “I’ve worried about ‘is my pecker big enough’ since the first grade and on a continuing basis ever since. Did I ever tell you about when Streaker Jones and I went to the YMCA to try out for the basketball team and met all the boys from Carver Elementary in the shower?”
Texas schools were quite segregated when we were kids and my first exposure to segregated peckers was an eye-opener. “I’m just glad I was a late bloomer, Sammie girl, otherwise I’d be all fucked up over my pecker.”
She laughed into the Skype machine. We Skyper my therapies when in differing cities, and this morning we were at differences. “When you are reflecting later this afternoon, Mooner, I want you to think about your pecker and self-inspect back on your ten marriages—see if you can find any correlations between the eleven.”
“Bitch,” I called her. She really can be a bitch.
“Bitch all you want, Mooner, but you need to realize that your poor poker playing is all about your late-life anxieties.”
See, I told you guys she can be a bitch. Always turning my shit back into my face. Anyway, last night the dogs and I were laying on the couch flipping through the eight-thousand channels on the TV when a commercial for one of the armed forces came on. As we were a few beers, two joints and three mushroom buttons into our evening’s reflections, I can’t tell you which branch of our military service was touting its goods. What I can tell you is the message.
“We’re defending Democracy throughout the world.” That’s the tagline, the message conveyed. They said, “Defending Democracy,” several times throughout the thirty-seconds of advertisement and I felt myself flinch each time. My flinching disturbed the goat dog, as he was perched upon my chest, and disturbing him unsettled the Squirt as she nestled between my legs at the crotch. Yoda jumped and bolted to the floor and stepped on Squirt in the process.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Mooner. You know he’s a jumpy little shit. We’re here to relax and reflect, shithead, so be still.” This was said to me through the hooded eyelid countenance of the fluffy, brown puppy perched in my lap.
“Don’t look at me that way, little lady. Makes me queasy,” I told her. “Besides, listening to that commercial makes me wonder just what fucking Democracy those people are defending.”
The squirt looked at me like I’d lost my mind—hooded eyes narrowing to slits. “I said don’t look at me that way. What I’m trying to say is that this ain’t my daddy’s Democracy, Squirtie girl. In fact, I don’t even know what a Democracy is anymore.”
That led her to tell me to get out the dictionary, and I did, and the only one I could find was the Student addition I had back to college—the one before I invested in the big fifty-pounder Unabridged model. I love that big dictionary. It has every word said by man until 1968. I was relieved to read that my memory was spot on. I was saddened to see how far from Democracy’s truth my country ‘tis be. ‘Tis are? ‘Tis is, maybe, and let’s stop the presses right now.
What, inthefuck, does that song mean? “My country, ‘tis of thee.” Really? Tis means “it is”, right? So my country, it is of thee? Thee is you, so my country is of you. Really, you are my country? Who the fuck do you think you are?
Maybe I’m still a touch stoned from last night. I found the student dictionary and Webster’s Student Dictionary defines “Democracy” as:

“Main Entry: de•moc•ra•cy
Pronunciation: di- mäk-r -s
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural -cies
Etymology: from early French democratie “democracy,” from Latin democratia (same meaning), from Greek demokratia “democracy,” from d mos “people, the masses” and -kratia “rule, government,” from kratos “strength, power, authority” –related to EPIDEMIC
1 a : government by the people; especially : rule of the majority b : government in which the supreme power is held by the people and used by them directly or indirectly through representation
2 : a political unit (as a nation) that has a democratic government
3 : belief in or practice of the idea that all people are socially equal
Upon reading the full definition to the Squirt, she said to me, she says, “We’re screwed, Mooner. Democracy isn’t what it used to be, is it?”
We are screwed, aren’t we? Like our early years’ anxieties differ from our worries of the second half of life, Democracy barely resembles its veryownself here to modern America. Our Supreme Court has re-determined what “We the People” means, and that new definition is mean, inhumane.
Ugh. I need more beer and drugs. So, please, once and for me…
Fuck Walmart!

Wake Up White People; Four Score And How Many More?

Thursday, September 11th, 2014

So. It hit me as we sat watching Masters of Sex on the TV last night. Actually, several things hit me as images of sexual experimentation washed across the screen followed by a scene wherein Dr. Master’s wife witnesses a truckload of white assholes pitch a beaten black man from the back of a 1956 Chevy pickup. What hit me first was that it’s been awhile since there’s been any two-party sexing in this neighborhood—this hit happening with the sex stuff visuals on the TV show—and the second was how proud of myself I was to have both recorded and replayed a video using my new Comcast internet cable system.
I’d switched from Dish when the inclement weather, and a super special price dealio from Comcast, made Dish an untenable choice. Not that my new “bundled” price for phone, Internet and cable TV is an actual bargain. Anytime your entertainment budget equals the lease payment for a Mercedes sedan you, dear friend, have been shit upon by big business.
As a technological dumass, I took great pleasure when I announced to the dogs, I told them with great pride, “See there, guys. I am smart enough to both record and play.”
“Only smart thing you did, shithead, was to spend seven hours on five calls to Comcast for instructions. The three days of watching you fiddle with that remote before calling Comcast for help was painful to watch.”
The tiny brown bundle of brown fur and prissy attitude I call “Squirt” had actually nailed the nail on the head. OK, she hit the nail’s head. Maybe it would be better said to say she “nailed it”.
“You are right on the money, little lady,” I replied. “I was smart enough to get assistance before smashing $500-worth of last month’s technology with the sledge hammer.”
I have a quite nifty sledge hammer—a Kobalt brand twelve-pounder—my weapon of choice for sitting by the front door. Seventh Day Adventists tend to shy from the door of a giant-headed crazy man holding a full-on sledge hammer in one hand, a cold beer in the other, and a fat, smoldering joint hanging from his lip. Add to that a pair of yappy Chihuahua mixed breed puppies bearing sharp fangs and vicious snarls and you got yourself quite the unwelcoming party.
Last pair of churchy visitors knocked my old gate off its hinges upon their spiritual departure from the heavenly courtyard here to La Casita Johnson de Santa Fe. I put down the hammer and the joint and grabbed a fresh Carta Blanca, and the dogs and I went to sit on the curb by the mailbox. These days a man can legally sit on the curb in front of his house with a smoldering dube as the Santa Fe City Council has made it OK to do so.
“Evening, Officer Lopez. How’s it hanging, baby?”
Officer Lupe Lopez is one of Santa Fe’s finest and the afternoon dick on patrol in my neighborhood. Lucky for both of us she’s already married. I’m unsure how my lifestyle and that of a police person would work in cohabitation.
“Must you answer the door just to torment them, Mr. Johnson, can’t you just wait them out in a backroom and not scare them to death? You know they are true believers and just doing what it is they think God has asked. My Sargent is asking me to run you in next time. Wants to see if he can get you to behave.” Officer Lopez has a softened steel in her voice as she lectures. Not once has she gritted her teeth while asking me to behave.
Seen many law enforcement officials grind their teeth to dust in my presence.
“I’ve not been behind bars for a couple years, my little whole wheat muffin. But tell your boss I’ve been jailed for any number of different things, including murder, and just look at me—free as a fucking bird. Wanna toke?”
The last thing that hit me struck when we saw the black-man-from-the-tailgate lying on the pavement in the TV show. “Goddamn but white people are mean, bwana Mooner!” the Squirt scolded the TV.
OK, and it hit the Squirt first, and I answered, “White people have got a fucking mean streak in um, Squirtie girl, and just like the old hymn, it runs deep and wide. And the Christian religion seems to make it worse.”
We discussed how Christian white people have done terribly inhumane things to other humans over the course of the history of Christendom and how here to the good old US of A we continue those shit-headed ways to this day. We had four centuries of slavery here to America and now, more than a hundred-fifty years after slavery’s end, we’ve got millions of white assholes still wishing to appeal the Emancipation Proclamation. And now we even have a racist majority in our Supreme Court perpetuating the white elitist agenda of wealthy white assholes who are literally spending $billions to push it.
From my perspective, I am starting to envision a not too distant future wherein people of color will join with the rest of our poor and middle class Americans and take our Democracy back from the oligarchs. Take it back the hard way. Not pushing for it, my precious NSA observers, just watching the coffee grounds.
But really, what inthefuck is it about we white persons that makes us so damned mean? Is it the lack of melanin? Does melanin soothe the soul as well as add pigment to our skin and enlarge our peckers? Can it be that the tendencies for Lilly white skin to sunburn likewise burn deep scars into an old white farts’ civility? Is it because for centuries we’ve had asshole preachers telling us we’re “The Chosen”? Seriously, what the fuck makes us act like giant flaming assholes?
Makes me want to get an all-over tan and change my name to Lopez and take melanin injections. Can’t have too big a pecker. Which reminds me. I have agreed to ride on Senator Udall’s parade float in the Fiesta Parade this afternoon. Udall is a fine man and we same page it 95% of the time. But, after committing to ride the float with other supporters, I discovered what this fiesta is all about.
Speaking of white Christian folks behaving badly, this particular party is in celebration of the fucking Spaniards recapturing this chunk of the New World back from the Native Americans who had lived here for centuries before Columbus figured that the Earth might have rounded corners. The native peoples had chased the original Spanish invaders back to Mexico in much the same brutal fashion the Conquistadors had taken the land. The recapture was an even terrible-more bloodletting of the indigenous residents.
Goddamn shithead Spanish goat fucking Catholic asswad white men. Same sorts of scenarios have been repeated worldwide as white fuckballs from Europe spread their diseases and greed globally in the name of their beloved Christ.
Happening here to America all over again and not even for the first time here. Like I said, what is it with we white folks?
Wake up white people before it’s too late. Fuck Walmart and mellow the hell out. We are not God’s chosen. Trust me, She told me so Herself.