The Party Of Lincoln; Critical Thought For Dummies

So. Today is a new day in my life. Today shall, and will, be a full day filled with personal reflections, familial considerations and in the end- decisions. The fulfilling of the filled fulls of this day are the culmination of a years-long mental pilgrimage from full enjoyment of the isolation afforded by refuge here to La Casita Johnson de Santa Fe—the walled compound within which the dogs and I can enjoy that special sort of nekid peace and reflective solitudes–and ending the journey feeling isolated by those same separations, having allowed said full enjoyments to be cycled, and recycled, through the fevered mind of an ADD-addled fuckbrain.
And, while these writings, so far, seem reflective of Old Abe’s Gettysburg addressings, it only seems seven and scores of years in reflection. Reflections. It would be plural and I’m guessing Old Abe popped into my head because we were over to the hardware store the other day and this nice lady was attempting to assist us with a paint purchase. “Does the color sky blue ice or blueberry shake better match?” I asked her.
I held a swatch of leftover fabric from the spare bedroom curtains to the color charts. The dogs spend much of their quiet time when I’m out of residence nesting on the bed and staring out the bedroom’s window. Because of their connection to the room, I try to defer to their wishes when decorating.
“Squirt here, she likes blueberry shake—says it picks up the color from the feathers in this guy’s tail,” I told the nice lady while pointing at a Blue Jay’s fat ass on the swatch. “Me, I’m thinking we should go with the Oriole blue rather than the Blue Jay, don’t you? I think the Oriole is one of the prettiest of all birds, don’t you? And Blue Jays are a menace, don’t you think?”
I took this sales training course years ago and was taught that it is smart to end questions or declaratory statements with what they called a “tie down”. Tie downs would be words that obtain tacit agreement from even an unwilling prospect, like “don’t you”, or “wouldn’t you agree”. Or “You’ll go to jail if you don’t”. Those sorts of dealios.
“Look, sir, we’ve been through this before, or don’t you remember?” The attractive woman advised, “Trust your dog’s judgement. Her taste seems far better than yours. Honest Abe.”
I was struck with both a flashback and likewise with wonderment if “don’t you remember” and “Honest Abe” were tie downs used therein.
“Honest Abe? Really, Honest Abe?” I said to her. “I haven’t heard that phrase since junior high school when Gloria Ledbetter used it on me when I had trouble taking “No” for an answer. Me, I thought we’d make a great pairing for the Spring Prom. Gloria- not so much.”
“No, no, no,” Gloria had told me, and I now told the paint lady.
“Honest, Gloria? You’re tall for a girl and I’m thinking you’re ready for some slow dancing.”
“Look, Mooner. I asked my mom and she told me you’re a bucket of trouble. Remember when you set the girl’s locker room on fire?”
“I did,” I reminisced to the impatient hardware store lady, “and I told Gloria it was an unfortunate accident. Wrong-place, wrong-time to be playing with cherry bombs. Was it my fault the trashcan spontaneously combusted?”
Gloria told me, “My mother said she’d put me in a nunnery before she’ll let me date Mooner Johnson. Honest Abe, that’s what she said.”
“But you’re Baptist, Gloria, we Baptists don’t have nunneries. And wasn’t Lincoln the guy who freed the slaves and saved our Union so that you and I can slow dance?”
The nice, attractive, foot tapping paint helper lady called for, “Assistance in Paint Department,” then asked me, she said, “Look, sir. We don’t want to ban you from the store, so why don’t you go now and come back for your paint at Noon.”
The three of us moved here not to get to, but, instead, to escape from. While New Mexico is The Land of Enchantments, for the dogs and this knuckleheaded loony, our adopted state offered us refuge from the harsh politics of Ted Cruz, Texas Governors Perry and Abbott and their ilk. Said another way, we didn’t move here because Santa Fe is so great, instead we came here to feel less oppressed by the political climate in Texas. Not that we don’t like it because we do.
OK, and I really needed to put a little space between mother and son.
In the four years since the move, we have realized that we are no different from the millions of refugees who have been either forced from their homes at gunpoint—like Palestinians from the West Bank—or those fleeing from violent, oppressive forces such as the refugees in flight from Syria. While the circumstances of our exodus are far less oppressive than of those unwilling travelers, the pulling desire to return to our homeland is, I’m thinking, just as strong.
Which reminds me. What is it about giving something up that makes it all the more attractive, inviting, desirable? Never has a woman been more enticing to me than when she divorces my ass. Just the knowing I’ll not know her mysteries again pegs my pecker meter to full stop.
And that reminds me that I have one thing to say to anyone who claims that our Presidential election is a choice of lesser evils—Clinton or Trump, the lesser of two evils. You folks remind me of Paulie Kraspar, a kid whose father was KKK and jailed for raping a black girl back to when we were in junior high.
We were studying WWII and Hitler’s atrocities when Paulie stood tall and told us with some rancor, “Well, FDR, that asshole, he was just as bad as Hitler. They were both evil.”
When quizzed by our quite confounded teacher as to the logic of his comparison, young Mr. Kraspar responded, and here I’ll attempt to put the words back in his mouth when I quote him, he said, “My daddy says FD-fuckin’-R was a womanizin’ drunk who put innocent Germans and Japs in prison just ta keep ‘em from talkin’.”
For some reason our Media have decided to pit twenty-four years of unproven allegations against Hilary against the known, proven lies and bankruptcies and failed ventures, racism, bigotry and treasonous behavior of Trump. False equivalences at their worst.
So, to you “lesser evil” dumbasses, please allow me to say, and with considerable gusto, “Either pull your heads out your asses, or: Fuck you and Walmart too!”

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22 Responses to “The Party Of Lincoln; Critical Thought For Dummies”

  1. Squatlo says:

    “Tie downs”. I like that. See, knowing you means I can learn this shit without having to take classes, or go to some sales seminar, or watch tutorials on youtube. You’re an educator, Mooner.

    About the move from Tay-Hass and the nutbaggery therein, I think the Land of Enchantment sounds way more inviting than the Land of the Lunatic Fringe. But that’s just me. See if you can find the movie “Off the Map” and give it a whirl in the ol’ DVD player. Sam Eliot, Joan Allen, PK Simmons. Great movie, and New Mexico comes off as heaven on Earth, with more mysterious effects on the newly settled than a sack full of your Gram’s magic shrooms.

    And about the Bernie/Hillary/Trump thing, watch this vid by the Liberal Redneck when you have three minutes:

  2. bj says:

    So glad to hear your furry little bundles are well and still giving you the guidance you need to get by. I wish I had some proper direction over my way.
    I tried selling Kirby vacuum cleaners for two months back in 1974 when I first got out of the Army. I still remember the Rah-Rah meetings we’d have before we left to go out knocking doors. The owner of the Kirby franchise in the ‘Boro was Ralph Smith. A little bitty guy who looked sorta like George Burns and always had a big Romeo Y Julieta Churchill cigar in his hand or mouth. He took me with him on several demos and THAT sumbitch was a Master of The Tie Down. Unlike the rest of us door-knockers Ralph’s demos were all referenced from friends and previous sales or direct calls to the store asking for a demo. He was a pretty rich guy and always wore a great looking suit. HE was a salesman. Me, not so much. In fact not at all. As good as Kirby’s were, I never sold a single damn machine. But boy those meetings were something ELSE!

    I think Trumps hummingbird ass has just been overloaded by his alligator mouth and his comments directed at the Gold Star parents of Captain Humayun Khan. The old man, Khizr, is a grateful and humble man who is extremely articulate in his denouncement of Trump(who received no less than FOUR fucking deferments to get out of serving his country. The welshing bastard.) and Republican leaders who refuse to repudiate(NOT the Palinism -‘Refudiate. sheesh) him for his comments. Trumps question about Mr. Khan’s wife, Ghazala; meant to disparage and ridicule her and Muslims in general is way out of line and may very well be his undoing. At least with critical thinking Americans who vote Republican or Independent. It Should, anyway. Trump’s like a rubber biscuit when publicly criticized. He just can’t STFU. He HAS to counter attack and as Ms. Clinton astutely observed “A man you can bait with a tweet is not a man we can trust with nuclear weapons.” Fuck That Motherfucker. With a prickly pear.

    “Off The Map”? Isn’t that the flicker show that Sam Eliot doesn’t say a word for the first hour, but cries, whines, and snivels with a snot bubble like a little bitch? Oh YEAH, Mooner … you’ll like that one!

    ps I’ve taken the straight and narrow, fellas. I haven’t smoked/vaped/PARtaken since June 15th. I’ve not even had a beer since the Fourth Of july. I have been dee-LIVVERED from demon drugs and alcohol and plan to continue until at LEAST this time next year. It may take that long to clear the cobs and their fucking webs from my brained damage.
    and oh yeah …. I’m back.

  3. I don’t particularly care for Democrats, especially on the national level. Locally, I’ll vote for candidates from all four parties on the ballot, but vote Green Party where I can.

    However, my problems with Secretary Clinton – while substantial – are a bit like arguing over the arrangement of furniture while the house is burning down.

  4. Squatlo says:

    If Beej didn’t like “Off the Map” because Sam Eliot was going through a mid-life emotional meltdown, maybe it’s because he needs to vape or toke or have a goddam beer.

    And Fuck Donald Trump. And Kirby Fucking Vacuum Cleaners. With a prickly pear.

  5. Mooner's Cascading Rivulets says:

    Beej and Squattie. The three of us are becoming grumpy old men while Nazzy attempts to talk sense and make sense. However. To suggest fucking shit and stuff with a prickly pear is sage advice at any age.

  6. bj says:

    Squattie may have a valid point there. The next time I assemble three Quaaludes, four mepergans, six xanax bars, eight doses of Gram’s finest kind potion, and twelve packs of that synthetic marijuana that makes folks resemble the walking dead … I’ma choke ’em all down at once and watch that POS movie again. That might could just do it. and HEY! cue up ANY Sandra Bullock movie right behind that for a double feature so I can say I watched a whole one of those sorry motherfuckers. Meanwhile ….
    Fuck Sam Eliot. With a prickly pear. Right in the middle of his snot bubble. With FEELIN’ ….

  7. bj says:

    RE: Sandra Bullock
    Correction. I DID watch “The Vanishing” all the way through. So. There’s One in a fucking row.

  8. Squatlo says:

    BJ and I should do a Siskel and Ebert type show, with BJ giving every film a double middle finger up review.

    Understand, “Tree of Life” was highly recommended in one such review.

    That’s two hours I’ll never get back.

    (I thought it was Jennifer Anniston that made your skin crawl… now it’s Bullock?)

  9. bj says:

    “Tree of Life” WAS a great flick. It is probably more relatable to guys who’s father was a complete and total dickhead. Some folks had great Fathers; I’m told. Yeah … Anniston too. with a prickly pear …

  10. bj says:

    ps “Understand, “Tree of Life” was highly recommended in one such review.”
    So was “Daddy and Them” …

  11. bj says:

    | Roger Ebert
    June 2, 2011 |
    Print Page

    Terrence Malick’s “The Tree of Life” is a film of vast ambition and deep humility, attempting no less than to encompass all of existence and view it through the prism of a few infinitesimal lives. The only other film I’ve seen with this boldness of vision is Kubrick’s “2001: A Space Odyssey,” and it lacked Malick’s fierce evocation of human feeling. There were once several directors who yearned to make no less than a masterpiece, but now there are only a few. Malick has stayed true to that hope ever since his first feature in 1973.

  12. bj says:

    Roger Ebert
    March 10, 2005 |
    Print Page

    Somewhere in the back of nowhere, in an adobe house with no lights or running water, a family lives in what could be called freedom or could be called poverty. We’re not sure if they got there because they were 1960s hippies making a lifestyle experiment or were simply deposited there by indifference to conventional life. They grow vegetables and plunder the city dump and get $320 a month in veterans’ benefits, but they are not in need and are apparently content with their lot.
    Now there is a problem. “That was the summer of my father’s depression” the narrator tells us. “My Daddy walked around sobbing with tears in his eyes and a snot bubble on his philtrum the whole time.”

    okay that last line was mine, not the narrator’s, but she WOULDA said it if they’d let her!

  13. Squatlo says:

    I think Mooner should check out the movie and give us his review. Find “Off the Map”, Don.

  14. bj says:

    Yeah, Don, “Off The Map” … You’ll LOVE that POS.

  15. Squatlo says:

    Mooner’s got a more sensitive side than some of us. He cries when he gets emotional, too. There’s nothing wrong with that, and nothing wrong with a movie that deals with depression (while wrapping itself around the unbound joy of a precocious child living in a place where outside stimuli can be overwhelming).

    I think we should stop poisoning the well in advance and let Mooner watch the movie, then give us his opinion.

    Or he could rent “Tree of Life” and get an idea of what’s gotten some in our little circle so worked up. Different strokes…

  16. bj says:

    YOU’RE the motherfucker still plugging that piece of shit movie. “I think Mooner should check out the movie and give us his review. Find “Off the Map”, Don.”. Just can’t let it rest, can you? This isn’t an argument with your protruding brow Facefuck “friends”, motherfucker. I made a snide comment about the god damned MOVIE and YOU, Motherfucker, made a snide comment about ME! I made another snide comment, again about the fucking MOVIE, and YOU, MOTHERFUCKER, made another comment about ME. Understand one thing, Motherfucker you might be able to intimidate people online, and this IS the internet, but the asswhuppin’ your drunkass NEEDS is less than 30 minutes away from wherever you try to hide. In real life, Motherfucker. So if you want to talk ABOUT ME, Talk TO ME, Motherfucker! Fuck YOU(and that piece of shit movie) with a fresh Prickly pear.

  17. Squatlo says:

    Sigh… I don’t think any of this is warranted, but if I’ve offended you that much, I apologize.


  18. bj says:

    Your squeemy passive aggressive attacks may work online on women and on fucking cats but it will get you knocked the fuck OUT around grown ass men in real life. Fuck YOU, your limp dick backhanded apology and that god damned piece of shit movie. With a BLOOMING prickly pear!

  19. Mooner's Cascading Rivulets says:

    Gentlemen. Somewhere between reflections on Honest Abe and Kirby sales training we have ended as movie critics. Me, for my part, have always enjoyed film that few others even like. As an example, awhile back the kiddies at the poker table were talking about favie movies and each of theirs was from the last five years. When they finally asked me, my answered, “It’s Slaughterhouse Five followed closely by Catch-22,” was met with blank stares and gaped pie holes.

    I know I felt like Mother when her answer back to when I had just seen The Wild Bunch. Her answer was, “The Thin Man.”

    “Was that a Fred and Ginger flick?” I asked.

    Also, please keep an eye to these pages for the opportunity of a fucking lifetime, coming soon and only available to the readers hereof.

    Investment shares in Mooner’s Prickly Pear Ranch and Organic Salsa Farm will be made available soon.

    Running out of sticky stuff for all this fuckin’, and a man can never have enough good salsa.

  20. bj says:

    I’ll take a dozen (if modestly priced) shares in that stock, Sir, when made available to the public.
    Also, Sir, I’d like to sincerely apologize for having shat upon your forum in such a disgraceful manner. I’d also like to extend my most humble apologies for my UN-gentlemanly language which I used in a most UN-gentlemanly way. On occasion, however, it becomes NECESSARY that a gentleman to not BE gentle. I hope you will forgive my rude and crass behavior.
    Yours Until Prickly Pears Pick Themselves,

    THAT’S what an apology looks like in writing.

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