Bedtime for benign………..

Ever notice how good pot smells and tastes a little salty?

Kinda like licorice.

Peppery even.

So my difficulty is existential. As in why. What are we doing here?

I fed the cats.

Salt and pepper.

Sometimes I understand while I’m driving through nice neighborhoods.  Sometimes I have a nice lunch and read a book by myself.

99% is too high.  I’m comfortable with say, 89% +.  Anything over that is golden.

I think I smell my own feet.

I was borne 47 years ago last week.  I’ve been sending myself mixed messages ever since.  We all do.  I seem to have lost my romance with romance.  Everything has lost its sheen.  Drugs and porn are boring.  I still like food a lot.  I get sick now and then because the children are carriers.  I actually vomited and crapped uncontrollably and had the chills and sweats a few weeks ago.  I still like good wine.  This week I have a cold.  It’s moving towards my ears.  They are carriers.  I have fun helping with homework.  Their entire existence explodes wherever they go but they are very charming.  I read the fridge.  Tiny tempests that take over my life and living room between two and five days a week.  Surreality.

They are insane.  They have interesting problems.  I’ve been around.  I’ve seen crazy.  I realize they’re children.  What they know and what they don’t know is confounding.  Almost completely irrational.  What nobody understands is that it’s group therapy for me.  I try to talk to them.

47 just the other day.

I hear Santorum gushed the other day, last week.  Whatever.  The only reason for a GOP campaign season at all this year that I can see, is to expose the humor along with epicenters of idiocy.  Who won in South Carolina?  It was some form of mendacious reptilocryte. A heavily favored used car salesman with the last name of ‘Smiley’ in magic underwear claimed Florida.  Santorum, frothing, won caucuses in Colorado and Minnesota and a primary in Missouri.  Add to that a new survey by the Pew Research Center for the People & the Press  showing Mittens and Frothy in a statistical neck and neck: “Rick Santorum’s support among Tea Party Republicans and white evangelicals is surging,”.  Very exciting.  And just now, Mittens prevailing with little starch in Maine, barely winning a pissing contest with crazy old uncle Paul.  Conservatives are shitting their pants.

Everybody relax.  Guy Smiley will be the nominee and have his Mormon ass handed to him by the Socialist Kenyan.  Hope and change.  Newsflash, it’s not all about the presidency.

Liberals know what states not to have breakfast in.  We like to stick to the coasts.  There’s lunatics everywhere but most of them are down and to the right.  Ideologically and geographically.  Down and to the right.  I believe Nixon and Lee Atwater called it the “Southern Strategy”.  Now we call it a “Culture War”.  Down and to the right.

The right wing retards will howl at the moon, militias will muster, bluster and plot.  Pro Life roundheads and neo Christian hypocrites will lick and suck at the rubbernecking media serving a lowest common denominator demographic and a few of us will stare in horror and disbelief.  The gorgeous irony is a Grand Old Party that has forgotten everything but how to march.  They still march fiercely, no longer all in the same direction, however.  The coming conflagration will singe everything.  America probably needs more than two parties.  But the failure of our two party system is evidenced by the slapstick implosion of the Republican field.  Sarah Palin still able to light ’em up at CPAC.  That woman is a fucking idiot.  Democrats with hands over dicks, trying to remember to go to church more often and avoid pissing off any more bankers.

It’s not like the only thing the entire maniacal circus of factions has in common is some weird Icarus complex with all the reckless hubris.


It’s all so copiously and conveniently Wrestlemania and Jerry Springer for your entertainment.  We are a bunch of douchebags.  The election will be televised, any revolution will be excised, and until then we will be obsessed with all that does not matter. No one will lack for an enemy.

I get why they keep going on.  They know it’s been decided.  The deal is in place.  So it shall be written.  So it shall be done.  Meet the old boss, same as the new boss.

The only thing that shocks me is how obvious it all is.  Follow the money.  You won’t need a calculator.

Drinks for my friends.




6 Responses to “Bedtime for benign………..”

  • I thought old age was 60? 46 SUCKS! Docs taking away all my caffeine sources, assigning me a regimen of pills; pass me that licorice tasting bud again, spark it up.

    Why are we even having the election? I am not sending anyone cash, can’t relate to any of them; candidates or incumbents. It is a given, 4 more years of the same stuff.

    I told you Michelle Bachmann would fade, her and Sarah are irrelevent. Throw in the off angle Sharron and that is bad horror flick. Admit it, every time you see Sharron, your hear Ozzy yelling “Shaaarrrrroonnnnnnnn!”

    The best opponent for the President is anyone from the GOP; we are down to 4 douchebags. It would be fun to Ron Paul get the nomination, at least there would be some form of entertainment. Landslide, here it comes.

    I see where Newt had plans for his wife on V-day, fucking yuck. Literally.

    Mike – raising a glass of wine to you.

    Shit, where did you learn all this language? You weren’t that good in HS….

    Maybe your “licorice” was better than mine….


    • Michael Douglass:

      Yep, getting old blows; I’d sooner drink from a bedpan. And the green definitely has medicinal properties.

      And when did the women of the GOP women become more batshit crazy than the patriarchs who rule them with the proverbial iron fist?

      The problem with Ron Paul is that when he makes sense he really makes sense, unfortunately at least half of the time he’s so egregiously full of shit that it borders on abject lunacy. His son certainly is a chip off the old crock.

      In terms of my language, I’ll take that as a compliment and thank you sincerely. My only explanation is I’ve read an awful lot since then.

      I raise my glass to you too, my old friend.

  • Mike,
    It is great to see you writing again! Nice piece! 🙂
    We think a lot alike….
    What a long strange trip it’s been!

    Cheers ,


  • My vote is for the kids. See what they have to say about the whole crapfest, just think of something else to call it.
    I’ll bet they have some good ideas about what to do, like eat Cap’n Crunch and don’t worry about it.
    The world’s always been going to hell in a handbasket, and it will continue to do so forever.
    You just need to wash your hands a lot if they’re bringing home the bacterial bacon. I guess they shake hands at school these days, probably down by the old Purel Corral.
    Enjoyed your prose, and late Happy Gnarl Day!
    Belts for all my pants!
    -Carl Lewis

    • Michael Douglass:

      Belts for your pants!

      Ah the old Purel Corral, as former OCD hand washer, it never satiated.

      Yep, shit has always been about to hit the fan, it’s just that I fear (and NORAD will back me up here) the fecal meteor is gaining both volume and velocity as it hurtles towards the oscillating rotary appliance.

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