We Will Return to Old Nonsense in a Moment, But First This Public Service Announcement.

Nah, it's no public service, just me shooting my mouth off again. Been a while since I've written anything political. The mood struck every so often when Bush was President, not so much during Obama's years. I don't know that I've posted anything at all about Trump here because I only inflict those rantings on my Facebook friends (who number in the low dozens, and whose indifference is undoubtedly tinged with chagrin at finding themselves in such spurious company). Maybe I should confine my lefty leanings to that forum, and only post about politics here if I'm referring to, say, the 1980 election.

That's when my Saint Pius X social studies classmates had to choose whichever candidate they wanted to follow, thus dividing this group of about 30 sixth grade Catholic kiddies into camps of the two major parties. Except me, of course, who had to be different and so chose John B. Anderson, who was running as an independent. I didn't know the first thing about him, I just knew I didn't really give a shit about the whole shebang. I don't even remember if anyone else chose him. I do vaguely recall working with a group, because I didn't dig that scene at all, like couldn't even imagine who would enjoy such a thing. Some kids got all worked up over supporting their guy, and would trash-talk his opponents (and his pre-teen followers). It struck me that the kids who got the most agitated seemed to know the least about the issues at hand. The more things change...

(So says the guy sealed in his Nerd Room on his day off. Hey, is that why they call it "hermetically sealed?" Okay, I just looked it up: Kinda, but no, but sorta. Man, that Wikipedia is a real know-it-all! Turn it off, brainiac, yer making my head hurt!)

Fuck it, since shit's been on my mind, and since I hope to follow this post with nostalgical nincompoopery in short order, I'm gonna go ahead and put some opinion up in this mother.


I always hear about these politicians who are in the pocket of the NRA, so I’ve been wondering if the NRA would be willing to buy my complacency too. Granted, the protestations I've made have been minimal--giving money to anti-gun causes and signing petitions, haven’t ever written my representatives or marched or any of that. But can they put an appropriate price on my willingness to accept the ever-present potential for mass shootings? Because I hate to say it, but giving up often feels like the way to go. Rather than attempt to thwart the gun fetishists and anti-government paranoiacs, bearing whatever cost that would bring, it might be easier to live my life knowing that any excursion beyond my home’s perimeter might be my last. The odds of taking a bullet are relatively low, right? The people I love will simply have to feel like they're in danger every time they shop, or worship, or attend an outdoor event (or an indoor one), or watch a little league game, or go to work, or visit a restaurant, bar, or nightclub. What will the NRA pay us to have that in the back of our minds for the rest of our lives? Anything at all?

Or maybe someone will have the guts to admit that ordinary citizens shouldn’t have a gun powerful enough to decimate a roomful of people in seconds, much less an entire arsenal of them. After it happened to a roomful of five-year-olds, it briefly seemed like a pretty safe bet that action would be taken. Instead, the two major takeaways from that baby massacre were A) the gun used became more popular than ever, and B) wackjobs came out of the woodwork to insist (whether they actually believed it or were just trying to create chaos) that those children never existed in the first place. Once you ponder that, maybe we’re the wackjobs for believing America could ever go back to our old normal.

So what is that old life worth, a life lived with a little less fear now irredeemably replaced by one with less innocence and safety and trust? Is everyone’s right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness lesser than the right of a few to possess enough firepower to effortlessly murder everyone within a half-mile radius?

This may be new, but it’s not normal. And at the very least I expect to be compensated. The NRA should consider my wearied soul a bargain compared to the ones they’ve helped to erase.



(Okay, one more FB post, preacherman!)


Quick lesson that seems to have been forgotten: America is kinda based on the idea that people from all over the world can come here for a better life. Some of us think that's the goal and not just a general idea. I'm sorry if that concept only suits you when you're at the top of the food chain (or believe yourself to be), but if you think they should go back, maybe it's you who's in the wrong place.
Refresher course:




Okay, that's it! I'm putting away the crate of Camay! But I'll leave you with this zinger: Given all he’s had to apologize for lately, it might be time for us to say to Biden what Ponce de Leon said to the Indians: I’m taking away the keys!

Um, Native Americans. Sorry.

I guess I should stick to the vintage stuff, so here's a fun little diagram from the New York Post, March 31st, 1981. Reagan was shot, stocks "plunged" less than nine points, market was shut down early. (Sounds like chicanery to me.) John Woodruff, you're a sick fuck indeed. Well done.