Fortune Cookie Blog: Oceans of Tears

What a crying shame it is, that there are never supply chain breakdowns;
no shortages when it comes down to the worldwide distribution of hatred;
the root of all evil; the relentless driving force behind bloody warfare, gun
violence, police brutality, terrorist attacks, insurrection, vile acts of torture,
enslavement, homophobia, fascism, racism, casteism, sexism and ageism.
Let’s make this New Year the moment we start drying our oceans of tears.

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Year End Riddle: Who Is He?

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He’s stoned high on himself; drunk on raw power
High on his high horse; holed up in high tower

He cedes high road to reign; his reins: ball and chain
Seeds storm clouds with filth, “green” eyes downpour rain

He stows stone beneath sternum; rocks between ears
Boasts high on hog’s life; toasts Fascist pig peers

Brutal Cops, Nazis, Klansmen, are best buds he treasures
Feeding off their vile vibe; he cops pervy pleasures

Depictions / descriptions; depressed regions; war-torn
All human suffering and death; are that sicko’s porn

Triple X starlets role play; become cheating cad’s crushes
Their bejeweled, plastic bods; afford him gold rushes

He shuns “raincoats” and masks, that fend off infections
In both daydreams and nightmares; he plots insurrections

His rallies roll out; all the known nasty “isms”
That fracture society; with too tough to fix schisms

He beds down, best bud bedlam; they cohabit and mate
They hate to make love; yet, love to make hate

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Sheep and Donkeys

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Seeing how, within my homeland (the rapidly shedding greatness U.S. of A.), a couple chunks of our populace have been adopting mannerisms consistent with common barnyard animals (namely sheep and donkeys), I cannot help but worry about America’s future.

I sure hope that this affinity for pastoral settings is not permanently modifying that “A” component to read the U.S. of Apathetic, or worse yet, the U.S. of Asshats (or if you’d prefer, the more vulgar “A” variant).

Either way, that would mean that getting the upper hand on today’s burning issues at hand, oh, say, global warming, the pandemic, a certain orange fascistic freak and his insurrectionist cultists, socioeconomic inequity / injustice, police brutality, gun violence / mass murders, misogyny, xenophobia, etc. just ain’t gonna happen.

Yet, as I just re-read those above three paragraphs I could not help but wonder why I’m even blogging onward; especially when my efforts are mostly getting deaf eared? I mean, is it time for me to become an unbecoming member of that flock of sheeple, too? Time to forsake any further efforts to battle those societal scourges? Hmm… if yes… that’d certainly simplify my life as a WP blogger.

But, what would I blog about, instead?

I know… I KNOW… I could report the lowdown re an especially localized current event! Yes, indeed, allow me to try on my new sheep’s wool blogger’s cap for size…

As any dishwasher can attest, when anything made of glass accidentally hits the linoleum, it’s not a pretty sight (or sound, too, for that matter).

Yet, that pretty much sums up what nearly went down in my kitchen, earlier this new day, when the Frisbee sized / shaped bowl I had knocked off the counter, had other “ideas”. Indeed, it did wind up flying several feet away, HOWEVER…

Instead of the expected crashing, cracking and shards scattering sound effects (to be Foley artist enhanced in post production), there was this muted plop when it made a picture perfect, no damage done, landing into the nearby plastic bucket, which I had used to mop the kitchen floor last night.

I only mention this because were I to ever intentionally attempt to fling a bowl into a bucket, I seriously doubt I could ace it on the first try. In fact, I’d guesstimate my chances of ever accomplishing such a feat (in one take) to be one in a zillion; if even that. (For the precise odds, just ask any nearby idled actor, who doth a credible Mr. Spock impression).

I can now kinda, sorta sense what it must feel like to Hail Mary a basketball; i.e., totally pull off the full court, game winning buzzer beater (sound effects to be Foley artist enhanced, too, in post production).

So my readers and visitors, what do ya think? Should I hang on to my sheep’s wool blogging hat? Or head back to the heavily land-mined / booby-trapped Trumpian trenches?

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Another Caustic Acrostic

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Fascist Trumpers lead astray
Utter whoppers; bleat & bray
Civil Rights; they keep at bay
Killer cops; they still let play

Theocrats; they let prey/pray
Re climate woes; they naysay
Ugly insurrection is their way
MAGA dumdums join the fray
Pandemic’s ills? Here to stay!

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Watch Whacha Read Write View, Too?

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Upon reading a rather lengthy, dystopian article, which exposes how intrusive law enforcers have been interacting with their individual community’s K-12 public school systems’ administrators, I became duly alarmed. You see, these entities have been [1] profiling and psychoanalyzing undisciplined students, [2] stigmatizing and classifying them as pre-criminals and [3] ordering officers to visit and snoop around their suspects’ homes (all sans probable cause and search warrants).

This deplorable practice, in a nutshell, is known as Predictive Policing and such overkill does warrant the following key questions…

• Are not seething with bigotry, itchy trigger fingered, deadly force inflicting cops busy enough, already? (<– btw, that’s blistering sarcasm).

• Is not needlessly pigeonholing kids as irreparable lawbreakers tantamount to a self-fulfilling prophesy?

• What ever happened to trusting the time-tested, parental intervention route and/or even permitting the accused youngsters to self-correct all on their own?

• Just how much farther off the rails could law enforcement’s crazy train possibly get?

And moving on to yet another, related issue…

• Once bored with hauling in / criminalizing the kiddies, where will the power junkie cops cop their next “buzz”?

Needless to say, there’s plenty of “low hanging fruit” to be plucked from society’s forest.

• What about the authors / readers of murder mysteries. Should the thought cops charge all the non-guilty parties with the non-crime of being the protagonists’ non-accomplices?

And, to explore this matter less generically…

• Avid fans of the X-Files will recall the spin-off series, The Lone Gunmen; the TV drama, which centered around the life and times of the three truth to power, off the beaten path, underground newspaper publisher-reporters; namely, John Fitzgerald Byers, Melvin Frohike and Richard Langly.

While the program run lasted only 13 weeks, its pilot did make for one helluva TV network debut on March 4, 2001. How so?

Well, this episode’s four writers (Chris Carter, Vince Gilligan, John Shiban and Frank Spotnitz) wound up with a screenplay that had dispatched a hijacked commercial jet (electronically commandeered from an on the ground secret base) and sent the aircraft on a collision course with the World Trade Center Twin Towers! Remember, that all went down six months PRIOR to 9/11!

To say the least, these visionaries had wowed us with their authentic, sit-on-the-edge-of-yer-seat plot climax. I won’t reveal further details, in the event some of you may opt to purchase the series DVD or plan to track down an online viewing. Of course, for those who wish to check out the storyline synopsis, in text format, first click onto SPOILER ALERT and next scroll down to 9/11 Synchronicity.

And so, the final Q’s become…

• Might the thought police, someday, wind up accusing Carter, Gilligan, Shiban and Spotnitz of being al Qaeda terrorists and lodge them within some Abu Ghraib type horrific, inhumane torture chamber / gulag?

• Might this debut episode’s original, 13.2 million viewers (and the countless others who’ve subsequently viewed it), someday, even wind up branded and jailed as terrorist sympathizers?

• What can we expect next?

• Perhaps we should ask our Big Brother?

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Read related article HERE

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Juneteenth Linked Quick Limerick 107

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Brutality fatalities bequeath,
Spirit world tips: Mucked up, racist cops seethe.
Till they get canned; do due time,
Skin tone, alone, becomes crime,
Blacks’ dying words will groan/gasp, “I can’t breathe.”

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Adam-12’s Finest v. Bedlam’s Worst

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Preface: Yeah… long sigh… I fully realize that TV Land and the Real World are two different creatures; that yearning for the merger of idealism and realism rarely, if ever, winds up as a wish come true. Still, we can hope for better days, can’t we?

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From September 21, 1968 until May 20, 1975, veteran policeman, Officer Pete Malloy (actor Martin Milner), and his rookie partner, Officer Jim Reed (actor Kent McCord), availed themselves of their professional training (backed up by their community building spirit and general street smarts), to conscientiously, honorably and courageously protect and serve the Los Angeles community. Typically, they were dispatched to respond to distressed citizens’ reports of violent crimes and frantic requests for help; arrived in a timely manner courtesy of their assigned patrol car, a.k.a. Adam-12; a.k.a. this TV cop drama series’ name.

Season 2 Episode 14 (titled Log 14 — S.W.A.T.) originally aired via the NBC TV network on January 24, 1970 / early evening; encored via the MeTV network on May 26, 2021 / late afternoon (just yesterday); where / when the following incident went down…

A sniper named Johnny Kursko (actor Thomas Bellin) is terrorizing a neighborhood in an urban section of the city. He is on top of a building that once housed a movie theater that the sniper worked at. It is later found out that he is an escaped fugitive from New York and he is shooting up the neighborhood as a way to get back at the people in the neighborhood who he holds responsible for the theater’s closing. Reed, Malloy and Detective Sgt. Gus Brown get into their SWAT gear and go after Kursko and try to get him without any further bloodshed. [read more here] [here too]

Brian Washington

And I’d add that Kursko is certifiably hardcore unglued; even wounding an elderly woman and attempting to kill an innocent child and his adorable pet dog. Additionally, my unsung hero award goes to Ron Thompson (actor Adam Wade) who not only risks his own life to rescue the wounded by Kursko motorcycle cop, Benson (actor Richard Geary), but also winds up providing the cops invaluable biographical info about a casual acquaintance of his, none other than sniper Kursko. Honorable mention award goes to Malloy who, to help defuse this tense altercation, pulls double duty in the role of the laid-back, layman shrink.

It’s during this episode’s closing scene that this viewer experienced his “Oh Wow” moment: mainly due to the fact that, few, if any of today’s militant cops (a.k.a. bedlam’s worst) would ever respond to the questions of the unnamed reporter (actor Morgan Jones) in this same manner. Check out the dialogue transcript, courtesy of MeTV, my aged VCR and taped over VHS cassette.

• Pardon me Officer, may I have your name please?
• Reed, Jim Reed.
• You’re the policeman who made the capture, aren’t you?
• Yes sir, I was one of them.
• Did he resist?
• Yeah, he resisted.
• He’s injured a number of people and killed at least one.
Personally, I think I’d have shot him.
• That’s not what I get paid for.
• You figure he’s sick? Is that why you let him live?
• No sir.
• You should’ve shot him and got it over with.
Why didn’t you? Give me one good reason.
• Because it wasn’t necessary.

Screenplay writers Robert A. Cinader / Jack Webb / Stephen Downing

BECAUSE IT WASN’T NECESSARY!

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Sweet Dreams Are (Not) Made Of This

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Upon awakening from a lifetime of recallable dreams, I’ve frequently mulled over the feasibility of online dream journaling. However, I’ve resisted making my slumbering nightlife an open book, mainly, because I’ve deemed my content, by and large, to be akin to a bedtime story; in other words, a real yawner. Uh, that is, up till this early a.m., when my R.E.M. sleep story seemed a bit more worthwhile and interweb interweave-able.

It all boils down to a specific dreams’ recursive, bothersome nature; of late, the bizarre manner in which my unconscious mind has been prioritizing a particular narrative; has become unduly fond of (unproductively?) sorting out my time served within a peculiar, particular gated community, a.k.a. Retail Hell (initially, as a sales rep; later on, as an entry level manager).

The, perhaps, unsolvable mystery, here, is why there’d even need to be a nocturnal rehashing of this epoch of my life; these dreams ARE playing out nearly 13 years following my injury-forced early retirement. Additionally, I’d hardly categorize more than 5 of those 30 work years as worthwhile and satisfying. Hence, my headline’s negation of the 1983 Annie Lennox / David A. Stewart’s song title, “Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This”.

Possibly, it’s my having pissed away nearly forty-five percent of my entire life within that milieu, which would account for this phenomenon? Might there simply not be enough of my other life experiences to draw on? My gawd, it’d be bat crap pathetic, indeed, were my so-called career the only aspect that had ever defined me.

Getting down to the actual dream details, they are, at best, phantasmagorical; the slew of farcical / surreal workplace settings, facial flashes of both wretched and wonderful big bosses and fleeting glimpses of the revolving door co-workers who’d been treated just as shoddily as I. Other mystifying dream elements include my neither showing up for work nor completing my assigned tasks on time, utterly failing to carry out the most mundane of work routines and, in the process, completely mucking up everything; all of which, runs totally counter to the actual facts; corroborated by my rock solid, top-notch, annual job performance reviews.

As for “the why” to my experiencing these (worthless?) dreams, the only working theory I can dream up is how that bygone era of my work life had been a walk in the park; when compared to staggering thru today’s zombie apocalypse.

Such an assessment of tough times, doth summon forth the 1967, James Anthony Dean / Paul Riser / William Henry Witherspoon, R&B/Soul musical masterpiece, “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted”: these songsmiths’ lead lyric, “As I walk this land with broken dreams” aptly setting the world stage.

Once juxtaposed, such a sentiment is totally relevant to the coronavirus pandemic, which has devastated, debilitated and decimated humanity; to a society sickened by the plague of racial inequality, police brutality, gun violence and mass shootings; to the delusional domestic terrorist sleeper cells, who await their collective alarm clock to go off; to trigger the unleashing of their deadly and destructive plots; all of which could, someday, trump Trump’s own, wide awake nightmare; his fortunately failed January 6th attempt to hack America to death.

Indeed, Sweet Dreams Are (Not) Made Of This.

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The Worst Defense is a Bad Offense

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The Minneapolis Police Department’s (now ex) executioner, Derek Chauvin, is trotting out quite the defense. He’s pointing the finger of blame squarely at his police training / upbringing.

Uh huh.

As if what? Society is now supposed to give him some breathing room?

You cannot possibly be serious! We are discussing a bad cop who, back on 05/25/2020 refused to give breathing room to his arrestee.

Since when is deadly force (to flesh that out Chauvin’s knee crushing throat suffocation modus operandi), ever condoned, especially when it ends up with the needless death of an unarmed, handcuffed, motionless, not resisting arrest, groaning “Please, I can’t breath”, pinned prone to the pavement man!

George Floyd WAS that man.

Chauvin is saying what? At that point, he and his cop accomplices could not deliver Floyd to the police station; where he’d be processed, granted due process and, most importantly of all, STILL BE ALIVE?

In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defence.

U.S. Constitution • 6th Amendment Due Process Protections

In effect what we have, here, is tantamount to Chauvin deadpanning:

“I was just following orders.”

Hmm, now where oh where have we heard that pathetic excuse before?

I know! That’d be at the International Criminal Court, The Hague, Netherlands; where the forces of good never take too kindly to the forces of evil; e.g., a power-tripping cop committing a crime against humanity.

Most assuredly, in that venue, there’d never ever be anyone feeling jocular about anyone whose knee crushed the jugular.

And Derek Chauvin IS that so-called man.

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A Well-Versed Dumb Real Donald?

From 1973 – 1982, long before the Real Donald became a household word, we found the clever and clairvoyant Match Game writers submitting Dumb Donald scenarios for emcee Gene Rayburn to recite to the panelists, contestants and all who were playing along in the home and studio audiences.

Normally, at this juncture, I’d be presiding over a Dumb Donald Clip, but, since my demand has nearly exhausted YouTube’s supply, I’ll now need to breathe new life into my shtick. ISO inspiration, namely, head-to-head matches with our dearly departed, Match Game souls, I’ve been simulating, semi-serious seances. And methinks this graying old coot has not been departing the spirit world alone! Indeed, the new, game show host persona, from within me, now emerges to preside over this reincarnated, revamped game show format. Voilà and Ta-Da!

Welcome contestants, one and all, to Match Game 20-20. I’m M.C. Grayburn. Our new rules are straightforward. Each of you will have one chance to match as many of our six, predetermined responses as possible. You’ll be playing for a priceless grand prize; the affirmation that you’re still a clearheaded, critical thinking non-consumer of the Kool-Aid™!

If your non-matching, responses prove more clever than Match Game’s, you’ll still be a winner! To claim your prize, post your witty and/or wise alternatives in the comment section, below.

Soooooo, let’s play Match Game 20-20.

Check out this fill-in-the-blank limerick:

Real Dumb Donald is nasty as phlegm! Ick!
So deserving of this rant / polemic,
He won’t restrain deadly strain,
Nor rein in brutal cops’ reign,
Instead, props up ___________.

Once the “think music” starts, you’ll have 1 Minute to think up your 6 responses.
And, btw, no peeking beneath the turquoise hued, rectangular secrecy partition!

Real Dumb Donald is nasty as phlegm, ick,
So deserving of this rant / polemic,
He won’t restrain deadly strain,
Nor rein in brutal cops’ reign,
Instead, props up ___________.

1. FOX henchmen endemic
2. ass kissers systemic
3. schools non-academic
4. racism systemic
5. fake science alchemic
6. corona pandemic

My thanks to all who showed up to play today! M.C. Grayburn for Match Game 20-20, good-bye and be sure to…

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