The We / Me Scale

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It’s a forgone conclusion that We v. Me pretty much sums up today’s ugly, never the twain shall meet, THICK, hyperpartisan divide; especially Stateside. If your own homeland suffers from a similar mental malaise / meltdown, you do have my heartfelt sympathy and, for what it’s worth, my Get Well Soon wishes.

Naturally, dual connotations of a word, such as THICK, not only define that vast divides’ dimension, but also aptly describe the Me-oriented persons’ density. To get a better handle on this, we’ll need to…

STEP #1: Establish / Title a Scale and briefly describe each tier’s people…

The We/Me Scale

  • Free We: Progressives, who accept laws, which lead to society’s betterment
  • So-so We: Capitulators, who obey life enhancing laws only to avoid penalties
  • Sorta Me: Bellyachers, who seem to obey; yet, litigate virtuous laws to death
  • PO’d Me: Anarchists, who’d overthrow a nation to absolutely overturn all laws

STEP #2: Run a thought experiment to assess how each brand of beings will likely react to, oh, say, their local communities’ public safety motivated, public sidewalk snow / ice removal mandates; oh, say, in the wake of a climate change generated, freakish winter storm.

  • Free We folks will willingly shovel every several hours, throughout the entire, seemingly interminable event, in an eco-friendly manner; only resorting to snow blowers if they have medical issues.
  • So-so We peeps won’t venture outdoors until the bitter end; barely meeting the stipulated snow removal deadlines.
  • Sorta Me individuals might hire enterprising neighborhood youngsters to get ‘er done, but, typically, will await the spring thaw. In the meantime, these scofflaws, if/when fined, will delay payment while litigating till hell freezes over.
  • PO’d Me entities will flat-out flip-off all laws and fines; all the while fantasizing about off-the-beaten-path plots to browbeat civil society into submission or obliteration (whichever comes first); their responses varying; i.e., depending on the severity of their psychoses.

Most worrisome is how that last on the list ilk might even consider bizarre tactics, such as…

  • Setting up a “hunter’s blind” to ambush any enforcer who’d have the “audacity” to fine them.
  • Hiring a backhoe operator / helicopter pilot to excavate / evacuate the public sidewalk; airlifting each snow / ice loaded concrete section to a nearby airport; to be jetted off to some torrid locale; and, once everything melts, reversing the entire process.
  • Literally going ballistic by hacking into their homelands’ nuclear facilities; targeting and launching the nukes, thereby melting down every molecule of frozen H2O; HELL, every molecule / atom period (nation / worldwide).

Granted, even the possibility of that sounds astoundingly farfetched, BUT, then again, prior to January 6, 2021, so did the possibility of a sitting U.S. president, first, rallying HIS private army; next, deploying them to attack the very nation that he had sworn on the Holy Bible, to preserve, protect and defend.

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Fortune Cookie Blog: Clerical Error

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Blanket Statement: Thou shalt not make light of, or
worse yet, badmouth righteous, organized religion;
righteous being the kicker. To kick that statement’s
blanket off, there’s nothing righteous about an ego-
centric cleric or, worse yet, self-proclaimed prophet
who seizes the pulpit to profit personally/financially;
OR to proselytize/fund-raise on behalf of wannabes,
who, once elected, will gut society of human rights,
morality, liberty, etc; OR to trot out “sermons” that’ll
incite his cultish disciples to hijack commercial jets;
to kamikaze them into a nation’s iconic architecture;
or, via the coup, desecrate its citadels of democracy.

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Happy Hollow-Days?

Prelude…

Ah, the time honored Holiday Traditions
Hitherto robust, cheery and tasteful
Nowadays busted, dreary and wasteful
Cannot live sans the former
Alas, must exist with the latter

No thanks, to the headless and soulless
Who only see convention in political rally terms
And contort holidays to conform to their flattened sphere
It begs a rundown of their rundown, festering festivities
Hence, this hammered down, Hollow-Days Roster

November…

Thanksgiving’s intent, once-upon-a-time pure
A day to display gratitude for each fall’s harvest
Yet, ’twas utterly corrupted by past, white man’s greed
Pummeled by Manifest Destiny’s – Genocide’s 1 – 2 punch
Left mass slaughter of Indigenous North Americans, in its wake

Today’s whites hotly deny critical thinker youths such truths
The uncouth fail to see how bygone mentalities of white men
Were precursors to today’s accursed; their MAGA-fest Destiny
Native Americans’ descendants sure to “NO” the RSVPs
Of white inviters, who’d have them over FOR holiday supper

December…

Christmas misbehavior; to upstage a dissed savior?
Sighing gifters hurriedly tack on / tuck in gift receipts
Wisely anticipate the ungrateful gifted
Ingrates neither gifted in smarts nor of wise disposition
All discourtesy of ass backward, parental rearing

Giftees offend gifters; greedily, rush mall-ward
Clutching shopping bagged gift rejects
Sweaty fingers and palms itching to parlay
Liberal return policies into pocketed stone-cold cash
Happy Birthday, Jesus?

December/January…

New Year’s Eve orgy
Animal House magnitude
Nude, drunken revelry
Resolutions Dead On Arrival
Long before each avowed recitation’s echo dies

New Year’s Day; morning after
Misery’s miasma; achy body; pounding head
Multiple over the bowl, beer belly evacuations
Hurled disgusting egesta
Along with epithet laced “never again” ruminations

February…

Valentine’s Day; Cupid’s arrow, awry
Finds deplorable cads ISO of (p)lay
Bamboozling; booze plying their prey
Despicably deeming victims altar sacrifice
Songsmiths asking, “What’s love got to do with it?”

Deep in rude dudes’ brain dead heads
Indecent proposals lead to “have-to” weds
Crossed fingers, behind backs, do back grooms’ “I dos.”
Divorce attorneys, so impatient, they consider
Tuxing up as groomsmen; gowning up as bridesmaids

May / November + July / September / February

Memorial / Veterans Days
Independence / Labor and Presidents’ Days
Original intent buried by a sundry of distractions
Picnics wallowing in fatty animal flesh; awash with stiff libations
Major league play by plays, parades and pyrotechnics

To Upstage Soldiers; valiant, selfless; both survivor and fallen
Marginalize Founders; devalue, their on paper, Democracy
Demean Workers: low paid, overworked, union busted, outsourced
Bastardize: The very Presidency a sitting prez attempted to topple
Ah, the mucked up, nouveau Hollow-Day traditions

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Offensive Fences and Walls

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One of my newfound WP compatriots employs a clever method to come up with a prompt word; i.e., to inspire some of his posts. He randomly selects and opens a book and, without looking, simply lets his extended finger land on the page!

Voilà, he’s found his “word”.

And on this new day, his prompt and now, mine too, becomes: Wall

For a left leaning man, such as I, there’s an instantaneous, free association with a freedom loathing X-prez who’s also an inveterate xenophobe.

As most of us are all too painfully aware, throughout his odious tenure, he was obsessed with making good on his bad (actually awful, deplorable) campaign promise of constructing a big, badass, electrified, spiked wall along the U.S. / Mexico border. And if memory serves, he also wanted to dredge out a moat, alongside, and stock that water filled barrier with fanged, venomous snakes and take-no-prisoners ravenous, carnivorous alligators.

Alas, memory serves well.

Long exasperated sigh.

Well, now that I’ve caught my breath, let’s let this wall issue promptly move our thoughts in a more humane direction…

Let’s address the defensive attitudes, which prompt people to erect invisible walls around themselves; just as formidable and impenetrable as the brick and mortar variety; the very type that get in the way of human understanding; the awareness that, deep down, most of us are more alike than different from one another.

The walls that inhibit problem solving, and, yes, even friendship and love.

Let’s deconstruct the word “defensive”, itself, right down to its root, “fense” and then sub in the letter “c”

Voilà, the word “fence” emerges; yet, another type of wall.

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Crapshoot (Parable)

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Once upon a time, obscenely wealthy, greedy guardians poorly reared their sonny, named Sonny. In exploiting his still wet-behind-the-ears susceptibility, they had facilely convinced him to follow in their well-heeled footsteps.

Consequently, from the tender age of four, onward, that li’l hellion was hellbent on hotly pursuing the unrestrained accumulation of untold wealth; even to the point of shaking down (in one devious way or another) his exclusive prep school’s entire student body. Needless to say, Sonny wound up friendless.

It was nine laps ‘round ol’ Sol later that the night of Sonny’s coming of age party had finally arrived; a swank soirée where his ‘rents had needed to surreptitiously rent attendees (actually megabucks bribe his “guests” to show up).

However, even more germane to this sad tale is all that went down the morning after.

Then and there we discovered underage drinker Sonny, in one of those head over the commode moments; hurling chunks, expletives and ruminations re overindulgence. Yet, in spite of his hungover pounding head and achy abused body, he was still able to plot an all-out offensive that’d facilitate his inheritance of The Golden Throne; even going to the extreme of commissioning scoundrels to corral and exile everyone who boasted his bloodline.

And topping off his hit-list (<—typo: missing “s”) was none other than mumsy and dadsy.

Well, once his goon squads’ dirty work was a fait accompli, so too, was his premature ascension to absolute power. Next up, even before the ink of his very first royal decree had fully dried, his retrograde rules and regulations had became the law of the land; inclusive of… ahem… that d-head’s edict that would (literally) keep a lid on the chamber pots and outhouses, kingdom-wide, till kingdom come!

It would now behoove his deployed army (soon to be known as The Potty Patrol), to enforce total compliance. Indeed, no private citizen would ever be allowed to party down… correction… potty down… until they had ponyied up one gold coin per… ahem… visit (approximately five smackers adjusted to 2021 U.S. dollars). Worse yet, these soldiers had standing orders to shoot any scofflaws; namely, the behind the bushes squatters.

Of course, just to ensure His Majesty would be able to score his thrice-hourly fix of adulation, Sonny’s sycophantic handlers and henchmen had conspired to schmooze the Patent Office hierarchy into declaring their Liege Lord the inventor of:

The Pay Toilet!

Henceforth, any of that kingdom’s honestly authored history books (if such publications even existed) would dub Lord Sonny:

The patently offensive patent holder!

And, tho few intellectuals had actually considered the full etymological ramifications, in essence, each time a soldier unlocked a Sonny locked up potty, it trotted out a whole new connotation for the phrase:

Can Opener!

However, one must never dwelleth on such piddling, crappy matters.

Cutting thru the crapola of Sonny’s character flaws and abuse of power, we arrive at the morals to our story:

  • Can opener laws can open up cans of worms!
  • Poor child rearing and potty training oft lead to crappy, butthead leaders!

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Ghost Story

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It went down late October; eve of holiday Hallow
Within weed field, forgotten; infertile; fallow
Dense devotees danced; their visages sallow
Backlit by the flickering, wick centered tallow

This coven raised praise, undying, to false deity callow
With countenance of orange; physique of marshmallow
Alas, rhyme ends abruptly; bard got hung from their gallows
Buried half meter deep; within his grave shallow

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Short Story: Misdirected Indignation

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Ironic how an insane, infantile individual’s invention / Big Lie re rigged
elections, inspired intolerant, insolent individuals to Incite Insurrection,
YET, the insightful, incisive, incontrovertible Truth re global warming &
the global pandemic can only Inculcate Indifference, Indolence & Inertia.

The End?

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Double Down

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The pandemic’s fighters; savvy crowd
Must not be dissed; in-print; aloud
Their shrewd precepts, save our bacon
Up to the point, when they’re forsaken

When politicians trump physicians
It breeds laypersons’ real suspicions
When propagandists enter picture,
Duped minds resemble colon stricture

Which makes clear thinkers’ best recourse
Assess each a-hole, ass of horse
When they yell, “NO MASKS FOR YOU!”
Double down and make it two!

Do follow wise rules to the letter
But, always strive to make them better
To err on caution’s side ain’t wrong
That’ll keep us healthy, strong!

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Clothes Make the (Everyday) Man

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• So, what could be more disappointing than the small town political scene?
• Why, that’d be the small town political scene during an off-year election.

I had grumbled that unfunny joke yesterday; just as I began unfolding my absentee ballot. Soon afterwards, a far more painstaking deconstruction ensued; based upon how this election cycle’s sole purpose is to let four candidates vie for three city council seats.

In other words, a contest that’s little more than a game of musical chairs.

Worse yet, the candidates’ political personae don’t generate genuine voter interest; considering how the three incumbents are akin to pterodactyl/albatross hybrids and the one political virgin is reminiscent of the just fallen from the nest, fledgling bluebird.

Worst of all, their “platforms”are not all that impressive, either. If any of them have discovered the path forward to a rational, knowledgeable, welcoming, inclusive, clean, green, fully functional, vibrant community, they’ve yet to speak, convincingly, about how, precisely, they’d lead us to such a wondrous renaissance.

Not boding well, too, is how our mayor and these very incumbents, invariably, have been rubber-stamping the anything for a buck agendas of developers hellbent on blighting our cityscape with row after row of butt ugly, boxy mansions that resemble a fleet of Star Trekian Borg Cubes. Resistance Is Futile? Hmm, it’d appear so.

Beyond that final frontier, it’d be tough to figure out which is more massive; their constructed houses or their conceited heads.

My community’s conspicuous lack of affordable housing and the legions of aristocratic, autocratic association prez wannabes loom; both eventualities promising a most unpromising future; one where the rich swoop down on gated communities and the poor get run out of town.

Needless to say, deciding just who the hell I’d be voting for proved quite the daunting task. Hell, I was even considering making a political statement by submitting a totally blank ballot or by not mailing it back to City Hall at all.

But then my heavy heart prevailed.

Seeing how, of late, nationwide, Republican governors and state legislators have been interweaving sore loser Donald J. Trump’s widespread voter fraud, BIG LIE into the fabric of slews of unconstitutional voter suppression statutes, it suddenly dawned on me that this very ballot could very well represent the very last free Election that I’d ever be participating in.

At that juncture, thru my tear blurred eye, I opted to reread an online, meet-the-candidate article; this time noticing something so subtle, that it had gone previously unnoticed.

Two of these three incumbents were dressed-to-the-nines in their finery and other one had been so cocky, he hadn’t even bothered submitting his mugshot at all. All of which had transformed candidate bluebird’s no necktie, open-collar work shirt, everyday man fashion statement into a political statement; one that, at the very least, suggests a glimmer of hope.

While voting on a hunch would, ordinarily, be unwise, seeing how, in victory, he’d be only one voice out of seven, about the only “damage” his being seated would accomplish is serve as a reminder to the incumbents; that they are not as invincible as they may think.

All the above considered, I decided to chance it; to vote for him and ONLY him.

After all, my two non-votes can only harm his opponents’ chances; especially if the eventual Election Night paper ballot count winds up paper thin close.

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