…And It’s Over

It took about thirty-six hours for Amy McGrath to fuck it up.

 

 

 

Ooof. So how did we get here? Well, let’s check out this Q&A McGrath did with Joe Sonka of Insider Louisville. 

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Oooookay. And this from the Louisville Courier-Journal.

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WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? If you have any left-leaning principles, you will find a lot to be frustrated about in these two articles but just stay on this one subject. Stay on the subject of Brett “Boof” Kavanaugh, Supreme Court Justice. I hate to go through this again because it was so painful the first time but goddamn it. The guy was accused of attempting to rape a girl when they were both teenagers. The entire debacle of Judge Kavanaugh and Dr. Blasey-Ford’s testimony in front of the Senate Judicial Subcommittee is one of the great American clusterfucks of our time, and that says a lot considering the time we live in. This was a slam dunk of a “no” vote and yet it passed on party lines because the only thing that talks in Washington is power.

Consider this: the guy who was accused of attempted rape went on an unhinged tirade in front of the subcommittee, practically foaming at the mouth and ACTUALLY BLAMED THE FUCKING CLINTONS. Even if he were innocent, the lack of temperament shown in his performance made him a “no” vote.

If I may address you, Amy McGrath: yes, technically Brett Kavanaugh is qualified for the bench. Of course he is. He was on the 2nd Circuit of D.C. before the Supreme Court. And had he not been made a Supreme Court Justice he would remain on the 2nd Circuit. It wasn’t an all-or-nothing deal. But you know who else was qualified to be on the bench, Amy McGrath? THE JUDGES IN THE DRED SCOTT DECISION, you fucking useless goddamn idiot. THE JUDGES IN PLESSY VS. FERGUSON. They were qualified too. Citizens fucking United, you ignoramus!

Goddammit.

You don’t have to vote on them just because they’re qualified. You can vote based on past rulings and ideology. Why am I telling you this? You’re the one that said Washington is where ideals go to die? You said that in your slick three-minute campaign video. Where the fuck are your ideals, Amy? What do you believe? I mean, Mitch McConnell is more qualified than you are to be senator. If that’s the logic you want to apply, then should I vote for him?

It took you less than 36 hours to completely fuck this up with the people most likely to vote for you. Here you are trying to get the Trump lovers who hate McConnell. Now you’re pissing off everyone else who hates the guy. You have no credibility and if you were to somehow win in 2020, nobody would have any faith in you to show any backbone once you got to Washington. You’ve pissed off the conservatives for flip-flopping and you’ve pissed off the liberals for even considering voting for Kavanaugh in the first place. This is what I meant when I talked about the DNC’s “something-for-everybody, appealing to nobody” campaigns.

Am I wrong to expect any amount of moral consistency here?

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McGrath vs. Shitstain 2020

Let’s get ready to discuss the always fun subject of Kentucky politics. Oh groan no this is torture don’t do this Mike don’t you want to be happy. Life is worth living. You have your whole future ahead of you, Mike.

In addition to the Presidential election in 2020, Kentucky will have a US Senate election. And you can start to see why this is so stressful. Because the incumbent senator in question is goddamn shitstain I dontwanttypehisfuckingnamefuckhim. You know who. He’s the Senate Majority Leader and a Republican and he looks like a turtle and everyone hates him.

 

This is the most hateable fucking guy in the country. At least you can understand Trump’s charisma to the people who like him. Who fucking likes this guy?

Amy McGrath is counting on that difference. If you don’t know who that is, she’s the new challenger to shitstain’s seat in the U.S. Senate. She ran for Congress unsuccessfully in 2018. Now she’s going to run a (likely) unsuccessful senate campaign. I don’t want to be a pessimist but I live in Kentucky, therefore. I should add that I don’t want her to be unsuccessful. But as deeply unpopular as shitstain is, shitstain is also a state institution and that’s going to be hard to unseat. The bastard practically has a death grip on his senate seat and with it, the majority leadership and with that, the Republican Party itself.

If you didn’t have to stomach to play that clip above (can’t blame you), he was asked by a journalist about the revelation that some of his ancestors in Alabama owned slaves, and how that may have altered his feelings about reparations if at all. To which he replied that the two things he had in common with President Obama were that a.) neither of them believed in reparations and b.) both of them were descendants of slave owners.

You just want to slap the bastard. I’ll leave you out that. I want to slap the bastard. But let’s get back to Amy McGrath who announced her candidacy on Tuesday with a three-minute video.

 

Let’s go through shitstain’s last several Democratic opponents. The last one was the state Secretary of State. Beat her by sixteen percentage points. The one before that was against the former state Secretary of Commerce and he beat the guy by six points. The one before that was the daughter of a former governor and an advocate for public education and of course she got pasted.

Now the latest challenger and probable nominee is McGrath, a retired Marine and fighter pilot who dropped bombs on Al-Qaeda and the Taliban. Just like in 2018, she came out of the gate with the above video and some appearances on cable news shows. In the first twenty-four hours of her campaign, she raised $2.5 million. That’s the kind of money a presidential candidate would envy. She’s going to need a lot of money to compete against a well-funded McConnell campaign.

The downside of Amy McGrath is that there will be no room for anyone to primary her from the left. There’s no way any other candidate will raise a fraction of what McGrath raised in her first day. Possibly because nobody else was recruited by Democratic Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer. McGrath is the DNC’s pick. Anybody else is playing catch-up from jump, no matter where they stand ideologically. Somebody with actual legislative experience, like for example State Rep. Attica Scott, would be lucky to raise six figures during her campaign, let alone within the first 24 hours.

McGrath’s 2018 congressional campaign debuted with a splashy, well-produced, inspirational ad. She raised a lot of money instantly. Her race against Andy Barr was one of the most expensive in the country. Although Barr’s district is considered one of the more liberal districts in the state, that says a lot about Kentucky. About how conservative Kentucky is overall. About how gerrymandered the state is to fuck-all. About how popular Trump is in this state (he beat Hillary Clinton in 2016 by over thirty points).

McGrath lost to Barr by three points in a district where Trump defeated Hillary by fifteen points. The DNC look at those numbers and see a twelve-point swing. Everybody else looks at those numbers and sees a Democrat who lost. Unfortunately, this seems to be the best we can do right for 2020. Or that’s the best we think we can do. And this is going to be a repeat of what happened in 2018 when McGrath took on Andy Barr, when she came out of the gate strong but was unable to build on that and win.

There’s so much more to this and I’ll have until November 2020 to write about it. I will hate every minute of it. McGrath and the DNC will have sixteen months to take the bloom off the rose and lose this fucker.

Ashley Judd, do you want to jump in on this one?

Don’t Take Anything For Granted

You’ll figure this out one day, if you’re lucky. It’s called perspective. So many things we take for granted and we never question them because they’re just there. Always there seemingly when we need them.

You never notice your mobile device until it’s gone and needs to be replaced. You drop it in the toilet and fail to dry it by putting it in a bag of rice to soak the moisture. Nope, now you’ve got to drop a few hundo just to get new one and in the meantime you miss everything that happens in between that time. Gratitude for what you have while you have it.

Beyond physical objects and materialism, though you can grateful for that stuff too. Take human interaction. I’ve been stuck at home for the most part over the last two months with this fractured fibula. It’s starting to heal but I’ve been limited in where I can go and what I can do. Going to the store to pick up groceries is damn near impossible. If it weren’t for my mom, I’d be up the creek. Don’t take anything or anyone for granted. Don’t take your friends for granted, especially when you don’t get to see them. Social media makes you think you’re in contact with them but that’s limited. You lose something when you can’t talk to them, especially face to face. Words on a screen don’t have the context of hearing each other. Most people prefer texting to talking on the phone, which makes sense if you don’t know each other but if what if you’re friends. What happened to friendship? Aren’t you grateful for friendship?

Don’t take anything for granted. Elevators. The bus. Your friends. Parking validations. Chocolate milk. Your car. Your phone. Your laptop. Your family. Youtube. Vitamins. Disinfectant wipes. Cereal. Each and every individual’s capacity for good and/or evil. Each and every individual’s ability to completely fuck it up for themselves. Karma. Air travel. Guardrails. Depression. Yourself. Music. Especially music. There’s a new guy on Twitter named SuperHumman who does stunts like throwing his shirtless body onto piles of thumbtacks and barbed wire and he already has 24,000 followers. Definitely do not take him for granted. He’s a juggalo.

Don’t take anything for granted. And be grateful when you can. Be grateful for yourself. Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s a tough world and you don’t have to join it in flogging yourself. Pick your battles and fight them. Love with the heart of a warrior. Cry as much as you need to. Cry from joy and happiness and don’t be ashamed. Share the things you enjoy instead of blocking them from others like you’re some sort of VIP. Remember to be a person. Remember to breathe and breathe and breathe and look up at the sky and be amazed and confused at it all.

It’s Difficult To Be A Dreamer

I have had a difficult time lately. Haven’t been feeling too well, physically or emotionally. Hate to beat the dead horse but I don’t have much else I can do. Not like I have the strength to do much else, anyway. Bitch, bitch, bitch.

It’s a broken lower leg. A fractured fibula to be more exact. There’s some muscle and ligament damage that requires an open MRI before I’ll know the full damage of the injury. It’s been six weeks. One would think that MRI would have been ordered by now. But for some reason that hasn’t happened. Perhaps the orthopedic doctor is concerned about my weight and finding a machine to accommodate me but I’ve called around and there’s is a facility in Owensboro (a mere 20 minutes away) that can accept me.

This will not surprise you but it sucks to have a broken lower leg and doubly sucks to be obese with a broken lower leg. What makes it worse for me is for the last year I’ve been exercising and building up my cardio and my endurance. I worked out three to four times a week as recently as seven weeks ago. I was getting healthier, stronger. And all that is gone now. I struggle to get from my couch to my bed or to my kitchen or the bathroom or from the front door to my car. All the buildup of that hard work is gone now.

I can’t bend my left knee. I’ve lost my flexibility. I don’t know if it’s the bone or the muscle. Here is where a MRI would be informative. Is the bone healing and if so is it healing properly? I use crutches sometimes if I have to walk far but I rarely leave home and only if I have to go to medical appointments. I don’t have a job. I’m on disability.

Yesterday, I had to go to Louisville to have a stitch taken out of my mouth. The previous week I had tooth pulled from the back of my mouth. That week a friend drove me. Amanda drove me and pulled me up to the front of the building so it was relatively easy. This week I went to my local courthouse and got a handicapped placard so I could park in front of the building because Amanda wouldn’t be able to take me.

No such luck. All the spots were taken. I had to go to the parking garage around the block. I was lost and confused, sweaty and disheveled. I hadn’t walked that far in two months. I lost all my cardio. Fortunately there was a shuttle bus to drive me around to the building but all my nerves took the energy out of me. Also, do you know how hard it is to stand up with all your weight on one leg waiting for a bus when there’s no seats or benches on the corner? It’s difficult to say the least.

When I finally got home, I was too exhausted to walk to my door in one go. I had to stop and sit on a bench belonging to my mom who lives next to me. I couldn’t get the air in my lungs fast enough. My heart pounded like a rabbit. It’s a struggle to get in and out of my car anyway because the injury is to my left leg. I have to swing both legs out of the car and then put my weight on the right leg while pulling up on the hood or the door with my arms just to right myself.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m going to make it. Am I going to heal my leg or is my heart going to give out from pushing too hard? It scares me. It’s been a nerve-wracking time to be alive. I try to concentrate on other stuff but it’s hard with the current state of the country and world today. I try to lose myself in music, at least by listening to it as I can’t seem to write anything at the moment. I’m in no mental shape to write. I’m too stressed. Some people think this would make for great creativity. I’m here to tell you that is not the case because I’m living it or else I would have songs, symphonies and novels produced already. All I have in my mind is one melody and a sentence that goes along with it and I’m not in the mood to develop it any further.

And I begin to think that if I ever somehow record and release another album, I already have another title for it. I’ll call it “I’m Done After This”. I won’t do anymore because I won’t want to do anymore. Why would anyone want to continue to create? It feels like an inhospitable environment for dreamers, now more than ever. And that’s all I’ve ever been.

I’m In Considerable Fucking Pain

AHHHHHHHHHH GODDAMMIT!

My leg is not healing.

The doctor showed me two x-rays. One from today and one from three weeks ago and the one from today looks worse. She asked me if I fell. I hadn’t. I’ve just been unlucky. I’m always unlucky. I must have swallowed a bad penny when I was a child and not expelled it.

This is probably why I’ve been in consistent fucking pain for the last month. Because my leg hasn’t healed or started to heal for whatever reason. Or I’ve aggravated it by attempting to get up to stand and walk around the house. Believe me, I have barely tried to walk very far. I can barely stand and when I do the majority of my considerable weight is on my one good strong leg.

I cried in my car on the way home. I will cry some more tonight and will likely cry in the coming days. I hate my life right now. I’m in pain and I can’t stand it. There’s no painkiller that really does anything to deaden the dull ache of what I’m going through. How does anyone enjoy opioids, seriously? How does anyone enjoy them for recreation purposes? What kind of person does that?

I’d give my kingdom for a Tylenol extra strength but I don’t have a kingdom. All I have is aggravation, both in leg and in my life. Don’t try this at home, kids.

I Wish A New Enemy A Slow Painful Death

Once upon a time, I got into an argument with one of my college professors. I was about two months away from graduation and it was in the middle of class. The closer you get to graduation, the more tense you are and it doesn’t help if the professor is a royal motherfucker. It’s been eighteen years since but the climax of the argument was me telling her that I hoped she got hit a by a bus. That ended that day’s class and my participation in it for the rest of the semester.

I was able to work out a deal where I could finish off the final class project without going back to class. I didn’t want to go back and Lord knows she didn’t want me back. I blew up and told her I hoped she would die. I mean, I said I hoped she’d get hit by a bus but essentially I hoped she’d die. I didn’t hope she’d fracture her tibia. She probably is dead now so I got what I wanted eventually.

Last week I did it again but on twitter to Fox Sports right-wing shithead Clay Travis.

If you don’t watch the video above (I don’t blame you) he says he doesn’t consider Trump a white supremacist and tells former ESPN anchor Jemele Hill that she “could have been the next Oprah but instead chose to be the next Al Sharpton”. Hmm.

There are a lot of people who want their choice of sports entertainment outlets to stick to sports alone and not cross streams with politics. They tend to be older, whiter, more conservative and they tend to support the troops by getting mad at black athletes who take a knee while the national anthem plays.

Let’s take Clay at face value and say that Jemele Hill could have been the next Oprah. But would the next Oprah take note of how a picnicking black couple were accosted by a white campground manager with a gun? Or would Oprah just do what she always did and develop her own brand while selling shit to housewives?

If you remember, Hill got in hot water and eventually fired from ESPN for the straight-up accusation (and who can deny it) that Trump is a racist, a position she has never wavered on. It is something she has been consistent on since the Charlottesville incident, when Trump said there were very good people on both sides of the debate when one side carried tiki torches, defended the honor of Confederate statues, chanted “Jews will not replace us” and in one instance ran over and killed a counter-protester named Heather Heyer.

Hill, who speaks who truth to power, loses her position at ESPN while Travis, who keeps his head in the sand, maintains his job. Stick to sports, which is much easier to do at Fox Sports unless you have a political perspective in line with Fox’s sister news operation.

It was far too easy for me to regress to my college self and wish a troll would get hit by a bus. And that earned me a week-long Twitter timeout. Keep in mind I didn’t say I was going to hit him with a car. I didn’t make a threat. I just hoped it would happen. That’s a suspendable offense? To be fair, it’s mean and juvenile. It’s completely immature. And there is a sick coincidence that I wish that what happened to counter-protester Heather Heyer happened to someone on the other side of the ideological coin. But suspendable? Come on!

Wait a minute. Hold the phone.

Oh, I get it. I fucked with a long-term shareholder. That’s where I messed up. So I could have threatened to rape someone and I would have been just fine. Now I know better. Lesson learned.

Since I can’t be suspended from my own website, I am going to make a list of things I hope happen to Clay Travis.

  • I hope Clay Travis gets hit by a bus.
  • I hope the bus runs him over.
  • I hope his bones and skull get crushed like a turtle’s shell under the bus.
  • I hope his twitter stock completely tanks.
  • I hope all his stock tanks.
  • I hope he is forced to watch as his shirtless mother is whipped with an electrical cord.
  • I hope while she is whipped, he is forced to hear her moan “OH MY GOD I AM HAVING MY FIRST EVER ORGASM!”
  • I hope he falls butthole-first onto a mason jar.
  • I hope the jar breaks.
  • I hope as he attempts to clear the shards and fails and blood trickles from his body cavity and he keeps muttering “oh no… oh no… oh God… oh… oh oh…”
  • I hope the reader of this article decides that my expression of anger is in reasonable proportion to the frustration I feel.
  • I hope Fox Sports goes completely under and Clay Travis is forced to livestream from his mother’s basement while being forced to listen to his mother being whipped with an electrical cord upstairs.

Do A Thing

“kvetch” is a Yiddish word which means to complain,  a complaint itself, or to be someone who complains a great deal.

Social media has made it easier for us to kvetch about any number of things. I have lately been kvetching about my fractured left fibula. I have been in near-constant pain for a week. You would probably do the same.

Politics is a typical kvetch for social media, and the number of Facebook posts I have seen about the Alabama abortion bill over the last few days is staggering. Perhaps you have as well and have even posted some yourself. Hell, even I have. The Alabama abortion bill is a another in a tsunami of right-wing evangelical ignorance wrapped up in bad legislation meant to hurt women and take away their anatomical rights.

I live in Kentucky. Many of my Facebook friends live in Kentucky. Kentucky passed an law to restrict second-trimester abortions LAST FUCKING YEAR. Barely a peep. There is one clinic in the whole state where a woman can get an abortion. There used to be three as recently as three years ago. “The Handmaid’s Tale” has been going on under your nose and what have you been doing? You’ve been kvetching in the Speaker’s Corner that is your Facebook feed.

I’m telling you this because all this kvetching is sound and furying signifying fucking nothing unless you do something. More people support abortion than don’t support it. We outnumber them but we let them win. We talk about it. They be about it.

So let’s do something. Let’s do a thing. Anything. What can we do? Here are some suggestions:

If you want to specifically help abortion patients in Alabama, you can donate to the Yellowhammer Fund.

You can always donate to your local Planned Parenthood. Your donation will be split between the local affiliate and the national charter.

You can also donate to the National Network of Abortion Funds, which helps “connect you with organizations (such as Yellowhammer above) that can support your financial and logistical needs as you prepare for your abortion”.

You can also donate to the ACLU (both national and local) as many of them are suing to block these various bad bills and laws. You can look that one up. ACLU. Google “I’m feeling lucky” if you want.

These are just a few suggestions. I’m sure there are some that don’t require you donating money but I’m too tired to research right now. My leg is screaming in pain at me and I probably have to go to the Quick Care because I’m coming down with a cold or something. Put your money where you mouth is. Quit kvetching and do a thing. Anything. Will America work if you don’t participate in it? What do you want America to be when it grows up?

 

Notable People Who Have Been Known To Sleep Naked

  • Tyrese (actor)
  • Alan White (Yes drummer)
  • Marina Abramović (performance artist)
  • Alan White (Oasis drummer)
  • Janet Jackson (singer)
  • Roy Wood, Jr. (comedian)
  • Bill Bruford (Yes, King Crimson)
  • Daniel Craig (actor)
  • Victoria Sun (topless girl from “Too Many Cooks”)
  • Ted Cruz (U.S. Senator)
  • Kenny Omega (pro wrestler)
  • Ariana Grande (singer) *

 

* Some sources dispute the nudity of Ms. Grande’s sleeping habits as it is well-known that she rests in a vat of vanilla lotion. This is pure hogwash. Whether one sleeps in sheets, vats of lotion or even layers of bubble wrap, it does not make them any less nude. Leave Ms. Grande alone.

Kryptonite Man

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You’re looking at my left leg in a fiberglass sling.

It’s a short story. I have a fractured left fibula. I fell at home and hyperextended my knee. I don’t have a prognosis yet. The fall took place on a Thursday. I have to see the orthopedic doctor on a Monday. Don’t know if there’s going to be surgery. There will definitely be a wheelchair for a period of time because getting around is going to be a bitch any other way.

As I sat there in the ER, I couldn’t help but feel like this was all my fault somehow. Like I’ve brought this on myself somehow. I beat myself up a lot. Too much. I am my own biggest hater. But it’s just a dumb accident. I fell at home. I was on the floor clipping my toenails and I went to get up and I slipped. Accidents happen. It doesn’t make it suck any less.

You probably also noticed the Superman pajama pants with the onomatopoeia. Specially the “BOOM” and “CRASH”. I know, it’s kind of funny. Or it will be when eventually when my leg is healed and I’m not in a wheelchair or using crutches.

I’m not the Man of Steel. I cannot leap tall buildings in a single bound. I can’t even get up off the floor without hurting myself. I have Kryptonite in my veins.

5/20 UPDATE: It’s been over a week since the big fall. I am out of the splint. A wheelchair has been ordered for me and will be forthcoming by the end of the week. The doctor has commanded me to rest and elevate my leg, which I do to the best of my ability. Surgery does not seem to be necessary, nor is a pimp cane needed. I can still get a pimp cane. It is always good to have a weapon.

Jugband Blues b/w Life Under Protest

 

It’s awfully considerate of you to think of me here/ and I’m much obliged to you for making it clear that I’m not here. . .

 

Yesterday was one of those days where I began to question my sanity. I woke up this morning I wondered if yesterday happened. Was it real? Is tomorrow real? Is today real? Is any of this real? Is all of this just an illusion? Am I real? What is happening here?

I fell deep into a rabbit hole of depression. It happened fast. I had an appointment with my therapist. It ended terribly. I’ll spare you the details. I’ll be amazed if my therapist schedules another appointment with me again, I’ll say that much. It went that badly. Things have not gone well anyway. I have (had) a therapist who makes housecall appointments. That’s definitely out the window now.

Eventually, this all ends with me being locked away for my own good, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest-style. I’ve reckoned with it my entire life, keeping the inevitability of it at bay. I’m doomed. I know it. I’ve cried out in terror and my friends laughed like they saw a clown getting hit with a banana cream pie. They didn’t see the signs. I feel like I’m disappearing and no one can see it because they’re too busy staring into their goddamn phones. Am I flying apart in a million different directions? Is this a momentary phase? Is the darkness temporarily winning the eternal arm-wrestle it has against the light? Is any of this real?

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How does this end? With me locked away, my head shaved for lice, waddling around in a bathrobe, sleep-eyed through daily activities with the other patients. My freedom taken away from me, made to sweep up cigarettes on a stoop even though I don’t smoke because chores are cycled between patients.

Would it be okay if I just spent the rest of my life in bed? Can I drop out? I’m just going through the motions at this point, living my life under protest. Not because I want to but because I have to.

. . . and the sea isn’t green/ and I love the queen/ and what exactly is a dream/ and what exactly is a joke?