Friday, April 29, 2016

“I’ve Built Walls, A Fortress Deep and Mighty”

 A Potential Curmudgeon Goes Full Blown

A Tale of a Miserable Soul

The ominous, blood-red, blinking tally light of the answering machine (yes, I still have one of those); the unexpected lobby buzzer while garbed in p.j.’s and yesterday’s Fruit of the Looms when no visitors are due; the text with no contact identified; the Facebook message from a guy you haven’t seen since you were crossing guards on the same elementary school corner in fifth grade, mere children with the responsibility of life and death in your immature and very irresponsible hands – such are the unwelcome signs of the apocalypse when all your mood dictates is solitary seclusion.

To quote Australian-born, pop-songstress Helen Reddy, by all evidence, presently adrift in a Witness Protection Program, and her 1973 hit song Ruby Red Dress – “Leave me alone, won't you leave me alone? Please leave me alone, now leave me alone. Oh, leave me alone, please leave me alone, yes leave me. Leave me alone, won't you leave me alone. Please leave me alone, now leave me alone. (And should you somehow be missing the gist) God leave me alone, just leave me alone, oh leave me.” (At this juncture, you’ve surely surmised something in regards to the unpleasant direction of today’s essay, as it recklessly barrels toward the oncoming headlights of complaint and crankiness, like an airport drop-off chauffeured by Annie’s sibling, Duane Hall.)

For all that is holy, won't you please just leave this fine lady alone?

Alvy Singer and Duane Hall, airport bound
As much as the exposure of this very blog suggests a search and even sometime successful securing of a public spotlight, on many an occasion all I solicit from life is to be left blissfully, pacifically, quietly, serenely, relaxingly alone – a 2016 edition of Simon and Garfunkel’s Rock, “shielded in my armor, hiding in my room, safe within my womb,” hermetically sealed and stowed away for some future possible socialization, hopefully not scheduled any time in the very near future. Jiminy, if I could keep collecting my salary while somehow never entering the workplace again, that would be my Canaan, a gift from whichever of the world’s thousands of gods you would chose to assign it to.  Is my current catalog of blocked and unfriended Facebook contacts, now threatening to outnumber and overwhelm the count of those with whom I maintain continuous communication, the contemporary indication of a modern Molierian misanthrope? Am I a contemptible cad?

Satisfying today's educational portion of the program - Moliere
No matter the positive or negative nature of this dispirited disposition, the seemingly simple aspiration of temporarily, self-imposed solitary confinement can prove as irritatingly elusive as a truth-telling Trump, a prophylactic employing Palin or a Sanders' soliloquy different in monotonous messaging from all previous, predictable pronouncements – modern technology has it made it such that we are all instantly accessible, and those seeking immediate entrĂ©e will no longer accept postponed correspondence. And so, one must always be slightly on edge, in alert anticipation of the call of the modern day town crier spreading necessary news, or fulfilling personal needs. All of this being said, there is a duo of unique exception who can contact me anytime, anywhere and be everlastingly, happily and comfortably embraced – one is a cat (no judging, please) the other, a homo sapien and composer of musicals (but not Cats.) Both, being highly skilled readers. should now be fully aware of their identities.

Bernie Sanders (see: Pony, One Trick)
This search for solitude, this quest for quiet, this pursuit of privacy is assuredly exclusively a First World problem, one driven by data plans, USB chargers and Skype, and ultimately of very little consequence or importance. But, sometimes, there is no greater satisfaction or relaxation than an uncorked Sauvignon Blanc, a recline on the settee ("couch" to those with less pretense), a properly aged fromage (see), some saucisses (ooh, someone has Google Translator) and a vinyl Jefferson Airplane platter, popping and skipping on the turntable.

“I Have My Books and My Poetry to Protect Me”

And now, live from the mid-sixties, when all of us were still in black and white, Simon and Garfunkel with a television performance of “I Am a Rock.”

Any comments, questions, criticisms, candid confessions, cash contributions?  Contact me at butchersaprons@mail.com.

Thursday, April 7, 2016

Truth or Trump? – America’s Game Show of Consequences

"Lies, lies
I can't believe a word you say.
Lies, lies, are gonna make you sad someday."

Right up front, an admission of guilt - yes, we have spent (wasted?) far too much blog space on the specious subject matter of “Donald J. Trump: Billionaire Blowhard/Fantasy Fascist/Racist Reactionary/Sexist Symbol,” and it can be easily argued that in doing so, we’ve played right into the hands of the world’s most obvious sociopath and his pathetic desire for unending attention, whether that non-stop, glaring spotlight illuminates traits and behaviors complimentary or condemning. But, there’s a reason for this perpetual proffering of political pain - the imperative objective of any American with access to a public forum, the most urgent and immediate concern, and the greatest duty as a patriotic and loyal citizen, is to do anything and everything in one’s power to terminate Trump’s treacherous and perilous ascent to the Presidency.

And so, with that meritorious mission in mind, and this sudden and startling shift in mood and humor, please join “… and several butcher’s aprons” and legendary T.V. emcee, Art James, as once again, it’s time for the Confederate States of America’s favorite new game show, “Truth or Trump?” As always, we’ll be presenting a series of actual and oft-repeated Donald Trump claims and it’s up to the contestants, and you, the television audience playing along at home, to determine whether the Donald was firmly factual or fully fabricating.

Reconsidering his Anti-choice stance
 Please welcome today’s players, always chosen among those who are either influences on the candidate, supporters, or of a similar mind regarding social and political policy. First, he was the former Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan, and before the current GOP frontrunner, the most contemptible, hateful, reprehensible waste of life to ever run for the office of President of the United States, David Duke.  And joining him in this battle for valuable prizes – a selection of rotted Trump steaks, vile Trump Vodka, a scholarship to flim-flam Trump University, and a 2 night stay in one of any of the many bankrupt and shuttered Trump Hotels and Casinos – put your hands together for Third Reich Minister of Propaganda, Joseph Goebbels and famed Roman Emperor, madman and fellow incest proponent, Caligula. If you’re all ready, we’ll start the clock. Good luck and let’s begin.

Caligula, he and Donald share the same views on "family values"

The Muddled Mind of a Maniac

- He warned of Osama Bin Laden in a book in 2000

- Thousands of Muslims in New Jersey cheered the fall of the Twin Towers on September 11, 2001

-  The Obama Administration plans on accepting 250,000 Syrian refugees

- Obamacare has raised insurance premiums 35% - 55%

- His campaign is 100% self-funded

- The United States has a $500 billion trade deficit with China

- The real unemployment rate is as high as 35%

- He won 66 out of 67 counties in Florida
- Over 300,000 veterans have died while waiting for V.A. care

- The number of illegal immigrants in the United States is between 30 and 34 million

- 25% of American Muslims believe violence against America is justified

- His net worth is above $9 billion

- African-Americans kill 81% of white homicide victims

- The Taliban members traded for Bowe Bergendahl's release returned to the battlefield

- He knows a 2 year old who got autism 2 weeks after receiving a vaccination

- He was against the invasion of Iraq

- The U.S. is the highest taxed country in the world

- The GDP was zero for the last 2 quarters

- He never referred to female adversaries as fat pigs, dogs, slobs and disgusting animals

Goebbels declaring Truth or Trump? victory
Well, we’re just about out of time, finish up your final answers, and pens down. We’d like to congratulate the victor, but I’m afraid in this game, no one wins, least of all the United States of America, the voters or any single member of Earth’s population, for everything was a lie. Fact checkers have revealed the harsh reality that less than 8% of anything that Donald Trump says, writes, or probably even thinks, has any relationship to fact, legitimacy or authenticity. He is a sad, egomaniacal monster completely incapable of telling the truth, it’s just not the nature of a deep-seated, troubled sociopath.

Now, stay tuned, for Match Game 2016, up next - “Homicidal Helen is so homicidal (your part) she said, ‘but officer, I couldn’t have shot my husband, my gun only contains (blank.)’”

Supporters outside of a recent Trump rally
Today’s bit of folderol concludes with the only appropriate musical selection, it’s legendary garage band, The Knickerbockers with “Lies.”

Any comments, questions, criticisms, candid confessions, cash contributions?  Contact me at butchersaprons@mail.com.