Dear Mole: How’re Ya Now?

wayne

How’re ya now?

Good’n’you?

Not so bad.

While you’ve been productively prolific in the dispensation of the written word, I’ve been watching TV.

Since Suzanne alerted me to the existence of a show called Letterkenny the other dayee, staring at the tube has once again become my veritable raison d’etre.

I predict that watching these 2 clips is all it will take for it to become your new favorite thing, too:

Even though I have nothing of substance to say anymore, you still let me spew it here on your site, Mole, and that’s what I appreciates abouts you.

That’s all I’ve got this month. See you in October.

Pitter Patter,

‘Mudge

America’s Hitler 2: Electric Boogaloo

Mole’s passionate excoriation of our retard-in-chief should need no further explanation or context, but when one breaks out the Hitler comparisons, there are still many Americans who would cry “foul!” And no, he wasn’t trying to compare our current situation in the U.S. with the full-fledged Third Reich and its sprawling international complex of death camps. He was trying to warn you about how it all starts.

To that end, here are the facts:

  • Prior to usurping the presidency, Donald Trump was a slumlord, a proudly public racist and a fraud. Remember when the current king of crying “harassment!” spent an entire year harassing President Obama with that racist birth certificate bullshit? Of course, you do. Those of you who do not hail from the East Coast: Google Trump’s public statements (and full-page newspaper ad buy) regarding the Central Park Five after they were exonerated by DNA evidence. Better yet, read the recent book published by his niece, Mary, then get back to me and try to defend his status as a human being, let alone a president.
  • 175,000 Covid-19 fatalities and counting – it’ll all go away like a miracle!
  • On John McCain: “I like people who weren’t captured.” On the late John Lewis: “He didn’t come to my inauguration. Nobody has done more for Black Americans than I have. He should have come.” On Q-Anon: “I’ve heard these are people that love our country.
  • Russia’s dictator elevated Trump to the presidency, not the American voters. Period. Still unsure what to think about this because Mueller was a little too “polite” in the wording of his findings? Then take a look at the 1,000 page report issued this week from a Republican-led Senate committee.
  • Trump threw our entire intelligence community under the bus on an international stage and sided instead with…you guessed it, PUTIN.
  • Babies in cages.
  • All of our former alliances across the globe have been squandered in favor of courting dictators. And, ahem – here’s a direct quote from Orangina: “Kim Jong-Un is the head of the country – and he’s the strong head, don’t let anyone think any different. He speaks and his people sit up in attention. I want my people to do the same.”
  • A bald-faced attempt to rig the upcoming election by rigging it himself, screaming that it’s rigged before it even happens, knee-capping the postal service to suppress the vote and threatening to send armed goons to polling places to intimidate brown people. This is happening RIGHT NOW. Oh, and nobody’s done a goddamn thing about Russia yet. Not a thing.
  • Speaking of Russia, they put bounties on our troops to encourage Taliban members to kill them. Our “law and order” (translation: FASCIST) president refuses to address this with his puppet master because he would rather our soldiers DIE than offend his man crush in the Kremlin.
  • William Barr publicly and deliberately mischaracterized the findings of the Mueller report, then proceeded to fire (or attempt to fire) every U.S. attorney working on cases involving Trump or his criminal associates. Trump’s big fat lap dog also choreographed the tear-gassing of peaceful protestors using the military to facilitate a bullshit photo op.
  • “There were very fine people on both sides.” Charlottesville, 2017.
  • When directly questioned about Putin’s brutality to his own people (most recently on the poisoning of Russia’s most prominent dissident), Trump’s go-to answer is “we’re not very innocent, either”. Very true, Asshole – and you’ve done more than anyone to ensure that’s a fitting motto for the United States.
  • None of the above matters one iota to approximately 40% of the American citizenry. That means that 4 out of 10 people I encounter on a daily basis are cowardly, racist authoritarian sycophants. I, for one, would rather die than live in such a selfish, fucked up society. If that sounds like an overreaction, then I demand that you stop quoting Patrick Henry immediately.

Throughout my life, I’ve often pondered the mass insanity of the German populace in the early 1930’s. The most common excuse heard from “decent” Germans after the war was that they “didn’t know it would be so bad” or that “it was just the way things were”. Sorry, Assholes, but that doesn’t cut the mustard for me. I currently view Trumpists in the exact same way, even those who share my last name. I will not accept “we didn’t know” because the facts are screaming in their faces. They just REFUSE to see it. For that, I detest each and every one of them. Not a very enlightened view, I know, but it’s how I feel. I cannot take “the high road” since anything short of pure venom falls on willfully deaf ears in 21st Century America. This is my home and they have destroyed it and I will never forgive anyone who had a part in this.

God bless America.

Dear Mole: Filthy Rich

 

Big news! I am $84.15 wealthier than I was just five minutes ago.

In order to pocket that money, I had to delete The Desert Curmudgeon from the internet. That’s as it should be. I think the handful of lackluster posts I composed right out of the gate made it clear that I really didn’t give a rat’s ass about starting up a new blog.

Regardless, here’s hoping somebody picks up the slack and finishes what I started with The StarLost.

On to today’s question: where do you see yourself in 77 days?

Swimming Pools, Movie Stars,

‘Mudge

Dear Mole: The Anxiety of Introspection

bubs

When we see a dog engaged in the obviously futile effort of chasing down its own coccyx or treating the toilet bowl like a desert oasis, our most common reaction is to shrug this behavior off as just “a dog being a dog”.

Right?

So when will we, the blabbing hairless apes of the Animal Kingdom, make peace with the fact that every single frightening and atrocious thing we view on the nightly news is just another example of “a human being a human”?

I can’t really claim that this pandemic hasn’t affected me, though I undoubtedly have made such a public claim more than once. I don’t talk about this very often because many people would find it cold and callous, but I honestly think that the effect this whole situation is having on those who aren’t tangibly fighting for their lives is downright hysterical. The fact that most people are absolutely terrified of themselves and the workings of their undistracted minds has never been brought into starker focus. There was a touch of Buddhist influence in that statement, of course, but far from causing me to meditate on “the suffering of all beings” and pray for the alleviation of their collective ignorance, all I can feel in the presence of people struggling to retain some small grip on their “sanity” in the face of such an “unfair” turn of events is smug amusement. That’s right, Morons – the problem all along has been Y-O-U!

There were an awful lot of personal questions in your latest letter, most of which I’m going to ignore. Not because the answers would be uncomfortably private or confidential, but because even I don’t care about the answers to the things you asked, even though they were the types of questions most people would love to publicly field. So I’ll answer all of ‘em in one big catch-all reply: Don’t know. Don’t care.

Right now, I am telling myself and anyone within earshot that I am in a holding pattern until Election Day. It seems to make sense to those who hear me explain it and it serves to kick the can of figuring out what to do with myself down the road for at least a few more months. But what if November 3 does mark the beginning of the end of this retarded chapter in American history, as the pundits predict?

Don’t know. Don’t care.

You see, the current state of the world has nothing to do with my lack of passion for…well, for pretty much everything, really. My lack of passion is caused, quite simply, by a lack of passion. A realization of the intrinsic banality behind the illusory excitement of the news cycle and the social media trends. Nothing’s shocking. Very little is even worthy of analysis. But I still enjoy ice cream and bong hits and bad TV and playing with Jesse – and that’s a lot of priceless stuff in one deceptively short sentence. Those things, along with a detached curiosity about my species and its self-defeating tendencies, are what keep me motoring along, such as I do.

But I try not to think about the “I” or the motoring. And that, right there, is the only spiritual advice I have left to dispense. The blandest subject matter upon which one can ruminate is “me”, however each of us may define that. Though I doubt any significant lessons will be learned by humanity at large when we finally come out the other end of this pandemic, it would still be a very pleasant surprise to see people come to the collective realization — however slowly — that in order to be happy, all they need to do is get the fuck out of their own way.

The dumbest thing anyone can do, of course, is sit around waiting to be pleasantly surprised.

Sitting Around Waiting To Be Pleasantly Surprised,

‘Mudge

Dear Mole: Happy Endings?

AMP-bust

So this is it. The end result of six decades of protest, activism and civic engagement:

White House Rose Garden statement President Trump

Was it worth it?

Ignore that last question. It was stupid. Whether or not something is worth the effort is entirely subjective, not to mention completely impertinent to the indisputable fact that what has happened is what has happened, so why debate it retrospectively?

I hated The Stand by Stephen King.  Mind you, I enjoyed the first 100 pages or so (for those whose only exposure to this post-apocalyptic tale was the Molly Ringwald-helmed miniseries, I enjoyed it right up to the point that the film’s unofficial theme song “Don’t Fear The Reaper” stopped playing.) That’s the precise point in the story when the mass death abates and the remnants of humanity begin to organize into groups and towns and cultures again. What a perfect way to ruin an otherwise beautiful bedtime story.

The reason I hate the turn Mr. King took in his novel, of course, is that it’s probably pretty close to what would really happen as opposed to my fantasy of total human annihilation.  For better accuracy, we need to relegate the phrase “end of the world” to far off events like the death of the sun – in other words, events that would literally result in the end of the planet and all life upon it.  Covid-19 isn’t such an event, obviously, nor is chaos on the streets of America…nor is the infuriating elevation to power of America’s most idiotic vulgarian. None of these things are as portentous as we like to think (especially not as portentous as I like to think). Sadly, we aren’t doomed. Quite the contrary: when an organism with as much power to manipulate the environment as ours grows to nearly 8 billion strong, it’s going to take a lot more than civil unrest and occasionally fatal viruses to wipe it out. It would take more than global thermonuclear warfare, in fact.

Mind you, it is within the realm of possibility that our species truly is on the downturn, so to speak. In its waning days. But when an organism with as much power to manipulate the environment as ours hangs around for over 100,000 years, its eventual demise will necessarily be very gradual. What that means is you won’t be around to see it, nor will I, nor will anyone that currently inhabits the planet. All such dramatic apocalyptic prophecies are the result of laughable self-importance, a feeling that it would represent the fulfillment of some destiny and end in divine or fateful judgment. They are also very popular fictional and/or religious tropes because all of us love the drama. But how many times can we watch the same movie and still pretend to be surprised by the ending? If any of this can be said to rise to the level of drama, it’s only dramatically repetitious.

So I have had to make peace with the fact that I will never get the “happy ending” to this human drama that I had fooled myself into anticipating. Nope. The planet will keep shitting out people long after it’s flushed me and you down the commode. That’s okay. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’ve always known this. Honestly, my former dalliances in apocalypse porn were just momentary escapes from the far more mundane truth. But now that I’ve admitted this, the jig is up, right? Today, I put down my metaphorical pen and leave it to those whose adorable optimism in the face of impossibility can still manage to make me feel nice for just a nanosecond. Not hopeful – that’s over with. Just nice.

I intend to spend the rest of my life, however long that may be, in the bleachers. I am a spectator, nothing more. Mild curiosity represents the pinnacle of emotional highs that I can experience. Since I don’t have the drive or the wherewithal to start any “new chapters” in life, I feel like someone who just sat through a 50 year long film only to find that the credits last just as long as the feature.

So here I sit, as the credits roll on and on and on.

Imagine if those astrophysicists that posit a never-ending multiverse process of creation and destruction are right?  If they are, then this isn’t even the last time this exact blog post will be written. In fact, its composition will be infinite.

Clockwork predictability underlying apparent entropy! What a colossal bore.

I’ve nothing more to say.

Adios,

‘Mudge