- From the National Affairs Desk
"Yes, well, when we're applauding my aptitude at making rescues, we should keep in mind who causes most of the accidents in the first place." Res Ipsa Loquitur
Highchief, here's the brass taxes. I'm sitting in the re-opened National Affairs Suite at the National Affairs Desk. The past few weeks, fuck it, months, have been a real wild ride. But you, Constant Readers old and new, black and blue (ho ho ho), all know that because we have all been on the same ride together as consumers of the News and media. Life has never been more polarizing and interesting, for good or bad. Each new week seems to bring a new calamity that populates every form of media and, by proxy, our lives. I have made it very clear that I despise the media, and those few who run it. It seems like the memos have been going out every day, and getting through, from the Economy to Covid to BLM to protests to bang bang shoot 'em ups to riots, back to Covid to sports to the West Coast is burning and climate change. I had a feeling that this week's media memo was going to be about health coverage, but that went up in flames as well with the passing of Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg along with the pall of violence hanging over Louisville, KY as the nation waits for a ruling regarding the murder of Breonna Taylor. I can see both candidates parlaying the death and impending destruction of Louisville into the election home stretch. We haven't even reached the debates yet. So, I have postponed my original post for this week until the future (it was about ghosts). This makeshift post is one of fear (mine), one of emotion (yours), and one of hope (??). Nobody knows what's real anymore and I find that energizing and, more importantly, fun. So let's get started.
I haven't worked for another person since 2017. In that time I started my own multimedia company called North Central Positronics. Ain't that a peach? Slowly, things are happening. Of course I've always had my freelance writing to fall back on so income is generated there. Isn't that crazy? Doesn't that make you hate and despise me even more? Actually, that was all bullshit. You would have to be a professional waterhead to believe any of that. However...
I still need funds. I still strongly feel that I could survive from income generated through the journalism I provide you. You ungrateful swine. If that freelance stuff doesn't work out Pay Me at paypal.me/. The hot shit, goddamn cheap fucks with disposable income, is y'all should be paying for local journalism and conversation. If I comment on your social media post, pay me. If I share your post, cash me. For example I got this public post from Lee G here stressing the severity of the Louisville situation.
With me reposting, it has now reached more people, raising awareness, than Lee could ever dream of. So Lee, Cash Me. If I screencap your public post and, as a bonus, offer a critique of it while expressing concern about the state of society (and mental illness), who knows, I may agree with you. But I may not. Either way, cash me at cash.me/#WetFanny. We should be able to live happily, however we like, doing the things that bring us peace and joy. Y'know, like writing this blog. Did you know that it took me 25 minutes to write that peace and joy nonsense? Good god, man. Peace isn't being someone's employee. Its me working for Me; being a fucking bum. If the Constant Readers respected the work local journalist(s) (?) do, the tireless efforts of Mr. Magoo, there wouldn't be a need for cashapp's and PayPal's but guess what? Me and my cult (of personalities) will still find a thing to bitch about every single, goddamn, hour of our lives. What I just wrote there about "respect"; toss it. The average Constant Reader doesn't even see us local journalists. How they going acknowledge or compensate us when the expectation is we just do it for free? If you've learned some things from this site like corrupt local music fests, or tasteful nudes, or how to take a joke... Pay me. After all, this is my job. Its what I'm here to do and I've been A-Number 1 for years. I've even had my assistant, Joan "the Moan", draft an all-inclusive presentation for the JCM Focus Group (unpaid interns):
I mean what other local journalist would cover, even a brief mention in passing, the mass deletion of tweets and rewritten rhetoric from a cornerstone like The New York Times? (See below). How exactly does one going from a Pulitzer Prize to self-censorship? They did it on there own. There wasn't even a lawsuit. This is the Cash Me Culture at its finest, so uhhhh, Pay Me.
Okay watersuckers, if it wasn't painfully obvious, that previous tirade was complete satire on my end, but be afraid, very afraid, that there are some out there who would type such gibberish. And do it while maintaining a straight face. They are out there. Alright, back to the National Affairs Desk in the present, the week before I undergo a very important and severe medical procedure with ominous implications regarding my future. Enough of that. The National Affairs Suite smells oddly like spoiled milk and there are unread books (Google it) stacked everywhere along with notecards scattered containing early dawn thoughts, some that make sense, most do not. While trying to clean up I find that last hit of acid that I didn't take at my MRI and wonder if I should take it while writing my RBG obit. I've never done anything like that before and even if it falls flat at least it won't be as flat as that Bahama show that pollutes my FB feed (Cash Me). Jesus Christ. Maybe I should save it for when the Docs put me under. "No need for that ventilator you vultures. I've been breathing through your noses for hours now." They would know that I'm not to be believed but would probably knock me sideways anyway. I've already taken the time to write my PayPal/GoFundMe info in Sharpie on top of the incision site. If I add to that the LSD-25 will I have fantastic, vivid, dreams and adventures or will it just be darkness followed by a cruel body buzz when/if I wake up? When I was a kiddo I convinced my pops to toss an explosive into our above-ground pool. I wanted to see if it just fizzled out or what ended up actually happening: blowing a giant hole in the pool. It was one high quality explosive. I am that explosive. Or am I the pool? That was the metaphor I initially thought of. What is in the future? Let's get to the meat of the matter. The fat is in the fire. The Terra has been stomped. There is a (very) mild chance that this will be my last post. If so, Cash Me. If not, then just Pay Me. I know some have wondered why I haven't written much lately. Now you do. So, let's hop on that road to the future, one where all the exit signs are visible and well-lit. It should be a fun ride and then you can cash me a drink at the Clearing Tavern.
Ah shit, I forgot about the eulogies. Let's start with Louisville, KY because it hasn't happened yet and I like to be ahead of the curve. In a Lavender exclusive I have obtained some photographs of the preparations going on in downtown Louisville in anticipation of the ruling of potential punishment for those involved in the Breonna Taylor shooting. As I said, interesting times indeed.
Very prudent to protect the gas lines and hopefully those who can drive and not have to be dropped off by their parents will be deterred.
Louisville September 2020 is a complete ghost town it seems. Very eerie.
I have included a pic of the local Louisville North Central Positronics HQ which has been fortified along with additional police support.
I try to look for the bright side in everything so even if massive property destruction and violence is avoided there will at least be ample canvas for the burgeoning mural trade.
As I said, this post is meant to be one of hope so lets hope violence and negativity will be avoided and we as a society can continue moving forward to a bright future; a future of equality, justice, and true freedom.
In conclusion I wanted to touch on the passing of Justice Ginsberg. I didn't know Ruth personally, but I knew of her. The 90's and 00's don't offer any favors in the memory department. Based on the reactions I've seen I'll go ahead and check off that she was a most important person in our Nation's history. She will be missed by many for a long time (or until the next media memo goes out). Her passing makes the next few months very intriguing and social media very insufferable. This is why I didn't want to go too over the top in this eulogy. Case in point, see below:
Good lord, what kind of fan fiction was that? Just when we're almost making progress on the black vs. white wormhole now they saddle us with men vs. women, and most concerning, Marvel vs. DC. I understand we all have our ways of expressing grief and/or looking for attention, but c'mon man. Those were so cloying and putrid and a breeding ground for mockery. Here is one of my favorite replies:
Here is one last one where the grief begins its familiar merging with extracurricular activities.
Yeah, the buffet line ho ho ho. Of course there is nothing wrong with writing/calling your politicians or even demonstrating/protesting, but you don't need me to tell you that. But if you did, CASH ME! Those things are our freedoms that RBG helped to shape and protect. *Previous sentence was genuine and not a ploy to get laid by the girl from Twin Peaks Northville, MI, U.S.A.
All joking aside, RBG obviously made a difference for a lot of people. I actually know some of them. They are real people with real feelings and opinions. It takes a transcendent soul to accomplish that. Trust me, I know. To balance the jokey screengrabs above, grab a book (Google it) or (gasp) Wikipedia her. Its a pretty good story, one not tampered with by journalists from the New York Times (yet). I just wish she would have smiled more. She always looked so severe. Then again there's not a lot to smile about. Fuck that, of course there is, taking the kids to the zoo or a Red Wings game for the first time, a rocking sunset (on or off LSD), feeding a bird, the unexpected nude leaks of Brie Larson. Sometimes you just have to look. Of course it helps if you are not a justice on the Supreme Court. And if you are having trouble finding that smile, well, that's my job, remember? A-#1. If that's the case then take that time to smile. And when you're done, all together now, CASH ME! Oh, and to call-back to my earlier satirical rant, RBG didn't work for RBG. RBG worked for her country. Her peace was not being somebody's employee. Her peace was a lifetime of service, and what she believed in. And she did it all without a fucking PayPal. I guess that last bit was me at my most profanely profound. Well, that'll do it for this one. Wish me luck on the Doc thing, or don't. I've pretty much accomplished everything I wanted to do in life already, so every day is sort of a bonus. Take care of your loved ones, try to weather the storm, enjoy what you can, and finally, Pay Me! Till next time, till the very end, I'll keep shutting down the lazy, hateful waterheads and investing in pain relief for the migraines caused by excessive rolling of the eyes. Until then, I've got a job to do, and do it well/half-assed, I will. Trust me this won't hurt.
From the Iceman Commeth,
The Thing Speaks For Itself
Bryan Metro
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