Weight Loss Challenge!

March 22nd, 2017

I went to the store and stocked up on sugar-free Jello for tomorrow. Thursday is a liquid-only diet, and sugar-free Jello makes the cut. Around 4:30 Friday morning, my mother and I will trek on down to Bowling Green so I can get scoped by a doctor, who will be putting a camera down my throat. There will be anesthesia, which is why my mom is coming along to drive me back. I hope we get breakfast after because I’ll have to go at least thirty-two hours without solid food. Any meal will taste good after that. Gas station sausage biscuits never looks more like nectar of the gods after thirty-two hours without solids.


(Somebody should do a jingle to the tune of “Sugaree” by the Grateful Dead. “Shake it, take it sugar-free!” I’m telling you, you might sell a few dozen sugar-free items that way.)


(Not like the Dead needs more money.)


This is all part of the WEIGHT LOSS CHALLENGE 2017. I’m getting treatment at a facility in Bowling Green and the plan is for me to eventually get bariatric surgery. I have to have weight checks once a month, take a few classes, meet a nutritionist, get a mental health evalution. If I do everything I’m supposed to do, I can be ready for surgery in August or September.


They’ve already made me drink barium and take x-rays of my chest and stomach. I drank it very fast through a straw. Have you ever had barium? They make you swallow a cup of crystals that make you want to burp and belch but you’re not supposed to and then they have you drink the barium. You have to not eat anything after midnight the day you come in, like if you’re doing blood work. I’m getting familiar with these processes.


I feel nervous about the idea of surgery. That there won’t be any going back after that. And my life will never be the same. And the relationships I had with food I won’t be able to have anymore. There are a lot of moments when I feel cold and scared. I am a cold, frightened neglected child just waiting for the terror to end.


Where did that come from? What was that just now?


I can’t develop thick skin. I’m losing layers of it one by one. Soon there will be nothing protecting me from the elements. Even my clothes will hurt to touch me. My shoulders will feel a chill I can’t explain. I will go to bed and wait for it all to blow over again but it comes daily, sometimes multiple times. The bad man is in the White House. Why couldn’t you people just make the bad man go away?

What Happened Here?

March 19th, 2017

You are wreckage. What happened here? How did you get here?



You had a thing that you loved doing. You had your passion. You did it because you HAD to do it. And when somebody has to do something, that’s all the reason they need. They don’t stress too hard on what other people think.


You said to yourself, “no one will miss me if I stop doing this, the world will continue”. Which is true. But did you stop to think whether or not YOU would continue.


More importantly, you took this major plank out of your life. What did you replace it with? You didn’t. That’s just it. You don’t play shows anymore. You don’t have a band anymore. You don’t stand on stage and sing anymore. What happened here? Why did you stop? Who cared what they thought? Why do you care so much about “them” anyway?



The closer I got to exposing my true self, the more I felt out of step with the world around me. I was a great jester. I am a funny guy when I want to be. You ever hear that song “Tears of a clown”? There you go. I don’t want to put myself out there in bars and clubs while people are trying to have a good time and have a few drinks, pick up somebody to have sex with, shoot pool with, talk trash with, take selfies with. I am not the good time entertainer for them anymore and I don’t want to be. They’re not wrong for wanting to have a good time, just as I am not wrong for not wanting to not play for them. When our paths have crossed it has not gone well. They talk to me, they always want to have a dialogue with me. They puncture the atmosphere that I try to create. It’s too uncomfortable for them. 


I’m not an entertainer anymore. What I want to do isn’t feasible. Anything can stop me now. 


Just Relax And Enjoy It

March 19th, 2017

A long time ago, a politician in Texas once remarked that rape was like a hurricane and “if it’s inevitable, just relax and enjoy it”. His name was Clayton Williams, and he was running for Governor at the time. It was 1990, and he had a sizable lead over his opponent Ann Richards. The remarks led to backlash against Williams, as did allegations that he had visited a brothel while in college. On election day, Williams was toast, his lead in the polls evaporated and he crawled back into the world of oil, natural gas, philanthropy, and political fundraising.


Clayton Williams would have been perfect for 2017 politics. Went to a brothel, joked about victims enjoying rape? That would get him on the bill at CPAC. Maybe even as keynote speaker.


I’ve had a difficult time with all this. I need to be protected from rich people who think I’m a drain on society. Take a moment or two and read the New Yorker story about the connection between Trump, Steve Bannon and the Mercer family. The piece focuses mostly on the Mercer family, especially patriarch Robert. He is a billionaire kook. What do I mean by kook: he thinks that most Americans won’t be negatively affected by nuclear war. Oh, there might be a few deaths but mainly people will be just fine and it might even strengthen people. Like maybe even people might grow an immunity to nuclear exposure or something.


Jesus, lord. . .


Here we are, caught in a perfect storm. Living in a surreal nightmare that has been years in the making. While we go about our daily business, weirdos form think tanks and spend money to make things happen that will affect the quality of our lives. Then you find out about them and their worldview and you realize that they are fucking twisted and their thoughts are anti-social. Imagine the guy on the subway who touches himself while staring at women, shooting upskirt videos on his phone of unsuspecting women while walking up and down busy streets. Take that pervert, give him two billion dollars. What’s his worldview like? If he wanted to influence American policy, how would he try to do it?


The only way, the only fucking way, this Trump thing could ever have worked is if Trump had the very best and the very brightest people working in his administration and he listened to them. He doesn’t and he doesn’t. His chief strategist is a magazine editor/self-proclaimed Leninist who wants to dismantle the state and who’s favorite book is an incredibly racist French novel about Europe beating back a swarm of Muslim immigrants lead by a shit eater.




The sheer amount of lunatics, racists, kooks and incompetents in this cabinet are staggering. They got there by patronage, paying their way in. They bought a ticket and are taking a ride. You better believe the Mercer family have a seat at the table, even if they’re not in any official position. The weirdness is staggering. And it trickles down to the Congress, a Republican-led quagmire. More and more we’re seeing the veneer of normalcy flake away. Clayton Williams was a stone-cold prophet. Now we’re starting to see the freak flag fly, and not in a good way.



I’m Done

March 16th, 2017

I think I’m done as a viable, functioning human being. I’m still living and breathing but mentally I checked out a long time ago and have been on autopilot ever since.


I have an addictive personality. I don’t know why I’m just figuring this out. You don’t have to be an alcoholic or a junkie to be an addict, and I’ve always associated addictive personality with drug and alcohol addiction. You can get addicted to gambling or sex or food or or work or television or video games or exercise or  social media or pornography. Or I could.


The other day I announced finally that I was seeking treatment at a weight loss clinic so I can get bariatric surgery. The surgery is intense and will require a total lifestyle change. My lifestyle is. . . pretty horrible. I’m filled with shame and secrecy. Depression, anxiety and anger.


If you’re an alcoholic or a drug addict, people understand it even if they don’t excuse it. They might not like it, but they’ve seen it enough that it’s common. Somebody who’s addicted to junk food like me just needs to get off it and change his diet.


Two things: Changing my diet to a healthy one sounds like the worst, hardest thing you can do. Go to the top of Mount Everest and when you get there, light a stick of dynamite and put it in your mouth until it explodes and rips your body into pieces. I’m not a mountaineer. Why would I do that? Also, I’m always afraid of some unseen “They/them” and what “they/them” think about me and what I’m doing. I’m a riddle wrapped in neurosis containing an enigma.


I don’t want to go out anymore. I want to stay in the warm womb of my bed and eat junk food until it kills me. I can’t believe it hasn’t already. I’m supposed to have a mental health evaluation in May. I can’t imagine it will go well.


If I’m not done as a person, I have so much more work to do. I could have the surgery in August or September if I do everything I’m supposed to do. If I pass the mental health evalution for example. They may agree with my diagnosis that I am unfit to have the surgery. I can’t handle it. It’s too much pressure. Too many changes that I can’t make. I can’t change my world that fast.

Reaching Across (The Stiff-Arm)

March 13th, 2017

In this social media age, how you say something is half the problem, and the only half you control. Perception informs reality. What I think you said becomes what you said because that’s what I think you said. Strip away real world interaction where you would have to look and talk to one another and everything we say to each other is boiled down to words on a screen left for the other to interpret as they will. That is the other half of the problem, their interpretation.

When echo chambers collide

I’ve given this some thought because some of the more considerate left-wing people out there are wondering how to reach out to the Republican voter, or the Trump fan, or the self-proclaimed “conservative”. You’ll notice that I put “conservative” in quotes, there. I did that in order to distinguish between conservatives, who have a set of ideals and ideas in terms of policy and ways of governance, as opposed to “conservatives”, the kind who like making liberals mad and things that make liberals mad as if politics is some sort of Kentucky Wildcats-Louisville Cardinals bullshit.


The only thing I’ve been able to figure out is to distinguish the Republican voter from Republican leadership. Because when the bullet hit the bone, Republican voters will feel the hurt just as badly if not more. But you can’t say that the GOP is fucking up when they introduce legislation to deregulate coal companies, gut the EPA, make it easier for mentally ill people to buy guns, make it easier for employers to ask for DNA samples of their workers, etc. . . no, you can’t do that, because the little Republican snowflakes take it personally, as if you said they fucked up themselves. Just now, I referred to them as snowflakes because I’m filled with spite. . . because the voters fucked up in November and can’t see it. At least not yet.


On January 19th, the day before Trump’s inauguration, I went to see Steve Earle in Nashville. He played a long show, with a lot of in-between-song banter, mostly about the situation with the country as it stands right now. And I distinctly recall him saying near the end of the night that “people get the kind of government they deserve”. It’s been almost two months so I might be fuzzy on the exact wording, but when he said that I thought “no, no they don’t. Nobody gets what they deserve.”  Nobody deserves whatever is about to happen between now and the end of Trump’s presidency (whenever that may be), not the people who voted for him, or against him, or the people who didn’t vote at all, whether they didn’t have time to or because they couldn’t. Nobody.


There may be a better way to reach out to the other side, but I doubt you’ll get far with “conservatives” because they are still beating the drum of drinking coffee cups filled with liberal tears and posting pictures of the electoral map from 2016. It hasn’t hit them personally yet. Or maybe it has and they’re too ignorant to realize it. Either way, it’s hard to reach out to people who would stiff arm you at every opportunity.


Of course, there’s always open hostility. Whatever you think is best for the situation.

Guilty Conscience

March 11th, 2017

My WWE Network subscription ran out yesterday.

It was a gift from a friend who believed it was a fantastic thing, and if one is a WWE fan then he would be right. I have in a past life been a WWE fan. Before Election Day 2016. Before Linda McMahon became the head of Trump’s Small Business Administration.
I felt sick about having that damn subscription and stopped using it after November. Normalizing a monster like Trump belongs at the feet of people like Vince McMahon, who held two early Wrestlemanias at Trump Plaza in Atlantic City and letting Trump be the focus of the main event of Wrestlemania in 2007. That was the year Umaga wrestled Bobby Lashley in a Trump vs. McMahon hair match, with Stone Cold Steve Austin as referee. Donald Trump is in the WWE Hall of Fame, if it means anything.


Donald Trump is Vince McMahon’s idiot friend, and that guy is in the White House right now. Not to say McMahon is all that brilliant but he has at least eaten his own failures as opposed to Trump who’s failures are owned by other people, who rack up and pay for his losses.


There is more wrestling out there to enjoy and appreciate. At one point last year, I had compiled a list of my favorite matches from the first seven months of 2016. It got to be a long list, over 150 or more. It consumed my time and energy. I enjoyed it but I feel embarrassed now, seeing what the end of 2016 brought us. I really thought it couldn’t end so terribly. I got distracted in my cake and circus, and I have a guilty conscience about it.


I might be going crazy while the world burns itself. While bad people hurt those who can’t fight back. I feel powerless and any rage I could muster would go nowhere. Sometimes I muster the ability to resist in concrete ways. I’m on the phone with my representatives a lot more now. I am more awake then I was a year ago, and and certainly more than I was two years ago. But I envy those who are still sleeping in their bubbles. I envy the privileged. I am jealous and there’s two deadly sins right there. I already have gluttony, sloth and lust down pat. Anger isn’t even a sin anymore, it’s a bassline to life. If I were prideful, I’d have all the basis covered.


Wrestlemania is coming in a few weeks. Mary and the Colonel used to go every year. Since the Colonel passed away, Mary has gone without him. She has friends in wrestling now. She knows these larger-than-life characters as people… these blown-up one dimensional TV characters are another thing altogether when out of the limelight. The world is a strange place, and once upon a time I would want to know that world but not anymore. The fantasy dies behind the curtain. You don’t want to know who’s a dickhead in real life. Never meet your heroes. Never meet anyone. Meeting people is terrible.


Vince McMahon can drink my piss.

Antarctica Starts Here

March 9th, 2017

The most useful aspect of this website is as a running check on my mental state. If only it were primarily a tool of artistic expression. And it may have been once upon a time. Now this website is a mere tool of survival. I’m doing the best I can, hurling words into the void. I almost feel like this is the captain’s log on a ship that is lost at sea forever, words not to be read until long after I’m dead from scurvy or mutiny.


I don’t know a lot of people who are happy. Most of my friends are going through some sort of crisis. Loneliness, isolation, depression, existential dread. I don’t have the ability to diagnose my state or locate the root cause of it. I’m afraid that the root cause of my problems are like those of many people, and come externally. How do you cut the strings that are pulling you to and fro? How do you gain the strength to move on your own after that? How do you live in a system that is designed to divide you, conquer you and put you at battle with those you’ve been divided from?


So when you’re in that state of being, how do you escape? If it’s external stimuli torturing you, does it take external stimuli to rescue you? What comforts you in the dark of the night when nothing is comforting? Where do you turn? Who loves you when you need to be loved? Who holds you when you need it? Who lies to you and tells you everything is going to be better eventually? And where is she now that I need her?

For International Women’s Day 2017

March 8th, 2017

“Jesus Without Mary”

Sometimes I feel like Mary without Jesus

Then I think we’d have no Jesus without Mary

Talk about compassion

We’d have no forgiveness

and we’d have no mercy

Would we be alive?


I think about her kneeling at his cross

I think about her kneeling at his manger

Crying in the open, crying in the open

Bethlehem newborn, hidden from Herod

Come on, Mother Mary

Give love to your baby

They finally got him

They’ve taken him away


Sometimes I feel like Jesus without Mary

Sometimes I feel like I’m nothing at all

Not just nobody, but nonexistant

I need Mother Mary to keep me standing tall

Without her I’m just marching through the desert looking for my home

Just looking for a settlement somewhere where I won’t be alone

I need my Mother Mary

I need my Mother Mary

It Hurts To Laugh This Much

March 7th, 2017

Oh, what’s this in my e-mail inbox?

Why, it’s an e-mail from one of my US Senators!

And he addressed it to me personally! Wowzers!


Yeah, I remember that now. I called your Washington office. In fact, I’ve called a bunch of times but I’ve only gotten through twice because your voice mail is turned off and the line is always busy. Quite a miracle I got through. I feel like Emmitt Smith shooting the gap to run for a first down at Texas Stadium.



Thank you, Senator, for this e-mail which is certainly not a form letter in regards to the issue I e-mailed you about (the confirmation hearing of Attorney Gen. Jeff Sessions).


Or what’s left of it since January 20th. Please continue.



That did happen, but not before you completely embarrassed yourself by shutting down Sen. Warren from Massachusetts.  So how’s it going with ol’ boy J.B. Sessions?


Mwahahahahahahah way to go Mitch. Way to win that battle. Hope it was worth it.

It’s not even illegal for him to have met with a Russian ambassador but he lied under oath during the hearing and that is certainly not illegal. He should be sitting next to Mike Flynn on the unemployment line. Oh ho ho ho ho ho.



That’s marvelous. You kill me.

Hoodie President

March 6th, 2017

If I were the President right now, we would not be in the situation we are right now. I would not be on Twitter at six in the morning yelling about TV and the New York Times. It’s time for a little compare and contrast.


“I can’t believe as a taxpayer, I have to pay for Trump’s weekends at his estate in Mar-a-Lago.”

“I can’t believe as a taxpayer, I have to pay for Farmer’s vacation at a legal brothel in Nevada.”


“The President’s wife stays with their son in New York City at Trump Tower.”

“President Farmer is a bachelor. He has no time for dating right now, what with all the work he has to do. He has proposed legislation legalizing prostitution in the District of Columbia, a suggestion that has led to bipartisan support in Congress.”


“Trump doesn’t own a dog.”

“President Farmer doesn’t have any pets, except for a girl he wants the press to refer to as the ‘The First Sub’. As yet, the press overwhelmingly refuses to do so and tries not to acknowledge the presence of ‘The First Sub’, which oddly turns her on even more.”


“Trump eats steak well-done with ketchup.”

“President Farmer eats steak medium-rare usually. . . with ketchup.”


“Trump hasn’t released his taxes in decades because he’s in collusion with foreign powers.”

“President Farmer hasn’t filed taxes in fifteen years because he’s poor and on benefits.”


“Trump has been accused of sexual assault by up to eleven women.”

“President Farmer has been accused of screaming at women occasionally. He has also screamed at men, children, inanimate objects, animals and sometimes the sun.”


“Trump puts scotch tape on the back of his ties to hold them together.”

“President Farmer always wears a hoodie. He even wears a hoodie when meeting with foreign dignitaries. He offered the Chinese prime minister a hoodie, which was accepted with some embarrassment.”


“Trump has spent thirty-one percent of his term at Mar-a-Lago golfing.”

“President Farmer has spent thirty-one percent of his term in bed.”


“Trump’s constant tweeting has destabilized the stock market, world trade, and international relations.”

“President Farmer has sworn off tweeting, but continues to maintain social media accounts so he can perv on pictures of babes, which he has spent fourteen percent of his term doing.”


“Trump is too mentally unstable to run the country.”

“No comment.”