Freeze Frame

June 29th, 2017

I live in a trash country where the trash king sleeps in a bed of garbage in the White House.


Unrelated news, but I recorded a few songs last week. Four songs, to be exact. Three songs that I wrote and one song that already had music that needed lyrics. I sat in a nice cabin off the Barren River. It was nice. I needed it. It took about two days. I’ve been listening to the songs and thinking about if they have any potential. I’m not sure. I’m not the guy you want to talk to about commercial viability. For that, outside parties would be needed to assess. People in the know.


I did not shoot my best shot on those best songs. The songs are okay and the performances were strong but I did it because I needed to do it. It was a necessary exercise. More for my mental health than anything else.


I haven’t been in front of a recording microphone since the last Technology Vs. Horse album which has been over a year-and-a-half. I actually think it was December 2015, maybe even before that.


My world is filled with “I can’t”. I can’t change that. I don’t know how.

I Envy The Inanimate

June 23rd, 2017

I envy people who are functioning with some type of normality in the world. I can’t do it.


Why would anyone even want to be alive right now?


Whatever I’m doing right now is not leading a life. I’m just marking time until my heart stops. Possibilities have been stripped from me. I’m another face in the crowd in those rare occasions I’m in the crowd. Mostly, I’m at home. Protected from the judgmental eyes. Stop looking at me. Don’t look at me. Don’t hang up. Please don’t hang up. Stay on the line.


Life has been a giant ripoff and when it finally ends, it won’t be soon enough.

I Have To Be A Lonely Warrior

June 16th, 2017

Today in Japan it is the 17th of June, which means this is the birthday of Minoru Suzuki who turns 49.


I wrote a blog about a year-and-a-half ago called “(The) Minoru Suzuki Rules” in which I spewed forth about my love and awe of this terrifying violent man. I won’t link it for you, but I’ll take the time to make a Top Ten Five list about the man. This frightening dead-eyed wraith from a distant land who may very well be the wrestling equivalent of the Grim Reaper. Golly, he’s just so wonderful.


  1. The Hair. This is a man who has made a sound decision to live with that haircut. He knows that if anybody makes fun it, he could pound them into jelly with his fists. He hopes they make fun of his haircut just so he’ll have an opportunity to do so.
  2. The theme song. “Kazi Ni Nare”


The only English lyrics in this song are at the end when the woman sings “I have to be a lonely warrior”. I sing that to myself whenever I try to flirt with chicks. That has nothing to do with Minoru Suzuki.


3. He guest-starred in a Japanese cartoon.  In the ’70s on Scooby Doo, they had Mama Cass and the Harlem Globetrotters. Japan is a better country than this one.

4. One time he wrestled a guy in an empty baseball stadium.

I’ve been to baseball parks to watch wrestling shows. I think this time instead of having a public event they simply snuck into the arena to have the match and post the video online. Guerrilla freestyle comedy wrestling.


5. This is also not the first Minoru Suzuki match you should watch.


However, this quickie against “Sublime Master Thief” Toru Yano is a capsule of Minoru in action. In NBA terms, Minoru Suzuki would be LeBron James. Everybody knows that LeBron James is better than Andre Iguodala, even Iggy knows that. LeBron kicks his ass for all 48 minutes and gets the good calls from the ref but somehow stupid AI gets to be the Finals MVP because the Warriors win the series.

What I’m saying is Toru Yano wins a fluke in seven minutes with a rollup.


Look, there are better written articles about this great terrifying maniac. Go read them if you want actual useful info on the guy. He is a legitimate fighter, a legend in the world of MMA, an old-school presence, an aura of menace in a sanitized corporate world. A lonely warrior on the edge of time. God bless him.

A Minor Pet Peeve

June 14th, 2017

I like breasts, gang. Don’t you? They’re a nice pleasant thing that women have and we as a people love breasts so doggone much that we have declared a veritable fatwa against breast cancer. We’ve manage to give breast cancer an entire month, the month of October, where we commercialize it and sell all kinds of pink ribbon-type merchandise in the name of finding a cure for breast cancer. We love breasts and we hate cancer especially when it is in the women’s breast.


We like breasts and we like nipples, too. We like seeing nipples, but if we can’t see nipples we’re okay with seeing the imprint of them under the woman’s shirt. These are known as “pokies”.


I hate “pokies”. The term, not the actual phenomenon. Between you and me, hard nipples poking through clothing fabric and I are on good terms. But the word “pokies” is so childish and nauseating. I don’t know who came up with it or what part of 4chan they inhabited when they did it, but I hate it. “Pokies” sounds like something that would be found in a pornographic Japanese comic book.


Perhaps this says more about me and my online habits than it does about anything else. I have been on the reddit more than a few times in my life, and I am familiar with the concept of celebrity nudes and near-nudes. As is my save folder. Yes, I would love to see famous women naked. That’s why I am on the Internet. But I’ll be damned if I can give a damn about areolas making a reverse bas-relief on tight clothes. I just can’t care. What am I, a child? Even a child with Internet access has seen “2 girls 1 cup”. It’s practically part of the online curriculum at this point in our advancement. Even if you are in the celebrity nudes business, you’re not going to get a lot of traction with “pokies”. Or you shouldn’t.


Maybe I’m just aghast at childish nomenclature of the female body in sexual terms as I grow older. I am almost forty for crying out loud.


Besides, “nipplage” is a way better term.

I’m So Broke

June 9th, 2017

I have a gig next month and I don’t want to play it. I shouldn’t play it. I’m prostituting myself for a quick buck.


Playing old songs that I don’t want to play. Songs I hate playing. Because I know I’ll get paid. I need the money. I hate it. I don’t want to do it.


I want everyone to feel what I feel. I want everyone to feel my pain just for a moment. Those old songs barely hint at how I feel anymore. I’m screaming on the inside.


I need the money. I’m such a mess this gig will help me take care of a few expenses. I need everyone to hear my pain. I want you to hear my pain. You should hear my pain. You deserve it. I want you to feel how I feel. Why should you get to have a good time? Why should I suffer alone?

Performance Anxiety In Bed

June 6th, 2017

I have an embarrassing story to tell and it’s a story that many men will understand but will not want to admit aloud.


Performance anxiety in bed is a thing that happens to fellers sometimes, when they’re in bed making sweet love with a lady. It’s not something that we want to think about because us guys, we don’t like to think about our brains getting in the way of our weiners. But it happens sometimes and it happened to me and I’m going to tell you about it or at least my side of it. Because it happened to me while I was making love to a semi-famous person.


Before I tell my story, I should warn you fellers that if you were to get lucky and hit the sexual jackpot and make it with a famous female celebrity, this might happen to you. You think about all the crazy things you’d do to Megan Fox or Jennifer Lawrence or Sam Elliott if you’re a gay kind of feller. The truth is. . . you would crack under the pressure of trying to satisfy them. Having Jennifer Love Hewitt scrolling through her smart phone while you sweat and grunt on top of her, not even looking or paying attention to you, making you feel like a pathetic failure of a man. Failing to get even the most minute rises out of Adriana Lima or Kate Upton and giving up with a floppy unerect wiener and a face full of tears. That would be you, my dear friend.


This happened to me, dear friend. But I have a good excuse. Because I was making love to Louise Mensch, the member of British Parliament, author, blogger, and conspiracy theorist.



We were at her place, in her bed, doin’ the deed. Or I was, or at least trying to, while she glared at me. Within a few minutes, she asked me if I was a Russian operative.


I’m not a Russian operative. But I figure that’s a question that should’ve been asked earlier in the evening before the clothes came off. There are certain questions sex partners should ask before doing it for the first time, and that’s not typically one of them but if it’s that important to her, then she should ask it. I would be way more interested in knowing if my sex partners have any diseases or are in a relationship at the moment. But that’s me.


Sure enough, within a few days of our encounter, she was on Twitter calling me an operative of the Russian government. I promise I’m not. Turns out she calls a lot of people that and never shows any proof of it. It’s kinda like calling somebody a witch.


I have no idea if she has slept with all of the people she has accused of being a Russian spy. I don’t believe Louise Mensch is a giant sloot. I just believe that she thinks I’m a dickhead who can’t satisfy her and thus tarred me as a traitor to my home country.


If you’re not in the mood to have sex, don’t have sex. You put pressure on a feller.

The Ghost Of bin Laden

June 5th, 2017

My grandmother moved out Saturday. Or she was moved out because she is physically frail and needed help. She is nearly eighty, after all. Her scooter and her clothes and different utensils that she had accumulated in over two months with me. She already misses me. I know this because we talked on the phone yesterday before the Warriors-Cavs game. In Whitesville, she knew three people. Four if you count the old lady on the other side of the building who grew up with my grandfather. They sat together and talked a bit during these last few weeks. What a drag it is getting old.


Granny tends to gravitate toward to Fox News, as do many older people. I will never understand the appeal. There is so much fear-mongering that it would keep any one up all night clutching at the walls. So much of it is made up. You don’t need to make up stuff to scare people. Half of the news I get from Twitter scares me more than anything on any network. Reality is frightening enough.


Did you know there are people who think the answer to terrorism (Muslims) is internment camps? People like that Brexit rascal Nigel Farage. Why would anybody listen to that guy? Yet there he is on Fox News, given a platform for his toxic rhetoric. Who loves Nigel Farage? No less a turd than Donald Trump himself? The alt-right and authoritarian fringe want to remake many of the mistakes of the past, including those made in the Second World War.


Are the Republicans in Washington as worried as they ought to be? Are they okay with Russian-rigged elections from now on, so long as they are rigged in the GOP’s favor? The demographics aren’t good for them for future elections. Younger voters and women are furious at the GOP’s deference to the incompetent and sadistic Trump and their increasingly anti-human, pro-donor legislation. Not to mention their stonewalling on the Russia/Trump investigation. Is it worth ripping a country apart in order to maintain control of it?


And that’s how the ghost of Osama bin Laden wins, over sixteen years after the terrible attack on the World Trade Center and six years after his own death at the hands of SEAL Team Six. When our country’s most hysterical power-hungry opportunists and demagogues turn our country into the kind of place George W. Bush feared when we said “we have to fight them there so we don’t have to fight them here”. We will be there very soon if we aren’t already and it is this that drive me up the walls each night.

On Edge

May 31st, 2017

In about ten hours I will go to be weighed at a clinic in Bowling Green. I do this once a month, charting the progress in my weight-loss journey. This will be the third month out of a mandatory six I have to do the weight checks. I’m nervous.


I have no idea how this is going to go. I’m lucky to lose any amount of weight, what with all the stress in my life. Stress is no good for weight loss. I feel tense. I’m all shook up, on pins and needles.


It’s always a test, these things. How well did you live your life? How much did you lose? Wouldn’t it be nice to shed a few pounds? I’ve got so much to get rid of. I’m going to try to sleep in a few minutes. My appointment is at 10:30 in the morning, which is not optimal Mike time but you take what you can get.


It’s Times Likes Right Now

May 28th, 2017

Memorial Day Eve, 2017.


My grandfather was a veteran of the Korean Conflict. Thankfully he did not see time on the battlefield or else I would not be writing this. So the proper day to honor my grandfather will be Veterans’ Day in November.


Or after snapping at a family member, because it is times like this that I miss him.


Oh Grandpa,


It’s been nearly three years since you passed. The further I get away from your passing the more I understand why I miss you. We got along pretty well for the most part, you and me. We understood each other.


We had a few flareups but it was never as frequent as it is with the rest of them. Is it me? Of course it is. Why is it that I got along way better with you than I do with them? Why did we have an understanding that I don’t have anywhere else?


I am bewildered now. You were my support system. I’m trying to put another one together but it’s difficult.


I love you and I miss you. I understand now. I’m sorry. I don’t know how you did it for so long.



Just A Bunch Of Threats

May 24th, 2017

Hey fucker. I’m going to slap the shit out of you, paintbrush-style. You better believe it, charlie.


(ED. Note: This is not addressed to anyone in particular, hence the lower-case in “charlie”. Any actual Charlie’s and Charles-types are safe IRL.)


You don’t like my romper, fella? Huh? Guess what, I don’t give a shit. I’m gonna drop you to the ground and piss all over you. To add insult to injury I’m going to take my romper off first. You better believe it. Have you ever been helpless, lying on the ground crying for help while being urinated on by a naked man with the vengeance of a VENGEFUL GOD? If you have, get ready for a flashback.


I’m gonna hit you with a stick. Several times. I’m gonna throw you into the wall and try to give your head a concussion. You better hope your insurance is paid up because I don’t have any insurance or I won’t after the Senate votes to repeal and replace Obamacare.


(ED. Note: In these scenarios I am fully clothed and probably not wearing a romper and all of this takes place in 2018 or later after the death of Obamacare.)


I’m gonna stuff an M-80 in your mouth with the wick sticking out. Am I going to light it? Depends? Have I broken your arms yet? Maybe I oughta break your arms? How would you like that? Being a helpless bitch with two broken arms about to have a M-80 explode your whole head. Life sucks and so do you, you dumb motherfucker. I’m going to take you to the top of the Capitol Records Building and show you how far of a fall it is to the bottom. Then I’ll take you back down to ground level and power bomb you like I’m Sycho Sid.


I’m going to break your legs and sodomize you with a broom. I saw that in one of the Predator movies. I think it was the second one. I think Arnold wasn’t in it but it took place in New York City and the Predator sodomizes one of his human hunters with a broom after breaking his legs. I’m not sure, I haven’t seen it. Anyway, that’s your future, broombutt.


I’m going to make you wear a tracksuit to your parents’ funeral.