Archive for March, 2015

I Have So Much To Learn

March 29th, 2015


The nature of true love, as discussed years ago on an episode of Ron & Fez, a popular talk-radio show.


Fez has a ideal of what true love means. Fez, as of this 2009 broadcast, is a closeted gay and middle-age virgin. Fez keeps referring to “the secret” which is not the wish-fulfillment scheme that has sold a ton of books but is actually his homosexuality which he has only told Ron about but the show’s staff and listeners seem to know anyway. Ron, his worldly radio partner, picks apart his logic.


I tried to clean up the transcription, so it’s not 100% accurate. Emphasis is mine.


Fez: “You wouldn’t want any other person. I would think it would be because you couldn’t replicate true love with somebody else. True romantic love.”
Ron: “What about people who get married many times in their lives?”

Fez: “I think probably only one of those is someone’s true love.”

Ron: “Interesting.”

Fez: “. . . and the other one is maybe like – there’s obviously love and a need for wanting that kind of companionship but I don’t know if they’re all – like, if somebody gets married three, four times, all three of four are true love.”

Ron: “So you just really see the fairy tale thing?”

Fez: “Yeah, I think so.”

Ron: “Interesting considering that in all the fairy tales, these are traditional relationships. And a lot of the reasons why people are against alternative things is because they don’t fit into the traditional values.”


(Fez to a polyamorous caller who talks about the peaceful co-existence with her husband and boyfriend)

Fez: “I think you probably do have one true love out of the two of them. I bet there’s one that you do love more than the other. Maybe it’s on a very micro level but I would bet that you do.”

Ron: “Why do you, of all people, want to put anyone else in a box?. . . Do you see that you should be on the side of alternativeness?”

Fez:”Yes, I understand that, but. . .”

Ron: “And yet you’re telling her (about her lifestyle) that you don’t give her any credibility.  That what fucking kills me. . . do you see how Southern conservative you really are? Despite all the things that, you claim to be you create these boxes not just for yourself to live in but everybody else.”


Ron (left) and Fez.

Ron (left) and Fez.

(on Fez’s concept of having “one true love”)

Ron: “Why is this concept so important to you?”

Fez: Um. . . I think it’s that one overwhelming feeling of love that one person can produce in you.

Ron: “And you’ve never had it yet?”

Fez: “Mmm. . . I’ve probably had it but not where it was reciprocated.”

Ron: “So that wouldn’t be true love.”

Fez: “Right, yeah.”

Ron: “So you haven’t had it. In your way of thinking, you haven’t had it?”

Fez: I have not had it.

Ron: “So why would your heart be broke if your standard is there’s only one person for you? And the second that person says ‘I am not for you’, why wouldn’t you just go ‘Oh good because that means you’re not the one and the one is out there’?”

Fez: “Well I mean, there’s still an awful lot of love involved.”

Ron: “But it’s not true love. If there’s such a thing as true love, nothing else would matter. If your concept of true love existed, nothing else would matter.”


Fez: “. . . I do think that true love is just something that is going to smack me in the face.”

Ron: “But why? Why would you be given this? Dinner doesn’t smack you in the face. You have to earn dinner. A clean home doesn’t smack you in the face. Nothing else is a gift that falls down from heaven. Why do we confuse the fact of this ‘true love’ thing? Why would that be something that must be built, like everything else in life?”


There are a lot of people in the world who aren’t closeted asexual middle-aged virgins (like Fez) but they believe in this concept of “one true love”. I myself have felt this way. Still clung to the idea of finding my one true love. The “there’s somebody for everybody” logic which isn’t logic but a sad piece of blind hope. We tell the lie to each other, we tell it to ourselves. The blind leading the blind. Or the blind taking suggestions from the tone-deaf, or something.


Fez talks about his feelings of love, unreciprocated love, unrequited love, infatuation, you name it. He produces a list of people he held feelings for in the past, just so Ron can see it and tell him he has “taste for shit” in crushes. Then he talks right through Fez Whatley in 2009 and begins talking to me in the middle of the night in March 2015 and I have to stop and put myself up for examination. Fez never told any of his crushes how he felt about them, and I did only when it was too late, out of desperation.


Ron: “Here is the weird thing: Not one of these people knows how Fez felt about them. All these people thought that they were, um. . . friends, buddies. . .”

Fez: “Never mentioned it.”

Ron: “All these people except for one are still very much in Fez’s life today, and still have no idea. And some of these go back decades.”

Fez: “That’s the irony of it.”

Ron: “. . .I think you’re an entertaining person, and only I know three of the four (people on this list). DULLEST people you’d ever meet in your life! Oh, you’re sicker than you thought.”


Ron: “You never even told any of those people. I mean, being rejected builds character. To just hang around for years on end, taking this something from someone without giving anything is the strange thing.”

Fez: “Well, I think I was, like, giving friendship-”

Ron: “That’s dishonesty. And we’ve talked about this many times. If I start to hang out (with a chick) and I had feelings for her and never told her, eventually that would be dishonest. In other words, (she would think) ‘I have a good buddy in Ronnie B’ and it would not be true. . . At a certain point, once you start to have these feelings. . . it doesn’t have to happen at that moment but you have to say to yourself ‘I have to tell this person where I’m coming from’. Particularly, um. . . Fez, when you saw that person, uh, being in other relationships, right? Did it kill you?”

Fez: “Uhm, yeah. Most of the time. Yeah, and a lot of the times, I still wasn’t you know, even being honest about that. You know, I thought it was just like ‘I can’t stand that person that they hang out with.”

Ron: “It’s hard to tiptoe around.”

Fez: “And that’s what I was doing then. A lot of tiptoeing.”


Pictured: Unusually good at tiptoeing for a big man.

Pictured: Unusually good at tiptoeing for a big man.

I have done a lot of tiptoeing around girls I had crushes on. Some of them I never told until it was far too late. Some I never told. I don’t have anything real. I might as well be Fez right now. Lonely, sad, asexual. Except for the gay thing I am Fez. I wear the same clothes over and over again. I bunker down and close myself off from people. I hide my true feelings. I am in a pit of despair. I’m on Youtube listening to a radio program from six years ago. Where am I in life?


In 2012, Fez Whatley came out of the closet on an episode of Ron & Fez. He is still a virgin, and has at least eleven stents in his body due to heart-related conditions.





Mike Pence Facts

March 28th, 2015

Mike Pence, Governor of Indiana, signed a bill allowing businesses the option of turning away customers on basis of sexual orientation. For most of you, this may be the first time you’ve ever heard of Gov. Pence, so I have prepared a short dossier of facts about this man of controversy.


Mike Pence was born in 1959. He has a wife and three children. Are his children gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgendered? I sure hope not for their sake.

Was Mike Pence in a fraternity? YOU BET HE WAS. He even served as charter president. Did he preside over homoerotic and/or cruel, embarrassing hazing as charter president? PROBABLY.

In 1980, Phi Gamma Delta charter president Mike “Stretchy-Dick” Pence oversaw induction of new pledges to the frat. As he wore a billowy robe and poured hot candle wax over the bare asses of 17 and 18-year-old pledges, he thought to himself “This kinda thing shouldn’t be legal.”



This is the face of a man who has seen another man’s penis and felt a tingle deep inside himself.

Do you hate that social media app Timehop? Mike Pence is responsible for that.

You know how the trending topics on Twitter is always filled with One Direction and Zayn Malik references. Mike Pence is responsible for that.

Mike Pence hosted a political talk radio show. AND YET HE WAS STILL ELECTED.

For years, Mike Pence sat at a radio microphone. A long, phallic, black turgid microphone. As he struggled with his own drool, he thought to himself “One day, I will make this illegal.”

Mike Pence thinks Donald Trump is one of the smartest men in America.

Mike Pence tells people he isn’t gay but he’s been dp’ed by Hobby Lobby and the University of Notre Dame.

Mike Pence wasn’t the Indiana politician shamed by Sydney Leathers which is a shame.

Mike Pence believes in resting on the Sabbath. He has no problem with taking his family to restaurants on the Sabbath, where others work so he can enjoy his nice day.

Mike Pence loved the U2 album that came free with the new iTunes.

Mike Pence’s name is “Mike” which is shameful for several reasons.

The Next Class War

March 20th, 2015

I have seen it up close. I have seen it on social media. I have seen the birth pains of the next class war, and it dismayed me. It was inevitable. Us against them is inevitable even if we are all “us”. If this is too long, skip to the last two paragraphs.


There used to be three classes of society. The upper, middle and lower class. There weren’t so many of the upper class, neither were the lower class although there were more of them then the upper class. The middle class, being the middle, had the most people in it. They were functioning reasonably well, worked steadily and earned enough to save some money and have their own houses and cars.


As you get older, you learn about subdivisions in this basic structure. You learn about the differences between the upper-middle class and the lower-working class. You learn about the upper-lower class and lower-lower class. Some people think they’re lower-middle class when they are actually upper-lower class, and vice versa depending on how they perceived their situation. Some people could afford to take their families on a nice vacation every year while others had just enough to buy a boat (probably a lousy puttering pontoon) while a lot of folks had just enough for one of those inflatable above-ground pools you can buy from Wal-Mart that you have to clean yourself but nobody does and they get dirty within two weeks.


Pictured: the good life.

Pictured: the good life.


Who was who depended on which expert’s model you paid heed. Other factors are involved like level of education and type of employment but the big hinging factor was how much you have and is it enough. Each expert saw the percentages differently but the same basic idea: a minute number of wealthy elites, a larger percentage of rich people or “upper-middle class” and the vast majority falling into middle class or working class, even though they’re both essentially working. At the bottom, the lower-class or “poor” who account for 10 to 15 percent of the population.


I don’t know why the people who make these distinctions made them but I have the feeling that more class distinctions will be made in the future. We can’t help ourselves. Three or five or six sub-groups will never be enough for those who are trying to distinguish themselves from other people. There will be a larger focus on the bottom third of the chain. The working class and the poor. This will be the next class war. The people who live paycheck-to-paycheck against the ones who are on government assistance or borrow money from family. Resentment fosters. “My taxes pay for your welfare” vs. “At least you have a job/can work”. Familiarity breeds contempt, and these are the people who see each other. Like crabs in a barrel. If only all of them could get their own reality TV shows, they’d be millionaires.


Lest you think I’m looking down on anyone, I would have you know that no matter what class model you subscribe to, I rank at the bottom. I live below the poverty level. Perhaps there will even be a further struggle between those of us at poverty level and those at near-starvation level. Perhaps I’ll yell out “Hey, hungry! Think fast!” and then I whip a can of pork and beans at their heads as I drive by in my 1995 Taurus.

Review: Prince At The Palace

March 15th, 2015

If you were lucky enough to catch one of the performance on Prince’s two-night, four-show stand at the Louisville Palace, you got to see a phenomenal showing by one of the Old Masters who still performs like a sugar-buzzed kid in a candy store. Backed by his all-girl trio 3RDEYEGIRL, His Purpleness took the tri-state area down Alphabet Street back to 1999 in a Little Red Corvette full of Raspberry Beret(s). No Controversy about this master of Musicology, Prince made it Purple Rain until The Chocolate Invasion happened in this reviewer’s pants.


His Purple Majesty, Prince.

His Purple Majesty, Prince.


This reviewer saw the second show on Sunday,last in the four-show stand. Prince walked out (or was carried out Ariana Grande-style) by a bodyguard. Parked in his spot for the entirety of the show, Prince struggled to stay upright. The fifty-six legend complained of a hip problem. I checked Twitter and found that Prince had apparently fractured his hip the night before doing a split.


Prince, being a Jehovah’s Witness, refuses surgeries that require blood transfusions. Rather than accept doctor’s orders to have surgery and cancel the rest of his tour, Prince decided to treat his hip fracture with intermittent bedrest and rubbing vegan cuisine on the hip. He breathed heavily throughout the show and occasionally muttered “tired. . . want to go home” to rapturous Louisville cheers.


The first song of the set was a rousing “Endorphinmachine” from The Gold Experience. After the song, the crowd waited with bated breath as the Purple One looked down his pedals and. . . decided to play “Endorphinmachine” again, to the confusion of everyone including his band. After a second but no less stellar rendition of that song, he cranked up the riff to “Endorphinmachine” again until one of the 3RDEYEGIRL band members stepped over to Prince and mentioned something to him off mic. From there, the band cranked up “Take Me With U”. While the crowd applauded, Prince looked back and asked “how long have we been out here already?” and attemped to play “Endorphinmachine” a third time before the PA went dead and the lights went out.


The house lights came up as the stage stood dark and empty for nearly a half-hour. The audience grew quiet than began cheering, then grew quiet again, then began clapping, then booed lustily, then cheered. Some people left and went back to the ticket booth to get a refund only to find a sign on the window that said “SUCKERS” signed with an androgynous Prince symbol.


A roadie came out with a stool and a Crosley turntable. He placed the turntable on the stool then left. The house lights dimmed and the stage was illuminated as a second roadie entered stage left with a vinyl record. The roadie placed the record on the Crosley before putting the needle on it and pressing play. It was a 12-inch of “Batdance” and the crowd exploded in delight. The 12-inch “Batdance” played in its’ entirety as the roadies looked sternly at the show. Security confiscated a camera when someone in the front row tried to take a picture of the turntable.


When the record stopped, the roadies took it, the Crosley and stool and left the stage. An announcer said, “Thank you for coming to the concert tonight. Please leave in an orderly manner. Thank you for coming to the concert.”


On the way out, this reviewer was presented with a religious tract from a strange little man in a trenchcoat and barely-concealed afro.



Death Pool Dandy

March 13th, 2015

Okay, here’s the straight poop on the death pool I’ve entered. I waited a few months to update this because sometimes developments take time. So far, the death has been swift, fast and furious. Like Paul Walker Vin Diesel or something.


As of now, I’m tied for seventh in a pool of over eighty players. Not bad, I would say. I have made some astute picks by which I mean I picked celebrities who everybody knew were at death’s door. King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia was first. Then Ahmad Givens from VH-1’s Real Chance At Love. Then Simpsons co-creator Sam Simon. These guys have been on their death beds for some time. Well they were, and then they shuffled off this mortal coil. And good for them.


Sam Simon was so expected to die that over FIVE HUNDRED players on the site had him as a pick. He had a very public, drawn-out fight with cancer. Who will replace Sam as the pick everybody has? I believe an answer has appeared in the not dead but very comatose Bobbi Kristina Brown, daughter of Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown. Over 270 players picked her up in the trade round.


Oh, yeah. We have trade rounds on the 15th of every month. In case one of your picks unexpectedly starts getting better, you can swap them out for someone out on the bad end of things. I had a dandy for March. But then, he died. And then I had a backup for that hot pick and that guy died too. Turns out they were such hot picks they couldn’t kick the bucket fast enough. Now I have a backup pick to the backup that died. If this one dies, I’ll just decide to pick Vince McMahon or someone who I can’t stand. Maybe Creflo Dollar, who just asked his followers for $60 million so he could buy a private jet. Wrestling promoters, televangelists. They’re all carnies who should be shot in the back of the head.

The Future’s Not What It Used To Be

March 12th, 2015

It’s a quarter after one in the morning. I’m listening to Mickey Newbury. If I had a floor full of empty bottles, it would be the perfect picture of sadness.
Wait, I do have a floor full of empties. Diet soda, not beer. I bag them up once a week or so and take them to the recycling bin by the fire department. I promise I’m not a total degenerate. I have never allowed more than three pizza boxes to accumulate at one time. I used to know a couple of guys in L.A. who had Shaq-height stacks of pizza boxes but then again they both took a lot of speed so whaddyaknow.


Mickey Newbury is why I’m writing this. Specifically, an album he recorded in 1971 called Frisco Mabel Joy. The album is named after a song Newbury wrote called “San Francisco Mabel Joy”, which took on a life of its own after everybody from Kenny Rogers to Joan Baez to David Allen Coe covered it. John Denver covered it. It’s a flexible song to have such a variety of artists cover it. Newbury had more success as a songwriter than as a recording artist but his recordings are worth checking out.


Have you ever heard that Elvis song “An American Trilogy”? That’s a Mickey Newbury song, or rather Newbury’s clever arrangement of a minstrel song, a Negro spiritual and “Battle Hymn Of The Republic”. I’m surprised Fox News doesn’t close its’ broadcast day by playing the thing each night. Not one of my favorite Elvis recordings. Elvis was deep in his Vegas-Evel-Knievel-white-suit-take-a-bunch-of-pills phase. The performance is bombastic, flamboyant, and Elvis sings with the power of a roaring brushfire on a mountainside.



Now listen to the Newbury original. Elvis is a roaring fire, Mickey is a fragile candlelight. The King’s strings and backing vocalists are almost oppressive, performing a Concerto for an Imaginary Republican Convention. Mickey is more sensitive and contemplative. These words mean something. There is a thoughtful reason for contrasting these three songs: “Dixie”, “Battle Hymn” and “All My Trials”. The cognitive dissonance of flag-waving patriotism smack with the painful history of America’s treatment of non-whites.


That’s track one on Frisco Mabel Joy.


Track two is “How Many Times (Must The Piper Be Paid For His Song)”, a Newbury original.


Lord, I wish I was blind

and could not read her mind

and see all her pain.

But from here where I lie, I can see

the tears in her eyes

as she quietly cries out for him.

Not for me.

How many times must the piper be paid for his song?


What a brutal thing to hear. It’s almost too much. Captivating and bracing. Who writes this kind of song now? I don’t see how this guy can be categorized as anything other than “songwriter”. He didn’t fit in a folk or country or folk rock or any other easy box to be marketed in. That’s probably why he had more success as a writer. Let the suits and the producers figure this stuff out. Let them decide out how to sell it. As long as they keep it true and don’t filter out what connects with the listener. Luckily there have been many performers who have found something in this material.


Good news: An American Trilogy is a 4-CD box set featuring three Newbury albums and bonus disc of rarities came out in 2011. You can track it down, probably. I assure you that Frisco Mabel Joy is worth the price of admission.

Reddit, Simplified

March 8th, 2015

The post.

Somebody replies with a bit of a joke.

250 variation on “REKT”


Reddit is poison. I can’t stay off Reddit. Reddit is a time parasite. More Reddit, please.

The level of minutiae to the subreddit is mind-numbing.

Album Art Porn is not actually porn. Same with Food Porn, Earth Porn, and a bunch of other “porns”.

The porn porn is really alarming.

Before Reddit, the amount of time it took to find a video of a Japanese girl in a sailor suit peeing on someone masturbating? It took seconds. Now with Reddit, it takes milliseconds. I thought I was looking at cute pictures of sloths acting silly and before you know it I’m in Asian Golden Shower Warehouse. That’s what I get for clicking on r/Japangirlsinsailorsuitspeeingoncocks


Here are a few of the subreddits I found when I clicked on random.


r/cumonJacksonPollacknoonewillnotice (pictures of Jackson Pollack paintings covered in ejaculate)


r/PeterGriffinhasadogdick (this is illustrations of Peter Griffin naked exposing his genitals which resemble that of a dog. . . unofficial)


No Thanks, Ronda

March 1st, 2015

Ronda Rousey is a pro MMA fighter, a UFC champion, a star in her field. Some people find her sexy.


Mixed martial arts fighter UFC bantamweight champion, Ronda Rousey poses during a weight in at the Honda Center in Anaheim, Calif., Friday, Feb. 22, 2013. Rousey will face off Liz Carmouche in the main event at UFC 157 at the Honda Center on Saturday Feb. 23, in the first women's bout in the UFC promotion's history.(AP Photo/Damian Dovarganes) ORG XMIT: CADD109


Not me. Ronda Rousey scares me. Ronda Rousey could rip my arm out of socket and beat me over the head with it. I can’t work up a boner thinking about someone who could kill me.


I’m not saying she isn’t pretty. I can certainly see why someone would find her attractive. But I look at her and I can’t imagine her on top of me smothering me with kisses. If you can, please illustrate it and send it to me.


For the people who have more imagination that I do, what is the appeal? Is it that she’s a pretty girl? Is it that she’s a pretty girl who can beat you up? Do you want her to beat you up? Or do you want to be the one to tame the wild beast with your inflammed genitalia? You too, girls.


This is one of those moments that reminds me that what gets people aroused is staggering. Some people seek someone to dominate them. Some seek to dominate. Some want to dress up like animals. Some people masturbate to “My Little Pony”. Some people are chubby chasers and those are the most frightening of all.


My fantasies are dialed down. Give me someone who has a flaw or two. Give me a girl who is pretty but not too pretty. Not some inhumanly hot chick who makes me loath myself even more than usual. Especially if they could kill me like I was in the movie Species.