Archive for November, 2016

November 2016 Wrap-Up

November 30th, 2016

November was a very active month for me, considering I barely left the house. This is the twenty-sixth post that I will publish this month. I never considered writing this month, but the political ramifications threw me into overdrive. You can understand.


At some point, I also have to record some music. I have written songs for publishing demos. The idea is to record in December. Just some basic demos so producers can go “hey, I can use that for this project” and BOOM, I get myself a placement on a album. Money, money, hell yeah.


Did you know that we have refugees here in Kentucky? We certainly do. And with this holiday season it would be a good time to welcome your local refugee with a nice letter welcoming them to the USA. That’s what I did. Today I mailed a letter to Americana Community Center so they can give them to the refugees who are kinda bewildered in a new country.



ATTN: Clare Ruiz

4801 Southside Drive

Louisville, Ky. 40214


They don’t have to be long, wordy letters. Some of the refugees may not be too good at English or may be children. Feel free to draw pictures, too. I wrote small sentences like “I’m glad you’re here” and “Welcome to the USA” and “You are my friend” and I drew some trees and I tried to draw a peace sign but I did it badly. But I played it off but saying “I am trying to draw a peace sign but I made a mistake. Sometimes it takes a few tries to get it right.”


Some books I confess to wanting to read:

No Half Steppin‘ by Claude “Paradise” Gray and Giuseppe “” Pipitone. No Half Steppin’ is as the subtitle suggests, An Oral and Pictorial History of New York City Club the Latin Quarter and the Birth of Hip-hop’s Golden Era. This book features oral history from a lot of people who were there in New York hip-hop in the mid-to-late 1980s, A Tribe Called Quest, Stetsasonic, Public Enemy, KRS-One, MC Shan, Eric B, and many more. Gray was the co-founder of classic rap group X-Clan and entertainment manager at the Latin Quarters back in the 80s while all this was going on. His archive of photos is tapped for what is sure to be a great book, tracing the steps from when hip-hop was a local phenomenon before it became a permanent part of popular culture.


Somebody To Love by Matt Richards and Mark Langhorne. A book about the life, death and legacy of Queen vocalist Freddie Mercury. It’s a biography of the legendary singer juxtaposed with the history of HIV. Some people be thought of without thinking of AIDS or HIV. Freddie is one, Magic Johnson is the other. Freddie’s history is linked to linked to AIDS being the first major rock star to die from the disease. And yet his death was the birth of the legend that continues even to this day, a ROCK GOD in meme form. The things you learn about him are staggering. That he downed a bottle of vodka in order to cut the vocals for “The Show Must Go On” in the last year of his life and sang the whole track in one take.

Dear Donald, You Are My Cancer

November 29th, 2016

Dear Donald,


I wish I could be on Fox News for even a few minutes in the hope that you’d hear what I had to say to you. This will have to do. I know you like the Fox News, and I know you like the Infowars and as far as media goes you don’t like a whole lot else. Everybody else is against you. In your mind.


You won’t read this because it’s words and no one will read it you. But I want to thank you for what you’ve done. Because you’ve pissed me off. I want you to go away, but you won’t. I have to deal with you. You are chronic. You are cancer. I wanted you to be like a wart, an ugly orange wart that could be lanced off with the proper help. But that’s not the reality we’re dealing with. You are my cancer.


Am I being a drama queen? I don’t think so, not in this case. Cancer does not listen to reason. Cancer does not have an internal logic or moral consistency. It grows in power and grows and it takes. It takes and takes and it eats healthy human flesh and corrupts it and eats it. Cancer will take everything from you if you don’t fight it. Sometimes it takes everything from you even when you do.


Donald, let’s go over your platform. You want to undo everything Barack Obama did in office. You want to undo Obamacare. Medicare would be privatized. You don’t believe in climate change. You don’t even believe in the First Amendment when it is used to criticize you, or this country. You have no initiatives. You just want to take things away. Laws, regulations, immigrants, illegals. You want to take, take, take. Just like a cancer.


You’re not just my cancer. You belong to everybody now. Those of us who voted for you and against you. You’re our burden. You are going to hurt us all and you might get us all killed. You don’t have a body count, as far I know. That will change in January. You will be in charge of the best military in the world. And you criticized them


In politics, you are a symptom of a greater sickness. A healthy society and political system would never allow you near the halls of justice. So, yeah I use hyperbole, Don. But I know what hyperbole is. You just think I’m waving at someone named Per Bole.


Does this look infected to you?

Does this look infected to you?


So I am going to fight you as best I can, Donald. You’re not a conventional cancer. Nothing about you is conventional. You are my cancer, our cancer. And if there is any justice within four years, we will contain you.


I say contain you because the cancer never really leaves the body. Even when cancer goes in remission, there’s always a tiny bit still there. When you are no longer in office, you will still be an ex-President, up in Trump Tower. Tweeting like a damned fool, no longer in a position to hurt anyone anymore. Benign.

Help Is Not On The Way

November 29th, 2016

A four-year-long Dark Night of the Soul. I don’t know how else to explain it. And all because White Amerika had to throw a massive self-destructive temper tantrum.


The perfect storm. Eight years where a white male was not the President of the United States. Where the economy recovered but a great amount of people couldn’t tell one way or the other. Where the quality of education took a massive dive over the last twenty years and most people get their news from one source on television. Not just the television, but one specific channel. Racial tension all over as it was discussed who’s lives mattered, black lives, cop lives, all lives.


Five candidates for President. Two third-party spoilers. One Independent candidate running as a Democrat. An unpopular Democrat front-runner. A Republican candidate who flaunted all conventions, had no political background, promised his fans everything. Each of them egomaniacs and assholes.


And now the nightmare has been made reality. One of these egomaniac assholes has been elected President. The stock market took a header. Over 700 reported incidents of racial harassment/violence in the week after the election.


White Amerika decided to make a game show out of the election? White Amerika took the mystery box, not realizing they had picked Pandora’s Box, or the Arc of the Covenant.


There are only two things that could potentially save this from being worse. A full-on revolt from the electors at the Electoral College on December 19th. They would have just cause: our President-elect has not even begun to divest himself of many business interests or begun to put them in a blind trust like he said he would. Too many conflicts of interest with him and his wretched family.


The other thing that could potentially save us is something that won’t feel all that great. Congress impeaching the new President immediately. It would be ugly but it would be the best time politically to do it as the Republicans have both the House and Senate. Citing the obvious conflicts of interest, debts to foreign banks, and voila. . . President Mike Pence. It would not be great but it would be better.


Donald Trump is unknowable. What he thinks and feels and what he cares about are random. Mike Pence’s beliefs, as wretched as they are, are more in the open and therefore easier to fight. In his defense, Mike Pence doesn’t owe half a billion dollars to the Bank of China.


Kentucky went big for Trump despite his intent to dismantle Medicare and hand it over to the market. Sometimes I feel like Kentucky is a character in an action movie but not a major character. Like it’s a Keanu Reeves movie where he’s trying to save people and he’s in a giant skyscraper and he’s pulling people out of a broken elevator one-by-one. Finally, he’s down to the last person in the elevator and it’s scared old Kentucky.


“Come with me if you want to live,” says Keanu to Kentucky.

“I CAN’T. I’M SCARED. I DON’T WANT TO DIE.” Kentucky screams back in fear.


In the movies, Keanu gets the old lady out just before the rope breaks, sending the elevator crashing fifty floors below. The old lady gathers herself and realizes “oh I could’ve been in there” and you never see her again because Keanu has to go save more people and fight bad guys.


In real life, Kentucky refuses to get out of the elevator until it’s too late and the elevator crashes to the bottom with Kentucky in it but not before ripping Keanu Reeves’ arm off at the socket, leaving him on high to bleed to death when all he wanted to do was save us.

My Attempt To Join The Borg

November 27th, 2016

Did you know you can apply for a position in the Trump administration? Folks, it’s a new era in America. It’s mo(u)rning in America and as Ronald Reagan once said, facts are stupid things. So with that in mind, I went to and I applied for a job in the Trump administration as White House press secretary.


The way I see it, my job as WH press sec. will come with two objectives: (1) avoid saying anything truthful about the President-elect’s intentions while in office and (2) verbally abuse the assembled reporters for my own amusement. Objective #2 will be incredibly easy as my respect for the mainstream media is at an all-time low.


Really, media? All the stuff that’s coming out about the President-elect now could have come out at any time in the previous few months and you could have reported. But nooooo, you had to play along with the FBI’s ginned-up Hillary e-mail story. Between the Russians, the FBI and the media, no kidding we’re in this position. Now you guys are being called to Trump Tower to be yelled at off the record and you throw hosannas anytime the guy backs off from his most rabid campaign promises! “Oh, he promised not to throw Hillary in jail! Wonderful! It’s going to be a glorious Christmas! We’ll all eat the most succulent of goose meat!”


Anyway, here we go.



Here I am, on the road again. Here I am, on the stage.



This is the part where they say they’ll vet you lest there be “anything that might embarrass the President. . .”? I didn’t think that was possible.


Of course there’s some biographical info you always have to fill out. Name, address, whatnot. Then we get to the good stuff.





You can’t read that so I’ll copy it for you.

Please describe why you hope to be a part of the President-elect’s administration:

Despite not agreeing with the President-elect on policy, I do share a seething contempt for the mainstream media. This is why I should be his Press Secretary.


This is my cover letter:

Mr. President-elect, you haunt my dreams. I cannot close my eyes without seeing your wretched face. Truly you are the bogeyman my grandmother warned me about. I now realize that the only people in America who will make good money will be the hustlers, the carnies and the lawyers. Honest work is for suckers. Even though I am a registered Democrat, that means nothing. Party allegiance and principle means nothing. You’ve proven that, sir. GFY.


Please describe any addition qualifications:

I am as qualified for this position as the President-elect is for his. Far less racist, though.


As I said, part of my job as Press Sec. would be evasion. A lot of questions will be asked by the cowardly press and I will have to field those questions. I’ve already prepared some stock answers which will be used liberally.

“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What the hell do you want from me?”

“I try to avoid the President.”

“You know, I wasn’t supposed to be here today.”

“You know as much as I do, buddy.”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“Reality is subjective. Have you ever watched The Matrix?”

“The best Smashing Pumpkins non-single is ‘By Starlight’. End of story!”

“I’m not actually the Press Secretary.”


The Emptiest Thanksgiving

November 25th, 2016

Somehow I managed to avoid human contact yesterday. It was a true holiday miracle, the kind that never gets shown in movies. I went to bed about 6 in the morning and slept through until the night came. Woke up for a few hours and went right back to bed.


I had a scary dream. Of course it involved Trump. January 21, 2017. The day after the inauguration, just after midnight. Donald Trump is hunched over the fresh corpse of Ivanka Trump in the Lincoln Bedroom. (Since this is my imagination, poor evil Ivanka hasn’t been drugged but straight up murdered in a crime of passion)


The new President is spending his first night in the White House raping the corpse of his favorite daughter, the daughter he has just killed. He humps her bloodless, lifeless body. “Kokomo” by The Beach Boys is on a constant loop in the background. “Aruba, Jamaica, oooh I wanna take ya to Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama, Key Largo, Montego. . .” and President Trump is pumping away on Ivanka like Zed on Marcellus Wallace in “Pulp Fiction”.


O ye of pronounced wattle!

O ye of pronounced wattle!

How did he kill his beloved daughter? Knowing Trump, he waited until they were totally alone and then he decided to GO FOR IT. If you’re gonna walk on ice, dance for fuck’s sake. Of course, Ivanka being evil but not gross was not into the idea of daddy-daughter time, not like this. They were in this for business, not pleasure. But for the new leader of the free world, business and pleasure couldn’t help but be intertwined. Because Nixon said anything the President does is not illegal and that includes things like this, probably.


Oooh, that’s where we wanna go. Waaay down to Kokomo!


He had killed her in the struggle, then he dragged her to the bed. It had been stressful on his old, corrupt heart. He was not the type to exercise. He then began to perform the act of which I will spare you many of the details of. Except for the end.


Because after a seeming eternity of pumping and grinding, sweating profusely and grunting, rutting barbarically with the corpse of his own flesh and blood with “Kokomo” playing behind him over and over, Donald J. Trump, President of the United States, finally achieved climax.


And for the first time in his life, he was happy! He was unfamiliar with this feeling. Pure happiness. Pure joy. What was this feeling? Was this what some people called. . . inner peace?


Then his heart gave out and he collapsed and died. Right on top of Ivanka, right there in the Lincoln Bedroom.


And that is how we ended up with President Michael Pence.


Off the Florida keeeeeeeeeeyyysss, there’s a place called Kokomo. . .

Frank & Fred

November 24th, 2016

There’s a lot of women out there who love buying $70 yoga pants, right? That’s a top-of-the-line price for yoga pants, right? I assume so. I’m not an expert in the women’s yoga pants realm. But I know a lot about Frank Zappa, the late American composer. And I’m pretty sure that Frank Zappa does not have much of a female fanbase.


from Diva Zappa's twitter

from Diva Zappa’s twitter


That is Kat Dennings from 2 Broke Girls wearing a pair of yoga pants with the cover of “We’re Only In It For The Money” by the Mothers Of Invention.



Should be on yoga pants, right? Right.


Some Zappa fans are outraged that Diva Zappa is selling yoga pants with her father’s image and iconography on it. I’m personally ehhh about it. Hey, go ahead. Sell some yoga pants if you can. I guess Diva is selling this to people who have money.


This has been a disaster of a year. A bunch of awesome musicians and Glenn Frey died. The Cubs won the World Series and then a week later we killed democracy. Now Frank Zappa’s face is all over a bunch of designer yoga pants which is another development in an aggressive-aggressive sibling feud. Lady Gaga bought the Zappa mansion. Kanye had a breakdown onstage. American Idol ended at some point. Now the Nazis are back. I’d be glad to take back American Idol if we could get rid of the Nazis.


I’m typing on Thanksgiving at three in the morning. November 24, 2016. It is the 25th anniversary of the death of Freddie Mercury.


When I was in high school, I took a lot of flack and got picked on regularly for being a major Queen fan. I admired the singer, performer and songwriter Freddie Mercury. The same man who I was told repeatedly by my classmates was a queer, a faggot, who died of AIDS. This was not somebody to be admired, not in their wanna-be-macho eyes.


I was defiant. I was right. What’s the old saying? First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win. I won because I stood up to the people who picked on me. I survived. And many of them had their personal favorite Queen songs but didn’t talk about it.


I am the person I am in part because of my high school years. Queen and later Frank Zappa were very important to me then and still are. It was music. Only music and yet it means so much. I learned about where the things I like come from.


Freddie died at 45. Frank was 52 when he went a few years later. Time is so precious.


A National Panic Attack

November 23rd, 2016

Help me. Could you send somebody over here to check on me? I’m having a hard time breathing. I can’t catch my breath and my heart keeps pounding faster and faster and I think I’m having a heart attack and I’m scared to death and I want to scream and I’m alone and I need help. Please help me.




My name? My name is America. My address is 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Send somebody right away, please.




I started feeling this way about two weeks ago. I felt it for a little while and then I started feeling a little bit better and it’s come and gone in waves and now it’s really on top of me. I don’t know if it’s a heart palpitation or what.




The fear is getting to me. It’s getting to me. Yes, you can call me back at this number. Please help me. I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything.




I tried ignoring it. I tried dealing with it. I tried giving it a chance. I tried and it just got worse. I can’t make it stop. I can barely sleep because of it.



I’m scared. What else can I say? I’m terrified at the prospect of President Trump. The idea haunts me. His face haunts me when I close my eyes at night when I try to sleep. His wicked, perverse face and his inbred, mean, ugly family in control. Unchecked, unbalanced. Wielding absolute power like a malevolent king. The end of Amerika. I hate him. I hate him as much I hate any sex offender, any deadbeat, any abusive parent, any swindler, any cheat, any known liar and any hatemonger.


Is this really going to happen? I guess I’m afraid because I know no matter what happens there’s a fight ahead. There’s a painful long fight. Because the hatemongers, the bigots, the racists, the Nazis are all emboldened and empowered by Trump’s “victory”, in which he lost by nearly two million votes.


Even if Hillary Clinton were to challenge the results of the vote in the swing states where there has been evidence of tampering (Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania), the damage has been done. Over 700 acts of post-election racially-tinged violent acts and incidents have occurred since then. If she somehow won a recount, then that would only inflame tensions even more. But she did win. The popular vote. This shouldn’t be happening.


And yet here we are. And yet other people have moved on, trying to get on with life. I can’t do that. I can’t allow myself to become acclimatized to authoritarianism.


Have you ever watched someone in the last years of their life? Have you watched an elderly person compromise with their inability to do the things they had been able to do in the past? I have, up close. It’s heartbreaking. Finally, you see this elderly person that you love on their death bed, no longer able to do anything. Not even able to take water to quench their thirst and you hear the death rattle in their throat. But by then you’ve resigned yourself to it. You know they will eventually pass into the next realm, whatever that may be.


We’re not there yet, not as a country. This is not the death rattle. But if we’re not careful that day will come. It only took Hitler about twelve years to go from launching the Third Reich to cashing out with his lover Eva Braun in a burned-out bunker in a devastated Germany.


I’m afraid. People are too busy laughing at fucking memes to understand what is at stake. Pushing faster toward an seemingly inevitable endpoint where everything has been ransacked and burned down and we have to start again literally from the foundation up.


You can’t tell me it will be all right, because it isn’t. And it won’t be. Even if a miracle occurred.

Some Political Phone Calls I’ve Made Recently

November 21st, 2016

November 21, I called the Democratic House Committee on Oversight & Government Reform at (202)225-5054 and asked for a thorough bipartisan investigation into Donald Trump’s finances. On the second try, I got through to a person who took my message.

Inauguration Day, 2017

Inauguration Day, 2017



November 20 just before midnight CST, I called the Morton County (ND) Sheriff’s Dept asking them to stand down and stop firing ice water and rubber bullets at unarmed protesters in 26 degree weather. I was given two numbers. 701-328-8118 (where I left a message) and 701-667-3330 (which was busy). In addition, I called North Dakota Governor Dalrymple in order to ask him to call off the MCSD but I was unable to get through. His office number is 701-328-2200


November 20, I called Speaker Paul Ryan’s office (202)225-3031 to participate in a poll he is conducting about Obamacare. I was not able to leave a message because I called after business hours but I think that is an option if you call during the regular business day. Press 1 if you support Obamacare. Press 2 if you oppose Obamacare. There is no option if you think Obamacare is a good idea but needs some fine-tuning.


November 20, I also called the Department of Justice at (202)353-1555 to suggest an audit of the 2016 Presidential ballot, given what the media has uncovered about Donald Trump’s debts to the Bank of China ($650 million), the Deutsche Bank (who the DoJ just fined $14 billion), and his links to Florida Attorney General/person who decided not to pursue the Trump University case after receiving a $25,000 bribe/Republican elector/member of Trump’s transition team Pam Bondi. You could see how a conflict of interest may arise, right?


I called Senator Rand Paul’s office in D.C. twice, once on the 16th, and again on the 18th. That number is (202)224-4343. I called on one occasion asking Sen. Paul to condemn the Steve Bannon appointment. I called on another occasion asking for him to join in a bipartisan investigation in the link between the Trump campaign and the Russians.


November 17, I called Washington State Senator Doug Ericksen (360)-786-7682 about his bill to criminalize protest that blocks commerce and transportation. He seems to believe that George Soros is really paying people to protest and disrupt and terrorize communities. I left a message against this intended legislation. Here is where you can read more about what he plans.


November 17, I called the Republican House Committee on Oversight & Government Reform at (202)205-5074 and asked for an investigation into Donald Trump’s finances. The same as I asked from the Dem. House Committee days later.


On November 14 and 16, I called the Bowling Green office of Congressman Brett Guthrie (R-Ky) representing Kentucky’s 2nd district. I called asking for a condemnation of the Bannon appointment and the problem with Russian meddling in a Presidential election. That office number is (270)842-9896. I left a message both times and made sure to point out that I lived in his district.




(Vicious caption under innocent photo goes here)


November 16, I called Kentucky Governor Matt Bevin at (502)564-2611 and was put through to a voicemail. I left a message asking that his 2017 goals include hiring more workers for the Benefind call center and making the Benefind website more user-friendly.
November 14 and 15, I called Mitch McConnell’s office in D.C. at (202)224-2541. I wanted him to condemn the Bannon appointment. He is the Senate Majority Leader and a prominent, influential Republican. No messages were accepted, my call was not picked up. Who was I kidding? The difference between Mitch McConnell and a turtle is that a turtle has some type of skeleton.


On November 16, I called Kentucky’s Cabinet for Health and Family Services. After eight attempts to even get on the line, I was put on hold for about fifty-three minutes, much of which was spent listening to a fifteen-second tune that repeated. After I got a human on the line, I was able to deal with what was essentially an accounting error. I had spent an hour on the phone trying to deal with somebody else’s error. It was then that I realized that the next four years would be like.





Silver Wings Can’t Be Curdled

November 19th, 2016

I took a little time out of my weekend to go to a family event. My in-laws, that family. When my mom married my stepdad, she married into a very large family. The Farmers could fit into a passenger van with room with for more. The stepdad’s family needs a giant hall to accommodate everyone. They don’t get together all the time but when they do, they try to make it count.


My stepdad sang with the family band tonight. They put on a show and set up baskets for donations for an 8th grade class’s trip and a thing where you can give a canned good for the less fortunate. For the donation, you got some music something to eat, a nice feeling.


He walked up there and sang “Silver Wings” by Merle Haggard followed by “Ruby” by Kenny Rogers. It was a heart-warming feeling for me to watch somebody I love perform for a change. I felt like the proud papa for once because I knew what it was like to be up there. All the pre-show anxiety, that feeling when you stand up there in front of everybody and your mind just goes away. That moment when you have to deal with the microphone feedback and figure out how to hold it and where to stand and how close to stand to it when you sing. Been there a million times, fella.



I felt like a freak at first. Still have this long hair. This crazy long hair. I also can turn small talk into the McLaughlin Group if I’m not careful. You talking about Kentucky football? I’ll turn it into an indictment of the entire NCAA college-athlete system. I’ll point out how UK spends more money on Midnight Madness for men’s basketball then their annual football budget. Then I’ll segway into a rant about what it means to be a “student-athlete” when the labors of such are profited off by major networks, cable TV, advertisers and video game outlets. . . and by this time the person I’m talking to just wants to move along to another subject, another table, another planet.


You wanna talk about “Ruby” by Kenny Rogers? Great song, huh? You know that song is about a veteran who’s bed-ridden pleading with his wife not to go out on the town gallavanting with her face all painted up like some kind of tart. Think about how badly our veterans have been treated after they come back from their tours. Some of them are so shell-shocked they never completely get over it. Our V.A. hospitals are so understaffed it’s a crying shame. . . and by this time you just want to disappear because I got too real too fast I’m sorry.


I was beaming with pride and joy after my stepdad sang. Nothing could curdle this moment. At least not for another three songs because that’s when they started playing an Eagles song. And that, folks, was my cue to leave.


Apparently you can’t have an event with more than fifty white people in the same place without hearing an Eagles song. It must be a law somewhere. Everybody has a peaceful easy feeling except me, because I’m out the door.

King Carny (You Deserve A Break Today)

November 18th, 2016

The last three weeks have been so. . . ugh, I don’t know. “Quagmire” almost makes it but lacks the feeling of existential despair that a better word would contain.


The people who will get paid the most in the next few years will be the lawyers, the carnies and the hustlers. Some of the hustling is admirable. Some of the lawyers are even admirable but at the end of the day all of them have billable hours.



This tweet has been slapping me in the face more and more over the last year. Pro wrestling is not a sport. It’s a carny exhibition of choreographed fighting. Pretend it hurts when it doesn’t to make people feel bad for your pain. Pretend it doesn’t hurt when it does so you can maintain that aura of invincibility to your fans. Pretend, pretend, pretend, make the fans love you, get them to part with their money to see you, to buy your t-shirt, your foam finger, your poster, whatever your face can be slapped on and sold.


Carny behavior left the carnival a long time ago, long before any intelligent person noticed it. It appears that our President-elect may be King Carny. Look where it got him. He lied to everyone, cheated everyone, stole from everyone, burned everyone, conned them, sold his followers a bill of goods and triumphed.


I am easily given to despair. My temper flares sometimes. I am more touchy then I used to be. I am personally offended by the continued existence of Donald Trump as a relevant public figure. How am I going to cope with the next four years?


I’m going to try to enjoy the little things in life. I’m going to take little breaks for my own sanity. Last night in the middle of the night, I watched New Japan Pro Wrestling for the first time in months. It was the first night of their World Tag League tournament, which is a round-robin style tournament between sixteen teams that will take place over the course of a month.


I can’t believe I once compiled a list of my favorite matches from the first half of 2016. It was a long list, over 100 matches from all over the world. I was engrossed in the graps deep. I wanted something to disappear into. So I fell deep into a form of entertainment that I’ve always enjoyed. Escapism into light entertainment.


I needed to do that while I did it but I’m glad I stopped. There’s no way I can watch a month-long round-robin wrestling tournament. There’s too much to do. Too many people to call. Too many petitions to sign. I feel like I’m on night watch again. Only instead of taking care of my ailing grandfather, I’m watching to make sure they don’t start grabbing Muslims or Mexican illegals off the streets and put them on trains.


I pledge to register as a Muslim is such a database is created by the oncoming administration. I’m not Muslim but for the purposes of that database I am totally Muslim. Me and and hopefully millions of white Americans who will assume Muslim identity if only to blunt the effectiveness of a database used to keep tabs on a minority population.


Sinclair Lewis and Frank Zappa wrote and sang “It can’t happen here.” Many of us are saying “It won’t happen here.”


I’m tired and it’s not even been two weeks.