Monthly Archives: August 2016

A Man’s Voice

I felt outraged at what women had been doing to men for all these years. But things were slowly, gradually, turning around. At least there was that. Men had fought long and hard for their rights, and bit by bit, year after year, were winning more and more respect and support from women.

But we still had a long way to go. The hottest issue in this gender-battling political firestorm was the vasectomy issue. Most women were against vasectomies, but most men were for them. Vasectomies had been made legal many years before, by a Supreme Court decision. But that didn’t stop the Pro-Wife movement from trying to overturn that decision, commonly known as Scro v. Laid.

No sperm is more sacred than a man's voice.

No sperm is more sacred than a man’s voice.

I belonged to the Pro-Voice movement. Which figures, because I was a man. I wanted a voice in what I did with my own life and body. But believe it or not there were still many men who were Pro-Wife. They bought into the argument that every sperm was sacred, and had the right to compete in the great swimming race for the egg. Even if that meant men would have unwanted babies, forcing them to marry and raise children at home while their wives pursued lucrative and fascinating careers.

I hated the label Pro-Wife. To be anti-Wife implied I was a misogynist. And I loved my wife. Why couldn’t we all just agree to the terms Pro-Vasectomy and Anti-Vasectomy? The label made things very confusing. But that’s just an example of how clever and tricky women could be, in their efforts to manipulate and dominate men.

Women controlled everything. They controlled the Supreme Court. They controlled Congress. And there had never been a male President. Never. Ever.

That’s why the upcoming election was so historic, and so important for men. For the first time in history a man had been nominated by a major political party. And lucky for us men, he was Pro-Voice! Rod Clippin had fought very hard for this nomination against, you guessed it, a woman. Her name was Berniece Panders. And she was very popular with a lot of men, so it wasn’t easy for Clippin to beat her.

But he did. And now he faced another woman. A rich, megalomaniacal lady with greenish-blonde hair, named Donna Dump. Nobody really knew where Dump stood on the vasectomy issue. First she was Pro-Voice, but then she was Pro-Wife. But one thing was certain. If Donna Dump was elected, she’d appoint a female Supreme Court Justice who would vote to overturn Scro v. Laid.

Men could soon be forced into having back-alley vasectomies.

Election Day. I stood in the voting booth and gazed at the list of candidates. I reflected on the centuries of repression men had endured at the hands of chauvinistic women. And I trembled with resentment at the thought of men losing their voice. More than ever, I wanted women to get their damned hands off of our man parts. And there on the list of candidates glistened the name, Rod Clippin. For the first time in my life I had the chance to vote for a man for President.

I was so excited! I made my selection with hands aquiver. A vote for Clippin. Fuck you, Donna Dump!

This was an archaic voting machine, with a long red lever. I had to flip a smaller lever to make my selection, then pull the long lever. Ah, to vote for a man by pulling a long red lever seemed powerfully symbolic to me. You can bet I gripped that lever tight and yanked it as hard as I could.

That’s when a sharp pain scissored through my groin. Then everything all around me faded. The voting machine dropped out of sight. The curtained booth vaporized. Suddenly I found myself lying flat on my back, writhing in agony. My groin was on fire from an injured man part.

Wow, that was crazy!

As the fire subsided and the fog lifted from my brain, I realized I had just woken up from the weirdest nightmare I had ever experienced. It was all just a terrible dream. And I felt so relieved and grateful to remember that the world I lived in was not dominated by women, after all.

I let go of the big red lever, and stretched and yawned. It was time for another day of conquering the world.

And thank God it was still a man’s world.

Ten Cheap Ways to Beat the Heat

Don't be as cheap as me, or you may end up here.

Don’t be as cheap as me, or you may end up here.

I’m a cheapskate. I’m damned if I’ll spend triple-digit money to avoid triple-digit heat, by switching to refrigerated air conditioning. Even though our swamp cooler seems to be spitting in the wind against this summer’s wall of xerothermic weather. With spit that sizzles and evaporates in seconds.

Yes, I’m damned. I’ve condemned myself to Hell. It must be karma. Cheapskates like me must go to Hell.

But I haven’t given up. Instead I’ve become innovative in my effort to keep cool, while keeping out of debt with the electric company. I’ve devised some cheap ways to beat the heat.

And now I offer these ideas to you, for a donation. Please don’t be as cheap as me. After you read these ideas, please donate. Otherwise, you may find yourself joining me in a place similar to the painting, above.

Ten cheap ways to beat the heat:

  1. Take a cool, refreshing swim in your neighbor’s swimming pool. Not your own swimming pool. Never throw away money by owning a swimming pool.
  2. Go to a convenience store. Open one of those glass doors where you buy sodas and beer. And then just stand there until they kick you out.
  3. Take the ice bucket challenge. That’s where someone else gives money to charity for the privilege of dowsing you with free ice water.
  4. Hitchhike to Canada. I’ve read that their average highs in the summer are only about 25 degrees. Celsius, whatever that means.
  5. Become a nudist, and lobby for laws to make the summer season clothing optional.
  6. Look for fat people in a crowd and stand next to them for the shade.
  7. Stand by the side of a busy highway. Enjoy the breeze stirred up by passing traffic.
  8. Restrict sexual activities to phone sex only.
  9. Quit smoking. You’ll save money, and at the same time you’ll stop putting glowing hot embers close to your face.
  10. View a solar eclipse. Temperatures drop dramatically whenever the sun is obscured by the moon. (This is not as far-fetched as it may seem. Much of our nation will experience a total eclipse in August of next year. We’ll feel cool and refreshed for a precious few minutes. And then the world will come to an end.)

There, now wasn’t that worth a donation? Send your donation to: Tippy Gnu, 7734 Styx Avenue, Hades, Hell, 66666. All funds will go to a worthy cause. Me! If I raise enough money, I’m going to buy an air conditioner.

Dearest Donald

I like Hillary Clinton, but she has one big weakness. She’s technologically challenged. Which makes her emails super-easy to hack.

I decided to get in on the action. I mean damn, why should all those other hackers have all the fun? So I, too, decided to hack Hillary’s emails.

It was a cinch to guess her password: “Feeling_Berned”. But most of what I found in her server was disappointing. It was just a bunch of banausic, everyday stuff. For example, there was a message to Bill, reminding him to do the laundry. And there was a small missive to her son-in-law, Marc, asking for the definition of the word shemozzle.

And then I stumbled upon a bombshell. A real smoking gun. An email that could blow the lid right off the Clinton campaign.

I really want Hillary to win. But I’m going to shamelessly share this email with you, and the rest of the world, anyway. That’s because I want the credit for this scoop before some other hacker takes credit. I’m trying to become rich and famous, you know. I just hope Donald Trump will keep his mouth shut for at least one friggin’ day, so that this real Hillary scandal can get enough oxygen to survive and grow.

Otherwise this email, like all the others, will be completely ignored, and lost like a needle in a Trump-hair-shaped haystack.

So here goes. This is the bombshell email from Hillary that I hacked, that I desperately hope will make me famous:


Dearest Donald:

I want to thank you once again for being such a good friend. Remember that conversation we had eleven years ago, when I attended your wedding? Hell, I thought you were joking. Especially since you were a Democrat at the time. But it turns out you are a stand-up man who really keeps your word.

When you joined the Republican Party (for the third time) in 2012, I still didn’t think you’d actually go through with it. Until June of last year, when you rode down an escalator, insulted Mexicans, and announced you were running for the job I want.

Donald, you are a genius! Who would have thought that a billionairre could win over all those Republican voters by acting like a redneck hillbilly? You did what you promised me, so many years ago. You won the GOP nomination!

And now you are doing such a tremendous job at throwing the election my way. Just as you promised. For every gaffe I make, and every scandal I find myself in, you match me ten times over. You seem really determined to make sure I’ll get elected.

One suggestion: It’s my goal to win all 50 states. But I’m still lagging badly in Texas. Now you know how Texans are so proud. And you know how much it hurts to have a bruised ego. If you could piss off the Texans by, say, commenting on their actual penis size, maybe their damaged egos will enrage them enough to vote for me.

But with all your scripted and unscripted lapsus linguae, please don’t let this secret arrangement of ours slip out. Remember, this email is highly confidential. Bill and I have dealt with enough shit, like Whitewater, Troopergate, Travelgate, Vince Foster, Paula Jones, Monica Lewinsky, Juanita Brodderick, impeachment, Benghazi, speaking fees, The Clinton Foundation, and private server whatchamacallits. We don’t need to add “Trumpgate” to the list.

Anyway, keep up the good work. And if you ever need anything–anything at all–please let me know. Just wait until after January 20th. Remember, I’ll always be indebted.

Yours Truly,

Pink Trump and The Wall (a politically slanted review)

One July day in 1977, Roger Waters spit on his fans. Well, they were acting too damned loud and too damned excited. And he’d never played in a stadium before. All those people! All that noise! It was too much for him.


As he wielded his axe before the wild, adoring throng, he imagined building a wall between the audience and the stage. Something that would isolate him. Forever. From people. That’s when he spit on a group of fans near the stage.

What was he becoming? An anti-social pyschopath? It gnawed at him. So he withdrew inside and reflected deeply. And from these reflections was born the inspiration for one of the biggest selling rock albums in history.

“If you wanna find out what’s behind these cold eyes,
You’ll just have to claw your way through this disguise.”*

The band Pink Floyd released their album, The Wall in 1979, and it has gone on to sell over 20 million copies. This makes it the third best-selling album in U.S. history, behind Michael Jackson’s Thriller and Led Zepellin’s Led Zepellin IV.

Waters wrote most of the material. The Wall is about a character named Pink. Pink is based upon the lives of Waters, and another guy familiar with walls, named Syd Barrett. Syd Barret was Pink Floyd’s original band leader, and the one who named the band. He was forced to leave his rock group in 1968, due to mental illness. A few years later he secluded himself from the public, and lived the rest of his life as a recluse.

“When we grew up and went to school,
There were certain teachers who would
Hurt the children any way they could.”

Pink has a messed up life. His problems begin in childhood when he loses his father during World War II. He also endures abuse from his schoolteachers.

“We don’t need no education.
We don’t need no thought control.
No dark sarcasm in the classroom.
Teachers leave them kids alone.
Hey, teacher, leave them kids alone.
All in all it’s just another brick in the wall.”

And his mother is overprotective. And later in life his marriage falls apart. Every heartbreak he experiences at the hands of others is represented by a brick. And he uses each brick to build a metaphorical wall. A wall of self-imposed isolation from society.

“Hush now, baby, baby, don’t you cry,
Mama’s gonna make all of your nightmares come true,
Mama’s gonna put all of her fears into you,
Mama’s gonna keep you right here under her wing,
She won’t let you fly but she might let you sing.”

I think of Donald Trump when I listen to this album. He promises to make us great again by building a wall between us and Mexico. And he says Mexico will pay for it.

“Did you see the frightened ones?
Did you hear the falling bombs?
The flames are all long gone,
But the pain lingers on.
Goodbye blue sky, goodbye.”

I have no doubt Mexico will pay for it. As will everyone else. Don’t we all pay, in pain, for the walls that are built between us?

“What shall we use
To fill the empty spaces
Where we used to talk?
How shall I fill
The final places?
How should I complete the wall?”

Was Trump like Pink? Did he go through hardships that led to a wall-building attitude? Of course. Don’t we all?

“I don’t need no arms around me.
I don’t need no drugs to calm me.
I have seen the writing on the wall.
Don’t think I need anything at all.
No, don’t think I’ll need anything at all.
All in all you were just bricks in the wall.”

The main purpose of Pink Floyd’s album is not to condemn wall building. It’s designed to help us understand what’s behind it. And for showing a way out.

“Hey you! Out there beyond the wall,
Breaking bottles in the hall, can you help me?
Hey you! Don’t tell me there’s no hope at all.
Together we stand, divided we fall.”

People can be a real pain-in-the-ass. So sometimes we have to put up barriers between ourselves and others, just for our own protection. I think we can all relate to that. Otherwise Donald Trump wouldn’t be so popular.

But if we live in solitary confinement for too long, we start to go mad.

“There must be some mistake.
I didn’t mean to let them take
Away my soul.
Am I too old. Is it too late?”

Too much living behind a wall leads to paranoia. We imagine there’s nothing but danger out there. And everyone becomes our enemy.

“That one looks Jewish and that one’s a coon.
Who let all this riff-raff into the room?
There’s one smoking a joint and another with spots.
If I had my way I’d have all of you shot.”

Wall building is what nationalism is all about. But look where nationalism got the world during the 1930’s and 1940’s. Over 60 million people perished.

“Would you like to see Britannia
Rule again my friend?
All you have to do is follow the worms.
Would you like to send our coloured cousins
Home again my friend?
All you need to do is follow the worms.”

I think a temporary wall can be a good thing. It gives us rest. It buys us time to strategize. And it allows us to get in touch with our inner selves. But after a while, walls become dreary and oppressive. Just the same, if you’ve spent too much time behind a wall, you might want to stay there just a little bit longer, to figure out how you got there in the first place.

“I’m waiting in this cell
Because I have to know,
Have I been guilty all this time?”

Signs were waved at the Democratic National Convention that read, “Love Trumps Hate”. Hate is caused by fear. Fear can be overcome when we face our fears and understand them. And then we can learn to relax, be vulnerable, and love again.

“Since, my friend, you have revealed your deepest fears,
I sentence you to be exposed before your peers.
Tear down the wall!”

We can do this for ourselves, personally.

And we can do this as a nation, on November 8th.

“All alone, or in twos,
The ones who really love you
Walk up and down outside the wall.
Some hand in hand,
Some gathering together in bands,
The bleeding hearts and the artists,
Make their stand.
And when they’ve given you their all,
Some stagger and fall.
After all it’s not easy
Banging your heart
Against some mad bugger’s wall.”

  • *All quoted verses are excerpts from Pink Floyd’s album, The Wall.