Singularity and the Cunning Fennec Fox

6 June 2017

Good Day, Patient Reader!

And patient you are!  Just a couple of words in two years?  I know!

Well . . . a lot has been going on . . .

“What?” you may be asking yourself.  Or not.  But it’s a lot!

Shall I press on?  Splendid!

There is a reason why we do the things we do.  Some of us do things because we fear punishment and hope for reward.  

Some of us do things because the Id or Is demands these things be done.  Anyway, you get the point: We Do Shit Because Whatever.  Agreed?

Decisions made in one’s youth are not the most sagacious.  What’s that you say?  Thank you, Commander Obvious?

That said, we can extrapolate further and deduce that decisions made at this stage of prefrontal cortical development are not necessarily the same decisions we would make say, in our thirties and forties.  Fuck it; we made those decisions back there and it’s too late to do anything about it.  Or is it?  Things outside of my control are things I shouldn’t stress over . . . right?  I mean, I know you’ve seen me type it before, Wonderfully Patient Reader.

But there are some things that are within my control.  I can choose to try not repeating those mistakes of my youth . . . right? (even though sometimes the very best things come from chaos and catastrophe).  And I can choose to want to right the things I can, if there is a way.  Is there always a way?

I can choose to be sorry, even ashamed of the things I have done-  What Hath Fox Wrought?  I can choose to see the terrible me on the horizon and send the flotillas to do battle.  I can feel the rush of adrenaline and stop myself from recklessly hurting someone . . . especially me if that rush calls for rock climbing without harness or belay.  Especially that.

I can choose to listen and to be alarmed when I bandy about ideas that HAVE to work . . . WILL work, as long as I build a ramp or get a running start.  

-If either of these preparations are required, please stop me from whatever I’m doing.-

Knock the 10mm rope and Eros jelly out of my hand (hey . . . you never know what’s gonna happen) if the plan calls for both a running start AND the construction of a ramp . . . just shoot me and save the world the news cycle.

Where was I?  Oh, yeah . . . choices . . . decisions . . . opting . . . karma . . . you know; if y’all worry about such things.

But to eschew the Darkness, must one have one of these reasons to Do the Right Thing?  What of the atheists among us?  Have we no reason to feel bad about the acts of our pasts?  I mean, I have no fear of divine reward. Or wrath, for that matter.  So, god ain’t getting’ me.  Conversely, I have no fear of Old Nick, that Great Red Dragon . . . because fuck you, mythology doesn’t scare me.

And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him. 

And yet there are so many things that need the forgiveness of others.  What recourse against Gehenna have I?  Well, damn it, some things just need doing because it’s the right and decent thing to do.  And don’t start with all that jesus bullshit- most of you Xians are so UN-christ-like it would be funny if you weren’t such hypocritical racist fucks.  No wonder most of you are Republicans, too.  Just ask jesus about feeding the poor and free health care.  Yeah, free health care.  How much did he charge to throw Legion into the swine?  What, did he bill Blue Christ Blue Shill when he cured the blind?  “Take up thy bed, and walk! . . . but drop a C-note in the grail on your way out.”

Jesus the Socialist.

Any of you would be lucky for just a sip of Eden, and then you might know the difference between Right and Wrong, and maybe remember how fucking hard it is to feel good!

Ungrateful sunza bidges.  Except for you, Patient Reader.  Your gratitude is immeasurable.

But in my mania, I digress.  YOU try keeping a blog going when you have 10,000 chattering monkeys in your cranium.  Can’t be done.  Try it.  Get Bipolar Disorder and see what that’s like!  See?  Digression!

 Ok, ok . . . there're only two . . . but they're scary!  They've got these Yuuuge fangs!  I mean . . . look a' all the bones!! 

Pardon me while I Cleese.

So, what does one do? Well, in my case, I have been fortunate enough for persons in my past to have suddenly reappeared.  I say fortunate not because we are all Sudden Buddies, but fortunate in that I can apologize for the way they were treated.  The way I treated them.  I did terrible things.  Things that I can apologize for and I can try to be the best me in their lives.  Not a lot, but it’s all I can do.  Regret and Not Harm.  Primum Non Nocere.

Not many people get this sort of chance.

These are important people in my life, not only because I love them (Yes, The Cunning Fennec Fox knows how to love; just outta practice, is all) but because they have given me a chance to say, “I’m Sorry.”

But Dammit, Patient Reader!  That’s STILL all I can do.  It’s up to them to see, to judge its truthfulness, and to forgive.  I have no control over that.  And it beats the hell out of one-way communication.  Like this, I just realized.

So, to you who have brought new and old and blinding light to me:

I hate the pain I caused and felt.  I regret any decisions that I made that caused years of speculation and confusion and hatred and all vitriol that comes with being wronged by someone who should only do right by you.

I apologize for succumbing to my own powerful fears and acting rashly when confronted by them.  I am truly very sorry for all the bullshit.  Nothing that years of painful and expensive therapy can’t fix.  Right?

There is a time and a place for levity.  Since this is my blog, fuck you, I get to be levitacious until I bust at the seams.  Im sooooo levitacious, my neologisms are erect.

All the bullshit, Mona Lisa’s and Mad Hatters.  All of it.

Turn around and say, "good morning" to the night.

OK . . . enough of the gushy-mushy and let’s get on with the ranting commentary that you all pay for so dearly.  Patient Patient Reader.

So . . . shall I get on with it?  Splendid!

Trump.  Jesus.  Whose bizarre and surrealistic idea is this?  I mean, he couldn’t have gotten elected unless some nefarious chicanery (Al Michaels, not Chuck McGill) took place.  That he had help from external forces to get elected is common knowledge, much as I have a love/hate with oxymorons.

Well, we all know that Trump did have help from his comrades. 

Who knew that Joseph McCarthy would be right so many years later?  Russian operatives in the Federal Government!  Commie Pinko Swine abound!

Jesus.  If Sen. McCarthy hadn’t drunk himself to death, he’d be drinking himself to death.  If we had more people like him, we’d have fewer people like him.

Now he’s going to tweet live during Comey’s testimony before congress.  So glad that the dignity of the Office has remained intact.  Now before all you goat-fucking rednecks start bringing up President Clinton, let’s all try to keep focus and see really where adultery begins and ends, and see what sins are committed, rules are broken, and laws peed upon.  Hey, it’s presidential if it involves urine and hookers, man.  Dribblin' like the NBA

Then Kathy Griffith gets in trouble for showing a bodiless effigy of a head.  A sitting president’s head.  Yeah.  Secret Service LIKES that shit.  Shows initiative.  And she’s surprised there was a backlash?  Kathy Who the Fuck, anyway.  I laughed with her in the nineties.

Mania manic maniac and the Cunning Fennec Fox

Therapy says I'm adjusting well.  Good Job, Me.  However, Therapy also tells me to keep coming.  SO, what the fuck do they know?  Except you, of course, Patient Reader; you always know

. . . you know?

Al Green . . . the Texas democrat,

not the funky funkmaster; my bro with a ‘fro.

That Al Green is putting a motion into play to impeach the president.  And if it wasn’t flagged before, the Cunning Fennec Fox has been flagged now! 

So many ways the Gummint spies on us.  But of course, we all know that the aluminum foil hats help deflect the cosmic rays DARPA is pouring into the fabric of space-time like a shameful stain in the bedlinens . . .

naughty naughty bedlinens!  Besides, spanking you won’t be enjoyable, bedlinens.  Not for me.  I’d fret that your thousand thread-count might start to pill under the force of the blows.  

Spanking Bedlinens?  C’mon . . .  you always wanted to, and theres always a reason to . . .

COSMIC RAYS!  yip and woot!!!

Anyway, it’s pill line, and I must hide this laptop somewhere so the aides and orderlies don’t find it and rat me out. 

Until next time, Patient Reader

I am and always shall remain,

The Cunning Fennec Fox

Good News and the Cunning Fennec Fox

28 May 2017

2145 hrs

Ohhh.  Patient Reader. 

New news, newsies.  Nothing new?  Noooo.  Numbers!   Numbers now numb.   Nobody now, new- NOT?   No.  No no no.  Never need new niceties, nor newer necessities.  Nobody needs numbing; nobody needs Nevermore. 

copyright Properfessor

Thank you, anti-psychotic features of the psychoactive compounds I consume PO, IM, and, well, all delivery routes enteral or parenteral!

I swear to Jebus, it's just the low O2 up here.  It's difficult for us, of the vulpes zerda, to ride a wave of mania like hangin’ ten on some tasty curls. 

Thank you, Mood Stabilizers! 

In the middle of that terrible episode, the zenith away from which I hope I am descending.   Thumbs squeezed, fingers and toes and eyes crossed.  The longing nostalgia for the wild things in your past; the emptiness of that hole adrenaline and love for all things stimulating used to fill. . .   Roll Tide.

In the middle of the terror, two shining lights appeared out of the gloom.

Suffice it to say, this Manic Episode has morphed from intractable terror to a serene soaring. An owl, perhaps, gliding silently on the night heat as it escapes back to space.  The owl.  Respected harbingers of immense change. 

Well.  No Shit.

Details?  Fuck you, those are mine.  If you're lucky, my words won't blaze like a divine whirlwind charring the black dust off your blacker bones. 

. . . Except for you of course, Patient Reader.  You guys take your shit and twist until they cry Uncle, and they have returned to the state of being your obsequious little bitches. 

Or I could just lay it all out for you later. 

Best to you all, except for those who can go suck ass.  You know who you are, Janice in Accounting.  Awww.  She don't give a FUCK!

G'nite, everyone who fits in the husk of my heart. 

As always I remain,

The Cunning Fennec Fox

And the rest of you get off your asses and repair The Constant. 

OhMiGod, What the Fuck Did We Just Do? and the Cunning Fennec Fox

27 May 2017

1235 hrs

Dear Patient Reader:  

After considerable thought and pondering here on the edge of the erg, I have decided to come out of my two-year self-imposed exile and get back to what really matters;

       a)  informing the common American that America just ain’t like that, whatever it is you are thinking it is; me?  (I don't know any better, but its MY blog, so kiss it . . . hard)

       b)  that Republican’s “Got It.” Thanks, Idiots, but you dont!

Let the grown-ups take it from here before Ivanka takes your stupid toys away.  

Can you picture him?  Our President?

Making vroom- vroom noises as he wipes out the Iberian Peninsula over a bowl of his Crunchy Sugar Bombs, and then blaming it on the Teutonic hordes lorded (ladied?) over by that megalomaniacal, post-menopausal, Strumpet-for-the-Kaiser Angela Merkel?  We all know what a savage she really is.

The worst despots really do come from Germany, am I right?  C'mon over here and High five, guy who still High-Fives . . .

But the real reason I am coming back is because, goddammit, I am still tired of this shit-hole human race and the shitty things we do to one another, and in these last two years, y’all have done nothing about it.  Were y'all asleep at the switch?

  

In fact, we went from having an empathetic and compassionate man in the oval office to having Shakes the Motherfucking Clown in there.  We have white-pride bastards 

fighting with Jews.  

In the West Wing.  

How fucking insane is that?  And we know that The Donald is still running around the White House corridors trying all the doors and what does this switch fucking do? 

and he’s still running around 1600 Penn Ave 

playing GRAB-ASS with the hotties in skirts (with the really mini mini skirts being the predatory dress code), 

 I mean, when it comes down to it, I thought my job was over.  I thought ok, we got rid of George W.

and his wanton murder spree in the Middle East.  

Then we had a Kenyan for president, who ran this country as if it were his own homeland.  You know.  Like he loved America.  Dumbass.

What a noble savage . . . Hakuna Matata, Obama.  

You know, as a rite of passage, he had to kill a lion with his bare hands!!  Yeah!  Those things at the distal ends of his arms!

Fuck.  Wrong Leader of the Free World...

Sorry, but that’s Shaft-level One Bad Motherfuckery!  I don't care who y'all are.  Except you Birthers.  Good Harold Christ. Still?  Really Right Now?

And finally, you bring that all crashing down by hiring a shitty, at best, CEO

So watch out, everyone . . . The Fox is BACK, 

and he’s HUNGRY!  I got my eye on you!  Yeah, you over there.  I see you.  Fuck stick.

So . . . I think it’s time to write our first pages in this new chapter.  One I like to call,

OhMiGod, What the Fuck Did We Just Do?

So . . . shall we begin? 

Splendid!!!

Well, where do we start?  

Gregg Allman just died.  Sure, he was a rat, but a Rockin’ rat, and that really goes a long way.  

To not getting taunted by others (shank-shank-shank) and all that, I’d say he’s had a pretty good life eatin’ peaches and playing keyboards.  At least he’s back with Duane . . .

Maybe I should rant about . . . well, fuck’s sake . . . where does a Ninja begin?  Look around and tell me where a good place to start is.  

Russia is our new Bestie, didja know?  The Red, White, and Blue for whom Trump IS Presidential:

But that’s ok.  Why not elect a billionaire with a track record of reneging on his obligations and countersuing employees and others who are trying to get what is owed to them?  

I mean, you don’t become a billionaire by giving it away, right?  No, the only things that matter to Trump are free materials and labor, and whatever he can fit his fingers into. 

Jesus . . . I kept so quiet during the campaigns and the election . . . I even let that Milestone 100 Days come and go and kept my big sexy mouth closed.

I was calling him President Trump last summer, without a hint of irony, because I, like H.L. Mencken, never got poor underestimating the stupidity of the American people.  God, we can be some great individuals though, huh?  Some smart men and women who figured out so many things about the intricacies and beauty of life . . . things that propel us, as a species, forward: 

Written language, and machines like levers and wheels and pulleys, and medicines for all sorts of ailments . . .  and of course, specifically, antibiotics.  Fleming, you awesome Scottish bastard!

We had the renaissance and shut the door on the Dark Ages . . . you know, when an entire civilization gets bogged down with the illusion of a kind, wish-granting old man in the sky sprinkling the sweet glitter of angel turds all over our lives . . . you know . . . days long gone.  We’ve come so far.

We had Carl Sagan, for fuck’s sake.

Peter Ward and Stephen J. Gould and Oliver Sacks and Albert Einstein . . . Sherlock Holmes and Gregory House.  Encyclopedia Brown, fa chrissakes!  Some of the greatest inquiring minds decided to ask, “What the fuck is that over there, and what does it taste like?”