THE CUNNING FENNEC FOX: Night Blogging and the Cunning Fennec Fox

23 May 2014

2040 hrs

Hello, Patient Reader

One of those rare posts that show up at night, right? Doesn’t happen too often.

So I pose the question: What is better than following a blog written, however brilliantly, by a bipolar, egomaniacal, narcissistic sociopath that thinks animals are better than people and that humanity is flushing ourselves and the world down the toilet?

I have the answer:

Following a blog written, however brilliantly, by a bipolar, egomaniacal, narcissistic sociopath that thinks animals are better than people and that humanity is flushing ourselves and the world down the toilet who knows he is a bipolar, egomaniacal, narcissistic sociopath that thinks animals are better than people and that humanity is flushing ourselves and the world down the toilet. That’s what.

Yes. I am in the throes of my disease(s) and I feel nothing and everything and no one and everyone loves me and hates me. I am texted by drunk Irish lasses at one in the morning who know full well that scotch to me is better than oxygen.

I am teased by single moms who want and need and know that I AM that I AM, and can provide for these wants and needs . . . but that whole fucking inertia thingy . . . unlike me, y’all talk a good fucking game.

I am pierced by my own heart when I tell my kitten stories to Shmaillen; I still tear up at the thought of my wife’s cat that became my son and whom we had to kill because the IS thought it best to give him Feline Infectious Peritonitis and I cried harder at that point in my life than I ever did, even more than when I did at the loss of my own parents. Well, to be honest, barely a tear was shed for them. Not because there was not a time where I didn’t love them, but because I was all dried out by then. It’s so strange how we dry up like that, is it not?

Some of you out there know what I mean.

I am surrounded by people who ask me for my thoughts and opinions and when I give them they catalog them in some Dewey Decimal Drawer and never again give it another thought and they wonder what is this oh my god inertia of which he speaks? And they marvel in their wonder and I marvel in my own silent screams and I wear this fucking sandwich board that cries out, “The End Is Nigh . . . Get Your Fucking Shit Together!!” and still no one sees because they are blind and ignorant people don’t hear because they are stupid fucks and racists and Republicans and y'all don’t give a fuck because white is right and I’m in it for me and we hire black people as presidents . . . etc.

And then those very same people come up to me and want more of the same the very next day. Fa chrissakes, all we need to do is go through our day intending to NOT do the wrong thing even though we will slip up once or twice anyway, and eventually there’ll be more Rights than Wrongs and we can watch our kittens grow into fine young sons and daughters. And you won’t have to read CFF anymore because I won’t have shit about which to complain.

Hey rednecks, hear the one about the neo-Nazi wannabe? He goes to the local Mormon White-Supremacist holed up somewhere in Idano and says he wants to join them.

“Why should we let you in?” stammers the skinhead over his thick-tongued, Jew-hating, black man-dragging, black woman-raping self.

“Why, just yesterday I killed me a Chinaman,” says this Mensa applicant. “And the day before I killed me another Chinaman . . .”

And the Grand Poobah Hood Wearer says, “Silly boy. Son, don’tcha know that two Wongs don’t make a Reich?”

Hey all you fucking rednecks out there. I am a Southern Man begotten by Southern Men and their beautiful wives. And I am here to tell you to go choke on your fucking hoods, you homophobic, racist, cheap beer-swilling, sister-fuckers.

You Pseudo-Christians, if you recall from your rattlesnake envenomed- moonshine-and-meth-induced psychotic little tiny-minded cowardly reverend sermons, you will all go to heaven and Braise Cheeses and weep all over your overalls, right?

You condescending, self-righteous sociopaths.

Well guess what? Here’s your chance. Kill yourselves. Go to your fucking happy place and leave this Satan-run World to the rest of us heathens, you god lickers.

Go on to paradise and let us muddle through and save the fucking planet and the animals and the trees and have Peace and Compassion and clean, oil-free drinking water and science and technology and health and knowledge and that fucking Star-Trek society where weapons are only used in defense against Kardashians . . . erm, I mean Cardassians . . . sorry E!

Let us suffer through living this harsh life separated from god, and this cold and lonely 6000 year-old rock where dinosaurs and white dudes lived together in a big garden full of talking snakes. Go on, we’ll be OK. We’ll hold down the fort. Y’all just go with jebus and have pity on the rest of us soulless fucks who are damned to tarnation. Free Bird, Dude!

Now, to all of you intelligencia, my faithful core of Patient Readers: Are we up for it? Can we televise the Revolution and try to get the Earth to forgive us of all the trespasses we made against her wounded, scarred existence? Can we, will we, make this world the place we always wanted it to be? Do we want it badly enough to move against our own inertia and reach out and kiss the sky? Can so many people who want such beauty be that wrong? Splendid!

the dude abides

chickwithaquill.blogspt.com

Ok, ‘nuff on that. Gotta post this, then find a three-eyed goat to sacrifice in the pentagram on my living room floor; you know, to appease the Dark Father.