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
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