Birds, snakes, an aeroplane and Lenny Bruce is shitting his pants

I don’t trust happy endings.

This isn’t meant to say I dabble in nihilism as a means of self medication, though. As far as I’m concerned, nihilists are just quitters dressed in black clothes. And the only time I go anarchist is when I’m on hold and some automated jerkoff is sweet talking me through options that don’t fit what I’m wanting to get fixed. 

Nah, my aversion to happy endings is the residual of having watched too many Walt Disney movies. (Dude was a sadist . . I mean, what kind of sick mind kills off Bambi’s mom?) Since I don’t get a discount on my therapy bills by blaming Disney, Imma just address the eight hundred pound gorilla in the room by letting loose with the reality that is busy pounding us upside the head on a daily basis.

We’re doomed.

It’s one of the many reasons The Lovely Fire works so very well. (Shameless plug? You bet your ass.) Writing about a zombie apocalypse is a natural progression. It’s like I said to Christy once. Writing about the end of the world is almost a refreshing break from the everyday. Don’t take my word for it, look around . . .

We have a fat bastard in North Vietnam who is testing missiles in other people’s backyards. What scares me most of all about Kim Jong-un isn’t that he will throw down the nuclear option but that one of his underlings will do it for him. The angry dumpling is a narcissist. He isn’t gonna commit what would amount to suicide by launching in anger. But what of the peeps on his payroll whose job security is an oxymoron? What if they decide they don’t want to wake up to a poor job review one day? The thought is more frightening than Tom Cruise’s dresser drawer.

The Mullahs in the Middle East possess enough bad medicine to deliver a horrifying postscript to civilian populations that don’t agree with their ideology. We’re talking about fellas who believe it’s okay to put a young woman to death for showing too much skin and who consider stoning to be a proper adjudication. These guys shouldn’t be able to own a slingshot, much less a nuclear program. And what we know of these madmen is that we don’t know nearly enough.

Which brings us to that cold blooded killer in Russia who is presiding over the second coming of the Iron Curtain whilst dressing it up as a Good Housekeeping Glasnost Edition. Vladimir Putin is playing one hand against the other, and he’s doing a pretty solid job to this point. Arguing that the former Soviet Union is too fractured to mean what it used to ignores the fact that a Wild West scenario allows Putin much more autonomy than his predecessors. Never a good thing when you’re dealing with a dude who really thinks he’s gonna rule the world.

And ruling the world is something Germany knows a thing or two about. Hey, if Hitler hadn’t been so ambitiously blind in his real estate grabs, not to mention strategically incompetent, who knows? Present day sees a much more agreeable Germany, but that ignores the fact they are plenty pissed off at the rest of the world. They’re feeling like the neglected friend who’s loaned money, gifted free room and board and who has received bupkis in return. From what I know of history . .  a pissed off Germany is really bad dinner company.

At least the leader board for the most important position in the world is looking good. Oh shit, yeah . . no. Welp, in the event size really does matter, we’re cool. But I’m thinking if things were that easy, President Ron Jeremy would have a bust that wasn’t attached to an STD.

And I’m curious, did the focus group that was polled after the GOP debate in Detroit explain why Trump’s penis size was an important issue to them? Comparable to, say . . national security, the economy or education? No? Nothing? Okay.

We live in dangerous times, and our political process is treating this as if a Seinfeld episode. It would be hilarious, if it wasn’t so frightening.

My father was born and raised in Havana. He saw firsthand what happens to a country that is built on corrupt bargains. Things don’t end well. The lead up to Castro’s take down of the Presidential Palace was bloody and merciless. He witnessed people being shot on the streets, others rounded up and disappeared. All in the name of a promising sounding movement defined by someone other than the people.

We’re not a tiny Caribbean island, I get it. We’ve got too much structure, too many fail safes, and don’t forget Twitter, we have that too. Nothing bad can happen in a country that runs on Twitter. And yet, there went Mitt Romney and his boys last week; talking up a hostile takeover of the GOP that would lead to him becoming the nominee. Which feels very much like something that would happen anywhere other than here, doesn’t it?

We’re buried in the tangle of social media which allows us to feel connected, empowered. It’s how Trump won our attention, by manipulating the media to such a degree that Ray Bradbury would be impressed. Revolutions grow out of hopeless times, like weeds through the cracks. Some of them work to the betterment of humanity, others not so much. A President Trump? I don’t know, and it’s the not knowing that scares the living shit out of me.

This isn’t to say that all is lost, simply because I don’t feel all is ever lost. All is a very powerful thing. All is every single hope and wish and dream, big and small, said and unsaid. So ALL can never really be lost.

Being doomed is a different matter altogether. We are. Hopelessly so. But fret not, peeps, because being doomed has its advantages. For instance, studies have shown that more sex happens in times of adversity, and we get bigger and better parties, clearance sales to beat the band, provocative music, more thought provoking cinema and less Oprah Winfrey (She’ll be tied up with real estate deals on Mars).

Chin up, world.

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78 thoughts on “Birds, snakes, an aeroplane and Lenny Bruce is shitting his pants

  1. I just finished my second glass of Chardonnay and have to tell you this post got me back to a third. I have to agree with all you say and I must say I’m so glad I have another twenty four in the cooler. it would be nice if all this crap would stop so us old timers (me) could look forward to a natural life span instead of a possible bar b que. Nice job Pilgrim and I’m with Lenny.

  2. Drink up matey, for tomorrow we . . . well, you know the rest.

    It’s all good though, because like I said, we might be doomed but it doesn’t mean all is lost. It’s about the company you keep on the WAY to the end, and I’m really good with the peeps I’ve come to know- present company included, of course.

  3. Pollyanna Sunshine here!
    Every time I find myself holding my breath waiting for the Big One to fall, I’m whisked back to the 70s, 80s, and 90s. In each instance, I was lucky to have somebody to tell me “It’ll be okay.” Most notably, it’s been my dad in each instance. He often said, “You know my parents grew up in the depression, your ancestors fought in the World Wars, Korea, and Vietnam. In each instance, they thought it was the end, too. And it wasn’t.”

    When I worried about gas prices in the 70s (I wasn’t 10), he reminded me that we were fortunate enough to own a car. When I was terrified of the Russians in the 80s, he told me that Reagan knew what he was doing. With the 90s came a media frenzy of all that we have now – mass shootings, drugs, terrorism, war.
    Ironically, now it’s ME now telling HIM that everything will be okay.
    Do I really think it’ll be okay? No, not really. For all of the reasons you eloquently shared. Am I still gonna say it?
    Yes. Yes I will. He got me through to the 90s with his message of hope, maybe I can do the same for him.
    Great post, Cayman.
    Also appreciated your note for Lovely Fire. This entire post outlines why I’m drawn to the apocalyptic story lines…these times make a person feel like a zombie among the living….

  4. Just have a sec, but I’ll reply more tomorrow.

    Just had to say you’re some writer, Cayman.

    And the REM reference? Well you know where they’re from. Which leads me to my next question. Have I thanked y’all lately for taking that dumbass Richt?

    Thank you. Very very very very much.

    I’ll be back.

  5. I’m with you Cayman… hate the lemonade. And the Kool-aid. Live-Aid was ok
    I am watching with as much detachment and acceptance as I can muster.
    The anarchist in me is, frankly, enthralled by it all. What if THIS happens? What about THAT?
    What is the old Asian (or something) curse…”may you live in interesting times?”
    I’m feeling well and cursed.
    and can’t look away fascinated on one hand and utterly disgusted and repulsed on the other.
    it’s weirdly exciting….is that crazy of me to say?
    Maybe.
    More Lovely Fire to take my mind of it please!

    • I used to love Kool Aid, when I was seven and believed older people had my best interests in mind . . .

      We live in interesting times alright. But um, maybe a little LESS interesting wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, right? Well and cursed, it’s a book title!

      I can’t look away either, because it’s like a slow motion car wreck. How about this, it’s fascinatingly disgusting and repulsive? Winning! Ugh . . I thought that word jumped the shark with Charlie Sheen, but evidently not.

      We need Rick Grimes to run for President.

      More Lovely Fire! Yes! More!

  6. My tendency is towards pessimism, but I (redacted) fight it with regular doses of history and fairy tales — the original ones that told of giants and ogres ripping off heads and limbs and sucking the marrow from their victims’ bones. There’s a reason that kind of brutality was fed to children. The world back then was truly that brutal.

    From that less myopic perspective it is easier to see that in spite of all the bullshit, human existence is inching towards a better, more compassionate place. But, holy cow, are we ever slow!

    Still, I scream FUCK at least once a day at the mess we’re in. More often than that if I’m honest.

    Also, I hate lemon aid. And Kool Aid. I am rather fond of Chardonnay, though . . . and birthdays as long as they belong to someone else. (Insert sly wink here)

  7. You know… I’ve often wondered where my dark and twisty originated. Because it was there way before the lambs started crying. But I had a breakthrough… it wasn’t lambs crying. It was baby deer (and their cute little baby deer lips (i know you know where that’s from, right?)) crying after Bambi’s mom went to live in the green pasture in the sky. Huh. I was doomed from the get go.

    You KNOW where I stand on happy endings. It’s just not my default setting. Like Jimmy. I’m still on the fence. I know, I know, I said I was changing my mind on him especially after the “Don’t leave me!” schtick. But the more I got thinking about it. That’s the exact damn thing Jeffrey Dahmer would say to feign vulnerability. And yes dammit that puts me in the minority, but that’s also part of the thrill. That hey, maybe this guy will actually prove me wrong. I’m not unreasonable. Just tumultuous. So now that we’ve established it’s all Disney’s fault…

    It’s no question the world is a ticking bomb. Has been since Day One. Everything has a lifespan. But hey, if Nostradamus was wrong, and the Aztecs and the Mayans and the Holy Roller evangelicals can’t agree on an end-date, that means nothing is assured. Like I wrote above, “That’s also part of the thrill. … Maybe this (world) will actually prove me wrong.”

    In the meantime, I’ll eat pancakes for lunch. I’ll dream of Viggo and Seth and Uma. I’ll make plans to travel to Paris when I’m 92 years old. I’ll read poetry. And listen to music. And write stories about how the power of love and music and Bob Marley can save us–can bring us back to life–even if we are doomed. And if that day ever does come? I know exactly where I want to be. It’s not naivety. It’s just a choice. Focus on the shining star? Or focus on its inevitable fall?

    ^ One of my favorite movies.

    • I’ve disliked Walt Disney ever since I took my kids there ten years ago. Loved Epcot, loved that the kids loved it, but I hated the sticker price.

      Blame it on Bambi. It’s a t-shirt.

      I’m not changing your mind on Jimmy. I could tell. Even when you were giving him the benefit of your many doubts about him, you were lukewarm about it. There’s no bend to you when you got your mind made up, but that’s what keeps this story crisp. And I plan on writing a brand spanking new entry for Sam and Dave over the next couple days . . . would like to post it early next week.

      Yanno, I remember when they were screaming that the end of the world was coming. I think I posted on it. The ‘event’ countdown was creepy only because of the religious peeps who were ecstatic about it! On my way home from work, I passed a woman who was walking with a sandwich board sign that read “Saved!”……When I went out to grocery shop that night, she was still walking, sandwich board and flashlight. I mean, what a downer it must have been for her when the sun came up the next morning. I wonder if she went on Springer “Jesus Kicked Me to the Curb!”.

      You’re right though. We’re been chatting up the end of days since the beginning of days. And somehow, we’re still here. It’s why I said we might be doomed but all is never lost. And it’s never going to be, lost.

      You are tumultuous, but you wear it so very well.

      • Oh I don’t know. Like I said, I’m not unreasonable; I’m willing to bend, and did on the whole Michonne and puppy love thing. I’m pretty open minded. When I care to be. Sometimes it just takes a while for an idea to be reinforced enough before I come around. We’ll see. I’m very curious to hear about the new Dave installment, fill me in when you get some time, k? I’ll make sure Sam’s follows suit.

        Gah, don’t even get me started on all the doomsday screaming. People will bitch and moan about anything these days…especially politics, and it sounds like they’re only getting louder. Working themselves into some sort of psychedelic frenzy over Trump and Clinton.

        Well I think we’re all still here. We could be permanent guests tangled up in some Morrison Hotel fantasy dream except we….well it’s a long story and I’ve rambled. I don’t want to give the ending away. Hopefully that made sense. You’re pretty good at reading my mind.

        Hey, have I thanked you lately for taking that fucking Richt off our hands? Thank you!

        Oh did you hear Manziel got cut today? I guess you were right about him and I was wrong. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I do however hope they stay firm on all their rules and stuff. He really should get kicked out of the league. They’ll probably just let him go with a light spanking or something though. To make matters worse? The Cowboys will probably sign him thinking he’s the next Starbauch. Yeah.

        • I’m the same way. I don’t like when someone tries to tie me to an idea, I like to come to it on my own. I’ll definitely be filling you in on the latest entry, there are going to be some twists and turns.

          Don’t get me started on what happened in Chicago last night. That was just plain dumb. I understand the tumultuous reaction Trump elicits, I get it. But to answer anger WITH anger, it’s nonsense. Those women who shut down a Sanders’ event in Oregon (I believe it was Oregon)? They simply took the mic, asked pertinent questions. No pushing, shoving, yelling. Get it right, Chicago!

          Morrison Hotel? Does this mean you have another entry coming our way soon? God, I hope so.

          You have thanked me lately, but keep ’em coming. Once the season starts, and I start using his four lettered middle name, it’s not going to be quite so funny then.

          There was an article recently about how Manziel is a better bet than RG for some NFL team and it got me so pissed. I love the writer (Vinnie Iyer) but this idea that Johnny Foosball is a better bet than ANYONE is bullshit. I think Jerry’s son (hope) has talked enough sense into the old man that he won’t take a flyer on Manziel. Some team will take him on, because you know Law and Order Goodell has more important issues to deal with. Like deflated balls and excessive celebration fines. Just another day.

          • Maybe it’s just me, but I think you’ll be using Richt’s middle name a lot come season. I used it so often I think the cows blushed. I know I’m too hard on him, but just wait. You’ll see.

            As far as Sam goes, I really just need to put my ass in the chair and start writing. It’s been a crazy week though, lots of distractions and things popping up. I’ll have some quiet time soon where I can devote my full attention. (At least I hope so.) I kinda wanted to take on another one-off type of thing though. It was pretty fun the last time. So maybe I’ll wait and see what’s in store for Dave, and then go from there. Twists and turns, huh? Could be interesting. You never fail to amaze me with how you connect the dots and plot lines, so I’m sure you have some tricks up your sleeves in store for us. Excited to find out!

            Trump rally. Geez. I dunno. It’s enough to put me to sleep. Like I told you and Michelle, everyone’s chatting politics and here I am…making pancakes. Did you know they make pineapple syrup?! I am so trying that out. Like as soon as I hit send. 🙂

            Yep…just another day. And just when I think—that things are in their place, The heavens are secure—the whole thing explodes in my face God I love Oingo Boingo…I’m impressed. And here I thought you were all hypnotized by Charlize’s dress when I gushed over Danny Elfman on Oscar night. I guess you’re either really observant or really lucky.

            K, have a good weekend! I’m off to have lunch and to try my new syrup (what? I’m excited. geez.) Chat soon, c-

  8. Although I’m a believer in the majority of the world being good, that doesn’t apply to the leaders of the world … the ones who screw up the perception of their people. Meanwhile, regarding the North Korean leader … have you noticed that every time he gets burrs in his shorts he bombs the ocean? … psst … notice the country to edit. … Great thoughts, Cayman … but I’m saving my wine for tomorrow.

    • He DOES, doesn’t he?

      I’m right smack dab in the middle of the GOP debate, and I’m still waiting for Trump to liken nuclear disarmament to erectile dysfunction.

      I need a life, I realize this. . .

      • I still have a perfect record of not watching, and I don’t regret that decision … as a matter of fact, I shake my head at those who have watched all of them. Morning reports seem to speak of sanity, but I’ve got the feeling they still don’t coming close to answering the questions.

        Meanwhile, glad you enjoyed bomb the ocean.

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