Fibonacci Dumbasses

There are STILL Rhodes Scholars out there asserting they will refuse a COVID-19 vaccine.


They think they will get micro-chipped, and then tracked, everywhere they go.

Let us momentarily put aside that not one of the brain trusts holding this opinion displays any quality which would make them a desirable target to track. While I’m sure that – as an example – the numerous trips the denizens of, say, Pasco County make to the local Cracker Barrel might be interesting to someone, I don’t see it as being Bill Gates. I don’t even see it as someone who would do anything more with that kind of information than jerk off to it because it’s his new weird fetish. “Oh,FUCK, the Barrel’s FULL today… the kitchen staff has gotta be in the weeds…uh.. uh… oh God…”

So I need to repeat this.

They think, thru the vaccine, they are gonna get micro-chipped, and then tracked, everywhere they go. They are outraged, terrified, trying desperately to form a non-laughable platform, but lacking the pre-requisite executive functions to pull it together cohesively (and again, non-laughably.)

Even still, they type out their angry missives, their panicked questions. their tracking fears, to their drool bucket compadres, on a cell phone.


More than likely, one that uses the Android OS, and therefore Google, which means that location tracking is really and truly the least of their privacy worries.

How loud will the bang be when that thought finally breaches the outer membrane of the Locus of Idiocy? Will it ever? If it does, will it be similar to a sonic boom, or more like the dude in Scanners?

If, right now, a microchip vaccine conspiracy is the biggest concern on a person’s mind, then “mind” is a super-charitable word to use.

Also, what a pitifully limited imagination. How do they know they aren’t ALREADY microchipped? If you could put a chip in a vaccine – a liquid – would it not stand to reason it’d fit just the same in some other deliverable liquid? Hey, maybe it could be surreptitiously PUT IN you the next time you get a lab test, maybe towards the end of a LOT of extracted blood tubes, so you’re a little dizzy and you’re not really watching because it makes you feel like you might black out.

And if they made a microchip that was so tiny it was deliverable through the eye of a syringe, yet still completely functional, that magically knew exactly where in the bloodstream to go to find its purchase (what, you think it’s gonna track YOUR movement PLUS it’s own in your bloodstream? You’re expecting a LOT out of this imaginary bullshit, you know. Winnow down a little, Christ..)…. would it not stand to reason that they could’ve already made one that was an aerosol? Or that was in food and lodged itself in your stomach lining once eaten?


I mean, anything you think is true, right? I AM riding the big blue doggy to the candy planet later, aren’t I?

If this issue has been weighing heavily on your mind, find comfort in asking yourself these brief questions (and honest answers, please, this is to help YOU):

  1. Why exactly would Bill Gates want to track me?
  2. Is what I just asked ridiculous?
  3. Why is it better to track me than someone who uses their time for things other than obsessing over this conspiracy? Wouldn’t a well-rounded person be more useful to a nefarious entity than a one-track internet bobble-head?
  4. Has the line between fantasy and reality always been blurred, or am I just spending too much time online?
  5. Would I trust any of the strangers online giving me this information with the keys to my home or my children?
  6. If the answer to number 5 is no, then why do I trust the nonsense they are telling me?
  7. If the answer to number 5 is yes, why was I not sterilized at birth?

i’m going to go with Woodstock now, and laugh so hard, tears will spurt from the corners of our eyes and I will accidentally fall off the top of the doghouse. Miraculously, I will be unhurt. Still, Woodstock will fly crookedly in solidarity. That bitch loves drama.

But before I go, I want to say this. You don’t need an enormous intellect. You don’t need pieces of paper from institutions that validate to prospective employers that you do, in fact, come from the correct socio-economic class to be allowed entrance beyond the most basic level of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. What you DO need: endless curiosity, an open mind, the willingness to research instead of assume, the understanding that your opinion does not make you an expert and that you do not in fact know everything, and the ability to be wrong without taking it as an attack on your ego but instead as a fantastic opportunity to learn something and become better.

It doesn’t take much more than that to develop some critical thinking skills and see when some charlatan is taking you and playing you for a big damned FOOL. Seems like about a third of the country enjoys being taken for a fool, though. Shame, that.

In 2020, a large group of Americans sincerely believe that Bill Gates wants to microchip them through a vaccine designed to stop a pandemic (which many refer to as a “plan-demic”). These same people refuse to wear masks, while their fellow Americans are dropping like flies.

They think we all give a fuck where they are and what they do. We don’t. No one wants to track the banal, boring, and bone-headed, except for KIng Banal Bonehead, who is using them a fuck of a lot more than Bill Gates ever could, even in their wildest dreams.



Pandemic Thoughts

All my life I’ve heard all sorts of people say some variation of “There’s only two types of people..” and then they go on to somehow divvy all of humanity into one of a mere two types. I had a version of it, myself: There’s two types of people: People who think there are two types of people, and people who don’t.

But damn it all, it turns out that shit is true. There truly are only two types of people, and the pandemic has made what these two types are, glaringly clear:

There are people who care about other people and the world around them. And then there are selfish, stupid* assholes.

That’s it. There are your two groups. They’re super-easy to identify. One group social distances and wears a mask. The other bellows about their civil rights or says that masks are killing people and threatens citizens arrests at town halls and arms themselves to threaten a governor, and some of the women – the ones whose hair is about three decades past due – are very vocal that YOUR GRANDMA’S LIFE, YOUR CHILD’S LIFE, YOUR SPOUSE’S LIFE, YOUR OWN LIFE is less important than their ugly-ass haircut which, face it, Karen, your hairstylist is taking your money and shaking her damn head. You can’t make soulless attractive. Nor can you do a damn thing to improve those horrific brassy-ass highlights that match your sun-damaged .001% melanin over-“tanned” skin. If anything, pandemic or not, staying INSIDE might do you some good. What are you, HUMAN BEEF JERKY?

Anyway. There are ways to keep the economy going and the country going AND still keep us safe and get this thing under control. Sadly, however, President Kill Us All and the We Own Stock in HydroxyChloroquine Gang don’t give a fuck about any of us. If you are still laboring under some piteous delusion that they’ve got your best interests at heart, that they are not lying through their teeth to you, I’m so sorry that no one ever treated you for the Traumatic Brain Injury you so obviously have at some point suffered.

I mean, my far-right-leaning, Antifa and Socialist fearing, FOX NEWS watching schizophrenic friend finally gets it. If YOU don’t? If you don’t, I’m honestly curious as to what you believe is happening here. If you believe there are so far 152K crisis actors, or if this is a “hoax”, or if “masks kill”, or one of your civil rights is somehow being violated by being asked to wear a mask in the interest of public health.

The last one is the most interesting to me. Because I really want to know, exactly WHICH civil right is it that is being violated? The right to get deathly ill by a pandemic uncontrolled by your incompetent leader? Perhaps the right to show your entire face in public (the little bits of spittle that fly out of people’s mouths when they’re screaming unfounded opinions – this isn’t well-known – really go far in backing up their logic. About 18 feet or something.). But I don’t recall a right to show your face in public. I think maybe a few people would actually have taken umbrage with that one. You know, a few miscreants that don’t want to see the the Bailey Twins faces’ in public, on account of they reside on the same set of shoulders, or okay, maybe it doesn’t even have to be a conjoined twin thing, some people are straight-up dicks about other people’s looks. So even if someone didn’t fervently believe in the cause, I think they would have stood up against it just to fuck with some person they didn’t like, take that public opportunity to call them ugly in front of everyone as if it were Important Civil Rights Business.

Also. How come the non-mask-wearers don’t find their Civil Rights violated by the eradication of the Clean Water Act? Don’t they have, like, a right to drink clean water? It is kind of funny that their support for this unprecedented dereliction of duty (not to mention cleaning out of the coffers) began with a fear of brown people, yet these are people who have absolutely no fear at all of drinking brown water.

Brain-eating amoebas. And chemicals that no existing filter can ever remove, that were not there before, that we have no idea what the long-term effects will be. How very thirst-quenching. And so cool that we are made up mostly of the stuff, too, right? Don’t you want your body to be made of chemical waste?

Sure, why not. You don’t mind if it’s a super shuttle for a coronavirus.

If everyone would wear a mask, we could have the pandemic under control in 2 to 4 weeks. That was last week. It will probably take longer now. Still. Consider that. Then consider where we are right now. A hurricane is heading toward Miami-Dade, one of Florida’s worst hit areas. Ever been hugged up in a hurricane shelter? Add a pandemic. How pretty is the picture you see?

I’m meandering. I know it. This isn’t a proper essay. I don’t give a fuck.

I can’t understand what is wrong with people. WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE? Are they truly without souls? Are they simply NPCs walking around – oh, this one with the ugly 80s hair holding the sign that says SACRIFICE THE WEAK, every time you go by this particular tree, she’s there, sometimes she will yell at passersby, because that’s how she’s coded. She’s coded to be gross, to add conflict to the game. Right?

Because these can’t be real people. Because if they are, these are people who are saying that other human beings do not matter, but will tell any one of their friends or family quite sincerely and earnestly, “I’m a good person.” And they will believe it. And then they will put on a red hat and laugh at so-called jokes containing only vulgarity and hatred, and they will rail against “The Other Side”, and their faces will twist up into phastasmagoric Mummenschanz masks of vitriol that turn out to be their real faces, and it is then that you realize, no, of course they don’t want to wear a mask, they wear one every day, when they pretend to be one of us, when they pretend to be human.

*It doesn’t matter how many degrees you hold, how often the collective membership of Mensa gathers to blow you, how quickly you solve a Rubik’s cube. If you’re not wearing a mask, you don’t listen to scientists, which makes you a bonafide imbecile. Please don’t ever use anything plastic. A scientist came up with it. No medication ever for you for anything. A scientist made that, and they’re full of shit, right? Oh, and no fast food – there are FOOD SCIENTISTS, too, bitch, and they make a lot of the flavors you enjoy in a lab in New Jersey. Don’t forget COMPUTER SCIENCE. The porn you love is made of pixels that are made of numbers that used algorithms and that is so very sciencey, your Second Amendment Rights could just FALL OFF OF YOU RIGHT NOW HURRY RUN!!!


It’s Like Sands Thru An Hourglass, Bitch!

I just finished listening to Godzilla by The Creatures. It was a breath of fresh air. What great drums. Then, I found out it was released twelve years ago. This was right before Pre-World’s end. Pre-World is a sobriquetic way of referring to my psychotic break. This reality now is, of course, Post-World, but I don’t want to call it that, cause that sounds kinda final. Anyway. Twelve years ago, right? Twelve damn years old.

Suddenly I heard in that song the lost potential, the lost energy, the lost cockiness. I heard my lost youth.

And I’m sitting here crying as I’m typing this. And as I’m snuffling because I’m too ass-glued to this chair to get a tissue, I realize, wait, WHY AM I BITCHING?

“The lost potential..”

To what? To take a life path where you never got to meet the Best Person Ever? To take a life path where you never got to be as awake as you are now?

“The lost energy, the lost this, the lost that…”

1. Put your shit up and you won’t lose it.

2. Make one of those flyers with the little strips you can tear off that have your phone number on them and post them around town with a recent picture of the energy.

3. You heard your lost youth? Was it howling like a lonely dog while standing on a moor under a dark grey sky?

4. Quit yer bitchin’ and do stuff.

Be grateful, girl. Be grateful for every last drop of whatever the fuck you get. The past has passed, that’s why they call it the past. Or something. Whatever. It sounds really, really good when you’re high. Anyway. Fuck the past. What has it done for you lately?

And cripes, enjoy the fucking song, they didn’t write it to make you cry. It’s about Godzilla, for fuck’s sake.


Why Even

i have so much to say, and so little confidence that it matters that I say it, that I am paralyzed in front of this keyboard.

It doesn’t matter what I’ve experienced. It doesn’t matter what I think of it. It doesn’t matter what I think of anything at all.

It’s a fool’s errand to even keep this blog.



This is the only place where I feel the power of having a voice. The blank page listens to me. It gives me its full attention. I feel heard.

It would be unfair of me – as well as a cognitive distortion  – to say “no one ever listens to me”. But I’m going to be upfront: this is the first thing that pops into my head when someone I want to hear me, doesn’t. My immediate emotional reaction to a present instance of not being heard, that frustration – and on a much deeper level, hurt, because not being listened to is being rejected – colors my perception of the event, and it is added to a long narrative of other such events which resemble it in any way, no matter how small. The only thing needed to set off the telling of this particular Tale of Injustice Against Me is a little tap on that button there, which got hit when this not-getting-listened-to business bounced in unexpectedly.

So there in my brain is this entire unfolded saga and every stab of the knife of the central emotions is happening at once, it’s on however many flickering movie screens in that space in my consciousness that’s so close to the world it almost feels outside of me, each screen supercharged with fermented, risen-from-the-dead painful emotion. And all those rotting zombie emotions get together and form a groaning horde, focused on only one end: To eat my brain.

Because now everything I see is colored by this fucked-up perception, so I am not seeing clearly, and if I’m not seeing clearly, I’m not thinking clearly. Not only has the current event been distorted, it’s been tossed into a pit with however many other events where it will endlessly reanimate when new, fresh meat is thrown onto the pile. And rest assured, it will be – because the bigger the pile, the more I’m going to see this negative theme in every interaction. I’ll actually ignore the good things to look for it.

That is, unless I can recognize that this happens. Recognize the distortion, the generalizations of “never”, of “always”… These words are usually good indicators that maybe I need to take a look at the evidence. And if I look at what is real, and not just what I perceive in my moment of pique, I find that actually, quite a few people have listened to me. There have been many people who have, in fact, heard me. So while the zombie horde of emotional baggage wants to pull me into the Victim Dimension, I know that I do not belong there.

And because I can free myself from this vortex of the Woe Is Me Narrative my brain is for all its might attempting to suck me into, I am able to figure out that actually, in this particular instance, it’s just that the people I want to hear me, aren’t. There could be any number of reasons for that. Some of those reasons may have nothing at all to do with me. And just because they don’t hear me now, doesn’t mean they never will. This may be a situation that can be remedied. It may even be an opportunity to learn something – if only how not to get triggered when Life hits one of your sore spots.

Of course, this is all well and good when you’re able to think things through. That doesn’t always happen though, does it?

Coming soon: The Trigger Plan…


Happy Birthday, Maggie Estep

Happy Birthday, Pants.

You would have been 57 years old today. I miss you so much. Your friendship and guidance changed my life. You inspired me with your work, and then years later I was lucky enough to know you. I hope that right now you are somewhere beautiful, playing skeeball with Vonnegut, laughing with Prince over blowjobs & career advice and what Lulu was doing on her Top Secret Assignments, having tea with Carravaggio, betting at the track with Charlie. Thank you for all the beauty and verve and truth and love you brought this world. You were a true friend.

Love and particles forever,



Hey, Andy Lassner…

…I fail to see how tweeting YET AGAIN the SAME “and that was their final command” Orwell quote does more to help anyone than retweeting the question I have about whether painting respirators could be used by the doctors currently out of N65 masks so that this idea might POSSIBLY get in front of them and either be ruled out or MAYBE even HELP THEM…

I usually don’t call people names, but you, sir, are a prick.