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44 minutes | Nov 16, 2019
PODCAST: S2Ep2 Avada Kedavra!!!
My psychosis laid bare. and an interesting take on an iconic movie villain.
38 minutes | Oct 9, 2019
PODCAST: Season 2 Premiere!!
I took my damn time, but I am back with a new season of Misanthrope Radio.
25 minutes | Jun 10, 2019
Podcast: Season One Finale
Shit goes sideways in a hurry
15 minutes | May 4, 2019
Podcast: Guest Post on TheRayJourney.com
I did a guest post for one of the best blogs in the whole damn world!Podcasting advice by me, for you, on therayjourney.comThanks again to ray for inviting me.
14 minutes | May 2, 2019
Barry Fucking Manilow
I had a myriad of things I thought of writing about this week. But, as is my tendency, I pushed aside an opportunity to write about something important like the fact that every fucking President since Reagan has had to endure impeachment hearings, in favor of a post about Barry Manilow. (I have a framework sketched out for the impeachment post, I’ll get to it, fuck off.)I know! He is perhaps the most uncool entertainer in the last 30 years. There is a stigma that surrounds him. And, like biblical Saul, I used to lead the charge in shitting on Mr. Manilow. But, I did so without any base of knowledge. I knew that my Grandmother professed on one occasion to like Barry Manilow, and that was enough for me. Anything that old bag loved must suck. Backstory. I have seen everyone. I used to work in the radio industry. One of the fringe benefits, besides the chicks, was free concert tickets pretty much any time I wanted them. And for a good portion of my radio career I took advantage of the opportunity. If there was a big concert in town, I went. I’ve seen Oasis, Dylan, Petty, Browne, Strait, Seether, Manson, Gwar, Incubus, Foo Fighters, Korn...and the list goes on and on. I have seen literally every show worth seeing, and a lot that weren’t worth my time. But, the best show I have ever seen, hands down (its not close) is Barry Fucking Manilow. 1997, I think. I was working. A friend of mine showed up to the radio station and asked if I would do him a favor. He had been tasked to take his elderly mother to “an event.” All expenses would be paid. The trip would not take more than an evening away from me. I would be doing him a solid by going with him...yadda yadda yadda. I immediately noticed how careful he was with his words. He was trying to get me to commit to going with him on this trip without disclosing what the actual task was. He was talking up the road trip because he knew how I loved to pile in the car and just set out on some kind of adventure. He was playing the free food angle. Said he would throw in a pack of smokes. All of the benefits were appealing to my money-starved self. But again, very hesitant to give me the real particulars. Finally, I broke in. “Motherfucker, where are we going!?!”Him: “OK! Just tell me you’ll go.”Me: “Fine. I’ll go. How bad can it be?”Him: “Its bad bro. I, we, have to take my mom to a Barry Manilow concert.”…..silence….Me: (chuckling) “Fuck you! No really, what are we doing?”Him: (silently staring at the floor)Me: ……Him: …..Me: “We are really going to see Barry fucking Manilow?”Him: “You said ‘we’”. Me: “I did. I said I would. This is going to be fucked up.Him: “Yep.”As it turns out, three tickets were originally purchased. His father and his sister had found a reason not to attend, so he was stuck with the chore.That Saturday afternoon I showed up at the appointed time. His father was on his hands and knees in the front yard, weeding the flower bed. His sister was nowhere to be seen.Immediate sense of betrayal. Red veil descends over my vision. Furious. -Running monologue in my head-“On his hands and knees weeding the fucking yard. Fuck you, Darin’s dad! Piece of shit whore.”“Fucking assholes.” “How the fuck can they commit to taking this old lady to this lame fucking show and then back out?!?” “Don’t they know I am too cool for this nonsense?”...Darin and his mom walked out like they had been watching for me to pull up....Monologue continues. “And this bitch! Suckering me into going to this bullshit with his foopa having fucking smells-like-sadness mother. I should be drinking and fucking right now. But no! This shitbag is leveraging our friendship for this horsecock!”“I’m going to kick him in the balls. No!! I am going to hire a ninja to kick his sack clean off of his lanky pasty pussy-ass little body.”“No! I’m going to write a letter to Chuck Norris asking him to to roundhouse his fucking shrivelled sack into next week!” “I hope no one sees me walking in there.”“I hope I die in this car on the way up there.”“I hope Darin and his mom die in this car and I survive! I’ll pose their bodies in some kind of incestuous embrace before I set the goddamn car on fire!”“This is going to suck.”That last one was the prevailing thought the entire way up to the venue. The venue in question was the Fox Theater in St. Louis, MO. It is a storied place in that town. Open since 1929 or some shit, it was first used as a proper theater. Then over the years it evolved into a place where travelling broadway productions stopped, and as it turns out, aged fucking crooners performed. We walked in. The place just smelled like what I always imagined a Manilow concert would smell like. Estee Lauder “Red” perfume in waves. Old stale cigarettes. That sickly smell of dry old hair being held in place by a combination of tangy hairspray and spit. The foyer was dingy and dirty. The carpet, you could tell, was at one time beautiful. But has since fallen into disrepair. Crown moulding and plastered walls painted ivory white, but had grown almost beige through the many years. The concert hall itself was not much better. We walked through these finely polished oak doors into a vast expanse. Same ivory/beige walls. Same fucking awful carpet. Same smell of aging human. Same feel of oppressive disapproval. But the architecture and detail that went into the original construction of this building was amazing. It was designed in the old style. You know what I mean? Nowadays theaters are just black boxes with high-backed chairs. No style. Pure functionality. This place though was fucking awesome. There were swirls and twists in the columns. There were Cherubs and Demons on the walls. Plaster birds and flowers. Even the wooden rails had things carved into them. The room itself was a show! I could have walked around that place and just looked at all of the adornments for hours. But no. That was not to be. I was being herded to my seat. The looks Darin and I were getting though. Disapproval is too mild. We were similarly dressed. Jeans, Chucks, T-Shirts. While everyone else in the venue was in their Sunday best. I even saw some furs. You see, we were the youngest people in the building. Hell, we may have been the youngest people on the block. Nothing like a Manilow show to clear a fucking street. So as you may imagine, the looks we got were of staunch Puritan-grade disapproval. The lights dimmed three times. 5 minutes to showtime. Settled in, I was thankfully on the end of a row. Anticipation buzzed around us. People were legitimately fucking excited to see this garbage. The lights dimmed for the last time. It was time for the “show.” I sank into my seat. Spotlight. Curtain. There he is. Electric blue suit with sequined lapels. I groaned. Fucking hell! Can a man get anymore cliche?!?Music starts, and away he went. And boy did he go. The energy he brought to that tired old place was astounding. Again, I have seen people put on a show. Ed Kowlczyk from Live is all energy! Garth Brooks is flying all over the stage. Manson is tireless when he performs. All of them pale in comparison to Barry Manilow. Not joking.From the opening note to the third encore, that man was the epitome of what an entertainer should be. Pyrotechnics, Glitter, Lights, Dancing Girls, The Band, Costume Changes...he did all of the things. I, at first, found myself watching. Then I caught myself sitting up. Then for “Copacabana” I actually stood. By the end of the show, and the end of “I Write the Songs” I was cheering along with everyone else. I have never, in my life, before or since, been to a concert/event/festival that lived up to Barry fucking Manilow on that night. He went hard as a motherfucker in the motherfucking paint. And he made a fan out of me. I wanted to buy a T-Shirt! I wanted his fucking autograph. I wanted to sit across from him and explain to him my mindset upon walking in, and the elation I felt upon leaving. I wanted to stop and buy some of his albums. And I wanted to thank him. No really! I actually remember feeling gratitude. Grateful to Darin and his fucked up mother. And grateful to Mr. Manilow for showing me, a jaded radio guy with hundreds of concerts to his credit, exactly what a real performer does. There is Barry Manilow, and then there is everyone else. In the ensuing twenty-two years I have never had occasion to see him again. And then I heard that the tour of 2018 was going to be his farewell. I am told he has slowed down a bit. I’m told that his voice is not what it once was. But, I have also been told that he absolutely brought the fucking pain with every single one of those shows on that last tour. My response when I hear that last bit? “Just like he always did.”No one is a Barry Manilow fan. Don’t believe me? Take a poll of people you know. No one admits to being a fan. But, the man has sold out more concerts than any living “pop” performer. He has produced 26 studio albums, with 12 of them being certified platinum. And he has sold more than 80 million records.So, who besides me is a Fanilow? Quite a lot of people it would seem.
20 minutes | Apr 26, 2019
Podcast: Audiobook Audition Failure and ASMR
Bottom line, I suck at narrating audiobooks.
21 minutes | Apr 19, 2019
Podcast: The New Star Wars Movies
I kind of hate them. And here are all of the reasons why.
16 minutes | Apr 12, 2019
Podcast: Copyright Music and Asking For Podcasting Advice
Talking maaaaaaad shit. Hating and hating.
11 minutes | Apr 11, 2019
The College Cheating Scandal
So I have been sort of following this college cheating scandal. Kind of...barely...ok, not really following it all. A couple of fucking celebrities and 16 other people have been indicted by the Federal Government for bribery, fraud, mail fraud, and a bunch of other charges relating to using their wealth to guarantee their children admission to a few of the nation’s premier colleges. I haven’t really been paying attention. Nope. Not outraged or flabbergasted. See, here’s the thing. Rich people buying their kid’s way into college is not news. Not even a little bit. Rich people have been bribing and cajoling and circumventing the college admission system since the beginning of fucking time. Everyone knows about it. And everyone has just understood that being rich afforded certain privileges. It’s the American way. So, I didn’t really follow the story. Until today, that is. And to be honest, I am shocked. And I am outraged. And I am fucking flabbergasted. But not for the reason you may think. I am shocked, outraged, and flabbergasted because we still allow universities to dictate to us who does and does not get admitted?WHY?No, seriously. Why do we allow universities to tell us we are or are not good enough to pay them astronomical sums of money to educate us? I understand that the application process to universities used to be very competitive back in the day. There were only so many slots available, and not that many schools around. Also, there used to be a prestige factor when earning a degree. Some schools were looked upon by employers more highly than others. But that shit is in the past. This is 2019. Nobody gives a fuck where a person’s degree comes from anymore! We turned that corner with the advent of online education. And now there are literally thousands of institutions of higher learning begging for our dollars.So why the fuck are we still allowing universities to tell us who can and cannot attend? That shit doesn’t fly in any other business. Why do we allow it with schools?Imagine if Hardee’s had a screening process you had to go through before eating their shitty burgers.Imagine if Walmart decided you had to write an essay before being allowed to shop there.Imagine Home Depot requiring a personality test before allowing you to buy their lumber.Imagine Nike only allowing select people to buy their shoes.Ridiculous right? We would never allow a company to dictate whether or not we can give them our dollars. So, again I ask. Why the fuck do we allow universities to decide whether or not we can pay them to teach our kids?Why do we allow it?Because a school is different? Is not an institution of higher learning a business? I think it is. I think Harvard is a business. I believe that Yale is a business. I am of the opinion that all universities are about making money. Harvard’s President made $908,000 last year. Yale’s President made over one million dollars last year. But, they’re not even close to being the highest paid.https://www.chronicle.com/interactives/executive-compensation#id=table_private_2016Kenneth Starr of Baylor made nearly $5 million. James Ramsay of Louisville $4.3 million.So the Chief Executives are making CEO money.Columbia College in Columbia, Missouri annual tuition $20,936. I think we can all agree that Columbia College, while being a fine school, is not overly prestigious. Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island annual tuition $64,566.So, the product is priced according to desirability.Harvard has an endowment of over $35 billion dollars. They have an operating budget of over $55 billion annually. And they have a cash flow of around 8% annually. They fund research and profit from patents and licensing. They charge a premium for their product. They employ the best they can find in their respective fields. Harvard also pays no taxes.https://finance.harvard.edu/files/fad/files/harvard_annual_report_2018_final.pdfSo, the balance sheet reads like that of a thriving business.My point. Universities are merely a business. A business like any other business. They are multi-billion dollar corporations. They come complete with boards of directors, stakeholders, profit/loss, EBIDA, and overhead.Universities are in the business of making money. And somehow they convinced you that their product is worth competing over. They have convinced the world that what they have to offer is not only worth competing over, but worth lying, stealing, and committing fraud to get. What do you suppose would happen if everyone had a moment of clarity and realized that one business degree is just as good as another? Because it is. In 2019, employers do not care about the school you went to. They only care that you have the degree. As a matter of fact, I will go so far as to say that having a Harvard education can actually hurt you in today’s employment climate. There are two applicants for an entry level executive position at Acme Brick Corporation. Bob was educated at University of Missouri.James was educated at Harvard.Bob and James have identical GPA’s and matched perfectly on company assessment tests. They both performed equally well in the interview. Who gets the job?Bob from Missouri gets it every time. Why? Because Bob isn’t Ivy League. Bob isn’t going to try to command an Ivy League salary. And Bob does not have the Ivy League sense of superiority that James would most likely have. Bob, from good ‘ol Mizzou, gets that job. We are the consumer. We dictate demand for products. Starbucks can charge $8 for fucking coffee because we have put them on a pedestal. Harvard can charge $68,000 for tuition because we allow them to. The time for allowing schools to pick and choose who they allow to pay them has passed. Those days are over. Now is the time of the consumer. Now is the time where we have the buying power and the options to say “No. We are not going to pay all of that money.” But more importantly, we have the power to tell these universities that they can kiss our collective asses with their admissions standards.Tufts requires a 3.8? University of Phoenix requires a 2.5.Harvard may or may not accept you if not able to pay out of pocket? University of Missouri has financial aid counselors on staff to find the money you need.USC requires 2-4 years of foreign language? University of Arkansas waived that requirement 5 years ago. Penn requires a 3000 word essay? Western Governors doesn’t even require a fucking test score. Make these bitches compete for your dollars just like you make Walmart and Target compete. Just like you make Apple and Samsung compete. Just like you make Taco Bell and KFC compete. If we make them work for our money, costs will come down and admission standards will become realistic again.
9 minutes | Apr 6, 2019
Podcast: People Who Eat on Video Chat, Bloggers, and Spotify
I didn’t set out to flip out. But, that is exactly what happened. My bad.
10 minutes | Apr 4, 2019
Interview: M.K. Rainey of Dead Rabbits Books
So, last week we got the perspective of the author. This week we will be getting the perspective of the publishing house. Cool right? M.K. Rainey is the co-founder and editor-in-chief of Dead Rabbits Books. She was gracious enough to answer my exhaustive list of questions on the flight from Portland, OR, to the Dead Rabbits home base in New York. And while our author set the bar for transparency and honesty very high, M.K. Rainey absolutely met the standard. Let’s get to it…A little back story. I am not a writer. I am not a person who has a story to tell. And if I did, I am positive I would not have the ability to actually sit down and write it. But, I am fascinated by writers. And since joining Twitter/the blogging community in late 2018, I have been given a peek into the world they inhabit. The process, from the outside looking in, seems to be terribly frustrating. I see writers tweeting about their mental blocks, asking for help with setting and scope, and a myriad of other hurdles. However, the one theme that seems to leap out of the mix is publishing and rejection. You are the Editor-in-Chief for Dead Rabbits Books. Let me start by asking the one burning question. Do you look for books or authors? I ask that question because the recording industry looks for artists first, and material is an afterthought. This is because most record companies have stables of songwriters and support staff to develop the budding artist and help them see their potential. Do publishing houses have similar processes? That’s a really good question. I was going to say books, but stopped myself. We took someone under our wing pretty recently who’s only just started writing, and a number of people at different reading series and literary events possess talent enough to spend time reading their stuff, working with them, counseling them, etc. Because our company is so writer-centric, we’re about nurturing the art in whatever form that comes, whether that’s a complete and polished book or a scrap of something someone reads that still needs to be developed. Now, we certainly don’t have a whole “stable” of staff to support our writers. Right now, there are only three of us and we spend all of our free time working with our writers to produce the best work they can, edit their work, develop a platform for promotion, etc. We do that because we love it. Finding either a book or an artist that excites us is what this is all about. So I think the answer to your question, for us, is both. There’s no one path to publishing, especially with us. We can come across a wholly polished and ready-to-publish-book, but that doesn’t mean we won’t focus on the artist and help them develop their next work as well. From what I have seen of the publishing business, the tendency seems to be the opposite. Traditional publishing houses are looking for the product? I was going to answer this in the last question but you went ahead and asked it for me. Yes, when it comes to other houses -- particularly the Big Five -- I feel pretty confident in saying that they’re looking for books over writers; the day and age of cultivating careers within corporate publishing is long past, and even writers with significant past success can find themselves out of a book contract after just one or two flops. Which is why we feel we’re doing important work in recalling how important it is to nourish artists. A lot of what I’ve seen lately is the two-book deal, where authors catch a publisher’s eye with a complete book, but have to write a proposal for a second book in order to get a contract. Or, short-story writers are asked to come back when they have a novel. It’s all a matter of making sure the publisher has something else guaranteed from the author. This isn’t a sustainable method of cultivating true art, and that’s one of the things we’re here to change. Additionally, the sense I get from the writing community is that each one of them is striving to create the book that will put them on the map. Now, I realize I am asking you to speak for the entire publishing world, but as someone who reads submissions for a living, is it about that one book?In a way, that was three ways to ask the same question, but it’s poignant that you did so because it comes from three perspectives: the indie press like us; the big house (like Penguin Random House, etc.); and the writers themselves. The answer to that is yes and no. Yes in the sense that everyone should be putting out their best effort, and, in a perfect world in which all styles of writing and perspectives are valued equally, any best effort should have the chance to become the book. However, generally speaking, for us it’s definitely not about one book. We’re absolutely looking for writing that we love -- language so good you could eat it, daring stories, risk-taking, all that -- and that could come in the form of an incomplete manuscript. If it does, we’re not turning that writer away. We’re interested in cultivating relationships with those artists and developing their craft. Thugs I tell you! Thugs with books! Dead Rabbits. The name of your company, based in New York City, is shared by (or perhaps taken from) a fairly notorious street gang from the 19th century, also based in NYC. I’m assuming you took the name from the gang. Having read their history, I can see tenets worth trying to live up to. But, I can also see the thug factor. Are you literary thugs? Please explain how the name of your company relates to the gang, and what it stood for.Ha, literary thugs. I like that idea, although I’d say we’re more like literary Robin Hoods -- only we don’t need to steal from the rich to give back to the community.Yes, the name comes from the same Irish gang, or rather Gangs of New York -- the Scorsese film. We started as a reading series, which runs monthly on the UES of NYC, over five years ago: the Dead Rabbits Reading Series. My co-host, Devin Kelly, named it after watching the film on loop one week. We liked it, so we went with it. Something about the name made us feel less pretentious, more loose and fun than other reading series we’ve attended -- more roguish than thuggish. Because of the series’ success, we kept the name for the press as well. Or maybe I am way off the rails. It wouldn’t be the first time. Does every book purchase come with a dead rabbit? That would be awful and awesome at the same time. Oof, that hurt my heart a little. As it turns out though, both myself and Devin have childhood trauma stories involving dead baby rabbits. So maybe subconsciously that’s where the name comes from. Let’s just say we turned up a couple unfortunate warrens in our backyards as youngsters. On the company website, you state that your mission is to publish books that matter, in ways that matter. I have read this mission statement, and it’s explanation, several times. I still do not have a clear picture in my head as to what that statement means. Please explain.Great question. A smart-ass might’ve added that all books matter in the most literal sense, and I would’ve respected that, but I also respect your etiquette. When we started the press, we each came up with a list of values we wanted to bring to the company. We found where our commonalities were and started to put them together, sublating some kind of mission statement. We found two main things that we were focused on: what we publish and how we publish it. I think for a lot of presses it’s easy to say what you want to publish, e.g. poetry, genre fiction, historical nonfiction, etc. For us, it’s quality literary fiction and creative nonfiction that takes risks, is playful, and challenges us as readers. However, we don’t see a lot of presses turning the lens inward to talk about the ways they publish. That’s really important to us because at the heart of it all we are writers and want to care for the writers we serve. So we felt that we had to be intentional in the way we publish our books, empowering our writers through the entire process by being transparent, collaborative, and writer-centric. We want our writers to be knowledgeable and involved in the publishing process, so that’s why it’s in our mission statement. A fun note: we were caught between “books that matter in ways that matter” and “by writers, for writers”. I still really love “by writers, for writers,” but I’m happy with what we went with. Books That Matter, In Ways That Matter. That statement is honestly what caught my eye when looking for people to approach for interviews. That statement is why I asked to interview you. It suggests that you are looking for a specific kind of book. It also suggests that some books may not be Dead Rabbits material. If your company had been around 20 years ago, would Dead Rabbits have had any interest in publishing The Twilight Series? The Da Vinci Code? No. Just no. Sorry, that’s not for us. But I guarantee that if Sergio De La Pava (don’t know him? You should! His story is wild) had approached us, we’d have snapped up his first novel in a heartbeat. For context: Sergio De La Pava wrote a novel over a decade ago called A Naked Singularity, a tome of a book that’s as wild and cerebral and brilliant as they come. He couldn’t for the life of him get the damn thing published. So his wife, Susanna De La Pava, self-published the book for him and then sold something like 30,000 copies on her own. After that, the University of Chicago Press picked up the book, and now Sergio publishes with Pantheon. I highly recommend his books and reading more about
17 minutes | Apr 2, 2019
Podcast: Twitter Chicks and Gunts!!
Long live the Gunt! Viva la Gunt!My favorite thing in the entire world. This episode is also narration of a previous post from my blog. Give me a listen and comment please.
24 minutes | Mar 30, 2019
Podcast: First Real Episode!!!
Microphone! Audio Editor! Show Opener!Finally a full episode! Holy Shit!
4 minutes | Mar 29, 2019
Interview: Author W.B. Welch
I have been wanting to incorporate interviewing into my routine for quite some time. I have always been fascinated with people. However, I have learned throughout my years in the radio business that normal people talking about something they are passionate about is exponentially more interesting than famous people who are bored with it all.For my first interview I chose an author. W.B. Welch is an emerging horror author. Her story, and her take on the climate of publishing is fascinating. Her candor is also very refreshing. I sent questions to a few people I was curious about. A few responded. None of them, however, were as honest as W.B. Welch (and consequently, they will not be published because of it). I hope you enjoy the interview as much as I did.First, thank you for allowing me to take a bit of your time. I appreciate your willingness to patronize my shitty little corner of the interweb. I am going to throw a ton of questions at you. Do not feel like you are obligated to answer all of them. Some will be the generic interview questions. Some will be tailored to you and things I think my readers will find interesting. A little backstory. I joined Twitter right around the time you were leading up to the release of “Blood Drops.” I was researching blogging and reading a lot of blogs. Trying to find a niche that appealed to me. I clearly said fuck it and just decided to write/podcast about whatever was on my mind. But, I’ve never been a writer nor have I had any exposure to writing or the authoring process. Some of the questions I am going to throw at you today are born out of that ignorance. You have been warned. But to the point.I got to watch the buzz that surrounded you and your work. Honestly, it was contagious. I had to buy the book simply because I had watched all of the lead-up. I opened the book at the airport in Baltimore and finished the book about ten minutes before I landed in Germany. The pace of the book is feverish. The previous story left me wide-eyed and then the next story grabbed me while I was still reeling. Continuously grabbed, held, and dropped on my ass for ten hours. When you were assembling the book, did you arrange the stories in a particular way for effect? Did you have help? Take me through that process please. Thank you for paying attention to the buzz around Blood Drops. Sometimes it still amazes me. I can remember the day I considered pulling stories together for an anthology. Never would I ever have imagined things going the way they have. That being said, I am a very spontaneous and intuition following person. A story anthology had been on my mind for some time, but I didn’t start planning it until about two weeks before I actually published the pre-order. I had a blog full of things that had barely been read and a community of people on Twitter I thought might be interested in those stories, so I pulled them together and started arranging them in Scrivener. I also had three stories that hadn’t been published anywhere yet, so I was able to clean them up and get them ready. The order of the stories…some of it was very intentional, some of it was intuitive - I arranged them in a way that felt right. I wanted to start the book with “Her” because I wanted readers to know what they were getting into: a brutal and relentless book that unabashedly talks about life. I also intentionally ended the book with “Girl in the Pink Coat” because the ending to that story is one of my favorites ever, and I wanted to leave readers lingering on the thought. “Undo,” “The Look,” “Mall Food,” and, “Slipping,” were also arranged for effectiveness. The rest were laid in around those titles.Her was some of the darkest shit I have ever read. Stephen King just looks and sounds like a dark and twisted dude. But, I don’t get that vibe from you. In preparing questions for this interview I watched three videos and read a couple of quickie interviews. You don’t have a creepy factor. But:How many people do you kill in your head per day? Hahahaha! Absolutely none. I am actually a yoga practicing, meditating, peace loving hippie that doesn’t even like to kill bugs.How normal is WB Welch’s life? “Minivan and soccer mom” normal or “Only sacrificing on Wednesday” normal? Or somewhere in between?It’s pretty normal. I have a sixteen-year-old who is learning how to drive. I cook families for dinner, I mean, I cook dinner for my family. My spare time is spent doing laundry and running errands, and I put frog’s eyeballs in my coffee just like the rest of the writing community. The rest of you guys do that too, right?Authors on social media are constantly barking about their word count per day. How many words they have written that day versus what their goal is. Is that a real thing? Does the creative process actually work like that? What is your writing routine/agenda?I romanticize the idea of writing every day, but I am not one of those people. I don’t have a word count. I love it when I reach at least 1,000, but that’s only to keep my eye on the prize, so to speak. I write when I can, and I don’t punish myself mentally when I can’t. That being said, I do try my hardest to make time for writing in the morning. I am always more creative in the morning. I save afternoons and night time for editing or other business related things. Overall, I feel like committing yourself to an unrelenting schedule tends to often be counterproductive. Yes, you need to stay consistent to see a project through to the end, but if you’re bashing your head on the desk trying to get words out and nothing is happening, maybe it's time to concede and say, “It’s just not happening today.” The days I try to force the words, I usually end up writing entire scenes I’ll just delete later anyway. I watched an interview you gave on YouTube about your book and how it came about. You mentioned that finding an audience on Twitter is fucking hard because of the sheer volume of bloggers using that platform for promotion. It seemed to me that what you were saying is that you grew frustrated with trying to break through the mire and get others to see the quality of your content. I have felt that frustration. I have watched bloggers literally beg for readers. And I have a sneaking suspicion that the only people who read blogs are other bloggers. What do you look for when deciding what and who to read? That solely comes from connection. I don’t know how to tell you what makes me connect with someone’s writing style, but I always know instantly when it happens. Usually all it takes is a couple of sentences for me to say, “Yup, I like the way this person writes.” As far as content goes, I don’t have really any qualifications. I enjoy fiction and non-fiction across many genres and topics. If I enjoy the writing, I’m down to read it.There is a strong community of bloggers on Twitter. They support each other unconditionally. Which is great! But is it? I think so! A lot of writers don’t have much support in real life. I have had people tell me I am literally the first person who has ever encouraged them. That further inspired me to want to help people. I had one of those moments, too. An editor once wrote an email to me which ultimately set me on this path. If he hadn’t taken the time to share his words, I don’t know how far I would have gone. I doubt he’ll ever know how much he changed my life, but that doesn’t make it any less real. If the encouragement that goes around Twitter can help someone feel positive about their dreams, then I absolutely think it’s wonderful.Now that you are involved in projects with other authors, websites, and writing your own work, do you have time to read and follow any bloggers? If so, who and why does their content appeal to you? (there is no wrong answer btw)Yes and no. I have chunks of down time where I try to find new things to read. I have lately been reading blogs and books from other authors I have connected with on Twitter. I haven’t kept up with any one blog in particular, because I try to read works from new people as I come across them, but as I said before, I don’t have a certain criteria that needs to be met when I am looking for something new to read. Ultimately, I enjoy reading things that don’t feel choppy or forced. If it has a good flow and pulls me in, I’m likely to read it through to the end.Is blogging still a viable medium for an author? Was it ever?Viable, as in, can it function? Yes. Profitable? Depends on the person. There are a lot of people out there making money from their blog. I’m not one of them. I have had my blog for about four years now. I don’t have one ad in place, and I don’t ever intend to place any. Blogging wasn’t ever about that for me. I just wanted a place to publish stories while I was writing and querying my novels.I ask that question because I am not sure it is. I look at blogs and see three major types. Mental Health/JournalingFashionFitnessNone of these genres are creativity driven. Two of these genres, and the internet is littered with them, are about product reviews, advertising revenue, and networking. The mental health/journaling genre seems to be about finding people going through the same shit and bonding. Or at the very least, seeking validation. As someone who has broken the cycle of content generation via blog with limited consumption, and now that you have the perspective of successfully publishing your work, what advice do you have for people who are currently writing fiction, poetry...etc? Are creative writing bloggers wasting their time on a dying medium? I don’t see it as a waste of time. I don’t see any attempt at forward momentum as a waste of time. If you are trying, you are learning. If I hadn’t ever started my blog, Blood Drops probably wouldn’t exist. That is enough for me to say it has all been worth it. Blogging may never bring about the resul
12 minutes | Mar 22, 2019
Impeachment, History, and Our News Media
I have decided to not include any of my usual profanity in this post. Don’t worry, I haven’t been born-again or anything. I restrained myself because this particular post is serious. I am asking you to read and really pay attention to what I am saying. And above all, remember! Rewriting history is not always about changing facts. It is mostly about allowing us to forget things that should not be forgotten.So, I have passively been following the progress of impeachment investigations and proceedings in the US House of Representatives. President Trump is being accused of serious ethical and moral infractions relating to his pre-election relationship with Russia, and a myriad of other subsequent offenses. Additionally, he is being accused of paying hush money to two women we was having an affair with. Some of the payments occurred while President. I am positive I don’t need to go into all of the particulars, as it is a well-publicized story. To be honest, from the far outside looking in, it appears that the whole song and dance is just that; a song and dance. It just feels politically motivated. And why shouldn’t it? No, wrong question. Here is a better question. Why should this impeachment attempt feel any different than any of the others I have witnessed over the last thirty years?Other impeachments you ask? I’ll get to that. First though, let me explain the process. This is the quick and dirty description of the laborious process for impeaching a sitting President. Articles of Impeachment have to be drafted and presented in the House of Representatives. They are then referred to the House Judiciary Committee to determine if hearings must be held. Hearings commence, and if necessary, special counsel is appointed. Findings are presented to the main body of the House. A simple majority vote is performed to decide impeachment.If impeached, the case goes before the Senate. The Senate, with Chief Justice of the Supreme Court presiding, will then call witnesses, examine, cross-examine, and ultimately convict or acquit. I have been, as I said, passively monitoring our major news outlets over the last few months. And in all of that time I have not seen anyone make the one statement that would really cast the whole process of impeachment in the appropriate light. Not one person in the media has said the only thing that really matters. The one important statement I have been looking for?Ok. Brace for it.Every President since Ronald Reagan has had to endure impeachment hearings. I’ll let that hang a moment.Every single person elected to the highest office in the United States, since Ronald Reagan, has had to undergo, at the very least, impeachment hearings and the drafting of articles. Ronald Reagan: A Representative from Texas drafted articles of impeachment over Mr. Reagan’s involvement in the Iran Contra Scandal.The result: The special prosecutor could not determine the President’s level of involvement. The inquiry died with the indictment of 11 senior officials. George H.W. Bush: The same Democratic Congressman who introduced articles of impeachment against President Reagan also attempted to impeach Bush senior over what he deemed were unconstitutional acts that led to the Gulf War in 1991. And when the first attempt failed, he tried again. The result: The hearings never produced compelling evidence.Bill Clinton: Months before the Lewinski scandal blew up, articles of impeachment were proposed to the House of Representatives concerning Mr. Clinton's alleged receipt of large campaign donations from China. And then of course, the Lewinski thing happened. That took center stage. The result: The China inquiry was set aside in favor of articles of impeachment with teeth. The Lewinski Affair had legs, and the Republican-held House ran with it. Mr. Clinton was impeached by the US House of Representatives, but the Senate acquitted President Clinton. George W. Bush: Articles of impeachment were introduced concerning the unilateral actions the President took in beginning the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars.The result: The accusations died in the hearing phase.Barack Obama: Articles were suggested, but never introduced concerning the Obama Administration’s alleged cover-up of the Benghazi Attack. Additionally, articles were drafted against Mr. Obama, but never formally presented, concerning the CIA Drone Program, his country of birth, IRS targeting of conservatives, transgender bathrooms, and abuse of executive power.The result: No articles were ever formally presented due to volatile and divisive effects such accusations would have had on the political parties. Donald Trump: To date, seven articles of impeachment have been presented to the House. From abuse of executive power as it related to the Muslim Travel Ban, to the latest allegations regarding payments to two women and Russian involvement in our election. The result: Pending.But the point is, this is not a new thing. Attempting to impeach a President is not a fresh and unprecedented process. So I don’t understand the excitement. The fervor in the media. The frenzy on social media. The op/ed columns in the traditional papers.Why are we acting like this is going to go somewhere? Historically speaking, they have a 22% chance of getting it done. Andrew Johnson and Bill Clinton being the only Presidents to be successfully impeached. (Cannot include Nixon because he resigned before the House vote could be taken.) Furthermore, they have only an 11% chance of getting Mr. Trump out of office, if history means anything at all. But let’s be honest with ourselves. This is not about actually removing a sitting President from office. It can’t be. The Democrat-controlled House has to know that an impeachment, as it is now, will never get out of the Senate. That is why Nancy Pelosi said yesterday, in an interview with The Washington Post, that she is not for impeachment. She said it is too divisive, and will serve only to strengthen the President’s base, when it fails. I’m paraphrasing. So, why are we performing this charade? If we couldn’t get Bill Clinton out of office for banging an intern in the freaking Oval Office, how can we expect to remove Mr. Trump for anything short of nuking Cleveland?And am I the only person who remembers our recent history? I am going to make a blanket statement, and feel free to fire back if you disagree. But, come with facts if you do. My statement: Impeachment has become a new rite of passage for our nation’s Chief Executive. It means nothing. It’s a joke. We have allowed our divided and broken political system to parlay the impeachment process into a stunt for political gain. Because its a tantrum. It is. All of these impeachment attempts over the last 30 plus years (with the exception of Lewinski-gate) are rooted in childishness. The other side is infuriated that they lost the election. And no one shakes the hand of their opponent and walks away from a loss anymore. Instead they walk away plotting and planning and scheming. The mentality seems to be “OK, you won. Let’s see if you can keep it. Let the games begin…”I’ll be waiting for rebuttals.https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/dont-focus-on-impeachment-focus-on-trumps-vile-budget/2019/03/13/8b855330-45cc-11e9-8aab-95b8d80a1e4f_story.html?noredirect=on&utm_term=.72098200f0cehttps://edition.cnn.com/2019/03/13/politics/donald-trump-campaign-pelosi-impeachment/index.htmlhttps://www.news.com.au/world/north-america/donald-trump-transformed-into-a-peach-for-this-weeks-time-magazine-issue/news-story/c6d3e2a305446db15515df86f11762f6
12 minutes | Mar 18, 2019
Podcast: My Perception of Astronaut Life
I don’t know how, but I ended up on the NASA For Kids website, but I did. And reading about how living in space really is got me asking questions…
11 minutes | Mar 9, 2019
Crawfish, New Orleans, SEO, and Aqua Velva
Trying something new. Writing this in Word Online. Why? Because, as my wife likes to point out, I am fickle. And she is right. I am loyal to nothing but her, Newports, and Aqua Velva. So, while Google Docs does anything I could ever want out of a word processor, I am trying Word because I am feeling like an adult today. And adults, as everyone knows, use Microsoft Office. Speaking of, I was looking at a Microsoft Surface today. Those bitches are dead fucking sexy. Not that I am turning my back on my Chromebooks, but occasionally I like to Windows shop. <---See what I did there? I’ll be here all week. Tip your waiter. Allow me to digress for a moment please. Something has been on my mind. It seems that in order to have a successful blog, I have to choose one genre and go strictly with that. Or, through the magic of internet web design, create separate pages within the shell of AMisanthrope.net. Each of these pages containing a very specific set of posts. Example: A page for food. A page for fuck off posts. A page for mocking internet things...and so on. I don’t know about that. I feel like that is excellent advice for someone writing about shit that can actually enrich someone’s life. I know that these fucking blogger-types are all moist in the crotch about finding ways to make their shit searchable. For instance, if I were a fucking lame-ass fashion blogger, and I wrote a product review on the newest line of Coach Handbags, I would, first of all, throw myself off a building...into an empty swimming pool...filled with bears...and the bears have knives...and I’m covered in honey...and spray-painted on my back is “bears are pussies.” BUT!! Immediately after I got done with that, I would figure out a way to make my review important to the Google Gods. This will allow people searching for the new “Coach shit-holder" to find my review, thereby driving people to my webpage, and then, I am assuming, bring in advertising dollars...somehow. I am sure that this sort of thing can generate tens of dollars a year, but I think it is not for me. Can you imagine the shitstorm that would occur if my scathing post about how anxiety is bullshit somehow went viral? It would be a disaster. No. I prefer it to be just us. You and I, laughing at the stupidity of humans and being generally shitty people together. But today’s post is not about shitty people. It is about food. Cajun Food. It has been a while since I have done a food post. I usually only write about food when I am particularly frustrated with the shit I have been eating. ANNNNND here we are again. Pissed about the food at my disposal. So, I begin dreaming of food that doesn’t suck. Have you ever had the pleasure of visiting south Louisiana? I have. And let me begin by telling you that the shit they show you on TV is utter nonsense. Somehow, TV and movie people always manage to frame the southern part of Louisiana as this mysterious place of voodoo, romance, and fun. The ivy- and moss-covered buildings contain the promise of adventure. The cobblestoned streets are steeped in history. New Orleans, in particular, is painted with this generous brush. But that is all complete bullshit. New Orleans is the dirtiest, nastiest, most disgusting fucking town I have ever been in; and I have been all over the world. Bourbon and Canal Streets smell like piss and gym socks. The people are impoverished and fucking miserable thieving cretins. It is a goddamn cesspool. The whole town is sinking, literally sinking slowly into the Gulf of Mexico...and good riddance. But, the food! My God the fucking food is amazing. Boudin. It is a sausage made from chicken parts and rice. Heavily seasoned and typically grilled. Every gas station has their own boudin for sale. All of it is good. Crab Fingers, crawfish pies, chicken and biscuits, beignets, gumbo, jambalaya, alligator stew...the list goes on and on. The food is outfuckingstanding. French cooking techniques combined with Caribbean and Spanish influences. Add to that, the generational poverty of the area, and what you get is rustic food that is perfectly prepared in very old cast iron. Spectacular. I have a ton of recipes from friends in that area of the world. And I may end up sharing them all with you. But today it is crawfish etouffee. This recipe is one of my all-time favorites because it was my Grandmother's favorite. Every time I went to visit her, she asked me to make it. 1 stick of butter 1 lb of crawfish tails. Peeled. 1/2 onion chopped 1/2 green pepper chopped 1 can cream of mushroom 1 can cream of celery 1 T. crushed garlic 4 cups cooked rice Tony Cachere's Cajun seasoning. Melt butter in large frying pan over medium heat. Sautee onion and pepper until pepper is soft. Season with Cajun seasoning. Add soups. No extra liquid. Reduce heat to simmer. Let simmer for 25 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add crawfish tails and let it simmer for another 8 minutes. Another good stir. Season again. When using Cajun seasoning, sprinkle that shit in until it is salty enough. When the salt is right then the heat will be right too. Serve 3/4 cup over 1/2 cup of rice. And if you need directions on how to make rice I will politely tell you to read the fucking box. OK, here is where I gush about the simplicity of this particular recipe. There is a way to make this dish that requires a good deal of time. Essentially, you make the mushroom and celery soups in the frying pan before adding the tails. But, it takes too long. Annnd it is easy to fuck up. Annnnnd I have done it both ways. This method is better. I don’t know why, it just is. A good friend of mine, Kilroy, gave it to me. He is one hell of a cook. And if he makes it this way, who am I to judge? Give it a try. Let me know what you think. Also, in reference to what I said about blogging earlier, I would love for you to tell a couple of cool people about what you and I do here. All I ask is that you don’t bring any fuckheads to the party. OK? Oh and, cross New Orleans off of your “to do” list. That place fucking sucks.
10 minutes | Mar 1, 2019
Those Behind The Depressed
I am not sure, but I think this may be the first post I have ever done that is not at least a little bit funny. I apologize. Will come heavy with the dick jokes next week.I think I'm losing my mind. I started this blogging shit to provide an outlet for creativity. And also to give me something to do with the copious amounts of free time I have lately. I haven't been home since November, and it looks like I am going to be here until December. It's funny. I used to be one of those people who thought longingly about days on end spent in hotel rooms. ...If I only had that kind of time to myself…...I would sleep and lay around…...would love the time to just be with me…It kind of sucks though. But I never present myself in that way. Mostly because I think that people don’t actually want to know what is on my mind when they ask me how I am. And also because I don’t give of myself in that way. I talk to my people back home and they envy me. No. Envy isn't the right word. They begrudge my travel. Using phrases like “must be nice” and “it's going so well for you.”But they don't get it. And to be honest, they have been begrudging aspects of my personality for years.The prevailing idea that this shit over here is all sunshine and lollipops is really only having the effect of pissing me off. Consequently, the phone conversations get shorter and shorter. The texting becomes more infrequent. Because I don't need it. I don't need the passive/aggressive nonsense from 8000 miles away. It wears on me. It's my own fault though. The contempt I face from my siblings, mother, and immediate family is directly my fault. You see, it is my strength that they despise. And it is my fault because I have allowed it. I always present myself as happy and content, regardless of surroundings. Because that is my role. I am the rock, in my personal/professional life, that everyone either anchors themselves to, or breaks themselves against. I’ve never shown anyone in my family my humanity. And as a result, I am not treated as a human. They can use any words against me. There is nothing in their arsenal that is off-limits. They can be as shitty as they like. They can make statements to me that they would never utter to someone else in their inner circle. They can do all of this to me because I have facilitated it. In being the unbreakable, unflappable, immovable object that they can absolutely rely upon for their every need, I have given them license to go for broke. The blatant nastiness I pretend to be oblivious to is astounding. And each veiled insult I pretend to miss leads to the next one. Less veiled and more cutting.They have actually begun to make casual assaults on my mental stability. They say things like, “Well, I am not having a very good day, but you wouldn’t know anything about that.”Or“I was so good yesterday, but today I am back down again. It must be so nice to be like you. You’re the same everyday, aren’t you?”Or“Depression is a disease! Just like cancer or Alzheimer's. But you’re too damn serious to get sad.”These are words I have been on the receiving end of just this week. And it makes me wonder when the narrative changed.I grew up in a time when letting something get to you was tantamount to disaster. One did not allow the school bully to know when his jibes were hitting home. One did not show weakness, or pain, or hurt. To do so was ensuring that everyone had the ammunition they needed to wreck your day at any moment they chose. Letting it be known that you had a weak spot was to be avoided at all costs. But that has changed hasn’t it?Now, fragility is the new normal.And for people in my inner-circle, depression is their badge and shield. It is their blanket excuse for everything wrong in their lives. Depression is responsible for their weight gain. Depression is the reason they didn’t get that promotion. Depression is why the fucking lawn isn’t mowed. To these people, depression is their crutch. And they despise me, all while needing me, for not being as fucked up as they are. And that’s my gig. No! Don’t gloss over that point. Take what I just said on board, and pay attention to it.My job is to be their unshakable foundation. As long as I am rock-solid, then they are absolutely enabled to be quivering emotional sacks of shit. My strength allows them to be fucked up. And I am the asshole.See how insane that is?I honestly thought it was just my family though. But over the course of the last few days, my Twitter feed has been littered with militant fucking pussies shitting on people who challenge their mental health statements. I’ve been watching quietly. Following along silently. Reading the initial statement, watching a gentle rebuttal, and then seeing the vicious counter-attack. I don’t get it though. Why would you make a statement about your fragile mental state ON TWITTER, and then expect no one to challenge it?Don’t fucking say that you’re trying to raise awareness. We are fucking aware! Awareness is plastered all over everything.Don’t say you’re looking for support. There is no fucking support on Twitter. If you’re looking for support then look to goddamn Facebook. So why Tweet about your fragility? I believe it is to spark outrage and cause drama. If so, mission accomplished. It is simply narcissism. Depression becomes a crutch when it is based in selfishness and laziness. But, the questions that these depressed narcissists never ask themselves are: what about the people who aren’t feeling too great about themselves, but suck it the fuck up anyway? Are they depressed too? Or is normalcy the ability to feel like shit and still produce?I ask because I’m looking at myself. I’m not happy. I am not at all happy. I have not been home in months, and I will not be going home for months. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal, sat in my chair, seen my kids, driven my car, slept in my bed...etc. I am in a foreign place, surrounded by foreign things, people, and smells. I don’t know anyone. I don’t go anywhere. I wear the same clothes everyday. And I don’t care about a fucking thing. But, I get up in the morning. I shower and shave. I make my bed. I go to work. I go to the gym. I live my fucking life in the way that I expect myself to. I’m productive. And most importantly, I do not burden anyone with my own personal misery.Am I not depressed? I don’t think I am. I think I am just pissy because I am not in a situation I want to be in. I think we can agree that I am not depressed. So, what would I have to do to cross that line between unhappy and depressed?Get a doctor to say the word?Lay in bed for a week?Cry like a bitch?Shit on my family members?What do I have to do to be officially depressed? Because I want to be one of the cool kids. I want a swanky mental illness. I want an excuse to be a fucking tool to everyone I know. In the meantime, I will just keep on being the rock everyone needs. I will continue to afford everyone the ability to be bitch-made pussies. I will continue to be oblivious to their shitty comments. And I will continue to just be a responsible fucking adult. The takeaway from this rant should be awareness.I wrote this to raise awareness. I want everyone on the internet to know that behind every sorry-ass, sweat-pants-wearing, crying-in-the-bathroom, depressed motherfucker out there, there is another sorry motherfucker who works and grinds and acts as their emotional fucking tampon. #supportingthepussies shall be our banner. And we have been ignored for far too long. Arise my people! Demand rights! The right to not listen to the “ill” whine!The right to be proud of our success!The right to occasionally have a shitty day without having to stop complaining to console some depressed motherfucker!We are the support behind the depressed, and we have been forgotten for too fucking long.I’ll begin printing flyers….
6 minutes | Feb 27, 2019
Robert Kraft, Prostitution, Typing, and Failed Sex
OK. I’m fucking struggling over here. Let’s be real. I have been struggling for years. My issue? I cannot type properly. As a junior in high school I did not pay attention in typing class. (yes, it was actually a class) Nope. I didn’t pay attention. I was so busy trying to fuck this girl named Janelle, that I completely blew off the part of the class where one learns to type without looking at the keyboard. Blew off all of the exercises and everything. So now, here I am at 43 years of age looking at my fucking fingers in a room that is too dark for me to see. I am currently travelling for work. And consequently, I am in a room with either overly oppressive fluorescent lighting or a completely inadequate reading lamp. There is no in-between. So, I have a choice. I either sit in my chair wearing shades to keep from going blind, or give myself scoliosis by hunching down over the keyboard like fucking Quasimodo. I blame Janelle. And my completely over the top teenage hormones. And Janelle’s fat, perfectly round ass. And my bargain basement Chromebook for not having a back-lit keyboard. Incidentally, I did eventually get with Janelle, kind of. But it was years later. At a party. I was back from college. She was still working in retail. Lots and lots of drinking. I confessed to her that I had always wanted her. She immediately perked up. Making out on the couch with the party happening around us. Eventually we retired to a bedroom.***Let’s fast-forward to my shame***She had, at some point, acquired a tramp stamp tattoo. You know the ones that were popular in the 90’s. Right above a chick’s ass. Centered on the apex of the ass crack. Well, hers was particularly awful. Janelle had tattooed the name of a past boyfriend above her ass. But his name was Ashley. I shit you not.And he was a friend of mine. Consequently, the whole time I was trying to fuck her from behind, I was picturing Ashley doing the same thing...and looking at his name tattooed above her ass...and seeing his sweaty ginger-haired head making fuck faces. His disgusting freckle covered mug contorted in the throes of ecstasy. His small stubby hands gripping her hips the way my hands currently were. I got grossed-out. Lost my erection. And to cover my embarrassment, I pretended to cum and we both promptly passed out. Her laying on her face. And me with the condom still on my flaccid member. Here’s the kicker. She actually called me the next day. Said she had a great time and wanted to do a proper date. See...dammit. I was not trying to write a post about my sex failures. I am trying to write one about the most interesting news story at the moment.Robert KraftAm I the only man in America who is willing to admit that Robert Kraft is not evil for paying to get his dick sucked?The story first broke on the 22nd, as a blurb about Mr. Kraft getting popped in a sting operation at the Orchids of Asia Day Spa in Juniper, Florida. He has since been charged with two counts of solicitation for prostitution. But then here comes the news media. Those motherfuckers never pass up a chance to make a rich white man look bad. 'The Monsters Are the Men': Inside a Thriving Sex Trafficking Trade in ...https://www.nytimes.com/2019/02/23/us/robert-kraft-trafficking-florida.htmlRobert Kraft and the fight Against Human Traffickinghttps://www.nbcnews.com/nightly-news/video/fight-against-human-trafficking-in-the-spotlight-after-robert-kraft-prostitution-charges-1447339075651NFL must ban Robert Kraft if sex trafficking allegations are true - New ...https://www.nydailynews.com/.../ny-sports-robert-kraft-prostitution-allegations-nfl-ba…The list goes on and on. See how the narrative changed? It initially began as a minor scandal. An aging, wealthy widower paid to get a blowie while in Florida. Now it has snowballed into this giant mess. The narrative now is that Robert Kraft, billionaire and owner of the most successful NFL franchise in history has secretly been supporting a human trafficking cartel. No. No no no no no.No!Robert Kraft, one of the most successful businessmen in the United States, needed a blowjob. That’s the story. The man is 77 years-old. He is short. He is kind of troll-like. He is crusty and old, bruh! But on top of all of that, he is very recognizable. Where is he going to go to score some ass at his age? Is Robert Kraft wandering into a night club and dancing the evening away with hopes of winning over the sexual favors of some random chick?Probably not. Is he trolling the supermarkets and picking up MILF’s? Decidedly not. How does an aged, wealthy, and very recognizable man get his dick sucked?He pays for it. Out of necessity.I’ll go one step further. I am having a hard time finding a reason why a man of his stature shouldn’t pay for it. Fuck the morality. Fuck the ethics. Fuck the legalities. Fuck all of that and take a step back. Look at the world from his point of view. It's the age of the #MeToo movement. He is a very wealthy and powerful man. Do you think there is any possibility for a man like Mr. Kraft to meet a decent woman with noble intentions?Sure. Yes. It's possible. But, is it likely? Nope. Social media being what it is. Opportunistic people being what they are. The potential for someone of his stature to be publicly dragged is high. Too high. So he pays. There's also the time and effort factor. Why the hell would a man in his late seventies want to invest the time and effort required to woo a woman into bed? He doesn't want all the headaches that come along with maintaining a side piece! So he pays. There is also the male factor. Men “eat with their eyes” so to speak. Women do too, but they're fucking amazing. Women can look past a lot of shit and find something attractive about the man they call theirs. A woman can crawl into bed with a 77 year-old man and see acceptance and desire and history and love. They see how he cares and provides and cherishes. All of those things make panties wet. Men, on the other hand, not so much. Men see a 77 year-old woman. And, pardon my shitty grammar, ain't no man tryin’ to fuck a 77 year-old woman. Hell nah!So he pays. And as far as that pretty little thing he has back in Boston, if she were handling business he wouldn’t be willing to pay. But she isn't. So he pays. He pays for professionalism. He pays for ease. He pays for the simplicity of a cash transaction. He pays for a service. And for those douche-nozzle men trolling social media and mocking him for paying, use your fucking heads. He pays because it makes sense. And furthermore, you’re paying too. Just in a different way. And if you were honest with yourself for even a moment I would be willing to bet you’d agree that his method of payment is much less complicated.Human trafficking is fucked up. Reprehensible. But Mr. Kraft, and the other 26 people yet to be named, are not at fault. They're paying for a service. Service was provided. End of story. Want to fix the human trafficking problem in the United States? Legalize and regulate prostitution. Legalize it. Assign authority over it. Tax it. If you remove the criminal element, recognize sex work as a legitimate profession, the people immediately fall under the umbrella of our employment system. With all rights and benefits therein. Problem solved.
11 minutes | Feb 22, 2019
Ok. This is probably going to start out quite savagely, but stick with me. It's going somewhere. I am not entirely sure what happened. I’m not sure how I started down this road. But, seemingly overnight, my Twitter timeline has been taken over by out of shape, sassy, fucking half-clothed, white women with slutty tendencies, and massive chips on their shoulders. I probably followed one of these cretins, quite by accident, after one of them happened to say something legitimately funny. Hey, take enough shots you’ll eventually score...But, KAfuckingBOOM, instantly inundated with idiotic quips from mindless fucking wastrel housewives in Jersey. Fat, disgusting, couch potato bodies smashed into the unluckiest corset ever stitched together. Bitching about how they cannot get laid, but demanding respect from their followers, all while flopping their deflated pancake tits out for their wide-angle camera.Fucking Cheetos crumbs in their cleavage and stretch marks on their thighs. Nasty fucking worn out tattoos on body parts that should not be publicly seen. But there they are. 24 hours a day and 7 days a week. Laying on their backs like sweaty manatees and snapping photo after photo for their Twitter followers. So, here is my thing. If your husband won’t fuck you, rather than going to Twitter and seeking out validation, take a step back and look at yourself. Are you presenting a fuckable package? Do your thighs have calluses from rubbing together all day? Do you do anything at all that says “remember when you used to like to fuck me?”But appearance is only half of the equation. While standing in front of the mirror and assessing how the years have handled you, ask yourself “Is my personality fuckable?” Am I the soft, sweet blushing bride I was years ago? Or am I embittered along with being engorged?To be honest ladies, from what I saw today on Twitter I would have to answer no to both questions. You’re not presenting a fuckable package. And you do not have a fuckable personality. Further honesty, your personalities make you absolutely repellent. I wouldn’t fuck any of you with stolen dicks and with Charlie Sheen doing the pushing while screaming that he’s a fucking Warlock. But admittedly, my opinion is in the minority. These chicks have thousands of followers. Men throwing themselves at these greasy messes all day, every day. Some of these awful whales have 20,000 followers. 19,950 of them are sweaty dudes who are just hoping to see a nipple someday. The other 50 are other Twitter hags who do the same shit. Talking about how good their pussies are and pinning their chins back for the camera.These ladies. The cadre of like-minded behemoths in brassieres, have been all over my fucking timeline today. They are slovenly, rude without purpose, ridiculing, and petty. While it is true that I usually applaud this sort of behavior, I do not agree with the targets of their vitriol. This loosely affiliated group of women baits their followers, through carefully crafted sexual innuendo or through use of the ever-poetic prose “choke me harder and fuck me you bastard”, into stumbling over themselves to gain their favor. It is a virtual race to see who can come up with the best reply to a quip. A contest everyday to see who can make the most appealing comment about their 2 mile long cleavage. And when one of these misguided men happens to send a picture of their cocks to one of these women, they pounce.-How dare you send me a picture of that shriveled thing. -Who told you it was time to get out of the pool.-Throw it back until its grown up.-Next.-Don’t send me dick pictures you fucking pervert.-Blocked.-Blocked.-Blocked.That is the national pastime of women on Twitter by the way. Complaining loudly that the dicks in their DM’s are disgusting. And they’re right. Dicks are not attractive. Random dicks are especially unattractive. Hell, I don’t even look at my own!! But shit! What do you suppose will happen ladies? You roll around naked in cocoa pebbles for the camera, post that shit for the world to see with a caption like “eat me for breakfast”, and then get legitimately offended when some dip shit sends you a picture of his John Thomas?Get fucking real! You cannot demand to be treated like a lady with Twizzlers in your pussy.But here’s the reality. The feigned outrage at the dick pictures are part of the game. Smiling at the gesture, yet displeased at the presumption. So a modicum of outrage is expected. I am not fooled. And I am not impressed. I know what lashing out looks like. I know desperation. I see these chicks for what they are. Women who are hurt. They’ve been hurt by the man who promised before God and all of the people they know, that they will love, provide for, and lust after them for the rest of their lives. And for one reason or another, shit has not worked out the way Disney said it would. I want to just grab them by their arms and say “Lady! Twitter is not the place to go for validation.” I said that I know desperation and I know what lashing out is, because I have been there. I’ve felt the pain of giving and receiving nothing in return. And I have felt the need for validation. I’ve been lost and sad and confused. I’ve been lied to and shit on by the one person in the entire world I was supposed to be able to rely upon. And it sucks.And it stings.And it doesn’t get better with time. But, don’t go to Twitter for validation. It’s not there for you. You’re only as good as your last cleavage pic. Grow some balls and have a torrid, fulfilling, thunderous affair. Seriously, go outside the marriage and get what you’re supposed to be getting at home. Have hard, wonderful, deeply satisfying sex with a man who wants you. Or leave his ass. No, really. Drop him on his ass and go be happy somewhere else. Life is too short to spend it with someone who either doesn’t want you or doesn’t get you. There is a man out there right now who would love to love you. You just have to find him. I found my woman. Or, I should say, she found me. She showed me that I was good enough. I received my validation from someone who understood how I give is something to be treasured, not exploited. And all of these years later I am still being shown everyday that the things I do are wanted and appreciated.***digressing***back on track***Time for perspective. 20 years ago, what would you have said if I told you one day you’d be cock-teasing thousands of men on this thing in the future called Twitter...in your 40’s? You would most likely have laughed in my face, or told me you’re not about that sort of thing. But again, here we are.And there you are...wearing a cut up trash bag and too much lipstick.Look, I prefer to think that my theory is correct. You are sad, and lonely, and dealing with some shit. You are looking to be validated by as many people as possible. You need the adoration of one person, but to fill the void you’ll settle for the infatuation of a few thousand. I really want to believe that it’s a coping mechanism. For those of you who fall into that category, I’m sorry. I have treated you rather harshly. But, the idea was to point out the ridiculousness of it all. And to maybe get you to take a step back and think. Is this how you want to be seeking out the attention you need? Showing off on Twitter and being shitty to your people? So stop. Its time.And get the fuck off of my timeline. I am going to figure out the origin of this nonsense and make it go away.As for the women who do not fall into the “hurt” category...they blow my mind. These are the ones with their Amazon wish lists posted. They put their wish lists up so their admirers can buy them shit. I actually laughed. But, believe it or not, its a real thing. And I can’t talk too much shit. If I could get TV’s by showing my balls, I totally would.Ok. That’s it. Next week I am going to tackle shaming...and how everyone is a pussy. Thx for reading.
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