Look, I am not a fan of certain things in our culture that clearly go against the word of God.
That being said, I think that I have to write about this growing hatred and lack of respect in public for people who are different than I. Hatred comes from bias, fear, and evil. That’s it. Jesus warned us not to hate but instead love our neighbors. I take from that the following: everyone is my neighbor. Remember the parable Jesus told, about the good Samaritan, who was the only one who helped a man lying by the roadside, wounded and left for dead by thieves. The Judeans were not cozy with people from Samaria. The two hated each other and clashed often.
The story begins when an expert in Jewish law tried to test Jesus,saying, “Teacher, what need I do to have eternal life?”
Jesus asked, “What does the law say?”
The man recited that one should love the Lord God with everything they had and to love his neighbor as himself. Jesus answered, “Yes. Do this, and live.”
Not satisfied, the expert asked, “And who is my neighbor?”
“A man was going down to Jericho from Jerusalem when he was set upon by thieves. They took everything the man had, even his clothes, beat him and left him. Soon, there came a priest down the same road, but when he saw the man, he crossed to the other side and continued on his way. Then, a Levite did the same, leaving the poor man as he was. Finally, there came a Samaritan who saw the man. His heart was filled with pity. He cleansed the man’s wounds and bandaged him. On his donkey, he took the man to the nearest inn and cared for the man overnight. The next morning, he gave the innkeeper two denarii and instructed him to care for the wounded man. He told the innkeeper that he would return soon and settle any further costs.
“Now, which of the three men was a neighbor to the wounded man,” Jesus asked.
The law expert said, “The one who had pity on him.”
Jesus said, “Go and do likewise.”
The story tells us two things: first, that Jesus was patient as a teacher even to those who tested him, and second, that it does not matter what comes between us; not race, not gender, not economic class, or anything else. Because everyone is our neighbor.
And I get it. I may disagree with lifestyle, dress, and identity. I am charged with loving all of you. Everyone. My grandmother once told me, “You can hate a sin, but you always love the sinner.”
So what is the point? Why am I doing this?
I just read a disgusting article from yesterday in Variety that at a screening of Jaws, Richard Dreyfus used some offensive talk about Barbara Streisand (she had too much power for a woman!) and the LGBTQ population and the MeToo movement as well as women in general …
That’s disgusting. It’s hardly the time or place or audience for such hateful and sexist drivel. Keep hateful speech unspoken. No matter what I may think, everyone is still my neighbor. I must treat them as such.
Here is his stage entrance, accompanied by a Taylor Swift song, which I doubt he had permission to use.
I don’t know exactly what he said, so I’m not going to dig anymore. There seems to be no record of this available; just a few clips. Not that word didn’t get out. He mocked everyone except homophobes, misogynists, trans-haters, and anyone else but white, straight, Trump cultists.
Well, I never liked him as an actor anyway. In Jaws, his character (Hooper) was supposed to die. In the novel, Hooper was already dead when the shark jumped out of the water with Hooper in its maw. That would have made it worth the price of admission. Just saying.
Let’s say I’m walking on the sidewalk. I can see that you are any one of the people Dreyfus hates. I won’t be the one mocking you, I will be the one who has your back. You know why?
It’s simple. You are my neighbor. I will show you no disrespect. I will not mock you. That would be a grave sin.
I wonder: with so many wars and natural disasters happening in the world, don’t the haters have more important things to be concerned with? It says a lot about how badly off we really are. A nation doomed.
Did you know?
In healthcare, the 2023 rankings list 68 countries that have better care than the United States. Dreyfus said civics was ejected from school curriculums 50 years ago. If we don’t correct it, we’re all going to die.
Hooper, I’m sure sorry to tell you this, but we’re already dying. This summer, the deaths from heatstroke and other heat injuries including dehydration in drought areas, as well as the horrifying tornadoes that are already killing, hurricane season, flooding, and more, will be killed by the numbers. Add in traffic accidents, falls, homicides by gun, mass shootings, disease, and yet you deign to mock people that you condemn out of your own evil moral beliefs?
Look, folks, I do have my own Christian values, but none of them allow me to mock, persecute, harm and hate anyone.
Except for you, Matt Hooper-whose-character-should have died in the movie. Tonight, I’ll mock you. Just a little.
And I hope Taylor Swift sues youfor usingher song.
I hadn’t heard about this one. It seems that there’s a section of YouTube that lies in a dark corner, hard to believe… or see.
That’s because I really don’t get their content in my feed. I will now, though.
Creatures like her are, to my horror, not only real but ubiquitous. I’m not going into it here because I’ve only just arrived at the tip of the iceberg.
In an exposé video, there was a “downfall of” (a genre) a family whose daily lives were shown in daily videos. One such episode had one son claim that as a punishment for playing a prank on his younger brother, he was not allowed to sleep in his own bed for a month. Instead, he was to use a beanbag chair. As soon as he said it, his mother, sitting beside him, grinned wide like a Cheshire cat and said, “Our viewers don’t need to know that.”
It was the beginning of the popular channel’s downfall, which eventually got the mother and one of her weirdo friends arrested. The elder daughter, having escaped the house, tweeted, “Finally.”
I’m not going any further with this. Nor will I link to the story.
These kinds of people make videos that gain lots of followers and can make a ton of money.
Enter: Super Sexy (SS) Sniper Wolf. This disease did every cringy thing a YouTuber can possibly do.
Although she is still putting up videos, SS Sniper Wolf has become very disliked. I watched a video she posted yesterday, and it is exactly the kind of thing I’d skip over. If I watched for a whole minute, then I would be surprised. It’s torturous. She whines like a spoiled girl I knew in school, and I believe that her emotions are an act. It’s too easy to see why her detractors dislike her. But wait, there’s more.
The seven super girls YouTube channels (7 of them) were obvious, prime examples of child exploitation and a red flag waving in front of the world. So why did it take so long to stop it all?
In this 2019 Buzzfeed article, you can go ahead and jump straight to outraged mode. First, if you have never heard of the channels, this article won’t catch you up on much. It is too short and lacks a timeline or outline on just how fucked-up the real story is.
First, let’s hit the channel for “‘tweens”, which according to one source, bracketed the ages of 8-12 years of age. All girls, all, I’m surmising, handpicked by an adult, one Ian Rylett, age 54-55 at the time of the criminal complaint.
Rylett set up a network of children who starred in YouTube videos. He directed the video content himself. It was supposed to show girls in situations that had the look of stuff kids made about kids in a kid’s world, but one of impossible and outlandish joy and perfection. At one point, the girls were assigned “best friends” and were then restricted to arranged public appearances so that they did not get spotted with friends other than their besties on the channel.
Who knows where or how it was started, but seems to me that it may have, or must have been, a trend at that time: kiddie videos. I don’t know.
I remember seeing lists of “darkest” and “most mysterious” channels on YouTube, and one seemed to monitor, without the subject’s knowledge, a girl or young woman, 24 hours a day. It was incredibly eerie, but later, this disturbing channel was “explained” as being recorded by the subject, who was very frightened of doing her own shopping or going out at all. I don’t exactly buy the explanation, but I have no better answer.
One does not need to venture far on the app to find disturbing things. But the Seven Super Girls that people thought was so cute hid a truth more horrible than I imagined when it appeared in recent news and videos. Lists showed up of “Channels banned by YouTube,” and the Super Girls made it.
Now, this Rylett guy, he did as predicted. He “molested” one of the girls. He squirreled out on the easy way and got a couple of years, maybe less because of time off for good behavior. But that good behavior is only because in prison, there aren’t any 10-year-olds to sexually assault. By now, he’s been out for a while and once again poses a danger to minors. Is that fair? No. It isn’t even justice.
In the CoV-2 crisis, no follow-up was made. Recent studies indicate that the Covid-19 virus has left many people in a “fog,” and it’s nothing to take lightly. It appears to be permanent damage and causes difficulty making decisions, concentrating, focusing, and short-term memory loss. Some of us never even knew about the Seven Super Girls or the hell they were put through. By early 2020, people were dying so fast that news channels kept a running total on the screen, and the words “Breaking News” never disappeared. Kids were forgotten or abused in different ways than you’d normally think.
Ian Rylett once announced a “sponsored” swimsuit event. It was a fake. A lie to get the girls to pose in swimsuits. Ian Rylett is a deviant predator and child abuser.
Those ain’t new. But the lengths he went through to get money and abuse children are really sickening, especially when one considers that those children had parents.
Parents who looked the other way, seeing only dollar signs.
They should all be wondering why they should believe for a minute that Rylett only molested one girl.
Which may be the most disturbing thing of all.
By 2020, it became known that the plea deal had given Rylett only 90 days in jail and had time served counted toward it. I and many others missed this news because of the pandemic, and far too many have forgotten it.
That’s what value we Americans put on child welfare. Every one of us should be ashamed.
I’ve seen so many takes on the ongoing-but really just getting started-soap opera of Vince McMahon that I have to make a correction: apparently McMahon lived in the same building as Janel Grant’s parents. That goes completely off the rails from earlier reports of a house they lived in. It means that Janel was not unknown to McMahon at all, and the story of someone in the WWE telling him her story of lossdidn’thappen. That would blow my theory of his grooming her as some vulnerable waif prime for exploitation out of the water.
But isn’t it strange that nobody making money off Patreon-fueled videos or websites for “entertainment news” has ever been in such a situation? More importantly, they have never been groomed by a cult leader before and certainly never made it to the status of cult member?
These people may mean well. But they’re making mistakes and actually could affect public opinion against Grant, which is already showing signs of being fanned. That’s bad. In a civil trial by jury against WWE/TKO, she would have some support in the court of public opinion, which by no means is a small thing.
Then, too, there’s the problem of a federal criminal investigation, which can halt the entire process as it must take precedence. This is a snowball rolling down a mountain, like an old cartoon.
At the core right now is a series of texts between Grant and McMahon. Hers reportedly showed lurid, long, and then graphic garbage alleged to have been sent by him to her, texts she responded to with equal amounts of astoundingly graphic content. She’s already being judged for it, too. Kevin Nash is defending McMahon and said that he had never known Vince to write like that. Well, Kevin, I’m sure glad for your two cents’ worth, and fuck you very much. You apparently came from a time before texting and were slow to get into it. Also apparent is that you’re not a woman and not an object of his lust and preferences. You know what I think, Kev? I think you’re being paid. That’s going to come back on you. It will. You should go back home and play video games.
I’m not going to attack or accuse Janel Grant of anything. It looks very much like the WWF and WWE under Vince McMahon was a bona-fide cult. Grant was given a job. One that could keep her off the streets. In exchange, she was unaware but still conditioned to be dependent. It’s the most common element of all cults: dependency and the unreasonable fear of being abandoned and ending up on the streets. All cults use it. Among mental illnesses, there are doctors who deem themselves gods and who want personality disorders removed from the “Bible of mental disorders.” But that’s because of two things: insurance companies, and learned behavior and how difficult it is to treat. For many, like myself, treatment has lasted decades, and I’m still dreadfully affected. Some things… just don’t go gently into that dark night. Some hurts never heal. Some things can’t be fixed.
With me, 20 years of being told I was nothing without him, that I would die on the streets without him, made me believe that I was stupid, and my father had me. I was nothing without him. And every time I got away from him, I failed. I had to go back.
Being back under his control but getting a steady paycheck, I’d follow his every command. It was normal to work 18-20 hour days. It was normal to have to do too much, and a lot of it was stuff nobody else would do. All because I was scared of being on my own. Scared of dying out there on the streets, a fate he’d been predicting since I was too young to consider that he was using abandonment as a threat, which to a kid means simply, death. They don’t understand death. But they know they’ll be alone, cold, hungry. Hated by their own family.
I submit that his reinforcement with religion further terrified both myself and siblings, rendering all of us fucked up. We’re largely estranged now, but I’ll still jump at the chance to see my nephews and nieces, two brothers, and one sister, all of whom I adore. The rest are not my enemies, though I’ve maligned them horribly in the past. I do love them, but a reunion with them is out of the question. Neither they nor I wish it. But after time, I just can’t hate anymore.
I further posit that men and women who have never been in Ms. Grant’s shoes don’t know what it’s like to be that victimized, dependent, and brainwashed. Therefore, they cannot presume to judge her. As an example, I’m going to use a few simple lines from the classic film “The Caine Mutiny,” starring Humphrey Bogart, Van Heflin, Fred McMurray and José Ferrer.
Doctor Dickson: If I may speak, sir, I would like to protest the counsel’s twisting of words. There’s a big difference between real mental illness and minor mental disturbances.
Barney Greenwald: Let me put it this way, doctor: could Captain Queeg have been disabled by the severe stain of command?
Barney Greenwald: Then I suggest that you cannot set yourself up as an authority on the strain of command, and thus you may be completely wrong about Captain Queeg.
In other words, those who talk but don’t know should shut up.
This will play out however circumstances allow, and we can’t see that now. I’ve never been to a wrestling show, and I’ve never spoken with Vince McMahon. I have, however, been in very close proximity to him. I can only sense good folks by failing to sense extreme anger, jealousy, hatred, and other negative things. I knew who he was the second our eyes made contact. I also felt a steady sense of danger and shocking evil in the man, and his stare was withering. I know what he is because I grew up with a father just like him. I could sense his evil because I’d had to learn to do so while surviving every day with a violent, sociopathic man who was more concerned with power and image than he was for the normal growth and development of his own children. They were so much alike that it froze me. I can never forget it.
To prove just how concerned with image McMahon was, when Ashley returned from the WWE visit to the troops overseas and reported that she had been raped and sodomized, he told her it wouldn’t be good for the WWE if word of the incident were made public. He said to her, “Let’s not let one bad experience ruin the good that we’re doing,” and added that it would damage the relationship between the WWE and the US military.
One bad experience?
REALLY?
“One bad experience” is what he actually called it and this proves that he is a sociopath with no capacity for sympathy, no ability to act on right and wrong, even if he knew the difference. And Asley eventually took her own life. Neither McMahon nor the WWE’s board ever offered her counseling or any other kind of crisis intervention. They never do that. Wrestlers are private contractors who are ineligible for any healthcare benefits. Ashley was no different. Other ex-female “contractors” or, if you will, “Divas,” are already coming back from retirement to haunt McMahon. As well they should. Sometimes, it takes that one person to get up the courage to confront and square off against a monster before others also come forth, overcoming their fears to fight the beast. I don’t think they’re all about money, either, although Vince is definitely going to offer cash settlement monies to all of them. I think they want his hide.
Let’s let the facts be revealed in time and not do the victim shaming crap like Kevin Nash and others. That’s too easy and quite often wrong.
I trust victims. If they’re proved to be liars, that’s one thing. But that hasn’t happened yet. Give them all the benefit of the doubt. It’s the right thing to do. Because we all know that this world is ruled by men and they have a record of causing great harm to women.
One more item before I go. Stephanie McMahon has some kind of highly questionable relationship with her father, and she’s twisted. The question is, how much did The Rock know, and how deep did he get in the shit? His sudden move to the board of TKO is just too bizarre. It’s ill-timed and shows lack of vision. He’s made questionable decisions before and starred in some really bad movies, but he had it made. This, this is suspicious. I think he should bail. If he doesn’t, he’s there for damage control. Bad move, Rock. Bad move.
Warning: What follows is the most shitty and disgusting story I’ve seen in recent years, and it didn’t even shock me. I’ll be pulling absolutely zero punches, so be warned now that sexual assault, rape, trafficking for sex, child sex abuse, and more will be in my discussion. If you think you can’t handle it, please be gentle to yourself and leave now.
If you have stayed after my warning, and you have read it, and if a tag brought you here, or if you’re curious about my continuing attack on our current state of “entertainment,” then hang on to your stomachs. We’re going on a trip to visit Vincent McMahon, who’s on his way to Hell.
I’m not getting into the long history of American (not Olympic) wrestling. Wikipedia should give adequate information to start your research for your own journey into Hell. Or beyond.
I watched it at various times. In the early 60s, on black and white television, with the likes of Cowboy Bill Watts and other oldies.
In the early 70s, I watched Chief Jay Strongbow and Andre the Giant, the Grand Wizard, a manager and a heel, and a lot of other guys I can’t remember. Then I left it alone. Back then, Vince McMahon was no more than a skinny, ugly announcer. But he was determined to convince his father that he was a worthy son to take over the family business. And he did. Or so they say.
1999-2001
My son wanted a video game for Christmas in 1999: “WCW Mayhem” for the original Playstation. I got that and a skating game for him. When he and I couldn’t talk or find common ground, gaming filled the gap between us. I soon bought my own Playstation and was bitten by the wrestling bug. When he visited, we could create ridiculous wrestlers and step into the squared circle together. We had fun. I’m grateful for those memories. Some of the happiest I have.
While alone on Mondays, I watched wrestling, switching cable channels between WCW Monday Nitro and WWF Raw. I was truly lucky, seeing both at their best. WCW was suffering from a lack of a storyline, but Tank Abbott was brought in with a real contract and maybe the promise to fight Goldberg, who, at the time, was out with injuries. Tank had to go through the roster to get to Goldberg. I swear I saw him take on Screamin’ Norman Smiley, plus the incredibly stupid “Demon”, but I can’t find a record of either one. The Demon was inspired by the incredibly stupid band KISS. One fight card indicates Abbott fought Vampiro, who might have been the Demon character I’m thinking about. Somewhere along the way, Jeff Jarrett played the fans by resurrecting the nWo and called the entire arena audience a bunch of “slapnuts” which a heel, of course, was supposed to do: rile up the fans and keep them watching. I hated him, but in fact, I think he’s a square guy, a good man.
I find it troubling: I remember Tank Abbott clearly. But not the matches he had. He also was hardly undefeated, and his famed “Knockout Punch,” his finishing move, doesn’t seem to be as effective as I recall. He also continued with WCW well past the point where I stopped watching.
The gimmick over, I began losing interest in WCW. I wasn’t alone. They weren’t even selling out matches. Terry Funk was always worth watching, and at a stable, in a hardcore match, got kicked by a horse. Before the commercial, Funk could be heard saying, “Fuck!”
While I had been aware for years that it was all a show, because I wasn’t as stupid as John Stossel, I also knew that enough of wrestling was real enough that those people in the ring really were hurting each other. Mostly by accident because they’re basically athletes and stunt performers at the same time, but oftentimes on purpose because of perceived real hits by opponents. Accidents happen in and out of the ring, and wrestlers do go off-script behind the scenes. On camera, of course, but backstage, too.
Kane, the Rock, Undertaker, and Cactus Jack were my favorites, but close behind were the Dudley Boyz, Too Cool (Grand Master Sexay and Scotty Too Hottie), and Kurt Angle.
Who was responsible for all of this soap opera wrestling goodness? Vincent McMahon. He had pooled some of the best talent in writing, stage sets, makeup, and announcers.
At the time, I wasn’t aware that there was also dirty fighting between WCW and WWF. A WCW wrestler named “Montana” wore a black Stetson and made fun of WWF announcer Jim Ross, whose former ring appearances had him “from Montana.”
Having been stricken by a form of palsy, Ross (J.R.) sometimes had speech and facial muscle problems, and it was this that Montana made fun of. The fans didn’t like it. But vindictivness was the primer of the downfall of the WCW. Vince McMahon was the hammer. His WWE bought out the floundering WCW, resulting in a surplus of talent that had to be trimmed. A trimming job for Vince would be to you and I more like something you’d see in a slaughterhouse than a butcher’s shop. You could see it in his face: anger and severe punishment were in his eyes at the same time.
I also did not know about the horrible death of Owen Hart, who had fallen approximately 75 feet from a harness as he was being lowered from the rafters. That fall onto any surface not intended for stunt use, like a deflating air bag, is hardly survivable. In this instance, he landed on the top rope, near enough to a turnbuckle as to make the rope even more unforgiving. It severed his aorta, which closed the deal on his death sentence. It happened at a live pay per view event, but no one at home saw it. Jim Ross was so shocked that he had trouble telling the viewers that Hart was in real trouble and that this was no attempt at drama.
With Hart’s blood still on the ring’s mat, McMahon decided that the show was to go on. This was a clue that McMahon was a greedy and cold-hearted son of a bitch, but also, even as I heard this story, I was unaware of what took place in 1992. And that was sickening to beat all hell.
Then another scandal reared up, this involving a juvenile and a member of the WWF. In a 1992 interview on Larry King Live, even Bruno Sammartino, who I’d also watched as a kid, accused Vince of knowing about dirty shit and lying his ass off.
By 2022-2023, Vince and the now-WWE (the World Wildlife Federation sued to make McMahon change his organization to exclude “WWF” so it became “WWE” for World Wrestling Entertainment in 2002.) reported that the case had been settled out of court. Rita Chatterton would now shut up. Funny, how money makes ugly things vanish, huh? But Rita only settled to avoid further litigation costs, so she wasn’t exactly happy. In her first match as referee, McMahon had actually told the two women wrestlers to break her legs. Fortunately they agreed not to follow his command.
The Recent Scandals
Jake the Snake Roberts, a former wrestler, says that the latest revelations about McMahon are “disgusting” and I have to believe that he had heard at least rumors, as now, it has become public knowledge that in 2005, Christie Hemme vanished from WWE. I was no longer watching, so I never even saw her. The figure of 7.5 million has been tossed around. What was rumored was that the creative team couldn’t find anything for her to do, so she was sent for training. Triple H, Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley’s husband, would be traveling there, too. Stephanie didn’t like Christie’s enthusiasm over being around her husband. So she told Daddy (Vince McMahon), and he canceled Hemme’s contract after a week.
Although no one can confirm Stephanie’s involvement or that Triple H was even traveling anywhere at the time, one thing is very clear: Hemme is the former wrestler who got yet another taste of McMahon (literally) and refused to go any further. In fact, it isn’t clear if she ever got that far because not too long ago, she clarified the reason for her inexplicable departure. Because she said she had morals, even asking her father’s permission before appearing in Playboy, which Vince had asked her to do. But when asked to do more, she refused, knowing that the non-negotiable refusal meant that she would lose her job. She may have been cheered by being sent to train. Maybe it gave her some sense of hope. But it wasn’t to be. Vince McMahon was, as we now know, intolerant of any resistance to his commands.
In January of this year, one of many headlines:
“Leading up to the 2024 edition of the Royal Rumble, McMahon found himself involved in yet another case. An ex-company employee, Janel Grant, accused McMahon and former executives of sexual assault and filed a federal lawsuit.”
Janel Grant was in a bad place. Her parents had died. Their house would be taken from her. Someone intervened. He told McMahon about her, and Vince’s face lit up. You know why? I do. Because there’s no better target for sexual abuse, or just plain taking control of, than someone in a bad place. Eager to get work. Soft. Pliable. Someone who would be indebted to you. By this time, McMahon had it down to science. He knew what to do. He carried out each step like the piece of shit he was. Before he knew it, he got a blow job. Then more. He pimped her out, engaging in threesomes with himself, her, and certain other wrestlers. Including Brock Lesner, who is being cut out of his future projects. She was reduced to a fucking sex worker. McMahon even, in one such session, shit on her face as another piece of garbage fucked her, failing to be sickened in the slightest by the vile act.
Let’s be clear: these are sick motherfuckers. Okay? Just so we’re clear on this: more than one wrestler or other WWE employee or contractor (wrestlers, so the company doesn’t have to offer insurance) had forced sex with Ms. Grant. That’s alone, or with others. She was abused in every possible way. Every possible way.
I’m sorry for her beyond any means of or ability to describe. And that’s only the latest known victim. Grant had signed an NDE, which, in the case of violent felonies, federal crimes like sex trafficking and… defecating on one’s face is not legally binding. We know why she would settle for payment. A true victim is fucked up. They want it over. They want closure and a way out. But money can never make things right, or take away the low self-esteem a victim has because they feel guilt or end the relentless nightmares, flashbacks, and everything else that comes with PTSD. To hush her up, the NDA was made, but Vince never paid the second payment, another illustration of how absent of respect he is toward women. It’s like saying to her, “You’re nothing without me. I don’t pay ‘nothings’.”
So, as happens far too seldom, Grant became resolved. If that’s how it was going to be, fine. The NDA wasn’t even a thing anymore. She was free to tell her horror story to the world, so she did. That blew the lid off everything, and I do mean everything. Now, there were fewer wagons to circle. Vince stood virtually alone, with a few obviously guilty dickheads hanging on. In this podcast, you’ll hear why:
Ashley
Ashley was a victim in more than one way. I don’t think I ever saw her except in clips because I don’t remember her being around yet when I stopped watching. I kept playing the newest video games, but the last one, 2024, is so bad that I have to rank it as the worst wrestling game ever made. It is so sexist that every diva in the create suite has implants. Noticeably so. Wow. Now that I think about it, I’ll probably never buy another one. Besides, I know too much now, and playing it would be a problem for me. Even the classic games, which were far superior, might be hard to stomach. But I do recall Ashley being in one of the games. Maybe 2008, 2009, 2010?
Ashley was a diva. I was under the naive impression that Divas were treated well at first. Beautiful and technically very good wrestlers.
It took no time at all in late 1999 for me to see otherwise. Mud wrestling? Seriously? Bra and panties matches? Hey, I messed around with the games, sure. But real life is not a video game. Divas have, as a whole, been treated so horribly by Vince McMahon that I’m frankly concerned that he hasn’t been imprisoned by now. He’s basically kidnapped, raped, sexually abused, beaten, assaulted with bodily fluids and waste, falsely imprisoned, tortured, (and even murdered one victim-that we know of) so many men, women and juveniles that we can never know the full extent of his depravity or his crimes.
Ashley had serious issues from getting concussions. Remember that I said earlier that this might be scripted, but people really do get hurt? Here’s proof. She had endured multiple head trauma, but in her affidavit, she also said that after she posed for the cover of Playboy, Vince set it up so that she flew on the corporate jet and stayed in the same hotels with the executives. She already knew Vince to be a predator. Perhaps you’re thinking that should have made her alarm go off, but she dared to dream that in her case, she was safe. She was not.
Vince tried to seduce her. Tried and tried. He would constantly ring her room and her cell phone all night. In Kuwait, she was raped by an unidentified male, and the fucker was probably put up to it, perhaps even paid, by Vince himself. When someone refused his advances, his wrath was unquenchable, and he was unforgiving. Guilty of stalking and harassment he stepped it up even more.
Now, she was in such despair that the affidavit also said he overrode the writer’s scripts for her and made her say things that she knew would finish her career. Ashley ended her own life in 2017, a direct result of the actions and verbal abuse along with head trauma-all caused then ignored by Vince McMahon. He murdered her.
This information was not made known until after her death. The reason given by her attorney is that at the time it was filed, the bigger issue of head trauma was the most urgent thing.
My heart breaks over such a horrible situation and the death of one who fought to keep her honor.
That said, I am going to state here that I do not consider other victims, the ones he raped and pimped out, to have dishonored themselves. I’ll never do that. Hell, I’m a victim, too. Of really heinous shit, so I know how it feels. Never shame a true victim. A neighbor told me that she (Janel) was “in on it, too.” Holy shit!
I set him straight. At least I hope that I did. Because saying that is bullshit. Believing it is sexist, evil and fucking psychotic. I expected better from him.
Janel was conditioned. McMahon recognized a desperate woman. He took her into his fold and made her dependant. Once that was done, he made her a sex slave. The disgusting nature of everything he’s accused of is not entirely a surprise to me, and that means that I have no reason to doubt them.
Let’s go back to when I was watching WWE. There were a lot of controversial things going on both in the ring and outside of it. X-Pac and D-Generation X were taunting opponents and crowds with the “suck it” crotch chop, Stone Cold Steve Austin was giving the finger all over the place, Stephanie went from a joke and a brat to a pain in the ass who was definitely all heel, replacing Chyna as Triple H’s lover both in character and out.
Chyna’s entrance involved her shooting a cannon from her crotch like a huge penis ejaculating fireworks toward the rafters, a demeaning gesture meant to emphasize her square jaw and ‘roided-up body. Except for her chest, she might have appeared more masculine. The sacrifices she made to have a career… she, too, was part of the D-Generation X. At least until she found out that Triple H was also dating Stephanie McMahon. This ended very badly for Joanie Laurer, aka Chyna. A dedicated bodybuilder and the first woman to be entered in the Royal Rumble, I was quite enamored of her. I found her to be beautiful, incredibly sexy, and not the slightest bit masculine. She was what otherwise would have been an unforgettable technical brawler in the ring. But after an ugly fight with, or because of Stephanie, she had to go. She just vanished. Hunter has cited her porn flick with her next boyfriend, X-Pac, as a reason for her not being admitted to the Hall of Fame. He came to a compromise later where she would be allowed in with the D-Generation X faction. But never solo. Because WWE was a family show.
What a load of shit. During her very short career, Vince McMahon initiated the “Vince McMahon Ass Kissing Club” and he would, in the ring, actually drop trou and bend forward and make wrestlers pay for transgressions bykissing his ass. So much for being a family show. Judging her by a homemade porn film is a bit harsh when all of the stuff on the shows was far more traumatic to children than any sex tape would be for an adult who idolized someone. For Chyna, it ended tragically. Substance abuse and severe depression took a toll, and on 20 April of 2016, she was found dead (not ruled a suicide). I feel certain that she was another victim and that the WWE killed her.
Did McMahon order hits or “bounties”?
Because Vince ordered Rita Chatterton’s legs broken, we have already established that this did happen. So dickheads like Kurt Angle carried them out. Unless someone has the balls to say so or not, I believe that Vince McMahon has ordered wrestlers to injure others. He’s that controlling and that vindictive. I’ve seen injuries that should have never happened. You see something. You know what you just saw. The move was a cheap shot and not an accident. The opponent can’t get up. Then he’s out for almost a year. Vince gave one wrestler incentive to perform a dangerous move. Maybe that wrestler never can return.
Vincent McMahon is a predator, sex offender, needing to dominate and subjugate women more than men, but to him, control is complete, and that means over everyone. There may be some past trauma that’s caused it, but I wouldn’t have any sympathy even so. He even tried to get his daughter into a storyline where he had impregnated her. What kind of father does that?
Stephanie refused, but she and her husband and her mother, Linda McMahon, are in this up to their necks, because they knew, but said nothing, and thus enabled this horrible man by covering for him. The entire family could be charged. A federal investigation is underway. And those kinds of investigations usually don’t go well for predators. TKO, the owner of WWE, says they dismissed him from the board. He says he resigned. He’s childish, always wanting the last word and lying to do it. But it hardly matters; being away now doesn’t mean that he can hide. There are other men and women who have their own stories to tell, and they’re not afraid anymore because Janel is resolved and wants to set an example. Before it’s all over, there will be more wrestling personalities who will lose your respect and mine. This rabbitt hole goes down so far that it can pass clean through hell on its way to infinity. And Vince McMahon will be along for the ride.
And Shane, Stephanie and Linda McMahon? They’re likely to save themselves and turn on the bastard if a federal grand jury is held. Maybe there’s no honor in them, but self-preservation is, after all, a powerful drive in the wild kingdom. Because, when a former wrestler compares their husband/father to Jeffrey Dahmer, Harvey Weinstein, and Jeffrey Eppstein, you know it’s time to bail.
It’s quite true that in my travels, I have sampled and studied my share of porn. I’ve noted addiction and the effects it has on the brain, I’ve seen compulsive viewing, and I know how it has branched out from “backroom” VHS rental stores and adult book and peep stores to convenient use located all over the internet from the mid-1980s to the present.
I know the genres and the niche genres within them. I’ve seen everything from Deepthroat with Linda Lovelace to anonymous “amateur” shorts scattered everywhere. You name it, and I have seen it.
Lately, I regret ever having been exposed to porn by my parents. Through the years, I’ve seen pictures, bought magazines, and I’ve seen 8mm reels for projectors, and more.
The effects porn had on me have been devastating. After seeing “zoo” porn (humans, usually women, with animals), you’d be forgiven for thinking that there’s nothing else to see; you’ve reached the bottom of hell.
Trust me, you have not.
Some things you may hear about but never see. If you’re lucky.
It’s a terrible pit of bubbling tar waiting to drag in anyone it can and drown them.
In the recent past, or the past 15 years, nude models who bore some resemblance to any singer or actress would have to do. And while some posed for Playboy over the years, beginning with first issue centerfold Marilyn Monroe, most turned the offers down. I’m not getting into the New York and California party scenes or the top fashion models who exposed breasts and became (usually mediocre) actresses. For now, there’s a much more alarming porn trend known as “deepfakes” that we should all be concerned about.
When it became news last week that Taylor Swift had been targeted by some very realistic fake porn videos and pictures, I didn’t hear anything about it. But I was aware, since at least 2008, that altered pictures had made the porn sites. These began with convincing porn pics of customers in, say, a Walmart, where you hardly need to add to or take away from a person’s image to make it lewd or insulting (I once saw a woman wearing sheer pantyhose with no panties in Walmart).
That older type of image “enhancement” has always been around, but home computer systems made it easier. For Joe Lunchbox, it wasn’t doable, but enough dedicated anarchist-perverts were around that could pull it off.
As I tried to gauge the popularity of fakes in both film and photo, I became aware that these were not sectioned off as separate genres or niches. They were mixed in with everything else. Sometimes, a fake was obvious. I was able to recognize the body of a nude model with a faked head on it. Crude and laughable at first. Now –we’ll now, you can’t tell.
Deepfakes represent a danger we’re only beginning to comprehend. It can be used for revenge porn, selfies of real school kids, or it can be used against people teaching, political figures, and, of course, celebrities.
Considering my recent rants about Taylor Swift, I wrote exactly how I felt, but this is wrong. Nobody should be the target of that level, which I cannot reach or even comprehend, of malice.
The questions on the legal side are many and frightening. Will victims be able to sue (and will that even help them when the damage is done)? What wounds can these cause, and will they be used to break up marriages and families? Can you set someone up with this tech?
How about placing someone who’s innocent at a crime scene?
Because if we’ve learned anything, it’s that technology keeps getting more and more powerful.
I’m sorry for Taylor Swift and Blake Lively. They shouldn’t have to deal with this humiliation and cruelty. I may not be a Swifty, but this stuff makes me sick. And I’ve seen some things before that you’d never believe. If you saw them, some of you would puke.
This is something I find sickening and terrifying at the same time. But can we stop it?
I’m not currently watching the Baltimore Ravens v. Kansas City Chiefs championship game. I know who’s going to win. Were I a gambler, I would be safe bucking the line, and I’d win with the fixed game, seeing the Chiefs win, and that’s the fact, Jack. All sports have been shamefully compromised by big money and criminal fraud.
Since this is so, I’ve never been a gambler. I don’t even play the numbers, so the question of what I would do if I won the lottery is ridiculous. Besides, I don’t even want it. Give me what I’ve earned, and I’ll be happy. Money means nothing to me.
There are so many things that really matter in life that, once you have money, you turn your back on. Things like friendship and loyalty. Things like not disengaging a longtime friend because you think that Taylor Swift is the greatest person on earth, and your friend can’t stand looking at her. He knows that money and fame have dehumanized the rotten wretch and that everything she does is for attention and money.
Fuckin money.
People disagree so much these days to a point where friends and even family cut each other off. I have family I don’t speak to, but not because they love Taylor Swift or Donald Trump. They trigger me in other ways. Worse than any misguided hero worship. Others, I have been estranged with for decades, the result of two siblings who testified on behalf of our parents. I don’t feel anything for them, not love and not hate, nor anything in-between.
Speaking of Taylor Swift, I believe that the NFL has become greedy and crooked enough to have been in its own love affair with her all season. The Chiefs are not as good as their win-loss record. It’s been fixed. All season. Who really cares what Kelce Grammer was wearing when he got off the plane? For pity’s sake, do you think he had Secret Service guards? He’s a pissant who hasn’t registered all season. He likes his own fame as much as Swift does hers, and he’s clearly the ultimate alpha around her. She will grow tired of it, but right now, she’s getting extra press, so she’ll kneel before him after the game and polish the knob like a sub. That ruby lipstick is a goner, man.
I don’t care about football. I haven’t since 1974, to be honest, even though I did watch that glorious Monday night game when Lawrence Taylor broke asshole Joe Theismann into a rubber leg like Gilderoy Lockhart once to to Harry Potter’s arm. Rubber. Fuckin rubber.
No lottery. No betting. It ain’t for me. Besides: even if you win, you lose.
Yep. You read it right. After my post “But You Can Never Leave,” what I thought was a longtime close friend immediately broke contact. This person has a high level of respect for Taylor Swift, much more than for me.
My post earned me silence.
Celebrities are public figures just as politicians or “guest stars” on Cops. All fair game, each and every one of them. If I hate everything Trump does, and have watched as he proved himself to be a nutsack and a bag of extremely small dicks, it doesn’t mean that I hate him. Hate takes too much out of me, leaving whatever good there is left in my soul to the lord of the Abyss.
Lampooning, criticizing, or just plain calling out people’s bullshit is part of our freedom of speech. That, however, doesn’t include hate speech. I haven’t engaged in such when writing about Taylor Swift. Criticism? You bet. Lampooning? Hell yeah! As for her bullshit, I see through it more than ever.
Swift, according to rumor, donates to causes. I don’t know which. Even if I did, I couldn’t prove it. From her stunts in the past, I’d make the guess that it’s disingenuous; she needs to make people like her, to buy tickets, and garner as much attention from paparazzi as possible. She’s always in character, always very fashionable, rarely caught without makeup. She doesn’t hate paparazzi; she eats attention like candy.
I still don’t hate her. And if I did, I would be the only casualty. She wouldn’t care even if she knew who I was.
I lost readers with the Swift posts. I had to close comments because I finally caught on that I would draw fire sooner or later.
But losing friends? I didn’t see that coming.
Turning my back on people isn’t a rare thing. I’ve many times found it a preferable choice for protecting myself from more trauma, rejection, and pain. I don’t do much of that anymore; if I backed off, it was to protect people I loved from witnessing or involvement in my delicate condition, causing the unpredictable. I just didn’t want them hurt. I had caused enough pain. A decent man regrets causing pain; an honorable one fights within himself to stop causing it.
So if I hurt other people by lampooning Swift, understand that it’s not my goal. But excess is disgusting, disgraceful, and self-destructive, and Swift refuses to learn that lesson. It’s too late now; she’s lost. The golf cart shit was a clue. In the end, it’s always about her. She would settle for nothing less. And she will eat Kelce up and spit him out. She’s never truly happy unless she’s got an ex crying over her. She’s got issues. I feel sorry for her as well as those who get hurt by her. She was probably hurt by some guy she looked up to or trusted once. The cycle it caused is not unfamiliar to me. Not even a little bit. But that’s what makes this so hard for me to watch. I know what’s coming.
And don’t hate me too much, please. I’m even more critical of Katy Perry, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Hamas. Oh, Israel is doing some horrible things, too. In war, ain’t nobody clean. It’s genocide and murder and bestiality and torture. It’s disease, famine, and more death. And wars are humanity’s favorite things of all. More cherished than making money, making music, or making love. We’ve been making weapons since prehistory and from clubs to nuclear weapons, we ain’t never stopped. We can’t.
So, in all of this, I lost two good friends. Some readers.
But I tell you one thing: I ain’t lost a bit of sleep. In fact, I’m sleeping better.
If ever I saw a shit-show, last night was it. My, how the gowns have turned conservative! There was no cleavage for this dirty old man. The only one that wore something revealing was the one who had nothing to show off.
Mark you, this is not a complaint. Just unexpected, that’s all. It’s really a good thing because I had no distractions. I was free to concentrate on the jitters of the non-drugged and the fake laughter they forced on us all. Nothing funny was said or happened. The monologue was as funny as a case of salmonella. Morton Downey Jr. was there. Matt Damon, Mark Buffalo, and Ben Aflac of insurance fame were there. I didn’t recognize anyone else except DeNiro. And what the fuck was Kate Beckinsale wearing? She obviously regretted her wardrobe and made it worse by reminding everyone else that she had attended Oxford. You know, the place where they make those old-fashioned shoes? Yeah.
Oprah photoshopped her figure live or on a few seconds’ delay. Now she’s David Copperfield. Look at all the pretty people, rich, styled, yet still coveting more. And more will never be enough.
The award winners didn’t make me want to go back to theaters. On the contrary, this whole thing reinforced my decision to never attend one again. Not for stale popcorn, watery Cokes (what are they now, $25 bucks for a large?).
Look. I love movies. I am even into the odd series or two. Last night’s ceremony did make me put “Succession” on my watch list. But mostly, I hate the drek that is integral to any series. NCIS was a disgrace for always killing female lead and supporting actresses (their characters, not the actual women). These days, no one from the original cast is left. We lost David McCallum last year. That broke my heart. NCIS is shit now.
Hollywood is fickle. One day, you’re the talk of the town, and the next, you can’t even get voice work.
But last night did have one highlight for me.
In a new category that I suspect was created just for her, Taylor Swift lost to aplastic doll!
That’s right: the Eras Tour wasn’t the better when it came to the best box office smash. Barbie was. I almost want to see it now except, goddammit, I had 4 sisters, and a house full of Barbies. I took their heads off, I gave them nipples and pubic hair and I mutilated the fucking dolls. Especially Malibu Barbie. There was no excuse for making such a nightmarish toy.
So, miss “use ’em and leave ’em” got a taste of what’s headed her way sooner or later.
Today, my faith in justice is restored. Thank you, God.
There’s something wrong. I don’t know, it’s just off.
Like I’ve stepped into some parallel timeline where things developed on Earth differently than the one I’m from.
This is not the Mandela Effect, either. No, not that. It isn’t a “remember history differently” per se. It’s more like a shift in the fabric of time and space that opened some shitty portal through which I unknowingly and most unjustly got pushed through.
Either that, or I’m dead, and this… this is Hell. And if that’s true–
–if that’s true, then Hell is a far worse place than what horror stories my evil parents warned me it was.
The first thing I want to say here is that we gotta have some understanding. Come on, between us. You and I. Let us, please, agree that we should be more afraid of facts that are lies than of real facts. The real ones do carry fear. The human race is in danger. Global warming can release tons of methane and CO² into the atmosphere. Ice and Tundra melt won’t help, and we can’t stop that from progressing. That is a scary fact. Another fact that seems hopeful is that the latest climate “accord” agreed to transition away from fossil fuels. That fact hides a lie. We could take a century to do that, and even if oil-producing countries agreed, they have to find other ways to make money. I can’t see what their incentive would be to keep their word.
It will, after that has been said, seem trite for me to write about the reason I may have been pulled or pushed or just haplessly walked here from a parallel timeline.
It goes like this: I hear by word of mouth that Japan has suffered another earthquake. But when I scan the headlines, it isn’t there. The top search result is about a million-dollar winner in Minnesota. As if that’s news!
Then: the inevitable. Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce.
THEY WERE SPOTTED GOING FOR A DRIVE ON NEW YEAR’S DAY!!
Hold the presses! This is earth-shattering news, people! Strike the damned front page! We got us a fucking headline here!
Fuck the climate!
Fuck the wars!
Fuck an earthquake!
Fuck everything!
Holy shit! We almost missed out on the first top story of the year!
Somewhere, wherever printed newspapers are still sold, a boy with an armfull of papers is yelling, “Read all about it, extra, extra, read all about it, Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift go for a ride in his Rolls Royce!”
Someone shoot me. Please make it a kill shot.
Okay. Okay. I’m okay. You’re okay, I’m okay.
LIKE HELL WE ARE!
It’s Hell. I died, and I’ve been sentenced to Hell. There’s no other explanation.
I admit it. I’ve taken up for her in the past. I will soon remove and trash those posts. Because I’ve had enough. Sunday, I watched the Chiefs-Bengals game. Taylor got her usual golf cart and VIP booth with Mrs. Quarterback (and didn’t she just break Elvis’s record?) and her boyfriend caught zero passes in the first half and nothing worth mentioning in the second because it was New Year’s Eve and all he could think about was that midnight kiss and the nooky-nooky that would follow. And by the way, Taylor Swift isn’t fit to hold The Kings’s dick, and he’s dead!
I. Don’t. CARE.
Not about Taylor Swift.
Not about overpaid football players who own a Rolls or Bentley or Lamborghini.
Not about football. Not anymore.
It stopped being football in 1971. The Golden Age of Pro Football died without any notice. Except I noticed. Quarterbacks like John Unitas, Joe Namath, Roman Gabriel, and Terry Bradshaw hunted touchdowns like a hungry lioness ready to spring out for a wildebeest. Monsters like Deacon Jones, Mike Curtis, and Buck Buchanan ruled the field and left behind them broken bones and early retirements.
The NFL exists in name only, a mockery of what once made it great.
And, Travis Kelce had best enjoy that nooky-nooky while it lasts. She’s acting a bit sub now, but it will wear off; she’ll clip his wings like she does every man she goes with.
We’ve had our share of woes, but we’ve also had some great things that we, as a species, have accomplished. Hey, who can say differently, especially now that Stranger Things is ready to start production on a new season, and we can’t unsee Millie Bobby Brown’s nipples, exposed and bared during the show’s hiatus?
And, in addition to that, think about Voyager 1 and Voyager 2, now in or entering the heliopause. They’ll be continuing until 2040 and beyond. That’s something, right?
Last Christmas Today
It’s now 19:00 in London. Here it is currently 014:00. Christmas is long over, except in Hollywood, which is a different, freaky world that, for me, may or may not exist in this world. I’m not sure I’d care or be surprised if it didn’t. Maybe it’s really an alternate universe like the many that Star Trek has so recently been multiplying like a mad physicist at a computer made in the future and sent here with Chinese instructions. Star Trek no longer has a canonical universe.
I recently saw an old video about hauntings in Hollywood, and I say “old” because the narrator was John Carradine. That dude’s long past worrying about haunted houses. He probably lives in one right now. As a ghost, of course.
It was not the age of the show that made me turn it off. It was the dated format and the fact that it bored me straight into restless leg syndrome. I mean, were it not for the fact that I’m crippled, I most certainly would have gone out and run about 15 miles.
The Ghost of Christmases Past
My father was a sicko well before he fucked his own children. After World War Two, he enlisted in the Navy. He was a fuckup. Once he nearly got clipped by a Corsair on the deck of U.S.S. Boxer. After his tour, he ended up in Hollywood.
He was supposed to have danced alongside Donald O’Connor on the Texaco Hour. And with Danny Kaye at one point. At some later point, he fled, or was chased from, Hollywood, as if by a posse. There was an underground of sex slaves, mostly underage boys who “serviced” big-name stars or producers. You know, like it is now. The old man couldn’t afford that, and the story of why he left in such a hurry back to the East Coast will forever remain a mystery. But Hollywood is, has been, and will remain until Doomsday, a septictank.
It had an industry that was powered by perverted sexual practices and fed off greed, lust, and power. There is somuch power that monopolies and conglomerates now own what was ounce viciously and jealously guarded by individuals.
Look at what Disney has done to Star Wars fans. Loyal fans who spent hard-earned cash on the franchise’s films, action figures, books, soundtracks, and games. Fans who closely followed the canon of the stories. Fans that got cheated out of their investment by having that canon change again and again in comics and, further, horrible shows and movies.
Considering the lack of respect for franchises Disney has eaten, the meme that showed the starship Enterprise and the text, “Faster, Scotty, before Disney catches us!”, and an Imperial cruiser chasing it is now no longer a joke: Warner Brothers is about to consume Paramount. There’s an even worse scenario about to unfold. Warner doesn’t fuck up canon. It trashes it. Star Trek, all movies and series, might just vanish. Nobody will be able to see any of it, and any ongoing or future projects will disappear faster than Netflix cancels a series.
I wonder which conglomerate will eat Netfix, by the way. By then, people will just be forced to drop all streaming except for free ones like Tubi. Even its content will be diminished. It might even become a paid version with ads and a subscription fee.
Some folks will drop cable and internet services. Who can tell?
And by the way, since Christmas is over, it’s safe to turn your radio back on. But it won’t be safe to walk after dark. Don’t leave the house, suckers: your neighbors with all those seasonal LED lights are not going to take them down until February. I’m just saying. You’ve been warned. And Warnered, too.
Pretty soon, the only time I’ll want to see the name Warner on my screen will be when voyeuristically viewing bra ads, you know, the sheer ones. That you can see through, like Millie Bobby Brown’s shirts. Eek. But, I have to admit, I do love women’s nipples.
And since Christmas is over, it’s time to talk about the Raiders-Chiefs game. You know the guy on the KC team dating Taylor Swift, right? Well, just before halftime, he gets all pissy and throws his helmet. He wasn’t having a good day. A cameraman caught her in the glassed-in booth. She didn’t look effervescent to me. Announcer Tony Romo said something about the player’s wife, Taylor Swift.
Tony Romo. Does he know something we don’t know? Have they eloped? Or did he just get sacked on astroturf too many times?
Because it ain’t working out. Musta had a holiday fight, eh, Kelce? She bum you out, or what? She always wins those, Travis. Rightfully so, too. She’s a Scorpio, you dummy. Only Geminis are likely to survive that by first betraying the Scorpion Queen. Taylor will always emerge victorious. Nobody has ever even escaped with their careers intact. Tom Hiddleston dated her for three months, and the next thing you know, Disney eats Marvel. Or was it the other way around?
Who can tell? Who can keep track?
What’s it matter anyway? Nobody cares anymore. John Mayer got his wings clipped so completely that nobody even remembers what he once did for a living.
By the way, Nashville is as big a septic tank as Hollywood. Or maybe they’re connected. Maybe one’s just the cesspool. Works for me.
This last Christmas could be the last one we ever celebrated. The war in Israel has reached a point where people in the United States are vehemently, openly antisemitic and supporting terrorists. Terrorists!
It may even be the last straw that tears this country down. That would cause death and unimaginable destruction around the world.
Back to Hollywood
Hollywood really is a fucked-up place. If it’s real. As I’ve said, my father spent time out there, and anyplace weird enough to let him on a stage to tap dance is proof enough for me. Decades later he had plastic-soled house slippers, and on the section of our den where there was no carpet, would click those fuckers for an hour like a shithead wannabe tap dancer on linoleum flooring while the rest of us tried to watch a movie. Fucking nut.
The reason he rushed East isn’t clear. There was a high probability that he had romantic feelings for Danny Kaye. His first daughter’s middle name is Kaye. But there may have been a sickened man grossed out by his affection. But if the Texaco Hour had stars chasing my father to the East Coast, the town remained the same. Today, underground clubs cater to the superstars’ every wish and whim. Every drug is readily available. Every taste in sexual fantasy can be sated. This much I know: you don’t want to know who goes to that kind of place.
How Many Cults?
There are religious cults claiming the word of God. There are sex and devil worship cults. Political cults. Media cults. And every time someone rises from the slime to speak truth, someone shuts them up. I used to follow Brian Tyler Cohen on YouTube. No longer. MSNBC hired him. Bought, paid for. Now he speaks no truth. Just what corporate fatcats allow him to say. Our division over the truth and ourversion of it is caused by every source of media Americans are permitted to see in volume. You want the truth, get away from all of the big news outlets. Otherwise, you’ll be brainwashed. They just provide the primer cord. You are the explosive, and only you can light it. And you’ll do it willingly.
These scumbag news empires don’t give a shit whether you do it or not because if you don’t, someone close to you will blow up and cause a chain reaction. You see it all the time if you pay attention.
A traffic stop turns from a simple ticket into assaulting a police officer by bystanders. They may or may not have seen the incident from the beginning, but no matter. They hear a woman say, “I can’t breathe!” And she can breathe because she was screaming it louder than a hurricane. And in his last moments, George Floyd stopped talking and never did scream this fucking loud. And you can clearly see that she’s resisting so much that even two hits of a taser haven’t done anything but piss her off more. A crowd gathers at this point, threatening and demanding bullshit like shithouse lawyers and police backup ain’t getting there fast enough. I fear for the men and women of every law enforcement agency everywhere, every day. The media triggered this shit. It is made of twisted truths that twist your mind and make everyone feel hostility toward every level of government. The right is now claiming to be the real victims, and the left have turned into a fragmented bunch of radical morons or pussies, and they are not interchangeable. One knows the truth but is too scared to tell it. The other is demented.
This year will end with more people maimed or killed by guns than ever, even though the statistics are not likely to survive the manipulation of hate groups like the ARA or right wing candidates and their aides, who probably give fellatio and cunnilingus better than Stormy Daniels, Linda Lovelace or Little Oral Annie ever could.
It may also break a record for any calendar year for people ordered by police supervisors and lower courts to get psychiatric testing or observation. Holy crap, people are trying to outrun police department Dodge Chargers in Teslas!
Teslas!
Fuck me.
Of course, they were drunk, hopped up, or amped. Well, usually, although some may not be. I don’t want to talk about those.
Last Christmas saw more homeless people hit the streets, more drug-related deaths, and more crimes than ever. The indifference of others made everything worse. I found zero worthy charities that truly help the needy, but more emails and ads from the ones that use donations for nebulous purposes. Nobody cares. Nobody.
The main reaction to seeing homeless and drug-dependent people is to be repulsed. There is no help.
I saw one former user fight back so hard that they beat impossible odds and should be proud of it. This should have drawn anyone to hire such a fighter, and Meta did. She didn’t last a week. They eliminated her entire department, and I’m proud to have finally left Facebook forever. That corporate zoo is such a dishonest house of lies and deception of gross proportions that I can not believe people still use it or Instagram. They collect all information and use it against its own users. It weathers every scandal, and its employees are cattle. Desperate to keep their jobs, they compromise their integrity willingly.
All social media is poison. Like Google, it feeds you shit you don’t want to see on your news feed, and settings will not allow you to stop it.
X is worse, much more so than Meta. And owner Elon Musk is a sick motherfucker. What do we do? Empower and worship the bastard. George Orwell never saw the likes of him coming.
And Orwell got a lot of things right. From Newspeak to Big Brother, it’s happening. What do you fear most in all the world? Don’t tell anyone. One day, it might just be used against you. The people are happy with their beer and football. Orwell wrote that. It has come true.
And forget about Kelce fucking up yesterday; that romance was doomed from the start. KC fans are calling for Tay Tay to be banned from Arrowhead Stadium. Whatever joy she brought to fans in September is now converted into acidic resentment. She’s a distraction because it’s always about her. When people want to praise her, fine, but she gets named Time Magazine’s Person of the Year, and Kelce might be bitter as all men do eventually become when out of the superior box they comfortably occupy. Now she’s a distraction. When his tantrum was at its apex, didn’t he scowl up at her?
The Global Warming Summit
The global warming meeting proved that people no longer care. Creationists are giving face and camera time to explain how Noah’s Ark was possible but also to support the idea that global warming is natural.
Kill me.
The support to Ukraine is drying up. Putin is popular in the United States. Mark my words: if we allow Ukraine to fall, Putin will be unstoppable. Next, the fight will spread out. Remember my warning about Finland? It will happen despite involving NATO. Putin will fear nothing. He’ll know that even if NATO does step in, the United States will turn to face the other way.
We are making far too many mistakes for which no solution can be possible. Once it’s too late, people will see. Only then will they see.
This year, this past Christmas, has been hard. But don’t worry.
I saw your recent video and as always, I’m impressed with your wit, character and endurance.
However, getting upset about the name “nazi” being used today is out of order.
You are correct that the German Nazis of World War Two are not to be compared. They stand alone in history as the monsters they were.
Today, using the name may or may not be correct. Groups who identify as nazis don’t come close to Hitler nazism.
But there is a very real chance that in more ways than one, history can be repeated. I’m seeing the same signs you are. Let us not be so fast to disagree on the level in which you take umbrage to the use of a name which ought to strike fear into the very souls of common people everywhere.
Instead, let us be free to discuss the future, one which holds uncertainty for any human rights surviving. And if we can, please let us not delay. Lives are at stake.
Okay, let’s have the bad news first. In California, the BA.5 subvariant of the Omicron variant of COVID-19 has a fearful trait. Once in the body it replicates faster and more efficiently than its predecessors. And it ain’t gonna go away, so wherever you are, prepare. Keep masking, distance yourself from others, and keep safe. Get updates on boosters whenever they’re available and you should be good to go.
According to NBC News, a New York Times poll shows that 75 percent of Republicans still support Donald Trump, still believe his lies and would vote for him again. Morons.
And just to show you how much the world regards women as cattle, let’s say hello to Vincent McMahon of WWE fame. The majority shareholder of the company has been outed for paying 12 million dollars in NDAs, or hush money, to women he sexually abused, including at least one woman in his employ as a wrestler. It’s so bad that, after forcing her to perform oral sex on him and she refused further contact of any sexual nature, he demoted her and then would not renew her contract. Imagine how humiliating that was, and how it still affects her. 3 million is nothing to what she goes through.
It is unknown how many more women he violated, but things like this usually bring a lot of past victims forward, and McMahon deserves everything he gets. Because I know there are more. I’ve heard stories about him for decades, all of them grotesque. Forcing wrestlers to take steroids, then denying it, destroying lives and refusing to ever say their names again, writing puerile scripts that got so weird that I eventually stopped watching.. Mark Henry once had “an affair” with a pretty old Mae Young who used to wrestle, supposedly impregnating her. Some time later she went into labor and birthed a hand.
Mae Young announced her pregnancy at none other than the Baltimore Arena on 27 January, 2000.
The hand was the “miscarriage” caused by Kurt Angle in the following clip:
Now that was funny. She wasn’t really hurt, but my sick sense of humor has its limits, and the hand was it.
I had ideas about McMahon before this, but 1999-2000 were my favorite two years for wrestling. WCW was always cool, and Goldberg, the nWo and even Tank Abbott were there. The wrestlers for both franchises were fun to watch, but as soon as WCW was bought by WWE, that did it. I stopped watching. Still don’t. Even the video games, with their pay-extra wrestlers, clunky controls and awful create mode, suck.
Long before 2000 and long after, McMahon was a ravenous wolf who preyed on those he considered beneath him. And he considers almost everyone beneath him, especially women.
I’d like to see the bastard prosecuted. He’s so defiant and smug that even after leaving his daughter in an acting CEO position, he’s appeared on two shows in the ring. What a snot.
President Biden has headed to Israel on a multi-stop Middle East visit. He’s got a tough job ahead, especially in Saudi Arabia where questions about a murdered Washington Post reporter are bound to come up. On the other hand he’s got to negotiate oil prices. Iran will be discussed on every leg of the trip because impossibly, that nation is hosting Russian fruit loop Vladimir Putin and he’s asking for help in his massacre of Ukrainian children. You can’t make this shit up.
Russia seems in control of the eastern front, but Ukraine remains strong and defiant. How much longer, I wonder, until this insane war spills beyond the current theater of war? I hold to my previous assessment: it will spread.
Wait. Before I leave you tonight, what about the good news I mentioned in the title of this post?
There is none. I couldn’t find any.
Until next time, be well, be careful, be safe, and may God bless.
He was lead singer for Procol Harum, the group whose single “A Whiter Shade Of Pale has been honored in the singles category of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. He died of cancer last month, aged 76. He would have turned 77 in May. There’s not much I can say about the man that hasn’t already been said. He was charitable and talented beyond belief. I hope he rests in the Lord’s arms for sharing his gifts to the world. His music and singing will live forever. The world seems a bit darker to me. The sky has one less star. Rest in peace, Gary.
This live performance of a lifetime was from Denmark in 2006. I still get goosebumps every time I play it.
An idiom which means the same thing despite many uses, to be “on shaky ground” is generally not a good place to be.
If life were more confined, with less possible choices and therefore less chaos, then perhaps the meaning and use of such expressions would be lost on us. Maybe we would never have needed them at all.
Yes, except that we angry, scared and greedy humans must live our lives in chaos and on shaky ground. And I’m not speaking here in only a general sense; it seems impossible now to look back and fail to apply it to everyone else I’ve known. Myself included, of course, because I’m many things, but ‘sociopath’ is not one of them. To be honest, the word “asshole” is more than adequate.
When Dolly Parton withdrew her name from this year’s Rock and Roll Hall of Fame nominees, it was confusing at first. Reports were too vague for me to make out why she had done so. It seemed to be a case of snottiness, because that’s what the headlines and vague stories led me to believe, plus, she was never really a niche rock singer. I couldn’t find any information on the original source, and that’s today’s reporting for you: entertainment news has had too much of a problem with being accurate for years, counting on just headlines, magazine sales and online clicks to get sponsors. Vagueness or skewed writing had become accepted by the consumer, who had grown up with tabloids stuffed into racks at the supermarket checkout lanes. Stars were reported to be carrying aliens’ “love” children and such nonsense. Hell, they didn’t even have to be pregnant to get that treatment; all they needed was a name people would know.
The truth is so easy to have gotten across. Parton didn’t want to split the votes and although she felt complimented, she was humble. That’s a trait or characteristic which far too few people value, much less recognize.
And then we have the story of Trevor Noah, who will be hosting this year’s Grammy Awards ceremony. He said something recently about the activities of Ye, a mess of a man formerly known as Kanye West. I say “mess” because he’s always been on edge, always in the news for the wrong things, and as time flew by, he also managed to have four children with his now ex-wife, Kim Kardashian. And look, I’m not being unfair here. Those who live in the spotlight are always going to grab a headline when they screw up. I’m sorry, but that’s the way of things and if a celebrity doesn’t like it, there’s little that they can do about it. Humans are voyeuristic and nosy and gossip-driven. It’s in our DNA. A boring life can be alleviated by knowing everything everyone else is doing.
In the case of Ye, he was Trevor Noah’s subject for something extremely grim and frightening. Noah said that no matter how you feel about Kardashian, what Ye is doing to her is evil. It amounts to stalking. Gaslighting. Terrorism. It’s damaging and traumatizing both to she and her children, and I’m sorry: nothing but monsters do that shit.
It’s serious stuff, scary to even read about and it’s come out in full display in Ye’s social media posts. Twitter would go on to suspend his account for one day for how he answered Trevor Noah, including a racial epithet. What’s more than scary is his video, put to rap, of him dismembering Kardashaian’s boyfriend.
I don’t pretend to be an authority on the Kardashian thing, a phenomenon I frankly never understood and to which I have taken great pains to ignore. I simply observed the sensational headlines and found that they were always sickening. Someone was always into something in that family, and half of the time I believe it was pressure by the show’s producers or sponsors. “Produce sensational material and we’ll make you rich; fail and the world will forget you.” That sort of thing.
It does not matter what I think, or in what esteem I held the show and the family; Ye has been banned from attending this year’s Grammys despite being a nominee. His behavior has been, to my mind, highly suspect for decades. If he’s gone too far, it is the future that’s really very important. Given his wealth and power, I believe Kim Kardashian and her children are in danger, and that her new love should hire extra bodyguards and wear Kevlar from head to foot. He’s in a rotten position. All are on shaky ground.
Lest you think that I’m going too hard on Ye, let’s take a look at something nobody ever wants to hear or read about: violence against women, stalking and how tragic it can be, and a society that legally and morally looks the other way.
Ye is a stalker and even though research has been inadequate, one source in 2006 used many other sources to attempt to more efficiently provide some insight into the stalkers and their victims. As you’ll see, the article from 2006 is rather dated and yet still chilling, the bottom line being that no victim is likely to escape being physically or psychologically (or both) damaged. The damage of course includes posttraumatic stress disorder, PTSD. But property crimes, arson and constant, unwanted contact (and since the article was written, alarming use of social media and internet misuse including data breaches) are a reality victims face in roughly two thirds, if not more, of all cases. Worst of all is the predictable end, in which statistics fail to account for all of the rapes, assaults, kidnappings and homicides. The actions of the stalker and the reactions of their victim can escalate an already dangerous situation: the stalker ultimately seeks power, and as time goes on, their unrelenting terrorism shows the victim’s weakening resistance; not because the victim is more willing to give in but more that they have limits, and those limits can then be exploited by most stalkers.
Something less known is that former victims are often prime targets for other predators, who see everything. They read body language and watch for things like fearful glances around them at secluded but public places where lack of a crowd or daylight makes them feel vulnerable. Predators like rapists don’t care how old or what race you are, and certainly never care about how one is dressed. They look for opportunity and they know how to take advantage of everything they see and hear. This is about power, getting an upper hand and getting the most out of it.
I’d encourage you to research further. Why it took until the last part of the 20th century to finally make serious inquiries into stalking and domestic abuse is, absolutely, the 2nd rate citizen roles of women in developed countries and yet it has always been a real problem. Police didn’t like handling radio calls for domestic a use, still don’t, and as far as stalkers go, even if officers believed the victims, their hands were tied. There were no legal provisions and nothing a court of law could do.
When I contacted police about a stalker tailing and surveilling me, they laughed in my face. “You’re a man,” they said, dismissing me.
All genders and all races, religions and professional types can be stalked. Sometimes it’s obsession, as in a fan for a star. Sometimes it’s an ex. Sometimes it’s someone who, the stalker believes, secretly loves them or has, in some way, wronged them.
If you are the victim of a stalker or have a friend who is, this link could be helpful. If you experience an emergency even if, as many do, you have your denial or doubts, call 911 in the US or the emergency number in your country. Remember that it’s better to err on the side of safety than to find out what a predator can really do.
As for Ms. Kardashian and her children, I think some prayers are in order.
Some things to consider:
•Be observant and aware. If you have patterns in your route to work, your social life, or anything else that you can change, do it. Leave early for work, have your car fueled, and take long, congested routes. Avoid using the same route more than twice per week and never on consecutive days. If you begin seeing the same car no matter what you do, call police while still en route. Drive to a police station if you can. Don’t just park, actually go in and report it.
•Keep a diary of all phone calls and texts, screenshoot the texts, keep track of times and places you see your stalker and take videos or photos with your phone. Especially note things that happen at late-night hours, like dogs nearby barking, knocking on the door, etc cetera.
•Install an alarm connection to an alarm company and use it. Security and doorknob cameras front and back are essential.
•Keep all cell phones charged. Have batteries for flashlights on hand.
•Avoid shopping when it will be dark when you leave, and never linger until closing time. A nearly deserted parking lot is hostile territory.
•Carry pepper spray with CS gas mixed in. The combination is both effective and will be funny to listen to as you make your escape. Don’t waste time. A nice spray in the eyes, nose or mouth is most effective.
•Take a basic course in self defense. There are even classes for seniors who use canes.
•Change your phone number.
•Change all passwords online, get a new email address and leave social media. I’m serious here. LEAVE.
These measures are not exhaustive and there are plenty more than these. Consult police and security experts who often give free consultation.
Do not, I repeat, not take stalking lightly. Many people at first think the attention is flattering or bothersome but no big deal. It is a mistake. One that could cost you your life.
Memoirs of an American Christian 