The Porn Paradox

Foreword

The following essay was written with great difficulty. It required that I include things that I did not want to write; to research things that I did not want to read and force open the door to let you see what I would rather not show you.

I did not undertake this mission lightly. On the contrary; you are about to read disturbing material, which you should take seriously and which you should avoid if you find yourself distressed by. I’ve taken days to do the work, and the price has been high: nightmares, severe dissociation to the point where I dropped my ATM card, and lost it. I was certain that in my hurry to get home and cancel it, I would die. I collapsed and was down for some time. No, nobody who walked by asked if I was okay. They said nothing.

What a world, eh?

My therapist knows. About what I’m working on, I mean. She cautioned me to ground myself and to take breaks. And none of that or anything else helps me. But you need to see what I have written. I hope that you will find it enlightening no matter how dark it is. So, in regards to internet porn and all other forms of pornography, let’s get our hands dirty.

ANYTHING ANYWHERE ALL AT ONCE

The problem with internet porn and other pornography is that it is everywhere. Here is one very sober YouTuber that may surprise you. I know that I certainly found her talk refreshing.

What parents and others may not know is…

There’s a paradox here. Conservatives want to pretty much legislate porn out of existence.

But they can’t. And every time they try, it doesn’t work. Although they initially failed to criminalize fake or simulated child porn, they finally got that part right. And if you want to get real about it, priests, pastors, politicians, and everyone else who says they’re against porn watches it. They even sext. Yeah, I know! It’s not so, you you say. But it is. A web resource for pastors once printed an article about how many clergy were surfing and downloading porn in their pastor’s offices at church! I’d share a link, but that’s not new. You shouldn’t be sitting there mortified like that. We’re all just human.

And anyone, anywhere, can…

Yes! You can still buy big-name porn movies. Yes, you can still buy dirty magazines. The soft-core ones seem to have given up the ghost.

There are still peep shows, and the places are often refuges for people looking to hook up with strangers. And they do.

Since 1996, Congress and the Supreme Court have wrestled with legislation to control the content and accountability of internet porn. Let’s just say… it still rages as a battle of First Amendment rights versus morality.

There are people who don’t understand what porn really is and have never seen it. Yet they fight against it. They’ve heard about it, much more than what they wanted to as far as details, and without knowing anything else, they’ll fight it like Carrie Nation chased bartenders with an axe.

Then there are those who’ve seen porn and could take it or leave it, but cast a vote anyway that could affect millions. Even children. Yup. Children can easily access porn. Don’t believe otherwise.

Then we have extreme cases. These fight any and all censorship no matter what. Perhaps, too, we have the fence-sitters who refuse to engage the battle on either side. These abstain or are absent during voting on a bill.

No matter how any case turns out, it’s challenging to prosecute anything except proof of hardcore blatant child porn. And I’m staking a bet that what is still hidden except to users is the bulk of what’s out there. You and I and an army can’t change that. And the nine pussycats of the Potomac can’t, either. Meow.

Nobody knows what’s next. Another Supreme Court case? Even with the benches stacked with Trump-appointed justices, good luck. And the United States isn’t even close to being alone.

You can research for yourself the incredible numbers of porn sites and how many pictures and videos are on them. Don’t go to any porn sites; you don’t need to do that. I’ll tell you what the score is. But I’ll warn you before I do. Just a little bit down the page of results for “internet porn,” you’ll see results from sources like the government and others. It’s an eye-opener for sure.

And you’re bound to run into a groundbreaking case where someone uploaded “revenge porn” nudes of an ex-girlfriend, and she saw it. She sued the website and won. I doubt that she intended for her picture to end up there, but it happens when you send nude selfies to your boyfriend who you don’t know is so vindictive. Most underage girls (and this came from a woman I chatted with who worked with former porn actresses who were down and out) send nude selfies without caring who, or how many people might see them. It got so bad that a few minors were threatened with the distribution of child pornography! There’s another wrinkle in the paradox. It’s really twisted.

Addiction is Real

The first thing that a user will notice when first they explore porn sites is an incredible rush. There’s a sexual arousal, and naturally, the user masturbates.

It is only the beginning of what gives the term “vicious cycle” a new meaning. The user begins downloading, and that alone, surfing, and downloading more and more, releases dopamine, a hormonal neurotransmitter. It does exactly what the name implies. After too much, it can actually help you sleep, although I can’t endorse it as a sleep aid.

I can remember falling fast asleep doing this. One time, I must have touched the screen in the wrong place. I also must have been snoring. A woman’s voice, with a sweet Asian accent, was laughing and saying, “Time to wake up,” but I couldn’t.  I fell asleep just after she cut the live feed off. Man, was that embarrassing! Not only that, but I made her laugh, except what if I also hurt her feelings? And I never went to live feeds either. I hardly believed that they were open mic. But it happened.

And that’s opening another subject entirely. What does porn do to the people on the other side of the lens? The answers are many, and none of them are good.

First, there are models. They pose in the nude for pay, and there’s a big problem with that. While some are bringing in money for sites like Met Art, FTV Girls, and others, many show up in archives only once or twice. Which means the number of photo shoots they did. Those either quit or are trafficked, bought as sex slaves, or they die. Drugs and alcohol are a staple of the porn industry, and overdoses, accidental and suicidal, are common. Then you have traffic accidents. Models, from Playboy centerfolds to hardcore actresses, seem to die in highway accidents quite often.

One wonders why this is, but it doesn’t matter when they’re dead. Being a longtime sufferer of PTSD, I can tell you that before I gave up driving and let my license expire, I’d racked up 35 traffic accidents in 28 years. I never had a serious PI or death-related casualty, and before I did, I figured I’d quit. I had read an article in The Baltimore Sun about how University Hospital’s Shock-Trauma unit had compiled a history of patients from serious traffic accidents. Patients with a history of being victims of domestic abuse were more likely to become patients there from auto accidents. It was disproportionate. That’s because of the dissociative component of PTSD. The mind wanders. Reaction time can be slow to too late.

Looking back on what I have learned, I find that hardcore and softcore porn actresses are commonly raped after filming a scene or posing. It could be a lighting tech, a cameraman, or the director.

Also, actresses tend to have their own history of child sexual abuse and feel guilty, and have low self-esteem. But can anyone match the horror story of Linda Lovelace? Because that’s hard to top.

1969 is the year she first shows up in film “credits.”

Because really, it was not a film most people knew about. She was forced at gunpoint to do a bestiality film. Later, the demonic guy who did this forced her to marry him. She went on to do another forced film, the name of which I can’t mention anymore than the first one. 1972 brought “Deep Throat” to theaters. Not your neighborhood cinema, either. Everyone knows those were for Disney movies. No, it was in adult theaters. And still caused a furor and an obscenity case.

Linda Boreman died in April 2002 after suffering severe trauma in an auto accident in Colorado. Since then, I’ve learned that I feel deep pity for her and the pain she went through at the hands of men. She told everyone and wrote in her autobiography that “Deep Throat” was nothing more than her being filmed while being raped.

It truly is a tragic thing adult actresses go through. It always has been. I do hope Linda, a Christian in her later years, is at peace and with God. I am still brokenhearted for her.

Look up the Playboy models who have passed on. Some weren’t old enough to be dead yet. Especially when I think of an 18-year-old centerfold who posed when I was 35.

Why does this happen?

One more thing about softcore models. After a time, you’ll see a tattoo that wasn’t there before. I’m not talking about being inked, as many are. What you see is a very small picture. Or a letter. It could be a tiny monochrome dragon. A Chinese or Korean letter. These small marks are signs of ownership; they’re a brand without a burn mark, although I’ve seen a few of those, too.

Categories: Here’s your content warning!

The very worst are the amateur films. There are married women. Married men. All kinds of immorality the mind can imagine. There are spy videos that are exactly what they sound like. A pervert with a telephoto lens filming naked women in apartments across the street. They post the trash online, and everyone knows it’s evil. But it continues.

These include “genres” such as:

Fellatio, the proper term for oral sex performed on a penis. Usually it ends with an ejaculation in the mouth or on the face of the actress.

Creampie, or intercourse with the actor ejaculating inside the actress.

Amateur and variations, which can be anything, but with amateurs, and not mainstream, actors. The different subcategories are swingers, old and young, incest, masturbation for men, and fingering for women. Also lesbians and gays, bisexuals, peeping, spying, in the shower, cheating, wife swapping, and glory holes, which involve men putting their penis through a hole in a wall and being fellated by a stranger. It gets worse. There’s ATM, which has nothing to do with banking machines. And this is where I stop. There’s more. Category lists take up pages in alphabetical order. There are tons of porn to drown in for days on end.

ADDICTION TAKES OVER

As the user goes deeper, because that dopamine charge and sexual arousal get more elusive, trouble begins. More and more time is spent getting deeper and deeper and much, much darker. This is close to the basement of addiction.

That happens to go hand in hand with desensitized feelings and an overall lack of responsiveness to real sexual situations. Marriages shatter because of this. Jobs are lost because exhausted men and women spend all night chasing images and masturbating.

In the end, the cycle wears you down so much that your self-respect has vanished. Your attention span has gone with it. You think of nothing else.

How do you live that way?

The user is not living. It’s no way to live. And if you think God is all-loving and forgiving, think again. The user covered in sexual sin who doesn’t repent is doomed to Hell. Repentance doesn’t mean apologizing to God after every “session,” because it doesn’t work like that. True repentance is when you finally look at yourself honestly and hate what you see. When you feel ashamed and finally turn away. You hate it so much that you could smash your Apple Mac. Only then can you begin to heal, and it’s a process. It involves God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and professional help. Confess your sins to God and tell a trusted therapist all you can and let them help you.

I know all of this because I have been that user, sinking in the mire of porn for decades. Now I am free, but the temptation is always there. It’s a battle, and that’s why I recommend all the help you can get, starting with the Lord. You need not go to a priest. This is a serious problem and he can’t help you. What difference would it make if you get punished by saying even a thousand Hail Marys? None. She can’t hear you. Sin is a personal matter between you and God, because it is sin that separates you from God. Go to Him and pour your heart out. The Lamb forgives. He’s already made your atonement; all you need to do is take his gift after you confess. To God, not a priest.

I don’t know what happened to me. It was sudden. I had been asking for so long for help. God answers prayers. It may take a while, but He knows the time, and when it’s right, and you’re ready, you’ll get what He knows you need.

How many times have I, by His hand, been spared? How many times was I saved by what I can only call miracles?

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound

that saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost, but now I’m found.

Was blind,

But now I see.

I wasted so much time. I covered myself in filth. Nothing shocked me anymore. Nothing was ever truly out of bounds. I would still be doing it, but a miracle happened.

Remember that no matter what you’re watching, the women involved are probably under coercion, and you can see it in their eyes: out of focus because of drugs or alcohol, or from dissociation because of trauma. You’re running the risk of watching a rape.

Masturbation

It really is an awkward question. I’ll let you go with one last video on the subject of porn and masturbation. This professor clears things up nicely and, no, it is not mentioned in the Bible.

Afterword:

That took a lot out of me. This mess has to change, but for now, all I can do is to beg you not to look at porn. It’s destructive, and it can and has ruined and ended lives. It produces victims more than any other “industry” except for trafficking of children. Whatever you decide, that’s up to you. God gave all mankind the freedom to choose. May you choose wisely, and may God bless.

That’s Entertainment? The Ugly Side of Sports Entertainment: Profesional Wrestling

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.

That story went that Rita, a female referee with WWF, had been raped by McMahon. She appeared on the Geraldo Rivera show, and at some point, she sued.

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 by kissing 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.

And that you should bail.

New York City Confidential: The Visit

Warning: The following contains graphic and disturbing material and it contains triggers. This is intended for mature readers only and must be read with caution.

Present Day

In a hospital somewhere in the Big Apple lies a young man near the end of his life.

It is just another day in the city that never sleeps: the patient will, without a miracle, die. And it will not matter, nor even be known, to any but the handful of doctors and nurses treating and tending to him.

And one earthly angel who knows how beautiful he truly is.

Because they adore him, these nurses. He is mostly silent, but despite his condition, despite his loneliness, his sadness, he is polite and warm.

And on any given hospital floor or ward, patients like him always seem to affect one nurse, perhaps more. In this case, more. He received no visitors.

There came no calls inquiring as to his condition or prognosis. No one cared. Nurses tend to feel at least some sorrow or anger over such things. For some, their necessity of a disconnect fails. No one should be left alone to face death.

And it did look bad; his kidneys had failed. His recovery from a coma was a great development, but the young man was in critical condition. He still is. He had HIV or AIDS before, but treatment had made the virus undetectable in his lab work. Then he contracted COVID-19 and the virus returned. Now, but for the Grace of God, he would already be dead.

But who knows? Perhaps God keeps the dying alive for a reason, because there remains a chance that they can find peace before death. And, just maybe, He plans on a miracle because He loves us all, equally, and does not want us to perish in the Pit.

I cannot say, but without speaking for God, I nevertheless have faith in His unfailing love and forgiveness.

If ever a young man needed a miracle, it’s surely this young man.

His story begins in Texas, where far too many horrible stories seem to start.

His father was the pastor of a church, and his mother was a nurse. Neither should have been so employed, for the father was far more evil than good, and the mother was his carbon copy.

His father the preacher man sodomized him while his mother held him down.

She held him down.

And there is more. When he came out as gay, his father called him a “faggot” and beat him. Whether he was kicked out or ran away is unclear but it does not matter.

Eventually the young man wound up in New York. In his ears it must have reverberated, his father, who routinely sodomized him, calling him a “faggot”. The damage was no doubt extensive. There is no reason given for his attraction to New York, but many gay men move there, most seeking acceptance and some type of human compassion.

But for him, if ever he found it, nothing good could last. Haunted by his past, he could not find lasting friendship nor any other relationship. At one point he wound up in a mental health facility. It is easy to see why. What is more difficult to see is that some part of him, despite loneliness and severe depression, wanted help, wanted to survive.

While he was there, a young woman was also a patient. She had clearly been through a hell of her own, and she was still in it. He decided to not only befriend her but to watch over her as well. And this he did, because his own broken heart hurt even more to see someone trying to fight back from a break, from loss, from addiction, from too much time spent hounded by demons.

The two bonded, improving over time, each very much a part of the other’s recovery. Then, she went home, and although they exchanged phone numbers, and did talk from time to time, the miracle girl he had watched over began getting very serious about finishing her recovery.

The system of replacement therapy is rigged, as I’ve said before. Rigged to keep you dependent on methadone so the clinic keeps getting funded. She emerged from a life-threatening breakdown to realize that the only way to regain her life and her soul was to fight the battle of a lifetime. And she argued with the clinic about stepping down her doses. They would alternatively encourage and discourage her and, with most, that strategy of manipulation works.

But the young woman was never going to be tricked again by the system that would not let her go.

Consulting a doctor not affiliated with the clinic, she did receive support, but also caution. Yet, in all his years of practice, he had never seen anyone so determined who might actually be able to do what she claimed she could, and would do.

Just like she said, exactly as she had said, she stepped down her doses rapidly. The clinic fought her but she was not having it. Finally she had had enough, and got her intake of methadone so low that despite her doctor’s concern, she ceased taking it. Silencing every critic and every rule of the system, what she did would not seem astounding to you or to me, but for her it was the drug equivalent of jumping from a second story window, landing as gracefully as a gymnast, and getting the winning score. And her doctor was astonished. What she had done, in the time in which she did it, with no lasting effects, was something he had never seen before. He was proud, but not of anything he had done; it was all her, she who possessed the fighting spirit of a tigress.

And that analogy is not off: a tigress is among the fiercest fighters in the animal kingdom, an apex predator with almost no fear of humans. The young woman had put up a fight, the like of which few have ever survived.

That fight was not short nor did it come without pain.

She continues to fight. Every day. But the entire time she was suffering, prayers came from all directions including her priest, who lit the tapirs and said the rosary in her behalf.

Her past was known to the priest. A violent multiple rape while a young teen. Comfort sought in hard drugs. Dysfunctional relationships that only lowered her closer to the abyss. Until death and shock and trauma piled upon trauma broke her and she met the lonely young man in the hospital.

She had lost her way. Lost everything she was, everything she thought she knew. The lonely man was there to help her get that back. These things are never chance meetings. God knows when two lost people need each other. He leads them to the quiet waters but never forces them to drink. That’s always up to them.

I always found in my worst stays in hospital that there was one person I could be comfortable around. It’s funny, that. And it always helps.

But as time went on, the young woman began grabbing her life back. An awesome man came into her life and a romance began. She made fast friends with his family and his friends. She had begun to live after decades of being a prisoner.

Then came a day when she found an unknown number on her phone. A number she did not recognize. Usually she would let such a thing go, but not this one. She felt strongly about it and knew she had to return the call.

It was the lonely man she had been watched over by in the hospital and he’d come out of a three-week coma and was very weak. It was difficult to speak because of the tube he had been sustained by, but she knew: he needed to see her and she needed to go to him.

Her boyfriend made a stop along the way, took her to the hospital, but because of covid protocols had to remain in the car.

Upstairs, the lonely man lay, withered, 60 pounds lighter, weak, fearing death. His friend walked up to the nurse’s station and one nurse smiled and said, “I’m so happy to see you. He’s had no one come in or even call and he’s so sweet.”

She went into the room, greeted him, and had to lean close to hear him. Clad in protective gloves, mask and gown, she listened.

He said he was happy that she was here. She gave him the stuffed unicorn she had bought on the way over. He loved it. Bending low she heard him say, “I’m scared of dying. I’m scared I’ll go to hell.”

She assured him that it wasn’t true. He would not go to hell. God knew the kindness of his heart, and would never allow such a kind soul to descend to the pit.

She asked him if he would like to talk to the priest they had both met before. He said yes, he would, and he seemed comforted by the suggestion. She said she would get the priest to come and see him.

After a few more moments that I will leave private, he thanked her for remembering him, for answering his call, and said, “I think I can sleep now.”

Before leaving home, someone had asked her why she had to go see this guy. “Because,” she said, “he’s my friend. He looked after me and protected me, and now he needs me.” It wasn’t about owing him or feeling obligated; it was love that drove this extraordinary woman to go. And nothing on this earth is more powerful than love.

This truly heartbreaking story is also a reminder to us all that no act of kindness, no show of friendship and loyalty ever goes unnoticed by God or under-appreciated by those we give the kindness to. We were given a command: love each other. When we fail, things happen that hurt. When we do it, the world is better for it. You and I may not feel it, but I know it’s the truth.

Have a great week, and God bless.

Why Are Our Elected Leaders Trying To Kill Us?

I just found out that Maryland governor Larry Hogan will not allow mail-in voting as he did in the primary election. That, coupled with Trump’s interference with the United States Postal Service, which could endanger the efficiency of absentee voting, makes me livid. Up until now, I thought Hogan was doing a fair job handling this epic disaster, but it turns out that I was wrong. He’s been on some weird political agenda, is rumored to have his eye on a presidential campaign in 2024, and therefore will turn off his humanity and stop the sham of “caring” about people’s lives. He’ll go full-turbo Republican.

Well, this is a good place to start. But Governor Hogan, you’re not turning me away from voting. Whatever I have to do, wherever I have to go, it will not impede my effort or determination to see this president voted out of office. You know very well what you’re doing. You know that you are intimidating people during a time when your efforts to contain the coronavirus are failing. If you really think this good strategy for being elected for higher office, you need to burn your playbook. We will remember. Ask Martin O’Malley how his bid for president went. Sure, you could do a little better; his performance in the campaign was so forgettable I doubt anyone outside of Maryland remembers it at all. But when it was down to Sanders and Clinton, Marty never had a chance. And he’s generally well thought of in this state. You stay on this path, and you won’t be.

Hogan is merely one of several governors whose will power is crumbling to the incredibly moronic ideas Donald Trump has fixated on: mail-in voting is corrupt, will result in delays that could last well into 2021, that it is too easy for cheaters to exploit.

A thousand people a day are dying. Schools are already sending students home to quarantine after outbreaks. A million people a week lose their jobs. CDC officials and Dr. Faici have repeatedly told us that children aren’t immune, but Trump says they are. A man who cannot pronounce the name “Yosemite” when reading it. A man who made it sound distinctly racist by saying, “Yo Semite”.

Oh, come on. You know he’s racist. Why does everyone do their best to ignore it? Why are there Latin American children still in captivity when they never should have been imprisoned at all?

Given Trump’s associations with Epstein and Weinstein and players all over the world who deal in sex slaves of the younger type, it’s not possible to forget the civil suit against Trump for multiple rape against two teens. It is impossible to forget him walking into the dressing rooms of Miss Teen contestants.

How many Latinos are there in the sex slave trade right now because of ICE and Donald Trump?

And how do Republicans keep supporting a man so empty of everything that makes a human being? He’s a laughingstock abroad, hated and derided at one and the same time. He has caused too much damage to earn any votes at all. So he’s fighting with lies worse than any he told during his last campaign, and 160,000 Americans and an unknown number of detainees from the border are dead because of him. And we still don’t know how many soldiers died because of the Russian bounty placed on them, which Trump is by all appearances complicit in.

I still have stories to tell. About survival, about being a survivor, and I’d like to think my experiences could help anyone, male or female, victimized by sexual abuse.

Survivors endure, they fight.

I still have weird tales that would chill anyone to the bone, and change their perspective on what’s really possible in this world.

But I can’t do it right now when our democracy, which includes free speech, is on the line. If we don’t end this foul siege on our country, none of us will be able to whisper to each other. There will be no justice, no government help, no rest for the weary, no shelter for the homeless.

The extra money for unemployment has expired, along with the moratorium on evictions. Mitch McConnell was asked about these things and he was smiling. We are in trouble, America, and I know that personally, with immediate problems, it’s hard for you to see, and I’m sorry that you are going through such troubles. But no matter what it takes, we have to get rid of Trump and nothing can stand in our way.

Otherwise, more misery and death await us all.

Surviving A World Ruled By Evil

I’ve been wrong, so very wrong. With a feeling of righteous outrage, I’ve written hateful things using words and names which I believe have shown my lack of respect for the impact those words and names have had on my credibility and character.

The truth is, it’s not okay to use hate language on anyone. Not even Donald Trump. You know who it hurt? Not Donald Trump. It hurt me.

For every utterance of anything foul and hateful, I have a price to pay, and it’s too much for me to bear.

A month ago I left Facebook again. I left behind friends I didn’t want to leave. I miss them, but I had already been missing them for months. I rarely heard from most, and one friend who acually sent me inspirational books, who interacted with me a lot, probably wonders why I abandoned my account…and friends.

The reason was simple, as I stated a year ago, the first time I left Facebook. Too much hate, too much misinformation, all bringing me down and making me sick. I deleted my account abruptly, with little warning. I awoke one morning and read something that I can’t recall, but which proved to be the last straw.

Every day I realize that I wasn’t finished with just leaving Facebook. That was the beginning. And I’ve got a few things to tell you.

THE CORNER ROOM

Robert Johnson, often referred to as the father of modern blues, lived from 1911 to 1938. If you’ve never heard of him, don’t feel bad. In his lifetime he was unknown but blues purists and historians know his music well.

He was struggling. It was said that he wasn’t really that good until he disappeared for a couple of weeks, then returned with amazing guitar skills. As the legend goes, he went to a crossroads in Mississippi and there sold his soul to the devil who then tuned his guitar and showed him some things, and Johnson went on to publish an amazing body of work until his death at age 27, one of the first of the well-known “27 Club.”

A friend said he was a decent harmonica player but a lousy player of the acoustic guitar. When he returned from the crossroads, he was clearly a master.

It isn’t known if the story is true, but I’m here to tell you, other names you readily recognize have been said to have done the same. I may be one of them.

From 2006 to 2014 I lived in an upstairs corner room of a group home. The house was haunted, and is the one I lived in during the time when the stray cat came to adopt me (see “The Cat Who Knew Too Much” in my archives). I was challenged to write a novel by a sibling who was critical of my nonfiction blog. His challenge: write a book with vampires, werewolves and zombies. With all the accumulated TV, film and printed literature in abundance, that was a tall order. How would I do such a thing without retreading what’s out there?

I sat down to type in October of 2011. What happened was that the book largely wrote itself. It flowed, came from places I’d never known, was better than anything I could have written. But it’s dark, and I more than rose to the challenge. I outdid my own hopes.

Finishing it proved elusive. I stumbled around with several different ideas but didn’t like them. Then I moved out and couldn’t write anything at all.

I can do it now, but it’s so dark that I wonder whether I should. Only two test readers have reacted favorably, and only one of those was enthusiastic. She’s a voracious reader, loves science fiction and fantasy, which I put a lot of into the story.

I never watched a single episode of the CW series “Supernatural” until this year. Some things in it are very similar including a couple of real characters from the supernatural world. At times dirty and hilarious, my book shares that trait with the show. But they’re not the same. My treatment of the characters and the story diverge greatly.

After 6 years of not having an ending, I figured out why. My lead character was trapped by the storyline. Meaning well, I’d turned him into a seriously evil creature. How could I get out of that without a hokey ending?

I can’t stand “Supernatural” and made it to season 5, beyond which I cannot imagine going. You don’t keep doing something repeatedly and not jump the shark. It grew tedious for me. Besides, if I decide to finish the book, I don’t want that material to influence me.

But how I came to be in such a creative groove with the story and considering that Satan is a main character, I wonder what was influencing me. I want to think I’m that good. That the room I was in was conducive to creativity.

That’s true to a point. I was standing out on the porch one night. Down the hill on a side street, a house sat, a floodlight on. All I could see was a utility pole, a backboard for basketball and the roof. But we’re tuned to see things, like faces in clouds, and that little patch in the darkness produced an image that was priceless. I made a really evil character just from what I saw. It affected a lot of the story. The book seemed to be writing itself. Once, I came across a word in the old MS Windows XT dictionary that caught my eye. I used the word as a chapter name and formed a whole subplot out of it. It’s good, too. Very good.

My dilemma comes not from the similarities between the book and other material out there. It is a question of responsibility. I want to publish it, and it would gather at least a “cult” following. The lead character was written for Johnny Depp should a screen adaptation come about, and he could do it, no question. But it can’t be done in a movie; the story cannot be edited and not lose its impact. As I wrote, I became convinced that it was perfect for an HBO limited series. From that point forward, that became my intent. With a three camera setup, and minimal special effects, I could see it being a hit. It’s that good.

However, the dark theme and the inclusion of demons have made me wonder what would happen if I were to publish.

Remember the film “The Truman Show”? You know, where Jim Carrey discovers that he’s a subject of a TV series, that cameras have always been on him, that everyone he has ever known was really an actor paid to interact with him? Well, not long after that movie came out, psychologists encountered “The Truman Syndrome,” a disorder in which people believe that they are the subjects of a TV show and want out. They’ve gone so far as to petition HBO to release them. I guess the fact that I consider HBO the prime choice for a film adaptation of my book struck a note with me when I read about the Truman disorder and how people seemed to think Home Box Office was pulling their strings. Worse, reports tell us that the disorder is difficult to treat because the patient believes that even the psychologist treating them is part of the show. Ultimately, for that reason, the subjects are untreatable because they’ve convinced themselves that they are, in the end, utterly helpless. In a bizarre way, what they’ve done is to teach themselves the learned behavior known as helplessness, and that is positively way out of the scope of known personality disorders. It has the unfortunate ramification that media can cause susceptible individuals to drive themselves mad, with equally unfortunate consequences, ranging from desperation and presenting a danger to others, all the way to suicide.

It’s the first concrete proof I’ve ever seen that anything in the entertainment industry could cause harm.

Oh, I’m aware of close calls. Maybe that is an oversimplification, but copycats did take movies like “Boondock Saints”, “Blair Witch”, and “Amityville Horror” too seriously. The former may not have led to lethal vigilantism, but there was violence. The latter two caused endless traffic to the Amityville house, even to the extreme of people actually intruding on the property and at least a few walking right in when the door was answered. The windows and front facade had to be changed before it slacked off but interest in the house has never gone away. Awful B movies passed off as “sequels” to the original led people to believe that demonic activity in the house was ongoing, and the awfulness of the scripts, production values and budgets, along with atrocious acting could not keep amateur ghost hunters away. Then came the remake of the original starring Ryan Reynolds, and I cant forgive him for that or “Green Lantern”; I’m sorry, but nothing can erase those dreadful choices.

In Maryland, the real town near the events of “Blair Witch” hasn’t known a day since where someone didn’t drive through or go tromping around in the woods. Now, that’s not anyone’s fault but those who get caught up in fiction and go too far. Bad choices aren’t necessary. They cause harm, perhaps not much. Sometimes they merely take away the peace of a small town or a single homeowner. The Amityville house still attracts attention, but there was never any evidence that it was haunted. It was in fact the place of a horrible crime, but the story should have ended there. The Lutz family moved in almost as George’s business was going o hit bottom. They got in over their heads with a mortgage they couldn’t pay, and the haunting provided a way out. At one point one of the two recanted the story but then, offered money for interviews, the went back to the original story. History having been rewritten, the house remains infamous to this day despite its makeover.

Any story involving Ed and Lorraine Warren is suspect, including the Amityville saga; in “The Conjuring 2” they were portrayed as being far more involved and critical to the case than they actually were. Not only that, but the story was significantly altered in other ways. Hollywood has taken “based on true events” too far before, but this is now understood by most to translate as “The following is total bullshit.” Most. Not all. A character may be shown driving a blue 1968 Volkswagen Bug and the real person actually had one. Well, close. The one in the episode may be yellow. But the rest? No resemblance to real events at all.

The proliferation of supernatural “reality shows” has become a plague. The Travel Channel switched formats with Destination America not long ago and ramped up its production of supernatural schlock so much that people have gone two ways: they can’t get enough, or they call out the channel, producers and Facebook accounts of the stars of the shows. The latter is growing at a fast pace. It’s gotten so bad that disclaimers front certain shows such as “The Dead Files”: “This Program is for Entertainment Purposes Only.” One thing that stands out is that Amy, the “psychic,” always arrives after dark and invariably, fog is clinging to the entire lawn. Every time, no matter what time of year, no matter the geographical location. Fog, everywhere. None airborne, always on the ground, indicating gas, dispensed from some vessel like a liquid nitrogen or oxygen tank. I know because I used to watch the rigs at Airgas unloading tankers of liquid gas into the liquid towers at our plant. There was always some pressure release and the liquid would hit the air, causing the cryogenic gas to boil and turn into a heavy gas cloud which clung to the ground.

Any real show wouldn’t need cheap tricks to set a mood for the viewer; therefore everything else about the series is suspect, but it has a fanbase that’s just plain enraptured. How gullible could you get?

But the shows do something far worse than make up things and present them as real. That mix is a heavy influence on viewers. You’ll also find plenty more on YouTube, including ghost hunters and urbex channels where young people and old venture to private property to video ghosts, demons or abandoned places which are extremely dangerous. One team, a father and daughter, push their luck way too far in desert locations where old buildings and manufacturing facilities and even mines exist, and where anyone could be squatting or hiding from the law, and would love to shoot the dad and have some sick things in mind for the daughter. Why would any father put his child into such a dreadfully dangerous situation?

Two teens enter an abandoned theme park on ATVs and that’s a creepy enough thing to do right from the start; splitting up and exploring is even creepier, and stupid to boot. The whole point of urban exploration is the unknown, and they could run into trouble that they can’t get out of. We sit here and condemn Trump for needless deaths due to his bungling with the coronavirus, but some people go to places they know they shouldn’t, and needlessly risk their lives. That makes no sense to me. Nor do the ones who have ouija sessions on camera in a real effort to summon evil entities. This fixation and risk taking is nothing but what is is: foolish. Behaviour during the pandemic is equally peppered with irresponsible actions by people, and “COVID-19 parties” are a real thing. Even incidental contact passes the virus on, because people distance but linger and chat without masks. Or they fail to sanitize their hands and remove their masks as soon as they exit a store. They clearly aren’t concerned, or they wouldn’t do it. That’s despite everything they’ve been told through their local health department or government or any other source.

From the beginning, Trump has said such things that people have died because they believed him. It was first a hoax, then he had to face it and said it would “disappear,” then came the controversy over masks, ending with him blaming Fauci for saying at the beginning that masks may not be effective which isn’t the whole truth. There was a shortage of medical grade masks, and that was cause for alarm. They couldn’t spare them for anyone outside of healthcare workers. Non medical grade masks were not known to be effective, so it wasn’t an immediate issue. The consensus was that masks couldn’t hurt. As soon as it was learned that any face covering could help, Andrew Cuomo was one of the first governors to mandate wearing them. Store chains then began to require them. The partial shutdown and masks led to New York proving that these things are not optional. They save lives.

Meanwhile Deborah Birx has been on Fox or OANN, saying things Trump wanted her to say. I’ve gotten mixed messages from her just during press conferences, but what she was doing on right-wing media I was ignorant of because I don’t watch it. As soon as she changed up, Trump called her “Pathetic”; and Trump was interviewed by Axios on HBO, and the president had no idea he was being taken apart. It’s painful to watch; never before has an American president said so many stupid things nor lied so much in a single interview. He claimed he had done more for “blacks than any other president” including Lyndon Johnson. He was dumb enough to show the true depth of his pettiness and racism by saying that he did not attend services for the late John Lewis because Lewis “didn’t come to my inauguration.” He handed over printouts that “proved” that the United States was the “lowest” of all other countries in COVID-19 mortality, and repeated that the only reason we have more cases is because we test “too much.”

It is unclear how delusional he is, but when people who trust you despite your lies listen to you, then die because of that trust, it’s evil.

ULTIMATE DISHONOR

And evil runs this country. The new postmaster general is slowing down mail delivery. This, at Trump’s direction, for several reasons. At least for the census, but also to prepare for mail-in voting ballots. He is trying to get reelected by once again cheating and having help from Russia. He never confronted Putin about his bounty placed on American soldiers in Afghanistan, which we now know to have caused real casualties. Putin desperately wants Trump to stay.

But the American people seem to be progressively fed up with him. Republicans are on Facebook saying they’ve had enough, heard enough. Some senators are distancing themselves from him. And that’s encouraging. There’s hope.

But we must be resolute and on guard. We can still see another four-year term with the nightmares only getting worse. It certainly can happen.

Trump has “joked” that he wants to be “president for life” but it is not a joke; he’s serious. He has messed with the Judicial branch and infiltrated it. He has compromised intelligence and the military. He failed to impose sanctions against Russia for murdering American troops and there is no reason to believe that he can or will ever do anything honorable. He will sabotage the election any way he can. He will attempt to and possibly even succeed in delaying the election under pretenses including a sudden turnaround and total confirmation of the seriousness of COVID-19 and the illegitimacy of mail-in voting, and, failing all of that, should he lose, will refuse to leave the White House in January. Never underestimate Donald Trump.

Along the way, chaos will break out in places. COVID-19 will continue to kill. Sometimes because it’s that contagious. Sometimes because people have a great capacity for doing evil things.

CORRUPTED BLOOD

In an MMORPG, short for massively multiplayer online role-playing game in which you will meet the characters of other players as you complete quests and battles, there are often problems. These can be glitches and exploits that require patches, servers going down, and other technical issues. But often, it is the players themselves that cause trouble. From bullying characters with less power who are not as developed because they are beginning a new game to headset taunting and berating, other players can ruin a game for you. I refuse to play against anyone else for this reason. It’s the AI or nothing.

But in 2005, the very popular game “World of Warcraft” had something truly bizarre happen. Sometimes online games add new content, from new levels to spells or weapons and costumes. In this case a new dungeon was added and there was a boss fight at the end. Bosses usually mark level endings, meaning they must be defeated for you to exit that level. Bosses are formidable AI opponents with the ability to take a lot of damage before they fall. They’re programmed in such a way that they appear to be pretty pissed off that you’ve made it so far. I’ve often been spooked by bosses, like Psycho Mantis in Metal Gear Solid. I didn’t know that to beat him you had to plug your controller into the “player two” port, otherwise he’d “read your mind” and counter every attack. So, I learned to hate boss fights. There have been some which I’ve never been able to beat, causing me to quit a game in frustration.

Apparently, the boss added to the new dungeon in WOWC would cast a spell on the player’s character as soon as it was attacked by the player. The spell was “Corrupted Blood” which lasted for a few seconds and weakened the characters who teamed up to fight the boss. Due to code errors, the virus didn’t exactly wear off. It was caught by pets, who couldn’t be healed. Pets are non playable characters, or NPCs. Infected with Corrupted Blood, they left the dungeon and spread it to any player it came near. What happened was a virtual pandemic and it spread fast. Some players accidentally transmitted it to other players, while some uninfected players grouped together in isolation. It was so sensational and weird that epidemiologists actually watched it. They found that players who had leveled up their powers to heal acted like doctors, attending the sick, while others who knew they were infected knowingly passed it on. We have seen this happen. People who either deny that COVID-19 is real or those who have few or mild symptoms deliberately go out, grocery shopping or to a restaurant, and have spread it to unknown numbers of people. Some dine-in restaurants had been open only a short time before having to shut down again because employees got sick or the place was named in contact traces.

I’m sorry, but that recklessness was heinous. Selfish people, or people who don’t care about others, will always be with us. They always have been and they always will be. You’d think that the Black Lives Matter protests would have caused more people and police officers to correct their behaviour, to use more self restraint, but that has not been the case. Held at gunpoint, handcuffed with two crying babies in their car, two women were held 45 minutes and the doors to the car were open, exposing the infants to the heat. That’s positively bestial. Babies die that way.

There’s a backlash happening in response to the massive protests, and the backlash is pure racism, pure revenge and anger. Cops are more likely to deploy in riot gear for the slightest reason. It won’t end soon.

You want these things to stop?

They won’t, but there’s help. Vote Donald Trump out of office. Fire him. He’s manipulating the census for congressional districts, so go online and do the census. It’s for us, not him.

Don’t pay attention to polls; that was part of the problem in 2016. Clinton led the polls and too many people said, “Oh, she’s got this,” and they stayed home. Don’t believe for a second that Trump can’t win. With all his interference, he’s not going to lose unless we all turn out in numbers. If you have to vote in person, do it. Use masks, and add a filtering layer using a square of pantyhose or a paper filter, whatever you want. There’s no such thing as too much. You’ll be directed to use social distancing and it’s essential that you take hand sanitizer with you to use when you’re finished. Minutes, and you’ll be out of there. If you have to, vote by absentee ballot right now. The delays in the USPS closer to the election could cause your vote to be mishandled or not counted. Senator Amy Klobuchar, who I have great respect for, confirms that the mail service is likely to cause problems with mail-in voting.

She’s concerned as well about people who get critical medications by mail. Make no mistake: Donald Trump doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about your medications or health. He doesn’t, and shame on you if you think otherwise because with COVID-19, he’s proven that death means nothing to him (“It is what it is”).

The deaths of soldiers means nothing to him. Empathy means nothing to him. He once told a soldier’s widow, “He knew what he signed up for.” I seriously doubt any president ever showed such a coldness toward the family of a fallen warrior for our country. Which, by the way, he’s proven he has no love for. He can’t feel patriotic or empathetic. He does not feel love, or know what it is. He sits and watches Americans die, and lies and deflects blame. He’s got to go.

We will only defeat him with reason, solidarity and Marquis of Queensberry rules. We have to be better than him. No stooping to his level, fighting his way by his rules. I promise, Joe Biden will not engage Trump on Trump’s turf. He’s too smart for that and he’s too honorable. Keep from giving any weapons to trolls, die-hard republicans and possible Russians on social media. We’ll lose. Joe is the better man. He’s always been good and kind and decent. He’s lost a lot. He will feel for others who have lost. We need him. Be responsible, and we can win this.

As for me, I don’t know what I’m going to do with my book. I have to decide. I’m afraid people will read it and come away with ideas like parts of it are real. I couldn’t live with that. We’ll see. Meanwhile, I’ve turned a page. No more name calling for me. I want to be the better man. A responsible man. A decent man. After all, that’s all I ever wanted to be.

THE TRUTH ABOUT IRRESPONSIBLILITY

Irresponsibility is obviously the opposite of a place or state in which an individual or group assume accountability for their’s or another’s actions, and it could be parents of children or a plant manager to employees and everything from production to safety. It is what Donald Trump and the sycophants who imitate pilot fish do. Irresponsibility is Donald Trump calling an accidental explosion of stored ammonium nitrate in Beirut an “attack.”

Irresponsibility is Donald Trump pushing for school reopening during a pandemic claiming a thousand lives a day.

At what point do we need to reflect on our words and actions and attempt to find the possible consequences? Because time after time, people have proven that they can be influenced by just about anything. And that influence can lead to disaster.

Trump originally said that the coronavirus would simply go away. Later when we had a hundred thousand dead, he repeated it. He said, “and it will go away.”

That’s a heavy lie, a twisting of facts, a gaslighting for all America: “No, you don’t see any bodies, do you? Therefore no one has died.” It is absolutely Orwellian and one more reason he has to go. Irresponsibility is changing that to “It is what it is.”

Irresponsibility is us, screaming and writing, scribbling horrible things about Trump, wasting energy and becoming exactly like the enemy, fighting by his rules, on his turf. We have other choices. We can talk. Debate with civility. Disengage from those who will not hear reason. Engage those who are willing, using reason, kindness and facts.

Perhaps Longfellow had such a choice in mind when he wrote his famous poem:

I shot an arrow into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;

For, so swiftly it flew, the sight

Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;

For who has sight so keen and strong,

That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak

I found the arrow, still unbroke;

And the song, from beginning to end,

I found again in the heart of a friend.

We can shoot arrows that land without changing a thing, or breathe a song into the air and find later that it left a significant impact. I’ll take the song any day.