That’s Entertainment! But is it Evil?

You know, there was, it seems, a time when show business was healthy and fun.

But it was not fun and it wasn’t at all healthy. In TheWizard of Oz, Judy Garland was treated horribly. She was forced to chain smoke to curb her appetite and into other means of keeping off weight. She was supposed to look younger and petite. She was also watched around the clock. That’s severe abuse to a minor, but back then, just like today, nobody cared. Alfred Hitchcock was an extreme misogynist, and I could go on.

In the film industry, starting with a vengeance in the 1960s, horror films grew very, very dark. TV as well. Demonic and satanic themes carried over even to music. In the next decade, it got absolutely sickening, and yet people loved it.

You can still find photos of the lines of people waiting for hours to see The Exorcist. I’ve never wanted to see it.

I’ve read accounts about people vomiting during the show, running out, and more. It grossed unimagined amounts of money, never seen before from a horror movie. It won academy awards and was given an extended cut re-release in 2001.

There were documented accidents and incidents during shooting and some deaths. Was the movie cursed? There were some who were convinced of it. Of course it was!

And it is now preserved wherever “culturally significant” garbage goes. It did do one thing; it brought blockbuster horror movies front and center, and nobody in Hollywood has ever looked back. Now, absolutely, purely evil content is routine to audiences, including at home. Images of demonic attacks, including ever younger children, are common to the genre. Nobody seems bothered by it.

Today, Satan governs whole groups of performers, but nowhere is this more evident than the music business.

Do you remember how I singled out Taylor Swift a few months back because she was always on TV and in the news, yet claimed to be a Christian?

So far, I still don’t see evidence for the claim. And I am not fit to judge her, but her actions are fair game. From dressing up as Satan during a performance to fixating on the number 13, to the point of it being an obsession, to multiple sex partners in relationships that never last (Tom Hiddleston lasted weeks, not months) she does not present as a Christian. Appearing on stage like that, well, it’s more like Death Metal artists would do. And I’m not targeting Swift at all. I was shocked by this video. I was also very let down. I felt like all the air was gone from me as if I’d been punched in the gut. I’m very sad. Madonna and Lady Gaga do this stuff. They don’t surprise me. Miss Swift has.

And look, I’m changed, but far from perfect. Of all people, the Apostles, including Paul, were very forthcoming in their admissions about sinning. I’m no different, and neither is anyone else. As long as we live, we will face temptation by the enemy. He knows where you’re vulnerable. He will send countless demons to exploit your every weakness. It’s what he does. It’s all he does. When we’ve sinned, he rushes to God and accuses us, bragging the whole time.

I am very weak. I can’t live without God in my heart. I can’t accomplish anything good without the Holy Spirit’s help. I have a heart that hungers to know God better, to take this second chance I’ve been given and live for Him, not for me.

Every time I wake up, I thank Him for another day and ask that I may serve Him in some way. Any way.

I pray for others. I know prayer is answered by God in his own good time. I’m here to tell you that with a little bit of faith and patience, you’ll get what you need. Not what you want. What you need. Jesus promised, in Matthew chapter 7, verses 7-8,

⁷Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you:

⁸For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.

But remember that you must have faith. You must do the best you can to live by the scriptures. If you give up too easily, that’s not faith. If your faith is weak, then don’t be shy or ashamed. Ask for help with that. Ask, and you’ll get that boost to your faith. Ask for forgiveness first. Then, for anything you need. And read scripture every day. That focuses your mind on God.

I’m going to pray for everyone who reads this. Keep the faith, guard, and protect it. Then, act like a true Christian. Don’t hide. Being kind to others is a great way to keep your mood up and even to get noticed by people who think they know you, and serve a soft message that they don’t know the truth about yourself. Do not brag. Do not announce it. Live it. If you announce or brag, you will fall down. You’ll have friends who will become enemies, and they’re going to pounce on you. Give it time; no new Christian needs extra pressure. You have enough already. Live a Christian life, and you will gather strength through the Holy Spirit. Then nobody will be so quick to attack you. Greater is He who is in you (the Holy Spirit of God) than he who is in the world (Satan).

I saw an employee in the store today, one I’ve never seen before. She’s very short, getting on in age. When I asked how she was doing, she seemed so surprised, and I heard…gratitude? In her voice, there was the hint that she wasn’t used to that kind of treatment. Just a few words seemed to have been so appreciated that I almost cried. What has she been through? What is she going through now?

I prayed for her. What about you? Can you find it in your heart to be kind to someone else who may be going through things you’ll never know? I hope that you will.

Thank you for visiting. Goodnight, and may God bless you.

Shit Just Got Real

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 don’t believe so.

Who Needs It?

What would you do if you won the lottery?

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.

Free Speech: It May Cost You Every Friend You Have

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.

Therefore, worth it.

Poor Taylor Swift

The Golden Globe Awards.

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 a plastic 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.

Cry, witch! A plastic doll just kicked your ass!

But You Can Never Leave

Good morning.

To you, because for me, it ain’t good.

I am still stuck here in this cartoon hell.

Because I could only find one packet of Splenda. With my coffee, I need two to help even out the flavor. An hour ago, I found one, then looked everywhere, even my bedroom, though I can’t seem to understand why.

I’m not the most mobile bastard, and space is limited in my house. Therefore, I have a stand next to me while sitting at the table. Everything I need is there, on different shelves. The coffee maker is on the top shelf. Under that, I keep Splenda and my meds. I thought that for certain, I could find one stray packet, as I’m always dropping one or two when reaching into that tiny box.

I didn’t find any. Moved things around and everything.

Nothing.

Then I sit down to drink my not-sweet-enough brew, and I check email.

And that’s going to be a tall order, considering that last night, I was still suffering the effects of my Taylor Swift-Kelce and Travis Kelce-Swift short circuit and breakdown.

Had a rough night, too. Leg cramps from hips to toes. Couldn’t stand, sit, or jump over the moon.

And the first email is…

Wait for it…

“It’s time to shop Taylor Swift’s New Year’s Eve outfit”

Something broke inside of me.

I know it did, because I heard it. A sort of squeak, followed by the sound of a pop.

I can’t tell where inside me the pop came from, but I heard it.

I looked away from the screen in disgust and terror.

Holy shit, they’ve found me!

On the second shelf, in plain sight, beside a stiletto knife and a dried snot-crisped bandana, a sole packet of Splenda.

Wait.

I said, wait, as in, just hold on a damn minute!

Yes. It was there.

In plain view. But that can’t be.

It wasn’t there four minutes ago.

No, it wasn’t! Why the hell would I lie about this? To you. To me. To God.

But that begs the question, “WHAT THE FUCK?”

Okay. Deep breath here. Nice, deep breath. Do it with me, folks. Deeeep breath.

Okay.

You’re okay, I’m okay, right?

NO, THIS IS NOT OKAY!

Because it can’t be. It’s impossible. I mean, not just the David Copperfield-magic-Splenda-trick. Not just that. All of this.

In all of history, who did this shit?

Who caused this much attention to be focused on herself?

Nobody.

Not Her Majesty. Not Princess Diana. Not Liz Taylor—-shit, there’s that fucking name again!

Okay, wait.

Deeper breath this time. Time. Time? What’s time have to do with this?

Oh, shit. I forgot. Time Magazine’s Person of the Year. Holy shit.

I am now certain that I’m in some weird parallel timeline. I’m not from here. I’m trapped, like Scott Bakula before Star Trek: Enterprise. You remember, it was the first Trek series to be canceled since the original series. Captain what’s-his-name. It was Archer, right? And his show before that was Quantum Leap. It ended with the words, “he never made it home.” Much later, Bakula would star in another shitty series that was doomed: NCIS: New Orleans. It really was shitty. I’ll bet Taylor Swift was involved. I’d bet money on it.

Anyway, another me who took my place in my timeline put the Splenda packet on the shelf. Just to let me know that he’s free now. In a world less mad than this one.

And he’s not going to leave. Ever.

I don’t really blame him.

But now I have to wonder what other terrors lie in wait for me here. I’ll bet that there’s a whole country out there, secluded from man, in a forbidden zone. Apes evolved from man and hunt naked humans for sport.

Shit. That NAME again. ARGH!

Fuck this. I have to find a way out of this Hotel California, a passage back to the place I was before…

Relax, said the night man, we are programmed to receive, and you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave

I wonder if Taylor Swift wrote that song and sent it back in time so I’d have a personal frame of reference for what I’m going through now. Obviously, she’s got supernatural powers. She might be Satan. And I’m in Hell. Just like the song.

And I can never leave…