of Hate

August 22, 2012

You hate me.
Because I’m a Woman, a Nigger or Jew? A Spick or Cracker.
Simply the colour of my eyes, or conveniently, the colour of my skin?
Do you hate me for an affiliation or position not your own.
You could hate me because I’m simple, pedestrian. Because I’m poor and you, wealthy. It could be the reverse.
Whatever the reason, however it’s borne…please say as much.
I beg you.
Assert that right.
Don’t be niggardly, share. Unburden yourself.
It’s allowed. I insist.

How else can I fight you.
You are more a threat if I’m caught unawares.
If you would keep your hate, your bigotry, to yourself, you keep me at a disadvantage.
How else can I know not to buy your goods, use your services.
If unwilling or unable, how will I know to remove myself…or you, for that matter.
If silent, I might misjudge you. You might well get my vote.
I would hate that.

No, I need you to say as much. From the top of your lungs, mountaintops and billboards. From radio and Television. In person.
I want you to make your ignorance plain.
I defend your right.

Do not be cowed. Do not let those that would stifle your acrimony for fear of having others distress.
My, your or their feelings are a paltry price for such advantage.
Speak your mind, bare your limitations.
So that we might be warned and be guarded.
Because we know, don’t we, that merely inhibited speech or expression, does nothing to alter your course, stay your hand.Your subdued malice will fester and even grow.
And in truth, once aware, your hate is disarmed, neutralised. Once I know and consider the source, your hate has no bearing, no effect.

Do for me and, in turn, you will have no doubt where I stand.


Meet “B”.
He’s a forty-three year old Man that stills lives with his Mother, under the auspices that SHE needs him, he can’t or won’t find work because he’s emotionally, physically disabled. He’s been to a number of rehabs and attributes those experieces to his current state.
He is a loser.
That alone, is not remarkable. We all know him in some form. Perhaps as someone we ran with in our careless days of abandon, and now serves to remind us that “there but for the Grace of God…”, or he’s a member of our own Family, a Sister or Brother and serves to test the bonds of Blood and welcome. He may simply be a poster child for a broken and careless system, the discharge, flotsam jetsam that is the inevitable, sad collateral of great societies.
It could be…but it ain’t.
“B” is a new breed of loser. A mutation of the disenfranchised, the working poor, the hobo or outstreched Skid Row hand.
“B” is driven, motivated.
He is a designer, engineer and marketeer in the field of “get”
“B” will expend as much, if not more, energy. in the pursuit of doing nothing, than it would take to actually produce or contribute.
“B” does not offer any services or manufacture any product. He does not pay any taxes but still somehow get’s a “refund”.
“B” is in the business of taking and that buisness is now under siege, threatened.
“B” is outraged. He is taking to the streets (or internet, as it were) and rallying his forces. The 1 in 3 now on some form of Government assistance, the 1 in 19 that claim some form of disability. Those afflicted with “thyroid” problems camped out on body haulers. The anxiety ridden, emotionally distraught, ADHD, excuse du jour bearing “blue plate” specials…a call to arms!!
“B” will leave his house today, not to look for work, oh no, but to rally against the evil corprate power brokers that threaten his way of life, that mean to dissasemble the fortified nest of entitlements he has worked SO hard to accumulate.
He will pull from his depleted reserves and overcome his crippling hay fever allergies to help mount a defense against this inhumane assault on his livelihood.
He will see the walls manned and in his arsenal will be the ever ready, if somewhat diluted from age and use, weapons of accusation and guilt mongering. He will lob the once affective “racist!!” and the versitile “hater!!” at the enemy but to little effect.

There is a fundamental, scientific truth about parasites that “B” has dismissed, to his peril and ultimate demise…parasites will always exhaust their host.

…and “B”… this host is wore the fuck out.

I don’t want to send you rehab again. I don’t wanna pay for you to sit in your Mommas basement, still in your boxers, playing your $400 PS3, only pausing for Meals on Wheels delivery.
I am sick of your abuse of the Handicapped placard as a means of getting a parking spot at the medical marijuana clinic and thinking that double amputee with “Army Strong” on her wheelchair was just showing off when she went and parked in the regular spaces and wheeling faster than you can run, to the other side of the lot where the GNC store was.

I’m sick of you “B”.
But…though your numbers grew alarmingly over the past four years, there is a reckoning on it’s way and you will either need to put all your resourcefulness into contributing, or revert to putting your hand back out on Skid Row.

You should already be wondering how much you’ll get for a used PS3.

of Toys

August 11, 2012

like many of my male peers I am often struck by how freaking lucky kids are today by way of the toys they get to play with. Perhaps not as often as my counterparts that actually have kids and get to buy, assemble and then play with them but I still, on occasion, wander through a toy aisle to see what new and badass innovations there are.
Nerf® has has prolly gone the farthest to make me pine for my old Ked sneakers, skuffed knees and a fort in the woods.
I have to say though, as bitchin as these toys are, the bright, unrealistic clown colours kinda bum me out.
Granted, they actually shoot things whereas the best I could hope for as a boy was a gun that made a simulated firing sound when I pulled the trigger.
Even so, I think I would have balked at having a semi-automatic, dart shooting, realistic designed but iridescent, traffic cone looking, fluorescent, reflectorised, -don’t shoot me officer, I’m just playing war- machine gun….but then I wouldn’t have worn a crash helmet on a tri-cycle either.
Yet, when I ran across this toy of my generation, for me, it made all the Nerf guns, playstations and X-boxs pale by comparison.
The Remco Cavella toy radio transmitter/reciever.
How did I not have this!?! Mom? Dad?
Forget that I got almost everything I ever asked for under the tree..bikes, guns, GI Joes, models, chemistry sets, and even an real Samsonite brief case that I would fill with stacks of play money and pretend I was a drug lord or international spy…but oh no, not the toy conservative talk show host radio transmitter that could have set me on the same course as Rush Limbaugh ( he had one!) and saw me pursuing a worthy career as a broadcast journalist, instead of baking in some God forsaken shithole and smelling like diesel and JP-8.
Thanks alot!
It’s not too late though. I still believe in Santa and this toy happens to be exactly what I’ve been considering lately.
The recent changes in FCC regulations allows for neighborhood broadcasting under a certain wattage without need of a license. It’s a very short leap from there to syndication, right?
As I expect to have an abundance of freetime on my hands in the near future, I think I may be shopping for the adult version of this lost opportunity and putting my parents short sightedness to rights.
Imagine it…me, broadcasting in your neighborhood, infecting the minds of your crash helmeted Children! No commercials or need for sponsorship, I can loop my awesome playlists when I’m off-air and then, with easy international access, invite my Liberal Friends in the States and abroad to co-host.
Fair and balanced, that’s me.
“Hello and welcome to Radio Free Frisco”
I just need to find the right neighborhood.
The Mission, Marin County?
Can you hear me yet, Robyn, Jen?
Are you game, Patrick, Petey, Benet?
Fourty-eight and I may have just now discovered my true calling and I think my Uncles would agree that I have the perfect face for radio.
Stay tuned.