Facebook has Trumped me Again

Ah Facebook, you never cease!

Just this evening we were conversing and you mentioned that Top U.S. Psychiatrists Confirm Trump's Narcissistic Personality Disorder, "Textbook Case." 

And I was like, You don't say? 

You acted surprised when I didn't click on the link. "What if it's an Onion article or something?" you asked. "Don't you want to, you know, fact-check?"

And I was like Nah Facebook. I don't need to fact-check this particular tidbit. Whether it's a spoof piece or the real deal, I already know: Donald Trump is insane. His view of the world is so skewed, so out of alignment with reality, that he must surely qualify for a number of of mental disorders.

Narcissism is just the appetizer. 

Same goes for his rambling narrative, thoughtless insults, and lack of class: they all take a backseat to his incoherence. 

He just doesn't make sense on any level.  

You don't need top U.S. psychiatrists to confirm anything. Unless you're as crazy as he is, you can tell Trump is off his meds.     

It's for these reasons and more that Trump is the perfect Republican nominee for POTUS.

No, hear me out: he's ideal. 

It's no wonder he's polling ahead of every other candidate: none of those guys make sense either! So the Republican Party has been forced to think outside of the box. They figured If all our candidates are wackos, lets support the biggest wacko! 

Go big or go home. That sort of thing.

And Trump fits that description to a tee.

He's hyperbolic. He takes everything to extremes!

He talks about himself in the third person

He wants to build two walls to keep the immigrants out.

He's had lots of failed marriages.

He's a reality TV star.

He has lots of money.

And best of all, he's brilliantly hypocritical.

Side note: Who do you think will be in his cabinet? 

Starring Flava Flav as Vice President; Kim Kardashian as Foreign Affairs Minister; David Hasselhoff as Trade Minister Hoff; and Arnold Schwarzenegger as the Minister of War.  

Why not? Let's take it as far as we can people. 

It's madness I tell you. Pure madness!

Unless.

Unless this is it, the day the Christians have been talking about all along. 

Armageddon. 

The final food fight.

(Read the following out loud in your best Bruce Buffer voice)

And in the Red Corner, wearing a toupee and man boobs, representing the 1%, he's the Self-Made, the Natural, the Gifted, he is DONALD "YOU'RE FIREEEEEED" TRUUUUUUUMP.

And in the Blue Corner, wearing owlish spectacles and old man legs, representing the people, he is the Hebrew Bulldog, the Democratically Socialist independent, he is BERNIE, "THE BERN" SAAAANDERS.

This is it guys. The Fight of the Century!

Trump and Sanders are diametrically opposed. Trump, the ultimate embodiment of the 1% ethos, versus Bernie Sanders, a democratic socialist who wants to go after big banks. They are truly the outliers. 

You won't find anyone further left of Sanders, nor are you likely to find anyone further right than Trump. 

If this were the UFC I would tweet Dana White and tell him to make the fight, but I understand that's not how politics work. I know that Bernie still has to get through the number one contender, Hilary "the Clint" Clinton before he can get a title shot. 

He's close, but the odds are stacked against him. 

The fact that Bernie's made it this far is a little miracle unto itself.

This is 'Murica, land of the Bold and Free, God Bless't and all proud and stuff. If you work hard, if you have good ideas and the will to carry them out, you can become anything. That's it. That's all you need. It doesn't matter what your roots are, what colour your skin is, whether you're an immigrant legal or otherwise, whether you have access to education or not--no! It's the land of opportunity. 

Didn't you hear?

A socialist anything shouldn't stand an ice-cube's chance in Hell running for POTUS. And yet here we are! 

So to have the "S" word uttered in respectable places is in itself a minor victory. But on top of that, Bernie has climbed the polls neck in neck with Hilary and carried himself respectably in the debates thus far. He's competing. He's what they call a live dog. He's upset-minded.

"They brought him in to lose: but no one told him that!"

Look, it's time we humans come to grips with the situation at hand and change our thinking. For the Americans, carrying Bernie to the top would demonstrate such a change, a move toward reason and equality to be sure--just remember who's in the Red Corner!

A win for Trump however, signals the tragic decline of a former world power. It signals a Dark Age for America both at home and abroad. 

A Trump win equals a net loss for all involved, and in this day and age, we are all involved.

Now I don't think Trump has a chance. I think either Hilary or Bernie could defeat him. I have faith in humanity, and I don't believe that Americans are any different from Canadians or any other people on Earth. I didn't think Canadians would re-elect Harper again, and I certainly don't think Americans will elect Trump at all. 

But anything is possible. So be warned my American friends! Don't vote for Donald Trump: he's a textbook Narcissist. 

It said so on Facebook so it must be true. 

But just in case, #FactCheckYoSelf

Trophy Hunting

I wasn't planning to write about trophy hunting but a few people asked me my opinion on the topic so I thought, what the hell. A quick rant can't hurt!

Allow me summarize.

If you kill an animal to feed and/or clothe yourself, you're a hunter.

If you kill an animal for fun, you're a psychopath.

Think about it for a second. Who else keeps trophies of their kills?

Serial killers, that's who.

Anyone else watch Dexter?

If you take pleasure in killing something, doesn't matter if it's a person, lion, giraffe, or duck-billed platypus: you're a weirdo. Your meat-vehicle came off the assembly line with some wires crossed.

They've done research on this. They sat a thousand people in front of a TV screen, hooked their brains up to a special gadget, and started playing different clips.

A touching family reunion.

A car commercial.

A beheading.

For about 99% of people you follow along on the gadget and watch their brains light up like this: pleasure, pleasure, horror.

But for about 1% of the population you see: nothing, nothing, pleasure.

That's right: some people literally get off on pain and suffering. They need to manipulate, steal, hurt, or even kill just to kick-start the old feeling box. Otherwise life is dull and meaningless.

Out of that 1% only a few actually grow up to be a Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy. The rest become CEO's, politicians, and medical professionals.

They aren't any better than their serial killer counterparts, mind you: they just lack the balls to follow their dreams. White-collar crime and political corruption are safer than, say, killing prostitutes and canning their livers. So a lot of these guys (not being sexist: they're almost all men) puss out and stay under the radar.

And trophy hunters (like the dentist who wounded Cecil the Lion) are the weakest psychopaths of all! They can't even do it alone. They need locals to help lure the beast and sometimes even finish the job.

You think Dahmer needed help making his sex zombies? Fuck no. He played kidnapper, anaesthesiologist, and mad scientist all at once. Now that's a real monster right there.

These other losers who kill giraffes and rhinos and pandas are Psychopath Lite. They might purposely skimp out on the novacane before doing your root-canal, punch and kick defenceless cattle, cheat on their taxes, lie to and steal from shareholders, but they won't go all the way.

You know me: I'm all about owning it. So to me these weak psychopaths are even more wretched and despicable than their serial killer counterparts.

I can respect the guy who puts it all on the line, who risks his life and freedom to embrace the darkness within. I don't condone his actions but part of me is like "Way to follow your dreams, you sick twisted weirdo!"

And as a bonus psychopaths can't hide after they fully indulge in their twisted fantasies. Once they step into serial-killer land it's only a matter of time before they're caught and locked away for life. Meanwhile weak psychopaths could be hiding anywhere and we'd never know.

So to the trophy hunters I say: save yourself some money. Stop flying to Zimbabwe. Stop killing hippos from a distance. Follow your dreams instead! We both know you'd rather hunt the ultimate prey, so get on with it! Start hunting the long-pig.

Then, after we catch you (and we definitely will because you're a bumbling, ineffectual coward) we can throw you in jail and get rid of you once and for all.

Hipocrites

I've always wanted to try cat.

What I mean is, I've always wanted to eat cat.

I don't know why. Maybe it's because I suspect I've already eaten my fair share (along with everyone else who eats Chinese take-out). Maybe it's because cats are little assholes who think they're sooooo much better than everyone else.

I don't know why. But I really want to eat one.

Quick! Go look in the mirror. You see that look of disgust and outrage on your face? That's called "hypocrisy." Say it with me now: heh-pah-crahssy.

That's right, say it with a Boston accent.

Tell me, what's the difference between cats, cows, chickens, horses, pigs, and dogs?

"Well, um, some of them are pets and others are, well, food?"

Correct! Now let's talk about what they all have in common:

• They're all animals;
• They're all domesticated;
• They all have the capacity for pleasure and plain, fear and joy, even affection; and 
• They all taste delicious.

So why are we okay with eating some but not others? Sounds like discrimination to me!

The reason is that we've spent generations developing emotional attachments to some animals while eating the others.

We're like, "Hey, you see those animals there? Treat 'em like shit, then kill 'em so I can stuff my face with bacon and steak. But those ones over there? I like to cuddle and take cute pictures with 'em, so they're off limits."

In some cultures it's downright weird to own pets. In some cultures keeping dogs, cats, guinea pigs, and other critters in the house is as weird as having a pet chicken in your living room or a pet cow on a leash.

You know they eat guinea pig in Peru? It's a delicacy. You get to pick it out yourself! The cuter the guinea pig, the tastier it is. Or so they say.

And then there's a dog festival in southern China. Sorry, that's dog eating festival.

I'm not trying to gross you out. I'm not preaching a vegan lifestyle. I love meat too! I just don't feel comfortable drawing a line. If we're going to consume the flesh of other living creatures let's set aside half-measures.

Let's abandon arbitrary distinctions between "pet" and "dinner."

Let's stop being so hypocritical.

For years now your precious little pussy got to enjoy Fancy Feast and catnip and snuggling on the couch while you watch reality TV. If I BBQ the little fur-ball tonight at least it had a good life.

Which is a lot more than we can say about last night's roast.

It got stuffed (literally) full of food it doesn't like just so it would make that lovely sizzling sound while on the grill.

It lived shoulder to shoulder with its neighbour, never seeing the light of day.

It got pumped full of chemicals and antibiotics and then died so we could eat.

Meanwhile we have no-kill shelters crammed full of cats and dogs who can't find loving homes. We have deer running out into the street and endangering motorists.

But suggest a deer cull and people get all up in arms. Suggest that shelters serve orphaned kitties to the homeless (and anyone else who wants to dine on feline) and people throw up in their mouth a little.

Fuck your cat. Seriously. It's food. Not my fault you fell in love with it.

And if it ever comes down to you or him, guess what? You'll eat that little fucker in a heartbeat.

So let's stop pretending we care so much about the animals, okay? We might get pissed about trophy hunting or animal abuse but we don't really care. If we did we'd be up in arms about the inhumane treatment of livestock. We'd boycott factory farms right now, march and protest until governments enacted laws mandating the humane treatment of cattle, chickens, and all those other living creatures we call "dinner."

As it stands we're selective about which animals we care about. And by selective, I mean hypocritical.

Look at the happy cow!

So until we can be honest about our role in the needless suffering of animals worldwide I'm going to keep fighting for my right to eat your pussy.

The Book

It's been a minute since my last post so I thought I'd stop in to say hi and maybe drop a rant or two.

No, I haven't forgotten about you. And no, I'm not "quitting" again. I'm working diligently on the Book and things are going so well I'm scared to take a break.

See I've been trying to write this thing for over 6 months now and 99.8% of that time has been spent spinning my goddamn wheels.

Write a chapter. Delete a chapter.

Write 50 pages. Delete 50 pages.

It wasn't writer's block. Stuff was coming out the whole time. My struggle was finding the right hook or access point.

The question I was trying to answer was, How can I make the subject matter relevant to people in the 21st century?

How can I include all the good stuff while still making it accessible, entertaining, and compelling?

And, How can I boil it all down to one or two basic themes that tie everything together?

I toyed with an objective tone devoid of the author's voice, opinion, and anecdotes.

I experimented with Plato's favourite format, the dialogue, so that the whole book would've played out like a conversation between two fictional characters.

Then I tried taking the Morpheus approach. You know, the Book as a red pill: read it and see how deep the rabbit hole goes. But the sleeping/awakened analogy at the core of this approach came off a little too high-and-mighty for my taste.

Like "Oh I'm awake, look at me, I'm so spiritual and enlightened!"

Space Jesus?

Which we all know is far from the case.

In life there is no awakening, only different levels of slumber. Some of us are in REM sleep and deeply embedded in our personal dreams; others hover near the surface and flirt with Truth.

True awakening only happens after life, when we cast these meat-machines aside and dance with the stars once again.

After a few months of making no progress on the Book I started feeling sick. Part of me noted the irony: my desire (and inability) to write about meaning, purpose, and happiness was the only source of unhappiness in my life.

So I said "Fuck it." Either I was going to write this thing or I wasn't. Either way it wasn't going to define me or dictate my mood.

That's when I set the Book aside and promptly ended up here with you.

Like a rejected lover going back to his ex.

At first I just re-read old posts. Then I started writing new ones, only something had changed. The posts came out effortlessly. Whereas before I struggled to write one measly little article now I was firing them off in rapid succession.

I had finally stopped thinking about writing and simply wrote.

No pressure, no pretension, no bullshit.

Coincidentally blogging helped me work through some of the problems I had encountered while attempting to write the Book. Specifically it was this post about finding happiness in the little things that caused everything to fall into place.

The point of access I was looking for, the angle or hook, was happiness. That's what ties it all together and makes it relevant, not only to nerds and new-age types like myself, but to everyone.

After all, who doesn't want to be happy? And more importantly, how many of us truly are?

I had already written on the subject but found that my original happiness hypothesis was only partially true. I still believe that happiness begins within, that it's rooted in our perspective, but more recent experiences have shown me that there is indeed an external piece to the hypothesis.

Happiness starts within but inevitably overflows and spills without into our lives. Equanimity and the ability to give zero fucks  are at the foundation: from there we build upward and outward by finding purpose, meaning, and transcendence.

There's more to it than that obviously, but you get the idea.

Which brings us back to the Meme Merchant.

Why am I here, you ask? Why aren't I writing more of the Book?

Because duty calls. The world keeps turning and with every rotation it produces absurdities that require careful handling.

There's an election coming up and lots of bullshit to dissect so here I am to point out subtle truths and offer a third position in the false dichotomy that pervades our culture.

Whenever we're asked to choose between A) or B) you can be sure that I'll be here with option C) at the ready, a "None of the Above" for the sane.

You might not agree with my option C) but that's not the point.

The point is that we don't have to accept the false dichotomy. We don't have to engage in black-and-white thinking.

The correct answer is always somewhere in those pesky shades of grey.

In the Service of Madness

I was chatting with a friend about the events in Charleston the other day when he bluntly stated: "I'm racist."

"Not against any one ethnic or cultural group," he added. "I'm racist against humans in general. I think we're the stupidest fucking animals on the planet."

On the surface my friend's statement seems pretty spot-on. Take a look at the state of affairs in the world right now (or at any point in recorded history, for that matter) and you'll find people enslaving and slaughtering each other over imaginary lines drawn on maps or in the name of some invisible Sky Fathers. 

My friend cited climate change and atom bombs as evidence of our stupidity but I see these as evidence of our vast and powerful intellect.

The ingenuity required to dramatically affect the climate and destroy people by the millions is direct, indisputable evidence of our intelligence.

It's not that we're stupid, you see. It's that we're fucking crazy. 

The way things are right now is not a result of intelligence that's lacking but, as Eckhart Tolle accurately puts it, intelligence in the service of madness.

We'd rather have our cheap thrills and entertainment than overthrow the psychopaths running our governments and industries. And those psychopaths would rather see the earth ruined and humanity decimated than give up a penny of profit or an ounce of power.

What good is money when there's nothing left? What good is power when there's no more people to hoard it over?

The one percenters aren't evil: they're merely a representation of all that's wrong with humanity condensed into a few individuals. They're the worst parts of us magnified and concentrated into a small group of hateful, greedy, and ultimately frightened scumbags.

But they wouldn't exist if humans in general weren't so fucked up.

I've said it before and I stand by it: we're bipolar apes.

Half rational, half emotional. Half logical, half instinctual. Half present, half time-traveller.

We've known this for millennia.

What do you think the Egyptians were getting at when they carved the Sphinx? The body of an animal with the head of a man: that's what you are! A hairless bipedal ape driven by biological urges and instincts but also governed by something entirely different, something capable of discursive logic, reflection, anticipation, and so on.

That's the human head on top of the animal body.

Most of us have been taught to repress or enslave the animal body and all its powerful drives and sensations. We're told to get a grip, to stop being so emotional, to think about it.

By ignoring and silencing the animal we split ourselves in half.

Hence the bipolar ape.

Carl Jung, the Swiss psychotherapist and one-time partner to Sigmund Freud, wrote about this psychological split on numerous occasions. According to him a key step in the development of the human psyche is a process called "individuation" by which the instinctive animal mind and logical human mind are integrated together into a smoothly-functioning whole.

This process produces balanced individuals who are not only capable of rational thought but who are also keenly aware of the unspoken instinctual (or intuitive) function of the older animal mind.

The result is that we cease to be divided and become whole. We stop trying to mediate (unsuccessfully) between the inner-beast and the cold, calculating computer that wants so desperately to run the whole show.

We rise above the two halves and govern them both as one, giving each equal consideration and preventing the extreme mood-swings that currently grip our species.

Until we undergo a collective individuation, ingenuity, intelligence, and cleverness--the crowning qualities of our species--will continue to serve madness, and countless millions will continue to suffer needlessly.

Rather than ignore or repress our inner animal why not get to know it? Why not make it our friend?

Rather than contend with its wild and unruly energies why not harness and turn them toward a purpose of our choosing?

Until we do this we'll only be half of what we could be and twice the crazy. 

Question

It is taught that there is a Way of Heaven, a Way of Earth, and a Way of man. This last is the way ordained by nature from which it is always unwise and often perilous to depart. As to the present time, the gulf between nature's way for man and man's way for himself is now widening so rapidly that our very environment is threatened with destruction!

- Taoism: The Road to Immortality 

Dear readers,

Is there such a thing as "human nature?" If so, what do you think it entails?

Are we naturally greedy, ignorant, and tribal? Generous, social, and compassionate? A mix of both? Something else entirely?

Or is human nature a myth? Is there simply too much biological and cultural diversity to allow for the existence of a universal human nature?

I'm genuinely curious to hear your thoughts on this, friends.

Living in accordance with nature is a central theme in both Stoicism and Taoism, two philosophies that influence and inform many aspects of my life.

Living in accordance with nature doesn't simply mean we should strive to be in harmony with the environment: it also means living in accordance with our personal nature--the unique combination of biological and psychological traits that make up our person--and with human nature.

Which is why I'm here asking you this question: what is human nature?

What is uniquely ours as a species? What are the defining or quintessential human traits?

Furthermore, what do you think happens when we ignore our nature or actively contradict it?

Do you agree with the quote above? Do you think that the disturbing times in which we live (growing unrest, climate change, political and industrial corruption) are a direct result of the widening gulf between how nature intended us to live and how we have decided to live ourselves?

Or am I just grasping for something that isn't there?

Comments are welcomed, encouraged, and greatly appreciated on Facebook, Google +, or Twitter.

Looking forward to your insights!

Moist regards,

Oscar

Glorious Day!

It's official.

Americans can now legally marry whoever they want regardless of genre or sexual orientation.

Wow.

When put in such straight-forward terms it's hard to see what the big fuss was about in the first place.

It's not like members of the LGBT community were fighting to ban straight marriage. It's not like they were trying to force straight people to "go gay" or anything. All they wanted was the right to marry the people they love.

Again, what's the big deal?

Oh right, I know. Your invisible Sky-Father told a bronze-age shepherd long long ago that homosexuality is a sin.

But I'm still confused. What do your beliefs have to do with people who don't share them?

You're free to believe what you want. I might not agree with your beliefs but it's your right and if anyone tries to take that from you I'll stand by your side.

That's what this freedom thing is all about: I do what I want, you do what you want, and as long as we're not hurting each other or destroying each other's property we say "live and let live."

It's a two-way street though. Either everyone is free or else it isn't really freedom, now is it?

In this context the Supreme Court's ruling isn't a win for gays and lesbians nor is it a loss for "Christians:" it's a victory for everyone who believes in freedom and equality for all.

I'm trying really hard not to think about the four Supreme Court judges who voted against marriage equality. I'm purposely avoiding articles about their reasons for opposing it. I suspect their words would spoil my fantastic mood.

Plus there's nothing they could possibly say that would make me reconsider my stance. There's no good reason to oppose marriage equality--not objectively speaking, anyway.

You might have a hundred personal reasons that are good to you but set before the facts those reasons lose all credibility.

I know I've said this before but it's worth repeating here: If you believe in your heart that something is wrong then don't do it. That's all you can do.

If you believe homosexuality is sinful, despicable, or abominable, then don't be gay. Why are you sticking your nose in other people's business? Who made you God's enforcer? Do you actually think He needs enforcers? Didn't he create like, everything?

You silly fucktard.

The problem, like always, is that piece-of-shit Ego of yours. It's telling you that your outdated and irrational beliefs are THE TRUTH and by accepting this sweet lie you're putting yourself at odds with anyone who disagrees.

And if you truly believe yours is THE ONE AND ONLY WAY as you claim then you should feel no fear, anger, or anxiety over what everyone else is doing with their lives.

You know you're right, don't you? So worry about yourself and what you're doing and leave the judging and harassing to your invisible Sky-Father, wherever he is.

In fact I'm pretty sure Jesus says the exact same thing on a number of occasions but then you wouldn't know about that, now would you? You only claim to be a "Christian." Open the book once in a while!

Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother's eye.

Wait, wait: how about James?

There is only one lawgiver and judge, he who is able to save and to destroy. But who are you to judge your neighbor?

Hypocrites and haters act out of insecurity. The only way they can feel good is to make others feel bad.

Well today the joke's on them. Today love, reason, and compassion win.

And boy does it feel good!

Happy Arbitrary Special Day, Fathers!

Father's day. Mother's day. Grand parents' day. Uncle's day. Auntie's day. Distant relative day.

When does it end? When will people stop making up "special days?"

I know, I know: I'm always whining and complaining about this kind of stuff.

First it's Christmas. 

Then it's birthdays (well actually, my birthday).

Now here I am shitting on Father's Day.

Only I'm not. I get why Father's Day exists, and it's the same reason Mother's Day exists.

Ideally speaking fathers and mothers should feel special, respected, and appreciated 365 days a year.

Unfortunately that's not how things play out. Some people need these "special days" because that's the only time they get recognized or treated special.

Not to brag but every day is Father's Day for me.

Every morning I wake up feeling blessed, not only because I'm, you know, alive and relatively healthy but also because I had the privilege to help bring life into the world, and now I get to help shape and guide that life to the point of maturity and independence.

I never feel like my family takes me for granted. I never feel undervalued or unappreciated. If anything I feel like maybe my wife overvalues me, like I can't possibly be all the things she thinks I am.

But I digress.

In the past my wife has tried to coax gift suggestions out of me in the weeks leading up to Father's Day. When that didn't work she abandoned tact and started asking me point-blank: "What do you want for Father's Day?"

My response has always been, "Nothing. I have everything I need."

This year, my wife decided to take a different approach.

Actually this new approach of hers started with Mother's Day.

My poor wife, bless her heart, she knows I'm not into these arbitrary "special days" so instead of waiting on me to do something nice for her this Mother's Day she took matters into her own hands.

She told me what was going down.

"In the morning we're going to the beach; then we're having lunch with so-and-so; then I'm taking K-money (our oldest) to Cirque du Soleil while you watch Lil' E (our youngest). Then we're having this meal for dinner and after the girls are in bed we're watching Supernatural."

And I was like, "YES MA'AM!"

I love it when she takes charge.

That night, after the girls were in bed and before we settled to binge-watch the adventures of Sam and Dean, we stood in the kitchen talking. I asked whether she had enjoyed her Mother's Day even though I hadn't given her a card, or flowers, or presents.

Her reply caught me off-guard. She said, "I had a great day and I don't care that you didn't get me anything."

"Oh no?"

"No. That's not what Mother's Day is about to me."

Intrigued, I pressed further. I had to know. "What is it about then?"

She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Then she said, "You know, every day I'm a mother first and person second. I put our family first and only take care of me if there's any time left. Don't get me wrong: I love being a mother. It's what I was born to do and I wouldn't change a thing.

"But when Mother's Day rolls around, I don't want a card, or flowers, or gifts: I want a day where I put myself first and do whatever I want to do. I want a day where being a mother takes a backseat to being a person. And I don't want anything from you other than your help in making that happen."

And there's the other reason I wake up feeling blessed every morning: my beautiful, wise, and insightful wife.

It makes perfect sense to me now. Mother's/Father's Day is the one day where being a parent comes second and being a person comes first. It means you get to set your usual responsibilities aside and do what you want to do.

What a simple and wonderful concept!

So today I spent my morning visiting a local UU church, my afternoon working on my book, and now I'm writing this post while snuggling Lil' E as she watches "The Wheels on the Bus."

Best. Father's Day. Ever.

I hope all you other daddies out there had an awesome day.

Happy arbitrary special day, fathers!

Trump 2016

Donald Trump, leader of the free world.

Has a nice ring to it.

If you're insane.

Should make for some good entertainment while it lasts though!

He should have to pick another reality TV star to run as his vice president.

So many to choose from! Who should he go with?

Verne Troyer?

A Kardashian?

Flavor Flav?

Vice President Flav?

No, wait, I got it: Phil Robertson. Trump might attract the business types but he's lacking fundamentalist appeal. Mr. Duck Dynasty ought to help with that.

Did you watch Trump's speech where he announced he was running? Worth watching if you're into train wrecks.

Dude spent more time rambling about how much money he's got ("I just sold an apartment for $15 million...") and slamming Mexicans ("When Mexico sends its people [...] they’re sending people that have lots of problems...") than talking about, you know, stuff that makes sense.

I take back what I said about politicians speaking from the heart and being authentic. Trump, at least, should stick to the script.

Jon Stewart summed the president-hopeful nicely:

Trump is the part of your brain that's like at 3 am going, 'Let's go take a shit in a mailbox. Come on, who's going to know?' 

The worst part is that all of Trump's talk about how rich he is could've been a selling point. In an age where lobbyists and industries regularly bribe politicians, having an independently wealthy president should appeal to people. Trump even mentions this at one point:

I don’t need anybody’s money. I’m using my own money. I’m not using the lobbyists. I’m not using donors. I don’t care. 

But his delivery was just so terrible I think everyone missed the point. Not that it matters. What good is an incorruptible president if he's a delusional egomaniac?

Now here's where things get interesting. Imagine that hell freezes over and Trump makes it to the top of the Republican trash heap. And imagine that pigs start flying all of a sudden and Bernie Sanders gets the nod from his fellow Democrats.

Everyone is expecting Bush - Clinton 2016 but I'd rather see Trump - Sanders, the ultimate showdown between capitalism and socialism.

The Right to Complain

"You have to vote."

For years I was told this by friends, colleagues, and family members. And whenever I pressed for more, whenever I asked why I had to vote, I was always provided with the same explanation.

"Well if you don't vote, you have no right to complain about the government."

Seriously? That's your reason? You vote just so you have the right to complain?

What a load of bullshit. What a stupid goddamn explanation. I don't get angry much these days but remembering how this line was delivered to me time and time again by otherwise intelligent, fully earnest and well-meaning individuals makes my blood boil.

First off, I can do what I want when I want how I want.

If I want to complain about the color and texture of sand, or the taste of paprika, or the government, I will. I don't need a permission slip; I don't have to vote first: all I have to do is will myself to complain and voila! the complaints come pouring out of my mouth.

I'm sure some people are like "But how did he complain if he didn't vote? I thought you had to vote in order to complain. He must be a wizard or a warlock or something."

It's not magic, people. Anyone can complain about anything. The whole "don't vote; don't complain" thing is a false equivalence. You're trying to connect two things that aren't related at all.

Listen: maybe I didn't vote before because I could tell how shitty the political system is and how little our votes matter.

Trust me: I brought this up before but all I got back was "Urrrhhh. well then don't complain."

I'm 32 and I've yet to vote in a federal election. Am I proud of this? No. In fact I'd be ashamed if I relied on the past for present-day validation.

But I don't. As you all probably know by now, I give zero fucks about the past.

I know I was wrong to abstain from voting for the last 14 years but being ashamed or regretful isn't going to change a damn thing.

I'm aware of my mistake and I learned my lesson. Now I can move on with a clear conscience.

Come October, I will vote.

No, I don't think my vote is worth much of anything. And no, I don't like any of the political parties playing for seats.

I still think the system is broken and doesn't accurately represent the masses.

I think we have the illusion of choice and no real choice at all.

So why am I voting now after so many years of abstinence?

Because I discovered a few intelligent answers to my question. Here's a good reason to vote:

Or how about this: When you skip voting it's not rebellion: it's surrender.

Basically any reason other than "If you don't vote you can't complain" will do.

Seriously, that's the worst possible argument conceivable. Not only does it make no sense at all, it's also a masterful piece of reverse psychology.

If I tell you you're not allowed to do something, what's your immediate knee-jerk reaction?

"You can't tell me what to do, buddy!"

Or better yet: "I'm not allowed? Watch me."

"Oh I have to vote in order to complain? Watch me abstain from voting and complain louder than the next guy." 

And if that's actually your reason for voting--so you can complain about the government--doesn't that sort of illustrate my point? Isn't that symptomatic of a broken system? 

Shouldn't your reason for voting be something like "So I can elect the best candidate to represent me?" 

Just some food for thought. 

Little Things

Why is happiness so damn hard to find?

I mean, we're all looking for it aren't we? So why aren't more people, you know, happy?

I have a few theories on the matter.

For instance, I think happiness is an inner state of being, not something to be found in the external world.

You won't find it in the trunk of your new car. It isn't sitting at the swim-up bar at your all-inclusive resort.

And no, it isn't stashed in the attic of your dream house, either.

Happiness resides in your perspective, in how you look at things rather than in things themselves.

You can keep hustling, saving money, working hard, and looking to the future for relief, but when that relief finally comes it'll be fleeting at best. And when it's gone, you'll find yourself back on the hedonic treadmill.

You've always been the source of your own happiness. External things might amplify or dampen the happiness that already exists inside you but they can't conjure happiness out of thin air.

So how can we adopt the right perspective? How can change our inner state of being and become truly happy?

One way is to take pleasure in the little things.

The big things--major purchases, promotions, vacations, and the like--are far and few between, and because we anticipate them so eagerly they rarely live up to our expectations.

Little things, on the other hand, are always present in abundance. And when you learn to look at them from the right angle they become a source of joy, wonder, and satisfaction.

The angle I'm talking about is here right now. From here right now symbols and words dissolve and give way to the reality behind them. Mundane, boring, and seemingly unimportant things assume a new appearance.

Take a tree, for example. Once identified by the senses and labelled by the mind it's quickly dismissed as "a tree." But the reality behind the noun--this intricate pattern of leaves, branches, bark, and roots infused with nature's own intellect--is much harder to dismiss.

When you're time travelling--that is, when you're not present--things like trees blend into the background of your life. They become props in the mind's ongoing drama.

When you're present the label vanishes and the reality behind the label stands out. Liberated from words and concepts it's free to be what it is, which is always more awe-inspiring than our concept of it.

Put simply: when your mind is silent you can actually hear what the world has to say.

It's saying, You're not unhappy because certain things happened to you or because you lack certain things. 

You're unhappy because your thinking gets in the way of your happiness.

I know how fresh that sounds coming from a guy who's routinely accused of over-thinking, but bear with me.

There's a difference between useless, repetitive, or obsessive thought and clear, productive, and purpose-driven thought.

The thinking that gets in the way of your happiness is toxic and unconscious. It's your mind-voice left to its own devices, the untamed horse taking you for a ride.

It's the mind fixating on its own handiwork--the words, concepts, and symbols it uses to artificially divide the universe into bite-sized portions--while ignoring the reason for said handiwork: the goddamn universe itself.

Happiness isn't waiting for you in the future and it isn't rooted in some past event. Happiness is waiting for you right now behind the veil of bullshit you call "reality."

Find it in the little things first and then watch it take over your life.

You Probably Think this Post is About You

I've had a few readers ask me what prompted the marriage counseling post from a few days ago.

More accurately I've had people ask whether the post is about specific people I know in real life.

The answer is, Nope!

I've been wanting to write more about marriage and this is the first thing that popped into my head. Wasn't about anyone in particular.

See I like to illustrate my points with examples in order to make them tangible.

The examples I use are completely fictional unless otherwise stated.

Are they inspired by real events and situations? Most certainly! I use a mixture of past experience, personal observation, and stereotypes to craft my bullshit so it's only natural that I hit the mark once in a while.

I assure you that when I do it's purely by accident.

Apparently I'm accident-prone because this isn't the first time I've had people ask me "Who were you talking about just there?"

For example I had a colleague approach me a few years back and ask me whether this post was about him. Did he inspire me? On some level, sure, but by no means was it about him.

If you suspect a post (or part of a post) is about you it simply means you see yourself or your situation in one of my fictional, overly generalized examples.

Just because a shoe fits doesn't mean it was custom-made for you. Just means your foot happens to be the right size.

So let me say it loud and clear once and for all.

If I don't mention you by name, it's not about you.

Get off your Horse

Think of your mind as a horse.

Most likely it's a wild horse because you haven't tamed it yet.

If you identify with your thoughts, opinions, biases, and ideas, you're strapped to that horse.

Worse, you think you and the horse are one and the same. Like a centaur!

Or a 50 Centaur. BA-dum-TSsssshhhhhhh

When the horse decides to take off on a ride it's taking you along. You have no say in the matter.

Well it's high time you realize you aren't the horse, sir. 

Turn your attention inward. Listen to the thoughts that pop up involuntarily in your head. Observe how these thoughts give rise to emotions.

Observation creates separation. 

You're not a centaur after all, just a buffoon who thinks he's stuck on a horse.

Get off.

Doesn't that feel better?

Now you can watch the horse from a distance. You can see what makes it tick. You can start figuring out how to break that sonofabitch and make him listen to you for once.

You see your mind--the horse--has a mind of its own.

A mind within a mind? I know, so meta.

You never tamed the horse or learned how to ride it properly so it's been living off instinct and conditioning. You might've nudged it this way or that on occasion but I bet there were times when it snorted at you and went whichever way it pleased.

You know when you can't sleep at night and your thoughts are just spinning and spinning? There you go riding in circles.

When you find yourself rehashing past traumas? Obsessing over some minor detail? Worrying about whether you left the stove on or not for fucking hours? 

That's the horse. You're not riding it: it's taking you for a ride.

You can get off anytime.

Dissociating from your mind is the first step to taming it.

Repeat after me: I'M NOT MY HORSE.

Dear Senators

This is an open letter I sent to the Senate this morning regarding bill C-51, aka the Canadian Patriot Act, aka the Secret Police bill, aka Uncle Stephen is Watching.

I encourage you to write your own letters today. There are a number of petitions you can add your name and message to. This is the one I signed. I know a lot of people think internet activism doesn't get anything done but my philosophy has always been, "it certainly can't hurt!"

Internet activism convinced Tim Hortons to take down their oil-pipeline ads.

Apparently, it also caused the Senate to delay voting on C51.

So take a minute and add your name. And if you're not in the writing mood, feel free to appropriate my letter, change it up how you see fit, and fire away.

Cheers!

***

Dear Canadian Senators,  

I've written to a number of you about bill C51 already and will reiterate what I have said.

Never before has the Senate been so reviled and disliked by Canadians. The chamber of "sober second thought" has long been considered a chamber of rubber-stamping. Add to this the fact that you're plagued by scandals and corruption and the Senate's prognosis is bleak indeed.

But it doesn't have to be.

In fact C51 presents a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you to redeem yourselves and show Canadians you can do better. You can show Canadians that, even when their elected officials have abandoned them, the Senate is still looking out for the greater good.

The number of experts who have come out in opposition of bill C51 is overwhelming. And those Canadians who understand the inner-workings of the bill stand in unanimous opposition as well. Don't be misled: the will of the people is clear. They do not want this bill.

Don't be fooled by empty rhetoric and false logic, either. I've heard some say, "If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to worry about." If you feel this way too then please let me know when I can come to your house and set up my video cameras and microphones. Let me know when I can install my spyware on your computer and start listening in on your personal phone calls. 

After all, if you have nothing to hide...

Just remember that C51 will affect all Canadians, yourselves included. You will not be exempt from the indiscriminate collection of data, nor will politicians hesitate to turn the surveillance state upon you (and one another) if there is some benefit to be derived. 

In closing I'd like to say that I for one am not in support of abolishing the Senate. I believe its intended purpose--to provide a sober second look on bills before they are made into law--is necessary now more than ever. Our political system is ancient and broken and until we can bring transparency and accountability to the House of Commons we will need individuals with integrity to hold our elected officials in check. 

You Senators ought to be those individuals. You're not yet, but you could be, and C51 is the catalyst for your transformation. 

Show Canadians why they need a Senate. Kill the Bill.

Moist Regards,

Oscar

Marriage Counseling

I'm thinking about opening up my own marriage counselling clinic.

Not because my marriage is perfect but because I actually understand what I signed up for whereas a lot of people have no fucking clue.

A marriage is a partnership. Your family, that's a business. 

When partners work together according to their strengths, communicate clearly, and put the business first, they achieve great success.

When partners try to place their interests above the business, don't listen or speak to each other, and refuse to acknowledge their shortcomings, the business tanks.

It's not rocket science: in order for a family to thrive, grow, and succeed, all members must be willing and able to put the family first, that is, ahead of his or her own personal wants.

Teamwork, guys! Get your shit together.

What did you think marriage was anyway? 

A vehicle for your greatness? Cheap house-cleaning? Another thing in your shitty life for you to whine and complain about? 

There's a reason you split assets 50/50 when the business goes bankrupt. On paper and in practice you're equal partners. It behooves you to work against each other.

There's no room for one-up-manship here. Your success and your partner's success are one and the same. 

When you have a disagreement the best possible outcome is that you're both right. Then you can share the win instead of hoarding it over one another. And if it happens that one of you is more right than the other, don't be a douche.   

Pop quiz: what do you think the number one cause of divorce is?

Cheating?

Drugs?

Abuse?

Money?

None of the above.

The number one obstacle to a happy marriage is this little cocksucker called the Ego. 

In case you haven't heard that dude is a real motherfucker.

The Ego's like, "You did the dishes and vacuumed and now she wants you to do the laundry? How dare she ask so much of you?" Meanwhile your partner's been slaving away all week and this is her one day off.

Fuck your football, asshole. Get up and do some laundry.

Or the Ego's like "Why doesn't he ever pick his goddamn dirty underwear off the bathroom floor when he's done in the shower? Doesn't he respect you? Of course not. He takes you for granted. All you ever do is cleanup after him and what does he do? Watch fucking football."

Meanwhile your partner's been putting in long hours all week so he can buy you that stupid purse you want so bad. 

Fuck your purse, lady.

But it's PRADA!

If you're tired of picking up after your husband, stop doing it. When he's like, "Hey honey why is the house such a mess" you can calmly tell him that you have too much stuff on your plate to be cleaning up after a grown-ass man.

Here's the trick, friends.

Whenever that voice in your head starts getting you riled up do yourself a favor and take five. Go for a jog. Do a Sudoku. Get comfy and take ten glorious, thoughtless breaths. Whatever you gotta do to reset your mind and get back to a balanced state.

Whatever you do, don't indulge that voice. It doesn't belong to you and it's not right, no matter how much you want it to be.

That voice is the Ego and it isn't looking out for you, your partner, or your family: it's looking out for itself.

If you're looking for a successful partnership, be it in business, friendship, or love, you can't let the Ego steer the ship. Send that bastard away and things will get much easier for all parties involved.

Above Time

These roses under my window make no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for what they are. There is no time to them. There is simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of its existence. Its nature is satisfied, and it satisfies nature, in all moments alike. But man postpones or remembers; he does not live in the present, but with reverted eye laments the past, or, heedless of the riches that surround him, stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be happy and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above time.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Be present. Live in the Now. YOLO. Carpe Diem.

Over the years I heard this message in its many incarnations and reacted the same way.

"What is this new-age bullshit?"

It wasn't until recently that I grasped the message behind the words.

It's a fairly simple concept. So simple, in fact, it almost seems too obvious.

Past and future are illusions. Only the present exists.

Think about an event that occurred in your past. That event took place in the present moment.

Think along to some future event. It'll take place in the present moment.

Memories are all that remain of the past, speculation all that exists of the future.

When it happened; or when it eventually happens; it'll be Now.

Think of time as a river. The current driving toward the sea is Now.

Some people are swept along helplessly by the present moment, clutching a piece of driftwood, kicking and thrashing feebly against the steady pull; others learn to swim, build their own canoes, and start paddling.

Whether you flounder or float, resist or go with it, you're being carried forward. There's no stopping the present moment no matter how unpleasant it might seem.

Stop looking at the rapids behind you: worry about the ones directly in front of you.

Stop trying to see miles ahead: there are forks in the river and decisions to be made right now.

When you focus on the present moment you become a white-water rafter. You navigate deftly around whirlpools and sharp rocks. What's more, you actually enjoy the ride!

No distractions.

Stop anticipating. Stop ruminating.

Be present. Then you'll stand above time.

Credit Where it's Due

If you read anything I write on politics you probably think I'm biased.

For instance, you probably think I oppose the Conservative party. And you're right! To a large extent I also oppose the Dippers, Liberals, and Greens. 

Wait, what?

Truth is, I am biased. I oppose the entire damn party system.

It's a broken model that creates conflicts of interest and leaves you and I without a voice in Ottawa. 

Who does your representative represent, exactly? If they have to choose between representing their constituents or toeing the party line, what will they do?

Trick question!

There's no choice involved. Party leaders whip their members into voting according to the party's interests, meaning your MP represents their party whether they want to or not.

Now there are exceptions to the rule. Some MP's cross lines, disregard orders, and vote their conscience. But these are rare individuals! I know because I'm tracking them as we speak.

They're on my list. I'm recruiting them to the People's Party as soon as the revolution kicks off.

You hear that, Kennedy Stewart?

You hear that Michael Chong?

Just so I don't sound cynical and jaded though I'd like to take this opportunity to give credit where credit is due.

I always rant about "evidence-based policy making." I always talk about how politicians should defer to specialists whenever possible. Well here's a fine example of it:

MPs On Health Committee Seek More Warnings About Cellphones, Wi-Fi, Baby Monitors

And did you see? A Conservative MP at the forefront!

See I don't care what party you're in. If you're doing your job, I give you props. Fuck all that partisan bullshit. That's just more flag-loving political hooliganism.

Why do I care about the potential dangers of cellphones and other wireless devices? Haven't we been told before that there is no danger from these devices? From the article:

Dariusz Leszczynski, a biosciences professor at the University of Helsinki, told MPs that the scientific community has polarized into two extremes, one group that believes cellphone and wireless communication radiation have no effect and another group that believes it has harmful effects.

Doesn't this sound familiar?

There are a number of similar issues currently circulating the globe, issues that polarize not only scientists but politicians, industrialists, and everyday citizens around the world.

Climate change, GMO's, and vaccines come to mind.

In some cases these issues highlight the failure of the scientific community to effectively communicate with the public; in other cases they show once again that science, like any other tool, can be hijacked and corrupted by third parties.

Remember when scientists swore up and down that smoking was perfectly healthy? Who was paying those guys again?

Oh yeah, tobacco companies.

Anyway, I digress.

The good news is our government is actually speaking to scientists again.

I know there's an election around the corner and this is probably mere posturing, but it's a baby step in the right direction. So there you go.

/rant over 

Joe Oliver's Master Plan

Remember how I tore a strip off Tom Mulcair for being fake and contrived?

I admit I was being a little harsh. A friend of mine accused me of being an idealist and I agree.

I get why politicians need teleprompters and scripts, to some extent.

Not everyone can say what they believe eloquently. I certainly can't. I need to rehearse or risk putting my foot directly into my mouth.

Believe me, I'm very familiar with the taste of foot.

Here's another reason politicians should use teleprompters: so they don't say the stupidest shit imaginable in front of an international audience.

"Hey, Joe Oliver, you're the finance minister of Canada. Do you know how can we spur economic growth?"

"Dur, yeah, I gots me a few idears. Why don't we loosen them labour laws up and make it easier for employers to lay people off. That'll really get the economy roaring!"

No wonder Canada's international reputation is down the shitter. I mean, look at the yahoos and morons representing us on the world stage!

In any case, Oliver's statement shows just how little he understands basic arithmetic.

Spurring economic growth by relaxing labor laws to make it easier to lay off workers?

Sure!

While we're at it, let's fight obesity by making it easier for gyms to revoke and deny gym memberships to obese people. 

Right?

Why stop there? Let's improve mental health by giving counselors and psychologists the ability to deny mentally ill people the help they need.

Yeah, that'll work!

Thanks Joe Oliver. You're a genius.

Book Reviews a la Meme Merchant

Most bloggers and book critics review works that have been recently published.

I'm like, fuck that. I'll do as I please, thank you very much.

I'll review 2,000 year old books if I feel like it. I'll review the Book of Job. I'll review the Kama Sutra. I'll review anything I've read in my lifetime, from fiction to scripture to psychology and everything in between.

And when I say review, what I actually mean is "comment on." I'm not going to critique here. I'll tell you why I liked it, what I got out of it, and anything else that pops up.

I won't tell you to go out and read this book.

What I will say is, "If you're into X, then this book is for you."

Or, "If you read and enjoyed Y, then this book is for you."

Or, "If you ever wondered why Z? then this book is for you."

After that you can take it or leave it.

Last thing I want to be is a critic.

Critics are trolls with glasses. Critics are people who have nothing to aspire to, no achievements of their own, so they nitpick other people's achievements. Critics build themselves up by knocking other people down.

If I don't like a book, I won't bother writing about it. Hell, I don't even bother finishing it. I read for pleasure and for self-improvement: if a book provides neither, I put it down and never pick it up again.

That simple.

So any book I review on here is, in my opinion, awesome.

Fights: Arlovsky - Browne

By far the best part of my trip to Vegas was watching UFC 187 live at the MGM Grand.

It was also my first time watching fights in person so I didn't really know what to expect.

I knew I wouldn't get to listen to the commentary. I knew I wouldn't get multiple camera angles.

What I didn't know is that none of that matters when you've got one of the best cards in recent memory taking place right in front of you.

UFC 187 didn't get off to a great start. The prelims were pretty boring, and that's putting it lightly.

Even the first fight of the main card was meh. That being said, it was a lot better than any fight on the prelims so it got my blood pumping.

But then, after the first fight, something magical happened.

Shit got real.

Andrei "the Pitbull" Arlovski, once my favourite fighter in the UFC, rekindled my love for prizefighting.

I admit I was skeptical about Arlovski's return to the UFC. I used to love this guy but then something happened. He started getting KO'd, got a little gun-shy, then made his way through a series of inferior organizations with mixed results.

I'd seen this downward slide enough to know what was happening to him. Once you get put to sleep a few times, you start to lose your ability to take a punch. Pretty soon a hard sneeze is enough to earn you a standing 8 count

While outside of the UFC Arlovski won some and lost some. Clearly he won enough to get himself back to the big league. He even strung together three wins in the UFC, knocking out Bigfoot Silva in the process.

Yet despite his win-streak, I still doubted him. I thought for sure Browne would crack that weak chin of his and put him away. Boy did I get it wrong.

Sweet baby Jesus. Did you watch that? Wow.

If I had watched the fight at home I would've been standing on the couch yelling my face off. How much better was it live? Just imagine 16,000 people roaring in amazement and clapping until their hands went numb.

It was fucking unreal.

Here's what I really liked about Arlovski's performance:

• He let his hands go. I feel like he became gun-shy for a while there. Well not anymore! He threw some really beautiful combinations, and lots of 'em. 
• He worked the body diligently. Anyone who knows me knows I fucking love body shots. They're extremely under-utilized in MMA and it makes me sad. After he got hurt, Browne did a good job protecting his head. So Arlovski went downstairs and made him pay. Those were some nasty shots to the ribs!
• You see when Arlovsky threw a punch that missed and hit him on the way back? What the hell was that? He did it twice and even knocked Browne down with it at one point. 
• He threw unorthodox combos. At least, unorthodox in MMA. For instance, the combo he used to put Browne away--a right uppercut followed by an overhand right--is extremely uncommon in MMA and hard to land successfully. Anytime you see a fighter double up with the same hand, you know he/she is a skilled boxer.
• He got his chin back!!! At one point Browne, who's game as fuck and deserves mad props for lasting as long as he did, caught Arlovski with a massive left hook that sent him spinning to the ground. I thought for sure that was it, game over, but I was wrong again. Arlovski came back and finished Browne shortly after.

Is Arlovski back? I don't know, man. I hope so. It's rare to see an aging prizefighter mount a successful comeback. For every Couture, Hopkins, and Lawler there's a dozen Tysons, Alis, and Liddells.

There's nothing worse than watching you favourite fighter get demolished time after time because he doesn't know when to call it quits.

On the flip-side, there's nothing better than watching an old favourite mount a spectacular comeback.

Arlovski says he's hungry. He says he wants the belt.

And after last Saturday I believe him.

Of the three predictions I made regarding UFC 187, this fight is the only one I got wrong. And I'm glad!

If you get a chance to watch this one in its entirety, do so. 

Short Story Interlude

So I got back from my first trip to Vegas yesterday. I'm still processing the experience but I'll have lots to write about in the days to come. 

Unfortunately I don't have anything written yet so I thought I'd share a short story I wrote a few years ago.

About this story: 

• It's 1,414 words long, so longer than my average blog post;
• It's actually the prelude of a full-length novella I intended to write but never got around to;
• I originally wrote it to show my friend an example of the voice or style I thought she should use to write her own story; and
• It's filthy and dirty. If you're offended by anal sex, for example, don't read this.

If I had to sum this story up I would say it's like a harlequin written by Chuck Palahniuk. Enjoy!

The hotel room is small and cramped and smells faintly of mould and cigarettes. Tucked away in the nowhere states of Idaho or Wyoming, it's exactly the sort of place I would expect Karl to pick for a secret rendezvous. 

He jumps to his feet the moment I open the door. His eyes are bright with relief, with a smouldering kind of pleasure.

Karl doesn’t have the capacity for love so I guess this is the next best thing.

He takes my breath away just for a minute: six-foot-something, blonde, with eyes too blue to be real and the jaw-line of a fifties  movie star. His arms are sculpted and his neck and shoulders stretch his t-shirt taunt, the result of military service and a failed career in cage-fighting.

Not failed, sorry. That would imply past success.

Not career, either. That would imply making money.

He looks at me standing in the doorway framed by the dull glare of the dusty mid-western sun, and he says, “I knew you’d come.”

I drop my bag by the door and squint at the darkness inside the room. The curtains are drawn and the air conditioning is blasting. It’s like a frozen tomb in there. A quick scan reveals a half-empty bottle of Jack and an ash-tray crammed full of scrunched-up little filters.

Karl, staring at me with a puppy’s devotion, he says, “I knew I could talk sense into that thick fucking skull of yours.”

If by talk sense he means “blackmail,” then yes. The way he says “thick fucking skull” with fondness in his voice, it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. 

He’s gorgeous but not much in the way of coherent thoughts. He’s like those hot guys on the cover of all those shitty paperback harlequins you see at the pharmacy.

No substance. Just a pretty face.

“Well? What the fuck are you waiting for? Get in here.” The love in his eyes hardens into something else—impatience, the seed of anger. I take two steps into the room and close the door behind me. 

I can feel the grit and filth of the carpet through my shoes.

He embraces me in his big muscular arms and presses my face into his damp t-shirt. Aqua Digio overlaps the thin, sour smell of perspiration. Just sitting there, pressed up against the hard musculature of his body, I start to get a little wet. 

I won’t lie. He’s a caveman, crude, bad-tempered, jealous, a complete and utter failure in almost every sense of the word. He's good at two things: the first is how we met in the first place. The second is the reason I stuck it out with him for six months, flew him out to meet me, took him shopping, and bought him $100 steak dinners.

He isn’t gentle when he shoves me onto the bed, nor do I want him to be. The sheets don’t smell altogether clean but I don’t care anymore. By the time he tears my pants off I’m panting and moaning. 

“You don’t know how badly I been wanting to do this,” he groans into my ear, and me, I turn my head just a little bit and I tell him to stick it in my ass, to pound my ass so fucking hard.

“You bet your bottom dollar I will,” he says in his Nebraskan accent.

So unlike my husband, in every way.

It’s this exact thought that brings me back to reality. Not the reality of this shitty hotel room. Not the reality of this moronic redneck thrusting up against me, making this meaty slap-slap sound.

It’s the reality of my life. Of what I’ve done, what I’m doing, and what I’m about to do. The Holy Trinity of my fucked up life.

I decide I’m going to enjoy my last time with Karl. The certain knowledge that it's nearly over helps me to enjoy the sex a little more than I normally might. 

Don’t get me wrong, this sort of thing is a real treat. My husband, God bless him, he’s a much more reserved kind of man. A gentleman, loving, caring, sensitive, smart. 

Mention anal-beads and he laughs. Mention fisting or felching, golden-showers or role-playin1g, anything that isn’t good old fashion missionary, and he thinks you’re kidding. The whips and leather, the rough stuff, autoerotic asphyxiation, all of that belongs to a shady subculture my husband wants nothing to do with.

My husband, God bless him, he needs to brush his teeth and shower before we engage in any sexual activities. Doesn’t want me to taste his coffee breath or, heaven forbid, swallow a stray pubic hair while giving him a blowjob.

Karl makes me feel like a real woman. And by that, I mean like a real slut.

“Oh my fuck, I'm gonna cum so hard in your ass. Oh fuck—“ Karl is going harder, faster, and he smacks my ass so hard I swear everyone in this nameless little mid-western shithole hears it. He yanks my hair and I clench up in pain, in pleasure, and that’s all it takes to push him over the edge. 

I feel him tense and spasm and he howls like a mongrel dog at my back.

And then it’s over. Just like that.

If only my husband could see me now.

Karl gets off and burps loudly. “Fuck. I’m gonna hit the shower baby.”

I’m still laying there on the dirty mattress, wondering how many women have been sodomized on this exact spot. I wonder, half in a daze, my ass aching, how did I get here?

I grab my bag and pull out a bottle of wine. The shower’s on and I can hear Karl humming happily to himself. There’s no table in the room so I put the bottle down on top of the big TV set, pull out two plastic cups, and set them down.

I find Karl's gym bag and rummage through it. It doesn't take me long to find the compromising photos. 

When he comes out of the shower I’m sitting on the ratty love seat by the window, plastic cup in one hand, yellow envelope in the other. 

“Oh, hey,” he says, looking at the envelope. “Don’t get any crazy ideas. I made copies of those pictures.” He taps his temple with a forefinger to indicate the cunning of his plan.

I ask him if he really loves me. I mean, he must to go through all this trouble, to plan out this entire scheme, to threaten to destroy my already crumbling marriage. 

He thinks we can be together forever. In that fucked up mind of his he think he can blackmail me into spending the rest of my life with him.

“Are you dumb? Of course I fucking love you. Why do you think I’m doing all of this? You’re not smart enough to know what you want, what’s good for you. That’s why you need me.”

Me, with my masters degree and my 100k-a-year career, I’m too stupid to know what I want. 

It’s the most astute observation Karl has made during our time together. “Come sit with me,” I say. “Let’s toast.” 

I motion to the plastic cup sitting on the TV.

“To our life together,” he toasts. The beautiful moron. He chuckles and tosses back the wine in one swallow. Just like that.

More like our last time together, I tell him.

The mean look in his eyes stirs up all the emotions I've been feeling of late. I wouldn’t say I hate myself for doing all of this, for falling into this bizarre downward spiral that seems to never end. I could never hate myself.

But I can hate the things I’ve done.

Karl, his face is already turning red, and the look of anger is gradually transforming before my eyes. I watch in wonder and read the thoughts as they scroll across his ruggedly handsome features. First is confusion, the furrowing of his brow; then, suspicion followed by the bright light of realization. 

“No. Fucking. Way,” he croaks. He can’t believe it. He tries to lunge for me but his muscles, his perfectly sculpted muscles, they seize up from lack of oxygen. 

His throat is swelling shut. He stumbles, collapses, lets out an anguished cry, but it's a whisper compared to the sounds of our fucking just a few minutes ago.

I stay sitting on the couch and watch his eyes bulge grotesquely. His body twitches and shivers. 

I watch him die. And the last thing that skitters across my mind before he stops thrashing is, how did this start?

And, did I love you?