I recall quite clearly that winter’s day in early 2014. I was wearing my ironic flannel over my extremely funny graphic tee that read “I mustache you a question”. My mission that day was simple. See, Bubbaflop had done a secret show at Bonnaroo where they covered Antsy Kilgore’s entire Pescatarian Homesick Blues album. And according to Pitchfork, a limited pressing vinyl was made from that concert set! Only catch was it was going to be rare as hell. Rumor was there were only 500 copies made. But as a connoisseur of objectively correct music, I knew a place that might have this cherry Bubbaflop wax.

So I banged my Converse down the street and straight into Morbid Lozenge, the best record shop in town. It was like maaaaybe the eighth or ninth best record shop I knew of, but it was the only place I could get to on such short notice.

I walked in the door, and gave a short nod of recognition to Lyle. He was the owner. He was sitting behind the counter, wearing an extremely funny graphic tee that read “I mustache you a question”. I spotted Omar, who wasn’t an employee but hung out at Morbid Lozenge all day, every day, because he was so cool.

“Hey Omar, what’s the 4-1-1 on BubFlo’s secret AK-PHB rec, dawg?”

“What the fuck does any of that mean, asshole?” he joked. We were good friends.

“Bubbaflop, man! They’ve got that new record-“

Omar jokingly cut me off and pretended to glare, “Dude, I’m not your personal shopper. You’re just as capable of looking through merchandise as I am. And quit calling me. I’m not fucking around about the restraining order.” He was always cracking wise with me, his pal. But I got his general vibe. I made a beeline to the New Releases section and perused the racks of records.

A lot of the same corny junk that an old man like Lyle wanted. Basket Weavers, Sullen Tank Top Syndicate, Kale Goldblatt and His Magnificent Nephews. Yawn. After a bit, I came upon a band I’d never heard of before. The Football Truth Tellers. The album was called 2026 NFL Results. I was intrigued enough that I forgot all about Bubbaflop for a moment. I hopped like a newborn jerboa over to the nearest turntable and put on the record. I was blown away. The lyrics were insane. They went kinda like….

NFC EAST

Dallas Starfish 9-8 (4 Seed)
Spots media experts, much like sports fans, are allvery stupid. A lot of hay was made about how in the draft, Dallas procured two defensive players in the first round. This was some sort of a coup by the Crypt Keeper’s uglier brother, Jerry Jones. Maybe he DID know what he was doing when he traded Micah Parsons to Green Bay! How was this some Sun Tzu strategic masterstroke? We all knew they had two first rounders since August of last year. Their defense was complete shit last year. This was the most obvious thing they could do. Anyway, their offense is still pretty potent.
D.C. Commandos 8-9
D.C.’s offensive line was apparently so atrocious in joint practices that their position coach committed seppuku. We’re a long ways from the legendary Hoggs o-line of D.C.’s glory days.
Philly Screeching Pigeons 7-10
Well the Tush Push, or the Brotherly Shove, or the Ass Thrust, whatever you call it, has run its course. I mean, it’s still legal, stupidly, but it’s hard to drive down the field when the guys won’t stop practicing the move in the hotel room and get to the stadium.
New York Blue Pork 5-12
Is all that we see or seem, just a dream within CTE? Asking for Cam Skattebo.

The Mastermind of Dallas

NFC NORTH

Green Bay Packers 13-4 (1 Seed)
I advocated for Matt Lafleur to be fired after last season’s crash and burn to end the season. Five losses in a row if you count the playoffs. A couple of those losses included Packers leads in the fourth quarter. The year prior, Green Bay could beat bad teams, but lost twice to Philly, twice to Minneapolis, and twice to Motor City. Each time we got to play another good NFC team, even with previous experience, we wilted. I think Lafleur is a good coach. I just question if he’s the right fit for this team right now. Part of me wonders if losing Matt and promoting our former defensive coordinator Jeff Hafley to head coach would’ve been the right move. But, all that aside, Jordan Love is going to ignore Matt’s wussy calls when the game is on the line and subsequently win MVP. Micah is going to come back from injury well-rested and still log about 12 sacks. Tucker Kraft has the best tight end season in Packers history. And maybe, just maybe, Lafleur learns to trust his team a little more.
Minneapolis Norsemen 10-7 (6 Seed)
This purple team brought in a wee lil’ fella to play quarterback. It’ll at least be more entertaining than watching Nine play-act as an NFL quarterback. I think Kyler could make the Norsemen a scrappy team. I also like their acquisition of some beef on the D-line in the draft. Big Citrus for defensive rookie of the year.
Motor City Madmen 8-9
The window has slammed shut. I think the dumb meathead coach and his “boldness” going for it on 4th and 39 in the first half has grown tiresome for a lot of fans. Another rebuild may be on the horizon.
Grizzlies 6-11
The copious amount of hype around the Grizzlies this offseason has become a little bit silly. This team looked like ass for probably 80% of of the season last year, but managed to pull a miracle out of their big hair bear asses a few times. Primo candidates for regression to the mean. They went 7-4 in one score games last year (this pendulum almost always swings back the other way the following year). They finished with an absurd turnover margin of +22 last year (also an outlier and extremely unlikely to repeat.)

Tuck R. Kraft

NFC SOUTH

Tampon Gay Fuckin’ Queers 10-7 (3 Seed)
Somebody’s gotta win this mess of a division. Really, these teams could finish in any order and it would not shock me. This division is like the turd in the punch bowl of the NFC. Or maybe it’s the punch in a turd bowl. By that I mean like making hooch in a prison toilet. Because watching their games will feel like a prison sentence. But hey, I like Bucky Irving and Emeka Egbuka, so maybe these guys can win it?
New Orleans Pelicans 9-8
How is Tyler Shough’s last name pronounced “Shuck”? Are we just making things up now? Maybe he should go Fhough himself.
Carolina Sweet 9-8
These guys are hard to figure out. Seems like they are really bad, but every once in a while they kind of put it together. They had a three game win streak at one time last season. They beat a division rival by a score of 30 to zero. They also got blown out in a game where the score was 9 to 40. I think the coinflips continue in Carolina.
Barbara Streisand 6-11
Bijan Robinson will rush for 2000 yards and get another 800 receiving yards. Everyone else will be checked out by halftime, spending the second half scrolling through reviews for local strip clubs to hit up after the game mercifully ends.

Baker Mayfield is only the third NFL player operated entirely by Jim Henson Company Muppeteers.

NFC WEST

Los Angeles Curlhorns 13-4 (2 seed)
The hype machine is roaring for this team. Big trade for the reigning defensive player of the year, plus Aaron Donald coming out of retirement, plus still possessing a coterie of playmakers on offense. And last year’s MVP Matt Stafford. And the genius coach, Doogleby. On paper it all looks great. But the Football Gods have a history of smiting hubris. Maybe Stafford loses his arm strength, because he is 59 years old. Maybe Aaron Donald is a nonfactor, because he is 53 years old. Maybe Doogleby returns to the fey realm midseason.
Seattle Spermbirds 12-5 (5 seed)
The defending champs seem to somehow be in the shadow of the LA team. Seattle won the championship with old-fashioned great defense and a solid run game. I expect they can more or less be as good as last year. A key to last year’s run though is they were one of the healthiest teams in the league come playoff time.
San Fransisco Illicit Disco 10-7 (7 seed)
Brock Purdy gets too excited playing a kazoo and accidentally swallows it, causing his cadence to sound really, really, really fucking funny all year.
Phoenix Lights 5-12
A team with atrocious talent in every position group chose to grab a runningback with the #3 overall pick. I guess? I mean, throw a rock and you’ll hit a player better than the mooks they had out there last year.

Doogleby, Prince of Posies

AFC EAST

Buffalo Soldier in the Heart of America 13-4 (2 seed)
Seems like every year they have the same story. Their runningback, James Pussy, will continue to cook. Josh Allen will have some highlight plays. Then in the playoffs they will lose, and their fans will piss and moan about how it was somehow unfair. Shit or get off the pot, Buffalo! I gotta poop!
Boston Marathons 12-5 (6 seed)
Boston returned to the Super Bowl after an absence of…not long enough. In the offseason, Mike Vrabel got In Trouble for cheating on his wife with a lady sports reporter. But somehow she was the one who lost her job? Hey, journalists gotta do what they can for the scoop! And head coaches should have their noses in the playbook, and not their wieners in their notwives!!!
Florida Fightin’ Fish 8-9
This team is now Green Bay South, with former Packers defensive coordinator Jeff Hafley as head coach, former Packers front office man Jon-Eric Sullivan as GM, and former Packers backup QB Malik Willis in as the only talented player. I think there will be plenty of bumps along the road, but I don’ think they’ll be as abysmal as a lot of talking heads say.
New York 9/11s 4-13
Remember back in Buffalo’s blurb when I said I had to poop?! Well, they took too long and now I’ve gotta buy new pants!

Buffalo’s All-Pro Halfback

AFC NORTH

Cincinnati Stripecats 13-4 (1 seed)
Cincinnati has had offensive firepower for years, but their defense has mostly been scarecrows and traffic cones with smiley faces painted on them. This year, they focused on adding real players via free agency and the draft. I think it may be enough to put them over the hump.
Baltimore Edgar Allans 12-5 (5 seed)
Stavvy rejoices with a celebratory gyro.
Shittsburgh Anti-Vaxxers 6-11
Mike McCarthy and Aaron Rodgers together for one last ride. Can they bring back the magic of yesteryear? Can they turn back the clock to Obama’s first term? No, seriously, can they? (I mean Obama sucked but you know.)
Ohio P. Diddies 3-14
I laugh at your misfortune.

wanna rub dat belly

AFC SOUTH

Tennessee BBQ Brawlers 9-8 (4 seed)
A downtrodden team that quietly had a productive offseason. They brought in Robert Saleh to be their head coach, and while his tenure in New York was bad, I think that org is just cursed in a way that Tennessee is not. I expect the offense to have a bit more of a spark this year, and this is a weak division. Plus Cam Ward is cool. I like that he was mad that his team sucked balls last year. More of that from quarterbacks! Less “Well we missed some opportunities, just didn’t execute, blah blah.” More saying “If I’m keepin’ it a buck, we ass.”
North Florida Geezers 8-9
North Florida overachieved last season and made sure it wouldn’t happen again. They drafted a bunch of guys like one or two rounds earlier than they should have. Much like the Grizzlies, I see this team sinking back toward average.
Indiana Horseshoes 6-11
They paid a white boy receiver like a billion dollars, and then he had to have his leg surgically rebuilt. Now he is more machine than man.
Houston Oklahomans 5-12
Lot of folks are expecting Houston to be great. The defense was stellar last year, but sweet lord did CJ Stroud melt down in the playoffs. I honestly expected them to bench him in the divisional round. I remember when internet geniuses were assuring us that Stroud was better than Jordan Love. Those folks are sure quiet now!

From “we ass” to “kick ass”?!

AFC WEST

Denver Blucifers 12-5 (3 seed)
Denver traded for Jaylen “What Do” Waddle, setting up their spiky-haired scamp of a quarterback with a legitimate WR1. This team probably should have won the AFC last year if not for an unfortunate ankle break for their spiky-haired scamp of a quarterback. Look for their spiky-haired scamp of a quarterback to bounce back with a chip on his shoulder.
KC Uncrustables 10-7 (7 seed)
Like The Terminator or herpes, they’ll be back. Probably not a juggernaut, but the Ol’ Walrus is too good of a coach and Captain Annoying is too good of a quarterback for them to stay out of the playoffs for good.
Hollywood Zappers 7-10
Does anyone care? Like, seriously. If these guys just decided to stay home on game day, how long would it take the league at large to notice? They have like 40 fans in the world.
Viva Las Vegas 4-13
Kirko Chains and his new adoptive son, Fernando Mendoza. Two of the dorkiest, most aw-shucks nerds you’ve ever laid eyes on, quarterbacking the team from Sin City. It’s like if Mr. Rogers became president of a biker gang. But I guess that maybe doesn’t translate to wins on the gridiron.

horse

PLAYOFFS!

WILDCARD ROUND
Baltimore Edgar Allans 12-5 (5 seed) @ Tennessee BBQ Brawlers 9-8 (4 seed)
Boston Marathons 12-5 (6 seed) @ Denver Blucifers 12-5 (3 seed)
KC Uncrustables 10-7 (7 seed) @ Buffalo Soldier in the Heart of America 13-4 (2 seed)
Seattle Spermbirds 12-5 (5 seed) @ Dallas Starfish 9-8 (4 Seed)
Minneapolis Norsemen 10-7 (6 Seed) @ Tampon Gay Fuckin’ Queers 10-7 (3 Seed)
San Fransisco Illicit Disco 10-7 (7 seed) @ Los Angeles Curlhorns 13-4 (2 seed)

DIVISIONAL ROUND
Denver Blucifers 12-5 (3 seed) @ Buffalo Soldier in the Heart of America 13-4 (2 seed)
Baltimore Edgar Allans 12-5 (5 seed) @ Cincinnati Stripecats 13-4 (1 seed)
Tampon Gay Fuckin’ Queers 10-7 (3 Seed) @ Los Angeles Curlhorns 13-4 (2 seed)
Seattle Spermbirds 12-5 (5 seed) @ Green Bay Packers 13-4 (1 Seed)

CONFERENCE CHAMPIONSHIPS
Denver Blucifers 12-5 (3 seed) @ Cincinnati Stripecats 13-4 (1 seed)
Los Angeles Curlhorns 13-4 (2 seed) @ Green Bay Packers 13-4 (1 Seed)

SUPER BOWL 61
Denver Blucifers 12-5 (3 seed) @ Green Bay Packers 13-4 (1 Seed)

yay !!!!!!!!!!

…so then I took the record off the turntable and said to myself “That was kind of a long song.” They didn’t have whatever record I was talking about at the beginning. I walked home in the cold.

Iris was a hermit.

She lived in a thatched roof hovel at the bottom of a valley. Fetid pools of mosquito birthing yards sat cool and still among the pale brown strawgrass and cattails. The patchwork grey water and flesh-colored vegetation grew disparate as the landscape rose into lumpen hills.

The hills burbled from the depression. Thin, fingerly coniferous trees rose from balled, nutrient-poor sand. The trees were wiry, and the pinecones seemed latched shut. Tightened into a defensive cloister. Dark in color.

Iris chose this life. Two days travel from most civilization.

She read her books. They sat comfortably in their leather covers and there in her timeworn palms. Frog leg and mushroom soup burbled in the cauldron over the fire. Her hut was always twilight.

Stories found their way to the surrounding towns. A monstrous hag. Her lair deep in the pale fen that the gods forgot. Surely, a hero will slay this fiend one day.

Iris sat on a stump and watched a duck clean its feathers. It warbled. Pecked at a fly.

Iris sipped her tea and smiled.

Matriphagy

Some insect species eat their own young. Grasshoppers, spiders, nematodes. The mother will sit with her clutch of eggs for a significant portion of her life, and then when the little ones pop out and start squirming around, she will devour them. Heck of a life for that little baby bug, huh? You just get born, see the sun, the world for the first time. A giant creature that looks exactly like you lowers its mouth pincers onto you and crunches into your chitinous little head and murders you. Huh. That was weird. That was your whole existence. Better luck next time! Seems to me this is also the way of some momma’s boy humans. Those pale, milkish men who sleep soundly.

Ranking the Fingers

10. Right ring finger. This guy is just along for the ride. Mostly useless.
9. Left middle finger. Similarly useless on its own. Could flip the bird to someone in a pinch, I GUESS.
8. Left pinky. Once in a while, it’ll show up. Largely forgotten.
7. Right pinky. Can hold a small plastic bag from the grocery or department store when I’m hauling stuff in.
6. Left ring finger. Bears my wedding ring. Good job. Outside of that? What are your achievements?
5. Right middle finger. Can communicate a vulgarity.
4. Left pointer finger. Sits on the “F” key, and can do more than you’d expect, honestly.
3. Left thumb. Can rub a cat’s ear pretty well.
2. Right pointer. Picks boogers out of my nose, indicates things in the distance.
1. Right thumb. The GOAT. Most experienced grabber of the bunch. Strong.

Fog

Today it was humid and warm in the morning, and then in the afternoon a chill rolled in off the lake. It brought a rolling, wicking fog. Steam that sintered over the parking lots and streets. Ghostly hands grasping upward and then melting back into nothing over this tiny northern hamlet. Liquid cold lake, membranous gaseous intermediary layer, into the coiling grey clouds above. We’re distracted by facsimile when truth is so engaging. I caught a chill walking to my truck, and the haze was a waking dream.

New Names for Pokemon

Brandon

Greanbeen

Patrick Dempsey

Mexican Biting Rat

Bipedal Mexican Biting Rat (Gay)

Purpinator

Jeffrey Epstein

Trick-MIDGET On 67 (Furst 2 Phall)

James

Ol’ Sourpuss

Professor Sphere

Pleasurething

Fattie

Grombulosa

Fascists

These fascists are fundamentally weak, driven by material and sexual nuerouses brought on by a pervasive sense of inadequacy. They are losers, and their failure is the fault of somebody else. Fascism funnels their listless anger into a target; people who are different from them. Psychopathy and vendetta as a mish-mash lattice flopped over political ideation.

The truth is that these pin-headed, worthless geeks would be confined to menial labor in a just society. They’re given a badge and a gun by a ruined empire in its death throes.

There’s some solace in realizing that these wanna-be bullies, who probably were too chickenshit to ever confront a peer in their lives, will one day die. They will gasp and their vision will blacken, and they will know that nothing they ever did mattered, and they will feel only terror and regret at the moment their sentience breaches into the eternal. They crafted their own hell here on earth. A vast, horrible emptiness eats their soul. Instead of peace and serenity, it’s panic and regret. Well, at least you got to punch a Mexican once.

These pigs should know better. A pig won’t shit where it eats. And if you’re awaiting authorization from a boss figure to enact your fantasies, you are a maggot eating shit from the asshole of a corpse. You’re a convenient stooge. Somehow less than nothing, a failure of human experience.

Cats

The cat speaks like an old Polish woman
“Grawmp,”
she says
I’ll not abide a liar
I don’t keep a chair for a fucking fibber

Cats slip in and out of shadows cast by
The firelight
They are mostly here
but a piece exists in that other register
That grey space between here and hereafter
Tactile and yet hypothetical
They see it in pieces of fuzz
drifting through sunbeams in windows
They hiss
They have a civilization far different to ours

They’ve got a good thing going and they know it
Fat and safe
Watching just as well out the window
what the wind knows outside

The once and future king
The fat bellies and the sabre eyes
of deserts and wetlands
Can, but won’t
Knows, but doesn’t

Beautiful animals
children of the night

“Strange memories on this nervous night in Two Harbors. Five years later? Six? It seems like a lifetime, or at least a Main Era—the kind of peak that never comes again. (…) History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of “history” it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time—and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened. (…)  and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark—that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.” — Hunter S Thompson, more or less

This is not a lament. This is a document, a record. In the acrid stupidity of our current moment, it would be easy to reminisce about the potential of the recent past. Forlorn, foregone. Nah. I was a pretty avid Bernie Sanders supporter, and he never became the President of the United States of America. It would be easy to languor in self-pity. To take the loss, and to internalize it into a feeling like nothing will ever get better. This is a wrong way to think about it. A revolution will not happen without the right conditions. A dream of revolution is admirable, but this kind of shift is more tectonic than weather. Know what I mean?

Take for example, John Brown. A man who had such conviction in his religion that he fought and died for an unpopular, eh, controversial belief at the time. He took the lessons of Christianity very seriously, and as such became a warrior and a martyr for what would eventually be the liberation of millions of people. He was dead, hanged, before the American Civil War started. He was the impetus for a better world. The tide of history washed up to him before it really took hold. What I’m saying is that capitalism has been our World Model for about 600 years, and it was extruded from the cursed afterbirth of feudalism before it. It won’t be defeated by one election in one country. This struggle will take a century or more. There will be progress and regress. So anyway, what am I getting at?

The first time I heard of Bernie Sanders was in 2015 or so, when I was smoking a cigarette in my car at work on my lunch break. I was listening to NPR on the radio. They described him as a “fringe candidate” who would only be seeking to move Hillary Rodham Clinton more to the left. Remember how Hillary was the obvious candidate?

Bernie had a better than expected showing in the first primary in Iowa, and so his whole campaign shifted gears. I think they also thought of the campaign as a means to pressure Clinton, at first. But his rhetoric about the obvious injustice of our capitalistic system was speaking to many people. The empty air of the Obama administration had left many people feeling wanting. Barack Obama campaigned as a progressive, someone who would make the lives of normal people better. He lied. He was a spokesman for the monolithic banking and health insurance class. The exuberant youth movement that elected him was squelched. Disappointed. Wherein Obama spoke vagaries about HOPE and CHANGE, he was a dyed-in-the-wool Neoliberal. A blank avatar of charisma, which is good for elections, yes, but was a sock puppet for moneyed interests.

Hillary was a horrible candidate, obviously. A homunculus of the same system that gave us the NAFTA deregulation of the 90s and the Iraq War, and the Bankers’ Bailout of 2008, and the…fuck, I could keep typing all day about the bullshit she endorsed. The fat pedophile clown, Donald Trump, ran on the platform of “Make America Great Again” and Hillary’s riposte was that “America is already great!” Yeah, nice move, dumbass. Expect nothing. That’s a good salesman move, idiot.

But along comes Bernie, a crouching old man, like a druid approaching through the fog.

His better than expected run in 2016 blew open the doors for 2020. Hillary Clinton had lost to a fat pedophile clown, which she also kind of was, but with the Covid 19 epidemic encroaching, people wanted and expected an adult in the room. Bernie took it seriously, and he understood that most people were overworked, underpaid, exploited. This was maybe our chance for top-down socialism.

So Bernie Sanders was running for President again. He was on fire. The Iowa primary took place. Look at this:

Do you see how Sanders had a significant win? He got way more votes, however, the Democratic Party somehow awarded more delegates to Pete Bootyjudge? What the fuck is that? The Democrats have a mechanism in their party called “Super delegates” which can just nullify the will of the people. Please stop asking people for money, and for time spent knocking on doors and campaigning for people if you’re just gonna nominate your shit head chosen candidates. Gavin Newsome fucking sucks, nobody is going to vote for that piece of shit.

Bernie Sanders was obviously crushing this shit. He was rolling over all of the other candidates, his message was resonating with a world-weary populace. Class consciousness was being bitten awake. I donated to his campaign several times, once donating $4.20 when I was high, in hopes of seeing it on the little banner at the bottom of the screen.

I booked a hotel room in Milwaukee. This was where the Democratic National Convention was happening, and it seemed clear to me that Bernie was going to be the nominee for President. I wanted to be there, I don’t think I could’ve gotten into the convention without press credentials, but I wanted to be there. In the air of the Thing that was happening. However, COVID 19 was burgeoning. I ended up cancelling the reservation. A lady who worked for the hotel called me. The lady on the phone said we all have to look out for each other in these trying times. Yeah. For sure.

So then the South Carolina primary happened, in which Joe Biden crushed Bernie Sanders. This was somehow a bellwether for the election, according to the media. Even though South Carolina reliably votes Republican by about 12%. Whatever. Bernie’s significant defeat here meant that he was not a Real Candidate, I guess.

There was also a funny thing in the 2020 election where mainstream media would say like “Warren surges to 3rd place in opinion polls!” and “Bootyjudge is command with his 2nd place poll rankings” and they would not speak Bernie’s name like he was a warlock that you dare not speak of.

March 3rd was “Super Tuesday”, when the primaries all hit at once. How weird that these two just decided to drop out and endorse Biden before then. Weird. I think Barack Obama was working the phones. The Democratic Party would be more interesting, more understandable if they sold their souls for some kind of victory. Instead, they constantly lose. They are just Republican Lite, and they are losers. Doesn’t that just fucking suck? If they were a football franchise, you’d fire the head coach, the general manager, etc. They are the Cleveland Browns of American Politics. Completely incompetent buffoons, completely morally bankrupt careerists.

I believe in the basic dignity of humanity. I think most people are good. Capitalism has corrupted our minds, we’re inundated in it. We’re not meant to be so transactional. These billionaires are Freaks, corrupted villains. They’re not admirable, they have a serious mental illness that is advantageous in this fucked up, corporate bullshit.

I don’t think Bernie Sanders would have saved the world or anything, but the window may have shifted slightly to the left. Maybe we’d see that a collective could benefit everybody. Instead, a fat pedophile ogre is starting wars and ruining life for no reason. Welp, you liked when he was Really Mad at Colin Kaepernick for kneeling during the national anthem. That was worth it, right? Dummy.

So yeah, the Bernie Sanders movement was fun. Innervating. I hope something more comes of it.

Grobtar ran to the heavy wooden doors. The castle was burning, he could hear the hellish screams of the imps and demons echoing down the stonework hallways behind him. He pulled his tan, muscular leg back, his thigh coiling like a cobra of kinetic energy, and kicked at the doors. The hinges heaved, sighing with certain defeat but holding for a moment. Grobtar once more bashed his foot into the doors and they swung open.

“Fiend!” he cried as he hurried into the chamber, “Show thyself, you snake! You murderer!”

A high-back leather chair swung around. Behind the desk was Olichev, the World-Drinker. The Sorcerer of Sorrows. The Magician of Malady. The great wound that was festering in the world.

Grobtar approached, now more slowly, his tan, muscular legs slowing to a near stop. ” Accepted your fate, have you, sorcerer? Now that my blade has found your throat? Do you wish to ask forgiveness before I take your head?”

Olichev, ever the villain, said “Please, Grobtar the Mighty, sit. Sit right there, in that chair, yes. Let us speak of villains and heroes and all of your…misguided thoughts.” Grobtar had the instinct to charge him, but a different strain of thought entered his mind. He complied, and sat upon the chair in front of the desk. This wizard, damn him, he compelled Grobtar so.

“So…what’s your problem?” Olicheve asked, snidely.

” You’ve taken the lives of tens of thousands of peasants, you’ve ruined the lives of so many-“

“No, no, no…dummy,” Olichev now pointed a finger towards Grobtar’s face. ” No, you think that because what I’ve done is ‘unpopular’ or is ‘evil’ or whatever, that I should pay for it? With my head? Right?” He turned back. Grobtar began to reply, but then Olichev made a motion with his hands like pinching. Then Grobtar’s lips folded shut and he was silent, except for a guttural throat noise. “Yeah, see?” continued Olichev. He stood and approached the vast window behind his desk.

“You have what all small people have. A sense of morality based on some kind of self-sacrifice and community. This is because all of your little, insignificant actions must be part of a greater whole, right? Like, you know you’re never going to be remembered, like I will. Your life has no impact. It won’t affect much more than a few people,” Olichev sneered. “My deeds are carved in the pillars of the earth.”

Grobtar caught a breath, somehow, and replied ” Deeds of evil, hatred.” Olichev, surprised, re-iterated the pinching motion of his mage hand and silenced the barbarian.

Olichev now sat on the high-back leather chair like a cool high school guidance counsellor, where they spin it around and sit facing the wrong way, but this chair was way too tall, so then he just kinda popped his head around to one side and said:

” You’ve got this stupid, poor person idea that just permeates all your thoughts. You have a ‘collective good’ in your thoughts. Dumb. Weak, herd-follower idea. I’m an alpha predator. I eat the weak. I’m about to eat you, but,” he grabbed a bottle of Faerie Wine off his desk and took a swig, ” I’ll tell you why.”

” Back in the day, in 1978 or something, the University of Penn State did an experiment where they had ten monkeys in an enclosure. And they hung a bag of food above the enclosure, with a ladder propped up just underneath it. Naturally, a monkey would climb the ladder and go after the food. But as soon as this happened, the experimenters sprayed the monkey climbing the ladder and ALL the other monkeys with cold water from a hose. They blasted them with negative stimulus. Eventually, another monkey would go for the bag, climbing the ladder, and again, the scientists would hose down the whole troop with cold water. By the time the third monkey tried to go grab that food, the rest of the monkeys would notice and grab the climber. They would tear him off the ladder, violently. Tell him, ‘Hey, fuck you, i’m not getting sprayed again.’ This all makes sense, right?”

Grobtar silently farted.

” So once those ten monkeys were conditioned to this, they swapped out one of them. They took a monkey out and put a new one in. The new one, who hadn’t been hosed, obviously noticed the food and tried to climb the ladder, but the resident monkeys violently grabbed him down and told him ‘fuck no, we don’t go up there.” So the new monkey learned to not do it. They continued this. They put in another new monkey, same thing, he tried to climb and got beat up for even trying. Eventually, they ended up with ten new monkeys. None of the originals who had been sprayed with the cold water, and…now pay attention,”

Grobtar was somewhat awake here,

” They had ten new monkeys. None of them had been sprayed by cold water, but they all had a superstition about climbing that ladder. They violently stopped whoever tried to climb it.”

“This is your religion, your morality, your sense of right and wrong. You inherit it, stupidly. I’m not bound by such trivial, trial-and-error stupidity,”

Olichev smiled, reveling in the corners of his cheeks ” I’m the monkey who got the food. I’m the one who climbed the ladder. I’m the one, who…even though you all tried to stop me…I got it. I stood up on that ladder and feasted on the food while you all got drenched in cold water. You were screaming for me to stop, you knew it would hurt you, and I did, too. But I was above all of you. I was munching on the Nanners.”

Olichev gleamed over Grobtar now, a dagger in his hand, pressed to the throat of the barbarian. ” I’ll eat Nanners forever. Speak last words, ignorant ape,” he unpinched his fingers and allowed Grobtar to talk.

Grobtar spit. Laughed. ” Last words? Alright,” he spit again.

His slivery-blue eyes turned to beatitudes as he said ” You can well be the king of the apes. You are, surely. But what have you gained? Clinging to the top of that ladder, fearful of everything beneath. Unknowing of everything above. It’s going to end. The Nanners may have sated you, felt delicious for a time. But the monkeys below have connection, love, community. They know one another, and they can adorn the climbing of the ladder with all sorts of cautionary tales, symbols, understanding. The food, the Nanners you eat, are just going to turn to shit. The monkeys down below shit, too. What ledger will keep the name of the shitting-monkey at the top of the ladder?”

Olichev narrowed his eyes.

Grobtar continued, ” There was once a great king, in the time before the written word. Statues and paintings were made exalting his glory. He held sway over three million subjects. He was the undisputed master of the world, the exalted god of all people great and small,”

“None know his name.”

The howling battle in the castle seemed to quiet. The fires grew dimmer.

“My wife knows my name, and she is just as close to the ladder as you were, dick. You’re seeking some authorization, some kind of recognition that is beyond what this world can provide, dick. It’s all impermanent. So, why would you seek dominance in such a small little enclosure? Why wouldn’t you throw the Nanners down? Make everybody happy, at least for a little bit? Dick.”

The battle was ended. The castle was a living ruin. Grobtar stood, his tan, muscular legs flexing as he brought his silvery sword through the night air. A bloody quip of noise, and then Olichev’s head fell to the stone floor. His eyes were black tombs, holding everything from Before.

Grobtar walked out of the castle, and the day was breaking.

God, whether she is a sentience outside of the universe, or the totality of a mechanistic reality, will take measure of the intention of your heart in the moment of your death.

When the outlines of your temporal, egotistical self break down, and the viewpoint you inhabited melts into the eternity of all things sentient and insentient. When you surrender the ghost to the stark reality of rocks, nitrogen, and the unregocnized prophets of ancient civilizations, the measure of your heart will take place.

God, whether he is a patriarch too tired to keep his children from fighting, or whether he is a disparate web of information, described as physics playing across an infinite plane, will take measure of the morality of your heart in the moment of your death. When the Wrong Thing would have been easy, and when the Right Thing would’ve been difficult. God can see that. God, real or not, sees it.

God, whether it is the foolhardy emmanation of a greater truth, that all of us mortals must toil under until we gain appropriate knowledge through meditation and suffering, or it is a grandpa-like figure sitting on a literal chair in the clouds, dictates the lives of the blessed and the wretched in equal measure.

God, why you gotta be breaking my balls.

God exists, real or not, because of how our minds work. I think of it like a big old crystal ball. Like the leylines of all of the things that happen in the universe are contained within this sphere that is enwebbed with infinite nueral patterns of potential and actuality. That an apt metaphor is a brain with neurons and dendrites and synapses and shit. And that The Brain of Reality is held together, is experienced, by God, as a sort of ledger of what experience is. A written work of What Is.

God, and of course this is a metaphor. It’s hard to escape the realm of metaphor and analogy when you’re talking about meaning. Jamming a Breakfast Burrito into your mouth hole is wrought with many layers of latency, symbolism, world-breaking irony.

God probably means knowledge, means awareness. Means wisdom.

God, take pity on us creatures. Damned with both a soul and a body. I get to experience the beauty, majesty, the whole of the thing. I feel the sharp edges, too. I am cut and nicked by man-made blades.

God, ever wiser, gives me dreams. Potentiality. God rests while humans toil because it is all written. I can scream and writhe about the injustice of it all, but I believe that one day we will choose love over selfishness. It was intense love that bound the early caveman humans together and it is love that will sew up the chapter on humanity. I was just born way before that.

God, purple and blue smoke rising out of a campfire. God, in the alchemy that turns the written word into ideas. God, as the world in the mirror. God, as a nice sunset on a hillside.

Wikipedia is 25 years old today, and to out myself as a huge dorkus malorkus, I just want to inform you all that I love Wikipedia. Permit me, like Old Faithful or my butt after eating McDonald’s, to gush a bit.

In the late 1990s, the internet was being integrated into schools, workplaces, and homes en masse. The new millennium was approaching. The Cold War had been won and Pax Americana had begun. We were even rubbing Russia’s nose in it. Mikhail Gorbachev was in a fucking Pizza Hut commercial for god’s sake. The End of History. With one global superpower ushering in an era of economic prosperity and peace, cruising along on the Information Superhighway.

It was thought, in those naive pre-9/11 days, that the world wide web would be a boon to humanity. It would revolutionize the way we communicated and would become the digital Library of Alexandria. A repository of the collective knowledge of humanity, able to be accessed by anyone from anywhere in the world. This sort of happened. Sort of. The boon kinda turned into a curse, like the blessing of a capricious god in olde timey fables.

But Wikipedia has been and still is fulfilling the old, optimistic view of the internet’s potential.

It’s a community curated repository of factual, unbiased information. Anyone can contribute to the articles, so sometimes a falsity or politically charged bit of horseshit will crop up on a given page, but the diligence of thousands of autistic people makes sure that it doesn’t stay up for very long. The collaborative aspect of many people from all around the world, who do it absent the profit motive, is inspiring to me. For real. Many other sites on the internet have been bought up by megalomaniacal shitheads and turned into a vast morass of misinformation and trash. Some will even create dubious technology that is purported to be a tool for answers and information, but in actuality is little more than a masturbatory tool for thin-skinned, micropenised losers. But not Wikipedia.

Wikipedia has no ads. It doesn’t vulgarly pop up with a flashing banner asking you to gamble on sports between every paragraph.

Wikipedia doesn’t require a subscription. It doesn’t let you read the first part of an article and then hide everything useful behind a paywall.

How many websites of this size and reputation even exist anymore?

Plus, there’s a lot of fun stuff on there. Is a Diet of Worms a new health craze? Is Kumbum Monastery a famous gay bar? Did a fucking Martian write the article on Humans? Or something you never even thought about.

So I donated some money to Wikipedia today. I think I am on that website for one reason or another literally every day. Whether just killing time at work or desiring info from a credible source, Wikipedia is “lit 100% fire”, as the kids say. So if you find yourself on this lovely website often, donate too, you ungrateful FUCK.

I got married about three weeks ago. And it felt like the culmination of a lot of the truths of my life. My wife was a beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted woman that I knew since I was five years old. All of the through-lines of my life were aligning, and the world was shining with this destined pairing. I was lucky, much luckier than most.

As with many life-defining moments, birth, death, marriage, moving, pregnancy, jobs, etc., I took an account of my life. I told the story of my life to myself in the manner of reflection. It’s rare to have a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. I mean, rare in that it happens once. I had one. I was passing through the membrane of possibility into reality, wherein I was married. Had a wife. Grown-up type shit.

And in thinking about life, it’s impossible to not inventory the experiences you’ve had, to look back with an eye for what has been, how it beat the path to now. I went deep with it. A son in the upper Midwest. How is it that I was once a baby? That I came here, not knowing anything? I learned how to crawl, to walk, to speak this language? Was that the same person I am now? How could it be. How could that small thing, without words to speak become this sorceror? I guess there’s a continuity between the baby me and the 38 year old me. That’s the case, that’s the way it goes. But it is more like a waveform. It’s a collection of points that are all riding the same energy. The cells in your body die every seven years. Your brain, boobs, butt, all are different matter in less than a decade. I think about how my mind used to work, I get it, it doesn’t work that way anymore. I grabbed a lot more humility, empathy, tact. I’d prefer for people to be impressed with my virtue than my rebelliousness.

Virtue probably is rebel shit though, now. I dunno.

Am I even really the same person that I was, way back when? That embryonic little guy, didn’t know what I know now? I want to be a good person not for the recognition but for the sake of it. For expressing love, being an advocate for people who are struggling. It’d be easy to judge, be harsh with the losers and the underbelly ratfolk. Easy to want to look down your nose at others. I wanna do universal love. I think that’d be perfect. We’ve all got that second number on the tombstone, it’s staring right back into you. Why wouldn’t you feel companionship, love, empathy?

Heaven won’t be someplace you get to after you die. It should be the project of those who are awake.

Hard to believe we’re already halfway through the 2025 NFL season. Hard to believe Mike McDaniel still has a job. Hard to believe the cops can’t do anything about that gang of no-good kids down the street, who constantly flip me off and call me “old man fur face”. Then, when I tell them to have some respect for their elders, they just start yelling “Six seven! Six seven!” and doing Fortnite dances at me. Lousy kids. Where are the parents?!

Unlike my annual season predictions posts (which are always 100% accurate and are meticulously researched), this will be just kind of a loosey-goosey, relaxed, pajama pants kinda thing. I’m just gonna tickle these keys on my Logitech keyboard and let you know the lay of the land out in football world at this moment.

Joe Flacco remains relevant in 2025. The Elite Dragon, Super Bowl champion is still out there, slingin’ it. He’s 61 years young, and has started for two different AFC North teams so far this year. He was part of the Browns team that beat Green Bay, and was traded in-season to a divisional rival, and played Green Bay again as a Cincinnati Bengal. How weird is that shit? Since joining the Bengals, he’s thrown 9 TDs to 2 INTs, and he put up 470 passing yards in his most recent outing against the Bears. Now, his team is 3-6 and is unlikely to even sniff the playoffs, but I dunno. I think it’s neat that this old bag of bones, who was largely relegated to a backup role the last few years, is still piloting a sometimes robust offense.

Cam Little broke the longest FG record. This was really cool! Jacksonville doesn’t get to have many nice things, but they now have this record. And they took it from Sex Pest Weirdo Justin Tucker, so that’s good. I like the detail of the holder showing the “it’s good” sign when the ball is about halfway there.

Skattebo gets a boo-boo. A different Cam, Cam Skattebo (pronounced “SKAT-ih-boo”, somehow), was having a heckuva rookie season. 7 total touchdowns, averaging 4.1 yards per carry, and just generally bringing the pain to opposing defenses. He was an angry little gremlin with the football. The kind of squatty little white boy who smells like dirt and would eat a piece of chalk if you dared him to, but would also never snitch. Know what I mean? He was fun to watch on a bad Giants team. Then he got a rather gruesome injury and it sucks. You know how normally your feet both point in the same direction? Yeah, his injury made that be not the case for him. Mercy. Here’s hoping he comes back in 2026 full of piss and vinegar.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I don’t think anybody had the Raiders penciled into the Super Bowl or anything, but these guys are a big disappointment. Now you may be asking yourself “But old man fur face, how can a team that was 4-13 last year be a disappointment this year?” Well, I’ll tell you. They made moves in the offseason that were not indicative of a team anticipating a multi-year rebuild. Rather than some hotshot young head coach, they went with Pete Carroll. He’s a Super Bowl winner, and the only person in the NFL who is older than Joe Biden. And they traded for Geno Smith, in lieu of drafting a hotshot young quarterback. The plan was obviously that they’d be at least a fringe playoff team this year, probably in the 8-10 win range, but they are currently 2-7 and look as hapless as a diabetic hippo in the sugarplum forest. They are as unwieldy as a bow-legged midget on stilts in the crow’s nest of a pirate ship. They are bad, is what I’m saying.

J.J. McCarthy demands to be taken seriously. This little dork has thrown for less than 200 yards in each game he’s started. He was apparently “injured” after his week 2 game against the Falcons, and didn’t see action again until this last week. Even though it seemed like he wasn’t injured, and it was more likely that Kevin O’Connell benched him because he fucking sucked. J.J. came out this week and said that he has an alter ego called “9” that comes out on gameday. He loves feeding that wolf. He’s a theatre kid that somehow ended up playing football. I like his super-strong big boy face paint, too. Wowzers. Also he is the son of former Packers coach Mike McCarthy.

Green Bay is okay. 5-2-1 is an ugly record, but I feel like a rich kid whining that the caviar is not to my taste. We’re still in first place in the division. The team is frustrating. Inconsistent. We can breeze through Detroit and Washington, and then look like middling little minnows against Cleveland and Carolina. LaFleur (French for “The Flower”) is rightfully taking some flack for his playcalling lately. I think he watches the film and gets an idea of how the game should go, and then is incapable of making any changes until about halfway through the fourth quarter. Why was every pass either a screen that started six yards behind the line of scrimmage or a 50 yard bomb against the Panthers? And then lo and behold, when we went to the quick game, the 5-9 yard slants and outs, we moved the ball down the field really well? I dunno. I think the coaching is a little too galaxy brained sometimes. We’re gonna be fine. I think we need more praxis than theory now.

Jets Fire Sale! Jet Fuel Can’t Melt Steel Beams! The Jets traded away “Sauce” Gardner and Quinnen Williams, and as such have accrued many first round picks over the next couple of offseasons. Shitty teams should probably do this more often, honestly. The tricky part is drafting well, but they at least get a lot of bites at the apple.

Colts? Frauds. Daniel Jones is not Actually Good.

Nietzsche. When you stare long into an abyss, the abyss stares back into you. He was, of course, talking about fantasy football. Jayden Daniels (my 2nd pick), and Bucky Irving (my 3rd pick), have both been missing games due to injury, and now my Main Man Tucker Kraft is also out for the year. Old man fur face will find a way. It’s the next man up mentality in this building. Where my dogs at?! Woof, woof!

A Satanic cult, bent on ushering in the end of days, has seized control of our nation!
50 million strong! They seek to rain fire and brimstone upon the world, crushing underfoot everyone who does not belong to their ranks. They worship a god of cruel judgment, and they need to speak to a manager.

Their places of worship resemble sports stadiums, as Spectacle and Consumption are principal tenets of this strange belief system.

They abhor a mystery, they seek to quash anything outside the familiar. Anyone different to them must be Evil. Must be suppressed, smothered, snuffed out. Deviation is wicked. Curiosity is a sin. Mayonnaise is spicy.

They re-write history to suit their needs. They claim the triumphs of their ancestors while absolving themselves of their misdeeds. They experience passion through HOA snitching. They feast with friends at Applebee’s while browbeating the waitress. They disdainfully explore the world with dark sunglasses in a brand new SUV that they have on credit. These are the Eaters, and they can shovel it into their mouths continually, but they will never be satisfied. Skeletons watching the same sandwich fall through their empty ribcage. Hatred is the principal thing in their heart. Hate for other people, hatred for themselves. Hatred for their time living here on the earth. However, they are not satisfied with the prospect of their own death. Others must suffer.

Let me be clear. They do not view themselves as a participant in the world, a temporary resident of this reality. They truly think the universe came into being with them, and they are frothing angry with the knowledge that they are going to die. How could this happen?! I need to speak to a manager.

The World Must End With Me.

It’s something with Israel, I dunno. Building a temple? That’s the trigger to make the end of the world happen I guess. These bottomless, self-absorbed shitheads want to initiate Armageddon. They would rather destroy the whole world than just figure out their own shit. And the way they think of it is so fucking stupid, too.

You’d imagine the eschaton would be kind of a rough day, right? Like you wake up, brush your teeth, go to get into the shower, and then a trumpet starts blasting and the sky cracks open and bats and locusts bust into the bathroom and start burrowing into your tear ducts and butthole. I get it. It sucks.

But they have completely made up a way how they can get out of any suffering! Imagine that! They are going to all fly into Heaven, bodily. There is no suffering for them! The whole point of the book of Revelations seems to me to be about enduring false prophets and adhering to the principals of Christianity in spite of great suffering, but man, that sounds like it might hurt! These Evangelicals get to skip it! Wow! It’s not even in the Bible, you stupid shit-heads! Some guy just made it up!

This doom-speaking cult is in the power structure of my country right now. You’d think it’s like the premise for a fantasy novel or something, but no. It’s just real life. There’s a lot of people who want to awaken the Great Red Dragon so they can go to Heaven. They don’t read the Bible. They just assume Jesus was really into guns and Ford trucks.

Meanwhile, punk is not dead. The dissatisfaction needs to funnel into something. It will eventually. We are going to win, in the longterm. A frog is sitting on a sandy beach by a river. Frogsong at night. I know I’m a visitor in a greater thing. I’m passing through, and I appreciate what you guys have done. What a lucky guy, to have found so much love here.

-30-