The musings of a madman...

     “They” said this shit would be dead in no time flat.  NO one wanted to hear that shit. That was in the mid to late 1970s.  I would be born only a couple of short years later in 1979.  That said, the argument can be made that we literally grew up with you.      “That ain’t real music, anybody can write some damn nursery rhymes,” they said while continuing to NOT write anything – ANYTHING – themselves.  The irony of the repetition of their own parents’ detraction from what they did in their own youth, and their parents before them.  Bearing that similarity, it stands to reason that they would know how this story would continue, if not how it would (or not) end . Hip Hop…      At 40 years old, I have become accustomed to being told for 30something years that I was wasting my time liking – nay, loving – it.  In the 80s, to me it was people who looked like me, spoke like me and dressed like I wished I could afford to.  It spoke to interests that I had and evolved with me as

     As quickly as this story is developing, there is an EXTENSIVE amount of attention to small details in setting it up… We get MORE reunions though; Dany confronting the man who killed her father, Brienne vouching for Jaimie, Jorah giving his family weapon to Jorah, the so-believed “victims” of the Beyond the Wall dummy mission actually making it back and Tormund hilariously continuing to shoot his shot with Brienne.      Bran caught us with his MAJOR ability to throw shade with his “the things we do for love…” and “how do you know there will be a ‘later’?” lines.   He can surely drag a room back to reality quickly.   It calls back to my memory when he cut Littlefinger off with his own “chaos is a ladder” line to let us all know he should be feared.   What scares me here is that he presents himself to know everything and somehow at the same time just not quite enough at the same time. That he knows The Night King is after him and Samwell’s understanding of why this is

                Okay, so we got a slow start…. I expected a six-episode season to mean that that the body count would be swift and intense, but I didn’t get that. I DID get ol no-dick-having Theon Greyjoy showing off his (non) balls and saving Yara.   I DID get the surprise of people who have quite apparently been away from everyone else for what is apparently months and/or years learning that Arya is not dead, and I did get Sansa still basking in her “Littlefinger is Dead” afterglow and not fucking this episode up. We also got Euron thinking with his dick as his biggest mistake. On the whole, though, this was a WILD slow-building episode when one stops to consider that this season will only be six episodes long. The fact that the wall was breached was never mentioned by anyone until 40+ minutes in, the fact that Jon Snow had actually smanged his auntie (who, I theorized, impregnated her in doing so) was not brought to us until ten minutes after that and the fact that old

     This will be a summary… For the past twelve months, I have chronicled my exploits after having attempted to rob Santa Claus for the world’s presents.   What is left out to those who have not been watching since Christmas time 2016 is why . Well here I am to explain it. 1 – Rudolph is a dope fiend [ link ] 2 – Santa is Rudolph’s Dealer [ link ] 3 – BECAUSE Santa is Rudolph’s dealer, he should be robbed [ link ] 4 – Alright…  I am in this situation and now I need to figure out how to make something of it. [ link ] 5 – Shit is now going south, but I am turning it into money right? [ link ] 6 – My greed is getting complicated, but shit is still moving [ link ] 7 – Too. Damn. Good. To. Be. True [ link ] 8 – I’ve been robbed! [ link ] 9 – Fuck robbed, I been kidnapped ! [ link ] 10 – I want OUT of this situation now… [ link ] 11 – … but DAMN this money is good! [ link ] 12 – I’m forever to be a victim of my own desires, [ link ] 13 – The liberal m

“You do NOT want to hear the punchline to that joke…” I TRIED to warn that asshole.      Standing in the former parking lot of a months-ago-razed factory/former department store. Watching a group of crazy non-agent SWAT team run off with my coal bag, willfully unaware that it won’t produce without me. The federal agents selected to bail me OUT of this shit in their car and leaving me to my own. I am pretty much standing here holding my dick. How did they pull this shit off at 4:23 in the afternoon?  No time for that, I need to get in my car and cry like a little bitch with a skinned knee figure out my next moves.  I know I am PROBABLY going to receive two phonecalls behind this shit.  Or one phonecall and a visit.  Or no phonecalls and two visits.  Or the SWAT team is coming to my house next. FUCK!!!  Coming to my house?  I don’t need that.  I called Mimi and sent her some money via cashapp and told her to get a room until I tell her home is safe to return to.

No longer is it enough to ignore unsolicited contact, I'm at the point in my life where I will exchange banter with these spam types for at least long enough to turn the tables... I'm minding my business on the couch with the wife when I am rudely interrupted...  Wife: "g'head, play along" With those words from thine mouth... ... I know how this game starts, finishes and follows through.  A man who swings first stands a better chance of the other party not swinging back.  See?  I've already broken the algorithm!  Boom!  Not today, Russia...   ( Phlip note : we weren't putting any damn clothes back on and were already in bed) Shit...  I could have asked for bobs and vegana.

     For 241 years of American history, it would be a mark of honor to be specifically mentioned by the President of the United States in most capacities. Beginning on November 9, 2016 the dynamic changed to the point where being mentioned by the president was a miss-or-hit affair.  “Don’t you mean ‘hit-or-miss’?,” I hear you asking.  Trust me, when this motherfucker talks about anything, it is soon going to hell.      So now I am no longer a dude who tried to rob Santa for all the world’s gifts and got a undepletable bag of coal for my troubles, I am now a thug with a shotgun who threatens members of the media.      In the past ten months, I have been… -    Roped into a domestic (illegal) sale of coal… -    … parlayed that into sales into other industries… -    … parlayed THAT into even bigger profits and made a ton of money; more than enough to last me a lifetime if invested properly… -    … got greedy right about the time the international market wanted to p

“this orgy ain’t fun no more…” (if only I’d have known how prophetic those words would become)      The funny thing about the government getting involved in shit is how quick they are to complain about the media meddling in shit while pretending not to know that the media is the VERY official but unstated fourth branch of the government. But let them be the one driving the narrative and the media they just hated are their best fucking friends.      I got shook down and, let’s face it, robbed by two rogue FBI inspectors who quite apparently entered no paperwork on their interaction with me as they tried to get my source of income and not do what was right by the American people as far as national security goes.  And I KNOW I was dead wrong… …  at least I know now.  When I was at it, all I knew is that I was trying to make the best of a bad situation of my own design.  Domestic and international laws were really the least of my concerns. I should probably me

     I bought an Audi. All I did was buy a fucking Audi! I didn’t sell any drugs, perhaps I was wrong for having dealt with a foreign government, and the inconvenience of the logistics of dealing with them leaves it where I am done with those smelly motherfuckers first chance I get ANYWAY.      But here I am, shackled to a chair and cuffed to a table with a couple of federal agents staring at me with the stinkface… Agent: “So…” Me: “Look, just tell me what you need to know.” Agent: “Wanna tell us where you got this shiny new Audi?” Me: “You know EXACTLY what dealership I bought it from, they sent you the paperwork that helped you find m--…” Agent: “SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU KNOW WHAT WE MEAN!” Me: “Well…” Agent: “Where did you get the money?!” Me: “Coal money” Agent: “Coal money?” Me: “Coal money” Agent: “Look, asshole, nothing in your family history suggests any coal country connections, and the amount of coal it would take to make even THIS kind of mon