Category Archives: angry rant

Nicknames, Insults, and Epithets

He won by hanging nicknames like millstones around the necks of his opponents.

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He called this fellow “Lyin’ Ted”.

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And he berated her as “Crooked Hillary”

Insults, nicknames, and politics seem to work better together than anything else when you are trying to win over the fat, lazy white folks with too much money who gather at the Cracker Barrel in Lewisville, Texas to decide who will be President of the U. S.  After all, they are the only ones whose voice still counts in politics.  Voter I.D. laws, gerrymandering of voting districts, and vilification of Muslims has pretty much seen to that.

But I have always felt that insulting your opponent in a debate was not only uncivil, but actually cheating.  I would much prefer to see ideas and policies and political positions be ridiculed.  Still, that is not the way the world works now that the semi-stupid people have taken control.  Vicious and personal is the preferred way of the modern day.

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It was certainly awkward, stupid, and bad the way a certain Texas Grandpa Munster look-alike exploited his own children during his GOP nomination campaign.  But that paled in comparison with how the Great Orange Face accused his father of killing J.F.K. and called his wife ugly in comparison to the plastic Barbie doll that Pumpkinhead currently keeps on leash number three for himself.  Grampy Munster was right, when he said family should be off limits.

If you must vilify the un-TrusTED One, and we certainly must,  it should be for the selfish, stupid policies and agendas that he would enact if he wins the golden ticket.

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And how do we know what he would do if the “Ultimate Power of Castle Grayskull” actually became his?  Well, he did spend a lot of time telling us what he would do.  His message was not all Green Eggs and Ham.  Though there was a lot of leftover ham even after the Dr. Seuss Filibuster.

So what is the proper way to talk about the Orangutan King we made the mistake of electing?

He has gone to considerable effort to place doubt in everyone’s mind about the truth in every reported story from the media.

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Although, he seems to really like Fox News.

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He has hammered it into the brains of his true believers that anything CNN says about the Russian hacking scandal is absolutely “WRONG!”  Though I am inclined to believe that everything that comes out of his mouth truly means that the opposite of what he says is true.3-1

And I think we all have to work a little harder to deny him control over what is defined as “True” and what he can be allowed to call “Fake.”

So, even though I realize I have a certain talent for insulting others myself, and have used it generously here, I do not think insults are the right way to go.  You should talk about the ideas and the prejudices, and how those things lead to evil befalling us.  Insults are a waste of time.  But did you notice?  While composing this piece, the cartoonists whose work I am sharing with you may have labeled them with names, I never once  in my own writing named any of the ones I was insulting by name.

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And I’ll bet you knew who I meant anyway.

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Filed under angry rant, cartoon review, cartoons, humor, lying, politics

They’re Despicable!!!

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I had promised myself to put the whole political outrage stew in the freezer for a while, and stop picking at the meat and potatoes of it before it completely poisons me.  But President Pumpkinhead is imploding so fast I may miss out before incoming Russian and North Korean and even possibly Australian missiles begin nuking the greater Dallas-Fort Worth area.  I guess I simply have to boil it a little bit more right now.

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If I were going to script it as a psycho-consensual farce and put it on the stage, I couldn’t have written it any funnier.  It seems a couple of evil geniuses have been manipulating the pumpkin-headed guy so they could achieve their own personal ends.  They are selling him invisible clothing again.  And they will get away with it, too, because they are doing it in the context of the Republican Party.  The GOP, of course, is the party that cheats in order to win.  They gerrymander voting districts.  They suppress voters that are more likely to vote for Democrats.  And they maintain a lock-grip on the House where more people nationwide actually voted for Democrats, but that comes through the voting system as a Republican majority victory.  They are, as Sylvester says so juicily, DESPICABLE!!!  (Yes, I know, the triple exclamation point thing again.)

Tweedle-not-so-dumb and his twin brother, Tweedle-evil.

It appears that now that Hatchet-face Flynn, the Dick-Tracy villain who was in charge of National Security, committed treason by promising the Russians that Obama’s sanctions for hacking the American election would be overturned as soon as Trump took over the job as big cheese in chief.  And it not only appears that Trump knew about this (or is that gnu about this?), but even said after Flynn was fired that he would’ve approved of it if he had known… even though he didn’t know… (or gnu).

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Immediately thereafter, Football-head and Bowling-ball-head on the Congressional Oversight Committee (You know, Trey Gowdy and Jason Chaffetz who brought you the Endless Benghazi Hearings Follies and Republican Musical Review) went about the business of completely overlooking any possible wrong doing by the Pumpkinhead Administration.

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A Republican friend of mine once told me that he knew that all the crooks weren’t exclusively in the Democratic Party, but that’s the only place he really wanted to look for them.  It helped him sleep better at night.

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I spent a good share of last evening being lectured over Facebook by a conservative friend about not getting behind the Trumpkin bandwagon and scooping up the horse poop so they could continue their parade of doing Republican good things for the country (where “Republican good things” is a phrase that means destroying public education, taking away my healthcare since I have six pre-existing conditions, and dumping coal pollutants into rivers and oil pollutants into the air).  Apparently my writing stuff about Pumpkinhead Tinyhands that isn’t positive is a protest which constitutes terrorism, and I need to go to some other country like Canada where the commie-ISIS dictator is a libtard idiot just like me.  I don’t  have a right to stay here if I protest the elected government and the so-called humor in my blog and Facebook posts are unacceptably un-patriotic.  Apparently you can only call black presidents Hitler without being hooted out of the country by REAL AMERICANS.

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Apparently I am wrong about this man.  I am told he does not have a bowling ball for a head.

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Follow the Yellow Brick Road

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For the past two weeks I have been battling the Wicked Witch of the Diabetes.  Her armies of flying blood-sugar monkeys have been snatching away my healthy hours and leaving me with pain, headaches, and depressing blues of worry.  I have been combating the disease up to now with diet and exercise only.  But even the miracle of a handful of peanuts filled with good diabetes-bashing niacin is apparently not magic enough to make me feel better.  I probably have to go back to the doctor and get put on insulin injections.  And that is probably more expense than I can afford.  Health insurance loves to collect ever-higher premiums from me, but they really hate to pay for anything.

In answer to my problem I have started a new art project.  Dorothy with a bit of attitude has flown in on the latest twister to start bashing heads and murdering witches.  It is probably the worst kind of magical thinking to believe drawing pictures can make health problems go away.  However, you don’t just let flying monkeys run wild.  The pen and ink will get a colored-pencil treatment and I will show it to you here on this blog as we proceed down that yellow brick road of life.  And I will get better somehow and someway, even if I have to pull that little con man out from behind the curtain and call him names until he cries.  He’s going to find something in that bag of tricks to help me.

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Filed under angry rant, battling depression, feeling sorry for myself, illness, imagination, Paffooney, pen and ink, pen and ink paffoonies

Here Comes DeVos and Her Army of Orcs

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This is not a picture of Betsy DeVos.  This is an orc used as a metaphor, something children will no longer learn how to use in the dark new future of education.

Orcs, as depicted by Tolkien in his epic work The Lord of the Rings, are an unhappy lot, hating everyone, especially themselves and their masters whom they serve only out of fear.  Sound like modern-day Republicans?  Well, that’s probably not a fair comparison.  Shame on you for thinking like that.  Although, I must admit, looking at the Secretary of Education that Donald Trump has foisted upon us with the aid of senate Republicans, there is probably good reason you might think that.

Orcs, according to Tolkien, create no beautiful things.  They live out their lives violently destroying everything and everyone they touch.  They are greedy, corrupt, disloyal, and generally the very definition of ugliness.  And they have been the opponents of good public education for as long as I have been associated with schools and teaching.

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Here is an actual portrait of DeVos.  Sorry to spring something so foul and gut-wrenchingly horrible on you, but I thought you ought to have some idea how hideous this orcishness really is.

Orcs always tell me, “You can’t solve education’s problems by throwing money at them.”   What they really mean when they say this is either, “I can afford to put my kids in a good school that will only teach them what I want them to know, and I don’t think any of my money should be taken from me by taxation to pay for the education of poor people’s kids, especially not stupid poor people’s kids.”  Or, more likely, “I am too dumb not to believe rich white people when they say the world will be better for me and mine if I let rich white people keep all the money they make and make all the money they want.”   Either way, in Texas where the orcs have ruled since the Reagan Revolution first won over the rich white orcs that carry their orcish tribal banners all over oil-rich Texas, money has never been an issue for Texas public schools.  There simply is no money for public schools in Texas.  Over the past decade the State has always chosen to cut school funding before dipping into their vaunted billion-dollar rainy day fund whenever the Republican legislatures create a huge budget shortfall.  And whenever there has been a budget surplus, education funds are not restored.  Things like the fight against evil Planned Parenthood clinics take precedence.

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Members of the Texas State Legislature

Now Betsy DeVos, who became our current Secretary of Education despite resistance from all non-orc members of the US Senate, plus two orcs, will now give the orc hordes everything they want for education.  The federal Department of Education will be dismantled from the inside.  Privatized for-profit schools will become the new normal and receive funding disproportionate to the work they actually do.  All the cream belonging to rich folks will be skimmed off the top of the educational milk vat, and the rest will be left to fester and spoil in public school vats, becoming, at best, really really stinky cheese.

And so, let me end by saying, “Thank you, orcs, for doing such a wonderful job of protecting my children and grandchildren from the horrors of education and the ability to think for themselves.  You have protected them from ever learning enough to pull themselves out of the poverty and slavish lives you have put them in.”

 

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Filed under angry rant, education, feeling sorry for myself, humor, metaphor, monsters, politics, red States, satire

The Boogendorfer

 

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This is not actually a picture of Boogendorf, this is Toonerville where the clocks are wrong and a giant Mickey Mouse lurks in the foothills beyond.

Today I mean to justify my existence before God and everybody.  Apparently in the modern world you have to be certain things in your basic foundation to justify getting travel visas, citizenship, and a basic right to continue to exist unmolested.  We apparently elected a new leader, the Mad King of Boogendorf, to make sure all Boogendorfers are suitably qualified to live in Boogendorf.  So this is a brief photo essay to justify my case for why Boogendorf should accept me as a citizen and not execute me outright.

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First of all, I am not one hundred per cent crazy.  You can tell from this photo, can’t you?

This kooky dorfleflop can’t be any more than 65% crazy because his pin head is not large enough to harbor more than 65 out of every 100 truly derfy and sanity-stealing notions.  (What is a dorfleflop, you say?  Well, dorf is a German word for town, and dorfleflops flop in a dorf and think they belong like everybody else who has flopped there before.)

But using the Mad King of Boogendorf as a measuring stick (an orange measuring stick with an extra-long tie), that is clearly not crazy enough by half.

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What’s the deal with the clocks always being wrong in Boogendorf?

I have always heard it said, “It takes a village to raise a child”.  And I think that saying I heard is probably true.  I was raised by the village of Rowan, Iowa in the 60’s and 70’s.  I learned to draw there.  And I can draw real cartoon human beings.

Of course, one must be careful to note that if you could actually draw real cartoon human beings they would be alive after that, and that would make you like God, able to create life from nothing more than pencil, pen, and paper.  And in Boogendorf there is only room for one God.  That, of course, is the Mad King of Boogendorf.  So I guess that is a disqualifying quality too.

And that saying about a child raised by a village is a saying somehow connected to Hillary Clinton, and Hillary Clinton was defeated (I have also heard disgraced, demoralized, and denounced) in the last election by getting more votes than the Mad King of Boogendorf.  So I am judged lacking by my upbringing too.

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I am also undeniably guilty of playing with dolls.  I mean, I collect them, I comb their hair, dress them in different clothes, take them apart and repair them, and pose them for pictures.  That can’t be normal.  But is it abnormal enough to make me qualified to be a Boogendorfer from the village of Boogendorf?  Maybe if I plated them in gold or something, or had enough money to go to “golden shower” extremes?  I guess I don’t understand how to be Boogendorfy enough to live in Boogendorf.  The “Boo” in Boogendorf proves that you have to be pathologically afraid of things more, just like other Boogendorfers are.   I am sure the average Boogendorfer is afraid of people who play with dolls.  Especially if those weird people don’t own any guns and don’t like to kill stuff.  That just ain’t natural.  You even need to give guns to little girls to make them safe against those evil anti-Boogendorfers.

So, I guess I am doomed to live a life outside of the walls of Boogendorf (and they are really great walls, too).  I should be grateful that the citizens of Boogendorf have only rejected me and not used their sacred second-amendment rights to execute me.  For now, I am simply not a Boogendorfer.

 

 

 

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Facebooking and Birdwalking

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This is my bird-walking illustration.  I know that it is totally the wrong picture for the job, but it is a bird walking, isn’t it.  

It is not a stretch to suggest that most of what you find on Facebook is not real.  Especially when it comes to the endless posting and sharing of topical political memes.  I had thought when Facebook came out with their reaction-emoji thingies, that there was at least one I would never find a use for.  15622475_1183729518385094_5552623989556758950_n

Boy!  Was I ever wrong about that.  Now that the gold-plated pumpkinhead that got himself elected somehow is busy with his markers and crayons making executive orders, it is about the only one that really fits anywhere.

We made a big mistake allowing Trump to play Prexy and be the one in charge of making the rules of the game.  You all knew he was gonna cheat before the game even started, didn’t you?  And it won’t last long.  He is making allies like Australia into offended enemies.  He is banning burn victims, heroic Iraqi translators, doctors, and researchers from coming into the country with their entry visas and green cards and other proof that they have a right to be here.  He is burning up any goodwill and patience and level-headedness  that we have tried to afford him.  He will be impeached, or worse, sooner rather than later.  And then we will have to live with the irreparable damage he has done. 15871838_1523005324380940_7699241610958871006_n

And we probably deserve it.  We have made mistakes before, and if we live long enough, we will make more in the future.  But this was a big one.  And I don’t have to feel happy about it.  No matter what my conservative friends on Facebook tell me… or what names they call me.

So that’s where the bird-walking comes in.  The mind has to wander away down paths of lesser resistance.  We need to go where the sandpiper would go, walking down the beach to look for new and interesting-looking seeds to eat.

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You really should add this to your Bob Ross Bible if you haven’t already.

All of my illustrations in this article, except for the walking bird, which I drew myself, are clipped directly from Facebook.    Facebook is sometimes the soul source of wisdom for Village Idiots, and I should probably make an effort to be one less of the time.  But it is also an excellent source of bird-walking topics that get my mind off the terrible things and onto free-floating tangents that take me to places my mind would really rather be.

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I would’ve liked to have attended Pillsbury’s funeral, but the meme only gave the time and length of the service, not the date.  I fear that by now I have missed it.  But I am sure the service was well done.15747477_1364363353622793_9185361677508015682_n

Nostalgia memes on Facebook are great.  They make me feel all squishy and sad again about the times long gone and how terrifyingly horrible they were compared to how terrible they are now.

Remember John Wayne Gacy?  Or reports on television about the Viet Nam War?  With pictures?  Full color pictures of the My Lai Massacre in living color on NBC, with all the blood in bright red.  Yeah, that stuff on TV kept us outdoors quite a lot.

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But Facebook bird-walking is a dangerous sport.  If you let it, it will eat up your whole life, minute by minute, hour by hour.  And I’m not sure it makes you smarter in any way.  I know some pretty stupid people who are on Facebook quite a lot.

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Bird-walking at its best, though, is to coddiwomple.  And though you don’t know where you are going, you will get there sooner or later, so you might as well look at the scenery and appreciate the irony along the way.  Life should be a leisurely stroll, not a rush to get away from gold-plated pumpinheads with executive orders in their tiny, tiny hands.

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Filed under angry rant, battling depression, clowns, commentary, feeling sorry for myself, foolishness, humor, irony, memes, Paffooney

Truly Terrible Trump Tricks

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Yep, I have tried thinking about the many uses for barbed wire and dead cats rather than have to think about what Trump has been doing, and it just isn’t working.  After looking up the tensile strength of various common barbed wires from different barbed wire companies, I could not find one appropriate for a cat-a-pult, and it turned out that the whole idea was a joke anyway.  But he just keeps getting worse.

Here is John Green, an author I love and listen to, explaining the Immigration Boobilly Boo-Boo;

The Trumpinator has gotten the idea that he can hammer the world into a shape he likes using mallet-like executive orders.  But no amount of hammering is going to turn the globe into a giant banana.  His executive orders are not put through a review process, and so, are often nonsensical, inappropriate, and even dangerous.

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The fact that you had to take a moment to decide if you needed to ask me if this photo was real or not tells you a lot about what you already know about Trump.  He is petulant.  He is childish.  He throws tantrums at the drop of a hat, or the smirk of an underling, or the comments of a celebrity… I wonder if he throws tantrums about barbed wire and dead cats?

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“Oh, no!  Thinking about Trump made me accidentally strangle Mr. Tinkles.”

And even worse are some of the detestable deplorables that he has working for him.  A man like Steve Bannon with his Breitbart background and his white supremacist crossword puzzles of racism, antisemitism, and nihilism would never have gotten power in the first place if it hadn’t been for Trump.  And now he is at least the second most powerful man on Earth.  Arguably, he’s the first, depending on how much his Wormtongue skills are affecting the baby mind of President Babyhands.

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So, here is my pitiful attempt at mocking the evil Steve, Darklord Bannon;

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I know, the angry eyebrows are simply not enough.  Let me try again;

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Okay, I know it’s not good enough.  I promise you, if I can find a cartoon way to harpoon the great white whale, Moby Steve, I will, and then post it for all to see.  I would like to be able to make a single cartoon so snarky that Bannon’s pet snake would drop over dead at the shockwaves from little old Republican ladies laughing at it and changing their opinion of Trump forever.  Of course, I know, better cartoonists than I have tried and failed.  That doesn’t mean it is not worth the effort.

You have probably discerned by now that I did not vote for Trump.  And I have given him more than enough chance to prove what he will do for this country.  I will never call him President using his proper name.  He is not my president.  And I do not want to live in Trump’s idea of America.  This I will probably achieve sooner than expected because what he is doing to Obamacare will undoubtedly kill me.

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Filed under angry rant, commentary, grumpiness, humor, Liberal ideas, memes, politics

Malevolent Marx Brothers’ Movies

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“I wanna thank you for meeting with me in this super-secret high-level meeting in the White House, okay.  I brought you here… I am really good at bringing people and stuff together, by the way… I brought you here so we could make the Marx Brothers great again, okay?  We are going to make a new Marx Brothers’ movie.  It’s going to be great… really tremendous.”

“Wotta you sayin’, boss?  The Marx Brothers is dead.  How you gonna make a movie with dead guys?  You gonna dig ’em all up and do a Frankenstein number on ’em, or what?”

“No, no…  We will play the roles ourselves.  I’ll be Groucho, you know… the really smart one… the one with an amazing mind.  I really am very smart you know.  Everyone says so.”

“And who am I gonna play?”

“Steve, you get to be Chico.  You know, the fast-talking Wop guy.  You think of the greatest plans.  They are really great, you know.”

“Okay, boss, I got one already.”

“Really?  What is it?”

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“I think we gotta do an executive order.”

“Executive order?  What’s that?”

“It’s a order you give like Obama did, you know?  You take a pen and phone and say something in writing that everybody’s gotta do, and then, because it’s an executive order and you signed your name to it, you gotta execute somebody.”

“Ooh!  I like the sound of that.  We’ll call the movie Horsefeather Soup.  It’ll be tremendous.  The most tremendous thing people have ever seen.”

“Yeah, and the executive order will say we are banning Muslims from random countries.  You know, just the ones where you don’t have hotels.  And we can say we are doing extreme vetting so we are keeping America safe from terrorists.”

“Ooh!  Yeah!  Extreme vetting, rhymes with bed-wetting.  Tremendous.   But what if people say I’m being racist again?”

“We say we intend to protect Americans from those really bad people you keep talking about, you know?  We’ll claim that nobody who’s innocent will get hurt.  And the good thing is, the immigration people will just know that anybody who is a Muslim is a bad person.  We’ll get everybody that way.”

“Good one, Steve, I mean… Chico.”

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LAX after the executive order.  (Possibly people waiting to be executed.)

“Wait a minute, boss, who do I get to be in this movie?”

“Rinse, you get to be Harpo, okay?”

“My name is Reince, boss.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, Reence.”

“REINCE!”

“Okay, Harpo doesn’t talk, so shut up, Rinse!  Here, take this bicycle horn and, when you go on Chuck Todd’s show and he doesn’t let you talk either, just honk it at him.  It will be really great.”

“And me, boss?”

“Oh, Kellyanne.  I almost forgot about you.  What’s the name of that other brother?  Dumbo?  You get to be that one.”

“Hey boss, we gotta get goin’ on this executive order crap.  Somebody needs to get executed in the worst way.”

“Oh, yeah!  The worst way to execute is the best way.  I feel the need tweet about it.  This new Marx Brothers’ movie will be the best, just the best.  It will be so bestest that America will get tired of bestiness.”

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Trump, Rinse, and Steve ready for Muslims, Mexicans, and protesters.

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Kit Marlowe, Secret Agent

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Christopher Marlowe is often sited as the real Shakespeare, a problematic assertion given that he would’ve been forced to write a number of plays after he was dead, giving new meaning to the term “ghost writer”.  But I would like to add to the assertion that “Marlowe is NOT Shakespeare!” that I also believe he did not die as they claim that he did.  Marlowe is a fascinating character of debauchery and misbehavior, intrigue and mystery, and undeniable genius.  As a writer, he was a maverick and risk-taker, having begun the ascendance of the theatrical play as one of the heights of Elizabethan literature with his play Tamburlaine the Great, about the historical figure who rose from shepherd boy to monarch.  This play, and its sequel, Tamburlaine the Great Part II, were among the very first English plays to be written in blank verse, meaning there is a very definite connection between the style of writing established by Marlowe and the later work of Shakespeare.  It is probable that for a few years, Kit Marlowe was a member of the Gray’s Inn group along with Sir Francis Bacon and several other suspicious literary luminaries like Sir Walter Raleigh and possibly Ben Jonson.  (I have to admit at this point that if I am wrong about the Stratford guy and he did write the plays, then he was a member of this group as well, because it was not closed to commoners, only to stupid people.  The Stratford guy was in no way stupid or a villain, no matter what you may believe about the authorship question.)  But here is where the link to Shakespeare’s plays and poetry both begins and ends.  Yes, Kit Marlowe was a capable enough author to have written such sublime plays.  He has all the individual skills to make up the whole.  But if you read his masterwork, The Tragicall History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus, you will see that the voice, the unique literary style of the work is simply not by the same author.  Although Shakespeare revisits some of the same themes that Marlowe used in his plays, his manner of development, handling of character, style of humor, and underlying conviction in the existence of God are all different and opposed to Marlowe’s.  Marlowe is NOT Shakespeare.  Shakespeare’s works have more in common with Bacon’s than Marlowe’s.  And I have already said that, “Shakespeare is NOT Bacon… or eggs either.”  And if I said it, it must be so.  (Don’t throw eggs and tomatoes at your computer screen when you read this.  Just call me stupid and vain in the comments like everybody else does.)

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And an even more compelling reason to those of you who don’t obsess over reading Shakespeare and Marlowe and Ben Jonson is that, at the time Shakespeare’s plays were probably written, Kit Marlowe was busy either being stone cold dead, or, having faked his death, was busy being a secret agent for Queen Elizabeth.

 

And why would a goofball like me think that Christopher Marlowe cunningly faked his own death and went into his own thrilling quest to be like James Bond more than 300 years before Ian Fleming?  Well, because I know how to read and am not generally bright enough not to believe what others have written about him and his connections to world of spying in Elizabethan times.

These authors have brought out the fact that Marlowe’s frequent absences from college and later public obligations coincide with things like the mysterious tutor called “Morley” who tutored Arbella, niece of Mary Queen of Scots, and a potential successor to Queen Elizabeth, in 1589.  He was also arrested in the Netherlands for allegedly counterfeiting coins related to the activities of seditious Catholics.  He was brought back to England to be dealt with by Lord Treasurer Burghley, the closest adviser to Queen Elizabeth, and was then not so much punished as let off the hook and even rewarded monetarily.  Still think he was not a spy?  Well, his demise probably came about through his relationship with Lord Francis Walsingham and his friendship with Walsingham’s son.  You see, Walsingham was Elizabeth’s “M”, leader of her spies and intelligence units.  After Walsingham died, there was deep concern that no one was still able to protect Marlowe from possible consequences of being both a homosexual and an atheist.  (Being gay was obviously not as serious a sin as atheism for which torture and death penalties lay in wait.)  It was possible that rival spies and nefarious forces could kidnap Marlowe and get information out of him that the Queen needed to be kept secret.

So, when Lord Burghley tortured Marlowe’s friend and sometime roommate, Thomas Kyd, into naming Marlowe a heretic and sending men out with a warrant to arrest Marlowe, Kit’s other friend, Thomas Walsingham probably warned Marlowe.  The bar fight that supposedly ended Marlowe’s life was witnessed by two friends of his, Nicholas Skeres and Robert Poley, both provably con men and professional liars.  The knife that stabbed him in the forehead above his right eye was wielded by Ingram Fizer, another of Marlowe’s disreputable friends, allegedly over an unpaid debt.  Fizer, of course, though he freely admitted killing Marlowe, was acquitted of the murder.  And the coroner’s report is suspect.  Rules of investigation were not followed, and the body was never independently identified by someone other than the three friends at the scene of the crime.  And the body was hastily buried before anyone else could get a close look at it.

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I am not only telling you that I believe Christopher “Kit” Marlowe was NOT Shakespeare… or eggs either (though that joke doesn’t really work here), but I believe he didn’t die the way it has been reported to us by history.  And why do I believe these things?  Because I think the story of Christopher Marlowe is a really great story, and it exists as a story whether it is historically true or not.

 

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A Shakespearean Celebration of Trump

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Yes, I am well aware that I am in the middle of an epic Shakespeare rant this week, explaining in the goofiest of terms the reason I believe Shakespeare is not Shaksper.  But you have to mark a solemn occasion like the onset of the end-times.  So I thought I might pay dissembling dreary lip service to the inauguration of a man who, if he appeared in the middle of a Dick Tracy episode, would be known as the villainous Cheeto-head.122p7s

You see, I don’t recognize this villain as the legitimate head of my government.  So I won’t be using the title of “President” with this villain’s name.  Instead, I intend to practice Shakespearian insults to get the bad taste out of my mouth on this horrible day resulting from the malfeasance of certain bad actors, a concerted effort to suppress the vote in key States like Florida, an inebriated campaign run by a dissolute, dissembling mountebank with a talent for misdirection, and a very unfortunate ill-timed collective brain fart on the part of masses of angry but somewhat intellectually limited white people.  (No, I am not worried that they will get me for that last one.  They don’t know what most of the words mean, and none of them would take the time to read this far through this post.)

The conflagration of Trumpkin Trolls on the internet have been telling me that they have endured eight years of Obama, and now I should just shut up and endure eight years of the Great Orange Face.  But, swaggering lackwits, I say thee nay!  This will not be an eight year reign.  It will either be a zero-year tragedy extravaganza or a permanent reign until the bedeviled Fenris Wolf consumes poor over-wrought Thor on the terrible day know as Ragnarok.  The spoiled bag of figgy pudding that is our new leader and golden king will have a lot to answer to St. Peter for.  Um, or is that Mephistopheles?

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I intend to hold the vicarious viscount of villainy accountable with my words and wit, meager as they may be.  And I will decry everything he and the harpy DeVos will do to my beloved system of public education.  I will probably also expire from the villainy of the wretched Republican pizzle drinkers who are busy disemboweling the health care system that has so recently kept me alive, but I will continue to testify to their perfidy until my last breath expires.

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So, I guess I can bring an end to this venomous epistle satisfied that I have lectured ass-headed Bottom about having a donkey’s head on his shoulders in the most roundly Shakespearean way I could wrangle.  Shakespeare, if he gave us anything of value, gave us to understand the true power of words.  And it is by the application of powerful and true words we must battle this sanguine, self-satisfied snollygoster who can barely read and is crippled with a dysfunctional slow-working pate which he more often sits on than uses to think with.

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