Category Archives: grumpiness

Surviving Death and Taxes

Life is filled with impossible things.  Doing my taxes is definitely one of them.

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I once owned a copy of this Will Eisner comic and got a good barrel of laughs out of it back in the day when I was young and full of life and the grim reaper wasn’t standing just outside the kitchen door like he is now.

It had a bunch of useful suggestions on what to do in the face of the two most unavoidable things in life.  I wish I could find it once again, but I fear it disappeared when my parents moved from Texas back to the farm in Iowa in the 1990’s.  It was probably stolen by someone who wanted to learn the valuable secrets it contained.  I accuse Donald Trump.  Surely that would explain all those years he paid zero dollars in taxes.  And I believe I spotted something with pale orange hair lurking behind the trash bin when my parents were loading the moving van.   Of course, it may have been only a dried out tumble weed.

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Now, I am not saying that I don’t want to pay my taxes.  I have always felt that it was an important part of being a citizen to pay my fair share.  And if you want the benefits of government services like schools, fire departments, police forces, court systems, garbage collection, and all those other things we really can’t do without… well, somebody has to pay for them.scan0017

But it often seems to me that the whole matter could become considerably more equitable if those people to whom life and the economy have been more generous could see their way clear to pay a little of that good fortune towards common goals.  And I am not referring to the Koch brothers spending a billion dollars on elections, either.  That’s a transaction where they come out ahead, making more money back than they put in.  After all, they got the whole State of Kansas to pour their State funds directly into Koch Industries pocketbooks via tax breaks, effectively allowing them to rob all of Kansas’s public school children of their textbooks and lunch money.  How is that equitable and fair?

And paying taxes this year means probably paying far more than my fair share.  I recently completed a debt-reduction program to get out from under two decades worth of maxed-out credit cards at 25% to 29% interest rates.  And as a further punishment for trying to get free of the burden, credit card banks get to report the forgiven debt as income for me to the IRS.  And all of the banks decided this was the year for me to pay that off.  Well, except for Bank of America who are petulantly suing me for more money than I owe them.  I will probably end up mired back in credit card debt in order to survive the IRS.  So how does that square with Mitt Romney paying less than 15%?  Or Donald Trump paying nothing?

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The only out for me, it seems, is to shake hands and make a deal with old Grimmy.  He has patiently waited for me for sixty years, through times when my six incurable diseases definitely gave him hope.  The only way to really escape the tax man is to take the really long dirt nap.  But I shall scrape funds together and give it one more try.  I just wish I could find that book.

(Note *** All the illustrations in this essay except for Mr. Flagg’s Uncle Sam were provided by the late great Will Eisner, the cartoonist so grand that the highest award for cartoonists is named after him.  But I am not paying any royalties for these images since I owe my soul to the IRS.)

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The Man is Mad

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Mad can mean angry.

It can also mean crazy.

It is also a magazine.  He should be happy.  He made the cover.

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Mickey made fun of me… sad!  A very sick man!

Do we really understand why the man is mad?

Could it be that too many steaks from Mar-a-Lago have given him permanent heartburn?

Something in his diet is making him have Sith eyes all the time.

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There has to be a reason he tells so many lies,

And breaks wind on Twitter to give us all the gas,

To fuel explosions…

The man really is an… Biblical word for donkey.

It must be sad to be him.

Anger… dyspepsia… battling bubbling bile…

He’s really never happy, not even when he smiles.

He made a thirteen year old girl cry recently, sitting in the back of the car,

Watching ICE cart her father away to detention and eventual deportation.

If that doesn’t make him happy, I really don’t know what will.

He is planning to issue a new travel ban.

It will make life miserable for many Muslims…

Including those coming to this country with visas to get life-saving surgery.

Surely allowing something like that, life-saving surgery,  is not worth making the man mad.

He deserves to have his fun.

After all, he won the most amazing election in history…

Without the help of Russian Putin, pudding, and pie…

On a platform of making sure that poor people don’t get affordable healthcare…

The issue the Republican non-silent majority care the most about in life…

Just ask Ted Cruz.

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Such a lovely man… to be mad all the time.  I only wish he knew that peace of mind and a quiet stomach come from doing good, eating right, and sleeping soundly at night…even during the Twitter hour.  My life is a physical mess because I don’t have affordable healthcare even with Obamacare… something that will only get worse when the mad man gets his way.  But I am not mad.  I have done good with my life.  I eat right.  And I don’t sleep very well, but that is not my conscience bothering me… especially now that I have given up on tweeting with the twit-wits on Twitter.

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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.)

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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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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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A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Future

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…Except it ain’t zactly funny. Somehow we let the orangutan take over the zoo.

I did tell you the world would end because the Cubs won the series.  Now we have to pay for our excesses and mistakes.

No more Obamacare.  The monkey vowed to repeal it.  And I have six pre-existing conditions, four of which may cost me any and all health insurance.

No more Paris climate agreement.  The monkey likes to burn coal and pollute the air with carbons because it makes money and his monkey friends like it.  Global warming turns the Earth into Venus.

No more nuclear agreement with Iran.  The monkey promised to tear it up.  He hates Iran’s particular flavor of invisible sky-friend.  He believes it gives him the right to kill them, kill their families, and take their stuff.  He is an aggressive and thoughtless monkey.

And I saw this all coming.  My Bubba friends all kinda like this monkey because he says all the things they want to say and get away with… even in polite company.  There are a lot of Bubba friends in this country.  Some of them are not even angry all the time.  Some of them are not even white.

And now that the dust has settled from massive monkey tricks, voter suppression in southern states, lies from Fox News, and Comey’s “Oh-one-more-reminder-about-emails”, the White House will become the Monkey House.  I doubt this essay will get me thrown in prison.  The monkey doesn’t read… except for Twitter.  And he doesn’t understand metaphors.  And I never used his real name in this post.

But everything that’s bad in life gets worse… and then you die.  So I have a little while yet to live and love and make the best of life.  But the monkey wins in the end.

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Stop What You’re Doing and Fix It!

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The gate leading to the pool was broken.

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The pool itself was broken.  See all the cracks?

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So the city inspector said, “Fix it or else!”

I had some old boards from the fence I took down.  And as an Iowa farm boy, I have skills.

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So I fixed it.  For less than $20 .  New hinges and corner brackets, but I used old nails.

Now, to repair the danged pool my own little self.

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The Car Radio Keeps Me Alive

Today I had to deliver my daughter, the Princess, to her high school in the rain.  It is hard enough make the circuitous trip to the west in order to go south and then east again through all the construction and roadwork going on with stupid people who are somehow allowed to drive a car and carry a gun in Texas even though they don’t know what a turn signal is for or that a speed limit sign shows the maximum rather than the minimum speed you should go at every red stoplight and corner without there being rain to obscure vision and make the mangled pavement slick.  You have to be able to concentrate and perform like a virtuoso while driving to make it there alive.  I would simply not be able to do it without the car radio.

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Driving the family car in Texas

The radio keeps me calm and gives my brain the power it needs to overcome obstacles.  The jump across the river with the man-eating fish in it alone requires an energized brain and a cool head.  I listen to oldies on the radio with KLUV in the mornings.  It is how my children have come to love Don Henley and the Eagles as much as I do.

For the last seven years of my teaching career, I had to learn the hard way that music is critical to driving well, and driving well is the only way to stay alive on the mean streets of Dallas.  I had a morning commute of 40 minutes, 30 miles, and 45 stoplights one way to my teaching job in Garland.  I drove it starting at six in the morning to avoid traffic.  But after school, I often had to labor for three hours through rush hour traffic on the way back home.  I learned to switch the station to 101.1, the classical music station.  Listening to Mozart and Beethoven not only makes you smarter, it makes you calmer.  Calm enough not to get out of your car at the stop light and beat the guy in the car ahead of you with the detached bumper of your car that he knocked off while cutting in front of you because he was in the wrong lane to make the turn he needed to make and didn’t realize until 15 minutes into the wait for the red light to change enough times that our cars actually had a chance to make it through the intersection.  Yes, that is a run-on sentence about road rage.  And road rage is real.  But in real life I didn’t beat him to death because of Mendelssohn playing on the car radio.  It only played out that way in my head while the radio soothed my brain and prevented my hair from catching fire.

I owe my life and sanity to the car radio many times over.  And I am resigned to the notion that I will probably need it many times more before the curtain closes the last time.

 

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Morning With Grumpy

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I have not been having good days lately.  Things go wrong constantly.  Things that cost money that I don’t have.  I’m a writer, after all.  I don’t even have a waving acquaintance with money.

Fire ants bit me on Tuesday.  My hands and feet are still plagued with painful, itchy bumps.  At the same time the city is telling me how the yard has to be done and the trees have to be trimmed and the pool has to be repaired.  If I don’t complete the work and get the pool running again, in spite of the fact I don’t have any money, I face a two-thousand dollar fine, which would be cheaper than fixing the pool, but it would recur every month until I got the pool fixed.  Well, welcome back to Debt Town.  At least I will have a swimming pool again this winter.  And the drive this morning to take the Princess to school was an epic battle with high-speed morons in Bubba-trucks.  I made a wrong turn downtown in the rat’s maze that the I-35 construction project has created right next to downtown Carrollton.  I had to dodge between people in cars that don’t know how to drive, but drive too fast, kids on foot on that have their heads plugged in, so they don’t hear you coming when they step out in front of you without looking because their eyes are fixed on their phones.  We got there five minutes before the tardy bell.

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Some mornings I just need a chance to complain.  Thanks for listening.

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My Post for Today

My computer is wearing out.  It blew up the WordPress posting sight on my screen to where the letters in the title are once again an inch tall.  The chances that it will suddenly wipe out everything I have typed and save a blank post over the whole thing almost instantly is making me tired.  To combat the problem, I must constantly keep a back-up copy on Microsoft Word which may also grow or shrink for no apparent reason.  It gets frustrating, and I am old, ill, and quite tired.  But I am also only a month away from two entire years of posting every single day, a feat I am not ready to fail at this close to the end.  So let me show something from my cartoon collections stolen from the internet at large.

From the Lola Bunny file;

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From Movie Art;

From Hanna-Barbera Toons;

And these are all things I could’ve written a 500-word post about with unique and possibly yawn-inducing Mickian insights, but today I would rather not.  Today I take the “picture is worth a thousand words” thing and give you 17,000 thousand words worth of not having to listen to me.

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Flubtastical Floundering

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Seeds of despair have been growing and blooming into black orchids of depression.  Doubt creeps in.  It is true that the publisher I just signed a contract with is the kind of publisher that squeezes their money out of the authors rather than readers.  That seems to be a dominating trend in the publishing world now.  You don’t make as much money as a publisher by investing in advertising, editing services, and printing services at your own expense, even paying advances to authors for the rights to their works.  The old way is dead.  One way or another, to compete in the modern market you have to squeeze more and more profit out of your workers.  More productivity for less money in wages puts more money into the hands of the owners, the corporations, and the CEO’s where it obviously belongs.  I suppose, as one of those little guys at the base of the poo-poo volcano of American business, I have a right to feel cheated and abused.  My hard work is taken supreme advantage of by others.

Lots of stuff has been going wrong lately.  The yard has gone untended for too long and is now overgrown and wild.  The dog got hold of number two son’s $350 retainer again.  Both of my kids at home are groaning under the strains of work and school.  My health continues to slide down the old hill.  They are even cancelling one of my favorite Facebook games.

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I must now say goodbye to Avengers Alliance on Facebook.

But despair is not really in my nature.  I knew going in that publishing my book this way was going to cost me money I will probably never make back in my lifetime.  But it will be available in print.  It will even have my own artwork on it.  And if I have to publish the other novels as digital Kindle copies only, at least I will actually have three books in print.

The yard looks unkempt, but there are blossoms everywhere, and our plants are at least processing carbon dioxide and putting oxygen back in the air.

The dog got hold of the retainer, but this time apparently realized how much trouble she was in.  She doesn’t appear to have bitten or chewed on it at all.

Broken spirits and weariness are the intended products of the modern American school system, so we are doing that right, at least.

And not being able to afford to go to the doctor any more has made my wallet a lot healthier.  I have the money… er, credit… to spend for the first time in ten years.

Maybe the orchids are not so black as I thought.

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