Author: Sorryless

North vs Mouth

Sorryless38 Comments

“We are 75 million strong!”

It was the squeal of a Trump supporter, who was fashioned in the clownish ethos of a fat brimmed red hat that has become the new abnormal. He stood outside a federal building spewing words with the bad English of a snub nosed revolver, each participle killing Shakespeare all over again. And while I know his intent was to scare me, us . . . anybody who’s not down with high-jacking the Constitution, I was thoroughly unimpressed. I regard them as parasitical dipping dots with ’70’s haircuts, soulless eyes and a mindset stuck in the turn of the century. The 11th century.

I constructed a profile for the mole rat while considering his facile declaration, and then I came up with a nickname for the treasonous taco lab- Eggs Benedict. He possessed an oversized chassis that was underwritten by restaurants with drive-thru technology, so I figured him to be on four different prescription meds as a result. He was obviously a ladies man who had broken a lot of cousins hearts while working his way through Drivers Ed. A well read gent, he feasted on the classics; from Amazing Spider Man and Captain America to Archie Comics. His favorite quote was probably something like “Wherever I go, I’m home,” and his RV? Proved it.

But really, I didn’t come here today to bury the overgrown sandbag. I simply have a problem with his contention that there are seventy five million Trump Warriors set to do battle if posh gives way to shove it. And while I would love to call him out in real time, I’m sure he would be a tad bemused if I said I had a problem with his math. Especially since he considers math to be the gross smelling stuff his toothless brother cooks up in his double wide.

So Imma dish here on WordPress, with peeps whose IQ’s are well north of the Mason/Dixon, by calling out this 75 million troops claim as fake news. And here’s why . . .

The total number of people who went in a voting booth and came out dumber wasn’t 75 million, it was 74,222,958 votes. That’s more than three quarters of a million voters less than these Trumpists are claiming. Hey, after the way they tried painting a decisive Biden victory into a Chucky Cheese caricature, I’m not giving these ass-hats a single vote more.

So he’s already wrong, but wait . . there’s less!

Of the 74,222,958 Trump voters, a nice chunk of that gain from his 2016 numbers came as the result of the very same non-traditional voting that he was positing as fraudulent- early voting and absentee ballots. More than 100 million people voted this way, the majority of whom voted for Biden.

Say Trump only scored 25 million of those votes, that brings the “75 Million Trump Warriors!” number down under 50 now. Reason being, these peeps couldn’t even make it to the polls. How they gonna fight a civil war?

But wait, you say. By that reasoning, there are 75 million democrats who wouldn’t fight a civil war either. Welp, here’s the difference. Democrats didn’t show up because of the pandemic, so voting off site made sense. Republicans have assured us they don’t give a fuck about the pandemic, which means they were in no shape to get out to vote in the first place. And not for nothing, but most of the democrats who did vote in the non-traditional manner are young. And they’re going to be mighty pissed off if gaming and social media are taken away from them as the result of a civil war. And they’ll recruit their non-voter friends so they can get this shit over with as quickly as possible.

So now we have 49 million Trump warriors and let’s say 30 million of those voters are male, between the ages of thirty and forty-five. I’ll bet you half of that number look like my pal Eggs Benedict. Sorry, but all the firepower in the world ain’t gonna help if you have to schlep it without fuel and the meds to stave off the heart altering effects of said fuel.

We’re down to 35 million Trump warriors now, and maybe 20 million of those voters are women. Take away half of that number, because those are the Trump ladies who believe that a woman’s place is in the home. Or on target.com. Nope.

So we have 25 million Trump warriors left. And eighty percent of that total is going to fold their cards, lest they lose everything they’ve worked for, because that’s what will happen when society goes buh-bye.

5 million Trump warriors would be left standing in this entirely hypothetical scenario. And before they get the chance to yell “Charge!”, our friends from Mexico will be more than happy to throw down with the Trumpists. As will our friends up in Canada, who weren’t quite so kind in their judgements of the last guy in office here in the states. So yeah, they have five million and well . . we have the rest.

So when all is said and done, you’ll have a couple dozen assholes standing outside the White House with signs and bullhorns, trashing Biden and making plans for lunch. If you happen to be walking by and you spot a portly looking fellow in a red hat, could you do me a solid?

Tell Eggs Benedict I said hi.

 

Heroes Of The Week!

Sorryless72 Comments

 

Why It's Difficult To Find Full Video Of King's Historic Speech : The Two-Way : NPR

Welcome to our first heroes episode of the new year, kids. This patch of grass is still under construction with new this’s and that’s ready to make themselves known throughout the coming year. But the one thing that won’t change is the love that is shown to this here intersection of Friday and the weekend. So it be that I’ve got a little help coming from my friends, as per. Muchas gracias to them, and to you.

As for the above image, not for nothing but, that’s what a big crowd and a real leader look like. In case there was any confusion (much) about such things over the last four years. And while those clueless cretins might’ve stolen a sacred national spot with their despicable act last week? Well, my friend Martin is taking it back.

Now to the lineup . . .

What Giuliani's past tells us about how he may represent Trump - ABC NewsFirst up are the retrograde republicans (no capital letters for capitol seditionists), who perpetrated a terror attack on our nation’s capital on January 6th. From the aiders and abettors in suits- Trump, Giuliani, et al.-  to the mentally deficient warriors who looted a federal building and committed mayhem and murder. The irony is that these mask-less mutts made it that much easier for authorities to finger them by flouting the public safety standards. They should reconsider a civil war, seeing as how strategy isn’t their strong suit.

And now for a double kiss of good feeling brought to you by Dale over at A Dalectable Life.

Jon Bon Jovi Soul Kitchen at Rutgers battles student food insecurity | Food ManagementWe flip the script from the clueless to the community minded with news that the ageless rocker Jon Bon Jovi and his wife Dorothea just opened their third community restaurant on the campus of Rutgers University. JBJ Soul Kitchen serves up meals free of charge to those patrons who can’t afford it. For those who can, they’re asked for a $20 donation to cover the cost of their meal.

“Hunger doesn’t look like what your mind’s eye might imagine,” Dorothea says. “It’s the people at your church. It’s the kids that go to school with your kids. And I think that was eye-opening for a lot of the community here that said, ‘Oh, there’s no homeless people here.’”

This garden to table eatery has served up more than 100,000 meals so far and they say they’ll keep the hits coming as long as there is a need. Rock on, good man. Rock on.

Theresa Kachindamoto is a Real-Life Black Queen, A True Leader - Hollywood InsiderTheresa Kachindamoto is the kind of leader you don’t hear much about. And it’s because she’s making a profoundly impactful difference on the lives of the young women of Malawi. In a country with one of the highest rates of child marriage in the world, Kachindamoto is fighting back. To date, she has annulled more than 3,000 marriages.

In her district of Dedza, where she serves as a senior chief, girls as young as twelve years of age were once forced into marriage by parents who considered it a traditional rite of passage. In 2017, she was an integral part of an amendment which raised the minimum age of marriage from 15 to 18. She also teamed up with UN Women to get these young women an education, which she says is their right. These groundbreaking accomplishments have not come easy. When you combine an entrenched mindset with generational poverty, success is both relative and fleeting. But she forges ahead, one young woman at a time.

It’s the kind of story that doesn’t get told nearly enough because let’s face it, human interest stories are considered more filler than headline. But it makes you wonder what could be more important than an interest in humans?

Kevin Durant, James Harden, Kyrie Irving Big 3 destined to failA shout out to my pal Big Papi for breaking the news to me of James Harden’s beard now residing in Brooklyn. “The Beard” forced his way out of Houston by quitting on the Houston Rockets, and he comes East with the reputation of being a prolific scorer who considers defense optional. He’ll saddle up with Kyrie Irving- when Kyrie decides to return from his hiatus- and Kevin Durant, and not much else since Brooklyn emptied the cupboard to acquire him. Team TMZ in the media hornets nest of NYC? I cannot wait.

Wendy's manager shares the love one drive-thru customer at a time | Whidbey News-TimesImma conclude the day’s programming with a real keeper of a young lady who hails from Oak Harbor, Washington by the name of April DiDonna. Young April works as the fast food manager at a local Wendy’s and she’s serving up way more than hamburgers and fries. Last fall as the world was busy holding on for dear life, she decided to deliver a sentiment that Jackie DeShannon insisted there was much too little of. She told a drive-thru customer that she loved him.

“To know that the little three words could mean so much to so many people, it’s overwhelming my heart with so much more love . . .  I truly believe that if we just love each other, the world would be better.”

In October, she started keeping count of every customer who returned serve with an “I love you” of their own. She’s at over 2,700 and yes, she still counting. Because why not say it? And mean it? And count them? Every single one of the beautiful them?

The mother of three brings this powerful affirmation from a dark place in 2019 when her husband passed away. It turned her life upside down and left her feeling lost and hopeless. As with so many people who find themselves struggling through darkness, she was able to find the light by shining it not on herself, but on the people around her. Paying it forward comes with cosmic receipts and she collected one recently when an elderly customer admitted to DiDonna that she never thought she would hear those words again after losing her husband and then her brother. Of course, such an admission was greeted with a request to drive forward and park so she could receive a hug as well, at no extra charge.

Young April insists the universe is changing and that the stars are aligning for better days ahead, for all of us. And while the cynic in me might wonder aloud as to why anyone would think such a fool thing as this, the realist in me knows better than to argue. Because it’s not crazy or hopeless to believe that things might actually get better.

It’s love, actually.

 

Six Feet

Sorryless63 Comments

I’m in line at the grocery store, its the 20 Items or Less lane that makes me wonder “Didn’t there used to be a 10 Items or Less lane?”. And I mean, there probably still is one but I’ve just gotten so used to the self-service lanes that I wouldn’t really know.

Anyways, I’m committed now since I have people in front of me and more importantly, behind me. What’s more, I’m giving myself away because there I am, counting items. As if anybody gives a flip whether I’m over the legal limit in this instance. Because it’s not egregious looking, my shopping cart. It’s ballpark fine and yet I go on counting, which feels like such a quaint gesture in this day and age now that I’m thinking about it. As I’m counting it occurs to me that management didn’t make the rules for carts like mine. They made them for the shoppers who look like they just spent an afternoon in Costco.

Me? I’m working a plus/minus situation that would require a recount if this were an election, but still I count. And when the counting’s done, I’m exactly one item over. It’s the bag of sourdough pretzels I picked up when I was cruising the Lays million and one flavors of potato chips. Going with pretzels instead was a sensible choice, and for my bonus points, I don’t have any nacho cheese at home to dip the pretzels in; which would’ve effectively defeated the sensible choice I was making.

Of course, I’m not moving out of line over one item. But it feels good to get lost in a meaningless intrigue, what with all the shit that’s happening in the world. Letting my brain get stuck on something that doesn’t mean a fig in the grand scheme of things, it helps to soften the edges and I like the feeling. A lot. And then I look back and see that the girl in back of me is carrying a basket. I’m guessing she’s got no more than five or six items in it, so I tell her to cut ahead of me. She’s thankful, but so am I. More so, in fact. Because the simple things feel like a winning hand from right here. And six feet apart is where it’s at inside this simple moment. It’s the whole world. And I don’t have to wonder where all the kindness and good feelings ran away to.

They never left.

The Great Divide

Sorryless71 Comments

Biden and several ex-presidents condemn U.S. Capitol riots - CGTN

I guess the worst thing about a day full of worse case scenarios is that I saw it coming.

Yesterday was supposed to be the first Heroes episode of the new year. But for an early January day that became further proof that the ides of 2020 aren’t going to be that easy to shake. More to the truth, it’s the echoes of 2016 that promise to transcend a calendar year. And as much as we would like to think that Wednesday was an isolated incident, we know better because we’ve already seen some of the worst.

So it goes with the Make America Great Again Brigade, whose purpose is to transport us back to a simpler time. Back when the -isms were an integral part of society’s fabric. They want us to believe it’s not like that but their actions say otherwise. And yeah, you can start with all those confederate flags that were being waved and draped all over our nation’s Capitol building the other day. Unless you believe it was just a matter of imbedded marketing for the History Channel.

This great divide in our country didn’t happen overnight. It’s been festering for decades on end, but it was in need of a highly reactive charge to light the fire. They got their wish when Trump began speaking the language of a time and place that resonated with people who felt disenfranchised. And their feckless leader was only too happy to feed that beast.

It began with “Build the Wall”; ripped from the pages of a cold war logic whose tenets were built on quicksand and atrophy. This misbegotten campaign promise foretold the tyrannical game plan of a man who made it his business to retrofit patriotism into hateful propaganda. If nothing else, Trump has proved expert in the branding of -isms, and he used the office to do his bidding.

This President was never intent on being granted last rites, not while he still had a pulpit to bully from. And so he affixed his decisive loss to Joe Biden in November with yet another cartoonish conspiracy: Stop the Steal. It was classic Trump, boorish and divisive and entirely without merit. His Nixonian tactics might have been comical, if not for the tens of millions of apologists who behaved like moths to his flame.

Now we’ll get a flood of apologies from his former comrades who are experiencing buyer’s remorse a little too late. Their words ring hollow, more a matter of political survival than genuine concern for the safety and well being of its citizenry. And therein lies the meticulously insidious rub to our fledgling union. On the one side we have cretins like Josh Hawley and Ted Cruz, whose mission, it seems, is to bastardize the Constitution. And on the other hand we’ll have a bloodthirsty media positioning themselves for Trump’s Waterloo with pulpy narratives, many of which will read more like fetish than fact.

The residue of the last four years did not conclude on Wednesday, it only made its reckoning tangible. We are facing a divide whose meanest days are ahead of us. But don’t take my word for it. Look at the lack of police presence as a mob of white people stormed a federal building and you can draw your own conclusions. It’s simply further proof that Trump fans travel well; from the Great Smoky Mountains to the halls of Congress to the world of finance, the military and law enforcement. The asymmetrical value of this mad circus must not be taken lightly.

Trump gained traction by convincing the haves they were the have nots. He took certain truths about the media and the liberal left and he transformed them into caricatures who posed a national security threat. But in the end, he was always the biggest threat.

On Wednesday, he proved it.

 

Hating A Player Means Ignoring The Game

Sorryless42 Comments

I know I’m in the vast majority here, but I gotta say: God Bless Doug Pederson.

Contrary to those hot-take heads, I don’t think the Eagles coach has got to be got for what he did and more specifically, what he didn’t do in the Eagles season ending loss to the Washington No Names. I refuse to semblance a thesis paper on why Pederson should be brought up on charges for playing the role of Butch Coolidge in a game the Eagles sorta/shoulda/coulda won.

For those unfamiliar, Pederson took his starting QB, Jalen Hurts, out of a game the Eagles still had a chance to win the other night against Washington. He brought in some fellow named Nate Sudfeld, who is behind yours truly on most NFL depth charts. The Eagles would end up losing the game, and a result, handing Washington the division title.

The vitriol hurled at Pederson comes as a result of what was at stake. The Eagles had nothing to play for, outside of a higher draft pick if they lost. Washington was playing for a division title while their I-95 rival New York Giants were rooting hard for an Eagles upset that would have given them the chip.

Now, I could argue that Pederson’s decision to yank his starter was justified considering that Hurts was 7-20 for 70 yards, an INT and a QB Rating of 25 to that point. I could say the coach was looking to give Sudfeld one last chance to show his stuff before sending him off to sell life insurance. I could even be so bold as to imagine that Pederson was playing the margins: Maybe he figured Washington would take a nap once he subbed in a human paperweight under center.

I could say all of those things, but I won’t.

Because the mafioso in me feels like Coach Pederson put out a hit on the New York Giants division title dreams while at the same time looking out for his own interests. And he won . . I mean lost. Both.

I learned many lessons growing up in John Gotti’s Howard Beach. One of which is that for every bad guy, there’s always a worse guy. And if you’re talking NFL business, there are a ton of worse guys than Doug Pederson, starting with Sheriff Goodell, who runs his league the way Gotti used to run his empire.

Now I can dispense with the tongue in cheek defense of Doug Pederson, who for all intents and purposes, is a genuine creep. He skipped town after an alleged sex scandal when he was in KC. And he’s thrown a ton of look away passes in regards to certain members of the Eagles engaging in criminal behavior since he’s been here. Let’s just say the guy is building up quite the resume in the event he ever wants to run for political office.

There’s a robust irony to the NFL community getting all disjointed over Pederson’s assault on its warped senses. They cry about how coach is messing with the integrity of the game by positioning himself for a higher draft pick rather than trying to win a game. Am I being too cynical if I laugh at the idea of the league having any integrity left to mess with? I mean, we’re talking about a Commissioner who took money from the US military in exchange for those patriotic pre-game ceremonies. And a league where all manner of criminals are given second, third, fourth, fifth and six chances to play their game, so long as they have some talent left to give.

So yeah, thank God for this “Tank-Gate” moment, because it shines a light on the low down dirty shame of a league it’s coming from. And I really don’t give a flip if Giants players are upset that the Eagles “weren’t trying to win” the other night. They went 6-10 on the season, so it’s evident they know all about not trying to win. And I say to those Eagles players upset at their coach that they can ask for a trade, which really means a raise. And to all those talking heads out there concerned that the game they love is in dire need of change, I gotta ask.

Where you been?

Searching For Pablo Neruda

Sorryless53 Comments

His tiny lungs greedily swallowed up as much oxygen as his wiry frame could handle before disappearing under the froth and steam of the mighty ocean that was bearing down on the toes of sleepless shoreline. His legs struggled to maintain a foothold as spent seashells pricked at his toes like miniature soldiers with bayonets and fine sand burned coldly at his heels. He found a steady rhythm with the gaping sway, opening his eyes now to ruminate on the world under his feet, a world stolen by water.

A clench of seaweed danced back and forth like a milksop scarecrow, its roots tethered to a foreign planet that lived a million miles beneath every lonesome foot of separation with the floor of a deep, blue sky. Stones the color of vermillion and smoke, eburnean, peat and umber pocked the roam of invisible footprints whose songs were forged in the calamity of romance and death.

He lay his eyes upon the shimmering platinum sky above and wished never to return to the world of sound, preferring the embrace of silence instead. He prayed that Jules Verne’s restless imagination might write him onto a page of fiction from which he could breathe in this foreign language until the sun lost its way. And that the sea might fetch his mortal bones and remand him to the mighty Gods of the deep. And that his soul might venture like a wild butterfly, feasting sweetly on the mysteries while hurtling through all those less traveled places made famous by rock star poets.

To nowhere and to everything. He prayed.

 

A Brave New World

Sorryless74 Comments

Remember the good old days?

Neither do I, but from what Billy Joel once wrote, they weren’t always good and tomorrow ain’t as bad as it seems. It’s the kind of perspective we need now more than ever, if only to keep our boots on solid ground while the stars tease us with promises we know they’ll never be able to keep.

The Millennium just turned twenty one, which means it can get its drink on. And I know what you’re probably thinking. Do we really want to meet another calendar year that’s low on inhibitions and high on unpredictability? I mean, doesn’t Tinder provide enough of that shit as it is? But I’d like to think the new year will have a better sense of humor as a result.

54 Funny 2020 Memes To Keep You Laughing Till 2021 - Funny Gallery

For a year that was supposed to be spot on when it came to vision and hindsight, 2020 was more Carter Hayes than Isaac Hayes; as in . . more fool than cool; a delinquent tenant whose ass has finally been evicted by Father Time. But not before it unleashed a voracious predator whose genomic weaponry put humankind in its place.

Within this prosaic mosaic of a tormented tapestry, humanity coped by baking bread and singing windowsill songs with neighbors. Our everlasting will became testament to that truth Aldous Huxley once wrote about in A Brave New World when he said that pain was a fascinating horror. To our credit, we prevailed when civilization became uncivil to our senses. Sometimes in spite of ourselves, but hey, it still counts.

We learned yet again that the world is forged in laws that are graceless and thieving. It fumbles the ball on mercy because it’s too busy swimming through the dredge that delivers us from ashes to ashes and dust to dust. As temporary acquaintances, we might not like to believe that the world is just doing its job the best it can, but it’s true. The details may seem extraordinarily brutal, but that’s only because we believed in the lies of poetry and wine when they told us we could live forever.

Thing is, Huxley ain’t walking through that door. And if he was, he would damn us for ever having been happy in the first place. Because he knew that happiness possessed the fleeting quality of that leftover penny in your pocket. That it’s only here to be gone, it only lives to disappear. And beneath that deceptive surface lies the truth. We make tomorrow happen not with sugary propositions but on the salt of our steps.

So, in the now, maybe happiness is not worth striving for when peace of mind will keep us steady inside the worst of storms. And maybe we have a tougher chin than we ever dreamt possible. And maybe we stop looking for the light to guide us through this dark echo chamber of tumbling madness, because maybe . . just maybe, we possess that light our damn selves. No, check that.

I know we do.

 

That Was Then, This Is Ow

Sorryless45 Comments

Time was, the idea of change possessed an alchemized quality whose essence was the sweetly reckoned offspring of Bradbury. It screamed its fledgling lungs out in a beta operetta and we rode its song to sleep with dreams of a future replete with hovering highways, robot athletes and world peace, or nuclear annihilation. Either? Meet Or. And yet, there was an abiding charm to it all. And then 2000 happened.

Say you would have gone to Vegas at the turn of the millennium and laid down this bet . . .

That the Twin Towers would be gone. That Joe Paterno was no saint after all, his legendary name forever tarnished by a horrible child rape scandal. And Bill Cosby, America’s Dad, would be a convicted serial rapist. Donald Trump . . President. And oh yeah, a global pandemic would bring us to our knees.

No jinn joint in Vegas would’ve touch that crate of cray cray prime. And yet, here we are. With all of the above having Waffle Housed us into a braveless new world where every strange corner has become a dubious rendezvous. We’ve lost the thrill that used to be associated with mystery. In fact, sometimes it seems as if we’re downright scared of the prospect. Can you blame us?

So Imma write up a light beer What It Is for our weary minds to get drunk on. A dainty little duty free dance that regales in time machine wizardry, because I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of running from the stuff.

And to 2021, all I can say is . . have some mercy on us, will ya?

Back in the day . . . If you went viral, it was time to see a doctor.
Today . . . If you go viral, you’re famous. Or infamous. And sometimes, both.

Back in the day . . . If you enjoyed “Fifteen minutes of fame” it meant you were a temporary fascination.
Today . . . If you enjoy “Fifteen minutes of fame”, you’re a reality show star.

What Desperately Seeking Susan Got Right About Fashion | Vogue

Back in the day . . . Madonna
Today . . . Lady Gaga

Back in the day . . . You could catch your favorite musicians on MTV.
Today . . . You might catch your favorite musicians on TMZ.

Back in the day . . . A Walkman was space age shit.
Today . . . A Walkman is the shit that takes up space in your attic.

Back in the day . . . Dick Clark was going to live forever.
Today . . . Ryan Seacrest, it’s your turn.

Back in the day . . . If the President went nuclear, it was time to find a stocked up bomb shelter.
Today . . . If the President goes nuclear, he’s on Twitter.

Steve Grogan | The Patriots Hall of Fame

Back in the day . . . The New England Patriots were a quaint flea market of a football team with a cool logo that had as much chance of winning a title as the Red Sox.
Today . . . Boston sports teams have tallied 12 titles since 2000, which means they signed their souls over to Charlie Sheen.

Back in the day . . . There was a payphone on every corner.
Today . . . There’s a cell phone tower that isn’t nearly as dependable.

Back in the day . . . The New York Jets were a dumpster fire of a franchise. Even when they won, they lost.
Today . . . Okay, some things really never do change.

Back in the day . . . When you went to a concert and got fucked up, it meant you did some magical potions whose illegality made you feel as if you were somehow fighting the power.
Today . . . When you go to a concert and get fucked up, it means you went to Denny’s.

Back in the day . . . A turntable was the greatest music delivery system for music lovers.
Today . . . In my humblest opinion,  it still is.

Back in the day . . . Cameras needed flashbulbs.
Today . . . Instagram

Back in the day . . . When you didn’t answer the phone, it meant you weren’t at home.
Today . . . When you don’t answer the phone, it means you’re probably at home.

Back in the day . . . We looked back at the year that was with a melancholic affection.
Today . . . We’re sprinting to the finish line on this mofo of a calendar year.

 

The Midnight Clear

Sorryless66 Comments

North Star Metric: The Most Important Number for Your Company's Growth [Updated]

A westerly breeze swept across the plain of finely hewn shards, setting the crisp night air ablaze with mystical pinpricks whose echo spoke the language of the ancients.

Jacob’s feet struggled to negotiate the brick-like sand as his tired eyes remained fixed to the North star, as if his mortal bones held no consequence in this journey. As if his spirit had learned to walk on its own and was carrying him now.

“Crazy fucking ideas . . you wasted your life on crazy fucking ideas,” Jacob muttered, his words dissolving into an icy wreckage as his soul warred with demons as his mind raced over myriad possibilities. And yet his feet carried on, delivering him down a road less traveled, without food, without water. But with a strength whose muster did not wane in spite of it.

“Hey! Hey you!”

Jacob turned to find a young girl with black, short cropped hair walking towards him. She wore a blood orange sundress and a faded blue jean jacket, her brown sandals whisking the sand as she strode. Her skin was a brilliant caramel with a dimpled chin, natural cranberry lips, eyes chiseled from an emerald flower and hair that rode off her shoulders like wildfire.

“Marian. I’m the girl, from the bus . . .”

“What are you doing here?” Jacob asked.

“I’ve been walking for days . . no food . . no water. All because some guy at a service station gave me directions that go through a desert. Crazy huh?”

“Gabriel . . .”

“Wait . . you talked to him?” Marian asked.

“He told me to follow the North Star, and it sounded like a good idea at the time. I didn’t think to ask him why, because it’s in my nature to jump first and . . .”

“So he told you the same thing?” Marian repeated herself.

“Yes!”

“Hey man, don’t be jumping on my ass, okay?”

“Sorry. Shit . . I think I’m in shock. That’s got to be what this is. The accident . . I remember the accident. And then I remember Gabriel telling me the way and the steps since then . . I remember this . . because I’m in shock. This is a dream is what this is. But my mind! It’s processing all of this, so there’s a cognitive ability to that, right? . . .”

“Mister, stop . .”

“The road . . we crashed . . head on. Fucking shit! I saw you lying there . . .”

“Mister . . stop!”

“It was . . it was like everything, my whole life was spinning away from me in that moment. Everything was happening in slow motion. You . . you were lying there in the middle of the road . .”

“Mister, STOP!”

“What?”

“Uh? Fuck . . you. How is this your dream?!”

“Name’s Jacob . . and okay, fine. Of course you exist. I mean, you’re here right? And this road . . we’re both here, walking it. And that star in the sky . . it’s there because we’ve been following it for days. And I say we keep following it,”

“Now you got me thinking. Maybe THAT is the light . . didn’t anybody ever tell you to stay away from the light if some seriously bad shit goes down?”

“Alright Marian, it’s like this. Have you even bothered to ask yourself how you can go for days without food or water and not feel hunger? Or thirst? Have you slept since you began this walk? At all?”

Marian shook her head silently.

“No, and yet . . you’re not tired. In fact, your body feels more alive than ever. And you have no blessed idea why that is, and yet . . you won’t turn away. And you tell me not to follow that light, but what have you been doing?”

“I’m scared, Jacob,” Marian said.

“Here, take my hand. Nothing to be scared of, not anymore,”

“How can you be so sure?” She asked as they walked along hand in hand.

“I . . . I don’t know. But I am,”

They walked in silence as their feet brokered a hill painted in the mosaic of brimstone and water with magically incandescent plumes of moonlight showing them the way. When they arrived at the top they saw it. A manger down below with an ethereal light stealing out from inside of its humble structure. Their steps became more certain as they moved closer to discovery, and then Jacob stopped in his tracks.

“What?” Marian asked.

“It’s . . . beautiful,” Jacob said as he began to cry.

“Let’s go see,” She said.

No Virginia, There Is No Santa Claus (From The Archives)

Sorryless86 Comments

I wrote this piece back in December of 2006 for a banana republic of a blog that loved getting itself in all sorts of trouble. We were a parody party, and we lampooned the hell out of life, liberty and the pursuit of breaking news.

Every now and then, I would take my way back machine for a ride when the news went cold. So it was one night that I took to skipping backwards in time, armed solely with my vagabond wit and a starched martini.

On this particular evening, I settled inside the year 1897, after which I got to stepping all over the words Francis Pharcellus Church once wrote. Church was an editor for The Sun, which was a big deal New York City paper back when Damon Runyon was a pup. Old Francis had no idea that a hundred and six years later some asshole was gonna spray graffiti all over his classic editorial. Don’t you just love progress?

Church’s piece was in response to eight year old Virginia O’Hanlon’s letter to The Sun in which the little girl asked if Santa Claus was in fact, legit. He responded with what would become a holiday classic titled “Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus”.

So . . of course I had to imagine what kind of response little Virginia O’Hanlon might have gotten if she’d been born in this day and age. The results were, umm . . less romantic. 

Dear Virginia,

Your little friends are right. They are the glorious progeny of a pragmatic generation. They understand the value of status and deride the notion of some antiquated alms giver delivering unto them their precious I-Pods. They do not believe except they see. A valuable commodity in this day and age; and one I would advise you to obtain. Their minds may be small, but their ability to filter out the ridiculous notion of a jolly old man bearing gifts is commendable. Indeed, they dare not marginalize the corporate benefactors that are their parents by spewing folly about Santa.

No Virginia, there is no Santa Claus. He does not exist as certainly as faith, hope and WMDs do not exist. Alas! How dreary would the world be if there truly was a Santa Claus! His existence would rob us our autonomy; our secularly gifted right to seek truth and define our uncertain world rather than color it with vagaries. Be warned, to subscribe to such a childlike faith is dangerous, one might even say prohibitive. Its nexus is borne of classic outdated American literature and ecclesiastical dogma. We should expect no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. Leave the childlike enabling to Hollywood producers.

I urge you dear girl, do not believe in Santa Claus! Just as you do not believe in fairies or honest politicians. You might contract with a privately owned security company to verify the hard wrought, commercialized fancy of red suits and magical sleigh bells. But imagine the cost of such an endeavor. And to what end? To simply disprove what is already common knowledge? Your sole discovery will lie in the fact that chimney sweepers are vastly overpaid. You will find no sign of Santa Claus. And then you will understand that the most real things in this world are those which you can wear, play and drive. Imagine how inefficient a world it would be if we gave credence to the unseen; think of the abject ignorance which would predominate our lives if we believed in miracles rather than science.

You dissect a nursery rhyme and you can see why non-fiction sates the publishing houses bottom lines. Because there is no unseen world where fiction holds dominion. Neither the wealthiest philanthropist, nor even the bi-lateral thrust of a UN-led invasion can unearth a place that does not exist. Let the evangelists proselytize about some supernal place; let the vagabond poets abscond to their sacred patch of merry. Resist the temptation to be led to Shangri-La. Is any of it real? Um, Virginia, of course not.

No Santa Claus! Thank goodness for that! Do not fret, nothing lasts forever- except for disposable diapers and Dick Clark. This vicious rumor which has scarred so many children and resulted in an incalculable number of therapy sessions will see its end. Ten years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10 years from now, when the world becomes an uninhabitable swamp thanks to global warming, there will be no Santa to fool our hearts and remind us of our dysfunctional childhood.