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So… money’s a bit tight, so naturally one of the hard disks of the array inside my workstation went toes up last week. Good thing it’s an array, huh? No data loss. So, Sunday there’s a new version of Debian GNU/Linux released, and I like to keep my stuff current, so I take the leap from version 8.8 to 9.0. Oh joy, my most important database server will not install and I’ve got work to do on Monday that requires it… so I worked around it by catching lucky when the package from the database server vendor worked.

More no joy: My favorite programming language is maintained now by people who do not share the original folks’ commitment to backward compatibility. A whole bunch of code I’ve written in the past seven years or so will suddenly stop working when clients upgrade their systems and get a newer version of the programming language. A whole bunch of code I have written over the years for the purpose of reusing it over and over again on different projects for different clients into the foreseeable future has been made worthless. A whole bunch of open source code that other people have written, and upon which countless rely, has been made worthless. Upgrade your system, break your software. Don’t upgrade your system, the bad guys crack into it.

I can keep my existing clients’ code running into the future by installing an older version of the language and using it instead of the system-installed version, but that’s an egregious fucking hack. It’s fine for a development workstation to have a handful of versions of something like that on hand, but for production use it’s not only ugly, it’s a security risk. That old version of the language isn’t going to get security updates. I don’t know that those existing projects are going to be seeing any upgrades any more… so there goes a big hunk of my business.

The greater problem is that all of that code that I’ve written and been reusing to develop new projects is now of no value for new projects. If someone calls me tomorrow and says “Hey, I need a new thing like that old thing but…”, I have to say, “Well, I can do that within a month if you don’t mind running a second, older copy of this programming language, or hopefully by early next year if you want it written in a language that has an actual standards committee behind it to ensure you don’t get fucked by it in the future”. If that person is a potential new client, I’ve lost the project right there. Nope, gonna find a guy who can do it this year without an egregious fucking hack.

By about five o’clock Monday morning, I was ready for Monday. Kind of. The thought of career dissipation wasn’t sitting well.

Not long after I went to bed, we experienced a power failure. At some point in the event, there was a big nasty spike fired down the wire. My network backup server went down hard. The data’s lost. The second disk in my workstation’s array, the only disk remaining, is now spitting out error messages about impending failure. Fucking wonderful.

So Tuesday came, and I found some time in between juggling to do some work, but I knocked off early because I was stressed out and in need of some zoned out time to make Wednesday better. Couldn’t relax. The birds sang me to sleep eventually.

Wednesday. Finally! I don’t have and can’t order replacement disk drives yet, but dammit I’m still here. After dealing with some (way too many) overhead kinds of things I settled in… and Amethyst came to tell me that the kitchen sink is completely stopped. Okay… well, not okay. Not okay at all. Not equipped for more frustration. At all.

I pumped the water out of the sink, opened up the stinky guts beneath, and jammed our old friend The Schlonkey in there. The thing’s real name is “drain bladder”…


Thus, The Schlonkey. And, being a two birds kinda guy, I run it on the end of a hose connected to the water heater drain valve so it’s straight hot water that blows the scrunge out of the drain pipe. Water heaters last longer when you flush them once in a while, especially these days when they’re shit brand new. Except the scrunge didn’t budge. Instead, the hot water flowed out of the vent line on the roof. A-fucking-gain. The drain was flowing fine and fast yesterday… tonight I got to wear it. Twice. Full hot. Soaked in it.

Tomorrow I have to go up on the roof to snake the drain through the vent line, A-fucking-gain. I just did that in… what? February? And dumped about a gallon of acid down the fucker, too, just to make sure that I’d not have to do it again. So there’s a chunk of Thursday gone. And money’s tight… we’ve taken way too many shocks in rapid succession for far too long. I cannot afford to throw weeks away like this.

So, the title.

Long Time, No?

Greetings, salutations, and a hearty shit howdy, friends and neighbors!

In the event you were subjected to my last, now deleted post, rest assured that the matter is completely resolved and has been since just before I deleted the thing. It seems that in order to bounce one must first hit bottom. So it goes. Ain’t no sense getting married if you aren’t going to stand by your mate while she suffers a painful period of personal growth.

I’ve been looking at the headlines every now and then… I won’t do myself the violence of reading the articles beneath. The only rational conclusion, upon piling up the day’s headlines and considering the pile as a whole, is that our hand basket ride will end at the predictable destination. It hardly seems worthy of comment, there being only so many ways to elaborate the obvious and all of them having been driven into the ground already.

We heard from our eldest the other day, for the first time in two years. I believe she was telling the truth when she said it was a misdial, so don’t expect to hear from her again any time soon. Which is perfectly okay.

I’m giving up the tobacco… was supposed to be cold turkey today and almost was, but my brain was stuck idling in neutral so I smoked a cigarette hoping to unstick the mental processes. I feel like I inhaled poison and didn’t even get the mental bump I sought… guess it’s time to switch to marijuana, eh? 😀

The pot shop I frequent lowered their prices for some reason I neglected to ask about. A half-ounce of Durban Poison for $140 ain’t a bad deal compared to black market prices, I don’t suppose, but given that it’s only marginally more costly to produce cannabis than hydroponic tomatoes and we just scored hydro tomatoes for less than a buck a pound I’m pleased but not joyful about the discounted weed.


Miss Awesome was on a prescription diet due to making diamonds in her pee… the diagnosis came within a week of getting her spayed so we didn’t associate the weight gain and lethargy with the expensive food. A while back she started puking the stuff up and then just refused to eat it… I’ve decided that I’m going to trust her to know more about being a cat than the vet does. Canned Friskies with additional water has proven so far, after more than half a year, to be sufficient to prevent the crystals, bring her weight back down to a healthy normal, and return her former energy and playfulness, too. It surely does look like she knows more about being a cat than the vet does.

Starr, AKA Snoogins, Snert, Snooginator, or Waggletail Chihuahua-monster, has epilepsy… not gonna trust the vet with that, either, and will instead start adding CBD oil to her food. It’s cheaper, far more effective, and less wicked than pharmaceutical poisons anyway.

Just because I find it hilarious:

I’m calling it one hundred percent win for Presidente Fox, the only person on the planet actually saying it all correctly. And we just ate fucken tacos, genuine, authentic, no shit learned to make ’em while living in the barrio, proper tacos. Topped with Ranchero cheese, cilantro and onions, minced jalapeño, and (for me) Tapatío salsa picante and a drizzle of lime juice. And fuck anyone who believes my making tacos is cultural appropriation; it’s just eating.

Uh-oh. There is unburned marijuana here. Duty calls.

I’m just about to spend a few hours determining how best to eliminate my awareness of the internet to the barest minimum required for the conduct of my business, and presently believe that I’ll be terminating my various antisocial media accounts to accomplish that end. Please know that I personally value those of you who’ve engaged with me and my insane scribblings over the years, and wish for you the very best that life has to offer. If I leave this here Voidpress thing, I’ll dearly miss you all.

Be well, friends and neighbors, and remember to duck.

A Title? Why?


The weather forecasters are still pretty lousy at what they do, but now they have minute by minute down to the square meter forecasts that give them even more ways to be wrong all the time. They said yesterday afternoon that the snow would begin here at 7:30PM. Apparently the snow plow drivers believed ’em. On the up side, I was all alone on virgin snow atop pavement I knew to be free of packed snow and/or ice, so with the big game and livestock all holed up to ride out the storm the only real challenge was the greatly reduced visibility. It was mostly a winter wonderland kind of thing, so not too bad at all. I wouldn’t want to be on an unfamiliar highway in a storm like that one, though, because it was one of those deceivers that makes the road look twice as wide as it truly is and erases tire tracks, the clues left by folks who know the terrain, in half a minute. It would have been a lousy night to be out there on unfamiliar highways.

There wouldn’t have been many protesters at a Clinton inauguration so it’s good that we now have a president people feel okay about openly despising and actively resisting, and a groundswell of leftist organizing completely outside of and opposed to the Democratic Party to help organize them. These are good things indeed, and coalescing not a moment too soon. Several decades too late, in fact. The time to stop Trump was 1980, not 2016.

Obama is no less narcissistic than Trump; the only difference between them is that Obama wasn’t born to wealth so had to learn to express his narcissism more charmingly. Just as Trump does, he invited the public to look past his actions to focus on his persona instead — all narcissists do exactly that. It’s mindfuck foreplay. The public indulged him, looked past his actions to focus upon his persona, and took the mindfuck willingly, even lovingly. Oh baby, I want to feel you inside of me, want to feel you cum on my brain stem.

The crucible in which Trump was cast is the same crucible in which I was cast, minus the wealth. Were I genetically predisposed to it, my environment would have catalyzed pathological narcissism in me and that’s what I’d be today. It wouldn’t be because I chose to become a monster, or failed to choose not to become one, or any other thing that I might have done or not done or consciously thought or not thought (and by the way fuck Nietzsche right in his abyss). The expression of your genes determines your will, not the other way around. Every one of us is born with malleable genes, and the environments into which we and our genes are imposed determines which are expressed. Some of those expressed predispositions are good things, some aren’t. Folks who devote their time to such things report that you can very reliably spot a psychopath by looking at a brain scan. That makes it hard to blame the evil fuckers for being evil fuckers, since they are being as they were made and not as they have chosen. Being a compassionate human is sometimes a bitch.

Be that as it may, we shoot rabid dogs even if we love them. We’ve no choice but to fight Trump, and there is absolutely no way that we can take him on directly because he is now a very powerful man. Fortunately, even very powerful orange monkey boys like Trump are very easy to take down because narcissists make lots of enemies and they are completely blind to reality. A narcissist spends as much time keeping his enemies cowed as he spends making his victims quiver, but he never spends any more than the minimum time necessary in either pursuit — ask anyone who has ever been the victim of one of them. As long as the primary focus is elsewhere, you get just enough direct rage to keep you afraid of it. So, all we have to do is to stampede those cows and they’ll trample the narcissist for us.

Hey, cows! We got work to do and people to feed. You fer plowin’, or for grillin’?

Yeah, it takes a little more than that, but not much more. A sufficiently pissed off critical mass of people all changing their registered party affiliations to progressive third parties and then going to those third parties to say hey, let’s us go scare the lumps out of some establishment congresscritters would do the trick just fine. Hey, Cruz, you fer plowin’ or fer grillin’?

Of course, with that done we burn the establishment fuckers in the next election anyway to elect our loyal third party candidates who supported us. You know, like how we believe it should work?

Speakin’ o’ such things, it seems fashionable again to question that there electoral college thing. That makes establishment types nervous because it calls the entire Constitution into question. When you take the Supreme Court’s chickenshit stance of discerning the founders’ original intent, the electoral college is a mine field. The original intent of the founders is crystal clear in this case. The original intent of the founders, as we all know, was to protect the government against the capricious democratic impulses of the electorate. The approved interpretation of it is that it protects us against the risk of electing a madman. Yeah, so how’s that workin’ out, huh? It’s a bullshit argument even if Trump were still just a television show clown and real estate fraudster.

Bear in mind when thinking about the electoral college that where the founders speak of the government they mean themselves, personally, the only government the new nation had ever had, and that the electorate whose democratic impulses frightened them so were, exclusively, wealthy white male landowners. The electorate was the well-to-do, folks of far greater wealth and privilege than the common man. The founders, by way of the electoral college, elevated themselves above the privileged class. Which is to say, concretely, that the Constitution creates an elite ruling class. The elite ruling class of the modern era is not some kind of perverse aberration. It is what the founders intended.

We’re not supposed to notice that. We’re not supposed to be having this conversation. The orange monkey boy, though, makes us have this conversation. He’s the madman the electoral college was supposed to protect us against, and it god damn failed to do that because it works as designed.

It’s that god damned Russia again!

Uh, no, it ain’t. The hack that gave Donald Trump the presidency was Hillary Clinton. Russia’s involvement is by way of competing with those whose interests are served by the US military for coveted Syrian pipeline routes. If some wag-the-dog bullshit about a hacked election will divert attention away from the grotesque failure of the Democratic Party and gin up public support for escalating this war against Russia, well, what the fuck, ya know. Wars against powerful adversaries unite the people behind the government so that whole election fuckup will just go away.

Harping on about the need to go to war against Russia is a large part of what cost Clinton the election by keeping people home on election day. Harping on about the need to go to war against Russia is still going on without her, because Hillary was just a puppet and they don’t really need her. On this, I agree with orange monkey boy that we should not go to war against Russia. Impeaching the fucker without impressing upon Congress our great desire to not go to war against Russia will mean that we go to war against Russia over a god damned pipeline route.

Hey, we already went to war with some Indians in this country over a god damned pipeline route, and by we I mean the people whose interests are served by cops and mercenaries. We can’t really afford to sit around waiting for folks who want to go to war with Russia to get rid of Trump for us, or, worse, change his completely blind narcissistic mind.

That’s why it’s good for us that we do not now have another American president whom we cannot allow ourselves to openly despise and oppose. If we’d got Clinton, she’d be giving us all lip service and we’d all sit down quietly and fold our hands like good little workerbots. Trump, though, we can be pissed off at because he’s so clearly the correct face for the United States Of America, Incorporated.

If we play our cards right, we can save millions of innocent lives at home and abroad. Seems kinda worth doin’ if it don’t drive up the price of gas or interrupt TV sports, huh?


Nuke Iowa!

In a moment of bemused reflection earlier today, I recognized that all of the bad shit we latter day hippies, meaning those of us who took up the torches after the first lot all went and “no man, not sold out, bought in”, have been hollering about for forty fucking years has come to pass.

Come tomorrow, a madman gets the nukes. What used to be the next great extinction is the current great extinction, also known as the Anthropocene Era. Our natural environment is becoming increasingly inhospitable and our grandkids are going to curse us by name for the shit we’ve inflicted upon them. Capitalism is consuming itself, with the most powerful capitalists eating their way up the economic food chain, as always, only now they’re getting to us. To them it’s just money, and the displaced are just valueless people who should just go wherever they have traditionally gone throughout the centuries when peasants are not needed any more. Deserts, I think. The Anthropocene era will be known for its deserts. Grandkids with no money to spend probably will end up in the desert where there’s no place to spend money. Makes sense.

I don’t mind any of that, really, as long as pot stays legal in Colorado. The rednecks are at it again, and with the madman in the big chair they might have a better shot this time. They’re arguing that our failure to enforce their laws upon people before they enter their states from ours is cause to compel us to enforce their laws upon all of the people of our state. The logic of it is mind boggling: Making marijuana illegal in Oklahoma and Nebraska does not stop the people of those states from getting the marijuana they want, but making marijuana illegal in Colorado will. Apparently the Mexican cartels and domestic black market producers will stop shipping marijuana into Nebraska and Oklahoma if Colorado makes pot illegal again. Or something like that. And if compelling Colorado somehow to make pot illegal again doesn’t stop people in Nebraska and Oklahoma from getting the pot they want? NUKE IOWA!

Oh, damn. I just realized that I’m not completely despicable because I’m only partially potted up on weed. Gimme a sec…

I read an article the other day in the respectable lefty press in which the author exclaimed that the middle class can no longer afford to live within the major cities and now must make do out in the suburbs. Apparently, the city centers are now stratified into the very well off and the very poor. I dunno. I grew up in a suburb with a whole lot of other middle class kids during that golden era of the middle class when a single income was the norm and the nearby city was widely stratified. American literature of the 19th century indicates that big American cities were widely stratified then, too. European literature of the 17th century indicates that their cities were widely stratified. So what’s the next story that builds upon this exclamation that the middle class can no longer afford to live in the city centers? Time will tell.

Maybe it’s the build-up to war with Iowa. The respectable lefty media is in a somewhat longer than two minutes hate against white working class males just now, and Iowa, I expect, probably has a lot of them. I dunno… maybe they’ve got white working class males there, anyway. It doesn’t really matter once you’re the target of a propaganda campaign. If I were Iowa, I’d be worried. Oklahoma already hates ’em for the drug smuggling problem and, you know, you can see Iowa from Nebraska. I hear that’s as good as militarily defeating a mighty enemy, being able to see their back yard from the roof of your house, in states whose names end in -aska.

So this is what the new third world looks like, huh? I tried for a while to think of it as dystopia, since third world is for folks who never had flush toilets while dystopia is for folks who maybe even still do, but it felt too much the mindfuck. Obama has behaved in every way just like the dictators of the banana republics of old we once sneered at, but is being held out as a heroic figure in the media, as was Ronald Reagan, and every bit as deservedly so. And this new clown got sold like a fucking television wrestler like we weren’t going to notice we were being played, and then we god damned didn’t notice we were being played. Or didn’t care.

Myself, I just didn’t care. Clinton would have been no better, and quite possibly worse. So far all I’ve really heard (spoken to me) was “uh, abortion…”. Wow. The woman spoke of plans to escalate Obama’s eight wars to at least ten, and I should support that in order to avoid electing a president who disagrees with a past decision of the Supreme Court? Take the fucking red pill already, huh? You don’t go to war against a foreign nation in order to secure for your citizens a right they already possess. That’d be like retaliating against Afghanistan and Iraq for something Saudi Arabia did. Oh, wait, we did that very thing. Sold flags like going to the moon sold microwave ovens. Never mind.

Speaking of microwave ovens, America has an obesity epidemic because of the damned things. People are eating processed garbage that comes out of them, and they’re getting fat like dairy cattle because they’re being fed like dairy cattle. On genetically modified welfare corn and soybeans from Iowa.

I, for one, say that we have tolerated Iowa’s support of terrorism and obesity for far too long already. Hard working obese Americans can’t afford to raise their obese children in the rich and enriching culture of vibrant city centers, and the fat fuckers are fat and have to live in the cultural deserts of the suburbs, all because of Iowa’s angry white males, their drug smuggling, and their welfare farms. It’s time we stood together, as Americans, proud Americans, strong Americans, against the Iowan menace.

Where’s Iowa?

Karma, Man

Coupla months back I wrote about an unethical downtown merchant pissing me off, and one of the roomies saying she’d call after the first of the year. Roomie called the other day, as promised, bearing the news that the boutique is no more and that she and her sister have taken over the whole place and are eager to get Amethyst’s stuff in there. We’ve got to meet with them to see if we can arrive at agreeable terms, but I imagine we’ll find most anything they might offer that’s short of abusive to be agreeable enough.

I tried not to indulge my tendency for schadenfreude but failed. I, of all people, understand and appreciate the ballistic nature of life’s arc so can’t really hold it against that one that fate chose for her to be a cunt, but I got hurled into a trajectory of my own, too, and can’t help but feel a sense of affirmation in this turn of events.

I know that seems irrational, implying as it does that I believe I live in a world that is good to good people and bad to bad people despite all evidence being to the contrary, but I’ll argue that the only reason the bitch failed is that she’s a bad person.

Several months ago, the shopkeeper somehow found reason to tell Amethyst that most of the boutiques she follows in social media had gone out of business in the last couple of years, “but I’m still here!”. That’s the day I knew she was a goner. I had had my suspicions before, based upon the sort of merchandise she stocked and the way she conducted herself, but that statement alone, in isolation, is all the evidence one might need to know that the woman had a very unhealthy dose of narcissism to contend with. She was reporting that her very own business model was one being decimated throughout the country by our collapsed economy, and she saw in that cause for celebration and public ego masturbation.

Somehow or other the shopkeeper, in the run-up to the holiday retail season, looked upon her stagnant retail inventory and responded by investing heavily in new inventory, and also fucking over consignment vendors. Because narcissism makes people blind — they see the world in terms of what gratifies their egos, what threatens their egos, and the irrelevant rest. There being no room in her psyche for self-doubt, she responded to proof that she didn’t understand the market by going on a buying spree.

The lunatic buying spree isn’t what killed the business, it was just the big bang at the end. She’s oblivious to market signals, because narcissism blinded her. So being a bad person is why her business failed. I like it when every now and then life just randomly makes sense. It restores my faith in the organic compounds.