Where The Rubber Meets The Road

Yesterday, the California Supreme Court upheld Proposition Hate. Okay, Prop 8. Spot the difference if you can. Here, I give you my open letter to those who funded, supported, campaigned and voted for yet another attempt to create a precedent for second-class citizens:

“Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” – Matthew 25:40

Is there something unclear about that passage? Are you so ignorant of the tenets of your own religion that you don’t even know what you’re doing? Or are you just scared shitless?
What is it, exactly, that frightens you so? Pee-pees and hoo-hoos being touched by the wrong gender, out of your sight or any other means of perception? Proof that people who are not like you live just as meaningful, rich, and productive lives as any other?

What you are doing is wrong. There is no argument for it that doesn’t immediately collapse under ten seconds of rational scrutiny. Your behaviors and actions are discredited by reason, science, precedent, history, compassion, and law. So, backed into a corner by all measures of merit and common sense, you cling to your so-called faith (which apparently is so weak that you must denounce the Founding Fathers as godless heathens for keeping church and state separate, and force your very distinct and irretrievably repugnant brand of cultism upon others so that you won’t feel insecure), again and again attempting to sit in judgment of others whom your god alone reserves the right to judge.

“Marriage” has become your latest shield, a threadbare veil to drape over the hate in your hearts. Of course, you tell yourself that you aren’t usurping the one true judge you claim to believe in, arrogantly insisting you know know his mind, and acting without his blessing as his terrible, swift sword; what you’re actually doing is defending “marriage.” A tradition, sacrosanct and pure. Yeah, that’s the ticket.

But your “tradition” of marriage lies at the end of another twisted path through the halls of history, as any historian can tell you that marriage came into being in order to gather wealth. For the umpteenth time, “marriage” is a contract rooted in wealth and property consolidation that was only made a “sacrament” because the clergy wanted more control of wealth and property. In that respect, it was no better than the corrupt and immoral Catholic “indulgences.” Marriage was a contract between two people and the state. Arguing on the basis of your religious beliefs is invalid and cowardly. First, our country was not founded on religious principles. Yes, many of the Founding Fathers were religious. Yes, similar wording can be found in religious texts. But the simple fact is, our country was founded on the principle of rule of law, and that law was deliberately made secular so that the government could not interfere with religious beliefs, and vice versa. Second (as if a second should be needed), as explained above, “marriage” is not the province of any, some, or all religion(s). Never has been; never will be. No religion or group of religions can lay claim to it. It came from Common Law, and to Common Law it will always belong. You have no “tradition” or “sacrament” that predates Common Law’s claim on marriage. You’re wrong. Get over it.

History also teaches us that homosexuality has been, is now, and ever will be, and you don’t “catch” it by being near gay people; thus (for example), the children that they raise will love whomever they desire regardless of their upbringing.

Alas, history and it’s students are just more heathens to add to the ever-growing majority of people who don’t think as you do.

Call it like it is, so-called defenders of “traditional marriage”. You just don’t like gay people. There’s nothing wrong with that. Nobody is going to – or will ever – force you to like another person. That’s your decision to make. And as such, attempts to cloak this dislike by calling on religion is pure and simple cowardice. Anyone who does this is a complete and total pussy. No; fuck you; you’re a pussy. A chickenshit who isn’t man or woman enough to stand up and say, “I just don’t like them, and I don’t want them being equal to me.”

And I know why you don’t do say that. We all do, even you. It’s because you will lose this battle over civil rights if you do. But if you had any guts at all, that’s what you would say.
So what if gay people could marry and adopt? It doesn’t mean you have to like it, or them. In fact, it will have no effect on your life whatsoever. You’ll go right on not liking them, and they’ll go right on living their lives, not giving a shit about you.

No historian, scientist, or gay person has ever invaded your home, forced you to abandon your beliefs, stolen your money, enslaved your children to a lifestyle you find repulsive, burned your dwelling to the ground, spit and hurled curses at you, and/or defiled your holy text(s) because of their “faith”.

Why, then, do you feel you must do unto others as they have never done unto you?
I think your friend Jesus might have said something about that, too.

I have written before about my various and wonderful medical issues. To be clear, none are immediately life-threatening, so there are a lot of people out there further along on the misery scale than I. Which has never been the issue with me; I have a high threshold for suffering. Lots of training. But again, that’s not the issue.

The issue is – and always has been – why I believe they call inflicting health care on people “practice”. It’s not just an amusing coincidence of synonymous terms.

For example, I have a collection of pills I’d compare with any senior citizen’s any day of the week. Some were misfires, some were disasters, and a precious few are useful. Among them is a heavy-duty painkiller called levorphanol tartrate. Originally, they prescribed a large dose – too large, as it turned out, because I was so friggin’ high I couldn’t sleep or function. Eventually, after refusing to switch to something else (despite having done so no less than 4 times in 3 months), they lowered the dose. It wasn’t very effective that way (not that it was very effective in the first place), but it was the best I could expect from doctors.
Now, the problem with treating long-term chronic pain with narcotics (other than the beating you give to your body) is that eventually, you have to be on them all the time, and as your body tolerates the drug more and more, you require a higher dose. Or something stronger.
Of course, my doctors and I crossed that bridge some time ago. I am fully aware of what my treatment means, and what it does. Which is why I find it surprising whenever the doctors act like I’m a ten year-old.
Recently, I began to notice the levorphanol was becoming less and less effective. This is not a new occurrence; other drugs had begun to fail me in the past as my tolerance increased. So, with no other viable explanation, I talked to the doctors on my next visit, and told them what was happening. Their response was yet another example of what a joke “our” “partnership” in dealing with my chronic pain really is. They lied to me. Which, again, is nothing new.
Rather than just bringing the dose back to what they originally prescribed it at, they told me they could recommend a number of “off-label” drugs to supplement the levorphanol. (If you don’t click my links, here’s the deal with off-label use: a drug is approved by the FDA. After that, doctors, in their infinite wisdom, can prescribe them for anything they feel like. Anything. Bumped your toe? Here, have an antidepressant. It’s one of the bigger scams being put on by your friends and mine in the pharmaceutical industry.) They then told me they they weren’t allowed to prescribe levorphanol at a higher dose than the one I was currently taking.
But wait; didn’t you just say that they had prescribed a higher dose already?
Thank you, Straw Man. Yes, they did. In fact, they have a record of it.
So, I told them they were wrong.
So, they told me that they weren’t going to do it no matter what.
So, I thanked them for their time and walked away.

Why bother? Why lie? Why not just say, “We know we prescribed it at a higher dose, but we’ve changed our minds.” What’s wrong with that?
Either they thought I would be too stupid to remember, or they thought I would be too stupid to understand their real reason. Neither option is encouraging.

And there’s the hypocritical rub: Drug-pushers and their self-righteous sanctimony over the drugs they push. It’s bullshit. They’ll gladly give you drugs that are twice as dangerous as the celebrity dope because the media isn’t splashing the headlines with sensational stories about the quieter, more insidious meds. And then they’ll get nosebleeds thrusting their lofty honkers in the air while they condescend to tell you that they “don’t feel comfortable” giving you the tabloid stuff. As if your bone is poking through your skin because you want to start a trendy drug habit. As if you couldn’t get better drugs for far less time, trouble, and money by calling that dude who works at Milio’s.

In case you hadn’t noticed, I am not fond of doctors.

It’s unfortunate how personally I take it when the lowest of the low, the dregs of the art world, the cynical and greedy succeed. It not only speaks volumes about my fellow American’s frustrating gullibility and laziness, but it also cheapens something I love very, very much. And it makes me sad.



Bill Hicks should have been a multimillionaire with an unedited, uncensored nightly program. If for no other reason than to make American audiences squirm in their comfy chairs until they have to get up off their apathetic asses and go somewhere else, just so that they don’t have to think. At least they’d get some exercise that way. But instead, Denis Leary copied Hick’s attitude, persona, and material, stripping it of any actual depth or meaning, and studio executives were agog at the “bad boy” who was all bark and no bite. That is, he was perfect for mass consumption: a loud, obnoxious, brassy fart that went nowhere and meant nothing.



But sometimes, I get a small lift like the one my wife gave me when she sent me this link, and I am pleasantly surprised to find that there is a sufficient enough number of others out there who “get it”, and I am not so alone as I sometimes feel. Ned “Carlos Mencia” Holness is everything that is wrong with the state of stand-up comedy. He is not alone, but finally, one of his ilk is seen for what he is.

Click the link. It’s worth it. I – despite viewing nearly all humor with a professional, critical eye, instead of the appreciative eye of the audience – laughed hard and long. Enjoy.

I’ve been thinking about the Rapture. For those not in the know, the Rapture is an event believed by certain sects of the Christian cult to follow Armageddon, whereupon the chosen faithful will be plucked from the Earth and then will float up to heaven for an eternity of late-night Scrabble with the baby Jesus. Only, naked.

That’s the great part. They float up to heaven naked. It’s like floaty Christian porn. And being the repressed puritanical cult that they are, I imagine there’s going to be a lot of wood during the Rapture.

Of course, that means that if you believe in the Rapture, then you’re going to want to be pretty picky about who you recruit. Only young, good-looking people, because you’re going to have to see them naked. All the way to heaven. It’s not like it’s in the next room – we’re talking heaven, here – it’s pretty far away, I imagine. You don’t want to be floating for days beneath the old guy with the floppy, drooping balls. It’s the Rapture, after all; you are one of the chosen few. The old guy’s eight feet above you, and you’re getting teabagged all the way to heaven. You don’t want that.

Anyway, I hope that image keeps you until Jesus comes down to take all the stone-age, fundamentalist, delusional extremists away so they can stop breathing my good oxygen.

The other day, I was presented with a cardstock door hanger of the ugliest color possible: and electric greenish-yellow, like infected Shrek snot. It announced that We Energies, a company based in Milwaukee, was going to cut off our gas for nonpayment.
“Who the fuck is We Energies?” I asked. “We get our gas from SPW&L.”

Upon calling, I found out. We Energies is the sole supplier of gas to our neighborhood. SPW&L doesn’t supply our gas, and never did. I didn’t know this, because the people who lived in our apartment prior to us didn’t bother canceling their service, and We Energies then did not notify the landlord, who did not notify us. We moved in, set up service with SPW&L, and settled in for the winter, paying our bills and being happy as clams.

Of course, We Energies continued to supply that gas, never once contacting us – or the landlord – to find out why no one was paying the bill. The answer, of course, was pretty simple: we never received one.
The representative for We Energies was very self-assured and polite. Of course, saying, “fuck you, fuck your wife, and especially fuck your little children” is not mitigated once iota by adding, “sir” to the end of it. And that is exactly the gist of their position.
When I understood the situation I’ve described, I explained it to the representative (the aforementioned, utterly uninterested bitch who I will call Monica, because that is her name). Monica assured me she understood my situation, with the kind of conviction normally reserved for Dick Cheney when he attempts to mime compassion. She also assured me that We Energies could give a shit less. She assured me that no matter what I did, my family was going to lose heat and hot water for at least two days. She was – of course – lying. They had already cut off the gas while we were speaking. Also, the maximum two day period actually lasted six.
Anyway, I explained that while I understood her position and was willing to make any arrangements necessary to prevent my family from suffering through several days of cold. Monica assured me that I could suck it, and so could my family. I told her that of course we would pay what was due them, but that my family shouldn’t have to suffer because somebody else dropped the ball. Monica assured me that was tough shit. I asked her if it seemed fair to her that my children would be shivering beneath extra blankets at night because 1) the previous tenants didn’t cancel service, 2) they didn’t bother to find out why they weren’t being paid, and 3) the landlord didn’t tell us either of these things. Monica assured me that she understood what I was saying, but that I could eat shit.
The following is roughly the conversation that followed:

Me: “Let me get this straight. You have an overdue account that isn’t ours. You are shutting off the gas because that account hasn’t been paid. Nobody knew this. Nobody talked to anybody. Yet, somehow, the one party in all of this that did not drop the ball is being punished.”
Monica: “I understand, ‘sir’, but eat shit and die. Give us our money.”
Me: “I’ve already said I would. You have no reason to disbelieve me, since we’ve never done business.”
Monica: “Who gives a shit what you say?”
Me: “What I mean is, can’t you keep the gas on for the two days it will take for your paperwork to go through so we can give you money?”
Monica: “Listen, you stupid motherfucker. Don’t you get it? You’re going to eat shit and like it. We’re cutting off your gas, you will pay us money, and we will piss in your mouth, fuckface.”
Me: “So… even when the two day delay is your fault?”
Monica: “Nothing is ever our fault, shit for brains.”
Me: “How do you people stay in business?”
Monica: “Because, asshole, if you don’t pay us anything we want and drink our piss, you and your wife and your fucking kids will die. Get it?!? Nobody here gives a shit if you freeze to death. We are a monopoly. We do whatever we want, and you will thank us for it, or we will fucking kill you. Is that clear enough, you fucking piece of shit?”
Me: “You have no soul, do you?”
Monica: “I don’t understand what you just said, but I’m adding seven hundred dollars to your first bill for saying it.”

I’m looking forward to doing business with We Energies. Out of all the companies I could have gone to, they were the only one. Also, keep voting for more deregulation, you fucking imbeciles.