Savior, 1/31/2016, Deon Mumple

I want to save the world, be a hero; I want to change things, singlehandedly
Turn lives and hearts around, But I can’t, and I need someone to save me.
I know I don’t have to care, and some days I really don’t want to,
But I want to make a difference, I always wish I could help all of you.
But I need someone to save me.

I really want to find a way, need to reach beyond my captivity, my curse,
Through the razors that surround, afraid, still, I reach my hand out to yours
We’re all surrounded by these blades; they leave us bloody, tired, wet and cold
Let them cut me, if my blood and my effort will help you. Death makes me bold,
So, still, I reach my hand out to yours.

I want to break free of the broken roller coaster, and tell you exactly how I feel
I want to say I love you, I want you to feel what I feel for you, to know it’s real,
And the sinuous roads turn us away from together, to familiar loneliness…
Wish somehow I could comfort you, but I feel helpless and worthless.
I want you to feel what I feel for you; it’s real.

Would it help to know that a time will be, when life is a little less wild?
And when it’s terrifying, could I hold you, gentle, a father holding his child?
I watch you hurt, my heart breaks, it shatters and cuts me, again I bleed,
Sometimes my own life is too hard for me.  I’m bruised.  So if I need,
Could I hold you, like a child holding his mother?

If I reach out my hand to yours, in spite of my own uncertainty,
Would you promise to hold me when I need someone to save me?
Could you express what I feel for you? Would you have faith that it’s real?
Could I hold you, like a child holding his mother? How can our hearts heal?

My Fault, and Other Triggers (TW)

Don’t read this.   I’m just venting and it’s not worth reading.

What?  You’re still here?  Go away, I’m ranting to myself.

Begin rant.
Everything is my fault.  Sorry, world, you’re fucked.  It’s my own fault everything is my fault too, so if you have to blame something on anyone, I’m your fucking huckleberry, pals.  It’s my fault my family is a mess, it’s my fault my house is a mess, it’s my fault the world is going to hell in a handbasket.  I’m the incarnation of Satan himself, only not as clever, and if you don’t want to feel firsthand the effects of everything being my fault and everything falling apart, stay the fuck out of my orbit.

It’s my fault my house isn’t clean, because sure I could get off my ass to do it myself, or to help when someone’s in the mood, but every time I do I’m in someones fucking way, so the best thing I think I could do is sit out of everyone’s way.  And then it’s my fault for not figuring out how to get things to clean themselves because heaven knows no one is going to actually clean shit up, and if I can’t do it without being in someone’s way it won’t get done.  It’s my fault.  There isn’t room in the house for any of my shit so throw it the fuck away, and there isn’t room on the fucking planet for me unless I do what everyone else wants the way they want it done.  And stay invisible while I’m doing it. Because, it’s not about me, it’s about everyone else.  What ever everyone else wants is so much more important than what I want.

It’s my own fault I’m upset about life, because my emotions are my own responsibility, I should have better control over my triggers.  It’s my fault because I picked my relationships and what I did to them was to fuck them up.  It’s my fault I’m not Mary Fucking Poppins.  I should just be able to do everything and fix everything and it should magically hold together for 60 years after I’m dead.  It’s my fault I’m not rich, it’s my fault I’m not a skilled plumber, auto mechanic, welder, master carpenter, interior decorator, metalworker, and fixer of whatever other shit needs to be fixed, and all this of course I should be able to do without making any mess of course.  And it’s my fault I’m not a great and rich and famous writer too.

Yup, somebody shit in my cornflakes.  No, not literally.  But it made me mad and I needed to say something about it and nobody wants to hear my shit because it’s my shit and it’s stupid and it doesn’t matter to anyone in my house;  it’ll pass and they’ll expect me to suppress my triggers while trying to understand and accommodate that it’s my fault they’re pissed off and screaming because somebody shit in their cornflakes and I’m the one being passive-aggressive, because I’m not allowed to have an outlet.

It’s my fault I’m not satisfied and that’s the truth, because if I want something, and trust me, I want something a lot, I shouldn’t want what I want because I should be fully satisfied with whatever’s already before me, what people are willing to provide should be enough, I should be more Catholic than Protestant, or better still completely puritanical, and live in dread fear of whatever I want being sinful and in bad taste.

And on the flipside of that, it’s my fault nothing I do satisfies anyone, it’s never enough, it’s inadequate, it’s too small, it’s too big, it takes too long, it doesn’t look good enough or like what was expected.  Unless it’s a crisis for them and they need it and it’s fucking perfect , and then tomorrow it won’t be remembered and today it won’t be received with gratitude.  Someone will throw a fit and make me feel like it was all worthless, like me.

Sometimes, like now, I want the fuck out.  This sucks.

Oh look, everyone ELSE left, so now I can do some chores or something.  Not that anyone cares.  I’m Eeyore.  Except I swear.  I swear I live with people who can be real fucking ass holes sometimes.  And I’m not allowed to have negative (counterproductive) feelings about that because they’re my damned family.  I’m sorry to my family too.  Because it’s my fault it sucks.  And I’m sure it sucks for them, because I make it suck. So I’m sorry to my family too.


And I’m sorry for venting today.  But it’s better to write than to cut, or hit, or alcoholic, or worse.  And, if you’re still here, I’m sorry I made you read this, because that’s my fault too.

Rant over.  I’m sorry.

Bitch Love Song

I’m in love; she’s a bitch.  People tell me so,
I don’t care, you know where I’ll tell you to go,
We’re a match because I choose love anyway,
I don’t care what the haters all feel obliged to say,

She’s aging, I don’t care, she’s so beautiful,
And her temper’s as hot as her ass, flammable,
She scares anyone who’s ever made her mad,
But she’s better than anyone else ever had.

When she yells, I yell back, but we never hit,
We know there are limits, who needs abuse? Shit!
We know when love’s not love, and we know ours is true.
When she says, “Fuck you, Deon,” I say “I’d love to.”
(and that’s no joke, I always do)

We know when love’s not love, and we know ours is true.
When she says, “Fuck you, Deon,” I say “I’d love to.”

She doesn’t want to laugh, but she smiles a bit,
And she’s still mad as hell but I know she’ll quit,
It’s the ultimate compliment, I won,
By loving her completely, so fucking fun,

And she loves me back, too, even when we fight,
It doesn’t matter which one of us is right,
It’s her, damn it, I know, so shut up already,
It’s my fault even when it’s her fault, she tells me.

It’s my fault when she’s mad and I’ll admit that,
You can say she’s a bitch; I’m her perfect match,
Frequently, it’s because I’m being an ass,
But we can love each other even when we clash:

We know when love is love, and we know ours is true.
When she says, “Fuck you, Deon,” I say “I’d love to.”

Poetry Telling Struggles, Discovery

Poetry Telling Struggles, Discovery
1/27/2016, Deon Mumple (Acrostic)

i’m  a wrIter no one knows.
i tell the story, this is How it goes:
we try, Leaving our  pAsts at breakneck speed,
far too Often without The things we know we need,
as the oVerture’s are  Ending before we understand,
going bEyond us, way  before we’re ready, and the band
doesn’t   pause at all,  Leading the dance, we’re breathless,
we can Yell and fight, It’s all the same big mess
if  we  dO, or we cry in Frustrated surrender,
pray,  bUt does  it mattEr?

Does prayer get answered yes at a whimsical discretion,
Making us struggle, even seeking His direction?

The Story of the Johnny Rotten

For some reason today I’ve had this song in my head and it won’t go away.

It reminds me that “once you’re gone, you can’t come back.”  And it’s accompanied by lovely waves and people having fun. And with that in mind, I’m praying for all my friends who share episodes of depression and waves going up and down, and aren’t having any fun.  Mine really really suck, but a lot of others I think have it even worse than me. FUCK depression, FUCK bipolar, FUCK YOU FUCKYOU FUUUUUCCCKYOOUUUUU! I hate the way this thing beats everyone up, and it’s literally all inside our heads but it takes our energy and throws us around like helpless rag dolls in a muddy washing machine. It’s no wonder some people try to escape in any way they can.  I just pray you won’t give up like so many do.  But we’re drowning and we can’t escape until it lets go for a second, and that’s never long enough. What do you do when you don’t know what to do? Well, I panic, I rage, I cry at random, I clean, I become a zombie all except the “braaaaaaiiiiinnnnnnsss!” part (because I don’t have those).  And I write, in spite of my lack of “braaaaiiiiiiiinnnnnnnssss.”  Sorry, readers.

I love this:

for a couple of reasons:

First, it should remind people who don’t understand that “there’s more to the picture than meets the eye.” Develop some fucking empathy, ass holes. We already feel like shit, and we don’t need people telling us more about how we should feel like shit, and giving us more reasons to feel like shit.  We need encouragement and support and love, and ice cream and chocolate, and rock and roll music, and a hot bath or shower, and time and grace, and hugs and sometimes a friend who will just be there, show up and shut the fuck up and just be there for us.  I want to be that friend, only I never learned how to shut the fuck up.  So if that’s what you need, I’m sorry.

I heard my daughter really struggling last night through an episode. She really needs a day off, and so do I. Or three. Thank God she has my work ethic, it’s another thing that makes me REALLY just DAMNED proud of her. Both of my teen kids might have this too? FUUUCKKK ME! So I’ve started to just let them scream and cry and monitor for self-harm. I know in my head this thing sucks dirt and I know what I feel like, so I get that my kids just need to do themselves and vent it, with my support and encouragement. I just hugged them both last night.  I don’t KNOW whether they have it or if it’s normal teen angst, or if this was a consequence of her particular frequency and arrival of “shark week.”  But I’ve watched them both deal with signs of depression, so I pray.  And hug.  And pray again.  And hug some more.  I don’t see a regular, repeating cycle in them yet, and I hope I don’t.  I hope they don’t inherit this thing.  I’m sorry, to everyone in my life, that I have traits that affect them and the people around them, and I affect everyone around me, in ways that aren’t always positive.  And I’m sorry if I’m passing it on.

Secondly, it reminds me that even though someone might look, or feel, like they were “rode hard and put away wet,” as the saying goes, they can still BE FUCKING AWESOME.  I wish I could know this of myself, but I know it of all my friends here.  I pray for all of you to take care of yourselves and try to get into a habit of finding one way every day to love yourself in spite of all the confusing communication, from the world and from inside your head.  “Hey, Hey, My, My” this has been a moment of civility and compassion amid my own shit.

Thirdly, it reminds me that “You paid for this and they give you that.”  And then there’s a harmonica for emphasis.  It reminds me that I’m not alone in my disappointment with life, the universe and everything.  Sometimes it sucks and I don’t have the energy to fight it, and sometimes it sucks and I fight with all my might.  And I don’t “win,” Charlie Sheen, I still lose.  But I lose less when I have the energy to keep trying.  There’s a community of us fighters and when I have the energy and whether I do or don’t actually start “winning,” I’m going to fight for all of you too.  It’s a promise.

Fourth, “It’s better to burn out, than it is to rust” means I need to try to do something, not just sit.  In spite of my personal lack of motivation.  The first time I tried to type the word “lack,” I typed a more fitting “ack.”  Went back and fixed it and then thought, well, maybe the reader will find it amusing or encouraging.  ACK!!!  The disciplines are a coping mechanism.  If I pass it on to them, if I encourage others to fight hard to self-love and self-discipline, then I’m doing well.

And last, the faithfulness of rock and roll.  Whether it’s “rock and roll is here to stay,” or “rock and roll can never die,” I love it because it’s faithful.  Whether life is faithful to me or not, I want to be faithful.  In fact, especially when life isn’t faithful to me, I want to be a faithful friend, husband, father, son, if for no other benefit than being able to say a giant, enormous, enlarged, boldface, fat “FUCK YOU!” to all the things in life that disappoint me.

My word for the year, because Mrs. M made me pick one, is “care.”  To me it’ll mean I look for ways to show other people I care, and also remind myself to care for me too, because “love your neighbor as yourself” means exactly that.  If I love my neighbor as I love myself, and I don’t love myself, my neighbor is fucked.  And so am I.  But if I figure out how to do this, and learn I can love myself, then my neighbor might be better off.  I tried this last year and had to lean hard on everyone who was busy loving me better than I did myself and all I can say is thank you.

Be good to yourself.  And thank you for being good to me.  There’s a reason I love you back.  (Even if I sometimes hate you.  Or if you sometimes hate me.)

I’m moving on now, time for some Led Zeppelin I think.  Maybe some Metallica.

What word or expression would you choose for the year, that makes you strive harder for positive habits when life is anything but positive?  I’d love to read your responses.


I Love My Daughter

I haven’t said it enough.  My daughter is a priceless, beautiful, wonderful person who deserves everything good in life.  I pray I have shown her enough in spite of my mood swings and shitty life events and my random fits of rage directed nowhere because I can’t control life.  I pray I have shown her that if and when she gets married, the person she chooses should meet a very high bar of expectation.

She makes me laugh.  She can say the most hilarious random things and bust my laughter wide open, stopping me cold right in the middle of a rage fit.  She makes me cry.  When she’s not happy, my world is darker and I would give my last breath, my blood, my pain, or anything she asked if it would make her feel right again.  When she is sick, my heart feels helpless.  When she is angry I feel responsible and I want to do whatever I can to fix whatever’s wrong.  When she is hungry and wants a specific food I will either cook it for her, or drive to the store to get it, or the ingredients for it.  When she calls me for a ride home, any time of the day or night, I will go get her.  No questions asked.

I’m going to vacuum the carpet I asked her to vacuum two days ago.  I’m going to put away the dishes I asked her to put away yesterday.  I know I’m spoiling her.  And I’m perfectly fine with that.

Note to whoever she picks to marry:  I spoiled her because she deserves to be spoiled.  You need to continue the trend, or you aren’t worthy of her love.

I’m not sorry for spoiling my daughter, and don’t you dare fall short.  Be willing to die for her, be strong enough to live for her, and wait for her, and you’ll prove yourself adequate.

I love my daughter, and if you love her you’ll prove it.  Every day.  All the time.  No matter what.

Duh News

I tried to write something worthwhile yesterday and didn’t get shit worth posting.  I’ll see what happens today.  Or maybe whatever comes out comes out.

I read a news article about some poor schmuck in Georgia who won the lottery and some assholes blew his door in with a shotgun and then killed the guy.  This is why the Lottery should provide protection, or allow anonymity, or both to winners in every state.  And this is why every United States citizen should be allowed to carry a personal firearm.  Because some people are just fucking animals that need to be put down when they decide to do crazy shit.  Like depriving a citizen of their “inalienable rights” of “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”

Are you listening, lottery commissioners?  Are you listening, anti-gun idiots?  The people who did the shotgun thing wouldn’t have been deprived of their wrongs to have a shotgun, even in a place that says people don’t have rights and can’t have guns, because if they’re criminals they’d have gotten one illegally.  If I won, lesson learned, 1) I’d hide somewhere quiet and isolated and stay quietly hidden, and 2) I’d arm myself.  And consider having my name legally changed.  There’s a thought:  what name would I choose if I won the lottery?  What name would you choose?  We’ll have to keep our aliases secret.

I saw another news article about Michael Bloomberg, who may run for president.  Why the hell do these billionaires want to buy a ticket to the White House?  I can think of much better, much quieter, things to do with a few billion.  Mike, there, has assets of an estimated net between $36 and $41 Billion.  And the other scary question is, what would they do to help poor people when they get into office?  Answer:  Same thing they’ve done all their lives. According to Wikipedia, Bloomberg has donated an estimated $1.8B to various charities.”  Not a bad record, although I’d be more impressed if that number was between $3B and $4B. Or more, since those are present assets, not income.  Not that I’d measure up to my own expectation, unless I were really financially set at complete liberty to do what I really wanted to with money.  He seems practical and good with money, for sure.  But I’m still not sure about how he feels about common people, considering his waffled stance on certain criminalized behaviors, and I think you know what I mean.

“The Donald” has about a tenth of that, at $4 and a half Billion in current assets.  His charitable work on “Celebrity Apprentice” is commendable, although he drew a substantial salary from the network, and the contestants raised funds, as opposed to Trump making donations himself.  One can’t presume Mr. Trump is not privately charitable, presuming that his financial statements are private.  But he has made several statements that really marginalized certain groups of people, which raise serious questions about how he feels about common people who might not fall under the umbrellas of his favorite charities.  It’s also possible Trump may have been financially disadvantaged more than Bloomberg, since Bloomberg has only had one divorce compared to Trump’s two.  Having your assets split once is uncomfortable enough, imagine it happening twice and having to start over each time.

Look carefully at what the candidates have done and decide if you want more of the same going on in the country.  Vote for the ones you have evidence of doing what you would want to have done, on a bigger scale, because that’s what will happen.  I hear of candidates, rumors of scandals, grand foolishness, cover-ups, etc.  I guarantee you we will only see more of the same things that they’re already doing or have already done.

If I did win it big, where would we move?  Where would you move?  I wonder how isolated I can be and not set off the “He’s-Loco” Radars.  Like the unabomber or the cults or the occupiers or whatever other gun-toting crazies or secessionist groups might be out there in Oklahoma or Montana or Arkansas.  Because crazy as I may be, and isolated and gun-owning as I would be, I don’t want to piss off the government, and rich as I might be I don’t want to set off anyone’s “he’s-rich” radars and have the neighbors blasting through my compound gates to kill me or my family like poor Craigory Burch.  Where do “the Donald” and Mr. Bloomberg get their security teams?  One should choose wisely.  One also wonders what Mr. Trump and Mr. Bloomberg were doing that caused their spouses to make their exits.  And one hopes they have found whatever they were looking for and learned whatever they needed to learn from those failed relationships.

I think if you get a divorce, you should handle your obligations properly, and leave graciously. Leave, and live, so graciously, you make your ex look bad for leaving or asking you to leave. Take care of the kids even if you don’t get custody.  Make the courts, and the guardians ad litem out there, speak glowing things about you.  Don’t fight, don’t be mean.  Be better than civil.  Although, if you’ve already been bitter and mean about whatever is bad about the relationship, your ex has no reason to expect anything different.  Surprise your ex.  Surprise the courts.  Don’t be an ass.  Take responsibility, even if in your heart of hearts you believe it isn’t your fault.  If it is your fault and you’re still being an ass, well, you’re worthless and whoever you’re shtupping deserves you and can expect the same treatment (Ha, I said “shtupping,” and I’m not even Jewish or even Yiddish).  Whatever.  I take it back, if you’re an ass, whoever you’re shtupping deserves better than you.

I didn’t sign a prenuptial agreement.  My wife and I have an understanding, and a verbal contract I spoke into existence.  I sign the checks over (via direct deposit) and she spends them.  I’m hers, what’s mine is hers, and what’s hers is hers.  We discuss any major expenses, and a few minor ones.  This weekend I wanted fried chicken, and she went to an overpriced place and got a little chicken for a lot of money.  It was good, but I felt she paid too much and got too little.  She felt bad when I said something, and then I felt bad.  She won’t go back to this fried chicken distributor, which I won’t mention by name, unless there’s a significant coupon involved.  I’m sure she’ll find another fried chicken distributor to visit, because I do love it.  And, venture capitalism isn’t all bad, but I’ll just say that when you already charge too much for chicken meal, you shouldn’t charge extra to get a drink with your meal.  It should be included in the price.

I’m hyper-conservative financially.  I might go out to lunch once in a blue moon.  Or in a leap year.  Its’ frequency is somewhere between the frequency of those kinds of events.  And what will I do if I come into money?  The same things I’ve done all along, or wanted to do all along.  She still gets everything, and I might go out to lunch a little more frequently.  I hope, when it happens, I do a little better than Bloomberg on my percentage.  But he’s done respectably well, considering.  Maybe he considers his ex a charity, which I bet would bump that percentage significantly.  I don’t read about him being a jerk, so there’s a possibility he’s gracious about his losses.

I don’t even think I’d be as liberal as either of these guys:

I’m so conservative I believe it’s true, “it’s cheaper to keep her,” not to mention I WANT her, so Mrs. M., whether she feels fortunate or not, is stuck with me until she kicks me to the curb. Whereupon, I still want to wash her dishes and take out her trash and help her kids with homework, even if I lose out on certain other fringe benefits if you know what I mean.  It’s kind of cool realizing I want what I already have.  And if we ever do win big, Mrs. M., (not that you’re reading this, but) you’ll get a much cooler name than “Mumple.”  You pick it, I don’t care what you call me as long as you call me.  And I’ll have time to fry my own damned chicken.  I just want to add pets to our family.  I love you, Mrs. M.  Now and forever.


I’m Your Angel

I’m your angel and I’ve come to help your journey on the Earth,
I’m only visiting, to encourage everyone, with love, and peace, and mirth,
I was awkward at first, while I was getting used to living here,
It’s still awkward and it sometimes hurts, just breathing the atmosphere.

I know I can’t stay long, but I don’t know when I’ll have to leave,
And I’m already heartbroken knowing that when I go, you’ll grieve,

I’m your angel, with a note, or a hug, a kiss, a comforting word,
To spend some time, share laughs or tears, or commiserate in the absurd.
Sometimes it’s very hard, even for me, to do what I know is right,
I know I’m not alone in that, it’s good to have friends in the same fight,

I know I can’t stay long, but I don’t know when I’ll have to leave,
And I’m already heartbroken knowing that when I go, you’ll grieve,

I’m your angel, I know secrets, I have to share with you,
Although life’s not something you or I control, every word is true:
God loves His creations more than you or I love anyone,
And wants us to trust in His Son, Jesus, so that when the journey’s done,

I know I can’t stay long, but I don’t know when I’ll have to leave,
But if you know like I know, I know you won’t always grieve:

I don’t really understand all about how He makes us one big family,
But the way I think about it, He adopts us when we believe,
There’s a great big Reunion on the schedule of Heaven’s calendar,
I’m your angel, here to encourage you to join up, fellow traveler.

I’m your angel, and I’m leaving soon, but please know I love you,
And I want to see you at the Reunion after we’re all done passing through.

Clueless in the Clutter

I’m so very disappointed.  There I was navigating through life, with a certain set of expectations:  1. Life will improve as technology improves and as we learn more, in the “information” age. 2. As people have more information available to them, they will become smarter.  Right?


Example 1: I told the email service providers I am a guy, and I’m married, and I also was required to tell them where I live, (not southern, like Florida or Gulf of Mexico side of Texas) so that should have eliminated several types of sidebar advertisements.  Right?


I expected to not see advertisements for singles, a given.  I told them again, by alerting them that such advertisements weren’t appropriate for my situation.  Did they stop?  Fuck, no.  I’m still getting that shit and I’m tired of looking at sad but beautiful women looking for love.  Look elsewhere, I’m fucking taken and I don’t want to see your smiling glamour shots with emphasis on cleavage.  Don’t get me wrong.  I “really love… peaches” (thank you, Steve Miller Band- if you’re too young to know the song it’s called The Joker), and honestly, you ARE gorgeous. And so are your …peaches.  But I only want to see one pair, thank you very much.  So, advertisers, could you fucking STOP with the singles ads, please?

Please, take no offense if you are single and you use an online dating service.  It’s not your fault.  Honestly, you’re gorgeous too.  It’s just my observation.  It’s the truth.  And I dearly love you and hope you find the right guy, not the other guys.  It’s not your fault the advertisers are showing the singles ads to a married guy.  it’s the advertiser’s and the email service provider’s faults.  If I’m an example, I can only imagine that a less scrupulous married man might be tempted to go astray to win your …adultery.  Not to mention I’m well aware of how very many worthless bags of skin there are out there, both single AND married, trolling for your heart to break, your cash to loot, your car to borrow, your innocence to crush, your emotions to abuse.  So, I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  They’re just fucking losers.

As a guy, I expected to see advertisements for men’s clothing, coats, shoes, hats, boots. It’s winter, I may need something.  I expected not to see advertisements for women’s clothing.  But I still see the advertisements for women’s clothes when I need a fucking pair of warm socks.  Why am I seeing ads for women’s clothing?   And why, for the love of God, are these advertisements for women’s fucking SUMMER clothes? Would someone please tell the advertisers that It’s Janu-fucking-ary?

January.  The temperature is a balmy -5 degrees Celsius.  Oh.  Math.  It’s 22 degrees Fahrenheit.  There is fucking SNOW on the ground.  Do I see ads with women sporting warm, fur-lined coats and gloves?  Boots?  Scarves?  Fuck, no.

There I sit, looking at skimpy, skin-tight, short t-shirt dresses.  If the information age was as good as I was promised it would be, the ads would show something appropriate for my wife, not my midlife crisis.  Again, these models ARE gorgeous.  But they don’t look anything like my wife’s body shape, and I don’t want one of those, not to mention I can’t afford one of those, which the information age should also have told the advertisers.

It’s an epic failure.

I’m not even mentioning, except here in passing, the spam in my email box and the idiots trying to sabotage my computer just for being online, but while I’m passing I’ll just say to them all, in big fat letters, “fuck you, ass holes.”

Example 2:  I drove to work today, and there’s snow on the ground, and on the roadways.  It’s slippery.  There are two failures here too:

People are sliding off the road, losing traction, not paying attention, trying to go too fast, etc.  All the natural consequences of snow and ice.

First, why, for the love of our intact bumpers, mirrors, and side and door panels, do we not have tires that get traction on icy roads?  We’ve made so much technological progress we have anti-lock brakes, and my car has some kind of “traction control system” the computer tripped this morning, not where I needed it on the curve of the turn or the roundabouts, of course, but on the straight-away, not when I was trying to stop but while I was fucking coasting between braking intervals.  That’s great, if it works for you.  But in this age of technology, can someone please design a wheel with traction-enabling spike-spokes that come out to grab through the snow and ice whenever the computer senses I’m skidding and trying to not plow into the car in front of me or skid off entirely, or skid into the curb at the side of the  road?  The computer knows we need them, and knows when we need them, but we just have these crappy tires with tread that gets packed with snow and then get no traction when we need it.

And second, why for the love of the same, and we’ll add my life, my money, and my sanity, do you fuckers insist on driving fucking INCHES from my fucking bumper when I’m trying to drive cautiously down the road and minding my own business?  If I had to stop, even if I could on these snow-packed tire treads, you’re so damned close, your snow-packed tire treads would just skid you into my bumper costing me money, because our insurance companies are a racket to get our money, not to actually help us.  So would you please, for everyone’s peace of mind, fucking BACK. THE FUCK. OFF?  I know you’re in a hurry.  Go the fuck around me and try to push the guy in front of me.  And when you rear end that poor schmuck, I’ll try not to rear end you.

Alas, another epic failure of the modern age.  We were supposed to get smarter, but by and large, on average, we’re still fucking idiots.  It’s just physics.  Yes, I have a college degree and I did study it, but just one class.  Life will teach you about momentum if you’ll just pay attention.  I don’t want to teach you about it after you fuck up my car.

Speaking of technology, I saw an online article, someone pinch me so I know I wasn’t dreaming, about solar road surfaces.  The panels collect energy and also can conduct heat, meaning no ice in winter, no potholes.  My tax dollars would love that innovation.  If you’re scared about your investment, try it just on the street corners and traffic circles first.  I bet you’ll make money off my tax dollars, which would mean they’re actually at work, for me AND for you, Mr or Mrs Politician.  And I won’t be fishtailing all over trying to get around the circles or trying to stop at the red lights.

I’m still waiting for those seemingly simple technological innovations that actually help me.  I’m still waiting on the information age to become a smashing success to help us all get what we need that improves our quality of life.  But right now, I’m still getting inappropriate advertisements for things I don’t need and shouldn’t want.  And I’m still not able to stop comfortably in snow and ice.

I’m still waiting for people to get smarter too, but right now, we’re all basically fucked by the general, average person because they’re idiots.  Sorry, it’s the truth until we all learn to play nicely, share nicely, stop hating each other, and individually take responsibility to learn all we can.  I only hate you if you’re a fucking selfish idiot with no common sense, and/or a desire to make me dead.  Honest.  Let’s try to help our teachers afford a decent quality of life while educating the next generation, instead of penalizing them because kids can sometimes be irresponsible idiots who don’t give a shit about shit.  Maybe if a teacher doesn’t have to worry about where their groceries and medicine are coming from, and doesn’t feel obligated to buy the kids breakfast or notebooks and pens and other sundries (“I said ‘sundries,'” smiles Deon proudly.), they’ll be able to just teach, and the average person will be smarter in the long run.

When does superior technology and superior information start to help us get past being clueless in the clutter?