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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Tag Archives: USA

Ironic

28 Saturday Jan 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, satire, story

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Democracy, fiction, irony, politics, satire, story, truth, USA

So, our instructor assigned us to write a story with a strong emphasis on irony. Mine is about a hypothetical future American tragedy of a coup financed and designed by the Kremlin. By way of summary, this is how it related to irony and I appended this to the story for the instructor’s edification. 

“And, the most ironic part of the whole American tragedy was this: even though he spent his entire life conning others, it was beyond his ken to consider that Vlademort Putrid was likewise conning him. He had been lying and bragging so long about his competence in all things that he actually came to believe he was smarter and a better strategist than Putrid. Putrid likely could have done it alone. But, of course, he did not do it alone. Putrid had the collaboration of highly trained, highly dedicated KBG/GRU professionals to help. 

“In principle, perhaps he could have enlisted American experts, but he didn’t feel the need. Furthermore, he faced a real dilemma. He couldn’t openly ask any but the corrupt for help against American interests. And those who were corrupt were generally far less competent and always less well connected to a healthy network of professionals than their more numerous and genuinely patriotic counterparts. 

“I said that was the most ironic part of the whole American tragedy, but there are near contenders. Another highly ironic part of his entire con game was that the played the game as though the only thing in the universe that mattered was his own pleasure. Of course, no matter what moves he made or is yet to make, he is not actually immortal in and of himself. By lying to himself and everyone else, he essentially cut himself off from being part of The Great Tree of Life (or at least from being a non-cancerous part). Rather than living on through his actions that benefited the whole, he delimited his life, curtailed it, circumscribed it to his own physical mortality. 

“The intertwined corollary of the above is that even while he lived, he missed out on the best feeling in life: being in caring and loving honest relationships. In order to absolutely and positively ensure that he grabbed as much as possible for himself, he limited his “prizes” to mere material crap and the pleasure of cruelty. “

So, this is how they responded: 

“When it comes to being ironic, this is definitely A plus material. 

However, sad to say, there are also some serious problems with your narrative. First, of all Americans are too well educated to fall for the lies of a known con man. And, why not simply make the character more believable? It’s not plausible that so many people would fall for the con. Apart from that, the cowardice you portray on the part of so many within his own party is also unbelievable. 

Still, the mechanics of the writing was also clean, so I’m giving you a B+. Next time, focus on believability rather than forgoing that to punch the irony.”

Was that a fair grade, I ask you? 


Poker Chip

Donnie’s Final Gift

Plans for US; some GRUesome

Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

The Ailing King of Agitate

Dick-Taters

The Titanic

Con-Con’s Special Friend

Trumpism is a New Religion

Essays on America: The Game

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

Essays on America: The Update Problem

Wednesday

Labelism

My Cousin Bobby

Where Does Your Loyalty Lie?

Dance of Billions

Be Careful What You Wish For

21 Saturday Jan 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Democracy, irony, Kevin, poem, poetry, politics, USA

The Kevin said he’d lead the band!

Be strongest man in all the land! 

But when the traitors came to slay,

The Kevin hid then ran away.

The Kevin blamed the Trump that day! 

But soon, it seemed, he flew the coop! 

To Florida to eat a scoop. 

And there he pledged to be a wimp. 

For coups and couscous be a simp.

For nuts & guns, he’d play the pimp. 

And now he sits atop his throne.

He reaps as sown; his cover’s blown.

Photo by Ben Phillips on Pexels.com

He brags that now he leads the band!

When really he just pounds the sand.

The saddest man in all the land. 

Pretends to power; total slave. 

Photo by Clown Caramello on Pexels.com

And here’s the really foul deprave:

By wanting all the power for him.

The Kevin’s just a shadow limn.

There’s nothing left of what was him.

Photo by Min Thein on Pexels.com

A rootless rot upon the land,

He opens gate for treason’s band.

So bent upon his bid for power.

He lost it all in shameful hour.

The joyous tune has turned note sour. 

Photo by Julius Silver on Pexels.com

Bereft of honor, truth and heart,

Robotic role – a walk-on part. 

The words upon his lips are dust.

As Putrid speaks, so Kevin must.

His mettle now just rotted rust. 

Photo by Wendelin Jacober on Pexels.com

Essays on America: The Game

My Cousin Bobby

Absolute is not just a Vodka

Poker Chip

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

Come back to the light

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

The Crows and Me

After All

Peace

Life is a Dance

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

BREAK IT!

Satire Slain

Freaky Friday Fibbing Fest

BREAK IT!

09 Monday Jan 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, psychology

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

America, Democracy, ethics, government, morality, politics, psychology, USA

Sure. I get it. 

I was a kid once. And, like most boys brought up in the 1950’s, few things held as much pleasure as destroying things! 

Photo by Torben Bu00fchl on Pexels.com

When winter came to Ohio, sledding was fun. Don’t get me wrong. Especially, when we took the time to go to sled down the Derby Downs track or the toboggan run behind. But a snowball fight? Especially one where you really nailed someone? That was great. 

Making a snowman? That felt cool. To use free snow to make a sculpture! And, it was fun to “shape it” and make it resemble a human. But tackling it at full tilt and thus smashing it down? That was great. 

Spring flooding led to overflowing gutters which led to wading in the water and deeper is better! I didn’t exactly want to have the water spill over the black rubber and pour down to soak my shoes, socks, and pant legs. No. On the other hand, I would enjoy being able to brag about it to my buddies. “I was on Elm Street & the water was deeper than my boots!” On the other hand, I wouldn’t really enjoy my mom yelling at me for it. But it wasn’t as meaningful as having bragging rights with my buddies. 

For many years, I’ve thought it absurd that I lived in the supposed “Temperate Zone.” We had cold, snowy winters, flooding in the spring, thunderstorms and tornados in the summer as well as hazy hot days of summer. And, no school. So — plenty of time to get in trouble. Just to take one example, we loved to break glass. If we found an empty coke bottle or jam jar, we would put it on the ground or better, a large rock or tree stump. Then, we’d typically take turns trying to destroy the glass with a well aimed throw. We did take turns. I mean, after all, we were civilized. 

Photo by omar william david williams on Pexels.com

Kinda. 

Autumn leaves brought raking and piles, but more importantly, the opportunity to jump into them. (And, to some extend destroy them). And, by the way, I thought my dad was a real killjoy when, after spending an hour raking leaves, he would yell at me not to wreck it up. I thought, “What’s the point of raking up the leaves into a pile except to jump in it!?” 

Even to this day, there is a part of me that would positively relish taking a sledge hammer to an abandoned house or a junked car. Or, maybe even my own car! As an adult, however, I realize that actions have consequences. And, that ideas about what to do have alternatives. 

If I smashed my car, I wouldn’t be able to use it afterwards. Also, there’s a chance of really injuring myself by embedding a shard of glass or metal or hard plastic in my thigh of eye. If it’s someone else’s car, there’s the added likely consequence of criminal penalties. Besides that, penalties aside, there is karma. Most likely the person whose car is destroyed will be stressed, angry, and possibly even violent. Violence begets violence. I would have sent a wave of negativity into the community. Even if I never got “caught,” I would be contributing to a world worse that the one I was born into. Is it worth a momentary pleasure? 

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

I can get much the same kind of “pleasure of destruction” from hitting a tennis ball hard and winning points, but at this point, it isn’t only superior power as a source of winning a point that I like. I can also experience pleasure through outthinking my opponent; by using feints; by concentrating better; by having a better plan. It feeds into the same pleasure center but it doesn’t destroy things in the process. No shards of glass. 

There is only one thing worse than being a destructive little kid. That is being an adult who wants to destroy things that they don’t understand and they can’t replace with something better. Those are not actually adults. They are children in adult bodies. They should never be in a position of power. Not in politics. Not in business. 

It’s natural to feel some destructive impulse, at least, if history or personal experience is any guide. It’s also natural to want to relieve yourself. But if you’re an adult, you don’t simply pee your pants because you can’t be bothered to hit the head. 

Destroying American democracy because you’re too lazy to win votes, understand problems with all their complexity and try to find potential solutions, build consensus, collaborate and cooperate to improve our country — that’s a lot worse than are smashing glass, wrecking up a pile of leaves, and peeing your pants. If the very best pleasure you have is blowing stuff up, okay — get a job in demolition — not in a Constitutional Democracy. 

———-

Other Essays on America:

The Game

The Stopping Rule

Wednesday

The Update Problem

A Little is not a Lot

Cancer always Loses in the End

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

Dick-Taters

Absolute is not just a Vodka

My Cousin Bobby

Where does your Loyalty Lie?

Poker Chips

Trumpism is a new Religion

——————

Author Page on Amazon

The Fungus Fools the Foolish Forest Tree

07 Saturday Jan 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Democracy, poem, poetry, politics, psychology, seduction, truth, USA

The Fungus Fools the Foolish Forest Tree 

Photo by Martin Schneider on Pexels.com

“It is a kind of loyal test.

I need a place to briefly rest. 

Upon your lovely shiny bark 

Just until the sky turns dark.”

The fungus begged the trusting tree.

“And I will keep you oh so free!”

“Thanks so much, you will be glad.

Now, if I fell it would be bad

So I will hold against the breeze.

Don’t you fret. I think I’ll please.”

The fungus promised to the tree:

“And I will keep you oh so free!”

The night was done; the sun was hot.

“Oh, tree, my roots are deeply caught.

It wouldn’t do to rend apart

Our friendship from propitious start.”

The fungus held the hapless tree.

“My bonds will keep you oh so free!” 

Each day, the orange fungus spread.

Upon its sap the fungus fed. 

“Now indeed, our friendship’s fast. 

I feel it’s going to last and last.”


The fungus fingers filled the tree.

“All this sap’s too much for thee!”

The tree felt tired when springtime came. 

Its leaves were few; its flowers lame.

“No matter,” tree, “it’s not so bad. 

“For fungus is the newest fad!”

“Don’t you worry, dearest tree!

I guarantee that you’ll stay free!”

At last the tree lost all its leaves.

The promise though it still believes,

Although it toppled to the ground. 

With such a rotten, hollow sound. 

“I’ve felled another silly tree!

So silly to believe in me!”


Dick-taters

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

Donnie’s Last Gift

Absolute is not just a vodka

The Ailing King of Agitate

Where does your loyalty lie?

My Cousin Bobby

After All

Essays on America: The Game

Guernica

They Lost the Word for War

The Crows and Me

Siren Song

Dance of Billions

Freaky Friday Fibbing Fest

06 Friday Jan 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Democracy, life, politics, USA

Freaky Friday Fibbing Fest

What mainly distinguishes the two major American political parties has varies tremendously within the course of my own lifetime. And, while I’m not ancient, my life so far is about 31% of the time since The Declaration of Independence. That’s not most of the time, but it is all of the most recent 31%. Of course, if you did pay much attention in American History and weren’t just spending time surreptitiously carving your initials, passing notes, or throwing spitballs, you likely remember that the US began as rather disunited States under the “Articles of Confederation.” It wasn’t until June 21st, 1788 that it was ratified. Thus, my life so far is roughly 1/3 of the time we’ve lived under that Constitution. 

The first time I became consciously aware of politics was when Eisenhower won in 1952. The principal of our school arranged to have the radio broadcast of Eisenhower. I don’t really know whether it was his acceptance speech or his inaugural speech, but I suspect the latter. Anyway, I was leading the class in cheering through much of the speech. At some point, my teacher said maybe the people I was getting to cheer didn’t really know what they were cheering for. That was probably true. It was definitely true that I had no idea why I was cheering except for two things:

1. Eisenhower had been a general partly responsible for our winning the war. My dad & all my mom’s brothers fought in WWII. 

2. Eisenhower was a Republican and they were the “good guys.” I don’t recall having much of a discussion about it before hand. But I had certainly picked up that vibe. 

After the teacher’s comment though, I got to wondering why everyone in my family liked the Republicans rather than the Democrats. As I recall, the basic reason given was that Republicans believed more in personal responsibility. 

Later, there were entirely different reasons for disliking the Democrats; viz., the Vietnam War and beating up the protestors in Chicago. 

Photo by Clown Caramello on Pexels.com

But now? What has happened to the “Grand Old Party”? 

Forget politics for a moment. In what area of life is perpetual lying a good way for people to cooperate? If the scientists & engineers lied like the Trumputinists, we would still be shivering in caves. How would you like farmers to send you poisonous bulbs and call them onions? 

The fish rots from the head. That was bad enough. But that rotten fish head has been out of power for two years. But the putrefaction continues. 

No platform. No policies. No allegiance to the Constitution. No sense of fair play. No limit to cruelty. No allegiance to the rule of law. 

Who benefits from all that lack of governing? 

Who benefits from a weaker, less effective US government? 

Photo by Julius Silver on Pexels.com

————

Plans for US; some GRUesome

Satire Slain

The Ailing King of Agitate

Donald’s Last Gift

Essays on America: Wednesday

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

Essays on America: The Update Problem

The Extreme Court 

Alito and the Egg

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

Dance of Billions 

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

The Ballad of the Ballot

04 Wednesday Jan 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Democracy, poem, poetry, politics, truth, USA

Photo by Regina Pivetta on Pexels.com

When Crazy and Lazy control your Party

It may be time to govern a bit instead.

It may be time to hire a smarty.

It might be time to get people fed, instead.

It might be time to fix a street or two.

You might address pollution, guns, or schools. 

It might be time to think a solution or two.  

But voters are seen as fools and tools.

And told it’s fine to break the rules. 

And hate everyone odd or oddly bent.

And send all your money which should have paid rent

Instead to the folks who will work for the rich 

You won’t find out till you’re made their kitsch. 

Nothing matters but clicks and likes and being

Dicks and lying lies.

No matter the cost. 

No matter what of value’s  lost. 

When Looney and Tooney are playing for power

Your courage could lead to your finest hour, 

But chances are

Chances are…

Chances

Nothing more. 

It’s always been known that hate could be stoked. 

That its keen incision into the national mind. 

Would soon incur a wound of division.

Our nation seen with deserved derision,

A nation enraged and cruel instead of kind.

Putrid loves it. But the rest of us are truly forked.

 

Time at last is more than past when Rule of Law

Is understood by all to be a gift and not a flaw. 

———————-

RIP, GOP

The Ailing King of Agitate

The Con-Con’s Man Special Friend

Dick-Taters

D4

Essay on America: The Game

Absolute is not just a vodka

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

Donnie’s Last Gift

Where does your loyalty lie?

My Cousin Bobby

Kevin Unclogs the Toilet

03 Tuesday Jan 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

fiction, House, parody, politics, satire, story, truth, USA

A Story of Pure Fiction

The manager of the hotel (or, “Stable Mighty Emperor Genius Maganificent Adiposity*” as he prefers to be called) called Kevin on his private, “Master Only Line.”

“Kevin? What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Well, I … “

“Get down here. Now! I have a pipe I need you to unclog!”

“Are you serious? I’m in the fight of my political life here! And, anyway, I don’t know plumbing.” 

“Get down here. Or, you’ll never get my endorsement again. Come clean my pipes and I’ll make sure you get the position you deserve.” 

“I don’t know how to clean pipes!” 

“Get down here. I’ll show you everything you need to know.” 

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

————-

A few hours later, at taxpayer’s expense, Kevin arrived and was ushered into SMEGMA’s anteroom to wait. After a few hours without any communication, a scantily clad model ushered Kevin into SMEGMA’s office which stank of rotting, overcooked Brussel sprouts, slug slime, and limburger cheese gone bad. 

Kevin began extending his hand, but the odor nearly knocked him down. He jerked his hand back reflexively. He reeled from the Putrid smell and steadied himself by putting his hand on a nearby table. Unfortunately, it rested ever so briefly on a plate of cold catsup-covered French fries. The hand that was supposed to steady him instead slid violently off the table causing him to twist as he fell through the air and smacked hard into the rug. The thought flashed through his mind: “Thank God he’s got really large piles.” (Unlike his iPhone, Kevin’s brain had no autocorrect.)

One of the hard metal legs of an ergonomic chair nearly hit his skull. Kevin cried out in fear, pain, and outrage. The fall and twist and pain combined to disorient Kevin. The laugh disoriented him even more. “Whose (Unlike his iPhone, Kevin’s brain had no autocorrect.)

 laughing? Why? I nearly broke my arm — and my head. And what is that smell?” 

“That was great, Kevy. Do it again!”

“Do what again? Are you serious? I damn near killed myself!”

“So what? It gave me pleasure. Well, never mind. The moment is at lapsed.” (This brain was missing more than a spell-check app!). 

Photo by BROTE studio on Pexels.com

“Look, Master, I have a fight to get back to. Can you just tell me where the pipes are you need cleaned. And, what is that smell?!”

“Just like everyone else who’se everyone held office held, I may have had people flush classified documents down the toilet. It’s the most beautiful golden toilet in the world, by the way, the universe, the galaxy, even the whole solar system!” 

“Fine. Where are your tools?” 

“Tools? Don’t you know? All you fools are my tools! You’re cleaning my pipes with your body. Some send me their rent money. Oh, it does make me laugh. Now, get in there and clean. And, I’ll just might make sure your Talker of the House.”

“It’s actually called…never mind. You want me to dive into the toilet in order to clean it? I mean, couldn’t I drown?” 

“It doesn’t matter dear, so long as I am satisfied.” 

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

——————

Needless to say, (or is it needless?) Kevin never got what he was promised, no matter how clean he got the toilets.  

Essays on America: The Game

Essays on America: Dick-Taters

Absolute is not just a vodka

Poker Chips

Siren Song 

Their Dead Shark Eyes

After all

Plans for US; some, GRUsome

The Ailing King of Agitate

The Con-Con Man’s Special Friend

D4: Dictator’s Degenerative Delusional Disease

07 Wednesday Dec 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Democracy, essay, politics, truth, USA

“Stop, Hey, what’s that sound?”

— Buffalo Springfield 

Imagine someone being so rich and powerful and well-connected that they can summon world experts for advice on just about anything. 


Imagine this someone is also motivated enough and smart enough that they beat out all sorts of rivals to get to the position they’re in — not purely by inheritance — but partly or even mainly by merit and luck. 


And, then, given those overwhelming advantages, they make stupid decisions anyway.

For a recent example, go no further than Putin’s war on Ukraine. Or T-Rump’s recent call to subvert the US Constitution.

 What’s going on? Chances are, both are suffering from D4 (Dictator’s Degenerative Delusional Disease). 

What is it?

D4 is a very common affliction among dictators who are heads of state. But it’s not limited to those few. It can occur in the bully of the family, a narcissistic team leader, or a business executive. Anyone who has a degree of unchecked power is subject to contracting the disease.

Where does the name come from?

“Dictator’s” because it mainly strikes those with a degree of unchecked power. 

“Degenerative” because, left to its own course, the disease will get worse and worse over time.  

“Delusional” because, one of the most destructive systems of the disease is the dictator’s beliefs (and eventually even perceptions) are not moored to reality. 

“Disease” because it is bad for the physical, mental, and spiritual health of the dictator, those around him, and the society as a whole. 

 



Why is it bad? 

For those around the dictator, the disease is bad because people close to the dictator are typically demeaned, demoted, fired, or, in the case of Putin, killed. 

For the society as a whole, D4 is bad because intelligent actions rely on finding and communicating the truth. When the dictator instead subverts the truth and insists on people pretending lies are true so that the dictator “looks good”, innovation suffers; the economy suffers; and since energy goes to fighting imaginary enemies, real dangers receive fewer resources. Hitler’s dictatorial insanity caused 6 million Jews to be intentionally killed, but he also caused the death of 4.2 million non-Jewish Germans including soldiers and civilians. Stalin was responsible for the deaths of over 10 million Russians though how many more is in some dispute. Somewhere between 40 and 80 million Chinese died under Mao.  

Dictatorship and the attendant D4 is even bad for the dictator. They might enjoy their ill-gotten gold or possibly enjoy the cruelty they are able to wreak. Ultimately, however, they miss out on the best parts of life. As they ignore the voices of reason around them, they become more and more disconnected from reality. Ultimately, even if their brains don’t fall prey to hardware destruction, they do fall prey to data degradation. They insist on an ever-more illusory view and ignore or destroy those who try to bring them back to reality. 

How can we prevent Dictator’s Degenerative Disease? 

Although, there are no panaceas, there are several known ways to help prevent D4.

Anonymous FB can be provided to the dictator or dictatorial boss. This can help them stay tethered to reality. However, the natural tendency of the dictator, when they get news they don’t like is to insist on finding the identity of the person who gave the honest, but unwanted feedback. Ex-President Trump, for instance, not only fired the whistleblower Alexander Vindman, but also Alexander’s brother. 

The ruled need options. One of the major goals of any would-be dictator is to get rid of free and fair elections. Once they get in power and begin using the government to line their own pockets, people in a democracy would simply vote them out. So, instead, they either hold no elections or hold “show” elections. Free and fair elections are one of the best mechanisms for keeping rulers accountable.  

The culture of a society can also help. If someone in a major political party in America showed obvious signs of wanting to become a dictator disconnected from reality and began lying about results of their programs, soon the other powers in the political party would gently push that person aside. Until recently. 

Day in Court. Another check on D4 is to have an independent judiciary that does not feel “beholden” to the dictator. Once judges decide to give “special treatment” to a would-be dictator, D4 becomes much more rampant. 

Checks and Balances The founders of America (and other democracies) realized that some people are quite susceptible to D4 and therefore arranged a system of Checks and Balances. This method only works if the the other parts of the government perform their duty. Everyone in the judiciary and the legislature swears to uphold and defend the Constitution. But if people take this oath and then thumb their noses at that oath by not, say, convicting an obvious breach of faith on the part of the would-be dictator, then the function of Checks and Balances stops working. 

The Rule of Law requires that no-one is above the Rule of Law. If even one person, such as a dictator or would-be dictator is treated as being above the Rule of Law, then, in effect, the Rule of Law means nothing. The dictator can essentially “overrule” any court by means legal or illegal. 

Turnabout is Fair Play. Conceivably, a lottery system could be used to choose some of the people in government. Or, people could find themselves in any position in the society.  

Independent Judiciary. Judges could not be “sponsored” by the same wealthy people who have an outsized influenced on electing officials in the legislative and executive branches. 

Conclusion:

To support a dictator means nothing more or less than putting yourself in chains and then handing the keys to the dictator along with a lash in return for a promise that they’ll be good to you.

——————

Absolute is not just a vodka

Poker Chips

Dick-Taters

The Ailing King of Agitate

A Lot is not a Little

Guernica

Essays on America: The Game

My Cousin Bobby

Where does your Loyalty Lie?

Happy Talk Lies

The Stopping Rule

Such a teeny tiny loser man

Teliot State

Donnie’s Last Gift

The Update Problem

Essays on America: Wednesday

Essays on America: Labelism

Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

Fencing

What Line?

Clarence but not Darrow

The Extreme Court

Alito’s Egg

Dance of Billions

Fencing

03 Saturday Dec 2022

Posted by petersironwood in poetry, politics

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Democracy, life, poem, poetry, politics, truth, USA

Photo by Regina Pivetta on Pexels.com

The briars dripped with blood & gore

But briars did not hurt enough

The human skin had grown too tough

So wire fences barbed will score.

Photo by Daniel Abbatt on Pexels.com

We just ignore the other side.

If still they claim a crust of bread

We’ll break or bomb or bullet dead

And throw them off our pretty ride. 

Photo by Cleyton Ewerton on Pexels.com

Our pretty ride of glass and steal

Should not be fouled by poorer folk

The words can’t count when poor folk spoke

So we’ll just love our current deal.

Photo by Jimmy Chan on Pexels.com

There’s no appeal for fairer day

No one will blame for stopping here

Our reptile brain must think it queer

To let them in to work and play.

Photo by Henning Roettger on Pexels.com

There’s nought to say but: “It’s complex.”

Lean back & watch some more TV

To practice rich hypocrisy  

To face cruel facts would only vex. 

Photo by Julius Silver on Pexels.com

A lexicon devised to cleave: 

“Illegals” or a “lesser race”

Or seek a different path to grace

Not us?  No need to care or grieve.

The weave we weave is just for us

Perhaps that “US” should be just me

And those who think & look like me

The rest can’t ride on my fine bus.

And when at last the broken bus

There’s no-one left to fix or care

The greed we taught is empty air

That love denied was meant for us.


How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Siren Song

Dance of Billions

The Ailing King of Agitate

The Echoes of your Actions

The Crows and Me

Hot Dog

The Word for War

Guernica

Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

The Orange Man

Absolute is not just a Vodka

Such a teeny tiny man

Hot Dog!

30 Wednesday Nov 2022

Posted by petersironwood in fiction, story

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

abuse, dog, life, revenge, story, USA

Hog Dog

Photo by Anna Guerrero on Pexels.com

“Stupid crappy mutt! She smells like butt! What the hell were you thinking? To get a dog so stinking!” 

Steve undid the leash and threw it into his catch-all corner. “Do you know what she was trying to eat out there? Do you?! Poop! It’s goop! Who wanted a dog? You! And now I’m walking her to pee? Me! I don’t care how sick you supposedly are. You take her!” 

While Steve towered and glowered, the dog cowered in the corner and emitted a quiet “woof, woof.” 

Mary sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get sick. She’s a dog. Vet said she doesn’t yet know any better.” 

Photo by Kat Smith on Pexels.com


Mary’s attempts to placate Steve touched a gentle part of him inside. A part he gated and hated. As always, it made him angrier. “I don’t need a damned dog! I have you!I work hard all day to put a roof over your head. Roof! Roof! Last month, she tried to eat that poison philanderer plant. She’ll put anything in her mangy mouth. If she doesn’t stop eating turds, mark my words! I’ll make you cook her for dinner!” 

Mary waited for Steve’s rant to ebb. “I read on the web today about a dog who ate corn cobs. Surgeon had to cut him open. You’d think dogs would know what was good for them, but apparently, they don’t.” 

“Naturally I’m right! I’m bright. She’s just one more bitch too stupid to know what’s good for her! Reminder: last week, I bought a meat grinder for her food.” 

“Thank you, Steve. I’m sure I’ll be able to make really good use of that. And, it will save money on dog chow. And how!” 

Photo by Olga Divnaya on Pexels.com

Steve sneered and growled and uttered something unintelligible. 

The puppy chanced a growl of her own. Steve ignored it. Instead he snarled at Mary. “What in the Holy Name of Hell are you watching now?” 

Mary replied, “A movie. Almost over. Do you … ?”

Steve barked, “Another damned True Crime Docudrama? Jesus, Mary. Turn on the real news!” 

Mary bit her lip and then obeyed; flipped on White Nation. She shook her head. She couldn’t get over how ugly the man being interviewed was. She wondered again why so many seemed to adore him. She had long ago learned not to share her opinion. Steve was absolutely certain White Nation News was the one source to be believed. He’d thrown her entire inheritance into a “sure-fire” White Nation get rich quick scheme. Hadn’t panned out as planned. Steve’s addiction to “Tricks to Get Rich Quick”  showed no signs of relief. Not satisfied with enough, he remained sure the next scheme would make him wealthy beyond belief. 

Mary saw something dark and evil behind the interviewee’s dead eyes and painted orange face. But Steve was dead sure he was America’s salvation, or at least White America, the “Real” America, as Steve liked to say, not the “gay, black, liberal, smart-ass, immigrant, foreigners trying to take over the country.”

Steve leaned forward, face glowing blood red. Mary glanced over; saw it as lit by the TV. Steve, eyes ever glued to the tube, barked another order: “Beer Here!” 

Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com

Mary gathered her strength. No matter how she explained it, Steve couldn’t conceive of “Long COVID.” He didn’t really believe in COVID; he thought it all a hoax invented by liberal folks. That’s what his favorite podcasts claimed. Yet he bought ivermectin, “just in case.” 

Mary sat up; nearly fainted; rose and traipsed to the fridge. Steve didn’t notice the Oxy capsule she emptied into his beer. She quietly placed his Bud on the end table. She fell back again in her chair, too exhausted to continue her Agatha Christie. She couldn’t stand White Nation News. From beginning to end, she thought it in bad taste; noxious and possibly poisonous. She tried to think back to an earlier time when Steve was nice. She couldn’t think of such a time. She decided maybe that was a good thing, under the circumstances. 

After a few doctored beers, Steve sprawled comatose. Although they had agreed to share dog duties, it was always Mary who fed her. 

Photo by Polina Tankilevitch on Pexels.com

Until she had quit three days earlier.

Mary stopped the microwave before it beeped; shuffled over to the snoring Steve and poured the Pyrex beaker of hot bacon grease into his torn polka-dot boxer shorts. Hungry puppy didn’t even wait for it to cool before chowing down like a hungry hog. 

“Good dog!” Choking back tears, Mary whispered, “Good dog!” 

—————————

Coelacanth -1

Coelacanth – 2 

Coelacanth – 3

The Declaration of Interdependence

The Bill of Obligations: Article One

The Bill of Obligations: Article Two

Dick-Taters

Absolute is not just a Vodka

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

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