Spam…salty breakfast of Champions!

I occasionally browse my spam filter…usually when I’m bored, tired of games and facebook and general web browsing, or I’m frustrated with a chainmaille build.

Or sometimes…just ’cause…

Today – I peeked in the spammage…and came up with this gem for a user name:


Donald trump forming Convervative cannabis lobby

Now…I try my damnedest to keep politics off the T&T – there are plenty of other blogs out there who regularly churn out their take on the political landscape.  If that’s your thing, more power to ya.

But this was just too good not to share.  Hope it brings as much giggles to you as it did to me.


There ‘aught be a Law…

Here’s a silly….this particular phrase.  Honestly…there ‘aught to be a law against using this phrase to pass yet another stupid law designed to keep the population fighting amongst itself.

We should really start taking our politicos to task for stupid legislation, instead of getting drawn into yet another debate on how ‘stupid and unreasonable the ‘other side’ is.’

I got news for ya – both sides are unreasonable.  People should be celebrated for their differences, instead of castigated for them.

One of my favorite mini-series of stories is penned by Mercedes Lackey:  The Diana Tregarde series.  The lead character is a pagan, a Guardian (we’re talking high-level mystical art stuff, here), and paranormal researcher, who happens to write bodice-ripper romances as a mundane way of paying all the bills.

The character’s personal mantra:  If it makes someone feel bad, doesn’t spread a little love around, or leave the planet in better shape than you found it…DON’T DO IT.  It’s a take on the Wiccan ‘law:’  If it harms none, do as thee will.

I did do a tertiary study on Wiccan beliefs when I was searching, and I did adopt this guideline as one of my own…because it makes sense.


The Diane Tregarde stories are available on Amazon for Kindle.  If you’ve got the time and inclination to read magical stuff…give ’em a try.



At least it’s over…for now




I woke up this morning, and The Donald is now the Prez-elect.

I have to admit – I kinda saw this one coming.  But, still….


WTF, America?

Ya wanna know why we now have a megalomaniac loudmouth wildcard with delusions of Godhood packing his bags in anticipation of picking out curtains for the White House?


This country has become increasingly agitated over it’s (lack of) representation.  For decades the average American citizen has been patted on the head like an errant child, and dismissed to their bedroom while ‘the adults’ screw up all the really important decisions in increasingly unpleasant ways.

Like all children who sneak downstairs on Christmas Eve to see Daddy slipping packages under the tree – enough of America has had the illusions of this imposed childhood wonder stripped away to see that sorry, Virginia…Santa Claus is only a creepy old guy hired by the mall, who smells of cheap tobacco and openly hates kids.

It pays the rent…

This entire election season has been a series of temper-tantrums.  Each of the Political Super-Monopoly-Parties has theirs, the individual candidates had theirs, and last night, the general population had a turn.  All these tantrums were of  the floor-kicking, blue-faced screaming outrage kind – the type of spoiled-kid reaction that happens when said child finds out the big, shiny box under the Christmas tree contains, not the ultimate dream-toy, but  their older brother’s hand-me-down underwear.

Money is tight…life is hard.  All you get…is a Christmas card…

This country needs to be firmly turned over a parental knee and spanked soundly.

With a REALLY BIG wooden spoon.

Having the White House convert from Black to Orange for the next 4 years is quite the punishment.  Wonder how long it’ll be until we can sit comfortably on a hard chair again??



Flash Fiction – What does a Statue Think?

Rose lineup Flash Fiction

I’m digging through my old flash fiction files again – I just happened to come across this gem.  I know exactly why I didn’t post this one out here when I first created it – the first 2 paragraphs had far too many abstract concepts in them, and the flow just wasn’t there.

I’ve touched it up, and I think it hints quite well about how I feel about this year’s Presidential Dog & Pony.  The near future will tell if the rest of the world agrees with the thoughts I’ve imagined in Liberty’s head.  Until then – enjoy this little bit of Flash.

In Lady Liberty’s Head

217 Words

I say: the ink used to record human history is no more than fluid prejudice. Like all ‘lofty’ Human notions – Truth is an abstract now honored with empty lip service – a Utopian ideal moldering in a dumpster of forgotten debris.

Thus do the records of wholesale tragedy and individual accomplishment become a collection of fiction slowly crumbling into dust.

I stand, as I have stood for centuries, atop this granite pedestal built on Liberty Island, torch aloft and tablet proudly clasped to my breast – my face turned away from the land I symbolize. There are many who say I attend the eastern waves to welcome new visitors, proudly lighting the way to a new country which will “take in the tired, and take in the poor, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore.”

I now watch across the waves as the rest of the world scorns this land of plenty – overflowing with the degenerates and predators wielding that prejudicial liquid in a final, mad attempt to paint themselves in a more favorable light.  An effort to cover the filth-buried truth with a final coating of pretty lies.

The world has seen through this poisoned ink, and comes en-masse to sterilize the festering wound.

I turn my back, so as not to watch the final defeat.


That’s Debatable


The first debate between the two major competitors in the contest of ‘Who wants to Pick Curtains for the White House’ happened on Monday evening.

The interwebz are ringing with ‘TRUMP!’ or ‘CLINTON!’ cheers, as each side in this contest seem to believe their candidate verbally trounced the other.  Meme’s are being slammed into Facebook accounts with specially-laced keyboard venom.  YouTuber’s are happily pulling select clips from this debacle…er…hotly contested race and making 3 minute videos of Trump’s sniffing (SniffGate?) and Hillary’s coughing throat-clearing (HealthGate?).

Twitter, Instagram, and all the other social media outlets are all feeling the rising hostilities as America once again simultaneously shows it’s soft, undefended belly, and tears strips out of it in this 4-year annual, ultimate throw-down brawl.

The only ones who win this particular three-ring-circus are the ones selling political advertising.  The rest of us are straight up S.O.L.

As I find Political Theater less enjoyable than passing a kidney stone, I did not watch the debate.

I find politics annoying.  I don’t care if you’re going to vote for the orange megalomaniac baboon, the commensurate establishment liar, the third-party ‘I think I’ve heard of him’ guy, or write in the Commie.   I don’t care if you’re going to stay home in protest instead of making your way to the ballot box.  All I know is I’ve made up my mind on how I’m going to behave on election night.

(for the curious ones out there – I’ll cast a ballot, and celebrate that the freakshow election cycle is OVER)

So, what did I do during this first contest between Trump & Clinton?


I did something constructive, and created a little piece of beauty.  A much better use of my time, I would think, than participating in the hostilities.





Terror in the City

I just finished reading the below blog from Steve Locke.  He’s your average American citizen – an art professor at Massachusetts College of Art and Design.

He shared a story…a rather disturbing story… about an unusual day in the life of your average American Art Professor in Boston:

I fit the description…. | everything after | steve locke’s blog about art and other stuff.

One very potent thing he shared was his interior monologue – the thought processes and feelings he had running through his head as he was being detained by the police for a crime committed in the area – and all because he fit the absolute and most generic of descriptions.

The description the police had?   “Black Male, knit cap, puffy coat. 5’11”, 160 pounds.”

I can’t even begin to describe how sorry I am that this gentleman, a human being in America who has a stable job and is a contributing member of society, had to experience this ordeal.  But I am glad he shared it, as it brings to light the answer to a statement I’ve heard over and over again as justification for escalating police brutality.

“If you did nothing wrong, you have nothing to hide from the cops.”  “When you run, your guilt is confirmed.”

You no longer have the right to use the above statements when you teach your citizenry to be terrified of its authority figures.  When it is common knowledge in a community that running from the cops is safer then sharing your truthful side of the situation – this country loses some of its integrity.   When a man is considered guilty because he fits a generic description, and his words count for nothing when laid aside the words of a terrified victim – we lose a little more.  When a college professor can be detained by the police for simply being a black man, we let the fear rule our country.

When did our proud and noble country become a nation terrified of its own shadow?

Our country is at war.  With itself.  It’s favored weapon is fear.  Of everything and everyone different.  Little stories like Steve Locke’s need to be told.  And shared.  And learned from.

Steve, I’m sending you the very finest of metaphysical mojo hugs today.  Don’t let the fear win.


Beating up the Fags

aIMG_3563 center frame



*Abandon all Hope ye who Enter Here**

This is not a typical post for me – this is a very political, very social, very disparaging rant – consider yourself warned 😀

A friend of mine across the pond was on a bit of a cigarette regulation rant himself the other day – and called an e-cigarette the Electrofag – which is why the British slang for a smoke is floating around in my head.

So – as Heisenberg says – ‘Relax…..’  This is a rant about cigarette regulation…not about the homosexual population – some of which I consider great friends.

I used to smoke.

I liked to smoke.

I wasn’t one of them weak-willed cig-suckers who bemoaned about addiction, and wanting to quit, and how awful the Corporate Tobacco masters were to make us their collective bitch, and how everyone should shed a tear for the poor, pitiful smoker who tried to hork out a lung when waking up in the morning because it WASN’T OUR FAULT!

mutter your favorite word for fecal material here…

I didn’t want pity.  I didn’t want a solution to my ‘horrible problem.’  I just wanted to exercise my right as an adult to perform this habit I chose to indulge in.

I.  Liked.  To.   Smoke.

I knew what it was doing to my body, and every once in a while, I’d get sick and tired of feeling a bit sick and tired, and put the smokes away for a few months.  But I was always back for 20 of my little white cylindrical buddies sooner or later.  Cold turkey was always my preferred method of quitting, as I had to get in the ‘I don’t wanna do this anymore’ mindset.

I.  Liked.  To.   Smoke.

Any time I bowed to societal pressure and attempted to quit ‘because everyone was doing it,’ ‘do it for your loved ones,’ or any of the other claptrap created to guilt smokers into giving up their habit, I was back at it within days…especially when using the NRT products offered by the friendly neighborhood Pharma House.

I.    Liked.     To.     Smoke.

When I got pregnant with both my boys – I gave up smokes.  Those were the easiest quits I did – the smoke made an already unstable stomach even more unstable.  Nothing like hugging Ralph (the porcelain god) after every cigarette to persuade oneself to give up the habit.  But after the kid popped out…here come my little round buddies in their square packs.

I.  Liked.  To.   Smoke.

It was the habit, the ritual, all the little quirky mannerisms that come WITH a cigarette that I desired more than the nicotine or the TSNA’s (Tobacco-Specific Nitrosamines) IN the cigarette.  Smokers will know exactly what I mean – the rest of you have no business judging until you’ve tried to give up an ingrained ritual of your own…say that first morning cup of coffee, the daily 5 mile run, or Saturday Night Sex-athons.

I.    Liked.    To.     Smoke.

Which is why it is so surprising to me that I am nearing my 6th year in a row without lighting a carbon-based plant substance on fire and sucking the results of that combustion deep into my lung tissue.

I quit smoking by finding a substitute which allows me to indulge in all the mannerisms and ritual, without that pesky smoke stinking up the place and coating my lungs with a layer of tar.  I use a vapor product.

And now – by some twisted quirk of fate – those same arrogant bastards who spent decades demonizing the lowly cigarette are intent on painting my shiny new habit with the same tarry brush.

Why?  Money.  Power.  Arrogance.  Chutzpah.  Compensating for smaller genitals or lack of a sex life?  At this point, anything is possible.

I watched the war against cigarettes unfold in all its ugly incarnations as one of many receivers of unwanted attention.  While it started with good, simple, and attainable directives (educate the public about the dangers of smoking, and more of the public will choose not to smoke), it has slowly morphed into a witch hunt reminiscent of the Salem Trials.  If things continue on down the same path they have been, I firmly believe the endgame will be to burn smokers at the stake – using their own brand of coffin nails instead of wood or straw to set the bonfire.

No…dammit…they won’t.  Second-hand smoke and all that might harm the cheeeeeeeeeeeeldren.

Believe me, or not, your choice.  But before you toss off a hate-filled rant in the comments section, stop.

Just for a second.



Is your reaction to the smoking issue quick and heated?  Does your mind fill with various sound-bytes and memes demonizing the average Joe-smoker?  Guess what?  You’ve been groomed to respond in this manner – without thought, without introspection, without REALLY thinking it through.

Marinate on that for a bit….I’ll wait.

Just like Pavlov’s dog was taught to salivate at the sound of a bell…the majority of people who DON’T smoke have been conditioned to bare their fangs and growl at the slightest whiff of smoke – the very sight of someone lifting a cylindrical object to their mouths will ignite a deep-seated desire to prove they are less than you, beneath you…a proto-human it’s OK to hate.

And those who used to smoke?  That’s a combination of unfulfilled desire to once again partake mixed in with that same smarmy superiority ego-trip.  If I can quit, anyone can.  Just man up.

Have I gotten you to start thinking outside the programming yet?  Or – will you continue to let the architects of Public Hate Health ignite the flames (using specially-prepared ‘clean-burning’ wood so as not to add to the carbon-footprint of the world), certain they’ve got them damn smokers ground to a paste under their well-polished heels?

Time to shake off the programming, people…