Attempting to Flee the Beast, Alas in Vain, Doomed & Back in the Bastard's Arms
 
Ye gods, it's been a long bloody time since I bothered to even try to vomit forth a few unseemly words on either this or that topic (I have not yet decided upon which, in no particular order), given the inherent limitations lurking conspicuously within the claustrophobic confines of an absurdly self-imposed conceptual cul-de-sac, inasmuch as I seem to have so little to say about anything anymore that can't better be said on the Trombone.  Still, I cannot help but feel more than a trifle abashed, neglecting whate'er remains of my moribund literary tendencies in order to pursue with a near solitary fanatical obsession the mastery of the aforementioned horn, but I am long used to awakening with a sense of all-pervading shame, panic & self-loathing, in abject throes of proverbial night terrors & cold sweats, from recurring nightmares involving torture chambers, hospital gurneys, numerous restraints & multiple surgical impalements, modifications, "improvements", disfigurations, disembowelments & gross amputations by some unspeakable gimlet-eyed Nazi doctor who doubtless has my best interests at heart.  Admittedly however, gentle reader, that is my existential problem, not yours, so let us proceed verily apace to see what's what & who's who, & try to pretend for a wee spell that nothing is too terribly wrong, though you & I both know better, eh what?  Of course the pretense &/or conceit of this barely occasional column is to render suitably acerbic & entertaining commentary upon the state of Politics in Amerikay today.  But alas (& alack) said state thereof is now so relentlessly unengaging, tiresome & vacuously stale that all that remains of this sorry old boyo founders ungainly bereft upon these stormy ill-starred seas, the flotsam & jetsam arising afore, the devil aborning both port & starboard... aye, well, I reckon I'm sort of overindulging in the nautical metaphor, but I've always been something of a seafaring wastrel sonofabitch at heart.  Another interpretation might conceivably be that, though I am sore loathe to admit it, on some dreadful & even possibly unspeakable level, the bastards have won yet again.  I can nae help but notice that bastards have quite a way of doing precisely that... which is verily to my aggrieved way of thinking what in large part makes these scumsucking swine worthy of the name... bastards writ large upon the page, as it might be.  Not that I am in any sense a bitter man, O lord forfend, I fervently believe in rainbows, unicorns & yes (you heard it here, folks), the advanced stages of syphilis, wherein the ghastly descent into infernal madness kicks in with a righteous vengeance & proceeds to take its merciless & inexorable toll, thy will be done & the devil take the hindmost.  Call me sentimental, romantic or old-fashioned, call me some kind of reprehensible irredeemable weirdo hung up on some major kind of wigged-out goofball jive, but when all is said & done, dear brothers & sisters, we are all more or less paddling up the same ungodly creek, & although I have long ago lost interest in mine own pathetic survival, I kind of figure that, as a concerned citizen, the very least this poor old palooka can do is to contribute to the furtherance & acceleration of the extinction of our willfully doomed human race, as ever, for the greater good & common weal.  Ah yes, for a race bent so purposefully & exquisitely upon its own destruction (is that "racism"?), is it no bloody wonder that cash-registering clerks & like-minded consuming cyphers everywhere continue to insist & admonish, in their own determinedly brainless & bloodless fashion, that we all mandatorily "have a nice day", regardless as to whether our best dog has just died, or some other personal tragedy hath befallen us, or Dick Cheney has once again eluded justice, aka the Long Arm of the Law, whilst traveling abroad to deliver yet another of his unrepentant neocon Satanic sermons, expounding upon the multitudinous virtues of the wholesale slaughter of women & chilluns everywhere, but it's never, ever, enough?... aw shucks, he's gone political again, & just today I saw our Prez make a Memorial Day "surprise" visit to Afghanistan, just as Bush & Cheney used to do en route to both Afghanistan & Iraq, & whereas Obama initially professed skepticism & disapproval for our militaristic misadventure in Iraq, coupled with boundless enthusiasm for our likewise ill-advised misadventure in Afghanistan, "Graveyard of Empires" (a "dumb war" & a "smart war" respectively, according to the dumb, smart wiseacre who has been sitting smugly in the Oval Orifice these last six years or so), he now waxes warmly & affectionately for both of these neocon-inspired debacles, asserting that the Afghan conflict was not a war of choice, even though it belatedly came to light, after having been deliberately suppressed by our government, that Kabul had from the outset offered to give up Osama bin Laden for criminal prosecution in an international court of law, to which a stubbornly war-hungry Uncle Sam resolutely replied "nay".  So here I sit unseemly in my Wolf's Lair (yes, fellow history buffs, that is a Hitler reference), once again contemplating a temporary sabbatical of indefinite duration from political affairs, reflecting upon all that has gone down to utterly alienate me from the aforementioned matters of state & all that pertains thereto (hence my observation, at least in part, that the bastards have yet again won), paradoxically bringing me right back to the very self-same quagmire whence I fled.  Ah, what supremely absurd irony!  How many, or more accurately, how few shreds of sanity can withstand the repeated assaults of senseless data, the endless depredations upon all moral sensibilities, the insults & injuries unto the vestigial soul ere it is cast verily amongst & amidst the outer darkness, to utter & irredeemable perdition, the ultimate one-way ticket to Palookaville?  Hell, don't ask me, I only work here, man.  What the hell do I know?  I've got better things to do, I gotta practice my horn, maybe later I'll jerk off to the secret underground tapes of J. Edgar Hoover & Clyde Tolson.  By god, this is Amerika, where anything is possible except for justice & righteous revolution.  Suck on that, Mr. & Mrs. Anytown, USA.  Who loves ya, baby?
Rasputin Rants
May 27, 2014
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