And his father said, ya see son the primates are just like us Homosapiens after all.

This past summer Flordia Congressman Ron DeSantis and his family decided to visit the Netherlands.  DeSantis actually knew very little about the Netherlands, had no contacts here but had always been intrigued about the story of the little boy with his finger in a dyke.  So, it goes with Americans.

            Anyway DeSantis, his wife Casey and there two children Madison and Mason or M&M for short, arrived here in the lowlands in the middle of the heatwave of the summer of 2018.  After a few days investigating Amsterdam and all of its cultural phenomenom, M&M were growing restless.  The Red Light District had lost its allure realitvely quick for the two preadolescents.  Canal rides full of rusted bicycles for kids who grew up around Everglades full of gators, were a snooze.  DeSantis and Casey had also seen more art than either one had ever seen before.  They were both suprised to find out that Van Gogh was not an American after all. 

            So, while sitting at a Dutch pancake house behind the Dam square, with M&M crying over the deflated representation of what a pancake was in Holland, the two parents got to Googling.  DeSantis, since a very young age had always a curiosity about primates.  So when he came across the website for Apenhuel in Apeldoorn he was very excited.  DeSantis loved primates and thought they were great to see in the zoo’s and by the circus.  DeSantis did not believe in any way shape or form that man itself was descended from them.  Apes were just beasts like dogs, hippos, and goats, created by God but in no way in relation to that of the of man.

            After figuring out the Dutch rail system, DeSantis piled his family onto the train out of Amsterdam.  DeSantis warned his children not to look anyone on the train in the eye for that is how the Dutch would convert them into being socialists.  DeSantis was still under the assumption that the Netherlands was a social democracy.  Now anyway after the hour and half train ride out to Apeldoorn the DeSantis family arrived at Apenheul.  Like a gleeful child DeSantis escorted his family through the gates.  What shocked DeSantis first was the entree price.  Damn europeans always trying to gouge us Americans.  But he thought well we came all this way to see some monkey’s, so let’s see some fucking monkeys.  The second thing that shocked DeSantis was the fact that in the Apenheul the monkey’s ran free.  This in a terrified the congressman.  Monkey’s running free?  Was this a precursor to Planet of the Apes. How could any land accept this.  Europe was in a state of chaos after all. 

            Flashbacks to a childhood incident in Florida’s own primate park Monkey Jungle began to flash through the congressman’s mind.  At an age of 12 years old, De Santis’ own parents had taken him to Monkey Jungle.  They had been in the park for an hour or so when the family stopped by a cage to admire a group of young primates.  The primates sat in a row facing the public.  Each primate was a male and each one was stroking the erection of the one next to it.  DeSantis’s father had leaned down and whispered into the young boys ear, “ya see son, I told you that the damn monkey’s were just like us Homosapiens, didn’t I.”  The young boy stood there glazed to the spot watching the masturbating monkeys until his mother slapped him in the back of the head and said “Ronald, what the hell are you starring at, this is disgusting.”  DeSantis’s own father had winked at him a put a firm hand on his shoulder in recognition.

            With this memory racing through De Santis’s mind there in the Apenheul he began to panic.  Casey asked him, “Ron, honey are you alright?” The congressman stared at his children who were admiring a group of young primates involved in a daisy chain.  The congressman began to shake.  His wife offered him a banana.  A silverback gorilla strolled over to him and asked him if he was interested in two for one tickets to a live primate sex show.  DeSantis asked the gorilla if there was a discount for buying tixs for the whole family.

The gorilla just smiled and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. 

In the end What occurs is What is meant to be.

Create your way
And defile that
Which is held up
As gold.

Murder the word
Play at resurection.
Defy the politics
And be careful of
Prophets with beards
And bald heads.

Measure your consequence
By the length of your dick.
Understand that the portrayal
Of beauty is a marketing scam.

Seize the moment
to upset the crowd
gathered to be engaged.

Enlightenment is a fools rush
To understand eternity.
The poet must be a savage.
The public serves only
As garnish at the feast.

Write what defies you
Define what engages you
Destroy what irritates sight
Destiny is blindness begging
For insight.

In the end
What occurs is
What is meant to be.

Fuck all logic.

Take the moment
By the throat and
Squeeze.

And never forget
To smile and laugh
While being engaged
By a maniac with
A beard and bald
Head.

Morning

Over night there was
a whole lot of chatter
across the uninterested net



and
 
I slept through it all
though my dreams 
held me hostage
to another idea.

I snoozed
then overslept.

Woke a bit bewildered
showered impatiently
and hoped that the bed
would make itself.

The final dream of the night
had told me in a
very direct way that,
“I had made my bed, so now I must lie in it.”

I replied to this afterthought of a dream
now fading in the morning,
“so I did, and so I have lied down in it.
And now you can go ahead and remake it.
For is that not what you dreams
are supposed to do?”

Without arguement or as much as a puff 
my dreams got to folding down the edges
and fluffing the pillows

and

I was happy to see that there was
one egg left over for my breakfast.

I broke the shell across the forehead
of some vague reality
fried my values on both side
and poured Tobassco directly
into my bloodshot eyes.

So, the Universe decided to stop by at the camping…

And said, “hey man, I thought that I would pop by to say hello.  I felt that just wishing you a happy birthday via whatsapp or on fbook was just a bit too modern and impersonal way for the Universe to do it.”

“Oh,” I replied, “it didn’t bother me.  I appreciated it.  Receiving a few seconds of someones attention is a lot to ask for nowadays, anyway.

And we strolled across the camping, admiring the simple beauty of the Betuwse, the pear trees, and apple trees, the cherry trees and big open skies,

when the Universe turned to me and said, “Man, it is really pretty here.” 

“I know,” I said.  “I guess I should thank you for that.”

The Universe scratched at a mosquito bite on its ankle, “yeah, well maybe just a bit but the Universe doesn’t like to take credit for everything.”

The sun was going down and the sky glowed a purple red palate.  It was quiet.

“It’s a gift to be here.” I said. “Sometimes I fell like never going back to Haarlemtown.”

“Everyone has to be somewhere.” replied the Universe.

“But some places are quieter than others.” I said.

“Some places are just less populated then others.” answered the Universe.

The Universe stuck another marshmellow on the stick it was holding and held it out over the campfire. 

“I like them just a little bit burnt on the outside,” said the Universe.

“That is the only way.” I replied.

I decided to abstain out of fear of my own stomach. Three roasted marshmellows had become my adult limit.

So, the Universe drops me a whatsapp and says…

“Hey man, I saw on Fbook that it was your birthday today.”

And, I’m all like in my reply “yeah man, it is.”

And the Universe says, “well then I guess congratulations are in order!”

To which I reply, “well I guess then congrats are in order for you too then.”

Which the Universe asks, “what do you mean?”

And I say, “one and the same, right.” 

And the Universe smiles and says “Yeah you’re right, one and the same.”

When Ryan Zinke was a child he burned a copy of THE GIVING TREE.

When Ryan Zinke, the current Secertary of the Interior for the United States government was a young boy he was given a copy of Shel Silverstein’s classic childrens book, The Giving Tree.  Now for those who are unfamiliar with “the classic children's book, The Giving Tree, it was written and illustrated by poet and songwriter Shel Silverstein, one of the coolest bearded and bald Jews ever to have lived. (For those who do not know, Johnny Cash’s hit A Boy Named Sue, was written by Shel).  Anyway, The Giving Tree is about the relationship of a boy and a tree. When he was young, the boy would come and visit the tree every day. He wound swing on her branches, eat her apples, and as long as he did this, the tree was happy.”  The story progresses as the child grows older and has different needs in his life which the tree helps him fulfill till old age.  It is a beautiful and heartwarming book that every child as well as adult should read.  When Ryan Zinke was 11 years old he burned his copy of it. 

            It was while Ryan and his father were on a father and son bonding weekend in Kootenai National Forest, that Ryan really first took notice of the environment.  Ryan’s father lead him on a hike to the top of Kootenai National Forests most majestic veiwpoints and said to his son, “son, this is God’s country.  Look at how beautiful this all is.  Only God could have created such beauty.”  And little Ryan Zinke looked up at his dad and said “it sure is Pa.” “Now Ryan, you got to understand that it is one thing to appreciate the beauty and power of nature but to let that get in the way of commerce, well that just makes you a fool.”  “But Pa, what is commerce?” asked little Ryan.  “Son, commerce is how America has become the strongest country in the world.  By recognizing what we have and then selling the lot of it at inflated prices, regardless of the costs to ourselves or the rest of the world, we become stronger.  It is really pretty simple.  You see all these trees, if we were to cut them down and have them used as lumber for millions of practical usages, countless jobs would be created and a course of supply and demand would insue.  And tree’s well they grown back.  It is all relatively simple.  One day, son you will understand.  Who knows Ryan, maybe one day you will be in a position to help influence this all.  Ryan stood there looking out over the rolling valleys’ and hillsides covered in lush pine trees.  He looked up at his Pa and smiled.   

            After the weekend was over and Ryan and his father had returned home; Ryan had gone directly to his room and grabbed the copy of the Giving Tree that his strange Aunt who lived in Billings had given to him for his birthday last year.  Ryan had only read the book once and not really liked it.  He never understood why the boy loved a tree and how in the world could a tree love a boy.  So Ryan took his copy off of his bookshelf and went out to the shed.  After grabbing what he needed in the shed, Ryan took the book around the back of the shed and put it in a metal bucket.  Dosing the book with gasoline used for his fathers chainsaw, he flicked open the Bic lighter that he had stolen from his uncle and lit the book on fire.  As Ryan ZInke watched the book burn he said out loud to himself “fuck this hippy shit.”

He tells himself to be better than the ones he detests.

He tells himself to be better than the ones he detests.

His darker thoughts think of them as targets.

He doesn’t care for violence (he is a big pussy himself)

so he chooses sarcasm in sentence form instead.

He wonders though while he wastes his time

Typing about the men and women whom he

Believes are out to degrade the rest of us all.

He thinks to himself, why give my precious time

Over to writing about them when he knows

Damn well that no poem or paragraph of prose

Will stop them.  Not like they might even ever

Have a chance to read i tand be offeneded by it.

Yet he thinks that maybe for those who do

And maybe even feel the same way

That a glimmer of humor as bootstamped poetry

Across the gleaming foreheads of these less than

Noble politicians and social pariahs might give someone

Anyone else out there a smile and small chuckle.

For this he is willing to waste his time for. 

This might keep him smiling on the better side of sanity

Or maybe it won’t.

Either way a man has to have something worthwhile to do.

Otherwise his woman will wonder too often in one day

What the hell is wrong with you, we are on vacation.

Why Matt Gaetz always seem to wear a shit eating grin.

Why Matt Gaetz always seem to wear a shit eating grin.

When U.S. Representative for Florida's 1st congressional district, Matt Gaetz walked into the new diner in Okaloosa County, Florida, he felt immediately at ease.  It was the kind of diner he loved eating in.  Gleaming formica tables, white heavyset waitresses hustling to and fro.  Through the pass window between the kitchen and the diner he could see the black and latino cooks working away.  Matt Gaetz smiled at the people he was representing.  A woman with crocidile skin stepped up to Matt holding a menu, “would you care for a table or would you like to sit at the counter, sir?” she asked.  Matt smiled his most charming of smiles and said, “why I do think I prefers to sit at the counter this lovely morning, darlin.”

The woman escorted Matt to the counter and layed the menu out infront of one of the empty stools.  There were working men in overalls and truck drivers in flannel filling up all the other stools at the counter.  When Matt sat down he smiled his charming smile at them all.  The men looked up from their waffles and scrambled eggs and nodded back.  Matt knew that most of the men probably had no idea who he was or what he did for them.  This he did not mind.  Though this morning he was hoping to make some new “friends”.  From the otherside of the counter the waitress approached Matt, “coffee hun?” she asked.  “Oh, please do.” replied Matt, shining his pearly whites to the waitress. The waitress pour the cup of steaming black coffee there in front of him.  Matt reached for the creamer and artifical sweetener “Do you know what you want?” asked the waitress.  “Not sure what I’m going to have today,” said Matt a contemplative look glazing over his casual grin. “Got any specials?”  “We sure do honey and I highly recommend it .” said the waitress .  “Well I’ll have the special then.”  The waitress scratched his order down on a pad, scooped up the menu then walked away.  Matt heard the waitress call to through the kitchen windown, “one special extra flies.”  Matt wondered if he had heard her correctly say “extra flies or on the fly?”

Matt sat sipping at his coffee, taking in the diner.  All around him sat his type of folk.  He was proud to be representing them in the lower house of Congress.  He was one of them.  Matt fixed his tie and was just about to turn to the man in the overalls next to him when the waitress returned with his breakfast.  In front of him the waitress slid a steaming hot plate piled with eggs, bacon, sausage and a brown sauce.  The smells wafting from off the plate overwhelmed the United States Rep., the entire plate smelled rotten.  Matt looked up at the waitress who was looking down at him.  “Well enjoy!” she said.  Matt looked down at the plate and then back up at the waitress who was still watching him.  All the men at the counter in their workmens clothing were watching Matt too.  Matt smiled and took a fork full into his mouth.  Fighting back the urge to spit it all out, he swallowed it with a gulp of coffee.  The man directly to his left leaned into Matt and said, “needs some salt and pepper don’t it.”  Another man on that man’s left leaned over the counter and said “try adding some tobasco.”  Matt grabbed the salt and pepper and the tobasco and covered the plate with them.  “What’s a matter sugar, is the special not to your liking?”  Matt Gaetz smiled at the waitress and at the men sitting around him.  “Uh, no uh everything is fine,” he said.  Matt tried toe at another fork full of the food on his plate, which had now taken on a deep brown tint.  Matt noticed small white worms wiggling out from under the pile of bacon and sausage on the plate.  Matt could take it no more and began vomitting across the counter.  The men next to him countiued toe at their breakfasts as if nothing was happening.  Between reches Matt tried to ask the waitress for a glass of water but she just stood there laughing.  Mat tgrabbed a bunch of napkins from the holder on the counter and tried to wipe the vomit from his face.  But everywhere he wiped was more vomit. Suddenly there was a man standing above him in a dirty white cooks outfit.  As Matt lifted his head and the tears cleared from his eyes, he realized that the President was standing before him.  “What’s wrong Matt?” said the President, “you don’t like my cooking?”  Matt looked at the President, “what?”  “Well you see Matt, I think it is a good thing that everyone working for me knows what it is like to eat shit.  I mean we are serving it up Supersized for the country so I think those who are doing the serving need to also every once and awhile know the taste of it too.  Don’t you agree, Matt?”  Matt looked up at the President standing there in his grease stained kitchen wear and once again put his best shit eating grin across his face and said, “well sir, I guess I do.”

 “Good,” said the President.  “See you back in Washington, Matt.  Keep up the good work, son.  And don’t forget to tip your waitress.  You know these ladies don’t make shit either.”  The President strolled back into the kitchen and Matt could hear him yelling orders at the kitchen staff in Spanish.  The waitress walked over and slid the check in front of Matt. “You all done sugar or you going to finish that?” “I guess I am going to finish it,” said Matt, before he realized that he had left his wallet at home.

As only white middle aged sport enthusiastic fathers do

As only white middle aged sport enthusiastic fathers do

When Rand Paul was asked by his sons best friends father to help out with the local little league by being an umpire during the games, he was more than glad to help out.  To spend more time being busy with his sons activities when he did not need to be in Washington D.C. made Rand Paul a happy man. 

Standing behind homeplate with the protective mask on and the count indicator in his hand gave Rand Paul a grand feeling of power and responsibility.  Even when he threw his son out for just watching the pitches go by (even though most of them were not strikes), Rand Paul knew what he was doing was for the better good of not just his son but America as well.

Even when he called his own son out at a close call play at the plate that ultimately casued his sons team to lose the big game, Rand Paul stood with diginity, knowing in his heart that he had made the right call.

And even when the father of Rand Paul’s sons best friend came screaming out of the dugout, calling Rand Paul a “blind dumbass,” Rand Paul just smiled knowing that he had made the right call.

And in the end, even as Rand Paul and his son’s best friends father were wrestling on the ground, attempting to punch the shit out of one another (as only white middle aged sport enthusiastic fathers do). As both teams of little leaguers and all their family and friends, aunts and uncles, nanna’s and poppops who had gathered at the playing field to watch the big game, stood watching; Rand Paul knew in his heart of hearts that he had and always would make the right call for America.

These types of less great men, they come and go, come and go, come and go, time and time and time again.

These types of less great men, they come and go, come and go, come and go, time and time and time again.

Rep. Devin Nunes (R) – CA of the 22nd district was waiting in line in the bakery of his home town of Tulare, California.  He had a list of breads and cakes that his wife Elizabeth had asked him to pick up for the church meeting they would be hosting after the service.  Devin scanned over the hand written list, 2x loaf white bread, 2x loaf whole wheat bread, 10 kaiser rolls and 1 loaf of pumpernickel bread.  It wasn’t that exstensive of a list but Devin’s mind was elsewhere.  As an important representative to the United States government, Devin had a lot tot hink about nowadays.  The woman behind the counter called out the next number.  Devin looked down at the number he held in his hand.  It was the same number.  And just as Devin was about to raise his hand and say, “that’s me!” some guy behind him in line said it for him, “that’s me!” and cut in front of Devin.  Now Devin wasn’t one to shy away from a confrontation, oh no, but on this Sunday morning Devin thought maybe, maybe he would just let this one go.  So Devin just stood there with his hands by his side waiting for the man who cut in front of him to get his order.  Maybe he’d say something to the guy as he walked out, yeah maybe he would. 

            The man turned from the counter with his packages of breads in his arms.  He saw Devin looking at him.  The man was not much bigger than Devin.  “The man recognized Devin.  “Hey Dev, how ya doing?” said the man to Devin.  “Wow, long time no see. I think that last time I saw you was sometime around high school graduation, man you ain’t changed a bit.  Well maybe a bit of a paunch around the middle and all.  Shit, remember that time I locked you in the janitors closet, ah ha that was a hoot! And now your like some sort of politico for the government and all.  Well I’ll be a cooters cousin.  Well good to see ya Dev.  Keep making America great again, you big pussy.” The guy said with a wink and shuffled the breads into one arm so he could slap Devin on the back with his other.

            Devin just stood there and tried to remember who the guy was or had been to him.  The memories oozed back into his brain and he began to sweat.  The woman behind the counter yelled out “OK, whose next?”  Devin just stood there as an elderly lady pushed by him and put her number ticket in the basket on the counter.  The woman ordered a black and white cookie and a danish.

Trey Gowdy and the gag reflex.

Trey Gowdy and the gag reflex.

He said that God might forgive but never forgets.

Yet even over this he seemed to have his doubts.

After Trey Gowdy got off his knees and wiped his chin

and flushed the toilet and all that he had purged was

sucked away in a circular motion and he got back

on his feet and looked at his increasingly pale and see through self image in the mirror and said,

“Trey, you can handle this, only a few more months, guy.”

And his wife called from downstairs, “Trey, sweetheart

your breakfast is ready.” And Trey replied, “Ok, I will

be right down.” And Trey looked at himself once again

in the mirror and whispered to himself, “for the love

of God and Country.” And once again Trey Gowdy got

down on his knees and stuck a finger down his throat

and vomited up the rest of what he had eaten at the

pro-life community bbq the night before. The all pork sausages had seemed a bit off but it was the Russian dressing that for one reason or another had left the most lingering of aftertastes.

From the Florida Gazette.

From the Florida Gazette.

It was a typical warm muggy plastic induced afternoon in Florida, when Rep. Ron DeSantis (R) was waiting online for a frozen yogurt in the foodcourt of the local mall. Having just help push a new bill that would give pitbulls born in America the right to vote, he felt good about himself and was in the mood for a snack. Even though frozen yogurt was not on his diet plan he figured that it would be alright. That evening he had planned on chasing illegal mexican immigrants around his gated community to help burn off some extra calories. It was a golden age for weight loss and gated communities.

While in line for frozen yogurt at the foodcourt a young mother and her child stepped in line behind Rep. De Santis (R). The woman was fair skinned with blonde hair and blue eyes, while the child had brown hair and a dark skin complexion. The Rep. smiled at them both then asked the woman “is that your housekeepers child? So nice that you would spend time helping a young migrant assimilate.” The woman looked at her child than at the republican Rep. and said “excuse me? What did you just say?” The Rep. stammered saying, “What I meant to say is , this girl…or whatever she is…I can see is not your daughter and well, immigrants ya know. We Americans we need to teach our children while their young and have to build that wall, yes build that wall and make america great again.” The woman looked at the Rep. and said, “I think I may have voted for you but you are truly an idiot.”

The woman grabbed her child by the arm and rushed away from the frozen yogurt stand in the foodcourt. Rep. DeSantis just stood there, looking around to see if anyone had overheard the conversation between him and the woman. Lucky for him nobody had filmed it either. “Can I help you?” called out a voice from behind the counter. A young mexican looking woman smiled at the Rep. “Can I get a chocolate/vanilla swirl please?” asked the Rep. “Sorry sir,” said the young mexican girl behind the counter, “we are at the moment all out of swirl. All we have left is vanilla and strawberry.” The Rep. sighed disappointedly, looking as if he would begin to cry,“oh, well I guess it has to be vanilla then, I hate strawberry.” The girl continued to smile then turned and went prepare the Reps. frozen yogurt.

After finishing his frozen yogurt, the Rep. felted a bit better. He surveyed the mall layed out around him, knowing that he was partially responsible for all of its glory. The womans remarks had bothered him but he was determined not to let it ruin the rest of his day. That night he hoped to make love to his wife. Maybe she would allow him to try out that position he had seen in the film that his aide had shown him on the car ride over to the New Liberty Task Force meeting the day before. Rep. Ron DeSantis is after all a man of conviction and faith. He closed his eyes and there sitting on a bench in the middle of the mall he prayed to God that his wife would do anal on him that evening after he finished washing the dishes.