It's only a dream, but a good dream... the movie must have been good, I've seen it a thousand times.

I was forced to endure a vaseline view. Why would my own dream make me watch a movie through a vaseline lens?

I normally wake-up puzzled, yet happy. "I must have enjoyed the movie" is my go-to assumption.

I certainly can't afford a psychiatrist to explain my dreams, so I'm left to assume. And you and me know where that leaves my ass.

An art deco theater with faux stars in the ceiling, possibly an old vaudeville stage... I love those theaters, but why would I care what theater I was in?

Was my dream about the theater or the movie?

I found myself stressed every time an emotional response was due.  

The tension strangled me.

Maybe that's why my vision was blurred?

I must have been in the balcony, I'm always looking down on the crowd and the glittering silver screen.

Why did it always feel like this was the first time I'd seen the movie?

Why did I wake-up so happy from so frustrating an endeavor?

The movie was always vaguely familiar, yet just beyond recognition.

I was thrilled with the audience reactions, yet feared the next reaction.

Why would I care about what others thought about a movie I loved?

The ending is always the same: The movie, that seemed restrained throughout, blasts off on a roller-coaster ride to an ending that ends in the big fade to black.

The silence of space.

Not one person moves or claps or cheers.

I cry...

This, does not add-up.

Am I the only one that likes this movie?

I see tears, people sniffling, they're pulling-it-together.

An eternity passes.

Finally, an audience member leaps to his feet and voices his opinion: Fuck yeah!

Clapping, I hear clapping.

From a single clap to a, seemingly, unanimous clap and standing ovation.

Here's where things get weirder: I feel proud of my children.

Why weirder, why weirder?

I don't have any children of my own (but I am damn proud of the children I inherited).

From my balcony viewpoint I watch a man cry.

How could he be crying when everyone else is applauding?

All of this made no sense... until I realized I wasn't in the balcony.

This man cried through the entire movie, his tears gleaming in the magical light.

I was happy he was crying.

I'm not normally happy when people suffer.

The suffering Man is always vaguely familiar, I always wish him the best.

Past, present and future meld together.

The dream is sure to come again.

The tears were tears of joy, his tears were mine.

He was, is, and shall always be me.

The dream was my dream.

I wasn't in the balcony and it wasn't vaseline on the lens clouding my vision...

They were tears of joy, celebrating a shared view of the world.

One of my children had made the world a little happier than it was, if only for a moment.

The only children I have are my stories.

They're just words, but they allowed people to escape their mundane lives in the darkness. They suspended disbelief and, for a moment, believed in my words.

My words provided a glimmering sliver of hope, hope for a better world.

The dream made sense now, it didn't all the times before... it may not in the times to come.

This too shall come to pass, as dreams seem to do.

It's only a dream, but a good dream...

The children hung on every word.

He handed each a piece of paper and spoke of its power to grant happiness.

He rhapsodized on how he accumulated these papers and bought boats and cars and houses.

He gleamed with joy at his own prowess.

His self-flatulation was short-lived, as his gaze caught one of the children not enraptured by his words of wisdom.

You there, why are you not gazing longingly at the stuff dreams are made of?

It's just a piece of paper.

Just paper? Success is measured by these, your self-worth is measured by the number of these you have.

By paper? Not my self-worth.

You are destined to fail.

By your terms, maybe.

Excuse me, but if you have so much paper, why don't you give some to Jimmy the retard over there? Here I'll give Jimmy my paper and see if your hypothesis holds-up to such rigid scrutiny.

You simpleton, Jimmy needs to earn the paper himself. I am trying to enlighten you.

Simpleton? Perhaps you haven't noticed, you self-absorbed fuck-muffin, but Jimmy's retarded.

Enlighten? You're a wandering blackhole trying to indoctrinate innocent children into your soulless cult. You're about as enlightening as a candle at the bottom of The Mariana Trench.

I am now picturing you fucking yourself.

That's not PC, Jimmy's alternately gifted.

You are an intellectually retardant douche.

Jimmy's retarded and will never have the same opportunities as you and I. I don't want to argue semantics, I just want you to answer my question: Why won't you help Jimmy the retard who lives in the ghetto?

Urban area.

You, are starting to piss me off, it's a ghetto or a shithole. Did god tell you to worship the paper? My god, if she did speak to you, would tell you to shut-the-fuck-up and help the less fortunate.

When did we start to celebrate hoarding of silly pieces of paper?

Hey, I think you're a fucktard. What PC term would you substitute for fucktard? You can change the term, but you still exist and you're still a fucktard.

You are an inarticulate, spasmodic fornicator.

You go to the office.

I will not go to the office to have other self-absorbed zombies reiterate your unconscionable psycho-babble. I will not worship your silly paper, nor will I let you infect me with your verbal bubonic plague... you brain washed megalomaniacal meat sack.

You might as well do the world a favor and goose-step your way out the window and out of the gene pool Mein Fuhrer. Wall Street was meant as a cautionary tale, not a how-to manual to fuck-over your fellow Man.

Pinhead.

I'm gonna call your parents.

Don't bother, you putz, I got my iphone right here. I'll call'm myself.

Please refrain from speaking, I can feel my brain atrophying with every thoughtless word that wafts from that anus on your face.

One of the problems with civilization is it stymies natural selection.  

Get out!

Your vacuous regurgitations pain me as though you were shaving my head with a cheese-grater. When you speak I clitorally feel my head being jammed-up my own ass.

Clitorally?

Ah, words go in, words come out. It was just a test. You should work for FOX news.

Hi mom... yeah, I got this fat, slow, disoriented purveyor of gluttony trying to get me to worship the almighty dollar... Yeah, and get this. He's got oodles of money and won't help Jimmy the retard... Yup, come and get me. You can drop me off at the library.

And with that he marches proudly to the exit...

I'm still picturing you fucking yourself, and...

don't forget to spay and neuter yourself.

I had long ago decided to stay single and stay the insane course of the writing dream. It wasn't difficult staying single, being me. None of these selfish adventures would've been possible with caring for a partner or children.

August 2001 found me wandering aimlessly a long way from Wisconsin, still in search of new adventures and perspectives. San Francisco proved a beautiful place to be, but it wasn't advancing my quest.

Golf course building and re-working was going full steam and a friend of the family offered me a job (thank you Mike Oliphant) working on The Virginian in Long Beach, CA.

Finding myself ever short of funds, my friend Roger Fallihee funded my aimless crusade for knowledge (for which I am both grateful and sorry for, because I have yet to repay him).

Roger and I had a farewell breakfast at local diner and I pointed my Blazer south.

I had the luxury of showing up to the job at my leisure. This meant my first stop would be Hollywood, where dreams are made and destroyed.

My dreams of seeing one my screenplays brought to life on the silver screen necessitated I spend a few days exploring the magic of tinsel town.

I don't like to do things like most people, I attempted to locate the seediest hotel available. The worse the area the better.

I stayed on Sunset for a night or two and on the corner of La Brea and Hollywood Blvd. for a couple more nights. I love the movie Hollywood Boulevard, but remain apathetic towards the actual boulevard.

It was just a facade. The lights and glamour seem manufactured after you witness the abundance of homeless people no one sees at movie premieres wandering the streets. The people mowing the park at the end of Sunset nudging homeless people, covered in newspapers, from the seats of their lawnmowers, so they'd get out of their way.

This in an area where real estate goes for a million dollars per square inch.


I love seedy neighborhoods, I learned to blend in and loved the shitholes I stayed in. I'd just spent 4 years immersed in the ghettos of Milwaukee (PC term: urban areas), an eye opening experience for milquetoast Jay from the shire.

People are just people, no matter where you are in actual location or social status. We're just as disappointing rich as we are poor.

What I discovered in the ghettos wasn't just a lack of wealth, it was a lack of hope. This was their fucking life and nobody gives a shit about them, so everybody can fuck off.


In the relatively nice shithotel I stayed in on Sunset Blvd. I was befriended by hookers.  Standing outside my room with a nice glass of box wine I watched the world pass by.

People seemed so friendly, waving up at me with smiles and the occasional shout-out. A pretty young woman appeared next to me, only moments after I wondered where all the perfume was coming from, and told me they thought I was a male prostitute.

I gladly accepted her invitation to join her friends in the back rooms of the hotel, where we shared more wine and stuff. Sometime during this surreal evening I decided it was time to get to Long Beach and find a place to live.

Neither of the two places I stayed in Hollywood were nearly as shitty as I'd hoped.

I knew I could do better and Long Beach did not disappoint. 

Hindsight provides one with a different view of the past. It occurs to me that it's quite possible I was going through a period of self-loathing and decided I didn't deserve anything nice. I deserved a shithole.

Next: Fear and Loathing in Long Beach   

Thanks to the new and improved scorched earth capitalism you no longer have to go through the drudgery of fucking yourself.

Thanks to Ronald Reagan, who released the hounds upon us, there are plenty of people ready and willing to fuck you!

You can find plenty of willing reamers in congress or Wall Street, or you could just call Jamie Dimon at JP Morgan Chase for a voracious- bodacious reaming.

He's ready to ream us all again and again. What a stud muffin.

Bernie Madoff might be willing to give us a conjugal visit.

Please allow me to list a few of the more stellar butt pirates: Citibank, Bank of (fucking) America, Exxon (pays no taxes), Enron, Wal-Mart, Cuntrywide (sic) Mortgage, AIG (American Institute of Gluttons).

Thank you all for freeing up my time, fucking myself was so time consuming. Thanks to you I no longer need to fuck myself or work.

Watching Fox "News" is like watching the play by play of a rape.

Glenn Beck is in favor of a good conservative reaming. He is against liberal reaming, he's also against anything that benefits anyone but the people he shills for.

We can always count on Rush Limblower for a good hummer. Butter-up your donut hole! It's time for the Rush (me to a pharmacy) Limblower fantasy show!

Don't get all self-conscious that our raping has been televised, we have Standard and Poors and Moody's to rate our sexploits. They gave triple AAA ratings to Jeffrey Dahmer  (in fairness they did only give Hitler and pedophile priests an A rating).

The flushing sound you hear is Jamie Dimon sending our prosperity down the toilet. He has also introduced a bill (I know he's not a congressman, he just owns them) outlawing the pursuit of happiness. He cornered the market on our happiness and then sold short.

I dream of a world with unicorns and magic jelly beans of happiness. The unicorns are merrily taking turns jamming their horns up Jamie Dimon's ass. Who would of thought sodomy could feel so right?

Great civilizations create things. They are partially judged on what they leave behind. Art, music, architecture, writing, philosophy, etc., cannot be created by people struggling to survive.

In today's disposable world "creation" is not prized. If our legacy were written today it might read something like this: America/ They Were disposable, so they allowed themselves to be disposed of. They went quietly into the night like good little sheople, arguing amongst themselves while Atlas mocked them.

The financial fornicators are ready and wildy willing to ream us, they care not if it's consensual.

Testimonial from a satisfied American: Hey, I'm getting reamed right now! I didn't even have to call to set-up an appointment! These guys are like psychics, they know when I need a good reaming and just do it! If I still owned a car I could park it in my ass, thank you Wall Street!

High praise indeed, these guys know their business and their business is fucking you and me... and business is good.

We owe these guys a big hug and THANK YOU! Look at all the free time we have? Since millions of us no longer need to fuck ourselves and/or need to suffer the drudgery of employment.

They've given us the blessing of free time we can use to scavenge for food AND thankfully time is still free.

As Blue Oyster Cult said: Don't fear the reamer.



A special shout-out to Ronnie Reagan, Bush the Elder, Bill Clinton, Bush the Douche, Con-gress Digress, all of you "too big to fail" ass-wipes, Corporate Malfeasants.

With a blanket "go fuck yourself" to all of you rapists that got away with the raping and pillaging of America.






 

One is left to wonder how long our modern day Rome will survive? The world gets smaller and technology advances by leaps and bounds, does it decrease our time as a world leader conversely?

Rome crumbled from within. Will we share their fate?

Are we currently making the mistakes that will seal our fate?

It seems as though empires burnout more quickly as time and technology march on.

Examine the events of the present: It has never been easier for a tiny cabal of brilliant, ethically retardant, fucktards to collapse the world economy, simply for their own monetary gain.

There are wolves in tailored suits stealing all our chickens.

However, there is good news, history tells us that when the majority have no chickens they take the chickens from the gluttonous hoarders and  if the gluttonous hoarders are lucky we'll just tell them to go fuck themselves.

Gluttonous hoarders have not always been so lucky. Heads have rolled when the masses morph into an angry mob (army) bent on taking back their dignity and ability to feed, clothe and shelter themselves.

Be warned dark lords of capitalism. We are not all sheep, one day a leader will arise that will unite the masses to right your wrongs.

I'm not threatening you personally, just whispering a little history into the cosmos.

Capitalism is a system, a tool. It depends on who wields the power whether it is a tool for good or evil.

Socialism is not inherently evil. It can be used to counteract the evils of dark capitalism.

What is dark capitalism? When it is bastardized by unscrupulous Lord Voldemorts strictly for the benefit of a few, while it breaks the back of the many.

This is simply re-distribution of wealth from the bottom masses to the top 1%.

The only things standing in their way is us. Those damn peasants that keep arguing amongst themselves. Blind to the fact they're stealing us blind.

Brilliant, really. They have us blaming ourselves for our own demise. They invoke key words, like a hypnotist would.

Capitalism is under attack!

On cue there are those peasants that attack peasants that attack capitalism (even though they're broke, underpaid and dying for lack of healthcare)

These people are socialists!

Like gladiators of old, we perform like trained monkeys for the enjoyment of the arrogant elite.

They have no shame or remorse or fear of repercussions, because they have no fear of being caught.

Goldman Sachs pleaded "ignorance" to the current allegations of raping and pillaging.

Dear Smartest People,

Please begin fucking yourselves. This will loosen your orifices for the mass fucking you have coming.

How do I know this?

History.

I'm not calling for a revolution, just a class action lawsuit to start.

The People of the United States v. The Motherfuckers responsible for making the pursuit of happiness as likely as being saved from drowning by a rope of sand.

Things for the Arsonists of Prosperity to consider: We out number you 9 to 1.

You are not the smartest people. There's always someone smarter.

We even got smart people with ethics, souls and compassion.

You guys ever heard of "the greater good" or "common good"? I didn't think so.

Just because you write equations you don't want us to understand (and neither do you) and legalese designed to confuse us... We, the people, have erasers.

You are the most greedy, unethical gluttons we've encountered. You even beat-out the robber barons of the last turn of the century.

Congratulations on setting a new low.

We will not be duped by lame ass legislation designed to appease us, that allows you to continue raping and pillaging.

Has it ever occurred to you we may not have anything left? This includes the virtue of patience, which we are just about to run out of.

Good things come to those who wait. Like death, which you bastards take out peasant life insurance policies on?

The thespians that play the part of representing us are included in the class action lawsuit. You are having a harder and harder time playing the part of representing us.

You are becoming comical in your acting. Trying to play for the audience that votes for you, when your allegiance is to the producer (the money) of your tragic play.

Anyone aiding and abetting the arsonists of prosperity will also be named in the lawsuit.

The media will be judged for their role in the propaganda machine (the most brilliant of all time) that aided in the demise of capitalism. It has played the pied piper for the dark side of capitalism for their own gain.

See a pattern? No one is looking out for the common good.

They even tell us the common good, the health of the nation is not important. Please begin fucking yourselves in preparation for the fucking history tells us is coming your way.

I chuckle through vomit when I hear a flat tax proposed. You guys should request a higher tax rate, this would by you some time. America used to tax you at 90% and you were still wealthy.

Now you tell the poor downtrodden peasants. America can't afford to keep you alive, furthermore we've taken out life insurance policies on you so it would not be in our best interests if we kept you alive.

You have stolen from the people for decades and buried the treasure on exotic islands. If your actions fit the description of pirate, are you not a pirate?

You then stole 4.6 trillion in the bailout fiasco.

We the people wanted you to die, instead you arose from the dead and gave yourself bonuses for being the best pirates ever.

Please, I implore you, go fuck yourselves.

I have stated this before and will state it again: The only entity too big to fail is the American people.

Give the 4.6 trillion dollars back and we'll think about letting you keep your life...styles.

History ain't for the faint of heart.

The fringe elements of every ideology are not your biggest fear. It's the volcanic bubbling of the silent majority suffering you need to heed.

But you don't heed anything, you are the Lord Voldemorts of capitalism. The masters of the dark arts, we're just 99% of Americans who foolishly still believe honest hard work will pay off.

You know it's not true, because you made it not true.

You might want to consider carrying lube with you. You never know when the fuckback is coming and you get the old Jeffrey Dahmer broom stick in the ass treatment.

Just a friendly heads-up from history.

And no, we don't want any cake. Thanks for asking.