W.H. Auden once said “The interests of a writer and the interests of his readers are never the same and if, on occasion, they happen to coincide, this is a lucky accident.” I believe Auden was commenting on two different points derived from the same statement. First Auden is simply explaining that what a writer finds interesting, and thusly writes about, in no way guarantees that potential reader’s will be interested in what the writer had written. Second I believe Auden was stating that even when reader’s read a written piece it doesn’t mean they will get the same meaning as other readers or even the author. People’s perceptions are as unique to the reader as their views and opinions, so no two readers will interpret one piece in the same way.
I completely, totally, and absolutely agree with Auden’s statement. If I’m not interested in a subject then I won’t ever write about it. I don’t pander in anyway, shape, or form to or for possible readers I write for an audience of one, and that one is me. I am also fully aware that not everyone will read, enjoy, or like what I have written and I welcome it all good, bad and indifferent. I know as a writer that my so called demographic will be a niche market appealing to only a few select people, but with the assistance of the internet a writer’s audience has gone global which helps niche writers find their following.
Category: Non Fiction
Does Life Imitate Art?!
The Paradox of Family
Along the course of one’s life they will experience a multitude of different people. Some of the individuals will have a nasty and negative affect while others will have a productive and positive influence. There lies a third personality that will knock you down into a sea of negativity only then to throw you a life preserver. I am not a person who grew up with bullies for me that third personality which influenced me to become the core of who I am through both negativity as well as positivity during my grade school years would be my father Stephen Lawrence. My father was my hero and at the same time my tormenter as I grew up.
The most positive characteristic of my father’s that helped me become the man that I have would be that he was well educated he graduated high school, college, got his masters in English, and went on to teach English at Temple University. Now one must remember a person can be well educated , but that doesn’t mean they are intelligent. My father had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge that lead him to be a prolific reader averaging up to three or four books a week. My father read up on a myriad of subjects, fiction and non fiction alike, to satisfy his intellectual curiosities. My father also became extremely interested in cooking and decided to teach himself using cooking shows as well as reading cooking books. By the end of his life he was truly an accomplished chef. My father also loved to travel. He traveled everywhere from Costa Rica to France but he never wanted to be the generalized cliche American tourist. My father taught himself Spanish, French, and Italian for the purpose of being able to converse with the locals as opposed to just being able to hail a taxi or find a bathroom.
I am proud to say that this thirst for knowledge has greatly influenced my life to this very day so much so that I used to joke that I must have been a cat in all of my previous lives. My father taught me to not only question anything and everything, but to research the facts, pertaining to a subject for myself. I’m definitely a “Must see it to believe it” person. Thanks to my father, I also share his enjoyment of learning. Whatever it may be that sparked his passion for knowledge; I am the same way. The best way I can sum up my father’s and my pursuit of knowledge is thus “No one ended up on their death bed wishing they didn’t know so much.”
Unfortunately the worst personality trait of my father was his terrible and intimidating temper. My father would loudly criticize the other party and then he could/would hold a grudge for up to and including decades. My father was also fond of his own version of the cold shoulder. He started the usual way of just coldly ignoring the person he was angry with, but periodically he would walk past the person he had taken issue with and glare at them with intense contempt and unparalleled disgust. He would maintain this icy stare until he was recognized at which point after a minute or so of unholy silence he simply would walk away not saying a single word. My father could get himself so enraged that even the most honest heartfelt apology would accomplish nothing. The issue was only considered resolved when my father was satisfied with the current state of affairs. Then and only then was the argument over. With my father it was never his fault for anything. It was always someone else complicating his life with nonsense, and this served as a constant and all encompassing excuse for his tremendous temper. My father was born with the proverbial chip on his shoulder and nurtured a “The world vs. Me” attitude.
I’m sad to say that I inherited in many ways my father’s abominable anger. I can be criticizing to the point of cruelty, but unlike my father I do not indulge in the cold shoulder concept. Instead of being cold I come in hot and only get hotter as my anger feeds upon itself growing more enraged with each passing minute. Unlike my father who was above insult and profanity I am most certainly not. When angry I swear like a sailor with Tourettes and have no trouble lowering myself to the low level of hurling insults upon one’s character. I, like my father, will only be satisfied when I feel the issue has reached its end and then in my mind it is actually over. Yet through all of this my father’s ill temper has also helped me become a better person in the end. I’m fully aware that my temper greatly mimics my father’s, but once I turned thirty I realized I don’t want or need to be like my father when anger rears its combative face. I started (and still am) working on my anger issues and how I can /could learn to control them before I totally become unhinged to say the least. Now to give credit where credit is due my father attempted and succeeded greatly to control his own anger, but he didn’t start this so called transformation of character until he turned 61. Part of my realization has been, if he could change at 61 then I have the opportunity to not only change my ways, but to do it with a thirty year advantage.
Another major influence my father had on me was his fear of illness as my father was a consummate hypochondriac. My father never had just a common cold he always had cancer. Thats to say my when my father got sick he would immediately go to the worst case scenario and then act accordingly. My father convinced himself he got sicker more often, for longer periods of time, and had the most severe symptoms out of anyone he knew who may have contracted the cold thus far. My father also made a point of making it abundantly clear that he was suffering each and every time he got sick as if he expected that at any given moment he would end up an invalid on his death bed due to his current horrendous state of heath. I possess the same brand of hypochondria with a few exceptions.
Growing up with my father instilled an intense instinct to remain healthy. If my wife or coworker for example were coming down with a cold/flu I automatically go into decontamination mode. I will start to take excessive amounts of vitamins, spray down communal areas with thick clouds of Lysol disinfectant, obsessively wash my hands, and avoid the infected person as much as humanly possible. When I do contract a cold I too assume the worst and begin to compulsively monitor my symptoms for signs of improvement constantly until my previous good health is restored in full.
I think the most admirable thing about my father was his incredibly strong work ethic. When my father took on a task/job or had a specific goal he wanted to achieve nothing short of death could stop him from accomplishing task/job or completing his goal. My father never procrastinated, delayed or did anything half way, for my father it truly was all or nothing. My father gave a hundred percent while staying intently focused on the work at hand, and if the job in the end wasn’t a hundred percent then the job was a total and complete failure. My father knew failure was unavoidable and he none the less detested it.
My father’s incredible work ethic is more than likely the strongest influence my father had on me growing up. When I have a task/job or goal to accomplish I too have to give it a hundred percent or nothing. I won’t let anything get in my way either and will not stop working from the beginning to the end relentlessly. With that said the influence of my father’s work ethic has a definite up side, but it also for me has a detrimental downside as well. I have unintentionally become the most ferocious perfectionist which causes me to be extremely hard on myself. I am most critical of myself above anyone else to the point which I beat myself up over the littlest things making mountains out of mole hills as the saying goes. I at some point along the road decide that nothing so far is any good and I can convince myself the entire project is flawed thus rendering it a futile waste of time and effort.
Once again we can see life is far from being simply black and white. In fact most of life falls into an enormous grey area. While it is true there will be specifically negative influences such as bullies or bad bosses, also there will be positive ones such as siblings or significant others. Most people you encounter will have a mixed influence upon your life and character. There will be some good along with some bad. It all comes down to the following: no matter who or what the influence may be, remember you can take what you like from the situation and leave all the rest behind.
“If Your Donald Trump’s Assistant Why Do You Drive A Ford Escort?” By Spacedog In His Delightfully Demented Debut
I guess some people just can’t help themselves. Some people just spurt all kinds of lies out of their mouths. I am guilty as well, heck I was caught in a tiny little lie tonight. Some people can lie about much more though. Some lies people tell are funny. Others are mean and there are even a few people that tell the lie even more then they tell the truth.
I once met a rather attractive man. He was from somewhere out on Long Island, I’m not exactly sure where at though. He was 25. So I met him in the city and he wanted to take me out to dinner. OK, why not I thought? He told me he was Donald Trump’s personal assistant. I was young. I was vain. I was thinking cha-ching. I was _________ (fill in your favorite negative word to describe me).
So he comes to Jersey to pick me up. He was driving a Ford Escort. A small little red flag went off in my head. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just cheap with his cars or maybe the beamer was in the shop.
So we go out to eat. We start driving down the road towards nothing in particular and are just talking. He pulls into the mall. I hate the goddamn mall. So I tell him and we leave the mall. It is at this moment that he tells me how much he likes Wendy’s and asks me where there is one. Not my idea of a “date” (I suppose this was a date?) I thought at least Fridays. So we end up at Wendy’s.
He buys me whatever I wanted but then he gets two things from the dollar menu and that was it. Red flag number two I thought. Hmmmmm maybe he could be anorexic? The other half of me was still trying to defend him.
So then we get to the movies. He wants to see nothing in particular and whenever I suggest a movie, he claims he already saw it and it was lame. So we rent a movie. Red flag number 3? Oh he must be a strong man with strong opinions.
So we go and watch the movie. I go in the door, he comes in the window. We watch. He keeps complimenting me. He wants something. What does he want? Oh wait, me? But the little flags go up and my pants don’t. So he leaves after that.
About two weeks later, I go back to New York. I’m having a pretty good time, meeting people, dancing (yes I once danced), and I see someone cute. So we start talking and I tell him I’m dating someone but it isn’t really that serious. I like to talk too much so I describe the guy. He gets a distraught look on his face.”Does he work for Donald Trump?”, cute boy asks me. “Yeah he told me that.” I reply.
Turns out he really was 35 years old, worked at the Dunkin Donuts, lived with the parents and not in the penthouse, was HIV positive, had lied to cute boy, and also infected him.
All shreds of decency for this man completely died. I wanted to throw up, I wanted to scream, I wanted to key this man’s car or worse. Then I saw cute boy and I hugged him. He didn’t deserve all this. I didn’t. No one else did.
Shady man had a decent personality and looked good but everything about him was a lie. His whole being was a lie. The few positives about him were bludgeoned. Thankfully shady man was an exception to the rule.
People still can’t help but lie. The age lie is way too common. The ages of 18,21, 29, and 39 still sends off bells and whistles in my head. 18 because I used to say that when I was 14 or 15, the rest because people like to hold on to their 20s or 30s like there is going to be some catatonic occurrence if they were actually 30 or 40.
I am 30 and damn proud. I gave the whole lets pick a random number in the 20s and be that a thought, but it quickly died there. I like to keep my lies simple. Things like: “I have to go my sister just put our rabbit in the microwave or AAAAAAHHHH I just let a squirrel in the house or my dad is attacking my mom with a meat cleaver.” Those work much better for me.
All I can really say to the true liars is this. Watch out cuz spacedog is gonna go into gay commando mode when he finds out. Anyone who’s gone out with me for drinks in Pennsy knows about this mode. Beware.
-spacedog-
f-yourblog Readers Lend Me Your Eyes
First I would like to personally thank all the readers for the kind comments, compliments, enthusiasm and support, I truly do appreciate it. I am just sorry that due to a recent and RESOLVED technical issue the current comment section were lost.
While there is a handful of readers who find the time and attention put into each and every article, and I am also fully aware that the quite timely posting of new articles can irritate some readers as well. So I will do my best to help explain my slightly lengthy writing process and give the official f-yourblog mission statement.
f-yourblog’s Mission Statement is as follows:
I will put 100% into each and every article or I simply won’t post it.
I will NEVER produce content for contents sake.
I fully believe my readers are much smarter then the average individual and because of this I will NEVER force feed my readers meaningless,bland,boring,generic,mindless or vacantly fickle fluff.
I will be adding Pictures as well as Videos, BUT I must inform you they will only be posted as an intricate part of the article to add a new aesthetic dimension. You will never see pictures of celebrities, what I ate for lunch or some bullshit top 10 list (example-Top 10 crazy Hollyweird couples of 2000 whatever or top 12 bad haircuts of famous people etc.) Nor will you see mundane videos such as a cat trying to get into a tissue box or some poor schlub getting hit in the balls/getting fucked up doing some asinine stunt. Shit like that is why I abandoned FaceBook several years ago at this point. I have no plans to return to Facebook UNLESS I need too to help promote this site which I realize will more than likely have to be done.
If any reader has a question, inquiry or suggestions and are wondering how to reach me outside the perimeters of this Weblog please refer to the article “Smoke signals don’t cut it anymore” and thanks again for the continued interest.
The Writing Process Explained:
- I send 120 to 144 hours thinking about topics and content of the upcoming article.
- After I have selected a topic (in all honesty I have a note book with well over 100 future topics) I spend the next 72 to 96 hours mulling the article over in my mind formulating a outline of sorts.
- I then I actually write the article which takes around 24 to 36 hours.
- I then subject the new article to an insanely intense and rigorous editing process (I have edited a article so seriously that by the time I was done writing it it was in fact an entirely different article) The editing process alone can take 24-48 hours.
- After all that if I feel the article is up to f-yourblog’s rather high standards then and ONLY then will I post the article.
NEW DEVELOPMENT here at f-yourblog:
For the 1st and ONLY time I will be bringing in a contributing writer known only as Spacedog. I am doing this for 3 very simple reasons which are the following.
The first being I have been good friends with Spacedog for more years then I can accurately calculate though its been since High School, and trust me that was several centuries ago.
Second Spacedog and I have had multitudes of late night intoxicated conversations that were so entertaining that first thing when I woke up the next day, we also have been mulling over the idea of starting a podcast, but I digress for now.
The 3rd and final reason is this Self Preservation allow me to explain further. I am not ignorant to the fact especially as the weblog grows,develops and evolves it will be increasingly hard for just one person (and that person being me) can logically and realistically handle alone. I learned this from the cautionary tale of former ECW (Extreme Championship Wrestling) owner the legendary Paul Hayman. Paul tried to solely remain running his organization as it grew and thusly was responsible for every aspect of his company. Paul booked shows and talent, produced their weekly television show, all promotion of ECW and was in charge of merchandising, accounting, venues and much, much more. While this endeavor was admirable it was futile as Paul became increasing over whelmed (not once asking for help) and the pressure got to be to much ( it got to the point Paul’s health was declining significantly, remember kids STRESS DOES KILL.) and he ended up having to sell the company or close up shop once and for all. To everyones surprise, mine included, Paul sold ECW to the WWE who then ran the company into the ground eventually dismantling ECW all together.
Obviously I don’t want to end up in the same Paul Hayman Boat, BUT at the same time I don’t want a whole group of people trying to influence f-yourblog and generally mucking things up as well as getting in the way. So the only sensible solution was to take on a collaborating partner that way f-yourblog can continue to produce superior content without the aggravation or detriment. I would hate to see f-yourblog close its doors for good and am trying to keep it actively relevant and myself as sane as possible along the way. Spacedog has already sent me a giant gaggle of articles which I will reading and reviewing for content/writing standards that match those here at f-yourblog, and then periodically post them in the upcoming weeks.
Ladies and Gentlemen That is All (for now)
Sincerely,
Less Sober Head Writer and Administrator of f-yourblog.com
A Short Note For Designer Mark C.
Dear Mark C.
I writing this today to let you know a shitty piece of spam you sent me caused a major MalWare issue for or at my Weblog f-yourblog, and as you may imagine I don’t appreciate that is the least.
This Note is to inform you that if I EVER find out the location you are at I will be there in a heartbeat to promptly stab you in the face with a rusty fork repeatedly until it looks like a Jackson Pollock painting.
Thanks for your time and attention in this matter
Have a Utterly and Totally Fucked Day Scumbag
ATTENTION READERS PROBLEM SOLVED
This is what happened in a nut shell. Some readers left comments saying they were experiencing some issue such as the Weblog not loading properly. I contacted my security provider and informed them there seemed to be an issue and they said they’d look into it.
Turns out some asshole designer named Mark C. sent some spam that not only contained MalWare but also managed to slip through a crack in my security. I then informed them that this was unacceptable and I would no longer be using their less then impressive services.
I immediately started researching web security companies until I found one that met my standards. I have hired a NEW SECURITY COMPANY and signed up for their Premium Package (which has aggressive protection software.) Now nothing is 100 but in all do favors they guarantee they can block 98.7% of the sleazy spam or bitch ass bots etc.
An unfortunate side effect is I apparently lost all previous comments that were left in the comments section. I am aware their are a good number of reader’s I had yet to respond to, and for that I am truly sorry. I will respond to comments from now on in a much more timely manner.
I sincerely apologize for ANY and ALL inconvenience experienced by Readers and I assure you I will diligently keeping up with security as to avoid any/all future issues/problems/concerns.
Thank you for standing by as I weathered the storm.
Yours Truly,
Less Sober
North Korea is NOT a Country Its a Cult.
Now I’m not a history teacher in any fashion or facet ,and I don’t work for Google SO this is not a history lesson on/about North Korea. If you find this post interesting, and would like to know more about what is known of North Korea I encourage the reader to research the subject further.
Most people have a basic idea of a what a cult is and often wonder how so many “normal” people would join a cult in the first place. Cults are like drugs in their fun at first its all parting, everyone is smiling with joy and its fun. Yet just like drugs while its fun at the beginning you suddenly find yourself struggling with a serious addiction problem that dominates your life, and wondering to yourself how the hell you ended up at rock bottom?!
Now the next question is how could someone convert an entire country into a unthinking, all accepting, submissive, and STRICTLY obedient cult? The answer is as follows and as you’ll see this kind of total domination of a whole society isn’t accomplished in days, weeks, months nor years, an undertaking of this magnitude takes DECADES of relentless conditioning spanning three generations of like minded family. The insanity began in 1948 when Kim II-sung took control of North Korea as their invaluable leader (he was in fact a rather run of the mill dictator). Still Kim II-sung set the stage of mass social repression, and when his time was up he handed of leadership to his son Kim Jong-il who grew up by his father’s side, and fully backed his father teachings on how to rule a country with an increasingly iron fist. Finally after Kim Jong-il’s term of chaos came to an end he like his father he turned over leadership to his son Kim Jong-un who was completely indoctrinated by his father Kim Jong-il to believe as he and his grandfather Kim II-sung did in how to govern the nation of North Korea. So now we know when it started and the 3 key players that perpetuated the cult mentality to achieve ultimate power over North Korea just like their father’s before them had worked tirelessly to implement. That though explains nothing of what terror tactics (combined with the cult brainwashing) that was used by the ruling family to render North Korea into an unquestioning, docile and utterly susceptible population.
The basic concept of cults used in this case to enslave a entire nation of people is rather quite simplistic equation. First you cut of cult members from the outside world, friends and family basically any and all outside ideas/influences. Obviously when it comes to North Korea your entire family and friends are indoctrinated as well into the cults belief system. Still North Korea’s self imposed isolationist mentality meant eliminating any and all outside influences of the world outside their boarders so NO INTERNET, smartphones, newspapers, tablets,magazines or tv/radio programs. Second you over work the people unrelentingly for 14-16 hour day 7 days a week so they are effectively functional but exhausted physically. Third since you over work your people you then also under feed them, cementing not only the physical exhaustion, but also accomplishing mental fatigue as well. Anyone who has experienced low blood sugar can personally identify with the toll it takes on your mental faculties causing confusion and inability to talk straight due to incoherent thought patterns. The last piece in the process of breaking a persons free will is sleep deprivation which is usually achieved by blaring air horns in the middle of the night for mandatory bullshit meetings. Sleep deprivation alone can cause mental deterioration causing acute paranoia, auditory and visual hallucinations, and can lead to insanity even death. Now when you compound physically exhaustion with deceased mental capacity and tie it all together with sleep deprivation you’ve effectively broken a persons spirit as they slowly lose their personal identity, thoughts and feelings making them susceptible to brainwashing/mind control.
Now while the above tactics have been proven to work on various groups inevitably someone will realize its all batshit crazy and will ultimately defect, and when the truth behind the cults real intentions are made public. Once this happens the cult is dismantled (by choice or outside force) disband due to infighting or just wither away like a common weed. So how can someone not only transform a country into a cult permanently without a treat of revolt, revolution or resistance?! This is where North Korea’s family ongoing family dictatorship had to really up their game and become increasingly creative to insure their indoctrination remained unquestioned. Remember when I said there was no TV or Radio shows, what I meant was any outside tv/radio sources. The ongoing dictatorship sponsors ONLY GOVERNMENT SPONSORED tv and radio shows that in all reality are a 24/7 non stop propaganda machine run for and by the Dictatorship. All tv and radio programming is basic as it gets as its and endless stream of propaganda proclaiming the endlessly magnificent accomplishments of Kim Jong-un, his father Kim Jong-il and his grandfather Kim II-sung and glorifying their various victories in defending North Korea from evil outside entities, and how much they did to improve the country and lives of its people (which is a the biggest lie of them all)
The assault on the senses doesn’t end there by a long shot. Emulating George Orwell’s classic novel 1984 (coined the term “Big Brother Is Watching”) the current leader Kim Jong-un as well as his family before him PLASTERED his picture all over, posters, giant wall murals, paintings, statues and even t-shirts. This is so no North Korean citizen can walk more then 3 feet without seeing one of the dictators faces so your constantly reminded of who your ruler is and his family before him. It also helps to separate North Korea from the rest of the evil outside world and boost the leaders image in the public eye is to not have a president or a king, but rather a SUPREME LEADER (if that shit isn’t straight out of a Cult 101 textbook I don’t know what is) Another way to instill undying and absolute devotion like a cult it helps to throw lavish parades and ceremonies again exalting the lives and accomplishment of The Supreme Leaders. Now this has to be an all day affair with thousands of participants and on lookers, and you can use the same template to create your own holidays too and celebrate them the same way. Lastly in a retro kick back to WW2 install a national network of air raid sirens that can double as a PA. Once the system is installed The Supreme Leader can spread more lies and garner more admiration by utilizing the PA through out the day to further prove his great omnipresence (i.e. Government daily morning exercises/calisthenics, or Supreme Leader parades announcements, bullshit news or reassuring the utter trust and infinite loyalty a citizen should have for their Supreme Leader(s)
To insure continued servitude of generations to come North Korea like countless others (i.e. Hitler Youth) before them have, exploit the children. While the constant barrage of pro Supreme Leader propaganda seems like it would be quite sufficient its not. In school there are virtually no actual classes (Math,Science eye) but daily lessons that severe no purpose but to promote the greatness of The Supreme leader and father as well as grandfather through stories and songs alike. So essentially the only topic ever discussed is how great The Supreme Leader is, what great shit he’s done for the people and country alike, and that you should have ETERNAL and UNDYING Love and loyalty to the Supreme Leader. this is furthered by the Korean Children’s Union which is a political organization for kids 7-13 years of age where the kids pledge to build up strength to defend their nation/Supreme Leader.
The title of Supreme Leader adds a convenient has a god like quality which has been exploited as well to get the citizens of North Korea to remain obedient beyond a shadow of a doubt. Just like the controversial comedy with Seth Rogan and James Franco called “The Interview” (controversial because of North Korea’s horrendous hate for the content of the movie. Seriously the last time some shit like this happened was when the Muslim’s were outraged by Salmon Rushdie’s writing of the book Satanic Verses) the citizens believe The Supreme Leader is a deity or even a god to the point if he said he doesn’t shit then thats a indisputable fact among the people of North Korea.
Another piece of the puzzle is the all familiar fear factor. While The opponents of The Supreme Leader have disappeared, been thrown in prison for life without any type of trial, and simple executed wasn’t uniting the citizens. It only motivated their compliance through the fear of imprisonment or death for even thinking a single negative thought about the Supreme Leader. To further unify the citizens under the gneiss of The Supreme Leader there had to be a common enemy that without the Supreme Leader would invade, conquer and destroy the North Korean culture. Earlier on in North Korea’s dictatorship the Japanese and Landowners who were demonized as North Korea’s public enemy number one. North Korean’s where told the Japanese and landowner’s wanted nothing more than to invade North Korea, conquer it and its people, and them systematically destroy the culture of North Korea. Now as time went on and the face of global politics changed so did North Korea’s universal nemesis. The threat of the Japanese and landowners gave way to the intense hatred of America. All joking aside currently the Supreme Leader Kim Jong-un is vehemently damning America and informing his people that EVERY problem in/with North Korea is directly linked to America because America hates and wants to invade North Korea just as the Japanese. If you don’t have enough to eat its because America wants to starve you, not enough money well thats because America is full of capitalist greed so they don’t want others to have money, stub you toe well America moved the chair so you’d stub your toe. We are the playing Satan to North Korea’s God being the Supreme Leader.
Lastly even with its strict and unyielding self imposed isolation North Korea’s Supreme Leader(s) realized it was in fact impossible to totally cut North Korea off from outside countries. So if they couldn’t prevent the periodic visitation of foreigners then they did the next best thing which is to control the visits. Again just like in movie”The Interview” and the documentary “Dennis Rodman’s Big Bang in Pyongyang” when a visitor is invited to come visit North Korea everything they see and do is dictated by the directives of The Supreme Leader (you can’t freely walk around anywhere period), and everything you say/do is closely monitored as your assigned a government agent as your only tour guide and accompanied buy several soldiers your entire trip beginning to end. This is obviously because the North Korean Supreme Leader Kim Jong-un has plenty to hide such as he’s starving his people, committing human rights violations, wide spread poverty, executions, embezzlement and misappropriation of funds, and food shortages (a problem when you can’t conduct business with the rest of the world) to name a few. To accommodate this North Korea again relies on propaganda (The Supreme Leader tells the world from time to time or if asked that North Korea is nothing short of Utopia where food is plentiful, business is booming, everyone is happy and wealthy and other various lies, and good old bullshit staging. This is not a joke they just like in the movies listed above North Korean has set up fake grocery stores over flowing with food to show visitors, but in reality is 100% fake. They also show visitors a good bit of the pomp and circumstance surrounding The Supreme Leader (like events, holidays, parades and such showing how much the North Koreans love their Supreme Leader, their country of North Korea and couldn’t be happier if they tried. Bottom line is it a smoke and mirrors 3 ring circus pony show.
In conclusion North Korea still remains steeped in mystery what we have learned is as bizarre as it is troubling, a country who uses and abuses its expendable citizens for their own personal gain and glory. As I wrote that I realized how eerily it parallels Americans current presidential problem.
Shotguns, My Grandfather & The Guy Who Should Have Died
My grandparents lived in a Farmhouse built circa 1883 on a massive 1,100 ache plus property down south in a tiny town know as Podunk. Every summer and every Christmas my family and I would drive down to visit my grandparents on the farm since my brother and I were off from school. While the town was so tiny (that when it got a second traffic light it was a big goddamn deal let me tell you) there are 2 major trucking companies headquarters located in Podunk that run 18 wheelers all day and all night long transporting everything under the sun. Luckily when the main road in and out of Podunk was to be built they asked my great grandfather about its placement since( like the original 19th century dirt road) it would run through a portion of his property. So instead of having the modern road run directly outside of the Farm house’s front yard gate he decided to have it built this time with a huge curve that brought the road out to a 1/4 of a mile from the main house. Between the farmhouse and the new road is essential a giant grassy field with a semi circle dirt driveway that allows the house to be accessed by 2 separate entries from the outlying road. Now on the outer side of the large curve is a 6 1/2 foot ditch (before you reach the woods) and for the life of me to this very day I have no idea why the town hasn’t put of warning signs for the truckers. See if your driving an 18 wheeler and are going slow you’ll hug the road to safety ,BUT if your driving an 18 wheeler and your going to fast you’ll run off the road and plumet head first into the aforementioned big ass ditch.
One summer while we were visiting my grandparents when late one night we all got one hell of a scare. What set off the insane events of that night started when a trucker driving a rather big tanker truck filled with liquid pesticide was speeding a bit and thusly found himself plunging head long into the ditch of death. The first thing that saved the driver’s life was when he crashed he was thrown from the cab, but this only got him out of the frying pan into the fire. If I recollect correctly the driver’s injuries included (but not limited to) Broken and cracked ribs, internal bleeding, severe lacerations, 2 completely shattered legs, head trauma, fractured right wrist, and massive bruising not to mention he was in shock as well. When the driver gathered his senses and managed to look around at his surroundings (as well as thanking whatever god he prays too for not being instantly and violently killed) he saw the far off light of farmhouse’s front porch lights and knew it was his only hope or he would in fact die on the side of the road. So summoning all his remaining strength the driver slowly (and I imagine quite painfully) pulled himself using just his arms and dragged himself the 1/4 mile across the grassy field and across to the front yard. I don’t know if the driver couldn’t get up the stairs to the front porch, but he again dragged himself around the side of the farmhouse to what is referred to as the middle porch. Its called the middle porch for one simple reason which is back in 1883 fire was a huge concern especially if you lived in a small rural town. Thusly to combat the threat of fire the architects of the day designed houses so you’d have the house with a middle porch in-between the main house and the kitchen as well as dinning room. This way if your kitchen (which was the biggest threat of fire) did catch fire the middle porch provided a buffer in-between.
Once the driver reached the middle porch he preceded to punch his way through the screen of the exterior door leading off the middle porch to the surrounding yard. The driver opened the door and then pulled himself up onto the porch. From there he once again dragged himself in excruciating agony to the door to the main house and pounded on the door like his life depended on it which it did. The driver was screaming bloody murder things like”There’s been an accident! HELP! HELP ME PLEASE! Oh God, PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR I don’t want to die out here…” obviously to get the attention and aid of the homeowner (who for all he knew wan’t even home).
Now as one might imagine being that it was around 2 a.m. in the morning, virtually pitch black outside (no streetlights or urban sprawl makes night even darker), and we were located in such a rural area outside of a tiny town that we were basically on our own (the average police response time to the property is around 40 minutes or more.) There are 2 bedrooms at the back of the house on the 1st floor across from one another my brother and I slept in one and my parents slept in the other. I remember opening our bedroom door just a minute crack as to allow a singular eye to peer out into the hallway. I saw my father too had cracked open my parents bedroom door and glanced over at me to give me the universal “STAY THERE” hand gesture. All of us were freaked the hell out and had no idea what to do because like I said if there was a crash alright, but it could be some sick son of a bitch trying to gain access to the house and all that terrible shit. A minute or two of being frozen in place by paralyzing fear I heard the familiar sound of the wood stairs creaking as someone came down them and immediately looked to see what was going on there to see my grandparents. My grandfather being 6’3″ with a poker face made of stone and a shotgun in each hand was leading the way down the stairs. My petite 5 foot nothing grandmother was literally right behind him and looked flustered as hell. My grandfather walked to the door not saying a word, unlocked it and forcefully swung it open. The driver collapsed backwards as the door flung open to see my grandfather standing there in his pajamas silently pointing a wicked looking pair of shotguns at him. At this point it was obvious there had in fact been a horrendous crash and there wasn’t some deranged rapist serial killer, and my parents and grandmother went into crisis damage control. My grandmother called 911, my father asked the man what happened and my mom frantically gathered first aid items. Meanwhile my grandfather continued to stand in the door way completely quite still aiming both gun barrels at the injured driver. After assessing the initial situation my grandmother suggested we move the injured driver off the porch and into the house’s main hallway, and it was then my grandfather spoke for the first and only time during the whole ordeal. What my grandfather said I will remember to the day I die and its only one singular sentence “Don’t bleed on my carpet.”
Note to Reader: The driver was taken by ambulance to the nearest hospital for emergency medical treatment. My father called the hospital the next day and was informed the driver was alive, stable and would completely recover from all of his various injuries.
Canine Carnage: Looks Can Be Deceiving
About 12 years ago I was working as a Veterinary Technician (Vet Tech for short) at Eccentric Animal Hospital run by Dr. Eccentric. It was business as usual as Dr. E saw routine morning appointments. The 11:30 appointment was for a dog who had been excessively dragging its ass across the owners pricy carpet and was increasing obsessed with it’s butt. When the dog showed up for its appointment it turned out to be a very friendly and affectionate ( I’m talking Disney cartoon level cute till you puke here) 5 year old,67 pound male Golden Retriever named Tucker who was not neutered. Tucker’s owner was a rather pleasant middle aged woman named Ditsy who was a bit mentally out to lunch.
I escorted Mrs. Ditsy along with Tucker into one of the exam room where Ditsy filled out the new client paperwork, and I took Tucker to get weighed. Now the layout of the exam room is key. There was the first door leading from the waiting room into the exam rom, and a second located at the back that lead to the Lab, Surgical prep, Xray,Surgery room etc. The room’s measurements are approximately 8 feet long and 5 feet wide I know that sounds more like prison cell then an exam room, but checkout your veterinarian’s exam rooms for comparison purposes. The middle of the room had a 3 1/2 foot examination table protruding from wall that was around 4 feet in height. This made a for very close quarters when with a dog that size the owners’s sitting on the exam room bench, and the Doctor,dog, and I are on the small floor space in front of the owner (to say wiggle room was scarce would be a humungous understatement.)
After a basic once over Dr.E stated his primary diagnosis was a impacted anal gland. For those who aren’t in the know when it comes to anal glands they are 2 glands located just inside a dog’s rectum. The anal glands express the most foully vile smelling fluid (like the farts of SATAN) If you have ever had the displeasure of not only smelling, but never forgetting that pungent oder you know what I mean. The reason for this is when your dog takes a crap and the feces is excreted past the anal glands it causes them to express( the putrid smelling) fluid that serves as a personal calling card. Now if the anal glands are impacted they can’t express the anal gland fluid which then build up like water behind a dam. If untreated the anal gland becomes extremely infected and will then rupture like a giant shit filled blister. In Tucker’s case it was so early in the game that if it was a impacted anal gland was the problem then it could be solved right away by manually expressing the blocked gland. Granted this is not a the most pleasant of problems to solve, and to the animal it feels like the equivalent of your Proctologist trying to pop a pimple inside your butt during a prostate exam if you will.
So with that said Dr.E and I got ready do to the deed. Dr.E put proceeded to put on the classic latex gloves, grabbed the tube of lube (because animals don’t need to be treated by animals.) and a couple sheets of paper towel to catch the expressed anal gland fluid. Tucker was facing towards the wall with his rear facing the exam table directly behind him so I squatted down on the balls of my feet and placed my left arm around his neck and my right arm around his waist to properly restraint him. I’m well aware that this restraint technique looks like a combo of a wrestling move and an MMA choke out hold, but I assure you it all serves a purpose. If you control the head you control the body and to help control the body you have one arm secured around the animals waist. As soon as Dr. E took a knee behind Tucker I felt Tucker tense up and then become absolutely rigged as if he was flexing ever muscle in his body simultaneously. I knew things were getting off to a potential dangerous start then Dr. E touched Tucker’s rectum, and Tucker royally up and lost his shit as fast as a starter’s pistol and the clash of carnage was on. I knew I couldn’t escape out the 1st door into the waiting room because it was behind me, and even if I did reach it I’d have to open and close it allowing more time to get injured. When I knew I couldn’t restrain Tucker any longer I announced that I had to let go, waited for Dr.E to back off to safety, eyed the owner and let go. At this point Tucker was growling loudly and aggressively while showing his teeth all which means a high risk of attack.
As I was releasing my hold on Tucker I shifted my weight so I had a strait shot out the 2nd door into the Lab/Surgical area, and not only that the 2nd door was a sliding pocket door which as even open at the time. Now as I started to stand up Tucker swung his head wildly to his left in a violent U-turn type motion just in time to severely bite at my left ear. Now I say “Bite at” because Tucker didn’t move quite as fast as me he couldn’t bite down directly on my ear. What did happen was his Canines caught my outter ear. TO CLARIFY what you think is your ear is actually called THE AURICLE and the VESTIBULE (depressed part of you outer ear directly outside the ear canal. As Tucker was closing his mouth his aforementioned canines (upper and lower) tore the top of my inner and ripped it down so it looked like a theater curtain that had fallen to expose the bare cartilage wall behind it. Once I was upright I strode out the 2nd door slamming it behind me. I remember just standing there while stating in a raised voice just under a yell “My fucking ear, he bit my fucking ear now I’m bleeding all over myself.” As you can imagine my heart was POUNDING as the adrenaline surged through my veins like 100,000 volts of electricity being that head wound in general bleed like a son of a bitch my ear was no exception. I could hear the owner Mrs. Ditsy asking repeatedly if I was alright and was extremely concerned I’l give her that, but I was aggravated as all get out and tuned her out.
Well the receptionist got a photocopy of her driver’s license before Mrs. Ditsy took Tucker home. Since that had been the last appointment of the morning there was time to figure out what the hell to do next. I hate hospital’s and I hate emergency rooms even more as I think they both are essentially EXPLOIT PATIENTS FOR PROFIT institutions. So in spite of having rather good health insurance I wasn’t going to an ER hell or high water. Dr.E volunteered his services as he could do exactly the same thing the ER would do, but Dr. E would do it absolutely free where its a $900 ER bill for literally walking in the door (which automatically starts your bill at $900. ) I agreed and Dr.E numbed up my ear with Lidocaine and simply stitched my ear back into one singular piece. I then called my mother because it occurred to me I hadn’t a clue when I had my last Tetanus shot, and good thing I called because it turned out my last Tetanus shot was 10 years in the past so I went with my Wife to the local MD Now walk in medical clinic and told them I had been bitten by a dog while at work, and I would thus be needing a well over due Tetanus shot. I noticed that after the informing them I was first and foremost bitten on the ear by a dog (I explained I worked as a Vet Tech and it was an owned animal code for rabies shot is current) the front desk personel where staring intently at my ear until realizing I wasn’t bleeding because I had stitches in my ear. So of course out of curiosity and a bit of concern they repeatedly and excessively asked who in fact had stitched up my ear for me. I was aware that in Canada if a Veterinarian works on a human they lose their vet license, are heavily fined and possibly could face some jail time. If I’m anything I’m insanely loyal (I say insane because even loyalty can be too much of a good thing if shit gets out of hand) I finally answered them and all I said was “a friend” helped me out. Several other staff members asked me the same question over and over again (sometimes they would just reword the question before asking it for the thousandth time) and all I would say every single time without fail was a friend helped me out and stitched me up.
NOTE TO READER: If your thinking how in a (fully staffed )professional medical clinic no one there could piece it together? I told them I got bitten at work. I also told them I’m a veterinary technician. I told them I work for a Veterinarian in his Animal Hospital. Yet NO ONE could figure out the blatantly obvious that the Veterinarian was the one who did the stitched me up. CONGRATULATIONS YOUR NOT INSANE. Its just the god’s honest truth, no one there could put it all together. Its like the most fucked up game of Clue ever.
One of the Strangest Memories of Mine from Childhood
When I was growing up I attended a Private School from kindergarten through 8th grade, but this wasn’t in any way to do with my family having money. My father was the Head of the English Department so I got a free ride that I never wanted. Part of this elitist idiots institution of privilege was that they had an ice skating rink so ever winter for P.E. we would walk over and ice skate for class. Now knowing that kids grow quick and that outside of P.E. I’d never use them my father found away around needlessly spending money on new ice skates. He quite simply located a man who lived near by who rented ice skates during the winter months.
The elderly gentlemen who ran the rental operation ran it out of his house. Now I can’t tell you what the house even looked like as we always went after dark, but in all due fairness it gets dark by 5 p.m. during winter. What I remember is the following. I remember my father making a right hand turn off a residential street and driving down a short driveway were he parked the car. Once we got out of the car the house was on the left and when you looked over you saw your basic 2 car garage with a plain old run of the mill white exterior door. We would enter through the plain white door into a completely dark area about the size of your average closet. To the right once you stepped through the door was a doorway that led to a set of steps (approximately 5-6 steps in total) that we’ed walk down into base of the operation if you will. The room was dimly light by outdated and well worn florescent lights who’s originally sterile soul sucking silent office light had degraded into a flickering odd shade of grey with a loud humming buzz. The floor was bathed in a 1970’s Ultra Shag carpet of dark brown with flecks of deep yellow and orange through out. The walls were completely bare with off white paint that during countless years had developed a time worn yellowing. The only other thing in the entire room was a home made wood bench that was wrapped around the walls and had some poor excuse for padding. There was a small laundry room directly across from the steps that housed a washer, dryer and an ice skate sharpening machine like the one you see at regular ice skating rinks. There was in fact a 3rd room but we will get back to that in a minute.
Once you sat down on the bench it was vertically identical to buying shoes. The Old man probably mid 60’s standing about 6 feet 3 inches tall wearing a plaid shirt, suspenders, work pants (Dickies) and a pair of beat down construction boots would gather up 3 or 4 pairs of skates. After collecting the skates he would walk over and kneel down as you tried on the skates he would lace them for you. While lacing and unlacing the skates until finding the right pair would exhale heavily through his nose periodically like a long nasal sigh. Now I don’t believe this was out of discomfort (i.e. old joints, bad knee etc) or emotion (anger,irritating,disgust etc.) ,but rather a peculiar personal trait the man developed over his life time, and more then likely wasn’t even aware at his advanced age he was even making a noise. Once the correct and proper pair of ice skates was found the Old man would collect the rental fee and that was that until returning them in Spring.
Now remember that 3rd room I said we’ed get back to well we’re back to it. See just like with shoes you have to walk around a bit in a pair of skates as you would a pair of shoes to insure they fit correctly. I had always wondered since the beginning of these yearly rentals exactly where the skates to be rented where. So while testing out a pair of skates one year to see in they fit I got up enough nerve to really walk around the room. I normally you see would only take a few steps as not to be too far from my father or the exit door as I found the whole situation creepy as shit as a kid, and as I write this I have the same feeling. As I walked around the room I noticed there was a slight 3 foot long extenuation coming out of the wall to create a degree of privacy, (I don’t know why someone would build a basement with a privacy wall of sorts unless your a serial killer) and around on the other side was the 3rd previously unseen room. I teetered and wobbled around until I could see in the 3rd room and what I saw is the strangest part of the story. The large room was filled to capacity with pairs of ice skate, hundreds upon hundreds of them like it was the Fort Knox of ice skates. There were pairs of skates lying side by side in row after row covering the entire floor, and there were cubbies lining the walls from the floor to the ceiling each one housing a pair of ice skates.
To this day my one and only question has created plentiful hypothesizes BUT NEVER answered is simply “Where the Hell did this Old Man get Hundreds and Hundreds of pairs of ice skates?” How did he amass so many pairs? This question alone only brings more questions and no answer.