8647 For Fuck's Sake!

 

The man:

• Wants to be on a US stamp.
• Wants to replace FDR on the dime.
• Wants a Triumphal Arch overlooking Arlington Cemetery.
• Wants a Nobel Peace Prize
• Wants the reflecting pool to be country club pool blue 
• Wants a fucking ballroom
• Wants to suck Putin's cock.
• Has added himself to our passports
• Is on a 24K plated commemrative coin that the US mint sells for approx$50.
• Has his cabinet praise him one person at a time before meetings
• Persecutes (and prosecutes) his political enemies
• The Kennedy Center. 'Nuff said.
• Considers himself on a par with Jesus H Crucified Christ
• He illegally invaded a sovereign nation and kidnapped its president
• Wants to pave Palestine and turn it into a fucking casino or summat

He spends most of his time bitching and griping about these non-issues, like a toddler throwing a tantrum to get what it wants. Meanwhile, there's a war, there's a big blockade, there's no affordable gas, soon there will be no gas at all, and then the food and other commodity shortages start. 

He's more interested in his orange face being on a stamp than in pulling our troops out of Iran or any real issue on this planet and in this country.

He needs to go.

8647 - 25th Amendment NOW! Congress used to have balls. Now it's a bunch of fucking sycophants groveling at his feet and licking his smegma laden uncircumcised schlong and not doing its job. Grow a new set, assholes. 

Come and get me for saying 8647. Here's a fucking history lesson for you:

"The term "86" originated in the 1920s-1930s as American restaurant and soda jerk slang for running out of an item, likely evolving as rhyming slang for "nix". It expanded to mean kicking out customers or refusing service, with popular, though unverified, theories linking it to [Chumley’s Speakeasy] at 86 Bedford St. or Prohibition-era police tactics. [1, 2, 3, 4, 5]

Most Likely Origins:

• Soda Jerk/Diner Code: In the 1930s, staff used numerical codes (e.g., 81 was water). "86" meant an item was sold out.
• Rhyming Slang: It is often considered a direct, witty rhyme for "nix" (to cancel or reject). [1, 2, 3]

Common Origin Myths & Theories:

• Chumley’s Speakeasy: Located at 86 Bedford St. in New York, police would allegedly tell the bartender to "86" patrons out the back door before a raid.
• Prohibition Era: Bartenders would serve a rowdy customer 86-proof liquor to get them drunk faster so they would leave.
• Supplies/Space: Early diners only held 85 items, or in soup kitchens, the 86th person got nothing.
• Military Code: Reference to the F-86 fighter jet shooting down an enemy, or Article 86 (AWOL) of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. [1, 2]

Today, it is commonly used in hospitality to mean an item is gone, or that a customer is no longer allowed on the premises. [1]" (History.Com and Wikipedia)

NOWHERE does it mention it as a term for icing somebody. Nowhere.

When somebody is egomaniacal and utterly fucking deranged, he sues everybody who so much as looks at him strangely. He orders his subordinates to investigate and prosecute his enemies as a revenge tactic for having the sheer effontery to stand against him.And when somebody is delusional and incredibly stupid, he tilts at windmills and sits around on his ass.

86 fucking 47. The world cannot wait. World War 3 is starting, because of his insane policies. There is unrest here at home, and a growing global disgust for the US due to Donald Trump's hubris. 

He has got to be stopped by any LEGAL means necessary. While he's #2 on my Dead Pool List, I do not advocate violence against anybody.25th Amendment, Impeachment and Conviction, something else non-violent and legal, but it's got to stop. It's really got to stop. 

I cannot believe that there are people in this country, a LOT of people, who think he's the best thing that ever happened to the US and the world. Who believe every word out of his mouth. Who consider all liberals to be traitors to the US. Who cannot see that this man embodies the biblical description of the Antichrist they believe in.  That he is craven, childish, and creepy. He is a danger to the entire planet and he has control of "the football".

Get me the fuck out of here and 8647. Last week.

Prose Writing from the past

Back in the 90s, I started an IRC channel called #Bards, where a group of us would get together every week and share/recite the poems and stories we had written for an appreciative audience. Here are some of the stories I wrote.



Once there were mountains that no longer exist on this planet today, canyons that have long since been filled with dust and earth, and become part of the prairies, and people the likes of which will never be seen on this earth again..

Assorted Poetry

This post holds a lot of poems I wrote back in the 80s and 90s, in no particular order. Enjoy!

Happy Birthday to the Great Bald Guru

Written for my friend Bill Sowman on his 69th birthday. He passed shortly after that, but he loved this poem, and called me (back in the days of Long Distance being bloody expensive) from London, just to ask me to read it to him. I sure miss him.

I Cried

 

July 1 1961 - August 31 1997

As soon as I heard of Princess Diana's death, the chorus of an old song began running through my mind. I think it is apropos to the moment..

Why I Write

Ever since penmanship stopped being a burden and became something that I could do well (around the age of 12, I was a late penmanship bloomer), I have been an avid writer. It did not come easily, though.

I remember suffering over "Creative Writing" exercises in 4th, 5th, and 6th grades. Being told that I was not writing poetry correctly because my poems had neither rhyme nor meter, being told that my choice of subject matter was uninteresting, being told that my stories lacked (pick something)..

The Hands

Early morning memory...

Prophets, Profits, and Predatory Pyramids

TL;DR: MLMs are a predatory plague that feast on women's insecurities and social lives. Utah is the giant, culty heart of this scam, where missionary tactics are repurposed to sell overpriced essential oils and ugly leggings.

More Inside...

This is who I am

I’m a proud, raging liberal democrat and a fierce LGBT+ ally who raised three amazing fucking kids while navigating a world that usually needs to get its shit together.

I’m elfi, and along with being a 61-year-old artist with a house full of animals, I’m a proud, raging liberal democrat. I’ve lived through enough history to know that standing up for people matters, so being a dedicated LGBT+ ally isn't a choice; it’s just who I am.

I spend my time designing Zentangle patterns like Infinite Eights and putting together The Eclectic Freak Manifesto because I’m a fucking artist, not some hobbyist.

I’m also the mother of three amazing fucking kids (Lis, Ian, and Ava). They’re the best things I’ve ever done, even if the rest of the world is a goddamn mess. I spent my time moving from Boston to San Francisco to Texas, and honestly, only finishing the 8th grade gave me more common sense than most people with a PhD.

The elfi Essentials:

The Music: I worship at the "Holy Trinity" (James Taylor, Joni Mitchell, and Carole King). But don't get it twisted; I’ve got enough punk in me to run a Ramones fanzine.

The Diet: Get those goddamn fries away from me. I want the burger, an Arby’s gyro, and a white birch beer. That’s it.

The Vibe: I watch Bob Ross to stay "relaxed," which is a miracle considering I’m currently stuck using a laptop while waiting for a friend to send me a new computer.

I’m one step at a time, simple solutions only, and for the love of god, stop assuming you know what I’m thinking. 

Penny for your thoughts

When I was ten, I made my artist grandmother a cross for her wall by cutting a couple of chopsticks into shorter pieces with a steak knife, using a leather bootlace to bind them together, and then I used Elmer's glue to attach pennies up and down the stake and the crosspiece.

I remember having to prop the pennies so they would stay still and let the glue dry properly.

Gramma Mary hung that cross on her wall in Chicago, and then took it to California when she moved there when I was about 20. It was still hanging on her wall when she passed away, about twenty years after I made it for her.

It was kind of gimpy, but she loved it, and loved that I had spent time and effort making it for her.

I miss you, Gramma.