Godforsaken Bastards and Why They Suck Ass

The Opening: A Season in the Shade

We have entered the era of the Godforsaken Bastard. It is a time defined not by leadership, but by the violent curation of chaos. A period where the traditional guardrails of decency haven't just been ignored, they’ve been sold for scrap. This is the portrait of a collective that thrives on the friction of a world in collapse, a rogue’s gallery of the high-born and the low-lived who have mistaken their cruelty for courage and their greed for a mandate. They move through our culture like a virus in a designer suit, insulated by billions and emboldened by a mob that has been taught to love the sound of breaking glass. This zine is the shadow to the saints; it is a jagged, unwashed look at the architects of our current misery, the enforcers of our fear, and the loud-mouthed parasites who provide the soundtrack to the demolition of the common good. Welcome to the wreckage.

The Bustiers and Bullshit of the Far Right

The "Freedom for Me, but Not for Thee" crowd is at it again, and the irony is thick enough to choke a horse. Conservative Americans love to wrap themselves in the flag and scream about liberty from the rooftops, but that liberty apparently comes with a "Members Only" sign.

They want the freedom to stockpile enough firepower to arm a small nation, the freedom to vote by mail while simultaneously trying to dismantle the post office for everyone else, and the freedom to indulge in whatever private kinks they fancy behind closed doors. We see the hypocrisy in real-time: a certain president casts his own ballot from the comfort of a gold-plated mailbox while he and his followers scream that mail-in voting is a scam.

If Bryon Noem wants to spend his weekends in a bustier and heels, that’s between him, his mirror, and POSSIBLY his wife, though an argument could be made that it's only her business if he decides that's okay.

The Myth of the Neutral Platform

In her own hateful words

There is a common misconception that providing a stage for extremist viewpoints is an act of "objective journalism" or "free speech advocacy." However, when you give a KKK leader, a Nazi, or a bigot a microphone, you aren't just observing them; you are participating in their expansion.

“If This Goes On—”: A Side-by-Side Look at Heinlein’s Warning and the United States Today

I've been working steadily on this article since mid-January. It has been harrowing, absolutely frightening, and just a little bit too close to reality these days for me..

I just reread Robert Heinlein’s “If This Goes On—” for the umpteenth time, and I can’t stop thinking about how quiet it is. Not the writing itself, but the way the collapse happens. No sirens. No big moment where everyone agrees something has gone wrong. Just a series of choices that all seem defensible at the time. That’s what got under my skin.

Power Without Oversight Is Not Law Enforcement

In a constitutional system, enforcement authority is granted with an explicit condition: it must be constrained, reviewable, and accountable. When any agency operates beyond meaningful oversight, power ceases to be lawful in practice even if it remains lawful in name.

This concern is not theoretical. Repeated audits, inspections, and independent reviews have documented systemic failures in immigration enforcement agencies to meet basic standards of transparency, accountability, and humane treatment. These findings come not from advocacy alone, but from inspectors general, federal courts, and oversight bodies tasked with evaluating compliance with the law.

When Democracy Requires More Than Words

Democracy doesn't collapse in a single moment. It erodes gradually, through delay, complacency, and the comforting illusion that someone else will intervene before lasting damage is done. By the time the threat feels undeniable, the tools meant to stop it are often weakened or already gone.

This is the danger of treating civic engagement as symbolic rather than functional. Voting, representation, and institutional balance are not gestures of identity or expressions of mood. They are mechanisms. When those mechanisms fail to operate as designed, democratic systems lose their ability to correct abuse, enforce accountability, and restrain the concentration of power.

Vegan Lasagna

Before anybody asks, no, I'm not vegan. I am an absolute omnivore and I like meat quite a lot. But I also enjoy vegetarian and vegan dishes.

I invented this vegan lasagna some time in the early 90s, and my tofu hating friend asked for seconds when I fed it to him without telling him.

You'll want these ingredients:

Insurance SUCKS, Free Luigi!

I did SO much today

First I dealt with health insurance for several hours, found out that no, they DON'T cover my online psych care like they said they do before I switched to them (it's United Healthcare. Luigi did a GOOD fucking thing, and I wanna put money on his fucking jailhouse commissary account!). So after about four hours dealing with them I said: "Ya know, take your UHC bullshit and get royally fucked, okay? I'm going back to Molina SOONEST, motherfuckers!" And yes, I DID swear a blue streak. Then I hung up, and I miss the old fucking phones you could slam down in anger. Jesus, the things we miss.

Called 211, switched back to Molina which is effective April 1. My psychiatrist sent my scrips in even though he didn't get paid for that. Don't think I need any refills on body meds until next month, but we'll see. I am covered under United Hell Care for the month of March, so my meds should be covered...

SCOTUS Overturns Trump’s Tariffs and Trump Loses His Mind About It

SCOTUS finally did what everyone with a functioning frontal lobe knew was coming. They looked at Trump’s tariff stunt, checked it against the Constitution, and said no. Not maybe. Not sort of. Not later. Just fucking NO!

According to the reporting, the ruling was simple. A president does not get to rewrite trade law because he feels like playing Tough Motherfucker. Congress did not authorize the kind of free for all Trump tried to pull. The Court reminded everyone that presidential power has fucking limits. That is their goddam job. That is the whole point of the fucking judiciary.

And Trump reacted exactly how he always reacts when someone refuses to kiss the friggin' ring...

Impeach and CONVICT Trump NOW!

 

There is a point where a country either wakes up or sleepwalks straight off a cliff. People keep acting like this is just another news cycle, another round of political noise,or another thing to scroll past on the way to cat videos and dinner plans. But this isn't background static. This is the fire alarm blaring at full volume while half the country pretends it's a ringtone. We're living inside an emergency, and the refusal to name it is part of the emergency.

Because this is not about one moment, one headline, or one outrageous quote. It's an accumulation, a pattern, the relentless grinding erosion of guardrails and basic expectations of leadership. Every time something crosses a line, the line gets redrawn a little further out, and people shrug a little harder, and the whole thing becomes a little more normal and accepted...

Reblog - Scott Stanton, On Calling Pedophiles To Account

You may or may not have seen some posts pop up and or disappear from me about recent activity regarding the Epstein files and child predators. To be honest, I’m having a difficult time being completely rational about it because as a child between the ages of five and seven I was repeatedly raped by a neighbor. What these men in the Epstein files did to these children isn’t something to brush aside or forget about. I can testify from firsthand experience that this kind of shit ruins people’s lives for a long, long time. These women need you to listen to what they have to say about what happened to them at the hands of these powerful men.

This is not a little bit of oops I did something with somebody I shouldn’t have type of thing. This is they raped children, and the children they raped have been suffering their entire lives because of what happened to them at the hands of these men. I don’t wanna hear anymore about how we need to let this slide because the economy will falter. I don’t wanna hear anything else about how people’s lives are going to be ruined because people’s lives have already been ruined. These children have already been suffering for decades with no one to hear them and no one to listen and no one knowing what happened. If the entire system has to collapse to bring these rapists to justice, I’m completely fine with that and so should you be. Any system that supports the raping of children and defend the rapists who did that is a system that needs to collapse.  Full stop. Raping children is never OK. Getting away with raping children is never OK. I don’t care what has to collapse. I don’t care what has to catch fire and I don’t care what has to happen to other people’s lives because of this. 

These children deserve to be heard. There was no one there to hear me when I needed my voice to be heard. Now these girls have a voice as the grown women they have become. You must listen to them. You must look into their eyes as they weep and tell you what these men did to them. You must hold their rapists accountable for raping them. I can’t believe I’m even having to type that sentence to justify holding rapists accountable for the rape they perpetrated. This should not be up for discussion, ever. This should not be something people are confused about.

Every single person on the list must be trotted out into the light of day and examined, regardless of their political party, regardless of their power and influence in the world, and regardless of what consequences there will be for them and for the world after they are brought to justice.  We need lots of trials. We need lots of consequences. I can no longer get justice for myself, but goddamnit we are gonna get justice for these children.

If you defend in any way, these men, including our president, you are a disgusting, horrible person. There’s no other explanation for why you would defend someone who raped a child much less many many children over many years. This is not something I will bend on. This is not something that I’m willing to debate. It is not up for discussion or debate.

These men deserve to be tortured for what they did, but unfortunately, in this country torture isn’t an option. Sadly, the best we can do legally is to hold them accountable and put them in prison. I think that’s a good start. After that, I hope our beloved inmates do what they usually do to child rapists and remove these lumps of human garbage from our planet.

I said what I said, and I stand by every single word of this. 

Punk Lyrics: You’ll Answer One Day

[Verse 1]

Kick in the door, ICE in the van,

Five-year-old sobs, they don’t give a damn.

Mom on the ground, zip ties tight,

“Just doing our job” you’re a fucking parasite.

[Chorus]

You’ll answer one day, you bootlicking freaks,

For blood on the pavement and trauma that reeks.

For cages and silence and bureaucrat spin

Justice is coming, and it’s gonna dig in.

[Verse 2]

You call it law, we call it fucking rot,

You signed the orders, now you’re caught.

You watched them die, you filed your form,

You’re the motherfucking stormtrooper in uniform.

[Bridge]

Hide behind flags, behind your fake pride,

But the ghosts of the stolen will never let you hide.

Every scream, every name, every soul you erased

Will crash through your gates like a riot - with mace.

[Chorus]

You’ll answer one day, you bootlicking freaks,

For blood on the pavement and trauma that reeks.

For cages and silence and bureaucrat spin

Justice is coming, and it’s gonna dig in.

[Outro]

So sleep with your memos and chain-link dreams,

But we’re coming with fury and gasoline.

We’ve got voices, and rage, and a score to settle

And we’ll carve your crimes into twisted metal.

The United States Has Become A Crime Scene and the Government Is Holding the Blood Dripping Blade

The United States feels like it is being peeled apart layer by layer, and the last few weeks have been a nonstop avalanche of cruelty, incompetence, and raw authoritarian hunger. It is like watching a house burn down while the people holding the hoses argue about whether fire is even real. Every day brings another headline that makes you want to scream until your throat tears. Every day brings another reminder that the people in charge are not just failing at their jobs. They are actively choosing violence, chaos, and suffering because it benefits them.

The last three weeks have been a grotesque parade of power flexing and moral decay. It feels like the country is being held hostage by people who get off on watching others suffer. Every press conference is a performance of arrogance. Every policy announcement feels like a threat. Every smug grin from the people responsible for this mess feels like a slap in the face to anyone who still believes in basic human decency. It is infuriating. It is nauseating. It is enough to make you want to tear the whole system down to the studs and start over...

Ukraine Is Still Standing and Russia Is Still Throwing a Tantrum

Russia’s full scale invasion keeps dragging on like the world’s most deranged midlife crisis, and somehow the Kremlin still has not figured out that Ukraine is not going to fucking die just because Moscow thinks it should. Ukraine is fighting for its existence while Russia stomps around like a pissed off toddler who found out the universe does not revolve around its crusty Soviet nostalgia fantasies. Every missile Russia fires is another pathetic attempt to bully a country that has already proven it would rather crawl through hell than surrender a single inch of its land.

Ukraine keeps doing the impossible. Cities get blown to shit and people sweep up the debris and rebuild like it is just another Tuesday. Soldiers rotate out of trenches that look like the inside of a nightmare and go right back because they refuse to let their country be turned into Putin’s personal fucking theme park. Families scatter across continents and still manage to support each other with a level of resilience that makes Russia’s entire propaganda machine look like a clown show. The whole nation is held together by grit, grief, and a collective fuck you aimed directly at Moscow...

Now that it could be them, they're speaking out

 

I'm going to say it, and a lot louder for those in the back.

When it was "just" black men and women being shot in the street like rabid dogs by law enforcement, the country just mostly shrugged and went on to the next ex-judicial killing of innocent people. Because obviously, they were nefarious criminals who were outside walking or driving while black with ulterior motives. Can't be having with that.

Then it was a white woman in Minneapolis, and people started getting mad. But it was only a woman, and a Lesbian at that, so only a few people got angry. A wife has been widowed, a child has been orphaned, and Donald Trump says that this woman who was sitting in a vehicle and speaking peacefully was, and I fucking quote, "A professional agitator".

Now it's a white man.

And now shit is getting real to the MAGA 2A ammosexual fuckheads.

Now they're not liking it. Now the NRA is speaking out. 

Because next time, it could be them or the guy they play poker with on Tuesday nights.

NOW the Republicraps are starting to blink an eye.

Not Trump and Miller, of course. Those pieces of shit just want most of us dead.

But they're starting to see what's actually going down.

Maybe THIS will be the spark that fans into a major flame.

Something's got to fucking give.

Andrea Yates

I recently read a book by Suzy Spencer, "Breaking Point" about the lead up to, the event of, and the aftermath of Andrea Yates drowning her five children. The book takes you through the years before the event and the Yates family's living situation and family dynamic, the murders, and the trial. It was a really gripping read, and had me in tears at times. If you have Kindle Unlimited, the book is free to read. Otherwise, Kindle is $2, and new copies start at $14 plus shipping, and go up from there...

This idiocy again?

Machado wants to give Trump her Nobel Prize, or so the gossip rags say. Of course Donald is acting humble, saying, "Well, you know, whatever she wants to do is fine, it's just an honor to be considered." Sure, Donald, and for me, it's just an honor to rob a bank for ten million dollars, when I know the police will not arrest me, because I'm paying them all off

But, Senora Machado, sweetie, you have a lot to learn. I mean, basically it works like this:

Reblogging Michael Jochum - Sticking it to Ted Nugent

(Note from Jenn: Michael had me in absolute stitches with this one. Nugent is such an arrogant prick, and I love that Michael screwed with him some.)

I was thinking about the great guitar players we all love and admire—the Jeff Becks, the David Gilmours, the Mark Knopflers, the John McLaughlins, the Allan Holdsworths, the Eddie Van Halens. And then, while scrolling, I was tortured for five seconds by a clip of the Nuge playing live. I lingered just long enough to read one comment:

“Ted Nugent is one of rock’s most underrated guitar players.”

That comment unlocked a memory, one of my most vivid, and satisfying, professional remembrances.

These Boots Are Made for Walking

It was around 1986. I was one of those “in-demand session guys,” and I got called to play on a Ted Nugent song. At the time, I was deep into some illicit drugs that made me far more arrogant than I am now, and somehow even more opinionated, which seems almost impossible in retrospect. I was also, inexplicably, very into cowboy boots.

For the record, cowboy boots are not ideal footwear for someone with my foot size. But they were fashionable, and I was wearing them.

I arrived at Capitol Studio B. Naturally, Nugent wasn’t there yet, just his entourage: an engineer of note, a producer of some credibility, and assorted enablers waiting for me to start dialing in drum sounds at 9 a.m. I delivered sonic excellence, as was my habit. And then Ted Nugent finally strutted in.

He did his trademark pantomime of friendliness, pretending to like everyone in the room, before marching straight into the drum booth. He didn’t offer a handshake. He stared at my feet.

“Are you going to wear those cowboy boots when you play the drums?”

“Fuck yes,” I said. “I’m going to wear these cowboy boots while I play the drums. They’re what I have on my feet.”

He stared back at me with those milky, lifeless eyes and declared,

“Drummers don’t wear cowboy boots. You need to go home and change your shoes before we start the session.”

So I stood up, walked out of Capitol Studio B, crossed the parking lot, drove through the guard gate, and headed home to change my shoes, at his command.

Here’s the part Ted Nugent hadn’t thought through: he had no idea where I lived, or how long this little footwear pilgrimage might take.

On my way down Sepulveda Boulevard from my Gucci house in the now-gentrified Royal Oaks neighborhood of Sherman Oaks, I decided to enjoy myself. After all, this was his dime. I stopped for gas at my favorite 7-Eleven, where, fourteen years later, I would bump into O.J. Simpson, because America is nothing if not consistent.

I got hungry, so I swung by In-N-Out for a Double-Double with cheese, fries, and a vanilla milkshake. Then I realized I was out of my favorite illicit substance, so I made a quick stop at a dear friend’s house, known professionally as “the dealer”to stock up for my evening with Teddy.

By the time I returned to Capitol Studios, four and a half hours had passed.

Triple scale is a beautiful thing when you’re a sideman. Sidemen don’t get the glory, but occasionally we get the satisfaction, and the invoice reflects that.

I walked back into Studio B without acknowledging Nugent, the engineer, or the producer. I sat down at the drum kit and played one of his stupid songs.

And that, in a nutshell, is how one of rock’s “most underrated guitar players” taught me that power is often loud, insecure, and deeply concerned with footwear.

—Michael Jochum, Not Just a Drummer: Reflections on Art, Politics, Dogs, and the Human Condition

Definitions

 

Charlie Kirk was NOT "assassinated".

Martin Luther King Junior was assassinated. JFK was assassinated. Abraham Lincoln was assassinated.

That motherfucker was SHOT. Like the rabid fucking dog that he was.

It is time to shout out the truth.

 

Thank you, Deb Colburn, owner of Nomad, Cambridge and pretentiousl;y fake 79 year old hipster with the screaming fire engine red hair, the stupid glasses, and the designer dogs, for showing me a complete tour of your naked vagina, clitoris included, when I was five and you were 21, and encouraging me to hold and rub your boyfriend's penis and testicles when I was seven and you were 23 or 24. For breaking wooden spoons on my ass. For telling everybody I was a crazy liar so that they didn't believe me when I told them what you were doing to me.

For driving a wedge between me and my sister, and my father. For driving my mother away, then abandoning us when you had your own kid.

I hope you die bleeding painfully from your asshole.

I think I'll send this letter to the Cambridge Chronicle, Boston Globe, and WBZ news.

Bet you voted for Trump, too. Cunt.

Shit is going to get real, Deb. I won't hurt you or encourage people to. I'll just drive you batshit crazy.