Category Archives: What would Jesus say?

Florida Legislature Votes for Child Murder

As a South Florida native, I’m well aware of the historically venal, greedy and stupid louts who traditionally populate our legislatuve bodies. There are no heroes in that sordid mass of useless flesh and lard. It’s not uncommon for the legislature’s “leaders” to go straight from office to prison.

But even by their own corrupt and cowardly standards, they’ve hit a new low.  The Florida GOP lawmakers, one and all, voted the interest of their owners and donors and refused even to consider or bring to the floor any legislation which might anger the National Rifle Association (NRA).  They couldn’t care less that 17 people, mostly kids, were blown away in six minutes by gunfire in their shcool.

They no doubt enjoy stout protections against intruders into their sacrosanct halls.  That would be protections against someone with an automatic weapon or a gun.  How pathetic is it that they will not pull their snouts out of the trough from which they feed long enough to consider protecting children–who are sitting ducks in unsecured schools–from hails of rapid fire bullet assault.

Even for Florida this is disgusting.  When the children invaded Governor Rick Scott’s office they were told that he was “too busy” to see them.  Then his office said he was at a funeral.  I don’t believe that for a minute.

At least it’s not as bad as the coterie of White House no-talents who, having had a bad couple of weeks due to their own self-induced chaos, rponounced themselves “relieved” that scrutiny was shifted from their feckless incompetence to the mass murder and maiming of a bunch of kids.

Yeah, profiles in courage at the White House too.  “Relieved” that children being ripped apart by bullets shifted attention from them and their inability to govern.

I want to throw up.

And tourists, keep in mind, Florida is a lawless free fire zone.  There is no safety within our borders.  There are no responsible “leaders”.  Would you want to put your kids, on vacation, at risk in a dreadful place such as the Sunshine State?

What would Jesus say?  “Suffer the children.”  And, “hell is way too good for you Florida legislature scumbags”.


Was It Worth $100K-$250K for (Eric) Trump Appearance?

So there was supposed to be this big–hyooooge, in fact–bash at Mar-a-Lago to celebrate Trump’s one-year-in-office anniversary.  Trump would play the conquering hero to the adoring crowd of Trumpettes and other awe-stricken lumpenproles in a pricey paean to his wonderfulness.  (The Trumpettes are a group of die-hard female Trump supporters who openly celebrate their white privilege instead of denying that it exists as dem women do.)

The cost to attend was reportedly between $100,000 and $250,000 per couple (the latter figure being for the swells who wished to participate in a patricians-only discussion of some sort).

Except the government shutdown interfered.  The president had to stay in Washington.

But it was okay.  There was a substitute Trump appearance.  Eric.  He may have given a speech.  I wasn’t on the guest list.

But had I been, well, the bait and switch would not have gone unremarked-upon.  I would argue that a picture with Eric Trump pretending to know me would not have been of equivalent value to a photo of his father pretending to know me.  Yeah, that was supposed to be the big payoff for attendees–a photo with the leader of the free world.

Instead they got a photo-op with his kid whose main achievement in life so far has been lugging his father’s DNA around and passing it on to some offspring.

For this guests were expected to take their tiaras out of the safety deposit boxes?   Eric Trump?  Why that’s hardly even worth a factotum’s time to go and pick up the baubles from the vault, let alone the price of  ladies’ costly couture, groomers’ time, glittery footwear and other essentials for a look at me, look at me social event in Palm Beach.

Yeah.  $100K – $250K.  Eric Trump.  No kidding.

Money well spent, no?  No!

What would Jesus say?  “Hey kid, you ever hear the one about the camel passing through the eye of a needle?”

Ack, Sen. Corker Agrees with Me re: Trump Castrating Cabinet

Except I said it first.  Sen. Corker, you’re stealin’ my premise. (This is just an updated previous post from 4/27/17 in which I raised the same issue–Trump’s neutered males). Because the way the men in the Trump adminstration are publicly scolded, badmouthed, slimed, denigrated, taunted and generally disrespected by their incompetent and embarrassingly ill-behaved master would only be tolerated by someone with no balls.

So I’ve been wondering–will all the Trump administration’s neutered
males–Priebus, Sessions, Mattis, Pence, Tillerson, Spicer, et. al.–get their balls back after they leave office? (Okay, Spicer and Priebus probably never had any, but what about the rest?  They were once high testosterone males.) And where are those testicles stored anyway? (Al Gore’s lockbox?) Or were they just thrown out with the rest of the trash?

Granted, most of the castrati are so old that they probably weren’t using
those balls for much anyway, except possibly to scratch occasionally, for
old times’ sake. But the way these guys let Trump humiliate them suggests
that whatever manhood they still possessed had to be checked at the
metaphorical door to their new positions, as a condition of employment.

Some of the president’s paid lackeys used to have some pride, sense of self,
and independence. Now they’re just a sad, pathetic bunch of saluting,
heel-clicking old castrati who have apparently sold their manhood

Still, it could be worse. Über sack-shrinker Hillary could have been elected.
Just the sound of her voice is enough to make a red-blooded male’s testicles
ascend to the refuge of their owner’s thorax and huddle behind the ribs in
fear. There’s no guarantee she would even have hired any manly men

What would Jesus say?

“You weenies don’t deserve the balls Dad and I gave ya.  You don’t hear about me badmouthing my apostles do ya?  And look what they did to me.”


Serial Plotter Bannon Takes on Devil Dog/Gyrene Gen. John Kelly

Predictably, Bannon lost.

What the hell was he thinking? A sleazy mouthpiece who served as a desk
jockey in the Navy vs. a Gold Star Marine dad who led combat troops in
Iraq–who would you put your money on? Duuuh.

Aha ha ha ha ha ha ha. There ya go Bannon, how’d that work out?

Just as I will always put my money on the red-blooded American male–of any color–that goes in spades for Marines. I once dated a USMC JAG Captain, who was a hooker on the Marine rugby team. Jeez, when waitresses would come to
take his order and he’d look up, they would always take a step back. He just
exuded menace. And he was just a non-combat Captain. Presumably Gen.
Kelly is infinitely more dangerous.

Thank you Gen. Kelly for liberating Mr. Bannon.

Here’s a new career choice I think Bannon would be good at. He should be
organizing bum fights beneath overpasses to scrounge up enough pocket
change to afford a bottle or two of Thunderbird.

The very thought that Bannon might be able to take on Kelly and win is
laughable. Gen. Kelly has done us all a favor by removing that painful
carbuncle Bannon from our collective ass. Yeay!

What would Jesus say?  Hoo Ah.

Why KKK Folks Choose to Wear Dunce Caps

It’s always been something of a mystery why any group would voluntarily
pick dunce caps as part of their official uniform. But the KKK chose
long ago to include that traditional insignia of stupidity as emblematic of
their beliefs and world view.

Now, after the last few days, it’s obvious why they made that choice. They revere ignorance, stupidity and brainless violence.  They celebrate it.  They obviously want to present themselves to the world as dummies and dunces because they are proud of it.

Nothing says “duh, I’m an idiot” like voluntarily wearing dunce caps–in public no less.  It sends a message all right–that is, that they like being dumb and ignorant. They don’t just approve it, they actually applaud it.  They work at it.

Here in America I suspect that under normal circumstances the KKK has
nothing to do with most of our lives.  Their kind of living isn’t even on our
collective radar screen.  Or at least it wasn’t until the last few days.

That’s changed.  They have pushed their unwanted, ugly ways into our

When the KKK’s demented knuckledraggers say they “will take back our country” what they really mean is that they want to take our country, and the values “we the rabble” hold dear, away from us.

Too bad.  It’s not “their” country to take.  It belongs to all of us, whether they like it or not.

F–k them!  They can’t have what belongs to all of us.  Maybe we’re the ones who should “take back our country” from the altRight, the nazis and the KKK.   Maybe they need to find someplace else to practice their backwards ways.  Maybe we should confine them somewhere so they can’t continue disrupting and infecting our public life.

I hear Alcatraz is empty, and difficult to escape.

There ya go KKK boys and girls. I’ve found the perfect spot for you.

No, no, don’t thank me.  Glad to be of help.  Now, please–leave!

And BTW, KKK, Jesus does NOT love you.

What would Jesus say?  “Crush them like the icky bugs they are..”


Apocalypse Wow–Riding Windsurfer Bill’s Honda 90 in a Caribbean Hurricane

Life in America is way too constrained.  There’s too much pressure to conform in oh so many ways, despite our unsupported belief that here in the USA we are wild, free and nonconformist.

So I happened to be thinking wistfully about the time Windsurfer Bill rode up to my place in the Caribbean, on his Honda 90, in the middle of a hurricane.  He burst in and said excitedly; “All the boats are draggin’ anchor in Chocolate Hole.  Wanna go get some champagne and watch expensive boats crash?”

It sounded like fun so I said sure.  Now, at the time, I was living up in Bethany on a dirt road which was steep, full of rocks, and would wash out during the infrequent rains. It was no simple thing for Bill to have gotten his underpowered little vehicle up that road in a damn hurricane either!  That boy had some onions.

Who wouldn’t jump at a chance for an adventure like that?  So I hopped on the back of Bill’s tiny motorbike, sans helmet of course, and we rode into town (Cruz Bay) and went to the deli/restaurant at Mongoose Junction to get some Dom Perignon.  (What else would you drink to watch an apocalypse?)

Tom, the owner, had just closed up.  After we explained why we needed a bottle of Dom he allowed as how he just happened to have one on ice in the back of his jeep that he’d be willing to part with in support of such a good cause.  “I always carry one” he said “in case I get lucky”.  Tom must have been a boy scout at some time to take preparedness to that level.

So we got the champagne and had a fairly harrowing ride up to Bill’s place, which was up a much steeper and rockier road than mine.  Since he lived right at the top of a big hill on the south side shoreline, it was blowin’ like snot up there.  Huge things were flying through the air and, in fact, millions of dollars worth of sailboats were already being pounded against the beach like cockroaches that accidentally wandered into a flamenco fiesta.

It was grand!  We hauled out a couple of chairs, plunked down on the deck and sipped the Dom until it ran out.  Then we switched to a more plebian Cold Duck, or something along those lines, and got fairly tipsy from the alcohol and the wildly dynamic scene playing out for our fun and amusement.  It was soooo fun!  It was like the end of the world but without pain–the wind was screaming, roofs were coming apart, the sea was smashing everything that was in its way, and the noise was deafening.   It was chaos incarnate, if a hurricane can be said to be an incarnation.

People don’t do stuff like that here.  Here they prepare seriously and take precautions. But that was the glory of St. John back in the day.  People did things with panache and free spirited attitudes.  (Once  a St. Johnian sank his new–and very expensive–boat, but stayed on board since part of it was still out of the water.  A friend of his had a case of champagne delivered to the stranded sailor via helicopter.  (No word on whether he thought to report the sunken boat–we’d all heard about it from another boatie.)

Recently I re-connected with an old friend/colleague from the St. John days. He wrote a novel about St. John at that time, in order to memorialize a golden moment when, as Sarah Palin wistfully noted once, people were free.  I asked if he remembered when I tried to shoot his dog, and he laughed that, yes, as a matter of fact, he did.  The name of the book is Back Time in Love City & it definitely, even definitively, captures the zeitgeist of that time and place.  I would recommend it to anyone who has ever dreamed of jumping their traces and taking off into an unknown place for adventure.

One time I rode my big race horse into that iconic Cruz Bay pub, the Back Yard.  She was huge, very high strung and prone to going into wild frenzies of hysteria where she would buck and kick and race around trying to chase any human who crossed her path.  So I rode her up to the packed bar and Dougie Sica didn’t blink an eye, just said, “What’ll ya have?”  Kamikazes seemed appropriate for that particular moment.  So I sat on my big horse and drank kamikazes at the bar, then rode her on out and went home.  Neither of us wore shoes.

Ya can’t do stuff like that in America anymore, except maybe out west or in Texas.  Nope, now and here, decorum is required and one must comport oneself in a manner that couldn’t possibly offend anyone.  Yeah, God forbid that anyone might have their delicate sensibilities offended.  I’m pretty sure there must be a clause in the Constitution about that.

So I sigh and plod on, bereft of any scintilla of spontaneity or free-spiritedness.  We don’t approve of such things in America anymore.  More’s the pity.  But at least I know what it means to have been free, wild and stupid enough to have adventures, to do stuff people wouldn’t approve of.  Sad to say I don’t think all that many Americans get to have that luxury anymore.

What would Jesus say?  “Did ya like my storm?”

Sigh.  I miss being free.


What Would Jesus Think of Watching Golf on TV?

I was watching the US Open golf tournament this afternoon.  It was
too rainy and stormy to go outside and I’ve already seen all the reruns of CSI
Miami–the only remotely interesting program on the 90 or so available viewing channels.

Now, I can understand people playing golf–we’re a nutty species after all.
The oddest things entertain us.  But watching somebody else play golf?
Sorry but you lose me there.

So I started wondering–what would Jesus think about that questionable
pastime.  It would be sacrilegious to pretend to know what a divinity thinks, but here’s a hypothesis anyway.

Maybe His opinion would go something like this.

“I allowed myself to be tortured to death in the most gruesome way–all to
save your sorry ass souls. You’re supposed to thank me one day a week.  One damn day!  Is that asking too much?  And this is what I get?  Millions of you, glued to some inanimate rectangular object, staring intently at a handful of guys hitting a tiny ball with sticks?

“D’you realize life is finite?  Clock’s tickin’ people.  Y’know I’m comin’ back with an army one of these days don’t ya?  And I’m not gonna be in a good mood.  Just sayin’ ”