Month: March 2022

“Old age is an excellent time for outrage. My goal is to say or do at least one outrageous thing every week.” (Maggie Kuhn)

When people ask me how I am, my stock answer is, “I’m old, crabby, ugly, tired, mean, miserable, and ornery.” It would make a great title for a Country Western song. It pays to have a consistent positive attitude. Consistency is one of the hallmarks of excellence.

A while back, a good friend asked how I was doing. I told them I was trying to grow old gracefully, but it was not working well. I live in a curmudgeonly, crotchety, cantankerous state of mind.

When I wake up in the morning, I sit on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath to see if I am still living. I take stock of any new aches and pains in places of my body that I never knew existed. Then I shuffle off to get the elixir of life, coffee. Coffee makes me feel human again. It also imparts humanity because it is the only thing that keeps me from becoming a serial killer.

I try hard to remember I am not 25 anymore. My mind and body are constantly at war with each other. Sometimes my body says, “I do not think that is a good idea” My brain says, “Hold my whiskey.”

I spend the morning scanning the news to keep informed of all the issues I should be p***ed off about. I shower, shave, dress and go out to face the day. Eventually, supposed members of the human species- the pests and pestilence- will go out of their way to fuel my anger issues. These leftover useless wastes of protoplasm never fail to disappoint. Jean-Paul Sartre was right. “Hell is other people.” It is not literally what he meant, but it is an apt description of the mutant genetic defects that make my daily life a living Hell.

The older I get, the more I take profanity to a higher art form. If I live any longer, it may become its own genre. On some days, patience or calm is not in my vocabulary. I do not suffer fools and have no mercy for them. I am not Mr. T, pitying the fools. I use the three-strike rule.

Strike one. I will ask you not to do something- even nicely saying please- as much as that hurts.

Strike two. I will tell you in a loud voice.

Strike three. I will unleash a Hellfire of vulgarity

Strike three was fun during the height of COVID when people, masked or unmasked, came into my six-foot personal space. I do not care what others in earshot think or if their little bundles of chromosomal slime are within hearing distance.

They say these are the Golden Years. Well, I did not get a gold watch when I turned 65. I do not get “showers” from Russian hookers. I don’t own a gold-plated toilet or have gold-plated fixtures. So, what is so f**cking golden about these years? If I live another ten years, will they be called the Platinum or Diamond Years?

The language keeps changing. I am not supposed to be old. I am supposed to be a senior citizen. So, if I am a senior, when do I get my graduation ceremony, diploma, graduation party, cake, and gift envelopes full of cash?

Elder is another term. What am I a member of a tribe or church? Of a certain age? What is a certain age? Can I call myself any certain age I want?

Some refer to people refer to old people as xy years young? Am I aging backward? Will I regress to my former self, 175lbs. of romping stomping dynamite?

None of us wants to get old. Guess what, most of us are lucky enough to get old. Some never make it, they die “young” or at a “certain age.”

We treat old age as if it is some golden opportunity. It is an achieved goal, a sign of success. “I made it. I am old. Hallef**kinglujah.”

“I am prepared to meet my maker. Whether my maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.” (Winston Churchill)

 We live until we die. But no one dies during these times of soft, meaningless language. Die, dying, and death are forbidden in our supposed modern wussified vocabulary. We pass. Are we kidney stones? We transition. Transition to what? We expire. Like subscriptions? We go to a better place. Really? Where is this better place, and why can’t we go there when we’re living?

People go to wakes. They tell the family they are sorry for their loss. Loss? The stiff is lying right there in the coffin. The loved one is not lost. Thanks to mortuary cosmetology, he/she/they/them/it looks better in death than they ever did in life. They are probably better dressed too.

I am old. I will die eventually. Until then, I will take great pride in my crazy, cantankerous, curmudgeonly persona. Being old, crabby, tired, ugly, mean, miserable, and ornery is the only way to survive in a world of human pests and pestilence with which the Great Comedian plagued my daily life in this Hell on Earth.

Things that drive me mad

Living in Chicago is arduous. The city is inhabited by too many humans from the dregs of the gene pool. They make me crazy enough to want to run naked through the streets shouting like some raving mad drunken Russian poet. With warm weather, hopefully, on the horizon, these genetic mutants will be out in force. These are just a few things driving me insane.

Last week I ordered something from a major corporation- not Amazon. The next day they sent me the information to track my package. It left Tennessee. The next day it arrives at O’Hare Airport in Chicago. Then, it went to FedEx O’Hare and then FedEx Chicago. It was en route to FedEx, New Berlin Wisconsin, outside of Milwaukee the next day. Later that day, it arrived. Last night I checked, and it was on its way back to Chicago. Today, FedEx turned it over to the USPS. Hopefully, it will not go through Alaska before it finally arrives.

A couple of days ago, I was sitting in a bar and was hungry. I saw the bartender order a sandwich and had it delivered. I ordered online from the same place. It is a national chain that promises to deliver your food faster than the fire department arrives if your house is burning. I specified in the notes I was sitting in the named bar. I pre-tipped the delivery on my card. An hour goes by, and there is no sandwich.

I called the sandwich shop. The manager claimed they tried to deliver the sandwich. I told him I never saw the delivery person come into the bar. He insisted the driver was there. Then he was appalled at my salty language. I have no tolerance for no-service people when they act like idiots. Eventually, my sandwich arrived, but I will never order or eat again at one of those places.

Horn beepers are a serious bane. If you are a millisecond too slow to move from a red light or stop sign, the horns blare. I tap the gas to get the car moving, then let the car roll as slowly as possible. I am never in a hurry. At my age, I only have two speeds, slow and stop. So, suffer, suckers. Beep all you want. I ain’t driving faster to accommodate your race to the bottom.

Worse are the guys- they are always guys- who drive Ferraris, Lambos, Maserati’s, or other exotic sports cars. They cannot drive them at full speed, but they must let the world know they exist. So, they coast in neutral, hitting the gas, so their pipes blast out an explosive growling noise that echos off buildings.

For the uninformed, Ferrari, Lambo, and Maserati are slang for penis extension. Only guys with too much money and too little size spend a small fortune on those extensions of their genitalia. Guys, you are out of your league. Mayor Lightfoot has the biggest d**k in Chicago. Ask her, she will tell you. Oh, and she did not have to spend a king’s fortune for it.

Electric scooters, motorized skateboards, and motorized unicycles are plaguing our streets. Why did the city cater to children and allow them to use toys for transportation? What next, Red Ryder electric wagons? Do these adults who transport themselves on toys have a thumb-sucking need to relive their childhood or live the childhood they wished they had? Like the terrorist bicyclists, they have no regard for the Rules of the Road. They are a danger to themselves, drivers, and pedestrians. These toys should be banned. One could wonder how much money in bribes oops, “campaign contributions” these companies paid our corruptible politicians to put children’s toys on the streets for playful, silly adults.

People who cannot control their large dogs while walking them are menaces to society, especially if they use long or retractable leashes. In some cases, one could say the dog is walking the supposed human. I have not seen a human relieving themself while the dog watches, though. The dog drags them along while they are oblivious to people walking. If you almost trip, they blame you. You are supposed to watch where their dog is and what it is doing.

Some of these puss heads walk the dogs while their faces are plastered to their phones. They are not paying attention to the animal or watching where they are going. I am waiting for one of those beasts to lunge at something while their humanoid waste of protoplasm tweets, texts, or scrolls. I would laugh like a fool if the human faceplanted on the sidewalk.

If these “humans” are the future of the human race., we do not have to worry about climate, whatever they call it this month, destroying civilization. It appears these slop leavings at bottom of the gene pool will do Mother Nature’s work for her.

The month of March is coming to a freezing end. Spring gave Chicago a huge FU finger. It teased with a warm day or two, then struck back with cold weather. March also brought us some questionable moments. Things that make inquiring minds go, hmmm.

The latest was the smack heard and seen around the world. Last night, Will Smith slapped Chris Rock in the face at the Oscars over a joke about Smith’s wife’s “GI Jane” look. Imagine what would happen if Chris Rock made a joke about Alec Baldwin’s wife, Hilarious, Hilarity, or whatever her name is. Baldwin, known for his mean temper, and punching innocent people may have pummeled Rock until pulled off by several people. Or, or there may have been some kind of deadly accident. The “unloaded” gun Baldwin did not know he was carrying went off by itself, an accidental discharge. Hmmm?

Russia is destroying parts of Ukraine while the Ukraine armed forces and militias are killing Russian soldiers. Farmers are towing away abandoned Russian tanks. A Russian tanker ran over an officer with a tank. France’s President, Emmanuel  Macron, is trying to pretend he is a diplomat and peacemaker. His vocabulary consists of one word, de-escalation. When he is not mugging for the cameras deescalating, he takes inventory of his nation’s WWII arms, brand new, never fired, and only dropped once. Hmmm?

While waging unprovoked war crimes in Ukraine, Russia condemned Azerbaijan for sending troops into the Armenian-held territory of Nagorno-Karabakh, killing three Armenian soldiers, and wounding others. There were supposed to be Russian “peacekeeping” forces to, well, keep the peace. Little good they did. Putin made his displeasure known about the unprovoked attack. Vlad the Invader is now trying to be Putin the Peacemaker. I guess Putin can juggle two personalities at once. Hmmm?

I listened to parts of the hearings to confirm Ketanji Brown for Supreme Court Justice. I was somewhat amused at the fascination some senators had over child pornography. Ted Cruz, the Cuban-Canadian with the creepy, ugly beard, would not let go. He is still seeking more information on child pornography. One could wonder about Cruz’s and others’ deep-diving fascination with child pornography. Hmmm?

The Chicago Public School system reported 8% of their tech items missing. Thousands of computers, iPads, and even air purifiers, lawn equipment, treadmills, and defibrillators. They reported the missing inventory to the police, who believe many items were stolen or on loan items were not returned. CPS must have some poor protocols for tracking their inventory. The smash and grabbers have nothing on CPS personnel or people they allow access to their property. One could wonder where all that property went? Your tax dollars, especially those high property taxes at work and waste, Hmmm?

And, last, but not least, our “illustrious” mayor, Lori Lightfoot, had her own hmmms this month. First, she claimed to have the biggest male genital member in the city, causing Chicago males to question their own manhood, so to speak. Then, she attended a St. Patrick’s Day parade wearing a kilt. Evidently, according to my Irish friends, she was not wearing it properly. One questioned how she kept the biggest genital member in Chicago from revealing itself. Was she wearing Tighty-Whities underneath to keep said member constrained? Hmmm?

We live in the realm of you just cannot make this stuff up. We will see what April Fool’s Day brings us in a few days. Hmmm?

They come daily

When the weather permits

Day after day the old men come

They sit in the plaza

On hard metal chairs and park benches

They bask in the sun

They watch the fat pigeons frolic

They watch children run and play

When there is live entertainment

They enjoy it

Sometimes they sit alone

Sometimes they gather

The old men talk

They talk of life and death

Joy and sorrow

Love and hate

Wives and former wives

Their children and grandchildren

They talk of their afflictions

and the afflictions of the others

They gossip

Their hair is gray

Their faces weathered

Their hands gnarled

They are men who

Worked hard

Some move slowly

Walking with measured steps

 Sometimes they will bring cans of beer

Sipping it in the heat of late afternoon

The plaza is like some in Europe

Where people gather

People meet people

People talk

The old men live alone

They are not lonely

They have each other

They are old

Older than I

I am not like them and like them

When the weather permits

The old men come to the plaza

We sit

We talk

We sip beer in the heat

Snow is falling on and off today. It is just flurries, but still snow. It appears we had a false spring opening. When we had a respite from winter, I was in the plaza near my home. It is a pleasant open space where people come to congregate or socialize. On nice days there is live entertainment.

There are park benches and some metal chairs one of the regulars found and donated them to the place. There is a group of three to five regulars, elderly men, who show up daily. They sit alone, basking in the sun or in a group, talking or arguing over one issue or another. Sometimes one brings a to listen to music or the news.

They are there, day after day, leaving before evening falls to walk home. The men are retired or on disability. One gets crazy as a loon sometimes. He no longer comes around. I go to the plaza daily, weather permitting. I drink my coffee, work the crosswords, or hijack the guest WIFI of an adjoining restaurant to write or surf the web. I got to know the old men.

There are people like these all over this city. They sit in open spaces, sometimes congregating, sometimes alone. You also see them in the saloons, what the youngsters call old men bars- whatever that means. They will sit, nursing a beer, watching sports, whiling away time. Time is all most of them have.

They all have stories to tell once you get to know them. A few are not what they seem. They lived full lives. They are content. They just want to be around others or bask alone, outdoors, when the weather permits.

I ran into one last week when the weather teased us with warmth and sunshine. We were glad to see each other. We had a brief conversation about the others before he trudged home.

When people ask me how I am, I have a stock answer. “I am old, crabby, tired, ugly, mean, miserable, and ornery.” I have good reason to be. I live in Chicago, the most pestiferous and dangerous city in the nation. Our local criminals will end your life if our annoying local pests don’t drive you mad enough to run naked, screaming through the streets like a drunken mad Russian poet.

Spring is here. It brings out the worst pests and numerous murderous villains. We are living in a dystopian city. So, in my self-interest of public service, I will offer some tips and clues.

Do not have Zoom meetings or two-way conversations with the speaker on your phone or computer in a coffee shop, public trans, or other public places. If you are near me, I will play loud music on my phone or computer speaker. I did that yesterday while some pest had a Zoom meeting with her crotch rocket’s teachers. She became very annoyed and let me know it. I cranked up the volume. She was too stupid to move. They make these things called headphones and earbuds with microphones. Please enter the 21^st Century or do not be a cheapskate and chiseler.

Many parents believe having a child is a handicap. Having children is not a handicap. Do not take up a handicapped space on public transportation with your limo-sized stroller and squat sasquatch. You do not belong on public transportation if you are too dumb to get a folding umbrella stroller.

Bicycle season will be in full bloom soon. Those two-wheeled terrorists will be riding their weapons of mass pedestrian destruction like maniacs. The worst of them will ride on the sidewalks, violating the law. I will curse you up a red streak. I will not get out of your way if you ride towards me. If you swerve and fall or crash into a tree or something else, I will walk away laughing, no matter how injured you are. Stop signs mean stop. If I cross the street and you do not stop, see the above. I have no mercy or pity for lawbreakers. Boo, f**king hoo.

Riding the El is more dangerous lately. Riding with lawbreakers is even worse. No food or drink is allowed on public transportation. Yet, people feel free to drink and eat while riding. Due to a lack of political leadership and the cowardice of CTA officials, the lawbreakers commit these offenses with impunity, just like our violent criminals. CTA and the city could make a ton of money citing these minor criminals for breaking the law. The only law they enforce is smoking. From what I lately observed, they rarely do that anymore.

There are those lumps of left-over defective slurry of protoplasm who walk down busy sidewalks with their faces plastered to their phones. They are not watching where they are going. It is no one else’s job to watch where they are going. If I bump into you, knocking your phone out of your hand or knocking you on your keester, you get what was coming to you.

Now, to public safety. Again, there is no, none, zero, zip, nada, political leadership in Chicago. You must be hyper-aware when roaming the streets of Chicago or riding public transportation. Not one neighborhood is safe. You can be an innocent victim of a violent crime at any time of day. The rolling shootouts will soon return, so driving may be a fatal endeavor. Since most of the human species in this city are a useless waste of subnormal chromosomes, I cannot offer advice on your safety, except to stay home.

Public safety is an oxymoron in this city led by defective genetic morons. Do not leave home unless you absolutely must. Downtown and Near North, the entertainment, cultural, and tourist areas are too dangerous. Stay away. Stay home, order out, and watch or stream entertainment. Self-survival is the first and highest law of nature. By the way, you can even get booze delivered, so why risk drinking out?

To American tourists and suburbanites, stay out of Chicago. You do not have the survival skills to stay alive in this city. Plus, if you do not bring your dollars here, we can eliminate all the suburban-style food emporiums that serve mung and dreck. Our vibrant food scene is being polluted by the chain-style places, catering to you and serving their sewage sludge. We do not need more McF**konalds, S**tpoltes, Olive Fartens, Pee Cake F**ktory, or other places you think are “fine dining” or fake ass ethnic food. Stay out of Chicago. Go mall walking in your suburb, city, or whatever else you do to amuse yourselves. Eat your fine sewage sludge in your own city or suburb.

Foreign tourists are welcome, as they have class. But, they may be taking their lives into their hands. I feel sorry for them.

If you must come to Chicago, do not read or take advice from Chicago Magazine or Timeout Chicago. They have no clue about this city. They are written, edited, and published by drooling, slobbering, less-ons (Lower than morons). They just make s**t up, knowing out of town and suburban mutant genetic mental defectives will believe it. Only humans who were failed experiments at Area 51 believe their bulls**t.

“The impact of injustice on these individuals, by actors including prosecutors, deserves to be remedied,” Foxx said in a statement. “Through the Resentencing Initiative, prosecutors can begin addressing the fact that many Black and brown people are still incarcerated today under failed policies of the past, even though they have been rehabilitated and pose little threat to public safety.” (Kim Foxx/Chicago Tribune)

A while back, an incarcerated person who murdered a police officer was up for parole. State’s Attorney Kim Foxx refused to send officials to argue against parole. She stated her office would no longer object to convicted criminals being paroled.

Now, she is advocating for the release of convicted criminals if she feels their sentences were too long, unjust, or they are rehabilitated. She blames the failed policies of the past for long incarcerations.

Foxx’s failed policies of the present are responsible for murder and mayhem on the streets of Chicago. She is washing away the “sins” of the past with the blood of the present. She has blood on her hands.

According to Foxx’s Office of Criminal Cuddling and Coddling, “The purpose of resentencing is “to advance public safety through punishment, rehabilitation, and restorative justice.”

We saw time after time paroled- rehabilitated- people commit violent crimes shortly after getting released from prison. Kim Foxx even refused to prosecute parole violators. One brave judge went on the record with her disgust during a case where the prosecutor said the office would not prosecute two parole violators.

If Kim Foxx spent more time and resources prosecuting dangerous felons, our city might be safer. Unfortunately, she cares more about criminals and their families than victims. Not once has she shown any emotion towards murder victims. Not even when they were children, toddlers, or infants.

But boy, oh boy, did she get emotional over the Jussie Smollett conviction and sentence. Her op-ed piece in the Sun-Times was Pulitzer Prize worthy.

She put on an Academy Award emotional performance when Mayor Lori Lightfoot criticized her failures. Boss Preckwinkle politically slapped Lightfoot around. Now she and Foxx are the best of frenemies.

Kim Foxx is a disaster as a State’s Attorney. You people elected her twice and will probably elect her again if she runs or runs for higher office.

Folks, you got the State’s Attorney you deserve. Learn to live with it. Hopefully, you will not die from it.

Today is St. Patrick’s Day. We celebrate Irish history, culture, and the contributions the Irish made to society and culture. Too many, mostly non-Irish, celebrate by wearing funny green clothing and drowning the shamrock, drinking way beyond excess, especially that horse p**s green beer and those concocted “Irish” cocktails.

What is lost to many are the sufferings inflicted on the Irish by Great Britain. Great Britain never was held accountable for all the atrocities they committed throughout the world in the Colonial Era. They are held up as a paragon of human rights, go figure.

The Irish gave us poets, writers, playwrights, musicians, actors, singers, songwriters, visual artists, politicians, a president, educators, religious institutions, and other contributions to this country.

Like other immigrants who came to America, the Irish were treated brutally until they fought their way up the ladder of acceptance. This was the American way for most immigrants over the last two centuries. You were treated like dirt until you overcame and earned acceptance. Unfortunately, that American way has been dusted off and reared its ugly head again.

My pal, Tony Fitzpatrick, summed up the Irish in these excerpts from a longer essay:

“There is an impression that the Irish are a bunch of happy-go-lucky dipshits with fake brogues and cheery dispositions. Let us dispense with this myth right now. There is no darker heart than that of the Irish, Boyo…

You don’t want the luck of the Irish. Poverty, famine and the oppression of the British Crown are some of the components of this “luck.”

…The Irish have been conquered, raped and pillaged by the Spaniards, the English and the Vikings. Some “luck.” They still managed to take the language imposed upon them by their conquerors and use it better than they did…

…We are the best storytellers on the planet. We endured a famine so atrocious almost a quarter of our countrymen perished while the English raided our surviving potato crops…

…This is the way with us Irish. We contain great beauty; that which history has not been able to take from us, and we wield it with the best and worst intentions. Get in the way of our dance in this life, Boyo, and we’ll knock your dick loose…

To my Irish friends, Erin Go Bragh. To all you non-Irish people who pretend to be Irish today, do us all a favor. Go puke in the street or alleys instead of the sidewalks on your “pub” crawls. Or, like dog owners, carry plastic bags you can puke in and dispose of. Better yet, stop pretending to be “Irish.” Cultural appropriation and all that.