David & Goliath
I frequently dream about the house of my childhood, where I lived from the time my parent’s brought me home from the hospital until I was almost twelve. We moved during the first semester of 6th grade. Although this era of my past occurred so many years prior, I typically take my current age & form during these dreams, which often involve encounters with the supernatural.
It happened at the Yellow House on the Hill where I grew up. Many of my dreams, and especially the scary ones, frequently occur there. Even after all these years . . . when I was a child living there, I was convinced it was haunted. And not just haunted, mind you–but reaming with otherworldly entities. In my childhood mind, there was something bad lurking around every corner–down the stairwell to the basement, behind the bush leading to the backyard, in the bedroom that I just walked away from. Now that I’m spiritually mature & worldly, with over twenty years of lifting weights & partaking in all you can eat buffets under my belt–I realize how silly an idea that is. But one thing is for sure. Even if that house was never haunted, I still am. Even after all these years, the muscle memory of that fear still cries out to me when I’m most vulnerable & least on guard–they reach out to me in my sleep.
To get an idea of the house’s layout, think of the main level extending left to right from the viewpoint of the main road that runs in front of it. Standing on the road, you will see the extreme left side of the frame which houses the master bedroom & a utility area where the laundry & washer are. Scanning all the way towards the right, you will see the living room. From my parent’s room on the left, you will see the house gradually transition from night time to day time, meaning the bedrooms are all towards the left of the house. In the middle we get the kitchen & dining room & all the way on the right, we get the living room. In my childish mind, I thought of it this way: when it was dark, we stayed on the left side of the house. When it was light, we stayed on the right side. Where ever we weren’t, that’s where “the others” dwelled. Someone strong like my mom or dad could break the rules & go into the living room at night or into the bedroom when it was daylight; but if someone small & weak like me were to try, I would do so at my own risk! The other entities that shared the home with us didn’t take kindly to having their space violated. They wanted us to respect the rules; otherwise, they would make a point to show up where they weren’t supposed to be!
Now that you understand the layout, you should know that my parents kept a makeshift prayer area in their master bedroom. It didn’t amount to much more than a clear space on the carpet with a plastic runner laying over the main footpath which allowed us to kneel down in prayer before a large cross that hung on the wall. This cross wasn’t just any routine cross that you’d typically see in homes. It was as large as the ones you see hung up in the front of most church’s. I have no idea where my parents got it, now that I think of it; but as a child, we never questioned such things. More more key aspect to note. My parent’s were raised as devout Catholics in the Philippines. I bring up the Philippines because the way Catholicism is practiced over seas versus the way it’s practiced here can be noticeably different. My parents came up in the late forties & into the early sixties. They grew up against the backdrop of the Japanese invasion from WWII. Their upbringing had an almost post-apocalyptic filter to it, at least when compared to how my contemporaries & I were brought up in the great USA. To my point, Catholics don’t use crosses, they use crucifixes. These are crosses that contain the dead body of Christ before his resurrection, covered in grime in blood. Just that this imagery sink in for a moment.
Although I haven’t been inside that house for over thirty years, during the dream, I am my current age. My niece, who was a pre-teen at that time, is a pre-teen in the dream; around the age of eleven. My niece held onto the innocence of childhood a bit longer than some of her peers, and in the dream she behaves more like a child than a teen–innocent but extremely vulnerable.
Somehow my niece & her parents are visiting during the dream. The two of us are alone in the utility area of the master bedroom. I’m distracted with a chore while she wonders off to explore. I still hear her cheerful, young voice as she tries to maintain a conversation with me. In typical adult fashion, I’m too pre-occupied to listen to exactly what she’s saying & simply respond with an occasional, “U-huh.” Until her cheerful voice turns into a scream of horror!
Jolted back to the present, I whirl around to peek through the threshold of the utility area and into the master bedroom. Just feet away from me, standing on the plastic runner that acts as a mat when the family kneels in prayer, stands the Devil himself. I’ve faced the Devil in my dreams before, but never in this form. He is wearing feudal era armor like a Samurai warrior, complete with sharp spikes protruding from numerous areas. It would be more painful to me than to him if I gave into my instinct to charge him & rain down furious punches upon his torso & stomach area. He was way to tall for me to punch in the face as he stood about 8 feet tall. He held my niece in his left hand high above his shoulders as she wailed, kicking & screaming. My bewilderment dissolved into rage, and I demanded the Devil lay my niece down. With a primitive roar, I crouched down into a 3-point stance & charged the monster like a berserker warrior . . . to my shock, the fiend stopped my assault with the gentlest effort of his right hand, similar to that scene in The Matrix when NEO first stopped bullets by simply raising out an opened palm. It was as though I had run into a forcefield–no harsh impact, no thud–just instant paralysis. There was a humming silence in my ears, the kind you hear when you’re around technology that’s constantly running. The rageful drumbeat of war in my head had been replaced with, ironically, a quiet peace; but a peace than came with the fear of helplessness. The Devil then lifted me high into the air, and the higher he raised me up, the taller he became! The devil now stood at least 10 feet tall & he held me high overhead at an stratospheric 13 to 15 feet. I could even hear the wind whirling as if around the cliffs of a mountaintop as the ambient noises of earth’s surface drifted away far beneath me. I struggled against the fiend’s iron grip but for all my effort, I could only manage to swing my feet back & forth & scream. I heard a diabolical laugh that boomed like thunder from all around, not just from the Devil’s face as he pulls me close to it. Deep inside the dark opening of the feudal helmet I only saw two narrow spheres of burning white light. Without a word, he flung me towards the ground so far below. This time, I felt the impact as I land with a loud thud!
I quickly tried to regain my footing, as I held my right hip which had been injured in the fall. Still not having risen to my full height, I watch the Devil drift backwards away from me without even moving his feet–as he effortlessly glides along the thick carpet like an ice skater. My niece is still kicking & screaming in his left hand. A sensation of deep dread sinks in as the inevitability of my failure becomes clear. I scream out helplessly as the Devil vanishes into thin air taking my niece with him.
I fall flat on my face in wretched agony. I had never felt so weak before. The Devil has stolen away my niece from my care & I didn’t even land a single punch.
My older brother was going to be pissed!
If you mess with The BULL . . .
Mean Mark Callous is a SKYSCRAPER of a man! Standing 6’10’, weighing 310, & with hardened muscles that only come through genetics & living the blue collar working class lifestyle that has forged the Mean Machine until a disgruntled bully! Mark has no patience for glam boys with their “gym muscles” who seem to bask in the limelight. As such, the “Rock Star” becomes an ideal target for his rage.
But the “Rock” is no push-over. He didn’t become the People’s Champion without his own path of blood, sweat, & tears. At 6’5″, 260 lbs–the former D-I college football player has had his own share of hard knocks that have made him such a formidable force in the ring. He has earned the nickname–“The Brahma Bull.”
And you know what they say about bulls. When you MESS with the BULL, you get the HORNS!
NEXT
Protected: Dreams: Late June 22
Introduction to Elite Legends: My Time is NOW
I’ve been collecting action figures as an adult for nearly twenty years. As a child, my scale of choice was 1/18–more popularly known as 3 3/4 inch. Prominent examples of this scale are the original Star Wars toys made by Kenner in the late 70’s to early 80’s followed shortly thereafter by Hasbro & their iconic GI Joe: A Real American Hero line. Collectors frequently refer to this line as the “small joes” to distinguish them from the original classic 12-inch GI Joe that debuted in the 60’s. As an adult, I began with what I played with as a child but eventually grew to desire more realistic & posable action figure which brought me up the 12-inch figure, also known as 1/6th scale. The idea being that the ideal action height for a normal human is 6 feet tall so that a 1/6th scale toy version of such a human such stand about 1/6th that height–meaning one foot, or twelve inches.
For Christmas 2021, one of my brothers bought me two GI Joe figures for the newer 1/12th scale line. I had known about this scale since around 2010 when Marvel Legends figures would fill the pegs when I went on a hunt for the more traditional smaller GI Joes. I never bothered picking up a 1/12 figure but had been intrigued with the recent decision Hasbro had made to introduce GI Joe into that scale. I had decided that I have enough to waste my money on so I had avoided them; but now that my brother had handed me two such figures at no cost, I was intrigued. The debate began; 1/6 scale figures no longer had a major retail presence & they took up enough space to boot. I knew I’d have to give up collecting for a while or perhaps adopt a smaller scale moving forward. Would 1/12 the the answer?
Regardless of scale, the focus of toy collection at any age has always been action & adventure. While I realize that some people may find this insensitive to say, but that focus frequently meant military themed figures like GI Joe; or at least, warrior-themed ones like He-Man & the Masters of the Universe. I had never been a huge fan of wrestling figures a la WWE because I didn’t see much potential for them outside the ring. The big draw of toy collecting, even as a kid, was inventing numerous scenarios that brought your favorite heroes until dangerous situation; situations that frequently could only be resolved through violent conflict. Wrestling, though combat oriented, was still a sport to me. I wanted my heroes in extreme harm’s way playing higher stakes than just championship belts.
GI Joe Classified, the 1/12 scale Hasbro figures that my brother’s Christmas gift were a part of, had been my intended target for future toy collecting. The problem is, they are rarely available on shelves. After a three month break from toy hunting, I decided it was time to try my luck at my nearest Target store. I just had a feeling I would find what I was looking for. Interestingly enough, there was one GI Joe character available on the pegs that I had been interested in. But the prospect of owning this figure didn’t “wow” me. I decided to look at Masters of the Universe just to see if they distribution would be much improved over GI Joe Classified but I had pre-determined not to buy anything. Next to the Masters I saw a slew of WWE Elite Legends figures, which I normally do. I thought I may as well take a look at this collection since they were at least commonly available. My glance came upon a normal looking male wrestler in a T-shirt & camo pants & that light bulb in my head went off.
I could see possibilities in this particular figure as we wasn’t sculpted exclusively in his wrestling wear. Plain camo pants would work with my military themed plots in my imaginary adventures & fan-faction pieces. Plus, the presence of genuine cloth gear (soft goods) in lieu of clothing sculpted onto the figure intrigued me. I liked the big joes because you could use your same handful of figures & gear them up for different environments & dioramas. To accomplish this same thing with smaller figures which often had their clothes sculpted onto them often required buying numerous version of the same character in different gear. I grabbed the package, based on a character named Road Dogg, tor a closer inspection. This figure looked bigger than the GI Joe Classified but still fairly close to 1/12 scale. Well, long story short, I took the figure home & after removing him from the package–the debate was settled. I would be collecting WWE Elite Figures in conjunction with the occasional GI Joe Classified figure when a character of interest was available. The went to Target looking for a particular solution in mind. I didn’t find it; but found an even better solution. It just wasn’t the one I had expected to find.
Military & adventure will always be the foundation of my toy collection for as long as I continue to do it. However, my discovery of Elite Legends allows me to execute this same ideas through different molds. I no longer have to limit myself to GI Joe, Ultimate Soldier, or similarly themed toy lines. Moving forward, I plan to cut my current 1/6 scale figures in half & suspend purchasing anything outside of 1/12 scale for a while.
It’s not that I’m giving up on GI Joe–it’s more that I’m no longer limiting myself to them. That line will always have a special place for me because of how much it played a role in my childhood, spending time with my friends & cousins & brothers happily living out one adventure after another. But right now, I’ve found something better out there–something that bridges that gap between my beloved small & big joes. Truth be told, it’s really as sure a thing as a body slam! WWE Elite Legends are the definitive mass retail 1/12 action figure line–for now at least.
So that’s what I’m going with–for now at least.
Safe in School: I know how we can do It
It’s the beginning of June. Most schools have just concluded their academic year. Memorial Day Weekend has passed. It’s truly the beginning of summer–a time of happiness & fond lifetime memories like summer camps, family vacation, & sunny weather. However, the recent mass shooting at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, TX still casts a dark shadow over what should otherwise be a bright time of the year. It just so happens that it’s a national election year. Predictably, we find ourselves in another quagmire as to how to contend with what we’re told is exclusively a problem in the US–the epidemic of gun violence. It’s a debate that has continued since the 1920’s & the days of Prohibition. Yet suddenly, what we have been unable to resolve over the last 100 years we must resolve before the next school year. That gives us about three months. It seems impossible–but trust me when I say that people on both sides of the argument want our nation’s kids to be safe in schools. The disagreement arises in the manner in which we accomplish this shared goal.
Mass shootings are always tragic, but when they involve kids this young, the emotional impact often becomes amplified. While this is understandable, emphatic statements by lawmakers like Senator Chris Murphy, a Democrat from CT, stating “Spare me the bullshit!” are unhelpful. While statements like this certainly energize one side of the argument as well as grab headlines, they always prove counter-productive in the end. By the same token, efforts by the GOP to pinpoint mental illness as the primary factor behind tragedies like this end up simply angering the opposition, rendering compromise unlikely. Regardless of how fiercely we stand on one side of this debate or the other, I stress that we all wish to accomplish a shared goal. And to do this, we have to build a bridge across the aisle, across the political spectrum, across either side of this debate. If we share the goal, then we have to share the solution. This is exactly why pointing fingers at the other party & shouting obscenities is completely useless. If you haven’t figured it out by now, one one side–no one party–can solve this problem alone. We need each other–enemies need to become allies–enough of us at least, to pass some legislation that both preserves civil liberties while minimizes the threat in our schools.
I’m not proposing any specifics–yet, although, I have some obvious measures in mind that should be acceptable to both sides of the argument. But before we get into the “how-to,” we must address the “why.” We will accomplish nothing specifically until we establish something that is broad; something universal to any argument. We have to have compassion for our opponent.
If you really want to help, stop saying “It’s absolutely lunacy for any American to want to own a gun!” Or, “There’s no place for that kind of thinking anywhere in America!” Because saying things like this, given that there are numerous people in America who actually do think that, serves only to alienate half the country. And, disagree as we may, we need people on both sides of the argument to share ownership of the solution. No one side of the coin, no one party can solve this problem alone. Do you want proof? Well nationally, we are under single party rule currently. The Democratic party, the supposed party of gun safety, controls the White House, the House of Representatives, & the Senate. Yes, technically, the Senate is a dead tie, but the Vice-President has rights to the tie breaking vote. If they don’t make the schools safer by November, do they really deserve your vote? If they can’t pass some kind of meaningful legislation right now, then when?
“The Vice President of the United States shall be President of the Senate, but shall have no Vote, unless they be equally divided” (U.S. Constitution, Article I, section 3). Since 1789, 291 tie-breaking votes have been cast.
https://www.senate.gov/legislative/TieVotes
My point is, no one party can fix it; no one party can doom us. We need everyone to take their share of ownership in this matter. But to do that effectively, we have to have compassion. People on the Left have to respect their neighbors from the Right who would be for some gun control measures that would certainly keep the schools safe. But they fear that proponents from the left will use this opportunity to over-react & take away the rights of every gun owner, not just those who pose an obvious threat. In similar fashion, responsible gun owners should recognize that, while self preservation is a universal right, not every member of society is equally suited to be trusted to do so with a firearm. The very firearm that may allows the responsible gun owner to sleep easy makes his neighbor feel uneasy. We have to learn to value & the concerns of our opponent in order to find a solution that attempts to address the concerns of both sides, because they are equally legitimate.
The second phase to solving this 100 year old enigma of balancing inherent rights with public safety is compromise. As a member of a civil society, we all enter into a social contract. The social contract isn’t perfect, but it tends to offer a solution that is at least comfortable for most of the participants. There will always be outliers who will remain unhappy–but the goal is to keep as many members of the population under this social contract comfortable enough to live out a productive life. But in our current political climate, especially when it comes down to debates like civil liberties & even more so, the safety of our children–we often devolve into hateful rhetoric & stubborn inflexibility. This type of behavior makes all of us an outliers–people on the fringes of the spectrum who no longer wants to share their society with the neighbor who happens to disagree with them.
Remember two simple things. Compassion & compromise. You may not understand why this or that is important to your opponent, but if you don’t accept it, you’ll never reach a compromise. We can’t change our neighbors. We must understand that for them, as for us, some things are non-negotiable. Some things are absolute. Recognize that your opponent’s fears are just as valuable as your own. If you don’t respect that, you’ll never find a way to work around them. Meaning, you’ll never find a path to compromise. And without compromise, there will never be change. We can’t change the way our neighbor’s think. But we can try to make changes to the social contract that account for how we both think.
You want to make meaningful change? You want to enact restrictions that both gunowners & CNN viewers can agree on? Then recognize that the hateful bickering hasn’t worked. Let’s try something revolutionary–compassion & compromise. I guarantee, we’ll get further doing this than we’ve gotten so far…..and that’s a start.
Joes: Audit 30 May 22
Just checking out what my collection looks like including all the pieces in storage. I like having my collection organized into smaller teams of 3-5 figures with each team being assigned to a specific set of tasks. For me, it’s like playing that video game The Sims. I’m simulating how I’d use the figures in my collection as a military task force. I try to limit theirs tasks to the number of operatives I actually have on hand. It’s a fun exercise in balancing the level of impact of group of about 30 well-trained operatives can really have on global affairs.
Alpha Team
Alpha Team is the primary light infantry combat element for my collection: First Operational Detachment X-Ray. In true military terms, it’s only the approximate size of one standard US Army Rifle Squad featuring seven fulltime members & as well as access to 2-3 augmentees for any given mission.
Alpha Team acts as the QRF (Quick Reaction Force) for base security. In addition, they have access to two FAV–(Fast Attack Vehicles), light four-wheel drive SUVs, to perform patrols around the green zone as well as investigate disturbances within driving distance from base. On longer range missions, they are granted use of an up-armored HUMVEE, but this vehicle is not exclusive to this unit & is frequently in use by Bravo Team.
In terms of weapons, Alpha Team follows the basic structure of the typical US Army rifle squad, with the M-4 carbine or M-16A2 serving as the primary weapon. They always deploy with at least one operative armed with the M-249 light machinegun & one operative with a 40mm grenade launcher. Alpha Team also uses hand grenades, flashbangs, & smoke grenades. Unlike Bravo Team, they never use submachine guns & only issue pistols to vehicle drivers, if at all.
On more advanced missions, Alpha Team can be supported by a 2-man sniper team or a light mortar team on rare occasions. Their primary goal is to act as a show of force to deter aggression against their military presence in any area as well as a probe to determine the severity of any sudden disturbance. When they encounter a situation of increased sensitivity, they escalate to Bravo Team.
Bravo Team
Bravo Team is rarely the first team sent into action; but when they do go in, it’s because the stakes are extremely high. They spend as much time gathering intelligence, observing patterns, & building relationships with indigenous people. In the simplest terms, here are the unit’s primary areas of responsibility, although they are not limited to these areas only.
- Human Intelligence
- Counter-terrorism including Urban CQB
- Recovery of Sensitive Material or Personnel
- Unconventional Warfare
Unlike Alpha Team, this unit remains in constant communication with the HQ element. In addition, they acts as the QRF for the Military Investigative Unit. That unit conducts investigations, interviews witnesses, & apprehends suspects. They are armed primarily for self-defense purposes but not conflicts of extended duration. Because of the often sensitive nature of their work, Bravo Team serves as their cavalry when the investigators find themselves pitted against superior firepower.
Augmentee/Security
SRT–Security Response Team. These operatives once served on as Marine Raiders with one of the Corp’s most frequently deployed MEU’s–Marine Expeditionary Units. In addition to their roles as primary sentries for element Headquarters, they can be called to augment either Alpha or Bravo Team as needed. Their skill set matches those of Bravo Team but they lack in repetition & overall cohesiveness of that team’s core operatives. They serve best as occasional substitutes for core team members or as a support element like a sniper team attached to Bravo Team on select missions.
Coming Soon–Military Investigative Unit
Coming Soon–Headquarter Element
Civilian First Responders
Bravo Team in Action
Sex (Used to) Sell(s)
Without divulging my exact age, let’s say that I have an awareness of the 80’s. For kids we had Transformers, 4-in GI Joes, He-man & his twin sister She-ra. For teenagers, we had break dancing & Michael Jackson’s “moonwalk.” For those into politics, we look back at this decade as the pinnacle of American wealth & global influence. Russia was the big enemy but we were safe enough at home to usher in the age of the Material Girl & a “trickle down economics” system that made the 80’s the “Me Decade.” And when it came to marketing, it was all Miami Vice, fast cars, & hot girls. For the longest time, it was socially acceptable & even fashionable to say, “Sex Sells.” And then one day, we weren’t allowed to think such a thing much less say it aloud. In today’s social climate, I’ve probably violated enough sensitivities in this opening paragraph to earn myself a lifetime ban from social media!
So, assuming I haven’t been LOCKED OUT of my account yet, let’s move to the next step. Hopefully I’ve established what used to sell. But what is it that sells now? And once we figure out what sells now, we can progress to the why behind it.
Sex used to sell. Now, it’s banned–at least, on the surface anyway. But, to stay on topic, I won’t delve into those particulars. What sells now is RACE.
Now, WAIT! Before you bombard me with innumerable insults & make assumptions about what I look like, how I vote, how many guns I own, what kind of flag I fly, what my education level is, & how rusted up the pickup truck is that must be parked in my yard is–know this. I’m a minority. I’m NOT white. Although I was born in the American southeast & have never lived in any other country, I endured constant reminders of how different I looked from the typical American boy. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been asked, “Hey–where are you from?” Or, in less polite encounters, “What ARE you? Go back to wherever it is you came from!” Many of these questions persisted past adolescence & into adulthood. Know this: I endured my transition from a boy into a man before “Yes we CAN!” I earned my stripes without the protection of mainstream media policing every social interaction & stigmatizing any instance of potential racism. But then came November 2008 and American finally had its first Black President. Instantly, it was finally warranted to be proud to be American. I’m not exaggerating–there were actual public figures who made statements like this. As though we were finally worthwhile because we had elected a black president–an act that ushered in “a new color-blind society” & better America. And admittedly, the election of Barrack Hussein Obama was a landmark event. In our nation’s most visible leadership role we had a bi-racial man who proudly exuded overt African American features who could have indeed brought about civil harmony. But, the way I see it, the Democrat party & the main stream cable news networks that were so enamored with him never transitioned away from the victory lap phase of their triumph to the mending fences phase. In almost every sport, you’re taught to go after your opponent with all the savage energy you can muster within the rules. Great winners like Earvin ”Magic” Johnson commented on numerous occasions that you could be friends after the season but during the NBA finals, you had to hate your opponent if you wanted to win. Then when it’s over, we can accept the outcome, shake hands, & be friends again. In fact, growing up, I remember hearing an unflattering term for competitors who failed to do so. They called such people “sore losers.” Many coaches, commentators, & athletes pushed the idea that losing is bad but acting like a sore loser is even worse. Well, in the case of the Democratic Party & cable news apparatus–from this point forward to be referenced here as “the Left”–they acted like sore winners. They never stopped gloating; never bothered making an attempt to shake hands with their opponent once the outcome was decided. I don’t even blame Obama, but I do blame the Left for how poorly they mismanaged his victories in two consecutive presidential terms. Anytime Congress didn’t go along with a Presidential objective, it was because they were racist. We’d see numerous interviews with Democratic congressman along with cable news talking heads laugh off any disagreement with Obama as sore loser syndrome. I even remember MSNBC interviewing a handful of congressman who said, “Well, the truth is–we have a black president. And that’s a hard truth to swallow for many of our colleagues on the other side of the aisle.” Yeah—that’s the reason.
Looking back, I wish that Obama’s two terms could have brought about the healing that the Left proclaimed it had. But the truth is, they never made an attempt to re-unite the country. It was as though they thought–“Well, we just elected a black president! To hell with those losers we didn’t vote for him. We’re taking this country into the future with or without their approval. We have a black president–we don’t need our idiot neighbors anymore!” Before you label me racist, remember that these observations are coming from a man who had been asked “Hey, what ARE you?” numerous times in the most hateful tones. But it comes down to this: the Left kept proclaiming we were a color blind nation and that it was so true, they didn’t have to remind us anymore. However, every time there was a disagreement or the Democrats didn’t get their way, they made it about black vs white. So much for color blind. Have you heard that phrase that you can’t have it both ways? You can’t advocate a color blind utopia while constantly crying race every time things don’t go your way. It’s as if Americans can’t be motivated by anything else other than race—and if that’s the ONLY consideration that matters. But I thought we were moving away from rendering wholesale judgments based exclusively on the single trait of race. Isn’t that, by denotation–racism?
What bothers me the most about the Left’s posturing as the champion of racial equality is that they define racism so narrowly. It’s essentially the negative or unfair treatment of black Americans. I’ve had liberals laugh in my face when I relayed instances of racism that I’ve endured. You think it hurts me any less because I’m brown, not black? Is my suffering worth so much less because, although I’m not white, my skin isn’t dark enough to really count as racism?
In recent years, the Left has moved to the catchphrase of diversity to put a new face on an old concept. Just last year, an Asian American woman won a regional election in Michigan as a member of the Democratic party. A few national headlines appeared citing dissatisfaction within the Democratic party for having chosen a candidate who “was not diverse enough.”
I know I’ve angered enough people already so I’m going to wrap this up. You never have to vote Republican for all I care. I’m not telling you how to vote much less how to think because that’s the one thing that infuriates me the most about progressive overreach. But I will ask something of you. If your resigned to voting Democrat solely for the status as the anti-racist party, just take a moment to re-examine how well they’ve lived up to that mantra. Consider what I, a full blooded minority who has been told by white Americans to “go back where I came from,” am about to say.
Obama was a bi-racial candidate. In 2008, it was socially acceptable to say he was “half-black,” which means he was also “half-white.” In theory, he really could have fulfilled MSNBC’s prophecy of ushering in America’s Pax Romana for race relations. After all, what better way to signify the perfect union of the great United States in the modern era but through a handsome, athletic, likeable man who was both black & white? Obama should have been a symbol for what was possible for all Americans. We could have christened him the President for all people, as he was black, white, & everything in between. No matter what we looked like or what insults we had suffered, he could relate to all of us. We were so close to a societal breakthrough. But instead, the Left used him as a mascot for their superiority. They had the moral high ground–Republican American, racist America, be damned. If you disagreed, media personalities openly ridiculed you, welcoming you to leave the country if you didn’t like its leadership. Doesn’t that sound almost as hateful as “Go back to where you came from?” A distinctly remember a journalist from MSNBC grinning arrogantly as she challenged citizens who weren’t happy with Obama to “go ahead & succeed & try to fight your civil war. If you remember, it didn’t work that well for you last time you did that! Ha-ha!”
Does that statement sounds like the sentiments of a party whose goal it is to unite? And since this speaker was a member of the press, do these sound like the words of an unbiased free press?
When Trump won the presidency in 2016, these same media pundits called him the “Divider-in-Chief.” But this minority thinks that the way the Left used Obama like a mascot for their ultimate triumph over the Right did way more to divide us than Trump did. Obama was a politician who was equally black & white; but the Left chose to celebrate him exclusively for his blackness while ignoring the inconvenient truth of his whiteness. They divided Obama into the quality they could use to hang over everyone’s head. And maybe–just maybe, they’re doing the same thing to divide us. Why? Because a divided population is easier to control because it’s easier to distract.
You don’t have to vote Republican. You don’t have to reject the Democrats. You don’t have to like me. I’m not going to tell you what to do but I will humbly ask this of you. From a man who has been through “the struggle” himself–maybe not the same struggle that black American has struggled against but a struggle nonetheless & one that’s worth mentioning even if neither party can benefit from it . . .
When you go to the polls this November & you cast your vote, please ask yourself why you’re voting for that particular party. Have they really made things better for us? Do they really embody your core values? When I cast my vote, I’ll be absolutely resolved as to what drives me to do so. And if you think it’s because I’m racist than you’re just willfully ignorant. Recognize, as I have, that politics has less to do with race & more to do with selling us someone else’s version of reality. We just constantly hear about race these days because–well, because that’s what sells these days.
But this minority—this survivor of life before Obama, cautions you—BUYER BEWARE!
Protected: Self-Regulated
Stranger than Fiction
I had a scary dream. It was extremely vivid & intense. I felt as though I were fighting for my very survival! I awoke in a drenched t-shirt & bed sheets, gasping for air. And once I regained my composure, something became unquestionably clear to me.
The dream occurred in a high-rise building that felt like St. Mary’s hospital (the biggest hospital in my small hometown) & the elementary school lobby area that often appears in my dreams combined into a single structure. In practice, the hospital was a lot larger than either & resembled the size & layout of Meadowview in TN (the hospital that my small town would send you to for serious emergencies). You could easily get lost inside.
There was some crisis. Me and a companion were hurriedly making our way down the hallway. There was a stir of anxious activity everywhere as everyone was making an attempt to respond to the crisis, which at first was not paranormal in nature. My companion in tow was a female romantic interest of mine. Of course, she was similar in height & build to the (censored for privacy) girls, perhaps just a tad shorter & less athletic though. She was concerned & obviously deferent to my ability to handle the current danger. Like a scene out of the first Resident Evil movie (2002), an agitated patient accosted us. Unable to talk him down, we engaged in a brief struggle. I rather easily gained control & shoved the patient to the ground. But triumph quickly evaporated into shock as the patient instantly got back up to pursue further aggression. This time, I struggled to keep the patient’s face, which now featured a fierce scowl & sharp teeth, inches from my own with the palm of my right hand while my left arm fought to push his torso backwards . Instead of just trying to wrestle me, as he had done before, this idiot was trying to bite a big chunk out of my neck! A shoved the fiend down again & took a couple of steps backwards, pulling out my pepper spray canister. I fired a few bursts into the creature’s face. It paused & then laughed as it realized the liquid had little effect. Recognizing the creature to be diabolic in nature, the tenor of the dream shifted into a scene straight out of Constantine. Instinctively, I pulled out a flask of holy water & splashed it onto the creature’s face. Steam rose from the fiend’s burning flesh as it shrieked under the pain from the divine power. I splashed more holy water onto the creature, including it’s torso this time. Simultaneously, I forced it to the ground with my own muscular physique. While I stood over the creature writhing around in a puddle of melting acid with various undissolved limbs still moving around in the cesspool, I stomped onto its limbs to guarantee its total demise. The creature’s jaws were still a threat, even as its body had devolved into an immobile steaming puddle. I remembered a scene I saw from another movie starring Matthew McConaughey. A young woman working as a live-in nanny in a haunted mansion used salt at the threshold of her bedroom door to prevent an evil spirit from entering. Suddenly armed with two full sized canisters for Morton salt–the kind in the blue package with the sketch of the woman holding an umbrella–I showered what was left of the enemy in two waterfalls of salt until there was nothing left but a puddle of dark liquid. My love interest screamed as several other patients in a similar frenzied state now began surrounding us. Having been so absorbed in my solo combat, I had failed to notice the gathering of similar zombie-like creatures. I knew that just up the hallway I could take a quick right down another hallway. About three doors down on the right there would a chapel, a la that chapel in the lobby of St. Mary’s hospital. I belted out my plan to my beautiful female companion in a single word: “Chapel!” Then, “Follow me!”
I grabbed her hand after shoving one zombie down & grabbing another by the neck & then thrashing it into the wall. Taking her hand in mine, we ran, dodging zombies as though I were a kick returner in football breaking loose for a big return. We navigated the maze of antagonists until we crossed the threshold of the small chapel. There were a few other survivors huddled inside. The creatures seemed to linger in the hallway, hesitant to enter the sanctuary even when the door was opened. Still, I wanted to fortify this stronghold as a last stand if need be. I didn’t think there was another way out, which meant that I could have just backed myself & girlfriend into a corner! I sprinkled the threshold with salt & the nearest beast shrieked with fear, taking two steps backwards. “Now I’ve got you,” I thought as I took a handful of salt & slung it into the creature’s face. It cried out & pain, its head thrashing skyward as it fell to its knees. Then, just like a scene from a movie, I suddenly saw myself lining the entire rectangular perimeter of our sanctuary with salt. As it I did this, the chapel became my parent’s three story great house in the valley. My vision panned back as though I were watching the whole scene unfold for afar, revealing my parents house on the hill protected by an outline of salt while surrounded my swarms of zombies. It was a scene reminiscent of the last scene of Season 2: “Walking Dead” after Rick gave his “Ricktatorship” speech. Cue the theme music.
When I awoke, a clear message had sunk in.
I watch waaaaaaay too many scary movies & TV shows!
impure thoughts 