Bill & Hillary Might Be Killing My Father

Look at the picture above and you might see me chasing the ghosts of presidents past or you might just see picture of the great outdoors.

Or maybe you’ll see me preparing to run with the moon as I release the surly bonds that tie me to this earth and prepare to go places few of you can reach let alone see.

Those who care might click on the link and see if clues remain or perhaps they’ll rely upon psychic connection and or speculation forgetting that they could simply ask.

Perhaps they will or perhaps they won’t.

Perhaps I’ll continue to stand alone and apart processing the events of the day and nodding my head as I begin to understand how one can contract PTSD from those who have terminal illnesses.

****

Maybe the best way to decipher the mighty mess is to look in the good book and see if it offers guidance.

Say What Again

There are people amongst my friends and readers who will not appreciate the clip above.

Some of them will say it is because of blasphemy and some bad language. Others will just shake their heads and ask why I choose to go there.

To them I’ll respond with “Bill and Hillary might be killing my father.”

They’ll tell me it is ridiculous, nonsensical and dumb and I’ll nod my head.

“It is all of those things and so is trying to claim that Trump should be given a pass for his incompetence and bad behavior because we didn’t respond a particular way when Bill Clinton was in office.”

In my head those words would have the same impact as Sam Jackson’s Pulp Fiction clip but in reality they probably wouldn’t.

That is because some jackass would have already moved on to sharing their long list of why they hate Bill/Hillary and how that somehow makes their refusal to hold Trump accountable ok.

Maybe I ought to change things up and use this line instead, assuming I could deliver it as effectively that is.

The problem is life is unscripted and I can’t promise or guarantee that I would get the opportunity to roll it out with the same alacrity as Brother Robin.

Try Intimidation Instead

I see lots of tough guys posing with guns in their Facebook profiles and felt like I might be missing out.

Since I keep my gun secured in my pants I had to come up with an alternative shot that would strike fear into the hearts of others.

I drank two gallons of milk, ate a couple of Carolina Reapers and consumed a two week old bowl of Chicken Vindaloo and then took the picture below.

Why combine the food with that scary bathroom scowl?

Well kids I figured if the look doesn’t freeze you in place it is time to engage in some biological warfare.
That is my locked and loaded position and if you aren’t scared it is because you aren’t paying attention.

Letters To Write

Tomorrow is the final soccer game of the regular season and the probably the last before my baby girl finishes middle school.

Yesterday she was three and tomorrow she’ll be in the middle of her freshman year of high school.

These youngsters grow up far too but not fast enough for all of the family to come along for the ride.

I sit at the dining room table by myself wondering if the words upon this page make any sense at all or if there is a rhythm and flow the reader can feel.

Experts say if the writer questions the quality of the words upon the page it probably means they shouldn’t press publish because they haven’t produced a product worth sharing.

Sometimes I see truth in such advice and sometimes I call it a lie.

Why?

Because the definition of quality is subjective and it varies from person to person. It is similar to memories not captured by camera or video.

One person claims to have been kissed and alleges they were not the first to say I love you when the truth is the opposite.

Maybe it is because kisses are funny things and the good ones cause you to lose sight of reality and senses.

Or maybe it is all unadulterated horseshit.

Maybe I ought to finish writing a different post for a different blog that is for limited eyes.

Maybe I ought to tear this wall down and scrap the nuclear waste upon this page for it represents me poorly.

Or maybe I ought to just let it be and accept that we can’t always produce a Pulitzer prize piece of prose.

My heart is heavy, but I am smiling because there is so much good going on in spite of so much hard.

Maybe Bill lied about getting a blow job in the White House. Maybe I would too.

Doesn’t really matter to me if he did or didn’t receive the sort of punishment some people wish he would have.

I am focused upon the present and not upon the reality I wish had been.

Wish others would learn this lesson too.

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