"Sometimes the bad guys go right on top
Sometimes the good guys lose
We try not to lose our hearts, not to lose our minds"
-Ohm, Yo La Tengo
Those lyrics have been bouncing around my skull like a .22 hollow point over the last 30-40 days and not just because it's a great fucking song by a great fucking band (seriously, listen to their...everything). Yes, dearest motherfuckers, this last month has been kind of a punch in the tits for yours truly. What else is new? Right. Well, for starters my best friend, the first best friend I've had since my sojourn into the hermetic land of agoraphobia and my only reliable trans friend, up and moved back to fucking England. He'll be fine, a tough, twin-fisted, limey son of a bitch; Jimmy Boy, as only I can get away with calling him, taught me how to be a bull-dyke before coming out as a trans-man. He'll land on his feet back in jolly old England and be smoking fags and picking up slags in no time flat. I'm the one who's a fucking mess without him.
As if that's not enough to push a depressive cunt like me back over that proverbial edge, I've also been forced to watch in horror as Venezuela's Bolivarian Revolution (which, once upon a time gave a sexually confused teenage communist hope for democracy) choke on its last breath. And the worst part is its Nicolas Maduro, the man Hugo Chavez entrusted with the revolution on his death bed, who has his hands around the peoples throat. There hasn't been a worse case counter-revolutionary betrayal since Stalin poisoned Lenin and shipped his widow off to Siberia.
After years of being trolled by American sponsored terrorism and sabotage, Maduro gave in last week, liquidating the constitution that his mentor risked (and quite possibly gave) his life to protect. The only thing that reeks worse than Comrade Maduro's betrayal is the so called opposition who wants to take his place; a crooked cartel of crypto-fascists and Yanqui doodle quislings who would like nothing better than to fill the largest soccer stadiums of Caracas with the staccato symphony of the firing squads. Long story short, the Venezuelan people who inspired me to give democracy a second chance are now caught between a rock and hard-ass with a porno stash and there's little I can do but watch and wait for the other shoe to drop.
This month I've lost both a friend and a revolution. So, yeah, call me self-absorbed, but I'm kinda bummed. The one thing that keeps my fat tranny ass going at times like these (aside from Trader Joe's, Rick & Morty and Benzodiazepines, of coarse) is that old stand by Karma, which is essentially Newton's Second Law applied to social studies. What comes up must come down and for me this summers one silver lining is that two despicable old twats named Jeff Sessions and John McCain are finally coming down like a valley girl on prom night.
After spending the better part of a century punishing poor people for the high-crime of existing, Jeff Sessions' hideous career as a hype man for the Prison Industrial Complex has climaxed in his roll as Donald Trump's new favorite whipping boy. I've never loved that stupid orange bastard more than I do watching him kick old Sess' like a hillbilly with a hound-dog. The only thing funnier is watching all those 'socially conscious' liberals run to the Grand Wizard's defense just because he's the latest target of a shithead he helped get elected. As I write this post, Sessions has yet to be fired but I for one hope he doesn't. I hope he never does. Spending the next three to seven years as a petulant man-child's punching bag is exactly the kind of hell Jeff Sessions so richly deserves. Somebody should buy him a gimp suit.
Then there's John McCain. Our hero. I'm sure I'll get a mountain of shit for this but the only thing that brings a devilish smile to my face faster than watching Sessions piss on himself with his tail between his legs is the fact that god is finally finishing the job Charlie started with a brain tumor the size of a Jersey Shore jawbreaker in that craven war-junkie's skull. And why not? McCain has devoted his entire life to mass murder; From carpet bombing Vietnamese villages to sending his fellow vets to die in vain in quagmire after bloody fucking quagmire. All so he can keep his creepy wife in face-lifts and brand name pharmaceuticals with fat checks from Raytheon and Boeing. This is the bastard who's never seen a war that didn't get him rock hard. This is the bastard who's never seen a hole in the dessert he wouldn't fuck. This is the bastard who takes selfies with head-chopping lunatics in Syria and goosestepping neo-Nazis in Ukraine. And this is the gutless fucking bastard who talks about a Third World War with Putin the way I talk about Selena Gomez's vagina. And I'm supposed to feel bad for this twisted old twat? Fuck That shit.
Call me a cunt, dearest motherfuckers. I'll own the title. But every time I hear some dickless little Eichmann on the Hill blubber about how they don't make 'em like John McCain anymore, I start giggling to myself like a sinister little school-girl and I can't stop. I only wish brain cancer was a sexually transmittable disease so Lindsey Graham could catch it too. God knows, if there's a heaven, those two fucking ghouls aren't going. Thank Christ for cancer.
The point of this torrent of vitriolic spew? Its easy to feel like all the bad things happen to all the best people (Jimmy-Boy, Chavez, Bowie etc.) in this miserable fucking world. But we're all human. We're all born to die and built for the grave and it's the seemingly omnipotent megalomaniacs like Sessions and McCain who learn this lesson the hard way. Sometimes the bad guys lose and sometimes that fact is the one thing that gets me out of bed in the morning. In the end we all get what's coming to us, for better or worse. In the case of Jeff Sessions and John McCain, I'll relish in the latter even if this pettiness earns me the same fate. I'll gladly go to hell as long as I can take those two bastards with me.
Buck up, dearest motherfuckers, the dog days are over for us. For Jeff and John they've just began.
Peace, Love and Karma- CH
Soundtrack: Song's that influenced this post.
* Ohm By Yo La Tengo
* Man By Neko Case
* Don't Dream It's Over By Crowded House
* Head Like A Hole By Nine Inch Nails
* Coming Down By The Dum Dum Girls
* Frankenstein By New York Dolls
* Psycho Killer By Talking Heads
* The Killing Moon By Echo & The Bunnymen
* Is It Really So Strange By The Smiths
* Last Dance By The Raveonettes
* Dog Days Are Over By Florence + The Machine
* Little Eyes By Yo La Tengo