The Sunday Morning Funnies Just Landed On Your Doorstep

FRIENDS & ENTROPIES,

I really don’t care who you are, just listen to my protracted demagogic blog-personality voice:

I am a hypersensitive WATER SIGN so I will get all emotional here in the Octopus Diary. It’s okay, you can handle it, I think. I like to think you all understand where I’m coming from when I share my thoughts & words w/ you. But I know that’s an unrealistic expectation, and that some people just won’t understand, don’t have the Iron Age tools of understanding.

At their direct disposal (crematory of consciousness) garbolic sanitation demolition project. Hero.

HELLO: 

Let me start again by saying: I know I got all emotional and sassy and made broad sweeping generalizations which are a NO in this hyper-woke post-Aquarian tectonic New World Disorder shift of consciousness Age.

And like I said, that’s going to keep happening. In my proven empirical fact-checked zodiac chart there is only: WATER & FIRE.

Zero zilch nada EARTH or AIR.

So, with me you’ll get a lot of this: EMOTIONAL/INTUITIVE/PASSIONATE

And none of this: COOL/CALM/COLLECTED

But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t listen.

Since I got all emotional on you last time, I was actually going to do something a fair & logical AIR SIGN would do:

Write an Adventure in Reality

And, friends, I did start writing an adventure. But then I did something I’ve never done before—I bailed on it! I got halfway into it (or more, 2/3 maybe) and I said ‘I can’t do it anymore!’

The Adventure was, in a nut shell, the tale of Trump & Putin’s romance leading to WW3. It was plenty ridiculous & action packed, but…I just didn’t find it funny. It’s hard for me to joke about all this. Putin is a really scary guy (even though he looks just like my step dad). 

And though Trump will always be a bozo, his henchmen are like sentient fungi come to life, spreading grayly w/ broken capillaries all over my comfort zone.  

I joked & satirized & surrealized & subverted myself all through the Bush years, because I had a firm grasp of what those bozos were about to do next. I have no firm grasp on this slippery executive guano…

…my skullbones once fused together so nicely

now pulled apart & struggling to contain all this new shit

It’s a shell game

So many new things to know

It’s not that I thought I was done knowing new things,

but these aren’t new things & I don’t want to know them again

[Yeah, like remember in the 70s & 80s how ugly we were to gay people, minorities, immigrants, fat people? I’m glad I can’t remember any farther back than that… we’ve come forward a little ways, but now we’re lashing back like a whip…snap]

They’ve been trotting out old George Monkey Bush—the enemy-media has. Look at him! Don’t we miss this little eek-eek good-ole boy chimp w/ his acrylic on canvas atonement oeuvre?

HE LOOKS LIKE A BEADY EYED HAMSTER WHOSE CAGE WAS FLUNG OPEN AND ALL HE WANTS TO DO IS SCAMPER TO THE FARTHEST CORNER AND HUNKER DOWN. HE LOOKS LIKE HE HAS BLOOD ON HIS HANDS NO TURPENTINE WILL EVER REMOVE. SHAME ON YOU (and you, Ellen De Generes for having him on your show) GEORGE W. BUSH FOR NOT EVEN BEING A CHIMPANZEE BUT A LESSER DEMON, A TRINKET ON A PUPPET ON A WIRE IN YOUR VICELORD’s ARTIFICIAL HEARTCHAMBER!!

I HAVE NOT FORGIVEN YOU YET. Our common hatred for clowns does not make us friends. And so my enemy, since I can’t make the adventure any less real I share w/ my friends again—

SHELTER CAT & TRUST FUND BABY

Shelter Cat & Trust Fund Baby Go For A Walk

HEY GUYS (this includes you too, girls),

Welcome to the Blog everyone pretends they don’t read, even though they do!

Sorry I had to post a long winded, lecturey piece in response to the ignorance I saw online last week. I know it seems like I love doing that, but I don’t. I don’t enjoy repeating myself or explaining WHY it’s okay to be who I am to people who don’t CARE to understand.

But I also can’t stay silent about it. And I don’t have a talk show, so I plop it right down here in the Octofish Chumbarrel. AND YOU FUCKING LOVE IT. Don’t pretend you don’t….

SO, in addendum to my previous rant, I want to say that most of the Trans Folks I know are MILLENNIALS. And millennial trans folks seem to have a much better grasp on their mental health than the trans folks from my [X] generation.

I actually don’t know many trans Gen Xers. [Yay! I’m always alone in whatever demographic I occupy!] But I do know quite a few trans Baby Boomers, whose narratives more closely resemble mine.

There was no trans positivity in the 70s 80s or 90s. We were perverts & sickos & we were to be shoved even further back into the closet than the gays, the minorities, or the fat women.

I know that sounds harsh & very un-PC but this is Trump’s America & I’m getting on board (with certain aspects of it.) Not really, but…. you know…

Anyway—I think my trans millennials would appreciate me vouching for their mental health after I was so brutally honest about my own not-so-great mental health. Every TRANS person has their own narrative, just as every PERSON has theirs.

And I’m actually quite jealous of how trans-positive the millennials are able to be.

I just took my dad’s, my brother’s & society’s misogyny and internalized the FUCK out of it, That was the 70s & 80s for you, and if you were lucky enough to arrive on this planet at a later date—hurray for you!

Don’t judge me for being born too soon (or late?) I can’t decide.

***********STATE OF THE YOU & YAWN***********

I really, really HATE the glorification of war, especially by someone who was never in the military. 

War, patriotism, militarism. Those are not good, positive, heroic things. But here we go, padding the military industrial complex for a round of WW3. 

Also think this V.O.I.C.E. registry is a horrific idea, and reeks of a naziism that’s not-so-subtle.

God help us. And I don’t even believe in God.

ALL RIGHT. That’s enough serious shit for now. Here’s what you’ve been waiting for: 

*******SHELTER CAT & TRUST FUND BABY*********(good luck reading it)

Me being masculine (& old)

I'm Not Dumb I'm Counter-intelligent

I always wanted to be an asshole. It's sad but true. I always wanted to be that guy who feels entitled to strut around like he's God's gift.

More recently I've yearned to be the internet version of that guy--the Troll. The one who feels entitled to instigate and antagonize because he's just that confident he will come out on top if any sort of intellectual showdown breaks out. 

The rooster who feels entitled to wake the world.

Now I'm afraid I will become one of those rooster-guys if my T-levels ever get past the 400 mark.

I went to the T-Doctor yesterday and she asked why my voice hasn't changed yet. My voice has gotten kinda scratchy & raspy but not deep. She thought it didn't seem right. So after my next injection and blood work, she's going to see about increasing my dose.

I'm writing today just to keep my beloved blog active. Not because I have anything to say. Certainly not because I have done any artwork lately. I know you all are CLAMORING for The Adventures of Shelter Cat & Trust Fund Baby…

…but my brain is operating in strange ways these days. My brain used to be this quick-flickering always turned-on thing. Now my brain works at a slower, more deliberate pace. And it's definitely turned on by things other than lyrical phrases and clairvoyant images.

Shelter Cat & Trust Fund Baby are the best of friends.

They go for walks in their wealthy gated community.

They find things on their walks.

They misinterpret what these things are and hilarity ensues. Their naivete is priceless.

I've written the script for the first episode. But I haven't found the will or concentration to sit down and draw it.

***********Speaking of Penises,

How did we go from the 20-oughts

To the 20-tens? 

I know history moves in little backward crescents, then surges forward in larger arcs

But the back pedaling of the past 2 years has been atrocious

It is the first time in my life that I would use the word

FAITH

To describe what I'm feeling rather than HOPE

I have (secular, humane) faith that the world will move forward again

Because I can't find hope anywhere inside me

And I guarantee you, I guarantee 

My dick is smaller than yours but I'm still grateful for what I have

I miss 2004 -- 2008

The Bush years, which made the Reagan years look like Utopian bliss, are looking

Very peachy under Trump's fluorescent-brassy-gumboesque lighting

*******************If we're not talking about penises

Then no one is listening.

So, what can I say about it?

I'm afraid to die in the public restroom

When I was a girl, a sad angry little strumpet

In my black skirts & flannel shirts

With my long ebony locks & privileged goth complexion

I would go in the Men's room without blinking

Without caring who saw me or who I saw

It was usually fine. Usually no one saw & if they did

They laughed, or corrected me "This is the MEN'S room, hon"

Once a guy got angry though

"Hey!!!! Get outta here!!! You don't belong in here!!!!"

Crouching over his pissing dick, making me wonder if he had warts or

Some deformity ...

That was at Denny's.

And I did belong in there. It was 1993.

But now???????? Now that Transgender is on everyone's radar

And I'm not using the Men's room ironically

I know the rules have changed

And I could be slandered, or killed, or worse PREACHED at.

I think we should have separate restrooms for Pooping & Peeing

Not for Men & Women  

Nothing I hate more--besides violence & terrorism--

Than someone farting & shitting away right next to me in the public loo

Women don't have dicks. They suck. Yeah, they suck OUR dicks. Bro!!! Women deserve to pay more for health care. They deserve a tampon tax. They don't have dicks. How do they live with themselves??

I don't know, man.

Is this a poem? Yeah let's call it poetry!!!!

This is poetry of the highest artistic merit. 

Yurrr Majesty.

Starbucks on Beneva & Bee Ridge, FUCK YOU!! You are poorly laid out and the most uncivil engineering I've ever tried to navigate. What the fuck am I doing here?? Oh, TAXES. Hopefully not death.

What if I dropped a PUSSY bomb? Would riots break out? Would our faces contort in plasmatic disbelief? Let's try it…

Oh no…I can't…too gross….just kidding…

PUSSY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

>^..^

=========> dickretaliation

(*) chocolatestarfish exit plan