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Ds, Ps, and As

The best reason to continue living in this life is to become the best version of yourself that is humanly possible.  If you are not better than the you of yesterday, in my opinion, you are essentially wasting your time, or whatever.

Is today the first day of the rest of your life?  Do you have unanswered questions?  So do I.  It’s day 1 for me too.  A peculiar elderly Peruvian Lyft driver of mine told me in January that the answers to all of my questions are “all right there in front of you [me]” and that simply need to watch, look, and listen to discover it myself.  Just about every day since then, I’ve thought of the long conversation I had with the mysterious stranger that night, and out of the purest serendipitous circumstances after heeding his words of wisdom, I was never more sure of what I’m sure of as I write this optimistic-minded post.  No matter how sarcastic my writing gets, somewhere in the message is a glimmer of hope.  I do not know why it exists or why it’s there, but it is.  The fact that I recognize it is enough to move me on to do what I do the next time I wake up and see what’s out there.

Serendipity.  Serendipity.  Serendipity.

“…However, let it go.  It is the will of God that we must have critics, and missionaries, and Congressmen, and humorists, and we must bear the burden.  Meantime, I seem to have been drifting into criticism myself.  But that is no thing.  At the worst, criticism is nothing more than a crime, and I am not unused to that.” -Mark Twain, on criticism 

Cut to the scene where I will be myself and speak my mind regardless of what criticism shows itself on the horizon.  Press play.  That’s right now, yo.  I will not be intimidated by some AH who has nothing better to do with their time but hatefully criticize a thought that shaves against the grain of the mainstream mustache.  I’ve lived enough, I don’t feel like I need any more stories, yet I continue to write them and share new stories for nothing much more than the fuck of it.  Why would any sane person put themselves out there the way so many like us braves have, for nothing but the fuck of it?  Are we reaching for love?

 

Rantall Cunningham III

32_franklin_d_roosevelt
(photo courtesy whitehouse.gov)
BLUF*

Ladies and gentlemen, in my world, everything is a joke but nothing is funny.
Here’s a history lesson I hope none of you will overlook.  I’ve read, re-read, verified, re-verified, discovered, re-discovered, forgot, re-learned, and read some more.  I’ve done so in light of the words written by numerous distinguished scholars, leaders, entrepreneurs, historians, war veterans, abolitionists, excavators, world travelers, shaman, journalists– artists in as many senses as infinitesimally possible within the confines of my finite time of enlightened senses.  The information I’ve managed to gather over the last decade +$ome change has humbled me beyond a point of caring about much in life at all.  
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I was once humbled to the point of homelessness.  To the point of defeat and faulty existence.  It was a sturdy reminder that human beings make mistakes, that they seemingly exist, and that it seems that I am one of them.  Whoever I am and whatever it is that causes me to be how I am with perspective to all of my experiences moving my host through space and time is simply that alone, and it’s unfair to judge someone merely by the words that they had the nuts to publish for the wandering gossipers eyes to see and interpret.  I will use a common analogy to tie in a corresponding factor– if I tell you “don’t think about an elephant” you will most definitely think about an elephant and you are inferior to me muahahahaha.  Do not take my words to heart, if you have a problem with them (see: definition of ‘offended’), just remember, with my flawed personality I’m provoking your flawed personality on purpose.  For example, if you are Christian and you are offended when I tell you the Bible is a horrible book to be reading to children, no matter whether it’s read to it before or after that child is or isn’t sodomized, and this offends you– please forgive me and resume your prosperous journey to heaven.  Rest in paradise, Mr. Bill Hicks.  
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I simply do not have the time to apologize for the words I write.  But there is truth in every joke, I can promise you that.  I believe what was delved on in the long history of medicine in Food of the Gods (by Terence McKenna) will prove to be true and accurate information.  I believe in the healing power and versatility of plants with regard to the various different uses and formalities, with the idea in mind that their benefits directly coincide with nature symbiotically, and they far-outweigh the negative factors they’re implied with, specifically when it comes to legality of plants that grow naturally all over the world as we know it.  The “problem” with what my belief seems to be in this society is that it’s not popular, so it will never be “cool” until it reaches the right platform.  Statistically speaking, my full name most likely lurks at the cold, damp bottom of a government hit-list because I’ve culminated enough data in my research to decide that whatever most** people seem to choose to believe is just, well,  is just plain ol’ gahdam rawn-guh.  Somewhere in the midst of all that lineage is an outline of documented holistic ritual artwork in the form of hand-painted symbols on the walls of caves in West Africa.  The story behind the symbols is basically this in a nutshell: we were Sapiens but we weren’t always homo (did you know homo translates to ‘wise’ in Latin) (did you know we stopped teaching the Latin language to our youth around the turn of the 21st century in this country?) anyways, without digressing any further, we were once hetero Sapiens, or whatever the opposite of homo is, and then we ate fungus that grew on the platter of cow poop, and then, as we evolved, the matter and make-up of the fungus further-developed our brains to full-blown-homo mode, and our Pineal gland became/re-became a thing, and fast forward through an undetermined amount of years in the form of estimated, scientifically-educated guesses (theories) injected via cultural language with history unraveling before us and only captured when recorded both objective/subjectively, and wham bam here we am, mah’fockizzz.  Or, as Joe Rogan put it, we are monkeys on a rock flying around in space.  
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Okay, taken with a grain of salt, all of the above- that is, I think I’m ready to finally get to the point. 
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For the sake of argument, let’s assume a few high-ranking government officials are capable of exploiting their “power” in order to make a bunch of money by using a bureaucratic legal/justice system unfairly to their advantage– and accepting that possibility allows us to (for the sake of argument) assume that’s exactly what has-been and is-being.  Here are the verified facts:
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In the mid-1800’s a man by the name of Warren Delano, an American… let’s call him a philanthropist because when a spade is a spade we call it a spade in this country, sailed to Europe to meet some drug-dealing buddies of his.  Although it was illegal in China, Honeybadging Delano did not give a shit, and managed to acquire riches and wealth by smuggling opium forcefully into the Orient, which was successively passed down to his kin, which I will get back to that in a Florida minute.  Now, China would go down in history as a once-great Empire that ate its own foundation from the inside out with the help of the side-effects that can be found on the side of prescribed pain-killer medicine containers today, some 150 years later.  Not to quote the great George W, but to quote the great George W——— “fool me once…” suttin’ bout shame.
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So?!  Warren Delano and his mob of cronies tore apart a prospering nation by injecting its heart with opiates?  “Why, I don’t see the problem here?  What EVER are you getting at, young lad?
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Well, after the economy collapsed (Panic of 1857), all of Mr. D’s hard-earned, honest livings went to shit, and I’m assuming some bridges were burned and he wasn’t able to make the trip to Europe and that’s why he provided opium to the Union army during the civil war this time instead of going back to China to re-destroy it… after all, how do you sell opium to people who don’t have money, amirite?  Blah blah yadatadablah, did you know the hypodermic needle was invented towards the beginning of The War [the Civil one in America, we’re well past the Opium Wars at this point– catch up, bruh]?  Why stop at China when you can tear apart your own society at home right after!?  Then, with all thanks being to God and his mysterious ways, Warren D was able to mount up and regulate on a clear dark night which happened to cast a clear white moon.  Rumor has it, even, that he was trying to consume some skirts for the ‘E, or something that sounds like that if you’re like me and not 100% sure on the song lyrics, and Warren D had much rejoice in his re-acquired riches.  I reckon it’s a lot easier to REGULATE a large society consisted of highly-capable warriors when that band of warriors is strung out on morphine, but I’ve reckoned incorrectly many times before in the past.  I do remember, way back when, one time I read a book, and I don’t remember what it was called, but everything about the book was great except the cover really fuckin sucked, but I decided I’d just look past the cover and grant the inside info for the taking, but that was just that one time.  
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Anyways- I started wondering why the area of Tampa I frequented the most was named “Hyde Park”.  And why Platt Street is named Platt Street.  And why at the end of Platt Street there is a 30-foot statue of a man who wasn’t American and never actually set foot on America, and why that same guy has a federal holiday celebrated in his honor in this country, and why the person who created that holiday was the grandson of the guy who got richer than a goddesses golden vagina juice from illegally selling a by-product of a plant that rivals another naturally-growing plant, and why that rivaled naturally-growing plant was signed into prohibition by that same grandson of the opiate pirate when he became president, and why Oliver Platt was one of the most  quote-unquote ‘influential’ Senators of those times and there’s hardly any information about him readily available on the surface of the world wide web but of the little that is available, it’s known that many of the records in his office were destroyed after is sudden death from an unsuspected illness just weeks after yet another US Senator passed away from the same, and why there are historical text books written by Ivy League school professors that admit Columbus had nothing to do with this country but we still celebrate him like he did.  I wondered a lot of that and a few other things.  I still wonder how this was able to happen.  I’ve lost friends and I’m losing friends because of the deceptive origins found in the poppy plant in question.  It’s very unnecessary.  It’s wrong and it needs to be fixed.  One way to do that is hire an Attorney General who isn’t afraid to get the downtown-Dallas parade treatment, and have that AG de-schedule all of the substances which are being controlled by a bunch of buttheads on high horses to something more reasonable.  I’ll save sugar, tobacco, alcohol, cotton and slaves for later.
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I’m halfway through reading Mark Twain’s first volume of his autobiography, and I learned that the 1,400 words he wrote each day were quite a lot, even for a writer… I found that pretty interesting because I’ve proven myself capable of hand-writing 4,400 in a small fraction of the day.  And I planned on going far into all of this but I think this is a good stopping point for right now.  Remember, this is just how I feel, so please make sure to stay classy out there, San Diego.  “It’s just a ride.”
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*Bottom Line Up Front
**most does not mean all so if you’re offended you’re probably a most but there are exceptions to every rule, just ask the people who make the rules and if you’re not a most then they’ll tell you that some rules can be bent, but I’m like wait if my pool cue is bent isn’t it as good as broken?

FreeWriteMotherFucker

11/24/18

“Aw man, I woke up an hour before my alarm.” -Me, once or twice, at least, when I didn’t have goals, drive, or ambition

*Ryan, I know you’re looking down, or from within the light- I should say.*

That’s where the truth lies– in the melanin, in the chlorophyll, the dark and the green. The herbal power, the country tree that grows wherever it feels it should go. The skunky brewster, the funky rooster call, any weed’ll do when the cock’lldoodle’doos. Any brew or two, what’s a monkey ta’ do when it sees through bullshit, a colossal hunk-a-shit-bigger-and-stinkier-than-Hillary’s alien clitoris I’m so fuckin sick of this. We long for peace and leave justice hanging to dry.

The democratic party may seem pretty gnarly– free education doesn’t mean shit when the curriculum there-within is brainwashed in— across the waterboard. I wouldn’t say these words if I’ve never seen ’em. I’d never translate my stories, transcribe my stories, write down my stories, edit my grammatical errors- some of them, at least- publish my stories- then tell you to read— my stories– if i didn’t believe in what I am selling… which I’m starting to epiphanize is probably my soul.

Like Twain said, or was getting to, was that there comes a point of time, when you represent yourself and serve your community well and forever-constantly- they may start to serve your needs in symbiosis. But it takes a mind null and void of as much/as little distraction as zero’ly possible.

It’s all in the language. Language is everything.

Here is a video one of my old supervisors showed me a couple of weeks ago when I was visiting over dinner. In order to get some gossip and opinions flowing, and because this is relevant in other platforms, said old supervisor is not white… well, he’s the same amount of white as the first black POTUS, by the world’s standards– not mine.

I’ve been busy.

Welcome to The Truman Show

HeLikesItHeyMikey.jpg“…there are many strong arguments for keeping creative writers out of politics and Mr. George Orwell is one of them.” -Sir Victor Pritchett, 1938 (1984 was published in 1949. If you own a copy and you are missing the point of that story, read it again, you hypocrite!) 🙂

“Writing is ditch-digging, it isn’t backflips.” -Cole Bellamy, 2016

**Think about those quotes. Think about when they were said, where they were said, and why they were said. Sometimes you have to ask the artist for that extra feedback. I’m all ears.

Anyone who wants to do it [write] can do it. Just roll up your fuckin’ sleeves and grab a shovel.  As long as the ditch is dug, that’s all that matters. How deep are we talking? Am I talking about writing or digging ditches? (Note to edit: Just get it done and get it done right. ______________________________________________________________________________________ 

Wow, what a day ahead.  High hopes, high expectations.  Plenty of room for error but it looks like the money is right for now.  Keep people off of your back by keeping them in the loop instead.  Be open with goals to those you care about.  Only put your shit out there if you want it out there.  I have a writing company.  I’m a writer.  Start acting like it.  Stop your bullshitting and give the people your product.  Nicholas, in Latin, translates to ‘Victory of the People’, will I ever finish any of the checklists I’ve ever made for myself? Why is it so hard to get 3 things done each day?  Am I distracted?  Oh my fucking god yes I am.  I need another day where I leave my phone in a drawer somewhere and go explore like Huck Finn.  I was born where Mark Twain was buried.  That wasn’t his real name.  Nor Orwell’s.  Nor Ali’s.  I don’t wanna change my name but I will if I have to.  Bill Clinton did it too.

Side note for re-emphasis: **Did you know Clinton took the last name of his abusive Step-Father?  Same name HRC decided to get behind.  Rodham wasn’t (trails off)… Do you think it reminds him of good times every time he hears it? [his Step-Father’s last name, knowing his mom went through hell to put up with several years of abuse from another unsung alcoholic]

One of the things my mentor gave me for advice on writing and curing ‘mental writer’s block’ [my term in paraphrased form] was to wake up and write whatever comes to mind.  It’s a practice called ‘free writing’– go figure.  This was advice passed to me in 2011 via e-mail (7 years ago, for significance– there is a reason we had to consider the plot, setting, characters before we read books in school as a class), as I was living in Qatar.  It was advice given to him years before that, and it’s designed to help you clear your mind of any ‘noise’ that is affecting your ability to create art of your own.  My mentor hung himself 4 years ago, and I unfortunately didn’t have a chance to thank him for that advice because I read the e-mails again just this past year. (4 years posthumous)

Have you ever lost someone important?  Someone who believed in you more than you did?  Ever lost someone who talks you up to others and markets you more than you even do?  That’s who Ryan Muller was to me.  The big brother I never had.

If I’d have not been so caught up in my job, there’s a strong chance that my mentor would still be mentoring me today, but the fact of the matter is– I was caught up in the ‘McDonaldized’ society we live in.

When I was deployed to the other side of the world, at the age of 22, I had things like TMDEX to worry about weekly.  TMDEX stood for Theatre Missile Detection Exercises.  We practiced triangulating ‘simulated’ missiles in case someone like Iran decided to use one.  That was not in 1984.  I wasn’t born then…. same war, same idea, but 2010-2011.  That was just a side duty though.  I can remember ‘touching’ (jargon for ‘controlling the mouse/keyboard of a computer system) Google Earth servers before they became ‘a thing’ on the internet– except we were just using them for the war effort at those times.

Even when the official NFL Super Bowl commentary was recorded ‘Live’ on the airbase I was deployed to while I was there, I had a job to take seriously and I didn’t have time to watch Football.  (This is evident with my lack of participation in the Fantasy Football leagues I was trying to compete in– key word: tryingWhile I was over there, THIS HAPPENED, and I felt hopeless and sick to my stomach.

Fast forward 4.5 years through a thick jungle of bullshit, and now it’s the day after Christmas and I’m about to go home and see my cousin, my mentor, for the first time since I finished my godforsaken service to this country, I had just woke up and was set to fly home and be in my hometown in 5 hours. /And then my dad walked into the room…

He didn’t have to tell me [what was up] because I could already see [it in] the look in his face.  You see, I’ve been to war for 8 years, I know ‘the look’ when someone is coming to Staff Sergeant Muller with some shitty fuckin’ news that I absolutely do NOT want to hear; yet it’s the ugly truth about war, and I now realize it’s the ugly truth about life- in general- it was the same shitty fuckin’ news that I absolutely NEEDED TO KNOW.  The truth hurts but it needs to be known.

So, what did my dad say?  What did I already know he was going to say?  I can remember it like it was just a few minutes ago:

“…Hey, uh, Nick… I’ve (deep breath) got some bad news.  It’s about Ryan… He hung himself yesterday.  I’m sorry, bub.

CLICK. (That’s the sound of the off-switch that went off in my head.)

You see, I was almost another Ryan a couple of years ago.  Almost another Mac Miller.  Welcome to Thee fuckin’ Kid’s Table, mother fuckers. (Your kid is back.)

A week ago today, I was visiting home for just the 3rd or 4th time since I had returned from my 1-year deployment.  You learn a lot about life when you’re forced with life/death decisions on a nonchalant, at-least-daily basis.  It makes you a cold mother fucker.  A capable one.  I’m not on here to talk about the Distinguished Graduate award I was awarded upon graduating Airman Leadership School.  I’m not gonna tell you how I was awarded as an Honor Graduate in Basic Training at the age of 18 “competing” against 400+ men/women [ages 17-27] from all over the world.  I think I was 1 of 12 Airmen on that stage out of the ENTIRE class.  That’s 9 Squadrons? 2 flights in each squadron?  60 in each flight?  And not everyone makes it.  As an Element Leader I can say that we were missing 5 or 6 guys from our ceremony that started with us initially.  Look at how I [we] was [were] standing.  We call that discipline. [Look at the pictures below please***]

oath of enlistment 11Nov06Last Family Photo Nov2010

(Oath of Enlistment evidence.  Last full family photo, BWI Airport, before deployment***)

I’M NOT HERE TO TALK ABOUT THAT, BUT SOMEHOW IT’S RELEVANT…

…you see, I may have long hair now, and you may see my arms covered in tattoos, and I know you may not have a reason to want to get a tattoo.  But I earned my stripes, and the art on my arms are the stories that remind me who I am when I need it most.  As an avid reader, believe me when I tell you– PLEASE DON’T ever judge a book by its cover.

Who am I? What’s Thee Kid’s Table?

I’m here to break the trend.  So many artists lack the courage to show their best work out of fear/anxiety that their “friends” will judge them.  If that’s something you’re worried about, you’re in the business for the wrong reasons.  Do what you love and if you can make money doing it– sick!!!  Apparently you need money to live comfortably in this fucked up world.

And don’t tell me it ain’t fucked up.  I’ve seen enough for 100 lifetimes and I’m still alive to write about it.

“ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?????!!!!!!!!” -Maximus

Keynotes/end rant: **anything in bold text is things I’ve added that doesn’t show in my notes, for the sake of this purpose. If you haven’t figured out that I’m trying to inspire others to write and giving them an idea of how it can be done, even when you wing the shit out of it, it’s still art. I’m not building a fuckin’ piano here. So to all of you mother fuckers out there who explain what I’m doing as “I heard Nick has a blog going LOL”, here’s your blog post. Believe me though, I’ll write a book by Christmas. And if I don’t have a book by Christmas then call me out on it and I’ll face the music. Deal? I just got back from vacation and I quit two jobs to chase my dreams. I know it sounds crazy, but believe me, I’ve got stories for days. 

“Slow Your Roll” by Nick Muller

Written in August of 2016 for ‘The McDonaldization of Society’ at St Leo University.

mcdonald
“In a world of flashy, eye-catching advertisements, it can be rather easy to fall into the rampant stream of McDonaldization. Seemingly everywhere we look or go, we are hounded and set on battling one-another to get the best ‘bang for the buck’, even if it means we have to kill and steal(1). Constant improvements in efficiency flood the marketplace, with emphasis on saving more time and more money, as the addictive properties of profit are slowly replacing the emphasis of satisfaction of service and genuinity. How far can we go before this cancerous mentality topples our society? Or, more importantly, can this path down Highway McDonaldization be reversed for the betterment of mankind? I believe it can.
After 8 years of active duty service in the US Air Force (enlisting after high school) I was Honorably Discharged in October of 2014. I can remember my whole career quite vividly, as my memory bank filled to the ever-growing brim with rich moments of satisfaction and comraderie, as well as moments of pain, anguish, and/or general dissatisfaction. I’d say it was somewhere in the middle of my one-year deployment to an undisclosed location in Southwest Asia that I realized what McDonaldization was, I just didn’t know the term existed…yet. I noticed how materialistic our culture in America was, as the majority of my brothers and sisters in arms were often debating over what their next vehicle upgrade was going to be; what the next family cruise would entail; what the newest shopping trend was and what bar had the best happy hour specials; what multiple choice Air Force policy questions to study answers to in order to promote to the next tier of leadership. Blindly, I was drowning in a sea of desparation that seemed to make sense at the time, but after I became an unemployed vet who struggled to find a job, money was tight and I had to re-order my priorities. No- the ‘me’ that now understands McDonaldization of society has a way to paddle upstream and avoid being a part of the masses who end up plunging over the waterfalls edge.
As Ritzer explains in his writing, there are four basic components to McDonaldization: efficiency, probability, calculability, and control(2). In order to reverse the effects of McDonaldization, one has to resort to being more emotionally engaged with processes instead of being so automated. If you find yourself rushing from one appointment to the next, it would make sense to want to save as much time and money as possible, so stopping at Starbucks on the way to work seems like a marvelous idea. What if, instead of rushing to the coffee shop to wait in a rush hour line for a $10 order, you invested in a coffee machine at home- brewed it while showering and getting dressed- and then poured into a travel mug before scooting out the door? Spending that $10 on ground coffee beans(3) goes much further than the amount one could potentially spend on 3-5 visits to [insert favorite coffee shop] a week. The key here, though, is not being in a rush. Why are we in a rush? One example: we stay up too late watching [insert favorite TV show marathon] and sleep till the last possible wink that gives us just enough time to get to the job we don’t necessarily love to do. This is just one example of how doing a little extra planning ahead can save you more time and money than paying someone else to do things you actually know how to do. We’ve gotta stop being so lazy. It’s also a proven study that completing simple tasks daily actually lead us to be more productive individuals throughout the day. If you’re not convinced, I’d highly recommend checking out the commencement speech given by a former US Navy SEAL; he explains the importance of ‘making your bed as soon as you wake up’ and the psychological benefactors associated with knocking out such tasks.(4) I’ve tested this theory out myself, and not only have I saved money (I brew several pots a day in a week on a $10 bag of beans) but I also have this sense of satisfaction that I accomplished a better use of my resources, multiplied by the extra satisfaction of knowing I saved more money, when that was the goal all along. Oh, by the way, I make my bed when I wake up– the Admiral’s free advice can improve efficiency with the theory that just a little extra effort can truly go a long way.
Ritzer explains to us how probability can be beneficial in McDonaldization because people can expect the same level of distinguished services at each location across the grid. If I go to McDonalds in an airport in New York, and I land in Florida later, I have McDonalds there and it will taste exactly the same. This same effect of probability now makes it calculable. Profits/revenues can now be accurately predicted, as the standard for a McDonalds meal is the same from your personal greeting at the cash register down to the size of the pickle chip between your standardized burger buns. The probability of standards in service gives people a sense of comfortability and when people are comfortable they’re more likely to revisit. As one ‘foodie’ blog points out, the reason people keep coming back is because they know what to expect.(5) Making things calculable can also lead to revenue-based business decisions, which can sacrifice important business aspects such as quality. Ritzer provides an example of this when he cited an elderly couple being forced to leave a McDonald’s premise after spending too long in the dining hall. The fact that we are treated as numbers instead of humans in that respect, is reason in itself to take a step back and re-think whether it’s worth being a part of the profit herd. On top of that, documentaries like Food, Inc. cannonball into exposing the food industry and the extremely poor treatment of livestock animals, as well as the unsanitary slaughterhouse operations.(6) It explains how these poor conditions can ultimately transfer to those who consume the products. An example of combatting this is paying a higher price for grass-fed beef, vice those that are corn-fed. Corn-fed cows have ties to obesity. Guess where McDonald’s gets its beef from. It’s a cruel world out there.
The hardest part about swimming to safety out of the McDonaldization flood is actually admitting that you’re caught up in the mix. As the phrase goes, “the first step to solving a problem, is realizing that there is one.” What do I mean by that? Ritzer draws up a brilliant example of this with his breaking down the typical shopping experience at an IKEA warehouse. He explains IKEA as a giant maze. It’s true, even if you are there only for kitchen materials, chances are you’re going to pass through the living room, bathroom, and bedroom sections (amongst others) along the way to the cash register where they will so graciously accept your payment. It takes a lot of discipline to pass up on all the sweet ‘deals’, but to the trained mind, it can be done. The only proven method of avoiding it, however, is to not enter the store at all. I, personally, would rather spend a little more time in researching furniture instead of going spending all that time lost in the maze at IKEA. Sometimes a trip to your local antique store can be much more rewarding than getting lost in the generic assembly line styles of McDonaldization.
It’s important to understand that McDonaldization is, in fact, an ongoing thing and that it is affecting the lives of many, many people. Yeah, sure, McDonaldization is efficient, saving time and money (I disagree), but at the cost and expense of others. The next time you purchase something, ask yourself if you ‘need’ it or do you just ‘want’ it because you saw it on an advertisement? Don’t be so McDonaldized!”
Works Cited

  1. MailOnline, Wills Robinson for. “Black Friday Brawl Sparks Shooting Spree Panic at Mall: Shoppers Flee in Terror from ‘gunman’ in Maryland as Bargain-hunting Chaos Continues across the Country.” Mail Online. Associated Newspapers, 29 Nov. 2014. Web. 09 Aug. 2016.
  2. Ritzer, G. (2011). The McDonaldization of society 6. Los Angeles: Pine Forge.
  3. Jet.com – Prices Drop As You Shop. (n.d.). Retrieved August 09, 2016, from https://jet.com/product/detail/4064bb0fcd224f1ab54ff7797eba9f9e?jcmp=pla:bn

All Products – JD:Catch All – JD:na:PLA_112594583_4372586962_{productgroupid}:na:na:na:2
keyword: coffee
(4) T. (2014). University of Texas at Austin 2014 Commencement Address – Admiral William H. McRaven. Retrieved August 09, 2016, from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pxBQLFLei70#action=share
(5) 5 Reasons to Love Starbucks. (n.d.). Retrieved August 09, 2016, from http://drinks.seriouseats.com/2012/07/five-reasons-to-love-starbucks.html
(6) Food, Inc. (n.d.). Retrieved August 09, 2016, from http://www.takepart.com/foodinc

Sisqo was on the stage right before. Was it worth it? You tell me.

Treasure Hunt

I’m goin blind out here on the lookout for some fucks to give, afraid to blink you might think, no way to live. Ever target the bullseye, end up nailin the brown eye and come up with bullshit? Fuck it, hiking like a viking on Vicadin exchangin hot hands like wildfire on paper fists, see how hard I hit, navigate the globe with a rapist wit, how could I possibly quit- I just located a starter kit. Playin hard to get like Mary Swanson’s clit, Lloyd Christmas I’m hit or miss, I’m not really the type to tell and kiss, I’ll be Nikki Sixx +6 +6 +2– 20/20, a motley crüe, 20 ladies daily comin up n sayin to me how my eyes are blue, dobba dee dobba di, plural form of dice, in the Valleys, or Vegas if you press 2 for Español, my mind- is this the highest itcango? I’m justnotsold on glitterandgold, it makes me yawn a lot, took it all to the pawn shop, I’ve been stayin up past dawn a lot, the hunter that got hungry and gave up on the lawn crops, more specifically I might precisely run the woods like I’m in Nikes, shotgun, there goes the trigger, the real star of the movie where the mother of that fawn was shot. Christened with misery, erasing history, asiffacts were builtupplaque on a bucktooth washed away with Listerine. I have a dream of a genie screaming “dont you dare stop”, her bhole is what I was reaming, cream was steaming, she wasn’t on my nerves but she was definitely leaning, pack a 1-2 kinda like tag-teaming, got a box full of rain checks that I won’t be redeeming. Pot leaf socks, a train wreck of a pain in the neck of a locomotive with a reckless cocamotive. On the spot like Johnny, do it live I’m streaming, no match but my game set, green lumber, in the sun in the summer smoking on a wooden stained-deck. Eyes hide, buzz sweet like honey in the hive, what they mean when they’re talkin bees knees, a rare breed of an endangered species.

If I were a treasure where would I be?

Sure would be a pleasure for whoever’d find me.

Aww yer nailin me, kewl!

Fed up, like a cop on the top floor, I’m sore to the core, got bored of not being able to stop from wanting more, had to duck to the floor just to get through the door without gettin stuck in the fore-head, of course I’ve knocked my noggin before, I’m quite the lil knucklehead, clumsy and lost, but I know my side objective is more head. Blowin minds including mine, and it doesn’t gotta be in a bedroom, no disgrace to where it takes place- we could hop in your car and park in your boss’ parking space, take it in the face please I just don’t want my carpet glazed, mouth all the way to the base I’m amazed that she wasn’t harping or phased. Get blazed at an asylum and show you a nutcase, release your closet slut ways like monkey see monkey do, feelin like the goose on the wild chase, namsayn, smashing vases when they flower leanin like Italian towers, nothin like a warm shower when you’re a snowplower. No Grammy needed to achieve celebrity star power, live in my own world where it’s always my hour, like my chowder with clams- the man, smile at your girl stealer from ya like Bill Cowher and fake chow her, a thousand miles an hour my mind always wanna holler it never shuts the fuck up! Stuck-up! like a boner in sweatpants tucked in the elastic waste band, and mainly, man, these veteran rants got me wantin to flee this drastic mainland of a wasteland.

Lyrical wet dream

Escaped the maze, I can smell the cheese, the last phase of the rat race, I went this way instead of that way but I’m still eatin, agreed to it I’m a thrill seeker. To alpha dog ya gotta kill the leader, cut the tag and make the deal sweeter. Patty Mayo, no Funny business, like Doug’s homie I’m quite the skeeter; the right component of a Hertz Donut, fuck’er lights out- never paid the meter. The ups and downs like totter teeter, holdin whiskey- feelin neater, an avid reader, long lost believer, Bahumbug like Ebineezer, Scrooge this, fuck that, huge tits, ass fat, dame dame don’t go away, come hither if you wanna smash. Hatless, all across the atlas, all the girls in the world- that would be my last wish. Steady smilin in my sleep in my casket in a while but not right now, talkin way later, stay dialed in Grim Reaper flask is a blood vile, pipe down, been goin around been comin round, like spherical jizz droplets I can be a dick when I spit. Make the angry beaver grin when I lickity split. One man wolf pack roamin holy fields, Evander, howl at the moon like I’m fuckin Steven Glansburg, my hands hurt from chucking n heaving cans of dirt… life’s a game of skins n shirts.

(Photo taken by TDolbs in 2012 on the way to buy my boat with $10K cash in a fanny pack.”

High There. 👋🏻

Here’s a group of words I put together that I thought was pretty sexy. I thought of the following group of words while smoking my 6th cigarette-or-so in probably the last hour, but making it look what I think is pretty sexy reason being if you think of it this way->>>>>smoking cigarettes is the number one cause?judges? for a pretty gnarly bunch of diseases and illnesses (I’m not a journalist, I’m just out here being and writing down some words that only make the right sense if they’re read through and interpreted correctly, in harmless nature with the sole purpose of paraphrasing as many thoughts as efficiently as possible, the words don’t resonate in the bank forever- words are thoughts before they’re anything, and luckily I’m firing on all creative pistons at the moment so I know going left at the fork won’t be a dead end this time) and knowing that ahead of time, which you wouldn’t know from looking at me -but ya see, my friends, sexy isn’t all look, it’s look and touch- so if you take that bit and plug it into the heroic insanity it requires to actually put yourself out, beyond thoughts and words, what I’m sayin is I’m a badass genius because I’m cool with assuming the risk of dying in exchange for immediate gratification received from puffing a faggot and I’m totally picking on myself here- ahhh shit- dead end. Shoulda went right.

Anyways. Here are those words I liked:

ok… thought I had it, Well, I couldn’t reword it how it sounded in my head, so::

“Something about there being truth in most jokes and the activating ingredient is having the courage to tell it or something like that.”

I lost the scent and gave up trying to find the missing baby. I could have retraced my steps and searched for longer, but the baby is dead already and will still be there tomorrow, wherever it is, waiting to be found. At least I tried looking for it, and isn’t it just such an unfortunate pain in your figurative ass when someone you’ve never met makes a comment about ‘what you should have done instead’ to find the baby sooner so it could be pronounced dead faster while they themselves didn’t take part in any shape of help to find the baby? I almost deleted this part but it was such an extremely perfect example of an almost-unheard of scenario, the point is, worry bout yourself. I didn’t delete it because I can only tolerate a certain amount of sanitation and self-censorship. Oh, and in that scenario, if you thought I was cold for writing about the whole dead baby thing, I should also include a couple other details – it was like 2AM and 20 degrees out, and we had already been out searching for 8 hours, and an hour and a half before retiring for the night, the search party had already decided that even though they said they were going to make just one more pass before they called it quits for the night and started again tomorrow, they mustered up the courage it took to spend another [said] hour and a half in the dark cold trying to find the end of a thumbtack in a bale of hay. Then a couple weeks later when they got asked about what thoughts/words were going through their head, a major confession from 6/10 members of the search party, when they too admitted to thinking “what’s the use in freezing 10 men to death over 1 dead baby”, and on top of that, since they were in Canada for this completely fictional scenario, they also had to worry about wolves and oh yeah the they used to have 11 members but a fuckin wolf ate one of them last week and people are scared shitless looking for a baby they had no relation to while some of us scoffed without reading it through to the end, in other words, they told the truth and yeah the truth hurts sometimes but sometimes we only hear what we wanna hear and stop digging right when we hear it. Sometimes, when we talk honestly about what we are digging for with other diggers, we may find out that other people are digging for the same thing. We on the same team all along!?

Ok.

Check engine light just came on.

This post is intentionally written the way that it is by complete accident.

Here’s a cliché motivational poster that applies to my sentiments. I have no idea who G Douglas is.