Welcome to the Hurt Locker

(tried to fix the format issues. Can't. Sorry).

He's president. Yeah.

As one young lady, years away from voting, observed, "If yer old enough to vote, yer old enough to deal with disappointment."

Originally I was not gonna post this for public consumption. It was for me; being a writer I had to get it out.

But the ire, disgust, revulsion and boggling over the duplicity, hypocrisy, hate and flat out lies being slung by the Left and the Alt-Left is too much. I am a wordmonger, a smith whose forge is the mind and product is language. I am also driven in ways you cannot understand unless you too are a writer. So.

First and foremost - I don't see enough difference in Trump and Clinton to really matter.
YMMV. Right now, I'm not interested in hearing what you believe are the differences. Maybe later. Moving on.

CLARITY

Lemme interject here - I did not support Trump nor Clinton. The more Trump was vilified, the more I thought about supporting him. It's who I am. The more Obama was slammed, the more I thought about supporting him. I especially wanted to shove the "birthers" into a meat grinder.

But I did not.

I also say, I do not support the ostracizing of members of my community and your community over the criteria listed immediately below. I will not tolerate it. I will stand for those who are attacked because of their gender whether chosen (which I do not understand, but I don't have to understand) or birth, melanin content, religion (provided their choice of religion lets me choose my religion), sexual choice (provided that choice is other consenting adults) and country of birth. May be, probably are a few more. If you support assailing people for any of these reasons, do not do so in my presence. If you escalate, I will too.

I will stand up for you, even though you hate me. I do not hate you. I pity you, and yet, I'm still going to have your back, your front, top, bottom and sides. Except, of course, where your oh-so-delicate feelings are concerned. I'm going to run over those like an 8-wheel-drive tractor pulling a 16-row harrow.

In other words, pain is coming. I plan to be the delivery vehicle sometimes. I plan to try to stop the pain sometimes. I plan to share your pain sometimes. I do not ask you to share my pain.

Let's make this so clear it can be seen from the other side of the galaxy.

You never would and never will stand up for me. You said you would. Your actions say otherwise. I stand for you. My actions prove it.

There is the difference between us.

More examples and explanations forthcoming, if you can stand to keep reading.

LAUGHING AT YOU

Trump won. The idea has me giddy because of people like (individual person not named) who are in literal tears about his victory. Because of other people who are in tears over this. Because people are so mad they have lost all reason. Because so many people who preached tolerance, love and acceptance when it appeared Clinton would win but when Trump emerged the victor about 30 minutes later, switched to hate, rejection and intolerance faster than a tachyon. No names. None of you (even those who think like I do) need to know these names.

Yes. The pain some people feel makes me ebullient.

Yeah. I'm a right bastard. I'm still laughing. Harder now. Because if you are now mad at me, you don't get it. Which is even funnier. Keep it up. You may give me a laughter-induced coronary or an aneurysm.


I also have aching ribs because of the lying celebrities who said they'd leave the country but won't because the US is the Gravy Train for the entire world and they know it.

Money before principles. The very same thing these people shredded Trump about.

I laugh harder.

I laugh because of the hypocrisy. During the campaign and just before results were announced, people were saying the nation must come together, heal and find common ground. We must accept the election results. This is the way things will be. People were saying they'd never abandon friends because of their choice for president.

Then, Trump was announced the winner.

Hypocrisy exploded. Along with my laughter. Profanity. Insults. Invective. Screams of racism and white heterosexual male privilege. Within seconds, love turned to hate. Within seconds gentle pleas to come together and accept the political process turned into rabid denunciations of a corrupt system that seeks to entrench fascism.

This reminds me of whitewashed tombs. Looks good on the outside, but under a thin veneer is rot, corruption and decay.

So, to those who screamed, ranted, cried, wailed and gnashed teeth I say heal, find common ground, accept the election results. This is the way things will be. I will never abandon my friends because of their political beliefs.

You set the rules. I'm playing by them.

PUSHING THE AGENDA

I'm giggling as I write this. Yeah. I'm giddy about this, because of these people who are so freeking distraught over this presidential election.

These are the people who would take immense self-righteous delight in having their chosen elected officials impose their agenda on the unwilling had Clinton won. Now, an agenda they despise threatens to be imposed on them. (Other plans to impose someone else's will on me are moving forward. I am not happy about this.)

You are so smug, so self-righteous, so absolutely convinced that your way leads to a utopia and everyone else is a blithering idiot who needs to be locked up, or at least sat on until they shut up. The other side thinks the same of you. Me? I just want each person to be accountable for his actions and don't harm anyone. (If you do harm someone, then you give up your right to not be harmed; possibly you will be harmed to death.)

Daffodils much?

I am also reminded of the people who said "We survived Bush. You will survive Obama." And the distant roaring you hear is my laughter. The roaring laughter of a cis gender straight white male. The roaring laughter because the same words you used on me and so many others are now being used on you and somehow it's suddenly offensive and mean.

You ain't seen mean yet. I ain't even begun to offend you.

Yes, I am a right bastard because I am laughing at your pain. Keep it up. Roger Waters and I may be "Amused to Death" before this is over.

What you sought to do to me, is being done to you. Before the election, when Hillary was the Chosen One, you told me to calm down, accept and move along. I have a message for you.

When Hillary was leading, you said we must put division behind us and come together to support the president.

Where is your support now? Why the hate, which you urged Trumpers to avoid? Why the angry screams, the denial, the protests, the hate?

I'll tell you why - because at the core you are no different than Donald Trump. When you do not get your way, as in this, you become a 5-year-old throwing a tantrum. That is all it is. Immaturity on your part, the very same thing so many of you decry in the president.

You lash out just as he does.

Here's a question you won't answer - Whither tolerance? You who demand acceptance now refuse to grant it? Keep reading, sunshine, I even ain't close to being done.

EQUAL OPPORTUNITY OFFENDER

Lemme be clear, I'd be laughing if Clinton won. I'd be saying much the same thing about people who supported Trump. This applies to the rest of this post. Change Trump to Clinton and back. It reads exactly the same to me, except for some instances which I make clear below. (Well, clear to me anyway).

You, who are in tears and feel crushed by the election, right now, you are the wind beneath my wings. I soar on your cries of despair. You give me hope. The sadist in me rejoices. Thank you for bringing some hilarity to my life. I soar and wave to you, Icarus, as you plunge downward.

Y'all are all a hoot. You amuse me to no end.

I laugh too, because you have derided me, insulted me, harangued me for being a "cis gender white male" and you know less about me than you do you all of your elected officials, including those at the local level. Now, your president is about to be the same and a man who has a proven history of putting down and looking down on pretty much everyone. You accuse me of looking down and putting down everyone. Now, your president, the face the world will see and that you must deal with, embodies this. Thanks for the laughter. I need it.

If I believed in karma, and I do not, I'd say you are getting several lifetimes worth. 

Meanwhile, I worry about breaking a rib.

A FIGHT YOU CAN'T WIN

I am also massively amused by the riots (and greatly saddened). Look at who is rioting. Look at who supported Trump. Remember the riots when Obama was elected? Here, I remind you with this picture of the riots.

A march is not a riot.



Setting fire to trash in the streets is riot activity. This picture is from Oakland, CA, after Trump's election.

So, how ya feelin' now? Being on the receiving end changed your perspective yet?

YOUR FEARS ARE UNFOUNDED

So many of you are running around screaming that Trump is going to ban abortion, eliminate gay marriage and more.

Lemme slap you repeatedly with your own words - He. Can't. He, as in Obama. Can't, as in ban guns, seize guns and so forth. You patiently said "the president can't do that" every time the Right exploded with news that guns would be confiscated (never mind actually that did happen) or other certain unalienable rights we hold to be self-evident would be trashed. You patiently said "the president can't do that" every time others got into a panic over the latest rumor.

He. Can't.

Yes. Trump did make campaign promises to do a lot of things. Pay attention. Politicians make tons of promises. I slap you again with reality. HEY! This is getting downright fun. Lemme find some more dead mackerels to beat you with. While I laugh ever more outrageously at you, of course.

He. Can't.

I laugh at you. At. You. You, who sought to lecture the paranoids of the Right and Alt Right about the Constitution, checks and balances and how things must be approved by Congress. Except, of course, executive orders which were necessary, vital and the right thing to do because Congress was constantly exercising that "checks and balances" thing and stopping the president.

Apparently, he can.

He. Can. Now someone from whom you recoil in horror has these same powers you said were necessary. Now, you are the paranoid one. Alt Left much? Hey, you called the other side paranoid and delusional. The burger is now flipped. Same slab of meat, you just see the other side. Everything else 100 percent identical. Nothing has changed except the outward appearance. Close your eyes and the appearance vanishes. It's the same.

Lemme remind you, He. Can't. No, he can't. No, buttercup, he can't do that.

How does it feel now? How does it feel to have your own words used against you? I really hope this hurts. Call me whatever you wish, but yeah, I want you to continue to scream in pain.

Hey vanishing lily, I didn't create the rules. You did. The rules apply to everybody, equally. That means I get to do the same things you did. You don't get to rewrite the rules when you are losing. This ain't Calvinball.

And yet, you call it a privilege.

I call it playing by your rules and, apparently, winning.

Point of order Mr. Chairman! If I said the same things about your chosen candidate, you'd dismiss me out of hand. You'd say I was trying to use my privilege.

You'll just have to imagine my laughter at the high-pitched buzz of your whine. When someone can't refute the argument on logic, the person resorts to insults. (Insults are, of course, peppered through this essay with logic. I understand you will not be swayed by facts, but my barbs will pierce your hide and give me that much satisfaction.)

Fire away. Your insults amuse me. I've been hammered by your ad hominem for so long, it's now forged into me. If I am a monster, you created it. You sowed this crop of me. Now, your harvest has come calling.

So, whine away. All you do is reinforce the opinion of those who see you as a bully who finally got his comeuppance and now is running away.

Whoops. My apologies. Made a mistake. The above is not an opinion. It's a simple fact.

Bullies set rules. They play by those rules, but refuse to allow others to play by the same rules. When the bullied stand up for themselves and stand down the bully, it's not fair. At least according to the bully.

Your rules. I'm playing by them, You don't like it. That brings me an incredibly vast amount of joy.

I've been bullied for decades. The new administration is going to continue the bullying. But now, you get to enjoy it with me. Enjoy. It. S'right. Lay back and enjoy the rape. It's what you've said I needed to do.

OPENING THE 4th BOX

Now that you're experiencing the same fear I and so many others have tried to cope with for years and years, let me remind you there is a solution. The solution is in the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, all of which the Supreme Court has used and referenced in making rulings. "There are four boxes to be used in defense of liberty, soap, ballot, jury, and ammo. Please use in that order. " As the author points out, once you open the 4th box, ain't no going back.

I also remind you, that 4th box is not the exclusive province of the right, Libertarians, libertarians, anarchists, minarchists and others who want less government. I know some liberals with guns. I don't know many. The majority of those own 1 or 2 guns and a couple of boxes of ammo. Ahem. The folks I know on the right are members of the world's largest armed force. It ain't even close.

I hope you read that most excellent article linked just above, the four boxes, because I have to add this: I and my brethren specialize in hiding in plain sight and taking out living entities with senses of smell, sight, touch and hearing that are as far above your meager senses as the sun is above you at high noon. We do this from distances of a few feet to hundreds of yards.

If it comes down to opening the 4th box, we are the 4th box. You have as much chance as the poor Asian folks staring down tanks in Tiananmen Square some years ago. We have an outside shot at making it. If you fear our government, then you need us more than ever before.

Realize something. If this comes to a pitched battle, Trump supporters win. They have the guns. They have the ammo. Remember that. Signs do not stop bullets. Slogans do not stop bullets. Bodies can stop bullets. More in a moment.

—In case you wondered, guns did figure into the election. I heard what Clinton (not Trump) said about guns. I do not believe her. She was coming for the guns. She wants bans. She wants ammo bans. She wants magazine bans. I am not convinced Trump and the Reboobicans won't try to attack gun rights, but the chance is less.—

—Don't start none, won't be none. I ain't gonna start it, but I will do my best to finish it if you feel inclined to start.—

I laugh at your pain (yes, if Clinton was elected, I'd be saying the same thing), because you wanted to inflict pain on me and others, honestly believing it was for the greater good. You may believe it is not pain that you intended.

The irony, the delicious irony. Oh, how I laugh at you. You, who assailed me and vilified me now must rely on me for protection because you fear the very government in which you once had implicit trust.

THE 3 MOST IMPORTANT WORDS

A Baptist preacher bud once told me the 3 greatest and most important words in English are - Let. Me. Help.

Put legs, arms, hands and feet to your words. People don't care how much you know until they know how much you care. Except, you don't really want to. No, you don't. You want the nebulous government to do it. You may volunteer every so often, pitch in a hour or two here and there, contribute financially to various causes. You do it because it makes you feel good. You do it because it makes you feel morally superior. You can lord it over other people and say "See, I did make a difference."

Showing up on Thanksgiving and Christmas at the soup kitchen ain't real help. It's feel good to assuage a guilty conscience. Be there on April 23. Give money to the food bank on Sept. 12.

It's real help when you're the only person there, standing ankle deep in water because a pipe busted and you're doing your best to repair it. It's real help when you visit people in the nursing home, in prison, at the homeless shelter every freekin' week, not just on holidays. It's real help when you are there regularly, on a schedule and available at other times.

Real help is showing up with shovel, not showing up with a sign.

I'll be there for you. Yes, I will. That ain't no campaign promise. You've never been there for me.

SOME PEOPLE GONNA GET HURT

When Abominable Care was passed, many people lost their insurance. Many people also lost the ability to "keep" their doctor. The POTUS lied on that one. In Georgia, the only Abominable Care option is Blue Cross & Blue Shield. Other insurance companies left Abominable Care. Many people had to pay the "tax" because they did not have insurance and cannot afford it.

A very close friend said, "Well, some people are going to get hurt. I'm sorry you're one of those."

When Trump won the election, this friend was suddenly on the receiving end of hurt. Not emotional or mental hurt, but tangible economic hurt that can actually be measured and quantified. "Well, some people are going to get hurt. I'm sorry you're one of those."

And I am genuinely sorry. And I am genuinely giddy. Being a sadist with a heart is difficult.

(So the rest of you know, I've tried to help. Tried. Some help was accepted. Some help was rejected. I help people as much as I can and as much as they will let me. Can I help you? Doesn't matter what your political belief structure is, if I can help, I will. You won't help me, but I will help you.)

SHUT UP BECAUSE YOU WON'T PUT UP

Seriously. It's time for you to shut the hell up. Unless you are going to stand on the front line, and I do not mean a protest line, shut the hell up. Unless you are willing, yes I'm going there, to shed blood, shut the hell up.

In case you wonder, I still don't trust the government. Those who view Trump as a savior are going to be severely disappointed.

The Donald has made noises about a "Muslim registry." If he does, this cis gendered straight white male Christian pentecostal evangelist is gonna sign up. Put my "John Henry" on that dotted line. Gonna be a lie, of course, but unlike you, I'm not going to let someone I disagree with get pushed around.

Canya see the difference between us yet?

You see privilege. You see racism, misogyny and hate.

I see people. #HumanUp

You protest.

I lock & load.

You complain.

I act.

YOU DON'T GET A SECURITY BLANKET

For those who are panicking over threats you have received, good. It's about f'dangin' time. You read that right. I laugh again. Me, the guy who's been threatened with lawsuits, been physically attacked, publicly called every name in the book, had people whom I thought were "friends" do everything they could to get me fired and ruin my life, I'm laughing at you. I've been getting death threats for 30 years.

Me. The guy who has actually survived an assassination attempt. The guy who tried to kill me did wind up killing someone else. That was after he tried to kill yet another person. He's doing life without parole, BTW

You so funny. You and the pissant threats aimed at you.

Where was YOUR government when bullets were flying at me? I'll tell you. 120 seconds, that's 2 minutes, away after they got the call.

Where were you when my daughter watched a cabinet door explode open as the bullet ripped through it? She hit the floor and told her brother to do the same. Since then her brother, BTW, will not sleep in his bedroom any more. He will only sleep with a light on. He won't sleep in a room by himself. Where was I when this happened? After the first shot I was moving. By the time the boy emptied the mag in his .40 auto, I had a loaded 12 gauge in my hands and was moving toward him. He was running, literally for his life. This boy, whom I've known nearly all his life, knew if I got a bead on him, he was dead.

You are getting threats now? Welcome to my life. Ain't so much fun for you, is it?

You are getting threats? Excellent. Now we have one more thing in common.

The day after the attempt, people called me. They wanted to set up at my house with guns to wait for the future killer to come back to try again. They fully intended to take him out. They were willing to put their own lives on the line to protect me. People who really did not like me called me, expressed sympathy and offered whatever help I needed. One set up a reward fund for info leading to the arrest of the perp. Others contributed.

What would you do? Don't answer that. We already know your words don't match your actions. No need to lie any more so you can slap a salve over your conscience.

HAVE ANOTHER SERVING OF WORM SANDWICH

Before the election results, so many of you were oh so holier than thou and calling for love and peace. Well, the winning side played by your rules and won. You opened the can of worms. Do not complain about being handed an annelid sammich.

So I ask, how do you like it?

You may wonder why you deserve this repast. Apparently you've not paid attention to the ramblings so far. I'll make this simple.

Because, you tried to put others in pain. You put me in pain. You caused harm.

Furthermore, your pain is a fraction of what you've put me through.

But hey, never mind. The Pain Train is rolling. Lay down on the tracks. It probably won't kill you. As Granny Weatherwax said, "I ATEN'T DED." Then again, maybe it will. The odds are much in favor of you being a Darwinist. Let Darwin reign; let the weak die that the strong may live.

I said above your ad hominem amuses me. Truly, it does. But it also hurts. More than you can imagine. Yassee, the thing about pain is, it changes a person. It creates mental, emotion, psychological, physiological and physical changes. I ain't whining. I'm telling you what SCIENCE! says.

I've changed. Hopefully, some of it has made me a better person. Absolutely, some of it has fed a burgeoning monster. You are the cook and wait staff. You don't get to pick which part you feed. You can control what is served. But when the entree is hate, the monster will gorge regardless of what you and I want.

IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY TRANSITION PERIOD

Regardless, we're in this together. Everything I've written to this point is reaction to stimulus.

Now let's look at reality and what might be. This is you and me. Trump is the incoming president. You may deny this. Reality is under no obligation to conform itself to your expectations. If you live in the US and he is not your president, who is? Who is your commander in chief? Who will sign bills into law? Who will veto bills? Who will make appointments and ask Congress to confirm those appointments? If he's not your president, how can you complain? To whom will you complain?

Laws will be created. Violate them and demand that the law does not apply to you. Lemme know how far that gets you.

If the truth hurts, yer living wrong.

At the same time, I'm scared. A bit less scared in some respects with Trump than Clinton. A bit more with Trump than Clinton.

Above, I promised you more; I deliver that more here. I tell you true; I am not certain I'd survive a Clinton presidency. On some things, I will NOT compromise. I'm done. Gonna have a permanent solution one way or another. Not sure how many others would survive. Infer what you will.

I think this is less likely with Trump, but nuclear war is more likely. In that case, load everything needed for survival and head to the woods.

I believe both are warmongers. I believe neither one worthy of being president.

If you think all this can't and won't apply to Trump supporters down the road, you are still not paying attention.

THE MORD SITH AMONG US

However, we have a president. We have pain.

We. Have. Pain. 

I too am hurting, a lot. But the difference is, I've been aware of this kind of pain a lot longer than you. Perhaps I've been in this pain longer than you. Perhaps not. Maybe you've been in more pain for longer than I have. Doubtful, but it is possible.

I see reality and you don Joo Janta 200 Super-Chromatic Peril Sensitive Sunglasses and throw a towel over your head so the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal won't attack. No question there. That's solid. See above about how He. Can't. but then he suddenly could. I've got empirical evidence. You have beliefs.

No, I'm not built for this pain. No, I don't enjoy it. No, I don't want it. But I have it. You have it. I'm just honest enough to admit taking delight in your pain. I'm here to say, yep, the pain you're feeling is real and it's about time you owned up.

I'm here to welcome you to the club. Misery loves company and all that.

So, welcome to the Hurt Locker.

I tell you too that restraining my desire to twist the salt knife even more is a major struggle. You do not know. I have walked it back because of my friends, my 2 a.m. bring-a-shovel friends, who are flattened by the election results. Their pain hurts me. But not enough to completely stop that agiel.

Maybe when you get tired of hurting and get tired of hurting other people, you'll stop. Yeah. Me, the optimist. Hoping you'll see the light. That light at the end of the tunnel is me with a Q-Beam looking for you so I can show you the way out of Plato's Cave. (sigh).

But, if there was any way I could make your pain greater, I'd do it. Maybe if your pain levels reached the same point as mine...

I'm ready to drop the agiel. Will you let me?

WHATSOEVER YOU DO TO THE LEAST OF MY BROTHERS

And who is the real bastard now? I laugh at you because your plans to impose your will on me are thwarted. (Other plans to impose someone else's will on me are moving forward. I am really not happy about this.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdpAop7gp0w

I really want you to feel more pain, more intensely and more frequently, knowing it's being inflicted by someone who believes they are doing it for the greater good (Trump supporters or Clinton supporters). And, me, who is doing it just to watch you in pain because I'm tired of people like you putting me in pain.

For all my life, you've tried to fit me in a box of your making. For all my life, you'd laid down a code I must follow on penalty of losing what remaining freedoms I have. For all my life, you've tried to make me live according to your Weltanschauung. For all life my, you've put me in pain. Now, you're getting a very tiny taste of what my life has been like. You are getting a brief look at what you've done to me.

Now, you want me to sympathize? No. I've lived it. I don't have to imagine, which is all sympathizing does. I welcome you to my world.

Now, you are whining about what may happen. May. Got a lifetime so I can tell you about what has actually happened? How many years can you spare so that I can tell you what you've done to me.

Is there any way I can turn the pain up for you?

YOU WILL NOT TAKE MY PATH

Walk with me. Do not walk before me. Do not walk after me. Do not take my shoes to ramble that country mile. Walk with me.

On Monday, Nov. 14, I was up before 6 a.m. to drive a school bus. I put in a full day at work, ate lunch at my desk so I could keep working. Drove the bus in the afternoon. Took a brief nap in the deer stand. Left the woods at dark. Got home and took a phone call, a (dead) wild hog was on the way to my house. I left the house to attend the Board of Education meeting. Got home 8:10 p.m. Butchered the hog which went to the food bank here. In my community I am the Hunters for the Hungry. Had to go to a friend's house to take a shower because mine is being repaired. 10 p.m. home.

Eh. Pretty average. Some things a bit worse than other days, some a bit better.

That's one day.  I do not tell you this to brag on myself. I tell you this, keyboard warrior, to say that while you rant and rave about injustice and get sanctimonious about marching in protests, I'm out there on the street too. I'm out there feeding people, clothing people, counseling people, lifting them up, carrying them when they cannot walk. I'm there putting hands and feet to the words you so casually sling around. For this, I am assailed, attacked, vilified, excoriated. (Also gonna be Supernova flamed over this blog, especially by people who refuse to understand what I write. Amen.)

Walk with me. You won't do it long, I guarantee. I guarantee you can't take that pain either. Won't take it.

Yanno the best way to get a complainer to shut the hell up? Ask them to fix the problem.

Will you help me fix the problem? Of course you won't. You've proven that too many times over. You are not willing to take the pain.

IN CASE YOU WONDER, I DO TOO

Sometimes I wonder if this is hate, this reaction I'm having. Then, I realize, no, not hate, despite what you may be thinking. If this reaction is hate, then I'd not be trying (and probably failing) to explain to you and to understand it myself.

But no, this is hate. The hate is one reason this blog won't become completely public, at least by me. I'm not going to let that much hate be part of who I am.

Sometimes I wonder if this is just lashing out because I feel I'm backed into a corner and I'm taking someone with me when I go. Could be.


Sometimes I wonder if this is just the sadist in me; I'm just glad to see you in pain. A little bit, yeah.

Sometimes I wonder if this is anger. Yes. Absolutely. Inchoate rage? Years ago, yes. Now, it is a deep, settled anger, the kind that is calm, cool and plotting. A resigned anger that says, enough. Not moving any more. Come at me bro and let's get this over with once and for all.

Sometimes I wonder if this desire to see you in such pain is revenge. Vengeance for imposing your will, against my will, on me for so many years.

Dammit. Yes, it is. Dammit. That is NOT who I want to be. It is who I am.  I only have two cheeks and you hit both. I ain't got anything else to turn, except to turn on you. Dammit dammit dammit. "I'm looking at the man in the mirror. I'm asking him to change his ways." If I change, will you let me? Will you keep shoving me back into the box?

Regardless. I've edited this piece over and over. I have edited this more than anything else I have ever written. Still not right all the way.

One consistent item is: given the chance, I'd still do this to you until you were either dead, clinically insane or you shucked the attitude you have and embrace personal accountability and responsibility and quit trying to make me be responsible for someone else against my will. Feel the anger?

Arg. Confusing. Try this - Quit trying to make me live to your standards. I ain't harming anyone and that's really all that should matter. Making me live to your standards is harming me. Quit pissing me off.

LEARNING FROM THE BEST

Until then, I intend to laugh at you through my own pain. I expect the same from you. Laugh. It doesn't get rid of the pain, but it hides the pain. Call me a right bastard. Laugh s'more then.

Where do you think I learned it from?


You are a great teacher.

Two hogs and a deer

Out of the woods. Rollin' down Highway 41 as the Allman Brothers sang. About 500 yards from the entrance to the Rec Dept.

An explosion of profanities (OK, 1 mild one) as I see a deer leaping in front of my Cherokee and feel the impact. Another car is on my butt, probably close enough to see the slow drip of water from the cooler on the back where a wild hog is soaking.

Slow down. Pull off the side. Check for damage. Whew.

This old Cherokee has suffered an exploding tire, been shot three times by the guy who was trying to kill me, sideswiped by a pine tree on the back of a logging truck, blown out transmission hoses and water lines, had the front end replaced, gone into a swamp and had to be pulled out, pulled out vehicles out and now it takes out a deer with only a few pieces of broken plastic to show for it.

My kinda ride.

Turn around. Slowly drive back the way I just came. There's the deer beside the road. Load him up, yes him. A button buck. Head on into town for the Board of Education meeting. Cover the meeting and go home. Buck gets quartered out and iced along with the hog.

Wednesday, I finally find time to head to one of the stands with significant hog activity. Plan IlludiumQ32 calls for setting snares. 7 snares, each baited with just enough corn to draw some interest. Figuring I'm in the woods anyway, I slip inside the ground blind stand, the old pump shotgun with some Italian 3" 00 buck.

I get the best naps sitting in a deer stand.

About dark I look up. Yep. Dark. Time to get a move on. Gotta get back to town and prepare for Wednesday night Bible Study lesson at church.

Cherokee and I slip around the edge of the orchard, hugging the woods.

HEY! HOGS! Two of 'em. If they won't spook...

I ease forward just a bit more, turning into the woods and grabbing shotgun.

The black hog steps toward the woods and I loose it in the night. The half white half blue hog stands there looking at me.

Click.

Don't have to swear as I jack around into the chamber.

The shotgun sends a 1300 FPS invitation to be the guest of honor at a future meal. The hog accepts, announced with a squeal. It bolts into the orchard. I shuck the hull and another 00 invitation is loaded. In a cloud of dust, the hog hooks around. Dunno if that one connected.

I check the orchard. No hog. A bit disappointed, I get back in the Cherokee, consoling myself with the thought that there's one less eating machine vacuuming up pecans.

Killing wild hogs with buckshot is difficult. For one thing they are smaller than deer. Less target area. For another, boars have a shield over the ribs that will stop bullets. I put a black powder .45 ball into a wild hog at 10 feet in Florida once. Wound up killing it with a shotgun slug. In the butchering, the ball was found in the shield.

Cherokee and I bounce along the edge of the woods wondering if the hogs will visit the stand tonight and try the corn.

HEY! DEAD HOG!

There in the headlights, the hog. Cheyne-Stokes breathing, but I'm still careful as I approach. Equally careful loading it. One last gasp and it's gone. Strap it down, and off to church. This is not the first time I've headed to God's house with blood on my hands, clothes and a dead animal on the back. Here's to prayers that it won't be the last.

Joseph, the pastor, came and helped me quarter it after services. Then, ran over to Miz Mac's house to hose down as the shower is out of commission until next week.

Up this morning to drive the bananananana. Call the office and leave a message that I won't be in until after lunch. Too much to do. Checked snares (nothing) and processed the deer and the hog.

Making some jerky from the deer, including some violently hot (Call the Moore brothers hot!) jerky. Ground up the hog that'd been soaking since the weekend.

Now back in the office.

Opening a new line of discussion

Found this meme and posted it on Facebooger.


Got lots of snarky replies. I strongly suspect a lot more people saw it and got bent. Got one "No" as an answer with no explanation.

No one else bothered to offer an explanation.

The only reason I can see for saying "no" to the first two questions is the matter of age. Is age a biological function? Hrm. I don't think so. Rocks age, but there is no biology involved. But yes, it is too. Those same rocks can be eroded away over time by lichens which dissolve the rocks to extract nutrients.

arg. arg. arg.

FINDING A LIMIT

So to the third question - where do we draw the line? Based on the first two questions, the line in the sand is age.

An arbitrary marker, in other words. A construct. A fiction. Yes, it is fiction because it was invented to create division. Age discrimination is built into the laws of the United States and a lot of other countries. Why do we determine that one Terran evolution around the sun is 1 year of age? Why not age by seasons? Why not age by two revolutions?

Why?

So why do we have such division? Why can an 18-year-old fight and die in war, but not buy a beer at the corner store in the US?

Maturity level? Please, dump that BS in your rose garden. You and I both know people at 17 who are more mature than some people who are 35.

KICKING YOU OUT

Is a better question: why do we draw a line? I know! I know! The answer is because we must have artificial markers, fake boundaries and created limits. Bring order to the chaos! Tame the wilderness.

Tell that person they can't belong!

Yeah. That's why we have these lines. So we can intentionally and with malice aforethought prevent certain people from belonging. Period. Don't think so? Then you tell me why.

WORM SANDWICHES

This is an age where gender and sexuality, traditional markers for an individual human, are more flexible than a rubber band on a hot day.

If these two markers are now considered flexible, why does age have to be fixed and immutable? More accurately, why must our reaction to age be so fixed and immutable?

Age is not the same artificial marker everywhere in the world. Children are married to children in other countries. Young girls are married to middle-aged men in parts of the world. The drinking age in some countries is much lower than in the US or non-existent. 90-year-olds run marathons.

The ability to tap into government resources is not limited by age, even in the US. As for the movie theater offering a discount, that's a private business. Unless you own the business, it's not your concern.

As the meme points out, today gender and sexuality are entirely what the individual wants these characteristics to be. Cool. Really. Not kidding. You do you, as a great friend of my says. As long as you are not harming anyone (harm is not the same as hurt), go. You do not need my permission, confirmation, warranty or acceptance. Go ye forth and be. (And I genuinely hope you are happy in doing so.)

Ever heard of Progeria? Turritopsis dohrnii anyone? Biological immortality? What happens if humans become immortal?

And lo, a can of worms is thusly opened. Sandwiches all around.

RIPPING THE DOOR OFF THE HINGES

Mutable gender and sexuality did not open a door. It ripped the door out of the frame. I'm good with that too. Closed doors bother me. Closed doors represent absolutes and absolutes drive me past reason into the realms of insanity.

Someone is going to say we must have age-defined limits. Why?

"Baker. Stop being obtuse! We can't expect a 9-month-old baby to drive a semi."

Agreed. But is that a function of age or ability? At 5 years old, I was driving vehicles with far more power than the average driver today will ever experience. I was driving passenger vehicles when I was 10-11. I was going off in the family car by myself well before I was old enough to have a driver's license according to the legal age limit. A person can get a pilot's license in this country before they are ever old enough to drive a car. Islamic extremists have used children as suicide bombers.

Please tell me again why age matters more than ability and experience.

AN INDIVIDUAL WITH GROUPTHINK

The problem as I see it is:

People want to be an individual. They want to have the gender they feel is right. They want to have sexual relationships with the people (and things) they feel attracted to. These are feelings. I am not judging right or wrong. I am quantifying. A second of time can be empirically measured. Can a feeling be so tracked? If we are to allow people to live based on a nebulous concept of "feeling," where do you draw a line? Why do you draw a line?

Prejudiced much?

(Again, I say cause no harm and yer good ta go. I'm not here to judge. I am here to ask questions so I can learn.)

But these people also demand to be a part of group so they can exclude other people. Groupthink. Age is a good way to divide people. It just so happens that we all get the same amount of time for one rotation of the earth. This makes a good dividing line because it is Terran (not universal).

Sort these rotations into larger segments. Use the rotation of the earth around the sun as another marker. That works. It can be applied Terranly, which makes it even handier.

But why? Why must we look at people in view of how many times the sun has risen and set, the earth rotated around the sun since they began a non-direct parasitic existence (being born)? Why can't people be individuals? Why can't people be considered on their own merits? Why must people be segregated by age?

Convenience. Pure and simple. We make groups, we segregate, we divide because it makes people easier to handle. Handling a group is easier than dealing with an individual because a group can be dismissed as a nebulous entity. Don't know, don't care. Taking it one person at the time puts a face on the prejudice and that's very hard to deal with. Age is a handy segregation tool.

TAKING THE REINS

After all this writing, I think I have the reason.

Control.

A person, with access to the correct medical processes, can change gender physically. A person can control whom he or she has relationships with.

This artificial marker of age is something that can't be controlled. We all age. We age at the same rate. One Terran year for a gay, left-handed, redheaded, transgendered stepchild from Mongolia is the same Terran year for you and me. We cannot control it. We all age, based on our time units, at the same rate.

No control.

But we want to. We must. We have to. We can effect control by creating segregation, boundaries, exclusionary limits based on age. We've got to have our hand on the reins of this runaway carriage, never mind we ain't got a prayer of stopping it; we're getting older.

The artificial division by age gives you the appearance of control. You aren't in control.

Age allows every one on the planet to point a finger at everyone else and say "You're different."

Age allows you to be prejudiced and baised on this shared reality we call time.

But, does that make being prejudiced right?

In search of privilege

White privilege. I have it. Didn't ask for it. Not sure how I am using it. I am assured on a daily basis that I have it. Also told emphatically that I am using it and it's wrong.

Ask how I'm using it. Get lots and lots and lots of generic examples.

Repeat question. Ask for the answer to be specific to me. Greeted with silence.

OK. In case you missed the second statement, I repeat - I have white privilege. Admitted. Mea culpa. Mea nota understanda completely either, but hey, guilty as charged. Sentence as you see fit. Ignorance of reality is no excuse.

So now let's truck on down this road. Please, read the link. Cool story and you'll need it to follow what I write below..

We shall play linebacker and tackle LL Hutcherson's points point by point. Also, it is necessary to point out the conventions that back me into a corner. Against my wishes, I use the words "white," "black" and possibly other colors to refer to people. I abhor this kind of classification. However, it's the only thing some people WILL understand. To get down to that level of comprehension, yeah, I have to.

Let's talk about Black Privilege. Yup. I just went there.

1) Well, yeah. Welcome to life in the South. We're told do not make a fuss. Bear up. Handle it. Men especially are told to suck it up, shut it up and rub some dirt in it.

2) Have the Chairman of your County Commission go on TV and call you a liar because you quoted him accurately, in context and fully and he caught political heat over it. Have respected members of your community go before the City Council and call you a liar. Just two of many examples. Then, come talk to me.

1) (again) I grew up in the rural South on a farm. We didn't have neighborhoods. My nearest neighbor was a half mile away. The next, a mile. As a young'un, I played at my friends' homes no matter where they lived or who they were when I could get there. Skin color was irrelevant. Friends is what mattered. 

2) (again) I've received far more racial epithets than I ever hurled. Ms. Hutcherson says, "if you’ve never had a defining moment in your childhood or your life, where you realize your skin color alone makes other people hate you, you have white privilege." Ah. So when "black" people hated on me, I guess that was "black" privilege.

I was on the receiving end of hate plenty of times because I lived on a farm and people thought I was rich and landed gentry. Wasn't. Had to deal with the hate because people (of all colors) resented me. How is this ethnically/racially/geographically/economically hate categorized?

3) Been the "only" one in many situations. It has been pointed out. How is this kind of privilege is categorized?

4) Yep, have been accused of being on the receiving end of something that was taken away from someone who deserved it. More than once. How is this privilege categorized?

5) My intellectual capabilities are regularly and routinely questioned. In college, my intellect was regularly called into question because I came from a rural farm. How is this privilege categorized?

6) Can't identify. I grew up with all kinds of role models. Granny Nancy. Obay. Carey. Grandparents. Parents. Jerry, Jerry and Jerry. These people traced their recent ancestry to Europe and Africa. Was also told to read good books, did not matter who wrote 'em. So, I read good books by authors from around the planet. Is this privilege?

7) Ah. It's only racist when "patronizing and racist assumptions" are directed at "black" people? If that's the case, can't identify. I have been places and had meals where patronizing and racist remarks were directed at the staff, regardless of their skin color.  What kind of privilege is that?

8) Welcome to life. If you ain't been on the receiving end of this, then you ain't worked in the real world I inhabit. I've been put down by pretty much every "race," creed, "color, " ethnicity and most religious groups out there. How is that privilege defined?

9) Well, damn. In my alter ego Superhero identity of Pedantic Man, you got this one. Can't identify.  Never experienced that.

10) Biased media? And she starts a FB page "Good Black News?" What kind of privilege is that? As for the "mainstream media," been there, done that for 30 years. I have used my "editor's privilege" to beat down employees who objected to my use of pictures and words because they wanted things re-arranged to fit their skewed views. Editor's privilege: I have it. When it comes to the news, I treat everybody equally. The use of words like "Black," "White" and other racial identifiers are ONLY used in quotes directly attributed to someone or as you see here. People are people to me. However, if the interview subject chooses to make such distinctions, I'm ethically bound to report it the way they say it. What kind of privilege is that? How do we define that?

Hutcherson says she gets trolled. 

Hug. A. Root. When people try to kill you for what you write, THEN come talk to me. When people physically attack you for what you write, come talk to me. When people try to set fire to the things you own because of what you write, come talk to me. When people physically attack your business because of what you write, come talk to me. When people threaten to sue you because of what you write, come talk to me. When people threaten to shut your business down because of what you write, come talk to me.

How do you define that privilege?

Privilege? Here's the truth. The same stuff Hutcherson accuses "white" people of is also found in "black" people. I've experienced it.

How about acknowledging that?

I suspect that some people who read this article are going to hurl invectives, insults and diatribes. They will resort to insults instead of attempting to explain.

What kind of privilege is that?

A lil story about Bob and Fred and Joe and Marvin and ...

—This is a true story. The names are changed to protect the guilty, the innocent and those who status remains to be seen. Quotes are modified, but the semantics are 100 percent accurate.—

Fred runs the place. —You can call it a feudal society, if you like. That's not 100 percent accurate, but it's so close you're going to need an electron microscope to see the difference.—

Fred gets up one morning and decides that everyone has to give him part of everything they own. A small fraction really. Not much.

But they have to give it to  him.

Bob says, "Nah. Ain't gonna do that. Don't want to. Don't need to."

Bob and Fred are best of friends.

Fred goes to Bob and says "Where's my stuff? You owe me. I want what you owe me."

Fred says, "Bob. How long have we known each other? I'm not giving you my stuff just because you tell me I have to. That is freekin' stupid."

Bob says, "Well, yeah. You're right."

And Bob keeps everything he has.

Fred goes to Joe. "Give me my stuff," he says. "Give me what I told you to give me."

Joe sees what happened to Bob and also says no.

"Well, I'm going to give you time to think about it," Fred says.

He goes to Marvin. "Give me my stuff," he says. "Give me what I told you to give me."

Marvin, who is not stupid, knows what happened to Bob and Joe. He says the same thing as Bob and Joe.

Fred beats Marvin into a greasy spot. Fred then drags Marvin to his house and chains him up in the basement. Fred takes everything Marvin has.

Bob and Joe see this. They approve. Other people see this and also approve. Fred is called a great leader.

—I remind you, this is 100 percent true. It happened. Recently. I could show you this in the news to prove it but I shan't.—