Infinite Scrolling

techy tuesday

We’ve all done it at some point or another. Rather we’re scrolling the news feed @ 2 AM or checking notifications first thing in the morning– hey, we’ve all been there. We can relate to the feeling of scrolling for hours on end, seemingly unable to stop. Minutes, even hours, might pass before we realize what’s happened. A rabbithole, some people call it. And rather we’d like to realize it or not, it’s slowly become our existential problem. Humans are phone-addicts. And maybe not you personally, but someone you love, I guarantee it. Old folks have been ringing the alarm bell for years. Something is going on with humans and their phones, something that could potentially end civilization if we let it. Oh, no! Something like Skynet from Terminator? You ask, What is ‘It’ exactly? It can’t be our phones. It’s just a phone. What are we talking about here? Well, we’re talking about infinite scrolling, my dude.

How did we get here? How have phones taken over our lives? Listen, I could write a whole 90 page thesis on the matter– but short answer is, it’s become more addictive by design. It’s not our fault. App developers in Silicon Valley have worked with Psychologists to figure ways that’ll keep “users” engaged with their content. Thus, Endless Scrolling was born. Websites such as Tumblr and Pinterest, were among the first to implement the new format at the time, and– boy, did it work. Once Endless Scrolling grabbed Facebooks attention, it was all over. Over night, the world transitioned from clicking, to scrolling, and nobody bat an eye. Do you remember that little update? Slipped right under our nose. I’m sure I just reminded some of you of a time when we used to click to see the ‘next page’. It’s become a myth like the rotary phone, or dial-up. So the next question is, why is infinite scrolling so successful at keeping people engaged? (Imprisoned feels more accurate, tbh) But why is it so addictive?

To answer that question we gotta go back to human evolution. You see, our brains have evolved thru the millennia to become crazy-accurate prediction machines. Our species basically evolved to make life-saving decisions based on recognizing patterns, and by doing so, it’s kept us alive long enough to pass that knowledge on to future generations. Now, in order for our brains to make accurate predictions, it needs access to our memories, which in turn, allows us to process pattern recognition. Meaning, our ability to learn is just the conditioning of the brain recognizing patterns of ‘Cause and Effect’. It’s this conditioning that creates mental shortcuts and habits, allowing us to process an egregious amount of information at a faster rate. Our brains put known patterns into long-term storage so that our attention can be focused on learning new things.

And nothing, and I mean Nothing, is more captivating than the ~unknown~. Our brains can’t get enough of it– insistently trying to predict what’s gonna happen next. Surprise triggers our brain into rewarding us with a precious release of precious dopamine— straight into our system, smack-dab into our veins. We keep scrolling till we find something else that surprises us– continuing the cycle of chemical abuse. It’s the same reward system behind gambling. Endless Scrolling is the slot machine, giving ‘users’ instant access to our drug of choice. Dopamine. And did you know that dopamine levels spike right before we get rewarded, then plummets immediately after? That’s our brain’s way of getting us to do whatever it wants: inducing anticipation, motivation and ultimately pain alleviation. We fall into a trap where we become the horse and the carrot, simultaneously.

So, what do we do? Well, Parents of recent generations have coined the term ‘Screen Time’ as a way to denote and quantify the amount of time kids are allowed on the internet. But as adults, technology has interwoven our lives in a way that can be nearly impossible to live w/o. Iphone has applications that can limit our phone usage by barring us out– but listen to that. We need an interference just to stop us from being ‘users’. Even then, that dope-fiend feeling will linger inside us, in the back of our minds, waiting to be iched, daily. We’re convinced it’s a necessary evil to be productive in modern life. I suppose the first step in reclaiming our lives will have to be handled like any other addiction. We can find the first step in the 12 Steps of Sobriety. First, we gotta recognize that we’re powerless against Endless Scrolling/dopamine– and that our lives can become unmanageable if we allow ourselves to be consumed be it. That’s step number one. We gotta realize Infinite Scrolling is a drug.

earthrise by ©GETTY

Monday Update

weekly news

[oct. 5 – 11, 2020]

Last week, we endured the first and only vice presidential debate. Senator Kamala Harris v. Vice President Mike Pence (feat. the Fly). That’s right, for those of you who were too busy to sit down for 90 minutes, I’ve got the fact-checked highlights of the night. And no worries, I only mention the fly once, I swear.

So, Kamala Harris enters the ring with a heavy-hitting reputation. We’ve seen her press brett kavanaugh in the supreme court hearing so we know she ain’t nobody to mess with. Mike Pence, on the other hand, he strolls up with his special brand of evangelical milkbread, and what’s that– pink eye? Eww. The moderator, Susan Page [USA Today] has got her job cut out for her, that much we knew. Watching Pence squirm on stage with two powerful women was the night’s true entertainment.

Kamala right hooks Pence straight-out the gate. Topic: Pandemic. Counting the facts off the tips of her fingers, “210,000 are dead in our country over the last several months. Over 7 mil. people have contracted the disease. 1 in 5 businesses, closed. Front-line workers who have been treated like sacrificial workers. We are looking at over 30 million people who have filed for unemployment.” BOOM! A resolute punch. She doesn’t even need to mention the virus outbreak in the whitehouse to point out this administrations failure to deal with it. She concludes by reminding us that cult45 downplayed the virus on purpose (shoutout to Bob Woodward). It really was an immaculate blow, setting the tone for the night.

Pence failed to recover with a competent argument. After his half-hearted condolences to “the people affected by covid”, he kept repeating the imaginary vaccine– You know what, I’ll spare you the bullshit. When his two-minutes were up, he began the new cult45 classic– talking over the moderator. Poor Susan said, “Thank you, Vice President.” ’bout 22 times thruout the night, to no avail. The rest of the debate passed by in a blur. Both candidates did their part in dodging and deflecting direct questions. At some points it even felt like we were watching a fencing match. Kamala’s scathing side-eye won her the night, and let’s not forget her iconic “Mr. Vice President, I’m speaking.”– and that damn Fly! It landed on Pence’s head for exactly two minutes and 9 seconds (arguably, the fly had a better understanding of the debate rules than the Vice President.) And for two minutes and 9 seconds, the whole world watched that fly in amazement. While Pence was discussing Justice for Breonna Taylor, no less.

By the end of the debate, Fly meme’s had already flooded the internet. Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok chewed it up like a bone. We were left with a more typical debate, ripe with nothing important. Nobody’s mind was changed, except for those who didn’t believe a fly could become a star overnight. Thank you, Kamala, for the gifs. Susan, you luke-warm peach, thank you as well. And Pence– don’t move. You’ve got a *WACK* on your head.

Queefing

freaky friday

I think we’re old enough to understand the difference between a queef and a fart. That is not why I brought you here. It has come to my attention recently that Queefing is a rather common act in the bedroom. It’s time we discuss it. Like adults.

Now, when I first heard of the word Queef, it was in the back of a school bus– where else? I was in 7th grade and honestly, I wasn’t even sure if women had 3 holes down there, or two. And now girls can fart out of WHERE? The best life lessons a kid coulda asked for. And, I didn’t. But I learned anyway.

I was able to forgo most of my life w/o thinking about women farting out of their vaginas. But whenever I did, I would remind myself that they all do it. My mother queefs. Your mother queefs. Your grandmother queefs. Everyone queefs. But it wasn’t until recently that I learned men can queef as well. It’s true folks. I’ve seent it. Dare I say it, I’ve even done it myself.

It was my third date with Tony. He really liked me, he’s kind. And it was his birthday the next day so I thought, why not? I’m not usually the first to give-it up for a fella, but I wanted to prove something to myself. So I prepared to receive ’em, but nothing coulda prepared me for that evening of queefs. And I’m not talking about once or twice. I queefed like, 12 times. It was embarrassing— i can’t believe I’m even writing about this. But fuckit. The truth must be told. I come from the land of queefs, a gay man with a message. WE ALL QUEEF. And I stand by that statement.

Luckily, the guy was totally chill with my queefing. He really liked me, like I said, but the queefing just kept bringing me out of the moment. We changed position 3 times, and in hindsight, each position just made it worse. This had never happened to me before so I kinda panicked. He stopped because I didn’t look like I was having a good time– and I mean, yeah. I was afraid I was shitting all over the place. Fortunately, I wasn’t. But after we talked about it, everything was fine. He seriously wasn’t phased at all, and I could tell because he hadn’t gone soft. What a nice guy, this guy. I on the other hand, tried my best to act cool until our date was over. And as soon as he left, I googled anal queefing– immediately regretted it. Do NOT look it up.

My only source of solace was found after discussing queefs with the ladies. My eyes were opened to the rich underworld of straight and lesbian queefing lore. I would have never known if I hadn’t experienced it for myself. I didn’t feel so embarrassed anymore. There was some sort of queef-bonding taking place that, as a gay man, I was honored to be apart of. As a gay man, I was the missing ingredient to this queef-sisterhood and together, we shared our experiences to find a well-rounded truth. Here it is:

As a Queefer, there is an innate embarrassment that we all know. The involuntary fart noise just ain’t sexy, don’t know how else to put it. “A vibe killer,” one straight girl said, “I’m still embarrassed even with the love of my life inside me.” Damn. All Queefers know that feeling. Now, as recipients of the queef– the Queefee– there is no inherent shame. Some Queefee’s are even known to like the event. Others just work with it as a natural cause of the act. As a lesbian puts it, “idgaf about queefing, i’ll make that moment work for me and that special lady.” And we *snap* to that. Spoken like a true Queefee. I can see reason on both ends. So what use is there in talking about it? Well. That’s pretty much the only point I’m trying to make. We gotta talk about it.

You see, we aren’t in the back of a school bus anymore. There are like 5 million queefs happening every second, around the world, and we just don’t talk about ’em enough. Or if we do, it’s about how we prevent it from ever happening in the first place. I argue we stop caring, I mean, it’s clear the Queefee’s don’t. So why do the Queefers? And who knows. Queefs might even make us laugh if we don’t take ’em too personal. Really, what matters most is that we just open up and talk about our experiences. No matter if they’re awkward, or funny, or downright gross. As soon as we bring our queefs to light from that underbelly of embarrassment, it’ll transform moments of shame or guilt into funny stories that we can grow and laugh about as we go thru life. In the end, doesn’t that make us sexier anyway?

Top 5 Torture Devices

wednesday wEIRDness

V. Heretics Fork

Created during the Spanish Inquisition, this collar was specifically designed for witches and pagan worshipers. A dual-pronged fork pressed against the upper chest and lower jaw, penetrating the flesh. The word Renuntio [i renounce] engraved on the steel edge. The strap compresses the adam’s apple, inducing brief spasms of suffocation. The victim was left for hours, starring at a dungeon ceiling in place of the stars. Unable to speak, wreathing in discomfort.

IV. Brazen Bull

Invented by Perillos of Athens around 570 BC. This bronze sculpture was designed to be hollow with a fire lit underneath. The bull’s nose was packed with incense to combat the stench of burning flesh. Tubes distorted the sound of the victim’s scream, becoming the bellow of a bull in heat. After the roast was complete, the bones were made into bracelets and sold to the highest bidder.

III. THE CRADLE OF juDAS

Another baddie from 16th century Spain. Designed by Ippolito Marsilli. This fucker created a wooden chair with a pyramid as a seat. The accused victim would be tied with ropes and gear, then lowered directly onto the tip of the pyramid. Their anus/vagina would slowly rip open. For increased torment, weights were tied to their legs. Other times, oil was lathered over the tip which– again, increased the pain. This torture would last anywhere between a few hours to entire days.*

II. Petrine Cross**

Take your classic crucifixion, now flip it. When inverted, blood will instantly start rushing to the victims head. Blood vessels rupture; it can even trigger a brain hemorrhage. Most complications are caused by asphyxiation. While upside-down, the victims organs weight down on their lungs, making it harder to breathe. More blood flowing toward their heart, making their heart pump harder. Dangling too long adds pressure behind the eyes, causing them to bulge, and eventually, pop.

I. Blood Eagle

Viking sagas describe a ritual execution in where victims are kept alive while their backs are sliced open and their ribs, lungs, and intestines are pulled out into the shape of bloody wings– all in the name of vengeance. From the tailbone, up towards the rib cage, each rib is meticulously separated from the backbone with an ax. Vikings would then rub salt into the gaping wound in the form of a saline stimulant. Then after having all of the ribs cut away and spread out like giant fingers, the torturer pulls out the lungs and gives the victim a pair of wings, spread out on their back. They were left hanging alive, feasted on by crows.

*[fun fact: ippolito marsilli created a device so fearsome, the spanish king who commissioned him became horrified, like, so horrified to the point where he was convinced only a man inspired by demons could ever conceive of something so heinous. thus, ippolito marsilli was pronounced a heretic, and became the first victim of his very own creation]

**[also known as the upside-down cross, satanic cross, and the cross of saint peter. it is rumored that this special form of torture was not only rare but reserved for the worst of capitol punishment. st. peter, after being sentenced to die by crucifixion, pleaded to be put upside-down so as not to dishonor jesus and the way he was immortalized. diehard catholics today see the cross of saint peter as a symbol of humility and deep reverence.]

Virtual Reality

techy tuesday

Growing up, it was super nintendo and sega genesis. Playing Mario with my two older brothers on Christmas morning. Figuring out puzzles, problem solving for hours. It was great. We had MarioKart, Super Smash, and Pokemon. When it rained really hard, we had a whole ‘nother world waitin’ for us inside our t.v. My reality was half 8-bit, half backyard trampoline. And then, games went ahead and evolved into 16-bit, and 32-bit— BOOM– our brains doubled. Literally quadrupled. Kids went crazy. From Pacman and Tetris to Star Fox and Legend of Zelda. It was a whole new matrix that our minds quickly adapted to. Not to mention the rise of the World Wide Web growing steadily in the background. The 90’s, amirite? And it’s funny cuz, back then, the internet was so slow, it was mostly known for its dial-up sound and You Got Mail. The rest we got today, we’d only seen on Star Trek. But we knew. The optimism was there. As a whole, everyone felt like we were watching the birth of a new age. An era unlike history has ever known. So much so that at one point, I even remember thinking, I know I’m only 5 years old, but this is totally the best time to be alive ever, i swear.

Fast forward to today.

My best friends ex just sent her a VR kit for her birthday. She doesn’t play video games, so she hands it over to me. I strap on the helmet and blindly search for the two bulbous remotes. They should be glowing blue, but one is glowing red and the other, purple. No idea why, who cares. I position myself in the middle of the room and extend my arms in a T-formation as the game demands. I make sure to move the coffee table so I don’t break my face in the middle of the simulation. The camera strapped to the flatscreen is having a hard time capturing me. Stupid 4G. Anyway. In a matter of minutes, I am flying thru the air as Iron Man. Shooting plasma bolts from my gauntlets; I am a living, breathing superhero machine. The clouds are real. They envelop me. I can feel the wind brushing my face. I am here. Suddenly, I’m surrounded by drones. I fly up, down, backwards and forwards, evading 360°. Zooming around ain’t easy, but dammit if it ain’t fu– blurgh… Huh. What was tha– uuuggg what’s– happening to me? My stomach’s twisting into knots. I breakout in a cold sweat– jesus– I’m ready to hurl. I pause the game and yank off the headset like an inverted bear-trap. I’m still standing in the same spot I was just flying in a second ago. My brain feels different.

Monday Update

weekly news

[sept. 28 – oct. 4, 2020]

2020 never ceases to amaze me.

Last Tuesday, we were graced with a shitshow of a debate. I sat there as C-SPAN streamed it Live. A beer in one hand, a blunt in the other (and yes, in hindsight, not the healthiest coping mechanism) but there I was. Ready for the circus to start. And boy, did the circus deliver. No fault to Joe Biden– 45 is a one-man freak show. Even with a Fox moderator, 45 couldn’t help shoving his feet further and further down his throat. Every time Joe spoke, 45 interrupted him. Even the moderator, Chris Wallace, was having a hard time getting a word in. And I mean, sure, we all saw this coming, but not like this. 45 was belligerent. He reminded me of a 2 year-old child throwing a tantrum (no offense to the 2 year-olds out there)–it was embarrassing. Chris Wallace did his best (arguably) to settle-down the kid-president, but the babe was inconsolable. Chris Wallace had to placate the child by saying, “you’re going to love this next question, Mr. President, it’s about [you]” and sure enough, the president shut up and listened long enough for the rest of us to breathe.

Joe gradually lost his cool throughout the debate. He eventually said to the president, “shut up, man” […] “you’re the worst president the united states has ever had” […] “you’re a clown”. And man did that feel good, you know? Who can blame Joe. We were all thinking it. It was just great to see someone finally say it to his face. There was some sort of satisfaction there I can’t describe in detail– but lemme tell yah, it was *chefs kiss*. Then, the subject came down to race. The highlight of the night coulda been 45 denouncing white supremacy. But, no. Instead. When 45 was asked to denounce white supremacy– specifically a militia group known as proud boys— Donald J. Trump went ahead and told them to “stand back, and stand by.” What? I could feel my blood freeze. Did he just say what I think he said? He one-ups himself next. “I am encouraging my supporters to go into the polls and watch very carefully, because that’s what has to happen — I am urging them to do it.”

shitshow ©2020

It was. a shitshow. Nevermind the discussion on climate change, where 45 was saying we gotta rake the forest so that fires stop happening– I mean, you can’t make this stuff up, people. But then again, 45 seems able to. And as the night grated to a close, I found myself on the floor, starring at the popcorn ceiling. This is it. I thought, Civil War pt.2: Apocalypse Edition. On your mark. Get set. Go. I couldn’t sleep all night. Wednesday– I was riddled with anxiety. Dark clouds, getting darker. And the temperature’s RISING??? On Thursday, I told myself Be Strong. No matter what happens. Keep it together. But I ain’t gonna lie to you, I was scared. I was really freaking out. The news about the Proud Boy militia, out there– currently– gearing up for election night had me riddled with anxiety. What if… on election night… innocent people could— No. I had to keep my mind off the worst-case scenario, but honestly I couldn’t, or at least– I wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

Then, like a sunbeam thru a storm, the headline news broke out October 1st “The President of the United States has COVID-19.”

I began to dance. Shaking my ass. You woulda thought that fucker was dead, the way I rejoiced. No guilt; no shame. I sent no well-wishes. I politely asked the Universe for his lungs to collapse. Sorry, not sorry, bitch. I’d kill him if I had the chance– and this is coming from a guy who literally won’t hurt a fly. I straight-up hate the guy. Almost as much as Hitler. Anyways. You get the point. Imma dance on that bitches grave. So, when he got flown out to the hospital, I put on my shades and took a shot of tequila. Then when I heard the virus spread to his cult, I took another shot of tequila. Gotta celebrate the small things, you know? I drank the good spirits and felt a second-wind pass through me (more like wind #345million).

By now, Monday morning, the infection has spread to over 20+ White House officials. Kellyanne Conway, Kayleigh McEnany, Chris Christie, the list keeps growing. We even got some rebulican senators who’ve contracted the virus after attending the SCOTUS hearing for new justice nominee Amy Barrett. That’s right, you heard me. The Senate had no choice but to post-pone any further hearings until October 19th— that is unless COVID has anything else to say about it.

I know, I know. Sweet, sweet karma.

Full-Moon October

wednesday wEIRDness

This October, we got two full-moons and a super new moon all packed together. It’ll be the first time in 72 years since we’ve had a full-moon on Halloween. It’s a pretty big deal. A Blue Moon, nonetheless! So… ehh. What does any of this mean?

harvest moon by ©shutterstock

Well– October 1st, we got a full-moon in Aries, which pretty much guarantees a confrontation of some sort. Most likely, it’ll be within ourselves or whatever force that’s been holding us down. Aries got no chill. They’re the warriors of the zodiac. But no matter what sign the moon is in, it’ll always make us look within. The Moon is a giant mirror. Forcing us to reflect– because it’s in Aries, that’s how they do. It’s all about facing our fears. Bravery & Courage. Forcing us to push through our boundaries. Fear should never motivate you to stop growing.

Then we got that Super New Moon on October 16th, which basically tells us, now’s the time to sow the seeds of our wishes. You can imagine the New Moon as a cosmic equivalent to placing your order at a restaurant. Your server is the Void and the Universe is back in the kitchen, cookin’ up your meal. Expect your order to come out by the next full-moon. Your wishes will bloom. Now, because this is a Super New Moon, in Libra no less– expect our focus to be on Peace & Harmony. Justice & Equality. It’s almost as if the Universe knew we were gearing up for a critical election or something. Crazy.

new moon by ©GETTY
blue moon by ©Universe Today

And all this, leading up to the Blue Moon on October 31st. That’s right, folks. We did it. We finally got a classic full-moon Halloween, and it only took 72 years to get it! And with the global pandemic, raging wildfires, and rising fascism– well, it’s pretty easy to get into the Halloween spirit, amirite? Shit is fucking scary right now. Remember that time in 2016 when clowns were running around in the woods, scaring people? Those were simpler times. Anyway. This full-moon will be in Taurus. Meaning, whatever you wished for during the New Moon– will not only flourish, but infuse with lovely Tauren energies known for stability & long-lasting power. Blessings will manifest that’ll last a lifetime.

moon phases by ©Giuseppe Pappa

7y : 103d : 15h : 40m : 07s

techy tuesday

Remember that movie with Justin Timberlake and he’s running around with a watch that tells him the time he‘s got left? — Oh. You haven’t seen it? Well, I suggest you get really high and watch it. It’s hilarious. But if you don’t have the time for that, don’t worry. It’s become reality! As of last Monday, two artist have installed an exhibit in New York City known as The Climate Clock— it’s a 60ft digital clock that doesn’t tell time. haha, no. It tells us the time remaining. *gulp* We’re all Justin Timberlake, now.

Okay. So what do we do? Well. In Justin Timberlakes movie— if I remember correctly— time is currency. He, ehh, runs around the entire film trying to… prolong the inevitable… or something? I actually don’t remember. Honestly, I fell asleep in the middle, but I think the moral of the story goes, hey, time is precious, live it up, yolo. Which is cute, or whatever. But by the end of the movie— I was pressed. My head kept buzzing with lil’ thoughts like time’s all we got! or, Time’s runnin’ out! and, SHIT! I gotta do something. Anything! We’re all gonna die!! Mhmm. Which I’m pretty sure is what the creators of The Climate Clock are goin’ for. Except this ain’t a movie, folks. This is real. Our planet is like, dying dying. Like, fo’ realzies this time.

“This Earth has a deadline” read the clock before ten red numbers appeared– 7:103:15:40:07– representing years, days, hours, minutes, and seconds left until the effects of global warming become irreversible. Again, I repeat. IR•RE•VER•SI•BLE. This number is based on calculations by the Mercator Research Institute on Global Commons and Climate Change in Berlin. The two creators of The Climate Clock, Gan Golan and Andrew Boyd thought we should know.

“This is our way to shout that number from the rooftops.” Golan said just before the countdown started. “The world is literally counting on us.”

So, Golan and Boyd created a website, climateclock.world that includes an explanation for the Climate Clock numbers, in case y’all wanna go check it out for yourselves. They also include a link to the report by the IPCC, who stated back in 2018 that global warming is likely to increase 1.5°C by 2030 if carbon emissions don’t quit. And if that happens… I mean sure, 1.5° doesn’t sound that bad. But that’s 35°F. That’s— that would mean by 2030, our average temperatures will be well into the 100’s. Icebergs will go extinct. Forests will become desert. I’m not trying to scare you. These are facts. If we don’t do something about climate change within the next 7 years, our reality will become a hellscape. And I don’t know ‘bout you but I didn’t watch that Justin Timberlake movie for nothin’. Times runnin’ out— move it, people!

“You can’t argue with science,” Boyd said on Saturday. “You just have to reckon with it.”

Monday Update

weekly news

[sept. 21 – 27, 2020]

In the wake of RBGs death, the 2020 election has never appeared more dire. The war against democracy endures many waves, but this one has left us naked, defenseless and w/o armor. Just as the final battle– i MEAN, eLECTION– peaks over the horizon, cult45 rushes-in. Desecrating RBG’s dying wish, as they haste to fill her seat. Not only dismantling RBG’s legacy, but they’re also securing a false victory in November. You see, cult45 has been hard at work the past couple months sowing fear and discord in the fidelity of the US election. Once poll numbers started showing Biden/Kamala in the lead, the GOP began preaching, the only way we lose, is if the election is rigged. They’d have us believe that mail-in ballots aren’t safe– planting a seed of doubt as an attempt to prolong the election. And if they manage to do that, well, the election will go into Overtime, and then the Supreme Court will have to decide– you see where I’m going with this? Justice Barrett on the Supreme Court is no bueno. Mind you, I’m doing my best to not dramatize the situation. So, let’s just put all the facts out on the table, shall we?– I’ll let you feel however you want about this (as long as you aren’t delusional).

Here are the facts.

Full name: Amy Vivian Coney Barrett. Born: January 28th, 1972 in New Orleans, Louisiana. She’s the eldest of seven. Five sisters, one brother. She graduated from Notre Dame Law with a full-tuition scholarship. Summa cum laude, of course. Devoutly catholic. Married, with seven children of her own. Two of which, were adopted from Haiti (one of whom she adopted after the 2010 earthquake). Also, her youngest son has down syndrome. Hmm.. you know, on paper, she doesn’t sound so bad. Kinda kickass, actually. Let’s check her record to see if it holds true.

Judge Amy Coney Barrett
(University of Notre Dame)
Barrett in 2018

Says here, she’s a favorite amongst religious conservatives. Who’da thought. Her name was on the short list for scalia’s supreme court seat back in 2017. She lost that to brett kavanaugh. Reportedly, cult45 has been saving Barrett specifically to replace RBG. A special sort of fuck-you to women and feminine rights, if you ask me. 45 must be savoring in the irony of all this. And upon further inspection, Barrett’s record appears just as you might have thought. She’s against Roe v. Wade, anti-immigration, wants less gun reform. against gay marriage, and– Oh, she doesn’t believe in climate change. She’sa peach. An ideal pick for Trumps America that’ll last us a generation. For better or worse, we’re stuck with her.

So what are we gonna do? We’re gonna vote like our lives depend on it. Because guess what— they do. And as long as the votes for Biden/Kamala are overwhelming, the GOP can’t contest it in court. But if they do, well– then we’ll have to reform our strategy. But for now, voting’s all we got. I know it’s sorta crazy how much this one election can change the course of the planet. But stopping now isn’t an option. We’re 36 days before the last battle and yes, the skies are grey– but we cannot lose faith. You hear me? We must rally our final reserves and stand at the ready with our vote. Again, this isn’t a dystopian novel. This is America 2020. And honestly, I thought we’d all be talking about flying cars by now, but instead we’re fighting for our planets survival. Wish I could sugarcoat it for you folks but the stakes are too staked. It’s win, or die. And, that’s death by blazing inferno.

Up the Bum

freaky friday

Top, or bottom? This applies to straight folk, too– Top, or bottom? If you answered top, cool. If you answered bottom, good. If you’re confused, here’s a little history lesson for yah. In ancient greece, they didn’t define sexuality by gender, they defined it by sexual position. There weren’t no fuss about genitalia. Just pleasure, and the reverence to pursue it. This wisdom echoes throughout history, culminating with a resounding comprehension of human connection, and an intellectual inquiry to our very existential nature best summarized by this simple question…

Top, or bottom?

Now, here’s a question for the ladies: Would you date a bisexual guy? Sure, why not, some of you might say. Okay. Well, what if I tell you he likes topping women as much as he likes bottoming men? hmm? My bet is you’ll draw the line there. Jealousy aside, women just don’t like the idea of their man getting it ‘up the bum’, especially from another guy. Even the most open-minded women I know. Doesn’t matter how hot he is— It just wouldn’t work, they’ll say. Then I’ll ask what they think about pegging a guy and they’ll laugh, entertaining the idea. But a REAL penis? Now, you’ve gone too far. That man might as well be gay.

Okay. So let’s flip it. Dudes— fellas—brohams, you’re approached by a woman you really like and find out she’s bi. Does that hurt her chances at getting with you? What if she liked girls as much as guys, you mad? Probably not. Worst case scenario, she makes-out with another girl. Deep down, you think she’s havin’ fun. What a wild girl, it kinda turns you on. Besides who’s she kiddin’. She’ll come back for that D, right? (wrong) But essentially, what I’m saying here is that there aren’t many guys out there that’d be threatened by their woman being with another lady. Some might actually like that idea. Besides, women aren’t a real threat– ahh, there it is– I knew it. The double standard. Alive, and kickin’.

You know, growing up, I remember being gay was bad enough, but if I claimed to be a TOP, things were a lot better. Straight guys found common ground with sticking our dicks into stuff, while women found it easier to forget I was gay. Both benefited me as an alpha. And the more strict of a TOP I was, the better. I had found a loophole in the fabric of society and yes, I exploited it as much as I could. That led to my own rendition of toxic masculinity, but more on that later.

So anyways, the real question comes down to, why do Tops get more street cred than slutty bottoms? And sure you can say, nobody likes a loose butthole. But I’d argue, it’s the same reason why people believe bisexual men are secretly gay, and bisexual women will end up with a man some day. It would appear that as a society, we believe all roads will lead back to one thing. Dick. And it’s beyond gender. It’s beyond sex. Universally, we can all agree: it’s better to fuck, than be fucked– cuz yeah, there’s a special power in that. Obviously. But there’s so much more to sex than that. Straight men like their buttholes licked, too, you know. And women can strap-on dildos with feminine power. It’s cool. The combinations are endless. Next time, we’ll talk about the art of versatility. So for now, just remember…

A finger up the bum today, is equality tomorrow.