The Gray Box Anomaly

May 21, 2018

{{ Diaphanous Reader: I just emailed this frivolous post to the Mendocino Coummunity Network discussion and announcement lists, for mischief’s sake. }}

Date: Mon, 21 May 2018 17:01:21
Subject:
The Gray Box Anomaly (urgent)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: MCN discuss, MCN announce

Has anyone else noticed a strange message that’s been posted to our list several times in the past two weeks, entitled “Promises Kept” (or maybe “Premises Expected,” “Prozac Effect,” “Prose Intercept,” “Proof Intact,” “Prune Intruder” or something else along those lines)…which vanishes shortly after first viewing, to make us think we either imagined or dreamt it? I just saw the message again this morning, while sipping on my first cup of ganja laced java for the day. I think I’ve viewed it three times so far, maybe four, though didn’t pay it much mind until this most recent arrival. I will now attempt to describe the contents:

Even though it is entirely composed in text, a small, floating gray box appears hovering just inches above my laptop screen. I gaze upon it, stunned into a hypnotic trance while attempting to read the actual post. Which is blurred in parts (including the subject title which seems to shift and wobble as my eyelids flicker), though perhaps that is an aftereffect, like vanishing ink. The words go something like this:

“We are wondering if you’d be interested in trying out our newest discovery [blurry text follows, then:] No obligation on your part, though we do request that [more blurry text]. If for some reason you don’t care to engage further, just [more blurry text], and we will not bother you again. Though we do request that you share this amazing breakthrough of superior promise with at least five other [more blurry text].”

At the very bottom it ends with the word “NAMASTE” in all caps, in a large, bold trebuchet font, followed by one short line of yet more blurred text just underneath. By the time I get to the end, the slowly rotating gray quadrate vanishes, along with the entire message a few seconds later. I can not find it anywhere in any of my gmail folders, including Trash and Spam.

Now I want to make it very clear that what I remember of the contents of this unusual email, may not be the least bit accurate, for they come to mind like a fading dream slipping through my fingers. In fact, the most solid recall I have is that levitating, gray cube hovering before me like a seductive sphinx…and those golden letters that spell “namaste.” For they remain seared onto my retinae like a faerie’s cattle brand.

Of course I still wonder if this /is/ my imagination, or a nocturnal specter; but at this third or fourth occurrence, I have become suspicious of subliminal intrusion of my email service. I checked my Amazon account, to see if I’ve made any purchases I’m not aware of. Likewise my bank account, to spot any possible withdrawals that look suspicious. In addition, I’ve pored over all my social media pages to see if I could identify any strange posts (either on my part or from others). So far, so good, nothing out of the ordinary. IMPORTANT:

My concern goes beyond the threat of subliminal spam that may coerce me to purchase some item or service unbeknownst to me until too late, and my bank account is wiped out (or the NSA knocks down my door). For maybe this is the intrigue of the shadow government, military psi-ops, dark science, religious cult, or some other devious group such as black hat hackers, intergalactic overlords, underworld demons or crazed heterosexuals overexposed to the rising tide of multi-sexual liberation (for examples).

But this is just Day One of my vigilance regarding this “gray box” message that may or may not be a will-o’-the-wisp summoned by my own subconscious. Yet because it does possess an element of subterfuge by the nature of its appearance and context, I am asking anyone else on this list to keep an eye out for a diminutive square box that drifts above a partially incoherent and blurred MCN message…but which you brushed off, thinking it just some brief hallucination conjured up by an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, or a fragment of underdone potato late at night during a restless slumber.

Thank you for your kind attention. I await feedback on any subscriber’s part with bated, purple-hazed breath.

Advertisements

Fi-Di Sunshine & Transit

April 12, 2018

A happy, free-spirited denizen soaking up the sun in San Franicisco’s gorgeous Financial District, shimmering with glass and metal to the clouds and beyond!

Riding one of San Francisco’s signature streetcars, on my way downtown. Spectacularly drab: an eyesore to tourists, residents and working drones alike! The 3rd world never had it so good.


Fi-Di Poppins

March 21, 2018

Mary Poppins is homeless, too? Well, maybe not homeless, but certainly desperate…she can’t even carry a tune any more. Hard times for everyone, I guess. Or maybe that’s Julie Andrews…or a cross between the two. Whatever, it’s still another Fi-Di treat to delight tourists and rush-hour drones, alike. I am so stoked…let it go, let it go, let it go!


2 Fi-Di Videos

March 15, 2018

Fi-Di Buttcrack:

One of the lovely scenes bestowed upon strollers of San Francisco’s amazing financial District, a.k.a. “Fi-Di.” Which reminds me of one of SF’s most horrible mayors, who brought Manhattanization to this once-fair city: Dianne Feinstein…”Di-Fi.” BTW, her husband is a notorious SF slumlord.

Fi-Di Early Twilight Noir:

Ah, yes, the sweet, sultry music of a transient musician that graces one’s ears while standing amid a throng of office workers, janitors and other assorted boot lickers scurrying off to their lonely, high rent cells to spend another evening of despair, isolation and cheap to-go dinners. Notice how the musician locks onto my eyes, once he notices me filming him…a standard, streetwise gimmick to guilt passersby into tossing some bills into the cup…or hat, or tin can, or wilted cardboard box.


Welcome to Hoboville

February 7, 2018

Jebediah and Ebeneezer were hangin’ out by the ol’ Penjulep pool hall one chill foggy Frisco mornin’, when Neezer started a-thinkin:

“Jeb, them darkie folks acrost the bay say Hoboville warn’t always the name fer this here redneck ‘hood of our’n.” Before he continued, Neezer spat a wad of Uncle Queerbasher’s Selekt Chewin Tobaccee into a hefty, open, black-leather bound book with a crimson ribbon for a marker that touched to the very ground, and rubbed for a moment against some hot, wet Rottweiler feces.

“They say this here parts wunst was called ‘The Caaastro’…soddymites all over the place, far as the eye kin see. Fornicatin’, vi-o-lay-tin’ tourist’s chilluns, and sometahms even the dawgs! ‘Twere a cryin’ shame it was, surely.”

Jeb stopped leaning on the side of the saloon, to stand his full 6-foot-7-inch height. Above, flapped a yellow, weathered poster that proclaimed: “No shooz, no shirts, no fagguts.” There was no point in keeping that sign up anymore, as the queers were long gone, relegated to a concentration camp on Treasure Island. But the owner, a refugee from the nuked state of Idaho, was too lazy to remove it. Come to think of it, there were no longer any coons, either, in this neck of the woods. Nor slant eyes, nor anyone with too dark, or too yellow, or too red a skin. He yanked the straw of hay from his mouth; some spittle dripped down his long, scraggly beard:

“Ye swear to that on the Holy Buy-bull, Neezer?” he questioned with a curl of the lip, and pointed to the book in Ebeneezer’s hand.

“Yes Sir, Jebediah,” boasted Neezer (who also displayed a beard dank with saliva, though shorter and wider, like a Mennonite). “I do believe I just marked the partikeelar secshun smack dab in the lower right page.” He paused, to heckle Jeb with silence.

“Read it Neezer!” Jeb finally ordered. “Ye knows ah cayn’t read. Tell me whut thu Good Book sez!”

“Okay, Jeb now simmer down y’all, jest simmer down. Let me clear my throat.” Ebeneezer hocked up a musty gob of phlegm, aimed once again at the Good Book…then read:

“The Prophet Hoosier from The Book of Heehaw 5:20-22:

“Any dood whar-in dee-klares dee-vine marruj to another dood, should immeed-jut-ly be put to death by command of our Chief Demon Overlord.

“A woe-man, however, may freely dee-klare marriage with another woe-man…under con-di-shun they willfully join in wedded bliss with an Unmarried Son of an Overlord, or with a Widowed Overlord Hisself. Fust choice is always The Father’s.

“But should one or t’other of the woe-men rebel, they should both be tied in nekked shame to a post in the center of the village, whar-in whoever is known to have cast the fust sin in The More-Men Clan, shall be offered the sacred privy-lij of stoning to death, the rebel-yus fee-male and her day-spik-ubul kunt sukker.”

Having read this passage, Neezer lowered the tome in holy silence… and Jebediah, too, remained quiet, chewing on the straw. After long, hushed moments, Jeb opined:

“Why bruthuh Neezer-dee-doo-dah. Thank the Good Overlord are Gran-pappies cum here in the fust place, be it they be homeless with not a cent in their pockets! They knew they wuz on a misshun to dee-klare rite-chuss shame on them sod’mites, and drive the divils outta here-un; peaceable like, or war like…whichever wuz best for the partik-ee-lar sit-choo-ay-shun.”

Neezer nodded as he chawed: “Yep, brothuh Jebe-dee-doo-dah. We done made for our-self-un and our chill-uns, gran-chill-uns, and evun great-great-gran-chill-uns, Juh-hoe-va’s land out of serpent’s soil.”

After further moments in silence (a harmonica played in the distance, some hillbilly tune), they decided it was time for another High-neekins, and stepped back into the dark cavern that was the Penjulep saloon. The clouds were hunkerin’ down into another neon jumble of plutonium madness, soon to unleash a deluge of flesh-melting rain.

So it was just as well the two patriots stepped inside.

Dark as it had suddenly become outside, the quaint establishment was even gloomier within…lit by a few candles, and a tin-can chandelier overhead. A doorless restroom to one side showed off a trough to pee in, and a seatless toilet spotted with caked feces along the rim and overhang. Privacy could be gained by pulling a thick, leather curtain acoss the doorway. It was made of homosexual skin, and sported the gravure of a suffering Christ on a cross, in pastel pink with bits of glitter. It bragged an enormous penis.

Beside the entrance to the lavatory was pasted another old, worn out sign that read: “Hetero patriots only. Keep it safe.” For while gay patrons had been banished more than a decade ago, customers could, if they so desired, fuck and suck to their heart’s content…so long as they praised Jesus in the process at least three times. Sort of a ritual in honor of The Trinity. But Jeb and Neezer were too wasted at the moment, for recreational debauchery. Instead, they were eager to play a round or two of Breeder Darts.

This game was once a regular dart board, with the face of former president Donald Trump pinned to it, back when it was a gay hangout. Indeed, it was the only African American gay bar in the city…and it was called “The Pendulum.” But that was a long time ago. Now, the face was replaced by a small man made of straw, with big, bright, red faggoty lips grinning back at you. Googly black eyes and yellow hair made of cheap yarn and a sailor costume completed the ensemble.

Neezer flung the first dart, but missed by more than a yard.

“Aw, shucks,” he pouted, then took a swig of High-neekins. “Your turn, Jeb.”

Jebediah missed, too…so far off the mark in fact, that the dart propelled through the open doorway and melted in less than ten seconds, in a searing puddle of rain right there on the concrete. But it was all in good fun; they were not the competitive type, living off their monthly stipend as they did, so generously provided by the slave labor from Treasure Island. For in this time, and in this world, heterosexuals ruled. God fearing heterosexuals, that is. God fearing, patriotic redneck heterosexuals.

But soon they grew tired of sport, though could not leave the saloon until the toxic waters ceased their cascade from the rabid heavens. So they stared with blank eyes out the grimy picture window, daydreaming about eviscerating dummy faggots you can purchase at Cliff’s Variety for just a dollar each, until the rains subsided, the clouds parted, and the lifeless brown sun shone once more, in all its befouled glory. There isn’t much to do in a post-holocaust world, now that the real faggots have all vanished.

It isn’t so bad, though, once you get over the dearth of electricity, health care, firemen, uncanned meat, clean water (the kind that doesn’t make your skin rupture into painful bubbles like wasp stings), soap, storebought clothes, police, vegetables and fruit, television, street lamps, automobiles, radio, antibiotics, dogs, cats and birds, clean air (the kind that doesn’t make you choke and cough up blood every two minutes) and online porn. You could always tell stories, though…but they seem to be in waning supply these days, too, as folk’s strontium tainted memories tend to fade into carefree oblivion with the passage of time. Yet time is all we have anymore.

“Hey!” Jebediah’s eyes lit up. “Did ye hear the one about…” but then his recollection drifted off into a funk, and he stroked his beard absentmindedly. Cockroaches skittered about the wiry, gray hairs and through his fingers, like an abundant sprinkle of jumbo-sized fairy dust.

“No, tell me, Jeb!” begged Neezer, always one to embrace a new story like a dollar-store jezebel.

He eagerly snatched up a few of those roaches, like movie theater popcorn, as he anticipated a hellacious tale to brighten up this weary life.

But Jebediah looked mortally crushed. “Nah!” he growled. “Twaren’t such a good joke after all. Jes ye ferget it.”

“No, no, I insist!” demanded Neezer with a friendly thump on Jeb’s arm.

Jebediah then glared at Neezer and whopped him off the stool with a loud “crack” on the splintery, cold floor. Some blood pooled about his companion’s knee, and the homo-jerky gunk surrounding it, discarded by other patrons over the years. Jeb is known for his short fuse. But he helped Ebeneezer back up and onto his seat, where they both resumed gawking at the gray, wet scene outside, and the occasional army tank rumbling up and down Eighteenth Street.

The barkeep plunked down two shots of Kissin Kuzzins Pansy Bourbon beside the elbows of Jeb and Neezer, arousing them from their vacuous revery. As tender of a booze joint, he sports the requisite two-foot-long beard that sweeps across the bartop with every drink he summons, collecting peanut shells, cracker bits, fag rinds and other debris in the process. No one could ever accuse him of maintaining his station with less then immaculate devotion. Even the saloon rats that feed on the droppings of lemon rinds and vomit are squeaky clean!

“Hey, boys, cheer up!” he said with a grin. “Annual Ass Lickin Day is almost here, and I think ye two are in for a treat!”

He was referring to a celebration wherein redneck patriots can get their rectums chewed out by select queer inmates, for just a dollar. By now, it is the biggest holiday in the nation, drawing more than a thousand tourists from all corners of the republic. In fact, that event alone keeps Frisco Town in the black, all year long. And the faggot who is voted Most Outstanding Ass Licker of the Year, gains his freedom equal to that of any redblooded, Amerikan breeder! Prizes for the two runners up are nothing to sneeze at, either:

Second place winner is assigned the coveted duty as Personal Ass Crack Tongue Washer for the Republic of Gilead’s Chief Demon Overlord, himself: Donald J. Trump the Fourth. And third place wins the lucky boon of an all expenses paid, two week vacation at the Gerbil Whirl Amusement Park and Sodomite Detention Center.

All remaining dozen or so queer anus kissers are required to strip down to their ankle weights and get violated, bashed, tortured or whatever those who pay a dollar choose to do with these unrepentant rump hogs. So long as not a single one of them survives this highest of holy days with the Hetero Lord’s crimson river of life still pumping through his arteries.

“Lordy, Lordy, how I miss the good ol’ days, Cletus,” Neezer addressed the barkeep in a far-off, nostalgic haze, chin resting in his palm.

“The good old days?” queried the barkeep as he snatched up several wolf spiders and tossed them into the snack jar.

“Ye know, when faggots wuz free to roam, and we wuz free to hunt ’em down!” Neezer sighed. “Now-days, ya have to wait fer but oncet-a-year befoh ye can have ainy fun with ’em. It’s all controlled, planned and advertized ta death…and thu awl-mightee dollar rules.” He then spat onto the floor, striking a large, black creepy-crawly that scuttled away with a clatter. “Gawd damn capital-izm!”

“I know, right?” Cletus sympathized. “Gummint’s got its filthy paws in ever-thang, anymore! Ye just cain’t get out there and shoot down a sissy boy whenever the mood strikes! Ye have to wait a whole god darn year ta gitcher ass licked at gunpoint…and wait in a long line be-foe ye kin do even that! Whut’s this country comin’ to, any-wize?”

“And that was some goo-oood ass lickin’, let me tell ya!” Jebediah piped up, as if startled from a deep slumber.

Finger lickin’ good, ha-ha!” quipped Neezer.

They all cackled like flustered hens over that joke, which surprised even Ebeneezer, who invented it in the first place. A lot of guffaws, knee slapping and back pounding ensued for several sparkling minutes. During that brief span of time, they forgot their worries, the encroaching doom of their world, and a sad longing for the love of another man they can never have…at least not in this life. Though a girl can dream, can’t she?

When they finally caught their breaths, Jebediah pointed a knobby index finger at his forever-to-be-unrequited enamorado:

“Neezey, God blessed ye mighty bigly, with that-thar orsome gift of the spoken pun! I should PUNish ye fer that!”

Cletus the barkeep nodded in vigorous agreement before turning his back on them, to polish the artillery shells he finds in the gutter now and then, waxing them up to be used as dildoes, that he presents to this or that favored patron.

That is: one who either leaves a big tip, or displays an impressive bulge that whispers a promise to engorge something sweet, huge and rock hard, up the bartender’s poop chute before the shift ends.

Well, the torpid mercury rains finally came to an end, and the sun bulged out from behind the clouds like a throbbing abcess. With that, a priest, a rabbi and an imam entered the establishment…grinning like they just told each other the grandest joke in the world. Jeb and Neezer looked up at the holy trio quizzically, grateful for the relief of something novel about to enter their otherwise necrotic lives. But the barkeep glared at them in severe displeasure. He yanked out a nook-you-ler shotgun from beneath the counter and bellowed:

“No! None of that here! We won’t have none of that here! The Lord is my witness!”

He blew them into a zillion bloody pieces of meat and bone; the rats feasted.

“Time to go, I guess,” Jebediah moaned in a hollow timbre…for neither he nor Neezer had any idea how they’d spend the rest of their sorry little afternoon, to relieve this ghastly boredom that haunted their every waking moment since the day they were ejected from a fat lady’s womb. But one thing they knew for sure, that kept their hopes buoyed even just a little:

They could always come back to jack off, suck off or fuck off at the old Penjulep Honkey-Tonk Pool Hall and Dancing Saloon. Though dancing is something you do by yourself, until you drop dead. Like Saint Vitus. What on earth do they put in the water these days? Lordy!


Homophobia in Real Time

January 26, 2018

Sometimes Bill Maher pisses me off, when it comes to his supposedly “stalwart” support of LGBT rights. Like some years back, when he said it was too soon for gay marriage, we should settle for domestic partnership, and stop whining about marriage, it’s just a word. And about two years ago, when a male guest on Real Time caressed his shoulder in a comradely touch, Mr. Maher jerked back in scorn to admonish: “No homo, bro.” Unfortunately, I haven’t saved a clip of either video, or took note of the episodes, to verify my claims. There’s also the time he declared in 2014 that “There Is a Gay Mafia … If You Cross Them, You Do Get Whacked.

However, on January 19th of this year, once more he spoke ignorantly on the queer issue and, fortunately, I did save the clip. Just view the short video yourself (it’s only 21 seconds), and come to your own conclusion before reading my disgruntled take on the matter, just below the link:

Video: Homophobia in Real Time

In case the video won’t load, or you are hearing disabled, here is the transcript of Mr. Maher’s own words:

“Now building blocks, basic building blocks of thought, like ‘there are facts’ and ‘things have degrees’ are being tossed aside. Mike Pence and ISIS are both homophobic, but Mike doesn’t throw gay men off the roof. So he’s better! This isn’t that hard, people!”

My Own Disgruntled Take on the Matter

Bill Maher should know better–that Mr. Pence is wickedly homophobic–and that our current Vice President would, indeed, persecute homosexuals according to Christian fundamentalist dictate. Just because they probably wouldn’t choose to toss LGBTs off a roof, they certainly would be overjoyed to terrorize, incarcerate and even murder them in equally gruesome ways. Such as stoning them to death. Or look the other way whenever a gay person has been bashed to a bloody, stinking pulp by one of their own Jebus followers (and make “godly” excuses for not bringing the criminal to justice). Or rounding them up in concentration camps to be tortured, experimented upon, abused and gassed to death. Do you doubt me? Then here’s a list of seven of his offenses that I grabbed from an online article…one of many that denounce Mr. Pence’s vitriolic stance against LGBTs:

1. Supporting a constitutional amendment to ban marriage equality

2. Signed a bill to jail same-sex couples for applying for a marriage license

3. Wanted to divert funding from HIV prevention to conversion therapy

4. Opposed repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

5. Complained about the passage of the Matthew Shepard Hate Crimes bill

6. Served on the board of an antigay group

7. Argued that passing ENDA would ban Bibles from the workplace

No two ways about it: Mike Pence’s anti-queer agenda is right in step with these zealous Christians who will use such laws (if any are passed) to make further inroads towards vilifying gays…leading to the same “final solution” that Adolf Hitler concocted for Jews and numerous other, marginalized groups. After all, look where we are now: the Trump administration just created a new office called “The Conscience and Religious Freedom Division” in the agency’s Office for Civil Rights. Which makes it legal for any medical service, including doctors, hospitals and even emergency medical technicians to refuse to treat a transsexual (or anyone else perceived as L,G, B or T), on the grounds of religious discrimination! In other words: Bible thumping EMTs would let you die in the streets for the love of their god!

See: SF reacts to feds promoting bias in health care

Quote:

Equality California Executive Director Rick Zbur called the move “a direct assault” on LGBTQs.

“This new rule would allow medical providers a ‘license to discriminate’ against patients if they disagree with their sexual orientation or gender identity,” stated Zbur. “The ability to access transition-related care, HIV medication, reproductive services and other necessary medical services are all under threat. … California has some of the nation’s strongest non-discrimination protections under the Unruh Civil Rights Act. In the coming days and weeks, we will work with our legal colleagues, the California Legislative LGBT Caucus and our allies in California Legislature to determine whether legislation or litigation is required to combat this new attack on the LGBTQ community.”

I’m sure Mr. Pence had a hand–probably a heavy hand–in creating this new office, which is targeted towards discriminating against sexual minorities (as well as women and other minorities they may choose on a whim or a wild hair up their halo-rimmed asses, such as the homeless, the disabled, immigrants and African Americans). I am therefore incensed over Bill Maher’s ignorance about just the kind of man V.P. Pence really is. Bill should know better, but he doesn’t. No excuse, considering he portrays himself as well informed over liberal issues, including sexual minorities. He either hasn’t looked into Mr. Pence’s bigoted history or, if he has, doesn’t think persecuting homosexuals is that bad, so long as they’re not thrown off a roof. I mean, Mr. Maher is aware of how the Religious Reich has taken over the Federal government, through Donald Trump’s stubby handed machinations…right? Yet he sees no danger of Mike Pence, as a New Testament zealot, being equivalent to Muslim fanatics’ own hatred of queers?

Thank god that Mr. Maher is not the last word on this topic, though he seems to fancy himself as such. Just another clueless hetero claiming to speak for a minority about which he obviously knows little…especially when it comes to who our enemies are, and how they operate. Mike Pence’s dominionist ideology is the Christian equivalent of Sharia Law. And we have a whole Presidential cabinet–and Senate, and House of Congress–filled to the rafters with them, now!

So, no, Mr. Maher, he is not “better” than ISIS.


ADDENDUM

Something I didn’t mention in my article, is the eeriness of the video clip. How smugly Maher presented his point in all its glorious ignorance…ending with conservative sell-out queer Andrew Sullivan grinning broadly, and applauding Mr. Maher’s equally eerie praise of Michael Pence. (FYI: Mr. Sullivan is not just a lifelong conservative; he’s also a devout Roman Catholic…so there you have his “queer Uncle Tom” credentials.) I didn’t plan it that way…just realized the fact with a little hindsight. As if that clip were specifically tailored for me to hammer home my point. I find it bizarre (though in a good way) that things seem to fall into my hands immediately, once I’m ready to expose an aspect of homophobia, or any other injustice. I rarely have to do more than one search, to come up with such helpful resources…whether image, text, or video.


You’re a Shmuck, Ellen Tosser

September 11, 2017

Date: Mon, 11 Sep 2017 03:00:55
Subject:
Fwd: You’re a Shmuck, Ellen Tosser (was: [MCN-Discussion]- Slavery in US prisons)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Reptilian E-friends

I just posted the following email to the MCN (Mendocino Community Network) discussion list, addressing the homophobes who participate. Note that I have slightly altered their real names, as a well deserved mockery:

———- Forwarded message ———-
From: Zeke Krahlin
Date: Mon, Sep 11, 2017 at 2:49 AM
Subject:
You’re a Shmuck, Ellen Tosser (was: [MCN-Discussion]- Slavery in US prisons)

On Sat, 9 Sep 2017 22:19:34 -0700 ELLEN TOSSER squoinked:

{{ If you want to find an example of modern day slavery, look no further than US prisons. }}

I don’t give a flying fig how much good you think you do, or even how much good you actually do, on certain issues. Because /you/, as an ultraconservative Catholic, preach about, and participate in, vilifying gay people and women who choose birth control and/or abortion, and young people who have sex outside of marriage (yet are denied knowledge of safe sex and anti-pregnancy methods). Your vile ideology perpetrates immense and widespread suffering across this nation, and the entire world as well. You are a smug, heartless witch who’s found her niche in a powerful cult that, since it’s existed for many centuries and has infiltrated all levels of numerous societies, is regarded as a legitimate lifestyle…a religion that, while broadcasting how benevolent it is to all living beings, manifests egregiously ugly dogma against certain minorities, and free-minded women and youth.

You are rotten to the core…you are arrogant and self-glorifying to the point of retchingly obnoxious behavior. You gain support and recognition by the fanatic creeps that surround you, and reward you with copious adulation and, no doubt, material benefits and access to civic influence. Meanwhile, you and your Catholic/Christian-Fascist ilk work overtime to destroy anything good and righteous in this world, and spread misery to every corner. You leave no stone unturned in this diabolical mission…worshiping what you call “God” (whom you claim is “love”) yet who resembles with great accuracy the very Devil you claim to preach against.

Let this denunciation I herein present, apply also to anyone aligned with your blasphemous ideas, including certain scumbags on this list, such as: John Retching, Rabid Ravin, Bigthug, Mr. Laughing Tits, GFT, Daney the Dog’s Son, gdork, Marinating Marinela, Nicholas Willscum, John Lousy and Banshee Dean. No doubt I’ve left some people out, people who have either slunk back into their dark corner, and others who lurk in the shadows without ever posting.

You are all vile, loathsome creatures, whom Donald Trump represents as your hell-spawn leader, along with the Republican Party at large…along with these Christian zealots who lust for blood, terror and annihilation of those who stand against them. Using LGBTs as your key scapegoat, your target which you rabidly yearn to destroy. And through the ashes of that destruction, intend to advance towards other minorities, and women of choice. Remember, once upon a recent time, you used the same despicable tactics to resist the end of slavery, claiming “God” (who is “love”) to be on your side. Later, you did the same towards Jews. (And then there are the native peoples of this land, whom you’ve decimated on the grounds of a horrendous notion termed “manifest destiny.”)

I am sick of hearing your brand of hateful preaching broadcast over San Francisco’s airwaves and television, as well as in many churches and street corners where Jehovah’s Witnesses and other Jebus loonies gather to denounce homosexuals, declaring us the devil’s spawn…and in cyberspace. And produce countless flyers, videos and sermons denouncing us queers as an imminent danger to America, who must therefore be wiped out. With an increasing number of preachers, priests, ministers et al (and their connected politicians) spreading this evil bigotry with ever increasing force and popularity.

You have crippled myriad hearts and minds, many of whom have been driven insane to the point of losing their jobs, housing, friends and families, and now wander the streets, a danger to themselves and others. There are also more stable folks now homeless, who’ve suffered your antagonism as well, yet somehow maintain a viable level of decency and sanity…yet deprived of the good things in life because you have likewise ruined them (though not completely). Some are my dearest friends, whom I reach out to as best I can, yet their minds are hopelessly blocked by the brainwashing of Christo-Fascist dogma. IOW, I can only take them so far, but not far enough where they can finally be the captain of their own fate. Sometimes they turn against me, because they do not understand, thanks to your most effective psychological terrorism based on Biblical superstition.

But I do realize that, in some pathetic cases, some of your cohorts are members of the Democratic Party…the branch that has infiltrated and poisoned the ideals that party once stood for. But by now has grown so spineless and reprehensible as to have withered on the tree of Democracy, and no longer deserves to use that word in their party’s title.

You are accursed traitors to Liberty. You are hideous. You are the bane of all humanity. I do not care one whit if I get kicked off this list for speaking the truth, for AFAIC, it’s a small price to pay to keep freedom alive and kicking. Even if it dwindles down to a single ember, even if that single ember is yours truly.

See you on the battlefield. I am your worst dream come true. Whatever nasty screed you broadcast on this list, no matter how often: be assured that I will always be here to denounce you.

Sinqueerly yours,

Ezekiel J. Krahlin
Jehovah’s Queer Witness More Than You Will Ever Know


BONUS

Listen to Ms. Tosser’s horrid declaration posted some time last April, to the MCN discussion list, as read by KNYO radio host Marco McClean: click here or forever hold your pizza.


%d bloggers like this: