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Author: Psykosity

Husband, Father, Musician (Guitarist), Composer, Producer, Writer, former Ordained Minister. Has the distinction of being banned for life from a major American University for ‘accidentally” peeing on the Dean of Music’s head. Hobbies include collecting the pocket lint of the rich and famous, foraging with wolves in the forest, and fishing for catfish with his teeth.

Dangly Bits

I am a man. I know this because I’ve looked.

My genitals and I have known each other for years. Oh! The stories we could tell! Grand, glorious songs that should be sung by choirs!

At first, our relationship was based on practicality; I needed the One-Eyed Wonderworm and his Two Magic Bags to perform certain functions necessary to my life and they needed me to carry them around (apparently, they need to travel…). Then, the meat-and-two-vegetables became aggressive and embarrassing; attacking me at inopportune moments like standing at the board trying to solve problems in math class, singing in church, or having to speak at a family funeral.

God, as is His wont, strove for perfection when he made Adam. I think God thought that Adam’s knees and elbows would be bigger, because he used that skin to get that Last-Chicken-In-The-Shop look of the General and Two Colonels. Artistically, He got it right when he made woman.

Men are purely functional: Eat. Sleep. Reproduce. Eat, Sleep, Reproduce (keep the high-heels-on…). Eliminate anyone who messes with The Schedule…

That’s what we think about. All of the time, 24/7.

Everything we do as men, red-blooded. spittin’ scratchin’ silly, pointless, farty, situationally brave and brilliant, the buildings we build and the sweat of our brow, is dedicated to The Schedule, and the biggest part of The Schedule is not ‘Eat’.

Men will gladly do without food for a few more minutes of sleep or the prospect of the fleeting moments wherein we let Russell The Love Muscle and The Nads out for some “Happy Naked Playtime” and…LO! AND BEHOLD! There is a FEMALE in the ROOM! YAY!

Our crippled, hairy hands and our self respect thank you, Ma’am!

My only suggestion, regarding men’s ‘Dangly Bits’?

I wish mine were retractable…

Show me the SADIST who said that BOY’S bikes have to have the middle bar and the girls bikes don’t! What kind of sick, twisted FREAKSHOW would think, deep in the darkest recesses of their diseased minds, that putting a BAR on a bike that young boys can FALL on accidentally in NUMEROUS ways was a good idea.

In a fight, I can take punches anywhere on my body and not give up, but not if you catch “The Boys”, I’m toast…

It is said that, barring extraordinary circumstance, childbirth is the most painful experience a human can go through. Of course, I had no say as to the delegation of duties as they relate to propagation of the species. I’m just trying to do my job, Honey…

All that said, I would like to nominate getting nicked in the knackers as the second most painful human experience.

That, and a tax audit.

And, at closing time, when you see that woman who looks like a princess, but will look like an orc in the morning, how handy would it be if a man could not only retract his dangly bits, but also have something that causes the male to be like a Ken doll until he sobers up!

Nothing there but a logo…

An Old Friend’s Favor And The Physics Of Aging

“You know, Psyk, we’ve known each other a long time now, and…”

Well, slap me in the face with a week-old halibut and call me ‘Richard’: here comes one of THOSE phrases; the first half of a sentence that NEVER ends good when the second part of the sentence comes bounding out of the ‘Old Friend’s” cock holster… “We’ve known each other a long time now” is a phrase second only to “Honey- we need to talk…” in the Great Wheel of Life Changing, Unexpectedly Devastating News… or, it could be that the ‘Old Friend’  is revving up an earnest, poignant, and highly manipulative story designed to bring you to such an emotional crescendo that you would positively JUMP at the HONOR of helping them move house, in which case you break out a baseball bat and use it to erase the name of the “Old Friend” from your Christmas Cards list.

Let’s go down the Rabbit hole on this particular encounter:

The Old Friend who claims that “we’ve known each other a long time now” is wrong; we knew each other a long time ago. It’s been about four decades since we last spoke to each other. After that, life intervened. Marriage, Birth, Death, Sickness, Health, Great Successes and Plagues of Locust…

At the time we knew each other, we were young, beautiful, stupid and invincible. Now, we are a lot closer to the Brick Wall at The End of The Great Road of Life, and some of us have lead feet and poorly maintained brakes.

The fact is that, of late, I have been feeling that life has become a huge FORCE propelling me forward against my will, like a wave that will travel hundreds of thousands of miles, so it can eventually break against the unyielding terra with enough volatile fury to annihilate millions of people.

I’m in no position to help anyone. I can’t even help myself. The list of things I cannot control grows like a tropical skin disease: the political future of the nation, whether the cats will be eating any of the food we bought for them or will they be irritating little balls of fur who have gotten together and decided that it was “Screw With The Humans’ Minds Day”, my son-in-law’s car problems, my daughter trying to change schools to finish her degree, the ever-evolving state of my body hair…

In fact, just what IS happening with this bag of skin I’ve been trapped in???

As to the things in my life I actually CAN control 

I have a list. It’s a GREAT list, if I do say so myself. I took the time to write the list down, in longhand, with a pen that was given to my Grandfather after he put in 25 years at his place of employment. Yep, the List of Things I CAN Control is a great list…I wrote it on a torn piece of a very small envelope…

And so the question is asked and, fortunately, it is not a life-changing request, but it will STILL require me to put on pants: I am apparently last on his list of people to call if he needs to be picked up at the airport. That’s right. Picked up at the airport.

Keep in mind: this list included HIS WIFE, as well as both of his daughters and his son, I imagine he was down to asking the garbage man, the old spinster down the street, and the guy who occasionally decides to ‘direct traffic’ in front of his house.

Still, I said yes, I would help. I almost always do. Like being caught up by a force you cannot control, I am almost physically incapable of turning down someone who legitimately needs my help, and if I am able to help, I react immediately to do so.

Besides, even though we haven’t seen each other since Reagan was elected President of the United States, we are both caught up in the tide, caught up in a force we cannot control, propelling us forward without even asking our opinion or permission.

We are, however, heading in the same direction.

Might as well help each other paddle.

The Uselessness Of Celebrities

I got rid of my television set thirteen years ago. I stopped going to movies about that same time, and never regretted the decision.

I realized that most movies had an agenda they were trying to “artfully” push. I realized that the television was vomiting a never-ending bile of commercials and propaganda. Very soon after unplugging the boob tube, telling the cable company to piss off, and vowing never to go to the movies again, my brain cleared, rational thought returned, and I was able not only to see the world as it really is, but engage the world with my new vision.  In doing so, I found I had an advantage over people who were still passively absorbing the sugar-coated crap shoveled into the minds and the living rooms of the people around me.

Unplugging from the mass media also allowed me to recognize the concepts of celebrity and celebrity worship for what they are: useless. Celebrities are the most useless people on the face of the earth. Some are famous because they can hit a mark and say lines written for them by someone else. They are professional pretenders (and if you have ever seen or heard outtakes from these people, most of them can’t do their jobs all that well). Some sing garbage, usually with the assistance of auto-tune, or if they can’t sing, rap. The males have to be sexy and predatory, the females have to be essentially singing strippers. Some people are celebrities because they filmed themselves having sex on a “leaked” video, and some are famous for going to the right parties.

These are people who, on the whole, jump from bed to bed, can’t keep their skirts down and their zippers up. The vast majority of them have no marketable skills and couldn’t do an honest days labor if their lives depended on it. Interestingly, a large percentage of them feel like their fame offers them a “platform” to speak to the rest of the unwashed masses about some charity that in reality is only a PR stunt and a photo op, or “educate” us about a imperative to change the way we think about certain societal issues, or to offer their insight into how we should live our lives, what we should eat, and who we should vote for.

In Shakespeare’s time, that which passes for “celebrities” today were regarded as among the lowest of the low. In particular, those in the acting profession were considered “Professional Liars”, and one of the reasons boys played the girls’ parts was that women actors were considered akin to prostitutes.

Would that our society could see our celebrities with those eyes now.

Most of these people are morons. Want to know how to tell?

If they have their mouths open and are speaking about their views on practically anything except their job, if they bitch about how hard it is to go into public without being recognized, if they make the media rounds on an apology tour because they got caught doing something they shouldn’t and their PR people think that they can spin saying “sorry” for their bad behavior as being heroic, if they feel like they need to use their “position” to take a “stand” on some issue, they are flaming morons.

If they were really concerned, they would shut the hell up and put their money and time into a cause they believed in as anonymously as possible. They would check their arrogance and recognize that they do not have a position superior to anyone else and therefore, while they have the right to speak about whatever they choose, others have the right to ignore them right up to the point where they refuse to spend time or money helping to finance these deluded, self-absorbed idiots.

Remember before the Presidential election of 2016 when  a bunch of celebrities promised to leave the United States of America if Trump got elected? Why didn’t they leave? Why stay and lead the whining and the foot-stomping and the shaking of their fists because they didn’t get what they want? Why did they wait then? Why not leave now?

In fact, why don’t we do this: Let’s drag them kicking and screaming to an Army cargo plane in the middle of the night, give them parachutes and a bag of granola each, and kick their asses out of the tail end of the plane over someplace nice like, say, Venezuela, or Syria, or Iran.

I hear North Korea is lovely this time of year.