My family has been here since day one of the great nation that you seek to rape and pillage.   We fled England in the 1680's to seek a more perfect life of religious freedom risking our lives in that journey into the unknown.   I know all about unity and American history.  

I resent every breath you take - every breath that your voters take - I loathe and spit on your pleas for unity.   Who the fuck do you think you are?

You and your ilk are the enemies of a free people.

And I hope you die before you ever get to piss on this nation as President.

You call for unity.   You bastard.   You fabricated the narrative of your wife's death along with your children to repackage their roadkill so it suited your political narrative.    You blamed a truck driver for killing your wife and your brood when the truth was directly opposite.

That truck driver was not the one who ran the stop sign.

Your fucking dead wife did just that.   She killed your brood.   And the truck driver put his truck into a skid to try to avoid making your wife and brood into road patte.   But you chose the low road as you have done throughout your political career and you turned the truck driver into a butcher and your wife into a saint.   

It is rather unfortunate that you weren't at the wheel of that car.   America would be better off.

Yes, a record number of dead Americans voted for you.   And there are likely tens and hundreds of thousands of names that never existed that voted for you.   That is the Democrat way.   When you cannot compete, hide in your basement and let the dishonesty of your political life fabricate a false narrative and steal an election.

You are a 78 year old disgusting man.   You inhale the hair of young women as you grope them when they are captive to cameras and are easy prey for your hands.   You put children on your leg and then delight in how your legs tingle.   You proudly run around nude around Secret Service women under the guise of skinny dipping at your Delaware cave where you charged the Secret Service rent for their accommodations  to protect your ass.

I loathe every breath you take.    I so wish you'd assume room temperature and never become a President.    I don't wish you harm other than you experience the grip of a heart attack that squeezes the life out of  your pathetic body and sends your sorry ass to hell.    You are not fit to serve and you are the trojan horse to implement socialism.

There is no way I'll unite with enemies of the freedoms that my family fought for in the Revolutionary war or for the honor of the Union in the Civil War.    You and your ilk are the greatest virus threat to America and you can never be my President nor can you be any President.

Go to hell, you asshole.   You have some nerve acting as you have and whining even as you got away with crimes that Trump was impeached for far more personal benefit; you were complicit in a complete fabrication of collusion with Russia when you are up to your old fucker ass in China and Iran double dealings.    You can take the call for unity and shove it up your ass.

Happy Thanksgiving, asshole.

It is that time again, a day for giving thanks.

This year, despite the loss of my Dad on October 6th, life is still worthy of pausing for what I am grateful.

I had the opportunity to spend some time with my Mom and Sister these past few days.   Our family is practical to the max so we now have a tradition around Thanksgiving time to clean the gutters for the winter and to then string up Christmas lights so that Mom can turn them on when she wants without having to worry about their installation.   We've been doing this event for going on fifteen years and it is a time where we can gather together to enjoy each others' company and to then have a nice meal after the cold several hours we'll spend.

I am thankful that my niece is getting to march with her band in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.   She's awesome though touched a bit by millenial's disease, but at least she retains some common sense and is intelligent.   She also graduates from college this year.   Time flies!  She told me they practiced last night in a room that could hold the over 500 members of her marching band and that they'd be getting up at 3 am!   Oi.

I am grateful that I have a friend named Tim from Canada who completes me.   We often joke that we were brothers separated by conception in that we share so much.    He is my very best friend even though we've never met.   Every Friday we converse over the phone for several  hours.   I so value this.   I wish his Mum well this holiday season.

I am also grateful for the place where I've been working for five years and that continues to reward me for my efforts with praise and coinage!   I've never worked in a place that is so friendly and driven to help those in need to turn their lives around.

I am also thankful that the first squatters of this land were so warm and friendly in their welcoming of my ancestors in the 1680's as they nearly killed all of us as we dared to set foot on their land.    Perhaps if the hurricane that drove our ship into the rocks off of Maine had not happened, we would have found worthwhile first squatters who could celebrate diversity and immigrants.   I am grateful because the first squatting dirtbags failed to kill us all.   I'm here because of their laziness in removing white people from Maine.

 I am grateful that the Democrats failed to capture the Senate so anything they do on impeachment will fail to result in removal from office of our great President, Agent Orange, the Donald.    I am also grateful that the Senate has the real power and we can remove the leftist infection from the Supreme Court with more great conservative jurists!    Next up for replacement:  Ruth Buzzi Ginsberg!   

I am grateful for the robust economy that is of no result from the punitive actions of King Pimple of a Man.   He told us we'd never ever again experience growth like this.  It is queer that he should now try to steal credit for  him despite blaming his eight years of terror on George W. Bush.

I am grateful for being a fag - I loves me some serious men and their wonderful bodies.   And I love the widest range possible of backgrounds of men.   I don't care who you are or where you come from.   I appreciate every flavor!

Another Thanksgiving is upon us in the United States.

In Canada, they've long celebrated this holiday somewhere near Halloween.    They'll likely be celebrating something called boxing day when we in the states will be thinking only about Christmas.

Alas.

I'd like to recognize of the things that I am truly thankful for in this year of our Lord, two thousand and sixteen.     I know the Lord pisses some off.    I do choose my words carefully.

The highlight of my life is always those whom I consider to be friends - the old fashioned measure of friends - the people whom I'd invite over for dinner - not the kind on a book of fakery that satisfies an inner need to have a large number of followers and friends.

Heading this year's list of true friends is my beloved from Canada.    Years have come and gone and yet, my friend is always there every Friday for our weekly telephone conversation of all things topical and not.   This is a virtual tour of my southern porch where we'll sit and sip Mint Julips with our white gloves carefully pulled up and our sun bonnets placed on in a typically southern way.    We'll rock away the hours sipping and laughing and spitting up to truly fanciful conjecture and speculation and gossip.    Hours will take flight in a way only Star Trek could envision.   They'll seem like minutes as we've talked each other's ears off with the hottest gossip that only us fags can do.

There is something so precious about these weekly gatherings - hundreds if not thousands of miles separate our homosexual lives from each other, yet we continue to be amazed that we are so similar even in our differences and that we are truly separated at conception as we are like brothers who want to get naughty someday.

I do relish taking my spot on the Veranda awaiting for him to glide into his rocking chair all dressed up in his Canadian flag dress and matching ruby red slippers bringing along his cadre of possums while I hide my Poppet until the very end - the wicked monkey does so want to come out and play.

In our discussions, we've found the long lost recipe to worship differences and to respect them instead of using them to cap each other's asses with firearms or a well placed high heel to the forehead.    I'm at a loss how we in humanity can no longer hold a conversation that has two distinct viewpoints.    In this era of ultra-sensitive personas who must always win every battle, it is a lost art to take a bold sip of mint julip when someone utters words that diverge from our own thoughts and ideals.   

I've found that in truly worthwhile relationships where two individuals congregate, that a large container of mint julip is so necessary to have on hand; for I've found that talking about things that we both agree on grows rather rancid the longer we agree.   Having abundance in things minty and julipy always makes divergent thoughts go down better than a spoon full of sugar.   And in the end, when there is sufficient divergence, we are both feeling a bit more happy anyway.    Without the Mints and the Julips, we'd be looking at each other and yawning.

Do you have someone whom you can converse on a telephone for hours and manage not to repeat items?    In this era of hashtags up the ass and twits of twits of retwits of twits and twats, I find it comforting that I can reach out and touch the land of maple leafs and maple syrup and have someone who I feel I've known for eternity.    There is something so comforting about our Friday discussions that even politics can't shake and that our worries about our own lives can't shake.    It is as if on Friday we both put on our most precious garb and play dress up wondering how outrageous the other will look or if we can catch the other with lipstick misplaced on a denture.

I suppose I am most thankful that I breathe and can experience Fridays in a simultaneous reality above all things.    I could stoop to being thankful for mere breath or having my family intact or having a job or a big-boned cat with sufficient fluffitude to make me want to hug her incessantly.    I could be thankful for being able to achieve wood without a little blue pill or that my sex drive still borders on near criminal.   I could be thankful for having the gift to write enough words onto a digital recording device that I am an author of two books to date with two more in the oven.

Yet, this Thanksgiving I have to note that the most wonderful thing in the world to me are my Fridays where I recapture a closeness that I've not known in the more than twenty years since my Richard passed away.

All things considered, my life is quite dandy with my Friday candy.

Thanksgiving is now a celebration of gluttony and racial insensitivity.

But has anything really changed from how Thanksgiving came to be?

We know the narrative of the evil that has been brought to this continent by European White people.    Disease, slavery, and abuse of mother earth are concepts that never existed on these shores until those Christian White People decided to steal land that was never theirs.    While it is laudable that these people braved weeks of ocean travel facing rats, disease, and waves (not to mention monster sea creatures) to seek a land that would offer them freedom, they brought with them the concepts of enslaving black people and first squatters.

And to celebrate all of this negative karma, these white people give us "Thanksgiving".

The nerve of those people.

What do we have to be thankful for?    Those first squatters who came from somewhere other than this continent had exclusive and perpetual rights to victimhood and ownership by virtue of them being the first successful two legged breeders to set forth on this soil.   They didn't kill each other to claim this land.   These people were the saviors of the earth - taking only what they needed and not seeking to build oil pipelines across the land.   These nearly nude first squatters respected women's rights - they afforded women clothing made from animal skins and didn't force the women to stay barefoot and pregnant - first squatters fashioned sandals and moccasins for the women to wear while they tended womanly duties handed down  by Mother Earth, not by their husbands or evil white man laws.    And women controlled their bodies by pushing off males that wanted to mate and when a fetus would become still born, Mother Earth also controlled reproductive rights - a woman was in charge.   Not some stank fat white man with hair on his back and a penis erect enough to poke out of a roll of flab or two.

First squatters carefully only killed animals for food and clothing which explains why the Buffalo was so well treated on the plains.    Not only did the first squatters carefully respect the land and its mammalian inhabitants, they also carefully cultivated useful crops like corn and tobacco.     We do have to remember that it was the evil white man who turned tobacco into cigarettes.    First squatters just grew tobacco because it was cool to look at and provided shade for snakes to live in the hot southern north american summers. 

While the first squatters were a collection of different tribes and wore different feathers and clothing and had different gods to worship, they were most respectful amongst each other and sometimes allowed warring tribes to survive instead of being footnotes to genocides we shan't discuss.    And some first squatters had red skins and others were more brown skinned and some had chiefs and structures where some first squatters were better off and were the one percenters of their day.    But we shan't go there for the narrative of the pure and wonderful first squatter is one where we relish in their quaint poverty and near nudity.   After all, when we can exploit first squatters, we need not use the best off of their clans - we must exploit the poor, the children, and the women.    We can be sure that first squatter men were the best that men will ever be, but we have to be reminded that even first squatter men achieved an erection and wanted a place to put it.    That's why women are superior.

Over in the land of the black plague, wars of conquest, Crusades against innocent mooslims who hadn't yet fathomed a notion to push gay people off the tallest building in the land, there were white people who hadn't even thought that a black life mattered.    There were Kings and Queens -queens who were truly women and not men who fancied themselves as one - there were people who exploited other white people for profit and who owned black people as slaves.   These are the world's most evil people - born without pigment and without real athletic skill having the audacity to keep people who had darker skin than them down and out.    They clung to a God who was nailed to a cross and said to have risen again.    This was truly disturbing since that God was not Mother Earth but rather a Christian Motha Focka.

Yet all was not well in the land of the White People - they constantly fought and killed their enemies - sometimes they torched them at the stake - sometimes they beheaded them before it was fashionable to do so in the Mooslim world -sometimes the white people hanged or drew and quartered the white people who weren't white enough.   And the white men treated their women so poorly that this is where the war on women originated.    You do need to ignore that some women became Queens and ruled their kingdoms.   Those were just mistakes.    The rest of the women in the lands had to spread their legs for nasty white men with furry backs and butt cracks and who lasted fifteen seconds before their duty was done and they fell asleep on top of the unfortunate female.

With White People doing the hating - as we know that is all they do - hate - hate - hated it - some White People fled into tiny wooden boats (which raped Mother Earth in the process of having trees cut down) and decided they wanted to rape new lands and to defile and to enslave whomever they came across and they brought with them their God conveniently nailed to a cross - which made this religion so portable and wonderful to behold.   After weeks of sea sickness and having to consume rats when all food stores had spoiled or been consumed, these White People along with their property of black lives matter future banner holders, finally arrived on a new land just like the First Squatters had done - this time by sea while the First Squatters used a land bridge from the West to set foot on this soil.    But by virtue of squatting on this land first, these first squatters had anchor babies and thus were the rightful and perpetual owners of this land and anyone who thought they could fight for rights of ownership were fools.

November in New England is a wonderful place to be - leaves turning color, wonderful displays of pumpkins and corn stalks, and a sense that a holiday needed to be created that tied all of these things with a sense of being thankful for things - even if you are a woman underneath a furry man or a black lives matters future banner holder who felt exploited by being forced to cross the ocean with stank white men and rats.     And those poor first squatters - barely more developed than a loin cloth and some deer skin coats with tassels, these poor souls treated the pigment free invaders with a harvest that would soon be the celebration of all celebrations where gluttony and tossing pigskins would soon rule the land.     It should be noted that the first squatters did not ask the pigment free people what their religion was or ask the pigment free people for their papers to prove that they were legally allowed to be here.    No, the first squatters were just the nicest people this side of Walton's mountain and welcomed the mushroom whities with open arms.

This was the high point in multicultural awareness and celebration.    The first squatters gave the whities corn and deer and turkey and sweet potatoes and the evil white people returned the favor by giving the first squatters the flu, venereal diseases, and other wonderful contagions and then introduced the concept of war onto a set of people who spent their lives singing around campfires and singing old negro spirituals before they were old negro spirituals.    Yes, the white man by virtue of setting his grubby feet, hairy backs and buttocks onto this land while carrying their portable religious device known as Christ on a cross had become a contagion of epic proportions.    White people brought the concept of property rights and law and set forth to build townships where they could burn witches, lynch black lives matter banner holders, and white people who believed in independence from the King or Queen of the day.

 And now hundreds of years later we are destined to celebrate all of these flaws of white privilege while not thinking about inviting someone from the south who entered this country out of opportunity rather than of the law or while not inviting a wonderful Syrian family of one man of about twenty years of age who has left an orphan and old people at home to become raped and killed by wonderful mooslims with beards, black apparel not by Fubu and who have a carefully rehearsed way of separating heads from bodies of people who won't convert to their religion.    You see, in our country these days, the real bad people are the ones who fear for their lives and who expect refugees to actually be refugees and not agents of evil doers.

But remember, the pilgrims are the original evil doers.