krippledkonscious

What what? I go and get pissed off enough to finally navigate my way back to this space, and I find a new post from the Good Dr. of Thumbgreenery? Gives me the warm fuzzies, that does, and here I was with butthole all clenched up in a rectal fist of rage, ready to spew forth a fiery brown stream of hot distemper. Because just when I feared the Occupy movement was losing steam, the recent porkish thuggery of the Oakland PD has motivated me to post with a heady fervor I haven’t felt since the Daze of Dubya. So I’m pushing the happy thoughts out for the time being so I can get my rant on.

But here’s what I finally logged back in to point out: Fuck the fucking police. Holy shit, I can’t believe how disgusted it made me seeing videos of the Oakland PD hiding inside their riot gear and firing into a crowd of citizens. Citizens of the United States who are pointing out that the Game is rigged, that our elected officials are relatively inexpensive assets taking direction from corrupt corporations, beset upon by public employees who are nominally charged with protecting and serving the citizenry, but who have become subservient attack dogs under the beck and call of their moneyed masters. The Republicans should be fucking facepalming the shit out of themselves for being the ones who kept mislabeling OWS as “Class Warfare” because what just happened in Oakland is exactly what Class Warfare really is: the power and money, Government owned by Big Business, punishing the dissident population that dares question their claim to authority.

The most telling part of this video in particular wasn’t the callous and casual grenade/gassing of the protestors who were trying to assist the injured Olsen, even though the first time I saw that I swore so hard my laptop screen still smells like my dinner. The worst part was the realization that after being gassed and chased away once, the protestors returned, gathered Olsen up, and hurriedly carried him AWAY FROM THE POLICE. The side with the guns and armor, who so easily rationalized resorting to violence was “the law.” And a hundred yards in the opposite direction was SAFETY.

But this news is too incendiary to not be picked up by the media, and so this may well be the kind of catalyst that the Occupy movement needed to push it up past it’s previous plateau. The only good thing about the militarized police force and their political enablers overplaying their hand is that this same hubris and compromised judgment is what will eventually precipitate their downfall. This is how it has to end, otherwise this country cannot continue to exist as a democracy.

Coincidentally, it seemed odd that the Republicans were suddenly so keen on keeping our troops in the Middle East, but now I realize that the Republicans should be very afraid of the troops’ homecoming. We’re already at 9% unemployment. What jobs are the vets going to be coming home to? The GI Bill doesn’t pay for much college anymore either. Thousands of disillusioned veterans with a mess of a country waiting for them, no foreign war to distract the public; focus will return to the homefront, and the vets will have a lot more in common with the Occupiers than they do with the Republican party, who still won’t have any answers except deregulation and tax cuts for their benefactors. I sincerely hope this means the Movement is just getting started. All those wasted years, all those protests during the Dubya presidency that never amounted to much – it was back then that they were laying the shoddy foundation for this economic collapse, and now we’re living the consequences. I hope Scott Olsen recovers completely, and I hope this is the tipping point at last.

I popped in here after many moons of not checking to see that Professor Krippled is up to his old musings again, which makes me a happy panda. Into the abyss of fatherhood go we. What sweet, surreal, sleep deprived fun this business is. I think Samuel L. Jackson read it best when he said “shut the fuck up and go to sleep.” But there is probably no greater joy on this earth than a simple smile from your child. Gets me every single time. I just melt. It’s phenomenal.

Anywho, what brought me to this corner of the interwebs today was to bemoan the saddest article I’ve seen a long while. I came acrosss this article, reporting that parents in New York have had their children removed from their homes for the simple pseudocrime of possession of marijuana. Not intent to distribute amount, mind you, but obviously quantities consistent with personal us.

What abject hypocrisy this is. And what a wretched abuse of public money to affect what can only be deleterious consequences on all parties involved.

Congratulations, State of New York. Without a shred of probable cause, you’ve disrupted families no doubt already under the pressures of economic hardship. You’ve found criminality where no malicious act against another existed. In the name of protecting children, you’ve uprooted them and thrown them into unfamiliar environments when no evidence of neglect existed. For shame.

I was immediately reminded of the recent shenanigans with the Department of Education in Hawaii, where some numbnuts decided that the appropriate reaction to the unfortunate incidents concerning teachers involved with drug dealing rings was to just drug test everybody, probable cause be damned. You could be teacher of the year somewhere, beloved by kids and parents alike, singlehandedly saving whatever otherwise lousy school you were at, but if you smoked a joint two weeks ago on a Friday night, it was curtains for your hippie ass. Meanwhile a tweaker could be on crystal meth until the day before the test and come up clean. Makes sense to me.

I guess the moral of the story is; in this age of getting our panties knotted up over spending and revenues, I’m pretty sure that the best use of taxpayer money is not making felons out of and snatching babies away from otherwise law-abiding, economically productive citizens whose only offense was choosing a safer intoxicant at the end of the day than alcohol. Is there evidence of abuse or neglect? Fine. Is there evidence of diminished work productivity or obvious stigmata of intoxication while working? Fine. Absent those things? If you’re going to accuse someone of neglecting their kids, or assert that they should no longer be teaching children, you’ve better have a goddamn airtight case as to why that serves the public interest. This is most epic failure in that regard.

As some folks have noticed, human life continues its awkward, colicky existence here on a significantly gaseous yet statistically insignificant chunk of star-stuff on its slow roll through what we can only, in our limited understanding and linguistic capability, call “space.”

Lots of hand wringing on multiple sides. Obviously, there is the small minority of folks feeling pretty awkward about the whole physical manifestation thing still going on, after having been pretty convinced that they had at least an eternity booked solid cold chillin’ with Jesus. All us other naysayers are stuck in different camps, wondering if we should laugh, ironically chuckle mirthlessly, or be appalled at the state of spirituality today.

Anyway. As many will point out, a major problem atheists are having is that the Family Radio Freakfast only differs from mainstream Christianity on a somewhat technical point: that while there will be a Rapture, it will never be on a date that the humans will expect. Most Christians rightfully scoffed at Campbell and his flock, but really, where they diverged in belief was on the point of when. “Jesus is coming…” is something that they agree upon, but for mainstream Christians that “…”  implies “… we expect it any day now, but 5/21 is just crazy! That’s like, next week Saturday, that would never happen.”

The “proper” Christian position seems to be that, obviously Jesus is coming back and going to go JUDGMENT on everyone’s ass; then comes a brief period of tribulation followed by a good majority of folks getting an expeditious relocation to Raped-by-Greasy-Poisoned-Fiery-Cockroach Hell for all eternity.  But you can’t set a date! “No Man Knows…” “thief in the night…’ DUH! So any date you’re expecting will be wrong. But that means there’s a loophole! All we have to do is get just one Christian to believe that “tomorrow” is going to be Judgment Day, then we’ll never have one! Each Christian will instructed from birth that the Rapture will occur on the day of their birth, plus 10 years.

I am hereby patenting Sustainable Salvation. You all owe me a few painless eternities.

I haven’t been exercising my mental muscles much lately, putting in too few writing reps. I’ve been at my job so long that I can feel my vocabulary starting to revolve around business speak; on the clock I have to be excruciatingly self-aware in every communication, and in my head I’m trying to stay a step ahead while keeping all the angles covered. While this has so far worked pretty well career-wise, it seems like a sure way to trap myself into a very 2-dimensional state of mind. So on my own time I need to make more of an effort to fuck around for the sake of fuck’s sake.

But there’s this constant nag in my brain that insists that what I do have some value. Since this web site is willfully as anonymous as possible, consists of a jumbled collection of random musings, and serves no real purpose except as a backup of my id, I feel like the only value that can be derived is if I am being truly creative. To be creative I need to either have a novel thought or idea, or am able to articulate that idea in a new way. At the same time, I’ve contemplated the vastness of the internet and the many minds that power it, and I feel humbled, an insignificant and vestigial organ. I assume that out in ever-expanding cyberspace someone else has already had the same idea I did, and/or has presented it well to an appreciative audience. My fear is that I might in fact be creating and contributing nothing, that everything is soon to be well-trodden territory, up to and including this heaping pile of warm angst that I’m producing at this moment. Surely, someone has expounded upon this insecurity before. I can’t even properly credit that person, and if someone accused me of being late to the party and derivative, I would completely agree without needing to see a citation.

So in order to write anything here at all, it’s imperative that I understand that this blog is a purely selfish endeavor and that I might as well put up whatever the hell spills out of my brain and marches onto the screen behind that implacable, blinking cursor. If you can believe it, I have a whole folder of poorly-titled text files, the digital equivalent of a composition book under the mattress, filled with half-considered notions and thoughts not fully explored, that I relegated to digital purgatory. I vow to stop doing this, to shit on this pot, and to treat this web site like the freshly painted wall of a proper craplocker. The internet does not care.

Holy furious fucksnacks, what a week. Near emotionally exhausted at this point.
Monday: two friends, who were both groosmen in my wedding party, had their first child on the same day. One of whom is once-frequent contributor here: Dr. Feelgood. Mazeltov like a motherfucker to the new families, and may their girls start sleeping through the night ahead of schedule, grow up healthy and attractive, yet for some reason remain asexual until such a time that they find themselves amongst eligible bachelors who are emotionally stable, wealthy, and wise.

Then what? A bunch of tornadoes stampede through the country and cause unbelievable damage. Obama fucks with Trump, releasing the birth certificate that only helps set off astounding new demonstrations in mental contortions in the crazypantshitter crowd. And on Friday, yet another birth – this time it was my best man and his wife welcoming their first born boy. Two days later Osama Bin Laden got his head capped by the baddest-ass mothers on this planet: Seal Team 6.

Suffice to say, all of these events deserve a shitload of contemplation. I wish I got paid to do it, because there’s so much I want to say and just not enough time to organize my thoughts into some kind of coherent and understandable form. Our first born is still being brewed up and the necessary preparations have accelerated in our home. Seems like there’s hardly enough time for anything right now, and it’s going to get even tighter in the coming months. Shit, being an adult is a real pain in the ass.

Sent the below to our homegrown Chariman of the Appropriations Committee in the hopes that we can stop funneling money towards getting fondled at airports. I can do that myself and can at least ensure the happy ending.

“Dear Senator Inouye,

I have been following the developing national conversation regarding the increasingly invasive procedures utilized by the Transportation Security Administration with great interest, and I would like to take this opportunity to lend my voice. I believe that we have been engaged in security theatre for far too long, rationalizing everything as a necessary precaution following September 11, 2001. 9 years later, the threat I perceive is no longer from attackers abroad, it is a domestic threat upon my Constitutional right to remain secure within my person and effects, to not be subjected to unreasonable search and seizure without probable cause. To be told that these security measures are still necessary and must be applied is making a blanket assumption that we, U.S. citizens, are terror suspects due to the mere fact that we want to travel by air. We continue to honor the military for “protecting our freedoms” while fighting abroad, so it’s hard to countenance the erosion of our actual freedoms by our domestic policies. The TSA programs have served to escalate the level of paranoia and mistrust in the citizenry and it is unreasonable and untenable to continue a program of harassment. The steady increase in security protocols has long since surpassed inconvenience; citizens are now beginning to feel intimidated. We are subjecting otherwise innocent elderly, minor, and disabled persons, not to mention victims of previous sexual abuse, to physical molestation under the draconian impetus of TSA procedures. If our stated enemy is terror we cannot continue nurturing fear.

The issue is particularly relevant and amplified here in a state that relies economically on the circulation of people through its airports. For tourists and immigrants, I can’t think of a more disturbing message to convey about how the United States views its own citizens. That no actual threats have been averted based on random airport screenings alone makes me question what positive impact this program has had on our citizenry; as far as I am aware, the only beneficiaries for this increase in security protocols are the TSA’s budget and the bottom line of its equipment contractors. I would rather see our tax money routed towards the intelligence programs that analyze and prepare for potential threats; these programs seem to be working as actual threats have been averted. I do not want to continue funding the charade at the airport gate that increasingly infringes upon my Constitutional rights; we’ve upped the ante so much at this point that we need to stop throwing our money in the pot and call our own bluff. We need to start back on the path towards personal liberty and freedom from persecution before we forget what those fundamental rights ever felt like.”

…by which I mean that I utilize it about once a year despite paying annual renewal expenses like a chump. I imagine the throaty chortles of the accountants who know my revenue:use ratio, to whom I’m the perfect client. But now I’ve got my nifty new Android phone. So why not try a post while working on some pro-arthritis thumb thumping?

Anyway, I’m still alive. And after deleting my Facebook account a few months ago, I found my desire to holler into the inter-tubes woefully unserved. But great Jah’s johnson, I’m not gonna resort to twitter-jerking.

The need to feel popular and achieve status is really annoying in the digital version of society. So we’ll continue being anonymous here at kk.com for everyone’s benefit.

World, and especially Americans, please pay attention: there are millions of Iranians fighting for democracy and reform at this moment, having suffered too long under a theocratic regime that has caused the entirety of their nation to be viewed as ignorant extremists. I’m grinding my teeth just typing that.

It is remarkable that this isn’t being covered minute-by-minute by every American news outlet. (Most of what’s been coming out has been best compiled and linked-to via Andrew Sullivan’s blog.) Maybe they’re afraid of people drawing (apt) comparisons between what is going on over there and how the United States, the self-anointed template of freedom and democracy, almost went the same route. Bush II was strangely reminiscent of Ahmadinejad – a useful idiot-puppet controlled by a more insidious power, a figurehead who appealed to the right-wing but is such a parody that the left almost couldn’t take him seriously (a miscalculation we certainly paid for). Ahmadinejad’s administration represents an eerie approximation of the American neo-con’s ultimate agenda; the difference being that Iran has been easier to manipulate through existing methods of denying access to education, equal representation, civil rights, etc. There but for the grace of the Constitution went we.

Best of luck, Iran. This is the change that the neo-cons insisted would be brought about by force, invading and occupying Iraq. Assholes. Thank you for further proving them wrong and showing the world that freedom and democracy was already in your hearts. Your struggle, and hopefully your eventual victory, will be a lasting example to all nations and those who fight for what is righteous and true.

First of all, please ensure that you have a total of 3 minutes and 39 seconds (not including load time, but I’m not doing any bandwidth mathematicacians) to devote to sitting and watching your ‘puter tube for the duration of the following video. Go wash the dishes, sweep the crumbs from your feeding surfaces, bequeath your leavings to the sewer folk, and settle in. Start from the beginning, no skipping around. Let it develop.

Observe:

NO ONE MESS WITH NATURE.

I’m not sure what it was that prompted these people to start filming and then have the patience to keep the camera rolling despite the obvious persistent rain and the ever hugening raging flood about to claim all in its path. Maybe they anticipated this, knowing that the pipe was already jammed and couldn’t be cleared before impassive, implacable forces of nature and physics tore this embankment a bigger shithole. I’m just super happy they did.

A couple of times in the past two weeks I have apparently willed events into manifesting into my reality. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself, because it’s a really quirky coincidence to spend some time contemplating something one day, and to have that same thing present itself the next. I just wish last night didn’t happen. Because frankly, I needed the sleep and now I cannot force that sound out of my head.

So what happened was this: the night before last I was thinking about how I’m getting older, and some shit just doesn’t go down any more like it used to when you were young. It started off merely thinking about how we are so much better at controlling our liquored-up selves in this third decade of life. We are very good at not allowing ourselves to plunge into that awful state of pure drunken mental infantility where one second you’re thinking to yourself: well, why not just knock back this last inch of tequila from the plastic bottle – we already drank the rest of it and we lost the cap and I’ve still got gummy bears to chase it with; and the next second you are running down the hall laughing your ass off while smacking your head against doorjambs and fire extinguishers, barfing into the washing machine and then throwing your pants into the stairwell, then waking up the next day with a headache that would kill 10 midgets and even worse than the fact that you’ve apparently sharted is the fact that you don’t know when and who might have been around at the time of eruption. Yeah, we don’t do that anymore. Not that we ever did, as far as anyone else remembers or can prove conclusively.

And then my thoughts wandered to: you just don’t hear random people fucking anymore. You know. Wandering the dorm hallways at any given hour, or living in the 100% student-occupied apartments around campus, every now and then you’d hear some chick making whatever personally satisfying noise that she naturally gravitated towards while in the act of being physically eroticized. It’s always a little creepy, a lot funny, and of course oddly (and I use this word with full malice aforethought) titillating to be witness to that. People can’t always control the noises nor volume at which they get off, and it’s a little refreshing to hear some unrestrained emotion and know that hey, someone is getting it done. It may be a one night thing, and maybe tomorrow they’ll regret it, but shit – right now they are fucking down and enthusiastically orgasmic.

So I kind of got wistful about it. We live in a pretty quiet apartment building now, in which the primary residents are middle-aged-or-more asians (read: quiet and conservative) with a sprinkling of families sprouting young kids. When I and the fiancee get it on, she’ll occasionally let loose and we wonder if our neighbor can hear and will observe her reaction to us if we see her the next day. But the walls are pretty thick, the chances seem slim, and nary a moan have I heard from any other nearby apartment in lo so many years.

Until fucking last night. On the night where I had stayed up late working, when I desperately wanted every minute of the little sleep I could fit in so I could wake up earlier than usual for a first-thing-in-the-morning presentation. And forgive me for further delay, but I am a heavy sleeper. This is the city and there is a highway at one end of the block, a bus stop on the other, and a hospital with ambulance entry on a third side and I sleep through all of it and more. And it must have been 4:00 AM. 4 fucking AM when a sharp series of cries wakes me up and Lord it’s a strange sound, and it takes me a while to figure out that it is not, in fact, some vicious thug stomping on an amorous cat’s stomach, or someone having some sort of autistic fit that is laced with Tourette’s. And I think to myself, “No fucking way, I just thought about this shit yesterday, I’ve not heard this kind of thing in naught but 10 years, and for holy hell why is she so LOUD at 4 FUCKING O’ CLOCK?” And on and on she goes, and it’s not even the mildly pleasant or sensual variety of orgiastic noises, it’s more of a guttural, whooping ululation punctuated with four-letter instructions on what to keep doing to her. At one point, I can even make out the unmistakable staccato of skin slapping skin, her wailing vocal accompaniment contributing to an entirely primal cacophony of passion; a bohemian drum and vocal duo being fiercely finger-banged by a crack rock. And on. And on. And on, though they would take breaks for a few minutes yet on they would go and holy shit, is this the climax yet? Shoot the load already, dude! She’s yelling “Fuck me harder fuck me harder fuck you fuck you fuck! Fuck! Me! Harder!” and at one point I grunt out the window “Fuck her harder already!” but there is just no shaming or stopping or escaping this pair (or maybe my estimate is low?). It’s echoing off the walls of the building next to us, you can hear how the vocals pick up a little bit of frequency distortion as they reflect off the surface of the pool, and for shit’s sake, are they on the balcony? How is this so loud? There are children in this city!

As dawn starts tugging away the darkness their furious humping continues, though I have been able to catch catnaps between rounds when I assume he must be receiving oxygen treatments and she is applying buckets of lubrication and maybe they’re both mainlining amphetamines, but the fucking will not abate. They are machines. The coffee starts grinding at 6:30 AM and traffic is picking up outside, yet every now and then she’ll let out another series of full-throated howls, and I need to stop and listen because I think that maybe I’m just having auditory hallucinations. I mean, it’s morning – people are up and the aforementioned kids are getting ready to go to school. But no. Not even the sun can chase away her need to get fucked, harder, fuck you! HARDER and her dude is completely and impressively the one to keep steady the supply, all balls and business. And now I’m a little hesitant to go to bed. The sound is in my head. The fucking, oh the fucking.

Fucking amazing.