Will I ever meet my grandchildren?


Here is a tribute to my grandchildren that I published here a few months ago. I have never met, nor even had a phone exchange with any of them except for Joshua’s boys:  Isaiah (son of Joshua) when he was about eight or nine. And Jalen (aka, “Jayswirl”) when he was maybe 14.  But I have never met Mia, Poppy or Dorothy (daughters of Jesse) or Cam, Ian and Joy (offspring of Jordan).  It is likely that I never will.

Apparently, the twins entered into a pact with my ex (their mother, Lynne) that unless I take the initiative and travel to Illinois, I would never meet  them, and that prohibition apparently extends to phone calls as well. When I have called to touch base with my boys, they have never offered to let me talk to their children.

The problem I have with that is that between Lynne and Qadisha, (my two ex’s) they pillaged my inheritance and so I have no disposable income, and beings that Ceridwen and I live on Social Security, that’s not likely to change.

There is another, equally unlikely, scenario:  The grandchildren could get together and fly themselves (either all together or individually) out here to the Redwood Coast and meet with me, without their parents.

I’ve made it a point for the last few years to send birthday presents to all of my grandchildren. Do the kids know from whom these “mystery” packages from California originate?  Cam does. His dad has taken pictures with Cam posing with my presents.

During a messenger exchange a few months back (it was still Summer) Jordan did mention something like him having time off coming in November and it sounded like he might have had a plan to come out. But when I talked to him about it in October he said they had some financial set backs and they needed a new dishwasher, so a trip in the fall was not feasible.

The bottom line is that my ever meeting the grandchildren is not very likely. I turned 72 this past November 15th (2025). The life span of Arseneau men seems to average around 75, on the other hand, my plan is to live to see 100.  The Jewish birthday wish is “… may you live to see 120.” Moses was 120 when he died, so I am guessing that is where that tradition comes from.

How to cope?  I’ve recently  joined three FaceBook groups that are supposed to help you deal with your estranged children. If nothing else, maybe I will find some peace concerning this.  I am seeing a therapist, every other week.  I’m not sure what, if any, good is coming of that, but it does give me a neutral ear to kvetch in.

I have thought about throwing caution to the wind and sending each of the twins a copy of one of the mythicism books, such as those written by Richard Carrier.

Waiting is.

 


Cats


I’ve had a lot of relationships with our feline friends over the years.  I think they are some of the most fascinating creatures on our planet.  On my first visit to a zoo (Brookfield ZooI marveled at the way that the big cats, lions, tigers, panthers, etc., acted so much like their domesticated cousins.

Petronius (Pete) was my first. He was a Tabby, and kind of followed me home from school one day. We were living on South Osborn at the time. I was about 14. I named him after a fictional feline in Robert Heinlein’s novel, The Door Into Summer. He was an indoor/outdoor cat and usually spent his nights outside and days inside.  He would appear at my bedroom window every morning, and I would let him in, talk to him, feed him and he would usually fall asleep on my bed before I left for school. He didn’t have a litter box – never needed one as he took care of his needs outdoors.

One morning he didn’t appear at my window. It was one of those very cold, very blustery February days in Illinois. It had snowed over night and the fresh stuff had accumulated on out car. I went out before school and shoveled the walks off. My dad asked me if I’d like a ride to school and I said “of course.”  The car didn’t start and when my dad popped the hood to take a look, there was Pete. He was gone. It looked like he had quite a fight with some other being, and he had bled out from his wounds.

Princess was our second.  I was married to Lynne and we were living on South Chicago Avenue.  She came to us in the winter, an adult Tabby who appeared on our back porch.  The twins were, I think, eight years old. They were the ones who named her. We set her up in the basement with a litter box.  Princess was a very loving cat and spent a lot of her time on my chest when I was  home. About six weeks after our first encounter she gave birth to seven kittens (apparently, she was pregnant when she adopted us).  

Lynne hated Princess.   Lynne had grown up on a farm and the only felines she knew were the barn cats, that, well, lived in the barn and kept the rodents at bay. “Cats do not live in houses with people,” was her belief, and she wanted nothing to do with Princess. As it turned out, Lynne was allergic to fleas, so that didn’t help our case. And like all cats, Princess had her share of them.  When Spring came we took Princess and her kittens to Lynne’s parents farm, and left them there (in spite of my protests).

Sydney belonged to Qadisha, and I met him when I landed in Santa Cruz in May of 1992.  We actually hit it off right away, and his favorite spot in the house became my lap. He was also a Tabby, but more dominant grey than Princess or Pete. He was indoor/outdoor, so no litter box.

We  had this little potted evergreen tree. A sibling Scotch Pine. It mainly lived outside, but at Yule time we brought it in and decorated it. Sydney had decided he would kill it, and he made a noble try, peeing in it whenever it was indoors.  In the summer of 1997 Sydney was found dead in the pot the pine grew in.  Sydney was quite elderly at the time, so were no sure if he just died of old age or if he ate something that didn’t agree with him. We had him cremated and buried his ashes in the pot with the Scotch Pine, and so he finally got his wish: the Scotch Pine died because the ashes were toxically too acidic for it.

Aleister. One day Qadisha and I were riding around Santa Cruz doing errands. Out of the blue she said, “You know, if we were ever to acquire a black male kitten, we should name him Aleister, after Aleister Crowley.”  I laughed and said, “Well, I’ve always admired black cats. But wouldn’t naming one after Crowley be a bit of a heavy burden on a kitten?”

The next day (yes, the very next day) three kids came to our door with a little black long haired kitten. We sent them away. THREE TIMES! Finally when they came back they told us that their mom was going to kill the kitten if they didn’t find a home for him.

Aleister became my cat. He lived with Qadisha while we were in Santa Cruz, but as soon as we moved to Ashland (OR) he became my responsibility.

Ceridwen moved into my townhouse with me in May 1998.  She brought Hunter, her
cat of about twenty years, with her. He was an amiable cat, but pretty much kept to himself. He and Aleister got along very well, and they never fought. Hunter passed away not too long after Ceridwen moved in with me. We found a tiny cave up above Lithia Park in Ashland, and covered it with a big rock. That became Hunter’s tomb.

We moved to Grants Pass in September 1998.  We lived on 20 acres, surrounded by about 700 acres of BLM land about 800 feet above Grants Pass (about a 10 min. drive to town). Our driveway was about 3/4 mile long.  Aleister had free run of the entire 20 acres, and no doubt ventured further than that. He used to bring us all sorts of “presents:” birds, lizards, small rodents, etc.  We think perhaps one of these, a blue bellied lizard perhaps, may have been what ultimately led to his death. He was buried in the little garden we had bellow our cabin.

One day I came home from work and met Gwidion and Buddha. They were two brothers from the same litter that Ceridwen had found at a local animal shelter. Gwiddon (“Gwiddy”) was a black American Short Hair, and his brother Buddha (originally named Kundun, which was the childhood name of the 14th Dalai LLama) was a black Mane Coon.  Like Aleister, they had free run of the twenty acres and, like Aleister, they brought home “presents” (of course they did. It was “wild kingdom” up there).  They would exit and enter the house through a window in the bathroom, which opened onto our back deck, which led to a board that served as a ramp down to the ground (the back deck was 10 feet off the ground).  Our Grants Pass home was great place to be a cat.  The house was an eight sided cabin, with a central pole, and eight  suspension poles that radiated from it.  The cats would run along those poles, and hang out on the roof of the bathroom, or in our sleeping loft.

There was an incident one day. Ceridwen doesn’t sleep well, and one day she was up quite late, after sunrise, and had opened the bathroom window to let the cats out.  Every night, about 100 yards down the hill from our house, a group of Coyotes would gather. On this particular day, Ceridwen, after opening the window to let the cats out, was sitting at her computer when she noticed out or the corner of one eye something black streak up one of the two ponderosa pines that were growing near our house. She got up and went to the kitchen window, only to see Gwidion about 100 feet up one tree, and Buddha up the other. On the ground, was a really big Coyote, wandering about between the two trees, waiting for his “breakfast” to come down. Ceridwen went into a maternal rage (basically channeling the Hindu Goddess, Kali) and ran unarmed out of the house, chasing the Coyote away from our clearing.

It took Ceridwen about an hour, and a couple cans of tuna, to coax the boys down from the trees. When he finally came down, Buddha was limping. He had somehow gotten hurt in all the chaos. He spent about the next three weeks up in out sleeping loft. We brought a litter box and his food up to him.

The Coyotes who nightly gathered in the clearing south of our cabin disappeared after this, never to be seen again.

In April of 2004 we moved to Eureka CA, to the King Salmon area. The cats became strictly indoor at that point, since there were too many other cats in the neighborhood.  In 2009 we moved to the Myrtletown area of Eureka, where we still are today.  Gwydion passed away from an inflamed pancreas that year. Buddha died from old age about 2011. Both of them are buried in our back yard, where their remains feed out fence of Jasmine.

Taliesin is out present house cat.  He was rescued from a crazy cat guy’s property up off Highway 36 (near Bridgeville) where he had about 60 feral felines competing for resources and just running wild. He would feed then a little kibble now and again but otherwise they were on their own.  We have a friend who occasionally drives up there and rescues two or three kittens at a time. She then takes them to the spay/neuter center and then rehomes them.  Taliesin (“Tally”)  was maybe a month old when he was delivered to us, and quite feral. He spent about the first two months under our bed, and his litter box and dining area was also in our bedroom. That was about four years ago. He bonded with Ceridwen right away (at the time she didn’t have a bad back (like mine) and was able to interact close to the floor with him). It’s only been very recently that he has decided he likes me too.

In addition to Tally, Ceridwen and I are friends with and cat sitters for some ot the neighbors felines, and when neighbors go out of town we are called upon to feed and play with them.  Luna, Russel (“Wussel”) and Shmokey, belong to our close

friends Michael and Annie who live across the street from us in the back half of a duplex.  Sky and Pepper belong to Serena, who lives in the front unit across the street and lastly Luna(2) belongs to Kathy, who lives in the unit behind us.

A new cat has appeared recently. Black and white, very friendly (and wants to come in the house). We don’t know his/her name or which neighbor she/he belongs to (probably one of the tenants from the duplex next to ours). Eventually we will find out.

Waiting is.

Remember that I mentioned that my first wife, Lynne, hates cats?  I am happy and proud to report that all three of my sons have indoor/outdoor felines.  We all just had to escape from her influence in order to participate in the wonderful, marvelous, experience of being owned by cats.

 


DO NOT purchase an HP printer


Or, if you do buy one, don’t sign up for instant ink. Unless you are printing stuff on a daily basis, you will end up spending way more for ink (at the rate of $5/month) than if you just bought your ink at a Staples.

Not only that, if you realize you are being robbed, the ink cartridges you are using that where sent to you via the program; the minute you unenroll from instant ink your ink cartridges, which you paid for, will be rendered useless via a broadcast command from HP.

I bought a new Epson printer at Costco back in July. When I brought my new printer home, I logged into instant ink and dropped out of the subscription. I also instructed the payment service I was using to no longer honor requests from HP Instant Ink. It is December now, and I still get emails from HP asking me to update my payment source.

What will it take to get these ink pirates to stop harassing me?

As I said, don’t buy a printer from HP. It’s just not worth it, and in reality, you  don’t actually own the printer or at least not the right to use it.

 

 


Many paths lead up the mountain


“Many paths lead up the mountain,
but at the top we all look at the same bright moon.”

~~ Ikkyu ~~

I believe that all belief systems, even some of the monotheistic ones, have some truths to offer, even if the whole package leaves something to be desired. We can treat these systems as “buffets of belief,” picking the items we find palatable, and discarding those we find distasteful, and thus add new flavors to our own smorgasbord of belief.

There are numerous examples within Reformed Druidism of this. We embrace Robert A. Heinlein, yet eschew his ultra-libertarian leanings. He was a great writer, who told us our favorite stories, but his politics were just plain wrong. Another one is Leslie Fish, whose filk songs are genius, and gave us our orders official hymn, but like Heinlein, her politics are anathema.

We admire the Dalai Lama, as his teachings for the most part are very compatible with Druidic thought. On the other hand, he is a monarchist, and would probably return Tibet to religious feudalism.

I myself am particularly informed by Kabbalah. I even wear a red string! But Jewish monotheism has really only attracted me since October 7th, 2023.

We believe in, and promote, naturism. Some fundy christians do too. Should we reject naturism then? How about polyamory? Some mormons practice a form of that. Shall we reject the idea because of it’s associations? We embrace the idea of intentional community, and we even have a plan to implement that someday. But many christians like the idea too. Shall we toss that idea in the trash as well?


“WE THE PEOPLE…”


These aren’t just empty words without meaning. They are magick. They were written by magicians. Yes, the founding fathers were magicians. They were Freemasons, and back then (not so much today) those words were a magick spell, a spell that proclaimed to the whole world that WE THE PEOPLE — WE THE COLLECTIVE OF CITIZENS OF THE UNITED STATES –we would be in control of OUR (not “my”, not any one individuals) OWN DESTINY.

What happens in Washington, WE make that happen. Yes, we’ve lost track of things, and yes, and few very rich guys have taken over a few things, but WE THE PEOPLE are still in control, and those of us who use magick can take it all back.

Capitalism is an imperfect system if allowed to just run on it’s own, will allow countless people to starve to death. WE THE PEOPLE — WE THE COLLECTIVE THAT GOVERNS THESE UNITED STATES — we know that if one man is homeless, if one child is hungry, if one person lacks an income WE ALL SUFFER for that. Individualism is a LIE. It’s a very temporary condition, that lasts from the day you are born until the day you die. And then it ends, and you merge back into the collective. THOU ART G-D. That’s what it means. We are here, in this temporary condition, to learn to take care of each other. To overcome the illusion of our individuality. In the deeper reality, the collective is all that there is, and all that has meaning. WE ARE OUR BROTHERS KEEPER. We use government to protect those who through no fault of their own, have fallen victim to capitalistic excess. We use government to put restraints on businesses so that they don’t clearcut the forests; or do what ever the hell they want just for profit because they feel they are “free” to do so.

It’s simple: when my mitral valve failed and had to be replaced, so did yours. So did everyones. Everyone is connected — no one is separate, and that is why we have welfare and food stamps, and why most of the world enjoys free healthcare, and free public education, and much much more (and yes we here should too).

WE THE PEOPLE can take it back, and make this country what it was destined to be — not the United States of (North) America — the United States of the World. Yes, ONE WORLD GOVERNMENT — by the people, for the people, for (WE) THE PEOPLE. Do you honestly believe that the Constitution was written for just 13 states? It was written for the whole world!

 


An email from Duck L’Orange


Honestly, I do not know how I got on this mailing list. Reading it, it’s just one outlandish lie after another. Even the first line is a lie: I have never contacted the White House. I’ll put an asterisk next to every lie I found and bolded it:

Thank you for *contacting the White House.

This Labor Day weekend, President Donald J. Trump *continues to deliver historic victories for the American people.

As a direct result of President Trump’s *pro-growth, *pro-American energy agenda, this weekend, *gas prices are at their lowest price since 2020.  Additionally, *hotel rates are down about 11%, *domestic airfares are down 6% from last year, and *car rental costs are down 3%.  Just as President Trump promised, *America is becoming affordable again.

President Trump *continues to put American workers first.  *Blue-collar wages are rising, private sector *job growth is exploding, *domestic steel production is booming, and the President’s historic *trade deals and landmark tax cuts are *propelling unprecedented opportunity, growth, and success for American families.

American *pride is also roaring back.  This week, President Trump signed an Executive Order to restore respect, honor, and sanctity to the American flag and prosecute those who desecrate this universal symbol of our freedom, identity, and strength.  The *Trump Administration’s revolution of common sense continues—and once again, we are a Nation that cherishes our history and respects our great American traditions.

*Stable prices, booming jobs, and rising confidence are lifting every corner of our Nation—and President Trump is only getting started.

To learn more, visit WhiteHouse.gov.

Here is the email I replied with:

Do you get a commission for every lie you tell?  Because I can tell whenever Duck L’Orange (my name for our POTUS) tells a lie: his lips move. Thank Hashem, when and however tRump leaves office, no Republitard will ever serve in that office again.

My reply email bounced, because the email address it was sent to (which was coded into the original) was noreply@contact.whitehouse.gov  See, they don’t even have the guts to allow comment on their lies.


Had a chat with “Grok” today


In this case “Grok” is not simply a Martian vernacular word from Heinlein’s Stranger In A Strange Land, rather, Grok is a conversational AI chatbot developed by xAI, Elon Musk’s artificial intelligence company. It’s designed to be a powerful assistant that can answer questions, generate text, create images, and even write code. Grok is known for its ability to access real-time information through X (formerly Twitter) and its “rebellious” streak, which allows it to tackle “spicy” questions often avoided by other AI models.

I asked Grok about the Reformed Druids of Gaia (RDG).  Here is what  “she” told me:  “The RDG was co-founded by Ceridwen Seren-Ddaear and Sybok Pendderwydd (aka: Robert M. Larson), in 1996.  Her real name is Ceridwen Arseneau. Ceridwen and Robert are married and they also co-founded the Order of the Mithril Star together.”

Several things are just so wrong in this. First of all, Ceridwen’s real name is Karyn Arseneau. She has used the pseudonym “Ceridwen Seren-Ddaear” throughout her career as a neo-pagan elder/practitioner. I have used the pseudonym “Sybok Pendderwydd” off and on throughout my pagan career as well. I have NEVER used the name “Robert Larson.”  Order of the Mithril Star (OMS) was founded by myself and Duane Adam Rostoker (aka, “Adam Walks Between Worlds”) in  1996 at Big Basin Redwoods State Park, following a “Bring Back the Snakes” party at nearby Boulder Creek Brewery circa St. Patrick’s Day.  RDG was founded by myself and Karyn Arseneau around the Pagan feast of Mabon in 2006.

Grok provided some history of RDG:  “Specific to leadership requirements, circa 2013-2014 there was a mandate issued by the retiring Archdruid that his replacement (as well as those in other RDG leadership roles) must be politically far left and/or affiliated with the Green Party (USA residents).”

This is only partially true. RDG members are expected to be Progressive in their political leanings, but there was never a “mandate” issued by a “retiring Archdruid” (whom I guess is me, but rest assured I never issued such a requirement). I can especially reassure you that I have never endorsed the Green Party, which, in at least the last decade, has proven itself to be radically antisemitic.

“Specific to leadership requirements, circa 2013-2014 there was a mandate issued by the retiring Archdruid that his replacement (as well as those in other RDG leadership roles) must be pansexually (or at least bisexual) polyamorous naturists.”

Another bald-faced lie. No such “mandate” has ever been issued. However, RDG (and it’s parent group, OMS) are heavily influenced by Robert Heinlein’s Stranger In A Strange Land, which depicts polyamory and naturism as lifestyle choices. I have written extensively on these topics over the years.

“Unusual pattern of RDG Third Degrees approaching RDNA Third Order Druids requesting the secret Third Order Ordination liturgical scripts There is the perception in the RDNA that RDG Third Degrees are required to attempt to acquire the RDNA scripts. The manipulative sense of entitlement presented is mildly to harassingly disturbing.”

We were formed as the result of a  “vision” of  Karyn’s of seeing Reformed Druidism expanded to a planet wide paradigm, rather then the Reformed Druids of North America’s (RDNA) limitation to just the North American continent.  That’s why we are “of Gaia.”  As for our ordination of Third Order candidates (yes, we call them “Orders,” not “degrees”) requiring such candidates to attempt to procure RDNA’s 3rd Order Scripts — that’s just bull  feces.  It is true that VERY early on we did attempt to find some examples of such scripts, (just as other pagan groups might try to procure materials from groups they are closely related to, which is VERY common) it was found that we could come up with our own scripts (which currently vary from Archdruid to Archdruid and from Grove to Grove).  

These three “accusations” are the usual broadbrush attempt to discredit us. I am very sure that these attempts did not come from any RDNA sources, as we have never had anything but friendship and mutual respect from members and officers of the RDNA. No, I suspect that this originated with members of the N-RDNA (New Reformed Druids of North America) which is a group which officially schismed from the RDNA in 1976 (instigated  by Isaac Bonewits). Some NRDNA members are “embarrassed”  by this and frequently attempt to “blur the line” between their schismatic group and the legitimate RDNA, often characterizing themselves in the role of “spokes persons” for the RDNA. They have been highly critical of the RDG since it’s conception, and particularly because of our close associating with the lifestyles promoted by the Church of All Worlds (CAW) (specifically polyamory and naturism) and so spread outright propaganda and insinuations concerning sexual lifestyles among RDG members.  Very much like how Christians attack their critics: there is always some accusation of sexual abnormality.

Now, getting back to our initial topic here:  I am a tad curious as to why my name, Ellis Arseneau, did not come up in Grok’s “research(?).  My pseudonym (Sybok Pendderwydd) certainly did, as did Karyn’s (Ceridwen Seren_Ddaer) but Karyn’s real name did appear.  I suppose that over the years I have been too zealous at keeping my public persona private (and my employment).  Now that I am retired and in my 70’s such precautions no longer seems required.

BUT — who the hell is Robert M. (or C.M. Larson?  I certainly have never use that moniker and Karyn was surprised when I told her she was married to him! LOL!!!


John & Mary tell me about Donald


In Finding Inner Peace and Strength (Doubleday, 1982), Jerry Falwell claimed total inerrancy for the Bible:

The Bible is the inerrant . . . Word of God. It is absolutely
infallible, without error in all matters pertaining to faith and
practice, as well as in areas such as geography, science,
history, etc., (p 26).

 

This morning there was a knock at my door. When I answered the door I found a well groomed, nicely dressed couple.

The man spoke first: “Hi! I’m John, and this is Mary.”

Mary: “Hi! We’re here to invite you to come kiss Donald’s ass with us.”

Me: “Pardon me?! What are you talking about? Who’s Donald, and why would I want to kiss his ass?”

John: “If you kiss Donald’s ass, he’ll give you a million dollars; and if you don’t, he’ll kick the shit out of you.”

Me: “What? Is this some sort of bizarre mob shake-down?”

John: “Hank is a billionaire philanthropist. Donald built this country. Donald owns this town. He can do what ever wants, and what he wants is to give you a million dollars, but he can’t until you kiss his ass.”

Me: “That doesn’t make any sense. Why . . .”

Mary: “Who are you to question Donald’s gift? Don’t you want a million dollars? Isn’t it worth a little kiss on the ass?”

Me: “Well maybe, if it’s legit, but . . .”

John: “Then come kiss Donald’s ass with us.”

Me: “Do you kiss Donald’s ass often?”

Mary: “Oh yes, all the time . . .”

Me: “And has he given you a million dollars?”

John: “Well no, you don’t actually get the money until you leave town.”

Me: “So why don’t you just leave town now?”

Mary: “You can’t leave until Donald tells you to, or you don’t get the money, and he kicks the shit out of you.”

Me: “Do you know anyone who kissed Donald’s ass, left town, and got the million dollars?”

John: “My mother kissed Donald’s ass for years. She left town last year, and I’m sure she got the money.”

Me: “Haven’t you talked to her since then?”

John: “Of course not, Donald doesn’t allow it.”

Me: “So what makes you think he’ll actually give you the money if you’ve never talked to anyone who got the money?”

Mary: “Well, he gives you a little bit before you leave. Maybe you’ll get a raise, maybe you’ll win a small lotto, maybe you’ll just find a twenty dollar bill on the street.”

Me: “What’s that got to do with Donald?”

John: “Donald has certain ‘connections.'”

Me: “I’m sorry, but this sounds like some sort of bizarre con game.”

John: “But it’s a million dollars, can you really take the chance? And remember, if you don’t kiss Donald’s ass he’ll kick the shit of you.”

Me: “Maybe if I could see Donald’s, talk to him, get the details straight from him . . .”

Mary: “No one sees Donald, no one talks to Donald.”

Me: “Then how do you kiss his ass?”

John: “Sometimes we just blow him a kiss, and think of his ass. Other times we kiss Elon’s ass, and he passes it on.”

Me: “Who’s Elon?”

Mary: “A friend of ours. He’s the one who taught us all about kissing Donald’s ass. All we had to do was take him out to dinner a few times.”

Me: “And you just took his word for it when he said there was a Donald, that Donald wanted you to kiss his ass, and that Donald would reward you?”

John: “Oh no! Elon’s got a letter Donald sent him years ago explaining the whole thing. Here’s a copy; see for yourself.” John handed me a photocopy of a handwritten memo on “From the desk of Elon’ letterhead. There were eleven items listed:

  • Kiss Donald’s ass and he’ll give you a million dollars when you leave town.
  • Use alcohol in moderation.
  • Kick the shit out of people who aren’t like you.
  • Eat right.
  • Donald dictated this list himself.
  • The moon is made of green cheese.
  • Everything Donald says is right.
  • Wash your hands after going to the bathroom.
  • Don’t drink.
  • Eat your wieners on buns; no condiments.
  • Kiss Donald’s ass or he’ll kick the shit out of you.

Me: “This would appear to be written on Elon’s Letterhead.”

Mary: “Donald didn’t have any paper.”

Me: “I have a hunch that if we checked we’d find this is Elon’s handwriting.”

John: “Of course, Donald dictated it.”

Me: “I thought you said no one gets to see Donald?”

Mary: “Not now, but years ago he would talk to some people.”

Me: “I thought you said he was a philanthropist. What sort of philanthropist kicks the shit out of people just because they’re different?”

Mary: “It’s what Donald wants, and Donald’s always right.”

Me: “How do you figure that?”

Mary: “Item 7 says ‘Everything Donald says is right.’ That’s good enough for me!”

Me: “Maybe your friend Elon just made the whole thing up.”

John: “No way! Item 5 says ‘Donald dictated this list himself.’ Besides, item 2 says ‘Use alcohol in moderation,’ Item 4 says ‘Eat right,’ and item 8 says ‘Wash your hands after going to the bathroom.’ Everyone knows those things are right, so the rest must be true, too.”

Me: “But 9 says ‘Don’t Drink,’ which doesn’t quite go with item 2, and 6 says ‘The moon is made of green cheese,’ which is just plain wrong.”

John: “There’s no contradiction between 9 and 2, 9 just clarifies 2. As far as 6 goes, you’ve never been to the moon, so you can’t say for sure.”

Me: “Scientists have pretty firmly established that the moon is made of rock . . .”

Mary: “But they don’t know if the rock came from the Earth, or from out of space, so it could just as easily be green cheese.”

Me: “I’m not really an expert, but I think the theory that the Moon came from the Earth has been discounted. Besides, not knowing where the rock came from doesn’t make it cheese.”

John: “Aha! You just admitted that scientists make mistakes, but we know Donald is always right!”

Me: “We do?”

Mary: “Of course we do, Item 5 says so.”

Me: “You’re saying Donald’s always right because the list says so, the list is right because Donald dictated it, and we know that Donald dictated it because the list says so. That’s circular logic, no different than saying ‘Donald’s right because he says he’s right.'”

John: “Now you’re getting it! It’s so rewarding to see someone come around to Donald’s way of thinking.”

Me: “But . . . oh, never mind. What’s the deal with wieners?” Mary blushes.

John says: “Wieners, in buns; no condiments. It’s Donald’s way. Anything else is wrong.”

Me: “What if I don’t have a bun?”

John: “No bun, no wiener. A wiener without a bun is wrong.”

Me: “No relish? No Mustard?”

Mary looks positively stricken. John shouts: “There’s no need for such language! Condiments of any kind are wrong!”

Me: “So a big pile of sauerkraut with some wieners chopped up in it would be out of the question?”

Mary sticks her fingers in her ears: “I am not listening to this. La la la, la la, la la la.”

John: “That’s disgusting. Only some sort of evil deviant would eat that . . .”

Me: “It’s good! I eat it all the time.”

Mary faints. John catches her: “Well, if I’d known you where one of those I wouldn’t have wasted my time. When Donald kicks the shit out of you I’ll be there, counting my money and laughing. I’ll kiss Donald’s ass for you, you bunless cut-wienered kraut-eater.”

With this, John dragged Mary to their waiting car, and sped off.


Editor’s note: Donald has other names that he is known by:  POTUS, 45 (or 47), “Duck L’Orange,” Yeti,  COMPLETE (more or less) LIST


“Hin-Jew:” How I became one

 


My wife and I have been attending Kirtan sessions in Arcata monthly since 9/2019, led by the Skywater Kirtan Band. Shemaia Skywater, who leads the group is a very talented musician, yoga teacher, and she’s Jewish.

Here’s a sample from August, 2018:

Another sample, this one from before Ceridwen and I started attending:

Anyroad, I found the “Kirtan Rabbi” on Youtube of late and loved the way he blended cultural styles (Kirtan is a Hindu/Buddhist artform). Kind of the best of both worlds. Funny thing is that I have referred to myself as a “Hin-Jew” for a few years now.


Christian sharia law (aka “project 2025”) vs. Islamic sharia law

 


Same cake. Different frosting.

Christian Nationalism (which was born out of Christian Fundagelicalism) and Islam have the same basic flaws:  They both adhere to the idea that a being with a penis (a man) is superior to a being without one (a woman).  They both have a history of enslaving people.  They both deny that folks attracted to their own gender (LGBTQ) should enjoy basic human rights. They both believe that their particular religion is the only correct one.  They both wish to eradicate our Constitutional Bill of Rights.

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