My Ressurection

They assumed they had killed me, but I had only been asleep. Even though I don’t remember doing so, in the distant past I must have taken a pill or inhaled a gas that put me in a state of suspended animation, for when I awoke many years had passed. I was painfully thin and my clothes had turned to gauzy rags. Fortunately, even though my limbs were weak my mind was sharp. In fact, I now thought with a clarity that heretofore had escaped me.

No longer did I feel the need to take exercise for its own sake. Purposeless activity was a waste of energy. All energy was potential energy, with the promise of doing great good. Going through the motions was play-acting, and for what audience? Why would anyone go to the effort?

Certainly, no sane person would squander his hours in such a fashion. Even now, months after my awakening, I don’t remember much about my past but I assume I was a person of some importance, otherwise I would not have been kept around for as long as I have. I’m pleased to report that the few people I have communicated with since my resurrection have treated me with respect.

I wanted to know if I was alone in having been put into storage and kept alive after a long time in a moribund state. Were there others in my position? If so, who were they and most importantly, where? Could I meet them?

If there were others, they remained hidden. We, the gaunt and confused kept to ourselves, awaiting an invitation to mingle that never arrived.

I recall being well-liked. It’s all a blur, but I do remember that things began to change unexpectedly and suddenly just before my fall from grace. Women who used to smile at me would no longer look me in the eye or even acknowledge my presence. Those I thought my friends were foes. The transformation had occurred literally overnight.

I wasn’t fired. Rather than anything that dramatic, the phone simply stopped ringing. New offers ceased. No longer in the loop, I wasn’t aware of the parties and meetings I hadn’t been invited to. People looked embarrassed when I stopped to chat. I could almost hear them exhale in relief when I moved on.

I was once offered an administrative position in a rapidly growing company, but I declined because I knew that they would eventually regret their decision and fire me. I can’t handle any more massive disappointments. No more performance evaluations, thank you. Not another case of being escorted out of the building by a security guard, the contents of my desk handed to me in a box as I wait by my car in the parking lot. You can keep your job and all that goes with it. I will enjoy poverty and freedom in equal measure. Never a team member, I don’t expect to suddenly change at this late date.

No one has ever been glad they hired me for any sort of job. Again, I could fool myself and others into thinking that “this time it’s different,” but what’s the point?

Allow Me To Introduce Myself

the author a few years ago

Are you as dumb as you look or do I need to have my eyes checked? Although I’m deaf in one ear, I can almost hear through the other one, and when I’m not actually having a seizure of some kind I can usually almost hang onto a train of thought for almost a minute at a time. Usually. Almost.

Fact is, I’m one of those Rothchilds you read about, only when I was a baby they changed my name to Billy Sepulveda, after the street in LA that goes to the airport. That’s where they found me, in a cardboard box hidden behind some bushes. The lady who stopped and picked me up said she could barely hear my crying above the traffic noise.

She did some research and found out that I was blue-blood nobility all the way. My great grandfather came from Austria and he married a Hapsburg. Yeah, it’s all written down someplace, in a courthouse somewhere. Google it.

Anyway, could you spare some change so I can get something to eat? You see, I gave up using money a few years ago when I realized it was the main way “they” control us. You know who “they” are, right? Sometimes you catch them out of the corner of your eye. They’re very thin, with angular features, and they never smile. Sometimes you can smell them before you can see them. They smell like bleach. You can often hear them at night, even in complete darkness, moving about, rustling.

Once I stopped using money, my life got much simpler. As you might expect, I lost weight when I stopped eating “convenience foods.” Now I eat only when someone freely gives me food, the frequency of which varies widely. Yes, I have gone to bed hungry a time or two. What of it?

A Girl's Gotta Do…

I’m flying to a tropical island with a couple of supermodels. Natalie and Natasha. They’re so right brain. I’m the analytical type and could have been a rocket scientist if only I liked rockets and did well in math. But then, Natalie and Natasha love me the way I am.

I’ve never before felt such unconditional acceptance from anyone, especially from beautiful supermodels who also happen to be fabulously wealthy. At least that’s how they described themselves when I first met them in that Aeroflot flight from St. Petersburg that almost crashed when both the pilot and co-pilot were too drunk to fly. Nobody at the airline seemed surprised by their condition.

Natalie and Natasha were former Aeroflot stewardesses who quit when somebody tried to force them to engage in what they insist was child trafficking. I tried to explain to them that UNESCO was a legitimate NGO that specialized in advocating for families, but they weren’t having any of it. They said they knew a child trafficker when they saw one.

I’m proud of them for caring about someone less fortunate than they. Each comes from a super-rich family, a father who is an oligarch and well-connected to Trump and his mafia banking buddies. I asked them if they ever peed on Trump. They blushed and giggled and I took that to mean “yes.” Finally Natalie rolled her eyes and said “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do!”

YOU’RE IMPEACHING THE WRONG MAN!

The orange-haired, stocky septuagenarian you think you’re impeaching is not Donald Trump. He’s the result of a CIA experiment gone wrong, a half-man, half-protozoa that can often simulate the essentials of human cognition and communication. His real name is UX48053. It’s stamped on the back of his neck, which is why you never see him with his shirt off.

The Republicans in Congress know this, and that’s why they’re not really worried about the outcome of the impeachment proceedings. They’re mostly excited about showing off their cocky disregard for the judicial process. Like smug fraternity boys, they tease and provoke, hoping to get a “rise” out of their former colleagues, now enemies.

Eventually, UX48053 will stimply stop dead in his tracks. He will no longer Tweet, no longer call Fox News, no longer insult other world leaders or abrogate treaties. His batteries will have run down. If he’s replaced by Mike Pence (ZX48022) tbe batteries should be good for another six months to a year. After that, it’s anybody’s guess who will occupy the White House.

So Much Diversion

Why do so many people feel they need for so much diversion? From what exactly do they need to be diverted? Is reality really so grim that we can’t face it head-on? Would we simply die of boredom or ennui if there were no competing, light narrative to distract us from the grim facts?

Maybe so. That would explain why nothing of substance seems to make it through the popular culture filters. Why do we still perform the music of Bach and Chopin hundreds of years after their deaths? Nothing has taken their place in terms of profundity and quality.

It’s obvious that the world is going downhill and quickly. Our rapid descent knows no precedence. There have been wars, famines, droughts and natural catastophes galore, but after a brief period of recovery, progress has continued. Not so now.

Now people are growing stupider by the hour and proud of it. Facts are scorned, while opinions of any kind are lauded. Opinions with no factual backing are celebrated and used as a basis for rapid action. Let’s tear down the careful work of centuries with a wave of one hand. Why? Why not? I’m of the opinion it’s a good idea, that’s why!

CELEBRITY PLASTIC SURGERY TRANSFORMATIONS

LET’S GO STEADY, ARNOLD STANG, 1945
Wally Cox, 1953

Debby Reynolds wanted to look like Joan Rivers in the worst way, so she went under the knife at the Plastic Surgeon to the Stars clinic on Rodeo Drive, and emerged looking just like Burt Reynolds. Such are the risks inherent in trying to hire someone to accomplish what Mother Nature couldn’t.

Arnold Stang was friends with Wally Cox who had once been Marlon Brando’s roommate when both were struggling actors in New York. Wally had once played a plastic surgeon in a TV drama on Playhouse 90, and after a night of heavy drinking, Arnold persuaded Wally to take a scalpel and turn him into Marlon Brando.

When Arnold looked into the mirror the next morning, he was amazed. Marlon Brando was looking back at him. It wasn’t just Marlon Brando but a younger, better-looking Brando. Wally joined AA the next day, vowing to never pick up a scalpel again.

Donna Reed wanted to look like Eddie Van Halen, and ended up the spitting image of Florence Henderson, who then took her to court for identity theft and lost. The judge had just been on an elevator with two Sigourney Weavers and found the experience life-affirming. Case dismissed.