Murdercat Management

I had a dream that was some kind of medieval fantasy scenario where two opposing sides of a battle had to alter the battlefield to make sure they did not get killed by roaming leopards, and to arrange it so that the other guys were.  Not sure if I was a character or an omniscient watcher, but as I reflect, it was definitely a video game or board game situation.

In fact, if you abstract the idea far enough, there are certainly video games that operate on the same principle.  There is a damaging / dangerous / deleterious presence on the playing field, and the opposing sides can, within constraints, change the barriers and openings on the field to protect themselves or harm their opponent.  I’m not an encyclopedia of gaming history, but let me know if you can think of one like this, in the comments.

And if you can’t think of any, and are fairly certain this is a new cool amazing idea that will get you a bank full of money, have at it.  I don’t care.  Throw me a farthing from the back of your lambo, or don’t.  Hell, I’ll let you have the name, tho it’s not very snappy.  At least it’s alliterative.

Murdercat Management, coming soon to an arcade near you.

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Wassup

I have nothing queued for today.  Pretty close to the end of my sauce for daily posting.  I will just mention some random biz that is on my mind or that I have going on.  Feel free to do the same in comments.

I’ve gone up a mountain for the second time in as many years, after a long-ass streak of doing no such thing.  Mount Rainier.  Pretty cool but I’m finna learn mad science so I can genetically engineer voracious diurnal high altitude bats, before I do that again.  Death to mosquitoes.

Have you seen that tiny bed they have at ikea?  About cat-sized, but shaped like human bed?  We got one.  Our cat initially said no, but finally got up on it for a nap a few hours ago.  Purchase justified.

Not getting enough sleep.  Got enough last night then immediately set to ruining that good work by staying up past one AM to write this and do a few chores.  Ugh.

Walked around the peat bog park in Federal Way yesterday.  Not nearly as many mosquitoes.  Barely saw any birds, but the birdy app caught a moderate assortment of characters.  Nothing out of the norm.  Also notable what it missed.  And where were the douglas squirrels?  I saw a few on one trip years ago and never since.  Kinda creepy.

Had a shitty phone conversation recently with a racist 80 year old named Virgil.  Are there any decent virgils out there anymore?

I think I’m gonna go back to Hurricane Ridge in a few months here, have a cold weather picnic with chipmunks and canada jays and doctor seuss trees.  Hope I can.

Anyway, how’s your dog?  How about them Bulls?  Was yer band inspired by The Velvet Underground?  Say hi to your mother for me.

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Jenny McCarthy sang Trans Rights?

I had a dream a young lady in a black wig came into my place of work.  This was Jenny McCarthy, younger than she would be in real life, fallen on hard times that she will never experience in real life.  She was reporting income from a singing gig at a strip club, because she was receiving a need-based social benefit with eligibility tightly linked to those numbers.

As I was trying to get access to her benefit record for the purpose of placing this work report, her social security number was showing on two lines, where one had to zigzag between them to get the sequence, and each zero was replaced with an ascii character of a double zero.  Do those even exist?  She was sitting right next to me and I had to dissuade her from looking at the screen while I sorted this out.  I told her that normally she’d be on the other side of the counter, please don’t read this stuff.

Somehow that changed in the course of the conversation to where I was willing to let her sign into gmail on my computer, to download her pay stub.  It was a pdf full of hyperlinked images, looking like a porn site.  I was trying to understand which number represented her gross income and accidentally touched one of those links, forcing me to close my browser immediately before the malware could load.  Then I had to get back in and start over from scratch.

In waking life, I’m under pressure at work to not use the hold button.  I just try to do my inputs quietly while people yak at me.  She said she wanted to regale me with an original song about trans rights, and launched into it.  I had to ask her to be quiet twice, while nearby coworkers were on phone calls.

She started playing with one of those coworker’s hair, like a stripper might do to somebody during a lap dance.  Then Patrick Stewart came, in character as her strip club manager, in a black toupee of his own, tousling her wig hair.  I got that he was playing a character even tho I didn’t feel the same about her, and wondered why he was still doing shitty parts when he could have retired long ago.

I finished my work, she was gone, and I wanted to tell a coworker about it, enough that I violated a privacy policy to do so.  Then I noticed Jim Carrey sitting on floor, leaning against a pillar, and thought, shit, ex-boyfriends are a category of people we particularly do not want to disclose information to.  I hoped he hadn’t heard me.  Ho-hum, I woke up.

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Be Still and Know

I was in the parking lot of home despot, when I saw this sign at a distance.  Initially I thought it said, “I AM GOD.”  Strange place for fundie horseshit, I mused, until the actual product was revealed: “FARM FRESH SOD,” where the words farm and fresh were de-emphasized.

I had been primed to see these words by this ornament dangling from the rearview mirror of my ride’s coach:

Sit still and know that if you misbehave, jesus will fuck you up.  Bes’ believe.

I like to mix the ideas.  KNOW THAT I AM SOD, THE FARM FRESH GOD, like a parody of this jam:

If you haven’t thought of that song since your homeboy in college DL’d a midi of it in 1989, you’re welcome.

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Life List: Sooty Grouse

I’m in love with some chickens.  Sooty grouse are a pretty generic pheasanty-type bird.  I think a pheasant is a grouse if it spends most of its time being brown, but I could be wrong.  Chickeny overall look but with cryptic brown coloration (males get fancy in mating season) and no wacky head ornaments.  I believe chickens cluck to let each other know where they are in the underbrush; these guys made a soft woob woob noise instead.

The thing is, despite being game birds, these ones had no fear of people.  They weren’t as obviously hoping for treats as the canada jays, but might have been fed by some scofflaw in the past.  They walked in and out of plain sight, right next to the path – in snatching distance.  Their calls were sweet and their eyes big and cute.  It was a very nice encounter.

This was on a recent trip to Mt. Rainier, where we fucked up pretty badly at estimating our abilities, got wreck’d.  I kept saying “when you need it to have ended an hour ago but it’s still going.”  In the last couple miles we were basically being chased over the rough-hewn terrain by multiple species of mosquito.  They got our asses.  It was not worth it.

But it was almost worth it.  In addition to the sooty grouse family, we saw canada jays and two types of chipmunk, all close enough to get a pretty good look, and a lot of wildflowers and natural majesty – like looking at Rainier’s peak from the lower slopes.  The animals were close enough it was like being in a zoo without bars.  Oh, and we had to stop the car for an elk, which was a lot more impressive in size than the usual white-tailed deer.  But still…

I ain’t doing that again anytime soon.

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Hey Greydies

Some time ago I saw a lady with sort of purple-grey-blue skin, likely argyria.  Maybe she was exposed to silver as part of an industrial job, or pollution in an area she had lived, or because she had whack-ass beliefs and was drinking that shit for medical woo.  I saw her a few times in the Crown Hill neighborhood of Seattle, and a few years after that at a malwart in Federal Way.  Had to be the same lady, tho it’s not like I had her face memorized.  How many people in her demographic have that color in my neck of the world?  This time she was decked out in clothes that advertised her fealty to shitler, so I’m thinking it was the medical woo.

I’ve seen some other grey ladies.  One time when I was working in that same malwart, very early in the morning a short old white lady bought something at my counter.  She was probably done up for church, but she was so fashionable looking.  She was in a suit jacket and dress, with a blouse and pearls and silver jewelry on her wrists and fingers, all silver-grey like her hair, but in different sheens and patterns to strike a balance of contrast and harmony.  I don’t remember what her face looked like, just that fashion, which is probably the kind of impression most old ladies are hoping to leave on people.  So cool.

More recently I saw a pretty dark-skinned black woman with perfectly formed thin locs in a striking blend of black white and grey, like shining rocks in a river.  Her skin was kind of grey, so what one would call ashy?  That’s usually bad news, but for some reason it was more an even tone over her limbs, rather than whitish stuff some people get in areas of thicker skin.  Maybe it was a temporary effect from some kind of lotion; it didn’t look unhealthy.  Still, that was another grey lady, and I believe she was wearing grey as well.

Hey greydies.  Sorry to notice you.  I know a lot of ladies would rather not be noticed.  Just to say, that’s a legit color.  Ya cool, except maybe that first fool.  Have a nice day.

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the muddy burner

i had cause to think of my sister recently, briefly during the podcast, but apparently that was enough to invite her daemond into my sleeping mind.  i had to rush to work this morning so i don’t remember much, but she was definitely there.  the environment and setup was a bit like my vvitch dream, with my sister being part of a dubious feminist collective living across the way in a muddy ruin.  they would occasionally go out on raids to harass or harm tools of the patriarchy.

my dad and my husband and i were there, standing in judgement.  are you witches sure those people deserved to get bewitched?  only one of them was left behind on the latest run – not my sister – and the leftover lady said they got their marching orders from the goddess.  i poked around in the moss and mud and i found an old-fashioned cellphone.

remember when flip phones were a thing?  there were even cheaper phones available that had no fold.  what should those be called?  stick phones?  i had one for a pretty long time.  here it was, face down in the grime.  wiping it off, i saw it was just the same as the one i used to have.  in real life, my husband and i had the same kind, bought at the same time.  in the dream, my sister had been included in this package deal, and i knew this one was hers.

she had kept it going, bought the minutes, somehow dodged the sunsetting of 3g cell tower capability, and was surreptitiously using it to give the witches their targets.  that’s no goddess you’re following.

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Ya Talk Too Much

When I was a kid in the ’80s, the children in the halls and on school buses would chant song lyrics, especially raps.  Janet Jackson, Beastie Boys, LL Cool J, and Run DMC all had their time, sometimes with alternative lyrics, like the “batman smells” versions.  This song was especially popular.

The place I heard it the most was in the mouths of other babes four decades ago, and I’m only seeing the video for the first time now.  I love the use of white people in this video.  It’s like these guys are the sensible cool mans in a world of weird posers and art freaks.  They gots my number.

In more ways than one.  In the latest FtB Poddish Sortacast, I spoke way too much.  I had proposed the topic so it was kinda my time to rampage, but still, rude.  Nonetheless, I thought I did a great job elucidating my perception of the world and the shituation we’re in.  This is not a good video to watch if you’re one of the people my doomerism policy is designed to protect, so don’t watch it if you’re one of them.  Anybody else, have at it.

Am I foolin myself, or did I come off like a big ol’ smartypants?  I lost the bead a few times, but when I was on, I was on.

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Tha Bomb

I had a dream I was looking for a place to use the bathroom and walked in on Tom Petty while he was about to pee.  I said, “Sorry bud, that’s just typical of public restrooms,” and he said, “It’s just typical of dreams.  You should know that you’re dreaming.”  I realized then that Tom looked a lot older than he did in this dream, before he died.  Instead of waking up, I dreamed that I woke up, and the dream moved along to something else.

I walked in on a mafia goon and his rough-hewn girlfriend.  They had been shooting heroin and having freaky sex, tho I didn’t catch them in flagrante, exactly.  They had strange bandages over the inside of one arm and over their left eyes.  Like clear tape holding down yellow strips and a bit of filthy gauze.  They were paranoid that I would rat them out to his father the don, but I assured them I was no snitch.

My perspective shifted and I was somebody else, who was hanging out with the mob dude.  I watched him having the previous me blown up with a suitcase bomb, and asked if it bothered him that he killed an innocent man.  Of course it did not.  I had a newspaper with a pic of gavin newscum on an article asking why he’s so soft on organized crime.  I told the mob guy that I think that the governor is on the take.  Maybe not from his family, but one of the others.  He didn’t have anything to say about that.

You’d think with all the mafia dreams I have that I must watch a lot of those movies.  I don’t.  I have no idea why this comes up all the time, much like my subconscious racism against the Irish.  Weird shit.

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Pathetic Little Bluesmen

I’ve had a few posts over time that touch on the subject of Dark Sexual Majesty™, which is the thing some blues men do – later co-opted by hard rock and rap – where they claim to have outrageous sexual powers, with overtones of supernatural evil.  See “I’m Your Hoochie Coochie Man,” “I’m the One” (Danzig), “I’m the One” (DJ Khaled et al), “I’m the One” (Van Halen), “I’m the One” (Van Halen covered by 4 Non Blondes), and “Voodoo Child (Slight Return)” for a few.  There might have been a few jokes in there, watch out.  Point stands, because I say it does, justified only by my own satanic powers of Dark Sexual Majesty™.

But here’s the thing.  We know these boasts are untrue, because they include impossible things.  A little exaggeration to heighten the feeling of exultation?  Or does it undercut the entire theme?  Is it possible the whole thing is meant to be ironic affect, hinting thereby that the singers in question are ineffectual lovers?  Losers who cannot get with tha babes, get sand kicked in their face on the beach?

Of course not, but the idea crossed my mind and I thought it was worth a laugh.  One solitary laugh.

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