Mistress Boobilicious Returns

Mistress Boobilicious has returned from the mountain with a new fur and a strange green concoction that, if taken orally, would incapacitate a giant for the duration of a football game. She is now an inch taller and carries a pouch of human ashes which she has promised to deliver to a woman in Seattle. Upon news of her return, celebrations broke out in bars and mental wards across the nation.

Selves And Dogs

     Risa West was an occasional visitor to her own life, but it didn’t interest her all that much. Most of her time she spent living the life of Samantha Arden, a woman who disappeared often – sometimes mid-sentence – in order to jump out of planes or rescue abused puppies, or – on a good day – both. Then Risa would step in, finishing the sentence, getting a glass of whiskey and collecting a small check for her efforts.

     Samantha Arden had rescued forty-three dogs, and planned to find good homes for them. So far, she’d found no better home than her own, which now carried a distinct odor, an odor that announced to anyone approaching the house that the dogs were more important than any people who might dwell within. Very few people ever approached the house. Samantha, however, had a loyal and somewhat hungry following among the sexually inadequate. Her picture greeted many a frustrated and lonely man when he turned on his computer each morning. These men would undoubtedly say that Samantha was the most important being in the kennel her home had become.

     Lester, one of Samantha’s most eager and sympathetic admirers, had on his computer a rather unusual Samantha photo, with a more bemused, slightly mischievous look to her eyes. The first twenty minutes of each day he dedicated to studying that photo. It made him feel less alone, and so took away that need to get close enough to someone to strangle him or her. And so he could happily go about his day, driving his route, retrieving recyclable materials from the bins that line up along the curbside, with little fear of murdering anyone. Lester had not tried to strangle anyone for more than three weeks now, and felt it was time to get a dog.

     Samantha was being interviewed about her rescue efforts by a local news team, as a special interest story (this station was known for its special interest stories, and covered little else), when she picked up a signal on the wind that a golden retriever was in trouble. Within seconds she disappeared, and half a moment later Risa was there to finish up the interview.

     As she stepped into the alley, Samantha knew she was close. She could hear the dog whimpering, trying to call out to her, straining to find his voice. “I’m here,” Samantha said to the dog, as she pulled out the nightstick given to her by an admirer who had been on the police force, ready to do battle. There was a sharp thud behind two recycling bins, and Samantha quickly and silently stepped over to them. “Comfortable, soft-soled shoes are key,” Risa told the interviewer. Samantha kicked aside one of the bins, startling Lester, who had his hands around the dog’s throat.

     “Who are you?” Lester asked, letting go of the dog.

     “I am Samantha Arden,” Samantha answered, as the dog ran to her.

     “You look different,” Lester said, confused and disappointed, just before Samantha brought the nightstick down on his head.

     When the interview was over, Risa decided it was time to check in on her own life. It was dull, but it needed tending from time to time, and there was no one else to do it, no one else to feed it, trim it, take it out to run its engine. While Risa was running her life around the block a few times, a man stumbled out of an alley in front of her. She glanced at him, and stepped around him, perhaps a wider arc than was necessary. And Lester saw her in that moment, and though his brain had been shaken by the nightstick, he was still able to draw the connection to the photo he knew so well. “Samantha,” he called to her, but the woman continued walking and did not look back.

     “You’re going to like it here, Comet,” Samantha told the golden retriever. She then introduced Comet to the other forty-three dogs, before taking a much-needed rest.

(Copyright 2018 Michael Doherty)

(Note: I wrote this story on January 9th, while at work, and made just a few slight changes on January 16th, while at home.)

Kicked Off Twitter When It Is Donald Trump Who Should Be Removed

As you might know, Donald Trump has used Twitter to harass, threaten and insult people, as well as to spread lies and promote himself. Recently, he even threatened to start a nuclear war, basically threatening every living being on the planet. Several people – myself included – reported his behavior to Twitter, for certainly this sort of thing violated the site’s rules. Twitter’s response was that threatening to kill everyone is okay. So I began posting responses on Twitter.  Here are a few of my posts:

• So, Twitter, if it's okay to threaten everyone on the planet with nuclear war, then it absolutely has to be okay for me to say something like "I want to fucking kill Donald Trump." Right?
• So, Twitter, if it's okay to threaten the word with nuclear war, then it absolutely must be okay for me to type something like "Donald Trump must die immediately." Right?
• (to Twitter) So, Twitter, if it's okay for someone to threaten the world with nuclear war, then it must absolutely be okay for me to type something like "Donald Trump should be slaughtered this weekend." Right?
• (to Donald) Wow, you are so fucking delusional, so fucking narcissistic. You are too dangerous to be allowed to continue living. I hope someone kills you today (and Twitter, that's okay to type, since it's okay to threaten the world with nuclear war).
• Donald Trump should not be allowed to continue. He is dangerous, delusional, stupid and crazy. Please, someone, put an end to this fucking menace. (And Twitter, if it's okay to threaten the world with nuclear war, then it must be okay for me to type this.)

Well, soon enough, I was locked out of my Twitter account. The reason? Well, let’s let Twitter explain. This is the message that I received from the site:

“Hi Michael Doherty,

Your account, @MDMusicLog has been locked for violating the Twitter Rules.

Specifically for:

Violating our rules against abusive behavior.

You may not engage in the targeted harassment of someone, or incite other people to do so. We consider abusive behavior an attempt to harass, intimidate, or silence someone else’s voice.”

And they included the post they considered in violation of their rules. That post is this one, a direct response to Donald Trump:

“Wow, you are so fucking delusional, so fucking narcissistic. You are too dangerous to be allowed to continue living. I hope someone kills you today (and Twitter, that's okay to type, since it's okay to threaten the world with nuclear war).”

Obviously, Twitter is choosing which users are subjected to their rules and which ones aren't. So I sent Twitter several messages in response throughout the day. Here they are:

• That's not abusive. You can't allow one guy to threaten the entire world with nuclear war, and then not let someone else post something like that. Restore my account now. And quit asking for my phone number. I've already told you I don't give that out.
• You can't let one person threaten the entire planet, and then not let me say that that person should be killed. Donald Trump is a dangerous, disturbed lunatic. Kick him off your site, or restore my account now.
• Unlock my account now. Donald Trump threatened me and everyone else on the planet with nuclear war. You, Twitter, said that was okay. So then you cannot say that my threat to him - which isn't even a threat, actually - is against your rules. You have to make up your minds. Is threatening wrong or is it okay? If it's wrong, then you must kick Donald Trump off your site. If you allow him to stay, then you cannot silence my voice. If you have rules, they must apply to everyone. Unlock my account now or kick Donald Trump off now.
• Donald Trump is threatening and scaring everyone. I merely said that I hope someone kills him, to put a stop to the terror. You can't let one person threaten the entire population and then not let another man say he hopes that person is killed. Make up your minds. Unlock my account, or kick Donald Trump off. He is a dangerous lunatic.
• Unlock my account now. I am happy to follow your rules, provided that you require everyone to follow them. If Donald Trump is exempt, then you have to get rid of the rules. I expect a reply soon.
• You people just sent me an email telling me to check out 5 new notifications on Twitter. So I tried to do as you suggested, but found I am still locked out of my account. How am I to check these notifications if you won't let me into the account? Tell me. I am curious.

Yeah, about that last one, Twitter actually sent me an email, letting me know that I had five new notifications, and telling me to check them out. The site was apparently nervous that I hadn’t visited it in five or six hours. Ridiculous. 

At this point, more than ten hours have passed since I've been able to access my account. The right-wing bastards at Twitter have not responded to any of my messages. But what unfortunately seems to be the case is that Donald Trump is above the rules, the very thing he brags about regularly. Twitter has a set of guidelines and rules, but then allows one user – Donald Trump – to violate them again and again. Perhaps it is time for everyone to boycott Twitter. 

Alternative Fact: January 3, 2018

Today's alternative fact (to help you get through the day): Having had quite enough, the Founding Fathers of the United States finally rose from their graves early this morning and attacked Donald Trump, chewing on his rubbery, hideous flesh and eventually devouring his bloated body until only bones and his wig remained.

A Message To All Good And Sane People

As we venture into 2018, remember, Trump supporters don't mind being cheated or lied to. In fact, they love it! So everyone should try to cheat them out of as much as possible, and don't ever tell them the truth about any subject. Bartenders, water down their drinks and charge them double. Cooks, give them half the portions that you give to everyone else. (They could stand to lose a little weight anyway.) Used car dealers, promise them you'll sell them your best car, but then deliver the biggest lemon you've got. Taxi drivers, take them far from their desired destinations and leave them there after assuring them they are at the location they specified. Doctors, make up an incurable illness and tell them they have it. Then sell them pain medication at triple the normal cost. Trump supporters will love this. After all, they love being lied to.