The Gonzo Wolf

Let’s set the tone…

It’s the kind of morning when I didn’t want to get out of bed and take the morning walk. Screw exercise, screw fresh air, and basically screw everything at this point. My castle was threatened and I’m not a fan. This will be the piece they read in court when the line gets crossed. I can hear the gasping jury now.

Yesterday’s schizophrenic neighbor (it’s sad when I don’t need to spell-check ‘schizophrenic’) stayed gone, but I just noticed his car in the driveway. Ah, another profitable day of delivering Door Dash while seeing things that aren’t there (Or are they? Are we the crazy ones? Wouldn’t that be a Shyamalan twist?) Any wishes I needed fulfilled of him checking into a mental health facility of his own free will were stomped & pissed upon. I walked my wife to her car yesterday morning – armed – for her safety. Not from overreaction or writing-fuel, but because she asked me out of legitimate fear. Even if this metaphorical bitch flew, this ain’t gonna fly; dig? My personal threat-con level just rose a notch.

I insist on believing the guy is coherent when he’s having these episodes, and I won’t hear anyone who claims otherwise. There’s times when he’s not getting the attention he desires indoors, so he’ll open a window for our benefit. When the police show (and we’re getting into miracle territory when they do), he turns it off with a snap, speaking coherently; reciting his researched script preventing commitment. To boot, he obeyed yesterday for the very first time because he noticed I was documenting his behavior. After pondering this for the last twenty four hours, I don’t expect I’ll handle him with baby gloves henceforth. He forces himself into this state by mixing his prescribed meds with whatever else is convenient & available. His legitimate mental health diagnosis is masked by addiction. It’s basically methamphetamine with a socially acceptable band-aid attached and failing; better teeth included.

It’s the year 2026, and I go everywhere armed anyway. It’s not because I want to, and not because I think it makes my dick look bigger, or makes me appear more attractive, or a total throwback to the good-old-boy days of yeehaw, country music bullshit & unwanted cornfield pregnancies…

…but because I could encounter a threatening situation anywhere I go at the drop of a hat. It’s old-west enthusiasts without honor. It’s some idiot kid whose grandpa watched New Jack City too many times but never had the courage to leave his bubble and walk the streets of New York.

Still, my own driveway shouldn’t be a warzone.

Yes, I know that’s Boondock Saints. I just wanted to be racially pop-culture thorough.

This is just a small amount of the bundles of depression being handed out in birthing rooms; American hospital to American hospital. It’s almost like they’re trying to tell you, “Congratulations, kid; life’s gonna suck first thing out the flesh-gates!

Every leisurely activity you choose could be suddenly interrupted by gunned-up insanity. The next question would be, “are they legitimately crazy, or do they feel the same as I do without a professional outlet to set them free?”

Who am I lying to? Writing is a curse, and rarely offers positive rewards. For fuck’s sake; put down the goddamn guns and pick up a guitar, kids! You can get those things for a blow job at the corner pawn shop…and your mom’s not busy. I checked.

Meh, chances are the movie wasn’t worth a damn anyway, and the thirty dollar bucket of popcorn tasted of age and the clerk’s unwashed hands, coated with a thin layer of his coworkers zipper-region funk; regardless of noticeable signage. I say noticeable, because I can see it, and I don’t even work there.

Everywhere I look is a boarded up mess with litter thrown about and occupied by zombie-walking drug skanks with nowhere else to go, causing unnecessarily long run-on sentences in blogs (is it a grammatical error when I’m self-aware?). American society turned its back on the general population when the dollar was born. It’s paper built on rumor, and the whole world tends to fall for it. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not going into conspiracy theory territory but there’ve been people in-the-know who claim the gold is no longer in Fort Knox. Who cares, as long as my weed guy still believes it.

Even getting minutely stoned now feels like a bad idea. Suddenly, a kaiju we triggered with a billionaire spacecraft explosion could walk on land in Houston and screw up the evening commute. It’s getting incredibly difficult to live in these kinds of times, but I wouldn’t want to prematurely end things. I can’t wait to see what happens next! It’s the only reason we listened to Howard Stern in the pre-satellite radio days. Admit it!

Somehow, this mythically overrated country of ours managed to elect a multiple felon, racist, rapist, criminal to the White House almost three times. I’m not an election denier, it just sounds like some stupid shit we’d do; collectively. He’s not intelligent or charismatic or even physically attractive. Half of us have just fallen by the wayside believing in redneck fiction. No one is coming to save us. Not even Bigfoot.

Every great river is drying, and the ponds’ bottoms are within view as water is wasted on artificial intelligence data centers. The American public can make fantasy porn videos of their favorite famous celebrities performing fellatio on SpongeBob. At what point did we cease requiring water for survival, though? Is it the electrolytes? Did the electrolytes tell you to do this?

Dallas. Sirens are wailing nonstop, as someone else’s shitty kids give me the stank-eye for no reason whatsoever other than the fact we didn’t pop out the same peep-hole. It’s difficult sometimes being a white dude minding his own business. Our country’s nothing but a landfill for used Covid tests, and we still don’t even know where that came from or how it came to be! Correction, we know, but they’re not telling. Why are they not telling us? Answer: It’s what they do, and we no longer care to find out. Our attention spans regarding uncomfortable topics lasts about a week-and-a-half. Need an example?

Saddle up: nothing seems to have changed on the racial side of things, yet no one hears from Black Lives Matter anymore. Is it because we’re hyper-focused on the Latino and Hispanic communities being wrongfully detained in our ice facilities? Not a lot of BLM shirts in those crowds, I’ve noticed. Perhaps they’re enduring a well-deserved deep breath in preparation for the next shenanigans, but those faces are welcomed currently on the streets with the rest of us. Every ANTIFA or ICE march I’ve attended (and I’m a middle-aged, bearded, white dude aka the first-glanced enemy who’s been to many) are made up of all women (all races) and a sprinkle of Boomer white dudes. Where’s all those mumble-rap revolutionaries when we need them? But I digress; daily.

Consistency, embarrassment, and a blatant disregard for the establishment’s idiotic rules are the only way to get things done nowadays. I guess you get more social media likes when you show up at the last minute; unannounced. Argue all you want, but if they truly had even a miniscule hand in the game at this moment, the conservative media wouldn’t be able to shut up about it. Pull the other one; we need their numbers.

Interjection: The New Black Panther Party is kicking ass, though. I’d join them, but I hear black-face is frowned upon. Seriously, do the Black Panthers take white dudes? I’m totally in. They could call me “The Day Walker” like Blade. I look like one of those fascist fucko’s! No costume needed!

I’m not sure how an “introduced as pre-op trans for the sake of presenting him/herself as a more interesting individual” twink impersonator screaming at my bedroom window at 6 AM could lead to such thoughts of micro-pocket race police with rather convincing secret identity camouflage and an obviously failing PR department. I don’t mean for any of this to be offensive and, honestly, it shouldn’t be, unless I managed to touch some type of nerve. No apologies. If you don’t prefer to hear truths, then change them. I run in all circles, baby, and they shake their heads vigorously as though they understand. Hell, sometimes, I AM the whole circle. Hop in; let’s hoola-hoop this bad-boy.

Heard not too long ago from a black, lesbian, musician friend of mine (Did I cover all the bases there? The story loses something if I fail to include the details). “You know, I bet there are millions of women out there who would love to pick out a new vagina off the showroom floor instead of the two-day-old Arby’s sandwich they spawned into existence with.”

Girls, don’t get me started on saggy peens. Somewhere, there’s a hot dog vendor off Wall Street feeling robbed of yesterday’s leftover inventory.

Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift amazon. I am a mega-huge supporter of both the LGBTQ and BLM communities, but there’s a fine line between authenticity and Instagram clout. Also, nobody needs to cut things off/fill things in to please the algorithm; just please yourself.

Do whatever you want and be whoever you want, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else. Notice I said hurt instead of a offend because being offensive is a point of view. You may be offended by something I find typical. I warned you in the beginning, and I plan to cease performing that particular service soon. Warning signs are subjective. Pain is universal.

I need to purchase my own cabin in the forest for writing purposes where people can show-up unannounced and accuse me of stealing their stories. At least their convictions are on par. I feel as though I’ve poured enough into this entry to validate a discussion. Fire away, world. I dare you. Let’s do this. It’s the only way we heal.

The dude screams about a pedophile sneaking around our homes giving meth to kids. I’m betting…

Wait…

By any chance were you the pedophile meth guy and the schizophrenia birthed it as an alter-ego? I give two poops and a poke, jack-off; scream indoors. Some of us are trying to enjoy this Kmart version of the apocalypse.

Transcribed on the morning walk; perfected in flight. Welcome back to The Gonzo Wolf.