Archive for the ‘Things They Don’t Tell You’ Category

Guest Post: An overdue rant on rats by a dude who has some shit to say   Leave a comment

(I’m way overdue to post this, also.)

An Overdue Rant on Rats by a Dude who has some Shit to Say – by Mark Wolfe

Ya know, I may have had some misogynistic behavior in my past, but it never once occurred to me…

not even in the secret-privacy of my own corroded mind
(where I come up with all my best bad ideas)

…did it cross my oddly shaped cranium to grab someone’s body or part thereof, without permission let alone kiss, hug, ass-grab, or otherwise grope someone who hadn’t expressed an interest in having me take such intimate measures

And then…

There are the Dick showers…

Those that show the dick without ANY invitation and not just as a dick selfie in the thralls of horny anonymity.

…but live & in person… signed 8x10s upon NO request…

I wouldn’t even do that if I was asked politely let alone in a flasher-y-fetish-y-fueled-fever.

Yet for the last couple of months, almost every single day, (and sometimes twice in a day), there comes a revelation from the interwebs & the squawk-box about some sorry-ass self-absorbed dipshit who did one or more of the above aforementioned selfishly egregious actions, much to the chagrin of said dipshit’s spouse, fans, constituents & co-workers.

Hens from the past come lookin’ for a place to rest their bony talons with a truth that is so undeniable, that it usually brings down illustrious careers (some not so illustrious) in a matter of hours.

Careers that until that fateful moment in their Emmy-winning-multi-platinum-excuse-for-coping-a-feel-or-propositioning-a-teenage-intern career… was years, if not decades in the making.

Some we like, some we never liked, some we admire and look up to, & some we always KNEW were freaky like that,

…but these indecent indictments always come with the well-deserved swiftness of a nor’easter, complete with appropriate wind-chill factors…. along with oh so brilliant bald-faced irony.

We know it when we hear it
when those secret chicks come home to roost.

You best have a fuckin’ umbrella to shield you from the inevitable chicken-shit storm that is sure to follow your chicken-shit ass.

I grew up instinctively knowing that at LEAST 3/4s of ALL the woman in my life that I ever knew, (or indeed ever would know) even if only as a classmate, coworker or neighborhood fixture, had suffered the unwanted attention of proprietarily problematic propositions, often accompanied by capricious hands…. greasy-grabby hands… that don’t even know how to grab right

…who do so much to grab so wrong.

It would not be much later in life, perhaps age 17, that I would come to the dreaded realization that more than half of those same women had suffered far, far worse.

Often so much further along the worse-path that she dares not give so much as a whisper of oxygen to verbally illustrate the horrible circumstances of that tragic personal history.

But It was with that awful statistical knowledge in mind that, much like my West Philly Street-School upbringing in the early 70s, is a lesson learned from a very early age, even before fully understanding the ramifications of that awful matriculation… Right between daily viewings of Mr. Rogers and the Highlights Magazine’s Goofus & Gallant cartoon of the month.

The women I’ve known from the worse-path that I would trade my life for don’t number in double digits. It is by extrapolation of definitively anecdotal evidence that I come by this thesis currently spewing from my laptop.

They never shared encounters within a window of time that I could possibly do anything about it.
(but please don’t assume I mean physical violence & don’t rule it out either bucko, I have a 1976 Phillies “bat-day” baseball bat that will go upside your rookie-ass-grab, dipshit, dope-addled-brain-shell that totally overcompensates for my 98-pound weakling arms attached to my 180lb, six-foot-one body).

…It became clear though, that despite the cobwebs on those confidential confessions, that the experience never left them as they continued to grow more complex cobwebs, and sprout mold on the north facing side of the worse-path.

NONE of these perpetrators of repellant passes & rape-y aggressions did anything that was logical or explainable to me.

Perhaps that is why such behavior is so alien to me?

Or perhaps I’m not a fuckin’ ass-grabbing, date-rape-with-nice-teeth, dipshit?

The difference between good behavior & bad should be taught in School starting in 1st grade, taken out of the context of any one gender or sexual identity. In fact, “sex” should never be mentioned in the same curriculum.

These valuable life lessons should be handed down from parents, relatives, teachers and responsible adults to children, youngsters, teens and young adults for as long as you have breath in your body or as long the child mooches your food from under your roof.

…So they don’t go to their first office job thinking it might be a thrill to grab a co-worker’s rear without even so much as a proper introduction or a good donut.

Back in my day when I was 5 & 6 years of age, the West Philly bullies of little Osage Avenue thought they were cool and never saw a problem with anything they did or said since there was never a responsible adult within earshot who had the balls to say or do anything. Oh, but we had plenty of teachers with selective hearing and sight loss in public school which only served to germinate a general feeling of helplessness and secrecy. No wonder many victims never report anything, it is instilled very early on that it is best to not complain or even THINK you have the right to personal space & respect, let alone justice & reciprocity.

The heinous behavior of some little Osage Ave Adults like ********** didn’t help set a positive example from the top down either. ( it was an oft-told tale that **** grew up with Bill Cosby – a tale that would never be featured on but was nonetheless taken as gospel all those many years ago by slack-jawed Fat Albert fans. A 70s era Saturday Morning show that all the kids in the hood never missed an episode of – plus we had all the Cosby albums in my house… kinda wishing now it was Carlin)

this is where I need to insert a caveat:

If you’re a healthy white male, the world is your oyster, but definitely not anyone else. although when I was younger I didn’t realize that being a white kid gave me a leg up because I certainly was never treated that way. It was only through observation of my Public School surroundings that it began to dawn on me much too late to overcome innate self-esteem issues, but perhaps if I had known early enough, I could have shuffled the deck a bit better. (but ass-grabbery & dick display is NOT in my DNA)

I guess the overtly belabored point I am winding my way around several prick-le bushes to get at is that we are all surrounded by scoundrels and psychopaths who lounge in the bright sunny daylight of normalcy and politically correct politeness.

Some of them are even really clever natural comedians who can make anyone laugh by just a few words.

They might even be a friend.

Why someone would even need to play with power dynamics or exhibitionism in such negative & destructive ways is a mystery to me, but …

Barring an actual shift in our irredeemable culture for the better…

They should all die in a fuckin’ fire 🔥

or… you could SAY SOMETHING guys…

If you allow outrageous, unacceptable behavior to go unchecked, then you’re complicit in whatever comes next…

(if Trump, the-man-not-the-brand, has taught us anything, he’s taught us THAT, for fuck’s sake… also, that the size of a man’s hands must undoubtedly lead to other, less visible anatomical anomalies… although who knows given his current Twitter Twattle )

…signed 8×10 dick selfies & Trumpian Ethics are just the beginning folks…



The Wind Telephone   Leave a comment

Salt spray on glass
Without a caretaker enough to cover this window to another world,
This life-line to beyond and back again.

Here at the edge
Each pane is kept carefully clear inside and out so they may listen closely,
Speaking of things kept hidden inside us.

Wind meets Earth here
Touching the waters with words and emotions locked deep inside without a key,
Stored in the case of a rotary phone.

Beloved One
Tell me the things I was longing to hear from you so long ago, before now,
And I will assure you that I am well, life goes on in the same endless way as

Inspired by the kaze no denwa in Otsuchi-cho, Japan.

Posted October 3, 2017 by veggiewolf in Poetry, Storytelling, Things They Don't Tell You

Coming back from hiatus…   Leave a comment

…and sharing this: A Story of a Fuck-Off Fund.

Do you have one?

Things They Don’t Tell You – 1   Leave a comment

I’ve come to realize that some of my…behaviors are not at all atypical for someone running around with my particular brain.  That is to say, it appears that some of the things I do might also be done by others who have a cognitive and/or chemical make-up within their skull that not unlike my own.

Last night, after stowing one of my carry-on pieces of luggage in an overhead bin six rows behind where I was actually sitting (full flight to the Midwest for work) I had to climb over my seatmate to reach my window seat since he didn’t want to stand in the aisle.  On my way over him, heavy laptop bag in hand, my right knee twisted and buckled and, as I went down REALLY low, I heard a distinct POP!

Two-and-a-half hours later, when leaving the plane, I noticed that my knee felt tender, and that I was having some twinges of something almost entirely unlike normal routine leg feelings.  It got steadily worse overnight and by the time I left my hotel this morning to drive to the meeting that made me fly out here in the first place, I was having trouble putting my full weight on it.  By afternoon, my walking speed was curtailed significantly, and I started the process of finding a workman’s compensation physician who can see me before the end of the week.  Because, you see, I fly home on Friday morning, and then turn around and fly out again on Sunday.  To Europe.  Returning on Hallowe’en.

I also sent an email to my husband about my emotional state.

When I got back to my hotel this evening, I was in so much pain that I was holding back tears and I proceeded to call my husband and cry at him over the phone.  And, he soothed me as best as he could, being 1100 miles from me, and told me that the world was not ending.  Because, of course, as the day went on, I was convinced it was.  THE WORLD IS ENDING.  EVERYTHING IS NOT AWESOME AND SHUT UP EMMET.

And then I talked to a couple of friends, and one of them happened to mention that catastrophizing while in pain is a Thing.

Now, I walk around (or lie around) in pain quite a bit.  I have chronic sinus issues that mean I am rarely without some sort of cranial-facial pain.  I tweaked my back a few years ago, so I am often in some kind of back-stiffness-nervy-pain-type thing.  I live with these things, and they’ve become typical for me, and so they have little to no impact on my daily life other than perhaps needing to move a bit differently or take NSAIDs and/or decongestants.

But my knee is KILLING me, and for the first time I am being smacked in the face with the fact that pain can cause other things in my life to run amok.

My friends who live with chronic pain are probably now thinking that it is about fucking time I realized this.  But, the thing is, I did realize it before now…for them.  What I’m just realizing is that this is also a Thing for me.  This strange pain that I was in no way prepared for caused a domino effect and everything came crashing down around me.  Little things that would have been just irritants got blown all out of proportion.  I was tearing up at the drop of a hat.  I was exceptionally sad and crying.  And, if I hadn’t gone into chat and spoken to my friend I would never have known that this happens.

I imagine that pain specialists (who I highly recommend, btw) talk to their patients about this phenomenon all the time, but I’ve never had a medical professional (nor any other professional) tell me that pain can cause emotional turmoil.  And now I wonder if people are really aware of this as a Thing, and of course I’m going to have to go look up studies and other nonsense.  But I’m putting this revelation in the category of “Things They Don’t Tell You”, and I’m sure I’ll have more of them to write about.

(Incidentally, my tears have stopped and I feel fine now.  Identification, it is also a Thing.)