Raising Your Son to Thrive Post-Apocalypse

The_Road_bleak_scenery

“The Road” Tsk tsk Daddy-O. Way too soft.

When he is 1: Tell him that you “can make him, or break him” and that the betting money is on “break.”

When he’s 3: Drop him off at pre-school and tell him that the other children don’t like him because he is a poo-poo head, and they will smother him to death if he naps. “Best keep one eye open, son. They are not us.”

When he’s 5: Tell him you have a gun in the house, but you won’t tell him where because it’s for bad guys. Then tell him you are not sure, but you think he may be a bad guy. “Jury’s out.”

When he’s 7: Let him sleep with the light on. In fact – insist he sleep with a light on, “because some day there won’t be any more light”.

When he’s 9: Tell him that you bought him a puppy today, but that traffic was very slow and you got very hungry, so you pulled over to a road-side stop, made a small fire, and cooked and ate the puppy. “It was good, so good.”

When he’s 11: Tell him you are exercising your parental option to hold him out of “Teen-Ed” because the rapture is nigh and it will most certainly involve high amounts of radiation.  “No one wants any radioactive babies, with their glowing eyes, their glowing fangs, their glowing hunger.”

When he is 13: Tell him you often spend Saturdays (and some Wednesday evenings) with your “real family” and that when the end-times come, you will go to be with them, because they are your loved ones.

When he is 15: Tell him he can apply to become an “emancipated minor” next year, and that you think, for a number of reasons, this is the way he should go. Post Secondary education? Not so much. It won’t be there after the fire anyway.

When his is 17: Tell him that you like his girlfriend, you really do, but that he should remember “the Parable of the Puppy” and that he should not get too attached, just in case.

There you go reader. Remember, hard times call for hard responses so be proactive.

Now, off to beat my dog with a broken off car antenna. Remember “The Parable of the Puppy” – he’ll learn that it ain’t gonna be him. Gonna mean him up a bit. Who is a good boy now?

Steve

This Too Won’t Pass

One of my fave videos.

 

 

However, I feel compelled to say: It’s not true that “This too shall pass.”

As Nietzsche teaches us via his idea of “Eternal Recurrence” things – no matter how horrific, happen over and over again – in perpetuity, exactly as they happened previously until, when we are lying there absolutely defeated and in terrible, unbelievable pain, an asteroid hits or perhaps the sun expands and even our atoms are rendered from one another in one last desperate spasm of futility. Rest assured, the last thing those atoms feel is a combination of terror, despair, and pain. They die screaming, screaming, screaming – they scream themselves hoarse while dying. Then they die. Even though they die, this happens over and over. Always and forever.

Did I mention pain?

Over and out readers, I have to go rewrite this now, forever.

Steve

Dear NFL: Get Your Shit Together

Mean JG

Remember when Mean Joe Greene was ejected for tearing a guy’s foot off (only because he removed his helmet and used his teeth) and still had the presence of mind to rob a small child of a coke on his way off of the field?  Remember? Those were the days …

 

Football is a violent ground acquisition sport and a capitalist metaphor for war.

I love football.

Coldplay is a band. Apparently they will be part of the half-time show at Superbowl 50.

I do not love Coldplay.

Having Coldplay up for the half-time show @ the Superbowl, with their pablum-esque elevator music (imagine a child covering their ears and saying “la-la-la-la” for eleven minutes and you have every Coldplay song, ever) – It weakens the brand.

Back when Ray Nitschke, The Purple People Eaters, Mean Joe Greene and Lyle Alzado all roamed the killing fields of the NFL the only half-time music was the screams of the dying – the way God intended.

To the NFL: Get your shit together.

To my readers reader – Stay Metal!

\m/ \m/

Steve

The Rejection Faerie

Rejection is part of writing. You write, edit, submit …. wait …. wait … wait … and then the rejection comes.

Don’t worry about. The only real cost to you is time. No one makes any money from the slush pile – so it’s not like your poem “The Bare Twig in Winter” getting a “It’s not the right fit for us and good luck” form e-mail is going stuff you for a Benjamin or better.

Submission is a business, no more, no less. Slush readers are either idealistic (“I’m contributing to literature!”) or oppressed (MFA students who have to do a tour of duty on the School’s journal) and sometimes both. Trust me, never feel bad about what the idealistic or the oppressed do in regards to literature. If you must feel sorry for someone feel sorry for call-center staff who get to listen to callers swear, then flush, then swear again.

Of course, it’s always OK to feel sorry for yourself.

The rejection of your personal efforts will always sting a little. You are only human. So what I’m going to do is suggest you put the Rejection Faerie on your desktop or in your folder – his cheerful insouciance in the face of rejection will allow you to concentrate on what you do best: Writing and submitting.

The Rejection Faerie

There he is, bravely defending you from your many reject-ors. In fact, the Rejection Fairie will also step up and deal with any negative comments tossed your way in any “workshopping”, be it ad-hoc or formal.  He is always there. He never sleeps.

Now go write something good, now that the rejection Faerie is there to deal with the rejection.

I don’t know where I got that picture from but whoever put that together back in the day, thanks. That and Jack Daniels has gotten me through a lot.

Stay frosty comrades, I’ll be back when I chew my way through the restraints,

Steve