Dancing With The Spoon

Mark Zuckerberg doesn’t care. Donald Trump doesn’t care. Karen Pence doesn’t care.

You can drag Mark Zuckerberg in front of the Senate and scold him for pooping his diapers and defiling the truth, you can impeach Donald Trump for dancing The Shake Down and embarrassing the world, you can hand Karen Pence a strap-on dildo and the keys to the sex dungeon underneath the Oval Office and none of it will change a Goddamn Thing!

We have to self-correct.

They’re not listening.


Nancy Pelosi doesn’t care. Chuck Schumer doesn’t care. Mika Brzezinski doesn’t care. You can spend the rest of your life waiting on Nancy Pelosi to find a voice worthy of the moment, you can send a style consultant to advise Chuck Schumer on pushing the glasses further up the bridge of his nose so he stops coming across like an out of touch curmudgeon, you can hand Mika Brzezinski a strap-on dildo and the keys to the sex dungeon underneath Morning Joe and none of it will change a Goddamn Thing!

We keep tuning-in.

But they’re not real.


I don’t care. You don’t care. I really don’t care. You can put your fingers on the keyboard and aim your misplaced fury in my direction, you can catalog all of the unfairness you’ve had to endure in a world designed to steal your dreams, you can send the love of my life a strap on dildo and the keys to the sex dungeon underneath my childhood home and it just might bring peace back to the universe!

Plus a lifetime supply of Astro Glide.

What a delicious wank.


It’s snowing as I write this, the first snow of the season, the view is glorious. It’s Halloween. Kids will be trick or treating dressed up in costumes but what they don’t understand is the adults have spent their entire lives dressed up in costumes in search of tricks and treats. The adults don’t know it because the adults stopped noticing and they stopped noticing because they got comfortable or they found a safe place to hide or they married out of the uncomfortableness of getting someone to notice their lonely face only needed a kiss or they got tenure or they got a legal degree and found a kindred spirit in a corrupt judge who more or less ruled in their favor or they quit dancing or they never danced or they quit drinking or they never drank or they quit smoking pot or they never took a merciful hit off a joint or they went golfing for the rest of their miserable fucking lives.


“Can I get a mulligan?”

“No. You can’t get a mulligan, asshole. This. Is. Life. Wake up!”

What do you think a suit is? It’s a costume for adults to wear so they can run around pretending they matter. What do you think about high heels? They’re a costume for sexy time strap-on fun-fun pass the Astro Glide. What do you think about debates? They’re a ratings game with make believe podiums where desperate, needy adults act like baby seals blowing horns for a fish. What do you think about Impeachment? It’s a finger-bang yes-yes more-more treat for bored rich people who don’t want to do their job. What do you think about The Electoral College? It’s a mask for rich white men to steal the potential of absolutely everyone else while they sip sweet tea and play with their nipples. What do you think a blog is?

Magic…the birth canal of a voice worthy of the ages…a gathering point for trolls…and trolls are real…as real as angry adults who steal joy instead of indulging in a McFlurry…instead of dancing with the spoon.

2 thoughts on “Dancing With The Spoon”

    1. This blog is brought to you by Astro Glide, the number 3 & the letter “B” for Bottom.

      Sooner or later, if we’re lucky & open to love, we’re all somebody’s bottom. The trick, in adult life, besides consent, besides a safe word, is to enjoy it, something I get the feeling you stopped doing a long, long time ago, Den Dover. But it’s never too late until it’s too late.

      Go. And. Get. Some. Go and get some tonight!!! Be well…

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