Al Smith Was Probably a Better Catholic Than Most Bishops Bishoping Today


“Fun Day at Disenfranchisement Beach” 2016. (After watching ‘debate’) Acrylic on press cleaning sheet, 7 x 15″

An anecdote from my humble life to explain the entire 2016 Presidential race, using a little tested hypothesis…

Several years ago I wrote an editorial to my hometown newspaper questioning the legality of a local lawyer in bed with a town council to use eminent domain to take an apple orchard away from a family that had been in business for over 60 years. All for a new road which would pave the way for more strip malls on property that the lawyer had purchased a year or two earlier. In the letter I mentioned that population of the area had decreased by almost half since I was born and raised there, and that these new businesses would only bring wage slave jobs, and none of any lasting substance. The lawyer would get rich, while the town and countryside acquired more low-paying second and third jobs for mothers and fathers to juggle.

The lawyer in question happened to be the son-in-law of my mother’s best friend. He was born and raised in New York City, and after college received a lump sum from his father to make a go at a side career in real estate development.

My editorial was published in the Sunday paper, and by Sunday night, my mother no longer had a best friend.

For five years she was shunned by this elder woman who laughed and cried with my mom over a long and lucky lifetime, all over a short article that my innocent mother had no part in, beyond giving birth in 1967 to a now grown son who heard through the grapevine that his old hometown was dying from the greed of a very few, and thought, however naively, that he could put the brakes on an out-of-control runaway civic train.


Last night on Facebook, Kevin, a friend of mine, posted his revelation that the Presidential election is all a ruse! I sensed this for a long time, as all ready, able, and willing part-time conspiracy theorists often do. Clinton and Trump have been in bed together all along. But I can’t prove it of course, and with our nation’s overtly corrupt national media, it wouldn’t matter if I could. However, Kevin’s epiphany while watching the news of the cheerful roast come in over the wire, was catalyst to my social psychology neurons hopping in bed with the recent memory of my mother’s unfair shunning.

The daughters of the candidates are best friends, who have both declared publicly that each will remain the best friend of the other even if their mom and dad continue to seethe with manufactured disdain and disrespect of the other. But jeez, c’mon! Look at the photo. Enemies do not sit down to dinner together one night after calling each other very dangerous names in front of a television audience the night before. Both proved their irresponsible, schoolyard childishness at the debate. Trump and Clinton are just bullies. And now I believe, also close friends. They’re feasting with bishops and priests and laughing with happy hearts. This is not another dimension in string theory. You could argue that leaders are supposed to do that from time to time. And I would agree, if the debates and these daily news round-ups were not so bottom-dwelling and debased.

My anecdote is enough to see into the reality of human relationships. Not only is it unnatural for two people who appear to hate each other so much as to rile a nation in like hatred and vitriol, but it is also quite rare for well-fed families not to feud over the most trivial social faux-pas. Two nights ago these two stuffed elites stood on a stage hurling insult after insult—so carelessly speaking of nuclear annihilation, nationwide misogyny, and even “ripping” babies out of wombs. It made a nation sick to watch. Now “we, the people” must wrestle with our “either-or” cognitive dissonance to an even higher degree. Which unloved, snot-smeared, dirty bully do we side with? They’re both wretched, but which one do we prefer to take the other kid’s lunch money?

In my story, all I I did was piss off an equally delusional old lady who once made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for me when I was a little boy. I believe now that the elite players of earth have decided that war costs too much to divide a nation. It’s cheaper to play one idiot group against another idiot group on TV. One group is always about 60%, and the other will hover near 40%. Have two candidates appear to hate each other before a studio audience. Afterwards, both step onto their private planes, and eat what the populace has never tasted, and see what we cannot even find in dreams. The people holding present power know… Vicious and cruel rhetoric exchanged by potential heads of state and witnessed by 100 million moms and dads to choose sides, bear results that are already well documented. In poll after poll, the U.S. electorate favors, even if by only 5% or more, progressive reforms across the board. The statisticians know this, as do the politicians, and also the high players in the military/medical/finance/educational “industrial” complex.

I understand this because no human children would remain friends if their parents brought an entire nation to its knees in fear. This isn’t Romeo and Juliet. But I could be wrong in the era of spoiled rich brats steering a nation to the brink. Has anyone thought openly yet that these two charlatans, Clinton and Trump, could be lovers?

Well, I have. But that’s par for the course with me.

Two April paintings I stand by still:

“The Last Time Donald Was at a Punky Reggae Party He Dreamed of Destroying Everybody’s Happiness As An Old Man Confronting Mortality” 2016. Acrylic on canvas, 11 x 14″

“Super-Predator” 2016. Acrylic on canvas, 16 x 20″





Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s