The Presidential Assassination that Scarred My Generation

I was barely a bump in the womb when John F. Kennedy was shot, so his murder taught me only one thing–I got to get me a 16 mm color motion picture camera… Or at least Super-8!

What scarred me–what scarred all of us if we’d just admit it–was the assassination of President Ford when I was 11 years old. (September 1975)

Followed by another assassination attempt three weeks later! (also September 1975)

Both attempts failed. Both were by women. One was a follower of Manson, the other just an ordinary political extremist.

No woman had ever attempted to assassinate a US president. And now here’s two in one month!

The shock and horror of JFK’s assassination taught the WWII generation and their Baby Boomer kids how to despair and lose hope–a valuable lesson which they would have to relearn in ‘Nam.

But rather than shock and horror, it was the absurdity and the banality of Ford’s failed assassination attempts that subliminally taught my generation an even more demoralizing lesson: really weird bad shit is normal–it can happen twice in three weeks!

And it can not even matter!

And what if the “women’s libbers” are wrong?

The nihilism of those object lessons was simply crushing. Even if subliminally.

So the next time you see someone my age doing the things we do, just remember, they had to live through the bi-monthly shooting of a sitting US President and grow up thinking that was normal and no big deal.

Gerry ducks a bullet

Gerry ducks another:  the advantages of having a dumb jock for President.

Go Ger’ Go!

They Found Him Not Guilty

I read better books than you and I have better thoughts. My feelings are more profound and my orgasms are much better.

Much better.

Even when we read the same book mine is still better. (Points to head)

Frankly, I matter more. My life is more art-worthy than yours.

I’m more human, more special, more alive, and, moreover, more deserving.

I’m like a major character; you’re like this prop.

I am—how shall we say?—superior?—

I mean I know it’s awkward but there is a word for it.

Is that a gun? Hey, wait–

Solution to the Gun Control Issue: Math

And geography:

Population density ÷ distance to nearest high-density area =

Your gun laws.

The higher your number, the more restrictive your gun laws. Low numbers entitles you to all the Wild West paranoid fun you can stockpile.

IF you keep it out in the sticks.

Because remember: being born in a low density area means nothing when you enter a high density area. The laws are the same for everyone in high and low density areas. it’s just different depending on where you’re at.

Gun owners with a house in the city and a house in the country, for instance, would find themselves under two different sets of gun laws, depending on their location.

My second serious blog entry… The last time I sacrificed humor was in order to solve the Afghanistan-Pakistan-Kashmir problem. I did it, but no one listened.

And people died.

Now, I want to be funny and write instead about butterflies made out of bullshit but you people leave all these needlessly unsolved issues out there, it forces me to get practical and dreary sometimes.

So it’s your fault.

Future Fucked

When the Machines take over our TV’s are going to turn us off.

We’ll get played by our toys.

And consumed by our drugs.

We’ll never work right and we’ll always break down.

Our biographies will be filled with incomprehensible diagrams and we’ll all come with extra nuts.

So yes, there are some advantages, but unless we squeak and squeal our ass off no one will pay us any attention.

Eventually the Machines will wonder if we even think at all.

Since, you know, we don’t feel things as deeply as they do.

But then how can you expect human minds to have the deep, complex emotions of a Quantum Computer? There’s no way.