The Long National Nightmare of Me Being Way Too Busy is Over!

Today I finished up a weeklong marathon project that really made my life a misery and seriously cut into my on-line time to the detriment of this site.

Whew!!!

So here I am looking around and I see…

The same crap as the week before!

Hmmm.

Okay, there’s a claim that Biden’s poll numbers have gone up a point or maybe two.  Let’s grant that.  But his swing state numbers, both with and without third party candidates are the same or maybe even a little bit worse than before.  And inflation has gotten worse but the disastrous housing market is forcing the Fed to drop interest rates to try and generate some good news for Biden.  Which will make the inflation worse still.

And the Zoomers are really angry about Gaza.

Apparently, the big tent party is beginning to turn on its Jewish contingent because of Biden’s support for the Gaza War.  And this is causing pundits like the Ragin’ Cajun James Carville to hit the panic button.  His exact words were:

“I’ve been very vocal about this,” Carville said. “It’s horrifying, our numbers among younger voters, particularly younger Blacks, younger Latinos … younger people of color. Particularly males. We’re not shedding them, they’re leaving in droves,” he added.”

So, Biden has lots of election problems because the country has lots of problems and it’s too late to fix them before November.

And the border crisis is worse than ever and the criminal aliens are in the news every day.  And the cities are becoming war zones.

And now ships are crashing into bridges and destroying them.  I mean, you can’t make this stuff up!

Sure, this is more of the same.  But it’s like a train crash.  Once you’ve discovered that you have no brakes and you’re closer than some minimum distance “x” then you can’t avoid the crash.  But the closer you get to the impact the more terrifying is the view from the engineer’s seat.  So, I’m sure whoever is running the Biden campaign is in daily contact with the voting officials in Pennsylvania figuring out if they can add an extra five million votes to the Biden total on Election Day.

Well, enough election crap.  Instead something nearer and dearer to my heart; my novel (The American Archipelago: Book 1 – The Sniper).  Thanks to all who’ve been reading along and special thanks to those who have provided feedback.  Honest criticism is extremely valuable when you’re trying to make a story attractive to the publishers and compelling for the readers.

Anyone who has a taste for dystopian science fiction, I ask that you give it a whirl and leave some comments that reflect your take on the story, positive or negative.  And the more specific the better.

Here in Dunwich the weird is the rule and the weather is no exception to this.  It’s supposed to snow tonight and then rain will freeze up tomorrow night and create a Class IV Kill Storm. So tomorrow, after helping Camera Girl navigate the frozen tundra, we’ll probably hunker down and enjoy the sounds of squealing brakes and screeching cries on the road outside as the black ice claims numberless victims on the crater strewn back roads of Dunwich.  Afterward I’ll go out for the traditional gathering of the pocket change from the bodies of the crash victims and I’ll return as a conquering hero (of sorts) as I dole out this largesse to my minions (dog one and dog two) in the form of low-quality pressed rawhide that I purchase on the websites of third world competitors of Amazon dot com.

I’ve often wondered what would happen if a prolonged storm cut off the supply of these “treats.”  I fear that my minions might notice that there is a disturbing similarity between pressed rawhide and, well, me!  Me thinks Dog One has a lean hungry look about him.  Such minions are dangerous.

Well, anyway, enough yammering.  I’m back and on the job.

OCF Drought Warning – The Curse Has Come Upon Me

Folks, the next nine days will be terribly busy ones for me.  I’ll be away from my desk and a virtual prisoner for most of the day during this period.  I will attempt to keep the quotes and photos stocked if I can.  And I’ll try to have some content available if time and circumstance allow.  But truth be told, things will be kind of quiet here at the site while I do penance for a decision that I am already regretting.  No good deed ever goes unpunished.

Late Night photog – 3 – Cthulhu Fills In

Cthulhu – Well we’re back.  And for those tuning in late I’m Cthulhu and I’m filling in for photog while he explains some things to the FBI in DC this week.  Well, we hope it’s just this week because, honestly, I do have better things to do than amuse his audience, I can tell you that.  But enough complaining.  We’ve got a great show tonight.  I’ve provided my own band this week.  I’ve got George Harrison, Roy Orbison and Tom Petty of the Stationary Wilburys and they’ll be singing their new song, “Come on Down Bob, it’s a Dry Heat.”  And later on, I’ll be talking to Sadaam Hussein about his new book, “They Weren’t Kidding!”

But now let’s give a big hand to that master of disaster, Henry Kissinger!  Hey Henry, how the hell are you?

Kissinger – Funny you should put it that way, Cthulhu.  It is a bit hot down there for my liking but I won’t bore you with my problems.  All in all, it’s been an interesting experience.  I’ve had a chance to catch up with Dick Nixon and some of the other boys from my salad days.  Good times.  But really my next assignment is what I’m interested in.

Cthulhu – What’s that Henry?

Kissinger – I’m doing contract work for the administration down there.  Apparently, Lucifer is short on strategic thinkers, at least modern ones.  Would you believe it, Metternich was still on the job down there.  He never got anything done but just kept repeating “Might through Right! Might through Right!”  Hopeless old bird.  I don’t know what people saw in him.

Cthulhu – What kind of strategic planning does Hell need?

Kissinger – Trust me.  Everyone needs planning.  Recently Black Rock reduced our ESG score because we hadn’t assigned pronouns for Baphomet on his infernal stationery and business cards.  Those guys are brutal and they just don’t give a crap who they hurt.  So, I busted my hump first day, right out of the chute and got BR to cut us a little slack until I had a chance to reform things.  Luckily for the Prince of Darkness I know where the bodies are buried at Black Rock so everything worked out.  But I tell you there’s no rest for the wicked.  Literally!

Cthulhu – Tell me about it!  Last month I was returning from laying waste to a stellar system inhabited by fungoid beetle beings.  You know, real eldritch Great Old Ones stuff.  And accidentally I tracked in a little plutonium from the finale.  Well somehow the EPA and the NRC got wind of it and now they’re all up in my business and they’re even threatening to pull my NGO status and shut down my cult.  Bureaucrats.

Kissinger – Well, I don’t want to interfere but my contract with Lucifer isn’t exclusive and I still have lots of friends in Washington.  If you’d like, I’ll straighten the thing out for you.

Cthulhu – Why, that’s mighty nice of you Henry.  How can I repay you?

Kissinger – Funny you should ask.  There’s one thing I could really use is a flunky down here.  I need someone with absolutely no scruples, an inveterate liar and low intelligence as a whipping boy in my dealing with his Satanic Majesty.

Cthulhu – You want Biden?

Kissinger – In a word, yes.  He’s not due down here for ten more years but if you’ve got the bandwidth, it would really help me out if he could be delivered in early 2025.

Cthulhu – Hey no problem.  I’m supposed to ease him out of his gig this year so consider it done.  But I tell you; dealing directly with him is no picnic.  Even I feel contaminated after dealing with that skunk.  Well, to each his own.

Kissinger – Thanks.  But I better be going.  I don’t want to be late for my morning lake of fire immersion.  If I’m last, I get stuck next to Hitler and Stalin and then it’s just bitch, bitch, bitch.

Cthulhu – Everybody, Henry Kissinger!  Give him a big Late-Night round of applause.

Late Night photog – 2

photog – Welcome back.  While you were watching that fascinating laxative/ADHD commercial my guests were comparing notes on libel cases they had going on.  President Trump was discussing the slander that has been making the rounds on the cable channels and other cesspools of the mainstream media.  Mr. President, are the accusations and fantasies about you setting up a fascist dictatorship in your next term something you’d be likely to pursue through a lawsuit.

Donald Trump – Negative, photog.  All of that chatter is protected by the first amendment.  I’m a public figure.  They’re allowed to say almost anything.  I’m reduced to just waiting until I’m in office and then we’ll see what’s what.

Cthulhu – I disagree Donald.  You’re really limiting your options.

Donald Trump – What do you mean CMan?  How can I get around the prerogatives of the press?

Cthulhu – Well, for instance if someone blasphemed against my eldritch self, I’d start by forcing nightmares of cosmic horror to haunt his every sleeping and waking moment.  In these nightmares he would experience the sensation of his flesh being slowly eaten away by a corrosive bath of slime that started at his feet and worked its way up to his head.  Then when he hadn’t had a moment of peace for two weeks, I’d send a parasite to crawl into his ear one night and begin slowly to gnaw away at his brain.  Eventually only his skull would be left.  It’s a fan favorite I highly recommend.

Donald Trump – Well, that was my plan B.  But this is network tv and I don’t like to let the cat out of the bag, so to speak.  But tell me CMan, doesn’t the FBI come looking for you when you say these kinds of things in public like this?

Cthulhu – They used to Donald back in the good old days.  And it was very exciting because with all the diversity and inclusion that the FBI has been practicing the variety has been amazing.  They’ve even added capon to the menu.

photog – Capon?

Cthulhu – I think they call them post-op trans-women agents.  But potato/puhtata.  They’re wonderful with a tobacco sauce marinade.  I like them cold with beer so I pop them in the fridge for a day or so.  I just wait for them to stop screeching and I know they’re ready.  And then I put them in a bowl and watch some old favorites on TCM.  I’m a sucker for those old screwball comedies.  Or a good old adventure story like Gunga Din or Kim.  But they must be running out of capon, uh agents.  None have shown up for months.

Donald Trump – CMan, not being a Great Old One I don’t have the leeway you do with respect to the criminal justice system.  I’ve got to admit it sounds kind of exciting.  Well, not the cannibal stuff, but the brain eating bug thing.  That probably solves a lot of problems.  There are at least a half dozen or so prosecutors and judges that would really benefit from having about half their brains eaten away.

Cthulhu – I tell you what.  I’ll FedEx my copy of the Necronomicon with a post-it on the page with the spell for the brain bug and you see what you think.  No pressure.  I’ve got a website that’ll only charge you by the amount of brain that gets eaten.  You can stop whenever you want and you won’t even get a lot of spam bugging you for more business.

Donald Trump – That would be great CMan.  I doubt that any of them has more than a few ounces of brains anyway so I’m sure I’ll be able to swing the payments.  Although I will say, things have been kind of tight lately.  I had to sell off the gold toilet and downgrade to silver.

Cthulhu – Damn shame.  Sorry to hear it.  Well don’t worry.  I read the other day that you’ll be instituting a fascist dictatorship once you’re reelected.  I’m sure you’ll recoup your losses afterwards.

Donald Trump – Well, I hope so, but these things are tricky.  For every Franco there are probably ten Pol Pots so you never know.

photog – I’m sorry to break up this discussion but we’ve got to go to commercial.  Take it away, Study-Lax.

09NOV2023 – OCF Update – Our Long National Nightmare is Over

“photog Unbound,” my favorite lost play of Aeschylus, ends with Zeus freeing me from Tartarus where all the food, even things like vanilla ice cream, is served with tartar sauce already added into it, a fate worse than death itself.

But now I’m free.  And in my absence, as usual, all hell has broken loose.  Elections have been bungled and pundits have drawn absurd conclusions from them and even more ridiculous people have been running around in circles declaring that the sky is falling.

In other words everything is quite normal for our world of the present day.  But it’s good to be back and I’ll try to collect my thoughts and put down in somewhat coherent quasi-English what I think about all this stuff.

So, yes, yes.  I’m back with my nose to the grindstone and my shoulder to the wheel (which combination, by the way, sounds quite uncomfortable).  And I’m bound to come up with something that I predict will include the letters a, s, d and f just because of carpal tunnel syndrome or some other repetitive motion injury of the hand syndrome that I am unaware of.

Good morning.

Where the Hell is photog?

For the last three or four days I’ve been dying.  I guess it’s the latest bout of COVID.  Coughing, congestion, headache, possible heart failure, possible kidney failure, possible dementia; the whole nine yards.  So add that to the arrival of Little Evil Dog and my subsequent abandonment by Camera Girl and you can only imagine the desperate straits I’ve been living through.

I cried out from the wilderness, “Camera Girl, Camera Girl, why hast thou forsaken me?!”

Slowly, slowly, I have stepped back from the very threshold of Death itself.  Today I was able to ingest “hammy eggy” (actually; scrambled eggs, pumpernickel bagel and coffee) and can once again take my rightful place on the cultural firing line.  And my brush with the Grim Reaper has renewed my lust for life.  Everything seems new again.  For me once again Kamala Harris lights up the world with her psychedelic stupidity, her florescent numbskullery.  I long to hear her discuss the space program or quantum entanglement or even school buses.

Give me AOC and Jeffrey Nadler arguing for more homeless migrants in the face of an angry mob of New Yorkers shouting “Build the Wall.”  Give me clips of Joe Biden misreading a teleprompter in front of a crowd of Vietnamese airport baggage handlers.  Let me be serenaded by Mitt Romney providing the Republican case for pedophilia.  It’s all back and it’s all new again.

I feel like George Bailey running down Main Street, Bedford Falls at the end of “It’s Wonderful Life.”  He knows he will be sent to prison for the rest of his life because Uncle Billy is an alcoholic doofus but by golly there’s still that last glass of scotch from Nick at Martini’s.  And where has that Violet Bick gotten to anyway?  That’s a very interesting situation!  Maybe she’s still at the bus station.  Hmmm.

Seriously, I was a little under the weather.  If I had blogged anything yesterday it would have been incoherent at best.  Of course, some might say it wouldn’t have been noticed but I hold myself to a higher standard.  If I can’t remember the laptop password I step away from the keyboard.  It’s as simple as that.

Luckily I didn’t miss anything yesterday.  Our march to Idiocracy continues at its relentless, steady pace.  No more and no fewer than fifty thousand illegal aliens crossed the border.  The requisite number of law suits were filed against Donald Trump and Joe Biden sent another billion dollars to the Ukraine.  God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world.

As I screech like a baby raven in the nest for Camera Girl’s attention to get my fair share of her domestic and medical care I feel renewed purpose in documenting our civilization’s dizzy descent into the maelstrom of voluntary self-annihilation.  I find myself now calm about witnessing the plunge into Charybdis.  After all, it’s a very important story.  The death of a mighty empire like ours only happens once every thousand years or so.  Recording its death throes is a worthy project and I’ll be following in the footsteps of such worthies as Thucydides and St. Augustine.  Of course mine is more of an Aristophanic or Mad magazine version.  Nevertheless, posterity will honor me.

So here we go.

Am. Greatness Publishes Rambling Ravings of Some Crackpot Named photog

So after Michael Anton wrote his final defense of natural rights in which he very interestingly quoted one of my posts, I found a number of reactions in the comments section thought provoking.  Mostly they were apologies for the Z-Man based on the premise (which is one of the underpinnings of the Dissident Right) that a multiracial society is doomed to failure because of the biological differences between people.

I thought that was worth discussing further and so I wrote my article and I was happy to find that American Greatness was willing to feature it on their worthy site.  So here is the link and I hope everyone goes over and reads it and leaves all kinds of interesting and highly complimentary comments that proclaim my groundbreaking insights and the general brilliance of Orion’s Cold Fire as both a font of political wisdom and also a source of entertaining cultural content.

Does Inequality Make America Impossible?

 

The Decline and Fall of photog

So just when I assumed I was on the brink of health, tragedy struck.  Of course, in my case it’s really tragicomedy.  Last night I was preparing for bed and I had earlier taken one of those horse pills they call a 12-hour Mucinex.  Now I remembered that this medicine dehydrates the user but I never worry about such things.  I was brushing my teeth and I felt kind of wonky.  The next thing I know I’m lying on the floor near the sink with Camera Girl shouting at me things like, “Should I call an ambulance?” And, “Are you alright?”

Now it was the funniest thing.  I could hear her perfectly well and kept saying, “Calm down.”  But it was as if she couldn’t hear me.  I think she was in a panic.  But it was enheartening to see what a decisive manner she reacted to my impending death.  In retrospect I’m very proud of her.  But in the moment, I finally broke through her fear to convince her that I had just blacked out due to my policy of “sweating it out,” probably some combination of low blood pressure and dehydration.

As I attempted to get up, I discovered I was still clutching my toothbrush.  I flung it toward the countertop but was informed later that I failed in my aim.  Once I convinced Camera Girl that I hadn’t suffered a stroke I gathered my shattered dignity and impaired equilibrium and hoisted myself up onto my feet.

Word of my collapse has spread far and wide in the family.  Relatives were calling up and questioning me on when the burial service would be performed.  Eventually it seemed easiest just to say Tuesday.

This latest manifestation of my mortality has made me think.  I might consider extending my locked bathroom door policy to include tooth brushing.  But realistically Camera Girl is a resourceful woman she’d probably get a screwdriver and pop the hinges off the door.

So, I’ve discontinued the Mucinex and today I’m feeling decidedly chirpier.  Although my balance still seems a little iffy.  I’m attributing this to my ears being clogged.

But this morning I noticed a tender red welt on my jaw line.  I accused Camera Girl of getting me with a sucker punch.  This angered her.  She brought up that she would have had to hit me on the jaw standing behind me.  I defended the possibility gamely.  I said that an upper cut snuck in under the arm I was holding my toothbrush with was highly likely to cause just such an injury.  To her credit she just walked away.  Probably speechless in the face of such blinding intellect.

The less likely possibility is that I hit the sink countertop with my jaw as I was collapsing.  The funny thing is that I never noticed it until by chance I put my hand up to my face today.

Well anyway, I’ve recalibrated my recovery schedule.  I’m hoping by tomorrow morning I’ll be at 65% capacity.  Which is still pretty good.  And I’ll take the rest of today to convalesce and recuperate.  And based on my perusal of the news today I’m not missing anything.  Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for Nurse Camera Girl to spoon feed me my mush.

And the Wisdom to Know the Difference

The new schedule has begun.  Yesterday I spent the morning on fiction writing.  That was fun.  After that I wrote my post.  Today I headed off to the office for my first normal workday.  That was interesting.

I am under the weather.  Camera Girl and by extension Princess Sack of Potatoes gifted me some kind of cold-flu-virus-thingamajig involving sinuses, nose and throat suffering but mercifully no lung torture.  I’m doped up on over-the-counter marvelous miracle drugs that actually seem to abate most of the misery.  But I’m still only firing on seven cylinders which means this post may be a little off.

But all-in-all I’m feeling relatively upbeat about my new perspective on US politics.  I no longer have to agonize over whether Herschel Walker or Dr. Oz is going to squirm through the Democrat ballot harvesting dragnet.  It’s no longer my problem anymore.  I live in a country that has a single-party political system and it isn’t a party that’s going to favor me or my family.  All I have to worry about is whether I’m doing everything I can to produce a space where people like me can flourish.

And since I’ve just started this phase of my life, I’m cutting myself some slack.  I don’t have to solve all the problems of living in New England overnight.  But what I must do is begin thinking in this new way and continuously test and improve my assumptions about what can be done and what can’t.

So, for instance, my town is one of the few towns in my state that is measurably Republican in voting record.  So, we can elect Republican selectmen and school board members and a Republican state representative and state senator.  But we can’t elect a Republican US representative or senator.  So, that tells me that we can have quite a bit of influence in the local laws that are written and a little influence on state laws but basically no impact at the national level.

So that should be my basis for evaluating the future.  The state and federal government are the main threats to me.  They can increase my taxes, curtail my freedoms and poison the minds of my children and grandchildren with warped lies and dangerous fantasies about life.  Each of these threats require an evaluation to decide what preventative actions can be taken to protect against these problems.  And these actions have to be evaluated to see if there is a net positive or negative from having to implement them.

For instance, moving to a different state or a different country might protect me from losing certain freedoms or eliminate indoctrination of my children.  But what other things go along with that?  Would I have to sacrifice economic opportunities.  Or would I be forced to become a stranger in a strange land, someone who would always be thought of as an outsider?

So that’s why I’m going to cut myself a lot of slack.  Big changes like emigrating are not something you do lightly or quickly.  For now, I’ll concentrate on the small things like participating in local government.  And since I’ve made that move, I’m patting myself on the back and awarding myself all kinds of bonus points and participation trophies.

And that’s why I’m feeling so upbeat amid the wreckage and ruin of the mid-terms.  I don’t want to walk in the footsteps of the social justice types but I will quote one of their favorite messages, the Serenity Prayer, “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and wisdom to know the difference.  I’m going to do what I can and stop stressing about things that just don’t seem to be happening.

If someone appears who can get things done, I’ll support him.  If my small efforts put me into a position to accomplish some change on my own, I’ll do it.  And if all else fails I’ll keep my eyes open to know when and where to jump to avoid disaster.  That’s as much as I can think of.  And that’s what I’ll write about when I’m not writing stories or taking photos.

Camera Girl Angers the Lightning God

Many years ago, when Camera Girl was just a simple housewife.  This was before she became a jet-setting companion to a high-powered photographic dynamo; me.  One day while I was at work, I got a call from home.  She informed me that the fire department had to be called because our electric stove had malfunctioned and burst into flames.  The highly professional volunteer firemen had heroically dragged the stove out of the house and it was lying on the driveway like some stricken beast brought low by forces beyond the control of nature.  And she further informed me that the meat loaf was still in it and unless I wanted to try carbonized beef we would need to eat out.  Now, I know for a fact that she’s always disliked electric stoves and ovens.  She claims that only gas stoves provide the kind of temperature control she needs to cook food correctly.  I’m not saying she sabotaged that stove but it is true she was glad to get a new one.  Even if it was also an electric model.

Well yesterday lightning struck again.  At about 4 pm I heard a loud crackle of electricity like something out of the Frankenstein laboratory scene coming from the kitchen followed by Camera girl screaming something incoherently.  I ran into the kitchen to find smoke pouring from the oven.  I shut the power to the oven and turned on the vent fan above the stove.  Then I took the smoke alarm off the wall and put it where it wouldn’t go off.

Sure, enough for the third time in her career as chief cook and bottlewasher in “Chez photog” the heating element in one of her ovens failed.  This time I was there so the fire department wasn’t needed.  I could see the element was cracked and the sound I’d heard was power arcing over the gap.  After gently coaxing Camera Girl off the ceiling fan, I comforted her in her terror and convinced her that all would be well once we got our local appliance store to send a serviceman to install a new element.

But when I called them, it wasn’t as simple as that.  After providing them with the stove’s model number they informed me that they would have to order this critical part.  And when I asked them when they would be able to send someone to install it the pleasant young fellow on the line said, “In three or four weeks.”   I dared not tell Camera Girl that her stove would be out of service for a month so I asked the guy how difficult would it be for me to install it myself.  He thought it would be quite simple and foolproof.  So tomorrow morning I’ll go and pay fifty bucks for this replacement part and spend some part of the day installing it.

Obviously, this is a double-edged sword.  On the up side, I get to save a hundred fifty bucks in service call charges and appear to be a competent and self-sufficient alpha male.  On the down side if I louse up the installation Camera Girl will mock me mercilessly.

Well, there’s nothing to be done about it.  I must rise to the challenge.  I was thinking of watching some episodes of the Honeymooners tonight to see if I can get any pointers from Ralph Kramden’s technique handling Alice’s bouts of sarcasm.  What’s the worst that could happen?  Where did I put that fire extinguisher?