You’re Still Wrong Mykel's Blog for MAY 2019 or MIND-MELDING FOR DUMMIES

Mykel’s Post MRR Blog

Number ??? May 2019

The Truth About Liberals and Conservatives

by Mykel Board

Conservatives think liberals are stupid. Liberals think conservatives are evil.

--Charles Krauthammer

Can it be him? I don’t think so. I think he’s dead. I’m sure he’s dead… but here he is, walking down Houston Street… as plain as a photon gun. I walk quickly to pass him… take a look over my shoulder… then stop… unable to resist the question.

“Are you… are you...” I start.

He smiles.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes I am.”

“But I thought you were dead,” I tell him. “I read it in the papers… even saw a memorial service.”

He laughs and tells me, “You know we live two hundred years. Tops in the Federation, I think.”

“Ok,” I say, “I’ll buy you a drink. Let’s talk.”

FLASH TO THE PECULIER PUB (my favorite bar in New York over 100 kinds of beer… the first beer bar in NYC). We sit in the back, by the mosaic of Van Gough’s Starry Night made completely with beer bottle caps. He looks up at it.

“Fascinating,” he says.

“This is kind of perfect timing for me,” I tell him. “I've been trying hard to understand people. I have friends I don’t get. I can’t make sense of how they think. If only I could do a Vulcan Mind Meld, I thought, I could understand the way they think. Now’s my chance.”

“I can teach you,” he says.

Just then, Nicole comes over with the beer menu. Spock looks confused by the large number of choices.

“Get something FOUNDERS,” I tell him. “It’s the best brewery in America. If you like dark, but not too bitter, try the Breakfast Beer… It’s got oats in it… that’s why they call it breakfast beer.”

“You have a lot to teach about beer,” he says before looking at Nicole and saying, “Give me one of those.”

“I’ll have an all-day IPA,” I tell her.

She goes off. I lean close to Spock and speak almost in a whisper. “I’ll teach you beer,” I tell him, “if you teach me the Vulcan Mind Meld.”

“Deal!,” he says.

FLASH TO THE BLACK SHEEP: It’s my favorite bar in midtown. Friendly Irish pub… a nice assortment of Irish waitresses, and always a free shot of Jameson’s to end the night. Across from me sits Brandon, my only white millennial drinking buddy.

“He’s got such little hands,” says Brandon. “How could you like anyone with such little hands?”

“I don’t get it,” I tell him, “I mean I don’t understand the relation between little hands and the ability to govern.”

“Mykel, Mykel, Mykel,” he says shaking his head. “You just don’t understand, do you? It’s all part of the same picture… if someone is so evil… any part of him… hairstyle, handsize, pot belly… is also part of that evil.”

Now it’s my turn to shake my head, “You’re right,” I say. “I don’t get it. Would you mind if I tried a Vulcan Mind Meld?”

He laughs.

“No really,” I say, reaching for his face.

“Now cut it out guys,” says Maria, the Black Sheep Waitress. “You know I believe you should have the right to get married and all that… but please…. Not at the table.”

I laugh… but don’t let go of his face.

DOOOOZZZZZZ.

FLASH AHEAD A FEW DAYS: I return from work. It’s been a hard time… trying to pull myself free from Brandon’s mind… separate this is me… from this is him. I need to relax… and learn. Maybe relaxing will allow me to more completely experience his mind.

I sit in my desk chair… swivel it around to face the TV… and turn the TV on. There’s a picture of a burning church… looks like a Cathedral.

“Fuck,” I think, “it’s those Norwegian Heavy Metallers… burning churches again. How can people like that music?”

Then a banner flashes on the bottom of the screen. NOTRE DAME CATHEDRAL… PARIS.

“Holy Shit! I’ve been there… it’s beautiful… and it’s burning down. It’s older than Noam Chomsky.”

Then, the upper right corner flashes FOX FIVE NEWS. What a relief! It’s on Fox News. So it can’t be true. Whew! That was scary.

It’s a spring day in April. At least it should be… There should be budding flowers... organic cherry blossoms. It should be a day where we celebrate our connection to the universe… our oneness with all the righteous people of the world… and it’s raining. That orange fucker in the Whitehouse has pulled out of the Paris climate treaty and made it rain! How many homeless will get soaked… pneumonia.. because of that bastard? April showers my ass… it’s GLOBAL WARMING. And this is only the beginning.

Soon, it’ll be so hot… the sky will be filled with such radiation… Not a speck of humanity will survive. New York will be under water… Africa gobbled up by the Sahara… California destroyed by rampant wildfires… all because of that fucker in Washington.

I can’t go out in that… it’s probably not regular rain in the first place. It’s ACID RAIN. Every drop that lands on me is the seed of a future cancer. Okay, I’ll stay inside for now… wait for it to stop. I’ll give my black friend, LeRoy a call and maybe we can go out to someplace inside. See a Michael Moore movie… I’ll think of something.

The rain has stopped… I walk outside and see taped to my mailbox downstairs a folded piece of paper… yellow… official looking…

I peel it off and check it out. It’s a fucking ticket!!! Failure To Adequately Separate Recyclables. 35 fuckin’ dollars! Me? I separate everything! Compost… (that goes to the composter in the bathroom, where in six months it becomes food for the potted herbs.), paper, metal, glass… I even roll up the tinfoil and stick it in the metal can. What the fuck?

Wait a second! I get it. It’s THE RUSSIANS. They’re fucking with the rules. They want to confuse people so they’ll give up on recycling. They’re trying to destroy the environment… fill the seas with plastic… make Americans live in a sea of unrecycled garbage. When we’re swimming in our own filth, Putin won’t even have to launch a missile… We’ll just be ripe for the take over… The Soviet States of America… Just you wait, it’s coming soon.

Stop! Stop! Stop! I understand how they think. I can’t take any more. I’m exhausted. I force the alternative mind from my head and return to myself. Weak… drained... I fall asleep.

FLASH AHEAD: I’m recovered and ready to pursue my quest. I won’t find a conservative here in New York… I’d better try some place more conducive to that mindset. Alabama or Mississippi would be the cliché, but I want to find someone closer. Frat boys have the Trump mentality, I don’t know if there are fraternities at NYU… seems like there are too many Chinese and Jews to have them… and I don’t remember seeing any Greek letters on university buildings. There’s the NYU chapter of Young Americans For Freedom. All I need to do is wait outside as a meeting finishes, then I can mind meld with one of them.

Perfect, it’s late… dark… and the YAF meeting is just getting out. I lurk in my Inspector Gadget drag in a doorway in the next buildings. A crowd leaves first. I’m waiting for a straggler. There’s one, wearing shorts and one of those polo shirts with wide stripes… horizontal… no jacket.

I step out of the shadows.

“Excuse me,” I say.

He turns and looks at me.

“I’m not a homo,” he tells me, “so what do you want?”

I stare at a spot on his face, just below his right eye.

“I was going to ask you if you had a cigarette,” I tell him, “but I just noticed you’ve got something under your eye. Here I’ll get rid of it before it gets IN your eye.”

I raise my hand to touch his face. He flinches, but lets me. I’ve got him… both hands now… The Vulcan Mind Meld!

DOOOOZZZZZZ.

I can feel the transfer… like a second brain inside my head… pushing… pushing… slowly taking over… there. I’ve got it. I release him… dazed and staggering… and I head back to my apartment to see what happens.

Wow! That’s some headache… don’t remember the binge, but I’m feeling the hangover. Must’ve been from that bottle of rotgut I took from the street bum. Asshole asks me for money.. like I’m a bank or something… Gave him a taste of shoe leather there… and finished his bottle… maybe that was a mistake. Some Bayer should fix me up. I like that company anyway… they made millions selling AIDS blood. What genius! Turning bad blood into profit… an example for our time!

Whew! That’s better. I just need some sleep now. Maybe if I jerk off to some Iraqi War videos… Those Muzzies explode in blasts of machine gun fire… nothing as soothing as that.

The alarm rings at 8:30 in the morning. I slap the snooze alarm, then fall back into a fitful sleep. I vaguely remember a dream. Something about a Mexican waitress.

“Yo puta!” I called to her in my best Spanish.

I don’t remember anything else. It’s shopping day. I need to go out and buy white bread and ground beef for the week to come. It’s only a three block walk, and this is New York fuckin’ city... nobody can keep a car here, because the socialists in charge have made it too tough-- and expensive-- to own one.

Leaving my building, I see a fat old lady picking through the trash in front of my building. As she walks around the trash, she limps noticeably… favoring her right leg. She tears at the plastic bags, probably looking for bottles she can turn in for their deposits at the corner store.

She looks at me as I pass… half smiles a toothless grin… and holds out a wrinkled hand.

“Get a job!” I shout at her and then pick up the pace.

They should just kill them off. Why not? They’re doing no good for anybody. They’re not producing… not creating wealth… just get rid of ‘em. It’d be as easy as a tight room full of gas… or better still... throw them in the clink and make ‘em work for their room and board. Make license plates, repair roads… I dunno. But put ‘em to good use.

At the Stop and Shop I fill my cart up with discount ground beef, eggs, and anything else cheap enough not to be organic, cage free or Jezuz fuckin’ Christ vegetarian. Sometimes I think the fear that animals must feel waiting for the slaughter… and the actual pain of death… adds something nice to the taste of meat.

Back home, I sit in front of the TV with a just-cooked hamburger and a Coke. Made that sucker myself… better than Wendys!

Digging the remote of the pile out of skidmarked underwear on the floor, I turn on the TV.

It’s the fuckin’ news. Some crying kids pulled from their parents at the Spic border. The kids scream as their parents resist arrest... try to pull away from the cops toward the bawling brats. I hope this report gets to Mexico. Take away MORE kids, I say. Teach those fuckers a lesson. Let’s see how anxious they’ll be to invade if it means their puppies get thrown into cages. Nothing like a few untreated measles cases to really teach them a lesson.

I chuckle.

Then his face. The Prez. I had my doubts when he was elected. I watched him on TV and thought he was a wimp. YOU’RE FIRED! What the fuck? Anyone can fire anyone… people SHOULD be fired, that’s how they learn who’s boss. I remember thinking he should have said YOU’RE DEAD! That’d really show ‘em.

The libtards just don’t get it. They can’t figure that it’s life… dog eat dog… People are SUPPOSED to die. That’s the idea. The best win. They fight and the best win again. If you keep fighting, you always get the best… and the best get rich. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Getting the best… and getting rich.

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me on facebook or by email at god@mykelboard.com. Through the post office: send those... er... private DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified when anything new is available. Subscribe to the MYKEL'S READERS Yahoo group readmboard-subscribe@yahoogroups.com]

-→Newest holocaust denier dept: According to the Israeli newspaper Ha’aretz, Jewish Pope Benjamin Netanyahu, says that Hitler did not want to exterminate the Jews, but was persuaded to do it by… you guessed it… Muslim Arabs. If this appeared in The Onion, we’d laugh at it. But the world is stranger than The Onion.

→ Proving the cliches dept: The Israeli newspaper above, installed a special program to block it’s pages from any browser using an AD-BLOCKER. In other words, you HAVE to put up with their money-makers if you want to read what they have to say. The income is more valuable than the news… Sometimes it’s sooo tough being a Jew.

→ Texas Jerkoff dept: A proposed bill in Texas that would impose a fine for male masturbation is making its way through the state’s legislature. House Bill 4260, called the “Man’s Right to Know Act,” would punish male masturbation with a $100 fine, and require men who want Viagra to be subject to a rectal exam.

Though proposed as a satire of restrictions on women’s rights, the bill is actually moving though the Texas legislature and may become law. I wonder if they’ll have a special branch of the police force… the frig patrol?

→ I hate hotels… but dept: I’m a couch surfer. I’d prefer to stay on someone’s cum-stained sofa than in the fanciest hoity toity Ritz. It’s a bed, for fuck’s sake. But, I’m tempted by a “special cabin,” I read about.

The Gas Station along Texas Highway 304 near Bastrop now offers overnight stays in some newly built cabins behind the station. Why stay there? The old filling station was the setting for the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre-- one of the greatest horror films ever made. Manager Ben Hughes says the Coke machine in the movie is the same one that’s now in the restaurant, and they have a van parked outside that’s an exact replica of the one in the film. Now you can stay in one of those four mini-cabins. But Hughes promises the staff won’t try to scare you: “We want to make sure that everybody that comes out has a good time... not just freakin’ out or anything like that.”

           I say, too bad on that last part.  

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