You’re STILL Wrong Mykel's Sept 2018 Blog/Column "Well-Hung"

You’re STILL Wrong

or
Mykel's

Sept 2018 Blog/Column

Well-hung

The pain starts at the ankles. A rough localized pain… not a stabbing pain... closer to an intense rash that hurts rather than itches. It’s the rope... digging into me… every strand cutting its own notch… if I move an inch… try to twist or flop my body… it cuts deeper.

The hook on the ceiling stays firm. I half hope it will pull out... freeing me from the hanging, but if it gives way suddenly, the entire 135 pounds of my body weight will land on my bald skull.. likely splitting it. So here I hang… naked... my head a couple feet above the concrete floor, my elderly breasts slightly higher on my chest than they are when I’m standing. Between my legs my floppy bits hang in a limp parody of the erection that wasn’t.

It must be an hour now. The pain in my bladder is slowly becoming intolerable. Gravity fights the urge to piss. I have to piss upward… over a urethral hill… then down. The pressure wins… gravity loses... the stream pushes its way from between my legs... up over the taint… and out. A yellow stream from up to down… hitting my chin as if perfectly aimed by one of those Russian piss experts. I tilt my head forward to catch it in my mouth.

None of that is true. At least, none is true on a literal level. Metaphorically, it’s the focus of this blog… Here’s something that IS true.

It’s noon. My first class starts in an hour and a half. It’s a cloudy day… rain a minute away… in any direction. I stop at Cafe Angelique on my way to the subway. Walking in, the most beautiful girl I’ve seen this year is walking out. She holds the door… makes a chivalrous sweeping hand gesture… and smiles… not one of those tooth-gritting-I’m-doing-this-to-be-polite-but-actually-I-hate-you smiles… but a real you’re-a-person-I’m a person-and-I’m happy-we’ve-had-this-encounter-however-brief smile. The cloudy day brightens a bit… from the inside.

Inside the cafe, I pick up my usual bagel stick (cream cheese, lox, on a mini-French bread… baked like a bagel)... and head to the counter to pay for it. I pass by the second most beautiful girl I’ve seen this year. On her lap... standing... is a little boy, obviously enjoying his trip to the cafe. Not only does the woman smile at me, she says “Hello there.” And even the little boy shows me a toothy grin. One tooth is missing.

I feel like I’m walking six inches off the floor. What a way to start the day! It looks like one of those rare days… not one of those days.^® I find myself whistling Hungarian Rhapsody on the short walk from the cafe to the subway station. I never whistle.

On the platform, I walk to the end where the least crowded car will dock. I eat the bagel stick and wait for the train. When it arrives, I get in and there are about half a dozen people in the car. I sit in the 2-seat bench next to the door. Today it's more out of habit than from my usual curmudgeonly desire not to have some man-spreader force himself into the seat next to me before spreading.

On the same side of the car… the other side of the door… a tough woman sits sipping something out of an ice-filled plastic cup. I set down my backpack and pull out the latest Nation and start reading stuff I know I’ll half agree with.

CRASH!

Not the train, but the woman's cup of ice as it falls to the floor. I look at the cup laying there… mostly still filled with ice, but with a few cubes lying helter skelter on the floor. I look from the cup back to the woman. She sits.. her fist tucked under her chin… a sad parody of Rodin...

her brows furrowed not in thought but in hostility… to something I can’t see.

I look from her to the cup on the floor and back to her... then back to The Nation. In my peripheral vision I can see her stand up and move to the other end of the car… as far away from my end as possible.

I try to focus on The Nation. At the next stop a few more people get into the car. When the door closes, the icewoman stands again and walks toward her cup on the floor. When she reaches it, she pulls back a leg like a football punter… then she kicks the cup... aiming it directly at my face… It misses my face… but does not miss my shirt and pants… soon covered with melted ice.

“He kept watching me!” she shouts to the rest of the passengars… all of whom quickly bury themselves in their cellphones.

I go back to The Nation and read the same sentence over and over again. Something about a Trump Bump.... I'm not getting it, but at least I don't have to look at the angry woman.

Luckily, the next stop is Grand Central. My stop... I get out… jog up the stairs… move into an alcove and glance behind to see if she’s followed me. She hasn’t.

Key point, I think, ALL of the women in this anecdote are colored… the two women in the cafe… the woman in the subway car. All slight variations on the color of oak in the lobby of the Algonquin Hotel... beautiful!

So, what’s all this got to do with hanging by my ankles naked from the ceiling in an unnamed building? I’m glad you asked: UPSIDE DOWN is the connection. My day turned upside down from heart-melting kindness to maniacal hostility. Life, people, everything that comes with the modern world is turning upside down… and few people notice it!

Leftists and rightists stand on their heads… supporting exactly the opposite of leftists and rightists… with as much anger at their former selves as the colored woman with a cup of ice.

FLASHBACK: On February 1, 1960, at 4:30pm, four black guys sit down at the lunch counter inside the Woolworth store in Greensboro North Carolina. The men have already purchased toothpaste and other products from the store with no problems. At the store's lunch counter they are refused service when they each asks for a cup of coffee. Following store policy, the staff refuses to serve the black men at the "whites only" counter. The store manager, Clarence Harris, asks them to leave. The four freshmen, however, stay until the store closes. The next day, more than twenty black students, recruited from other campus groups, join the sit-in.

They are customers demanding the same rights as other customers. Consumers demanding from the giant corporation...

WE SHALL OVERCOME!

This is the call of the generation… inspired by black, but soon gone to white… It leads to the Civil Rights Act of 1964. It leads to a host of others… but most importantly it establishes the basic principle that the right of the individual trumps the right of the corporation. The right of a customer to choose his business trumps the right of the business to choose its customer. You can’t just make “company rules”… post a sign WHITES ONLY and win. Anyone who can pay for your services is entitled to them. White customers complain. They are being disturbed by people who they didn’t like.

“Let the Negroes go to their own restaurants,” they say. “If they don’t like it, they should just open up a place themselves.”

Leftists/communists/liberals and my very young self applauded the sit-iners. We cheered the end of segregation and the affirmation of the rights of people over the rights of companies to just post a sign and keep people out. No more thumb over shoulder saying… “read the sign buddy, WHITES ONLY that’s the rule.”

FLASH TO 2018: Facebook, Apple, YouTube cut the account of wacko conspiricist Alex Jones. POW! We don’t like you! You’re out. If there was ever a case of corporate dictatorship... corporate triumph over individuals... this is it.

THE PROGRESSIVE MAGAZINE says in an editorial that Jones violated the terms of facebook’s agreement and “even if he didn’t, facebook is a private company and can change the rules any time.” This is THE PROGRESSIVE… previously one of the most out-spoken voices for the rights of THE PUBLIC over the rights of THE CORPORATION.

This attitude is NOT progressive. This is Donald Trump saying the right of corporations to pollute is more important that the right of individuals to breathe clean air. It’s Hobby Lobby denying contraceptives to its employees, saying the rights of the company bosses are more important than the rights of their employees. They signed a contract. If they don’t like it, they can work somewhere else.

Hobby Lobby was 4 years ago. Liberals were up in (non-lethal) arms. Then, in 2018, in a kerpow moment, those same liberals have turned themselves upside down and opened their mouths to taste the piss of corporatism…. and they love it. Alex Jones banned simultaneously from facebook, Apple and YouTube.

“How can they do this?” I ask.

“They’re a corporation. They make the rules. They can do what they want,” comes the answer-- from the liberals! Can you say WHITES ONLY?

But wait… there’s more.

In the days of white terrorism, the Ku Klux Klan wore white hoods to cover their identity when they terrorized Negroes, Jews, (sometimes) Catholics. They knew what they were doing was illegal, certainly violent, probably immoral.

These days, the only time you’ll see a klansman in a hood is in cartoons in “progressive” magazines.

Who wears the hoods in 2018? Who tries to hide their identity knowing that what they are doing is illegal, certainly violent, probably immoral. Is that a cross burning behind that guy? It might as well be one.

Had enough? Tough shit! There’s more.

Flash to 1950.

“I have here in my hand,” says Joseph McCarthy, “ a list of two hundred and five people that were known to the Secretary of State as being members of the Communist Party” shills for a dangerous Russia.

Russia was the bad guy. Those associated with it were bad. People were black-listed. Hollywood wouldn’t hire “Communists.” In order to get any work at all, Russia-lovers had to use assumed names to hide their identity.

Last month I wrote about how these former Russia lovers and CIA/FBI haters have suddenly turned into their upside down counterparts and now HATE Russia and love the CIA/FBI. But there’s more...

These days, actors still get black-listed, thrown off their programs… censored for their political beliefs or past sexual history. Roseanne Barr loses her job in a day, for a few words on Twitter. Kevin Spacey gets digitally edited out of a movie he was to star in. And the same political leaning that was the VICTIM of blacklisting, now applauds it. Upside down!

Yeah, there’s even more, but I need to stop now… my brain hurts… I probably should hoist myself back up by my ankles and let the blood rush to my head. It’ll give me the perspective needed to function in America in 2018.

-end-

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]

-→Speaking of Antifa dept: During protests in Portland Oregon, one anti-Trump protester carried an American flag to show that he thought that it was patriotic to protest the president. Well, that didn’t sit well with the Antifa crew… one of whom beat the guy and put him in the hospital. In an exchange after the event, an Antifa member said, “Well, at least we didn’t kill him.”

-→Make Canada Great Again dept: Meanwhile, a manager at the Stanley Park Teahouse in Vancouver Canada was fired because he refused service to someone wearing a M.A.G.A. hat. The company said they fired the guy because he acted in a way violating the company’s philosophy of tolerance. 10 punk points to the company.

In America they’d be boycotted. If there’s one thing the current crop of left-totalitarians can’t tolerate… it’s tolerance.

-->Something for tolerance dept: Seems like the anti-Muslimites are always finding quotes to bolster their opinions. So I offer this one: Beware! Whoever is cruel and hard on a non-Muslim minority, or curtails their rights, or burdens them with more than they can bear, or takes anything from them against their free will; I (Prophet Muhammad) will complain against the person on the Day of Judgment. (from the Hadiths)

Put that in your Islamaphobic pipe and smoke it.

-end-

LINK TRADE DEPARTMENT:

I read that the search engines like lots of links... and it's also nice to support my friends... and enemies... in their blogs. So facebook me or email me if you have a blog, webpage or something else to connect to. I add you. You add me.

Here's a start:

• David Goldberg's Busy Microbes Blog
• And another Goldberg: goldberg.wordpress.com
• I post a blog for Kyle Nonnemon, in prison for a ton of shit. He's a smart guy, with a passion for industrial metal and a general detestation of humankind. You can read his blog at: apothelema.blogspot.com
• Poetry and humor fans will like Justin Martin in The Latency
• Sometimes I contribute to an interesting multi-talented blog called OgFomK Arts see me there!
• And my friend Mike R has a nice site with recipe hits from the past! (He cooked for me once... great stuff.) Check out Yesterday's Recipes.
• And here's one by a member of ANTI-SEEN... a tour diary of sorts.
• Andy Shelton has an interesting blog here.
• Savage Hippie is a guy who has been YouTubing for a long time. Our opinions largely overlap... but he complains that I'm a Communist. I'm not! I'm a communist.
• Chris Stecher publishes a zine called PRECIS. You can see the back issue links there... and he promises a new issue soon.
• George Fertakis has a very nice graphics-heavy blog... with music and books featured prominently.
• And my long-term pal Sid Yiddish contributes with his Mishegas Master Blog.

CONTACT REDUX: 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.

How To Say YES or Mykel's Post MRR Blog #26

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What's in a Girl's Mind or Mykel's Post MRR Blog #24

YOU'RE STILL WRONG

MYKEL BOARD'S POST MRR COLUMNS

POST MRR COUMN 24

Mykel Confesses He Doesn't Understand How Girls Think

by Mykel Board

"Women have an instinct for labyrinths... for ins and outs. It's order that stymies them!” --Louis-Ferdinand Celine

I'm more at home than a rabbit in a briar patch. My chin rests about half an inch north of her immaculate anus... my nose presses her pubic bone. The sublime smell of yeastless twat stiffens my ferocious five inches pressed into the bed. I lick forward... sucking in... my clit-clenching lips push back the hood... the part that Muslims circumcise. My tongue tastes the tip... she squirms... tightens her legs around my head.

“Het guys cannot possible be any good at eating the hairy clam,” I think. “This is like giving a miniature blowjob... How would they know?”

As I suck, I thrust myself against the bed... merging the two of us in ecstatic union... feeling the same rising rapture... the same tightening... My breath rustles from my nose through her pubes... like wind in high grass. My groin pushes harder against the bed.

“Mmmm mmmm mmmm,” her voice... her little whimpers... sounds made completely through her nose... as if she were afraid that opening her mouth would let loose a scream loud enough to wake the neighbors... the tourists... the dead. Her legs grip my head like a pair of fleshy pliers.

I hear my own sounds... breathing... panting... moaning into the woolly valley cleft between her legs. It's howling into a cave. I half expect an echo to return to me from the womb. The sheets beneath my groin are suddenly wet. And YES! I feel that final tighten... taste that sweet juice... hear that choked moan to know she's matched me in rapture.

“Wow!” she says. “You don't NEED a big dick. You do the satisfaction!”

I'm guessing that's a compliment.

I kiss her from her pubes up to the navel... an innie... up further... between her double amplitude... her chin... her mouth. Then I lie down next to her and allow the sleep Gods to carry me off.

“Hey Mykel,” she says, “talk to me. Say something.”

“Mmmm,” I say, desperate for sleep.

“Say something,” she says again. “Tell me what you're thinking.”

“I'm thinking I want to go to sleep,” I tell her.

She elbows me in the ribs.

“What the fuck?” I don't say. “We had twin orgasms. Wet the sheets. Genital juice. You want to talk about Donald Trump?”

“What should I say?” I do say.

“Tell me what you're feeling,” she says. “I want to know what's in your mind.”

Huh? We both just had an orgasm... cum... ecstasy... mind explosion... what is there to talk about? Why talk? This is a girl thing that I just don't get. A sunset over the Pacific: it's beautiful without saying

Gee, a sunset over the Pacific. Isn't it beautiful?

What is it with girls? Why do you have to SAY everything? Aren't the stains in the sheets enough? I don't get it.

FLASH TO: Rick's Cabaret, my favorite strip club in New York. 

I'm here with a couple Japanese friends and some Latinos. Next to me sits Maxine, at least that's her stripper name. She's a beautiful Negress wearing a long red wig and not much else. As I don't do lap dances, I buy her drinks so she'll talk to me and touch my arm every once in awhile. We discuss George Orwell, and Russian mafia owned strip clubs in Florida.

My Japanese friends, half of them married-- wives in Japan-- are off in various corners of the club... their one-eyed unagis massaged by the tender tushes of the other strippers. $20 a song... the usual price.

$40 later... one-by-one... the guys return... big smiles, thumbs up, and a wink.

Jiro is gone. Disappeared... gone off with a blond white girl... Slavic accent... Olga is her stage name... he's been gone for 20 minutes!

“I think he went upstairs for special service,” says Ricardo, the italics clear in his voice.

We all smile. I wink at Maxine.

FLASH TO SCHOOL: The next day, I tell the other teachers about the strip club, laughing at the story of the missing Jiro.

“That's awful,” says Madeline. “His wife is in Japan and he's screwing around in New York.”

“What?” I ask. “His wife is in Japan! Why SHOULDN'T he screw around in New York?”

“Maybe because he loves her,” she says.

“Huh?” I say, my forehead wrinkles deepening. “He's in New York. Would you mind if he went out to eat with another woman-- or man? Would you mind if he went to a ball game with them?”

“That's different,” says Madeline. “This is sex.”

“And why is sex different?” I ask. “What's it got to do with love? It's just friction! Less energy than a night of mastication.”

“Mykel,” says Madeline, “you're just trying to stir the pot... causing trouble... You know the answer.”

But I don't. I don't get it. Eating dinner is pleasure. Screwing a stripper is pleasure. Taking a huge beer shit is pleasure. Throwing a birthday party for your 90-year-old mother is pleasure. What the fuck? Why is one forbidden pleasure? Why is one love and one NOT love? Do girls fall in love only through their cunts?

How girls think is beyond my ability to understand. What is in their minds? Someone should write a book called What's Love Got to Do With It? and actually answer that question.

FLASH TO WASHINGTON DC 1994: Then Senator Joe Biden introduces a Violence Against Women Act. One of the results is:

“All states have authorized warrantless arrests in misdemeanor domestic violence cases where the responding officer determines that probable cause exists.”

In New York, when there is a “domestic violence” complaint, THERE MUST BE AN ARREST. Women support the law, though it's clearly a violation of presumption of innocence... the foundation of the American justice system.

The victim of a woman's wrath... Bang! In jail... no trial... no defense... just off to the big house. Kerpow!

“But Mykel,” says Claudine, a friend visiting from Portland. “Women need these laws because they're weaker than men... and in more danger.”

“I'm five foot three inches tall!” I yell at her. “There isn't a woman under fifty who can't beat the shit out of me. How are women weaker?”

“Average, Mykel,” she says. “We're talking about average.”

“Average shmaverage,” I say. “How can you put AVERAGE in jail? Do they measure your averatude before they throw you in the clink? I don't think so.”

“Besides,” I add, “we're supposed to have presumption of innocence. You're forcing the cops to arrest someone they presume is innocent.”

“It protects the woman,” she says.

“So would wrapping each female in a suit of armor... with a chastity belt!” I answer. “This law gives all women an incredible weapon! Any time they're pissed off at a guy they call the cops... BLAM! The guy's in jail. It's crazy. It's like an every-woman dictatorship... You don't like me... a phone call and I'm in jail... with a record!”

“It's better to save one woman from one black eye than to keep a dozen so-called innocent men out of jail,” she tells me.

WHAT? In high school we learn that it's better to let ten people go free than jail one innocent. Who switched that around? Why is it switched just for women? How is saving a black eye more important than saving the freedom of a dozen innocents? Is that how women think? I don't get it. How can women think this way?

FLASH TO: Tucker Max, an author my jailbird pal Kyle told me about. Tucker wrote an entertaining book called I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. At first I thought he was a kind of preppy GG Allin... a guy who lives for drinking, fucking and the occasional fight. But there's one section where he writes about a visit from some girl who sucks him off before going to see her boyfriend.

At first, he's thrilled that he somehow put one over on some other guy. HE got it first. Then he thinks a bit more and wonders how many girls he's kissed/screwed/ate out have just come from giving OTHER guys blowjobs. This repulses him. Disgusts him. Gives him the heebee jeebees. He can't stand to think about it, but he's obsessed by it.

What the fuck? If I think that someone I'm kissing might have just given a blowjob to someone else... it thrills me. The idea that I might be tasting semen in someone else's saliva makes me hard. I imagine a threesome. Me having withdrawn that semen myself. The more people, the more erotic the situation. It's just logical. What is this Tucker-guy talking about? Do people really think like that?

Boys! Sometimes I just can't understand how they think.

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me 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 by subscribing to the MYKEL'S READERS Yahoo group readmboard-subscribe@yahoogroups.com]

-->Kindness is illegal dept: 77 year old Sam Samsonov was fired from his job as a Florida toll booth collector because he took $6 out of his own pocket to pay for a driver who didn't have the cash.

Says the official highway agency "the action of personally funding or withdrawing cash to make it correct before it is turned into accounting is considered fraudulent by the auditors and a terminable offense"

-->Provoking Matters dept: This Week Magazine reports that Richard Valdez, a former employee of conservative activist James O'Keefe said that his old boss “instructed an undercover operative to goad Black Lives Matter protesters with statements like 'I wish I could just kill some of these cops.' Few were goaded.

In related news, some Negresses jumped on stage at a Seattle Bernie Sanders rally. They harangued the crowd, complaining that Sanders did not address Black Lives Matter issues. It later came out that these girls were in no way connected to Black Lives Matter.

Maybe they were working for O'Keefe. My bet, though, is they were Hillary operatives.

-->More provoking dept: It's lucky it didn't work in this hyper anti-Muslim atmosphere. Jason Paul Smith, from West Virginia, was charged with a fake bomb threat to the Statue of Liberty. He phoned 911 claiming to be ABDUL YASIN, an ISIS terrorist.

Lucky there was no REAL Abdul Yasin around for some loony veteran to shoot in the head... and be proclaimed A HERO by FOX News.

-->Where's my cash dept: The manager of a Popeye's Chicken in Texas was fired for not paying back $400 stolen during an armed robbery. The manager was behind the register when the robber burst in.
The boss said he fired her for “keeping too much cash in the register.”

-->Naked anger dept: A teacher who won a national award for teaching Shakespeare in Los Angeles was suspended for reading a passage from Tom Sawyer that mentioned nudity.

“. . . the king came prancing out on all fours, naked. He was painted in rings and stripes all over in all sorts of colors and looked as splendid as a rainbow.”

The act of reading was deemed inappropriate for the young children, who probably bathe with their clothes on.

-->Long overdue dept: Sid Yiddish reminded me that I should thank my friends at PORK magazine in Portland for printing some of my columns. They're quarterly, so they can only do one out of four... but THAT'S a big help. Thanks guys. It takes balls.

-->Keeping the Pressure on Dept: And on the side of the ball-less... take Maximum Rock'n'Roll... please!

I want to thank reader George Metesky for suggesting a continuing Bring Back Mykel effort directed at Maximum Rock'n'Roll for their firing me as their contribution to the world of censorship. Send your comments to mrr@maximumrocknroll.com (or post on their facebook page) with the subject line: BRING BACK MYKEL! Let me know how they answer.

-->Just heard dept: The former editrix of MRR quit the zine to become editor of REVOLVER magazine. That's a pop punk zine with ads for Nike and major labels out the wazoo. Maybe I should ask for a column there.

-->And: I'm still on a massive clean-up/divest kick. I'm giving away DVDs, cassettes, VHS videos, CDs, posters, and a few 7-inch singles. Just pay separate shipping and handling. Details at: MykelsGiveaway

-end