YOU'RE STILL WRONG.. MYKEL'S MAY Vol 1 2020 BLOG or BLAME! by Mykel Board

YOU'RE STILL WRONG.. 

MYKEL'S MAY 2020 BLOG

VOLUME 1

OR

BLAME!

by Mykel Board

[I’ve given up the idea of splitting the blog into smaller parts. It just doesn’t work well. So now, I’ll just be writing shorter blogs… but more often. Twice a month if I can manage it. This is the first May Blog. I wanted to avoid talking about IT… but these days IT is all there is to talk about]

You’re STILL Wrong

or
Mykel's

May 2020 Blog/Column #1
Blame

by Mykel Board

Don’t assign blame. Fix the problem

―Japanese Proverb

Oh the Protestants blame the Catholics

And the Catholics blame the Protestants

And the Hindus blame the Muslims

And everybody blames the Jews

--from Tom Lehrer (slightly changed)

LeRoy Washington Jr. walks across Houston Street… just where the Williamsburg Bridge enters Manhattan. He’s leaving the Baruch Daycare Center, where he just dropped off LeBron, his little boy. LeRoy wears bluejeans and a kind of flight jacket against the cold. As he approaches the street, he reaches into his pocket for his cellphone. It’s not clear if the phone is ringing/vibrating or if he’s just checking his email.

In any case, it’s the phone he’s looking at when he steps into the street. It’s the phone he’s looking at when a big black Uber Limo smashes into him… lifts him completely into the air where he smashes back down onto the street. I don’t know for sure, but I imagine the phone is gone on impact… it is certainly gone when the car in the next lane screeches to a halt… a few seconds too late… and completely runs over the wrecked body.

Both drivers stop their cars… maybe someone else calls the cops.

“What’s wrong with you?” shouts the Uber Driver, a tall thin white guy, graying at the temples. “There’s a guy lying in the street and you just run him over.”

“You hit him first!” yells the other driver getting out of his Honda Civic.

“Yeah,” says Uber, “and I was gonna go help him, and you fuckin’ finished the job.”

This goes back and forth as LeRoy quickly loses enough blood to insure a paler look for his funeral.

FLASH TO LAST WEEK: Jeezus fuckin’ Christ! It’s there! Just POW! Right there on the screen… in zeros, a one and a two. $1200 dollars for doing nothing but staying inside and wearing a mask. Not even… If you read my last blog, you know I don’t stay inside and I don’t wear a mask… and I don’t feel guilty about that.

One of the few things I do feel guilty about is keeping my money at Chase bank. They are scum. One of the worst exploiters among banks… with special fees for poor people. But they are convenient. Branches everywhere… ATMs up the wazoo… Smiley-faced bank tellers who remember you from each visit… or at least ACT like they remember you.

And they’re the only bank I know that writes checks from their website, and mails ‘em for you. You say who to pay and POW! the check is in the mail… for real! I get paid by check… and I have to pay Merle Allin by check. So Chase it is. [BUT, see note at the end.]

And it’s on Chase’s website that I see the dollars… more than the rent... this month.

“I got Trump’s cash,” I post on facebook.

“It’s not Trump’s,” come the indignant replies. “It’s Nancy Pelosi’s. She’s responsible. Trump held it up just to get his name on the check.”

Did these guys fail Social Studies? Laws are made by someone… often the president, but theoretically anyone.. proposes something, congress debates and (usually) changes the proposal. Then both houses talk about it, vote on it, and if the vote passes, the bill goes to the president… who either vetoes it, in which case it goes back to congress… or signs it… in which case it becomes law.

The two needed to tango are equal partners-- the president and congress. But you gotta have someone to blame.

Am I blaming people for blaming people? You bet your N95 mask I am. And I’m blaming the culture that splits people into all or nothing… that limits thinking to US and THEM… RIGHT and WRONG… GOOD and EVIL. If you think Donny Trump is responsible for your $1200, then you believe in putting children in cages. If you think Nancy Pelosi wrote that check, then you want all Americans to be locked in their houses for the rest of eternity.

It’s not just politics… it’s the law. It’s the Internet It’s TV… I hear TV commercials for ambulance-chasing lawyers that say, “If your doctor made a mistake in treating you, we’ll hold him accountable.”

That’s the new euphemism for BLAME! Tonight, while avoiding the news, I was watching CourtTV. In a reinactment, the cops ask a murder witness to identify the perp… Why? So they can HOLD HIM ACCOUNTABLE. Goddamnit! Say PUNISH. Say GET REVENGE. Say BLAME.

For the virus, the Trumpists predictably blame the Chinese. Right-wing news source Newsmax quotes an old issue of Nature Magazine. It talks about a report of a Wuhan laboratory studying germ warfare.

Nature's report states: Some scientists outside China worry about pathogens escaping, and the addition of a biological dimension to geopolitical tensions between China and other nations. But Chinese microbiologists are celebrating their entrance to the elite cadre empowered to wrestle with the world's greatest biological threats.
And, of course, they [Newsmax] have to add: the Obama Administration awarded a $3.7 million grant to the lab in 2015.

Why didn’t they mention Hillary Clinton’s emails?

Meanwhile, in perfect irony, Democracy Now!, a liberal news channel, blames freedom itself for creating the pandemic. Opening businesses … no social distancing… no required masks… no schools so poor kids can at least get at least one free meal a (week)day. OUTLAW EVERYTHING! CLOSED AND LOCKED TIGHT IS THE ONLY WAY TO GO! If you don’t agree, you’re an evil Trumpist.

Why don’t they mention Climate Change?

I’m getting sick of writing about this fuckin’ virus. I’m getting sicker of people throwing around blame… like SUVs throw around bodies on Houston Street… rather than thinking of how to work together to find the best solution… of how to take one from group A and one from group B and try it. I’m getting sick of finger pointing every which way except in the mirror.

I’ve been called “a Trumpist” and a “He’s Not My President.” That’s okay. I’ve spent over half a century blamed for being ON THE OTHER SIDE. Yo buckaroo, there is no other side. I blame no one for that. I just want to solve the problem.

--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 want to be notified when a new blog is published, send me an email with the subject line SUBSCRIBE BLOG. Back blogs and columns are at https://mykelsblog.blogspot.com.

→ Surprise dept: It always amazes me when huge corporations show a speck of integrity. So far two of the world’s greatest villains –Apple and Google– have resisted calls to allow government snoopers into people’s phones. Cheers for them. We'll see how long that lasts.

→ If you can’t beat ‘em, scare ‘em dept: Reuters reports that officials in Indonesia are scaring people into staying home. Kepuh, a village on Java island, is employing local residents to dress as "pocong," or the trapped souls of the dead, in Indonesian folklore. The ghostly figures, in white shrouds with their heads covered and dark-rimmed eyes peering out, surprise unsuspecting pedestrians, then disappear into the night. Villagers have been seen running off in fright when the pocong appear. "People will not gather or stay on the streets after evening prayers," resident Karno Supadmo said.

At least the Indonesians need human size ghosts to scare them. New Yorkers are scared into their homes by viruses smaller than my dick.

→ Humor anywhere you can find it dept: NDTV tells of an Indian couple whose twins were born March 27. What did they name the pair? Corona and Covid, of course. Let THAT put a smile on your face behind the mask.

→ A note on the bank: My friend and proof-reader, Marlene, tells me that most banks will write and mail a check for you. I didn’t know that. In any case, I still get my pay from school in a paper check, and there’s a Chase 2 doors down. It’s not the laziness of a very short walk, but the need to quickly deposit the check before some credit card company charges me a late fee.

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 facebookme or email me if you have a blog, webpage or something else to connect to. I add you. You add me.

• From my friend and fellow poet, Richard 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
• 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.

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.  

- end -

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