Trannies & Trumpers Mykel's Post MRR Column no 42

Mykel's

Post MRR Column no 42

Trannies and Trumpers

by Mykel Board

PISSY (& SHITTY) SECTION: I rarely use the ladies'... either at work or in a public place. Usually there's a line... I figure if someone wants to piss in the W, they've got to wait for a stall. In the M, the guys who can use the urinals, do. Stall pissers like me, have more chances.

Tonight is different. I rarely go out on Saturday night... too many tourists... but tonight I'm meeting my pals, Toshi, Pedro and Sven at Harp... the local Irish seafood place... (almost) all boys.

My bladder's three Harp-pints full, I gotta go. There's a line at the Men's... from the door to the bar... no amount of knee holding is gonna take care of me. The Ladies' seems empty...not a surprise since the drinkers here are mostly guys. Why not? I'll be in a stall. Who's gonna know?

A couple quick over-the-shoulder glances and I slip inside. It's empty. Whew! I run for a stall and close the door. There's a crack between the stall door and the frame. From my seated position, I have a full view of the front/sink part of the room. I have other fish to fry.

I sit down (my aim is worsening with age) and let go. While the relief comes over my body, I hear the door open. Footsteps... more than one pair.

I see two women enter, both twenty something... one white, a bit sorority-looking with melon bazooms under a striped black and white sweater... no ass to speak of under her jeans. The other... black, with one of those asses that Christians want to outlaw. She's wearing a CUNY sweatshirt, and pants so tight I feel my good part rise on the toilet.

“Let's go!” whispers one of the girls... I can't tell which from my vantage point. I watch... keeping deadly silent in the stall.

Then it starts. The white girl crosses her arms over her chest grabbing the bottom of her sweater. Uncrossing her arms, she pulls the wool over her head.

Double melons... real.. not the never-limp hard shell of implants... but the soft natural fall of Godly endowment. The kind of tits you can slide a sheet of paper beneath... and it'll stay.

Then the black girl... I dunno... there's something about dark skin.. all the way from Mexican-Lite... to African Noir. It's better up close, of course. In my little stall I'm too far away to see those tiny goose bumps... each one like a raised dot on an expensive condom. I imagine it and throb.

The two embrace. I hear the slurp of their kiss. It's like watching a porno movie on girls4girls.com. Then... more-so. Another woman enters. She's a bit older than the embracing ones... Late forties, I'd guess.... with a matronly haircut and the kind of body that shops at Walmart.

In a flash she's naked. They move to one of those three-way kissing triangles... All touch tongues. Then the housewifey one drops to her knees and pushes he face between the black girl's legs.

One by one, more people enter. They strip off and join the orgy.

---

Of course, none of that happened. I haven't been in a Ladies' Room in a dozen years. My vaginated friends assure me that nothing has changed. You go in, take care of business, wash your hands... maybe adjust your make-up... and leave... not very sexy.

Then what the fuck? What are the women and (mostly?) men worried about when they demand a bathroom closed to transsexuals... or anybody, for that matter? Unless my first fantasy accurately reflects what goes on, why should they care? What do they have to protect from MEN or women in men's bodies? Or anything? There's a stall. You piss privately... occasionally shit... and that's it. Otherwise NOTHING HAPPENS. You're more likely to be raped in an elevator than in a bathroom.

Do you care who sees you wash your hands? I don't even understand why there are separate Men's and Ladies' Rooms in the first place... unless they need to know where to put the urinals.

Even at the urinal, you're facing the other way, Goddamn it! What possible difference does it make?

SMILEY FACE SECTION: After the last election, my fuck-buddy Barack Obie said, “The sky won't fall. The sun will still rise tomorrow.” But you wouldn't know it from the panic

Trump coughs... he's intentionally spreading TB to help the drug industry. He scratches his earlobe... He's receiving secret messages from Putin about who he should appoint Secretary of State.

It's called The Halo Effect... though for Trump I'd call it The Horns and Tail Effect. It's a psychological principle that says if you like someone... or their ideas... everything they do will be good. Even if you only like their looks, everything will seem better about them.

Among liberals, the halo effect worked for Obama. He was responsible for thousands of foreign drone deaths. He bombed a Doctors Without Borders hospital. Killed a US hostage. Deported more people than any two presidents before him. Tried to push through the awful TPP, letting a business council decide American environmental and labor laws. He jailed more whistle-blowers than all previous presidents combined. If Donald Trump had done all that, there'd be marches in the street. There are marches in the street anyway.

But Obama has a nice face. He's a colored guy. He has a soft, intellectual voice. That's a huge Halo.

Donald Trump is ugly... as belligerent as a punk rocker... and as abrasive. No matter what he does, it's EVIL. Negotiate lower drug prices using the buying power of the government? It's a trick. Convince companies to stay in America? It's just propaganda. They were gonna stay anyway. No matter what he does... it's EVIL... because... well... because he's Donald Trump.

So Donny T's taking the limo home from a hard day supervising wall-building.

“Driver,” he says, “take me to the colored neighborhood. I wanna see how those people live.”

“We don't say colored anymore,” says the driver, turning the limo South.

“I'm the fuckin' President,” says Donald. “I can say what I like.”

The exchange ends there. In front of them is an old Washington wooden house, with a front porch... on fire. Big leaping flames... hotter than a tranny's thigh... right there in front of them.

“Stop the car, NOW!” shouts the president. BANG! He's out of there, racing into the burning building.

“What the fuck?” asks the driver frantically searching for a place to park. He's supposed to protect this guy, but the heat from the fire is too much for him to enter into the building.

He calls a special number and before long sirens ring in the distance. In what seems like hours, but is probably only a few minutes, a figure appears at the door of the burning house. It's the President. In each of his arms is a small child, faces covered with ash. The president's blond locks are singed. His red face is even redder. Blisters appear.

The next day Facebook liberals tell each other that Trump's own staff set the fire so he could profit from the publicity.

Trump can't win. There's nothing he can say or do that's right for those in the grip of the Horns and Tail Effect. After the fire, they hate the president even more because “he'd risk the lives of children, just to get some good press.”

Anyone who says, the guy might have an ounce of compassion is suddenly “a Donald Trump supporter.”

BACK TO REALITY: You can't even joke about Trump... unless the jokes you're telling are anti-Trump. Make fun of Obama, criticize Clinton... and you're a Nazi. The Halo effect makes every other view a danger... They warn: Don't take the risk!

“Listen,” they'll tell you, “Trump's an unqualified bad guy... stupid... insane!”

It's the Horns and Tail effect. You want to stay safe. (I already was unfriended^® by a long-term real-life friend because I said that Donald Trump had not yet started a nuclear war. Really!) So you agree, laugh at the guy. Fifteen years ago he made a joke about pussy grabbing... grab that line! Run with it.

Look at the TV liberals: Bill Maher, Stephen Colbert. What is their humor? Anti-Trump jokes. In those circles, being anti-Trump is as safe as being anti-Hitler.

Sorry buckaroos. As my condom supplier knows (I don't have one), I never play safe.

-end-

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]

-->A Wet One Dept: Former Navy SEAL Carl Higbie told Fox News that torture isn't so bad.

"Well, I can tell you, NOT waterboarding didn't get us the information. So why not give it a shot."

Donny seems to agree, but that doesn't surprise me. I've heard he's a fan of watersporting anyway.

-->Girls vs God dept: During a basketball game between a heavily Jewish Boston-area public school, and a visiting all-boys Catholic school, the Jews taunted the Catholics by shouting, "Where are your girls?"

The Catholics shouted back, "You killed Jesus!"

-->Side effects dept: Tylenol, already marked because of a cyanide scandal last century, has since been shown to cause severe liver damage... and the latest report shows that the drug "dulls empathy." That means, if you take Tylenol, you're less likely to give a buck to that homeless guy sitting freezing on his cardboard box.

My question: Why hasn't there been a study about capitalism? I'm sure it will find an even strong correlation between it and lack of empathy. Take Ayn Rand.... please!

-->It had to happen dept: The city of Toronto had to cancel a public meeting on accessible housing for the disabled. Why? You guessed it. The building where the meeting was held was not accessible to the disabled.

-->Public Transportation Dept: Pastor Tim Jones of Resurrection Baptist Church in Kannapolis NC offered voters a ride to the polls in the last presidential election.

"The only stipulation is you vote against abortion, corruption, excessive gun control, Obamacare and career political criminals. Otherwise, you will have to take a cab! Our church is NOT ashamed to stand up and support Donald Trump!"

-->Xmas cheer dept: A man visiting Six Flags over Texas was asked to leave because he looked too much like Santa Claus.

WALB News reports that when parents saw this guy with a white beard and long hair,they asked him to pose with their kids. He did, and park officials kicked him out for... er... interacting with children.

Hmmm, we wouldn't want Santa interacting with children would we?

-->Show some respect dept: Indian police have arrested at least 20 people for not standing during the national anthem at a movie theater. Says a NY times article:

The arrests were the first known efforts by the police to enforce compliance with the Supreme Court ruling, which requires movie theaters to play the national anthem before each screening. Patrons, according to the ruling, are required to stand respectfully for the duration of the song unless they are physically unable.

The court said it was necessary that “the citizens of the country realize that they live in a nation and are duty bound to show respect to the national anthem.” The Constitution, it continued, “does not allow any different notion, or the perception of individual rights.”

Seems like football fans in the US also are not very big on "different notion of perception of individual rights," when players express THEIR disagreement by not standing during OUR national anthem.

--> Keeping the Pressure on Dept: I want to thank reader George Metesky for suggesting a continuing Bring Back Mykel effort directed at Maximum Rock'n'Roll for censoring me.

As their revolving editrixes move on to commercial ventures, each blames her predecessors for my demise... as if they had no control over the business... and couldn't simply invite me back.

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.

See you in hell.

-end-

NOTE: If you're interested in my travel blog, you can read it at mykelsdiary.blogspot.com. (It hasn't been updated in awhile, but you might enjoy the history.)

The End of Homosexuality As We Know It or Mykel Board's Post MRR Column no. 31

Mykel's

Post MRR Column no 32

Why is it socially acceptable - as a form of entertainment - for men to put on dresses, make up and high heels and act out every offensive stereotype of women (bitchy, catty, dumb, slutty, etc.) -- but it is not socially acceptable -- as a form of entertainment - for a white person to put on blackface and act out offensive stereotypes of African Americans? --Mary Cheney, lesbian daughter of former Vice President Dick Cheney.

The End of Homosexuality As We Know It

by Mykel Board

It was a new LOH point... Late Onset Hangover... you know: you wake up. Everything's hunky dory... you la-dee-da through morning coffee, jerk off to old videos of yourself with the one who didn't get away, then POW! Headache... a feeling in your stomach like a greasy pork chop... every cough turns into a multicolored splotch on your sheets... Yesterday's dinner... dripping through your nose... gagging... groaning. You just know a neighbor is going to be pounding on the door... “Are you alright?”

Fuck! I promised myself I'd go to the gym today. I'm old. If I don't dance on some treadmill, I'll get a heart attack. If I don't pump some cables and chains, I'll get waddles. Ok, one last trip to the porcelain goddess. Then I go! It'll feel so good. Yeah, right.

I stumble into the locker room and head for a corner... a little cranny far from the main lockerfolks. I'm in no condition to put up with the sideways glances and smug chuckles that usually accompany my undressing. When I have my pants down to my knees, I notice someone standing just two lockers down. A chisel chinned young man with a smooth-- yet six-packless-- abdomen. Trying to keep my eyes front, I fail. Jeezus, this guy is smaller than me. His rutabaga doesn't even make it out of the pubes. Nothing.....

Then I see it. The crack, the folded skin, the elongated Y. Yes! This guy has a TWAT! You heard that right: a cunt, a pussy. Yes, I'm talking a hairy taco, a snatch, a beaver, a muff. 

 

Here, in the men's locker room. Next to me. I'm talking a slit, a box, a pud. I'm talking the first results of a citywide law prohibiting discrimination on “gender identification.” Hoooey!

FLASH TO THEORY: America is a homosexual society. Not the most homosexual of societies, but a lot homo-er than many. In Finland, for example, you're invited to the home of a casual acquaintance... WOMP! There you are, naked with the whole family... in the sauna... beating your new friend's naked parents with birch branches. Dangly parts shaking to each thwack.

“Have a drink?” asks your hostess, her pert breasts, breast-like in the soft sauna light.

In Finnish, they use the same pronoun, Hän, for both sexes. Talk about gender equality! Maybe it's related to Sauna culture... the ease of nudity. (Interestingly enough, in Japan, they hardly ever use pronouns at all-- Just the verb, thank you. And, until the Americans forced a separation after WWII, the Japanese traditionally bathed gender mixed in outdoor hot springs.)

In America, we have separate pronouns for men and women... and separate restrooms. At gyms, at public pools, in schools, we have different locker rooms: MEN and WOMEN each sex homo-ed with itself.

Go to a bowling alley, a bar, a football game... you see homotude up the wazoo. Boys’ night out or the girls just getting together. Guys hanging with each other, har-har-ing at talk about girls, but not actually mixing with girls. Girls chat or engage in screamfests-- with each other-- a homosexual world. The only time people spend in each other's company is either some part of the mating ritual... or the actual mating itself. Otherwise, it's homo, homo, homo.

Wait a minute, Mykel!

Who the fuck are you? And why are you using that font? You think you're God or something?

Stop playing games, Mykel. You know me. I AM God.

God? What the fuck are you doing in my column? Can't you leave me alone for once?

Mykel, Mykel, Mykel. I'm am GOD! Remember? I don't leave anyone alone.

I concede.

“Okay,” I say. “What do you want this time?”

I'm just butting in to remind you. You're forgetting someone... some ones actually.

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

Gay men, says God, I'm talking about gay men. Their best friends are girls. They go shopping with girls. They talk about cooking with girls. They hang out with girls. The only time they hang out with guys is in the mating ritual... or in the actual mating itself.

“Hey,” I say, “you're stealing my lines.”

God laughs... a terrifyingly awful... dare I say satanic... laugh.

But when God's right, God's right.

“When you're right, you're right,” I say. “The only people in American who are not homosexual are gay men.”

But the trannie laws could change all that. They could destroy homosexual society as we know it.

FLASH TO THE CARMINE ST. PUBLIC POOL, WOMEN'S LOCKER ROOM 2016: Little Ashley Goldstein is there for the first time. Her mom, Bethany, took a floor tier locker so she could be right next to her daughter. Ashley, ever the curious kindergartner, can't take her eyes off all the naked people.

“Mommy,” she asks, pointing, “when I grow up will I have hair down there like that lady?”

“Shhhhh,” says Bethany, grabbing her daughter's finger, and curling it from a point to a fist. “It isn't polite to point.”

“But will I mommy... will I?”

“Keep your voice down,” says Bethany. “You'll embarrass people... And yes, you'll have hair down there too.”

“And will I have big breasts, like that woman?” asks little Ashley... again pointing.

“Don't point!” says Mom. “And it's different for every girl, but you will develop. We talked about that. That's what happens to girls. When you get to the right age we'll talk about it some more.”

“And will I have those round, hanging things... and a floppy?” ask Ashley. “Like that lady?”

Bethany looks up, startled. A scream catches in her throat.

“That's a man,” she whispers.

No it's not and... Welcome to 2016!

What's a man anyway? Who decides?

I say, it's like buying a car.

“I only buy Ford products,” you say. “I buy American.”

“Stuff your Mexican-made Ford up your chocolate starfish,” I reply. “My Honda comes from Alabama.”

An American Car has no meaning-- no relationship to its place of origin or the nationality of those who put on its fenders. An American Car is anything it wants to be.

The word MAN will lose itself the same way. No relation to the glands between your legs or the glans that covers them. WOMAN will be a label pasted on whoever wants to wear it. Why have Men's or Women's locker rooms? Why enforce homosexuality in a world that's quickly losing it?

FLASH TO A LOCKER ROOM 2025. In 2025, there's only ONE locker room-- for everybody.

Same scenario up to:

“And will I have big breasts, like that woman?” asks little Ashley... again pointing.

“Don't point!” says Mom. “And it's different for every girl, but you will develop.... We talked about that. That's what happens to girls. When you get to the right age we'll talk about it some more.”

“And will I have those round, hanging things... and a floppy?” ask Ashley. “Like that lady?”

“It's up to you,” says Mom. “If you're grown up and decide you want them... you can have them. Some girls do and some girls don't.”

“How will I know?” asks Ashley.

“You'll know,” explains Mom. “When it's time, you'll know.”

Get it? It'll be the end of homosexuality. No more men's or lady's restrooms. No more men's or lady's locker rooms. At the beach, toplessness... for everybody. Who knows? Maybe the whole shebang... for everyone!

People will chose their friends, social partners and their sex partners on types, characteristics, personality, hair color. Homosexuality will disappear because homo will disappear. Too bad I won't be around to see it. Sounds like fun.

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]

-->It was in the cards dept: Livingston Parish (county) in Louisiana has repealed a law prohibiting "fortunetelling and soothsaying." The ordinance was challenged by local resident Cliff Eakin, a Wiccan who believed the ban violated his religious freedom. Talking about the future... and foretelling the future are an integral part of the Wiccan religion.

A Louisiana district judge agreed, saying the law was “unconstitutionally vague.”

I predict we haven't seen the end of this case.

-->Another prediction dept: I write this the day after the Brussels attack. And here's my soothsaying:

Prediction: After Brussels, instead of learning a lesson... NATO will harden its line, kill more people, make more terrorists and this will happen again and again. This is NOT a war where you can go to a country and just drop drones on people. Those people are living next door. Are you going to drone yourself? The proper response to killing people is to STOP killing people. The only ones who benefit from all this are the drone-makers. We never learn.

-->Two for the price of truth dept: The Cincinnati Municipal Zoo cut ties with a "creationist museum" in nearby Kentucky. The original plan was to offer two-for-the-price-of-one tickets to special Christmas shows at each venue. The deal was stopped in response to a boycott and facebook campaign against the zoo. The two-ticket plan lasted for exactly three days.

Of course, the creationist president was pissed off.

“It’s a pity that intolerant people have pushed for our expulsion simply because of our Christian faith,” he said.

No word if the museum will now seek ties with the Louisiana Wiccans.

-->Y tu madre tambien dept: According to TheGuardian.com, the US now has the second-highest number of Spanish speakers in the world, nearly 53 million of 'em. Spain, by the way, has a population of 46 million. So we've got 'em beat.

Colombia is third with 48 million. Mexico, of course, is first with 121 million gente... all of whom are welcome to sleep on my floor... and many of whom have already done so.

-->God finally gets some dept: The credit rating company Equifax is finally recognizing God. God Gazarov of Brooklyn, that is. The guy fought with the company for five years, but it refused to include his name in its database. They probably thought it was religiously offensive.

Finally, the money giant relented and now God can take out a loan and get a credit card like everybody else. Mazel Tov!

-->Too Political dept: Zazzle.com, an internet retailer, sells, among other things "custom postage." It's a service that allows customers to design their own stamps-- usable in the U.S. mail.

"Cruz for President 2016," has been, unfortunately, a popular one. But we gotta respect them. After all, free speech is free speech, right?

Yeah, right.

An anti-corporate stamp was designed by artist Anatol Zukerman. It said, "Democracy Is Not for Sale." It was rejected by Zazzle.
The reason? "It's too political.”

--> Keeping the Pressure on Dept: I want to thank reader George Metesky for suggesting a continuing Bring Back Mykel effort directed at Maximum Rock'n'Roll for censoring me.

As their revolving editrixes move on to commercial ventures, each blames her predecessors for my demise... as if they had no control over the business... and couldn't simply invite me back.

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.

-end-