The Importance of Being Ernestine or You're STILL Wrong, Mykel's February 2022 Blog

 

The Importance of Being Ernestine
or You're STILL Wrong,
Mykel's February 2022 Blog

 

The Importance of Being Ernestine

or You're STILL Wrong,

Mykel's February 2022 Blog

by Mykel Board

Emotionalism, irrationality, softness and weakness are more symptoms of a man's own feminine side than they are characteristics of women.  – Robert A. Johnson

A man does not learn very well. Women, yes, because they are used to bending with whatever wind comes along. A woman, no matter the age, is always learning, always becoming. But a man stops learning at fourteen or so. He shuts it all down. A log is capable of learning more than a man. – Edward P Jones

Old women who go around thinking sensible thoughts should be apprehended with bear traps. – Daniel Kharms

Those who know me know I have a special effect on women. After some time with me, women cut me off like a moyl with a foreskin… no contact with me again… ever… telling my friends to hate me… blocking me on facebook… sending my email directly to the spambox… walking out of any room I walk in to. 

Maybe it’d be wrong to say there’s a legion of twatted Mykel-haters, but it would be fair to say there are enough female Mykel-100%-avoiders to arm the Ukrainians for the 21st century. 

But wait! There’s more! Women who don’t ditch me like facebook ditches the politically incorrect… become lesbians. It’s my Midas touch. I change them. 

My sister, Gayl, says it comes from “the type of girl you like.” She may have a point. I didn’t name the second ARTLESS album Boy With A Cunt because I like handkerchief-dropping, gown-wearing, lip-pouters.

“If you like butch tough-girls who can beat you up,” Gayl tells me, “you’re gonna find a few lesbos in the woodpile.”

SWITCH GEARS: Blessed are you, Lord, our God, ruler of the universe who has not made me a woman. This is a rather notorious prayer that traditional Jewish men say every morning, striking their chests. It’s been the cause of much discussion, and much anti-Jewitude. I ask my rabbi about it. 

“That prayer is an acknowledgment of the pain of childbirth,” says the rabbi. “In order to bring us into the world, women have to suffer in a way men cannot imagine. It is through their pain that women keep humanity in the world. We need to give thanks to G-d for both that we, as men, don’t have to suffer that pain. And that there are women who DO suffer that pain so we can live.”

Until then, it seemed to me that giving birth was nothing more than taking a huge constipated shit through your muff. Push… push… push… spew it out. It hurts a bit… then… maybe a pussy fart… Then... aaaaah, it feels so good. That’s it. Until that rabbinical moment, I never thought of it as anything more. 

BANG! What a change! One of of the many strikes of satori that makes me glad for the rabbis in this world. All that suffering that mom went through just to make the world a better place for having my sister and me as part of it. Who wudda guessed?

FLASH TO NOW: I sit naked on the wood floor in my apartment. To my right lies a half roll of duct-tape and a knife. My crossed legs not as lotused as they used to be. I steady my breath… feel the air come into my lungs through my nose... leave through my mouth. 

I focus my mind between my legs… yes, my mind is often focused there, but now I have a goal. I want to feel the world like a woman feels it. 

After a couple minutes of breathing, I pull my belly inwards… toward my spine…. tightening the muscles between anus and gonads… trying to pull the twin cullions… up… back into my body… back to their ancestral home… pre-pubescent. 

I can’t do it. They just lay there like a couple of oversized boyscout beans in a hairy bag of skin. I reach between my legs to give them a boost… a nudge… a push… Ouch! That hurts… but I got one in there… just gone… Now the other… this one easier… right next to its twin... somewhere inside me... near my appendix, I think. 

I shift my weight… slowly… making sure I avoid picking up splinters… or being stabbed by a 40-year old flooring nail, loosening from its own ancestral home. Yes! Yes! I did it!

Now to take care of the half pickle… the Vienna sausage… barely visible... afraid to show itself after the disappearance of its siblings. 

With my right hand I hold the base… pushing inward with the thumb of my left hand… uh… uh… uh… There it goes... inside… all the way! With my left hand, I hold the entire kit and caboodle inside me. My right hand grabs the duct-tape. Using my teeth, I pull out about a foot of tape. Still holding the end with my teeth, I use the knife to cut the tape from the roll. 

Quickly, I tape myself closed… shut the danglies inside… become WOMAN… at least half-way. I need lips. There’s all that flesh that just covers the prostate. I guess that’s how doctors make those lips when they do trans-surgery. Maybe I can get the feel just by moving the muscles right. 

It’s the in-between... the taint! Taint the asshole… taint the balls… The taint: where my lower lips should kiss the floor. 

Squeeze! Squeeze! Yes! I can do it. Yes! I can learn what it’s really like to have a hole in my body big enough for a human to spray out, wet, slimy, crying. Yes! I can take that huge shit and fall in love with it… bring that vaginal turd to my breast… suckle it… know the pain and Yes! know if there’s the post-natal joy that I see on all those diaper commercials. 

Yes! Yes! …..     No!

I can’t do it. My testicles squeal like trapped mice begging to be released. My limp gherkin leaks into the duct tape. 

No! I can’t do it. I’ll never know the pain that I’m supposed to thank God for not giving me. No! I’ll never experience more than the anal analogy of taking a shit. No! I’ve failed. 

I know. I know. I hear it every day. “You want to be a girl? Be a girl! Those chicks-with-dicks magazines by your bed! You could be one if you want! You’ve got the equipment… sort of.”

I press my palms against the side of my head. I don’t want to hear it. Don’t talk to me about effeminate men. I love them, but they are not women. There’s nothing feminine about them. The swish… the limp wrist… the eye-batting. Stiffens me right up, but it’s not LIKE A WOMAN. 

Once or twice in my life I’ve seen a real vaginated woman move like that. Hand on her hip… cigarette between index and middle finger… pouty sneer. She did not look feminine… she looked like a gay man… a man in drag… a femmy male homosexual. A woman screaming in the pain of childbirth… now SHE looks feminine. 

Soooo… I don’t get it. I don’t get why I make girls into forever Mykel-haters or forever lesbians. I don’t get why they call boys who move in a certain way or have a certain breathiness “feminine.” I have to accept the failure…  Know that sometimes rabbis have answers that scientists don’t. Know that some questions will never be answered.

What has changed is that my mind has gone from I don’t understand women to I can never understand women. And until men start having babies, equality is impossible… and probably undesirable. In the meantime, I’ll strike my chest… and thank God. 

See you in hell,

Mykel Board

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me on facebook or by email at mykelboard@gmail.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.  Send me an email with SUBSCRIBE in the subject line.  Back blogs and columns are at https://mykelsblog.blogspot.com]

-->Lick This Dept. The BBC reports that “a prototype lickable TV screen that people can taste has been invented… in Japan, of course. Taste-the-TV, works by spraying flavors onto a "hygienic film" which is then rolled over the screen. Viewers then are invited to lick it.

The inventor, Homei Miyashita of Meiji University, suggested it could be used to train cooks or sommeliers remotely, though I can think of other uses. 

Of course, Covid makes a nod in the initial sales pitch. "The goal is to make it possible for people to have the experience of something like eating at a restaurant on the other side of the world, even while staying at home," Miyashita told interviewers.

I hope it comes with smell.

-->Just because it’s The Post doesn’t mean it isn’t true dept: The NY Post reports: Canada’s federal government admitted to secretly surveilling its population’s movements during the COVID-19 lockdown by tracking 33 million phones. The Public Health Agency of Canada secretly tracked the devices to assess “the public’s responsiveness during lockdown measures.” 

Meanwhile, here in NYC, the city has TV ads urging people to download the Contact Tracing App. Yeah sure, I’m right on that one. You bet!

-->Prayer from the other side dept: I’ve been watching a lot of movies during the Covid isolation. One of the many great ones is THE MISANDRISTS, written and directed by my long-time pal Bruce LaBruce. It’s the story of a group of militant women who want to destroy all men and reproduce by cloning.

At the start of every day, the women pray. “Blessed be the goddess of all worlds that has not made me a man.” They’ll never know what it’s like.

See you in hell, redux,

MB

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:

Here’s Richard Goldberg: goldberg.wordpress.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. If there’s no link here (I can’t find it temporarily), then Google… er… Duckduckgo him for information.

And my long-term pal Sid Yiddish contributes with his Mishegas Master Blog.

And connect to TRUST Zine, a long-running German punk zine… that STILL PRINTS!!! Yeah, they have a website too… of course! It’s here.

Here are a couple video links.

This from Jon Cox https://squelchchamber1.bandcamp.com/album/down-so-low

And this one from my very long-time friend Roger Armstrong.

Jim Testa moved his long running zine, Jersey Beat, to the blogosphere awhile back. You can read it here. Jim also recommended a kind of unique album… in a style you don’t see to much of these days… or any days. Neo-Hassidic Rock Opera. You can stream the album here.

Kyle Nonneman is in prison in Portland. At least he can’t be kidnapped by the secret police… I think. I post his blog for him, he can’t do it from the klink. Lots of stuff about noise metal… and some very weird politics that will either fascinate or repulse you… or both.

My long time pal, Jim Hayes rightfully complained about my leaving out his blog. He’s a great writer, so it was a tragic omission. Here it is.

Oh yeah, then there’s me. I have a blog of stuff I’ve written mostly from last century. You might enjoy it. Then again, you might not. It’s here.

Let me know if you have a blog… or a print zine… or a YouTube and want to be added to the list. You show me yours… you’ve already seen mine. god@mykelboard.com

You're Still Wrong, Mykels Aug. 2020 Blog Vol 1: SPLOOGE!

YOU'RE STILL WRONG.. 

MYKEL'S AUGUST 2020 BLOG

VOLUME 1

OR

SPLOOGE!

by Mykel Board

My prayer for the women of the next millennium: have hard hearts; and learn how to kill. --Andrea Dworkin

When women are depressed they either eat or go shopping. Men invade another country. It's a whole different way of thinking. A man is a person who will pay two dollars for a one-dollar item he wants. A woman will pay one dollar for a two-dollar item she doesn't want. --– Elayne Boosler

Did you ever notice that most people are more attractive when lying naked on their backs... knees close to their ears? That’s how Briana is right now. I only need to look down and see her there.. red hair half covering her face. Her eyes directly looking into mine as I thrust forward blessing the friction and the birth control pills that allow skin to skin.

I breathe hard, pumping in ever-increasing rhythm. She has actual vocal cord voice with her breathing… an audible uh.. uh… uuuuuuh…. Uuuuuuuh… Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!

Me too! I can’t hold back any more. I feel the tightening between my legs… an explosion! One… two… three squeezes oh fuckin’ god! I pull out… squeeze four lands on her belly…. just two or so inches north of her navel. It’s an innie… the navel I’m talking about… not the splooge. Slowly, it spreads across her belly. I lower myself… until my head rests between her legs. I lick upwards, vaginally feltching myself… then further upwards, stopping at that beautiful navel… then north to my own gooey mess. Using my tongue, I slurp it into my mouth.

“Ewwwww,” says Briana.

I look up… surprised.

But, I’m too tired to say anything. Load shot, it’s time to kiss and go to sleep. Briana gives me a peck on the cheek. I drape one arm over her chest, resting my hand on a breast, settling the nipple between my middle and ring finger.

I kiss her shoulder and close my eyes.

She pushes a wrist into my chest.

“Talk to me!” she says.

“Huh?” I answer.

“Talk to me! Say something,” she says.

“How ‘bout them Yankees?” I ask.

She is not amused.

Since then, I’ve discovered Briana isn’t unique. Girls want to talk after screwing. Boys want to snuggle. Girls DON’T want to talk about The Yankees.
How much ink has been spilled on the differences between men and women? How many ones and zeros have been bytten trying to explain… or denying there’s any difference at all?

I found this from 1988:

My own experience says men and women are not the same. In my experience, two great differences show themselves right off the bat.

1. Women don’t like The Three Stooges.

2. For guys, taking a shit is the closest you can get to an orgasm. The feel/memory of a good shit will last from the morning it’s taken well into the afternoon. You think back… re-experience the anal memory. For gals –to quote one I asked– “It’s nothing special. It’s just something you gotta do.”

I have no political agenda in asking about these differences. I believe in gender equality, not gender sameness. For those who don’t get the difference. 2 eggs and 2 blow-up dolls EQUAL 4 things. But eggs and blow-up dolls are not THE SAME.

When I presented my theory on facebook, the objections came immediately. (What a surprise!) Females who like the Three Stooges… Males who don’t. Ladies who like shitting MORE than sex. Gentlemen who find it disgusting.

Okay, there are always exceptions, even science doesn’t speak with certainty these days… but only tendencies.

Some generalizations match my experience.

• Señors like to collect. (stamp collectors, record collectors, car collectors)
• Señoras like to create. (dress-makers, quilters)
• The fair sex cries easily and at times (like at tear-jerker movies) seems to enjoy it.
• The unfair sex cries at death, but rarely at anything else.
  

Other “differences” just feel WRONG to me… I’ve seen too many counterexamples:

• Women are emotional.
• Men are logical. (obviously someone who’s never seen The Sopranos)
• Men are war-makers.
• Women are peacemakers. (obviously someone who’s never heard of Margaret Thatcher)
  

All this is debatable, and will be debated until I’m reincarnated as a platypus.

Do we decide if these characteristics are social or biological? Or maybe, whether or not it is important to consider these characteristics at all. Ironies abound in the discussion. Nature vs nurture... a question that’ll never be answered… though I propose a determiner.

If a division is truly cross-cultural, that is if men do/are/believe/act in one culture as they do in an unrelated –especially un-contacted– culture, then the characteristic is biological. If different cultures have different gender characteristics, then those differences cultural. My friend in Kenya says men there only cry at death. Women cry from a sad story. Biology! When I arrived in Holland in 1972, my pal Rob was at the airport with a bouquet of flowers for me. Culture!

Wait! Stop! Back up! Maybe the difference between Chick and Dude doesn’t matter. It’s there, for investigation by sociologists, or psychologists… but maybe it doesn’t matter in our day-to-day lives. Maybe both sides should stop making it important. I’ve often heard women refer to each other with “come on, guys.” Few things give me a hard-on quicker than a fine lady commanding me, SUCK MY DICK!

I donno. Maybe we should just look at people as equal, but not THE SAME… every individual different from every other individual. Then we figure out who wants to talk and who wants to slurp sloooge… and after that, we just do it.

- 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. Send me an email with SUBSCRIBE in the subject line. Back blogs and columns are at https://mykelsblog.blogspot.com

→ Balls Dept: I often complain about how fear has been ruling our lives since corona began. Even if you're not consumed by it, your actions, your friends, your life IS consumed by it. I hate it... more than the disease itself I hate the fear.

BUT, now could be a time for bravery... the opposite of fear... and I don't have that final step's worth. I'm talking about the bravery required to volunteer for the vaccine tests. Evidently "10s of thousands" already have. Being injected with something new and untested... YOU'RE the test. Maybe the cure is worse than the disease. Maybe it will kill you... make you grow an extra head... give you cancer... make your ovaries fall out from your vagina... Who knows? I admire bravery, and I dislike cowardliness. I super admire those brave enough to volunteer for this test. I'm too much of a coward to do it.

→Stairway to Heaven Dept: Texas GOP State Rep. Jonathan Stickland was was a laughing Twitter-stock after suggesting that aliens would have to accept Jesus Christ as their savior if they wanted to visit heaven.
“If aliens are real, salvation through Jesus Christ is the only way they enter Heaven.

The leftish Huffington Post reports about this used the headline: Texas Politician Alienates Twitter Users By Suggesting E.T.s Need Religion…

ALIENATES… get it?

→ Tit for tat dept: I had a friend who would only buy stolen bicycles. It was his theory that bike-stealing is a kind of recycling. Someone steals a bike. They sell it to you. You use it for a while and someone steals it. That thief, in turn, either uses it or sells it to someone else. No waste, no hundreds of dollars for a new bike that will only get stolen… It’s perfect ecology.

       Now, The Mirror reports that sometimes the circle closes… This thief actually left a note:

--See you in hell… with the aliens!

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:

Here’s Richard Goldberg: goldberg.wordpress.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. If there’s no link here (I can’t find it temporarily), then Google… er… Duckduckgo him for information.

And my long-term pal Sid Yiddish contributes with his Mishegas Master Blog.

NEW: Here are a couple video links.

This from Jon Cox https://squelchchamber1.bandcamp.com/album/down-so-low

And this one from my very long-time friend Roger Armstrong.

Oh yeah, then there’s me. I have a blog of stuff I’ve written mostly from last century. You might enjoy it. Then again, you might not. It’s here.

Let me know if you have a blog… or a print zine… or a YouTube and want to be added to the list. You show me yours… you’ve already seen mine. god@mykelboard.com

--Mykel

Life after Death or Mykel's Post MRR Column no 58

Mykel's

Post MRR Column no 58

or

Life after Death

"If any doctor tells me, as I like in my hospital bed, that my death will not only help others to live, but be symptomatic of the triumph of humanity, I shall watch him very carefully when next he adjusts my drip” --Julian Barnes

“You’re shorter than I thought you would be.” I tell her. “You too,” she answers. We both laugh.

So I’m hangin’ out with God at the Purgatory Bar and Grill… known locally as The Purg. Drinks are on her… I don’t even know if they take cash here… let alone my United Airlines Mileage Plus card.

I’ve been dead about two weeks... came here to drink first thing. Now I’m a regular, but I hadn’t met the big boss until just a few minutes ago.

“I like to visit the celebrities,” she says. “I just left Tom Wolfe… and I gotta tell you… you’re looking better than he does.”

“He was 88 when he kicked the bucket,” I remind her. “I was almost 20 years younger.”

“Yeah,” she says, “but he stayed a natty dresser to the end….” She looks me down and up… from my holey army boots to my bad transplant comb-over. “What happened to you?”

I look her up and down from her brown feet in Greek-wrapped calf-length sandals to her naked thighs, to her bright colored bikini (I expected leather) over a muscular-- but not six-packed stomach …. to her cascade of braided black hair.

God

Okay,” I say, “You win.”

“But I was nearly right in my earthbound imaginations,” I continue. “I knew you’d be a colored girl.”

“THAT’s one of the reasons I wanted to meet you,” she says. “No one else would have the balls to call God “a colored girl.” You get ten punk points for that.”

“I call most females girls,” I say, “unless they’re feminists who’ve completely lost their playfulness or ability to be cute, whimsical, laugh easily, or delight in a kitten. Women are mature in the worst way. Women have no sense of humor, no ability to enjoy blowing the pollen off a dandelion, no thrill in wondering why grass is green or why men like sports. Girls ask about the universe. Women demand an end to the patriarchy.”

“Yep,” says God. “I’m older than the universe and I’m still a girl. I HATE that word woman! It’s almost as bad as man. Boys can light farts. Men talk about the stock market…. just disgusting.”

“Agreed!” I shout, slapping her open palm with mine… She orders another round of beers. Yes, there is Founders Breakfast Stout at The Purg.

“Speaking of farts...” she starts.

“I know,” I answer. “It was a pretty dumb move.”

[NOTE: I died while trying to light a fart. It was a giant beer fart... the morning after my last night on earth. The accident involved some nearby flammable liquid and an explosion… from the inside, that left my half-naked body in pieces.]

“It wasn’t dumb,” answers God. “It was boyish! That’s what I like about you.”

I smile at her compliment… an aw shucks kind of smile.

“Then there’s the colored part,” she says.

I raise my eyebrows to show that I don’t know what she’s talking about.

“I mean the colored part of colored girl.”

“Oh yeah,” I say. “ I always liked that… from Lou Reed, ya know. The colored girls go Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo dooooooo...”

“Yeah, that’s almost worth it on its own,” she says. “By the way, I just saw Lou last weekend. Sometimes, he has trouble getting along with the other recently deceased. They say he’s got an attitude problem.”

“Maybe that’s why I never see him here,” I say.

She nods, “but back to the main point… the word colored… I love it. Rainbows are colored. Flower gardens are colored. African clothes are colored. Check out this bathing suit.” She runs her hands along the skimpy material that hides the good parts.

“I am not BLACK,” she continues. “I’m auburn, with tinges of pink on my palms… on my tongue.” She shows me. “Look, hold out your arm.”

I do.

“See, It’s just an ugly gray pink. Not really white, but no color in particular... a rather boring hair-covered nothing. Sorry, but it’s not attractive. Now look at this...”

She holds out her arm, “Every color from the earth beneath your feet to a deep night sky. BLACK is an insult!”

“I’ve met two REAL black people in my life,” I say. “And none in my death!”

She nods. “I know. And that African American shit! Give me a break! You know when Nelson Mandela became president of South Africa? A CNN reporter went down there to introduce him to the American people. She said, ‘Here’s Nelson Mandela… a great African-American.’ You should have seen the look on his face!”

I laugh.

“Yeah,” she continues, “but it wasn’t her fault. CNN rules said she had to use the word African American for any colored person. It was crazy.”

The beers follow one on another. Maybe your alcohol tolerance increases after death… I dunno. I’m feeling good, but not soused. I don’t want to make a fool of myself before God. You know what I mean?

“And how ‘bout them Yankees?” I ask…. not knowing her team preference, but unable to imagine God as a Red Sox fan.

“Yeah,” she says, “they started slow, but picked up really quickly…. And how ‘bout that Ohtani guy? Pitching? Under a 200 ERA. Hitting? Over three hundred. Boy those Orientals are finally catching up.”

“Orientals? You said Orientals? I’m in love!”

“Of course I said Orientals,” God answers. “Waddaya think? Asians? People from Siberia are Asians. Pakistanis are Asians. Arabs are Asians. Goddamn Australians are practically Asians.”

We raise hands and slap palms again.

“Besides,” she continues, “Oriental means from the East the same as Asian means from the East. But Asia has taken on the meaning of the continent… and it’s useless as a description.”

“You’re telling me,” I say to her, emptying my glass. “You got a room full of all kinds of people. Guys from India, Russia, Afghanistan, even Israel for fuck’s sake…. Is it rude to say FUCK to God?”

God laughs.

“Anyway,” I continue. “In that room is one guy from Japan. Someone asks you how to find him…. So waddaya say, ‘He’s the only Asian in the room?’ They’re ALL Asians.”

Asians

I still have a little Founders left in my glass. I gulp it down.

“I love Founders beer,” I tell her. “It's the best brewery in America.”

“And that's another thing,” says God.

“Founders?” I ask.

“No LOVE!” she answers. “It's total horseshit. People love beer, love their parents, love their paramours. What crap! Love and marriage go together like a horse and carriage? Are you gonna marry your beer?”

“I think it means a different kind of love,” I tell her. “Like the Greeks had. You know eros, philia, agape, that kind of thing.”

“You guys don't even know what love is... and marriage has NOTHING to do with love,” she continues. “For men, marriage is pussy insurance... a trade of freedom for the guarantee of getting laid. For women, marriage is nanny insurance... a trade of freedom for the guarantee she won't be on her own to take care of the brood. The institution of marriage is just giant insurance agency.”

“Bingo!” I say waiting to slap her hand... but this time she doesn't offer it. “That's why gay marriage is so stupid. Why bother? Do homosexuals need pussy insurance?”

“You're forgetting something,” says God. “The institution of marriage is so ingrained in the culture. To encourage it, the culture offers a bunch of perks to those who embrace the institution. Tax breaks, hospital visitation rights, legal joint ownership of property, more. Gay marriage makes sense for the social benefits... not for LOVE.”

“Still, it isn't fair,” I say. “What business does the government or the rest of society have in encouraging marriage?”

“It's the business of money, of course... saving money,” she answers. “The pussy insurance isn't so important. But the nanny insurance IS important. It saves the government from having to be the nanny... or at least from having to pay for one.”

I shake my head, simultaneously unable to answer-- and in awe of-- the brilliance of God. I thought she'd be an airhead.

God smiles, walks over to the bar. I stare as her netherparts sway away from me. She’s gone to order another round of drinks. She looks over her shoulder at me and asks “Another one of the same?”

I consider for a moment... then figure... since God is paying… “I’ll have a Space Barley this time.”

The bartender, a man looking much like Mr. Whipple, laughs hard through his nose. I'm afraid he might splash God with his mucus. She could get sick.

She doesn't seem to notice, but just turns, smiles and talks to me.

“Yo Mykel,” she says. “This is The Purg… not The Elysium… How ‘bout an Ommegang Three Philosophers?”

“Great!” I answer.

When she returns, I raise my glass and click it to hers. “L’chiam!” I say.

“Sawa!” she answers.

“Now where were we...” I start… but don’t continue. There is a disturbance in another part of the bar. My back is to the noise… sounding like breaking furniture. God looks over my shoulder at something going on behind me. I turn around to check it out.

It’s like a scene from an old Western: the bar brawl. A table is on its side. Broken glass and doused candles litter the floor. Flat against another table a man-- late twenties I’d guess…but what the fuck does age mean if you’re dead? Jockish-looking, with a millennial beard… he lies on his back... pinned. On top of him, a brawler kneels on his chest… slamming fist to face… right… left… right… left. A rivulet of blood drips from the corner of his mouth down to the table… puddling under his neck.

The puncher is a woman... slightly stout and matronly…. a bit overweight... but with a set of those arms women get when they lift weights instead of protest signs.

“What happened?” I ask.

“The usual,” says God. “Some newbie comes here with a chip on his shoulder. Thinks he can just be Mr. Macho. They learn fast. Death does not mean you’re immune from a beating. That guy tried to hurt an old man... muscle him out of the way. The girl now mauling him came to his defense. Girls here know how to take care of themselves... and everyone else.”

“You mean there’s no violence against women laws? “

God laughs. “There are no laws at all,” she says. “We help each other… and we help ourselves….” She shakes her head, “That’s one of the many things I don’t get about your culture… Women-- not girls-- complain about inequality. They ask for the same benefits... salary... positions... respect... as men. But then they whimper that they’re NOT equal. In every country on earth (and most in places you don't know... but I do.) There is a shitload more violence against men than against women.”

“What do those women want?” she continues, pronouncing the word WOMEN with heavy italics.

She answers her own question. “They want a law against violence against women? Like they’re a difference species… a kind of dog or cat... American Society Against Cruelty to Women... ASPCW!” She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “Where we are now, God helps those who help each other.”

“I’ll drink to that!” I say hoisting my Three Philosophers again and clicking her glass of something darker. Then we drink up.

I look at the empty glass. “I was afraid there would be no beer in heaven,” I tell her.

“In heaven?” she asks… then breaks out laughing. “In heaven???” she shakes her head. “Hahahahahaha! Heaven! That’s a good one.” She calls over her shoulder. “Get a load of this guy,” she says. “He thinks he's going to heaven.”

-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]

-→Right again, of course, Dept: Last month I wrote about how the only evils people acknowledge in the modern world... are evils related to SEX. No matter how awful someone is, it only counts if somehow there's sex involved.

Now we have the news that Wikileaks hero Joshua Adam Schulte has been arrested. He's the guy who revealed how the CIA was breaking into iPhones and smart TVs to turn them into spy tools for the government. Of course the CIA folks are pissed off... so they arrest him.

On what charges?

Child pornography!!

Yep, somehow, someplace, on some server he administers for work, they found some sex pictures of some people who looked young. Bang! In jail, like that other Wikileak hero, Julian Assange. The government knows in order to make a good guy into a bad guy... you need SEX. Details, though a bit skewed, are here.

-->Yuck dept: The newest fad among oldsters is fecal transplants. That's right. Doctors take someone else's shit and shove it up your ass. At least, that's the basic part of it. Wikipedia says the transplant can be done by colonoscopy, enema, orogastric tube or by mouth. No further comment necessary.

--> It Had To Happen dept: The University of Utah became the first University to offer Video Gaming as a varsity sport. It's my guess that this came about as the administration felt the pressure from the snowflakes to avoid fat-shaming. Sports-- up to now-- have been all about fat-shaming. To do well, you have to be IN SHAPE... and that shape is not fat. Then, along comes video games.

-->Dust-biting time dept: They're dropping like Israeli-shot Gazans! Tom Wolfe, Glenn Branca, Steven Hawking, Margot Kidder, Philip Roth and a bunch more. Though it was last year, I just heard that Chuck Shephard, editor of the amazing News of The Weird has not died... but has retired... which is a kind of death. Over the years, I have cribbed tons of endnotes from Chuck. The website, however, appears to continue without him.

-->That's the spirit Dept: Craig Mitchell, a Scottish man, drove over three hundred miles... leaving Scotland and entering England... to avoid a new alcohol minimum price imposed by the Scottish government. In one of those moves that makes libertarianism tempting, the Scottish government imposed a new booze pricing policy aimed at discouraging alcohol use.

I bet the government is going to be plenty surprised at the INCREASE in traffic accidents caused by the law, as people leave the country for a cheap drink or three south of the border... and then come back drunk.

===========================================

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.

See you in hell,

Mykel