There, that cheers me up. Or you’re in the store and Granny Goodbitch, with moths coming off her, is counting pennies for a coupon while liberally cutting the cheese. Or some real shitbird has 16 items in an 8 item lane? What’re you supposed to do? Take lunch? How about next time you say, ‘Hey retard, it’s an 8 item lane. Oh I’m sorry, maybe you’re not retarded, you’re just an ignoranus.’
Might just have to ask the cashier to smell my socks. Eau de just so Last Week.

Or there’s a very good looking woman standing around, whom you can’t help admire. She notices you noticing her, and looks at you like you’ve dropped The Big Brown One on her shoe.
Perhaps next time I ought to – say, ‘Disdain?’ Here’s dis ‘dain for you.’ Or she’s looking like you’ve pillaged, burned, and thrown her entire closet of clothes into disarray and ought to be charged admission for simply looking in her general direction.
I’m sorry. Yes, you’re good looking, but those aren’t personalities. Obviously.

A time or two I’ve run into strange looks from older couples who, depending on whether or not they’re carrying something, or parading around a small dog, appear to assume that I’m going to grab the goods, or cook the dog because I just happen to have that hunch-backed Quasimodo fascination with egocentric and arbitrary geezers who might be packing an extra used Kleenex I could borrow.

I’ve run into a few of those in malls, especially. However, there it’s packs of kids, thieves, pedophiles, welfare cheats, and cops of one kind or another.
Primarily interesting are the younger girls/women who either look at you like they wish you had candy, or ones who stare at you and make faces as if you were going to offer them some.
I’ve yet to find a shop that would sell me a Taser when I need one.
Zzzzt! Attitude change.

How about never minding those unread, opinionated assgoblins [picture a Rolling Stones' type tongue sprouting from an asshole with an Itchy and Scratchy replay]  who delude themselves and other assgoblins that because they are alive their opinions on anything from literature to life carries weight. They ought to be made to descend through Dante’s circles on a tiny tramcar yelling, “I am but an amoeba, a blood corpuscle, pay no attention to intellectual munchkins!’ I can see more than a few grinning know-it-alls on that trolley to hell.
Where’s my trapdoor when I need it.

So what about when you get in the car? How about we begin with the asshole driving next to you, though the entire highway is clear. Or the knobgoblin who likes to speed up, only to park in your blind spot for miles, again though the road is like sky.

Or you’re driving in the passing lane, cars stacked in the lane next to you, and one bonehead believes it’s okay to come right behind you, remaining a ruler’s length away, even though the highway is clear behind him, or her.

Let’s get it straight, age or sex has no province when it comes to stupidity, especially when driving. You can be a genius, and still drive like a Jethro.

I never understood why, when highways are endless, there can be traffic lines. If you’re in the fast lane, go fast. In fact, car insurance ought to cover the gomers you roll over when they’re driving the speed limit in the passing lane.
The passing lane is not your private driveway, and if that is what you are doing, there are thousands of people who want to politely ask you to stop, and examine their front fenders while they get back in their car and find out whether it’s true you make noise when you’re fucked.
You are hated – get out of the way.

Who are those idiots who roll in front of you when there’s hundreds of yards clear, and you’re busting forward to get out of the way of the axe-murderer right behind you? Don’t you just want to sweep that cow-catcher right up to their back bumper, and pitch them off to the side? (no, for the prurient, I am talking about traffic)

How about those old bags who give you the finger because they’re going say 60, in the passing lane, when the limit is 80, and you beep the horn to wake them from the tea-induced stupor? Shouldn’t a sort of road rage be legal then? You follow them home, and get your dog out on their front lawn, and feed it ex-lax? And if you don’t, then you get a fine.

What if you’re in the city and stopped next to some hearing-impaired asswipe with the stereo blazing with some shit about ‘bongo, bongo, bongo, I don’t wanna leave the Congo?’ Shouldn’t your license be taken away if you don’t immediately haul out your bazooka, and help them escape to another country, so to speak?
And your car insurance premiums decrease.

I guess what we’re speaking of is basic thoughtless and willful ignorance, and here you thought those California wildfires were accidental, or even arson. Silly.
Nope.
Shooting got to be too obvious, that’s all. And when you run off those highways, the ground really is very dry.

Next time, I promise to wait til we’re in the city and close to some robbers’ corner store, or at a poolitician’s speech about civic improvements: or right outside the line where a bunch of self-congratulatory corncobs with more money than brains are paying $1,000.00 for some movie or concert ticket.

I mean, can’t start a fire if you don’t have a match, right?
©Dean J. Baker
©Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE at Dean J. Baker in limited editions, $14.95 + postage each – discounts available for libraries, bookstores, and distributors

Price is $15 each, plus postage within North America. European orders also available. Discounts for orders of  more than 5 each.

There are two books. One of poems; the other of Baker’s Bad Boys: you will not find these poems, or prose works, on either of my blogs.

The book blurb is:
“Dean is a combination of thought and torment that has made him write more than a baker’s dozen of fine poems.. he might produce a collection that could astound us all.” – Irving Layton

Irving Layton is one of Canada’s foremost poets, nominated twice for the Nobel Prize for Literature; teacher, friend and mentor to Leonard Cohen, and the man to whom Leonard dedicated his latest book.

So feel free to contact me for orders.. of the books, that is here, when you click on Send a Message. http://www.google.com/profiles/deanjbaker

Book samples: http://deanjbaker.wordpress.com

samplings of other works there  too http://deanjbaker.wordpress.com

And a great review: http://networkedblogs.com/76bfS

©Dean J. Baker

©Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE at Dean J. Baker in limited, numbered editions, $14.95 + postage each – discounts available for libraries, bookstores, and distributors

Let’s see, in order to forestall guessing, we’d have politicians who don’t know their ass from their elbow and do it with your money. You don’t care though, you just keep electing the same idiots with different faces and hope?the game gets better.
And then deny it.
So we’d do stories on you, the voters.

Mrs. So and So went to work today and had a quiet sense of superiority when she realized she had saved exactly $100.00 more than her customers.
The dentist thought about Mrs. So and So’s savings and guessed he’d better charge her an extra $90.00 for working on her teeth because he bet that moustache she seemed to be growing would tickle his forearms again.
Schmoo, the mechanic, decided he’d have to up the price on the dentist’s repairs because his no-good son had started drinking again and gotten another ticket.
BoBo, the accountant, just knew he’d have to charge extra to everyone because he wanted that margin of security since those assgoblins in the Market had savaged his stocks.

Little Betty BooBoo was sure she could get Tommy Tourette, Timmy’s little brother, into some good trouble if she just whispered the right provocation when he came into the classroom.
And Tommy was sure as hell going to say something to Betty, hoping his brother wouldn’t find out he’d taken a few dollars from his desk drawer or there’d be a fight word-storm.
Bobby Boredom did some good deeds.

You get the idea.
Not as diverse but about you, your kin, their foibles and troubles.

Cause we’re different from politicos. They may say they’re the same, but they aren’t – they have power, and a powerful crowd.
They don’t just lie down and say okay, drive me home. Unless we all speak at once. But we all know it would take a virtual decimation of neighbores in the street for that to occur.
Politicians can lie, steal and lie and we do nothing. Just keep hoping. Watching TV. Worshipping millionaires.

Looking for a miracle. Ignoring our own predilections for change because we’re too damn tired from working, placating the wife, being sure to have more than the neighbores.

Doesn’t mean we’re unaware. Nope.

Just wish when the politicos lie they’d be a bit more clever about it. And when they conceal things, they’d have at least some humility when found out, that they’d say something.
Not simply pass by their own faults, wait a decent interval, and then start all over again telling us what was in our best interests.

We know. Even if we don’t know how.

Sure we’re venal and all want more money than the next guy – but we don’t want to be like him, or her. We’d make a difference.
Same way you can count on one hand the movie stars, the musicians, who donate any significant amount of their own money to kids, dogs and cats, or something else worthy, like alkies.

And we do know that in their hearts politicians are just like us – it does matter to them when people are murdered. When children are abused. When animals are ass-fucked, and tortured.
By the neighbores.
And they will do something about it.
Sometime.
After the fact.
In a sure-fire deterrent way guaranteed to make the pervs twitch before they next commit.

You can feel it, can’t you?

Those gun-toting, drug-sniffing – wait, I don’t mean border guards – those criminals are lining up to become respectable, get jobs and have some earned self-pride.
It isn’t that they need examples. Or that they’re stupid. Or lazy.
They’re smart. They see hard-working people have money, that’s why they rob, rape and kill them – when they aren’t killing each other because someone was too lazy to share their drugs.

Or white-trash isn’t drinking themselves silly, and wicked trash aren’t killing each others’ kids. Or rich assholes aren’t de-parenting their own kids by allowing them money, cars and whiskey until they kill someone with better character.

We could write about that, or simply let the political show with its lies and untruth, and the glamor or hypocrisy continue because it might just set sail to granny’s anxieties, gramp’s gonads might start dragging on the ground, and little junior would figure, why yes,  real people do talk like rappers.
And the elite are only those who can afford to sit back, look at the news, and think, why shit, that’s not me.

Whew.

©Dean J. Baker
©Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE at Dean J. Baker in limited editions, $14.95 + postage each – discounts available for libraries, bookstores, and distributors

Don’t they get it? If I wanted to keep in touch you wouldn’t have to tell me. I wouldn’t need an ever-so-non discrete suggestion about doing so.
And isn’t it always the wankers who are asking, saying, telling? The ones whose social list reads like a phone book, which is why they need you to keep in touch – so they can remember you exist?

So basically they’re saying hey you, I think you might be interesting. If you keep in touch, that may prove so. I just might deign to remove myself from my social swirl and descend to your level of social ineptitude, and general isolation, pick the crumbs off my sleeve – or is that your dandruff – and engage in a forced conversation about my accomplishments because you have likely done nothing.

Oh, great. Meaning I would get to listen to their platitudes about society, life in general, their busy schedule, and  – ready – how I ought to stay in touch.

Therefore instead of enjoying a sloppy morning or afternoon writing, playing music, tormenting the kitty, I could pretend to be enthralled at sharing the wide dominion of consciousness with someone whom, if I saw them on the street, might think to myself, ‘now what is that wild-looking knob up to walking the streets?’

Exactly what would we say to each other?
Them: “Well, I hope you’ve been keeping yourself busy, staying healthy, and making money. Especially after that hard time of two years sickness when you’d finished taking care of your father for 10 years, when I was too busy to call or find out how things were going after you were settling his estate, and redoing the entire house.
Sorry that no one else was around either.”
Me: ‘Why hell, that’s ok. Your version of events and your perspective are what matter most. Just being polite, you know. The fact that I almost died means nothing, though abandoned literally by everyone, since I am here now. And fuck a duck, isn’t that what they used to say in the ‘60’s? Be Here Now? So of course all is cool.’

You silly stupid basturds.
I lead and have led one of the most interesting lives of anyone. Travelled the world, met and hung around with famous and great poets, writers, and musicians.
Write music, poetry, prose.
Been attacked in the midst of my fever by assholes and violent sheeples (“Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds” (Einstein).

Lost my best doggie, an ex, my best writing friend, and another writer friend I’d known for decades, then lost my father, gotten sick unto death practically, had to deal with lawyers,  one remaining family member fighting with me, still recovering, and you tell me to keep in touch.
Have integrity to the degree that it is leaking from my shoes, and you say I should keep in touch.

If I was to keep in touch anymore, I’d implode.
If you were out of touch any farther, you’d be a speck of lint on that big ball of dirt they call the moon.

My keeping in touch is noticing the snow, drinking some coffee, writing, seeing strange, beautiful – I guess – blonde women hiding behind plants in the local library, and then saying hello.

Hello.

©Dean J. Baker
©Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE at Dean J. Baker in limited editions, $14.95 + postage each – discounts available for libraries, bookstores, and distributors

When I first saw the book on the shelf at the library in Port Colborne, I felt this great sense of relief.
Like maybe someone was finally going to do something about all those slow assholes driving in the fast lane, or the new immigrants walking on the left-hand side of the sidewalk instead of the right. Or maybe, just maybe, I’d never again hear the words about some Islamist dick deciding to lop off his daughter’s hoo hahs or go for a boating vacation with the entire family without a boat.

Perhaps finally, when the government wanted an opinion as to what to do about tax, they’d finally come to my door and I’d give them my idea:  make the politicians pay, or you die.
No more ‘ we tried’, and ‘we’ll improve in the next decade or two.’ Nope. Lop off their heads.
I mean, they are not  accountable to anyone really. They push for pay-offs in the form of taxes and insurance rates, they don’t pay interest when they owe you money yet claim it for themselves, and if you object they get an army of fucktards to pester you any time you make a move.
The only thing missing is a protection racket.

So I say we kill them. Publicly. And we choose who gets to do so.
You’re a senior citizen and they’ve just made it harder for you to stay warm without worrying about eating that can of beans?
You get to spit them, and roast them. And collect all the money from selling tickets.

They run a big city where the only thing they do is fuck-up snow removal, road repair, real estate, health care, and immigration? And then they tax you more? i.e. rob you.
You decide. What will it be?
They’re wired with lights to a buzzer that measures the deficit and every time it threatens to go up they light up like the town Christmas tree? Otay!

They feed prisoners, give them books, flu shots, rights for this and that; handcuff the cops from kicking their asses down a few station stairs, and kicking them in the bags?
You decide.
Prisoners are released into your custody. Do what you want with them. Only thing is, don’t forget to share.

The media, the government, other people prevent truth from surfacing so things could finally be seen and corrected?
You decide. You say yeh when did we begin to have gun crimes in Toronto so frequently? Maybe you make a list of what groups it couldn’t be doing so, and you name them.
Was it those ass-fucking priests? Noooooo. Was it the Protestants? No. Keep going….

In fact, anyone opposed to the use of a common sense, golden rule government is liable.

You know, the shithead in the store who coughs openly, wipes their nose on their hand and then says Have a good day, here’s your change.

How about we get the highways wired? You get into the passing lane and a sensor in your car lights up. You go below the commonly accepted speed of say 120, and once the sensors in the rear and front divine that no one is near you, you blow up.
This also goes for those nitwits who drive around with assholes blaring from their radios.
‘Bongo, bongo, bongo, I don’t wanna leave the Congo’… boom!
And of course if you object to that, or any other common sense thing, you get sent to the Island For Faeries and Liberals.
Plus, no lubricant.

If the media reports anything from any country or within our own, political, news, or otherwise, and doesn’t comment on the reality of it all, we get to drop them in the same circumstances, sell tickets, and ask them live, ‘ how does it feel?’

It would not mean if your Mom and Dad, your neighbor or friends, piss you off that you get to report them.
If you did, you get to go live on a show ‘Retards and Their Reprehensible Behavior.’ No more waiting for Jesus to let you know after you fuck more people up.

‘The Electric Chair, Home Edition’ becomes more than a game. Long visiting house pests beware.

You got kids telling adults to fuck off?  Taser them and receive a reward. Don’t taser them and you get marked as ‘politically correct.’ Uh oh.

Petty criminals rob you, push you, ignoramuses impede you?  Bullies decide how you feel?
They get pushed into the river. Or run over. And if they ruin your car, their family pays for it.

Your neighbor has a dog that always manages to take a huge fucking dump on your lawn after you mow it? Or anyone gives you shit when you are obviously in the right?
You get to poop in their potato pot and they have to dig in.
That’s right, you give me shit: chow down assgoblin, you’re eating it.

On a more positive note, if you happen to challenge any deficiencies of government and general behavior, you are hugely rewarded. Women, cash, homes, and your enemies given a hot-pepper enema daily, only part of the gifts of thanks.

Not that I am applying.
I am merely suggesting.

Let’s hope you have the common sense it takes.

I am patient.

©Dean J. Baker

©Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

I’d run out the front door of my home, with my father chasing me, obviously angry.
It was a snowy day, late afternoon, and I was the caricature of the poet, lazing around, reading, and writing, without a job, at 20.
I did have the presence of mind to grab my winter coat and scarf as I flew towards the bus stop, without any intention of returning that day, headed I knew, for my cement oasis of downtown.
More than likely my prehensile brain had it all planned.
Too bad it hadn’t planned on having more than 4 transit tokens, and $1.25 in my pocket.

I didn’t have any paper, or a pen either, with me. I walked the streets, taking in the shoppers, the goods, seeing into the restaurants since there was a complete lack of cafes existing in what passed for a main street in downtown Toronto at the time.

I’d been planning on meeting Irving Layton ever since I found that, to my amazement, he was not only alive and existing in society, rather than simply vacationing in Mexico as he did every year, or coming out of some misplaced hermitry, but taught at York University – in Toronto!

I didn’t have to settle for seeing him on the occasional Pierre Berton show, his articulation and passion a thing of surprising and sustained beauty. He wasn’t another dead English poet to be studied from afar, in a book, to contrive dreams of some fantastic poesy as if written on a Grecian urn.

Considering briefly my own high school teachers who between failing me at almost every grade, denouncing my words in essays for class that they said did not exist – only I knew they did, being an avid reader of the dictionary at various times – and asking to borrow my rare poetry books, such as Petrarch, I wondered for a moment at the disparity between those who taught Poetry, and the poets themselves.

I did briefly consider what I might say to Mr. Layton, what he might say, or not, and simply felt that I had to meet this great poet whose words had lit a spark in me the first time I came across them in an English class in high school.
My mind went no further than both the idea of actually meeting a published great poet, and being in his presence, and absent were any thoughts of what might transpire.

It would turn out to be an event whose importance would influence me forever.

More to come….

©Dean J. Baker©Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Obviously, they cannot govern themselves. They cannot account for money spent. They give contracts away worth hundreds of millions of dollars without taking bids.
Now that’s either stupid or contemptuous – no, wait, it’s both.  And deceitful, since none of them is being heard to brag about it. No, you have to dig out that information.

In a word: corrupt.
But they do it so nicely, so passively. Canadian, eh?

And when asked to appraise themselves, would you find one that says ,’hey, we’re so fucking corrupt and stupid about governing this city that we ought to have our personal records made conspicuously available to the public.’
Not a bad idea.

Government is a business. Are they making money? Is the lot of the people improving?
Or are they descending into ruin so slowly and pervasively, it is only by decreasing services, raising taxes every year, and adding more taxes, that the spiral can be determined to be what it is:  drooling retards in charge of our nationhood.

Sort of like allowing gangsters to be in charge.   In this case, don’t say anything bad, they might tax you.
Or your fuckhead neighbors who keep re-electing those shitbirds because ya know, this guy or woman, isn’t so bad. Maybe they can change things.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
What they don’t tell you is that they tow the party line, like a political circle jerk, or else their boss roasts their nuts and they’re off to Bird Droppings, Ontario to speculate on the incestuous policies of families captured in woodland homes over the winter.

And they act like life in Toronto is part of a brochure.  Multi-cultural this and that, new waterfront, world quality.
Sure.. if you like rich East European assholes driving their cars on highway and streets as if they were in a race, killing people; if you enjoy the greater prospects of getting shot, or beaten by white shitheads; if you desire sexual congress with cement because traffic is so fucked-up.
What’s your pleasure? There is certainly no comfort to be found there.

The thing is if you are governed, you want to be governed well. Unobtrusively, not Orwellian 1984 conformity without reference to the individual except as a means to enhance beliefs.
Seig heil, hosers.
And if you are consuming a meal, you want to enjoy it. Not be told how wonderful that colo[u]rful menu appears to be.. please to ignore the goober with the pistol to your head, the con with the woody pointing at your child, the abandoned senior citizens you will soon become.

Not doing anything is suicidal acquiescence.

Ponder this: why did the politician cross the poorly maintained road?

Cause his dick was stuck in the chicken.

Guess who’s the chicken.

©Dean J. Baker
©Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE at Dean J. Baker in limited editions, $14.95 + postage each – discounts available for libraries, bookstores, and distributors

That goes for the pricks now in charge of the government.
And the media which helps them self-promote their various ‘ideas.’

Are we talking about well-read, well travelled, self-inspired individuals who have worked in the worst jobs, seen the best in the world through their own self-sufficient devices, and through their own individuality been focused upon by others they have influenced by their actions? Nope.

We’re speaking of and held in thrall by assholes, nitwits, and nincompoops who couldn’t make it in the world any other way except through the narcissistic atavism of others exactly like themselves who perform no action without calculation of the benefits they will receive and for which they will be perceived to be seen to do.
You know: McSquinty, Ignoratieff, Pierre Trudamn, Harpoon, etc.

These are the very people you wanted to kick the shit out of in the schoolyard because they always thought they knew better, and were better. And you knew they didn’t care about anyone except themselves.
And if we ran into their mini-versions in our own crowd of us regular people these days, we’d likely quietly leave them to their own mess, or if they became an annoyance, tell them to fuck off and get bent.
Well, I would.

What I, and I expect  many others, wonder about is: how does that in-born awareness as a child, and even adolescent leave us, and is translated into ‘electing’ the same people we despised as those who ought to lead us when we’re adults? Is that a measure of how much awareness people in general have lost?

Government is broken. It has become a charade of what it is supposed to be.
We choose you, you make things better for us. You don’t churn and burn while Dante’s 9th circle comes into being.
Meaning you don’t plead with us or demand we acquiesce in the idea that we are making social progress while the fundamentals deteriorate, the foundation rots, and our society decays.

But who tells the overspending, secretive, weenie wagging government anything without fear that they will step in and demand this or that, destroy your life with an individual focus, or somehow make things worse for you? Who challenges them?

They say it’s democracy that we can do this, that I can write this. It’s not democracy, it’s statist bullshit. I can do this, you can say something… because they know the majority will not grasp the concept, or will not be prepared to demand serious changes.

Here’s a government that enshrines and taxes its culture. Tax on everything.
What are we paying for? Giving them our earned money so they can say ‘Here, we’ll give you some back.. but please not to notice that we’ll fuck you on something else.’
Oh, and we want to appear to be this way or that way, so we’re giving more of your money to people you’d probably  set on fire if they even came near you.

You may notice I am being what some please themselves to say is slightly sarcastic. Well, yeh. That’s a freedom.

Political correctness is a conceit engendered by a government of fear in service of the lowest common denominator.
I want the ability to not be politically correct.
To make fun of fatties[fatheads], to challenge the USA about its censored news to its own people, its bent in the media, why they haven’t  just iced militant Muslims yet.

Accountability for spending from the government about exactly where money goes, who is responsible, and why they aren’t in jail with one guy deciding who gets to be the wife when they lose millions, or receiving government salaries are living in affordable housing (J,  and O), and why we don’t see them as the social assholes they are, as if that eclipse in character was momentary and like a gospel preacher smoking the neighborhood choirboy’s pole, they have actually changed… when they get caught.

Good is not a measure of what you do when everyone is looking, it is what you do when few notice or care.

Or, like Trudeau who made the government and thus the country a vehicle for his social fantasies, the delusions of a rich man’s ne’er-do-well son, as long as he, being privileged with cash, didn’t have to live with it himself in his Montreal enclave.
Government needs money? I know lots of people who’d pay to line-up and have their picture taken while they took a monumental shit on his grave.

Al Capone ran the numbers. Government runs lotto. Bookies. Gangsters run loans at 20%. Credit cards companies may settle for 30%.
If gangsters run out of product they rush to get more to make more sales.
If David Miller, Mayor of Toronto, fucks up that city’s economy, he decides to tax your car twice, your house twice, increase your garbage fees, and who knows what else is coming.
He’s another one who needs to have the spotlight thrown on him, constantly.

But they’re human, you say. They have families.
Exactly. They’re a s much to blame as the enabling turds who benefit from all the dollars  being lost through their jobs, association, and  blind eyes.
I think they used to be called weasels, worms, whatever.

Yes, government is broken. Democracy is a mockery of itself.

I recall the words of that English poet, Shelley, who said, at seventeen, ‘That government is best which governs least.’ And his mentor, William Godwin, who wrote An Enquiry Concerning Political Justice.. in the 1700’s.

So, whatever you do, don’t believe the lies about progress. That this, or that, politician, is okay, a nice guy, a sensible woman.

They’re all part of the churn and burn, taking us down a shady lane towards that decaying shelter at the end of a dirty road where they can keep us contained, and pacified through minor satisfactions such as the illusion of no fear and why we ought to be not afraid but aware, demonized characterizations of other governments and societies, and a pre-occupation that amounts to the slave’s relief when the leash is loosened a bit, until the next cycle comes around.

Society is fundamentally a heirarchy, not a democracy.

In the very least, we can tell each other the truth they refuse to recognize. Or else, we’ll all be as guilty as Curley when Moe says to him, “Everytime you think, you weaken the nation.”

©Dean J. Baker
©Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE at Dean J. Baker in limited editions, $14.95 + postage each – discounts available for libraries, bookstores, and distributors

Things piled up from there. So-called friends kept adding. I sent out requests. Women started sending emails.
I flirted back with them in the comments section of my posts. They’d email, we’d exchange fluid, oh so sorry, I mean, messages.

The poems got more popular, no matter what their subject, medieval times, ancient Italy, death, whatever. Women responded to them as if they were written for them specifically.
Jealous guys specifically commented on my work about all the poems being for women.

Notice, assholes: I had close to 130 poems and prose poems published around the world by legitimate university and literary journals by then for decades. Those poems. So I guess all those literary journals were womanizers too, eh? Oh yeh, Doug? You’re a backstabbing petty annoyance of a shithead.

These were and were not women I happened to be corresponding with, either through email or on Yahoo messenger.

At the same time, my poems were always getting high views and responses to such a degree that for a few months I held the #1 blog in Poetry every day.
People complained after Doug got to #1 with say 59 views, and 20 responses, while others with 500 views and 100+ comments weren’t #1 – can you say You’re a fucking cheater, Doug? I know you can.

That changed when some  guy I never heard of asked me to comment on his poems. I said I would.
I did not mean in the next few moments but apparently he did.
He decided to screw with me.

One day when I was checking the blogs I noticed one that was outright defaming, with my name specifically spelled out. Not that it was the same guy. But perhaps – these people use fake ids, and false pictures, and doctored documents all along.

A day before one guy on there who was always coming into my ‘friend’ list and getting friendships with all the good looking women – I noticed because whenever I went to his profile, there was always another who’d signed up with me a day before, asked me to post a blog comment about him getting his book published through an online self-publishing company.
I did, and he said “you’re a good friend.”
His was one of the first comments on this other guy’s post defaming and calculating lies about me, and it was merely “hahaha.”

So not only did he not tell me, he did that behind my back. Principled guy, right? Has integrity huh?
Salacious Sal, or Darryl, was only the first. I mean, you’d trust that guy, wouldn’t you?

Apparently I was being accused by Christie, of asking her for some photos. Likely nude or something. The liar.
Despite asking her through email before it was blocked, and many many others, I was never told what I had apparently done.
Later they spread those lies to others with ‘apparent’ proof but nothing they cared to share with me.
Likely because I could dispute it with proof it was contrived.
And despite asking for proof, from each once accusing me, I was never given any.
These idiots are still doing this to others.

And there are groups of women who flirt with guys and then distribute their emails amongst themselves, and laugh about it.
Who’s worst? The guys because they take things at face value, or their deceivers who play along, and then act high and mighty? Those women still get the attention, and soothe their lack of consciences by pretending to themselves their characters are of a higher moral quality.
NOT.

The quality of those characters can be taken from the originating post. And from Darryl’s broken-backed statement to them. Oh yeh, he also made friends specifically with the women who agreed with the original post, even though none of them had ever seen anything as to so-called proof.

I was attacked and defamed by many cowards. Christie, Cheryl, whom I had never heard of, told me to fuck off as an opening salvo, then proceeded to perpetuate the defamation in her emails and blogs, while at the same time all the brave cowards and violent sheep made their blogs closed so only their friends could see them.
Can’t risk a lawsuit when you’re busy shitting on someone – especially when none of it is true, when no proof exists. And when whatever is calculated as so-called ‘proof’ would be easily seen through by any computer expert.

I never had to ask for photos.  But even if I had, who forced them?
Women then would send them, to my surprise. I did ask to see them on  video camera so I would know they were real, not some fake psycho. Gee, wonder why huh…. And that was the only reason.
You see I’d been taken by some woman before, pretending to be someone she wasn’t. My naïve experience expecting people to actually be whom they represent themselves to be.

The thing is I was only talking/flirting with women whom I could see were doing the same thing with other guys.
Nothing was promised.
If a phone number was exchanged, it was in good fun, sexual or otherwise. But that is the heart of the matter: numbers were exchanged. I did not solely possess theirs, nor did they simply have mine.

So they accused me of sexually flirting with them who were doing it themselves with many others. That includes Christie, and her husband, flirting with others still on MySpace, and Facebook.
Gee, golly, assholes, you think I would simply disappear and not follow up, have people on my side who would follow you, volunteer to track what you do, to pretend to be others who engaged you in the same conduct of which you accused me, slandered me, defamed me, and others? Oh yes, people did that for me. Only guessing, but likely it is still happening… Comfortable now, you malicious shits.

Another was MaryAnn. She supported me with her first statement on the asshole’s blog, especially after the headline grabber, whom I had never met or talked with or had anything to do with as far as I know – but then again these people use fake ids, still – said he’d like to kill me, right out on the blog.
In her next post there, minutes later, she flirted with the guy – all the while exchanging emails with me about what an asshole he was. She, and the rest, are ‘Charmin.’

There’s the dilemma. Every single person there was and is more guilty of what they accused me of  than I ever could have been -  hypocrisy, defamation, and outright bullshit so shore up the reputations they did not have, to gain the spotlight they could never otherwise attain.
And all under the pretense of virtue.

Of course others who did not know the details, who were presented with lies and phony emails, some sent through the U.S. military (right, Cheryl – still got the proof on ya on that…), joined the circus in defaming me.
Courtney certainly did. One day she’s coming to see me, next day she isn’t speaking. Then she’s sending out the same emails as the others, all purporting to be from me. None ever being sent to me so I could see them.
Must have been afraid I would be able to show that they were fake.
Don’t like my saying this, you asswipes? Take it to court. I have my proof. You have your lack of character, and ethics; your slander, and defamation of character: the wormy, weaseling hypocrites that you are for the whole world to see. Come on, shitbirds.

Mary**n was confronted with the fact that I had her emails after she joined in defaming and maligning me and told to stop or they would be posted.
Guess what? She stopped.
She’d been accusing me, and agreeing with others about me, of the very thing she herself had done – with me.

There was a stage where I was basically pursued by what for no better terms were unattractive, bulky women. Although in my forthright bluntness I probably said fat and ugly.
I was pursued as if because I had so many different textual flings with other women, they deserved the attention as well.
They didn’t. No one did. That was my decision, not their prerogative.

So, basically, someone concocted lies and defamation about me, others maintained the constant maligning of my character while I was going through a severe grieving process, and was ill, and only a few saw something wrong with that.

People with fake photos, fake ids, phony isp numbers, maligned and defamed me, pretending virtue, while they themselves were, and are, guilty of the conduct of which I was falsely, and jealously, accused.
While affected judgment may be the basis of my actions throughout that hard process, I pretended to nothing.

I was straight forward. I did not pledge anything that was not given. I did not state I was only for them.
Whatever their social schizophrenia led them to believe, they did not communicate it with me at the time.
Or, later.

What occasions this now?
Three years later I am still receiving anonymous – of course, brave cowards – hate messages through my other WordPress blog. Criticizing me, my poetry, my views, my fans (“middle-aged fat women”.. gee, you’d think they’d notice they’re not all young blonde tarts).

The anonymous hatred and defamation continues on MySpace, and other sites, despite the fact that I do not interact in the same manner as those people.

Sick, obsessed, jealous, and deranged people.

And if not outright hateful,  they’re malicious in demanding to know why I am angry and why I should be nicer, and telling me more of the same.
Anonymous accusations without proof. From assholes using fake ids, etc.

And I’m the one who’s supposed to have the character flaw?

We all know of the case where a woman decided she’d get some teenager. She manufactured a gossip campaign, phonied-up emails, other documents, got her friends to harass and demean her, ended up getting an entire slew of assholes against her for no other reason than that this woman had decided to do so.

It can happen.. whether it originates in Britain, or in, say, Texas.

The woman’s in jail, the teenager committed suicide.

Get bent, the lot of you, psychos.

©Dean J. Baker

P.S. Yes, many people complained to MySpace about the defamation, and continued allegations.

MySpace’s response: nothing.

http://www.cippic.ca/index.php?page=defamation-and-slapps/#faq_defamation

http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/nation/la-na-blogger-suits-20100823,0,5604043.story?track=rss

©Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Is this world really so hosed that we have to stare at strangers’ wondering how the top of their heads would look? I mean, what they’d be like in the kitchen, or fixing a nice meal?

For purely investigative purposes, I decided to screen a few sites. I found that most have multiple pictures of people who generally ought to be lining the Post Office wall, or ones most likely to be found on the steel cages at the Humane Society, or in your local Pet Shop.

‘Has big tits, lips like a liver fish, freshly dyed blonde hair, crayons inside the line, and doesn’t date just anybody.’
Hmm, so what’s the problem? Well, she’s either 10, or 98 – has a face like a can of smashed assholes, or it’s a he.
Even better, believes she bears a passing resemblance to some luscious, graceful beauty whom the world has somehow passed by. Likely cause she was between sheets with Walter The Farting Dog.

And the ones that do look ok, or even great, in search of true romance (which they believe means if you’re lucky they won’t spit as long as you buy them a car with flowers and a chauffeur to go places and eat things with the other girls), stay on those sites – with the same picture.

Nobody seems good enough for them. Too ugly? Fuck you. Too handsome? Not rich. Perfect? Well shit, never know who might come along and forget the fact that they have nose hair that could act like a muffler, and a wart on their face with a hair growing out of it on which you could violin a Beethoven symphony.

So what if you took a chance and actually mutually decided to meet?
How about coffee? Ah fuck, no way – ok, forget her, she’s too good for cream.
Dinner and dancing? Tell her she can come over and cook dinner and you promise not to lift your leg when you rip one after the veggies.
A movie? She’ll probably wear steel-band undies and hallucinate that you’re trying to rock the boat while the blood pressure to your finger is cut off.

A restaurant. In plain view. So no one can hijack her precious ass to a cabin in the woods. Good to get that out of the way first. Of course, she’s not concerned with you taking her anywhere against her will, she just wants to know if you own property.
Get a clue, eh.

You meet, and you’re waiting for her. A woman shows up.
Nicely dressed. Stays a few seconds. Looks at you, and you wonder out loud, “You the older sister?’
Or she sits down and starts her life story while you sit there farting and fretting and growing angrier by the minute til she takes a breath and says, ‘I like you.’

What does she like? That you’re mute as the cushion under her ass? You won’t pretend to be happy til she can cure you of your ingrained and lowly solitary life?

Or you girls meet a guy. He has a deep voice, intimates he has money, he’s handsome, so what if he’s 80 -you’ll fuck him til his legs fall off, and his heart stands still, and you inherit all the dirt.

Or maybe he’s okay. He’s handsome, articulate, smarter than Jesus. But then you feel like a fucking unread illegitimate dummy next to his shining aura. And damnit, you’re equal.

Or he’s okay, good person, smarter than hell, handsome, and you just have that feeling that despite your age differences (you always liked older men, despite the fact that you’re only  28; you respect them, know they’ll be good to you, and are likely  almost dead from no sex so you will, you will wear that motorcycle helmet of your brother’s when it comes time, just so you don’t bust your noggin against the wall after the older fucker shoots off for the first moment in 13 years. And never mind those lowlifes who say you could have anyone – you don’t want just anyone, you want him).

But it never happens. You have to work. You need a snack. Some inbred is knocking at your door. Besides, then you’d have to actually do something and it wouldn’t be new, and things would get stale, and what about all the other carp, I mean fish, in that big ocean.

Honestly, dating sites don’t work.

If you feel disillusioned, and depressed by these facts. Don’t be.

Call or email me. I will guide you through the perilous paths of singledom.
I promise.

(Offer available only to those over 18 years of age and under 45+- years of age, who can hold their breaths under water for 5 minutes, are smarter than anyone, have no parents, and have a great hunger for learning.
No hags, bags, or drags.)

©Dean J. Baker
©Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE at Dean J. Baker in limited editions, $14.95 + postage each – discounts available for libraries, bookstores, and distributors