I watched Waterworld last night. It seems like a good time to be watching post-apocalyptic movies. Just in case. Though I doubt we will get to the Water Apocalypse. That would require a fair amount of global warming. I’m not saying that it won’t happen. It’s just that I will be long dead. And what will the world be without the MO? Certainly sadder and less thoughtful. Kind of like a home for the developmentally disabled.

Anyway, Waterworld is a pretty good movie. I’d give it a solid B, maybe even a B-plus. Certainly, I can think of many that were worse. I also watched part of Runaway Train last night. It’s from the 80’s and starts Jon Voight as an escaped convict who finds himself on…a runaway train. The acting in the movie is atrocious and so is the plot. Maybe if they put the train on pontoons and had it float around on a giant, continuous sea the movie would be better. Though I don’t know how that would help the acting. Perhaps I did not think this thing through. Kind of like the writers for Runaway Train. Or Soul Asylum.

Soul Asylum. Cool name. Middling effort.

Ratt. Dumb name. Mediocre effort. Those guys are on a Geico commercial now. How the mediocre have fallen. The lead singer looks like the Crypt Keeper. But not as self-aware. I wonder what happened to the Crypt Keeper. It’s not like he died. Maybe he went into retirement rather than make a pathetic insurance commercial. And love does not always find away. You give it time, some other guy swoops in there. Then you have to settle.

Round and round. You are fat and middle aged. Round and round. Too tired and sad to become engaged. Round and round. Time to make a Geico commercial. Time, time, time. Yeah yeah.

I used to think those guys were cool. I feel so duped.

Speaking of duped, I see people think Covid 19 is a Deep State Democratic plan to sink the economy. Because that makes sense (and by people, I mean Republicans- plus some tin foil hat Libertarians). Democrats hate the economy. Dirty money-eschewing SOB’s. I heard they all want to live in Love Huts and burn bibles. And that they all want to use the same bathroom. AT  THE SAME TIME!!!!

If there is one thing I can’t abide, it is wanton bathroom usage. We need order. And Walmart.

By the way, Walmart is full of Chinese-made products. I think that Walmart is really George Soros.

Dennis Hopper is in Waterworld. He gives a pretty typical Hopper performance. As opposed to Richard Dreyfus in Jaws. He gives a pretty Hooper performance.

“Mister Hooooo-perrrr. Noon the fifth day, Mr. Hooper, a Lockheed Ventura spotted us…”

“Anyway, we delivered the bomb.”

Jaws gets an A for the Robert Shaw monologue alone

If you pay attention to Netflix at all (which is almost undoubtedly the case), you may have come across a little show known as Tiger King. For the uninitiated, Tiger King is about a bunch of people who are in the business of keeping tigers/lions/ligers etc. This, of course, is a little weird. Tigers and lions eat people in the wild. In one episode of Tiger King, a tiger demonstrates this fact by tearing a woman’s arm off. The woman continues to work at the “zoo” after this happens. This is also a little weird. Some people like their arms, some don’t. Like an Almond Joy commercial. Except the candy bars are arms. And with tigers.

Anyway, one of the owners of these “zoos” is basically a cult leader. He has a bunch of young, generally buxom, women who work for one hundred dollars a week at his zoo and also sleep with him. He is pretty proud of that and I suppose one can see how. After all, the guy is middle-aged and not overly handsome. Needless to say, his charismatic personality conquers all. Or at least it conquers several women at a time. Perhaps he has Mormon blood. Though, to be fair to the Mormons, they don’t do that sort of thing anymore. Officially. This is because even though god told Joseph Smith it was okay, the federal government told them it wasn’t and that the Mormons wouldn’t get federal dollars if they didn’t cease and desist their polygamous ways. They should have just started training tigers.

If you aren’t already aware, there are more tigers in captivity than live in the wild. If this fact surprises you, you have not watched Tiger King. This probably means you are doing things like reading, an activity strictly prohibited in the United States. Keeping tigers, however, is not prohibited. You can also keep things like alligators and wolves and cobras. Because keeping a cobra is an awesome idea. They love people and are so cute and cuddly. I watched Riki Tiki Tavi. Nag and Nagina were the names of the cobras. Dumb names, Kipling. His sister’s name was probably Rudyarda. Why in the hell would a bunch of pasty-faced Englishmen ever live in the tropics, anyway? Your skin is translucent, for pity’s sake!!

I know. The White Man’s Burden. What can you do?

Personally, I would never get a cobra. I hate snakes. They are very slithery and always surprise me when I least expect them. Luckily, I have never been surprised by a cobra. And I will never go anyplace where that is a possibility. Assuming, of course, that none of my neighbors is harboring cobras. Cobra Harboring Bastards are pretty much everywhere. That’s something I learned watching Tiger King.

Something else I learned is that viruses really aren’t that bad because a lot of people are really stupid and destructive. (Did I mention that all of these places are in the South? Because that seems relevant. Though it’s not like stupidity and destructive behavior end at the Mason-Dixon line.)

One thing that the stupid people in Tiger King love is guns. And sometimes explosives. Bang! Bang! Bang! go the guns. Boom! Boooooom!! Booooooooommmmmm!!! go the explosives.

Heeheeheeee! go the stupid people. It is hilarious to them. Especially when they destroy something with their guns and explosives. Pow! Another watermelon goes to the hereafter.

Heeeeeheeeeeheeee!!!

Not that I care about watermelons. In fact, I don’t really like watermelon. I especially dislike watermelon gum. If you try to give me watermelon gun, I will probably shoot you. I’d certainly sic my tiger on you if I had a tiger. My fictional tiger’s name is Brian Dennehy. Brian Dennehy just died. And he was sometimes fierce like a tiger in his movies. Like when he tries to get tough with Rambo.

Of course, Rambo then gets some guns and explosives and gives Brian Dennehy the old “what for.” Bang! Bang! Bang! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Heeeeheeeheeeee!!

First Blood also has that red-haired guy who later plays a detective in a police show. I can never remember that damn guy’s name. It’s not Brian Dennehy. That I do know. I wonder if that red-headed guy owns any tigers.

David Caruso! I didn’t even have to look that up.

Why in the hell does a red-head have an Italian name? That’s weird. I really don’t like red-headed guys, either. They are like cobras. With red hair.

And freckles.

And sunburn from living in India. Where some of them were eaten by wild tigers.

The essay comes full circle.

With the stay-at-home order in place for my state, I have noticed a fairly large number of cars simply cruising around the country roads near where I live. Generally speaking, these vehicles are older than my oldest pair of pants. Maybe they were made after the turn of the century, but not by a whole lot. Often, they are multi-colored vehicles. Blue doors, red side panels and perhaps a dollop of Bondo to complete these creative rural chariots.

If I come across as a trifle snobbish, that is not the MO’s intention. After all, the love of money is the root of all evil. Well, that and lust. Anyway, this is not the place for class distinctions.

So I was taking a run the other day. There was a car on the side of the road. The car was part blue, part white- like Barack Obama if he held his breath for a long time. It was spewing clouds of exhaust into the cool country air. No emissions standards for these folks. Stinking governmental regulations.

Speaking of governmental regulations, many of my neighbors burn their garbage in the ditch by their home. It brings one back to the old days. Just sittin’ on the porch, smoking an unfiltered cigarette and drinkin’ a cheap domestic beer (Busch light seems the beverage of choice based on my observations of local littering), watching as mighty fire consumes all those cans and plastic and whatever else that might be in the garbage. Fire. Stolen from the gods by Prometheus so that human beings might incinerate garbage to their heart’s content. It cost him his liver- every single day (a really shitty Groundhog’s day), but actions have consequences. Kind of like contaminated groundwater is a consequence that leads to semi-retarded children. But I digress.

This car is just sitting by the side of the road. I run up to it and see there are four people inside, three young woman and a young man. They are all wearing masks. Presumably to keep them from getting Covid-19 from each other. Though it could have been because of the exhaust. Or the many clouds hovering overly illegally burning garbage. Who knows for sure? Maybe Prometheus. That fire-thieving bastard. As a sidebar, Prometheus was also the father of the Deucalion who was the hero of the flood myth in Greek mythology. (Speaking of thieving bastards, I’m looking at you Noah.)

As I ran by this car, these four young people stared at me. While I cannot know their intentions, I could not help noticing that they bore a striking resemblance, thus masked, of the head bad guy in Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior. You know, the guy with the mask and the assless chaps. Well, maybe it was one of the henchman with the assless chaps. Regardless, the head bad guy had a mask for sure.

Assless chaps aside, I continued on my run. Not long after, I came upon a man on a motorcycle. He was just sitting there, motorcycle running, looking in the general direction of the sky. I peered into the blue as well, but could see nothing. I wonder what this gentlemen could possibly be looking at thought I. Perhaps he is a bird watcher, on the look out for the first migrating bluebird.

That’s a lie. My actual thoughts were thus. What are these weirdos doing out here? And will I have to kill them later tonight?

I thought about doing it then, but I wanted to finish my run. If you don’t take care of yourself, no one will. The body is a temple.

Anyway, as I approached the biker-man, he suddenly revved up his bike and zipped down the road. “I’m the Nightrider,” he yelled.

He didn’t. But it would have been cool if he had. He probably wasn’t much of a movie aficionado. I guarantee he couldn’t spell aficionado. Though, to be fair, neither can I. It took me three times on spell check. I can spell wire pulled tight over the road in front of oncoming menacing biker, however. No spell check needed.

Before the apocalypse gets into full swing, I encourage everyone to get outside and get some exercise. That’s the moral of the story.

Also, never wear assless chaps if you are really riding a motorcycle and not merely role playing. There’s another moral.

I’m sure I can find another moral if I look. But I’m not looking. Look yourself.

The bible says that the “soul of the sluggard craves and gets nothing.” There, I did it for you.

All I’m doing is enabling.

Locally, there is a pretty large Amish/Mennonite population. If you drive around, you will see them in the horse and buggy. They always seem so happy. At least they always wave which is more than I can say for some of the surly English folk. Their little children skip merrily to and from school, lunch boxes in hand. And they also wave. So friendly. So humble.

Of course, they have a lot of incest. And they don’t believe in vaccinations. But everything has its downside.

Regardless, the notion of homesteading is one that goes to the core of the American psyche. (I wonder what the author of Little Boy Blue’s Pomegranate is doing right now. Did he just run over a little Amish child? Sinister doppleganger of me!! Desist in your dark ways!)

Americans love to romanticize the frontier and the rugged individualism that it suggests. It should be noted that most of these romantics live in suburbs where a delivered pizza is just a call away and they have these buildings called hospitals. Hopefully, these hospitals have ventilators, but that is another story.

It is important to understand that true homesteading does not mirror what one saw on Little House on the Prairie. For example, if you ran out of food in the winter, you couldn’t just run to the grocery store. You either asked your neighbors for charity, or you had to kill and eat your neighbors. Cannibalism was not unknown in those times. Read about the Donner Party once. It is a story that will make you appreciate Google Maps. They could have really used a better suggested route. Turn left at Salt Lake City was a bad idea, that’s all I am saying.

However, bad ideas abounded in the days of the homesteader. People who had never farmed picked up everything and moved to another state to… become farmers? I understand that times change, but I can assure you that I wouldn’t walk to South Dakota to plant a forty of wheat. In fact, I wouldn’t drive to South Dakota unless I was going to the Black Hills and staying at a hotel with a pool.

There is a local author who has made a living describing the (rapidly disappearing) lives of rural Wisconsinites. To do this, he walks around a lot in rubber boots and says things like “how ya’ doin, dere” even though he probably knows how to talk. It’s a living, I suppose. Certainly, people who listen to NPR eat it up with a spoon. Personally, I don’t find cleaning chicken coops to be that interesting. In fact, they are not even necessary. Eggs are cheap. Cheep, cheep.

I don’t have to shovel chicken shit to save eleven dollars a year. I’m a man.

On the other hand, the apocalypse (or at least a fascimile thereof) might be upon us. In which case, homesteading skills will come back in style.

And if you can’t plant wheat, you can always kill and eat your neighbor. As noted in previous installments, it is said that human beings taste like pork. And who doesn’t like a good side of bacon?

Jews and Muslims. It is unclean.

But otherwise it is ok.

The apocalypse makes me hungry for some reason. It’s probably like when you suddenly get thirsty if you are watching a documentary on the Sahara desert.

And I am for sure going to get a Mad Max car. The ass-less chaps are out, however. There is no reason to panic.

 

Wow. I haven’t seen you in a while. It’s like it’s been a year. Though time is relative.

In fact, I recently read a book that contended that there are innumerable universes. And that there really isn’t any time. It isn’t on our side, it isn’t a precious resource, and it is not a cruel thief that robs us of our former selves. Also, a stitch in time doesn’t save shit. Things always were the way they are now. And always will be.

At least in our universe. In another universe this blog is called Little Boy Blue’s Pomegranate. And it makes that other me a whole lot of money. Unless that son-of-a-bitch is in a coma, dying from Covid 23. In that universe, Covid 19 through 22 were no more dangerous than any other flu. This is just speculation, of course. Little Boy Blue’s Pomegranate probably doesn’t make any money at all. And that other me isn’t in a coma. He’s just pissed off at Bruce Jenner, who is a shitty president.

In that universe, Bruce has continued to repress his true feelings. A lot of Bruce’s do that I hear.

Anyway, speaking of Covid 19, I have some appropriate song lyrics. (In the aforementioned alternative universe, the other me can’t think of a thing. What a dumbass. I’m the number one me. I don’t care how many universes there are.)

Don’t Squeeze the Charmin, You Dirty Son of a Bitch (slow and sad country song)

I see you in that grocery aisle, grabbing that toilet paper you don’t need–

Don’t try to hide from me, you Trumptard, mouth breathing inbreed–

I would call the cops, though, I ain’t no snitch–

But don’t squeeze the Charmin, you dirty son of a bitch–

(It might sound better in my head. Who knows? Me. And any other me who is typing lyrics at this moment. Jack and Jill’s Kiwi Fruit, perhaps.)

Fauci’s Coming for You (as a punk song)

Fauci! Fauci! Fauci! He’s the agent of the deep state–

Fauci! Fauci! Fauci! He watches you masturbate–

Fauci! Fauci! Fauci! He sees everything you do!

You damned right-wing nut job… Fauci is coming for YOU!!!!!

Coming for YOU!!! Sean Hannity.

Coming for YOU!!! Laura Ingraham.

And he doesn’t care about abortion at all!!!! Yayayayayaaaaaaa!!!!

Chinese Love Song (as a whiny love song)

We used to do your laundry, we make your Walmart things–

I-phones and cordless drills and cheap plastic golden rings—

We keep thinking of you, even though you are sometimes so mean–

That’s why we sent you some bat-juice Covid 19!!!

Covid 19! Covid 19!

I think you are turning green. Covid 19!

That’s the ugliest ventilator I ever seen. Covid 19!

Straight out of China, bitches. And we did it bigly. (angry guitar solo)

Well, I guess that one turned out to be an angry punk song as well. Those Chinese can’t be trusted. Still bitter about the “ancient Chinese secret” commercial, I guess. Talk about grudges. We are racist towards everybody, crybabies. I don’t care what universe it is.

Are you still mad at the Mongolians for kicking your ass in 1259? I bet not.

Look at it this way, in at least one of those universes you aren’t even called China at all. You are called Japan.

World War 2, you know.

You’re welcome.