Cheetoh-Pocalypse

I would love to go back to writing under old projects right now. My immense political sadness, the depth of fear consuming the internet and my soul, all of it could have had some killer public commentary if I weren't ever shut down. Now I live in fear, I vote in fear, and I vigilantly strategerize over every measly post, everywhere.

Fuck all that.

The horrible phobias that have plagued Europe over the past decade have come home to roost for real.

Trump.

Drumpf.

And I, here, am but one of innumerable voices coming out against this horseshit hogshow. Just one more tiny particle participating in the nature of democracy. Screaming my lungs out in the city. Not my President.

Yet so it is. Right there for the next four years. Or eight. Or even less than...depending how terribly things go... Either way, the game is on. Confusion rules the day as the known unknown that is our next four years as a planet looms before us. Everyone ready?


This is Richard Tate. Just one more benevolent dicktater in the multiverse of opinion here on the interweb. Sleep should be first on the agenda. It has been too a long a campaign and too hard a fight to fall so hard flat on our faces in the mud.

Tomorrow won't be more of the same. And we need our rest to prepare.

Taco Stands and WW3

These times are vicious. Every rebel in the world is out for the 2016 campaign, and the attacks are on like Donkey Kong. Full-blown neurological meltdowns are broadcast across the world at the speed of light, every hour, every day, and the madness can be seen creeping onto front yards everywhere.

Aggression chews right into itself across all aisles of the political spectrum, faces on every screen turning blue, red, purple. Electoral gawking jaws one and all at the horror that is arguably the most important democratic election cycle in the world today. Sexism, racism, conspiracy, and madness have all reared their heads together for the spotlight fires of global media, and the mental minutemen are falling all around us, running in droves off cliffs together. 'Tis Hell and Ragnarok both, here in the USA.

All the while, mongrels be dragging everywhichway the ever romantic ideation of a final WW3...or Civil War 2, whichever, to end it all, and hit reset...

I work at a small taco stop in a huge corporate office building. During the lunch rush, herds line up to pack the tiny space with their yaws agape, snorting and whiffing at digital menus. The air thickens with the rough and sweaty smells of pigs on the grill, and the clientele growl their bellies out they mouths, with eyes that ache with the stresses of corporate personhood, and fantasy.

Eventually, inevitably, we have to start cracking the bullwhip behind the line of the kitchen, beating them back with metal spatulas and curses. I throw the damn tacos right at their faces. "Get the fuck out! Go back to your desks you awful beasts! Begone with you!"

It only lasts an hour or two, so it's not that bad.

Once it dies down again I check the headlines to see what worldly developments I've missed. Everything is usually still awful.