February Survives -- I Blame Hugh Hefner

WE CAME THAT CLOSE TO WINNING,
BUT FINISHED THE BATTLE WITH
NEXT TO NO SURVIVORS, ONLY
ME. AND I'M GOING INTO HIDING.

I was up early this morning, looking for signs of success against February. My heroic attempt to destroy February as a month on the calendar, then divvy up most of its days with other months and preserve a "stump month" of 10 February days, hung in the balance. Alone in my prayer citadel -- other than the courthouse the highest point in the county -- I tried to have faith, but reports coming in from around the world painted a dismal picture. There was no popular groundswell, none whatsoever, to do away with February.

I held out hope, biting my fingernails to the quick. Various lieutenants and family members climbed up to check on me. The braver ones warned me to be prepared for bad news. They said reports arriving from other states and countries showed the chances of destroying February as bleak. Legislators were not meeting, Congress pitched pennies instead of working, and the United Nations was closed, ambassadors laid off without pay.

Finally, I realized I had to put on a brave face. And show that everything was fine with me, in spite of my disappointment. I stripped off my outer layers of clothing. (It's a cold day.) Then my thermals. Last, I shed the rest of my clothes and stepped out on my citadel balcony, totally naked, me against the world! In one last expression of defiance, albeit vain, I peed. Reasoning, if I can't destroy February, I can go for the Guinness world record for the longest adhering urine stream. I was stoved up with two pots of freshly ground coffee -- jet black! My stream might still be flowing -- somewhere, somehow -- even as I write this two hours later.

So what happened? It's too early for a complete post mortem. I won't get into the details of my agitating government and the media. I put my heart into it, but it wasn't enough. I would like to mention, as an incriminating aside, that there seems to be a lot of old-time XXX movie houses very close to the Capitol. Could it be our "faithful representatives" are more "hung" up on some "pressing" matters of the flesh than they are "coming" to the aid of their people? 

OK, I did the government thing, but the heart of the campaign had to be this very blog. I put the word out there everyday -- with a worldwide outreach -- and what did people do with it? That's what I'd like to know! I know you'll say this is in bad taste, but frankly I'm shifting much of the blame to my readers, whose personal pleasure was their only real concern. Pretending to be on my side, pretending to do the heavy lifting, but then ... not really. I'd guess most of them are also into XXX entertainment, whether in some rundown smelly/sticky theater, or right there with their iPhones "in hand."

I've suspected all along that I've been dealing with mental cream puffs, halfwits, and the usual run of dim bulbs you meet on the internet. They're spoiled, there's no commitment. You know what, I remember the internet back in the '90s, man. Back in the '90s, man, you'd run a campaign -- destroy February, replace Christmas with Worship a Pine 2 x 4 Day -- and you'd get it done. Then the 2000s came -- 9/11 and people became pansified -- and now we're so soft we've essentially melted. It's 2015 and you couldn't raise an internet volunteer to YAWN on cue; they'd be asleep already before you flashed the sign!

OK, you had your chance. So don't come looking to me next year when February rolls around again. Just suffer. Because I'll still be nursing a grudge -- an eternal grudge -- stewing over how you deserted me, then even went so far as to callously stab me in the back right when I was on the brink of victory. The very worst time for betrayal, because the hurt never leaves. I'll always remember ... this time back in 2015 when I took on this literally thankless task. When my readers were so "into pleasure" they couldn't be bothered to support a brother in his hour of need.

It's a lot different from what I grew up with. I grew up hearing about the Depression, with my relatives' memories being how they stuck together, through thick and thicker. So where did things go so wrong with society? You know what I blame it on? There was strength in World War II, then a huge letdown, and people relaxed. When, guess who, Hugh Hefner comes along and fills the vacuum with Playboy magazine, setting the old mores aside as well as the old values. Look it up in any sociology text. Hugh Hefner gave us the dawn of a hedonism that would've made Caligula blush. And therein is the reason we couldn't destroy February.

So it's a problem with our government, and a problem with my readers, existing as they do in this reckless XXX world. And apparently there's nowhere to find better ones. Even the most prominent think tanks can't find people. They're all so hopelessly wasted, there's probably no one but me who'd even be smart enough to apply.

Destroying February -- Did I Do Enough?

Dear Friends,

I am given to understand that we are on the verge of a great victory in our interminable month-long struggle to destroy the month of February. Let me be clear, for any who may not understand the gravity of this moment; I don't mean February simply will end for another year; I mean this is literally the end of the calendar as we have known it, as it has included February. That's right. This is the last February any of us will ever see. A major reorganization of time itself will soon be underway!

Understandably, I'm flushed with pride that we undertook this great cause, and now are seeing a successful conclusion to the campaign. As I recall, they literally said, "It won't be done, it can't be done." Please note the emphasis on the words won't and can't. That's rich! I'll savor that a good long time! For the old truth is still good as gold: If you set your heart and mind on something -- and go after it with everything you've got, be you madman, be you fool -- it's as good as done. I've proven the adage.

If there's any doubt that the deed indeed will be done -- and frankly all that's left is the mopping up -- time will tell. I believe we'll get the confirmation tomorrow, on the last day of February for this year ... and ever. I can't tell you how much I'm longing to see everyone's faces -- especially the doubters and haters (as modern lingo puts it) -- I'll probably pee my pants like a little girl with front row seats to a Menudo concert. Or whoever's popular now. There's a lot moments like that I'm going to enjoy!

Talking it over with supporters, they want me to use caution, and not prematurely declare victory. I know, I know, Nervous Nellies are everywhere! Even among my best allies and trusted lieutenants. But look, friends, we've overcome all; what is there to be nervous about? Haven't you seen yourselves the opposition fold like a dime-store napkin? Have you seen even one hint of passion on the other side? If I'd known it'd be so easy, I would've taken out February as a kid. I hated it then, having to hear kids born on Leap Year going, "I'm only four years old!" Sickening stuff.

But what if they have a point? We do have the next few days to celebrate in a big way. There's no reason we have to step on the gas and blow out the pipes today. Save some fun for later. Plus, and this is a little lesson I know from my group dynamics research on humiliating people, for any resistance you get from a ne'er-do-well, an enemy, a hater, it's better to lengthen their discomfort, self-recriminations, and disgrace than let it end too soon. Shame is a nasty concoction you want them to sip ... slowly!

I can just imagine how I'd feel if I thought February might survive this ordeal. Just saying What if? I'd feel terrible, and I'd be kicking myself, asking, "Did I do enough? Just tell me. Is this on me?" What if, instead of taking time out for myself during the struggle I'd been working harder? It's true, I watch Wheel of Fortune like everyone. And I think, Is this smart? What if it all came down to one more blog post, one more poster, one more meeting at the union hall, one more Februarian beaten to a bloody pulp and left in the alley? From one agitator to another, It's you or me, pal.

But I've been going by the domino theory on this deal, and that gives me confidence. You know the domino theory, I hope! (And yes, it's merely a theory; it's never been proven dominoes will fall reliably every time into the future. Until now, though, the domino theory has held up.) You push one over and it has ramifications, consequences. The theory states: "If the next thing, i.e., the domino, or something else that would react as a domino to the prior domino-like thing in a line, is struck by the prior domino-like thing, both will fall." You extrapolate from that, naturally, that the third, fourth items, and on and on, will also fall.

By the way, there's a second Domino theory, which is this: "Pizza from Domino's isn't bad, but there's usually a better local option." Obviously, it depends on where you live, so I'm not happy with the word usually.

Let us all get a good night's sleep tonight, then with the morning's light I believe we'll be looking at mountains of good news. Then, as the clock ticks ... the pendulum swinging back and forth ... or Felix's eyes going back and forth ... the lifeblood of February will be trickling out an open vein, leaving it finally a cold, hopeless, abandoned corpse. Our deliverance, at last, is at hand!

What About February Birthdays?

I'm very busy these days, and I'm looking to finish my "Destroy February" campaign on a high note, with total success. I will consider anything short of absolute destruction of the shrimpiest month a failure. But I'm determined not to fail. I've done a few meetings this week, speaking to a few society women, who, frankly, needed to be filled in on every detail of the campaign, not having heard of it before. I believe they're on board; they said it was "interesting."

Of course I've been spreading the good word on this blog, racking up some huge numbers as more and more people take notice. I had somewhere in the neighborhood of 35 hits on my "Legislature" post, which, being 35 hits minus 28 days in February gives me a bonus of 7. It's numbers like that that really add up and gladden my heart. That's not to say I haven't faced some outright hostility. A guy wrote in to criticize me, saying I was "a fool," which hurt like hell. It's really true what they say about the internet; there's some real trolls out there. I may seem strong online, but in real life I'm very sensitive.

I wanted to address an issue today that I hear about all the time. The ladies in the society meeting even brought it up. They were celebrating one of their member's birthday, February 24. And this is actually the number one question I get, everywhere I go: If February is destroyed, what about my birthday?

Rest easy, everyone ... Let me gather my thoughts. I'm getting just slightly warm under the collar as I think about it. I'm heating up more and more as I just sit here. I have some mental tricks that help -- techniques, procedures -- when I feel myself entering a time of rage. Just mentally looking to my core, and lightly breathing. I am OK, I am OK, this too shall pass. It's nothing, the people are nice, very nice people... They're just curious. I myself have been curious about things, so I know how they feel. I remember being curious why my mom didn't want me messing with salamanders at the lake. She was afraid I might fall in and drown. Breathe in, breathe out. I'm OK, most of the people are nice. Most of them are innocent of malice. Forget that guy who called you a fool. There's always someone like that who wants to bring you down, those sons of-----

I am sick to death of hearing this question about your stinking birthday! I feel I've already covered it a thousand times! No, I don't have the links! Unfortunately, an enemy hacked the page, the links are gone... Happy now? The simple fact of the matter, folks, is that knowing when your birthday is is a vastly overrated thing. It doesn't really matter. The fact that you're here proves you were born, hatched, or perhaps in some other way -- your own individual Big Bang -- came into being. Whether you fell from the highest star, or they dredged you up from the flaming bowels of Hell, which is a distinct possibility, here you are. What's the big deal?

Knowing the exact date of your birth, you've always taken it by faith anyway. Whether it's February, March, September, or Christmas Day, it doesn't make a bit of difference. If  you're so worried about the horoscope column in the newspaper, you needn't be. They're written for entertainment purposes only and have nothing to do with guiding your life.

Yes, I know there are legal reasons to know your birthday. You get asked it all the time when you go to the hospital. You need it when you apply for a credit card. If someone's throwing you a birthday party, it helps in the planning process. And so forth and so on.

But just drop it, please, for a while, and let's work together first to get February destroyed, then I promise we'll work on migrating your birthday to another day. And it'll be just as good, better! February's days will be assigned to other months and renumbered. There will be a 10-day stump month in its place. And everyone will live happily ever after. Remember, George Washington went through the same thing. He was born in 1731, they changed the calendar, and he was born again in 1732. True story.

I can see a system where you might be given the option of when you want your birthday to be. I think that'd be an enhancement over our present system. Isn't freedom of choice what we all like? Of if you want to go into a lottery system, that'd work too. We'd have the days of the year and a ball would pop up. That'd be your birthday. Or there could be some other system, such as the day your grandfather was born, just as long as it wasn't February.

OK, I have now explained it -- it's all common sense anyway -- for the 1001th time. Hope you're happy. I'm like Scheherazade and the 1001 Nights. Which we might need to edit, in case some of those nights happened to be in February.

Destroying February -- Facing Polecats

Polecats are what I always think of when I think of the legislature. And I'm not even sure what a polecat is -- I hate to confuse myself by looking it up -- I'm guessing it's a cross-pollinated skunk and weasel with some other unknown vermin. The key thing is it's accurate enough for the situation at hand, the legislature.

In school we always heard the legislature was there to help us, being our representatives, our own decent neighbor and a bunch of other neighbors from other towns. And of course your own decent neighbor cares about you and gets together with the others and does positive things. The reality's a lot flakier, and that's when we turn to the polecat to describe them.

That's the system, where your vote doesn't mean much. Because even if your guy wins, if you show up agitating you're just a kook. With any given legislator "not sure" what went on, giving him cover for the next election. Oh, and don't you dare try to describe it to anyone else, like I'm doing here, because then you're such a hothead, very easy to dismiss. They're all gathered in assembly, loudly shouting, "USA! USA! USA!"

Maybe you can tell, it's been a bad day agitating on behalf of the "Destroy February" movement. But having some stealthy habits, I believe I insinuated myself enough that it wasn't entirely unprofitable. They open the capitol for sightseers, my fellow citizens, who are into the history of the place, the artwork, etc. My fellow citizens love to see the old agitators of the 1840s, the hardy settlers who obviously spent their time in action, not tourism. I glance up at the rippling muscles of guys with axes and think, there's a lot of flab in our present day.

But the old settlers and agitators, they knew who their legislator was. He was the guy swinging the ax next to them, the one with the big top hat. And they'd get together at the end of the day for a huge pint of whiskey. They'd say, "Here's where we stand, you get in there and vote for statehood or you die." Of course he was already on the side of the people. "Damn right we need statehood, because the savages will brutally massacre us otherwise, and that's just the Feds!" Then they were back to drinking and horseplay, especially ring toss with the saloon's mounted buck.

During this time I was able to appeal to my fellow citizens, surreptitiously, and I got some good nods and clenched fists. I was happy. The average man "gets it." He knows February isn't really anything worth keeping. What's so good about it? I can't think of a single thing. It was originally a stopgap measure, meant as a temporary fix until whatever war that was going on was decided. With the intention being to deal with it when peacetime came. Then they were exhausted and it just slipped by. How much better it'd be to take most of its days and plump out the other months, then keep, say, 10 days as a kind of stump month, used for reverie and hell-raising!

But you don't have to be at the Capitol long till you see the legislators aren't the average man. They're bought and paid for by fat cats, so they're ensconced behind closed doors. No drinking, no backslapping, no camaraderie, just distance. Occasionally peeking out to see if the coast is clear so they can scoot unseen past the tourists and get another coffee. This one guy, a couple counties up, had his pants down to his knees, barely aware I was standing there. He and his secretary were doing something inside but he was still thirsty enough for a quick coffee run.

In desperation I shouted "Destroy February!" It took the idiot by surprise, and he blubbered out something like, "Fill out the form and we'll run it by Legal." Legal? Put off by his immodesty, I'm thinking, Aren't you the guys who make the law here? If I had more than one vote, and lived in his county, I'd vote him out in a second. That's why they want to stop so-called voter fraud, because they know we'd take out the corrupt ones.

The worst thing you can do if you want to get something positive done in this country, like destroying February, is to take it to the Legislature. It's so gummed up there, it's a wonder anything gets done. They give you the cold shoulder. If you're not a tourist going gaga over the artwork and spending money, for yet another touch up of the gold dome, then what are you even here for? Go away!

Destroying February -- Fascist Rangers

February's slipping away, and there's so much left to do if I'm going to destroy it as a month. The worst thing I can think of is having February slip by unscathed. Then it'd be "Out of sight, out of mind," with nothing changed and nothing to change. There is literally no time to lose!

I'm checking my list, so many things to do, it's daunting. Get to the statehouse and lobby legislators, organize rallies, circulate petitions, then get crucial support for the new stump month to take February's place. The travel alone might do me in, not to mention the work! Whatever else I can say, the key thing is, It's all super important and must be dealt with -- pronto!

Damn it to hell, then! ... that it turned out to be such a beautiful day, more like spring than winter. And I foolishly put the list of tasks on the back burner, and went out -- again, so very foolish! -- and wasted the day, indulging myself. I had to think, Does February know its days are numbered? Is that why it's so nice? Who knows? But whatever it was, it really zapped me. I got in the car, which was already warm, and next thing you know, I was out at the lake enjoying the day.

I'll blame it on my new dog, Roughage. I've been wanting to take her to the lake and watch her in nature, running and acting like the springtime pup she is, full of joy and total abandon. So that's what we did, and it was a great time. The birds serenaded us with their happy spring-like songs; it was quite the time!

After she was a little tired out, we sat together in the car, the sun streaming in. I rolled up the windows because it was also fairly breezy. That was probably my big mistake, sitting there in the warmth, a sleeping dog stretched out on the passenger seat, trying to read my Kindle. I felt my head nodding, and tried to hold back but there was no resistance. Soon both of us were dozed off, and that's it...

I'd probably be asleep still, except I heard tapping at the window, which turned out to be a couple of park rangers -- wicked bastards -- asking if everything was OK. It seemed we were parked at the campground, and the main boss said, quite rudely, that that meant paying the camping fee and having the proper stickers and permits. And that he could run me in on a 402 or 511, this, that, and the other regulation I'd never heard of. The other guy said it's people like me ruining the campground for society. Well, of course that's just what I needed to hear! Having just woke up, I have to admit I wasn't as nice as I should've been -- I was downright surly -- and their mean snarling frankly didn't help the situation. If it hadn't been for the dog being so cute I'd probably be in jail right now.

Add to that the sudden awareness I had again of the list of things I should've been doing for destroying February, and it sunk me immediately into the worst mood. I got a headache, bang, just like that. And I left there resolved, that once I destroyed February, I'd also see to it that the entire state camping system gets its just desserts! As in "Bye, bye, fascist rangers!"

The day shot to hell, all I can do now is resolve and plan to get out tomorrow ... and get it done. Get out there and give 'em hell!

February -- Too Soon to Declare Victory

We're just this far -- a smidgen of an inch -- from proudly declaring total victory over February, and once and for all destroying, annihilating this infernal month.

But it's always that last stretch that can be tough, so we're taking it cautiously. One thing I do not want -- above all -- is to declare victory, then become a worldwide laughingstock, and, perish the thought, having to face February again next year amid heckling, laughter, finger-pointing, and other derision. There's already kids in the neighborhood setting my garbage on fire, just warming up for the main event, probably, and since I've been tossing my dead mice in there, you can only imagine the smell.

I hate the attitude I'm getting. But the world's come a long ways from the touchy-feely place it used to be, that my grandparents told me about, back in the utterly bleak days of the Depression, then World War II. The way they told it, they were just happy to survive. I knew I came from hardy stock when they told me the tough times claimed the lives of about half my relatives. Ground under the wheels of turmoil, leaving the rest to scamper for safety in a field somewhere, a clearing behind some trees. Those were great times, but touch and go, like when Grandpa's overalls were caught on a fence and Jap planes narrowly missed him with a barrage of bullets.

Yes, in many ways the good times are well behind us, as far as I can tell. And I'm usually an optimistic guy, believing the future can either match or surpass the past. This, despite what they say about rising oceans, creeping glaciers, falling meteors, the occasional fishhook in your finger, and roving gangs of hopeless teenagers, hopped up on tattoos, video games, and sagging trousers. A few of them in hoodies have left the rest of us with no choice but to arm ourselves, patrol our neighborhoods, and shoot anything that moves.

The police, you can't depend on them, through no fault of their own; their hands are tied. They're beholden to old rules of "justice and fairness" handed down by the courts, the same courts that have now deserted us in fear and taken to underground chambers. We want the police to have the power to take out unbridled terrorism, but they're still awaiting video equipment meant somehow to protect themselves.

So you see the situation I'm in. I believe the world would be a better place without February, and I believe we're on the verge of making it happen -- demon warfare be damned, and burning mountains of flame falling into the abyss notwithstanding -- if we can just have patience in these last few days, a little over a week to go. When they say "Time will tell," certainly that's true in this instance. February will either prevail or it won't. I'm putting my money on its destruction, but I won't declare victory just yet. That's for a time to come, and until then we must give it our all, thrusting forward, or back and forth, as circumstances demand, believing that in the great climactic moment a decision to withdraw from the battlefield will present itself, and at long last we will rest easy.

But whatever happens happens -- what's important for me is to be certain that I gave my last ounce of strength in the cause. Equally important is to avoid, as I said, ridicule, humiliation, and retaliation. But that can't be the focus. The focus has to be to give it all I've got now, because next year will be too late. If I fail -- God forbid -- I can change my name, move, get new papers, find a militia movement, let's say, and take out my frustrations on society and its recalcitrance in mob action. Folks, you need to help me now. This is where Unabombers come from, the temptation and pull of which I vow to resist with all my might.

We've long now passed a certain threshold in February, having garnered quite a bit of support to destroy February through my blog. I've been in the news. Quite a number of people have rallied for the cause. The State Capitol saw a rally, thanks to the free donuts we passed out. Right here in town, at the courthouse, a few people also rallied. I regret to say things got out of hand and they destroyed some artwork from the 1920s. But on the bright side there's always someone who can make new artwork.

Stick by me, OK? And together we'll have our declaration of victory very soon. I'm going to do everything I can to make it happen. For the next week I'll only be sleeping seven hours a night, not eight. Dear friends, look up, for your redemption draweth nigh. February's going down!

February -- Got the Moves Like Dagger

Note: This is largely a fictional account of what I'd love to see happen to February. Yes, I'm trying to destroy February as a month, but, no, I don't (necessarily) want to accomplish it by violent means. Still, how satisfying it'd be -- one of those wish fulfillment things -- if my peaceful values could be just slightly different, and I could see a palace assassin plunge the dagger in, and watch February writhe in pain on the floor and finally die. Am I right?

The council of months was underway at the palace, high in the atmosphere somewhere, the various lords and ladies of time in the large courtroom awaiting their annual decisions. Decisions pertaining to how the kingdom would measure time for the year. Would it be as it had been for the last 10,000 years, with no variation, or could this be the year there might be a change?

As a lowly guest, being an acquaintance of a friend of a day in January, I stood behind a curtain in the very back, straining to hear, wondering, Might February be out? I had no reason to hope, but, being a hopeful guy, I couldn't help whispering a slight prayer to that effect. The same prayer I'd prayed the last 4,000 years.

Trumpets sounded, meaning the Council of Months' business session had ended, and they'd be returning to the court and to the great round table. The table itself was a matter of some controversy, true story. The vote had been 11 to 1, February outvoted again, who, inscrutably, always agitated for a rectangular table. My opinion, February would do anything to change the subject, to give us a reason to think of anything else but its shortcomings. And that's true, when you're misshapen in some way -- say you've got only 28 days to your name -- you tend toward strange eruptions around your betters.

So the months gathered before us and we listened for the announcement. There would be no change to the calendar. The vote was almost unanimous, 11 to 1, and the predictability of time had been maintained once again! February shifted uneasily in his chair, then in a pique slammed his fist to the table. Obviously he had lobbied for more days. I muttered to myself, "What a disgrace..." The other months were rolling their eyes and showing signs of irritation with yet another of February's many annoyances.

It had been widely hoped, not just by me -- like one of those impossible dreams -- that at some point the other months might just vote February out entirely, then divvy up its days between themselves. I'd long hoped they'd keep a kind of stump month, say with 10 days of the old February, and for those days to be a time of revelry and cussedness. I think it'd be good for society -- rife with criminality as it is -- to get it out of its system all at once.

Little did I know we were closer to that happening than I ever had reason to expect! For behind the scenes, behind the curtains, the plot was already in motion. An assassin from a violent group called the Coterie of Devils (represented in the picture as a literal coterie of devils) lurked. We didn't know a thing about it. But all of a sudden, in a flash, this big burly guy with no shirt and the hairiest back I ever saw sprang from a hiding place and plunged a dagger into February's back. There was an unbelievable gasp in the room, many exclaiming, "Conspiracy!", and I myself distinctly gasped the following words, "Well, hush my mouth!"

But what could anyone do? The guy was a stabbing machine, going like speed typing, and the other months, weighed down in their royal robes, and not being trained for defense, were motionless. February took at least two dozen lightning thrusts. Then the assassin, in one last act of boldness, mounted the table, dropped his pants, and mooned in the general direction of February's bloody dying form. This daring gesture accomplished, he leaped to the floor and ducked quickly behind the curtain and was gone.

I sensed the mood was a bit weird, like the usual miasma that goes with shock. Sure, no one liked February, but having him stabbed by an assassin? That's damned tough to endorse. But I decided to go for it, and stood strong on the table, waving a bloody napkin from February's place at the table, and shouted, "Let this be a day of independence for the progress of time and its descendants!" And what's this? The bastards booed me down, and I had to slink out of there in total disgrace, excoriating myself in no uncertain terms, "Too soon, stupid, what the hell were you expecting, you stupid idiot?" 

February -- The Mysteries of Weird

Don't you think it's amazing -- showing what a gracious guy I am -- that I celebrated Valentine's Day yesterday without once mentioning my grievances against the month of February? I think that's pretty good, and I'm assigning one gold star for myself. I told myself I'd let February pass for one day, then the next day lay into it again. (I'm trying to destroy February as a month.)

Speaking of Valentine's Day, and I'm going to add President's Day to the mix, it's hard for me to believe that a short, shrimpy, nothing-little-month like February somehow wrangled these two important franchises. I would seriously think these would be observed at a more distinguished time, like March. Except for Spring, March doesn't have many holidays.

But President's Day works like this: Abraham Lincoln was born on February 12. We used to celebrate his birth, a great president who worked like a dog to overcome the February curse. And George Washington was born twice in February! Seriously, check out his Wiki page. First, under the Old Style of the calendar he was born Feb. 11, 1731. Then over a year later he was born on Feb. 22, 1732! Unlike his fellow president, Lincoln, Washington had twice as much to overcome. But he made a vow -- deemed foolish at the time -- that he would be the first president of the United States, then he made it happen. Inspiring.

Or was it? Did either of these men actually become president in any honest way, or was it all someone behind the scenes, knowing how history would work out, pulling the strings to make it happen? I would suggest that the evidence is suggestive, suggesting some shenanigans. Really, what's the chances that Washington and Lincoln, two of our greatest presidents, should come along and actually be elected? What I'm really saying is that both men were probably involved with the Illuminati, who somehow have control of the strings of time and fate. The implication is they became involved with the Illuminati, but resisted and were briefly found to be unworthy. But when they ingratiated themselves again with the Illuminati, they had to settle for President's Day being in February. Making two strikes against Lincoln and three against Washington.

The two men then conferred, Washington saying, "The average people think of February as any other month." Lincoln agreed. And so, ever since, presidents have generally escaped the full berating for their many failings. This whole arrangement took the heat off future presidents, who could now say, "Yeah, but Washington and Lincoln were both born in February." Speaking of scandal. The truth is the Illuminati are always five moves ahead of the people, and the people are always ten moves behind them. There's no sanctity to anything, only evil scandal and no one with the cajones (or brains) to do anything about it.

I've been looking at this for a number of years. In those years I've said many times, more times than I can count in hindsight, "The Illuminati wouldn't be the Illuminati if they weren't doing Illuminati-type of things. This is just one more thing in their despicable in-your-face dealings. Their motto is, quite frankly, 'Take it or leave it.'" When you find you're over a barrel, that's the Illuminati. When you're painted in the corner, that the Illuminati. When you're all twisted up inside, with a fever and heartburn, that could be anything. But everything else is the Illuminati.

I need to study the Illuminati more, because they're tied in with February, as already illustrated. Still, I'd like to get to the bottom of their mumbo jumbo and find out what makes them tick. It's gotta be something, to keep them in business century after century, yanking everyone's chain, even power players like Washington and Lincoln. As I understand it, they're the ones we have to thank for eyeballs on pyramids (as seen on the dollar bill), the Washington Monument as a national phallic idol, and Betsy Ross' original circular arrangement of stars on the flag. They're big into circles, on the flag -- liking non-linearity -- and their work probably includes crop circles.

Time forbids me to list their many invasions into everyday life. I call it, however, "THE MYSTERIES OF WEIRD," taking the word "WEIRD" as a kind of proclamation that they are God. Such as "WE (that is to say I) R Deity. Toys R Us? No, We R God! Weird. Certainly they've been around long enough, we may as well call them eternal, so maybe they're right.

February -- State of the Month

We're halfway through February, and the excoriation of this the worst of months has been merciless. I'm doing my best, laying into it with everything I've got. I feel like I can't rest, because in so many ways I'm carrying this whole cause singlehandedly. That's not to say there aren't supporters out there, both silent and vocal, but only that I'm not getting good reports from the field as to any activities.

So now, today, it's time to pause, being halfway through this short, shrimpy month, and take time to evaluate our progress, and see what more we can do. We'll redouble our efforts if that's what's necessary, to make the final push, to destroy February once and for all. Our vision is good, our vision is great, but it will remain but a vision unless each of us does our individual part.

First, the good news. Again, it's been my efforts that have carried us thus far. You can look back through my posts in late January and in recent weeks and see that I've taken the fight to the enemy. There's been resistance, of course. Even a pathetic 28-day month like February, inexplicably has its share of supporters. It doesn't matter what it is, somebody's a fan of everything, whether it's sadism, tofu, or tattoos. 

But one fight at a time, right? Right now I've got enough on my hands. Media coverage of our cause has been virtually nil. Many folks out there haven't even heard yet what we're doing. That's where you, my supporters, have to take up the slack. I'm not sure what you've been up to, but one thing I'm pretty sure of, you haven't been doing much to help. I'm going to ask you -- no, I shall demand -- that you get up off your flat ass and get busy. You supposedly want this thing as much as I do, only you have a funny way of showing it. I'm sorry if I'm coming across as harsh, but, friends, we have to strike now, and make a mockery of February now; because once it's over, the public will forget the little bit they have heard.

Let me thank you for the many "Attaboys!" I've gotten. Many of you are very faithful, at least to the point of paying lip service to a good cause. It's just that, yes, you're a lot like the rest of the general public, lethargic if no one's physically lifting you off the couch, putting your hat on, and pushing you out the door. I knew a few deadbeat kids like that in school, and of course they've grown up and aren't much better as adults. I'm simply asking you to change your ways temporarily, until we win this fight.

There are others of you, I've heard, who are essentially laid up and think you can't do anything. I was inspired to get a note from a guy who was literally 950 pounds midway through January, but because he believed in this fight, in solidarity with me he refused to eat, and he shed 700 pounds. This is true. He went from 950 to 250, but unfortunately died. Let's win this thing for him!

I've also gotten notes from some of you who hate February but say you can't get out and do much. You're on disability or whatever. But I'm going to ask you to do something, to show that what you say is true, OK? I saw this on TV so I know it works. If you could send your best gift -- I don't care if it's $500 or $1000 -- whatever you can put together, perhaps by hitting up relatives or neighbors -- that would be great. It will pay rich dividends -- that's my guarantee -- when next year at this time we're enjoying a year without February.

Maybe there's even a few of you in a hospice bed, also at your life's end. You know you can't take it with you, but you'd still love to look down from heaven and see a world without February. If that's you, please call in your attorney, and leave your family in the hall (this is just between us), and sign the papers to get the money to me ASAP. When I hear that you've gone to your reward, I promise I'll tip my hat in your general direction.

We can do this, we really can! And I'm going to say something to demonstrate the utmost boldness: With God's help, February shall not stand, not today, not now, not ever! When we've wiped this scourge from the face of the earth, we shall all win!

Get up, then, and join me in this fight. Get up off your couch, turn your TV off, get out your checkbook, and let's have your best gift. February's going down!

The 10 Days of Old February

I've mentioned it a few times that our plan for destroying February actually preserves 10 of its days together. It's really been quite a process hammering it out, as the team often couldn't see eye to eye. We blamed our disagreements on February itself, since, obviously, it always brings out the worst in people. As a great example, I happen to have a headache tonight, very uncharacteristic.

The other days will divided up among the other months. But 10 days, right in the heart of it, starting midway, will remain as a kind of stump. Like when you cut down a tree and leave a stump. Then everyone who passes by taunts that filthy stump, "You're not so tough now, are you, tall tree! You thought you were such a big tree, baddest tree in town, quick to lord it over the rest of us! Now look at you! You're hacked to the ground! Just a worthless stump, no glory, no grandeur, nothing to brag about now, is there? Ha! Of course not! Your day of pride is gone!"

Anyway, the team probably needs no introduction. I insisted on the best, men like myself of impeccable judgment. There's of course one holy man, Pastor Wadd, from my church, who counsels men daily on the folly of sexual addiction. The others -- maybe I could've gotten better, but it's only February we're working on -- are men I knew I could get on a minute's notice. They've never been chosen for anything so it's only right. Each one tends to shoot first and not ask questions. Men after my own heart. Only the best. You've never heard of them so I won't list their names.

I explained the parameters of the task to them. A 10-day stump of old February, with those 10 days being the foul haunt of every crazy thing. Pastor Wadd, naturally, wanted to get his specialty in, as you'll see in the list. I actually spoke against it, because I don't like blue material, but he insisted on the righteousness of his work. Also among the parameters was that each day should be thematic, lifting to the fore the foulness of the month we've destroyed.

First, the 10-day period will be known as "The Scourge of Time." The 10 days will be known as:

1) Trash Talkin' -- I personally like trash talkin'. Depending on your capacity for rage you can really work up a head of steam. As I've confessed before, I even trash talk melting snow: "You heaped yourself in enormous drifts and thought you were so tough! But look at you now, little more than a silly dusting! I need a spoon to scoop you, not a shovel!" The first day is for all of us to trash talk each other, giving them what for.

2) Dry Heaves -- I feel a sickness coming on. I'm queasy, a little lightheaded, down in the gut. But there's nothing there, I haven't eaten since the day before Trash Talkin'. No appetite, worrying about what they'll say about me. So I go around, just dry heaving, which is actually more painful than coming up with something. Because it just goes on and on. With everyone doing it. If you can't think of anything to heave about, I'll be writing some very gross things that day as a public service. Grapes that seem like they're eyeballs, etc.

3) Shivs a' Flashin' -- This is the day that we open every jail and prison and let the prisoners go free! Everyone from simple murderers all the way up to the tougher bastards, given to outright meanness. Of course they'll be up to some mischief. But since we want society to survive, they'll be on their honor to not commit any terrible crimes, and, this is something we'll insist on, they have to promise to return to prison the next day.

4) Piss 'n' Vinegar -- The term's fairly self-explanatory. Lots of piss 'n' vinegar. Whether you want it to be just sassiness, or actual piss and vinegar. There'll be lots of beer drinking and salad eating. Don't forget to watch your step, the gutters will certainly be running yellow that day.

5) Sexual Addiction Counseling Day -- Pastor Wadd's day. He has a curriculum called "Solomon's 1000 Wives." The gist of it's something like this, that all of us have appetites, some small, some medium, some huge. But one man can only handle so much. Wisdom is knowing your limits, then whittling it down, by personal discipline, to one man-one woman. Take me, I could probably handle a convertible full of girls, give or take, but I know better.

6) Mass Maypole -- I've always thought the maypoles of olden days were something on the very edge of impropriety. They have the ribbons, they're going back and forth, and it's all quite dainty. But speed it up, intensify it, and it'd be explosive. It'd be an insane sight. It might even erupt into something that'd make Solomon look like amateur hour, such a bacchanalia, maypolers falling into one another's embrace.

7) Gross Out! -- This is more a day for the kids, sticking their tongues out at each other, disrespecting adults with hand gestures, and making foul noises with their hand under their armpit. I tried that the other day, and something's wrong, I can't do it anymore. I guess my flesh up there's a little too saggy to get the good suction. And to think I used to do "I'm Popeye the Sailor Man" at school assemblies. I even shaved my armpits, hoping to get it back, but no.

8) Cocoon Nightmare -- Anyone originally born during any of these 10 days has been excluded and kept cooped up at home. As though they were in a cocoon the whole time, but storing up enough orneriness and cussedness that when they come out they make it memorable. The rest of us are laying low today, having survived so far and not wanting to tempt fate. It's not called Nightmare for nothing, because their pent-up energy is dangerous. This is actually the day when any dishonorable prisoners from Shivs a' Flashin' are scared straight and head back to the safety of the pen.

9) Mardi Gras -- The great day of celebration, for any devilry that no one's done thus far. Parades, flashing yourself, getting beads, the whole thing. I've never been to Mardi Gras so I'm not sure what goes on. But I'm sure this won't be the usual tame brand.

10) Lent -- The old five-week period of penance and spiritual disciplines is compressed into one day, everyone's faults by now being crystal clear. No measly daub of ashes on your forehead -- Oh no! -- this will be like the Desert Fathers, flagellation with whips and glass shards, nails, the whole works, gargling firecrackers. The life we've lived these 10 days is such that if Lent has any value whatsoever, this is when it'll be proved.

February -- Stimulant or Depressant?

Among the great questions meant to draw a distinction between two equally true points of view, the classic example is the chicken and the egg, which came first? Further examples are then multiplied: fried or poached, white or brown, original recipe or extra crispy. One choice is as good as the other.

It's not my purpose here, obviously, to examine and answer all the questions man has had over his tortured existence. To do so would be beyond the skills of even me, which is not to say it should not be attempted. The question would have to be Why?, if it can't be done, which is a question for another day. What drives me today, much like the prophets of old, is something much more vital in world debate: February -- Stimulant or Depressant?

When it comes to everyday stimulants and depressants, chemical interactions come into play that settle any debate. We take the substance -- such as sugar -- and examine its interactions in consumption. These are studies, incidentally, that I personally conduct everyday of my life, candy, popsicles, or just straight from the cane. So far, I can say it's all good.

When it comes to the month of February, of course that's a marking of time, different from sugar. Assuredly it's not a chemical compound, subject to the lab. Still, the question is a good one: Is it stimulative or depressing? When we answer that huge question, we will have arrived at the truth.

If the reader will permit a shortcut, just let me say that I haven't asked anyone their opinion. But just looking around the room (I'm at the public library), I'll simply guess that half the people here would say it's a stimulant, half would say it's a depressant, and the rest wouldn't understand the question. Many of them are children; in this day and age I'd be afraid to even talk to them. (Has it ever occurred to you that parents now are the same kids first tethered to dog lines to keep them safe? Naturally they're touchy.)

I have said all that to say this, that I shall be the tiebreaker. For me, February is a depressant. It is well known that I don't like the month, having publicly advocated against it. I've openly sought to have it destroyed as a month, with most of its days then being added to other months, with a 10 day period made up of renegade February days leftover as a kind of no-man's land in time. All kinds of weird things could go on in that period, zombie parades, human sacrifice, Mardi Gras, horror movie marathons, with prayer and fasting (Lent).

For me, it's not just that February tends to be a downer in terms of weather; it's winter's halftime. It's just that I don't like it. The name February reminds me of burrs, or being cold (brrr), or having fur stuck in my throat. I'm choking even now as I write this, trying to hack something up, something not even there. That was also one of my ideas, to rename one of the 10 remaining days of February Dry Heave Day.

Frankly, I'm not even the kind of guy to get down, depressed. For me everyday's a new day, a day of wonder, a day of opportunity, except -- and this is huge -- when February gets in the way. So to say it's a depressant is really to say something; I'm despairing of life itself!

On the other hand, I've been standing boldly, loudly proclaiming my opinion, and even holding forth on the street corner protesting February for most of the last month. And I don't know that I've ever felt better, perkier, and on top of my game. To that extent then, ironically, February has been a stimulant! But the key distinction to be made, before anyone declares victory for the month, is that I can't see myself year after year stimulated while acting for its destruction. Any worthy goal, the success of which is forever in abeyance, for me becomes a depressant. I was late growing pubic hair, so I know what I'm talking about.

The predictable conclusion is that for some people February is a stimulant and for some a depressant. Maybe it's this, maybe it's that. For me, however, and this is where I hold sway, having the final word, February is a major depressant, that needs to be destroyed, now, if not sooner.

The Chinese Placemat Gang

If you're Chinese -- working in a restaurant or not, and if not we hope you find a job soon -- you've probably been reading with some concerns my recent posts about destroying February and reallocating its days around the calendar. Concerns because of a possible conflict between your own zodiac system (as found on a well-known Chinese restaurant placemat) and my plans for February. I had the same concerns...

I don't know what it was exactly, unless it was still the bad effects of the Chinese buffet I ate a few weeks ago, but I woke up last night, in the middle of the night, feverishly trying to work it out in my own mind, what the plan would mean for honorable placemat. Would it somehow lose its effectiveness and become unusable, even obsolete?

I love those placemats, featuring as they do the animal kingdom from a Chinese perspective. You'll recall they've got 12 animals as zodiac illustrations, relating to the year you were born, with advice for the lovelorn. "Is it good that my husband is a rat? What if my girlfriend's a cock? Should I marry her anyway? Or get her fixed?" I've actually tried its advice a few times and got some real dogs. As for me, going by my birth year (1953), I am a rat. Even though I like to think I'm a tiger.

In the middle of the night, though, I couldn't quite remember what the system was. I was thinking the illustrations pertained somehow to the particular months. So say the boar was February, and you got rid of the boar, it'd throw the whole thing out of whack. The boar's pretty virile. If it was the rabbit left out that wouldn't be so bad. But rabbits are very prolific. Not that that does the Chinese any good, since they can only have one bunny.

It might not be so bad to cut the boar out, just thinking out loud. You get rid of the more virile ones and a sneaky little rat like me starts looking better. Although if, as above, my girlfriend truly did turn out to be a cock, then whether I'm rat, rabbit, or boar, we're gonna have problems. It's not that I'm necessarily that choosy, but I like some truth in advertising.

Even though I was wrong about the system -- destroying February has no effect on the Chinese placemat -- I'm still glad I got up to check it out. China's a big place and for some reason we always associate the word "hordes" with them. They've also got some mean evildoers -- like Fu Manchu and Wicked Wang Fu -- who'd love to sink their big gnarly fingernails into a guy like me. Were I to offend the most populous nation on earth, it could be tragic. Which I would never do intentionally, and if I have done so, accidentally, just let me sincerely say, So solly.

Now that we're all friends again, if each Chinese person out there were to send me a note of support for destroying February, that would be great. And if each one of you could also enclose $1, win or lose, I'd be filthy rich.

February -- Scared Straight

This is an adventure where I am threatened with bodily harm or death, certainly spitting. But my life is enhanced, evildoers are vanquished, and it's a new day of victory and bragging rights. I've been taking on the month of February, trying to get the calendar changed. We would keep the days, just allocate them in the year differently. I never imagined, though, how many people have a vested interest in keeping it as it is, something so ridiculous, a stubby little month that'd frankly be better off put out of its misery. One man's opinion.

As it turns out, I was reminded of a major "vested interest" locally. It's weird I forgot this, since my own father worked there 40 years,  a plant on the north side that makes calendars as one of its biggest products. He used to come home and tell me how many they made, millions, and how far in advance they made them, 10 years in advance. That's a lot of faith that the calendar's going to stay the same and no one will agitate for taking out a particular month!

The adventure started when the newspaper mentioned my blog because of the local tie-in with the company and calendars. The vice president called and invited me down. They'd already pulled the file on my dad, who's now dead. And saw from the records that he had a son, and they also looked at their insurance records -- kind of weird -- showing that I'd received medical care over the years on their dime, paid for, the VP said nicely, with the very calendar I was against! I got the message. Because I got my tonsils out, and a thorn out of my foot, and once rode an ambulance, among other childhood illnesses, I am beholden to them and can't criticize the calendar...

But I wasn't afraid. They wanted me to come and look things over, and try to sway my opinion, so I said I would. I got there and saw they had a nice memorial to my dad in the hallway. As if! I had to assume they'd just put it out. No one would have a memorial to a dead employee in the hall 15 years later, would they? But it was a nice touch, an eternal flame, the standard photo of him, and a quote, maybe a little too convenient: "I've always considered our calendar mankind's greatest achievement, B.C. or A.D." I don't know when he said that.

On the tour, the plant was impressive. It was a lot bigger than I thought, vast, numerous football-fields big, with many dark corners, made even darker by the stacks and stacks of pallets of enormous calendar sheets still waiting to be cut and assembled. Just like Dad said, a lot of these calendars were for years way off, 2023-2027, etc. I examined some more closely, just to satisfy my own curiosity, to see if they had February included, and, yes, they did. Such faith! Although in their defense, most were printed well before this became a global issue on my blog.

I kept walking, looking around, straining my neck to see more, and after a time I noticed my own footsteps were getting louder, until, pausing, I was stunned to realize--- I'm alone! Everything was dead silent. In the dead silence your breathing's very loud. And the pulse at your temples. My eye caught a camera rotating off at an angle. A voice over the speaker crackled: "Each of those pallets has calendars that include February for all the years. Think of it as time frozen in time, ready to be thawed when the time is right. But if something were to happen to February, say, by your interference, all our work would have been in vain. And people would be out of jobs. Your dad never wanted that."

So that's their game? Perpetuating full employment based on protecting one worthless little month. And taking away my freedom of speech. The voice droned on and on, about the little children who would suffer, the families, the grocery stores, real estate, insurance parlors, etc., right on down the line. It all connects together, they said. "If even one of those pallets goes to waste ... you will be personally responsible for the death of many." Very menacing stuff. I was expecting a sniper, and there were random noises, as though I wasn't alone.

But being apparently alone, with my own breath, pulse, and the whole shebang, and the excruciating tension -- as well as the voice, I thought, trying to take over my conscience, to short-circuit me, I guess I freaked out. "These sons of bitches are trying to scare me straight!" I thought. I couldn't think beyond that, except, feeling threatened, to freak out so completely that it's hard to describe what came next. Apparently I commandeered a forklift, and stacked ton after ton of pallets to the ceiling, then moved the fork in such a way that it toppled the whole stack like Jenga. Right there -- assuming it was between four and eighty pallets -- that'd be many millions of dollars worth of calendars!

Obviously I continued this righteous work until all the lights came on. Sirens and big horns were blaring, and people were running everywhere, waving their fool hands and all yelling at once. They finally took me into custody, marching me back through the vastness of the plant, then back to the main hallway. A lady was taking down Dad's memorial and putting it in a garbage bag. While I'm crying out anti-February slogans, belittling Leap Year; in my opinion, Leap Year's a great indictment of February, a month that changes its number of days every whip-stitch. Sheesh!

We got closer to the main offices, where I was exposed to the view of a mob of workers, all of them spitting on me, or trying their best. Last was the old janitor, who did spit on me and immediately mopped up his own mess. That's the kind of responsibility I like to see in a worker. For his sake, not for any of the other bastards, I would forbear and cease the frantic sloganeering, at least till I considered all my options.

Looking back on it, the key thing is they tried to scare me straight, but with my heroic actions, and their mad dash to stop me -- the cowards -- I obviously scared them straight. They'll know better than to ever have me in their fool factory again and to trap me alone, or think they can sway me from my tightly held convictions just because they trot out a picture of Dad, light a candle, and have one of his well-known quotes in gold lettering, even raised printing. I don't remember him ever saying that, but it sounds like something he would've said.

February -- We Barons Confer

The beginning of February brought with it a meeting of the various barons of society. I was eager to get together, being consumed with the issue of February and its continuance as a month on the calendar. To which I am opposed.

It's always quite an assemblage of power brokers, myself the Baron of Blogging in conference with the Baron of Politics, the Baron of Business (not pictured), the Baron of Industry, the Baron of Banking, and the Baron of the Church. Our overall mission is to keep society on track, nudging here and there where it seems appropriate. The Baron of the Church asked the Baron of Heaven's blessing, then we went into session.

Among the items on the agenda was the February Question, a hobby horse I often ride. Naturally, I came in for some good-natured ribbing, the Baron of Business saying, "What about Groundhog Day? The people need it to brighten their dreary lives, being, as they are, little more than boils on the backside of existence and, worse, knowing it." I pointed out, logically, that groundhogs would still exist without February, and sought the Baron of the Church's acquiescence to that point. He seemed to consider it an inscrutable question.

I was then surprised when each baron spoke against February.

The Baron of Banking said that a short month makes their bookwork more complicated, especially with the occasional Leap Year. "That one damned day every four years makes Y2K seem like a godsend." The Baron of the Church nodded in silent affirmation, and said, "The Lord likes balance and is put-off when it's missing. Plus the Church could use more Sundays in the year, not fewer. But with February, I don't know if there's two or three Sundays at the most. It's something to pray about."

The Baron of Business, always more brusque, took the side of the businessman. "Let the Church fend for itself. It has a Higher Power. We've got the bottom line. For us February cuts both ways. Yes, if we had more days to work with, we'd make more money, a huge plus. But factor in this, that if we don't meet our goals, February is our biggest excuse: 'We ran out of time.' See? We put the goods out and we open the doors, but we're not in charge of time itself!" I pointed out, rightly, that he should work more closely with the Baron of Politics.

The Baron of Politics, seizing my opening, cleared his throat and took the floor. "Baron," he said, addressing Business, "I do have the power over time, as in the principle of Daylight Savings Time. If you're willing to get up a few days earlier, I could make it January again right now, February be damned! We just need to work more closely together. You put your hand in mine." At this point Church shifted uneasily before admonishing, "No sir! Put your hand in the hand of the man who stilled the waters!" Politics, knowing he'd overstepped, smoothed troubled waters, saying through clenched teeth, "Point well taken."

The Baron of Industry, a man of action and few words, gave his opinion another way. He took his jacket off and flexed the bicep on his right arm. We watched amazed as a brief tattoo video showed raw materials being delivered to a factory. He shook his arm and the second video showed the factory manufacturing goods, all so harmonious. The final time he shook his arm it showed a fleet of trucks taking goods away for delivery. I interpreted his point for the group: "Destroying February, if that is our goal, is a step by step process." 

Concluding then, as host, I gave the summation: "Gentle Barons -- Banking, Politics, Business, Industry, and Church, as the Baron of Blogging I am a man of letters. In my work, I must know the great rhetoric and logic, the prose and poetry, that have graced mankind's history. For example, of the five of us, none quotes Shakespeare more than I. Who said, "A rose by a totally different moniker would waft out a scent as pure and sweet." Proving one truth, "Yes, February is a month, the other months are months, but it is entirely inferior, yielding a noxious stench. Simply put, it must be destroyed here and now or this conference will have been a failure!"

The meeting went quiet and I was embarrassed. But the merciful Baron of the Church took the gavel from my limp hand and dismissed us to a time of coffee and sharing how our wives are doing. Since I'm unmarried I could only listen with interest and envy.

February Has Weakened Me

What a terrible few days I've just come through. You hear about the flu and blow it off as no big deal. Till, like every other ridiculously bad thing in life, it comes stalking you. Then it's a huge deal, in this case knocking me flat on my ass. That's why you haven't seen me around. (My posts of the last few days were composed by a bot, after feeding in "February, screed, bad vibes, terrible month.")

Anyway, I noticed flu symptoms coming on. And I denied it. Because I'm strictly a "mind over matter" guy. If I say it shall not happen, then it shall not happen! If I say, "Thus far and no farther," if it encroaches a silly millimeter further, it dies. And so forth. I take a stand, and if reality comes against me, I prevail, changing it to suit my demands. This time, I don't know what happened, I must've flinched, and BAM, I was sick.

The odd thing about this is I'm so seldom sick, it's crazy. So I'm concluding that it wasn't a problem of me flinching, but that I was directly weakened by February itself! That's the charge I'm making. Think about it. The most dreadful month -- this 28-day emasculated limp-along shame of a month -- was looming nearby. Everyone knew of my public praise for January and March. I didn't make it a secret. And no one cared. But February was watching, so like a dark planet, tiny, dwarfish, and yet with enough mass to have gravity -- evil gravity -- it pulled me in and gave me the flu. One more reason to hate it.

Believe me, folks, I fought and kicked. I put up a real struggle. Other men fell on my left and right. Women beat their breasts, their anguish was so bad. Half the town literally fell dead. The hospital threw up their hands. Even the police were powerless in the face of an enemy they couldn't immediately pin down and choke the snot out of. What to do?

I had the idea, relaying it to the governor, that in these darkest of times, we had to try anything and everything. He listened closely, as I started to cough. I described two courses of action: 1) We carpet bomb the entire state with railroad cars, preferable engines, crushing out even the tiniest bacteria; 2) We come out publicly against February and remove it, posthaste, from the calendar.

Just like that, the governor was on the phone to the railroad companies, who rushed to the capital such a massive assembly of (mostly retired) railroad cars, with a few engines still with the vitality of their prime. I watched in awe as technicians hooked those massive hulks to the undersides of airplanes, which took off on a moment's notice and wreaked such havoc that the state will not likely recover till just before the next election. The little shed in my own backyard -- everyone made some sacrifice -- was crushed, as were the homes and every possession of most of my neighbors. Family members were killed, making for a long, gray weekend.

For the survivors, the flu still lingered, getting stronger, slipping out from the rubble, worming its way out, under, through, and sideways, down. I imagined the gathering of bacteria marching their way in victory over mankind. Wouldn't you do everything you could to defeat it? The governor did almost everything I asked. The bastard drew the line at February. Almost persuaded, but lost.

Because February's dread hold on the public imagination, apparently, is so great. Leaving me to suffer the flu in silence, yes, exercising my 'mind over matter' chops to shorten its grip, yes, but nonetheless feeling pretty puny. While others suffered and died, making the ultimate sacrifice in order to keep the worship of one fool month. What a tragedy.

Among the countless missing, there was even a lost cat in the neighborhood, its owners dead, but their survivors offering a huge $500 reward for his safe return. I went to prayer and signs indicate they found him.

Destroy February -- Are You Wid Me?

THIS CARTOON REPRESENTS 2 THINGS:

MY ENEMIES ATTACKING ME, AND
ME ATTACKING MY ENEMIES

As we come to the end of January, a great month, we find ourselves on the eve of February, the worst month ever. Hard to stomach, really, that this stubby block of days, put together apparently like Frankenstein's monster, out of the leftover parts of previous versions of the calendar, can be so close to January. Even the sound of the month's tell the story: "January," sexy, zippy, strong vs. "February," sounds like being stuck in a briar bush.

The last few days I've been trying my damndest to garner support for my side, and, I gotta tell you, support's hard to get these days! 1) Everyone's got their own fool opinion; 2) "I'm too busy" to learn the facts, or to even care; and; 3) There's more important things to worry about. Let me just say, each of these excuses is simply blather. People have learned (probably thanks to the internet) how to gum up any issue. Well, let's "black 'n' white" it, OK? Are you wid me or agin me?

Whether there's more important things to worry about or not, and there very well could be, what good's your worrying doing? Everyone I've talked to on this issue has been your average idiot, whose life in this world is more or less locked on the default setting, which is lethargic. Man on default is the most worthless creature the world's ever belched out. The other species have to use their wits, their instincts, their wiles -- not man. Man's such a fool he expects everything to be handed to him on a silver platter. Then he'll sell the silver for drugs. It's little wonder he doesn't care about February.

Seriously, folks, this struggle of mine, has really opened my eyes, that if folks aren't wid me they truly are agin me! And I've told them that, too: "If you ain't wid me you're agin me," I said to this one fool. He stood there silent and I thought I had him. You know the kind of conviction a person can suddenly have, like when they realize their own home is under attack by the enemy, and if they don't do anything about it they themselves will be homeless. His hands quivered, his lips shook, his eyes were downcast; I saw a bead of sweat pop out right above his left eyebrow. I knew I had him. Then the fool goes off, sneering, "Them I guess I'm agin you." Stupid turd.

So that's how they want to play it, eh? In the face of such opposition, I stood defiant, thinking, "We'll see about that." I also thought to myself, "I hope the enemy does attack your home and that you're left on the street, you bastard." It's true, I can be vengeful, even though you basically think of me as a pussycat; I'm not proud of it; it's just I care about this issue so much. February must be destroyed, and that guy!

OK, the opposition -- more or less defiance identical to apathy -- has forced me to up the date, now to Feb. 12 before I think we'll see a glimpse of success on destroying February. Believe me, with my efforts only just beginning, I don't believe we'll have to revise the date again. I'll be pulling my hair out in frustration if that happens. Let me just throw out the plea: "Be wid me, not agin me!"

Here's something I'm gonna do to garner support, and show my disgustitude with February. I'm going to post at least one blog post everyday in February. Got that? If I can't gum it up on the front end, I'll sabotage it from within during its idiotic run. Like that. It'll probably make the nightly news: "World Known Blogger Seeks Destruction of Month." I actually am "world known"; I get a number of people from Ukraine and Russia, if that's any good. I believe they're definitely wid me.

Bright Future -- No More February

As January comes to an end, we're on the verge of something big having to do with February. The stubbiest month, hallelujah, at long last is going down! To defeat! Once and for all, forever, to be purged from our calendar. Dead and buried in an unmarked grave. Let us rejoice!

But wait! Having said all that, let me also say -- this is regrettable -- that even as I sense its destruction, I also sense an inexorable shadow over the proceedings. The vision's hard to pin down, but I see looming just ahead, in my consciousness, that our 28-day foe may still have few tricks up its sleeve. Will it be brought down so easily? Of course I hope it will, but I feel we must proceed cautiously.

There's definitely something being unleashed, OK? Even now as I write this, I see the light. And yet, the shadow also grows, impinging on the light of January. Of course we know in a few days January will go away for another year. But what follows it? That's what we're trying to influence. This year, yes, we know it has to be February. The calendars have all been printed, passed out by the banks. And the banks more or less run things. Screw with their calendars and they'll keep our money. Basically the shadow says this: "February has many friends, not just enemies."

I don't want to discourage anyone reading this, far from it! But this spot, this shadow is becoming bigger in my mind's eye. Could it be a tiny bit of sawdust, something in my eye, that always looks bigger up close? No, this is not a physical thing. This is like the shadow of evil itself! Telling me, and cackling about it even, that February thinks it shall have the final victory! I know what you think I should say: "Not over my dead body!" But I'll stand back, because I don't keel over so easily.

Because I'm not accepting thee vision, not now, not ever. Instead, I feel that we have the power of light on our side, which shall drive out every shadow. As in days of old -- eternity -- the darkness cannot comprehend the light! Am I right, high five! Woo woo! Would everyone here kindly step to the rear and let a winner lead the way! We've got this bastard, bastard! Feb-RU-ary! You gonna be ruin' the day you ever set foot in this world, for you shall see your ruin! Pack your bags, Joe, hit the road, Jack, and don't look back. (A little trash-talkin' always makes me feel better.)

And yet, the darkness grows, exasperating me to no end. I stomp my feet, it's there. I hold my breath, it continues to loom. I'm turning blue, about to pass out, but I feel I cannot give in. How can such a short month stand against my powerful will? I'm getting consternated. That could be it, the key to my victory. Will and anger, consternation! My tantrums have never been known to fail. Must remain defiant, with confidence and faith, and all will be well.

Still, just to be on the safe side, I'm nudging my declaration of just yesterday, that by Feb. 3 we shall glimpse success against February. Playing it safe, I'm now saying we shall surely glimpse success over it, much more likely, by Feb. 6. We're ceding only three days! And what's three days, when our suffering has gone on for ... so many dark years...

The swift demise of February is still assured!

Chipping Away at February

It feels great to be taking a stand on an important issue. I indeed have finally stepped out and accepted my calling in life. And I hope I have your full support, for then our common goal will be so much easier to accomplish. That is, destroying the "month" of February, and finally having a calendar we can be proud of.

Of course I know it's a huge step. And if the critics are right, it's a huge challenge. Although I'm extremely confident it won't take that much. I'm honestly thinking that as early as Feb. 3 we'll probably glimpse ultimate success. Mere days away! But there's a lot of work to be done, if we're going to not just glimpse success but grasp it. For me, putting that knife through the calendar was a real rush. It did something powerful for my resolve, having taken such a decisive step. And now, once the knife's in, there's no turning back!

As I said, the critics see "a huge challenge." Which, as I recall, is always the way with critics. It's probably "a huge challenge" for them to tie their shoes, especially since their hands are always so busy wringing themselves! Frankly, if we left life up to the critics, we would've never evolved beyond the slime. They would've been slime oozing from a bit of moss, clinging to their precious comfort zone. While the rest of us were looking to trade in our gills for a set of lungs and get on with the damned thing.

Part of the challenge with February, as I understand it, is that the world's had too much history with it to dump it now. People were born in February, they commemorate anniversaries, their loved ones died in February, the calendar appears set in its ways, etc. Well, check the history of the calendar. It's changed a lot over the years! September through December are named for the numbers 7-10, but obviously they're known by different numbers now. I can't remember why they needed to add August, but they wanted July for a place to put July 4.

My current proposal is that we add a number of February's days to January and March, then leave, say, the last 13 days of the old February as a mini-month. That'd be like crazy time. Like a desert on the earth, a time of desolation. Lent's usually about then. We'd squeeze it into 13 concentrated days of ashes and mourning. Any new births in that 13 days would have their birthdays reassigned to the happier months, as would happen with existing birthdays. Eventually the word February would be synonymous with sticks in the mud, the sorrowful, the unhappy, and of course the deranged.

I think we could shame prisoners even further by reassigning their birthdays to those 13 days. It'd be like a hot brand they could never overcome. They probably already do this on some other more intelligent planet, so we'd just be keeping up with them by switching. Having said that, I would not leave the word February in the mix. To give those days the ultimate shame, thus making us more reflective, we would need to go beyond the old with something completely new. What would it be? Right now I'm in destroy mode, so I can't think of anything. Scorpion, Lizard, Dry Heaves?

Friends, I said I'm confident, and that is true. But there's still things that could go wrong. And yet -- All praise to the native god in the photo! -- I'm sticking to my prediction. February 3 sounds just right as the day that I believe we will glimpse our ultimate success. Meaning, if you want to share in the credit of this seismic shift in time, you'll need to jump on board right away. Our deliverance is less than a week away!

February Totally Bites

WORKING WITH A NATIVE GOD,
IN HIS POWER, WE RUN FEBRUARY
THROUGH WITH A BUTCHER KNIFE

AND CEREMONIALLY TURN IT OVER

TO THE FLAMES FOR JUDGMENT

I have been working in the deepest intuition through 2015, discerning things at their most basic level. It's frankly blown my mind, or, rather, expanded it, giving me once again that Super Brain feeling I've known numerous times in my life. As a kid I used to conduct a census on dust motes floating in my room -- learning much in the process -- before letting them collapse and vanish when I went down for breakfast.

That said, January has presented me with one enormous insight: That February is an aberration in time and time-keeping. The evidence against February flashed in rapid procession in my spirit. Like the dust motes of old, but a lot more apparently high tech, like 100,000 JPG thumbnails flashing by. This has to do with the honing and greater use of my mind over the years, along with incidental aspects that may have come from movies or TV. (If I have been bionically enhanced, I don't consciously remember it.)

Be that as it may, I don't feel I need to justify this too much. After all, we're only talking about stinking February. The worst month on the calendar, a short little hobbled period of time, maybe not even technically a month, a la Pluto not really being a planet. January's a month, March is a month, February's a rest stop in the middle! And not even one with major facilities, but one like truck drivers use to blow carbon out of their rigs, perhaps catching a bit of shuteye, and whatever other quickie XXX activity they may be into.

My great revulsion against February is fairly recent. But I do seem to remember being at least slightly queasy about February all my life. What other month do we feel so sorry for that we add a day every few years? There's none, just this stubby little passel of days. And if they weren't actual days of time, but existed simply on a pretend calendar, I'm sure we wouldn't be so merciful. We'd take it, rip it out, and burn it.

You know what? I feel led right now -- this is true, from on high -- to symbolically, ritually, cleanse ourselves of February. Which doesn't mean we won't have February this year, but it might be more tolerable. That's what a lot of ritual is for, to make life easier; you feel badly for your sins, so you sacrifice a lamb. You call in sick from work, then to compensate for it you actually get sick.

You're invited to join me in this sacrifice. As I type this, I'm also cutting the little month of February off my checkbook calendar. (The ceremony is illustrated above.) Now I'm holding it up. Notice how small and harmless it is, physically as well as small compared to the other months. OK, the rest of the ritual will be in two steps. 1) I'm holding it up and lighting the bottom corner with a match. Now as the flames rise higher, I'm rotating it and trying not to get burnt. Repeat after me: "I burn you to ashes. You shall never again arise." 2) I'm putting a little piece of PostIt® note in the hole and drawing an arrow from January to March.

Wow, that feels good. Except I've got this cursed little bit of ash leftover, which could simply go in the trash or be cast to the wind. But I will carry the ritual through to the end, by putting it in the garbage disposal, with these words of power: "How dare you, unspeakable so-called month, pollute my life? Now I am cleansed of you. Now I am free."

I'm giving my readers a special thanks today for standing with me. To be in agreement as we are is very valuable for the cleansing. We now have the power to carry on, at least for this day. Let us resolve, if not this year then next, to go directly from January to March!

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