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.

Buckets of Urine

Link: Large amounts of urine, including three to five gallon buckets of urine

This was one of the things listed that protesters of the Republican convention had stockpiled. I believe this particular cache of urine was found at just one site and so would not necessarily be the totality of urine on hand for the various protests.

It's an interesting thing to me, as are most bathroom subjects. You've got what? a bunch of folks peeing in buckets and keeping it all in reserve apparently for some nefarious purpose. Which, letting the mind wander, might include: Squirting it at people in squirt guns, like those big Pump Master water guns; dumping it over someone's head, much like you would a coach with Gatorade; or, spiking the punch at a fancy soiree.

But then the police show up, and they're going through your things: PVC pipe, chicken wire, high powered wrist rockets (never heard of that before), machetes, bolt cutters, hatchets, axes, rapelling equipment, etc. Nothing there much, really, that you wouldn't find at any garage sale. But then they come to these buckets of urine, three to five gallons worth, and you as the protester start to get nervous. "Uh, officer, you've heard of urine samples? My doctor wanted one, and I'm very obsessive, can never do anything halfway. I guess I went a little overboard."

I know how that goes about not doing things halfway. There was a show on TV one time about a guy who obsessively collects golf clubs. Buys every one he sees. So anytime I go to Goodwill and see a few golf clubs I tell myself that guy hasn't been here yet. I do a little of that, not with golf clubs, but some other things. The key to getting over it is to turn your obsession over to your consciousness, which means examining every nuance of your life obsessively, giving your lusts no quarter; the downside is your mind is afire with self doubt, reproach, and loathing; the upside is if you're really good at it you can save a little money.

But when it comes to something like urine, to me that's disgusting; just get rid of it. You may be very PO'ed, but you don't have to show it in such a literal way.

You could come up with another term for insane outbreaks. You're heard of "Going Postal," this is "Going Pistol." The police like to have their fun, "Urine a lot of trouble, buddy." If they're charged with anything, I hope they can find a fair jury of their pee'ers.