1. So it has been a monumentally horrific and horrible few days – worst in many years, although things are tentatively okay on the “parking spot for the van” situation. I think the parking spot thing is manageable and will resolve. But, somehow a bottle of tequila, a bottle of Cointreau and a bag of lemons landed on my “dashboard/bar”, and so I made a pitcher of Margaritas, and then everyone in Riverville bailed citing “childhood tequila trauma/triggering”, and so I have this pitcher of pure Agave goodness staring at me, and so… drunk blogging. Let’s see whether my prose improves or crashes and burns with three, no, FOUR margaritas in my 130 pound bod. At any rate, it’s click bait fo’ shizzle, mah nizzles.
2. I’m doing my monthly Andrea Shea King show on Friday morning. If this post goes well, I might just get drunk for that, too. Heck, it’s five o’clock somewhere, amiright?
3. Interestingly, after the hate mail post I only received THREE emails saying, “Er mah gawsh, take that down!!!!eleventy!!!!” There was a marked shift in the feedback towards the whole notion of coming grips with reality, and the need to understand what it is that we are up against. And support. But don’t worry. That stuff doesn’t bother me in the least, at least in terms of myself. I know that my death will almost certainly be grizzly, and if I escape rape, it will be a miracle. But you know, none of those people know me, and so it isn’t personal. But this week, I got into a discussion/debate with a beloved Riverville resident about the nuance and morality surrounding counter-revolution, civil disobedience, etc., and it ended with the person leaving in a huff, and as they left, I assured them of my love, and the response was, “Oh, FUCK you.” Fuck as a verb. With me as the object of the verb. From a beloved, beloved friend. Being raped to death by mohammedans or rap/hip-hop thugs, if it happens, will carry less anguish than that.
But, we remember Our Blessed Lord Jesus Christ crucified, and with every one of our sins, we turn to Him, scourged and nailed to the Cross, and say, “Oh, FUCK You.” I do it to Him every single day. Multiple times per day. Nothing engenders hatred in this fallen world so much as being genuinely, authentically loved – and not this bullshit Pope Francis “who am I to judge”, “do whatever you want as long as you continue your sycophancy of me” indifference masquerading as a total bullshit false love. People, I’m telling you, EVERYTHING that you suffer, or COULD POSSIBLY SUFFER, has already been suffered INFINITELY by Our Blessed Lord and Savior Jesus Christ in His Passion. So there is no need to fear suffering, because He will be right there with you. Offer it all up to Him. And He will console you, because BLESSED ARE THOSE WHO MOURN.
4. So, with regard to “[email protected]”, there is clearly only one path forward. I must have the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass offered for the salvation of his soul. The deal I have set up right now is that I get always two, but sometimes four, Masses per month. I always have at least one Mass offered for my Benefactors and Supporters, and then the other is open to me for whatever intention. In May, my two Masses will be for those two intentions: my Benefactors and Supporters, and for “[email protected]”. Think about that. The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass will be offered, Christ Crucified on Calvary, will be offered for the salvation of that person’s soul. Sit in stillness with that until you comprehend the miracle of that. So, many of you have emailed me saying, “I’m so sorry that guy sent you that email.” I’m not. I cannot express the gratitude at that happening. Our Lord knew that I could take it, and that I would know what needed to be done. Think about it. What other possible way could the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, Calvary itself, be offered for that person? Only this way. And maybe, someday, if I make it, and if “[email protected]” makes it, we will be able to fall through each others’ souls as we dwell forever inside the Most Holy Trinity, pondering God from the inside. That is my prayer. Please join me in it. I will, of course, post the dates of both of these Masses as soon as I lock in the dates.
5. Five, FIVE margaritas. Ah-ah-ah-ah!
6. When I was a little-bitty kid, like three-to-four, I would wake up at exactly the same time every morning, walk out into the TV room, flip on the ol’ Zenith console at EXACTLY the moment that Sesame Street came on at 8:30. Because body clocks. Now, in retrospect, I know that Sesame Street was a vector of Commie agitprop, but regardless, those sights and sounds are positively pounded into my mind. Not long ago, I had the chance to “babysit/hang out” with a very young friend, only 2 1/2, and I had my laptop with me, and so we sat on the sofa, and I pulled up YouTube vids of the old Sesame Street vignettes. And my brilliant young friend sat enraptured at the memories of my so distant, and yet so distinctly remembered youth. One of my absolute favorites was the “fabricating of saxophones” vignette. I watch this and it is ARSH 1979. Enjoy. I’m taking two Aleve and going to bed. Because I have to Clean all the Things at the Place with my boss in inpatient physical therapy for the next month, tomorrow, and margarita hangovers (ole’!) simply won’t do.