Cracked 5 … April 13th, 2019

 


Jonathots Daily Blog

(4014)

Cracked 5

Five Good Reasons to Legalize Recreational Marijuana

 

A. Not enough spaced-out drivers

 

B.  Another practical application for “No Smoking” signs in public places

 

C.  National IQ is starting to rise

 

D.  A boost to the youth vote, which will probably sleep in on Election Day anyway, from hangovers

 

E.  Find out once and for all why Puff was a Magic Dragon 

Cracked 5 Wylie Coyote

  
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Sit Down Comedy … April 12th, 2019

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4013)


If I were a woman or if I was a woman or if female and grammatically was sure which one was correct, I would need to understand that progress toward equality cannot be achieved through buying into some gender affirmative action.

Female Affirmative Action

For black Americans, affirmative action seemed to be a generous, practical means by which to even the playing field between the races. What actually occurred was an underlying cynicism about whether any person with darker skin had achieved success legitimately.

When you set aside the muscle mass of the male of our species and balance it with the birthing capabilities of the female, everything else runs pretty even. We still have a few jokers that hang around, insisting that females are more emotional than men. (They obviously have never visited the losing locker room at the Super Bowl.)

Pretending Women Are Superior

But the error lies the notion that we can bring peace between the genders by balancing things out artificially and pretending that women are superior.

We contradict this immediately with the “Me, Too Movement,” telling our feminine counterparts that they can bring up accusations from years, even decades, earlier, and because they were tongue-tied or intimidated in the moment, it is perfectly all right for them to delay their objection until now.

It is not.

In the realm of human interaction, there is actually a seven-day limit on lodging an objection or in making your point. If you can’t do it in the moment, then take a day. If after a day, you’re still uncertain on how you feel about what occurred to you, call a friend. Get input.

If you decide to remain silent out of embarrassment, then find someone you feel is empowered who can aid your voice to have greater volume.

But whether a man or woman, if you have not lodged, within seven days, your objection about how you were treated, how you were perceived or how you were allowed to conduct your affairs, then you must understand that rallying the “Me, Too Movement” to kick female affirmative action into gear, which supposedly allows you time eternal to come forward with your charges, is the best way to build a wall between the genders which will never come down.

If a woman, I would have to decide:

  • Do I have a voice, or do I need someone to give me a voice?
  • Do I have a legitimate complaint, or shall I wait until my complaint has worn out its statute of limitations and then thrust it forward, insisting that it still bothers me?

Even the phrase “Me, Too” is a statement of weakness rather than strength. It portrays to everyone around you that you do not possess the confidence to speak alone but must wait until there are many voices to gain spunk.

This will not work.

It doesn’t matter whether it’s Republican or Democrat, man or woman.

Each one of us has a right to be confronted by our accusers in a timely fashion

If we do not avail ourselves of this opportunity within seven days, we must be willing to take the blame for our own anemic trepidation.

I grant you that it falls the lot of both sexes to open their ears and hearts to the sentiments of the other, but it certainly requires a step of faith, courage and intellect for women to receive the equality due them by taking it in their hands instead of “wishing and hoping” from the sidelines.

 


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3 Things … April 11th, 2019

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4012)


You Should Never Take For Granted

1.  The honesty of your fellow humans

 

2.  The grace of God and the mercy of friends

 

3.  Tomorrow 


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Drawing Attention … April 10th, 2019

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(4011)

Come Let Us Reason

(tap the picture to see the video)

art by smarrttie pants

Music composed and performed by Jonathan Richard Cring


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Published in: on April 10, 2019 at 7:58 pm  Comments (1)  
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The J Word … April 9th, 2019

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4010)


THE

Image result for gif of letter j

WORD


Salt Lake City, Utah.

When the founders of this community came together to name their new home, they opted for an obvious and practical choice. Since it was located on the Great Salt Lake, it seemed natural to call it Salt Lake City.

Perhaps it was the same case with Little Rock, Arkansas. (I have no personal knowledge.)

But undoubtedly, the worst miscarriage of logic in naming any area is Jerusalem. It translates:

CITY OF PEACE

Yet there is no place on Earth, no ground, no terrain, that has been more blood-soaked than this domain. Almost every nation of the world that was once an empire has sent troops, conquered it and owned it for a season, only to have someone stronger, meaner and uglier snatch it away.

How it ever received the honor of being deemed “The Holy City” is far beyond this author’s comprehension. Because even though Christians joined with Jews and Muslims to tout the great significance of Jerusalem, it was the source—and the final execution arena—for Jesus of Nazareth.

Matter of fact, he wept over the city because it was so unable to repent of its self-righteousness and realize the futility of its direction. He closed his statement by saying, “Your house is left to you desolate.”

Desolate.

Empty.

Not worthy of habitation.

Even the great temple of Solomon, which is advertised by the local tour guides, is now just a piece of crumbling wall. Why? Because it was destroyed.

Then, in Crusade after Crusade, European Christians attempted to free this “holy of holies” from Muslim domination, as it was passed back and forth like a bloody hot potato.

There is nothing holy about this city. And let us not forget—the Bible warns that it will be at the center of the final last destruction of humankind.

It is a city of blood—the showcase of a great feud between the children of two faiths who should be brothers, but instead, struggle and battle like feuding rattlesnakes.

So the word that should never be spoken aloud because of its falsity, misleading nature and foul reputation is Jerusalem.

Yes.

J IS FOR JERUSALEM

And I, for one, can think of many other regions that are more deserving of the title, “City of Peace.”

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1 Thing You Can Do in This Season of Darkness


Stand Ready to Assist the People Who Are Heading Toward the Light

It is fruitless to go into the darkness of the cave and try to awaken those whose eyes have become accustomed to the bleakness.

Whether it’s by design or by choice, they sit in darkness and make no motion to change their circumstances, but instead, debate the intensity of their situation and complain about a lack of solutions.

Stay at the mouth of the cave.

Light a candle

Don’t allow yourself to go inside because your opportunities to assist will not be enhanced, but your single candle will have less and less effect.

There are people who will be heading toward the slightest glimmer of light.

These are the ones you’ll be able to help.

These are the ones who will welcome your flame.

These are the ones who will not mock your ideas of light as they continue to complain about their options.

Living with poor people may seem to be a noble act, but until those in poverty make their own move toward solvency, there’s little you can do for them.

Preaching equality in a land of prejudice may garner you eternal reward but will squander your time on Earth because no one is listening–because the lights are off.

Don’t go out and sunbathe

Don’t go out and talk to those around you who are surrounded by light about how beautiful the light is or how damned the people are in the cave.

Build your art, your life, your mission, your concern and your love at the mouth of the cave.

Light a candle and wait for those who have the bravery to escape the utter darkness.


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Iz and Pal (Bedouin Buddies)


Iz and Pal

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4008)

Sitting Fourteen

Left alone.

Young boys run on energy, not smarts. They are fully capable of performing the duties of an army but are minus the insight to know where to march and when to struggle.

Pal paced around the tiny campsite. He flailed his hands in the air, enraged with everything he saw. “Somebody is gonna know we don’t got nothing!” he screamed.

Iz sat quietly, stilled by the circumstances, in what seemed to be a mountain of resolution, but most probably was just a crumbling hillside of destruction.

Karin stood stunned, staring at the two boys, trying to decide what her duty was going to have to be in this youthful fiasco. She needed to be decisive, yet she didn’t trust her own take on the events.

She realized that she should try to talk the boys into going home.  But then she considered Iz. What causes a twelve-year-old boy to contemplate death? Could any of that responsibility be laid at the doorstep of his family?

Then propriety chased down her musings. They certainly needed to go to their parents. These boys did not belong in the desert. If she left them there, the soldier might return with his buddies, to drive them back into town in disgrace, or even for punishment.

The whole thing was so crude and so nasty. It all could blow up and just promote more smugness in this region already permeated with piety.

But in her heart, Karin was a journalist. Her ethics forbade her to be a party to façade. She couldn’t allow herself to become the third wheel in a doomed game destined to produce nothing.

She considered—who would everybody blame? Of course, her. Here she was, out on a lark, trying to get a story. Some scoop to help her maintain her edge as a lead writer for a dead periodical. But she wasn’t looking for a cause. She didn’t want to become “Mother” to the Middle East version of Leopold and Loeb. All she wanted was a story.

Unfortunately, she had fumbled her way into a tragedy.

Pal finally wearied himself of pacing, leaped upon Iz, and the two boys were rolling in the sand, fighting, growing more angry with each flip and punch. So Karin shook herself awake from her deliberations and ran over to pull the boys apart.

“What are you guys doing?” she screamed. Somehow she managed to squeeze her body in between the wrestling pair.

“He won’t talk to me!” Pal spat.

Iz said nothing, just continuing to thrust at the air with his arms.

Karin lost all patience. She threw both boys to the ground and straddled them. “You’re going to listen to me!” she proclaimed. “I don’t know what you think you’re achieving by beating each other to a pulp. Hell, I don’t know why you’re disappointed that the hand grenade didn’t blow you to smithereens. I don’t know why you’re both so damned nuts. But here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to sit here until everyone is calm and I can sprout some sort of an idea.”

The boys were mad, their chests heaving. They wiggled and squirmed, but Karin’s firm thighs held them in check. They tried a series of insults.

“I hate you.”

“You really are fat, lady.”

“You smell bad.”

Karin laughed at them. At length, the twitching ceased as the young gents lay panting in a pile of exhaustion.

Slowly Karin released, dismounting her captives. “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” she said. “First, let me tell you what I think. There is nothing we can possibly to do determine what that soldier is going to tell or not tell. Secondly, I think the best thing is for me to get a ride back to town—somehow or another—and just talk to my editor and find out if I can get someone else with some brains, or someone maybe willing to share the pain, to become involved in this whole mess. And finally—this is the most important. You guys need to rest and promise me that you won’t claw each other’s eyes out.”

Iz was insulted. “We are friends,” he retorted.

Karin was relieved. He sounded a bit more normal.

Confident that they could no longer kill each other with a grenade and might be too worn out to box each other to death, she headed down the hill toward the nearest path that resembled a road, hoping to find some vagabond with wheels, who might be willing to pick up a disheveled female.

It could be a wait.

But she knew the next stop was her editor.

 

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