Sit Down Comedy … May 1st, 2020

Jonathots Daily Blog

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Sit Down Comedy

Normal people work abnormally hard to appear normal.

Not for me.

It seems exhausting, if not humiliating.

I am peculiar, set apart—engaged in an uncommon consciousness, constantly and purposely dismantling the complexity into its simpler units.

I am peculiar.

How do I know? I respond to the information provided.

I get on the bus in front of me, noting that it’s been a while since any buses have passed by. For to remain normal, you must coincide with the majority.

A vote is always being taken.

It would be best if you voted with the masses, but acceptably good if you change your mind and disappear into the crowd.

I am peculiar.

I don’t think women will gain equality by acting their rendition of being men. Matter of fact, the whole concept of gender equality is foolish since we are all so much the same. It makes me giggle that we continue to try to compare the two, when oneness seems obvious.

The black man will never be able to tell his black sister that they are humans as long as they’re encouraged to rally without seeing improvement, struggle minus achievement and fail to guard their offspring from being cursed as inferior due to crime and sloth.

Religion is the wicked stepmother who refuses to let the children sit and dine with Father. Religion wants Father all to herself, so she can stumble from His presence to establish the rules and regulations which turn seekers into the distraught.

I am peculiar because I don’t think art is a paint by number set, with stipulations being made up by frustrated, discordant human trolls who have lost their lust for life and sit around finding ways to mock and condemn the human race.

I am peculiar because I hate politics.

Politics dresses up in a jim-dandy suit and marches off, teaspoon in hand, to fill the ocean of need while simultaneously carrying a thimble to empty the shit-hole.

Verily, verily, I say unto you, our common sense is not allowed to be common and is spurned for having too much practicality.

I am peculiar.

I’m not better than anyone.

I wear my flaws and virtues in equal glory.

I am not superior.

I am satisfied with my humanity, sporting its knowledge of good and evil.

What I see are beautiful people who smear mud, acid, poison and medications all over themselves in an attempt to emerge beautiful.

Why? Because it’s normally accepted that we possess an ugliness that needs disguised.

I can no longer condone a God who hates humans and wants them to become little gods so He can destroy them for their presumption.

What’s it like to be normal? How does it feel?

Do you ever have a moment’s rest?

Do you grow weary in well-doing?

Do you ever wish to do less, yet become so much more?

Do you want your vote to be honored instead of tallied by crooked counters bound to a party?

Do you wish that heaven was more real because you feel God on the Earth?

Are you sick to death of being normal when it really isn’t your choice, but rather, a fallback position of a generation of frightened dreamers?

How peculiar.

 

Sit Down Comedy …March 22nd, 2019

Jonathots Daily Blog

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I bought a loaf of bread. I didn’t eat it all.

So on the eighth or ninth day, I visited the cupboard to see if I could get another slice of life and discovered that the bread had been overtaken by mold.

I paused.

I considered removing the wrapper, cutting the mold off and eating the rest, but the mold also came with a smell—actually, similar to beer. So reluctantly—maybe even a little aggravated—I took my last five or six slices, now moldy, and tossed them into the garbage.

I was a little surprised how fussy I was about it. I don’t know if I just had my heart set on a sandwich or if I felt cheated because my bread gave up.

But I knew this: mold does not get better. I couldn’t do some “treatment” to my bread and return the next day and find it unmoldy. Once mold arrives it takes over. Quite aggressive. And it isn’t pretty—grayish-green with little hairy arms.

It’s a nasty substance and it turns bread into shit. (You can hear by my words that I was really put off.)

Welcome to America.

I’ve heard us called “the breadbasket of the world.” I was told as a youngster that our farmlands could feed the nations. Not much talk about that of late—nowadays farmers are trying to survive and make their beans and corn cover their budgets. No one trying to feed the four corners.

But we once were the breadbasket. Then one day, we reached into our souls, our mind, our heart and into our principles and pulled out moldy bread. Really bad mold.

And as I told you earlier, mold doesn’t get better. You can’t reform mold. You can’t try to find a way to accept it and develop a taste for it. You have to throw the whole damn thing out.

That’s unfortunate. It’s unfortunate but it’s necessary.

Truth is, one apple does not spoil the whole bushel—but one little piece of mold does spoil the whole loaf, because the climate necessary to breed that mold permeates all the way to the crust.

Likewise, the insolence, selfishness and meanness that have brought about the present American way of dealing with each other has spoiled many of the treasures we used to hold dear.

Some things have just got to be thrown out. There isn’t a choice. It’s because the mold has taken over the “bread of life” in America and the mold is a simple poison. Here it is:

  • “My ideas are more important than you.”
  • “My faith is more valuable than your freedom.”
  • “My politics are divinely inspired, while yours are evil.”
  • “My lifestyle is superior.”
  • “Even my dog is more human than any of you.”

And,

  • “I and those who came out of my orgasm of procreation are much higher in quality, and it’s difficult to tolerate you anymore.”

There’s the mold. It’s gotta go.

You can try to save some of the stuff, but the arguing that we call politics has to be thrown in the trash, even if we lose some “debate.”

The beliefs we call religion have to be dumped even if we ignore a verse or two of holy writ.

And the definition of family needs to expand to include everybody twenty-five thousand miles in any direction throughout the entire Earth.

If we don’t do this, we’re going to start believing that the worst parts of the bread can be cut off, and the rest will be just fine, even though it tastes a little pukey.

We are permeated with the mold of those who are too old, too bold and too cold. Some things must be thrown away.

I, for one, am going to go into my cabinet, where I keep my soul, and start clearing out the nastiness. Anything that makes me believe that I’m better than you, or that my ideas are more God-like, or that my politics have the touch of grace while yours are imbedded with the sinister, will be dumped into the trash.

Buy fresh bread. Don’t get more than you need.

Matter of fact, start thinking of it this way:

“Give us this day our daily bread.”

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