1 Thing You Can Do to Help Turn the Tide on the Madness

 

Conversation is whiskey and humor is beer.

Please don’t forget this.

In the midst of all the insanity, there is a tendency to talk until we cheapen ourselves, and debate to debunk the ignorant.

Although it may be dramatic to crinkle one’s face and produce crocodile tears about the tragedies of shootings and the general unrest in our communities, we achieve nothing through our furor of discourse.

We become inebriated on our sense of importance.

Then we start using our words to slur others.

I am sure many Americans would consider it insulting to allow good cheer, wit, cleverness, optimism and mirth to rule the day.

Yes, mirth. There’s a word we don’t use much anymore—probably because it means amusement that brings laughter. What could possibly be uplifting or comedic about the horror of El Paso and the victims of Dayton?

Nothing.

But we can keep our sense of humor by realizing that this is a nation of 350 million people, who have been told they have the right to do too much and have been slammed together from cultures all over the world, in a climate of permissiveness. We might ready ourselves for some conflict.

For to compare our country to other nations is a farce. No other group of people must tolerate such diversity—and do it promising to initiate “peace on Earth, goodwill toward man.”

We need the common beer of humor to sooth us and give us a reason for chatting again instead of yelling.

The whiskey of politics, religion, corporations and ego will do nothing but make us completely oblivious to anything but our own ideas.

I bring humor.

I find humor—not jokes and laugh-out-loud sketches, but instead, poking fun at ridiculous ideas instead of pretending they have merit. For instance, attempts to get rid of guns, or stances to protect them, are equally comical. Joining in “the blame game” and pointing fingers like little children only proves what babies we are.

We need humor.

We need to share the beer of a sense of good cheer.

So here’s to mirth. May we not only learn its meaning but begin to utilize its power.

Prepare for a rebirth of mirth on the Earth.

 

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Cracked 5 … August 10th, 2019

Jonathots Daily Blog

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Cracked 5

Unique Ways to Avoid Gun Violence

A.  Make simpler bombs

 

B.  Cut the price on knives

 

C.  Pay women to go out with losers

 

D.  Body armor for the entire nation

 

E.  Stop making fun of loving one another

 

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Jesonian: Reverend Meningsbee (Part 33) Another Tank of Gas… December 11th, 2016

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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Reverend Meningsbee

Nebraska suddenly seemed cold–frigid.

The meeting with Hector put a chill down Meningsbee’s spine, causing him to yearn for some warmth. He thought about sharing his dilemma with some folks he trusted in the congregation, but realized that there’s an assumption made in the human family–that even when a soul confesses, somehow or another he or she is withholding a portion of the story.

He felt trapped–squeezed into an ice box.

So he went to his house, grabbed a bunch of blankets, quickly packed a suitcase, stuck a variety of canned meats and beef jerky in his glove compartment, got into his car and headed out.

His choice for this particular retreat was south. He just wanted to drive until he could feel warm.

He journeyed for three days.

One night he stayed at a cheap motel in a town in Texas called Bullywok. Another night he used the blankets and slept in the back seat of his car at a rest area. And on a third evening, trying to pursue some personal discovery in his life, he checked into a YMCA to interact with other human beings and see what the experience might be like. (He found the Y rather pleasant except for being greatly unnerved by sharing a shower with other men.)

He drove and he drove until he landed somewhere in South Texas. The sun rose, and by ten o’clock in the morning, the air was warm enough for him to emerge from his car and walk around a local park in short sleeves.

He was so damn far away from Garsonville. But maybe he always had been. Maybe the idea of inserting himself into that small community was not only intrusive, but implausible.

Disheartened.

It’s when your heart stands on the outside of your body and makes fun of you for believing you could make a difference.

During his journey, the fifth episode of “Gar-SIN-ville” aired. He watched it in a diner outside of El Paso.

He was surprised at how those enjoying their “blue plate specials” basically ignored the program as he listened carefully for the revelation of his hidden sin.

It was never mentioned.

He felt deeply foolish to have run away from his home town and his congregation simply because a scary man said “boo.”

He called back to the church and asked one of the deacons to handle Sunday service as he settled into Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, at a small motel that offered everything in miniature. Tiny towels, tiny bed, tiny service.

He didn’t care.

He just laid down on the small, uncomfortable single bed and stared at the ceiling.

Who in the hell was he…and why was he running?

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