SENSITIZE 9
Every morning, Mr. Cring takes a personal moment with his audience.
Today: Cring begins the discussion about the black and white bar fight
Click the picture below to see the video
Sit Down Comedy … April 17th, 2020
Jonathots Daily Blog
(4383)
“Preparing for our new normal…”
It seems to be the catch phrase of the day.
Yet hearing it sprouts questions which ping-pong in my brain.
What if I didn’t care about the old normal?
What if I found it obtuse?
What if the old normal aggravated my emotions with its continual flood of personal attacks?
What if I found myself alienated from a society that was too frightened of aliens?
What if I don’t want to return to what we had?
The braggadocio attitudes of small-minded humans being given platforms to scream their ridiculous claims and espouse horrific prejudices does not seem to be the “normal” where I can be normal.
Life, Mother Nature, science, humanity and God, himself, have granted us a time-out for our incorrigible behavior.
What should we do with it?
You should do what you deem necessary.
Me? I’m going to take a pause from the cause.
There are too many things I believe in that have sharp edges which cut and hurt other humans.
I’ve worked on it for many years, but my blades still extend.
I must take a pause from my cause.
Can I suggest to you that this is a possible alternative to meaningless repetition? For instance:
If you possess a fervent belief in God, at least admit to yourself there are times that atheism seems comforting.
My brothers and sisters who are Republicans may want smaller government and less interference, but keep in mind that the stimulus check still arrived at a sweet moment.
How about you Democrats take a pause from your guilt trip—blaming others of wealth and substance for every evil that has befallen the Earth?
And you, committed to pro-life, standing firm against abortion, must at least pause and consider what you would do if your sixteen-year-old daughter came to you with the results of a drug store pregnancy test, and her only excuse was that she was told “if you drink lots of lemon juice, you can’t get pregnant?”
Yes, God bless America, you patriots, but keep this in mind: your family does not live in a war zone, where the danger of being blown up, ravaged or murdered are a constant threat after your meager dinner is consumed.
Mr. Macho–what do you think it would be like to be pawed at and disrespected all the time, while your abilities were set to the side in deference to discussing your rack?
And my sisters may want to mull how their brothers have to battle testosterone and the urge to be overly aggressive with physical prowess.
Whether it’s black or whether it’s white, take a pause and channel the other color. If it’s yellow or it’s red, consider what it’s like to wear the skin of another.
Those who are heterosexual—do they really believe the gay community is embroiled in perversion, or, just like you and me, in search of a defining love?
Can the rich remember a time, or project in their minds, the anguish involved in being short on the rent?
And can the poor man and woman understand that not all money is inherited? Some of the green stuff is procured by “greening” a great idea–and patiently working it as it grows.
I am not ready to find a new normal.
And I am certainly unwilling to return to the old.
For before this virus, we had grown much too cynical and selfish, welcoming back into our hearts latent racism, causing us to be pious about our own ignorance.
I shall take a pause from my cause…to study my flaws.
Sit Down Comedy … September 6th, 2019
Jonathots Daily Blog
(4159)
Everyone sing along!
He’s a racist
She’s a racist
You’re a racist
I’m a racist
Wouldn’t you like to be a racist too?
Show your faces
Come be a racist
From all places
We are all racists.
Sitting on a park bench, a dog walks by, thistles stuck in its fur, dried fecal matter on its leg hair. Our reaction? “Poor puppy.” Matter of fact, we might look through our pockets to see if we might have a snack to offer the unfortunate creature.
Same day, same park.
A homeless man strolls by—dirty pants, nine-day-old growth of beard and tousled hair. We look at him and conclude, “Goddam bum.”
You see, it doesn’t matter what color we are. It isn’t as if white people don’t hate white people or black, black. Brown folks hate the various shades of beige, Asians attack Asians, and the Cherokee nation, the Navajo tribe.
It is not a color issue.
It is not a culture situation. It’s not a religious affiliation. After all, the Baptists bicker with the Baptists, the Catholics abuse their own, the Jews pull rank on one another and the Muslim terrorists kill more Muslims than Christians.
Staying with that dog example, if we were dogs, the human race would be pit bulls, adamantly insisting that the problem is not our breed, but rather, how we were trained.
Candidly, it wouldn’t matter if we finally found a way through eugenics to come up with one, single color for all Homo Sapiens. We would still commence murdering one another over eyebrows.
It may seem easier to blame it on color scheme, religion or patriotism, but we all are human racists. Allegedly, the first murder was committed by one brother on another brother.
In other words, they looked alike.
If we don’t get rid of human racism—an ironic hatred for our own beings—we will never be able to overcome the lack of similarities accomplished by evolution.
Here’s what causes human racism, if you’re interested in actually addressing it and once and for all identifying it in your being:
1. I need to be special.
Actually, you’re not, my friend—not unless you decide to do or be something special to the world around you.
2. I need to stand out.
The chances of that happening are few, and then could always be caused by your iniquity instead of your contribution to goodness.
3. I need to withhold praise just in case…
Yes, because you’re frightened that you won’t be appreciated enough, you decide to keep focus on yourself instead of valuing the gifts of others, even when their inspiration has benefitted you.
4. I need to hurt somebody.
Perhaps you prefer to do it in a civil way, using gossip or innuendo, but if necessary—if you find others completely annoying—you are willing to kill them for the cause of your country, your family or your Christ. So please, trace racism back to where it began:
Despising others because we’re dissatisfied with ourselves.
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1 Thing You Can Do This Week (To Overcome Bigotry)
DON’T LOOK FOR DIFFERENCES
We’re still living in a comical society which believes that human beings are tinted black, red, yellow and white.
It’s totally ridiculous.
The extent of the color of human skin lands somewhere between brown and cream. There may be a few people that are actually black, and scientifically it is proven that there are albinos, who are completely white. But most of us have skin color which is somewhere between brown and cream.
Based upon this philosophy of hue we have developed cultures which supposedly separate us—either by evolution or the natural design of a Creator.
This contention is not only errant, it is not only evil, it is not only appalling, but it is flat-out a crock of shit.
HUMAN HARMONY
The greatest thing you can do to create human harmony is to spend your life finding the similarities you have with all your Earthly cousins who live North, South, East and West. Stop buying into the idea that little differences in taste, clothing and mannerisms have any lasting effect on who we really are.
There is one race and always will be—the human race.
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Cracked 5 … August 21st, 2018
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3771)
Reasons Given for Not Attending Church
A. Too much gluten in the communion wafer
B. Don’t like heaven, nor favor hell
C. PEW-trification
D. Allergic to sermons
E. The choir is white–REALLY white.
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Catchy (Sitting 62) Meeting II, Three and 4…August 19th, 2018
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3769)
“I usually don’t meet with white people.”
Terrance Eldridge.
Carlin paused, considering the statement. “Well, I usually don’t meet with a racist,” he replied.
Terrance stiffened. “I’m not a racist. I wasn’t casting an aspersion on the white race. I was merely saying that usually white people don’t want to hear what I have to say.”
Carlin smiled. “Maybe if they knew you weren’t going to be reluctant to see them they might be more receptive to your words.”
Terrance leaned back in his chair, reached over and took a sip of coffee. “You see, you feel comfortable being self-righteous, my friend. That’s because you’re white. If I take a dignified position, I’m uppity. Or radical. You may not be aware, Mr. Canaby, but America works on the ‘Hue-y’ decimal system. ‘What is your color? Then we’ll place you on the appropriate shelf.'”
Carlin just shook his head. “There’s nothing new here, Mr. Eldridge. This is the same drivel that’s been shared through Malcolm X, Farrakhan and any number of urban rappers who rail against the system and present themselves as victims.”
“Not victims,” said Terrance. “Just unable to join in the game without being proclaimed a loser before it even begins.”
Carlin sighed deeply. “Well, I’m not here to argue with you. Let me just sit here as the oppressive white person in the room and listen to you rattle on for half an hour, and then deliver my report. But I’ll tell you right now–somebody’s made a mistake in choosing you for anything. You are an agitator. Yes, an agitator. You come along just to stir people up, without offering any solution. And I, as a white man, don’t have any problem telling you that you’re sand blowing in the wind.”
Terrance eyeballed him. Then he spoke slowly. “I think I like you, Canaby. I think you’re stupid. I think you have no grasp of the problem. But you speak your ignorance eloquently.”
Carlin lifted his hands in the air and replied, “Then we agree. We’re both talking asses.”
“Perhaps we should start over,” reasoned Terrance Eldridge.
For the next half hour, the black educator did his best to present a coherent message to his pale brother. Basically it was pretty simple. As long as white people were deciding what black people were, black people would be unable to make decisions for themselves. Even if the decisions made by white people were favorable–“they’re great athletes” or “no one is as strong as they are”–black people were still victims of slavery.
They are really African-Americans, Terrance pointed out. They deserved to be honored with their history one month a year. But even when such concessions are made, they are still chosen by a white committee.
Terrance explained that the black man achieved nothing by being angry at white America or at the nation in general. This just played into the hands of false patriots, who wanted to believe that equality had already been achieved, and what the black race was looking for was entitlement.
Terrance had two visions.
One was educational–huge weekend rallies held in big cities, inviting famous athletes and musicians to come and share, and to punctuate the fact that the black race, although brought to the United States under evil pretense, still owns their portion of the American dream.
The second piece involved taking the finest actors in Hollywood and making five movies–entertaining but also inspirational–about the journey of the black race in America. Each movie would take a different era, beginning with Movie One: 1750; Movie Two: 1850; Movie Three: 1950; Movie Four: 1960, Movie Five: Today.
Using the foundation of the Alex Haley series, Roots, there would be storylines connecting all the eras, to show what progress had been made and what progress still needed to be pursued. The movies would be entitled “AmeriKin” in honor of Terrance’s book.
So with the combination of the rallies and the release of the films, a new awakening could come into the black community, to seek common ground with all races in the country, to claim the space reserved and preserved solely for them.
The meeting ended up lasting an hour. Carlin listened carefully. Even though Eldridge was guilty of both erroneous opinions and overly zealous projections, Carlin could see where there would be value in having a movement among black Americans to claim their true heritage.
Terrance closed his discourse by saying, “I don’t know why you’re here, Mr. Canaby. I don’t know what this is all about. I don’t know whether you’re a spy or just a nice guy. I don’t know whether curiosity brought you here or if I’m going to walk out in the hall to say good-bye and get blown away by an assassin. So let me just say this–I will find a way to do all the things I’ve mentioned here. I will not judge whether these things will be successful until they’re accomplished. And if I’m the only black boy in America who claims his true kinship in this country, you will have one of us to deal with.”
Carlin smiled. He suddenly felt close to the dreamer. They stood to their feet. Carlin gave Terrance a hug. Terrance recoiled a bit, but reciprocated.
Carlin walked out the door, comically mentioning that there was no assassin–because they couldn’t find one on a Thursday afternoon. He headed for his car.
He had done what he was told. He had completed his mission.
What in the hell did it all mean?
*******
Jasper was freaked out.
He thought he was supposed to meet up with a comedian named Mickey Kohlberg at a comedy club. Jasper was used to comedy clubs. They were pleasant holes-in-the-wall in the middle of Downtown Somewhere.
But Jasper became unnerved when the corporate jet flew him to Tel Aviv in Israel.
Jasper did not like the Holy Land. First of all, it wasn’t very holy–more bloodshed had been perpetrated there than any place in the world. And honestly, Jasper never found it to exactly be land. There was so much contention, so much disagreement, over who owned the little strip of property, that it was difficult to believe that anybody would ever be able to put up permanent housing.
Landing in Tel Aviv, Jasper was handed an envelope by a fellow dressed in black, with no neck. He sat on the tarmac and opened it. It read: “You will be taken by car near Jerusalem, where you will meet up with Mickey Kohlberg at a location called the Sinai Club.”
That was it.
Jasper had a million questions–but the only person to ask was his driver, who only spoke Hebrew. Or was it Farsi? Jasper could not distinguish.
He decided to take a nap on the ride, and the next thing he knew he was sitting in front of a building made of cement blocks–unfinished, unpainted, resembling more a bomb shelter than a commercial venture.
Jasper climbed out of the car and a very small man with wire-frame glasses, long, black curly hair and a beard came walking up, and introduced himself as Mickey Kohlberg.
For a brief moment, Jasper was mentally and physically unable to function. He wordlessly followed Mickey inside.
He couldn’t fathom being where he was. He thought he was heading to a comedy club. What was sitting in front of him was a makeshift structure without air conditioning–without electricity–filled with small round tables and rickety wooden chairs.
Because Jasper felt so overwhelmed, he just allowed Mickey to do the talking.
“This is what we do. You may not know it, but you’re sitting on the border of a disputed territory. You go fifteen feet in one direction and you’re in Israel. Fifteen feet the other direction, you’re still in Israel–but not according to the Palestinians. They believe it’s their land. It’s a little bit hard to define who ‘they’ might be–coming from Bedouin backgrounds, they don’t exactly have a formal government or leader. They have a claim. They believe the land is theirs.”
“Every night I open up this club, put some candles on the tables, and I invite people from Israel and from Palestine to come to this structure and sit down together…and laugh. This club has been blown up five times. That’s why we keep building it in cement blocks. Makes it much easier to reconstruct.”
Mickey smiled a bit sadly. “So you may ask, how do I bring these people together? I find the only thing they really share in common is Jesus of Nazareth. He was once a prophet to the Jews and also one to the Muslims. I don’t sit here and share his teachings, but I take his teachings, his thoughts, and even parts of his life, and I turn them into comedy routines. Because I’m not making fun of Jew or Muslim, they are completely willing to laugh at Christian.”
“Now don’t misunderstand me. I am very respectful. But I do poke fun. Especially when I talk about how Americans have turned their religion into guns and bombs instead of compassion.”
Jasper held up a hand to stop Mickey. “I don’t understand,” he said. “What do you expect to achieve?”
Mickey sat for a long moment before answering.
“I believe,” he mouthed slowly, “that if we can show, even for a moment, that Palestinians and Israelis can agree on a common laugh, we might gain the world’s attention and get comics, musicians or artists from all over the world to come and sit in our little stone building and encourage the possibility of communication.”
Jasper sat very still. He realized that such an effort would require much money, a whole lot of motivation and twisting some arms.
“And what is the end game?” Jasper inserted.
“The end game?” repeated Mickey, uncertain of the meaning.
“Yes,” said Jasper. “Where does this take us? What is the next step afterwards? Where are we going?”
“I don’t know,” said Mickey. “Honestly, I just come here in the afternoons with a bunch of friends–early enough to rebuild the stones if necessary, and grateful if we don’t have to.”
“You’re a dead man walking,” observed Jasper pointedly.
Mickey welled up with tears. “There are worse ways to go,” he said. “That’s why I call is ‘Dying Laughing.'”
Jasper felt horrible for his nasty comment.
He told Mickey he would go and report what he had found and see what the people wanted to do about it. Jasper explained that he didn’t even understand why he was there.
“Just one more question,” posed Jasper. “Why do you call it the Sinai Club?”
“Mount Sinai was the last time that God spoke to my people,” Mickey answered. “I just think it’s time again.”
Mickey stood to his feet and walked out of the building, terminating the interview.
Jasper picked up a handful of the sandy floor of the club and tossed it across the room. He strolled out of the concrete bunker, hopped into the car and headed back to the Tel Aviv airport. The jet flew him to Washington, D.C., arriving ten hours later.
Coming down the steps of the jet, he found himself face-to-face with Jo-Jay, who was getting ready to board.
“Where you been?” she asked.
“Hell,” replied Jasper. “At least, the closest place to hell there is on Earth.”
He walked across the tarmac to the hangar and disappeared.
Jo-Jay shook her head and headed into the jet, waiting for them to refuel. She was on her way to Phoenix, Arizona. There she was scheduled to meet up with the young man named Careless.
She had done a lot of reading. She had a lot of stats and facts–the kind of useless information that makes interviewers feel informed, but actually does little to acquaint them with the subject.
Careless had selected his name based on the idea that if rich people were so rich that they weren’t concerned about money anymore, then they should start acting like they cared less and find ways to care more.
He was an igniter.
He felt it was his job to connect people of great finance with people who had Earth-changing ideas. He called it “the MacDonald project”–after Old MacDonald who had the farm.
In this scenario, the “farms” were worthy projects, organizations, research or efforts to quickly and efficiently impact the human race.
He envisioned a situation where he would be the conduit between those who had money and those who could use money efficiently to heal, protect, save and inspire.
He called it the E.I.O. Project.
E—eliminate
I—illuminate
O—obliterate
He was looking for people to take one of the “MacDonald farms,” a stash of cash, and in a 365-day period, either eliminate an evil or a disease, illuminate a nation or a race of people, or obliterate an injustice that exists on the planet.
Each one of these “farms” would be given fifty million dollars and at the end of a year, would be asked to account for how they used it and what effect they felt their project had achieved. There would also be a private investigating committee, which would likewise review and summarize.
If one of the “farms” was successful, the following year they would be given a hundred million dollars. If they were not, they would be replaced by a new “farm.”
Many people had been critical of Careless, contending that one year was insufficient to evaluate any effort. Careless, on the other hand, explained to his billionaire clients that too much time was spent by charities deliberating the best way to do something instead of experimenting with the next way.
It was radical.
Jo-Jay fell in love with him. Not romantically–but she believed she had found a common spirit. Even though Careless was well-versed in the subject matter, there was a simplicity and optimism in him that was infectious. She left her meeting inspired–realizing that the billion dollars he planned to raise to get the project going was chump change to the fifteen potential clients he was pursuing.
It was an interesting possibility.
Jo-Jay departed overjoyed, thinking to herself that the whole world could use such a sensation.
*******
On Thursday, at 1:15 A.M., Matthew checked himself in to the Las Vegas hospital. It had been a rough week.
Leonora had left him. He wasn’t angry at her–she had hung around for several weeks, even though his ability as a lover had diminished to nothing.
His body was taking on the pallor of a dying man.
She tried, but she was just too pink to be gray. She was too young to be around debilitation.
When she left him, he wanted to turn to the bottle, but now he felt too weak to even get drunk.
When he woke up on Wednesday morning and realized that his left leg was not moving, he knew he was in serious trouble. He spent the day crying, thinking, and even for a brief moment, tried a prayer.
But at midnight he realized it was time to call a private ambulance to pick him up and take him to the hospital.
He was only in the examination room for about an hour when the doctor appeared and confirmed the situation.
“You are in the final stages of liver failure. Your other organs are beginning to give up in sympathy. You need a transplant and you need it now. Before you ask me, I will tell you–we’re talking no more than a week. I’ve had your name pushed to the front of the list for donors. We shall have to see.”
The doctor left the room.
Everything was so still that Matthew could hear the buzzing of the flourescent bulbs.
He needed to talk to someone.
Who in the hell should he call?
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Jonathots Daily Blog 
1 Thing You Can Do to Ensure That All Persons Are Deemed Created Equal
Ignore All Attempts to Separate Us
Remind yourself that 99.9 percent of all human beings on Planet Earth share the same DNA, organs and makeup.
Culture may be interesting, but it’s really just a location. It is not something that makes us black, white, red or yellow.
Religion is just training in an attempt to find the God we eventually discover in each other.
And love is merely the absence of fear. When fear is identified and exposed for its cowardice and short-sightedness, love has a chance to breed among us.
It is perhaps the greatest realization that one can achieve during time on Earth:
WE ARE MORE THE SAME THAN DIFFERENT
So do yourself and others a big favor—and ignore all the attempts to separate us.
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- 1 Thing You Can Do This Week
on July 1, 2019 at 7:15 pm Leave a CommentTags: 1 thing you can do, black, cowardice, created equal, culture, DNA, fear, life coaching, location, love, red, religion, social commentary, white, yellow