Thirteen Years of Rudeness: Whiskey, Sodomy, and a Little Cash

Today marks 13 goddamn years since I started writing this fuckin' blog. That's like 150 in human years. And paying attention to the ins and outs of politics and the political media has probably aged me into something like a corpse propped in a chair in a room in an abandoned mental institution for a few decades, still holding a bottle of decent bourbon.

If someone were to ask if I've learned anything in all this time, let me distill it to a couple of bullet points:

1. Everything gets worse in proportion to everything getting better. When you think that politics can't get any meaner or stupider, there is always a Trump or a Tea Party around the corner, ready to prove you wrong. And when you think humanity is bottoming out with cruelty and apathy, there is always a Supreme Court decision or breathtaking act of generosity or intelligence that makes you think that the asteroid ought to hold off for another day before ripping through the planet.

2. You can always come up with a new sodomy joke. If you can't come up with a new one, you need to participate in more sodomy.

3. Language changes as society changes, and you're a stubborn asshole if you don't change with it. And it's always better to be a dick than an asshole.

4. I honestly never thought I'd be doing this for 13 years. I don't know how much more I've got to say after roughly 8 billion words about the fuckery that infects our ability to make this a more tolerable nation. But every time I think, "Fuck it. I got nothing," well, there's always something. Or I need to participate in more sodomy.

5. I have never regretted never turning on the comments on the blog. You wanna say something, you can do it on Twitter or over on the handy Facebook page, where your anonymity can go fuck itself and where dialogue runs wild and free with very few threats of violence and no goddamn cartoon frogs.

6. Rude readers are awesome.

7. You're stuck with me for the time being. We're all in this shit swamp together. And then we can all share our bread and taco bowls when we're sent to the Trump reeducation camps come 2017.

Note: I'm not doing a fundraiser this year because I'm not needy right now. But I wouldn't be so cruel as to stop you from dropping a nickel or two in the PayPal tip jar over on the side there.

Back later with less navel-gazing rudeness.