What the hell is going on, folks?! Anything good? Who am I kidding? There's nothing good. Not anymore. It's July, it's fucking hot, and the world is drowning in fear and misery. I don't even know what the specific date is at the moment. Does it even matter? Probably not. It's Sunday, and I think that's all I need to know. It's Sunday, and that means it's time to gather together and pray to our archaic gods for salvation from this nightmare in which we have all found ourselves. But these gods aren't listening, because they don't exist. Nobody's gonna save us, so we have to save ourselves.
I really don't want to be so negative on this blog, but these past few months have made it almost impossible to be positive about anything at all. The rest of the world is beginning to move on from this goddamned virus, but the USA chose to take a different course and just steer right into the oncoming horror and let it wash over us in the hopes that it would just somehow go away, which of course is utter madness, but that's our federal government in a nutshell.
States are mandating mask-wearing all over the country in an effort to slow the spread of this fucking plague, but there are too many Karens and Chads with the best brains out there who think that wearing a mask is either a sign of supreme weakness, or it's a massive conspiracy to strip us of our precious freedoms and/or somehow spread COVID-19 because the metal nose pieces in a lot of these masks are actually 5G antennas that transmit the virus through the air over cellular phone signals, which is all very sane and not at all the ramblings of a madman.
Real Americans don't wear masks, goddammit! They attend "COVID parties" that intentionally spread the virus in an effort to achieve herd immunity, which may not even be possible, and when they wind up in the hospital, dying alone in the ICU because they're quarantined and their loved ones can't visit to comfort them in their final moments, maybe as their organs shut down and their consciousness slowly fades into an unending darkness, they might privately admit to themselves that attending that "COVID party" was a mistake and that the scientists might have been right about wearing masks. But I wouldn't count on it.
I don't want myself or my family to become a statistic. I wear a mask when I leave the house. I have for months. I don't touch my face. I wash my hands. I disinfect groceries and the mail. I try to stay the hell away from everybody else when I'm in public. I am taking every precaution I can think of to keep myself and my family safe from this virus. But I'm terrified that we'll still get it, that these precautions won't be enough and in a week or so I'll be in that ICU with a tube down my throat, waiting to die alone because nobody can visit me. That fear weighs on my every moment of every day. Do I have a sore throat? Am I running a fever? Am I contagious and I don't even know it? Is it me? Am I going to spread this disease to my family because I won't even know I'm sick until it's too late?
This fear and paranoia is slowly eating away at me. Nobody is supposed to exist in such a state for so long. We can't keep this up forever. Something's gotta give eventually. How long can this last before the responsible people start falling apart? None of this had to happen. We didn't have to live like this. This sword of Damocles didn't have to be swinging over our heads. But the people in charge didn't want to take charge and instead they jammed their heads in the sand and told everybody that the virus would just go away and we had nothing to worry about, despite all the warnings from actual experts who insisted that this situation would only deteriorate if we tried to ignore it, and look at where we are today. Over 130,000 dead and counting. And it's getting worse every single day.
That's blood on the hands of this corrupt, incompetent president and his entire administration. This stain will remain forever. Nothing can wash it away.
Just go golfing again and your henchmen can tell you that you're doing a bang-up job because you're the best president who ever lived, and ignore the cries for help, the cries for justice, for mercy just outside the gates. And when the sun goes down you can lay your empty head on your big, fluffy pillow (the biggest, fluffiest pillow around, because it's nothing but the best for you) and sleep soundly because you don't care about anyone or anything but yourself. Let it all burn. What do you care? You've already got everything you want, after all. You inherited a fortune from your monster of a father and spent your entire adult life failing upward. You've made everything you've ever touched worse for your attention, but you've never had to face the consequences of your actions. Because you're rich, and you're powerful, and fuck everybody else.
That's where we are right now. Our president is the absolute scum of the earth, one of the worst human beings alive, and he's happily driving this country right off a fucking cliff, and there are far too many ill-informed bigots among us who still think he's doing a fantastic job because driving off that cliff will really own the libs, never mind the fact that they're coming right along with the rest of us. We're all going to burn together, except for the ones in charge, the ones with the money and the power. They'll bail out at the last minute and leave us regular people to our grisly fate, then they'll just keep playing golf and sipping martinis in the wasteland resorts, protected from the apocalypse outside by their high walls and their obscene privilege.
That's about it, I guess. Just more misery and rage, building up over a period of weeks and months until... I don't know. Maybe I'll have a nervous breakdown, then the nice doctors will just keep me tranquilized in a quiet room somewhere for the rest of my life while the world breaks down outside my little window. Have I bummed you out enough? Did you just give up a few paragraphs up and click away to something else on the internet, something more fun or uplifting? I wouldn't blame you for that. It's just so damned difficult to be optimistic in this day and age. I wonder why.
But fuck all that gloomy shit, because it's time for the latest episodes of everybody's favorite fucking podcast that nobody listens to! That's right, kids! It's Trappo's Chap House time! Our first episode this week, Where The Cat's Straight Tremor Is, is kind of all over the place. It starts out with me writing a letter to Roger Corman for some reason, then myself and Ky just talk about some movies we watched when we were younger. Then Ky's mushy brain confuses the plots of two of these movies and combines them into one, because that's just how Ky rolls.
Up next, Glenn Danzig's All-Nude Musical Revue is... well, the title should be sufficient, but if it isn't, it's about the life and career of Glenn Danzig, that weird guy who's been making music for over forty years that most polite people have kindly ignored, who has just branched out into the world of feature filmmaking with his anthology film Verotika, which is just terrible in all the right ways. I, being a big fan of Mr. Danzig's work for most of my life, choose this opportunity to ponder the mystery and reappraise my Glenn Danzig fandom.
It's a whole heap of fun and I hope you enjoy it, but really I don't care if you enjoy it or not because I've become so numbed to everything over this past year that I don't feel much of anything anymore, so enjoy the bullshit posted below at your peril.
Chapter 15: Where The Cat's Straight Tremor Is
Chapter 16: Glenn Danzig's All-Nude Musical Revue!
That's it for this week, friends. I'm going to try not to be such a pessimistic boor next week, which might be difficult, since I also have something special in store for next week's post. Something really special. It will remain a surprise for now, but I assure you that you will be disappointed. That's a promise I can keep! Man, I am really abusing the italics today. I think that means I should just wrap things up. So... until next week, I guess. Try to stay alive, and don't punch any small children in their faces.
Later, gators!
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