Slaves, Sex & Otherwise

I sometimes wonder if the human character is one of possession in the form of subjugation, and abuse. Yeah, I get it, there’s a lot of good people fighting the fight, but no where near close to enough, and that I struggle with. Seems to me, slavery, sexual and otherwise is a global issue, and that humanity is losing the battle.

What the fuck is up with that?

1. The Trafficking Of Women & Children Is The World’s Fastest Growing Crime

2. There Are An Estimated 24.9 Million People Trapped In Forced Labor Via Human Trafficking Worldwide

3. The Majority Of Victims Are Women & Girls

4. More Than 50 Percent Of Trafficking Victims Are Sexually Exploited

5. In Fact, The Most Common Form Of Human Trafficking Is Sexual Exploitation

6. While The Majority Of Sex Trafficking Victims Are Female, Men Are Also Victims

7. Traffickers Can Be Women, Too

8. Sex Trafficking Is Happening In The US

9. The Number Of Human Trafficking Victims In The US Could Be On The Rise

10. One Hotline Received More Than 6,000 Reports Of Sex Trafficking In 2017

11. A Majority Of Those Sex Trafficking Cases Concerned Escort Services

12. You Can Be A Victim Of Sex & Labor Trafficking

13. Prosecution Rates Remain Alarmingly Low

Source

www.robpaxton.me

TrumpCare, Ain’t Health Care

So Donald has reversed his previous thoughts on ObamaCare and now wants to abolish it, completely. Including the parts about not being penalized for having a preexisting condition, or keeping your kids on your plan until they’re 26. Just to backtrack for a minute, I never was in on mandating people to buy into health insurance, I never understood that. But overall, ObamaCare has been a good thing. The deciding factor in supporting the ACA, was simple. Politicians argued, and argued, all my life and never accomplished a damn thing to help people out when it came to healthcare. At least Obama did more than argue! Sure, the ACA’s not perfect, but it was a step in the right direction, something to build and refine on. And now, Donald just wants to wipe it away, like it never existed. I got
ta ask, where’s his healthcare plan? Are we going back to the stone age, where the healthcare industry fucked us every time we walked into our doctors office? My advice, Don, keep the good shit, and build on it, make it better, but you won’t take my advice, because your ego is in the way, and healthcare to you, isn’t about me, as much as it’s all about you.

Stone’s Sink

I don’t care much for Roger Stone, the political dirty trickster who just got his mouth clamped shut by a Judge, for what amounted to being an asshole. Most of Rogers life has been lived as an asshole, probably because  Roger is, well, an asshole. At least a political asshole. I don’t know what he’s like as a real person, outside the political trickster persona, but I’m guessing, the two are pretty much the same. Rogers history of fucking the American people dates way back to Nixon, and interestingly, his friendship with Paul Manafort goes back just as far. My problem with people like Stone, is his view of the world, that it’s his personal playground, that there’s a total lack of accountability, and/or responsibility, to everyone and everybody, yet his expectation is that you, bow before him. If asked, he’d disagree, touting his loyalty to Nixon, and Trump, which pretty much says it all about Roger Stone. All men with big egos, men who think they have big dicks, men who think they are beyond the law, until suddenly, they’re not. Suddenly, they are little men, with little dicks, and shallow egos.

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Brown Fingernails & Stinky Fingers

Not everybody washes their hands, not everybody bathes. Some people carry a toothbrush everywhere they go. People do their hygiene different, and I’m fine with that. I’m even better when some guy goes on national television and says he hasn’t washed his

hands in a decade because he doesn’t believe in germs, because he can’t see them. Now, there’s a couple of things here, first, I’ll never shake hands with a guy who has never washed his hands after taking a shit, cuz sometimes, your hands don’t come out glistening clean. Second, I believe it’s a good idea that you voice your hygiene protocol on national television, it’s a good way to cull idiots from the ranks of the sensible, and third, I’m guessing a lot of people never see God, but their faith is unshakable. So in review, we all agree hand washing is a good idea, it’s fine if you don’t want to indulge, but let the rest of us know, and God ain’t unlocking the pearly gates for those with brown fingernails and stinky fingers.

The Mall Watchers

‘People, too damn many of ‘em’ he was thinking, turning the corner and at the same time straining to see through and over the hundreds who coagulated the wide concourse. Hesitating in his walk, he kept to the edges of the crowd, and dwelled on a small group of kids who were gathered around a bench. The muffled giggles and  high pitched squeals enhanced their strutting, preening and prancing, evidence that the young still held their youth in high regard.

One stood out. A slight young man topped with dark long hair over soft, angelic features. His right knee shredded with tendrils of string in disarray, and just above a red bandana was wrapped and knotted tight. A mark of who he was. The man winced, knowing they would meet again, sooner than both would like.

But not now. Now there was another and he turned his attention back to navigating the crowd and noted his own reflection in a store window. Turning away, he let his eyes wander, positioning his gaze to float amid the crowd and the countless vendors that populated the center of the mall concourse. Still moving slowly, he knew they were here. In fact, in all his years, he had only been mistaken once, and that was long ago and another story.

A corner of his lip turned up softly when he found them setting on a wood slatted bench. A passing surge of the crowd obliterated his view for a moment and then subsided. ‘Only need one today,’ and he made a conscience decision to take his time. He had the time.

“Wanna go get a coffee?” one asked

“No, had too much already, feeling like I’m gonna be peeing all damn day with my balder the way it is an’ all.”

“What, you’re going to end up like ol’ Voss and piss your pants all the time?”

“That ain’t what I said.”

The first man chuckled, letting his eyes dance in the reflection of a private joke.

The friend noted the look and with a finger splotched with age, nudged his black rimmed glasses up his nose where they would fail to stay. He was irritated this morning. Not at anything in particular, then again, maybe at everything.  He  thought it was somewhat funny, in an absurd sense, his agitation. Absurd because he knew there was nothing at the moment to be ticked about, but he was, and because of that, he actually was making an effort to control it. Controlling his agitation seemed to get harder as the morning along.

“Look at that, Alf,” was partnered with a gentle elbow jabbed against his, “Good God almighty,”

“Aw, wipe that spittle of a smile of your face Pete, she’s just a little girl.” And Alf’s disgust was evident in the tone, aimed more at his aches and pains than Pete’s.

“Little girl my ass, she’s at least 45, maybe even near 50.”

“No damn difference cuz you couldn’t get it up if ya wanted to, could ya? When’s the last time Pete?  With Aggie?”

Pete’s breath fell away. Letting the woman fade away into the moving crowd of color and chaos. Pausing for just the briefest of moments, he then reached into his back pocket and pulled a hanky to wipe his brow.

“What the hell you have to say that for?”

Alf didn’t have an answer and shifted his body uncomfortably,  just a bit away. Unsure why he had mentioned Aggie, her name bought memories abounding in his mind. Memories of a life lived, his life, her life, together, the good and the bad. Seventy years of too much heartbreak and he tossed those aside thinking of the good. “Dunno Pete,  Guess I’m sorry.”  And it seemed to both men, the sentiment was more of an exasperated sigh than an actual apology.

“Look at all these people, Pete,” Alf found he needed to pause, to gather thoughts, “how many of ‘em are going to end up like us, two old friggin’ codgers with nothing to do but set on a bench and watch everybody else. Kinda seems stupid, don’t it? I mean don’t it bother you that we got nothing better to do, like we lived all our lives to end up here.” And he found himself staring at Pete, knowing there’d be no answer. Pulling his own hanky, he coughed and covered his mouth, expelling a fair amount  of phlegm into the material which he then folded over onto itself and placed back into his own pocket.

“Got too damn much of this crap in my chest that just won’t go away.” Alf was saying, clearing his throat as he noticed that Pete had slide closer to him on the bench. “What the fu..” Alf intentionally halted his curse as he noticed a man had sat on the opposite end of his bench, making for a crowded threesome. Wrapping his hand around his cane which had been immobile between his legs, Alf tapped it’s rubber tip  on the glossy Terrazzo floor, leaned over to Pete, and whispered in his ear, “Why don’t you tell our friend to go away.”

Pete answered with a stare he understood as ‘shut up and don’t embarrass us’. He understood the stare as he had seen it countless times over the years, and in fact had used it often himself. Alf floated out a ‘wimp’ under his breath.

“Excuse me, am I bothering the two of you?”  the man asked, leaning just ever so slightly forward, and tilting his head told the two men.

Alf too leaned forward, balancing his weight on his old cane, and rolled his tongue, through a fair amount of phlegm, against the inside of his cheek, held it there for a minute, contemplating, than spat out, “Well, matter of fact, you are!”. Glancing at Pete, Alf’s aggravation ticked up a bit when he saw his friends sigh and roll his eyes, and then added, “We were discussing sumthing, sumthing private.”

Pete glanced sideways toward Alf, who relished in his embarrassment, and started to utter, “We weren’t talking ’bout nothing”, when the man interrupted.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” and then leaned back against the open slats of the bench.

Alf watched, thinking he had made his point when the man rested his back instead of moving, and noticed a smile, a smart alec ass smile cross his face.

“Shi…” Alf hissed, not caring who heard when Pete interrupted his curse with a “lets go get some coffee.” as Alf shook his head from side to side in disgust at the mans intrusion.

“Don’t want no damn coffee.” came full on the back of irritability.

“Too much coffees not good for you.” the stranger said as he loosened his smart ass smile yet stared straight ahead watching a hundred pairs of legs carrying their masters to and fro, back and forth, all going someplace. “Did you know that, Pete?

Seeing an opening for a portion of cordiality, Pete hoped for a parcel of an apology for Alf’s abrasiveness. He had formed the first word on his lips when it hit him, struck him broadside that the stranger used his name and it showed on the quizzical look which formed on his features.

The man looked ahead, still watching, when he abruptly and silently swung  his head over his left shoulder, to stare directly at Pete.

“Don’t be so taken aback, Peter. I know most every ones name.” His breath was soft and cool as it fell against the Peters cragged and dry face, “In fact, I’d be hard pressed to remember a name I’ve ever forgotten.”was heard with a chuckle as Pete turned to look towards Alf, who had remained silent while twirling the crook of his cane between forefinger and thumb of one hand.

Now he squinted in new found curiosity and stared at the intruder, studying him and then with his cup filled filled of question ans attack, asked simply, “You going to a funeral, Mister?”

The sounds of a thousand footsteps slapped against hard polished floor and voices drifted in murmurs towards the high ceiling where the sun outlined the grids of a large skylight which those thousand pairs of feet walked over and through with never a thought to disturb their form.

“No funeral, not today Alfred.” His dark pupils dancing in a bright ocean of white served to bait Alf’s growing attention, holding it briefly, before Alf asked his next question, “How’s Aggie doing?”

Pete winced in the stupidity of his friends question, wondering what in the world possessed him to ask such a question such as that.

“Alfred…” was a sigh of expression on the mans part, “I don’t have the time to concern myself with how every one is doing. Too much work to do, you know.”

Pete arced an eyebrow as he turned to Alf who remained concentrating on the stranger.

 “Somebody tell me what the two of you are are talking about, please?”

Alf was reluctant to turn his thoughts from the man, not daring, not trusting to take his eyes away, but he did so, haltingly, slowly glancing over toward Pete as he spoke. “He’s here for one of us Pete, or maybe both of us…”

“What the hell are you mumbling…” Pete stuttered  but couldn’t finish as Alf cut him short. “Don’t be so god damn assisine, Pete. Look cross the walk to our reflections in the glass. You see him setting on the bench with us in that friggin’ glass? See ya self, dont’cha, see me dont’cha, but ya don’t see him, do ya?”

“Oh for the love of mercy Alf, your minds finally gone, twisted ’round and fell out your big ears. You stop to think the mans dressed in black and might not reflect in the glass like we are?”

Pete had spoke with an air of his own irritability and yet even as he had done so, stole a cursory glance at the window.

“Let me tell ya something else then, you idiot. Last thing Aggie saw was a man dressed in black calling her name. I heard her say it, said he was standing just side her bed, holding her hand. You Gonna hold my hand Mister?”

“Alfred, I wouldn’t hold your hand if I had to pull you along with me, even if you were kicking and screaming.”

Pete stared at the man, unsure of what to say much less of what to believe. “Is what Alf’s saying, true?” was all that came cross his mind, and as he spoke, his words were soft, gentle.

The man started ahead, through the world which walked past him him and answered Pete’s question with a nod that was nothing more than a bounce of his head.

“Why?”

“Because it’ the ways things work. Not my idea Peter.”

“So who ya here for, me?” Alfs words were sharp, “Cuz if ya are, I ain’t ready to go just yet.”

“I understand that Alf, but just for my own curiosity, if I were here for you, what would you do?”

In a single strong beat of his heart, Alf grasped his cane, bringing it up, off the floor and then laid it back down with a loud ‘thack’, which reverberated and caused the walkers to glance their way in a nervous fashions.

“That’s what I’d do first, rap ya ‘cross your head a good one and then mebbe do it ‘gin just for the hell of it.”

“I believe you would old man and I dread the day we meet again,” then switching his focus, “and how about you Peter.”

He had listened to the two of them as he stared at his own shoes. Bringing his eyes up to Alf, Pete ran an old hand thru sparse white tuffs of hair which still sprouted like over grown weeds.

“It’s me he wants, Alf.”

Alf heard the weakness in his friends voice, the surrender which was already there and answered it the best way he could.

“Don’t have to go with him, you know that, don’t you?”

“Peter does have to come with me, Alfred, it is his time.”

Peter’s left arm tweaked with what he thought to be a muscle cramp but knew better as he raised a palm to massage his shoulder.

“This isn’t going to hurt, is it?”

“Just a bit Peter, only at first.”

“Wait a minute here,” Alf was frustrated, “You can’t be going just like that and leave me here.”

Peters cramp worked its way up the length of his arm, spreading out over his chest, gripping his heart, and he winced out the next words in pain, and trying to ignore the pain.

“I’m sorry about everything Alf, I mean Aggie and all.”

Alfs eyes had grown red, puffy as he watched this man whom he had known since childhood place an open palm against is chest and close his eyes.

“Ain’t nuthin’ to worry about Pete. It was long ago an’ nothing but a part of livin…’, wasn’t it? He asked of a man that was no longer there.

“Pete” came as a low shrilled cry as his friend took his last breath while Alf wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

Pete hurried to catch up to the man who threatened to disappear into the crowd. Matching his step, he glanced over his shoulder where he caught Alf with his head hung low, his cane lying on the floor and he heard him crying as they turned the corner.

End.

Life as a Lie

There is an inherent need in all of us to be loved, to be acknowledged. For most of us, having that love and acknowledgment flow from our families and friends is enough. For others, families and 

friends just ain’t enough, you need the whole frickin’ world to bow down at your feet, even if you ain’t worthy. If you lack a sense of ethical scruples and moral fortitude, it’s actually kind of easy to do in todays reality. I’m not judging Jered Threatin for creating a godzillion million different social media accounts, or buying a bizillion likes, hearts and followers to create a wold famous person the world has never heard of, after all, his band got a European tour out of the foolishness. But then nobody showed up to hear his tunes, and now he’s world renown for the scam. As a struggling Youtuber myself, I’ve been tempted to go the dark route, but I’m actually fine with the love my three fans and family throw my way.

I write here as well

God Forbid, Bob Lazar Lives

God Forbid, Bob Lazar Lives

and I’ll be watching the upcoming documentary, Bob Lazar: Area 51 and Flying Saucers. Why? Simply because the guy has a damn interesting story, and he’s been awfully quiet the last twenty years or so. Hell, I thought he’d died or something, thinking perhaps he even got abducted, but not by aliens. I can slice a cake, and all the pieces ain’t the same size, and when it comes to cover ups, conspiracies and general weirdness, Bob gets a pretty good sized piece of that cake, because when the government claims ol’ Bob never did top secret shit for them, ‘ol Bob manages to prove them wrong with certifiable evidence that makes me eek out a wtf. I don’t know what the truth is when it comes to Bob Lazars tale, but there’s certainly a lot of breadcrumbs there to lead one along their way to whatever truth one wants to find.