Marilyn Manson puts on BEST SHOW EVER!!!!!!


The only thing that would have made that better would have been if paramedics had declared him dead on state, and transported him out in a bag!

Now, THAT would be some “edgy” performance-art there, folks! 🙂

What do you want to bet that this incident turns him into the worst sort of Fundie Jesus-freak imaginable?


Great song – about the (richly-deserved) consequences of idiocy:

I honestly didn’t realize how much 2013 changed me.

I mean, yeah – I knew that I fucking hated both of ‘those two, but it was more of a “subconscious” thing.  I guess, while we were still unlucky enough to live in even fairly-close proximity to  them, it was more difficult to avoid interacting with them (although, by no means impossible – given the fact that I had no contact with my “dad” for over a decade, and – for most of that time – had no idea where he lived – and for most of that time, he was basically  living on the other side of the same town where I lived, without me being aware of it.

But, as I said: 2013 changed me, mostly because I finally had the opportunity to get the fuck away from that racist, junkie fat-ass chain-smoking piece of shit, and his Enabler (my so-called “mother”).

Not getting sucked into their stupid fucking idiocy on a regular basis gave me a taste for sanity, in a way that I hadn’t really had the opportunity to experience it, before.

Then getting “guilt-tripped” into going back there in 2013 – only to get physically attacked in my own “mother’s” driveway – I was done, at that point.

The last thing that worthless fuck roared at me, was the command to “get the fuck back in the house”

The worthless fuck is dead, but I’ll be honest: If I EVER step foot within my so-called “mother’s” house again, I would feel like I was “obeying” that worthless piece of shit.

That’s never going to happen.




Search the Internet for “Adolf Hitler with dogs,” and you will find some odd little films of the Fuehrer at his alpine retreat. He looks every bit the kindly country gentleman, as he dotes lovingly on his German shepherd and watches puppies skitter around the terrace.

2016-03-23-1458738334-5016672-HitlerDogjpg.jpgTo the modern viewer, these films are disorienting. Knowing today the colossal scale of Hitler’s monstrosity, one expects it to overspill every aspect of his persona, to be horribly visible from all angles. We picture Hitler in a perpetual rage, striding about the Reich Chancellery, glowering and declaiming at henchmen. He seems the kind to kick a dog, not pet it.

But no. And it’s not just the happy afternoons in the Berchtesgaden with the dogs. Here is Hitler on the Berlin social circuit, being gushed about for his dazzling wit. There he is laying a gentle hand on a sweet pig-tailed girl, who beams back at him adoringly. The incongruity of it all is difficult to process… which makes the lesson hard to absorb.

And Hitler was hardly unique among historical figures in presenting such confusing incongruities.

Stalin composed poetry and contributed a lovely singing voice to his church choir, before going on to murder millions of his countrymen and enslave the rest.

The Shah of Iran cut a dashing figure in his finely-tailored western suits, entertaining celebrities amid strutting peacocks and flowing champagne. Meanwhile, his secret police, dressed more somberly, entertained dissidents with electrical implements and fingernail extractions.

Nero delighted his subjects by competing personally in athletic competitions and appearing on stage as an actor, when he wasn’t otherwise occupied beating his pregnant wife to death and then mutilating her replacement.

There is also a distinct sub-species of strongman-clown. Idi Amin with his overstuffed, sweat-coated comic bluster. Kim Jong-Il with his strange hair, platform shoes, and peculiar Hollywood obsessions. The first could have starred in his own sitcom, the second was the real-life inspiration for a real-life (albeit puppet-acted) comedy film. It is easy to laugh, until you remember the thuggery, hijackings, nuclear tests, and mass starvation.

All these plays against type, these incongruities, are unsettling precisely because we expect danger to be easier to spot and harder to disguise, because we want monsters to present themselves helpfully in horns and cloven feet and are surprised when sometimes they don’t.

But monsters, it seems, can be nice to children. They can be kind to animals. They can be loyal to friends. They can be comically oafish or gracefully elegant, sharp dressers and talented writers, and many other things that are “comforting,” or at least unthreatening.

They are still monsters.

That’s fuckin’-A right!

My idiot, heroin-addict half-brother loved animals. So what?

I regard compassion as proper only toward those who are innocent victims, but not toward those who are morally guilty. If one feels compassion for the victims of a concentration camp, one cannot feel it for the torturers. If one does feel compassion for the torturers, it is an act of moral treason toward the victims.

On some level, I wish there was a hell, and that my idiot, heroin-addict half-brother’s punishment was to experience an ETERNITY of THIS:


I remain unmoved


I have (stupidly) un-blocked my “mother’s” e-mails.

Louise (my “dad’s” current wife) completely agrees with me about my views on the drug-addled psychopath. However, she urged me to “be the better person”.
Quite frankly, I can’t fathom any situation where I am not *already* the “better person”, as regards the antics of those two:

First, I am better than my “mother”, in that as of 2013, I elected to discontinue all contact with either of them, rather than participate in their antics (even from what was presumably a “safe distance”, Ca. 1000 miles away).
The breaking-point (with regard to both of them) came when my “mother” decided to *lie to the police* during a wellness-check – by means of the (contradictory) claims that they had “already apologized” for the unjust accusations/physical attack, and that my wife and I had merely “taken it all out of context”.
(I am still genuinely puzzled as to what context – other than “self-made victim” – could explain any of it).

At any rate, in the e-mails, I pointed out the following facts:

1. I cut off all contact with my “father” for over ten years, with nary a pang of ‘regret” about having done so.

2. The above disconnection was a policy which BOTH my “mother” and the junkie psychopath claimed to support.

3. I refuse to particpate in my “mother’s” attempt at turd-polishing, which regard to the junkie psychopath’s antics. Now (at least judging by his obituary), she wants to pretend that he was merely a “kindhearted” person, who “loved animals” and “always wanted to help those in need”. (Riiiiiight…..his drug-dealers ‘needed’ cash, whereas He ‘needed’ heroin, etc.)

4. I refuse to attend the “memorial” for the junkie psychopath – both because I *genuinely loathed* that subhuman piece of shit, and because the aforementioned sub-animal was directly responsible for my wife and I NOT having attended Frank’s memorial service — in the aftermath of the unjust accusations/physical attack.
I refuse — *refuse* – to travel a thousand miles, merely for the purpose of *pretending* that I have anything but contempt for that fucking worthless sub-animal. I participated in decades of coverup while that thing was alive. I *refuse* to continue to doing so, now that it is dead.

5. I never gave that much of a shit about my various *other* half-siblings (the ones in Virginia).
How exactly is her special little Junkie FirstBorn any different?
I am utterly unmoved by mere consanguinity (the – purported – “ties” of “blood”).
I am also utterly impervious to any sort of bleating about the (supposed) unconditional value of “family”.

“Blood”-kinship is nothing more, less or other than a literal ACCIDENT OF BIRTH. It is NOT (or at any rate, need not be) a sentence to perpetual victimhood at the hands of victimizers who merit that status merely because most cultures have historically involved entirely unjustified and superstitious delusions about “blood”.

The only things (other than hereditary diseases) which “kin” can ever give one, are the BASIC RESPECT every human is implicitly “owed” by all other humans – “kin” and stranger alike, AND the (dubious) ‘privilege” of “inheriting” their accumulated *junk* if they die. (Financial assets have become far less of a bargaining-chip, especially since the advent of “reverse mortgages’, and suchlike.)

The amusing thing is: in all likeliihood, one’s descendants neither want – nor need – the vast majority of the detritus they’ve invested decades ass-kissing their “kin” to “inherit”:


Pretty much sums up my feelings right about now:

The truly amusing part is: my wife’s vaguely Fundie Baptist friends’ response (if I  bothered to tell any of them about the worthless junkie fuck-stain), would be to ask – as if by conditioned reflex – whether he had “accepted Christ”/gotten ‘saved” – and then go on a rampage of blithering about how “Hell is full of ‘good’ people’ (tacitly admitting that their entire “religion” has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with morality – and EVERYTHING to do with “believing” the correct DELUSIONS).

Fine – as I said, I have no “compassion” left to waste on that particular junkie sub-animal.

The world is just that much better with that fuckin’ thing gone.


I literally can only think of one genuinely “good” character-trait exhibited by the junkie asshole:

He was (genuinely) kind to animals.

That’s it.  That is literally the only thing I can think of:

His various “girlfriends” (fuck-toys?) were – amusing:

  1. Trish (I think she ended up stealing several thousand dollars from him.  Or maybe that was another woman.  All I remember is him screaming at us for hours about how we “shouldn’t have let her leave” – as if we were supposed to attempt to forcibly restrain his skank-of-the-week – even though neither mom nor I had any idea whatsoever, that the bitch had stolen money from him).

    2. Some woman (Diana?).  Her daughter was named “Angelica” (but everybody called her “Jelly’).  I remember my Mom at least pretending to think that was cute).

3. Some black woman.  The only thing I remember about *her* was that her son was named “Israel”, and Mom swore at the time that the kid bore an uncanny resemblance to the way the junkie dickhead had looked when HE was a baby (albeit, somewhat darker-complected).

I honestly never gave two liquidy shits about any of the pathetic slags he insisted on bringing around – except perhaps to wonder occasionally why in hell any woman with even the tiniest amount of self-respect would allow a morbidly-obese, racist, chain-smoking heroin-addict to fuck her – let alone on more than one occasion.)

Try as I might, I simply cannot come up with any sort of human value where that asshole is concerned.  the fact that he genuinely loved animals, and was compassionate totward THEM doesn’t change the fact that he treated pretty much every human he encountered like total shit.

Quite frankly, I’m glad the stupid fuck-stain is finally dead.  My (so-called) “Mom” spent over fifty years systematically mollycoddling the drug-addled psychopath, covering up for its antics,  “ignoring” the tantrums, physical violence, etc..

The whole thing was just so abysmally “co-dependent” and twisted that I can’t even wrap my mind around it, now.

The slimy fuck could literally do no wrong.  No amount of screaming, foot-stamping overgrown toddler toddler tantrum (usually laced with racial slurs – if it was even that coherent) could EVER persuade her to set any sort of boundaries.

Frank (her most recent husband) wanted to kick the junkie piece of shit to the curb…but that never happened.

I’m genuinely glad the fuckin’ asshole is dead.

Can’t say that I find it at all “shocking” when a morbidly-obese, chain-smoking drug-addict’s antics finally come home to roost.