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TRUMP’S MANDATE FROM HEAVEN

Cartoon used by permission: 230565_600 Rick McKee CagleCartoons com

(Satire from the desk of E. Tomczyk)

HEAVEN (Other Worldly Times-Tribune)—yesterday, an editorial in the Courts of the King Gazette took much of the Universe by surprise.  The editorial—believed to be penned by God himself—was a confession from God that he did, indeed, allow Pat Robertson to be deluded by the thought that The Donald had a “mandate from heaven” to be President of the United States as was declared by the “good” Reverend the other day on the Christian Broadcasting Network:

“I believe … the president of the United States is in danger of losing the mandate of heaven if he permits this (the withdrawal of US troops embedded with the Turks) to happen…“The president, who allowed Khashoggi to be cut into pieces without any repercussions whatsoever, is now allowing the Christians and the Kurds to be massacred by the Turks…”

HOWEVER, according to unnamed sources in the King’s court, it seems God’s definition of a “mandate of heaven” does not mean the same thing as the false prophet Robertson thinks it means.  Consequently, I’ve been told by sources close to him that the God of Heaven is pissed that Robertson has put words in his mouth—yet again.

Internet Meme: Creator unknown

St. Peter, Heaven’s Gate Keeper, was most happy to set the record straight about the origin of the phrase “Mandate from Heaven.”

“The Mandate of Heaven, also known as ‘Tianming,’ is a Chinese philosophy from the era of 481/403 BCE – 221 BCE,” said St. Peter.  “Mark Cartright from The Ancient History Encyclopedia describes Tianming to be:

‘The ancient god or divine force known as Heaven or Sky had selected this particular individual to rule on its behalf on earth. An important element of the mandate was that although the ruler had been given great power he also had a moral obligation to use it for the good of his people, if he did not then his state would suffer terrible disasters and he would lose the right to govern.’  

“It has been co-opted by the likes of Robertson to underscore their prejudicial political crowning of various White male politicians,” said St. Peter.  “It did not escape Heaven’s gaze when one of our favorite sons, Barack Obama, became President of the United States and Mr. Robertson and every White Right-wing Conservative minister withheld said title from him,” remarked St. Peter.  “They called him everything but a child of God and would have deemed it blasphemy to ‘anoint’ him with the so-called ‘mandate of heaven.’  And I very much doubt that the title will be applied to any of the women running for President or our delightful Mayor Pete.”

Cartoon used by permission: 229007_600 Adam Zyglis The Buffalo News NY

“There are those who believe a joke has been played on Rev. Robertson, but he is not in on it,” said an unnamed source who has direct access to God.  “There is a ‘mandate of heaven’ on The Donald all right, but his mandate (unbeknownst to him or Robertson and his ilk) is not so he’ll be a great leader or win the Nobel Peace Prize as he thinks. Trump’s mandate is to carry on in his true unrepentant nature so that he crashes and burns and brings down the Right-wing Evangelical churches and groups with him who so stubbornly support a diabolical creature in the name of God in the quest for their own lust of power and greed. Trump is a Trojan horse, so to speak, and by the time he finishes as the wrecking ball he is wont to be (pardon the mixed metaphors), hopefully enough of his Evangelical supporters’ eyes will be opened to the truth to course-correct that wing of Christendom or it will be thrown out onto the trash heap of history.”

Cartoon used by permission: 224200_600 Pat Bagley The Salt Lake Tribune UT

Another source from the inner circle, who also asked not to be named, said that she believes “God wants to expose the duplicity and hypocrisy in the Christian church in such a revelatory way that he has purposely given the Right-wing Christian leaders enough blind self-righteous rope to hang themselves.” By the time they realize how far they’ve gone out on the gangplank for Trump (once again, pardon the mixed metaphors!), the Church as they know it to be will have no moral authority left in the land and will have to start from scratch emulating the character of Christ if they want to have any credibility. When I asked my unnamed source if she thought the destruction of the Right-wing Evangelical Church was a bit harsh, she replied:  “Not in the least.  Everybody talking about Heaven ain’t goin’ there, as the old gospel song says.  Better they find out here that they royally screwed up rather than on their death beds.  Waking up (before it is too late) to discover that you’ve placed the mandate of heaven on a demon from Hell and you can’t do anything about it would be…well—hell.”

Cartoon used by permission: 228948_600 Milt Priggee Oak Harbor WA

Yesterday, the Other Worldly Times-Tribune received a photo of a wanted poster in an unmarked envelope.  The caption under the photo said, “A special place in Hell awaits this dude once he has finished his journey on Earth.  If you have any incriminating evidence on one Donald J. Trump (masquerading as the President of the United States), please contact 1-666-GOTOHELL.”

WANTED IN HELL:  DONALD J. TRUMP

Calls himself “The Chosen One” and according to Pat Robertson has the Mandate from Heaven on his life. He is over six-feet tall and morbidly obese.  Trump is believed to be mentally ill and is armed with arrogance, and is considered dangerous.  He has been heard to boast that he could shoot someone on 5th Avenue and get away with it.  He’s just what the Devil is looking for.

KNOWN CHARACTERISTICS

Bragged about grabbing women by the kitty

Rabid adulterer

Lying (told 12,019 false or misleading claims over 928 days)

               Hubris (claims to have great and unmatched wisdom)

Lusting after his own daughter

Sold his soul for money, power, and fame years ago

Guilty of heartlessly wanting to stock moats with alligators and snakes at southern border

Guilty of ripping children from the parents of asylum seekers causing irreparable emotional damage

Guilty of wanting to shoot illegal immigrants in the legs

Betrayed the Kurds for Two Trump Towers in Istanbul

Turned a blind eye to the Kurds being massacred

Turned his back on climate change

Coddles White Supremacists

Sucks up to autocrats and demagogues

Boasts of shooting someone on 5th avenue and getting away with it

Cartoon used by permission: 230535_600 Dave Whamond Canada, PoliticalCartoons com

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Eleanor Tomczyk is an author and a humorist who is an award-winning voice-over performer.  In 2011, she created the blog, “How the Hell Did I End Up Here” which features mostly satirical posts that have thousands of readers around the world—although she was recently banned in Pakistan (for real!).  Tomczyk’s three books were featured in a recent book festival:  “Monsters’ Throwdown,” “Fleeing Oz,” and “The Fetus Chronicles—Podcasts to my Miseducated Self.”  Currently in her 70s and living life like it is freakin’ golden, she is a consummate storyteller and much sought-after motivational speaker.  If you don’t believe me, just ask her!

Cartoon used by permission: 228914_600 Pat Bagley The Salt Lake Tribune UT

REFERENCES

https://www.washingtonpost.com/religion/2019/10/08/trump-danger-losing-mandate-heaven-over-syria-decision-pat-robertson-warns/

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on October 10, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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THE NATIONAL ANTHEM OF SEPTEMBER 11, 2001

I have been a part of more tragedies than I care to count—some small, some large—and the days on which they occurred all started out the same way:  normal and somewhat benign.

Eighteen years ago, I went to the dentist to get x-rays, a couple of fillings, and my teeth cleaned.  I hate all dentists and they don’t like me.  They hurt. I scream.  They tell me to open wide and not act like such a baby, and I frantically look for a sharp dental instrument to stab them in the face.  Which is why I always go to the dentist the first thing in the morning.  I try to make the visit as routine as possible in an effort to experience the situation as less of a personal tragedy and more of an ordinary event.

Ordinary may have birthed the sunrise of Tuesday, September 11, 2001, but a tragedy would eclipse it almost immediately.  By the time the dentist took x-rays and cleaned my teeth, the radio in the office, which usually played Smooth Jazz, would interrupt its programming to let us know that an airplane had hit the North Tower of the World Trade Center killing all 92 people on board and countless others in the building.  The North Tower would stand another 102 minutes and then collapse in on itself killing scores of other precious souls.  At first, we all thought it was an accident. No one in the dentist office could fathom that a national tragedy was unfolding on an ordinary day of fillings and teeth cleanings.

Cartoon used by permission: 229523_600 9 11 Milt Priggee, Oak Harbor, WA

I left the dentist office and arrived home in time enough to turn on CNN and see the second plane (United Flight #175) crash into the South Tower of the World Trade Center.  Within another thirty minutes American Airlines Flight #77 would crash into the western facade of the Pentagon in the region where I lived and in the city where my husband worked.

On ordinary days, landlines and cell phones usually work just fine.  But not on September 11, 2001 when you live near Washington, DC—neither cell nor landlines worked.  I don’t know if they were purposely jammed by the Feds (by that time, we all suspected these were terrorist attacks) or if the circuits were simply overloaded as loved ones tried to find each other.  I couldn’t locate my husband who worked in the city, and I could only locate one of my children.  By the time the hijackers purposely crashed United Flight #93 into a field in Stoneycreek Township near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, nobody I knew would ever think of September 11th as just an ordinary day.  I, along with the rest of the world, would later learn of the heroic men who tried to take out the terrorists on Flight 93 right before Vice President Dick Cheney planned to order our Air Force to shoot down the civilian plane since it was estimated that the plane was headed toward the White House or the Capital building.  Four coordinated terrorist attacks carried out by al-Qaeda would kill more than 3,000 people, injure over 6,000 and additionally cause cancer and respiratory diseases to the survivors and first responders for years to come.

Cartoon used by permission: 168695_600 Bob Englehart, PoliticalCartoons.com

I would finally find my husband, locate my kids, and help executives and co-workers in my company return to their families from various far-flung places in the country via coveted rental cars charging premium prices as people drove nonstop to get home just to hug their loved ones.  When the phones finally worked, I called everyone I knew in DC and in NYC to see if they knew of anyone who had perished on that horrendous day.  One of my children would carry the shared grief of a child in her class whose father was killed in the Pentagon.  Years later a mother I met would tearfully express the heavy relief of finally locating two of her grown daughters who worked in the Towers and commuted together.  They were late to work that infamous day because the “ordinary” had happened:  one of the sisters was late which delayed their arrival to their jobs.  They never entered the Towers, and a mother was spared an unimaginable loss.

Cartoon used by permission: 215459_600 Dave Granlund. PoliticalCartoons.com

But so many things are starting to fade—especially in the age of Donald Trump and the hatred and chaos he has stirred up.  One of the things I remember most after 9/11 happened is how one couldn’t find a United States flag to purchase—especially in NYC.  As soon as any store got a shipment of flags, they would be gobbled up by Americans who wanted to feel connected to each other under a common umbrella of unity—the American flag.  We had suffered a horrendous national tragedy, and we all began to sing a national anthem of loss, unity, courage, and brotherly love.

Cartoon used by permission: 92501_600 Taylor Jones, Hoover Digest

The leaders of New York City begged Americans to visit its post 9/11 ghost-town of a city to prove to the terrorists that they had not broken NYC.  We were encouraged to come back to Broadway and fill the vacant playhouses, eat in their restaurants, and pay our respect at Ground Zero. 

And that is what my husband and I did.  I didn’t have the courage to visit Ground Zero—not just yet, but I did take in a couple of Broadway shows, stayed in a fancy hotel in Manhattan, went shopping, and ate in several restaurants.  To a person, NYC had dropped its hard facade and everyone greeted us with exuberant hugs and thankful handshakes for coming back to the city they loved—everyone from bellboys to waiters to actors to cab drivers.  (I lived in NYC thirty years before 9/11, and I don’t think one person ever spoke to me unsolicited during the entire year I resided there, and I certainly never got any hugs.)  But during that time period in NYC after 9/11, every man, woman, and child seemed to count each other as kin because the blood of thousands of lost lives formed the tune of a shared mourning.  In fact, I’ll never forget walking back to our hotel in my bare feet from a Broadway show because my new shoes were killing me, and a stretch limo driver pulled over to the curb and asked if he could take us to where we needed to go—for free!

However, it’s been 18 years now, and I’ve lost that tangible brotherly love feeling that I had post 9/11.

Cartoon used by permission: 55203_600 Parker, Florida Today

Recently, when I first noticed that the song of unity learned from 9/11 was beginning to fade from my soul, I went back to NYC to visit—this time to pay my respects at Ground Zero. (No one hugged me this time, no free limo rides, and New York City had returned to its dismissive, pushy, irascible self as was expressed by the rudeness of the cab driver who got lost and didn’t give a shit.)  By the time I pushed and plodded my way through the crowds to Ground Zero, I didn’t have a shred of brotherly love left in me.  But as I visited the 9/11 museum and the two waterfalls that are the exact dimensions of the towers taking up the same footprint of the original towers, my heart began to break.  I barely survived the waterfalls with the names of the dead etched into the marble siding.  I did not survive the museum.  It’s a good thing they have tissues in most of the exhibit rooms because I needed every single one of them.  Hearing the voices of those who left phone messages to their loved ones right before they died, meditating on the exhibit of a mangled fire truck (Big Red, Ladder 3) from a station who lost their captain and ten of their team, listening to the voices of my fellow Americans speak about where they were when we were attacked, walking down seven stories of stairs next to the actual stairs where hundreds fled to safety, seeing the photos of my fellow citizens who jumped from the top floors rather than be burned alive…I remembered our national anthem of unity given to us by 9/11 because not once did I ask about their politics, their race, their ethnicity, their gender—I just held them to my heart as Americans—as humans worthy to be mourned and honored.

Photo by Cadiomals – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=20045071

ALWAYS REMEMBER—NEVER FORGET!

Cartoon used by permission: 97899_600 John Cole, The Scranton Times-Tribune, PA

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WANT TO READ MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR’S LIFE AMONG WHITE CHRISTIAN CONSERVATIVES FOR 45+ YEARS AND THE INSIGHTS GAINED:  Check out “Fleeing Oz”—on sale now at Amazon!

WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at http://www.eleanortomczyk.com

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Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on September 10, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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HOW AMERICA CAN SURVIVE THE DON WHO WOULD BE KING

Well, this happened:  Trump declared himself to be Godthe Chosen One—“the King of Israel,” and one of his first sovereign acts was an attempt to buy Greenland.  Well shit, I didn’t know one could simply declare oneself “the Chosen One” and subsequently try and annex a country for grins and giggles.  If I had known that I would have tried it a long time ago: “I, Eleanor Tomczyk, hereby declare myself the Chosen One—the Queen of all people groups—and I want to purchase Bora Bora. Why, you ask?  Because I would like to turn it into my own private vacation spot, thank you very much.  Oh, and I would also like to annex a couple of Trump’s planes because now that I’m Queen, I don’t fly commercial!”)

Cartoon used by permission: 228900_600 Bill Day, Tallahassee, Fl

In the meantime, the Messiah impersonator has done nothing with his new found “power” to squelch the hatred on the meteoric rise in our country.  In fact, he seems to have encouraged it.  Americans are getting meaner and more racist by the day, and I think it’s mainly due to Trump giving them permission to hate.  Last week Mad-King Trump was hating on the Jews, the week before it was the Blacks, and weeks before that it was the Mexicans.

Cartoon used by permission: 228481_600 Nate Beeler Counterpoint

Maybe I’m naïve, but I am convinced that most Americans are not like this.  I just think many Americans are either clueless or don’t know how to combat this tidal wave of hatred and evil because so much of our theology is based on bumper stickers.  I don’t remember who said this (it is not original to me), but I think it was the theologian Richard Rohr who said the bumper sticker “Commit random acts of kindness” is a bunch of crap (my word).  He says kindness by its very nature is a deliberate act—a purposeful choice.  That is what pushes back against the madness and hatred around us.

Cartoon used by permission: 228335_600 Dave Whamond Canada PoliticalCartoons com

As I was meditating on this thought recently, I read an article in the Washington Post entitled: ‘I have $1500 that I’m giving away’: Man becomes legend for extreme acts of kindness toward strangers,* by Allison Klein who is the anchor of the Inspired Life blog.  The story was about a man named Jon Potter who four years ago started helping strangers for free and it snowballed.  He did everything from helping a stranded teenager get home to recently giving a stranger one of his kidneys.  He said the more kindness he deliberately and extremely dispensed, the better his own mental health became (he suffers from depression). 

EUREKA!  This is the answer I thought after reading the article.  If all good-hearted Americans went forth into the land seeking to do deliberate acts of kindness, we could defeat Trump and his minions by a landslide next fall because we would have defeated or shamed the spirit of hatred in our midst.

Cartoon used by permission: 228949_600 David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star Tucson AZ

That’s what I decided to start doing.  I promised myself that I’d be on the lookout for deliberate acts of kindness that I could perform—just like Jon Potter.  How hard could that be?  Right?  Well, first of all, one needs to pay attention to details when one engages in this strategy or one will end up in a Costco fiasco as I did the other day.  Herein lies that tale…

Recently, I set off to Costco with my husband “WW” (White and Wonderful) in the land of Trump.  As is usual, WW took off for the wine section while I lingered in the flower and book section.  What happened next could be chalked up to over-eagerness on my part, or old age, or the racist concept that all old White people look alike.  But when a White couple in their late eighties turned the corner and almost ran me down with their cart, rather than give them a dirty look, I decided to employ my deliberate act of kindness motto on them. 

As I took another look at the couple, I suddenly realized they were my neighbors (we’ll call them Gladys and Bob) whom I hadn’t seen in a while. (This will be easy, I thought.  They are my neighbors and I like them.  Good neutral ground upon which to practice my new way of life.)  The old man had on the same type of glasses as my neighbor, was slightly bald, and had slightly mangled legs like my neighbor.  He leaned on the cart to steady his balance while his wife (chubby, talkative, and slightly bossy tried to steer her husband around the corner to the pasta section). In my defense, I hadn’t seen my neighbors in months since an ambulance had taken the Mister away due to a fall in his garden.  Although I had heard he was doing okay, I felt bad that I hadn’t followed up with him as a good neighbor should.  Now was the chance to right the wrong I had committed and make America a better place with my kind and gracious response to a couple who had almost run me over with a grocery cart due to their inattentiveness.

“Gladys, Bob!  What a pleasant surprise,” I said, as I grabbed Gladys and forcefully enveloped her into my ample DDD bosom.  “Girl, I haven’t seen you in ages—how have you been?” I asked, as Bob glared at me with that look of,  “I’m a Trumper, and I don’t do Black people encounters—let alone, unsolicited hugs—get your ghetto hands off my wife before I call the police.” 

For an instant, I did wonder why the couple seemed very standoffish (very unlike my neighbors who are usually delightful).  Did that stop me in my newfound exuberant deliberate act of kindness?  Hell no!!!  I planted Gladys face more aggressively into my bosom while I called over my husband to say hello to our neighbors:  “Honey, look who’s here—it’s Gladys and Bob!”  The look on WW’s face was my first clue that I might be out-to-lunch, but it was Gladys’ slightly frightened statement mumbled into my chest that made me turn a lighter shade of brown:  “Lady, I think someone’s got their wires crossed.  We don’t live in your neighborhood.  We’d know it if we did.” [Translation: there are no Black people in our neighborhood—that’s one of the reasons we moved there.]

I live in a concealed carry weapon state, and for a brief moment, I saw my life pass before my eyes as I wondered if the bulge in the old man’s fanny pack was a Glock 26.  (It seems that this deliberate act of kindness lifestyle can have its hiccups if you’re not paying attention.)  However, in the midst of my groveling, my profuse apologies, and my silent pleading that the old White couple not call the police (I was convinced I’d be arrested for “acts of kindness while being Black in Costco”), that little White old lady said something so profound that it broke my heart:  “No, need to apologize, Honey. You just made my day! We moved to this town months ago and not one of our real neighbors have waved to us, said hello, or dropped by with a pie—absolutely nothing!  Thank you for your act of kindness, even if it was meant for someone else—it’s the best thing that has happened to me in months.”

As the couple rounded the corner into the pasta aisle, WW said to me with great chagrin: “You know that couple didn’t look a thing like our neighbors Gladys and Bob. What have you been smoking?” “WHATEVER!” I replied.  “My heart was in the right place.  Albeit, it was a very tiny act of kindness that made a small corner of Trump world a much better place—at least I started my quest to turn back the tide of anger and hatred with grace and bosomy exuberance.  It took courage to do that small act.  Eventually, I’ll get to the kidney donation—just give me time.”

Cartoon used by permission: 228903_600 Dave Whamond Canada PoliticalCartoons com

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WANT TO READ MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR’S LIFE AMONG WHITE CHRISTIAN CONSERVATIVES FOR 45+ YEARS AND THE INSIGHTS GAINED:  Check out “Fleeing Oz”—on sale now at Amazon!

WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at http://www.eleanortomczyk.com

REFERENCES *https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/2019/08/22/this-man-became-legend-committing-extreme-acts-kindness-then-he-gave-stranger-kidney/

Cartoon used by permission: 229007_600 Adam Zyglis The Buffalo News NY

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on August 25, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA!

I recently had a dream that I received a double-sided invitation to a birthday party of great significance for a very important entity who was dying (apparently, all Americans were invited).  The invitation was sent by “America’s Moral Fiber” and addressed to me as “One of America’s Citizens since Birth.”  The front side of the invitation announced that the lady would turn 243 years old on July 4th this year.  The invite stated that when she was born, she had been birthed in a magnificent family of fine ideas, but unfortunately, had failed to live up to those ideas, which were causing her very life to be in danger.  The invitation went on to instruct that the birthday party would take place anywhere, anytime on the day of July 4th, and that the menu would consist of picnic food and fireworks.  Attire: comfortable summer wear.

CARTOON USED BY PERMISSION: 212595_600 Bob Englehart, Middletown, CT

 When I flipped the invite over, I noticed the following statement:

PLEASE BRING PRESENTS!  Even though the Lady has everything under the sun (mountains, valleys, rivers, great plains, magnificent cities, bucolic countrysides, tropical islands, a beautiful bouquet of people from every color and gender spectrum, just to name a few), she has lost her way and is in need of specific presents from her guests if she is to recover from the diseases that are consuming her.

Below is the list of presents from which to choose and their definitions in case there is any confusion:

GIFT OF COMPASSION

In my view, the best of humanity is in our exercise of empathy and compassion. It’s when we challenge ourselves to walk in the shoes of someone whose pain or plight might seem so different than yours that it’s almost incomprehensible.—Sarah McBride

CARTOON USED BY PERMISSION: 226955_600 Christopher Weyant, The Boston Globe, MA

GIFT OF BROTHERLY LOVE

I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality… I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word.—Martin Luther King, Jr.

CARTOON USED BY PERMISSION: 211084_600 David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star Tucson AZ

GIFT OF MERCY

Teach me to feel another’s woe, to hide the fault I see, that mercy I to others show, that mercy show to me.—Alexander Pope

CARTOON USED BY PERMISSION: 225381_600 David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star Tucson AZ

GIFT OF EMPATHY

It’s hunger. It’s homelessness, often. It’s underfunded, under-resourced schools. It’s abuse beyond the chilling. It’s having overwhelmed parents and caregivers. Those are the things that young people are struggling with beyond our view.—Susan L. Taylor

CARTOON USED BY PERMISSION: 186592_600 Pat Bagley, The Salt Lake Tribune UT

GIFT OF GODLY CHARACTER

I don’t believe a champion is the biggest, baddest, meanest dude in the world. I think the champion is like a warrior; it’s like the head knight or lead samurai: humble men of integrity, respect, and honor that treat people kindly.—Jon Jones

CARTOON USED BY PERMISSION: 226873_600 David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star Tucson AZ

GIFT OF TRUTH

The trouble with lying and deceiving is that their efficiency depends entirely upon a clear notion of the truth that the liar and deceiver wishes to hide.Hannah Arendt

CARTOON USED BY PERMISSION: 225742_600 Nate Beeler, The Columbus Dispatch, OH

GIFT OF INTELLIGENCE

We should all feel confident in our intelligence. By the way, intelligence to me isn’t just being book-smart or having a college degree; it’s trusting your gut instincts, being intuitive, thinking outside the box, and sometimes just realizing that things need to change and being smart enough to change it.—Tabatha Coffey

CARTOON USED BY PERMISSION: 224424_600 Steve Sack, The Minneapolis Star Tribune, MN

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When I awoke from my dream, I was reminded of the high ideals that had once graced the hearts of America’s founding fathers that seduced all the immigrants who had ever come to America in search of a better life.  That wondrous dream and promise that even quickened the hearts of the Africans (my ancestors) who had been stolen from their own countries to build this nation by the sweat of their brows and the brokenness of their blood-whipped backs, who eventually came to believe in the dream—that their children, too, could live in the majestic promise that all men are created equal. I decided that I would attend our nation’s birthday party this July 4th and that I’d bring the “Gift of Hope” wrapped in the birthday paper of the preamble of the Declaration of Independence:

“We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness….”

CARTOON USED BY PERMISSION: 197362_600 Dave Granlund, Minnesota

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WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at www.eleanortomczyk.com

THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOKS:  Monsters’ Throwdown, Fleeing Oz, The Fetus Chronicles on sale now at Amazon!

All quotes are courtesy of www.brainyquote.com

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on June 30, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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YOU’VE BEEN EXPEDITED!

Well, I’m back!  Back from a cruise on a big ol’ fancy ship to Northern Spain, Portugal, the Island of Majorca, Gibraltar, and Rome.  Went to celebrate 40 years of marriage with my man, “WW” (White and Wonderful) and my birthday of 71 years.  I had a blast ‘cause my man knows how to treat his woman—Oh yes, Jesus, he does!  He had been organizing this trip for two years, and it was outstanding—first class all the way!

Photo Credit: Eleanor Tomczyk/Bilboa, Spain

Talk about acting like a “balla”—for two weeks I was a committed hedonist.  (For the uninitiated, a “balla” [baller] is someone like a successful basketball or football player who lives like she is queen of everything—a Serena Williams or Beyoncé with so much money to burn that one’s lavish and outlandish lifestyle is de rigueur.) The way I acted over the course of those two weeks onboard the cruise, you would have never guessed that I was born a poor-Black-child in the inner-city of Cleveland because I took to being pampered like a pig to slop or a Trump. 

Everything was just perfect, and I can see why people prefer being rich rather than poor.  For me, this lifestyle was temporary, but if I could have stayed on an eternal cruise on this particular ship, you bet your sweet tuckus, I would have. That’s because humans—especially Americans—are prone to the seductive life of getting our own way when everything is how you want it, when you want it, and where you want it—a.k.a. easy.  In other words, my “idealized persona” (what Carl Jung calls our mask, and what the author Mateo Sol of Loner Wolf describes as “…what we would like to be and how we wish to be seen by the world”) was livin’ the dream on this floating luxury resort.  That is…until I boarded the plane in Rome to return home, and I got into a rip-roaring fight with my “shadow self” which is still whimpering today as I try to wean myself from all that rich food and pampering.

What is a “shadow self,” you might ask?  First of all, we all have one.  Mateo Sol* describes the “shadow self” as “an archetype that forms part of the unconscious mind and is composed of repressed ideas, instincts, impulses, weaknesses, desires, perversions and embarrassing fears.”  Carl Jung furthers Sol’s definition from his book: On the Psychology of the Unconscious:

It is a frightening thought that man also has a shadow side to him, consisting not just of little weaknesses—and foibles, but of a positively demonic dynamism. The individual seldom knows anything of this; to him, as an individual, it is incredible that he should ever in any circumstances go beyond himself. But let these harmless creatures form a mass, and there emerges a raging monster.

Spoiled Brat meme/Sylvester me.me

***

BELOW IS THE TRANSCRIPT OF THE FIGHT WITH MY SHADOW SELF WHO HAD STOWED AWAY UNDERNEATH MY SOUL AND STAYED HIDDEN AND SILENT UNTIL MID-WAY DURING THE TRANSATLANTIC FLIGHT HOME AFTER THE CRUISE.

SHADOW SELF:  Psst!  Wake up!  Wake up, Fool!! Why the fuck are we in coach?  This is not what I signed up for.

MY PERSONA:  Oh, my God—where did you come from?  I thought I left you locked in the closet at home.

SHADOW SELF:  As if!  Where you go, I go.  Do you hear that nasty-ass old man hacking up loogies sitting just three seats from you?  He’s been doing it all night. We’re going to catch “p-new-moania” from this dude and be bedridden for weeks.  We’re almost 71 years old.  We can’t be putting ourselves in this kind of danger.  Now, on the other hand, do you hear anyone coughing and sneezing in First Class?  Did you notice their lovely hot meals (three choices—each with hot soup options) served on linen table clothes along with champagne and copious wine and hot fudge sundaes on trays in front of their lay-down beds and massive TV screens that tilt for maximum viewing? It’s a different world up there — a world where we definitely belong.  A world where people have been “expedited.”

What did we have for dinner?  A freezer-burned gluten-free cardboard chicken piece in a tin (half cooked) with unseasoned veggies (also freezer burned).  We are in a seat with a TV screen on the back of the seat in front of us which is the size of a postage stamp.  I tried to pee an hour or so ago and there were at least 250 people lined up to use the toilet.

MY PERSONA:  Listen, SS, we discussed this before I left.  We used all our Benjamins for the cruise and all our frequent flyer points for the flight to London.  You’ll survive this return flight from Rome. I know it’s like being in a can of sardines flying in coach, but unless you are Trump or a televangelist with a fleet of private planes, you’ll just have to suck it up.  Besides, this is why I thought I left you home.  I don’t want to hear any whining after such a fabulous vacation.

Used by permission: 212692_600 Jeff Koterba, Omaha World Herald, NE

SHADOW SELF:  There is always room for improvement, Chickadee.  The cruise line showed you the blueprint.  I keep dreaming of that ship and how this is the first time you’ve really treated me as I truly deserve.  The cruise ship had me at “hello!”  Remember the entry-way to the ship when one of the stewards looked at your ticket and said, “Oh, you don’t belong in THIS LINE, Mr. and Mrs. Tomczyk.  Come with me to the VIP line because “you’ve been expedited!”  God, I love the sound of those words:  “YOU’VE BEEN EXPEDITED!”  We were swiftly escorted onto the ship with not another person ahead of us which meant no lines and no waiting.  (Bitch, you know how I hate waiting in lines!)  Then, before I could say, “Let’s locate the martini bar,” a waitress gave us our choice between straight champagne or mimosas as we toured the ship — champagne in hand.  Didn’t even have to pick up the keys to our suite…just told to go to our lodging at our leisure where we’d find the keys in our mail slot. 

MY PERSONA:  I must say that was nice.  So easy. So expedient. Kind of makes you wish all of life was like that, especially the DMV.

SHADOW SELF:  Exactly.  See…now you’re thinkin’ like me.  That cabin was just to die for, wasn’t it?  A bathroom that was big enough to throw a party in with a bathtub the size of a six-person Jacuzzi.  And remember what was waiting for you when you opened the door?  MORE CHAMPAGNE! And not the cheap-ass stuff either.  Slap me some Moët, Baby…Happy Birthday and Happy Anniversary to me, Sister-Friend! 

Photo Credit: Eleanor Tomczyk

MY PERSONA:  Ummm…and the delicious chocolate-covered strawberries—so sweet, they made my toes curl.  And the flowers…weren’t they precious?

SHADOW SELF:  Yep, if only everyday could be like that, right?  Now my favorite was when we heard the knock on the door and in walks our own private butler.  Lawd, have mercy, I almost fainted!  I thought to myself: This po-black-chil’ done hit the lottery!  Remember what he said to you:  “Welcome Madam.  Do you find everything to your liking? I’m sorry that I didn’t have a chance to sprinkle the rose petals on the bed, but I can bring them later, if you’d like.  I’m on-call to serve you 24/7.  Also, would you like to be addressed as Mrs. Tomczyk, Eleanor, or Madam?” Sweet Jesus, I just knew we had died and gone to Heaven.  I was hoping you’d choose to be called “Madam” so I could pretend we were in an episode of Downton Abbey.  This would be the only time in my life that my Black-ass would be called “Madam” by a White butler.  BUT NOOOO…you went all egalitarian and shit on me, and said he could address you as “Eleanor.”  But I forgive you, because the butler was so hot.  Him with his silver-fox hair and Ukrainian accent—looking like a bleached Denzel Washington.  I knew right there, he would be just perfect for all my needs.

Stock Photo: Butler similar to one on cruise

MY PERSONA:  Would you cut that shit out, SS.  Did you forget I’m married?  I did not perceive the butler like that.  He was nice and attentive.  That’s all I noticed.  That and the fact he offered to do my laundry anytime I needed it done—for free.  I would have taken him home just for that.  Anyway, enough of this.  You know that the downside of any wonderful experience or gift is the sin of ingratitude. The worst part of the cruise were all the habitual cruisers (people who cruise every three months or so) who brought along their shadow selves and bitched and complained about everything under the sun (“it’s too hot, it’s too cold, this isn’t as nice as the other cruise, I don’t like the entertainment, why did they change the private bar area, why is the elevator so slow, where in hell did my butler go…”).  Get yourself together because if you think today is bad, wait until I get us back home and put us on a diet to take off all the pounds we gained over the past two weeks with a butler who would bring us any food and drink anytime we wanted it.

SHADOW SELF:  I loved that the first activity you did on the ship was get an 80 minute massage. I liked that almost as much as sampling the six different specialty restaurants with chocolate desserts that would make a grown man weep, and the premium drink package that could stock a neighborhood bar.  I figured if we started drinking at breakfast and kept going straight on to dawn, maybe we’d be able to use up all that drink package, but you wouldn’t even give it a try.  I kept nudging you to “go for it,” but after a while you kept choosing hot tea instead of pina coladas.  Where’s the fun in that, Girlfriend?

Photo Credit: Eleanor Tomczyk

MY PERSONA:  Because after the third day, my body was saturated.  I can only take so much rich food and alcoholic drinks.  Pretty soon the mojitos and creamed lobster artfully placed on a Sriracha aioli and partitioned by figs and fried marigold flowers have to be replaced by a juice cleanse and salad or I would have rolled back into town weighing 300 pounds. Besides, I wasn’t touring Spain, Portugal, and the like to just eat and drink.  I loved seeing the history of the towns (especially Sintra, Portugal).  I loved discovering their Jewish quarter and learning about Aristides de Sousa Mendes do Amaral e Abranches, a Portuguese man who issued thousands of visas for Jews to escape Nazi Germany against the wishes of his own king.  It was fascinating to learn how a large group of Jews appeared to assimilate into the Portuguese culture, pretending to be Christians (hidden in plain sight), and even inventing a sausage as proof of their conversion.  What the authorities didn’t know was that the sausage was made of cooked chicken, bread, spices, and tomatoes to give it a “bloody” look, but it was strictly kosher.  The sausage is still one of Portugal’s most sumptuous delicacies. 

And to top it all off, when I turned a corner after leaving the Old Jewish Quarter, I thought I saw Barack Obama waving to me from an apartment window as he stood with Chinese President Xi Jinping.  I almost fainted at the shock!  For a minute he looked eerily real, and another American tourist, an Australian and I teared up and waved back.  The White American from New Jersey said out loud to the other nationalities longingly gazing at the picture in the window: “We’re sorry we couldn’t give you another Barack Obama.  It’s not personally my fault, but we’re working on fixing it.  Please, please don’t give up on America. Ignore the clown masquerading as our President in the White House.”  That’s when I knew, this cruise was only a momentary fun event and brief respite; once I got back home, it was back to the grind of reality and into the resistance movement I had signed up for to help undo the national nightmare that had engulfed our country.

Photo Credit: Eleanor Tomczyk in Sintra, Portugal

SHADOW SELF:  Fine.  You went for the culture, history, and inspiration, I stowed away for the pampering and the spoiling.  I want you to figure out how the phrase “You’ve been expedited!” gets me rollin’ like a balla when we get home.  If you don’t, I’m gonna raise bloody hell!  I will be unable to be lived with—do you hear me, Bitch! ‘Cause once you go coddled and pampered, you never go back!  You tell WW, your trip to Africa next year has to at least be business class or I’m gonna throw a stage 4 temper tantrum in the terminal! 

MY PERSONNA:  Shut the fuck up and go to sleep!  You are officially on lock-down, Shadow self. I don’t want to hear another word from you!  Get yourself prepared to eat nothing but lettuce wraps, exercise incessantly, and attempt to write the next great American novel because my “idealized persona,” that I am a disciplined writer and in control of my flesh, is my modus operandi when I’m state side.

SELAH (MEDITATIVE THOUGHT FOR THE DAY)

***

WANT TO READ MORE?  CHECK OUT AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOKS:  “Monsters’ Throwdown,” Fleeing Oz,” and “The Fetus Chronicles:  Podcasts From my Miseducated Self”—on sale now at Amazon!

WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at www.eleanortomczyk.com

***

REFERENCES:

https://lonerwolf.com/shadow-self/*

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on June 5, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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OH MY GOD: DONALD TRUMP SENT ME AN EASTER PRESENT!

ESSAY ON EASTER AND MINDFULNESS

I take back everything I’ve ever said about Donald Trump not knowing what he’s doing for the people of the United States and the image of Christ.  He’s an evil genius!  Also, I take back every disdainful thought I’ve ever had against the MAGA hats that put Trump in office and are keeping him there. Because of them, I’ve found a new lease on life, a calmer demeanor, and a deeper trust in God this Easter.  (Thank you, oh Crazy Orange One and your MAGA hat minions for my Easter present!)


Cartoon used by permission: Pat Bagley, The Salt Lake Tribune, UT , Cagle

My non-believing sisters and brothers, do you know what Lent is?  According to Merriam-Webster Dictionary, it is “the 40 weekdays from Ash Wednesday to Easter observed by the Roman Catholic, Eastern, and some Protestant churches as a period of penitence and fasting,” which is to draw one closer to God by the time Easter rolls around because the resurrection of Christ from the dead is so awesome that it is every Christian’s hope that if Christ can conquer death, he can conquer every other type of evil plaguing our lives. The reason we give up things at Lent that have some control over our appetites is because we hope it will be easier to scrub off the veneer of fear and hopelessness that blinds us to the power of Christ’s resurrection help in other areas of our lives.

Well, Eureka!  The Holy Ghost gave me a revelation.  The messianic imposter in the White House had caused me to momentarily think he was indestructible, invincible, and made of Teflon (none of his sins were ever going to stick to him and bring him down), and there was absolutely nothing I could personally do about his reign and damage done to our country.  (If his Evangelical supporters are to be believed, I am not operating in God’s will by opposing the Orange One—in fact, I am a sinful little snot who will burn in Hell.)  I was full of fear (not of going to Hell, but of Trump getting away with murder, which seems so much worse than living in Hell), and that led to chronic anxiety which led to eating a gluttonous amount of chocolate-covered bon-bons washed down with buckets of mojitos (not really, but you get my point).  

I am seventy years old and counting—I cannot afford to waste any more of my days on fear and loathing.

So I had a Lenten revelation:  I need to give up Donald J. Trump, not just for Lent, but for the end of time. He is like an obnoxious, spoiled toddler who is only happy if he is absorbing all our attention every second of the day.  I no longer give him the attention he is demanding.  I have replaced thoughts about Trump with gratitude and mindfulness via meditation, and I’m letting the God of the universe fight the things I cannot control—including kicking Trump’s ass. 

I have become a mindfulness aficionado (more about this in the weeks to come).

Carrie on Pinterest

Every morning when I wake up (before I get out of bed), I thank God for what I have—not what I’ve lost. (At this age, one starts losing things, people, and memories on a daily basis as if they were pennies in a pocket full of holes.  Trust me, getting old is not for the cowardly.)  In other words, if I can still breathe, walk, see, hear, talk, and learn…it’s a good day!

Then I mediate, and the sole script of that meditation is a prayer to the God of Easter:

“I have no plans today for my life—only sketches.

Reveal to me your path—where I should go, who I should meet, what I should do.

May I be slow to anger, quick to listen, and slow to speak.

Grant me courage, wisdom, grace, mercy, and above all love for those I encounter along the way.”

It has been amazing!  No more stress, no more anxiety, and no more anger at Trump or anything else—I am as cool as an iced cucumber and I’m no longer in search of bon-bons.  (I fully believe he’s going to be flushed down the toilet of life, but I’m not worried about the if, when, how, or by whom, anymore.)  Consequently, I’ve had the most amazing encounters during the Lent season.  As you might expect, I met a Tin Man who needed a heart, a Scarecrow who needed a brain (actually this was a woman), and just recently, a Lion who needed courage.

Let me tell you about the most significant traveler I met along the way since the beginning of my new mindfulness journey.  The Lion.  He was a driver for a car service in New York City.  He was Asian, young, handsome, and spoke fairly good English. On his dashboard was a miniature picture of the Dalai Lama.  Our driver had shoulder-length black hair which sported a cocky backwards baseball cap that displayed the slogan:  “Let’s get fucked tonight!”  Since I had no intentions of doing anything that day but get to the airport on time and try to return home in one piece, I said, “Delta Terminal C, please,” and proceeded to get lost in conversation with my husband about our magnificent grandson and daughter who we had just spent a wonderful weekend with.  The driver seemed lost in thought but said nothing except an explosive “sigh” every minute or so which was very disruptive—each sigh was like the percussive sound of a steam engine.   (It was so unnerving that I almost yelled at him and said, “What the fuck is wrong with you?  Turn on some music if this is the best you can do for conversation!”  But this is the new and improved, mindfulness Eleanor, so I was not “quick to anger,” nor was I “quick to speak,” (plus, if the truth be told, I didn’t want my Uber rating to take a hit—it’s bad enough as it is!).

I thought the driver was frustrated with the traffic, and I made a mental note to give him a one-star rating where it says, “Driver was a good conversationalist” on the ratings form at the end of our destination.  After a long twenty minutes and about thirty Eeyore sighs later, we finally pulled up in front of our designated terminal.  As soon as I unbuckled my seat belt and hastily reached for the door, the driver turned around and said:  “If you had a friend whose wife was having an affair with his best friend, would you forgive her and try to make the marriage work for the sake of the kids (he has the kids), or would you take the kids and run?”  In the midst of a traffic jam with horns blaring, in front of an airport terminal, trying not to be late to catch a flight, my husband and I gave a broken-hearted lion a few minutes of counseling that I can only hope gave him the courage to let love win and try to save his marriage. (I’d like to think there was something about our mindfulness that encouraged him to open his Dalai Lama-loving heart to us…)

But one thing I’m certain of, ever since I let go of Trump and let God take over my mind and heart, I am encountering the most amazing human beings and having the most outlandish conversations.  I shall keep you posted.  In the meantime, if all the mess of Donald Trump and his minions gets you down or your life is one that makes you mourn and sigh, remember the God of Easter and his amazing resurrection life makes all good things possible, and in the words of one of my favorite authors:

“Everything will be all right in the end.

If it’s not all right, it is not yet the end.”

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel


Cartoon used by permission: Bob Englehart, Middletown CT, Cagle

WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at www.eleanortomczyk.com

THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOKS:  Monsters’ Throwdown, Fleeing Oz, The Fetus Chronicles on sale now at Amazon!

***


Cartoon used by permission: Dave Granlund, Minnesota, Cagle

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.


 
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Posted by on April 18, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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JESUS, GOD OF EASTER, HELP!

As you might imagine, given the events of this week, I am sitting Shiva with the rest of my liberal friends—or should I say, sitting Shiva with anybody who has a brain, a conscious, a heart, a soul, or eyes and ears.  According to Wikipedia, Shiva means “seven,” and “sitting Shiva” is described as: “the week-long mourning period in Judaism for first-degree relatives.”  In this case, my first-degree relatives are my country’s morality, constitution, and soul, and my religion’s core Truth.  I know I’m supposed to accept Barr’s assessment of the Mueller report and move on, but I just can’t.  In the words of George Conway (conservative lawyer and the husband of White House counselor Kellyanne Conway —talk about irony):

“TRUMP IS GUILTY—OF BEING UNFIT FOR OFFICE”

Cartoon used by permission: Milt Priggee, Oak Harbor, WA/Cagle Cartoons

The aftermath of Barr’s summary has been brutal against anyone who has opposed Trump—led by the mean-spirited bully Trump himself, as he takes his victory lap in the end zone.  Every time I hear him attacking someone who has uncovered his lies or stood up to his bullying, all I can do is pray that the God of Easter rescues us from this cretin—SOON.  Was it wrong to hope the Mueller Report would be an answer to that prayer of obvious corruption exposed?  And why did William Barr give us an interpretation of a potentially 300-plus page report rather than the report itself?  What is Barr hiding?  Instead, the White Right-Wing Christians who believe Trump was sent by God are hoarse from crowing Barr’s summation that God has protected their anointed one, and it makes me sick to my stomach—so sick, it sent me into intercessory prayer.  Below is my most recent prayer—prayed while sitting in sackcloth and ashes cataloged under the title: If Ever There was a God, Now is the Time to Show Up (Again).

Cartoon used by permission: Ed Wexler, PoliticalCartoons.com/Cagle Cartoons

DEAR GOD:

How are you?  The last time we spoke, I was praying for healing of a horrible respiratory disease, spring to arrive (sooner than later), and for the Mueller Report to be released, putting a stop to our current reign of terror. I’m very grateful that you completely healed my snot-generating, five-foot chubby-ass body, that spring has finally sprung revealing that not all my plants died over the winter (thank you very much), and the Mueller Report was finally released—kind of.

It looks like I needed to be a bit more specific in my prayers regarding the Mueller Report.  I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I thought we had an understanding that the report would be released in its entirety and reveal the complete corruption of Donald J. Trump in such a way that his followers would flee in horror—especially the ones who claim to be your followers.  But instead of them repenting in sackcloth and ashes for propping up this egregious sack of sin, they are joining in his revenge victory lap claiming the Bible verse (Psalm 105:15) on Trump’s behalf:  “Don’t touch my chosen leaders or harm my prophets! “Just the other day I came across this billboard that was once posted near St. Louis, Missouri from a bunch of your Trump-loving Christian followers equating him with you, Jesus:

A billboard along route I-70 near St. Louis, Missouri in Nov. 2018

(OPEN LETTER TO GOD, CONT.)

I don’t know how I missed this billboard when it first appeared, but my God, doesn’t this just burn your cookies?  Seems as if that alone would cause you to make a personal appearance just to set the record straight.  Now, how does the Bible verse John 1:14 read again? 

“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

(The billboard was removed in 2018, but only after a great deal of hysteria from your “sane” peeps who rallied to confront this blasphemous stupidity.)

Insane, right?!

Cartoon used by permission: Pat Bagley, The Salt Lake Tribune, UT/Cagle Cartoons

(OPEN LETTER TO GOD, CONT.)

With all due respect, knowing what you must know, what’s up with letting Trump slide by on the Mueller Report and practically getting away with murder?  You of all deities know that he’s guilty.  He’s like a giant toddler, and he won’t stop until he’s caught red-handed. He needs a giant ass-kicking by you since I am now convinced that Trump was right—he could shoot someone on 5th Avenue and not lose his supporters—especially his Christian supporters because they believe you sent Trump to save America.

Not that I need to give you any parenting advice, but do you recall the “Great Toddler Candy Heist of 87” that was perpetrated by one of my children (no need to name names—you know who Baby-girl is)?  Bear with me here.

As you recall, in the beginning, I tried to raise my children in a sugar-free environment. However, one of my kids came to Earth dreaming of lollipops. If upon her arrival the Devil had presented himself to her and said, “I’ll give you all the candy in the world in exchange for your soul, your sister’s soul, and both your parents’ souls,” she would have said, “In a hot baby-poop minute—where do I stamp my baby paw print?”   My child had ways of getting candy that I knew not of.  All I know is that the minute I turned my back on her (with the specific instructions: “Don’t give this child any candy!”) and returned to pick her up from babysitters, Sunday school providers, mother-in-law, or friends’ homes, I’d find candy wrappers stuffed in her diapers and witness the vestiges of a tummy ache all over my new blouses when I snuggled with her.  But no one could ever catch her actually procuring and eating the sweets.  No matter how many times I asked her if she’d eaten candy and where she’d gotten it from, she’d look me straight in the eyes and lie through her cute little four-year-old baby teeth.  (I think I might have even tossed out a prayer or two to you to help me catch that little barbarian in her lies at one time or another.)

Internet Meme

One day, I think you answered my prayers.  I took said candy thief and her sister with me to a very brief business meeting. I noticed as we passed by a table in the lobby by the receptionist’s desk that a rather large bowl of grape Jolly Ranchers was prominently displayed on our way to the elevators.  Both girls asked if they could have some, but I told them “no,” because I was afraid it would spoil their lunch.

After the meeting was over, I strapped the kids into their respective car seats and proceeded back home for lunch.  About five minutes into the drive, I smelled a pungent grapey odor coming from the back seat.  In fact, the odor was overwhelming, as if someone had flooded the car with Welch’s Grape Juice. It was apparent that one of the kids had stolen candy from the office candy dish.  As I whipped my head around like a cobra to seek out the culprit, I demanded to know who was sucking on a Jolly Rancher. My older daughter said, “Not I, said the cat.” When I turned to Baby-girl, she violently shook her head in denial but refused to open her mouth.  Had I not pulled over to the side of the road, I would not have caught her in the act.  But as I stopped the car and looked into the back seat at my girls, streams of purple ooze poured out of Baby-girl’s mouth.  Apparently, she had stolen as many Jolly Ranchers as her little fat fingers could handle and squirrelled them away in her jumpsuit pockets.  My toddler thief had stuffed not one, not two, not three, but at least four grape Jolly Ranchers into her tiny toddler mouth which couldn’t contain the saliva overflow. Caught dead to rights, even as I asked Baby-girl if she had Jolly Ranchers in her mouth, she continued to shake her head in fierce denial while purple saliva stormed from both sides of her mouth as if she were an overheated Saint Bernard and consequently slimed both her sister and me in purple ooze.

Lord, the point of this story is that I nipped that little rascal’s lyin’ and stealin’ in the bud by catching her in the act, and today she is a fine upstanding citizen. I thought you were probably proud of me for that bit of parenting stealth, if the truth be known.So here’s the word: you created Donald Trump.  Essentially, you’re his first parent.  I don’t mean to be impertinent, but why didn’t you let the Mueller Report expose him in all his ill-gotten slime?  Instead, he has gotten away with his crimes (again!) and has become an even bigger jerk than ever—claiming to be a martyr on the level of messiahhood, creating a revenge list, and tormenting the sick, the poor, and anybody that crosses him.


Cartoon used by permission: Milt Priggee, Oak Harbor, WA/Cagle Cartoons

(OPEN LETTER TO GOD, CONT.)

Lord Jesus, I know you know everything none of us know and in due time, all will be revealed, and we’ll all know the truth whether we want to accept it or not. It’s just that William Barr’s assessment was not the truth.  It may have “technically” helped Trump escape collusion, but he’s got the stain of being a horrible human being in every fiber of his being and he’s sliming us all with his purple-tainted sins of lying and corruption.   

Anyway, see you on Easter.  I could use some hope and proof that you’re in control of this mess. Just sayin’. In the meantime, I’ll keep praying (like a mantra) in the words of Leslie Jones’ recent universal tweet:  #LORDHELPUSPLEASE


Cartoon used by permission: David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star Tucson, AZ/Cagle Cartoons

***

WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at www.eleanortomczyk.com

THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOKS:  Monsters’ Throwdown, Fleeing Oz, The Fetus Chronicles on sale now at Amazon!

***

REFERENCE

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2019/03/27/michael-avenattis-downfall-would-be-great-thing-democrats/?utm_term=.b45c5010c518

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/george-conway-trump-is-guilty–of-being-unfit-for-office/2019/03/26/0b5f851e-4ffd-11e9-88a1-ed346f0ec94f_story.html?utm_term=.b59e095fe99e

https://www.cnn.com/2019/03/27/politics/cnn-poll-mueller-reaction-exoneration/index.html

https://www.riverfronttimes.com/newsblog/2018/11/05/we-fixed-that-appalling-trump-billboard-just-outside-st-louis-for-you

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Posted by on March 29, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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