Friday, July 7, 2017

Exploring a Jungle Devoid of Wild Animals

Nothing smells as fresh and fertile as cool rain in the jungle - except for my woman, but we are not discussing her right now. Dripping and cascading from every direction, rinsing and polishing the leaves to a shiny vibrant green from the treetops downward. A rainforest canopy is Doctor God's version of an oxygen tent. I'm a lucky permanent resident in this sanitarium.

As I sip my rich coffee grown on a nearby plantation, I notice that the jungle is somewhat devoid of wild animal noises today. Ah yes, the semester has finished and students have left for the summer. Like Canadian geese and Monarch butterflies, inhabitants of this artificial ecosystem called a university have their seasonal migratory cycles. (Nevertheless, bohemian friends can feel free to blame the still forest on America's rejection of the Paris accord.)

Only a spoiled ungrateful professor would wish for the extinction of these savage beasts and forget that their parents fund his cushy lifestyle. (For smug insulated academics who look down their noses on the hard working folks who pay their salary, there is a special place in hell, where their lamest pupils are responsible for bringing them food, water, and toilet paper.) No, helping my students acquire a few marketable skills and a tiny bit of wisdom is my miniscule contribution to the cosmos in exchange for its undeserved generosity to me. Still, my conscience does not require me to long for their early return.

Around the cafeteria patio are other professorial bookworm nerds. We smile timidly at each other in our mutual joy at getting a break from the unbearable pressure to interact with other humans. Speaking of extinction, it's a wonder we professors ever reproduce. Should a scantily-clad babe walk by, many academics would continue chewing on their thoughts, like lethargic sexually-unmotivated pandas chomping bamboo while their numbers decline.

Meanwhile, the low IQ bimbos guzzle beers and nuzzle peers and misread birth-control instructions and repopulate the earth like Noah after the flood (of semen). Thank the Lord my colleagues are Mexican professors. Most of them can actually dance and none of them have publicly demanded that all professors having sex or eating meat be fired for their support of rape culture and violent patriarchy. We're geeks not lunatics.

Yes, I've escaped my native California (known in North Carolina as the land of fruits and nuts but known in North Korea as the advanced target range), and I have a temporary respite from students asking me why I'm giving them a bad grade on an exam they didn't even take. At least, my students show drive and initiative in following the original fertile garden instruction given by an authority figure: "Be fruitful and multiply!"

Professors sow the seeds of knowledge, while the normals sow the seeds that preserve the species. Let's be honest: our future doesn't lie in the hands of brilliant educators reading classic novels; it lies in the hands of dumbass fornicators reading the condom labels. It's the end of the world as we know it, and (thanks to rainforest coffee) I feel fine. Actually, we're all in much much better hands. The Creator has really really big hands, and we all know what that means: we're not the king of the jungle, and that's just fine.

Friday, June 30, 2017

A Declaration of Liberating Dependence

Since no man is an island entire of itself, the July 4th American Declaration of Independence cannot have been absolute, but rather declared a certain type of independence that people must understand correctly to ever celebrate correctly. Beer and BBQ ain't near enough. Like my mother's ancestor Benjamin Franklin, I've thrown in my lot with uncouth savages in a brave new world (the Mexican jungle), so I know a little about giving up refined society for liberty and I want to help others have a bold American heart regardless of where your butt may currently reside. Can ya dig it?

Friday, June 16, 2017

Maybe America Should Just Divorce

California and New York (or Sodom and Gomorrah as they're called by their Christian names) are a different world from middle America, and it may be time for the barely united states to divorce over irreconcilable differences. This could be a good thing. I'll never forget the day a Bible belt woman told me that she didn't know where I could find a pub and wouldn't help me locate the devil's brew if she did. Okay, sorry I asked. Nor the night when a festival crowd in my native California glared at me as an irredeemable hater, because I softly declined a transgender's bullying insistence to dance. Unity isn't always desirable or possible.

Thursday, May 18, 2017

Next Book: Primeval Woods & Primordial Stones

A crocodile thrashes beneath me. The squawking and dripping of the rainforest where Mel Gibson filmed Apocalypto and Sean Connery filmed Medicine Man surround three sides of my cozy wood cabin that overhangs a lily-choked shore and overlooks a mist-shrouded isle broadcasting monkey chatter across the glassy lake. It’s Christmas in the jungle. The lush fertility extends to a curvaceous young form peacefully dozing under the blanket beside me and deeply inhaling from the cool oxygenated air. I recall a perfect day.

Monday, May 8, 2017

Eastern and Western Genital Mutilators

Deep within a cave on a remote mountain sits a bushy-bearded Asian jihadist who shares the outlook of a bushy-underarmed American feminist ensconced within the safe space of a modern university. Both are proud genital mutilation advocates. Seeming a world apart, they nevertheless carry the same sacred fire from down below, with the road to hell paved by their culturally-approved "good" intentions. Let me explain why all moral folks must reject such patriarchs and matriarchs. This is not for the squeamish.

Friday, April 21, 2017

How to Construct a Contented Life

My smug happiness annoys some people. That's fair. Their neurotic misery sometimes annoys me. Newsflash: I'm not going to give up my inappropriately bubbly bliss to make whiners more comfortable. Not gonna happen. Yet, I do feel a moral obligation to reveal those secrets of contentment I unintentionally and undeservedly stumbled upon. Here goes.

Monday, March 27, 2017

Rattlesnake Musings and Manta Ray Moments

After I bent over and lifted a dusty rock, a fat coiled rattlesnake glared and hissed within easy striking distance of my face. The day could've easily been my last. I was a two-mile desert walk from the highway, then a thirty-minute hitched ride from a Mexican doctor, whose Spanish questions I could barely comprehend and answer on a good day without venom surging thru my veins. I froze in terror. Then I backed my head and torso away at the speed of tree growth, over the longest meter I've ever crossed, while the slit eyes and forked tongue bobbed menacingly.

Monday, March 13, 2017

Kong Is Still The King

Kong: Skull Island allows cinema chair travelers to escape the urban jungle for that more authentic kind. A cliche storyline of explorers venturing deep onto an uncharted island doesn't rain on the fun of this neo-primal rainforest experience. The casting of Samuel L. Jackson, Tom Hiddleston, Brie Larson, Tian Jing, and John Goodman offers a pleasurable balance of both action and characters.

Monday, March 6, 2017

I Officially Declare Myself A Woman

In my long and masculine life, I never considered identifying as a woman - until now. Yet, I'm sure of my decision. In fact, I wish this option had existed in the oppressive days of my youth. Let me explain. If I had been given a chance to live as a chick in high school, I wouldn't have begged cheerleaders to give me the time of day. In the locker room, I'd simply have asked them to pass me the soap. Plus, with me in the shower, those budding babes wouldn't have had to wonder about where they could hang the towels.