The Dump

Notwithstanding my love of the run on sentence, My Facebook friend Wendy has challenged me to write a 300 word max essay utilizing the following words she randomly pulled out of her ass: distended, lugubrious, flaccid, notwithstanding.

The Dump

I wade into the fray with clearly more disciplined and professional writers. My stock and trade is the perverse, what others consider the dark side of the naked city. I write about dicks, pricks and assholes. Sure Donald Trump is all three but besides his swollen bobblehead I prefer to author twisted but anatomically correct diatribes about penises, sexual behavior and bowel movements. I do this for my own exhibitionistic pleasure, for lack of regularity within my own sluggish and distended intestines and because even tho it’s Stargate 2016, the average Millennial in skinny jeans is an idiot savant who can’t locate Afghanistan or his own anus without a GPS, a specialized phone app or a text to his helicopter mommy. God forbid they might actually get their hands wet by reaching into the toilet bowl of life and learning how the world really works. I’m sure the White House is metaphorically no different. The real shit goes on in the musty smelling, dark cobwebby basement where CIA operatives, Morlocks, and Cheney clones with wrenches scuttle around fixing furnaces, turning dials and planning the takeover of foreign governments.


Sometimes I fear we’re raising a new race of flaccid spawn with beehive minds. They are the Eloi in the original Time Machine movie. Sure they have books but they’ve never read any. Intelligent ideas or independent thought that includes debate and challenging discourse is as rare today as a single succinct sentence in my legendary pirate blog. Call me cantankerous. Call me lugubrious. I call it as I see it which apparently is a lot better than most umpires in professional baseball or football. Did you see that missed pass interference call in the Atlanta Falcons game recently?  Now imagine Trump and his minions at the wheel of our nation. I’d call that demolition derby-type game “Narcissism Nascar” and that’s one sport I’d rather sit out and patiently wait for a cathartic dump of biblical proportions.

About captaincliff

Psychologist by day, insomniac Pirate blogger by night, this Child of God likes to share sarcastic social commentary as well as topsy-turvy observations about life, love and the pursuit of zaniness, a functional form of insanity in an increasingly insane world
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