The John Candy archetype in my life; an addiction to catharsis.


It’s probably a little sick.


In fact, it’s a lot of sick.


I seem derive some sort of strange giddy pleasure by having people I find despicable in my life. Whereas most people seek to rid their existence of those they despise the most, I relish, in a twisted manner, having such people float, parade-like, as in fuming particles of emotional shit through my life.


There’s this one. I’ve written of her before. I’ve written of her because I’m fixated, frankly. So repugnant and vile do I find her that I can’t loosen my intellectual fascination with this mound of human fleshy sewage.


And since I’m pathologically obsessive about such matters, I thought of her the other day and something occurred to me. She is John Candy. She is the archetypal John Candy character, writ real in this life of mine. She torments me with her Candyish enigma. Slothful, sloppy, slobbering, carnal, vacuous. My god, all of it.


Why must I torment myself with such noxious detritus in this life of mine? I am attracted to the darkness, its embrace, nix, strangulation, of my soul and being, but I avoid the light, the wonder, the magnificence of that which is fortuitous. Instead, I fixate on the John Candy in my life.


As I was walking, I thought of words, phrased pairings best describing this John Candy archetype which the chick reminds me so much of, which this chick fascinates me with through her venal seepage into my daily existence.


In fact, I found an email I sent myself on the day I thought of the John Candy analogy.  The email contained a couple of descriptive phrases that came into my head as I walked along the sidewalk. I don’t have a smart phone or any other portable electronic contraption which weakly takes the place of a mind for most people nowadays, so I held on to the phrases in my leaky memory until I could write them out on the computer.


I found that email earlier.


And what I thought of the John Candy archetype, and by extension, this repulsive slab of insignificant flesh that clouds my view:


Perplexingly Jovial ©
Obliviously Imbecilic ©


There.  That, them. That’s her.


That’s why I hang on to this fixation and will not attempt to diffuse or extract. It’s why I relish moments contending with such human garbage.


It’s the catharsis. I’m addicted.



A vote for the First Husband, Bill Clinton: stick a fork in our Republic.


One of the greatest ironies will be if, or when, the great American Scoundrel, Slick Willie, alpha ingrateSLASHrake, he of the tawny cigar fingers and all, he of the blue dress encrusting, will be cast into the role of First Husband come January, 2017.


What a turnabout of cultural dialogue this will represent.


The First Husband, Bill Clinton.


A destruction of roles and corruption of expectations and the worst cynical exploitation of our so-called Democracy, representative or otherwise.  What an emblematic signal of our era that the most lunatic womanizer to sit in our Oval Office in the past 30 years will now be relegated to the background second spousal fiddle, whereupon he will be called to smile vapidly, interject nonsense across the unwilling American dinner party, blustering or hiding his way through.


I think First Husband Bill Clinton will be intrusive, vocal, and disgustingly opportunistic of another chance to whore up the national vile spotlight afforded by his scoundrelless-in-chief wife.


There ya have it men, and women, all Americans of respectable grounding and the commonest sense.


Hillary Clinton, POTUS.   If so, it is not a question of gender revolution.  It’s an an elitist, Establishment revolution. The writing splashed across the wall in bloody excrement.


For once, we have the chance to rebuke the ingrained (as in a splinter) systemically entrenched political classes that deign to commandeer American policy and fate. Or we predictably have the chance to hammer that splinter deeper into our apathetic collective psyche and prove, that once again, the American people are a hollow, distracted folk who value their cheap consumerism and cheap capitalistic values above systemic change and the strength to exert generational change that will ripple into the lives of our children, their children, and their children.


If we end up voting for First Husband Bill Clinton, I will lose faith in you Americans, but most of all, in myself.