In Loving Memory of George Carlin

I’ve been commemorating his wisdom all day. I never considered him as a comedian. I considered him as a philosopher.

Entertainers of today don’t even come close to his genius. They’re either too chicken or too busy cashing in on the Trumphate bandwagon.

You’re either an asshole or you’re just plain mean. It used to bug me when people thought I was being “mean.” Then one day, I realized the “mean” argument was nothing more than a defense mechanism. After all, it’s easier to wear rose-tinted glasses than grapple with the harsh reality why you’re the bigger asshole than I’ll ever be.

Dare I Say It: Happy Father’s Day!

If it was up to the #metoo broads, they would work hard to eradicate Father’s Day from the calendar faster than you can say “papa.” These broads are dead set that the brainless and despicable sperm donors outnumber the fathers who genuinely bust their ass everyday to provide for their families. I say there is noshame in dedicating ONE DAY to commemorate these men, and let karma take care of the brainless sperm donors.

These are the men who would take a bullet if it meant their families are safe. These bullet-taking men deserve praise. They are out there, and I personally know a few. But don’t take my word for it.

This category of bullet-taking patriarchs exist. They bust their ass in the workforce. For example, the men who serve and protect, first responders, and teachers, most likely experienced a shit day at its peak. At the end of the workday, they help their lady with dinner, cleanup, and assist with the kids. They work hard to provide; to assist with the bills; make sure there’s food on the table; help with homework. They are adamant about sharing the parenting responsibilities because they love their family.

These patriarchs exist; don’t cast them aside and deem them irrelevant. That would be mighty shitty. Speaking of shitty, I read a tweet that flipped Father’s Day and made it about moms. This broad evidently forgot moms already have Mother’s Day, ON TOP OF women’s month (March I think); birthdays, Valentine’s Day, Sweetest Day, and wedding anniversaries, and the entire MeToo movement. Let’s give men one fucking day.

Let’s give single fathers praise as well. A LOT OF PRAISE. My father was trying to raise a bratty teenager after loading and unloading trucks all day. He tolerated pompous antics from my uncle, who was his boss. He would stop at a bar for a quick drink to calm his nerves. He was still grappling with the loss of his wife after 40 years of marriage.

My father didn’t make a lot of money, and he had health issues. But he still made time to make sure I was fed, and made me laugh. My father had the best sense of humor. And he had help from no one.

I raise my glass to the the bullet taking patriarchs. While you may feel the entire female population is against you, you have at least one ally.

Enjoy that beer. Happy Father’s Day!

How To Be Human, Find Peace, and Stay Alive

I am a fan of Saturday mornings, the kind where you’re greeted with rays of warmth and sunshine, to the tune of songbirds that imbue the morning sky. The discreet smell of the lilac bushes is my caffeine before the caffeine. My trajectory includes the bathroom that goes direct to the coffeemaker, where actual caffeine picks up where the sweet smell of lilac bushes left off. My mornings are hard enough as it is, so these are not pleasantries I take for granted.
I don’t know why, but I have this ugly habit of turning on the TV and go straight to the local news. This is where my peace ends, as I seemed to be stuck in a loop of stories that contain shootings, murders, and political corruption. These stories went on for 15 minutes, given by attractive female reporters in tight-fitting, sleeveless dresses. That ought to propel the #MeToo movement to new heights.

I finally gave up and switched to Bill Nye the Science Guy, hoping to reclaim my state of consciousness of tranquil megacosm. Unfortunately, TV stations that carry retro shows like this contain doleful, depressing, dispirited TV ads that are constant reminders of your mortality, exploitation of animal cruelty and drug addiction, and show old people falling in their bathtub. Switch the channel and you’re back the to the news of doom and gloom, and a TV ad shows up starring Big Pharma. There, you’re greeted with piano music of sadness, with a voiceover that reflects the same and cardboard cutouts of sad faces are with you at every turn. Hints of happiness coincide with the suggestion of taking their medication and idyllic melodies begin to flourish. These commercials are the inventions of advertising executives who bring brainwashing to a whole other level. Advertising firms make well damn sure to dwell deep into your soul and remind you that your life sucks more than you realize.

Continue reading “How To Be Human, Find Peace, and Stay Alive”

I’m From Chicago, But I’m Really Not.

Don’t you hate it when people say they are from Chicago, but actually live in a very affluent and white suburb of Chicago?

Yeah. It doesn’t bother me, either. Get the fuck over it, crybabies.

It’s a mass illusion created by cityfolk that when anyone says they’re from Chicago, but they’re really from Naperville, they must live in a 5-bedroom, 3-bath single family home with a Lexus and 3 kids who are all honor roll students. I’ll be the first to admit I wish I had that lifestyle…..minus the kids, because…..fuck that.

I struggle to find any reason why these special set of humans would take such huge offense. You’d think you’ve violated them in such a way that they can never regain their dignity. Or that you’ve robbed their house; kidnapped their kid; you’ve afflicted them with ball cancer; put ketchup on a Chicago hot dog.

There are many theories why these special humans take such great offense. Such as:

The internet. People never used to be so persnickety about your geographical location until social media. Some disgruntled teenager got his heart broken by a girl living in Winnetka and felt great need to proclaim to the world that there are a bunch of fucking liars living among us, and is taking his hometown of Chicago down with the rich girl. He takes to the computer and generates a meme. The meme is a map of Illinois with bright red arrows pointing to Chicago (I know you’ve all seen it, but I’m not wasting precious time and resources to locate the meme just to post it here.)

It’s a war of economic class. I might as well not pussyfoot around this theory. And really, it’s not a theory. The reason Sox fans loathe Cubs fans so much is not because of the teams themselves, but somewhere along the way a disgruntled fan (or the media) implied that the north side was wealthier than the south side of Chicago, and with wealth comes snootiness. The south side, known for hardcore blue collar workers (never mind the shootings, gangs, et al., I will leave that for you to discern.) frown upon those living in the north side based on this premise. To say you’re from Chicago when you’re actually not falls under the same category.

It’s a war of political class: I might as well not pussyfoot around this either. Since the dawn of man, Chicago screamed blue while the rest of the state is red. To say you’re from Chicago when you’re actually is an insult to Chicago’s Democrat citizens: you don’t pay Chicago taxes, ergo, you’re not poor like them, and you put ketchup on your hot dogs. You wanna be them, but at the end of the day you go home in South Barrington and kick your feet up in front of the cozy fireplace. Not cool dude. You are a hypocrite. And city folk don’t like hypocrites! (Even they vote hypocrites in office. Repeatedly. Again, I will leave it to you to discern.)

Still, don’t let these theories discourage you from saying you’re from Chicago when you’re actually not. Here’s how:

If you were born and raised in Chicago: you should get a free pass. You’ve gone through the motions of living the city life; attended Chicago public schools; paid Chicago taxes; experienced diversity in all its finest (the good, the bad, and definitely the ugly). And…..you spent your formative years living under the mayorship of Richard M. Daley. Fuck you, motherfuckers. I’M FROM CHICAGO.

Nobody living in St. Lucia has ever heard of Champaign: Many years ago, my husband and I stayed at a resort in St. Lucia. There were people from all over the world. We encountered one couple, with broken English, asked where we were from, and we replied, “Chicago.”

“Oh! Chicago! Boom, boom!”

The couple was not alluding to Chicago being the murder and gun capital of the world. They said that with regard to Al Capone. Even to this day, Capone has left a passionate and endearing impression on my city. Can you say the same about Champaign, Illinois?

There’s absolutely no reason to be that specific about where you live in casual conversation. No reason whatsoever. It’s none of your business. Period.

Don’t let the crybabies ruin your fun. As I sit here gazing at the waterglobe of the Chicago skyline, I will think of you. As the glitter cascade over the Sears Tower, I will now think of them as teardrops of betrayel. And that makes me happy.

I’M FROM CHICAGO BITCHES……but I’m really not. 🙂


I’m Here to Add to the Internet Noise™

I don’t get caught up in internet noise. Indeed, internet noise™ is a real thing. That is because I just made it up, and anything made up on the internet is the real deal.

Internet noise is basically everything ever said on the internet, and 90% of it contain people talking about themselves. You can thank social media for the noise pollution. That is why you shouldn’t label the folks begging for peace, because peace is a commodity that is becoming hard to find.

I thought I found a bit of tranquility when I encountered a blog post that talked about God. I love to read about God, but the post went on and on and on and on and on….

…..and on

…..and on

….and on

….and on.

What’s worse, the blog post was personally about its author, and their own personal relationship with God. The post was at least 1000 words in and still hasn’t gotten to the point. I gave up. No star. No “like.” Nothing. I. Just. Cannot.

I’m not going to apologize in admitting I wasn’t interested in what the author had to say. Reading about the lives of other people, especially strangers, don’t interest me. On a religious level, everyone interprets and connects to God differently. I can write over 1000 words about how God speaks to me through the trees, but if you connect with Him via a slice of toast, we won’t jive on a reading level.

My blog is very sporadic. I love to write, but I don’t write about myself. That’s narcissistic. I try to find topics relating to current events and expound on them. Everyone can relate to current events in some capacity, so when the mood strikes, I write. I’m not selfish. But I do have an inkling to save the internet environment.

My point: there’s too many of these me, me, me posts out there. Please stop it. Only your friends find you exciting. I don’t. Stop the littering! Don’t even recycle.


F’g Cute Cat Video But That Wasn’t What I Was Writing About

That’s what I get for writing directly into the WordPress platform: I had a beautifully written perspective on recent events, at least 400 words, and unfinished. But it’s gone. GONE. All of it, nowhere to be found. By the mistake of pressing ONE button by accident, the whole fucking thing vanishes without a trace.

This means that:

a) I will NEVER recommend WordPress as a blogging platform to anyone, EVER;

b) here’s a fucking cute cat video in the meantime:

fucking cute cat video



Televangelists Need to Go Away and Let Paula White Be the First

At my former job, there was a co-worker who raved about televangelists. At first, I would listen to her out of courtesy, but I’d also discreetly brush off her recommendation to give their sermons a listen. This was a very intelligent lady, so I assumed she must have heard about Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker as well as other controversies of the past….and present. It puzzles me why she was such a big fan of these money whores.

One day, I decided to heed her recommendation and flipped through various Christian channels. I became enthralled with sermons from various preachers, as the words and messages they exude are truly stirring and on-point. Until….

…the code words start to invade. Specifically, words like “partnership” to make their avarice seem less noticeable. Often, televangelists give a good talk until they spam you with the partnership babble, making whatever they preached about become tarnished and less valuable.

(Note to investigative journalists: where are you? Put an end to these frauds already! I know, I know…..there are so many to choose from!)

Every televangelist has a product to sell, and many of these products do not come cheap. If you want to hear the sermon live in person, tickets are just as expense as a rock concert. I believe I would find it equally pleasing to spend that money to see my favorite band. It humors me a great deal how televangelists think they’re rock stars, when the real rock star is the very Man they always preach about.

Thankfully, there are podcasts that you can listen to for free. It costs nothing to hear about His wisdom. I’d rather listen to a podcast than watch it on TV. There are commercials (for me, ONE commercial is too many), and often there are commercials spamming the viewer with DVD’s, books, and sermon tours. It’s almost as if these televangelists are preaching to the masses exclusively for the money – and they know the public will fall for this nonsense as they don’t want to piss away their chances getting through the pearly gates.

Shame on you, public. You should know better.

I wonder how many people will give in to the disgust called Paula White. Paula White, by the way, was my co-worker’s favorite televangelist. I wonder what she thinks of White’s latest request to give up your January salary or prepare to receive God’s wrath. Never mind. She would stick up for Paula White. There is a reason we don’t talk anymore.

The God I’ve been studying is nothing like what Paula White has recently dispersed. Real heralds of His wisdom simply don’t go around with threats and/or bombard their parishioners to purchase their products every chance they get. The last church service I attended started with the priest urging the parishioners to stay after the sermon to hear 20 minutes worth of information with regard to money making opportunities exclusive for the church, and he had a bit of an attitude. Tithing is one thing, but people are confined to a little something called a “budget,” a necessary evil I fear that some priests just don’t understand. Televangelists understand perfectly, and they pray on the public’s fear accordingly.

I will not help Paula White in any capacity. I won’t even assist by giving her contact information for the best plastic surgeon in the country (yes, I have access to that information, not that she or anyone else will benefit). Paula White is a representative of hate, acting as His “supreme herald” that also threatens you. I am more than willing to risk the “penalties,” and I will encourage others not to give in to the threatening nonsense.

Support your local church, but any church that demands a certain percentage of your salary raises a major red flag. It’s why I stopped going and prefer to watch Sunday Mass on television. It is my strong belief why church attendance has been down the last decade. There’s too much solicitation and not enough wisdom. And Paula White has none of it.


FICTION: The Trip to the Grocery Store

The following short story is a work of fiction. It is based off a photographic writing prompt submitted by Writer’s Digest. I do not know if my story will be selected, but I had fun writing it. Here it is for your reading pleasure. Constructive feedback is welcomed and encouraged. Thanks for reading.



By Judie Lynne

Old people typically don’t get involved in amateur games. Yet, here I am, just another elderly person taking his frustrations out on the world. Personally, my time is limited, and tomorrow is never promised. Therefore, I choose to take it out on the miracle of the high tide. I want Audra to hear what I have to say.

A trip to the grocery store was all it took to force me out of my cocoon. A woman with a perfected mane of white and silvers captivated me at the express checkout lane. I’ve seen her before, but I’ve never struck up the courage to concoct even the simplest greeting. Hauntings of my dear Audra intermittently surface, looking at me from above the clouds with a modest wave and an air kiss. She would want me to continue living my life, but when you have spent over 40 years with the same person, they are your entire life. But I challenge myself to move on with a brave face and a kind heart, because she would want me to be at peace.

Lately, striking up conversations with cashiers have been challenging. It seems that the store has made some cutbacks in payroll because there are only two express cashiers working on a busier-than-usual Saturday morning. As a result, there have been stalls in the express lanes that increased the waiting times. One day, I recognized the woman in the line next to me and thought that would be a good time to break out of my sheath, as well as to ease any tension lingering in the air. I turned to her and gave her a gentle smile:

“Good thing I wore my comfy slip-ons today.” I said, with caution.

“Yeah, they must be short-staffed today. The lines aren’t usually long this early in the day.”

An ice breaker…yes! Since I captured her attention, I figured to keep the momentum going. After every couple of sentences, the line from both lanes moved forward a couple of inches. In a short time, we discussed weather, cost of living, and retirement. I sensed that she was feeling less threatened and was comfortable enough to continue the conversation elsewhere. We decided to exchange information after checkout.

She was first to complete her purchase. I was one person behind her, and luckily, I only had a few items to purchase. Once done, I met up with her again at the entrance. She gave me another courteous smile, and handed me a piece of paper with an address that wasn’t familiar to me. I thought it was a bit odd, but I didn’t want to come off as a braggart, so I didn’t question her.

We agreed to meet again later that evening, at an oceanside café I’ve never heard of before. I figured it must be a relatively new business. After all, I don’t really get out much after Audra passed. I was ready to start living again. As I was getting dressed, my gaze shifted to one of my favorite photos of Audra, and I reflect…. she was clapping for me from above the heavens.

Due to the unfamiliarity of GPS, I parked the car near our meeting place, and decided to search for it on foot.

Over an hour past the designated time of meeting, and I still can’t find the place. By now, I am getting winded from both anxiety and fatigue. How can I possibly justify this embarrassing this period of senility, if and when we finally meet? I decided to bow down to my embarrassment and ask a passerby where this café is located.

“Oh, they closed up last year. They’re no longer in business.”

I decided to take my frustrations out on Audra in a spiritual sense, who I suspect was behind this cruel joke. I muttered under my breath, over the reconciling auditory raptures of the high tide. Oh Audra, how can you be so cruel? A discreet tide surfaced upon my bare feet seconds after my muttering. I looked up to the horizon with light tears. Even in death, I cannot stay mad at my Audra.



Why I Won’t Be Sad if iHeartRadio Were To Go Away Forever

Happy 2018 to everyone except the manufacturers of “smart” devices and its developers.

I’m glad the youngins’ think that smart devices are all that, but really, they are more trouble than they are worth. Here lies yet another reason why older generations cannot get on the same page with the youngins’.

I originally had the afternoon planned exclusively dedicated to a writing project I am currently working on. Instead, I wasted time fiddling around with an app to get my “smart” speaker to work. This speaker is controlled using the app by the manufacturer. Since I don’t load my personal music on the app, I use streaming music services i.e. iHeartRadio. I was situated in my “writing” mode when all of a sudden the app stopped working. After a couple of hours uninstalling, reinstalling, powered off and on, changed passwords–you name it–I was on the verge of tears. All I wanted was some fucking music.

There is no other way to get this speaker to work. It is not bluetooth enabled, so the only way to get it to work is to use the manufacturer’s app. iHeartRadio being the culprit, insisted with an automated message that places the blame on me by insisting my network connection is not working. I call bullshit.

So when I checked their Facebook page, it revealed numerous customers that were having similar issues. iHeartRadio never owned up to their follies until after these complaints surfaced. To make matters worse, they respond with the typical automated bot response.

I am tremendously irked by the idea of “smart” devices in general. It’s a surefire way for manufacturers and developers to obtain your personal data by forcing the consumer to use apps for their devices to work. Even when you do get them working, you’re “punished” with a non-working app if you don’t update it regularly, and they don’t give advance warning.

I eventually gave up on iHeartRadio, and signed up for Spotify. When I tried to stream it via the manufactuer app, I got an automated message to say I must have a paid, premium subscription to use it this way. Well, fuck you! Give me back my wired, sub-woofer Sony speakers. Or bluetooth. I mean — come on — I used to be able to press the “on” button to my stereo, and voila….music in an instant. This afternoon, at least two hours were wasted just to get any kind of music to play.

It annoys the everliving shit out of me that young people don’t see these smart devices as problematic. Well, if they are willing as to give away their bank account information for a smart device to work, (or any device that wasn’t too complicated in the first place), more power to them.

Meanwhile, my Saturday will be spent returning this piece of crap “smart” speaker and exchange it for a bluetooth, making sure to not infest it with anything iHeartRadio.

New Spin on Resolutions: Practice Kindness

If anything for 2018, practice kindness. A little kindness goes a long way.

Allow me to start off wishing everyone the merriest of holidays. Here’s to an even better 2018.

Even if you had the most fantastic year ever, what made 2017 so fantastic? If it was truly fantastic, I hope it was for the right reasons, such as:

  • Getting married. Again, congrats. However, I am a stickler for eternal bliss and not fond of disposable marriages. Anyone who demands a formal wedding in today’s culture will construct huge cynicism from outsiders that you’re just doing it to be “princess for a day.” Most brides don’t care (now) what the outsiders think, but twenty years from now (or less)  when you want to file for divorce because you’ve suddenly fell in love with another (wo)man, you’ll prove skeptics—including myself—indubitably accurate. Heed my personal adage: I’d rather be queen for a lifetime than princess for a day.
  • had a baby, especially if it’s your first. Congrats! Please teach them manners such as please and thank you. You can even choose to make please their first word, even if they pronounce it “peas.” Cute, no? In addition, as much as you adore children, I hope you are not using them for insurance purposes later when you file for divorce. To me, it sounds like the planning of a person that lacks morals.
  • Graduation: high school? Yay! Sadly, the high school mentality stays with us the rest of our life. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer so you can laugh in their faces at every one of their mishaps.
  • Graduated college? Yay! Now you are officially out in the real world making your way through life. And a lifetime of student debt. I’m sorry.

I type with genuine honesty that I tend to gloss over such things such as marriage, children, and graduations. Outside of my family, I simply don’t find it a big deal. Humans get married and divorce everyday and children seem to be popping out at every turn (as if the human race think they’re rabbits), after awhile the outsiders get burnt out with the news.

(More opinion about the marriage aspect at a later date.)

Here is what I wish for in 2018 for all, including myself:

  • Do a good deed. (Even if that old lady thinks you’re robbing her when you’re really helping her cross the street, apologize and walk away. At least you tried.)
  • Make up for that grandma flub and volunteer. Go to Volunteermatch.org where you can enter your location and your area of interest. A list of organizations that are in search of volunteers will populate.
  • Continue with the Starbucks “Pay it Forward.” I’ve been a recipient of it a few times, but I’ve never thought to return the favor. That will change in 2018. I no longer get coffee via the drive-thru, I’d prefer to enter the store to order coffee and simply pay for the person behind me. If there’s no one behind me, then I will pay for the person in the drive-thru (there’s always somebody in the drive-thru).
  • Initiate forgiveness. This is especially true of family members. Who started the fight or who was right or wrong doesn’t matter. You’ll be rewarded with a greatest sense of serenity and possibly closure. Any words exchanged during that heated argument belong in the past, and none of it matters. That’s why it’s called the past. Leave it there where it belongs.
  • Adopt a furbaby at your local animal shelter (but only if you are willing to commit to the time and money). Animals are not disposable. They are messengers of God doing everything they can to instill unconditional love, peace, light, and joy. They are not meant to be treated like your ex-girl/boyfriend. The reason these babies are in shelters because their owners didn’t see them that way. Don’t be the asshole to disappointment them for the second, third, 15th, or 20th time.
  • Talk to strangers. You don’t have to become best friends, but sometimes a simple “howdya do” is enough to brighten someone’s day. You don’t know everyone’s story and perhaps they enjoy the interaction from passerbys. Even if you find yourselves stuck in line at the grocery store’s “speed” checkout, poke fun at the situation with a smile just to ease the tension.

In a world gone astray with schisms, narcissism, and avarice to alarming degrees, I believe practicing simple acts of kindness throughout the year is crucial more than ever. It seems our current President works hard at dividing this great nation with every little thing he says and tweets. I take great pleasure in turning that nonsense around and throw it back in his face. Imagine how much impact we can make as a nation if we all engaged in a bit of compassion.

Here’s to a fresh start. Happy 2018!