GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #490: THE SINS OF OUR FATHERS

 

I forgot to tell you all that while I was still recovering from my amputation, I read the final piece of fiction in the Expanse series. Everything that follows (including the link I'm about to post) contains spoilers. If you are interested in reading the series, skip tonight's GF.

Remember when I wrote this? I only knew there was one novella left to tell for The Expanse, and I speculated that it would tell us the ending of Filip's story. Surprise! I was right. I kinda hoped that it would reunite him with his mother so she would know that she didn't actually kill him when she killed his father. That was a bit optimistic for me and the series, anyway.

When the ring space was sealed off from humanity, Filip was working in a different solar system and got stranded there, living under his mother's last name instead of his father's. Being the son of a crazed fascist (maybe an oxymoron there) is a pretty fucked up thing to live through, especially when you realize that your father is a lunatic. He works at surviving with his team on this distant planet so far from the Belt that the Enterprise would probably take a long time getting him back even at warp nine.

So now he's helping build a new civilization because everyone has (rightfully) decided that they will never go home again. This is home now. And everything seems to be going as well as it could given the circumstances until a strong charismatic man starts taking power little by little until it's starting to look like a lot. Filip, being his father's son, is very familiar with what is about to happen if he doesn't step in and handle it. And he handles it in a big fuckin' way.

He becomes the colony's first murderer.

Had he still been in the frame of mind he'd been in when murdering thousands in the name of the Free Navy, he probably would have stepped in to fill the sudden power vacuum. He doesn't. The others don't know quite what to do with him. Should they kill him? Did they have the resources to imprison him for life? One way or the other, he doesn't care. He knows what he did and what he deserves, and he's willing to take his punishment. But he really, really had to kill that guy. That guy definitely had it coming.

They choose to exile him, and the end of The Expanse shows us Naomi Nagata's son heading out on his own in a strange new world with only the fact that he has easy access to water to comfort him. Well, that and the fact that gravity here is almost like home, so his Belter body won't go into convulsions and kill him.

Wow. There's only one thing I can say to that.

O Discordia!

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #489: SLEEP PARALYSIS

 I've suffered from sleep paralysis for a long time. It used to be fucking terrifying because it seemed so real. I never saw the Old Hag that others swear by, but what happens to me is that I'm in bed and something is under it trying to drag me down to join it. It's actually impossible. If there was such a thing down there, there is no way it could pull me down and under because, well, I'm too fat to fit under my bed for one, and for another there is no room on any side of my bed. Maybe if I was a child.

But maybe a decade ago I stopped giving a shit about this. I started thinking, fuck it, let the bastard take me. And when I surrendered myself to this feeling, I suddenly stopped having sleep paralysis.

There is some speculation as to what causes this phenomenon. I think it happens when our bodies fall asleep but our minds aren't quite there yet.

Imagine my surprise when, during my first week back home after my most recent amputation, I experienced sleep paralysis again. This time was different, though. I felt an odd sensation in the back of my skull. If someone had been monitoring my brain in a scientific setting, I'm sure my readings would have lit up like Klieg lights. It burned with an electrical feeling, like someone had plugged something into the back of my head Matrix-style.

And then I left my body. It wasn't cool like you'd think. Nothing looked right around me. If I had to compare it to something, I'd say it's like when Frodo puts the ring on in Peter Jackson's LotR movies. It's kind of like a shadow world where everything is dark and the winds howl constantly. It freaked me out, especially when I saw the hunk of meat I left behind. Holy shit, that's me! Or rather, that's supposed to be me. I tried to lay back down, matching my spirit limbs to my physical limbs, and at first it didn't work. I thought, shit, maybe I died. Maybe I'm locked out of the physical realm now.

Grandma hadn't died yet, so I felt a slight relief that I wouldn't have to deal with that or the looming homelessness that would come after. But dying was a bummer, man. I had so many books I hadn't written or read yet, and I would never get to do that. I figured that when the final synapses of my brain stopped firing off I would cease to exist.

And then I woke up.

I know it was a dream. I know I didn't actually die or have an out of body experience, etc. But when I woke up I tried to recreate what I'd just gone through because it was, indeed, a hell of a ride. I'm not a roller coaster guy, but I thought this must be what it's like for people who enjoy that sort of thing.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #488: THE TIME I ALMOST GOT SHOT AT AREA 51

 

OK, this title is a little misleading, mostly because I don't know if it really was Area 51. This happened a long time before the CIA acknowledged its existence in 2013. It's supposedly 83 miles from Vegas, and I'm not sure we drove all that distance. I have a kid's memory of this, so it might not be fully accurate. And by kid, I mean, I was in sixth grade at the time, placing this in the early 'Nineties.

Here's what happened to the best of my memory. I was visiting my dad in Las Vegas, and he decided to take me out to the desert to shoot guns, since I'd never done that before. He brought along his hetero life mate (who is still alive, so I'm not going to name him). And off to the middle of nowhere we went!

It took a lot of driving. Not sure if it was 83 miles worth. Probably not. But one way or the other we got lost looking for a perfect place where we'd be all alone. My dad drove while his friend consulted a map. We weren't on any roads at this point, so I'm not sure how good a map would have helped, and this was long before GPS was readily available. My dad was a tech freak, and if any citizen had access to it, it would have been him, but not even he had that at the time.

The next thing we know we're coming up on a military base that wasn't on the map. Even if we had a vague idea of where we were, the base shouldn't have been anywhere near us. Dad decided to ask the guard at the checkpoint for directions. We pulled up to the gate, and the guard was on us immediately, a crazed look in his eyes, his hand on his weapon. It had not been pulled yet, but he looked ready for action. He demanded that we turn around immediately.

Dad explained the situation, telling him we weren't spies or terrorists without actually saying those words, and the guard eventually relaxed enough to give us directions to a place where we could fire off guns without risking shooting anyone (or having anyone else shoot us). Dad thanked him, turned around and we found a place for target practice. He had a .38 for me to try, and I was an OK shot. Fast forward to a few years ago, and I determined that as an adult, I'm positively a lousy shot.

But I remember Dad's friend joking about how we might have accidentally stumbled on Area 51. And for many years I wondered about that . . .

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #487: MORE GODDAM FUCKERY

 

Maybe I'm not the one to be upset over this. When I was editor and publisher of Tabard Inn: Tales of Questionable Taste, I went against everyone's advice. Rather than get a PO box for submissions, I decided to list my home address instead. My reasoning was, who the fuck would want to come after me? And if anyone did? I could handle that shit pretty easily. I didn't expect quite so many stalkers. In the end they were harmless, but it's a little unsettling, especially if it's your first stalker. That surprised me. And a lot of submissions came from prisoners across the country. I was OK with that. Most were in for life, anyway. One guy would be dead long before his sentence was up, even if he lived to be 120 years old. Still, I'm pretty sure my grandparents didn't like the idea of so many murderers knowing where I lived. (Fun fact: I published one of those murderers. It was a good story.)

But I got a letter in the mail on Saturday. It was addressed to Gramps, and it had an IMAGE OF MY FUCKING HOUSE ON THE ENVELOPE. That's the picture above. I thought, what the fuck is this guy selling? I had to know. Gramps wouldn't object to me opening his mail, as he's been dead for years. I suspected it was spam, anyway. This is an image from the actual letter itself:

It turns out that it was a sales pitch for home insurance, and to drive the point home these fuckin' clowns put an image of my house in the letter. Note the disclaimer. This was an image taken from public records, which I can only assume means Google Maps. They further state that no one has actually come out to visit my house.

That is fucking well not reassuring. Why in the unholy name of fuck would they do this? What purpose does it serve? It's goddam creepy, is what it is. Kind of like checking Google Maps so you can look through the windows of houses, hoping to catch someone naked.

And yeah, sure, public records. I get it. Anyone can access those. Got it. But just because something is legal doesn't mean it's the right thing to do.

This is more goddam fuckery that I can just do without.

I wish we had James SA Corey back when I printed my home address in my own literary magazine. Ty Franck is half of that author, and after the bio explains where the other half lives, his part says that he will let you know where he lives if and when he wants you to come over. That would have been a good attitude for me to have back then.

You might doubt my wisdom in sharing those images. Never fear, every house in this area looks like that. Someone would have to go door to door to find me, and in a neighborhood where soliciting is prohibited, something like that would not go unnoticed. That car out front isn't even mine. Never was.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #486: ON TYRANNY

 

Last year's Free Comic Book Day provided me with a few pages from the book you see above. I told myself I would get the full book when it was available and promptly forgot about it. Not too long ago I was at Anderson's in Naperville, and lo! and behold! I stumbled upon a copy of it, remembered my promise to myself and bought this.

It was absolutely worth it. A lot of this stuff I knew already. Some of it I suspected. And yes, I even learned a few things. Tyranny is a subject that is never too far from my mind, especially these days when America is so very close to being overthrown by scumbags of the lowest order. This book should be required reading for every single US citizen. Nora Krug even makes it look pretty with her illustrations on the inside. (It was originally a book written by Timothy Snyder, but this is what they called a "graphic edition.")

(Incidentally, and very uncomfortably, it's also a how-to book on becoming a tyrant if one wishes to take it that way, and I hope no one does.)

It's full of history lessons about how tyrants came to power and how the people, through ignorance or just plain not giving a shit, helped them achieve said power. The language is easy and understandable. It's a fast read. It's just a very good book to have around.

There is one lesson that I really haven't lived my life by. Maybe I should have, but it's too late now. Snyder advises citizens to not put so much information about themselves out there, even if it seems innocuous on such platforms as social media. He means that if you are in opposition to a potential tyrant, then that tyrant could find that information and use it to take you out of the picture. But the reason I live my life so openly, baring each part of my life, especially the ugly parts, is because being that way should make me immune to blackmail. Like when someone came into possession of Penn Jillette's old computer and found a lot of sexual images of him on the hard drive. The guy tried to blackmail Penn, who merely shrugged and said, "I don't care who sees these." Because pretty much everyone knows about what he's into.

So yeah. You should get this book, especially if you're young. Because, as Snyder says, "If young people do not begin to make history, politicians of eternity and inevitability will destroy it. And to make history, young Americans will have to know some."

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #485: ARE YOU HAPPY?

 

Just a fair warning, I will be talking about Dr. Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, and there will be spoilers. I'm going to hit enter a few times so no spoilers accidentally make it into a preview in the link I'm going to post to social media.

That should be adequate.

So in this new film, I identify a lot with Dr. Strange. Because I've been where he is, and I know things about myself that are unsettling. The big question of the film is, "Are you happy?" When Strange is on the receiving end of the question, he lies like each and every single one of us would and says he is. It's like the question, "How are you?" No one ever wants to know the real answer to that question. It's just a polite greeting.

Am I happy? Not just no, but fuck no. There is so much more I want out of life, and I'm not the only one reading this who thinks that. We all want more out of life. It's human nature.

But then Strange is accused of always needing the "knife in his hands." He was a surgeon before he was a superhero, so it's not that st--odd that he would want that. But that's a sign of a control freak, and I most certainly am a control freak. Who could blame me? All my life, things have been out of my control. If there was something--anything--I could have some autonomy over, I would fucking cling to that. To insane lengths, if I'm being honest. It's something I'm working on.

But that's the thing. I feel so powerless in my surroundings. If I can exert control, I feel the need to do so. Not at anyone else's expense. To quote a great man, "I'm a bastard, but I'm not a fucking bastard." But if I can control something, I will do my best to do so.

And then there's the beginning of a movie. It's obvious that the Strange we see in action here is not our Strange but an alternate version. And when he decides to sacrifice America Chavez's life for the greater good, it's kind of horrifying. I do believe in the greater good, but there's no fucking way I could live with myself if I did something like that. And you know right off the bat that our Strange is going to have to make a decision later in the movie like this, and we all hope he will do the right thing and not do what the other Strange did.

Because I know what I'm capable of. I've done some pretty bad things over the course of my life, always with some kind of bullshit justification. And I know I can be exceptionally cruel. I always know the right thing to say to someone to hurt them the worst. I can identify those buttons, and I've been known to push them with great vehemence. I'm not proud of that. I haven't done that in a long time, and I hope to never do that again. I know I'm a better person than I was, and I'm always striving for excellence. But at the same time I know the horrible shit I'm capable of.

And yes, I'm an arrogant asshole. I try not to be, but this is #485 of these columns. Who else but an arrogant asshole would have dragged this series out as long as I have? How many times have I made crazy shit about me? To clarify, I JUST MADE DR. STRANGE IN THE MULTIVERSE OF MADNESS ABOUT ME. YOU'RE READING ABOUT ME DOING THIS RIGHT NOW. I'm convinced that I'm always right. I can't tell you how many arguments I've gotten into that turned into shouting matches because I'm so convinced that I'm right. And even if I discover I'm wrong, I still stick to my irrational guns. I'm working on that, too. I've made a good deal of progress, I think. I haven't had one of those shouting matches in a while. I think cannabis has had a healthy hand in making me more humble.

Hell, just saying that means I'm still arrogant as fuck. Never believe someone who claims to be humble. They're so full of shit you can smell it on their breath.

But I'm not hopeless. At least I think about these things. Most arrogant assholes just accept they're awesome. They would probably sing along to this song without even a whiff of irony.

And then the Scarlet Witch (not Wanda, by the way) asks Strange if he found out there was an alternate universe where he was happy, wouldn't he want to go there? And you can see it in his eyes. Hell, who wouldn't want to do something like that? If I was happy in another world, I would absolutely want to go there.

But I wouldn't actually do it. Because doing so means I would have to get the other me out of the picture. Probably by killing him. And I just don't have that in me. The thought that she would want something like that actually horrified me. I'm glad Strange brings that up to her because I was thinking the exact same thing which made me realize that no, in the end he wasn't going to make the same mistake the other him did when he tried to sacrifice Chavez for the greater good.

Yet there is that moment when even Wong says that Strange has to sacrifice her, since it's the only way they could defeat the Scarlet Witch. And as Strange approaches her, Chavez asks him if that's what he's going to do. And she says it's OK. She gets it now. For a brief moment I was afraid he was actually going to do it. I thought he was going to say, "I'm not going to take it. I'm asking for it." And if she said yes, he really would do it. I don't think I could have liked Strange if he did that.

But like the true superhero he is, he found another way.

The film also touches upon another subject near and dear to my heart. The villain redemption. I'm going to talk about that in another one of these columns, so I won't go too deeply into it. But when we learn that it's no longer Wanda at the helm, that it's the Scarlet Witch instead, I wondered if she could come back from the evil she was committing. I didn't want to think she couldn't, but it was a legitimate concern for me. Villains with good reasons for doing horrible things are my fictional jam. But I always want to see them redeemed. And I was so glad she realized the error of her ways, sacrificing herself for the greater good. She tried to go to that other universe where she was happy, and she tried to take that away from her other self. Which is wrong on so many levels. But she realized it just in time to stop herself.

I hope if I'm ever in such a situation, I can do the same. Hopefully not at the last second, like she did, but you know.

IT'S OVER!

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #484: ROE V WADE

 

Sorry. This one is going to be pretty serious. Also, I'm breaking my rule. I'm writing this earlier than my bedtime because by bedtime I will be very high and not able to write something like this. But it's something that needs to be said.

Another disclaimer. I'm not a Democrat. A lot of conservatives think I am because of my stance on a lot of things, but I'm not. I'm middle of the road. However, ever since Trump started shitting the national bed, I've been pushed farther and farther to the left. One day, Bernie Sanders is going to look to the left and be shocked to see me (or anyone) standing there.

What I am is someone who believes in freedom, and with the recent news that the Supreme Court is going to overturn Roe v Wade, I don't dare call this country the Land of the Free. I never have, to be fair. I have a shirt that shows a map of the US, and it says, "LAND OF THE FREE*." The asterisk says, "SOME RESTRICTIONS APPLY. VOID WHERE PROHIBITED." I love my country for what it's supposed to be. I hate my country for what it actually is. And it could be "as advertised" if it wanted to be. But there is a small group of assholes who turn out to be pretty loud, and as a nurse told me once, regarding a patient who was naked and screaming in the hallway when I needed my morphine, "The squeaky wheel gets the grease."

When I was born, I almost won the lottery. I'm white. I'm male. I'm hetero. The only number I missed was being born into wealth. Even without that last one, I'm still pretty privileged. Even in ways I probably don't even know about because my natural response is to not think about it. I do think about it, though. And it pisses me off that not everyone has the freedoms that I have. Because goddammit, this is supposed to be the Land of the Free. Everyone who lives here should be treated equally, and they're not.

Which leads me to Roe. In case you didn't know, Roe is a pseudonym for the woman in question. Her privacy had to be protected in her legal action, and that woman has sadly decided, later in life, that abortion is not a right that women should have. And let's talk about that for a minute. The assholes on Fox Opinions have decided that if you live in a state that bans abortion, all you have to do is move to a state that allows it. One talking dickhead said such states treated abortion as a "free for all." Implying that abortion is a fun thing. Here's your punch card. Get nine abortions, and your tenth is for free.

That's not the fucking case. I know women who have gotten abortions. It's not a fun thing. They're still haunted by it and will be for the rest of their lives. But they had to do it. They weren't ready for kids. They couldn't have taken care of the poor child. And adoption is not a guaranteed thing. I've known people who are adopted. Sometimes it works out, but the majority wound up in ghastly situations. Foster parents often look for tax breaks, and that's all the kids are. Sometimes it's even worse. Sometimes they're looking for a child to rape. A lot of them are chomping at the bit for victims. Would you go through a pregnancy you didn't want just so you could hand your baby over to a kid toucher?

Abortion is not fun, but it's a necessary thing. And I can hear you saying, if you're not ready to have kids, don't fuck. To that, I laugh in your face. Sex is a healthy part of life, kind of like breathing and eating. Do you know what happens when you don't fuck? You get incels who want to enslave women and rape them whenever they desire. They'll call it "fucking," but what they actually have in mind is some Brock Turner type shit.

But, shockingly enough, that's not my topic tonight. I stand by a woman's right to an abortion because if I were a woman, I would 100% want that. And it is a right. The same dickheads who screamed about how wearing masks during a plague was a violation of their personal freedoms are now claiming that women don't have personal freedoms. And yet I suspect that if one of those pieces of shit got someone pregnant, they would demand that she get an abortion. It's like that episode of IT'S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA, when Mac goes to anti-abortion rallies, but the instant he gets one of his fellow protestors pregnant, he tells her she needs to get an abortion.

But that's all I'll say about that. There's something far more insidious happening in this, and while I prioritize a woman's right to an abortion, it is being overshadowed by this other thing. That's why there is a map of the US at the top of this column. Take a look at it. And now remember what the Fox asshole said about moving to another state where abortion is legal.

Let's say that those who live in those states where it is illegal do move to a state where it's legal. Just for the sake of argument. When they all flee to safety, which is a natural response, and I would never blame anyone for that, who is left in those illegal states? People who are, as they define themselves, "pro-life." Which they're not, by the way. As soon as you're born, you can go fuck yourself as far as they're concerned. Born into poverty with no way out? Eh, you were asking for it in the womb.

Well, what does that mean when the scumbag pro-lifers are the only ones in that state? There is zero opposition to the majority, right? Take a look at that map again. See how many states are ready to outlaw abortion. Compare to the states who are willing to uphold women's rights, like my own Illinois.

(Side note: I gotta say, I'm not really proud of my state often. When Pat Quinn left the governor's office without wearing handcuffs, it was kind of novel. We've been in debt for so long it's fucking shocking. But with recreational cannabis legalized, and the fact that we're upholding women's rights, I'm really proud of that.)

So if everyone who wanted a legal abortion left those states, who would be left but the religious nuts who insist that Sharia law is evil but who are doing the exact same thing in America, just with a different god? And which party do you think those loathsome toads are going to vote for? That's right, each of those states you see above are going to be red states. And they will outnumber blue states.

I hate that we have this two party system. Yeah, I know, there are other parties, but when was the last time America voted one of them into the presidency? I'll tell you, because I actually research this shit in case you've forgotten about my essays on Aaron Burr and Benedict Arnold. The last time was Lincoln's second term. Republicans like to claim him as one of their own to show how progressive they are. Well, that's bullshit. As recently as WWII those assholes tried to bring back slavery. And anyway, the parties used to stand for different principles. For example, the KKK used to be Democrats.

But yes, when Lincoln was first elected he was a Republican. When he ran the second time? He ran as a member of the National Union. And if you research as much as I do, you might object to my point, saying that it was a Republican plot to get Democrats to vote for Lincoln. And you may be right. But you're also proving my point more. Because before Lincoln? The last time a president was not a Republican or Democrat? Millard Fillmore. A fucking Whig.

You do remember Fillmore, don't you?

I'm going off on a slight tangent on that one, but let's get back to more recent times. If Roe v Wade is overturned, and the decision on abortion goes back to the states, then the red states will have the majority. They will easily win the next presidential election.

And what fucking asshole is planning on running in 2024?

Oh yeah.

The number one thing you should think about, when Trump is making wild accusations, is that he's using a very old playbook for dictators. ALWAYS ACCUSE THE OTHER SIDE OF WHAT YOU, YOURSELF, ARE DOING. This might be the most insidious election fraud of all time.

And if Roe v Wade can be shot down in flames? What other laws are endangered? Perhaps the 13th Amendment? (If you've forgotten from school, that's the one that outlaws slavery.)

Yeah, that's a pretty depressing thing, and I'm sorry you had to slog through all of that to get to my point. As Bill Hicks used to say, "Don't worry. Dick jokes are on the way." But they're not. Probably.

Here's another thought, and it's a dark one. I say this as someone whose mom had black eyes on a regular basis. Those black eyes were always explained as, "She tripped and hit her eye on a doorknob." If we had a basement, it probably would have been, "She accidentally fell down the stairs." Those states that plan on outlawing abortion are also planning on prosecuting women who purposefully use their own methods to terminate their pregnancies. Like, with coat hangers. Or accidentally falling down the stairs. Or the old gin method. But I wonder, what if it's the fetus's father who does it? Like, he purposely punches her in the stomach, just for example. Would these states prosecute the prospective fathers? I'll bet they don't.

Your reward

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #483: FALLING BACK IN LOVE WITH HORROR MOVIES

 Remember a while ago when I posted this? I was afraid I was falling out of love with horror movies. In all honesty, at the time I wrote that, I felt certain I'd fallen out of love. I just didn't want to fully admit that. But luckily I was wrong. I wanted to talk about a few horror movies I really got excited about recently. You should check them out. Two of the three are on Shudder, if you have that. If you don't, I think they have a permanent free trial you can use for, I don't know, a week, I think? The third I saw in theaters. Let's start with that one.

I'm an unabashed fan of Ti West, and his return to directing made me happy. As with most of his work, it feels like a throwback . . . because it is a throwback. X is about a group of people in the 'Seventies who want to make a porno movie together. They rent a bunkhouse on a Texan farmer's land, but they don't tell him why they're renting the place. Naturally, things go horribly awry in glorious ways. I got a huge kick out of it, especially when . . . find out for yourselves. Outlaw Vern brought this up, and I didn't notice it at the time, but it seems that everyone's death is foreshadowed in an excellent way. I know of at least two instances, but see if you can spot more.

If you were to ask me my favorite UK werewolf movie, I'd say Dog Soldiers without a second thought. Howl is a decently close second. A group of people on a train ride through the woods suddenly find themselves stuck in the middle of nowhere and besieged by a werewolf. And I'm not talking about your typical movie werewolf. If you're familiar with the White Wolf Werewolf: The Apocalypse RPG, you'll find this kind of werewolf a bit familiar. And hey! There is a Dog Soldiers connection! Let's see if you can find it.

I love me a southern gothic horror story, and Jug Face is top shelf. The less you know going into it, the better. There is something at the end of this movie I want to talk about so badly, but I'm going to keep my mouth shut. I honestly didn't see it coming, and I'm so glad I watched this one.

I'm glad to say that these three films have helped me relearn what I truly love about this genre of filmmaking. I hope this trend continues. I still can't find it in my heart to finish Fried Barry, though.

Look at that! I should be in love with this movie! What the fuck?

GOODNIGHT FUCKERS #482: WELCOME TO THE END TIMES. FOR REAL.

 I saw this Tweet earlier today, and my first reaction was to think, GOOD. But then another horrifying thought occurred to me. I'm sure you know exactly what that thought is, but indulge me for a moment.

When I was younger I had a list of the world's ten most powerful dictators. Each and every time one died, it made me smile. So long, asshole. (It should be noted that I never wondered who would take the tenth spot when everyone moved up to fill the gap. It probably should have concerned me a bit more.)

I no longer have that list (I don't think), but I'm pretty sure if I consulted it now, the last dick standing would be this son of a bitch. Long have I wished to see the headline proclaiming his death, and long have I been disappointed.

However.

For a brief moment, when reading this Tweet, I thought, "It's finally happening." The world will soon be rid of Vladimir S. Putin. (I'm pretty sure Shit is his middle name.) That would put an end to the war in Ukraine that no one but he wants. It would also free the Russian people from a yoke they've been chained to for decades. It would, dare I say it, make the world a much better place.

But.

What if he really is dying? Do you see him going quietly into the night? Or do you see him jamming his finger down on the button? "Fuck this. If I'm dying, I'm taking the goddam world with me."

And that's the horrifying thought. What if his impending death means that the Doomsday Clock finally strikes midnight?

"It's time to get familiar with cannibalism." Hunter S. Thompson said that, but holy shit, we won't have any time for that business. Even if there are some people unlucky enough to survive a planet wide nuclear holocaust, and even if they were free of radiation poisoning, how long would they last when resorting to cannibalism?

I guess if there's a lesson in tonight's Goodnight, Fuckers, it's this: if you plan on becoming a cannibal, now is the time to do it. Don't wait until it's too late.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #481: AN ODD SENSATION

 You can probably imagine that what with me losing another toe, my grandma dying and the real possibility of homelessness looming over me that I haven't been up to writing these things lately. I went back to work today, so I'm feeling a bit livelier, so let's give this a shot.

Back in 2020, after watching the world fall apart worse with every year, I got an odd sensation. Earlier that year I'd been hospitalized due to alcohol withdrawals and went on adventures in my head for a couple of weeks. That was in January. If I remember right, I went to the psych ward in June. Around that time I started getting the sensation that I was dead. I'd died when I was going through withdrawals. This was the afterlife, and it was super fucked up. Everything was a figment of my dead imagination, even the people I talked to. And if they tried to deny being figments of my dead imagination, I would think, "That's exactly what a figment of my dead imagination would say."

It turns out there is a disorder for that. It's called Cotard's Syndrome, except people suffering from that usually think they're rotting corpses. I didn't think that. But I'm pretty sure I'm alive now.

Something similar happened when I got out of the hospital for the toe amputation. The world seemed a bit off. I'd only been in the hospital about a week or so. Could they have built this brand new house that wasn't there before in that time? I noticed the names of stores and restaurants had changed. An odd sensation came over me that I had accidentally slipped into a parallel universe. Perhaps the one just next door.

Had all these gyms been around before? I swear to Christ, independent fitness centers have sprouted up everywhere. Fucking everywhere. Some of them seem to have sprouted up overnight. Are we being invaded by gyms? Are these gyms from outer space? Because there is no way there are enough people going to these gyms to keep them financially afloat. No fuckin' way.

That sensation has faded, but it felt strange going through life like that. The first time I went outside after I got home from the hospital, everything had a dreamy quality to it. Odd. Different. I swear it wasn't the Oxy the hospitalist gave me.

There isn't a disorder for that. Probably not. A cursory glance at Google didn't turn anything up. At least I'm not the only one wondering this. There is a Reddit thread on the subject, but no one had any answers.

Bruni's Syndrome. There it is. I shall write this up for the New England Journal of Medicine and await my Nobel Prize with Christ-like restraint.

BENEDICT ARNOLD

 

When I was growing up, if someone was talking about a traitor, they would call that person a Benedict Arnold. Imagine doing something so heinous that your name is forever linked with it. Like Burke and Hare. Well, Burke, that is. But I’ve noticed a weird thing of late. No one calls anyone a Benedict Arnold anymore. I think it’s because the idea of treason is so permissible in our current political climate that it doesn’t matter anymore. The previous president committed treason almost every single time he opened his mouth to say something. And the sick thing is, he didn’t even do it for the enemy. He did it for personal gain and nothing else. 

 

But we’re not here to talk about that loathsome toad. Instead I want to take a look at Benedict Arnold, the man. I can’t condone his traitorous actions, but I can see why he did the things he did. His choices didn’t just come out of the blue. 

 

A Connecticut boy, Arnold was born to a wealthy mother who somehow wound up stuck with his father, a wastrel who drove their estate directly into the ground. (Oddly enough his father and his father’s father were also named Benedict Arnold.) So our Arnold knew what it was like to live in poverty to the point that three of his siblings died of Yellow Fever. 

 

Naturally Arnold got into some shit. Because of his father’s excessive drinking and spending, Arnold had to be pulled out of school, where he found himself with a lot of time on his hands to get into trouble. His mother set him up with a cousin’s apothecary business, where he apprenticed for a bit. He took breaks every once in a while to fight in the French and Indian War, and this experience showed him that he did, indeed, like being a soldier. 

 

But in the meantime his mother also fell prey to Yellow Fever, and not long after his father, who had a history of getting arrested, finally died. 

 

Arnold soon got into trade relations with the West Indies, owning three ships with a partner, but British taxation and restrictions ate at him until the Sugar Act of 1764 and the Stamp Act, the latter of which you probably heard a lot about in elementary school and promptly forgot about as soon as you knew you wouldn’t be tested on it. 

 

That’s what drove him to join the Sons of Liberty, thus setting him down the path to his eventual betrayal. 

 

He promptly joined the Continental Army and started hanging out with Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys. They acted swiftly in attacking Ft. Ticonderoga, taking it with surprising ease. The only problem was, Arnold got permission from the Massachusetts Committee of Safety to lead the battle while Allen, due to his leadership of the Green Mountain Boys, refused to give in. Arnold lost that one, and it wouldn’t be the first of his clashes with fellow officers. Another case in point: Col. James Easton was supposed to deliver the good news of the fort’s capture to their Massachusetts superiors. Arnold wanted the honor for himself. I’ll let Arnold speak for himself on this one: “I took the liberty of breaking his head, and on his refusing to draw like a gentleman, he having a hanger on his side and a case of loaded pistols in his pocket, I kicked him very heartily and ordered him from the Point immediately.” 

 

So Arnold didn’t take shit from anyone, really. Perhaps the only reason he relented with Allen was because of the Boys, who were known as “rowdy, rough and tumble fighters.” 

 

Easton, as you would expect, didn’t take well to being thrashed by Arnold. When Easton reported the capture of Ft. Ticonderoga, he downplayed Arnold’s role significantly. While he did this, Arnold and Allen decided that their next step should be an invasion of Canada. And then Col. Benjamin Hinman was sent by the Connecticut governor to take over command of the fort. Allen had no problem stepping down, but Arnold? Headstrong as always, he wanted to plow ahead and kill more redcoats. He paid the price for his hubris: he was stripped of his ships and men, essentially abandoned by the home that he loved so much. 

 

The turd on top of this shit sandwich: when he returned home after Ft. Ticonderoga he discovered that his wife had died in his absence. Notice a pattern? 

 

Oh yeah, and he only got a teeny-tiny bit of the money owed to him by the Continental Congress. That pissed him off. He had to go before the Congress before he was finally granted the rest of what was owed to him. 

 

It turns out that George Washington also thought it would be a good idea to invade Canada, Quebec in particular. It would cut the British off the continent and would ensure safety from an invasion from above. He also thought that Arnold should be involved. But not as the commander. No, he gave that honor to General Phillip Schuyler. That stuck in Arnold’s craw. He felt that he should be in charge. But he girded his loins and set off with his invasion forces. 

 

The going was bad. You can’t win a land war in Asia, and you should not invade Canada in the winter. It was cold and brutal. The going was rough. They weren’t supplied well enough. It’s not surprising that a great number of Americans deserted the invasion force. As they got closer to Quebec, Arnold thought he would need some updated intelligence on what he was about to face, so he sent a letter back home. Unfortunately that letter fell into enemy hands, and they now knew to expect Arnold’s invasion. They bolstered the city’s defenses, and even though Arnold got reinforcements, they didn’t stand a chance against the British. 

 

This is where Arnold got shot in the leg and had to fall back. That didn’t stop him from shouting orders the whole time. But while a competent officer took over for him, it became very clear that the redcoats were going to win. Arnold refused to give in, but there wasn’t much he could do with a horrible leg wound. 

 

(A side note: Aaron Burr also fought at Quebec. I wasn’t able to find out if they knew each other or even liked each other, but I find it quite interesting that most of the Founding Fathers did not actually fight in the Revolutionary War, Washington being the very obvious exception. Yet here are the two most notorious Americans of the time actually doing the grunt work. Something to think about.) 

 

They took Arnold to Montreal, where he convalesced, and when he was ready he rejoined soldiers on an intercept mission to Lake Champlain. He suspected the British would run an invasion force down from the lake, and he was right. He constructed a flotilla that ambushed the redcoats and soundly handed them their asses. 

 

It’s hard to play what-if sometimes, but it’s entirely possible that if Arnold hadn’t done this, we might still be under British rule. It can’t be stressed enough: Benedict Arnold saved America from being stillborn. 

 

But Arnold made a lot of enemies, and it infuriated him when five junior officers were promoted over him. He should have been next in line. Angered and frustrated, he handed in his resignation to Washington. Washington, possibly the only person in Arnold’s corner, convinced him to stay with the army, which he did. He was sent to battle the British in central New York under the banner of General Horatio Gates. 

 

Not surprising, Arnold fucking hated Gates, and the feeling was mutual. They argued so much that at one point Gates relieved Arnold of his command. Arnold defied this order and led a bunch of soldiers against the British line. It was a surprise attack, and it had the desired effect. Shortly after, the British surrendered at Saratoga. 

 

Here is another moment where Benedict Arnold, America’s most hated traitor, saved America’s bacon. Because of his victory here, the French decided to join the war on America’s side. Without this happening, it is very possible that, once again, we would still be under British rule. 

 

Incidentally, it was here that his horse was shot out from under him, landing on the same leg that had been injured at Quebec. That put him out of action for a while, and unsurprisingly Gates took credit for Saratoga. No glory or recognition for Arnold. 

 

Are you seeing another pattern? 

 

He was promoted, but it was too little, too late. Arnold harbored hatred for the Continental Congress in his heart, and it would never go away, not even when, after Philadelphia was cleared of redcoats, he was named Commandant of the City. (Or Military Governor, depending on which account you read.) 

 

During this time he met his second wife, Peggy Shippen. Some say this was the turning point in his life, the thing that led to his betrayal of his own country. Shippen had some loyalist ties, and more to the point, she knew John Andre and probably introduced the two of them. If you don’t know John Andre, you will in a moment. 

 

Arnold and his new wife lived beyond their means. There were rumors that he was abusing his office for his own gain. That could be, but remember that everyone hated Arnold, so it’s possible that they were just rumors. One way or the other, they found themselves over their heads in debt. Arnold believed that had he been properly promoted he would never have been in this situation. Soon he found himself charged of a lot of crimes, but the two that stuck were using government wagons for his personal use and giving a pass to a ship that he was invested in. Found guilty and court martialed, it only embittered him more against the country he fought so hard to found. 

 

Enter John Andre. He and Arnold started talking, and before long Andre had convinced Arnold to betray his country. He started out passing information on troop locations to Andre. And then came the betrayal that broke the camel’s back. Arnold found himself in command of West Point. What better gift to make to the British? 

 

Well, not a gift. He was offered twenty thousand pounds and a commission in the British military for West Point, and he took them up on it. After all, if no one in the colonies could appreciate his work, fuck ‘em. 

 

Unfortunately for Arnold, Andre was captured trying to get this information over the British lines. The papers clearly showed Arnold’s treason, and while Andre was busy getting executed, Arnold fled over the line and was protected by the British. He didn’t get all of his money, since West Point remained in American hands, but he had his life. 

 

Oddly enough, word of Arnold’s treason spread and helped raise morale on the American side. Washington, formerly Arnold’s only ally, issued orders that he was to be shot on sight. The Continental Army fought with renewed vigor which helped win more battles. In a backwards kind of way, Arnold saved America a third time. 

 

The British made him a brigadier general, but they never really trusted him. They never let him lead important charges, and they let him be in charge of a few tasks that wouldn’t interfere with the overall war. 

 

When it was all over Arnold and his family moved to London, where he tried his hand at several business ventures and failed each and every one of them. No one trusted him. Almost everyone hated him. 

 

He died on June 14, 1801, aged sixty, without a penny to his name. 

 

I’ll let Benjamin Franklin have the final word on Benedict Arnold. In a letter to the Marquis De Lafayette, written when Arnold’s treason was fresh, Franklin compared him to Judas. Franklin added that it was “a miserable bargain especially when one considers the quantity of infamy he has acquired to himself and entailed on his family.”