DON'T GET THE 'BEETUS, KIDS: PART 1

 Not a Goodnight, Fuckers. I should be in bed because I have to be up super early for my surgery, but I'm still wide awake. They did not forbid smoking weed, so I'm about to do a bunch of that to get to bed. In related news, I've just taken my last regular shower for possibly 3 months. I changed my bandage for hopefully the last time. And I thought you might want to see what the horror looks like. The first picture is safe. So is the second. The third is a bit iffy. The fourth should not be viewed by anyone who doesn't want to see a hole in the bottom of my fucking foot because holy shit, it looks bad. If you're into gross shit, then that one will scratch the itch.

The freshly changed bandage! By the way, if you were to look at this part of my body tomorrow night, you'll see a cage installed around that leg with pins going into my bones. I'm going to be pretty sloppy on painkillers the first week as a result. Now, prepare yourself for my horrible toenails, which are impossible to cut with clippers at this point.

And now let's get inside that bandage. Let's take a look at the hole on the side of my foot. I can't see that side very well, but I was told by the doctor that she could see bone through it. Thankfully that is not visible here.

I'm not allowed to clean my foot, by the way. Anything above the ankle is fine, but below is a no-no. Only Wound Care can do that. And here's the final picture, the really fucked up one. I'm used to it by now, but holy shit. Last chance. If you don't want to see this, look away.

The white crescent is the callus growing back, a common problem with those of us who have Charcot.

Speaking of, while the surgeon is in there, she's going to do the Charcot Reconstruction I talked about before. She's going to shave some of the bone off so the callus doesn't get so padded, and if everything goes according to plan, by the time they take the cage off my leg, my foot will be somewhat normal-ish. It will never be normal again, but it will look a lot better. I might not even need my brace anymore! I don't think I'll ever be able to take up running again, but walking! I might be able to go out for night walks again! And I'll have a new neighborhood to explore when that happens!

My first alarm tomorrow morning is 3:30. Holy shit, I'm fucked. All right, they're going to keep me overnight tomorrow, so I won't be posting again for a while. Probably. When I'm sane enough, I'll take pictures of what everything looks like and do part two. Where did I put my pipe?

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #999: A BREAK

 My Thursdays are usually busy, and the next one is going to be super fucking busy, but after last night's dark thoughts I needed a break. I got good news from Wound Care today: both holes in my bad foot are smaller. Progress. Finally. If all the bad shit that I expect to happen really does happen next week, I'm sure that progress will backslide. But it's good to have at least some good news.

I checked out a hotdog place with a friend today, and it was pretty good. The hotdog was decent, and the burger reminded me of Hamburger Heaven. Good, not great.

I also got exceptionally high and had great conversation with friends. I needed to be away from my thoughts for a while, and it was good to take a break from everything. The calm before the storm.

Starting tomorrow I'm going to fight the good fight and try to make that miracle happen,. As long as there's a chance, I've got to try.

It came up in conversation today that I have no idea what dipshit thing Trump said today was. I know there's something. There's something every fucking day. But I don't know what it is for a change. I'm sure I'll find out, but well.

I'm free for now.

One more Goodnight, Fuckers remaining. This is the last one that will be posted as intended, as the final thoughts I have before I go to bed. The next one will take some time to put together. I'll let you know when it goes live.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #998: ROLL THE DICE

I did it again. Deleted a full GF, no editing needed. For a different reason. Next week is going to be very bad for me. Something terrible is going to happen, and I know what it is. And there's nothing I can do about it. Yes, it's on the list of things that will make me drink again. It's currently the second most likeliest thing to do the trick (number one is losing my bad foot).

The day it will happen next week is going to be two years and three hundred and three days since my last drink. There will not be two years and three hundred and four days. When it happens, I'm going to drive straight to the Corner Cottage and surprise the hell out of a lot of guys there who probably thought I'd died.

In the scenario I'd just deleted, I talked about skipping the good shit and going directly to Wild Irish Rose. I'm sure even in this economy it's dirt cheap. Not even having the decency to send myself off to the drunk tank on quality bourbon. But when it happens next week, I'll get a bottle of Wild Turkey 101, my old friend. I can always throw my life away on the cheap shit later.

I'll go back to my Elmhurst house, and if the locks haven't been changed, I'll take up residence on that broken down couch again and drink myself through the night. If the electricity hasn't been shut off, I'll be able to plug my phone in and watch some of my shows while doing so. I hate watching shit on my phone, but it'll get me through the night.

The next morning, if I've left myself any hair of the dog, I'll self-administer it and go to 7-Eleven to seek out Monster. I'll get the one with the sugar. Fuck it. By the time I'm in Joliet I'll still be hungover, so I'll stop in at McDonald's for a Double Cheeseburger. Those are the perfect cure for a hangover. By the time I'm home, I'll feel normal. Hell, I might not throw my life away on Wild Irish Rose. If Loudermilk can start over, so can I. Day 1 might happen. So might day 2. I'm sure it will. I'm not entirely stupid. Maybe falling off the wagon will smack some sense into me.

This dread is like a rock in my guts. Maybe I should just get the bottle now.

No. There's a slight chance the thing won't happen. I'm talking a 0.9999999% chance, but I could pull off a miracle. Anyone remember my DUI Diary? What did I say? Always roll the dice. I rolled them then and am the only person I know who was arrested for DUI and was found not guilty.

So yeah. I'll roll the dice.

Two Goodnight, Fuckers remaining . . .

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #997: THE MARCH OF TIME OR . . .

 Not too long ago I found the cache of photos Grandma left behind after she died. I'd seen many of them before, but this was the first opportunity I had to go through everything, and it surprised me to find a lot of pictures of my ancestors. It's interesting to scrutinize their faces, trying to find any trace of what would become part of me. I also found pictures in our old house and the apartment I lived in with my stepfather, and I never thought I would see that place again. I saw a picture of me with his weird fish tank, the one he put in a glass cooler that sustained itself until one of my brothers accidentally knocked it over and broke it. I also found pictures of that kitchen and even of the phone bench. Yes, phone bench, a bench where you are meant to sit when talking on the phone. The phone in question was a candlestick type. My stepfather was an asshole, but he also had very interesting parts of his life. He was a scientist. Did I tell you that before? A biologist to be specific. The last job he had was at a paint store, if that gives you any indication of his employability in his chosen profession.

But the thing that struck me most was seeing pictures of my Illinois siblings, three brothers. We didn't grow up together, exactly. I'm the oldest, and their father is different from mine. When I escaped that apartment, I'd lived with two of my brothers for years. Then I was on my own for a while before the other two and Mom moved in to escape my stepdad, too. Soon a third brother was born into that house, and they'd all moved back in with my stepdad in the town next door. At least until things went sour again, and they moved back in with us until their dad lured them to Crystal Lake to finish their upbringing. That third brother eventually moved back in with me and our grandparents . . . to escape his dad.

But I'd forgotten about those days when we were all living under the same roof, and our lives were different. Much different. I marvel at these pictures, at the innocence on their faces. Because they really did have good lives at some point. I had a good life at some point.

But I know how my brothers all turned out, and it actually twists the knife in my guts a little. Because the brightness in their eyes has died out, dulled by tragedy and just plain old life. They will never be as happy as they were back then. Neither will I, but unlike them, I had a small part to play in the destruction of their innocence.

Remember, I'm the oldest. As the oldest brother I felt it was necessary to terrorize them on occasion. It's what older brothers do.

I try to tell myself that the march of time is actually responsible. There would have been no way to maintain that innocence. William Blake wrote a book about comparisons between innocence and experience and how the latter must kill the former. The world's job is to make adults out of children. But I shouldn't have taken to my older brother duties so efficiently.

I think last night's essay might have gotten to me a little because I dreamed that I went back in time to visit my brothers back then. I told them I was Future Me, and I just wanted to hang out for a while. It felt good to watch them hang out and have carefree fun. Bright eyes and easy smiles. For a moment I almost told them what happened to them in their future. But that, too, would destroy some piece of their innocence.

Instead I settled back and watched them play.

Only three GFs remaining . . .

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #996: KILLING BABY HITLER

Baby Hitler

 

It's the age old question, isn't it? No, it's not. The question probably doesn't go back any farther than the 1930s, but for me, a 46 year old man, it's an age old question. If you had the ability to time travel, would you go back in time and kill baby Hitler?

I'm a firm no for a variety of reasons. Chief among them is, doing so would completely change your present. It could be for the better, sure, but it could also be for the worse. Is that a gamble you're willing to make? Remember, the world you're returning to will be completely alien to you. From a time travel standpoint it makes no sense.

Also, there's a very real possibility that Hitler was going to grow up to be a fine upstanding citizen if some weirdo hadn't tried killing him when he was a baby.

But Jesus Christ man, you're talking about killing a baby. What kind of asshole kills a baby?

Oh right, this asshole killed a shit-ton of babies.

If you must use time travel to kill Hitler, go back to when Nazis started running things in Germany. Pop into his bedroom at night and kill him then. Maybe you'll even find him stroking it, caressing a one-balled sac. (The other is in Albert Hall.) Think how embarrassing it would have been for him to get killed while rubbing the one-eyed wonder weasel.

I bring this up because I thought of something horrible earlier today, and because I've suffered with this in my head, I must infec--er, I mean *share* it with the rest of you.

I know a lot of the Magas are Nazis, but there's probably a bunch of them still in denial who think Hitler was bad. Do those people ever think about this question?

The rest of them don't. For sure. Their big question is, if they could time travel, would they go back in time and kill baby Fred Rogers? He was a man who taught empathy and compassion to generations of children, and we know the Magas hate those things . (Empathy and compassion, that is. They love children. They make excellent victims.) Think of all the lives who could have been saved by cruelty without Mr. Rogers and his neighborhood!

I hope I've not given them ideas. Not that they could figure out time travel. That's not even on Musk's mind, and he's the only one of them with the wherewithal to find someone to figure it out and then steal the idea from them.

Four more Goodnight, Fuckers left . . .

Thank you for your service, Dean Winchester.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #995: THE CORRUPTION PERCEPTIONS INDEX

 Ever wonder how truly corrupt your country is? Luckily there's a website that keeps track of these things! It's called the Corruption Perceptions Index, and there's a pretty good method of scoring each country. The one unfortunate thing is, it's not very up-to-date. Right now the most recent data is from 2024.

But what you really want to know is how badly the United States is doing. Not nearly as bad as you would think! On a scale of 0 to 100, where 0 is exceptional corruption and 100 is corruption-free, we scored 65. We're down four points from 2023, but that's still not as bad as I'd expected. But what I really want to know is our score now.

I wonder how many points Trump 2.0 has cost us. Before he was sent back to the Oval Office, corruption was something to be ashamed of. It had to be hidden somehow. Swept under the proverbial rug. But now? He's flat-out saying everything that the other presidents have kept to themselves. Corruption is not just allowed now, but it's encouraged. If you're clean, you're doing it wrong. Corruption is the word of the day. The bolder, the better. Remember when Trump said he could shoot a man on Fifth Avenue and get away with it? I'll bet he could. I wonder why he hasn't. Perhaps he doesn't want his pristine hands to get dirty. Let that filthy drunk*, Hegseth, do it for him. Hegseth almost hurt someone with an axe on live TV once. He would probably be into it.

In a world where old folks and veterans are treated like shit, where we're currently rolling back the civil rights movement possibly to the Jim Crow days (or further back; when will Trump retcon the Emancipation Proclamation?), where authority figures are trying to outdo each other when it comes to cruelty and hatred, corruption is the biggest problem we're dealing with now. Number one with a bullet that sadly went astray in Butler, PA. Not that his death would end any of this. We're going to have to put the goddam leeches on them. ALL OF THEM. To get this to stop. ICE is the new SS. The American way of life is almost over and done. If you don't think we live in a fascist society, then you haven't been paying attention. The only thing keeping the country I grew up with alive are a handful of judges and, holy fuck, comedians doing parody news shows.

The Fifth Amendment guarantees us due process. Due process no longer exists. I mean, it does, for certain people. But if due process doesn't apply to everyone, then it applies to no one. An argument could be made that those who had due process taken from them were in the country illegally, which makes them criminals. But the people who make that argument are using laws as an excuse to abuse people who have no recourse. If they're criminals, then we can treat them as poorly as we want.

Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. Every single person on the planet has broken not just one but many laws throughout their lives. We're all criminals. Should we all be sent to El Salvador? Speaking of, Kilmar Abrego Garcia is never going to come back. Trump and Friends have a vested interest in keeping him there. I think things would look bad if they pulled an Epstein on him, so he'll probably stay alive, but if they brought him home? He'd be the face of a movement strong enough to destroy Trump. Hence his continued absence.

Trump advised that asshole in El Salvador to build more prisons because he wants to send a lot more people. I believe it was he and Marco Rubio (Little Marco?) who said something along the lines of, citizens should be deported if their beliefs don't align with the administration's. So I'm sure I'd be on that list of people to send to El Salvador. You might be, too, just for reading this.

I don't know how often the CPI gets updated, but I'm guessing we'll have our numbers at the end of the year. If the US is still there, that is. It's already on its deathbed. Perhaps the patient will have passed by then.

I hope not.

______________________________________________________________________________

*Yes, I was once a filthy drunk. But unlike this prick, I have never, in my deepest and darkest depths of drunkenness, thought I should be the Secretary of Defense.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #994: MT. RUSHMORE

I'm a little higher than I expected tonight, so this is going to be super short.  

I've never given a single solitary shit about Mt. Rushmore. Four presidents who were supposedly great. They were, I suppose, in their own backwards ways. Even Lincoln was a bit of a tyrant, getting rid of habeas corpus as he did. Sure, it's a wartime power, one I'm sure Trump lusts for. It would explain why he keeps referring to being at war with illegal immigrants. All the same, it was pretty nasty of Lincoln to do that. To say nothing of his idea of sending all the former slaves to Grenada so they can have their freedom far away from a white America.

But I recently learned something very, very important about Mt. Rushmore, and I suspect that not many others know about it. So . . . this is what the back of Mt. Rushmore looks like: 

*sigh* All right, it doesn't really look like that. I tee-heed for a while over it until I looked it up to be certain. It would have been poetic if true. There's even a joke about that being LBJ's cock. This is true: he used to give press conferences from the toilet. He was apparently very well endowed according to the White House Press Corps . . .