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The Misery of 45
Tuesday, April 04 2017
 
Written by Ricey Wild,
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I’ve been waiting for 45 to be impeached. Sigh. Been waiting too long – like for the warm bus to show up at 4:45 am on a bigly blizzardy morning and save me from certain and complete poverty. No headlights in sight, cigarette is wet, no matches anyway. My diabetic nerve pain is flaring up and my earmuffs can’t drown out the horror of the current US administration’s war upon The People.

This misery, and by that I mean 45, and its cabinet has it in for we American People. So many great citizens over the years made it their business to speak up for the downtrodden, the…you get it. Us. I praise the collective activists who now gather and take up the cause for everyone. Us. Except for my Cat Purrince the sneaky little fur ball who is trying to prevent me writing this column. He’s been napping on the sofa until this moment and here I thought he was with us. (He just jumped on the keyboard in an attempt to delete my previous words) I don’t know whose payroll he’s on but I’ll get to the bottom of it. Purrince IS gray and white.

I have been super-glued to ‘news’ stations which I have now separated from news, semi-fake news, alleged news, super news, and super fake alleged news…you see my dilemma. Some guy I friended on Facebook posted an absurd piece by an author plugging his book, saying 45 is a victim. IKR????

I almost peed mah knickers laughing. Then I looked at it again and the author did have a point. Stay with me here. The craven deplorables who surround poor ole 45 are the real ones in charge. They’re all like, “Leave this to us (not so gently pushing 45 out the White House) you just go golf and it will all be all right! Gwan ‘den!”

That’s all the wasted time I have for those white devils.

Here at home, in my HUD house I’m waiting for the frogs to begin singing. I live in a semi-swamp which is btw-the land left over to we Rezberrian’s after the white people took the best. Gawd, I just depressed myself until I recalled our swamp is now re-named “wetlands” which makes it sound better, to white people. And now they want that, too.

I go back and forth in history in my lone life so I’m never really bored. I ask “Why?” and seek the answers. Heh. A white woman asked me, “Well, don’t you like electricity (as if she invented it)?” and I had to laugh saying “Well yeah!” Her point was the benefits of colonization, and mine was that we did just fine without it. At the time, I didn’t feel like spouting my own belief about ‘civilization’ in European terms. That we Natives had been there, done that, and found it unsustainable. We simply preferred camping.

I am sick whenever anyone, no matter how much I like them, spouts such an entitled, racist ignorant view. I’m very tired of fighting too. I gotta leave that to you young ones who are not so battle weary and cynical as I am.

I will never quit writing because that’s who I am. I am very appreciative of those who are taking up the banners to fight for what’s right. The truly sad ones are those who will work for our common enemy and don’t care. No judgment here, just saying.

Tupac Shakur Shotley, the cat, is by my side just purring up some serious songs. I want to be more like him and just groove but get in some sweet lyrics too. His might be like, “don’t try ta save meh, I’ve been a shelter cat bay-beh” or something like that. Hehehe. I got a new gig writing lyrics for my five cats and one dog, Mitzi.

(Someone named Amanda or Daniel or Rachel or Lorri PLEASE HEEEELLLPPP MEEEEE!!!). I’m dreaming of lilacs, margaritas and scones. I have to break out of the Rezberry tractor beams.

Now I’m hearing purring in stereo, Tupac and XiXi, the two elder shelter cats I have given a forever home to. Both had their paws mangled but they love anyway just the same. I encourage yooz to get a cat or dog from a shelter, they will love you unconditionally for it.

Hey. Can someone adopt me, too? I’m so sad from being alone. But no jerks, users, thieves, stinky people, blamers or…never mind. I yam what I yam. I can be alone and happy. Last year certainly proved that to me in spades, yo. Never once have my Fur-amily back-stabbed me! Well, I do have to keep a sharp eye on Purrince.

 


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