by Ashley Beth
For through teeth grinding is the way we come in
And with teeth grinding is the way we go out
And if and only if
The only times we truly live
Our teeth are grasping all the air
In us to shout?
I was flying 38,000 feet above the brown, February ground when I discovered once and for all that bourbon is better than whiskey. The devil had three fingers in me, after taking a ceremonious shot of Woodford Reserve just outside security at Louisville’s Standiford Field airport and then a double of the notch up by the gate while my flight was delayed. I like how bourbon picks you up gently, carries ya tenderly and sits you down nicely, unlike the rude, ravaging, death-by-aftertaste of Jack Daniels.
It was official. This 2016 airplane trip from Newark, New Jersey, to Louisville and back would go down in this 29-year-old platinum blonde’s life as the moment that she would fall prey to the swagger of bourbon. Which, frankly, looks like it will serve me better than any man I’ve ever invited to share life with me. After all, bourbon doesn’t discriminate, criticize or make condescending comments indicating incompetence which upon questioning are apparently really never supposed to insult us, we just need to stop being so “damn sensitive.”
Anyways, squirrel. This would also be the trappings of what I hope to be the long love affair I will have with Louisville. In fact, the bourbon was becoming the iconic scent of the lover that Louisville was becoming to me. The Victorian mansions teased me, her Fleur de Lis charmed me and the friendly, laid back whispers of the Highlands intrigued me. This was my third trip to city that I swear has a sister city in New Orleans. They’re just too similar. They have too many similarities to list here but the mutual, Louis XIV “Sun King” settling of the two lands, their dedication to beauty, their commitment to art, their slurry speech as they ask you in an accent dripping with honey, “How ya doin’, darling?” Sigh. I just can’t even. I’m disappointed that this is only my third trip.
Since our introduction at GonzoFest 2015 and the exciting, subsequent events of that Donald Trump broadcasted, mass shootings blasted, catastrophic year of our Lord 2015, Louisville, Kentucky was starting to magnetize me. Like a massive device rigged by Magneto, I could feel it warming up. I could hear the clicking, the clacking, the warming of the tubes. The radio waves blasting, the cobwebs of years past lambasting and the preservers of the Great Gonzo Spirit gripping hands they had not held since they stood in circle round a two-thumbed fisted cannon containing the ashes of the only music-political-sports—counter culture-social commentator-historian journalist in America’s history. Continue reading
by Kyle K. Mann
They make the drinks strong at Abuelitas Mexican Restaurant, and halfway into the first Bloody Mary I forgot which team jersey color was which in the Patriots-Seahawks game. Not that it mattered that much as I was merely watching occasionally in hopes of seeing my ex-classmate, that scummy cheater Pete Carroll, lose. But my foggy memory troubled me.
I’m on the lookout for signs of dementia or Alzheimer’s Disease at this point in my life. After all, look what happened to my other Redwood High School classmate, Robin Williams. “Lewy body dementia,” brrrr. What a bummer way to go. No, I gotta arrange for a better exit than that. Something with a modicum of dignity.
Carroll is probably in the same boat. The coach hilariously responsible for the greatest choke in Super Bowl history, he’s gotta be wondering at 3AM about that horrid pass call from the one yard line. Such is life; one minute you’re on top, the next, you’re a reviled goat.
Which brings us to President-Elect Trump. Hard to believe I wrote that. The words look wrong, even cosmically weird. My editor, David Pratt, says we have all slipped into Bizarro World, and that’s as good an explanation as any.
I refused to vote in the election, and am taking a bit of flak on FaceBook for it. Oooo, FaceBook. It’s my own damn fault for standing up to those waving the flag about people having died for our right to vote and saying how angry they are at the nearly 50% who boycotted the noble cause of electing The First Woman President. Phooey!
Nothing on earth could have convinced me to cast my vote for that warmongering, cackling, over-entitled monster. Continue reading
by Mark Linnhoefer
‘Fuck.’ was my first thought as my alarm rang at an atrocious volume. I had set it so I wouldn’t miss the results of this shitfest of an election.
The notion that any vote in essence comes down to choosing between a Giant Douche and a Turd Sandwich, espoused by South Park many years ago, has never been more true than it is today on the 9th of November, the day of the aftermath of the presidential election in this foul year of Our Lord 2016.
We all know what happened. America showed the world today that it is so caught up in a better yesterday, motivated by atavistic regression to a time where white males had all the power and the world seemed safe. In this strife for the values of Old, the epitome of Old & Evil was put in power. And one thing on which I have to agree with Trump’s supporters is that he did, indeed, always speak his mind. And that’s terrifying. I can still hear the media reports from just a few months ago, prophesizing that Trump would somehow pivot to a more “presidential” POV and tone in his speeches, that he would align himself with mainstream beliefs and morals if the time came to be serious… but he never did. He has gotten progressively worse – more outrageous, more hateful – and yet he still got elected.
Much like the days in which the world just silently shook its head looking at that manchild George W. Bush pretending to be able to run a country or wage a war, the world is now again looking down on the US, silently shaking its head: “How could you vote for that guy?”…. Well, we need to get off our high horses as well. Trump is just the, in the typical American way, completely overblown epitome of a sickness that has infested the world. In France, Germany, the Philippines, Austria, Greece, UK, and a host of other nations, the percentage of extremist voters is steadily rising. The entire world is caught up in nostalgia-gone-bad. With Daesh plaguing the world, the economies going down the drain, and a general sense of uneasiness going around, it is only natural that people flock towards those that promise an easy, safe solution for it all. The big talkers, the bigots, those who know how to kindle our fears and make them fester in our hearts.
All of us, collectively, are to blame. Our fucking first-world sense of superiority is being challenged by the very idea that because of terrorism or refugees our decadent ways could be threatened. And when they threaten our comfort, we show our claws – by rushing to elect the xenophobic populists who tell us that our comfort can be bought with other people’s fear, that it can be bought by our hatred of others, by excluding those less fortunate or simply different.
But of all things to hate and blame here, I put it on my Generation. The fucking millennial dipshits who have the right to vote and are not using it. The Voice Of Youth is silent. Only 55% of the American population voted this year, a sad number. And what angers me is those votes that were cast by young people that went to Trump, because it just describes this generation so fucking well – the laziness that thrives on easy, populist solutions, the will to be against anything established, and the urge to be on the fringes of society. Liberal ideas are too mainstream, too established for us young, impressionable idiots. We wanna GRAB THEM BY THE PUSSY! Woo-hoo! We wanna SEND THEM ALL BACK HOME! We wanna BUILD A WALL! We wanna FUCK THEM ALL TO DEATH! We want that juicy, sensationalist crap, we want the screeching drama, the lopsided arguments and shitty judgement. We want to hear about Emails and Pussy, about Bigotry and Dishonesty. Fuck Political Discourse, and bring us Reality TV for the nation’s politics.
Bah. I am sickened by this shit. The world was shown today that noone really gives a fuck anymore. Saying what’s on your mind is the only requirement for the POTUS it seems. Trump is, for better or worse, the logical endpoint of the excessive individualism prevalent in our Western Society where we all just want to be rich & famous because of who we are and not because of what we do. If we take that into consideration, Trump fits this narcissistic era perfectly; let’s just hope he’ll take the next four years to really drive home the point that we should’ve voted for Bernie when we still had the chance.
And, look, I’m not even that mad that it was Trump. I would have written a similar, anger-laden monologue if Clinton had won.
What angers me the most is that this entire election just felt like a bad joke. Like something out of a cartoon movie or a Monty Pythonesque Satire. We’ve had two utterly unacceptable main candidates running, that were too entangled in talking shit about each other to actually talk about their policies. All we know about these people is that one is “the wall bigot” and the other is “the email skank” – and that’s pretty much a summary of this entire election year. Now the wall bigot runs the country and the email skank finally descends back into irrelevance.
This election seemed like a contest fifth graders would hold – who can discredit their opponent in the most scandalous and news-worthy way possible? To me that seemed to be the main issue, and the results just underline that – the guy who was most outrageous won.
Both of these fucking degenerate pieces of shit did things and unleashed scandals of Watergate-worthy proportions, and yet neither of them was indicted or even in serious peril of losing the candidacy – one of them is now president! Even fucking Nixon & Cheney would have looked at this year’s election and said “This has gone too far. We’re evil, but we do have some moral fiber left in our bodies. Let’s discard both those idiots and start over.”
But alas – scandal, drama, excitement, narcissism, and edginess is what people are apparently looking for in a presidential race. And that’s what they got. Alea jacta est, the dice have been cast, and only God knows what will happen now, and only He will be able to help us once shit starts to hit the fan.
We have fucked up. You, Americans, have fucked up nationally, but we as the world have also fucked up globally. This election will pave the way for more populists in other countries, it will pave the way for Yellow-Elections based only on the size of the headlines the candidates can produce. It’s an ungodly mess we have gotten ourselves into. We have proven that we’re too stupid to care about the actual issues. We have shown that we can be manipulated and abused by the simplest mass psychological tricks in the book.
I don’t know who it is that votes for these people – flag-dry-humping bigots drenched in the sweat of their fear for tomorrow, humming the national anthem while fellating a hot dog and sticking the constitution up their asses.
To quote HST “I piss down the throats of these Nazis”. And so do I – Fuck Trump, Fuck Clinton, Fuck Uncle Sam, and Fuck this bullshit farce of an Election!
A PERSONAL MESSAGE FROM THE GONZO TODAY PUBLISHER-
words & art by Clayton Luce
For those of you feeling a punch in your gut that “you are out of touch and living in a bubble,” go with your gut. You were.
By: Kidman J. Williams
I used to love Saturday morning cartoons. I couldn’t wait to wake up, go out into the kitchen and get myself a heaping bowl of Apple Jacks and park my Under Roos clad booty in front of the television to watch all my favorite shows of the time. We all watched Looney Toons, Beetlejuice, Tom and Jerry, and who doesn’t remember The Gummi Bears?
The old cartoons always had something for the adults to enjoy along with their kids so that they could tolerate being in the same room. Even The Muppet Show. Especially The Muppet Show. I once watched a gorilla hump Bunsen’s butt after he sent Beaker back in time.
Then alas there was always the end. The first signal was when Saved By the Bell came on because you knew Soul Train was right around the corner to ruin your whole cartoon morning.
What happened to the old insensitive cartoons. Back when you could watch a cat throw a mouse into a sandwich and a dog beat the ever loving Hell out of cat. Good ole Spike. He just didn’t like Tom did he. Tom was kind of a selfish dumpster cat.
If you watch cartoons now verse the cartoons that came on back when we were kids, there is a considerable difference in the scripts.
The Adult Humor is Gone in Cartoons
Take the Flintstones. Iconic cartoon, but it was very much the Honeymooners with Jackie Gleason and Art Carney. There is no doubt. It also contained grown up things and ideas. Fred went to work, he would go on lunch break, he would come home, have dinner, go bowling; at night him and Wilma chilled, probably had a fight, and Fred would get locked out of the house because the domesticated Saber-tooth tiger outsmarted him and locked him out of the house Continue reading