by Kyle K. Mann
Gonzo Today Publisher and Contributing Editor
Hey bud, can you actually still read?
All right, here we go, I’m compelled to write about The Madness of Life. For yes, I am truly alone in the land of the mad.
So, I’ll be getting into my rented Toyota Corolla and driving from Topanga to Vegas early tomorrow morning. Annoyingly, my unkillable 1999 Honda Civic is no more.
Yep I got into a horrific wreck a couple months ago, late last 2023, and totaled the Civic. An SUV pulled a sudden left turn, and I slammed into it at 40 MPH. Time went into super slow-motion just prior to impact, and a white light appeared with a voice that said “Go limp.” So, I complied. Seemed like good advice.
WHAM!
The seatbelt let go, and I was thrown violently forward and to the right, with my cheekbone busting the windshield, but the airbags had both deployed. Some minor cuts that looked worse than they were, some bruises in my deltoid muscles.
Rather a miracle, I’d say. First responders were flabbergasted that I was walking and talking. The next day at the hospital, checking for concussion, the doctor picked some glass out of my eyelid. “You lead a charmed life,” she said.
The Civic was completely destroyed, of course. There’s a lot more to this story that I won’t go into here. Maybe someday.
Point being, I’m lucky. I loved that car but it was taken from me, probably because it was ugly, by forces beyond my control. And appearance is everything in this insane society of mine. So if I’m to complete my mission here, it appears I’m not going to drive an ugly, if utterly reliable car.
Man, I miss that heap.
The Vegas Superbowl 49ers Bet and the Vax
As readers of my previous article, titled ‘Vegas’, know, just before the 2023 NFL season started I was instructed by the spirit of my dead Goddaughter Ana to place a thousand dollar bet on my favorite team, the San Francisco 49ers, to win the Super Bowl. I complied, of course.
I’m not over her death, and may never be, but it’s OK because she’s often with me. The other day she appeared on my driveway as I admired the fabulous view of Topanga Canyon.
“Thank you for loving me,” she said, and vanished.
The argument can be made that I’ve gone mad. But I don’t think so.
I think the vax got her. She was 27, too young to die of heart failure as the autopsy stated. She was injected twice and then died in her bed. Right.
She had other medical issues, but I think the stress of the vax shots finished her off.
I know a lot of people who got vaxed. Then they got Covid. Some, multiple times. They keep insisting, many of them, that they did the right thing. Oooo Kay.
The much smaller group of people I know who didn’t get vaxed, didn’t get Covid. Including me.
Now I know there are exceptions, but that’s my experience. Take it or leave it. If I die from Covid, you can laugh then. Right now I’m laughing. Whatever that Big Pharma goo is that they are shooting my friends and family up with, I don’t want it. And that’s as polite as I’ll be here. Not very, but restraining myself from saying a lot worse, despite the fact that I was shamed and restricted repeatedly. Grrrr.
So, now I gotta drive to the MGM Grand, where I’ll watch the game because it’s where I made the bet and a lotta other subsequent football bets in 2023, amazingly coming away with a mid 4 figure profit. It kept me financially liquid during the film strikes. No, I won’t go into my fabulous job in Hollywood. I’m sick of that mess too.
Actually I’m sick of almost everything. Our crazy political system that offers me no one to vote for. Our insane military, bombing and propagandizing around the world. Our corporate kleptocracy devoted to profit at the expense of everything else. The clickbait media. The guns. The homeless thronging the streets. The culture that mostly glorifies uglyness. The desperation. The evil drugs, most of them legal.
Now, I’m willing to admit my coping mechanisms might be considered mad. I avoid almost everyone and eat a lot of chocolate. I write. Also I read. Most people don’t read, in fact they can’t or just won’t. Since I’m a writer, this is troubling. Still, it’s what I do, therefore this article.
Anyway, I made the 49ers bet, and now I’m going back to Vegas. Because of my dead Goddaughter’s betting advice, who had a quote of Hunter S. Thompson’s over her kitchen sink. Now, indeed, God has her too on His hands. And she’s a spiritual prankster. I have to be willing to lose this bet and chalk it off to an insane joke by the spirit of a humorously brilliant being who Went Home early.
[Correction to the ‘Vegas’ article: It was said there was a framed photo of HST over Ana’s sink, but the image was actually as pictured. But the quote from “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” is indeed as noted.]
Why the 49ers?
Ok, I’ll keep going, though I’d prefer to get out of my bed and make some oatmeal. Yeah it’s morning in Topanga Canyon, the wind is howling outside, and I’m hungry. Yet I type onward. Madness.
All right, all right. The 49ers have this kid as their Quarterback. His name is Brock Purdy. He’s 24. This is his second year as a QB in professional football. He’s an amazing story for multiple reasons, but the main one is that he was drafted last. Last! That earned him the satiric, ironic title “Mr. Irrelevant.”
Injuries to the other 49ers Quarterbacks propelled him into the role of leading the 49ers on the field to the NFC Championship Game for the 2022 season, where he got injured. The Philadelphia Eagles won that game, but lost to the Kansas City Chiefs, who the Niners play in this year’s Superbowl.
The kid is the personification of everyone who has been disrespected in life. We can all relate to being dissed. And here’s this kid who has endured extreme pro football humiliation, now at the helm of a potent 49ers team that stands a damn good chance of winning the Vince Lombardi Trophy. Wow.
I’m a fan of Brock Purdy. He makes me feel better about repeatedly being picked last in the fourth grade for kickball games. By (drum roll) future Coach Pete Carroll.
I’ve written about Cheaty Petey before. Once about ten years ago, and then more recently. My predictions all came true. The greatest choker in professional sports history, finally fired from his job as Head Coach of the Seattle Seahawks. Never able to redeem his reputation after his catastrophic decision to throw the ball on second down on the goal line in the Superbowl. Yeah he still has a job as an executive with the ‘Hawks. But I know that little creep. He’s hurting.
Does it make me a lesser spirit that I just love it?
Maybe. But Pete’s gonna watch the Superbowl on teevee. Again. His dreams of a Seattle dynasty gone, shattered by his own stupidity. Yeah, I cheerfully confess to loving it.
I decided not to write another article about the hapless old geezer (note, I’m his age) when he got fired. He ain’t worth it. Not then, not now. Game over, man.
As for the 49ers, I said at the start of the season, they will win it all. Team of destiny. Endorsed by my Goddaughter’s spirit. A monster offense of Purdy, McCaffrey, Williams, Kittle, Samuels, Aiyuk, Juszczyk (yeah, had to look the spelling up there.) Coach Kyle Shannahan designing excellent and innovative plays. A stout defense, featuring Bosa, Greenlaw, Hargrave, Kinlaw, Lenoir, Ward, Armstead, the mighty Fred Warner and newcomer Chase Young. And their rookie kicker Jake Moody, who the game may well come down to.
All are healthy, rested and hungry. A lot hungrier than the Kansas City Chiefs, who have won two of the last four. It’s been 30 years since the Niners were the champs. They are due. And even Taylor Swift and all her fans can’t stop the Niners now.
As for me, as I look at the oak trees dancing out in the howling wind, my stomach rumbling, I feel lucky. Win or lose, I feel alive. I have a mission. And with any luck, I’ll complete it.
Screw making oatmeal. I’m gonna publish this and then I’m taking the rentacar down to the Mimosa Cafe and get me a smoothie. As my old radio broadcasting partner Fred Wallin used to say, “May all your bets be winning ones.” Have fun and drive safe, all. And thanks for reading.
Kyle K. Mann
Topanga
Saturday, February 10, 2024
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