by Kyle K. Mann
Gonzo Today Publisher and Contributing Editor
October 22, 2025
As some readers are aware, I took a year off from writing for Gonzo Today, this damn website I am saddled with. But I did make several sporadic attempts to write during the time from the Trump Electoral Win 2.0 and the current moment. These three are worth ramming into record, I suppose. Easier than constructing an entire new piece, ha ha.
What are we to make of this fragment, for example?
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The Grumpy Old Bunny
Friday night at the Clinton Street Pub in Portland Oregon. I’m seated at the bar with my customary Kettle One Bloody Mary, just a couple sips in. I’m ignoring the rap music or whatever it is.
“Is it happy hour?” I ask the cheerful bartender.
He looks at his watch. “Uhh yes.”
“Does that mean my drink is cheaper?”
“Not for Kettle One.” I laugh out loud. “The beers are a dollar cheaper,” he continues.
“I’ll live,” I chuckle. “Kettle One is the only booze that doesn’t make my head hurt the next day.”
On the way here from the house two blocks away I stopped for the first time at the comic book store across the street. There were two workers and a couple customers.
“Welcome,” said one of the workers. “Any questions?”
“Yeah,” and I paused meaningfully, “Why am I here?”
“Good lifestyle choices,” the guy snapped back, seemingly serious. I roared with laughter. He was right. Fifty year vegetarian, never smoked, mostly stayed off booze. Mostly.
But here I am at the bar.
*****
Ah, it’s “Bust a Move.” Now, I know and like this super old school rap tune. Funny, friendly. Musical! I’ll take it as a good sign. Takes me back to a happier time.
Not that I’m that much unhappier now. I’m mildly annoyed a lot, true. Today, after days of dithering, I drove the 2002 Honda CRV in to get it smogged, causing initial irritation. My mood improved when I found it was only 25 bucks. I was surprised it was so cheap, because it always costs a lot more in CA. Like double.
There was the usual suspenseful wait to see if I passed. Gah, I could have failed could I? “You’re good,” said the cheerful woman who had plugged my car in. I was surprised it was a woman, a first for me, and surprised it was plugged into under my dash and that was that. In CA they stick a sensor up your tailpipe, not unlike a colonoscopy for cars.
Next stop was at the OR DMV. After an hour waiting I realized I was an idiot. No Oregon insurance you fool, yours is at your former Topanga address. It has to be based in this state! I gave my paper wait number tag to some kid who had just walked in the door and strode out frowning. Well, I rationalized, I caught up on my FaceBook.
*****
At this point in my writing process, typing on the iPad I start sneezing. Goddamn airco almost always freaks my sinuses out. So I close out my credit card tab and move around the corner to the Lucky Horseshoe, where I discover they don’t have Bloody Marys. Might be just as well I think, grumpily. I order some pasta instead to soa
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…and stopped there literally in mid word. “Soak” I assume, as in “soak up the booze,” which I try to do while drinking ethanol beverages. One reason I’ve made it to my mid 70s. Mid-fuggin’ 70s! Yikes, ouch.
Anyway (as demented Biden used to say when his train of thought had derailed) that fragment above must have actually been written before my GT hiatus. Hmm ha. Well let’s move on to the next frag, eh? Ya still with me? Ok.
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Why I Don’t Wanna Write
The reason is simple: I’m experiencing profound sensations of amused but bewildered disbelief regarding the current reality I’m in.
I suppose working in the Film Biz all those years in LA didn’t help. Some grand experiences with shows I was proud to be a part of but… There were days where I’d get off the set at dawn or whatever, and the real world seemed less real than making movies.
Three decades of that was enough. Before that, ten years in live radio broadcasting. Fun at times, but disillusioning.
Scattered throughout those years and before was musicianship that never paid enough to live on. Also fun at times but disillusioning.
And also scattered throughout those years was writing. Writing is the least fun of all. I will admit at times it’s made me feel good. As the great Dorothy Parker said: “I hate writing. I love having written.”
I’ve made a lot more money playing music than writing. That says a lot.
How do we begin writing about, say, Trump? It’s unspeakable. Here in mid July 2025, the news is full of his attempts to get past the Jeffrey Epstein List. He’s pissed off a considerable chunk of his MAGA base. But the whole subject is distasteful. I feel soiled just reading about it, much less writing on the topic.
War in Ukraine? Ugh. Gaza? Iran? Sudan? Arrgh.
I look out the window and see the sun on the leaves. It’s a beautiful morning. Why are people doing Bad Things?
*****
I’d just as soon contemplate the mysterious universe. It’s a bit difficult, what with all the clickbait out there, but the pictures of galaxies and other phenomenon are entertaining.
The UFO/UAP subject is also of interest. I’ve written about my own experience in that department. Will we get anymore revelations soon?
I love Kilauea Volcano, which has various cameras doing their “live cam” thing. This year it seems to erupt spectacularly over on the Big Island around once a week. Thousand foot high fountains of red-hot lava! Oh yeah!
And I get to play music onstage now and again. That improves morale. And chocolate, my go-to drug.
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Hmm, right? Here in October 2025 I have no memory of why I stopped writing there. I might have read that last over the phone to GT EiC Kidman. He might have encouraged me to carry on with it. But that was a distracting time for us both. Well, let’s move on to a final Unfinished Symphony. (Yes, I’m a big fan of Schubert.)
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The Return of the Super Choker, and Other Horrors
I decided to walk over to my neighborhood bar and get a Kettle One Bloody Mary after I found out that Pete Carroll had been named Head Coach of the Las Vegas Raiders.
The news seemed to fit in with most of the rest of The Horror going on in the world lately. It wasn’t Trump being inaugurated, the hideous flaming destruction of parts of my former home LA County, or the wholesale genocide of Palestinians in Gaza that was getting to me. Extreme horror, of course, but normal extreme horror. We’ve seen this all before, after all.
The seemingly inexorable march of the unspeakable Kansas City Chiefs towards an unprecedented third consecutive Super Bowl (which fortunately did not happen – Ed.) was an annoying blip on the screen, but as a 49er fan with 5 Super Bowl victories to remember, certainly bearable. But the weird mix of the Raiders and Pete Carroll, two distinct parts of my life, struck me as a fresh hell, as Dorothy Parker used to say.
I’ve written about Pete Carroll before for GT. Not once, but twice. When he was fired from his Head Coaching job in Seattle, making it 3 for 3 NFL Head Coaching positions he’s been dismissed from, I decided against a third article. “Poor sap, he’s always gonna be remembered as the Super Choker because of Super Bowl 49. RIP, Pete.”
But here he is again.
Short version: Pete Carroll and the 2025 Las Vegas Raiders are perfect for each other. Neither have an ounce of integrity. The guy who had the Grantland Rice award rescinded out from under him, is now coaching the team that abandoned their Oakland fans not once but twice. Rescinded! Abandoned twice! Both disgraces are never going to be equaled in my lifetime.
Not even close.
*****
So here I am in the Clinton Street Pub, Portland Oregon. The music is outstanding. Junior Kinbrough, really? It was worth coming in here just to hear his music.
I’m playing music all the time lately. It’s more what I do than write. Don’t get me wrong, but how do I write about the Horror of Harris vs. Trump? It’s indescribable. The 10,000 homes burned down in Los Angeles? Beyond horror or hideousness. My friends who got the goddamned Covid vax who are now either in poor heath or, in my view, going mad, or both? Or dead? Wrenching in a way I can’t come close to describing. The very real possibility that I will live into an era where I am once again pushed around by “Authorities” that demand I don’t do what I want to I do? Intolerable.
I’ll run. Costa Rica, Uruguay, I dunno. Or maybe I’ll die. It’s not what I want, but it’s no big deal…
And I know that because of my Goddaughter.
I hate my country. We killed a million Vietnamese for nothing! A million Iraqi’s for nothing! Killed families, villages, communities. Killed them dead.
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OK, here we are back in October 2025 again. Poor Pete is floundering in Vegas. The oldest Head Coach in NFL history, my age in fact, is coming off a dreadful shutout loss to the Chiefs. Google “Fire Pete Carroll” if you wanna view that train wreck. He’s 2-5 with the entire Raider Nation on his back. Well-paid, sure. But the karmic load of Bad Vibes… wow.
Nah, focus on the good stuff. It’s music that’s floating my boat in these times, I’ll say again. Playing guitar, harmonica, singing. Writing songs. Makes me feel connected to the universe. I also teach Workshops at the nearby music school. Fun! And Right Occupation, as the Buddhists say.
So. You read! Thanks for your intellectual involvement in my ongoing process at Gonzo Today. And stay tuned, as they used to say on teevee. It’s not over yet, and… its going to be interesting.
Kyle K. Mann
Portland OR
October 22, 2025
