The Last Word

Issue #496

February 2016

Do people pop?

Let me be clear: Do people pop?
Do they???
When I was about 6 years old, one of my gravest worries was that people might pop—like a balloon. I
had an image in my mind of a person walking down the street and simply popping for no apparent reason.

Because of the frightful prospect of spontaneous human poppage, I took every opportunity to ask my mom if
people popped.
“I have an important question. I mean, it’s really, really important. Do people pop?” I frequently inquired.
I asked at the dinner table. I asked at the store. I asked during every household chore I had to perform. The
question was always the same: “Do people pop?”
The usual answer: “No, people do not pop. You have nothing to worry about.”
For some reason, I didn’t believe her. This was around the time I figured out Santa Claus wasn’t real. So
why wouldn’t adults fib about something just to save my feelings? So I kept asking, until one day when she
become much more emphatic about the answer: “I keep telling you! People do not pop! That’s the silliest thing
I’ve ever heard of! Why do you think a person would pop?!”
I still wasn’t satisfied. I think my real fear wasn’t that total strangers—who I had no attachment to—
would pop. It was that somebody who I cared about—like my dog—would pop. So I rephrased the question: “Do
animals pop?”
“No! Animals do not pop!”
After all that, I still couldn’t
believe that nothing besides inflatables
such as balloons, swimming pool toys,
and bubble gum didn’t pop. I was like
the guy on the Internet who kept
insisting tires could implode—even
after folks tried informing him over
and over again that tires can’t implode.
So I upped the ante: “Do toilets pop?”
I just wanted to know if toilets
popped! Toilets have a bulbous
appearance that suggests poppage is
imminent. If anything popped, it would
be a toilet. Alas, toilets do not pop.
They just sit there looking toilety.
Go back to bed. People don’t

Mister Rogers was
cool and talked about
heavy shit
You know Mister Rogers’
Neighborhood must have ruled,
because he was on right after Sesame
Street. Whenever one show is discussed—and believe me, Sesame Street and Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood are
discussed quite a bit around here, because that’s what cool people talk about when they get together—the other is
often mentioned with it.
Of course, it was funnier when people mentioned Sesame Street. Just like how Charles Schulz said it
wouldn’t have been nearly as funny if Peanuts character Schroeder admired Brahms instead of Beethoven. When
I was about 10, one of my main goals was to hear Casey Kasem mention Sesame Street, and I finally got my wish
when he did a story on a well-known musician who “played in the band on Sesame Street.” But Mister Rogers
was a cool dude nonetheless.
I don’t even think his show is still broadcast on TV. If you know any families with small children, notice
that the only thing the kiddos watch on TV nowadays is cartoons about talking screwdrivers and their parents’
game shows. There’s no Mister Rogers anywhere in sight.
YouTube is like Mister Rogers with more swearing. You can find a few old Mister Rogers episodes on
YouPube, but if you want to show them to your kids, you may want to paste a folder or a sheet of opaque paper
over the lower part of your computer screen so they don’t read the X-rated language that inevitably fills the
comments for every video.
In one old Mister Rogers installment that can be found on YouTube, we see that his program dealt with
death years before Sesame Street killed off Mr. Hooper. In this 1970 episode, our favorite TV neighbor finds a

dead goldfish in his fish tank and proceeds to bury it in the yard...
In that episode, Mister Rogers says that he heard that if you place a dead fish in salt water, it might
“revive” it. Where did he ever get a ridiculous idea like that? If that was true, fish in the ocean that die would all
come right back to life. After this maneuver fails to resurrect the dead fish, Mister Rogers makes occasional sad
glances at the camera as he buries the fish’s decaying carcass. Then he talks about how when he was growing up
he pretended his dead dog was still alive.
This episode also has another treat: It ends with the famous “Mister Rogers’ Nightmarehood” closing that
shows a drawing of the trolley on a track while a flute-like twirl is heard. Many folks say this closing terrified
them when they were growing up. I recall a few episodes in my early childhood in which this closing was
accompanied by a witch’s laugh. Someone on the Interpipes said those were probably the installments where
Margaret Hamilton made a guest appearance.
I wonder if Mister Rogers ever did a show on whether people pop.

The Tea Party: coddling criminals for over 30 years
The drug warriors have spent decades calling everyone else a druggie. They think Judas Priest is “druggie
music.” They think Dungeons & Dragons is a “druggie game.” They think Michael Dukakis is a “druggie
governor.” They think Atari BASIC is a “druggie programming language.” They think the POP command in Atari
BASIC is a “druggie command.”
Now—at long last—a real drug case has fallen right into the drug warriors’ laps. Their response: total
Why? Because politicians want to protect their own right-wing cronies, who are the ones selling the
poison. I am 100% certain of this.
As many of you know, I filed a small claims lawsuit against someone way back in October after she
claimed to have kidney cancer and borrowed money from me—but actually used the money to buy drugs and
wouldn’t pay it back. I know this, because there’s plenty of evidence. There’s no “allegedly” about it. The syringe
I found outdoors after I loaned the money was a smoking gun, and so was the fact that I overheard another
individual accusing the defendant of buying “pills.”
She relocated only a few days after I filed the suit—before authorities could serve the papers. But then—
in November—a local police department posted on their Facebook page a surveillance photo of someone using a
stolen ATM card outside a bank. It looked like the defendant in my lawsuit, and I thought there was a strong
chance it could be her. So police were notified. A few days later, police posted that the suspect in the photo was
identified—but they didn’t publicly name her.
Job #1 for me was finding the defendant so my lawsuit papers could be served. If she faced criminal
charges for other incidents, that wasn’t up to me. I’m not the police, prosecutor, or judge. Nonetheless, the police
only said the woman in the photo was identified—not arrested or charged.
Around Christmas, another local police agency posted a series of surveillance pictures of someone using a
stolen credit card at convenience stores. I was absolutely certain it was the defendant in my lawsuit. Not a shadow
of a doubt. It was her. Again, police were notified. So police now know. No question about it.
From the location of these crimes, I could figure out what part of town she probably relocated to. But the
police have more resources than I have, so they could have figured out exactly where she moved to. For instance,
she has a kid in school, so they can just get the school records. Plus, they know about the existence of other
people who know her, so they can just ask them.
And maybe they did—but didn’t act on this information, because some Tea Party elected officials ordered
them not to, for it would mean going after her dealers. And I am sure the dealers are involved in the Tea Party in
some way. Even the Koch brothers don’t have enough money to finance all of Team Tyranny’s activities, so the
money has to come from somewhere. Tea Party groups are dropping millions of dollars in special elections in
Kentucky as we speak—and I bet most of that is drug money (in addition to corporate donations from the likes of
cable giant Comcast, which has donated to a leading Tea Party group that is interfering in our elections).
A criminal gang is selling dope in our community, and nothing is being done about it—even after we’ve
been forced to hear for the past 35 years about how there’s a druggie hiding under every bed. While my lawsuit
deals with getting my money back from an addict, a greater punishment should be imposed on the organized
crime racket that’s out there selling drugs.
I’m discussing all of this here because I know it won’t spoil the criminal case against the person I’m
suing. That’s because I’m pretty sure there is no criminal case. The case was dropped as soon as authorities got
their marching orders from right-wing politicians. How long does a police investigation possibly take? I happen to

know the defendant was under investigation since at least August—very likely May or earlier. If the case hadn’t
been dropped, she’d be busted by now.
This also means the lawsuit papers will almost certainly never be served. The papers can’t be served if
authorities don’t know where she lives, and there’s no reason for them to find out where she lives if they’ve
dropped the criminal case.
It amazes you. It truly does. I know people who were sent to abusive, phony “rehabs” and called druggies
to their faces even though they never touched drugs in their lives. And if police investigations take so long, why is
it that cops wasted no time whatsoever in arresting me for “trespassing” for the “crime” of using a university
library when I was no longer a student? Why did they squander absolutely no time in breaking up Occupy
Cincinnati? I’m supposed to believe that the investigation of the person I’m suing has taken at least 6 months after
Occupy lasted less than 2 weeks before being raided?
Meanwhile, police immediately respond to complaints by Tea Party groups like Citizens for Community
Values to shut down legitimate enterprises. A vice squad in one local jurisdiction ruined merchandise at a shop
recently by throwing it on the floor and trampling it. They also shoplifted from that establishment.
Because it’s obvious that I don’t have law enforcement protection, I feel morally justified in holding Tea
Party property as collateral to recoup the economic losses that they caused me to suffer when they sold drugs to
the defendant in my lawsuit. Then you’d see that our police are quite active—but unfortunately, I’d be on the
wrong end of their action.

Pizza shop helps itself to a piece of the pie
Someone just got a bad review on Yelp.
Once in a while, I have a pizza delivered to my humble digs from a certain chain of pizza shops that
operates primarily in the Midwest and South. A week or two ago, I had absolutely no energy to go to a store to get
food (because of my disorder), so I again buyed pizza from this firm and had it delivered here.
For some reason, they only accept credit cards—no cash. American currency purports to be “legal tender
for all debts”, but that doesn’t mean you can actually buy anything with it. It’s like how in the 1920s company
towns you had to use scrip. Credit cards are like coal company scrip: They are issued by our corporate masters
and have become the only way to pay for many items they sell. When my bank statement came, I noticed this
pizza shop charged me several dollars more than what the pizza, delivery fee, tip, and tax were supposed to cost
altogether. For no apparent reason.
Maybe it’s just that particular location—but they’d never done this to me before.
Besides that, the pizza wasn’t anything to write home about. It was edible, but not spectacular. It wasn’t
nearly as bad as the pizza at NKU that got thrown into the outgoing mail slot at the post office, but it’s not as good
as it used to be, and it’s nothing I’d spend that much money on again.
In the immortal words of Judge Judy: “That’s outrageous, what makes you think you can do that?!”
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