I had a boyfriend who was bashed, before I knew him. He was beaten with a bat and left for dead in a Dumpster. His skull was frac­tured in the attack, his jaw and teeth were badly dam­aged, and he lost a tes­ti­cle. He was found and taken to an ER. A few more hours and he would have been scooped up into a garbage truck and crushed to death under tons of refuse.*

In rel­a­tive terms he was lucky. He sur­vived. Many oth­ers do not.

Interesting how sanc­tity of life means pro­tect­ing a fetus — but has no mean­ing at all where gays, bisex­u­als or trans­sex­u­als are con­cerned; inter­est­ing how some Christian reli­gious groups are even will­ing to show sup­port for men who have mur­dered other human beings.

Despite that, I don’t own a firearm; nor do I have any kind of blade beyond kitchen and util­ity knives. I own no dag­gers, and I gave away my swords. I have a four-​​foot fight­ing staff and a pair of tonfa, but I believe any­thing more dras­tic would be a capit­u­la­tion to a kind of para­noia that I don’t want to have. My home is peace­ful and I want to keep it that way. I rec­og­nize the need for self-​​defense, but I do not want to har­bor weapons that make blood­let­ting easy or casual.

Interesting, too, how thou shalt not kill seems to go by the way­side when we’re talk­ing about dif­fer­ent peo­ple in dif­fer­ent lands.

In the 80s, it was a scan­dal — of sorts — that Nancy Reagan con­sulted an astrologer reg­u­larly. There was more than a lit­tle con­cern that the woman who was clos­est to the pres­i­dent used lit­tle more than tea-​​leaves and dows­ing sticks to judge the future.

Today, we have a “pres­i­dent” who says his great­est inspi­ra­tion is Jesus Christ. How con­ve­nient that he com­bines an inter­jec­tion with a reference.

To me, the idea of a pres­i­dent kneel­ing and ask­ing a phan­tom for guid­ance, ignor­ing the sea­soned advice of mil­i­tary and civil­ian pro­fes­sion­als who have lived through vir­tu­ally every aggres­sive or diplo­matic détente imag­in­able — going instead with his “gut” — is terrifying.

I know there’s no such thing as The Button. Nevertheless, Bush’s fin­ger is on it.

Here’s part two of Reality Check?, con­tin­u­ing the first install­ment.

Reality Check? page 5

Reality Check? page 6

Reality Check? page 7

Reality Check? page 8

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* His body was lithe and trim and lovely, his skin smooth and warm, and his penis was large and delight­ful to taste and enjoy.

Fuck you, homophobes.

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