It’s really just a big sandbox at our local park, but there are boulders in it and the children had carved little channels out of the dirt and filled them with water so that they’d become mysterious and winding rivers. It was the first warm day of spring, the first truly beautiful day after a very long winter, and Jones could not have been happier.

His smile first emerges in his eyes, quickly spreading from there into a wide, unprotected grin in which every tooth is made visible. Standing like that for a moment, he then threw his arms up and squealed– his joy a secret that must be shared—and began racing about Spooky Island in delighted circles. Our radiant beast, so fresh and hungry, so nourished by each day.

And not far away some other child’s parent was blowing soap bubbles. Catching the light and glistening, the undulating bubbles rose up and drifted just out of the reach of the children beneath. In their pursuit they sounded like chirping birds at a feeding, each one amazed by the miraculous gifts appearing around them.

In that moment it was hard to imagine anything more beautiful than what was before us.

Just a few hours earlier, in a different part of the city, a Van Attack had killed 10 people and left even more injured, and people were feeling weird. But nobody was talking about it at the park, nobody was on their smartphone looking for the latest update. No, it was as if a spell had been cast and all of us there were suspended within some magic bubble, one that existed beyond the reach of the actual. We spoke only of the world we stood upon, the world we could see, hear and touch. Anything else was too much, or perhaps even a sin, and so together we became the simple creatures we needed to be, and stood in the light for as long as we could before taking leave and returning back to the worlds from which we came.

As it turns out, fortunes are being made reviewing consumer products on-line, and with that in mind I have launched a site ( The Sanitarium) which I hope will dominate the Hand Sanitizer Review landscape and make my family obscene amounts of money.

This is my first review:

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Welcome to The Sanitarium!

How do you think you’re going to die?

Terrorism?

Sex accident?

Wasting disease?

Climate catastrophe?

The truth is it’s possible you might die from any one, or any combination, of the threats listed above, but according to science we are most likely to perish from some super bacteria that will come like a thief in the night and kill all of us who had not been properly eliminating infectious agents from our hands.

It’s no stretch of the imagination to say that not only is choosing the right hand sanitizer a matter of national security, but it’s also a matter of life or death.

Choose carefully, my friends!

Sanzer Hand Gel

Wow!

The first thing I noticed about this hand sanitizer was just how amazing the ad is! It’s almost as if Sanzer isn’t promoting good hygiene at all, but is instead offering serial killers some great and fresh tips on how to dismember and store victim parts. It really makes you wonder what it would feel like to chop off somebody’s fingers and put them on display, you know? No matter, regardless of intent, Sanzer sure knows how to get your attention, but still, I had to find out, is the product as good as the ad?

Experiment:

Remove the raccoon that is trapped in the garbage bin in the alley with my bare hands, apply Sanzer hand gel, and then wait 48 hours to see if I get sick.

Notes:

1. Sanzer Hand Gel really stings when it comes in contact with any open wounds.
2. Sanzer Hand Gel does not remove the choking stench of raccoon and blood from your hands, clothes, hair, memory or glasses.
3. Sanzer is flammable, and if squirted while holding a lit barbecue ignitor directly in front of it, will work as a kind of flame thrower. Unfortunately, fire is of little use in deterring raccoons, so Sanzer’s effectiveness as a weapon is not universal. ( This product may not meet your Apocalypse Bunker Hand Sanitizer needs)
4. Fourty-eight hours after the application of Sanzer Hand Gel, my hands and arms were still swollen and oozy, but my fever was under control and the violent and dark thoughts had begun to subside, thus earning the product a solid 7 out of 10.

It was a cheap, addictive entertainment.

Like Netflix.
Like porn.
Like the buildup to the Super Bowl.

The big event, as far as most media was concerned, was the landfall in Florida. This, it seemed, was the point to which all of our lives were leading, the apocalypse that was sure to prove whatever it was we needed proved. Days, perhaps even weeks before this happened, there was wall to wall coverage promising cataclysm. I learned to fear the “Cone of Uncertainty” and “Life Threatening Winds,” I listened to talking heads as if they were debating some sport, and I watched relentless loops of footage of nature destroying any puny mortal concerns that stood in its path.

And as the hurricane carved out it’s terrible path, each demolished, little island a grim foreshadowing of what was about to happen to over-populated and under-prepared Florida, the hurricane was simultaneously a prophecy of doom and a trailer for a Hollywood disaster film. Almost giddy, each day the broadcasters revealed– in all its punitive majesty– another verse in this Book of Revelations.

The media, of course, profited from our obsessive fear, and turned the volume up as loud as they could. The more clicks the better, and if it was terror and anxiety that ushered in these clicks, so be it. At one point a rain-soaked reporter, bent and staggering against the elements, conducted an urgent interview with a man who had not evacuated. Clearly the reporter was hoping for some Florida Man archetype to emerge from the scrub, a guy who looked like Kid Rock and was armed with a crossbow and some alligator mace, and wasn’t going to let some “lady storm” tell him what to do.

Instead, the reporter got a genius cardiologist, who with astonishing knowledge, detail and reasoning, explained precisely why it was safe to be exactly where he was. He was calm, too, not a trace of panic to him, and he made the reporter look like the very bad actor he was.

That the media manipulates and distorts news events, or even creates disaster porn, is nothing new. When 9/11 took place I literally could not take my eyes off the tv.

It was the most riveting thing I had ever seen, and it was a rating’s sensation. Now, with all our various technologies even further entrenched, this sense of chaos and anxiety has become a permanent, immobilizing fixture of our lives. The media, desperate to make a buck, feed us all the worst case scenarios, whipping us into a frenzy of panicky, dependent consumption.

My level of excitement had reached such heights that when Hurricane Irma finally struck Florida, I was actually disappointed–like I would be if I saw a movie where the trailers were better than the actual product they were selling.

This is completely perverse and backwards, but there you have it.

It is instructive when you’re caught in the swift currents of one of these types of stories to look up beyond your computer screen and out the window.

Remind yourself that we are actually living in the safest time in history.

( https://www.pri.org/stories/2014-10-23/world-actually-safer-ever-and-heres-data-prove )

Go outside, for surely something beautiful will fall to you.

1:40 P.M. EDT

MR. SPICER: Good afternoon. First off, yes, it’s true. Arby’s will officially be designated “America’s Roast Beef, Yes Sir!” After expert negotiations, President Trump will be signing an executive order this afternoon that will establish a formal marketing partnership between Arby’s and the United States of America. We hope and expect that this will prove mutually beneficial to both parties for years to come.

On a personal note I want to say that I worked at an Arby’s when I was a teenager growing up in Rhode Island back in the 80’s. We used to have quite a few vacationing gays come in looking for an affordable and delicious meal, and although most people were scared of their disease, I never had a problem with them.

I found them to be a very tidy people. You could always tell which table they’d been eating at because it was just so clean.

Anyhow, Arby’s makes the best sandwich in America, as President Trump knows, and if you’re ever driving by an Arby’s you should stop and try one of their Roast Beef Gyro’s.

The classic thinly sliced roast beef is topped with lettuce, onions and tomatoes, cool creamy tzatziki sauce, and authentic Greek seasonings all hugged by a warm pita. Nothing says “I am an adventurous eater and interesting person” like eating a gyro at Arby’s.

$4.29.

A great deal. The kind of deal that only President Donald Trump could negotiate for America.

You’d be an idiot not to buy that gyro.

A real, goddamned idiot.

On another note, drug abuse has crippled communities across this nation. In 2015, more than 52,000 Americans — that’s 144 people a day — died from a drug overdose. And a lot of those people were white. Keep in mind that this all happened under Barack Obama’s watch. I’m not saying he orchestrated this White Holocaust– although we have received a variety of intelligence reports indicating that might be the case– I’m just pointing out the facts so that you can make up your own minds.

Okay press monkeys, let’s play a game.

I want you now to imagine that terrorists killed 144 predominately white Americans each day. Imagine them in their orange jumpers. On fire in cages and stuff.

If that was the case there wouldn’t be a terrorist left on the planet under this administration. We would have killed them all. And their families. Even their pitiful animals. But as you know, you can’t always drop a bomb on your problems, perhaps even more so when those problems belong to your own people, and so President Trump is working on a joint initiative with Pfizer to create a new and safer opiate for all the despairing Americans who lost their manufacturing jobs to illegals. Pfizer, an exemplary company with revenues exceeding 50 billion per year, will be familiar to many of you in the press corps because you gobble Zoloft and Viagra like candy.

If it wasn’t for Pfizer, half of you would be on the street.

In other new, President Trump has Tweeted Direct Messages to the King of Saudi Arabia, the Prime Minister of Japan and the Acting President of South Korea concerning the United States’ military strike on the airfield in Syria, and oh, look, there’s Ivanka!

What a vision in a floral print!

Stunning, just stunning.

That Ivanka Trump line is really something else!

Let’s give her a round of applause!

Okay, we’ve run out of time and the questions will have to wait for another time! Please help yourself to the Arby’s spread at the back of the room! Thank you all very much for attending!

Whenever I’m in one I think of some punitive elementary school. There’s an entire galaxy of largely symbolic rules, and everything associated with us is measured, weighed and timed. And as you stand in line you find yourself worrying about whether you remembered to bring your phone charger. Or your cool sneakers. Or your medicine. And so it goes, and never for a second do you forget that what you are about to do may be the last thing you ever do in your life.

Flying is something of a miracle, and we’re all, at least partially, expecting it to fail. And who can blame us for this suppressed expectation? Any time a plane crashes it’s international news. When the story breaks, people all over the world, those doing dishes or clicking “like,” are wondering just how they would have behaved in their last terrified moments as fire, cloud and sky sped by.

And please don’t forget the terrorists.

They might materialize at any moment. If you forget this, there is a terror alert, like a goal-thermometer on a fundraising marathon, warning you that today, the day you’re to give your first professional speech, the terror alert is ORANGE.

So air transit, even in a best case scenario, is a tense thing.

I imagine that Dr. Dao, the man who was dragged bleeding off a United flight earlier this week, was feeling some of this tension and uncertainty as he waited for his plane to fly him home to Kentucky.

Now we’ve all seen the video, and everybody knows that what took place was wrong.

However, the corporate face of United used the word “re-accommodation” to describe what happened. This is the kind of soft evil that creeps into our lives each day, and then stays there, existing beneath our skin like some sort of bacteria. We know all about over-booking now, and it all reduces to the airline valuing profit over people. This is the corporate way upon which our society functions. What seems to have shocked the microsystem in this case was that nobody would take a material inducement to give up their seat.

And what’s the corporate ethos in such a situation?

And so they dragged him screaming and bleeding from his seat. The law, of course, is behind United. Trapped in this culture where being busy is seen as a sign of status, we’re all so desperate to escape the heaviness of our lives and get to the beach in Veradaro,

that we accept that we might be “re-accommodated” when we buy our tickets. We sign-off on the fact that although we’ve bought a ticket and made all sorts of arrangements contingent on the timing of that flight, we might still lose our seat.

It’s kind of insane. The law allows a corporation to hedge on their services in order for them to maximize profits, even if it’s a ruinous policy for individual consumers. That the law favours corporate growth over human security is nothing new, but this is a particularly vivid example of the amoral structure that pins over our lives.

In the aftermath, Dr. Dao’s was vilified– a tactic minority communities know all too intimately—and the saga, now diffused through late night talk shows, social media and PR flak, is about to replaced by the next meme-worthy event. And still, the corporations will preside over us like gods, and because we believe we need what they offer, we will ignore our own intuition and continue to be subordinate to them, regardless the cost to human dignity and instinct.

He’s been Donald Trump’s personal physicians for the last dozen years or so, and is responsible for declaring Trump to be the healthiest man ever elected to the Presidency. He took a lot of flak for that, as you might imagine, and for the way he looks, too, so the transition from private to public life has been pretty traumatic. Consequently, Dr. Bornstein started to see a psychiatrist. What follows are some fragments from their hacked sessions:

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Bornstein: I had a dream a few days ago where I was in the Oval Office and accidentally walked in on President Trump and German Chancellor Angela Merkel. They were having sex in the hovering butterfly position. I had a vision of the earth consumed in flames, and then all of my teeth started falling out.

********************************************

Psychiatrist: You seem bothered, Harold. Is there something on your mind?

Bornstein: Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE that America is great again, and I LOVE being the Surgeon General, but I’m starting to have some doubts about the Flesh Wall we’re building along the US/Mexico border.

We have no idea what sort of biological reactions are going to take place within that wall, and those reactions could be just as grave a threat as ISIS.

Psychiatrist: Have you spoken up about your feelings?

Bornstein: No.

Psychiatrist: We’ve had this talk a few times already, (about 90 seconds of inaudible talking)

Bornstein: I know, I know, I know, dammit!! THERE ARE NO SUCH THINGS AS PROBLEMS, ONLY OPPORTUNITIES!! THERE ARE NO SUCH THINGS AS PROBLEMS, ONLY OPPORTUNITIES!!

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Bornstein: In this dream Ivanka and I are beamed up into into a flying saucer. The aliens want us naked. We look at one another and understand.

Words are not needed. Our clothes fall away and we are naked and beautiful. Children of the universe. The aliens want us to couple. They need our beauty and fertility. My desire for Ivanka is almost overwhelming, and I can see that her desire for me is equally matched. As I pull her naked body to mine, I could see the earth, a distant blue jewel through the window just past her honey perfect shoulder. And then suddenly– due to something I knew her father had done– the earth just exploded, and as the UFO cartwheeled away from the shock waves, I was ejected naked and erect into space, where I spun alone for cold eternity.

********************************************

Last night I dreamt that a Mexican had shot the President.

I was working feverishly trying to save his life, but there was just so much blood! It was everywhere, even in my nostrils, but I keep working and working and then just when it looked like he was going to survive, I started to stab him until he was nothing more than meat for the Flesh Wall, and then I paused, took a deep breath, and then just keep stabbing.

Donald Trump is the living embodiment of a cliffhanger.

I swear, everything the man does compels us to astonishment. And once this happens he has us trapped– as the complicit media knows all too well. Almost obediently, we’ll sit there in anxious anticipation, eagerly awaiting his next act as if it were an episode of Breaking Bad. Trump, always the catalytic agent, exists to propel narratives forward. Where that story came from or where it might be headed is entirely immaterial, all that matters is that in that moment you cared, and the more passionately you cared, the better for him.

Since his election my media streams have been rivers of fire. All day long people have been screaming at one another and making the boldest declarations. It reminds me of the Olympics, actually. Some sport I will have never heard of might pop up, and after a brief, mechanical explanation of what it is and a few minutes of watching, I’ll feel like an expert.

And so it goes with politics. We may not speak the language, we may not have visited the country, we may not have any friends who are native to the place, but in very short order, we still have really, really strong opinions about what should happen to it.

Whenever I find myself assuming this role and asserting some far too sure political view, I remind myself that I have trouble keeping my own house in order. What’s my economic plan for the USA? Hell, what’s my economic plan for my family!

The world is infinitely complex, and our ability to understand it is miniscule. Our chances of being wrong about something are far greater than our chances of being right, and it’s important we keep this in mind, particularly when judging those we disagree with. I mean, if you’re awake enough to understand that not all Muslims are terrorists, then you should be awake enough to understand that not all of your political opponents are racist morons.

One’s politics are a very poorly articulated version of the sort of person one might be in the world. Typically it says more about how we’d like to be seen, than how we actually conduct ourselves. And it is just so hard to live a pure life in this society, we must always keep in mind that it is upon monstrous deeds that most of us have happily, blindly, built our lives.

The furious, pre-apocalyptic tensions defining the USA right now are typically lumped into two categories. There are the coastal city-states that house the progressives and elites, and then there is the rest of America, a kind of seething, primitive horde—think Orcs.

I try to look at it more like the future pitted agains the past.

Every year our world changes more than it has in all the generations stacked before it. A lot of people are disoriented and terrified by the velocity at which their lives are now moving, while others are grateful that time has finally caught up with them. And when one traditional way of life is subsumed by another, there is usually a violent reaction, and I think that’s what we’re seeing– the past trying to claw the future back in place, and a resentful and protective future stomping back.

So be kind if you can, for everybody is feeling like they’re hanging off the edge of a cliff.

Heidi now lives a life of glory with Rachelle’s parents about an hour north of Toronto. Today I have given the Blog over to her:

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Heidi so very happy and popular and good-looking.

Heidi in best shape of her life, too.

Heidi superstar.

Heidi have no idea why not on cover of Sport’s Illustrated big sex issue this month!

Heidi hot.
Make no sense.
Editor team so speciesist!
All very, very bad dogs!!
Heidi bite them in face if ever try to pet her.

Still, Heidi life so very, very, very good and when sleep come, it carry Heidi and Jones on same dream-river.

 
Dream #1

Heidi and Jones go running at night.

Full moon light in us.

Fast run.
Green run through wet meadow.
Wide run.
Above and behind the dark wind follows.
All night we give chase.

At end Heidi lick egg sandwich off Jones face.

 
Dream #2

Heidi and Jones not Heidi and Jones, but Eagle-Heidi and Eagle-Jones. Live in castle in mountains of France. Very nice castle. Bedroom in turrets. Like lofts. VERY expensive, but Eagle-Heidi and Eagle-Jones super rich. Can afford it no problem!

Fly so fast and high! See everything. Eagle-Heidi and Eagle-Jones terrible missiles! We protectors of freedom and liberty. Fly like beautiful rockets, destroying enemy drones with fierce talons. Boom! Drones explode into fire-light at our touch! Hah! Stupid drones!! Get one million dollars (US) for every dead drone. Eagle-Heidi better than Eagle-Jones at it. Eagle-Heidi kill 268 drones, Eagle-Jones 12.

Heidi always teaching Jones, even when Eagles.

 
Dream #3

Heidi and Jones at Dolly Parton concert.

Heidi fucking love Dolly Parton.

Get asked up on stage to sing Islands In The Stream.

Heidi love that song so much want to be buried in it.

Jones doesn’t know words and start to cry.

Heidi SO embarrassed she show Jones her teeth and then pee!

Dream #4

In dream Heidi and Jones partners in high school science class. Assignment to dissect frog, but Heidi get excited and eat frog before start!! Taste so good!! Not like chicken sushi as Heidi expect, but like hamburger! Weird but delicious hamburger without bun! Jones mad he didn’t get to stab frog and start to cry! Little baby throws temper tantrum and yells, “NO!”

Heidi no take shit.

Heidi disciplinarian.

German in Heidi.

Show him teeth and growl to let Jones know Heidi serious, and then Heidi see another frog and eat it, too. Heidi can’t stop herself, Heidi eat all frogs in class! And then Heidi get detention because Jones sucky tattletale.

 
Dream #5

Heidi and Jones on subway.

Two-legger accuse Jones of “Manspreading.” Take picture and says post on Internet to shame Jones!! Jones no understand and start to cry!! Heidi get so furious she bite two-legger throat! Perfect bite! And then subway change and traveling underwater! Glowing fish everywhere! Heidi wonder what glowing fish taste like, then notice Jones has lasagna on face and lick it off.

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I’ve been lucky and my hard work has paid off, as in addition to my assembly line work I have been put in charge of all social media for The Box Factory. Up until now the Twitter account (@TheBoxFactory) has been used primarily as a way to establish and communicate factory culture to the employees, and while this will still be a part of our social media strategy, I hope to add an edge to our branding that will help take us to the next level.

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TheBoxFactory: BREAKING!!!! MASS SHOOTING AT THE BOX BARN!!!

TheBoxFactory: Witnesses say that boxes are covered in blood!!

TheBoxFactory: Although there are MANY disgruntled employees working at the Box Barn, Terrorism is most likely responsible!

TheBoxFactory: Authorities report that all boxes from the Box Barn are now considered potentially lethal!

TheBoxFactory: BOXES FROM THE BOX BARN CAN KILL YOU AND YOUR LOVED ONES!!

TheBoxFactory: As The Box Factory stands against terror, we are now offering a 15% savings on all of our boxes!!

TheBoxFactory: Remember, after the horrors of 9/11 boxes played a vital role in fighting against terrorism!

TheBoxFactory: Boxes, North America’s unsung hero!

TheBoxFactory: Noble Box Factorians, remember to always wash your hands! A clean Box Factory is a happy Box Factory!

TheBoxFactory: To take your mind off the horrors taking place over at the BOX BARN, here’s a vintage Gift Box classic: https://vimeo.com/148932620

TheBoxBarn: @TheBoxFactory There has been no shooting at the Box Barn!! Everything is fine and our boxes are still the best in town!

TheBoxFactory: There goes the “Lyin’ Box Barn” again! Sad.

TheBoxFactory: Blocked.

TheBoxFactory: HACKED EMAIL FROM THE BOX BARN REVEALS IT IS A FRONT FOR A SEX SLAVERY RING!!

TheBoxFactory: 13 YEAR-OLD GIRL SAYS THE BOX BARN FORCED HER TO LIVE IN A SHODDILY MADE BOX AND HAVE SEX WITH OOZY MANAGEMENT!!

TheBoxFactory: Take our fun quiz and answer five easy questions to determine what kind of box you would be!!

TheBoxFactory: MASS SHOOTING NOW REPORTED AT BOX BONANZA! AUTHORITIES BELIEVE IT’S A COORDINATED TERRORIST ATTACK!!!

TheBoxFactory: Remember, The Box Factory is offering up to 15% off selected boxes for all customers effected by terror!!

TheBoxBonanza: @TheBoxFactory There has been no shooting here! You are lying!! You can’t do this!!

TheBoxFactory: Ha! There goes “Crooked Box Bonanza” again! So dishonest!

TheBoxFactory: The “Crooked Box Bonanza” is the real dick in a box!

TheBoxFactory: Love blocking trolls like “Crooked Box Bonanza” and “Lying Box Barn!” Such losers!

TheBoxFactory: The Box Factory condemns terror in all forms! NEVER will one of our boxes be involved in a terror attack!!

TheBoxFactory: The “Freedom Box Factory” only employs “real” North Americans like Billy, and can terminate any of them at a moment’s notice! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKmcs7ygJbs

TheBoxFactory: The “Freedom Box Factory,” making Boxes Great Again!

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I know that this isn’t proper form, but can I just say, what a goddamn monkey!!

Can we give it up for, George?

Yeah, that’s the sort of monkey he was, the sort of monkey that could get an entire church full of people to yell and applaud wildly. Just think about that for a second. He was an entirely different species, and here we all are, brought together by this wondrous monkey, cheering at the mere thought of him.

Remember that cheer, people. That’s a gift that George left to us, his encouragement to go out there into the world– fearless and happy– and to make as much mischief as possible!

George, as you all know, was no ordinary monkey. Other monkey’s may have arrived on the scene…Bubbles? The Ikea Monkey?

Couldn’t even hold George’s banana peel.

George endured while all the others fell away.

And Lord, such a funny monkey.

The funniest monkey ever, I think.

He was the Robin Williams of monkeys.

It wasn’t just his curiosity that made him so uniquely beloved, there was something else, too, something that spoke to humans and primates alike. George was joy, a playful little monkey who led us back to our better angels, to a place where the light of childhood shone all year round. And regardless of how famous George became, regardless of how busy or troubled his life became, even when he El Chapo made a trophy pet of him,

George ALWAYS made time to play.

Now, a lot of you might be wondering why The Man in the Yellow Hat, his partner in crime, isn’t here delivering this eulogy. Well, he and George had a complicated relationship, and it has to be said that over the years an awful lot of poo was flung. Back when it all started, The Man in the Yellow Hat tricked George by taking advantage of his curiosity, luring him into his big yellow hat and then taking him from his home and family in Africa to the shores of America.

George always resented it.

By today’s standards what The Man in the Yellow Hat did was unacceptable. A crime, even. But in the 1930’s people didn’t see it that way. Anyway, as George learned more about what happened to him, he distanced himself from The Man in the Yellow Hat. Well, it turns out this separation did neither man nor monkey any good. The Man in the Yellow Hat took to pills, the bottle and street fighting,

his whereabouts now unknown, and George careened from one professional disaster to the next– the masturbation incident in the boardroom of Celebrity Apprentice now carved into the history of American popular culture.

Our sweet George sort of wandered through the wilderness after that, a lost monkey in the cities of man. It was at this time that Islam reached out to him, and ???? ???????, as George chose to be called after his conversion, seemed to be getting his life back on track. Unfortunately, like too many of the disenfranchised and alienated amongst us, George became radicalized. Monkey see, monkey do.

George’s curiosity just proved too much in this case, and his life ended in Syria as part of an ISIS suicide squad.

I don’t know much about the afterlife or where George is, but I choose to imagine that beautiful monkey still clinging to that kite from one of his very first adventures, the winds gently pulling him upwards and home to glory.