Possum Position

 A little background for any newcomers to “The Gods Are Bored”: In 2017, at the beginning of the Reign of Terror, I decided to secede from the United States of America and form my own nation, the Independent Republic of Johnsonia. For awhile I waited, fortified with provisions, for an attack by General Sherman or Attila the Hun, but the attacks didn’t materialize. Johnsonia has enjoyed modest prosperity and peace.

I’ll dig out the national anthem when I return to work. Wrote it a bit ago, and must say it was a solid effort.

Even in the smallest of nations, there will be opposition parties. It is to be expected, and I don’t mind the give and take.

Earlier this week I gave a state-of-the-union address. You can read it right below. Now it’s time for the opposition response.

Possum Opposition to the Grand Wazoo of Johnsonia 

Folks, our Grand Wazoo makes Johnsonia sound like Heaven on Earth. But that depends on who you ask. The chipmunks, being dealt an endless supply of peanuts and seeds all summer, and protected from harm by keeping the stupid cat indoors, are still sleeping off the winter with full bellies. THEY love Johnsonia. The songbirds, kept satisfied by a year-round subsidy of high-end bird seed, LOVE Johnsonia. Oh yes, for these populations everything is just great. Just great.

But for us possums, Johnsonia has become a land of privation and cruelty. The Grand Wazoo’s environmental policies have put the whole possum population at danger of extinction!

I refer to the policy that the Wazoo calls “composting.”

Three years ago the Wazoo came home from her travels with three small green buckets with air tight lids. She began to throw her food scraps into the bucket and take the buckets SOMEWHERE, who KNOWS where, when they were full. Our food source evaporated overnight! And when it began to sporadically return, she bought … [shudders] TRASH CANS WITH LIDS! And put bricks on top the lids!

Since then we have been mostly thrown back into the USA, in desperate search of provisions. We can’t let our children starve! Once a land of plenty, Johnsonia has become, for us, a [dramatic pause] food desert.

So say what you like about Johnsonia, but you can’t say it’s a country with no discrimination. Great for chipmunks, a bitter disappointment for possums. Do better, Grand Wazoo. This is a disgrace.

Thank you.

State of the Union: Independent Republic of Johnsonia

 What a way to celebrate a birthday! Home sick with the flu! Every symptom under the sun too. As dear departed Jackiesue was fond of saying, I feel like hammered sh**.

But life goes on. As Grand Wazoo of the Independent Republic of Johnsonia, I have to make my annual State of the Union address! The wildlife has assembled, and many of the plants are waking up. So here goes:

My fellow Johnsonians,

[uproarious applause lasting 5 minutes]

I come to you tonight committed to maintaining the independence of Johnsonia and its beloved Constitution (which I haven’t written yet, but it’s all in my head). Now more than ever, with the whole world reeling around us, we must take a firm stand for our sovereignty!

[more applause]

Please rest assured, mammals, birds, and English ivy, I will NOT require you to show proof of citizenship to visit or inhabit Johnsonia. You are free to come and go as you see fit!

[applause from mammals, birds, and ivy. Native plants hold up little paddles that say UNFAIR.]

As your president, I vow to keep Johnsonia as diverse, equitable, and inclusive as possible. This might be a period of transition for the ivy, but this is necessary to insure the growth of butterfly-friendly plant life.

[Ivy boos lustily, native plants remain sullen.]

Look. I have never sought to eradicate the ivy, but we have to hold all in balance. So please expect some belt-tightening. It will all work out. You’ll see.

My administration will also seek to increase the number of insects in Johnsonia, since all of our neighbors laden their lawns with insecticide.

[birds chirp with joy, plants hold up paddles saying UNFAIR]

Insects are a crucial element of the ecosystem, and they are WELCOME IN JOHNSONIA!

Now I know that you, my citizens, feel threatened and extremely anxious about the absolute freefall of the USA, due to its unstable and basically insane leadership. As your leader, I am suffering constant, nearly debilitating anxiety myself. But you are SAFE here! I am committed to tightening my OWN belt rather than sacrificing YOUR bird seed and YOUR peanuts and YOUR tasty trash can treats! I know some of you don’t like the policy of composting…

[possums and raccoons boo lustily]

… but I PROMISE to leave behind enough scraps to satisfy your appetites!

[possums hold up signs saying LIES]

Now I turn to your domestic enemy, the terrorist known as Omega. 

[widespread boos]

I vow before the Gods, to do everything I can to contain the terrorist within the confines of the presidential palace. The cat should NOT go outside, I KNOW it, and trust me I am doing everything I possibly can to keep her indoors!

[tepid applause]

My final item tonight is the nuisance on our border. I’m referring to the Tesla we all have to stare at in the neighbor’s driveway.

[five minutes of universal booing]

I beg you to remember, citizens, that the owner is a brain surgeon, and her yard signs indicate that she doesn’t support the USA’s current regime. She bought the car for its status and carbon footprint, and no doubt she now feels saddled with the goddamned thing. So I would ask you to show some restraint and not vandalize the offending automobile. Birds, you are exempt from this requirement. Have at it!

[and the birds go wild with glee]

In closing, I want to assure you that Johnsonia is a stable, peaceful land, and I will defend it to my final breath. Gods bless us, and Gods bless Johnsonia!

[applause, standing ovation from the birds and squirrels]

The opposition will address the nation tomorrow, with statements from a possum and the English ivy.

In Solidarity with Congressman Green

 Not gonna lie, “Gods Are Bored” buddies. I’m a stick shaker. I sometimes resort to colorful language as well, especially if the situation warrants it.

And if ever there was a situation where some sticks needed to be shaken, it was at the ridiculous 100 minute Blab by the Blob on Tuesday night.

I was not invited to this Address to Congress, and frankly, I am affronted by that. My independent nation, Johnsonia, is completely surrounded by the USA, and I benefit from some of that nation’s services. You would think that the U.S. government would be more gracious to a Head of State, even if her national borders are a quarter acre in New Jersey.

But if I had been there, I would have indulged in Bronx cheers, hand gestures, and, yes, stick shaking. The only Democrat who gets it is Congressman Green.

Times have changed. The Orange Menace—old, ugly, vulgar, and stupid as he is—has provoked a sea change in the USA. My students, most of whom are 17, have grown up with Trump as either president or a top candidate. This is what they have grown up seeing as presidential behavior.

Let that sink in for a minute.

The blustering, big-mouthed boaster is now our norm. Behaving with decorum only makes people look weak in the eyes of today’s young voters. Wearing pink and holding up little paddles? Really? Where is that getting you?

If I learned anything from 2017, it’s that pussy hats don’t cut it. It’s time to elect leaders who will call bullshit and shake sticks!

I’m sure one or two of you disagree. Heck, there are only one or two of you anyway! And it’s not like I would opt for hooliganism if everyone else was sipping tea. But the young people of the USA now have been weaned on ugly politics and the adoration of perhaps the most detestable human on the planet. They would not “get” affable Bill Clinton or Ronald Reagan. Presidents are supposed to be big and loud and combative!

Now is the time to meet this menace with some pushback from the other side.

So if some senior citizen congressman wants to vent his spleen, I am all for it! On a couple of notable occasions I have successfully smacked down attempts at bullying by big, loud men. Not by being cordial, either. Basically by shaking a stick.

Democrats, appoint some stick shakers! And then watch while they rise in politics because the young folks think this is what politicians do.

Not that any of this matters to me. I’m the Grand Wazoo of the Independent Republic of Johnsonia! Next Tuesday I will give MY State of the Union address. I hear the possum is planning to wear pink.

Coming to You Live from the Freakout Tent

 Sunday, noon, at “The Gods Are Bored, and Anne is clinging to her sanity by the tips of her pinkie fingers. I am NOT enjoying the Fuck Around phase , maybe because the anxious buzz in my brain is concocting all the possible Find Outs to come.

But, pish tosh! Today is the annual Big Deal St. Patty’s Day Parade, held in a neighboring blue collar borough chock a block with rednecks. This town pulls out all the stops when it comes to their favorite saint. This means that all — ALL— of Philadelphia’s string bands are here.

It’s cold, but there’s not a cloud in the sky. The sequins on the costumes are glittering like diamonds. I’m sitting here in my own satin suit, which blends me right in. Adding to the festivities, everyone who isn’t marching is wearing Eagles gear.

In the days of rock concerts like Woodstock, venues had “freakout tents” where people could go if they were bad tripping. These tents were run by volunteers who could calm things down and do a little detox or first aid.

Today this parade feels like a Freakout tent for me. Here I am. All is glittering. All is bright.

I’ll freak out again tomorrow. Or later. Fly Eagles Fly! Oh, dem Golden Slippers!

Photos from a previous year. Go Birds!

The Not So Great Retail Boycott of February 28

 Here at “The Gods Are Bored,” we get most of our news from progressive sources. This is how we heard about the retail boycott on February 28, 2025. And yes, we are participating.

Sadly, we are still squarely in the FA phase of this dangerous new administration. If your unvaccinated child has measles, you have proceeded to the FO phase prematurely. The rest of us, it’s going to take a while.

An economic boycott could be extremely helpful in bringing real change to our relationship with our corporate overlords. But not just a day when you put off that Amazon purchase until tomorrow. You see, the MAGA Fuck Arounders have also gotten wind of this scheme, and they are intentionally buying stuff today. This will more than cancel the effects of the boycott.

In order to be successful, an economic boycott would need to last until shortly before the next election. Like, from now until then. The Montgomery Bus Boycott lasted 381 days. More than a year! And all that time, those boycotters had to walk in the Alabama heat, or arrange transportation and depend on others. It was a huge sacrifice.

I don’t see many people in America willing to make a real sacrifice.

Case in point: Apple. If my phone breaks I will need a new one from some corporate overlord. I can’t just say, “No phone? La di dah! No one calls me anyway!” I could shop around, but at the end of the day I’m pretty stuck.

On the other hand, my phone is still pretty new. I certainly won’t need one in the next 381 days. But I am notorious for having the oldest model phone on the block. Most people like to have the new stuff.

Here’s the other thing: Most people who aren’t actively growing have enough clothing in their homes to last a decade. (I have more, I think.) Still we love to shop. We crave the new item. We want to look fashionable.

This is one aspect of my life, personally, that I can change. They’re gonna weep at the thrift store, but as for me, the economic boycott begins today and will continue for 381 days. I will darn my socks if I have to.

I don’t have an Amazon account. I never buy from them. They won’t miss me. But if ten million people vowed not to use Amazon for 381 days, there’s no way the Fuck Arounders would be able to pick up the slack.

If done effectively, these economic boycotts will put people out of work. We could have a depression. My feeling is, we are going to have ourselves a depression anyway, and a string of plagues too. Might as well get that Finding Out under way on a wider scale.

Personally I like the idea of not buying anything. I’m 66 with sensible shoes. I’m going to stockpile some cash for the day eggs cost $20 a dozen and I have to drive to Canada for a flu shot.

After today I have 380 more days without spending on non-necessities. It’s going to be a struggle. One struggle among many. La di dah.

Interview with a Bored (And Angry) Goddess: Chalchiuhtlicue

 You read that name right, "Gods Are Bored" fans! If the Goddess's has that many letters, She almost has to be an Original American deity, in this case, Aztec. Those people must have had some dexterity in their tonsils, let me tell you!

It's a cold Sunday morning here, so I have brewed up a pot of tea and am hosting the bored Goddess Chalchiuhtlicue, sacred to the Aztec peoples. Please give her a warm, wonderful, Gods Are Bored welcome!

Chalchiuhtlicue: Don't give me anything warm! FUCK warm!

Anne: Now, dear Goddess, please. This is a family blog.

Chalchiuhtlicue: No it isn't. You never get past the censors.

Anne: Somehow that's kind of comforting to me right now. Along with the fact that no one reads this. However, Chalchiuhtlicue, let's talk about You. Your name has been making the news of late.

Chalchiuhtlicue: Is that supposed to matter to me? I used to have 20 major celebrations each year. I had My own pyramid! Now I'm just stewing in My swimming hole. The hotter it gets, the more steamed I get. And then? Hurricanes. You people deserve it.

Anne: You're preaching to the choir here, Chalchiuhtlicue. Am I pronouncing it right?

Chalchiuhtlicue: No European could ever hope to pronounce it right. But go ahead and mangle it. It's mildly amusing.

Anne: Well, I just wanted to praise and worship You and tell You that I will be calling the body of water previously known as the Gulf of Mexico, the Sea of Chalchiuhtlicue. Or, if I have 15 minutes to say a name, Chalchiuhtlicueyecatl. I don't suppose I was any more successful pronouncing that.

Chalchiuhtlicue: Not a bit.

Anne: Sorry.

Chalchiuhtlicue: Just think. That name rolled off the tongue of millions of My people as a pleasant brook flows over a stone.

Anne: I need a Tums.

Chalchiuhtlicue: And now I'm supposed to be happy that my mangled name is trotted into some feeble protest. While every year My swimming hole gets more and more like a sauna!

Anne: How about a nice slice of sweet potato pie?

Chalchiuhtlicue: Pie? That might work with those vain Greek deities, but MY PEOPLE GAVE YOU HATEFUL EUROPEANS THE SWEET POTATO. And what did we get in return? Smallpox. Influenza. You can take that pie and ...

Anne: Honestly, I'm willing to if it will improve Your temper! I just invited You over to encourage my three readers to adopt the term Chalchiuhtlicueyecatl. But I can see it's totally insufficient. I get it. I really do. The injustices heaped upon Your people by Europeans does not sit lightly with me.

Chalchiuhtlicue: Well, that inconsequential show of sympathy will at least keep Me from flooding your basement. Maybe.

Anne: Thank You for that! It would be a flick of the wrist for You, an angst-producer for me. All of my Mummers suits are down there, and my fairy festival clothes, and Omega Cat's boxes, and ...

Chalchiuhtlicue: Changing my mind here.

Anne: No! No! Don't change your mind! All glory, laud, and honor, great Goddess of the Waters of the World! Water is life, and modern European humans don't realize it, and You will have Your revenge soon. Very soon.

Chalchiuhtlicue: I know.

Anne: In the meantime, I intend to use the historically correct Chalchiuhtlicueyecatl as the name for the body of water to the immediate south of the continent erroneously known as North America.

Chalchiuhtlicue: I don't care one way or another, since I'm cooking in My own swimming hole. But you do you.

Anne: Look at this. A nice tall glass of iced sweet tea with lemon! A very modest European offering to Your overheated self.

Chalchiuhtlicue: Thank you. Your basement is safe. Can I chill in that fetching little pond behind your house?

Anne: I wouldn't. It's polluted to the plimsol line. Tell you what. The briny Absecon Inlet is just an hour's drive away. It has a nice Original American name. Let's go hang out there for the afternoon. I'll get my Under Armor. And my cashmere sweater. And my sweat pants. And my puffer coat. And my hat. And my gloves. And a scarf. And foot warmers. And wool socks.

Chalchiuhtlicue: I'll wait.

Whew! You never know about these deities, do you? They all seem pissed these days. Seems that my afternoon plans have changed. Wish me luck, friends. Chalchiuhtlicue is a bruiser. Rightly so, but wowsa.

My First Weigh-In on Project 2025

 Here I am again, blathering on “The Gods Are Bored.” And today I am going to be candid. I can’t predict to save my life. Since I was young I have been unable to see the future through anything but a foggy and self-important lens.

In and of itself, this wouldn’t be such a problem. But I have allowed the self-important piece of this equation to make me cheeky and snarky. Nowhere has this been more evident than in my sarcasm about Christian nationalists.

I was writing this blog in the Obama era. I absolutely could not imagine a moment in American history when Christian nationalists would take over the levers of power in government, in the courts, in significant portions of public opinion. To me these people were the butt of jokes for their backwardness and misogyny, their homophobia and doctrine of “pray and grow rich.”

Who’s laughing now?

The Supreme Court is a disaster. Precedent means nothing to these people. And now the dismantling of government protections begins in earnest with Project 2025. The wealthy and the gullible make excellent dance partners. And if Christian nationalism is anything, it’s the gullible tool of the powerful.

Maybe if I predict a dystopian future where only the rich thrive, waited on by a subservient class controlled by repressive religion, propaganda, and AI, it won’t happen. But this time I think I might be correct. Folks, it’s gonna get bad.

Part of me wants to sit back and watch the drama unfold. But a bigger part wants to rage against the machine. I don’t know what that will look like in the years to come, but oh well, la di dah, see this middle finger, Project 2025? It’s all for you.

Baby steps first. There’s a purchasing boycott on February 28. Buy nothing on that day. Not even groceries.

And as for me and my house, the buying boycott will persist. I have made it my calling not to use Amazon. I’ve written about that before. Now I’m adding Target. Walmart was already off the table.

A purchasing boycott seems like low-hanging fruit. I want to do so, so much more. Let’s see what opportunities arise.

The only prediction I make here today? I’m still teeing off against the oligarchy. Here, on this inconsequential blog. As always a vanity project, but hey. It’s where I stand.

One thing I know about Project 2025: In no time at all, 2026 will roll around. What happens then, you smug bunch of rich white bastards? FAFO.