About thetimchannel

Mom always told me I was special and I believed her. Enjoy.

Solstice Blessings

I see those around me gearing up for Christmas, doing their best to meet the cultural and commercial expectations our mamas all raised us with. I’m not unaware of the change of the soundtrack as I shop for my daily dose of chocolate milk at the local King Soopers or stroll the aisles at Wally World restocking hobo essentials. Santa-branded candy is as overpriced as a class at the late Trump University which is slightly abated by the recent heavy discounts on Bronco-branded merch. You can also pick up some heavily discounted pumpkin-spiced croutons for your salad right now if you know the right aisles to shop.

The sounds of the season and the Xmas themed end-caps at the stores were in place long before Thanksgiving eve. This is the Christian holiday snatched from the pagans and assigned as the birthday of Baby Jeebus fully re-dedicated to the American God of Retail. O’Holy Night and all that and “get your grimey ass back to Mexico” says Tucker Carlson on God’s Chosen Channel. I’m eternally and daily thankful I’m free of the cognitive dissonance required to carry water for this imaginary monster. Hippie Jeebus I could stomach.

Now what to celebrate? Are we totally screwed? Maybe for those whose imaginations need to be filled by self-righteous holy pricks imaginatively interpreting The Goat Herders Guide to the Galaxy. Somebody give these people a science book ferchrissakes.

This Rambo Jeebus, this malignant Christian Nationalist Jeebus, this “FU dirty hippes!” version of Jeebus has soured the entirety of the American religious landscape and made many realize that the true history of Baby Jeebus is as nebulous as the the position and speed of an atomic particle. At least an atomic particle leaves a reliable footprint. Though we may sometimes tire in our attempt to hang onto that which is most precious to us it’s best to maintain a firm grip on the reliable atoms in the rope than to let go and pray for a miracle against gravity, and everybody dam well knows it.

As for me? The most blessed all of the hobo heretics the high mountain meadows can muster? I’ll continue to spread honesty, cheer and happiness around me in as eager and prolific a manner as the spirits of an aging hobo and his old hobo hound can muster, fully leveraging the utility of the companionship my cute publicity-loving-pup adds to the mix. There may be some weed involved, all legally obtained and distributed under the laws of my totally utopian state. I’ll always strive to maintain as much of a positive public image as can be had from such a minimalist perch as this poverty-tainted platform will allow.. Build new friendships and try to maintain the many acquired along the happy trails.

At this most blessed of holiday seasons, I’d be remiss not to note the most serendipitous of the many hobo blessings (that coincidentally happens to make a fundamentalist Pentecostal wince hardest) is that I am living as close to the purported lifestyle of the beloved Baby Jeebus as is humanly possible in the 21st Century. That noted, I’m not nearly as incommunicado, nor has my army of a dozen female apostles completely gelled, just yet. I’m less inclined to push against those wishing to form a religion around me the older I get. It’s a feature, not a bug. Hoocoodanode?

Chalk it up to the curiosity of my nature. It’s what my mama raised me with. That, and a round Earth.

Enjoy.

Accidental Honesty

Not so long ago, Donald Trump was promising the American people ‘So Much Winning” that we’d get tired of all the winning.  The Dotard repeatedly told us all to be prepared for an amount of winning that would exceed that of even the estimable Charlie Sheen.  And before anybody asks, the answer is NO!,  I am not still upset about that failed job application I made to Team Sheen once upon a time.  You don’t take a chance you don’t stand a chance.

Once Trump started ripping Catholic babies off the bosoms of mothers named Maria and the so-called moral majority remained silent, it forever tainted the remains of the evangelical Christian Nationalists by highlighting that their morality is more suspect than Hannibal Lectors choice in diet,  I called that a win. Remember that once the Marmalade Colored Mussolini got into office, we weren’t five minutes into the actual Dotard Era before we were being intellectually assaulted by the ‘crowd size’ claims of Little Donnie, yet those with the most obvious exaltations against bearing false witness were, and still are, the most vociferous apologists for Trump.  

From that point on, the majority of America not myopic or mentally different enough (Amen, Christians!) to accept faith over truth, immediately defined ‘Winning” as “Trump being unceremoniously exposed as a compromised Russian asset with a megalomaniacal attitude towards American justice, long standing tradition and the kind of good common sense our mama’s raised us with. 

I’m told that the Psychic Friends Network Department at The Tim Channel feels the same towards Fox News and foresees that Sean Hannity is bound to end up being charged as an accessory.

What Have We Learned?

If you are determined to consort with hookers and decide to run for President, you have to own your debauchery.  Brag on it instead of being ashamed.  Have the hookers in the middle of your raucous crowds, waving banners and braggin’ about your ‘stamina’!!  Trump was just raised in the wrong epoch.  Trapped in an earlier era’s primitive advertising injunctions against evangelizing the benefits of libertine sexual expressions and afraid to confront the so-called moral majority he is beholden to.  In a much earlier era, perhaps the ‘conservative’ one he desires a return to, he could freely fuck his horse at or after an Emperor’s feast in front of the entire Senate and it’d hardly raise an eyebrow. You kinda have to pity a guy born so far after his time.

For at least the last year, there’s been so much winning in regard to exposing the obvious crimes noted above that’s we’re now at a point where indictments, convictions and pleas are falling faster than Monica Lewinsky’s panties ever could.  We just learned today that Trump paid at least a couple women hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep quiet about how far he had them pull down their panties!  We even know that The National Enquirer paid the hush money on the notification of his now convicted and imprisoned lawyer, Michael Cohen.  We know Trump is Individual 1.  Is this not a glorious holiday season!  Overwhelmed with the winning.

And that’s even before factoring in the extreme ‘winning’ that the “keep the hookers quiet during the election” side of the equation brought to the hullabaloo.  There is the entire “Butina just plead out” to funding the NRA thing. Pictures of her have been seen hanging on the office walls of off half of the Republicans in congress.  Same dudes we daily see masturbating over their God given right to own assault rifles (with extra capacity magazines), enhanced by the lingering scent of her perfume on their collars no doubt.  The NRA is going bankrupt, simultaneously at the time of the withdrawal of all that Russian laundered payola.  The National Russia Association is another victim of Trumpianism.  Like the Republican party itself.  Near bankrupt and not worth saving.  Never imagined I could win this big in my entire life.  That may be the only thing Trump actually ended up being honest about without knowing how much it’d end up biting him in the ass.

Enjoy.

HoboTalk – Episode One

Since I’ve mostly defaulted to using my YouTube channel for documenting the last several years of my life (Daily Dose of Tim), I’ve stopped blogging as much as I use to.  I’m not actually writing any less, as those who follow me on Facebook can attest.  I’m just ‘Done’ with Facebook as a platform. They’ve repeatedly shown they are incapable of handling my account and my data responsibly.  WordPress has it’s issues, but at least it hasn’t been front page news for the last couple years for trying to sell us out to the Russians and/or anybody else with ten cents to spare!  And don’t even get me started about the time they blocked me for a month for posting pornography.  I consider the added gravitas of that incident not only a resume enhancer, but also a sign of just how occupational flexible I could be in a pinch.  It’s all about finding the right angles, but I digress.

While we’re on the subject of porn I’m reminded of a cartoon porn version of Star Trek I saw about forty years ago.  One particular line of dialog is forever etched in my brain.  Doctor McCoy to Captain Kirk, “Dammit Jim, I’m a doctor not a dildo repairman!” The plot twist that led to that statement is lost to the vagaries of my galloping senility (though I lose the names still I know the faces. Time has come and left its traces.) but if I recall, it had something to do with an alien army of angry cartoon “Dickheads”.

I am extremely active on Twitter for an old hobo living in a van, tethered to the net with nothing more than spit and vinegar (whatever free public wi-fi is available),  Even with the ‘professional handicap”, I’m still heading towards a quarter million earned impressions, just in the last 28 days! 

Hundreds of Thousands Served Monthly

That noted, my heart has always been in blogging and I find it more satisfying collecting up a loyal ‘blogging family” than any of the other social media options, though I’ve acquired friends through Instagram and YouTube that are very dear to me as well.  I’m trying to increase my Instagram content at the present time.  The only one I’m actively avoiding is Facebook.

DJI Osmo Pocket

My desire to do video content has waned for the moment, along with the technical means to do so.  This may change if/when I purchase a new videocam.  I’ve been lucky to produce what I have considering the highest level of tech I own is a series 5 iPhone!  This DJI product which I might be able to afford would do a bang up job for me.  It’s the Osmo Pocket seen above.  At three hundred fifty bucks it’s right at the cusp of what an old hobo might be able to manage if Nellybelle doesn’t fall out from under me in the process.  If you haven’t seen or heard about it yet, I’m pretty sure you will before long.  Here’s the skinny.

I had previously claimed success concerning the manner in which I have accommodated the changes in lifestyle made necessary by my habitation in Nellybelle, my beloved ‘classic’ 93 Dodge minivan, but now I am officially claiming total ‘success’ on my relocation project of moving back to the US from Germany.  This is not meant to imply that things couldn’t potentially still go wildly astray in my immediate future.  It’s an important life construct to be constantly wary.  The Boy Scouts call it ‘being prepared”.  It’s what my mama raised me with.

I’m several winters into #vanlife here in the high mountain meadows.  As such, I’ve become somewhat of a local celebrity/curiosity around here, elevating my otherwise lowly status well above the average homeless derelict.  It helps that I worked here in a highly visible retail position here in town for a couple years, and having built up a lot of friends and goodwill along the way.  Being frugal and living long enough to secure the most minimal of SS benefits worked out pretty well for me.  The not dying along the way was a huge part of it.  When trying to parse the elements involved in any of my myriad success stories, be they real time events or rosy historical retellings of past glories, one must NEVER overlook how much my innate fabulosity had to do with it.  I never do. You can be sure of that! LOL.

Old Hobos
Given my recent acquisition of another rescue pup who is just as fabulous as I am, there’s every likelihood me and Sammy are going to continue kicking our own brand of high mountain magic right along down the road with us.

The many friends I’ve made here, along with all those I’m still connected with from afar (by virtue of over a decade on one form of social media or the other) are a big part of my ‘success’ here in this mountain village.  Now I’m ready to take it up to the next level in a manner consistent with proper hobo motion (slow).  Baby steps.  I could get a helluva lot more aggressive with my campaign for overnight success, but there are standards of hobo decorum that need to be considered because of my status as a role model for hopeful future hobo heretics to follow.

Did I already mention?  It’s what my mama raised me with.

Enjoy.

 

How Subtle is Racism?

Screenshot 2018-12-02 at 1.51.03 PM
I was catching up with clips from SNL last night and among the tidbits I caught was this clip of New York humor.  It’s rather ironic that it was used in a bit delivered by a Black comedian leveraging humor off the most racist and corrupt President we’ve had since the 1800’s.

After viewing the SNL piece, I’m left to wonder if he really has a cousin named Tasha.

I’m also left to wonder if he realizes that the sorry state of masculinity and fatherhoodlessness in the Black community is a direct byproduct of the war on drugs and the destruction of what were once very stable Black neighborhoods in my early youth, and that by perpetuating an image of intentional familial recklessness on the part of both male and female Black couples he’s earning a racist paycheck whether he knows it or not.  That’s just how one White guy who happened to graduate from Jackson State University sees it anyway.

I’ve always said that if you’re going to present racist stereotype humor, it’s best delivered by a member of the minority being caricatured.  Kim Wade, Mississippi’s favorite Black Christian Nationalist, exists mainly for the purpose of having a local Black guy bash on other Black people.  It’s the way you get past the most blatant and obvious of the racism at the juicy center that even a semi-respectable right wing broadcaster couldn’t get away with back when I worked with him on-air.

These days the Christian Nationalists aren’t as beholden to the Black dog whistlers because they’ve abandoned dog whistling in lieu of Proud Boy marches and bullhorns.  I don’t think the comedian delivering these lines is in any way comparable to someone as hideously macabre as Kim Wade, but at the end of the day, I’ve got to call these things out when I see them based on my special sensitivity and expertise in the matter.

Contrary opinions will be scrutinized and mocked accordingly.

#hoboheretic  Enjoy.

When I Was a Kid

We kicked cans in the street
Braved a Jart to the ribs
Thought Jesus would save us
When I was a kid.

We cherished love
The hippies their lids
Jesus played his guitar
When I was a kid.

Time passed quickly
Jesus aged as I did
He wasn’t the guy
I knew as a kid.

I returned to the scriptures
Were they always this glib?
It was never as simple
As I thought as a kid.

The Nazi’s were an anathema
Dictators? Undid
Things were quite different
When I was a kid.

Now Republican Jesus
Sells us out for a quid
That’s not what I’d figured
When I was a kid.

Enjoy.