The Ugly T(r)ooth of US Dentistry

It was Saturday night when I realized that my ongoing attempts to delay a much needed visit to the dentist were not going to be operative moving forward.  Suffice to say that the amount of misery that unceremoniously struck me that evening was a rude reminder of the degree of pain that one’s own body can inflict upon itself under the right/wrong conditions.  It’s as if Providence decided right there Saturday night, that it was time for my physical suffering to match that of the emotional pain I’m dealing with watching Trump trying to turn the United States into his own little Banana Republic.  But I digress…

Saturday night was fitful, with periods of semi-peace interrupted by brief sufferings mimicking nothing short of Medieval torture, but Sunday had me waking relatively pain free, figuring I could probably hold out til Monday when surely there’d be more dental options.  I can’t speak for everybody in America, but there are more than a few of us with a disdain for dentists so ingrained that a little Medieval torture seems like a fair trade off to avoid them.  Besides, I’d already made arrangements with Thomas, an old coworker friend of mine from 7-11, for an early Sunday round of Disc Golf, though that was before I knew that Saturday evening was going to be a challenging nightmare from Hell.  I mentioned my issue with tooth pain to Thomas when confirming our plans to meet at Poudre Middle School on Sunday morning and he offered and brought me a tube of OraGel which I applied lavishly upon his arrival.

We leisurely walked several rounds of nine hole disc golf in the cool breeze of the high mountain meadows morning.  In the ensuing Battle Royale, I was soundly thrashed beyond all hope and recognition as Thomas put on a disc golf show he’d previously been hiding, presumably up his ass somewhere.  I think he was taking out his frustration and aggravation on somebody smashing his car door with their foot, leaving both a huge dent and a matching dusty shoe print in the process.  Normally I could use such distractions to my advantage but I was a bit wrung out from the night’s torture sessions and didn’t really feel like inflicting the extra emotional carnage on Thomas that he’s come to expect from me.  Next time I’ll have to double up on the distracting old guy rants if I want to have any chance of upending these youngish middle-aged sport sharks.  Be assured, he took no mercy on me whatsoever during the round.  I’d have preferred to win but not having done so is no reason to denigrate the good time we had.

In what had to be one of the most awkward goodbyes in the Hipster Era, Thomas left me simultaneously writhing in pain, and wishing him a good day from my cot in Nellybelle because ‘the pain’ decided to go Level 10 at that moment and I was hopeless against it.

It was Thomas who mentioned Comfort Dental in Loveland, informing me that they accept my government dental benefits.  Thomas is close enough to being poor I knew he’d have advice on poor people health and dental care options.  I zeroed in on the Comfort Dental in Loveland near the Walmart at 57th and 287 for first thing Monday morning.  End Part One.

#hoboheretic  Enjoy.

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New Year Thoughts and Plays

I pause once again to thank the goodness of my friends for helping enable the “level of success” I have achieved since returning to the US as a shell-shocked (yet surprisingly fabulous) senior citizen expat widower three years ago.  One thing I’ve learned from the experience is that there are more people out there actually paying attention to my content and concerned for my well being than I would ever anticipated. They’ve been the difference between survival and what I define as surthrival, which is at least halfway up the fourth tier on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.  Self actualization can only be achieved in a sunny high mountain meadow sipping fire-brewed coffee and passing one of Willie’s Reserve around the tambourine circle, but I don’t want to give away all the secret society stuff.  Come visit and we’ll talk.

The Hobo Heretic Has Arrived

I’m claiming my rightful throne as Hobo Heretic of the high mountain meadows.  It’s the direction that providence has pushed me.  A retirement position that combines talents acquired lately in the fine art of minivan living with my lifelong fight against the disruptive effects of belief in things that cannot be tested.  As always, my content will reflect that which interests or concerns me, untainted by the concern of mass appeal or monetary manipulations.  Expect a mix of the usual eclectic high mountain meadows magic, notes on van life along with the occasional political screed, because, well….just because.  (He’s guilty as shit and everybody knows it)

Enjoy.

In the Meantime

Muskogee to Memphis

Hell's Hole, OK

While I am working on soliciting donations to continue on my path down the road of life I am not sitting idly by twiddling my thumbs and toes just because there doesn’t seem to be an employer in my local vicinity who is interested in employing me at slave wages and exploiting my superlative set of skills.  I don’t get too bummed out by that seemingly incomprehensible set of circumstances given the overall state of educational and economic depravity I’m surrounded by.  It’s just further evidence of the bad decision making skills of the people in the area.  LOL.

In the Meantime

Yes You Can

In the meantime I’m spending my time doing what any able bodied homeless vet (or bag lady) would do given the ‘opportunities’ that present themselves in the land of the free and the home of the brave.  I’m out collecting aluminum cans.  I have no idea what they are worth as I have yet to actually sell any of them but they must have some intrinsic value greater than zero or our cities wouldn’t be overwhelmed with images of homeless folks pushing shopping carts stacked to the brim with them.

Making do

I’d mow lawns if I had a lawn mower.  I’d do some other odd job if I hadn’t lost all my tools in my moves back and forth beyond the oceanic horizon. Lacking a vehicle does nothing to improve my situation one bit as I’m sure there are some jobs right outside my limited field of travel that I might be able to bag but given my experience to date I wouldn’t call that a ‘slam dunk’ either.

Sonic Tim

I’d put on a pair of roller skates and deliver your slush and corn dog order to your car at the local Sonic for that matter,  but I guess the sight of a skinny ass old guy wheeling around in their parking lot isn’t as desirable in terms of public perception as I had otherwise hoped it would be when I wandered into the place based on their “Walk In applications welcome on Tuesdays” flashing sign, only to find that “walking in” for the application required I first do their online application (WTF?) which of course I did before returning for my walk-in application the following Tuesday!   I’m nothing if not persistent and I’m trying to put to rest the tired stereotype that folks who want to work can easily find jobs because that’s as old a trope as “both parties in this country are the same, so why bother voting at all”.  Vote for Bernie Sanders, 2016.  Before it’s too late.

Enjoy.

On Faith

Debating God Slobberers

Long before they go cosmological or ontological on you, there’s this bit of pablum you have to wade through with almost all of your run-of-the-mill God slobberers.   Here’s the short list of the debating tactics of those on the religious short bus and how to deal with them:

The Gob Slobberer Starter Toolkit

1. You are mad at/hate God.
2. You wish to masturbate (more enthusiastically?) without oversight. (Masturbation just manages to squeeze out “practice homosexuality” as the ‘go-to sin” above the Mason-Dixon line).
3. You are lashing out at “the church” because (e.g.) a priest masturbated you a little too enthusiastically or you had some other negative experience at church.
4. You haven’t looked for God in the right places.

The Skeptics Responses

1.  I wish there was a God to be mad at but since that’s s a fantasy of yours I don’t share I’m going to have to hold you personally responsible for all the chowder-headed nonsense you’re spewing and the damage that occurs as a result.

2.  I do the best I can not to embarrass the ghost of Oscar Wilde.

3.  The soft hand of a Catholic priest would have been a Godsend in lieu of the total subjugation of my mind which was attempted in order to help me find comfort in the patently ridiculous notions being promulgated by mindless goobers like you.

4.  I looked everywhere for God as a child, but it was all to no avail. Were the father, son and holy ghost all too busy for for my toast?   Upon puberty it finally hit me.  Vaginas seemed the likeliest hideout for God that I hadn’t already searched in my youth.  Checked a bunch….nada God there..

I’ll keep looking to broaden the sample size but I’m skeptical I’ll find anything other than an echo in even the largest of vaginas.

Maybe God is too ashamed to show his face after looking around and seeing what a horrible job he did in the first place.  That’s a distinct possibility and the one I’d run up the flagpole if I was a master goober in religious apologetics.

Enjoy.

Sure Got Quiet

 Family Matters

If Everyone Was Listening

On Family Matters

After a barrage of bullshit out of my nieces back in Fort Dodge yesterday, aimed directly at my supposed shortcomings, I took affirmative action to reduce the background noise.  It appears that the strategy has been successful and I may now resume my normal political, dog and life blogging.  In other words, it’s back to sex, drugs and rock n’roll, or at least as much of each as a rocker my age can muster.  Maybe my ‘family’ figured out by now that the things they think they can use to undermine my “authoritah’ and “embarrass” me are exactly those things which I have already blogged about?  I dunno? Since they complain I haven’t visited them enough over the years while totally overlooking that they have NEVER visited me it’s hard to figure. The clueless self delusion of my family is now the stuff of legend.   I’m half hoping they’ll be foolish enough to continue their idiocracy because my web stats are going through the roof!  Dawn’s mangling of English alone is comedy GOLD.

Yes certain things were shared pre Tim in America, but your dilutions in your mind make them worse than they are. I’m done doing laundry on here, I have FAMILY to attend to that’s far more important than how u feel or were treated. Enjoy the last of the money u have left, lololol  (Do you even have enough money to be able to feed and care for your recently adopted dog Molly??  Not according to your mom!  You won’t find any happiness waiting for me to go broke sweetie.  Dam, that’s gotta sting!)

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