Inauguration Day

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Melania Trump sat outside the bathroom.  Her back against the door, she glossed over the luggage packed for her trip back to Manhattan. Her flight was going to have to be delayed unless she could wrap this up quickly. She tapped the door with her hands. “Honey, I’m going to have to leave soon. I just want you to know your inauguration went very well today and I’m incredibly proud of you.”

She could hear rustling on the other side of the bathroom door. “His numbers were better” she heard him mumble.

Melania sighed. Her Donnie wasn’t normally like this, but the few times he faced defeat, or seemingly faced defeat, Donald would lock himself in the washroom and would stay there for a number of hours. Normally, Melania would just let him sit in there for a while, let him be upset for a little bit. His enormous ego would soon repair itself, and he would emerge triumphantly from the washroom, having spun his defeat into a victory. But he was now the President of the United States, and he had to get back to work.

“We don’t know that there were more people at his inauguration than yours” she said through the door. There was another mumble, she could barely hear it. “What was that honey?” she asked. “I said, I saw pictures! They were on Twitter. He had twice as many people there in 2009. And in 2013, he still had more people.” There was silence for a moment. Melania spoke again. “Well, maybe a lot of people were inside at the time the picture was taken. They might be trying to make you look like a fool.”

She heard the soap dispenser get thrown into the tub where it made an audible thud. “They’re ALWAYS trying to make me look like a fool. They had an anti-me protest in New York, right outside our home. You know who was there? Robert DeNiro. I always thought he was cool, but NOW he’s hanging out with  Micheal Moore and that asshole Alec Baldwin. You know what? I’m going after him. I’m going after that prick Alec, and I’m gonna piss all over his things. I’m going to stand right over his face and piss in his mouth when he’s sleeping. He’s got a little dog, right? I’m going to piss all over that dog, and then I’m going to take it. That dog will love me more than it ever loved Alec. I’m going to hop in Air Force One and do that right now.” She could hear tiny hands wringing menacingly.

“Ok, but you might have to check with your new friend Pence first.” It sounded like some bars of soap were being tossed against the wall in protest. “I have to check with EVERYONE before I do something fun. It’s SO unfair! They said no tanks or missiles at the inauguration, saying it would wreck the roads. So what? We’ll build new roads, give something people to do. I’d be creating jobs. Putin gets to have tanks and missiles at his parties, it’s these losers over here who won’t let me. I don’t care what Pence says.”

“I know this has been tough on you, honey, but you knew there would be some changes. Anyways, I hear the doorbell, I think Pence is here now.”

“Fine, Go, Whatever, I don’t care. Tell him to go away.”

Melania ignored the statement and made her way through the Penthouse of the Trump International Hotel in Washington DC. At the door was Pence. As she opened the door, he let himself in. “Sorry I’m late, Mrs. Trump. I had the LGBTQ page on the government website taken down, and that took a little longer than expected. I think I know the man well enough now that I can handle this problem.” Melania shook her head. “I’ve been married to him for years, and he still doesn’t always make sense to me.”

Pence strode up to the bathroom door and gave it a commanding knock. “Mr. President, it’s Mr. Vice-President. Can we speak for a moment?”

“Go away, Pence! You’re not cool.” The voice started loud and trailed off. Pence straightened his tie. “Of course I’m not cool, Mr. President. My job is to make you look cool. I know you’re upset about the numbers. But there’s a reason Obama has higher numbers.”

Trump blew his nose. “Yeah, and why’s that?”

“Affirmative action, sir.” said Pence.

There was a pause. “Really?”

“Of course. He was the first black president. The liberals of this nation propped him up to make him look better. How else could you explain Obama having better numbers? You remember your numbers from the first season of Celebrity Apprentice? To use your own words sir, they were terrific.”

The was another pause, then the flow of water. Trump threw open the door and marched out. “You know what Pence? You are so right. You are so right to bring this to my attention. Of course it’s the blacks, propping up their own guy with affirmative action. And this affirmative action? It doesn’t help the blacks, it just makes it harder for everyone else. And that’s not fair.”

He went to a mirror and ran a comb through his hair. He then walked to Melania and grabbed her firmly by the ass. “Babe, thanks so much for staying with me. When you get home, they’ll be the biggest diamond waiting for you in our room. I’m seeing to that right now.” He gave her a pat on the bum and focused his attention to Pence. “In the meantime, we need to get my numbers up. I need to have my face on every corner of every street. Could we get some screens with loud speakers everywhere? Letting the audience know I’m always there? Make that happen.”

Pence smiled. “Of course Mr. President. I’ll look into that immediately. I need you to sign some papers, though. I read them so you don’t have to. They’re not deals, just boring law stuff.”

Trump whipped out a pen. “Smart move, leaving the deals to me. I’m a deal-making machine” he said as he signed the papers. “I can’t wait for this screen thing, it’s going to be huge. Can you imagine? My face, on every corner. It’ll let my enemies know I’m always there.”

He tucked his pen back into his breast pocket. “You know what, I think this’ll work out. You deal with the boring stuff, and I’ll take care of the deals and the audience.”

Pence flashed a smile that would make sharks nervous. “Absolutely, Mr. President. I will always have your best interests in mind.”

Trump smiled. “Good. Now, let’s get a few cocktails into me. I’m going to need a bunch if I’m going to piss all over Alec Baldwin.”

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. It is going to be an interesting four years. That’s putting it nicely.

Woe for Trudeau

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Justin Trudeau sat at the edge of his bed, cup of coffee in hand, as his Filipino maid left the breakfast tray next to him on the mattress. He looked down at the mug, which was a cup with a gold trim lining the rim. It was a gift he had received as a child, when his father had taken them all to a quaint mansion owned by an old family friend in France. The coffee was rich and warm, and it too was a gift, from the son of the former president of Columbia. He let the smell of the coffee flow into his nostrils, then he sighed heavily.

Trudeau had just returned from his cross country bus trip. Ontario was a bit of a struggle, but the Maritimes were lovely as always, and then the trip across the prairies had been wonderful, until of course, he had hit Alberta. There was a large group of protesters in Medicine Hat, and the crowd had become so ruckus and unruly that there was no choice but to hop on a chartered plane and cross over Alberta in the air. When they landed in Cranbrook BC, they got back on a bus and finished the tour. Most of the media had been responsive to the tour, but the newspapers in Alberta were less than kind. The Calgary Sun had called his actions “cowardly”. The Lethbridge Herald called him “Spineless”. And the Rebel’s own Ezra Levant had posted a video, stating that Justin was “A Liberal Faggot”.

He put his coffee down and looked over at Maria, the maid. “Maria, I’ve got a question for you. Why do people in Alberta hate me so much?”

It was Maria’s turn to sigh. “Mr. Trudeau. I very busy today. Can you not ask your wife?”

Trudeau shook his head. “I’ve asked her, and she doesn’t know either.”

“Okay.” Maria said as she pulled out a chair that was close by. She sat down. “The first province I started in, when I move to Canada? It was Alberta. I moved to Edmonton so that I might support my family back home, yes? The people in Alberta are very different than the rest of country. How many hours a week I work?”

Trudeau looked puzzled “Well, I think you work about 40 hours a week.”

Maria nodded. “It is 44 hours, but you are so close. Now, how many hours in Alberta did I work?” Before Justin could answer, Maria interrupted. “I work 50 to 70 hours a week in Alberta.” Justin gasped. “But…. but what about family and free time and hobbies?” Maria waved her hand “People from Alberta, they have no hobbies or free time. Everyone work. You live in Alberta, you work. You bored? Find second job. Everyone work like crazy in Alberta.”

Trudeau looked aghast. “What about the arts, and music, and….” Maria silenced him again. “You talk of culture. No culture in Alberta except for work culture. You have many famous Canadians. You have Jim Carrey, you have Pam Anderson, you have many stars from Canada. Anyone from Alberta famous? Nickleback. Everyone hate Nickleback. No. Alberta famous for work.”

Justin scratched his head. “But if they’re working so hard, why are they so worried about increases in taxes?” Maria started laughing hysterically. “That crazy part about Alberta, see? They blow money all the time. Even government. No saving. You have money, you buy car, or watch, or boat. You know how many boats in Alberta? More boats in Alberta than in Philippines. And Philippines island in ocean. Albertans hard working, but crazy. But they spend money, it good for Alberta economy, good for car salesman, good for watchmaker, good for everyone. Tax for Albertan mean less money for Albertans, more money for people in who do not work like crazy. Albertans think free time waste of time.”

Justin Trudeau scratched his head. “So why are they mad at me then?”

Maria’s eyes almost popped out of her head. “Dummy! You not listening to Maria? You threaten Albertans work? You threaten their culture. They see you, they see pretty cultured boy. You cultured? Means you not working. Only culture in Alberta is work. Remember that.” She squinted, tapping the side of her head. “Remember that.”

With that said, Maria stood up, pushed the chair back in, and started out the door. As her hand twisted the knob, Justin spoke again.

“What could I do to make them like me, then?”

Maria shrugged. “Probably nothing. You could sign crazy deal with Devil and make oil rain in Alberta, they still hate you. No, you pretty cultured boy, they always hate you.” she paused. “Maybe work more. No more vacations. No more beaches with rich friends. Albertans have lots of money, but no rich. To be rich, you must have culture. No rich snobs in Alberta, only money. You take vacation in three years, when you no longer politician. You go to beaches with friends then.”

Justin flashed a smile. “You mean 11 more years Maria.” She just rolled her eyes. “Sure, whatever Mr. Prime Minister. I sure you Prime Minister forever.”

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Sure, Nathan Fillion is from Alberta, but Firefly only lasted a season, and he brought shame to his people by being out of work.

 

Meta Post – The Big 100

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Since the inception of the website, back in May of 2016, I’ve posted 100 blog posts. Every post so far has been at least 750 words (except for one post. I can’t remember for the life of me which one it was, but I was busy and the subject was pretty sparse to begin with). Now, I’m no accountant, but doing a little math shows that I’ve then written well over 75,000 words on the ol’ website here.

What that doesn’t include are the rejects that don’t get posted or that get erased. Combined with the 55,000 words I’ve written for my novel, a bunch of short stories, the writing prompts I did with the River Bottom Writers, well, I’ve written a lot last year. It’s a number, for sure. I’m going to be writing even more this year.

While I sit here and congratulate myself by patting myself on the back while researching information about removing a couple of ribs, there’s other things I have to mention when I talk about the craft of writing.

See, not only do I write a lot, I read a fair amount as well. Reading is a wonderful tool that allows me to look smarter than I actually am without really doing any work. I recently read Stephen King’s ‘On Writing’, where he talks about his job. Which is sitting down, thinking about a bunch of crazy stuff, then putting in down on paper. It was a fascinating read, especially since I’m not actually a huge fan of his work (I mean, I could be, I’ve just never read any of his stuff, besides the ‘On Writing’ book). One of the things that stuck out for me was he considered writing something he’d be doing anyways, even if he wasn’t a big name.

Now, this stuck out for me for a couple reasons. One, right now it costs me money to write on this site. Not a lot, mind you, but the space ain’t free. And two, the game has changed slightly. There’s a lot more people writing today than there was when Stephen started his journey. The market for paid writing is also a lot smaller. There was a number of magazines catering to his kind of stuff. There are websites that cater to it, for sure, but they pay a lot less than they did in the 70’s. Magazines and websites now hold contests instead of asking for submissions. The opportunities presented to authors today is less of a low-paying gig and more of a low paying chance to win.

I’m not complaining. I’m going to continue writing, even if I never get published, even if no one except a couple of close friends and family are reading. I’m alright with that, because writing gives me something I don’t have in real space, and that’s the ability to express myself. I’m pretty closed off in real life, and for whatever reason, the walls get torn down when I put myself behind a keyboard. It’s good for my mental health too, because I don’t bottle up everything inside and let it rot.

There are a few things I’ve learned along the way about writing, some wisdom I hope to pass to anyone who might be delving into the craft themselves this year.

Getting Published means you’ll need an editor, and editors cost money.

A lot of money. If you have a book you want someone to go over with a fine-tooth comb, expect to pay somewhere between $3000-$6000. Keep in mind, there’re a couple of types of editors. Paying someone to do developmental editing means they’ll be looking over the story structure and they won’t be necessarily be paying attention to the grammar. Every time they go over it, they’ll want more money. That means tighten you work up and get some beta readers (friends who read a lot) and get their input before you hand it off to someone. Editors are people with jobs, and people have jobs to make money. They’re not going to work for free.

It’s not about what you know, it’s about who you know.

There’s this notion that writers sit in quiet rooms, working away at their novel, free of distractions. And that’s absolutely true. You need a quiet space to work in to write. If you want to get published, however, you’re going to have to meet some people, rub some elbows, make some connections. Join a writers group. Move to a bigger city. Don’t quit your day job. There are zero paths to success that don’t require you working with other people. If you don’t know how to socialize and network, then learn.

Ask yourself why you want to get published.

If it’s because you want money, look somewhere else. Seriously, there are so many better ways to make money. Same with fame and recognition. I learned a lot of things in 2016, but the bigger lesson I learned was this; there’s a good chance I’ll never be a successful writer, whereas success is defined by money and people telling me I’m awesome. Writing is just too saturated of a field. This is going to come across as silly, but what I’ve found is that being a writer isn’t something you do, it’s something you are. I mean, you still have to do it, you have to write, but if you’re writing without getting paid, that’s perfectly fine. I write because it makes me better at recognizing my own emotions, and it makes me a better story teller. If I could also get paid for it, that’d be awesome, but it could be a damn long time before any checks roll in.

People are going to tell you that you’re not a writer.

Or they’ll tell you that you’re not a real writer. Personally, I’ve never had someone tell me this, mostly because Mr. Charlton surrounds himself with only the best people. My solution is having business cards made out. Business cards seem to legitimize it, and they’re cheap to get.

To wrap it up, if you’re writing, or painting, or playing music, do it because it makes you a better, more interesting person. Don’t expect applause or money, because it often isn’t there. Sometimes the art itself is the reward.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Also the sex. People like banging artists. Known fact.

p.s.s. Next milestone is going to be 1000.

No Party for Trump

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You know, I really want to talk about the whole Justin Trudeau thing. I’d love to pick apart some of the lousy choices he’s made in the last few weeks. I’d relish the talk discussing the whole debacle with the crying lady, Kathy Katula, and how the Ontario government is poorly managing the juice flowing through the power lines. Now Justin has got himself a set of wheels and his taking his show across the nation. There’re some interesting things happening here in Canada. But have you seen what’s happening down south?

Trump’s inauguration is officially a week away, and he’s had more scandals in the last two months than President Obama had in the last two terms. Seriously. You want to know how bad it is? The Presidential inauguration is usually a star-studded event. Trump’s team is struggling to get anyone to show up. Trump’s been tweeting that he wants the PEOPLE there, not the celebrities he’s been hobnobbing with for the last decade. It’s weird to see a guy who spent years hosting celebrities on his game show not have any celebrities show up. Sad!

It’s not just celebrities boycotting the event. There are a couple of politicians who will be spending the day at home instead of at the White House, and I have a feeling that number is going to grow in the next few days. First, Rep. John Lewis, a congressman and civil rights leader, stated he wouldn’t be attending the inauguration, saying Trump wasn’t a legitimate president. Trump can’t resist low hanging fruit, and pounced on the opportunity to attack Lewis, stating his district is “in horrible shape” and that Lewis is all “talk, talk, talk”. This wasn’t exactly a smart move on Trump’s part, because John Lewis’ district is actually in good condition, and he’s a pretty stand-up guy. This led to a huge volume of people calling Trump out on his statement, Democrats and Republicans alike.  Now Rep. Mark Takano is skipping the event as well. I thin Mark and John will be getting beers that evening and repeating the same phrase throughout the night. “Isn’t having Trump as president insane?” They’ll look at each other, laugh a little, then get quiet for bit before talking about whatever congressmen talk about. Breakfast cereal, I would imagine.

But this isn’t really news. You want to know what’s news? The fact that the incoming president might actually have compromising ties to Russia. You that post I wrote a couple days ago, saying there are rumors that the Krelim has been working closely with Trump’s team? It’s turning out that those allegations might have some weight to them. Spy agencies all over the world are freaking out right now. Israel, one of the United States closest allies is terrified the new president might hand over compromising information to Russia, who is strongly allied with Iran.

You might be wondering why I, a modest Canadian, living a modest Canadian lifestyle, is so wrapped up in what’s going on across the border. I happen to live in Southern Alberta, which is probably the furthest politically right area in Canada. It’s the bible belt part of Canukistan. That being said, I know a number of people who think that having Trump as president is a good idea. Not only that Trump is STILL a good idea, but rather the idea that Trump would be a better statesperson than the current Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau.

Now, you might not like Justin Trudeau spending habits. I can understand that. You might despise the fact that he broke the law when he accepted a ride in a helicopter while on vacation, and that he had a lobbyist buddy along with him for the ride. I’m there with you in thinking that was a bone head move. If you’re fuming because he wants to phase out the oil sands, I can sympathize.

But, if for one second, you think that a pretentious legacy politician from out East is less qualified than a pretentious, legacy, petty, narcissistic, pussy-grabbing, conman who’s only goal as head of state is to empty its coffers into his pockets, well, you’re wrong. If you think that a sneering elite is better than a boorish elite who’s colluding with a hostile foreign nation that squashes free speech with imprisonment and death, well, that would make you a traitor to freedom. If you think that Trump would be better than Trudeau, then there’s only one thing I can say to you. And that’s…

 

Hail Comrade Trump.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. If you like Trump because he’s saying what you’re thinking, then you’re not thinking hard enough.

 

 

Comrade Trump

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Trump is struggling with his new-found position as President-elect, which frankly is a cakewalk to the actual duties of the presidency. Between the evidence Russia tried to help Trump get elected (yes, there is evidence to support this claim), to the breaking accusations that Russia has dirt on Trump and has been grooming him for years (no evidence, but it has the internet in a tizzy), to the fact that Trump refuses to sell his assets, not to mention he hasn’t released his taxes to the public, well, things just keep getting more and more complicated. There has never been this much turbulence leading up to an inauguration, ever. With this circus going on now, it would not shock me if the day Trump is sworn in devolves into a fist fight between one of his sons and a journalist.

It’s just so utterly bizarre to see the future President of the United States, the highest title in the most powerful nation in the world, to act so completely unpresidential. Once he was elected it seemed, for a very short amount of time, that Trump started acting like a president. That dissolved almost immediately when he got his twitter privileges back. His internet meltdown after Meryl Streep’s speech was petty. He is still bringing up his victory over Hillary, as well as some of the other republican nominees, and it makes him seem small. Watching Trump is like watching someone drown while at the same time refusing a lifejacket.

We know that Russia interfered with the United Stated elections. We know that, at least recently, they were steering the election in Trump’s favor. We know Trump visited Russia back in 2013, to check out the Miss Universe pageant taking place in Moscow. And even though the Kremlin is denying it, you can be damn sure they gather dirt on anyone important entering the country.

So here’s my hypothesis. You came here to get a glimpse into what Mr. Charlton is thinking, and I’m going to deliver.

  1. Trump has been wanting the title of President of the United Stated for a long time. At least since the late eighties. He’s 70 now, so he’s been thinking about it since he was in his early 40’s.
  2. Trump wants the TITLE of POTUS, not the actual position. Trump currently leads a life of leisure and play. Being the POTUS is a lot of work.
  3. Trump hates looking weak, wrong, or vulnerable. He hates being ridiculed or mocked. He has no qualms about libel lawsuits and threatening anyone who makes him look foolish.
  4. He’s not a sociopath. He’s a boorish pig, narcissistic, and incredibly selfish, but he’s not cold. Not like his Russian counterpart, Putin.
  5. Going back to the boorish pig part; He’s an incredibly wealthy man with a perchance for young girls. I can almost guarantee Trump has purchased a lot of prostitutes over the course of his life.
  6. I can guarantee you people have dirt on him. I can also guarantee that it has to do with sex.
  7. The dirt on Trump isn’t going to be about him in a position of power, but rather a position of vulnerability. Right now, the rumor is stating a golden shower show (don’t serach that phrase). My guess, if the Kremlin does have dirt on Trump, is it’s something where Trump is being dominated. Trump getting pegged, or getting peed on, that sort of thing.
  8. Trump doesn’t actually want to be President. He doesn’t want to sell his assets, he doesn’t want to be in Washington. He’d much rather be on the golf course or hanging out at Trump tower.
  9. The Kremlin would very much like Trump to be the President. His erratic behavior weakens the United States on a world stage. If Trump were to back out at any point in the election or presidency, they’d have no problem releasing this hypothetical dirt.
  10. The GOP doens’t want Trump in there either. They’d much rather have Pence in charge, because he would toe the party line.
  11. Both Trump and the GOP don’t want him as POTUS, but Trump doesn’t want to look weak or ridiculous. Backing down would look weak, and if this hypothetical dirt exists, it could also ridicule him.
  12. Trump’s goal is to get impeached. That way, he can say he was President, blame the failure on others, and then get back to reality television. The Krelim won’t have any reason to spill the dirt, the GOP will have Pence running the nation, and the only losers are the American public who have to spend an absurd amount of tax money to watch this insane carnival.

That’s my hypothesis, anyways. I certainly don’t have enough evidence to call it a theory, but when I see and hear Trump, I can’t help but think of someone who trying desperately trying to claw their way out of a corner. This presidency is gonig to be a clusterfuck from start to finish. One thing is for certain; in all the years I’ve been alive, I’ve never seen anything like this.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. It’s nine days until the inauguration. Watch this get weirder.

Barry Cooper – The Birth of ‘Berta Man

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Note: This is a response to the editorial written by Barry Cooper. You can find the article in question here.

http://calgaryherald.com/opinion/columnists/cooper-british-columbia-shows-us-what-happens-when-we-go-to-pot

Barry F. Cooper stood in front of the service desk, grinding his teeth. He could barely control his rage at what he was hearing.

“What do you mean, there isn’t a mechanic in on Sundays? It’s a day, isn’t it?”

The BC service person nervous glanced left to right, sweat now appearing on his brow. It was obvious this little miscreant was high. The precipitation on his forehead, the shifty eyes. Barry shook his head. Typical lazy BC people. Barry couldn’t fathom someone taking a day off unless, of course, it was mandated by the ridiculous liberal government at the helm of the nation.

“I’m terribly sorry sir, but we don’t have a mechanic here at the tire shop on Sundays. The soonest we can have someone look at your vehicle is tomorrow morning, but I can assure you it will…” Barry waved his hand to silence the stoned moron.

“You will have it in the shop first thing in the morning, correct?”

Even though he was obviously blitzed out of his mind, the young BC man nodded in agreement. Barry could only hope that he had understood his very specific instructions. Walking to the door, the tropical BC mugginess caught him off guard. He chuckled to himself. How on Earth could anyone believe in global climate change when it was so warm in BC all the time? He was glad he was a member and contributor of ‘Friends of Science’.

He spent time here, as a child, but BC had become a foreign nation in the recent decades. BC was once beautiful, but years of Liberal and NDP government leadership has left the province in tatters. There’s only two things propping up the province; The hard and well-earned dollars of his fellow Albertans visiting the province, and the illicit drug trade of marijuana.

Why would anyone want to pollute their minds and bodies with that filthy weed was beyond Barry, who pulled out a flask of whiskey to steady his nerves. He still couldn’t take the taste of the overcooked BC steak he had last night out of his mouth. His daughter had invited him out for dinner a famous BC steak house known as IHOP, and was disappointed his meat was overdone when he clearly asked for rare. Everyone in this province seemed to be high.

At first, Barry felt pity for BC. Even though British Columbia was basically a nation-state unto itself, these people were still his country men. Pity swiftly turned to anger. The communist traitors of the Liberal party were hell bent on legalizing the devil’s lettuce. Should this foul plant be let loose on the rest of the nation, Barry may not have any country men left. What would the Liberal government legalize next? Heroin? Paint fumes? Bestiality?

It was madness to sit idly by and watch the nation self-destruct. There was only so much he, Barry F. Cooper, could do as a political science genius professor from the esteemed University of Calgary. No, this would take drastic action.

Barry rushed back into the garage where his car was being held captive. He strode up to the service desk. “I demand that you release my vehicle back into my possession, young man. I have to return back to my home province of Alberta post haste!” The BC service man, still gazooed on opiates or uppers or whatever, seemed to sober up immediately once he heard Barry’s authoritative Albertan voice. He handed back the keys to Barry. “Even though the light in the glove box is not functioning, I have to return home. Don’t worry, young man, I will find a way to break the chains of your addiction!”

With those words uttered, Barry whisked himself back to Calgary from Vancouver at record speed, making sure to never slow the vehicle down below at least 120 km/hr. Back at home, he went straight to his workshop to begin preparations on his revolutionary idea that could bring back a province from the depths of hell, and steer the nation away from Satan’s salad.

He needs a set of armor. Steel toed boots, some welders gloves, and a hard hat should do the trick. He needs a weapon. His weapon needed to represent the highest order of capitalism, so he fills a sock full of quarters. Now all he needed was a name…

Looking in the mirror, he saw a working class hero, someone willing to step up to the plate for the little guys in oil and gas, the underdogs at the police force, and the silent middle-aged white men who’ve lost their voice in the culture wars against social justice warriors. He didn’t need to choose a name, the name chose him.

Barry F. Cooper was ‘Berta Man.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Seriously, Barry, you took a pretty sharp turn there going from marijuana to fentanyl. I suggest you lay off the sauce.

 

2016 – Mr. Charlton Looks Back

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Wow, it’s been an entire year since last year. Well, that statement would have been true on New Year’s day, so technically it’s actually been four days since last year. And what a year! It was pretty tame compared to 2015. At least for me. Social media seems to think it was the worst year ever, for some reason. Let’s get to the bottom of why a lot of people think 2016 blew an enormous amount of chunks.

Reason #1: A lot of celebrities died

Slightly more than average, but it felt like it a lot. There was Muhammad Ali, Carrie Fisher, Prince, David Bowie, Lemmy Kilmister, Gene Wilder, and even Alan Rickman! Some other people died too, like John Glenn, Fidel Castro, and Nancy Reagan. But still, celebrities were dying left and right. Even ol’ Mr.Charlton tried to get in on the mix.

mr-charlton-tweets

Mr. Charlton trying to participate in social media in 2016 is like Mr. Charlton trying to participate in society in 1998; Awkward and forced.

Here’s the deal, though. I don’t know Lemmy Kilmister, lead vocalist of the greatest rock and rock band ever Motorhead, in real life. Me and David Bowie, a man who was on the waves edge of pop music for decades, aren’t friends. I’ve never actually been to a concert where either was playing. It’s sad they died, but not sadder than a bunch of other people who died. Dying is kinda something that happens to everyone eventually. Most of the people on the list had a good run. And most of them left some sort of impact on our culture. Shit, if I died tomorrow, the only thing I’d leave behind is a crappy blog and a couple of half finished books.

Reason #2: Politics were kinda crazy this year

Two really big things happened in western politics this year. First, Britain decided to Brexit the EU, sending a ripple throughout the world. Some people were cheering an end to globalization by tweeting on their iPhones manufactured in China. Some people watched as Britain’s pound got pounded. What was interesting is the polls showed Britain sticking around the European Union. Nobody thought they were going to leave until they did.

Which brings us to the next big thing; Donald Trump is going to be the next president of the United States. Nobody thought he was going to win the Republican nomination for his party, but he did. Then, no one thought he was going to win the presidency, but he did. Hell, nobody thought he was going to use nuclear weapons….

I mean, I DOUBT he’ll use nuclear weapons, but that’s kinda the big issue with Trump. You don’t know what promises he’s going to make good on. The POTUS isn’t an exactly great position for brash decisions. We still have another two weeks before he’s sworn in. My money is on Trump getting impeached before the end of his first term, though. We’ll wait and see.

So a bunch of people died and the President of the United States is a reality television show star who doesn’t want to stop running his business so he can run the country. But what was awesome about 2016?

Reason #1: The gene linked to ALS was found with Ice buckets

Not literally, mind you. But all those videos seems to have actually paid off. Also, the money that was actually donated paid off. Money helps with research too.

Reason #2: The Cubs won the world series

This is a big deal if you’re into sports, I guess.

Reason #3: Pokemon Go forces a bunch of nerds to get some actual exercise

The hit augmented reality game has taught me an important lesson; Nerds will walk miles to catch Pokemon. World records could be set if we had Pikachus at the end of finish lines instead of ribbon.

Reason #4: I started a Blog! (again)

Now these words are forever immortalized on the intertubes. Now I can look back on who I was like ten years from now and see exactly what kind of dumbass I happen to be. Seriously though, writing on a more regular basis has been a wonderful experience. Little by little I find myself getting better.

Reason #5: I moved into a place with my girlfriend Kat

I was well into my thirties before I actually lived with a girlfriend before. So this is new territory. I like it! Shucks, I’m more in love with Kat than when we moved in together almost a year ago. Plus, I only moved once in 2016, whereas I had to move several times in 2015.

With 2016 all wrapped up, it’s nice to know there’s a clean slate in front of everyone. I mean, as long as you believe in that sort of stuff. Personally, it’s another arbitrary rotation around the sun on the starship Earth. No resolutions besides the usual ones; eat better and write more. 2016 was a-okay with me. Here’s hoping 2017 is even better.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. When I said I moved several times in 2015, I mean exactly that. I moved seven times. Seven times of putting my shit into boxes and moving it to another location.

Snowflake Day

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It’s no surprise how I feel about Christmas. I mean, there’s other reasons besides what I posted in my last blog. I’m not someone who gets attached to tradition. I’m not a fan of routine. Doing the same thing, every year in and every year out isn’t my bag. I’ve been celebrating Christmas every year for decades, people. I’ve been decorating trees, baking treats, cooking turkeys. When it comes to Christmas, I’ve done it all. Time for some new traditions.

Enter Snowflake Day. This isn’t an original idea, it’s lifted from a cartoon that only aired for a season back in the early ‘naughts. We stole the idea, because that’s one tradition we’re keeping. If the early Christians can steal the idea of Christmas from the pagans, then we can certainly steal this holiday from a failed animates series that features most of the cast from Scrubs.

Snowflake Day is the holiday replacing all other holidays during the winter months. By trying to avoid offending anyone, you manage to offend everyone, which is a win in my books. The story of Snowflake Day tells the tale of Snowflake Jake the pirate. In a quest to make the holidays open to anyone, Snowflake Jake captures all the other representatives of the holiday season and threatens to make them walk the plank if they keep up their traditions. They agree, Snowflake Day takes the place of Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanzaa.

Instead of gifts, you exchange spices. Instead of turkey, stuffing, and gravy, there’s lamb tacos, cocktail weenies wrapped in pastry, and jerky balls. And instead of a Christmas tree, you light up a non-denominational snowman. So we took it the full nine yards. We decided to throw a party and have lamb tacos, cocktail weenies wrapped in pastry, and jerky balls.

Lamb tacos? Easy peasy. Now, instead of pure lamb, we went with a mixture of lamb, pork, and beef, because the flavor of lamb is a potent beast. I went with a straight up Tex-Mex blend of spice to throw in there, garlic, oregano, cumin, and three different kinds of dried chilies. Threw in a little pico de gallo, some fresh peppers, and some home-made tortillas, and you’ve got a tasty taco feast taking place in your domicile.

Cocktail weenies wrapped in pastry. This was the easiest item on the list because it was the one I cared the least about. I took hot dogs and wrapped them in store-bought pastry, the kind that comes in a can and explodes if not handled properly. There’s actually a warning on the packaging, telling you to point the lid away from people, children, and small dogs. Technically, it was the most dangerous dish to make on the list, but I still managed to pull it off without a hitch. Once the pastry is out, all you’re doing is wrapping the weenies. Feel free to insert your favorite tubed meat joke.

The toughest item on the list, without a doubt, was the jerky balls. Partly because I had no clue what a jerky ball was. I could have gone with beef jerky balls, but this presented two problems. One, jerky is drier than sand, so getting it to stick together in a ball would be a challenge. Two, beef jerky is crazy expensive. What happens to be cheap right now is turkey, so I went with ground turkey mixed with Jamaican jerked spice. I purchased a utility turkey and decided to debone it. I’ve deboned a number chickens in the past, so I figured this would be a cakewalk. Two hours later, and turkey gunk in every corner of the kitchen, I had a bunch of turkey with no bones in it. Two hours after that, I manage to grind the meat and mixed in the spices. Turkey jerky balls are now done.

The rest of the party is straight forward enough. Most of the Snowflake Day songs are simply knockoffs of Christmas tunes, so we decided to play MIDI versions of famous Xmas songs (if you’re unfamiliar with the MIDI audio format, it’s what predated the mp3 format. It’s mostly known for being incredibly crappy). Little pirate hats were made for various objects in the apartment, and snowflakes were hung from the ceiling with care.

People came, we exchanged spices, lamb tacos were noshed, and Snowflake Day Carols were not sung. I put a kibosh on that right away (sorry Kat, I’m only willing to go so far for a joke, and that boundary is singing).

Will we be doing it again? I’m not one for traditions, but I’ll honest, lamb tacos are the bomb and turkey jerky balls, although a hassle to make, are pretty tasty. I might do something a little more extravagant next year, with stewed lamb meat done as a curry. So yeah, we’ll be celebrating Snowflake Day again. If you’re lucky, and you’ve been good all year, maybe you’ll hear the YoHoHo instead of the HoHoHo, and Snowflake Jake will bless your home with a bounty of cumin and basil.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Truthfully, if I have the opportunity, I’m going someplace with a beach for Christmas. Tradition can take a back seat for sunshine and sand.

p.s.s. Holy shit, is it a goddamn pain in the ass to debone a turkey. I swear, the turkey fights back. I could have worn the thing like a cape.

The Christmas Blues

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Christmas used to bring such joy, back in the day. It truly was, for the most part, the most wonderful time of the year. These days, not so much. I’ve been trying to narrow it down, the last couple of revolutions around the sun, exactly when Christmas stopped being fun, or at least as fun as the season once was.

At first, I thought it might be a nostalgia thing. Like most things, holidays were more enjoyable as a child. Being a kid meant not having a care in the world. You weren’t expected to buy gifts, instead, you just showed up at the tree come Christmas morning. You had to create a couple of gifts, sure, but your teacher was making you do that anyways. My parents were overjoyed to get lousy pottery made with love. Candy also seemed to taste better, I can’t handle it the way I used to. But I don’t think nostalgia is the root of my Christmas woes.

Maybe it’s the stress. The malls are packed with shoppers, and heading out to buy gifts is a nightmare. Everyone is on edge, grinding their teeth at the thought of having to brace the masses in order to find the perfect present for that perfect someone. Can’t be that, though. Not for me at least. Kat and myself are making our gifts this year like we did last year, and I can only see the tradition continuing. Instead of a crappy macaroni card, my mom is getting straight up crappy homemade macaroni.

Why was I feeling burnt out? Why is everyone around me, loved ones, friends, and coworkers, tired of Christmas? I mulled it over some hot cocoa and Irish cream, because nothing helps the blues like alcohol does. I check the calendar and realized it’s only the 14th of December. Hasn’t Christmas been on the radar longer than fourteen days?

That’s because we’ve been celebrating Christmas since November 1st. The day after Halloween, the pumpkins go down and the trees come up. We’re now celebrating the holidays for one-sixth of the year. Christmas is now soaking close to twenty percent of my time. I love a good party. But two months of Christmas music, of shopping, of bright lights. I can’t take it any longer.

Even a month is pushing it. A twenty-five day period to be cheery is tough. From now on, I’m going to start celebrating Christmas in April. I’ll buy advent calendars at reduced price and store them away for three months. I’ll stick turkeys in the freezer and forget about them. Instead of snow, I’ll put on rain boots and go dance in the rain.

Why are we celebrating Christmas anyways? It’s Santa’s birthday, and we’re making the poor guy work? That’s ridiculous. Not only are we making him work, we’re sending him out in the freezing snow (or the blaring heat if you’re down on the other side of the hemisphere). April would be a better time for everyone. Santa wouldn’t have to work his birthday, and delivering gifts would be a lot easier. Not only that, but you can buy all your gifts early on boxing day.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. I’m looking forwards to seeing people, though. Heading back to G-Spot for a couple of days! Woot!

 

Mr. Charlton is a Terrible Code Monkey

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I was recently working on a project for a friend of mine who’s a software engineer, helping him put together some 3D modeling stuff. Nothing outside of my scope, but it’s been a while since I’ve sent anything to a 3D printer, so there was some stuff I had to relearn. We ran into one major issue after I had built the first model. When we sent it off to the 3D printer, the 3D printer said the model was too small. It was so small, in fact, my model wasn’t even showing up at all.

Now, I’ve been doing this sort of thing for a while. When the printer balked at me, my first reaction wasn’t “What’s wrong with this stupid hunk of garbage”, it was “Okay, let’s  simplify the problem”. Instead of checking the model (which I had spent hours on at this point), I sent a boring 3D cube to the printer. I ran into the same issue. The cube was too small. Huh! This instantly told me my model was probably fine, but the model and the 3D printer weren’t talking to each other correctly. Something was getting lost in translation. So I made the cube 100 times bigger. Success! The cube was being recognized. I made the model 100 times bigger, and the issue disappeared.

I told my friend, the one who contracted me to do this work, about the issue and how I solved it. He told me the process I went through, simplifying the problem then testing it, was the same way a coder would tackle the problem. Little did he know I’ve been teaching myself the ins-and-outs of coding for a while now! The philosophy of working with code is the same as the philosophy of generating 3D models, which is also the same philosophy of dealing with technology and computers in general; Test the easy, big stuff first so you can narrow down the solution. Also, your computer does not respond very well to yelling instructions at it.

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Strangely, it doesn’t respond to hand gestures either.

Coding isn’t something that comes naturally to human beings. Unless the person has some sort of specific autism, coding is a skill everyone will struggle with. Learning how to code and making little programs has taught me an incredibly important skill, one I never got the hang of in grade school, at college, or anywhere before in the workplace. The skill of being miserable at something, and failing over and over again.

I was pretty good at school. I wasn’t an exemplary student, by any stretch of the means, but I didn’t struggle with any subject. There’s never been a time where I was overly challenged. The only challenge I ever faced was of my own doing, as I tended to procrastinate. Any problem can be made difficult if you wait until the absolute last minute to take it on. School and work never really put me in the path of failing. If it was school, I did well if I put the slightest amount of effort in, and work was basically showing up and doing the job.

Enter coding. I started coding, ever so slightly, a couple years ago. I was a lousy coder back then. These days, well, I’m still pretty awful at coding, but I can look at code and make some sort of sense of it. I can make little scripts to automate tasks. The truth is, I’m not sure if I’ll ever actually be good at coding. I think it’ll always be something I struggle with. That okay, though, because there’s few things I’ve found in life to be as enjoyable as solving problems, and a computer, well, that is basically a box full of problems that need to be solved.

The point I’m trying to make here is very few people are naturally good with computers. The rest of us nerds have to work for it. So if you’re trying to teach yourself how to code, there’s a trick that will keep you on track. The trick is learning to be happy with failing, over and over again. A computer doesn’t hand out participation trophies. Having code that is 95 % correct will still return errors. The computer will only recognize code that works. But when you finally do figure it out, there isn’t anything I’ve found that is quite as satisfying.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Okay, an orgasm can also be satisfying, but anyone can give themselves one of those, so it’s a different kind of satisfying, I guess.