How to be a real manly man

“The Manhood Starter Pack” You ever notice how being a real man these days requires an accessories department?

First up — the truck.
Not just any truck — it has to sound like a collapsing oil rig every time you start it. If your exhaust isn’t rattling windows two counties over, sorry bro, you’re still in the beta version of manhood.

Then come the tattoos.
Nothing says “I’m comfortable in my own skin” like covering every square inch of it with flaming skulls and badly drawn eagles. Bonus points if your tattoo artist was also your probation officer.

Still not feeling tough enough? No problem.
Get a gun. Because nothing screams confidence like needing a weapon to pick up a rotisserie chicken at Safeway.

But wait, the kit’s not complete — you need a girlfriend.
Preferably one with matching tats, ripped jeans, and a PhD in eye-rolling. Her job is to sit on the back of your Harley while you rev the engine at red lights like a bull elk trying to impress a Prius.

And the truck — oh, you thought we were done with the truck?
Jack that thing up until you need a stepladder to get in. Those wheels should be visible from space. And don’t forget the giant American flag flapping off the tailgate — because nothing honors the flag like dragging it through the dust at 60 miles per hour while blasting Kid Rock.

Then it’s time to parade through town — exhaust roaring, testosterone leaking — because apparently the best way to prove you’re a man is to sound like your muffler’s having an emotional breakdown.

Congratulations, champ. You did it. You’ve achieved peak masculinity — king of the Applebee’s parking lot.
Now, if you’ll excuse us, the rest of the world’s going to quietly go about being men without needing a sound system, a weapon, or a sponsorship from Monster Energy.

Over on the other blog a good satire of Trump's lying about military recruiting.   https://naftaoh.blogspot.com/

The Whistledick erased my sign

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The Pool, the Stooges, and the Dingers

Payson desperately needs a new swimming pool. Everyone knows it. But the MAGA Three Stooges—Steve Otto, Jim Ferris, and Charlie Bell—would rather rile up the Tea Party crowd than do something good for the kids.

Their base? Folks living busted flat in ramshackle houses, forever convinced someone else is to blame for their problems. Funny how it’s never the casino vacuuming up their Social Security checks while the poor dog behind the chain-link fence goes hungry.

Kadizzle is for the pool. The dingers are against it. Simple.

So down at the park, Kadizzle set up a little whiteboard that read: Vote YES for the Pool. Nothing fancy, just leaning against a post. He went back to the car to watch. Sure enough, along comes a MAGA dinger, sporting the universal IQ test failure badge: an NRA hat.

Thinking no one was watching, the dinger started erasing the sign. That’s when Kadizzle strolled over.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re not allowed to put signs in the park,” the dinger huffed.

Kadizzle explained that, unless the town itself objected, it wasn’t his job to enforce sign policy. After all, the Jehovah’s Witnesses pitch their pamphlets there every day without incident. And the pool isn’t partisan—it’s not Republican or Democrat. It’s about whether kids get to swim in something cleaner than a mud puddle.

The argument cooled. Kadizzle asked the man if he was a grandfather. He was—nine grandkids.

“Then why,” Kadizzle asked, “would you oppose a pool for them?”

The dinger couldn’t quite say. He never admitted he was against the pool. He just felt obligated to erase the sign, like it was his sacred MAGA duty. Because in their world, opposing progress isn’t a choice—it’s a reflex. 

Over on the Association blog read about the macho men leading our country.   https://naftaoh.blogspot.com/

Get Over to the other blog.

Wow, a very good video on The National Association for Humanity blog . A good historian talks about comparing Trump to Hitler.  https://naftaoh.blogspot.com/

Hymn for the Crossing Listen to the words

Where is Red?

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Looking for Red

The sun came up once again, promising a day with near-perfect weather. The question is always the same: what to do with it?

For Kadizzle, today comes with a mission—and a bit of a mystery. Where is Red?

Red is one of those characters who lives on the edge. He does firewising around Payson with nothing more than an electric bike and a chainsaw. That’s his whole operation. He needs work, and Kadizzle managed to line up a job for him. The problem is finding him.

Red gave Kadizzle a phone number, but like so many things in his world, it doesn’t work anymore. Most likely the bill went unpaid. That’s the struggle of being essentially homeless, trying to keep yourself afloat with odd jobs and grit.

So maybe today’s task isn’t just another day under a perfect sky. Maybe today’s job is finding Red.

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Under The Willow Tree

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Almost every evening, under the great willow at Green Valley Park, a little circle of old-timers gathers to watch the sun slip behind the horizon. As autumn cools the air, the jackets come out and the gathering shifts a little earlier. It’s part ritual, part survival—because growing old is easier when you don’t do it alone.

The walkers drift past with their dogs, and the dogs are practically the heartbeat of the park. Everyone has one—grandmothers, retirees, families—and they all stop for a quick sniff-and-greet. While the dogs mingle, their humans do the same.

The talk under the willow drifts with the breeze: aches, pains, doctor’s visits, the small triumphs and tragedies of aging. If no Hoopleheads or MAGA mutts are in earshot, the conversation sometimes turns to politics—usually some fresh insanity from Trump’s gang. Otherwise, it’s the ordinary chatter of life lived day by day.

And maybe that’s the point. Growing old means crumbling here and there, but a little laughter, a little companionship, and a lot of dogs make the crumble easier to bear.  

Over on the National Association blog a review of Trump's mental illness.

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